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diff --git a/old/sbboz10h.htm b/old/sbboz10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1119025 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/sbboz10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24624 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Sketches by Boz</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Sketches by Boz, by Charles Dickens</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sketches by Boz, by Charles Dickens +(#21 in our series by Charles Dickens) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Sketches by Boz + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: April, 1997 [EBook #882] +[This file was first posted on April 10, 1997] +[Most recently updated: May 7, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1903 edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>SKETCHES BY BOZ</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>OUR PARISH</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>How much is conveyed in those two short words—‘The Parish!’ +And with how many tales of distress and misery, of broken fortune and +ruined hopes, too often of unrelieved wretchedness and successful knavery, +are they associated! A poor man, with small earnings, and a large +family, just manages to live on from hand to mouth, and to procure food +from day to day; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings +of nature, and can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in +arrear, quarter-day passes by, another quarter-day arrives: he can procure +no more quarter for himself, and is summoned by—the parish. +His goods are distrained, his children are crying with cold and hunger, +and the very bed on which his sick wife is lying, is dragged from beneath +her. What can he do? To whom is he to apply for relief? +To private charity? To benevolent individuals? Certainly +not—there is his parish. There are the parish vestry, the +parish infirmary, the parish surgeon, the parish officers, the parish +beadle. Excellent institutions, and gentle, kind-hearted men. +The woman dies—she is buried by the parish. The children +have no protector—they are taken care of by the parish. +The man first neglects, and afterwards cannot obtain, work—he +is relieved by the parish; and when distress and drunkenness have done +their work upon him, he is maintained, a harmless babbling idiot, in +the parish asylum.</p> +<p>The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps <i>the</i> most, important +member of the local administration. He is not so well off as the +churchwardens, certainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry-clerk, +nor does he order things quite so much his own way as either of them. +But his power is very great, notwithstanding; and the dignity of his +office is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to maintain +it. The beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is +quite delightful to hear him, as he explains the state of the existing +poor laws to the deaf old women in the board-room passage on business +nights; and to hear what he said to the senior churchwarden, and what +the senior churchwarden said to him; and what ‘we’ (the +beadle and the other gentlemen) came to the determination of doing. +A miserable-looking woman is called into the boardroom, and represents +a case of extreme destitution, affecting herself—a widow, with +six small children. ‘Where do you live?’ inquires +one of the overseers. ‘I rents a two-pair back, gentlemen, +at Mrs. Brown’s, Number 3, Little King William’s-alley, +which has lived there this fifteen year, and knows me to be very hard-working +and industrious, and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died +in the hospital’—‘Well, well,’ interrupts the +overseer, taking a note of the address, ‘I’ll send Simmons, +the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain whether your story is correct; +and if so, I suppose you must have an order into the House—Simmons, +go to this woman’s the first thing to-morrow morning, will you?’ +Simmons bows assent, and ushers the woman out. Her previous admiration +of ‘the board’ (who all sit behind great books, and with +their hats on) fades into nothing before her respect for her lace-trimmed +conductor; and her account of what has passed inside, increases—if +that be possible—the marks of respect, shown by the assembled +crowd, to that solemn functionary. As to taking out a summons, +it’s quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, on behalf of +the parish. He knows all the titles of the Lord Mayor by heart; +states the case without a single stammer: and it is even reported that +on one occasion he ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor’s +head footman (who happened to be present) afterwards told an intimate +friend, confidentially, was almost equal to one of Mr. Hobler’s.</p> +<p>See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a +large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use +in his right. How pompously he marshals the children into their +places! and how demurely the little urchins look at him askance as he +surveys them when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye peculiar +to beadles! The churchwardens and overseers being duly installed in +their curtained pews, he seats himself on a mahogany bracket, erected +expressly for him at the top of the aisle, and divides his attention +between his prayer-book and the boys. Suddenly, just at the commencement +of the communion service, when the whole congregation is hushed into +a profound silence, broken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, +a penny is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with astounding +clearness. Observe the generalship of the beadle. His involuntary +look of horror is instantly changed into one of perfect indifference, +as if he were the only person present who had not heard the noise. +The artifice succeeds. After putting forth his right leg now and +then, as a feeler, the victim who dropped the money ventures to make +one or two distinct dives after it; and the beadle, gliding softly round, +salutes his little round head, when it again appears above the seat, +with divers double knocks, administered with the cane before noticed, +to the intense delight of three young men in an adjacent pew, who cough +violently at intervals until the conclusion of the sermon.</p> +<p>Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity of a parish beadle—a +gravity which has never been disturbed in any case that has come under +our observation, except when the services of that particularly useful +machine, a parish fire-engine, are required: then indeed all is bustle. +Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their legs will carry them, +and report from their own personal observation that some neighbouring +chimney is on fire; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful supply +of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with ropes, away they rattle +over the pavement, the beadle, running—we do not exaggerate—running +at the side, until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, +at the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable gravity for +half-an-hour. No attention being paid to these manual applications, +and the turn-cock having turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst +the shouts of the boys; it pulls up once more at the work-house, and +the beadle ‘pulls up’ the unfortunate householder next day, +for the amount of his legal reward. We never saw a parish engine +at a regular fire but once. It came up in gallant style—three +miles and a half an hour, at least; there was a capital supply of water, +and it was first on the spot. Bang went the pumps—the people +cheered—the beadle perspired profusely; but it was unfortunately +discovered, just as they were going to put the fire out, that nobody +understood the process by which the engine was filled with water; and +that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted themselves in pumping for +twenty minutes, without producing the slightest effect!</p> +<p>The personages next in importance to the beadle, are the master of +the workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. The vestry-clerk, as +everybody knows, is a short, pudgy little man, in black, with a thick +gold watch-chain of considerable length, terminating in two large seals +and a key. He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle; at no +time more so, than when he is hurrying to some parochial meeting, with +his gloves crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under the other +arm. As to the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude them altogether, +because all we know of them is, that they are usually respectable tradesmen, +who wear hats with brims inclined to flatness, and who occasionally +testify in gilt letters on a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of +the church, to the important fact of a gallery having being enlarged +and beautified, or an organ rebuilt.</p> +<p>The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish—nor is he +usually in any other—one of that class of men the better part +of whose existence has passed away, and who drag out the remainder in +some inferior situation, with just enough thought of the past, to feel +degraded by, and discontented with the present. We are unable +to guess precisely to our own satisfaction what station the man can +have occupied before; we should think he had been an inferior sort of +attorney’s clerk, or else the master of a national school—whatever +he was, it is clear his present position is a change for the better. +His income is small certainly, as the rusty black coat and threadbare +velvet collar demonstrate: but then he lives free of house-rent, has +a limited allowance of coals and candles, and an almost unlimited allowance +of authority in his petty kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man; +always wears shoes and black cotton stockings with his surtout; and +eyes you, as you pass his parlour-window, as if he wished you were a +pauper, just to give you a specimen of his power. He is an admirable +specimen of a small tyrant: morose, brutish, and ill-tempered; bullying +to his inferiors, cringing to his superiors, and jealous of the influence +and authority of the beadle.</p> +<p>Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this amiable official. +He has been one of those men one occasionally hears of, on whom misfortune +seems to have set her mark; nothing he ever did, or was concerned in, +appears to have prospered. A rich old relation who had brought +him up, and openly announced his intention of providing for him, left +him 10,000<i>l</i>. in his will, and revoked the bequest in a codicil. +Thus unexpectedly reduced to the necessity of providing for himself, +he procured a situation in a public office. The young clerks below +him, died off as if there were a plague among them; but the old fellows +over his head, for the reversion of whose places he was anxiously waiting, +lived on and on, as if they were immortal. He speculated and lost. +He speculated again and won—but never got his money. His +talents were great; his disposition, easy, generous and liberal. +His friends profited by the one, and abused the other. Loss succeeded +loss; misfortune crowded on misfortune; each successive day brought +him nearer the verge of hopeless penury, and the quondam friends who +had been warmest in their professions, grew strangely cold and indifferent. +He had children whom he loved, and a wife on whom he doted. The +former turned their backs on him; the latter died broken-hearted. +He went with the stream—it had ever been his failing, and he had +not courage sufficient to bear up against so many shocks—he had +never cared for himself, and the only being who had cared for him, in +his poverty and distress, was spared to him no longer. It was +at this period that he applied for parochial relief. Some kind-hearted +man who had known him in happier times, chanced to be churchwarden that +year, and through his interest he was appointed to his present situation.</p> +<p>He is an old man now. Of the many who once crowded round him +in all the hollow friendship of boon-companionship, some have died, +some have fallen like himself, some have prospered—all have forgotten +him. Time and misfortune have mercifully been permitted to impair +his memory, and use has habituated him to his present condition. +Meek, uncomplaining, and zealous in the discharge of his duties, he +has been allowed to hold his situation long beyond the usual period; +and he will no doubt continue to hold it, until infirmity renders him +incapable, or death releases him. As the grey-headed old man feebly +paces up and down the sunny side of the little court-yard between school +hours, it would be difficult, indeed, for the most intimate of his former +friends to recognise their once gay and happy associate, in the person +of the Pauper Schoolmaster.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY +CAPTAIN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We commenced our last chapter with the beadle of our parish, because +we are deeply sensible of the importance and dignity of his office. +We will begin the present, with the clergyman. Our curate is a +young gentleman of such prepossessing appearance, and fascinating manners, +that within one month after his first appearance in the parish, half +the young-lady inhabitants were melancholy with religion, and the other +half, desponding with love. Never were so many young ladies seen +in our parish church on Sunday before; and never had the little round +angels’ faces on Mr. Tomkins’s monument in the side aisle, +beheld such devotion on earth as they all exhibited. He was about +five-and-twenty when he first came to astonish the parishioners. +He parted his hair on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman +arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth finger of his +left hand (which he always applied to his left cheek when he read prayers), +and had a deep sepulchral voice of unusual solemnity. Innumerable +were the calls made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and innumerable +the invitations with which he was assailed, and which, to do him justice, +he readily accepted. If his manner in the pulpit had created an +impression in his favour, the sensation was increased tenfold, by his +appearance in private circles. Pews in the immediate vicinity +of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in value; sittings in the centre +aisle were at a premium: an inch of room in the front row of the gallery +could not be procured for love or money; and some people even went so +far as to assert, that the three Miss Browns, who had an obscure family +pew just behind the churchwardens’, were detected, one Sunday, +in the free seats by the communion-table, actually lying in wait for +the curate as he passed to the vestry! He began to preach extempore +sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection. He got out +of bed at half-past twelve o’clock one winter’s night, to +half-baptise a washerwoman’s child in a slop-basin, and the gratitude +of the parishioners knew no bounds—the very churchwardens grew +generous, and insisted on the parish defraying the expense of the watch-box +on wheels, which the new curate had ordered for himself, to perform +the funeral service in, in wet weather. He sent three pints of +gruel and a quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman who had been brought +to bed of four small children, all at once—the parish were charmed. +He got up a subscription for her—the woman’s fortune was +made. He spoke for one hour and twenty-five minutes, at an anti-slavery +meeting at the Goat and Boots—the enthusiasm was at its height. +A proposal was set on foot for presenting the curate with a piece of +plate, as a mark of esteem for his valuable services rendered to the +parish. The list of subscriptions was filled up in no time; the +contest was, not who should escape the contribution, but who should +be the foremost to subscribe. A splendid silver inkstand was made, +and engraved with an appropriate inscription; the curate was invited +to a public breakfast, at the before-mentioned Goat and Boots; the inkstand +was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins, the ex-churchwarden, +and acknowledged by the curate in terms which drew tears into the eyes +of all present—the very waiters were melted.</p> +<p>One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal +admiration was lifted to the very pinnacle of popularity. No such +thing. The curate began to cough; four fits of coughing one morning +between the Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. +Here was a discovery—the curate was consumptive. How interestingly +melancholy! If the young ladies were energetic before, their sympathy +and solicitude now knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate—such +a dear—such a perfect love—to be consumptive! It was +too much. Anonymous presents of black-currant jam, and lozenges, +elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and warm stockings, poured in upon +the curate until he was as completely fitted out with winter clothing, +as if he were on the verge of an expedition to the North Pole: verbal +bulletins of the state of his health were circulated throughout the +parish half-a-dozen times a day; and the curate was in the very zenith +of his popularity.</p> +<p>About this period, a change came over the spirit of the parish. +A very quiet, respectable, dozing old gentleman, who had officiated +in our chapel-of-ease for twelve years previously, died one fine morning, +without having given any notice whatever of his intention. This +circumstance gave rise to counter-sensation the first; and the arrival +of his successor occasioned counter-sensation the second. He was +a pale, thin, cadaverous man, with large black eyes, and long straggling +black hair: his dress was slovenly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, +his doctrines startling; in short, he was in every respect the antipodes +of the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners flocked to hear +him; at first, because he was <i>so</i> odd-looking, then because his +face was <i>so</i> expressive, then because he preached <i>so</i> well; +and at last, because they really thought that, after all, there was +something about him which it was quite impossible to describe. +As to the curate, he was all very well; but certainly, after all, there +was no denying that—that—in short, the curate wasn’t +a novelty, and the other clergyman was. The inconstancy of public +opinion is proverbial: the congregation migrated one by one. The +curate coughed till he was black in the face—it was in vain. +He respired with difficulty—it was equally ineffectual in awakening +sympathy. Seats are once again to be had in any part of our parish +church, and the chapel-of-ease is going to be enlarged, as it is crowded +to suffocation every Sunday!</p> +<p>The best known and most respected among our parishioners, is an old +lady, who resided in our parish long before our name was registered +in the list of baptisms. Our parish is a suburban one, and the +old lady lives in a neat row of houses in the most airy and pleasant +part of it. The house is her own; and it, and everything about +it, except the old lady herself, who looks a little older than she did +ten years ago, is in just the same state as when the old gentleman was +living. The little front parlour, which is the old lady’s +ordinary sitting-room, is a perfect picture of quiet neatness; the carpet +is covered with brown Holland, the glass and picture-frames are carefully +enveloped in yellow muslin; the table-covers are never taken off, except +when the leaves are turpentined and bees’-waxed, an operation +which is regularly commenced every other morning at half-past nine o’clock—and +the little nicknacks are always arranged in precisely the same manner. +The greater part of these are presents from little girls whose parents +live in the same row; but some of them, such as the two old-fashioned +watches (which never keep the same time, one being always a quarter +of an hour too slow, and the other a quarter of an hour too fast), the +little picture of the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold as they +appeared in the Royal Box at Drury Lane Theatre, and others of the same +class, have been in the old lady’s possession for many years. +Here the old lady sits with her spectacles on, busily engaged in needlework—near +the window in summer time; and if she sees you coming up the steps, +and you happen to be a favourite, she trots out to open the street-door +for you before you knock, and as you must be fatigued after that hot +walk, insists on your swallowing two glasses of sherry before you exert +yourself by talking. If you call in the evening you will find +her cheerful, but rather more serious than usual, with an open Bible +on the table, before her, of which ‘Sarah,’ who is just +as neat and methodical as her mistress, regularly reads two or three +chapters in the parlour aloud.</p> +<p>The old lady sees scarcely any company, except the little girls before +noticed, each of whom has always a regular fixed day for a periodical +tea-drinking with her, to which the child looks forward as the greatest +treat of its existence. She seldom visits at a greater distance +than the next door but one on either side; and when she drinks tea here, +Sarah runs out first and knocks a double-knock, to prevent the possibility +of her ‘Missis’s’ catching cold by having to wait +at the door. She is very scrupulous in returning these little +invitations, and when she asks Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, to meet Mr. and +Mrs. Somebody-else, Sarah and she dust the urn, and the best china tea-service, +and the Pope Joan board; and the visitors are received in the drawing-room +in great state. She has but few relations, and they are scattered +about in different parts of the country, and she seldom sees them. +She has a son in India, whom she always describes to you as a fine, +handsome fellow—so like the profile of his poor dear father over +the sideboard, but the old lady adds, with a mournful shake of the head, +that he has always been one of her greatest trials; and that indeed +he once almost broke her heart; but it pleased God to enable her to +get the better of it, and she would prefer your never mentioning the +subject to her again. She has a great number of pensioners: and +on Saturday, after she comes back from market, there is a regular levee +of old men and women in the passage, waiting for their weekly gratuity. +Her name always heads the list of any benevolent subscriptions, and +hers are always the most liberal donations to the Winter Coal and Soup +Distribution Society. She subscribed twenty pounds towards the +erection of an organ in our parish church, and was so overcome the first +Sunday the children sang to it, that she was obliged to be carried out +by the pew-opener. Her entrance into church on Sunday is always +the signal for a little bustle in the side aisle, occasioned by a general +rise among the poor people, who bow and curtsey until the pew-opener +has ushered the old lady into her accustomed seat, dropped a respectful +curtsey, and shut the door: and the same ceremony is repeated on her +leaving church, when she walks home with the family next door but one, +and talks about the sermon all the way, invariably opening the conversation +by asking the youngest boy where the text was.</p> +<p>Thus, with the annual variation of a trip to some quiet place on +the sea-coast, passes the old lady’s life. It has rolled +on in the same unvarying and benevolent course for many years now, and +must at no distant period be brought to its final close. She looks +forward to its termination, with calmness and without apprehension. +She has everything to hope and nothing to fear.</p> +<p>A very different personage, but one who has rendered himself very +conspicuous in our parish, is one of the old lady’s next-door +neighbours. He is an old naval officer on half-pay, and his bluff +and unceremonious behaviour disturbs the old lady’s domestic economy, +not a little. In the first place, he <i>will</i> smoke cigars +in the front court, and when he wants something to drink with them—which +is by no means an uncommon circumstance—he lifts up the old lady’s +knocker with his walking-stick, and demands to have a glass of table +ale, handed over the rails. In addition to this cool proceeding, +he is a bit of a Jack of all trades, or to use his own words, ‘a +regular Robinson Crusoe;’ and nothing delights him better than +to experimentalise on the old lady’s property. One morning +he got up early, and planted three or four roots of full-grown marigolds +in every bed of her front garden, to the inconceivable astonishment +of the old lady, who actually thought when she got up and looked out +of the window, that it was some strange eruption which had come out +in the night. Another time he took to pieces the eight-day clock +on the front landing, under pretence of cleaning the works, which he +put together again, by some undiscovered process, in so wonderful a +manner, that the large hand has done nothing but trip up the little +one ever since. Then he took to breeding silk-worms, which he +<i>would</i> bring in two or three times a day, in little paper boxes, +to show the old lady, generally dropping a worm or two at every visit. +The consequence was, that one morning a very stout silk-worm was discovered +in the act of walking up-stairs—probably with the view of inquiring +after his friends, for, on further inspection, it appeared that some +of his companions had already found their way to every room in the house. +The old lady went to the seaside in despair, and during her absence +he completely effaced the name from her brass door-plate, in his attempts +to polish it with aqua-fortis.</p> +<p>But all this is nothing to his seditious conduct in public life. +He attends every vestry meeting that is held; always opposes the constituted +authorities of the parish, denounces the profligacy of the churchwardens, +contests legal points against the vestry-clerk, will make the tax-gatherer +call for his money till he won’t call any longer, and then he +sends it: finds fault with the sermon every Sunday, says that the organist +ought to be ashamed of himself, offers to back himself for any amount +to sing the psalms better than all the children put together, male and +female; and, in short, conducts himself in the most turbulent and uproarious +manner. The worst of it is, that having a high regard for the +old lady, he wants to make her a convert to his views, and therefore +walks into her little parlour with his newspaper in his hand, and talks +violent politics by the hour. He is a charitable, open-hearted +old fellow at bottom, after all; so, although he puts the old lady a +little out occasionally, they agree very well in the main, and she laughs +as much at each feat of his handiwork when it is all over, as anybody +else.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE FOUR SISTERS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The row of houses in which the old lady and her troublesome neighbour +reside, comprises, beyond all doubt, a greater number of characters +within its circumscribed limits, than all the rest of the parish put +together. As we cannot, consistently with our present plan, however, +extend the number of our parochial sketches beyond six, it will be better +perhaps, to select the most peculiar, and to introduce them at once +without further preface.</p> +<p>The four Miss Willises, then, settled in our parish thirteen years +ago. It is a melancholy reflection that the old adage, ‘time +and tide wait for no man,’ applies with equal force to the fairer +portion of the creation; and willingly would we conceal the fact, that +even thirteen years ago the Miss Willises were far from juvenile. +Our duty as faithful parochial chroniclers, however, is paramount to +every other consideration, and we are bound to state, that thirteen +years since, the authorities in matrimonial cases, considered the youngest +Miss Willis in a very precarious state, while the eldest sister was +positively given over, as being far beyond all human hope. Well, +the Miss Willises took a lease of the house; it was fresh painted and +papered from top to bottom: the paint inside was all wainscoted, the +marble all cleaned, the old grates taken down, and register-stoves, +you could see to dress by, put up; four trees were planted in the back +garden, several small baskets of gravel sprinkled over the front one, +vans of elegant furniture arrived, spring blinds were fitted to the +windows, carpenters who had been employed in the various preparations, +alterations, and repairs, made confidential statements to the different +maid-servants in the row, relative to the magnificent scale on which +the Miss Willises were commencing; the maid-servants told their ‘Missises,’ +the Missises told their friends, and vague rumours were circulated throughout +the parish, that No. 25, in Gordon-place, had been taken by four maiden +ladies of immense property.</p> +<p>At last, the Miss Willises moved in; and then the ‘calling’ +began. The house was the perfection of neatness—so were +the four Miss Willises. Everything was formal, stiff, and cold—so +were the four Miss Willises. Not a single chair of the whole set +was ever seen out of its place—not a single Miss Willis of the +whole four was ever seen out of hers. There they always sat, in +the same places, doing precisely the same things at the same hour. +The eldest Miss Willis used to knit, the second to draw, the two others +to play duets on the piano. They seemed to have no separate existence, +but to have made up their minds just to winter through life together. +They were three long graces in drapery, with the addition, like a school-dinner, +of another long grace afterwards—the three fates with another +sister—the Siamese twins multiplied by two. The eldest Miss +Willis grew bilious—the four Miss Willises grew bilious immediately. +The eldest Miss Willis grew ill-tempered and religious—the four +Miss Willises were ill-tempered and religious directly. Whatever +the eldest did, the others did, and whatever anybody else did, they +all disapproved of; and thus they vegetated—living in Polar harmony +among themselves, and, as they sometimes went out, or saw company ‘in +a quiet-way’ at home, occasionally icing the neighbours. +Three years passed over in this way, when an unlooked for and extraordinary +phenomenon occurred. The Miss Willises showed symptoms of summer, +the frost gradually broke up; a complete thaw took place. Was +it possible? one of the four Miss Willises was going to be married!</p> +<p>Now, where on earth the husband came from, by what feelings the poor +man could have been actuated, or by what process of reasoning the four +Miss Willises succeeded in persuading themselves that it was possible +for a man to marry one of them, without marrying them all, are questions +too profound for us to resolve: certain it is, however, that the visits +of Mr. Robinson (a gentleman in a public office, with a good salary +and a little property of his own, besides) were received—that +the four Miss Willises were courted in due form by the said Mr Robinson—that +the neighbours were perfectly frantic in their anxiety to discover which +of the four Miss Willises was the fortunate fair, and that the difficulty +they experienced in solving the problem was not at all lessened by the +announcement of the eldest Miss Willis,—‘<i>We</i> are going +to marry Mr. Robinson.’</p> +<p>It was very extraordinary. They were so completely identified, +the one with the other, that the curiosity of the whole row—even +of the old lady herself—was roused almost beyond endurance. +The subject was discussed at every little card-table and tea-drinking. +The old gentleman of silk-worm notoriety did not hesitate to express +his decided opinion that Mr. Robinson was of Eastern descent, and contemplated +marrying the whole family at once; and the row, generally, shook their +heads with considerable gravity, and declared the business to be very +mysterious. They hoped it might all end well;—it certainly +had a very singular appearance, but still it would be uncharitable to +express any opinion without good grounds to go upon, and certainly the +Miss Willises were <i>quite</i> old enough to judge for themselves, +and to be sure people ought to know their own business best, and so +forth.</p> +<p>At last, one fine morning, at a quarter before eight o’clock, +A.M., two glass-coaches drove up to the Miss Willises’ door, at +which Mr. Robinson had arrived in a cab ten minutes before, dressed +in a light-blue coat and double-milled kersey pantaloons, white neckerchief, +pumps, and dress-gloves, his manner denoting, as appeared from the evidence +of the housemaid at No. 23, who was sweeping the door-steps at the time, +a considerable degree of nervous excitement. It was also hastily +reported on the same testimony, that the cook who opened the door, wore +a large white bow of unusual dimensions, in a much smarter head-dress +than the regulation cap to which the Miss Willises invariably restricted +the somewhat excursive tastes of female servants in general.</p> +<p>The intelligence spread rapidly from house to house. It was +quite clear that the eventful morning had at length arrived; the whole +row stationed themselves behind their first and second floor blinds, +and waited the result in breathless expectation.</p> +<p>At last the Miss Willises’ door opened; the door of the first +glass-coach did the same. Two gentlemen, and a pair of ladies +to correspond—friends of the family, no doubt; up went the steps, +bang went the door, off went the first class-coach, and up came the +second.</p> +<p>The street door opened again; the excitement of the whole row increased—Mr. +Robinson and the eldest Miss Willis. ‘I thought so,’ +said the lady at No. 19; ‘I always said it was <i>Miss</i> Willis!’—‘Well, +I never!’ ejaculated the young lady at No. 18 to the young lady +at No. 17.—‘Did you ever, dear!’ responded the young +lady at No. 17 to the young lady at No. 18. ‘It’s +too ridiculous!’ exclaimed a spinster of an <i>un</i>certain age, +at No. 16, joining in the conversation. But who shall portray +the astonishment of Gordon-place, when Mr. Robinson handed in <i>all</i> +the Miss Willises, one after the other, and then squeezed himself into +an acute angle of the glass-coach, which forthwith proceeded at a brisk +pace, after the other glass-coach, which other glass-coach had itself +proceeded, at a brisk pace, in the direction of the parish church! +Who shall depict the perplexity of the clergyman, when <i>all</i> the +Miss Willises knelt down at the communion-table, and repeated the responses +incidental to the marriage service in an audible voice—or who +shall describe the confusion which prevailed, when—even after +the difficulties thus occasioned had been adjusted—<i>all</i> +the Miss Willises went into hysterics at the conclusion of the ceremony, +until the sacred edifice resounded with their united wailings!</p> +<p>As the four sisters and Mr. Robinson continued to occupy the same +house after this memorable occasion, and as the married sister, whoever +she was, never appeared in public without the other three, we are not +quite clear that the neighbours ever would have discovered the real +Mrs. Robinson, but for a circumstance of the most gratifying description, +which <i>will</i> happen occasionally in the best-regulated families. +Three quarter-days elapsed, and the row, on whom a new light appeared +to have been bursting for some time, began to speak with a sort of implied +confidence on the subject, and to wonder how Mrs. Robinson—the +youngest Miss Willis that was—got on; and servants might be seen +running up the steps, about nine or ten o’clock every morning, +with ‘Missis’s compliments, and wishes to know how Mrs. +Robinson finds herself this morning?’ And the answer always +was, ‘Mrs. Robinson’s compliments, and she’s in very +good spirits, and doesn’t find herself any worse.’ +The piano was heard no longer, the knitting-needles were laid aside, +drawing was neglected, and mantua-making and millinery, on the smallest +scale imaginable, appeared to have become the favourite amusement of +the whole family. The parlour wasn’t quite as tidy as it +used to be, and if you called in the morning, you would see lying on +a table, with an old newspaper carelessly thrown over them, two or three +particularly small caps, rather larger than if they had been made for +a moderate-sized doll, with a small piece of lace, in the shape of a +horse-shoe, let in behind: or perhaps a white robe, not very large in +circumference, but very much out of proportion in point of length, with +a little tucker round the top, and a frill round the bottom; and once +when we called, we saw a long white roller, with a kind of blue margin +down each side, the probable use of which, we were at a loss to conjecture. +Then we fancied that Dr. Dawson, the surgeon, &c., who displays +a large lamp with a different colour in every pane of glass, at the +corner of the row, began to be knocked up at night oftener than he used +to be; and once we were very much alarmed by hearing a hackney-coach +stop at Mrs. Robinson’s door, at half-past two o’clock in +the morning, out of which there emerged a fat old woman, in a cloak +and night-cap, with a bundle in one hand, and a pair of pattens in the +other, who looked as if she had been suddenly knocked up out of bed +for some very special purpose.</p> +<p>When we got up in the morning we saw that the knocker was tied up +in an old white kid glove; and we, in our innocence (we were in a state +of bachelorship then), wondered what on earth it all meant, until we +heard the eldest Miss Willis, <i>in propriâ personâ</i> +say, with great dignity, in answer to the next inquiry, <i>‘My</i> +compliments, and Mrs. Robinson’s doing as well as can be expected, +and the little girl thrives wonderfully.’ And then, in common +with the rest of the row, our curiosity was satisfied, and we began +to wonder it had never occurred to us what the matter was, before.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A great event has recently occurred in our parish. A contest +of paramount interest has just terminated; a parochial convulsion has +taken place. It has been succeeded by a glorious triumph, which +the country—or at least the parish—it is all the same—will +long remember. We have had an election; an election for beadle. +The supporters of the old beadle system have been defeated in their +stronghold, and the advocates of the great new beadle principles have +achieved a proud victory.</p> +<p>Our parish, which, like all other parishes, is a little world of +its own, has long been divided into two parties, whose contentions, +slumbering for a while, have never failed to burst forth with unabated +vigour, on any occasion on which they could by possibility be renewed. +Watching-rates, lighting-rates, paving-rates, sewer’s-rates, church-rates, +poor’s-rates—all sorts of rates, have been in their turns +the subjects of a grand struggle; and as to questions of patronage, +the asperity and determination with which they have been contested is +scarcely credible.</p> +<p>The leader of the official party—the steady advocate of the +churchwardens, and the unflinching supporter of the overseers—is +an old gentleman who lives in our row. He owns some half a dozen +houses in it, and always walks on the opposite side of the way, so that +he may be able to take in a view of the whole of his property at once. +He is a tall, thin, bony man, with an interrogative nose, and little +restless perking eyes, which appear to have been given him for the sole +purpose of peeping into other people’s affairs with. He +is deeply impressed with the importance of our parish business, and +prides himself, not a little, on his style of addressing the parishioners +in vestry assembled. His views are rather confined than extensive; +his principles more narrow than liberal. He has been heard to +declaim very loudly in favour of the liberty of the press, and advocates +the repeal of the stamp duty on newspapers, because the daily journals +who now have a monopoly of the public, never give <i>verbatim</i> reports +of vestry meetings. He would not appear egotistical for the world, +but at the same time he must say, that there are <i>speeches</i>—that +celebrated speech of his own, on the emoluments of the sexton, and the +duties of the office, for instance—which might be communicated +to the public, greatly to their improvement and advantage.</p> +<p>His great opponent in public life is Captain Purday, the old naval +officer on half-pay, to whom we have already introduced our readers. +The captain being a determined opponent of the constituted authorities, +whoever they may chance to be, and our other friend being their steady +supporter, with an equal disregard of their individual merits, it will +readily be supposed, that occasions for their coming into direct collision +are neither few nor far between. They divided the vestry fourteen +times on a motion for heating the church with warm water instead of +coals: and made speeches about liberty and expenditure, and prodigality +and hot water, which threw the whole parish into a state of excitement. +Then the captain, when he was on the visiting committee, and his opponent +overseer, brought forward certain distinct and specific charges relative +to the management of the workhouse, boldly expressed his total want +of confidence in the existing authorities, and moved for ‘a copy +of the recipe by which the paupers’ soup was prepared, together +with any documents relating thereto.’ This the overseer +steadily resisted; he fortified himself by precedent, appealed to the +established usage, and declined to produce the papers, on the ground +of the injury that would be done to the public service, if documents +of a strictly private nature, passing between the master of the workhouse +and the cook, were to be thus dragged to light on the motion of any +individual member of the vestry. The motion was lost by a majority +of two; and then the captain, who never allows himself to be defeated, +moved for a committee of inquiry into the whole subject. The affair +grew serious: the question was discussed at meeting after meeting, and +vestry after vestry; speeches were made, attacks repudiated, personal +defiances exchanged, explanations received, and the greatest excitement +prevailed, until at last, just as the question was going to be finally +decided, the vestry found that somehow or other, they had become entangled +in a point of form, from which it was impossible to escape with propriety. +So, the motion was dropped, and everybody looked extremely important, +and seemed quite satisfied with the meritorious nature of the whole +proceeding.</p> +<p>This was the state of affairs in our parish a week or two since, +when Simmons, the beadle, suddenly died. The lamented deceased +had over-exerted himself, a day or two previously, in conveying an aged +female, highly intoxicated, to the strong room of the work-house. +The excitement thus occasioned, added to a severe cold, which this indefatigable +officer had caught in his capacity of director of the parish engine, +by inadvertently playing over himself instead of a fire, proved too +much for a constitution already enfeebled by age; and the intelligence +was conveyed to the Board one evening that Simmons had died, and left +his respects.</p> +<p>The breath was scarcely out of the body of the deceased functionary, +when the field was filled with competitors for the vacant office, each +of whom rested his claims to public support, entirely on the number +and extent of his family, as if the office of beadle were originally +instituted as an encouragement for the propagation of the human species. +‘Bung for Beadle. Five small children!’—‘Hopkins +for Beadle. Seven small children!!’—‘Timkins +for Beadle. Nine small children!!!’ Such were the +placards in large black letters on a white ground, which were plentifully +pasted on the walls, and posted in the windows of the principal shops. +Timkins’s success was considered certain: several mothers of families +half promised their votes, and the nine small children would have run +over the course, but for the production of another placard, announcing +the appearance of a still more meritorious candidate. ‘Spruggins +for Beadle. Ten small children (two of them twins), and a wife!!!’ +There was no resisting this; ten small children would have been almost +irresistible in themselves, without the twins, but the touching parenthesis +about that interesting production of nature, and the still more touching +allusion to Mrs. Spruggins, must ensure success. Spruggins was +the favourite at once, and the appearance of his lady, as she went about +to solicit votes (which encouraged confident hopes of a still further +addition to the house of Spruggins at no remote period), increased the +general prepossession in his favour. The other candidates, Bung +alone excepted, resigned in despair. The day of election was fixed; +and the canvass proceeded with briskness and perseverance on both sides.</p> +<p>The members of the vestry could not be supposed to escape the contagious +excitement inseparable from the occasion. The majority of the +lady inhabitants of the parish declared at once for Spruggins; and the +<i>quondam</i> overseer took the same side, on the ground that men with +large families always had been elected to the office, and that although +he must admit, that, in other respects, Spruggins was the least qualified +candidate of the two, still it was an old practice, and he saw no reason +why an old practice should be departed from. This was enough for +the captain. He immediately sided with Bung, canvassed for him +personally in all directions, wrote squibs on Spruggins, and got his +butcher to skewer them up on conspicuous joints in his shop-front; frightened +his neighbour, the old lady, into a palpitation of the heart, by his +awful denunciations of Spruggins’s party; and bounced in and out, +and up and down, and backwards and forwards, until all the sober inhabitants +of the parish thought it inevitable that he must die of a brain fever, +long before the election began.</p> +<p>The day of election arrived. It was no longer an individual +struggle, but a party contest between the ins and outs. The question +was, whether the withering influence of the overseers, the domination +of the churchwardens, and the blighting despotism of the vestry-clerk, +should be allowed to render the election of beadle a form—a nullity: +whether they should impose a vestry-elected beadle on the parish, to +do their bidding and forward their views, or whether the parishioners, +fearlessly asserting their undoubted rights, should elect an independent +beadle of their own.</p> +<p>The nomination was fixed to take place in the vestry, but so great +was the throng of anxious spectators, that it was found necessary to +adjourn to the church, where the ceremony commenced with due solemnity. +The appearance of the churchwardens and overseers, and the ex-churchwardens +and ex-overseers, with Spruggins in the rear, excited general attention. +Spruggins was a little thin man, in rusty black, with a long pale face, +and a countenance expressive of care and fatigue, which might either +be attributed to the extent of his family or the anxiety of his feelings. +His opponent appeared in a cast-off coat of the captain’s—a +blue coat with bright buttons; white trousers, and that description +of shoes familiarly known by the appellation of ‘high-lows.’ +There was a serenity in the open countenance of Bung—a kind of +moral dignity in his confident air—an ‘I wish you may get +it’ sort of expression in his eye—which infused animation +into his supporters, and evidently dispirited his opponents.</p> +<p>The ex-churchwarden rose to propose Thomas Spruggins for beadle. +He had known him long. He had had his eye upon him closely for +years; he had watched him with twofold vigilance for months. (A +parishioner here suggested that this might be termed ‘taking a +double sight,’ but the observation was drowned in loud cries of +‘Order!’) He would repeat that he had had his eye +upon him for years, and this he would say, that a more well-conducted, +a more well-behaved, a more sober, a more quiet man, with a more well-regulated +mind, he had never met with. A man with a larger family he had +never known (cheers). The parish required a man who could be depended +on (‘Hear!’ from the Spruggins side, answered by ironical +cheers from the Bung party). Such a man he now proposed (‘No,’ +‘Yes’). He would not allude to individuals (the ex-churchwarden +continued, in the celebrated negative style adopted by great speakers). +He would not advert to a gentleman who had once held a high rank in +the service of his majesty; he would not say, that that gentleman was +no gentleman; he would not assert, that that man was no man; he would +not say, that he was a turbulent parishioner; he would not say, that +he had grossly misbehaved himself, not only on this, but on all former +occasions; he would not say, that he was one of those discontented and +treasonable spirits, who carried confusion and disorder wherever they +went; he would not say, that he harboured in his heart envy, and hatred, +and malice, and all uncharitableness. No! He wished to have +everything comfortable and pleasant, and therefore, he would say—nothing +about him (cheers).</p> +<p>The captain replied in a similar parliamentary style. He would +not say, he was astonished at the speech they had just heard; he would +not say, he was disgusted (cheers). He would not retort the epithets +which had been hurled against him (renewed cheering); he would not allude +to men once in office, but now happily out of it, who had mismanaged +the workhouse, ground the paupers, diluted the beer, slack-baked the +bread, boned the meat, heightened the work, and lowered the soup (tremendous +cheers). He would not ask what such men deserved (a voice, ‘Nothing +a-day, and find themselves!’). He would not say, that one +burst of general indignation should drive them from the parish they +polluted with their presence (‘Give it him!’). He +would not allude to the unfortunate man who had been proposed—he +would not say, as the vestry’s tool, but as Beadle. He would +not advert to that individual’s family; he would not say, that +nine children, twins, and a wife, were very bad examples for pauper +imitation (loud cheers). He would not advert in detail to the +qualifications of Bung. The man stood before him, and he would +not say in his presence, what he might be disposed to say of him, if +he were absent. (Here Mr. Bung telegraphed to a friend near him, +under cover of his hat, by contracting his left eye, and applying his +right thumb to the tip of his nose). It had been objected to Bung +that he had only five children (‘Hear, hear!’ from the opposition). +Well; he had yet to learn that the legislature had affixed any precise +amount of infantine qualification to the office of beadle; but taking +it for granted that an extensive family were a great requisite, he entreated +them to look to facts, and compare <i>data</i>, about which there could +be no mistake. Bung was 35 years of age. Spruggins—of +whom he wished to speak with all possible respect—was 50. +Was it not more than possible—was it not very probable—that +by the time Bung attained the latter age, he might see around him a +family, even exceeding in number and extent, that to which Spruggins +at present laid claim (deafening cheers and waving of handkerchiefs)? +The captain concluded, amidst loud applause, by calling upon the parishioners +to sound the tocsin, rush to the poll, free themselves from dictation, +or be slaves for ever.</p> +<p>On the following day the polling began, and we never have had such +a bustle in our parish since we got up our famous anti-slavery petition, +which was such an important one, that the House of Commons ordered it +to be printed, on the motion of the member for the district. The +captain engaged two hackney-coaches and a cab for Bung’s people—the +cab for the drunken voters, and the two coaches for the old ladies, +the greater portion of whom, owing to the captain’s impetuosity, +were driven up to the poll and home again, before they recovered from +their flurry sufficiently to know, with any degree of clearness, what +they had been doing. The opposite party wholly neglected these +precautions, and the consequence was, that a great many ladies who were +walking leisurely up to the church—for it was a very hot day—to +vote for Spruggins, were artfully decoyed into the coaches, and voted +for Bung. The captain’s arguments, too, had produced considerable +effect: the attempted influence of the vestry produced a greater. +A threat of exclusive dealing was clearly established against the vestry-clerk—a +case of heartless and profligate atrocity. It appeared that the +delinquent had been in the habit of purchasing six penn’orth of +muffins, weekly, from an old woman who rents a small house in the parish, +and resides among the original settlers; on her last weekly visit, a +message was conveyed to her through the medium of the cook, couched +in mysterious terms, but indicating with sufficient clearness, that +the vestry-clerk’s appetite for muffins, in future, depended entirely +on her vote on the beadleship. This was sufficient: the stream +had been turning previously, and the impulse thus administered directed +its final course. The Bung party ordered one shilling’s-worth +of muffins weekly for the remainder of the old woman’s natural +life; the parishioners were loud in their exclamations; and the fate +of Spruggins was sealed.</p> +<p>It was in vain that the twins were exhibited in dresses of the same +pattern, and night-caps, to match, at the church door: the boy in Mrs. +Spruggins’s right arm, and the girl in her left—even Mrs. +Spruggins herself failed to be an object of sympathy any longer. +The majority attained by Bung on the gross poll was four hundred and +twenty-eight, and the cause of the parishioners triumphed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE BROKER’S MAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The excitement of the late election has subsided, and our parish +being once again restored to a state of comparative tranquillity, we +are enabled to devote our attention to those parishioners who take little +share in our party contests or in the turmoil and bustle of public life. +And we feel sincere pleasure in acknowledging here, that in collecting +materials for this task we have been greatly assisted by Mr. Bung himself, +who has imposed on us a debt of obligation which we fear we can never +repay. The life of this gentleman has been one of a very chequered +description: he has undergone transitions—not from grave to gay, +for he never was grave—not from lively to severe, for severity +forms no part of his disposition; his fluctuations have been between +poverty in the extreme, and poverty modified, or, to use his own emphatic +language, ‘between nothing to eat and just half enough.’ +He is not, as he forcibly remarks, ‘one of those fortunate men +who, if they were to dive under one side of a barge stark-naked, would +come up on the other with a new suit of clothes on, and a ticket for +soup in the waistcoat-pocket:’ neither is he one of those, whose +spirit has been broken beyond redemption by misfortune and want. +He is just one of the careless, good-for-nothing, happy fellows, who +float, cork-like, on the surface, for the world to play at hockey with: +knocked here, and there, and everywhere: now to the right, then to the +left, again up in the air, and anon to the bottom, but always reappearing +and bounding with the stream buoyantly and merrily along. Some +few months before he was prevailed upon to stand a contested election +for the office of beadle, necessity attached him to the service of a +broker; and on the opportunities he here acquired of ascertaining the +condition of most of the poorer inhabitants of the parish, his patron, +the captain, first grounded his claims to public support. Chance +threw the man in our way a short time since. We were, in the first +instance, attracted by his prepossessing impudence at the election; +we were not surprised, on further acquaintance, to find him a shrewd, +knowing fellow, with no inconsiderable power of observation; and, after +conversing with him a little, were somewhat struck (as we dare say our +readers have frequently been in other cases) with the power some men +seem to have, not only of sympathising with, but to all appearance of +understanding feelings to which they themselves are entire strangers. +We had been expressing to the new functionary our surprise that he should +ever have served in the capacity to which we have just adverted, when +we gradually led him into one or two professional anecdotes. As +we are induced to think, on reflection, that they will tell better in +nearly his own words, than with any attempted embellishments of ours, +we will at once entitle them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>MR BUNG’S NARRATIVE</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘It’s very true, as you say, sir,’ Mr. Bung commenced, +‘that a broker’s man’s is not a life to be envied; +and in course you know as well as I do, though you don’t say it, +that people hate and scout ’em because they’re the ministers +of wretchedness, like, to poor people. But what could I do, sir? +The thing was no worse because I did it, instead of somebody else; and +if putting me in possession of a house would put me in possession of +three and sixpence a day, and levying a distress on another man’s +goods would relieve my distress and that of my family, it can’t +be expected but what I’d take the job and go through with it. +I never liked it, God knows; I always looked out for something else, +and the moment I got other work to do, I left it. If there is +anything wrong in being the agent in such matters—not the principal, +mind you—I’m sure the business, to a beginner like I was, +at all events, carries its own punishment along with it. I wished +again and again that the people would only blow me up, or pitch into +me—that I wouldn’t have minded, it’s all in my way; +but it’s the being shut up by yourself in one room for five days, +without so much as an old newspaper to look at, or anything to see out +o’ the winder but the roofs and chimneys at the back of the house, +or anything to listen to, but the ticking, perhaps, of an old Dutch +clock, the sobbing of the missis, now and then, the low talking of friends +in the next room, who speak in whispers, lest “the man” +should overhear them, or perhaps the occasional opening of the door, +as a child peeps in to look at you, and then runs half-frightened away—it’s +all this, that makes you feel sneaking somehow, and ashamed of yourself; +and then, if it’s wintertime, they just give you fire enough to +make you think you’d like more, and bring in your grub as if they +wished it ’ud choke you—as I dare say they do, for the matter +of that, most heartily. If they’re very civil, they make +you up a bed in the room at night, and if they don’t, your master +sends one in for you; but there you are, without being washed or shaved +all the time, shunned by everybody, and spoken to by no one, unless +some one comes in at dinner-time, and asks you whether you want any +more, in a tone as much to say, “I hope you don’t,” +or, in the evening, to inquire whether you wouldn’t rather have +a candle, after you’ve been sitting in the dark half the night. +When I was left in this way, I used to sit, think, think, thinking, +till I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house copper with the +lid on; but I believe the old brokers’ men who are regularly trained +to it, never think at all. I have heard some on ’em say, +indeed, that they don’t know how!</p> +<p>‘I put in a good many distresses in my time (continued Mr. +Bung), and in course I wasn’t long in finding, that some people +are not as much to be pitied as others are, and that people with good +incomes who get into difficulties, which they keep patching up day after +day and week after week, get so used to these sort of things in time, +that at last they come scarcely to feel them at all. I remember +the very first place I was put in possession of, was a gentleman’s +house in this parish here, that everybody would suppose couldn’t +help having money if he tried. I went with old Fixem, my old master, +’bout half arter eight in the morning; rang the area-bell; servant +in livery opened the door: “Governor at home?”—“Yes, +he is,” says the man; “but he’s breakfasting just +now.” “Never mind,” says Fixem, “just +you tell him there’s a gentleman here, as wants to speak to him +partickler.” So the servant he opens his eyes, and stares +about him all ways—looking for the gentleman, as it struck me, +for I don’t think anybody but a man as was stone-blind would mistake +Fixem for one; and as for me, I was as seedy as a cheap cowcumber. +Hows’ever, he turns round, and goes to the breakfast-parlour, +which was a little snug sort of room at the end of the passage, and +Fixem (as we always did in that profession), without waiting to be announced, +walks in arter him, and before the servant could get out, “Please, +sir, here’s a man as wants to speak to you,” looks in at +the door as familiar and pleasant as may be. “Who the devil +are you, and how dare you walk into a gentleman’s house without +leave?” says the master, as fierce as a bull in fits. “My +name,” says Fixem, winking to the master to send the servant away, +and putting the warrant into his hands folded up like a note, “My +name’s Smith,” says he, “and I called from Johnson’s +about that business of Thompson’s.”—“Oh,” +says the other, quite down on him directly, “How <i>is</i> Thompson?” +says he; “Pray sit down, Mr. Smith: John, leave the room.” +Out went the servant; and the gentleman and Fixem looked at one another +till they couldn’t look any longer, and then they varied the amusements +by looking at me, who had been standing on the mat all this time. +“Hundred and fifty pounds, I see,” said the gentleman at +last. “Hundred and fifty pound,” said Fixem, “besides +cost of levy, sheriff’s poundage, and all other incidental expenses.”—“Um,” +says the gentleman, “I shan’t be able to settle this before +to-morrow afternoon.”—“Very sorry; but I shall be +obliged to leave my man here till then,” replies Fixem, pretending +to look very miserable over it. “That’s very unfort’nate,” +says the gentleman, “for I have got a large party here to-night, +and I’m ruined if those fellows of mine get an inkling of the +matter—just step here, Mr. Smith,” says he, after a short +pause. So Fixem walks with him up to the window, and after a good +deal of whispering, and a little chinking of suverins, and looking at +me, he comes back and says, “Bung, you’re a handy fellow, +and very honest I know. This gentleman wants an assistant to clean +the plate and wait at table to-day, and if you’re not particularly +engaged,” says old Fixem, grinning like mad, and shoving a couple +of suverins into my hand, “he’ll be very glad to avail himself +of your services.” Well, I laughed: and the gentleman laughed, +and we all laughed; and I went home and cleaned myself, leaving Fixem +there, and when I went back, Fixem went away, and I polished up the +plate, and waited at table, and gammoned the servants, and nobody had +the least idea I was in possession, though it very nearly came out after +all; for one of the last gentlemen who remained, came down-stairs into +the hall where I was sitting pretty late at night, and putting half-a-crown +into my hand, says, “Here, my man,” says he, “run +and get me a coach, will you?” I thought it was a do, to +get me out of the house, and was just going to say so, sulkily enough, +when the gentleman (who was up to everything) came running down-stairs, +as if he was in great anxiety. “Bung,” says he, pretending +to be in a consuming passion. “Sir,” says I. +“Why the devil an’t you looking after that plate?”—“I +was just going to send him for a coach for me,” says the other +gentleman. “And I was just a-going to say,” says I—“Anybody +else, my dear fellow,” interrupts the master of the house, pushing +me down the passage to get out of the way—“anybody else; +but I have put this man in possession of all the plate and valuables, +and I cannot allow him on any consideration whatever, to leave the house. +Bung, you scoundrel, go and count those forks in the breakfast-parlour +instantly.” You may be sure I went laughing pretty hearty +when I found it was all right. The money was paid next day, with +the addition of something else for myself, and that was the best job +that I (and I suspect old Fixem too) ever got in that line.</p> +<p>‘But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after all,’ +resumed Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look and flash air, with +which he had repeated the previous anecdote—‘and I’m +sorry to say, it’s the side one sees very, very seldom, in comparison +with the dark one. The civility which money will purchase, is +rarely extended to those who have none; and there’s a consolation +even in being able to patch up one difficulty, to make way for another, +to which very poor people are strangers. I was once put into a +house down George’s-yard—that little dirty court at the +back of the gas-works; and I never shall forget the misery of them people, +dear me! It was a distress for half a year’s rent—two +pound ten, I think. There was only two rooms in the house, and +as there was no passage, the lodgers up-stairs always went through the +room of the people of the house, as they passed in and out; and every +time they did so—which, on the average, was about four times every +quarter of an hour—they blowed up quite frightful: for their things +had been seized too, and included in the inventory. There was +a little piece of enclosed dust in front of the house, with a cinder-path +leading up to the door, and an open rain-water butt on one side. +A dirty striped curtain, on a very slack string, hung in the window, +and a little triangular bit of broken looking-glass rested on the sill +inside. I suppose it was meant for the people’s use, but +their appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, that I’m certain +they never could have plucked up courage to look themselves in the face +a second time, if they survived the fright of doing so once. There +was two or three chairs, that might have been worth, in their best days, +from eightpence to a shilling a-piece; a small deal table, an old corner +cupboard with nothing in it, and one of those bedsteads which turn up +half way, and leave the bottom legs sticking out for you to knock your +head against, or hang your hat upon; no bed, no bedding. There +was an old sack, by way of rug, before the fireplace, and four or five +children were grovelling about, among the sand on the floor. The +execution was only put in, to get ’em out of the house, for there +was nothing to take to pay the expenses; and here I stopped for three +days, though that was a mere form too: for, in course, I knew, and we +all knew, they could never pay the money. In one of the chairs, +by the side of the place where the fire ought to have been, was an old +’ooman—the ugliest and dirtiest I ever see—who sat +rocking herself backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, without +once stopping, except for an instant now and then, to clasp together +the withered hands which, with these exceptions, she kept constantly +rubbing upon her knees, just raising and depressing her fingers convulsively, +in time to the rocking of the chair. On the other side sat the +mother with an infant in her arms, which cried till it cried itself +to sleep, and when it ’woke, cried till it cried itself off again. +The old ’ooman’s voice I never heard: she seemed completely +stupefied; and as to the mother’s, it would have been better if +she had been so too, for misery had changed her to a devil. If +you had heard how she cursed the little naked children as was rolling +on the floor, and seen how savagely she struck the infant when it cried +with hunger, you’d have shuddered as much as I did. There +they remained all the time: the children ate a morsel of bread once +or twice, and I gave ’em best part of the dinners my missis brought +me, but the woman ate nothing; they never even laid on the bedstead, +nor was the room swept or cleaned all the time. The neighbours +were all too poor themselves to take any notice of ’em, but from +what I could make out from the abuse of the woman up-stairs, it seemed +the husband had been transported a few weeks before. When the +time was up, the landlord and old Fixem too, got rather frightened about +the family, and so they made a stir about it, and had ’em taken +to the workhouse. They sent the sick couch for the old ’ooman, +and Simmons took the children away at night. The old ’ooman +went into the infirmary, and very soon died. The children are +all in the house to this day, and very comfortable they are in comparison. +As to the mother, there was no taming her at all. She had been +a quiet, hard-working woman, I believe, but her misery had actually +drove her wild; so after she had been sent to the house of correction +half-a-dozen times, for throwing inkstands at the overseers, blaspheming +the churchwardens, and smashing everybody as come near her, she burst +a blood-vessel one mornin’, and died too; and a happy release +it was, both for herself and the old paupers, male and female, which +she used to tip over in all directions, as if they were so many skittles, +and she the ball.</p> +<p>‘Now this was bad enough,’ resumed Mr. Bung, taking a +half-step towards the door, as if to intimate that he had nearly concluded. +‘This was bad enough, but there was a sort of quiet misery—if +you understand what I mean by that, sir—about a lady at one house +I was put into, as touched me a good deal more. It doesn’t +matter where it was exactly: indeed, I’d rather not say, but it +was the same sort o’ job. I went with Fixem in the usual +way—there was a year’s rent in arrear; a very small servant-girl +opened the door, and three or four fine-looking little children was +in the front parlour we were shown into, which was very clean, but very +scantily furnished, much like the children themselves. “Bung,” +says Fixem to me, in a low voice, when we were left alone for a minute, +“I know something about this here family, and my opinion is, it’s +no go.” “Do you think they can’t settle?” +says I, quite anxiously; for I liked the looks of them children. +Fixem shook his head, and was just about to reply, when the door opened, +and in come a lady, as white as ever I see any one in my days, except +about the eyes, which were red with crying. She walked in, as +firm as I could have done; shut the door carefully after her, and sat +herself down with a face as composed as if it was made of stone. +“What is the matter, gentlemen?” says she, in a surprisin’ +steady voice. “<i>Is</i> this an execution?” +“It is, mum,” says Fixem. The lady looked at him as +steady as ever: she didn’t seem to have understood him. +“It is, mum,” says Fixem again; “this is my warrant +of distress, mum,” says he, handing it over as polite as if it +was a newspaper which had been bespoke arter the next gentleman.</p> +<p>‘The lady’s lip trembled as she took the printed paper. +She cast her eye over it, and old Fixem began to explain the form, but +saw she wasn’t reading it, plain enough, poor thing. “Oh, +my God!” says she, suddenly a-bursting out crying, letting the +warrant fall, and hiding her face in her hands. “Oh, my +God! what will become of us!” The noise she made, brought +in a young lady of about nineteen or twenty, who, I suppose, had been +a-listening at the door, and who had got a little boy in her arms: she +sat him down in the lady’s lap, without speaking, and she hugged +the poor little fellow to her bosom, and cried over him, till even old +Fixem put on his blue spectacles to hide the two tears, that was a-trickling +down, one on each side of his dirty face. “Now, dear ma,” +says the young lady, “you know how much you have borne. +For all our sakes—for pa’s sake,” says she, “don’t +give way to this!”—“No, no, I won’t!” +says the lady, gathering herself up, hastily, and drying her eyes; “I +am very foolish, but I’m better now—much better.” +And then she roused herself up, went with us into every room while we +took the inventory, opened all the drawers of her own accord, sorted +the children’s little clothes to make the work easier; and, except +doing everything in a strange sort of hurry, seemed as calm and composed +as if nothing had happened. When we came down-stairs again, she +hesitated a minute or two, and at last says, “Gentlemen,” +says she, “I am afraid I have done wrong, and perhaps it may bring +you into trouble. I secreted just now,” she says, “the +only trinket I have left in the world—here it is.” +So she lays down on the table a little miniature mounted in gold. +“It’s a miniature,” she says, “of my poor dear +father! I little thought once, that I should ever thank God for +depriving me of the original, but I do, and have done for years back, +most fervently. Take it away, sir,” she says, “it’s +a face that never turned from me in sickness and distress, and I can +hardly bear to turn from it now, when, God knows, I suffer both in no +ordinary degree.” I couldn’t say nothing, but I raised +my head from the inventory which I was filling up, and looked at Fixem; +the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so I ran my pen through the +“<i>Mini</i>” I had just written, and left the miniature +on the table.</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, to make short of a long story, I was left in possession, +and in possession I remained; and though I was an ignorant man, and +the master of the house a clever one, I saw what he never did, but what +he would give worlds now (if he had ’em) to have seen in time. +I saw, sir, that his wife was wasting away, beneath cares of which she +never complained, and griefs she never told. I saw that she was +dying before his eyes; I knew that one exertion from him might have +saved her, but he never made it. I don’t blame him: I don’t +think he <i>could</i> rouse himself. She had so long anticipated +all his wishes, and acted for him, that he was a lost man when left +to himself. I used to think when I caught sight of her, in the +clothes she used to wear, which looked shabby even upon her, and would +have been scarcely decent on any one else, that if I was a gentleman +it would wring my very heart to see the woman that was a smart and merry +girl when I courted her, so altered through her love for me. Bitter +cold and damp weather it was, yet, though her dress was thin, and her +shoes none of the best, during the whole three days, from morning to +night, she was out of doors running about to try and raise the money. +The money <i>was</i> raised and the execution was paid out. The +whole family crowded into the room where I was, when the money arrived. +The father was quite happy as the inconvenience was removed—I +dare say he didn’t know how; the children looked merry and cheerful +again; the eldest girl was bustling about, making preparations for the +first comfortable meal they had had since the distress was put in; and +the mother looked pleased to see them all so. But if ever I saw +death in a woman’s face, I saw it in hers that night.</p> +<p>‘I was right, sir,’ continued Mr. Bung, hurriedly passing +his coat-sleeve over his face; ‘the family grew more prosperous, +and good fortune arrived. But it was too late. Those children +are motherless now, and their father would give up all he has since +gained—house, home, goods, money: all that he has, or ever can +have, to restore the wife he has lost.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—THE LADIES’ SOCIETIES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Our Parish is very prolific in ladies’ charitable institutions. +In winter, when wet feet are common, and colds not scarce, we have the +ladies’ soup distribution society, the ladies’ coal distribution +society, and the ladies’ blanket distribution society; in summer, +when stone fruits flourish and stomach aches prevail, we have the ladies’ +dispensary, and the ladies’ sick visitation committee; and all +the year round we have the ladies’ child’s examination society, +the ladies’ bible and prayer-book circulation society, and the +ladies’ childbed-linen monthly loan society. The two latter +are decidedly the most important; whether they are productive of more +benefit than the rest, it is not for us to say, but we can take upon +ourselves to affirm, with the utmost solemnity, that they create a greater +stir and more bustle, than all the others put together.</p> +<p>We should be disposed to affirm, on the first blush of the matter, +that the bible and prayer-book society is not so popular as the childbed-linen +society; the bible and prayer-book society has, however, considerably +increased in importance within the last year or two, having derived +some adventitious aid from the factious opposition of the child’s +examination society; which factious opposition originated in manner +following:- When the young curate was popular, and all the unmarried +ladies in the parish took a serious turn, the charity children all at +once became objects of peculiar and especial interest. The three +Miss Browns (enthusiastic admirers of the curate) taught, and exercised, +and examined, and re-examined the unfortunate children, until the boys +grew pale, and the girls consumptive with study and fatigue. The +three Miss Browns stood it out very well, because they relieved each +other; but the children, having no relief at all, exhibited decided +symptoms of weariness and care. The unthinking part of the parishioners +laughed at all this, but the more reflective portion of the inhabitants +abstained from expressing any opinion on the subject until that of the +curate had been clearly ascertained.</p> +<p>The opportunity was not long wanting. The curate preached a +charity sermon on behalf of the charity school, and in the charity sermon +aforesaid, expatiated in glowing terms on the praiseworthy and indefatigable +exertions of certain estimable individuals. Sobs were heard to +issue from the three Miss Browns’ pew; the pew-opener of the division +was seen to hurry down the centre aisle to the vestry door, and to return +immediately, bearing a glass of water in her hand. A low moaning +ensued; two more pew-openers rushed to the spot, and the three Miss +Browns, each supported by a pew-opener, were led out of the church, +and led in again after the lapse of five minutes with white pocket-handkerchiefs +to their eyes, as if they had been attending a funeral in the churchyard +adjoining. If any doubt had for a moment existed, as to whom the +allusion was intended to apply, it was at once removed. The wish +to enlighten the charity children became universal, and the three Miss +Browns were unanimously besought to divide the school into classes, +and to assign each class to the superintendence of two young ladies.</p> +<p>A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little patronage is +more so; the three Miss Browns appointed all the old maids, and carefully +excluded the young ones. Maiden aunts triumphed, mammas were reduced +to the lowest depths of despair, and there is no telling in what act +of violence the general indignation against the three Miss Browns might +have vented itself, had not a perfectly providential occurrence changed +the tide of public feeling. Mrs. Johnson Parker, the mother of +seven extremely fine girls—all unmarried—hastily reported +to several other mammas of several other unmarried families, that five +old men, six old women, and children innumerable, in the free seats +near her pew, were in the habit of coming to church every Sunday, without +either bible or prayer-book. Was this to be borne in a civilised +country? Could such things be tolerated in a Christian land? +Never! A ladies’ bible and prayer-book distribution society +was instantly formed: president, Mrs. Johnson Parker; treasurers, auditors, +and secretary, the Misses Johnson Parker: subscriptions were entered +into, books were bought, all the free-seat people provided therewith, +and when the first lesson was given out, on the first Sunday succeeding +these events, there was such a dropping of books, and rustling of leaves, +that it was morally impossible to hear one word of the service for five +minutes afterwards.</p> +<p>The three Miss Browns, and their party, saw the approaching danger, +and endeavoured to avert it by ridicule and sarcasm. Neither the +old men nor the old women could read their books, now they had got them, +said the three Miss Browns. Never mind; they could learn, replied +Mrs. Johnson Parker. The children couldn’t read either, +suggested the three Miss Browns. No matter; they could be taught, +retorted Mrs. Johnson Parker. A balance of parties took place. +The Miss Browns publicly examined—popular feeling inclined to +the child’s examination society. The Miss Johnson Parkers +publicly distributed—a reaction took place in favour of the prayer-book +distribution. A feather would have turned the scale, and a feather +did turn it. A missionary returned from the West Indies; he was +to be presented to the Dissenters’ Missionary Society on his marriage +with a wealthy widow. Overtures were made to the Dissenters by +the Johnson Parkers. Their object was the same, and why not have +a joint meeting of the two societies? The proposition was accepted. +The meeting was duly heralded by public announcement, and the room was +crowded to suffocation. The Missionary appeared on the platform; +he was hailed with enthusiasm. He repeated a dialogue he had heard +between two negroes, behind a hedge, on the subject of distribution +societies; the approbation was tumultuous. He gave an imitation +of the two negroes in broken English; the roof was rent with applause. +From that period we date (with one trifling exception) a daily increase +in the popularity of the distribution society, and an increase of popularity, +which the feeble and impotent opposition of the examination party, has +only tended to augment.</p> +<p>Now, the great points about the childbed-linen monthly loan society +are, that it is less dependent on the fluctuations of public opinion +than either the distribution or the child’s examination; and that, +come what may, there is never any lack of objects on which to exercise +its benevolence. Our parish is a very populous one, and, if anything, +contributes, we should be disposed to say, rather more than its due +share to the aggregate amount of births in the metropolis and its environs. +The consequence is, that the monthly loan society flourishes, and invests +its members with a most enviable amount of bustling patronage. +The society (whose only notion of dividing time, would appear to be +its allotment into months) holds monthly tea-drinkings, at which the +monthly report is received, a secretary elected for the month ensuing, +and such of the monthly boxes as may not happen to be out on loan for +the month, carefully examined.</p> +<p>We were never present at one of these meetings, from all of which +it is scarcely necessary to say, gentlemen are carefully excluded; but +Mr. Bung has been called before the board once or twice, and we have +his authority for stating, that its proceedings are conducted with great +order and regularity: not more than four members being allowed to speak +at one time on any pretence whatever. The regular committee is +composed exclusively of married ladies, but a vast number of young unmarried +ladies of from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, respectively, are +admitted as honorary members, partly because they are very useful in +replenishing the boxes, and visiting the confined; partly because it +is highly desirable that they should be initiated, at an early period, +into the more serious and matronly duties of after-life; and partly, +because prudent mammas have not unfrequently been known to turn this +circumstance to wonderfully good account in matrimonial speculations.</p> +<p>In addition to the loan of the monthly boxes (which are always painted +blue, with the name of the society in large white letters on the lid), +the society dispense occasional grants of beef-tea, and a composition +of warm beer, spice, eggs, and sugar, commonly known by the name of +‘candle,’ to its patients. And here again the services +of the honorary members are called into requisition, and most cheerfully +conceded. Deputations of twos or threes are sent out to visit +the patients, and on these occasions there is such a tasting of candle +and beef-tea, such a stirring about of little messes in tiny saucepans +on the hob, such a dressing and undressing of infants, such a tying, +and folding, and pinning; such a nursing and warming of little legs +and feet before the fire, such a delightful confusion of talking and +cooking, bustle, importance, and officiousness, as never can be enjoyed +in its full extent but on similar occasions.</p> +<p>In rivalry of these two institutions, and as a last expiring effort +to acquire parochial popularity, the child’s examination people +determined, the other day, on having a grand public examination of the +pupils; and the large school-room of the national seminary was, by and +with the consent of the parish authorities, devoted to the purpose. +Invitation circulars were forwarded to all the principal parishioners, +including, of course, the heads of the other two societies, for whose +especial behoof and edification the display was intended; and a large +audience was confidently anticipated on the occasion. The floor +was carefully scrubbed the day before, under the immediate superintendence +of the three Miss Browns; forms were placed across the room for the +accommodation of the visitors, specimens in writing were carefully selected, +and as carefully patched and touched up, until they astonished the children +who had written them, rather more than the company who read them; sums +in compound addition were rehearsed and re-rehearsed until all the children +had the totals by heart; and the preparations altogether were on the +most laborious and most comprehensive scale. The morning arrived: +the children were yellow-soaped and flannelled, and towelled, till their +faces shone again; every pupil’s hair was carefully combed into +his or her eyes, as the case might be; the girls were adorned with snow-white +tippets, and caps bound round the head by a single purple ribbon: the +necks of the elder boys were fixed into collars of startling dimensions.</p> +<p>The doors were thrown open, and the Misses Brown and Co. were discovered +in plain white muslin dresses, and caps of the same—the child’s +examination uniform. The room filled: the greetings of the company +were loud and cordial. The distributionists trembled, for their +popularity was at stake. The eldest boy fell forward, and delivered +a propitiatory address from behind his collar. It was from the +pen of Mr. Henry Brown; the applause was universal, and the Johnson +Parkers were aghast. The examination proceeded with success, and +terminated in triumph. The child’s examination society gained +a momentary victory, and the Johnson Parkers retreated in despair.</p> +<p>A secret council of the distributionists was held that night, with +Mrs. Johnson Parker in the chair, to consider of the best means of recovering +the ground they had lost in the favour of the parish. What could +be done? Another meeting! Alas! who was to attend it? +The Missionary would not do twice; and the slaves were emancipated. +A bold step must be taken. The parish must be astonished in some +way or other; but no one was able to suggest what the step should be. +At length, a very old lady was heard to mumble, in indistinct tones, +‘Exeter Hall.’ A sudden light broke in upon the meeting. +It was unanimously resolved, that a deputation of old ladies should +wait upon a celebrated orator, imploring his assistance, and the favour +of a speech; and the deputation should also wait on two or three other +imbecile old women, not resident in the parish, and entreat their attendance. +The application was successful, the meeting was held; the orator (an +Irishman) came. He talked of green isles—other shores—vast +Atlantic—bosom of the deep—Christian charity—blood +and extermination—mercy in hearts—arms in hands—altars +and homes—household gods. He wiped his eyes, he blew his +nose, and he quoted Latin. The effect was tremendous—the +Latin was a decided hit. Nobody knew exactly what it was about, +but everybody knew it must be affecting, because even the orator was +overcome. The popularity of the distribution society among the +ladies of our parish is unprecedented; and the child’s examination +is going fast to decay.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII—OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We are very fond of speculating as we walk through a street, on the +character and pursuits of the people who inhabit it; and nothing so +materially assists us in these speculations as the appearance of the +house doors. The various expressions of the human countenance +afford a beautiful and interesting study; but there is something in +the physiognomy of street-door knockers, almost as characteristic, and +nearly as infallible. Whenever we visit a man for the first time, +we contemplate the features of his knocker with the greatest curiosity, +for we well know, that between the man and his knocker, there will inevitably +be a greater or less degree of resemblance and sympathy.</p> +<p>For instance, there is one description of knocker that used to be +common enough, but which is fast passing away—a large round one, +with the jolly face of a convivial lion smiling blandly at you, as you +twist the sides of your hair into a curl or pull up your shirt-collar +while you are waiting for the door to be opened; we never saw that knocker +on the door of a churlish man—so far as our experience is concerned, +it invariably bespoke hospitality and another bottle.</p> +<p>No man ever saw this knocker on the door of a small attorney or bill-broker; +they always patronise the other lion; a heavy ferocious-looking fellow, +with a countenance expressive of savage stupidity—a sort of grand +master among the knockers, and a great favourite with the selfish and +brutal.</p> +<p>Then there is a little pert Egyptian knocker, with a long thin face, +a pinched-up nose, and a very sharp chin; he is most in vogue with your +government-office people, in light drabs and starched cravats; little +spare, priggish men, who are perfectly satisfied with their own opinions, +and consider themselves of paramount importance.</p> +<p>We were greatly troubled a few years ago, by the innovation of a +new kind of knocker, without any face at all, composed of a wreath depending +from a hand or small truncheon. A little trouble and attention, +however, enabled us to overcome this difficulty, and to reconcile the +new system to our favourite theory. You will invariably find this +knocker on the doors of cold and formal people, who always ask you why +you <i>don’t</i> come, and never say <i>do.</i></p> +<p>Everybody knows the brass knocker is common to suburban villas, and +extensive boarding-schools; and having noticed this genus we have recapitulated +all the most prominent and strongly-defined species.</p> +<p>Some phrenologists affirm, that the agitation of a man’s brain +by different passions, produces corresponding developments in the form +of his skull. Do not let us be understood as pushing our theory +to the full length of asserting, that any alteration in a man’s +disposition would produce a visible effect on the feature of his knocker. +Our position merely is, that in such a case, the magnetism which must +exist between a man and his knocker, would induce the man to remove, +and seek some knocker more congenial to his altered feelings. +If you ever find a man changing his habitation without any reasonable +pretext, depend upon it, that, although he may not be aware of the fact +himself, it is because he and his knocker are at variance. This +is a new theory, but we venture to launch it, nevertheless, as being +quite as ingenious and infallible as many thousands of the learned speculations +which are daily broached for public good and private fortune-making.</p> +<p>Entertaining these feelings on the subject of knockers, it will be +readily imagined with what consternation we viewed the entire removal +of the knocker from the door of the next house to the one we lived in, +some time ago, and the substitution of a bell. This was a calamity +we had never anticipated. The bare idea of anybody being able +to exist without a knocker, appeared so wild and visionary, that it +had never for one instant entered our imagination.</p> +<p>We sauntered moodily from the spot, and bent our steps towards Eaton-square, +then just building. What was our astonishment and indignation +to find that bells were fast becoming the rule, and knockers the exception! +Our theory trembled beneath the shock. We hastened home; and fancying +we foresaw in the swift progress of events, its entire abolition, resolved +from that day forward to vent our speculations on our next-door neighbours +in person. The house adjoining ours on the left hand was uninhabited, +and we had, therefore, plenty of leisure to observe our next-door neighbours +on the other side.</p> +<p>The house without the knocker was in the occupation of a city clerk, +and there was a neatly-written bill in the parlour window intimating +that lodgings for a single gentleman were to be let within.</p> +<p>It was a neat, dull little house, on the shady side of the way, with +new, narrow floorcloth in the passage, and new, narrow stair-carpets +up to the first floor. The paper was new, and the paint was new, +and the furniture was new; and all three, paper, paint, and furniture, +bespoke the limited means of the tenant. There was a little red +and black carpet in the drawing-room, with a border of flooring all +the way round; a few stained chairs and a pembroke table. A pink +shell was displayed on each of the little sideboards, which, with the +addition of a tea-tray and caddy, a few more shells on the mantelpiece, +and three peacock’s feathers tastefully arranged above them, completed +the decorative furniture of the apartment.</p> +<p>This was the room destined for the reception of the single gentleman +during the day, and a little back room on the same floor was assigned +as his sleeping apartment by night.</p> +<p>The bill had not been long in the window, when a stout, good-humoured +looking gentleman, of about five-and-thirty, appeared as a candidate +for the tenancy. Terms were soon arranged, for the bill was taken +down immediately after his first visit. In a day or two the single +gentleman came in, and shortly afterwards his real character came out.</p> +<p>First of all, he displayed a most extraordinary partiality for sitting +up till three or four o’clock in the morning, drinking whiskey-and-water, +and smoking cigars; then he invited friends home, who used to come at +ten o’clock, and begin to get happy about the small hours, when +they evinced their perfect contentment by singing songs with half-a-dozen +verses of two lines each, and a chorus of ten, which chorus used to +be shouted forth by the whole strength of the company, in the most enthusiastic +and vociferous manner, to the great annoyance of the neighbours, and +the special discomfort of another single gentleman overhead.</p> +<p>Now, this was bad enough, occurring as it did three times a week +on the average, but this was not all; for when the company <i>did</i> +go away, instead of walking quietly down the street, as anybody else’s +company would have done, they amused themselves by making alarming and +frightful noises, and counterfeiting the shrieks of females in distress; +and one night, a red-faced gentleman in a white hat knocked in the most +urgent manner at the door of the powdered-headed old gentleman at No. +3, and when the powdered-headed old gentleman, who thought one of his +married daughters must have been taken ill prematurely, had groped down-stairs, +and after a great deal of unbolting and key-turning, opened the street +door, the red-faced man in the white hat said he hoped he’d excuse +his giving him so much trouble, but he’d feel obliged if he’d +favour him with a glass of cold spring water, and the loan of a shilling +for a cab to take him home, on which the old gentleman slammed the door +and went up-stairs, and threw the contents of his water jug out of window—very +straight, only it went over the wrong man; and the whole street was +involved in confusion.</p> +<p>A joke’s a joke; and even practical jests are very capital +in their way, if you can only get the other party to see the fun of +them; but the population of our street were so dull of apprehension, +as to be quite lost to a sense of the drollery of this proceeding: and +the consequence was, that our next-door neighbour was obliged to tell +the single gentleman, that unless he gave up entertaining his friends +at home, he really must be compelled to part with him.</p> +<p>The single gentleman received the remonstrance with great good-humour, +and promised from that time forward, to spend his evenings at a coffee-house—a +determination which afforded general and unmixed satisfaction.</p> +<p>The next night passed off very well, everybody being delighted with +the change; but on the next, the noises were renewed with greater spirit +than ever. The single gentleman’s friends being unable to +see him in his own house every alternate night, had come to the determination +of seeing him home every night; and what with the discordant greetings +of the friends at parting, and the noise created by the single gentleman +in his passage up-stairs, and his subsequent struggles to get his boots +off, the evil was not to be borne. So, our next-door neighbour +gave the single gentleman, who was a very good lodger in other respects, +notice to quit; and the single gentleman went away, and entertained +his friends in other lodgings.</p> +<p>The next applicant for the vacant first floor, was of a very different +character from the troublesome single gentleman who had just quitted +it. He was a tall, thin, young gentleman, with a profusion of +brown hair, reddish whiskers, and very slightly developed moustaches. +He wore a braided surtout, with frogs behind, light grey trousers, and +wash-leather gloves, and had altogether rather a military appearance. +So unlike the roystering single gentleman. Such insinuating manners, +and such a delightful address! So seriously disposed, too! +When he first came to look at the lodgings, he inquired most particularly +whether he was sure to be able to get a seat in the parish church; and +when he had agreed to take them, he requested to have a list of the +different local charities, as he intended to subscribe his mite to the +most deserving among them.</p> +<p>Our next-door neighbour was now perfectly happy. He had got +a lodger at last, of just his own way of thinking—a serious, well-disposed +man, who abhorred gaiety, and loved retirement. He took down the +bill with a light heart, and pictured in imagination a long series of +quiet Sundays, on which he and his lodger would exchange mutual civilities +and Sunday papers.</p> +<p>The serious man arrived, and his luggage was to arrive from the country +next morning. He borrowed a clean shirt, and a prayer-book, from +our next-door neighbour, and retired to rest at an early hour, requesting +that he might be called punctually at ten o’clock next morning—not +before, as he was much fatigued.</p> +<p>He <i>was</i> called, and did not answer: he was called again, but +there was no reply. Our next-door neighbour became alarmed, and +burst the door open. The serious man had left the house mysteriously; +carrying with him the shirt, the prayer-book, a teaspoon, and the bedclothes.</p> +<p>Whether this occurrence, coupled with the irregularities of his former +lodger, gave our next-door neighbour an aversion to single gentlemen, +we know not; we only know that the next bill which made its appearance +in the parlour window intimated generally, that there were furnished +apartments to let on the first floor. The bill was soon removed. +The new lodgers at first attracted our curiosity, and afterwards excited +our interest.</p> +<p>They were a young lad of eighteen or nineteen, and his mother, a +lady of about fifty, or it might be less. The mother wore a widow’s +weeds, and the boy was also clothed in deep mourning. They were +poor—very poor; for their only means of support arose from the +pittance the boy earned, by copying writings, and translating for booksellers.</p> +<p>They had removed from some country place and settled in London; partly +because it afforded better chances of employment for the boy, and partly, +perhaps, with the natural desire to leave a place where they had been +in better circumstances, and where their poverty was known. They +were proud under their reverses, and above revealing their wants and +privations to strangers. How bitter those privations were, and +how hard the boy worked to remove them, no one ever knew but themselves. +Night after night, two, three, four hours after midnight, could we hear +the occasional raking up of the scanty fire, or the hollow and half-stifled +cough, which indicated his being still at work; and day after day, could +we see more plainly that nature had set that unearthly light in his +plaintive face, which is the beacon of her worst disease.</p> +<p>Actuated, we hope, by a higher feeling than mere curiosity, we contrived +to establish, first an acquaintance, and then a close intimacy, with +the poor strangers. Our worst fears were realised; the boy was +sinking fast. Through a part of the winter, and the whole of the +following spring and summer, his labours were unceasingly prolonged: +and the mother attempted to procure needle-work, embroidery—anything +for bread.</p> +<p>A few shillings now and then, were all she could earn. The +boy worked steadily on; dying by minutes, but never once giving utterance +to complaint or murmur.</p> +<p>One beautiful autumn evening we went to pay our customary visit to +the invalid. His little remaining strength had been decreasing +rapidly for two or three days preceding, and he was lying on the sofa +at the open window, gazing at the setting sun. His mother had +been reading the Bible to him, for she closed the book as we entered, +and advanced to meet us.</p> +<p>‘I was telling William,’ she said, ‘that we must +manage to take him into the country somewhere, so that he may get quite +well. He is not ill, you know, but he is not very strong, and +has exerted himself too much lately.’ Poor thing! +The tears that streamed through her fingers, as she turned aside, as +if to adjust her close widow’s cap, too plainly showed how fruitless +was the attempt to deceive herself.</p> +<p>We sat down by the head of the sofa, but said nothing, for we saw +the breath of life was passing gently but rapidly from the young form +before us. At every respiration, his heart beat more slowly.</p> +<p>The boy placed one hand in ours, grasped his mother’s arm with +the other, drew her hastily towards him, and fervently kissed her cheek. +There was a pause. He sunk back upon his pillow, and looked long +and earnestly in his mother’s face.</p> +<p>‘William, William!’ murmured the mother, after a long +interval, ‘don’t look at me so—speak to me, dear!’</p> +<p>The boy smiled languidly, but an instant afterwards his features +resolved into the same cold, solemn gaze.</p> +<p>‘William, dear William! rouse yourself; don’t look at +me so, love—pray don’t! Oh, my God! what shall I do!’ +cried the widow, clasping her hands in agony—‘my dear boy! +he is dying!’ The boy raised himself by a violent effort, +and folded his hands together—‘Mother! dear, dear mother, +bury me in the open fields—anywhere but in these dreadful streets. +I should like to be where you can see my grave, but not in these close +crowded streets; they have killed me; kiss me again, mother; put your +arm round my neck—’</p> +<p>He fell back, and a strange expression stole upon his features; not +of pain or suffering, but an indescribable fixing of every line and +muscle.</p> +<p>The boy was dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SCENES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE STREETS—MORNING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The appearance presented by the streets of London an hour before +sunrise, on a summer’s morning, is most striking even to the few +whose unfortunate pursuits of pleasure, or scarcely less unfortunate +pursuits of business, cause them to be well acquainted with the scene. +There is an air of cold, solitary desolation about the noiseless streets +which we are accustomed to see thronged at other times by a busy, eager +crowd, and over the quiet, closely-shut buildings, which throughout +the day are swarming with life and bustle, that is very impressive.</p> +<p>The last drunken man, who shall find his way home before sunlight, +has just staggered heavily along, roaring out the burden of the drinking +song of the previous night: the last houseless vagrant whom penury and +police have left in the streets, has coiled up his chilly limbs in some +paved comer, to dream of food and warmth. The drunken, the dissipated, +and the wretched have disappeared; the more sober and orderly part of +the population have not yet awakened to the labours of the day, and +the stillness of death is over the streets; its very hue seems to be +imparted to them, cold and lifeless as they look in the grey, sombre +light of daybreak. The coach-stands in the larger thoroughfares +are deserted: the night-houses are closed; and the chosen promenades +of profligate misery are empty.</p> +<p>An occasional policeman may alone be seen at the street corners, +listlessly gazing on the deserted prospect before him; and now and then +a rakish-looking cat runs stealthily across the road and descends his +own area with as much caution and slyness—bounding first on the +water-butt, then on the dust-hole, and then alighting on the flag-stones—as +if he were conscious that his character depended on his gallantry of +the preceding night escaping public observation. A partially opened +bedroom-window here and there, bespeaks the heat of the weather, and +the uneasy slumbers of its occupant; and the dim scanty flicker of the +rushlight, through the window-blind, denotes the chamber of watching +or sickness. With these few exceptions, the streets present no +signs of life, nor the houses of habitation.</p> +<p>An hour wears away; the spires of the churches and roofs of the principal +buildings are faintly tinged with the light of the rising sun; and the +streets, by almost imperceptible degrees, begin to resume their bustle +and animation. Market-carts roll slowly along: the sleepy waggoner +impatiently urging on his tired horses, or vainly endeavouring to awaken +the boy, who, luxuriously stretched on the top of the fruit-baskets, +forgets, in happy oblivion, his long-cherished curiosity to behold the +wonders of London.</p> +<p>Rough, sleepy-looking animals of strange appearance, something between +ostlers and hackney-coachmen, begin to take down the shutters of early +public-houses; and little deal tables, with the ordinary preparations +for a street breakfast, make their appearance at the customary stations. +Numbers of men and women (principally the latter), carrying upon their +heads heavy baskets of fruit, toil down the park side of Piccadilly, +on their way to Covent-garden, and, following each other in rapid succession, +form a long straggling line from thence to the turn of the road at Knightsbridge.</p> +<p>Here and there, a bricklayer’s labourer, with the day’s +dinner tied up in a handkerchief, walks briskly to his work, and occasionally +a little knot of three or four schoolboys on a stolen bathing expedition +rattle merrily over the pavement, their boisterous mirth contrasting +forcibly with the demeanour of the little sweep, who, having knocked +and rung till his arm aches, and being interdicted by a merciful legislature +from endangering his lungs by calling out, sits patiently down on the +door-step, until the housemaid may happen to awake.</p> +<p>Covent-garden market, and the avenues leading to it, are thronged +with carts of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions, from the heavy lumbering +waggon, with its four stout horses, to the jingling costermonger’s +cart, with its consumptive donkey. The pavement is already strewed +with decayed cabbage-leaves, broken hay-bands, and all the indescribable +litter of a vegetable market; men are shouting, carts backing, horses +neighing, boys fighting, basket-women talking, piemen expatiating on +the excellence of their pastry, and donkeys braying. These and +a hundred other sounds form a compound discordant enough to a Londoner’s +ears, and remarkably disagreeable to those of country gentlemen who +are sleeping at the Hummums for the first time.</p> +<p>Another hour passes away, and the day begins in good earnest. +The servant of all work, who, under the plea of sleeping very soundly, +has utterly disregarded ‘Missis’s’ ringing for half +an hour previously, is warned by Master (whom Missis has sent up in +his drapery to the landing-place for that purpose), that it’s +half-past six, whereupon she awakes all of a sudden, with well-feigned +astonishment, and goes down-stairs very sulkily, wishing, while she +strikes a light, that the principle of spontaneous combustion would +extend itself to coals and kitchen range. When the fire is lighted, +she opens the street-door to take in the milk, when, by the most singular +coincidence in the world, she discovers that the servant next door has +just taken in her milk too, and that Mr. Todd’s young man over +the way, is, by an equally extraordinary chance, taking down his master’s +shutters. The inevitable consequence is, that she just steps, +milk-jug in hand, as far as next door, just to say ‘good morning’ +to Betsy Clark, and that Mr. Todd’s young man just steps over +the way to say ‘good morning’ to both of ’em; and +as the aforesaid Mr. Todd’s young man is almost as good-looking +and fascinating as the baker himself, the conversation quickly becomes +very interesting, and probably would become more so, if Betsy Clark’s +Missis, who always will be a-followin’ her about, didn’t +give an angry tap at her bedroom window, on which Mr. Todd’s young +man tries to whistle coolly, as he goes back to his shop much faster +than he came from it; and the two girls run back to their respective +places, and shut their street-doors with surprising softness, each of +them poking their heads out of the front parlour window, a minute afterwards, +however, ostensibly with the view of looking at the mail which just +then passes by, but really for the purpose of catching another glimpse +of Mr. Todd’s young man, who being fond of mails, but more of +females, takes a short look at the mails, and a long look at the girls, +much to the satisfaction of all parties concerned.</p> +<p>The mail itself goes on to the coach-office in due course, and the +passengers who are going out by the early coach, stare with astonishment +at the passengers who are coming in by the early coach, who look blue +and dismal, and are evidently under the influence of that odd feeling +produced by travelling, which makes the events of yesterday morning +seem as if they had happened at least six months ago, and induces people +to wonder with considerable gravity whether the friends and relations +they took leave of a fortnight before, have altered much since they +have left them. The coach-office is all alive, and the coaches +which are just going out, are surrounded by the usual crowd of Jews +and nondescripts, who seem to consider, Heaven knows why, that it is +quite impossible any man can mount a coach without requiring at least +sixpenny-worth of oranges, a penknife, a pocket-book, a last year’s +annual, a pencil-case, a piece of sponge, and a small series of caricatures.</p> +<p>Half an hour more, and the sun darts his bright rays cheerfully down +the still half-empty streets, and shines with sufficient force to rouse +the dismal laziness of the apprentice, who pauses every other minute +from his task of sweeping out the shop and watering the pavement in +front of it, to tell another apprentice similarly employed, how hot +it will be to-day, or to stand with his right hand shading his eyes, +and his left resting on the broom, gazing at the ‘Wonder,’ +or the ‘Tally-ho,’ or the ‘Nimrod,’ or some +other fast coach, till it is out of sight, when he re-enters the shop, +envying the passengers on the outside of the fast coach, and thinking +of the old red brick house ‘down in the country,’ where +he went to school: the miseries of the milk and water, and thick bread +and scrapings, fading into nothing before the pleasant recollection +of the green field the boys used to play in, and the green pond he was +caned for presuming to fall into, and other schoolboy associations.</p> +<p>Cabs, with trunks and band-boxes between the drivers’ legs +and outside the apron, rattle briskly up and down the streets on their +way to the coach-offices or steam-packet wharfs; and the cab-drivers +and hackney-coachmen who are on the stand polish up the ornamental part +of their dingy vehicles—the former wondering how people can prefer +‘them wild beast cariwans of homnibuses, to a riglar cab with +a fast trotter,’ and the latter admiring how people can trust +their necks into one of ‘them crazy cabs, when they can have a +’spectable ’ackney cotche with a pair of ’orses as +von’t run away with no vun;’ a consolation unquestionably +founded on fact, seeing that a hackney-coach horse never was known to +run at all, ‘except,’ as the smart cabman in front of the +rank observes, ‘except one, and <i>he</i> run back’ards.’</p> +<p>The shops are now completely opened, and apprentices and shopmen +are busily engaged in cleaning and decking the windows for the day. +The bakers’ shops in town are filled with servants and children +waiting for the drawing of the first batch of rolls—an operation +which was performed a full hour ago in the suburbs: for the early clerk +population of Somers and Camden towns, Islington, and Pentonville, are +fast pouring into the city, or directing their steps towards Chancery-lane +and the Inns of Court. Middle-aged men, whose salaries have by +no means increased in the same proportion as their families, plod steadily +along, apparently with no object in view but the counting-house; knowing +by sight almost everybody they meet or overtake, for they have seen +them every morning (Sunday excepted) during the last twenty years, but +speaking to no one. If they do happen to overtake a personal acquaintance, +they just exchange a hurried salutation, and keep walking on either +by his side, or in front of him, as his rate of walking may chance to +be. As to stopping to shake hands, or to take the friend’s +arm, they seem to think that as it is not included in their salary, +they have no right to do it. Small office lads in large hats, +who are made men before they are boys, hurry along in pairs, with their +first coat carefully brushed, and the white trousers of last Sunday +plentifully besmeared with dust and ink. It evidently requires +a considerable mental struggle to avoid investing part of the day’s +dinner-money in the purchase of the stale tarts so temptingly exposed +in dusty tins at the pastry-cooks’ doors; but a consciousness +of their own importance and the receipt of seven shillings a-week, with +the prospect of an early rise to eight, comes to their aid, and they +accordingly put their hats a little more on one side, and look under +the bonnets of all the milliners’ and stay-makers’ apprentices +they meet—poor girls!—the hardest worked, the worst paid, +and too often, the worst used class of the community.</p> +<p>Eleven o’clock, and a new set of people fill the streets. +The goods in the shop-windows are invitingly arranged; the shopmen in +their white neckerchiefs and spruce coats, look as it they couldn’t +clean a window if their lives depended on it; the carts have disappeared +from Covent-garden; the waggoners have returned, and the costermongers +repaired to their ordinary ‘beats’ in the suburbs; clerks +are at their offices, and gigs, cabs, omnibuses, and saddle-horses, +are conveying their masters to the same destination. The streets +are thronged with a vast concourse of people, gay and shabby, rich and +poor, idle and industrious; and we come to the heat, bustle, and activity +of NOON.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—THE STREETS—NIGHT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>But the streets of London, to be beheld in the very height of their +glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, murky winter’s night, when +there is just enough damp gently stealing down to make the pavement +greasy, without cleansing it of any of its impurities; and when the +heavy lazy mist, which hangs over every object, makes the gas-lamps +look brighter, and the brilliantly-lighted shops more splendid, from +the contrast they present to the darkness around. All the people +who are at home on such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves +as snug and comfortable as possible; and the passengers in the streets +have excellent reason to envy the fortunate individuals who are seated +by their own firesides.</p> +<p>In the larger and better kind of streets, dining parlour curtains +are closely drawn, kitchen fires blaze brightly up, and savoury steams +of hot dinners salute the nostrils of the hungry wayfarer, as he plods +wearily by the area railings. In the suburbs, the muffin boy rings +his way down the little street, much more slowly than he is wont to +do; for Mrs. Macklin, of No. 4, has no sooner opened her little street-door, +and screamed out ‘Muffins!’ with all her might, than Mrs. +Walker, at No. 5, puts her head out of the parlour-window, and screams +‘Muffins!’ too; and Mrs. Walker has scarcely got the words +out of her lips, than Mrs. Peplow, over the way, lets loose Master Peplow, +who darts down the street, with a velocity which nothing but buttered +muffins in perspective could possibly inspire, and drags the boy back +by main force, whereupon Mrs. Macklin and Mrs. Walker, just to save +the boy trouble, and to say a few neighbourly words to Mrs. Peplow at +the same time, run over the way and buy their muffins at Mrs. Peplow’s +door, when it appears from the voluntary statement of Mrs. Walker, that +her ‘kittle’s jist a-biling, and the cups and sarsers ready +laid,’ and that, as it was such a wretched night out o’ +doors, she’d made up her mind to have a nice, hot, comfortable +cup o’ tea—a determination at which, by the most singular +coincidence, the other two ladies had simultaneously arrived.</p> +<p>After a little conversation about the wretchedness of the weather +and the merits of tea, with a digression relative to the viciousness +of boys as a rule, and the amiability of Master Peplow as an exception, +Mrs. Walker sees her husband coming down the street; and as he must +want his tea, poor man, after his dirty walk from the Docks, she instantly +runs across, muffins in hand, and Mrs. Macklin does the same, and after +a few words to Mrs. Walker, they all pop into their little houses, and +slam their little street-doors, which are not opened again for the remainder +of the evening, except to the nine o’clock ‘beer,’ +who comes round with a lantern in front of his tray, and says, as he +lends Mrs. Walker ‘Yesterday’s ‘Tiser,’ that +he’s blessed if he can hardly hold the pot, much less feel the +paper, for it’s one of the bitterest nights he ever felt, ’cept +the night when the man was frozen to death in the Brick-field.</p> +<p>After a little prophetic conversation with the policeman at the street-corner, +touching a probable change in the weather, and the setting-in of a hard +frost, the nine o’clock beer returns to his master’s house, +and employs himself for the remainder of the evening, in assiduously +stirring the tap-room fire, and deferentially taking part in the conversation +of the worthies assembled round it.</p> +<p>The streets in the vicinity of the Marsh-gate and Victoria Theatre +present an appearance of dirt and discomfort on such a night, which +the groups who lounge about them in no degree tend to diminish. +Even the little block-tin temple sacred to baked potatoes, surmounted +by a splendid design in variegated lamps, looks less gay than usual, +and as to the kidney-pie stand, its glory has quite departed. +The candle in the transparent lamp, manufactured of oil-paper, embellished +with ‘characters,’ has been blown out fifty times, so the +kidney-pie merchant, tired with running backwards and forwards to the +next wine-vaults, to get a light, has given up the idea of illumination +in despair, and the only signs of his ‘whereabout,’ are +the bright sparks, of which a long irregular train is whirled down the +street every time he opens his portable oven to hand a hot kidney-pie +to a customer.</p> +<p>Flat-fish, oyster, and fruit vendors linger hopelessly in the kennel, +in vain endeavouring to attract customers; and the ragged boys who usually +disport themselves about the streets, stand crouched in little knots +in some projecting doorway, or under the canvas blind of a cheesemonger’s, +where great flaring gas-lights, unshaded by any glass, display huge +piles of blight red and pale yellow cheeses, mingled with little fivepenny +dabs of dingy bacon, various tubs of weekly Dorset, and cloudy rolls +of ‘best fresh.’</p> +<p>Here they amuse themselves with theatrical converse, arising out +of their last half-price visit to the Victoria gallery, admire the terrific +combat, which is nightly encored, and expatiate on the inimitable manner +in which Bill Thompson can ‘come the double monkey,’ or +go through the mysterious involutions of a sailor’s hornpipe.</p> +<p>It is nearly eleven o’clock, and the cold thin rain which has +been drizzling so long, is beginning to pour down in good earnest; the +baked-potato man has departed—the kidney-pie man has just walked +away with his warehouse on his arm—the cheesemonger has drawn +in his blind, and the boys have dispersed. The constant clicking +of pattens on the slippy and uneven pavement, and the rustling of umbrellas, +as the wind blows against the shop-windows, bear testimony to the inclemency +of the night; and the policeman, with his oilskin cape buttoned closely +round him, seems as he holds his hat on his head, and turns round to +avoid the gust of wind and rain which drives against him at the street-corner, +to be very far from congratulating himself on the prospect before him.</p> +<p>The little chandler’s shop with the cracked bell behind the +door, whose melancholy tinkling has been regulated by the demand for +quarterns of sugar and half-ounces of coffee, is shutting up. +The crowds which have been passing to and fro during the whole day, +are rapidly dwindling away; and the noise of shouting and quarrelling +which issues from the public-houses, is almost the only sound that breaks +the melancholy stillness of the night.</p> +<p>There was another, but it has ceased. That wretched woman with +the infant in her arms, round whose meagre form the remnant of her own +scanty shawl is carefully wrapped, has been attempting to sing some +popular ballad, in the hope of wringing a few pence from the compassionate +passer-by. A brutal laugh at her weak voice is all she has gained. +The tears fall thick and fast down her own pale face; the child is cold +and hungry, and its low half-stifled wailing adds to the misery of its +wretched mother, as she moans aloud, and sinks despairingly down, on +a cold damp door-step.</p> +<p>Singing! How few of those who pass such a miserable creature +as this, think of the anguish of heart, the sinking of soul and spirit, +which the very effort of singing produces. Bitter mockery! Disease, +neglect, and starvation, faintly articulating the words of the joyous +ditty, that has enlivened your hours of feasting and merriment, God +knows how often! It is no subject of jeering. The weak tremulous +voice tells a fearful tale of want and famishing; and the feeble singer +of this roaring song may turn away, only to die of cold and hunger.</p> +<p>One o’clock! Parties returning from the different theatres +foot it through the muddy streets; cabs, hackney-coaches, carriages, +and theatre omnibuses, roll swiftly by; watermen with dim dirty lanterns +in their hands, and large brass plates upon their breasts, who have +been shouting and rushing about for the last two hours, retire to their +watering-houses, to solace themselves with the creature comforts of +pipes and purl; the half-price pit and box frequenters of the theatres +throng to the different houses of refreshment; and chops, kidneys, rabbits, +oysters, stout, cigars, and ‘goes’ innumerable, are served +up amidst a noise and confusion of smoking, running, knife-clattering, +and waiter-chattering, perfectly indescribable.</p> +<p>The more musical portion of the play-going community betake themselves +to some harmonic meeting. As a matter of curiosity let us follow +them thither for a few moments.</p> +<p>In a lofty room of spacious dimensions, are seated some eighty or +a hundred guests knocking little pewter measures on the tables, and +hammering away, with the handles of their knives, as if they were so +many trunk-makers. They are applauding a glee, which has just +been executed by the three ‘professional gentlemen’ at the +top of the centre table, one of whom is in the chair—the little +pompous man with the bald head just emerging from the collar of his +green coat. The others are seated on either side of him—the +stout man with the small voice, and the thin-faced dark man in black. +The little man in the chair is a most amusing personage,—such +condescending grandeur, and <i>such</i> a voice!</p> +<p>‘Bass!’ as the young gentleman near us with the blue +stock forcibly remarks to his companion, ‘bass! I b’lieve +you; he can go down lower than any man: so low sometimes that you can’t +hear him.’ And so he does. To hear him growling away, +gradually lower and lower down, till he can’t get back again, +is the most delightful thing in the world, and it is quite impossible +to witness unmoved the impressive solemnity with which he pours forth +his soul in ‘My ’art’s in the ’ighlands,’ +or ‘The brave old Hoak.’ The stout man is also addicted +to sentimentality, and warbles ‘Fly, fly from the world, my Bessy, +with me,’ or some such song, with lady-like sweetness, and in +the most seductive tones imaginable.</p> +<p>‘Pray give your orders, gen’l’m’n—pray +give your orders,’—says the pale-faced man with the red +head; and demands for ‘goes’ of gin and ‘goes’ +of brandy, and pints of stout, and cigars of peculiar mildness, are +vociferously made from all parts of the room. The ‘professional +gentlemen’ are in the very height of their glory, and bestow condescending +nods, or even a word or two of recognition, on the better-known frequenters +of the room, in the most bland and patronising manner possible.</p> +<p>The little round-faced man, with the small brown surtout, white stockings +and shoes, is in the comic line; the mixed air of self-denial, and mental +consciousness of his own powers, with which he acknowledges the call +of the chair, is particularly gratifying. ‘Gen’l’men,’ +says the little pompous man, accompanying the word with a knock of the +president’s hammer on the table—‘Gen’l’men, +allow me to claim your attention—our friend, Mr. Smuggins, will +oblige.’—‘Bravo!’ shout the company; and Smuggins, +after a considerable quantity of coughing by way of symphony, and a +most facetious sniff or two, which afford general delight, sings a comic +song, with a fal-de-ral—tol-de-ral chorus at the end of every +verse, much longer than the verse itself. It is received with +unbounded applause, and after some aspiring genius has volunteered a +recitation, and failed dismally therein, the little pompous man gives +another knock, and says ‘Gen’l’men, we will attempt +a glee, if you please.’ This announcement calls forth tumultuous +applause, and the more energetic spirits express the unqualified approbation +it affords them, by knocking one or two stout glasses off their legs—a +humorous device; but one which frequently occasions some slight altercation +when the form of paying the damage is proposed to be gone through by +the waiter.</p> +<p>Scenes like these are continued until three or four o’clock +in the morning; and even when they close, fresh ones open to the inquisitive +novice. But as a description of all of them, however slight, would +require a volume, the contents of which, however instructive, would +be by no means pleasing, we make our bow, and drop the curtain.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>What inexhaustible food for speculation, do the streets of London +afford! We never were able to agree with Sterne in pitying the +man who could travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say that all was barren; +we have not the slightest commiseration for the man who can take up +his hat and stick, and walk from Covent-garden to St. Paul’s Churchyard, +and back into the bargain, without deriving some amusement—we +had almost said instruction—from his perambulation. And +yet there are such beings: we meet them every day. Large black +stocks and light waistcoats, jet canes and discontented countenances, +are the characteristics of the race; other people brush quickly by you, +steadily plodding on to business, or cheerfully running after pleasure. +These men linger listlessly past, looking as happy and animated as a +policeman on duty. Nothing seems to make an impression on their +minds: nothing short of being knocked down by a porter, or run over +by a cab, will disturb their equanimity. You will meet them on +a fine day in any of the leading thoroughfares: peep through the window +of a west-end cigar shop in the evening, if you can manage to get a +glimpse between the blue curtains which intercept the vulgar gaze, and +you see them in their only enjoyment of existence. There they +are lounging about, on round tubs and pipe boxes, in all the dignity +of whiskers, and gilt watch-guards; whispering soft nothings to the +young lady in amber, with the large ear-rings, who, as she sits behind +the counter in a blaze of adoration and gas-light, is the admiration +of all the female servants in the neighbourhood, and the envy of every +milliner’s apprentice within two miles round.</p> +<p>One of our principal amusements is to watch the gradual progress—the +rise or fall—of particular shops. We have formed an intimate +acquaintance with several, in different parts of town, and are perfectly +acquainted with their whole history. We could name off-hand, twenty +at least, which we are quite sure have paid no taxes for the last six +years. They are never inhabited for more than two months consecutively, +and, we verily believe, have witnessed every retail trade in the directory.</p> +<p>There is one, whose history is a sample of the rest, in whose fate +we have taken especial interest, having had the pleasure of knowing +it ever since it has been a shop. It is on the Surrey side of +the water—a little distance beyond the Marsh-gate. It was +originally a substantial, good-looking private house enough; the landlord +got into difficulties, the house got into Chancery, the tenant went +away, and the house went to ruin. At this period our acquaintance +with it commenced; the paint was all worn off; the windows were broken, +the area was green with neglect and the overflowings of the water-butt; +the butt itself was without a lid, and the street-door was the very +picture of misery. The chief pastime of the children in the vicinity +had been to assemble in a body on the steps, and to take it in turn +to knock loud double knocks at the door, to the great satisfaction of +the neighbours generally, and especially of the nervous old lady next +door but one. Numerous complaints were made, and several small +basins of water discharged over the offenders, but without effect. +In this state of things, the marine-store dealer at the corner of the +street, in the most obliging manner took the knocker off, and sold it: +and the unfortunate house looked more wretched than ever.</p> +<p>We deserted our friend for a few weeks. What was our surprise, +on our return, to find no trace of its existence! In its place +was a handsome shop, fast approaching to a state of completion, and +on the shutters were large bills, informing the public that it would +shortly be opened with ‘an extensive stock of linen-drapery and +haberdashery.’ It opened in due course; there was the name +of the proprietor ‘and Co.’ in gilt letters, almost too +dazzling to look at. Such ribbons and shawls! and two such elegant +young men behind the counter, each in a clean collar and white neckcloth, +like the lover in a farce. As to the proprietor, he did nothing +but walk up and down the shop, and hand seats to the ladies, and hold +important conversations with the handsomest of the young men, who was +shrewdly suspected by the neighbours to be the ‘Co.’ +We saw all this with sorrow; we felt a fatal presentiment that the shop +was doomed—and so it was. Its decay was slow, but sure. +Tickets gradually appeared in the windows; then rolls of flannel, with +labels on them, were stuck outside the door; then a bill was pasted +on the street-door, intimating that the first floor was to let unfurnished; +then one of the young men disappeared altogether, and the other took +to a black neckerchief, and the proprietor took to drinking. The +shop became dirty, broken panes of glass remained unmended, and the +stock disappeared piecemeal. At last the company’s man came +to cut off the water, and then the linen-draper cut off himself, leaving +the landlord his compliments and the key.</p> +<p>The next occupant was a fancy stationer. The shop was more +modestly painted than before, still it was neat; but somehow we always +thought, as we passed, that it looked like a poor and struggling concern. +We wished the man well, but we trembled for his success. He was +a widower evidently, and had employment elsewhere, for he passed us +every morning on his road to the city. The business was carried +on by his eldest daughter. Poor girl! she needed no assistance. +We occasionally caught a glimpse of two or three children, in mourning +like herself, as they sat in the little parlour behind the shop; and +we never passed at night without seeing the eldest girl at work, either +for them, or in making some elegant little trifle for sale. We +often thought, as her pale face looked more sad and pensive in the dim +candle-light, that if those thoughtless females who interfere with the +miserable market of poor creatures such as these, knew but one-half +of the misery they suffer, and the bitter privations they endure, in +their honourable attempts to earn a scanty subsistence, they would, +perhaps, resign even opportunities for the gratification of vanity, +and an immodest love of self-display, rather than drive them to a last +dreadful resource, which it would shock the delicate feelings of these +<i>charitable</i> ladies to hear named.</p> +<p>But we are forgetting the shop. Well, we continued to watch +it, and every day showed too clearly the increasing poverty of its inmates. +The children were clean, it is true, but their clothes were threadbare +and shabby; no tenant had been procured for the upper part of the house, +from the letting of which, a portion of the means of paying the rent +was to have been derived, and a slow, wasting consumption prevented +the eldest girl from continuing her exertions. Quarter-day arrived. +The landlord had suffered from the extravagance of his last tenant, +and he had no compassion for the struggles of his successor; he put +in an execution. As we passed one morning, the broker’s +men were removing the little furniture there was in the house, and a +newly-posted bill informed us it was again ‘To Let.’ +What became of the last tenant we never could learn; we believe the +girl is past all suffering, and beyond all sorrow. God help her! +We hope she is.</p> +<p>We were somewhat curious to ascertain what would be the next stage—for +that the place had no chance of succeeding now, was perfectly clear. +The bill was soon taken down, and some alterations were being made in +the interior of the shop. We were in a fever of expectation; we +exhausted conjecture—we imagined all possible trades, none of +which were perfectly reconcilable with our idea of the gradual decay +of the tenement. It opened, and we wondered why we had not guessed +at the real state of the case before. The shop—not a large +one at the best of times—had been converted into two: one was +a bonnet-shape maker’s, the other was opened by a tobacconist, +who also dealt in walking-sticks and Sunday newspapers; the two were +separated by a thin partition, covered with tawdry striped paper.</p> +<p>The tobacconist remained in possession longer than any tenant within +our recollection. He was a red-faced, impudent, good-for-nothing +dog, evidently accustomed to take things as they came, and to make the +best of a bad job. He sold as many cigars as he could, and smoked +the rest. He occupied the shop as long as he could make peace +with the landlord, and when he could no longer live in quiet, he very +coolly locked the door, and bolted himself. From this period, +the two little dens have undergone innumerable changes. The tobacconist +was succeeded by a theatrical hair-dresser, who ornamented the window +with a great variety of ‘characters,’ and terrific combats. +The bonnet-shape maker gave place to a greengrocer, and the histrionic +barber was succeeded, in his turn, by a tailor. So numerous have +been the changes, that we have of late done little more than mark the +peculiar but certain indications of a house being poorly inhabited. +It has been progressing by almost imperceptible degrees. The occupiers +of the shops have gradually given up room after room, until they have +only reserved the little parlour for themselves. First there appeared +a brass plate on the private door, with ‘Ladies’ School’ +legibly engraved thereon; shortly afterwards we observed a second brass +plate, then a bell, and then another bell.</p> +<p>When we paused in front of our old friend, and observed these signs +of poverty, which are not to be mistaken, we thought as we turned away, +that the house had attained its lowest pitch of degradation. We +were wrong. When we last passed it, a ‘dairy’ was +established in the area, and a party of melancholy-looking fowls were +amusing themselves by running in at the front door, and out at the back +one.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—SCOTLAND-YARD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Scotland-yard is a small—a very small-tract of land, bounded +on one side by the river Thames, on the other by the gardens of Northumberland +House: abutting at one end on the bottom of Northumberland-street, at +the other on the back of Whitehall-place. When this territory +was first accidentally discovered by a country gentleman who lost his +way in the Strand, some years ago, the original settlers were found +to be a tailor, a publican, two eating-house keepers, and a fruit-pie +maker; and it was also found to contain a race of strong and bulky men, +who repaired to the wharfs in Scotland-yard regularly every morning, +about five or six o’clock, to fill heavy waggons with coal, with +which they proceeded to distant places up the country, and supplied +the inhabitants with fuel. When they had emptied their waggons, +they again returned for a fresh supply; and this trade was continued +throughout the year.</p> +<p>As the settlers derived their subsistence from ministering to the +wants of these primitive traders, the articles exposed for sale, and +the places where they were sold, bore strong outward marks of being +expressly adapted to their tastes and wishes. The tailor displayed +in his window a Lilliputian pair of leather gaiters, and a diminutive +round frock, while each doorpost was appropriately garnished with a +model of a coal-sack. The two eating-house keepers exhibited joints +of a magnitude, and puddings of a solidity, which coalheavers alone +could appreciate; and the fruit-pie maker displayed on his well-scrubbed +window-board large white compositions of flour and dripping, ornamented +with pink stains, giving rich promise of the fruit within, which made +their huge mouths water, as they lingered past.</p> +<p>But the choicest spot in all Scotland-yard was the old public-house +in the corner. Here, in a dark wainscoted-room of ancient appearance, +cheered by the glow of a mighty fire, and decorated with an enormous +clock, whereof the face was white, and the figures black, sat the lusty +coalheavers, quaffing large draughts of Barclay’s best, and puffing +forth volumes of smoke, which wreathed heavily above their heads, and +involved the room in a thick dark cloud. From this apartment might +their voices be heard on a winter’s night, penetrating to the +very bank of the river, as they shouted out some sturdy chorus, or roared +forth the burden of a popular song; dwelling upon the last few words +with a strength and length of emphasis which made the very roof tremble +above them.</p> +<p>Here, too, would they tell old legends of what the Thames was in +ancient times, when the Patent Shot Manufactory wasn’t built, +and Waterloo-bridge had never been thought of; and then they would shake +their heads with portentous looks, to the deep edification of the rising +generation of heavers, who crowded round them, and wondered where all +this would end; whereat the tailor would take his pipe solemnly from +his mouth, and say, how that he hoped it might end well, but he very +much doubted whether it would or not, and couldn’t rightly tell +what to make of it—a mysterious expression of opinion, delivered +with a semi-prophetic air, which never failed to elicit the fullest +concurrence of the assembled company; and so they would go on drinking +and wondering till ten o’clock came, and with it the tailor’s +wife to fetch him home, when the little party broke up, to meet again +in the same room, and say and do precisely the same things, on the following +evening at the same hour.</p> +<p>About this time the barges that came up the river began to bring +vague rumours to Scotland-yard of somebody in the city having been heard +to say, that the Lord Mayor had threatened in so many words to pull +down the old London-bridge, and build up a new one. At first these +rumours were disregarded as idle tales, wholly destitute of foundation, +for nobody in Scotland-yard doubted that if the Lord Mayor contemplated +any such dark design, he would just be clapped up in the Tower for a +week or two, and then killed off for high treason.</p> +<p>By degrees, however, the reports grew stronger, and more frequent, +and at last a barge, laden with numerous chaldrons of the best Wallsend, +brought up the positive intelligence that several of the arches of the +old bridge were stopped, and that preparations were actually in progress +for constructing the new one. What an excitement was visible in +the old tap-room on that memorable night! Each man looked into +his neighbour’s face, pale with alarm and astonishment, and read +therein an echo of the sentiments which filled his own breast. +The oldest heaver present proved to demonstration, that the moment the +piers were removed, all the water in the Thames would run clean off, +and leave a dry gully in its place. What was to become of the +coal-barges—of the trade of Scotland-yard—of the very existence +of its population? The tailor shook his head more sagely than +usual, and grimly pointing to a knife on the table, bid them wait and +see what happened. He said nothing—not he; but if the Lord +Mayor didn’t fall a victim to popular indignation, why he would +be rather astonished; that was all.</p> +<p>They did wait; barge after barge arrived, and still no tidings of +the assassination of the Lord Mayor. The first stone was laid: +it was done by a Duke—the King’s brother. Years passed +away, and the bridge was opened by the King himself. In course +of time, the piers were removed; and when the people in Scotland-yard +got up next morning in the confident expectation of being able to step +over to Pedlar’s Acre without wetting the soles of their shoes, +they found to their unspeakable astonishment that the water was just +where it used to be.</p> +<p>A result so different from that which they had anticipated from this +first improvement, produced its full effect upon the inhabitants of +Scotland-yard. One of the eating-house keepers began to court +public opinion, and to look for customers among a new class of people. +He covered his little dining-tables with white cloths, and got a painter’s +apprentice to inscribe something about hot joints from twelve to two, +in one of the little panes of his shop-window. Improvement began +to march with rapid strides to the very threshold of Scotland-yard. +A new market sprung up at Hungerford, and the Police Commissioners established +their office in Whitehall-place. The traffic in Scotland-yard +increased; fresh Members were added to the House of Commons, the Metropolitan +Representatives found it a near cut, and many other foot passengers +followed their example.</p> +<p>We marked the advance of civilisation, and beheld it with a sigh. +The eating-house keeper who manfully resisted the innovation of table-cloths, +was losing ground every day, as his opponent gained it, and a deadly +feud sprung up between them. The genteel one no longer took his +evening’s pint in Scotland-yard, but drank gin and water at a +‘parlour’ in Parliament-street. The fruit-pie maker +still continued to visit the old room, but he took to smoking cigars, +and began to call himself a pastrycook, and to read the papers. +The old heavers still assembled round the ancient fireplace, but their +talk was mournful: and the loud song and the joyous shout were heard +no more.</p> +<p>And what is Scotland-yard now? How have its old customs changed; +and how has the ancient simplicity of its inhabitants faded away! +The old tottering public-house is converted into a spacious and lofty +‘wine-vaults;’ gold leaf has been used in the construction +of the letters which emblazon its exterior, and the poet’s art +has been called into requisition, to intimate that if you drink a certain +description of ale, you must hold fast by the rail. The tailor +exhibits in his window the pattern of a foreign-looking brown surtout, +with silk buttons, a fur collar, and fur cuffs. He wears a stripe +down the outside of each leg of his trousers: and we have detected his +assistants (for he has assistants now) in the act of sitting on the +shop-board in the same uniform.</p> +<p>At the other end of the little row of houses a boot-maker has established +himself in a brick box, with the additional innovation of a first floor; +and here he exposes for sale, boots—real Wellington boots—an +article which a few years ago, none of the original inhabitants had +ever seen or heard of. It was but the other day, that a dress-maker +opened another little box in the middle of the row; and, when we thought +that the spirit of change could produce no alteration beyond that, a +jeweller appeared, and not content with exposing gilt rings and copper +bracelets out of number, put up an announcement, which still sticks +in his window, that ‘ladies’ ears may be pierced within.’ +The dress-maker employs a young lady who wears pockets in her apron; +and the tailor informs the public that gentlemen may have their own +materials made up.</p> +<p>Amidst all this change, and restlessness, and innovation, there remains +but one old man, who seems to mourn the downfall of this ancient place. +He holds no converse with human kind, but, seated on a wooden bench +at the angle of the wall which fronts the crossing from Whitehall-place, +watches in silence the gambols of his sleek and well-fed dogs. +He is the presiding genius of Scotland-yard. Years and years have +rolled over his head; but, in fine weather or in foul, hot or cold, +wet or dry, hail, rain, or snow, he is still in his accustomed spot. +Misery and want are depicted in his countenance; his form is bent by +age, his head is grey with length of trial, but there he sits from day +to day, brooding over the past; and thither he will continue to drag +his feeble limbs, until his eyes have closed upon Scotland-yard, and +upon the world together.</p> +<p>A few years hence, and the antiquary of another generation looking +into some mouldy record of the strife and passions that agitated the +world in these times, may glance his eye over the pages we have just +filled: and not all his knowledge of the history of the past, not all +his black-letter lore, or his skill in book-collecting, not all the +dry studies of a long life, or the dusty volumes that have cost him +a fortune, may help him to the whereabouts, either of Scotland-yard, +or of any one of the landmarks we have mentioned in describing it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—SEVEN DIALS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have always been of opinion that if Tom King and the Frenchman +had not immortalised Seven Dials, Seven Dials would have immortalised +itself. Seven Dials! the region of song and poetry—first +effusions, and last dying speeches: hallowed by the names of Catnach +and of Pitts—names that will entwine themselves with costermongers, +and barrel-organs, when penny magazines shall have superseded penny +yards of song, and capital punishment be unknown!</p> +<p>Look at the construction of the place. The Gordian knot was +all very well in its way: so was the maze of Hampton Court: so is the +maze at the Beulah Spa: so were the ties of stiff white neckcloths, +when the difficulty of getting one on, was only to be equalled by the +apparent impossibility of ever getting it off again. But what +involutions can compare with those of Seven Dials? Where is there +such another maze of streets, courts, lanes, and alleys? Where +such a pure mixture of Englishmen and Irishmen, as in this complicated +part of London? We boldly aver that we doubt the veracity of the +legend to which we have adverted. We <i>can</i> suppose a man +rash enough to inquire at random—at a house with lodgers too—for +a Mr. Thompson, with all but the certainty before his eyes, of finding +at least two or three Thompsons in any house of moderate dimensions; +but a Frenchman—a Frenchman in Seven Dials! Pooh! +He was an Irishman. Tom King’s education had been neglected +in his infancy, and as he couldn’t understand half the man said, +he took it for granted he was talking French.</p> +<p>The stranger who finds himself in ‘The Dials’ for the +first time, and stands Belzoni-like, at the entrance of seven obscure +passages, uncertain which to take, will see enough around him to keep +his curiosity and attention awake for no inconsiderable time. +From the irregular square into which he has plunged, the streets and +courts dart in all directions, until they are lost in the unwholesome +vapour which hangs over the house-tops, and renders the dirty perspective +uncertain and confined; and lounging at every corner, as if they came +there to take a few gasps of such fresh air as has found its way so +far, but is too much exhausted already, to be enabled to force itself +into the narrow alleys around, are groups of people, whose appearance +and dwellings would fill any mind but a regular Londoner’s with +astonishment.</p> +<p>On one side, a little crowd has collected round a couple of ladies, +who having imbibed the contents of various ‘three-outs’ +of gin and bitters in the course of the morning, have at length differed +on some point of domestic arrangement, and are on the eve of settling +the quarrel satisfactorily, by an appeal to blows, greatly to the interest +of other ladies who live in the same house, and tenements adjoining, +and who are all partisans on one side or other.</p> +<p>‘Vy don’t you pitch into her, Sarah?’ exclaims +one half-dressed matron, by way of encouragement. ‘Vy don’t +you? if <i>my</i> ’usband had treated her with a drain last night, +unbeknown to me, I’d tear her precious eyes out—a wixen!’</p> +<p>‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ inquires another +old woman, who has just bustled up to the spot.</p> +<p>‘Matter!’ replies the first speaker, talking <i>at</i> +the obnoxious combatant, ‘matter! Here’s poor dear +Mrs. Sulliwin, as has five blessed children of her own, can’t +go out a charing for one arternoon, but what hussies must be a comin’, +and ’ticing avay her oun’ ’usband, as she’s +been married to twelve year come next Easter Monday, for I see the certificate +ven I vas a drinkin’ a cup o’ tea vith her, only the werry +last blessed Ven’sday as ever was sent. I ’appen’d +to say promiscuously, “Mrs. Sulliwin,” says I—’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean by hussies?’ interrupts a champion +of the other party, who has evinced a strong inclination throughout +to get up a branch fight on her own account (‘Hooroar,’ +ejaculates a pot-boy in parenthesis, ‘put the kye-bosk on her, +Mary!’), ‘What do you mean by hussies?’ reiterates +the champion.</p> +<p>‘Niver mind,’ replies the opposition expressively, ‘niver +mind; <i>you</i> go home, and, ven you’re quite sober, mend your +stockings.’</p> +<p>This somewhat personal allusion, not only to the lady’s habits +of intemperance, but also to the state of her wardrobe, rouses her utmost +ire, and she accordingly complies with the urgent request of the bystanders +to ‘pitch in,’ with considerable alacrity. The scuffle +became general, and terminates, in minor play-bill phraseology, with +‘arrival of the policemen, interior of the station-house, and +impressive <i>dénouement</i>.’</p> +<p>In addition to the numerous groups who are idling about the gin-shops +and squabbling in the centre of the road, every post in the open space +has its occupant, who leans against it for hours, with listless perseverance. +It is odd enough that one class of men in London appear to have no enjoyment +beyond leaning against posts. We never saw a regular bricklayer’s +labourer take any other recreation, fighting excepted. Pass through +St. Giles’s in the evening of a week-day, there they are in their +fustian dresses, spotted with brick-dust and whitewash, leaning against +posts. Walk through Seven Dials on Sunday morning: there they +are again, drab or light corduroy trousers, Blucher boots, blue coats, +and great yellow waistcoats, leaning against posts. The idea of +a man dressing himself in his best clothes, to lean against a post all +day!</p> +<p>The peculiar character of these streets, and the close resemblance +each one bears to its neighbour, by no means tends to decrease the bewilderment +in which the unexperienced wayfarer through ‘the Dials’ +finds himself involved. He traverses streets of dirty, straggling +houses, with now and then an unexpected court composed of buildings +as ill-proportioned and deformed as the half-naked children that wallow +in the kennels. Here and there, a little dark chandler’s +shop, with a cracked bell hung up behind the door to announce the entrance +of a customer, or betray the presence of some young gentleman in whom +a passion for shop tills has developed itself at an early age: others, +as if for support, against some handsome lofty building, which usurps +the place of a low dingy public-house; long rows of broken and patched +windows expose plants that may have flourished when ‘the Dials’ +were built, in vessels as dirty as ‘the Dials’ themselves; +and shops for the purchase of rags, bones, old iron, and kitchen-stuff, +vie in cleanliness with the bird-fanciers and rabbit-dealers, which +one might fancy so many arks, but for the irresistible conviction that +no bird in its proper senses, who was permitted to leave one of them, +would ever come back again. Brokers’ shops, which would +seem to have been established by humane individuals, as refuges for +destitute bugs, interspersed with announcements of day-schools, penny +theatres, petition-writers, mangles, and music for balls or routs, complete +the ‘still life’ of the subject; and dirty men, filthy women, +squalid children, fluttering shuttlecocks, noisy battledores, reeking +pipes, bad fruit, more than doubtful oysters, attenuated cats, depressed +dogs, and anatomical fowls, are its cheerful accompaniments.</p> +<p>If the external appearance of the houses, or a glance at their inhabitants, +present but few attractions, a closer acquaintance with either is little +calculated to alter one’s first impression. Every room has +its separate tenant, and every tenant is, by the same mysterious dispensation +which causes a country curate to ‘increase and multiply’ +most marvellously, generally the head of a numerous family.</p> +<p>The man in the shop, perhaps, is in the baked ‘jemmy’ +line, or the fire-wood and hearth-stone line, or any other line which +requires a floating capital of eighteen-pence or thereabouts: and he +and his family live in the shop, and the small back parlour behind it. +Then there is an Irish labourer and <i>his</i> family in the back kitchen, +and a jobbing man—carpet-beater and so forth—with <i>his</i> +family in the front one. In the front one-pair, there’s +another man with another wife and family, and in the back one-pair, +there’s ‘a young ’oman as takes in tambour-work, and +dresses quite genteel,’ who talks a good deal about ‘my +friend,’ and can’t ‘a-bear anything low.’ +The second floor front, and the rest of the lodgers, are just a second +edition of the people below, except a shabby-genteel man in the back +attic, who has his half-pint of coffee every morning from the coffee-shop +next door but one, which boasts a little front den called a coffee-room, +with a fireplace, over which is an inscription, politely requesting +that, ‘to prevent mistakes,’ customers will ‘please +to pay on delivery.’ The shabby-genteel man is an object +of some mystery, but as he leads a life of seclusion, and never was +known to buy anything beyond an occasional pen, except half-pints of +coffee, penny loaves, and ha’porths of ink, his fellow-lodgers +very naturally suppose him to be an author; and rumours are current +in the Dials, that he writes poems for Mr. Warren.</p> +<p>Now anybody who passed through the Dials on a hot summer’s +evening, and saw the different women of the house gossiping on the steps, +would be apt to think that all was harmony among them, and that a more +primitive set of people than the native Diallers could not be imagined. +Alas! the man in the shop ill-treats his family; the carpet-beater extends +his professional pursuits to his wife; the one-pair front has an undying +feud with the two-pair front, in consequence of the two-pair front persisting +in dancing over his (the one-pair front’s) head, when he and his +family have retired for the night; the two-pair back will interfere +with the front kitchen’s children; the Irishman comes home drunk +every other night, and attacks everybody; and the one-pair back screams +at everything. Animosities spring up between floor and floor; +the very cellar asserts his equality. Mrs. A. ‘smacks’ +Mrs. B.’s child for ‘making faces.’ Mrs. B. +forthwith throws cold water over Mrs. A.’s child for ‘calling +names.’ The husbands are embroiled—the quarrel becomes +general—an assault is the consequence, and a police-officer the +result.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have always entertained a particular attachment towards Monmouth-street, +as the only true and real emporium for second-hand wearing apparel. +Monmouth-street is venerable from its antiquity, and respectable from +its usefulness. Holywell-street we despise; the red-headed and +red-whiskered Jews who forcibly haul you into their squalid houses, +and thrust you into a suit of clothes, whether you will or not, we detest.</p> +<p>The inhabitants of Monmouth-street are a distinct class; a peaceable +and retiring race, who immure themselves for the most part in deep cellars, +or small back parlours, and who seldom come forth into the world, except +in the dusk and coolness of the evening, when they may be seen seated, +in chairs on the pavement, smoking their pipes, or watching the gambols +of their engaging children as they revel in the gutter, a happy troop +of infantine scavengers. Their countenances bear a thoughtful +and a dirty cast, certain indications of their love of traffic; and +their habitations are distinguished by that disregard of outward appearance +and neglect of personal comfort, so common among people who are constantly +immersed in profound speculations, and deeply engaged in sedentary pursuits.</p> +<p>We have hinted at the antiquity of our favourite spot. ‘A +Monmouth-street laced coat’ was a by-word a century ago; and still +we find Monmouth-street the same. Pilot great-coats with wooden +buttons, have usurped the place of the ponderous laced coats with full +skirts; embroidered waistcoats with large flaps, have yielded to double-breasted +checks with roll-collars; and three-cornered hats of quaint appearance, +have given place to the low crowns and broad brims of the coachman school; +but it is the times that have changed, not Monmouth-street. Through +every alteration and every change, Monmouth-street has still remained +the burial-place of the fashions; and such, to judge from all present +appearances, it will remain until there are no more fashions to bury.</p> +<p>We love to walk among these extensive groves of the illustrious dead, +and to indulge in the speculations to which they give rise; now fitting +a deceased coat, then a dead pair of trousers, and anon the mortal remains +of a gaudy waistcoat, upon some being of our own conjuring up, and endeavouring, +from the shape and fashion of the garment itself, to bring its former +owner before our mind’s eye. We have gone on speculating +in this way, until whole rows of coats have started from their pegs, +and buttoned up, of their own accord, round the waists of imaginary +wearers; lines of trousers have jumped down to meet them; waistcoats +have almost burst with anxiety to put themselves on; and half an acre +of shoes have suddenly found feet to fit them, and gone stumping down +the street with a noise which has fairly awakened us from our pleasant +reverie, and driven us slowly away, with a bewildered stare, an object +of astonishment to the good people of Monmouth-street, and of no slight +suspicion to the policemen at the opposite street corner.</p> +<p>We were occupied in this manner the other day, endeavouring to fit +a pair of lace-up half-boots on an ideal personage, for whom, to say +the truth, they were full a couple of sizes too small, when our eyes +happened to alight on a few suits of clothes ranged outside a shop-window, +which it immediately struck us, must at different periods have all belonged +to, and been worn by, the same individual, and had now, by one of those +strange conjunctions of circumstances which will occur sometimes, come +to be exposed together for sale in the same shop. The idea seemed +a fantastic one, and we looked at the clothes again with a firm determination +not to be easily led away. No, we were right; the more we looked, +the more we were convinced of the accuracy of our previous impression. +There was the man’s whole life written as legibly on those clothes, +as if we had his autobiography engrossed on parchment before us.</p> +<p>The first was a patched and much-soiled skeleton suit; one of those +straight blue cloth cases in which small boys used to be confined, before +belts and tunics had come in, and old notions had gone out: an ingenious +contrivance for displaying the full symmetry of a boy’s figure, +by fastening him into a very tight jacket, with an ornamental row of +buttons over each shoulder, and then buttoning his trousers over it, +so as to give his legs the appearance of being hooked on, just under +the armpits. This was the boy’s dress. It had belonged +to a town boy, we could see; there was a shortness about the legs and +arms of the suit; and a bagging at the knees, peculiar to the rising +youth of London streets. A small day-school he had been at, evidently. +If it had been a regular boys’ school they wouldn’t have +let him play on the floor so much, and rub his knees so white. +He had an indulgent mother too, and plenty of halfpence, as the numerous +smears of some sticky substance about the pockets, and just below the +chin, which even the salesman’s skill could not succeed in disguising, +sufficiently betokened. They were decent people, but not overburdened +with riches, or he would not have so far outgrown the suit when he passed +into those corduroys with the round jacket; in which he went to a boys’ +school, however, and learnt to write—and in ink of pretty tolerable +blackness, too, if the place where he used to wipe his pen might be +taken as evidence.</p> +<p>A black suit and the jacket changed into a diminutive coat. +His father had died, and the mother had got the boy a message-lad’s +place in some office. A long-worn suit that one; rusty and threadbare +before it was laid aside, but clean and free from soil to the last. +Poor woman! We could imagine her assumed cheerfulness over the +scanty meal, and the refusal of her own small portion, that her hungry +boy might have enough. Her constant anxiety for his welfare, her +pride in his growth mingled sometimes with the thought, almost too acute +to bear, that as he grew to be a man his old affection might cool, old +kindnesses fade from his mind, and old promises be forgotten—the +sharp pain that even then a careless word or a cold look would give +her—all crowded on our thoughts as vividly as if the very scene +were passing before us.</p> +<p>These things happen every hour, and we all know it; and yet we felt +as much sorrow when we saw, or fancied we saw—it makes no difference +which—the change that began to take place now, as if we had just +conceived the bare possibility of such a thing for the first time. +The next suit, smart but slovenly; meant to be gay, and yet not half +so decent as the threadbare apparel; redolent of the idle lounge, and +the blackguard companions, told us, we thought, that the widow’s +comfort had rapidly faded away. We could imagine that coat—imagine! +we could see it; we <i>had</i> seen it a hundred times—sauntering +in company with three or four other coats of the same cut, about some +place of profligate resort at night.</p> +<p>We dressed, from the same shop-window in an instant, half a dozen +boys of from fifteen to twenty; and putting cigars into their mouths, +and their hands into their pockets, watched them as they sauntered down +the street, and lingered at the corner, with the obscene jest, and the +oft-repeated oath. We never lost sight of them, till they had +cocked their hats a little more on one side, and swaggered into the +public-house; and then we entered the desolate home, where the mother +sat late in the night, alone; we watched her, as she paced the room +in feverish anxiety, and every now and then opened the door, looked +wistfully into the dark and empty street, and again returned, to be +again and again disappointed. We beheld the look of patience with +which she bore the brutish threat, nay, even the drunken blow; and we +heard the agony of tears that gushed from her very heart, as she sank +upon her knees in her solitary and wretched apartment.</p> +<p>A long period had elapsed, and a greater change had taken place, +by the time of casting off the suit that hung above. It was that +of a stout, broad-shouldered, sturdy-chested man; and we knew at once, +as anybody would, who glanced at that broad-skirted green coat, with +the large metal buttons, that its wearer seldom walked forth without +a dog at his heels, and some idle ruffian, the very counterpart of himself, +at his side. The vices of the boy had grown with the man, and +we fancied his home then—if such a place deserve the name.</p> +<p>We saw the bare and miserable room, destitute of furniture, crowded +with his wife and children, pale, hungry, and emaciated; the man cursing +their lamentations, staggering to the tap-room, from whence he had just +returned, followed by his wife and a sickly infant, clamouring for bread; +and heard the street-wrangle and noisy recrimination that his striking +her occasioned. And then imagination led us to some metropolitan +workhouse, situated in the midst of crowded streets and alleys, filled +with noxious vapours, and ringing with boisterous cries, where an old +and feeble woman, imploring pardon for her son, lay dying in a close +dark room, with no child to clasp her hand, and no pure air from heaven +to fan her brow. A stranger closed the eyes that settled into +a cold unmeaning glare, and strange ears received the words that murmured +from the white and half-closed lips.</p> +<p>A coarse round frock, with a worn cotton neckerchief, and other articles +of clothing of the commonest description, completed the history. +A prison, and the sentence—banishment or the gallows. What +would the man have given then, to be once again the contented humble +drudge of his boyish years; to have been restored to life, but for a +week, a day, an hour, a minute, only for so long a time as would enable +him to say one word of passionate regret to, and hear one sound of heartfelt +forgiveness from, the cold and ghastly form that lay rotting in the +pauper’s grave! The children wild in the streets, the mother +a destitute widow; both deeply tainted with the deep disgrace of the +husband and father’s name, and impelled by sheer necessity, down +the precipice that had led him to a lingering death, possibly of many +years’ duration, thousands of miles away. We had no clue +to the end of the tale; but it was easy to guess its termination.</p> +<p>We took a step or two further on, and by way of restoring the naturally +cheerful tone of our thoughts, began fitting visionary feet and legs +into a cellar-board full of boots and shoes, with a speed and accuracy +that would have astonished the most expert artist in leather, living. +There was one pair of boots in particular—a jolly, good-tempered, +hearty-looking pair of tops, that excited our warmest regard; and we +had got a fine, red-faced, jovial fellow of a market-gardener into them, +before we had made their acquaintance half a minute. They were +just the very thing for him. There was his huge fat legs bulging +over the tops, and fitting them too tight to admit of his tucking in +the loops he had pulled them on by; and his knee-cords with an interval +of stocking; and his blue apron tucked up round his waist; and his red +neckerchief and blue coat, and a white hat stuck on one side of his +head; and there he stood with a broad grin on his great red face, whistling +away, as if any other idea but that of being happy and comfortable had +never entered his brain.</p> +<p>This was the very man after our own heart; we knew all about him; +we had seen him coming up to Covent-garden in his green chaise-cart, +with the fat, tubby little horse, half a thousand times; and even while +we cast an affectionate look upon his boots, at that instant, the form +of a coquettish servant-maid suddenly sprung into a pair of Denmark +satin shoes that stood beside them, and we at once recognised the very +girl who accepted his offer of a ride, just on this side the Hammersmith +suspension-bridge, the very last Tuesday morning we rode into town from +Richmond.</p> +<p>A very smart female, in a showy bonnet, stepped into a pair of grey +cloth boots, with black fringe and binding, that were studiously pointing +out their toes on the other side of the top-boots, and seemed very anxious +to engage his attention, but we didn’t observe that our friend +the market-gardener appeared at all captivated with these blandishments; +for beyond giving a knowing wink when they first began, as if to imply +that he quite understood their end and object, he took no further notice +of them. His indifference, however, was amply recompensed by the +excessive gallantry of a very old gentleman with a silver-headed stick, +who tottered into a pair of large list shoes, that were standing in +one corner of the board, and indulged in a variety of gestures expressive +of his admiration of the lady in the cloth boots, to the immeasurable +amusement of a young fellow we put into a pair of long-quartered pumps, +who we thought would have split the coat that slid down to meet him, +with laughing.</p> +<p>We had been looking on at this little pantomime with great satisfaction +for some time, when, to our unspeakable astonishment, we perceived that +the whole of the characters, including a numerous <i>corps de ballet</i> +of boots and shoes in the background, into which we had been hastily +thrusting as many feet as we could press into the service, were arranging +themselves in order for dancing; and some music striking up at the moment, +to it they went without delay. It was perfectly delightful to +witness the agility of the market-gardener. Out went the boots, +first on one side, then on the other, then cutting, then shuffling, +then setting to the Denmark satins, then advancing, then retreating, +then going round, and then repeating the whole of the evolutions again, +without appearing to suffer in the least from the violence of the exercise.</p> +<p>Nor were the Denmark satins a bit behindhand, for they jumped and +bounded about, in all directions; and though they were neither so regular, +nor so true to the time as the cloth boots, still, as they seemed to +do it from the heart, and to enjoy it more, we candidly confess that +we preferred their style of dancing to the other. But the old +gentleman in the list shoes was the most amusing object in the whole +party; for, besides his grotesque attempts to appear youthful, and amorous, +which were sufficiently entertaining in themselves, the young fellow +in the pumps managed so artfully that every time the old gentleman advanced +to salute the lady in the cloth boots, he trod with his whole weight +on the old fellow’s toes, which made him roar with anguish, and +rendered all the others like to die of laughing.</p> +<p>We were in the full enjoyment of these festivities when we heard +a shrill, and by no means musical voice, exclaim, ‘Hope you’ll +know me agin, imperence!’ and on looking intently forward to see +from whence the sound came, we found that it proceeded, not from the +young lady in the cloth boots, as we had at first been inclined to suppose, +but from a bulky lady of elderly appearance who was seated in a chair +at the head of the cellar-steps, apparently for the purpose of superintending +the sale of the articles arranged there.</p> +<p>A barrel-organ, which had been in full force close behind us, ceased +playing; the people we had been fitting into the shoes and boots took +to flight at the interruption; and as we were conscious that in the +depth of our meditations we might have been rudely staring at the old +lady for half an hour without knowing it, we took to flight too, and +were soon immersed in the deepest obscurity of the adjacent ‘Dials.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII—HACKNEY-COACH STANDS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We maintain that hackney-coaches, properly so called, belong solely +to the metropolis. We may be told, that there are hackney-coach +stands in Edinburgh; and not to go quite so far for a contradiction +to our position, we may be reminded that Liverpool, Manchester, ‘and +other large towns’ (as the Parliamentary phrase goes), have <i>their</i> +hackney-coach stands. We readily concede to these places the possession +of certain vehicles, which may look almost as dirty, and even go almost +as slowly, as London hackney-coaches; but that they have the slightest +claim to compete with the metropolis, either in point of stands, drivers, +or cattle, we indignantly deny.</p> +<p>Take a regular, ponderous, rickety, London hackney-coach of the old +school, and let any man have the boldness to assert, if he can, that +he ever beheld any object on the face of the earth which at all resembles +it, unless, indeed, it were another hackney-coach of the same date. +We have recently observed on certain stands, and we say it with deep +regret, rather dapper green chariots, and coaches of polished yellow, +with four wheels of the same colour as the coach, whereas it is perfectly +notorious to every one who has studied the subject, that every wheel +ought to be of a different colour, and a different size. These +are innovations, and, like other miscalled improvements, awful signs +of the restlessness of the public mind, and the little respect paid +to our time-honoured institutions. Why should hackney-coaches +be clean? Our ancestors found them dirty, and left them so. +Why should we, with a feverish wish to ‘keep moving,’ desire +to roll along at the rate of six miles an hour, while they were content +to rumble over the stones at four? These are solemn considerations. +Hackney-coaches are part and parcel of the law of the land; they were +settled by the Legislature; plated and numbered by the wisdom of Parliament.</p> +<p>Then why have they been swamped by cabs and omnibuses? Or why +should people be allowed to ride quickly for eightpence a mile, after +Parliament had come to the solemn decision that they should pay a shilling +a mile for riding slowly? We pause for a reply;—and, having +no chance of getting one, begin a fresh paragraph.</p> +<p>Our acquaintance with hackney-coach stands is of long standing. +We are a walking book of fares, feeling ourselves, half bound, as it +were, to be always in the right on contested points. We know all +the regular watermen within three miles of Covent-garden by sight, and +should be almost tempted to believe that all the hackney-coach horses +in that district knew us by sight too, if one-half of them were not +blind. We take great interest in hackney-coaches, but we seldom +drive, having a knack of turning ourselves over when we attempt to do +so. We are as great friends to horses, hackney-coach and otherwise, +as the renowned Mr. Martin, of costermonger notoriety, and yet we never +ride. We keep no horse, but a clothes-horse; enjoy no saddle so +much as a saddle of mutton; and, following our own inclinations, have +never followed the hounds. Leaving these fleeter means of getting +over the ground, or of depositing oneself upon it, to those who like +them, by hackney-coach stands we take our stand.</p> +<p>There is a hackney-coach stand under the very window at which we +are writing; there is only one coach on it now, but it is a fair specimen +of the class of vehicles to which we have alluded—a great, lumbering, +square concern of a dingy yellow colour (like a bilious brunette), with +very small glasses, but very large frames; the panels are ornamented +with a faded coat of arms, in shape something like a dissected bat, +the axletree is red, and the majority of the wheels are green. +The box is partially covered by an old great-coat, with a multiplicity +of capes, and some extraordinary-looking clothes; and the straw, with +which the canvas cushion is stuffed, is sticking up in several places, +as if in rivalry of the hay, which is peeping through the chinks in +the boot. The horses, with drooping heads, and each with a mane +and tail as scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rocking-horse, +are standing patiently on some damp straw, occasionally wincing, and +rattling the harness; and now and then, one of them lifts his mouth +to the ear of his companion, as if he were saying, in a whisper, that +he should like to assassinate the coachman. The coachman himself +is in the watering-house; and the waterman, with his hands forced into +his pockets as far as they can possibly go, is dancing the ‘double +shuffle,’ in front of the pump, to keep his feet warm.</p> +<p>The servant-girl, with the pink ribbons, at No. 5, opposite, suddenly +opens the street-door, and four small children forthwith rush out, and +scream ‘Coach!’ with all their might and main. The +waterman darts from the pump, seizes the horses by their respective +bridles, and drags them, and the coach too, round to the house, shouting +all the time for the coachman at the very top, or rather very bottom +of his voice, for it is a deep bass growl. A response is heard +from the tap-room; the coachman, in his wooden-soled shoes, makes the +street echo again as he runs across it; and then there is such a struggling, +and backing, and grating of the kennel, to get the coach-door opposite +the house-door, that the children are in perfect ecstasies of delight. +What a commotion! The old lady, who has been stopping there for +the last month, is going back to the country. Out comes box after +box, and one side of the vehicle is filled with luggage in no time; +the children get into everybody’s way, and the youngest, who has +upset himself in his attempts to carry an umbrella, is borne off wounded +and kicking. The youngsters disappear, and a short pause ensues, +during which the old lady is, no doubt, kissing them all round in the +back parlour. She appears at last, followed by her married daughter, +all the children, and both the servants, who, with the joint assistance +of the coachman and waterman, manage to get her safely into the coach. +A cloak is handed in, and a little basket, which we could almost swear +contains a small black bottle, and a paper of sandwiches. Up go +the steps, bang goes the door, ‘Golden-cross, Charing-cross, Tom,’ +says the waterman; ‘Good-bye, grandma,’ cry the children, +off jingles the coach at the rate of three miles an hour, and the mamma +and children retire into the house, with the exception of one little +villain, who runs up the street at the top of his speed, pursued by +the servant; not ill-pleased to have such an opportunity of displaying +her attractions. She brings him back, and, after casting two or +three gracious glances across the way, which are either intended for +us or the potboy (we are not quite certain which), shuts the door, and +the hackney-coach stand is again at a standstill.</p> +<p>We have been frequently amused with the intense delight with which +‘a servant of all work,’ who is sent for a coach, deposits +herself inside; and the unspeakable gratification which boys, who have +been despatched on a similar errand, appear to derive from mounting +the box. But we never recollect to have been more amused with +a hackney-coach party, than one we saw early the other morning in Tottenham-court-road. +It was a wedding-party, and emerged from one of the inferior streets +near Fitzroy-square. There were the bride, with a thin white dress, +and a great red face; and the bridesmaid, a little, dumpy, good-humoured +young woman, dressed, of course, in the same appropriate costume; and +the bridegroom and his chosen friend, in blue coats, yellow waist-coats, +white trousers, and Berlin gloves to match. They stopped at the +corner of the street, and called a coach with an air of indescribable +dignity. The moment they were in, the bridesmaid threw a red shawl, +which she had, no doubt, brought on purpose, negligently over the number +on the door, evidently to delude pedestrians into the belief that the +hackney-coach was a private carriage; and away they went, perfectly +satisfied that the imposition was successful, and quite unconscious +that there was a great staring number stuck up behind, on a plate as +large as a schoolboy’s slate. A shilling a mile!—the +ride was worth five, at least, to them.</p> +<p>What an interesting book a hackney-coach might produce, if it could +carry as much in its head as it does in its body! The autobiography +of a broken-down hackney-coach, would surely be as amusing as the autobiography +of a broken-down hackneyed dramatist; and it might tell as much of its +travels <i>with</i> the pole, as others have of their expeditions <i>to</i> +it. How many stories might be related of the different people +it had conveyed on matters of business or profit—pleasure or pain! +And how many melancholy tales of the same people at different periods! +The country-girl—the showy, over-dressed woman—the drunken +prostitute! The raw apprentice—the dissipated spendthrift—the +thief!</p> +<p>Talk of cabs! Cabs are all very well in cases of expedition, +when it’s a matter of neck or nothing, life or death, your temporary +home or your long one. But, besides a cab’s lacking that +gravity of deportment which so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney-coach, +let it never be forgotten that a cab is a thing of yesterday, and that +he never was anything better. A hackney-cab has always been a +hackney-cab, from his first entry into life; whereas a hackney-coach +is a remnant of past gentility, a victim to fashion, a hanger-on of +an old English family, wearing their arms, and, in days of yore, escorted +by men wearing their livery, stripped of his finery, and thrown upon +the world, like a once-smart footman when he is no longer sufficiently +juvenile for his office, progressing lower and lower in the scale of +four-wheeled degradation, until at last it comes to—<i>a stand!</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII—DOCTORS’ COMMONS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Walking without any definite object through St. Paul’s Churchyard, +a little while ago, we happened to turn down a street entitled ‘Paul’s-chain,’ +and keeping straight forward for a few hundred yards, found ourself, +as a natural consequence, in Doctors’ Commons. Now Doctors’ +Commons being familiar by name to everybody, as the place where they +grant marriage-licenses to love-sick couples, and divorces to unfaithful +ones; register the wills of people who have any property to leave, and +punish hasty gentlemen who call ladies by unpleasant names, we no sooner +discovered that we were really within its precincts, than we felt a +laudable desire to become better acquainted therewith; and as the first +object of our curiosity was the Court, whose decrees can even unloose +the bonds of matrimony, we procured a direction to it; and bent our +steps thither without delay.</p> +<p>Crossing a quiet and shady court-yard, paved with stone, and frowned +upon by old red brick houses, on the doors of which were painted the +names of sundry learned civilians, we paused before a small, green-baized, +brass-headed-nailed door, which yielding to our gentle push, at once +admitted us into an old quaint-looking apartment, with sunken windows, +and black carved wainscoting, at the upper end of which, seated on a +raised platform, of semicircular shape, were about a dozen solemn-looking +gentlemen, in crimson gowns and wigs.</p> +<p>At a more elevated desk in the centre, sat a very fat and red-faced +gentleman, in tortoise-shell spectacles, whose dignified appearance +announced the judge; and round a long green-baized table below, something +like a billiard-table without the cushions and pockets, were a number +of very self-important-looking personages, in stiff neckcloths, and +black gowns with white fur collars, whom we at once set down as proctors. +At the lower end of the billiard-table was an individual in an arm-chair, +and a wig, whom we afterwards discovered to be the registrar; and seated +behind a little desk, near the door, were a respectable-looking man +in black, of about twenty-stone weight or thereabouts, and a fat-faced, +smirking, civil-looking body, in a black gown, black kid gloves, knee +shorts, and silks, with a shirt-frill in his bosom, curls on his head, +and a silver staff in his hand, whom we had no difficulty in recognising +as the officer of the Court. The latter, indeed, speedily set +our mind at rest upon this point, for, advancing to our elbow, and opening +a conversation forthwith, he had communicated to us, in less than five +minutes, that he was the apparitor, and the other the court-keeper; +that this was the Arches Court, and therefore the counsel wore red gowns, +and the proctors fur collars; and that when the other Courts sat there, +they didn’t wear red gowns or fur collars either; with many other +scraps of intelligence equally interesting. Besides these two +officers, there was a little thin old man, with long grizzly hair, crouched +in a remote corner, whose duty, our communicative friend informed us, +was to ring a large hand-bell when the Court opened in the morning, +and who, for aught his appearance betokened to the contrary, might have +been similarly employed for the last two centuries at least.</p> +<p>The red-faced gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles had got +all the talk to himself just then, and very well he was doing it, too, +only he spoke very fast, but that was habit; and rather thick, but that +was good living. So we had plenty of time to look about us. +There was one individual who amused us mightily. This was one +of the bewigged gentlemen in the red robes, who was straddling before +the fire in the centre of the Court, in the attitude of the brazen Colossus, +to the complete exclusion of everybody else. He had gathered up +his robe behind, in much the same manner as a slovenly woman would her +petticoats on a very dirty day, in order that he might feel the full +warmth of the fire. His wig was put on all awry, with the tail +straggling about his neck; his scanty grey trousers and short black +gaiters, made in the worst possible style, imported an additional inelegant +appearance to his uncouth person; and his limp, badly-starched shirt-collar +almost obscured his eyes. We shall never be able to claim any +credit as a physiognomist again, for, after a careful scrutiny of this +gentleman’s countenance, we had come to the conclusion that it +bespoke nothing but conceit and silliness, when our friend with the +silver staff whispered in our ear that he was no other than a doctor +of civil law, and heaven knows what besides. So of course we were +mistaken, and he must be a very talented man. He conceals it so +well though—perhaps with the merciful view of not astonishing +ordinary people too much—that you would suppose him to be one +of the stupidest dogs alive.</p> +<p>The gentleman in the spectacles having concluded his judgment, and +a few minutes having been allowed to elapse, to afford time for the +buzz of the Court to subside, the registrar called on the next cause, +which was ‘the office of the Judge promoted by Bumple against +Sludberry.’ A general movement was visible in the Court, +at this announcement, and the obliging functionary with silver staff +whispered us that ‘there would be some fun now, for this was a +brawling case.’</p> +<p>We were not rendered much the wiser by this piece of information, +till we found by the opening speech of the counsel for the promoter, +that, under a half-obsolete statute of one of the Edwards, the court +was empowered to visit with the penalty of excommunication, any person +who should be proved guilty of the crime of ‘brawling,’ +or ‘smiting,’ in any church, or vestry adjoining thereto; +and it appeared, by some eight-and-twenty affidavits, which were duly +referred to, that on a certain night, at a certain vestry-meeting, in +a certain parish particularly set forth, Thomas Sludberry, the party +appeared against in that suit, had made use of, and applied to Michael +Bumple, the promoter, the words ‘You be blowed;’ and that, +on the said Michael Bumple and others remonstrating with the said Thomas +Sludberry, on the impropriety of his conduct, the said Thomas Sludberry +repeated the aforesaid expression, ‘You be blowed;’ and +furthermore desired and requested to know, whether the said Michael +Bumple ‘wanted anything for himself;’ adding, ‘that +if the said Michael Bumple did want anything for himself, he, the said +Thomas Sludberry, was the man to give it him;’ at the same time +making use of other heinous and sinful expressions, all of which, Bumple +submitted, came within the intent and meaning of the Act; and therefore +he, for the soul’s health and chastening of Sludberry, prayed +for sentence of excommunication against him accordingly.