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diff --git a/882-0.txt b/882-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f1cbd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/882-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,27137 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sketches by Boz, by Charles Dickens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Sketches by Boz + illustrative of everyday life and every-day people + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: April 10, 1997 [eBook #882] +[Most recently updated: April 20, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES BY BOZ *** + + + + +Sketches by Boz + + +Illustrative of Every-Day Life +and Every-Day People + +by Charles Dickens + + +_With Illustrations by George Cruickshank and Phiz_ + + +LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, ld. +NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS +1903 + + + + +PREFACE + + +The whole of these Sketches were written and published, one by one, +when I was a very young man. They were collected and republished while +I was still a very young man; and sent into the world with all their +imperfections (a good many) on their heads. + +They comprise my first attempts at authorship—with the exception of +certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and +represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am +conscious of their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, and +bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience; particularly in that +section of the present volume which is comprised under the general head +of Tales. + +But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently +and favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it +right either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here +and there. + + + + +OUR PARISH + + + + +CHAPTER I—THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER + + +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. + +The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps _the_ 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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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_l._ 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II—THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN + + +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. + +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. + +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 _so_ odd-looking, then because his +face was _so_ expressive, then because he preached _so_ 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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _will_ 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 _would_ 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III—THE FOUR SISTERS + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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,—‘_We_ are +going to marry Mr. Robinson.’ + +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 _quite_ old enough to judge for themselves, and to +be sure people ought to know their own business best, and so forth. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _Miss_ 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 +_un_certain age, at No. 16, joining in the conversation. But who shall +portray the astonishment of Gordon-place, when Mr. Robinson handed in +_all_ 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 _all_ +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—_all_ the Miss Willises +went into hysterics at the conclusion of the ceremony, until the sacred +edifice resounded with their united wailings! + +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 _will_ 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. + +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, _in propriâ personâ_ say, with great dignity, +in answer to the next inquiry, ‘_My_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV—THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE + + +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. + +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. + +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 _verbatim_ reports of vestry +meetings. He would not appear egotistical for the world, but at the +same time he must say, that there are _speeches_—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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _quondam_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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). + +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 _data_, 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V—THE BROKER’S MAN + + +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. + +MR BUNG’S NARRATIVE + + +‘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! + +‘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 _is_ 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. + +‘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. + +‘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. “_Is_ 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. + +‘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 “_Mini_” I had just written, and left the +miniature on the table. + +‘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 _could_ 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 _was_ 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. + +‘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.’ + + + + +CHAPTER VI—THE LADIES’ SOCIETIES + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII—OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _don’t_ come, and never say _do_. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _did_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘William, William!’ murmured the mother, after a long interval, ‘don’t +look at me so—speak to me, dear!’ + +The boy smiled languidly, but an instant afterwards his features +resolved into the same cold, solemn gaze. + +‘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—’ + +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. + +The boy was dead. + + +SCENES + + + + +CHAPTER I—THE STREETS—MORNING + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _he_ run back’ards.’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II—THE STREETS—NIGHT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _such_ a voice! + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III—SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _charitable_ ladies to +hear named. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV—SCOTLAND-YARD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V—SEVEN DIALS + + +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! + +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 _can_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Vy don’t you pitch into her, Sarah?’ exclaims one half-dressed matron, +by way of encouragement. ‘Vy don’t you? if _my_ ’usband had treated her +with a drain last night, unbeknown to me, I’d tear her precious eyes +out—a wixen!’ + +‘What’s the matter, ma’am?’ inquires another old woman, who has just +bustled up to the spot. + +‘Matter!’ replies the first speaker, talking _at_ 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—’ + +‘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. + +‘Niver mind,’ replies the opposition expressively, ‘niver mind; _you_ +go home, and, ven you’re quite sober, mend your stockings.’ + +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 _dénouement_.’ + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _his_ family in the back kitchen, and a +jobbing man—carpet-beater and so forth—with _his_ 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VI—MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH-STREET + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _corps de ballet_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + + + + +CHAPTER VII—HACKNEY-COACH STANDS + + +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 _their_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _with_ the pole, as others have of their +expeditions _to_ 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! + +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—_a stand_! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII—DOCTORS’ COMMONS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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 _pro_ and _con_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER IX—LONDON RECREATIONS + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +This is no ideal sketch. There _used_ 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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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!’ + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X—THE RIVER + + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _protégés_ 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. + +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Pass on, if you please, sir,’ replies the attendant—‘other boat, sir.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI—ASTLEY’S + + +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. + +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 _beau idéal_ of +a group of Astley’s visitors. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII—GREENWICH FAIR + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 (_wilks_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _leetle_ +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _not_ get home. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII—PRIVATE THEATRES + + +‘Richard the Third.—Duke of Glo’ster 2_l._; Earl of Richmond, 1_l_; +Duke of Buckingham, 15_s._; Catesby, 12_s._; Tressel, 10_s._ 6_d._; +Lord Stanley, 5_s._; Lord Mayor of London, 2_s._ 6_d._’ + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _The Unknown +Bandit of the Invisible Cavern_, is in rehearsal; how Mister Palmer is +to play _The Unknown Bandit_; 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 _Richards_, +_Shylocks_, _Beverleys_, and _Othellos_—the _Young Dorntons_, _Rovers_, +_Captain Absolutes_, and _Charles Surfaces_—a private theatre. + +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. + +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 _corps dramatique_), 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. + +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. + +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 _does_ 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 _Macbeth_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _the_ 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. + +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 _Banquo_: and the young lady with the liberal display of +legs, who is kindly painting his face with a hare’s foot, is dressed +for _Fleance_. The large woman, who is consulting the stage directions +in Cumberland’s edition of _Macbeth_, is the _Lady Macbeth_ of the +night; she is always selected to play the part, because she is tall and +stout, and _looks_ 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 +_Malcolm_ to-night, just to accustom himself to an audience. He will +get on better by degrees; he will play _Othello_ 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 _her_ first +appearance, too—in that character. The boy of fourteen who is having +his eyebrows smeared with soap and whitening, is _Duncan_, King of +Scotland; and the two dirty men with the corked countenances, in very +old green tunics, and dirty drab boots, are the ‘army.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV—VAUXHALL-GARDENS BY DAY + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _not_ +go until the second or third announcement of a race between two +balloons tempted us, and we went. + +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. _That_ +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! _That_ 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! _That_ +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. + +It was for the concert in the orchestra. A small party of dismal men in +cocked hats were ‘executing’ the overture to _Tancredi_, 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. + +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 _do_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _his_ 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.’ + +Here there was a considerable talking among the females in the +spencers. + +‘What’s the ladies a laughing at, sir?’ inquired the little man, +condescendingly. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Would he, though?’ inquired the other man. + +‘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.’ + +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 _his_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XV—EARLY COACHES + + +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. + +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. + +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 _à la_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _can_ 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. + +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 +‘_Times_, gen’lm’n, _Times_,’ ‘Here’s _Chron—Chron—Chron_,’ ‘_Herald_, +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI—OMNIBUSES + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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: + +‘What are you stopping for?’ + +Here the cad whistles, and affects not to hear the question. + +‘I say [a poke], what are you stopping for?’ + +‘For passengers, sir. Ba—nk.—Ty.’ + +‘I know you’re stopping for passengers; but you’ve no business to do +so. _Why_ are you stopping?’ + +‘Vy, sir, that’s a difficult question. I think it is because we perfer +stopping here to going on.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII—THE LAST CAB-DRIVER, AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Now, just mark this, young man,’ said the little gentleman, ‘I’ll pull +you up to-morrow morning.’ + +‘No! will you though?’ said our friend, with a sneer. + +‘I will,’ replied the little gentleman, ‘mark my words, that’s all. If +I live till to-morrow morning, you shall repent this.’ + +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. + +‘You’ll pull me up, will you?’ said our friend. + +‘I will,’ rejoined the little gentleman, with even greater vehemence an +before. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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. + +We started.—‘What voice is that?’ said we. The Governor shook his head. + +‘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!’ + +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? + +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, ‘_that’s_ worth twopence.’ + +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 _do_ know, perhaps we shall never have a better +opportunity than the present. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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 _sobriquet_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _ought_ 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 _ought_ to have been Mr. Barker, because the action was not a common +one, and could have emanated from no ordinary mind. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII—A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH + + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +‘How _can_ 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. + +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. + +‘Go back, sir—you must _not_ come here,’ shouts the hoarse one, with +tremendous emphasis of voice and gesture, the moment the offender +catches his eye. + +The stranger pauses. + +‘Do you hear, sir—will you go back?’ continues the official dignitary, +gently pushing the intruder some half-dozen yards. + +‘Come, don’t push me,’ replies the stranger, turning angrily round. + +‘I will, sir.’ + +‘You won’t, sir.’ + +‘Go out, sir.’ + +‘Take your hands off me, sir.’ + +‘Go out of the passage, sir.’ + +‘You’re a Jack-in-office, sir.’ + +‘A what?’ ejaculates he of the boots. + +‘A Jack-in-office, sir, and a very insolent fellow,’ reiterates the +stranger, now completely in a passion. + +‘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.’ + +‘D-n the Speaker, sir!’ shouts the intruder. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +That smart-looking fellow in the black coat with velvet facings and +cuffs, who wears his _D’Orsay_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _quite_ 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. +[122] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 _does_ +address the House, the effect is absolutely irresistible. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _gourmand_; 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? + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX—PUBLIC DINNERS + + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Pray, silence, gentlemen, if you please, for _Non nobis_!’ 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 _Non nobis_!’ +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 _too-too_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 _Non nobis_ 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 +‘_Encore_!’ most vociferously. + +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—_air_—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_l._ +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.’ + +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. _Exeunt_ 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. + +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 _he_ knows no more +excellent individual than the chairman—except the senior officer of the +charity, whose health _he_ begs to propose. The senior officer, in +returning thanks, observes that _he_ knows no more worthy man than the +secretary—except Mr. Walker, the auditor, whose health _he_ 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XX—THE FIRST OF MAY + + +‘Now ladies, up in the sky-parlour: only once a year, if you please!’ + +Young Lady with Brass Ladle. + + +‘Sweep—sweep—sw-e-ep!’ + +Illegal Watchword. + + +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! + +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 _poussette_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_did_ 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 _choose_ 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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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 _élite_ 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. + +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. + +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 _not_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 +_bouquet_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +How has May-day decayed! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI—BROKERS’ AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS + + +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. + +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! + +The goods here are adapted to the taste, or rather to the means, of +cheap purchasers. There are some of the most beautiful _looking_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII—GIN-SHOPS + + +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. + +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. + +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 _liqueurs_. 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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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_ 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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII—THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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; +‘_do_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV—CRIMINAL COURTS + + +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 _bonâ fide_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _can_ look, with an immense _bouquet_ 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. + +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. + +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: + +_Court_: Have you any witnesses to speak to your character, boy? + +_Boy_: 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. + +_Court_. Inquire for these witnesses. + +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.’ + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV—A VISIT TO NEWGATE + + +‘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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _said_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _her_ 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. + +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 _them_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. [161] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _the condemned pew_; 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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _chevaux de frise_; and +the whole is under the constant inspection of vigilant and experienced +turnkeys. + +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 _know_ 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. + +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.’ + +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. [165] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _not_ 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 _him_! Verdict, ‘Guilty.’ No matter; he +will escape. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHARACTERS + + + + +CHAPTER I—THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II—A CHRISTMAS DINNER + + +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! + +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! + +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 +_will_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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, _he_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _such_ songs, from +aunt Margaret’s husband, who turns out to be such a nice man, and _so_ +attentive to grandmamma! Even grandpapa not only sings his annual song +with unprecedented vigour, but on being honoured with an unanimous +_encore_, 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. + + + + +CHAPTER III—THE NEW YEAR + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The man on the first landing precedes him to the drawing-room door. +‘Mr. Tupple!’ shouts the messenger. ‘How _are_ 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. + +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. + +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 _much_ 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. + +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 _so_ 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.) + +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!’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER IV—MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE + + +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. + +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 _so_ 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. + +‘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 _her_ 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 _would_ 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. + +‘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 _would_ stare at Miss J’mima +Ivins, and another gentleman in a plaid waistcoat _would_ 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. + +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. + +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! + +‘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 _you_, 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V—THE PARLOUR ORATOR + + +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. + +‘Won’t you walk into the parlour, sir?’ said the young lady, in +seductive tones. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Very extraordinary!’ said the light-haired man after a pause of five +minutes. A murmur of assent ran through the company. + +‘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. + +‘Why should it be extraordinary?—why is it extraordinary?—prove it to +be extraordinary!’ + +‘Oh, if you come to that—’ said the light-haired man, meekly. + +‘Come to that!’ ejaculated the man with the red face; ‘but we _must_ +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 _them_,” says I. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘You _are_ a slave,’ said the red-faced man, ‘and the most pitiable of +all slaves.’ + +‘Werry hard if I am,’ interrupted the greengrocer, ‘for I got no good +out of the twenty million that was paid for ’mancipation, anyhow.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Prove it,’ said the greengrocer. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Of course, of course,’ said divers members of the company, who +understood almost as much about the matter as the broker himself. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘Wonderful man!’ said he of the sharp nose. + +‘Splendid speaker!’ added the broker. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VI—THE HOSPITAL PATIENT + + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Take off his hat,’ said the magistrate. The officer did as he was +desired, and the man’s features were disclosed. + +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. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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!’ + +The nurse bent over the girl for a few seconds, and then drew the sheet +over her face. It covered a corpse. + + + + +CHAPTER VII—THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. JOHN DOUNCE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _had_ been when he _might_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Can you open me an oyster, my dear?’ said Mr. John Dounce. + +‘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. + +‘Can you open me half-a-dozen more, my dear?’ inquired Mr. John Dounce. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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 _did_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII—THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. A TALE OF AMBITION + + +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. + +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—_so_ kind, and _so_ 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 _they_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Did you ever hear so sweet a voice, my dear?’ inquired Mr. Jennings +Rodolph of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. + +‘Never; indeed I never did, love,’ replied Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. + +‘Don’t you think Miss Martin, with a little cultivation, would be very +like Signora Marra Boni, my dear?’ asked Mr. Jennings Rodolph. + +‘Just exactly the very thing that struck me, my love,’ answered Mrs. +Jennings Rodolph. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Turn them geese out,’ cried the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s +party, with great indignation. + +‘Sing out,’ whispered Mr. Jennings Rodolph. + +‘So I do,’ responded Miss Amelia Martin. + +‘Sing louder,’ said Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. + +‘I can’t,’ replied Miss Amelia Martin. + +‘Off, off, off,’ cried the rest of the audience. + +‘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. + + + + +CHAPTER IX—THE DANCING ACADEMY + + +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 _very_ 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 _in_, and +Signor Billsmethi’s family to dance _with_; and when he had been +sufficiently broken in in the parlour, he began to run in couples in +the assembly-room. + +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. + +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 _his_ business in his lifetime, took to +managing her son and _his_ 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. + +‘And very much delighted I am, Mr. Cooper,’ said Signor Billsmethi, +‘that I did _not_ 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.’ + +‘I am very glad of it too, sir,’ said Augustus Cooper. + +‘And I hope we shall be better acquainted, sir,’ said Signor +Billsmethi. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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 _had_ 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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X—SHABBY-GENTEEL PEOPLE + + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI—MAKING A NIGHT OF IT + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +As to Mr. Thomas Potter, he _would_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Give that dog a bone!’ cried one gentleman in his shirt-sleeves. + +‘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. + +The overture—to which these various sounds had been an _ad libitum_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +The prosecutors _were_ 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.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XII—THE PRISONERS’ VAN + + +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.’ + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +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! + +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. + +The crowd dispersed; the vehicle rolled away with its load of guilt and +misfortune; and we saw no more of the Prisoners’ Van. + + + + +TALES + + + + +CHAPTER I—THE BOARDING-HOUSE + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +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. + +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 _with_ 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. + +Mr. Tibbs enjoyed a small independence from the pension-list—about +43_l._ 15_s._ 10_d._ 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 _all_ 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_l._, 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. + +‘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.’ + +Mr. Tibbs placed the poker at right angles with the fire shovel, and +essayed to speak, but recollected he had nothing to say. + +‘The young ladies,’ continued Mrs. T., ‘have kindly volunteered to +bring their own piano.’ + +Tibbs thought of the volunteer story, but did not venture it. + +A bright thought struck him— + +‘It’s very likely—’ said he. + +‘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.’ + +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—’ + +‘A what!’ shrieked Mrs. Tibbs. Tibbs modestly repeated his former +suggestion. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘I saw a devilish number of parcels in the passage when I came home,’ +simpered Mr. Simpson. + +‘Materials for the toilet, no doubt,’ rejoined the Don Juan reader. + +—‘Much linen, lace, and several pair +Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete; +With other articles of ladies fair, +To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat.’ + +‘Is that from Milton?’ inquired Mr. Simpson. + +‘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. + +‘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 +_vice versâ_. 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. + +‘Julia, my love,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to her youngest daughter, in a +tone loud enough for the remainder of the company to hear—‘Julia.’ + +‘Yes, Ma.’ + +‘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. + +‘We had the most uncivil hackney-coachman to-day, you can imagine,’ +said Mrs. Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential tone. + +‘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.’ + +‘I think hackney-coachmen generally _are_ uncivil,’ said Mr. Hicks in +his most insinuating tone. + +‘Positively I think they are,’ replied Mrs. Maplesone, as if the idea +had never struck her before. + +‘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. + +‘Robinson, what _do_ 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. + +‘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. + +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 _lifted him up_, 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_l._ 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. + +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 _some_ 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. + +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. + +‘What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is!’ whispered Matilda +Maplesone to her sister Julia. + +‘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.’ + +‘What whiskers!’ said Miss Julia. + +‘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 _chef-d’oeuvres_ 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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Miss Julia, shall I assist you to some fish?’ + +‘If you please—very little—oh! plenty, thank you’ (a bit about the size +of a walnut put upon the plate). + +‘Julia is a _very_ little eater,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to Mr. Calton. + +The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish with his +eyes: so he only ejaculated, ‘Ah!’ + +‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after every one else had been +helped, ‘what do _you_ 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.’ + +‘Did you say fish, my dear?’ (another frown). + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Take away, James,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed the fourth +mouthful—and away went the plates like lightning. + +‘I’ll take a bit of bread, James,’ said the poor ‘master of the house,’ +more hungry than ever. + +‘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. + +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. + +Between the fish and an intimated sirloin, there was a prolonged +interval. + +Here was an opportunity for Mr. Hicks. He could not resist the +singularly appropriate quotation— + +‘But beef is rare within these oxless isles; +Goats’ flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, +And when a holiday upon them smiles, +A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.’ + +‘Very ungentlemanly behaviour,’ thought little Mrs. Tibbs, ‘to talk in +that way.’ + +‘Ah,’ said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. ‘Tom Moore is my poet.’ + +‘And mine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone. + +‘And mine,’ said Miss Julia. + +‘And mine,’ added Mr. Simpson. + +‘Look at his compositions,’ resumed the knocker. + +‘To be sure,’ said Simpson, with confidence. + +‘Look at Don Juan,’ replied Mr. Septimus Hicks. + +‘Julia’s letter,’ suggested Miss Matilda. + +‘Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers?’ inquired Miss +Julia. + +‘To be sure,’ said Simpson. + +‘Or Paradise and the Peri,’ said the old beau. + +‘Yes; or Paradise and the Peer,’ repeated Simpson, who thought he was +getting through it capitally. + +‘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?’ + +‘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—’ + +‘Tell your master, James,’ interrupted Mrs. Tibbs, in an awfully +distinct tone, ‘tell your master if he _won’t_ 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. + +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. + +* * * * * + + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Not as I knows on, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘ Please, sir, he looked +rather rum, as it might be.’ + +‘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. + +‘I received a note—’ he said, very tremulously, in a voice like a Punch +with a cold. + +‘Yes,’ returned the other, ‘you did.’ + +‘Exactly.’ + +‘Yes.’ + +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. + +‘Hicks,’ said he, ‘I have sent for you, in consequence of certain +arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with a +marriage.’ + +‘With a marriage!’ gasped Hicks, compared with whose expression of +countenance, Hamlet’s, when he sees his father’s ghost, is pleasing and +composed. + +‘With a marriage,’ returned the knocker. ‘I have sent for you to prove +the great confidence I can repose in you.’ + +‘And will you betray me?’ eagerly inquired Hicks, who in his alarm had +even forgotten to quote. + +‘_I_ betray _you_! Won’t _you_ betray_ me_?’ + +‘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. + +‘People must know that, some time or other—within a year, I imagine,’ +said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency. ‘We _may_ have +a family.’ + +‘_We_!—That won’t affect you, surely?’ + +‘The devil it won’t!’ + +‘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!’ + +‘What Matilda?’ inquired Hicks, starting up. + +‘Matilda Maplesone,’ responded the other, doing the same. + +‘I marry her to-morrow morning,’ said Hicks. + +‘It’s false,’ rejoined his companion: ‘I marry her!’ + +‘You marry her?’ + +‘I marry her!’ + +‘You marry Matilda Maplesone?’ + +‘Matilda Maplesone.’ + +‘_Miss_ Maplesone marry _you_?’ + +‘Miss Maplesone! No; Mrs. Maplesone.’ + +‘Good Heaven!’ said Hicks, falling into his chair: ‘You marry the +mother, and I the daughter!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I don’t like to ask him,’ replied Calton, ‘he’s such a donkey.’ + +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— + + +‘Oh Powers of Heaven! what dark eyes meets she there? +’Tis—’tis her father’s—fixed upon the pair.’ + + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _my_ +father; therefore he must be enjoined to secrecy.’ + +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. + +‘Mr. Tibbs,’ called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, looking over the +banisters. + +‘Sir!’ replied he of the dirty face. + +‘Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment?’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +Mr. Calton resumed; ‘I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an unpleasant +situation.’ + +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!’ + +‘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. + +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.’ + +‘You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs?’ inquired Mr. Calton. + +‘Bless you, no, sir,’ returned Tibbs; ‘after all, its very natural. +When two young people get together, you know—’ + +‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Calton, with an indescribable air of +self-satisfaction. + +‘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. + +‘No, sir,’ replied Tibbs; ‘I was just the same at his age.’ He actually +smiled when he said this. + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Certainly not,’ replied Tibbs; still without evincing an atom of +surprise. + +‘You will not?’ + +‘Decidedly not,’ reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a pot of porter +with the head off. + +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. + +‘Now, confess,’ asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked up his hat, +‘were you not a little surprised?’ + +‘I b’lieve you!’ replied that illustrious person, holding up one hand; +‘I b’lieve you! When I first heard of it.’ + +‘So sudden,’ said Septimus Hicks. + +‘So strange to ask _me_, you know,’ said Tibbs. + +‘So odd altogether!’ said the superannuated love-maker; and then all +three laughed. + +‘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 _will_ his father say?’ + +Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton. + +‘Yes; but the best of it is,’ said the latter, giggling in his turn, ‘I +haven’t got a father—he! he! he!’ + +‘You haven’t got a father. No; but _he_ has,’ said Tibbs. + +‘_Who_ has?’ inquired Septimus Hicks. + +‘Why, _him_.’ + +‘Him, who? Do you know my secret? Do you mean me?’ + +‘You! No; you know who I mean,’ returned Tibbs with a knowing wink. + +‘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. + +‘Why Mr. Simpson, of course,’ replied Tibbs; ‘who else could I mean?’ + +‘I see it all,’ said the Byron-quoter; ‘Simpson marries Julia Maplesone +to-morrow morning!’ + +‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, ‘of course he +does.’ + +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. + +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, _Maplesone_ v. _Calton_, 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_l._ 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. + +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. + +The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers. Results +must be reserved for another chapter. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND. + + +‘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.’ + +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. + +The postman drew near the house. He paused—so did Mrs. Tibbs. A knock—a +bustle—a letter—post-paid. + + +‘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. + +‘T. I. as To apologise to I. T. for the shortness Of the notice But i +hope it will not unconvenience you. + +‘I remain yours Truly +‘Wednesday evening.’ + + +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.’ + +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. + +The visitor (who was very fat and red-faced) was shown into the +drawing-room; Mrs. Tibbs presented herself, and the negotiation +commenced. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Money isn’t no object whatever to me,’ said the lady, ‘so much as +living in a state of retirement and obtrusion.’ + +Mrs. Tibbs, as a matter of course, acquiesced in such an exceedingly +natural desire. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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?’ + +‘Yes, ma’am.’ + +‘And you’ll find room for my little servant Agnes?’ + +‘Oh! certainly.’ + +‘And I can have one of the cellars in the area for my bottled porter.’ + +‘With the greatest pleasure;—James shall get it ready for you by +Saturday.’ + +‘And I’ll join the company at the breakfast-table on Sunday morning,’ +said Mrs. Bloss. ‘I shall get up on purpose.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘The next room?’ inquired Mrs. Bloss. + +‘The next room,’ repeated the hostess. + +‘How very promiscuous!’ ejaculated the widow. + +‘He hardly ever gets up,’ said Mrs. Tibbs in a whisper. + +‘Lor!’ cried Mrs. Bloss, in an equally low tone. + +‘And when he is up,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, ‘we never can persuade him to go +to bed again.’ + +‘Dear me!’ said the astonished Mrs. Bloss, drawing her chair nearer +Mrs. Tibbs. ‘What is his complaint?’ + +‘Why, the fact is,’ replied Mrs. Tibbs, with a most communicative air, +‘he has no stomach whatever.’ + +‘No what?’ inquired Mrs. Bloss, with a look of the most indescribable +alarm. + +‘No stomach,’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs, with a shake of the head. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Never heard such a case in my life!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bloss. ‘Why, he’s +worse than I am.’ + +‘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. + +‘You have quite incited my curiosity,’ said Mrs. Bloss, as she rose to +depart. ‘How I long to see him!’ + +‘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. + +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_l._ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Why, what _do_ you think, ma’am?’ inquired the inquisitive Agnes of +her mistress, after they had been in the house some three hours; ‘what +_do_ you think, ma’am? the lady of the house is married.’ + +‘Married!’ said Mrs. Bloss, taking the pill and a draught of +Guinness—‘married! Unpossible!’ + +‘She is indeed, ma’am,’ returned the Columbine; ‘and her husband, +ma’am, lives—he—he—he—lives in the kitchen, ma’am.’ + +‘In the kitchen!’ + +‘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. + +‘Well, I never!’ said Mrs. Bloss. + +‘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.’ + +‘Tickle the boarders!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, seriously alarmed. + +‘No, ma’am, not the boarders, the servants.’ + +‘Oh, is that all!’ said Mrs. Bloss, quite satisfied. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Good morning, Mr. Evenson,’ said Tibbs, very humbly, with something +between a nod and a bow. + +‘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. + +‘Is Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?’ inquired Tibbs, +just for the sake of saying something. + +‘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.’ + +‘He’s very fond of whistling,’ said Tibbs, with a slight smirk. + +‘Yes—I ain’t,’ was the laconic reply. + +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. + +‘Here comes Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Tibbs; and Mr. Wisbottle forthwith +appeared in blue slippers, and a shawl dressing-gown, whistling ‘_Di +piacer_.’ + +‘Good morning, sir,’ said Tibbs again. It was almost the only thing he +ever said to anybody. + +‘How are you, Tibbs?’ condescendingly replied the amateur; and he +walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever. + +‘Pretty air, that!’ said Evenson, with a snarl, and without taking his +eyes off the paper. + +‘Glad you like it,’ replied Wisbottle, highly gratified. + +‘Don’t you think it would sound better, if you whistled it a little +louder?’ inquired the mastiff. + +‘No; I don’t think it would,’ rejoined the unconscious Wisbottle. + +‘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—’ + +The entrance of Mrs. Tibbs (with the keys in a little basket) +interrupted the threat, and prevented its conclusion. + +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. + +‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Tomkins, who had been looking out at the +window. ‘Here—Wisbottle—pray come here—make haste.’ + +Mr. Wisbottle started from the table, and every one looked up. + +‘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?’ + +‘Dear me! I see,’ replied Wisbottle, in a tone of admiration. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Yes,’ replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast. + +‘Never saw anything like it before, I suppose?’ suggested Wisbottle. + +‘No—except the Lord Lieutenant’s levees,’ replied O’Bleary. + +‘Are they at all equal to our drawing-rooms?’ + +‘Oh, infinitely superior!’ + +‘Gad! I don’t know,’ said the aristocratic Wisbottle, ‘the Dowager +Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently dressed, and so was +the Baron Slappenbachenhausen.’ + +‘What was he presented on?’ inquired Evenson. + +‘On his arrival in England.’ + +‘I thought so,’ growled the radical; ‘you never hear of these fellows +being presented on their going away again. They know better than that.’ + +‘Unless somebody pervades them with an apintment,’ said Mrs. Bloss, +joining in the conversation in a faint voice. + +‘Well,’ said Wisbottle, evading the point, ‘it’s a splendid sight.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘It certainly _has_ occurred to me,’ said Wisbottle, who thought this +answer was a poser; ‘it _has_ occurred to me, and I am willing to pay +for them.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘A cup of tea if you please, dear,’ interrupted Tibbs. + +‘And supply—’ + +‘May I trouble you to hand this tea to Mr. Tibbs?’ said Mrs. Tibbs, +interrupting the argument, and unconsciously illustrating it. + +The thread of the orator’s discourse was broken. He drank his tea and +resumed the paper. + +‘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.’ + +‘We have some splendid steam-vessels in Ireland,’ said O’Bleary. + +‘Certainly,’ said Mrs. Bloss, delighted to find a subject broached in +which she could take part. + +‘The accommodations are extraordinary,’ said O’Bleary. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Mr. Gobler?’ suggested Mrs. Tibbs. + +‘Yes.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I haven’t seen or heard nothing of him,’ repeated Mrs. Bloss. + +‘I dare say you’ll hear him to-night,’ replied Mrs. Tibbs; ‘he +generally groans a good deal on Sunday evenings.’ + +‘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. + +‘Well, my dear ma’am, and how are we?’ inquired Wosky, in a soothing +tone. + +‘Very ill, doctor—very ill,’ said Mrs. Bloss, in a whisper + +‘Ah! we must take care of ourselves;—we must, indeed,’ said the +obsequious Wosky, as he felt the pulse of his interesting patient. + +‘How is our appetite?’ + +Mrs. Bloss shook her head. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Dear man!’ exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, as the doctor stepped into the +carriage. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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!’ + +‘No, no—it’s nothing,’ returned Mrs. T. in a hurried manner; ‘it’s only +the heat of the room.’ + +‘A flush!’ ejaculated Mrs. Bloss from the card-table; ‘that’s good for +four.’ + +‘If I thought it was Mr. Wisbottle,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, after a pause, +‘he should leave this house instantly.’ + +‘Go!’ said Mrs. Bloss again. + +‘And if I thought,’ continued the hostess with a most threatening air, +‘if I thought he was assisted by Mr. Tibbs—’ + +‘One for his nob!’ said Gobler. + +‘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.’ + +‘I have generally found him so,’ sobbed poor little Mrs. Tibbs; crying +like a watering-pot. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Oh, it’s very fair,’ replied Orson, who had been enthusiastically +delighted with the whole exhibition. + +‘Never saw anything like that Captain Ross’s set-out—eh?’ + +‘No,’ returned the patriot, with his usual reservation—‘except in +Dublin.’ + +‘I saw the Count de Canky and Captain Fitzthompson in the Gardens,’ +said Wisbottle; ‘they appeared much delighted.’ + +‘Then it _must_ be beautiful,’ snarled Evenson. + +‘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?’ + +‘I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all fours,’ +replied the discontented one. + +‘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.’ + +‘Capital things those shower-baths!’ ejaculated Wisbottle. + +‘Excellent!’ said Tomkins. + +‘Delightful!’ chimed in O’Bleary. (He had once seen one, outside a +tinman’s.) + +‘Disgusting machines!’ rejoined Evenson, who extended his dislike to +almost every created object, masculine, feminine, or neuter. + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _me_, for the mere +sight of it threw me into a profuse perspiration for six months +afterwards.’ + +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 _début_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Hush!’ whispered somebody else. + +‘Is that you, Mrs. Tibbs?’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +‘Where?’ + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘No,’ said little Mrs. Tibbs, who could hardly speak for trembling. + +‘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. + +‘It’s Wisbottle and somebody, I’ll swear,’ exclaimed the radical in an +energetic whisper, when they had listened for a few moments. + +‘Hush—pray let’s hear what they say!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs, the +gratification of whose curiosity was now paramount to every other +consideration. + +‘Ah! if I could but believe you,’ said a female voice coquettishly, +‘I’d be bound to settle my missis for life.’ + +‘What does she say?’ inquired Mr. Evenson, who was not quite so well +situated as his companion. + +‘She says she’ll settle her missis’s life,’ replied Mrs. Tibbs. ‘The +wretch! they’re plotting murder.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘What’s that?’ inquired Evenson again. He could just hear enough to +want to hear more. + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Bless my soul, it’s Mr. O’Bleary!