</p> +<p>Upon these facts a long argument was entered into, on both sides, +to the great edification of a number of persons interested in the parochial +squabbles, who crowded the court; and when some very long and grave +speeches had been made <i>pro</i> and<i> con</i>, the red-faced gentleman +in the tortoise-shell spectacles took a review of the case, which occupied +half an hour more, and then pronounced upon Sludberry the awful sentence +of excommunication for a fortnight, and payment of the costs of the +suit. Upon this, Sludberry, who was a little, red-faced, sly-looking, +ginger-beer seller, addressed the court, and said, if they’d be +good enough to take off the costs, and excommunicate him for the term +of his natural life instead, it would be much more convenient to him, +for he never went to church at all. To this appeal the gentleman +in the spectacles made no other reply than a look of virtuous indignation; +and Sludberry and his friends retired. As the man with the silver +staff informed us that the court was on the point of rising, we retired +too—pondering, as we walked away, upon the beautiful spirit of +these ancient ecclesiastical laws, the kind and neighbourly feelings +they are calculated to awaken, and the strong attachment to religious +institutions which they cannot fail to engender.</p> +<p>We were so lost in these meditations, that we had turned into the +street, and run up against a door-post, before we recollected where +we were walking. On looking upwards to see what house we had stumbled +upon, the words ‘Prerogative-Office,’ written in large characters, +met our eye; and as we were in a sight-seeing humour and the place was +a public one, we walked in.</p> +<p>The room into which we walked, was a long, busy-looking place, partitioned +off, on either side, into a variety of little boxes, in which a few +clerks were engaged in copying or examining deeds. Down the centre +of the room were several desks nearly breast high, at each of which, +three or four people were standing, poring over large volumes. +As we knew that they were searching for wills, they attracted our attention +at once.</p> +<p>It was curious to contrast the lazy indifference of the attorneys’ +clerks who were making a search for some legal purpose, with the air +of earnestness and interest which distinguished the strangers to the +place, who were looking up the will of some deceased relative; the former +pausing every now and then with an impatient yawn, or raising their +heads to look at the people who passed up and down the room; the latter +stooping over the book, and running down column after column of names +in the deepest abstraction.</p> +<p>There was one little dirty-faced man in a blue apron, who after a +whole morning’s search, extending some fifty years back, had just +found the will to which he wished to refer, which one of the officials +was reading to him in a low hurried voice from a thick vellum book with +large clasps. It was perfectly evident that the more the clerk +read, the less the man with the blue apron understood about the matter. +When the volume was first brought down, he took off his hat, smoothed +down his hair, smiled with great self-satisfaction, and looked up in +the reader’s face with the air of a man who had made up his mind +to recollect every word he heard. The first two or three lines +were intelligible enough; but then the technicalities began, and the +little man began to look rather dubious. Then came a whole string +of complicated trusts, and he was regularly at sea. As the reader +proceeded, it was quite apparent that it was a hopeless case, and the +little man, with his mouth open and his eyes fixed upon his face, looked +on with an expression of bewilderment and perplexity irresistibly ludicrous.</p> +<p>A little further on, a hard-featured old man with a deeply-wrinkled +face, was intently perusing a lengthy will with the aid of a pair of +horn spectacles: occasionally pausing from his task, and slily noting +down some brief memorandum of the bequests contained in it. Every +wrinkle about his toothless mouth, and sharp keen eyes, told of avarice +and cunning. His clothes were nearly threadbare, but it was easy +to see that he wore them from choice and not from necessity; all his +looks and gestures down to the very small pinches of snuff which he +every now and then took from a little tin canister, told of wealth, +and penury, and avarice.</p> +<p>As he leisurely closed the register, put up his spectacles, and folded +his scraps of paper in a large leathern pocket-book, we thought what +a nice hard bargain he was driving with some poverty-stricken legatee, +who, tired of waiting year after year, until some life-interest should +fall in, was selling his chance, just as it began to grow most valuable, +for a twelfth part of its worth. It was a good speculation—a +very safe one. The old man stowed his pocket-book carefully in +the breast of his great-coat, and hobbled away with a leer of triumph. +That will had made him ten years younger at the lowest computation.</p> +<p>Having commenced our observations, we should certainly have extended +them to another dozen of people at least, had not a sudden shutting +up and putting away of the worm-eaten old books, warned us that the +time for closing the office had arrived; and thus deprived us of a pleasure, +and spared our readers an infliction.</p> +<p>We naturally fell into a train of reflection as we walked homewards, +upon the curious old records of likings and dislikings; of jealousies +and revenges; of affection defying the power of death, and hatred pursued +beyond the grave, which these depositories contain; silent but striking +tokens, some of them, of excellence of heart, and nobleness of soul; +melancholy examples, others, of the worst passions of human nature. +How many men as they lay speechless and helpless on the bed of death, +would have given worlds but for the strength and power to blot out the +silent evidence of animosity and bitterness, which now stands registered +against them in Doctors’ Commons!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX—LONDON RECREATIONS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The wish of persons in the humbler classes of life, to ape the manners +and customs of those whom fortune has placed above them, is often the +subject of remark, and not unfrequently of complaint. The inclination +may, and no doubt does, exist to a great extent, among the small gentility—the +would-be aristocrats—of the middle classes. Tradesmen and +clerks, with fashionable novel-reading families, and circulating-library-subscribing +daughters, get up small assemblies in humble imitation of Almack’s, +and promenade the dingy ‘large room’ of some second-rate +hotel with as much complacency as the enviable few who are privileged +to exhibit their magnificence in that exclusive haunt of fashion and +foolery. Aspiring young ladies, who read flaming accounts of some +‘fancy fair in high life,’ suddenly grow desperately charitable; +visions of admiration and matrimony float before their eyes; some wonderfully +meritorious institution, which, by the strangest accident in the world, +has never been heard of before, is discovered to be in a languishing +condition: Thomson’s great room, or Johnson’s nursery-ground, +is forthwith engaged, and the aforesaid young ladies, from mere charity, +exhibit themselves for three days, from twelve to four, for the small +charge of one shilling per head! With the exception of these classes +of society, however, and a few weak and insignificant persons, we do +not think the attempt at imitation to which we have alluded, prevails +in any great degree. The different character of the recreations +of different classes, has often afforded us amusement; and we have chosen +it for the subject of our present sketch, in the hope that it may possess +some amusement for our readers.</p> +<p>If the regular City man, who leaves Lloyd’s at five o’clock, +and drives home to Hackney, Clapton, Stamford-hill, or elsewhere, can +be said to have any daily recreation beyond his dinner, it is his garden. +He never does anything to it with his own hands; but he takes great +pride in it notwithstanding; and if you are desirous of paying your +addresses to the youngest daughter, be sure to be in raptures with every +flower and shrub it contains. If your poverty of expression compel +you to make any distinction between the two, we would certainly recommend +your bestowing more admiration on his garden than his wine. He +always takes a walk round it, before he starts for town in the morning, +and is particularly anxious that the fish-pond should be kept specially +neat. If you call on him on Sunday in summer-time, about an hour +before dinner, you will find him sitting in an arm-chair, on the lawn +behind the house, with a straw hat on, reading a Sunday paper. +A short distance from him you will most likely observe a handsome paroquet +in a large brass-wire cage; ten to one but the two eldest girls are +loitering in one of the side walks accompanied by a couple of young +gentlemen, who are holding parasols over them—of course only to +keep the sun off—while the younger children, with the under nursery-maid, +are strolling listlessly about, in the shade. Beyond these occasions, +his delight in his garden appears to arise more from the consciousness +of possession than actual enjoyment of it. When he drives you +down to dinner on a week-day, he is rather fatigued with the occupations +of the morning, and tolerably cross into the bargain; but when the cloth +is removed, and he has drank three or four glasses of his favourite +port, he orders the French windows of his dining-room (which of course +look into the garden) to be opened, and throwing a silk handkerchief +over his head, and leaning back in his arm-chair, descants at considerable +length upon its beauty, and the cost of maintaining it. This is +to impress you—who are a young friend of the family—with +a due sense of the excellence of the garden, and the wealth of its owner; +and when he has exhausted the subject, he goes to sleep.</p> +<p>There is another and a very different class of men, whose recreation +is their garden. An individual of this class, resides some short +distance from town—say in the Hampstead-road, or the Kilburn-road, +or any other road where the houses are small and neat, and have little +slips of back garden. He and his wife—who is as clean and +compact a little body as himself—have occupied the same house +ever since he retired from business twenty years ago. They have +no family. They once had a son, who died at about five years old. +The child’s portrait hangs over the mantelpiece in the best sitting-room, +and a little cart he used to draw about, is carefully preserved as a +relic.</p> +<p>In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly in the garden; +and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out of the window +at it, by the hour together. He has always something to do there, +and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, +with manifest delight. In spring-time, there is no end to the +sowing of seeds, and sticking little bits of wood over them, with labels, +which look like epitaphs to their memory; and in the evening, when the +sun has gone down, the perseverance with which he lugs a great watering-pot +about is perfectly astonishing. The only other recreation he has, +is the newspaper, which he peruses every day, from beginning to end, +generally reading the most interesting pieces of intelligence to his +wife, during breakfast. The old lady is very fond of flowers, +as the hyacinth-glasses in the parlour-window, and geranium-pots in +the little front court, testify. She takes great pride in the +garden too: and when one of the four fruit-trees produces rather a larger +gooseberry than usual, it is carefully preserved under a wine-glass +on the sideboard, for the edification of visitors, who are duly informed +that Mr. So-and-so planted the tree which produced it, with his own +hands. On a summer’s evening, when the large watering-pot +has been filled and emptied some fourteen times, and the old couple +have quite exhausted themselves by trotting about, you will see them +sitting happily together in the little summerhouse, enjoying the calm +and peace of the twilight, and watching the shadows as they fall upon +the garden, and gradually growing thicker and more sombre, obscure the +tints of their gayest flowers—no bad emblem of the years that +have silently rolled over their heads, deadening in their course the +brightest hues of early hopes and feelings which have long since faded +away. These are their only recreations, and they require no more. +They have within themselves, the materials of comfort and content; and +the only anxiety of each, is to die before the other.</p> +<p>This is no ideal sketch. There <i>used</i> to be many old people +of this description; their numbers may have diminished, and may decrease +still more. Whether the course female education has taken of late +days—whether the pursuit of giddy frivolities, and empty nothings, +has tended to unfit women for that quiet domestic life, in which they +show far more beautifully than in the most crowded assembly, is a question +we should feel little gratification in discussing: we hope not.</p> +<p>Let us turn now, to another portion of the London population, whose +recreations present about as strong a contrast as can well be conceived—we +mean the Sunday pleasurers; and let us beg our readers to imagine themselves +stationed by our side in some well-known rural ‘Tea-gardens.’</p> +<p>The heat is intense this afternoon, and the people, of whom there +are additional parties arriving every moment, look as warm as the tables +which have been recently painted, and have the appearance of being red-hot. +What a dust and noise! Men and women—boys and girls—sweethearts +and married people—babies in arms, and children in chaises—pipes +and shrimps—cigars and periwinkles—tea and tobacco. +Gentlemen, in alarming waistcoats, and steel watch-guards, promenading +about, three abreast, with surprising dignity (or as the gentleman in +the next box facetiously observes, ‘cutting it uncommon fat!’)—ladies, +with great, long, white pocket-handkerchiefs like small table-cloths, +in their hands, chasing one another on the grass in the most playful +and interesting manner, with the view of attracting the attention of +the aforesaid gentlemen—husbands in perspective ordering bottles +of ginger-beer for the objects of their affections, with a lavish disregard +of expense; and the said objects washing down huge quantities of ‘shrimps’ +and ‘winkles,’ with an equal disregard of their own bodily +health and subsequent comfort—boys, with great silk hats just +balanced on the top of their heads, smoking cigars, and trying to look +as if they liked them—gentlemen in pink shirts and blue waistcoats, +occasionally upsetting either themselves, or somebody else, with their +own canes.</p> +<p>Some of the finery of these people provokes a smile, but they are +all clean, and happy, and disposed to be good-natured and sociable. +Those two motherly-looking women in the smart pelisses, who are chatting +so confidentially, inserting a ‘ma’am’ at every fourth +word, scraped an acquaintance about a quarter of an hour ago: it originated +in admiration of the little boy who belongs to one of them—that +diminutive specimen of mortality in the three-cornered pink satin hat +with black feathers. The two men in the blue coats and drab trousers, +who are walking up and down, smoking their pipes, are their husbands. +The party in the opposite box are a pretty fair specimen of the generality +of the visitors. These are the father and mother, and old grandmother: +a young man and woman, and an individual addressed by the euphonious +title of ‘Uncle Bill,’ who is evidently the wit of the party. +They have some half-dozen children with them, but it is scarcely necessary +to notice the fact, for that is a matter of course here. Every +woman in ‘the gardens,’ who has been married for any length +of time, must have had twins on two or three occasions; it is impossible +to account for the extent of juvenile population in any other way.</p> +<p>Observe the inexpressible delight of the old grandmother, at Uncle +Bill’s splendid joke of ‘tea for four: bread-and-butter +for forty;’ and the loud explosion of mirth which follows his +wafering a paper ‘pigtail’ on the waiter’s collar. +The young man is evidently ‘keeping company’ with Uncle +Bill’s niece: and Uncle Bill’s hints—such as ‘Don’t +forget me at the dinner, you know,’ ‘I shall look out for +the cake, Sally,’ ‘I’ll be godfather to your first—wager +it’s a boy,’ and so forth, are equally embarrassing to the +young people, and delightful to the elder ones. As to the old +grandmother, she is in perfect ecstasies, and does nothing but laugh +herself into fits of coughing, until they have finished the ‘gin-and-water +warm with,’ of which Uncle Bill ordered ‘glasses round’ +after tea, ‘just to keep the night air out, and to do it up comfortable +and riglar arter sitch an as-tonishing hot day!’</p> +<p>It is getting dark, and the people begin to move. The field +leading to town is quite full of them; the little hand-chaises are dragged +wearily along, the children are tired, and amuse themselves and the +company generally by crying, or resort to the much more pleasant expedient +of going to sleep—the mothers begin to wish they were at home +again—sweethearts grow more sentimental than ever, as the time +for parting arrives—the gardens look mournful enough, by the light +of the two lanterns which hang against the trees for the convenience +of smokers—and the waiters who have been running about incessantly +for the last six hours, think they feel a little tired, as they count +their glasses and their gains.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X—THE RIVER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘Are you fond of the water?’ is a question very frequently +asked, in hot summer weather, by amphibious-looking young men. +‘Very,’ is the general reply. ‘An’t you?’—‘Hardly +ever off it,’ is the response, accompanied by sundry adjectives, +expressive of the speaker’s heartfelt admiration of that element. +Now, with all respect for the opinion of society in general, and cutter +clubs in particular, we humbly suggest that some of the most painful +reminiscences in the mind of every individual who has occasionally disported +himself on the Thames, must be connected with his aquatic recreations. +Who ever heard of a successful water-party?—or to put the question +in a still more intelligible form, who ever saw one? We have been +on water excursions out of number, but we solemnly declare that we cannot +call to mind one single occasion of the kind, which was not marked by +more miseries than any one would suppose could be reasonably crowded +into the space of some eight or nine hours. Something has always +gone wrong. Either the cork of the salad-dressing has come out, +or the most anxiously expected member of the party has not come out, +or the most disagreeable man in company would come out, or a child or +two have fallen into the water, or the gentleman who undertook to steer +has endangered everybody’s life all the way, or the gentlemen +who volunteered to row have been ‘out of practice,’ and +performed very alarming evolutions, putting their oars down into the +water and not being able to get them up again, or taking terrific pulls +without putting them in at all; in either case, pitching over on the +backs of their heads with startling violence, and exhibiting the soles +of their pumps to the ‘sitters’ in the boat, in a very humiliating +manner.</p> +<p>We grant that the banks of the Thames are very beautiful at Richmond +and Twickenham, and other distant havens, often sought though seldom +reached; but from the ‘Red-us’ back to Blackfriars-bridge, +the scene is wonderfully changed. The Penitentiary is a noble +building, no doubt, and the sportive youths who ‘go in’ +at that particular part of the river, on a summer’s evening, may +be all very well in perspective; but when you are obliged to keep in +shore coming home, and the young ladies will colour up, and look perseveringly +the other way, while the married dittos cough slightly, and stare very +hard at the water, you feel awkward—especially if you happen to +have been attempting the most distant approach to sentimentality, for +an hour or two previously.</p> +<p>Although experience and suffering have produced in our minds the +result we have just stated, we are by no means blind to a proper sense +of the fun which a looker-on may extract from the amateurs of boating. +What can be more amusing than Searle’s yard on a fine Sunday morning? +It’s a Richmond tide, and some dozen boats are preparing for the +reception of the parties who have engaged them. Two or three fellows +in great rough trousers and Guernsey shirts, are getting them ready +by easy stages; now coming down the yard with a pair of sculls and a +cushion—then having a chat with the ‘Jack,’ who, like +all his tribe, seems to be wholly incapable of doing anything but lounging +about—then going back again, and returning with a rudder-line +and a stretcher—then solacing themselves with another chat—and +then wondering, with their hands in their capacious pockets, ‘where +them gentlemen’s got to as ordered the six.’ One of +these, the head man, with the legs of his trousers carefully tucked +up at the bottom, to admit the water, we presume—for it is an +element in which he is infinitely more at home than on land—is +quite a character, and shares with the defunct oyster-swallower the +celebrated name of ‘Dando.’ Watch him, as taking a +few minutes’ respite from his toils, he negligently seats himself +on the edge of a boat, and fans his broad bushy chest with a cap scarcely +half so furry. Look at his magnificent, though reddish whiskers, +and mark the somewhat native humour with which he ‘chaffs’ +the boys and ’prentices, or cunningly gammons the gen’lm’n +into the gift of a glass of gin, of which we verily believe he swallows +in one day as much as any six ordinary men, without ever being one atom +the worse for it.</p> +<p>But the party arrives, and Dando, relieved from his state of uncertainty, +starts up into activity. They approach in full aquatic costume, +with round blue jackets, striped shirts, and caps of all sizes and patterns, +from the velvet skull-cap of French manufacture, to the easy head-dress +familiar to the students of the old spelling-books, as having, on the +authority of the portrait, formed part of the costume of the Reverend +Mr. Dilworth.</p> +<p>This is the most amusing time to observe a regular Sunday water-party. +There has evidently been up to this period no inconsiderable degree +of boasting on everybody’s part relative to his knowledge of navigation; +the sight of the water rapidly cools their courage, and the air of self-denial +with which each of them insists on somebody else’s taking an oar, +is perfectly delightful. At length, after a great deal of changing +and fidgeting, consequent upon the election of a stroke-oar: the inability +of one gentleman to pull on this side, of another to pull on that, and +of a third to pull at all, the boat’s crew are seated. ‘Shove +her off!’ cries the cockswain, who looks as easy and comfortable +as if he were steering in the Bay of Biscay. The order is obeyed; +the boat is immediately turned completely round, and proceeds towards +Westminster-bridge, amidst such a splashing and struggling as never +was seen before, except when the Royal George went down. ‘Back +wa’ater, sir,’ shouts Dando, ‘Back wa’ater, +you sir, aft;’ upon which everybody thinking he must be the individual +referred to, they all back water, and back comes the boat, stern first, +to the spot whence it started. ‘Back water, you sir, aft; +pull round, you sir, for’ad, can’t you?’ shouts Dando, +in a frenzy of excitement. ‘Pull round, Tom, can’t +you?’ re-echoes one of the party. ‘Tom an’t +for’ad,’ replies another. ‘Yes, he is,’ +cries a third; and the unfortunate young man, at the imminent risk of +breaking a blood-vessel, pulls and pulls, until the head of the boat +fairly lies in the direction of Vauxhall-bridge. ‘That’s +right—now pull all on you!’ shouts Dando again, adding, +in an under-tone, to somebody by him, ‘Blowed if hever I see sich +a set of muffs!’ and away jogs the boat in a zigzag direction, +every one of the six oars dipping into the water at a different time; +and the yard is once more clear, until the arrival of the next party.</p> +<p>A well-contested rowing-match on the Thames, is a very lively and +interesting scene. The water is studded with boats of all sorts, +kinds, and descriptions; places in the coal-barges at the different +wharfs are let to crowds of spectators, beer and tobacco flow freely +about; men, women, and children wait for the start in breathless expectation; +cutters of six and eight oars glide gently up and down, waiting to accompany +their <i>protégés</i> during the race; bands of music +add to the animation, if not to the harmony of the scene; groups of +watermen are assembled at the different stairs, discussing the merits +of the respective candidates; and the prize wherry, which is rowed slowly +about by a pair of sculls, is an object of general interest.</p> +<p>Two o’clock strikes, and everybody looks anxiously in the direction +of the bridge through which the candidates for the prize will come—half-past +two, and the general attention which has been preserved so long begins +to flag, when suddenly a gun is heard, and a noise of distant hurra’ing +along each bank of the river—every head is bent forward—the +noise draws nearer and nearer—the boats which have been waiting +at the bridge start briskly up the river, and a well-manned galley shoots +through the arch, the sitters cheering on the boats behind them, which +are not yet visible.</p> +<p>‘Here they are,’ is the general cry—and through +darts the first boat, the men in her, stripped to the skin, and exerting +every muscle to preserve the advantage they have gained—four other +boats follow close astern; there are not two boats’ length between +them—the shouting is tremendous, and the interest intense. +‘Go on, Pink’—‘Give it her, Red’—‘Sulliwin +for ever’—‘Bravo! George’—‘Now, +Tom, now—now—now—why don’t your partner stretch +out?’—‘Two pots to a pint on Yellow,’ &c., +&c. Every little public-house fires its gun, and hoists its +flag; and the men who win the heat, come in, amidst a splashing and +shouting, and banging and confusion, which no one can imagine who has +not witnessed it, and of which any description would convey a very faint +idea.</p> +<p>One of the most amusing places we know is the steam-wharf of the +London Bridge, or St. Katharine’s Dock Company, on a Saturday +morning in summer, when the Gravesend and Margate steamers are usually +crowded to excess; and as we have just taken a glance at the river above +bridge, we hope our readers will not object to accompany us on board +a Gravesend packet.</p> +<p>Coaches are every moment setting down at the entrance to the wharf, +and the stare of bewildered astonishment with which the ‘fares’ +resign themselves and their luggage into the hands of the porters, who +seize all the packages at once as a matter of course, and run away with +them, heaven knows where, is laughable in the extreme. A Margate +boat lies alongside the wharf, the Gravesend boat (which starts first) +lies alongside that again; and as a temporary communication is formed +between the two, by means of a plank and hand-rail, the natural confusion +of the scene is by no means diminished.</p> +<p>‘Gravesend?’ inquires a stout father of a stout family, +who follow him, under the guidance of their mother, and a servant, at +the no small risk of two or three of them being left behind in the confusion. +‘Gravesend?’</p> +<p>‘Pass on, if you please, sir,’ replies the attendant—‘other +boat, sir.’</p> +<p>Hereupon the stout father, being rather mystified, and the stout +mother rather distracted by maternal anxiety, the whole party deposit +themselves in the Margate boat, and after having congratulated himself +on having secured very comfortable seats, the stout father sallies to +the chimney to look for his luggage, which he has a faint recollection +of having given some man, something, to take somewhere. No luggage, +however, bearing the most remote resemblance to his own, in shape or +form, is to be discovered; on which the stout father calls very loudly +for an officer, to whom he states the case, in the presence of another +father of another family—a little thin man—who entirely +concurs with him (the stout father) in thinking that it’s high +time something was done with these steam companies, and that as the +Corporation Bill failed to do it, something else must; for really people’s +property is not to be sacrificed in this way; and that if the luggage +isn’t restored without delay, he will take care it shall be put +in the papers, for the public is not to be the victim of these great +monopolies. To this, the officer, in his turn, replies, that that +company, ever since it has been St. Kat’rine’s Dock Company, +has protected life and property; that if it had been the London Bridge +Wharf Company, indeed, he shouldn’t have wondered, seeing that +the morality of that company (they being the opposition) can’t +be answered for, by no one; but as it is, he’s convinced there +must be some mistake, and he wouldn’t mind making a solemn oath +afore a magistrate that the gentleman’ll find his luggage afore +he gets to Margate.</p> +<p>Here the stout father, thinking he is making a capital point, replies, +that as it happens, he is not going to Margate at all, and that ‘Passenger +to Gravesend’ was on the luggage, in letters of full two inches +long; on which the officer rapidly explains the mistake, and the stout +mother, and the stout children, and the servant, are hurried with all +possible despatch on board the Gravesend boat, which they reached just +in time to discover that their luggage is there, and that their comfortable +seats are not. Then the bell, which is the signal for the Gravesend +boat starting, begins to ring most furiously: and people keep time to +the bell, by running in and out of our boat at a double-quick pace. +The bell stops; the boat starts: people who have been taking leave of +their friends on board, are carried away against their will; and people +who have been taking leave of their friends on shore, find that they +have performed a very needless ceremony, in consequence of their not +being carried away at all. The regular passengers, who have season +tickets, go below to breakfast; people who have purchased morning papers, +compose themselves to read them; and people who have not been down the +river before, think that both the shipping and the water, look a great +deal better at a distance.</p> +<p>When we get down about as far as Blackwall, and begin to move at +a quicker rate, the spirits of the passengers appear to rise in proportion. +Old women who have brought large wicker hand-baskets with them, set +seriously to work at the demolition of heavy sandwiches, and pass round +a wine-glass, which is frequently replenished from a flat bottle like +a stomach-warmer, with considerable glee: handing it first to the gentleman +in the foraging-cap, who plays the harp—partly as an expression +of satisfaction with his previous exertions, and partly to induce him +to play ‘Dumbledumbdeary,’ for ‘Alick’ to dance +to; which being done, Alick, who is a damp earthy child in red worsted +socks, takes certain small jumps upon the deck, to the unspeakable satisfaction +of his family circle. Girls who have brought the first volume +of some new novel in their reticule, become extremely plaintive, and +expatiate to Mr. Brown, or young Mr. O’Brien, who has been looking +over them, on the blueness of the sky, and brightness of the water; +on which Mr. Brown or Mr. O’Brien, as the case may be, remarks +in a low voice that he has been quite insensible of late to the beauties +of nature, that his whole thoughts and wishes have centred in one object +alone—whereupon the young lady looks up, and failing in her attempt +to appear unconscious, looks down again; and turns over the next leaf +with great difficulty, in order to afford opportunity for a lengthened +pressure of the hand.</p> +<p>Telescopes, sandwiches, and glasses of brandy-and-water cold without, +begin to be in great requisition; and bashful men who have been looking +down the hatchway at the engine, find, to their great relief, a subject +on which they can converse with one another—and a copious one +too—Steam.</p> +<p>‘Wonderful thing steam, sir.’ ‘Ah! (a deep-drawn +sigh) it is indeed, sir.’ ‘Great power, sir.’ +‘Immense—immense!’ ‘Great deal done by +steam, sir.’ ‘Ah! (another sigh at the immensity of +the subject, and a knowing shake of the head) you may say that, sir.’ +‘Still in its infancy, they say, sir.’ Novel remarks +of this kind, are generally the commencement of a conversation which +is prolonged until the conclusion of the trip, and, perhaps, lays the +foundation of a speaking acquaintance between half-a-dozen gentlemen, +who, having their families at Gravesend, take season tickets for the +boat, and dine on board regularly every afternoon.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI—ASTLEY’S</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We never see any very large, staring, black Roman capitals, in a +book, or shop-window, or placarded on a wall, without their immediately +recalling to our mind an indistinct and confused recollection of the +time when we were first initiated in the mysteries of the alphabet. +We almost fancy we see the pin’s point following the letter, to +impress its form more strongly on our bewildered imagination; and wince +involuntarily, as we remember the hard knuckles with which the reverend +old lady who instilled into our mind the first principles of education +for ninepence per week, or ten and sixpence per quarter, was wont to +poke our juvenile head occasionally, by way of adjusting the confusion +of ideas in which we were generally involved. The same kind of +feeling pursues us in many other instances, but there is no place which +recalls so strongly our recollections of childhood as Astley’s. +It was not a ‘Royal Amphitheatre’ in those days, nor had +Ducrow arisen to shed the light of classic taste and portable gas over +the sawdust of the circus; but the whole character of the place was +the same, the pieces were the same, the clown’s jokes were the +same, the riding-masters were equally grand, the comic performers equally +witty, the tragedians equally hoarse, and the ‘highly-trained +chargers’ equally spirited. Astley’s has altered for +the better—we have changed for the worse. Our histrionic +taste is gone, and with shame we confess, that we are far more delighted +and amused with the audience, than with the pageantry we once so highly +appreciated.</p> +<p>We like to watch a regular Astley’s party in the Easter or +Midsummer holidays—pa and ma, and nine or ten children, varying +from five foot six to two foot eleven: from fourteen years of age to +four. We had just taken our seat in one of the boxes, in the centre +of the house, the other night, when the next was occupied by just such +a party as we should have attempted to describe, had we depicted our +<i>beau idéal</i> of a group of Astley’s visitors.</p> +<p>First of all, there came three little boys and a little girl, who, +in pursuance of pa’s directions, issued in a very audible voice +from the box-door, occupied the front row; then two more little girls +were ushered in by a young lady, evidently the governess. Then +came three more little boys, dressed like the first, in blue jackets +and trousers, with lay-down shirt-collars: then a child in a braided +frock and high state of astonishment, with very large round eyes, opened +to their utmost width, was lifted over the seats—a process which +occasioned a considerable display of little pink legs—then came +ma and pa, and then the eldest son, a boy of fourteen years old, who +was evidently trying to look as if he did not belong to the family.</p> +<p>The first five minutes were occupied in taking the shawls off the +little girls, and adjusting the bows which ornamented their hair; then +it was providentially discovered that one of the little boys was seated +behind a pillar and could not see, so the governess was stuck behind +the pillar, and the boy lifted into her place. Then pa drilled +the boys, and directed the stowing away of their pocket-handkerchiefs, +and ma having first nodded and winked to the governess to pull the girls’ +frocks a little more off their shoulders, stood up to review the little +troop—an inspection which appeared to terminate much to her own +satisfaction, for she looked with a complacent air at pa, who was standing +up at the further end of the seat. Pa returned the glance, and +blew his nose very emphatically; and the poor governess peeped out from +behind the pillar, and timidly tried to catch ma’s eye, with a +look expressive of her high admiration of the whole family. Then +two of the little boys who had been discussing the point whether Astley’s +was more than twice as large as Drury Lane, agreed to refer it to ‘George’ +for his decision; at which ‘George,’ who was no other than +the young gentleman before noticed, waxed indignant, and remonstrated +in no very gentle terms on the gross impropriety of having his name +repeated in so loud a voice at a public place, on which all the children +laughed very heartily, and one of the little boys wound up by expressing +his opinion, that ‘George began to think himself quite a man now,’ +whereupon both pa and ma laughed too; and George (who carried a dress +cane and was cultivating whiskers) muttered that ‘William always +was encouraged in his impertinence;’ and assumed a look of profound +contempt, which lasted the whole evening.</p> +<p>The play began, and the interest of the little boys knew no bounds. +Pa was clearly interested too, although he very unsuccessfully endeavoured +to look as if he wasn’t. As for ma, she was perfectly overcome +by the drollery of the principal comedian, and laughed till every one +of the immense bows on her ample cap trembled, at which the governess +peeped out from behind the pillar again, and whenever she could catch +ma’s eye, put her handkerchief to her mouth, and appeared, as +in duty bound, to be in convulsions of laughter also. Then when +the man in the splendid armour vowed to rescue the lady or perish in +the attempt, the little boys applauded vehemently, especially one little +fellow who was apparently on a visit to the family, and had been carrying +on a child’s flirtation, the whole evening, with a small coquette +of twelve years old, who looked like a model of her mamma on a reduced +scale; and who, in common with the other little girls (who generally +speaking have even more coquettishness about them than much older ones), +looked very properly shocked, when the knight’s squire kissed +the princess’s confidential chambermaid.</p> +<p>When the scenes in the circle commenced, the children were more delighted +than ever; and the wish to see what was going forward, completely conquering +pa’s dignity, he stood up in the box, and applauded as loudly +as any of them. Between each feat of horsemanship, the governess +leant across to ma, and retailed the clever remarks of the children +on that which had preceded: and ma, in the openness of her heart, offered +the governess an acidulated drop, and the governess, gratified to be +taken notice of, retired behind her pillar again with a brighter countenance: +and the whole party seemed quite happy, except the exquisite in the +back of the box, who, being too grand to take any interest in the children, +and too insignificant to be taken notice of by anybody else, occupied +himself, from time to time, in rubbing the place where the whiskers +ought to be, and was completely alone in his glory.</p> +<p>We defy any one who has been to Astley’s two or three times, +and is consequently capable of appreciating the perseverance with which +precisely the same jokes are repeated night after night, and season +after season, not to be amused with one part of the performances at +least—we mean the scenes in the circle. For ourself, we +know that when the hoop, composed of jets of gas, is let down, the curtain +drawn up for the convenience of the half-price on their ejectment from +the ring, the orange-peel cleared away, and the sawdust shaken, with +mathematical precision, into a complete circle, we feel as much enlivened +as the youngest child present; and actually join in the laugh which +follows the clown’s shrill shout of ‘Here we are!’ +just for old acquaintance’ sake. Nor can we quite divest +ourself of our old feeling of reverence for the riding-master, who follows +the clown with a long whip in his hand, and bows to the audience with +graceful dignity. He is none of your second-rate riding-masters +in nankeen dressing-gowns, with brown frogs, but the regular gentleman-attendant +on the principal riders, who always wears a military uniform with a +table-cloth inside the breast of the coat, in which costume he forcibly +reminds one of a fowl trussed for roasting. He is—but why +should we attempt to describe that of which no description can convey +an adequate idea? Everybody knows the man, and everybody remembers +his polished boots, his graceful demeanour, stiff, as some misjudging +persons have in their jealousy considered it, and the splendid head +of black hair, parted high on the forehead, to impart to the countenance +an appearance of deep thought and poetic melancholy. His soft +and pleasing voice, too, is in perfect unison with his noble bearing, +as he humours the clown by indulging in a little badinage; and the striking +recollection of his own dignity, with which he exclaims, ‘Now, +sir, if you please, inquire for Miss Woolford, sir,’ can never +be forgotten. The graceful air, too, with which he introduces +Miss Woolford into the arena, and, after assisting her to the saddle, +follows her fairy courser round the circle, can never fail to create +a deep impression in the bosom of every female servant present.</p> +<p>When Miss Woolford, and the horse, and the orchestra, all stop together +to take breath, he urbanely takes part in some such dialogue as the +following (commenced by the clown): ‘I say, sir!’—‘Well, +sir?’ (it’s always conducted in the politest manner.)—‘Did +you ever happen to hear I was in the army, sir?’—‘No, +sir.’—‘Oh, yes, sir—I can go through my exercise, +sir.’—‘Indeed, sir!’—‘Shall I do +it now, sir?’—‘If you please, sir; come, sir—make +haste’ (a cut with the long whip, and ‘Ha’ done now—I +don’t like it,’ from the clown). Here the clown throws +himself on the ground, and goes through a variety of gymnastic convulsions, +doubling himself up, and untying himself again, and making himself look +very like a man in the most hopeless extreme of human agony, to the +vociferous delight of the gallery, until he is interrupted by a second +cut from the long whip, and a request to see ‘what Miss Woolford’s +stopping for?’ On which, to the inexpressible mirth of the +gallery, he exclaims, ‘Now, Miss Woolford, what can I come for +to go, for to fetch, for to bring, for to carry, for to do, for you, +ma’am?’ On the lady’s announcing with a sweet +smile that she wants the two flags, they are, with sundry grimaces, +procured and handed up; the clown facetiously observing after the performance +of the latter ceremony—‘He, he, oh! I say, sir, Miss +Woolford knows me; she smiled at me.’ Another cut from the +whip, a burst from the orchestra, a start from the horse, and round +goes Miss Woolford again on her graceful performance, to the delight +of every member of the audience, young or old. The next pause +affords an opportunity for similar witticisms, the only additional fun +being that of the clown making ludicrous grimaces at the riding-master +every time his back is turned; and finally quitting the circle by jumping +over his head, having previously directed his attention another way.</p> +<p>Did any of our readers ever notice the class of people, who hang +about the stage-doors of our minor theatres in the daytime? You +will rarely pass one of these entrances without seeing a group of three +or four men conversing on the pavement, with an indescribable public-house-parlour +swagger, and a kind of conscious air, peculiar to people of this description. +They always seem to think they are exhibiting; the lamps are ever before +them. That young fellow in the faded brown coat, and very full +light green trousers, pulls down the wristbands of his check shirt, +as ostentatiously as if it were of the finest linen, and cocks the white +hat of the summer-before-last as knowingly over his right eye, as if +it were a purchase of yesterday. Look at the dirty white Berlin +gloves, and the cheap silk handkerchief stuck in the bosom of his threadbare +coat. Is it possible to see him for an instant, and not come to +the conclusion that he is the walking gentleman who wears a blue surtout, +clean collar, and white trousers, for half an hour, and then shrinks +into his worn-out scanty clothes: who has to boast night after night +of his splendid fortune, with the painful consciousness of a pound a-week +and his boots to find; to talk of his father’s mansion in the +country, with a dreary recollection of his own two-pair back, in the +New Cut; and to be envied and flattered as the favoured lover of a rich +heiress, remembering all the while that the ex-dancer at home is in +the family way, and out of an engagement?</p> +<p>Next to him, perhaps, you will see a thin pale man, with a very long +face, in a suit of shining black, thoughtfully knocking that part of +his boot which once had a heel, with an ash stick. He is the man +who does the heavy business, such as prosy fathers, virtuous servants, +curates, landlords, and so forth.</p> +<p>By the way, talking of fathers, we should very much like to see some +piece in which all the dramatis personae were orphans. Fathers +are invariably great nuisances on the stage, and always have to give +the hero or heroine a long explanation of what was done before the curtain +rose, usually commencing with ‘It is now nineteen years, my dear +child, since your blessed mother (here the old villain’s voice +falters) confided you to my charge. You were then an infant,’ +&c., &c. Or else they have to discover, all of a sudden, +that somebody whom they have been in constant communication with, during +three long acts, without the slightest suspicion, is their own child: +in which case they exclaim, ‘Ah! what do I see? This bracelet! +That smile! These documents! Those eyes! Can I believe +my senses?—It must be!—Yes—it is, it is my child!’—‘My +father!’ exclaims the child; and they fall into each other’s +arms, and look over each other’s shoulders, and the audience give +three rounds of applause.</p> +<p>To return from this digression, we were about to say, that these +are the sort of people whom you see talking, and attitudinising, outside +the stage-doors of our minor theatres. At Astley’s they +are always more numerous than at any other place. There is generally +a groom or two, sitting on the window-sill, and two or three dirty shabby-genteel +men in checked neckerchiefs, and sallow linen, lounging about, and carrying, +perhaps, under one arm, a pair of stage shoes badly wrapped up in a +piece of old newspaper. Some years ago we used to stand looking, +open-mouthed, at these men, with a feeling of mysterious curiosity, +the very recollection of which provokes a smile at the moment we are +writing. We could not believe that the beings of light and elegance, +in milk-white tunics, salmon-coloured legs, and blue scarfs, who flitted +on sleek cream-coloured horses before our eyes at night, with all the +aid of lights, music, and artificial flowers, could be the pale, dissipated-looking +creatures we beheld by day.</p> +<p>We can hardly believe it now. Of the lower class of actors +we have seen something, and it requires no great exercise of imagination +to identify the walking gentleman with the ‘dirty swell,’ +the comic singer with the public-house chairman, or the leading tragedian +with drunkenness and distress; but these other men are mysterious beings, +never seen out of the ring, never beheld but in the costume of gods +and sylphs. With the exception of Ducrow, who can scarcely be +classed among them, who ever knew a rider at Astley’s, or saw +him but on horseback? Can our friend in the military uniform ever +appear in threadbare attire, or descend to the comparatively un-wadded +costume of every-day life? Impossible! We cannot—we +will not—believe it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII—GREENWICH FAIR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>If the Parks be ‘the lungs of London,’ we wonder what +Greenwich Fair is—a periodical breaking out, we suppose, a sort +of spring-rash: a three days’ fever, which cools the blood for +six months afterwards, and at the expiration of which London is restored +to its old habits of plodding industry, as suddenly and completely as +if nothing had ever happened to disturb them.</p> +<p>In our earlier days, we were a constant frequenter of Greenwich Fair, +for years. We have proceeded to, and returned from it, in almost +every description of vehicle. We cannot conscientiously deny the +charge of having once made the passage in a spring-van, accompanied +by thirteen gentlemen, fourteen ladies, an unlimited number of children, +and a barrel of beer; and we have a vague recollection of having, in +later days, found ourself the eighth outside, on the top of a hackney-coach, +at something past four o’clock in the morning, with a rather confused +idea of our own name, or place of residence. We have grown older +since then, and quiet, and steady: liking nothing better than to spend +our Easter, and all our other holidays, in some quiet nook, with people +of whom we shall never tire; but we think we still remember something +of Greenwich Fair, and of those who resort to it. At all events +we will try.</p> +<p>The road to Greenwich during the whole of Easter Monday, is in a +state of perpetual bustle and noise. Cabs, hackney-coaches, ‘shay’ +carts, coal-waggons, stages, omnibuses, sociables, gigs, donkey-chaises—all +crammed with people (for the question never is, what the horse can draw, +but what the vehicle will hold), roll along at their utmost speed; the +dust flies in clouds, ginger-beer corks go off in volleys, the balcony +of every public-house is crowded with people, smoking and drinking, +half the private houses are turned into tea-shops, fiddles are in great +request, every little fruit-shop displays its stall of gilt gingerbread +and penny toys; turnpike men are in despair; horses won’t go on, +and wheels will come off; ladies in ‘carawans’ scream with +fright at every fresh concussion, and their admirers find it necessary +to sit remarkably close to them, by way of encouragement; servants-of-all-work, +who are not allowed to have followers, and have got a holiday for the +day, make the most of their time with the faithful admirer who waits +for a stolen interview at the corner of the street every night, when +they go to fetch the beer—apprentices grow sentimental, and straw-bonnet +makers kind. Everybody is anxious to get on, and actuated by the +common wish to be at the fair, or in the park, as soon as possible.</p> +<p>Pedestrians linger in groups at the roadside, unable to resist the +allurements of the stout proprietress of the ‘Jack-in-the-box, +three shies a penny,’ or the more splendid offers of the man with +three thimbles and a pea on a little round board, who astonishes the +bewildered crowd with some such address as, ‘Here’s the +sort o’ game to make you laugh seven years arter you’re +dead, and turn ev’ry air on your ed gray vith delight! Three +thimbles and vun little pea—with a vun, two, three, and a two, +three, vun: catch him who can, look on, keep your eyes open, and niver +say die! niver mind the change, and the expense: all fair and above +board: them as don’t play can’t vin, and luck attend the +ryal sportsman! Bet any gen’lm’n any sum of money, +from harf-a-crown up to a suverin, as he doesn’t name the thimble +as kivers the pea!’ Here some greenhorn whispers his friend +that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle thimble—an +impression which is immediately confirmed by a gentleman in top-boots, +who is standing by, and who, in a low tone, regrets his own inability +to bet, in consequence of having unfortunately left his purse at home, +but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such a golden opportunity. +The ‘plant’ is successful, the bet is made, the stranger +of course loses: and the gentleman with the thimbles consoles him, as +he pockets the money, with an assurance that it’s ‘all the +fortin of war! this time I vin, next time you vin: niver mind the loss +of two bob and a bender! Do it up in a small parcel, and break +out in a fresh place. Here’s the sort o’ game,’ +&c.—and the eloquent harangue, with such variations as the +speaker’s exuberant fancy suggests, is again repeated to the gaping +crowd, reinforced by the accession of several new-comers.</p> +<p>The chief place of resort in the daytime, after the public-houses, +is the park, in which the principal amusement is to drag young ladies +up the steep hill which leads to the Observatory, and then drag them +down again, at the very top of their speed, greatly to the derangement +of their curls and bonnet-caps, and much to the edification of lookers-on +from below. ‘Kiss in the Ring,’ and ‘Threading +my Grandmother’s Needle,’ too, are sports which receive +their full share of patronage. Love-sick swains, under the influence +of gin-and-water, and the tender passion, become violently affectionate: +and the fair objects of their regard enhance the value of stolen kisses, +by a vast deal of struggling, and holding down of heads, and cries of +‘Oh! Ha’ done, then, George—Oh, do tickle him +for me, Mary—Well, I never!’ and similar Lucretian ejaculations. +Little old men and women, with a small basket under one arm, and a wine-glass, +without a foot, in the other hand, tender ‘a drop o’ the +right sort’ to the different groups; and young ladies, who are +persuaded to indulge in a drop of the aforesaid right sort, display +a pleasing degree of reluctance to taste it, and cough afterwards with +great propriety.</p> +<p>The old pensioners, who, for the moderate charge of a penny, exhibit +the mast-house, the Thames and shipping, the place where the men used +to hang in chains, and other interesting sights, through a telescope, +are asked questions about objects within the range of the glass, which +it would puzzle a Solomon to answer; and requested to find out particular +houses in particular streets, which it would have been a task of some +difficulty for Mr. Horner (not the young gentleman who ate mince-pies +with his thumb, but the man of Colosseum notoriety) to discover. +Here and there, where some three or four couple are sitting on the grass +together, you will see a sun-burnt woman in a red cloak ‘telling +fortunes’ and prophesying husbands, which it requires no extraordinary +observation to describe, for the originals are before her. Thereupon, +the lady concerned laughs and blushes, and ultimately buries her face +in an imitation cambric handkerchief, and the gentleman described looks +extremely foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberally; +and the gipsy goes away, perfectly satisfied herself, and leaving those +behind her perfectly satisfied also: and the prophecy, like many other +prophecies of greater importance, fulfils itself in time.</p> +<p>But it grows dark: the crowd has gradually dispersed, and only a +few stragglers are left behind. The light in the direction of +the church shows that the fair is illuminated; and the distant noise +proves it to be filling fast. The spot, which half an hour ago +was ringing with the shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet +as if nothing could ever disturb its serenity: the fine old trees, the +majestic building at their feet, with the noble river beyond, glistening +in the moonlight, appear in all their beauty, and under their most favourable +aspect; the voices of the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne +gently on the air; and the humblest mechanic who has been lingering +on the grass so pleasant to the feet that beat the same dull round from +week to week in the paved streets of London, feels proud to think as +he surveys the scene before him, that he belongs to the country which +has selected such a spot as a retreat for its oldest and best defenders +in the decline of their lives.</p> +<p>Five minutes’ walking brings you to the fair; a scene calculated +to awaken very different feelings. The entrance is occupied on +either side by the vendors of gingerbread and toys: the stalls are gaily +lighted up, the most attractive goods profusely disposed, and unbonneted +young ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their employers, seize +you by the coat, and use all the blandishments of ‘Do, dear’—‘There’s +a love’—‘Don’t be cross, now,’ &c., +to induce you to purchase half a pound of the real spice nuts, of which +the majority of the regular fair-goers carry a pound or two as a present +supply, tied up in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. Occasionally +you pass a deal table, on which are exposed pen’orths of pickled +salmon (fennel included), in little white saucers: oysters, with shells +as large as cheese-plates, and divers specimens of a species of snail +(<i>wilks</i>, we think they are called), floating in a somewhat bilious-looking +green liquid. Cigars, too, are in great demand; gentlemen must +smoke, of course, and here they are, two a penny, in a regular authentic +cigar-box, with a lighted tallow candle in the centre.</p> +<p>Imagine yourself in an extremely dense crowd, which swings you to +and fro, and in and out, and every way but the right one; add to this +the screams of women, the shouts of boys, the clanging of gongs, the +firing of pistols, the ringing of bells, the bellowings of speaking-trumpets, +the squeaking of penny dittos, the noise of a dozen bands, with three +drums in each, all playing different tunes at the same time, the hallooing +of showmen, and an occasional roar from the wild-beast shows; and you +are in the very centre and heart of the fair.</p> +<p>This immense booth, with the large stage in front, so brightly illuminated +with variegated lamps, and pots of burning fat, is ‘Richardson’s,’ +where you have a melodrama (with three murders and a ghost), a pantomime, +a comic song, an overture, and some incidental music, all done in five-and-twenty +minutes.</p> +<p>The company are now promenading outside in all the dignity of wigs, +spangles, red-ochre, and whitening. See with what a ferocious +air the gentleman who personates the Mexican chief, paces up and down, +and with what an eye of calm dignity the principal tragedian gazes on +the crowd below, or converses confidentially with the harlequin! +The four clowns, who are engaged in a mock broadsword combat, may be +all very well for the low-minded holiday-makers; but these are the people +for the reflective portion of the community. They look so noble +in those Roman dresses, with their yellow legs and arms, long black +curly heads, bushy eyebrows, and scowl expressive of assassination, +and vengeance, and everything else that is grand and solemn. Then, +the ladies—were there ever such innocent and awful-looking beings; +as they walk up and down the platform in twos and threes, with their +arms round each other’s waists, or leaning for support on one +of those majestic men! Their spangled muslin dresses and blue +satin shoes and sandals (a <i>leetle</i> the worse for wear) are the +admiration of all beholders; and the playful manner in which they check +the advances of the clown, is perfectly enchanting.</p> +<p>‘Just a-going to begin! Pray come for’erd, come +for’erd,’ exclaims the man in the countryman’s dress, +for the seventieth time: and people force their way up the steps in +crowds. The band suddenly strikes up, the harlequin and columbine +set the example, reels are formed in less than no time, the Roman heroes +place their arms a-kimbo, and dance with considerable agility; and the +leading tragic actress, and the gentleman who enacts the ‘swell’ +in the pantomime, foot it to perfection. ‘All in to begin,’ +shouts the manager, when no more people can be induced to ‘come +for’erd,’ and away rush the leading members of the company +to do the dreadful in the first piece.</p> +<p>A change of performance takes place every day during the fair, but +the story of the tragedy is always pretty much the same. There +is a rightful heir, who loves a young lady, and is beloved by her; and +a wrongful heir, who loves her too, and isn’t beloved by her; +and the wrongful heir gets hold of the rightful heir, and throws him +into a dungeon, just to kill him off when convenient, for which purpose +he hires a couple of assassins—a good one and a bad one—who, +the moment they are left alone, get up a little murder on their own +account, the good one killing the bad one, and the bad one wounding +the good one. Then the rightful heir is discovered in prison, +carefully holding a long chain in his hands, and seated despondingly +in a large arm-chair; and the young lady comes in to two bars of soft +music, and embraces the rightful heir; and then the wrongful heir comes +in to two bars of quick music (technically called ‘a hurry’), +and goes on in the most shocking manner, throwing the young lady about +as if she was nobody, and calling the rightful heir ‘Ar-recreant—ar-wretch!’ +in a very loud voice, which answers the double purpose of displaying +his passion, and preventing the sound being deadened by the sawdust. +The interest becomes intense; the wrongful heir draws his sword, and +rushes on the rightful heir; a blue smoke is seen, a gong is heard, +and a tall white figure (who has been all this time, behind the arm-chair, +covered over with a table-cloth), slowly rises to the tune of ‘Oft +in the stilly night.’ This is no other than the ghost of +the rightful heir’s father, who was killed by the wrongful heir’s +father, at sight of which the wrongful heir becomes apoplectic, and +is literally ‘struck all of a heap,’ the stage not being +large enough to admit of his falling down at full length. Then +the good assassin staggers in, and says he was hired in conjunction +with the bad assassin, by the wrongful heir, to kill the rightful heir; +and he’s killed a good many people in his time, but he’s +very sorry for it, and won’t do so any more—a promise which +he immediately redeems, by dying off hand without any nonsense about +it. Then the rightful heir throws down his chain; and then two +men, a sailor, and a young woman (the tenantry of the rightful heir) +come in, and the ghost makes dumb motions to them, which they, by supernatural +interference, understand—for no one else can; and the ghost (who +can’t do anything without blue fire) blesses the rightful heir +and the young lady, by half suffocating them with smoke: and then a +muffin-bell rings, and the curtain drops.</p> +<p>The exhibitions next in popularity to these itinerant theatres are +the travelling menageries, or, to speak more intelligibly, the ‘Wild-beast +shows,’ where a military band in beef-eater’s costume, with +leopard-skin caps, play incessantly; and where large highly-coloured +representations of tigers tearing men’s heads open, and a lion +being burnt with red-hot irons to induce him to drop his victim, are +hung up outside, by way of attracting visitors.</p> +<p>The principal officer at these places is generally a very tall, hoarse +man, in a scarlet coat, with a cane in his hand, with which he occasionally +raps the pictures we have just noticed, by way of illustrating his description—something +in this way. ‘Here, here, here; the lion, the lion (tap), +exactly as he is represented on the canvas outside (three taps): no +waiting, remember; no deception. The fe-ro-cious lion (tap, tap) +who bit off the gentleman’s head last Cambervel vos a twelvemonth, +and has killed on the awerage three keepers a-year ever since he arrived +at matoority. No extra charge on this account recollect; the price +of admission is only sixpence.’ This address never fails +to produce a considerable sensation, and sixpences flow into the treasury +with wonderful rapidity.</p> +<p>The dwarfs are also objects of great curiosity, and as a dwarf, a +giantess, a living skeleton, a wild Indian, ‘a young lady of singular +beauty, with perfectly white hair and pink eyes,’ and two or three +other natural curiosities, are usually exhibited together for the small +charge of a penny, they attract very numerous audiences. The best +thing about a dwarf is, that he has always a little box, about two feet +six inches high, into which, by long practice, he can just manage to +get, by doubling himself up like a boot-jack; this box is painted outside +like a six-roomed house, and as the crowd see him ring a bell, or fire +a pistol out of the first-floor window, they verily believe that it +is his ordinary town residence, divided like other mansions into drawing-rooms, +dining-parlour, and bedchambers. Shut up in this case, the unfortunate +little object is brought out to delight the throng by holding a facetious +dialogue with the proprietor: in the course of which, the dwarf (who +is always particularly drunk) pledges himself to sing a comic song inside, +and pays various compliments to the ladies, which induce them to ‘come +for’erd’ with great alacrity. As a giant is not so +easily moved, a pair of indescribables of most capacious dimensions, +and a huge shoe, are usually brought out, into which two or three stout +men get all at once, to the enthusiastic delight of the crowd, who are +quite satisfied with the solemn assurance that these habiliments form +part of the giant’s everyday costume.</p> +<p>The grandest and most numerously-frequented booth in the whole fair, +however, is ‘The Crown and Anchor’—a temporary ball-room—we +forget how many hundred feet long, the price of admission to which is +one shilling. Immediately on your right hand as you enter, after +paying your money, is a refreshment place, at which cold beef, roast +and boiled, French rolls, stout, wine, tongue, ham, even fowls, if we +recollect right, are displayed in tempting array. There is a raised +orchestra, and the place is boarded all the way down, in patches, just +wide enough for a country dance.</p> +<p>There is no master of the ceremonies in this artificial Eden—all +is primitive, unreserved, and unstudied. The dust is blinding, +the heat insupportable, the company somewhat noisy, and in the highest +spirits possible: the ladies, in the height of their innocent animation, +dancing in the gentlemen’s hats, and the gentlemen promenading +‘the gay and festive scene’ in the ladies’ bonnets, +or with the more expensive ornaments of false noses, and low-crowned, +tinder-box-looking hats: playing children’s drums, and accompanied +by ladies on the penny trumpet.</p> +<p>The noise of these various instruments, the orchestra, the shouting, +the ‘scratchers,’ and the dancing, is perfectly bewildering. +The dancing, itself, beggars description—every figure lasts about +an hour, and the ladies bounce up and down the middle, with a degree +of spirit which is quite indescribable. As to the gentlemen, they +stamp their feet against the ground, every time ‘hands four round’ +begins, go down the middle and up again, with cigars in their mouths, +and silk handkerchiefs in their hands, and whirl their partners round, +nothing loth, scrambling and falling, and embracing, and knocking up +against the other couples, until they are fairly tired out, and can +move no longer. The same scene is repeated again and again (slightly +varied by an occasional ‘row’) until a late hour at night: +and a great many clerks and ’prentices find themselves next morning +with aching heads, empty pockets, damaged hats, and a very imperfect +recollection of how it was they did <i>not</i> get home.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIII—PRIVATE THEATRES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘RICHARD THE THIRD.—DUKE OF GLO’STER 2<i>l</i>.; +EARL OF RICHMOND, 1<i>l</i>; DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, 15<i>s</i>.; CATESBY, +12<i>s</i>.; TRESSEL, 10<i>s</i>. 6<i>d</i>.; LORD STANLEY, 5<i>s</i>.; +LORD MAYOR OF LONDON, 2<i>s</i>. 6<i>d</i>.’</p> +<p>Such are the written placards wafered up in the gentlemen’s +dressing-room, or the green-room (where there is any), at a private +theatre; and such are the sums extracted from the shop-till, or overcharged +in the office expenditure, by the donkeys who are prevailed upon to +pay for permission to exhibit their lamentable ignorance and boobyism +on the stage of a private theatre. This they do, in proportion +to the scope afforded by the character for the display of their imbecility. +For instance, the Duke of Glo’ster is well worth two pounds, because +he has it all to himself; he must wear a real sword, and what is better +still, he must draw it, several times in the course of the piece. +The soliloquies alone are well worth fifteen shillings; then there is +the stabbing King Henry—decidedly cheap at three-and-sixpence, +that’s eighteen-and-sixpence; bullying the coffin-bearers—say +eighteen-pence, though it’s worth much more—that’s +a pound. Then the love scene with Lady Ann, and the bustle of +the fourth act can’t be dear at ten shillings more—that’s +only one pound ten, including the ‘off with his head!’—which +is sure to bring down the applause, and it is very easy to do—‘Orf +with his ed’ (very quick and loud;—then slow and sneeringly)—‘So +much for Bu-u-u-uckingham!’ Lay the emphasis on the ’uck;’ +get yourself gradually into a corner, and work with your right hand, +while you’re saying it, as if you were feeling your way, and it’s +sure to do. The tent scene is confessedly worth half-a-sovereign, +and so you have the fight in, gratis, and everybody knows what an effect +may be produced by a good combat. One—two—three—four—over; +then, one—two—three—four—under; then thrust; +then dodge and slide about; then fall down on one knee; then fight upon +it, and then get up again and stagger. You may keep on doing this, +as long as it seems to take—say ten minutes—and then fall +down (backwards, if you can manage it without hurting yourself), and +die game: nothing like it for producing an effect. They always +do it at Astley’s and Sadler’s Wells, and if they don’t +know how to do this sort of thing, who in the world does? A small +child, or a female in white, increases the interest of a combat materially—indeed, +we are not aware that a regular legitimate terrific broadsword combat +could be done without; but it would be rather difficult, and somewhat +unusual, to introduce this effect in the last scene of Richard the Third, +so the only thing to be done, is, just to make the best of a bad bargain, +and be as long as possible fighting it out.</p> +<p>The principal patrons of private theatres are dirty boys, low copying-clerks, +in attorneys’ offices, capacious-headed youths from city counting-houses, +Jews whose business, as lenders of fancy dresses, is a sure passport +to the amateur stage, shop-boys who now and then mistake their masters’ +money for their own; and a choice miscellany of idle vagabonds. +The proprietor of a private theatre may be an ex-scene-painter, a low +coffee-house-keeper, a disappointed eighth-rate actor, a retired smuggler, +or uncertificated bankrupt. The theatre itself may be in Catherine-street, +Strand, the purlieus of the city, the neighbourhood of Gray’s-inn-lane, +or the vicinity of Sadler’s Wells; or it may, perhaps, form the +chief nuisance of some shabby street, on the Surrey side of Waterloo-bridge.</p> +<p>The lady performers pay nothing for their characters, and it is needless +to add, are usually selected from one class of society; the audiences +are necessarily of much the same character as the performers, who receive, +in return for their contributions to the management, tickets to the +amount of the money they pay.</p> +<p>All the minor theatres in London, especially the lowest, constitute +the centre of a little stage-struck neighbourhood. Each of them +has an audience exclusively its own; and at any you will see dropping +into the pit at half-price, or swaggering into the back of a box, if +the price of admission be a reduced one, divers boys of from fifteen +to twenty-one years of age, who throw back their coat and turn up their +wristbands, after the portraits of Count D’Orsay, hum tunes and +whistle when the curtain is down, by way of persuading the people near +them, that they are not at all anxious to have it up again, and speak +familiarly of the inferior performers as Bill Such-a-one, and Ned So-and-so, +or tell each other how a new piece called <i>The Unknown Bandit</i> +<i>of the Invisible Cavern</i>, is in rehearsal; how Mister Palmer is +to play <i>The Unknown Bandit</i>; how Charley Scarton is to take the +part of an English sailor, and fight a broadsword combat with six unknown +bandits, at one and the same time (one theatrical sailor is always equal +to half a dozen men at least); how Mister Palmer and Charley Scarton +are to go through a double hornpipe in fetters in the second act; how +the interior of the invisible cavern is to occupy the whole extent of +the stage; and other town-surprising theatrical announcements. +These gentlemen are the amateurs—the <i>Richards, Shylocks, Beverleys</i>, +and <i>Othellos—</i>the <i>Young Dorntons, Rovers, Captain Absolutes</i>, +and <i>Charles Surfaces—</i>a private theatre.</p> +<p>See them at the neighbouring public-house or the theatrical coffee-shop! +They are the kings of the place, supposing no real performers to be +present; and roll about, hats on one side, and arms a-kimbo, as if they +had actually come into possession of eighteen shillings a-week, and +a share of a ticket night. If one of them does but know an Astley’s +supernumerary he is a happy fellow. The mingled air of envy and +admiration with which his companions will regard him, as he converses +familiarly with some mouldy-looking man in a fancy neckerchief, whose +partially corked eyebrows, and half-rouged face, testify to the fact +of his having just left the stage or the circle, sufficiently shows +in what high admiration these public characters are held.</p> +<p>With the double view of guarding against the discovery of friends +or employers, and enhancing the interest of an assumed character, by +attaching a high-sounding name to its representative, these geniuses +assume fictitious names, which are not the least amusing part of the +play-bill of a private theatre. Belville, Melville, Treville, +Berkeley, Randolph, Byron, St. Clair, and so forth, are among the humblest; +and the less imposing titles of Jenkins, Walker, Thomson, Barker, Solomons, +&c., are completely laid aside. There is something imposing +in this, and it is an excellent apology for shabbiness into the bargain. +A shrunken, faded coat, a decayed hat, a patched and soiled pair of +trousers—nay, even a very dirty shirt (and none of these appearances +are very uncommon among the members of the <i>corps dramatique</i>), +may be worn for the purpose of disguise, and to prevent the remotest +chance of recognition. Then it prevents any troublesome inquiries +or explanations about employment and pursuits; everybody is a gentleman +at large, for the occasion, and there are none of those unpleasant and +unnecessary distinctions to which even genius must occasionally succumb +elsewhere. As to the ladies (God bless them), they are quite above +any formal absurdities; the mere circumstance of your being behind the +scenes is a sufficient introduction to their society—for of course +they know that none but strictly respectable persons would be admitted +into that close fellowship with them, which acting engenders. +They place implicit reliance on the manager, no doubt; and as to the +manager, he is all affability when he knows you well,—or, in other +words, when he has pocketed your money once, and entertains confident +hopes of doing so again.</p> +<p>A quarter before eight—there will be a full house to-night—six +parties in the boxes, already; four little boys and a woman in the pit; +and two fiddles and a flute in the orchestra, who have got through five +overtures since seven o’clock (the hour fixed for the commencement +of the performances), and have just begun the sixth. There will +be plenty of it, though, when it does begin, for there is enough in +the bill to last six hours at least.</p> +<p>That gentleman in the white hat and checked shirt, brown coat and +brass buttons, lounging behind the stage-box on the O. P. side, is Mr. +Horatio St. Julien, alias Jem Larkins. His line is genteel comedy—his +father’s, coal and potato. He <i>does</i> Alfred Highflier +in the last piece, and very well he’ll do it—at the price. +The party of gentlemen in the opposite box, to whom he has just nodded, +are friends and supporters of Mr. Beverley (otherwise Loggins), the +<i>Macbeth</i> of the night. You observe their attempts to appear +easy and gentlemanly, each member of the party, with his feet cocked +upon the cushion in front of the box! They let them do these things +here, upon the same humane principle which permits poor people’s +children to knock double knocks at the door of an empty house—because +they can’t do it anywhere else. The two stout men in the +centre box, with an opera-glass ostentatiously placed before them, are +friends of the proprietor—opulent country managers, as he confidentially +informs every individual among the crew behind the curtain—opulent +country managers looking out for recruits; a representation which Mr. +Nathan, the dresser, who is in the manager’s interest, and has +just arrived with the costumes, offers to confirm upon oath if required—corroborative +evidence, however, is quite unnecessary, for the gulls believe it at +once.</p> +<p>The stout Jewess who has just entered, is the mother of the pale, +bony little girl, with the necklace of blue glass beads, sitting by +her; she is being brought up to ‘the profession.’ +Pantomime is to be her line, and she is coming out to-night, in a hornpipe +after the tragedy. The short thin man beside Mr. St. Julien, whose +white face is so deeply seared with the small-pox, and whose dirty shirt-front +is inlaid with open-work, and embossed with coral studs like ladybirds, +is the low comedian and comic singer of the establishment. The +remainder of the audience—a tolerably numerous one by this time—are +a motley group of dupes and blackguards.</p> +<p>The foot-lights have just made their appearance: the wicks of the +six little oil lamps round the only tier of boxes, are being turned +up, and the additional light thus afforded serves to show the presence +of dirt, and absence of paint, which forms a prominent feature in the +audience part of the house. As these preparations, however, announce +the speedy commencement of the play, let us take a peep ‘behind,’ +previous to the ringing-up.</p> +<p>The little narrow passages beneath the stage are neither especially +clean nor too brilliantly lighted; and the absence of any flooring, +together with the damp mildewy smell which pervades the place, does +not conduce in any great degree to their comfortable appearance. +Don’t fall over this plate basket—it’s one of the +‘properties’—the caldron for the witches’ cave; +and the three uncouth-looking figures, with broken clothes-props in +their hands, who are drinking gin-and-water out of a pint pot, are the +weird sisters. This miserable room, lighted by candles in sconces +placed at lengthened intervals round the wall, is the dressing-room, +common to the gentlemen performers, and the square hole in the ceiling +is <i>the</i> trap-door of the stage above. You will observe that +the ceiling is ornamented with the beams that support the boards, and +tastefully hung with cobwebs.</p> +<p>The characters in the tragedy are all dressed, and their own clothes +are scattered in hurried confusion over the wooden dresser which surrounds +the room. That snuff-shop-looking figure, in front of the glass, +is <i>Banquo</i>: and the young lady with the liberal display of legs, +who is kindly painting his face with a hare’s foot, is dressed +for <i>Fleance</i>. The large woman, who is consulting the stage +directions in Cumberland’s edition of <i>Macbeth</i>, is the <i>Lady +Macbeth</i> of the night; she is always selected to play the part, because +she is tall and stout, and <i>looks</i> a little like Mrs. Siddons—at +a considerable distance. That stupid-looking milksop, with light +hair and bow legs—a kind of man whom you can warrant town-made—is +fresh caught; he plays <i>Malcolm</i> to-night, just to accustom himself +to an audience. He will get on better by degrees; he will play +<i>Othello</i> in a month, and in a month more, will very probably be +apprehended on a charge of embezzlement. The black-eyed female +with whom he is talking so earnestly, is dressed for the ‘gentlewoman.’ +It is <i>her</i> first appearance, too—in that character. +The boy of fourteen who is having his eyebrows smeared with soap and +whitening, is <i>Duncan</i>, King of Scotland; and the two dirty men +with the corked countenances, in very old green tunics, and dirty drab +boots, are the ‘army.’</p> +<p>‘Look sharp below there, gents,’ exclaims the dresser, +a red-headed and red-whiskered Jew, calling through the trap, ‘they’re +a-going to ring up. The flute says he’ll be blowed if he +plays any more, and they’re getting precious noisy in front.’ +A general rush immediately takes place to the half-dozen little steep +steps leading to the stage, and the heterogeneous group are soon assembled +at the side scenes, in breathless anxiety and motley confusion.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ cries the manager, consulting the written list +which hangs behind the first P. S, wing, ‘Scene 1, open country—lamps +down—thunder and lightning—all ready, White?’ +[This is addressed to one of the army.] ‘All ready.’—‘Very +well. Scene 2, front chamber. Is the front chamber down?’—‘Yes.’—‘Very +well.’—‘Jones’ [to the other army who is up +in the flies]. ‘Hallo!’—‘Wind up the open +country when we ring up.’—‘I’ll take care.’—‘Scene +3, back perspective with practical bridge. Bridge ready, White? +Got the tressels there?’—‘All right.’</p> +<p>‘Very well. Clear the stage,’ cries the manager, +hastily packing every member of the company into the little space there +is between the wings and the wall, and one wing and another. ‘Places, +places. Now then, Witches—Duncan—Malcolm—bleeding +officer—where’s the bleeding officer?’—‘Here!’ +replies the officer, who has been rose-pinking for the character. +‘Get ready, then; now, White, ring the second music-bell.’ +The actors who are to be discovered, are hastily arranged, and the actors +who are not to be discovered place themselves, in their anxiety to peep +at the house, just where the audience can see them. The bell rings, +and the orchestra, in acknowledgment of the call, play three distinct +chords. The bell rings—the tragedy (!) opens—and our +description closes.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIV—VAUXHALL-GARDENS BY DAY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There was a time when if a man ventured to wonder how Vauxhall-gardens +would look by day, he was hailed with a shout of derision at the absurdity +of the idea. Vauxhall by daylight! A porter-pot without +porter, the House of Commons without the Speaker, a gas-lamp without +the gas—pooh, nonsense, the thing was not to be thought of. +It was rumoured, too, in those times, that Vauxhall-gardens by day, +were the scene of secret and hidden experiments; that there, carvers +were exercised in the mystic art of cutting a moderate-sized ham into +slices thin enough to pave the whole of the grounds; that beneath the +shade of the tall trees, studious men were constantly engaged in chemical +experiments, with the view of discovering how much water a bowl of negus +could possibly bear; and that in some retired nooks, appropriated to +the study of ornithology, other sage and learned men were, by a process +known only to themselves, incessantly employed in reducing fowls to +a mere combination of skin and bone.</p> +<p>Vague rumours of this kind, together with many others of a similar +nature, cast over Vauxhall-gardens an air of deep mystery; and as there +is a great deal in the mysterious, there is no doubt that to a good +many people, at all events, the pleasure they afforded was not a little +enhanced by this very circumstance.</p> +<p>Of this class of people we confess to having made one. We loved +to wander among these illuminated groves, thinking of the patient and +laborious researches which had been carried on there during the day, +and witnessing their results in the suppers which were served up beneath +the light of lamps and to the sound of music at night. The temples +and saloons and cosmoramas and fountains glittered and sparkled before +our eyes; the beauty of the lady singers and the elegant deportment +of the gentlemen, captivated our hearts; a few hundred thousand of additional +lamps dazzled our senses; a bowl or two of punch bewildered our brains; +and we were happy.</p> +<p>In an evil hour, the proprietors of Vauxhall-gardens took to opening +them by day. We regretted this, as rudely and harshly disturbing +that veil of mystery which had hung about the property for many years, +and which none but the noonday sun, and the late Mr. Simpson, had ever +penetrated. We shrunk from going; at this moment we scarcely know +why. Perhaps a morbid consciousness of approaching disappointment—perhaps +a fatal presentiment—perhaps the weather; whatever it was, we +did <i>not</i> go until the second or third announcement of a race between +two balloons tempted us, and we went.</p> +<p>We paid our shilling at the gate, and then we saw for the first time, +that the entrance, if there had been any magic about it at all, was +now decidedly disenchanted, being, in fact, nothing more nor less than +a combination of very roughly-painted boards and sawdust. We glanced +at the orchestra and supper-room as we hurried past—we just recognised +them, and that was all. We bent our steps to the firework-ground; +there, at least, we should not be disappointed. We reached it, +and stood rooted to the spot with mortification and astonishment. +<i>That</i> the Moorish tower—that wooden shed with a door in +the centre, and daubs of crimson and yellow all round, like a gigantic +watch-case! <i>That</i> the place where night after night we had +beheld the undaunted Mr. Blackmore make his terrific ascent, surrounded +by flames of fire, and peals of artillery, and where the white garments +of Madame Somebody (we forget even her name now), who nobly devoted +her life to the manufacture of fireworks, had so often been seen fluttering +in the wind, as she called up a red, blue, or party-coloured light to +illumine her temple! <i>That</i> the—but at this moment +the bell rung; the people scampered away, pell-mell, to the spot from +whence the sound proceeded; and we, from the mere force of habit, found +ourself running among the first, as if for very life.</p> +<p>It was for the concert in the orchestra. A small party of dismal +men in cocked hats were ‘executing’ the overture to <i>Tancredi</i>, +and a numerous assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, with their families, +had rushed from their half-emptied stout mugs in the supper boxes, and +crowded to the spot. Intense was the low murmur of admiration +when a particularly small gentleman, in a dress coat, led on a particularly +tall lady in a blue sarcenet pelisse and bonnet of the same, ornamented +with large white feathers, and forthwith commenced a plaintive duet.</p> +<p>We knew the small gentleman well; we had seen a lithographed semblance +of him, on many a piece of music, with his mouth wide open as if in +the act of singing; a wine-glass in his hand; and a table with two decanters +and four pine-apples on it in the background. The tall lady, too, +we had gazed on, lost in raptures of admiration, many and many a time—how +different people <i>do</i> look by daylight, and without punch, to be +sure! It was a beautiful duet: first the small gentleman asked +a question, and then the tall lady answered it; then the small gentleman +and the tall lady sang together most melodiously; then the small gentleman +went through a little piece of vehemence by himself, and got very tenor +indeed, in the excitement of his feelings, to which the tall lady responded +in a similar manner; then the small gentleman had a shake or two, after +which the tall lady had the same, and then they both merged imperceptibly +into the original air: and the band wound themselves up to a pitch of +fury, and the small gentleman handed the tall lady out, and the applause +was rapturous.</p> +<p>The comic singer, however, was the especial favourite; we really +thought that a gentleman, with his dinner in a pocket-handkerchief, +who stood near us, would have fainted with excess of joy. A marvellously +facetious gentleman that comic singer is; his distinguishing characteristics +are, a wig approaching to the flaxen, and an aged countenance, and he +bears the name of one of the English counties, if we recollect right. +He sang a very good song about the seven ages, the first half-hour of +which afforded the assembly the purest delight; of the rest we can make +no report, as we did not stay to hear any more.</p> +<p>We walked about, and met with a disappointment at every turn; our +favourite views were mere patches of paint; the fountain that had sparkled +so showily by lamp-light, presented very much the appearance of a water-pipe +that had burst; all the ornaments were dingy, and all the walks gloomy. +There was a spectral attempt at rope-dancing in the little open theatre. +The sun shone upon the spangled dresses of the performers, and their +evolutions were about as inspiriting and appropriate as a country-dance +in a family vault. So we retraced our steps to the firework-ground, +and mingled with the little crowd of people who were contemplating Mr. +Green.</p> +<p>Some half-dozen men were restraining the impetuosity of one of the +balloons, which was completely filled, and had the car already attached; +and as rumours had gone abroad that a Lord was ‘going up,’ +the crowd were more than usually anxious and talkative. There +was one little man in faded black, with a dirty face and a rusty black +neckerchief with a red border, tied in a narrow wisp round his neck, +who entered into conversation with everybody, and had something to say +upon every remark that was made within his hearing. He was standing +with his arms folded, staring up at the balloon, and every now and then +vented his feelings of reverence for the aëronaut, by saying, as +he looked round to catch somebody’s eye, ‘He’s a rum +’un is Green; think o’ this here being up’ards of +his two hundredth ascent; ecod, the man as is ekal to Green never had +the toothache yet, nor won’t have within this hundred year, and +that’s all about it. When you meets with real talent, and +native, too, encourage it, that’s what I say;’ and when +he had delivered himself to this effect, he would fold his arms with +more determination than ever, and stare at the balloon with a sort of +admiring defiance of any other man alive, beyond himself and Green, +that impressed the crowd with the opinion that he was an oracle.</p> +<p>‘Ah, you’re very right, sir,’ said another gentleman, +with his wife, and children, and mother, and wife’s sister, and +a host of female friends, in all the gentility of white pocket-handkerchiefs, +frills, and spencers, ‘Mr. Green is a steady hand, sir, and there’s +no fear about him.’</p> +<p>‘Fear!’ said the little man: ‘isn’t it a +lovely thing to see him and his wife a going up in one balloon, and +his own son and <i>his</i> wife a jostling up against them in another, +and all of them going twenty or thirty mile in three hours or so, and +then coming back in pochayses? I don’t know where this here +science is to stop, mind you; that’s what bothers me.’</p> +<p>Here there was a considerable talking among the females in the spencers.</p> +<p>‘What’s the ladies a laughing at, sir?’ inquired +the little man, condescendingly.</p> +<p>‘It’s only my sister Mary,’ said one of the girls, +‘as says she hopes his lordship won’t be frightened when +he’s in the car, and want to come out again.’</p> +<p>‘Make yourself easy about that there, my dear,’ replied +the little man. ‘If he was so much as to move a inch without +leave, Green would jist fetch him a crack over the head with the telescope, +as would send him into the bottom of the basket in no time, and stun +him till they come down again.’</p> +<p>‘Would he, though?’ inquired the other man.</p> +<p>‘Yes, would he,’ replied the little one, ‘and think +nothing of it, neither, if he was the king himself. Green’s +presence of mind is wonderful.’</p> +<p>Just at this moment all eyes were directed to the preparations which +were being made for starting. The car was attached to the second +balloon, the two were brought pretty close together, and a military +band commenced playing, with a zeal and fervour which would render the +most timid man in existence but too happy to accept any means of quitting +that particular spot of earth on which they were stationed. Then +Mr. Green, sen., and his noble companion entered one car, and Mr. Green, +jun., and <i>his</i> companion the other; and then the balloons went +up, and the aërial travellers stood up, and the crowd outside roared +with delight, and the two gentlemen who had never ascended before, tried +to wave their flags, as if they were not nervous, but held on very fast +all the while; and the balloons were wafted gently away, our little +friend solemnly protesting, long after they were reduced to mere specks +in the air, that he could still distinguish the white hat of Mr. Green. +The gardens disgorged their multitudes, boys ran up and down screaming +‘bal-loon;’ and in all the crowded thoroughfares people +rushed out of their shops into the middle of the road, and having stared +up in the air at two little black objects till they almost dislocated +their necks, walked slowly in again, perfectly satisfied.</p> +<p>The next day there was a grand account of the ascent in the morning +papers, and the public were informed how it was the finest day but four +in Mr. Green’s remembrance; how they retained sight of the earth +till they lost it behind the clouds; and how the reflection of the balloon +on the undulating masses of vapour was gorgeously picturesque; together +with a little science about the refraction of the sun’s rays, +and some mysterious hints respecting atmospheric heat and eddying currents +of air.</p> +<p>There was also an interesting account how a man in a boat was distinctly +heard by Mr. Green, jun., to exclaim, ‘My eye!’ which Mr. +Green, jun., attributed to his voice rising to the balloon, and the +sound being thrown back from its surface into the car; and the whole +concluded with a slight allusion to another ascent next Wednesday, all +of which was very instructive and very amusing, as our readers will +see if they look to the papers. If we have forgotten to mention +the date, they have only to wait till next summer, and take the account +of the first ascent, and it will answer the purpose equally well.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XV—EARLY COACHES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have often wondered how many months’ incessant travelling +in a post-chaise it would take to kill a man; and wondering by analogy, +we should very much like to know how many months of constant travelling +in a succession of early coaches, an unfortunate mortal could endure. +Breaking a man alive upon the wheel, would be nothing to breaking his +rest, his peace, his heart—everything but his fast—upon +four; and the punishment of Ixion (the only practical person, by-the-bye, +who has discovered the secret of the perpetual motion) would sink into +utter insignificance before the one we have suggested. If we had +been a powerful churchman in those good times when blood was shed as +freely as water, and men were mowed down like grass, in the sacred cause +of religion, we would have lain by very quietly till we got hold of +some especially obstinate miscreant, who positively refused to be converted +to our faith, and then we would have booked him for an inside place +in a small coach, which travelled day and night: and securing the remainder +of the places for stout men with a slight tendency to coughing and spitting, +we would have started him forth on his last travels: leaving him mercilessly +to all the tortures which the waiters, landlords, coachmen, guards, +boots, chambermaids, and other familiars on his line of road, might +think proper to inflict.</p> +<p>Who has not experienced the miseries inevitably consequent upon a +summons to undertake a hasty journey? You receive an intimation +from your place of business—wherever that may be, or whatever +you may be—that it will be necessary to leave town without delay. +You and your family are forthwith thrown into a state of tremendous +excitement; an express is immediately dispatched to the washerwoman’s; +everybody is in a bustle; and you, yourself, with a feeling of dignity +which you cannot altogether conceal, sally forth to the booking-office +to secure your place. Here a painful consciousness of your own +unimportance first rushes on your mind—the people are as cool +and collected as if nobody were going out of town, or as if a journey +of a hundred odd miles were a mere nothing. You enter a mouldy-looking +room, ornamented with large posting-bills; the greater part of the place +enclosed behind a huge, lumbering, rough counter, and fitted up with +recesses that look like the dens of the smaller animals in a travelling +menagerie, without the bars. Some half-dozen people are ‘booking’ +brown-paper parcels, which one of the clerks flings into the aforesaid +recesses with an air of recklessness which you, remembering the new +carpet-bag you bought in the morning, feel considerably annoyed at; +porters, looking like so many Atlases, keep rushing in and out, with +large packages on their shoulders; and while you are waiting to make +the necessary inquiries, you wonder what on earth the booking-office +clerks can have been before they were booking-office clerks; one of +them with his pen behind his ear, and his hands behind him, is standing +in front of the fire, like a full-length portrait of Napoleon; the other +with his hat half off his head, enters the passengers’ names in +the books with a coolness which is inexpressibly provoking; and the +villain whistles—actually whistles—while a man asks him +what the fare is outside, all the way to Holyhead!—in frosty weather, +too! They are clearly an isolated race, evidently possessing no +sympathies or feelings in common with the rest of mankind. Your +turn comes at last, and having paid the fare, you tremblingly inquire—‘What +time will it be necessary for me to be here in the morning?’—‘Six +o’clock,’ replies the whistler, carelessly pitching the +sovereign you have just parted with, into a wooden bowl on the desk. +‘Rather before than arter,’ adds the man with the semi-roasted +unmentionables, with just as much ease and complacency as if the whole +world got out of bed at five. You turn into the street, ruminating +as you bend your steps homewards on the extent to which men become hardened +in cruelty, by custom.</p> +<p>If there be one thing in existence more miserable than another, it +most unquestionably is the being compelled to rise by candlelight. +If you have ever doubted the fact, you are painfully convinced of your +error, on the morning of your departure. You left strict orders, +overnight, to be called at half-past four, and you have done nothing +all night but doze for five minutes at a time, and start up suddenly +from a terrific dream of a large church-clock with the small hand running +round, with astonishing rapidity, to every figure on the dial-plate. +At last, completely exhausted, you fall gradually into a refreshing +sleep—your thoughts grow confused—the stage-coaches, which +have been ‘going off’ before your eyes all night, become +less and less distinct, until they go off altogether; one moment you +are driving with all the skill and smartness of an experienced whip—the +next you are exhibiting <i>à la</i> Ducrow, on the off-leader; +anon you are closely muffled up, inside, and have just recognised in +the person of the guard an old schoolfellow, whose funeral, even in +your dream, you remember to have attended eighteen years ago. +At last you fall into a state of complete oblivion, from which you are +aroused, as if into a new state of existence, by a singular illusion. +You are apprenticed to a trunk-maker; how, or why, or when, or wherefore, +you don’t take the trouble to inquire; but there you are, pasting +the lining in the lid of a portmanteau. Confound that other apprentice +in the back shop, how he is hammering!—rap, rap, rap—what +an industrious fellow he must be! you have heard him at work for half +an hour past, and he has been hammering incessantly the whole time. +Rap, rap, rap, again—he’s talking now—what’s +that he said? Five o’clock! You make a violent exertion, +and start up in bed. The vision is at once dispelled; the trunk-maker’s +shop is your own bedroom, and the other apprentice your shivering servant, +who has been vainly endeavouring to wake you for the last quarter of +an hour, at the imminent risk of breaking either his own knuckles or +the panels of the door.</p> +<p>You proceed to dress yourself, with all possible dispatch. +The flaring flat candle with the long snuff, gives light enough to show +that the things you want, are not where they ought to be, and you undergo +a trifling delay in consequence of having carefully packed up one of +your boots in your over-anxiety of the preceding night. You soon +complete your toilet, however, for you are not particular on such an +occasion, and you shaved yesterday evening; so mounting your Petersham +great-coat, and green travelling shawl, and grasping your carpet-bag +in your right hand, you walk lightly down-stairs, lest you should awaken +any of the family, and after pausing in the common sitting-room for +one moment, just to have a cup of coffee (the said common sitting-room +looking remarkably comfortable, with everything out of its place, and +strewed with the crumbs of last night’s supper), you undo the +chain and bolts of the street-door, and find yourself fairly in the +street.</p> +<p>A thaw, by all that is miserable! The frost is completely broken +up. You look down the long perspective of Oxford-street, the gas-lights +mournfully reflected on the wet pavement, and can discern no speck in +the road to encourage the belief that there is a cab or a coach to be +had—the very coachmen have gone home in despair. The cold +sleet is drizzling down with that gentle regularity, which betokens +a duration of four-and-twenty hours at least; the damp hangs upon the +house-tops and lamp-posts, and clings to you like an invisible cloak. +The water is ‘coming in’ in every area, the pipes have burst, +the water-butts are running over; the kennels seem to be doing matches +against time, pump-handles descend of their own accord, horses in market-carts +fall down, and there’s no one to help them up again, policemen +look as if they had been carefully sprinkled with powdered glass; here +and there a milk-woman trudges slowly along, with a bit of list round +each foot to keep her from slipping; boys who ‘don’t sleep +in the house,’ and are not allowed much sleep out of it, can’t +wake their masters by thundering at the shop-door, and cry with the +cold—the compound of ice, snow, and water on the pavement, is +a couple of inches thick—nobody ventures to walk fast to keep +himself warm, and nobody could succeed in keeping himself warm if he +did.</p> +<p>It strikes a quarter past five as you trudge down Waterloo-place +on your way to the Golden Cross, and you discover, for the first time, +that you were called about an hour too early. You have not time +to go back; there is no place open to go into, and you have, therefore, +no resource but to go forward, which you do, feeling remarkably satisfied +with yourself, and everything about you. You arrive at the office, +and look wistfully up the yard for the Birmingham High-flier, which, +for aught you can see, may have flown away altogether, for preparations +appear to be on foot for the departure of any vehicle in the shape of +a coach. You wander into the booking-office, which with the gas-lights +and blazing fire, looks quite comfortable by contrast—that is +to say, if any place <i>can</i> look comfortable at half-past five on +a winter’s morning. There stands the identical book-keeper +in the same position as if he had not moved since you saw him yesterday. +As he informs you, that the coach is up the yard, and will be brought +round in about a quarter of an hour, you leave your bag, and repair +to ‘The Tap’—not with any absurd idea of warming yourself, +because you feel such a result to be utterly hopeless, but for the purpose +of procuring some hot brandy-and-water, which you do,—when the +kettle boils! an event which occurs exactly two minutes and a half before +the time fixed for the starting of the coach.</p> +<p>The first stroke of six, peals from St. Martin’s church steeple, +just as you take the first sip of the boiling liquid. You find +yourself at the booking-office in two seconds, and the tap-waiter finds +himself much comforted by your brandy-and-water, in about the same period. +The coach is out; the horses are in, and the guard and two or three +porters, are stowing the luggage away, and running up the steps of the +booking-office, and down the steps of the booking-office, with breathless +rapidity. The place, which a few minutes ago was so still and +quiet, is now all bustle; the early vendors of the morning papers have +arrived, and you are assailed on all sides with shouts of <i>‘Times</i>, +gen’lm’n, <i>Times</i>,’ ‘Here’s<i> Chron—Chron—Chron</i>,’ +‘<i>Herald</i>, ma’am,’ ‘Highly interesting +murder, gen’lm’n,’ ‘Curious case o’ breach +o’ promise, ladies.’ The inside passengers are already +in their dens, and the outsides, with the exception of yourself, are +pacing up and down the pavement to keep themselves warm; they consist +of two young men with very long hair, to which the sleet has communicated +the appearance of crystallised rats’ tails; one thin young woman +cold and peevish, one old gentleman ditto ditto, and something in a +cloak and cap, intended to represent a military officer; every member +of the party, with a large stiff shawl over his chin, looking exactly +as if he were playing a set of Pan’s pipes.</p> +<p>‘Take off the cloths, Bob,’ says the coachman, who now +appears for the first time, in a rough blue great-coat, of which the +buttons behind are so far apart, that you can’t see them both +at the same time. ‘Now, gen’lm’n,’ cries +the guard, with the waybill in his hand. ‘Five minutes behind +time already!’ Up jump the passengers—the two young +men smoking like lime-kilns, and the old gentleman grumbling audibly. +The thin young woman is got upon the roof, by dint of a great deal of +pulling, and pushing, and helping and trouble, and she repays it by +expressing her solemn conviction that she will never be able to get +down again.</p> +<p>‘All right,’ sings out the guard at last, jumping up +as the coach starts, and blowing his horn directly afterwards, in proof +of the soundness of his wind. ‘Let ’em go, Harry, +give ’em their heads,’ cries the coachman—and off +we start as briskly as if the morning were ‘all right,’ +as well as the coach: and looking forward as anxiously to the termination +of our journey, as we fear our readers will have done, long since, to +the conclusion of our paper.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XVI—OMNIBUSES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is very generally allowed that public conveyances afford an extensive +field for amusement and observation. Of all the public conveyances +that have been constructed since the days of the Ark—we think +that is the earliest on record—to the present time, commend us +to an omnibus. A long stage is not to be despised, but there you +have only six insides, and the chances are, that the same people go +all the way with you—there is no change, no variety. Besides, +after the first twelve hours or so, people get cross and sleepy, and +when you have seen a man in his nightcap, you lose all respect for him; +at least, that is the case with us. Then on smooth roads people +frequently get prosy, and tell long stories, and even those who don’t +talk, may have very unpleasant predilections. We once travelled +four hundred miles, inside a stage-coach, with a stout man, who had +a glass of rum-and-water, warm, handed in at the window at every place +where we changed horses. This was decidedly unpleasant. +We have also travelled occasionally, with a small boy of a pale aspect, +with light hair, and no perceptible neck, coming up to town from school +under the protection of the guard, and directed to be left at the Cross +Keys till called for. This is, perhaps, even worse than rum-and-water +in a close atmosphere. Then there is the whole train of evils +consequent on a change of the coachman; and the misery of the discovery—which +the guard is sure to make the moment you begin to doze—that he +wants a brown-paper parcel, which he distinctly remembers to have deposited +under the seat on which you are reposing. A great deal of bustle +and groping takes place, and when you are thoroughly awakened, and severely +cramped, by holding your legs up by an almost supernatural exertion, +while he is looking behind them, it suddenly occurs to him that he put +it in the fore-boot. Bang goes the door; the parcel is immediately +found; off starts the coach again; and the guard plays the key-bugle +as loud as he can play it, as if in mockery of your wretchedness.</p> +<p>Now, you meet with none of these afflictions in an omnibus; sameness +there can never be. The passengers change as often in the course +of one journey as the figures in a kaleidoscope, and though not so glittering, +are far more amusing. We believe there is no instance on record, +of a man’s having gone to sleep in one of these vehicles. +As to long stories, would any man venture to tell a long story in an +omnibus? and even if he did, where would be the harm? nobody could possibly +hear what he was talking about. Again; children, though occasionally, +are not often to be found in an omnibus; and even when they are, if +the vehicle be full, as is generally the case, somebody sits upon them, +and we are unconscious of their presence. Yes, after mature reflection, +and considerable experience, we are decidedly of opinion, that of all +known vehicles, from the glass-coach in which we were taken to be christened, +to that sombre caravan in which we must one day make our last earthly +journey, there is nothing like an omnibus.</p> +<p>We will back the machine in which we make our daily peregrination +from the top of Oxford-street to the city, against any ‘buss’ +on the road, whether it be for the gaudiness of its exterior, the perfect +simplicity of its interior, or the native coolness of its cad. +This young gentleman is a singular instance of self-devotion; his somewhat +intemperate zeal on behalf of his employers, is constantly getting him +into trouble, and occasionally into the house of correction. He +is no sooner emancipated, however, than he resumes the duties of his +profession with unabated ardour. His principal distinction is +his activity. His great boast is, ‘that he can chuck an +old gen’lm’n into the buss, shut him in, and rattle off, +afore he knows where it’s a-going to’—a feat which +he frequently performs, to the infinite amusement of every one but the +old gentleman concerned, who, somehow or other, never can see the joke +of the thing.</p> +<p>We are not aware that it has ever been precisely ascertained, how +many passengers our omnibus will contain. The impression on the +cad’s mind evidently is, that it is amply sufficient for the accommodation +of any number of persons that can be enticed into it. ‘Any +room?’ cries a hot pedestrian. ‘Plenty o’ room, +sir,’ replies the conductor, gradually opening the door, and not +disclosing the real state of the case, until the wretched man is on +the steps. ‘Where?’ inquires the entrapped individual, +with an attempt to back out again. ‘Either side, sir,’ +rejoins the cad, shoving him in, and slamming the door. ‘All +right, Bill.’ Retreat is impossible; the new-comer rolls +about, till he falls down somewhere, and there he stops.</p> +<p>As we get into the city a little before ten, four or five of our +party are regular passengers. We always take them up at the same +places, and they generally occupy the same seats; they are always dressed +in the same manner, and invariably discuss the same topics—the +increasing rapidity of cabs, and the disregard of moral obligations +evinced by omnibus men. There is a little testy old man, with +a powdered head, who always sits on the right-hand side of the door +as you enter, with his hands folded on the top of his umbrella. +He is extremely impatient, and sits there for the purpose of keeping +a sharp eye on the cad, with whom he generally holds a running dialogue. +He is very officious in helping people in and out, and always volunteers +to give the cad a poke with his umbrella, when any one wants to alight. +He usually recommends ladies to have sixpence ready, to prevent delay; +and if anybody puts a window down, that he can reach, he immediately +puts it up again.</p> +<p>‘Now, what are you stopping for?’ says the little man +every morning, the moment there is the slightest indication of ‘pulling +up’ at the corner of Regent-street, when some such dialogue as +the following takes place between him and the cad:</p> +<p>‘What are you stopping for?’</p> +<p>Here the cad whistles, and affects not to hear the question.</p> +<p>‘I say [a poke], what are you stopping for?’</p> +<p>‘For passengers, sir. Ba—nk.—Ty.’</p> +<p>‘I know you’re stopping for passengers; but you’ve +no business to do so. <i>Why</i> are you stopping?’</p> +<p>‘Vy, sir, that’s a difficult question. I think +it is because we perfer stopping here to going on.’</p> +<p>‘Now mind,’ exclaims the little old man, with great vehemence, +‘I’ll pull you up to-morrow; I’ve often threatened +to do it; now I will.’</p> +<p>‘Thankee, sir,’ replies the cad, touching his hat with +a mock expression of gratitude;—‘werry much obliged to you +indeed, sir.’ Here the young men in the omnibus laugh very +heartily, and the old gentleman gets very red in the face, and seems +highly exasperated.</p> +<p>The stout gentleman in the white neckcloth, at the other end of the +vehicle, looks very prophetic, and says that something must shortly +be done with these fellows, or there’s no saying where all this +will end; and the shabby-genteel man with the green bag, expresses his +entire concurrence in the opinion, as he has done regularly every morning +for the last six months.</p> +<p>A second omnibus now comes up, and stops immediately behind us. +Another old gentleman elevates his cane in the air, and runs with all +his might towards our omnibus; we watch his progress with great interest; +the door is opened to receive him, he suddenly disappears—he has +been spirited away by the opposition. Hereupon the driver of the +opposition taunts our people with his having ‘regularly done ’em +out of that old swell,’ and the voice of the ‘old swell’ +is heard, vainly protesting against this unlawful detention. We +rattle off, the other omnibus rattles after us, and every time we stop +to take up a passenger, they stop to take him too; sometimes we get +him; sometimes they get him; but whoever don’t get him, say they +ought to have had him, and the cads of the respective vehicles abuse +one another accordingly.</p> +<p>As we arrive in the vicinity of Lincoln’s-inn-fields, Bedford-row, +and other legal haunts, we drop a great many of our original passengers, +and take up fresh ones, who meet with a very sulky reception. +It is rather remarkable, that the people already in an omnibus, always +look at newcomers, as if they entertained some undefined idea that they +have no business to come in at all. We are quite persuaded the +little old man has some notion of this kind, and that he considers their +entry as a sort of negative impertinence.</p> +<p>Conversation is now entirely dropped; each person gazes vacantly +through the window in front of him, and everybody thinks that his opposite +neighbour is staring at him. If one man gets out at Shoe-lane, +and another at the corner of Farringdon-street, the little old gentleman +grumbles, and suggests to the latter, that if he had got out at Shoe-lane +too, he would have saved them the delay of another stoppage; whereupon +the young men laugh again, and the old gentleman looks very solemn, +and says nothing more till he gets to the Bank, when he trots off as +fast as he can, leaving us to do the same, and to wish, as we walk away, +that we could impart to others any portion of the amusement we have +gained for ourselves.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XVII—THE LAST CAB-DRIVER, AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the cabriolet-drivers whom we have ever had the honour and +gratification of knowing by sight—and our acquaintance in this +way has been most extensive—there is one who made an impression +on our mind which can never be effaced, and who awakened in our bosom +a feeling of admiration and respect, which we entertain a fatal presentiment +will never be called forth again by any human being. He was a +man of most simple and prepossessing appearance. He was a brown-whiskered, +white-hatted, no-coated cabman; his nose was generally red, and his +bright blue eye not unfrequently stood out in bold relief against a +black border of artificial workmanship; his boots were of the Wellington +form, pulled up to meet his corduroy knee-smalls, or at least to approach +as near them as their dimensions would admit of; and his neck was usually +garnished with a bright yellow handkerchief. In summer he carried +in his mouth a flower; in winter, a straw—slight, but, to a contemplative +mind, certain indications of a love of nature, and a taste for botany.</p> +<p>His cabriolet was gorgeously painted—a bright red; and wherever +we went, City or West End, Paddington or Holloway, North, East, West, +or South, there was the red cab, bumping up against the posts at the +street corners, and turning in and out, among hackney-coaches, and drays, +and carts, and waggons, and omnibuses, and contriving by some strange +means or other, to get out of places which no other vehicle but the +red cab could ever by any possibility have contrived to get into at +all. Our fondness for that red cab was unbounded. How we +should have liked to have seen it in the circle at Astley’s! +Our life upon it, that it should have performed such evolutions as would +have put the whole company to shame—Indian chiefs, knights, Swiss +peasants, and all.</p> +<p>Some people object to the exertion of getting into cabs, and others +object to the difficulty of getting out of them; we think both these +are objections which take their rise in perverse and ill-conditioned +minds. The getting into a cab is a very pretty and graceful process, +which, when well performed, is essentially melodramatic. First, +there is the expressive pantomime of every one of the eighteen cabmen +on the stand, the moment you raise your eyes from the ground. +Then there is your own pantomime in reply—quite a little ballet. +Four cabs immediately leave the stand, for your especial accommodation; +and the evolutions of the animals who draw them, are beautiful in the +extreme, as they grate the wheels of the cabs against the curb-stones, +and sport playfully in the kennel. You single out a particular +cab, and dart swiftly towards it. One bound, and you are on the +first step; turn your body lightly round to the right, and you are on +the second; bend gracefully beneath the reins, working round to the +left at the same time, and you are in the cab. There is no difficulty +in finding a seat: the apron knocks you comfortably into it at once, +and off you go.</p> +<p>The getting out of a cab is, perhaps, rather more complicated in +its theory, and a shade more difficult in its execution. We have +studied the subject a great deal, and we think the best way is, to throw +yourself out, and trust to chance for alighting on your feet. +If you make the driver alight first, and then throw yourself upon him, +you will find that he breaks your fall materially. In the event +of your contemplating an offer of eightpence, on no account make the +tender, or show the money, until you are safely on the pavement. +It is very bad policy attempting to save the fourpence. You are +very much in the power of a cabman, and he considers it a kind of fee +not to do you any wilful damage. Any instruction, however, in +the art of getting out of a cab, is wholly unnecessary if you are going +any distance, because the probability is, that you will be shot lightly +out before you have completed the third mile.</p> +<p>We are not aware of any instance on record in which a cab-horse has +performed three consecutive miles without going down once. What +of that? It is all excitement. And in these days of derangement +of the nervous system and universal lassitude, people are content to +pay handsomely for excitement; where can it be procured at a cheaper +rate?</p> +<p>But to return to the red cab; it was omnipresent. You had but +to walk down Holborn, or Fleet-street, or any of the principal thoroughfares +in which there is a great deal of traffic, and judge for yourself. +You had hardly turned into the street, when you saw a trunk or two, +lying on the ground: an uprooted post, a hat-box, a portmanteau, and +a carpet-bag, strewed about in a very picturesque manner: a horse in +a cab standing by, looking about him with great unconcern; and a crowd, +shouting and screaming with delight, cooling their flushed faces against +the glass windows of a chemist’s shop.—‘What’s +the matter here, can you tell me?’—‘O’ny a cab, +sir.’—‘Anybody hurt, do you know?’—‘O’ny +the fare, sir. I see him a turnin’ the corner, and I ses +to another gen’lm’n “that’s a reg’lar +little oss that, and he’s a comin’ along rayther sweet, +an’t he?”—“He just is,” ses the other +gen’lm’n, ven bump they cums agin the post, and out flies +the fare like bricks.’ Need we say it was the red cab; or +that the gentleman with the straw in his mouth, who emerged so coolly +from the chemist’s shop and philosophically climbing into the +little dickey, started off at full gallop, was the red cab’s licensed +driver?</p> +<p>The ubiquity of this red cab, and the influence it exercised over +the risible muscles of justice itself, was perfectly astonishing. +You walked into the justice-room of the Mansion-house; the whole court +resounded with merriment. The Lord Mayor threw himself back in +his chair, in a state of frantic delight at his own joke; every vein +in Mr. Hobler’s countenance was swollen with laughter, partly +at the Lord Mayor’s facetiousness, but more at his own; the constables +and police-officers were (as in duty bound) in ecstasies at Mr. Hobler +and the Lord Mayor combined; and the very paupers, glancing respectfully +at the beadle’s countenance, tried to smile, as even he relaxed. +A tall, weazen-faced man, with an impediment in his speech, would be +endeavouring to state a case of imposition against the red cab’s +driver; and the red cab’s driver, and the Lord Mayor, and Mr. +Hobler, would be having a little fun among themselves, to the inordinate +delight of everybody but the complainant. In the end, justice +would be so tickled with the red cab-driver’s native humour, that +the fine would be mitigated, and he would go away full gallop, in the +red cab, to impose on somebody else without loss of time.</p> +<p>The driver of the red cab, confident in the strength of his own moral +principles, like many other philosophers, was wont to set the feelings +and opinions of society at complete defiance. Generally speaking, +perhaps, he would as soon carry a fare safely to his destination, as +he would upset him—sooner, perhaps, because in that case he not +only got the money, but had the additional amusement of running a longer +heat against some smart rival. But society made war upon him in +the shape of penalties, and he must make war upon society in his own +way. This was the reasoning of the red cab-driver. So, he +bestowed a searching look upon the fare, as he put his hand in his waistcoat +pocket, when he had gone half the mile, to get the money ready; and +if he brought forth eightpence, out he went.</p> +<p>The last time we saw our friend was one wet evening in Tottenham-court-road, +when he was engaged in a very warm and somewhat personal altercation +with a loquacious little gentleman in a green coat. Poor fellow! +there were great excuses to be made for him: he had not received above +eighteenpence more than his fare, and consequently laboured under a +great deal of very natural indignation. The dispute had attained +a pretty considerable height, when at last the loquacious little gentleman, +making a mental calculation of the distance, and finding that he had +already paid more than he ought, avowed his unalterable determination +to ‘pull up’ the cabman in the morning.</p> +<p>‘Now, just mark this, young man,’ said the little gentleman, +‘I’ll pull you up to-morrow morning.’</p> +<p>‘No! will you though?’ said our friend, with a sneer.</p> +<p>‘I will,’ replied the little gentleman, ‘mark my +words, that’s all. If I live till to-morrow morning, you +shall repent this.’</p> +<p>There was a steadiness of purpose, and indignation of speech, about +the little gentleman, as he took an angry pinch of snuff, after this +last declaration, which made a visible impression on the mind of the +red cab-driver. He appeared to hesitate for an instant. +It was only for an instant; his resolve was soon taken.</p> +<p>‘You’ll pull me up, will you?’ said our friend.</p> +<p>‘I will,’ rejoined the little gentleman, with even greater +vehemence an before.</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ said our friend, tucking up his shirt sleeves +very calmly. ‘There’ll be three veeks for that. +Wery good; that’ll bring me up to the middle o’ next month. +Three veeks more would carry me on to my birthday, and then I’ve +got ten pound to draw. I may as well get board, lodgin’, +and washin’, till then, out of the county, as pay for it myself; +consequently here goes!’</p> +<p>So, without more ado, the red cab-driver knocked the little gentleman +down, and then called the police to take himself into custody, with +all the civility in the world.</p> +<p>A story is nothing without the sequel; and therefore, we may state, +that to our certain knowledge, the board, lodging, and washing were +all provided in due course. We happen to know the fact, for it +came to our knowledge thus: We went over the House of Correction for +the county of Middlesex shortly after, to witness the operation of the +silent system; and looked on all the ‘wheels’ with the greatest +anxiety, in search of our long-lost friend. He was nowhere to +be seen, however, and we began to think that the little gentleman in +the green coat must have relented, when, as we were traversing the kitchen-garden, +which lies in a sequestered part of the prison, we were startled by +hearing a voice, which apparently proceeded from the wall, pouring forth +its soul in the plaintive air of ‘All round my hat,’ which +was then just beginning to form a recognised portion of our national +music.</p> +<p>We started.—‘What voice is that?’ said we. +The Governor shook his head.</p> +<p>‘Sad fellow,’ he replied, ‘very sad. He positively +refused to work on the wheel; so, after many trials, I was compelled +to order him into solitary confinement. He says he likes it very +much though, and I am afraid he does, for he lies on his back on the +floor, and sings comic songs all day!’</p> +<p>Shall we add, that our heart had not deceived us and that the comic +singer was no other than our eagerly-sought friend, the red cab-driver?</p> +<p>We have never seen him since, but we have strong reason to suspect +that this noble individual was a distant relative of a waterman of our +acquaintance, who, on one occasion, when we were passing the coach-stand +over which he presides, after standing very quietly to see a tall man +struggle into a cab, ran up very briskly when it was all over (as his +brethren invariably do), and, touching his hat, asked, as a matter of +course, for ‘a copper for the waterman.’ Now, the +fare was by no means a handsome man; and, waxing very indignant at the +demand, he replied—‘Money! What for? Coming +up and looking at me, I suppose!’—‘Vell, sir,’ +rejoined the waterman, with a smile of immovable complacency, ‘<i>that’s</i> +worth twopence.’</p> +<p>The identical waterman afterwards attained a very prominent station +in society; and as we know something of his life, and have often thought +of telling what we <i>do</i> know, perhaps we shall never have a better +opportunity than the present.</p> +<p>Mr. William Barker, then, for that was the gentleman’s name, +Mr. William Barker was born—but why need we relate where Mr. William +Barker was born, or when? Why scrutinise the entries in parochial +ledgers, or seek to penetrate the Lucinian mysteries of lying-in hospitals? +Mr. William Barker <i>was</i> born, or he had never been. There +is a son—there was a father. There is an effect—there +was a cause. Surely this is sufficient information for the most +Fatima-like curiosity; and, if it be not, we regret our inability to +supply any further evidence on the point. Can there be a more +satisfactory, or more strictly parliamentary course? Impossible.</p> +<p>We at once avow a similar inability to record at what precise period, +or by what particular process, this gentleman’s patronymic, of +William Barker, became corrupted into ‘Bill Boorker.’ Mr. +Barker acquired a high standing, and no inconsiderable reputation, among +the members of that profession to which he more peculiarly devoted his +energies; and to them he was generally known, either by the familiar +appellation of ‘Bill Boorker,’ or the flattering designation +of ‘Aggerawatin Bill,’ the latter being a playful and expressive +<i>sobriquet</i>, illustrative of Mr. Barker’s great talent in +‘aggerawatin’ and rendering wild such subjects of her Majesty +as are conveyed from place to place, through the instrumentality of +omnibuses. Of the early life of Mr. Barker little is known, and +even that little is involved in considerable doubt and obscurity. +A want of application, a restlessness of purpose, a thirsting after +porter, a love of all that is roving and cadger-like in nature, shared +in common with many other great geniuses, appear to have been his leading +characteristics. The busy hum of a parochial free-school, and +the shady repose of a county gaol, were alike inefficacious in producing +the slightest alteration in Mr. Barker’s disposition. His +feverish attachment to change and variety nothing could repress; his +native daring no punishment could subdue.</p> +<p>If Mr. Barker can be fairly said to have had any weakness in his +earlier years, it was an amiable one—love; love in its most comprehensive +form—a love of ladies, liquids, and pocket-handkerchiefs. +It was no selfish feeling; it was not confined to his own possessions, +which but too many men regard with exclusive complacency. No; +it was a nobler love—a general principle. It extended itself +with equal force to the property of other people.</p> +<p>There is something very affecting in this. It is still more +affecting to know, that such philanthropy is but imperfectly rewarded. +Bow-street, Newgate, and Millbank, are a poor return for general benevolence, +evincing itself in an irrepressible love for all created objects. +Mr. Barker felt it so. After a lengthened interview with the highest +legal authorities, he quitted his ungrateful country, with the consent, +and at the expense, of its Government; proceeded to a distant shore; +and there employed himself, like another Cincinnatus, in clearing and +cultivating the soil—a peaceful pursuit, in which a term of seven +years glided almost imperceptibly away.</p> +<p>Whether, at the expiration of the period we have just mentioned, +the British Government required Mr. Barker’s presence here, or +did not require his residence abroad, we have no distinct means of ascertaining. +We should be inclined, however, to favour the latter position, inasmuch +as we do not find that he was advanced to any other public post on his +return, than the post at the corner of the Haymarket, where he officiated +as assistant-waterman to the hackney-coach stand. Seated, in this +capacity, on a couple of tubs near the curbstone, with a brass plate +and number suspended round his neck by a massive chain, and his ankles +curiously enveloped in haybands, he is supposed to have made those observations +on human nature which exercised so material an influence over all his +proceedings in later life.</p> +<p>Mr. Barker had not officiated for many months in this capacity, when +the appearance of the first omnibus caused the public mind to go in +a new direction, and prevented a great many hackney-coaches from going +in any direction at all. The genius of Mr. Barker at once perceived +the whole extent of the injury that would be eventually inflicted on +cab and coach stands, and, by consequence, on watermen also, by the +progress of the system of which the first omnibus was a part. +He saw, too, the necessity of adopting some more profitable profession; +and his active mind at once perceived how much might be done in the +way of enticing the youthful and unwary, and shoving the old and helpless, +into the wrong buss, and carrying them off, until, reduced to despair, +they ransomed themselves by the payment of sixpence a-head, or, to adopt +his own figurative expression in all its native beauty, ‘till +they was rig’larly done over, and forked out the stumpy.’</p> +<p>An opportunity for realising his fondest anticipations, soon presented +itself. Rumours were rife on the hackney-coach stands, that a +buss was building, to run from Lisson-grove to the Bank, down Oxford-street +and Holborn; and the rapid increase of busses on the Paddington-road, +encouraged the idea. Mr. Barker secretly and cautiously inquired +in the proper quarters. The report was correct; the ‘Royal +William’ was to make its first journey on the following Monday. +It was a crack affair altogether. An enterprising young cabman, +of established reputation as a dashing whip—for he had compromised +with the parents of three scrunched children, and just ‘worked +out’ his fine for knocking down an old lady—was the driver; +and the spirited proprietor, knowing Mr. Barker’s qualifications, +appointed him to the vacant office of cad on the very first application. +The buss began to run, and Mr. Barker entered into a new suit of clothes, +and on a new sphere of action.</p> +<p>To recapitulate all the improvements introduced by this extraordinary +man into the omnibus system—gradually, indeed, but surely—would +occupy a far greater space than we are enabled to devote to this imperfect +memoir. To him is universally assigned the original suggestion +of the practice which afterwards became so general—of the driver +of a second buss keeping constantly behind the first one, and driving +the pole of his vehicle either into the door of the other, every time +it was opened, or through the body of any lady or gentleman who might +make an attempt to get into it; a humorous and pleasant invention, exhibiting +all that originality of idea, and fine, bold flow of spirits, so conspicuous +in every action of this great man.</p> +<p>Mr. Barker had opponents of course; what man in public life has not? +But even his worst enemies cannot deny that he has taken more old ladies +and gentlemen to Paddington who wanted to go to the Bank, and more old +ladies and gentlemen to the Bank who wanted to go to Paddington, than +any six men on the road; and however much malevolent spirits may pretend +to doubt the accuracy of the statement, they well know it to be an established +fact, that he has forcibly conveyed a variety of ancient persons of +either sex, to both places, who had not the slightest or most distant +intention of going anywhere at all.</p> +<p>Mr. Barker was the identical cad who nobly distinguished himself, +some time since, by keeping a tradesman on the step—the omnibus +going at full speed all the time—till he had thrashed him to his +entire satisfaction, and finally throwing him away, when he had quite +done with him. Mr. Barker it <i>ought</i> to have been, who honestly +indignant at being ignominiously ejected from a house of public entertainment, +kicked the landlord in the knee, and thereby caused his death. +We say it <i>ought</i> to have been Mr. Barker, because the action was +not a common one, and could have emanated from no ordinary mind.</p> +<p>It has now become matter of history; it is recorded in the Newgate +Calendar; and we wish we could attribute this piece of daring heroism +to Mr. Barker. We regret being compelled to state that it was +not performed by him. Would, for the family credit we could add, +that it was achieved by his brother!</p> +<p>It was in the exercise of the nicer details of his profession, that +Mr. Barker’s knowledge of human nature was beautifully displayed. +He could tell at a glance where a passenger wanted to go to, and would +shout the name of the place accordingly, without the slightest reference +to the real destination of the vehicle. He knew exactly the kind +of old lady that would be too much flurried by the process of pushing +in and pulling out of the caravan, to discover where she had been put +down, until too late; had an intuitive perception of what was passing +in a passenger’s mind when he inwardly resolved to ‘pull +that cad up to-morrow morning;’ and never failed to make himself +agreeable to female servants, whom he would place next the door, and +talk to all the way.</p> +<p>Human judgment is never infallible, and it would occasionally happen +that Mr. Barker experimentalised with the timidity or forbearance of +the wrong person, in which case a summons to a Police-office, was, on +more than one occasion, followed by a committal to prison. It +was not in the power of trifles such as these, however, to subdue the +freedom of his spirit. As soon as they passed away, he resumed +the duties of his profession with unabated ardour.</p> +<p>We have spoken of Mr. Barker and of the red cab-driver, in the past +tense. Alas! Mr. Barker has again become an absentee; and the +class of men to which they both belonged is fast disappearing. +Improvement has peered beneath the aprons of our cabs, and penetrated +to the very innermost recesses of our omnibuses. Dirt and fustian +will vanish before cleanliness and livery. Slang will be forgotten +when civility becomes general: and that enlightened, eloquent, sage, +and profound body, the Magistracy of London, will be deprived of half +their amusement, and half their occupation.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII—A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We hope our readers will not be alarmed at this rather ominous title. +We assure them that we are not about to become political, neither have +we the slightest intention of being more prosy than usual—if we +can help it. It has occurred to us that a slight sketch of the +general aspect of ‘the House,’ and the crowds that resort +to it on the night of an important debate, would be productive of some +amusement: and as we have made some few calls at the aforesaid house +in our time—have visited it quite often enough for our purpose, +and a great deal too often for our personal peace and comfort—we +have determined to attempt the description. Dismissing from our +minds, therefore, all that feeling of awe, which vague ideas of breaches +of privilege, Serjeant-at-Arms, heavy denunciations, and still heavier +fees, are calculated to awaken, we enter at once into the building, +and upon our subject.</p> +<p>Half-past four o’clock—and at five the mover of the Address +will be ‘on his legs,’ as the newspapers announce sometimes +by way of novelty, as if speakers were occasionally in the habit of +standing on their heads. The members are pouring in, one after +the other, in shoals. The few spectators who can obtain standing-room +in the passages, scrutinise them as they pass, with the utmost interest, +and the man who can identify a member occasionally, becomes a person +of great importance. Every now and then you hear earnest whispers +of ‘That’s Sir John Thomson.’ ‘Which? +him with the gilt order round his neck?’ ‘No, no; +that’s one of the messengers—that other with the yellow +gloves, is Sir John Thomson.’ ‘Here’s Mr. Smith.’ +‘Lor!’ ‘Yes, how d’ye do, sir?—(He +is our new member)—How do you do, sir?’ Mr. Smith +stops: turns round with an air of enchanting urbanity (for the rumour +of an intended dissolution has been very extensively circulated this +morning); seizes both the hands of his gratified constituent, and, after +greeting him with the most enthusiastic warmth, darts into the lobby +with an extraordinary display of ardour in the public cause, leaving +an immense impression in his favour on the mind of his ‘fellow-townsman.’</p> +<p>The arrivals increase in number, and the heat and noise increase +in very unpleasant proportion. The livery servants form a complete +lane on either side of the passage, and you reduce yourself into the +smallest possible space to avoid being turned out. You see that +stout man with the hoarse voice, in the blue coat, queer-crowned, broad-brimmed +hat, white corduroy breeches, and great boots, who has been talking +incessantly for half an hour past, and whose importance has occasioned +no small quantity of mirth among the strangers. That is the great +conservator of the peace of Westminster. You cannot fail to have +remarked the grace with which he saluted the noble Lord who passed just +now, or the excessive dignity of his air, as he expostulates with the +crowd. He is rather out of temper now, in consequence of the very +irreverent behaviour of those two young fellows behind him, who have +done nothing but laugh all the time they have been here.</p> +<p>‘Will they divide to-night, do you think, Mr. -’ timidly +inquires a little thin man in the crowd, hoping to conciliate the man +of office.</p> +<p>‘How <i>can</i> you ask such questions, sir?’ replies +the functionary, in an incredibly loud key, and pettishly grasping the +thick stick he carries in his right hand. ‘Pray do not, +sir. I beg of you; pray do not, sir.’ The little man +looks remarkably out of his element, and the uninitiated part of the +throng are in positive convulsions of laughter.</p> +<p>Just at this moment some unfortunate individual appears, with a very +smirking air, at the bottom of the long passage. He has managed +to elude the vigilance of the special constable downstairs, and is evidently +congratulating himself on having made his way so far.</p> +<p>‘Go back, sir—you must <i>not</i> come here,’ shouts +the hoarse one, with tremendous emphasis of voice and gesture, the moment +the offender catches his eye.</p> +<p>The stranger pauses.</p> +<p>‘Do you hear, sir—will you go back?’ continues +the official dignitary, gently pushing the intruder some half-dozen +yards.</p> +<p>‘Come, don’t push me,’ replies the stranger, turning +angrily round.</p> +<p>‘I will, sir.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Go out, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Take your hands off me, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Go out of the passage, sir.’</p> +<p>‘You’re a Jack-in-office, sir.’</p> +<p>‘A what?’ ejaculates he of the boots.</p> +<p>‘A Jack-in-office, sir, and a very insolent fellow,’ +reiterates the stranger, now completely in a passion.</p> +<p>‘Pray do not force me to put you out, sir,’ retorts the +other—‘pray do not—my instructions are to keep this +passage clear—it’s the Speaker’s orders, sir.’</p> +<p>‘D-n the Speaker, sir!’ shouts the intruder.</p> +<p>‘Here, Wilson!—Collins!’ gasps the officer, actually +paralysed at this insulting expression, which in his mind is all but +high treason; ‘take this man out—take him out, I say! +How dare you, sir?’ and down goes the unfortunate man five stairs +at a time, turning round at every stoppage, to come back again, and +denouncing bitter vengeance against the commander-in-chief, and all +his supernumeraries.</p> +<p>‘Make way, gentlemen,—pray make way for the Members, +I beg of you!’ shouts the zealous officer, turning back, and preceding +a whole string of the liberal and independent.</p> +<p>You see this ferocious-looking gentleman, with a complexion almost +as sallow as his linen, and whose large black moustache would give him +the appearance of a figure in a hairdresser’s window, if his countenance +possessed the thought which is communicated to those waxen caricatures +of the human face divine. He is a militia-officer, and the most +amusing person in the House. Can anything be more exquisitely +absurd than the burlesque grandeur of his air, as he strides up to the +lobby, his eyes rolling like those of a Turk’s head in a cheap +Dutch clock? He never appears without that bundle of dirty papers +which he carries under his left arm, and which are generally supposed +to be the miscellaneous estimates for 1804, or some equally important +documents. He is very punctual in his attendance at the House, +and his self-satisfied ‘He-ar-He-ar,’ is not unfrequently +the signal for a general titter.</p> +<p>This is the gentleman who once actually sent a messenger up to the +Strangers’ gallery in the old House of Commons, to inquire the +name of an individual who was using an eye-glass, in order that he might +complain to the Speaker that the person in question was quizzing him! +On another occasion, he is reported to have repaired to Bellamy’s +kitchen—a refreshment-room, where persons who are not Members +are admitted on sufferance, as it were—and perceiving two or three +gentlemen at supper, who, he was aware, were not Members, and could +not, in that place, very well resent his behaviour, he indulged in the +pleasantry of sitting with his booted leg on the table at which they +were supping! He is generally harmless, though, and always amusing.</p> +<p>By dint of patience, and some little interest with our friend the +constable, we have contrived to make our way to the Lobby, and you can +just manage to catch an occasional glimpse of the House, as the door +is opened for the admission of Members. It is tolerably full already, +and little groups of Members are congregated together here, discussing +the interesting topics of the day.</p> +<p>That smart-looking fellow in the black coat with velvet facings and +cuffs, who wears his <i>D’Orsay</i> hat so rakishly, is ‘Honest +Tom,’ a metropolitan representative; and the large man in the +cloak with the white lining—not the man by the pillar; the other +with the light hair hanging over his coat collar behind—is his +colleague. The quiet gentlemanly-looking man in the blue surtout, +gray trousers, white neckerchief and gloves, whose closely-buttoned +coat displays his manly figure and broad chest to great advantage, is +a very well-known character. He has fought a great many battles +in his time, and conquered like the heroes of old, with no other arms +than those the gods gave him. The old hard-featured man who is +standing near him, is really a good specimen of a class of men, now +nearly extinct. He is a county Member, and has been from time +whereof the memory of man is not to the contrary. Look at his +loose, wide, brown coat, with capacious pockets on each side; the knee-breeches +and boots, the immensely long waistcoat, and silver watch-chain dangling +below it, the wide-brimmed brown hat, and the white handkerchief tied +in a great bow, with straggling ends sticking out beyond his shirt-frill. +It is a costume one seldom sees nowadays, and when the few who wear +it have died off, it will be quite extinct. He can tell you long +stories of Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and Canning, and how much better the +House was managed in those times, when they used to get up at eight +or nine o’clock, except on regular field-days, of which everybody +was apprised beforehand. He has a great contempt for all young +Members of Parliament, and thinks it quite impossible that a man can +say anything worth hearing, unless he has sat in the House for fifteen +years at least, without saying anything at all. He is of opinion +that ‘that young Macaulay’ was a regular impostor; he allows, +that Lord Stanley may do something one of these days, but ‘he’s +too young, sir—too young.’ He is an excellent authority +on points of precedent, and when he grows talkative, after his wine, +will tell you how Sir Somebody Something, when he was whipper-in for +the Government, brought four men out of their beds to vote in the majority, +three of whom died on their way home again; how the House once divided +on the question, that fresh candles be now brought in; how the Speaker +was once upon a time left in the chair by accident, at the conclusion +of business, and was obliged to sit in the House by himself for three +hours, till some Member could be knocked up and brought back again, +to move the adjournment; and a great many other anecdotes of a similar +description.</p> +<p>There he stands, leaning on his stick; looking at the throng of Exquisites +around him with most profound contempt; and conjuring up, before his +mind’s eye, the scenes he beheld in the old House, in days gone +by, when his own feelings were fresher and brighter, and when, as he +imagines, wit, talent, and patriotism flourished more brightly too.</p> +<p>You are curious to know who that young man in the rough great-coat +is, who has accosted every Member who has entered the House since we +have been standing here. He is not a Member; he is only an ‘hereditary +bondsman,’ or, in other words, an Irish correspondent of an Irish +newspaper, who has just procured his forty-second frank from a Member +whom he never saw in his life before. There he goes again—another! +Bless the man, he has his hat and pockets full already.</p> +<p>We will try our fortune at the Strangers’ gallery, though the +nature of the debate encourages very little hope of success. What +on earth are you about? Holding up your order as if it were a +talisman at whose command the wicket would fly open? Nonsense. +Just preserve the order for an autograph, if it be worth keeping at +all, and make your appearance at the door with your thumb and forefinger +expressively inserted in your waistcoat-pocket. This tall stout +man in black is the door-keeper. ‘Any room?’ +‘Not an inch—two or three dozen gentlemen waiting down-stairs +on the chance of somebody’s going out.’ Pull out your +purse—‘Are you <i>quite</i> sure there’s no room?’—‘I’ll +go and look,’ replies the door-keeper, with a wistful glance at +your purse, ‘but I’m afraid there’s not.’ +He returns, and with real feeling assures you that it is morally impossible +to get near the gallery. It is of no use waiting. When you +are refused admission into the Strangers’ gallery at the House +of Commons, under such circumstances, you may return home thoroughly +satisfied that the place must be remarkably full indeed. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a></p> +<p>Retracing our steps through the long passage, descending the stairs, +and crossing Palace-yard, we halt at a small temporary doorway adjoining +the King’s entrance to the House of Lords. The order of +the serjeant-at-arms will admit you into the Reporters’ gallery, +from whence you can obtain a tolerably good view of the House. +Take care of the stairs, they are none of the best; through this little +wicket—there. As soon as your eyes become a little used +to the mist of the place, and the glare of the chandeliers below you, +you will see that some unimportant personage on the Ministerial side +of the House (to your right hand) is speaking, amidst a hum of voices +and confusion which would rival Babel, but for the circumstance of its +being all in one language.</p> +<p>The ‘hear, hear,’ which occasioned that laugh, proceeded +from our warlike friend with the moustache; he is sitting on the back +seat against the wall, behind the Member who is speaking, looking as +ferocious and intellectual as usual. Take one look around you, +and retire! The body of the House and the side galleries are full +of Members; some, with their legs on the back of the opposite seat; +some, with theirs stretched out to their utmost length on the floor; +some going out, others coming in; all talking, laughing, lounging, coughing, +oh-ing, questioning, or groaning; presenting a conglomeration of noise +and confusion, to be met with in no other place in existence, not even +excepting Smithfield on a market-day, or a cock-pit in its glory.</p> +<p>But let us not omit to notice Bellamy’s kitchen, or, in other +words, the refreshment-room, common to both Houses of Parliament, where +Ministerialists and Oppositionists, Whigs and Tories, Radicals, Peers, +and Destructives, strangers from the gallery, and the more favoured +strangers from below the bar, are alike at liberty to resort; where +divers honourable members prove their perfect independence by remaining +during the whole of a heavy debate, solacing themselves with the creature +comforts; and whence they are summoned by whippers-in, when the House +is on the point of dividing; either to give their ‘conscientious +votes’ on questions of which they are conscientiously innocent +of knowing anything whatever, or to find a vent for the playful exuberance +of their wine-inspired fancies, in boisterous shouts of ‘Divide,’ +occasionally varied with a little howling, barking, crowing, or other +ebullitions of senatorial pleasantry.</p> +<p>When you have ascended the narrow staircase which, in the present +temporary House of Commons, leads to the place we are describing, you +will probably observe a couple of rooms on your right hand, with tables +spread for dining. Neither of these is the kitchen, although they +are both devoted to the same purpose; the kitchen is further on to our +left, up these half-dozen stairs. Before we ascend the staircase, +however, we must request you to pause in front of this little bar-place +with the sash-windows; and beg your particular attention to the steady, +honest-looking old fellow in black, who is its sole occupant. +Nicholas (we do not mind mentioning the old fellow’s name, for +if Nicholas be not a public man, who is?—and public men’s +names are public property)—Nicholas is the butler of Bellamy’s, +and has held the same place, dressed exactly in the same manner, and +said precisely the same things, ever since the oldest of its present +visitors can remember. An excellent servant Nicholas is—an +unrivalled compounder of salad-dressing—an admirable preparer +of soda-water and lemon—a special mixer of cold grog and punch—and, +above all, an unequalled judge of cheese. If the old man have +such a thing as vanity in his composition, this is certainly his pride; +and if it be possible to imagine that anything in this world could disturb +his impenetrable calmness, we should say it would be the doubting his +judgment on this important point.</p> +<p>We needn’t tell you all this, however, for if you have an atom +of observation, one glance at his sleek, knowing-looking head and face—his +prim white neckerchief, with the wooden tie into which it has been regularly +folded for twenty years past, merging by imperceptible degrees into +a small-plaited shirt-frill—and his comfortable-looking form encased +in a well-brushed suit of black—would give you a better idea of +his real character than a column of our poor description could convey.</p> +<p>Nicholas is rather out of his element now; he cannot see the kitchen +as he used to in the old House; there, one window of his glass-case +opened into the room, and then, for the edification and behoof of more +juvenile questioners, he would stand for an hour together, answering +deferential questions about Sheridan, and Percival, and Castlereagh, +and Heaven knows who beside, with manifest delight, always inserting +a ‘Mister’ before every commoner’s name.</p> +<p>Nicholas, like all men of his age and standing, has a great idea +of the degeneracy of the times. He seldom expresses any political +opinions, but we managed to ascertain, just before the passing of the +Reform Bill, that Nicholas was a thorough Reformer. What was our +astonishment to discover shortly after the meeting of the first reformed +Parliament, that he was a most inveterate and decided Tory! It +was very odd: some men change their opinions from necessity, others +from expediency, others from inspiration; but that Nicholas should undergo +any change in any respect, was an event we had never contemplated, and +should have considered impossible. His strong opinion against +the clause which empowered the metropolitan districts to return Members +to Parliament, too, was perfectly unaccountable.</p> +<p>We discovered the secret at last; the metropolitan Members always +dined at home. The rascals! As for giving additional Members +to Ireland, it was even worse—decidedly unconstitutional. +Why, sir, an Irish Member would go up there, and eat more dinner than +three English Members put together. He took no wine; drank table-beer +by the half-gallon; and went home to Manchester-buildings, or Millbank-street, +for his whiskey-and-water. And what was the consequence? +Why, the concern lost—actually lost, sir—by his patronage. +A queer old fellow is Nicholas, and as completely a part of the building +as the house itself. We wonder he ever left the old place, and +fully expected to see in the papers, the morning after the fire, a pathetic +account of an old gentleman in black, of decent appearance, who was +seen at one of the upper windows when the flames were at their height, +and declared his resolute intention of falling with the floor. +He must have been got out by force. However, he was got out—here +he is again, looking as he always does, as if he had been in a bandbox +ever since the last session. There he is, at his old post every +night, just as we have described him: and, as characters are scarce, +and faithful servants scarcer, long may he be there, say we!</p> +<p>Now, when you have taken your seat in the kitchen, and duly noticed +the large fire and roasting-jack at one end of the room—the little +table for washing glasses and draining jugs at the other—the clock +over the window opposite St. Margaret’s Church—the deal +tables and wax candles—the damask table-cloths and bare floor—the +plate and china on the tables, and the gridiron on the fire; and a few +other anomalies peculiar to the place—we will point out to your +notice two or three of the people present, whose station or absurdities +render them the most worthy of remark.</p> +<p>It is half-past twelve o’clock, and as the division is not +expected for an hour or two, a few Members are lounging away the time +here in preference to standing at the bar of the House, or sleeping +in one of the side galleries. That singularly awkward and ungainly-looking +man, in the brownish-white hat, with the straggling black trousers which +reach about half-way down the leg of his boots, who is leaning against +the meat-screen, apparently deluding himself into the belief that he +is thinking about something, is a splendid sample of a Member of the +House of Commons concentrating in his own person the wisdom of a constituency. +Observe the wig, of a dark hue but indescribable colour, for if it be +naturally brown, it has acquired a black tint by long service, and if +it be naturally black, the same cause has imparted to it a tinge of +rusty brown; and remark how very materially the great blinker-like spectacles +assist the expression of that most intelligent face. Seriously +speaking, did you ever see a countenance so expressive of the most hopeless +extreme of heavy dulness, or behold a form so strangely put together? +He is no great speaker: but when he <i>does</i> address the House, the +effect is absolutely irresistible.</p> +<p>The small gentleman with the sharp nose, who has just saluted him, +is a Member of Parliament, an ex-Alderman, and a sort of amateur fireman. +He, and the celebrated fireman’s dog, were observed to be remarkably +active at the conflagration of the two Houses of Parliament—they +both ran up and down, and in and out, getting under people’s feet, +and into everybody’s way, fully impressed with the belief that +they were doing a great deal of good, and barking tremendously. +The dog went quietly back to his kennel with the engine, but the gentleman +kept up such an incessant noise for some weeks after the occurrence, +that he became a positive nuisance. As no more parliamentary fires +have occurred, however, and as he has consequently had no more opportunities +of writing to the newspapers to relate how, by way of preserving pictures +he cut them out of their frames, and performed other great national +services, he has gradually relapsed into his old state of calmness.</p> +<p>That female in black—not the one whom the Lord’s-Day-Bill +Baronet has just chucked under the chin; the shorter of the two—is +‘Jane:’ the Hebe of Bellamy’s. Jane is as great +a character as Nicholas, in her way. Her leading features are +a thorough contempt for the great majority of her visitors; her predominant +quality, love of admiration, as you cannot fail to observe, if you mark +the glee with which she listens to something the young Member near her +mutters somewhat unintelligibly in her ear (for his speech is rather +thick from some cause or other), and how playfully she digs the handle +of a fork into the arm with which he detains her, by way of reply.</p> +<p>Jane is no bad hand at repartees, and showers them about, with a +degree of liberality and total absence of reserve or constraint, which +occasionally excites no small amazement in the minds of strangers. +She cuts jokes with Nicholas, too, but looks up to him with a great +deal of respect—the immovable stolidity with which Nicholas receives +the aforesaid jokes, and looks on, at certain pastoral friskings and +rompings (Jane’s only recreations, and they are very innocent +too) which occasionally take place in the passage, is not the least +amusing part of his character.</p> +<p>The two persons who are seated at the table in the corner, at the +farther end of the room, have been constant guests here, for many years +past; and one of them has feasted within these walls, many a time, with +the most brilliant characters of a brilliant period. He has gone +up to the other House since then; the greater part of his boon companions +have shared Yorick’s fate, and his visits to Bellamy’s are +comparatively few.</p> +<p>If he really be eating his supper now, at what hour can he possibly +have dined! A second solid mass of rump-steak has disappeared, +and he eat the first in four minutes and three quarters, by the clock +over the window. Was there ever such a personification of Falstaff! +Mark the air with which he gloats over that Stilton, as he removes the +napkin which has been placed beneath his chin to catch the superfluous +gravy of the steak, and with what gusto he imbibes the porter which +has been fetched, expressly for him, in the pewter pot. Listen +to the hoarse sound of that voice, kept down as it is by layers of solids, +and deep draughts of rich wine, and tell us if you ever saw such a perfect +picture of a regular <i>gourmand</i>; and whether he is not exactly +the man whom you would pitch upon as having been the partner of Sheridan’s +parliamentary carouses, the volunteer driver of the hackney-coach that +took him home, and the involuntary upsetter of the whole party?</p> +<p>What an amusing contrast between his voice and appearance, and that +of the spare, squeaking old man, who sits at the same table, and who, +elevating a little cracked bantam sort of voice to its highest pitch, +invokes damnation upon his own eyes or somebody else’s at the +commencement of every sentence he utters. ‘The Captain,’ +as they call him, is a very old frequenter of Bellamy’s; much +addicted to stopping ‘after the House is up’ (an inexpiable +crime in Jane’s eyes), and a complete walking reservoir of spirits +and water.</p> +<p>The old Peer—or rather, the old man—for his peerage is +of comparatively recent date—has a huge tumbler of hot punch brought +him; and the other damns and drinks, and drinks and damns, and smokes. +Members arrive every moment in a great bustle to report that ‘The +Chancellor of the Exchequer’s up,’ and to get glasses of +brandy-and-water to sustain them during the division; people who have +ordered supper, countermand it, and prepare to go down-stairs, when +suddenly a bell is heard to ring with tremendous violence, and a cry +of ‘Di-vi-sion!’ is heard in the passage. This is +enough; away rush the members pell-mell. The room is cleared in +an instant; the noise rapidly dies away; you hear the creaking of the +last boot on the last stair, and are left alone with the leviathan of +rump-steaks.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XIX—PUBLIC DINNERS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>All public dinners in London, from the Lord Mayor’s annual +banquet at Guildhall, to the Chimney-sweepers’ anniversary at +White Conduit House; from the Goldsmiths’ to the Butchers’, +from the Sheriffs’ to the Licensed Victuallers’; are amusing +scenes. Of all entertainments of this description, however, we +think the annual dinner of some public charity is the most amusing. +At a Company’s dinner, the people are nearly all alike—regular +old stagers, who make it a matter of business, and a thing not to be +laughed at. At a political dinner, everybody is disagreeable, +and inclined to speechify—much the same thing, by-the-bye; but +at a charity dinner you see people of all sorts, kinds, and descriptions. +The wine may not be remarkably special, to be sure, and we have heard +some hardhearted monsters grumble at the collection; but we really think +the amusement to be derived from the occasion, sufficient to counterbalance +even these disadvantages.</p> +<p>Let us suppose you are induced to attend a dinner of this description—‘Indigent +Orphans’ Friends’ Benevolent Institution,’ we think +it is. The name of the charity is a line or two longer, but never +mind the rest. You have a distinct recollection, however, that +you purchased a ticket at the solicitation of some charitable friend: +and you deposit yourself in a hackney-coach, the driver of which—no +doubt that you may do the thing in style—turns a deaf ear to your +earnest entreaties to be set down at the corner of Great Queen-street, +and persists in carrying you to the very door of the Freemasons’, +round which a crowd of people are assembled to witness the entrance +of the indigent orphans’ friends. You hear great speculations +as you pay the fare, on the possibility of your being the noble Lord +who is announced to fill the chair on the occasion, and are highly gratified +to hear it eventually decided that you are only a ‘wocalist.’</p> +<p>The first thing that strikes you, on your entrance, is the astonishing +importance of the committee. You observe a door on the first landing, +carefully guarded by two waiters, in and out of which stout gentlemen +with very red faces keep running, with a degree of speed highly unbecoming +the gravity of persons of their years and corpulency. You pause, +quite alarmed at the bustle, and thinking, in your innocence, that two +or three people must have been carried out of the dining-room in fits, +at least. You are immediately undeceived by the waiter—‘Up-stairs, +if you please, sir; this is the committee-room.’ Up-stairs +you go, accordingly; wondering, as you mount, what the duties of the +committee can be, and whether they ever do anything beyond confusing +each other, and running over the waiters.</p> +<p>Having deposited your hat and cloak, and received a remarkably small +scrap of pasteboard in exchange (which, as a matter of course, you lose, +before you require it again), you enter the hall, down which there are +three long tables for the less distinguished guests, with a cross table +on a raised platform at the upper end for the reception of the very +particular friends of the indigent orphans. Being fortunate enough +to find a plate without anybody’s card in it, you wisely seat +yourself at once, and have a little leisure to look about you. +Waiters, with wine-baskets in their hands, are placing decanters of +sherry down the tables, at very respectable distances; melancholy-looking +salt-cellars, and decayed vinegar-cruets, which might have belonged +to the parents of the indigent orphans in their time, are scattered +at distant intervals on the cloth; and the knives and forks look as +if they had done duty at every public dinner in London since the accession +of George the First. The musicians are scraping and grating and +screwing tremendously—playing no notes but notes of preparation; +and several gentlemen are gliding along the sides of the tables, looking +into plate after plate with frantic eagerness, the expression of their +countenances growing more and more dismal as they meet with everybody’s +card but their own.</p> +<p>You turn round to take a look at the table behind you, and—not +being in the habit of attending public dinners—are somewhat struck +by the appearance of the party on which your eyes rest. One of +its principal members appears to be a little man, with a long and rather +inflamed face, and gray hair brushed bolt upright in front; he wears +a wisp of black silk round his neck, without any stiffener, as an apology +for a neckerchief, and is addressed by his companions by the familiar +appellation of ‘Fitz,’ or some such monosyllable. +Near him is a stout man in a white neckerchief and buff waistcoat, with +shining dark hair, cut very short in front, and a great, round, healthy-looking +face, on which he studiously preserves a half sentimental simper. +Next him, again, is a large-headed man, with black hair and bushy whiskers; +and opposite them are two or three others, one of whom is a little round-faced +person, in a dress-stock and blue under-waistcoat. There is something +peculiar in their air and manner, though you could hardly describe what +it is; you cannot divest yourself of the idea that they have come for +some other purpose than mere eating and drinking. You have no +time to debate the matter, however, for the waiters (who have been arranged +in lines down the room, placing the dishes on table) retire to the lower +end; the dark man in the blue coat and bright buttons, who has the direction +of the music, looks up to the gallery, and calls out ‘band’ +in a very loud voice; out burst the orchestra, up rise the visitors, +in march fourteen stewards, each with a long wand in his hand, like +the evil genius in a pantomime; then the chairman, then the titled visitors; +they all make their way up the room, as fast as they can, bowing, and +smiling, and smirking, and looking remarkably amiable. The applause +ceases, grace is said, the clatter of plates and dishes begins; and +every one appears highly gratified, either with the presence of the +distinguished visitors, or the commencement of the anxiously-expected +dinner.</p> +<p>As to the dinner itself—the mere dinner—it goes off much +the same everywhere. Tureens of soup are emptied with awful rapidity—waiters +take plates of turbot away, to get lobster-sauce, and bring back plates +of lobster-sauce without turbot; people who can carve poultry, are great +fools if they own it, and people who can’t have no wish to learn. +The knives and forks form a pleasing accompaniment to Auber’s +music, and Auber’s music would form a pleasing accompaniment to +the dinner, if you could hear anything besides the cymbals. The +substantials disappear—moulds of jelly vanish like lightning—hearty +eaters wipe their foreheads, and appear rather overcome by their recent +exertions—people who have looked very cross hitherto, become remarkably +bland, and ask you to take wine in the most friendly manner possible—old +gentlemen direct your attention to the ladies’ gallery, and take +great pains to impress you with the fact that the charity is always +peculiarly favoured in this respect—every one appears disposed +to become talkative—and the hum of conversation is loud and general.</p> +<p>‘Pray, silence, gentlemen, if you please, for <i>Non nobis</i>!’ +shouts the toast-master with stentorian lungs—a toast-master’s +shirt-front, waistcoat, and neckerchief, by-the-bye, always exhibit +three distinct shades of cloudy-white.—‘Pray, silence, gentlemen, +for <i>Non nobis</i>!’ The singers, whom you discover to +be no other than the very party that excited your curiosity at first, +after ‘pitching’ their voices immediately begin <i>too-too</i>ing +most dismally, on which the regular old stagers burst into occasional +cries of—‘Sh—Sh—waiters!—Silence, waiters—stand +still, waiters—keep back, waiters,’ and other exorcisms, +delivered in a tone of indignant remonstrance. The grace is soon +concluded, and the company resume their seats. The uninitiated +portion of the guests applaud <i>Non nobis</i> as vehemently as if it +were a capital comic song, greatly to the scandal and indignation of +the regular diners, who immediately attempt to quell this sacrilegious +approbation, by cries of ‘Hush, hush!’ whereupon the others, +mistaking these sounds for hisses, applaud more tumultuously than before, +and, by way of placing their approval beyond the possibility of doubt, +shout <i>‘Encore</i>!’ most vociferously.</p> +<p>The moment the noise ceases, up starts the toast-master:- ‘Gentlemen, +charge your glasses, if you please!’ Decanters having been +handed about, and glasses filled, the toast-master proceeds, in a regular +ascending scale:- ‘Gentlemen—<i>air</i>—you—all +charged? Pray—silence—gentlemen—for—the +cha-i-r!’ The chairman rises, and, after stating that he +feels it quite unnecessary to preface the toast he is about to propose, +with any observations whatever, wanders into a maze of sentences, and +flounders about in the most extraordinary manner, presenting a lamentable +spectacle of mystified humanity, until he arrives at the words, ‘constitutional +sovereign of these realms,’ at which elderly gentlemen exclaim +‘Bravo!’ and hammer the table tremendously with their knife-handles. +‘Under any circumstances, it would give him the greatest pride, +it would give him the greatest pleasure—he might almost say, it +would afford him satisfaction [cheers] to propose that toast. +What must be his feelings, then, when he has the gratification of announcing, +that he has received her Majesty’s commands to apply to the Treasurer +of her Majesty’s Household, for her Majesty’s annual donation +of 25<i>l</i>. in aid of the funds of this charity!’ This +announcement (which has been regularly made by every chairman, since +the first foundation of the charity, forty-two years ago) calls forth +the most vociferous applause; the toast is drunk with a great deal of +cheering and knocking; and ‘God save the Queen’ is sung +by the ‘professional gentlemen;’ the unprofessional gentlemen +joining in the chorus, and giving the national anthem an effect which +the newspapers, with great justice, describe as ‘perfectly electrical.’</p> +<p>The other ‘loyal and patriotic’ toasts having been drunk +with all due enthusiasm, a comic song having been well sung by the gentleman +with the small neckerchief, and a sentimental one by the second of the +party, we come to the most important toast of the evening—‘Prosperity +to the charity.’ Here again we are compelled to adopt newspaper +phraseology, and to express our regret at being ‘precluded from +giving even the substance of the noble lord’s observations.’ +Suffice it to say, that the speech, which is somewhat of the longest, +is rapturously received; and the toast having been drunk, the stewards +(looking more important than ever) leave the room, and presently return, +heading a procession of indigent orphans, boys and girls, who walk round +the room, curtseying, and bowing, and treading on each other’s +heels, and looking very much as if they would like a glass of wine apiece, +to the high gratification of the company generally, and especially of +the lady patronesses in the gallery. <i>Exeunt</i> children, and +re-enter stewards, each with a blue plate in his hand. The band +plays a lively air; the majority of the company put their hands in their +pockets and look rather serious; and the noise of sovereigns, rattling +on crockery, is heard from all parts of the room.</p> +<p>After a short interval, occupied in singing and toasting, the secretary +puts on his spectacles, and proceeds to read the report and list of +subscriptions, the latter being listened to with great attention. +‘Mr. Smith, one guinea—Mr. Tompkins, one guinea—Mr. +Wilson, one guinea—Mr. Hickson, one guinea—Mr. Nixon, +one guinea—Mr. Charles Nixon, one guinea—[hear, hear!]—Mr. +James Nixon, one guinea—Mr. Thomas Nixon, one pound one [tremendous +applause]. Lord Fitz Binkle, the chairman of the day, in addition +to an annual donation of fifteen pounds—thirty guineas [prolonged +knocking: several gentlemen knock the stems off their wine-glasses, +in the vehemence of their approbation]. Lady, Fitz Binkle, in +addition to an annual donation of ten pound—twenty pound’ +[protracted knocking and shouts of ‘Bravo!’] The list +being at length concluded, the chairman rises, and proposes the health +of the secretary, than whom he knows no more zealous or estimable individual. +The secretary, in returning thanks, observes that <i>he</i> knows no +more excellent individual than the chairman—except the senior +officer of the charity, whose health <i>he</i> begs to propose. +The senior officer, in returning thanks, observes that <i>he</i> knows +no more worthy man than the secretary—except Mr. Walker, the auditor, +whose health <i>he</i> begs to propose. Mr. Walker, in returning +thanks, discovers some other estimable individual, to whom alone the +senior officer is inferior—and so they go on toasting and lauding +and thanking: the only other toast of importance being ‘The Lady +Patronesses now present!’ on which all the gentlemen turn their +faces towards the ladies’ gallery, shouting tremendously; and +little priggish men, who have imbibed more wine than usual, kiss their +hands and exhibit distressing contortions of visage.</p> +<p>We have protracted our dinner to so great a length, that we have +hardly time to add one word by way of grace. We can only entreat +our readers not to imagine, because we have attempted to extract some +amusement from a charity dinner, that we are at all disposed to underrate, +either the excellence of the benevolent institutions with which London +abounds, or the estimable motives of those who support them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XX—THE FIRST OF MAY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘Now ladies, up in the sky-parlour: only once a year, if you +please!’<br />YOUNG LADY WITH BRASS LADLE.</p> +<p>‘Sweep—sweep—sw-e-ep!’<br />ILLEGAL WATCHWORD.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>The first of May! There is a merry freshness in the sound, +calling to our minds a thousand thoughts of all that is pleasant in +nature and beautiful in her most delightful form. What man is +there, over whose mind a bright spring morning does not exercise a magic +influence—carrying him back to the days of his childish sports, +and conjuring up before him the old green field with its gently-waving +trees, where the birds sang as he has never heard them since—where +the butterfly fluttered far more gaily than he ever sees him now, in +all his ramblings—where the sky seemed bluer, and the sun shone +more brightly—where the air blew more freshly over greener grass, +and sweeter-smelling flowers—where everything wore a richer and +more brilliant hue than it is ever dressed in now! Such are the +deep feelings of childhood, and such are the impressions which every +lovely object stamps upon its heart! The hardy traveller wanders +through the maze of thick and pathless woods, where the sun’s +rays never shone, and heaven’s pure air never played; he stands +on the brink of the roaring waterfall, and, giddy and bewildered, watches +the foaming mass as it leaps from stone to stone, and from crag to crag; +he lingers in the fertile plains of a land of perpetual sunshine, and +revels in the luxury of their balmy breath. But what are the deep +forests, or the thundering waters, or the richest landscapes that bounteous +nature ever spread, to charm the eyes, and captivate the senses of man, +compared with the recollection of the old scenes of his early youth? +Magic scenes indeed; for the fancies of childhood dressed them in colours +brighter than the rainbow, and almost as fleeting!</p> +<p>In former times, spring brought with it not only such associations +as these, connected with the past, but sports and games for the present—merry +dances round rustic pillars, adorned with emblems of the season, and +reared in honour of its coming. Where are they now! Pillars +we have, but they are no longer rustic ones; and as to dancers, they +are used to rooms, and lights, and would not show well in the open air. +Think of the immorality, too! What would your sabbath enthusiasts +say, to an aristocratic ring encircling the Duke of York’s column +in Carlton-terrace—a grand <i>poussette</i> of the middle classes, +round Alderman Waithman’s monument in Fleet-street,—or a +general hands-four-round of ten-pound householders, at the foot of the +Obelisk in St. George’s-fields? Alas! romance can make no +head against the riot act; and pastoral simplicity is not understood +by the police.</p> +<p>Well; many years ago we began to be a steady and matter-of-fact sort +of people, and dancing in spring being beneath our dignity, we gave +it up, and in course of time it descended to the sweeps—a fall +certainly, because, though sweeps are very good fellows in their way, +and moreover very useful in a civilised community, they are not exactly +the sort of people to give the tone to the little elegances of society. +The sweeps, however, got the dancing to themselves, and they kept it +up, and handed it down. This was a severe blow to the romance +of spring-time, but, it did not entirely destroy it, either; for a portion +of it descended to the sweeps with the dancing, and rendered them objects +of great interest. A mystery hung over the sweeps in those days. +Legends were in existence of wealthy gentlemen who had lost children, +and who, after many years of sorrow and suffering, had found them in +the character of sweeps. Stories were related of a young boy who, +having been stolen from his parents in his infancy, and devoted to the +occupation of chimney-sweeping, was sent, in the course of his professional +career, to sweep the chimney of his mother’s bedroom; and how, +being hot and tired when he came out of the chimney, he got into the +bed he had so often slept in as an infant, and was discovered and recognised +therein by his mother, who once every year of her life, thereafter, +requested the pleasure of the company of every London sweep, at half-past +one o’clock, to roast beef, plum-pudding, porter, and sixpence.</p> +<p>Such stories as these, and there were many such, threw an air of +mystery round the sweeps, and produced for them some of those good effects +which animals derive from the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. +No one (except the masters) thought of ill-treating a sweep, because +no one knew who he might be, or what nobleman’s or gentleman’s +son he might turn out. Chimney-sweeping was, by many believers +in the marvellous, considered as a sort of probationary term, at an +earlier or later period of which, divers young noblemen were to come +into possession of their rank and titles: and the profession was held +by them in great respect accordingly.</p> +<p>We remember, in our young days, a little sweep about our own age, +with curly hair and white teeth, whom we devoutly and sincerely believed +to be the lost son and heir of some illustrious personage—an impression +which was resolved into an unchangeable conviction on our infant mind, +by the subject of our speculations informing us, one day, in reply to +our question, propounded a few moments before his ascent to the summit +of the kitchen chimney, ‘that he believed he’d been born +in the vurkis, but he’d never know’d his father.’ +We felt certain, from that time forth, that he would one day be owned +by a lord: and we never heard the church-bells ring, or saw a flag hoisted +in the neighbourhood, without thinking that the happy event had at last +occurred, and that his long-lost parent had arrived in a coach and six, +to take him home to Grosvenor-square. He never came, however; +and, at the present moment, the young gentleman in question is settled +down as a master sweep in the neighbourhood of Battle-bridge, his distinguishing +characteristics being a decided antipathy to washing himself, and the +possession of a pair of legs very inadequate to the support of his unwieldy +and corpulent body.</p> +<p>The romance of spring having gone out before our time, we were fain +to console ourselves as we best could with the uncertainty that enveloped +the birth and parentage of its attendant dancers, the sweeps; and we +<i>did</i> console ourselves with it, for many years. But, even +this wicked source of comfort received a shock from which it has never +recovered—a shock which has been in reality its death-blow. +We could not disguise from ourselves the fact that whole families of +sweeps were regularly born of sweeps, in the rural districts of Somers +Town and Camden Town—that the eldest son succeeded to the father’s +business, that the other branches assisted him therein, and commenced +on their own account; that their children again, were educated to the +profession; and that about their identity there could be no mistake +whatever. We could not be blind, we say, to this melancholy truth, +but we could not bring ourselves to admit it, nevertheless, and we lived +on for some years in a state of voluntary ignorance. We were roused +from our pleasant slumber by certain dark insinuations thrown out by +a friend of ours, to the effect that children in the lower ranks of +life were beginning to <i>choose</i> chimney-sweeping as their particular +walk; that applications had been made by various boys to the constituted +authorities, to allow them to pursue the object of their ambition with +the full concurrence and sanction of the law; that the affair, in short, +was becoming one of mere legal contract. We turned a deaf ear +to these rumours at first, but slowly and surely they stole upon us. +Month after month, week after week, nay, day after day, at last, did +we meet with accounts of similar applications. The veil was removed, +all mystery was at an end, and chimney-sweeping had become a favourite +and chosen pursuit. There is no longer any occasion to steal boys; +for boys flock in crowds to bind themselves. The romance of the +trade has fled, and the chimney-sweeper of the present day, is no more +like unto him of thirty years ago, than is a Fleet-street pickpocket +to a Spanish brigand, or Paul Pry to Caleb Williams.</p> +<p>This gradual decay and disuse of the practice of leading noble youths +into captivity, and compelling them to ascend chimneys, was a severe +blow, if we may so speak, to the romance of chimney-sweeping, and to +the romance of spring at the same time. But even this was not +all, for some few years ago the dancing on May-day began to decline; +small sweeps were observed to congregate in twos or threes, unsupported +by a ‘green,’ with no ‘My Lord’ to act as master +of the ceremonies, and no ‘My Lady’ to preside over the +exchequer. Even in companies where there was a ‘green’ +it was an absolute nothing—a mere sprout—and the instrumental +accompaniments rarely extended beyond the shovels and a set of Panpipes, +better known to the many, as a ‘mouth-organ.’</p> +<p>These were signs of the times, portentous omens of a coming change; +and what was the result which they shadowed forth? Why, the master +sweeps, influenced by a restless spirit of innovation, actually interposed +their authority, in opposition to the dancing, and substituted a dinner—an +anniversary dinner at White Conduit House—where clean faces appeared +in lieu of black ones smeared with rose pink; and knee cords and tops +superseded nankeen drawers and rosetted shoes.</p> +<p>Gentlemen who were in the habit of riding shy horses; and steady-going +people who have no vagrancy in their souls, lauded this alteration to +the skies, and the conduct of the master sweeps was described beyond +the reach of praise. But how stands the real fact? Let any +man deny, if he can, that when the cloth had been removed, fresh pots +and pipes laid upon the table, and the customary loyal and patriotic +toasts proposed, the celebrated Mr. Sluffen, of Adam-and-Eve-court, +whose authority not the most malignant of our opponents can call in +question, expressed himself in a manner following: ‘That now he’d +cotcht the cheerman’s hi, he vished he might be jolly vell blessed, +if he worn’t a goin’ to have his innings, vich he vould +say these here obserwashuns—that how some mischeevus coves as +know’d nuffin about the consarn, had tried to sit people agin +the mas’r swips, and take the shine out o’ their bis’nes, +and the bread out o’ the traps o’ their preshus kids, by +a makin’ o’ this here remark, as chimblies could be as vell +svept by ‘sheenery as by boys; and that the makin’ use o’ +boys for that there purpuss vos barbareous; vereas, he ’ad been +a chummy—he begged the cheerman’s parding for usin’ +such a wulgar hexpression—more nor thirty year—he might +say he’d been born in a chimbley—and he know’d uncommon +vell as ‘sheenery vos vus nor o’ no use: and as to kerhewelty +to the boys, everybody in the chimbley line know’d as vell as +he did, that they liked the climbin’ better nor nuffin as vos.’ +From this day, we date the total fall of the last lingering remnant +of May-day dancing, among the <i>élite</i> of the profession: +and from this period we commence a new era in that portion of our spring +associations which relates to the first of May.</p> +<p>We are aware that the unthinking part of the population will meet +us here, with the assertion, that dancing on May-day still continues—that +‘greens’ are annually seen to roll along the streets—that +youths in the garb of clowns, precede them, giving vent to the ebullitions +of their sportive fancies; and that lords and ladies follow in their +wake.</p> +<p>Granted. We are ready to acknowledge that in outward show, +these processions have greatly improved: we do not deny the introduction +of solos on the drum; we will even go so far as to admit an occasional +fantasia on the triangle, but here our admissions end. We positively +deny that the sweeps have art or part in these proceedings. We +distinctly charge the dustmen with throwing what they ought to clear +away, into the eyes of the public. We accuse scavengers, brickmakers, +and gentlemen who devote their energies to the costermongering line, +with obtaining money once a-year, under false pretences. We cling +with peculiar fondness to the custom of days gone by, and have shut +out conviction as long as we could, but it has forced itself upon us; +and we now proclaim to a deluded public, that the May-day dancers are +<i>not</i> sweeps. The size of them, alone, is sufficient to repudiate +the idea. It is a notorious fact that the widely-spread taste +for register-stoves has materially increased the demand for small boys; +whereas the men, who, under a fictitious character, dance about the +streets on the first of May nowadays, would be a tight fit in a kitchen +flue, to say nothing of the parlour. This is strong presumptive +evidence, but we have positive proof—the evidence of our own senses. +And here is our testimony.</p> +<p>Upon the morning of the second of the merry month of May, in the +year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-six, we went +out for a stroll, with a kind of forlorn hope of seeing something or +other which might induce us to believe that it was really spring, and +not Christmas. After wandering as far as Copenhagen House, without +meeting anything calculated to dispel our impression that there was +a mistake in the almanacks, we turned back down Maidenlane, with the +intention of passing through the extensive colony lying between it and +Battle-bridge, which is inhabited by proprietors of donkey-carts, boilers +of horse-flesh, makers of tiles, and sifters of cinders; through which +colony we should have passed, without stoppage or interruption, if a +little crowd gathered round a shed had not attracted our attention, +and induced us to pause.</p> +<p>When we say a ‘shed,’ we do not mean the conservatory +sort of building, which, according to the old song, Love tenanted when +he was a young man, but a wooden house with windows stuffed with rags +and paper, and a small yard at the side, with one dust-cart, two baskets, +a few shovels, and little heaps of cinders, and fragments of china and +tiles, scattered about it. Before this inviting spot we paused; +and the longer we looked, the more we wondered what exciting circumstance +it could be, that induced the foremost members of the crowd to flatten +their noses against the parlour window, in the vain hope of catching +a glimpse of what was going on inside. After staring vacantly +about us for some minutes, we appealed, touching the cause of this assemblage, +to a gentleman in a suit of tarpaulin, who was smoking his pipe on our +right hand; but as the only answer we obtained was a playful inquiry +whether our mother had disposed of her mangle, we determined to await +the issue in silence.</p> +<p>Judge of our virtuous indignation, when the street-door of the shed +opened, and a party emerged therefrom, clad in the costume and emulating +the appearance, of May-day sweeps!</p> +<p>The first person who appeared was ‘my lord,’ habited +in a blue coat and bright buttons, with gilt paper tacked over the seams, +yellow knee-breeches, pink cotton stockings, and shoes; a cocked hat, +ornamented with shreds of various-coloured paper, on his head, a <i>bouquet</i> +the size of a prize cauliflower in his button-hole, a long Belcher handkerchief +in his right hand, and a thin cane in his left. A murmur of applause +ran through the crowd (which was chiefly composed of his lordship’s +personal friends), when this graceful figure made his appearance, which +swelled into a burst of applause as his fair partner in the dance bounded +forth to join him. Her ladyship was attired in pink crape over +bed-furniture, with a low body and short sleeves. The symmetry +of her ankles was partially concealed by a very perceptible pair of +frilled trousers; and the inconvenience which might have resulted from +the circumstance of her white satin shoes being a few sizes too large, +was obviated by their being firmly attached to her legs with strong +tape sandals.</p> +<p>Her head was ornamented with a profusion of artificial flowers; and +in her hand she bore a large brass ladle, wherein to receive what she +figuratively denominated ‘the tin.’ The other characters +were a young gentleman in girl’s clothes and a widow’s cap; +two clowns who walked upon their hands in the mud, to the immeasurable +delight of all the spectators; a man with a drum; another man with a +flageolet; a dirty woman in a large shawl, with a box under her arm +for the money,—and last, though not least, the ‘green,’ +animated by no less a personage than our identical friend in the tarpaulin +suit.</p> +<p>The man hammered away at the drum, the flageolet squeaked, the shovels +rattled, the ‘green’ rolled about, pitching first on one +side and then on the other; my lady threw her right foot over her left +ankle, and her left foot over her right ankle, alternately; my lord +ran a few paces forward, and butted at the ‘green,’ and +then a few paces backward upon the toes of the crowd, and then went +to the right, and then to the left, and then dodged my lady round the +‘green;’ and finally drew her arm through his, and called +upon the boys to shout, which they did lustily—for this was the +dancing.</p> +<p>We passed the same group, accidentally, in the evening. We +never saw a ‘green’ so drunk, a lord so quarrelsome (no: +not even in the house of peers after dinner), a pair of clowns so melancholy, +a lady so muddy, or a party so miserable.</p> +<p>How has May-day decayed!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XXI—BROKERS’ AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When we affirm that brokers’ shops are strange places, and +that if an authentic history of their contents could be procured, it +would furnish many a page of amusement, and many a melancholy tale, +it is necessary to explain the class of shops to which we allude. +Perhaps when we make use of the term ‘Brokers’ Shop,’ +the minds of our readers will at once picture large, handsome warehouses, +exhibiting a long perspective of French-polished dining-tables, rosewood +chiffoniers, and mahogany wash-hand-stands, with an occasional vista +of a four-post bedstead and hangings, and an appropriate foreground +of dining-room chairs. Perhaps they will imagine that we mean +an humble class of second-hand furniture repositories. Their imagination +will then naturally lead them to that street at the back of Long-acre, +which is composed almost entirely of brokers’ shops; where you +walk through groves of deceitful, showy-looking furniture, and where +the prospect is occasionally enlivened by a bright red, blue, and yellow +hearth-rug, embellished with the pleasing device of a mail-coach at +full speed, or a strange animal, supposed to have been originally intended +for a dog, with a mass of worsted-work in his mouth, which conjecture +has likened to a basket of flowers.</p> +<p>This, by-the-bye, is a tempting article to young wives in the humbler +ranks of life, who have a first-floor front to furnish—they are +lost in admiration, and hardly know which to admire most. The +dog is very beautiful, but they have a dog already on the best tea-tray, +and two more on the mantel-piece. Then, there is something so +genteel about that mail-coach; and the passengers outside (who are all +hat) give it such an air of reality!</p> +<p>The goods here are adapted to the taste, or rather to the means, +of cheap purchasers. There are some of the most beautiful <i>looking</i> +Pembroke tables that were ever beheld: the wood as green as the trees +in the Park, and the leaves almost as certain to fall off in the course +of a year. There is also a most extensive assortment of tent and +turn-up bedsteads, made of stained wood, and innumerable specimens of +that base imposition on society—a sofa bedstead.</p> +<p>A turn-up bedstead is a blunt, honest piece of furniture; it may +be slightly disguised with a sham drawer; and sometimes a mad attempt +is even made to pass it off for a book-case; ornament it as you will, +however, the turn-up bedstead seems to defy disguise, and to insist +on having it distinctly understood that he is a turn-up bedstead, and +nothing else—that he is indispensably necessary, and that being +so useful, he disdains to be ornamental.</p> +<p>How different is the demeanour of a sofa bedstead! Ashamed +of its real use, it strives to appear an article of luxury and gentility—an +attempt in which it miserably fails. It has neither the respectability +of a sofa, nor the virtues of a bed; every man who keeps a sofa bedstead +in his house, becomes a party to a wilful and designing fraud—we +question whether you could insult him more, than by insinuating that +you entertain the least suspicion of its real use.</p> +<p>To return from this digression, we beg to say, that neither of these +classes of brokers’ shops, forms the subject of this sketch. +The shops to which we advert, are immeasurably inferior to those on +whose outward appearance we have slightly touched. Our readers +must often have observed in some by-street, in a poor neighbourhood, +a small dirty shop, exposing for sale the most extraordinary and confused +jumble of old, worn-out, wretched articles, that can well be imagined. +Our wonder at their ever having been bought, is only to be equalled +by our astonishment at the idea of their ever being sold again. +On a board, at the side of the door, are placed about twenty books—all +odd volumes; and as many wine-glasses—all different patterns; +several locks, an old earthenware pan, full of rusty keys; two or three +gaudy chimney-ornaments—cracked, of course; the remains of a lustre, +without any drops; a round frame like a capital O, which has once held +a mirror; a flute, complete with the exception of the middle joint; +a pair of curling-irons; and a tinder-box. In front of the shop-window, +are ranged some half-dozen high-backed chairs, with spinal complaints +and wasted legs; a corner cupboard; two or three very dark mahogany +tables with flaps like mathematical problems; some pickle-jars, some +surgeons’ ditto, with gilt labels and without stoppers; an unframed +portrait of some lady who flourished about the beginning of the thirteenth +century, by an artist who never flourished at all; an incalculable host +of miscellanies of every description, including bottles and cabinets, +rags and bones, fenders and street-door knockers, fire-irons, wearing +apparel and bedding, a hall-lamp, and a room-door. Imagine, in +addition to this incongruous mass, a black doll in a white frock, with +two faces—one looking up the street, and the other looking down, +swinging over the door; a board with the squeezed-up inscription ‘Dealer +in marine stores,’ in lanky white letters, whose height is strangely +out of proportion to their width; and you have before you precisely +the kind of shop to which we wish to direct your attention.</p> +<p>Although the same heterogeneous mixture of things will be found at +all these places, it is curious to observe how truly and accurately +some of the minor articles which are exposed for sale—articles +of wearing apparel, for instance—mark the character of the neighbourhood. +Take Drury-Lane and Covent-garden for example.</p> +<p>This is essentially a theatrical neighbourhood. There is not +a potboy in the vicinity who is not, to a greater or less extent, a +dramatic character. The errand-boys and chandler’s-shop-keepers’ +sons, are all stage-struck: they ‘gets up’ plays in back +kitchens hired for the purpose, and will stand before a shop-window +for hours, contemplating a great staring portrait of Mr. Somebody or +other, of the Royal Coburg Theatre, ‘as he appeared in the character +of Tongo the Denounced.’ The consequence is, that there +is not a marine-store shop in the neighbourhood, which does not exhibit +for sale some faded articles of dramatic finery, such as three or four +pairs of soiled buff boots with turn-over red tops, heretofore worn +by a ‘fourth robber,’ or ‘fifth mob;’ a pair +of rusty broadswords, a few gauntlets, and certain resplendent ornaments, +which, if they were yellow instead of white, might be taken for insurance +plates of the Sun Fire-office. There are several of these shops +in the narrow streets and dirty courts, of which there are so many near +the national theatres, and they all have tempting goods of this description, +with the addition, perhaps, of a lady’s pink dress covered with +spangles; white wreaths, stage shoes, and a tiara like a tin lamp reflector. +They have been purchased of some wretched supernumeraries, or sixth-rate +actors, and are now offered for the benefit of the rising generation, +who, on condition of making certain weekly payments, amounting in the +whole to about ten times their value, may avail themselves of such desirable +bargains.</p> +<p>Let us take a very different quarter, and apply it to the same test. +Look at a marine-store dealer’s, in that reservoir of dirt, drunkenness, +and drabs: thieves, oysters, baked potatoes, and pickled salmon—Ratcliff-highway. +Here, the wearing apparel is all nautical. Rough blue jackets, +with mother-of-pearl buttons, oil-skin hats, coarse checked shirts, +and large canvas trousers that look as if they were made for a pair +of bodies instead of a pair of legs, are the staple commodities. +Then, there are large bunches of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, in colour +and pattern unlike any one ever saw before, with the exception of those +on the backs of the three young ladies without bonnets who passed just +now. The furniture is much the same as elsewhere, with the addition +of one or two models of ships, and some old prints of naval engagements +in still older frames. In the window, are a few compasses, a small +tray containing silver watches in clumsy thick cases; and tobacco-boxes, +the lid of each ornamented with a ship, or an anchor, or some such trophy. +A sailor generally pawns or sells all he has before he has been long +ashore, and if he does not, some favoured companion kindly saves him +the trouble. In either case, it is an even chance that he afterwards +unconsciously repurchases the same things at a higher price than he +gave for them at first.</p> +<p>Again: pay a visit with a similar object, to a part of London, as +unlike both of these as they are to each other. Cross over to +the Surrey side, and look at such shops of this description as are to +be found near the King’s Bench prison, and in ‘the Rules.’ +How different, and how strikingly illustrative of the decay of some +of the unfortunate residents in this part of the metropolis! Imprisonment +and neglect have done their work. There is contamination in the +profligate denizens of a debtor’s prison; old friends have fallen +off; the recollection of former prosperity has passed away; and with +it all thoughts for the past, all care for the future. First, +watches and rings, then cloaks, coats, and all the more expensive articles +of dress, have found their way to the pawnbroker’s. That +miserable resource has failed at last, and the sale of some trifling +article at one of these shops, has been the only mode left of raising +a shilling or two, to meet the urgent demands of the moment. Dressing-cases +and writing-desks, too old to pawn but too good to keep; guns, fishing-rods, +musical instruments, all in the same condition; have first been sold, +and the sacrifice has been but slightly felt. But hunger must +be allayed, and what has already become a habit, is easily resorted +to, when an emergency arises. Light articles of clothing, first +of the ruined man, then of his wife, at last of their children, even +of the youngest, have been parted with, piecemeal. There they +are, thrown carelessly together until a purchaser presents himself, +old, and patched and repaired, it is true; but the make and materials +tell of better days; and the older they are, the greater the misery +and destitution of those whom they once adorned.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XXII—GIN-SHOPS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is a remarkable circumstance, that different trades appear to +partake of the disease to which elephants and dogs are especially liable, +and to run stark, staring, raving mad, periodically. The great +distinction between the animals and the trades, is, that the former +run mad with a certain degree of propriety—they are very regular +in their irregularities. We know the period at which the emergency +will arise, and provide against it accordingly. If an elephant +run mad, we are all ready for him—kill or cure—pills or +bullets, calomel in conserve of roses, or lead in a musket-barrel. +If a dog happen to look unpleasantly warm in the summer months, and +to trot about the shady side of the streets with a quarter of a yard +of tongue hanging out of his mouth, a thick leather muzzle, which has +been previously prepared in compliance with the thoughtful injunctions +of the Legislature, is instantly clapped over his head, by way of making +him cooler, and he either looks remarkably unhappy for the next six +weeks, or becomes legally insane, and goes mad, as it were, by Act of +Parliament. But these trades are as eccentric as comets; nay, +worse, for no one can calculate on the recurrence of the strange appearances +which betoken the disease. Moreover, the contagion is general, +and the quickness with which it diffuses itself, almost incredible.</p> +<p>We will cite two or three cases in illustration of our meaning. +Six or eight years ago, the epidemic began to display itself among the +linen-drapers and haberdashers. The primary symptoms were an inordinate +love of plate-glass, and a passion for gas-lights and gilding. +The disease gradually progressed, and at last attained a fearful height. +Quiet, dusty old shops in different parts of town, were pulled down; +spacious premises with stuccoed fronts and gold letters, were erected +instead; floors were covered with Turkey carpets; roofs supported by +massive pillars; doors knocked into windows; a dozen squares of glass +into one; one shopman into a dozen; and there is no knowing what would +have been done, if it had not been fortunately discovered, just in time, +that the Commissioners of Bankruptcy were as competent to decide such +cases as the Commissioners of Lunacy, and that a little confinement +and gentle examination did wonders. The disease abated. +It died away. A year or two of comparative tranquillity ensued. +Suddenly it burst out again amongst the chemists; the symptoms were +the same, with the addition of a strong desire to stick the royal arms +over the shop-door, and a great rage for mahogany, varnish, and expensive +floor-cloth. Then, the hosiers were infected, and began to pull +down their shop-fronts with frantic recklessness. The mania again +died away, and the public began to congratulate themselves on its entire +disappearance, when it burst forth with tenfold violence among the publicans, +and keepers of ‘wine vaults.’ From that moment it +has spread among them with unprecedented rapidity, exhibiting a concatenation +of all the previous symptoms; onward it has rushed to every part of +town, knocking down all the old public-houses, and depositing splendid +mansions, stone balustrades, rosewood fittings, immense lamps, and illuminated +clocks, at the corner of every street.</p> +<p>The extensive scale on which these places are established, and the +ostentatious manner in which the business of even the smallest among +them is divided into branches, is amusing. A handsome plate of +ground glass in one door directs you ‘To the Counting-house;’ +another to the ‘Bottle Department; a third to the ‘Wholesale +Department;’ a fourth to ‘The Wine Promenade;’ and +so forth, until we are in daily expectation of meeting with a ‘Brandy +Bell,’ or a ‘Whiskey Entrance.’ Then, ingenuity +is exhausted in devising attractive titles for the different descriptions +of gin; and the dram-drinking portion of the community as they gaze +upon the gigantic black and white announcements, which are only to be +equalled in size by the figures beneath them, are left in a state of +pleasing hesitation between ‘The Cream of the Valley,’ ‘The +Out and Out,’ ‘The No Mistake,’ ‘The Good for +Mixing,’ ‘The real Knock-me-down,’ ‘The celebrated +Butter Gin,’ ‘The regular Flare-up,’ and a dozen other, +equally inviting and wholesome <i>liqueurs</i>. Although places +of this description are to be met with in every second street, they +are invariably numerous and splendid in precise proportion to the dirt +and poverty of the surrounding neighbourhood. The gin-shops in +and near Drury-Lane, Holborn, St. Giles’s, Covent-garden, and +Clare-market, are the handsomest in London. There is more of filth +and squalid misery near those great thorough-fares than in any part +of this mighty city.</p> +<p>We will endeavour to sketch the bar of a large gin-shop, and its +ordinary customers, for the edification of such of our readers as may +not have had opportunities of observing such scenes; and on the chance +of finding one well suited to our purpose, we will make for Drury-Lane, +through the narrow streets and dirty courts which divide it from Oxford-street, +and that classical spot adjoining the brewery at the bottom of Tottenham-court-road, +best known to the initiated as the ‘Rookery.’</p> +<p>The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of London can hardly +be imagined by those (and there are many such) who have not witnessed +it. Wretched houses with broken windows patched with rags and +paper: every room let out to a different family, and in many instances +to two or even three—fruit and ‘sweet-stuff’ manufacturers +in the cellars, barbers and red-herring vendors in the front parlours, +cobblers in the back; a bird-fancier in the first floor, three families +on the second, starvation in the attics, Irishmen in the passage, a +‘musician’ in the front kitchen, and a charwoman and five +hungry children in the back one—filth everywhere—a gutter +before the houses and a drain behind—clothes drying and slops +emptying, from the windows; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with matted +hair, walking about barefoot, and in white great-coats, almost their +only covering; boys of all ages, in coats of all sizes and no coats +at all; men and women, in every variety of scanty and dirty apparel, +lounging, scolding, drinking, smoking, squabbling, fighting, and swearing.</p> +<p>You turn the corner. What a change! All is light and +brilliancy. The hum of many voices issues from that splendid gin-shop +which forms the commencement of the two streets opposite; and the gay +building with the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated +clock, the plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, and its +profusion of gas-lights in richly-gilt burners, is perfectly dazzling +when contrasted with the darkness and dirt we have just left. +The interior is even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished +mahogany, elegantly carved, extends the whole width of the place; and +there are two side-aisles of great casks, painted green and gold, enclosed +within a light brass rail, and bearing such inscriptions, as ‘Old +Tom, 549;’ ‘Young Tom, 360;’ ‘Samson, 1421’—the +figures agreeing, we presume, with ‘gallons,’ understood. +Beyond the bar is a lofty and spacious saloon, full of the same enticing +vessels, with a gallery running round it, equally well furnished. +On the counter, in addition to the usual spirit apparatus, are two or +three little baskets of cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured +at top with wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully +abstracted. Behind it, are two showily-dressed damsels with large +necklaces, dispensing the spirits and ‘compounds.’ +They are assisted by the ostensible proprietor of the concern, a stout, +coarse fellow in a fur cap, put on very much on one side to give him +a knowing air, and to display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage.</p> +<p>The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little bench to the +left of the bar, are rather overcome by the head-dresses and haughty +demeanour of the young ladies who officiate. They receive their +half-quartern of gin and peppermint, with considerable deference, prefacing +a request for ‘one of them soft biscuits,’ with a ‘Jist +be good enough, ma’am.’ They are quite astonished +at the impudent air of the young fellow in a brown coat and bright buttons, +who, ushering in his two companions, and walking up to the bar in as +careless a manner as if he had been used to green and gold ornaments +all his life, winks at one of the young ladies with singular coolness, +and calls for a ‘kervorten and a three-out-glass,’ just +as if the place were his own. ‘Gin for you, sir?’ +says the young lady when she has drawn it: carefully looking every way +but the right one, to show that the wink had no effect upon her. +‘For me, Mary, my dear,’ replies the gentleman in brown. +‘My name an’t Mary as it happens,’ says the young +girl, rather relaxing as she delivers the change. ‘Well, +if it an’t, it ought to be,’ responds the irresistible one; +‘all the Marys as ever <i>I</i> see, was handsome gals.’ +Here the young lady, not precisely remembering how blushes are managed +in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the female +in the faded feathers who has just entered, and who, after stating explicitly, +to prevent any subsequent misunderstanding, that ‘this gentleman +pays,’ calls for ‘a glass of port wine and a bit of sugar.’</p> +<p>Those two old men who came in ‘just to have a drain,’ +finished their third quartern a few seconds ago; they have made themselves +crying drunk; and the fat comfortable-looking elderly women, who had +‘a glass of rum-srub’ each, having chimed in with their +complaints on the hardness of the times, one of the women has agreed +to stand a glass round, jocularly observing that ‘grief never +mended no broken bones, and as good people’s wery scarce, what +I says is, make the most on ’em, and that’s all about it!’ +a sentiment which appears to afford unlimited satisfaction to those +who have nothing to pay.</p> +<p>It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children, who +have been constantly going in and out, dwindles down to two or three +occasional stragglers—cold, wretched-looking creatures, in the +last stage of emaciation and disease. The knot of Irish labourers +at the lower end of the place, who have been alternately shaking hands +with, and threatening the life of each other, for the last hour, become +furious in their disputes, and finding it impossible to silence one +man, who is particularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resort +to the expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him afterwards. +The man in the fur cap, and the potboy rush out; a scene of riot and +confusion ensues; half the Irishmen get shut out, and the other half +get shut in; the potboy is knocked among the tubs in no time; the landlord +hits everybody, and everybody hits the landlord; the barmaids scream; +the police come in; the rest is a confused mixture of arms, legs, staves, +torn coats, shouting, and struggling. Some of the party are borne +off to the station-house, and the remainder slink home to beat their +wives for complaining, and kick the children for daring to be hungry.</p> +<p>We have sketched this subject very slightly, not only because our +limits compel us to do so, but because, if it were pursued farther, +it would be painful and repulsive. Well-disposed gentlemen, and +charitable ladies, would alike turn with coldness and disgust from a +description of the drunken besotted men, and wretched broken-down miserable +women, who form no inconsiderable portion of the frequenters of these +haunts; forgetting, in the pleasant consciousness of their own rectitude, +the poverty of the one, and the temptation of the other. Gin-drinking +is a great vice in England, but wretchedness and dirt are a greater; +and until you improve the homes of the poor, or persuade a half-famished +wretch not to seek relief in the temporary oblivion of his own misery, +with the pittance which, divided among his family, would furnish a morsel +of bread for each, gin-shops will increase in number and splendour. +If Temperance Societies would suggest an antidote against hunger, filth, +and foul air, or could establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution +of bottles of Lethe-water, gin-palaces would be numbered among the things +that were.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIII—THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of the numerous receptacles for misery and distress with which the +streets of London unhappily abound, there are, perhaps, none which present +such striking scenes as the pawnbrokers’ shops. The very +nature and description of these places occasions their being but little +known, except to the unfortunate beings whose profligacy or misfortune +drives them to seek the temporary relief they offer. The subject +may appear, at first sight, to be anything but an inviting one, but +we venture on it nevertheless, in the hope that, as far as the limits +of our present paper are concerned, it will present nothing to disgust +even the most fastidious reader.</p> +<p>There are some pawnbrokers’ shops of a very superior description. +There are grades in pawning as in everything else, and distinctions +must be observed even in poverty. The aristocratic Spanish cloak +and the plebeian calico shirt, the silver fork and the flat iron, the +muslin cravat and the Belcher neckerchief, would but ill assort together; +so, the better sort of pawnbroker calls himself a silver-smith, and +decorates his shop with handsome trinkets and expensive jewellery, while +the more humble money-lender boldly advertises his calling, and invites +observation. It is with pawnbrokers’ shops of the latter +class, that we have to do. We have selected one for our purpose, +and will endeavour to describe it.</p> +<p>The pawnbroker’s shop is situated near Drury-Lane, at the corner +of a court, which affords a side entrance for the accommodation of such +customers as may be desirous of avoiding the observation of the passers-by, +or the chance of recognition in the public street. It is a low, +dirty-looking, dusty shop, the door of which stands always doubtfully, +a little way open: half inviting, half repelling the hesitating visitor, +who, if he be as yet uninitiated, examines one of the old garnet brooches +in the window for a minute or two with affected eagerness, as if he +contemplated making a purchase; and then looking cautiously round to +ascertain that no one watches him, hastily slinks in: the door closing +of itself after him, to just its former width. The shop front +and the window-frames bear evident marks of having been once painted; +but, what the colour was originally, or at what date it was probably +laid on, are at this remote period questions which may be asked, but +cannot be answered. Tradition states that the transparency in +the front door, which displays at night three red balls on a blue ground, +once bore also, inscribed in graceful waves, the words ‘Money +advanced on plate, jewels, wearing apparel, and every description of +property,’ but a few illegible hieroglyphics are all that now +remain to attest the fact. The plate and jewels would seem to +have disappeared, together with the announcement, for the articles of +stock, which are displayed in some profusion in the window, do not include +any very valuable luxuries of either kind. A few old china cups; +some modern vases, adorned with paltry paintings of three Spanish cavaliers +playing three Spanish guitars; or a party of boors carousing: each boor +with one leg painfully elevated in the air, by way of expressing his +perfect freedom and gaiety; several sets of chessmen, two or three flutes, +a few fiddles, a round-eyed portrait staring in astonishment from a +very dark ground; some gaudily-bound prayer-books and testaments, two +rows of silver watches quite as clumsy and almost as large as Ferguson’s +first; numerous old-fashioned table and tea spoons, displayed, fan-like, +in half-dozens; strings of coral with great broad gilt snaps; cards +of rings and brooches, fastened and labelled separately, like the insects +in the British Museum; cheap silver penholders and snuff-boxes, with +a masonic star, complete the jewellery department; while five or six +beds in smeary clouded ticks, strings of blankets and sheets, silk and +cotton handkerchiefs, and wearing apparel of every description, form +the more useful, though even less ornamental, part, of the articles +exposed for sale. An extensive collection of planes, chisels, +saws, and other carpenters’ tools, which have been pledged, and +never redeemed, form the foreground of the picture; while the large +frames full of ticketed bundles, which are dimly seen through the dirty +casement up-stairs—the squalid neighbourhood—the adjoining +houses, straggling, shrunken, and rotten, with one or two filthy, unwholesome-looking +heads thrust out of every window, and old red pans and stunted plants +exposed on the tottering parapets, to the manifest hazard of the heads +of the passers-by—the noisy men loitering under the archway at +the corner of the court, or about the gin-shop next door—and their +wives patiently standing on the curb-stone, with large baskets of cheap +vegetables slung round them for sale, are its immediate auxiliaries.</p> +<p>If the outside of the pawnbroker’s shop be calculated to attract +the attention, or excite the interest, of the speculative pedestrian, +its interior cannot fail to produce the same effect in an increased +degree. The front door, which we have before noticed, opens into +the common shop, which is the resort of all those customers whose habitual +acquaintance with such scenes renders them indifferent to the observation +of their companions in poverty. The side door opens into a small +passage from which some half-dozen doors (which may be secured on the +inside by bolts) open into a corresponding number of little dens, or +closets, which face the counter. Here, the more timid or respectable +portion of the crowd shroud themselves from the notice of the remainder, +and patiently wait until the gentleman behind the counter, with the +curly black hair, diamond ring, and double silver watch-guard, shall +feel disposed to favour them with his notice—a consummation which +depends considerably on the temper of the aforesaid gentleman for the +time being.</p> +<p>At the present moment, this elegantly-attired individual is in the +act of entering the duplicate he has just made out, in a thick book: +a process from which he is diverted occasionally, by a conversation +he is carrying on with another young man similarly employed at a little +distance from him, whose allusions to ‘that last bottle of soda-water +last night,’ and ‘how regularly round my hat he felt himself +when the young ’ooman gave ’em in charge,’ would appear +to refer to the consequences of some stolen joviality of the preceding +evening. The customers generally, however, seem unable to participate +in the amusement derivable from this source, for an old sallow-looking +woman, who has been leaning with both arms on the counter with a small +bundle before her, for half an hour previously, suddenly interrupts +the conversation by addressing the jewelled shopman—‘Now, +Mr. Henry, do make haste, there’s a good soul, for my two grandchildren’s +locked up at home, and I’m afeer’d of the fire.’ +The shopman slightly raises his head, with an air of deep abstraction, +and resumes his entry with as much deliberation as if he were engraving. +‘You’re in a hurry, Mrs. Tatham, this ev’nin’, +an’t you?’ is the only notice he deigns to take, after the +lapse of five minutes or so. ‘Yes, I am indeed, Mr. Henry; +now, do serve me next, there’s a good creetur. I wouldn’t +worry you, only it’s all along o’ them botherin’ children.’ +‘What have you got here?’ inquires the shopman, unpinning +the bundle—‘old concern, I suppose—pair o’ stays +and a petticut. You must look up somethin’ else, old ’ooman; +I can’t lend you anything more upon them; they’re completely +worn out by this time, if it’s only by putting in, and taking +out again, three times a week.’ ‘Oh! you’re +a rum un, you are,’ replies the old woman, laughing extremely, +as in duty bound; ‘I wish I’d got the gift of the gab like +you; see if I’d be up the spout so often then! No, no; it +an’t the petticut; it’s a child’s frock and a beautiful +silk ankecher, as belongs to my husband. He gave four shillin’ +for it, the werry same blessed day as he broke his arm.’—‘What +do you want upon these?’ inquires Mr. Henry, slightly glancing +at the articles, which in all probability are old acquaintances. +‘What do you want upon these?’—‘Eighteenpence.’—‘Lend +you ninepence.’—‘Oh, make it a shillin’; there’s +a dear—do now?’—‘Not another farden.’—‘Well, +I suppose I must take it.’ The duplicate is made out, one +ticket pinned on the parcel, the other given to the old woman; the parcel +is flung carelessly down into a corner, and some other customer prefers +his claim to be served without further delay.</p> +<p>The choice falls on an unshaven, dirty, sottish-looking fellow, whose +tarnished paper-cap, stuck negligently over one eye, communicates an +additionally repulsive expression to his very uninviting countenance. +He was enjoying a little relaxation from his sedentary pursuits a quarter +of an hour ago, in kicking his wife up the court. He has come +to redeem some tools:- probably to complete a job with, on account of +which he has already received some money, if his inflamed countenance +and drunken staggers may be taken as evidence of the fact. Having +waited some little time, he makes his presence known by venting his +ill-humour on a ragged urchin, who, being unable to bring his face on +a level with the counter by any other process, has employed himself +in climbing up, and then hooking himself on with his elbows—an +uneasy perch, from which he has fallen at intervals, generally alighting +on the toes of the person in his immediate vicinity. In the present +case, the unfortunate little wretch has received a cuff which sends +him reeling to this door; and the donor of the blow is immediately the +object of general indignation.</p> +<p>‘What do you strike the boy for, you brute?’ exclaims +a slipshod woman, with two flat irons in a little basket. ‘Do +you think he’s your wife, you willin?’ ‘Go and +hang yourself!’ replies the gentleman addressed, with a drunken +look of savage stupidity, aiming at the same time a blow at the woman +which fortunately misses its object. ‘Go and hang yourself; +and wait till I come and cut you down.’—‘Cut you down,’ +rejoins the woman, ‘I wish I had the cutting of you up, you wagabond! +(loud.) Oh! you precious wagabond! (rather louder.) Where’s +your wife, you willin? (louder still; women of this class are always +sympathetic, and work themselves into a tremendous passion on the shortest +notice.) Your poor dear wife as you uses worser nor a dog—strike +a woman—you a man! (very shrill;) I wish I had you—I’d +murder you, I would, if I died for it!’—‘Now be civil,’ +retorts the man fiercely. ‘Be civil, you wiper!’ ejaculates +the woman contemptuously. ‘An’t it shocking?’ +she continues, turning round, and appealing to an old woman who is peeping +out of one of the little closets we have before described, and who has +not the slightest objection to join in the attack, possessing, as she +does, the comfortable conviction that she is bolted in. ‘Ain’t +it shocking, ma’am? (Dreadful! says the old woman in a parenthesis, +not exactly knowing what the question refers to.) He’s got +a wife, ma’am, as takes in mangling, and is as ’dustrious +and hard-working a young ’ooman as can be, (very fast) as lives +in the back parlour of our ’ous, which my husband and me lives +in the front one (with great rapidity)—and we hears him a beaten’ +on her sometimes when he comes home drunk, the whole night through, +and not only a beaten’ her, but beaten’ his own child too, +to make her more miserable—ugh, you beast! and she, poor creater, +won’t swear the peace agin him, nor do nothin’, because +she likes the wretch arter all—worse luck!’ Here, +as the woman has completely run herself out of breath, the pawnbroker +himself, who has just appeared behind the counter in a gray dressing-gown, +embraces the favourable opportunity of putting in a word:- ‘Now +I won’t have none of this sort of thing on my premises!’ +he interposes with an air of authority. ‘Mrs. Mackin, keep +yourself to yourself, or you don’t get fourpence for a flat iron +here; and Jinkins, you leave your ticket here till you’re sober, +and send your wife for them two planes, for I won’t have you in +my shop at no price; so make yourself scarce, before I make you scarcer.’</p> +<p>This eloquent address produces anything but the effect desired; the +women rail in concert; the man hits about him in all directions, and +is in the act of establishing an indisputable claim to gratuitous lodgings +for the night, when the entrance of his wife, a wretched, worn-out woman, +apparently in the last stage of consumption, whose face bears evident +marks of recent ill-usage, and whose strength seems hardly equal to +the burden—light enough, God knows!—of the thin, sickly +child she carries in her arms, turns his cowardly rage in a safer direction. +‘Come home, dear,’ cries the miserable creature, in an imploring +tone; ‘<i>do</i> come home, there’s a good fellow, and go +to bed.’—‘Go home yourself,’ rejoins the furious +ruffian. ‘Do come home quietly,’ repeats the wife, +bursting into tears. ‘Go home yourself,’ retorts the +husband again, enforcing his argument by a blow which sends the poor +creature flying out of the shop. Her ‘natural protector’ +follows her up the court, alternately venting his rage in accelerating +her progress, and in knocking the little scanty blue bonnet of the unfortunate +child over its still more scanty and faded-looking face.</p> +<p>In the last box, which is situated in the darkest and most obscure +corner of the shop, considerably removed from either of the gas-lights, +are a young delicate girl of about twenty, and an elderly female, evidently +her mother from the resemblance between them, who stand at some distance +back, as if to avoid the observation even of the shopman. It is +not their first visit to a pawnbroker’s shop, for they answer +without a moment’s hesitation the usual questions, put in a rather +respectful manner, and in a much lower tone than usual, of ‘What +name shall I say?—Your own property, of course?—Where do +you live?—Housekeeper or lodger?’ They bargain, too, +for a higher loan than the shopman is at first inclined to offer, which +a perfect stranger would be little disposed to do; and the elder female +urges her daughter on, in scarcely audible whispers, to exert her utmost +powers of persuasion to obtain an advance of the sum, and expatiate +on the value of the articles they have brought to raise a present supply +upon. They are a small gold chain and a ‘Forget me not’ +ring: the girl’s property, for they are both too small for the +mother; given her in better times; prized, perhaps, once, for the giver’s +sake, but parted with now without a struggle; for want has hardened +the mother, and her example has hardened the girl, and the prospect +of receiving money, coupled with a recollection of the misery they have +both endured from the want of it—the coldness of old friends—the +stern refusal of some, and the still more galling compassion of others—appears +to have obliterated the consciousness of self-humiliation, which the +idea of their present situation would once have aroused.</p> +<p>In the next box, is a young female, whose attire, miserably poor, +but extremely gaudy, wretchedly cold, but extravagantly fine, too plainly +bespeaks her station. The rich satin gown with its faded trimmings, +the worn-out thin shoes, and pink silk stockings, the summer bonnet +in winter, and the sunken face, where a daub of rouge only serves as +an index to the ravages of squandered health never to be regained, and +lost happiness never to be restored, and where the practised smile is +a wretched mockery of the misery of the heart, cannot be mistaken. +There is something in the glimpse she has just caught of her young neighbour, +and in the sight of the little trinkets she has offered in pawn, that +seems to have awakened in this woman’s mind some slumbering recollection, +and to have changed, for an instant, her whole demeanour. Her +first hasty impulse was to bend forward as if to scan more minutely +the appearance of her half-concealed companions; her next, on seeing +them involuntarily shrink from her, to retreat to the back of the box, +cover her face with her hands, and burst into tears.</p> +<p>There are strange chords in the human heart, which will lie dormant +through years of depravity and wickedness, but which will vibrate at +last to some slight circumstance apparently trivial in itself, but connected +by some undefined and indistinct association, with past days that can +never be recalled, and with bitter recollections from which the most +degraded creature in existence cannot escape.</p> +<p>There has been another spectator, in the person of a woman in the +common shop; the lowest of the low; dirty, unbonneted, flaunting, and +slovenly. Her curiosity was at first attracted by the little she +could see of the group; then her attention. The half-intoxicated +leer changed to an expression of something like interest, and a feeling +similar to that we have described, appeared for a moment, and only a +moment, to extend itself even to her bosom.</p> +<p>Who shall say how soon these women may change places? The last +has but two more stages—the hospital and the grave. How +many females situated as her two companions are, and as she may have +been once, have terminated the same wretched course, in the same wretched +manner! One is already tracing her footsteps with frightful rapidity. +How soon may the other follow her example! How many have done +the same!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XXIV—CRIMINAL COURTS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We shall never forget the mingled feelings of awe and respect with +which we used to gaze on the exterior of Newgate in our schoolboy days. +How dreadful its rough heavy walls, and low massive doors, appeared +to us—the latter looking as if they were made for the express +purpose of letting people in, and never letting them out again. +Then the fetters over the debtors’ door, which we used to think +were a <i>bonâ fide</i> set of irons, just hung up there, for +convenience’ sake, ready to be taken down at a moment’s +notice, and riveted on the limbs of some refractory felon! We +were never tired of wondering how the hackney-coachmen on the opposite +stand could cut jokes in the presence of such horrors, and drink pots +of half-and-half so near the last drop.</p> +<p>Often have we strayed here, in sessions time, to catch a glimpse +of the whipping-place, and that dark building on one side of the yard, +in which is kept the gibbet with all its dreadful apparatus, and on +the door of which we half expected to see a brass plate, with the inscription +‘Mr. Ketch;’ for we never imagined that the distinguished +functionary could by possibility live anywhere else! The days +of these childish dreams have passed away, and with them many other +boyish ideas of a gayer nature. But we still retain so much of +our original feeling, that to this hour we never pass the building without +something like a shudder.</p> +<p>What London pedestrian is there who has not, at some time or other, +cast a hurried glance through the wicket at which prisoners are admitted +into this gloomy mansion, and surveyed the few objects he could discern, +with an indescribable feeling of curiosity? The thick door, plated +with iron and mounted with spikes, just low enough to enable you to +see, leaning over them, an ill-looking fellow, in a broad-brimmed hat, +Belcher handkerchief and top-boots: with a brown coat, something between +a great-coat and a ‘sporting’ jacket, on his back, and an +immense key in his left hand. Perhaps you are lucky enough to +pass, just as the gate is being opened; then, you see on the other side +of the lodge, another gate, the image of its predecessor, and two or +three more turnkeys, who look like multiplications of the first one, +seated round a fire which just lights up the whitewashed apartment sufficiently +to enable you to catch a hasty glimpse of these different objects. +We have a great respect for Mrs. Fry, but she certainly ought to have +written more romances than Mrs. Radcliffe.</p> +<p>We were walking leisurely down the Old Bailey, some time ago, when, +as we passed this identical gate, it was opened by the officiating turnkey. +We turned quickly round, as a matter of course, and saw two persons +descending the steps. We could not help stopping and observing +them.</p> +<p>They were an elderly woman, of decent appearance, though evidently +poor, and a boy of about fourteen or fifteen. The woman was crying +bitterly; she carried a small bundle in her hand, and the boy followed +at a short distance behind her. Their little history was obvious. +The boy was her son, to whose early comfort she had perhaps sacrificed +her own—for whose sake she had borne misery without repining, +and poverty without a murmur—looking steadily forward to the time, +when he who had so long witnessed her struggles for himself, might be +enabled to make some exertions for their joint support. He had +formed dissolute connexions; idleness had led to crime; and he had been +committed to take his trial for some petty theft. He had been +long in prison, and, after receiving some trifling additional punishment, +had been ordered to be discharged that morning. It was his first +offence, and his poor old mother, still hoping to reclaim him, had been +waiting at the gate to implore him to return home.</p> +<p>We cannot forget the boy; he descended the steps with a dogged look, +shaking his head with an air of bravado and obstinate determination. +They walked a few paces, and paused. The woman put her hand upon +his shoulder in an agony of entreaty, and the boy sullenly raised his +head as if in refusal. It was a brilliant morning, and every object +looked fresh and happy in the broad, gay sunlight; he gazed round him +for a few moments, bewildered with the brightness of the scene, for +it was long since he had beheld anything save the gloomy walls of a +prison. Perhaps the wretchedness of his mother made some impression +on the boy’s heart; perhaps some undefined recollection of the +time when he was a happy child, and she his only friend, and best companion, +crowded on him—he burst into tears; and covering his face with +one hand, and hurriedly placing the other in his mother’s, walked +away with her.</p> +<p>Curiosity has occasionally led us into both Courts at the Old Bailey. +Nothing is so likely to strike the person who enters them for the first +time, as the calm indifference with which the proceedings are conducted; +every trial seems a mere matter of business. There is a great +deal of form, but no compassion; considerable interest, but no sympathy. +Take the Old Court for example. There sit the judges, with whose +great dignity everybody is acquainted, and of whom therefore we need +say no more. Then, there is the Lord Mayor in the centre, looking +as cool as a Lord Mayor <i>can</i> look, with an immense <i>bouquet</i> +before him, and habited in all the splendour of his office. Then, +there are the Sheriffs, who are almost as dignified as the Lord Mayor +himself; and the Barristers, who are quite dignified enough in their +own opinion; and the spectators, who having paid for their admission, +look upon the whole scene as if it were got up especially for their +amusement. Look upon the whole group in the body of the Court—some +wholly engrossed in the morning papers, others carelessly conversing +in low whispers, and others, again, quietly dozing away an hour—and +you can scarcely believe that the result of the trial is a matter of +life or death to one wretched being present. But turn your eyes +to the dock; watch the prisoner attentively for a few moments; and the +fact is before you, in all its painful reality. Mark how restlessly +he has been engaged for the last ten minutes, in forming all sorts of +fantastic figures with the herbs which are strewed upon the ledge before +him; observe the ashy paleness of his face when a particular witness +appears, and how he changes his position and wipes his clammy forehead, +and feverish hands, when the case for the prosecution is closed, as +if it were a relief to him to feel that the jury knew the worst.</p> +<p>The defence is concluded; the judge proceeds to sum up the evidence; +and the prisoner watches the countenances of the jury, as a dying man, +clinging to life to the very last, vainly looks in the face of his physician +for a slight ray of hope. They turn round to consult; you can +almost hear the man’s heart beat, as he bites the stalk of rosemary, +with a desperate effort to appear composed. They resume their +places—a dead silence prevails as the foreman delivers in the +verdict—‘Guilty!’ A shriek bursts from a female +in the gallery; the prisoner casts one look at the quarter from whence +the noise proceeded; and is immediately hurried from the dock by the +gaoler. The clerk directs one of the officers of the Court to +‘take the woman out,’ and fresh business is proceeded with, +as if nothing had occurred.</p> +<p>No imaginary contrast to a case like this, could be as complete as +that which is constantly presented in the New Court, the gravity of +which is frequently disturbed in no small degree, by the cunning and +pertinacity of juvenile offenders. A boy of thirteen is tried, +say for picking the pocket of some subject of her Majesty, and the offence +is about as clearly proved as an offence can be. He is called +upon for his defence, and contents himself with a little declamation +about the jurymen and his country—asserts that all the witnesses +have committed perjury, and hints that the police force generally have +entered into a conspiracy ‘again’ him. However probable +this statement may be, it fails to convince the Court, and some such +scene as the following then takes place:</p> +<p><i>Court</i>: Have you any witnesses to speak to your character, +boy?</p> +<p><i>Boy</i>: Yes, my Lord; fifteen gen’lm’n is a vaten +outside, and vos a vaten all day yesterday, vich they told me the night +afore my trial vos a comin’ on.</p> +<p><i>Court</i>. Inquire for these witnesses.</p> +<p>Here, a stout beadle runs out, and vociferates for the witnesses +at the very top of his voice; for you hear his cry grow fainter and +fainter as he descends the steps into the court-yard below. After +an absence of five minutes, he returns, very warm and hoarse, and informs +the Court of what it knew perfectly well before—namely, that there +are no such witnesses in attendance. Hereupon, the boy sets up +a most awful howling; screws the lower part of the palms of his hands +into the corners of his eyes; and endeavours to look the picture of +injured innocence. The jury at once find him ‘guilty,’ +and his endeavours to squeeze out a tear or two are redoubled. +The governor of the gaol then states, in reply to an inquiry from the +bench, that the prisoner has been under his care twice before. +This the urchin resolutely denies in some such terms as—‘S’elp +me, gen’lm’n, I never vos in trouble afore—indeed, +my Lord, I never vos. It’s all a howen to my having a twin +brother, vich has wrongfully got into trouble, and vich is so exactly +like me, that no vun ever knows the difference atween us.’</p> +<p>This representation, like the defence, fails in producing the desired +effect, and the boy is sentenced, perhaps, to seven years’ transportation. +Finding it impossible to excite compassion, he gives vent to his feelings +in an imprecation bearing reference to the eyes of ‘old big vig!’ +and as he declines to take the trouble of walking from the dock, is +forthwith carried out, congratulating himself on having succeeded in +giving everybody as much trouble as possible.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XXV—A VISIT TO NEWGATE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘The force of habit’ is a trite phrase in everybody’s +mouth; and it is not a little remarkable that those who use it most +as applied to others, unconsciously afford in their own persons singular +examples of the power which habit and custom exercise over the minds +of men, and of the little reflection they are apt to bestow on subjects +with which every day’s experience has rendered them familiar. +If Bedlam could be suddenly removed like another Aladdin’s palace, +and set down on the space now occupied by Newgate, scarcely one man +out of a hundred, whose road to business every morning lies through +Newgate-street, or the Old Bailey, would pass the building without bestowing +a hasty glance on its small, grated windows, and a transient thought +upon the condition of the unhappy beings immured in its dismal cells; +and yet these same men, day by day, and hour by hour, pass and repass +this gloomy depository of the guilt and misery of London, in one perpetual +stream of life and bustle, utterly unmindful of the throng of wretched +creatures pent up within it—nay, not even knowing, or if they +do, not heeding, the fact, that as they pass one particular angle of +the massive wall with a light laugh or a merry whistle, they stand within +one yard of a fellow-creature, bound and helpless, whose hours are numbered, +from whom the last feeble ray of hope has fled for ever, and whose miserable +career will shortly terminate in a violent and shameful death. +Contact with death even in its least terrible shape, is solemn and appalling. +How much more awful is it to reflect on this near vicinity to the dying—to +men in full health and vigour, in the flower of youth or the prime of +life, with all their faculties and perceptions as acute and perfect +as your own; but dying, nevertheless—dying as surely—with +the hand of death imprinted upon them as indelibly—as if mortal +disease had wasted their frames to shadows, and corruption had already +begun!</p> +<p>It was with some such thoughts as these that we determined, not many +weeks since, to visit the interior of Newgate—in an amateur capacity, +of course; and, having carried our intention into effect, we proceed +to lay its results before our readers, in the hope—founded more +upon the nature of the subject, than on any presumptuous confidence +in our own descriptive powers—that this paper may not be found +wholly devoid of interest. We have only to premise, that we do +not intend to fatigue the reader with any statistical accounts of the +prison; they will be found at length in numerous reports of numerous +committees, and a variety of authorities of equal weight. We took +no notes, made no memoranda, measured none of the yards, ascertained +the exact number of inches in no particular room: are unable even to +report of how many apartments the gaol is composed.</p> +<p>We saw the prison, and saw the prisoners; and what we did see, and +what we thought, we will tell at once in our own way.</p> +<p>Having delivered our credentials to the servant who answered our +knock at the door of the governor’s house, we were ushered into +the ‘office;’ a little room, on the right-hand side as you +enter, with two windows looking into the Old Bailey: fitted up like +an ordinary attorney’s office, or merchant’s counting-house, +with the usual fixtures—a wainscoted partition, a shelf or two, +a desk, a couple of stools, a pair of clerks, an almanack, a clock, +and a few maps. After a little delay, occasioned by sending into +the interior of the prison for the officer whose duty it was to conduct +us, that functionary arrived; a respectable-looking man of about two +or three and fifty, in a broad-brimmed hat, and full suit of black, +who, but for his keys, would have looked quite as much like a clergyman +as a turnkey. We were disappointed; he had not even top-boots +on. Following our conductor by a door opposite to that at which +we had entered, we arrived at a small room, without any other furniture +than a little desk, with a book for visitors’ autographs, and +a shelf, on which were a few boxes for papers, and casts of the heads +and faces of the two notorious murderers, Bishop and Williams; the former, +in particular, exhibiting a style of head and set of features, which +might have afforded sufficient moral grounds for his instant execution +at any time, even had there been no other evidence against him. +Leaving this room also, by an opposite door, we found ourself in the +lodge which opens on the Old Bailey; one side of which is plentifully +garnished with a choice collection of heavy sets of irons, including +those worn by the redoubtable Jack Sheppard—genuine; and those +<i>said</i> to have been graced by the sturdy limbs of the no less celebrated +Dick Turpin—doubtful. From this lodge, a heavy oaken gate, +bound with iron, studded with nails of the same material, and guarded +by another turnkey, opens on a few steps, if we remember right, which +terminate in a narrow and dismal stone passage, running parallel with +the Old Bailey, and leading to the different yards, through a number +of tortuous and intricate windings, guarded in their turn by huge gates +and gratings, whose appearance is sufficient to dispel at once the slightest +hope of escape that any new-comer may have entertained; and the very +recollection of which, on eventually traversing the place again, involves +one in a maze of confusion.</p> +<p>It is necessary to explain here, that the buildings in the prison, +or in other words the different wards—form a square, of which +the four sides abut respectively on the Old Bailey, the old College +of Physicians (now forming a part of Newgate-market), the Sessions-house, +and Newgate-street. The intermediate space is divided into several +paved yards, in which the prisoners take such air and exercise as can +be had in such a place. These yards, with the exception of that +in which prisoners under sentence of death are confined (of which we +shall presently give a more detailed description), run parallel with +Newgate-street, and consequently from the Old Bailey, as it were, to +Newgate-market. The women’s side is in the right wing of +the prison nearest the Sessions-house. As we were introduced into +this part of the building first, we will adopt the same order, and introduce +our readers to it also.</p> +<p>Turning to the right, then, down the passage to which we just now +adverted, omitting any mention of intervening gates—for if we +noticed every gate that was unlocked for us to pass through, and locked +again as soon as we had passed, we should require a gate at every comma—we +came to a door composed of thick bars of wood, through which were discernible, +passing to and fro in a narrow yard, some twenty women: the majority +of whom, however, as soon as they were aware of the presence of strangers, +retreated to their wards. One side of this yard is railed off +at a considerable distance, and formed into a kind of iron cage, about +five feet ten inches in height, roofed at the top, and defended in front +by iron bars, from which the friends of the female prisoners communicate +with them. In one corner of this singular-looking den, was a yellow, +haggard, decrepit old woman, in a tattered gown that had once been black, +and the remains of an old straw bonnet, with faded ribbon of the same +hue, in earnest conversation with a young girl—a prisoner, of +course—of about two-and-twenty. It is impossible to imagine +a more poverty-stricken object, or a creature so borne down in soul +and body, by excess of misery and destitution, as the old woman. +The girl was a good-looking, robust female, with a profusion of hair +streaming about in the wind—for she had no bonnet on—and +a man’s silk pocket-handkerchief loosely thrown over a most ample +pair of shoulders. The old woman was talking in that low, stifled +tone of voice which tells so forcibly of mental anguish; and every now +and then burst into an irrepressible sharp, abrupt cry of grief, the +most distressing sound that ears can hear. The girl was perfectly +unmoved. Hardened beyond all hope of redemption, she listened +doggedly to her mother’s entreaties, whatever they were: and, +beyond inquiring after ‘Jem,’ and eagerly catching at the +few halfpence her miserable parent had brought her, took no more apparent +interest in the conversation than the most unconcerned spectators. +Heaven knows there were enough of them, in the persons of the other +prisoners in the yard, who were no more concerned by what was passing +before their eyes, and within their hearing, than if they were blind +and deaf. Why should they be? Inside the prison, and out, +such scenes were too familiar to them, to excite even a passing thought, +unless of ridicule or contempt for feelings which they had long since +forgotten.</p> +<p>A little farther on, a squalid-looking woman in a slovenly, thick-bordered +cap, with her arms muffled in a large red shawl, the fringed ends of +which straggled nearly to the bottom of a dirty white apron, was communicating +some instructions to <i>her</i> visitor—her daughter evidently. +The girl was thinly clad, and shaking with the cold. Some ordinary +word of recognition passed between her and her mother when she appeared +at the grating, but neither hope, condolence, regret, nor affection +was expressed on either side. The mother whispered her instructions, +and the girl received them with her pinched-up, half-starved features +twisted into an expression of careful cunning. It was some scheme +for the woman’s defence that she was disclosing, perhaps; and +a sullen smile came over the girl’s face for an instant, as if +she were pleased: not so much at the probability of her mother’s +liberation, as at the chance of her ‘getting off’ in spite +of her prosecutors. The dialogue was soon concluded; and with +the same careless indifference with which they had approached each other, +the mother turned towards the inner end of the yard, and the girl to +the gate at which she had entered.</p> +<p>The girl belonged to a class—unhappily but too extensive—the +very existence of which, should make men’s hearts bleed. +Barely past her childhood, it required but a glance to discover that +she was one of those children, born and bred in neglect and vice, who +have never known what childhood is: who have never been taught to love +and court a parent’s smile, or to dread a parent’s frown. +The thousand nameless endearments of childhood, its gaiety and its innocence, +are alike unknown to them. They have entered at once upon the +stern realities and miseries of life, and to their better nature it +is almost hopeless to appeal in after-times, by any of the references +which will awaken, if it be only for a moment, some good feeling in +ordinary bosoms, however corrupt they may have become. Talk to +<i>them</i> of parental solicitude, the happy days of childhood, and +the merry games of infancy! Tell them of hunger and the streets, +beggary and stripes, the gin-shop, the station-house, and the pawnbroker’s, +and they will understand you.</p> +<p>Two or three women were standing at different parts of the grating, +conversing with their friends, but a very large proportion of the prisoners +appeared to have no friends at all, beyond such of their old companions +as might happen to be within the walls. So, passing hastily down +the yard, and pausing only for an instant to notice the little incidents +we have just recorded, we were conducted up a clean and well-lighted +flight of stone stairs to one of the wards. There are several +in this part of the building, but a description of one is a description +of the whole.</p> +<p>It was a spacious, bare, whitewashed apartment, lighted, of course, +by windows looking into the interior of the prison, but far more light +and airy than one could reasonably expect to find in such a situation. +There was a large fire with a deal table before it, round which ten +or a dozen women were seated on wooden forms at dinner. Along +both sides of the room ran a shelf; below it, at regular intervals, +a row of large hooks were fixed in the wall, on each of which was hung +the sleeping mat of a prisoner: her rug and blanket being folded up, +and placed on the shelf above. At night, these mats are placed +on the floor, each beneath the hook on which it hangs during the day; +and the ward is thus made to answer the purposes both of a day-room +and sleeping apartment. Over the fireplace, was a large sheet +of pasteboard, on which were displayed a variety of texts from Scripture, +which were also scattered about the room in scraps about the size and +shape of the copy-slips which are used in schools. On the table +was a sufficient provision of a kind of stewed beef and brown bread, +in pewter dishes, which are kept perfectly bright, and displayed on +shelves in great order and regularity when they are not in use.</p> +<p>The women rose hastily, on our entrance, and retired in a hurried +manner to either side of the fireplace. They were all cleanly—many +of them decently—attired, and there was nothing peculiar, either +in their appearance or demeanour. One or two resumed the needlework +which they had probably laid aside at the commencement of their meal; +others gazed at the visitors with listless curiosity; and a few retired +behind their companions to the very end of the room, as if desirous +to avoid even the casual observation of the strangers. Some old +Irish women, both in this and other wards, to whom the thing was no +novelty, appeared perfectly indifferent to our presence, and remained +standing close to the seats from which they had just risen; but the +general feeling among the females seemed to be one of uneasiness during +the period of our stay among them: which was very brief. Not a +word was uttered during the time of our remaining, unless, indeed, by +the wardswoman in reply to some question which we put to the turnkey +who accompanied us. In every ward on the female side, a wardswoman +is appointed to preserve order, and a similar regulation is adopted +among the males. The wardsmen and wardswomen are all prisoners, +selected for good conduct. They alone are allowed the privilege +of sleeping on bedsteads; a small stump bedstead being placed in every +ward for that purpose. On both sides of the gaol, is a small receiving-room, +to which prisoners are conducted on their first reception, and whence +they cannot be removed until they have been examined by the surgeon +of the prison. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a></p> +<p>Retracing our steps to the dismal passage in which we found ourselves +at first (and which, by-the-bye, contains three or four dark cells for +the accommodation of refractory prisoners), we were led through a narrow +yard to the ‘school’—a portion of the prison set apart +for boys under fourteen years of age. In a tolerable-sized room, +in which were writing-materials and some copy-books, was the schoolmaster, +with a couple of his pupils; the remainder having been fetched from +an adjoining apartment, the whole were drawn up in line for our inspection. +There were fourteen of them in all, some with shoes, some without; some +in pinafores without jackets, others in jackets without pinafores, and +one in scarce anything at all. The whole number, without an exception +we believe, had been committed for trial on charges of pocket-picking; +and fourteen such terrible little faces we never beheld.—There +was not one redeeming feature among them—not a glance of honesty—not +a wink expressive of anything but the gallows and the hulks, in the +whole collection. As to anything like shame or contrition, that +was entirely out of the question. They were evidently quite gratified +at being thought worth the trouble of looking at; their idea appeared +to be, that we had come to see Newgate as a grand affair, and that they +were an indispensable part of the show; and every boy as he ‘fell +in’ to the line, actually seemed as pleased and important as if +he had done something excessively meritorious in getting there at all. +We never looked upon a more disagreeable sight, because we never saw +fourteen such hopeless creatures of neglect, before.</p> +<p>On either side of the school-yard is a yard for men, in one of which—that +towards Newgate-street—prisoners of the more respectable class +are confined. Of the other, we have little description to offer, +as the different wards necessarily partake of the same character. +They are provided, like the wards on the women’s side, with mats +and rugs, which are disposed of in the same manner during the day; the +only very striking difference between their appearance and that of the +wards inhabited by the females, is the utter absence of any employment. +Huddled together on two opposite forms, by the fireside, sit twenty +men perhaps; here, a boy in livery; there, a man in a rough great-coat +and top-boots; farther on, a desperate-looking fellow in his shirt-sleeves, +with an old Scotch cap upon his shaggy head; near him again, a tall +ruffian, in a smock-frock; next to him, a miserable being of distressed +appearance, with his head resting on his hand;—all alike in one +respect, all idle and listless. When they do leave the fire, sauntering +moodily about, lounging in the window, or leaning against the wall, +vacantly swinging their bodies to and fro. With the exception +of a man reading an old newspaper, in two or three instances, this was +the case in every ward we entered.</p> +<p>The only communication these men have with their friends, is through +two close iron gratings, with an intermediate space of about a yard +in width between the two, so that nothing can be handed across, nor +can the prisoner have any communication by touch with the person who +visits him. The married men have a separate grating, at which +to see their wives, but its construction is the same.</p> +<p>The prison chapel is situated at the back of the governor’s +house: the latter having no windows looking into the interior of the +prison. Whether the associations connected with the place—the +knowledge that here a portion of the burial service is, on some dreadful +occasions, performed over the quick and not upon the dead—cast +over it a still more gloomy and sombre air than art has imparted to +it, we know not, but its appearance is very striking. There is +something in a silent and deserted place of worship, solemn and impressive +at any time; and the very dissimilarity of this one from any we have +been accustomed to, only enhances the impression. The meanness +of its appointments—the bare and scanty pulpit, with the paltry +painted pillars on either side—the women’s gallery with +its great heavy curtain—the men’s with its unpainted benches +and dingy front—the tottering little table at the altar, with +the commandments on the wall above it, scarcely legible through lack +of paint, and dust and damp—so unlike the velvet and gilding, +the marble and wood, of a modern church—are strange and striking. +There is one object, too, which rivets the attention and fascinates +the gaze, and from which we may turn horror-stricken in vain, for the +recollection of it will haunt us, waking and sleeping, for a long time +afterwards. Immediately below the reading-desk, on the floor of +the chapel, and forming the most conspicuous object in its little area, +is <i>the</i> <i>condemned pew</i>; a huge black pen, in which the wretched +people, who are singled out for death, are placed on the Sunday preceding +their execution, in sight of all their fellow-prisoners, from many of +whom they may have been separated but a week before, to hear prayers +for their own souls, to join in the responses of their own burial service, +and to listen to an address, warning their recent companions to take +example by their fate, and urging themselves, while there is yet time—nearly +four-and-twenty hours—to ‘turn, and flee from the wrath +to come!’ Imagine what have been the feelings of the men +whom that fearful pew has enclosed, and of whom, between the gallows +and the knife, no mortal remnant may now remain! Think of the +hopeless clinging to life to the last, and the wild despair, far exceeding +in anguish the felon’s death itself, by which they have heard +the certainty of their speedy transmission to another world, with all +their crimes upon their heads, rung into their ears by the officiating +clergyman!</p> +<p>At one time—and at no distant period either—the coffins +of the men about to be executed, were placed in that pew, upon the seat +by their side, during the whole service. It may seem incredible, +but it is true. Let us hope that the increased spirit of civilisation +and humanity which abolished this frightful and degrading custom, may +extend itself to other usages equally barbarous; usages which have not +even the plea of utility in their defence, as every year’s experience +has shown them to be more and more inefficacious.</p> +<p>Leaving the chapel, descending to the passage so frequently alluded +to, and crossing the yard before noticed as being allotted to prisoners +of a more respectable description than the generality of men confined +here, the visitor arrives at a thick iron gate of great size and strength. +Having been admitted through it by the turnkey on duty, he turns sharp +round to the left, and pauses before another gate; and, having passed +this last barrier, he stands in the most terrible part of this gloomy +building—the condemned ward.</p> +<p>The press-yard, well known by name to newspaper readers, from its +frequent mention in accounts of executions, is at the corner of the +building, and next to the ordinary’s house, in Newgate-street: +running from Newgate-street, towards the centre of the prison, parallel +with Newgate-market. It is a long, narrow court, of which a portion +of the wall in Newgate-street forms one end, and the gate the other. +At the upper end, on the left hand—that is, adjoining the wall +in Newgate-street—is a cistern of water, and at the bottom a double +grating (of which the gate itself forms a part) similar to that before +described. Through these grates the prisoners are allowed to see +their friends; a turnkey always remaining in the vacant space between, +during the whole interview. Immediately on the right as you enter, +is a building containing the press-room, day-room, and cells; the yard +is on every side surrounded by lofty walls guarded by <i>chevaux de +frise</i>; and the whole is under the constant inspection of vigilant +and experienced turnkeys.</p> +<p>In the first apartment into which we were conducted—which was +at the top of a staircase, and immediately over the press-room—were +five-and-twenty or thirty prisoners, all under sentence of death, awaiting +the result of the recorder’s report—men of all ages and +appearances, from a hardened old offender with swarthy face and grizzly +beard of three days’ growth, to a handsome boy, not fourteen years +old, and of singularly youthful appearance even for that age, who had +been condemned for burglary. There was nothing remarkable in the +appearance of these prisoners. One or two decently-dressed men +were brooding with a dejected air over the fire; several little groups +of two or three had been engaged in conversation at the upper end of +the room, or in the windows; and the remainder were crowded round a +young man seated at a table, who appeared to be engaged in teaching +the younger ones to write. The room was large, airy, and clean. +There was very little anxiety or mental suffering depicted in the countenance +of any of the men;—they had all been sentenced to death, it is +true, and the recorder’s report had not yet been made; but, we +question whether there was a man among them, notwithstanding, who did +not <i>know</i> that although he had undergone the ceremony, it never +was intended that his life should be sacrificed. On the table +lay a Testament, but there were no tokens of its having been in recent +use.</p> +<p>In the press-room below, were three men, the nature of whose offence +rendered it necessary to separate them, even from their companions in +guilt. It is a long, sombre room, with two windows sunk into the +stone wall, and here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning of +their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The fate +of one of these prisoners was uncertain; some mitigatory circumstances +having come to light since his trial, which had been humanely represented +in the proper quarter. The other two had nothing to expect from +the mercy of the crown; their doom was sealed; no plea could be urged +in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for them there +was no hope in this world. ‘The two short ones,’ the +turnkey whispered, ‘were dead men.’</p> +<p>The man to whom we have alluded as entertaining some hopes of escape, +was lounging, at the greatest distance he could place between himself +and his companions, in the window nearest to the door. He was +probably aware of our approach, and had assumed an air of courageous +indifference; his face was purposely averted towards the window, and +he stirred not an inch while we were present. The other two men +were at the upper end of the room. One of them, who was imperfectly +seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was stooping over +the fire, with his right arm on the mantel-piece, and his head sunk +upon it. The other was leaning on the sill of the farthest window. +The light fell full upon him, and communicated to his pale, haggard +face, and disordered hair, an appearance which, at that distance, was +ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand; and, with his face a +little raised, and his eyes wildly staring before him, he seemed to +be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the opposite wall. +We passed this room again afterwards. The first man was pacing +up and down the court with a firm military step—he had been a +soldier in the foot-guards—and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on +one side of his head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, +and the salute was returned. The other two still remained in the +positions we have described, and were as motionless as statues. <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a></p> +<p>A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation of the building, +in which are the two rooms we have just quitted, lie the condemned cells. +The entrance is by a narrow and obscure stair-case leading to a dark +passage, in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the objects +in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like warmth around. +From the left-hand side of this passage, the massive door of every cell +on the story opens; and from it alone can they be approached. +There are three of these passages, and three of these ranges of cells, +one above the other; but in size, furniture and appearance, they are +all precisely alike. Prior to the recorder’s report being +made, all the prisoners under sentence of death are removed from the +day-room at five o’clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these +cells, where they are allowed a candle until ten o’clock; and +here they remain until seven next morning. When the warrant for +a prisoner’s execution arrives, he is removed to the cells and +confined in one of them until he leaves it for the scaffold. He +is at liberty to walk in the yard; but, both in his walks and in his +cell, he is constantly attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on +any pretence.</p> +<p>We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, eight feet +long by six wide, with a bench at the upper end, under which were a +common rug, a bible, and prayer-book. An iron candlestick was +fixed into the wall at the side; and a small high window in the back +admitted as much air and light as could struggle in between a double +row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture +of any description.</p> +<p>Conceive the situation of a man, spending his last night on earth +in this cell. Buoyed up with some vague and undefined hope of +reprieve, he knew not why—indulging in some wild and visionary +idea of escaping, he knew not how—hour after hour of the three +preceding days allowed him for preparation, has fled with a speed which +no man living would deem possible, for none but this dying man can know. +He has wearied his friends with entreaties, exhausted the attendants +with importunities, neglected in his feverish restlessness the timely +warnings of his spiritual consoler; and, now that the illusion is at +last dispelled, now that eternity is before him and guilt behind, now +that his fears of death amount almost to madness, and an overwhelming +sense of his helpless, hopeless state rushes upon him, he is lost and +stupefied, and has neither thoughts to turn to, nor power to call upon, +the Almighty Being, from whom alone he can seek mercy and forgiveness, +and before whom his repentance can alone avail.</p> +<p>Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same stone bench +with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast decreasing time before +him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man at his side. The +feeble light is wasting gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the +street without, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle +which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns him that the +night is waning fast away. The deep bell of St. Paul’s strikes—one! +He heard it; it has roused him. Seven hours left! He paces +the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of terror +starting on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering with +agony. Seven hours! He suffers himself to be led to his +seat, mechanically takes the bible which is placed in his hand, and +tries to read and listen. No: his thoughts will wander. +The book is torn and soiled by use—and like the book he read his +lessons in, at school, just forty years ago! He has never bestowed +a thought upon it, perhaps, since he left it as a child: and yet the +place, the time, the room—nay, the very boys he played with, crowd +as vividly before him as if they were scenes of yesterday; and some +forgotten phrase, some childish word, rings in his ears like the echo +of one uttered but a minute since. The voice of the clergyman +recalls him to himself. He is reading from the sacred book its +solemn promises of pardon for repentance, and its awful denunciation +of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees and clasps his hands +to pray. Hush! what sound was that? He starts upon his feet. +It cannot be two yet. Hark! Two quarters have struck;—the +third—the fourth. It is! Six hours left. Tell +him not of repentance! Six hours’ repentance for eight times +six years of guilt and sin! He buries his face in his hands, and +throws himself on the bench.</p> +<p>Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and the same unsettled +state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable load +is taken from his breast; he is walking with his wife in a pleasant +field, with the bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless prospect +on every side—how different from the stone walls of Newgate! +She is looking—not as she did when he saw her for the last time +in that dreadful place, but as she used when he loved her—long, +long ago, before misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and +vice had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, and looking +up into his face with tenderness and affection—and he does <i>not</i> +strike her now, nor rudely shake her from him. And oh! how glad +he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that last hurried interview, +and to fall on his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon +for all the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her +heart! The scene suddenly changes. He is on his trial again: +there are the judge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses, just as +they were before. How full the court is—what a sea of heads—with +a gallows, too, and a scaffold—and how all those people stare +at <i>him</i>! Verdict, ‘Guilty.’ No matter; +he will escape.</p> +<p>The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open, and in +an instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of his imprisonment +like the wind. The streets are cleared, the open fields are gained +and the broad, wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes +in the midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool, +bounding from spot to spot with a speed and lightness, astonishing even +to himself. At length he pauses; he must be safe from pursuit +now; he will stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise.</p> +<p>A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes, cold and wretched. +The dull, gray light of morning is stealing into the cell, and falls +upon the form of the attendant turnkey. Confused by his dreams, +he starts from his uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is +but momentary. Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully +real to admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon again, +guilty and despairing; and in two hours more will be dead.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHARACTERS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It is strange with how little notice, good, bad, or indifferent, +a man may live and die in London. He awakens no sympathy in the +breast of any single person; his existence is a matter of interest to +no one save himself; he cannot be said to be forgotten when he dies, +for no one remembered him when he was alive. There is a numerous +class of people in this great metropolis who seem not to possess a single +friend, and whom nobody appears to care for. Urged by imperative +necessity in the first instance, they have resorted to London in search +of employment, and the means of subsistence. It is hard, we know, +to break the ties which bind us to our homes and friends, and harder +still to efface the thousand recollections of happy days and old times, +which have been slumbering in our bosoms for years, and only rush upon +the mind, to bring before it associations connected with the friends +we have left, the scenes we have beheld too probably for the last time, +and the hopes we once cherished, but may entertain no more. These +men, however, happily for themselves, have long forgotten such thoughts. +Old country friends have died or emigrated; former correspondents have +become lost, like themselves, in the crowd and turmoil of some busy +city; and they have gradually settled down into mere passive creatures +of habit and endurance.</p> +<p>We were seated in the enclosure of St. James’s Park the other +day, when our attention was attracted by a man whom we immediately put +down in our own mind as one of this class. He was a tall, thin, +pale person, in a black coat, scanty gray trousers, little pinched-up +gaiters, and brown beaver gloves. He had an umbrella in his hand—not +for use, for the day was fine—but, evidently, because he always +carried one to the office in the morning. He walked up and down +before the little patch of grass on which the chairs are placed for +hire, not as if he were doing it for pleasure or recreation, but as +if it were a matter of compulsion, just as he would walk to the office +every morning from the back settlements of Islington. It was Monday; +he had escaped for four-and-twenty hours from the thraldom of the desk; +and was walking here for exercise and amusement—perhaps for the +first time in his life. We were inclined to think he had never +had a holiday before, and that he did not know what to do with himself. +Children were playing on the grass; groups of people were loitering +about, chatting and laughing; but the man walked steadily up and down, +unheeding and unheeded his spare, pale face looking as if it were incapable +of bearing the expression of curiosity or interest.</p> +<p>There was something in the man’s manner and appearance which +told us, we fancied, his whole life, or rather his whole day, for a +man of this sort has no variety of days. We thought we almost +saw the dingy little back office into which he walks every morning, +hanging his hat on the same peg, and placing his legs beneath the same +desk: first, taking off that black coat which lasts the year through, +and putting on the one which did duty last year, and which he keeps +in his desk to save the other. There he sits till five o’clock, +working on, all day, as regularly as the dial over the mantel-piece, +whose loud ticking is as monotonous as his whole existence: only raising +his head when some one enters the counting-house, or when, in the midst +of some difficult calculation, he looks up to the ceiling as if there +were inspiration in the dusty skylight with a green knot in the centre +of every pane of glass. About five, or half-past, he slowly dismounts +from his accustomed stool, and again changing his coat, proceeds to +his usual dining-place, somewhere near Bucklersbury. The waiter +recites the bill of fare in a rather confidential manner—for he +is a regular customer—and after inquiring ‘What’s +in the best cut?’ and ‘What was up last?’ he orders +a small plate of roast beef, with greens, and half-a-pint of porter. +He has a small plate to-day, because greens are a penny more than potatoes, +and he had ‘two breads’ yesterday, with the additional enormity +of ‘a cheese’ the day before. This important point +settled, he hangs up his hat—he took it off the moment he sat +down—and bespeaks the paper after the next gentleman. If +he can get it while he is at dinner, he eats with much greater zest; +balancing it against the water-bottle, and eating a bit of beef, and +reading a line or two, alternately. Exactly at five minutes before +the hour is up, he produces a shilling, pays the reckoning, carefully +deposits the change in his waistcoat-pocket (first deducting a penny +for the waiter), and returns to the office, from which, if it is not +foreign post night, he again sallies forth, in about half an hour. +He then walks home, at his usual pace, to his little back room at Islington, +where he has his tea; perhaps solacing himself during the meal with +the conversation of his landlady’s little boy, whom he occasionally +rewards with a penny, for solving problems in simple addition. +Sometimes, there is a letter or two to take up to his employer’s, +in Russell-square; and then, the wealthy man of business, hearing his +voice, calls out from the dining-parlour,—‘Come in, Mr. +Smith:’ and Mr. Smith, putting his hat at the feet of one of the +hall chairs, walks timidly in, and being condescendingly desired to +sit down, carefully tucks his legs under his chair, and sits at a considerable +distance from the table while he drinks the glass of sherry which is +poured out for him by the eldest boy, and after drinking which, he backs +and slides out of the room, in a state of nervous agitation from which +he does not perfectly recover, until he finds himself once more in the +Islington-road. Poor, harmless creatures such men are; contented +but not happy; broken-spirited and humbled, they may feel no pain, but +they never know pleasure.</p> +<p>Compare these men with another class of beings who, like them, have +neither friend nor companion, but whose position in society is the result +of their own choice. These are generally old fellows with white +heads and red faces, addicted to port wine and Hessian boots, who from +some cause, real or imaginary—generally the former, the excellent +reason being that they are rich, and their relations poor—grow +suspicious of everybody, and do the misanthropical in chambers, taking +great delight in thinking themselves unhappy, and making everybody they +come near, miserable. You may see such men as these, anywhere; +you will know them at coffee-houses by their discontented exclamations +and the luxury of their dinners; at theatres, by their always sitting +in the same place and looking with a jaundiced eye on all the young +people near them; at church, by the pomposity with which they enter, +and the loud tone in which they repeat the responses; at parties, by +their getting cross at whist and hating music. An old fellow of +this kind will have his chambers splendidly furnished, and collect books, +plate, and pictures about him in profusion; not so much for his own +gratification, as to be superior to those who have the desire, but not +the means, to compete with him. He belongs to two or three clubs, +and is envied, and flattered, and hated by the members of them all. +Sometimes he will be appealed to by a poor relation—a married +nephew perhaps—for some little assistance: and then he will declaim +with honest indignation on the improvidence of young married people, +the worthlessness of a wife, the insolence of having a family, the atrocity +of getting into debt with a hundred and twenty-five pounds a year, and +other unpardonable crimes; winding up his exhortations with a complacent +review of his own conduct, and a delicate allusion to parochial relief. +He dies, some day after dinner, of apoplexy, having bequeathed his property +to a Public Society, and the Institution erects a tablet to his memory, +expressive of their admiration of his Christian conduct in this world, +and their comfortable conviction of his happiness in the next.</p> +<p>But, next to our very particular friends, hackney-coachmen, cabmen +and cads, whom we admire in proportion to the extent of their cool impudence +and perfect self-possession, there is no class of people who amuse us +more than London apprentices. They are no longer an organised +body, bound down by solemn compact to terrify his Majesty’s subjects +whenever it pleases them to take offence in their heads and staves in +their hands. They are only bound, now, by indentures, and, as +to their valour, it is easily restrained by the wholesome dread of the +New Police, and a perspective view of a damp station-house, terminating +in a police-office and a reprimand. They are still, however, a +peculiar class, and not the less pleasant for being inoffensive. +Can any one fail to have noticed them in the streets on Sunday? +And were there ever such harmless efforts at the grand and magnificent +as the young fellows display! We walked down the Strand, a Sunday +or two ago, behind a little group; and they furnished food for our amusement +the whole way. They had come out of some part of the city; it +was between three and four o’clock in the afternoon; and they +were on their way to the Park. There were four of them, all arm-in-arm, +with white kid gloves like so many bridegrooms, light trousers of unprecedented +patterns, and coats for which the English language has yet no name—a +kind of cross between a great-coat and a surtout, with the collar of +the one, the skirts of the other, and pockets peculiar to themselves.</p> +<p>Each of the gentlemen carried a thick stick, with a large tassel +at the top, which he occasionally twirled gracefully round; and the +whole four, by way of looking easy and unconcerned, were walking with +a paralytic swagger irresistibly ludicrous. One of the party had +a watch about the size and shape of a reasonable Ribstone pippin, jammed +into his waistcoat-pocket, which he carefully compared with the clocks +at St. Clement’s and the New Church, the illuminated clock at +Exeter ‘Change, the clock of St. Martin’s Church, and the +clock of the Horse Guards. When they at last arrived in St. James’s +Park, the member of the party who had the best-made boots on, hired +a second chair expressly for his feet, and flung himself on this two-pennyworth +of sylvan luxury with an air which levelled all distinctions between +Brookes’s and Snooks’s, Crockford’s and Bagnigge Wells.</p> +<p>We may smile at such people, but they can never excite our anger. +They are usually on the best terms with themselves, and it follows almost +as a matter of course, in good humour with every one about them. +Besides, they are always the faint reflection of higher lights; and, +if they do display a little occasional foolery in their own proper persons, +it is surely more tolerable than precocious puppyism in the Quadrant, +whiskered dandyism in Regent-street and Pall-mall, or gallantry in its +dotage anywhere.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—A CHRISTMAS DINNER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose +breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused—in whose +mind some pleasant associations are not awakened—by the recurrence +of Christmas. There are people who will tell you that Christmas +is not to them what it used to be; that each succeeding Christmas has +found some cherished hope, or happy prospect, of the year before, dimmed +or passed away; that the present only serves to remind them of reduced +circumstances and straitened incomes—of the feasts they once bestowed +on hollow friends, and of the cold looks that meet them now, in adversity +and misfortune. Never heed such dismal reminiscences. There +are few men who have lived long enough in the world, who cannot call +up such thoughts any day in the year. Then do not select the merriest +of the three hundred and sixty-five for your doleful recollections, +but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire—fill the glass and +send round the song—and if your room be smaller than it was a +dozen years ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch, instead +of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter, and empty it off-hand, +and fill another, and troll off the old ditty you used to sing, and +thank God it’s no worse. Look on the merry faces of your +children (if you have any) as they sit round the fire. One little +seat may be empty; one slight form that gladdened the father’s +heart, and roused the mother’s pride to look upon, may not be +there. Dwell not upon the past; think not that one short year +ago, the fair child now resolving into dust, sat before you, with the +bloom of health upon its cheek, and the gaiety of infancy in its joyous +eye. Reflect upon your present blessings—of which every +man has many—not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have +some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and contented heart. +Our life on it, but your Christmas shall be merry, and your new year +a happy one!</p> +<p>Who can be insensible to the outpourings of good feeling, and the +honest interchange of affectionate attachment, which abound at this +season of the year? A Christmas family-party! We know nothing +in nature more delightful! There seems a magic in the very name +of Christmas. Petty jealousies and discords are forgotten; social +feelings are awakened, in bosoms to which they have long been strangers; +father and son, or brother and sister, who have met and passed with +averted gaze, or a look of cold recognition, for months before, proffer +and return the cordial embrace, and bury their past animosities in their +present happiness. Kindly hearts that have yearned towards each +other, but have been withheld by false notions of pride and self-dignity, +are again reunited, and all is kindness and benevolence! Would +that Christmas lasted the whole year through (as it ought), and that +the prejudices and passions which deform our better nature, were never +called into action among those to whom they should ever be strangers!</p> +<p>The Christmas family-party that we mean, is not a mere assemblage +of relations, got up at a week or two’s notice, originating this +year, having no family precedent in the last, and not likely to be repeated +in the next. No. It is an annual gathering of all the accessible +members of the family, young or old, rich or poor; and all the children +look forward to it, for two months beforehand, in a fever of anticipation. +Formerly, it was held at grandpapa’s; but grandpapa getting old, +and grandmamma getting old too, and rather infirm, they have given up +house-keeping, and domesticated themselves with uncle George; so, the +party always takes place at uncle George’s house, but grandmamma +sends in most of the good things, and grandpapa always <i>will</i> toddle +down, all the way to Newgate-market, to buy the turkey, which he engages +a porter to bring home behind him in triumph, always insisting on the +man’s being rewarded with a glass of spirits, over and above his +hire, to drink ‘a merry Christmas and a happy new year’ +to aunt George. As to grandmamma, she is very secret and mysterious +for two or three days beforehand, but not sufficiently so, to prevent +rumours getting afloat that she has purchased a beautiful new cap with +pink ribbons for each of the servants, together with sundry books, and +pen-knives, and pencil-cases, for the younger branches; to say nothing +of divers secret additions to the order originally given by aunt George +at the pastry-cook’s, such as another dozen of mince-pies for +the dinner, and a large plum-cake for the children.</p> +<p>On Christmas-eve, grandmamma is always in excellent spirits, and +after employing all the children, during the day, in stoning the plums, +and all that, insists, regularly every year, on uncle George coming +down into the kitchen, taking off his coat, and stirring the pudding +for half an hour or so, which uncle George good-humouredly does, to +the vociferous delight of the children and servants. The evening +concludes with a glorious game of blind-man’s-buff, in an early +stage of which grandpapa takes great care to be caught, in order that +he may have an opportunity of displaying his dexterity.</p> +<p>On the following morning, the old couple, with as many of the children +as the pew will hold, go to church in great state: leaving aunt George +at home dusting decanters and filling casters, and uncle George carrying +bottles into the dining-parlour, and calling for corkscrews, and getting +into everybody’s way.</p> +<p>When the church-party return to lunch, grandpapa produces a small +sprig of mistletoe from his pocket, and tempts the boys to kiss their +little cousins under it—a proceeding which affords both the boys +and the old gentleman unlimited satisfaction, but which rather outrages +grandmamma’s ideas of decorum, until grandpapa says, that when +he was just thirteen years and three months old, <i>he</i> kissed grandmamma +under a mistletoe too, on which the children clap their hands, and laugh +very heartily, as do aunt George and uncle George; and grandmamma looks +pleased, and says, with a benevolent smile, that grandpapa was an impudent +young dog, on which the children laugh very heartily again, and grandpapa +more heartily than any of them.</p> +<p>But all these diversions are nothing to the subsequent excitement +when grandmamma in a high cap, and slate-coloured silk gown; and grandpapa +with a beautifully plaited shirt-frill, and white neckerchief; seat +themselves on one side of the drawing-room fire, with uncle George’s +children and little cousins innumerable, seated in the front, waiting +the arrival of the expected visitors. Suddenly a hackney-coach +is heard to stop, and uncle George, who has been looking out of the +window, exclaims ‘Here’s Jane!’ on which the children +rush to the door, and helter-skelter down-stairs; and uncle Robert and +aunt Jane, and the dear little baby, and the nurse, and the whole party, +are ushered up-stairs amidst tumultuous shouts of ‘Oh, my!’ +from the children, and frequently repeated warnings not to hurt baby +from the nurse. And grandpapa takes the child, and grandmamma +kisses her daughter, and the confusion of this first entry has scarcely +subsided, when some other aunts and uncles with more cousins arrive, +and the grown-up cousins flirt with each other, and so do the little +cousins too, for that matter, and nothing is to be heard but a confused +din of talking, laughing, and merriment.</p> +<p>A hesitating double knock at the street-door, heard during a momentary +pause in the conversation, excites a general inquiry of ‘Who’s +that?’ and two or three children, who have been standing at the +window, announce in a low voice, that it’s ‘poor aunt Margaret.’ +Upon which, aunt George leaves the room to welcome the new-comer; and +grandmamma draws herself up, rather stiff and stately; for Margaret +married a poor man without her consent, and poverty not being a sufficiently +weighty punishment for her offence, has been discarded by her friends, +and debarred the society of her dearest relatives. But Christmas +has come round, and the unkind feelings that have struggled against +better dispositions during the year, have melted away before its genial +influence, like half-formed ice beneath the morning sun. It is +not difficult in a moment of angry feeling for a parent to denounce +a disobedient child; but, to banish her at a period of general good-will +and hilarity, from the hearth, round which she has sat on so many anniversaries +of the same day, expanding by slow degrees from infancy to girlhood, +and then bursting, almost imperceptibly, into a woman, is widely different. +The air of conscious rectitude, and cold forgiveness, which the old +lady has assumed, sits ill upon her; and when the poor girl is led in +by her sister, pale in looks and broken in hope—not from poverty, +for that she could bear, but from the consciousness of undeserved neglect, +and unmerited unkindness—it is easy to see how much of it is assumed. +A momentary pause succeeds; the girl breaks suddenly from her sister +and throws herself, sobbing, on her mother’s neck. The father +steps hastily forward, and takes her husband’s hand. Friends +crowd round to offer their hearty congratulations, and happiness and +harmony again prevail.</p> +<p>As to the dinner, it’s perfectly delightful—nothing goes +wrong, and everybody is in the very best of spirits, and disposed to +please and be pleased. Grandpapa relates a circumstantial account +of the purchase of the turkey, with a slight digression relative to +the purchase of previous turkeys, on former Christmas-days, which grandmamma +corroborates in the minutest particular. Uncle George tells stories, +and carves poultry, and takes wine, and jokes with the children at the +side-table, and winks at the cousins that are making love, or being +made love to, and exhilarates everybody with his good humour and hospitality; +and when, at last, a stout servant staggers in with a gigantic pudding, +with a sprig of holly in the top, there is such a laughing, and shouting, +and clapping of little chubby hands, and kicking up of fat dumpy legs, +as can only be equalled by the applause with which the astonishing feat +of pouring lighted brandy into mince-pies, is received by the younger +visitors. Then the dessert!—and the wine!—and the +fun! Such beautiful speeches, and <i>such</i> songs, from aunt +Margaret’s husband, who turns out to be such a nice man, and <i>so</i> +attentive to grandmamma! Even grandpapa not only sings his annual +song with unprecedented vigour, but on being honoured with an unanimous +<i>encore</i>, according to annual custom, actually comes out with a +new one which nobody but grandmamma ever heard before; and a young scapegrace +of a cousin, who has been in some disgrace with the old people, for +certain heinous sins of omission and commission—neglecting to +call, and persisting in drinking Burton Ale—astonishes everybody +into convulsions of laughter by volunteering the most extraordinary +comic songs that ever were heard. And thus the evening passes, +in a strain of rational good-will and cheerfulness, doing more to awaken +the sympathies of every member of the party in behalf of his neighbour, +and to perpetuate their good feeling during the ensuing year, than half +the homilies that have ever been written, by half the Divines that have +ever lived.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—THE NEW YEAR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Next to Christmas-day, the most pleasant annual epoch in existence +is the advent of the New Year. There are a lachrymose set of people +who usher in the New Year with watching and fasting, as if they were +bound to attend as chief mourners at the obsequies of the old one. +Now, we cannot but think it a great deal more complimentary, both to +the old year that has rolled away, and to the New Year that is just +beginning to dawn upon us, to see the old fellow out, and the new one +in, with gaiety and glee.</p> +<p>There must have been some few occurrences in the past year to which +we can look back, with a smile of cheerful recollection, if not with +a feeling of heartfelt thankfulness. And we are bound by every +rule of justice and equity to give the New Year credit for being a good +one, until he proves himself unworthy the confidence we repose in him.</p> +<p>This is our view of the matter; and entertaining it, notwithstanding +our respect for the old year, one of the few remaining moments of whose +existence passes away with every word we write, here we are, seated +by our fireside on this last night of the old year, one thousand eight +hundred and thirty-six, penning this article with as jovial a face as +if nothing extraordinary had happened, or was about to happen, to disturb +our good humour.</p> +<p>Hackney-coaches and carriages keep rattling up the street and down +the street in rapid succession, conveying, doubtless, smartly-dressed +coachfuls to crowded parties; loud and repeated double knocks at the +house with green blinds, opposite, announce to the whole neighbourhood +that there’s one large party in the street at all events; and +we saw through the window, and through the fog too, till it grew so +thick that we rung for candles, and drew our curtains, pastry-cooks’ +men with green boxes on their heads, and rout-furniture-warehouse-carts, +with cane seats and French lamps, hurrying to the numerous houses where +an annual festival is held in honour of the occasion.</p> +<p>We can fancy one of these parties, we think, as well as if we were +duly dress-coated and pumped, and had just been announced at the drawing-room +door.</p> +<p>Take the house with the green blinds for instance. We know +it is a quadrille party, because we saw some men taking up the front +drawing-room carpet while we sat at breakfast this morning, and if further +evidence be required, and we must tell the truth, we just now saw one +of the young ladies ‘doing’ another of the young ladies’ +hair, near one of the bedroom windows, in an unusual style of splendour, +which nothing else but a quadrille party could possibly justify.</p> +<p>The master of the house with the green blinds is in a public office; +we know the fact by the cut of his coat, the tie of his neckcloth, and +the self-satisfaction of his gait—the very green blinds themselves +have a Somerset House air about them.</p> +<p>Hark!—a cab! That’s a junior clerk in the same +office; a tidy sort of young man, with a tendency to cold and corns, +who comes in a pair of boots with black cloth fronts, and brings his +shoes in his coat-pocket, which shoes he is at this very moment putting +on in the hall. Now he is announced by the man in the passage +to another man in a blue coat, who is a disguised messenger from the +office.</p> +<p>The man on the first landing precedes him to the drawing-room door. +‘Mr. Tupple!’ shouts the messenger. ‘How <i>are</i> +you, Tupple?’ says the master of the house, advancing from the +fire, before which he has been talking politics and airing himself. +‘My dear, this is Mr. Tupple (a courteous salute from the lady +of the house); Tupple, my eldest daughter; Julia, my dear, Mr. Tupple; +Tupple, my other daughters; my son, sir;’ Tupple rubs his hands +very hard, and smiles as if it were all capital fun, and keeps constantly +bowing and turning himself round, till the whole family have been introduced, +when he glides into a chair at the corner of the sofa, and opens a miscellaneous +conversation with the young ladies upon the weather, and the theatres, +and the old year, and the last new murder, and the balloon, and the +ladies’ sleeves, and the festivities of the season, and a great +many other topics of small talk.</p> +<p>More double knocks! what an extensive party! what an incessant hum +of conversation and general sipping of coffee! We see Tupple now, +in our mind’s eye, in the height of his glory. He has just +handed that stout old lady’s cup to the servant; and now, he dives +among the crowd of young men by the door, to intercept the other servant, +and secure the muffin-plate for the old lady’s daughter, before +he leaves the room; and now, as he passes the sofa on his way back, +he bestows a glance of recognition and patronage upon the young ladies +as condescending and familiar as if he had known them from infancy.</p> +<p>Charming person Mr. Tupple—perfect ladies’ man—such +a delightful companion, too! Laugh!—nobody ever understood +papa’s jokes half so well as Mr. Tupple, who laughs himself into +convulsions at every fresh burst of facetiousness. Most delightful +partner! talks through the whole set! and although he does seem at first +rather gay and frivolous, so romantic and with so <i>much</i> feeling! +Quite a love. No great favourite with the young men, certainly, +who sneer at, and affect to despise him; but everybody knows that’s +only envy, and they needn’t give themselves the trouble to depreciate +his merits at any rate, for Ma says he shall be asked to every future +dinner-party, if it’s only to talk to people between the courses, +and distract their attention when there’s any unexpected delay +in the kitchen.</p> +<p>At supper, Mr. Tupple shows to still greater advantage than he has +done throughout the evening, and when Pa requests every one to fill +their glasses for the purpose of drinking happiness throughout the year, +Mr. Tupple is <i>so</i> droll: insisting on all the young ladies having +their glasses filled, notwithstanding their repeated assurances that +they never can, by any possibility, think of emptying them and subsequently +begging permission to say a few words on the sentiment which has just +been uttered by Pa—when he makes one of the most brilliant and +poetical speeches that can possibly be imagined, about the old year +and the new one. After the toast has been drunk, and when the +ladies have retired, Mr. Tupple requests that every gentleman will do +him the favour of filling his glass, for he has a toast to propose: +on which all the gentlemen cry ‘Hear! hear!’ and pass the +decanters accordingly: and Mr. Tupple being informed by the master of +the house that they are all charged, and waiting for his toast, rises, +and begs to remind the gentlemen present, how much they have been delighted +by the dazzling array of elegance and beauty which the drawing-room +has exhibited that night, and how their senses have been charmed, and +their hearts captivated, by the bewitching concentration of female loveliness +which that very room has so recently displayed. (Loud cries of +‘Hear!’) Much as he (Tupple) would be disposed to +deplore the absence of the ladies, on other grounds, he cannot but derive +some consolation from the reflection that the very circumstance of their +not being present, enables him to propose a toast, which he would have +otherwise been prevented from giving—that toast he begs to say +is—‘The Ladies!’ (Great applause.) The +Ladies! among whom the fascinating daughters of their excellent host, +are alike conspicuous for their beauty, their accomplishments, and their +elegance. He begs them to drain a bumper to ‘The Ladies, +and a happy new year to them!’ (Prolonged approbation; above +which the noise of the ladies dancing the Spanish dance among themselves, +overhead, is distinctly audible.)</p> +<p>The applause consequent on this toast, has scarcely subsided, when +a young gentleman in a pink under-waistcoat, sitting towards the bottom +of the table, is observed to grow very restless and fidgety, and to +evince strong indications of some latent desire to give vent to his +feelings in a speech, which the wary Tupple at once perceiving, determines +to forestall by speaking himself. He, therefore, rises again, +with an air of solemn importance, and trusts he may be permitted to +propose another toast (unqualified approbation, and Mr. Tupple proceeds). +He is sure they must all be deeply impressed with the hospitality—he +may say the splendour—with which they have been that night received +by their worthy host and hostess. (Unbounded applause.) +Although this is the first occasion on which he has had the pleasure +and delight of sitting at that board, he has known his friend Dobble +long and intimately; he has been connected with him in business—he +wishes everybody present knew Dobble as well as he does. (A cough +from the host.) He (Tupple) can lay his hand upon his (Tupple’s) +heart, and declare his confident belief that a better man, a better +husband, a better father, a better brother, a better son, a better relation +in any relation of life, than Dobble, never existed. (Loud cries +of ‘Hear!’) They have seen him to-night in the peaceful +bosom of his family; they should see him in the morning, in the trying +duties of his office. Calm in the perusal of the morning papers, +uncompromising in the signature of his name, dignified in his replies +to the inquiries of stranger applicants, deferential in his behaviour +to his superiors, majestic in his deportment to the messengers. +(Cheers.) When he bears this merited testimony to the excellent +qualities of his friend Dobble, what can he say in approaching such +a subject as Mrs. Dobble? Is it requisite for him to expatiate +on the qualities of that amiable woman? No; he will spare his +friend Dobble’s feelings; he will spare the feelings of his friend—if +he will allow him to have the honour of calling him so—Mr. Dobble, +junior. (Here Mr. Dobble, junior, who has been previously distending +his mouth to a considerable width, by thrusting a particularly fine +orange into that feature, suspends operations, and assumes a proper +appearance of intense melancholy). He will simply say—and +he is quite certain it is a sentiment in which all who hear him will +readily concur—that his friend Dobble is as superior to any man +he ever knew, as Mrs. Dobble is far beyond any woman he ever saw (except +her daughters); and he will conclude by proposing their worthy ‘Host +and Hostess, and may they live to enjoy many more new years!’</p> +<p>The toast is drunk with acclamation; Dobble returns thanks, and the +whole party rejoin the ladies in the drawing-room. Young men who +were too bashful to dance before supper, find tongues and partners; +the musicians exhibit unequivocal symptoms of having drunk the new year +in, while the company were out; and dancing is kept up, until far in +the first morning of the new year.</p> +<p>We have scarcely written the last word of the previous sentence, +when the first stroke of twelve, peals from the neighbouring churches. +There certainly—we must confess it now—is something awful +in the sound. Strictly speaking, it may not be more impressive +now, than at any other time; for the hours steal as swiftly on, at other +periods, and their flight is little heeded. But, we measure man’s +life by years, and it is a solemn knell that warns us we have passed +another of the landmarks which stands between us and the grave. +Disguise it as we may, the reflection will force itself on our minds, +that when the next bell announces the arrival of a new year, we may +be insensible alike of the timely warning we have so often neglected, +and of all the warm feelings that glow within us now.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Samuel Wilkins was a carpenter, a journeyman carpenter of small +dimensions, decidedly below the middle size—bordering, perhaps, +upon the dwarfish. His face was round and shining, and his hair +carefully twisted into the outer corner of each eye, till it formed +a variety of that description of semi-curls, usually known as ‘aggerawators.’ +His earnings were all-sufficient for his wants, varying from eighteen +shillings to one pound five, weekly—his manner undeniable—his +sabbath waistcoats dazzling. No wonder that, with these qualifications, +Samuel Wilkins found favour in the eyes of the other sex: many women +have been captivated by far less substantial qualifications. But, +Samuel was proof against their blandishments, until at length his eyes +rested on those of a Being for whom, from that time forth, he felt fate +had destined him. He came, and conquered—proposed, and was +accepted—loved, and was beloved. Mr. Wilkins ‘kept +company’ with Jemima Evans.</p> +<p>Miss Evans (or Ivins, to adopt the pronunciation most in vogue with +her circle of acquaintance) had adopted in early life the useful pursuit +of shoe-binding, to which she had afterwards superadded the occupation +of a straw-bonnet maker. Herself, her maternal parent, and two +sisters, formed an harmonious quartett in the most secluded portion +of Camden-town; and here it was that Mr. Wilkins presented himself, +one Monday afternoon, in his best attire, with his face more shining +and his waistcoat more bright than either had ever appeared before. +The family were just going to tea, and were <i>so</i> glad to see him. +It was quite a little feast; two ounces of seven-and-sixpenny green, +and a quarter of a pound of the best fresh; and Mr. Wilkins had brought +a pint of shrimps, neatly folded up in a clean belcher, to give a zest +to the meal, and propitiate Mrs. Ivins. Jemima was ‘cleaning +herself’ up-stairs; so Mr. Samuel Wilkins sat down and talked +domestic economy with Mrs. Ivins, whilst the two youngest Miss Ivinses +poked bits of lighted brown paper between the bars under the kettle, +to make the water boil for tea.</p> +<p>‘I wos a thinking,’ said Mr. Samuel Wilkins, during a +pause in the conversation—‘I wos a thinking of taking J’mima +to the Eagle to-night.’—‘O my!’ exclaimed Mrs. +Ivins. ‘Lor! how nice!’ said the youngest Miss Ivins. +‘Well, I declare!’ added the youngest Miss Ivins but one. +‘Tell J’mima to put on her white muslin, Tilly,’ screamed +Mrs. Ivins, with motherly anxiety; and down came J’mima herself +soon afterwards in a white muslin gown carefully hooked and eyed, a +little red shawl, plentifully pinned, a white straw bonnet trimmed with +red ribbons, a small necklace, a large pair of bracelets, Denmark satin +shoes, and open-worked stockings; white cotton gloves on her fingers, +and a cambric pocket-handkerchief, carefully folded up, in her hand—all +quite genteel and ladylike. And away went Miss J’mima Ivins +and Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and a dress-cane, with a gilt knob at the top, +to the admiration and envy of the street in general, and to the high +gratification of Mrs. Ivins, and the two youngest Miss Ivinses in particular. +They had no sooner turned into the Pancras-road, than who should Miss +J’mima Ivins stumble upon, by the most fortunate accident in the +world, but a young lady as she knew, with <i>her</i> young man!—And +it is so strange how things do turn out sometimes—they were actually +going to the Eagle too. So Mr. Samuel Wilkins was introduced to +Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s young man, and they all +walked on together, talking, and laughing, and joking away like anything; +and when they got as far as Pentonville, Miss Ivins’s friend’s +young man <i>would</i> have the ladies go into the Crown, to taste some +shrub, which, after a great blushing and giggling, and hiding of faces +in elaborate pocket-handkerchiefs, they consented to do. Having +tasted it once, they were easily prevailed upon to taste it again; and +they sat out in the garden tasting shrub, and looking at the Busses +alternately, till it was just the proper time to go to the Eagle; and +then they resumed their journey, and walked very fast, for fear they +should lose the beginning of the concert in the Rotunda.</p> +<p>‘How ev’nly!’ said Miss J’mima Ivins, and +Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend, both at once, when they had +passed the gate and were fairly inside the gardens. There were +the walks, beautifully gravelled and planted—and the refreshment-boxes, +painted and ornamented like so many snuff-boxes—and the variegated +lamps shedding their rich light upon the company’s heads—and +the place for dancing ready chalked for the company’s feet—and +a Moorish band playing at one end of the gardens—and an opposition +military band playing away at the other. Then, the waiters were +rushing to and fro with glasses of negus, and glasses of brandy-and-water, +and bottles of ale, and bottles of stout; and ginger-beer was going +off in one place, and practical jokes were going on in another; and +people were crowding to the door of the Rotunda; and in short the whole +scene was, as Miss J’mima Ivins, inspired by the novelty, or the +shrub, or both, observed—‘one of dazzling excitement.’ +As to the concert-room, never was anything half so splendid. There +was an orchestra for the singers, all paint, gilding, and plate-glass; +and such an organ! Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s +young man whispered it had cost ‘four hundred pound,’ which +Mr. Samuel Wilkins said was ‘not dear neither;’ an opinion +in which the ladies perfectly coincided. The audience were seated +on elevated benches round the room, and crowded into every part of it; +and everybody was eating and drinking as comfortably as possible. +Just before the concert commenced, Mr. Samuel Wilkins ordered two glasses +of rum-and-water ‘warm with—’ and two slices of lemon, +for himself and the other young man, together with ‘a pint o’ +sherry wine for the ladies, and some sweet carraway-seed biscuits;’ +and they would have been quite comfortable and happy, only a strange +gentleman with large whiskers <i>would</i> stare at Miss J’mima +Ivins, and another gentleman in a plaid waistcoat <i>would</i> wink +at Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend; on which Miss Jemima Ivins’s +friend’s young man exhibited symptoms of boiling over, and began +to mutter about ‘people’s imperence,’ and ‘swells +out o’ luck;’ and to intimate, in oblique terms, a vague +intention of knocking somebody’s head off; which he was only prevented +from announcing more emphatically, by both Miss J’mima Ivins and +her friend threatening to faint away on the spot if he said another +word.</p> +<p>The concert commenced—overture on the organ. ‘How +solemn!’ exclaimed Miss J’mima Ivins, glancing, perhaps +unconsciously, at the gentleman with the whiskers. Mr. Samuel +Wilkins, who had been muttering apart for some time past, as if he were +holding a confidential conversation with the gilt knob of the dress-cane, +breathed hard-breathing vengeance, perhaps,—but said nothing. +‘The soldier tired,’ Miss Somebody in white satin. +‘Ancore!’ cried Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend. +‘Ancore!’ shouted the gentleman in the plaid waistcoat immediately, +hammering the table with a stout-bottle. Miss J’mima Ivins’s +friend’s young man eyed the man behind the waistcoat from head +to foot, and cast a look of interrogative contempt towards Mr. Samuel +Wilkins. Comic song, accompanied on the organ. Miss J’mima +Ivins was convulsed with laughter—so was the man with the whiskers. +Everything the ladies did, the plaid waistcoat and whiskers did, by +way of expressing unity of sentiment and congeniality of soul; and Miss +J’mima Ivins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend, grew +lively and talkative, as Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s +friend’s young man, grew morose and surly in inverse proportion.</p> +<p>Now, if the matter had ended here, the little party might soon have +recovered their former equanimity; but Mr. Samuel Wilkins and his friend +began to throw looks of defiance upon the waistcoat and whiskers. +And the waistcoat and whiskers, by way of intimating the slight degree +in which they were affected by the looks aforesaid, bestowed glances +of increased admiration upon Miss J’mima Ivins and friend. +The concert and vaudeville concluded, they promenaded the gardens. +The waistcoat and whiskers did the same; and made divers remarks complimentary +to the ankles of Miss J’mima Ivins and friend, in an audible tone. +At length, not satisfied with these numerous atrocities, they actually +came up and asked Miss J’mima Ivins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s +friend, to dance, without taking no more notice of Mr. Samuel Wilkins, +and Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s young man, than if +they was nobody!</p> +<p>‘What do you mean by that, scoundrel!’ exclaimed Mr. +Samuel Wilkins, grasping the gilt-knobbed dress-cane firmly in his right +hand. ‘What’s the matter with <i>you</i>, you little +humbug?’ replied the whiskers. ‘How dare you insult +me and my friend?’ inquired the friend’s young man. +‘You and your friend be hanged!’ responded the waistcoat. +‘Take that,’ exclaimed Mr. Samuel Wilkins. The ferrule +of the gilt-knobbed dress-cane was visible for an instant, and then +the light of the variegated lamps shone brightly upon it as it whirled +into the air, cane and all. ‘Give it him,’ said the +waistcoat. ‘Horficer!’ screamed the ladies. +Miss J’mima Ivins’s beau, and the friend’s young man, +lay gasping on the gravel, and the waistcoat and whiskers were seen +no more.</p> +<p>Miss J’mima Ivins and friend being conscious that the affray +was in no slight degree attributable to themselves, of course went into +hysterics forthwith; declared themselves the most injured of women; +exclaimed, in incoherent ravings, that they had been suspected—wrongfully +suspected—oh! that they should ever have lived to see the day—and +so forth; suffered a relapse every time they opened their eyes and saw +their unfortunate little admirers; and were carried to their respective +abodes in a hackney-coach, and a state of insensibility, compounded +of shrub, sherry, and excitement.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—THE PARLOUR ORATOR</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We had been lounging one evening, down Oxford-street, Holborn, Cheapside, +Coleman-street, Finsbury-square, and so on, with the intention of returning +westward, by Pentonville and the New-road, when we began to feel rather +thirsty, and disposed to rest for five or ten minutes. So, we +turned back towards an old, quiet, decent public-house, which we remembered +to have passed but a moment before (it was not far from the City-road), +for the purpose of solacing ourself with a glass of ale. The house +was none of your stuccoed, French-polished, illuminated palaces, but +a modest public-house of the old school, with a little old bar, and +a little old landlord, who, with a wife and daughter of the same pattern, +was comfortably seated in the bar aforesaid—a snug little room +with a cheerful fire, protected by a large screen: from behind which +the young lady emerged on our representing our inclination for a glass +of ale.</p> +<p>‘Won’t you walk into the parlour, sir?’ said the +young lady, in seductive tones.</p> +<p>‘You had better walk into the parlour, sir,’ said the +little old landlord, throwing his chair back, and looking round one +side of the screen, to survey our appearance.</p> +<p>‘You had much better step into the parlour, sir,’ said +the little old lady, popping out her head, on the other side of the +screen.</p> +<p>We cast a slight glance around, as if to express our ignorance of +the locality so much recommended. The little old landlord observed +it; bustled out of the small door of the small bar; and forthwith ushered +us into the parlour itself.</p> +<p>It was an ancient, dark-looking room, with oaken wainscoting, a sanded +floor, and a high mantel-piece. The walls were ornamented with +three or four old coloured prints in black frames, each print representing +a naval engagement, with a couple of men-of-war banging away at each +other most vigorously, while another vessel or two were blowing up in +the distance, and the foreground presented a miscellaneous collection +of broken masts and blue legs sticking up out of the water. Depending +from the ceiling in the centre of the room, were a gas-light and bell-pull; +on each side were three or four long narrow tables, behind which was +a thickly-planted row of those slippery, shiny-looking wooden chairs, +peculiar to hostelries of this description. The monotonous appearance +of the sanded boards was relieved by an occasional spittoon; and a triangular +pile of those useful articles adorned the two upper corners of the apartment.</p> +<p>At the furthest table, nearest the fire, with his face towards the +door at the bottom of the room, sat a stoutish man of about forty, whose +short, stiff, black hair curled closely round a broad high forehead, +and a face to which something besides water and exercise had communicated +a rather inflamed appearance. He was smoking a cigar, with his +eyes fixed on the ceiling, and had that confident oracular air which +marked him as the leading politician, general authority, and universal +anecdote-relater, of the place. He had evidently just delivered +himself of something very weighty; for the remainder of the company +were puffing at their respective pipes and cigars in a kind of solemn +abstraction, as if quite overwhelmed with the magnitude of the subject +recently under discussion.</p> +<p>On his right hand sat an elderly gentleman with a white head, and +broad-brimmed brown hat; on his left, a sharp-nosed, light-haired man +in a brown surtout reaching nearly to his heels, who took a whiff at +his pipe, and an admiring glance at the red-faced man, alternately.</p> +<p>‘Very extraordinary!’ said the light-haired man after +a pause of five minutes. A murmur of assent ran through the company.</p> +<p>‘Not at all extraordinary—not at all,’ said the +red-faced man, awakening suddenly from his reverie, and turning upon +the light-haired man, the moment he had spoken.</p> +<p>‘Why should it be extraordinary?—why is it extraordinary?—prove +it to be extraordinary!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, if you come to that—’ said the light-haired +man, meekly.</p> +<p>‘Come to that!’ ejaculated the man with the red face; +‘but we <i>must</i> come to that. We stand, in these times, +upon a calm elevation of intellectual attainment, and not in the dark +recess of mental deprivation. Proof, is what I require—proof, +and not assertions, in these stirring times. Every gen’lem’n +that knows me, knows what was the nature and effect of my observations, +when it was in the contemplation of the Old-street Suburban Representative +Discovery Society, to recommend a candidate for that place in Cornwall +there—I forget the name of it. “Mr. Snobee,” +said Mr. Wilson, “is a fit and proper person to represent the +borough in Parliament.” “Prove it,” says I. +“He is a friend to Reform,” says Mr. Wilson. “Prove +it,” says I. “The abolitionist of the national debt, +the unflinching opponent of pensions, the uncompromising advocate of +the negro, the reducer of sinecures and the duration of Parliaments; +the extender of nothing but the suffrages of the people,” says +Mr. Wilson. “Prove it,” says I. “His acts +prove it,” says he. “Prove <i>them</i>,” says +I.</p> +<p>‘And he could not prove them,’ said the red-faced man, +looking round triumphantly; ‘and the borough didn’t have +him; and if you carried this principle to the full extent, you’d +have no debt, no pensions, no sinecures, no negroes, no nothing. +And then, standing upon an elevation of intellectual attainment, and +having reached the summit of popular prosperity, you might bid defiance +to the nations of the earth, and erect yourselves in the proud confidence +of wisdom and superiority. This is my argument—this always +has been my argument—and if I was a Member of the House of Commons +to-morrow, I’d make ’em shake in their shoes with it. +And the red-faced man, having struck the table very hard with his clenched +fist, to add weight to the declaration, smoked away like a brewery.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said the sharp-nosed man, in a very slow and +soft voice, addressing the company in general, ‘I always do say, +that of all the gentlemen I have the pleasure of meeting in this room, +there is not one whose conversation I like to hear so much as Mr. Rogers’s, +or who is such improving company.’</p> +<p>‘Improving company!’ said Mr. Rogers, for that, it seemed, +was the name of the red-faced man. ‘You may say I am improving +company, for I’ve improved you all to some purpose; though as +to my conversation being as my friend Mr. Ellis here describes it, that +is not for me to say anything about. You, gentlemen, are the best +judges on that point; but this I will say, when I came into this parish, +and first used this room, ten years ago, I don’t believe there +was one man in it, who knew he was a slave—and now you all know +it, and writhe under it. Inscribe that upon my tomb, and I am +satisfied.’</p> +<p>‘Why, as to inscribing it on your tomb,’ said a little +greengrocer with a chubby face, ‘of course you can have anything +chalked up, as you likes to pay for, so far as it relates to yourself +and your affairs; but, when you come to talk about slaves, and that +there abuse, you’d better keep it in the family, ’cos I +for one don’t like to be called them names, night after night.’</p> +<p>‘You <i>are</i> a slave,’ said the red-faced man, ‘and +the most pitiable of all slaves.’</p> +<p>‘Werry hard if I am,’ interrupted the greengrocer, ‘for +I got no good out of the twenty million that was paid for ’mancipation, +anyhow.’</p> +<p>‘A willing slave,’ ejaculated the red-faced man, getting +more red with eloquence, and contradiction—‘resigning the +dearest birthright of your children—neglecting the sacred call +of Liberty—who, standing imploringly before you, appeals to the +warmest feelings of your heart, and points to your helpless infants, +but in vain.’</p> +<p>‘Prove it,’ said the greengrocer.</p> +<p>‘Prove it!’ sneered the man with the red face. +‘What! bending beneath the yoke of an insolent and factious oligarchy; +bowed down by the domination of cruel laws; groaning beneath tyranny +and oppression on every hand, at every side, and in every corner. +Prove it!—’ The red-faced man abruptly broke off, +sneered melo-dramatically, and buried his countenance and his indignation +together, in a quart pot.</p> +<p>‘Ah, to be sure, Mr. Rogers,’ said a stout broker in +a large waistcoat, who had kept his eyes fixed on this luminary all +the time he was speaking. ‘Ah, to be sure,’ said the +broker with a sigh, ‘that’s the point.’</p> +<p>‘Of course, of course,’ said divers members of the company, +who understood almost as much about the matter as the broker himself.</p> +<p>‘You had better let him alone, Tommy,’ said the broker, +by way of advice to the little greengrocer; ‘he can tell what’s +o’clock by an eight-day, without looking at the minute hand, he +can. Try it on, on some other suit; it won’t do with him, +Tommy.’</p> +<p>‘What is a man?’ continued the red-faced specimen of +the species, jerking his hat indignantly from its peg on the wall. +‘What is an Englishman? Is he to be trampled upon by every +oppressor? Is he to be knocked down at everybody’s bidding? +What’s freedom? Not a standing army. What’s +a standing army? Not freedom. What’s general happiness? +Not universal misery. Liberty ain’t the window-tax, is it? +The Lords ain’t the Commons, are they?’ And the red-faced +man, gradually bursting into a radiating sentence, in which such adjectives +as ‘dastardly,’ ‘oppressive,’ ‘violent,’ +and ‘sanguinary,’ formed the most conspicuous words, knocked +his hat indignantly over his eyes, left the room, and slammed the door +after him.</p> +<p>‘Wonderful man!’ said he of the sharp nose.</p> +<p>‘Splendid speaker!’ added the broker.</p> +<p>‘Great power!’ said everybody but the greengrocer. +And as they said it, the whole party shook their heads mysteriously, +and one by one retired, leaving us alone in the old parlour.</p> +<p>If we had followed the established precedent in all such instances, +we should have fallen into a fit of musing, without delay. The +ancient appearance of the room—the old panelling of the wall—the +chimney blackened with smoke and age—would have carried us back +a hundred years at least, and we should have gone dreaming on, until +the pewter-pot on the table, or the little beer-chiller on the fire, +had started into life, and addressed to us a long story of days gone +by. But, by some means or other, we were not in a romantic humour; +and although we tried very hard to invest the furniture with vitality, +it remained perfectly unmoved, obstinate, and sullen. Being thus +reduced to the unpleasant necessity of musing about ordinary matters, +our thoughts reverted to the red-faced man, and his oratorical display.</p> +<p>A numerous race are these red-faced men; there is not a parlour, +or club-room, or benefit society, or humble party of any kind, without +its red-faced man. Weak-pated dolts they are, and a great deal +of mischief they do to their cause, however good. So, just to +hold a pattern one up, to know the others by, we took his likeness at +once, and put him in here. And that is the reason why we have +written this paper.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—THE HOSPITAL PATIENT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In our rambles through the streets of London after evening has set +in, we often pause beneath the windows of some public hospital, and +picture to ourself the gloomy and mournful scenes that are passing within. +The sudden moving of a taper as its feeble ray shoots from window to +window, until its light gradually disappears, as if it were carried +farther back into the room to the bedside of some suffering patient, +is enough to awaken a whole crowd of reflections; the mere glimmering +of the low-burning lamps, which, when all other habitations are wrapped +in darkness and slumber, denote the chamber where so many forms are +writhing with pain, or wasting with disease, is sufficient to check +the most boisterous merriment.</p> +<p>Who can tell the anguish of those weary hours, when the only sound +the sick man hears, is the disjointed wanderings of some feverish slumberer +near him, the low moan of pain, or perhaps the muttered, long-forgotten +prayer of a dying man? Who, but they who have felt it, can imagine +the sense of loneliness and desolation which must be the portion of +those who in the hour of dangerous illness are left to be tended by +strangers; for what hands, be they ever so gentle, can wipe the clammy +brow, or smooth the restless bed, like those of mother, wife, or child?</p> +<p>Impressed with these thoughts, we have turned away, through the nearly-deserted +streets; and the sight of the few miserable creatures still hovering +about them, has not tended to lessen the pain which such meditations +awaken. The hospital is a refuge and resting-place for hundreds, +who but for such institutions must die in the streets and doorways; +but what can be the feelings of some outcasts when they are stretched +on the bed of sickness with scarcely a hope of recovery? The wretched +woman who lingers about the pavement, hours after midnight, and the +miserable shadow of a man—the ghastly remnant that want and drunkenness +have left—which crouches beneath a window-ledge, to sleep where +there is some shelter from the rain, have little to bind them to life, +but what have they to look back upon, in death? What are the unwonted +comforts of a roof and a bed, to them, when the recollections of a whole +life of debasement stalk before them; when repentance seems a mockery, +and sorrow comes too late?</p> +<p>About a twelvemonth ago, as we were strolling through Covent-garden +(we had been thinking about these things over-night), we were attracted +by the very prepossessing appearance of a pickpocket, who having declined +to take the trouble of walking to the Police-office, on the ground that +he hadn’t the slightest wish to go there at all, was being conveyed +thither in a wheelbarrow, to the huge delight of a crowd.</p> +<p>Somehow, we never can resist joining a crowd, so we turned back with +the mob, and entered the office, in company with our friend the pickpocket, +a couple of policemen, and as many dirty-faced spectators as could squeeze +their way in.</p> +<p>There was a powerful, ill-looking young fellow at the bar, who was +undergoing an examination, on the very common charge of having, on the +previous night, ill-treated a woman, with whom he lived in some court +hard by. Several witnesses bore testimony to acts of the grossest +brutality; and a certificate was read from the house-surgeon of a neighbouring +hospital, describing the nature of the injuries the woman had received, +and intimating that her recovery was extremely doubtful.</p> +<p>Some question appeared to have been raised about the identity of +the prisoner; for when it was agreed that the two magistrates should +visit the hospital at eight o’clock that evening, to take her +deposition, it was settled that the man should be taken there also. +He turned pale at this, and we saw him clench the bar very hard when +the order was given. He was removed directly afterwards, and he +spoke not a word.</p> +<p>We felt an irrepressible curiosity to witness this interview, although +it is hard to tell why, at this instant, for we knew it must be a painful +one. It was no very difficult matter for us to gain permission, +and we obtained it.</p> +<p>The prisoner, and the officer who had him in custody, were already +at the hospital when we reached it, and waiting the arrival of the magistrates +in a small room below stairs. The man was handcuffed, and his +hat was pulled forward over his eyes. It was easy to see, though, +by the whiteness of his countenance, and the constant twitching of the +muscles of his face, that he dreaded what was to come. After a +short interval, the magistrates and clerk were bowed in by the house-surgeon +and a couple of young men who smelt very strong of tobacco-smoke—they +were introduced as ‘dressers’—and after one magistrate +had complained bitterly of the cold, and the other of the absence of +any news in the evening paper, it was announced that the patient was +prepared; and we were conducted to the ‘casualty ward’ in +which she was lying.</p> +<p>The dim light which burnt in the spacious room, increased rather +than diminished the ghastly appearance of the hapless creatures in the +beds, which were ranged in two long rows on either side. In one +bed, lay a child enveloped in bandages, with its body half-consumed +by fire; in another, a female, rendered hideous by some dreadful accident, +was wildly beating her clenched fists on the coverlet, in pain; on a +third, there lay stretched a young girl, apparently in the heavy stupor +often the immediate precursor of death: her face was stained with blood, +and her breast and arms were bound up in folds of linen. Two or +three of the beds were empty, and their recent occupants were sitting +beside them, but with faces so wan, and eyes so bright and glassy, that +it was fearful to meet their gaze. On every face was stamped the +expression of anguish and suffering.</p> +<p>The object of the visit was lying at the upper end of the room. +She was a fine young woman of about two or three and twenty. Her +long black hair, which had been hastily cut from near the wounds on +her head, streamed over the pillow in jagged and matted locks. +Her face bore deep marks of the ill-usage she had received: her hand +was pressed upon her side, as if her chief pain were there; her breathing +was short and heavy; and it was plain to see that she was dying fast. +She murmured a few words in reply to the magistrate’s inquiry +whether she was in great pain; and, having been raised on the pillow +by the nurse, looked vacantly upon the strange countenances that surrounded +her bed. The magistrate nodded to the officer, to bring the man +forward. He did so, and stationed him at the bedside. The +girl looked on with a wild and troubled expression of face; but her +sight was dim, and she did not know him.</p> +<p>‘Take off his hat,’ said the magistrate. The officer +did as he was desired, and the man’s features were disclosed.</p> +<p>The girl started up, with an energy quite preternatural; the fire +gleamed in her heavy eyes, and the blood rushed to her pale and sunken +cheeks. It was a convulsive effort. She fell back upon her +pillow, and covering her scarred and bruised face with her hands, burst +into tears. The man cast an anxious look towards her, but otherwise +appeared wholly unmoved. After a brief pause the nature of the +errand was explained, and the oath tendered.</p> +<p>‘Oh, no, gentlemen,’ said the girl, raising herself once +more, and folding her hands together; ‘no, gentlemen, for God’s +sake! I did it myself—it was nobody’s fault—it +was an accident. He didn’t hurt me; he wouldn’t for +all the world. Jack, dear Jack, you know you wouldn’t!’</p> +<p>Her sight was fast failing her, and her hand groped over the bedclothes +in search of his. Brute as the man was, he was not prepared for +this. He turned his face from the bed, and sobbed. The girl’s +colour changed, and her breathing grew more difficult. She was +evidently dying.</p> +<p>‘We respect the feelings which prompt you to this,’ said +the gentleman who had spoken first, ‘but let me warn you, not +to persist in what you know to be untrue, until it is too late. +It cannot save him.’</p> +<p>‘Jack,’ murmured the girl, laying her hand upon his arm, +‘they shall not persuade me to swear your life away. He +didn’t do it, gentlemen. He never hurt me.’ +She grasped his arm tightly, and added, in a broken whisper, ‘I +hope God Almighty will forgive me all the wrong I have done, and the +life I have led. God bless you, Jack. Some kind gentleman +take my love to my poor old father. Five years ago, he said he +wished I had died a child. Oh, I wish I had! I wish I had!’</p> +<p>The nurse bent over the girl for a few seconds, and then drew the +sheet over her face. It covered a corpse.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII—THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. JOHN DOUNCE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>If we had to make a classification of society, there is a particular +kind of men whom we should immediately set down under the head of ‘Old +Boys;’ and a column of most extensive dimensions the old boys +would require. To what precise causes the rapid advance of old-boy +population is to be traced, we are unable to determine. It would +be an interesting and curious speculation, but, as we have not sufficient +space to devote to it here, we simply state the fact that the numbers +of the old boys have been gradually augmenting within the last few years, +and that they are at this moment alarmingly on the increase.</p> +<p>Upon a general review of the subject, and without considering it +minutely in detail, we should be disposed to subdivide the old boys +into two distinct classes—the gay old boys, and the steady old +boys. The gay old boys, are paunchy old men in the disguise of +young ones, who frequent the Quadrant and Regent-street in the day-time: +the theatres (especially theatres under lady management) at night; and +who assume all the foppishness and levity of boys, without the excuse +of youth or inexperience. The steady old boys are certain stout +old gentlemen of clean appearance, who are always to be seen in the +same taverns, at the same hours every evening, smoking and drinking +in the same company.</p> +<p>There was once a fine collection of old boys to be seen round the +circular table at Offley’s every night, between the hours of half-past +eight and half-past eleven. We have lost sight of them for some +time. There were, and may be still, for aught we know, two splendid +specimens in full blossom at the Rainbow Tavern in Fleet-street, who +always used to sit in the box nearest the fireplace, and smoked long +cherry-stick pipes which went under the table, with the bowls resting +on the floor. Grand old boys they were—fat, red-faced, white-headed +old fellows—always there—one on one side the table, and +the other opposite—puffing and drinking away in great state. +Everybody knew them, and it was supposed by some people that they were +both immortal.</p> +<p>Mr. John Dounce was an old boy of the latter class (we don’t +mean immortal, but steady), a retired glove and braces maker, a widower, +resident with three daughters—all grown up, and all unmarried—in +Cursitor-street, Chancery-lane. He was a short, round, large-faced, +tubbish sort of man, with a broad-brimmed hat, and a square coat; and +had that grave, but confident, kind of roll, peculiar to old boys in +general. Regular as clockwork—breakfast at nine—dress +and tittivate a little—down to the Sir Somebody’s Head—a +glass of ale and the paper—come back again, and take daughters +out for a walk—dinner at three—glass of grog and pipe—nap—tea—little +walk—Sir Somebody’s Head again—capital house—delightful +evenings. There were Mr. Harris, the law-stationer, and Mr. Jennings, +the robe-maker (two jolly young fellows like himself), and Jones, the +barrister’s clerk—rum fellow that Jones—capital company—full +of anecdote!—and there they sat every night till just ten minutes +before twelve, drinking their brandy-and-water, and smoking their pipes, +and telling stories, and enjoying themselves with a kind of solemn joviality +particularly edifying.</p> +<p>Sometimes Jones would propose a half-price visit to Drury Lane or +Covent Garden, to see two acts of a five-act play, and a new farce, +perhaps, or a ballet, on which occasions the whole four of them went +together: none of your hurrying and nonsense, but having their brandy-and-water +first, comfortably, and ordering a steak and some oysters for their +supper against they came back, and then walking coolly into the pit, +when the ‘rush’ had gone in, as all sensible people do, +and did when Mr. Dounce was a young man, except when the celebrated +Master Betty was at the height of his popularity, and then, sir,—then—Mr. +Dounce perfectly well remembered getting a holiday from business; and +going to the pit doors at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and +waiting there, till six in the afternoon, with some sandwiches in a +pocket-handkerchief and some wine in a phial; and fainting after all, +with the heat and fatigue, before the play began; in which situation +he was lifted out of the pit, into one of the dress boxes, sir, by five +of the finest women of that day, sir, who compassionated his situation +and administered restoratives, and sent a black servant, six foot high, +in blue and silver livery, next morning with their compliments, and +to know how he found himself, sir—by G-! Between the acts +Mr. Dounce and Mr. Harris, and Mr. Jennings, used to stand up, and look +round the house, and Jones—knowing fellow that Jones—knew +everybody—pointed out the fashionable and celebrated Lady So-and-So +in the boxes, at the mention of whose name Mr. Dounce, after brushing +up his hair, and adjusting his neckerchief, would inspect the aforesaid +Lady So-and-So through an immense glass, and remark, either, that she +was a ‘fine woman—very fine woman, indeed,’ or that +‘there might be a little more of her, eh, Jones?’ +Just as the case might happen to be. When the dancing began, John +Dounce and the other old boys were particularly anxious to see what +was going forward on the stage, and Jones—wicked dog that Jones—whispered +little critical remarks into the ears of John Dounce, which John Dounce +retailed to Mr. Harris and Mr. Harris to Mr. Jennings; and then they +all four laughed, until the tears ran down out of their eyes.</p> +<p>When the curtain fell, they walked back together, two and two, to +the steaks and oysters; and when they came to the second glass of brandy-and-water, +Jones—hoaxing scamp, that Jones—used to recount how he had +observed a lady in white feathers, in one of the pit boxes, gazing intently +on Mr. Dounce all the evening, and how he had caught Mr. Dounce, whenever +he thought no one was looking at him, bestowing ardent looks of intense +devotion on the lady in return; on which Mr. Harris and Mr. Jennings +used to laugh very heartily, and John Dounce more heartily than either +of them, acknowledging, however, that the time <i>had</i> been when +he <i>might</i> have done such things; upon which Mr. Jones used to +poke him in the ribs, and tell him he had been a sad dog in his time, +which John Dounce with chuckles confessed. And after Mr. Harris +and Mr. Jennings had preferred their claims to the character of having +been sad dogs too, they separated harmoniously, and trotted home.</p> +<p>The decrees of Fate, and the means by which they are brought about, +are mysterious and inscrutable. John Dounce had led this life +for twenty years and upwards, without wish for change, or care for variety, +when his whole social system was suddenly upset and turned completely +topsy-turvy—not by an earthquake, or some other dreadful convulsion +of nature, as the reader would be inclined to suppose, but by the simple +agency of an oyster; and thus it happened.</p> +<p>Mr. John Dounce was returning one night from the Sir Somebody’s +Head, to his residence in Cursitor-street—not tipsy, but rather +excited, for it was Mr. Jennings’s birthday, and they had had +a brace of partridges for supper, and a brace of extra glasses afterwards, +and Jones had been more than ordinarily amusing—when his eyes +rested on a newly-opened oyster-shop, on a magnificent scale, with natives +laid, one deep, in circular marble basins in the windows, together with +little round barrels of oysters directed to Lords and Baronets, and +Colonels and Captains, in every part of the habitable globe.</p> +<p>Behind the natives were the barrels, and behind the barrels was a +young lady of about five-and-twenty, all in blue, and all alone—splendid +creature, charming face and lovely figure! It is difficult to +say whether Mr. John Dounce’s red countenance, illuminated as +it was by the flickering gas-light in the window before which he paused, +excited the lady’s risibility, or whether a natural exuberance +of animal spirits proved too much for that staidness of demeanour which +the forms of society rather dictatorially prescribe. But certain +it is, that the lady smiled; then put her finger upon her lip, with +a striking recollection of what was due to herself; and finally retired, +in oyster-like bashfulness, to the very back of the counter. The +sad-dog sort of feeling came strongly upon John Dounce: he lingered—the +lady in blue made no sign. He coughed—still she came not. +He entered the shop.</p> +<p>‘Can you open me an oyster, my dear?’ said Mr. John Dounce.</p> +<p>‘Dare say I can, sir,’ replied the lady in blue, with +playfulness. And Mr. John Dounce eat one oyster, and then looked +at the young lady, and then eat another, and then squeezed the young +lady’s hand as she was opening the third, and so forth, until +he had devoured a dozen of those at eightpence in less than no time.</p> +<p>‘Can you open me half-a-dozen more, my dear?’ inquired +Mr. John Dounce.</p> +<p>‘I’ll see what I can do for you, sir,’ replied +the young lady in blue, even more bewitchingly than before; and Mr. +John Dounce eat half-a-dozen more of those at eightpence.</p> +<p>‘You couldn’t manage to get me a glass of brandy-and-water, +my dear, I suppose?’ said Mr. John Dounce, when he had finished +the oysters: in a tone which clearly implied his supposition that she +could.</p> +<p>‘I’ll see, sir,’ said the young lady: and away +she ran out of the shop, and down the street, her long auburn ringlets +shaking in the wind in the most enchanting manner; and back she came +again, tripping over the coal-cellar lids like a whipping-top, with +a tumbler of brandy-and-water, which Mr. John Dounce insisted on her +taking a share of, as it was regular ladies’ grog—hot, strong, +sweet, and plenty of it.</p> +<p>So, the young lady sat down with Mr. John Dounce, in a little red +box with a green curtain, and took a small sip of the brandy-and-water, +and a small look at Mr. John Dounce, and then turned her head away, +and went through various other serio-pantomimic fascinations, which +forcibly reminded Mr. John Dounce of the first time he courted his first +wife, and which made him feel more affectionate than ever; in pursuance +of which affection, and actuated by which feeling, Mr. John Dounce sounded +the young lady on her matrimonial engagements, when the young lady denied +having formed any such engagements at all—she couldn’t abear +the men, they were such deceivers; thereupon Mr. John Dounce inquired +whether this sweeping condemnation was meant to include other than very +young men; on which the young lady blushed deeply—at least she +turned away her head, and said Mr. John Dounce had made her blush, so +of course she <i>did</i> blush—and Mr. John Dounce was a long +time drinking the brandy-and-water; and, at last, John Dounce went home +to bed, and dreamed of his first wife, and his second wife, and the +young lady, and partridges, and oysters, and brandy-and-water, and disinterested +attachments.</p> +<p>The next morning, John Dounce was rather feverish with the extra +brandy-and-water of the previous night; and, partly in the hope of cooling +himself with an oyster, and partly with the view of ascertaining whether +he owed the young lady anything, or not, went back to the oyster-shop. +If the young lady had appeared beautiful by night, she was perfectly +irresistible by day; and, from this time forward, a change came over +the spirit of John Dounce’s dream. He bought shirt-pins; +wore a ring on his third finger; read poetry; bribed a cheap miniature-painter +to perpetrate a faint resemblance to a youthful face, with a curtain +over his head, six large books in the background, and an open country +in the distance (this he called his portrait); ‘went on’ +altogether in such an uproarious manner, that the three Miss Dounces +went off on small pensions, he having made the tenement in Cursitor-street +too warm to contain them; and in short, comported and demeaned himself +in every respect like an unmitigated old Saracen, as he was.</p> +<p>As to his ancient friends, the other old boys, at the Sir Somebody’s +Head, he dropped off from them by gradual degrees; for, even when he +did go there, Jones—vulgar fellow that Jones—persisted in +asking ‘when it was to be?’ and ‘whether he was to +have any gloves?’ together with other inquiries of an equally +offensive nature: at which not only Harris laughed, but Jennings also; +so, he cut the two, altogether, and attached himself solely to the blue +young lady at the smart oyster-shop.</p> +<p>Now comes the moral of the story—for it has a moral after all. +The last-mentioned young lady, having derived sufficient profit and +emolument from John Dounce’s attachment, not only refused, when +matters came to a crisis, to take him for better for worse, but expressly +declared, to use her own forcible words, that she ‘wouldn’t +have him at no price;’ and John Dounce, having lost his old friends, +alienated his relations, and rendered himself ridiculous to everybody, +made offers successively to a schoolmistress, a landlady, a feminine +tobacconist, and a housekeeper; and, being directly rejected by each +and every of them, was accepted by his cook, with whom he now lives, +a henpecked husband, a melancholy monument of antiquated misery, and +a living warning to all uxorious old boys.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII—THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. A TALE OF AMBITION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Miss Amelia Martin was pale, tallish, thin, and two-and-thirty—what +ill-natured people would call plain, and police reports interesting. +She was a milliner and dressmaker, living on her business and not above +it. If you had been a young lady in service, and had wanted Miss +Martin, as a great many young ladies in service did, you would just +have stepped up, in the evening, to number forty-seven, Drummond-street, +George-street, Euston-square, and after casting your eye on a brass +door-plate, one foot ten by one and a half, ornamented with a great +brass knob at each of the four corners, and bearing the inscription +‘Miss Martin; millinery and dressmaking, in all its branches;’ +you’d just have knocked two loud knocks at the street-door; and +down would have come Miss Martin herself, in a merino gown of the newest +fashion, black velvet bracelets on the genteelest principle, and other +little elegancies of the most approved description.</p> +<p>If Miss Martin knew the young lady who called, or if the young lady +who called had been recommended by any other young lady whom Miss Martin +knew, Miss Martin would forthwith show her up-stairs into the two-pair +front, and chat she would—<i>so</i> kind, and <i>so</i> comfortable—it +really wasn’t like a matter of business, she was so friendly; +and, then Miss Martin, after contemplating the figure and general appearance +of the young lady in service with great apparent admiration, would say +how well she would look, to be sure, in a low dress with short sleeves; +made very full in the skirts, with four tucks in the bottom; to which +the young lady in service would reply in terms expressive of her entire +concurrence in the notion, and of the virtuous indignation with which +she reflected on the tyranny of ‘Missis,’ who wouldn’t +allow a young girl to wear a short sleeve of an arternoon—no, +nor nothing smart, not even a pair of ear-rings; let alone hiding people’s +heads of hair under them frightful caps. At the termination of +this complaint, Miss Amelia Martin would distantly suggest certain dark +suspicions that some people were jealous on account of their own daughters, +and were obliged to keep their servants’ charms under, for fear +they should get married first, which was no uncommon circumstance—leastways +she had known two or three young ladies in service, who had married +a great deal better than their missises, and <i>they</i> were not very +good-looking either; and then the young lady would inform Miss Martin, +in confidence, that how one of their young ladies was engaged to a young +man and was a-going to be married, and Missis was so proud about it +there was no bearing of her; but how she needn’t hold her head +quite so high neither, for, after all, he was only a clerk. And, +after expressing due contempt for clerks in general, and the engaged +clerk in particular, and the highest opinion possible of themselves +and each other, Miss Martin and the young lady in service would bid +each other good night, in a friendly but perfectly genteel manner: and +the one went back to her ‘place,’ and the other, to her +room on the second-floor front.</p> +<p>There is no saying how long Miss Amelia Martin might have continued +this course of life; how extensive a connection she might have established +among young ladies in service; or what amount her demands upon their +quarterly receipts might have ultimately attained, had not an unforeseen +train of circumstances directed her thoughts to a sphere of action very +different from dressmaking or millinery.</p> +<p>A friend of Miss Martin’s who had long been keeping company +with an ornamental painter and decorator’s journeyman, at last +consented (on being at last asked to do so) to name the day which would +make the aforesaid journeyman a happy husband. It was a Monday +that was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials, and Miss Amelia +Martin was invited, among others, to honour the wedding-dinner with +her presence. It was a charming party; Somers-town the locality, +and a front parlour the apartment. The ornamental painter and +decorator’s journeyman had taken a house—no lodgings nor +vulgarity of that kind, but a house—four beautiful rooms, and +a delightful little washhouse at the end of the passage—which +was the most convenient thing in the world, for the bridesmaids could +sit in the front parlour and receive the company, and then run into +the little washhouse and see how the pudding and boiled pork were getting +on in the copper, and then pop back into the parlour again, as snug +and comfortable as possible. And such a parlour as it was! Beautiful +Kidderminster carpet—six bran-new cane-bottomed stained chairs—three +wine-glasses and a tumbler on each sideboard—farmer’s girl +and farmer’s boy on the mantelpiece: girl tumbling over a stile, +and boy spitting himself, on the handle of a pitchfork—long white +dimity curtains in the window—and, in short, everything on the +most genteel scale imaginable.</p> +<p>Then, the dinner. There was baked leg of mutton at the top, +boiled leg of mutton at the bottom, pair of fowls and leg of pork in +the middle; porter-pots at the corners; pepper, mustard, and vinegar +in the centre; vegetables on the floor; and plum-pudding and apple-pie +and tartlets without number: to say nothing of cheese, and celery, and +water-cresses, and all that sort of thing. As to the Company! +Miss Amelia Martin herself declared, on a subsequent occasion, that, +much as she had heard of the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s +connexion, she never could have supposed it was half so genteel. +There was his father, such a funny old gentleman—and his mother, +such a dear old lady—and his sister, such a charming girl—and +his brother, such a manly-looking young man—with such a eye! +But even all these were as nothing when compared with his musical friends, +Mr. and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph, from White Conduit, with whom the ornamental +painter’s journeyman had been fortunate enough to contract an +intimacy while engaged in decorating the concert-room of that noble +institution. To hear them sing separately, was divine, but when +they went through the tragic duet of ‘Red Ruffian, retire!’ +it was, as Miss Martin afterwards remarked, ‘thrilling.’ +And why (as Mr. Jennings Rodolph observed) why were they not engaged +at one of the patent theatres? If he was to be told that their +voices were not powerful enough to fill the House, his only reply was, +that he would back himself for any amount to fill Russell-square—a +statement in which the company, after hearing the duet, expressed their +full belief; so they all said it was shameful treatment; and both Mr. +and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph said it was shameful too; and Mr. Jennings +Rodolph looked very serious, and said he knew who his malignant opponents +were, but they had better take care how far they went, for if they irritated +him too much he had not quite made up his mind whether he wouldn’t +bring the subject before Parliament; and they all agreed that it ‘’ud +serve ’em quite right, and it was very proper that such people +should be made an example of.’ So Mr. Jennings Rodolph said +he’d think of it.</p> +<p>When the conversation resumed its former tone, Mr. Jennings Rodolph +claimed his right to call upon a lady, and the right being conceded, +trusted Miss Martin would favour the company—a proposal which +met with unanimous approbation, whereupon Miss Martin, after sundry +hesitatings and coughings, with a preparatory choke or two, and an introductory +declaration that she was frightened to death to attempt it before such +great judges of the art, commenced a species of treble chirruping containing +frequent allusions to some young gentleman of the name of Hen-e-ry, +with an occasional reference to madness and broken hearts. Mr. +Jennings Rodolph frequently interrupted the progress of the song, by +ejaculating ‘Beautiful!’—‘Charming!’—‘Brilliant!’—‘Oh! +splendid,’ &c.; and at its close the admiration of himself, +and his lady, knew no bounds.</p> +<p>‘Did you ever hear so sweet a voice, my dear?’ inquired +Mr. Jennings Rodolph of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph.</p> +<p>‘Never; indeed I never did, love,’ replied Mrs. Jennings +Rodolph.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think Miss Martin, with a little cultivation, +would be very like Signora Marra Boni, my dear?’ asked Mr. Jennings +Rodolph.</p> +<p>‘Just exactly the very thing that struck me, my love,’ +answered Mrs. Jennings Rodolph.</p> +<p>And thus the time passed away; Mr. Jennings Rodolph played tunes +on a walking-stick, and then went behind the parlour-door and gave his +celebrated imitations of actors, edge-tools, and animals; Miss Martin +sang several other songs with increased admiration every time; and even +the funny old gentleman began singing. His song had properly seven +verses, but as he couldn’t recollect more than the first one, +he sang that over seven times, apparently very much to his own personal +gratification. And then all the company sang the national anthem +with national independence—each for himself, without reference +to the other—and finally separated: all declaring that they never +had spent so pleasant an evening: and Miss Martin inwardly resolving +to adopt the advice of Mr. Jennings Rodolph, and to ‘come out’ +without delay.</p> +<p>Now, ‘coming out,’ either in acting, or singing, or society, +or facetiousness, or anything else, is all very well, and remarkably +pleasant to the individual principally concerned, if he or she can but +manage to come out with a burst, and being out, to keep out, and not +go in again; but, it does unfortunately happen that both consummations +are extremely difficult to accomplish, and that the difficulties, of +getting out at all in the first instance, and if you surmount them, +of keeping out in the second, are pretty much on a par, and no slight +ones either—and so Miss Amelia Martin shortly discovered. +It is a singular fact (there being ladies in the case) that Miss Amelia +Martin’s principal foible was vanity, and the leading characteristic +of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph an attachment to dress. Dismal wailings +were heard to issue from the second-floor front of number forty-seven, +Drummond-street, George-street, Euston-square; it was Miss Martin practising. +Half-suppressed murmurs disturbed the calm dignity of the White Conduit +orchestra at the commencement of the season. It was the appearance +of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph in full dress, that occasioned them. +Miss Martin studied incessantly—the practising was the consequence. +Mrs. Jennings Rodolph taught gratuitously now and then—the dresses +were the result.</p> +<p>Weeks passed away; the White Conduit season had begun, and progressed, +and was more than half over. The dressmaking business had fallen +off, from neglect; and its profits had dwindled away almost imperceptibly. +A benefit-night approached; Mr. Jennings Rodolph yielded to the earnest +solicitations of Miss Amelia Martin, and introduced her personally to +the ‘comic gentleman’ whose benefit it was. The comic +gentleman was all smiles and blandness—he had composed a duet, +expressly for the occasion, and Miss Martin should sing it with him. +The night arrived; there was an immense room—ninety-seven sixpenn’orths +of gin-and-water, thirty-two small glasses of brandy-and-water, five-and-twenty +bottled ales, and forty-one neguses; and the ornamental painter’s +journeyman, with his wife and a select circle of acquaintance, were +seated at one of the side-tables near the orchestra. The concert +began. Song—sentimental—by a light-haired young gentleman +in a blue coat, and bright basket buttons—[applause]. Another +song, doubtful, by another gentleman in another blue coat and more bright +basket buttons—[increased applause]. Duet, Mr. Jennings +Rodolph, and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph, ‘Red Ruffian, retire!’—[great +applause]. Solo, Miss Julia Montague (positively on this occasion +only)—‘I am a Friar’—[enthusiasm]. Original +duet, comic—Mr. H. Taplin (the comic gentleman) and Miss Martin—‘The +Time of Day.’ ‘Brayvo!—Brayvo!’ cried +the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s party, as Miss Martin +was gracefully led in by the comic gentleman. ‘Go to work, +Harry,’ cried the comic gentleman’s personal friends. +‘Tap-tap-tap,’ went the leader’s bow on the music-desk. +The symphony began, and was soon afterwards followed by a faint kind +of ventriloquial chirping, proceeding apparently from the deepest recesses +of the interior of Miss Amelia Martin. ‘Sing out’—shouted +one gentleman in a white great-coat. ‘Don’t be afraid +to put the steam on, old gal,’ exclaimed another, ‘S-s-s-s-s-s-s’-went +the five-and-twenty bottled ales. ‘Shame, shame!’ +remonstrated the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s party—‘S-s-s-s’ +went the bottled ales again, accompanied by all the gins, and a majority +of the brandies.</p> +<p>‘Turn them geese out,’ cried the ornamental painter’s +journeyman’s party, with great indignation.</p> +<p>‘Sing out,’ whispered Mr. Jennings Rodolph.</p> +<p>‘So I do,’ responded Miss Amelia Martin.</p> +<p>‘Sing louder,’ said Mrs. Jennings Rodolph.</p> +<p>‘I can’t,’ replied Miss Amelia Martin.</p> +<p>‘Off, off, off,’ cried the rest of the audience.</p> +<p>‘Bray-vo!’ shouted the painter’s party. It +wouldn’t do—Miss Amelia Martin left the orchestra, with +much less ceremony than she had entered it; and, as she couldn’t +sing out, never came out. The general good humour was not restored +until Mr. Jennings Rodolph had become purple in the face, by imitating +divers quadrupeds for half an hour, without being able to render himself +audible; and, to this day, neither has Miss Amelia Martin’s good +humour been restored, nor the dresses made for and presented to Mrs. +Jennings Rodolph, nor the local abilities which Mr. Jennings Rodolph +once staked his professional reputation that Miss Martin possessed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX—THE DANCING ACADEMY</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Of all the dancing academies that ever were established, there never +was one more popular in its immediate vicinity than Signor Billsmethi’s, +of the ‘King’s Theatre.’ It was not in Spring-gardens, +or Newman-street, or Berners-street, or Gower-street, or Charlotte-street, +or Percy-street, or any other of the numerous streets which have been +devoted time out of mind to professional people, dispensaries, and boarding-houses; +it was not in the West-end at all—it rather approximated to the +eastern portion of London, being situated in the populous and improving +neighbourhood of Gray’s-inn-lane. It was not a dear dancing +academy—four-and-sixpence a quarter is decidedly cheap upon the +whole. It was <i>very</i> select, the number of pupils being strictly +limited to seventy-five, and a quarter’s payment in advance being +rigidly exacted. There was public tuition and private tuition—an +assembly-room and a parlour. Signor Billsmethi’s family +were always thrown in with the parlour, and included in parlour price; +that is to say, a private pupil had Signor Billsmethi’s parlour +to dance <i>in</i>, and Signor Billsmethi’s family to dance <i>with</i>; +and when he had been sufficiently broken in in the parlour, he began +to run in couples in the assembly-room.</p> +<p>Such was the dancing academy of Signor Billsmethi, when Mr. Augustus +Cooper, of Fetter-lane, first saw an unstamped advertisement walking +leisurely down Holborn-hill, announcing to the world that Signor Billsmethi, +of the King’s Theatre, intended opening for the season with a +Grand Ball.</p> +<p>Now, Mr. Augustus Cooper was in the oil and colour line—just +of age, with a little money, a little business, and a little mother, +who, having managed her husband and <i>his</i> business in his lifetime, +took to managing her son and <i>his</i> business after his decease; +and so, somehow or other, he had been cooped up in the little back parlour +behind the shop on week-days, and in a little deal box without a lid +(called by courtesy a pew) at Bethel Chapel, on Sundays, and had seen +no more of the world than if he had been an infant all his days; whereas +Young White, at the gas-fitter’s over the way, three years younger +than him, had been flaring away like winkin’—going to the +theatre—supping at harmonic meetings—eating oysters by the +barrel—drinking stout by the gallon—even out all night, +and coming home as cool in the morning as if nothing had happened. +So Mr. Augustus Cooper made up his mind that he would not stand it any +longer, and had that very morning expressed to his mother a firm determination +to be ‘blowed,’ in the event of his not being instantly +provided with a street-door key. And he was walking down Holborn-hill, +thinking about all these things, and wondering how he could manage to +get introduced into genteel society for the first time, when his eyes +rested on Signor Billsmethi’s announcement, which it immediately +struck him was just the very thing he wanted; for he should not only +be able to select a genteel circle of acquaintance at once, out of the +five-and-seventy pupils at four-and-sixpence a quarter, but should qualify +himself at the same time to go through a hornpipe in private society, +with perfect ease to himself and great delight to his friends. +So, he stopped the unstamped advertisement—an animated sandwich, +composed of a boy between two boards—and having procured a very +small card with the Signor’s address indented thereon, walked +straight at once to the Signor’s house—and very fast he +walked too, for fear the list should be filled up, and the five-and-seventy +completed, before he got there. The Signor was at home, and, what +was still more gratifying, he was an Englishman! Such a nice man—and +so polite! The list was not full, but it was a most extraordinary +circumstance that there was only just one vacancy, and even that one +would have been filled up, that very morning, only Signor Billsmethi +was dissatisfied with the reference, and, being very much afraid that +the lady wasn’t select, wouldn’t take her.</p> +<p>‘And very much delighted I am, Mr. Cooper,’ said Signor +Billsmethi, ‘that I did <i>not</i> take her. I assure you, +Mr. Cooper—I don’t say it to flatter you, for I know you’re +above it—that I consider myself extremely fortunate in having +a gentleman of your manners and appearance, sir.’</p> +<p>‘I am very glad of it too, sir,’ said Augustus Cooper.</p> +<p>‘And I hope we shall be better acquainted, sir,’ said +Signor Billsmethi.</p> +<p>‘And I’m sure I hope we shall too, sir,’ responded +Augustus Cooper. Just then, the door opened, and in came a young +lady, with her hair curled in a crop all over her head, and her shoes +tied in sandals all over her ankles.</p> +<p>‘Don’t run away, my dear,’ said Signor Billsmethi; +for the young lady didn’t know Mr. Cooper was there when she ran +in, and was going to run out again in her modesty, all in confusion-like. +‘Don’t run away, my dear,’ said Signor Billsmethi, +‘this is Mr. Cooper—Mr. Cooper, of Fetter-lane. Mr. +Cooper, my daughter, sir—Miss Billsmethi, sir, who I hope will +have the pleasure of dancing many a quadrille, minuet, gavotte, country-dance, +fandango, double-hornpipe, and farinagholkajingo with you, sir. +She dances them all, sir; and so shall you, sir, before you’re +a quarter older, sir.’</p> +<p>And Signor Bellsmethi slapped Mr. Augustus Cooper on the back, as +if he had known him a dozen years,—so friendly;—and Mr. +Cooper bowed to the young lady, and the young lady curtseyed to him, +and Signor Billsmethi said they were as handsome a pair as ever he’d +wish to see; upon which the young lady exclaimed, ‘Lor, pa!’ +and blushed as red as Mr. Cooper himself—you might have thought +they were both standing under a red lamp at a chemist’s shop; +and before Mr. Cooper went away it was settled that he should join the +family circle that very night—taking them just as they were—no +ceremony nor nonsense of that kind—and learn his positions in +order that he might lose no time, and be able to come out at the forthcoming +ball.</p> +<p>Well; Mr. Augustus Cooper went away to one of the cheap shoemakers’ +shops in Holborn, where gentlemen’s dress-pumps are seven-and-sixpence, +and men’s strong walking just nothing at all, and bought a pair +of the regular seven-and-sixpenny, long-quartered, town-mades, in which +he astonished himself quite as much as his mother, and sallied forth +to Signor Billsmethi’s. There were four other private pupils +in the parlour: two ladies and two gentlemen. Such nice people! +Not a bit of pride about them. One of the ladies in particular, +who was in training for a Columbine, was remarkably affable; and she +and Miss Billsmethi took such an interest in Mr. Augustus Cooper, and +joked, and smiled, and looked so bewitching, that he got quite at home, +and learnt his steps in no time. After the practising was over, +Signor Billsmethi, and Miss Billsmethi, and Master Billsmethi, and a +young lady, and the two ladies, and the two gentlemen, danced a quadrille—none +of your slipping and sliding about, but regular warm work, flying into +corners, and diving among chairs, and shooting out at the door,—something +like dancing! Signor Billsmethi in particular, notwithstanding +his having a little fiddle to play all the time, was out on the landing +every figure, and Master Billsmethi, when everybody else was breathless, +danced a hornpipe, with a cane in his hand, and a cheese-plate on his +head, to the unqualified admiration of the whole company. Then, +Signor Billsmethi insisted, as they were so happy, that they should +all stay to supper, and proposed sending Master Billsmethi for the beer +and spirits, whereupon the two gentlemen swore, ‘strike ’em +wulgar if they’d stand that;’ and were just going to quarrel +who should pay for it, when Mr. Augustus Cooper said he would, if they’d +have the kindness to allow him—and they <i>had</i> the kindness +to allow him; and Master Billsmethi brought the beer in a can, and the +rum in a quart pot. They had a regular night of it; and Miss Billsmethi +squeezed Mr. Augustus Cooper’s hand under the table; and Mr. Augustus +Cooper returned the squeeze, and returned home too, at something to +six o’clock in the morning, when he was put to bed by main force +by the apprentice, after repeatedly expressing an uncontrollable desire +to pitch his revered parent out of the second-floor window, and to throttle +the apprentice with his own neck-handkerchief.</p> +<p>Weeks had worn on, and the seven-and-sixpenny town-mades had nearly +worn out, when the night arrived for the grand dress-ball at which the +whole of the five-and-seventy pupils were to meet together, for the +first time that season, and to take out some portion of their respective +four-and-sixpences in lamp-oil and fiddlers. Mr. Augustus Cooper +had ordered a new coat for the occasion—a two-pound-tenner from +Turnstile. It was his first appearance in public; and, after a +grand Sicilian shawl-dance by fourteen young ladies in character, he +was to open the quadrille department with Miss Billsmethi herself, with +whom he had become quite intimate since his first introduction. +It <i>was</i> a night! Everything was admirably arranged. +The sandwich-boy took the hats and bonnets at the street-door; there +was a turn-up bedstead in the back parlour, on which Miss Billsmethi +made tea and coffee for such of the gentlemen as chose to pay for it, +and such of the ladies as the gentlemen treated; red port-wine negus +and lemonade were handed round at eighteen-pence a head; and in pursuance +of a previous engagement with the public-house at the corner of the +street, an extra potboy was laid on for the occasion. In short, +nothing could exceed the arrangements, except the company. Such +ladies! Such pink silk stockings! Such artificial flowers! +Such a number of cabs! No sooner had one cab set down a couple +of ladies, than another cab drove up and set down another couple of +ladies, and they all knew: not only one another, but the majority of +the gentlemen into the bargain, which made it all as pleasant and lively +as could be. Signor Billsmethi, in black tights, with a large +blue bow in his buttonhole, introduced the ladies to such of the gentlemen +as were strangers: and the ladies talked away—and laughed they +did—it was delightful to see them.</p> +<p>As to the shawl-dance, it was the most exciting thing that ever was +beheld; there was such a whisking, and rustling, and fanning, and getting +ladies into a tangle with artificial flowers, and then disentangling +them again! And as to Mr. Augustus Cooper’s share in the +quadrille, he got through it admirably. He was missing from his +partner, now and then, certainly, and discovered on such occasions to +be either dancing with laudable perseverance in another set, or sliding +about in perspective, without any definite object; but, generally speaking, +they managed to shove him through the figure, until he turned up in +the right place. Be this as it may, when he had finished, a great +many ladies and gentlemen came up and complimented him very much, and +said they had never seen a beginner do anything like it before; and +Mr. Augustus Cooper was perfectly satisfied with himself, and everybody +else into the bargain; and ‘stood’ considerable quantities +of spirits-and-water, negus, and compounds, for the use and behoof of +two or three dozen very particular friends, selected from the select +circle of five-and-seventy pupils.</p> +<p>Now, whether it was the strength of the compounds, or the beauty +of the ladies, or what not, it did so happen that Mr. Augustus Cooper +encouraged, rather than repelled, the very flattering attentions of +a young lady in brown gauze over white calico who had appeared particularly +struck with him from the first; and when the encouragements had been +prolonged for some time, Miss Billsmethi betrayed her spite and jealousy +thereat by calling the young lady in brown gauze a ‘creeter,’ +which induced the young lady in brown gauze to retort, in certain sentences +containing a taunt founded on the payment of four-and-sixpence a quarter, +which reference Mr. Augustus Cooper, being then and there in a state +of considerable bewilderment, expressed his entire concurrence in. +Miss Billsmethi, thus renounced, forthwith began screaming in the loudest +key of her voice, at the rate of fourteen screams a minute; and being +unsuccessful, in an onslaught on the eyes and face, first of the lady +in gauze and then of Mr. Augustus Cooper, called distractedly on the +other three-and-seventy pupils to furnish her with oxalic acid for her +own private drinking; and, the call not being honoured, made another +rush at Mr. Cooper, and then had her stay-lace cut, and was carried +off to bed. Mr. Augustus Cooper, not being remarkable for quickness +of apprehension, was at a loss to understand what all this meant, until +Signor Billsmethi explained it in a most satisfactory manner, by stating +to the pupils, that Mr. Augustus Cooper had made and confirmed divers +promises of marriage to his daughter on divers occasions, and had now +basely deserted her; on which, the indignation of the pupils became +universal; and as several chivalrous gentlemen inquired rather pressingly +of Mr. Augustus Cooper, whether he required anything for his own use, +or, in other words, whether he ‘wanted anything for himself,’ +he deemed it prudent to make a precipitate retreat. And the upshot +of the matter was, that a lawyer’s letter came next day, and an +action was commenced next week; and that Mr. Augustus Cooper, after +walking twice to the Serpentine for the purpose of drowning himself, +and coming twice back without doing it, made a confidante of his mother, +who compromised the matter with twenty pounds from the till: which made +twenty pounds four shillings and sixpence paid to Signor Billsmethi, +exclusive of treats and pumps. And Mr. Augustus Cooper went back +and lived with his mother, and there he lives to this day; and as he +has lost his ambition for society, and never goes into the world, he +will never see this account of himself, and will never be any the wiser.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X—SHABBY-GENTEEL PEOPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There are certain descriptions of people who, oddly enough, appear +to appertain exclusively to the metropolis. You meet them, every +day, in the streets of London, but no one ever encounters them elsewhere; +they seem indigenous to the soil, and to belong as exclusively to London +as its own smoke, or the dingy bricks and mortar. We could illustrate +the remark by a variety of examples, but, in our present sketch, we +will only advert to one class as a specimen—that class which is +so aptly and expressively designated as ‘shabby-genteel.’</p> +<p>Now, shabby people, God knows, may be found anywhere, and genteel +people are not articles of greater scarcity out of London than in it; +but this compound of the two—this shabby-gentility—is as +purely local as the statue at Charing-cross, or the pump at Aldgate. +It is worthy of remark, too, that only men are shabby-genteel; a woman +is always either dirty and slovenly in the extreme, or neat and respectable, +however poverty-stricken in appearance. A very poor man, ‘who +has seen better days,’ as the phrase goes, is a strange compound +of dirty-slovenliness and wretched attempts at faded smartness.</p> +<p>We will endeavour to explain our conception of the term which forms +the title of this paper. If you meet a man, lounging up Drury-Lane, +or leaning with his back against a post in Long-acre, with his hands +in the pockets of a pair of drab trousers plentifully besprinkled with +grease-spots: the trousers made very full over the boots, and ornamented +with two cords down the outside of each leg—wearing, also, what +has been a brown coat with bright buttons, and a hat very much pinched +up at the side, cocked over his right eye—don’t pity him. +He is not shabby-genteel. The ‘harmonic meetings’ +at some fourth-rate public-house, or the purlieus of a private theatre, +are his chosen haunts; he entertains a rooted antipathy to any kind +of work, and is on familiar terms with several pantomime men at the +large houses. But, if you see hurrying along a by-street, keeping +as close as he can to the area-railings, a man of about forty or fifty, +clad in an old rusty suit of threadbare black cloth which shines with +constant wear as if it had been bees-waxed—the trousers tightly +strapped down, partly for the look of the thing and partly to keep his +old shoes from slipping off at the heels,—if you observe, too, +that his yellowish-white neckerchief is carefully pinned up, to conceal +the tattered garment underneath, and that his hands are encased in the +remains of an old pair of beaver gloves, you may set him down as a shabby-genteel +man. A glance at that depressed face, and timorous air of conscious +poverty, will make your heart ache—always supposing that you are +neither a philosopher nor a political economist.</p> +<p>We were once haunted by a shabby-genteel man; he was bodily present +to our senses all day, and he was in our mind’s eye all night. +The man of whom Sir Walter Scott speaks in his Demonology, did not suffer +half the persecution from his imaginary gentleman-usher in black velvet, +that we sustained from our friend in quondam black cloth. He first +attracted our notice, by sitting opposite to us in the reading-room +at the British Museum; and what made the man more remarkable was, that +he always had before him a couple of shabby-genteel books—two +old dog’s-eared folios, in mouldy worm-eaten covers, which had +once been smart. He was in his chair, every morning, just as the +clock struck ten; he was always the last to leave the room in the afternoon; +and when he did, he quitted it with the air of a man who knew not where +else to go, for warmth and quiet. There he used to sit all day, +as close to the table as possible, in order to conceal the lack of buttons +on his coat: with his old hat carefully deposited at his feet, where +he evidently flattered himself it escaped observation.</p> +<p>About two o’clock, you would see him munching a French roll +or a penny loaf; not taking it boldly out of his pocket at once, like +a man who knew he was only making a lunch; but breaking off little bits +in his pocket, and eating them by stealth. He knew too well it +was his dinner.</p> +<p>When we first saw this poor object, we thought it quite impossible +that his attire could ever become worse. We even went so far, +as to speculate on the possibility of his shortly appearing in a decent +second-hand suit. We knew nothing about the matter; he grew more +and more shabby-genteel every day. The buttons dropped off his +waistcoat, one by one; then, he buttoned his coat; and when one side +of the coat was reduced to the same condition as the waistcoat, he buttoned +it over—on the other side. He looked somewhat better at +the beginning of the week than at the conclusion, because the neckerchief, +though yellow, was not quite so dingy; and, in the midst of all this +wretchedness, he never appeared without gloves and straps. He +remained in this state for a week or two. At length, one of the +buttons on the back of the coat fell off, and then the man himself disappeared, +and we thought he was dead.</p> +<p>We were sitting at the same table about a week after his disappearance, +and as our eyes rested on his vacant chair, we insensibly fell into +a train of meditation on the subject of his retirement from public life. +We were wondering whether he had hung himself, or thrown himself off +a bridge—whether he really was dead or had only been arrested—when +our conjectures were suddenly set at rest by the entry of the man himself. +He had undergone some strange metamorphosis, and walked up the centre +of the room with an air which showed he was fully conscious of the improvement +in his appearance. It was very odd. His clothes were a fine, +deep, glossy black; and yet they looked like the same suit; nay, there +were the very darns with which old acquaintance had made us familiar. +The hat, too—nobody could mistake the shape of that hat, with +its high crown gradually increasing in circumference towards the top. +Long service had imparted to it a reddish-brown tint; but, now, it was +as black as the coat. The truth flashed suddenly upon us—they +had been ‘revived.’ It is a deceitful liquid that +black and blue reviver; we have watched its effects on many a shabby-genteel +man. It betrays its victims into a temporary assumption of importance: +possibly into the purchase of a new pair of gloves, or a cheap stock, +or some other trifling article of dress. It elevates their spirits +for a week, only to depress them, if possible, below their original +level. It was so in this case; the transient dignity of the unhappy +man decreased, in exact proportion as the ‘reviver’ wore +off. The knees of the unmentionables, and the elbows of the coat, +and the seams generally, soon began to get alarmingly white. The +hat was once more deposited under the table, and its owner crept into +his seat as quietly as ever.</p> +<p>There was a week of incessant small rain and mist. At its expiration +the ‘reviver’ had entirely vanished, and the shabby-genteel +man never afterwards attempted to effect any improvement in his outward +appearance.</p> +<p>It would be difficult to name any particular part of town as the +principal resort of shabby-genteel men. We have met a great many +persons of this description in the neighbourhood of the inns of court. +They may be met with, in Holborn, between eight and ten any morning; +and whoever has the curiosity to enter the Insolvent Debtors’ +Court will observe, both among spectators and practitioners, a great +variety of them. We never went on ‘Change, by any chance, +without seeing some shabby-genteel men, and we have often wondered what +earthly business they can have there. They will sit there, for +hours, leaning on great, dropsical, mildewed umbrellas, or eating Abernethy +biscuits. Nobody speaks to them, nor they to any one. On +consideration, we remember to have occasionally seen two shabby-genteel +men conversing together on ‘Change, but our experience assures +us that this is an uncommon circumstance, occasioned by the offer of +a pinch of snuff, or some such civility.</p> +<p>It would be a task of equal difficulty, either to assign any particular +spot for the residence of these beings, or to endeavour to enumerate +their general occupations. We were never engaged in business with +more than one shabby-genteel man; and he was a drunken engraver, and +lived in a damp back-parlour in a new row of houses at Camden-town, +half street, half brick-field, somewhere near the canal. A shabby-genteel +man may have no occupation, or he may be a corn agent, or a coal agent, +or a wine merchant, or a collector of debts, or a broker’s assistant, +or a broken-down attorney. He may be a clerk of the lowest description, +or a contributor to the press of the same grade. Whether our readers +have noticed these men, in their walks, as often as we have, we know +not; this we know—that the miserably poor man (no matter whether +he owes his distresses to his own conduct, or that of others) who feels +his poverty and vainly strives to conceal it, is one of the most pitiable +objects in human nature. Such objects, with few exceptions, are +shabby-genteel people.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI—MAKING A NIGHT OF IT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Damon and Pythias were undoubtedly very good fellows in their way: +the former for his extreme readiness to put in special bail for a friend: +and the latter for a certain trump-like punctuality in turning up just +in the very nick of time, scarcely less remarkable. Many points +in their character have, however, grown obsolete. Damons are rather +hard to find, in these days of imprisonment for debt (except the sham +ones, and they cost half-a-crown); and, as to the Pythiases, the few +that have existed in these degenerate times, have had an unfortunate +knack of making themselves scarce, at the very moment when their appearance +would have been strictly classical. If the actions of these heroes, +however, can find no parallel in modern times, their friendship can. +We have Damon and Pythias on the one hand. We have Potter and +Smithers on the other; and, lest the two last-mentioned names should +never have reached the ears of our unenlightened readers, we can do +no better than make them acquainted with the owners thereof.</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas Potter, then, was a clerk in the city, and Mr. Robert +Smithers was a ditto in the same; their incomes were limited, but their +friendship was unbounded. They lived in the same street, walked +into town every morning at the same hour, dined at the same slap-bang +every day, and revelled in each other’s company very night. +They were knit together by the closest ties of intimacy and friendship, +or, as Mr. Thomas Potter touchingly observed, they were ‘thick-and-thin +pals, and nothing but it.’ There was a spice of romance +in Mr. Smithers’s disposition, a ray of poetry, a gleam of misery, +a sort of consciousness of he didn’t exactly know what, coming +across him he didn’t precisely know why—which stood out +in fine relief against the off-hand, dashing, amateur-pickpocket-sort-of-manner, +which distinguished Mr. Potter in an eminent degree.</p> +<p>The peculiarity of their respective dispositions, extended itself +to their individual costume. Mr. Smithers generally appeared in +public in a surtout and shoes, with a narrow black neckerchief and a +brown hat, very much turned up at the sides—peculiarities which +Mr. Potter wholly eschewed, for it was his ambition to do something +in the celebrated ‘kiddy’ or stage-coach way, and he had +even gone so far as to invest capital in the purchase of a rough blue +coat with wooden buttons, made upon the fireman’s principle, in +which, with the addition of a low-crowned, flower-pot-saucer-shaped +hat, he had created no inconsiderable sensation at the Albion in Little +Russell-street, and divers other places of public and fashionable resort.</p> +<p>Mr. Potter and Mr. Smithers had mutually agreed that, on the receipt +of their quarter’s salary, they would jointly and in company ‘spend +the evening’—an evident misnomer—the spending applying, +as everybody knows, not to the evening itself but to all the money the +individual may chance to be possessed of, on the occasion to which reference +is made; and they had likewise agreed that, on the evening aforesaid, +they would ‘make a night of it’—an expressive term, +implying the borrowing of several hours from to-morrow morning, adding +them to the night before, and manufacturing a compound night of the +whole.</p> +<p>The quarter-day arrived at last—we say at last, because quarter-days +are as eccentric as comets: moving wonderfully quick when you have a +good deal to pay, and marvellously slow when you have a little to receive. +Mr. Thomas Potter and Mr. Robert Smithers met by appointment to begin +the evening with a dinner; and a nice, snug, comfortable dinner they +had, consisting of a little procession of four chops and four kidneys, +following each other, supported on either side by a pot of the real +draught stout, and attended by divers cushions of bread, and wedges +of cheese.</p> +<p>When the cloth was removed, Mr. Thomas Potter ordered the waiter +to bring in, two goes of his best Scotch whiskey, with warm water and +sugar, and a couple of his ‘very mildest’ Havannahs, which +the waiter did. Mr. Thomas Potter mixed his grog, and lighted +his cigar; Mr. Robert Smithers did the same; and then, Mr. Thomas Potter +jocularly proposed as the first toast, ‘the abolition of all offices +whatever’ (not sinecures, but counting-houses), which was immediately +drunk by Mr. Robert Smithers, with enthusiastic applause. So they +went on, talking politics, puffing cigars, and sipping whiskey-and-water, +until the ‘goes’—most appropriately so called—were +both gone, which Mr. Robert Smithers perceiving, immediately ordered +in two more goes of the best Scotch whiskey, and two more of the very +mildest Havannahs; and the goes kept coming in, and the mild Havannahs +kept going out, until, what with the drinking, and lighting, and puffing, +and the stale ashes on the table, and the tallow-grease on the cigars, +Mr. Robert Smithers began to doubt the mildness of the Havannahs, and +to feel very much as if he had been sitting in a hackney-coach with +his back to the horses.</p> +<p>As to Mr. Thomas Potter, he <i>would</i> keep laughing out loud, +and volunteering inarticulate declarations that he was ‘all right;’ +in proof of which, he feebly bespoke the evening paper after the next +gentleman, but finding it a matter of some difficulty to discover any +news in its columns, or to ascertain distinctly whether it had any columns +at all, walked slowly out to look for the moon, and, after coming back +quite pale with looking up at the sky so long, and attempting to express +mirth at Mr. Robert Smithers having fallen asleep, by various galvanic +chuckles, laid his head on his arm, and went to sleep also. When +he awoke again, Mr. Robert Smithers awoke too, and they both very gravely +agreed that it was extremely unwise to eat so many pickled walnuts with +the chops, as it was a notorious fact that they always made people queer +and sleepy; indeed, if it had not been for the whiskey and cigars, there +was no knowing what harm they mightn’t have done ’em. +So they took some coffee, and after paying the bill,—twelve and +twopence the dinner, and the odd tenpence for the waiter—thirteen +shillings in all—started out on their expedition to manufacture +a night.</p> +<p>It was just half-past eight, so they thought they couldn’t +do better than go at half-price to the slips at the City Theatre, which +they did accordingly. Mr. Robert Smithers, who had become extremely +poetical after the settlement of the bill, enlivening the walk by informing +Mr. Thomas Potter in confidence that he felt an inward presentiment +of approaching dissolution, and subsequently embellishing the theatre, +by falling asleep with his head and both arms gracefully drooping over +the front of the boxes.</p> +<p>Such was the quiet demeanour of the unassuming Smithers, and such +were the happy effects of Scotch whiskey and Havannahs on that interesting +person! But Mr. Thomas Potter, whose great aim it was to be considered +as a ‘knowing card,’ a ‘fast-goer,’ and so forth, +conducted himself in a very different manner, and commenced going very +fast indeed—rather too fast at last, for the patience of the audience +to keep pace with him. On his first entry, he contented himself +by earnestly calling upon the gentlemen in the gallery to ‘flare +up,’ accompanying the demand with another request, expressive +of his wish that they would instantaneously ‘form a union,’ +both which requisitions were responded to, in the manner most in vogue +on such occasions.</p> +<p>‘Give that dog a bone!’ cried one gentleman in his shirt-sleeves.</p> +<p>‘Where have you been a having half a pint of intermediate beer?’ +cried a second. ‘Tailor!’ screamed a third. +‘Barber’s clerk!’ shouted a fourth. ‘Throw +him O-VER!’ roared a fifth; while numerous voices concurred in +desiring Mr. Thomas Potter to ‘go home to his mother!’ +All these taunts Mr. Thomas Potter received with supreme contempt, cocking +the low-crowned hat a little more on one side, whenever any reference +was made to his personal appearance, and, standing up with his arms +a-kimbo, expressing defiance melodramatically.</p> +<p>The overture—to which these various sounds had been an <i>ad</i> +<i>libitum</i> accompaniment—concluded, the second piece began, +and Mr. Thomas Potter, emboldened by impunity, proceeded to behave in +a most unprecedented and outrageous manner. First of all, he imitated +the shake of the principal female singer; then, groaned at the blue +fire; then, affected to be frightened into convulsions of terror at +the appearance of the ghost; and, lastly, not only made a running commentary, +in an audible voice, upon the dialogue on the stage, but actually awoke +Mr. Robert Smithers, who, hearing his companion making a noise, and +having a very indistinct notion where he was, or what was required of +him, immediately, by way of imitating a good example, set up the most +unearthly, unremitting, and appalling howling that ever audience heard. +It was too much. ‘Turn them out!’ was the general +cry. A noise, as of shuffling of feet, and men being knocked up +with violence against wainscoting, was heard: a hurried dialogue of +‘Come out?’—‘I won’t!’—‘You +shall!’—‘I shan’t!’—‘Give +me your card, Sir?’—‘You’re a scoundrel, Sir!’ +and so forth, succeeded. A round of applause betokened the approbation +of the audience, and Mr. Robert Smithers and Mr. Thomas Potter found +themselves shot with astonishing swiftness into the road, without having +had the trouble of once putting foot to ground during the whole progress +of their rapid descent.</p> +<p>Mr. Robert Smithers, being constitutionally one of the slow-goers, +and having had quite enough of fast-going, in the course of his recent +expulsion, to last until the quarter-day then next ensuing at the very +least, had no sooner emerged with his companion from the precincts of +Milton-street, than he proceeded to indulge in circuitous references +to the beauties of sleep, mingled with distant allusions to the propriety +of returning to Islington, and testing the influence of their patent +Bramahs over the street-door locks to which they respectively belonged. +Mr. Thomas Potter, however, was valorous and peremptory. They +had come out to make a night of it: and a night must be made. +So Mr. Robert Smithers, who was three parts dull, and the other dismal, +despairingly assented; and they went into a wine-vaults, to get materials +for assisting them in making a night; where they found a good many young +ladies, and various old gentlemen, and a plentiful sprinkling of hackney-coachmen +and cab-drivers, all drinking and talking together; and Mr. Thomas Potter +and Mr. Robert Smithers drank small glasses of brandy, and large glasses +of soda, until they began to have a very confused idea, either of things +in general, or of anything in particular; and, when they had done treating +themselves they began to treat everybody else; and the rest of the entertainment +was a confused mixture of heads and heels, black eyes and blue uniforms, +mud and gas-lights, thick doors, and stone paving.</p> +<p>Then, as standard novelists expressively inform us—‘all +was a blank!’ and in the morning the blank was filled up with +the words ‘STATION-HOUSE,’ and the station-house was filled +up with Mr. Thomas Potter, Mr. Robert Smithers, and the major part of +their wine-vault companions of the preceding night, with a comparatively +small portion of clothing of any kind. And it was disclosed at +the Police-office, to the indignation of the Bench, and the astonishment +of the spectators, how one Robert Smithers, aided and abetted by one +Thomas Potter, had knocked down and beaten, in divers streets, at different +times, five men, four boys, and three women; how the said Thomas Potter +had feloniously obtained possession of five door-knockers, two bell-handles, +and a bonnet; how Robert Smithers, his friend, had sworn, at least forty +pounds’ worth of oaths, at the rate of five shillings apiece; +terrified whole streets full of Her Majesty’s subjects with awful +shrieks and alarms of fire; destroyed the uniforms of five policemen; +and committed various other atrocities, too numerous to recapitulate. +And the magistrate, after an appropriate reprimand, fined Mr. Thomas +Potter and Mr. Thomas Smithers five shillings each, for being, what +the law vulgarly terms, drunk; and thirty-four pounds for seventeen +assaults at forty shillings a-head, with liberty to speak to the prosecutors.</p> +<p>The prosecutors <i>were</i> spoken to, and Messrs. Potter and Smithers +lived on credit, for a quarter, as best they might; and, although the +prosecutors expressed their readiness to be assaulted twice a week, +on the same terms, they have never since been detected in ‘making +a night of it.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII—THE PRISONERS’ VAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We were passing the corner of Bow-street, on our return from a lounging +excursion the other afternoon, when a crowd, assembled round the door +of the Police-office, attracted our attention. We turned up the +street accordingly. There were thirty or forty people, standing +on the pavement and half across the road; and a few stragglers were +patiently stationed on the opposite side of the way—all evidently +waiting in expectation of some arrival. We waited too, a few minutes, +but nothing occurred; so, we turned round to an unshorn, sallow-looking +cobbler, who was standing next us with his hands under the bib of his +apron, and put the usual question of ‘What’s the matter?’ +The cobbler eyed us from head to foot, with superlative contempt, and +laconically replied ‘Nuffin.’</p> +<p>Now, we were perfectly aware that if two men stop in the street to +look at any given object, or even to gaze in the air, two hundred men +will be assembled in no time; but, as we knew very well that no crowd +of people could by possibility remain in a street for five minutes without +getting up a little amusement among themselves, unless they had some +absorbing object in view, the natural inquiry next in order was, ‘What +are all these people waiting here for?’—‘Her Majesty’s +carriage,’ replied the cobbler. This was still more extraordinary. +We could not imagine what earthly business Her Majesty’s carriage +could have at the Public Office, Bow-street. We were beginning +to ruminate on the possible causes of such an uncommon appearance, when +a general exclamation from all the boys in the crowd of ‘Here’s +the wan!’ caused us to raise our heads, and look up the street.</p> +<p>The covered vehicle, in which prisoners are conveyed from the police-offices +to the different prisons, was coming along at full speed. It then +occurred to us, for the first time, that Her Majesty’s carriage +was merely another name for the prisoners’ van, conferred upon +it, not only by reason of the superior gentility of the term, but because +the aforesaid van is maintained at Her Majesty’s expense: having +been originally started for the exclusive accommodation of ladies and +gentlemen under the necessity of visiting the various houses of call +known by the general denomination of ‘Her Majesty’s Gaols.’</p> +<p>The van drew up at the office-door, and the people thronged round +the steps, just leaving a little alley for the prisoners to pass through. +Our friend the cobbler, and the other stragglers, crossed over, and +we followed their example. The driver, and another man who had +been seated by his side in front of the vehicle, dismounted, and were +admitted into the office. The office-door was closed after them, +and the crowd were on the tiptoe of expectation.</p> +<p>After a few minutes’ delay, the door again opened, and the +two first prisoners appeared. They were a couple of girls, of +whom the elder—could not be more than sixteen, and the younger +of whom had certainly not attained her fourteenth year. That they +were sisters, was evident, from the resemblance which still subsisted +between them, though two additional years of depravity had fixed their +brand upon the elder girl’s features, as legibly as if a red-hot +iron had seared them. They were both gaudily dressed, the younger +one especially; and, although there was a strong similarity between +them in both respects, which was rendered the more obvious by their +being handcuffed together, it is impossible to conceive a greater contrast +than the demeanour of the two presented. The younger girl was +weeping bitterly—not for display, or in the hope of producing +effect, but for very shame: her face was buried in her handkerchief: +and her whole manner was but too expressive of bitter and unavailing +sorrow.</p> +<p>‘How long are you for, Emily?’ screamed a red-faced woman +in the crowd. ‘Six weeks and labour,’ replied the +elder girl with a flaunting laugh; ‘and that’s better than +the stone jug anyhow; the mill’s a deal better than the Sessions, +and here’s Bella a-going too for the first time. Hold up +your head, you chicken,’ she continued, boisterously tearing the +other girl’s handkerchief away; ‘Hold up your head, and +show ’em your face. I an’t jealous, but I’m +blessed if I an’t game!’—‘That’s right, +old gal,’ exclaimed a man in a paper cap, who, in common with +the greater part of the crowd, had been inexpressibly delighted with +this little incident.—‘Right!’ replied the girl; ‘ah, +to be sure; what’s the odds, eh?’—‘Come! +In with you,’ interrupted the driver. ‘Don’t +you be in a hurry, coachman,’ replied the girl, ‘and recollect +I want to be set down in Cold Bath Fields—large house with a high +garden-wall in front; you can’t mistake it. Hallo. +Bella, where are you going to—you’ll pull my precious arm +off?’ This was addressed to the younger girl, who, in her +anxiety to hide herself in the caravan, had ascended the steps first, +and forgotten the strain upon the handcuff. ‘Come down, +and let’s show you the way.’ And after jerking the +miserable girl down with a force which made her stagger on the pavement, +she got into the vehicle, and was followed by her wretched companion.</p> +<p>These two girls had been thrown upon London streets, their vices +and debauchery, by a sordid and rapacious mother. What the younger +girl was then, the elder had been once; and what the elder then was, +the younger must soon become. A melancholy prospect, but how surely +to be realised; a tragic drama, but how often acted! Turn to the +prisons and police offices of London—nay, look into the very streets +themselves. These things pass before our eyes, day after day, +and hour after hour—they have become such matters of course, that +they are utterly disregarded. The progress of these girls in crime +will be as rapid as the flight of a pestilence, resembling it too in +its baneful influence and wide-spreading infection. Step by step, +how many wretched females, within the sphere of every man’s observation, +have become involved in a career of vice, frightful to contemplate; +hopeless at its commencement, loathsome and repulsive in its course; +friendless, forlorn, and unpitied, at its miserable conclusion!</p> +<p>There were other prisoners—boys of ten, as hardened in vice +as men of fifty—a houseless vagrant, going joyfully to prison +as a place of food and shelter, handcuffed to a man whose prospects +were ruined, character lost, and family rendered destitute, by his first +offence. Our curiosity, however, was satisfied. The first +group had left an impression on our mind we would gladly have avoided, +and would willingly have effaced.</p> +<p>The crowd dispersed; the vehicle rolled away with its load of guilt +and misfortune; and we saw no more of the Prisoners’ Van.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>TALES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER I—THE BOARDING-HOUSE.</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHAPTER I.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs was, beyond all dispute, the most tidy, fidgety, thrifty +little personage that ever inhaled the smoke of London; and the house +of Mrs. Tibbs was, decidedly, the neatest in all Great Coram-street. +The area and the area-steps, and the street-door and the street-door +steps, and the brass handle, and the door-plate, and the knocker, and +the fan-light, were all as clean and bright, as indefatigable white-washing, +and hearth-stoning, and scrubbing and rubbing, could make them. +The wonder was, that the brass door-plate, with the interesting inscription +‘MRS. TIBBS,’ had never caught fire from constant friction, +so perseveringly was it polished. There were meat-safe-looking +blinds in the parlour-windows, blue and gold curtains in the drawing-room, +and spring-roller blinds, as Mrs. Tibbs was wont in the pride of her +heart to boast, ‘all the way up.’ The bell-lamp in the passage +looked as clear as a soap-bubble; you could see yourself in all the +tables, and French-polish yourself on any one of the chairs. The +banisters were bees-waxed; and the very stair-wires made your eyes wink, +they were so glittering.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs was somewhat short of stature, and Mr. Tibbs was by no +means a large man. He had, moreover, very short legs, but, by +way of indemnification, his face was peculiarly long. He was to +his wife what the 0 is in 90—he was of some importance <i>with</i> +her—he was nothing without her. Mrs. Tibbs was always talking. +Mr. Tibbs rarely spoke; but, if it were at any time possible to put +in a word, when he should have said nothing at all, he had that talent. +Mrs. Tibbs detested long stories, and Mr. Tibbs had one, the conclusion +of which had never been heard by his most intimate friends. It +always began, ‘I recollect when I was in the volunteer corps, +in eighteen hundred and six,’—but, as he spoke very slowly +and softly, and his better half very quickly and loudly, he rarely got +beyond the introductory sentence. He was a melancholy specimen +of the story-teller. He was the wandering Jew of Joe Millerism.</p> +<p>Mr. Tibbs enjoyed a small independence from the pension-list—about +43<i>l</i>. 15<i>s</i>. 10<i>d</i>. a year. His father, mother, +and five interesting scions from the same stock, drew a like sum from +the revenue of a grateful country, though for what particular service +was never known. But, as this said independence was not quite +sufficient to furnish two people with <i>all</i> the luxuries of this +life, it had occurred to the busy little spouse of Tibbs, that the best +thing she could do with a legacy of 700<i>l</i>., would be to take and +furnish a tolerable house—somewhere in that partially-explored +tract of country which lies between the British Museum, and a remote +village called Somers-town—for the reception of boarders. +Great Coram-street was the spot pitched upon. The house had been +furnished accordingly; two female servants and a boy engaged; and an +advertisement inserted in the morning papers, informing the public that +‘Six individuals would meet with all the comforts of a cheerful +musical home in a select private family, residing within ten minutes’ +walk of’—everywhere. Answers out of number were received, +with all sorts of initials; all the letters of the alphabet seemed to +be seized with a sudden wish to go out boarding and lodging; voluminous +was the correspondence between Mrs. Tibbs and the applicants; and most +profound was the secrecy observed. ‘E.’ didn’t +like this; ‘I.’ couldn’t think of putting up with +that; ‘I. O. U.’ didn’t think the terms would suit +him; and ‘G. R.’ had never slept in a French bed. +The result, however, was, that three gentlemen became inmates of Mrs. +Tibbs’s house, on terms which were ‘agreeable to all parties.’ +In went the advertisement again, and a lady with her two daughters, +proposed to increase—not their families, but Mrs. Tibbs’s.</p> +<p>‘Charming woman, that Mrs. Maplesone!’ said Mrs. Tibbs, +as she and her spouse were sitting by the fire after breakfast; the +gentlemen having gone out on their several avocations. ‘Charming +woman, indeed!’ repeated little Mrs. Tibbs, more by way of soliloquy +than anything else, for she never thought of consulting her husband. +‘And the two daughters are delightful. We must have some +fish to-day; they’ll join us at dinner for the first time.’</p> +<p>Mr. Tibbs placed the poker at right angles with the fire shovel, +and essayed to speak, but recollected he had nothing to say.</p> +<p>‘The young ladies,’ continued Mrs. T., ‘have kindly +volunteered to bring their own piano.’</p> +<p>Tibbs thought of the volunteer story, but did not venture it.</p> +<p>A bright thought struck him -</p> +<p>‘It’s very likely—’ said he.</p> +<p>‘Pray don’t lean your head against the paper,’ +interrupted Mrs. Tibbs; ‘and don’t put your feet on the +steel fender; that’s worse.’</p> +<p>Tibbs took his head from the paper, and his feet from the fender, +and proceeded. ‘It’s very likely one of the young +ladies may set her cap at young Mr. Simpson, and you know a marriage—’</p> +<p>‘A what!’ shrieked Mrs. Tibbs. Tibbs modestly repeated +his former suggestion.</p> +<p>‘I beg you won’t mention such a thing,’ said Mrs. +T. ‘A marriage, indeed to rob me of my boarders—no, +not for the world.’</p> +<p>Tibbs thought in his own mind that the event was by no means unlikely, +but, as he never argued with his wife, he put a stop to the dialogue, +by observing it was ‘time to go to business.’ He always +went out at ten o’clock in the morning, and returned at five in +the afternoon, with an exceedingly dirty face, and smelling mouldy. +Nobody knew what he was, or where he went; but Mrs. Tibbs used to say +with an air of great importance, that he was engaged in the City.</p> +<p>The Miss Maplesones and their accomplished parent arrived in the +course of the afternoon in a hackney-coach, and accompanied by a most +astonishing number of packages. Trunks, bonnet-boxes, muff-boxes +and parasols, guitar-cases, and parcels of all imaginable shapes, done +up in brown paper, and fastened with pins, filled the passage. +Then, there was such a running up and down with the luggage, such scampering +for warm water for the ladies to wash in, and such a bustle, and confusion, +and heating of servants, and curling-irons, as had never been known +in Great Coram-street before. Little Mrs. Tibbs was quite in her +element, bustling about, talking incessantly, and distributing towels +and soap, like a head nurse in a hospital. The house was not restored +to its usual state of quiet repose, until the ladies were safely shut +up in their respective bedrooms, engaged in the important occupation +of dressing for dinner.</p> +<p>‘Are these gals ’andsome?’ inquired Mr. Simpson +of Mr. Septimus Hicks, another of the boarders, as they were amusing +themselves in the drawing-room, before dinner, by lolling on sofas, +and contemplating their pumps.</p> +<p>‘Don’t know,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who was +a tallish, white-faced young man, with spectacles, and a black ribbon +round his neck instead of a neckerchief—a most interesting person; +a poetical walker of the hospitals, and a ‘very talented young +man.’ He was fond of ‘lugging’ into conversation +all sorts of quotations from Don Juan, without fettering himself by +the propriety of their application; in which particular he was remarkably +independent. The other, Mr. Simpson, was one of those young men, +who are in society what walking gentlemen are on the stage, only infinitely +worse skilled in his vocation than the most indifferent artist. +He was as empty-headed as the great bell of St. Paul’s; always +dressed according to the caricatures published in the monthly fashion; +and spelt Character with a K.</p> +<p>‘I saw a devilish number of parcels in the passage when I came +home,’ simpered Mr. Simpson.</p> +<p>‘Materials for the toilet, no doubt,’ rejoined the Don +Juan reader.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>- ‘Much linen, lace, and several pair<br />Of stockings, slippers, +brushes, combs, complete;<br />With other articles of ladies fair,<br />To +keep them beautiful, or leave them neat.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Is that from Milton?’ inquired Mr. Simpson.</p> +<p>‘No—from Byron,’ returned Mr. Hicks, with a look +of contempt. He was quite sure of his author, because he had never +read any other. ‘Hush! Here come the gals,’ +and they both commenced talking in a very loud key.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones, Mr. Hicks. Mr. +Hicks—Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones,’ said Mrs. +Tibbs, with a very red face, for she had been superintending the cooking +operations below stairs, and looked like a wax doll on a sunny day. +‘Mr. Simpson, I beg your pardon—Mr. Simpson—Mrs. Maplesone +and the Miss Maplesones’—and <i>vice versâ</i>. +The gentlemen immediately began to slide about with much politeness, +and to look as if they wished their arms had been legs, so little did +they know what to do with them. The ladies smiled, curtseyed, +and glided into chairs, and dived for dropped pocket-handkerchiefs: +the gentlemen leant against two of the curtain-pegs; Mrs. Tibbs went +through an admirable bit of serious pantomime with a servant who had +come up to ask some question about the fish-sauce; and then the two +young ladies looked at each other; and everybody else appeared to discover +something very attractive in the pattern of the fender.</p> +<p>‘Julia, my love,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to her youngest +daughter, in a tone loud enough for the remainder of the company to +hear—‘Julia.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Ma.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t stoop.’—This was said for the purpose +of directing general attention to Miss Julia’s figure, which was +undeniable. Everybody looked at her, accordingly, and there was +another pause.</p> +<p>‘We had the most uncivil hackney-coachman to-day, you can imagine,’ +said Mrs. Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential tone.</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ replied the hostess, with an air of great +commiseration. She couldn’t say more, for the servant again +appeared at the door, and commenced telegraphing most earnestly to her +‘Missis.’</p> +<p>‘I think hackney-coachmen generally <i>are</i> uncivil,’ +said Mr. Hicks in his most insinuating tone.</p> +<p>‘Positively I think they are,’ replied Mrs. Maplesone, +as if the idea had never struck her before.</p> +<p>‘And cabmen, too,’ said Mr. Simpson. This remark +was a failure, for no one intimated, by word or sign, the slightest +knowledge of the manners and customs of cabmen.</p> +<p>‘Robinson, what <i>do</i> you want?’ said Mrs. Tibbs +to the servant, who, by way of making her presence known to her mistress, +had been giving sundry hems and sniffs outside the door during the preceding +five minutes.</p> +<p>‘Please, ma’am, master wants his clean things,’ +replied the servant, taken off her guard. The two young men turned +their faces to the window, and ‘went off’ like a couple +of bottles of ginger-beer; the ladies put their handkerchiefs to their +mouths; and little Mrs. Tibbs bustled out of the room to give Tibbs +his clean linen,—and the servant warning.</p> +<p>Mr. Calton, the remaining boarder, shortly afterwards made his appearance, +and proved a surprising promoter of the conversation. Mr. Calton +was a superannuated beau—an old boy. He used to say of himself +that although his features were not regularly handsome, they were striking. +They certainly were. It was impossible to look at his face without +being reminded of a chubby street-door knocker, half-lion half-monkey; +and the comparison might be extended to his whole character and conversation. +He had stood still, while everything else had been moving. He +never originated a conversation, or started an idea; but if any commonplace +topic were broached, or, to pursue the comparison, if anybody <i>lifted +him up</i>, he would hammer away with surprising rapidity. He +had the tic-douloureux occasionally, and then he might be said to be +muffled, because he did not make quite as much noise as at other times, +when he would go on prosing, rat-tat-tat the same thing over and over +again. He had never been married; but he was still on the look-out +for a wife with money. He had a life interest worth about 300<i>l</i>. +a year—he was exceedingly vain, and inordinately selfish. +He had acquired the reputation of being the very pink of politeness, +and he walked round the park, and up Regent-street, every day.</p> +<p>This respectable personage had made up his mind to render himself +exceedingly agreeable to Mrs. Maplesone—indeed, the desire of +being as amiable as possible extended itself to the whole party; Mrs. +Tibbs having considered it an admirable little bit of management to +represent to the gentlemen that she had <i>some</i> reason to believe +the ladies were fortunes, and to hint to the ladies, that all the gentlemen +were ‘eligible.’ A little flirtation, she thought, +might keep her house full, without leading to any other result.</p> +<p>Mrs. Maplesone was an enterprising widow of about fifty: shrewd, +scheming, and good-looking. She was amiably anxious on behalf +of her daughters; in proof whereof she used to remark, that she would +have no objection to marry again, if it would benefit her dear girls—she +could have no other motive. The ‘dear girls’ themselves +were not at all insensible to the merits of ‘a good establishment.’ +One of them was twenty-five; the other, three years younger. They +had been at different watering-places, for four seasons; they had gambled +at libraries, read books in balconies, sold at fancy fairs, danced at +assemblies, talked sentiment—in short, they had done all that +industrious girls could do—but, as yet, to no purpose.</p> +<p>‘What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is!’ whispered +Matilda Maplesone to her sister Julia.</p> +<p>‘Splendid!’ returned the youngest. The magnificent +individual alluded to wore a maroon-coloured dress-coat, with a velvet +collar and cuffs of the same tint—very like that which usually +invests the form of the distinguished unknown who condescends to play +the ‘swell’ in the pantomime at ‘Richardson’s +Show.’</p> +<p>‘What whiskers!’ said Miss Julia.</p> +<p>‘Charming!’ responded her sister; ‘and what hair!’ +His hair was like a wig, and distinguished by that insinuating wave +which graces the shining locks of those <i>chef-d’oeuvres</i> +of art surmounting the waxen images in Bartellot’s window in Regent-street; +his whiskers meeting beneath his chin, seemed strings wherewith to tie +it on, ere science had rendered them unnecessary by her patent invisible +springs.</p> +<p>‘Dinner’s on the table, ma’am, if you please,’ +said the boy, who now appeared for the first time, in a revived black +coat of his master’s.</p> +<p>‘Oh! Mr. Calton, will you lead Mrs. Maplesone?—Thank +you.’ Mr. Simpson offered his arm to Miss Julia; Mr. Septimus +Hicks escorted the lovely Matilda; and the procession proceeded to the +dining-room. Mr. Tibbs was introduced, and Mr. Tibbs bobbed up +and down to the three ladies like a figure in a Dutch clock, with a +powerful spring in the middle of his body, and then dived rapidly into +his seat at the bottom of the table, delighted to screen himself behind +a soup-tureen, which he could just see over, and that was all. +The boarders were seated, a lady and gentleman alternately, like the +layers of bread and meat in a plate of sandwiches; and then Mrs. Tibbs +directed James to take off the covers. Salmon, lobster-sauce, +giblet-soup, and the usual accompaniments were discovered: potatoes +like petrifactions, and bits of toasted bread, the shape and size of +blank dice.</p> +<p>‘Soup for Mrs. Maplesone, my dear,’ said the bustling +Mrs. Tibbs. She always called her husband ‘my dear’ +before company. Tibbs, who had been eating his bread, and calculating +how long it would be before he should get any fish, helped the soup +in a hurry, made a small island on the table-cloth, and put his glass +upon it, to hide it from his wife.</p> +<p>‘Miss Julia, shall I assist you to some fish?’</p> +<p>‘If you please—very little—oh! plenty, thank you’ +(a bit about the size of a walnut put upon the plate).</p> +<p>‘Julia is a <i>very</i> little eater,’ said Mrs. Maplesone +to Mr. Calton.</p> +<p>The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish +with his eyes: so he only ejaculated, ‘Ah!’</p> +<p>‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after every +one else had been helped, ‘what do <i>you</i> take?’ +The inquiry was accompanied with a look intimating that he mustn’t +say fish, because there was not much left. Tibbs thought the frown +referred to the island on the table-cloth; he therefore coolly replied, +‘Why—I’ll take a little—fish, I think.’</p> +<p>‘Did you say fish, my dear?’ (another frown).</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear,’ replied the villain, with an expression +of acute hunger depicted in his countenance. The tears almost +started to Mrs. Tibbs’s eyes, as she helped her ‘wretch +of a husband,’ as she inwardly called him, to the last eatable +bit of salmon on the dish.</p> +<p>‘James, take this to your master, and take away your master’s +knife.’ This was deliberate revenge, as Tibbs never could +eat fish without one. He was, however, constrained to chase small +particles of salmon round and round his plate with a piece of bread +and a fork, the number of successful attempts being about one in seventeen.</p> +<p>‘Take away, James,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed +the fourth mouthful—and away went the plates like lightning.</p> +<p>‘I’ll take a bit of bread, James,’ said the poor +‘master of the house,’ more hungry than ever.</p> +<p>‘Never mind your master now, James,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, +‘see about the meat.’ This was conveyed in the tone +in which ladies usually give admonitions to servants in company, that +is to say, a low one; but which, like a stage whisper, from its peculiar +emphasis, is most distinctly heard by everybody present.</p> +<p>A pause ensued, before the table was replenished—a sort of +parenthesis in which Mr. Simpson, Mr. Calton, and Mr. Hicks, produced +respectively a bottle of sauterne, bucellas, and sherry, and took wine +with everybody—except Tibbs. No one ever thought of him.</p> +<p>Between the fish and an intimated sirloin, there was a prolonged +interval.</p> +<p>Here was an opportunity for Mr. Hicks. He could not resist +the singularly appropriate quotation -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘But beef is rare within these oxless isles;<br />Goats’ +flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton,<br />And when a holiday +upon them smiles,<br />A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Very ungentlemanly behaviour,’ thought little Mrs. Tibbs, +‘to talk in that way.’</p> +<p>‘Ah,’ said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. ‘Tom +Moore is my poet.’</p> +<p>‘And mine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone.</p> +<p>‘And mine,’ said Miss Julia.</p> +<p>‘And mine,’ added Mr. Simpson.</p> +<p>‘Look at his compositions,’ resumed the knocker.</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ said Simpson, with confidence.</p> +<p>‘Look at Don Juan,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks.</p> +<p>‘Julia’s letter,’ suggested Miss Matilda.</p> +<p>‘Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers?’ +inquired Miss Julia.</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ said Simpson.</p> +<p>‘Or Paradise and the Peri,’ said the old beau.</p> +<p>‘Yes; or Paradise and the Peer,’ repeated Simpson, who +thought he was getting through it capitally.</p> +<p>‘It’s all very well,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, +who, as we have before hinted, never had read anything but Don Juan. +‘Where will you find anything finer than the description of the +siege, at the commencement of the seventh canto?’</p> +<p>‘Talking of a siege,’ said Tibbs, with a mouthful of +bread—‘when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred +and six, our commanding officer was Sir Charles Rampart; and one day, +when we were exercising on the ground on which the London University +now stands, he says, says he, Tibbs (calling me from the ranks), Tibbs—’</p> +<p>‘Tell your master, James,’ interrupted Mrs. Tibbs, in +an awfully distinct tone, ‘tell your master if he <i>won’t</i> +carve those fowls, to send them to me.’ The discomfited +volunteer instantly set to work, and carved the fowls almost as expeditiously +as his wife operated on the haunch of mutton. Whether he ever +finished the story is not known but, if he did, nobody heard it.</p> +<p>As the ice was now broken, and the new inmates more at home, every +member of the company felt more at ease. Tibbs himself most certainly +did, because he went to sleep immediately after dinner. Mr. Hicks +and the ladies discoursed most eloquently about poetry, and the theatres, +and Lord Chesterfield’s Letters; and Mr. Calton followed up what +everybody said, with continuous double knocks. Mrs. Tibbs highly +approved of every observation that fell from Mrs. Maplesone; and as +Mr. Simpson sat with a smile upon his face and said ‘Yes,’ +or ‘Certainly,’ at intervals of about four minutes each, +he received full credit for understanding what was going forward. +The gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room very shortly after +they had left the dining-parlour. Mrs. Maplesone and Mr. Calton +played cribbage, and the ‘young people’ amused themselves +with music and conversation. The Miss Maplesones sang the most +fascinating duets, and accompanied themselves on guitars, ornamented +with bits of ethereal blue ribbon. Mr. Simpson put on a pink waistcoat, +and said he was in raptures; and Mr. Hicks felt in the seventh heaven +of poetry or the seventh canto of Don Juan—it was the same thing +to him. Mrs. Tibbs was quite charmed with the newcomers; and Mr. +Tibbs spent the evening in his usual way—he went to sleep, and +woke up, and went to sleep again, and woke at supper-time.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We are not about to adopt the licence of novel-writers, and to let +‘years roll on;’ but we will take the liberty of requesting +the reader to suppose that six months have elapsed, since the dinner +we have described, and that Mrs. Tibbs’s boarders have, during +that period, sang, and danced, and gone to theatres and exhibitions, +together, as ladies and gentlemen, wherever they board, often do. +And we will beg them, the period we have mentioned having elapsed, to +imagine farther, that Mr. Septimus Hicks received, in his own bedroom +(a front attic), at an early hour one morning, a note from Mr. Calton, +requesting the favour of seeing him, as soon as convenient to himself, +in his (Calton’s) dressing-room on the second-floor back.</p> +<p>‘Tell Mr. Calton I’ll come down directly,’ said +Mr. Septimus to the boy. ‘Stop—is Mr. Calton unwell?’ +inquired this excited walker of hospitals, as he put on a bed-furniture-looking +dressing-gown.</p> +<p>‘Not as I knows on, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘ +Please, sir, he looked rather rum, as it might be.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, that’s no proof of his being ill,’ returned +Hicks, unconsciously. ‘Very well: I’ll be down directly.’ +Downstairs ran the boy with the message, and down went the excited Hicks +himself, almost as soon as the message was delivered. ‘Tap, +tap.’ ‘Come in.’—Door opens, and discovers +Mr. Calton sitting in an easy chair. Mutual shakes of the hand +exchanged, and Mr. Septimus Hicks motioned to a seat. A short +pause. Mr. Hicks coughed, and Mr. Calton took a pinch of snuff. +It was one of those interviews where neither party knows what to say. +Mr. Septimus Hicks broke silence.</p> +<p>‘I received a note—’ he said, very tremulously, +in a voice like a Punch with a cold.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ returned the other, ‘you did.’</p> +<p>‘Exactly.’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>Now, although this dialogue must have been satisfactory, both gentlemen +felt there was something more important to be said; therefore they did +as most men in such a situation would have done—they looked at +the table with a determined aspect. The conversation had been +opened, however, and Mr. Calton had made up his mind to continue it +with a regular double knock. He always spoke very pompously.</p> +<p>‘Hicks,’ said he, ‘I have sent for you, in consequence +of certain arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with +a marriage.’</p> +<p>‘With a marriage!’ gasped Hicks, compared with whose +expression of countenance, Hamlet’s, when he sees his father’s +ghost, is pleasing and composed.</p> +<p>‘With a marriage,’ returned the knocker. ‘I +have sent for you to prove the great confidence I can repose in you.’</p> +<p>‘And will you betray me?’ eagerly inquired Hicks, who +in his alarm had even forgotten to quote.</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i> betray <i>you</i>! Won’t <i>you</i> betray<i> +me</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Never: no one shall know, to my dying day, that you had a +hand in the business,’ responded the agitated Hicks, with an inflamed +countenance, and his hair standing on end as if he were on the stool +of an electrifying machine in full operation.</p> +<p>‘People must know that, some time or other—within a year, +I imagine,’ said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency. + ‘We <i>may</i> have a family.’</p> +<p>‘<i>We</i>!—That won’t affect you, surely?’</p> +<p>‘The devil it won’t!’</p> +<p>‘No! how can it?’ said the bewildered Hicks. Calton +was too much inwrapped in the contemplation of his happiness to see +the equivoque between Hicks and himself; and threw himself back in his +chair. ‘Oh, Matilda!’ sighed the antique beau, in +a lack-a-daisical voice, and applying his right hand a little to the +left of the fourth button of his waistcoat, counting from the bottom. +‘Oh, Matilda!’</p> +<p>‘What Matilda?’ inquired Hicks, starting up.</p> +<p>‘Matilda Maplesone,’ responded the other, doing the same.</p> +<p>‘I marry her to-morrow morning,’ said Hicks.</p> +<p>‘It’s false,’ rejoined his companion: ‘I +marry her!’</p> +<p>‘You marry her?’</p> +<p>‘I marry her!’</p> +<p>‘You marry Matilda Maplesone?’</p> +<p>‘Matilda Maplesone.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Miss</i> Maplesone marry <i>you</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Miss Maplesone! No; Mrs. Maplesone.’</p> +<p>‘Good Heaven!’ said Hicks, falling into his chair: ‘You +marry the mother, and I the daughter!’</p> +<p>‘Most extraordinary circumstance!’ replied Mr. Calton, +‘and rather inconvenient too; for the fact is, that owing to Matilda’s +wishing to keep her intention secret from her daughters until the ceremony +had taken place, she doesn’t like applying to any of her friends +to give her away. I entertain an objection to making the affair +known to my acquaintance just now; and the consequence is, that I sent +to you to know whether you’d oblige me by acting as father.’</p> +<p>‘I should have been most happy, I assure you,’ said Hicks, +in a tone of condolence; ‘but, you see, I shall be acting as bridegroom. +One character is frequently a consequence of the other; but it is not +usual to act in both at the same time. There’s Simpson—I +have no doubt he’ll do it for you.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t like to ask him,’ replied Calton, ‘he’s +such a donkey.’</p> +<p>Mr. Septimus Hicks looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor; +at last an idea struck him. ‘Let the man of the house, Tibbs, +be the father,’ he suggested; and then he quoted, as peculiarly +applicable to Tibbs and the pair -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Oh Powers of Heaven! what dark eyes meets she there?<br />‘’Tis—’tis +her father’s—fixed upon the pair.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘The idea has struck me already,’ said Mr. Calton: ‘but, +you see, Matilda, for what reason I know not, is very anxious that Mrs. +Tibbs should know nothing about it, till it’s all over. +It’s a natural delicacy, after all, you know.’</p> +<p>‘He’s the best-natured little man in existence, if you +manage him properly,’ said Mr. Septimus Hicks. ‘Tell +him not to mention it to his wife, and assure him she won’t mind +it, and he’ll do it directly. My marriage is to be a secret +one, on account of the mother and <i>my</i> father; therefore he must +be enjoined to secrecy.’</p> +<p>A small double knock, like a presumptuous single one, was that instant +heard at the street-door. It was Tibbs; it could be no one else; +for no one else occupied five minutes in rubbing his shoes. He +had been out to pay the baker’s bill.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Tibbs,’ called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, +looking over the banisters.</p> +<p>‘Sir!’ replied he of the dirty face.</p> +<p>‘Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly, sir,’ said Tibbs, delighted to be taken notice +of. The bedroom-door was carefully closed, and Tibbs, having put +his hat on the floor (as most timid men do), and been accommodated with +a seat, looked as astounded as if he were suddenly summoned before the +familiars of the Inquisition.</p> +<p>‘A rather unpleasant occurrence, Mr. Tibbs,’ said Calton, +in a very portentous manner, ‘obliges me to consult you, and to +beg you will not communicate what I am about to say, to your wife.’</p> +<p>Tibbs acquiesced, wondering in his own mind what the deuce the other +could have done, and imagining that at least he must have broken the +best decanters.</p> +<p>Mr. Calton resumed; ‘I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an unpleasant +situation.’</p> +<p>Tibbs looked at Mr. Septimus Hicks, as if he thought Mr. H.’s +being in the immediate vicinity of his fellow-boarder might constitute +the unpleasantness of his situation; but as he did not exactly know +what to say, he merely ejaculated the monosyllable ‘Lor!’</p> +<p>‘Now,’ continued the knocker, ‘let me beg you will +exhibit no manifestations of surprise, which may be overheard by the +domestics, when I tell you—command your feelings of astonishment—that +two inmates of this house intend to be married to-morrow morning.’ +And he drew back his chair, several feet, to perceive the effect of +the unlooked-for announcement.</p> +<p>If Tibbs had rushed from the room, staggered down-stairs, and fainted +in the passage—if he had instantaneously jumped out of the window +into the mews behind the house, in an agony of surprise—his behaviour +would have been much less inexplicable to Mr. Calton than it was, when +he put his hands into his inexpressible-pockets, and said with a half-chuckle, +‘Just so.’</p> +<p>‘You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs?’ inquired Mr. Calton.</p> +<p>‘Bless you, no, sir,’ returned Tibbs; ‘after all, +its very natural. When two young people get together, you know—’</p> +<p>‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Calton, with an indescribable +air of self-satisfaction.</p> +<p>‘You don’t think it’s at all an out-of-the-way +affair then?’ asked Mr. Septimus Hicks, who had watched the countenance +of Tibbs in mute astonishment.</p> +<p>‘No, sir,’ replied Tibbs; ‘I was just the same +at his age.’ He actually smiled when he said this.</p> +<p>‘How devilish well I must carry my years!’ thought the +delighted old beau, knowing he was at least ten years older than Tibbs +at that moment.</p> +<p>‘Well, then, to come to the point at once,’ he continued, +‘I have to ask you whether you will object to act as father on +the occasion?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not,’ replied Tibbs; still without evincing +an atom of surprise.</p> +<p>‘You will not?’</p> +<p>‘Decidedly not,’ reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a +pot of porter with the head off.</p> +<p>Mr. Calton seized the hand of the petticoat-governed little man, +and vowed eternal friendship from that hour. Hicks, who was all +admiration and surprise, did the same.</p> +<p>‘Now, confess,’ asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked +up his hat, ‘were you not a little surprised?’</p> +<p>‘I b’lieve you!’ replied that illustrious person, +holding up one hand; ‘I b’lieve you! When I first +heard of it.’</p> +<p>‘So sudden,’ said Septimus Hicks.</p> +<p>‘So strange to ask <i>me</i>, you know,’ said Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘So odd altogether!’ said the superannuated love-maker; +and then all three laughed.</p> +<p>‘I say,’ said Tibbs, shutting the door which he had previously +opened, and giving full vent to a hitherto corked-up giggle, ‘what +bothers me is, what <i>will</i> his father say?’</p> +<p>Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton.</p> +<p>‘Yes; but the best of it is,’ said the latter, giggling +in his turn, ‘I haven’t got a father—he! he! he!’</p> +<p>‘You haven’t got a father. No; but <i>he</i> has,’ +said Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘<i>Who</i> has?’ inquired Septimus Hicks.</p> +<p>‘Why<i>, him</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Him, who? Do you know my secret? Do you mean me?’</p> +<p>‘You! No; you know who I mean,’ returned Tibbs +with a knowing wink.</p> +<p>‘For Heaven’s sake, whom do you mean?’ inquired +Mr. Calton, who, like Septimus Hicks, was all but out of his senses +at the strange confusion.</p> +<p>‘Why Mr. Simpson, of course,’ replied Tibbs; ‘who +else could I mean?’</p> +<p>‘I see it all,’ said the Byron-quoter; ‘Simpson +marries Julia Maplesone to-morrow morning!’</p> +<p>‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, ‘of +course he does.’</p> +<p>It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate—our feeble +pen is inadequate to describe—the expression which the countenances +of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively assumed, at this unexpected +announcement. Equally impossible is it to describe, although perhaps +it is easier for our lady readers to imagine, what arts the three ladies +could have used, so completely to entangle their separate partners. +Whatever they were, however, they were successful. The mother +was perfectly aware of the intended marriage of both daughters; and +the young ladies were equally acquainted with the intention of their +estimable parent. They agreed, however, that it would have a much +better appearance if each feigned ignorance of the other’s engagement; +and it was equally desirable that all the marriages should take place +on the same day, to prevent the discovery of one clandestine alliance, +operating prejudicially on the others. Hence, the mystification +of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks, and the pre-engagement of the +unwary Tibbs.</p> +<p>On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss Matilda +Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a ‘holy alliance’ +with Miss Julia; Tibbs acting as father, ‘his first appearance +in that character.’ Mr. Calton, not being quite so eager +as the two young men, was rather struck by the double discovery; and +as he had found some difficulty in getting any one to give the lady +away, it occurred to him that the best mode of obviating the inconvenience +would be not to take her at all. The lady, however, ‘appealed,’ +as her counsel said on the trial of the cause, <i>Maplesone</i> v.<i> +Calton</i>, for a breach of promise, ‘with a broken heart, to +the outraged laws of her country.’ She recovered damages +to the amount of 1,000<i>l</i>. which the unfortunate knocker was compelled +to pay. Mr. Septimus Hicks having walked the hospitals, took it +into his head to walk off altogether. His injured wife is at present +residing with her mother at Boulogne. Mr. Simpson, having the +misfortune to lose his wife six weeks after marriage (by her eloping +with an officer during his temporary sojourn in the Fleet Prison, in +consequence of his inability to discharge her little mantua-maker’s +bill), and being disinherited by his father, who died soon afterwards, +was fortunate enough to obtain a permanent engagement at a fashionable +haircutter’s; hairdressing being a science to which he had frequently +directed his attention. In this situation he had necessarily many +opportunities of making himself acquainted with the habits, and style +of thinking, of the exclusive portion of the nobility of this kingdom. +To this fortunate circumstance are we indebted for the production of +those brilliant efforts of genius, his fashionable novels, which so +long as good taste, unsullied by exaggeration, cant, and quackery, continues +to exist, cannot fail to instruct and amuse the thinking portion of +the community.</p> +<p>It only remains to add, that this complication of disorders completely +deprived poor Mrs. Tibbs of all her inmates, except the one whom she +could have best spared—her husband. That wretched little +man returned home, on the day of the wedding, in a state of partial +intoxication; and, under the influence of wine, excitement, and despair, +actually dared to brave the anger of his wife. Since that ill-fated +hour he has constantly taken his meals in the kitchen, to which apartment, +it is understood, his witticisms will be in future confined: a turn-up +bedstead having been conveyed there by Mrs. Tibbs’s order for +his exclusive accommodation. It is possible that he will be enabled +to finish, in that seclusion, his story of the volunteers.</p> +<p>The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers. +Results must be reserved for another chapter.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>CHAPTER THE SECOND.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Well!’ said little Mrs. Tibbs to herself, as she sat +in the front parlour of the Coram-street mansion one morning, mending +a piece of stair-carpet off the first Landings;—‘Things +have not turned out so badly, either, and if I only get a favourable +answer to the advertisement, we shall be full again.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs resumed her occupation of making worsted lattice-work +in the carpet, anxiously listening to the twopenny postman, who was +hammering his way down the street, at the rate of a penny a knock. +The house was as quiet as possible. There was only one low sound +to be heard—it was the unhappy Tibbs cleaning the gentlemen’s +boots in the back kitchen, and accompanying himself with a buzzing noise, +in wretched mockery of humming a tune.</p> +<p>The postman drew near the house. He paused—so did Mrs. +Tibbs. A knock—a bustle—a letter—post-paid.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘T. I. presents compt. to I. T. and T. I. begs To say that +i see the advertisement And she will Do Herself the pleasure of calling +On you at 12 o’clock to-morrow morning.</p> +<p>‘T. I. as To apologise to I. T. for the shortness Of the notice +But i hope it will not unconvenience you.</p> +<p>‘I remain yours Truly</p> +<p>‘Wednesday evening.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Little Mrs. Tibbs perused the document, over and over again; and +the more she read it, the more was she confused by the mixture of the +first and third person; the substitution of the ‘i’ for +the ‘T. I.;’ and the transition from the ‘I. +T.’ to the ‘You.’ The writing looked like a +skein of thread in a tangle, and the note was ingeniously folded into +a perfect square, with the direction squeezed up into the right-hand +corner, as if it were ashamed of itself. The back of the epistle +was pleasingly ornamented with a large red wafer, which, with the addition +of divers ink-stains, bore a marvellous resemblance to a black beetle +trodden upon. One thing, however, was perfectly clear to the perplexed +Mrs. Tibbs. Somebody was to call at twelve. The drawing-room +was forthwith dusted for the third time that morning; three or four +chairs were pulled out of their places, and a corresponding number of +books carefully upset, in order that there might be a due absence of +formality. Down went the piece of stair-carpet before noticed, +and up ran Mrs. Tibbs ‘to make herself tidy.’</p> +<p>The clock of New Saint Pancras Church struck twelve, and the Foundling, +with laudable politeness, did the same ten minutes afterwards, Saint +something else struck the quarter, and then there arrived a single lady +with a double knock, in a pelisse the colour of the interior of a damson +pie; a bonnet of the same, with a regular conservatory of artificial +flowers; a white veil, and a green parasol, with a cobweb border.</p> +<p>The visitor (who was very fat and red-faced) was shown into the drawing-room; +Mrs. Tibbs presented herself, and the negotiation commenced.</p> +<p>‘I called in consequence of an advertisement,’ said the +stranger, in a voice as if she had been playing a set of Pan’s +pipes for a fortnight without leaving off.</p> +<p>‘Yes!’ said Mrs. Tibbs, rubbing her hands very slowly, +and looking the applicant full in the face—two things she always +did on such occasions.</p> +<p>‘Money isn’t no object whatever to me,’ said the +lady, ‘so much as living in a state of retirement and obtrusion.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs, as a matter of course, acquiesced in such an exceedingly +natural desire.</p> +<p>‘I am constantly attended by a medical man,’ resumed +the pelisse wearer; ‘I have been a shocking unitarian for some +time—I, indeed, have had very little peace since the death of +Mr. Bloss.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs looked at the relict of the departed Bloss, and thought +he must have had very little peace in his time. Of course she +could not say so; so she looked very sympathising.</p> +<p>‘I shall be a good deal of trouble to you,’ said Mrs. +Bloss; ‘but, for that trouble I am willing to pay. I am +going through a course of treatment which renders attention necessary. +I have one mutton-chop in bed at half-past eight, and another at ten, +every morning.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs, as in duty bound, expressed the pity she felt for anybody +placed in such a distressing situation; and the carnivorous Mrs. Bloss +proceeded to arrange the various preliminaries with wonderful despatch. +‘Now mind,’ said that lady, after terms were arranged; ‘I +am to have the second-floor front, for my bed-room?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am.’</p> +<p>‘And you’ll find room for my little servant Agnes?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! certainly.’</p> +<p>‘And I can have one of the cellars in the area for my bottled +porter.’</p> +<p>‘With the greatest pleasure;—James shall get it ready +for you by Saturday.’</p> +<p>‘And I’ll join the company at the breakfast-table on +Sunday morning,’ said Mrs. Bloss. ‘I shall get up +on purpose.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ returned Mrs. Tibbs, in her most amiable +tone; for satisfactory references had ‘been given and required,’ +and it was quite certain that the new-comer had plenty of money. +‘It’s rather singular,’ continued Mrs. Tibbs, with +what was meant for a most bewitching smile, ‘that we have a gentleman +now with us, who is in a very delicate state of health—a Mr. Gobler.—His +apartment is the back drawing-room.’</p> +<p>‘The next room?’ inquired Mrs. Bloss.</p> +<p>‘The next room,’ repeated the hostess.</p> +<p>‘How very promiscuous!’ ejaculated the widow.</p> +<p>‘He hardly ever gets up,’ said Mrs. Tibbs in a whisper.</p> +<p>‘Lor!’ cried Mrs. Bloss, in an equally low tone.</p> +<p>‘And when he is up,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, ‘we never +can persuade him to go to bed again.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ said the astonished Mrs. Bloss, drawing her +chair nearer Mrs. Tibbs. ‘What is his complaint?’</p> +<p>‘Why, the fact is,’ replied Mrs. Tibbs, with a most communicative +air, ‘he has no stomach whatever.’</p> +<p>‘No what?’ inquired Mrs. Bloss, with a look of the most +indescribable alarm.</p> +<p>‘No stomach,’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs, with a shake of the +head.</p> +<p>‘Lord bless us! what an extraordinary case!’ gasped Mrs. +Bloss, as if she understood the communication in its literal sense, +and was astonished at a gentleman without a stomach finding it necessary +to board anywhere.</p> +<p>‘When I say he has no stomach,’ explained the chatty +little Mrs. Tibbs, ‘I mean that his digestion is so much impaired, +and his interior so deranged, that his stomach is not of the least use +to him;—in fact, it’s an inconvenience.’</p> +<p>‘Never heard such a case in my life!’ exclaimed Mrs. +Bloss. ‘Why, he’s worse than I am.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes!’ replied Mrs. Tibbs;—‘certainly.’ +She said this with great confidence, for the damson pelisse suggested +that Mrs. Bloss, at all events, was not suffering under Mr. Gobler’s +complaint.</p> +<p>‘You have quite incited my curiosity,’ said Mrs. Bloss, +as she rose to depart. ‘How I long to see him!’</p> +<p>‘He generally comes down, once a week,’ replied Mrs. +Tibbs; ‘I dare say you’ll see him on Sunday.’ +With this consolatory promise Mrs. Bloss was obliged to be contented. +She accordingly walked slowly down the stairs, detailing her complaints +all the way; and Mrs. Tibbs followed her, uttering an exclamation of +compassion at every step. James (who looked very gritty, for he +was cleaning the knives) fell up the kitchen-stairs, and opened the +street-door; and, after mutual farewells, Mrs. Bloss slowly departed, +down the shady side of the street.</p> +<p>It is almost superfluous to say, that the lady whom we have just +shown out at the street-door (and whom the two female servants are now +inspecting from the second-floor windows) was exceedingly vulgar, ignorant, +and selfish. Her deceased better-half had been an eminent cork-cutter, +in which capacity he had amassed a decent fortune. He had no relative +but his nephew, and no friend but his cook. The former had the +insolence one morning to ask for the loan of fifteen pounds; and, by +way of retaliation, he married the latter next day; he made a will immediately +afterwards, containing a burst of honest indignation against his nephew +(who supported himself and two sisters on 100<i>l</i>. a year), and +a bequest of his whole property to his wife. He felt ill after +breakfast, and died after dinner. There is a mantelpiece-looking +tablet in a civic parish church, setting forth his virtues, and deploring +his loss. He never dishonoured a bill, or gave away a halfpenny.</p> +<p>The relict and sole executrix of this noble-minded man was an odd +mixture of shrewdness and simplicity, liberality and meanness. +Bred up as she had been, she knew no mode of living so agreeable as +a boarding-house: and having nothing to do, and nothing to wish for, +she naturally imagined she must be ill—an impression which was +most assiduously promoted by her medical attendant, Dr. Wosky, and her +handmaid Agnes: both of whom, doubtless for good reasons, encouraged +all her extravagant notions.</p> +<p>Since the catastrophe recorded in the last chapter, Mrs. Tibbs had +been very shy of young-lady boarders. Her present inmates were +all lords of the creation, and she availed herself of the opportunity +of their assemblage at the dinner-table, to announce the expected arrival +of Mrs. Bloss. The gentlemen received the communication with stoical +indifference, and Mrs. Tibbs devoted all her energies to prepare for +the reception of the valetudinarian. The second-floor front was +scrubbed, and washed, and flannelled, till the wet went through to the +drawing-room ceiling. Clean white counterpanes, and curtains, +and napkins, water-bottles as clear as crystal, blue jugs, and mahogany +furniture, added to the splendour, and increased the comfort, of the +apartment. The warming-pan was in constant requisition, and a +fire lighted in the room every day. The chattels of Mrs. Bloss +were forwarded by instalments. First, there came a large hamper +of Guinness’s stout, and an umbrella; then, a train of trunks; +then, a pair of clogs and a bandbox; then, an easy chair with an air-cushion; +then, a variety of suspicious-looking packages; and—‘though +last not least’—Mrs. Bloss and Agnes: the latter in a cherry-coloured +merino dress, open-work stockings, and shoes with sandals: like a disguised +Columbine.</p> +<p>The installation of the Duke of Wellington, as Chancellor of the +University of Oxford, was nothing, in point of bustle and turmoil, to +the installation of Mrs. Bloss in her new quarters. True, there +was no bright doctor of civil law to deliver a classical address on +the occasion; but there were several other old women present, who spoke +quite as much to the purpose, and understood themselves equally well. +The chop-eater was so fatigued with the process of removal that she +declined leaving her room until the following morning; so a mutton-chop, +pickle, a pill, a pint bottle of stout, and other medicines, were carried +up-stairs for her consumption.</p> +<p>‘Why, what <i>do</i> you think, ma’am?’ inquired +the inquisitive Agnes of her mistress, after they had been in the house +some three hours; ‘what <i>do</i> you think, ma’am? the +lady of the house is married.’</p> +<p>‘Married!’ said Mrs. Bloss, taking the pill and a draught +of Guinness—‘married! Unpossible!’</p> +<p>‘She is indeed, ma’am,’ returned the Columbine; +‘and her husband, ma’am, lives—he—he—he—lives +in the kitchen, ma’am.’</p> +<p>‘In the kitchen!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am: and he—he—he—the housemaid +says, he never goes into the parlour except on Sundays; and that Ms. +Tibbs makes him clean the gentlemen’s boots; and that he cleans +the windows, too, sometimes; and that one morning early, when he was +in the front balcony cleaning the drawing-room windows, he called out +to a gentleman on the opposite side of the way, who used to live here—“Ah! +Mr. Calton, sir, how are you?”’ Here the attendant +laughed till Mrs. Bloss was in serious apprehension of her chuckling +herself into a fit.</p> +<p>‘Well, I never!’ said Mrs. Bloss.</p> +<p>‘Yes. And please, ma’am, the servants gives him +gin-and-water sometimes; and then he cries, and says he hates his wife +and the boarders, and wants to tickle them.’</p> +<p>‘Tickle the boarders!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, seriously +alarmed.</p> +<p>‘No, ma’am, not the boarders, the servants.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, is that all!’ said Mrs. Bloss, quite satisfied.</p> +<p>‘He wanted to kiss me as I came up the kitchen-stairs, just +now,’ said Agnes, indignantly; ‘but I gave it him—a +little wretch!’</p> +<p>This intelligence was but too true. A long course of snubbing +and neglect; his days spent in the kitchen, and his nights in the turn-up +bedstead, had completely broken the little spirit that the unfortunate +volunteer had ever possessed. He had no one to whom he could detail +his injuries but the servants, and they were almost of necessity his +chosen confidants. It is no less strange than true, however, that +the little weaknesses which he had incurred, most probably during his +military career, seemed to increase as his comforts diminished. +He was actually a sort of journeyman Giovanni of the basement story.</p> +<p>The next morning, being Sunday, breakfast was laid in the front parlour +at ten o’clock. Nine was the usual time, but the family +always breakfasted an hour later on sabbath. Tibbs enrobed himself +in his Sunday costume—a black coat, and exceedingly short, thin +trousers; with a very large white waistcoat, white stockings and cravat, +and Blucher boots—and mounted to the parlour aforesaid. +Nobody had come down, and he amused himself by drinking the contents +of the milkpot with a teaspoon.</p> +<p>A pair of slippers were heard descending the stairs. Tibbs +flew to a chair; and a stern-looking man, of about fifty, with very +little hair on his head, and a Sunday paper in his hand, entered the +room.</p> +<p>‘Good morning, Mr. Evenson,’ said Tibbs, very humbly, +with something between a nod and a bow.</p> +<p>‘How do you do, Mr. Tibbs?’ replied he of the slippers, +as he sat himself down, and began to read his paper without saying another +word.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?’ +inquired Tibbs, just for the sake of saying something.</p> +<p>‘I should think he was,’ replied the stern gentleman. +‘He was whistling “The Light Guitar,” in the next +room to mine, at five o’clock this morning.’</p> +<p>‘He’s very fond of whistling,’ said Tibbs, with +a slight smirk.</p> +<p>‘Yes—I ain’t,’ was the laconic reply.</p> +<p>Mr. John Evenson was in the receipt of an independent income, arising +chiefly from various houses he owned in the different suburbs. +He was very morose and discontented. He was a thorough radical, +and used to attend a great variety of public meetings, for the express +purpose of finding fault with everything that was proposed. Mr. +Wisbottle, on the other hand, was a high Tory. He was a clerk +in the Woods and Forests Office, which he considered rather an aristocratic +employment; he knew the peerage by heart, and, could tell you, off-hand, +where any illustrious personage lived. He had a good set of teeth, +and a capital tailor. Mr. Evenson looked on all these qualifications +with profound contempt; and the consequence was that the two were always +disputing, much to the edification of the rest of the house. It +should be added, that, in addition to his partiality for whistling, +Mr. Wisbottle had a great idea of his singing powers. There were +two other boarders, besides the gentleman in the back drawing-room—Mr. +Alfred Tomkins and Mr. Frederick O’Bleary. Mr. Tomkins was +a clerk in a wine-house; he was a connoisseur in paintings, and had +a wonderful eye for the picturesque. Mr. O’Bleary was an +Irishman, recently imported; he was in a perfectly wild state; and had +come over to England to be an apothecary, a clerk in a government office, +an actor, a reporter, or anything else that turned up—he was not +particular. He was on familiar terms with two small Irish members, +and got franks for everybody in the house. He felt convinced that +his intrinsic merits must procure him a high destiny. He wore +shepherd’s-plaid inexpressibles, and used to look under all the +ladies’ bonnets as he walked along the streets. His manners +and appearance reminded one of Orson.</p> +<p>‘Here comes Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Tibbs; and Mr. Wisbottle +forthwith appeared in blue slippers, and a shawl dressing-gown, whistling +‘<i>Di piacer</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Good morning, sir,’ said Tibbs again. It was almost +the only thing he ever said to anybody</p> +<p>‘How are you, Tibbs?’ condescendingly replied the amateur; +and he walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever.</p> +<p>‘Pretty air, that!’ said Evenson, with a snarl, and without +taking his eyes off the paper.</p> +<p>‘Glad you like it,’ replied Wisbottle, highly gratified.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think it would sound better, if you whistled +it a little louder?’ inquired the mastiff.</p> +<p>‘No; I don’t think it would,’ rejoined the unconscious +Wisbottle.</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you what, Wisbottle,’ said Evenson, +who had been bottling up his anger for some hours—‘the next +time you feel disposed to whistle “The Light Guitar” at +five o’clock in the morning, I’ll trouble you to whistle +it with your head out o’ window. If you don’t, I’ll +learn the triangle—I will, by—’</p> +<p>The entrance of Mrs. Tibbs (with the keys in a little basket) interrupted +the threat, and prevented its conclusion.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs apologised for being down rather late; the bell was rung; +James brought up the urn, and received an unlimited order for dry toast +and bacon. Tibbs sat down at the bottom of the table, and began +eating water-cresses like a Nebuchadnezzar. Mr. O’Bleary +appeared, and Mr. Alfred Tomkins. The compliments of the morning +were exchanged, and the tea was made.</p> +<p>‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Tomkins, who had been looking +out at the window. ‘Here—Wisbottle—pray come +here—make haste.’</p> +<p>Mr. Wisbottle started from the table, and every one looked up.</p> +<p>‘Do you see,’ said the connoisseur, placing Wisbottle +in the right position—‘a little more this way: there—do +you see how splendidly the light falls upon the left side of that broken +chimney-pot at No. 48?’</p> +<p>‘Dear me! I see,’ replied Wisbottle, in a tone +of admiration.</p> +<p>‘I never saw an object stand out so beautifully against the +clear sky in my life,’ ejaculated Alfred. Everybody (except +John Evenson) echoed the sentiment; for Mr. Tomkins had a great character +for finding out beauties which no one else could discover—he certainly +deserved it.</p> +<p>‘I have frequently observed a chimney-pot in College-green, +Dublin, which has a much better effect,’ said the patriotic O’Bleary, +who never allowed Ireland to be outdone on any point.</p> +<p>The assertion was received with obvious incredulity, for Mr. Tomkins +declared that no other chimney-pot in the United Kingdom, broken or +unbroken, could be so beautiful as the one at No. 48.</p> +<p>The room-door was suddenly thrown open, and Agnes appeared, leading +in Mrs. Bloss, who was dressed in a geranium-coloured muslin gown, and +displayed a gold watch of huge dimensions; a chain to match; and a splendid +assortment of rings, with enormous stones. A general rush was +made for a chair, and a regular introduction took place. Mr. John +Evenson made a slight inclination of the head; Mr. Frederick O’Bleary, +Mr. Alfred Tomkins, and Mr. Wisbottle, bowed like the mandarins in a +grocer’s shop; Tibbs rubbed hands, and went round in circles. +He was observed to close one eye, and to assume a clock-work sort of +expression with the other; this has been considered as a wink, and it +has been reported that Agnes was its object. We repel the calumny, +and challenge contradiction.</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs inquired after Mrs. Bloss’s health in a low tone. +Mrs. Bloss, with a supreme contempt for the memory of Lindley Murray, +answered the various questions in a most satisfactory manner; and a +pause ensued, during which the eatables disappeared with awful rapidity.</p> +<p>‘You must have been very much pleased with the appearance of +the ladies going to the Drawing-room the other day, Mr. O’Bleary?’ +said Mrs. Tibbs, hoping to start a topic.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast.</p> +<p>‘Never saw anything like it before, I suppose?’ suggested +Wisbottle.</p> +<p>‘No—except the Lord Lieutenant’s levees,’ +replied O’Bleary.</p> +<p>‘Are they at all equal to our drawing-rooms?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, infinitely superior!’</p> +<p>‘Gad! I don’t know,’ said the aristocratic +Wisbottle, ‘the Dowager Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently +dressed, and so was the Baron Slappenbachenhausen.’</p> +<p>‘What was he presented on?’ inquired Evenson.</p> +<p>‘On his arrival in England.’</p> +<p>‘I thought so,’ growled the radical; ‘you never +hear of these fellows being presented on their going away again. +They know better than that.’</p> +<p>‘Unless somebody pervades them with an apintment,’ said +Mrs. Bloss, joining in the conversation in a faint voice.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Wisbottle, evading the point, ‘it’s +a splendid sight.’</p> +<p>‘And did it never occur to you,’ inquired the radical, +who never would be quiet; ‘did it never occur to you, that you +pay for these precious ornaments of society?’</p> +<p>‘It certainly <i>has</i> occurred to me,’ said Wisbottle, +who thought this answer was a poser; ‘it <i>has</i> occurred to +me, and I am willing to pay for them.’</p> +<p>‘Well, and it has occurred to me too,’ replied John Evenson, +‘and I ain’t willing to pay for ’em. Then why +should I?—I say, why should I?’ continued the politician, +laying down the paper, and knocking his knuckles on the table. +‘There are two great principles—demand—’</p> +<p>‘A cup of tea if you please, dear,’ interrupted Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘And supply—’</p> +<p>‘May I trouble you to hand this tea to Mr. Tibbs?’ said +Mrs. Tibbs, interrupting the argument, and unconsciously illustrating +it.</p> +<p>The thread of the orator’s discourse was broken. He drank +his tea and resumed the paper.</p> +<p>‘If it’s very fine,’ said Mr. Alfred Tomkins, addressing +the company in general, ‘I shall ride down to Richmond to-day, +and come back by the steamer. There are some splendid effects +of light and shade on the Thames; the contrast between the blueness +of the sky and the yellow water is frequently exceedingly beautiful.’ +Mr. Wisbottle hummed, ‘Flow on, thou shining river.’</p> +<p>‘We have some splendid steam-vessels in Ireland,’ said +O’Bleary.</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ said Mrs. Bloss, delighted to find a subject +broached in which she could take part.</p> +<p>‘The accommodations are extraordinary,’ said O’Bleary.</p> +<p>‘Extraordinary indeed,’ returned Mrs. Bloss. ‘When +Mr. Bloss was alive, he was promiscuously obligated to go to Ireland +on business. I went with him, and raly the manner in which the +ladies and gentlemen were accommodated with berths, is not creditable.’</p> +<p>Tibbs, who had been listening to the dialogue, looked aghast, and +evinced a strong inclination to ask a question, but was checked by a +look from his wife. Mr. Wisbottle laughed, and said Tomkins had +made a pun; and Tomkins laughed too, and said he had not.</p> +<p>The remainder of the meal passed off as breakfasts usually do. +Conversation flagged, and people played with their teaspoons. +The gentlemen looked out at the window; walked about the room; and, +when they got near the door, dropped off one by one. Tibbs retired +to the back parlour by his wife’s orders, to check the green-grocer’s +weekly account; and ultimately Mrs. Tibbs and Mrs. Bloss were left alone +together.</p> +<p>‘Oh dear!’ said the latter, ‘I feel alarmingly +faint; it’s very singular.’ (It certainly was, for +she had eaten four pounds of solids that morning.) ‘By-the-bye,’ +said Mrs. Bloss, ‘I have not seen Mr. What’s-his-name yet.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Gobler?’ suggested Mrs. Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ said Mrs. Tibbs, ‘he is a most mysterious +person. He has his meals regularly sent up-stairs, and sometimes +don’t leave his room for weeks together.’</p> +<p>‘I haven’t seen or heard nothing of him,’ repeated +Mrs. Bloss.</p> +<p>‘I dare say you’ll hear him to-night,’ replied +Mrs. Tibbs; ‘he generally groans a good deal on Sunday evenings.’</p> +<p>‘I never felt such an interest in any one in my life,’ +ejaculated Mrs. Bloss. A little double-knock interrupted the conversation; +Dr. Wosky was announced, and duly shown in. He was a little man +with a red face—dressed of course in black, with a stiff white +neckerchief. He had a very good practice, and plenty of money, +which he had amassed by invariably humouring the worst fancies of all +the females of all the families he had ever been introduced into. +Mrs. Tibbs offered to retire, but was entreated to stay.</p> +<p>‘Well, my dear ma’am, and how are we?’ inquired +Wosky, in a soothing tone.</p> +<p>‘Very ill, doctor—very ill,’ said Mrs. Bloss, in +a whisper</p> +<p>‘Ah! we must take care of ourselves;—we must, indeed,’ +said the obsequious Wosky, as he felt the pulse of his interesting patient.</p> +<p>‘How is our appetite?’</p> +<p>Mrs. Bloss shook her head.</p> +<p>‘Our friend requires great care,’ said Wosky, appealing +to Mrs. Tibbs, who of course assented. ‘I hope, however, +with the blessing of Providence, that we shall be enabled to make her +quite stout again.’ Mrs. Tibbs wondered in her own mind +what the patient would be when she was made quite stout.</p> +<p>‘We must take stimulants,’ said the cunning Wosky—‘plenty +of nourishment, and, above all, we must keep our nerves quiet; we positively +must not give way to our sensibilities. We must take all we can +get,’ concluded the doctor, as he pocketed his fee, ‘and +we must keep quiet.’</p> +<p>‘Dear man!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, as the doctor stepped +into the carriage.</p> +<p>‘Charming creature indeed—quite a lady’s man!’ +said Mrs. Tibbs, and Dr. Wosky rattled away to make fresh gulls of delicate +females, and pocket fresh fees.</p> +<p>As we had occasion, in a former paper, to describe a dinner at Mrs. +Tibbs’s; and as one meal went off very like another on all ordinary +occasions; we will not fatigue our readers by entering into any other +detailed account of the domestic economy of the establishment. +We will therefore proceed to events, merely premising that the mysterious +tenant of the back drawing-room was a lazy, selfish hypochondriac; always +complaining and never ill. As his character in many respects closely +assimilated to that of Mrs. Bloss, a very warm friendship soon sprung +up between them. He was tall, thin, and pale; he always fancied +he had a severe pain somewhere or other, and his face invariably wore +a pinched, screwed-up expression; he looked, indeed, like a man who +had got his feet in a tub of exceedingly hot water, against his will.</p> +<p>For two or three months after Mrs. Bloss’s first appearance +in Coram-street, John Evenson was observed to become, every day, more +sarcastic and more ill-natured; and there was a degree of additional +importance in his manner, which clearly showed that he fancied he had +discovered something, which he only wanted a proper opportunity of divulging. +He found it at last.</p> +<p>One evening, the different inmates of the house were assembled in +the drawing-room engaged in their ordinary occupations. Mr. Gobler +and Mrs. Bloss were sitting at a small card-table near the centre window, +playing cribbage; Mr. Wisbottle was describing semicircles on the music-stool, +turning over the leaves of a book on the piano, and humming most melodiously; +Alfred Tomkins was sitting at the round table, with his elbows duly +squared, making a pencil sketch of a head considerably larger than his +own; O’Bleary was reading Horace, and trying to look as if he +understood it; and John Evenson had drawn his chair close to Mrs. Tibbs’s +work-table, and was talking to her very earnestly in a low tone.</p> +<p>‘I can assure you, Mrs. Tibbs,’ said the radical, laying +his forefinger on the muslin she was at work on; ‘I can assure +you, Mrs. Tibbs, that nothing but the interest I take in your welfare +would induce me to make this communication. I repeat, I fear Wisbottle +is endeavouring to gain the affections of that young woman, Agnes, and +that he is in the habit of meeting her in the store-room on the first +floor, over the leads. From my bedroom I distinctly heard voices +there, last night. I opened my door immediately, and crept very +softly on to the landing; there I saw Mr. Tibbs, who, it seems, had +been disturbed also.—Bless me, Mrs. Tibbs, you change colour!’</p> +<p>‘No, no—it’s nothing,’ returned Mrs. T. in +a hurried manner; ‘it’s only the heat of the room.’</p> +<p>‘A flush!’ ejaculated Mrs. Bloss from the card-table; +‘that’s good for four.’</p> +<p>‘If I thought it was Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, +after a pause, ‘he should leave this house instantly.’</p> +<p>‘Go!’ said Mrs. Bloss again.</p> +<p>‘And if I thought,’ continued the hostess with a most +threatening air, ‘if I thought he was assisted by Mr. Tibbs—’</p> +<p>‘One for his nob!’ said Gobler.</p> +<p>‘Oh,’ said Evenson, in a most soothing tone—he +liked to make mischief—‘I should hope Mr. Tibbs was not +in any way implicated. He always appeared to me very harmless.’</p> +<p>‘I have generally found him so,’ sobbed poor little Mrs. +Tibbs; crying like a watering-pot.</p> +<p>‘Hush! hush! pray—Mrs. Tibbs—consider—we +shall be observed—pray, don’t!’ said John Evenson, +fearing his whole plan would be interrupted. ‘We will set +the matter at rest with the utmost care, and I shall be most happy to +assist you in doing so.’ Mrs. Tibbs murmured her thanks.</p> +<p>‘When you think every one has retired to rest to-night,’ +said Evenson very pompously, ‘if you’ll meet me without +a light, just outside my bedroom door, by the staircase window, I think +we can ascertain who the parties really are, and you will afterwards +be enabled to proceed as you think proper.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Tibbs was easily persuaded; her curiosity was excited, her jealousy +was roused, and the arrangement was forthwith made. She resumed +her work, and John Evenson walked up and down the room with his hands +in his pockets, looking as if nothing had happened. The game of +cribbage was over, and conversation began again.</p> +<p>‘Well, Mr. O’Bleary,’ said the humming-top, turning +round on his pivot, and facing the company, ‘what did you think +of Vauxhall the other night?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it’s very fair,’ replied Orson, who had been +enthusiastically delighted with the whole exhibition.</p> +<p>‘Never saw anything like that Captain Ross’s set-out—eh?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ returned the patriot, with his usual reservation—‘except +in Dublin.’</p> +<p>‘I saw the Count de Canky and Captain Fitzthompson in the Gardens,’ +said Wisbottle; ‘they appeared much delighted.’</p> +<p>‘Then it <i>must</i> be beautiful,’ snarled Evenson.</p> +<p>‘I think the white bears is partickerlerly well done,’ +suggested Mrs. Bloss. ‘In their shaggy white coats, they +look just like Polar bears—don’t you think they do, Mr. +Evenson?’</p> +<p>‘I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all +fours,’ replied the discontented one.</p> +<p>‘Upon the whole, I should have liked our evening very well,’ +gasped Gobler; ‘only I caught a desperate cold which increased +my pain dreadfully! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, +before I could leave my room.’</p> +<p>‘Capital things those shower-baths!’ ejaculated Wisbottle.</p> +<p>‘Excellent!’ said Tomkins.</p> +<p>‘Delightful!’ chimed in O’Bleary. (He had +once seen one, outside a tinman’s.)</p> +<p>‘Disgusting machines!’ rejoined Evenson, who extended +his dislike to almost every created object, masculine, feminine, or +neuter.</p> +<p>‘Disgusting, Mr. Evenson!’ said Gobler, in a tone of +strong indignation.—‘Disgusting! Look at their utility—consider +how many lives they have saved by promoting perspiration.’</p> +<p>‘Promoting perspiration, indeed,’ growled John Evenson, +stopping short in his walk across the large squares in the pattern of +the carpet—‘I was ass enough to be persuaded some time ago +to have one in my bedroom. ‘Gad, I was in it once, and it +effectually cured <i>me</i>, for the mere sight of it threw me into +a profuse perspiration for six months afterwards.’</p> +<p>A titter followed this announcement, and before it had subsided James +brought up ‘the tray,’ containing the remains of a leg of +lamb which had made its <i>début</i> at dinner; bread; cheese; +an atom of butter in a forest of parsley; one pickled walnut and the +third of another; and so forth. The boy disappeared, and returned +again with another tray, containing glasses and jugs of hot and cold +water. The gentlemen brought in their spirit-bottles; the housemaid +placed divers plated bedroom candlesticks under the card-table; and +the servants retired for the night.</p> +<p>Chairs were drawn round the table, and the conversation proceeded +in the customary manner. John Evenson, who never ate supper, lolled +on the sofa, and amused himself by contradicting everybody. O’Bleary +ate as much as he could conveniently carry, and Mrs. Tibbs felt a due +degree of indignation thereat; Mr. Gobler and Mrs. Bloss conversed most +affectionately on the subject of pill-taking, and other innocent amusements; +and Tomkins and Wisbottle ‘got into an argument;’ that is +to say, they both talked very loudly and vehemently, each flattering +himself that he had got some advantage about something, and neither +of them having more than a very indistinct idea of what they were talking +about. An hour or two passed away; and the boarders and the plated +candlesticks retired in pairs to their respective bedrooms. John +Evenson pulled off his boots, locked his door, and determined to sit +up until Mr. Gobler had retired. He always sat in the drawing-room +an hour after everybody else had left it, taking medicine, and groaning.</p> +<p>Great Coram-street was hushed into a state of profound repose: it +was nearly two o’clock. A hackney-coach now and then rumbled +slowly by; and occasionally some stray lawyer’s clerk, on his +way home to Somers-town, struck his iron heel on the top of the coal-cellar +with a noise resembling the click of a smoke-Jack. A low, monotonous, +gushing sound was heard, which added considerably to the romantic dreariness +of the scene. It was the water ‘coming in’ at number +eleven.</p> +<p>‘He must be asleep by this time,’ said John Evenson to +himself, after waiting with exemplary patience for nearly an hour after +Mr. Gobler had left the drawing-room. He listened for a few moments; +the house was perfectly quiet; he extinguished his rushlight, and opened +his bedroom door. The staircase was so dark that it was impossible +to see anything.</p> +<p>‘S-s-s!’ whispered the mischief-maker, making a noise +like the first indication a catherine-wheel gives of the probability +of its going off.</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ whispered somebody else.</p> +<p>‘Is that you, Mrs. Tibbs?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Where?’</p> +<p>‘Here;’ and the misty outline of Mrs. Tibbs appeared +at the staircase window, like the ghost of Queen Anne in the tent scene +in Richard.</p> +<p>‘This way, Mrs. Tibbs,’ whispered the delighted busybody: +‘give me your hand—there! Whoever these people are, +they are in the store-room now, for I have been looking down from my +window, and I could see that they accidentally upset their candlestick, +and are now in darkness. You have no shoes on, have you?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said little Mrs. Tibbs, who could hardly speak +for trembling.</p> +<p>‘Well; I have taken my boots off, so we can go down, close +to the store-room door, and listen over the banisters;’ and down-stairs +they both crept accordingly, every board creaking like a patent mangle +on a Saturday afternoon.</p> +<p>‘It’s Wisbottle and somebody, I’ll swear,’ +exclaimed the radical in an energetic whisper, when they had listened +for a few moments.</p> +<p>‘Hush—pray let’s hear what they say!’ exclaimed +Mrs. Tibbs, the gratification of whose curiosity was now paramount to +every other consideration.</p> +<p>‘Ah! if I could but believe you,’ said a female voice +coquettishly, ‘I’d be bound to settle my missis for life.’</p> +<p>‘What does she say?’ inquired Mr. Evenson, who was not +quite so well situated as his companion.</p> +<p>‘She says she’ll settle her missis’s life,’ +replied Mrs. Tibbs. ‘The wretch! they’re plotting +murder.’</p> +<p>‘I know you want money,’ continued the voice, which belonged +to Agnes; ‘and if you’d secure me the five hundred pound, +I warrant she should take fire soon enough.’</p> +<p>‘What’s that?’ inquired Evenson again. He +could just hear enough to want to hear more.</p> +<p>‘I think she says she’ll set the house on fire,’ +replied the affrighted Mrs. Tibbs. ‘But thank God I’m +insured in the Phoenix!’</p> +<p>‘The moment I have secured your mistress, my dear,’ said +a man’s voice in a strong Irish brogue, ‘you may depend +on having the money.’</p> +<p>‘Bless my soul, it’s Mr. O’Bleary!’ exclaimed +Mrs. Tibbs, in a parenthesis.</p> +<p>‘The villain!’ said the indignant Mr. Evenson.</p> +<p>‘The first thing to be done,’ continued the Hibernian, +‘is to poison Mr. Gobler’s mind.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, certainly,’ returned Agnes.</p> +<p>‘What’s that?’ inquired Evenson again, in an agony +of curiosity and a whisper.</p> +<p>‘He says she’s to mind and poison Mr. Gobler,’ +replied Mrs. Tibbs, aghast at this sacrifice of human life.</p> +<p>‘And in regard of Mrs. Tibbs,’ continued O’Bleary.—Mrs. +Tibbs shuddered.</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of the greatest alarm, +just as Mrs. Tibbs was on the extreme verge of a fainting fit. +‘Hush!’</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ exclaimed Evenson, at the same moment to Mrs. +Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘There’s somebody coming <i>up</i>-stairs,’ said +Agnes to O’Bleary.</p> +<p>‘There’s somebody coming <i>down</i>-stairs,’ whispered +Evenson to Mrs. Tibbs.</p> +<p>‘Go into the parlour, sir,’ said Agnes to her companion. +‘You will get there, before whoever it is, gets to the top of +the kitchen stairs.’</p> +<p>‘The drawing-room, Mrs. Tibbs!’ whispered the astonished +Evenson to his equally astonished companion; and for the drawing-room +they both made, plainly hearing the rustling of two persons, one coming +down-stairs, and one coming up.</p> +<p>‘What can it be?’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs. ‘It’s +like a dream. I wouldn’t be found in this situation for +the world!’</p> +<p>‘Nor I,’ returned Evenson, who could never bear a joke +at his own expense. ‘Hush! here they are at the door.’</p> +<p>‘What fun!’ whispered one of the new-comers.—It +was Wisbottle.</p> +<p>‘Glorious!’ replied his companion, in an equally low +tone.—This was Alfred Tomkins. ‘Who would have thought +it?’</p> +<p>‘I told you so,’ said Wisbottle, in a most knowing whisper. +‘Lord bless you, he has paid her most extraordinary attention +for the last two months. I saw ’em when I was sitting at +the piano to-night.’</p> +<p>‘Well, do you know I didn’t notice it?’ interrupted +Tomkins.</p> +<p>‘Not notice it!’ continued Wisbottle. ‘Bless +you; I saw him whispering to her, and she crying; and then I’ll +swear I heard him say something about to-night when we were all in bed.’</p> +<p>‘They’re talking of <i>us</i>!’ exclaimed the agonised +Mrs. Tibbs, as the painful suspicion, and a sense of their situation, +flashed upon her mind.</p> +<p>‘I know it—I know it,’ replied Evenson, with a +melancholy consciousness that there was no mode of escape.</p> +<p>‘What’s to be done? we cannot both stop here!’ +ejaculated Mrs. Tibbs, in a state of partial derangement.</p> +<p>‘I’ll get up the chimney,’ replied Evenson, who +really meant what he said.</p> +<p>‘You can’t,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, in despair. +‘You can’t—it’s a register stove.’</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ repeated John Evenson.</p> +<p>‘Hush—hush!’ cried somebody down-stairs.</p> +<p>‘What a d-d hushing!’ said Alfred Tomkins, who began +to get rather bewildered.</p> +<p>‘There they are!’ exclaimed the sapient Wisbottle, as +a rustling noise was heard in the store-room.</p> +<p>‘Hark!’ whispered both the young men.</p> +<p>‘Hark!’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs and Evenson.</p> +<p>‘Let me alone, sir,’ said a female voice in the store-room.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Hagnes!’ cried another voice, which clearly belonged +to Tibbs, for nobody else ever owned one like it, ‘Oh, Hagnes—lovely +creature!’</p> +<p>‘Be quiet, sir!’ (A bounce.)</p> +<p>‘Hag—’</p> +<p>‘Be quiet, sir—I am ashamed of you. Think of your +wife, Mr. Tibbs. Be quiet, sir!’</p> +<p>‘My wife!’ exclaimed the valorous Tibbs, who was clearly +under the influence of gin-and-water, and a misplaced attachment; ‘I +ate her! Oh, Hagnes! when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen +hundred and—’</p> +<p>‘I declare I’ll scream. Be quiet, sir, will you?’ +(Another bounce and a scuffle.)</p> +<p>‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Tibbs, with a start.</p> +<p>‘What’s what?’ said Agnes, stopping short.</p> +<p>‘Why that!’</p> +<p>‘Ah! you have done it nicely now, sir,’ sobbed the frightened +Agnes, as a tapping was heard at Mrs. Tibbs’s bedroom door, which +would have beaten any dozen woodpeckers hollow.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Tibbs! Mrs. Tibbs!’ called out Mrs. Bloss. +‘Mrs. Tibbs, pray get up.’ (Here the imitation of +a woodpecker was resumed with tenfold violence.)</p> +<p>‘Oh, dear—dear!’ exclaimed the wretched partner +of the depraved Tibbs. ‘She’s knocking at my door. +We must be discovered! What will they think?’</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Tibbs! Mrs. Tibbs!’ screamed the woodpecker +again.</p> +<p>‘What’s the matter!’ shouted Gobler, bursting out +of the back drawing-room, like the dragon at Astley’s.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Mr. Gobler!’ cried Mrs. Bloss, with a proper approximation +to hysterics; ‘I think the house is on fire, or else there’s +thieves in it. I have heard the most dreadful noises!’</p> +<p>‘The devil you have!’ shouted Gobler again, bouncing +back into his den, in happy imitation of the aforesaid dragon, and returning +immediately with a lighted candle. ‘Why, what’s this? +Wisbottle! Tomkins! O’Bleary! Agnes! What +the deuce! all up and dressed?’</p> +<p>‘Astonishing!’ said Mrs. Bloss, who had run down-stairs, +and taken Mr. Gobler’s arm.</p> +<p>‘Call Mrs. Tibbs directly, somebody,’ said Gobler, turning +into the front drawing-room.—‘What! Mrs. Tibbs and +Mr. Evenson!!’</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson!’ repeated everybody, as +that unhappy pair were discovered: Mrs. Tibbs seated in an arm-chair +by the fireplace, and Mr. Evenson standing by her side,</p> +<p>We must leave the scene that ensued to the reader’s imagination. +We could tell, how Mrs. Tibbs forthwith fainted away, and how it required +the united strength of Mr. Wisbottle and Mr. Alfred Tomkins to hold +her in her chair; how Mr. Evenson explained, and how his explanation +was evidently disbelieved; how Agnes repelled the accusations of Mrs. +Tibbs by proving that she was negotiating with Mr. O’Bleary to +influence her mistress’s affections in his behalf; and how Mr. +Gobler threw a damp counterpane on the hopes of Mr. O’Bleary by +avowing that he (Gobler) had already proposed to, and been accepted +by, Mrs. Bloss; how Agnes was discharged from that lady’s service; +how Mr. O’Bleary discharged himself from Mrs. Tibbs’s house, +without going through the form of previously discharging his bill; and +how that disappointed young gentleman rails against England and the +English, and vows there is no virtue or fine feeling extant, ‘except +in Ireland.’ We repeat that we <i>could</i> tell all this, +but we love to exercise our self-denial, and we therefore prefer leaving +it to be imagined.</p> +<p>The lady whom we have hitherto described as Mrs. Bloss, is no more. +Mrs. Gobler exists: Mrs. Bloss has left us for ever. In a secluded +retreat in Newington Butts, far, far removed from the noisy strife of +that great boarding-house, the world, the enviable Gobler and his pleasing +wife revel in retirement: happy in their complaints, their table, and +their medicine, wafted through life by the grateful prayers of all the +purveyors of animal food within three miles round.</p> +<p>We would willingly stop here, but we have a painful duty imposed +upon us, which we must discharge. Mr. and Mrs. Tibbs have separated +by mutual consent, Mrs. Tibbs receiving one moiety of 43<i>l</i>. +15<i>s</i>. 10<i>d</i>., which we before stated to be the amount of +her husband’s annual income, and Mr. Tibbs the other. He +is spending the evening of his days in retirement; and he is spending +also, annually, that small but honourable independence. He resides +among the original settlers at Walworth; and it has been stated, on +unquestionable authority, that the conclusion of the volunteer story +has been heard in a small tavern in that respectable neighbourhood.</p> +<p>The unfortunate Mrs. Tibbs has determined to dispose of the whole +of her furniture by public auction, and to retire from a residence in +which she has suffered so much. Mr. Robins has been applied to, +to conduct the sale, and the transcendent abilities of the literary +gentlemen connected with his establishment are now devoted to the task +of drawing up the preliminary advertisement. It is to contain, +among a variety of brilliant matter, seventy-eight words in large capitals, +and six original quotations in inverted commas.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER II—MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Augustus Minns was a bachelor, of about forty as he said—of +about eight-and-forty as his friends said. He was always exceedingly +clean, precise, and tidy; perhaps somewhat priggish, and the most retiring +man in the world. He usually wore a brown frock-coat without a +wrinkle, light inexplicables without a spot, a neat neckerchief with +a remarkably neat tie, and boots without a fault; moreover, he always +carried a brown silk umbrella with an ivory handle. He was a clerk +in Somerset-house, or, as he said himself, he held ‘a responsible +situation under Government.’ He had a good and increasing +salary, in addition to some 10,000<i>l</i>. of his own (invested in +the funds), and he occupied a first floor in Tavistock-street, Covent-garden, +where he had resided for twenty years, having been in the habit of quarrelling +with his landlord the whole time: regularly giving notice of his intention +to quit on the first day of every quarter, and as regularly countermanding +it on the second. There were two classes of created objects which +he held in the deepest and most unmingled horror; these were dogs, and +children. He was not unamiable, but he could, at any time, have +viewed the execution of a dog, or the assassination of an infant, with +the liveliest satisfaction. Their habits were at variance with +his love of order; and his love of order was as powerful as his love +of life. Mr. Augustus Minns had no relations, in or near London, +with the exception of his cousin, Mr. Octavius Budden, to whose son, +whom he had never seen (for he disliked the father), he had consented +to become godfather by proxy. Mr. Budden having realised a moderate +fortune by exercising the trade or calling of a corn-chandler, and having +a great predilection for the country, had purchased a cottage in the +vicinity of Stamford-hill, whither he retired with the wife of his bosom, +and his only son, Master Alexander Augustus Budden. One evening, +as Mr. and Mrs. B. were admiring their son, discussing his various merits, +talking over his education, and disputing whether the classics should +be made an essential part thereof, the lady pressed so strongly upon +her husband the propriety of cultivating the friendship of Mr. Minns +in behalf of their son, that Mr. Budden at last made up his mind, that +it should not be his fault if he and his cousin were not in future more +intimate.</p> +<p>‘I’ll break the ice, my love,’ said Mr. Budden, +stirring up the sugar at the bottom of his glass of brandy-and-water, +and casting a sidelong look at his spouse to see the effect of the announcement +of his determination, ‘by asking Minns down to dine with us, on +Sunday.’</p> +<p>‘Then pray, Budden, write to your cousin at once,’ replied +Mrs. Budden. ‘Who knows, if we could only get him down here, +but he might take a fancy to our Alexander, and leave him his property?—Alick, +my dear, take your legs off the rail of the chair!’</p> +<p>‘Very true,’ said Mr. Budden, musing, ‘very true +indeed, my love!’ On the following morning, as Mr. Minns +was sitting at his breakfast-table, alternately biting his dry toast +and casting a look upon the columns of his morning paper, which he always +read from the title to the printer’s name, he heard a loud knock +at the street-door; which was shortly afterwards followed by the entrance +of his servant, who put into his hands a particularly small card, on +which was engraven in immense letters, ‘Mr. Octavius Budden, Amelia +Cottage (Mrs. B.’s name was Amelia), Poplar-walk, Stamford-hill.’</p> +<p>‘Budden!’ ejaculated Minns, ‘what can bring that +vulgar man here!—say I’m asleep—say I’m out, +and shall never be home again—anything to keep him down-stairs.’</p> +<p>‘But please, sir, the gentleman’s coming up,’ replied +the servant, and the fact was made evident, by an appalling creaking +of boots on the staircase accompanied by a pattering noise; the cause +of which, Minns could not, for the life of him, divine.</p> +<p>‘Hem—show the gentleman in,’ said the unfortunate +bachelor. Exit servant, and enter Octavius preceded by a large +white dog, dressed in a suit of fleecy hosiery, with pink eyes, large +ears, and no perceptible tail.</p> +<p>The cause of the pattering on the stairs was but too plain. +Mr. Augustus Minns staggered beneath the shock of the dog’s appearance.</p> +<p>‘My dear fellow, how are you?’ said Budden, as he entered.</p> +<p>He always spoke at the top of his voice, and always said the same +thing half-a-dozen times.</p> +<p>‘How are you, my hearty?’</p> +<p>‘How do you do, Mr. Budden?—pray take a chair!’ +politely stammered the discomfited Minns.</p> +<p>‘Thank you—thank you—well—how are you, eh?’</p> +<p>‘Uncommonly well, thank you,’ said Minns, casting a diabolical +look at the dog, who, with his hind legs on the floor, and his fore +paws resting on the table, was dragging a bit of bread and butter out +of a plate, preparatory to devouring it, with the buttered side next +the carpet.</p> +<p>‘Ah, you rogue!’ said Budden to his dog; ‘you see, +Minns, he’s like me, always at home, eh, my boy!—Egad, I’m +precious hot and hungry! I’ve walked all the way from Stamford-hill +this morning.’</p> +<p>‘Have you breakfasted?’ inquired Minns.</p> +<p>‘Oh, no!—came to breakfast with you; so ring the bell, +my dear fellow, will you? and let’s have another cup and saucer, +and the cold ham.—Make myself at home, you see!’ continued +Budden, dusting his boots with a table-napkin. ‘Ha!—ha!—ha! +-’pon my life, I’m hungry.’</p> +<p>Minns rang the bell, and tried to smile.</p> +<p>‘I decidedly never was so hot in my life,’ continued +Octavius, wiping his forehead; ‘well, but how are you, Minns? +‘Pon my soul, you wear capitally!’</p> +<p>‘D’ye think so?’ said Minns; and he tried another +smile.</p> +<p>‘’Pon my life, I do!’</p> +<p>‘Mrs. B. and—what’s his name—quite well?’</p> +<p>‘Alick—my son, you mean; never better—never better. +But at such a place as we’ve got at Poplar-walk, you know, he +couldn’t be ill if he tried. When I first saw it, by Jove! +it looked so knowing, with the front garden, and the green railings +and the brass knocker, and all that—I really thought it was a +cut above me.’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think you’d like the ham better,’ +interrupted Minns, ‘if you cut it the other way?’ +He saw, with feelings which it is impossible to describe, that his visitor +was cutting or rather maiming the ham, in utter violation of all established +rules.</p> +<p>‘No, thank ye,’ returned Budden, with the most barbarous +indifference to crime, ‘I prefer it this way, it eats short. +But I say, Minns, when will you come down and see us? You will +be delighted with the place; I know you will. Amelia and I were +talking about you the other night, and Amelia said—another lump +of sugar, please; thank ye—she said, don’t you think you +could contrive, my dear, to say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way—come +down, sir—damn the dog! he’s spoiling your curtains, Minns—ha!—ha!—ha!’ +Minns leaped from his seat as though he had received the discharge from +a galvanic battery.</p> +<p>‘Come out, sir!—go out, hoo!’ cried poor Augustus, +keeping, nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog; having +read of a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morning. By +dint of great exertion, much shouting, and a marvellous deal of poking +under the tables with a stick and umbrella, the dog was at last dislodged, +and placed on the landing outside the door, where he immediately commenced +a most appalling howling; at the same time vehemently scratching the +paint off the two nicely-varnished bottom panels, until they resembled +the interior of a backgammon-board.</p> +<p>‘A good dog for the country that!’ coolly observed Budden +to the distracted Minns, ‘but he’s not much used to confinement. +But now, Minns, when will you come down? I’ll take no denial, +positively. Let’s see, to-day’s Thursday.—Will +you come on Sunday? We dine at five, don’t say no—do.’</p> +<p>After a great deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to despair, +accepted the invitation, and promised to be at Poplar-walk on the ensuing +Sunday, at a quarter before five to the minute.</p> +<p>‘Now mind the direction,’ said Budden: ‘the coach +goes from the Flower-pot, in Bishopsgate-street, every half hour. +When the coach stops at the Swan, you’ll see, immediately opposite +you, a white house.’</p> +<p>‘Which is your house—I understand,’ said Minns, +wishing to cut short the visit, and the story, at the same time.</p> +<p>‘No, no, that’s not mine; that’s Grogus’s, +the great ironmonger’s. I was going to say—you turn +down by the side of the white house till you can’t go another +step further—mind that!—and then you turn to your right, +by some stables—well; close to you, you’ll see a wall with +“Beware of the Dog” written on it in large letters—(Minns +shuddered)—go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter +of a mile—and anybody will show you which is my place.’</p> +<p>‘Very well—thank ye—good-bye.’</p> +<p>‘Be punctual.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly: good morning.’</p> +<p>‘I say, Minns, you’ve got a card.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I have; thank ye.’ And Mr. Octavius Budden +departed, leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit on the following +Sunday, with the feelings of a penniless poet to the weekly visit of +his Scotch landlady.</p> +<p>Sunday arrived; the sky was bright and clear; crowds of people were +hurrying along the streets, intent on their different schemes of pleasure +for the day; everything and everybody looked cheerful and happy except +Mr. Augustus Minns.</p> +<p>The day was fine, but the heat was considerable; when Mr. Minns had +fagged up the shady side of Fleet-street, Cheapside, and Threadneedle-street, +he had become pretty warm, tolerably dusty, and it was getting late +into the bargain. By the most extraordinary good fortune, however, +a coach was waiting at the Flower-pot, into which Mr. Augustus Minns +got, on the solemn assurance of the cad that the vehicle would start +in three minutes—that being the very utmost extremity of time +it was allowed to wait by Act of Parliament. A quarter of an hour +elapsed, and there were no signs of moving. Minns looked at his +watch for the sixth time.</p> +<p>‘Coachman, are you going or not?’ bawled Mr. Minns, with +his head and half his body out of the coach window.</p> +<p>‘Di-rectly, sir,’ said the coachman, with his hands in +his pockets, looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible.</p> +<p>‘Bill, take them cloths off.’ Five minutes more +elapsed: at the end of which time the coachman mounted the box, from +whence he looked down the street, and up the street, and hailed all +the pedestrians for another five minutes.</p> +<p>‘Coachman! if you don’t go this moment, I shall get out,’ +said Mr. Minns, rendered desperate by the lateness of the hour, and +the impossibility of being in Poplar-walk at the appointed time.</p> +<p>‘Going this minute, sir,’ was the reply;—and, accordingly, +the machine trundled on for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped +again. Minns doubled himself up in a corner of the coach, and +abandoned himself to his fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox and a +parasol, became his fellow-passengers.</p> +<p>The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant; the little dear +mistook Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him.</p> +<p>‘Be quiet, dear,’ said the mamma, restraining the impetuosity +of the darling, whose little fat legs were kicking, and stamping, and +twining themselves into the most complicated forms, in an ecstasy of +impatience. ‘Be quiet, dear, that’s not your papa.’</p> +<p>‘Thank Heaven I am not!’ thought Minns, as the first +gleam of pleasure he had experienced that morning shone like a meteor +through his wretchedness.</p> +<p>Playfulness was agreeably mingled with affection in the disposition +of the boy. When satisfied that Mr. Minns was not his parent, +he endeavoured to attract his notice by scraping his drab trousers with +his dirty shoes, poking his chest with his mamma’s parasol, and +other nameless endearments peculiar to infancy, with which he beguiled +the tediousness of the ride, apparently very much to his own satisfaction.</p> +<p>When the unfortunate gentleman arrived at the Swan, he found to his +great dismay, that it was a quarter past five. The white house, +the stables, the ‘Beware of the Dog,’—every landmark +was passed, with a rapidity not unusual to a gentleman of a certain +age when too late for dinner. After the lapse of a few minutes, +Mr. Minns found himself opposite a yellow brick house with a green door, +brass knocker, and door-plate, green window-frames and ditto railings, +with ‘a garden’ in front, that is to say, a small loose +bit of gravelled ground, with one round and two scalene triangular beds, +containing a fir-tree, twenty or thirty bulbs, and an unlimited number +of marigolds. The taste of Mr. and Mrs. Budden was further displayed +by the appearance of a Cupid on each side of the door, perched upon +a heap of large chalk flints, variegated with pink conch-shells. +His knock at the door was answered by a stumpy boy, in drab livery, +cotton stockings and high-lows, who, after hanging his hat on one of +the dozen brass pegs which ornamented the passage, denominated by courtesy +‘The Hall,’ ushered him into a front drawing-room commanding +a very extensive view of the backs of the neighbouring houses. +The usual ceremony of introduction, and so forth, over, Mr. Minns took +his seat: not a little agitated at finding that he was the last comer, +and, somehow or other, the Lion of about a dozen people, sitting together +in a small drawing-room, getting rid of that most tedious of all time, +the time preceding dinner.</p> +<p>‘Well, Brogson,’ said Budden, addressing an elderly gentleman +in a black coat, drab knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who, under pretence +of inspecting the prints in an Annual, had been engaged in satisfying +himself on the subject of Mr. Minns’s general appearance, by looking +at him over the tops of the leaves—‘Well, Brogson, what +do ministers mean to do? Will they go out, or what?’</p> +<p>‘Oh—why—really, you know, I’m the last person +in the world to ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, +is the most likely person to answer the question.’</p> +<p>Mr. Minns assured the last speaker, that although he was in Somerset-house, +he possessed no official communication relative to the projects of his +Majesty’s Ministers. But his remark was evidently received +incredulously; and no further conjectures being hazarded on the subject, +a long pause ensued, during which the company occupied themselves in +coughing and blowing their noses, until the entrance of Mrs. Budden +caused a general rise.</p> +<p>The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced, and +down-stairs the party proceeded accordingly—Mr. Minns escorting +Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room door, but being prevented, by +the narrowness of the staircase, from extending his gallantry any farther. +The dinner passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and anon, +amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversation, +Mr. B.’s voice might be heard, asking a friend to take wine, and +assuring him he was glad to see him; and a great deal of by-play took +place between Mrs. B. and the servants, respecting the removal of the +dishes, during which her countenance assumed all the variations of a +weather-glass, from ‘stormy’ to ‘set fair.’</p> +<p>Upon the dessert and wine being placed on the table, the servant, +in compliance with a significant look from Mrs. B., brought down ‘Master +Alexander,’ habited in a sky-blue suit with silver buttons; and +possessing hair of nearly the same colour as the metal. After +sundry praises from his mother, and various admonitions as to his behaviour +from his father, he was introduced to his godfather.</p> +<p>‘Well, my little fellow—you are a fine boy, ain’t +you?’ said Mr. Minns, as happy as a tomtit on birdlime.</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘How old are you?’</p> +<p>‘Eight, next We’nsday. How old are <i>you</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Alexander,’ interrupted his mother, ‘how dare +you ask Mr. Minns how old he is!’</p> +<p>‘He asked me how old <i>I</i> was,’ said the precocious +child, to whom Minns had from that moment internally resolved that he +never would bequeath one shilling. As soon as the titter occasioned +by the observation had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, +sitting at the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had +been endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan, +called, out, with a very patronising air, ‘Alick, what part of +speech is <i>be</i>.’</p> +<p>‘A verb.’</p> +<p>‘That’s a good boy,’ said Mrs. Budden, with all +a mother’s pride.</p> +<p>‘Now, you know what a verb is?’</p> +<p>‘A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer; +as, I am—I rule—I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll give you an apple,’ replied the man with +the red whiskers, who was an established friend of the family, or in +other words was always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked +it or not, ‘if you’ll tell me what is the meaning of <i>be</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Be?’ said the prodigy, after a little hesitation—‘an +insect that gathers honey.’</p> +<p>‘No, dear,’ frowned Mrs. Budden; ‘B double E is +the substantive.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think he knows much yet about <i>common</i> +substantives,’ said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an +admirable opportunity for letting off a joke. ‘It’s +clear he’s not very well acquainted with <i>proper names</i>. +He! he! he!’</p> +<p>‘Gentlemen,’ called out Mr. Budden, from the end of the +table, in a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, ‘will +you have the goodness to charge your glasses? I have a toast to +propose.’</p> +<p>‘Hear! hear!’ cried the gentlemen, passing the decanters. +After they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded—‘Gentlemen; +there is an individual present—’</p> +<p>‘Hear! hear!’ said the little man with red whiskers.</p> +<p>‘<i>Pray</i> be quiet, Jones,’ remonstrated Budden.</p> +<p>‘I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present,’ resumed +the host, ‘in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight—and—and—the +conversation of that individual must have afforded to every one present, +the utmost pleasure.’ [‘Thank Heaven, he does not +mean me!’ thought Minns, conscious that his diffidence and exclusiveness +had prevented his saying above a dozen words since he entered the house.] +‘Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself, and I perhaps +ought to apologise for allowing any individual feeling of friendship +and affection for the person I allude to, to induce me to venture to +rise, to propose the health of that person—a person that, I am +sure—that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to +those who know him—and those who have not the pleasure of knowing +him, cannot dislike him.’</p> +<p>‘Hear! hear!’ said the company, in a tone of encouragement +and approval.</p> +<p>‘Gentlemen,’ continued Budden, ‘my cousin is a +man who—who is a relation of my own.’ (Hear! hear!) +Minns groaned audibly. ‘Who I am most happy to see here, +and who, if he were not here, would certainly have deprived us of the +great pleasure we all feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear!) +Gentlemen, I feel that I have already trespassed on your attention for +too long a time. With every feeling—of—with every +sentiment of—of—’</p> +<p>‘Gratification’—suggested the friend of the family.</p> +<p>‘- Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns.’</p> +<p>‘Standing, gentlemen!’ shouted the indefatigable little +man with the whiskers—‘and with the honours. Take +your time from me, if you please. Hip! hip! hip!—Za!—Hip! +hip! hip!—Za!—Hip hip!—Za-a-a!’</p> +<p>All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping +down port wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endeavoured to +conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency would +admit, he rose, but, as the newspapers sometimes say in their reports, +‘we regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance +of the honourable gentleman’s observations.’ The words +‘present company—honour—present occasion,’ and +‘great happiness’—heard occasionally, and repeated +at intervals, with a countenance expressive of the utmost confusion +and misery, convinced the company that he was making an excellent speech; +and, accordingly, on his resuming his seat, they cried ‘Bravo!’ +and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who had been long watching +his opportunity, then darted up.</p> +<p>‘Budden,’ said he, ‘will you allow <i>me</i> to +propose a toast?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ replied Budden, adding in an under-tone +to Minns right across the table, ‘Devilish sharp fellow that: +you’ll be very much pleased with his speech. He talks equally +well on any subject.’ Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded:</p> +<p>‘It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many +circumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose +a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honour to be surrounded, +I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own—for why should I deny +it?—felt the overwhelming nature of the task I have undertaken, +and my own utter incapability to do justice to the subject. If +such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions, what must +they be now—now—under the extraordinary circumstances in +which I am placed. (Hear! hear!) To describe my feelings +accurately, would be impossible; but I cannot give you a better idea +of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens, +oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On one occasion, +when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan, was—’</p> +<p>Now, there is no knowing what new villainy in the form of a joke +would have been heaped on the grave of that very ill-used man, Mr. Sheridan, +if the boy in drab had not at that moment entered the room in a breathless +state, to report that, as it was a very wet night, the nine o’clock +stage had come round, to know whether there was anybody going to town, +as, in that case, he (the nine o’clock) had room for one inside.</p> +<p>Mr. Minns started up; and, despite countless exclamations of surprise, +and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept the +vacant place. But, the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be found; +and as the coachman couldn’t wait, he drove back to the Swan, +leaving word for Mr. Minns to ‘run round’ and catch him. +However, as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or so, +that he had left the brown silk umbrella with the ivory handle in the +other coach, coming down; and, moreover, as he was by no means remarkable +for speed, it is no matter of surprise that when he accomplished the +feat of ‘running round’ to the Swan, the coach—the +last coach—had gone without him.</p> +<p>It was somewhere about three o’clock in the morning, when Mr. +Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street-door of his lodgings in +Tavistock-street, cold, wet, cross, and miserable. He made his +will next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict +confidence in which we inform the public, that neither the name of Mr. +Octavius Budden, nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master Alexander +Augustus Budden, appears therein.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER III—SENTIMENT</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription +on the garden-gate of Minerva House, Hammersmith, ‘The Misses +Crumpton,’ were two unusually tall, particularly thin, and exceedingly +skinny personages: very upright, and very yellow. Miss Amelia +Crumpton owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted she +was forty; an admission which was rendered perfectly unnecessary by +the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed +in the most interesting manner—like twins! and looked as happy +and comfortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were +very precise, had the strictest possible ideas of propriety, wore false +hair, and always smelt very strongly of lavender.</p> +<p>Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was +a ‘finishing establishment for young ladies,’ where some +twenty girls of the ages of from thirteen to nineteen inclusive, acquired +a smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing; instruction +in French and Italian, dancing lessons twice a-week; and other necessaries +of life. The house was a white one, a little removed from the +roadside, with close palings in front. The bedroom windows were +always left partly open, to afford a bird’s-eye view of numerous +little bedsteads with very white dimity furniture, and thereby impress +the passer-by with a due sense of the luxuries of the establishment; +and there was a front parlour hung round with highly varnished maps +which nobody ever looked at, and filled with books which no one ever +read, appropriated exclusively to the reception of parents, who, whenever +they called, could not fail to be struck with the very deep appearance +of the place.</p> +<p>‘Amelia, my dear,’ said Miss Maria Crumpton, entering +the school-room one morning, with her false hair in papers: as she occasionally +did, in order to impress the young ladies with a conviction of its reality. +‘Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note I have just received. +You needn’t mind reading it aloud.’</p> +<p>Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with +an air of great triumph:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., presents his compliments +to Miss Crumpton, and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton’s +calling on him, if she conveniently can, to-morrow morning at one o’clock, +as Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., is anxious to see Miss Crumpton +on the subject of placing Miss Brook Dingwall under her charge.</p> +<p>‘Adelphi.</p> +<p>‘Monday morning.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘A Member of Parliament’s daughter!’ ejaculated +Amelia, in an ecstatic tone.</p> +<p>‘A Member of Parliament’s daughter!’ repeated Miss +Maria, with a smile of delight, which, of course, elicited a concurrent +titter of pleasure from all the young ladies.</p> +<p>‘It’s exceedingly delightful!’ said Miss Amelia; +whereupon all the young ladies murmured their admiration again. +Courtiers are but school-boys, and court-ladies school-girl’s.</p> +<p>So important an announcement at once superseded the business of the +day. A holiday was declared, in commemoration of the great event; +the Miss Crumptons retired to their private apartment to talk it over; +the smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs of the +daughter of a Member of Parliament; and the young ladies verging on +eighteen wondered whether she was engaged, whether she was pretty, whether +she wore much bustle, and many other<i> whethers</i> of equal importance.</p> +<p>The two Miss Crumptons proceeded to the Adelphi at the appointed +time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking +as amiable as they possibly could—which, by-the-bye, is not saying +much for them. Having sent in their cards, through the medium +of a red-hot looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into +the august presence of the profound Dingwall.</p> +<p>Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was very haughty, solemn, and +portentous. He had, naturally, a somewhat spasmodic expression +of countenance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his wearing +an extremely stiff cravat. He was wonderfully proud of the M.P. +attached to his name, and never lost an opportunity of reminding people +of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which +must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had; and in diplomacy, +on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he considered himself +unrivalled. He was a county magistrate, and discharged the duties +of his station with all due justice and impartiality; frequently committing +poachers, and occasionally committing himself. Miss Brook Dingwall +was one of that numerous class of young ladies, who, like adverbs, may +be known by their answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing +else.</p> +<p>On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a +small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing, but trying +to look busy, playing at shop. Acts of Parliament, and letters +directed to ‘Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P.,’ were +ostentatiously scattered over the table; at a little distance from which, +Mrs. Brook Dingwall was seated at work. One of those public nuisances, +a spoiled child, was playing about the room, dressed after the most +approved fashion—in a blue tunic with a black belt—a quarter +of a yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle—looking like a +robber in a melodrama, seen through a diminishing glass.</p> +<p>After a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself +by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton’s chair as fast as it +was placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brook Dingwall, +Esq., opened the conversation.</p> +<p>He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the high +character he had received of her establishment from his friend, Sir +Alfred Muggs.</p> +<p>Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgments to him (Muggs), and Cornelius +proceeded.</p> +<p>‘One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with +my daughter, is, that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas, +which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind.’ +(Here the little innocent before noticed, fell out of an arm-chair with +an awful crash.)</p> +<p>‘Naughty boy!’ said his mamma, who appeared more surprised +at his taking the liberty of falling down, than at anything else; ‘I’ll +ring the bell for James to take him away.’</p> +<p>‘Pray don’t check him, my love,’ said the diplomatist, +as soon as he could make himself heard amidst the unearthly howling +consequent upon the threat and the tumble. ‘It all arises +from his great flow of spirits.’ This last explanation was +addressed to Miss Crumpton.</p> +<p>‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the antique Maria: not exactly +seeing, however, the connexion between a flow of animal spirits, and +a fall from an arm-chair.</p> +<p>Silence was restored, and the M.P. resumed: ‘Now, I know nothing +so likely to effect this object, Miss Crumpton, as her mixing constantly +in the society of girls of her own age; and, as I know that in your +establishment she will meet such as are not likely to contaminate her +young mind, I propose to send her to you.’</p> +<p>The youngest Miss Crumpton expressed the acknowledgments of the establishment +generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily pain. +The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was standing +upon her most tender foot, by way of getting his face (which looked +like a capital O in a red-lettered play-bill) on a level with the writing-table.</p> +<p>‘Of course, Lavinia will be a parlour boarder,’ continued +the enviable father; ‘and on one point I wish my directions to +be strictly observed. The fact is, that some ridiculous love affair, +with a person much her inferior in life, has been the cause of her present +state of mind. Knowing that of course, under your care, she can +have no opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to—indeed, +I should rather prefer—her mixing with such society as you see +yourself.’</p> +<p>This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited +little creature, in the excess of his joyousness breaking a pane of +glass, and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. +James was rung for; considerable confusion and screaming succeeded; +two little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man +left the room, and the child was gone.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Brook Dingwall would like Miss Brook Dingwall to learn +everything,’ said Mrs. Brook Dingwall, who hardly ever said anything +at all.</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ said both the Miss Crumptons together.</p> +<p>‘And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in +weaning my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton,’ continued +the legislator, ‘I hope you will have the goodness to comply, +in all respects, with any request I may forward to you.’</p> +<p>The promise was of course made; and after a lengthened discussion, +conducted on behalf of the Dingwalls with the most becoming diplomatic +gravity, and on that of the Crumptons with profound respect, it was +finally arranged that Miss Lavinia should be forwarded to Hammersmith +on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-yearly ball given +at the establishment was to take place. It might divert the dear +girl’s mind. This, by the way, was another bit of diplomacy.</p> +<p>Miss Lavinia was introduced to her future governess, and both the +Miss Crumptons pronounced her ‘a most charming girl;’ an +opinion which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of +any new pupil.</p> +<p>Courtesies were exchanged, acknowledgments expressed, condescension +exhibited, and the interview terminated.</p> +<p>Preparations, to make use of theatrical phraseology, ‘on a +scale of magnitude never before attempted,’ were incessantly made +at Minerva House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. +The largest room in the house was pleasingly ornamented with blue calico +roses, plaid tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, +the work of the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken +up, the folding-doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, +and rout-seats were taken in. The linen-drapers of Hammersmith +were astounded at the sudden demand for blue sarsenet ribbon, and long +white gloves. Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, +and a harp and two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the +grand piano already on the premises. The young ladies who were +selected to show off on the occasion, and do credit to the establishment, +practised incessantly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to +the annoyance of the lame old gentleman over the way; and a constant +correspondence was kept up, between the Misses Crumpton and the Hammersmith +pastrycook.</p> +<p>The evening came; and then there was such a lacing of stays, and +tying of sandals, and dressing of hair, as never can take place with +a proper degree of bustle out of a boarding-school. The smaller +girls managed to be in everybody’s way, and were pushed about +accordingly; and the elder ones dressed, and tied, and flattered, and +envied, one another, as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually +<i>come out.</i></p> +<p>‘How do I look, dear?’ inquired Miss Emily Smithers, +the belle of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom friend, +because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith, or out of it.</p> +<p>‘Oh! charming, dear. How do I?’</p> +<p>‘Delightful! you never looked so handsome,’ returned +the belle, adjusting her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her +poor companion.</p> +<p>‘I hope young Hilton will come early,’ said another young +lady to Miss somebody else, in a fever of expectation.</p> +<p>‘I’m sure he’d be highly flattered if he knew it,’ +returned the other, who was practising <i>l’été.</i></p> +<p>‘Oh! he’s so handsome,’ said the first.</p> +<p>‘Such a charming person!’ added a second.</p> +<p>‘Such a <i>distingué</i> air!’ said a third.</p> +<p>‘Oh, what <i>do</i> you think?’ said another girl, running +into the room; ‘Miss Crumpton says her cousin’s coming.’</p> +<p>‘What! Theodosius Butler?’ said everybody in raptures.</p> +<p><i>‘</i>Is <i>he</i> handsome?’ inquired a novice.</p> +<p>‘No, not particularly handsome,’ was the general reply; +‘but, oh, so clever!’</p> +<p>Mr. Theodosius Butler was one of those immortal geniuses who are +to be met with in almost every circle. They have, usually, very +deep, monotonous voices. They always persuade themselves that +they are wonderful persons, and that they ought to be very miserable, +though they don’t precisely know why. They are very conceited, +and usually possess half an idea; but, with enthusiastic young ladies, +and silly young gentlemen, they are very wonderful persons. The +individual in question, Mr. Theodosius, had written a pamphlet containing +some very weighty considerations on the expediency of doing something +or other; and as every sentence contained a good many words of four +syllables, his admirers took it for granted that he meant a good deal.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps that’s he,’ exclaimed several young ladies, +as the first pull of the evening threatened destruction to the bell +of the gate.</p> +<p>An awful pause ensued. Some boxes arrived and a young lady—Miss +Brook Dingwall, in full ball costume, with an immense gold chain round +her neck, and her dress looped up with a single rose; an ivory fan in +her hand, and a most interesting expression of despair in her face.</p> +<p>The Miss Crumptons inquired after the family, with the most excruciating +anxiety, and Miss Brook Dingwall was formally introduced to her future +companions. The Miss Crumptons conversed with the young ladies +in the most mellifluous tones, in order that Miss Brook Dingwall might +be properly impressed with their amiable treatment.</p> +<p>Another pull at the bell. Mr. Dadson the writing-master, and +his wife. The wife in green silk, with shoes and cap-trimmings +to correspond: the writing-master in a white waistcoat, black knee-shorts, +and ditto silk stockings, displaying a leg large enough for two writing-masters. +The young ladies whispered one another, and the writing-master and his +wife flattered the Miss Crumptons, who were dressed in amber, with long +sashes, like dolls.</p> +<p>Repeated pulls at the bell, and arrivals too numerous to particularise: +papas and mammas, and aunts and uncles, the owners and guardians of +the different pupils; the singing-master, Signor Lobskini, in a black +wig; the piano-forte player and the violins; the harp, in a state of +intoxication; and some twenty young men, who stood near the door, and +talked to one another, occasionally bursting into a giggle. A +general hum of conversation. Coffee handed round, and plentifully +partaken of by fat mammas, who looked like the stout people who come +on in pantomimes for the sole purpose of being knocked down.</p> +<p>The popular Mr. Hilton was the next arrival; and he having, at the +request of the Miss Crumptons, undertaken the office of Master of the +Ceremonies, the quadrilles commenced with considerable spirit. +The young men by the door gradually advanced into the middle of the +room, and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to be introduced +to partners. The writing-master danced every set, springing about +with the most fearful agility, and his wife played a rubber in the back-parlour—a +little room with five book-shelves, dignified by the name of the study. +Setting her down to whist was a half-yearly piece of generalship on +the part of the Miss Crumptons; it was necessary to hide her somewhere, +on account of her being a fright.</p> +<p>The interesting Lavinia Brook Dingwall was the only girl present, +who appeared to take no interest in the proceedings of the evening. +In vain was she solicited to dance; in vain was the universal homage +paid to her as the daughter of a member of parliament. She was +equally unmoved by the splendid tenor of the inimitable Lobskini, and +the brilliant execution of Miss Laetitia Parsons, whose performance +of ‘The Recollections of Ireland’ was universally declared +to be almost equal to that of Moscheles himself. Not even the +announcement of the arrival of Mr. Theodosius Butler could induce her +to leave the corner of the back drawing-room in which she was seated.</p> +<p>‘Now, Theodosius,’ said Miss Maria Crumpton, after that +enlightened pamphleteer had nearly run the gauntlet of the whole company, +‘I must introduce you to our new pupil.’</p> +<p>Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly.</p> +<p>‘She’s the daughter of a member of parliament,’ +said Maria.—Theodosius started.</p> +<p>‘And her name is—?’ he inquired.</p> +<p>‘Miss Brook Dingwall.’</p> +<p>‘Great Heaven!’ poetically exclaimed Theodosius, in a +low tone.</p> +<p>Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss +Brook Dingwall languidly raised her head.</p> +<p>‘Edward!’ she exclaimed, with a half-shriek, on seeing +the well-known nankeen legs.</p> +<p>Fortunately, as Miss Maria Crumpton possessed no remarkable share +of penetration, and as it was one of the diplomatic arrangements that +no attention was to be paid to Miss Lavinia’s incoherent exclamations, +she was perfectly unconscious of the mutual agitation of the parties; +and therefore, seeing that the offer of his hand for the next quadrille +was accepted, she left him by the side of Miss Brook Dingwall.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Edward!’ exclaimed that most romantic of all romantic +young ladies, as the light of science seated himself beside her, ‘Oh, +Edward, is it you?’</p> +<p>Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature, in the most impassioned +manner, that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself.</p> +<p>‘Then why—why—this disguise? Oh! Edward +M’Neville Walter, what have I not suffered on your account?’</p> +<p>‘Lavinia, hear me,’ replied the hero, in his most poetic +strain. ‘Do not condemn me unheard. If anything that +emanates from the soul of such a wretch as I, can occupy a place in +your recollection—if any being, so vile, deserve your notice—you +may remember that I once published a pamphlet (and paid for its publication) +entitled “Considerations on the Policy of Removing the Duty on +Bees’-wax.”’</p> +<p>‘I do—I do!’ sobbed Lavinia.</p> +<p>‘That,’ continued the lover, ‘was a subject to +which your father was devoted heart and soul.’</p> +<p>‘He was—he was!’ reiterated the sentimentalist.</p> +<p>‘I knew it,’ continued Theodosius, tragically; ‘I +knew it—I forwarded him a copy. He wished to know me. +Could I disclose my real name? Never! No, I assumed that +name which you have so often pronounced in tones of endearment. +As M’Neville Walter, I devoted myself to the stirring cause; as +M’Neville Walter I gained your heart; in the same character I +was ejected from your house by your father’s domestics; and in +no character at all have I since been enabled to see you. We now +meet again, and I proudly own that I am—Theodosius Butler.’</p> +<p>The young lady appeared perfectly satisfied with this argumentative +address, and bestowed a look of the most ardent affection on the immortal +advocate of bees’-wax.</p> +<p>‘May I hope,’ said he, ‘that the promise your father’s +violent behaviour interrupted, may be renewed?’</p> +<p>‘Let us join this set,’ replied Lavinia, coquettishly—for +girls of nineteen <i>can</i> coquette.</p> +<p>‘No,’ ejaculated he of the nankeens. ‘I stir +not from this spot, writhing under this torture of suspense. May +I—may I—hope?’</p> +<p>‘You may.’</p> +<p>‘The promise is renewed?’</p> +<p>‘It is.’</p> +<p>‘I have your permission?’</p> +<p>‘You have.’</p> +<p>‘To the fullest extent?’</p> +<p>‘You know it,’ returned the blushing Lavinia. The +contortions of the interesting Butler’s visage expressed his raptures.</p> +<p>We could dilate upon the occurrences that ensued. How Mr. Theodosius +and Miss Lavinia danced, and talked, and sighed for the remainder of +the evening—how the Miss Crumptons were delighted thereat. +How the writing-master continued to frisk about with one-horse power, +and how his wife, from some unaccountable freak, left the whist-table +in the little back-parlour, and persisted in displaying her green head-dress +in the most conspicuous part of the drawing-room. How the supper +consisted of small triangular sandwiches in trays, and a tart here and +there by way of variety; and how the visitors consumed warm water disguised +with lemon, and dotted with nutmeg, under the denomination of negus. +These, and other matters of as much interest, however, we pass over, +for the purpose of describing a scene of even more importance.</p> +<p>A fortnight after the date of the ball, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, +Esq., M.P., was seated at the same library-table, and in the same room, +as we have before described. He was alone, and his face bore an +expression of deep thought and solemn gravity—he was drawing up +‘A Bill for the better observance of Easter Monday.’</p> +<p>The footman tapped at the door—the legislator started from +his reverie, and ‘Miss Crumpton’ was announced. Permission +was given for Miss Crumpton to enter the <i>sanctum</i>; Maria came +sliding in, and having taken her seat with a due portion of affectation, +the footman retired, and the governess was left alone with the M.P. +Oh! how she longed for the presence of a third party! Even the +facetious young gentleman would have been a relief.</p> +<p>Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brook Dingwall +and the handsome little boy were in good health.</p> +<p>They were. Mrs. Brook Dingwall and little Frederick were at +Brighton.</p> +<p>‘Much obliged to you, Miss Crumpton,’ said Cornelius, +in his most dignified manner, ‘for your attention in calling this +morning. I should have driven down to Hammersmith, to see Lavinia, +but your account was so very satisfactory, and my duties in the House +occupy me so much, that I determined to postpone it for a week. +How has she gone on?’</p> +<p>‘Very well indeed, sir,’ returned Maria, dreading to +inform the father that she had gone off.</p> +<p>‘Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match +for her.’</p> +<p>Here was a favourable opportunity to say that somebody else had been +a match for her. But the unfortunate governess was unequal to +the task.</p> +<p>‘You have persevered strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed, +Miss Crumpton?’</p> +<p>‘Strictly, sir.’</p> +<p>‘You tell me in your note that her spirits gradually improved.’</p> +<p>‘Very much indeed, sir.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure. I was convinced they would.’</p> +<p>‘But I fear, sir,’ said Miss Crumpton, with visible emotion, +‘I fear the plan has not succeeded, quite so well as we could +have wished.’</p> +<p>No!’ exclaimed the prophet. ‘Bless me! Miss +Crumpton, you look alarmed. What has happened?’</p> +<p>‘Miss Brook Dingwall, sir—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am?’</p> +<p>‘Has gone, sir’—said Maria, exhibiting a strong +inclination to faint.</p> +<p>‘Gone!’</p> +<p>‘Eloped, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Eloped!—Who with—when—where—how?’ +almost shrieked the agitated diplomatist.</p> +<p>The natural yellow of the unfortunate Maria’s face changed +to all the hues of the rainbow, as she laid a small packet on the member’s +table.</p> +<p>He hurriedly opened it. A letter from his daughter, and another +from Theodosius. He glanced over their contents—‘Ere +this reaches you, far distant—appeal to feelings—love to +distraction—bees’-wax—slavery,’ &c., &c. +He dashed his hand to his forehead, and paced the room with fearfully +long strides, to the great alarm of the precise Maria.</p> +<p>‘Now mind; from this time forward,’ said Mr. Brook Dingwall, +suddenly stopping at the table, and beating time upon it with his hand; +‘from this time forward, I never will, under any circumstances +whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room +of this house but the kitchen.—I’ll allow my daughter and +her husband one hundred and fifty pounds a-year, and never see their +faces again: and, damme! ma’am, I’ll bring in a bill for +the abolition of finishing-schools.’</p> +<p>Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. +and Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Ball’s-pond, +pleasantly situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick-field. +They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important, and +writes incessantly; but, in consequence of a gross combination on the +part of publishers, none of his productions appear in print. His +young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real unhappiness; +and that a marriage, contracted in haste, and repented at leisure, is +the cause of more substantial wretchedness than she ever anticipated.</p> +<p>On cool reflection, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was reluctantly +compelled to admit that the untoward result of his admirable arrangements +was attributable, not to the Miss Crumptons, but his own diplomacy. +He, however, consoles himself, like some other small diplomatists, by +satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not succeed, they ought +to have done so. Minerva House is <i>in status quo</i>, and ‘The +Misses Crumpton’ remain in the peaceable and undisturbed enjoyment +of all the advantages resulting from their Finishing-School.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IV—THE TUGGSES AT RAMSGATE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Once upon a time there dwelt, in a narrow street on the Surrey side +of the water, within three minutes’ walk of old London Bridge, +Mr. Joseph Tuggs—a little dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling +eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring +from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the ornamental +buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tuggs, +if not perfectly symmetrical, was decidedly comfortable; and the form +of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tuggs, was fast +ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness which had enchanted +the eyes, and captivated the heart, of Mr. Joseph Tuggs in his earlier +days. Mr. Simon Tuggs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tuggs’s +only brother, was as differently formed in body, as he was differently +constituted in mind, from the remainder of his family. There was +that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness +in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind and +romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such +a being, possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually +appeared in public, in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings; +and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock, +without tie or ornament of any description.</p> +<p>There is perhaps no profession, however useful; no pursuit, however +meritorious; which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. +Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer +was beyond the breath of calumny; but no—the neighbours stigmatised +him as a chandler; and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted +that he dispensed tea and coffee by the quartern, retailed sugar by +the ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by +the pat. These taunts, however, were lost upon the Tuggses. +Mr. Tuggs attended to the grocery department; Mrs. Tuggs to the cheesemongery; +and Miss Tuggs to her education. Mr. Simon Tuggs kept his father’s +books, and his own counsel.</p> +<p>One fine spring afternoon, the latter gentleman was seated on a tub +of weekly Dorset, behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which +ornamented a corner of the counter; when a stranger dismounted from +a cab, and hastily entered the shop. He was habited in black cloth, +and bore with him, a green umbrella, and a blue bag.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Tuggs?’ said the stranger, inquiringly.</p> +<p>‘<i>My</i> name is Tuggs,’ replied Mr. Simon.</p> +<p>‘It’s the other Mr. Tuggs,’ said the stranger, +looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the +shop, and on the inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, +was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain.</p> +<p>Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish +that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with considerable +celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the +stranger.</p> +<p>‘I come from the Temple,’ said the man with the bag.</p> +<p>‘From the Temple!’ said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the +door of the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective.</p> +<p>‘From the Temple!’ said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs +at the same moment.</p> +<p>‘From the Temple!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as +pale as a Dutch cheese.</p> +<p>‘From the Temple,’ repeated the man with the bag; ‘from +Mr. Cower’s, the solicitor’s. Mr. Tuggs, I congratulate +you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity! We +have been successful.’ And the man with the bag leisurely +divested himself of his umbrella and glove, as a preliminary to shaking +hands with Mr. Joseph Tuggs.</p> +<p>Now the words ‘we have been successful,’ had no sooner +issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs +rose from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped +for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally +fell into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away without the +slightest ostensible cause or pretence.</p> +<p>‘Water!’ screamed Mrs. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Look up, my son,’ exclaimed Mr. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Simon! dear Simon!’ shrieked Miss Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘I’m better now,’ said Mr. Simon Tuggs. ‘What! +successful!’ And then, as corroborative evidence of his +being better, he fainted away again, and was borne into the little parlour +by the united efforts of the remainder of the family, and the man with +the bag.</p> +<p>To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position +of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To +those who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover +acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tuggs, it +was quite comprehensible. A long-pending lawsuit respecting the +validity of a will, had been unexpectedly decided; and Mr. Joseph Tuggs +was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds.</p> +<p>A prolonged consultation took place, that night, in the little parlour—a +consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggses. +The shop was shut up, at an unusually early hour; and many were the +unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for quarterns +of sugar, or half-quarterns of bread, or penn’orths of pepper, +which were to have been ‘left till Saturday,’ but which +fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether.</p> +<p>‘We must certainly give up business,’ said Miss Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Oh, decidedly,’ said Mrs. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Simon shall go to the bar,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘And I shall always sign myself “Cymon” in future,’ +said his son.</p> +<p>‘And I shall call myself Charlotta,’ said Miss Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘And you must always call <i>me</i> “Ma,” and father +“Pa,”’ said Mrs. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits,’ interposed +Miss Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘I’ll take care of all that,’ responded Mr. Joseph +Tuggs, complacently. He was, at that very moment, eating pickled +salmon with a pocket-knife.</p> +<p>‘We must leave town immediately,’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs.</p> +<p>Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to +being genteel. The question then arose, Where should they go?</p> +<p>‘Gravesend?’ mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. +The idea was unanimously scouted. Gravesend was <i>low</i>.</p> +<p>‘Margate?’ insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse—nobody +there, but tradespeople.</p> +<p>‘Brighton?’ Mr. Cymon Tuggs opposed an insurmountable +objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the +last three weeks; each coach had averaged two passengers killed, and +six wounded; and, in every case, the newspapers had distinctly understood +that ‘no blame whatever was attributable to the coachman.’</p> +<p>‘Ramsgate?’ ejaculated Mr. Cymon, thoughtfully. +To be sure; how stupid they must have been, not to have thought of that +before! Ramsgate was just the place of all others.</p> +<p>Two months after this conversation, the City of London Ramsgate steamer +was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band +was playing, her passengers were conversing; everything about her seemed +gay and lively.—No wonder—the Tuggses were on board.</p> +<p>‘Charming, ain’t it?’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, in +a bottle-green great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue +travelling-cap with a gold band.</p> +<p>‘Soul-inspiring,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs—he was +entered at the bar. ‘Soul-inspiring!’</p> +<p>‘Delightful morning, sir!’ said a stoutish, military-looking +gentleman in a blue surtout buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers +chained down to the soles of his boots.</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering +the observation. ‘Heavenly!’ he replied.</p> +<p>‘You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, +sir?’ said the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Travelled much, sir?’ inquired the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Not much,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘You’ve been on the continent, of course?’ inquired +the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Not exactly,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs—in a qualified +tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and +come back again.</p> +<p>‘You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir?’ +said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs.</p> +<p>As Mr. Joseph Tuggs did not precisely understand what the grand tour +was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, ‘Of +course.’ Just as he said the word, there came tripping up, +from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce-coloured +silk cloak, and boots of the same; with long black ringlets, large black +eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles.</p> +<p>‘Walter, my dear,’ said the young lady to the military +gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Belinda, my love,’ responded the military gentleman +to the black-eyed young lady.</p> +<p>‘What have you left me alone so long for?’ said the young +lady. ‘I have been stared out of countenance by those rude +young men.’</p> +<p>‘What! stared at?’ exclaimed the military gentleman, +with an emphasis which made Mr. Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the +young lady’s face with inconceivable rapidity. ‘Which +young men—where?’ and the military gentleman clenched his +fist, and glared fearfully on the cigar-smokers around.</p> +<p>‘Be calm, Walter, I entreat,’ said the young lady.</p> +<p>‘I won’t,’ said the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Do, sir,’ interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. ‘They +ain’t worth your notice.’</p> +<p>‘No—no—they are not, indeed,’ urged the young +lady.</p> +<p>‘I <i>will</i> be calm,’ said the military gentleman. +‘You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, +which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter.’ Calming +his wrath, the military gentleman wrung Mr. Cymon Tuggs by the hand.</p> +<p>‘My sister, sir!’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs; seeing that the +military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta.</p> +<p>‘My wife, ma’am—Mrs. Captain Waters,’ said +the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady.</p> +<p>‘My mother, ma’am—Mrs. Tuggs,’ said Mr. Cymon. +The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies; +and the Tuggses looked as unembarrassed as they could.</p> +<p>‘Walter, my dear,’ said the black-eyed young lady, after +they had sat chatting with the Tuggses some half-hour.</p> +<p>‘Yes, my love,’ said the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think this gentleman (with an inclination +of the head towards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carriwini?’</p> +<p>‘Lord bless me, very!’ said the military gentleman.</p> +<p>‘It struck me, the moment I saw him,’ said the young +lady, gazing intently, and with a melancholy air, on the scarlet countenance +of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Mr. Cymon Tuggs looked at everybody; and finding +that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty +in disposing of his eyesight.</p> +<p>‘So exactly the air of the marquis,’ said the military +gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Quite extraordinary!’ sighed the military gentleman’s +lady.</p> +<p>‘You don’t know the marquis, sir?’ inquired the +military gentleman.</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative.</p> +<p>‘If you did,’ continued Captain Walter Waters, ‘you +would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance—a +most elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance.’</p> +<p>‘He is—he is indeed!’ exclaimed Belinda Waters +energetically. As her eye caught that of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, she +withdrew it from his features in bashful confusion.</p> +<p>All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggses; and +when, in the course of farther conversation, it was discovered that +Miss Charlotta Tuggs was the <i>fac simile</i> of a titled relative +of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture +of the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton, their delight in the acquisition +of so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds. Even +the dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed, to that degree, that he +suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tuggs, to partake +of cold pigeon-pie and sherry, on deck; and a most delightful conversation, +aided by these agreeable stimulants, was prolonged, until they ran alongside +Ramsgate Pier.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye, dear!’ said Mrs. Captain Waters to Miss Charlotta +Tuggs, just before the bustle of landing commenced; ‘we shall +see you on the sands in the morning; and, as we are sure to have found +lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks +to come.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I hope so,’ said Miss Charlotta Tuggs, emphatically.</p> +<p>‘Tickets, ladies and gen’lm’n,’ said the +man on the paddle-box.</p> +<p>‘Want a porter, sir?’ inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks.</p> +<p>‘Now, my dear!’ said Captain Waters.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye!’ said Mrs. Captain Waters—‘good-bye, +Mr. Cymon!’ and with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable +young man’s nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. +Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured +boots were seen ascending the steps, a white handkerchief fluttered, +a black eye gleamed. The Waterses were gone, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs +was alone in a heartless world.</p> +<p>Silently and abstractedly, did that too sensitive youth follow his +revered parents, and a train of smock-frocks and wheelbarrows, along +the pier, until the bustle of the scene around, recalled him to himself. +The sun was shining brightly; the sea, dancing to its own music, rolled +merrily in; crowds of people promenaded to and fro; young ladies tittered; +old ladies talked; nursemaids displayed their charms to the greatest +possible advantage; and their little charges ran up and down, and to +and fro, and in and out, under the feet, and between the legs, of the +assembled concourse, in the most playful and exhilarating manner. +There were old gentlemen, trying to make out objects through long telescopes; +and young ones, making objects of themselves in open shirt-collars; +ladies, carrying about portable chairs, and portable chairs carrying +about invalids; parties, waiting on the pier for parties who had come +by the steam-boat; and nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, +welcoming, and merriment.</p> +<p>‘Fly, sir?’ exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six +boys, the moment Mr. Joseph Tuggs, at the head of his little party, +set foot in the street.</p> +<p>‘Here’s the gen’lm’n at last!’ said +one, touching his hat with mock politeness. ‘Werry glad +to see you, sir,—been a-waitin’ for you these six weeks. +Jump in, if you please, sir!’</p> +<p>‘Nice light fly and a fast trotter, sir,’ said another: +‘fourteen mile a hour, and surroundin’ objects rendered +inwisible by ex-treme welocity!’</p> +<p>‘Large fly for your luggage, sir,’ cried a third. +‘Werry large fly here, sir—reg’lar bluebottle!’</p> +<p>‘Here’s <i>your</i> fly, sir!’ shouted another +aspiring charioteer, mounting the box, and inducing an old grey horse +to indulge in some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. ‘Look +at him, sir!—temper of a lamb and haction of a steam-ingein!’</p> +<p>Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable +a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the proprietor +of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded striped calico; +and, the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal +in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of +an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings.</p> +<p>‘How many beds have you got?’ screamed Mrs. Tuggs out +of the fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house which +displayed a bill intimating that apartments were to be let within.</p> +<p>‘How many did you want, ma’am?’ was, of course, +the reply.</p> +<p>‘Three.’</p> +<p>‘Will you step in, ma’am?’ Down got Mrs. +Tuggs. The family were delighted. Splendid view of the sea +from the front windows—charming! A short pause. Back +came Mrs. Tuggs again.—One parlour and a mattress.</p> +<p>‘Why the devil didn’t they say so at first?’ inquired +Mr. Joseph Tuggs, rather pettishly.</p> +<p>‘Don’t know,’ said Mrs. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Wretches!’ exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another +bill—another stoppage. Same question—same answer—similar +result.</p> +<p>‘What do they mean by this?’ inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, +thoroughly out of temper.</p> +<p>‘Don’t know,’ said the placid Mrs. Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Orvis the vay here, sir,’ said the driver, by way of +accounting for the circumstance in a satisfactory manner; and off they +went again, to make fresh inquiries, and encounter fresh disappointments.</p> +<p>It had grown dusk when the ‘fly’—the rate of whose +progress greatly belied its name—after climbing up four or five +perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, with +a bay window, from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the +sea—if you thrust half of your body out of it, at the imminent +peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tuggs alighted. One +ground-floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them up-stairs. +A double-house. Family on the opposite side. Five children +milk-and-watering in the parlour, and one little boy, expelled for bad +behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage.</p> +<p>‘What’s the terms?’ said Mrs. Tuggs. The +mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an +extra guinea; so, she coughed slightly, and affected not to hear the +question.</p> +<p>‘What’s the terms?’ said Mrs. Tuggs, in a louder +key.</p> +<p>‘Five guineas a week, ma’am, <i>with</i> attendance,’ +replied the lodging-house keeper. (Attendance means the privilege +of ringing the bell as often as you like, for your own amusement.)</p> +<p>‘Rather dear,’ said Mrs. Tuggs. ‘Oh dear, +no, ma’am!’ replied the mistress of the house, with a benign +smile of pity at the ignorance of manners and customs, which the observation +betrayed. ‘Very cheap!’</p> +<p>Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tuggs paid a week’s +rent in advance, and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour’s +time, the family were seated at tea in their new abode.</p> +<p>‘Capital srimps!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs.</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically +said ‘<i>Shrimps</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, shrimps,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Srimps +or shrimps, don’t much matter.’</p> +<p>There was pity, blended with malignity, in Mr. Cymon’s eye, +as he replied, ‘Don’t matter, father! What would Captain +Waters say, if he heard such vulgarity?’</p> +<p>‘Or what would dear Mrs. Captain Waters say,’ added Charlotta, +‘if she saw mother—ma, I mean—eating them whole, heads +and all!’</p> +<p>‘It won’t bear thinking of!’ ejaculated Mr. Cymon, +with a shudder. ‘How different,’ he thought, ‘from +the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton!’</p> +<p>‘Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Cymon?’ +inquired Miss Charlotta.</p> +<p>A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Cymon +Tuggs, as he replied, ‘An angel of beauty!’</p> +<p>‘Hallo!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Hallo, Cymon, +my boy, take care. Married lady, you know;’ and he winked +one of his twinkling eyes knowingly.</p> +<p>‘Why,’ exclaimed Cymon, starting up with an ebullition +of fury, as unexpected as alarming, ‘why am I to be reminded of +that blight of my happiness, and ruin of my hopes? Why am I to +be taunted with the miseries which are heaped upon my head? Is +it not enough to—to—to—’ and the orator paused; +but whether for want of words, or lack of breath, was never distinctly +ascertained.</p> +<p>There was an impressive solemnity in the tone of this address, and +in the air with which the romantic Cymon, at its conclusion, rang the +bell, and demanded a flat candlestick, which effectually forbade a reply. +He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tuggses went to bed too, half +an hour afterwards, in a state of considerable mystification and perplexity.</p> +<p>If the pier had presented a scene of life and bustle to the Tuggses +on their first landing at Ramsgate, it was far surpassed by the appearance +of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine, +bright, clear day, with a light breeze from the sea. There were +the same ladies and gentlemen, the same children, the same nursemaids, +the same telescopes, the same portable chairs. The ladies were +employed in needlework, or watch-guard making, or knitting, or reading +novels; the gentlemen were reading newspapers and magazines; the children +were digging holes in the sand with wooden spades, and collecting water +therein; the nursemaids, with their youngest charges in their arms, +were running in after the waves, and then running back with the waves +after them; and, now and then, a little sailing-boat either departed +with a gay and talkative cargo of passengers, or returned with a very +silent and particularly uncomfortable-looking one.</p> +<p>‘Well, I never!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, as she and Mr. +Joseph Tuggs, and Miss Charlotta Tuggs, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, with their +eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated themselves +on four rush-bottomed chairs, which, being placed in a soft part of +the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half—‘Well, +I never!’</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the +chairs, and removed them further back.</p> +<p>‘Why, I’m blessed if there ain’t some ladies a-going +in!’ exclaimed Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with intense astonishment.</p> +<p>‘Lor, pa!’ exclaimed Miss Charlotta.</p> +<p>‘There <i>is</i>, my dear,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. +And, sure enough, four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped +up the steps of a bathing-machine. In went the horse, floundering +about in the water; round turned the machine; down sat the driver; and +presently out burst the young ladies aforesaid, with four distinct splashes.</p> +<p>‘Well, that’s sing’ler, too!’ ejaculated +Mr. Joseph Tuggs, after an awkward pause. Mr. Cymon coughed slightly.</p> +<p>‘Why, here’s some gentlemen a-going in on this side!’ +exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, in a tone of horror.</p> +<p>Three machines—three horses—three flounderings—three +turnings round—three splashes—three gentlemen, disporting +themselves in the water like so many dolphins.</p> +<p>‘Well, <i>that’s</i> sing’ler!’ said Mr. +Joseph Tuggs again. Miss Charlotta coughed this time, and another +pause ensued. It was agreeably broken.</p> +<p>‘How d’ye do, dear? We have been looking for you, +all the morning,’ said a voice to Miss Charlotta Tuggs. +Mrs. Captain Waters was the owner of it.</p> +<p>‘How d’ye do?’ said Captain Walter Waters, all +suavity; and a most cordial interchange of greetings ensued.</p> +<p>‘Belinda, my love,’ said Captain Walter Waters, applying +his glass to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea.</p> +<p>‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Mrs. Captain Waters.</p> +<p>‘There’s Harry Thompson!’</p> +<p>‘Where?’ said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye.</p> +<p>‘Bathing.’</p> +<p>‘Lor, so it is! He don’t see us, does he?’</p> +<p>‘No, I don’t think he does’ replied the captain. +‘Bless my soul, how very singular!’</p> +<p>‘What?’ inquired Belinda.</p> +<p>‘There’s Mary Golding, too.’</p> +<p>‘Lor!—where?’ (Up went the glass again.)</p> +<p>‘There!’ said the captain, pointing to one of the young +ladies before noticed, who, in her bathing costume, looked as if she +was enveloped in a patent Mackintosh, of scanty dimensions.</p> +<p>‘So it is, I declare!’ exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. +‘How very curious we should see them both!’</p> +<p>‘Very,’ said the captain, with perfect coolness.</p> +<p>‘It’s the reg’lar thing here, you see,’ whispered +Mr. Cymon Tuggs to his father.</p> +<p>‘I see it is,’ whispered Mr. Joseph Tuggs in reply. +‘Queer, though—ain’t it?’ Mr. Cymon Tuggs +nodded assent.</p> +<p>‘What do you think of doing with yourself this morning?’ +inquired the captain. ‘Shall we lunch at Pegwell?’</p> +<p>‘I should like that very much indeed,’ interposed Mrs. +Tuggs. She had never heard of Pegwell; but the word ‘lunch’ +had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeably.</p> +<p>‘How shall we go?’ inquired the captain; ‘it’s +too warm to walk.’</p> +<p>‘A shay?’ suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Chaise,’ whispered Mr. Cymon.</p> +<p>‘I should think one would be enough,’ said Mr. Joseph +Tuggs aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. +‘However, two shays if you like.’</p> +<p>‘I should like a donkey <i>so</i> much,’ said Belinda.</p> +<p>‘Oh, so should I!’ echoed Charlotta Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Well, we can have a fly,’ suggested the captain, ‘and +you can have a couple of donkeys.’</p> +<p>A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would +be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy +was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tuggs would be gallant enough to +accompany them.</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon Tuggs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested +that he was no horseman. The objection was at once overruled. +A fly was speedily found; and three donkeys—which the proprietor +declared on his solemn asseveration to be ‘three parts blood, +and the other corn’—were engaged in the service.</p> +<p>‘Kim up!’ shouted one of the two boys who followed behind, +to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotta Tuggs had been +hoisted, and pushed, and pulled, into their respective saddles.</p> +<p>‘Hi—hi—hi!’ groaned the other boy behind +Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling +against the heels of Cymon’s boots, and Cymon’s boots nearly +scraping the ground.</p> +<p>‘Way—way! Wo—o—o -!’ cried Mr. +Cymon Tuggs as well as he could, in the midst of the jolting.</p> +<p>‘Don’t make it gallop!’ screamed Mrs. Captain Waters, +behind.</p> +<p>‘My donkey <i>will</i> go into the public-house!’ shrieked +Miss Tuggs in the rear.</p> +<p>‘Hi—hi—hi!’ groaned both the boys together; +and on went the donkeys as if nothing would ever stop them.</p> +<p>Everything has an end, however; even the galloping of donkeys will +cease in time. The animal which Mr. Cymon Tuggs bestrode, feeling +sundry uncomfortable tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by +no means divine, abruptly sidled against a brick wall, and expressed +his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Cymon Tuggs’s leg on the rough +surface. Mrs. Captain Waters’s donkey, apparently under +the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly, head first, +into a hedge, and declined to come out again: and the quadruped on which +Miss Tuggs was mounted, expressed his delight at this humorous proceeding +by firmly planting his fore-feet against the ground, and kicking up +his hind-legs in a very agile, but somewhat alarming manner.</p> +<p>This abrupt termination to the rapidity of the ride, naturally occasioned +some confusion. Both the ladies indulged in vehement screaming +for several minutes; and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, besides sustaining intense +bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of witnessing their distressing +situation, without having the power to rescue them, by reason of his +leg being firmly screwed in between the animal and the wall. The +efforts of the boys, however, assisted by the ingenious expedient of +twisting the tail of the most rebellious donkey, restored order in a +much shorter time than could have reasonably been expected, and the +little party jogged slowly on together.</p> +<p>‘Now let ’em walk,’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. +‘It’s cruel to overdrive ’em.’</p> +<p>‘Werry well, sir,’ replied the boy, with a grin at his +companion, as if he understood Mr. Cymon to mean that the cruelty applied +less to the animals than to their riders.</p> +<p>‘What a lovely day, dear!’ said Charlotta.</p> +<p>‘Charming; enchanting, dear!’ responded Mrs. Captain +Waters.</p> +<p>‘What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tuggs!’</p> +<p>Cymon looked full in Belinda’s face, as he responded—‘Beautiful, +indeed!’ The lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal +she was riding to fall a little back. Cymon Tuggs instinctively +did the same.</p> +<p>There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Cymon Tuggs.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Cymon,’ said the lady suddenly, in a low tone, ‘Mr. +Cymon—I am another’s.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which +it was impossible to controvert.</p> +<p>‘If I had not been—’ resumed Belinda; and there +she stopped.</p> +<p>‘What—what?’ said Mr. Cymon earnestly. ‘Do +not torture me. What would you say?’</p> +<p>‘If I had not been’—continued Mrs. Captain Waters—‘if, +in earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and been beloved +by, a noble youth—a kindred soul—a congenial spirit—one +capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which—’</p> +<p>‘Heavens! what do I hear?’ exclaimed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. +‘Is it possible! can I believe my—Come up!’ +(This last unsentimental parenthesis was addressed to the donkey, who, +with his head between his fore-legs, appeared to be examining the state +of his shoes with great anxiety.)</p> +<p>‘Hi—hi—hi,’ said the boys behind. ‘Come +up,’ expostulated Cymon Tuggs again. ‘Hi—hi—hi,’ +repeated the boys. And whether it was that the animal felt indignant +at the tone of Mr. Tuggs’s command, or felt alarmed by the noise +of the deputy proprietor’s boots running behind him; or whether +he burned with a noble emulation to outstrip the other donkeys; certain +it is that he no sooner heard the second series of ‘hi—hi’s,’ +than he started away, with a celerity of pace which jerked Mr. Cymon’s +hat off, instantaneously, and carried him to the Pegwell Bay hotel in +no time, where he deposited his rider without giving him the trouble +of dismounting, by sagaciously pitching him over his head, into the +very doorway of the tavern.</p> +<p>Great was the confusion of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, when he was put right +end uppermost, by two waiters; considerable was the alarm of Mrs. Tuggs +in behalf of her son; agonizing were the apprehensions of Mrs. Captain +Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered, however, that +he had not sustained much more injury than the donkey—he was grazed, +and the animal was grazing—and then it <i>was</i> a delightful +party to be sure! Mr. and Mrs. Tuggs, and the captain, had ordered +lunch in the little garden behind:—small saucers of large shrimps, +dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was without +a cloud; there were flower-pots and turf before them; the sea, from +the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could discern +anything at all; vessels in the distance with sails as white, and as +small, as nicely-got-up cambric handkerchiefs. The shrimps were +delightful, the ale better, and the captain even more pleasant than +either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in <i>such</i> spirits after lunch!—chasing, +first the captain across the turf, and among the flower-pots; and then +Mr. Cymon Tuggs; and then Miss Tuggs; and laughing, too, quite boisterously. +But as the captain said, it didn’t matter; who knew what they +were, there? For all the people of the house knew, they might +be common people. To which Mr. Joseph Tuggs responded, ‘To +be sure.’ And then they went down the steep wooden steps +a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff; and looked +at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, till it was more than fully +time to go back to Ramsgate again. Finally, Mr. Cymon Tuggs ascended +the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one; and Mr. Cymon +Tuggs discovered that the foot and ankle of Mrs. Captain Waters, were +even more unexceptionable than he had at first supposed.</p> +<p>Taking a donkey towards his ordinary place of residence, is a very +different thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished, than +taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and +presence of mind in the one case, to anticipate the numerous flights +of his discursive imagination; whereas, in the other, all you have to +do, is, to hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. +Mr. Cymon Tuggs adopted the latter expedient on his return; and his +nerves were so little discomposed by the journey, that he distinctly +understood they were all to meet again at the library in the evening.</p> +<p>The library was crowded. There were the same ladies, and the +same gentlemen, who had been on the sands in the morning, and on the +pier the day before. There were young ladies, in maroon-coloured +gowns and black velvet bracelets, dispensing fancy articles in the shop, +and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. There +were marriageable daughters, and marriage-making mammas, gaming and +promenading, and turning over music, and flirting. There were +some male beaux doing the sentimental in whispers, and others doing +the ferocious in moustache. There were Mrs. Tuggs in amber, Miss +Tuggs in sky-blue, Mrs. Captain Waters in pink. There was Captain +Waters in a braided surtout; there was Mr. Cymon Tuggs in pumps and +a gilt waistcoat; there was Mr. Joseph Tuggs in a blue coat and a shirt-frill.</p> +<p>‘Numbers three, eight, and eleven!’ cried one of the +young ladies in the maroon-coloured gowns.</p> +<p>‘Numbers three, eight, and eleven!’ echoed another young +lady in the same uniform.</p> +<p>‘Number three’s gone,’ said the first young lady. +‘Numbers eight and eleven!’</p> +<p>‘Numbers eight and eleven!’ echoed the second young lady.</p> +<p>‘Number eight’s gone, Mary Ann,’ said the first +young lady.</p> +<p>‘Number eleven!’ screamed the second.</p> +<p>‘The numbers are all taken now, ladies, if you please,’ +said the first. The representatives of numbers three, eight, and +eleven, and the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table.</p> +<p>‘Will you throw, ma’am?’ said the presiding goddess, +handing the dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four +girls.</p> +<p>There was a profound silence among the lookers-on.</p> +<p>‘Throw, Jane, my dear,’ said the stout lady. An +interesting display of bashfulness—a little blushing in a cambric +handkerchief—a whispering to a younger sister.</p> +<p>‘Amelia, my dear, throw for your sister,’ said the stout +lady; and then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowlands’ +Macassar Oil, who stood next her, and said, ‘Jane is so <i>very</i> +modest and retiring; but I can’t be angry with her for it. +An artless and unsophisticated girl is <i>so</i> truly amiable, that +I often wish Amelia was more like her sister!’</p> +<p>The gentleman with the whiskers whispered his admiring approval.</p> +<p>‘Now, my dear!’ said the stout lady. Miss Amelia +threw—eight for her sister, ten for herself.</p> +<p>‘Nice figure, Amelia,’ whispered the stout lady to a +thin youth beside her.</p> +<p>‘Beautiful!’</p> +<p>‘And <i>such</i> a spirit! I am like you in that respect. +I can <i>not</i> help admiring that life and vivacity. Ah! (a +sigh) I wish I could make poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia!’</p> +<p>The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment; both he, +and the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented.</p> +<p>‘Who’s this?’ inquired Mr. Cymon Tuggs of Mrs. +Captain Waters, as a short female, in a blue velvet hat and feathers, +was led into the orchestra, by a fat man in black tights and cloudy +Berlins.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Tippin, of the London theatres,’ replied Belinda, +referring to the programme of the concert.</p> +<p>The talented Tippin having condescendingly acknowledged the clapping +of hands, and shouts of ‘bravo!’ which greeted her appearance, +proceeded to sing the popular cavatina of ‘Bid me discourse,’ +accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tippin; after which, Mr. Tippin sang +a comic song, accompanied on the piano by Mrs. Tippin: the applause +consequent upon which, was only to be exceeded by the enthusiastic approbation +bestowed upon an air with variations on the guitar, by Miss Tippin, +accompanied on the chin by Master Tippin.</p> +<p>Thus passed the evening; thus passed the days and evenings of the +Tuggses, and the Waterses, for six weeks. Sands in the morning—donkeys +at noon—pier in the afternoon—library at night—and +the same people everywhere.</p> +<p>On that very night six weeks, the moon was shining brightly over +the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs, +with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep, without disturbing +the young ones, when two figures were discernible—or would have +been, if anybody had looked for them—seated on one of the wooden +benches which are stationed near the verge of the western cliff. +The moon had climbed higher into the heavens, by two hours’ journeying, +since those figures first sat down—and yet they had moved not. +The crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed; the noise of itinerant +musicians had died away; light after light had appeared in the windows +of the different houses in the distance; blockade-man after blockade-man +had passed the spot, wending his way towards his solitary post; and +yet those figures had remained stationary. Some portions of the +two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly +on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr. Cymon Tuggs and +Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on that bench. They spoke not, +but were silently gazing on the sea.</p> +<p>‘Walter will return to-morrow,’ said Mrs. Captain Waters, +mournfully breaking silence.</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry +bushes, as he replied, ‘Alas! he will.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, Cymon!’ resumed Belinda, ‘the chaste delight, +the calm happiness, of this one week of Platonic love, is too much for +me!’ Cymon was about to suggest that it was too little for +him, but he stopped himself, and murmured unintelligibly.</p> +<p>‘And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as +it is,’ exclaimed Belinda, ‘is now to be lost for ever!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda,’ exclaimed the excitable +Cymon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale +face—it was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase. +‘Do not say for ever!’</p> +<p>‘I must,’ replied Belinda.</p> +<p>‘Why?’ urged Cymon, ‘oh why? Such Platonic +acquaintance as ours is so harmless, that even your husband can never +object to it.’</p> +<p>‘My husband!’ exclaimed Belinda. ‘You little +know him. Jealous and revengeful; ferocious in his revenge—a +maniac in his jealousy! Would you be assassinated before my eyes?’ +Mr. Cymon Tuggs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination +to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of anybody.</p> +<p>‘Then leave me,’ said Mrs. Captain Waters. ‘Leave +me, this night, for ever. It is late: let us return.’</p> +<p>Mr. Cymon Tuggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her +to her lodgings. He paused at the door—he felt a Platonic +pressure of his hand. ‘Good night,’ he said, hesitating.</p> +<p>‘Good night,’ sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs +paused again.</p> +<p>‘Won’t you walk in, sir?’ said the servant. +Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh, that hesitation! He <i>did</i> +walk in.</p> +<p>‘Good night!’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached +the drawing-room.</p> +<p>‘Good night!’ replied Belinda; ‘and, if at any +period of my life, I—Hush!’ The lady paused and stared +with a steady gaze of horror, on the ashy countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. +There was a double knock at the street-door.</p> +<p>‘It is my husband!’ said Belinda, as the captain’s +voice was heard below.</p> +<p>‘And my family!’ added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of +his relatives floated up the staircase.</p> +<p>‘The curtain! The curtain!’ gasped Mrs. Captain +Waters, pointing to the window, before which some chintz hangings were +closely drawn.</p> +<p>‘But I have done nothing wrong,’ said the hesitating +Cymon.</p> +<p>‘The curtain!’ reiterated the frantic lady: ‘you +will be murdered.’ This last appeal to his feelings was +irresistible. The dismayed Cymon concealed himself behind the +curtain with pantomimic suddenness.</p> +<p>Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta.</p> +<p>‘My dear,’ said the captain, ‘Lieutenant, Slaughter.’ +Two iron-shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance, +and acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the +lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the +table. Mr. Cymon’s fears almost overcame his reason.</p> +<p>‘The brandy, my dear!’ said the captain. Here was +a situation! They were going to make a night of it! And +Mr. Cymon Tuggs was pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe!</p> +<p>‘Slaughter,’ said the captain, ‘a cigar?’</p> +<p>Now, Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke without feeling it indispensably +necessary to retire, immediately, and never could smell smoke without +a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced; the +captain was a professed smoker; so was the lieutenant; so was Joseph +Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke +powerful: it hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found +its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his nose, his mouth, +his breath. It was all of no use—out came the cough.</p> +<p>‘Bless my soul!’ said the captain, ‘I beg your +pardon, Miss Tuggs. You dislike smoking?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, no; I don’t indeed,’ said Charlotta.</p> +<p>‘It makes you cough.’</p> +<p>‘Oh dear no.’</p> +<p>‘You coughed just now.’</p> +<p>‘Me, Captain Waters! Lor! how can you say so?’</p> +<p>‘Somebody coughed,’ said the captain.</p> +<p>‘I certainly thought so,’ said Slaughter. No; everybody +denied it.</p> +<p>‘Fancy,’ said the captain.</p> +<p>‘Must be,’ echoed Slaughter.</p> +<p>Cigars resumed—more smoke—another cough—smothered, +but violent.</p> +<p>‘Damned odd!’ said the captain, staring about him.</p> +<p>‘Sing’ler!’ ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph +Tuggs.</p> +<p>Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then +at another: then, laid down his cigar, then approached the window on +tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder, in the direction +of the curtain.</p> +<p>‘Slaughter!’ ejaculated the captain, rising from table, +‘what do you mean?’</p> +<p>The lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. +Cymon Tuggs behind it: pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting +to cough.</p> +<p>‘Aha!’ exclaimed the captain, furiously. ‘What +do I see? Slaughter, your sabre!’</p> +<p>‘Cymon!’ screamed the Tuggses.</p> +<p>‘Mercy!’ said Belinda.</p> +<p>‘Platonic!’ gasped Cymon.</p> +<p>‘Your sabre!’ roared the captain: ‘Slaughter—unhand +me—the villain’s life!’</p> +<p>‘Murder!’ screamed the Tuggses.</p> +<p>‘Hold him fast, sir!’ faintly articulated Cymon.</p> +<p>‘Water!’ exclaimed Joseph Tuggs—and Mr. Cymon Tuggs +and all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau.</p> +<p>Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the +six weeks’ acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary +custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in +addition to a commencement; we have therefore no alternative. +Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message—the captain brought an +action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed—the lieutenant negotiated. +When Mr. Cymon Tuggs recovered from the nervous disorder into which +misplaced affection, and exciting circumstances, had plunged him, he +found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance; that his +father was minus fifteen hundred pounds; and the captain plus the precise +sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up, but it got abroad +notwithstanding; and there are not wanting some who affirm that three +designing impostors never found more easy dupes, than did Captain Waters, +Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant Slaughter, in the Tuggses at Ramsgate.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER V—HORATIO SPARKINS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the +last assembly night,’ said Mrs. Malderton, addressing her spouse, +who, after the fatigues of the day in the City, was sitting with a silk +handkerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender, drinking his +port;—‘very great attention; and I say again, every possible +encouragement ought to be given him. He positively must be asked +down here to dine.’</p> +<p>‘Who must?’ inquired Mr. Malderton.</p> +<p>‘Why, you know whom I mean, my dear—the young man with +the black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our +assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young—dear +me! what’s his name?—Marianne, what <i>is</i> his name?’ +continued Mrs. Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was +engaged in netting a purse, and looking sentimental.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma,’ replied Miss Marianne, with +a sigh.</p> +<p>‘Oh! yes, to be sure—Horatio Sparkins,’ said Mrs. +Malderton. ‘Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man +I ever saw. I am sure in the beautifully-made coat he wore the +other night, he looked like—like—’</p> +<p>‘Like Prince Leopold, ma—so noble, so full of sentiment!’ +suggested Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration.</p> +<p>‘You should recollect, my dear,’ resumed Mrs. Malderton, +‘that Teresa is now eight-and-twenty; and that it really is very +important that something should be done.’</p> +<p>Miss Teresa Malderton was a very little girl, rather fat, with vermilion +cheeks, but good-humoured, and still disengaged, although, to do her +justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance on her part. +In vain had she flirted for ten years; in vain had Mr. and Mrs. Malderton +assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance among the young eligible +bachelors of Camberwell, and even of Wandsworth and Brixton; to say +nothing of those who ‘dropped in’ from town. Miss +Malderton was as well known as the lion on the top of Northumberland +House, and had an equal chance of ‘going off.’</p> +<p>‘I am quite sure you’d like him,’ continued Mrs. +Malderton, ‘he is so gentlemanly!’</p> +<p>‘So clever!’ said Miss Marianne.</p> +<p>‘And has such a flow of language!’ added Miss Teresa.</p> +<p>‘He has a great respect for you, my dear,’ said Mrs. +Malderton to her husband. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at +the fire.</p> +<p>‘Yes I’m sure he’s very much attached to pa’s +society,’ said Miss Marianne.</p> +<p>‘No doubt of it,’ echoed Miss Teresa.</p> +<p>‘Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence,’ observed +Mrs. Malderton.</p> +<p>‘Well, well,’ returned Mr. Malderton, somewhat flattered; +‘if I see him at the assembly to-morrow, perhaps I’ll ask +him down. I hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, my +dear?’</p> +<p>‘Of course—and that you keep a one-horse carriage.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll see about it,’ said Mr. Malderton, composing +himself for a nap; ‘I’ll see about it.’</p> +<p>Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited to +Lloyd’s, the Exchange, the India House, and the Bank. A +few successful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity +and comparative poverty, to a state of affluence. As frequently +happens in such cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated +to an extraordinary pitch as their means increased; they affected fashion, +taste, and many other fooleries, in imitation of their betters, and +had a very decided and becoming horror of anything which could, by possibility, +be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal +from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Egotism and the love +of display induced him to keep an excellent table: convenience, and +a love of good things of this life, ensured him plenty of guests. +He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such, at his table, +because it was a great thing to talk about; but he never could endure +what he called ‘sharp fellows.’ Probably, he cherished +this feeling out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respected +parent no uneasiness in that particular. The family were ambitious +of forming acquaintances and connexions in some sphere of society superior +to that in which they themselves moved; and one of the necessary consequences +of this desire, added to their utter ignorance of the world beyond their +own small circle, was, that any one who could lay claim to an acquaintance +with people of rank and title, had a sure passport to the table at Oak +Lodge, Camberwell.</p> +<p>The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins at the assembly, had excited +no small degree of surprise and curiosity among its regular frequenters. +Who could he be? He was evidently reserved, and apparently melancholy. +Was he a clergyman?—He danced too well. A barrister?—He +said he was not called. He used very fine words, and talked a +great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner, come to England +for the purpose of describing the country, its manners and customs; +and frequenting public balls and public dinners, with the view of becoming +acquainted with high life, polished etiquette, and English refinement?—No, +he had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon, a contributor to +the magazines, a writer of fashionable novels, or an artist?—No; +to each and all of these surmises, there existed some valid objection.—‘Then,’ +said everybody, ‘he must be <i>somebody</i>.’—‘I +should think he must be,’ reasoned Mr. Malderton, within himself, +‘because he perceives our superiority, and pays us so much attention.’</p> +<p>The night succeeding the conversation we have just recorded, was +‘assembly night.’ The double-fly was ordered to be +at the door of Oak Lodge at nine o’clock precisely. The +Miss Maldertons were dressed in sky-blue satin trimmed with artificial +flowers; and Mrs. M. (who was a little fat woman), in ditto ditto, looked +like her eldest daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Malderton, +the eldest son, in full-dress costume, was the very <i>beau idéal</i> +of a smart waiter; and Mr. Thomas Malderton, the youngest, with his +white dress-stock, blue coat, bright buttons, and red watch-ribbon, +strongly resembled the portrait of that interesting, but rash young +gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party had made +up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. +Miss Teresa, of course, was to be as amiable and interesting as ladies +of eight-and-twenty on the look-out for a husband, usually are. +Mrs. Malderton would be all smiles and graces. Miss Marianne would +request the favour of some verses for her album. Mr. Malderton +would patronise the great unknown by asking him to dinner. Tom +intended to ascertain the extent of his information on the interesting +topics of snuff and cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, +the family authority on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable +arrangement; who had lodgings of his own in town; who had a free admission +to Covent-garden theatre; who always dressed according to the fashions +of the months; who went up the water twice a-week in the season; and +who actually had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who formerly +lived in the Albany,—even he had determined that Mr. Horatio Sparkins +must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would do him the honour +of challenging him to a game at billiards.</p> +<p>The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family +on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with +his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, +reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats.</p> +<p>‘There he is, my dear,’ whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. +Malderton.</p> +<p>‘How like Lord Byron!’ murmured Miss Teresa.</p> +<p>‘Or Montgomery!’ whispered Miss Marianne.</p> +<p>‘Or the portraits of Captain Cook!’ suggested Tom.</p> +<p>‘Tom—don’t be an ass!’ said his father, who +checked him on all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming +‘sharp’—which was very unnecessary.</p> +<p>The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect, until the +family had crossed the room. He then started up, with the most +natural appearance of surprise and delight; accosted Mrs. Malderton +with the utmost cordiality; saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting +manner; bowed to, and shook hands with Mr. Malderton, with a degree +of respect amounting almost to veneration; and returned the greetings +of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising manner, which +fully convinced them that he must be an important, and, at the same +time, condescending personage.</p> +<p>‘Miss Malderton,’ said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, +and bowing very low, ‘may I be permitted to presume to hope that +you will allow me to have the pleasure—’</p> +<p>‘I don’t <i>think</i> I am engaged,’ said Miss +Teresa, with a dreadful affectation of indifference—‘but, +really—so many—’</p> +<p>Horatio looked handsomely miserable.</p> +<p>‘I shall be most happy,’ simpered the interesting Teresa, +at last. Horatio’s countenance brightened up, like an old +hat in a shower of rain.</p> +<p>‘A very genteel young man, certainly!’ said the gratified +Mr. Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the +quadrille which was just forming.</p> +<p>‘He has a remarkably good address,’ said Mr. Frederick.</p> +<p>‘Yes, he is a prime fellow,’ interposed Tom, who always +managed to put his foot in it—‘he talks just like an auctioneer.’</p> +<p>‘Tom!’ said his father solemnly, ‘I think I desired +you, before, not to be a fool.’ Tom looked as happy as a +cock on a drizzly morning.</p> +<p>‘How delightful!’ said the interesting Horatio to his +partner, as they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set—‘how +delightful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, +the vicissitudes, and the troubles, of life, even if it be but for a +few short fleeting moments: and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent +though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society of one individual—whose +frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood +would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss; the possession of whose +affection would be the brightest and best reward that Heaven could bestow +on man?’</p> +<p>‘What feeling! what sentiment!’ thought Miss Teresa, +as she leaned more heavily on her companion’s arm.</p> +<p>‘But enough—enough!’ resumed the elegant Sparkins, +with a theatrical air. ‘What have I said? what have I—I—to +do with sentiments like these! Miss Malderton’—here +he stopped short—‘may I hope to be permitted to offer the +humble tribute of—’</p> +<p>‘Really, Mr. Sparkins,’ returned the enraptured Teresa, +blushing in the sweetest confusion, ‘I must refer you to papa. +I never can, without his consent, venture to—’</p> +<p>‘Surely he cannot object—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not!’ interrupted +Miss Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to +make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel.</p> +<p>‘He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus,’ +returned the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise.</p> +<p>‘Is that all?’ thought the disappointed Teresa. +‘What a fuss about nothing!’</p> +<p>‘It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to +dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o’clock, +if you have no better engagement,’ said Mr. Malderton, at the +conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation +with Mr. Horatio Sparkins.</p> +<p>Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering invitation.</p> +<p>‘I must confess,’ continued the father, offering his +snuff-box to his new acquaintance, ‘that I don’t enjoy these +assemblies half so much as the comfort—I had almost said the luxury—of +Oak Lodge. They have no great charms for an elderly man.’</p> +<p>‘And after all, sir, what is man?’ said the metaphysical +Sparkins. ‘I say, what is man?’</p> +<p>‘Ah! very true,’ said Mr. Malderton; ‘very true.’</p> +<p>‘We know that we live and breathe,’ continued Horatio; +‘that we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites—’</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound.</p> +<p>‘I say, we know that we exist,’ repeated Horatio, raising +his voice, ‘but there we stop; there, is an end to our knowledge; +there, is the summit of our attainments; there, is the termination of +our ends. What more do we know?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing,’ replied Mr. Frederick—than whom no one +was more capable of answering for himself in that particular. +Tom was about to hazard something, but, fortunately for his reputation, +he caught his father’s angry eye, and slunk off like a puppy convicted +of petty larceny.</p> +<p>‘Upon my word,’ said Mr. Malderton the elder, as they +were returning home in the fly, ‘that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful +young man. Such surprising knowledge! such extraordinary information! +and such a splendid mode of expressing himself!’</p> +<p>‘I think he must be somebody in disguise,’ said Miss +Marianne. ‘How charmingly romantic!’</p> +<p>‘He talks very loud and nicely,’ timidly observed Tom, +‘but I don’t exactly understand what he means.’</p> +<p>‘I almost begin to despair of your understanding anything, +Tom,’ said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened +by Mr. Horatio Sparkins’s conversation.</p> +<p>‘It strikes me, Tom,’ said Miss Teresa, ‘that you +have made yourself very ridiculous this evening.’</p> +<p>‘No doubt of it,’ cried everybody—and the unfortunate +Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. That night, +Mr. and Mrs. Malderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter’s +prospects and future arrangements. Miss Teresa went to bed, considering +whether, in the event of her marrying a title, she could conscientiously +encourage the visits of her present associates; and dreamed, all night, +of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes, bridal favours, +and Horatio Sparkins.</p> +<p>Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the mode +of conveyance which the anxiously-expected Horatio would adopt. +Did he keep a gig?—was it possible he could come on horseback?—or +would he patronize the stage? These, and other various conjectures +of equal importance, engrossed the attention of Mrs. Malderton and her +daughters during the whole morning after church.</p> +<p>‘Upon my word, my dear, it’s a most annoying thing that +that vulgar brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here +to-day,’ said Mr. Malderton to his wife. ‘On account +of Mr. Sparkins’s coming down, I purposely abstained from asking +any one but Flamwell. And then to think of your brother—a +tradesman—it’s insufferable! I declare I wouldn’t +have him mention his shop, before our new guest—no, not for a +thousand pounds! I wouldn’t care if he had the good sense +to conceal the disgrace he is to the family; but he’s so fond +of his horrible business, that he <i>will</i> let people know what he +is.’</p> +<p>Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer; +so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never +scrupled to avow that he wasn’t above his business: ‘he’d +made his money by it, and he didn’t care who know’d it.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d’ye do?’ said +Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered +the room. ‘You got my note?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I did; and here I am in consequence.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name? +You know everybody?’</p> +<p>Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remarkably extensive information +whom one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to know everybody, +but in reality know nobody. At Malderton’s, where any stories +about great people were received with a greedy ear, he was an especial +favourite; and, knowing the kind of people he had to deal with, he carried +his passion of claiming acquaintance with everybody, to the most immoderate +length. He had rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies +in a parenthesis, and with an air of self-denial, as if he feared being +thought egotistical.</p> +<p>‘Why, no, I don’t know him by that name,’ returned +Flamwell, in a low tone, and with an air of immense importance. +‘I have no doubt I know him, though. Is he tall?’</p> +<p>‘Middle-sized,’ said Miss Teresa.</p> +<p>‘With black hair?’ inquired Flamwell, hazarding a bold +guess.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ returned Miss Teresa, eagerly.</p> +<p>‘Rather a snub nose?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said the disappointed Teresa, ‘he has a Roman +nose.’</p> +<p>‘I said a Roman nose, didn’t I?’ inquired Flamwell. +‘He’s an elegant young man?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, certainly.’</p> +<p>‘With remarkably prepossessing manners?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes!’ said all the family together. ‘You +must know him.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I thought you knew him, if he was anybody,’ triumphantly +exclaimed Mr. Malderton. ‘Who d’ye think he is?’</p> +<p>‘Why, from your description,’ said Flamwell, ruminating, +and sinking his voice, almost to a whisper, ‘he bears a strong +resemblance to the Honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. +He’s a very talented young man, and rather eccentric. It’s +extremely probable he may have changed his name for some temporary purpose.’</p> +<p>Teresa’s heart beat high. Could he be the Honourable +Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne! What a name to be +elegantly engraved upon two glazed cards, tied together with a piece +of white satin ribbon! ‘The Honourable Mrs. Augustus Fitz-Edward +Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne!’ The thought was transport.</p> +<p>‘It’s five minutes to five,’ said Mr. Malderton, +looking at his watch: ‘I hope he’s not going to disappoint +us.’</p> +<p>‘There he is!’ exclaimed Miss Teresa, as a loud double-knock +was heard at the door. Everybody endeavoured to look—as +people when they particularly expect a visitor always do—as if +they were perfectly unsuspicious of the approach of anybody.</p> +<p>The room-door opened—‘Mr. Barton!’ said the servant.</p> +<p>‘Confound the man!’ murmured Malderton. ‘Ah! +my dear sir, how d’ye do! Any news?’</p> +<p>‘Why no,’ returned the grocer, in his usual bluff manner. +‘No, none partickler. None that I am much aware of. +How d’ye do, gals and boys? Mr. Flamwell, sir—glad +to see you.’</p> +<p>‘Here’s Mr. Sparkins!’ said Tom, who had been looking +out at the window, ‘on <i>such</i> a black horse!’ +There was Horatio, sure enough, on a large black horse, curvetting and +prancing along, like an Astley’s supernumerary. After a +great deal of reining in, and pulling up, with the accompaniments of +snorting, rearing, and kicking, the animal consented to stop at about +a hundred yards from the gate, where Mr. Sparkins dismounted, and confided +him to the care of Mr. Malderton’s groom. The ceremony of +introduction was gone through, in all due form. Mr. Flamwell looked +from behind his green spectacles at Horatio with an air of mysterious +importance; and the gallant Horatio looked unutterable things at Teresa.</p> +<p>‘Is he the Honourable Mr. Augustus What’s-his-name?’ +whispered Mrs. Malderton to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the +dining-room.</p> +<p>‘Why, no—at least not exactly,’ returned that great +authority—‘not exactly.’</p> +<p>‘Who <i>is</i> he then?’</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ said Flamwell, nodding his head with a grave +air, importing that he knew very well; but was prevented, by some grave +reasons of state, from disclosing the important secret. It might +be one of the ministers making himself acquainted with the views of +the people.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sparkins,’ said the delighted Mrs. Malderton, ‘pray +divide the ladies. John, put a chair for the gentleman between +Miss Teresa and Miss Marianne.’ This was addressed to a +man who, on ordinary occasions, acted as half-groom, half-gardener; +but who, as it was important to make an impression on Mr. Sparkins, +had been forced into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up, +and brushed, to look like a second footman.</p> +<p>The dinner was excellent; Horatio was most attentive to Miss Teresa, +and every one felt in high spirits, except Mr. Malderton, who, knowing +the propensity of his brother-in-law, Mr. Barton, endured that sort +of agony which the newspapers inform us is experienced by the surrounding +neighbourhood when a pot-boy hangs himself in a hay-loft, and which +is ‘much easier to be imagined than described.’</p> +<p>‘Have you seen your friend, Sir Thomas Noland, lately, Flamwell?’ +inquired Mr. Malderton, casting a sidelong look at Horatio, to see what +effect the mention of so great a man had upon him.</p> +<p>‘Why, no—not very lately. I saw Lord Gubbleton +the day before yesterday.’</p> +<p>‘All! I hope his lordship is very well?’ said Malderton, +in a tone of the greatest interest. It is scarcely necessary to +say that, until that moment, he had been quite innocent of the existence +of such a person.</p> +<p>‘Why, yes; he was very well—very well indeed. He’s +a devilish good fellow. I met him in the City, and had a long +chat with him. Indeed, I’m rather intimate with him. +I couldn’t stop to talk to him as long as I could wish, though, +because I was on my way to a banker’s, a very rich man, and a +member of Parliament, with whom I am also rather, indeed I may say very, +intimate.’</p> +<p>‘I know whom you mean,’ returned the host, consequentially—in +reality knowing as much about the matter as Flamwell himself.—‘He +has a capital business.’</p> +<p>This was touching on a dangerous topic.</p> +<p>‘Talking of business,’ interposed Mr. Barton, from the +centre of the table. ‘A gentleman whom you knew very well, +Malderton, before you made that first lucky spec of yours, called at +our shop the other day, and—’</p> +<p>‘Barton, may I trouble you for a potato?’ interrupted +the wretched master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud.</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ returned the grocer, quite insensible of +his brother-in-law’s object—‘and he said in a very +plain manner—’</p> +<p>‘<i>Floury</i>, if you please,’ interrupted Malderton +again; dreading the termination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition +of the word ‘shop.’</p> +<p>‘He said, says he,’ continued the culprit, after despatching +the potato; ‘says he, how goes on your business? So I said, +jokingly—you know my way—says I, I’m never above my +business, and I hope my business will never be above me. Ha, ha!’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sparkins,’ said the host, vainly endeavouring to +conceal his dismay, ‘a glass of wine?’</p> +<p>‘With the utmost pleasure, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Happy to see you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you.’</p> +<p>‘We were talking the other evening,’ resumed the host, +addressing Horatio, partly with the view of displaying the conversational +powers of his new acquaintance, and partly in the hope of drowning the +grocer’s stories—‘we were talking the other night +about the nature of man. Your argument struck me very forcibly.’</p> +<p>‘And me,’ said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a graceful +inclination of the head.</p> +<p>‘Pray, what is your opinion of woman, Mr. Sparkins?’ +inquired Mrs. Malderton. The young ladies simpered.</p> +<p>‘Man,’ replied Horatio, ‘man, whether he ranged +the bright, gay, flowery plains of a second Eden, or the more sterile, +barren, and I may say, commonplace regions, to which we are compelled +to accustom ourselves, in times such as these; man, under any circumstances, +or in any place—whether he were bending beneath the withering +blasts of the frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of a vertical +sun—man, without woman, would be—alone.’</p> +<p>‘I am very happy to find you entertain such honourable opinions, +Mr. Sparkins,’ said Mrs. Malderton.</p> +<p>‘And I,’ added Miss Teresa. Horatio looked his +delight, and the young lady blushed.</p> +<p>‘Now, it’s my opinion—’ said Mr. Barton.</p> +<p>‘I know what you’re going to say,’ interposed Malderton, +determined not to give his relation another opportunity, ‘and +I don’t agree with you.’</p> +<p>‘What!’ inquired the astonished grocer.</p> +<p>‘I am sorry to differ from you, Barton,’ said the host, +in as positive a manner as if he really were contradicting a position +which the other had laid down, ‘but I cannot give my assent to +what I consider a very monstrous proposition.’</p> +<p>‘But I meant to say—’</p> +<p>‘You never can convince me,’ said Malderton, with an +air of obstinate determination. ‘Never.’</p> +<p>‘And I,’ said Mr. Frederick, following up his father’s +attack, ‘cannot entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins’s argument.’</p> +<p>‘What!’ said Horatio, who became more metaphysical, and +more argumentative, as he saw the female part of the family listening +in wondering delight—‘what! Is effect the consequence +of cause? Is cause the precursor of effect?’</p> +<p>‘That’s the point,’ said Flamwell.</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Malderton.</p> +<p>‘Because, if effect is the consequence of cause, and if cause +does precede effect, I apprehend you are wrong,’ added Horatio.</p> +<p>‘Decidedly,’ said the toad-eating Flamwell.</p> +<p>‘At least, I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction?’ +said Sparkins, in a tone of interrogation.</p> +<p>‘No doubt of it,’ chimed in Flamwell again. ‘It +settles the point.’</p> +<p>‘Well, perhaps it does,’ said Mr. Frederick; ‘I +didn’t see it before.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t exactly see it now,’ thought the grocer; +‘but I suppose it’s all right.’</p> +<p>‘How wonderfully clever he is!’ whispered Mrs. Malderton +to her daughters, as they retired to the drawing-room.</p> +<p>‘Oh, he’s quite a love!’ said both the young ladies +together; ‘he talks like an oracle. He must have seen a +great deal of life.’</p> +<p>The gentlemen being left to themselves, a pause ensued, during which +everybody looked very grave, as if they were quite overcome by the profound +nature of the previous discussion. Flamwell, who had made up his +mind to find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins really was, first +broke silence.</p> +<p>‘Excuse me, sir,’ said that distinguished personage, +‘I presume you have studied for the bar? I thought of entering +once, myself—indeed, I’m rather intimate with some of the +highest ornaments of that distinguished profession.’</p> +<p>‘N-no!’ said Horatio, with a little hesitation; ‘not +exactly.’</p> +<p>‘But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake?’ +inquired Flamwell, deferentially.</p> +<p>‘Nearly all my life,’ returned Sparkins.</p> +<p>The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flamwell. +He was a young gentleman ‘about to be called.’</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t like to be a barrister,’ said Tom, +speaking for the first time, and looking round the table to find somebody +who would notice the remark.</p> +<p>No one made any reply.</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t like to wear a wig,’ said Tom, hazarding +another observation.</p> +<p>‘Tom, I beg you will not make yourself ridiculous,’ said +his father. ‘Pray listen, and improve yourself by the conversation +you hear, and don’t be constantly making these absurd remarks.’</p> +<p>‘Very well, father,’ replied the unfortunate Tom, who +had not spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at +a quarter-past five o’clock, P.M., and it was then eight.</p> +<p>‘Well, Tom,’ observed his good-natured uncle, ‘never +mind! <i>I</i> think with you. I shouldn’t like to +wear a wig. I’d rather wear an apron.’</p> +<p>Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed—‘For +if a man’s above his business—’</p> +<p>The cough returned with tenfold violence, and did not cease until +the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had quite forgotten what +he intended to say.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Sparkins,’ said Flamwell, returning to the charge, +‘do you happen to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford-square?’</p> +<p>‘I have exchanged cards with him; since which, indeed, I have +had an opportunity of serving him considerably,’ replied Horatio, +slightly colouring; no doubt, at having been betrayed into making the +acknowledgment.</p> +<p>‘You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity of obliging +that great man,’ observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know who he is,’ he whispered to Mr. Malderton, +confidentially, as they followed Horatio up to the drawing-room. +‘It’s quite clear, however, that he belongs to the law, +and that he is somebody of great importance, and very highly connected.’</p> +<p>‘No doubt, no doubt,’ returned his companion.</p> +<p>The remainder of the evening passed away most delightfully. +Mr. Malderton, relieved from his apprehensions by the circumstance of +Mr. Barton’s falling into a profound sleep, was as affable and +gracious as possible. Miss Teresa played the ‘Fall of Paris,’ +as Mr. Sparkins declared, in a most masterly manner, and both of them, +assisted by Mr. Frederick, tried over glees and trios without number; +they having made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonised +beautifully. To be sure, they all sang the first part; and Horatio, +in addition to the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly innocent +of knowing a note of music; still, they passed the time very agreeably, +and it was past twelve o’clock before Mr. Sparkins ordered the +mourning-coach-looking steed to be brought out—an order which +was only complied with, on the distinct understanding that he was to +repeat his visit on the following Sunday.</p> +<p>‘But, perhaps, Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party to-morrow +evening?’ suggested Mrs. M. ‘Mr. Malderton intends +taking the girls to see the pantomime.’ Mr. Sparkins bowed, +and promised to join the party in box 48, in the course of the evening.</p> +<p>‘We will not tax you for the morning,’ said Miss Teresa, +bewitchingly; ‘for ma is going to take us to all sorts of places, +shopping. I know that gentlemen have a great horror of that employment.’ +Mr. Sparkins bowed again, and declared that he should be delighted, +but business of importance occupied him in the morning. Flamwell +looked at Malderton significantly.—‘It’s term time!’ +he whispered.</p> +<p>At twelve o’clock on the following morning, the ‘fly’ +was at the door of Oak Lodge, to convey Mrs. Malderton and her daughters +on their expedition for the day. They were to dine and dress for +the play at a friend’s house. First, driving thither with +their band-boxes, they departed on their first errand to make some purchases +at Messrs. Jones, Spruggins, and Smith’s, of Tottenham-court-road; +after which, they were to go to Redmayne’s in Bond-street; thence, +to innumerable places that no one ever heard of. The young ladies +beguiled the tediousness of the ride by eulogising Mr. Horatio Sparkins, +scolding their mamma for taking them so far to save a shilling, and +wondering whether they should ever reach their destination. At +length, the vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking ticketed linen-draper’s +shop, with goods of all kinds, and labels of all sorts and sizes, in +the window. There were dropsical figures of seven with a little +three-farthings in the corner; ‘perfectly invisible to the naked +eye;’ three hundred and fifty thousand ladies’ boas, <i>from</i> +one shilling and a penny halfpenny; real French kid shoes, at two and +ninepence per pair; green parasols, at an equally cheap rate; and ‘every +description of goods,’ as the proprietors said—and they +must know best—‘fifty per cent. under cost price.’</p> +<p>‘Lor! ma, what a place you have brought us to!’ said +Miss Teresa; ‘what <i>would</i> Mr. Sparkins say if he could see +us!’</p> +<p>‘Ah! what, indeed!’ said Miss Marianne, horrified at +the idea.</p> +<p>‘Pray be seated, ladies. What is the first article?’ +inquired the obsequious master of the ceremonies of the establishment, +who, in his large white neckcloth and formal tie, looked like a bad +‘portrait of a gentleman’ in the Somerset-house exhibition.</p> +<p>‘I want to see some silks,’ answered Mrs. Malderton.</p> +<p>‘Directly, ma’am.—Mr. Smith! Where <i>is</i> +Mr. Smith?’</p> +<p>‘Here, sir,’ cried a voice at the back of the shop.</p> +<p>‘Pray make haste, Mr. Smith,’ said the M.C. ‘You +never are to be found when you’re wanted, sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Smith, thus enjoined to use all possible despatch, leaped over +the counter with great agility, and placed himself before the newly-arrived +customers. Mrs. Malderton uttered a faint scream; Miss Teresa, +who had been stooping down to talk to her sister, raised her head, and +beheld—Horatio Sparkins!</p> +<p>‘We will draw a veil,’ as novel-writers say, over the +scene that ensued. The mysterious, philosophical, romantic, metaphysical +Sparkins—he who, to the interesting Teresa, seemed like the embodied +idea of the young dukes and poetical exquisites in blue silk dressing-gowns, +and ditto ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamed, but had +never expected to behold, was suddenly converted into Mr. Samuel Smith, +the assistant at a ‘cheap shop;’ the junior partner in a +slippery firm of some three weeks’ existence. The dignified +evanishment of the hero of Oak Lodge, on this unexpected recognition, +could only be equalled by that of a furtive dog with a considerable +kettle at his tail. All the hopes of the Maldertons were destined +at once to melt away, like the lemon ices at a Company’s dinner; +Almack’s was still to them as distant as the North Pole; and Miss +Teresa had as much chance of a husband as Captain Ross had of the north-west +passage.</p> +<p>Years have elapsed since the occurrence of this dreadful morning. +The daisies have thrice bloomed on Camberwell-green; the sparrows have +thrice repeated their vernal chirps in Camberwell-grove; but the Miss +Maldertons are still unmated. Miss Teresa’s case is more +desperate than ever; but Flamwell is yet in the zenith of his reputation; +and the family have the same predilection for aristocratic personages, +with an increased aversion to anything <i>low</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VI—THE BLACK VEIL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One winter’s evening, towards the close of the year 1800, or +within a year or two of that time, a young medical practitioner, recently +established in business, was seated by a cheerful fire in his little +parlour, listening to the wind which was beating the rain in pattering +drops against the window, or rumbling dismally in the chimney. +The night was wet and cold; he had been walking through mud and water +the whole day, and was now comfortably reposing in his dressing-gown +and slippers, more than half asleep and less than half awake, revolving +a thousand matters in his wandering imagination. First, he thought +how hard the wind was blowing, and how the cold, sharp rain would be +at that moment beating in his face, if he were not comfortably housed +at home. Then, his mind reverted to his annual Christmas visit +to his native place and dearest friends; he thought how glad they would +all be to see him, and how happy it would make Rose if he could only +tell her that he had found a patient at last, and hoped to have more, +and to come down again, in a few months’ time, and marry her, +and take her home to gladden his lonely fireside, and stimulate him +to fresh exertions. Then, he began to wonder when his first patient +would appear, or whether he was destined, by a special dispensation +of Providence, never to have any patients at all; and then, he thought +about Rose again, and dropped to sleep and dreamed about her, till the +tones of her sweet merry voice sounded in his ears, and her soft tiny +hand rested on his shoulder.</p> +<p>There <i>was</i> a hand upon his shoulder, but it was neither soft +nor tiny; its owner being a corpulent round-headed boy, who, in consideration +of the sum of one shilling per week and his food, was let out by the +parish to carry medicine and messages. As there was no demand +for the medicine, however, and no necessity for the messages, he usually +occupied his unemployed hours—averaging fourteen a day—in +abstracting peppermint drops, taking animal nourishment, and going to +sleep.</p> +<p>‘A lady, sir—a lady!’ whispered the boy, rousing +his master with a shake.</p> +<p>‘What lady?’ cried our friend, starting up, not quite +certain that his dream was an illusion, and half expecting that it might +be Rose herself.—‘What lady? Where?’</p> +<p>‘<i>There</i>, sir!’ replied the boy, pointing to the +glass door leading into the surgery, with an expression of alarm which +the very unusual apparition of a customer might have tended to excite.</p> +<p>The surgeon looked towards the door, and started himself, for an +instant, on beholding the appearance of his unlooked-for visitor.</p> +<p>It was a singularly tall woman, dressed in deep mourning, and standing +so close to the door that her face almost touched the glass. The +upper part of her figure was carefully muffled in a black shawl, as +if for the purpose of concealment; and her face was shrouded by a thick +black veil. She stood perfectly erect, her figure was drawn up +to its full height, and though the surgeon felt that the eyes beneath +the veil were fixed on him, she stood perfectly motionless, and evinced, +by no gesture whatever, the slightest consciousness of his having turned +towards her.</p> +<p>‘Do you wish to consult me?’ he inquired, with some hesitation, +holding open the door. It opened inwards, and therefore the action +did not alter the position of the figure, which still remained motionless +on the same spot.</p> +<p>She slightly inclined her head, in token of acquiescence.</p> +<p>‘Pray walk in,’ said the surgeon.</p> +<p>The figure moved a step forward; and then, turning its head in the +direction of the boy—to his infinite horror—appeared to +hesitate.</p> +<p>‘Leave the room, Tom,’ said the young man, addressing +the boy, whose large round eyes had been extended to their utmost width +during this brief interview. ‘Draw the curtain, and shut +the door.’</p> +<p>The boy drew a green curtain across the glass part of the door, retired +into the surgery, closed the door after him, and immediately applied +one of his large eyes to the keyhole on the other side.</p> +<p>The surgeon drew a chair to the fire, and motioned the visitor to +a seat. The mysterious figure slowly moved towards it. As +the blaze shone upon the black dress, the surgeon observed that the +bottom of it was saturated with mud and rain.</p> +<p>‘You are very wet,’ be said.</p> +<p>‘I am,’ said the stranger, in a low deep voice.</p> +<p>‘And you are ill?’ added the surgeon, compassionately, +for the tone was that of a person in pain.</p> +<p>‘I am,’ was the reply—‘very ill; not bodily, +but mentally. It is not for myself, or on my own behalf,’ +continued the stranger, ‘that I come to you. If I laboured +under bodily disease, I should not be out, alone, at such an hour, or +on such a night as this; and if I were afflicted with it, twenty-four +hours hence, God knows how gladly I would lie down and pray to die. +It is for another that I beseech your aid, sir. I may be mad to +ask it for him—I think I am; but, night after night, through the +long dreary hours of watching and weeping, the thought has been ever +present to my mind; and though even <i>I</i> see the hopelessness of +human assistance availing him, the bare thought of laying him in his +grave without it makes my blood run cold!’ And a shudder, +such as the surgeon well knew art could not produce, trembled through +the speaker’s frame.</p> +<p>There was a desperate earnestness in this woman’s manner, that +went to the young man’s heart. He was young in his profession, +and had not yet witnessed enough of the miseries which are daily presented +before the eyes of its members, to have grown comparatively callous +to human suffering.</p> +<p>‘If,’ he said, rising hastily, ‘the person of whom +you speak, be in so hopeless a condition as you describe, not a moment +is to be lost. I will go with you instantly. Why did you +not obtain medical advice before?’</p> +<p>‘Because it would have been useless before—because it +is useless even now,’ replied the woman, clasping her hands passionately.</p> +<p>The surgeon gazed, for a moment, on the black veil, as if to ascertain +the expression of the features beneath it: its thickness, however, rendered +such a result impossible.</p> +<p>‘You <i>are</i> ill,’ he said, gently, ‘although +you do not know it. The fever which has enabled you to bear, without +feeling it, the fatigue you have evidently undergone, is burning within +you now. Put that to your lips,’ he continued, pouring out +a glass of water—‘compose yourself for a few moments, and +then tell me, as calmly as you can, what the disease of the patient +is, and how long he has been ill. When I know what it is necessary +I should know, to render my visit serviceable to him, I am ready to +accompany you.’</p> +<p>The stranger lifted the glass of water to her mouth, without raising +the veil; put it down again untasted; and burst into tears.</p> +<p>‘I know,’ she said, sobbing aloud, ‘that what I +say to you now, seems like the ravings of fever. I have been told +so before, less kindly than by you. I am not a young woman; and +they do say, that as life steals on towards its final close, the last +short remnant, worthless as it may seem to all beside, is dearer to +its possessor than all the years that have gone before, connected though +they be with the recollection of old friends long since dead, and young +ones—children perhaps—who have fallen off from, and forgotten +one as completely as if they had died too. My natural term of +life cannot be many years longer, and should be dear on that account; +but I would lay it down without a sigh—with cheerfulness—with +joy—if what I tell you now, were only false, or imaginary. +To-morrow morning he of whom I speak will be, I <i>know</i>, though +I would fain think otherwise, beyond the reach of human aid; and yet, +to-night, though he is in deadly peril, you must not see, and could +not serve, him.’</p> +<p>‘I am unwilling to increase your distress,’ said the +surgeon, after a short pause, ‘by making any comment on what you +have just said, or appearing desirous to investigate a subject you are +so anxious to conceal; but there is an inconsistency in your statement +which I cannot reconcile with probability. This person is dying +to-night, and I cannot see him when my assistance might possibly avail; +you apprehend it will be useless to-morrow, and yet you would have me +see him then! If he be, indeed, as dear to you, as your words +and manner would imply, why not try to save his life before delay and +the progress of his disease render it impracticable?’</p> +<p>‘God help me!’ exclaimed the woman, weeping bitterly, +‘how can I hope strangers will believe what appears incredible, +even to myself? You will <i>not</i> see him then, sir?’ +she added, rising suddenly.</p> +<p>‘I did not say that I declined to see him,’ replied the +surgeon; ‘but I warn you, that if you persist in this extraordinary +procrastination, and the individual dies, a fearful responsibility rests +with you.’</p> +<p>‘The responsibility will rest heavily somewhere,’ replied +the stranger bitterly. ‘Whatever responsibility rests with +me, I am content to bear, and ready to answer.’</p> +<p>‘As I incur none,’ continued the surgeon, ‘by acceding +to your request, I will see him in the morning, if you leave me the +address. At what hour can he be seen?’</p> +<p>‘<i>Nine</i>,’ replied the stranger.</p> +<p>‘You must excuse my pressing these inquiries,’ said the +surgeon. ‘But is he in your charge now?’</p> +<p>‘He is not,’ was the rejoinder.</p> +<p>‘Then, if I gave you instructions for his treatment through +the night, you could not assist him?’</p> +<p>The woman wept bitterly, as she replied, ‘I could not.’</p> +<p>Finding that there was but little prospect of obtaining more information +by prolonging the interview; and anxious to spare the woman’s +feelings, which, subdued at first by a violent effort, were now irrepressible +and most painful to witness; the surgeon repeated his promise of calling +in the morning at the appointed hour. His visitor, after giving +him a direction to an obscure part of Walworth, left the house in the +same mysterious manner in which she had entered it.</p> +<p>It will be readily believed that so extraordinary a visit produced +a considerable impression on the mind of the young surgeon; and that +he speculated a great deal and to very little purpose on the possible +circumstances of the case. In common with the generality of people, +he had often heard and read of singular instances, in which a presentiment +of death, at a particular day, or even minute, had been entertained +and realised. At one moment he was inclined to think that the +present might be such a case; but, then, it occurred to him that all +the anecdotes of the kind he had ever heard, were of persons who had +been troubled with a foreboding of their own death. This woman, +however, spoke of another person—a man; and it was impossible +to suppose that a mere dream or delusion of fancy would induce her to +speak of his approaching dissolution with such terrible certainty as +she had spoken. It could not be that the man was to be murdered +in the morning, and that the woman, originally a consenting party, and +bound to secrecy by an oath, had relented, and, though unable to prevent +the commission of some outrage on the victim, had determined to prevent +his death if possible, by the timely interposition of medical aid? +The idea of such things happening within two miles of the metropolis +appeared too wild and preposterous to be entertained beyond the instant. +Then, his original impression that the woman’s intellects were +disordered, recurred; and, as it was the only mode of solving the difficulty +with any degree of satisfaction, he obstinately made up his mind to +believe that she was mad. Certain misgivings upon this point, +however, stole upon his thoughts at the time, and presented themselves +again and again through the long dull course of a sleepless night; during +which, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary, he was unable to +banish the black veil from his disturbed imagination.</p> +<p>The back part of Walworth, at its greatest distance from town, is +a straggling miserable place enough, even in these days; but, five-and-thirty +years ago, the greater portion of it was little better than a dreary +waste, inhabited by a few scattered people of questionable character, +whose poverty prevented their living in any better neighbourhood, or +whose pursuits and mode of life rendered its solitude desirable. +Very many of the houses which have since sprung up on all sides, were +not built until some years afterwards; and the great majority even of +those which were sprinkled about, at irregular intervals, were of the +rudest and most miserable description.</p> +<p>The appearance of the place through which he walked in the morning, +was not calculated to raise the spirits of the young surgeon, or to +dispel any feeling of anxiety or depression which the singular kind +of visit he was about to make, had awakened. Striking off from +the high road, his way lay across a marshy common, through irregular +lanes, with here and there a ruinous and dismantled cottage fast falling +to pieces with decay and neglect. A stunted tree, or pool of stagnant +water, roused into a sluggish action by the heavy rain of the preceding +night, skirted the path occasionally; and, now and then, a miserable +patch of garden-ground, with a few old boards knocked together for a +summer-house, and old palings imperfectly mended with stakes pilfered +from the neighbouring hedges, bore testimony, at once to the poverty +of the inhabitants, and the little scruple they entertained in appropriating +the property of other people to their own use. Occasionally, a +filthy-looking woman would make her appearance from the door of a dirty +house, to empty the contents of some cooking utensil into the gutter +in front, or to scream after a little slip-shod girl, who had contrived +to stagger a few yards from the door under the weight of a sallow infant +almost as big as herself; but, scarcely anything was stirring around: +and so much of the prospect as could be faintly traced through the cold +damp mist which hung heavily over it, presented a lonely and dreary +appearance perfectly in keeping with the objects we have described.</p> +<p>After plodding wearily through the mud and mire; making many inquiries +for the place to which he had been directed; and receiving as many contradictory +and unsatisfactory replies in return; the young man at length arrived +before the house which had been pointed out to him as the object of +his destination. It was a small low building, one story above +the ground, with even a more desolate and unpromising exterior than +any he had yet passed. An old yellow curtain was closely drawn +across the window up-stairs, and the parlour shutters were closed, but +not fastened. The house was detached from any other, and, as it +stood at an angle of a narrow lane, there was no other habitation in +sight.</p> +<p>When we say that the surgeon hesitated, and walked a few paces beyond +the house, before he could prevail upon himself to lift the knocker, +we say nothing that need raise a smile upon the face of the boldest +reader. The police of London were a very different body in that +day; the isolated position of the suburbs, when the rage for building +and the progress of improvement had not yet begun to connect them with +the main body of the city and its environs, rendered many of them (and +this in particular) a place of resort for the worst and most depraved +characters. Even the streets in the gayest parts of London were +imperfectly lighted, at that time; and such places as these, were left +entirely to the mercy of the moon and stars. The chances of detecting +desperate characters, or of tracing them to their haunts, were thus +rendered very few, and their offences naturally increased in boldness, +as the consciousness of comparative security became the more impressed +upon them by daily experience. Added to these considerations, +it must be remembered that the young man had spent some time in the +public hospitals of the metropolis; and, although neither Burke nor +Bishop had then gained a horrible notoriety, his own observation might +have suggested to him how easily the atrocities to which the former +has since given his name, might be committed. Be this as it may, +whatever reflection made him hesitate, he <i>did</i> hesitate: but, +being a young man of strong mind and great personal courage, it was +only for an instant;—he stepped briskly back and knocked gently +at the door.</p> +<p>A low whispering was audible, immediately afterwards, as if some +person at the end of the passage were conversing stealthily with another +on the landing above. It was succeeded by the noise of a pair +of heavy boots upon the bare floor. The door-chain was softly +unfastened; the door opened; and a tall, ill-favoured man, with black +hair, and a face, as the surgeon often declared afterwards, as pale +and haggard, as the countenance of any dead man he ever saw, presented +himself.</p> +<p>‘Walk in, sir,’ he said in a low tone.</p> +<p>The surgeon did so, and the man having secured the door again, by +the chain, led the way to a small back parlour at the extremity of the +passage.</p> +<p>‘Am I in time?’</p> +<p>‘Too soon!’ replied the man. The surgeon turned +hastily round, with a gesture of astonishment not unmixed with alarm, +which he found it impossible to repress.</p> +<p>‘If you’ll step in here, sir,’ said the man, who +had evidently noticed the action—‘if you’ll step in +here, sir, you won’t be detained five minutes, I assure you.’</p> +<p>The surgeon at once walked into the room. The man closed the +door, and left him alone.</p> +<p>It was a little cold room, with no other furniture than two deal +chairs, and a table of the same material. A handful of fire, unguarded +by any fender, was burning in the grate, which brought out the damp +if it served no more comfortable purpose, for the unwholesome moisture +was stealing down the walls, in long slug-like tracks. The window, +which was broken and patched in many places, looked into a small enclosed +piece of ground, almost covered with water. Not a sound was to +be heard, either within the house, or without. The young surgeon +sat down by the fireplace, to await the result of his first professional +visit.</p> +<p>He had not remained in this position many minutes, when the noise +of some approaching vehicle struck his ear. It stopped; the street-door +was opened; a low talking succeeded, accompanied with a shuffling noise +of footsteps, along the passage and on the stairs, as if two or three +men were engaged in carrying some heavy body to the room above. +The creaking of the stairs, a few seconds afterwards, announced that +the new-comers having completed their task, whatever it was, were leaving +the house. The door was again closed, and the former silence was +restored.</p> +<p>Another five minutes had elapsed, and the surgeon had resolved to +explore the house, in search of some one to whom he might make his errand +known, when the room-door opened, and his last night’s visitor, +dressed in exactly the same manner, with the veil lowered as before, +motioned him to advance. The singular height of her form, coupled +with the circumstance of her not speaking, caused the idea to pass across +his brain for an instant, that it might be a man disguised in woman’s +attire. The hysteric sobs which issued from beneath the veil, +and the convulsive attitude of grief of the whole figure, however, at +once exposed the absurdity of the suspicion; and he hastily followed.</p> +<p>The woman led the way up-stairs to the front room, and paused at +the door, to let him enter first. It was scantily furnished with +an old deal box, a few chairs, and a tent bedstead, without hangings +or cross-rails, which was covered with a patchwork counterpane. +The dim light admitted through the curtain which he had noticed from +the outside, rendered the objects in the room so indistinct, and communicated +to all of them so uniform a hue, that he did not, at first, perceive +the object on which his eye at once rested when the woman rushed frantically +past him, and flung herself on her knees by the bedside.</p> +<p>Stretched upon the bed, closely enveloped in a linen wrapper, and +covered with blankets, lay a human form, stiff and motionless. +The head and face, which were those of a man, were uncovered, save by +a bandage which passed over the head and under the chin. The eyes +were closed. The left arm lay heavily across the bed, and the +woman held the passive hand.</p> +<p>The surgeon gently pushed the woman aside, and took the hand in his.</p> +<p>‘My God!’ he exclaimed, letting it fall involuntarily—‘the +man is dead!’</p> +<p>The woman started to her feet and beat her hands together.</p> +<p>‘Oh! don’t say so, sir,’ she exclaimed, with a +burst of passion, amounting almost to frenzy. ‘Oh! don’t +say so, sir! I can’t bear it! Men have been brought +to life, before, when unskilful people have given them up for lost; +and men have died, who might have been restored, if proper means had +been resorted to. Don’t let him lie here, sir, without one +effort to save him! This very moment life may be passing away. +Do try, sir,—do, for Heaven’s sake!’—And while +speaking, she hurriedly chafed, first the forehead, and then the breast, +of the senseless form before her; and then, wildly beat the cold hands, +which, when she ceased to hold them, fell listlessly and heavily back +on the coverlet.</p> +<p>‘It is of no use, my good woman,’ said the surgeon, soothingly, +as he withdrew his hand from the man’s breast. ‘Stay—undraw +that curtain!’</p> +<p>‘Why?’ said the woman, starting up.</p> +<p>‘Undraw that curtain!’ repeated the surgeon in an agitated +tone.</p> +<p>‘I darkened the room on purpose,’ said the woman, throwing +herself before him as he rose to undraw it.—‘Oh! sir, have +pity on me! If it can be of no use, and he is really dead, do +not expose that form to other eyes than mine!’</p> +<p>‘This man died no natural or easy death,’ said the surgeon. +‘I <i>must</i> see the body!’ With a motion so sudden, +that the woman hardly knew that he had slipped from beside her, he tore +open the curtain, admitted the full light of day, and returned to the +bedside.</p> +<p>‘There has been violence here,’ he said, pointing towards +the body, and gazing intently on the face, from which the black veil +was now, for the first time, removed. In the excitement of a minute +before, the female had thrown off the bonnet and veil, and now stood +with her eyes fixed upon him. Her features were those of a woman +about fifty, who had once been handsome. Sorrow and weeping had +left traces upon them which not time itself would ever have produced +without their aid; her face was deadly pale; and there was a nervous +contortion of the lip, and an unnatural fire in her eye, which showed +too plainly that her bodily and mental powers had nearly sunk, beneath +an accumulation of misery.</p> +<p>‘There has been violence here,’ said the surgeon, preserving +his searching glance.</p> +<p>‘There has!’ replied the woman.</p> +<p>‘This man has been murdered.’</p> +<p>‘That I call God to witness he has,’ said the woman, +passionately; ‘pitilessly, inhumanly murdered!’</p> +<p>‘By whom?’ said the surgeon, seizing the woman by the +arm.</p> +<p>‘Look at the butchers’ marks, and then ask me!’ +she replied.</p> +<p>The surgeon turned his face towards the bed, and bent over the body +which now lay full in the light of the window. The throat was +swollen, and a livid mark encircled it. The truth flashed suddenly +upon him.</p> +<p>‘This is one of the men who were hanged this morning!’ +he exclaimed, turning away with a shudder.</p> +<p>‘It is,’ replied the woman, with a cold, unmeaning stare.</p> +<p>‘Who was he?’ inquired the surgeon.</p> +<p>‘<i>My son</i>,’ rejoined the woman; and fell senseless +at his feet.</p> +<p>It was true. A companion, equally guilty with himself, had +been acquitted for want of evidence; and this man had been left for +death, and executed. To recount the circumstances of the case, +at this distant period, must be unnecessary, and might give pain to +some persons still alive. The history was an every-day one. +The mother was a widow without friends or money, and had denied herself +necessaries to bestow them on her orphan boy. That boy, unmindful +of her prayers, and forgetful of the sufferings she had endured for +him—incessant anxiety of mind, and voluntary starvation of body—had +plunged into a career of dissipation and crime. And this was the +result; his own death by the hangman’s hands, and his mother’s +shame, and incurable insanity.</p> +<p>For many years after this occurrence, and when profitable and arduous +avocations would have led many men to forget that such a miserable being +existed, the young surgeon was a daily visitor at the side of the harmless +mad woman; not only soothing her by his presence and kindness, but alleviating +the rigour of her condition by pecuniary donations for her comfort and +support, bestowed with no sparing hand. In the transient gleam +of recollection and consciousness which preceded her death, a prayer +for his welfare and protection, as fervent as mortal ever breathed, +rose from the lips of this poor friendless creature. That prayer +flew to Heaven, and was heard. The blessings he was instrumental +in conferring, have been repaid to him a thousand-fold; but, amid all +the honours of rank and station which have since been heaped upon him, +and which he has so well earned, he can have no reminiscence more gratifying +to his heart than that connected with The Black Veil.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VII—THE STEAM EXCURSION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes was a law student, inhabiting a set of chambers +on the fourth floor, in one of those houses in Gray’s-inn-square +which command an extensive view of the gardens, and their usual adjuncts—flaunting +nursery-maids, and town-made children, with parenthetical legs. +Mr. Percy Noakes was what is generally termed—‘a devilish +good fellow.’ He had a large circle of acquaintance, and +seldom dined at his own expense. He used to talk politics to papas, +flatter the vanity of mammas, do the amiable to their daughters, make +pleasure engagements with their sons, and romp with the younger branches. +Like those paragons of perfection, advertising footmen out of place, +he was always ‘willing to make himself generally useful.’ +If any old lady, whose son was in India, gave a ball, Mr. Percy Noakes +was master of the ceremonies; if any young lady made a stolen match, +Mr. Percy Noakes gave her away; if a juvenile wife presented her husband +with a blooming cherub, Mr. Percy Noakes was either godfather, or deputy-godfather; +and if any member of a friend’s family died, Mr. Percy Noakes +was invariably to be seen in the second mourning coach, with a white +handkerchief to his eyes, sobbing—to use his own appropriate and +expressive description—‘like winkin’!’</p> +<p>It may readily be imagined that these numerous avocations were rather +calculated to interfere with Mr. Percy Noakes’s professional studies. +Mr. Percy Noakes was perfectly aware of the fact, and had, therefore, +after mature reflection, made up his mind not to study at all—a +laudable determination, to which he adhered in the most praiseworthy +manner. His sitting-room presented a strange chaos of dress-gloves, +boxing-gloves, caricatures, albums, invitation-cards, foils, cricket-bats, +cardboard drawings, paste, gum, and fifty other miscellaneous articles, +heaped together in the strangest confusion. He was always making +something for somebody, or planning some party of pleasure, which was +his great <i>forte</i>. He invariably spoke with astonishing rapidity; +was smart, spoffish, and eight-and-twenty.</p> +<p>‘Splendid idea, ’pon my life!’ soliloquised Mr. +Percy Noakes, over his morning coffee, as his mind reverted to a suggestion +which had been thrown out on the previous night, by a lady at whose +house he had spent the evening. ‘Glorious idea!—Mrs. +Stubbs.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir,’ replied a dirty old woman with an inflamed +countenance, emerging from the bedroom, with a barrel of dirt and cinders.—This +was the laundress. ‘Did you call, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! Mrs. Stubbs, I’m going out. If that +tailor should call again, you’d better say—you’d better +say I’m out of town, and shan’t be back for a fortnight; +and if that bootmaker should come, tell him I’ve lost his address, +or I’d have sent him that little amount. Mind he writes +it down; and if Mr. Hardy should call—you know Mr. Hardy?’</p> +<p>‘The funny gentleman, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Ah! the funny gentleman. If Mr. Hardy should call, say +I’ve gone to Mrs. Taunton’s about that water-party.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir.’</p> +<p>‘And if any fellow calls, and says he’s come about a +steamer, tell him to be here at five o’clock this afternoon, Mrs. +Stubbs.’</p> +<p>‘Very well, sir.’</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes brushed his hat, whisked the crumbs off his inexpressibles +with a silk handkerchief, gave the ends of his hair a persuasive roll +round his forefinger, and sallied forth for Mrs. Taunton’s domicile +in Great Marlborough-street, where she and her daughters occupied the +upper part of a house. She was a good-looking widow of fifty, +with the form of a giantess and the mind of a child. The pursuit +of pleasure, and some means of killing time, were the sole end of her +existence. She doted on her daughters, who were as frivolous as +herself.</p> +<p>A general exclamation of satisfaction hailed the arrival of Mr. Percy +Noakes, who went through the ordinary salutations, and threw himself +into an easy chair near the ladies’ work-table, with the ease +of a regularly established friend of the family. Mrs. Taunton +was busily engaged in planting immense bright bows on every part of +a smart cap on which it was possible to stick one; Miss Emily Taunton +was making a watch-guard; Miss Sophia was at the piano, practising a +new song—poetry by the young officer, or the police-officer, or +the custom-house officer, or some other interesting amateur.</p> +<p>‘You good creature!’ said Mrs. Taunton, addressing the +gallant Percy. ‘You really are a good soul! You’ve +come about the water-party, I know.’</p> +<p>‘I should rather suspect I had,’ replied Mr. Noakes, +triumphantly. ‘Now, come here, girls, and I’ll tell +you all about it.’ Miss Emily and Miss Sophia advanced to +the table.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ continued Mr. Percy Noakes, ‘it seems to +me that the best way will be, to have a committee of ten, to make all +the arrangements, and manage the whole set-out. Then, I propose +that the expenses shall be paid by these ten fellows jointly.’</p> +<p>‘Excellent, indeed!’ said Mrs. Taunton, who highly approved +of this part of the arrangements.</p> +<p>‘Then, my plan is, that each of these ten fellows shall have +the power of asking five people. There must be a meeting of the +committee, at my chambers, to make all the arrangements, and these people +shall be then named; every member of the committee shall have the power +of black-balling any one who is proposed; and one black ball shall exclude +that person. This will ensure our having a pleasant party, you +know.’</p> +<p>‘What a manager you are!’ interrupted Mrs. Taunton again.</p> +<p>‘Charming!’ said the lovely Emily.</p> +<p>‘I never did!’ ejaculated Sophia.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I think it’ll do,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes, +who was now quite in his element. ‘I think it’ll do. +Then you know we shall go down to the Nore, and back, and have a regular +capital cold dinner laid out in the cabin before we start, so that everything +may be ready without any confusion; and we shall have the lunch laid +out, on deck, in those little tea-garden-looking concerns by the paddle-boxes—I +don’t know what you call ’em. Then, we shall hire +a steamer expressly for our party, and a band, and have the deck chalked, +and we shall be able to dance quadrilles all day; and then, whoever +we know that’s musical, you know, why they’ll make themselves +useful and agreeable; and—and—upon the whole, I really hope +we shall have a glorious day, you know!’</p> +<p>The announcement of these arrangements was received with the utmost +enthusiasm. Mrs. Taunton, Emily, and Sophia, were loud in their +praises.</p> +<p>‘Well, but tell me, Percy,’ said Mrs. Taunton, ‘who +are the ten gentlemen to be?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I know plenty of fellows who’ll be delighted +with the scheme,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes; ‘of course we +shall have—’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Hardy!’ interrupted the servant, announcing a visitor. +Miss Sophia and Miss Emily hastily assumed the most interesting attitudes +that could be adopted on so short a notice.</p> +<p>‘How are you?’ said a stout gentleman of about forty, +pausing at the door in the attitude of an awkward harlequin. This +was Mr. Hardy, whom we have before described, on the authority of Mrs. +Stubbs, as ‘the funny gentleman.’ He was an Astley-Cooperish +Joe Miller—a practical joker, immensely popular with married ladies, +and a general favourite with young men. He was always engaged +in some pleasure excursion or other, and delighted in getting somebody +into a scrape on such occasions. He could sing comic songs, imitate +hackney-coachmen and fowls, play airs on his chin, and execute concertos +on the Jews’-harp. He always eat and drank most immoderately, +and was the bosom friend of Mr. Percy Noakes. He had a red face, +a somewhat husky voice, and a tremendous laugh.</p> +<p>‘How<i> are</i> you?’ said this worthy, laughing, as +if it were the finest joke in the world to make a morning call, and +shaking hands with the ladies with as much vehemence as if their arms +had been so many pump-handles.</p> +<p>‘You’re just the very man I wanted,’ said Mr. Percy +Noakes, who proceeded to explain the cause of his being in requisition.</p> +<p>‘Ha! ha! ha!’ shouted Hardy, after hearing the statement, +and receiving a detailed account of the proposed excursion. ‘Oh, +capital! glorious! What a day it will be! what fun!—But, +I say, when are you going to begin making the arrangements?’</p> +<p>‘No time like the present—at once, if you please.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, charming!’ cried the ladies. ‘Pray, +do!’</p> +<p>Writing materials were laid before Mr. Percy Noakes, and the names +of the different members of the committee were agreed on, after as much +discussion between him and Mr. Hardy as if the fate of nations had depended +on their appointment. It was then agreed that a meeting should +take place at Mr. Percy Noakes’s chambers on the ensuing Wednesday +evening at eight o’clock, and the visitors departed.</p> +<p>Wednesday evening arrived; eight o’clock came, and eight members +of the committee were punctual in their attendance. Mr. Loggins, +the solicitor, of Boswell-court, sent an excuse, and Mr. Samuel Briggs, +the ditto of Furnival’s Inn, sent his brother: much to his (the +brother’s) satisfaction, and greatly to the discomfiture of Mr. +Percy Noakes. Between the Briggses and the Tauntons there existed +a degree of implacable hatred, quite unprecedented. The animosity +between the Montagues and Capulets, was nothing to that which prevailed +between these two illustrious houses. Mrs. Briggs was a widow, +with three daughters and two sons; Mr. Samuel, the eldest, was an attorney, +and Mr. Alexander, the youngest, was under articles to his brother. +They resided in Portland-street, Oxford-street, and moved in the same +orbit as the Tauntons—hence their mutual dislike. If the +Miss Briggses appeared in smart bonnets, the Miss Tauntons eclipsed +them with smarter. If Mrs. Taunton appeared in a cap of all the +hues of the rainbow, Mrs. Briggs forthwith mounted a toque, with all +the patterns of the kaleidoscope. If Miss Sophia Taunton learnt +a new song, two of the Miss Briggses came out with a new duet. +The Tauntons had once gained a temporary triumph with the assistance +of a harp, but the Briggses brought three guitars into the field, and +effectually routed the enemy. There was no end to the rivalry +between them.</p> +<p>Now, as Mr. Samuel Briggs was a mere machine, a sort of self-acting +legal walking-stick; and as the party was known to have originated, +however remotely, with Mrs. Taunton, the female branches of the Briggs +family had arranged that Mr. Alexander should attend, instead of his +brother; and as the said Mr. Alexander was deservedly celebrated for +possessing all the pertinacity of a bankruptcy-court attorney, combined +with the obstinacy of that useful animal which browses on the thistle, +he required but little tuition. He was especially enjoined to +make himself as disagreeable as possible; and, above all, to black-ball +the Tauntons at every hazard.</p> +<p>The proceedings of the evening were opened by Mr. Percy Noakes. +After successfully urging on the gentlemen present the propriety of +their mixing some brandy-and-water, he briefly stated the object of +the meeting, and concluded by observing that the first step must be +the selection of a chairman, necessarily possessing some arbitrary—he +trusted not unconstitutional—powers, to whom the personal direction +of the whole of the arrangements (subject to the approval of the committee) +should be confided. A pale young gentleman, in a green stock and +spectacles of the same, a member of the honourable society of the Inner +Temple, immediately rose for the purpose of proposing Mr. Percy Noakes. +He had known him long, and this he would say, that a more honourable, +a more excellent, or a better-hearted fellow, never existed.—(Hear, +hear!) The young gentleman, who was a member of a debating society, +took this opportunity of entering into an examination of the state of +the English law, from the days of William the Conqueror down to the +present period; he briefly adverted to the code established by the ancient +Druids; slightly glanced at the principles laid down by the Athenian +law-givers; and concluded with a most glowing eulogium on pic-nics and +constitutional rights.</p> +<p>Mr. Alexander Briggs opposed the motion. He had the highest +esteem for Mr. Percy Noakes as an individual, but he did consider that +he ought not to be intrusted with these immense powers—(oh, oh!)—He +believed that in the proposed capacity Mr. Percy Noakes would not act +fairly, impartially, or honourably; but he begged it to be distinctly +understood, that he said this, without the slightest personal disrespect. +Mr. Hardy defended his honourable friend, in a voice rendered partially +unintelligible by emotion and brandy-and-water. The proposition +was put to the vote, and there appearing to be only one dissentient +voice, Mr. Percy Noakes was declared duly elected, and took the chair +accordingly.</p> +<p>The business of the meeting now proceeded with rapidity. The +chairman delivered in his estimate of the probable expense of the excursion, +and every one present subscribed his portion thereof. The question +was put that ‘The Endeavour’ be hired for the occasion; +Mr. Alexander Briggs moved as an amendment, that the word ‘Fly’ +be substituted for the word ‘Endeavour’; but after some +debate consented to withdraw his opposition. The important ceremony +of balloting then commenced. A tea-caddy was placed on a table +in a dark corner of the apartment, and every one was provided with two +backgammon men, one black and one white.</p> +<p>The chairman with great solemnity then read the following list of +the guests whom he proposed to introduce:- Mrs. Taunton and two daughters, +Mr. Wizzle, Mr. Simson. The names were respectively balloted for, +and Mrs. Taunton and her daughters were declared to be black-balled. +Mr. Percy Noakes and Mr. Hardy exchanged glances.</p> +<p>‘Is your list prepared, Mr. Briggs?’ inquired the chairman.</p> +<p>‘It is,’ replied Alexander, delivering in the following:- +‘Mrs. Briggs and three daughters, Mr. Samuel Briggs.’ +The previous ceremony was repeated, and Mrs. Briggs and three daughters +were declared to be black-balled. Mr. Alexander Briggs looked +rather foolish, and the remainder of the company appeared somewhat overawed +by the mysterious nature of the proceedings.</p> +<p>The balloting proceeded; but, one little circumstance which Mr. Percy +Noakes had not originally foreseen, prevented the system from working +quite as well as he had anticipated. Everybody was black-balled. +Mr. Alexander Briggs, by way of retaliation, exercised his power of +exclusion in every instance, and the result was, that after three hours +had been consumed in hard balloting, the names of only three gentlemen +were found to have been agreed to. In this dilemma what was to +be done? either the whole plan must fall to the ground, or a compromise +must be effected. The latter alternative was preferable; and Mr. +Percy Noakes therefore proposed that the form of balloting should be +dispensed with, and that every gentleman should merely be required to +state whom he intended to bring. The proposal was acceded to; +the Tauntons and the Briggses were reinstated; and the party was formed.</p> +<p>The next Wednesday was fixed for the eventful day, and it was unanimously +resolved that every member of the committee should wear a piece of blue +sarsenet ribbon round his left arm. It appeared from the statement +of Mr. Percy Noakes, that the boat belonged to the General Steam Navigation +Company, and was then lying off the Custom-house; and, as he proposed +that the dinner and wines should be provided by an eminent city purveyor, +it was arranged that Mr. Percy Noakes should be on board by seven o’clock +to superintend the arrangements, and that the remaining members of the +committee, together with the company generally, should be expected to +join her by nine o’clock. More brandy-and-water was despatched; +several speeches were made by the different law students present; thanks +were voted to the chairman; and the meeting separated.</p> +<p>The weather had been beautiful up to this period, and beautiful it +continued to be. Sunday passed over, and Mr. Percy Noakes became +unusually fidgety—rushing, constantly, to and from the Steam Packet +Wharf, to the astonishment of the clerks, and the great emolument of +the Holborn cabmen. Tuesday arrived, and the anxiety of Mr. Percy +Noakes knew no bounds. He was every instant running to the window, +to look out for clouds; and Mr. Hardy astonished the whole square by +practising a new comic song for the occasion, in the chairman’s +chambers.</p> +<p>Uneasy were the slumbers of Mr. Percy Noakes that night; he tossed +and tumbled about, and had confused dreams of steamers starting off, +and gigantic clocks with the hands pointing to a quarter-past nine, +and the ugly face of Mr. Alexander Briggs looking over the boat’s +side, and grinning, as if in derision of his fruitless attempts to move. +He made a violent effort to get on board, and awoke. The bright +sun was shining cheerfully into the bedroom, and Mr. Percy Noakes started +up for his watch, in the dreadful expectation of finding his worst dreams +realised.</p> +<p>It was just five o’clock. He calculated the time—he +should be a good half-hour dressing himself; and as it was a lovely +morning, and the tide would be then running down, he would walk leisurely +to Strand-lane, and have a boat to the Custom-house.</p> +<p>He dressed himself, took a hasty apology for a breakfast, and sallied +forth. The streets looked as lonely and deserted as if they had +been crowded, overnight, for the last time. Here and there, an +early apprentice, with quenched-looking sleepy eyes, was taking down +the shutters of a shop; and a policeman or milkwoman might occasionally +be seen pacing slowly along; but the servants had not yet begun to clean +the doors, or light the kitchen fires, and London looked the picture +of desolation. At the corner of a by-street, near Temple-bar, +was stationed a ‘street-breakfast.’ The coffee was +boiling over a charcoal fire, and large slices of bread and butter were +piled one upon the other, like deals in a timber-yard. The company +were seated on a form, which, with a view both to security and comfort, +was placed against a neighbouring wall. Two young men, whose uproarious +mirth and disordered dress bespoke the conviviality of the preceding +evening, were treating three ‘ladies’ and an Irish labourer. +A little sweep was standing at a short distance, casting a longing eye +at the tempting delicacies; and a policeman was watching the group from +the opposite side of the street. The wan looks and gaudy finery +of the thinly-clad women contrasted as strangely with the gay sunlight, +as did their forced merriment with the boisterous hilarity of the two +young men, who, now and then, varied their amusements by ‘bonneting’ +the proprietor of this itinerant coffee-house.</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes walked briskly by, and when he turned down Strand-lane, +and caught a glimpse of the glistening water, he thought he had never +felt so important or so happy in his life.</p> +<p>‘Boat, sir?’ cried one of the three watermen who were +mopping out their boats, and all whistling. ‘Boat, sir?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes, rather sharply; for the +inquiry was not made in a manner at all suitable to his dignity.</p> +<p>‘Would you prefer a wessel, sir?’ inquired another, to +the infinite delight of the ‘Jack-in-the-water.’</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes replied with a look of supreme contempt.</p> +<p>‘Did you want to be put on board a steamer, sir?’ inquired +an old fireman-waterman, very confidentially. He was dressed in +a faded red suit, just the colour of the cover of a very old Court-guide.</p> +<p>‘Yes, make haste—the Endeavour—off the Custom-house.’</p> +<p>‘Endeavour!’ cried the man who had convulsed the ‘Jack’ +before. ‘Vy, I see the Endeavour go up half an hour ago.’</p> +<p>‘So did I,’ said another; ‘and I should think she’d +gone down by this time, for she’s a precious sight too full of +ladies and gen’lemen.’</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes affected to disregard these representations, and +stepped into the boat, which the old man, by dint of scrambling, and +shoving, and grating, had brought up to the causeway. ‘Shove +her off!’ cried Mr. Percy Noakes, and away the boat glided down +the river; Mr. Percy Noakes seated on the recently mopped seat, and +the watermen at the stairs offering to bet him any reasonable sum that +he’d never reach the ‘Custum-us.’</p> +<p>‘Here she is, by Jove!’ said the delighted Percy, as +they ran alongside the Endeavour.</p> +<p>‘Hold hard!’ cried the steward over the side, and Mr. +Percy Noakes jumped on board.</p> +<p>‘Hope you will find everything as you wished, sir. She +looks uncommon well this morning.’</p> +<p>‘She does, indeed,’ replied the manager, in a state of +ecstasy which it is impossible to describe. The deck was scrubbed, +and the seats were scrubbed, and there was a bench for the band, and +a place for dancing, and a pile of camp-stools, and an awning; and then +Mr. Percy Noakes bustled down below, and there were the pastrycook’s +men, and the steward’s wife, laying out the dinner on two tables +the whole length of the cabin; and then Mr. Percy Noakes took off his +coat and rushed backwards and forwards, doing nothing, but quite convinced +he was assisting everybody; and the steward’s wife laughed till +she cried, and Mr. Percy Noakes panted with the violence of his exertions. +And then the bell at London-bridge wharf rang; and a Margate boat was +just starting; and a Gravesend boat was just starting, and people shouted, +and porters ran down the steps with luggage that would crush any men +but porters; and sloping boards, with bits of wood nailed on them, were +placed between the outside boat and the inside boat; and the passengers +ran along them, and looked like so many fowls coming out of an area; +and then, the bell ceased, and the boards were taken away, and the boats +started, and the whole scene was one of the most delightful bustle and +confusion.</p> +<p>The time wore on; half-past eight o’clock arrived; the pastry-cook’s +men went ashore; the dinner was completely laid out; and Mr. Percy Noakes +locked the principal cabin, and put the key in his pocket, in order +that it might be suddenly disclosed, in all its magnificence, to the +eyes of the astonished company. The band came on board, and so +did the wine.</p> +<p>Ten minutes to nine, and the committee embarked in a body. +There was Mr. Hardy, in a blue jacket and waistcoat, white trousers, +silk stockings, and pumps—in full aquatic costume, with a straw +hat on his head, and an immense telescope under his arm; and there was +the young gentleman with the green spectacles, in nankeen inexplicables, +with a ditto waistcoat and bright buttons, like the pictures of Paul—not +the saint, but he of Virginia notoriety. The remainder of the +committee, dressed in white hats, light jackets, waistcoats, and trousers, +looked something between waiters and West India planters.</p> +<p>Nine o’clock struck, and the company arrived in shoals. +Mr. Samuel Briggs, Mrs. Briggs, and the Misses Briggs, made their appearance +in a smart private wherry. The three guitars, in their respective +dark green cases, were carefully stowed away in the bottom of the boat, +accompanied by two immense portfolios of music, which it would take +at least a week’s incessant playing to get through. The +Tauntons arrived at the same moment with more music, and a lion—a +gentleman with a bass voice and an incipient red moustache. The +colours of the Taunton party were pink; those of the Briggses a light +blue. The Tauntons had artificial flowers in their bonnets; here +the Briggses gained a decided advantage—they wore feathers.</p> +<p>‘How d’ye do, dear?’ said the Misses Briggs to +the Misses Taunton. (The word ‘dear’ among girls is +frequently synonymous with ‘wretch.’)</p> +<p>‘Quite well, thank you, dear,’ replied the Misses Taunton +to the Misses Briggs; and then, there was such a kissing, and congratulating, +and shaking of hands, as might have induced one to suppose that the +two families were the best friends in the world, instead of each wishing +the other overboard, as they most sincerely did.</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes received the visitors, and bowed to the strange +gentleman, as if he should like to know who he was. This was just +what Mrs. Taunton wanted. Here was an opportunity to astonish +the Briggses.</p> +<p>‘Oh! I beg your pardon,’ said the general of the +Taunton party, with a careless air.—‘Captain Helves—Mr. +Percy Noakes—Mrs. Briggs—Captain Helves.’</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes bowed very low; the gallant captain did the same +with all due ferocity, and the Briggses were clearly overcome.</p> +<p>‘Our friend, Mr. Wizzle, being unfortunately prevented from +coming,’ resumed Mrs. Taunton, ‘I did myself the pleasure +of bringing the captain, whose musical talents I knew would be a great +acquisition.’</p> +<p>‘In the name of the committee I have to thank you for doing +so, and to offer you welcome, sir,’ replied Percy. (Here +the scraping was renewed.) ‘But pray be seated—won’t +you walk aft? Captain, will you conduct Miss Taunton?—Miss +Briggs, will you allow me?’</p> +<p>‘Where could they have picked up that military man?’ +inquired Mrs. Briggs of Miss Kate Briggs, as they followed the little +party.</p> +<p>‘I can’t imagine,’ replied Miss Kate, bursting +with vexation; for the very fierce air with which the gallant captain +regarded the company, had impressed her with a high sense of his importance.</p> +<p>Boat after boat came alongside, and guest after guest arrived. +The invites had been excellently arranged: Mr. Percy Noakes having considered +it as important that the number of young men should exactly tally with +that of the young ladies, as that the quantity of knives on board should +be in precise proportion to the forks.</p> +<p>‘Now, is every one on board?’ inquired Mr. Percy Noakes. +The committee (who, with their bits of blue ribbon, looked as if they +were all going to be bled) bustled about to ascertain the fact, and +reported that they might safely start.</p> +<p>‘Go on!’ cried the master of the boat from the top of +one of the paddle-boxes.</p> +<p>‘Go on!’ echoed the boy, who was stationed over the hatchway +to pass the directions down to the engineer; and away went the vessel +with that agreeable noise which is peculiar to steamers, and which is +composed of a mixture of creaking, gushing, clanging, and snorting.</p> +<p>‘Hoi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-o-i-i-i!’ shouted half-a-dozen voices +from a boat, a quarter of a mile astern.</p> +<p>‘Ease her!’ cried the captain: ‘do these people +belong to us, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Noakes,’ exclaimed Hardy, who had been looking at every +object far and near, through the large telescope, ‘it’s +the Fleetwoods and the Wakefields—and two children with them, +by Jove!’</p> +<p>‘What a shame to bring children!’ said everybody; ‘how +very inconsiderate!’</p> +<p>‘I say, it would be a good joke to pretend not to see ’em, +wouldn’t it?’ suggested Hardy, to the immense delight of +the company generally. A council of war was hastily held, and +it was resolved that the newcomers should be taken on board, on Mr. +Hardy solemnly pledging himself to tease the children during the whole +of the day.</p> +<p>‘Stop her!’ cried the captain.</p> +<p>‘Stop her!’ repeated the boy; whizz went the steam, and +all the young ladies, as in duty bound, screamed in concert. They +were only appeased by the assurance of the martial Helves, that the +escape of steam consequent on stopping a vessel was seldom attended +with any great loss of human life.</p> +<p>Two men ran to the side; and after some shouting, and swearing, and +angling for the wherry with a boat-hook, Mr. Fleetwood, and Mrs. Fleetwood, +and Master Fleetwood, and Mr. Wakefield, and Mrs. Wakefield, and Miss +Wakefield, were safely deposited on the deck. The girl was about +six years old, the boy about four; the former was dressed in a white +frock with a pink sash and dog’s-eared-looking little spencer: +a straw bonnet and green veil, six inches by three and a half; the latter, +was attired for the occasion in a nankeen frock, between the bottom +of which, and the top of his plaid socks, a considerable portion of +two small mottled legs was discernible. He had a light blue cap +with a gold band and tassel on his head, and a damp piece of gingerbread +in his hand, with which he had slightly embossed his countenance.</p> +<p>The boat once more started off; the band played ‘Off she goes:’ +the major part of the company conversed cheerfully in groups; and the +old gentlemen walked up and down the deck in pairs, as perseveringly +and gravely as if they were doing a match against time for an immense +stake. They ran briskly down the Pool; the gentlemen pointed out +the Docks, the Thames Police-office, and other elegant public edifices; +and the young ladies exhibited a proper display of horror at the appearance +of the coal-whippers and ballast-heavers. Mr. Hardy told stories +to the married ladies, at which they laughed very much in their pocket-handkerchiefs, +and hit him on the knuckles with their fans, declaring him to be ‘a +naughty man—a shocking creature’—and so forth; and +Captain Helves gave slight descriptions of battles and duels, with a +most bloodthirsty air, which made him the admiration of the women, and +the envy of the men. Quadrilling commenced; Captain Helves danced +one set with Miss Emily Taunton, and another set with Miss Sophia Taunton. +Mrs. Taunton was in ecstasies. The victory appeared to be complete; +but alas! the inconstancy of man! Having performed this necessary +duty, he attached himself solely to Miss Julia Briggs, with whom he +danced no less than three sets consecutively, and from whose side he +evinced no intention of stirring for the remainder of the day.</p> +<p>Mr. Hardy, having played one or two very brilliant fantasias on the +Jews’-harp, and having frequently repeated the exquisitely amusing +joke of slily chalking a large cross on the back of some member of the +committee, Mr. Percy Noakes expressed his hope that some of their musical +friends would oblige the company by a display of their abilities.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps,’ he said in a very insinuating manner, ‘Captain +Helves will oblige us?’ Mrs. Taunton’s countenance +lighted up, for the captain only sang duets, and couldn’t sing +them with anybody but one of her daughters.</p> +<p>‘Really,’ said that warlike individual, ‘I should +be very happy, ‘but—’</p> +<p>‘Oh! pray do,’ cried all the young ladies.</p> +<p>‘Miss Emily, have you any objection to join in a duet?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! not the slightest,’ returned the young lady, in +a tone which clearly showed she had the greatest possible objection.</p> +<p>‘Shall I accompany you, dear?’ inquired one of the Miss +Briggses, with the bland intention of spoiling the effect.</p> +<p>‘Very much obliged to you, Miss Briggs,’ sharply retorted +Mrs. Taunton, who saw through the manoeuvre; ‘my daughters always +sing without accompaniments.’</p> +<p>‘And without voices,’ tittered Mrs. Briggs, in a low +tone.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs. Taunton, reddening, for she guessed +the tenor of the observation, though she had not heard it clearly—‘Perhaps +it would be as well for some people, if their voices were not quite +so audible as they are to other people.’</p> +<p>‘And, perhaps, if gentlemen who are kidnapped to pay attention +to some persons’ daughters, had not sufficient discernment to +pay attention to other persons’ daughters,’ returned Mrs. +Briggs, ‘some persons would not be so ready to display that ill-temper +which, thank God, distinguishes them from other persons.’</p> +<p>‘Persons!’ ejaculated Mrs. Taunton.</p> +<p>‘Persons,’ replied Mrs. Briggs.</p> +<p>‘Insolence!’</p> +<p>‘Creature!’</p> +<p>‘Hush! hush!’ interrupted Mr. Percy Noakes, who was one +of the very few by whom this dialogue had been overheard. ‘Hush!—pray, +silence for the duet.’</p> +<p>After a great deal of preparatory crowing and humming, the captain +began the following duet from the opera of ‘Paul and Virginia,’ +in that grunting tone in which a man gets down, Heaven knows where, +without the remotest chance of ever getting up again. This, in +private circles, is frequently designated ‘a bass voice.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘See (sung the captain) from o-ce-an ri-sing<br />Bright flames +the or-b of d-ay.<br />From yon gro-ove, the varied so-ongs—’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Here, the singer was interrupted by varied cries of the most dreadful +description, proceeding from some grove in the immediate vicinity of +the starboard paddle-box.</p> +<p>‘My child!’ screamed Mrs. Fleetwood. ‘My +child! it is his voice—I know it.’</p> +<p>Mr. Fleetwood, accompanied by several gentlemen, here rushed to the +quarter from whence the noise proceeded, and an exclamation of horror +burst from the company; the general impression being, that the little +innocent had either got his head in the water, or his legs in the machinery.</p> +<p>‘What is the matter?’ shouted the agonised father, as +he returned with the child in his arms.</p> +<p>‘Oh! oh! oh!’ screamed the small sufferer again.</p> +<p>‘What is the matter, dear?’ inquired the father once +more—hastily stripping off the nankeen frock, for the purpose +of ascertaining whether the child had one bone which was not smashed +to pieces.</p> +<p>‘Oh! oh!—I’m so frightened!’</p> +<p>‘What at, dear?—what at?’ said the mother, soothing +the sweet infant.</p> +<p>‘Oh! he’s been making such dreadful faces at me,’ +cried the boy, relapsing into convulsions at the bare recollection.</p> +<p>‘He!—who?’ cried everybody, crowding round him.</p> +<p>‘Oh!—him!’ replied the child, pointing at Hardy, +who affected to be the most concerned of the whole group.</p> +<p>The real state of the case at once flashed upon the minds of all +present, with the exception of the Fleetwoods and the Wakefields. +The facetious Hardy, in fulfilment of his promise, had watched the child +to a remote part of the vessel, and, suddenly appearing before him with +the most awful contortions of visage, had produced his paroxysm of terror. +Of course, he now observed that it was hardly necessary for him to deny +the accusation; and the unfortunate little victim was accordingly led +below, after receiving sundry thumps on the head from both his parents, +for having the wickedness to tell a story.</p> +<p>This little interruption having been adjusted, the captain resumed, +and Miss Emily chimed in, in due course. The duet was loudly applauded, +and, certainly, the perfect independence of the parties deserved great +commendation. Miss Emily sung her part, without the slightest +reference to the captain; and the captain sang so loud, that he had +not the slightest idea what was being done by his partner. After +having gone through the last few eighteen or nineteen bars by himself, +therefore, he acknowledged the plaudits of the circle with that air +of self-denial which men usually assume when they think they have done +something to astonish the company.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Mr. Percy Noakes, who had just ascended from +the fore-cabin, where he had been busily engaged in decanting the wine, +‘if the Misses Briggs will oblige us with something before dinner, +I am sure we shall be very much delighted.’</p> +<p>One of those hums of admiration followed the suggestion, which one +frequently hears in society, when nobody has the most distant notion +what he is expressing his approval of. The three Misses Briggs +looked modestly at their mamma, and the mamma looked approvingly at +her daughters, and Mrs. Taunton looked scornfully at all of them. +The Misses Briggs asked for their guitars, and several gentlemen seriously +damaged the cases in their anxiety to present them. Then, there +was a very interesting production of three little keys for the aforesaid +cases, and a melodramatic expression of horror at finding a string broken; +and a vast deal of screwing and tightening, and winding, and tuning, +during which Mrs. Briggs expatiated to those near her on the immense +difficulty of playing a guitar, and hinted at the wondrous proficiency +of her daughters in that mystic art. Mrs. Taunton whispered to +a neighbour that it was ‘quite sickening!’ and the Misses +Taunton looked as if they knew how to play, but disdained to do it.</p> +<p>At length, the Misses Briggs began in real earnest. It was +a new Spanish composition, for three voices and three guitars. +The effect was electrical. All eyes were turned upon the captain, +who was reported to have once passed through Spain with his regiment, +and who must be well acquainted with the national music. He was +in raptures. This was sufficient; the trio was encored; the applause +was universal; and never had the Tauntons suffered such a complete defeat.</p> +<p>‘Bravo! bravo!’ ejaculated the captain;—‘bravo!’</p> +<p>‘Pretty! isn’t it, sir?’ inquired Mr. Samuel Briggs, +with the air of a self-satisfied showman. By-the-bye, these were +the first words he had been heard to utter since he left Boswell-court +the evening before.</p> +<p>‘De-lightful!’ returned the captain, with a flourish, +and a military cough;—‘de-lightful!’</p> +<p>‘Sweet instrument!’ said an old gentleman with a bald +head, who had been trying all the morning to look through a telescope, +inside the glass of which Mr. Hardy had fixed a large black wafer.</p> +<p>‘Did you ever hear a Portuguese tambourine?’ inquired +that jocular individual.</p> +<p>‘Did <i>you</i> ever hear a tom-tom, sir?’ sternly inquired +the captain, who lost no opportunity of showing off his travels, real +or pretended.</p> +<p>‘A what?’ asked Hardy, rather taken aback.</p> +<p>‘A tom-tom.’</p> +<p>‘Never!’</p> +<p>‘Nor a gum-gum?’</p> +<p>‘Never!’</p> +<p>‘What <i>is</i> a gum-gum?’ eagerly inquired several +young ladies.</p> +<p>‘When I was in the East Indies,’ replied the captain—(here +was a discovery—he had been in the East Indies!)—‘when +I was in the East Indies, I was once stopping a few thousand miles up +the country, on a visit at the house of a very particular friend of +mine, Ram Chowdar Doss Azuph Al Bowlar—a devilish pleasant fellow. +As we were enjoying our hookahs, one evening, in the cool verandah in +front of his villa, we were rather surprised by the sudden appearance +of thirty-four of his Kit-ma-gars (for he had rather a large establishment +there), accompanied by an equal number of Con-su-mars, approaching the +house with a threatening aspect, and beating a tom-tom. The Ram +started up—’</p> +<p>‘Who?’ inquired the bald gentleman, intensely interested.</p> +<p>‘The Ram—Ram Chowdar—’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ said the old gentleman, ‘beg your pardon; +pray go on.’</p> +<p>‘—Started up and drew a pistol. “Helves,” +said he, “my boy,”—he always called me, my boy—“Helves,” +said he, “do you hear that tom-tom?” “I do,” +said I. His countenance, which before was pale, assumed a most +frightful appearance; his whole visage was distorted, and his frame +shaken by violent emotions. “Do you see that gum-gum?” +said he. “No,” said I, staring about me. “You +don’t?” said he. “No, I’ll be damned if +I do,” said I; “and what’s more, I don’t know +what a gum-gum is,” said I. I really thought the Ram would +have dropped. He drew me aside, and with an expression of agony +I shall never forget, said in a low whisper—’</p> +<p>‘Dinner’s on the table, ladies,’ interrupted the +steward’s wife.</p> +<p>‘Will you allow me?’ said the captain, immediately suiting +the action to the word, and escorting Miss Julia Briggs to the cabin, +with as much ease as if he had finished the story.</p> +<p>‘What an extraordinary circumstance!’ ejaculated the +same old gentleman, preserving his listening attitude.</p> +<p>‘What a traveller!’ said the young ladies.</p> +<p>‘What a singular name!’ exclaimed the gentlemen, rather +confused by the coolness of the whole affair.</p> +<p>‘I wish he had finished the story,’ said an old lady. +‘I wonder what a gum-gum really is?’</p> +<p>‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Hardy, who until now had been lost +in utter amazement, ‘I don’t know what it may be in India, +but in England I think a gum-gum has very much the same meaning as a +hum-bug.’</p> +<p>‘How illiberal! how envious!’ cried everybody, as they +made for the cabin, fully impressed with a belief in the captain’s +amazing adventures. Helves was the sole lion for the remainder +of the day—impudence and the marvellous are pretty sure passports +to any society.</p> +<p>The party had by this time reached their destination, and put about +on their return home. The wind, which had been with them the whole +day, was now directly in their teeth; the weather had become gradually +more and more overcast; and the sky, water, and shore, were all of that +dull, heavy, uniform lead-colour, which house-painters daub in the first +instance over a street-door which is gradually approaching a state of +convalescence. It had been ‘spitting’ with rain for +the last half-hour, and now began to pour in good earnest. The +wind was freshening very fast, and the waterman at the wheel had unequivocally +expressed his opinion that there would shortly be a squall. A +slight emotion on the part of the vessel, now and then, seemed to suggest +the possibility of its pitching to a very uncomfortable extent in the +event of its blowing harder; and every timber began to creak, as if +the boat were an overladen clothes-basket. Sea-sickness, however, +is like a belief in ghosts—every one entertains some misgivings +on the subject, but few will acknowledge any. The majority of +the company, therefore, endeavoured to look peculiarly happy, feeling +all the while especially miserable.</p> +<p>‘Don’t it rain?’ inquired the old gentleman before +noticed, when, by dint of squeezing and jamming, they were all seated +at table.</p> +<p>‘I think it does—a little,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes, +who could hardly hear himself speak, in consequence of the pattering +on the deck.</p> +<p>‘Don’t it blow?’ inquired some one else.</p> +<p>‘No, I don’t think it does,’ responded Hardy, sincerely +wishing that he could persuade himself that it did not; for he sat near +the door, and was almost blown off his seat.</p> +<p>‘It’ll soon clear up,’ said Mr. Percy Noakes, in +a cheerful tone.</p> +<p>‘Oh, certainly!’ ejaculated the committee generally.</p> +<p>‘No doubt of it!’ said the remainder of the company, +whose attention was now pretty well engrossed by the serious business +of eating, carving, taking wine, and so forth.</p> +<p>The throbbing motion of the engine was but too perceptible. +There was a large, substantial, cold boiled leg of mutton, at the bottom +of the table, shaking like blancmange; a previously hearty sirloin of +beef looked as if it had been suddenly seized with the palsy; and some +tongues, which were placed on dishes rather too large for them, went +through the most surprising evolutions; darting from side to side, and +from end to end, like a fly in an inverted wine-glass. Then, the +sweets shook and trembled, till it was quite impossible to help them, +and people gave up the attempt in despair; and the pigeon-pies looked +as if the birds, whose legs were stuck outside, were trying to get them +in. The table vibrated and started like a feverish pulse, and +the very legs were convulsed—everything was shaking and jarring. +The beams in the roof of the cabin seemed as if they were put there +for the sole purpose of giving people head-aches, and several elderly +gentlemen became ill-tempered in consequence. As fast as the steward +put the fire-irons up, they <i>would</i> fall down again; and the more +the ladies and gentlemen tried to sit comfortably on their seats, the +more the seats seemed to slide away from the ladies and gentlemen. +Several ominous demands were made for small glasses of brandy; the countenances +of the company gradually underwent most extraordinary changes; one gentleman +was observed suddenly to rush from table without the slightest ostensible +reason, and dart up the steps with incredible swiftness: thereby greatly +damaging both himself and the steward, who happened to be coming down +at the same moment.</p> +<p>The cloth was removed; the dessert was laid on the table; and the +glasses were filled. The motion of the boat increased; several +members of the party began to feel rather vague and misty, and looked +as if they had only just got up. The young gentleman with the +spectacles, who had been in a fluctuating state for some time—at +one moment bright, and at another dismal, like a revolving light on +the sea-coast—rashly announced his wish to propose a toast. +After several ineffectual attempts to preserve his perpendicular, the +young gentleman, having managed to hook himself to the centre leg of +the table with his left hand, proceeded as follows:</p> +<p>‘Ladies and gentlemen. A gentleman is among us—I +may say a stranger—(here some painful thought seemed to strike +the orator; he paused, and looked extremely odd)—whose talents, +whose travels, whose cheerfulness—’</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, Edkins,’ hastily interrupted Mr. +Percy Noakes,—‘Hardy, what’s the matter?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing,’ replied the ‘funny gentleman,’ +who had just life enough left to utter two consecutive syllables.</p> +<p>‘Will you have some brandy?’</p> +<p>‘No!’ replied Hardy in a tone of great indignation, and +looking as comfortable as Temple-bar in a Scotch mist; ‘what should +I want brandy for?’</p> +<p>‘Will you go on deck?’</p> +<p>‘No, I will <i>not</i>.’ This was said with a most +determined air, and in a voice which might have been taken for an imitation +of anything; it was quite as much like a guinea-pig as a bassoon.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, Edkins,’ said the courteous Percy; +‘I thought our friend was ill. Pray go on.’</p> +<p>A pause.</p> +<p>‘Pray go on.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Edkins <i>is</i> gone,’ cried somebody.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said the steward, running up +to Mr. Percy Noakes, ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but the gentleman +as just went on deck—him with the green spectacles—is uncommon +bad, to be sure; and the young man as played the wiolin says, that unless +he has some brandy he can’t answer for the consequences. +He says he has a wife and two children, whose werry subsistence depends +on his breaking a wessel, and he expects to do so every moment. +The flageolet’s been werry ill, but he’s better, only he’s +in a dreadful prusperation.’</p> +<p>All disguise was now useless; the company staggered on deck; the +gentlemen tried to see nothing but the clouds; and the ladies, muffled +up in such shawls and cloaks as they had brought with them, lay about +on the seats, and under the seats, in the most wretched condition. +Never was such a blowing, and raining, and pitching, and tossing, endured +by any pleasure party before. Several remonstrances were sent +down below, on the subject of Master Fleetwood, but they were totally +unheeded in consequence of the indisposition of his natural protectors. +That interesting child screamed at the top of his voice, until he had +no voice left to scream with; and then, Miss Wakefield began, and screamed +for the remainder of the passage.</p> +<p>Mr. Hardy was observed, some hours afterwards, in an attitude which +induced his friends to suppose that he was busily engaged in contemplating +the beauties of the deep; they only regretted that his taste for the +picturesque should lead him to remain so long in a position, very injurious +at all times, but especially so, to an individual labouring under a +tendency of blood to the head.</p> +<p>The party arrived off the Custom-house at about two o’clock +on the Thursday morning dispirited and worn out. The Tauntons +were too ill to quarrel with the Briggses, and the Briggses were too +wretched to annoy the Tauntons. One of the guitar-cases was lost +on its passage to a hackney-coach, and Mrs. Briggs has not scrupled +to state that the Tauntons bribed a porter to throw it down an area. +Mr. Alexander Briggs opposes vote by ballot—he says from personal +experience of its inefficacy; and Mr. Samuel Briggs, whenever he is +asked to express his sentiments on the point, says he has no opinion +on that or any other subject.</p> +<p>Mr. Edkins—the young gentleman in the green spectacles—makes +a speech on every occasion on which a speech can possibly be made: the +eloquence of which can only be equalled by its length. In the +event of his not being previously appointed to a judgeship, it is probable +that he will practise as a barrister in the New Central Criminal Court.</p> +<p>Captain Helves continued his attention to Miss Julia Briggs, whom +he might possibly have espoused, if it had not unfortunately happened +that Mr. Samuel arrested him, in the way of business, pursuant to instructions +received from Messrs. Scroggins and Payne, whose town-debts the +gallant captain had condescended to collect, but whose accounts, with +the indiscretion sometimes peculiar to military minds, he had omitted +to keep with that dull accuracy which custom has rendered necessary. +Mrs. Taunton complains that she has been much deceived in him. +He introduced himself to the family on board a Gravesend steam-packet, +and certainly, therefore, ought to have proved respectable.</p> +<p>Mr. Percy Noakes is as light-hearted and careless as ever.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII—THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The little town of Great Winglebury is exactly forty-two miles and +three-quarters from Hyde Park corner. It has a long, straggling, +quiet High-street, with a great black and white clock at a small red +Town-hall, half-way up—a market-place—a cage—an assembly-room—a +church—a bridge—a chapel—a theatre—a library—an +inn—a pump—and a Post-office. Tradition tells of a +‘Little Winglebury,’ down some cross-road about two miles +off; and, as a square mass of dirty paper, supposed to have been originally +intended for a letter, with certain tremulous characters inscribed thereon, +in which a lively imagination might trace a remote resemblance to the +word ‘Little,’ was once stuck up to be owned in the sunny +window of the Great Winglebury Post-office, from which it only disappeared +when it fell to pieces with dust and extreme old age, there would appear +to be some foundation for the legend. Common belief is inclined +to bestow the name upon a little hole at the end of a muddy lane about +a couple of miles long, colonised by one wheelwright, four paupers, +and a beer-shop; but, even this authority, slight as it is, must be +regarded with extreme suspicion, inasmuch as the inhabitants of the +hole aforesaid, concur in opining that it never had any name at all, +from the earliest ages down to the present day.</p> +<p>The Winglebury Arms, in the centre of the High-street, opposite the +small building with the big clock, is the principal inn of Great Winglebury—the +commercial-inn, posting-house, and excise-office; the ‘Blue’ +house at every election, and the judges’ house at every assizes. +It is the head-quarters of the Gentlemen’s Whist Club of Winglebury +Blues (so called in opposition to the Gentlemen’s Whist Club of +Winglebury Buffs, held at the other house, a little further down): and +whenever a juggler, or wax-work man, or concert-giver, takes Great Winglebury +in his circuit, it is immediately placarded all over the town that Mr. +So-and-so, ‘trusting to that liberal support which the inhabitants +of Great Winglebury have long been so liberal in bestowing, has at a +great expense engaged the elegant and commodious assembly-rooms, attached +to the Winglebury Arms.’ The house is a large one, with +a red brick and stone front; a pretty spacious hall, ornamented with +evergreen plants, terminates in a perspective view of the bar, and a +glass case, in which are displayed a choice variety of delicacies ready +for dressing, to catch the eye of a new-comer the moment he enters, +and excite his appetite to the highest possible pitch. Opposite +doors lead to the ‘coffee’ and ‘commercial’ +rooms; and a great wide, rambling staircase,—three stairs and +a landing—four stairs and another landing—one step and another +landing—half-a-dozen stairs and another landing—and so on—conducts +to galleries of bedrooms, and labyrinths of sitting-rooms, denominated +‘private,’ where you may enjoy yourself, as privately as +you can in any place where some bewildered being walks into your room +every five minutes, by mistake, and then walks out again, to open all +the doors along the gallery until he finds his own.</p> +<p>Such is the Winglebury Arms, at this day, and such was the Winglebury +Arms some time since—no matter when—two or three minutes +before the arrival of the London stage. Four horses with cloths +on—change for a coach—were standing quietly at the corner +of the yard surrounded by a listless group of post-boys in shiny hats +and smock-frocks, engaged in discussing the merits of the cattle; half +a dozen ragged boys were standing a little apart, listening with evident +interest to the conversation of these worthies; and a few loungers were +collected round the horse-trough, awaiting the arrival of the coach.</p> +<p>The day was hot and sunny, the town in the zenith of its dulness, +and with the exception of these few idlers, not a living creature was +to be seen. Suddenly, the loud notes of a key-bugle broke the +monotonous stillness of the street; in came the coach, rattling over +the uneven paving with a noise startling enough to stop even the large-faced +clock itself. Down got the outsides, up went the windows in all +directions, out came the waiters, up started the ostlers, and the loungers, +and the post-boys, and the ragged boys, as if they were electrified—unstrapping, +and unchaining, and unbuckling, and dragging willing horses out, and +forcing reluctant horses in, and making a most exhilarating bustle. +‘Lady inside, here!’ said the guard. ‘Please +to alight, ma’am,’ said the waiter. ‘Private +sitting-room?’ interrogated the lady. ‘Certainly, +ma’am,’ responded the chamber-maid. ‘Nothing +but these ’ere trunks, ma’am?’ inquired the guard. +‘Nothing more,’ replied the lady. Up got the outsides +again, and the guard, and the coachman; off came the cloths, with a +jerk; ‘All right,’ was the cry; and away they went. +The loungers lingered a minute or two in the road, watching the coach +until it turned the corner, and then loitered away one by one. +The street was clear again, and the town, by contrast, quieter than +ever.</p> +<p>‘Lady in number twenty-five,’ screamed the landlady.—‘Thomas!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am.’</p> +<p>‘Letter just been left for the gentleman in number nineteen. +Boots at the Lion left it. No answer.’</p> +<p>‘Letter for you, sir,’ said Thomas, depositing the letter +on number nineteen’s table.</p> +<p>‘For me?’ said number nineteen, turning from the window, +out of which he had been surveying the scene just described.</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir,’—(waiters always speak in hints, and +never utter complete sentences,)—‘yes, sir,—Boots +at the Lion, sir,—Bar, sir,—Missis said number nineteen, +sir—Alexander Trott, Esq., sir?—Your card at the bar, sir, +I think, sir?’</p> +<p>‘My name <i>is</i> Trott,’ replied number nineteen, breaking +the seal. ‘You may go, waiter.’ The waiter pulled +down the window-blind, and then pulled it up again—for a regular +waiter must do something before he leaves the room—adjusted the +glasses on the side-board, brushed a place that was <i>not</i> dusty, +rubbed his hands very hard, walked stealthily to the door, and evaporated.</p> +<p>There was, evidently, something in the contents of the letter, of +a nature, if not wholly unexpected, certainly extremely disagreeable. +Mr. Alexander Trott laid it down, and took it up again, and walked about +the room on particular squares of the carpet, and even attempted, though +unsuccessfully, to whistle an air. It wouldn’t do. +He threw himself into a chair, and read the following epistle aloud:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Blue Lion and Stomach-warmer,<br />‘Great Winglebury.<br />‘Wednesday +Morning.</p> +<p>‘Sir. Immediately on discovering your intentions, I left +our counting-house, and followed you. I know the purport of your +journey;—that journey shall never be completed.</p> +<p>‘I have no friend here, just now, on whose secrecy I can rely. +This shall be no obstacle to my revenge. Neither shall Emily Brown +be exposed to the mercenary solicitations of a scoundrel, odious in +her eyes, and contemptible in everybody else’s: nor will I tamely +submit to the clandestine attacks of a base umbrella-maker.</p> +<p>‘Sir. From Great Winglebury church, a footpath leads +through four meadows to a retired spot known to the townspeople as Stiffun’s +Acre.’ [Mr. Trott shuddered.] ‘I shall be waiting +there alone, at twenty minutes before six o’clock to-morrow morning. +Should I be disappointed in seeing you there, I will do myself the pleasure +of calling with a horsewhip.</p> +<p>‘HORACE HUNTER.</p> +<p>‘PS. There is a gunsmiths in the High-street; and they +won’t sell gunpowder after dark—you understand me.</p> +<p>‘PPS. You had better not order your breakfast in the +morning until you have met me. It may be an unnecessary expense.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Desperate-minded villain! I knew how it would be!’ +ejaculated the terrified Trott. ‘I always told father, that +once start me on this expedition, and Hunter would pursue me like the +Wandering Jew. It’s bad enough as it is, to marry with the +old people’s commands, and without the girl’s consent; but +what will Emily think of me, if I go down there breathless with running +away from this infernal salamander? What <i>shall</i> I do? +What <i>can</i> I do? If I go back to the city, I’m disgraced +for ever—lose the girl—and, what’s more, lose the +money too. Even if I did go on to the Browns’ by the coach, +Hunter would be after me in a post-chaise; and if I go to this place, +this Stiffun’s Acre (another shudder), I’m as good as dead. +I’ve seen him hit the man at the Pall-mall shooting-gallery, in +the second button-hole of the waistcoat, five times out of every six, +and when he didn’t hit him there, he hit him in the head.’ +With this consolatory reminiscence Mr. Alexander Trott again ejaculated, +‘What shall I do?’</p> +<p>Long and weary were his reflections, as, burying his face in his +hand, he sat, ruminating on the best course to be pursued. His +mental direction-post pointed to London. He thought of the ‘governor’s’ +anger, and the loss of the fortune which the paternal Brown had promised +the paternal Trott his daughter should contribute to the coffers of +his son. Then the words ‘To Brown’s’ were legibly +inscribed on the said direction-post, but Horace Hunter’s denunciation +rung in his ears;—last of all it bore, in red letters, the words, +‘To Stiffun’s Acre;’ and then Mr. Alexander Trott +decided on adopting a plan which he presently matured.</p> +<p>First and foremost, he despatched the under-boots to the Blue Lion +and Stomach-warmer, with a gentlemanly note to Mr. Horace Hunter, intimating +that he thirsted for his destruction and would do himself the pleasure +of slaughtering him next morning, without fail. He then wrote +another letter, and requested the attendance of the other boots—for +they kept a pair. A modest knock at the room door was heard. +‘Come in,’ said Mr. Trott. A man thrust in a red head +with one eye in it, and being again desired to ‘come in,’ +brought in the body and the legs to which the head belonged, and a fur +cap which belonged to the head.</p> +<p>‘You are the upper-boots, I think?’ inquired Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I am the upper-boots,’ replied a voice from inside +a velveteen case, with mother-of-pearl buttons—‘that is, +I’m the boots as b’longs to the house; the other man’s +my man, as goes errands and does odd jobs. Top-boots and half-boots, +I calls us.’</p> +<p>‘You’re from London?’ inquired Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Driv a cab once,’ was the laconic reply.</p> +<p>‘Why don’t you drive it now?’ asked Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Over-driv the cab, and driv over a ’ooman,’ replied +the top-boots, with brevity.</p> +<p>‘Do you know the mayor’s house?’ inquired Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Rather,’ replied the boots, significantly, as if he +had some good reason to remember it.</p> +<p>‘Do you think you could manage to leave a letter there?’ +interrogated Trott.</p> +<p>‘Shouldn’t wonder,’ responded boots.</p> +<p>‘But this letter,’ said Trott, holding a deformed note +with a paralytic direction in one hand, and five shillings in the other—‘this +letter is anonymous.’</p> +<p>‘A—what?’ interrupted the boots.</p> +<p>‘Anonymous—he’s not to know who it comes from.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I see,’ responded the reg’lar, with +a knowing wink, but without evincing the slightest disinclination to +undertake the charge—‘I see—bit o’ Sving, eh?’ +and his one eye wandered round the room, as if in quest of a dark lantern +and phosphorus-box. ‘But, I say!’ he continued, recalling +the eye from its search, and bringing it to bear on Mr. Trott. +‘I say, he’s a lawyer, our mayor, and insured in the County. +If you’ve a spite agen him, you’d better not burn his house +down—blessed if I don’t think it would be the greatest favour +you could do him.’ And he chuckled inwardly.</p> +<p>If Mr. Alexander Trott had been in any other situation, his first +act would have been to kick the man down-stairs by deputy; or, in other +words, to ring the bell, and desire the landlord to take his boots off. +He contented himself, however, with doubling the fee and explaining +that the letter merely related to a breach of the peace. The top-boots +retired, solemnly pledged to secrecy; and Mr. Alexander Trott sat down +to a fried sole, maintenon cutlet, Madeira, and sundries, with greater +composure than he had experienced since the receipt of Horace Hunter’s +letter of defiance.</p> +<p>The lady who alighted from the London coach had no sooner been installed +in number twenty-five, and made some alteration in her travelling-dress, +than she indited a note to Joseph Overton, esquire, solicitor, and mayor +of Great Winglebury, requesting his immediate attendance on private +business of paramount importance—a summons which that worthy functionary +lost no time in obeying; for after sundry openings of his eyes, divers +ejaculations of ‘Bless me!’ and other manifestations of +surprise, he took his broad-brimmed hat from its accustomed peg in his +little front office, and walked briskly down the High-street to the +Winglebury Arms; through the hall and up the staircase of which establishment +he was ushered by the landlady, and a crowd of officious waiters, to +the door of number twenty-five.</p> +<p>‘Show the gentleman in,’ said the stranger lady, in reply +to the foremost waiter’s announcement. The gentleman was +shown in accordingly.</p> +<p>The lady rose from the sofa; the mayor advanced a step from the door; +and there they both paused, for a minute or two, looking at one another +as if by mutual consent. The mayor saw before him a buxom, richly-dressed +female of about forty; the lady looked upon a sleek man, about ten years +older, in drab shorts and continuations, black coat, neckcloth, and +gloves.</p> +<p>‘Miss Julia Manners!’ exclaimed the mayor at length, +‘you astonish me.’</p> +<p>‘That’s very unfair of you, Overton,’ replied Miss +Julia, ‘for I have known you, long enough, not to be surprised +at anything you do, and you might extend equal courtesy to me.’</p> +<p>‘But to run away—actually run away—with a young +man!’ remonstrated the mayor.</p> +<p>‘You wouldn’t have me actually run away with an old one, +I presume?’ was the cool rejoinder.</p> +<p>‘And then to ask me—me—of all people in the world—a +man of my age and appearance—mayor of the town—to promote +such a scheme!’ pettishly ejaculated Joseph Overton; throwing +himself into an arm-chair, and producing Miss Julia’s letter from +his pocket, as if to corroborate the assertion that he <i>had</i> been +asked.</p> +<p>‘Now, Overton,’ replied the lady, ‘I want your +assistance in this matter, and I must have it. In the lifetime +of that poor old dear, Mr. Cornberry, who—who—’</p> +<p>‘Who was to have married you, and didn’t, because he +died first; and who left you his property unencumbered with the addition +of himself,’ suggested the mayor.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ replied Miss Julia, reddening slightly, ‘in +the lifetime of the poor old dear, the property had the incumbrance +of your management; and all I will say of that, is, that I only wonder +it didn’t die of consumption instead of its master. You +helped yourself then:- help me now.’</p> +<p>Mr. Joseph Overton was a man of the world, and an attorney; and as +certain indistinct recollections of an odd thousand pounds or two, appropriated +by mistake, passed across his mind he hemmed deprecatingly, smiled blandly, +remained silent for a few seconds; and finally inquired, ‘What +do you wish me to do?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you,’ replied Miss Julia—‘I’ll +tell you in three words. Dear Lord Peter—’</p> +<p>‘That’s the young man, I suppose—’ interrupted +the mayor.</p> +<p>‘That’s the young Nobleman,’ replied the lady, +with a great stress on the last word. ‘Dear Lord Peter is +considerably afraid of the resentment of his family; and we have therefore +thought it better to make the match a stolen one. He left town, +to avoid suspicion, on a visit to his friend, the Honourable Augustus +Flair, whose seat, as you know, is about thirty miles from this, accompanied +only by his favourite tiger. We arranged that I should come here +alone in the London coach; and that he, leaving his tiger and cab behind +him, should come on, and arrive here as soon as possible this afternoon.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ observed Joseph Overton, ‘and then +he can order the chaise, and you can go on to Gretna Green together, +without requiring the presence or interference of a third party, can’t +you?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ replied Miss Julia. ‘We have every +reason to believe—dear Lord Peter not being considered very prudent +or sagacious by his friends, and they having discovered his attachment +to me—that, immediately on his absence being observed, pursuit +will be made in this direction:- to elude which, and to prevent our +being traced, I wish it to be understood in this house, that dear Lord +Peter is slightly deranged, though perfectly harmless; and that I am, +unknown to him, awaiting his arrival to convey him in a post-chaise +to a private asylum—at Berwick, say. If I don’t show +myself much, I dare say I can manage to pass for his mother.’</p> +<p>The thought occurred to the mayor’s mind that the lady might +show herself a good deal without fear of detection; seeing that she +was about double the age of her intended husband. He said nothing, +however, and the lady proceeded.</p> +<p>‘With the whole of this arrangement dear Lord Peter is acquainted; +and all I want you to do, is, to make the delusion more complete by +giving it the sanction of your influence in this place, and assigning +this as a reason to the people of the house for my taking the young +gentleman away. As it would not be consistent with the story that +I should see him until after he has entered the chaise, I also wish +you to communicate with him, and inform him that it is all going on +well.’</p> +<p>‘Has he arrived?’ inquired Overton.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know,’ replied the lady.</p> +<p>‘Then how am I to know!’ inquired the mayor. ‘Of +course he will not give his own name at the bar.’</p> +<p>‘I begged him, immediately on his arrival, to write you a note,’ +replied Miss Manners; ‘and to prevent the possibility of our project +being discovered through its means, I desired him to write anonymously, +and in mysterious terms, to acquaint you with the number of his room.’</p> +<p>‘Bless me!’ exclaimed the mayor, rising from his seat, +and searching his pockets—‘most extraordinary circumstance—he +has arrived—mysterious note left at my house in a most mysterious +manner, just before yours—didn’t know what to make of it +before, and certainly shouldn’t have attended to it.—Oh! +here it is.’ And Joseph Overton pulled out of an inner coat-pocket +the identical letter penned by Alexander Trott. ‘Is this +his lordship’s hand?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes,’ replied Julia; ‘good, punctual creature! +I have not seen it more than once or twice, but I know he writes very +badly and very large. These dear, wild young noblemen, you know, +Overton—’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, I see,’ replied the mayor.—‘Horses +and dogs, play and wine—grooms, actresses, and cigars—the +stable, the green-room, the saloon, and the tavern; and the legislative +assembly at last.’</p> +<p>‘Here’s what he says,’ pursued the mayor; ‘“Sir,—A +young gentleman in number nineteen at the Winglebury Arms, is bent on +committing a rash act to-morrow morning at an early hour.” +(That’s good—he means marrying.) “If you have +any regard for the peace of this town, or the preservation of one—it +may be two—human lives”—What the deuce does he mean +by that?’</p> +<p>‘That he’s so anxious for the ceremony, he will expire +if it’s put off, and that I may possibly do the same,’ replied +the lady with great complacency.</p> +<p>‘Oh! I see—not much fear of that;—well—“two +human lives, you will cause him to be removed to-night.” +(He wants to start at once.) “Fear not to do this on your +responsibility: for to-morrow the absolute necessity of the proceeding +will be but too apparent. Remember: number nineteen. The +name is Trott. No delay; for life and death depend upon your promptitude.” +Passionate language, certainly. Shall I see him?’</p> +<p>‘Do,’ replied Miss Julia; ‘and entreat him to act +his part well. I am half afraid of him. Tell him to be cautious.’</p> +<p>‘I will,’ said the mayor.</p> +<p>‘Settle all the arrangements.’</p> +<p>‘I will,’ said the mayor again.</p> +<p>‘And say I think the chaise had better be ordered for one o’clock.’</p> +<p>‘Very well,’ said the mayor once more; and, ruminating +on the absurdity of the situation in which fate and old acquaintance +had placed him, he desired a waiter to herald his approach to the temporary +representative of number nineteen.</p> +<p>The announcement, ‘Gentleman to speak with you, sir,’ +induced Mr. Trott to pause half-way in the glass of port, the contents +of which he was in the act of imbibing at the moment; to rise from his +chair; and retreat a few paces towards the window, as if to secure a +retreat, in the event of the visitor assuming the form and appearance +of Horace Hunter. One glance at Joseph Overton, however, quieted +his apprehensions. He courteously motioned the stranger to a seat. +The waiter, after a little jingling with the decanter and glasses, consented +to leave the room; and Joseph Overton, placing the broad-brimmed hat +on the chair next him, and bending his body gently forward, opened the +business by saying in a very low and cautious tone,</p> +<p>‘My lord—’</p> +<p>‘Eh?’ said Mr. Alexander Trott, in a loud key, with the +vacant and mystified stare of a chilly somnambulist.</p> +<p>‘Hush—hush!’ said the cautious attorney: ‘to +be sure—quite right—no titles here—my name is Overton, +sir.’</p> +<p>‘Overton?’</p> +<p>‘Yes: the mayor of this place—you sent me a letter with +anonymous information, this afternoon.’</p> +<p>‘I, sir?’ exclaimed Trott with ill-dissembled surprise; +for, coward as he was, he would willingly have repudiated the authorship +of the letter in question. ‘I, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, you, sir; did you not?’ responded Overton, annoyed +with what he supposed to be an extreme degree of unnecessary suspicion. +‘Either this letter is yours, or it is not. If it be, we +can converse securely upon the subject at once. If it be not, +of course I have no more to say.’</p> +<p>‘Stay, stay,’ said Trott, ‘it <i>is</i> mine; I +<i>did</i> write it. What could I do, sir? I had no friend +here.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure, to be sure,’ said the mayor, encouragingly, +‘you could not have managed it better. Well, sir; it will +be necessary for you to leave here to-night in a post-chaise and four. +And the harder the boys drive, the better. You are not safe from +pursuit.’</p> +<p>‘Bless me!’ exclaimed Trott, in an agony of apprehension, +‘can such things happen in a country like this? Such unrelenting +and cold-blooded hostility!’ He wiped off the concentrated +essence of cowardice that was oozing fast down his forehead, and looked +aghast at Joseph Overton.</p> +<p>‘It certainly is a very hard case,’ replied the mayor +with a smile, ‘that, in a free country, people can’t marry +whom they like, without being hunted down as if they were criminals. +However, in the present instance the lady is willing, you know, and +that’s the main point, after all.’</p> +<p>‘Lady willing,’ repeated Trott, mechanically. ‘How +do you know the lady’s willing?’</p> +<p>‘Come, that’s a good one,’ said the mayor, benevolently +tapping Mr. Trott on the arm with his broad-brimmed hat; ‘I have +known her, well, for a long time; and if anybody could entertain the +remotest doubt on the subject, I assure you I have none, nor need you +have.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Trott, ruminating. ‘This +is <i>very</i> extraordinary!’</p> +<p>‘Well, Lord Peter,’ said the mayor, rising.</p> +<p>‘Lord Peter?’ repeated Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Oh—ah, I forgot. Mr. Trott, then—Trott—very +good, ha! ha!—Well, sir, the chaise shall be ready at half-past +twelve.’</p> +<p>‘And what is to become of me until then?’ inquired Mr. +Trott, anxiously. ‘Wouldn’t it save appearances, if +I were placed under some restraint?’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ replied Overton, ‘very good thought—capital +idea indeed. I’ll send somebody up directly. And if +you make a little resistance when we put you in the chaise it wouldn’t +be amiss—look as if you didn’t want to be taken away, you +know.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ said Trott—‘to be sure.’</p> +<p>‘Well, my lord,’ said Overton, in a low tone, ‘until +then, I wish your lordship a good evening.’</p> +<p>‘Lord—lordship?’ ejaculated Trott again, falling +back a step or two, and gazing, in unutterable wonder, on the countenance +of the mayor.</p> +<p>‘Ha-ha! I see, my lord—practising the madman?—very +good indeed—very vacant look—capital, my lord, capital—good +evening, Mr.—Trott—ha! ha! ha!’</p> +<p>‘That mayor’s decidedly drunk,’ soliloquised Mr. +Trott, throwing himself back in his chair, in an attitude of reflection.</p> +<p>‘He is a much cleverer fellow than I thought him, that young +nobleman—he carries it off uncommonly well,’ thought Overton, +as he went his way to the bar, there to complete his arrangements. +This was soon done. Every word of the story was implicitly believed, +and the one-eyed boots was immediately instructed to repair to number +nineteen, to act as custodian of the person of the supposed lunatic +until half-past twelve o’clock. In pursuance of this direction, +that somewhat eccentric gentleman armed himself with a walking-stick +of gigantic dimensions, and repaired, with his usual equanimity of manner, +to Mr. Trott’s apartment, which he entered without any ceremony, +and mounted guard in, by quietly depositing himself on a chair near +the door, where he proceeded to beguile the time by whistling a popular +air with great apparent satisfaction.</p> +<p>‘What do you want here, you scoundrel?’ exclaimed Mr. +Alexander Trott, with a proper appearance of indignation at his detention.</p> +<p>The boots beat time with his head, as he looked gently round at Mr. +Trott with a smile of pity, and whistled an <i>adagio</i> movement.</p> +<p>‘Do you attend in this room by Mr. Overton’s desire?’ +inquired Trott, rather astonished at the man’s demeanour.</p> +<p>‘Keep yourself to yourself, young feller,’ calmly responded +the boots, ‘and don’t say nothing to nobody.’ +And he whistled again.</p> +<p>‘Now mind!’ ejaculated Mr. Trott, anxious to keep up +the farce of wishing with great earnestness to fight a duel if they’d +let him. ‘I protest against being kept here. I deny +that I have any intention of fighting with anybody. But as it’s +useless contending with superior numbers, I shall sit quietly down.’</p> +<p>‘You’d better,’ observed the placid boots, shaking +the large stick expressively.</p> +<p>‘Under protest, however,’ added Alexander Trott, seating +himself with indignation in his face, but great content in his heart. +‘Under protest.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, certainly!’ responded the boots; ‘anything +you please. If you’re happy, I’m transported; only +don’t talk too much—it’ll make you worse.’</p> +<p>‘Make me worse?’ exclaimed Trott, in unfeigned astonishment: +‘the man’s drunk!’</p> +<p>‘You’d better be quiet, young feller,’ remarked +the boots, going through a threatening piece of pantomime with the stick.</p> +<p>‘Or mad!’ said Mr. Trott, rather alarmed. ‘Leave +the room, sir, and tell them to send somebody else.’</p> +<p>‘Won’t do!’ replied the boots.</p> +<p>‘Leave the room!’ shouted Trott, ringing the bell violently: +for he began to be alarmed on a new score.</p> +<p>‘Leave that ’ere bell alone, you wretched loo-nattic!’ +said the boots, suddenly forcing the unfortunate Trott back into his +chair, and brandishing the stick aloft. ‘Be quiet, you miserable +object, and don’t let everybody know there’s a madman in +the house.’</p> +<p>‘He <i>is</i> a madman! He <i>is</i> a madman!’ +exclaimed the terrified Mr. Trott, gazing on the one eye of the red-headed +boots with a look of abject horror.</p> +<p>‘Madman!’ replied the boots, ‘dam’me, I think +he <i>is</i> a madman with a vengeance! Listen to me, you unfortunate. +Ah! would you?’ [a slight tap on the head with the large stick, +as Mr. Trott made another move towards the bell-handle] ‘I caught +you there! did I?’</p> +<p>‘Spare my life!’ exclaimed Trott, raising his hands imploringly.</p> +<p>‘I don’t want your life,’ replied the boots, disdainfully, +‘though I think it ’ud be a charity if somebody took it.’</p> +<p>‘No, no, it wouldn’t,’ interrupted poor Mr. Trott, +hurriedly, ‘no, no, it wouldn’t! I—I-’d +rather keep it!’</p> +<p>‘O werry well,’ said the boots: ‘that’s a +mere matter of taste—ev’ry one to his liking. Hows’ever, +all I’ve got to say is this here: You sit quietly down in that +chair, and I’ll sit hoppersite you here, and if you keep quiet +and don’t stir, I won’t damage you; but, if you move hand +or foot till half-past twelve o’clock, I shall alter the expression +of your countenance so completely, that the next time you look in the +glass you’ll ask vether you’re gone out of town, and ven +you’re likely to come back again. So sit down.”</p> +<p>‘I will—I will,’ responded the victim of mistakes; +and down sat Mr. Trott and down sat the boots too, exactly opposite +him, with the stick ready for immediate action in case of emergency.</p> +<p>Long and dreary were the hours that followed. The bell of Great +Winglebury church had just struck ten, and two hours and a half would +probably elapse before succour arrived.</p> +<p>For half an hour, the noise occasioned by shutting up the shops in +the street beneath, betokened something like life in the town, and rendered +Mr. Trott’s situation a little less insupportable; but, when even +these ceased, and nothing was heard beyond the occasional rattling of +a post-chaise as it drove up the yard to change horses, and then drove +away again, or the clattering of horses’ hoofs in the stables +behind, it became almost unbearable. The boots occasionally moved +an inch or two, to knock superfluous bits of wax off the candles, which +were burning low, but instantaneously resumed his former position; and +as he remembered to have heard, somewhere or other, that the human eye +had an unfailing effect in controlling mad people, he kept his solitary +organ of vision constantly fixed on Mr. Alexander Trott. That +unfortunate individual stared at his companion in his turn, until his +features grew more and more indistinct—his hair gradually less +red—and the room more misty and obscure. Mr. Alexander Trott +fell into a sound sleep, from which he was awakened by a rumbling in +the street, and a cry of ‘Chaise-and-four for number twenty-five!’ +A bustle on the stairs succeeded; the room door was hastily thrown open; +and Mr. Joseph Overton entered, followed by four stout waiters, and +Mrs. Williamson, the stout landlady of the Winglebury Arms.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Overton!’ exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, jumping +up in a frenzy. ‘Look at this man, sir; consider the situation +in which I have been placed for three hours past—the person you +sent to guard me, sir, was a madman—a madman—a raging, ravaging, +furious madman.’</p> +<p>‘Bravo!’ whispered Mr. Overton.</p> +<p>‘Poor dear!’ said the compassionate Mrs. Williamson, +‘mad people always thinks other people’s mad.’</p> +<p>‘Poor dear!’ ejaculated Mr. Alexander Trott. ‘What +the devil do you mean by poor dear! Are you the landlady of this +house?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes,’ replied the stout old lady, ‘don’t +exert yourself, there’s a dear! Consider your health, now; +do.’</p> +<p>‘Exert myself!’ shouted Mr. Alexander Trott; ‘it’s +a mercy, ma’am, that I have any breath to exert myself with! +I might have been assassinated three hours ago by that one-eyed monster +with the oakum head. How dare you have a madman, ma’am—how +dare you have a madman, to assault and terrify the visitors to your +house?’</p> +<p>‘I’ll never have another,’ said Mrs. Williamson, +casting a look of reproach at the mayor.</p> +<p>‘Capital, capital,’ whispered Overton again, as he enveloped +Mr. Alexander Trott in a thick travelling-cloak.</p> +<p>‘Capital, sir!’ exclaimed Trott, aloud; ‘it’s +horrible. The very recollection makes me shudder. I’d +rather fight four duels in three hours, if I survived the first three, +than I’d sit for that time face to face with a madman.’</p> +<p>‘Keep it up, my lord, as you go down-stairs,’ whispered +Overton, ‘your bill is paid, and your portmanteau in the chaise.’ +And then he added aloud, ‘Now, waiters, the gentleman’s +ready.’</p> +<p>At this signal, the waiters crowded round Mr. Alexander Trott. +One took one arm; another, the other; a third, walked before with a +candle; the fourth, behind with another candle; the boots and Mrs. Williamson +brought up the rear; and down-stairs they went: Mr. Alexander Trott +expressing alternately at the very top of his voice either his feigned +reluctance to go, or his unfeigned indignation at being shut up with +a madman.</p> +<p>Mr. Overton was waiting at the chaise-door, the boys were ready mounted, +and a few ostlers and stable nondescripts were standing round to witness +the departure of ‘the mad gentleman.’ Mr. Alexander +Trott’s foot was on the step, when he observed (which the dim +light had prevented his doing before) a figure seated in the chaise, +closely muffled up in a cloak like his own.</p> +<p>‘Who’s that?’ he inquired of Overton, in a whisper.</p> +<p>‘Hush, hush,’ replied the mayor: ‘the other party +of course.’</p> +<p>‘The other party!’ exclaimed Trott, with an effort to +retreat.</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes; you’ll soon find that out, before you go far, +I should think—but make a noise, you’ll excite suspicion +if you whisper to me so much.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t go in this chaise!’ shouted Mr. Alexander +Trott, all his original fears recurring with tenfold violence. +‘I shall be assassinated—I shall be—’</p> +<p>‘Bravo, bravo,’ whispered Overton. ‘I’ll +push you in.’</p> +<p>‘But I won’t go,’ exclaimed Mr. Trott. ‘Help +here, help! They’re carrying me away against my will. +This is a plot to murder me.’</p> +<p>‘Poor dear!’ said Mrs. Williamson again.</p> +<p>‘Now, boys, put ’em along,’ cried the mayor, pushing +Trott in and slamming the door. ‘Off with you, as quick +as you can, and stop for nothing till you come to the next stage—all +right!’</p> +<p>‘Horses are paid, Tom,’ screamed Mrs. Williamson; and +away went the chaise, at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, with Mr. +Alexander Trott and Miss Julia Manners carefully shut up in the inside.</p> +<p>Mr. Alexander Trott remained coiled up in one corner of the chaise, +and his mysterious companion in the other, for the first two or three +miles; Mr. Trott edging more and more into his corner, as he felt his +companion gradually edging more and more from hers; and vainly endeavouring +in the darkness to catch a glimpse of the furious face of the supposed +Horace Hunter.</p> +<p>‘We may speak now,’ said his fellow-traveller, at length; +‘the post-boys can neither see nor hear us.’</p> +<p>‘That’s not Hunter’s voice!’—thought +Alexander, astonished.</p> +<p>‘Dear Lord Peter!’ said Miss Julia, most winningly: putting +her arm on Mr. Trott’s shoulder. ‘Dear Lord Peter. +Not a word?’</p> +<p>‘Why, it’s a woman!’ exclaimed Mr. Trott, in a +low tone of excessive wonder.</p> +<p>‘Ah! Whose voice is that?’ said Julia; ‘’tis +not Lord Peter’s.’</p> +<p>‘No,—it’s mine,’ replied Mr. Trott.</p> +<p>‘Yours!’ ejaculated Miss Julia Manners; ‘a strange +man! Gracious heaven! How came you here!’</p> +<p>‘Whoever you are, you might have known that I came against +my will, ma’am,’ replied Alexander, ‘for I made noise +enough when I got in.’</p> +<p>‘Do you come from Lord Peter?’ inquired Miss Manners.</p> +<p>‘Confound Lord Peter,’ replied Trott pettishly. +‘I don’t know any Lord Peter. I never heard of him +before to-night, when I’ve been Lord Peter’d by one and +Lord Peter’d by another, till I verily believe I’m mad, +or dreaming—’</p> +<p>‘Whither are we going?’ inquired the lady tragically.</p> +<p>‘How should <i>I</i> know, ma’am?’ replied Trott +with singular coolness; for the events of the evening had completely +hardened him.</p> +<p>‘Stop stop!’ cried the lady, letting down the front glasses +of the chaise.</p> +<p>‘Stay, my dear ma’am!’ said Mr. Trott, pulling +the glasses up again with one hand, and gently squeezing Miss Julia’s +waist with the other. ‘There is some mistake here; give +me till the end of this stage to explain my share of it. We must +go so far; you cannot be set down here alone, at this hour of the night.’</p> +<p>The lady consented; the mistake was mutually explained. Mr. +Trott was a young man, had highly promising whiskers, an undeniable +tailor, and an insinuating address—he wanted nothing but valour, +and who wants that with three thousand a-year? The lady had this, +and more; she wanted a young husband, and the only course open to Mr. +Trott to retrieve his disgrace was a rich wife. So, they came +to the conclusion that it would be a pity to have all this trouble and +expense for nothing; and that as they were so far on the road already, +they had better go to Gretna Green, and marry each other; and they did +so. And the very next preceding entry in the Blacksmith’s +book, was an entry of the marriage of Emily Brown with Horace Hunter. +Mr. Hunter took his wife home, and begged pardon, and <i>was</i> pardoned; +and Mr. Trott took <i>his</i> wife home, begged pardon too, and was +pardoned also. And Lord Peter, who had been detained beyond his +time by drinking champagne and riding a steeple-chase, went back to +the Honourable Augustus Flair’s, and drank more champagne, and +rode another steeple-chase, and was thrown and killed. And Horace +Hunter took great credit to himself for practising on the cowardice +of Alexander Trott; and all these circumstances were discovered in time, +and carefully noted down; and if you ever stop a week at the Winglebury +Arms, they will give you just this account of The Great Winglebury Duel.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER IX—MRS. JOSEPH PORTER</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Most extensive were the preparations at Rose Villa, Clapham Rise, +in the occupation of Mr. Gattleton (a stock-broker in especially comfortable +circumstances), and great was the anxiety of Mr. Gattleton’s interesting +family, as the day fixed for the representation of the Private Play +which had been ‘many months in preparation,’ approached. +The whole family was infected with the mania for Private Theatricals; +the house, usually so clean and tidy, was, to use Mr. Gattleton’s +expressive description, ‘regularly turned out o’ windows;’ +the large dining-room, dismantled of its furniture, and ornaments, presented +a strange jumble of flats, flies, wings, lamps, bridges, clouds, thunder +and lightning, festoons and flowers, daggers and foil, and various other +messes in theatrical slang included under the comprehensive name of +‘properties.’ The bedrooms were crowded with scenery, +the kitchen was occupied by carpenters. Rehearsals took place +every other night in the drawing-room, and every sofa in the house was +more or less damaged by the perseverance and spirit with which Mr. Sempronius +Gattleton, and Miss Lucina, rehearsed the smothering scene in ‘Othello’—it +having been determined that that tragedy should form the first portion +of the evening’s entertainments.</p> +<p>‘When we’re a <i>leetle</i> more perfect, I think it +will go admirably,’ said Mr. Sempronius, addressing his <i>corps +dramatique</i>, at the conclusion of the hundred and fiftieth rehearsal. +In consideration of his sustaining the trifling inconvenience of bearing +all the expenses of the play, Mr. Sempronius had been, in the most handsome +manner, unanimously elected stage-manager. ‘Evans,’ +continued Mr. Gattleton, the younger, addressing a tall, thin, pale +young gentleman, with extensive whiskers—‘Evans, you play +<i>Roderigo</i> beautifully.’</p> +<p>‘Beautifully,’ echoed the three Miss Gattletons; for +Mr. Evans was pronounced by all his lady friends to be ‘quite +a dear.’ He looked so interesting, and had such lovely whiskers: +to say nothing of his talent for writing verses in albums and playing +the flute! <i>Roderigo</i> simpered and bowed.</p> +<p>‘But I think,’ added the manager, ‘you are hardly +perfect in the—fall—in the fencing-scene, where you are—you +understand?’</p> +<p>‘It’s very difficult,’ said Mr. Evans, thoughtfully; +‘I’ve fallen about, a good deal, in our counting-house lately, +for practice, only I find it hurts one so. Being obliged to fall +backward you see, it bruises one’s head a good deal.’</p> +<p>‘But you must take care you don’t knock a wing down,’ +said Mr. Gattleton, the elder, who had been appointed prompter, and +who took as much interest in the play as the youngest of the company. +‘The stage is very narrow, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! don’t be afraid,’ said Mr. Evans, with a very +self-satisfied air; ‘I shall fall with my head “off,” +and then I can’t do any harm.’</p> +<p>‘But, egad,’ said the manager, rubbing his hands, ‘we +shall make a decided hit in “Masaniello.” Harleigh +sings that music admirably.’</p> +<p>Everybody echoed the sentiment. Mr. Harleigh smiled, and looked +foolish—not an unusual thing with him—hummed’ +Behold how brightly breaks the morning,’ and blushed as red as +the fisherman’s nightcap he was trying on.</p> +<p>‘Let’s see,’ resumed the manager, telling the number +on his fingers, ‘we shall have three dancing female peasants, +besides <i>Fenella</i>, and four fishermen. Then, there’s +our man Tom; he can have a pair of ducks of mine, and a check shirt +of Bob’s, and a red nightcap, and he’ll do for another—that’s +five. In the choruses, of course, we can sing at the sides; and +in the market-scene we can walk about in cloaks and things. When +the revolt takes place, Tom must keep rushing in on one side and out +on the other, with a pickaxe, as fast as he can. The effect will +be electrical; it will look exactly as if there were an immense number +of ’em. And in the eruption-scene we must burn the red fire, +and upset the tea-trays, and make all sorts of noises—and it’s +sure to do.’</p> +<p>‘Sure! sure!’ cried all the performers <i>unâ voce</i>—and +away hurried Mr. Sempronius Gattleton to wash the burnt cork off his +face, and superintend the ‘setting up’ of some of the amateur-painted, +but never-sufficiently-to-be-admired, scenery.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gattleton was a kind, good-tempered, vulgar soul, exceedingly +fond of her husband and children, and entertaining only three dislikes. +In the first place, she had a natural antipathy to anybody else’s +unmarried daughters; in the second, she was in bodily fear of anything +in the shape of ridicule; lastly—almost a necessary consequence +of this feeling—she regarded, with feelings of the utmost horror, +one Mrs. Joseph Porter over the way. However, the good folks of +Clapham and its vicinity stood very much in awe of scandal and sarcasm; +and thus Mrs. Joseph Porter was courted, and flattered, and caressed, +and invited, for much the same reason that induces a poor author, without +a farthing in his pocket, to behave with extraordinary civility to a +twopenny postman.</p> +<p>‘Never mind, ma,’ said Miss Emma Porter, in colloquy +with her respected relative, and trying to look unconcerned; ‘if +they had invited me, you know that neither you nor pa would have allowed +me to take part in such an exhibition.’</p> +<p>‘Just what I should have thought from your high sense of propriety,’ +returned the mother. ‘I am glad to see, Emma, you know how +to designate the proceeding.’ Miss P., by-the-bye, had only +the week before made ‘an exhibition’ of herself for four +days, behind a counter at a fancy fair, to all and every of her Majesty’s +liege subjects who were disposed to pay a shilling each for the privilege +of seeing some four dozen girls flirting with strangers, and playing +at shop.</p> +<p>‘There!’ said Mrs. Porter, looking out of window; ‘there +are two rounds of beef and a ham going in—clearly for sandwiches; +and Thomas, the pastry-cook, says, there have been twelve dozen tarts +ordered, besides blancmange and jellies. Upon my word! think of +the Miss Gattletons in fancy dresses, too!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it’s too ridiculous!’ said Miss Porter, hysterically.</p> +<p>‘I’ll manage to put them a little out of conceit with +the business, however,’ said Mrs. Porter; and out she went on +her charitable errand.</p> +<p>‘Well, my dear Mrs. Gattleton,’ said Mrs. Joseph Porter, +after they had been closeted for some time, and when, by dint of indefatigable +pumping, she had managed to extract all the news about the play, ‘well, +my dear, people may say what they please; indeed we know they will, +for some folks are <i>so</i> ill-natured. Ah, my dear Miss Lucina, +how d’ye do? I was just telling your mamma that I have heard +it said, that—’</p> +<p>‘What?’</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Porter is alluding to the play, my dear,’ said +Mrs. Gattleton; ‘she was, I am sorry to say, just informing me +that—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, now pray don’t mention it,’ interrupted Mrs. +Porter; ‘it’s most absurd—quite as absurd as young +What’s-his-name saying he wondered how Miss Caroline, with such +a foot and ankle, could have the vanity to play <i>Fenella</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Highly impertinent, whoever said it,’ said Mrs. Gattleton, +bridling up.</p> +<p>‘Certainly, my dear,’ chimed in the delighted Mrs. Porter; +‘most undoubtedly! Because, as I said, if Miss Caroline +<i>does</i> play <i>Fenella</i>, it doesn’t follow, as a matter +of course, that she should think she has a pretty foot;—and then—such +puppies as these young men are—he had the impudence to say, that—’</p> +<p>How far the amiable Mrs. Porter might have succeeded in her pleasant +purpose, it is impossible to say, had not the entrance of Mr. Thomas +Balderstone, Mrs. Gattleton’s brother, familiarly called in the +family ‘Uncle Tom,’ changed the course of conversation, +and suggested to her mind an excellent plan of operation on the evening +of the play.</p> +<p>Uncle Tom was very rich, and exceedingly fond of his nephews and +nieces: as a matter of course, therefore, he was an object of great +importance in his own family. He was one of the best-hearted men +in existence: always in a good temper, and always talking. It +was his boast that he wore top-boots on all occasions, and had never +worn a black silk neckerchief; and it was his pride that he remembered +all the principal plays of Shakspeare from beginning to end—and +so he did. The result of this parrot-like accomplishment was, +that he was not only perpetually quoting himself, but that he could +never sit by, and hear a misquotation from the ‘Swan of Avon’ +without setting the unfortunate delinquent right. He was also +something of a wag; never missed an opportunity of saying what he considered +a good thing, and invariably laughed until he cried at anything that +appeared to him mirth-moving or ridiculous.</p> +<p>‘Well, girls!’ said Uncle Tom, after the preparatory +ceremony of kissing and how-d’ye-do-ing had been gone through—‘how +d’ye get on? Know your parts, eh?—Lucina, my dear, +act II., scene I—place, left-cue—“Unknown fate,”—What’s +next, eh?—Go on—“The Heavens—”’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Lucina, ‘I recollect -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“The heavens forbid<br />But that our loves and comforts should +increase<br />Even as our days do grow!”’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Make a pause here and there,’ said the old gentleman, +who was a great critic. ‘“But that our loves and comforts +should increase”—emphasis on the last syllable, “crease,”—loud +“even,”—one, two, three, four; then loud again, “as +our days do grow;” emphasis on <i>days</i>. That’s +the way, my dear; trust to your uncle for emphasis. Ah! +Sem, my boy, how are you?’</p> +<p>‘Very well, thankee, uncle,’ returned Mr. Sempronius, +who had just appeared, looking something like a ringdove, with a small +circle round each eye: the result of his constant corking. ‘Of +course we see you on Thursday.’</p> +<p>‘Of course, of course, my dear boy.’</p> +<p>‘What a pity it is your nephew didn’t think of making +you prompter, Mr. Balderstone!’ whispered Mrs. Joseph Porter; +‘you would have been invaluable.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I flatter myself, I <i>should</i> have been tolerably +up to the thing,’ responded Uncle Tom.</p> +<p>‘I must bespeak sitting next you on the night,’ resumed +Mrs. Porter; ‘and then, if our dear young friends here, should +be at all wrong, you will be able to enlighten me. I shall be +so interested.’</p> +<p>‘I am sure I shall be most happy to give you any assistance +in my power’</p> +<p>‘Mind, it’s a bargain.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know how it is,’ said Mrs. Gattleton to +her daughters, as they were sitting round the fire in the evening, looking +over their parts, ‘but I really very much wish Mrs. Joseph Porter +wasn’t coming on Thursday. I am sure she’s scheming +something.’</p> +<p>‘She can’t make us ridiculous, however,’ observed +Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, haughtily.</p> +<p>The long-looked-for Thursday arrived in due course, and brought with +it, as Mr. Gattleton, senior, philosophically observed, ‘no disappointments, +to speak of.’ True, it was yet a matter of doubt whether +<i>Cassio</i> would be enabled to get into the dress which had been +sent for him from the masquerade warehouse. It was equally uncertain +whether the principal female singer would be sufficiently recovered +from the influenza to make her appearance; Mr. Harleigh, the <i>Masaniello</i> +of the night, was hoarse, and rather unwell, in consequence of the great +quantity of lemon and sugar-candy he had eaten to improve his voice; +and two flutes and a violoncello had pleaded severe colds. What +of that? the audience were all coming. Everybody knew his part: +the dresses were covered with tinsel and spangles; the white plumes +looked beautiful; Mr. Evans had practised falling until he was bruised +from head to foot and quite perfect; <i>Iago</i> was sure that, in the +stabbing-scene, he should make ‘a decided hit.’ A +self-taught deaf gentleman, who had kindly offered to bring his flute, +would be a most valuable addition to the orchestra; Miss Jenkins’s +talent for the piano was too well known to be doubted for an instant; +Mr. Cape had practised the violin accompaniment with her frequently; +and Mr. Brown, who had kindly undertaken, at a few hours’ notice, +to bring his violoncello, would, no doubt, manage extremely well.</p> +<p>Seven o’clock came, and so did the audience; all the rank and +fashion of Clapham and its vicinity was fast filling the theatre. +There were the Smiths, the Gubbinses, the Nixons, the Dixons, the Hicksons, +people with all sorts of names, two aldermen, a sheriff in perspective, +Sir Thomas Glumper (who had been knighted in the last reign for carrying +up an address on somebody’s escaping from nothing); and last, +not least, there were Mrs. Joseph Porter and Uncle Tom, seated in the +centre of the third row from the stage; Mrs. P. amusing Uncle Tom with +all sorts of stories, and Uncle Tom amusing every one else by laughing +most immoderately.</p> +<p>Ting, ting, ting! went the prompter’s bell at eight o’clock +precisely, and dash went the orchestra into the overture to ‘The +Men of Prometheus.’ The pianoforte player hammered away +with laudable perseverance; and the violoncello, which struck in at +intervals, ‘sounded very well, considering.’ The unfortunate +individual, however, who had undertaken to play the flute accompaniment +‘at sight,’ found, from fatal experience, the perfect truth +of the old adage, ‘ought of sight, out of mind;’ for being +very near-sighted, and being placed at a considerable distance from +his music-book, all he had an opportunity of doing was to play a bar +now and then in the wrong place, and put the other performers out. +It is, however, but justice to Mr. Brown to say that he did this to +admiration. The overture, in fact, was not unlike a race between +the different instruments; the piano came in first by several bars, +and the violoncello next, quite distancing the poor flute; for the deaf +gentleman <i>too-too’d</i> away, quite unconscious that he was +at all wrong, until apprised, by the applause of the audience, that +the overture was concluded. A considerable bustle and shuffling +of feet was then heard upon the stage, accompanied by whispers of ‘Here’s +a pretty go!—what’s to be done?’ &c. The +audience applauded again, by way of raising the spirits of the performers; +and then Mr. Sempronius desired the prompter, in a very audible voice, +to ‘clear the stage, and ring up.’</p> +<p>Ting, ting, ting! went the bell again. Everybody sat down; +the curtain shook; rose sufficiently high to display several pair of +yellow boots paddling about; and there remained.</p> +<p>Ting, ting, ting! went the bell again. The curtain was violently +convulsed, but rose no higher; the audience tittered; Mrs. Porter looked +at Uncle Tom; Uncle Tom looked at everybody, rubbing his hands, and +laughing with perfect rapture. After as much ringing with the +little bell as a muffin-boy would make in going down a tolerably long +street, and a vast deal of whispering, hammering, and calling for nails +and cord, the curtain at length rose, and discovered Mr. Sempronius +Gattleton <i>solus</i>, and decked for <i>Othello</i>. After three +distinct rounds of applause, during which Mr. Sempronius applied his +right hand to his left breast, and bowed in the most approved manner, +the manager advanced and said:</p> +<p>‘Ladies and Gentlemen—I assure you it is with sincere +regret, that I regret to be compelled to inform you, that <i>Iago</i> +who was to have played Mr. Wilson—I beg your pardon, Ladies and +Gentlemen, but I am naturally somewhat agitated (applause)—I mean, +Mr. Wilson, who was to have played <i>Iago</i>, is—that is, has +been—or, in other words, Ladies and Gentlemen, the fact is, that +I have just received a note, in which I am informed that <i>Iago</i> +is unavoidably detained at the Post-office this evening. Under +these circumstances, I trust—a—a—amateur performance—a—another +gentleman undertaken to read the part—request indulgence for a +short time—courtesy and kindness of a British audience.’ +Overwhelming applause. Exit Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, and curtain +falls.</p> +<p>The audience were, of course, exceedingly good-humoured; the whole +business was a joke; and accordingly they waited for an hour with the +utmost patience, being enlivened by an interlude of rout-cakes and lemonade. +It appeared by Mr. Sempronius’s subsequent explanation, that the +delay would not have been so great, had it not so happened that when +the substitute <i>Iago</i> had finished dressing, and just as the play +was on the point of commencing, the original <i>Iago</i> unexpectedly +arrived. The former was therefore compelled to undress, and the +latter to dress for his part; which, as he found some difficulty in +getting into his clothes, occupied no inconsiderable time. At +last, the tragedy began in real earnest. It went off well enough, +until the third scene of the first act, in which <i>Othello</i> addresses +the Senate: the only remarkable circumstance being, that as <i>Iago</i> +could not get on any of the stage boots, in consequence of his feet +being violently swelled with the heat and excitement, he was under the +necessity of playing the part in a pair of Wellingtons, which contrasted +rather oddly with his richly embroidered pantaloons. When <i>Othello</i> +started with his address to the Senate (whose dignity was represented +by, the <i>Duke, a</i> carpenter, two men engaged on the recommendation +of the gardener, and a boy), Mrs. Porter found the opportunity she so +anxiously sought.</p> +<p>Mr. Sempronius proceeded:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘“Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,<br />My +very noble and approv’d good masters,<br />That I have ta’en +away this old man’s daughter,<br />It is most true;—rude +am I in my speech—”’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘Is that right?’ whispered Mrs. Porter to Uncle Tom.</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘Tell him so, then.’</p> +<p>‘I will. Sem!’ called out Uncle Tom, ‘that’s +wrong, my boy.’</p> +<p>‘What’s wrong, uncle?’ demanded <i>Othello</i>, +quite forgetting the dignity of his situation.</p> +<p>‘You’ve left out something. “True I have +married—”’</p> +<p>‘Oh, ah!’ said Mr. Sempronius, endeavouring to hide his +confusion as much and as ineffectually as the audience attempted to +conceal their half-suppressed tittering, by coughing with extraordinary +violence -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>- ‘“true I have married her; -<br />The very head and +front of my offending<br />Hath this extent; no more.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>(Aside</i>) Why don’t you prompt, father?’</p> +<p>‘Because I’ve mislaid my spectacles,’ said poor +Mr. Gattleton, almost dead with the heat and bustle.</p> +<p>‘There, now it’s “rude am I,”’ said +Uncle Tom.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know it is,’ returned the unfortunate manager, +proceeding with his part.</p> +<p>It would be useless and tiresome to quote the number of instances +in which Uncle Tom, now completely in his element, and instigated by +the mischievous Mrs. Porter, corrected the mistakes of the performers; +suffice it to say, that having mounted his hobby, nothing could induce +him to dismount; so, during the whole remainder of the play, he performed +a kind of running accompaniment, by muttering everybody’s part +as it was being delivered, in an under-tone. The audience were +highly amused, Mrs. Porter delighted, the performers embarrassed; Uncle +Tom never was better pleased in all his life; and Uncle Tom’s +nephews and nieces had never, although the declared heirs to his large +property, so heartily wished him gathered to his fathers as on that +memorable occasion.</p> +<p>Several other minor causes, too, united to damp the ardour of the +<i>dramatis personae</i>. None of the performers could walk in +their tights, or move their arms in their jackets; the pantaloons were +too small, the boots too large, and the swords of all shapes and sizes. +Mr. Evans, naturally too tall for the scenery, wore a black velvet hat +with immense white plumes, the glory of which was lost in ‘the +flies;’ and the only other inconvenience of which was, that when +it was off his head he could not put it on, and when it was on he could +not take it off. Notwithstanding all his practice, too, he fell +with his head and shoulders as neatly through one of the side scenes, +as a harlequin would jump through a panel in a Christmas pantomime. +The pianoforte player, overpowered by the extreme heat of the room, +fainted away at the commencement of the entertainments, leaving the +music of ‘Masaniello’ to the flute and violoncello. +The orchestra complained that Mr. Harleigh put them out, and Mr. Harleigh +declared that the orchestra prevented his singing a note. The +fishermen, who were hired for the occasion, revolted to the very life, +positively refusing to play without an increased allowance of spirits; +and, their demand being complied with, getting drunk in the eruption-scene +as naturally as possible. The red fire, which was burnt at the +conclusion of the second act, not only nearly suffocated the audience, +but nearly set the house on fire into the bargain; and, as it was, the +remainder of the piece was acted in a thick fog.</p> +<p>In short, the whole affair was, as Mrs. Joseph Porter triumphantly +told everybody, ‘a complete failure.’ The audience +went home at four o’clock in the morning, exhausted with laughter, +suffering from severe headaches, and smelling terribly of brimstone +and gunpowder. The Messrs. Gattleton, senior and junior, retired +to rest, with the vague idea of emigrating to Swan River early in the +ensuing week.</p> +<p>Rose Villa has once again resumed its wonted appearance; the dining-room +furniture has been replaced; the tables are as nicely polished as formerly; +the horsehair chairs are ranged against the wall, as regularly as ever; +Venetian blinds have been fitted to every window in the house to intercept +the prying gaze of Mrs. Joseph Porter. The subject of theatricals +is never mentioned in the Gattleton family, unless, indeed, by Uncle +Tom, who cannot refrain from sometimes expressing his surprise and regret +at finding that his nephews and nieces appear to have lost the relish +they once possessed for the beauties of Shakspeare, and quotations from +the works of that immortal bard.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER X—A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. WATKINS TOTTLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>CHAPTER THE FIRST</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>Matrimony is proverbially a serious undertaking. Like an over-weening +predilection for brandy-and-water, it is a misfortune into which a man +easily falls, and from which he finds it remarkably difficult to extricate +himself. It is of no use telling a man who is timorous on these +points, that it is but one plunge, and all is over. They say the +same thing at the Old Bailey, and the unfortunate victims derive as +much comfort from the assurance in the one case as in the other.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle was a rather uncommon compound of strong uxorious +inclinations, and an unparalleled degree of anti-connubial timidity. +He was about fifty years of age; stood four feet six inches and three-quarters +in his socks—for he never stood in stockings at all—plump, +clean, and rosy. He looked something like a vignette to one of +Richardson’s novels, and had a clean-cravatish formality of manner, +and kitchen-pokerness of carriage, which Sir Charles Grandison himself +might have envied. He lived on an annuity, which was well adapted +to the individual who received it, in one respect—it was rather +small. He received it in periodical payments on every alternate +Monday; but he ran himself out, about a day after the expiration of +the first week, as regularly as an eight-day clock; and then, to make +the comparison complete, his landlady wound him up, and he went on with +a regular tick.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle had long lived in a state of single blessedness, +as bachelors say, or single cursedness, as spinsters think; but the +idea of matrimony had never ceased to haunt him. Wrapt in profound +reveries on this never-failing theme, fancy transformed his small parlour +in Cecil-street, Strand, into a neat house in the suburbs; the half-hundredweight +of coals under the kitchen-stairs suddenly sprang up into three tons +of the best Walls-end; his small French bedstead was converted into +a regular matrimonial four-poster; and in the empty chair on the opposite +side of the fireplace, imagination seated a beautiful young lady, with +a very little independence or will of her own, and a very large independence +under a will of her father’s.</p> +<p>‘Who’s there?’ inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle, as +a gentle tap at his room-door disturbed these meditations one evening.</p> +<p>‘Tottle, my dear fellow, how <i>do</i> you do?’ said +a short elderly gentleman with a gruffish voice, bursting into the room, +and replying to the question by asking another.</p> +<p>‘Told you I should drop in some evening,’ said the short +gentleman, as he delivered his hat into Tottle’s hand, after a +little struggling and dodging.</p> +<p>‘Delighted to see you, I’m sure,’ said Mr. Watkins +Tottle, wishing internally that his visitor had ‘dropped in’ +to the Thames at the bottom of the street, instead of dropping into +his parlour. The fortnight was nearly up, and Watkins was hard +up.</p> +<p>‘How is Mrs. Gabriel Parsons?’ inquired Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Quite well, thank you,’ replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons, +for that was the name the short gentleman revelled in. Here there +was a pause; the short gentleman looked at the left hob of the fireplace; +Mr. Watkins Tottle stared vacancy out of countenance.</p> +<p>‘Quite well,’ repeated the short gentleman, when five +minutes had expired. ‘I may say remarkably well.’ +And he rubbed the palms of his hands as hard as if he were going to +strike a light by friction.</p> +<p>‘What will you take?’ inquired Tottle, with the desperate +suddenness of a man who knew that unless the visitor took his leave, +he stood very little chance of taking anything else.</p> +<p>‘Oh, I don’t know—have you any whiskey?’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ replied Tottle, very slowly, for all this was +gaining time, ‘I <i>had</i> some capital, and remarkably strong +whiskey last week; but it’s all gone—and therefore its strength—’</p> +<p>‘Is much beyond proof; or, in other words, impossible to be +proved,’ said the short gentleman; and he laughed very heartily, +and seemed quite glad the whiskey had been drunk. Mr. Tottle smiled—but +it was the smile of despair. When Mr. Gabriel Parsons had done +laughing, he delicately insinuated that, in the absence of whiskey, +he would not be averse to brandy. And Mr. Watkins Tottle, lighting +a flat candle very ostentatiously; and displaying an immense key, which +belonged to the street-door, but which, for the sake of appearances, +occasionally did duty in an imaginary wine-cellar; left the room to +entreat his landlady to charge their glasses, and charge them in the +bill. The application was successful; the spirits were speedily +called—not from the vasty deep, but the adjacent wine-vaults. +The two short gentlemen mixed their grog; and then sat cosily down before +the fire—a pair of shorts, airing themselves.</p> +<p>‘Tottle,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘you know my +way—off-hand, open, say what I mean, mean what I say, hate reserve, +and can’t bear affectation. One, is a bad domino which only +hides what good people have about ’em, without making the bad +look better; and the other is much about the same thing as pinking a +white cotton stocking to make it look like a silk one. Now listen +to what I’m going to say.’</p> +<p>Here, the little gentleman paused, and took a long pull at his brandy-and-water. +Mr. Watkins Tottle took a sip of his, stirred the fire, and assumed +an air of profound attention.</p> +<p>‘It’s of no use humming and ha’ing about the matter,’ +resumed the short gentleman.—‘You want to get married.’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ replied Mr. Watkins Tottle evasively; for he trembled +violently, and felt a sudden tingling throughout his whole frame; ‘why—I +should certainly—at least, I <i>think</i> I should like—’</p> +<p>‘Won’t do,’ said the short gentleman.—‘Plain +and free—or there’s an end of the matter. Do you want +money?’</p> +<p>‘You know I do.’</p> +<p>‘You admire the sex?’</p> +<p>‘I do.’</p> +<p>‘And you’d like to be married?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>‘Then you shall be. There’s an end of that.’ +Thus saying, Mr. Gabriel Parsons took a pinch of snuff, and mixed another +glass.</p> +<p>‘Let me entreat you to be more explanatory,’ said Tottle. +‘Really, as the party principally interested, I cannot consent +to be disposed of, in this way.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you,’ replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons, warming +with the subject, and the brandy-and-water—‘I know a lady—she’s +stopping with my wife now—who is just the thing for you. +Well educated; talks French; plays the piano; knows a good deal about +flowers, and shells, and all that sort of thing; and has five hundred +a year, with an uncontrolled power of disposing of it, by her last will +and testament.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll pay my addresses to her,’ said Mr. Watkins +Tottle. ‘She isn’t <i>very</i> young—is she?’</p> +<p>‘Not very; just the thing for you. I’ve said that +already.’</p> +<p>‘What coloured hair has the lady?’ inquired Mr. Watkins +Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Egad, I hardly recollect,’ replied Gabriel, with coolness. +‘Perhaps I ought to have observed, at first, she wears a front.’</p> +<p>‘A what?’ ejaculated Tottle.</p> +<p>‘One of those things with curls, along here,’ said Parsons, +drawing a straight line across his forehead, just over his eyes, in +illustration of his meaning. ‘I know the front’s black; +I can’t speak quite positively about her own hair; because, unless +one walks behind her, and catches a glimpse of it under her bonnet, +one seldom sees it; but I should say that it was <i>rather</i> lighter +than the front—a shade of a greyish tinge, perhaps.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle looked as if he had certain misgivings of mind. +Mr. Gabriel Parsons perceived it, and thought it would be safe to begin +the next attack without delay.</p> +<p>‘Now, were you ever in love, Tottle?’ he inquired.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle blushed up to the eyes, and down to the chin, +and exhibited a most extensive combination of colours as he confessed +the soft impeachment.</p> +<p>‘I suppose you popped the question, more than once, when you +were a young—I beg your pardon—a younger—man,’ +said Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Never in my life!’ replied his friend, apparently indignant +at being suspected of such an act. ‘Never! The fact +is, that I entertain, as you know, peculiar opinions on these subjects. +I am not afraid of ladies, young or old—far from it; but, I think, +that in compliance with the custom of the present day, they allow too +much freedom of speech and manner to marriageable men. Now, the +fact is, that anything like this easy freedom I never could acquire; +and as I am always afraid of going too far, I am generally, I dare say, +considered formal and cold.’</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t wonder if you were,’ replied Parsons, +gravely; ‘I shouldn’t wonder. However, you’ll +be all right in this case; for the strictness and delicacy of this lady’s +ideas greatly exceed your own. Lord bless you, why, when she came +to our house, there was an old portrait of some man or other, with two +large, black, staring eyes, hanging up in her bedroom; she positively +refused to go to bed there, till it was taken down, considering it decidedly +wrong.’</p> +<p>‘I think so, too,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle; ‘certainly.’</p> +<p>‘And then, the other night—I never laughed so much in +my life’—resumed Mr. Gabriel Parsons; ‘I had driven +home in an easterly wind, and caught a devil of a face-ache. Well; +as Fanny—that’s Mrs. Parsons, you know—and this friend +of hers, and I, and Frank Ross, were playing a rubber, I said, jokingly, +that when I went to bed I should wrap my head in Fanny’s flannel +petticoat. She instantly threw up her cards, and left the room.’</p> +<p>‘Quite right!’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle; ‘she could +not possibly have behaved in a more dignified manner. What did +you do?’</p> +<p>‘Do?—Frank took dummy; and I won sixpence.’</p> +<p>‘But, didn’t you apologise for hurting her feelings?’</p> +<p>‘Devil a bit. Next morning at breakfast, we talked it +over. She contended that any reference to a flannel petticoat +was improper;—men ought not to be supposed to know that such things +were. I pleaded my coverture; being a married man.’</p> +<p>‘And what did the lady say to that?’ inquired Tottle, +deeply interested.</p> +<p>‘Changed her ground, and said that Frank being a single man, +its impropriety was obvious.’</p> +<p>‘Noble-minded creature!’ exclaimed the enraptured Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Oh! both Fanny and I said, at once, that she was regularly +cut out for you.’</p> +<p>A gleam of placid satisfaction shone on the circular face of Mr. +Watkins Tottle, as he heard the prophecy.</p> +<p>‘There’s one thing I can’t understand,’ said +Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he rose to depart; ‘I cannot, for the +life and soul of me, imagine how the deuce you’ll ever contrive +to come together. The lady would certainly go into convulsions +if the subject were mentioned.’ Mr. Gabriel Parsons sat +down again, and laughed until he was weak. Tottle owed him money, +so he had a perfect right to laugh at Tottle’s expense.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle feared, in his own mind, that this was another +characteristic which he had in common with this modern Lucretia. +He, however, accepted the invitation to dine with the Parsonses on the +next day but one, with great firmness: and looked forward to the introduction, +when again left alone, with tolerable composure.</p> +<p>The sun that rose on the next day but one, had never beheld a sprucer +personage on the outside of the Norwood stage, than Mr. Watkins Tottle; +and when the coach drew up before a cardboard-looking house with disguised +chimneys, and a lawn like a large sheet of green letter-paper, he certainly +had never lighted to his place of destination a gentleman who felt more +uncomfortable.</p> +<p>The coach stopped, and Mr. Watkins Tottle jumped—we beg his +pardon—alighted, with great dignity. ‘All right!’ +said he, and away went the coach up the hill with that beautiful equanimity +of pace for which ‘short’ stages are generally remarkable.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle gave a faltering jerk to the handle of the garden-gate +bell. He essayed a more energetic tug, and his previous nervousness +was not at all diminished by hearing the bell ringing like a fire alarum.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Parsons at home?’ inquired Tottle of the man +who opened the gate. He could hardly hear himself speak, for the +bell had not yet done tolling.</p> +<p>‘Here I am,’ shouted a voice on the lawn,—and there +was Mr. Gabriel Parsons in a flannel jacket, running backwards and forwards, +from a wicket to two hats piled on each other, and from the two hats +to the wicket, in the most violent manner, while another gentleman with +his coat off was getting down the area of the house, after a ball. +When the gentleman without the coat had found it—which he did +in less than ten minutes—he ran back to the hats, and Gabriel +Parsons pulled up. Then, the gentleman without the coat called +out ‘play,’ very loudly, and bowled. Then Mr. Gabriel +Parsons knocked the ball several yards, and took another run. +Then, the other gentleman aimed at the wicket, and didn’t hit +it; and Mr. Gabriel Parsons, having finished running on his own account, +laid down the bat and ran after the ball, which went into a neighbouring +field. They called this cricket.</p> +<p>‘Tottle, will you “go in?”’ inquired Mr. +Gabriel Parsons, as he approached him, wiping the perspiration off his +face.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle declined the offer, the bare idea of accepting +which made him even warmer than his friend.</p> +<p>‘Then we’ll go into the house, as it’s past four, +and I shall have to wash my hands before dinner,’ said Mr. Gabriel +Parsons. ‘Here, I hate ceremony, you know! Timson, +that’s Tottle—Tottle, that’s Timson; bred for the +church, which I fear will never be bread for him;’ and he chuckled +at the old joke. Mr. Timson bowed carelessly. Mr. Watkins +Tottle bowed stiffly. Mr. Gabriel Parsons led the way to the house. +He was a rich sugar-baker, who mistook rudeness for honesty, and abrupt +bluntness for an open and candid manner; many besides Gabriel mistake +bluntness for sincerity.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gabriel Parsons received the visitors most graciously on the +steps, and preceded them to the drawing-room. On the sofa, was +seated a lady of very prim appearance, and remarkably inanimate. +She was one of those persons at whose age it is impossible to make any +reasonable guess; her features might have been remarkably pretty when +she was younger, and they might always have presented the same appearance. +Her complexion—with a slight trace of powder here and there—was +as clear as that of a well-made wax doll, and her face as expressive. +She was handsomely dressed, and was winding up a gold watch.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton, my dear, this is our friend Mr. Watkins Tottle; +a very old acquaintance I assure you,’ said Mrs. Parsons, presenting +the Strephon of Cecil-street, Strand. The lady rose, and made +a deep courtesy; Mr. Watkins Tottle made a bow.</p> +<p>‘Splendid, majestic creature!’ thought Tottle.</p> +<p>Mr. Timson advanced, and Mr. Watkins Tottle began to hate him. +Men generally discover a rival, instinctively, and Mr. Watkins Tottle +felt that his hate was deserved.</p> +<p>‘May I beg,’ said the reverend gentleman,—‘May +I beg to call upon you, Miss Lillerton, for some trifling donation to +my soup, coals, and blanket distribution society?’</p> +<p>‘Put my name down, for two sovereigns, if you please,’ +responded Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘You are truly charitable, madam,’ said the Reverend +Mr. Timson, ‘and we know that charity will cover a multitude of +sins. Let me beg you to understand that I do not say this from +the supposition that you have many sins which require palliation; believe +me when I say that I never yet met any one who had fewer to atone for, +than Miss Lillerton.’</p> +<p>Something like a bad imitation of animation lighted up the lady’s +face, as she acknowledged the compliment. Watkins Tottle incurred +the sin of wishing that the ashes of the Reverend Charles Timson were +quietly deposited in the churchyard of his curacy, wherever it might +be.</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you what,’ interrupted Parsons, who +had just appeared with clean hands, and a black coat, ‘it’s +my private opinion, Timson, that your “distribution society” +is rather a humbug.’</p> +<p>‘You are so severe,’ replied Timson, with a Christian +smile: he disliked Parsons, but liked his dinners.</p> +<p>‘So positively unjust!’ said Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ observed Tottle. The lady looked up; +her eyes met those of Mr. Watkins Tottle. She withdrew them in +a sweet confusion, and Watkins Tottle did the same—the confusion +was mutual.</p> +<p>‘Why,’ urged Mr. Parsons, pursuing his objections, ‘what +on earth is the use of giving a man coals who has nothing to cook, or +giving him blankets when he hasn’t a bed, or giving him soup when +he requires substantial food?—“like sending them ruffles +when wanting a shirt.” Why not give ’em a trifle of +money, as I do, when I think they deserve it, and let them purchase +what they think best? Why?—because your subscribers wouldn’t +see their names flourishing in print on the church-door—that’s +the reason.’</p> +<p>‘Really, Mr. Parsons, I hope you don’t mean to insinuate +that I wish to see <i>my</i> name in print, on the church-door,’ +interrupted Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘I hope not,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle, putting in another +word, and getting another glance.</p> +<p>‘Certainly not,’ replied Parsons. ‘I dare +say you wouldn’t mind seeing it in writing, though, in the church +register—eh?’</p> +<p>‘Register! What register?’ inquired the lady gravely.</p> +<p>‘Why, the register of marriages, to be sure,’ replied +Parsons, chuckling at the sally, and glancing at Tottle. Mr. Watkins +Tottle thought he should have fainted for shame, and it is quite impossible +to imagine what effect the joke would have had upon the lady, if dinner +had not been, at that moment, announced. Mr. Watkins Tottle, with +an unprecedented effort of gallantry, offered the tip of his little +finger; Miss Lillerton accepted it gracefully, with maiden modesty; +and they proceeded in due state to the dinner-table, where they were +soon deposited side by side. The room was very snug, the dinner +very good, and the little party in spirits. The conversation became +pretty general, and when Mr. Watkins Tottle had extracted one or two +cold observations from his neighbour, and had taken wine with her, he +began to acquire confidence rapidly. The cloth was removed; Mrs. +Gabriel Parsons drank four glasses of port on the plea of being a nurse +just then; and Miss Lillerton took about the same number of sips, on +the plea of not wanting any at all. At length, the ladies retired, +to the great gratification of Mr. Gabriel Parsons, who had been coughing +and frowning at his wife, for half-an-hour previously—signals +which Mrs. Parsons never happened to observe, until she had been pressed +to take her ordinary quantum, which, to avoid giving trouble, she generally +did at once.</p> +<p>‘What do you think of her?’ inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons +of Mr. Watkins Tottle, in an under-tone.</p> +<p>‘I dote on her with enthusiasm already!’ replied Mr. +Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Gentlemen, pray let us drink “the ladies,”’ +said the Reverend Mr. Timson.</p> +<p>‘The ladies!’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle, emptying his glass. +In the fulness of his confidence, he felt as if he could make love to +a dozen ladies, off-hand.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘I remember when +I was a young man—fill your glass, Timson.’</p> +<p>‘I have this moment emptied it.’</p> +<p>‘Then fill again.’</p> +<p>‘I will,’ said Timson, suiting the action to the word.</p> +<p>‘I remember,’ resumed Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘when +I was a younger man, with what a strange compound of feelings I used +to drink that toast, and how I used to think every woman was an angel.’</p> +<p>‘Was that before you were married?’ mildly inquired Mr. +Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Oh! certainly,’ replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons. ‘I +have never thought so since; and a precious milksop I must have been, +ever to have thought so at all. But, you know, I married Fanny +under the oddest, and most ridiculous circumstances possible.’</p> +<p>‘What were they, if one may inquire?’ asked Timson, who +had heard the story, on an average, twice a week for the last six months. +Mr. Watkins Tottle listened attentively, in the hope of picking up some +suggestion that might be useful to him in his new undertaking.</p> +<p>‘I spent my wedding-night in a back-kitchen chimney,’ +said Parsons, by way of a beginning.</p> +<p>‘In a back-kitchen chimney!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle. +‘How dreadful!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it wasn’t very pleasant,’ replied the small +host. ‘The fact is, Fanny’s father and mother liked +me well enough as an individual, but had a decided objection to my becoming +a husband. You see, I hadn’t any money in those days, and +they had; and so they wanted Fanny to pick up somebody else. However, +we managed to discover the state of each other’s affections somehow. +I used to meet her, at some mutual friends’ parties; at first +we danced together, and talked, and flirted, and all that sort of thing; +then, I used to like nothing so well as sitting by her side—we +didn’t talk so much then, but I remember I used to have a great +notion of looking at her out of the extreme corner of my left eye—and +then I got very miserable and sentimental, and began to write verses, +and use Macassar oil. At last I couldn’t bear it any longer, +and after I had walked up and down the sunny side of Oxford-street in +tight boots for a week—and a devilish hot summer it was too—in +the hope of meeting her, I sat down and wrote a letter, and begged her +to manage to see me clandestinely, for I wanted to hear her decision +from her own mouth. I said I had discovered, to my perfect satisfaction, +that I couldn’t live without her, and that if she didn’t +have me, I had made up my mind to take prussic acid, or take to drinking, +or emigrate, so as to take myself off in some way or other. Well, +I borrowed a pound, and bribed the housemaid to give her the note, which +she did.’</p> +<p>‘And what was the reply?’ inquired Timson, who had found, +before, that to encourage the repetition of old stories is to get a +general invitation.</p> +<p>‘Oh, the usual one! Fanny expressed herself very miserable; +hinted at the possibility of an early grave; said that nothing should +induce her to swerve from the duty she owed her parents; implored me +to forget her, and find out somebody more deserving, and all that sort +of thing. She said she could, on no account, think of meeting +me unknown to her pa and ma; and entreated me, as she should be in a +particular part of Kensington Gardens at eleven o’clock next morning, +not to attempt to meet her there.’</p> +<p>‘You didn’t go, of course?’ said Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Didn’t I?—Of course I did. There she was, +with the identical housemaid in perspective, in order that there might +be no interruption. We walked about, for a couple of hours; made +ourselves delightfully miserable; and were regularly engaged. +Then, we began to “correspond”—that is to say, we +used to exchange about four letters a day; what we used to say in ’em +I can’t imagine. And I used to have an interview, in the +kitchen, or the cellar, or some such place, every evening. Well, +things went on in this way for some time; and we got fonder of each +other every day. At last, as our love was raised to such a pitch, +and as my salary had been raised too, shortly before, we determined +on a secret marriage. Fanny arranged to sleep at a friend’s, +on the previous night; we were to be married early in the morning; and +then we were to return to her home and be pathetic. She was to +fall at the old gentleman’s feet, and bathe his boots with her +tears; and I was to hug the old lady and call her “mother,” +and use my pocket-handkerchief as much as possible. Married we +were, the next morning; two girls-friends of Fanny’s—acting +as bridesmaids; and a man, who was hired for five shillings and a pint +of porter, officiating as father. Now, the old lady unfortunately +put off her return from Ramsgate, where she had been paying a visit, +until the next morning; and as we placed great reliance on her, we agreed +to postpone our confession for four-and-twenty hours. My newly-made +wife returned home, and I spent my wedding-day in strolling about Hampstead-heath, +and execrating my father-in-law. Of course, I went to comfort +my dear little wife at night, as much as I could, with the assurance +that our troubles would soon be over. I opened the garden-gate, +of which I had a key, and was shown by the servant to our old place +of meeting—a back kitchen, with a stone-floor and a dresser: upon +which, in the absence of chairs, we used to sit and make love.’</p> +<p>‘Make love upon a kitchen-dresser!’ interrupted Mr. Watkins +Tottle, whose ideas of decorum were greatly outraged.</p> +<p>‘Ah! On a kitchen-dresser!’ replied Parsons. +‘And let me tell you, old fellow, that, if you were really over +head-and-ears in love, and had no other place to make love in, you’d +be devilish glad to avail yourself of such an opportunity. However, +let me see;—where was I?’</p> +<p>‘On the dresser,’ suggested Timson.</p> +<p>‘Oh—ah! Well, here I found poor Fanny, quite disconsolate +and uncomfortable. The old boy had been very cross all day, which +made her feel still more lonely; and she was quite out of spirits. +So, I put a good face on the matter, and laughed it off, and said we +should enjoy the pleasures of a matrimonial life more by contrast; and, +at length, poor Fanny brightened up a little. I stopped there, +till about eleven o’clock, and, just as I was taking my leave +for the fourteenth time, the girl came running down the stairs, without +her shoes, in a great fright, to tell us that the old villain—Heaven +forgive me for calling him so, for he is dead and gone now!—prompted +I suppose by the prince of darkness, was coming down, to draw his own +beer for supper—a thing he had not done before, for six months, +to my certain knowledge; for the cask stood in that very back kitchen. +If he discovered me there, explanation would have been out of the question; +for he was so outrageously violent, when at all excited, that he never +would have listened to me. There was only one thing to be done. +The chimney was a very wide one; it had been originally built for an +oven; went up perpendicularly for a few feet, and then shot backward +and formed a sort of small cavern. My hopes and fortune—the +means of our joint existence almost—were at stake. I scrambled +in like a squirrel; coiled myself up in this recess; and, as Fanny and +the girl replaced the deal chimney-board, I could see the light of the +candle which my unconscious father-in-law carried in his hand. +I heard him draw the beer; and I never heard beer run so slowly. +He was just leaving the kitchen, and I was preparing to descend, when +down came the infernal chimney-board with a tremendous crash. +He stopped and put down the candle and the jug of beer on the dresser; +he was a nervous old fellow, and any unexpected noise annoyed him. +He coolly observed that the fire-place was never used, and sending the +frightened servant into the next kitchen for a hammer and nails, actually +nailed up the board, and locked the door on the outside. So, there +was I, on my wedding-night, in the light kerseymere trousers, fancy +waistcoat, and blue coat, that I had been married in in the morning, +in a back-kitchen chimney, the bottom of which was nailed up, and the +top of which had been formerly raised some fifteen feet, to prevent +the smoke from annoying the neighbours. And there,’ added +Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he passed the bottle, ‘there I remained +till half-past seven the next morning, when the housemaid’s sweetheart, +who was a carpenter, unshelled me. The old dog had nailed me up +so securely, that, to this very hour, I firmly believe that no one but +a carpenter could ever have got me out.’</p> +<p>‘And what did Mrs. Parsons’s father say, when he found +you were married?’ inquired Watkins Tottle, who, although he never +saw a joke, was not satisfied until he heard a story to the very end.</p> +<p>‘Why, the affair of the chimney so tickled his fancy, that +he pardoned us off-hand, and allowed us something to live on till he +went the way of all flesh. I spent the next night in his second-floor +front, much more comfortably than I had spent the preceding one; for, +as you will probably guess—’</p> +<p>‘Please, sir, missis has made tea,’ said a middle-aged +female servant, bobbing into the room.</p> +<p>‘That’s the very housemaid that figures in my story,’ +said Mr. Gabriel Parsons. ‘She went into Fanny’s service +when we were first married, and has been with us ever since; but I don’t +think she has felt one atom of respect for me since the morning she +saw me released, when she went into violent hysterics, to which she +has been subject ever since. Now, shall we join the ladies?’</p> +<p>‘If you please,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘By all means,’ added the obsequious Mr. Timson; and +the trio made for the drawing-room accordingly.</p> +<p>Tea being concluded, and the toast and cups having been duly handed, +and occasionally upset, by Mr. Watkins Tottle, a rubber was proposed. +They cut for partners—Mr. and Mrs. Parsons; and Mr. Watkins Tottle +and Miss Lillerton. Mr. Timson having conscientious scruples on +the subject of card-playing, drank brandy-and-water, and kept up a running +spar with Mr. Watkins Tottle. The evening went off well; Mr. Watkins +Tottle was in high spirits, having some reason to be gratified with +his reception by Miss Lillerton; and before he left, a small party was +made up to visit the Beulah Spa on the following Saturday.</p> +<p>‘It’s all right, I think,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons +to Mr. Watkins Tottle as he opened the garden gate for him.</p> +<p>‘I hope so,’ he replied, squeezing his friend’s +hand.</p> +<p>‘You’ll be down by the first coach on Saturday,’ +said Mr. Gabriel Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Watkins Tottle. ‘Undoubtedly.’</p> +<p>But fortune had decreed that Mr. Watkins Tottle should not be down +by the first coach on Saturday. His adventures on that day, however, +and the success of his wooing, are subjects for another chapter.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>CHAPTER THE SECOND</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘The first coach has not come in yet, has it, Tom?’ inquired +Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he very complacently paced up and down the fourteen +feet of gravel which bordered the ‘lawn,’ on the Saturday +morning which had been fixed upon for the Beulah Spa jaunt.</p> +<p>‘No, sir; I haven’t seen it,’ replied a gardener +in a blue apron, who let himself out to do the ornamental for half-a-crown +a day and his ‘keep.’</p> +<p>‘Time Tottle was down,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ruminating—‘Oh, +here he is, no doubt,’ added Gabriel, as a cab drove rapidly up +the hill; and he buttoned his dressing-gown, and opened the gate to +receive the expected visitor. The cab stopped, and out jumped +a man in a coarse Petersham great-coat, whity-brown neckerchief, faded +black suit, gamboge-coloured top-boots, and one of those large-crowned +hats, formerly seldom met with, but now very generally patronised by +gentlemen and costermongers.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Parsons?’ said the man, looking at the superscription +of a note he held in his hand, and addressing Gabriel with an inquiring +air.</p> +<p>‘<i>My</i> name is Parsons,’ responded the sugar-baker.</p> +<p>‘I’ve brought this here note,’ replied the individual +in the painted tops, in a hoarse whisper: ‘I’ve brought +this here note from a gen’lm’n as come to our house this +mornin’.’</p> +<p>‘I expected the gentleman at my house,’ said Parsons, +as he broke the seal, which bore the impression of her Majesty’s +profile as it is seen on a sixpence.</p> +<p>‘I’ve no doubt the gen’lm’n would ha’ +been here, replied the stranger, ‘if he hadn’t happened +to call at our house first; but we never trusts no gen’lm’n +furder nor we can see him—no mistake about that there’—added +the unknown, with a facetious grin; ‘beg your pardon, sir, no +offence meant, only—once in, and I wish you may—catch the +idea, sir?’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons was not remarkable for catching anything suddenly, +but a cold. He therefore only bestowed a glance of profound astonishment +on his mysterious companion, and proceeded to unfold the note of which +he had been the bearer. Once opened and the idea was caught with +very little difficulty. Mr. Watkins Tottle had been suddenly arrested +for 33<i>l</i>. 10<i>s</i>. 4<i>d</i>., and dated his communication +from a lock-up house in the vicinity of Chancery-lane.</p> +<p>‘Unfortunate affair this!’ said Parsons, refolding the +note.</p> +<p>‘Oh! nothin’ ven you’re used to it,’ coolly +observed the man in the Petersham.</p> +<p>‘Tom!’ exclaimed Parsons, after a few minutes’ +consideration, ‘just put the horse in, will you?—Tell the +gentleman that I shall be there almost as soon as you are,’ he +continued, addressing the sheriff-officer’s Mercury.</p> +<p>‘Werry well,’ replied that important functionary; adding, +in a confidential manner, ‘I’d adwise the gen’lm’n’s +friends to settle. You see it’s a mere trifle; and, unless +the gen’lm’n means to go up afore the court, it’s +hardly worth while waiting for detainers, you know. Our governor’s +wide awake, he is. I’ll never say nothin’ agin him, +nor no man; but he knows what’s o’clock, he does, uncommon.’ +Having delivered this eloquent, and, to Parsons, particularly intelligible +harangue, the meaning of which was eked out by divers nods and winks, +the gentleman in the boots reseated himself in the cab, which went rapidly +off, and was soon out of sight. Mr. Gabriel Parsons continued +to pace up and down the pathway for some minutes, apparently absorbed +in deep meditation. The result of his cogitations seemed to be +perfectly satisfactory to himself, for he ran briskly into the house; +said that business had suddenly summoned him to town; that he had desired +the messenger to inform Mr. Watkins Tottle of the fact; and that they +would return together to dinner. He then hastily equipped himself +for a drive, and mounting his gig, was soon on his way to the establishment +of Mr. Solomon Jacobs, situate (as Mr. Watkins Tottle had informed him) +in Cursitor-street, Chancery-lane.</p> +<p>When a man is in a violent hurry to get on, and has a specific object +in view, the attainment of which depends on the completion of his journey, +the difficulties which interpose themselves in his way appear not only +to be innumerable, but to have been called into existence especially +for the occasion. The remark is by no means a new one, and Mr. +Gabriel Parsons had practical and painful experience of its justice +in the course of his drive. There are three classes of animated +objects which prevent your driving with any degree of comfort or celerity +through streets which are but little frequented—they are pigs, +children, and old women. On the occasion we are describing, the +pigs were luxuriating on cabbage-stalks, and the shuttlecocks fluttered +from the little deal battledores, and the children played in the road; +and women, with a basket in one hand, and the street-door key in the +other, <i>would</i> cross just before the horse’s head, until +Mr. Gabriel Parsons was perfectly savage with vexation, and quite hoarse +with hoi-ing and imprecating. Then, when he got into Fleet-street, +there was ‘a stoppage,’ in which people in vehicles have +the satisfaction of remaining stationary for half an hour, and envying +the slowest pedestrians; and where policemen rush about, and seize hold +of horses’ bridles, and back them into shop-windows, by way of +clearing the road and preventing confusion. At length Mr. Gabriel +Parsons turned into Chancery-lane, and having inquired for, and been +directed to Cursitor-street (for it was a locality of which he was quite +ignorant), he soon found himself opposite the house of Mr. Solomon Jacobs. +Confiding his horse and gig to the care of one of the fourteen boys +who had followed him from the other side of Blackfriars-bridge on the +chance of his requiring their services, Mr. Gabriel Parsons crossed +the road and knocked at an inner door, the upper part of which was of +glass, grated like the windows of this inviting mansion with iron bars—painted +white to look comfortable.</p> +<p>The knock was answered by a sallow-faced, red-haired, sulky boy, +who, after surveying Mr. Gabriel Parsons through the glass, applied +a large key to an immense wooden excrescence, which was in reality a +lock, but which, taken in conjunction with the iron nails with which +the panels were studded, gave the door the appearance of being subject +to warts.</p> +<p>‘I want to see Mr. Watkins Tottle,’ said Parsons.</p> +<p>‘It’s the gentleman that come in this morning, Jem,’ +screamed a voice from the top of the kitchen-stairs, which belonged +to a dirty woman who had just brought her chin to a level with the passage-floor. +‘The gentleman’s in the coffee-room.’</p> +<p>‘Up-stairs, sir,’ said the boy, just opening the door +wide enough to let Parsons in without squeezing him, and double-locking +it the moment he had made his way through the aperture—‘First +floor—door on the left.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons thus instructed, ascended the uncarpeted and +ill-lighted staircase, and after giving several subdued taps at the +before-mentioned ‘door on the left,’ which were rendered +inaudible by the hum of voices within the room, and the hissing noise +attendant on some frying operations which were carrying on below stairs, +turned the handle, and entered the apartment. Being informed that +the unfortunate object of his visit had just gone up-stairs to write +a letter, he had leisure to sit down and observe the scene before him.</p> +<p>The room—which was a small, confined den—was partitioned +off into boxes, like the common-room of some inferior eating-house. +The dirty floor had evidently been as long a stranger to the scrubbing-brush +as to carpet or floor-cloth: and the ceiling was completely blackened +by the flare of the oil-lamp by which the room was lighted at night. +The gray ashes on the edges of the tables, and the cigar ends which +were plentifully scattered about the dusty grate, fully accounted for +the intolerable smell of tobacco which pervaded the place; and the empty +glasses and half-saturated slices of lemon on the tables, together with +the porter pots beneath them, bore testimony to the frequent libations +in which the individuals who honoured Mr. Solomon Jacobs by a temporary +residence in his house indulged. Over the mantel-shelf was a paltry +looking-glass, extending about half the width of the chimney-piece; +but by way of counterpoise, the ashes were confined by a rusty fender +about twice as long as the hearth.</p> +<p>From this cheerful room itself, the attention of Mr. Gabriel Parsons +was naturally directed to its inmates. In one of the boxes two +men were playing at cribbage with a very dirty pack of cards, some with +blue, some with green, and some with red backs—selections from +decayed packs. The cribbage board had been long ago formed on +the table by some ingenious visitor with the assistance of a pocket-knife +and a two-pronged fork, with which the necessary number of holes had +been made in the table at proper distances for the reception of the +wooden pegs. In another box a stout, hearty-looking man, of about +forty, was eating some dinner which his wife—an equally comfortable-looking +personage—had brought him in a basket: and in a third, a genteel-looking +young man was talking earnestly, and in a low tone, to a young female, +whose face was concealed by a thick veil, but whom Mr. Gabriel Parsons +immediately set down in his own mind as the debtor’s wife. +A young fellow of vulgar manners, dressed in the very extreme of the +prevailing fashion, was pacing up and down the room, with a lighted +cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, ever and anon puffing +forth volumes of smoke, and occasionally applying, with much apparent +relish, to a pint pot, the contents of which were ‘chilling’ +on the hob.</p> +<p>‘Fourpence more, by gum!’ exclaimed one of the cribbage-players, +lighting a pipe, and addressing his adversary at the close of the game; +‘one ’ud think you’d got luck in a pepper-cruet, and +shook it out when you wanted it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, that a’n’t a bad un,’ replied the +other, who was a horse-dealer from Islington.</p> +<p>‘No; I’m blessed if it is,’ interposed the jolly-looking +fellow, who, having finished his dinner, was drinking out of the same +glass as his wife, in truly conjugal harmony, some hot gin-and-water. +The faithful partner of his cares had brought a plentiful supply of +the anti-temperance fluid in a large flat stone bottle, which looked +like a half-gallon jar that had been successfully tapped for the dropsy. +‘You’re a rum chap, you are, Mr. Walker—will you dip +your beak into this, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Thank’ee, sir,’ replied Mr. Walker, leaving his +box, and advancing to the other to accept the proffered glass. +‘Here’s your health, sir, and your good ’ooman’s +here. Gentlemen all—yours, and better luck still. +Well, Mr. Willis,’ continued the facetious prisoner, addressing +the young man with the cigar, ‘you seem rather down to-day—floored, +as one may say. What’s the matter, sir? Never say +die, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! I’m all right,’ replied the smoker. +‘I shall be bailed out to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘Shall you, though?’ inquired the other. ‘Damme, +I wish I could say the same. I am as regularly over head and ears +as the Royal George, and stand about as much chance of being <i>bailed +out</i>. Ha! ha! ha!’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ said the young man, stopping short, and speaking +in a very loud key, ‘look at me. What d’ye think I’ve +stopped here two days for?’</p> +<p>‘’Cause you couldn’t get out, I suppose,’ +interrupted Mr. Walker, winking to the company. ‘Not that +you’re exactly obliged to stop here, only you can’t help +it. No compulsion, you know, only you must—eh?’</p> +<p>‘A’n’t he a rum un?’ inquired the delighted +individual, who had offered the gin-and-water, of his wife.</p> +<p>‘Oh, he just is!’ replied the lady, who was quite overcome +by these flashes of imagination.</p> +<p>‘Why, my case,’ frowned the victim, throwing the end +of his cigar into the fire, and illustrating his argument by knocking +the bottom of the pot on the table, at intervals,—‘my case +is a very singular one. My father’s a man of large property, +and I am his son.’</p> +<p>‘That’s a very strange circumstance!’ interrupted +the jocose Mr. Walker, <i>en passant.</i></p> +<p>‘—I am his son, and have received a liberal education. +I don’t owe no man nothing—not the value of a farthing, +but I was induced, you see, to put my name to some bills for a friend—bills +to a large amount, I may say a very large amount, for which I didn’t +receive no consideration. What’s the consequence?’</p> +<p>‘Why, I suppose the bills went out, and you came in. +The acceptances weren’t taken up, and you were, eh?’ inquired +Walker.</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ replied the liberally educated young gentleman. +‘To be sure; and so here I am, locked up for a matter of twelve +hundred pound.’</p> +<p>‘Why don’t you ask your old governor to stump up?’ +inquired Walker, with a somewhat sceptical air.</p> +<p>‘Oh! bless you, he’d never do it,’ replied the +other, in a tone of expostulation—‘Never!’</p> +<p>‘Well, it is very odd to—be—sure,’ interposed +the owner of the flat bottle, mixing another glass, ‘but I’ve +been in difficulties, as one may say, now for thirty year. I went +to pieces when I was in a milk-walk, thirty year ago; arterwards, when +I was a fruiterer, and kept a spring wan; and arter that again in the +coal and ’tatur line—but all that time I never see a youngish +chap come into a place of this kind, who wasn’t going out again +directly, and who hadn’t been arrested on bills which he’d +given a friend and for which he’d received nothing whatsomever—not +a fraction.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! it’s always the cry,’ said Walker. ‘I +can’t see the use on it; that’s what makes me so wild. +Why, I should have a much better opinion of an individual, if he’d +say at once in an honourable and gentlemanly manner as he’d done +everybody he possibly could.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, to be sure,’ interposed the horse-dealer, with whose +notions of bargain and sale the axiom perfectly coincided, ‘so +should I.’ The young gentleman, who had given rise to these +observations, was on the point of offering a rather angry reply to these +sneers, but the rising of the young man before noticed, and of the female +who had been sitting by him, to leave the room, interrupted the conversation. +She had been weeping bitterly, and the noxious atmosphere of the room +acting upon her excited feelings and delicate frame, rendered the support +of her companion necessary as they quitted it together.</p> +<p>There was an air of superiority about them both, and something in +their appearance so unusual in such a place, that a respectful silence +was observed until the <i>whirr—r—bang</i> of the spring +door announced that they were out of hearing. It was broken by +the wife of the ex-fruiterer.</p> +<p>‘Poor creetur!’ said she, quenching a sigh in a rivulet +of gin-and-water. ‘She’s very young.’</p> +<p>‘She’s a nice-looking ’ooman too,’ added +the horse-dealer.</p> +<p>‘What’s he in for, Ikey?’ inquired Walker, of an +individual who was spreading a cloth with numerous blotches of mustard +upon it, on one of the tables, and whom Mr. Gabriel Parsons had no difficulty +in recognising as the man who had called upon him in the morning.</p> +<p>‘Vy,’ responded the factotum, ‘it’s one of +the rummiest rigs you ever heard on. He come in here last Vensday, +which by-the-bye he’s a-going over the water to-night—hows’ever +that’s neither here nor there. You see I’ve been a +going back’ards and for’ards about his business, and ha’ +managed to pick up some of his story from the servants and them; and +so far as I can make it out, it seems to be summat to this here effect—’</p> +<p>‘Cut it short, old fellow,’ interrupted Walker, who knew +from former experience that he of the top-boots was neither very concise +nor intelligible in his narratives.</p> +<p>‘Let me alone,’ replied Ikey, ‘and I’ll ha’ +wound up, and made my lucky in five seconds. This here young gen’lm’n’s +father—so I’m told, mind ye—and the father o’ +the young voman, have always been on very bad, out-and-out, rig’lar +knock-me-down sort o’ terms; but somehow or another, when he was +a wisitin’ at some gentlefolk’s house, as he knowed at college, +he came into contract with the young lady. He seed her several +times, and then he up and said he’d keep company with her, if +so be as she vos agreeable. Vell, she vos as sweet upon him as +he vos upon her, and so I s’pose they made it all right; for they +got married ’bout six months arterwards, unbeknown, mind ye, to +the two fathers—leastways so I’m told. When they heard +on it—my eyes, there was such a combustion! Starvation vos +the very least that vos to be done to ’em. The young gen’lm’n’s +father cut him off vith a bob, ’cos he’d cut himself off +vith a wife; and the young lady’s father he behaved even worser +and more unnat’ral, for he not only blow’d her up dreadful, +and swore he’d never see her again, but he employed a chap as +I knows—and as you knows, Mr. Valker, a precious sight too well—to +go about and buy up the bills and them things on which the young husband, +thinking his governor ’ud come round agin, had raised the vind +just to blow himself on vith for a time; besides vich, he made all the +interest he could to set other people agin him. Consequence vos, +that he paid as long as he could; but things he never expected to have +to meet till he’d had time to turn himself round, come fast upon +him, and he vos nabbed. He vos brought here, as I said afore, +last Vensday, and I think there’s about—ah, half-a-dozen +detainers agin him down-stairs now. I have been,’ added +Ikey, ‘in the purfession these fifteen year, and I never met vith +such windictiveness afore!’</p> +<p>‘Poor creeturs!’ exclaimed the coal-dealer’s wife +once more: again resorting to the same excellent prescription for nipping +a sigh in the bud. ‘Ah! when they’ve seen as much +trouble as I and my old man here have, they’ll be as comfortable +under it as we are.’</p> +<p>‘The young lady’s a pretty creature,’ said Walker, +‘only she’s a little too delicate for my taste—there +ain’t enough of her. As to the young cove, he may be very +respectable and what not, but he’s too down in the mouth for me—he +ain’t game.’</p> +<p>‘Game!’ exclaimed Ikey, who had been altering the position +of a green-handled knife and fork at least a dozen times, in order that +he might remain in the room under the pretext of having something to +do. ‘He’s game enough ven there’s anything to +be fierce about; but who could be game as you call it, Mr. Walker, with +a pale young creetur like that, hanging about him?—It’s +enough to drive any man’s heart into his boots to see ’em +together—and no mistake at all about it. I never shall forget +her first comin’ here; he wrote to her on the Thursday to come—I +know he did, ’cos I took the letter. Uncommon fidgety he +was all day to be sure, and in the evening he goes down into the office, +and he says to Jacobs, says he, “Sir, can I have the loan of a +private room for a few minutes this evening, without incurring any additional +expense—just to see my wife in?” says he. Jacobs looked +as much as to say—“Strike me bountiful if you ain’t +one of the modest sort!” but as the gen’lm’n who had +been in the back parlour had just gone out, and had paid for it for +that day, he says—werry grave—“Sir,” says he, +“it’s agin our rules to let private rooms to our lodgers +on gratis terms, but,” says he, “for a gentleman, I don’t +mind breaking through them for once.” So then he turns round +to me, and says, “Ikey, put two mould candles in the back parlour, +and charge ’em to this gen’lm’n’s account,” +vich I did. Vell, by-and-by a hackney-coach comes up to the door, +and there, sure enough, was the young lady, wrapped up in a hopera-cloak, +as it might be, and all alone. I opened the gate that night, so +I went up when the coach come, and he vos a waitin’ at the parlour +door—and wasn’t he a trembling, neither? The poor +creetur see him, and could hardly walk to meet him. “Oh, +Harry!” she says, “that it should have come to this; and +all for my sake,” says she, putting her hand upon his shoulder. +So he puts his arm round her pretty little waist, and leading her gently +a little way into the room, so that he might be able to shut the door, +he says, so kind and soft-like—“Why, Kate,” says he—’</p> +<p>‘Here’s the gentleman you want,’ said Ikey, abruptly +breaking off in his story, and introducing Mr. Gabriel Parsons to the +crest-fallen Watkins Tottle, who at that moment entered the room. +Watkins advanced with a wooden expression of passive endurance, and +accepted the hand which Mr. Gabriel Parsons held out.</p> +<p>‘I want to speak to you,’ said Gabriel, with a look strongly +expressive of his dislike of the company.</p> +<p>‘This way,’ replied the imprisoned one, leading the way +to the front drawing-room, where rich debtors did the luxurious at the +rate of a couple of guineas a day.</p> +<p>‘Well, here I am,’ said Mr. Watkins, as he sat down on +the sofa; and placing the palms of his hands on his knees, anxiously +glanced at his friend’s countenance.</p> +<p>‘Yes; and here you’re likely to be,’ said Gabriel, +coolly, as he rattled the money in his unmentionable pockets, and looked +out of the window.</p> +<p>‘What’s the amount with the costs?’ inquired Parsons, +after an awkward pause.</p> +<p>‘Have you any money?’</p> +<p>‘Nine and sixpence halfpenny.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons walked up and down the room for a few seconds, +before he could make up his mind to disclose the plan he had formed; +he was accustomed to drive hard bargains, but was always most anxious +to conceal his avarice. At length he stopped short, and said, +‘Tottle, you owe me fifty pounds.’</p> +<p>‘I do.’</p> +<p>‘And from all I see, I infer that you are likely to owe it +to me.’</p> +<p>‘I fear I am.’</p> +<p>‘Though you have every disposition to pay me if you could?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘listen: here’s +my proposition. You know my way of old. Accept it—yes +or no—I will or I won’t. I’ll pay the debt and +costs, and I’ll lend you 10<i>l</i>. more (which, added to your +annuity, will enable you to carry on the war well) if you’ll give +me your note of hand to pay me one hundred and fifty pounds within six +months after you are married to Miss Lillerton.’</p> +<p>‘My dear—’</p> +<p>‘Stop a minute—on one condition; and that is, that you +propose to Miss Lillerton at once.’</p> +<p>‘At once! My dear Parsons, consider.’</p> +<p>‘It’s for you to consider, not me. She knows you +well from reputation, though she did not know you personally until lately. +Notwithstanding all her maiden modesty, I think she’d be devilish +glad to get married out of hand with as little delay as possible. +My wife has sounded her on the subject, and she has confessed.’</p> +<p>‘What—what?’ eagerly interrupted the enamoured +Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Why,’ replied Parsons, ‘to say exactly what she +has confessed, would be rather difficult, because they only spoke in +hints, and so forth; but my wife, who is no bad judge in these cases, +declared to me that what she had confessed was as good as to say that +she was not insensible of your merits—in fact, that no other man +should have her.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle rose hastily from his seat, and rang the bell.</p> +<p>‘What’s that for?’ inquired Parsons.</p> +<p>‘I want to send the man for the bill stamp,’ replied +Mr. Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Then you’ve made up your mind?’</p> +<p>‘I have,’—and they shook hands most cordially. +The note of hand was given—the debt and costs were paid—Ikey +was satisfied for his trouble, and the two friends soon found themselves +on that side of Mr. Solomon Jacobs’s establishment, on which most +of his visitors were very happy when they found themselves once again—to +wit, the <i>out</i>side.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as they drove to Norwood +together—‘you shall have an opportunity to make the disclosure +to-night, and mind you speak out, Tottle.’</p> +<p>‘I will—I will!’ replied Watkins, valorously.</p> +<p>‘How I should like to see you together,’ ejaculated Mr. +Gabriel Parsons.—‘What fun!’ and he laughed so long +and so loudly, that he disconcerted Mr. Watkins Tottle, and frightened +the horse.</p> +<p>‘There’s Fanny and your intended walking about on the +lawn,’ said Gabriel, as they approached the house. ‘Mind +your eye, Tottle.’</p> +<p>‘Never fear,’ replied Watkins, resolutely, as he made +his way to the spot where the ladies were walking.</p> +<p>‘Here’s Mr. Tottle, my dear,’ said Mrs. Parsons, +addressing Miss Lillerton. The lady turned quickly round, and +acknowledged his courteous salute with the same sort of confusion that +Watkins had noticed on their first interview, but with something like +a slight expression of disappointment or carelessness.</p> +<p>‘Did you see how glad she was to see you?’ whispered +Parsons to his friend.</p> +<p>‘Why, I really thought she looked as if she would rather have +seen somebody else,’ replied Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Pooh, nonsense!’ whispered Parsons again—‘it’s +always the way with the women, young or old. They never show how +delighted they are to see those whose presence makes their hearts beat. +It’s the way with the whole sex, and no man should have lived +to your time of life without knowing it. Fanny confessed it to +me, when we were first married, over and over again—see what it +is to have a wife.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ whispered Tottle, whose courage was vanishing +fast.</p> +<p>‘Well, now, you’d better begin to pave the way,’ +said Parsons, who, having invested some money in the speculation, assumed +the office of director.</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, I will—presently,’ replied Tottle, greatly +flurried.</p> +<p>‘Say something to her, man,’ urged Parsons again. +‘Confound it! pay her a compliment, can’t you?’</p> +<p>‘No! not till after dinner,’ replied the bashful Tottle, +anxious to postpone the evil moment.</p> +<p>‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Mrs. Parsons, ‘you are +really very polite; you stay away the whole morning, after promising +to take us out, and when you do come home, you stand whispering together +and take no notice of us.’</p> +<p>‘We were talking of the <i>business</i>, my dear, which detained +us this morning,’ replied Parsons, looking significantly at Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Dear me! how very quickly the morning has gone,’ said +Miss Lillerton, referring to the gold watch, which was wound up on state +occasions, whether it required it or not.</p> +<p>‘I think it has passed very slowly,’ mildly suggested +Tottle.</p> +<p>(‘That’s right—bravo!’) whispered Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’ said Miss Lillerton, with an air of majestic +surprise.</p> +<p>‘I can only impute it to my unavoidable absence from your society, +madam,’ said Watkins, ‘and that of Mrs. Parsons.’</p> +<p>During this short dialogue, the ladies had been leading the way to +the house.</p> +<p>‘What the deuce did you stick Fanny into that last compliment +for?’ inquired Parsons, as they followed together; ‘it quite +spoilt the effect.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! it really would have been too broad without,’ replied +Watkins Tottle, ‘much too broad!’</p> +<p>‘He’s mad!’ Parsons whispered his wife, as they +entered the drawing-room, ‘mad from modesty.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ ejaculated the lady, ‘I never heard +of such a thing.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll find we have quite a family dinner, Mr. Tottle,’ +said Mrs. Parsons, when they sat down to table: ‘Miss Lillerton +is one of us, and, of course, we make no stranger of you.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle expressed a hope that the Parsons family never +would make a stranger of him; and wished internally that his bashfulness +would allow him to feel a little less like a stranger himself.</p> +<p>‘Take off the covers, Martha,’ said Mrs. Parsons, directing +the shifting of the scenery with great anxiety. The order was +obeyed, and a pair of boiled fowls, with tongue and et ceteras, were +displayed at the top, and a fillet of veal at the bottom. On one +side of the table two green sauce-tureens, with ladles of the same, +were setting to each other in a green dish; and on the other was a curried +rabbit, in a brown suit, turned up with lemon.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton, my dear,’ said Mrs. Parsons, ‘shall +I assist you?’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, no; I think I’ll trouble Mr. Tottle.’</p> +<p>Watkins started—trembled—helped the rabbit—and +broke a tumbler. The countenance of the lady of the house, which +had been all smiles previously, underwent an awful change.</p> +<p>‘Extremely sorry,’ stammered Watkins, assisting himself +to currie and parsley and butter, in the extremity of his confusion.</p> +<p>‘Not the least consequence,’ replied Mrs. Parsons, in +a tone which implied that it was of the greatest consequence possible,—directing +aside the researches of the boy, who was groping under the table for +the bits of broken glass.</p> +<p>‘I presume,’ said Miss Lillerton, ‘that Mr. Tottle +is aware of the interest which bachelors usually pay in such cases; +a dozen glasses for one is the lowest penalty.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons gave his friend an admonitory tread on the toe. +Here was a clear hint that the sooner he ceased to be a bachelor and +emancipated himself from such penalties, the better. Mr. Watkins +Tottle viewed the observation in the same light, and challenged Mrs. +Parsons to take wine, with a degree of presence of mind, which, under +all the circumstances, was really extraordinary.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton,’ said Gabriel, ‘may I have the +pleasure?’</p> +<p>‘I shall be most happy.’</p> +<p>‘Tottle, will you assist Miss Lillerton, and pass the decanter. +Thank you.’ (The usual pantomimic ceremony of nodding and +sipping gone through) -</p> +<p>‘Tottle, were you ever in Suffolk?’ inquired the master +of the house, who was burning to tell one of his seven stock stories.</p> +<p>‘No,’ responded Watkins, adding, by way of a saving clause, +‘but I’ve been in Devonshire.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ replied Gabriel, ‘it was in Suffolk that +a rather singular circumstance happened to me many years ago. +Did you ever happen to hear me mention it?’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle <i>had</i> happened to hear his friend mention +it some four hundred times. Of course he expressed great curiosity, +and evinced the utmost impatience to hear the story again. Mr. +Gabriel Parsons forthwith attempted to proceed, in spite of the interruptions +to which, as our readers must frequently have observed, the master of +the house is often exposed in such cases. We will attempt to give +them an idea of our meaning.</p> +<p>‘When I was in Suffolk—’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Take off the fowls first, Martha,’ said Mrs. Parsons. +‘I beg your pardon, my dear.’</p> +<p>‘When I was in Suffolk,’ resumed Mr. Parsons, with an +impatient glance at his wife, who pretended not to observe it, ‘which +is now years ago, business led me to the town of Bury St. Edmund’s. +I had to stop at the principal places in my way, and therefore, for +the sake of convenience, I travelled in a gig. I left Sudbury +one dark night—it was winter time—about nine o’clock; +the rain poured in torrents, the wind howled among the trees that skirted +the roadside, and I was obliged to proceed at a foot-pace, for I could +hardly see my hand before me, it was so dark—’</p> +<p>‘John,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, in a low, hollow voice, +‘don’t spill that gravy.’</p> +<p>‘Fanny,’ said Parsons impatiently, ‘I wish you’d +defer these domestic reproofs to some more suitable time. Really, +my dear, these constant interruptions are very annoying.’</p> +<p>‘My dear, I didn’t interrupt you,’ said Mrs. Parsons.</p> +<p>‘But, my dear, you <i>did</i> interrupt me,’ remonstrated +Mr. Parsons.</p> +<p>‘How very absurd you are, my love! I must give directions +to the servants; I am quite sure that if I sat here and allowed John +to spill the gravy over the new carpet, you’d be the first to +find fault when you saw the stain to-morrow morning.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ continued Gabriel with a resigned air, as if +he knew there was no getting over the point about the carpet, ‘I +was just saying, it was so dark that I could hardly see my hand before +me. The road was very lonely, and I assure you, Tottle (this was +a device to arrest the wandering attention of that individual, which +was distracted by a confidential communication between Mrs. Parsons +and Martha, accompanied by the delivery of a large bunch of keys), I +assure you, Tottle, I became somehow impressed with a sense of the loneliness +of my situation—’</p> +<p>‘Pie to your master,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, again +directing the servant.</p> +<p>‘Now, pray, my dear,’ remonstrated Parsons once more, +very pettishly. Mrs. P. turned up her hands and eyebrows, and +appealed in dumb show to Miss Lillerton. ‘As I turned a +corner of the road,’ resumed Gabriel, ‘the horse stopped +short, and reared tremendously. I pulled up, jumped out, ran to +his head, and found a man lying on his back in the middle of the road, +with his eyes fixed on the sky. I thought he was dead; but no, +he was alive, and there appeared to be nothing the matter with him. +He jumped up, and putting his hand to his chest, and fixing upon me +the most earnest gaze you can imagine, exclaimed—’</p> +<p>‘Pudding here,’ said Mrs. Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Oh! it’s no use,’ exclaimed the host, now rendered +desperate. ‘Here, Tottle; a glass of wine. It’s +useless to attempt relating anything when Mrs. Parsons is present.’</p> +<p>This attack was received in the usual way. Mrs. Parsons talked +<i>to</i> Miss Lillerton and <i>at</i> her better half; expatiated on +the impatience of men generally; hinted that her husband was peculiarly +vicious in this respect, and wound up by insinuating that she must be +one of the best tempers that ever existed, or she never could put up +with it. Really what she had to endure sometimes, was more than +any one who saw her in every-day life could by possibility suppose.—The +story was now a painful subject, and therefore Mr. Parsons declined +to enter into any details, and contented himself by stating that the +man was a maniac, who had escaped from a neighbouring mad-house.</p> +<p>The cloth was removed; the ladies soon afterwards retired, and Miss +Lillerton played the piano in the drawing-room overhead, very loudly, +for the edification of the visitor. Mr. Watkins Tottle and Mr. +Gabriel Parsons sat chatting comfortably enough, until the conclusion +of the second bottle, when the latter, in proposing an adjournment to +the drawing-room, informed Watkins that he had concerted a plan with +his wife, for leaving him and Miss Lillerton alone, soon after tea.</p> +<p>‘I say,’ said Tottle, as they went up-stairs, ‘don’t +you think it would be better if we put it off till-till-to-morrow?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t <i>you</i> think it would have been much better +if I had left you in that wretched hole I found you in this morning?’ +retorted Parsons bluntly.</p> +<p>‘Well—well—I only made a suggestion,’ said +poor Watkins Tottle, with a deep sigh.</p> +<p>Tea was soon concluded, and Miss Lillerton, drawing a small work-table +on one side of the fire, and placing a little wooden frame upon it, +something like a miniature clay-mill without the horse, was soon busily +engaged in making a watch-guard with brown silk.</p> +<p>‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Parsons, starting up with well-feigned +surprise, ‘I’ve forgotten those confounded letters. +Tottle, I know you’ll excuse me.’</p> +<p>If Tottle had been a free agent, he would have allowed no one to +leave the room on any pretence, except himself. As it was, however, +he was obliged to look cheerful when Parsons quitted the apartment.</p> +<p>He had scarcely left, when Martha put her head into the room, with—‘Please, +ma’am, you’re wanted.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Parsons left the room, shut the door carefully after her, and +Mr. Watkins Tottle was left alone with Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>For the first five minutes there was a dead silence.—Mr. Watkins +Tottle was thinking how he should begin, and Miss Lillerton appeared +to be thinking of nothing. The fire was burning low; Mr. Watkins +Tottle stirred it, and put some coals on.</p> +<p>‘Hem!’ coughed Miss Lillerton; Mr. Watkins Tottle thought +the fair creature had spoken. ‘I beg your pardon,’ +said he.</p> +<p>‘Eh?’</p> +<p>‘I thought you spoke.’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’</p> +<p>‘There are some books on the sofa, Mr. Tottle, if you would +like to look at them,’ said Miss Lillerton, after the lapse of +another five minutes.</p> +<p>‘No, thank you,’ returned Watkins; and then he added, +with a courage which was perfectly astonishing, even to himself, ‘Madam, +that is Miss Lillerton, I wish to speak to you.’</p> +<p>‘To me!’ said Miss Lillerton, letting the silk drop from +her hands, and sliding her chair back a few paces.—‘Speak—to +me!’</p> +<p>‘To you, madam—and on the subject of the state of your +affections.’ The lady hastily rose and would have left the +room; but Mr. Watkins Tottle gently detained her by the hand, and holding +it as far from him as the joint length of their arms would permit, he +thus proceeded: ‘Pray do not misunderstand me, or suppose that +I am led to address you, after so short an acquaintance, by any feeling +of my own merits—for merits I have none which could give me a +claim to your hand. I hope you will acquit me of any presumption +when I explain that I have been acquainted through Mrs. Parsons, with +the state—that is, that Mrs. Parsons has told me—at least, +not Mrs. Parsons, but—’ here Watkins began to wander, but +Miss Lillerton relieved him.</p> +<p>‘Am I to understand, Mr. Tottle, that Mrs. Parsons has acquainted +you with my feeling—my affection—I mean my respect, for +an individual of the opposite sex?’</p> +<p>‘She has.’</p> +<p>‘Then, what?’ inquired Miss Lillerton, averting her face, +with a girlish air, ‘what could induce <i>you</i> to seek such +an interview as this? What can your object be? How can I +promote your happiness, Mr. Tottle?’</p> +<p>Here was the time for a flourish—‘By allowing me,’ +replied Watkins, falling bump on his knees, and breaking two brace-buttons +and a waistcoat-string, in the act—‘By allowing me to be +your slave, your servant—in short, by unreservedly making me the +confidant of your heart’s feelings—may I say for the promotion +of your own happiness—may I say, in order that you may become +the wife of a kind and affectionate husband?’</p> +<p>‘Disinterested creature!’ exclaimed Miss Lillerton, hiding +her face in a white pocket-handkerchief with an eyelet-hole border.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle thought that if the lady knew all, she might possibly +alter her opinion on this last point. He raised the tip of her +middle finger ceremoniously to his lips, and got off his knees, as gracefully +as he could. ‘My information was correct?’ he tremulously +inquired, when he was once more on his feet.</p> +<p>‘It was.’ Watkins elevated his hands, and looked +up to the ornament in the centre of the ceiling, which had been made +for a lamp, by way of expressing his rapture.</p> +<p>‘Our situation, Mr. Tottle,’ resumed the lady, glancing +at him through one of the eyelet-holes, ‘is a most peculiar and +delicate one.’</p> +<p>‘It is,’ said Mr. Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Our acquaintance has been of <i>so</i> short duration,’ +said Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘Only a week,’ assented Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Oh! more than that,’ exclaimed the lady, in a tone of +surprise.</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’ said Tottle.</p> +<p>‘More than a month—more than two months!’ said +Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘Rather odd, this,’ thought Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ he said, recollecting Parsons’s assurance +that she had known him from report, ‘I understand. But, +my dear madam, pray, consider. The longer this acquaintance has +existed, the less reason is there for delay now. Why not at once +fix a period for gratifying the hopes of your devoted admirer?’</p> +<p>‘It has been represented to me again and again that this is +the course I ought to pursue,’ replied Miss Lillerton, ‘but +pardon my feelings of delicacy, Mr. Tottle—pray excuse this embarrassment—I +have peculiar ideas on such subjects, and I am quite sure that I never +could summon up fortitude enough to name the day to my future husband.’</p> +<p>‘Then allow <i>me</i> to name it,’ said Tottle eagerly.</p> +<p>‘I should like to fix it myself,’ replied Miss Lillerton, +bashfully, ‘but I cannot do so without at once resorting to a +third party.’</p> +<p>‘A third party!’ thought Watkins Tottle; ‘who the +deuce is that to be, I wonder!’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Tottle,’ continued Miss Lillerton, ‘you have +made me a most disinterested and kind offer—that offer I accept. +Will you at once be the bearer of a note from me to—to Mr. Timson?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Timson!’ said Watkins.</p> +<p>‘After what has passed between us,’ responded Miss Lillerton, +still averting her head, ‘you must understand whom I mean; Mr. +Timson, the—the—clergyman.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Timson, the clergyman!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle, +in a state of inexpressible beatitude, and positive wonder at his own +success. ‘Angel! Certainly—this moment!’</p> +<p>‘I’ll prepare it immediately,’ said Miss Lillerton, +making for the door; ‘the events of this day have flurried me +so much, Mr. Tottle, that I shall not leave my room again this evening; +I will send you the note by the servant.’</p> +<p>‘Stay,—stay,’ cried Watkins Tottle, still keeping +a most respectful distance from the lady; ‘when shall we meet +again?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! Mr. Tottle,’ replied Miss Lillerton, coquettishly, +‘when <i>we</i> are married, I can never see you too often, nor +thank you too much;’ and she left the room.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle flung himself into an arm-chair, and indulged +in the most delicious reveries of future bliss, in which the idea of +‘Five hundred pounds per annum, with an uncontrolled power of +disposing of it by her last will and testament,’ was somehow or +other the foremost. He had gone through the interview so well, +and it had terminated so admirably, that he almost began to wish he +had expressly stipulated for the settlement of the annual five hundred +on himself.</p> +<p>‘May I come in?’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, peeping in +at the door.</p> +<p>‘You may,’ replied Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Well, have you done it?’ anxiously inquired Gabriel.</p> +<p>‘Have I done it!’ said Watkins Tottle. ‘Hush—I’m +going to the clergyman.’</p> +<p>‘No!’ said Parsons. ‘How well you have managed +it!’</p> +<p>‘Where does Timson live?’ inquired Watkins.</p> +<p>‘At his uncle’s,’ replied Gabriel, ‘just +round the lane. He’s waiting for a living, and has been +assisting his uncle here for the last two or three months. But +how well you have done it—I didn’t think you could have +carried it off so!’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle was proceeding to demonstrate that the Richardsonian +principle was the best on which love could possibly be made, when he +was interrupted by the entrance of Martha, with a little pink note folded +like a fancy cocked-hat.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton’s compliments,’ said Martha, as +she delivered it into Tottle’s hands, and vanished.</p> +<p><i>‘</i>Do you observe the delicacy?’ said Tottle, appealing +to Mr. Gabriel Parsons. ‘<i>Compliments</i>, not <i>love</i>, +by the servant, eh?’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons didn’t exactly know what reply to make, +so he poked the forefinger of his right hand between the third and fourth +ribs of Mr. Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Come,’ said Watkins, when the explosion of mirth, consequent +on this practical jest, had subsided, ‘we’ll be off at once—let’s +lose no time.’</p> +<p>‘Capital!’ echoed Gabriel Parsons; and in five minutes +they were at the garden-gate of the villa tenanted by the uncle of Mr. +Timson.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Charles Timson at home?’ inquired Mr. Watkins +Tottle of Mr. Charles Timson’s uncle’s man.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Charles <i>is</i> at home,’ replied the man, stammering; +‘but he desired me to say he couldn’t be interrupted, sir, +by any of the parishioners.’</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i> am not a parishioner,’ replied Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Charles writing a sermon, Tom?’ inquired Parsons, +thrusting himself forward.</p> +<p>‘No, Mr. Parsons, sir; he’s not exactly writing a sermon, +but he is practising the violoncello in his own bedroom, and gave strict +orders not to be disturbed.’</p> +<p>‘Say I’m here,’ replied Gabriel, leading the way +across the garden; ‘Mr. Parsons and Mr. Tottle, on private and +particular business.’</p> +<p>They were shown into the parlour, and the servant departed to deliver +his message. The distant groaning of the violoncello ceased; footsteps +were heard on the stairs; and Mr. Timson presented himself, and shook +hands with Parsons with the utmost cordiality.</p> +<p>‘Game!’ exclaimed Ikey, who had been altering the position +of a green-handled knife and fork at least a dozen times, in order that +he might remain in the room under the pretext of having something to +do. ‘He’s game enough ven there’s anything to +be fierce about; but who could be game as you call it, Mr. Walker, with +a pale young creetur like that, hanging about him?—It’s +enough to drive any man’s heart into his boots to see ’em +together—and no mistake at all about it. I never shall forget +her first comin’ here; he wrote to her on the Thursday to come—I +know he did, ’cos I took the letter. Uncommon fidgety he +was all day to be sure, and in the evening he goes down into the office, +and he says to Jacobs, says he, “Sir, can I have the loan of a +private room for a few minutes this evening, without incurring any additional +expense—just to see my wife in?” says he. Jacobs looked +as much as to say—“Strike me bountiful if you ain’t +one of the modest sort!” but as the gen’lm’n who had +been in the back parlour had just gone out, and had paid for it for +that day, he says—werry grave—“Sir,” says he, +“it’s agin our rules to let private rooms to our lodgers +on gratis terms, but,” says he, “for a gentleman, I don’t +mind breaking through them for once.” So then he turns found +to me, and says, “Ikey, put two mould candles in the back parlour, +and charge ’em to this gen’lm’n’s account,” +vich I did. Vell, by-and-by a hackney-coach comes up to the door, +and there, sure enough, was the young lady, wrapped up in a hopera-cloak, +as it might be, and all alone. I opened the gate that night, so +I went up when the coach come, and he vos a waitin’ at the parlour +door—and wasn’t he a trembling, neither? The poor +creetur see him, and could hardly walk to meet him. “Oh, +Harry!” she says, “that it should have come to this; and +all for my sake,” says she, putting her hand upon his shoulder. +So he puts his arm round her pretty little waist, and leading her gently +a little way into the room, so that he might be able to shut the door, +he says, so kind and soft-like—“Why, Kate,” says he—’</p> +<p>‘Here’s the gentleman you want,’ said Ikey, abruptly +breaking off in his story, and introducing Mr. Gabriel Parsons to the +crest-fallen Watkins Tottle, who at that moment entered the room. +Watkins advanced with a wooden expression of passive endurance, and +accepted the hand which Mr. Gabriel Parsons held out.</p> +<p>‘I want to speak to you,’ said Gabriel, with a look strongly +expressive of his dislike of the company.</p> +<p>‘This way,’ replied the imprisoned one, leading the way +to the front drawing-room, where rich debtors did the luxurious at the +rate of a couple of guineas a day.</p> +<p>‘Well, here I am,’ said Mr. Watkins, as he sat down on +the sofa; and placing the palms of his hands on his knees, anxiously +glanced at his friend’s countenance.</p> +<p>‘Yes; and here you’re likely to be,’ said Gabriel, +coolly, as he rattled the money in his unmentionable pockets, and looked +out of the window.</p> +<p>‘What’s the amount with the costs?’ inquired Parsons, +after an awkward pause.</p> +<p>‘Have you any money?’</p> +<p>‘Nine and sixpence halfpenny.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons walked up and down the room for a few seconds, +before he could make up his mind to disclose the plan he had formed; +he was accustomed to drive hard bargains, but was always most anxious +to conceal his avarice. At length he stopped short, and said, +‘Tottle, you owe me fifty pounds.’</p> +<p>‘I do.’</p> +<p>‘And from all I see, I infer that you are likely to owe it +to me.’</p> +<p>‘I fear I am.’</p> +<p>‘Though you have every disposition to pay me if you could?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘listen: here’s +my proposition. You know my way of old. Accept it—yes +or no—I will or I won’t. I’ll pay the debt and +costs, and I’ll lend you 10<i>l</i>. more (which, added to your +annuity, will enable you to carry on the war well) if you’ll give +me your note of hand to pay me one hundred and fifty pounds within six +months after you are married to Miss Lillerton.’</p> +<p>‘My dear—’</p> +<p>‘Stop a minute—on one condition; and that is, that you +propose to Miss Lillerton at once.’</p> +<p>‘At once! My dear Parsons, consider.’</p> +<p>‘It’s for you to consider, not me. She knows you +well from reputation, though she did not know you personally until lately. +Notwithstanding all her maiden modesty, I think she’d be devilish +glad to get married out of hand with as little delay as possible. +My wife has sounded her on the subject, and she has confessed.’</p> +<p>‘What—what?’ eagerly interrupted the enamoured +Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Why,’ replied Parsons, ‘to say exactly what she +has confessed, would be rather difficult, because they only spoke in +hints, and so forth; but my wife, who is no bad judge in these cases, +declared to me that what she had confessed was as good as to say that +she was not insensible of your merits—in fact, that no other man +should have her.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle rose hastily from his seat, and rang the bell.</p> +<p>‘What’s that for?’ inquired Parsons.</p> +<p>‘I want to send the man for the bill stamp,’ replied +Mr. Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Then you’ve made up your mind?’</p> +<p>‘I have,’—and they shook hands most cordially. +The note of hand was given—the debt and costs were paid—Ikey +was satisfied for his trouble, and the two friends soon found themselves +on that side of Mr. Solomon Jacobs’s establishment, on which most +of his visitors were very happy when they found themselves once again—to +wit, the outside.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as they drove to Norwood +together—‘you shall have an opportunity to make the disclosure +to-night, and mind you speak out, Tottle.’</p> +<p>‘I will—I will!’ replied Watkins, valorously.</p> +<p>‘How I should like to see you together,’ ejaculated Mr. +Gabriel Parsons.—‘What fun!’ and he laughed so long +and so loudly, that he disconcerted Mr. Watkins Tottle, and frightened +the horse.</p> +<p>‘There’s Fanny and your intended walking about on the +lawn,’ said Gabriel, as they approached the house. ‘Mind +your eye, Tottle.’</p> +<p>‘Never fear,’ replied Watkins, resolutely, as he made +his way to the spot where the ladies were walking.</p> +<p>‘Here’s Mr. Tottle, my dear,’ said Mrs. Parsons, +addressing Miss Lillerton. The lady turned quickly round, and +acknowledged his courteous salute with the same sort of confusion that +Watkins had noticed on their first interview, but with something like +a slight expression of disappointment or carelessness.</p> +<p>‘Did you see how glad she was to see you?’ whispered +Parsons to his friend.</p> +<p>‘Why, I really thought she looked as if she would rather have +seen somebody else,’ replied Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Pooh, nonsense!’ whispered Parsons again—‘it’s +always the way with the women, young or old. They never show how +delighted they are to see those whose presence makes their hearts beat. +It’s the way with the whole sex, and no man should have lived +to your time of life without knowing it. Fanny confessed it to +me, when we were first married, over and over again—see what it +is to have a wife.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly,’ whispered Tottle, whose courage was vanishing +fast.</p> +<p>‘Well, now, you’d better begin to pave the way,’ +said Parsons, who, having invested some money in the speculation, assumed +the office of director.</p> +<p>‘Yes, yes, I will—presently,’ replied Tottle, greatly +flurried.</p> +<p>‘Say something to her, man,’ urged Parsons again. +‘Confound it! pay her a compliment, can’t you?’</p> +<p>‘No! not till after dinner,’ replied the bashful Tottle, +anxious to postpone the evil moment.</p> +<p>‘Well, gentlemen,’ said Mrs. Parsons, ‘you are +really very polite; you stay away the whole morning, after promising +to take us out, and when you do come home, you stand whispering together +and take no notice of us.’</p> +<p>‘We were talking of the <i>business</i>, my dear, which detained +us this morning,’ replied Parsons, looking significantly at Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Dear me! how very quickly the morning has gone,’ said +Miss Lillerton, referring to the gold watch, which was wound up on state +occasions, whether it required it or not.</p> +<p>‘I think it has passed very slowly,’ mildly suggested +Tottle.</p> +<p>(‘That’s right—bravo!’) whispered Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’ said Miss Lillerton, with an air of majestic +surprise.</p> +<p>‘I can only impute it to my unavoidable absence from your society, +madam,’ said Watkins, ‘and that of Mrs. Parsons.’</p> +<p>During this short dialogue, the ladies had been leading the way to +the house.</p> +<p>‘What the deuce did you stick Fanny into that last compliment +for?’ inquired Parsons, as they followed together; ‘it quite +spoilt the effect.’</p> +<p>‘Oh! it really would have been too broad without,’ replied +Watkins Tottle, ‘much too broad!’</p> +<p>‘He’s mad!’ Parsons whispered his wife, as they +entered the drawing-room, ‘mad from modesty.’</p> +<p>‘Dear me!’ ejaculated the lady, ‘I never heard +of such a thing.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll find we have quite a family dinner, Mr. Tottle,’ +said Mrs. Parsons, when they sat down to table: ‘Miss Lillerton +is one of us, and, of course, we make no stranger of you.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle expressed a hope that the Parsons family never +would make a stranger of him; and wished internally that his bashfulness +would allow him to feel a little less like a stranger himself.</p> +<p>‘Take off the covers, Martha,’ said Mrs. Parsons, directing +the shifting of the scenery with great anxiety. The order was +obeyed, and a pair of boiled fowls, with tongue and et ceteras, were +displayed at the top, and a fillet of veal at the bottom. On one +side of the table two green sauce-tureens, with ladles of the same, +were setting to each other in a green dish; and on the other was a curried +rabbit, in a brown suit, turned up with lemon.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton, my dear,’ said Mrs. Parsons, ‘shall +I assist you?’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, no; I think I’ll trouble Mr. Tottle.’</p> +<p>Watkins started—trembled—helped the rabbit—and +broke a tumbler. The countenance of the lady of the house, which +had been all smiles previously, underwent an awful change.</p> +<p>‘Extremely sorry,’ stammered Watkins, assisting himself +to currie and parsley and butter, in the extremity of his confusion.</p> +<p>‘Not the least consequence,’ replied Mrs. Parsons, in +a tone which implied that it was of the greatest consequence possible,—directing +aside the researches of the boy, who was groping under the table for +the bits of broken glass.</p> +<p>‘I presume,’ said Miss Lillerton, ‘that Mr. Tottle +is aware of the interest which bachelors usually pay in such cases; +a dozen glasses for one is the lowest penalty.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons gave his friend an admonitory tread on the toe. +Here was a clear hint that the sooner he ceased to be a bachelor and +emancipated himself from such penalties, the better. Mr. Watkins +Tottle viewed the observation in the same light, and challenged Mrs. +Parsons to take wine, with a degree of presence of mind, which, under +all the circumstances, was really extraordinary.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton,’ said Gabriel, ‘may I have the +pleasure?’</p> +<p>‘I shall be most happy.’</p> +<p>‘Tottle, will you assist Miss Lillerton, and pass the decanter. +Thank you.’ (The usual pantomimic ceremony of nodding and +sipping gone through) -</p> +<p>‘Tottle, were you ever in Suffolk?’ inquired the master +of the house, who was burning to tell one of his seven stock stories.</p> +<p>‘No,’ responded Watkins, adding, by way of a saving clause, +‘but I’ve been in Devonshire.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ replied Gabriel, ‘it was in Suffolk that +a rather singular circumstance happened to me many years ago. +Did you ever happen to hear me mention it?’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle <i>had</i> happened to hear his friend mention +it some four hundred times. Of course he expressed great curiosity, +and evinced the utmost impatience to hear the story again. Mr. +Gabriel Parsons forthwith attempted to proceed, in spite of the interruptions +to which, as our readers must frequently have observed, the master of +the house is often exposed in such cases. We will attempt to give +them an idea of our meaning.</p> +<p>‘When I was in Suffolk—’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Take off the fowls first, Martha,’ said Mrs. Parsons. +‘I beg your pardon, my dear.’</p> +<p>‘When I was in Suffolk,’ resumed Mr. Parsons, with an +impatient glance at his wife, who pretended not to observe it, ‘which +is now years ago, business led me to the town of Bury St. Edmund’s. +I had to stop at the principal places in my way, and therefore, for +the sake of convenience, I travelled in a gig. I left Sudbury +one dark night—it was winter time—about nine o’clock; +the rain poured in torrents, the wind howled among the trees that skirted +the roadside, and I was obliged to proceed at a foot-pace, for I could +hardly see my hand before me, it was so dark—’</p> +<p>‘John,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, in a low, hollow voice, +‘don’t spill that gravy.’</p> +<p>‘Fanny,’ said Parsons impatiently, ‘I wish you’d +defer these domestic reproofs to some more suitable time. Really, +my dear, these constant interruptions are very annoying.’</p> +<p>‘My dear, I didn’t interrupt you,’ said Mrs. Parsons.</p> +<p>‘But, my dear, you did interrupt me,’ remonstrated Mr. +Parsons.</p> +<p>‘How very absurd you are, my love! I must give directions +to the servants; I am quite sure that if I sat here and allowed John +to spill the gravy over the new carpet, you’d be the first to +find fault when you saw the stain to-morrow morning.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ continued Gabriel with a resigned air, as if +he knew there was no getting over the point about the carpet, ‘I +was just saying, it was so dark that I could hardly see my hand before +me. The road was very lonely, and I assure you, Tottle (this was +a device to arrest the wandering attention of that individual, which +was distracted by a confidential communication between Mrs. Parsons +and Martha, accompanied by the delivery of a large bunch of keys), I +assure you, Tottle, I became somehow impressed with a sense of the loneliness +of my situation—’</p> +<p>‘Pie to your master,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, again +directing the servant.</p> +<p>‘Now, pray, my dear,’ remonstrated Parsons once more, +very pettishly. Mrs. P. turned up her hands and eyebrows, and +appealed in dumb show to Miss Lillerton. ‘As I turned a +corner of the road,’ resumed Gabriel, ‘the horse stopped +short, and reared tremendously. I pulled up, jumped out, ran to +his head, and found a man lying on his back in the middle of the road, +with his eyes fixed on the sky. I thought he was dead; but no, +he was alive, and there appeared to be nothing the matter with him. +He jumped up, and potting his hand to his chest, and fixing upon me +the most earnest gaze you can imagine, exclaimed—‘Pudding +here,’ said Mrs. Parsons.</p> +<p>‘Oh! it’s no use,’ exclaimed the host, now rendered +desperate. ‘Here, Tottle; a glass of wine. It’s +useless to attempt relating anything when Mrs. Parsons is present.’</p> +<p>This attack was received in the usual way. Mrs. Parsons talked +<i>to</i> Miss Lillerton and <i>at</i> her better half; expatiated on +the impatience of men generally; hinted that her husband was peculiarly +vicious in this respect, and wound up by insinuating that she must be +one of the best tempers that ever existed, or she never could put up +with it. Really what she had to endure sometimes, was more than +any one who saw her in every-day life could by possibility suppose.—The +story was now a painful subject, and therefore Mr. Parsons declined +to enter into any details, and contented himself by stating that the +man was a maniac, who had escaped from a neighbouring mad-house.</p> +<p>The cloth was removed; the ladies soon afterwards retired, and Miss +Lillerton played the piano in the drawing-room overhead, very loudly, +for the edification of the visitor. Mr. Watkins Tottle and Mr. +Gabriel Parsons sat chatting comfortably enough, until the conclusion +of the second bottle, when the latter, in proposing an adjournment to +the drawing-room, informed Watkins that he had concerted a plan with +his wife, for leaving him and Miss Lillerton alone, soon after tea.</p> +<p>‘I say,’ said Tottle, as they went up-stairs, ‘don’t +you think it would be better if we put it off till-till-to-morrow?’</p> +<p>‘Don’t <i>you</i> think it would have been much better +if I had left you in that wretched hole I found you in this morning?’ +retorted Parsons bluntly.</p> +<p>‘Well—well—I only made a suggestion,’ said +poor Watkins Tottle, with a deep sigh.</p> +<p>Tea was soon concluded, and Miss Lillerton, drawing a small work-table +on one side of the fire, and placing a little wooden frame upon it, +something like a miniature clay-mill without the horse, was soon busily +engaged in making a watch-guard with brown silk.</p> +<p>‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Parsons, starting up with well-feigned +surprise, ‘I’ve forgotten those confounded letters. +Tottle, I know you’ll excuse me.’</p> +<p>If Tottle had been a free agent, he would have allowed no one to +leave the room on any pretence, except himself. As it was, however, +he was obliged to look cheerful when Parsons quitted the apartment.</p> +<p>He had scarcely left, when Martha put her head into the room, with—‘Please, +ma’am, you’re wanted.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Parsons left the room, shut the door carefully after her, and +Mr. Watkins Tottle was left alone with Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>For the first five minutes there was a dead silence.—Mr. Watkins +Tottle was thinking how he should begin, and Miss Lillerton appeared +to be thinking of nothing. The fire was burning low; Mr. Watkins +Tottle stirred it, and put some coals on.</p> +<p>‘Hem!’ coughed Miss Lillerton; Mr. Watkins Tottle thought +the fair creature had spoken. ‘I beg your pardon,’ +said he.</p> +<p>‘Eh?’</p> +<p>‘I thought you spoke.’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘Oh!’</p> +<p>‘There are some books on the sofa, Mr. Tottle, if you would +like to look at them,’ said Miss Lillerton, after the lapse of +another five minutes.</p> +<p>‘No, thank you,’ returned Watkins; and then he added, +with a courage which was perfectly astonishing, even to himself, ‘Madam, +that is Miss Lillerton, I wish to speak to you.’</p> +<p>‘To me!’ said Miss Lillerton, letting the silk drop from +her hands, and sliding her chair back a few paces.—‘Speak—to +me!’</p> +<p>‘To you, madam—and on the subject of the state of your +affections.’ The lady hastily rose and would have left the +room; but Mr. Watkins Tottle gently detained her by the hand, and holding +it as far from him as the joint length of their arms would permit, he +thus proceeded: ‘Pray do not misunderstand me, or suppose that +I am led to address you, after so short an acquaintance, by any feeling +of my own merits—for merits I have none which could give me a +claim to your hand. I hope you will acquit me of any presumption +when I explain that I have been acquainted through Mrs. Parsons, with +the state—that is, that Mrs. Parsons has told me—at least, +not Mrs. Parsons, but—’ here Watkins began to wander, but +Miss Lillerton relieved him.</p> +<p>‘Am I to understand, Mr. Tottle, that Mrs. Parsons has acquainted +you with my feeling—my affection—I mean my respect, for +an individual of the opposite sex?’</p> +<p>‘She has.’</p> +<p>‘Then, what?’ inquired Miss Lillerton, averting her face, +with a girlish air, ‘what could induce <i>you</i> to seek such +an interview as this? What can your object be? How can I +promote your happiness, Mr. Tottle?’</p> +<p>Here was the time for a flourish—‘By allowing me,’ +replied Watkins, falling bump on his knees, and breaking two brace-buttons +and a waistcoat-string, in the act—‘By allowing me to be +your slave, your servant—in short, by unreservedly making me the +confidant of your heart’s feelings—may I say for the promotion +of your own happiness—may I say, in order that you may become +the wife of a kind and affectionate husband?’</p> +<p>‘Disinterested creature!’ exclaimed Miss Lillerton, hiding +her face in a white pocket-handkerchief with an eyelet-hole border.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle thought that if the lady knew all, she might possibly +alter her opinion on this last point. He raised the tip of her +middle finger ceremoniously to his lips, and got off his knees, as gracefully +as he could. ‘My information was correct?’ he tremulously +inquired, when he was once more on his feet.</p> +<p>‘It was.’ Watkins elevated his hands, and looked +up to the ornament in the centre of the ceiling, which had been made +for a lamp, by way of expressing his rapture.</p> +<p>‘Our situation, Mr. Tottle,’ resumed the lady, glancing +at him through one of the eyelet-holes, ‘is a most peculiar. and +delicate one.’</p> +<p>‘It is,’ said Mr. Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Our acquaintance has been of <i>so</i> short duration,’ +said Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘Only a week,’ assented Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Oh! more than that,’ exclaimed the lady, in a tone of +surprise.</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’ said Tottle.</p> +<p>‘More than a month—more than two months!’ said +Miss Lillerton.</p> +<p>‘Rather odd, this,’ thought Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ he said, recollecting Parsons’s assurance +that she had known him from report, ‘I understand. But, +my dear madam, pray, consider. The longer this acquaintance has +existed, the less reason is I there for delay now. Why not at +once fix a period for gratifying the hopes of your devoted admirer?’</p> +<p>‘It has been represented to me again and again that this is +the course I ought to pursue,’ replied Miss Lillerton, ‘but +pardon my feelings of delicacy, Mr. Tottle—pray excuse this embarrassment—I +have peculiar ideas on such subjects, and I am quite sure that I never +could summon up fortitude enough to name the day to my future husband.’</p> +<p>‘Then allow <i>me</i> to name it,’ said Tottle eagerly.</p> +<p>‘I should like to fix it myself,’ replied Miss Lillerton, +bashfully, but I cannot do so without at once resorting to a third party.’</p> +<p>‘A third party!’ thought Watkins Tottle; ‘who the +deuce is that to be, I wonder!’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Tottle,’ continued Miss Lillerton, ‘you have +made me a most disinterested and kind offer—that offer I accept. +Will you at once be the bearer of a note from me to—to Mr. Timson?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Timson!’ said Watkins.</p> +<p>‘After what has passed between us,’ responded Miss Lillerton, +still averting her head, ‘you must understand whom I mean; Mr. +Timson, the—the—clergyman.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Timson, the clergyman!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle, +in a state of inexpressible beatitude, and positive wonder at his own +success. ‘Angel! Certainly—this moment!’</p> +<p>‘I’ll prepare it immediately,’ said Miss Lillerton, +making for the door; ‘the events of this day have flurried me +so much, Mr. Tottle, that I shall not leave my room again this evening; +I will send you the note by the servant.’</p> +<p>‘Stay,—stay,’ cried Watkins Tottle, still keeping +a most respectful distance from the lady; ‘when shall we meet +again?’</p> +<p>‘Oh! Mr. Tottle,’ replied Miss Lillerton, coquettishly, +‘when we are married, I can never see you too often, nor thank +you too much;’ and she left the room.</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle flung himself into an arm-chair, and indulged +in the most delicious reveries of future bliss, in which the idea of +‘Five hundred pounds per annum, with an uncontrolled power of +disposing of it by her last will and testament,’ was somehow or +other the foremost. He had gone through the interview so well, +and it had terminated so admirably, that he almost began to wish he +had expressly stipulated for the settlement of the annual five hundred +on himself.</p> +<p>‘May I come in?’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, peeping in +at the door.</p> +<p>‘You may,’ replied Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Well, have you done it?’ anxiously inquired Gabriel.</p> +<p>‘Have I done it!’ said Watkins Tottle. ‘Hush—I’m +going to the clergyman.’</p> +<p>‘No!’ said Parsons. ‘How well you have managed +it!’</p> +<p>‘Where does Timson live?’ inquired Watkins.</p> +<p>‘At his uncle’s,’ replied Gabriel, ‘just +round the lane. He’s waiting for a living, and has been +assisting his uncle here for the last two or three months. But +how well you have done it—I didn’t think you could have +carried it off so!’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle was proceeding to demonstrate that the Richardsonian +principle was the best on which love could possibly be made, when he +was interrupted by the entrance of Martha, with a little pink note folded +like a fancy cocked-hat.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lillerton’s compliments,’ said Martha, as +she delivered it into Tottle’s hands, and vanished.</p> +<p><i>‘</i>Do you observe the delicacy?’ said Tottle, appealing +to Mr. Gabriel Parsons. ‘<i>Compliments</i>, not <i>love</i>, +by the servant, eh?’</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons didn’t exactly know what reply to make, +so he poked the forefinger of his right hand between the third and fourth +ribs of Mr. Watkins Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Come,’ said Watkins, when the explosion of mirth, consequent +on this practical jest, had subsided, ‘we’ll be off at once—let’s +lose no time.’</p> +<p>‘Capital!’ echoed Gabriel Parsons; and in five minutes +they were at the garden-gate of the villa tenanted by the uncle of Mr. +Timson.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Charles Timson at home?’ inquired Mr. Watkins +Tottle of Mr. Charles Timson’s uncle’s man.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Charles <i>is</i> at home,’ replied the man, stammering; +‘but he desired me to say he couldn’t be interrupted, sir, +by any of the parishioners.’</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i> am not a parishioner,’ replied Watkins.</p> +<p>‘Is Mr. Charles writing a sermon, Tom?’ inquired Parsons, +thrusting himself forward.</p> +<p>‘No, Mr. Parsons, sir; he’s not exactly writing a sermon, +but he is practising the violoncello in his own bedroom, and gave strict +orders not to be disturbed.’</p> +<p>‘Say I’m here,’ replied Gabriel, leading the way +across the garden; ‘Mr. Parsons and Mr. Tottle, on private and +particular business.’</p> +<p>They were shown into the parlour, and the servant departed to deliver +his message. The distant groaning of the violoncello ceased; footsteps +were heard on the stairs; and Mr. Timson presented himself, and shook +hands with Parsons with the utmost cordiality.</p> +<p>‘How do you do, sir?’ said Watkins Tottle, with great +solemnity.</p> +<p>‘How do <i>you</i> do, sir?’ replied Timson, with as +much coldness as if it were a matter of perfect indifference to him +how he did, as it very likely was.</p> +<p>‘I beg to deliver this note to you,’ said Watkins Tottle, +producing the cocked-hat.</p> +<p>‘From Miss Lillerton!’ said Timson, suddenly changing +colour. ‘Pray sit down.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle sat down; and while Timson perused the note, fixed +his eyes on an oyster-sauce-coloured portrait of the Archbishop of Canterbury, +which hung over the fireplace.</p> +<p>Mr. Timson rose from his seat when he had concluded the note, and +looked dubiously at Parsons. ‘May I ask,’ he inquired, +appealing to Watkins Tottle, ‘whether our friend here is acquainted +with the object of your visit?’</p> +<p>‘Our friend is in <i>my</i> confidence,’ replied Watkins, +with considerable importance.</p> +<p>‘Then, sir,’ said Timson, seizing both Tottle’s +hands, ‘allow me in his presence to thank you most unfeignedly +and cordially, for the noble part you have acted in this affair.’</p> +<p>‘He thinks I recommended him,’ thought Tottle. +‘Confound these fellows! they never think of anything but their +fees.’</p> +<p>‘I deeply regret having misunderstood your intentions, my dear +sir,’ continued Timson. ‘Disinterested and manly, +indeed! There are very few men who would have acted as you have +done.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle could not help thinking that this last remark +was anything but complimentary. He therefore inquired, rather +hastily, ‘When is it to be?’</p> +<p>‘On Thursday,’ replied Timson,—‘on Thursday +morning at half-past eight.’</p> +<p>‘Uncommonly early,’ observed Watkins Tottle, with an +air of triumphant self-denial. ‘I shall hardly be able to +get down here by that hour.’ (This was intended for a joke.)</p> +<p>‘Never mind, my dear fellow,’ replied Timson, all suavity, +shaking hands with Tottle again most heartily, ‘so long as we +see you to breakfast, you know—’</p> +<p>‘Eh!’ said Parsons, with one of the most extraordinary +expressions of countenance that ever appeared in a human face.</p> +<p>‘What!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle, at the same moment.</p> +<p>‘I say that so long as we see you to breakfast,’ replied +Timson, ‘we will excuse your being absent from the ceremony, though +of course your presence at it would give us the utmost pleasure.’</p> +<p>Mr. Watkins Tottle staggered against the wall, and fixed his eyes +on Timson with appalling perseverance.</p> +<p>‘Timson,’ said Parsons, hurriedly brushing his hat with +his left arm, ‘when you say “us,” whom do you mean?’</p> +<p>Mr. Timson looked foolish in his turn, when he replied, ‘Why—Mrs. +Timson that will be this day week: Miss Lillerton that is—’</p> +<p>‘Now don’t stare at that idiot in the corner,’ +angrily exclaimed Parsons, as the extraordinary convulsions of Watkins +Tottle’s countenance excited the wondering gaze of Timson,—‘but +have the goodness to tell me in three words the contents of that note?’</p> +<p>‘This note,’ replied Timson, ‘is from Miss Lillerton, +to whom I have been for the last five weeks regularly engaged. +Her singular scruples and strange feeling on some points have hitherto +prevented my bringing the engagement to that termination which I so +anxiously desire. She informs me here, that she sounded Mrs. Parsons +with the view of making her her confidante and go-between, that Mrs. +Parsons informed this elderly gentleman, Mr. Tottle, of the circumstance, +and that he, in the most kind and delicate terms, offered to assist +us in any way, and even undertook to convey this note, which contains +the promise I have long sought in vain—an act of kindness for +which I can never be sufficiently grateful.’</p> +<p>‘Good night, Timson,’ said Parsons, hurrying off, and +carrying the bewildered Tottle with him.</p> +<p>‘Won’t you stay—and have something?’ said +Timson.</p> +<p>‘No, thank ye,’ replied Parsons; ‘I’ve had +quite enough;’ and away he went, followed by Watkins Tottle in +a state of stupefaction.</p> +<p>Mr. Gabriel Parsons whistled until they had walked some quarter of +a mile past his own gate, when he suddenly stopped, and said -</p> +<p>‘You are a clever fellow, Tottle, ain’t you?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know,’ said the unfortunate Watkins.</p> +<p>‘I suppose you’ll say this is Fanny’s fault, won’t +you?’ inquired Gabriel.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know anything about it,’ replied the bewildered +Tottle.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Parsons, turning on his heel to go home, +‘the next time you make an offer, you had better speak plainly, +and don’t throw a chance away. And the next time you’re +locked up in a spunging-house, just wait there till I come and take +you out, there’s a good fellow.’</p> +<p>How, or at what hour, Mr. Watkins Tottle returned to Cecil-street +is unknown. His boots were seen outside his bedroom-door next +morning; but we have the authority of his landlady for stating that +he neither emerged therefrom nor accepted sustenance for four-and-twenty +hours. At the expiration of that period, and when a council of +war was being held in the kitchen on the propriety of summoning the +parochial beadle to break his door open, he rang his bell, and demanded +a cup of milk-and-water. The next morning he went through the +formalities of eating and drinking as usual, but a week afterwards he +was seized with a relapse, while perusing the list of marriages in a +morning paper, from which he never perfectly recovered.</p> +<p>A few weeks after the last-named occurrence, the body of a gentleman +unknown, was found in the Regent’s canal. In the trousers-pockets +were four shillings and threepence halfpenny; a matrimonial advertisement +from a lady, which appeared to have been cut out of a Sunday paper: +a tooth-pick, and a card-case, which it is confidently believed would +have led to the identification of the unfortunate gentleman, but for +the circumstance of there being none but blank cards in it. Mr. +Watkins Tottle absented himself from his lodgings shortly before. +A bill, which has not been taken up, was presented next morning; and +a bill, which has not been taken down, was soon afterwards affixed in +his parlour-window.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XI—THE BLOOMSBURY CHRISTENING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Nicodemus Dumps, or, as his acquaintance called him, ‘long +Dumps,’ was a bachelor, six feet high, and fifty years old: cross, +cadaverous, odd, and ill-natured. He was never happy but when +he was miserable; and always miserable when he had the best reason to +be happy. The only real comfort of his existence was to make everybody +about him wretched—then he might be truly said to enjoy life. +He was afflicted with a situation in the Bank worth five hundred a-year, +and he rented a ‘first-floor furnished,’ at Pentonville, +which he originally took because it commanded a dismal prospect of an +adjacent churchyard. He was familiar with the face of every tombstone, +and the burial service seemed to excite his strongest sympathy. +His friends said he was surly—he insisted he was nervous; they +thought him a lucky dog, but he protested that he was ‘the most +unfortunate man in the world.’ Cold as he was, and wretched +as he declared himself to be, he was not wholly unsusceptible of attachments. +He revered the memory of Hoyle, as he was himself an admirable and imperturbable +whist-player, and he chuckled with delight at a fretful and impatient +adversary. He adored King Herod for his massacre of the innocents; +and if he hated one thing more than another, it was a child. However, +he could hardly be said to hate anything in particular, because he disliked +everything in general; but perhaps his greatest antipathies were cabs, +old women, doors that would not shut, musical amateurs, and omnibus +cads. He subscribed to the ‘Society for the Suppression +of Vice’ for the pleasure of putting a stop to any harmless amusements; +and he contributed largely towards the support of two itinerant methodist +parsons, in the amiable hope that if circumstances rendered any people +happy in this world, they might perchance be rendered miserable by fears +for the next.</p> +<p>Mr. Dumps had a nephew who had been married about a year, and who +was somewhat of a favourite with his uncle, because he was an admirable +subject to exercise his misery-creating powers upon. Mr. Charles +Kitterbell was a small, sharp, spare man, with a very large head, and +a broad, good-humoured countenance. He looked like a faded giant, +with the head and face partially restored; and he had a cast in his +eye which rendered it quite impossible for any one with whom he conversed +to know where he was looking. His eyes appeared fixed on the wall, +and he was staring you out of countenance; in short, there was no catching +his eye, and perhaps it is a merciful dispensation of Providence that +such eyes are not catching. In addition to these characteristics, +it may be added that Mr. Charles Kitterbell was one of the most credulous +and matter-of-fact little personages that ever took <i>to</i> himself +a wife, and <i>for</i> himself a house in Great Russell-street, Bedford-square. +(Uncle Dumps always dropped the ‘Bedford-square,’ and inserted +in lieu thereof the dreadful words ‘Tottenham-court-road.’)</p> +<p>‘No, but, uncle, ’pon my life you must—you must +promise to be godfather,’ said Mr. Kitterbell, as he sat in conversation +with his respected relative one morning.</p> +<p>‘I cannot, indeed I cannot,’ returned Dumps.</p> +<p>‘Well, but why not? Jemima will think it very unkind. +It’s very little trouble.’</p> +<p>‘As to the trouble,’ rejoined the most unhappy man in +existence, ‘I don’t mind that; but my nerves are in that +state—I cannot go through the ceremony. You know I don’t +like going out.—For God’s sake, Charles, don’t fidget +with that stool so; you’ll drive me mad.’ Mr. Kitterbell, +quite regardless of his uncle’s nerves, had occupied himself for +some ten minutes in describing a circle on the floor with one leg of +the office-stool on which he was seated, keeping the other three up +in the air, and holding fast on by the desk.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, uncle,’ said Kitterbell, quite abashed, +suddenly releasing his hold of the desk, and bringing the three wandering +legs back to the floor, with a force sufficient to drive them through +it.</p> +<p>‘But come, don’t refuse. If it’s a boy, you +know, we must have two godfathers.’</p> +<p>‘<i>If</i> it’s a boy!’ said Dumps; ‘why +can’t you say at once whether it <i>is</i> a boy or not?’</p> +<p>‘I should be very happy to tell you, but it’s impossible +I can undertake to say whether it’s a girl or a boy, if the child +isn’t born yet.’</p> +<p>‘Not born yet!’ echoed Dumps, with a gleam of hope lighting +up his lugubrious visage. ‘Oh, well, it <i>may</i> be a +girl, and then you won’t want me; or if it is a boy, it <i>may</i> +die before it is christened.’</p> +<p>‘I hope not,’ said the father that expected to be, looking +very grave.</p> +<p>‘I hope not,’ acquiesced Dumps, evidently pleased with +the subject. He was beginning to get happy. ‘I hope +not, but distressing cases frequently occur during the first two or +three days of a child’s life; fits, I am told, are exceedingly +common, and alarming convulsions are almost matters of course.’</p> +<p>‘Lord, uncle!’ ejaculated little Kitterbell, gasping +for breath.</p> +<p>‘Yes; my landlady was confined—let me see—last +Tuesday: an uncommonly fine boy. On the Thursday night the nurse +was sitting with him upon her knee before the fire, and he was as well +as possible. Suddenly he became black in the face, and alarmingly +spasmodic. The medical man was instantly sent for, and every remedy +was tried, but—’</p> +<p>‘How frightful!’ interrupted the horror-stricken Kitterbell.</p> +<p>‘The child died, of course. However, your child <i>may</i> +not die; and if it should be a boy, and should <i>live</i> to be christened, +why I suppose I must be one of the sponsors.’ Dumps was +evidently good-natured on the faith of his anticipations.</p> +<p>‘Thank you, uncle,’ said his agitated nephew, grasping +his hand as warmly as if he had done him some essential service. +‘Perhaps I had better not tell Mrs. K. what you have mentioned.’</p> +<p>‘Why, if she’s low-spirited, perhaps you had better not +mention the melancholy case to her,’ returned Dumps, who of course +had invented the whole story; ‘though perhaps it would be but +doing your duty as a husband to prepare her for the <i>worst</i>.’</p> +<p>A day or two afterwards, as Dumps was perusing a morning paper at +the chop-house which he regularly frequented, the following-paragraph +met his eyes:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Births</i>.—On Saturday, the 18th inst., in Great +Russell-street, the lady of Charles Kitterbell, Esq., of a son.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘It <i>is</i> a boy!’ he exclaimed, dashing down the +paper, to the astonishment of the waiters. ‘It <i>is</i> +a boy!’ But he speedily regained his composure as his eye +rested on a paragraph quoting the number of infant deaths from the bills +of mortality.</p> +<p>Six weeks passed away, and as no communication had been received +from the Kitterbells, Dumps was beginning to flatter himself that the +child was dead, when the following note painfully resolved his doubts:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>‘Great Russell-street,<br />Monday morning.</i></p> +<p>DEAR UNCLE,—You will be delighted to hear that my dear Jemima +has left her room, and that your future godson is getting on capitally. +He was very thin at first, but he is getting much larger, and nurse +says he is filling out every day. He cries a good deal, and is +a very singular colour, which made Jemima and me rather uncomfortable; +but as nurse says it’s natural, and as of course we know nothing +about these things yet, we are quite satisfied with what nurse says. +We think he will be a sharp child; and nurse says she’s sure he +will, because he never goes to sleep. You will readily believe +that we are all very happy, only we’re a little worn out for want +of rest, as he keeps us awake all night; but this we must expect, nurse +says, for the first six or eight months. He has been vaccinated, +but in consequence of the operation being rather awkwardly performed, +some small particles of glass were introduced into the arm with the +matter. Perhaps this may in some degree account for his being +rather fractious; at least, so nurse says. We propose to have +him christened at twelve o’clock on Friday, at Saint George’s +church, in Hart-street, by the name of Frederick Charles William. +Pray don’t be later than a quarter before twelve. We shall +have a very few friends in the evening, when of course we shall see +you. I am sorry to say that the dear boy appears rather restless +and uneasy to-day: the cause, I fear, is fever.</p> +<p>‘Believe me, dear Uncle,<br />‘Yours affectionately,<br />‘CHARLES +KITTERBELL.</p> +<p>‘P.S.—I open this note to say that we have just discovered +the cause of little Frederick’s restlessness. It is not +fever, as I apprehended, but a small pin, which nurse accidentally stuck +in his leg yesterday evening. We have taken it out, and he appears +more composed, though he still sobs a good deal.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>It is almost unnecessary to say that the perusal of the above interesting +statement was no great relief to the mind of the hypochondriacal Dumps. +It was impossible to recede, however, and so he put the best face—that +is to say, an uncommonly miserable one—upon the matter; and purchased +a handsome silver mug for the infant Kitterbell, upon which he ordered +the initials ‘F. C. W. K.,’ with the customary untrained +grape-vine-looking flourishes, and a large full stop, to be engraved +forthwith.</p> +<p>Monday was a fine day, Tuesday was delightful, Wednesday was equal +to either, and Thursday was finer than ever; four successive fine days +in London! Hackney-coachmen became revolutionary, and crossing-sweepers +began to doubt the existence of a First Cause. The <i>Morning +Herald</i> informed its readers that an old woman in Camden Town had +been heard to say that the fineness of the season was ‘unprecedented +in the memory of the oldest inhabitant;’ and Islington clerks, +with large families and small salaries, left off their black gaiters, +disdained to carry their once green cotton umbrellas, and walked to +town in the conscious pride of white stockings and cleanly brushed Bluchers. +Dumps beheld all this with an eye of supreme contempt—his triumph +was at hand. He knew that if it had been fine for four weeks instead +of four days, it would rain when he went out; he was lugubriously happy +in the conviction that Friday would be a wretched day—and so it +was. ‘I knew how it would be,’ said Dumps, as he turned +round opposite the Mansion-house at half-past eleven o’clock on +the Friday morning. ‘I knew how it would be. <i>I</i> +am concerned, and that’s enough;’—and certainly the +appearance of the day was sufficient to depress the spirits of a much +more buoyant-hearted individual than himself. It had rained, without +a moment’s cessation, since eight o’clock; everybody that +passed up Cheapside, and down Cheapside, looked wet, cold, and dirty. +All sorts of forgotten and long-concealed umbrellas had been put into +requisition. Cabs whisked about, with the ‘fare’ as +carefully boxed up behind two glazed calico curtains as any mysterious +picture in any one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s castles; omnibus horses +smoked like steam-engines; nobody thought of ‘standing up’ +under doorways or arches; they were painfully convinced it was a hopeless +case; and so everybody went hastily along, jumbling and jostling, and +swearing and perspiring, and slipping about, like amateur skaters behind +wooden chairs on the Serpentine on a frosty Sunday.</p> +<p>Dumps paused; he could not think of walking, being rather smart for +the christening. If he took a cab he was sure to be spilt, and +a hackney-coach was too expensive for his economical ideas. An +omnibus was waiting at the opposite corner—it was a desperate +case—he had never heard of an omnibus upsetting or running away, +and if the cad did knock him down, he could ‘pull him up’ +in return.</p> +<p>‘Now, sir!’ cried the young gentleman who officiated +as ‘cad’ to the ‘Lads of the Village,’ which +was the name of the machine just noticed. Dumps crossed.</p> +<p>‘This vay, sir!’ shouted the driver of the ‘Hark-away,’ +pulling up his vehicle immediately across the door of the opposition—‘This +vay, sir—he’s full.’ Dumps hesitated, whereupon +the ‘Lads of the Village’ commenced pouring out a torrent +of abuse against the ‘Hark-away;’ but the conductor of the +‘Admiral Napier’ settled the contest in a most satisfactory +manner, for all parties, by seizing Dumps round the waist, and thrusting +him into the middle of his vehicle which had just come up and only wanted +the sixteenth inside.</p> +<p>‘All right,’ said the ‘Admiral,’ and off +the thing thundered, like a fire-engine at full gallop, with the kidnapped +customer inside, standing in the position of a half doubled-up bootjack, +and falling about with every jerk of the machine, first on the one side, +and then on the other, like a ‘Jack-in-the-green,’ on May-day, +setting to the lady with a brass ladle.</p> +<p>‘For Heaven’s sake, where am I to sit?’ inquired +the miserable man of an old gentleman, into whose stomach he had just +fallen for the fourth time.</p> +<p>‘Anywhere but on my <i>chest</i>, sir,’ replied the old +gentleman in a surly tone.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps the <i>box</i> would suit the gentleman better,’ +suggested a very damp lawyer’s clerk, in a pink shirt, and a smirking +countenance.</p> +<p>After a great deal of struggling and falling about, Dumps at last +managed to squeeze himself into a seat, which, in addition to the slight +disadvantage of being between a window that would not shut, and a door +that must be open, placed him in close contact with a passenger, who +had been walking about all the morning without an umbrella, and who +looked as if he had spent the day in a full water-butt—only wetter.</p> +<p>‘Don’t bang the door so,’ said Dumps to the conductor, +as he shut it after letting out four of the passengers; I am very nervous—it +destroys me.’</p> +<p>‘Did any gen’lm’n say anythink?’ replied +the cad, thrusting in his head, and trying to look as if he didn’t +understand the request.</p> +<p>‘I told you not to bang the door so!’ repeated Dumps, +with an expression of countenance like the knave of clubs, in convulsions.</p> +<p>‘Oh! vy, it’s rather a sing’ler circumstance about +this here door, sir, that it von’t shut without banging,’ +replied the conductor; and he opened the door very wide, and shut it +again with a terrific bang, in proof of the assertion.</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said a little prim, wheezing +old gentleman, sitting opposite Dumps, ‘I beg your pardon; but +have you ever observed, when you have been in an omnibus on a wet day, +that four people out of five always come in with large cotton umbrellas, +without a handle at the top, or the brass spike at the bottom?’</p> +<p>‘Why, sir,’ returned Dumps, as he heard the clock strike +twelve, ‘it never struck me before; but now you mention it, I—Hollo! +hollo!’ shouted the persecuted individual, as the omnibus dashed +past Drury-lane, where he had directed to be set down.—‘Where +is the cad?’</p> +<p>‘I think he’s on the box, sir,’ said the young +gentleman before noticed in the pink shirt, which looked like a white +one ruled with red ink.</p> +<p>‘I want to be set down!’ said Dumps in a faint voice, +overcome by his previous efforts.</p> +<p>‘I think these cads want to be <i>set down</i>,’ returned +the attorney’s clerk, chuckling at his sally.</p> +<p>‘Hollo!’ cried Dumps again.</p> +<p>‘Hollo!’ echoed the passengers. The omnibus passed +St. Giles’s church.</p> +<p>‘Hold hard!’ said the conductor; ‘I’m blowed +if we ha’n’t forgot the gen’lm’n as vas to be +set down at Doory-lane.—Now, sir, make haste, if you please,’ +he added, opening the door, and assisting Dumps out with as much coolness +as if it was ‘all right.’ Dumps’s indignation +was for once getting the better of his cynical equanimity. ‘Drury-lane!’ +he gasped, with the voice of a boy in a cold bath for the first time.</p> +<p>‘Doory-lane, sir?—yes, sir,—third turning on the +right-hand side, sir.’</p> +<p>Dumps’s passion was paramount: he clutched his umbrella, and +was striding off with the firm determination of not paying the fare. +The cad, by a remarkable coincidence, happened to entertain a directly +contrary opinion, and Heaven knows how far the altercation would have +proceeded, if it had not been most ably and satisfactorily brought to +a close by the driver.</p> +<p>‘Hollo!’ said that respectable person, standing up on +the box, and leaning with one hand on the roof of the omnibus. +‘Hollo, Tom! tell the gentleman if so be as he feels aggrieved, +we will take him up to the Edge-er (Edgeware) Road for nothing, and +set him down at Doory-lane when we comes back. He can’t +reject that, anyhow.’</p> +<p>The argument was irresistible: Dumps paid the disputed sixpence, +and in a quarter of an hour was on the staircase of No. 14, Great Russell-street.</p> +<p>Everything indicated that preparations were making for the reception +of ‘a few friends’ in the evening. Two dozen extra +tumblers, and four ditto wine-glasses—looking anything but transparent, +with little bits of straw in them on the slab in the passage, just arrived. +There was a great smell of nutmeg, port wine, and almonds, on the staircase; +the covers were taken off the stair-carpet, and the figure of Venus +on the first landing looked as if she were ashamed of the composition-candle +in her right hand, which contrasted beautifully with the lamp-blacked +drapery of the goddess of love. The female servant (who looked +very warm and bustling) ushered Dumps into a front drawing-room, very +prettily furnished, with a plentiful sprinkling of little baskets, paper +table-mats, china watchmen, pink and gold albums, and rainbow-bound +little books on the different tables.</p> +<p>‘Ah, uncle!’ said Mr. Kitterbell, ‘how d’ye +do? Allow me—Jemima, my dear—my uncle. I think +you’ve seen Jemima before, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Have had the <i>pleasure</i>,’ returned big Dumps, his +tone and look making it doubtful whether in his life he had ever experienced +the sensation.</p> +<p>‘I’m sure,’ said Mrs. Kitterbell, with a languid +smile, and a slight cough. ‘I’m sure—hem—any +friend—of Charles’s—hem—much less a relation, +is—’</p> +<p>‘I knew you’d say so, my love,’ said little Kitterbell, +who, while he appeared to be gazing on the opposite houses, was looking +at his wife with a most affectionate air: ‘Bless you!’ +The last two words were accompanied with a simper, and a squeeze of +the hand, which stirred up all Uncle Dumps’s bile.</p> +<p>‘Jane, tell nurse to bring down baby,’ said Mrs. Kitterbell, +addressing the servant. Mrs. Kitterbell was a tall, thin young +lady, with very light hair, and a particularly white face—one +of those young women who almost invariably, though one hardly knows +why, recall to one’s mind the idea of a cold fillet of veal. +Out went the servant, and in came the nurse, with a remarkably small +parcel in her arms, packed up in a blue mantle trimmed with white fur.—This +was the baby.</p> +<p>‘Now, uncle,’ said Mr. Kitterbell, lifting up that part +of the mantle which covered the infant’s face, with an air of +great triumph, ‘<i>Who</i> do you think he’s like?’</p> +<p>‘He! he! Yes, who?’ said Mrs. K., putting her arm +through her husband’s, and looking up into Dumps’s face +with an expression of as much interest as she was capable of displaying.</p> +<p>‘Good God, how small he is!’ cried the amiable uncle, +starting back with well-feigned surprise; ‘<i>remarkably</i> small +indeed.’</p> +<p>‘Do you think so?’ inquired poor little Kitterbell, rather +alarmed. ‘He’s a monster to what he was—ain’t +he, nurse?’</p> +<p>‘He’s a dear,’ said the nurse, squeezing the child, +and evading the question—not because she scrupled to disguise +the fact, but because she couldn’t afford to throw away the chance +of Dumps’s half-crown.</p> +<p>‘Well, but who is he like?’ inquired little Kitterbell.</p> +<p>Dumps looked at the little pink heap before him, and only thought +at the moment of the best mode of mortifying the youthful parents.</p> +<p>‘I really don’t know <i>who</i> he’s like,’ +he answered, very well knowing the reply expected of him.</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think he’s like <i>me</i>?’ inquired +his nephew with a knowing air.</p> +<p>‘Oh, <i>decidedly</i> not!’ returned Dumps, with an emphasis +not to be misunderstood. ‘Decidedly not like you.—Oh, +certainly not.’</p> +<p>‘Like Jemima?’ asked Kitterbell, faintly.</p> +<p>‘Oh, dear no; not in the least. I’m no judge, of +course, in such cases; but I really think he’s more like one of +those little carved representations that one sometimes sees blowing +a trumpet on a tombstone!’ The nurse stooped down over the +child, and with great difficulty prevented an explosion of mirth. +Pa and ma looked almost as miserable as their amiable uncle.</p> +<p>‘Well!’ said the disappointed little father, ‘you’ll +be better able to tell what he’s like by-and-by. You shall +see him this evening with his mantle off.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you,’ said Dumps, feeling particularly grateful.</p> +<p>‘Now, my love,’ said Kitterbell to his wife, ‘it’s +time we were off. We’re to meet the other godfather and +the godmother at the church, uncle,—Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from over +the way—uncommonly nice people. My love, are you well wrapped +up?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, dear.’</p> +<p>‘Are you sure you won’t have another shawl?’ inquired +the anxious husband.</p> +<p>‘No, sweet,’ returned the charming mother, accepting +Dumps’s proffered arm; and the little party entered the hackney-coach +that was to take them to the church; Dumps amusing Mrs. Kitterbell by +expatiating largely on the danger of measles, thrush, teeth-cutting, +and other interesting diseases to which children are subject.</p> +<p>The ceremony (which occupied about five minutes) passed off without +anything particular occurring. The clergyman had to dine some +distance from town, and had two churchings, three christenings, and +a funeral to perform in something less than an hour. The godfathers +and godmother, therefore, promised to renounce the devil and all his +works—‘and all that sort of thing’—as little +Kitterbell said—‘in less than no time;’ and with the +exception of Dumps nearly letting the child fall into the font when +he handed it to the clergyman, the whole affair went off in the usual +business-like and matter-of-course manner, and Dumps re-entered the +Bank-gates at two o’clock with a heavy heart, and the painful +conviction that he was regularly booked for an evening party.</p> +<p>Evening came—and so did Dumps’s pumps, black silk stockings, +and white cravat which he had ordered to be forwarded, per boy, from +Pentonville. The depressed godfather dressed himself at a friend’s +counting-house, from whence, with his spirits fifty degrees below proof, +he sallied forth—as the weather had cleared up, and the evening +was tolerably fine—to walk to Great Russell-street. Slowly +he paced up Cheapside, Newgate-street, down Snow-hill, and up Holborn +ditto, looking as grim as the figure-head of a man-of-war, and finding +out fresh causes of misery at every step. As he was crossing the +corner of Hatton-garden, a man apparently intoxicated, rushed against +him, and would have knocked him down, had he not been providentially +caught by a very genteel young man, who happened to be close to him +at the time. The shock so disarranged Dumps’s nerves, as +well as his dress, that he could hardly stand. The gentleman took +his arm, and in the kindest manner walked with him as far as Furnival’s +Inn. Dumps, for about the first time in his life, felt grateful +and polite; and he and the gentlemanly-looking young man parted with +mutual expressions of good will.</p> +<p>‘There are at least some well-disposed men in the world,’ +ruminated the misanthropical Dumps, as he proceeded towards his destination.</p> +<p>Rat—tat—ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-rat—knocked a hackney-coachman +at Kitterbell’s door, in imitation of a gentleman’s servant, +just as Dumps reached it; and out came an old lady in a large toque, +and an old gentleman in a blue coat, and three female copies of the +old lady in pink dresses, and shoes to match.</p> +<p>‘It’s a large party,’ sighed the unhappy godfather, +wiping the perspiration from his forehead, and leaning against the area-railings. +It was some time before the miserable man could muster up courage to +knock at the door, and when he did, the smart appearance of a neighbouring +greengrocer (who had been hired to wait for seven and sixpence, and +whose calves alone were worth double the money), the lamp in the passage, +and the Venus on the landing, added to the hum of many voices, and the +sound of a harp and two violins, painfully convinced him that his surmises +were but too well founded.</p> +<p>‘How are you?’ said little Kitterbell, in a greater bustle +than ever, bolting out of the little back parlour with a cork-screw +in his hand, and various particles of sawdust, looking like so many +inverted commas, on his inexpressibles.</p> +<p>‘Good God!’ said Dumps, turning into the aforesaid parlour +to put his shoes on, which he had brought in his coat-pocket, and still +more appalled by the sight of seven fresh-drawn corks, and a corresponding +number of decanters. ‘How many people are there up-stairs?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, not above thirty-five. We’ve had the carpet +taken up in the back drawing-room, and the piano and the card-tables +are in the front. Jemima thought we’d better have a regular +sit-down supper in the front parlour, because of the speechifying, and +all that. But, Lord! uncle, what’s the matter?’ continued +the excited little man, as Dumps stood with one shoe on, rummaging his +pockets with the most frightful distortion of visage. ‘What +have you lost? Your pocket-book?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ returned Dumps, diving first into one pocket and +then into the other, and speaking in a voice like Desdemona with the +pillow over her mouth.</p> +<p>‘Your card-case? snuff-box? the key of your lodgings?’ +continued Kitterbell, pouring question on question with the rapidity +of lightning.</p> +<p>‘No! no!’ ejaculated Dumps, still diving eagerly into +his empty pockets.</p> +<p>‘Not—not—the <i>mug</i> you spoke of this morning?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, the <i>mug</i>!’ replied Dumps, sinking into a +chair.</p> +<p>‘How <i>could</i> you have done it?’ inquired Kitterbell. +‘Are you sure you brought it out?’</p> +<p>‘Yes! yes! I see it all!’ said Dumps, starting +up as the idea flashed across his mind; ‘miserable dog that I +am—I was born to suffer. I see it all: it was the gentlemanly-looking +young man!’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Dumps!’ shouted the greengrocer in a stentorian +voice, as he ushered the somewhat recovered godfather into the drawing-room +half an hour after the above declaration. ‘Mr. Dumps!’—everybody +looked at the door, and in came Dumps, feeling about as much out of +place as a salmon might be supposed to be on a gravel-walk.</p> +<p>‘Happy to see you again,’ said Mrs. Kitterbell, quite +unconscious of the unfortunate man’s confusion and misery; ‘you +must allow me to introduce you to a few of our friends:- my mamma, Mr. +Dumps—my papa and sisters.’ Dumps seized the hand +of the mother as warmly as if she was his own parent, bowed <i>to</i> +the young ladies, and <i>against</i> a gentleman behind him, and took +no notice whatever of the father, who had been bowing incessantly for +three minutes and a quarter.</p> +<p>‘Uncle,’ said little Kitterbell, after Dumps had been +introduced to a select dozen or two, ‘you must let me lead you +to the other end of the room, to introduce you to my friend Danton. +Such a splendid fellow!—I’m sure you’ll like him—this +way,’—Dumps followed as tractably as a tame bear.</p> +<p>Mr. Danton was a young man of about five-and-twenty, with a considerable +stock of impudence, and a very small share of ideas: he was a great +favourite, especially with young ladies of from sixteen to twenty-six +years of age, both inclusive. He could imitate the French-horn +to admiration, sang comic songs most inimitably, and had the most insinuating +way of saying impertinent nothings to his doting female admirers. +He had acquired, somehow or other, the reputation of being a great wit, +and, accordingly, whenever he opened his mouth, everybody who knew him +laughed very heartily.</p> +<p>The introduction took place in due form. Mr. Danton bowed, +and twirled a lady’s handkerchief, which he held in his hand, +in a most comic way. Everybody smiled.</p> +<p>‘Very warm,’ said Dumps, feeling it necessary to say +something.</p> +<p>‘Yes. It was warmer yesterday,’ returned the brilliant +Mr. Danton.—A general laugh.</p> +<p>‘I have great pleasure in congratulating you on your first +appearance in the character of a father, sir,’ he continued, addressing +Dumps—‘godfather, I mean.’—The young ladies +were convulsed, and the gentlemen in ecstasies.</p> +<p>A general hum of admiration interrupted the conversation, and announced +the entrance of nurse with the baby. An universal rush of the +young ladies immediately took place. (Girls are always <i>so</i> +fond of babies in company.)</p> +<p>‘Oh, you dear!’ said one.</p> +<p>‘How sweet!’ cried another, in a low tone of the most +enthusiastic admiration.</p> +<p>‘Heavenly!’ added a third.</p> +<p>‘Oh! what dear little arms!’ said a fourth, holding up +an arm and fist about the size and shape of the leg of a fowl cleanly +picked.</p> +<p>‘Did you ever!’—said a little coquette with a large +bustle, who looked like a French lithograph, appealing to a gentleman +in three waistcoats—‘Did you ever!’</p> +<p>‘Never, in my life,’ returned her admirer, pulling up +his collar.</p> +<p>‘Oh!<i> do</i> let me take it, nurse,’ cried another +young lady. ‘The love!’</p> +<p>‘Can it open its eyes, nurse?’ inquired another, affecting +the utmost innocence.—Suffice it to say, that the single ladies +unanimously voted him an angel, and that the married ones, <i>nem. con</i>., +agreed that he was decidedly the finest baby they had ever beheld—except +their own.</p> +<p>The quadrilles were resumed with great spirit. Mr. Danton was +universally admitted to be beyond himself; several young ladies enchanted +the company and gained admirers by singing ‘We met’—‘I +saw her at the Fancy Fair’—and other equally sentimental +and interesting ballads. ‘The young men,’ as Mrs. +Kitterbell said, ‘made themselves very agreeable;’ the girls +did not lose their opportunity; and the evening promised to go off excellently. +Dumps didn’t mind it: he had devised a plan for himself—a +little bit of fun in his own way—and he was almost happy! +He played a rubber and lost every point Mr. Danton said he could not +have lost every point, because he made a point of losing: everybody +laughed tremendously. Dumps retorted with a better joke, and nobody +smiled, with the exception of the host, who seemed to consider it his +duty to laugh till he was black in the face, at everything. There +was only one drawback—the musicians did not play with quite as +much spirit as could have been wished. The cause, however, was +satisfactorily explained; for it appeared, on the testimony of a gentleman +who had come up from Gravesend in the afternoon, that they had been +engaged on board a steamer all day, and had played almost without cessation +all the way to Gravesend, and all the way back again.</p> +<p>The ‘sit-down supper’ was excellent; there were four +barley-sugar temples on the table, which would have looked beautiful +if they had not melted away when the supper began; and a water-mill, +whose only fault was that instead of going round, it ran over the table-cloth. +Then there were fowls, and tongue, and trifle, and sweets, and lobster +salad, and potted beef—and everything. And little Kitterbell +kept calling out for clean plates, and the clean plates did not come: +and then the gentlemen who wanted the plates said they didn’t +mind, they’d take a lady’s; and then Mrs. Kitterbell applauded +their gallantry, and the greengrocer ran about till he thought his seven +and sixpence was very hardly earned; and the young ladies didn’t +eat much for fear it shouldn’t look romantic, and the married +ladies eat as much as possible, for fear they shouldn’t have enough; +and a great deal of wine was drunk, and everybody talked and laughed +considerably.</p> +<p>‘Hush! hush!’ said Mr. Kitterbell, rising and looking +very important. ‘My love (this was addressed to his wife +at the other end of the table), take care of Mrs. Maxwell, and your +mamma, and the rest of the married ladies; the gentlemen will persuade +the young ladies to fill their glasses, I am sure.’</p> +<p>‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said long Dumps, in a very sepulchral +voice and rueful accent, rising from his chair like the ghost in Don +Juan, ‘will you have the kindness to charge your glasses? +I am desirous of proposing a toast.’</p> +<p>A dead silence ensued, and the glasses were filled—everybody +looked serious.</p> +<p>‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ slowly continued the ominous +Dumps, ‘I’—(here Mr. Danton imitated two notes from +the French-horn, in a very loud key, which electrified the nervous toast-proposer, +and convulsed his audience).</p> +<p>‘Order! order!’ said little Kitterbell, endeavouring +to suppress his laughter.</p> +<p>‘Order!’ said the gentlemen.</p> +<p>‘Danton, be quiet,’ said a particular friend on the opposite +side of the table.</p> +<p>‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ resumed Dumps, somewhat recovered, +and not much disconcerted, for he was always a pretty good hand at a +speech—‘In accordance with what is, I believe, the established +usage on these occasions, I, as one of the godfathers of Master Frederick +Charles William Kitterbell—(here the speaker’s voice faltered, +for he remembered the mug)—venture to rise to propose a toast. +I need hardly say that it is the health and prosperity of that young +gentleman, the particular event of whose early life we are here met +to celebrate—(applause). Ladies and gentlemen, it is impossible +to suppose that our friends here, whose sincere well-wishers we all +are, can pass through life without some trials, considerable suffering, +severe affliction, and heavy losses!’—Here the arch-traitor +paused, and slowly drew forth a long, white pocket-handkerchief—his +example was followed by several ladies. ‘That these trials +may be long spared them is my most earnest prayer, my most fervent wish +(a distinct sob from the grandmother). I hope and trust, ladies +and gentlemen, that the infant whose christening we have this evening +met to celebrate, may not be removed from the arms of his parents by +premature decay (several cambrics were in requisition): that his young +and now <i>apparently</i> healthy form, may not be wasted by lingering +disease. (Here Dumps cast a sardonic glance around, for a great +sensation was manifest among the married ladies.) You, I am sure, +will concur with me in wishing that he may live to be a comfort and +a blessing to his parents. (“Hear, hear!” and an audible +sob from Mr. Kitterbell.) But should he not be what we could wish—should +he forget in after times the duty which he owes to them—should +they unhappily experience that distracting truth, “how sharper +than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child”’—Here +Mrs. Kitterbell, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and accompanied +by several ladies, rushed from the room, and went into violent hysterics +in the passage, leaving her better half in almost as bad a condition, +and a general impression in Dumps’s favour; for people like sentiment, +after all.</p> +<p>It need hardly be added, that this occurrence quite put a stop to +the harmony of the evening. Vinegar, hartshorn, and cold water, +were now as much in request as negus, rout-cakes, and <i>bon-bons</i> +had been a short time before. Mrs. Kitterbell was immediately +conveyed to her apartment, the musicians were silenced, flirting ceased, +and the company slowly departed. Dumps left the house at the commencement +of the bustle, and walked home with a light step, and (for him) a cheerful +heart. His landlady, who slept in the next room, has offered to +make oath that she heard him laugh, in his peculiar manner, after he +had locked his door. The assertion, however, is so improbable, +and bears on the face of it such strong evidence of untruth, that it +has never obtained credence to this hour.</p> +<p>The family of Mr. Kitterbell has considerably increased since the +period to which we have referred; he has now two sons and a daughter; +and as he expects, at no distant period, to have another addition to +his blooming progeny, he is anxious to secure an eligible godfather +for the occasion. He is determined, however, to impose upon him +two conditions. He must bind himself, by a solemn obligation, +not to make any speech after supper; and it is indispensable that he +should be in no way connected with ‘the most miserable man in +the world.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CHAPTER XII—THE DRUNKARD’S DEATH</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We will be bold to say, that there is scarcely a man in the constant +habit of walking, day after day, through any of the crowded thoroughfares +of London, who cannot recollect among the people whom he ‘knows +by sight,’ to use a familiar phrase, some being of abject and +wretched appearance whom he remembers to have seen in a very different +condition, whom he has observed sinking lower and lower, by almost imperceptible +degrees, and the shabbiness and utter destitution of whose appearance, +at last, strike forcibly and painfully upon him, as he passes by. +Is there any man who has mixed much with society, or whose avocations +have caused him to mingle, at one time or other, with a great number +of people, who cannot call to mind the time when some shabby, miserable +wretch, in rags and filth, who shuffles past him now in all the squalor +of disease and poverty, with a respectable tradesman, or clerk, or a +man following some thriving pursuit, with good prospects, and decent +means?—or cannot any of our readers call to mind from among the +list of their <i>quondam</i> acquaintance, some fallen and degraded +man, who lingers about the pavement in hungry misery—from whom +every one turns coldly away, and who preserves himself from sheer starvation, +nobody knows how? Alas! such cases are of too frequent occurrence +to be rare items in any man’s experience; and but too often arise +from one cause—drunkenness—that fierce rage for the slow, +sure poison, that oversteps every other consideration; that casts aside +wife, children, friends, happiness, and station; and hurries its victims +madly on to degradation and death.</p> +<p>Some of these men have been impelled, by misfortune and misery, to +the vice that has degraded them. The ruin of worldly expectations, +the death of those they loved, the sorrow that slowly consumes, but +will not break the heart, has driven them wild; and they present the +hideous spectacle of madmen, slowly dying by their own hands. +But by far the greater part have wilfully, and with open eyes, plunged +into the gulf from which the man who once enters it never rises more, +but into which he sinks deeper and deeper down, until recovery is hopeless.</p> +<p>Such a man as this once stood by the bedside of his dying wife, while +his children knelt around, and mingled loud bursts of grief with their +innocent prayers. The room was scantily and meanly furnished; +and it needed but a glance at the pale form from which the light of +life was fast passing away, to know that grief, and want, and anxious +care, had been busy at the heart for many a weary year. An elderly +woman, with her face bathed in tears, was supporting the head of the +dying woman—her daughter—on her arm. But it was not +towards her that the was face turned; it was not her hand that the cold +and trembling fingers clasped; they pressed the husband’s arm; +the eyes so soon to be closed in death rested on his face, and the man +shook beneath their gaze. His dress was slovenly and disordered, +his face inflamed, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. He had been summoned +from some wild debauch to the bed of sorrow and death.</p> +<p>A shaded lamp by the bed-side cast a dim light on the figures around, +and left the remainder of the room in thick, deep shadow. The +silence of night prevailed without the house, and the stillness of death +was in the chamber. A watch hung over the mantel-shelf; its low +ticking was the only sound that broke the profound quiet, but it was +a solemn one, for well they knew, who heard it, that before it had recorded +the passing of another hour, it would beat the knell of a departed spirit.</p> +<p>It is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death; +to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count +the dreary hours through long, long nights—such nights as only +watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear +the dearest secrets of the heart—the pent-up, hidden secrets of +many years—poured forth by the unconscious, helpless being before +you; and to think how little the reserve and cunning of a whole life +will avail, when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. +Strange tales have been told in the wanderings of dying men; tales so +full of guilt and crime, that those who stood by the sick person’s +couch have fled in horror and affright, lest they should be scared to +madness by what they heard and saw; and many a wretch has died alone, +raving of deeds the very name of which has driven the boldest man away.</p> +<p>But no such ravings were to be heard at the bed-side by which the +children knelt. Their half-stifled sobs and moaning alone broke +the silence of the lonely chamber. And when at last the mother’s +grasp relaxed, and, turning one look from the children to the father, +she vainly strove to speak, and fell backward on the pillow, all was +so calm and tranquil that she seemed to sink to sleep. They leant +over her; they called upon her name, softly at first, and then in the +loud and piercing tones of desperation. But there was no reply. +They listened for her breath, but no sound came. They felt for +the palpitation of the heart, but no faint throb responded to the touch. +That heart was broken, and she was dead!</p> +<p>The husband sunk into a chair by the bed-side, and clasped his hands +upon his burning forehead. He gazed from child to child, but when +a weeping eye met his, he quailed beneath its look. No word of +comfort was whispered in his ear, no look of kindness lighted on his +face. All shrunk from and avoided him; and when at last he staggered +from the room, no one sought to follow or console the widower.</p> +<p>The time had been when many a friend would have crowded round him +in his affliction, and many a heartfelt condolence would have met him +in his grief. Where were they now? One by one, friends, +relations, the commonest acquaintance even, had fallen off from and +deserted the drunkard. His wife alone had clung to him in good +and evil, in sickness and poverty, and how had he rewarded her? +He had reeled from the tavern to her bed-side in time to see her die.</p> +<p>He rushed from the house, and walked swiftly through the streets. +Remorse, fear, shame, all crowded on his mind. Stupefied with +drink, and bewildered with the scene he had just witnessed, he re-entered +the tavern he had quitted shortly before. Glass succeeded glass. +His blood mounted, and his brain whirled round. Death! Every +one must die, and why not <i>she</i>? She was too good for him; +her relations had often told him so. Curses on them! Had +they not deserted her, and left her to whine away the time at home? +Well—she was dead, and happy perhaps. It was better as it +was. Another glass—one more! Hurrah! It was +a merry life while it lasted; and he would make the most of it.</p> +<p>Time went on; the three children who were left to him, grew up, and +were children no longer. The father remained the same—poorer, +shabbier, and more dissolute-looking, but the same confirmed and irreclaimable +drunkard. The boys had, long ago, run wild in the streets, and +left him; the girl alone remained, but she worked hard, and words or +blows could always procure him something for the tavern. So he +went on in the old course, and a merry life he led.</p> +<p>One night, as early as ten o’clock—for the girl had been +sick for many days, and there was, consequently, little to spend at +the public-house—he bent his steps homeward, bethinking himself +that if he would have her able to earn money, it would be as well to +apply to the parish surgeon, or, at all events, to take the trouble +of inquiring what ailed her, which he had not yet thought it worth while +to do. It was a wet December night; the wind blew piercing cold, +and the rain poured heavily down. He begged a few halfpence from +a passer-by, and having bought a small loaf (for it was his interest +to keep the girl alive, if he could), he shuffled onwards as fast as +the wind and rain would let him.</p> +<p>At the back of Fleet-street, and lying between it and the water-side, +are several mean and narrow courts, which form a portion of Whitefriars: +it was to one of these that he directed his steps.</p> +<p>The alley into which he turned, might, for filth and misery, have +competed with the darkest corner of this ancient sanctuary in its dirtiest +and most lawless time. The houses, varying from two stories in +height to four, were stained with every indescribable hue that long +exposure to the weather, damp, and rottenness can impart to tenements +composed originally of the roughest and coarsest materials. The +windows were patched with paper, and stuffed with the foulest rags; +the doors were falling from their hinges; poles with lines on which +to dry clothes, projected from every casement, and sounds of quarrelling +or drunkenness issued from every room.</p> +<p>The solitary oil lamp in the centre of the court had been blown out, +either by the violence of the wind or the act of some inhabitant who +had excellent reasons for objecting to his residence being rendered +too conspicuous; and the only light which fell upon the broken and uneven +pavement, was derived from the miserable candles that here and there +twinkled in the rooms of such of the more fortunate residents as could +afford to indulge in so expensive a luxury. A gutter ran down +the centre of the alley—all the sluggish odours of which had been +called forth by the rain; and as the wind whistled through the old houses, +the doors and shutters creaked upon their hinges, and the windows shook +in their frames, with a violence which every moment seemed to threaten +the destruction of the whole place.</p> +<p>The man whom we have followed into this den, walked on in the darkness, +sometimes stumbling into the main gutter, and at others into some branch +repositories of garbage which had been formed by the rain, until he +reached the last house in the court. The door, or rather what +was left of it, stood ajar, for the convenience of the numerous lodgers; +and he proceeded to grope his way up the old and broken stair, to the +attic story.</p> +<p>He was within a step or two of his room door, when it opened, and +a girl, whose miserable and emaciated appearance was only to be equalled +by that of the candle which she shaded with her hand, peeped anxiously +out.</p> +<p>‘Is that you, father?’ said the girl.</p> +<p>‘Who else should it be?’ replied the man gruffly. +‘What are you trembling at? It’s little enough that +I’ve had to drink to-day, for there’s no drink without money, +and no money without work. What the devil’s the matter with +the girl?’</p> +<p>‘I am not well, father—not at all well,’ said the +girl, bursting into tears.</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ replied the man, in the tone of a person who is +compelled to admit a very unpleasant fact, to which he would rather +remain blind, if he could. ‘You must get better somehow, +for we must have money. You must go to the parish doctor, and +make him give you some medicine. They’re paid for it, damn +’em. What are you standing before the door for? Let +me come in, can’t you?’</p> +<p>‘Father,’ whispered the girl, shutting the door behind +her, and placing herself before it, ‘William has come back.’</p> +<p>‘Who!’ said the man with a start.</p> +<p>‘Hush,’ replied the girl, ‘William; brother William.’</p> +<p>‘And what does he want?’ said the man, with an effort +at composure—‘money? meat? drink? He’s come +to the wrong shop for that, if he does. Give me the candle—give +me the candle, fool—I ain’t going to hurt him.’ +He snatched the candle from her hand, and walked into the room.</p> +<p>Sitting on an old box, with his head resting on his hand, and his +eyes fixed on a wretched cinder fire that was smouldering on the hearth, +was a young man of about two-and-twenty, miserably clad in an old coarse +jacket and trousers. He started up when his father entered.</p> +<p>‘Fasten the door, Mary,’ said the young man hastily—‘Fasten +the door. You look as if you didn’t know me, father. +It’s long enough, since you drove me from home; you may well forget +me.’</p> +<p>‘And what do you want here, now?’ said the father, seating +himself on a stool, on the other side of the fireplace. ‘What +do you want here, now?’</p> +<p>‘Shelter,’ replied the son. ‘I’m in +trouble: that’s enough. If I’m caught I shall swing; +that’s certain. Caught I shall be, unless I stop here; that’s +<i>as</i> certain. And there’s an end of it.’</p> +<p>‘You mean to say, you’ve been robbing, or murdering, +then?’ said the father.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I do,’ replied the son. ‘Does it surprise +you, father?’ He looked steadily in the man’s face, +but he withdrew his eyes, and bent them on the ground.</p> +<p>‘Where’s your brothers?’ he said, after a long +pause.</p> +<p>‘Where they’ll never trouble you,’ replied his +son: ‘John’s gone to America, and Henry’s dead.’</p> +<p>‘Dead!’ said the father, with a shudder, which even he +could not express.</p> +<p>‘Dead,’ replied the young man. ‘He died in +my arms—shot like a dog, by a gamekeeper. He staggered back, +I caught him, and his blood trickled down my hands. It poured +out from his side like water. He was weak, and it blinded him, +but he threw himself down on his knees, on the grass, and prayed to +God, that if his mother was in heaven, He would hear her prayers for +pardon for her youngest son. “I was her favourite boy, Will,” +he said, “and I am glad to think, now, that when she was dying, +though I was a very young child then, and my little heart was almost +bursting, I knelt down at the foot of the bed, and thanked God for having +made me so fond of her as to have never once done anything to bring +the tears into her eyes. O Will, why was she taken away, and father +left?” There’s his dying words, father,’ said +the young man; ‘make the best you can of ’em. You +struck him across the face, in a drunken fit, the morning we ran away; +and here’s the end of it.’</p> +<p>The girl wept aloud; and the father, sinking his head upon his knees, +rocked himself to and fro.</p> +<p>‘If I am taken,’ said the young man, ‘I shall be +carried back into the country, and hung for that man’s murder. +They cannot trace me here, without your assistance, father. For +aught I know, you may give me up to justice; but unless you do, here +I stop, until I can venture to escape abroad.’</p> +<p>For two whole days, all three remained in the wretched room, without +stirring out. On the third evening, however, the girl was worse +than she had been yet, and the few scraps of food they had were gone. +It was indispensably necessary that somebody should go out; and as the +girl was too weak and ill, the father went, just at nightfall.</p> +<p>He got some medicine for the girl, and a trifle in the way of pecuniary +assistance. On his way back, he earned sixpence by holding a horse; +and he turned homewards with enough money to supply their most pressing +wants for two or three days to come. He had to pass the public-house. +He lingered for an instant, walked past it, turned back again, lingered +once more, and finally slunk in. Two men whom he had not observed, +were on the watch. They were on the point of giving up their search +in despair, when his loitering attracted their attention; and when he +entered the public-house, they followed him.</p> +<p>‘You’ll drink with me, master,’ said one of them, +proffering him a glass of liquor.</p> +<p>‘And me too,’ said the other, replenishing the glass +as soon as it was drained of its contents.</p> +<p>The man thought of his hungry children, and his son’s danger. +But they were nothing to the drunkard. He <i>did</i> drink; and +his reason left him.</p> +<p>‘A wet night, Warden,’ whispered one of the men in his +ear, as he at length turned to go away, after spending in liquor one-half +of the money on which, perhaps, his daughter’s life depended.</p> +<p>‘The right sort of night for our friends in hiding, Master +Warden,’ whispered the other.</p> +<p>‘Sit down here,’ said the one who had spoken first, drawing +him into a corner. ‘We have been looking arter the young +un. We came to tell him, it’s all right now, but we couldn’t +find him ’cause we hadn’t got the precise direction. +But that ain’t strange, for I don’t think he know’d +it himself, when he come to London, did he?’</p> +<p>‘No, he didn’t,’ replied the father.</p> +<p>The two men exchanged glances.</p> +<p>‘There’s a vessel down at the docks, to sail at midnight, +when it’s high water,’ resumed the first speaker, ‘and +we’ll put him on board. His passage is taken in another +name, and what’s better than that, it’s paid for. +It’s lucky we met you.’</p> +<p>‘Very,’ said the second.</p> +<p>‘Capital luck,’ said the first, with a wink to his companion.</p> +<p>‘Great,’ replied the second, with a slight nod of intelligence.</p> +<p>‘Another glass here; quick’—said the first speaker. +And in five minutes more, the father had unconsciously yielded up his +own son into the hangman’s hands.</p> +<p>Slowly and heavily the time dragged along, as the brother and sister, +in their miserable hiding-place, listened in anxious suspense to the +slightest sound. At length, a heavy footstep was heard upon the +stair; it approached nearer; it reached the landing; and the father +staggered into the room.</p> +<p>The girl saw that he was intoxicated, and advanced with the candle +in her hand to meet him; she stopped short, gave a loud scream, and +fell senseless on the ground. She had caught sight of the shadow +of a man reflected on the floor. They both rushed in, and in another +instant the young man was a prisoner, and handcuffed.</p> +<p>‘Very quietly done,’ said one of the men to his companion, +‘thanks to the old man. Lift up the girl, Tom—come, +come, it’s no use crying, young woman. It’s all over +now, and can’t be helped.’</p> +<p>The young man stooped for an instant over the girl, and then turned +fiercely round upon his father, who had reeled against the wall, and +was gazing on the group with drunken stupidity.</p> +<p>‘Listen to me, father,’ he said, in a tone that made +the drunkard’s flesh creep. ‘My brother’s blood, +and mine, is on your head: I never had kind look, or word, or care, +from you, and alive or dead, I never will forgive you. Die when +you will, or how, I will be with you. I speak as a dead man now, +and I warn you, father, that as surely as you must one day stand before +your Maker, so surely shall your children be there, hand in hand, to +cry for judgment against you.’ He raised his manacled hands +in a threatening attitude, fixed his eyes on his shrinking parent, and +slowly left the room; and neither father nor sister ever beheld him +more, on this side of the grave.</p> +<p>When the dim and misty light of a winter’s morning penetrated +into the narrow court, and struggled through the begrimed window of +the wretched room, Warden awoke from his heavy sleep, and found himself +alone. He rose, and looked round him; the old flock mattress on +the floor was undisturbed; everything was just as he remembered to have +seen it last: and there were no signs of any one, save himself, having +occupied the room during the night. He inquired of the other lodgers, +and of the neighbours; but his daughter had not been seen or heard of. +He rambled through the streets, and scrutinised each wretched face among +the crowds that thronged them, with anxious eyes. But his search +was fruitless, and he returned to his garret when night came on, desolate +and weary.</p> +<p>For many days he occupied himself in the same manner, but no trace +of his daughter did he meet with, and no word of her reached his ears. +At length he gave up the pursuit as hopeless. He had long thought +of the probability of her leaving him, and endeavouring to gain her +bread in quiet, elsewhere. She had left him at last to starve +alone. He ground his teeth, and cursed her!</p> +<p>He begged his bread from door to door. Every halfpenny he could +wring from the pity or credulity of those to whom he addressed himself, +was spent in the old way. A year passed over his head; the roof +of a jail was the only one that had sheltered him for many months. +He slept under archways, and in brickfields—anywhere, where there +was some warmth or shelter from the cold and rain. But in the +last stage of poverty, disease, and houseless want, he was a drunkard +still.</p> +<p>At last, one bitter night, he sunk down on a door-step faint and +ill. The premature decay of vice and profligacy had worn him to +the bone. His cheeks were hollow and livid; his eyes were sunken, +and their sight was dim. His legs trembled beneath his weight, +and a cold shiver ran through every limb.</p> +<p>And now the long-forgotten scenes of a misspent life crowded thick +and fast upon him. He thought of the time when he had a home—a +happy, cheerful home—and of those who peopled it, and flocked +about him then, until the forms of his elder children seemed to rise +from the grave, and stand about him—so plain, so clear, and so +distinct they were that he could touch and feel them. Looks that +he had long forgotten were fixed upon him once more; voices long since +hushed in death sounded in his ears like the music of village bells. +But it was only for an instant. The rain beat heavily upon him; +and cold and hunger were gnawing at his heart again.</p> +<p>He rose, and dragged his feeble limbs a few paces further. +The street was silent and empty; the few passengers who passed by, at +that late hour, hurried quickly on, and his tremulous voice was lost +in the violence of the storm. Again that heavy chill struck through +his frame, and his blood seemed to stagnate beneath it. He coiled +himself up in a projecting doorway, and tried to sleep.</p> +<p>But sleep had fled from his dull and glazed eyes. His mind +wandered strangely, but he was awake, and conscious. The well-known +shout of drunken mirth sounded in his ear, the glass was at his lips, +the board was covered with choice rich food—they were before him: +he could see them all, he had but to reach out his hand, and take them—and, +though the illusion was reality itself, he knew that he was sitting +alone in the deserted street, watching the rain-drops as they pattered +on the stones; that death was coming upon him by inches—and that +there were none to care for or help him.</p> +<p>Suddenly he started up, in the extremity of terror. He had +heard his own voice shouting in the night air, he knew not what, or +why. Hark! A groan!—another! His senses were +leaving him: half-formed and incoherent words burst from his lips; and +his hands sought to tear and lacerate his flesh. He was going +mad, and he shrieked for help till his voice failed him.</p> +<p>He raised his head, and looked up the long dismal street. He +recollected that outcasts like himself, condemned to wander day and +night in those dreadful streets, had sometimes gone distracted with +their own loneliness. He remembered to have heard many years before +that a homeless wretch had once been found in a solitary corner, sharpening +a rusty knife to plunge into his own heart, preferring death to that +endless, weary, wandering to and fro. In an instant his resolve +was taken, his limbs received new life; he ran quickly from the spot, +and paused not for breath until he reached the river-side.</p> +<p>He crept softly down the steep stone stairs that lead from the commencement +of Waterloo Bridge, down to the water’s level. He crouched +into a corner, and held his breath, as the patrol passed. Never +did prisoner’s heart throb with the hope of liberty and life half +so eagerly as did that of the wretched man at the prospect of death. +The watch passed close to him, but he remained unobserved; and after +waiting till the sound of footsteps had died away in the distance, he +cautiously descended, and stood beneath the gloomy arch that forms the +landing-place from the river.</p> +<p>The tide was in, and the water flowed at his feet. The rain +had ceased, the wind was lulled, and all was, for the moment, still +and quiet—so quiet, that the slightest sound on the opposite bank, +even the rippling of the water against the barges that were moored there, +was distinctly audible to his ear. The stream stole languidly +and sluggishly on. Strange and fantastic forms rose to the surface, +and beckoned him to approach; dark gleaming eyes peered from the water, +and seemed to mock his hesitation, while hollow murmurs from behind, +urged him onwards. He retreated a few paces, took a short run, +desperate leap, and plunged into the river.</p> +<p>Not five seconds had passed when he rose to the water’s surface—but +what a change had taken place in that short time, in all his thoughts +and feelings! Life—life in any form, poverty, misery, starvation—anything +but death. He fought and struggled with the water that closed +over his head, and screamed in agonies of terror. The curse of +his own son rang in his ears. The shore—but one foot of +dry ground—he could almost touch the step. One hand’s +breadth nearer, and he was saved—but the tide bore him onward, +under the dark arches of the bridge, and he sank to the bottom.</p> +<p>Again he rose, and struggled for life. For one instant—for +one brief instant—the buildings on the river’s banks, the +lights on the bridge through which the current had borne him, the black +water, and the fast-flying clouds, were distinctly visible—once +more he sunk, and once again he rose. Bright flames of fire shot +up from earth to heaven, and reeled before his eyes, while the water +thundered in his ears, and stunned him with its furious roar.</p> +<p>A week afterwards the body was washed ashore, some miles down the +river, a swollen and disfigured mass. Unrecognised and unpitied, +it was borne to the grave; and there it has long since mouldered away!</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SKETCHES OF YOUNG GENTLEMEN</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>TO THE YOUNG LADIES<br />OF THE<br />UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN +AND IRELAND;<br />ALSO<br />THE YOUNG LADIES<br />OF<br />THE PRINCIPALITY +OF WALES,<br />AND LIKEWISE<br />THE YOUNG LADIES<br />RESIDENT IN THE +ISLES OF<br />GUERNSEY, JERSEY, ALDERNEY, AND SARK,<br />THE HUMBLE +DEDICATION OF THEIR DEVOTED ADMIRER,</p> +<p>SHEWETH, -</p> +<p>THAT your Dedicator has perused, with feelings of virtuous indignation, +a work purporting to be ‘Sketches of Young Ladies;’ written +by Quiz, illustrated by Phiz, and published in one volume, square twelvemo.</p> +<p>THAT after an attentive and vigilant perusal of the said work, your +Dedicator is humbly of opinion that so many libels, upon your Honourable +sex, were never contained in any previously published work, in twelvemo +or any other mo.</p> +<p>THAT in the title page and preface to the said work, your Honourable +sex are described and classified as animals; and although your Dedicator +is not at present prepared to deny that you <i>are</i> animals, still +he humbly submits that it is not polite to call you so.</p> +<p>THAT in the aforesaid preface, your Honourable sex are also described +as Troglodites, which, being a hard word, may, for aught your Honourable +sex or your Dedicator can say to the contrary, be an injurious and disrespectful +appellation.</p> +<p>THAT the author of the said work applied himself to his task in malice +prepense and with wickedness aforethought; a fact which, your Dedicator +contends, is sufficiently demonstrated, by his assuming the name of +Quiz, which, your Dedicator submits, denotes a foregone conclusion, +and implies an intention of quizzing.</p> +<p>THAT in the execution of his evil design, the said Quiz, or author +of the said work, must have betrayed some trust or confidence reposed +in him by some members of your Honourable sex, otherwise he never could +have acquired so much information relative to the manners and customs +of your Honourable sex in general.</p> +<p>THAT actuated by these considerations, and further moved by various +slanders and insinuations respecting your Honourable sex contained in +the said work, square twelvemo, entitled ‘Sketches of Young Ladies,’ +your Dedicator ventures to produce another work, square twelvemo, entitled +‘Sketches of Young Gentlemen,’ of which he now solicits +your acceptance and approval.</p> +<p>THAT as the Young Ladies are the best companions of the Young Gentlemen, +so the Young Gentlemen should be the best companions of the Young Ladies; +and extending the comparison from animals (to quote the disrespectful +language of the said Quiz) to inanimate objects, your Dedicator humbly +suggests, that such of your Honourable sex as purchased the bane should +possess themselves of the antidote, and that those of your Honourable +sex who were not rash enough to take the first, should lose no time +in swallowing the last,—prevention being in all cases better than +cure, as we are informed upon the authority, not only of general acknowledgment, +but also of traditionary wisdom.</p> +<p>THAT with reference to the said bane and antidote, your Dedicator +has no further remarks to make, than are comprised in the printed directions +issued with Doctor Morison’s pills; namely, that whenever your +Honourable sex take twenty-five of Number, 1, you will be pleased to +take fifty of Number 2, without delay.</p> +<p>And your Dedicator shall ever pray, &c.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE BASHFUL YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We found ourself seated at a small dinner party the other day, opposite +a stranger of such singular appearance and manner, that he irresistibly +attracted our attention.</p> +<p>This was a fresh-coloured young gentleman, with as good a promise +of light whisker as one might wish to see, and possessed of a very velvet-like, +soft-looking countenance. We do not use the latter term invidiously, +but merely to denote a pair of smooth, plump, highly-coloured cheeks +of capacious dimensions, and a mouth rather remarkable for the fresh +hue of the lips than for any marked or striking expression it presented. +His whole face was suffused with a crimson blush, and bore that downcast, +timid, retiring look, which betokens a man ill at ease with himself.</p> +<p>There was nothing in these symptoms to attract more than a passing +remark, but our attention had been originally drawn to the bashful young +gentleman, on his first appearance in the drawing-room above-stairs, +into which he was no sooner introduced, than making his way towards +us who were standing in a window, and wholly neglecting several persons +who warmly accosted him, he seized our hand with visible emotion, and +pressed it with a convulsive grasp for a good couple of minutes, after +which he dived in a nervous manner across the room, oversetting in his +way a fine little girl of six years and a quarter old—and shrouding +himself behind some hangings, was seen no more, until the eagle eye +of the hostess detecting him in his concealment, on the announcement +of dinner, he was requested to pair off with a lively single lady, of +two or three and thirty.</p> +<p>This most flattering salutation from a perfect stranger, would have +gratified us not a little as a token of his having held us in high respect, +and for that reason been desirous of our acquaintance, if we had not +suspected from the first, that the young gentleman, in making a desperate +effort to get through the ceremony of introduction, had, in the bewilderment +of his ideas, shaken hands with us at random. This impression +was fully confirmed by the subsequent behaviour of the bashful young +gentleman in question, which we noted particularly, with the view of +ascertaining whether we were right in our conjecture.</p> +<p>The young gentleman seated himself at table with evident misgivings, +and turning sharp round to pay attention to some observation of his +loquacious neighbour, overset his bread. There was nothing very +bad in this, and if he had had the presence of mind to let it go, and +say nothing about it, nobody but the man who had laid the cloth would +have been a bit the wiser; but the young gentleman in various semi-successful +attempts to prevent its fall, played with it a little, as gentlemen +in the streets may be seen to do with their hats on a windy day, and +then giving the roll a smart rap in his anxiety to catch it, knocked +it with great adroitness into a tureen of white soup at some distance, +to the unspeakable terror and disturbance of a very amiable bald gentleman, +who was dispensing the contents. We thought the bashful young +gentleman would have gone off in an apoplectic fit, consequent upon +the violent rush of blood to his face at the occurrence of this catastrophe.</p> +<p>From this moment we perceived, in the phraseology of the fancy, that +it was ‘all up’ with the bashful young gentleman, and so +indeed it was. Several benevolent persons endeavoured to relieve +his embarrassment by taking wine with him, but finding that it only +augmented his sufferings, and that after mingling sherry, champagne, +hock, and moselle together, he applied the greater part of the mixture +externally, instead of internally, they gradually dropped off, and left +him to the exclusive care of the talkative lady, who, not noting the +wildness of his eye, firmly believed she had secured a listener. +He broke a glass or two in the course of the meal, and disappeared shortly +afterwards; it is inferred that he went away in some confusion, inasmuch +as he left the house in another gentleman’s coat, and the footman’s +hat.</p> +<p>This little incident led us to reflect upon the most prominent characteristics +of bashful young gentlemen in the abstract; and as this portable volume +will be the great text-book of young ladies in all future generations, +we record them here for their guidance and behoof.</p> +<p>If the bashful young gentleman, in turning a street corner, chance +to stumble suddenly upon two or three young ladies of his acquaintance, +nothing can exceed his confusion and agitation. His first impulse +is to make a great variety of bows, and dart past them, which he does +until, observing that they wish to stop, but are uncertain whether to +do so or not, he makes several feints of returning, which causes them +to do the same; and at length, after a great quantity of unnecessary +dodging and falling up against the other passengers, he returns and +shakes hands most affectionately with all of them, in doing which he +knocks out of their grasp sundry little parcels, which he hastily picks +up, and returns very muddy and disordered. The chances are that +the bashful young gentleman then observes it is very fine weather, and +being reminded that it has only just left off raining for the first +time these three days, he blushes very much, and smiles as if he had +said a very good thing. The young lady who was most anxious to +speak, here inquires, with an air of great commiseration, how his dear +sister Harriet is to-day; to which the young gentleman, without the +slightest consideration, replies with many thanks, that she is remarkably +well. ‘Well, Mr. Hopkins!’ cries the young lady, ‘why, +we heard she was bled yesterday evening, and have been perfectly miserable +about her.’ ‘Oh, ah,’ says the young gentleman, +‘so she was. Oh, she’s very ill, very ill indeed.’ +The young gentleman then shakes his head, and looks very desponding +(he has been smiling perpetually up to this time), and after a short +pause, gives his glove a great wrench at the wrist, and says, with a +strong emphasis on the adjective, ‘<i>Good</i> morning, <i>good</i> +morning.’ And making a great number of bows in acknowledgment +of several little messages to his sister, walks backward a few paces, +and comes with great violence against a lamp-post, knocking his hat +off in the contact, which in his mental confusion and bodily pain he +is going to walk away without, until a great roar from a carter attracts +his attention, when he picks it up, and tries to smile cheerfully to +the young ladies, who are looking back, and who, he has the satisfaction +of seeing, are all laughing heartily.</p> +<p>At a quadrille party, the bashful young gentleman always remains +as near the entrance of the room as possible, from which position he +smiles at the people he knows as they come in, and sometimes steps forward +to shake hands with more intimate friends: a process which on each repetition +seems to turn him a deeper scarlet than before. He declines dancing +the first set or two, observing, in a faint voice, that he would rather +wait a little; but at length is absolutely compelled to allow himself +to be introduced to a partner, when he is led, in a great heat and blushing +furiously, across the room to a spot where half-a-dozen unknown ladies +are congregated together.</p> +<p>‘Miss Lambert, let me introduce Mr. Hopkins for the next quadrille.’ +Miss Lambert inclines her head graciously. Mr. Hopkins bows, and +his fair conductress disappears, leaving Mr. Hopkins, as he too well +knows, to make himself agreeable. The young lady more than half +expects that the bashful young gentleman will say something, and the +bashful young gentleman feeling this, seriously thinks whether he has +got anything to say, which, upon mature reflection, he is rather disposed +to conclude he has not, since nothing occurs to him. Meanwhile, +the young lady, after several inspections of her <i>bouquet</i>, all +made in the expectation that the bashful young gentleman is going to +talk, whispers her mamma, who is sitting next her, which whisper the +bashful young gentleman immediately suspects (and possibly with very +good reason) must be about <i>him</i>. In this comfortable condition +he remains until it is time to ‘stand up,’ when murmuring +a ‘Will you allow me?’ he gives the young lady his arm, +and after inquiring where she will stand, and receiving a reply that +she has no choice, conducts her to the remotest corner of the quadrille, +and making one attempt at conversation, which turns out a desperate +failure, preserves a profound silence until it is all over, when he +walks her twice round the room, deposits her in her old seat, and retires +in confusion.</p> +<p>A married bashful gentleman—for these bashful gentlemen do +get married sometimes; how it is ever brought about, is a mystery to +us—a married bashful gentleman either causes his wife to appear +bold by contrast, or merges her proper importance in his own insignificance. +Bashful young gentlemen should be cured, or avoided. They are +never hopeless, and never will be, while female beauty and attractions +retain their influence, as any young lady will find, who may think it +worth while on this confident assurance to take a patient in hand.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE OUT-AND-OUT YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Out-and-out young gentlemen may be divided into two classes—those +who have something to do, and those who have nothing. I shall +commence with the former, because that species come more frequently +under the notice of young ladies, whom it is our province to warn and +to instruct.</p> +<p>The out-and-out young gentleman is usually no great dresser, his +instructions to his tailor being all comprehended in the one general +direction to ‘make that what’s-a-name a regular bang-up +sort of thing.’ For some years past, the favourite costume +of the out-and-out young gentleman has been a rough pilot coat, with +two gilt hooks and eyes to the velvet collar; buttons somewhat larger +than crown-pieces; a black or fancy neckerchief, loosely tied; a wide-brimmed +hat, with a low crown; tightish inexpressibles, and iron-shod boots. +Out of doors he sometimes carries a large ash stick, but only on special +occasions, for he prefers keeping his hands in his coat pockets. +He smokes at all hours, of course, and swears considerably.</p> +<p>The out-and-out young gentleman is employed in a city counting-house +or solicitor’s office, in which he does as little as he possibly +can: his chief places of resort are, the streets, the taverns, and the +theatres. In the streets at evening time, out-and-out young gentlemen +have a pleasant custom of walking six or eight abreast, thus driving +females and other inoffensive persons into the road, which never fails +to afford them the highest satisfaction, especially if there be any +immediate danger of their being run over, which enhances the fun of +the thing materially. In all places of public resort, the out-and-outers +are careful to select each a seat to himself, upon which he lies at +full length, and (if the weather be very dirty, but not in any other +case) he lies with his knees up, and the soles of his boots planted +firmly on the cushion, so that if any low fellow should ask him to make +room for a lady, he takes ample revenge upon her dress, without going +at all out of his way to do it. He always sits with his hat on, +and flourishes his stick in the air while the play is proceeding, with +a dignified contempt of the performance; if it be possible for one or +two out-and-out young gentlemen to get up a little crowding in the passages, +they are quite in their element, squeezing, pushing, whooping, and shouting +in the most humorous manner possible. If they can only succeed +in irritating the gentleman who has a family of daughters under his +charge, they are like to die with laughing, and boast of it among their +companions for a week afterwards, adding, that one or two of them were +‘devilish fine girls,’ and that they really thought the +youngest would have fainted, which was the only thing wanted to render +the joke complete.</p> +<p>If the out-and-out young gentleman have a mother and sisters, of +course he treats them with becoming contempt, inasmuch as they (poor +things!) having no notion of life or gaiety, are far too weak-spirited +and moping for him. Sometimes, however, on a birth-day or at Christmas-time, +he cannot very well help accompanying them to a party at some old friend’s, +with which view he comes home when they have been dressed an hour or +two, smelling very strongly of tobacco and spirits, and after exchanging +his rough coat for some more suitable attire (in which however he loses +nothing of the out-and-outer), gets into the coach and grumbles all +the way at his own good nature: his bitter reflections aggravated by +the recollection, that Tom Smith has taken the chair at a little impromptu +dinner at a fighting man’s, and that a set-to was to take place +on a dining-table, between the fighting man and his brother-in-law, +which is probably ‘coming off’ at that very instant.</p> +<p>As the out-and-out young gentleman is by no means at his ease in +ladies’ society, he shrinks into a corner of the drawing-room +when they reach the friend’s, and unless one of his sisters is +kind enough to talk to him, remains there without being much troubled +by the attentions of other people, until he espies, lingering outside +the door, another gentleman, whom he at once knows, by his air and manner +(for there is a kind of free-masonry in the craft), to be a brother +out-and-outer, and towards whom he accordingly makes his way. +Conversation being soon opened by some casual remark, the second out-and-outer +confidentially informs the first, that he is one of the rough sort and +hates that kind of thing, only he couldn’t very well be off coming; +to which the other replies, that that’s just his case—‘and +I’ll tell you what,’ continues the out-and-outer in a whisper, +‘I should like a glass of warm brandy and water just now,’—‘Or +a pint of stout and a pipe,’ suggests the other out-and-outer.</p> +<p>The discovery is at once made that they are sympathetic souls; each +of them says at the same moment, that he sees the other understands +what’s what: and they become fast friends at once, more especially +when it appears, that the second out-and-outer is no other than a gentleman, +long favourably known to his familiars as ‘Mr. Warmint Blake,’ +who upon divers occasions has distinguished himself in a manner that +would not have disgraced the fighting man, and who—having been +a pretty long time about town—had the honour of once shaking hands +with the celebrated Mr. Thurtell himself.</p> +<p>At supper, these gentlemen greatly distinguish themselves, brightening +up very much when the ladies leave the table, and proclaiming aloud +their intention of beginning to spend the evening—a process which +is generally understood to be satisfactorily performed, when a great +deal of wine is drunk and a great deal of noise made, both of which +feats the out-and-out young gentlemen execute to perfection. Having +protracted their sitting until long after the host and the other guests +have adjourned to the drawing-room, and finding that they have drained +the decanters empty, they follow them thither with complexions rather +heightened, and faces rather bloated with wine; and the agitated lady +of the house whispers her friends as they waltz together, to the great +terror of the whole room, that ‘both Mr. Blake and Mr. Dummins +are very nice sort of young men in their way, only they are eccentric +persons, and unfortunately <i>rather too wild</i>!’</p> +<p>The remaining class of out-and-out young gentlemen is composed of +persons, who, having no money of their own and a soul above earning +any, enjoy similar pleasures, nobody knows how. These respectable +gentlemen, without aiming quite so much at the out-and-out in external +appearance, are distinguished by all the same amiable and attractive +characteristics, in an equal or perhaps greater degree, and now and +then find their way into society, through the medium of the other class +of out-and-out young gentlemen, who will sometimes carry them home, +and who usually pay their tavern bills. As they are equally gentlemanly, +clever, witty, intelligent, wise, and well-bred, we need scarcely have +recommended them to the peculiar consideration of the young ladies, +if it were not that some of the gentle creatures whom we hold in such +high respect, are perhaps a little too apt to confound a great many +heavier terms with the light word eccentricity, which we beg them henceforth +to take in a strictly Johnsonian sense, without any liberality or latitude +of construction.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE VERY FRIENDLY YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We know—and all people know—so many specimens of this +class, that in selecting the few heads our limits enable us to take +from a great number, we have been induced to give the very friendly +young gentleman the preference over many others, to whose claims upon +a more cursory view of the question we had felt disposed to assign the +priority.</p> +<p>The very friendly young gentleman is very friendly to everybody, +but he attaches himself particularly to two, or at most to three families: +regulating his choice by their dinners, their circle of acquaintance, +or some other criterion in which he has an immediate interest. +He is of any age between twenty and forty, unmarried of course, must +be fond of children, and is expected to make himself generally useful +if possible. Let us illustrate our meaning by an example, which +is the shortest mode and the clearest.</p> +<p>We encountered one day, by chance, an old friend of whom we had lost +sight for some years, and who—expressing a strong anxiety to renew +our former intimacy—urged us to dine with him on an early day, +that we might talk over old times. We readily assented, adding, +that we hoped we should be alone. ‘Oh, certainly, certainly,’ +said our friend, ‘not a soul with us but Mincin.’ +‘And who is Mincin?’ was our natural inquiry. ‘O +don’t mind him,’ replied our friend, ‘he’s a +most particular friend of mine, and a very friendly fellow you will +find him;’ and so he left us.</p> +<p>‘We thought no more about Mincin until we duly presented ourselves +at the house next day, when, after a hearty welcome, our friend motioned +towards a gentleman who had been previously showing his teeth by the +fireplace, and gave us to understand that it was Mr. Mincin, of whom +he had spoken. It required no great penetration on our part to +discover at once that Mr. Mincin was in every respect a very friendly +young gentleman.</p> +<p>‘I am delighted,’ said Mincin, hastily advancing, and +pressing our hand warmly between both of his, ‘I am delighted, +I am sure, to make your acquaintance—(here he smiled)—very +much delighted indeed—(here he exhibited a little emotion)—I +assure you that I have looked forward to it anxiously for a very long +time:’ here he released our hands, and rubbing his own, observed, +that the day was severe, but that he was delighted to perceive from +our appearance that it agreed with us wonderfully; and then went on +to observe, that, notwithstanding the coldness of the weather, he had +that morning seen in the paper an exceedingly curious paragraph, to +the effect, that there was now in the garden of Mr. Wilkins of Chichester, +a pumpkin, measuring four feet in height, and eleven feet seven inches +in circumference, which he looked upon as a very extraordinary piece +of intelligence. We ventured to remark, that we had a dim recollection +of having once or twice before observed a similar paragraph in the public +prints, upon which Mr. Mincin took us confidentially by the button, +and said, Exactly, exactly, to be sure, we were very right, and he wondered +what the editors meant by putting in such things. Who the deuce, +he should like to know, did they suppose cared about them? that struck +him as being the best of it.</p> +<p>The lady of the house appeared shortly afterwards, and Mr. Mincin’s +friendliness, as will readily be supposed, suffered no diminution in +consequence; he exerted much strength and skill in wheeling a large +easy-chair up to the fire, and the lady being seated in it, carefully +closed the door, stirred the fire, and looked to the windows to see +that they admitted no air; having satisfied himself upon all these points, +he expressed himself quite easy in his mind, and begged to know how +she found herself to-day. Upon the lady’s replying very +well, Mr. Mincin (who it appeared was a medical gentleman) offered some +general remarks upon the nature and treatment of colds in the head, +which occupied us agreeably until dinner-time. During the meal, +he devoted himself to complimenting everybody, not forgetting himself, +so that we were an uncommonly agreeable quartette.</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you what, Capper,’ said Mr. Mincin to +our host, as he closed the room door after the lady had retired, ‘you +have very great reason to be fond of your wife. Sweet woman, Mrs. +Capper, sir!’ ‘Nay, Mincin—I beg,’ interposed +the host, as we were about to reply that Mrs. Capper unquestionably +was particularly sweet. ‘Pray, Mincin, don’t.’ +‘Why not?’ exclaimed Mr. Mincin, ‘why not? Why +should you feel any delicacy before your old friend—<i>our</i> +old friend, if I may be allowed to call you so, sir; why should you, +I ask?’ We of course wished to know why he should also, +upon which our friend admitted that Mrs. Capper <i>was</i> a very sweet +woman, at which admission Mr. Mincin cried ‘Bravo!’ and +begged to propose Mrs. Capper with heartfelt enthusiasm, whereupon our +host said, ‘Thank you, Mincin,’ with deep feeling; and gave +us, in a low voice, to understand, that Mincin had saved Mrs. Capper’s +cousin’s life no less than fourteen times in a year and a half, +which he considered no common circumstance—an opinion to which +we most cordially subscribed.</p> +<p>Now that we three were left to entertain ourselves with conversation, +Mr. Mincin’s extreme friendliness became every moment more apparent; +he was so amazingly friendly, indeed, that it was impossible to talk +about anything in which he had not the chief concern. We happened +to allude to some affairs in which our friend and we had been mutually +engaged nearly fourteen years before, when Mr. Mincin was all at once +reminded of a joke which our friend had made on that day four years, +which he positively must insist upon telling—and which he did +tell accordingly, with many pleasant recollections of what he said, +and what Mrs. Capper said, and how he well remembered that they had +been to the play with orders on the very night previous, and had seen +Romeo and Juliet, and the pantomime, and how Mrs. Capper being faint +had been led into the lobby, where she smiled, said it was nothing after +all, and went back again, with many other interesting and absorbing +particulars: after which the friendly young gentleman went on to assure +us, that our friend had experienced a marvellously prophetic opinion +of that same pantomime, which was of such an admirable kind, that two +morning papers took the same view next day: to this our friend replied, +with a little triumph, that in that instance he had some reason to think +he had been correct, which gave the friendly young gentleman occasion +to believe that our friend was always correct; and so we went on, until +our friend, filling a bumper, said he must drink one glass to his dear +friend Mincin, than whom he would say no man saved the lives of his +acquaintances more, or had a more friendly heart. Finally, our +friend having emptied his glass, said, ‘God bless you, Mincin,’—and +Mr. Mincin and he shook hands across the table with much affection and +earnestness.</p> +<p>But great as the friendly young gentleman is, in a limited scene +like this, he plays the same part on a larger scale with increased <i>éclat</i>. +Mr. Mincin is invited to an evening party with his dear friends the +Martins, where he meets his dear friends the Cappers, and his dear friends +the Watsons, and a hundred other dear friends too numerous to mention. +He is as much at home with the Martins as with the Cappers; but how +exquisitely he balances his attentions, and divides them among his dear +friends! If he flirts with one of the Miss Watsons, he has one +little Martin on the sofa pulling his hair, and the other little Martin +on the carpet riding on his foot. He carries Mrs. Watson down +to supper on one arm, and Miss Martin on the other, and takes wine so +judiciously, and in such exact order, that it is impossible for the +most punctilious old lady to consider herself neglected. If any +young lady, being prevailed upon to sing, become nervous afterwards, +Mr. Mincin leads her tenderly into the next room, and restores her with +port wine, which she must take medicinally. If any gentleman be +standing by the piano during the progress of the ballad, Mr. Mincin +seizes him by the arm at one point of the melody, and softly beating +time the while with his head, expresses in dumb show his intense perception +of the delicacy of the passage. If anybody’s self-love is +to be flattered, Mr. Mincin is at hand. If anybody’s overweening +vanity is to be pampered, Mr. Mincin will surfeit it. What wonder +that people of all stations and ages recognise Mr. Mincin’s friendliness; +that he is universally allowed to be handsome as amiable; that mothers +think him an oracle, daughters a dear, brothers a beau, and fathers +a wonder! And who would not have the reputation of the very friendly +young gentleman?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE MILITARY YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We are rather at a loss to imagine how it has come to pass that military +young gentlemen have obtained so much favour in the eyes of the young +ladies of this kingdom. We cannot think so lightly of them as +to suppose that the mere circumstance of a man’s wearing a red +coat ensures him a ready passport to their regard; and even if this +were the case, it would be no satisfactory explanation of the circumstance, +because, although the analogy may in some degree hold good in the case +of mail coachmen and guards, still general postmen wear red coats, and +<i>they</i> are not to our knowledge better received than other men; +nor are firemen either, who wear (or used to wear) not only red coats, +but very resplendent and massive badges besides—much larger than +epaulettes. Neither do the twopenny post-office boys, if the result +of our inquiries be correct, find any peculiar favour in woman’s +eyes, although they wear very bright red jackets, and have the additional +advantage of constantly appearing in public on horseback, which last +circumstance may be naturally supposed to be greatly in their favour.</p> +<p>We have sometimes thought that this phenomenon may take its rise +in the conventional behaviour of captains and colonels and other gentlemen +in red coats on the stage, where they are invariably represented as +fine swaggering fellows, talking of nothing but charming girls, their +king and country, their honour, and their debts, and crowing over the +inferior classes of the community, whom they occasionally treat with +a little gentlemanly swindling, no less to the improvement and pleasure +of the audience, than to the satisfaction and approval of the choice +spirits who consort with them. But we will not devote these pages +to our speculations upon the subject, inasmuch as our business at the +present moment is not so much with the young ladies who are bewitched +by her Majesty’s livery as with the young gentlemen whose heads +are turned by it. For ‘heads’ we had written ‘brains;’ +but upon consideration, we think the former the more appropriate word +of the two.</p> +<p>These young gentlemen may be divided into two classes—young +gentlemen who are actually in the army, and young gentlemen who, having +an intense and enthusiastic admiration for all things appertaining to +a military life, are compelled by adverse fortune or adverse relations +to wear out their existence in some ignoble counting-house. We +will take this latter description of military young gentlemen first.</p> +<p>The whole heart and soul of the military young gentleman are concentrated +in his favourite topic. There is nothing that he is so learned +upon as uniforms; he will tell you, without faltering for an instant, +what the habiliments of any one regiment are turned up with, what regiment +wear stripes down the outside and inside of the leg, and how many buttons +the Tenth had on their coats; he knows to a fraction how many yards +and odd inches of gold lace it takes to make an ensign in the Guards; +is deeply read in the comparative merits of different bands, and the +apparelling of trumpeters; and is very luminous indeed in descanting +upon ‘crack regiments,’ and the ‘crack’ gentlemen +who compose them, of whose mightiness and grandeur he is never tired +of telling.</p> +<p>We were suggesting to a military young gentleman only the other day, +after he had related to us several dazzling instances of the profusion +of half-a-dozen honourable ensign somebodies or nobodies in the articles +of kid gloves and polished boots, that possibly ‘cracked’ +regiments would be an improvement upon ‘crack,’ as being +a more expressive and appropriate designation, when he suddenly interrupted +us by pulling out his watch, and observing that he must hurry off to +the Park in a cab, or he would be too late to hear the band play. +Not wishing to interfere with so important an engagement, and being +in fact already slightly overwhelmed by the anecdotes of the honourable +ensigns afore-mentioned, we made no attempt to detain the military young +gentleman, but parted company with ready good-will.</p> +<p>Some three or four hours afterwards, we chanced to be walking down +Whitehall, on the Admiralty side of the way, when, as we drew near to +one of the little stone places in which a couple of horse soldiers mount +guard in the daytime, we were attracted by the motionless appearance +and eager gaze of a young gentleman, who was devouring both man and +horse with his eyes, so eagerly, that he seemed deaf and blind to all +that was passing around him. We were not much surprised at the +discovery that it was our friend, the military young gentleman, but +we <i>were</i> a little astonished when we returned from a walk to South +Lambeth to find him still there, looking on with the same intensity +as before. As it was a very windy day, we felt bound to awaken +the young gentleman from his reverie, when he inquired of us with great +enthusiasm, whether ‘that was not a glorious spectacle,’ +and proceeded to give us a detailed account of the weight of every article +of the spectacle’s trappings, from the man’s gloves to the +horse’s shoes.</p> +<p>We have made it a practice since, to take the Horse Guards in our +daily walk, and we find it is the custom of military young gentlemen +to plant themselves opposite the sentries, and contemplate them at leisure, +in periods varying from fifteen minutes to fifty, and averaging twenty-five. +We were much struck a day or two since, by the behaviour of a very promising +young butcher who (evincing an interest in the service, which cannot +be too strongly commanded or encouraged), after a prolonged inspection +of the sentry, proceeded to handle his boots with great curiosity, and +as much composure and indifference as if the man were wax-work.</p> +<p>But the really military young gentleman is waiting all this time, +and at the very moment that an apology rises to our lips, he emerges +from the barrack gate (he is quartered in a garrison town), and takes +the way towards the high street. He wears his undress uniform, +which somewhat mars the glory of his outward man; but still how great, +how grand, he is! What a happy mixture of ease and ferocity in +his gait and carriage, and how lightly he carries that dreadful sword +under his arm, making no more ado about it than if it were a silk umbrella! +The lion is sleeping: only think if an enemy were in sight, how soon +he’d whip it out of the scabbard, and what a terrible fellow he +would be!</p> +<p>But he walks on, thinking of nothing less than blood and slaughter; +and now he comes in sight of three other military young gentlemen, arm-in-arm, +who are bearing down towards him, clanking their iron heels on the pavement, +and clashing their swords with a noise, which should cause all peaceful +men to quail at heart. They stop to talk. See how the flaxen-haired +young gentleman with the weak legs—he who has his pocket-handkerchief +thrust into the breast of his coat-glares upon the fainthearted civilians +who linger to look upon his glory; how the next young gentleman elevates +his head in the air, and majestically places his arms a-kimbo, while +the third stands with his legs very wide apart, and clasps his hands +behind him. Well may we inquire—not in familiar jest, but +in respectful earnest—if you call that nothing. Oh! if some +encroaching foreign power—the Emperor of Russia, for instance, +or any of those deep fellows, could only see those military young gentlemen +as they move on together towards the billiard-room over the way, wouldn’t +he tremble a little!</p> +<p>And then, at the Theatre at night, when the performances are by command +of Colonel Fitz-Sordust and the officers of the garrison—what +a splendid sight it is! How sternly the defenders of their country +look round the house as if in mute assurance to the audience, that they +may make themselves comfortable regarding any foreign invasion, for +they (the military young gentlemen) are keeping a sharp look-out, and +are ready for anything. And what a contrast between them, and +that stage-box full of grey-headed officers with tokens of many battles +about them, who have nothing at all in common with the military young +gentlemen, and who—but for an old-fashioned kind of manly dignity +in their looks and bearing—might be common hard-working soldiers +for anything they take the pains to announce to the contrary!</p> +<p>Ah! here is a family just come in who recognise the flaxen-headed +young gentleman; and the flaxen-headed young gentleman recognises them +too, only he doesn’t care to show it just now. Very well +done indeed! He talks louder to the little group of military young +gentlemen who are standing by him, and coughs to induce some ladies +in the next box but one to look round, in order that their faces may +undergo the same ordeal of criticism to which they have subjected, in +not a wholly inaudible tone, the majority of the female portion of the +audience. Oh! a gentleman in the same box looks round as if he +were disposed to resent this as an impertinence; and the flaxen-headed +young gentleman sees his friends at once, and hurries away to them with +the most charming cordiality.</p> +<p>Three young ladies, one young man, and the mamma of the party, receive +the military young gentleman with great warmth and politeness, and in +five minutes afterwards the military young gentleman, stimulated by +the mamma, introduces the two other military young gentlemen with whom +he was walking in the morning, who take their seats behind the young +ladies and commence conversation; whereat the mamma bestows a triumphant +bow upon a rival mamma, who has not succeeded in decoying any military +young gentlemen, and prepares to consider her visitors from that moment +three of the most elegant and superior young gentlemen in the whole +world.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE POLITICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Once upon a time—<i>not</i> in the days when pigs drank wine, +but in a more recent period of our history—it was customary to +banish politics when ladies were present. If this usage still +prevailed, we should have had no chapter for political young gentlemen, +for ladies would have neither known nor cared what kind of monster a +political young gentleman was. But as this good custom in common +with many others has ‘gone out,’ and left no word when it +is likely to be home again; as political young ladies are by no means +rare, and political young gentlemen the very reverse of scarce, we are +bound in the strict discharge of our most responsible duty not to neglect +this natural division of our subject.</p> +<p>If the political young gentleman be resident in a country town (and +there <i>are</i> political young gentlemen in country towns sometimes), +he is wholly absorbed in his politics; as a pair of purple spectacles +communicate the same uniform tint to all objects near and remote, so +the political glasses, with which the young gentleman assists his mental +vision, give to everything the hue and tinge of party feeling. +The political young gentleman would as soon think of being struck with +the beauty of a young lady in the opposite interest, as he would dream +of marrying his sister to the opposite member.</p> +<p>If the political young gentleman be a Conservative, he has usually +some vague ideas about Ireland and the Pope which he cannot very clearly +explain, but which he knows are the right sort of thing, and not to +be very easily got over by the other side. He has also some choice +sentences regarding church and state, culled from the banners in use +at the last election, with which he intersperses his conversation at +intervals with surprising effect. But his great topic is the constitution, +upon which he will declaim, by the hour together, with much heat and +fury; not that he has any particular information on the subject, but +because he knows that the constitution is somehow church and state, +and church and state somehow the constitution, and that the fellows +on the other side say it isn’t, which is quite a sufficient reason +for him to say it is, and to stick to it.</p> +<p>Perhaps his greatest topic of all, though, is the people. If +a fight takes place in a populous town, in which many noses are broken, +and a few windows, the young gentleman throws down the newspaper with +a triumphant air, and exclaims, ‘Here’s your precious people!’ +If half-a-dozen boys run across the course at race time, when it ought +to be kept clear, the young gentleman looks indignantly round, and begs +you to observe the conduct of the people; if the gallery demand a hornpipe +between the play and the afterpiece, the same young gentleman cries +‘No’ and ‘Shame’ till he is hoarse, and then +inquires with a sneer what you think of popular moderation <i>now</i>; +in short, the people form a never-failing theme for him; and when the +attorney, on the side of his candidate, dwells upon it with great power +of eloquence at election time, as he never fails to do, the young gentleman +and his friends, and the body they head, cheer with great violence against +<i>the other people</i>, with whom, of course, they have no possible +connexion. In much the same manner the audience at a theatre never +fail to be highly amused with any jokes at the expense of the public—always +laughing heartily at some other public, and never at themselves.</p> +<p>If the political young gentleman be a Radical, he is usually a very +profound person indeed, having great store of theoretical questions +to put to you, with an infinite variety of possible cases and logical +deductions therefrom. If he be of the utilitarian school, too, +which is more than probable, he is particularly pleasant company, having +many ingenious remarks to offer upon the voluntary principle and various +cheerful disquisitions connected with the population of the country, +the position of Great Britain in the scale of nations, and the balance +of power. Then he is exceedingly well versed in all doctrines +of political economy as laid down in the newspapers, and knows a great +many parliamentary speeches by heart; nay, he has a small stock of aphorisms, +none of them exceeding a couple of lines in length, which will settle +the toughest question and leave you nothing to say. He gives all +the young ladies to understand, that Miss Martineau is the greatest +woman that ever lived; and when they praise the good looks of Mr. Hawkins +the new member, says he’s very well for a representative, all +things considered, but he wants a little calling to account, and he +is more than half afraid it will be necessary to bring him down on his +knees for that vote on the miscellaneous estimates. At this, the +young ladies express much wonderment, and say surely a Member of Parliament +is not to be brought upon his knees so easily; in reply to which the +political young gentleman smiles sternly, and throws out dark hints +regarding the speedy arrival of that day, when Members of Parliament +will be paid salaries, and required to render weekly accounts of their +proceedings, at which the young ladies utter many expressions of astonishment +and incredulity, while their lady-mothers regard the prophecy as little +else than blasphemous.</p> +<p>It is extremely improving and interesting to hear two political young +gentlemen, of diverse opinions, discuss some great question across a +dinner-table; such as, whether, if the public were admitted to Westminster +Abbey for nothing, they would or would not convey small chisels and +hammers in their pockets, and immediately set about chipping all the +noses off the statues; or whether, if they once got into the Tower for +a shilling, they would not insist upon trying the crown on their own +heads, and loading and firing off all the small arms in the armoury, +to the great discomposure of Whitechapel and the Minories. Upon +these, and many other momentous questions which agitate the public mind +in these desperate days, they will discourse with great vehemence and +irritation for a considerable time together, both leaving off precisely +where they began, and each thoroughly persuaded that he has got the +better of the other.</p> +<p>In society, at assemblies, balls, and playhouses, these political +young gentlemen are perpetually on the watch for a political allusion, +or anything which can be tortured or construed into being one; when, +thrusting themselves into the very smallest openings for their favourite +discourse, they fall upon the unhappy company tooth and nail. +They have recently had many favourable opportunities of opening in churches, +but as there the clergyman has it all his own way, and must not be contradicted, +whatever politics he preaches, they are fain to hold their tongues until +they reach the outer door, though at the imminent risk of bursting in +the effort.</p> +<p>As such discussions can please nobody but the talkative parties concerned, +we hope they will henceforth take the hint and discontinue them, otherwise +we now give them warning, that the ladies have our advice to discountenance +such talkers altogether.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE DOMESTIC YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Let us make a slight sketch of our amiable friend, Mr. Felix Nixon. +We are strongly disposed to think, that if we put him in this place, +he will answer our purpose without another word of comment.</p> +<p>Felix, then, is a young gentleman who lives at home with his mother, +just within the twopenny-post office circle of three miles from St. +Martin-le-Grand. He wears Indiarubber goloshes when the weather +is at all damp, and always has a silk handkerchief neatly folded up +in the right-hand pocket of his great-coat, to tie over his mouth when +he goes home at night; moreover, being rather near-sighted, he carries +spectacles for particular occasions, and has a weakish tremulous voice, +of which he makes great use, for he talks as much as any old lady breathing.</p> +<p>The two chief subjects of Felix’s discourse, are himself and +his mother, both of whom would appear to be very wonderful and interesting +persons. As Felix and his mother are seldom apart in body, so +Felix and his mother are scarcely ever separate in spirit. If +you ask Felix how he finds himself to-day, he prefaces his reply with +a long and minute bulletin of his mother’s state of health; and +the good lady in her turn, edifies her acquaintance with a circumstantial +and alarming account, how he sneezed four times and coughed once after +being out in the rain the other night, but having his feet promptly +put into hot water, and his head into a flannel-something, which we +will not describe more particularly than by this delicate allusion, +was happily brought round by the next morning, and enabled to go to +business as usual.</p> +<p>Our friend is not a very adventurous or hot-headed person, but he +has passed through many dangers, as his mother can testify: there is +one great story in particular, concerning a hackney coachman who wanted +to overcharge him one night for bringing them home from the play, upon +which Felix gave the aforesaid coachman a look which his mother thought +would have crushed him to the earth, but which did not crush him quite, +for he continued to demand another sixpence, notwithstanding that Felix +took out his pocket-book, and, with the aid of a flat candle, pointed +out the fare in print, which the coachman obstinately disregarding, +he shut the street-door with a slam which his mother shudders to think +of; and then, roused to the most appalling pitch of passion by the coachman +knocking a double knock to show that he was by no means convinced, he +broke with uncontrollable force from his parent and the servant girl, +and running into the street without his hat, actually shook his fist +at the coachman, and came back again with a face as white, Mrs. Nixon +says, looking about her for a simile, as white as that ceiling. +She never will forget his fury that night, Never!</p> +<p>To this account Felix listens with a solemn face, occasionally looking +at you to see how it affects you, and when his mother has made an end +of it, adds that he looked at every coachman he met for three weeks +afterwards, in hopes that he might see the scoundrel; whereupon Mrs. +Nixon, with an exclamation of terror, requests to know what he would +have done to him if he <i>had</i> seen him, at which Felix smiling darkly +and clenching his right fist, she exclaims, ‘Goodness gracious!’ +with a distracted air, and insists upon extorting a promise that he +never will on any account do anything so rash, which her dutiful son—it +being something more than three years since the offence was committed—reluctantly +concedes, and his mother, shaking her head prophetically, fears with +a sigh that his spirit will lead him into something violent yet. +The discourse then, by an easy transition, turns upon the spirit which +glows within the bosom of Felix, upon which point Felix himself becomes +eloquent, and relates a thrilling anecdote of the time when he used +to sit up till two o’clock in the morning reading French, and +how his mother used to say, ‘Felix, you will make yourself ill, +I know you will;’ and how <i>he</i> used to say, ‘Mother, +I don’t care—I will do it;’ and how at last his mother +privately procured a doctor to come and see him, who declared, the moment +he felt his pulse, that if he had gone on reading one night more—only +one night more—he must have put a blister on each temple, and +another between his shoulders; and who, as it was, sat down upon the +instant, and writing a prescription for a blue pill, said it must be +taken immediately, or he wouldn’t answer for the consequences. +The recital of these and many other moving perils of the like nature, +constantly harrows up the feelings of Mr. Nixon’s friends.</p> +<p>Mrs. Nixon has a tolerably extensive circle of female acquaintance, +being a good-humoured, talkative, bustling little body, and to the unmarried +girls among them she is constantly vaunting the virtues of her son, +hinting that she will be a very happy person who wins him, but that +they must mind their P’s and Q’s, for he is very particular, +and terribly severe upon young ladies. At this last caution the +young ladies resident in the same row, who happen to be spending the +evening there, put their pocket-handkerchiefs before their mouths, and +are troubled with a short cough; just then Felix knocks at the door, +and his mother drawing the tea-table nearer the fire, calls out to him +as he takes off his boots in the back parlour that he needn’t +mind coming in in his slippers, for there are only the two Miss Greys +and Miss Thompson, and she is quite sure they will excuse <i>him</i>, +and nodding to the two Miss Greys, she adds, in a whisper, that Julia +Thompson is a great favourite with Felix, at which intelligence the +short cough comes again, and Miss Thompson in particular is greatly +troubled with it, till Felix coming in, very faint for want of his tea, +changes the subject of discourse, and enables her to laugh out boldly +and tell Amelia Grey not to be so foolish. Here they all three +laugh, and Mrs. Nixon says they are giddy girls; in which stage of the +proceedings, Felix, who has by this time refreshened himself with the +grateful herb that ‘cheers but not inebriates,’ removes +his cup from his countenance and says with a knowing smile, that all +girls are; whereat his admiring mamma pats him on the back and tells +him not to be sly, which calls forth a general laugh from the young +ladies, and another smile from Felix, who, thinking he looks very sly +indeed, is perfectly satisfied.</p> +<p>Tea being over, the young ladies resume their work, and Felix insists +upon holding a skein of silk while Miss Thompson winds it on a card. +This process having been performed to the satisfaction of all parties, +he brings down his flute in compliance with a request from the youngest +Miss Grey, and plays divers tunes out of a very small music-book till +supper-time, when he is very facetious and talkative indeed. Finally, +after half a tumblerful of warm sherry and water, he gallantly puts +on his goloshes over his slippers, and telling Miss Thompson’s +servant to run on first and get the door open, escorts that young lady +to her house, five doors off: the Miss Greys who live in the next house +but one stopping to peep with merry faces from their own door till he +comes back again, when they call out ‘Very well, Mr. Felix,’ +and trip into the passage with a laugh more musical than any flute that +was ever played.</p> +<p>Felix is rather prim in his appearance, and perhaps a little priggish +about his books and flute, and so forth, which have all their peculiar +corners of peculiar shelves in his bedroom; indeed all his female acquaintance +(and they are good judges) have long ago set him down as a thorough +old bachelor. He is a favourite with them however, in a certain +way, as an honest, inoffensive, kind-hearted creature; and as his peculiarities +harm nobody, not even himself, we are induced to hope that many who +are not personally acquainted with him will take our good word in his +behalf, and be content to leave him to a long continuance of his harmless +existence.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CENSORIOUS YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There is an amiable kind of young gentleman going about in society, +upon whom, after much experience of him, and considerable turning over +of the subject in our mind, we feel it our duty to affix the above appellation. +Young ladies mildly call him a ‘sarcastic’ young gentleman, +or a ‘severe’ young gentleman. We, who know better, +beg to acquaint them with the fact, that he is merely a censorious young +gentleman, and nothing else.</p> +<p>The censorious young gentleman has the reputation among his familiars +of a remarkably clever person, which he maintains by receiving all intelligence +and expressing all opinions with a dubious sneer, accompanied with a +half smile, expressive of anything you please but good-humour. +This sets people about thinking what on earth the censorious young gentleman +means, and they speedily arrive at the conclusion that he means something +very deep indeed; for they reason in this way—‘This young +gentleman looks so very knowing that he must mean something, and as +I am by no means a dull individual, what a very deep meaning he must +have if I can’t find it out!’ It is extraordinary +how soon a censorious young gentleman may make a reputation in his own +small circle if he bear this in his mind, and regulate his proceedings +accordingly.</p> +<p>As young ladies are generally—not curious, but laudably desirous +to acquire information, the censorious young gentleman is much talked +about among them, and many surmises are hazarded regarding him. +‘I wonder,’ exclaims the eldest Miss Greenwood, laying down +her work to turn up the lamp, ‘I wonder whether Mr. Fairfax will +ever be married.’ ‘Bless me, dear,’ cries Miss +Marshall, ‘what ever made you think of him?’ ‘Really +I hardly know,’ replies Miss Greenwood; ‘he is such a very +mysterious person, that I often wonder about him.’ ‘Well, +to tell you the truth,’ replies Miss Marshall, ‘and so do +I.’ Here two other young ladies profess that they are constantly +doing the like, and all present appear in the same condition except +one young lady, who, not scrupling to state that she considers Mr. Fairfax +‘a horror,’ draws down all the opposition of the others, +which having been expressed in a great many ejaculatory passages, such +as ‘Well, did I ever!’—and ‘Lor, Emily, dear!’ +ma takes up the subject, and gravely states, that she must say she does +not think Mr. Fairfax by any means a horror, but rather takes him to +be a young man of very great ability; ‘and I am quite sure,’ +adds the worthy lady, ‘he always means a great deal more than +he says.’</p> +<p>The door opens at this point of the disclosure, and who of all people +alive walks into the room, but the very Mr. Fairfax, who has been the +subject of conversation! ‘Well, it really is curious,’ +cries ma, ‘we were at that very moment talking about you.’ +‘You did me great honour,’ replies Mr. Fairfax; ‘may +I venture to ask what you were saying?’ ‘Why, if you +must know,’ returns the eldest girl, ‘we were remarking +what a very mysterious man you are.’ ‘Ay, ay!’ +observes Mr. Fairfax, ‘Indeed!’ Now Mr. Fairfax says +this ay, ay, and indeed, which are slight words enough in themselves, +with so very unfathomable an air, and accompanies them with such a very +equivocal smile, that ma and the young ladies are more than ever convinced +that he means an immensity, and so tell him he is a very dangerous man, +and seems to be always thinking ill of somebody, which is precisely +the sort of character the censorious young gentleman is most desirous +to establish; wherefore he says, ‘Oh, dear, no,’ in a tone, +obviously intended to mean, ‘You have me there,’ and which +gives them to understand that they have hit the right nail on the very +centre of its head.</p> +<p>When the conversation ranges from the mystery overhanging the censorious +young gentleman’s behaviour, to the general topics of the day, +he sustains his character to admiration. He considers the new +tragedy well enough for a new tragedy, but Lord bless us—well, +no matter; he could say a great deal on that point, but he would rather +not, lest he should be thought ill-natured, as he knows he would be. +‘But is not Mr. So-and-so’s performance truly charming?’ +inquires a young lady. ‘Charming!’ replies the censorious +young gentleman. ‘Oh, dear, yes, certainly; very charming—oh, +very charming indeed.’ After this, he stirs the fire, smiling +contemptuously all the while: and a modest young gentleman, who has +been a silent listener, thinks what a great thing it must be, to have +such a critical judgment. Of music, pictures, books, and poetry, +the censorious young gentleman has an equally fine conception. +As to men and women, he can tell all about them at a glance. ‘Now +let us hear your opinion of young Mrs. Barker,’ says some great +believer in the powers of Mr. Fairfax, ‘but don’t be too +severe.’ ‘I never am severe,’ replies the censorious +young gentleman. ‘Well, never mind that now. She is +very lady-like, is she not?’ ‘Lady-like!’ repeats +the censorious young gentleman (for he always repeats when he is at +a loss for anything to say). ‘Did you observe her manner? +Bless my heart and soul, Mrs. Thompson, did you observe her manner?—that’s +all I ask.’ ‘I thought I had done so,’ rejoins +the poor lady, much perplexed; ‘I did not observe it very closely +perhaps.’ ‘Oh, not very closely,’ rejoins the +censorious young gentleman, triumphantly. ‘Very good; then +<i>I</i> did. Let us talk no more about her.’ The +censorious young gentleman purses up his lips, and nods his head sagely, +as he says this; and it is forthwith whispered about, that Mr. Fairfax +(who, though he is a little prejudiced, must be admitted to be a very +excellent judge) has observed something exceedingly odd in Mrs. Barker’s +manner.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE FUNNY YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>As one funny young gentleman will serve as a sample of all funny +young Gentlemen we purpose merely to note down the conduct and behaviour +of an individual specimen of this class, whom we happened to meet at +an annual family Christmas party in the course of this very last Christmas +that ever came.</p> +<p>We were all seated round a blazing fire which crackled pleasantly +as the guests talked merrily and the urn steamed cheerily—for, +being an old-fashioned party, there <i>was</i> an urn, and a teapot +besides—when there came a postman’s knock at the door, so +violent and sudden, that it startled the whole circle, and actually +caused two or three very interesting and most unaffected young ladies +to scream aloud and to exhibit many afflicting symptoms of terror and +distress, until they had been several times assured by their respective +adorers, that they were in no danger. We were about to remark +that it was surely beyond post-time, and must have been a runaway knock, +when our host, who had hitherto been paralysed with wonder, sank into +a chair in a perfect ecstasy of laughter, and offered to lay twenty +pounds that it was that droll dog Griggins. He had no sooner said +this, than the majority of the company and all the children of the house +burst into a roar of laughter too, as if some inimitable joke flashed +upon them simultaneously, and gave vent to various exclamations of—To +be sure it must be Griggins, and How like him that was, and What spirits +he was always in! with many other commendatory remarks of the like nature.</p> +<p>Not having the happiness to know Griggins, we became extremely desirous +to see so pleasant a fellow, the more especially as a stout gentleman +with a powdered head, who was sitting with his breeches buckles almost +touching the hob, whispered us he was a wit of the first water, when +the door opened, and Mr. Griggins being announced, presented himself, +amidst another shout of laughter and a loud clapping of hands from the +younger branches. This welcome he acknowledged by sundry contortions +of countenance, imitative of the clown in one of the new pantomimes, +which were so extremely successful, that one stout gentleman rolled +upon an ottoman in a paroxysm of delight, protesting, with many gasps, +that if somebody didn’t make that fellow Griggins leave off, he +would be the death of him, he knew. At this the company only laughed +more boisterously than before, and as we always like to accommodate +our tone and spirit if possible to the humour of any society in which +we find ourself, we laughed with the rest, and exclaimed, ‘Oh! +capital, capital!’ as loud as any of them.</p> +<p>When he had quite exhausted all beholders, Mr. Griggins received +the welcomes and congratulations of the circle, and went through the +needful introductions with much ease and many puns. This ceremony +over, he avowed his intention of sitting in somebody’s lap unless +the young ladies made room for him on the sofa, which being done, after +a great deal of tittering and pleasantry, he squeezed himself among +them, and likened his condition to that of love among the roses. +At this novel jest we all roared once more. ‘You should +consider yourself highly honoured, sir,’ said we. ‘Sir,’ +replied Mr. Griggins, ‘you do me proud.’ Here everybody +laughed again; and the stout gentleman by the fire whispered in our +ear that Griggins was making a dead set at us.</p> +<p>The tea-things having been removed, we all sat down to a round game, +and here Mr. Griggins shone forth with peculiar brilliancy, abstracting +other people’s fish, and looking over their hands in the most +comical manner. He made one most excellent joke in snuffing a +candle, which was neither more nor less than setting fire to the hair +of a pale young gentleman who sat next him, and afterwards begging his +pardon with considerable humour. As the young gentleman could +not see the joke however, possibly in consequence of its being on the +top of his own head, it did not go off quite as well as it might have +done; indeed, the young gentleman was heard to murmur some general references +to ‘impertinence,’ and a ‘rascal,’ and to state +the number of his lodgings in an angry tone—a turn of the conversation +which might have been productive of slaughterous consequences, if a +young lady, betrothed to the young gentleman, had not used her immediate +influence to bring about a reconciliation: emphatically declaring in +an agitated whisper, intended for his peculiar edification but audible +to the whole table, that if he went on in that way, she never would +think of him otherwise than as a friend, though as that she must always +regard him. At this terrible threat the young gentleman became +calm, and the young lady, overcome by the revulsion of feeling, instantaneously +fainted.</p> +<p>Mr. Griggins’s spirits were slightly depressed for a short +period by this unlooked-for result of such a harmless pleasantry, but +being promptly elevated by the attentions of the host and several glasses +of wine, he soon recovered, and became even more vivacious than before, +insomuch that the stout gentleman previously referred to, assured us +that although he had known him since he was <i>that</i> high (something +smaller than a nutmeg-grater), he had never beheld him in such excellent +cue.</p> +<p>When the round game and several games at blind man’s buff which +followed it were all over, and we were going down to supper, the inexhaustible +Mr. Griggins produced a small sprig of mistletoe from his waistcoat +pocket, and commenced a general kissing of the assembled females, which +occasioned great commotion and much excitement. We observed that +several young gentlemen—including the young gentleman with the +pale countenance—were greatly scandalised at this indecorous proceeding, +and talked very big among themselves in corners; and we observed too, +that several young ladies when remonstrated with by the aforesaid young +gentlemen, called each other to witness how they had struggled, and +protested vehemently that it was very rude, and that they were surprised +at Mrs. Brown’s allowing it, and that they couldn’t bear +it, and had no patience with such impertinence. But such is the +gentle and forgiving nature of woman, that although we looked very narrowly +for it, we could not detect the slightest harshness in the subsequent +treatment of Mr. Griggins. Indeed, upon the whole, it struck us +that among the ladies he seemed rather more popular than before!</p> +<p>To recount all the drollery of Mr. Griggins at supper, would fill +such a tiny volume as this, to the very bottom of the outside cover. +How he drank out of other people’s glasses, and ate of other people’s +bread, how he frightened into screaming convulsions a little boy who +was sitting up to supper in a high chair, by sinking below the table +and suddenly reappearing with a mask on; how the hostess was really +surprised that anybody could find a pleasure in tormenting children, +and how the host frowned at the hostess, and felt convinced that Mr. +Griggins had done it with the very best intentions; how Mr. Griggins +explained, and how everybody’s good-humour was restored but the +child’s;—to tell these and a hundred other things ever so +briefly, would occupy more of our room and our readers’ patience, +than either they or we can conveniently spare. Therefore we change +the subject, merely observing that we have offered no description of +the funny young gentleman’s personal appearance, believing that +almost every society has a Griggins of its own, and leaving all readers +to supply the deficiency, according to the particular circumstances +of their particular case.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE THEATRICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>All gentlemen who love the drama—and there are few gentlemen +who are not attached to the most intellectual and rational of all our +amusements—do not come within this definition. As we have +no mean relish for theatrical entertainments ourself, we are disinterestedly +anxious that this should be perfectly understood.</p> +<p>The theatrical young gentleman has early and important information +on all theatrical topics. ‘Well,’ says he, abruptly, +when you meet him in the street, ‘here’s a pretty to-do. +Flimkins has thrown up his part in the melodrama at the Surrey.’—‘And +what’s to be done?’ you inquire with as much gravity as +you can counterfeit. ‘Ah, that’s the point,’ +replies the theatrical young gentleman, looking very serious; ‘Boozle +declines it; positively declines it. From all I am told, I should +say it was decidedly in Boozle’s line, and that he would be very +likely to make a great hit in it; but he objects on the ground of Flimkins +having been put up in the part first, and says no earthly power shall +induce him to take the character. It’s a fine part, too—excellent +business, I’m told. He has to kill six people in the course +of the piece, and to fight over a bridge in red fire, which is as safe +a card, you know, as can be. Don’t mention it; but I hear +that the last scene, when he is first poisoned, and then stabbed, by +Mrs. Flimkins as Vengedora, will be the greatest thing that has been +done these many years.’ With this piece of news, and laying +his finger on his lips as a caution for you not to excite the town with +it, the theatrical young gentleman hurries away.</p> +<p>The theatrical young gentleman, from often frequenting the different +theatrical establishments, has pet and familiar names for them all. +Thus Covent-Garden is the garden, Drury-Lane the lane, the Victoria +the vic, and the Olympic the pic. Actresses, too, are always designated +by their surnames only, as Taylor, Nisbett, Faucit, Honey; that talented +and lady-like girl Sheriff, that clever little creature Horton, and +so on. In the same manner he prefixes Christian names when he +mentions actors, as Charley Young, Jemmy Buckstone, Fred. Yates, Paul +Bedford. When he is at a loss for a Christian name, the word ‘old’ +applied indiscriminately answers quite as well: as old Charley Matthews +at Vestris’s, old Harley, and old Braham. He has a great +knowledge of the private proceedings of actresses, especially of their +getting married, and can tell you in a breath half-a-dozen who have +changed their names without avowing it. Whenever an alteration +of this kind is made in the playbills, he will remind you that he let +you into the secret six months ago.</p> +<p>The theatrical young gentleman has a great reverence for all that +is connected with the stage department of the different theatres. +He would, at any time, prefer going a street or two out of his way, +to omitting to pass a stage-entrance, into which he always looks with +a curious and searching eye. If he can only identify a popular +actor in the street, he is in a perfect transport of delight; and no +sooner meets him, than he hurries back, and walks a few paces in front +of him, so that he can turn round from time to time, and have a good +stare at his features. He looks upon a theatrical-fund dinner +as one of the most enchanting festivities ever known; and thinks that +to be a member of the Garrick Club, and see so many actors in their +plain clothes, must be one of the highest gratifications the world can +bestow.</p> +<p>The theatrical young gentleman is a constant half-price visitor at +one or other of the theatres, and has an infinite relish for all pieces +which display the fullest resources of the establishment. He likes +to place implicit reliance upon the play-bills when he goes to see a +show-piece, and works himself up to such a pitch of enthusiasm, as not +only to believe (if the bills say so) that there are three hundred and +seventy-five people on the stage at one time in the last scene, but +is highly indignant with you, unless you believe it also. He considers +that if the stage be opened from the foot-lights to the back wall, in +any new play, the piece is a triumph of dramatic writing, and applauds +accordingly. He has a great notion of trap-doors too; and thinks +any character going down or coming up a trap (no matter whether he be +an angel or a demon—they both do it occasionally) one of the most +interesting feats in the whole range of scenic illusion.</p> +<p>Besides these acquirements, he has several veracious accounts to +communicate of the private manners and customs of different actors, +which, during the pauses of a quadrille, he usually communicates to +his partner, or imparts to his neighbour at a supper table. Thus +he is advised, that Mr. Liston always had a footman in gorgeous livery +waiting at the side-scene with a brandy bottle and tumbler, to administer +half a pint or so of spirit to him every time he came off, without which +assistance he must infallibly have fainted. He knows for a fact, +that, after an arduous part, Mr. George Bennett is put between two feather +beds, to absorb the perspiration; and is credibly informed, that Mr. +Baker has, for many years, submitted to a course of lukewarm toast-and-water, +to qualify him to sustain his favourite characters. He looks upon +Mr. Fitz Ball as the principal dramatic genius and poet of the day; +but holds that there are great writers extant besides him,—in +proof whereof he refers you to various dramas and melodramas recently +produced, of which he takes in all the sixpenny and three-penny editions +as fast as they appear.</p> +<p>The theatrical young gentleman is a great advocate for violence of +emotion and redundancy of action. If a father has to curse a child +upon the stage, he likes to see it done in the thorough-going style, +with no mistake about it: to which end it is essential that the child +should follow the father on her knees, and be knocked violently over +on her face by the old gentleman as he goes into a small cottage, and +shuts the door behind him. He likes to see a blessing invoked +upon the young lady, when the old gentleman repents, with equal earnestness, +and accompanied by the usual conventional forms, which consist of the +old gentleman looking anxiously up into the clouds, as if to see whether +it rains, and then spreading an imaginary tablecloth in the air over +the young lady’s head—soft music playing all the while. +Upon these, and other points of a similar kind, the theatrical young +gentleman is a great critic indeed. He is likewise very acute +in judging of natural expressions of the passions, and knows precisely +the frown, wink, nod, or leer, which stands for any one of them, or +the means by which it may be converted into any other: as jealousy, +with a good stamp of the right foot, becomes anger; or wildness, with +the hands clasped before the throat, instead of tearing the wig, is +passionate love. If you venture to express a doubt of the accuracy +of any of these portraitures, the theatrical young gentleman assures +you, with a haughty smile, that it always has been done in that way, +and he supposes they are not going to change it at this time of day +to please you; to which, of course, you meekly reply that you suppose +not.</p> +<p>There are innumerable disquisitions of this nature, in which the +theatrical young gentleman is very profound, especially to ladies whom +he is most in the habit of entertaining with them; but as we have no +space to recapitulate them at greater length, we must rest content with +calling the attention of the young ladies in general to the theatrical +young gentlemen of their own acquaintance.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE POETICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Time was, and not very long ago either, when a singular epidemic +raged among the young gentlemen, vast numbers of whom, under the influence +of the malady, tore off their neckerchiefs, turned down their shirt +collars, and exhibited themselves in the open streets with bare throats +and dejected countenances, before the eyes of an astonished public. +These were poetical young gentlemen. The custom was gradually +found to be inconvenient, as involving the necessity of too much clean +linen and too large washing bills, and these outward symptoms have consequently +passed away; but we are disposed to think, notwithstanding, that the +number of poetical young gentlemen is considerably on the increase.</p> +<p>We know a poetical young gentleman—a very poetical young gentleman. +We do not mean to say that he is troubled with the gift of poesy in +any remarkable degree, but his countenance is of a plaintive and melancholy +cast, his manner is abstracted and bespeaks affliction of soul: he seldom +has his hair cut, and often talks about being an outcast and wanting +a kindred spirit; from which, as well as from many general observations +in which he is wont to indulge, concerning mysterious impulses, and +yearnings of the heart, and the supremacy of intellect gilding all earthly +things with the glowing magic of immortal verse, it is clear to all +his friends that he has been stricken poetical.</p> +<p>The favourite attitude of the poetical young gentleman is lounging +on a sofa with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, or sitting bolt upright +in a high-backed chair, staring with very round eyes at the opposite +wall. When he is in one of these positions, his mother, who is +a worthy, affectionate old soul, will give you a nudge to bespeak your +attention without disturbing the abstracted one, and whisper with a +shake of the head, that John’s imagination is at some extraordinary +work or other, you may take her word for it. Hereupon John looks +more fiercely intent upon vacancy than before, and suddenly snatching +a pencil from his pocket, puts down three words, and a cross on the +back of a card, sighs deeply, paces once or twice across the room, inflicts +a most unmerciful slap upon his head, and walks moodily up to his dormitory.</p> +<p>The poetical young gentleman is apt to acquire peculiar notions of +things too, which plain ordinary people, unblessed with a poetical obliquity +of vision, would suppose to be rather distorted. For instance, +when the sickening murder and mangling of a wretched woman was affording +delicious food wherewithal to gorge the insatiable curiosity of the +public, our friend the poetical young gentleman was in ecstasies—not +of disgust, but admiration. ‘Heavens!’ cried the poetical +young gentleman, ‘how grand; how great!’ We ventured +deferentially to inquire upon whom these epithets were bestowed: our +humble thoughts oscillating between the police officer who found the +criminal, and the lock-keeper who found the head. ‘Upon +whom!’ exclaimed the poetical young gentleman in a frenzy of poetry, +‘Upon whom should they be bestowed but upon the murderer!’—and +thereupon it came out, in a fine torrent of eloquence, that the murderer +was a great spirit, a bold creature full of daring and nerve, a man +of dauntless heart and determined courage, and withal a great casuist +and able reasoner, as was fully demonstrated in his philosophical colloquies +with the great and noble of the land. We held our peace, and meekly +signified our indisposition to controvert these opinions—firstly, +because we were no match at quotation for the poetical young gentleman; +and secondly, because we felt it would be of little use our entering +into any disputation, if we were: being perfectly convinced that the +respectable and immoral hero in question is not the first and will not +be the last hanged gentleman upon whom false sympathy or diseased curiosity +will be plentifully expended.</p> +<p>This was a stern mystic flight of the poetical young gentleman. +In his milder and softer moments he occasionally lays down his neckcloth, +and pens stanzas, which sometimes find their way into a Lady’s +Magazine, or the ‘Poets’ Corner’ of some country newspaper; +or which, in default of either vent for his genius, adorn the rainbow +leaves of a lady’s album. These are generally written upon +some such occasions as contemplating the Bank of England by midnight, +or beholding Saint Paul’s in a snow-storm; and when these gloomy +objects fail to afford him inspiration, he pours forth his soul in a +touching address to a violet, or a plaintive lament that he is no longer +a child, but has gradually grown up.</p> +<p>The poetical young gentleman is fond of quoting passages from his +favourite authors, who are all of the gloomy and desponding school. +He has a great deal to say too about the world, and is much given to +opining, especially if he has taken anything strong to drink, that there +is nothing in it worth living for. He gives you to understand, +however, that for the sake of society, he means to bear his part in +the tiresome play, manfully resisting the gratification of his own strong +desire to make a premature exit; and consoles himself with the reflection, +that immortality has some chosen nook for himself and the other great +spirits whom earth has chafed and wearied.</p> +<p>When the poetical young gentleman makes use of adjectives, they are +all superlatives. Everything is of the grandest, greatest, noblest, +mightiest, loftiest; or the lowest, meanest, obscurest, vilest, and +most pitiful. He knows no medium: for enthusiasm is the soul of +poetry; and who so enthusiastic as a poetical young gentleman? +‘Mr. Milkwash,’ says a young lady as she unlocks her album +to receive the young gentleman’s original impromptu contribution, +‘how very silent you are! I think you must be in love.’ +‘Love!’ cries the poetical young gentleman, starting from +his seat by the fire and terrifying the cat who scampers off at full +speed, ‘Love! that burning, consuming passion; that ardour of +the soul, that fierce glowing of the heart. Love! The withering, +blighting influence of hope misplaced and affection slighted. +Love did you say! Ha! ha! ha!’</p> +<p>With this, the poetical young gentleman laughs a laugh belonging +only to poets and Mr. O. Smith of the Adelphi Theatre, and sits down, +pen in hand, to throw off a page or two of verse in the biting, semi-atheistical +demoniac style, which, like the poetical young gentleman himself, is +full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE ‘THROWING-OFF’ YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There is a certain kind of impostor—a bragging, vaunting, puffing +young gentleman—against whom we are desirous to warn that fairer +part of the creation, to whom we more peculiarly devote these our labours. +And we are particularly induced to lay especial stress upon this division +of our subject, by a little dialogue we held some short time ago, with +an esteemed young lady of our acquaintance, touching a most gross specimen +of this class of men. We had been urging all the absurdities of +his conduct and conversation, and dwelling upon the impossibilities +he constantly recounted—to which indeed we had not scrupled to +prefix a certain hard little word of one syllable and three letters—when +our fair friend, unable to maintain the contest any longer, reluctantly +cried, ‘Well; he certainly has a habit of throwing-off, but then—’ +What then? Throw him off yourself, said we. And so she did, +but not at our instance, for other reasons appeared, and it might have +been better if she had done so at first.</p> +<p>The throwing-off young gentleman has so often a father possessed +of vast property in some remote district of Ireland, that we look with +some suspicion upon all young gentlemen who volunteer this description +of themselves. The deceased grandfather of the throwing-off young +gentleman was a man of immense possessions, and untold wealth; the throwing-off +young gentleman remembers, as well as if it were only yesterday, the +deceased baronet’s library, with its long rows of scarce and valuable +books in superbly embossed bindings, arranged in cases, reaching from +the lofty ceiling to the oaken floor; and the fine antique chairs and +tables, and the noble old castle of Ballykillbabaloo, with its splendid +prospect of hill and dale, and wood, and rich wild scenery, and the +fine hunting stables and the spacious court-yards, ‘and—and—everything +upon the same magnificent scale,’ says the throwing-off young +gentleman, ‘princely; quite princely. Ah!’ And +he sighs as if mourning over the fallen fortunes of his noble house.</p> +<p>The throwing-off young gentleman is a universal genius; at walking, +running, rowing, swimming, and skating, he is unrivalled; at all games +of chance or skill, at hunting, shooting, fishing, riding, driving, +or amateur theatricals, no one can touch him—that is <i>could</i> +not, because he gives you carefully to understand, lest there should +be any opportunity of testing his skill, that he is quite out of practice +just now, and has been for some years. If you mention any beautiful +girl of your common acquaintance in his hearing, the throwing-off young +gentleman starts, smiles, and begs you not to mind him, for it was quite +involuntary: people do say indeed that they were once engaged, but no—although +she is a very fine girl, he was so situated at that time that he couldn’t +possibly encourage the—‘but it’s of no use talking +about it!’ he adds, interrupting himself. ‘She has +got over it now, and I firmly hope and trust is happy.’ +With this benevolent aspiration he nods his head in a mysterious manner, +and whistling the first part of some popular air, thinks perhaps it +will be better to change the subject.</p> +<p>There is another great characteristic of the throwing-off young gentleman, +which is, that he ‘happens to be acquainted’ with a most +extraordinary variety of people in all parts of the world. Thus +in all disputed questions, when the throwing-off young gentleman has +no argument to bring forward, he invariably happens to be acquainted +with some distant person, intimately connected with the subject, whose +testimony decides the point against you, to the great—may we say +it—to the great admiration of three young ladies out of every +four, who consider the throwing-off young gentleman a very highly-connected +young man, and a most charming person.</p> +<p>Sometimes the throwing-off young gentleman happens to look in upon +a little family circle of young ladies who are quietly spending the +evening together, and then indeed is he at the very height and summit +of his glory; for it is to be observed that he by no means shines to +equal advantage in the presence of men as in the society of over-credulous +young ladies, which is his proper element. It is delightful to +hear the number of pretty things the throwing-off young gentleman gives +utterance to, during tea, and still more so to observe the ease with +which, from long practice and study, he delicately blends one compliment +to a lady with two for himself. ‘Did you ever see a more +lovely blue than this flower, Mr. Caveton?’ asks a young lady +who, truth to tell, is rather smitten with the throwing-off young gentleman. +‘Never,’ he replies, bending over the object of admiration, +‘never but in your eyes.’ ‘Oh, Mr. Caveton,’ +cries the young lady, blushing of course. ‘Indeed I speak +the truth,’ replies the throwing-off young gentleman, ‘I +never saw any approach to them. I used to think my cousin’s +blue eyes lovely, but they grow dim and colourless beside yours.’ +‘Oh! a beautiful cousin, Mr. Caveton!’ replies the young +lady, with that perfect artlessness which is the distinguishing characteristic +of all young ladies; ‘an affair, of course.’ ‘No; +indeed, indeed you wrong me,’ rejoins the throwing-off young gentleman +with great energy. ‘I fervently hope that her attachment +towards me may be nothing but the natural result of our close intimacy +in childhood, and that in change of scene and among new faces she may +soon overcome it. <i>I</i> love her! Think not so meanly +of me, Miss Lowfield, I beseech, as to suppose that title, lands, riches, +and beauty, can influence <i>my</i> choice. The heart, the heart, +Miss Lowfield.’ Here the throwing-off young gentleman sinks +his voice to a still lower whisper; and the young lady duly proclaims +to all the other young ladies when they go up-stairs, to put their bonnets +on, that Mr. Caveton’s relations are all immensely rich, and that +he is hopelessly beloved by title, lands, riches, and beauty.</p> +<p>We have seen a throwing-off young gentleman who, to our certain knowledge, +was innocent of a note of music, and scarcely able to recognise a tune +by ear, volunteer a Spanish air upon the guitar when he had previously +satisfied himself that there was not such an instrument within a mile +of the house.</p> +<p>We have heard another throwing-off young gentleman, after striking +a note or two upon the piano, and accompanying it correctly (by dint +of laborious practice) with his voice, assure a circle of wondering +listeners that so acute was his ear that he was wholly unable to sing +out of tune, let him try as he would. We have lived to witness +the unmasking of another throwing-off young gentleman, who went out +a visiting in a military cap with a gold band and tassel, and who, after +passing successfully for a captain and being lauded to the skies for +his red whiskers, his bravery, his soldierly bearing and his pride, +turned out to be the dishonest son of an honest linen-draper in a small +country town, and whom, if it were not for this fortunate exposure, +we should not yet despair of encountering as the fortunate husband of +some rich heiress. Ladies, ladies, the throwing-off young gentlemen +are often swindlers, and always fools. So pray you avoid them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE YOUNG LADIES’ YOUNG GENTLEMAN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>This young gentleman has several titles. Some young ladies +consider him ‘a nice young man,’ others ‘a fine young +man,’ others ‘quite a lady’s man,’ others ‘a +handsome man,’ others ‘a remarkably good-looking young man.’ +With some young ladies he is ‘a perfect angel,’ and with +others ‘quite a love.’ He is likewise a charming creature, +a duck, and a dear.</p> +<p>The young ladies’ young gentleman has usually a fresh colour +and very white teeth, which latter articles, of course, he displays +on every possible opportunity. He has brown or black hair, and +whiskers of the same, if possible; but a slight tinge of red, or the +hue which is vulgarly known as <i>sandy</i>, is not considered an objection. +If his head and face be large, his nose prominent, and his figure square, +he is an uncommonly fine young man, and worshipped accordingly. +Should his whiskers meet beneath his chin, so much the better, though +this is not absolutely insisted on; but he must wear an under-waistcoat, +and smile constantly.</p> +<p>There was a great party got up by some party-loving friends of ours +last summer, to go and dine in Epping Forest. As we hold that +such wild expeditions should never be indulged in, save by people of +the smallest means, who have no dinner at home, we should indubitably +have excused ourself from attending, if we had not recollected that +the projectors of the excursion were always accompanied on such occasions +by a choice sample of the young ladies’ young gentleman, whom +we were very anxious to have an opportunity of meeting. This determined +us, and we went.</p> +<p>We were to make for Chigwell in four glass coaches, each with a trifling +company of six or eight inside, and a little boy belonging to the projectors +on the box—and to start from the residence of the projectors, +Woburn-place, Russell-square, at half-past ten precisely. We arrived +at the place of rendezvous at the appointed time, and found the glass +coaches and the little boys quite ready, and divers young ladies and +young gentlemen looking anxiously over the breakfast-parlour blinds, +who appeared by no means so much gratified by our approach as we might +have expected, but evidently wished we had been somebody else. +Observing that our arrival in lieu of the unknown occasioned some disappointment, +we ventured to inquire who was yet to come, when we found from the hasty +reply of a dozen voices, that it was no other than the young ladies’ +young gentleman.</p> +<p>‘I cannot imagine,’ said the mamma, ‘what has become +of Mr. Balim—always so punctual, always so pleasant and agreeable. +I am sure I can-<i>not</i> think.’ As these last words were +uttered in that measured, emphatic manner which painfully announces +that the speaker has not quite made up his or her mind what to say, +but is determined to talk on nevertheless, the eldest daughter took +up the subject, and hoped no accident had happened to Mr. Balim, upon +which there was a general chorus of ‘Dear Mr. Balim!’ and +one young lady, more adventurous than the rest, proposed that an express +should be straightway sent to dear Mr. Balim’s lodgings. +This, however, the papa resolutely opposed, observing, in what a short +young lady behind us termed ‘quite a bearish way,’ that +if Mr. Balim didn’t choose to come, he might stop at home. +At this all the daughters raised a murmur of ‘Oh pa!’ except +one sprightly little girl of eight or ten years old, who, taking advantage +of a pause in the discourse, remarked, that perhaps Mr. Balim might +have been married that morning—for which impertinent suggestion +she was summarily ejected from the room by her eldest sister.</p> +<p>We were all in a state of great mortification and uneasiness, when +one of the little boys, running into the room as airily as little boys +usually run who have an unlimited allowance of animal food in the holidays, +and keep their hands constantly forced down to the bottoms of very deep +trouser-pockets when they take exercise, joyfully announced that Mr. +Balim was at that moment coming up the street in a hackney-cab; and +the intelligence was confirmed beyond all doubt a minute afterwards +by the entry of Mr. Balim himself, who was received with repeated cries +of ‘Where have you been, you naughty creature?’ whereunto +the naughty creature replied, that he had been in bed, in consequence +of a late party the night before, and had only just risen. The +acknowledgment awakened a variety of agonizing fears that he had taken +no breakfast; which appearing after a slight cross-examination to be +the real state of the case, breakfast for one was immediately ordered, +notwithstanding Mr. Balim’s repeated protestations that he couldn’t +think of it. He did think of it though, and thought better of +it too, for he made a remarkably good meal when it came, and was assiduously +served by a select knot of young ladies. It was quite delightful +to see how he ate and drank, while one pair of fair hands poured out +his coffee, and another put in the sugar, and another the milk; the +rest of the company ever and anon casting angry glances at their watches, +and the glass coaches,—and the little boys looking on in an agony +of apprehension lest it should begin to rain before we set out; it might +have rained all day, after we were once too far to turn back again, +and welcome, for aught they cared.</p> +<p>However, the cavalcade moved at length, every coachman being accommodated +with a hamper between his legs something larger than a wheelbarrow; +and the company being packed as closely as they possibly could in the +carriages, ‘according,’ as one married lady observed, ‘to +the immemorial custom, which was half the diversion of gipsy parties.’ +Thinking it very likely it might be (we have never been able to discover +the other half), we submitted to be stowed away with a cheerful aspect, +and were fortunate enough to occupy one corner of a coach in which were +one old lady, four young ladies, and the renowned Mr. Balim the young +ladies’ young gentleman.</p> +<p>We were no sooner fairly off, than the young ladies’ young +gentleman hummed a fragment of an air, which induced a young lady to +inquire whether he had danced to that the night before. ‘By +Heaven, then, I did,’ replied the young gentleman, ‘and +with a lovely heiress; a superb creature, with twenty thousand pounds.’ +‘You seem rather struck,’ observed another young lady. +‘’Gad she was a sweet creature,’ returned the young +gentleman, arranging his hair. ‘Of course <i>she</i> was +struck too?’ inquired the first young lady. ‘How can +you ask, love?’ interposed the second; ‘could she fail to +be?’ ‘Well, honestly I think she was,’ observed +the young gentleman. At this point of the dialogue, the young +lady who had spoken first, and who sat on the young gentleman’s +right, struck him a severe blow on the arm with a rosebud, and said +he was a vain man—whereupon the young gentleman insisted on having +the rosebud, and the young lady appealing for help to the other young +ladies, a charming struggle ensued, terminating in the victory of the +young gentleman, and the capture of the rosebud. This little skirmish +over, the married lady, who was the mother of the rosebud, smiled sweetly +upon the young gentleman, and accused him of being a flirt; the young +gentleman pleading not guilty, a most interesting discussion took place +upon the important point whether the young gentleman was a flirt or +not, which being an agreeable conversation of a light kind, lasted a +considerable time. At length, a short silence occurring, the young +ladies on either side of the young gentleman fell suddenly fast asleep; +and the young gentleman, winking upon us to preserve silence, won a +pair of gloves from each, thereby causing them to wake with equal suddenness +and to scream very loud. The lively conversation to which this +pleasantry gave rise, lasted for the remainder of the ride, and would +have eked out a much longer one.</p> +<p>We dined rather more comfortably than people usually do under such +circumstances, nothing having been left behind but the cork-screw and +the bread. The married gentlemen were unusually thirsty, which +they attributed to the heat of the weather; the little boys ate to inconvenience; +mammas were very jovial, and their daughters very fascinating; and the +attendants being well-behaved men, got exceedingly drunk at a respectful +distance.</p> +<p>We had our eye on Mr. Balim at dinner-time, and perceived that he +flourished wonderfully, being still surrounded by a little group of +young ladies, who listened to him as an oracle, while he ate from their +plates and drank from their glasses in a manner truly captivating from +its excessive playfulness. His conversation, too, was exceedingly +brilliant. In fact, one elderly lady assured us, that in the course +of a little lively <i>badinage</i> on the subject of ladies’ dresses, +he had evinced as much knowledge as if he had been born and bred a milliner.</p> +<p>As such of the fat people who did not happen to fall asleep after +dinner entered upon a most vigorous game at ball, we slipped away alone +into a thicker part of the wood, hoping to fall in with Mr. Balim, the +greater part of the young people having dropped off in twos and threes +and the young ladies’ young gentleman among them. Nor were +we disappointed, for we had not walked far, when, peeping through the +trees, we discovered him before us, and truly it was a pleasant thing +to contemplate his greatness.</p> +<p>The young ladies’ young gentleman was seated upon the ground, +at the feet of a few young ladies who were reclining on a bank; he was +so profusely decked with scarfs, ribands, flowers, and other pretty +spoils, that he looked like a lamb—or perhaps a calf would be +a better simile—adorned for the sacrifice. One young lady +supported a parasol over his interesting head, another held his hat, +and a third his neck-cloth, which in romantic fashion he had thrown +off; the young gentleman himself, with his hand upon his breast, and +his face moulded into an expression of the most honeyed sweetness, was +warbling forth some choice specimens of vocal music in praise of female +loveliness, in a style so exquisitely perfect, that we burst into an +involuntary shout of laughter, and made a hasty retreat.</p> +<p>What charming fellows these young ladies’ young gentlemen are! +Ducks, dears, loves, angels, are all terms inadequate to express their +merit. They are such amazingly, uncommonly, wonderfully, nice +men.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>As we have placed before the young ladies so many specimens of young +gentlemen, and have also in the dedication of this volume given them +to understand how much we reverence and admire their numerous virtues +and perfections; as we have given them such strong reasons to treat +us with confidence, and to banish, in our case, all that reserve and +distrust of the male sex which, as a point of general behaviour, they +cannot do better than preserve and maintain—we say, as we have +done all this, we feel that now, when we have arrived at the close of +our task, they may naturally press upon us the inquiry, what particular +description of young gentlemen we can conscientiously recommend.</p> +<p>Here we are at a loss. We look over our list, and can neither +recommend the bashful young gentleman, nor the out-and-out young gentleman, +nor the very friendly young gentleman, nor the military young gentleman, +nor the political young gentleman, nor the domestic young gentleman, +nor the censorious young gentleman, nor the funny young gentleman, nor +the theatrical young gentleman, nor the poetical young gentleman, nor +the throwing-off young gentleman, nor the young ladies’ young +gentleman.</p> +<p>As there are some good points about many of them, which still are +not sufficiently numerous to render any one among them eligible, as +a whole, our respectful advice to the young ladies is, to seek for a +young gentleman who unites in himself the best qualities of all, and +the worst weaknesses of none, and to lead him forthwith to the hymeneal +altar, whether he will or no. And to the young lady who secures +him, we beg to tender one short fragment of matrimonial advice, selected +from many sound passages of a similar tendency, to be found in a letter +written by Dean Swift to a young lady on her marriage.</p> +<p>‘The grand affair of your life will be, to gain and preserve +the esteem of your husband. Neither good-nature nor virtue will +suffer him to <i>esteem</i> you against his judgment; and although he +is not capable of using you ill, yet you will in time grow a thing indifferent +and perhaps contemptible; unless you can supply the loss of youth and +beauty with more durable qualities. You have but a very few years +to be young and handsome in the eyes of the world; and as few months +to be so in the eyes of a husband who is not a fool; for I hope you +do not still dream of charms and raptures, which marriage ever did, +and ever will, put a sudden end to.’</p> +<p>From the anxiety we express for the proper behaviour of the fortunate +lady after marriage, it may possibly be inferred that the young gentleman +to whom we have so delicately alluded, is no other than ourself. +Without in any way committing ourself upon this point, we have merely +to observe, that we are ready to receive sealed offers containing a +full specification of age, temper, appearance, and condition; but we +beg it to be distinctly understood that we do not pledge ourself to +accept the highest bidder.</p> +<p>These offers may be forwarded to the Publishers, Messrs. Chapman +and Hall, London; to whom all pieces of plate and other testimonials +of approbation from the young ladies generally, are respectfully requested +to be addressed.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>AN URGENT REMONSTRANCE, &c</p> +<p>TO THE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND,</p> +<p>(BEING BACHELORS OR WIDOWERS,)</p> +<p>THE REMONSTRANCE OF THEIR FAITHFUL FELLOW-SUBJECT,</p> +<p>SHEWETH,-</p> +<p>THAT Her Most Gracious Majesty, Victoria, by the Grace of God of +the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Queen, Defender of the +Faith, did, on the 23rd day of November last past, declare and pronounce +to Her Most Honourable Privy Council, Her Majesty’s Most Gracious +intention of entering into the bonds of wedlock.</p> +<p>THAT Her Most Gracious Majesty, in so making known Her Most Gracious +intention to Her Most Honourable Privy Council as aforesaid, did use +and employ the words—‘It is my intention to ally myself +in marriage with Prince Albert of Saxe Coburg and Gotha.’</p> +<p>THAT the present is Bissextile, or Leap Year, in which it is held +and considered lawful for any lady to offer and submit proposals of +marriage to any gentleman, and to enforce and insist upon acceptance +of the same, under pain of a certain fine or penalty; to wit, one silk +or satin dress of the first quality, to be chosen by the lady and paid +(or owed) for, by the gentleman.</p> +<p>THAT these and other the horrors and dangers with which the said +Bissextile, or Leap Year, threatens the gentlemen of England on every +occasion of its periodical return, have been greatly aggravated and +augmented by the terms of Her Majesty’s said Most Gracious communication, +which have filled the heads of divers young ladies in this Realm with +certain new ideas destructive to the peace of mankind, that never entered +their imagination before.</p> +<p>THAT a case has occurred in Camberwell, in which a young lady informed +her Papa that ‘she intended to ally herself in marriage’ +with Mr. Smith of Stepney; and that another, and a very distressing +case, has occurred at Tottenham, in which a young lady not only stated +her intention of allying herself in marriage with her cousin John, but, +taking violent possession of her said cousin, actually married him.</p> +<p>THAT similar outrages are of constant occurrence, not only in the +capital and its neighbourhood, but throughout the kingdom, and that +unless the excited female populace be speedily checked and restrained +in their lawless proceedings, most deplorable results must ensue therefrom; +among which may be anticipated a most alarming increase in the population +of the country, with which no efforts of the agricultural or manufacturing +interest can possibly keep pace.</p> +<p>THAT there is strong reason to suspect the existence of a most extensive +plot, conspiracy, or design, secretly contrived by vast numbers of single +ladies in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and now extending +its ramifications in every quarter of the land; the object and intent +of which plainly appears to be the holding and solemnising of an enormous +and unprecedented number of marriages, on the day on which the nuptials +of Her said Most Gracious Majesty are performed.</p> +<p>THAT such plot, conspiracy, or design, strongly savours of Popery, +as tending to the discomfiture of the Clergy of the Established Church, +by entailing upon them great mental and physical exhaustion; and that +such Popish plots are fomented and encouraged by Her Majesty’s +Ministers, which clearly appears—not only from Her Majesty’s +principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs traitorously getting +married while holding office under the Crown; but from Mr. O’Connell +having been heard to declare and avow that, if he had a daughter to +marry, she should be married on the same day as Her said Most Gracious +Majesty.</p> +<p>THAT such arch plots, conspiracies, and designs, besides being fraught +with danger to the Established Church, and (consequently) to the State, +cannot fail to bring ruin and bankruptcy upon a large class of Her Majesty’s +subjects; as a great and sudden increase in the number of married men +occasioning the comparative desertion (for a time) of Taverns, Hotels, +Billiard-rooms, and Gaming-Houses, will deprive the Proprietors of their +accustomed profits and returns. And in further proof of the depth +and baseness of such designs, it may be here observed, that all proprietors +of Taverns, Hotels, Billiard-rooms, and Gaming-Houses, are (especially +the last) solemnly devoted to the Protestant religion.</p> +<p>FOR all these reasons, and many others of no less gravity and import, +an urgent appeal is made to the gentlemen of England (being bachelors +or widowers) to take immediate steps for convening a Public meeting; +To consider of the best and surest means of averting the dangers with +which they are threatened by the recurrence of Bissextile, or Leap Year, +and the additional sensation created among single ladies by the terms +of Her Majesty’s Most Gracious Declaration; To take measures, +without delay, for resisting the said single Ladies, and counteracting +their evil designs; And to pray Her Majesty to dismiss her present Ministers, +and to summon to her Councils those distinguished Gentlemen in various +Honourable Professions who, by insulting on all occasions the only Lady +in England who can be insulted with safety, have given a sufficient +guarantee to Her Majesty’s Loving Subjects that they, at least, +are qualified to make war with women, and are already expert in the +use of those weapons which are common to the lowest and most abandoned +of the sex.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE YOUNG COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There is to be a wedding this morning at the corner house in the +terrace. The pastry-cook’s people have been there half-a-dozen +times already; all day yesterday there was a great stir and bustle, +and they were up this morning as soon as it was light. Miss Emma +Fielding is going to be married to young Mr. Harvey.</p> +<p>Heaven alone can tell in what bright colours this marriage is painted +upon the mind of the little housemaid at number six, who has hardly +slept a wink all night with thinking of it, and now stands on the unswept +door-steps leaning upon her broom, and looking wistfully towards the +enchanted house. Nothing short of omniscience can divine what +visions of the baker, or the green-grocer, or the smart and most insinuating +butterman, are flitting across her mind—what thoughts of how she +would dress on such an occasion, if she were a lady—of how she +would dress, if she were only a bride—of how cook would dress, +being bridesmaid, conjointly with her sister ‘in place’ +at Fulham, and how the clergyman, deeming them so many ladies, would +be quite humbled and respectful. What day-dreams of hope and happiness—of +life being one perpetual holiday, with no master and no mistress to +grant or withhold it—of every Sunday being a Sunday out—of +pure freedom as to curls and ringlets, and no obligation to hide fine +heads of hair in caps—what pictures of happiness, vast and immense +to her, but utterly ridiculous to us, bewilder the brain of the little +housemaid at number six, all called into existence by the wedding at +the corner!</p> +<p>We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a better +reason than commonly presents itself. It should be pleasant to +us to know that there are notions of happiness so moderate and limited, +since upon those who entertain them, happiness and lightness of heart +are very easily bestowed.</p> +<p>But the little housemaid is awakened from her reverie, for forth +from the door of the magical corner house there runs towards her, all +fluttering in smart new dress and streaming ribands, her friend Jane +Adams, who comes all out of breath to redeem a solemn promise of taking +her in, under cover of the confusion, to see the breakfast table spread +forth in state, and—sight of sights!—her young mistress +ready dressed for church.</p> +<p>And there, in good truth, when they have stolen up-stairs on tip-toe +and edged themselves in at the chamber-door—there is Miss Emma +‘looking like the sweetest picter,’ in a white chip bonnet +and orange flowers, and all other elegancies becoming a bride, (with +the make, shape, and quality of every article of which the girl is perfectly +familiar in one moment, and never forgets to her dying day)—and +there is Miss Emma’s mamma in tears, and Miss Emma’s papa +comforting her, and saying how that of course she has been long looking +forward to this, and how happy she ought to be—and there too is +Miss Emma’s sister with her arms round her neck, and the other +bridesmaid all smiles and tears, quieting the children, who would cry +more but that they are so finely dressed, and yet sob for fear sister +Emma should be taken away—and it is all so affecting, that the +two servant-girls cry more than anybody; and Jane Adams, sitting down +upon the stairs, when they have crept away, declares that her legs tremble +so that she don’t know what to do, and that she will say for Miss +Emma, that she never had a hasty word from her, and that she does hope +and pray she may be happy.</p> +<p>But Jane soon comes round again, and then surely there never was +anything like the breakfast table, glittering with plate and china, +and set out with flowers and sweets, and long-necked bottles, in the +most sumptuous and dazzling manner. In the centre, too, is the +mighty charm, the cake, glistening with frosted sugar, and garnished +beautifully. They agree that there ought to be a little Cupid +under one of the barley-sugar temples, or at least two hearts and an +arrow; but, with this exception, there is nothing to wish for, and a +table could not be handsomer. As they arrive at this conclusion, +who should come in but Mr. John! to whom Jane says that its only Anne +from number six; and John says <i>he</i> knows, for he’s often +winked his eye down the area, which causes Anne to blush and look confused. +She is going away, indeed; when Mr. John will have it that she must +drink a glass of wine, and he says never mind it’s being early +in the morning, it won’t hurt her: so they shut the door and pour +out the wine; and Anne drinking lane’s health, and adding, ‘and +here’s wishing you yours, Mr. John,’ drinks it in a great +many sips,—Mr. John all the time making jokes appropriate to the +occasion. At last Mr. John, who has waxed bolder by degrees, pleads +the usage at weddings, and claims the privilege of a kiss, which he +obtains after a great scuffle; and footsteps being now heard on the +stairs, they disperse suddenly.</p> +<p>By this time a carriage has driven up to convey the bride to church, +and Anne of number six prolonging the process of ‘cleaning her +door,’ has the satisfaction of beholding the bride and bridesmaids, +and the papa and mamma, hurry into the same and drive rapidly off. +Nor is this all, for soon other carriages begin to arrive with a posse +of company all beautifully dressed, at whom she could stand and gaze +for ever; but having something else to do, is compelled to take one +last long look and shut the street-door.</p> +<p>And now the company have gone down to breakfast, and tears have given +place to smiles, for all the corks are out of the long-necked bottles, +and their contents are disappearing rapidly. Miss Emma’s +papa is at the top of the table; Miss Emma’s mamma at the bottom; +and beside the latter are Miss Emma herself and her husband,—admitted +on all hands to be the handsomest and most interesting young couple +ever known. All down both sides of the table, too, are various +young ladies, beautiful to see, and various young gentlemen who seem +to think so; and there, in a post of honour, is an unmarried aunt of +Miss Emma’s, reported to possess unheard-of riches, and to have +expressed vast testamentary intentions respecting her favourite niece +and new nephew. This lady has been very liberal and generous already, +as the jewels worn by the bride abundantly testify, but that is nothing +to what she means to do, or even to what she has done, for she put herself +in close communication with the dressmaker three months ago, and prepared +a wardrobe (with some articles worked by her own hands) fit for a Princess. +People may call her an old maid, and so she may be, but she is neither +cross nor ugly for all that; on the contrary, she is very cheerful and +pleasant-looking, and very kind and tender-hearted: which is no matter +of surprise except to those who yield to popular prejudices without +thinking why, and will never grow wiser and never know better.</p> +<p>Of all the company though, none are more pleasant to behold or better +pleased with themselves than two young children, who, in honour of the +day, have seats among the guests. Of these, one is a little fellow +of six or eight years old, brother to the bride,—and the other +a girl of the same age, or something younger, whom he calls ‘his +wife.’ The real bride and bridegroom are not more devoted +than they: he all love and attention, and she all blushes and fondness, +toying with a little bouquet which he gave her this morning, and placing +the scattered rose-leaves in her bosom with nature’s own coquettishness. +They have dreamt of each other in their quiet dreams, these children, +and their little hearts have been nearly broken when the absent one +has been dispraised in jest. When will there come in after-life +a passion so earnest, generous, and true as theirs; what, even in its +gentlest realities, can have the grace and charm that hover round such +fairy lovers!</p> +<p>By this time the merriment and happiness of the feast have gained +their height; certain ominous looks begin to be exchanged between the +bridesmaids, and somehow it gets whispered about that the carriage which +is to take the young couple into the country has arrived. Such +members of the party as are most disposed to prolong its enjoyments, +affect to consider this a false alarm, but it turns out too true, being +speedily confirmed, first by the retirement of the bride and a select +file of intimates who are to prepare her for the journey, and secondly +by the withdrawal of the ladies generally. To this there ensues +a particularly awkward pause, in which everybody essays to be facetious, +and nobody succeeds; at length the bridegroom makes a mysterious disappearance +in obedience to some equally mysterious signal; and the table is deserted.</p> +<p>Now, for at least six weeks last past it has been solemnly devised +and settled that the young couple should go away in secret; but they +no sooner appear without the door than the drawing-room windows are +blocked up with ladies waving their handkerchiefs and kissing their +hands, and the dining-room panes with gentlemen’s faces beaming +farewell in every queer variety of its expression. The hall and +steps are crowded with servants in white favours, mixed up with particular +friends and relations who have darted out to say good-bye; and foremost +in the group are the tiny lovers arm in arm, thinking, with fluttering +hearts, what happiness it would be to dash away together in that gallant +coach, and never part again.</p> +<p>The bride has barely time for one hurried glance at her old home, +when the steps rattle, the door slams, the horses clatter on the pavement, +and they have left it far away.</p> +<p>A knot of women servants still remain clustered in the hall, whispering +among themselves, and there of course is Anne from number six, who has +made another escape on some plea or other, and been an admiring witness +of the departure. There are two points on which Anne expatiates +over and over again, without the smallest appearance of fatigue or intending +to leave off; one is, that she ‘never see in all her life such +a—oh such a angel of a gentleman as Mr. Harvey’—and +the other, that she ‘can’t tell how it is, but it don’t +seem a bit like a work-a-day, or a Sunday neither—it’s all +so unsettled and unregular.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE FORMAL COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The formal couple are the most prim, cold, immovable, and unsatisfactory +people on the face of the earth. Their faces, voices, dress, house, +furniture, walk, and manner, are all the essence of formality, unrelieved +by one redeeming touch of frankness, heartiness, or nature.</p> +<p>Everything with the formal couple resolves itself into a matter of +form. They don’t call upon you on your account, but their +own; not to see how you are, but to show how they are: it is not a ceremony +to do honour to you, but to themselves,—not due to your position, +but to theirs. If one of a friend’s children die, the formal +couple are as sure and punctual in sending to the house as the undertaker; +if a friend’s family be increased, the monthly nurse is not more +attentive than they. The formal couple, in fact, joyfully seize +all occasions of testifying their good-breeding and precise observance +of the little usages of society; and for you, who are the means to this +end, they care as much as a man does for the tailor who has enabled +him to cut a figure, or a woman for the milliner who has assisted her +to a conquest.</p> +<p>Having an extensive connexion among that kind of people who make +acquaintances and eschew friends, the formal gentleman attends from +time to time a great many funerals, to which he is formally invited, +and to which he formally goes, as returning a call for the last time. +Here his deportment is of the most faultless description; he knows the +exact pitch of voice it is proper to assume, the sombre look he ought +to wear, the melancholy tread which should be his gait for the day. +He is perfectly acquainted with all the dreary courtesies to be observed +in a mourning-coach; knows when to sigh, and when to hide his nose in +the white handkerchief; and looks into the grave and shakes his head +when the ceremony is concluded, with the sad formality of a mute.</p> +<p>‘What kind of funeral was it?’ says the formal lady, +when he returns home. ‘Oh!’ replies the formal gentleman, +‘there never was such a gross and disgusting impropriety; there +were no feathers.’ ‘No feathers!’ cries the +lady, as if on wings of black feathers dead people fly to Heaven, and, +lacking them, they must of necessity go elsewhere. Her husband +shakes his head; and further adds, that they had seed-cake instead of +plum-cake, and that it was all white wine. ‘All white wine!’ +exclaims his wife. ‘Nothing but sherry and madeira,’ +says the husband. ‘What! no port?’ ‘Not +a drop.’ No port, no plums, and no feathers! ‘You +will recollect, my dear,’ says the formal lady, in a voice of +stately reproof, ‘that when we first met this poor man who is +now dead and gone, and he took that very strange course of addressing +me at dinner without being previously introduced, I ventured to express +my opinion that the family were quite ignorant of etiquette, and very +imperfectly acquainted with the decencies of life. You have now +had a good opportunity of judging for yourself, and all I have to say +is, that I trust you will never go to a funeral <i>there</i> again.’ +‘My dear,’ replies the formal gentleman, ‘I never +will.’ So the informal deceased is cut in his grave; and +the formal couple, when they tell the story of the funeral, shake their +heads, and wonder what some people’s feelings <i>are</i> made +of, and what their notions of propriety <i>can</i> be!</p> +<p>If the formal couple have a family (which they sometimes have), they +are not children, but little, pale, sour, sharp-nosed men and women; +and so exquisitely brought up, that they might be very old dwarfs for +anything that appeareth to the contrary. Indeed, they are so acquainted +with forms and conventionalities, and conduct themselves with such strict +decorum, that to see the little girl break a looking-glass in some wild +outbreak, or the little boy kick his parents, would be to any visitor +an unspeakable relief and consolation.</p> +<p>The formal couple are always sticklers for what is rigidly proper, +and have a great readiness in detecting hidden impropriety of speech +or thought, which by less scrupulous people would be wholly unsuspected. +Thus, if they pay a visit to the theatre, they sit all night in a perfect +agony lest anything improper or immoral should proceed from the stage; +and if anything should happen to be said which admits of a double construction, +they never fail to take it up directly, and to express by their looks +the great outrage which their feelings have sustained. Perhaps +this is their chief reason for absenting themselves almost entirely +from places of public amusement. They go sometimes to the Exhibition +of the Royal Academy;—but that is often more shocking than the +stage itself, and the formal lady thinks that it really is high time +Mr. Etty was prosecuted and made a public example of.</p> +<p>We made one at a christening party not long since, where there were +amongst the guests a formal couple, who suffered the acutest torture +from certain jokes, incidental to such an occasion, cut—and very +likely dried also—by one of the godfathers; a red-faced elderly +gentleman, who, being highly popular with the rest of the company, had +it all his own way, and was in great spirits. It was at supper-time +that this gentleman came out in full force. We—being of +a grave and quiet demeanour—had been chosen to escort the formal +lady down-stairs, and, sitting beside her, had a favourable opportunity +of observing her emotions.</p> +<p>We have a shrewd suspicion that, in the very beginning, and in the +first blush—literally the first blush—of the matter, the +formal lady had not felt quite certain whether the being present at +such a ceremony, and encouraging, as it were, the public exhibition +of a baby, was not an act involving some degree of indelicacy and impropriety; +but certain we are that when that baby’s health was drunk, and +allusions were made, by a grey-headed gentleman proposing it, to the +time when he had dandled in his arms the young Christian’s mother,—certain +we are that then the formal lady took the alarm, and recoiled from the +old gentleman as from a hoary profligate. Still she bore it; she +fanned herself with an indignant air, but still she bore it. A +comic song was sung, involving a confession from some imaginary gentleman +that he had kissed a female, and yet the formal lady bore it. +But when at last, the health of the godfather before-mentioned being +drunk, the godfather rose to return thanks, and in the course of his +observations darkly hinted at babies yet unborn, and even contemplated +the possibility of the subject of that festival having brothers and +sisters, the formal lady could endure no more, but, bowing slightly +round, and sweeping haughtily past the offender, left the room in tears, +under the protection of the formal gentleman.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE LOVING COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There cannot be a better practical illustration of the wise saw and +ancient instance, that there may be too much of a good thing, than is +presented by a loving couple. Undoubtedly it is meet and proper +that two persons joined together in holy matrimony should be loving, +and unquestionably it is pleasant to know and see that they are so; +but there is a time for all things, and the couple who happen to be +always in a loving state before company, are well-nigh intolerable.</p> +<p>And in taking up this position we would have it distinctly understood +that we do not seek alone the sympathy of bachelors, in whose objection +to loving couples we recognise interested motives and personal considerations. +We grant that to that unfortunate class of society there may be something +very irritating, tantalising, and provoking, in being compelled to witness +those gentle endearments and chaste interchanges which to loving couples +are quite the ordinary business of life. But while we recognise +the natural character of the prejudice to which these unhappy men are +subject, we can neither receive their biassed evidence, nor address +ourself to their inflamed and angered minds. Dispassionate experience +is our only guide; and in these moral essays we seek no less to reform +hymeneal offenders than to hold out a timely warning to all rising couples, +and even to those who have not yet set forth upon their pilgrimage towards +the matrimonial market.</p> +<p>Let all couples, present or to come, therefore profit by the example +of Mr. and Mrs. Leaver, themselves a loving couple in the first degree.</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Leaver are pronounced by Mrs. Starling, a widow lady +who lost her husband when she was young, and lost herself about the +same-time—for by her own count she has never since grown five +years older—to be a perfect model of wedded felicity. ‘You +would suppose,’ says the romantic lady, ‘that they were +lovers only just now engaged. Never was such happiness! +They are so tender, so affectionate, so attached to each other, so enamoured, +that positively nothing can be more charming!’</p> +<p>‘Augusta, my soul,’ says Mr. Leaver. ‘Augustus, +my life,’ replies Mrs. Leaver. ‘Sing some little ballad, +darling,’ quoth Mr. Leaver. ‘I couldn’t, indeed, +dearest,’ returns Mrs. Leaver. ‘Do, my dove,’ +says Mr. Leaver. ‘I couldn’t possibly, my love,’ +replies Mrs. Leaver; ‘and it’s very naughty of you to ask +me.’ ‘Naughty, darling!’ cries Mr. Leaver. +‘Yes, very naughty, and very cruel,’ returns Mrs. Leaver, +‘for you know I have a sore throat, and that to sing would give +me great pain. You’re a monster, and I hate you. Go +away!’ Mrs. Leaver has said ‘go away,’ because +Mr. Leaver has tapped her under the chin: Mr. Leaver not doing as he +is bid, but on the contrary, sitting down beside her, Mrs. Leaver slaps +Mr. Leaver; and Mr. Leaver in return slaps Mrs. Leaver, and it being +now time for all persons present to look the other way, they look the +other way, and hear a still small sound as of kissing, at which Mrs. +Starling is thoroughly enraptured, and whispers her neighbour that if +all married couples were like that, what a heaven this earth would be!</p> +<p>The loving couple are at home when this occurs, and maybe only three +or four friends are present, but, unaccustomed to reserve upon this +interesting point, they are pretty much the same abroad. Indeed +upon some occasions, such as a pic-nic or a water-party, their lovingness +is even more developed, as we had an opportunity last summer of observing +in person.</p> +<p>There was a great water-party made up to go to Twickenham and dine, +and afterwards dance in an empty villa by the river-side, hired expressly +for the purpose. Mr. and Mrs. Leaver were of the company; and +it was our fortune to have a seat in the same boat, which was an eight-oared +galley, manned by amateurs, with a blue striped awning of the same pattern +as their Guernsey shirts, and a dingy red flag of the same shade as +the whiskers of the stroke oar. A coxswain being appointed, and +all other matters adjusted, the eight gentlemen threw themselves into +strong paroxysms, and pulled up with the tide, stimulated by the compassionate +remarks of the ladies, who one and all exclaimed, that it seemed an +immense exertion—as indeed it did. At first we raced the +other boat, which came alongside in gallant style; but this being found +an unpleasant amusement, as giving rise to a great quantity of splashing, +and rendering the cold pies and other viands very moist, it was unanimously +voted down, and we were suffered to shoot a-head, while the second boat +followed ingloriously in our wake.</p> +<p>It was at this time that we first recognised Mr. Leaver. There +were two firemen-watermen in the boat, lying by until somebody was exhausted; +and one of them, who had taken upon himself the direction of affairs, +was heard to cry in a gruff voice, ‘Pull away, number two—give +it her, number two—take a longer reach, number two—now, +number two, sir, think you’re winning a boat.’ The +greater part of the company had no doubt begun to wonder which of the +striped Guernseys it might be that stood in need of such encouragement, +when a stifled shriek from Mrs. Leaver confirmed the doubtful and informed +the ignorant; and Mr. Leaver, still further disguised in a straw hat +and no neckcloth, was observed to be in a fearful perspiration, and +failing visibly. Nor was the general consternation diminished +at this instant by the same gentleman (in the performance of an accidental +aquatic feat, termed ‘catching a crab’) plunging suddenly +backward, and displaying nothing of himself to the company, but two +violently struggling legs. Mrs. Leaver shrieked again several +times, and cried piteously—‘Is he dead? Tell me the +worst. Is he dead?’</p> +<p>Now, a moment’s reflection might have convinced the loving +wife, that unless her husband were endowed with some most surprising +powers of muscular action, he never could be dead while he kicked so +hard; but still Mrs. Leaver cried, ‘Is he dead? is he dead?’ +and still everybody else cried—‘No, no, no,’ until +such time as Mr. Leaver was replaced in a sitting posture, and his oar +(which had been going through all kinds of wrong-headed performances +on its own account) was once more put in his hand, by the exertions +of the two firemen-watermen. Mr. Leaver then exclaimed, ‘Augustus, +my child, come to me;’ and Mr. Leaver said, ‘Augusta, my +love, compose yourself, I am not injured.’ But Mrs. Leaver +cried again more piteously than before, ‘Augustus, my child, come +to me;’ and now the company generally, who seemed to be apprehensive +that if Mr. Leaver remained where he was, he might contribute more than +his proper share towards the drowning of the party, disinterestedly +took part with Mrs. Leaver, and said he really ought to go, and that +he was not strong enough for such violent exercise, and ought never +to have undertaken it. Reluctantly, Mr. Leaver went, and laid +himself down at Mrs. Leaver’s feet, and Mrs. Leaver stooping over +him, said, ‘Oh Augustus, how could you terrify me so?’ and +Mr. Leaver said, ‘Augusta, my sweet, I never meant to terrify +you;’ and Mrs. Leaver said, ‘You are faint, my dear;’ +and Mr. Leaver said, ‘I am rather so, my love;’ and they +were very loving indeed under Mrs. Leaver’s veil, until at length +Mr. Leaver came forth again, and pleasantly asked if he had not heard +something said about bottled stout and sandwiches.</p> +<p>Mrs. Starling, who was one of the party, was perfectly delighted +with this scene, and frequently murmured half-aside, ‘What a loving +couple you are!’ or ‘How delightful it is to see man and +wife so happy together!’ To us she was quite poetical, (for +we are a kind of cousins,) observing that hearts beating in unison like +that made life a paradise of sweets; and that when kindred creatures +were drawn together by sympathies so fine and delicate, what more than +mortal happiness did not our souls partake! To all this we answered +‘Certainly,’ or ‘Very true,’ or merely sighed, +as the case might be. At every new act of the loving couple, the +widow’s admiration broke out afresh; and when Mrs. Leaver would +not permit Mr. Leaver to keep his hat off, lest the sun should strike +to his head, and give him a brain fever, Mrs. Starling actually shed +tears, and said it reminded her of Adam and Eve.</p> +<p>The loving couple were thus loving all the way to Twickenham, but +when we arrived there (by which time the amateur crew looked very thirsty +and vicious) they were more playful than ever, for Mrs. Leaver threw +stones at Mr. Leaver, and Mr. Leaver ran after Mrs. Leaver on the grass, +in a most innocent and enchanting manner. At dinner, too, Mr. +Leaver <i>would</i> steal Mrs. Leaver’s tongue, and Mrs. Leaver +<i>would</i> retaliate upon Mr. Leaver’s fowl; and when Mrs. Leaver +was going to take some lobster salad, Mr. Leaver wouldn’t let +her have any, saying that it made her ill, and she was always sorry +for it afterwards, which afforded Mrs. Leaver an opportunity of pretending +to be cross, and showing many other prettinesses. But this was +merely the smiling surface of their loves, not the mighty depths of +the stream, down to which the company, to say the truth, dived rather +unexpectedly, from the following accident. It chanced that Mr. +Leaver took upon himself to propose the bachelors who had first originated +the notion of that entertainment, in doing which, he affected to regret +that he was no longer of their body himself, and pretended grievously +to lament his fallen state. This Mrs. Leaver’s feelings +could not brook, even in jest, and consequently, exclaiming aloud, ‘He +loves me not, he loves me not!’ she fell in a very pitiable state +into the arms of Mrs. Starling, and, directly becoming insensible, was +conveyed by that lady and her husband into another room. Presently +Mr. Leaver came running back to know if there was a medical gentleman +in company, and as there was, (in what company is there not?) both Mr. +Leaver and the medical gentleman hurried away together.</p> +<p>The medical gentleman was the first who returned, and among his intimate +friends he was observed to laugh and wink, and look as unmedical as +might be; but when Mr. Leaver came back he was very solemn, and in answer +to all inquiries, shook his head, and remarked that Augusta was far +too sensitive to be trifled with—an opinion which the widow subsequently +confirmed. Finding that she was in no imminent peril, however, +the rest of the party betook themselves to dancing on the green, and +very merry and happy they were, and a vast quantity of flirtation there +was; the last circumstance being no doubt attributable, partly to the +fineness of the weather, and partly to the locality, which is well known +to be favourable to all harmless recreations.</p> +<p>In the bustle of the scene, Mr. and Mrs. Leaver stole down to the +boat, and disposed themselves under the awning, Mrs. Leaver reclining +her head upon Mr. Leaver’s shoulder, and Mr. Leaver grasping her +hand with great fervour, and looking in her face from time to time with +a melancholy and sympathetic aspect. The widow sat apart, feigning +to be occupied with a book, but stealthily observing them from behind +her fan; and the two firemen-watermen, smoking their pipes on the bank +hard by, nudged each other, and grinned in enjoyment of the joke. +Very few of the party missed the loving couple; and the few who did, +heartily congratulated each other on their disappearance.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE CONTRADICTORY COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>One would suppose that two people who are to pass their whole lives +together, and must necessarily be very often alone with each other, +could find little pleasure in mutual contradiction; and yet what is +more common than a contradictory couple?</p> +<p>The contradictory couple agree in nothing but contradiction. +They return home from Mrs. Bluebottle’s dinner-party, each in +an opposite corner of the coach, and do not exchange a syllable until +they have been seated for at least twenty minutes by the fireside at +home, when the gentleman, raising his eyes from the stove, all at once +breaks silence:</p> +<p>‘What a very extraordinary thing it is,’ says he, ‘that +you <i>will</i> contradict, Charlotte!’ ‘<i>I</i> +contradict!’ cries the lady, ‘but that’s just like +you.’ ‘What’s like me?’ says the gentleman +sharply. ‘Saying that I contradict you,’ replies the +lady. ‘Do you mean to say that you do <i>not</i> contradict +me?’ retorts the gentleman; ‘do you mean to say that you +have not been contradicting me the whole of this day?’ ‘Do +you mean to tell me now, that you have not? I mean to tell you +nothing of the kind,’ replies the lady quietly; ‘when you +are wrong, of course I shall contradict you.’</p> +<p>During this dialogue the gentleman has been taking his brandy-and-water +on one side of the fire, and the lady, with her dressing-case on the +table, has been curling her hair on the other. She now lets down +her back hair, and proceeds to brush it; preserving at the same time +an air of conscious rectitude and suffering virtue, which is intended +to exasperate the gentleman—and does so.</p> +<p>‘I do believe,’ he says, taking the spoon out of his +glass, and tossing it on the table, ‘that of all the obstinate, +positive, wrong-headed creatures that were ever born, you are the most +so, Charlotte.’ ‘Certainly, certainly, have it your +own way, pray. You see how much <i>I</i> contradict you,’ +rejoins the lady. ‘Of course, you didn’t contradict +me at dinner-time—oh no, not you!’ says the gentleman. +‘Yes, I did,’ says the lady. ‘Oh, you did,’ +cries the gentleman ‘you admit that?’ ‘If you +call that contradiction, I do,’ the lady answers; ‘and I +say again, Edward, that when I know you are wrong, I will contradict +you. I am not your slave.’ ‘Not my slave!’ +repeats the gentleman bitterly; ‘and you still mean to say that +in the Blackburns’ new house there are not more than fourteen +doors, including the door of the wine-cellar!’ ‘I +mean to say,’ retorts the lady, beating time with her hair-brush +on the palm of her hand, ‘that in that house there are fourteen +doors and no more.’ ‘Well then—’ cries +the gentleman, rising in despair, and pacing the room with rapid strides. +‘By G-, this is enough to destroy a man’s intellect, and +drive him mad!’</p> +<p>By and by the gentleman comes-to a little, and passing his hand gloomily +across his forehead, reseats himself in his former chair. There +is a long silence, and this time the lady begins. ‘I appealed +to Mr. Jenkins, who sat next to me on the sofa in the drawing-room during +tea—’ ‘Morgan, you mean,’ interrupts the +gentleman. ‘I do not mean anything of the kind,’ answers +the lady. ‘Now, by all that is aggravating and impossible +to bear,’ cries the gentleman, clenching his hands and looking +upwards in agony, ‘she is going to insist upon it that Morgan +is Jenkins!’ ‘Do you take me for a perfect fool?’ +exclaims the lady; ‘do you suppose I don’t know the one +from the other? Do you suppose I don’t know that the man +in the blue coat was Mr. Jenkins?’ ‘Jenkins in a blue +coat!’ cries the gentleman with a groan; ‘Jenkins in a blue +coat! a man who would suffer death rather than wear anything but brown!’ +‘Do you dare to charge me with telling an untruth?’ demands +the lady, bursting into tears. ‘I charge you, ma’am,’ +retorts the gentleman, starting up, ‘with being a monster of contradiction, +a monster of aggravation, a—a—a—Jenkins in a blue +coat!—what have I done that I should be doomed to hear such statements!’</p> +<p>Expressing himself with great scorn and anguish, the gentleman takes +up his candle and stalks off to bed, where feigning to be fast asleep +when the lady comes up-stairs drowned in tears, murmuring lamentations +over her hard fate and indistinct intentions of consulting her brothers, +he undergoes the secret torture of hearing her exclaim between whiles, +‘I know there are only fourteen doors in the house, I know it +was Mr. Jenkins, I know he had a blue coat on, and I would say it as +positively as I do now, if they were the last words I had to speak!’</p> +<p>If the contradictory couple are blessed with children, they are not +the less contradictory on that account. Master James and Miss +Charlotte present themselves after dinner, and being in perfect good +humour, and finding their parents in the same amiable state, augur from +these appearances half a glass of wine a-piece and other extraordinary +indulgences. But unfortunately Master James, growing talkative +upon such prospects, asks his mamma how tall Mrs. Parsons is, and whether +she is not six feet high; to which his mamma replies, ‘Yes, she +should think she was, for Mrs. Parsons is a very tall lady indeed; quite +a giantess.’ ‘For Heaven’s sake, Charlotte,’ +cries her husband, ‘do not tell the child such preposterous nonsense. +Six feet high!’ ‘Well,’ replies the lady, ‘surely +I may be permitted to have an opinion; my opinion is, that she is six +feet high—at least six feet.’ ‘Now you know, +Charlotte,’ retorts the gentleman sternly, ‘that that is +<i>not</i> your opinion—that you have no such idea—and that +you only say this for the sake of contradiction.’ ‘You +are exceedingly polite,’ his wife replies; ‘to be wrong +about such a paltry question as anybody’s height, would be no +great crime; but I say again, that I believe Mrs. Parsons to be six +feet—more than six feet; nay, I believe you know her to be full +six feet, and only say she is not, because I say she is.’ +This taunt disposes the gentleman to become violent, but he cheeks himself, +and is content to mutter, in a haughty tone, ‘Six feet—ha! +ha! Mrs. Parsons six feet!’ and the lady answers, ‘Yes, +six feet. I am sure I am glad you are amused, and I’ll say +it again—six feet.’ Thus the subject gradually drops +off, and the contradiction begins to be forgotten, when Master James, +with some undefined notion of making himself agreeable, and putting +things to rights again, unfortunately asks his mamma what the moon’s +made of; which gives her occasion to say that he had better not ask +her, for she is always wrong and never can be right; that he only exposes +her to contradiction by asking any question of her; and that he had +better ask his papa, who is infallible, and never can be wrong. +Papa, smarting under this attack, gives a terrible pull at the bell, +and says, that if the conversation is to proceed in this way, the children +had better be removed. Removed they are, after a few tears and +many struggles; and Pa having looked at Ma sideways for a minute or +two, with a baleful eye, draws his pocket-handkerchief over his face, +and composes himself for his after-dinner nap.</p> +<p>The friends of the contradictory couple often deplore their frequent +disputes, though they rather make light of them at the same time: observing, +that there is no doubt they are very much attached to each other, and +that they never quarrel except about trifles. But neither the +friends of the contradictory couple, nor the contradictory couple themselves, +reflect, that as the most stupendous objects in nature are but vast +collections of minute particles, so the slightest and least considered +trifles make up the sum of human happiness or misery.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE COUPLE WHO DOTE UPON THEIR CHILDREN</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The couple who dote upon their children have usually a great many +of them: six or eight at least. The children are either the healthiest +in all the world, or the most unfortunate in existence. In either +case, they are equally the theme of their doting parents, and equally +a source of mental anguish and irritation to their doting parents’ +friends.</p> +<p>The couple who dote upon their children recognise no dates but those +connected with their births, accidents, illnesses, or remarkable deeds. +They keep a mental almanack with a vast number of Innocents’-days, +all in red letters. They recollect the last coronation, because +on that day little Tom fell down the kitchen stairs; the anniversary +of the Gunpowder Plot, because it was on the fifth of November that +Ned asked whether wooden legs were made in heaven and cocked hats grew +in gardens. Mrs. Whiffler will never cease to recollect the last +day of the old year as long as she lives, for it was on that day that +the baby had the four red spots on its nose which they took for measles: +nor Christmas-day, for twenty-one days after Christmas-day the twins +were born; nor Good Friday, for it was on a Good Friday that she was +frightened by the donkey-cart when she was in the family way with Georgiana. +The movable feasts have no motion for Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler, but remain +pinned down tight and fast to the shoulders of some small child, from +whom they can never be separated any more. Time was made, according +to their creed, not for slaves but for girls and boys; the restless +sands in his glass are but little children at play.</p> +<p>As we have already intimated, the children of this couple can know +no medium. They are either prodigies of good health or prodigies +of bad health; whatever they are, they must be prodigies. Mr. +Whiffler must have to describe at his office such excruciating agonies +constantly undergone by his eldest boy, as nobody else’s eldest +boy ever underwent; or he must be able to declare that there never was +a child endowed with such amazing health, such an indomitable constitution, +and such a cast-iron frame, as his child. His children must be, +in some respect or other, above and beyond the children of all other +people. To such an extent is this feeling pushed, that we were +once slightly acquainted with a lady and gentleman who carried their +heads so high and became so proud after their youngest child fell out +of a two-pair-of-stairs window without hurting himself much, that the +greater part of their friends were obliged to forego their acquaintance. +But perhaps this may be an extreme case, and one not justly entitled +to be considered as a precedent of general application.</p> +<p>If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples +who dote upon their children, it is nearly impossible for him to divert +the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds +Mr. Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before +Ned was born, or the time before Mary Anne was thought of. The +slightest remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering +recollections of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of +them. They will come uppermost, let the poor man do what he may. +Ned has been known to be lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been +forgotten, the name of Mary Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins +will out. Nothing can keep down the twins.</p> +<p>‘It’s a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,’ says +Mr. Whiffler to the visitor, ‘but—you have seen our little +babies, the—the—twins?’ The friend’s heart +sinks within him as he answers, ‘Oh, yes—often.’ +‘Your talking of the Pyramids,’ says Mr. Whiffler, quite +as a matter of course, ‘reminds me of the twins. It’s +a very extraordinary thing about those babies—what colour should +you say their eyes were?’ ‘Upon my word,’ the +friend stammers, ‘I hardly know how to answer’—the +fact being, that except as the friend does not remember to have heard +of any departure from the ordinary course of nature in the instance +of these twins, they might have no eyes at all for aught he has observed +to the contrary. ‘You wouldn’t say they were red, +I suppose?’ says Mr. Whiffler. The friend hesitates, and +rather thinks they are; but inferring from the expression of Mr. Whiffler’s +face that red is not the colour, smiles with some confidence, and says, +‘No, no! very different from that.’ ‘What should +you say to blue?’ says Mr. Whiffler. The friend glances +at him, and observing a different expression in his face, ventures to +say, ‘I should say they <i>were</i> blue—a decided blue.’ +‘To be sure!’ cries Mr. Whiffler, triumphantly, ‘I +knew you would! But what should you say if I was to tell you that +the boy’s eyes are blue and the girl’s hazel, eh?’ +‘Impossible!’ exclaims the friend, not at all knowing why +it should be impossible. ‘A fact, notwithstanding,’ +cries Mr. Whiffler; ‘and let me tell you, Saunders, <i>that’s</i> +not a common thing in twins, or a circumstance that’ll happen +every day.’</p> +<p>In this dialogue Mrs. Whiffler, as being deeply responsible for the +twins, their charms and singularities, has taken no share; but she now +relates, in broken English, a witticism of little Dick’s bearing +upon the subject just discussed, which delights Mr. Whiffler beyond +measure, and causes him to declare that he would have sworn that was +Dick’s if he had heard it anywhere. Then he requests that +Mrs. Whiffler will tell Saunders what Tom said about mad bulls; and +Mrs. Whiffler relating the anecdote, a discussion ensues upon the different +character of Tom’s wit and Dick’s wit, from which it appears +that Dick’s humour is of a lively turn, while Tom’s style +is the dry and caustic. This discussion being enlivened by various +illustrations, lasts a long time, and is only stopped by Mrs. Whiffler +instructing the footman to ring the nursery bell, as the children were +promised that they should come down and taste the pudding.</p> +<p>The friend turns pale when this order is given, and paler still when +it is followed up by a great pattering on the staircase, (not unlike +the sound of rain upon a skylight,) a violent bursting open of the dining-room +door, and the tumultuous appearance of six small children, closely succeeded +by a strong nursery-maid with a twin in each arm. As the whole +eight are screaming, shouting, or kicking—some influenced by a +ravenous appetite, some by a horror of the stranger, and some by a conflict +of the two feelings—a pretty long space elapses before all their +heads can be ranged round the table and anything like order restored; +in bringing about which happy state of things both the nurse and footman +are severely scratched. At length Mrs. Whiffler is heard to say, +‘Mr. Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?’ A breathless +silence ensues, and sixteen small eyes are fixed upon the guest in expectation +of his reply. A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has said ‘No, +thank you.’ Spoons are waved in the air, legs appear above +the table-cloth in uncontrollable ecstasy, and eighty short fingers +dabble in damson syrup.</p> +<p>While the pudding is being disposed of, Mr. and Mrs. Whiffler look +on with beaming countenances, and Mr. Whiffler nudging his friend Saunders, +begs him to take notice of Tom’s eyes, or Dick’s chin, or +Ned’s nose, or Mary Anne’s hair, or Emily’s figure, +or little Bob’s calves, or Fanny’s mouth, or Carry’s +head, as the case may be. Whatever the attention of Mr. Saunders +is called to, Mr. Saunders admires of course; though he is rather confused +about the sex of the youngest branches and looks at the wrong children, +turning to a girl when Mr. Whiffler directs his attention to a boy, +and falling into raptures with a boy when he ought to be enchanted with +a girl. Then the dessert comes, and there is a vast deal of scrambling +after fruit, and sudden spirting forth of juice out of tight oranges +into infant eyes, and much screeching and wailing in consequence. +At length it becomes time for Mrs. Whiffler to retire, and all the children +are by force of arms compelled to kiss and love Mr. Saunders before +going up-stairs, except Tom, who, lying on his back in the hall, proclaims +that Mr. Saunders ‘is a naughty beast;’ and Dick, who having +drunk his father’s wine when he was looking another way, is found +to be intoxicated and is carried out, very limp and helpless.</p> +<p>Mr. Whiffler and his friend are left alone together, but Mr. Whiffler’s +thoughts are still with his family, if his family are not with him. +‘Saunders,’ says he, after a short silence, ‘if you +please, we’ll drink Mrs. Whiffler and the children.’ +Mr. Saunders feels this to be a reproach against himself for not proposing +the same sentiment, and drinks it in some confusion. ‘Ah!’ +Mr. Whiffler sighs, ‘these children, Saunders, make one quite +an old man.’ Mr. Saunders thinks that if they were his, +they would make him a very old man; but he says nothing. ‘And +yet,’ pursues Mr. Whiffler, ‘what can equal domestic happiness? +what can equal the engaging ways of children! Saunders, why don’t +you get married?’ Now, this is an embarrassing question, +because Mr. Saunders has been thinking that if he had at any time entertained +matrimonial designs, the revelation of that day would surely have routed +them for ever. ‘I am glad, however,’ says Mr. Whiffler, +‘that you <i>are</i> a bachelor,—glad on one account, Saunders; +a selfish one, I admit. Will you do Mrs. Whiffler and myself a +favour?’ Mr. Saunders is surprised—evidently surprised; +but he replies, ‘with the greatest pleasure.’ ‘Then, +will you, Saunders,’ says Mr. Whiffler, in an impressive manner, +‘will you cement and consolidate our friendship by coming into +the family (so to speak) as a godfather?’ ‘I shall +be proud and delighted,’ replies Mr. Saunders: ‘which of +the children is it? really, I thought they were all christened; or—’ +‘Saunders,’ Mr. Whiffler interposes, ‘they <i>are</i> +all christened; you are right. The fact is, that Mrs. Whiffler +is—in short, we expect another.’ ‘Not a ninth!’ +cries the friend, all aghast at the idea. ‘Yes, Saunders,’ +rejoins Mr. Whiffler, solemnly, ‘a ninth. Did we drink Mrs. +Whiffler’s health? Let us drink it again, Saunders, and +wish her well over it!’</p> +<p>Doctor Johnson used to tell a story of a man who had but one idea, +which was a wrong one. The couple who dote upon their children +are in the same predicament: at home or abroad, at all times, and in +all places, their thoughts are bound up in this one subject, and have +no sphere beyond. They relate the clever things their offspring +say or do, and weary every company with their prolixity and absurdity. +Mr. Whiffler takes a friend by the button at a street corner on a windy +day to tell him a <i>bon mot</i> of his youngest boy’s; and Mrs. +Whiffler, calling to see a sick acquaintance, entertains her with a +cheerful account of all her own past sufferings and present expectations. +In such cases the sins of the fathers indeed descend upon the children; +for people soon come to regard them as predestined little bores. +The couple who dote upon their children cannot be said to be actuated +by a general love for these engaging little people (which would be a +great excuse); for they are apt to underrate and entertain a jealousy +of any children but their own. If they examined their own hearts, +they would, perhaps, find at the bottom of all this, more self-love +and egotism than they think of. Self-love and egotism are bad +qualities, of which the unrestrained exhibition, though it may be sometimes +amusing, never fails to be wearisome and unpleasant. Couples who +dote upon their children, therefore, are best avoided.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE COOL COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>There is an old-fashioned weather-glass representing a house with +two doorways, in one of which is the figure of a gentleman, in the other +the figure of a lady. When the weather is to be fine the lady +comes out and the gentleman goes in; when wet, the gentleman comes out +and the lady goes in. They never seek each other’s society, +are never elevated and depressed by the same cause, and have nothing +in common. They are the model of a cool couple, except that there +is something of politeness and consideration about the behaviour of +the gentleman in the weather-glass, in which, neither of the cool couple +can be said to participate.</p> +<p>The cool couple are seldom alone together, and when they are, nothing +can exceed their apathy and dulness: the gentleman being for the most +part drowsy, and the lady silent. If they enter into conversation, +it is usually of an ironical or recriminatory nature. Thus, when +the gentleman has indulged in a very long yawn and settled himself more +snugly in his easy-chair, the lady will perhaps remark, ‘Well, +I am sure, Charles! I hope you’re comfortable.’ +To which the gentleman replies, ‘Oh yes, he’s quite comfortable +quite.’ ‘There are not many married men, I hope,’ +returns the lady, ‘who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications +as you do.’ ‘Nor many wives who seek comfort in such +selfish gratifications as <i>you</i> do, I hope,’ retorts the +gentleman. ‘Whose fault is that?’ demands the lady. +The gentleman becoming more sleepy, returns no answer. ‘Whose +fault is that?’ the lady repeats. The gentleman still returning +no answer, she goes on to say that she believes there never was in all +this world anybody so attached to her home, so thoroughly domestic, +so unwilling to seek a moment’s gratification or pleasure beyond +her own fireside as she. God knows that before she was married +she never thought or dreamt of such a thing; and she remembers that +her poor papa used to say again and again, almost every day of his life, +‘Oh, my dear Louisa, if you only marry a man who understands you, +and takes the trouble to consider your happiness and accommodate himself +a very little to your disposition, what a treasure he will find in you!’ +She supposes her papa knew what her disposition was—he had known +her long enough—he ought to have been acquainted with it, but +what can she do? If her home is always dull and lonely, and her +husband is always absent and finds no pleasure in her society, she is +naturally sometimes driven (seldom enough, she is sure) to seek a little +recreation elsewhere; she is not expected to pine and mope to death, +she hopes. ‘Then come, Louisa,’ says the gentleman, +waking up as suddenly as he fell asleep, ‘stop at home this evening, +and so will I.’ ‘I should be sorry to suppose, Charles, +that you took a pleasure in aggravating me,’ replies the lady; +‘but you know as well as I do that I am particularly engaged to +Mrs. Mortimer, and that it would be an act of the grossest rudeness +and ill-breeding, after accepting a seat in her box and preventing her +from inviting anybody else, not to go.’ ‘Ah! there +it is!’ says the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders, ‘I +knew that perfectly well. I knew you couldn’t devote an +evening to your own home. Now all I have to say, Louisa, is this—recollect +that <i>I</i> was quite willing to stay at home, and that it’s +no fault of <i>mine</i> we are not oftener together.’</p> +<p>With that the gentleman goes away to keep an old appointment at his +club, and the lady hurries off to dress for Mrs. Mortimer’s; and +neither thinks of the other until by some odd chance they find themselves +alone again.</p> +<p>But it must not be supposed that the cool couple are habitually a +quarrelsome one. Quite the contrary. These differences are +only occasions for a little self-excuse,—nothing more. In +general they are as easy and careless, and dispute as seldom, as any +common acquaintances may; for it is neither worth their while to put +each other out of the way, nor to ruffle themselves.</p> +<p>When they meet in society, the cool couple are the best-bred people +in existence. The lady is seated in a corner among a little knot +of lady friends, one of whom exclaims, ‘Why, I vow and declare +there is your husband, my dear!’ ‘Whose?—mine?’ +she says, carelessly. ‘Ay, yours, and coming this way too.’ +‘How very odd!’ says the lady, in a languid tone, ‘I +thought he had been at Dover.’ The gentleman coming up, +and speaking to all the other ladies and nodding slightly to his wife, +it turns out that he has been at Dover, and has just now returned. +‘What a strange creature you are!’ cries his wife; ‘and +what on earth brought you here, I wonder?’ ‘I came +to look after you, <i>of course</i>,’ rejoins her husband. +This is so pleasant a jest that the lady is mightily amused, as are +all the other ladies similarly situated who are within hearing; and +while they are enjoying it to the full, the gentleman nods again, turns +upon his heel, and saunters away.</p> +<p>There are times, however, when his company is not so agreeable, though +equally unexpected; such as when the lady has invited one or two particular +friends to tea and scandal, and he happens to come home in the very +midst of their diversion. It is a hundred chances to one that +he remains in the house half an hour, but the lady is rather disturbed +by the intrusion, notwithstanding, and reasons within herself,—‘I +am sure I never interfere with him, and why should he interfere with +me? It can scarcely be accidental; it never happens that I have +a particular reason for not wishing him to come home, but he always +comes. It’s very provoking and tiresome; and I am sure when +he leaves me so much alone for his own pleasure, the least he could +do would be to do as much for mine.’ Observing what passes +in her mind, the gentleman, who has come home for his own accommodation, +makes a merit of it with himself; arrives at the conclusion that it +is the very last place in which he can hope to be comfortable; and determines, +as he takes up his hat and cane, never to be so virtuous again.</p> +<p>Thus a great many cool couples go on until they are cold couples, +and the grave has closed over their folly and indifference. Loss +of name, station, character, life itself, has ensued from causes as +slight as these, before now; and when gossips tell such tales, and aggravate +their deformities, they elevate their hands and eyebrows, and call each +other to witness what a cool couple Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so always were, +even in the best of times.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PLAUSIBLE COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The plausible couple have many titles. They are ‘a delightful +couple,’ an ‘affectionate couple,’ ‘a most agreeable +couple, ‘a good-hearted couple,’ and ‘the best-natured +couple in existence.’ The truth is, that the plausible couple +are people of the world; and either the way of pleasing the world has +grown much easier than it was in the days of the old man and his ass, +or the old man was but a bad hand at it, and knew very little of the +trade.</p> +<p>‘But is it really possible to please the world!’ says +some doubting reader. It is indeed. Nay, it is not only +very possible, but very easy. The ways are crooked, and sometimes +foul and low. What then? A man need but crawl upon his hands +and knees, know when to close his eyes and when his ears, when to stoop +and when to stand upright; and if by the world is meant that atom of +it in which he moves himself, he shall please it, never fear.</p> +<p>Now, it will be readily seen, that if a plausible man or woman have +an easy means of pleasing the world by an adaptation of self to all +its twistings and twinings, a plausible man <i>and</i> woman, or, in +other words, a plausible couple, playing into each other’s hands, +and acting in concert, have a manifest advantage. Hence it is +that plausible couples scarcely ever fail of success on a pretty large +scale; and hence it is that if the reader, laying down this unwieldy +volume at the next full stop, will have the goodness to review his or +her circle of acquaintance, and to search particularly for some man +and wife with a large connexion and a good name, not easily referable +to their abilities or their wealth, he or she (that is, the male or +female reader) will certainly find that gentleman or lady, on a very +short reflection, to be a plausible couple.</p> +<p>The plausible couple are the most ecstatic people living: the most +sensitive people—to merit—on the face of the earth. +Nothing clever or virtuous escapes them. They have microscopic +eyes for such endowments, and can find them anywhere. The plausible +couple never fawn—oh no! They don’t even scruple to +tell their friends of their faults. One is too generous, another +too candid; a third has a tendency to think all people like himself, +and to regard mankind as a company of angels; a fourth is kind-hearted +to a fault. ‘We never flatter, my dear Mrs. Jackson,’ +say the plausible couple; ‘we speak our minds. Neither you +nor Mr. Jackson have faults enough. It may sound strangely, but +it is true. You have not faults enough. You know our way,—we +must speak out, and always do. Quarrel with us for saying so, +if you will; but we repeat it,—you have not faults enough!’</p> +<p>The plausible couple are no less plausible to each other than to +third parties. They are always loving and harmonious. The +plausible gentleman calls his wife ‘darling,’ and the plausible +lady addresses him as ‘dearest.’ If it be Mr. and +Mrs. Bobtail Widger, Mrs. Widger is ‘Lavinia, darling,’ +and Mr. Widger is ‘Bobtail, dearest.’ Speaking of +each other, they observe the same tender form. Mrs. Widger relates +what ‘Bobtail’ said, and Mr. Widger recounts what ‘darling’ +thought and did.</p> +<p>If you sit next to the plausible lady at a dinner-table, she takes +the earliest opportunity of expressing her belief that you are acquainted +with the Clickits; she is sure she has heard the Clickits speak of you—she +must not tell you in what terms, or you will take her for a flatterer. +You admit a knowledge of the Clickits; the plausible lady immediately +launches out in their praise. She quite loves the Clickits. +Were there ever such true-hearted, hospitable, excellent people—such +a gentle, interesting little woman as Mrs. Clickit, or such a frank, +unaffected creature as Mr. Clickit? were there ever two people, in short, +so little spoiled by the world as they are? ‘As who, darling?’ +cries Mr. Widger, from the opposite side of the table. ‘The +Clickits, dearest,’ replies Mrs. Widger. ‘Indeed you +are right, darling,’ Mr. Widger rejoins; ‘the Clickits are +a very high-minded, worthy, estimable couple.’ Mrs. Widger +remarking that Bobtail always grows quite eloquent upon this subject, +Mr. Widger admits that he feels very strongly whenever such people as +the Clickits and some other friends of his (here he glances at the host +and hostess) are mentioned; for they are an honour to human nature, +and do one good to think of. ‘<i>You</i> know the Clickits, +Mrs. Jackson?’ he says, addressing the lady of the house. +‘No, indeed; we have not that pleasure,’ she replies. +‘You astonish me!’ exclaims Mr. Widger: ‘not know +the Clickits! why, you are the very people of all others who ought to +be their bosom friends. You are kindred beings; you are one and +the same thing:- not know the Clickits! Now <i>will</i> you know +the Clickits? Will you make a point of knowing them? Will +you meet them in a friendly way at our house one evening, and be acquainted +with them?’ Mrs. Jackson will be quite delighted; nothing +would give her more pleasure. ‘Then, Lavinia, my darling,’ +says Mr. Widger, ‘mind you don’t lose sight of that; now, +pray take care that Mr. and Mrs. Jackson know the Clickits without loss +of time. Such people ought not to be strangers to each other.’ +Mrs. Widger books both families as the centre of attraction for her +next party; and Mr. Widger, going on to expatiate upon the virtues of +the Clickits, adds to their other moral qualities, that they keep one +of the neatest phaetons in town, and have two thousand a year.</p> +<p>As the plausible couple never laud the merits of any absent person, +without dexterously contriving that their praises shall reflect upon +somebody who is present, so they never depreciate anything or anybody, +without turning their depreciation to the same account. Their +friend, Mr. Slummery, say they, is unquestionably a clever painter, +and would no doubt be very popular, and sell his pictures at a very +high price, if that cruel Mr. Fithers had not forestalled him in his +department of art, and made it thoroughly and completely his own;—Fithers, +it is to be observed, being present and within hearing, and Slummery +elsewhere. Is Mrs. Tabblewick really as beautiful as people say? +Why, there indeed you ask them a very puzzling question, because there +is no doubt that she is a very charming woman, and they have long known +her intimately. She is no doubt beautiful, very beautiful; they +once thought her the most beautiful woman ever seen; still if you press +them for an honest answer, they are bound to say that this was before +they had ever seen our lovely friend on the sofa, (the sofa is hard +by, and our lovely friend can’t help hearing the whispers in which +this is said;) since that time, perhaps, they have been hardly fair +judges; Mrs. Tabblewick is no doubt extremely handsome,—very like +our friend, in fact, in the form of the features,—but in point +of expression, and soul, and figure, and air altogether—oh dear!</p> +<p>But while the plausible couple depreciate, they are still careful +to preserve their character for amiability and kind feeling; indeed +the depreciation itself is often made to grow out of their excessive +sympathy and good will. The plausible lady calls on a lady who +dotes upon her children, and is sitting with a little girl upon her +knee, enraptured by her artless replies, and protesting that there is +nothing she delights in so much as conversing with these fairies; when +the other lady inquires if she has seen young Mrs. Finching lately, +and whether the baby has turned out a finer one than it promised to +be. ‘Oh dear!’ cries the plausible lady, ‘you +cannot think how often Bobtail and I have talked about poor Mrs. Finching—she +is such a dear soul, and was so anxious that the baby should be a fine +child—and very naturally, because she was very much here at one +time, and there is, you know, a natural emulation among mothers—that +it is impossible to tell you how much we have felt for her.’ +‘Is it weak or plain, or what?’ inquires the other. +‘Weak or plain, my love,’ returns the plausible lady, ‘it’s +a fright—a perfect little fright; you never saw such a miserable +creature in all your days. Positively you must not let her see +one of these beautiful dears again, or you’ll break her heart, +you will indeed.—Heaven bless this child, see how she is looking +in my face! can you conceive anything prettier than that? If poor +Mrs. Finching could only hope—but that’s impossible—and +the gifts of Providence, you know—What <i>did</i> I do with my +pocket-handkerchief!’</p> +<p>What prompts the mother, who dotes upon her children, to comment +to her lord that evening on the plausible lady’s engaging qualities +and feeling heart, and what is it that procures Mr. and Mrs. Bobtail +Widger an immediate invitation to dinner?</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE NICE LITTLE COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>A custom once prevailed in old-fashioned circles, that when a lady +or gentleman was unable to sing a song, he or she should enliven the +company with a story. As we find ourself in the predicament of +not being able to describe (to our own satisfaction) nice little couples +in the abstract, we purpose telling in this place a little story about +a nice little couple of our acquaintance.</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup are the nice little couple in question. +Mr. Chirrup has the smartness, and something of the brisk, quick manner +of a small bird. Mrs. Chirrup is the prettiest of all little women, +and has the prettiest little figure conceivable. She has the neatest +little foot, and the softest little voice, and the pleasantest little +smile, and the tidiest little curls, and the brightest little eyes, +and the quietest little manner, and is, in short, altogether one of +the most engaging of all little women, dead or alive. She is a +condensation of all the domestic virtues,—a pocket edition of +the young man’s best companion,—a little woman at a very +high pressure, with an amazing quantity of goodness and usefulness in +an exceedingly small space. Little as she is, Mrs. Chirrup might +furnish forth matter for the moral equipment of a score of housewives, +six feet high in their stockings—if, in the presence of ladies, +we may be allowed the expression—and of corresponding robustness.</p> +<p>Nobody knows all this better than Mr. Chirrup, though he rather takes +on that he don’t. Accordingly he is very proud of his better-half, +and evidently considers himself, as all other people consider him, rather +fortunate in having her to wife. We say evidently, because Mr. +Chirrup is a warm-hearted little fellow; and if you catch his eye when +he has been slyly glancing at Mrs. Chirrup in company, there is a certain +complacent twinkle in it, accompanied, perhaps, by a half-expressed +toss of the head, which as clearly indicates what has been passing in +his mind as if he had put it into words, and shouted it out through +a speaking-trumpet. Moreover, Mr. Chirrup has a particularly mild +and bird-like manner of calling Mrs. Chirrup ‘my dear;’ +and—for he is of a jocose turn—of cutting little witticisms +upon her, and making her the subject of various harmless pleasantries, +which nobody enjoys more thoroughly than Mrs. Chirrup herself. +Mr. Chirrup, too, now and then affects to deplore his bachelor-days, +and to bemoan (with a marvellously contented and smirking face) the +loss of his freedom, and the sorrow of his heart at having been taken +captive by Mrs. Chirrup—all of which circumstances combine to +show the secret triumph and satisfaction of Mr. Chirrup’s soul.</p> +<p>We have already had occasion to observe that Mrs. Chirrup is an incomparable +housewife. In all the arts of domestic arrangement and management, +in all the mysteries of confectionery-making, pickling, and preserving, +never was such a thorough adept as that nice little body. She +is, besides, a cunning worker in muslin and fine linen, and a special +hand at marketing to the very best advantage. But if there be +one branch of housekeeping in which she excels to an utterly unparalleled +and unprecedented extent, it is in the important one of carving. +A roast goose is universally allowed to be the great stumbling-block +in the way of young aspirants to perfection in this department of science; +many promising carvers, beginning with legs of mutton, and preserving +a good reputation through fillets of veal, sirloins of beef, quarters +of lamb, fowls, and even ducks, have sunk before a roast goose, and +lost caste and character for ever. To Mrs. Chirrup the resolving +a goose into its smallest component parts is a pleasant pastime—a +practical joke—a thing to be done in a minute or so, without the +smallest interruption to the conversation of the time. No handing +the dish over to an unfortunate man upon her right or left, no wild +sharpening of the knife, no hacking and sawing at an unruly joint, no +noise, no splash, no heat, no leaving off in despair; all is confidence +and cheerfulness. The dish is set upon the table, the cover is +removed; for an instant, and only an instant, you observe that Mrs. +Chirrup’s attention is distracted; she smiles, but heareth not. +You proceed with your story; meanwhile the glittering knife is slowly +upraised, both Mrs. Chirrup’s wrists are slightly but not ungracefully +agitated, she compresses her lips for an instant, then breaks into a +smile, and all is over. The legs of the bird slide gently down +into a pool of gravy, the wings seem to melt from the body, the breast +separates into a row of juicy slices, the smaller and more complicated +parts of his anatomy are perfectly developed, a cavern of stuffing is +revealed, and the goose is gone!</p> +<p>To dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup is one of the pleasantest things +in the world. Mr. Chirrup has a bachelor friend, who lived with +him in his own days of single blessedness, and to whom he is mightily +attached. Contrary to the usual custom, this bachelor friend is +no less a friend of Mrs. Chirrup’s, and, consequently, whenever +you dine with Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup, you meet the bachelor friend. +It would put any reasonably-conditioned mortal into good-humour to observe +the entire unanimity which subsists between these three; but there is +a quiet welcome dimpling in Mrs. Chirrup’s face, a bustling hospitality +oozing as it were out of the waistcoat-pockets of Mr. Chirrup, and a +patronising enjoyment of their cordiality and satisfaction on the part +of the bachelor friend, which is quite delightful. On these occasions +Mr. Chirrup usually takes an opportunity of rallying the friend on being +single, and the friend retorts on Mr. Chirrup for being married, at +which moments some single young ladies present are like to die of laughter; +and we have more than once observed them bestow looks upon the friend, +which convinces us that his position is by no means a safe one, as, +indeed, we hold no bachelor’s to be who visits married friends +and cracks jokes on wedlock, for certain it is that such men walk among +traps and nets and pitfalls innumerable, and often find themselves down +upon their knees at the altar rails, taking M. or N. for their wedded +wives, before they know anything about the matter.</p> +<p>However, this is no business of Mr. Chirrup’s, who talks, and +laughs, and drinks his wine, and laughs again, and talks more, until +it is time to repair to the drawing-room, where, coffee served and over, +Mrs. Chirrup prepares for a round game, by sorting the nicest possible +little fish into the nicest possible little pools, and calling Mr. Chirrup +to assist her, which Mr. Chirrup does. As they stand side by side, +you find that Mr. Chirrup is the least possible shadow of a shade taller +than Mrs. Chirrup, and that they are the neatest and best-matched little +couple that can be, which the chances are ten to one against your observing +with such effect at any other time, unless you see them in the street +arm-in-arm, or meet them some rainy day trotting along under a very +small umbrella. The round game (at which Mr. Chirrup is the merriest +of the party) being done and over, in course of time a nice little tray +appears, on which is a nice little supper; and when that is finished +likewise, and you have said ‘Good night,’ you find yourself +repeating a dozen times, as you ride home, that there never was such +a nice little couple as Mr. and Mrs. Chirrup.</p> +<p>Whether it is that pleasant qualities, being packed more closely +in small bodies than in large, come more readily to hand than when they +are diffused over a wider space, and have to be gathered together for +use, we don’t know, but as a general rule,—strengthened +like all other rules by its exceptions,—we hold that little people +are sprightly and good-natured. The more sprightly and good-natured +people we have, the better; therefore, let us wish well to all nice +little couples, and hope that they may increase and multiply.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE EGOTISTICAL COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Egotism in couples is of two kinds.—It is our purpose to show +this by two examples.</p> +<p>The egotistical couple may be young, old, middle-aged, well to do, +or ill to do; they may have a small family, a large family, or no family +at all. There is no outward sign by which an egotistical couple +may be known and avoided. They come upon you unawares; there is +no guarding against them. No man can of himself be forewarned +or forearmed against an egotistical couple.</p> +<p>The egotistical couple have undergone every calamity, and experienced +every pleasurable and painful sensation of which our nature is susceptible. +You cannot by possibility tell the egotistical couple anything they +don’t know, or describe to them anything they have not felt. +They have been everything but dead. Sometimes we are tempted to +wish they had been even that, but only in our uncharitable moments, +which are few and far between.</p> +<p>We happened the other day, in the course of a morning call, to encounter +an egotistical couple, nor were we suffered to remain long in ignorance +of the fact, for our very first inquiry of the lady of the house brought +them into active and vigorous operation. The inquiry was of course +touching the lady’s health, and the answer happened to be, that +she had not been very well. ‘Oh, my dear!’ said the +egotistical lady, ‘don’t talk of not being well. We +have been in <i>such</i> a state since we saw you last!’—The +lady of the house happening to remark that her lord had not been well +either, the egotistical gentleman struck in: ‘Never let Briggs +complain of not being well—never let Briggs complain, my dear +Mrs. Briggs, after what I have undergone within these six weeks. +He doesn’t know what it is to be ill, he hasn’t the least +idea of it; not the faintest conception.’—‘My dear,’ +interposed his wife smiling, ‘you talk as if it were almost a +crime in Mr. Briggs not to have been as ill as we have been, instead +of feeling thankful to Providence that both he and our dear Mrs. Briggs +are in such blissful ignorance of real suffering.’—‘My +love,’ returned the egotistical gentleman, in a low and pious +voice, ‘you mistake me;—I feel grateful—very grateful. +I trust our friends may never purchase their experience as dearly as +we have bought ours; I hope they never may!’</p> +<p>Having put down Mrs. Briggs upon this theme, and settled the question +thus, the egotistical gentleman turned to us, and, after a few preliminary +remarks, all tending towards and leading up to the point he had in his +mind, inquired if we happened to be acquainted with the Dowager Lady +Snorflerer. On our replying in the negative, he presumed we had +often met Lord Slang, or beyond all doubt, that we were on intimate +terms with Sir Chipkins Glogwog. Finding that we were equally +unable to lay claim to either of these distinctions, he expressed great +astonishment, and turning to his wife with a retrospective smile, inquired +who it was that had told that capital story about the mashed potatoes. +‘Who, my dear?’ returned the egotistical lady, ‘why +Sir Chipkins, of course; how can you ask! Don’t you remember +his applying it to our cook, and saying that you and I were so like +the Prince and Princess, that he could almost have sworn we were they?’ +‘To be sure, I remember that,’ said the egotistical gentleman, +‘but are you quite certain that didn’t apply to the other +anecdote about the Emperor of Austria and the pump?’ ‘Upon +my word then, I think it did,’ replied his wife. ‘To +be sure it did,’ said the egotistical gentleman, ‘it was +Slang’s story, I remember now, perfectly.’ However, +it turned out, a few seconds afterwards, that the egotistical gentleman’s +memory was rather treacherous, as he began to have a misgiving that +the story had been told by the Dowager Lady Snorflerer the very last +time they dined there; but there appearing, on further consideration, +strong circumstantial evidence tending to show that this couldn’t +be, inasmuch as the Dowager Lady Snorflerer had been, on the occasion +in question, wholly engrossed by the egotistical lady, the egotistical +gentleman recanted this opinion; and after laying the story at the doors +of a great many great people, happily left it at last with the Duke +of Scuttlewig:- observing that it was not extraordinary he had forgotten +his Grace hitherto, as it often happened that the names of those with +whom we were upon the most familiar footing were the very last to present +themselves to our thoughts.</p> +<p>It not only appeared that the egotistical couple knew everybody, +but that scarcely any event of importance or notoriety had occurred +for many years with which they had not been in some way or other connected. +Thus we learned that when the well-known attempt upon the life of George +the Third was made by Hatfield in Drury Lane theatre, the egotistical +gentleman’s grandfather sat upon his right hand and was the first +man who collared him; and that the egotistical lady’s aunt, sitting +within a few boxes of the royal party, was the only person in the audience +who heard his Majesty exclaim, ‘Charlotte, Charlotte, don’t +be frightened, don’t be frightened; they’re letting off +squibs, they’re letting off squibs.’ When the fire +broke out, which ended in the destruction of the two Houses of Parliament, +the egotistical couple, being at the time at a drawing-room window on +Blackheath, then and there simultaneously exclaimed, to the astonishment +of a whole party—‘It’s the House of Lords!’ +Nor was this a solitary instance of their peculiar discernment, for +chancing to be (as by a comparison of dates and circumstances they afterwards +found) in the same omnibus with Mr. Greenacre, when he carried his victim’s +head about town in a blue bag, they both remarked a singular twitching +in the muscles of his countenance; and walking down Fish Street Hill, +a few weeks since, the egotistical gentleman said to his lady—slightly +casting up his eyes to the top of the Monument—‘There’s +a boy up there, my dear, reading a Bible. It’s very strange. +I don’t like it.—In five seconds afterwards, Sir,’ +says the egotistical gentleman, bringing his hands together with one +violent clap—‘the lad was over!’</p> +<p>Diversifying these topics by the introduction of many others of the +same kind, and entertaining us between whiles with a minute account +of what weather and diet agreed with them, and what weather and diet +disagreed with them, and at what time they usually got up, and at what +time went to bed, with many other particulars of their domestic economy +too numerous to mention; the egotistical couple at length took their +leave, and afforded us an opportunity of doing the same.</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone are an egotistical couple of another class, +for all the lady’s egotism is about her husband, and all the gentleman’s +about his wife. For example:- Mr. Sliverstone is a clerical gentleman, +and occasionally writes sermons, as clerical gentlemen do. If +you happen to obtain admission at the street-door while he is so engaged, +Mrs. Sliverstone appears on tip-toe, and speaking in a solemn whisper, +as if there were at least three or four particular friends up-stairs, +all upon the point of death, implores you to be very silent, for Mr. +Sliverstone is composing, and she need not say how very important it +is that he should not be disturbed. Unwilling to interrupt anything +so serious, you hasten to withdraw, with many apologies; but this Mrs. +Sliverstone will by no means allow, observing, that she knows you would +like to see him, as it is very natural you should, and that she is determined +to make a trial for you, as you are a great favourite. So you +are led up-stairs—still on tip-toe—to the door of a little +back room, in which, as the lady informs you in a whisper, Mr. Sliverstone +always writes. No answer being returned to a couple of soft taps, +the lady opens the door, and there, sure enough, is Mr. Sliverstone, +with dishevelled hair, powdering away with pen, ink, and paper, at a +rate which, if he has any power of sustaining it, would settle the longest +sermon in no time. At first he is too much absorbed to be roused +by this intrusion; but presently looking up, says faintly, ‘Ah!’ +and pointing to his desk with a weary and languid smile, extends his +hand, and hopes you’ll forgive him. Then Mrs. Sliverstone +sits down beside him, and taking his hand in hers, tells you how that +Mr. Sliverstone has been shut up there ever since nine o’clock +in the morning, (it is by this time twelve at noon,) and how she knows +it cannot be good for his health, and is very uneasy about it. +Unto this Mr. Sliverstone replies firmly, that ‘It must be done;’ +which agonizes Mrs. Sliverstone still more, and she goes on to tell +you that such were Mr. Sliverstone’s labours last week—what +with the buryings, marryings, churchings, christenings, and all together,—that +when he was going up the pulpit stairs on Sunday evening, he was obliged +to hold on by the rails, or he would certainly have fallen over into +his own pew. Mr. Sliverstone, who has been listening and smiling +meekly, says, ‘Not quite so bad as that, not quite so bad!’ +he admits though, on cross-examination, that he <i>was</i> very near +falling upon the verger who was following him up to bolt the door; but +adds, that it was his duty as a Christian to fall upon him, if need +were, and that he, Mr. Sliverstone, and (possibly the verger too) ought +to glory in it.</p> +<p>This sentiment communicates new impulse to Mrs. Sliverstone, who +launches into new praises of Mr. Sliverstone’s worth and excellence, +to which he listens in the same meek silence, save when he puts in a +word of self-denial relative to some question of fact, as—‘Not +seventy-two christenings that week, my dear. Only seventy-one, +only seventy-one.’ At length his lady has quite concluded, +and then he says, Why should he repine, why should he give way, why +should he suffer his heart to sink within him? Is it he alone +who toils and suffers? What has she gone through, he should like +to know? What does she go through every day for him and for society?</p> +<p>With such an exordium Mr. Sliverstone launches out into glowing praises +of the conduct of Mrs. Sliverstone in the production of eight young +children, and the subsequent rearing and fostering of the same; and +thus the husband magnifies the wife, and the wife the husband.</p> +<p>This would be well enough if Mr. and Mrs. Sliverstone kept it to +themselves, or even to themselves and a friend or two; but they do not. +The more hearers they have, the more egotistical the couple become, +and the more anxious they are to make believers in their merits. +Perhaps this is the worst kind of egotism. It has not even the +poor excuse of being spontaneous, but is the result of a deliberate +system and malice aforethought. Mere empty-headed conceit excites +our pity, but ostentatious hypocrisy awakens our disgust.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mrs. Merrywinkle’s maiden name was Chopper. She was the +only child of Mr. and Mrs. Chopper. Her father died when she was, +as the play-books express it, ‘yet an infant;’ and so old +Mrs. Chopper, when her daughter married, made the house of her son-in-law +her home from that time henceforth, and set up her staff of rest with +Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle.</p> +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and +the venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same.</p> +<p>Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and long-necked gentleman, middle-aged +and middle-sized, and usually troubled with a cold in the head. +Mrs. Merrywinkle is a delicate-looking lady, with very light hair, and +is exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder. The venerable +Mrs. Chopper—who is strictly entitled to the appellation, her +daughter not being very young, otherwise than by courtesy, at the time +of her marriage, which was some years ago—is a mysterious old +lady who lurks behind a pair of spectacles, and is afflicted with a +chronic disease, respecting which she has taken a vast deal of medical +advice, and referred to a vast number of medical books, without meeting +any definition of symptoms that at all suits her, or enables her to +say, ‘That’s my complaint.’ Indeed, the absence +of authentic information upon the subject of this complaint would seem +to be Mrs. Chopper’s greatest ill, as in all other respects she +is an uncommonly hale and hearty gentlewoman.</p> +<p>Both Mr. and Mrs. Chopper wear an extraordinary quantity of flannel, +and have a habit of putting their feet in hot water to an unnatural +extent. They likewise indulge in chamomile tea and such-like compounds, +and rub themselves on the slightest provocation with camphorated spirits +and other lotions applicable to mumps, sore-throat, rheumatism, or lumbago.</p> +<p>Mr. Merrywinkle’s leaving home to go to business on a damp +or wet morning is a very elaborate affair. He puts on wash-leather +socks over his stockings, and India-rubber shoes above his boots, and +wears under his waistcoat a cuirass of hare-skin. Besides these +precautions, he winds a thick shawl round his throat, and blocks up +his mouth with a large silk handkerchief. Thus accoutred, and +furnished besides with a great-coat and umbrella, he braves the dangers +of the streets; travelling in severe weather at a gentle trot, the better +to preserve the circulation, and bringing his mouth to the surface to +take breath, but very seldom, and with the utmost caution. His +office-door opened, he shoots past his clerk at the same pace, and diving +into his own private room, closes the door, examines the window-fastenings, +and gradually unrobes himself: hanging his pocket-handkerchief on the +fender to air, and determining to write to the newspapers about the +fog, which, he says, ‘has really got to that pitch that it is +quite unbearable.’</p> +<p>In this last opinion Mrs. Merrywinkle and her respected mother fully +concur; for though not present, their thoughts and tongues are occupied +with the same subject, which is their constant theme all day. +If anybody happens to call, Mrs. Merrywinkle opines that they must assuredly +be mad, and her first salutation is, ‘Why, what in the name of +goodness can bring you out in such weather? You know you <i>must</i> +catch your death.’ This assurance is corroborated by Mrs. +Chopper, who adds, in further confirmation, a dismal legend concerning +an individual of her acquaintance who, making a call under precisely +parallel circumstances, and being then in the best health and spirits, +expired in forty-eight hours afterwards, of a complication of inflammatory +disorders. The visitor, rendered not altogether comfortable perhaps +by this and other precedents, inquires very affectionately after Mr. +Merrywinkle, but by so doing brings about no change of the subject; +for Mr. Merrywinkle’s name is inseparably connected with his complaints, +and his complaints are inseparably connected with Mrs. Merrywinkle’s; +and when these are done with, Mrs. Chopper, who has been biding her +time, cuts in with the chronic disorder—a subject upon which the +amiable old lady never leaves off speaking until she is left alone, +and very often not then.</p> +<p>But Mr. Merrywinkle comes home to dinner. He is received by +Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper, who, on his remarking that he thinks +his feet are damp, turn pale as ashes and drag him up-stairs, imploring +him to have them rubbed directly with a dry coarse towel. Rubbed +they are, one by Mrs. Merrywinkle and one by Mrs. Chopper, until the +friction causes Mr. Merrywinkle to make horrible faces, and look as +if he had been smelling very powerful onions; when they desist, and +the patient, provided for his better security with thick worsted stockings +and list slippers, is borne down-stairs to dinner. Now, the dinner +is always a good one, the appetites of the diners being delicate, and +requiring a little of what Mrs. Merrywinkle calls ‘tittivation;’ +the secret of which is understood to lie in good cookery and tasteful +spices, and which process is so successfully performed in the present +instance, that both Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle eat a remarkably good dinner, +and even the afflicted Mrs. Chopper wields her knife and fork with much +of the spirit and elasticity of youth. But Mr. Merrywinkle, in +his desire to gratify his appetite, is not unmindful of his health, +for he has a bottle of carbonate of soda with which to qualify his porter, +and a little pair of scales in which to weigh it out. Neither +in his anxiety to take care of his body is he unmindful of the welfare +of his immortal part, as he always prays that for what he is going to +receive he may be made truly thankful; and in order that he may be as +thankful as possible, eats and drinks to the utmost.</p> +<p>Either from eating and drinking so much, or from being the victim +of this constitutional infirmity, among others, Mr. Merrywinkle, after +two or three glasses of wine, falls fast asleep; and he has scarcely +closed his eyes, when Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper fall asleep +likewise. It is on awakening at tea-time that their most alarming +symptoms prevail; for then Mr. Merrywinkle feels as if his temples were +tightly bound round with the chain of the street-door, and Mrs. Merrywinkle +as if she had made a hearty dinner of half-hundredweights, and Mrs. +Chopper as if cold water were running down her back, and oyster-knives +with sharp points were plunging of their own accord into her ribs. +Symptoms like these are enough to make people peevish, and no wonder +that they remain so until supper-time, doing little more than doze and +complain, unless Mr. Merrywinkle calls out very loudly to a servant +‘to keep that draught out,’ or rushes into the passage to +flourish his fist in the countenance of the twopenny-postman, for daring +to give such a knock as he had just performed at the door of a private +gentleman with nerves.</p> +<p>Supper, coming after dinner, should consist of some gentle provocative; +and therefore the tittivating art is again in requisition, and again—done +honour to by Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, still comforted and abetted by +Mrs. Chopper. After supper, it is ten to one but the last-named +old lady becomes worse, and is led off to bed with the chronic complaint +in full vigour. Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, having administered +to her a warm cordial, which is something of the strongest, then repair +to their own room, where Mr. Merrywinkle, with his legs and feet in +hot water, superintends the mulling of some wine which he is to drink +at the very moment he plunges into bed, while Mrs. Merrywinkle, in garments +whose nature is unknown to and unimagined by all but married men, takes +four small pills with a spasmodic look between each, and finally comes +to something hot and fragrant out of another little saucepan, which +serves as her composing-draught for the night.</p> +<p>There is another kind of couple who coddle themselves, and who do +so at a cheaper rate and on more spare diet, because they are niggardly +and parsimonious; for which reason they are kind enough to coddle their +visitors too. It is unnecessary to describe them, for our readers +may rest assured of the accuracy of these general principles:- that +all couples who coddle themselves are selfish and slothful,—that +they charge upon every wind that blows, every rain that falls, and every +vapour that hangs in the air, the evils which arise from their own imprudence +or the gloom which is engendered in their own tempers,—and that +all men and women, in couples or otherwise, who fall into exclusive +habits of self-indulgence, and forget their natural sympathy and close +connexion with everybody and everything in the world around them, not +only neglect the first duty of life, but, by a happy retributive justice, +deprive themselves of its truest and best enjoyment.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE OLD COUPLE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>They are grandfather and grandmother to a dozen grown people and +have great-grandchildren besides; their bodies are bent, their hair +is grey, their step tottering and infirm. Is this the lightsome +pair whose wedding was so merry, and have the young couple indeed grown +old so soon!</p> +<p>It seems but yesterday—and yet what a host of cares and griefs +are crowded into the intervening time which, reckoned by them, lengthens +out into a century! How many new associations have wreathed themselves +about their hearts since then! The old time is gone, and a new +time has come for others—not for them. They are but the +rusting link that feebly joins the two, and is silently loosening its +hold and dropping asunder.</p> +<p>It seems but yesterday—and yet three of their children have +sunk into the grave, and the tree that shades it has grown quite old. +One was an infant—they wept for him; the next a girl, a slight +young thing too delicate for earth—her loss was hard indeed to +bear. The third, a man. That was the worst of all, but even +that grief is softened now.</p> +<p>It seems but yesterday—and yet how the gay and laughing faces +of that bright morning have changed and vanished from above ground! +Faint likenesses of some remain about them yet, but they are very faint +and scarcely to be traced. The rest are only seen in dreams, and +even they are unlike what they were, in eyes so old and dim.</p> +<p>One or two dresses from the bridal wardrobe are yet preserved. +They are of a quaint and antique fashion, and seldom seen except in +pictures. White has turned yellow, and brighter hues have faded. +Do you wonder, child? The wrinkled face was once as smooth as +yours, the eyes as bright, the shrivelled skin as fair and delicate. +It is the work of hands that have been dust these many years.</p> +<p>Where are the fairy lovers of that happy day whose annual return +comes upon the old man and his wife, like the echo of some village bell +which has long been silent? Let yonder peevish bachelor, racked +by rheumatic pains, and quarrelling with the world, let him answer to +the question. He recollects something of a favourite playmate; +her name was Lucy—so they tell him. He is not sure whether +she was married, or went abroad, or died. It is a long while ago, +and he don’t remember.</p> +<p>Is nothing as it used to be; does no one feel, or think, or act, +as in days of yore? Yes. There is an aged woman who once +lived servant with the old lady’s father, and is sheltered in +an alms-house not far off. She is still attached to the family, +and loves them all; she nursed the children in her lap, and tended in +their sickness those who are no more. Her old mistress has still +something of youth in her eyes; the young ladies are like what she was +but not quite so handsome, nor are the gentlemen as stately as Mr. Harvey +used to be. She has seen a great deal of trouble; her husband +and her son died long ago; but she has got over that, and is happy now—quite +happy.</p> +<p>If ever her attachment to her old protectors were disturbed by fresher +cares and hopes, it has long since resumed its former current. +It has filled the void in the poor creature’s heart, and replaced +the love of kindred. Death has not left her alone, and this, with +a roof above her head, and a warm hearth to sit by, makes her cheerful +and contented. Does she remember the marriage of great-grandmamma? +Ay, that she does, as well—as if it was only yesterday. +You wouldn’t think it to look at her now, and perhaps she ought +not to say so of herself, but she was as smart a young girl then as +you’d wish to see. She recollects she took a friend of hers +up-stairs to see Miss Emma dressed for church; her name was—ah! +she forgets the name, but she remembers that she was a very pretty girl, +and that she married not long afterwards, and lived—it has quite +passed out of her mind where she lived, but she knows she had a bad +husband who used her ill, and that she died in Lambeth work-house. +Dear, dear, in Lambeth workhouse!</p> +<p>And the old couple—have they no comfort or enjoyment of existence? +See them among their grandchildren and great-grandchildren; how garrulous +they are, how they compare one with another, and insist on likenesses +which no one else can see; how gently the old lady lectures the girls +on points of breeding and decorum, and points the moral by anecdotes +of herself in her young days—how the old gentleman chuckles over +boyish feats and roguish tricks, and tells long stories of a ‘barring-out’ +achieved at the school he went to: which was very wrong, he tells the +boys, and never to be imitated of course, but which he cannot help letting +them know was very pleasant too—especially when he kissed the +master’s niece. This last, however, is a point on which +the old lady is very tender, for she considers it a shocking and indelicate +thing to talk about, and always says so whenever it is mentioned, never +failing to observe that he ought to be very penitent for having been +so sinful. So the old gentleman gets no further, and what the +schoolmaster’s niece said afterwards (which he is always going +to tell) is lost to posterity.</p> +<p>The old gentleman is eighty years old, to-day—‘Eighty +years old, Crofts, and never had a headache,’ he tells the barber +who shaves him (the barber being a young fellow, and very subject to +that complaint). ‘That’s a great age, Crofts,’ +says the old gentleman. ‘I don’t think it’s +sich a wery great age, Sir,’ replied the barber. ‘Crofts,’ +rejoins the old gentleman, ‘you’re talking nonsense to me. +Eighty not a great age?’ ‘It’s a wery great +age, Sir, for a gentleman to be as healthy and active as you are,’ +returns the barber; ‘but my grandfather, Sir, he was ninety-four.’ +‘You don’t mean that, Crofts?’ says the old gentleman. +‘I do indeed, Sir,’ retorts the barber, ‘and as wiggerous +as Julius Caesar, my grandfather was.’ The old gentleman +muses a little time, and then says, ‘What did he die of, Crofts?’ +‘He died accidentally, Sir,’ returns the barber; ‘he +didn’t mean to do it. He always would go a running about +the streets—walking never satisfied <i>his</i> spirit—and +he run against a post and died of a hurt in his chest.’ +The old gentleman says no more until the shaving is concluded, and then +he gives Crofts half-a-crown to drink his health. He is a little +doubtful of the barber’s veracity afterwards, and telling the +anecdote to the old lady, affects to make very light of it—though +to be sure (he adds) there was old Parr, and in some parts of England, +ninety-five or so is a common age, quite a common age.</p> +<p>This morning the old couple are cheerful but serious, recalling old +times as well as they can remember them, and dwelling upon many passages +in their past lives which the day brings to mind. The old lady +reads aloud, in a tremulous voice, out of a great Bible, and the old +gentleman with his hand to his ear, listens with profound respect. +When the book is closed, they sit silent for a short space, and afterwards +resume their conversation, with a reference perhaps to their dead children, +as a subject not unsuited to that they have just left. By degrees +they are led to consider which of those who survive are the most like +those dearly-remembered objects, and so they fall into a less solemn +strain, and become cheerful again.</p> +<p>How many people in all, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and one +or two intimate friends of the family, dine together to-day at the eldest +son’s to congratulate the old couple, and wish them many happy +returns, is a calculation beyond our powers; but this we know, that +the old couple no sooner present themselves, very sprucely and carefully +attired, than there is a violent shouting and rushing forward of the +younger branches with all manner of presents, such as pocket-books, +pencil-cases, pen-wipers, watch-papers, pin-cushions, sleeve-buckles, +worked-slippers, watch-guards, and even a nutmeg-grater: the latter +article being presented by a very chubby and very little boy, who exhibits +it in great triumph as an extraordinary variety. The old couple’s +emotion at these tokens of remembrance occasions quite a pathetic scene, +of which the chief ingredients are a vast quantity of kissing and hugging, +and repeated wipings of small eyes and noses with small square pocket-handkerchiefs, +which don’t come at all easily out of small pockets. Even +the peevish bachelor is moved, and he says, as he presents the old gentleman +with a queer sort of antique ring from his own finger, that he’ll +be de’ed if he doesn’t think he looks younger than he did +ten years ago.</p> +<p>But the great time is after dinner, when the dessert and wine are +on the table, which is pushed back to make plenty of room, and they +are all gathered in a large circle round the fire, for it is then—the +glasses being filled, and everybody ready to drink the toast—that +two great-grandchildren rush out at a given signal, and presently return, +dragging in old Jane Adams leaning upon her crutched stick, and trembling +with age and pleasure. Who so popular as poor old Jane, nurse +and story-teller in ordinary to two generations; and who so happy as +she, striving to bend her stiff limbs into a curtsey, while tears of +pleasure steal down her withered cheeks!</p> +<p>The old couple sit side by side, and the old time seems like yesterday +indeed. Looking back upon the path they have travelled, its dust +and ashes disappear; the flowers that withered long ago, show brightly +again upon its borders, and they grow young once more in the youth of +those about them.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have taken for the subjects of the foregoing moral essays, twelve +samples of married couples, carefully selected from a large stock on +hand, open to the inspection of all comers. These samples are +intended for the benefit of the rising generation of both sexes, and, +for their more easy and pleasant information, have been separately ticketed +and labelled in the manner they have seen.</p> +<p>We have purposely excluded from consideration the couple in which +the lady reigns paramount and supreme, holding such cases to be of a +very unnatural kind, and like hideous births and other monstrous deformities, +only to be discreetly and sparingly exhibited.</p> +<p>And here our self-imposed task would have ended, but that to those +young ladies and gentlemen who are yet revolving singly round the church, +awaiting the advent of that time when the mysterious laws of attraction +shall draw them towards it in couples, we are desirous of addressing +a few last words.</p> +<p>Before marriage and afterwards, let them learn to centre all their +hopes of real and lasting happiness in their own fireside; let them +cherish the faith that in home, and all the English virtues which the +love of home engenders, lies the only true source of domestic felicity; +let them believe that round the household gods, contentment and tranquillity +cluster in their gentlest and most graceful forms; and that many weary +hunters of happiness through the noisy world, have learnt this truth +too late, and found a cheerful spirit and a quiet mind only at home +at last.</p> +<p>How much may depend on the education of daughters and the conduct +of mothers; how much of the brightest part of our old national character +may be perpetuated by their wisdom or frittered away by their folly—how +much of it may have been lost already, and how much more in danger of +vanishing every day—are questions too weighty for discussion here, +but well deserving a little serious consideration from all young couples +nevertheless.</p> +<p>To that one young couple on whose bright destiny the thoughts of +nations are fixed, may the youth of England look, and not in vain, for +an example. From that one young couple, blessed and favoured as +they are, may they learn that even the glare and glitter of a court, +the splendour of a palace, and the pomp and glory of a throne, yield +in their power of conferring happiness, to domestic worth and virtue. +From that one young couple may they learn that the crown of a great +empire, costly and jewelled though it be, gives place in the estimation +of a Queen to the plain gold ring that links her woman’s nature +to that of tens of thousands of her humble subjects, and guards in her +woman’s heart one secret store of tenderness, whose proudest boast +shall be that it knows no Royalty save Nature’s own, and no pride +of birth but being the child of heaven!</p> +<p>So shall the highest young couple in the land for once hear the truth, +when men throw up their caps, and cry with loving shouts -</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>GOD BLESS THEM.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h2>THE MUDFOG AND OTHER SKETCHES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE—ONCE MAYOR OF MUDFOG</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mudfog is a pleasant town—a remarkably pleasant town—situated +in a charming hollow by the side of a river, from which river, Mudfog +derives an agreeable scent of pitch, tar, coals, and rope-yarn, a roving +population in oilskin hats, a pretty steady influx of drunken bargemen, +and a great many other maritime advantages. There is a good deal +of water about Mudfog, and yet it is not exactly the sort of town for +a watering-place, either. Water is a perverse sort of element +at the best of times, and in Mudfog it is particularly so. In +winter, it comes oozing down the streets and tumbling over the fields,—nay, +rushes into the very cellars and kitchens of the houses, with a lavish +prodigality that might well be dispensed with; but in the hot summer +weather it <i>will</i> dry up, and turn green: and, although green is +a very good colour in its way, especially in grass, still it certainly +is not becoming to water; and it cannot be denied that the beauty of +Mudfog is rather impaired, even by this trifling circumstance. +Mudfog is a healthy place—very healthy;—damp, perhaps, but +none the worse for that. It’s quite a mistake to suppose +that damp is unwholesome: plants thrive best in damp situations, and +why shouldn’t men? The inhabitants of Mudfog are unanimous +in asserting that there exists not a finer race of people on the face +of the earth; here we have an indisputable and veracious contradiction +of the vulgar error at once. So, admitting Mudfog to be damp, +we distinctly state that it is salubrious.</p> +<p>The town of Mudfog is extremely picturesque. Limehouse and +Ratcliff Highway are both something like it, but they give you a very +faint idea of Mudfog. There are a great many more public-houses +in Mudfog—more than in Ratcliff Highway and Limehouse put together. +The public buildings, too, are very imposing. We consider the +town-hall one of the finest specimens of shed architecture, extant: +it is a combination of the pig-sty and tea-garden-box orders; and the +simplicity of its design is of surpassing beauty. The idea of +placing a large window on one side of the door, and a small one on the +other, is particularly happy. There is a fine old Doric beauty, +too, about the padlock and scraper, which is strictly in keeping with +the general effect.</p> +<p>In this room do the mayor and corporation of Mudfog assemble together +in solemn council for the public weal. Seated on the massive wooden +benches, which, with the table in the centre, form the only furniture +of the whitewashed apartment, the sage men of Mudfog spend hour after +hour in grave deliberation. Here they settle at what hour of the +night the public-houses shall be closed, at what hour of the morning +they shall be permitted to open, how soon it shall be lawful for people +to eat their dinner on church-days, and other great political questions; +and sometimes, long after silence has fallen on the town, and the distant +lights from the shops and houses have ceased to twinkle, like far-off +stars, to the sight of the boatmen on the river, the illumination in +the two unequal-sized windows of the town-hall, warns the inhabitants +of Mudfog that its little body of legislators, like a larger and better-known +body of the same genus, a great deal more noisy, and not a whit more +profound, are patriotically dozing away in company, far into the night, +for their country’s good.</p> +<p>Among this knot of sage and learned men, no one was so eminently +distinguished, during many years, for the quiet modesty of his appearance +and demeanour, as Nicholas Tulrumble, the well-known coal-dealer. +However exciting the subject of discussion, however animated the tone +of the debate, or however warm the personalities exchanged, (and even +in Mudfog we get personal sometimes,) Nicholas Tulrumble was always +the same. To say truth, Nicholas, being an industrious man, and +always up betimes, was apt to fall asleep when a debate began, and to +remain asleep till it was over, when he would wake up very much refreshed, +and give his vote with the greatest complacency. The fact was, +that Nicholas Tulrumble, knowing that everybody there had made up his +mind beforehand, considered the talking as just a long botheration about +nothing at all; and to the present hour it remains a question, whether, +on this point at all events, Nicholas Tulrumble was not pretty near +right.</p> +<p>Time, which strews a man’s head with silver, sometimes fills +his pockets with gold. As he gradually performed one good office +for Nicholas Tulrumble, he was obliging enough, not to omit the other. +Nicholas began life in a wooden tenement of four feet square, with a +capital of two and ninepence, and a stock in trade of three bushels +and a-half of coals, exclusive of the large lump which hung, by way +of sign-board, outside. Then he enlarged the shed, and kept a +truck; then he left the shed, and the truck too, and started a donkey +and a Mrs. Tulrumble; then he moved again and set up a cart; the cart +was soon afterwards exchanged for a waggon; and so he went on like his +great predecessor Whittington—only without a cat for a partner—increasing +in wealth and fame, until at last he gave up business altogether, and +retired with Mrs. Tulrumble and family to Mudfog Hall, which he had +himself erected, on something which he attempted to delude himself into +the belief was a hill, about a quarter of a mile distant from the town +of Mudfog.</p> +<p>About this time, it began to be murmured in Mudfog that Nicholas +Tulrumble was growing vain and haughty; that prosperity and success +had corrupted the simplicity of his manners, and tainted the natural +goodness of his heart; in short, that he was setting up for a public +character, and a great gentleman, and affected to look down upon his +old companions with compassion and contempt. Whether these reports +were at the time well-founded, or not, certain it is that Mrs. Tulrumble +very shortly afterwards started a four-wheel chaise, driven by a tall +postilion in a yellow cap,—that Mr. Tulrumble junior took to smoking +cigars, and calling the footman a ‘feller,’—and that +Mr. Tulrumble from that time forth, was no more seen in his old seat +in the chimney-corner of the Lighterman’s Arms at night. +This looked bad; but, more than this, it began to be observed that Mr. +Nicholas Tulrumble attended the corporation meetings more frequently +than heretofore; and he no longer went to sleep as he had done for so +many years, but propped his eyelids open with his two forefingers; that +he read the newspapers by himself at home; and that he was in the habit +of indulging abroad in distant and mysterious allusions to ‘masses +of people,’ and ‘the property of the country,’ and +‘productive power,’ and ‘the monied interest:’ +all of which denoted and proved that Nicholas Tulrumble was either mad, +or worse; and it puzzled the good people of Mudfog amazingly.</p> +<p>At length, about the middle of the month of October, Mr. Tulrumble +and family went up to London; the middle of October being, as Mrs. Tulrumble +informed her acquaintance in Mudfog, the very height of the fashionable +season.</p> +<p>Somehow or other, just about this time, despite the health-preserving +air of Mudfog, the Mayor died. It was a most extraordinary circumstance; +he had lived in Mudfog for eighty-five years. The corporation +didn’t understand it at all; indeed it was with great difficulty +that one old gentleman, who was a great stickler for forms, was dissuaded +from proposing a vote of censure on such unaccountable conduct. +Strange as it was, however, die he did, without taking the slightest +notice of the corporation; and the corporation were imperatively called +upon to elect his successor. So, they met for the purpose; and +being very full of Nicholas Tulrumble just then, and Nicholas Tulrumble +being a very important man, they elected him, and wrote off to London +by the very next post to acquaint Nicholas Tulrumble with his new elevation.</p> +<p>Now, it being November time, and Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble being in +the capital, it fell out that he was present at the Lord Mayor’s +show and dinner, at sight of the glory and splendour whereof, he, Mr. +Tulrumble, was greatly mortified, inasmuch as the reflection would force +itself on his mind, that, had he been born in London instead of in Mudfog, +he might have been a Lord Mayor too, and have patronized the judges, +and been affable to the Lord Chancellor, and friendly with the Premier, +and coldly condescending to the Secretary to the Treasury, and have +dined with a flag behind his back, and done a great many other acts +and deeds which unto Lord Mayors of London peculiarly appertain. +The more he thought of the Lord Mayor, the more enviable a personage +he seemed. To be a King was all very well; but what was the King +to the Lord Mayor! When the King made a speech, everybody knew +it was somebody else’s writing; whereas here was the Lord Mayor, +talking away for half an hour-all out of his own head—amidst the +enthusiastic applause of the whole company, while it was notorious that +the King might talk to his parliament till he was black in the face +without getting so much as a single cheer. As all these reflections +passed through the mind of Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble, the Lord Mayor of +London appeared to him the greatest sovereign on the face of the earth, +beating the Emperor of Russia all to nothing, and leaving the Great +Mogul immeasurably behind.</p> +<p>Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was pondering over these things, and inwardly +cursing the fate which had pitched his coal-shed in Mudfog, when the +letter of the corporation was put into his hand. A crimson flush +mantled over his face as he read it, for visions of brightness were +already dancing before his imagination.</p> +<p>‘My dear,’ said Mr. Tulrumble to his wife, ‘they +have elected me, Mayor of Mudfog.’</p> +<p>‘Lor-a-mussy!’ said Mrs. Tulrumble: ‘why what’s +become of old Sniggs?’</p> +<p>‘The late Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble,’ said Mr. Tulrumble +sharply, for he by no means approved of the notion of unceremoniously +designating a gentleman who filled the high office of Mayor, as ‘Old +Sniggs,’—‘The late Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble, is +dead.’</p> +<p>The communication was very unexpected; but Mrs. Tulrumble only ejaculated +‘Lor-a-mussy!’ once again, as if a Mayor were a mere ordinary +Christian, at which Mr. Tulrumble frowned gloomily.</p> +<p>‘What a pity ’tan’t in London, ain’t it?’ +said Mrs. Tulrumble, after a short pause; ‘what a pity ’tan’t +in London, where you might have had a show.’</p> +<p>‘I <i>might</i> have a show in Mudfog, if I thought proper, +I apprehend,’ said Mr. Tulrumble mysteriously.</p> +<p>‘Lor! so you might, I declare,’ replied Mrs. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘And a good one too,’ said Mr. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘Delightful!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘One which would rather astonish the ignorant people down there,’ +said Mr. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘It would kill them with envy,’ said Mrs. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>So it was agreed that his Majesty’s lieges in Mudfog should +be astonished with splendour, and slaughtered with envy, and that such +a show should take place as had never been seen in that town, or in +any other town before,—no, not even in London itself.</p> +<p>On the very next day after the receipt of the letter, down came the +tall postilion in a post-chaise,—not upon one of the horses, but +inside—actually inside the chaise,—and, driving up to the +very door of the town-hall, where the corporation were assembled, delivered +a letter, written by the Lord knows who, and signed by Nicholas Tulrumble, +in which Nicholas said, all through four sides of closely-written, gilt-edged, +hot-pressed, Bath post letter paper, that he responded to the call of +his fellow-townsmen with feelings of heartfelt delight; that he accepted +the arduous office which their confidence had imposed upon him; that +they would never find him shrinking from the discharge of his duty; +that he would endeavour to execute his functions with all that dignity +which their magnitude and importance demanded; and a great deal more +to the same effect. But even this was not all. The tall +postilion produced from his right-hand top-boot, a damp copy of that +afternoon’s number of the county paper; and there, in large type, +running the whole length of the very first column, was a long address +from Nicholas Tulrumble to the inhabitants of Mudfog, in which he said +that he cheerfully complied with their requisition, and, in short, as +if to prevent any mistake about the matter, told them over again what +a grand fellow he meant to be, in very much the same terms as those +in which he had already told them all about the matter in his letter.</p> +<p>The corporation stared at one another very hard at all this, and +then looked as if for explanation to the tall postilion, but as the +tall postilion was intently contemplating the gold tassel on the top +of his yellow cap, and could have afforded no explanation whatever, +even if his thoughts had been entirely disengaged, they contented themselves +with coughing very dubiously, and looking very grave. The tall +postilion then delivered another letter, in which Nicholas Tulrumble +informed the corporation, that he intended repairing to the town-hall, +in grand state and gorgeous procession, on the Monday afternoon next +ensuing. At this the corporation looked still more solemn; but, +as the epistle wound up with a formal invitation to the whole body to +dine with the Mayor on that day, at Mudfog Hall, Mudfog Hill, Mudfog, +they began to see the fun of the thing directly, and sent back their +compliments, and they’d be sure to come.</p> +<p>Now there happened to be in Mudfog, as somehow or other there does +happen to be, in almost every town in the British dominions, and perhaps +in foreign dominions too—we think it very likely, but, being no +great traveller, cannot distinctly say—there happened to be, in +Mudfog, a merry-tempered, pleasant-faced, good-for-nothing sort of vagabond, +with an invincible dislike to manual labour, and an unconquerable attachment +to strong beer and spirits, whom everybody knew, and nobody, except +his wife, took the trouble to quarrel with, who inherited from his ancestors +the appellation of Edward Twigger, and rejoiced in the <i>sobriquet</i> +of Bottle-nosed Ned. He was drunk upon the average once a day, +and penitent upon an equally fair calculation once a month; and when +he was penitent, he was invariably in the very last stage of maudlin +intoxication. He was a ragged, roving, roaring kind of fellow, +with a burly form, a sharp wit, and a ready head, and could turn his +hand to anything when he chose to do it. He was by no means opposed +to hard labour on principle, for he would work away at a cricket-match +by the day together,—running, and catching, and batting, and bowling, +and revelling in toil which would exhaust a galley-slave. He would +have been invaluable to a fire-office; never was a man with such a natural +taste for pumping engines, running up ladders, and throwing furniture +out of two-pair-of-stairs’ windows: nor was this the only element +in which he was at home; he was a humane society in himself, a portable +drag, an animated life-preserver, and had saved more people, in his +time, from drowning, than the Plymouth life-boat, or Captain Manby’s +apparatus. With all these qualifications, notwithstanding his +dissipation, Bottle-nosed Ned was a general favourite; and the authorities +of Mudfog, remembering his numerous services to the population, allowed +him in return to get drunk in his own way, without the fear of stocks, +fine, or imprisonment. He had a general licence, and he showed +his sense of the compliment by making the most of it.</p> +<p>We have been thus particular in describing the character and avocations +of Bottle-nosed Ned, because it enables us to introduce a fact politely, +without hauling it into the reader’s presence with indecent haste +by the head and shoulders, and brings us very naturally to relate, that +on the very same evening on which Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble and family +returned to Mudfog, Mr. Tulrumble’s new secretary, just imported +from London, with a pale face and light whiskers, thrust his head down +to the very bottom of his neckcloth-tie, in at the tap-room door of +the Lighterman’s Arms, and inquiring whether one Ned Twigger was +luxuriating within, announced himself as the bearer of a message from +Nicholas Tulrumble, Esquire, requiring Mr. Twigger’s immediate +attendance at the hall, on private and particular business. It +being by no means Mr. Twigger’s interest to affront the Mayor, +he rose from the fireplace with a slight sigh, and followed the light-whiskered +secretary through the dirt and wet of Mudfog streets, up to Mudfog Hall, +without further ado.</p> +<p>Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was seated in a small cavern with a skylight, +which he called his library, sketching out a plan of the procession +on a large sheet of paper; and into the cavern the secretary ushered +Ned Twigger.</p> +<p>‘Well, Twigger!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, condescendingly.</p> +<p>There was a time when Twigger would have replied, ‘Well, Nick!’ +but that was in the days of the truck, and a couple of years before +the donkey; so, he only bowed.</p> +<p>‘I want you to go into training, Twigger,’ said Mr. Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘What for, sir?’ inquired Ned, with a stare.</p> +<p>‘Hush, hush, Twigger!’ said the Mayor. ‘Shut +the door, Mr. Jennings. Look here, Twigger.’</p> +<p>As the Mayor said this, he unlocked a high closet, and disclosed +a complete suit of brass armour, of gigantic dimensions.</p> +<p>‘I want you to wear this next Monday, Twigger,’ said +the Mayor.</p> +<p>‘Bless your heart and soul, sir!’ replied Ned, ‘you +might as well ask me to wear a seventy-four pounder, or a cast-iron +boiler.’</p> +<p>‘Nonsense, Twigger, nonsense!’ said the Mayor.</p> +<p>‘I couldn’t stand under it, sir,’ said Twigger; +‘it would make mashed potatoes of me, if I attempted it.’</p> +<p>‘Pooh, pooh, Twigger!’ returned the Mayor. ‘I +tell you I have seen it done with my own eyes, in London, and the man +wasn’t half such a man as you are, either.’</p> +<p>‘I should as soon have thought of a man’s wearing the +case of an eight-day clock to save his linen,’ said Twigger, casting +a look of apprehension at the brass suit.</p> +<p>‘It’s the easiest thing in the world,’ rejoined +the Mayor.</p> +<p>‘It’s nothing,’ said Mr. Jennings.</p> +<p>‘When you’re used to it,’ added Ned.</p> +<p>‘You do it by degrees,’ said the Mayor. ‘You +would begin with one piece to-morrow, and two the next day, and so on, +till you had got it all on. Mr. Jennings, give Twigger a glass +of rum. Just try the breast-plate, Twigger. Stay; take another +glass of rum first. Help me to lift it, Mr. Jennings. Stand +firm, Twigger! There!—it isn’t half as heavy as it +looks, is it?’</p> +<p>Twigger was a good strong, stout fellow; so, after a great deal of +staggering, he managed to keep himself up, under the breastplate, and +even contrived, with the aid of another glass of rum, to walk about +in it, and the gauntlets into the bargain. He made a trial of +the helmet, but was not equally successful, inasmuch as he tipped over +instantly,—an accident which Mr. Tulrumble clearly demonstrated +to be occasioned by his not having a counteracting weight of brass on +his legs.</p> +<p>‘Now, wear that with grace and propriety on Monday next,’ +said Tulrumble, ‘and I’ll make your fortune.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll try what I can do, sir,’ said Twigger.</p> +<p>‘It must be kept a profound secret,’ said Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘Of course, sir,’ replied Twigger.</p> +<p>‘And you must be sober,’ said Tulrumble; ‘perfectly +sober.’ Mr. Twigger at once solemnly pledged himself to +be as sober as a judge, and Nicholas Tulrumble was satisfied, although, +had we been Nicholas, we should certainly have exacted some promise +of a more specific nature; inasmuch as, having attended the Mudfog assizes +in the evening more than once, we can solemnly testify to having seen +judges with very strong symptoms of dinner under their wigs. However, +that’s neither here nor there.</p> +<p>The next day, and the day following, and the day after that, Ned +Twigger was securely locked up in the small cavern with the sky-light, +hard at work at the armour. With every additional piece he could +manage to stand upright in, he had an additional glass of rum; and at +last, after many partial suffocations, he contrived to get on the whole +suit, and to stagger up and down the room in it, like an intoxicated +effigy from Westminster Abbey.</p> +<p>Never was man so delighted as Nicholas Tulrumble; never was woman +so charmed as Nicholas Tulrumble’s wife. Here was a sight +for the common people of Mudfog! A live man in brass armour! +Why, they would go wild with wonder!</p> +<p>The day—<i>the</i> Monday—arrived.</p> +<p>If the morning had been made to order, it couldn’t have been +better adapted to the purpose. They never showed a better fog +in London on Lord Mayor’s day, than enwrapped the town of Mudfog +on that eventful occasion. It had risen slowly and surely from +the green and stagnant water with the first light of morning, until +it reached a little above the lamp-post tops; and there it had stopped, +with a sleepy, sluggish obstinacy, which bade defiance to the sun, who +had got up very blood-shot about the eyes, as if he had been at a drinking-party +over-night, and was doing his day’s work with the worst possible +grace. The thick damp mist hung over the town like a huge gauze +curtain. All was dim and dismal. The church steeples had +bidden a temporary adieu to the world below; and every object of lesser +importance—houses, barns, hedges, trees, and barges—had +all taken the veil.</p> +<p>The church-clock struck one. A cracked trumpet from the front +garden of Mudfog Hall produced a feeble flourish, as if some asthmatic +person had coughed into it accidentally; the gate flew open, and out +came a gentleman, on a moist-sugar coloured charger, intended to represent +a herald, but bearing a much stronger resemblance to a court-card on +horseback. This was one of the Circus people, who always came +down to Mudfog at that time of the year, and who had been engaged by +Nicholas Tulrumble expressly for the occasion. There was the horse, +whisking his tail about, balancing himself on his hind-legs, and flourishing +away with his fore-feet, in a manner which would have gone to the hearts +and souls of any reasonable crowd. But a Mudfog crowd never was +a reasonable one, and in all probability never will be. Instead +of scattering the very fog with their shouts, as they ought most indubitably +to have done, and were fully intended to do, by Nicholas Tulrumble, +they no sooner recognized the herald, than they began to growl forth +the most unqualified disapprobation at the bare notion of his riding +like any other man. If he had come out on his head indeed, or +jumping through a hoop, or flying through a red-hot drum, or even standing +on one leg with his other foot in his mouth, they might have had something +to say to him; but for a professional gentleman to sit astride in the +saddle, with his feet in the stirrups, was rather too good a joke. +So, the herald was a decided failure, and the crowd hooted with great +energy, as he pranced ingloriously away.</p> +<p>On the procession came. We are afraid to say how many supernumeraries +there were, in striped shirts and black velvet caps, to imitate the +London watermen, or how many base imitations of running-footmen, or +how many banners, which, owing to the heaviness of the atmosphere, could +by no means be prevailed on to display their inscriptions: still less +do we feel disposed to relate how the men who played the wind instruments, +looking up into the sky (we mean the fog) with musical fervour, walked +through pools of water and hillocks of mud, till they covered the powdered +heads of the running-footmen aforesaid with splashes, that looked curious, +but not ornamental; or how the barrel-organ performer put on the wrong +stop, and played one tune while the band played another; or how the +horses, being used to the arena, and not to the streets, would stand +still and dance, instead of going on and prancing;—all of which +are matters which might be dilated upon to great advantage, but which +we have not the least intention of dilating upon, notwithstanding.</p> +<p>Oh! it was a grand and beautiful sight to behold a corporation in +glass coaches, provided at the sole cost and charge of Nicholas Tulrumble, +coming rolling along, like a funeral out of mourning, and to watch the +attempts the corporation made to look great and solemn, when Nicholas +Tulrumble himself, in the four-wheel chaise, with the tall postilion, +rolled out after them, with Mr. Jennings on one side to look like a +chaplain, and a supernumerary on the other, with an old life-guardsman’s +sabre, to imitate the sword-bearer; and to see the tears rolling down +the faces of the mob as they screamed with merriment. This was +beautiful! and so was the appearance of Mrs. Tulrumble and son, as they +bowed with grave dignity out of their coach-window to all the dirty +faces that were laughing around them: but it is not even with this that +we have to do, but with the sudden stopping of the procession at another +blast of the trumpet, whereat, and whereupon, a profound silence ensued, +and all eyes were turned towards Mudfog Hall, in the confident anticipation +of some new wonder.</p> +<p>‘They won’t laugh now, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas +Tulrumble.</p> +<p>‘I think not, sir,’ said Mr. Jennings.</p> +<p>‘See how eager they look,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble. +‘Aha! the laugh will be on our side now; eh, Mr. Jennings?’</p> +<p>‘No doubt of that, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings; and Nicholas +Tulrumble, in a state of pleasurable excitement, stood up in the four-wheel +chaise, and telegraphed gratification to the Mayoress behind.</p> +<p>While all this was going forward, Ned Twigger had descended into +the kitchen of Mudfog Hall for the purpose of indulging the servants +with a private view of the curiosity that was to burst upon the town; +and, somehow or other, the footman was so companionable, and the housemaid +so kind, and the cook so friendly, that he could not resist the offer +of the first-mentioned to sit down and take something—just to +drink success to master in.</p> +<p>So, down Ned Twigger sat himself in his brass livery on the top of +the kitchen-table; and in a mug of something strong, paid for by the +unconscious Nicholas Tulrumble, and provided by the companionable footman, +drank success to the Mayor and his procession; and, as Ned laid by his +helmet to imbibe the something strong, the companionable footman put +it on his own head, to the immeasurable and unrecordable delight of +the cook and housemaid. The companionable footman was very facetious +to Ned, and Ned was very gallant to the cook and housemaid by turns. +They were all very cosy and comfortable; and the something strong went +briskly round.</p> +<p>At last Ned Twigger was loudly called for, by the procession people: +and, having had his helmet fixed on, in a very complicated manner, by +the companionable footman, and the kind housemaid, and the friendly +cook, he walked gravely forth, and appeared before the multitude.</p> +<p>The crowd roared—it was not with wonder, it was not with surprise; +it was most decidedly and unquestionably with laughter.</p> +<p>‘What!’ said Mr. Tulrumble, starting up in the four-wheel +chaise. ‘Laughing? If they laugh at a man in real +brass armour, they’d laugh when their own fathers were dying. +Why doesn’t he go into his place, Mr. Jennings? What’s +he rolling down towards us for? he has no business here!’</p> +<p>‘I am afraid, sir—’ faltered Mr. Jennings.</p> +<p>‘Afraid of what, sir?’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, looking +up into the secretary’s face.</p> +<p>‘I am afraid he’s drunk, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings.</p> +<p>Nicholas Tulrumble took one look at the extraordinary figure that +was bearing down upon them; and then, clasping his secretary by the +arm, uttered an audible groan in anguish of spirit.</p> +<p>It is a melancholy fact that Mr. Twigger having full licence to demand +a single glass of rum on the putting on of every piece of the armour, +got, by some means or other, rather out of his calculation in the hurry +and confusion of preparation, and drank about four glasses to a piece +instead of one, not to mention the something strong which went on the +top of it. Whether the brass armour checked the natural flow of +perspiration, and thus prevented the spirit from evaporating, we are +not scientific enough to know; but, whatever the cause was, Mr. Twigger +no sooner found himself outside the gate of Mudfog Hall, than he also +found himself in a very considerable state of intoxication; and hence +his extraordinary style of progressing. This was bad enough, but, +as if fate and fortune had conspired against Nicholas Tulrumble, Mr. +Twigger, not having been penitent for a good calendar month, took it +into his head to be most especially and particularly sentimental, just +when his repentance could have been most conveniently dispensed with. +Immense tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he was vainly endeavouring +to conceal his grief by applying to his eyes a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief +with white spots,—an article not strictly in keeping with a suit +of armour some three hundred years old, or thereabouts.</p> +<p>‘Twigger, you villain!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, quite +forgetting his dignity, ‘go back.’</p> +<p>‘Never,’ said Ned. ‘I’m a miserable +wretch. I’ll never leave you.’</p> +<p>The by-standers of course received this declaration with acclamations +of ‘That’s right, Ned; don’t!’</p> +<p>‘I don’t intend it,’ said Ned, with all the obstinacy +of a very tipsy man. ‘I’m very unhappy. I’m +the wretched father of an unfortunate family; but I am very faithful, +sir. I’ll never leave you.’ Having reiterated +this obliging promise, Ned proceeded in broken words to harangue the +crowd upon the number of years he had lived in Mudfog, the excessive +respectability of his character, and other topics of the like nature.</p> +<p>‘Here! will anybody lead him away?’ said Nicholas: ‘if +they’ll call on me afterwards, I’ll reward them well.’</p> +<p>Two or three men stepped forward, with the view of bearing Ned off, +when the secretary interposed.</p> +<p>‘Take care! take care!’ said Mr. Jennings. ‘I +beg your pardon, sir; but they’d better not go too near him, because, +if he falls over, he’ll certainly crush somebody.’</p> +<p>At this hint the crowd retired on all sides to a very respectful +distance, and left Ned, like the Duke of Devonshire, in a little circle +of his own.</p> +<p>‘But, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, ‘he’ll +be suffocated.’</p> +<p>‘I’m very sorry for it, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings; +‘but nobody can get that armour off, without his own assistance. +I’m quite certain of it from the way he put it on.’</p> +<p>Here Ned wept dolefully, and shook his helmeted head, in a manner +that might have touched a heart of stone; but the crowd had not hearts +of stone, and they laughed heartily.</p> +<p>‘Dear me, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas, turning pale +at the possibility of Ned’s being smothered in his antique costume—‘Dear +me, Mr. Jennings, can nothing be done with him?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing at all,’ replied Ned, ‘nothing at all. +Gentlemen, I’m an unhappy wretch. I’m a body, gentlemen, +in a brass coffin.’ At this poetical idea of his own conjuring +up, Ned cried so much that the people began to get sympathetic, and +to ask what Nicholas Tulrumble meant by putting a man into such a machine +as that; and one individual in a hairy waistcoat like the top of a trunk, +who had previously expressed his opinion that if Ned hadn’t been +a poor man, Nicholas wouldn’t have dared do it, hinted at the +propriety of breaking the four-wheel chaise, or Nicholas’s head, +or both, which last compound proposition the crowd seemed to consider +a very good notion.</p> +<p>It was not acted upon, however, for it had hardly been broached, +when Ned Twigger’s wife made her appearance abruptly in the little +circle before noticed, and Ned no sooner caught a glimpse of her face +and form, than from the mere force of habit he set off towards his home +just as fast as his legs could carry him; and that was not very quick +in the present instance either, for, however ready they might have been +to carry <i>him</i>, they couldn’t get on very well under the +brass armour. So, Mrs. Twigger had plenty of time to denounce +Nicholas Tulrumble to his face: to express her opinion that he was a +decided monster; and to intimate that, if her ill-used husband sustained +any personal damage from the brass armour, she would have the law of +Nicholas Tulrumble for manslaughter. When she had said all this +with due vehemence, she posted after Ned, who was dragging himself along +as best he could, and deploring his unhappiness in most dismal tones.</p> +<p>What a wailing and screaming Ned’s children raised when he +got home at last! Mrs. Twigger tried to undo the armour, first +in one place, and then in another, but she couldn’t manage it; +so she tumbled Ned into bed, helmet, armour, gauntlets, and all. +Such a creaking as the bedstead made, under Ned’s weight in his +new suit! It didn’t break down though; and there Ned lay, +like the anonymous vessel in the Bay of Biscay, till next day, drinking +barley-water, and looking miserable: and every time he groaned, his +good lady said it served him right, which was all the consolation Ned +Twigger got.</p> +<p>Nicholas Tulrumble and the gorgeous procession went on together to +the town-hall, amid the hisses and groans of all the spectators, who +had suddenly taken it into their heads to consider poor Ned a martyr. +Nicholas was formally installed in his new office, in acknowledgment +of which ceremony he delivered himself of a speech, composed by the +secretary, which was very long, and no doubt very good, only the noise +of the people outside prevented anybody from hearing it, but Nicholas +Tulrumble himself. After which, the procession got back to Mudfog +Hall any how it could; and Nicholas and the corporation sat down to +dinner.</p> +<p>But the dinner was flat, and Nicholas was disappointed. They +were such dull sleepy old fellows, that corporation. Nicholas +made quite as long speeches as the Lord Mayor of London had done, nay, +he said the very same things that the Lord Mayor of London had said, +and the deuce a cheer the corporation gave him. There was only +one man in the party who was thoroughly awake; and he was insolent, +and called him Nick. Nick! What would be the consequence, +thought Nicholas, of anybody presuming to call the Lord Mayor of London +‘Nick!’ He should like to know what the sword-bearer +would say to that; or the recorder, or the toast-master, or any other +of the great officers of the city. They’d nick him.</p> +<p>But these were not the worst of Nicholas Tulrumble’s doings. +If they had been, he might have remained a Mayor to this day, and have +talked till he lost his voice. He contracted a relish for statistics, +and got philosophical; and the statistics and the philosophy together, +led him into an act which increased his unpopularity and hastened his +downfall.</p> +<p>At the very end of the Mudfog High-street, and abutting on the river-side, +stands the Jolly Boatmen, an old-fashioned low-roofed, bay-windowed +house, with a bar, kitchen, and tap-room all in one, and a large fireplace +with a kettle to correspond, round which the working men have congregated +time out of mind on a winter’s night, refreshed by draughts of +good strong beer, and cheered by the sounds of a fiddle and tambourine: +the Jolly Boatmen having been duly licensed by the Mayor and corporation, +to scrape the fiddle and thumb the tambourine from time, whereof the +memory of the oldest inhabitants goeth not to the contrary. Now +Nicholas Tulrumble had been reading pamphlets on crime, and parliamentary +reports,—or had made the secretary read them to him, which is +the same thing in effect,—and he at once perceived that this fiddle +and tambourine must have done more to demoralize Mudfog, than any other +operating causes that ingenuity could imagine. So he read up for +the subject, and determined to come out on the corporation with a burst, +the very next time the licence was applied for.</p> +<p>The licensing day came, and the red-faced landlord of the Jolly Boatmen +walked into the town-hall, looking as jolly as need be, having actually +put on an extra fiddle for that night, to commemorate the anniversary +of the Jolly Boatmen’s music licence. It was applied for +in due form, and was just about to be granted as a matter of course, +when up rose Nicholas Tulrumble, and drowned the astonished corporation +in a torrent of eloquence. He descanted in glowing terms upon +the increasing depravity of his native town of Mudfog, and the excesses +committed by its population. Then, he related how shocked he had +been, to see barrels of beer sliding down into the cellar of the Jolly +Boatmen week after week; and how he had sat at a window opposite the +Jolly Boatmen for two days together, to count the people who went in +for beer between the hours of twelve and one o’clock alone—which, +by-the-bye, was the time at which the great majority of the Mudfog people +dined. Then, he went on to state, how the number of people who +came out with beer-jugs, averaged twenty-one in five minutes, which, +being multiplied by twelve, gave two hundred and fifty-two people with +beer-jugs in an hour, and multiplied again by fifteen (the number of +hours during which the house was open daily) yielded three thousand +seven hundred and eighty people with beer-jugs per day, or twenty-six +thousand four hundred and sixty people with beer-jugs, per week. +Then he proceeded to show that a tambourine and moral degradation were +synonymous terms, and a fiddle and vicious propensities wholly inseparable. +All these arguments he strengthened and demonstrated by frequent references +to a large book with a blue cover, and sundry quotations from the Middlesex +magistrates; and in the end, the corporation, who were posed with the +figures, and sleepy with the speech, and sadly in want of dinner into +the bargain, yielded the palm to Nicholas Tulrumble, and refused the +music licence to the Jolly Boatmen.</p> +<p>But although Nicholas triumphed, his triumph was short. He +carried on the war against beer-jugs and fiddles, forgetting the time +when he was glad to drink out of the one, and to dance to the other, +till the people hated, and his old friends shunned him. He grew +tired of the lonely magnificence of Mudfog Hall, and his heart yearned +towards the Lighterman’s Arms. He wished he had never set +up as a public man, and sighed for the good old times of the coal-shop, +and the chimney corner.</p> +<p>At length old Nicholas, being thoroughly miserable, took heart of +grace, paid the secretary a quarter’s wages in advance, and packed +him off to London by the next coach. Having taken this step, he +put his hat on his head, and his pride in his pocket, and walked down +to the old room at the Lighterman’s Arms. There were only +two of the old fellows there, and they looked coldly on Nicholas as +he proffered his hand.</p> +<p>‘Are you going to put down pipes, Mr. Tulrumble?’ said +one.</p> +<p>‘Or trace the progress of crime to ‘bacca?’ growled +another.</p> +<p>‘Neither,’ replied Nicholas Tulrumble, shaking hands +with them both, whether they would or not. ‘I’ve come +down to say that I’m very sorry for having made a fool of myself, +and that I hope you’ll give me up the old chair, again.’</p> +<p>The old fellows opened their eyes, and three or four more old fellows +opened the door, to whom Nicholas, with tears in his eyes, thrust out +his hand too, and told the same story. They raised a shout of +joy, that made the bells in the ancient church-tower vibrate again, +and wheeling the old chair into the warm corner, thrust old Nicholas +down into it, and ordered in the very largest-sized bowl of hot punch, +with an unlimited number of pipes, directly.</p> +<p>The next day, the Jolly Boatmen got the licence, and the next night, +old Nicholas and Ned Twigger’s wife led off a dance to the music +of the fiddle and tambourine, the tone of which seemed mightily improved +by a little rest, for they never had played so merrily before. +Ned Twigger was in the very height of his glory, and he danced hornpipes, +and balanced chairs on his chin, and straws on his nose, till the whole +company, including the corporation, were in raptures of admiration at +the brilliancy of his acquirements.</p> +<p>Mr. Tulrumble, junior, couldn’t make up his mind to be anything +but magnificent, so he went up to London and drew bills on his father; +and when he had overdrawn, and got into debt, he grew penitent, and +came home again.</p> +<p>As to old Nicholas, he kept his word, and having had six weeks of +public life, never tried it any more. He went to sleep in the +town-hall at the very next meeting; and, in full proof of his sincerity, +has requested us to write this faithful narrative. We wish it +could have the effect of reminding the Tulrumbles of another sphere, +that puffed-up conceit is not dignity, and that snarling at the little +pleasures they were once glad to enjoy, because they would rather forget +the times when they were of lower station, renders them objects of contempt +and ridicule.</p> +<p>This is the first time we have published any of our gleanings from +this particular source. Perhaps, at some future period, we may +venture to open the chronicles of Mudfog.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>FULL REPORT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION FOR THE +ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have made the most unparalleled and extraordinary exertions to +place before our readers a complete and accurate account of the proceedings +at the late grand meeting of the Mudfog Association, holden in the town +of Mudfog; it affords us great happiness to lay the result before them, +in the shape of various communications received from our able, talented, +and graphic correspondent, expressly sent down for the purpose, who +has immortalized us, himself, Mudfog, and the association, all at one +and the same time. We have been, indeed, for some days unable +to determine who will transmit the greatest name to posterity; ourselves, +who sent our correspondent down; our correspondent, who wrote an account +of the matter; or the association, who gave our correspondent something +to write about. We rather incline to the opinion that we are the +greatest man of the party, inasmuch as the notion of an exclusive and +authentic report originated with us; this may be prejudice: it may arise +from a prepossession on our part in our own favour. Be it so. +We have no doubt that every gentleman concerned in this mighty assemblage +is troubled with the same complaint in a greater or less degree; and +it is a consolation to us to know that we have at least this feeling +in common with the great scientific stars, the brilliant and extraordinary +luminaries, whose speculations we record.</p> +<p>We give our correspondent’s letters in the order in which they +reached us. Any attempt at amalgamating them into one beautiful +whole, would only destroy that glowing tone, that dash of wildness, +and rich vein of picturesque interest, which pervade them throughout.</p> +<p><i>‘Mudfog, Monday night, seven o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘We are in a state of great excitement here. Nothing +is spoken of, but the approaching meeting of the association. +The inn-doors are thronged with waiters anxiously looking for the expected +arrivals; and the numerous bills which are wafered up in the windows +of private houses, intimating that there are beds to let within, give +the streets a very animated and cheerful appearance, the wafers being +of a great variety of colours, and the monotony of printed inscriptions +being relieved by every possible size and style of hand-writing. +It is confidently rumoured that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy have +engaged three beds and a sitting-room at the Pig and Tinder-box. +I give you the rumour as it has reached me; but I cannot, as yet, vouch +for its accuracy. The moment I have been enabled to obtain any +certain information upon this interesting point, you may depend upon +receiving it.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past seven.</i></p> +<p>I have just returned from a personal interview with the landlord +of the Pig and Tinder-box. He speaks confidently of the probability +of Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy taking up their residence at his +house during the sitting of the association, but denies that the beds +have been yet engaged; in which representation he is confirmed by the +chambermaid—a girl of artless manners, and interesting appearance. +The boots denies that it is at all likely that Professors Snore, Doze, +and Wheezy will put up here; but I have reason to believe that this +man has been suborned by the proprietor of the Original Pig, which is +the opposition hotel. Amidst such conflicting testimony it is +difficult to arrive at the real truth; but you may depend upon receiving +authentic information upon this point the moment the fact is ascertained. +The excitement still continues. A boy fell through the window +of the pastrycook’s shop at the corner of the High-street about +half an hour ago, which has occasioned much confusion. The general +impression is, that it was an accident. Pray heaven it may prove +so!’</p> +<p><i>‘Tuesday, noon.</i></p> +<p>‘At an early hour this morning the bells of all the churches +struck seven o’clock; the effect of which, in the present lively +state of the town, was extremely singular. While I was at breakfast, +a yellow gig, drawn by a dark grey horse, with a patch of white over +his right eyelid, proceeded at a rapid pace in the direction of the +Original Pig stables; it is currently reported that this gentleman has +arrived here for the purpose of attending the association, and, from +what I have heard, I consider it extremely probable, although nothing +decisive is yet known regarding him. You may conceive the anxiety +with which we are all looking forward to the arrival of the four o’clock +coach this afternoon.</p> +<p>‘Notwithstanding the excited state of the populace, no outrage +has yet been committed, owing to the admirable discipline and discretion +of the police, who are nowhere to be seen. A barrel-organ is playing +opposite my window, and groups of people, offering fish and vegetables +for sale, parade the streets. With these exceptions everything +is quiet, and I trust will continue so.’</p> +<p><i>‘Five o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘It is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Professors Snore, +Doze, and Wheezy will <i>not</i> repair to the Pig and Tinder-box, but +have actually engaged apartments at the Original Pig. This intelligence +is <i>exclusive</i>; and I leave you and your readers to draw their +own inferences from it. Why Professor Wheezy, of all people in +the world, should repair to the Original Pig in preference to the Pig +and Tinder-box, it is not easy to conceive. The professor is a +man who should be above all such petty feelings. Some people here +openly impute treachery, and a distinct breach of faith to Professors +Snore and Doze; while others, again, are disposed to acquit them of +any culpability in the transaction, and to insinuate that the blame +rests solely with Professor Wheezy. I own that I incline to the +latter opinion; and although it gives me great pain to speak in terms +of censure or disapprobation of a man of such transcendent genius and +acquirements, still I am bound to say that, if my suspicions be well +founded, and if all the reports which have reached my ears be true, +I really do not well know what to make of the matter.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Slug, so celebrated for his statistical researches, arrived +this afternoon by the four o’clock stage. His complexion +is a dark purple, and he has a habit of sighing constantly. He +looked extremely well, and appeared in high health and spirits. +Mr. Woodensconce also came down in the same conveyance. The distinguished +gentleman was fast asleep on his arrival, and I am informed by the guard +that he had been so the whole way. He was, no doubt, preparing +for his approaching fatigues; but what gigantic visions must those be +that flit through the brain of such a man when his body is in a state +of torpidity!</p> +<p>‘The influx of visitors increases every moment. I am +told (I know not how truly) that two post-chaises have arrived at the +Original Pig within the last half-hour, and I myself observed a wheelbarrow, +containing three carpet bags and a bundle, entering the yard of the +Pig and Tinder-box no longer ago than five minutes since. The +people are still quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations; but there +is a wildness in their eyes, and an unwonted rigidity in the muscles +of their countenances, which shows to the observant spectator that their +expectations are strained to the very utmost pitch. I fear, unless +some very extraordinary arrivals take place to-night, that consequences +may arise from this popular ferment, which every man of sense and feeling +would deplore.’</p> +<p><i>‘Twenty minutes past six.</i></p> +<p>‘I have just heard that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s +window last night has died of the fright. He was suddenly called +upon to pay three and sixpence for the damage done, and his constitution, +it seems, was not strong enough to bear up against the shock. +The inquest, it is said, will be held to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Three-quarters part seven.</i></p> +<p>‘Professors Muff and Nogo have just driven up to the hotel +door; they at once ordered dinner with great condescension. We +are all very much delighted with the urbanity of their manners, and +the ease with which they adapt themselves to the forms and ceremonies +of ordinary life. Immediately on their arrival they sent for the +head waiter, and privately requested him to purchase a live dog,—as +cheap a one as he could meet with,—and to send him up after dinner, +with a pie-board, a knife and fork, and a clean plate. It is conjectured +that some experiments will be tried upon the dog to-night; if any particulars +should transpire, I will forward them by express.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past eight.</i></p> +<p>‘The animal has been procured. He is a pug-dog, of rather +intelligent appearance, in good condition, and with very short legs. +He has been tied to a curtain-peg in a dark room, and is howling dreadfully.’</p> +<p><i>‘Ten minutes to nine.</i></p> +<p>‘The dog has just been rung for. With an instinct which +would appear almost the result of reason, the sagacious animal seized +the waiter by the calf of the leg when he approached to take him, and +made a desperate, though ineffectual resistance. I have not been +able to procure admission to the apartment occupied by the scientific +gentlemen; but, judging from the sounds which reached my ears when I +stood upon the landing-place outside the door, just now, I should be +disposed to say that the dog had retreated growling beneath some article +of furniture, and was keeping the professors at bay. This conjecture +is confirmed by the testimony of the ostler, who, after peeping through +the keyhole, assures me that he distinctly saw Professor Nogo on his +knees, holding forth a small bottle of prussic acid, to which the animal, +who was crouched beneath an arm-chair, obstinately declined to smell. +You cannot imagine the feverish state of irritation we are in, lest +the interests of science should be sacrificed to the prejudices of a +brute creature, who is not endowed with sufficient sense to foresee +the incalculable benefits which the whole human race may derive from +so very slight a concession on his part.’</p> +<p><i>‘Nine o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘The dog’s tail and ears have been sent down-stairs to +be washed; from which circumstance we infer that the animal is no more. +His forelegs have been delivered to the boots to be brushed, which strengthens +the supposition.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half after ten.</i></p> +<p>‘My feelings are so overpowered by what has taken place in +the course of the last hour and a half, that I have scarcely strength +to detail the rapid succession of events which have quite bewildered +all those who are cognizant of their occurrence. It appears that +the pug-dog mentioned in my last was surreptitiously obtained,—stolen, +in fact,—by some person attached to the stable department, from +an unmarried lady resident in this town. Frantic on discovering +the loss of her favourite, the lady rushed distractedly into the street, +calling in the most heart-rending and pathetic manner upon the passengers +to restore her, her Augustus,—for so the deceased was named, in +affectionate remembrance of a former lover of his mistress, to whom +he bore a striking personal resemblance, which renders the circumstances +additionally affecting. I am not yet in a condition to inform +you what circumstance induced the bereaved lady to direct her steps +to the hotel which had witnessed the last struggles of her <i>protégé</i>. +I can only state that she arrived there, at the very instant when his +detached members were passing through the passage on a small tray. +Her shrieks still reverberate in my ears! I grieve to say that +the expressive features of Professor Muff were much scratched and lacerated +by the injured lady; and that Professor Nogo, besides sustaining several +severe bites, has lost some handfuls of hair from the same cause. +It must be some consolation to these gentlemen to know that their ardent +attachment to scientific pursuits has alone occasioned these unpleasant +consequences; for which the sympathy of a grateful country will sufficiently +reward them. The unfortunate lady remains at the Pig and Tinder-box, +and up to this time is reported in a very precarious state.</p> +<p>‘I need scarcely tell you that this unlooked-for catastrophe +has cast a damp and gloom upon us in the midst of our exhilaration; +natural in any case, but greatly enhanced in this, by the amiable qualities +of the deceased animal, who appears to have been much and deservedly +respected by the whole of his acquaintance.’</p> +<p><i>‘Twelve o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘I take the last opportunity before sealing my parcel to inform +you that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window is not +dead, as was universally believed, but alive and well. The report +appears to have had its origin in his mysterious disappearance. +He was found half an hour since on the premises of a sweet-stuff maker, +where a raffle had been announced for a second-hand seal-skin cap and +a tambourine; and where—a sufficient number of members not having +been obtained at first—he had patiently waited until the list +was completed. This fortunate discovery has in some degree restored +our gaiety and cheerfulness. It is proposed to get up a subscription +for him without delay.</p> +<p>‘Everybody is nervously anxious to see what to-morrow will +bring forth. If any one should arrive in the course of the night, +I have left strict directions to be called immediately. I should +have sat up, indeed, but the agitating events of this day have been +too much for me.</p> +<p>‘No news yet of either of the Professors Snore, Doze, or Wheezy. +It is very strange!’</p> +<p><i>‘Wednesday afternoon.</i></p> +<p>‘All is now over; and, upon one point at least, I am at length +enabled to set the minds of your readers at rest. The three professors +arrived at ten minutes after two o’clock, and, instead of taking +up their quarters at the Original Pig, as it was universally understood +in the course of yesterday that they would assuredly have done, drove +straight to the Pig and Tinder-box, where they threw off the mask at +once, and openly announced their intention of remaining. Professor +Wheezy may reconcile this very extraordinary conduct with <i>his</i> +notions of fair and equitable dealing, but I would recommend Professor +Wheezy to be cautious how he presumes too far upon his well-earned reputation. +How such a man as Professor Snore, or, which is still more extraordinary, +such an individual as Professor Doze, can quietly allow himself to be +mixed up with such proceedings as these, you will naturally inquire. +Upon this head, rumour is silent; I have my speculations, but forbear +to give utterance to them just now.’</p> +<p><i>‘Four o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘The town is filling fast; eighteenpence has been offered for +a bed and refused. Several gentlemen were under the necessity +last night of sleeping in the brick fields, and on the steps of doors, +for which they were taken before the magistrates in a body this morning, +and committed to prison as vagrants for various terms. One of +these persons I understand to be a highly-respectable tinker, of great +practical skill, who had forwarded a paper to the President of Section +D. Mechanical Science, on the construction of pipkins with copper bottoms +and safety-values, of which report speaks highly. The incarceration +of this gentleman is greatly to be regretted, as his absence will preclude +any discussion on the subject.</p> +<p>‘The bills are being taken down in all directions, and lodgings +are being secured on almost any terms. I have heard of fifteen +shillings a week for two rooms, exclusive of coals and attendance, but +I can scarcely believe it. The excitement is dreadful. I +was informed this morning that the civil authorities, apprehensive of +some outbreak of popular feeling, had commanded a recruiting sergeant +and two corporals to be under arms; and that, with the view of not irritating +the people unnecessarily by their presence, they had been requested +to take up their position before daybreak in a turnpike, distant about +a quarter of a mile from the town. The vigour and promptness of +these measures cannot be too highly extolled.</p> +<p>‘Intelligence has just been brought me, that an elderly female, +in a state of inebriety, has declared in the open street her intention +to “do” for Mr. Slug. Some statistical returns compiled +by that gentleman, relative to the consumption of raw spirituous liquors +in this place, are supposed to be the cause of the wretch’s animosity. +It is added that this declaration was loudly cheered by a crowd of persons +who had assembled on the spot; and that one man had the boldness to +designate Mr. Slug aloud by the opprobrious epithet of “Stick-in-the-mud!” +It is earnestly to be hoped that now, when the moment has arrived for +their interference, the magistrates will not shrink from the exercise +of that power which is vested in them by the constitution of our common +country.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past ten.</i></p> +<p>‘The disturbance, I am happy to inform you, has been completely +quelled, and the ringleader taken into custody. She had a pail +of cold water thrown over her, previous to being locked up, and expresses +great contrition and uneasiness. We are all in a fever of anticipation +about to-morrow; but, now that we are within a few hours of the meeting +of the association, and at last enjoy the proud consciousness of having +its illustrious members amongst us, I trust and hope everything may +go off peaceably. I shall send you a full report of to-morrow’s +proceedings by the night coach.’</p> +<p><i>‘Eleven o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘I open my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred +since I folded it up.’</p> +<p><i>‘Thursday.</i></p> +<p>‘The sun rose this morning at the usual hour. I did not +observe anything particular in the aspect of the glorious planet, except +that he appeared to me (it might have been a delusion of my heightened +fancy) to shine with more than common brilliancy, and to shed a refulgent +lustre upon the town, such as I had never observed before. This +is the more extraordinary, as the sky was perfectly cloudless, and the +atmosphere peculiarly fine. At half-past nine o’clock the +general committee assembled, with the last year’s president in +the chair. The report of the council was read; and one passage, +which stated that the council had corresponded with no less than three +thousand five hundred and seventy-one persons, (all of whom paid their +own postage,) on no fewer than seven thousand two hundred and forty-three +topics, was received with a degree of enthusiasm which no efforts could +suppress. The various committees and sections having been appointed, +and the more formal business transacted, the great proceedings of the +meeting commenced at eleven o’clock precisely. I had the +happiness of occupying a most eligible position at that time, in</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY.<br />GREAT ROOM, PIG +AND TINDER-BOX.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President—</i>Professor Snore. <i>Vice-Presidents—</i>Professors +Doze and Wheezy.</p> +<p>‘The scene at this moment was particularly striking. +The sun streamed through the windows of the apartments, and tinted the +whole scene with its brilliant rays, bringing out in strong relief the +noble visages of the professors and scientific gentlemen, who, some +with bald heads, some with red heads, some with brown heads, some with +grey heads, some with black heads, some with block heads, presented +a <i>coup d’oeil</i> which no eye-witness will readily forget. +In front of these gentlemen were papers and inkstands; and round the +room, on elevated benches extending as far as the forms could reach, +were assembled a brilliant concourse of those lovely and elegant women +for which Mudfog is justly acknowledged to be without a rival in the +whole world. The contrast between their fair faces and the dark +coats and trousers of the scientific gentlemen I shall never cease to +remember while Memory holds her seat.</p> +<p>‘Time having been allowed for a slight confusion, occasioned +by the falling down of the greater part of the platforms, to subside, +the president called on one of the secretaries to read a communication +entitled, “Some remarks on the industrious fleas, with considerations +on the importance of establishing infant-schools among that numerous +class of society; of directing their industry to useful and practical +ends; and of applying the surplus fruits thereof, towards providing +for them a comfortable and respectable maintenance in their old age.”</p> +<p>‘The author stated, that, having long turned his attention +to the moral and social condition of these interesting animals, he had +been induced to visit an exhibition in Regent-street, London, commonly +known by the designation of “The Industrious Fleas.” +He had there seen many fleas, occupied certainly in various pursuits +and avocations, but occupied, he was bound to add, in a manner which +no man of well-regulated mind could fail to regard with sorrow and regret. +One flea, reduced to the level of a beast of burden, was drawing about +a miniature gig, containing a particularly small effigy of His Grace +the Duke of Wellington; while another was staggering beneath the weight +of a golden model of his great adversary Napoleon Bonaparte. Some, +brought up as mountebanks and ballet-dancers, were performing a figure-dance +(he regretted to observe, that, of the fleas so employed, several were +females); others were in training, in a small card-board box, for pedestrians,—mere +sporting characters—and two were actually engaged in the cold-blooded +and barbarous occupation of duelling; a pursuit from which humanity +recoiled with horror and disgust. He suggested that measures should +be immediately taken to employ the labour of these fleas as part and +parcel of the productive power of the country, which might easily be +done by the establishment among them of infant schools and houses of +industry, in which a system of virtuous education, based upon sound +principles, should be observed, and moral precepts strictly inculcated. +He proposed that every flea who presumed to exhibit, for hire, music, +or dancing, or any species of theatrical entertainment, without a licence, +should be considered a vagabond, and treated accordingly; in which respect +he only placed him upon a level with the rest of mankind. He would +further suggest that their labour should be placed under the control +and regulation of the state, who should set apart from the profits, +a fund for the support of superannuated or disabled fleas, their widows +and orphans. With this view, he proposed that liberal premiums +should be offered for the three best designs for a general almshouse; +from which—as insect architecture was well known to be in a very +advanced and perfect state—we might possibly derive many valuable +hints for the improvement of our metropolitan universities, national +galleries, and other public edifices.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to be informed how the ingenious gentleman +proposed to open a communication with fleas generally, in the first +instance, so that they might be thoroughly imbued with a sense of the +advantages they must necessarily derive from changing their mode of +life, and applying themselves to honest labour. This appeared +to him, the only difficulty.</p> +<p>‘THE AUTHOR submitted that this difficulty was easily overcome, +or rather that there was no difficulty at all in the case. Obviously +the course to be pursued, if Her Majesty’s government could be +prevailed upon to take up the plan, would be, to secure at a remunerative +salary the individual to whom he had alluded as presiding over the exhibition +in Regent-street at the period of his visit. That gentleman would +at once be able to put himself in communication with the mass of the +fleas, and to instruct them in pursuance of some general plan of education, +to be sanctioned by Parliament, until such time as the more intelligent +among them were advanced enough to officiate as teachers to the rest.</p> +<p>‘The President and several members of the section highly complimented +the author of the paper last read, on his most ingenious and important +treatise. It was determined that the subject should be recommended +to the immediate consideration of the council.</p> +<p>‘MR. WIGSBY produced a cauliflower somewhat larger than a chaise-umbrella, +which had been raised by no other artificial means than the simple application +of highly carbonated soda-water as manure. He explained that by +scooping out the head, which would afford a new and delicious species +of nourishment for the poor, a parachute, in principle something similar +to that constructed by M. Garnerin, was at once obtained; the stalk +of course being kept downwards. He added that he was perfectly +willing to make a descent from a height of not less than three miles +and a quarter; and had in fact already proposed the same to the proprietors +of Vauxhall Gardens, who in the handsomest manner at once consented +to his wishes, and appointed an early day next summer for the undertaking; +merely stipulating that the rim of the cauliflower should be previously +broken in three or four places to ensure the safety of the descent.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT congratulated the public on the <i>grand gala</i> +in store for them, and warmly eulogised the proprietors of the establishment +alluded to, for their love of science, and regard for the safety of +human life, both of which did them the highest honour.</p> +<p>‘A Member wished to know how many thousand additional lamps +the royal property would be illuminated with, on the night after the +descent.</p> +<p>‘MR. WIGSBY replied that the point was not yet finally decided; +but he believed it was proposed, over and above the ordinary illuminations, +to exhibit in various devices eight millions and a-half of additional +lamps.</p> +<p>‘The Member expressed himself much gratified with this announcement.</p> +<p>‘MR. BLUNDERUM delighted the section with a most interesting +and valuable paper “on the last moments of the learned pig,” +which produced a very strong impression on the assembly, the account +being compiled from the personal recollections of his favourite attendant. +The account stated in the most emphatic terms that the animal’s +name was not Toby, but Solomon; and distinctly proved that he could +have no near relatives in the profession, as many designing persons +had falsely stated, inasmuch as his father, mother, brothers and sisters, +had all fallen victims to the butcher at different times. An uncle +of his indeed, had with very great labour been traced to a sty in Somers +Town; but as he was in a very infirm state at the time, being afflicted +with measles, and shortly afterwards disappeared, there appeared too +much reason to conjecture that he had been converted into sausages. +The disorder of the learned pig was originally a severe cold, which, +being aggravated by excessive trough indulgence, finally settled upon +the lungs, and terminated in a general decay of the constitution. +A melancholy instance of a presentiment entertained by the animal of +his approaching dissolution, was recorded. After gratifying a +numerous and fashionable company with his performances, in which no +falling off whatever was visible, he fixed his eyes on the biographer, +and, turning to the watch which lay on the floor, and on which he was +accustomed to point out the hour, deliberately passed his snout twice +round the dial. In precisely four-and-twenty hours from that time +he had ceased to exist!</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR WHEEZY inquired whether, previous to his demise, +the animal had expressed, by signs or otherwise, any wishes regarding +the disposal of his little property.</p> +<p>‘MR. BLUNDERUM replied, that, when the biographer took up the +pack of cards at the conclusion of the performance, the animal grunted +several times in a significant manner, and nodding his head as he was +accustomed to do, when gratified. From these gestures it was understood +that he wished the attendant to keep the cards, which he had ever since +done. He had not expressed any wish relative to his watch, which +had accordingly been pawned by the same individual.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know whether any Member of the section +had ever seen or conversed with the pig-faced lady, who was reported +to have worn a black velvet mask, and to have taken her meals from a +golden trough.</p> +<p>‘After some hesitation a Member replied that the pig-faced +lady was his mother-in-law, and that he trusted the President would +not violate the sanctity of private life.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT begged pardon. He had considered the pig-faced +lady a public character. Would the honourable member object to +state, with a view to the advancement of science, whether she was in +any way connected with the learned pig?</p> +<p>‘The Member replied in the same low tone, that, as the question +appeared to involve a suspicion that the learned pig might be his half-brother, +he must decline answering it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION B.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE.<br />COACH-HOUSE, PIG +AND TINDER-BOX.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Dr. Toorell. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Professors +Muff and Nogo.</p> +<p>DR. KUTANKUMAGEN (of Moscow) read to the section a report of a case +which had occurred within his own practice, strikingly illustrative +of the power of medicine, as exemplified in his successful treatment +of a virulent disorder. He had been called in to visit the patient +on the 1st of April, 1837. He was then labouring under symptoms +peculiarly alarming to any medical man. His frame was stout and +muscular, his step firm and elastic, his cheeks plump and red, his voice +loud, his appetite good, his pulse full and round. He was in the +constant habit of eating three meals <i>per</i> <i>diem</i>, and of +drinking at least one bottle of wine, and one glass of spirituous liquors +diluted with water, in the course of the four-and-twenty hours. +He laughed constantly, and in so hearty a manner that it was terrible +to hear him. By dint of powerful medicine, low diet, and bleeding, +the symptoms in the course of three days perceptibly decreased. +A rigid perseverance in the same course of treatment for only one week, +accompanied with small doses of water-gruel, weak broth, and barley-water, +led to their entire disappearance. In the course of a month he +was sufficiently recovered to be carried down-stairs by two nurses, +and to enjoy an airing in a close carriage, supported by soft pillows. +At the present moment he was restored so far as to walk about, with +the slight assistance of a crutch and a boy. It would perhaps +be gratifying to the section to learn that he ate little, drank little, +slept little, and was never heard to laugh by any accident whatever.</p> +<p>‘DR. W. R. FEE, in complimenting the honourable member upon +the triumphant cure he had effected, begged to ask whether the patient +still bled freely?</p> +<p>‘DR. KUTANKUMAGEN replied in the affirmative.</p> +<p>‘DR. W. R. FEE.—And you found that he bled freely during +the whole course of the disorder?</p> +<p>‘DR. KUTANKUMAGEN.—Oh dear, yes; most freely.</p> +<p>‘DR. NEESHAWTS supposed, that if the patient had not submitted +to be bled with great readiness and perseverance, so extraordinary a +cure could never, in fact, have been accomplished. Dr. Kutankumagen +rejoined, certainly not.</p> +<p>‘MR. KNIGHT BELL (M.R.C.S.) exhibited a wax preparation of +the interior of a gentleman who in early life had inadvertently swallowed +a door-key. It was a curious fact that a medical student of dissipated +habits, being present at the <i>post mortem</i> examination, found means +to escape unobserved from the room, with that portion of the coats of +the stomach upon which an exact model of the instrument was distinctly +impressed, with which he hastened to a locksmith of doubtful character, +who made a new key from the pattern so shown to him. With this +key the medical student entered the house of the deceased gentleman, +and committed a burglary to a large amount, for which he was subsequently +tried and executed.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know what became of the original key +after the lapse of years. Mr. Knight Bell replied that the gentleman +was always much accustomed to punch, and it was supposed the acid had +gradually devoured it.</p> +<p>‘DR. NEESHAWTS and several of the members were of opinion that +the key must have lain very cold and heavy upon the gentleman’s +stomach.</p> +<p>‘MR. KNIGHT BELL believed it did at first. It was worthy +of remark, perhaps, that for some years the gentleman was troubled with +a night-mare, under the influence of which he always imagined himself +a wine-cellar door.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR MUFF related a very extraordinary and convincing +proof of the wonderful efficacy of the system of infinitesimal doses, +which the section were doubtless aware was based upon the theory that +the very minutest amount of any given drug, properly dispersed through +the human frame, would be productive of precisely the same result as +a very large dose administered in the usual manner. Thus, the +fortieth part of a grain of calomel was supposed to be equal to a five-grain +calomel pill, and so on in proportion throughout the whole range of +medicine. He had tried the experiment in a curious manner upon +a publican who had been brought into the hospital with a broken head, +and was cured upon the infinitesimal system in the incredibly short +space of three months. This man was a hard drinker. He (Professor +Muff) had dispersed three drops of rum through a bucket of water, and +requested the man to drink the whole. What was the result? +Before he had drunk a quart, he was in a state of beastly intoxication; +and five other men were made dead drunk with the remainder.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know whether an infinitesimal dose +of soda-water would have recovered them? Professor Muff replied +that the twenty-fifth part of a teaspoonful, properly administered to +each patient, would have sobered him immediately. The President +remarked that this was a most important discovery, and he hoped the +Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen would patronize it immediately.</p> +<p>‘A Member begged to be informed whether it would be possible +to administer—say, the twentieth part of a grain of bread and +cheese to all grown-up paupers, and the fortieth part to children, with +the same satisfying effect as their present allowance.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR MUFF was willing to stake his professional reputation +on the perfect adequacy of such a quantity of food to the support of +human life—in workhouses; the addition of the fifteenth part of +a grain of pudding twice a week would render it a high diet.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR NOGO called the attention of the section to a very +extraordinary case of animal magnetism. A private watchman, being +merely looked at by the operator from the opposite side of a wide street, +was at once observed to be in a very drowsy and languid state. +He was followed to his box, and being once slightly rubbed on the palms +of the hands, fell into a sound sleep, in which he continued without +intermission for ten hours.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION C.—STATISTICS.<br />HAY-LOFT, ORIGINAL PIG.</p> +<p><i>President</i>—Mr. Woodensconce. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Mr. +Ledbrain and Mr. Timbered.</p> +<p>‘MR. SLUG stated to the section the result of some calculations +he had made with great difficulty and labour, regarding the state of +infant education among the middle classes of London. He found +that, within a circle of three miles from the Elephant and Castle, the +following were the names and numbers of children’s books principally +in circulation:-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<pre>‘Jack the Giant-killer 7,943 +Ditto and Bean-stalk 8,621 +Ditto and Eleven Brothers 2,845 +Ditto and Jill 1,998 +Total 21,407</pre> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip +Quarlls was as four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of +Valentine and Orsons over Goody Two Shoeses was as three and an eighth +of the former to half a one of the latter; a comparison of Seven Champions +with Simple Simons gave the same result. The ignorance that prevailed, +was lamentable. One child, on being asked whether he would rather +be Saint George of England or a respectable tallow-chandler, instantly +replied, “Taint George of Ingling.” Another, a little +boy of eight years old, was found to be firmly impressed with a belief +in the existence of dragons, and openly stated that it was his intention +when he grew up, to rush forth sword in hand for the deliverance of +captive princesses, and the promiscuous slaughter of giants. Not +one child among the number interrogated had ever heard of Mungo Park,—some +inquiring whether he was at all connected with the black man that swept +the crossing; and others whether he was in any way related to the Regent’s +Park. They had not the slightest conception of the commonest principles +of mathematics, and considered Sindbad the Sailor the most enterprising +voyager that the world had ever produced.</p> +<p>‘A Member strongly deprecating the use of all the other books +mentioned, suggested that Jack and Jill might perhaps be exempted from +the general censure, inasmuch as the hero and heroine, in the very outset +of the tale, were depicted as going <i>up</i> a hill to fetch a pail +of water, which was a laborious and useful occupation,—supposing +the family linen was being washed, for instance.</p> +<p>‘MR. SLUG feared that the moral effect of this passage was +more than counterbalanced by another in a subsequent part of the poem, +in which very gross allusion was made to the mode in which the heroine +was personally chastised by her mother</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“‘For laughing at Jack’s disaster;”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>besides, the whole work had this one great fault, <i>it was not true.</i></p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT complimented the honourable member on the excellent +distinction he had drawn. Several other Members, too, dwelt upon +the immense and urgent necessity of storing the minds of children with +nothing but facts and figures; which process the President very forcibly +remarked, had made them (the section) the men they were.</p> +<p>‘MR. SLUG then stated some curious calculations respecting +the dogs’-meat barrows of London. He found that the total +number of small carts and barrows engaged in dispensing provision to +the cats and dogs of the metropolis was, one thousand seven hundred +and forty-three. The average number of skewers delivered daily +with the provender, by each dogs’-meat cart or barrow, was thirty-six. +Now, multiplying the number of skewers so delivered by the number of +barrows, a total of sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight +skewers daily would be obtained. Allowing that, of these sixty-two +thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers, the odd two thousand +seven hundred and forty-eight were accidentally devoured with the meat, +by the most voracious of the animals supplied, it followed that sixty +thousand skewers per day, or the enormous number of twenty-one millions +nine hundred thousand skewers annually, were wasted in the kennels and +dustholes of London; which, if collected and warehoused, would in ten +years’ time afford a mass of timber more than sufficient for the +construction of a first-rate vessel of war for the use of her Majesty’s +navy, to be called “The Royal Skewer,” and to become under +that name the terror of all the enemies of this island.</p> +<p>‘MR. X. LEDBRAIN read a very ingenious communication, from +which it appeared that the total number of legs belonging to the manufacturing +population of one great town in Yorkshire was, in round numbers, forty +thousand, while the total number of chair and stool legs in their houses +was only thirty thousand, which, upon the very favourable average of +three legs to a seat, yielded only ten thousand seats in all. +From this calculation it would appear,—not taking wooden or cork +legs into the account, but allowing two legs to every person,—that +ten thousand individuals (one-half of the whole population) were either +destitute of any rest for their legs at all, or passed the whole of +their leisure time in sitting upon boxes.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION D.—MECHANICAL SCIENCE.<br />COACH-HOUSE, ORIGINAL +PIG.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Mr. Carter. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Mr. +Truck and Mr. Waghorn.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK exhibited an elegant model of a portable +railway, neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. +By attaching this beautiful instrument to his boots, any Bank or public-office +clerk could transport himself from his place of residence to his place +of business, at the easy rate of sixty-five miles an hour, which, to +gentlemen of sedentary pursuits, would be an incalculable advantage.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary +to have a level surface on which the gentleman was to run.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK explained that City gentlemen would run +in trains, being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or unpleasantness. +For instance, trains would start every morning at eight, nine, and ten +o’clock, from Camden Town, Islington, Camberwell, Hackney, and +various other places in which City gentlemen are accustomed to reside. +It would be necessary to have a level, but he had provided for this +difficulty by proposing that the best line that the circumstances would +admit of, should be taken through the sewers which undermine the streets +of the metropolis, and which, well lighted by jets from the gas pipes +which run immediately above them, would form a pleasant and commodious +arcade, especially in winter-time, when the inconvenient custom of carrying +umbrellas, now so general, could be wholly dispensed with. In +reply to another question, Professor Queerspeck stated that no substitute +for the purposes to which these arcades were at present devoted had +yet occurred to him, but that he hoped no fanciful objection on this +head would be allowed to interfere with so great an undertaking.</p> +<p>‘MR. JOBBA produced a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for +bringing joint-stock railway shares prematurely to a premium. +The instrument was in the form of an elegant gilt weather-glass, of +most dazzling appearance, and was worked behind, by strings, after the +manner of a pantomime trick, the strings being always pulled by the +directors of the company to which the machine belonged. The quicksilver +was so ingeniously placed, that when the acting directors held shares +in their pockets, figures denoting very small expenses and very large +returns appeared upon the glass; but the moment the directors parted +with these pieces of paper, the estimate of needful expenditure suddenly +increased itself to an immense extent, while the statements of certain +profits became reduced in the same proportion. Mr. Jobba stated +that the machine had been in constant requisition for some months past, +and he had never once known it to fail.</p> +<p>‘A Member expressed his opinion that it was extremely neat +and pretty. He wished to know whether it was not liable to accidental +derangement? Mr. Jobba said that the whole machine was undoubtedly +liable to be blown up, but that was the only objection to it.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR NOGO arrived from the anatomical section to exhibit +a model of a safety fire-escape, which could be fixed at any time, in +less than half an hour, and by means of which, the youngest or most +infirm persons (successfully resisting the progress of the flames until +it was quite ready) could be preserved if they merely balanced themselves +for a few minutes on the sill of their bedroom window, and got into +the escape without falling into the street. The Professor stated +that the number of boys who had been rescued in the daytime by this +machine from houses which were not on fire, was almost incredible. +Not a conflagration had occurred in the whole of London for many months +past to which the escape had not been carried on the very next day, +and put in action before a concourse of persons.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT inquired whether there was not some difficulty +in ascertaining which was the top of the machine, and which the bottom, +in cases of pressing emergency.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR NOGO explained that of course it could not be expected +to act quite as well when there was a fire, as when there was not a +fire; but in the former case he thought it would be of equal service +whether the top were up or down.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>With the last section our correspondent concludes his most able and +faithful Report, which will never cease to reflect credit upon him for +his scientific attainments, and upon us for our enterprising spirit. +It is needless to take a review of the subjects which have been discussed; +of the mode in which they have been examined; of the great truths which +they have elicited. They are now before the world, and we leave +them to read, to consider, and to profit.</p> +<p>The place of meeting for next year has undergone discussion, and +has at length been decided, regard being had to, and evidence being +taken upon, the goodness of its wines, the supply of its markets, the +hospitality of its inhabitants, and the quality of its hotels. +We hope at this next meeting our correspondent may again be present, +and that we may be once more the means of placing his communications +before the world. Until that period we have been prevailed upon +to allow this number of our Miscellany to be retailed to the public, +or wholesaled to the trade, without any advance upon our usual price.</p> +<p>We have only to add, that the committees are now broken up, and that +Mudfog is once again restored to its accustomed tranquillity,—that +Professors and Members have had balls, and <i>soirées</i>, and +suppers, and great mutual complimentations, and have at length dispersed +to their several homes,—whither all good wishes and joys attend +them, until next year!</p> +<p>Signed BOZ.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>FULL REPORT OF THE SECOND MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION FOR +THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In October last, we did ourselves the immortal credit of recording, +at an enormous expense, and by dint of exertions unnpralleled in the +history of periodical publication, the proceedings of the Mudfog Association +for the Advancement of Everything, which in that month held its first +great half-yearly meeting, to the wonder and delight of the whole empire. +We announced at the conclusion of that extraordinary and most remarkable +Report, that when the Second Meeting of the Society should take place, +we should be found again at our post, renewing our gigantic and spirited +endeavours, and once more making the world ring with the accuracy, authenticity, +immeasurable superiority, and intense remarkability of our account of +its proceedings. In redemption of this pledge, we caused to be +despatched per steam to Oldcastle (at which place this second meeting +of the Society was held on the 20th instant), the same superhumanly-endowed +gentleman who furnished the former report, and who,—gifted by +nature with transcendent abilities, and furnished by us with a body +of assistants scarcely inferior to himself,—has forwarded a series +of letters, which, for faithfulness of description, power of language, +fervour of thought, happiness of expression, and importance of subject-matter, +have no equal in the epistolary literature of any age or country. +We give this gentleman’s correspondence entire, and in the order +in which it reached our office.</p> +<p><i>‘Saloon of Steamer, Thursday night, half-past eight.</i></p> +<p>‘When I left New Burlington Street this evening in the hackney +cabriolet, number four thousand two hundred and eighty-five, I experienced +sensations as novel as they were oppressive. A sense of the importance +of the task I had undertaken, a consciousness that I was leaving London, +and, stranger still, going somewhere else, a feeling of loneliness and +a sensation of jolting, quite bewildered my thoughts, and for a time +rendered me even insensible to the presence of my carpet-bag and hat-box. +I shall ever feel grateful to the driver of a Blackwall omnibus who, +by thrusting the pole of his vehicle through the small door of the cabriolet, +awakened me from a tumult of imaginings that are wholly indescribable. +But of such materials is our imperfect nature composed!</p> +<p>‘I am happy to say that I am the first passenger on board, +and shall thus be enabled to give you an account of all that happens +in the order of its occurrence. The chimney is smoking a good +deal, and so are the crew; and the captain, I am informed, is very drunk +in a little house upon deck, something like a black turnpike. +I should infer from all I hear that he has got the steam up.</p> +<p>‘You will readily guess with what feelings I have just made +the discovery that my berth is in the same closet with those engaged +by Professor Woodensconce, Mr. Slug, and Professor Grime. Professor +Woodensconce has taken the shelf above me, and Mr. Slug and Professor +Grime the two shelves opposite. Their luggage has already arrived. +On Mr. Slug’s bed is a long tin tube of about three inches in +diameter, carefully closed at both ends. What can this contain? +Some powerful instrument of a new construction, doubtless.’</p> +<p><i>‘Ten minutes past nine.</i></p> +<p>‘Nobody has yet arrived, nor has anything fresh come in my +way except several joints of beef and mutton, from which I conclude +that a good plain dinner has been provided for to-morrow. There +is a singular smell below, which gave me some uneasiness at first; but +as the steward says it is always there, and never goes away, I am quite +comfortable again. I learn from this man that the different sections +will be distributed at the Black Boy and Stomach-ache, and the Boot-jack +and Countenance. If this intelligence be true (and I have no reason +to doubt it), your readers will draw such conclusions as their different +opinions may suggest.</p> +<p>‘I write down these remarks as they occur to me, or as the +facts come to my knowledge, in order that my first impressions may lose +nothing of their original vividness. I shall despatch them in +small packets as opportunities arise.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Half past nine.</i></p> +<p>‘Some dark object has just appeared upon the wharf. I +think it is a travelling carriage.’</p> +<p><i>‘A quarter to ten.</i></p> +<p>‘No, it isn’t.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past ten.</i></p> +<p>The passengers are pouring in every instant. Four omnibuses +full have just arrived upon the wharf, and all is bustle and activity. +The noise and confusion are very great. Cloths are laid in the +cabins, and the steward is placing blue plates—full of knobs of +cheese at equal distances down the centre of the tables. He drops +a great many knobs; but, being used to it, picks them up again with +great dexterity, and, after wiping them on his sleeve, throws them back +into the plates. He is a young man of exceedingly prepossessing +appearance—either dirty or a mulatto, but I think the former.</p> +<p>‘An interesting old gentleman, who came to the wharf in an +omnibus, has just quarrelled violently with the porters, and is staggering +towards the vessel with a large trunk in his arms. I trust and +hope that he may reach it in safety; but the board he has to cross is +narrow and slippery. Was that a splash? Gracious powers!</p> +<p>‘I have just returned from the deck. The trunk is standing +upon the extreme brink of the wharf, but the old gentleman is nowhere +to be seen. The watchman is not sure whether he went down or not, +but promises to drag for him the first thing to-morrow morning. +May his humane efforts prove successful!</p> +<p>‘Professor Nogo has this moment arrived with his nightcap on +under his hat. He has ordered a glass of cold brandy and water, +with a hard biscuit and a basin, and has gone straight to bed. +What can this mean?</p> +<p>‘The three other scientific gentlemen to whom I have already +alluded have come on board, and have all tried their beds, with the +exception of Professor Woodensconce, who sleeps in one of the top ones, +and can’t get into it. Mr. Slug, who sleeps in the other +top one, is unable to get out of his, and is to have his supper handed +up by a boy. I have had the honour to introduce myself to these +gentlemen, and we have amicably arranged the order in which we shall +retire to rest; which it is necessary to agree upon, because, although +the cabin is very comfortable, there is not room for more than one gentleman +to be out of bed at a time, and even he must take his boots off in the +passage.</p> +<p>‘As I anticipated, the knobs of cheese were provided for the +passengers’ supper, and are now in course of consumption. +Your readers will be surprised to hear that Professor Woodensconce has +abstained from cheese for eight years, although he takes butter in considerable +quantities. Professor Grime having lost several teeth, is unable, +I observe, to eat his crusts without previously soaking them in his +bottled porter. How interesting are these peculiarities!’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past eleven.</i></p> +<p>‘Professors Woodensconce and Grime, with a degree of good humour +that delights us all, have just arranged to toss for a bottle of mulled +port. There has been some discussion whether the payment should +be decided by the first toss or the best out of three. Eventually +the latter course has been determined on. Deeply do I wish that +both gentlemen could win; but that being impossible, I own that my personal +aspirations (I speak as an individual, and do not compromise either +you or your readers by this expression of feeling) are with Professor +Woodensconce. I have backed that gentleman to the amount of eighteenpence.’</p> +<p><i>‘Twenty minutes to twelve.</i></p> +<p>‘Professor Grime has inadvertently tossed his half-crown out +of one of the cabin-windows, and it has been arranged that the steward +shall toss for him. Bets are offered on any side to any amount, +but there are no takers.</p> +<p>‘Professor Woodensconce has just called “woman;” +but the coin having lodged in a beam, is a long time coming down again. +The interest and suspense of this one moment are beyond anything that +can be imagined.’</p> +<p><i>‘Twelve o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘The mulled port is smoking on the table before me, and Professor +Grime has won. Tossing is a game of chance; but on every ground, +whether of public or private character, intellectual endowments, or +scientific attainments, I cannot help expressing my opinion that Professor +Woodensconce <i>ought</i> to have come off victorious. There is +an exultation about Professor Grime incompatible, I fear, with true +greatness.’</p> +<p><i>‘A quarter past twelve.</i></p> +<p>‘Professor Grime continues to exult, and to boast of his victory +in no very measured terms, observing that he always does win, and that +he knew it would be a “head” beforehand, with many other +remarks of a similar nature. Surely this gentleman is not so lost +to every feeling of decency and propriety as not to feel and know the +superiority of Professor Woodensconce? Is Professor Grime insane? +or does he wish to be reminded in plain language of his true position +in society, and the precise level of his acquirements and abilities? +Professor Grime will do well to look to this.’</p> +<p><i>‘One o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘I am writing in bed. The small cabin is illuminated +by the feeble light of a flickering lamp suspended from the ceiling; +Professor Grime is lying on the opposite shelf on the broad of his back, +with his mouth wide open. The scene is indescribably solemn. +The rippling of the tide, the noise of the sailors’ feet overhead, +the gruff voices on the river, the dogs on the shore, the snoring of +the passengers, and a constant creaking of every plank in the vessel, +are the only sounds that meet the ear. With these exceptions, +all is profound silence.</p> +<p>‘My curiosity has been within the last moment very much excited. +Mr. Slug, who lies above Professor Grime, has cautiously withdrawn the +curtains of his berth, and, after looking anxiously out, as if to satisfy +himself that his companions are asleep, has taken up the tin tube of +which I have before spoken, and is regarding it with great interest. +What rare mechanical combination can be contained in that mysterious +case? It is evidently a profound secret to all.’</p> +<p><i>‘A quarter past one.</i></p> +<p>‘The behaviour of Mr. Slug grows more and more mysterious. +He has unscrewed the top of the tube, and now renews his observations +upon his companions, evidently to make sure that he is wholly unobserved. +He is clearly on the eve of some great experiment. Pray heaven +that it be not a dangerous one; but the interests of science must be +promoted, and I am prepared for the worst.’</p> +<p><i>‘Five minutes later.</i></p> +<p>‘He has produced a large pair of scissors, and drawn a roll +of some substance, not unlike parchment in appearance, from the tin +case. The experiment is about to begin. I must strain my +eyes to the utmost, in the attempt to follow its minutest operation.’</p> +<p><i>‘Twenty minutes before two.</i></p> +<p>‘I have at length been enabled to ascertain that the tin tube +contains a few yards of some celebrated plaster, recommended—as +I discover on regarding the label attentively through my eye-glass—as +a preservative against sea-sickness. Mr. Slug has cut it up into +small portions, and is now sticking it over himself in every direction.’</p> +<p><i>‘Three o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘Precisely a quarter of an hour ago we weighed anchor, and +the machinery was suddenly put in motion with a noise so appalling, +that Professor Woodensconce (who had ascended to his berth by means +of a platform of carpet-bags arranged by himself on geometrical principals) +darted from his shelf head foremost, and, gaining his feet with all +the rapidity of extreme terror, ran wildly into the ladies’ cabin, +under the impression that we were sinking, and uttering loud cries for +aid. I am assured that the scene which ensued baffles all description. +There were one hundred and forty-seven ladies in their respective berths +at the time.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Slug has remarked, as an additional instance of the extreme +ingenuity of the steam-engine as applied to purposes of navigation, +that in whatever part of the vessel a passenger’s berth may be +situated, the machinery always appears to be exactly under his pillow. +He intends stating this very beautiful, though simple discovery, to +the association.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past ten.</i></p> +<p>‘We are still in smooth water; that is to say, in as smooth +water as a steam-vessel ever can be, for, as Professor Woodensconce +(who has just woke up) learnedly remarks, another great point of ingenuity +about a steamer is, that it always carries a little storm with it. +You can scarcely conceive how exciting the jerking pulsation of the +ship becomes. It is a matter of positive difficulty to get to +sleep.’</p> +<p><i>‘Friday afternoon, six o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘I regret to inform you that Mr. Slug’s plaster has proved +of no avail. He is in great agony, but has applied several large, +additional pieces notwithstanding. How affecting is this extreme +devotion to science and pursuit of knowledge under the most trying circumstances!</p> +<p>‘We were extremely happy this morning, and the breakfast was +one of the most animated description. Nothing unpleasant occurred +until noon, with the exception of Doctor Foxey’s brown silk umbrella +and white hat becoming entangled in the machinery while he was explaining +to a knot of ladies the construction of the steam-engine. I fear +the gravy soup for lunch was injudicious. We lost a great many +passengers almost immediately afterwards.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past six.</i></p> +<p>‘I am again in bed. Anything so heart-rending as Mr. +Slug’s sufferings it has never yet been my lot to witness.’</p> +<p><i>‘Seven o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘A messenger has just come down for a clean pocket-handkerchief +from Professor Woodensconce’s bag, that unfortunate gentleman +being quite unable to leave the deck, and imploring constantly to be +thrown overboard. From this man I understand that Professor Nogo, +though in a state of utter exhaustion, clings feebly to the hard biscuit +and cold brandy and water, under the impression that they will yet restore +him. Such is the triumph of mind over matter.</p> +<p>‘Professor Grime is in bed, to all appearance quite well; but +he <i>will</i> eat, and it is disagreeable to see him. Has this +gentleman no sympathy with the sufferings of his fellow-creatures? +If he has, on what principle can he call for mutton-chops—and +smile?’</p> +<p><i>‘Black Boy and Stomach-ache, Oldcastle, Saturday noon.</i></p> +<p>‘You will be happy to learn that I have at length arrived here +in safety. The town is excessively crowded, and all the private +lodgings and hotels are filled with <i>savans</i> of both sexes. +The tremendous assemblage of intellect that one encounters in every +street is in the last degree overwhelming.</p> +<p>‘Notwithstanding the throng of people here, I have been fortunate +enough to meet with very comfortable accommodation on very reasonable +terms, having secured a sofa in the first-floor passage at one guinea +per night, which includes permission to take my meals in the bar, on +condition that I walk about the streets at all other times, to make +room for other gentlemen similarly situated. I have been over +the outhouses intended to be devoted to the reception of the various +sections, both here and at the Boot-jack and Countenance, and am much +delighted with the arrangements. Nothing can exceed the fresh +appearance of the saw-dust with which the floors are sprinkled. +The forms are of unplaned deal, and the general effect, as you can well +imagine, is extremely beautiful.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past nine.</i></p> +<p>‘The number and rapidity of the arrivals are quite bewildering. +Within the last ten minutes a stage-coach has driven up to the door, +filled inside and out with distinguished characters, comprising Mr. +Muddlebranes, Mr. Drawley, Professor Muff, Mr. X. Misty, Mr. X. X. Misty, +Mr. Purblind, Professor Rummun, The Honourable and Reverend Mr. Long +Eers, Professor John Ketch, Sir William Joltered, Doctor Buffer, Mr. +Smith (of London), Mr. Brown (of Edinburgh), Sir Hookham Snivey, and +Professor Pumpkinskull. The ten last-named gentlemen were wet +through, and looked extremely intelligent.’</p> +<p><i>‘Sunday, two o’clock, p.m.</i></p> +<p>‘The Honourable and Reverend Mr. Long Eers, accompanied by +Sir William Joltered, walked and drove this morning. They accomplished +the former feat in boots, and the latter in a hired fly. This +has naturally given rise to much discussion.</p> +<p>‘I have just learnt that an interview has taken place at the +Boot-jack and Countenance between Sowster, the active and intelligent +beadle of this place, and Professor Pumpkinskull, who, as your readers +are doubtless aware, is an influential member of the council. +I forbear to communicate any of the rumours to which this very extraordinary +proceeding has given rise until I have seen Sowster, and endeavoured +to ascertain the truth from him.’</p> +<p><i>‘Half-past six.</i></p> +<p>‘I engaged a donkey-chaise shortly after writing the above, +and proceeded at a brisk trot in the direction of Sowster’s residence, +passing through a beautiful expanse of country, with red brick buildings +on either side, and stopping in the marketplace to observe the spot +where Mr. Kwakley’s hat was blown off yesterday. It is an +uneven piece of paving, but has certainly no appearance which would +lead one to suppose that any such event had recently occurred there. +From this point I proceeded—passing the gas-works and tallow-melter’s—to +a lane which had been pointed out to me as the beadle’s place +of residence; and before I had driven a dozen yards further, I had the +good fortune to meet Sowster himself advancing towards me.</p> +<p>‘Sowster is a fat man, with a more enlarged development of +that peculiar conformation of countenance which is vulgarly termed a +double chin than I remember to have ever seen before. He has also +a very red nose, which he attributes to a habit of early rising—so +red, indeed, that but for this explanation I should have supposed it +to proceed from occasional inebriety. He informed me that he did +not feel himself at liberty to relate what had passed between himself +and Professor Pumpkinskull, but had no objection to state that it was +connected with a matter of police regulation, and added with peculiar +significance “Never wos sitch times!”</p> +<p>‘You will easily believe that this intelligence gave me considerable +surprise, not wholly unmixed with anxiety, and that I lost no time in +waiting on Professor Pumpkinskull, and stating the object of my visit. +After a few moments’ reflection, the Professor, who, I am bound +to say, behaved with the utmost politeness, openly avowed (I mark the +passage in italics) <i>that he had requested Sowster to attend</i> <i>on +the Monday morning at the Boot-jack and Countenance, to keep off</i> +<i>the boys; and that he had further desired that the under-beadle might</i> +<i>be stationed, with the same object, at the Black Boy and Stomach</i>-<i>ache</i>!</p> +<p>‘Now I leave this unconstitutional proceeding to your comments +and the consideration of your readers. I have yet to learn that +a beadle, without the precincts of a church, churchyard, or work-house, +and acting otherwise than under the express orders of churchwardens +and overseers in council assembled, to enforce the law against people +who come upon the parish, and other offenders, has any lawful authority +whatever over the rising youth of this country. I have yet to +learn that a beadle can be called out by any civilian to exercise a +domination and despotism over the boys of Britain. I have yet +to learn that a beadle will be permitted by the commissioners of poor +law regulation to wear out the soles and heels of his boots in illegal +interference with the liberties of people not proved poor or otherwise +criminal. I have yet to learn that a beadle has power to stop +up the Queen’s highway at his will and pleasure, or that the whole +width of the street is not free and open to any man, boy, or woman in +existence, up to the very walls of the houses—ay, be they Black +Boys and Stomach-aches, or Boot-jacks and Countenances, I care not.’</p> +<p><i>‘Nine o’clock.</i></p> +<p>‘I have procured a local artist to make a faithful sketch of +the tyrant Sowster, which, as he has acquired this infamous celebrity, +you will no doubt wish to have engraved for the purpose of presenting +a copy with every copy of your next number. I enclose it.</p> +<p>[Picture which cannot be reproduced]</p> +<p>The under-beadle has consented to write his life, but it is to be +strictly anonymous.</p> +<p>‘The accompanying likeness is of course from the life, and +complete in every respect. Even if I had been totally ignorant +of the man’s real character, and it had been placed before me +without remark, I should have shuddered involuntarily. There is +an intense malignity of expression in the features, and a baleful ferocity +of purpose in the ruffian’s eye, which appals and sickens. +His whole air is rampant with cruelty, nor is the stomach less characteristic +of his demoniac propensities.’</p> +<p><i>‘Monday.</i></p> +<p>‘The great day has at length arrived. I have neither +eyes, nor ears, nor pens, nor ink, nor paper, for anything but the wonderful +proceedings that have astounded my senses. Let me collect my energies +and proceed to the account.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY.<br />FRONT PARLOUR, BLACK +BOY AND STOMACH-ACHE.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Sir William Joltered. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Mr. +Muddlebranes and Mr. Drawley.</p> +<p>‘MR. X. X. MISTY communicated some remarks on the disappearance +of dancing-bears from the streets of London, with observations on the +exhibition of monkeys as connected with barrel-organs. The writer +had observed, with feelings of the utmost pain and regret, that some +years ago a sudden and unaccountable change in the public taste took +place with reference to itinerant bears, who, being discountenanced +by the populace, gradually fell off one by one from the streets of the +metropolis, until not one remained to create a taste for natural history +in the breasts of the poor and uninstructed. One bear, indeed,—a +brown and ragged animal,—had lingered about the haunts of his +former triumphs, with a worn and dejected visage and feeble limbs, and +had essayed to wield his quarter-staff for the amusement of the multitude; +but hunger, and an utter want of any due recompense for his abilities, +had at length driven him from the field, and it was only too probable +that he had fallen a sacrifice to the rising taste for grease. +He regretted to add that a similar, and no less lamentable, change had +taken place with reference to monkeys. These delightful animals +had formerly been almost as plentiful as the organs on the tops of which +they were accustomed to sit; the proportion in the year 1829 (it appeared +by the parliamentary return) being as one monkey to three organs. +Owing, however, to an altered taste in musical instruments, and the +substitution, in a great measure, of narrow boxes of music for organs, +which left the monkeys nothing to sit upon, this source of public amusement +was wholly dried up. Considering it a matter of the deepest importance, +in connection with national education, that the people should not lose +such opportunities of making themselves acquainted with the manners +and customs of two most interesting species of animals, the author submitted +that some measures should be immediately taken for the restoration of +these pleasing and truly intellectual amusements.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT inquired by what means the honourable member +proposed to attain this most desirable end?</p> +<p>‘THE AUTHOR submitted that it could be most fully and satisfactorily +accomplished, if Her Majesty’s Government would cause to be brought +over to England, and maintained at the public expense, and for the public +amusement, such a number of bears as would enable every quarter of the +town to be visited—say at least by three bears a week. No +difficulty whatever need be experienced in providing a fitting place +for the reception of these animals, as a commodious bear-garden could +be erected in the immediate neighbourhood of both Houses of Parliament; +obviously the most proper and eligible spot for such an establishment.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR MULL doubted very much whether any correct ideas +of natural history were propagated by the means to which the honourable +member had so ably adverted. On the contrary, he believed that +they had been the means of diffusing very incorrect and imperfect notions +on the subject. He spoke from personal observation and personal +experience, when he said that many children of great abilities had been +induced to believe, from what they had observed in the streets, at and +before the period to which the honourable gentleman had referred, that +all monkeys were born in red coats and spangles, and that their hats +and feathers also came by nature. He wished to know distinctly +whether the honourable gentleman attributed the want of encouragement +the bears had met with to the decline of public taste in that respect, +or to a want of ability on the part of the bears themselves?</p> +<p>‘MR. X. X. MISTY replied, that he could not bring himself to +believe but that there must be a great deal of floating talent among +the bears and monkeys generally; which, in the absence of any proper +encouragement, was dispersed in other directions.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR PUMPKINSKULL wished to take that opportunity of +calling the attention of the section to a most important and serious +point. The author of the treatise just read had alluded to the +prevalent taste for bears’-grease as a means of promoting the +growth of hair, which undoubtedly was diffused to a very great and (as +it appeared to him) very alarming extent. No gentleman attending +that section could fail to be aware of the fact that the youth of the +present age evinced, by their behaviour in the streets, and at all places +of public resort, a considerable lack of that gallantry and gentlemanly +feeling which, in more ignorant times, had been thought becoming. +He wished to know whether it were possible that a constant outward application +of bears’-grease by the young gentlemen about town had imperceptibly +infused into those unhappy persons something of the nature and quality +of the bear. He shuddered as he threw out the remark; but if this +theory, on inquiry, should prove to be well founded, it would at once +explain a great deal of unpleasant eccentricity of behaviour, which, +without some such discovery, was wholly unaccountable.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT highly complimented the learned gentleman on +his most valuable suggestion, which produced the greatest effect upon +the assembly; and remarked that only a week previous he had seen some +young gentlemen at a theatre eyeing a box of ladies with a fierce intensity, +which nothing but the influence of some brutish appetite could possibly +explain. It was dreadful to reflect that our youth were so rapidly +verging into a generation of bears.</p> +<p>‘After a scene of scientific enthusiasm it was resolved that +this important question should be immediately submitted to the consideration +of the council.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know whether any gentleman could inform +the section what had become of the dancing-dogs?</p> +<p>‘A MEMBER replied, after some hesitation, that on the day after +three glee-singers had been committed to prison as criminals by a late +most zealous police-magistrate of the metropolis, the dogs had abandoned +their professional duties, and dispersed themselves in different quarters +of the town to gain a livelihood by less dangerous means. He was +given to understand that since that period they had supported themselves +by lying in wait for and robbing blind men’s poodles.</p> +<p>‘MR. FLUMMERY exhibited a twig, claiming to be a veritable +branch of that noble tree known to naturalists as the SHAKSPEARE, which +has taken root in every land and climate, and gathered under the shade +of its broad green boughs the great family of mankind. The learned +gentleman remarked that the twig had been undoubtedly called by other +names in its time; but that it had been pointed out to him by an old +lady in Warwickshire, where the great tree had grown, as a shoot of +the genuine SHAKSPEARE, by which name he begged to introduce it to his +countrymen.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT wished to know what botanical definition the +honourable gentleman could afford of the curiosity.</p> +<p>‘MR. FLUMMERY expressed his opinion that it was A DECIDED PLANT.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION B.—DISPLAY OF MODELS AND MECHANICAL SCIENCE.<br />LARGE +ROOM, BOOT-JACK AND COUNTENANCE.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Mr. Mallett. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Messrs. +Leaver and Scroo.</p> +<p>‘MR. CRINKLES exhibited a most beautiful and delicate machine, +of little larger size than an ordinary snuff-box, manufactured entirely +by himself, and composed exclusively of steel, by the aid of which more +pockets could be picked in one hour than by the present slow and tedious +process in four-and-twenty. The inventor remarked that it had +been put into active operation in Fleet Street, the Strand, and other +thoroughfares, and had never been once known to fail.</p> +<p>‘After some slight delay, occasioned by the various members +of the section buttoning their pockets,</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT narrowly inspected the invention, and declared +that he had never seen a machine of more beautiful or exquisite construction. +Would the inventor be good enough to inform the section whether he had +taken any and what means for bringing it into general operation?</p> +<p>‘MR. CRINKLES stated that, after encountering some preliminary +difficulties, he had succeeded in putting himself in communication with +Mr. Fogle Hunter, and other gentlemen connected with the swell mob, +who had awarded the invention the very highest and most unqualified +approbation. He regretted to say, however, that these distinguished +practitioners, in common with a gentleman of the name of Gimlet-eyed +Tommy, and other members of a secondary grade of the profession whom +he was understood to represent, entertained an insuperable objection +to its being brought into general use, on the ground that it would have +the inevitable effect of almost entirely superseding manual labour, +and throwing a great number of highly-deserving persons out of employment.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT hoped that no such fanciful objections would +be allowed to stand in the way of such a great public improvement.</p> +<p>‘MR. CRINKLES hoped so too; but he feared that if the gentlemen +of the swell mob persevered in their objection, nothing could be done.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR GRIME suggested, that surely, in that case, Her +Majesty’s Government might be prevailed upon to take it up.</p> +<p>‘MR. CRINKLES said, that if the objection were found to be +insuperable he should apply to Parliament, which he thought could not +fail to recognise the utility of the invention.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT observed that, up to this time Parliament had +certainly got on very well without it; but, as they did their business +on a very large scale, he had no doubt they would gladly adopt the improvement. +His only fear was that the machine might be worn out by constant working.</p> +<p>‘MR. COPPERNOSE called the attention of the section to a proposition +of great magnitude and interest, illustrated by a vast number of models, +and stated with much clearness and perspicuity in a treatise entitled +“Practical Suggestions on the necessity of providing some harmless +and wholesome relaxation for the young noblemen of England.” +His proposition was, that a space of ground of not less than ten miles +in length and four in breadth should be purchased by a new company, +to be incorporated by Act of Parliament, and inclosed by a brick wall +of not less than twelve feet in height. He proposed that it should +be laid out with highway roads, turnpikes, bridges, miniature villages, +and every object that could conduce to the comfort and glory of Four-in-hand +Clubs, so that they might be fairly presumed to require no drive beyond +it. This delightful retreat would be fitted up with most commodious +and extensive stables, for the convenience of such of the nobility and +gentry as had a taste for ostlering, and with houses of entertainment +furnished in the most expensive and handsome style. It would be +further provided with whole streets of door-knockers and bell-handles +of extra size, so constructed that they could be easily wrenched off +at night, and regularly screwed on again, by attendants provided for +the purpose, every day. There would also be gas lamps of real +glass, which could be broken at a comparatively small expense per dozen, +and a broad and handsome foot pavement for gentlemen to drive their +cabriolets upon when they were humorously disposed—for the full +enjoyment of which feat live pedestrians would be procured from the +workhouse at a very small charge per head. The place being inclosed, +and carefully screened from the intrusion of the public, there would +be no objection to gentlemen laying aside any article of their costume +that was considered to interfere with a pleasant frolic, or, indeed, +to their walking about without any costume at all, if they liked that +better. In short, every facility of enjoyment would be afforded +that the most gentlemanly person could possibly desire. But as +even these advantages would be incomplete unless there were some means +provided of enabling the nobility and gentry to display their prowess +when they sallied forth after dinner, and as some inconvenience might +be experienced in the event of their being reduced to the necessity +of pummelling each other, the inventor had turned his attention to the +construction of an entirely new police force, composed exclusively of +automaton figures, which, with the assistance of the ingenious Signor +Gagliardi, of Windmill-street, in the Haymarket, he had succeeded in +making with such nicety, that a policeman, cab-driver, or old woman, +made upon the principle of the models exhibited, would walk about until +knocked down like any real man; nay, more, if set upon and beaten by +six or eight noblemen or gentlemen, after it was down, the figure would +utter divers groans, mingled with entreaties for mercy, thus rendering +the illusion complete, and the enjoyment perfect. But the invention +did not stop even here; for station-houses would be built, containing +good beds for noblemen and gentlemen during the night, and in the morning +they would repair to a commodious police office, where a pantomimic +investigation would take place before the automaton magistrates,—quite +equal to life,—who would fine them in so many counters, with which +they would be previously provided for the purpose. This office +would be furnished with an inclined plane, for the convenience of any +nobleman or gentleman who might wish to bring in his horse as a witness; +and the prisoners would be at perfect liberty, as they were now, to +interrupt the complainants as much as they pleased, and to make any +remarks that they thought proper. The charge for these amusements +would amount to very little more than they already cost, and the inventor +submitted that the public would be much benefited and comforted by the +proposed arrangement.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR NOGO wished to be informed what amount of automaton +police force it was proposed to raise in the first instance.</p> +<p>‘MR. COPPERNOSE replied, that it was proposed to begin with +seven divisions of police of a score each, lettered from A to G inclusive. +It was proposed that not more than half this number should be placed +on active duty, and that the remainder should be kept on shelves in +the police office ready to be called out at a moment’s notice.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT, awarding the utmost merit to the ingenious +gentleman who had originated the idea, doubted whether the automaton +police would quite answer the purpose. He feared that noblemen +and gentlemen would perhaps require the excitement of thrashing living +subjects.</p> +<p>‘MR. COPPERNOSE submitted, that as the usual odds in such cases +were ten noblemen or gentlemen to one policeman or cab-driver, it could +make very little difference in point of excitement whether the policeman +or cab-driver were a man or a block. The great advantage would +be, that a policeman’s limbs might be all knocked off, and yet +he would be in a condition to do duty next day. He might even +give his evidence next morning with his head in his hand, and give it +equally well.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR MUFF.—Will you allow me to ask you, sir, of +what materials it is intended that the magistrates’ heads shall +be composed?</p> +<p>‘MR. COPPERNOSE.—The magistrates will have wooden heads +of course, and they will be made of the toughest and thickest materials +that can possibly be obtained.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR MUFF.—I am quite satisfied. This is +a great invention.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR NOGO.—I see but one objection to it. +It appears to me that the magistrates ought to talk.</p> +<p>‘MR. COPPERNOSE no sooner heard this suggestion than he touched +a small spring in each of the two models of magistrates which were placed +upon the table; one of the figures immediately began to exclaim with +great volubility that he was sorry to see gentlemen in such a situation, +and the other to express a fear that the policeman was intoxicated.</p> +<p>‘The section, as with one accord, declared with a shout of +applause that the invention was complete; and the President, much excited, +retired with Mr. Coppernose to lay it before the council. On his +return,</p> +<p>‘MR. TICKLE displayed his newly-invented spectacles, which +enabled the wearer to discern, in very bright colours, objects at a +great distance, and rendered him wholly blind to those immediately before +him. It was, he said, a most valuable and useful invention, based +strictly upon the principle of the human eye.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT required some information upon this point. +He had yet to learn that the human eye was remarkable for the peculiarities +of which the honourable gentleman had spoken.</p> +<p>‘MR. TICKLE was rather astonished to hear this, when the President +could not fail to be aware that a large number of most excellent persons +and great statesmen could see, with the naked eye, most marvellous horrors +on West India plantations, while they could discern nothing whatever +in the interior of Manchester cotton mills. He must know, too, +with what quickness of perception most people could discover their neighbour’s +faults, and how very blind they were to their own. If the President +differed from the great majority of men in this respect, his eye was +a defective one, and it was to assist his vision that these glasses +were made.</p> +<p>‘MR. BLANK exhibited a model of a fashionable annual, composed +of copper-plates, gold leaf, and silk boards, and worked entirely by +milk and water.</p> +<p>‘MR. PROSEE, after examining the machine, declared it to be +so ingeniously composed, that he was wholly unable to discover how it +went on at all.</p> +<p>‘MR. BLANK.—Nobody can, and that is the beauty of it.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION C.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE.<br />BAR ROOM, BLACK +BOY AND STOMACH-ACHE.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Dr. Soemup. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Messrs. +Pessell and Mortair.</p> +<p>‘DR. GRUMMIDGE stated to the section a most interesting case +of monomania, and described the course of treatment he had pursued with +perfect success. The patient was a married lady in the middle +rank of life, who, having seen another lady at an evening party in a +full suit of pearls, was suddenly seized with a desire to possess a +similar equipment, although her husband’s finances were by no +means equal to the necessary outlay. Finding her wish ungratified, +she fell sick, and the symptoms soon became so alarming, that he (Dr. +Grummidge) was called in. At this period the prominent tokens +of the disorder were sullenness, a total indisposition to perform domestic +duties, great peevishness, and extreme languor, except when pearls were +mentioned, at which times the pulse quickened, the eyes grew brighter, +the pupils dilated, and the patient, after various incoherent exclamations, +burst into a passion of tears, and exclaimed that nobody cared for her, +and that she wished herself dead. Finding that the patient’s +appetite was affected in the presence of company, he began by ordering +a total abstinence from all stimulants, and forbidding any sustenance +but weak gruel; he then took twenty ounces of blood, applied a blister +under each ear, one upon the chest, and another on the back; having +done which, and administered five grains of calomel, he left the patient +to her repose. The next day she was somewhat low, but decidedly +better, and all appearances of irritation were removed. The next +day she improved still further, and on the next again. On the +fourth there was some appearance of a return of the old symptoms, which +no sooner developed themselves, than he administered another dose of +calomel, and left strict orders that, unless a decidedly favourable +change occurred within two hours, the patient’s head should be +immediately shaved to the very last curl. From that moment she +began to mend, and, in less than four-and-twenty hours was perfectly +restored. She did not now betray the least emotion at the sight +or mention of pearls or any other ornaments. She was cheerful +and good-humoured, and a most beneficial change had been effected in +her whole temperament and condition.</p> +<p>‘MR. PIPKIN (M.R.C.S.) read a short but most interesting communication +in which he sought to prove the complete belief of Sir William Courtenay, +otherwise Thorn, recently shot at Canterbury, in the Homoeopathic system. +The section would bear in mind that one of the Homoeopathic doctrines +was, that infinitesimal doses of any medicine which would occasion the +disease under which the patient laboured, supposing him to be in a healthy +state, would cure it. Now, it was a remarkable circumstance—proved +in the evidence—that the deceased Thorn employed a woman to follow +him about all day with a pail of water, assuring her that one drop (a +purely homoeopathic remedy, the section would observe), placed upon +his tongue, after death, would restore him. What was the obvious +inference? That Thorn, who was marching and countermarching in +osier beds, and other swampy places, was impressed with a presentiment +that he should be drowned; in which case, had his instructions been +complied with, he could not fail to have been brought to life again +instantly by his own prescription. As it was, if this woman, or +any other person, had administered an infinitesimal dose of lead and +gunpowder immediately after he fell, he would have recovered forthwith. +But unhappily the woman concerned did not possess the power of reasoning +by analogy, or carrying out a principle, and thus the unfortunate gentleman +had been sacrificed to the ignorance of the peasantry.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SECTION D.—STATISTICS.<br />OUT-HOUSE, BLACK BOY AND +STOMACH-ACHE.</p> +<p><i>President</i>—Mr. Slug. <i>Vice-Presidents</i>—Messrs. +Noakes and Styles.</p> +<p>‘MR. KWAKLEY stated the result of some most ingenious statistical +inquiries relative to the difference between the value of the qualification +of several members of Parliament as published to the world, and its +real nature and amount. After reminding the section that every +member of Parliament for a town or borough was supposed to possess a +clear freehold estate of three hundred pounds per annum, the honourable +gentleman excited great amusement and laughter by stating the exact +amount of freehold property possessed by a column of legislators, in +which he had included himself. It appeared from this table, that +the amount of such income possessed by each was 0 pounds, 0 shillings, +and 0 pence, yielding an average of the same. (Great laughter.) +It was pretty well known that there were accommodating gentlemen in +the habit of furnishing new members with temporary qualifications, to +the ownership of which they swore solemnly—of course as a mere +matter of form. He argued from these <i>data</i> that it was wholly +unnecessary for members of Parliament to possess any property at all, +especially as when they had none the public could get them so much cheaper.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘SUPPLEMENTARY SECTION, E.—UMBUGOLOGY AND DITCHWATERISICS.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p><i>President</i>—Mr. Grub. <i>Vice Presidents</i>—Messrs. +Dull and Dummy.</p> +<p>‘A paper was read by the secretary descriptive of a bay pony +with one eye, which had been seen by the author standing in a butcher’s +cart at the corner of Newgate Market. The communication described +the author of the paper as having, in the prosecution of a mercantile +pursuit, betaken himself one Saturday morning last summer from Somers +Town to Cheapside; in the course of which expedition he had beheld the +extraordinary appearance above described. The pony had one distinct +eye, and it had been pointed out to him by his friend Captain Blunderbore, +of the Horse Marines, who assisted the author in his search, that whenever +he winked this eye he whisked his tail (possibly to drive the flies +off), but that he always winked and whisked at the same time. +The animal was lean, spavined, and tottering; and the author proposed +to constitute it of the family of <i>Fitfordogsmeataurious</i>. +It certainly did occur to him that there was no case on record of a +pony with one clearly-defined and distinct organ of vision, winking +and whisking at the same moment.</p> +<p>‘MR. Q. J. SNUFFLETOFFLE had heard of a pony winking his eye, +and likewise of a pony whisking his tail, but whether they were two +ponies or the same pony he could not undertake positively to say. +At all events, he was acquainted with no authenticated instance of a +simultaneous winking and whisking, and he really could not but doubt +the existence of such a marvellous pony in opposition to all those natural +laws by which ponies were governed. Referring, however, to the +mere question of his one organ of vision, might he suggest the possibility +of this pony having been literally half asleep at the time he was seen, +and having closed only one eye.</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT observed that, whether the pony was half asleep +or fast asleep, there could be no doubt that the association was wide +awake, and therefore that they had better get the business over, and +go to dinner. He had certainly never seen anything analogous to +this pony, but he was not prepared to doubt its existence; for he had +seen many queerer ponies in his time, though he did not pretend to have +seen any more remarkable donkeys than the other gentlemen around him.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR JOHN KETCH was then called upon to exhibit the skull +of the late Mr. Greenacre, which he produced from a blue bag, remarking, +on being invited to make any observations that occurred to him, “that +he’d pound it as that ’ere ’spectable section had +never seed a more gamerer cove nor he vos.”</p> +<p>‘A most animated discussion upon this interesting relic ensued; +and, some difference of opinion arising respecting the real character +of the deceased gentleman, Mr. Blubb delivered a lecture upon the cranium +before him, clearly showing that Mr. Greenacre possessed the organ of +destructiveness to a most unusual extent, with a most remarkable development +of the organ of carveativeness. Sir Hookham Snivey was proceeding +to combat this opinion, when Professor Ketch suddenly interrupted the +proceedings by exclaiming, with great excitement of manner, “Walker!”</p> +<p>‘THE PRESIDENT begged to call the learned gentleman to order.</p> +<p>‘PROFESSOR KETCH.—“Order be blowed! you’ve +got the wrong un, I tell you. It ain’t no ’ed at all; +it’s a coker-nut as my brother-in-law has been a-carvin’, +to hornament his new baked tatur-stall wots a-comin’ down ’ere +vile the ’sociation’s in the town. Hand over, vill +you?”</p> +<p>‘With these words, Professor Ketch hastily repossessed himself +of the cocoa-nut, and drew forth the skull, in mistake for which he +had exhibited it. A most interesting conversation ensued; but +as there appeared some doubt ultimately whether the skull was Mr. Greenacre’s, +or a hospital patient’s, or a pauper’s, or a man’s, +or a woman’s, or a monkey’s, no particular result was obtained.’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘I cannot,’ says our talented correspondent in conclusion, +‘I cannot close my account of these gigantic researches and sublime +and noble triumphs without repeating a <i>bon mot</i> of Professor Woodensconce’s, +which shows how the greatest minds may occasionally unbend when truth +can be presented to listening ears, clothed in an attractive and playful +form. I was standing by, when, after a week of feasting and feeding, +that learned gentleman, accompanied by the whole body of wonderful men, +entered the hall yesterday, where a sumptuous dinner was prepared; where +the richest wines sparkled on the board, and fat bucks—propitiatory +sacrifices to learning—sent forth their savoury odours. +“Ah!” said Professor Woodensconce, rubbing his hands, “this +is what we meet for; this is what inspires us; this is what keeps us +together, and beckons us onward; this is the <i>spread</i> of science, +and a glorious spread it is.”’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h3>THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Before we plunge headlong into this paper, let us at once confess +to a fondness for pantomimes—to a gentle sympathy with clowns +and pantaloons—to an unqualified admiration of harlequins and +columbines—to a chaste delight in every action of their brief +existence, varied and many-coloured as those actions are, and inconsistent +though they occasionally be with those rigid and formal rules of propriety +which regulate the proceedings of meaner and less comprehensive minds. +We revel in pantomimes—not because they dazzle one’s eyes +with tinsel and gold leaf; not because they present to us, once again, +the well-beloved chalked faces, and goggle eyes of our childhood; not +even because, like Christmas-day, and Twelfth-night, and Shrove-Tuesday, +and one’s own birthday, they come to us but once a year;—our +attachment is founded on a graver and a very different reason. +A pantomime is to us, a mirror of life; nay, more, we maintain that +it is so to audiences generally, although they are not aware of it, +and that this very circumstance is the secret cause of their amusement +and delight.</p> +<p>Let us take a slight example. The scene is a street: an elderly +gentleman, with a large face and strongly marked features, appears. +His countenance beams with a sunny smile, and a perpetual dimple is +on his broad, red cheek. He is evidently an opulent elderly gentleman, +comfortable in circumstances, and well-to-do in the world. He +is not unmindful of the adornment of his person, for he is richly, not +to say gaudily, dressed; and that he indulges to a reasonable extent +in the pleasures of the table may be inferred from the joyous and oily +manner in which he rubs his stomach, by way of informing the audience +that he is going home to dinner. In the fulness of his heart, +in the fancied security of wealth, in the possession and enjoyment of +all the good things of life, the elderly gentleman suddenly loses his +footing, and stumbles. How the audience roar! He is set +upon by a noisy and officious crowd, who buffet and cuff him unmercifully. +They scream with delight! Every time the elderly gentleman struggles +to get up, his relentless persecutors knock him down again. The +spectators are convulsed with merriment! And when at last the +elderly gentleman does get up, and staggers away, despoiled of hat, +wig, and clothing, himself battered to pieces, and his watch and money +gone, they are exhausted with laughter, and express their merriment +and admiration in rounds of applause.</p> +<p>Is this like life? Change the scene to any real street;—to +the Stock Exchange, or the City banker’s; the merchant’s +counting-house, or even the tradesman’s shop. See any one +of these men fall,—the more suddenly, and the nearer the zenith +of his pride and riches, the better. What a wild hallo is raised +over his prostrate carcase by the shouting mob; how they whoop and yell +as he lies humbled beneath them! Mark how eagerly they set upon +him when he is down; and how they mock and deride him as he slinks away. +Why, it is the pantomime to the very letter.</p> +<p>Of all the pantomimic <i>dramatis personae</i>, we consider the pantaloon +the most worthless and debauched. Independent of the dislike one +naturally feels at seeing a gentleman of his years engaged in pursuits +highly unbecoming his gravity and time of life, we cannot conceal from +ourselves the fact that he is a treacherous, worldly-minded old villain, +constantly enticing his younger companion, the clown, into acts of fraud +or petty larceny, and generally standing aside to watch the result of +the enterprise. If it be successful, he never forgets to return +for his share of the spoil; but if it turn out a failure, he generally +retires with remarkable caution and expedition, and keeps carefully +aloof until the affair has blown over. His amorous propensities, +too, are eminently disagreeable; and his mode of addressing ladies in +the open street at noon-day is down-right improper, being usually neither +more nor less than a perceptible tickling of the aforesaid ladies in +the waist, after committing which, he starts back, manifestly ashamed +(as well he may be) of his own indecorum and temerity; continuing, nevertheless, +to ogle and beckon to them from a distance in a very unpleasant and +immoral manner.</p> +<p>Is there any man who cannot count a dozen pantaloons in his own social +circle? Is there any man who has not seen them swarming at the +west end of the town on a sunshiny day or a summer’s evening, +going through the last-named pantomimic feats with as much liquorish +energy, and as total an absence of reserve, as if they were on the very +stage itself? We can tell upon our fingers a dozen pantaloons +of our acquaintance at this moment—capital pantaloons, who have +been performing all kinds of strange freaks, to the great amusement +of their friends and acquaintance, for years past; and who to this day +are making such comical and ineffectual attempts to be young and dissolute, +that all beholders are like to die with laughter.</p> +<p>Take that old gentleman who has just emerged from the <i>Café +de</i> <i>l’Europe</i> in the Haymarket, where he has been dining +at the expense of the young man upon town with whom he shakes hands +as they part at the door of the tavern. The affected warmth of +that shake of the hand, the courteous nod, the obvious recollection +of the dinner, the savoury flavour of which still hangs upon his lips, +are all characteristics of his great prototype. He hobbles away +humming an opera tune, and twirling his cane to and fro, with affected +carelessness. Suddenly he stops—’tis at the milliner’s +window. He peeps through one of the large panes of glass; and, +his view of the ladies within being obstructed by the India shawls, +directs his attentions to the young girl with the band-box in her hand, +who is gazing in at the window also. See! he draws beside her. +He coughs; she turns away from him. He draws near her again; she +disregards him. He gleefully chucks her under the chin, and, retreating +a few steps, nods and beckons with fantastic grimaces, while the girl +bestows a contemptuous and supercilious look upon his wrinkled visage. +She turns away with a flounce, and the old gentleman trots after her +with a toothless chuckle. The pantaloon to the life!</p> +<p> But the close resemblance which the clowns of the stage bear +to those of every-day life is perfectly extraordinary. Some people +talk with a sigh of the decline of pantomime, and murmur in low and +dismal tones the name of Grimaldi. We mean no disparagement to +the worthy and excellent old man when we say that this is downright +nonsense. Clowns that beat Grimaldi all to nothing turn up every +day, and nobody patronizes them—more’s the pity!</p> +<p>‘I know who you mean,’ says some dirty-faced patron of +Mr. Osbaldistone’s, laying down the Miscellany when he has got +thus far, and bestowing upon vacancy a most knowing glance; ‘you +mean C. J. Smith as did Guy Fawkes, and George Barnwell at the Garden.’ +The dirty-faced gentleman has hardly uttered the words, when he is interrupted +by a young gentleman in no shirt-collar and a Petersham coat. +‘No, no,’ says the young gentleman; ‘he means Brown, +King, and Gibson, at the ‘Delphi.’ Now, with great +deference both to the first-named gentleman with the dirty face, and +the last-named gentleman in the non-existing shirt-collar, we do <i>not</i> +mean either the performer who so grotesquely burlesqued the Popish conspirator, +or the three unchangeables who have been dancing the same dance under +different imposing titles, and doing the same thing under various high-sounding +names for some five or six years last past. We have no sooner +made this avowal, than the public, who have hitherto been silent witnesses +of the dispute, inquire what on earth it is we <i>do</i> mean; and, +with becoming respect, we proceed to tell them.</p> +<p>It is very well known to all playgoers and pantomime-seers, that +the scenes in which a theatrical clown is at the very height of his +glory are those which are described in the play-bills as ‘Cheesemonger’s +shop and Crockery warehouse,’ or ‘Tailor’s shop, and +Mrs. Queertable’s boarding-house,’ or places bearing some +such title, where the great fun of the thing consists in the hero’s +taking lodgings which he has not the slightest intention of paying for, +or obtaining goods under false pretences, or abstracting the stock-in-trade +of the respectable shopkeeper next door, or robbing warehouse porters +as they pass under his window, or, to shorten the catalogue, in his +swindling everybody he possibly can, it only remaining to be observed +that, the more extensive the swindling is, and the more barefaced the +impudence of the swindler, the greater the rapture and ecstasy of the +audience. Now it is a most remarkable fact that precisely this +sort of thing occurs in real life day after day, and nobody sees the +humour of it. Let us illustrate our position by detailing the +plot of this portion of the pantomime—not of the theatre, but +of life.</p> +<p>The Honourable Captain Fitz-Whisker Fiercy, attended by his livery +servant Do’em—a most respectable servant to look at, who +has grown grey in the service of the captain’s family—views, +treats for, and ultimately obtains possession of, the unfurnished house, +such a number, such a street. All the tradesmen in the neighbourhood +are in agonies of competition for the captain’s custom; the captain +is a good-natured, kind-hearted, easy man, and, to avoid being the cause +of disappointment to any, he most handsomely gives orders to all. +Hampers of wine, baskets of provisions, cart-loads of furniture, boxes +of jewellery, supplies of luxuries of the costliest description, flock +to the house of the Honourable Captain Fitz-Whisker Fiercy, where they +are received with the utmost readiness by the highly respectable Do’em; +while the captain himself struts and swaggers about with that compound +air of conscious superiority and general blood-thirstiness which a military +captain should always, and does most times, wear, to the admiration +and terror of plebeian men. But the tradesmen’s backs are +no sooner turned, than the captain, with all the eccentricity of a mighty +mind, and assisted by the faithful Do’em, whose devoted fidelity +is not the least touching part of his character, disposes of everything +to great advantage; for, although the articles fetch small sums, still +they are sold considerably above cost price, the cost to the captain +having been nothing at all. After various manoeuvres, the imposture +is discovered, Fitz-Fiercy and Do’em are recognized as confederates, +and the police office to which they are both taken is thronged with +their dupes.</p> +<p>Who can fail to recognize in this, the exact counterpart of the best +portion of a theatrical pantomime—Fitz-Whisker Fiercy by the clown; +Do’em by the pantaloon; and supernumeraries by the tradesmen? +The best of the joke, too, is, that the very coal-merchant who is loudest +in his complaints against the person who defrauded him, is the identical +man who sat in the centre of the very front row of the pit last night +and laughed the most boisterously at this very same thing,—and +not so well done either. Talk of Grimaldi, we say again! +Did Grimaldi, in his best days, ever do anything in this way equal to +Da Costa?</p> +<p>The mention of this latter justly celebrated clown reminds us of +his last piece of humour, the fraudulently obtaining certain stamped +acceptances from a young gentleman in the army. We had scarcely +laid down our pen to contemplate for a few moments this admirable actor’s +performance of that exquisite practical joke, than a new branch of our +subject flashed suddenly upon us. So we take it up again at once.</p> +<p>All people who have been behind the scenes, and most people who have +been before them, know, that in the representation of a pantomime, a +good many men are sent upon the stage for the express purpose of being +cheated, or knocked down, or both. Now, down to a moment ago, +we had never been able to understand for what possible purpose a great +number of odd, lazy, large-headed men, whom one is in the habit of meeting +here, and there, and everywhere, could ever have been created. +We see it all, now. They are the supernumeraries in the pantomime +of life; the men who have been thrust into it, with no other view than +to be constantly tumbling over each other, and running their heads against +all sorts of strange things. We sat opposite to one of these men +at a supper-table, only last week. Now we think of it, he was +exactly like the gentlemen with the pasteboard heads and faces, who +do the corresponding business in the theatrical pantomimes; there was +the same broad stolid simper—the same dull leaden eye—the +same unmeaning, vacant stare; and whatever was said, or whatever was +done, he always came in at precisely the wrong place, or jostled against +something that he had not the slightest business with. We looked +at the man across the table again and again; and could not satisfy ourselves +what race of beings to class him with. How very odd that this +never occurred to us before!</p> +<p>We will frankly own that we have been much troubled with the harlequin. +We see harlequins of so many kinds in the real living pantomime, that +we hardly know which to select as the proper fellow of him of the theatres. +At one time we were disposed to think that the harlequin was neither +more nor less than a young man of family and independent property, who +had run away with an opera-dancer, and was fooling his life and his +means away in light and trivial amusements. On reflection, however, +we remembered that harlequins are occasionally guilty of witty, and +even clever acts, and we are rather disposed to acquit our young men +of family and independent property, generally speaking, of any such +misdemeanours. On a more mature consideration of the subject, +we have arrived at the conclusion that the harlequins of life are just +ordinary men, to be found in no particular walk or degree, on whom a +certain station, or particular conjunction of circumstances, confers +the magic wand. And this brings us to a few words on the pantomime +of public and political life, which we shall say at once, and then conclude—merely +premising in this place that we decline any reference whatever to the +columbine, being in no wise satisfied of the nature of her connection +with her parti-coloured lover, and not feeling by any means clear that +we should be justified in introducing her to the virtuous and respectable +ladies who peruse our lucubrations.</p> +<p>We take it that the commencement of a Session of Parliament is neither +more nor less than the drawing up of the curtain for a grand comic pantomime, +and that his Majesty’s most gracious speech on the opening thereof +may be not inaptly compared to the clown’s opening speech of ‘Here +we are!’ ‘My lords and gentlemen, here we are!’ +appears, to our mind at least, to be a very good abstract of the point +and meaning of the propitiatory address of the ministry. When +we remember how frequently this speech is made, immediately after <i>the +change</i> too, the parallel is quite perfect, and still more singular.</p> +<p>Perhaps the cast of our political pantomime never was richer than +at this day. We are particularly strong in clowns. At no +former time, we should say, have we had such astonishing tumblers, or +performers so ready to go through the whole of their feats for the amusement +of an admiring throng. Their extreme readiness to exhibit, indeed, +has given rise to some ill-natured reflections; it having been objected +that by exhibiting gratuitously through the country when the theatre +is closed, they reduce themselves to the level of mountebanks, and thereby +tend to degrade the respectability of the profession. Certainly +Grimaldi never did this sort of thing; and though Brown, King, and Gibson +have gone to the Surrey in vacation time, and Mr. C. J. Smith has ruralised +at Sadler’s Wells, we find no theatrical precedent for a general +tumbling through the country, except in the gentleman, name unknown, +who threw summersets on behalf of the late Mr. Richardson, and who is +no authority either, because he had never been on the regular boards.</p> +<p>But, laying aside this question, which after all is a mere matter +of taste, we may reflect with pride and gratification of heart on the +proficiency of our clowns as exhibited in the season. Night after +night will they twist and tumble about, till two, three, and four o’clock +in the morning; playing the strangest antics, and giving each other +the funniest slaps on the face that can possibly be imagined, without +evincing the smallest tokens of fatigue. The strange noises, the +confusion, the shouting and roaring, amid which all this is done, too, +would put to shame the most turbulent sixpenny gallery that ever yelled +through a boxing-night.</p> +<p>It is especially curious to behold one of these clowns compelled +to go through the most surprising contortions by the irresistible influence +of the wand of office, which his leader or harlequin holds above his +head. Acted upon by this wonderful charm he will become perfectly +motionless, moving neither hand, foot, nor finger, and will even lose +the faculty of speech at an instant’s notice; or on the other +hand, he will become all life and animation if required, pouring forth +a torrent of words without sense or meaning, throwing himself into the +wildest and most fantastic contortions, and even grovelling on the earth +and licking up the dust. These exhibitions are more curious than +pleasing; indeed, they are rather disgusting than otherwise, except +to the admirers of such things, with whom we confess we have no fellow-feeling.</p> +<p>Strange tricks—very strange tricks—are also performed +by the harlequin who holds for the time being the magic wand which we +have just mentioned. The mere waving it before a man’s eyes +will dispossess his brains of all the notions previously stored there, +and fill it with an entirely new set of ideas; one gentle tap on the +back will alter the colour of a man’s coat completely; and there +are some expert performers, who, having this wand held first on one +side and then on the other, will change from side to side, turning their +coats at every evolution, with so much rapidity and dexterity, that +the quickest eye can scarcely detect their motions. Occasionally, +the genius who confers the wand, wrests it from the hand of the temporary +possessor, and consigns it to some new performer; on which occasions +all the characters change sides, and then the race and the hard knocks +begin anew.</p> +<p>We might have extended this chapter to a much greater length—we +might have carried the comparison into the liberal professions—we +might have shown, as was in fact our original purpose, that each is +in itself a little pantomime with scenes and characters of its own, +complete; but, as we fear we have been quite lengthy enough already, +we shall leave this chapter just where it is. A gentleman, not +altogether unknown as a dramatic poet, wrote thus a year or two ago +-</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>‘All the world’s a stage,<br />And all the men and women +merely players:’</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>and we, tracking out his footsteps at the scarcely-worth-mentioning +little distance of a few millions of leagues behind, venture to add, +by way of new reading, that he meant a Pantomime, and that we are all +actors in The Pantomime of Life.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING A LION</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We have a great respect for lions in the abstract. In common +with most other people, we have heard and read of many instances of +their bravery and generosity. We have duly admired that heroic +self-denial and charming philanthropy which prompts them never to eat +people except when they are hungry, and we have been deeply impressed +with a becoming sense of the politeness they are said to display towards +unmarried ladies of a certain state. All natural histories teem +with anecdotes illustrative of their excellent qualities; and one old +spelling-book in particular recounts a touching instance of an old lion, +of high moral dignity and stern principle, who felt it his imperative +duty to devour a young man who had contracted a habit of swearing, as +a striking example to the rising generation.</p> +<p>All this is extremely pleasant to reflect upon, and, indeed, says +a very great deal in favour of lions as a mass. We are bound to +state, however, that such individual lions as we have happened to fall +in with have not put forth any very striking characteristics, and have +not acted up to the chivalrous character assigned them by their chroniclers. +We never saw a lion in what is called his natural state, certainly; +that is to say, we have never met a lion out walking in a forest, or +crouching in his lair under a tropical sun, waiting till his dinner +should happen to come by, hot from the baker’s. But we have +seen some under the influence of captivity, and the pressure of misfortune; +and we must say that they appeared to us very apathetic, heavy-headed +fellows.</p> +<p>The lion at the Zoological Gardens, for instance. He is all +very well; he has an undeniable mane, and looks very fierce; but, Lord +bless us! what of that? The lions of the fashionable world look +just as ferocious, and are the most harmless creatures breathing. +A box-lobby lion or a Regent-street animal will put on a most terrible +aspect, and roar, fearfully, if you affront him; but he will never bite, +and, if you offer to attack him manfully, will fairly turn tail and +sneak off. Doubtless these creatures roam about sometimes in herds, +and, if they meet any especially meek-looking and peaceably-disposed +fellow, will endeavour to frighten him; but the faintest show of a vigorous +resistance is sufficient to scare them even then. These are pleasant +characteristics, whereas we make it matter of distinct charge against +the Zoological lion and his brethren at the fairs, that they are sleepy, +dreamy, sluggish quadrupeds.</p> +<p>We do not remember to have ever seen one of them perfectly awake, +except at feeding-time. In every respect we uphold the biped lions +against their four-footed namesakes, and we boldly challenge controversy +upon the subject.</p> +<p>With these opinions it may be easily imagined that our curiosity +and interest were very much excited the other day, when a lady of our +acquaintance called on us and resolutely declined to accept our refusal +of her invitation to an evening party; ‘for,’ said she, +‘I have got a lion coming.’ We at once retracted our +plea of a prior engagement, and became as anxious to go, as we had previously +been to stay away.</p> +<p>We went early, and posted ourselves in an eligible part of the drawing-room, +from whence we could hope to obtain a full view of the interesting animal. +Two or three hours passed, the quadrilles began, the room filled; but +no lion appeared. The lady of the house became inconsolable,—for +it is one of the peculiar privileges of these lions to make solemn appointments +and never keep them,—when all of a sudden there came a tremendous +double rap at the street-door, and the master of the house, after gliding +out (unobserved as he flattered himself) to peep over the banisters, +came into the room, rubbing his hands together with great glee, and +cried out in a very important voice, ‘My dear, Mr.—(naming +the lion) has this moment arrived.’</p> +<p>Upon this, all eyes were turned towards the door, and we observed +several young ladies, who had been laughing and conversing previously +with great gaiety and good humour, grow extremely quiet and sentimental; +while some young gentlemen, who had been cutting great figures in the +facetious and small-talk way, suddenly sank very obviously in the estimation +of the company, and were looked upon with great coldness and indifference. +Even the young man who had been ordered from the music shop to play +the pianoforte was visibly affected, and struck several false notes +in the excess of his excitement.</p> +<p>All this time there was a great talking outside, more than once accompanied +by a loud laugh, and a cry of ‘Oh! capital! excellent!’ +from which we inferred that the lion was jocose, and that these exclamations +were occasioned by the transports of his keeper and our host. +Nor were we deceived; for when the lion at last appeared, we overheard +his keeper, who was a little prim man, whisper to several gentlemen +of his acquaintance, with uplifted hands, and every expression of half-suppressed +admiration, that—(naming the lion again) was in <i>such</i> cue +to-night!</p> +<p>The lion was a literary one. Of course, there were a vast number +of people present who had admired his roarings, and were anxious to +be introduced to him; and very pleasant it was to see them brought up +for the purpose, and to observe the patient dignity with which he received +all their patting and caressing. This brought forcibly to our +mind what we had so often witnessed at country fairs, where the other +lions are compelled to go through as many forms of courtesy as they +chance to be acquainted with, just as often as admiring parties happen +to drop in upon them.</p> +<p>While the lion was exhibiting in this way, his keeper was not idle, +for he mingled among the crowd, and spread his praises most industriously. +To one gentleman he whispered some very choice thing that the noble +animal had said in the very act of coming up-stairs, which, of course, +rendered the mental effort still more astonishing; to another he murmured +a hasty account of a grand dinner that had taken place the day before, +where twenty-seven gentlemen had got up all at once to demand an extra +cheer for the lion; and to the ladies he made sundry promises of interceding +to procure the majestic brute’s sign-manual for their albums. +Then, there were little private consultations in different corners, +relative to the personal appearance and stature of the lion; whether +he was shorter than they had expected to see him, or taller, or thinner, +or fatter, or younger, or older; whether he was like his portrait, or +unlike it; and whether the particular shade of his eyes was black, or +blue, or hazel, or green, or yellow, or mixture. At all these +consultations the keeper assisted; and, in short, the lion was the sole +and single subject of discussion till they sat him down to whist, and +then the people relapsed into their old topics of conversation—themselves +and each other.</p> +<p>We must confess that we looked forward with no slight impatience +to the announcement of supper; for if you wish to see a tame lion under +particularly favourable circumstances, feeding-time is the period of +all others to pitch upon. We were therefore very much delighted +to observe a sensation among the guests, which we well knew how to interpret, +and immediately afterwards to behold the lion escorting the lady of +the house down-stairs. We offered our arm to an elderly female +of our acquaintance, who—dear old soul!—is the very best +person that ever lived, to lead down to any meal; for, be the room ever +so small, or the party ever so large, she is sure, by some intuitive +perception of the eligible, to push and pull herself and conductor close +to the best dishes on the table;—we say we offered our arm to +this elderly female, and, descending the stairs shortly after the lion, +were fortunate enough to obtain a seat nearly opposite him.</p> +<p>Of course the keeper was there already. He had planted himself +at precisely that distance from his charge which afforded him a decent +pretext for raising his voice, when he addressed him, to so loud a key, +as could not fail to attract the attention of the whole company, and +immediately began to apply himself seriously to the task of bringing +the lion out, and putting him through the whole of his manoeuvres. +Such flashes of wit as he elicited from the lion! First of all, +they began to make puns upon a salt-cellar, and then upon the breast +of a fowl, and then upon the trifle; but the best jokes of all were +decidedly on the lobster salad, upon which latter subject the lion came +out most vigorously, and, in the opinion of the most competent authorities, +quite outshone himself. This is a very excellent mode of shining +in society, and is founded, we humbly conceive, upon the classic model +of the dialogues between Mr. Punch and his friend the proprietor, wherein +the latter takes all the up-hill work, and is content to pioneer to +the jokes and repartees of Mr. P. himself, who never fails to gain great +credit and excite much laughter thereby. Whatever it be founded +on, however, we recommend it to all lions, present and to come; for +in this instance it succeeded to admiration, and perfectly dazzled the +whole body of hearers.</p> +<p>When the salt-cellar, and the fowl’s breast, and the trifle, +and the lobster salad were all exhausted, and could not afford standing-room +for another solitary witticism, the keeper performed that very dangerous +feat which is still done with some of the caravan lions, although in +one instance it terminated fatally, of putting his head in the animal’s +mouth, and placing himself entirely at its mercy. Boswell frequently +presents a melancholy instance of the lamentable results of this achievement, +and other keepers and jackals have been terribly lacerated for their +daring. It is due to our lion to state, that he condescended to +be trifled with, in the most gentle manner, and finally went home with +the showman in a hack cab: perfectly peaceable, but slightly fuddled.</p> +<p>Being in a contemplative mood, we were led to make some reflections +upon the character and conduct of this genus of lions as we walked homewards, +and we were not long in arriving at the conclusion that our former impression +in their favour was very much strengthened and confirmed by what we +had recently seen. While the other lions receive company and compliments +in a sullen, moody, not to say snarling manner, these appear flattered +by the attentions that are paid them; while those conceal themselves +to the utmost of their power from the vulgar gaze, these court the popular +eye, and, unlike their brethren, whom nothing short of compulsion will +move to exertion, are ever ready to display their acquirements to the +wondering throng. We have known bears of undoubted ability who, +when the expectations of a large audience have been wound up to the +utmost pitch, have peremptorily refused to dance; well-taught monkeys, +who have unaccountably objected to exhibit on the slack wire; and elephants +of unquestioned genius, who have suddenly declined to turn the barrel-organ; +but we never once knew or heard of a biped lion, literary or otherwise,—and +we state it as a fact which is highly creditable to the whole species,—who, +occasion offering, did not seize with avidity on any opportunity which +was afforded him, of performing to his heart’s content on the +first violin.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>MR. ROBERT BOLTON: THE ‘GENTLEMAN CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS’</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In the parlour of the Green Dragon, a public-house in the immediate +neighbourhood of Westminster Bridge, everybody talks politics, every +evening, the great political authority being Mr. Robert Bolton, an individual +who defines himself as ‘a gentleman connected with the press,’ +which is a definition of peculiar indefiniteness. Mr. Robert Bolton’s +regular circle of admirers and listeners are an undertaker, a greengrocer, +a hairdresser, a baker, a large stomach surmounted by a man’s +head, and placed on the top of two particularly short legs, and a thin +man in black, name, profession, and pursuit unknown, who always sits +in the same position, always displays the same long, vacant face, and +never opens his lips, surrounded as he is by most enthusiastic conversation, +except to puff forth a volume of tobacco smoke, or give vent to a very +snappy, loud, and shrill <i>hem</i>! The conversation sometimes +turns upon literature, Mr. Bolton being a literary character, and always +upon such news of the day as is exclusively possessed by that talented +individual. I found myself (of course, accidentally) in the Green +Dragon the other evening, and, being somewhat amused by the following +conversation, preserved it.</p> +<p>‘Can you lend me a ten-pound note till Christmas?’ inquired +the hairdresser of the stomach.</p> +<p>‘Where’s your security, Mr. Clip?’</p> +<p>‘My stock in trade,—there’s enough of it, I’m +thinking, Mr. Thicknesse. Some fifty wigs, two poles, half-a-dozen +head blocks, and a dead Bruin.’</p> +<p>‘No, I won’t, then,’ growled out Thicknesse. +‘I lends nothing on the security of the whigs or the Poles either. +As for whigs, they’re cheats; as for the Poles, they’ve +got no cash. I never have nothing to do with blockheads, unless +I can’t awoid it (ironically), and a dead bear’s about as +much use to me as I could be to a dead bear.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then,’ urged the other, ‘there’s a +book as belonged to Pope, Byron’s Poems, valued at forty pounds, +because it’s got Pope’s identical scratch on the back; what +do you think of that for security?’</p> +<p>‘Well, to be sure!’ cried the baker. ‘But +how d’ye mean, Mr. Clip?’</p> +<p>‘Mean! why, that it’s got the <i>hottergruff</i> of Pope.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“Steal not this book, for fear of hangman’s rope;<br />For +it belongs to Alexander Pope.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>All that’s written on the inside of the binding of the book; +so, as my son says, we’re <i>bound</i> to believe it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, sir,’ observed the undertaker, deferentially, +and in a half-whisper, leaning over the table, and knocking over the +hairdresser’s grog as he spoke, ‘that argument’s very +easy upset.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps, sir,’ said Clip, a little flurried, ‘you’ll +pay for the first upset afore you thinks of another.’</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said the undertaker, bowing amicably to the hairdresser, +‘I <i>think</i>, I says I <i>think—</i>you’ll excuse +me, Mr. Clip, I <i>think</i>, you see, that won’t go down with +the present company—unfortunately, my master had the honour of +making the coffin of that ere Lord’s housemaid, not no more nor +twenty year ago. Don’t think I’m proud on it, gentlemen; +others might be; but I hate rank of any sort. I’ve no more +respect for a Lord’s footman than I have for any respectable tradesman +in this room. I may say no more nor I have for Mr. Clip! (bowing). +Therefore, that ere Lord must have been born long after Pope died. +And it’s a logical interference to defer, that they neither of +them lived at the same time. So what I mean is this here, that +Pope never had no book, never seed, felt, never smelt no book (triumphantly) +as belonged to that ere Lord. And, gentlemen, when I consider +how patiently you have ’eared the ideas what I have expressed, +I feel bound, as the best way to reward you for the kindness you have +exhibited, to sit down without saying anything more—partickler +as I perceive a worthier visitor nor myself is just entered. I +am not in the habit of paying compliments, gentlemen; when I do, therefore, +I hope I strikes with double force.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, Mr. Murgatroyd! what’s all this about striking with +double force?’ said the object of the above remark, as he entered. +‘I never excuse a man’s getting into a rage during winter, +even when he’s seated so close to the fire as you are. It +is very injudicious to put yourself into such a perspiration. +What is the cause of this extreme physical and mental excitement, sir?’</p> +<p>Such was the very philosophical address of Mr. Robert Bolton, a shorthand-writer, +as he termed himself—a bit of equivoque passing current among +his fraternity, which must give the uninitiated a vast idea of the establishment +of the ministerial organ, while to the initiated it signifies that no +one paper can lay claim to the enjoyment of their services. Mr. +Bolton was a young man, with a somewhat sickly and very dissipated expression +of countenance. His habiliments were composed of an exquisite +union of gentility, slovenliness, assumption, simplicity, <i>newness</i>, +and old age. Half of him was dressed for the winter, the other +half for the summer. His hat was of the newest cut, the D’Orsay; +his trousers had been white, but the inroads of mud and ink, etc., had +given them a pie-bald appearance; round his throat he wore a very high +black cravat, of the most tyrannical stiffness; while his <i>tout ensemble</i> +was hidden beneath the enormous folds of an old brown poodle-collared +great-coat, which was closely buttoned up to the aforesaid cravat. +His fingers peeped through the ends of his black kid gloves, and two +of the toes of each foot took a similar view of society through the +extremities of his high-lows. Sacred to the bare walls of his +garret be the mysteries of his interior dress! He was a short, +spare man, of a somewhat inferior deportment. Everybody seemed +influenced by his entry into the room, and his salutation of each member +partook of the patronizing. The hairdresser made way for him between +himself and the stomach. A minute afterwards he had taken possession +of his pint and pipe. A pause in the conversation took place. +Everybody was waiting, anxious for his first observation.</p> +<p>‘Horrid murder in Westminster this morning,’ observed +Mr. Bolton.</p> +<p>Everybody changed their positions. All eyes were fixed upon +the man of paragraphs.</p> +<p>‘A baker murdered his son by boiling him in a copper,’ +said Mr. Bolton.</p> +<p>‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed everybody, in simultaneous +horror.</p> +<p>‘Boiled him, gentlemen!’ added Mr. Bolton, with the most +effective emphasis; ‘<i>boiled</i> him!’</p> +<p>‘And the particulars, Mr. B.,’ inquired the hairdresser, +‘the particulars?’</p> +<p>Mr. Bolton took a very long draught of porter, and some two or three +dozen whiffs of tobacco, doubtless to instil into the commercial capacities +of the company the superiority of a gentlemen connected with the press, +and then said -</p> +<p>‘The man was a baker, gentlemen.’ (Every one looked +at the baker present, who stared at Bolton.) ‘His victim, +being his son, also was necessarily the son of a baker. The wretched +murderer had a wife, whom he was frequently in the habit, while in an +intoxicated state, of kicking, pummelling, flinging mugs at, knocking +down, and half-killing while in bed, by inserting in her mouth a considerable +portion of a sheet or blanket.’</p> +<p>The speaker took another draught, everybody looked at everybody else, +and exclaimed, ‘Horrid!’</p> +<p>‘It appears in evidence, gentlemen,’ continued Mr. Bolton, +‘that, on the evening of yesterday, Sawyer the baker came home +in a reprehensible state of beer. Mrs. S., connubially considerate, +carried him in that condition up-stairs into his chamber, and consigned +him to their mutual couch. In a minute or two she lay sleeping +beside the man whom the morrow’s dawn beheld a murderer!’ +(Entire silence informed the reporter that his picture had attained +the awful effect he desired.) ‘The son came home about an +hour afterwards, opened the door, and went up to bed. Scarcely +(gentlemen, conceive his feelings of alarm), scarcely had he taken off +his indescribables, when shrieks (to his experienced ear <i>maternal</i> +shrieks) scared the silence of surrounding night. He put his indescribables +on again, and ran down-stairs. He opened the door of the parental +bed-chamber. His father was dancing upon his mother. What +must have been his feelings! In the agony of the minute he rushed +at his male parent as he was about to plunge a knife into the side of +his female. The mother shrieked. The father caught the son +(who had wrested the knife from the paternal grasp) up in his arms, +carried him down-stairs, shoved him into a copper of boiling water among +some linen, closed the lid, and jumped upon the top of it, in which +position he was found with a ferocious countenance by the mother, who +arrived in the melancholy wash-house just as he had so settled himself.</p> +<p>‘“Where’s my boy?” shrieked the mother.</p> +<p>‘“In that copper, boiling,” coolly replied the +benign father.</p> +<p>‘Struck by the awful intelligence, the mother rushed from the +house, and alarmed the neighbourhood. The police entered a minute +afterwards. The father, having bolted the wash-house door, had +bolted himself. They dragged the lifeless body of the boiled baker +from the cauldron, and, with a promptitude commendable in men of their +station, they immediately carried it to the station-house. Subsequently, +the baker was apprehended while seated on the top of a lamp-post in +Parliament Street, lighting his pipe.’</p> +<p>The whole horrible ideality of the Mysteries of Udolpho, condensed +into the pithy effect of a ten-line paragraph, could not possibly have +so affected the narrator’s auditory. Silence, the purest +and most noble of all kinds of applause, bore ample testimony to the +barbarity of the baker, as well as to Bolton’s knack of narration; +and it was only broken after some minutes had elapsed by interjectional +expressions of the intense indignation of every man present. The +baker wondered how a British baker could so disgrace himself and the +highly honourable calling to which he belonged; and the others indulged +in a variety of wonderments connected with the subject; among which +not the least wonderment was that which was awakened by the genius and +information of Mr. Robert Bolton, who, after a glowing eulogium on himself, +and his unspeakable influence with the daily press, was proceeding, +with a most solemn countenance, to hear the pros and cons of the Pope +autograph question, when I took up my hat, and left.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h3>FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD AGED TWO YEARS AND TWO +MONTHS</h3> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>MY CHILD,</p> +<p>To recount with what trouble I have brought you up—with what +an anxious eye I have regarded your progress,—how late and how +often I have sat up at night working for you,—and how many thousand +letters I have received from, and written to your various relations +and friends, many of whom have been of a querulous and irritable turn,—to +dwell on the anxiety and tenderness with which I have (as far as I possessed +the power) inspected and chosen your food; rejecting the indigestible +and heavy matter which some injudicious but well-meaning old ladies +would have had you swallow, and retaining only those light and pleasant +articles which I deemed calculated to keep you free from all gross humours, +and to render you an agreeable child, and one who might be popular with +society in general,—to dilate on the steadiness with which I have +prevented your annoying any company by talking politics—always +assuring you that you would thank me for it yourself some day when you +grew older,—to expatiate, in short, upon my own assiduity as a +parent, is beside my present purpose, though I cannot but contemplate +your fair appearance—your robust health, and unimpeded circulation +(which I take to be the great secret of your good looks) without the +liveliest satisfaction and delight.</p> +<p>It is a trite observation, and one which, young as you are, I have +no doubt you have often heard repeated, that we have fallen upon strange +times, and live in days of constant shiftings and changes. I had +a melancholy instance of this only a week or two since. I was +returning from Manchester to London by the Mail Train, when I suddenly +fell into another train—a mixed train—of reflection, occasioned +by the dejected and disconsolate demeanour of the Post-Office Guard. +We were stopping at some station where they take in water, when he dismounted +slowly from the little box in which he sits in ghastly mockery of his +old condition with pistol and blunderbuss beside him, ready to shoot +the first highwayman (or railwayman) who shall attempt to stop the horses, +which now travel (when they travel at all) <i>inside</i> and in a portable +stable invented for the purpose,—he dismounted, I say, slowly +and sadly, from his post, and looking mournfully about him as if in +dismal recollection of the old roadside public-house the blazing fire—the +glass of foaming ale—the buxom handmaid and admiring hangers-on +of tap-room and stable, all honoured by his notice; and, retiring a +little apart, stood leaning against a signal-post, surveying the engine +with a look of combined affliction and disgust which no words can describe. +His scarlet coat and golden lace were tarnished with ignoble smoke; +flakes of soot had fallen on his bright green shawl—his pride +in days of yore—the steam condensed in the tunnel from which we +had just emerged, shone upon his hat like rain. His eye betokened +that he was thinking of the coachman; and as it wandered to his own +seat and his own fast-fading garb, it was plain to see that he felt +his office and himself had alike no business there, and were nothing +but an elaborate practical joke.</p> +<p>As we whirled away, I was led insensibly into an anticipation of +those days to come, when mail-coach guards shall no longer be judges +of horse-flesh—when a mail-coach guard shall never even have seen +a horse—when stations shall have superseded stables, and corn +shall have given place to coke. ‘In those dawning times,’ +thought I, ‘exhibition-rooms shall teem with portraits of Her +Majesty’s favourite engine, with boilers after Nature by future +Landseers. Some Amburgh, yet unborn, shall break wild horses by +his magic power; and in the dress of a mail-coach guard exhibit his +TRAINED ANIMALS in a mock mail-coach. Then, shall wondering crowds +observe how that, with the exception of his whip, it is all his eye; +and crowned heads shall see them fed on oats, and stand alone unmoved +and undismayed, while counters flee affrighted when the coursers neigh!’</p> +<p>Such, my child, were the reflections from which I was only awakened +then, as I am now, by the necessity of attending to matters of present +though minor importance. I offer no apology to you for the digression, +for it brings me very naturally to the subject of change, which is the +very subject of which I desire to treat.</p> +<p>In fact, my child, you have changed hands. Henceforth I resign +you to the guardianship and protection of one of my most intimate and +valued friends, Mr. Ainsworth, with whom, and with you, my best wishes +and warmest feelings will ever remain. I reap no gain or profit +by parting from you, nor will any conveyance of your property be required, +for, in this respect, you have always been literally ‘Bentley’s’ +Miscellany, and never mine.</p> +<p>Unlike the driver of the old Manchester mail, I regard this altered +state of things with feelings of unmingled pleasure and satisfaction.</p> +<p>Unlike the guard of the new Manchester mail, <i>your</i> guard is +at home in his new place, and has roystering highwaymen and gallant +desperadoes ever within call. And if I might compare you, my child, +to an engine; (not a Tory engine, nor a Whig engine, but a brisk and +rapid locomotive;) your friends and patrons to passengers; and he who +now stands towards you <i>in loco parentis</i> as the skilful engineer +and supervisor of the whole, I would humbly crave leave to postpone +the departure of the train on its new and auspicious course for one +brief instant, while, with hat in hand, I approach side by side with +the friend who travelled with me on the old road, and presume to solicit +favour and kindness in behalf of him and his new charge, both for their +sakes and that of the old coachman,</p> +<p>Boz.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> This paper +was written before the practice of exhibiting Members of Parliament, +like other curiosities, for the small charge of half-a-crown, was abolished.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> The regulations +of the prison relative to the confinement of prisoners during the day, +their sleeping at night, their taking their meals, and other matters +of gaol economy, have been all altered-greatly for the better—since +this sketch was first published. Even the construction of the +prison itself has been changed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> These +two men were executed shortly afterwards. The other was respited +during his Majesty’s pleasure.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SKETCHES BY BOZ ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named sbboz10h.htm or sbboz10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, sbboz11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, sbboz10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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