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs, in a +parenthesis. + +‘The villain!’ said the indignant Mr. Evenson. + +‘The first thing to be done,’ continued the Hibernian, ‘is to poison +Mr. Gobler’s mind.’ + +‘Oh, certainly,’ returned Agnes. + +‘What’s that?’ inquired Evenson again, in an agony of curiosity and a +whisper. + +‘He says she’s to mind and poison Mr. Gobler,’ replied Mrs. Tibbs, +aghast at this sacrifice of human life. + +‘And in regard of Mrs. Tibbs,’ continued O’Bleary.—Mrs. Tibbs +shuddered. + +‘Hush!’ exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of the greatest alarm, just as Mrs. +Tibbs was on the extreme verge of a fainting fit. ‘Hush!’ + +‘Hush!’ exclaimed Evenson, at the same moment to Mrs. Tibbs. + +‘There’s somebody coming _up_-stairs,’ said Agnes to O’Bleary. + +‘There’s somebody coming _down_-stairs,’ whispered Evenson to Mrs. +Tibbs. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘What can it be?’ exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs. ‘It’s like a dream. I wouldn’t +be found in this situation for the world!’ + +‘Nor I,’ returned Evenson, who could never bear a joke at his own +expense. ‘Hush! here they are at the door.’ + +‘What fun!’ whispered one of the new-comers.—It was Wisbottle. + +‘Glorious!’ replied his companion, in an equally low tone.—This was +Alfred Tomkins. ‘Who would have thought it?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Well, do you know I didn’t notice it?’ interrupted Tomkins. + +‘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.’ + +‘They’re talking of _us_!’ exclaimed the agonised Mrs. Tibbs, as the +painful suspicion, and a sense of their situation, flashed upon her +mind. + +‘I know it—I know it,’ replied Evenson, with a melancholy consciousness +that there was no mode of escape. + +‘What’s to be done? we cannot both stop here!’ ejaculated Mrs. Tibbs, +in a state of partial derangement. + +‘I’ll get up the chimney,’ replied Evenson, who really meant what he +said. + +‘You can’t,’ said Mrs. Tibbs, in despair. ‘You can’t—it’s a register +stove.’ + +‘Hush!’ repeated John Evenson. + +‘Hush—hush!’ cried somebody down-stairs. + +‘What a d-d hushing!’ said Alfred Tomkins, who began to get rather +bewildered. + +‘There they are!’ exclaimed the sapient Wisbottle, as a rustling noise +was heard in the store-room. + +‘Hark!’ whispered both the young men. + +‘Hark!’ repeated Mrs. Tibbs and Evenson. + +‘Let me alone, sir,’ said a female voice in the store-room. + +‘Oh, Hagnes!’ cried another voice, which clearly belonged to Tibbs, for +nobody else ever owned one like it, ‘Oh, Hagnes—lovely creature!’ + +‘Be quiet, sir!’ (A bounce.) + +‘Hag—’ + +‘Be quiet, sir—I am ashamed of you. Think of your wife, Mr. Tibbs. Be +quiet, sir!’ + +‘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—’ + +‘I declare I’ll scream. Be quiet, sir, will you?’ (Another bounce and a +scuffle.) + +‘What’s that?’ exclaimed Tibbs, with a start. + +‘What’s what?’ said Agnes, stopping short. + +‘Why that!’ + +‘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. + +‘Mrs. Tibbs! Mrs. Tibbs!’ called out Mrs. Bloss. ‘Mrs. Tibbs, pray get +up.’ (Here the imitation of a woodpecker was resumed with tenfold +violence.) + +‘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?’ + +‘Mrs. Tibbs! Mrs. Tibbs!’ screamed the woodpecker again. + +‘What’s the matter!’ shouted Gobler, bursting out of the back +drawing-room, like the dragon at Astley’s. + +‘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!’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Astonishing!’ said Mrs. Bloss, who had run down-stairs, and taken Mr. +Gobler’s arm. + +‘Call Mrs. Tibbs directly, somebody,’ said Gobler, turning into the +front drawing-room.—‘What! Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson!!’ + +‘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. + +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 +_could_ tell all this, but we love to exercise our self-denial, and we +therefore prefer leaving it to be imagined. + +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. + +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_l._ 15_s._ +10_d._, 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER II—MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN + + +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_l._ 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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +The cause of the pattering on the stairs was but too plain. Mr. +Augustus Minns staggered beneath the shock of the dog’s appearance. + +‘My dear fellow, how are you?’ said Budden, as he entered. + +He always spoke at the top of his voice, and always said the same thing +half-a-dozen times. + +‘How are you, my hearty?’ + +‘How do you do, Mr. Budden?—pray take a chair!’ politely stammered the +discomfited Minns. + +‘Thank you—thank you—well—how are you, eh?’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Have you breakfasted?’ inquired Minns. + +‘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.’ + +Minns rang the bell, and tried to smile. + +‘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!’ + +‘D’ye think so?’ said Minns; and he tried another smile. + +‘’Pon my life, I do!’ + +‘Mrs. B. and—what’s his name—quite well?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Which is your house—I understand,’ said Minns, wishing to cut short +the visit, and the story, at the same time. + +‘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.’ + +‘Very well—thank ye—good-bye.’ + +‘Be punctual.’ + +‘Certainly: good morning.’ + +‘I say, Minns, you’ve got a card.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Coachman, are you going or not?’ bawled Mr. Minns, with his head and +half his body out of the coach window. + +‘Di-rectly, sir,’ said the coachman, with his hands in his pockets, +looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant; the little dear +mistook Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘Well, my little fellow—you are a fine boy, ain’t you?’ said Mr. Minns, +as happy as a tomtit on birdlime. + +‘Yes.’ + +‘How old are you?’ + +‘Eight, next We’nsday. How old are _you_?’ + +‘Alexander,’ interrupted his mother, ‘how dare you ask Mr. Minns how +old he is!’ + +‘He asked me how old _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 _be_.’ + +‘A verb.’ + +‘That’s a good boy,’ said Mrs. Budden, with all a mother’s pride. + +‘Now, you know what a verb is?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _be_.’ + +‘Be?’ said the prodigy, after a little hesitation—‘an insect that +gathers honey.’ + +‘No, dear,’ frowned Mrs. Budden; ‘B double E is the substantive.’ + +‘I don’t think he knows much yet about _common_ 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 +_proper names_. He! he! he!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘Hear! hear!’ said the little man with red whiskers. + +‘_Pray_ be quiet, Jones,’ remonstrated Budden. + +‘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.’ + +‘Hear! hear!’ said the company, in a tone of encouragement and +approval. + +‘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—’ + +‘Gratification’—suggested the friend of the family. + +‘—Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns.’ + +‘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!’ + +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. + +‘Budden,’ said he, ‘will you allow _me_ to propose a toast?’ + +‘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: + +‘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—’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER III—SENTIMENT + + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with an +air of great triumph: + + +‘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. + +‘Adelphi. + +‘Monday morning.’ + + +‘A Member of Parliament’s daughter!’ ejaculated Amelia, in an ecstatic +tone. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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 _whethers_ of equal +importance. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgments to him (Muggs), and +Cornelius proceeded. + +‘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.) + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Mr. Brook Dingwall would like Miss Brook Dingwall to learn +everything,’ said Mrs. Brook Dingwall, who hardly ever said anything at +all. + +‘Certainly,’ said both the Miss Crumptons together. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +Courtesies were exchanged, acknowledgments expressed, condescension +exhibited, and the interview terminated. + +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. + +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 _come out_. + +‘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. + +‘Oh! charming, dear. How do I?’ + +‘Delightful! you never looked so handsome,’ returned the belle, +adjusting her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her poor +companion. + +‘I hope young Hilton will come early,’ said another young lady to Miss +somebody else, in a fever of expectation. + +‘I’m sure he’d be highly flattered if he knew it,’ returned the other, +who was practising _l’été_. + +‘Oh! he’s so handsome,’ said the first. + +‘Such a charming person!’ added a second. + +‘Such a _distingué_ air!’ said a third. + +‘Oh, what _do_ you think?’ said another girl, running into the room; +‘Miss Crumpton says her cousin’s coming.’ + +‘What! Theodosius Butler?’ said everybody in raptures. + +‘Is _he_ handsome?’ inquired a novice. + +‘No, not particularly handsome,’ was the general reply; ‘but, oh, so +clever!’ + +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. + +‘Perhaps that’s he,’ exclaimed several young ladies, as the first pull +of the evening threatened destruction to the bell of the gate. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly. + +‘She’s the daughter of a member of parliament,’ said Maria.—Theodosius +started. + +‘And her name is—?’ he inquired. + +‘Miss Brook Dingwall.’ + +‘Great Heaven!’ poetically exclaimed Theodosius, in a low tone. + +Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss Brook +Dingwall languidly raised her head. + +‘Edward!’ she exclaimed, with a half-shriek, on seeing the well-known +nankeen legs. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature, in the most impassioned +manner, that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself. + +‘Then why—why—this disguise? Oh! Edward M’Neville Walter, what have I +not suffered on your account?’ + +‘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.”’ + +‘I do—I do!’ sobbed Lavinia. + +‘That,’ continued the lover, ‘was a subject to which your father was +devoted heart and soul.’ + +‘He was—he was!’ reiterated the sentimentalist. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘May I hope,’ said he, ‘that the promise your father’s violent +behaviour interrupted, may be renewed?’ + +‘Let us join this set,’ replied Lavinia, coquettishly—for girls of +nineteen _can_ coquette. + +‘No,’ ejaculated he of the nankeens. ‘I stir not from this spot, +writhing under this torture of suspense. May I—may I—hope?’ + +‘You may.’ + +‘The promise is renewed?’ + +‘It is.’ + +‘I have your permission?’ + +‘You have.’ + +‘To the fullest extent?’ + +‘You know it,’ returned the blushing Lavinia. The contortions of the +interesting Butler’s visage expressed his raptures. + +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. + +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.’ + +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 _sanctum_; 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. + +Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brook Dingwall and the +handsome little boy were in good health. + +They were. Mrs. Brook Dingwall and little Frederick were at Brighton. + +‘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?’ + +‘Very well indeed, sir,’ returned Maria, dreading to inform the father +that she had gone off. + +‘Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match for her.’ + +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. + +‘You have persevered strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed, Miss +Crumpton?’ + +‘Strictly, sir.’ + +‘You tell me in your note that her spirits gradually improved.’ + +‘Very much indeed, sir.’ + +‘To be sure. I was convinced they would.’ + +‘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.’ + +No!’ exclaimed the prophet. ‘Bless me! Miss Crumpton, you look alarmed. +What has happened?’ + +‘Miss Brook Dingwall, sir—’ + +‘Yes, ma’am?’ + +‘Has gone, sir’—said Maria, exhibiting a strong inclination to faint. + +‘Gone!’ + +‘Eloped, sir.’ + +‘Eloped!—Who with—when—where—how?’ almost shrieked the agitated +diplomatist. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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 _in status quo_, +and ‘The Misses Crumpton’ remain in the peaceable and undisturbed +enjoyment of all the advantages resulting from their Finishing-School. + + + + +CHAPTER IV—THE TUGGSES AT RAMSGATE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Mr. Tuggs?’ said the stranger, inquiringly. + +‘_My_ name is Tuggs,’ replied Mr. Simon. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘I come from the Temple,’ said the man with the bag. + +‘From the Temple!’ said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of the +little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective. + +‘From the Temple!’ said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at the same +moment. + +‘From the Temple!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as pale as a Dutch +cheese. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘Water!’ screamed Mrs. Tuggs. + +‘Look up, my son,’ exclaimed Mr. Tuggs. + +‘Simon! dear Simon!’ shrieked Miss Tuggs. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘We must certainly give up business,’ said Miss Tuggs. + +‘Oh, decidedly,’ said Mrs. Tuggs. + +‘Simon shall go to the bar,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. + +‘And I shall always sign myself “Cymon” in future,’ said his son. + +‘And I shall call myself Charlotta,’ said Miss Tuggs. + +‘And you must always call _me_ “Ma,” and father “Pa,”’ said Mrs. Tuggs. + +‘Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits,’ interposed Miss +Tuggs. + +‘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. + +‘We must leave town immediately,’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. + +Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being +genteel. The question then arose, Where should they go? + +‘Gravesend?’ mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was +unanimously scouted. Gravesend was _low_. + +‘Margate?’ insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse—nobody there, but +tradespeople. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Soul-inspiring,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs—he was entered at the bar. +‘Soul-inspiring!’ + +‘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. + +Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the +observation. ‘Heavenly!’ he replied. + +‘You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, sir?’ said +the military gentleman. + +‘I am, sir,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. + +‘Travelled much, sir?’ inquired the military gentleman. + +‘Not much,’ replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs. + +‘You’ve been on the continent, of course?’ inquired the military +gentleman. + +‘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. + +‘You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir?’ said the +military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs. + +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. + +‘Walter, my dear,’ said the young lady to the military gentleman. + +‘Yes, Belinda, my love,’ responded the military gentleman to the +black-eyed young lady. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘Be calm, Walter, I entreat,’ said the young lady. + +‘I won’t,’ said the military gentleman. + +‘Do, sir,’ interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. ‘They ain’t worth your notice.’ + +‘No—no—they are not, indeed,’ urged the young lady. + +‘I _will_ 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. + +‘My sister, sir!’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs; seeing that the military +gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta. + +‘My wife, ma’am—Mrs. Captain Waters,’ said the military gentleman, +presenting the black-eyed young lady. + +‘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. + +‘Walter, my dear,’ said the black-eyed young lady, after they had sat +chatting with the Tuggses some half-hour. + +‘Yes, my love,’ said the military gentleman. + +‘Don’t you think this gentleman (with an inclination of the head +towards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carriwini?’ + +‘Lord bless me, very!’ said the military gentleman. + +‘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. + +‘So exactly the air of the marquis,’ said the military gentleman. + +‘Quite extraordinary!’ sighed the military gentleman’s lady. + +‘You don’t know the marquis, sir?’ inquired the military gentleman. + +Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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 _fac simile_ 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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Oh! I hope so,’ said Miss Charlotta Tuggs, emphatically. + +‘Tickets, ladies and gen’lm’n,’ said the man on the paddle-box. + +‘Want a porter, sir?’ inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks. + +‘Now, my dear!’ said Captain Waters. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘Nice light fly and a fast trotter, sir,’ said another: ‘fourteen mile +a hour, and surroundin’ objects rendered inwisible by ex-treme +welocity!’ + +‘Large fly for your luggage, sir,’ cried a third. ‘Werry large fly +here, sir—reg’lar bluebottle!’ + +‘Here’s _your_ 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!’ + +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. + +‘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. + +‘How many did you want, ma’am?’ was, of course, the reply. + +‘Three.’ + +‘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. + +‘Why the devil didn’t they say so at first?’ inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, +rather pettishly. + +‘Don’t know,’ said Mrs. Tuggs. + +‘Wretches!’ exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another bill—another stoppage. +Same question—same answer—similar result. + +‘What do they mean by this?’ inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, thoroughly out +of temper. + +‘Don’t know,’ said the placid Mrs. Tuggs. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘What’s the terms?’ said Mrs. Tuggs, in a louder key. + +‘Five guineas a week, ma’am, _with_ attendance,’ replied the +lodging-house keeper. (Attendance means the privilege of ringing the +bell as often as you like, for your own amusement.) + +‘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!’ + +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. + +‘Capital srimps!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. + +Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphatically +said ‘_Shrimps_.’ + +‘Well, then, shrimps,’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Srimps or shrimps, don’t +much matter.’ + +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?’ + +‘Or what would dear Mrs. Captain Waters say,’ added Charlotta, ‘if she +saw mother—ma, I mean—eating them whole, heads and all!’ + +‘It won’t bear thinking of!’ ejaculated Mr. Cymon, with a shudder. ‘How +different,’ he thought, ‘from the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton!’ + +‘Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Cymon?’ inquired +Miss Charlotta. + +A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Cymon +Tuggs, as he replied, ‘An angel of beauty!’ + +‘Hallo!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. ‘Hallo, Cymon, my boy, take care. +Married lady, you know;’ and he winked one of his twinkling eyes +knowingly. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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!’ + +Mr. Cymon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the +chairs, and removed them further back. + +‘Why, I’m blessed if there ain’t some ladies a-going in!’ exclaimed Mr. +Joseph Tuggs, with intense astonishment. + +‘Lor, pa!’ exclaimed Miss Charlotta. + +‘There _is_, 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. + +‘Well, that’s sing’ler, too!’ ejaculated Mr. Joseph Tuggs, after an +awkward pause. Mr. Cymon coughed slightly. + +‘Why, here’s some gentlemen a-going in on this side!’ exclaimed Mrs. +Tuggs, in a tone of horror. + +Three machines—three horses—three flounderings—three turnings +round—three splashes—three gentlemen, disporting themselves in the +water like so many dolphins. + +‘Well, _that’s_ sing’ler!’ said Mr. Joseph Tuggs again. Miss Charlotta +coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was agreeably broken. + +‘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. + +‘How d’ye do?’ said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity; and a most +cordial interchange of greetings ensued. + +‘Belinda, my love,’ said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass to +his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea. + +‘Yes, my dear,’ replied Mrs. Captain Waters. + +‘There’s Harry Thompson!’ + +‘Where?’ said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye. + +‘Bathing.’ + +‘Lor, so it is! He don’t see us, does he?’ + +‘No, I don’t think he does’ replied the captain. ‘Bless my soul, how +very singular!’ + +‘What?’ inquired Belinda. + +‘There’s Mary Golding, too.’ + +‘Lor!—where?’ (Up went the glass again.) + +‘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. + +‘So it is, I declare!’ exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. ‘How very curious +we should see them both!’ + +‘Very,’ said the captain, with perfect coolness. + +‘It’s the reg’lar thing here, you see,’ whispered Mr. Cymon Tuggs to +his father. + +‘I see it is,’ whispered Mr. Joseph Tuggs in reply. ‘Queer, +though—ain’t it?’ Mr. Cymon Tuggs nodded assent. + +‘What do you think of doing with yourself this morning?’ inquired the +captain. ‘Shall we lunch at Pegwell?’ + +‘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. + +‘How shall we go?’ inquired the captain; ‘it’s too warm to walk.’ + +‘A shay?’ suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. + +‘Chaise,’ whispered Mr. Cymon. + +‘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.’ + +‘I should like a donkey _so_ much,’ said Belinda. + +‘Oh, so should I!’ echoed Charlotta Tuggs. + +‘Well, we can have a fly,’ suggested the captain, ‘and you can have a +couple of donkeys.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Way—way! Wo—o—o—!’ cried Mr. Cymon Tuggs as well as he could, in the +midst of the jolting. + +‘Don’t make it gallop!’ screamed Mrs. Captain Waters, behind. + +‘My donkey _will_ go into the public-house!’ shrieked Miss Tuggs in the +rear. + +‘Hi—hi—hi!’ groaned both the boys together; and on went the donkeys as +if nothing would ever stop them. + +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. + +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. + +‘Now let ’em walk,’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. ‘It’s cruel to overdrive +’em.’ + +‘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. + +‘What a lovely day, dear!’ said Charlotta. + +‘Charming; enchanting, dear!’ responded Mrs. Captain Waters. + +‘What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tuggs!’ + +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. + +There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Cymon Tuggs. + +‘Mr. Cymon,’ said the lady suddenly, in a low tone, ‘Mr. Cymon—I am +another’s.’ + +Mr. Cymon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which it was +impossible to controvert. + +‘If I had not been—’ resumed Belinda; and there she stopped. + +‘What—what?’ said Mr. Cymon earnestly. ‘Do not torture me. What would +you say?’ + +‘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—’ + +‘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.) + +‘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. + +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 _was_ 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 +_such_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Numbers three, eight, and eleven!’ cried one of the young ladies in +the maroon-coloured gowns. + +‘Numbers three, eight, and eleven!’ echoed another young lady in the +same uniform. + +‘Number three’s gone,’ said the first young lady. ‘Numbers eight and +eleven!’ + +‘Numbers eight and eleven!’ echoed the second young lady. + +‘Number eight’s gone, Mary Ann,’ said the first young lady. + +‘Number eleven!’ screamed the second. + +‘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. + +‘Will you throw, ma’am?’ said the presiding goddess, handing the +dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four girls. + +There was a profound silence among the lookers-on. + +‘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. + +‘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 _very_ modest and retiring; but I +can’t be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated girl is +_so_ truly amiable, that I often wish Amelia was more like her sister!’ + +The gentleman with the whiskers whispered his admiring approval. + +‘Now, my dear!’ said the stout lady. Miss Amelia threw—eight for her +sister, ten for herself. + +‘Nice figure, Amelia,’ whispered the stout lady to a thin youth beside +her. + +‘Beautiful!’ + +‘And _such_ a spirit! I am like you in that respect. I can _not_ help +admiring that life and vivacity. Ah! (a sigh) I wish I could make poor +Jane a little more like my dear Amelia!’ + +The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment; both he, and +the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented. + +‘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. + +‘Mrs. Tippin, of the London theatres,’ replied Belinda, referring to +the programme of the concert. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Walter will return to-morrow,’ said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully +breaking silence. + +Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of +gooseberry bushes, as he replied, ‘Alas! he will.’ + +‘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. + +‘And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is,’ +exclaimed Belinda, ‘is now to be lost for ever!’ + +‘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!’ + +‘I must,’ replied Belinda. + +‘Why?’ urged Cymon, ‘oh why? Such Platonic acquaintance as ours is so +harmless, that even your husband can never object to it.’ + +‘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. + +‘Then leave me,’ said Mrs. Captain Waters. ‘Leave me, this night, for +ever. It is late: let us return.’ + +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. + +‘Good night,’ sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again. + +‘Won’t you walk in, sir?’ said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated. Oh, +that hesitation! He _did_ walk in. + +‘Good night!’ said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he reached the +drawing-room. + +‘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. + +‘It is my husband!’ said Belinda, as the captain’s voice was heard +below. + +‘And my family!’ added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his relatives +floated up the staircase. + +‘The curtain! The curtain!’ gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the +window, before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn. + +‘But I have done nothing wrong,’ said the hesitating Cymon. + +‘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. + +Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta. + +‘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. + +‘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! + +‘Slaughter,’ said the captain, ‘a cigar?’ + +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. + +‘Bless my soul!’ said the captain, ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Tuggs. You +dislike smoking?’ + +‘Oh, no; I don’t indeed,’ said Charlotta. + +‘It makes you cough.’ + +‘Oh dear no.’ + +‘You coughed just now.’ + +‘Me, Captain Waters! Lor! how can you say so?’ + +‘Somebody coughed,’ said the captain. + +‘I certainly thought so,’ said Slaughter. No; everybody denied it. + +‘Fancy,’ said the captain. + +‘Must be,’ echoed Slaughter. + +Cigars resumed—more smoke—another cough—smothered, but violent. + +‘Damned odd!’ said the captain, staring about him. + +‘Sing’ler!’ ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph Tuggs. + +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. + +‘Slaughter!’ ejaculated the captain, rising from table, ‘what do you +mean?’ + +The lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. +Cymon Tuggs behind it: pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting +to cough. + +‘Aha!’ exclaimed the captain, furiously. ‘What do I see? Slaughter, +your sabre!’ + +‘Cymon!’ screamed the Tuggses. + +‘Mercy!’ said Belinda. + +‘Platonic!’ gasped Cymon. + +‘Your sabre!’ roared the captain: ‘Slaughter—unhand me—the villain’s +life!’ + +‘Murder!’ screamed the Tuggses. + +‘Hold him fast, sir!’ faintly articulated Cymon. + +‘Water!’ exclaimed Joseph Tuggs—and Mr. Cymon Tuggs and all the ladies +forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER V—HORATIO SPARKINS + + +‘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.’ + +‘Who must?’ inquired Mr. Malderton. + +‘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 _is_ his name?’ continued Mrs. Malderton, +addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged in netting a purse, +and looking sentimental. + +‘Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma,’ replied Miss Marianne, with a sigh. + +‘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—’ + +‘Like Prince Leopold, ma—so noble, so full of sentiment!’ suggested +Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration. + +‘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.’ + +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.’ + +‘I am quite sure you’d like him,’ continued Mrs. Malderton, ‘he is so +gentlemanly!’ + +‘So clever!’ said Miss Marianne. + +‘And has such a flow of language!’ added Miss Teresa. + +‘He has a great respect for you, my dear,’ said Mrs. Malderton to her +husband. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire. + +‘Yes I’m sure he’s very much attached to pa’s society,’ said Miss +Marianne. + +‘No doubt of it,’ echoed Miss Teresa. + +‘Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence,’ observed Mrs. Malderton. + +‘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?’ + +‘Of course—and that you keep a one-horse carriage.’ + +‘I’ll see about it,’ said Mr. Malderton, composing himself for a nap; +‘I’ll see about it.’ + +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. + +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 _somebody_.’—‘I should think he must be,’ reasoned Mr. +Malderton, within himself, ‘because he perceives our superiority, and +pays us so much attention.’ + +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 _beau idéal_ 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. + +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. + +‘There he is, my dear,’ whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. Malderton. + +‘How like Lord Byron!’ murmured Miss Teresa. + +‘Or Montgomery!’ whispered Miss Marianne. + +‘Or the portraits of Captain Cook!’ suggested Tom. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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—’ + +‘I don’t _think_ I am engaged,’ said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful +affectation of indifference—‘but, really—so many—’ + +Horatio looked handsomely miserable. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘He has a remarkably good address,’ said Mr. Frederick. + +‘Yes, he is a prime fellow,’ interposed Tom, who always managed to put +his foot in it—‘he talks just like an auctioneer.’ + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘What feeling! what sentiment!’ thought Miss Teresa, as she leaned more +heavily on her companion’s arm. + +‘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—’ + +‘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—’ + +‘Surely he cannot object—’ + +‘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. + +‘He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus,’ returned the +adorable Sparkins, with some surprise. + +‘Is that all?’ thought the disappointed Teresa. ‘What a fuss about +nothing!’ + +‘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. + +Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering +invitation. + +‘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.’ + +‘And after all, sir, what is man?’ said the metaphysical Sparkins. ‘I +say, what is man?’ + +‘Ah! very true,’ said Mr. Malderton; ‘very true.’ + +‘We know that we live and breathe,’ continued Horatio; ‘that we have +wants and wishes, desires and appetites—’ + +‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound. + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘I think he must be somebody in disguise,’ said Miss Marianne. ‘How +charmingly romantic!’ + +‘He talks very loud and nicely,’ timidly observed Tom, ‘but I don’t +exactly understand what he means.’ + +‘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. + +‘It strikes me, Tom,’ said Miss Teresa, ‘that you have made yourself +very ridiculous this evening.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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 _will_ let people know what he is.’ + +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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Yes, I did; and here I am in consequence.’ + +‘You don’t happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name? You know +everybody?’ + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Middle-sized,’ said Miss Teresa. + +‘With black hair?’ inquired Flamwell, hazarding a bold guess. + +‘Yes,’ returned Miss Teresa, eagerly. + +‘Rather a snub nose?’ + +‘No,’ said the disappointed Teresa, ‘he has a Roman nose.’ + +‘I said a Roman nose, didn’t I?’ inquired Flamwell. ‘He’s an elegant +young man?’ + +‘Oh, certainly.’ + +‘With remarkably prepossessing manners?’ + +‘Oh, yes!’ said all the family together. ‘You must know him.’ + +‘Yes, I thought you knew him, if he was anybody,’ triumphantly +exclaimed Mr. Malderton. ‘Who d’ye think he is?’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘It’s five minutes to five,’ said Mr. Malderton, looking at his watch: +‘I hope he’s not going to disappoint us.’ + +‘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. + +The room-door opened—‘Mr. Barton!’ said the servant. + +‘Confound the man!’ murmured Malderton. ‘Ah! my dear sir, how d’ye do! +Any news?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Here’s Mr. Sparkins!’ said Tom, who had been looking out at the +window, ‘on _such_ 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. + +‘Is he the Honourable Mr. Augustus What’s-his-name?’ whispered Mrs. +Malderton to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the dining-room. + +‘Why, no—at least not exactly,’ returned that great authority—‘not +exactly.’ + +‘Who _is_ he then?’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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.’ + +‘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. + +‘Why, no—not very lately. I saw Lord Gubbleton the day before +yesterday.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +This was touching on a dangerous topic. + +‘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—’ + +‘Barton, may I trouble you for a potato?’ interrupted the wretched +master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud. + +‘Certainly,’ returned the grocer, quite insensible of his +brother-in-law’s object—‘and he said in a very plain manner—’ + +‘_Floury_, if you please,’ interrupted Malderton again; dreading the +termination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition of the word +‘shop.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘Mr. Sparkins,’ said the host, vainly endeavouring to conceal his +dismay, ‘a glass of wine?’ + +‘With the utmost pleasure, sir.’ + +‘Happy to see you.’ + +‘Thank you.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘And me,’ said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a graceful inclination of +the head. + +‘Pray, what is your opinion of woman, Mr. Sparkins?’ inquired Mrs. +Malderton. The young ladies simpered. + +‘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.’ + +‘I am very happy to find you entertain such honourable opinions, Mr. +Sparkins,’ said Mrs. Malderton. + +‘And I,’ added Miss Teresa. Horatio looked his delight, and the young +lady blushed. + +‘Now, it’s my opinion—’ said Mr. Barton. + +‘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.’ + +‘What!’ inquired the astonished grocer. + +‘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.’ + +‘But I meant to say—’ + +‘You never can convince me,’ said Malderton, with an air of obstinate +determination. ‘Never.’ + +‘And I,’ said Mr. Frederick, following up his father’s attack, ‘cannot +entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins’s argument.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘That’s the point,’ said Flamwell. + +‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Malderton. + +‘Because, if effect is the consequence of cause, and if cause does +precede effect, I apprehend you are wrong,’ added Horatio. + +‘Decidedly,’ said the toad-eating Flamwell. + +‘At least, I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction?’ said +Sparkins, in a tone of interrogation. + +‘No doubt of it,’ chimed in Flamwell again. ‘It settles the point.’ + +‘Well, perhaps it does,’ said Mr. Frederick; ‘I didn’t see it before.’ + +‘I don’t exactly see it now,’ thought the grocer; ‘but I suppose it’s +all right.’ + +‘How wonderfully clever he is!’ whispered Mrs. Malderton to her +daughters, as they retired to the drawing-room. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘N-no!’ said Horatio, with a little hesitation; ‘not exactly.’ + +‘But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake?’ inquired +Flamwell, deferentially. + +‘Nearly all my life,’ returned Sparkins. + +The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flamwell. +He was a young gentleman ‘about to be called.’ + +‘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. + +No one made any reply. + +‘I shouldn’t like to wear a wig,’ said Tom, hazarding another +observation. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘Well, Tom,’ observed his good-natured uncle, ‘never mind! _I_ think +with you. I shouldn’t like to wear a wig. I’d rather wear an apron.’ + +Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed—‘For if a man’s +above his business—’ + +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. + +‘Mr. Sparkins,’ said Flamwell, returning to the charge, ‘do you happen +to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford-square?’ + +‘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. + +‘You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity of obliging that +great man,’ observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect. + +‘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.’ + +‘No doubt, no doubt,’ returned his companion. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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, _from_ 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.’ + +‘Lor! ma, what a place you have brought us to!’ said Miss Teresa; ‘what +_would_ Mr. Sparkins say if he could see us!’ + +‘Ah! what, indeed!’ said Miss Marianne, horrified at the idea. + +‘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. + +‘I want to see some silks,’ answered Mrs. Malderton. + +‘Directly, ma’am.—Mr. Smith! Where _is_ Mr. Smith?’ + +‘Here, sir,’ cried a voice at the back of the shop. + +‘Pray make haste, Mr. Smith,’ said the M.C. ‘You never are to be found +when you’re wanted, sir.’ + +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! + +‘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. + +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 _low_. + + + + +CHAPTER VI—THE BLACK VEIL + + +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. + +There _was_ 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. + +‘A lady, sir—a lady!’ whispered the boy, rousing his master with a +shake. + +‘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?’ + +‘_There_, 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. + +The surgeon looked towards the door, and started himself, for an +instant, on beholding the appearance of his unlooked-for visitor. + +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. + +‘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. + +She slightly inclined her head, in token of acquiescence. + +‘Pray walk in,’ said the surgeon. + +The figure moved a step forward; and then, turning its head in the +direction of the boy—to his infinite horror—appeared to hesitate. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘You are very wet,’ be said. + +‘I am,’ said the stranger, in a low deep voice. + +‘And you are ill?’ added the surgeon, compassionately, for the tone was +that of a person in pain. + +‘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_ 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. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Because it would have been useless before—because it is useless even +now,’ replied the woman, clasping her hands passionately. + +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. + +‘You _are_ 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.’ + +The stranger lifted the glass of water to her mouth, without raising +the veil; put it down again untasted; and burst into tears. + +‘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 _know_, +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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘God help me!’ exclaimed the woman, weeping bitterly, ‘how can I hope +strangers will believe what appears incredible, even to myself? You +will _not_ see him then, sir?’ she added, rising suddenly. + +‘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.’ + +‘The responsibility will rest heavily somewhere,’ replied the stranger +bitterly. ‘Whatever responsibility rests with me, I am content to bear, +and ready to answer.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘_Nine_,’ replied the stranger. + +‘You must excuse my pressing these inquiries,’ said the surgeon. ‘But +is he in your charge now?’ + +‘He is not,’ was the rejoinder. + +‘Then, if I gave you instructions for his treatment through the night, +you could not assist him?’ + +The woman wept bitterly, as she replied, ‘I could not.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _did_ 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. + +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. + +‘Walk in, sir,’ he said in a low tone. + +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. + +‘Am I in time?’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +The surgeon at once walked into the room. The man closed the door, and +left him alone. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The surgeon gently pushed the woman aside, and took the hand in his. + +‘My God!’ he exclaimed, letting it fall involuntarily—‘the man is +dead!’ + +The woman started to her feet and beat her hands together. + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘Why?’ said the woman, starting up. + +‘Undraw that curtain!’ repeated the surgeon in an agitated tone. + +‘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!’ + +‘This man died no natural or easy death,’ said the surgeon. ‘I _must_ +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. + +‘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. + +‘There has been violence here,’ said the surgeon, preserving his +searching glance. + +‘There has!’ replied the woman. + +‘This man has been murdered.’ + +‘That I call God to witness he has,’ said the woman, passionately; +‘pitilessly, inhumanly murdered!’ + +‘By whom?’ said the surgeon, seizing the woman by the arm. + +‘Look at the butchers’ marks, and then ask me!’ she replied. + +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. + +‘This is one of the men who were hanged this morning!’ he exclaimed, +turning away with a shudder. + +‘It is,’ replied the woman, with a cold, unmeaning stare. + +‘Who was he?’ inquired the surgeon. + +‘_My son_,’ rejoined the woman; and fell senseless at his feet. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER VII—THE STEAM EXCURSION + + +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’!’ + +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 _forte_. He invariably spoke with +astonishing rapidity; was smart, spoffish, and eight-and-twenty. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘The funny gentleman, sir?’ + +‘Ah! the funny gentleman. If Mr. Hardy should call, say I’ve gone to +Mrs. Taunton’s about that water-party.’ + +‘Yes, sir.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Very well, sir.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Excellent, indeed!’ said Mrs. Taunton, who highly approved of this +part of the arrangements. + +‘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.’ + +‘What a manager you are!’ interrupted Mrs. Taunton again. + +‘Charming!’ said the lovely Emily. + +‘I never did!’ ejaculated Sophia. + +‘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!’ + +The announcement of these arrangements was received with the utmost +enthusiasm. Mrs. Taunton, Emily, and Sophia, were loud in their +praises. + +‘Well, but tell me, Percy,’ said Mrs. Taunton, ‘who are the ten +gentlemen to be?’ + +‘Oh! I know plenty of fellows who’ll be delighted with the scheme,’ +replied Mr. Percy Noakes; ‘of course we shall have—’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘How _are_ 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. + +‘You’re just the very man I wanted,’ said Mr. Percy Noakes, who +proceeded to explain the cause of his being in requisition. + +‘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?’ + +‘No time like the present—at once, if you please.’ + +‘Oh, charming!’ cried the ladies. ‘Pray, do!’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Is your list prepared, Mr. Briggs?’ inquired the chairman. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Boat, sir?’ cried one of the three watermen who were mopping out their +boats, and all whistling. ‘Boat, sir?’ + +‘No,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes, rather sharply; for the inquiry was not +made in a manner at all suitable to his dignity. + +‘Would you prefer a wessel, sir?’ inquired another, to the infinite +delight of the ‘Jack-in-the-water.’ + +Mr. Percy Noakes replied with a look of supreme contempt. + +‘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. + +‘Yes, make haste—the Endeavour—off the Custom-house.’ + +‘Endeavour!’ cried the man who had convulsed the ‘Jack’ before. ‘Vy, I +see the Endeavour go up half an hour ago.’ + +‘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.’ + +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.’ + +‘Here she is, by Jove!’ said the delighted Percy, as they ran alongside +the Endeavour. + +‘Hold hard!’ cried the steward over the side, and Mr. Percy Noakes +jumped on board. + +‘Hope you will find everything as you wished, sir. She looks uncommon +well this morning.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘How d’ye do, dear?’ said the Misses Briggs to the Misses Taunton. (The +word ‘dear’ among girls is frequently synonymous with ‘wretch.’) + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +Mr. Percy Noakes bowed very low; the gallant captain did the same with +all due ferocity, and the Briggses were clearly overcome. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Where could they have picked up that military man?’ inquired Mrs. +Briggs of Miss Kate Briggs, as they followed the little party. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Go on!’ cried the master of the boat from the top of one of the +paddle-boxes. + +‘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. + +‘Hoi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-o-i-i-i!’ shouted half-a-dozen voices from a boat, +a quarter of a mile astern. + +‘Ease her!’ cried the captain: ‘do these people belong to us, sir?’ + +‘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!’ + +‘What a shame to bring children!’ said everybody; ‘how very +inconsiderate!’ + +‘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. + +‘Stop her!’ cried the captain. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Really,’ said that warlike individual, ‘I should be very happy, ‘but—’ + +‘Oh! pray do,’ cried all the young ladies. + +‘Miss Emily, have you any objection to join in a duet?’ + +‘Oh! not the slightest,’ returned the young lady, in a tone which +clearly showed she had the greatest possible objection. + +‘Shall I accompany you, dear?’ inquired one of the Miss Briggses, with +the bland intention of spoiling the effect. + +‘Very much obliged to you, Miss Briggs,’ sharply retorted Mrs. Taunton, +who saw through the manoeuvre; ‘my daughters always sing without +accompaniments.’ + +‘And without voices,’ tittered Mrs. Briggs, in a low tone. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Persons!’ ejaculated Mrs. Taunton. + +‘Persons,’ replied Mrs. Briggs. + +‘Insolence!’ + +‘Creature!’ + +‘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.’ + +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.’ + + +‘See (sung the captain) from o—ce—an ri—sing +Bright flames the or—b of d—ay. +From yon gro—ove, the varied so—ongs—’ + + +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. + +‘My child!’ screamed Mrs. Fleetwood. ‘My child! it is his voice—I know +it.’ + +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. + +‘What is the matter?’ shouted the agonised father, as he returned with +the child in his arms. + +‘Oh! oh! oh!’ screamed the small sufferer again. + +‘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. + +‘Oh! oh!—I’m so frightened!’ + +‘What at, dear?—what at?’ said the mother, soothing the sweet infant. + +‘Oh! he’s been making such dreadful faces at me,’ cried the boy, +relapsing into convulsions at the bare recollection. + +‘He!—who?’ cried everybody, crowding round him. + +‘Oh!—him!’ replied the child, pointing at Hardy, who affected to be the +most concerned of the whole group. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Bravo! bravo!’ ejaculated the captain;—‘bravo!’ + +‘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. + +‘De-lightful!’ returned the captain, with a flourish, and a military +cough;—‘de-lightful!’ + +‘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. + +‘Did you ever hear a Portuguese tambourine?’ inquired that jocular +individual. + +‘Did _you_ ever hear a tom-tom, sir?’ sternly inquired the captain, who +lost no opportunity of showing off his travels, real or pretended. + +‘A what?’ asked Hardy, rather taken aback. + +‘A tom-tom.’ + +‘Never!’ + +‘Nor a gum-gum?’ + +‘Never!’ + +‘What _is_ a gum-gum?’ eagerly inquired several young ladies. + +‘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—’ + +‘Who?’ inquired the bald gentleman, intensely interested. + +‘The Ram—Ram Chowdar—’ + +‘Oh!’ said the old gentleman, ‘beg your pardon; pray go on.’ + +‘—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—’ + +‘Dinner’s on the table, ladies,’ interrupted the steward’s wife. + +‘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. + +‘What an extraordinary circumstance!’ ejaculated the same old +gentleman, preserving his listening attitude. + +‘What a traveller!’ said the young ladies. + +‘What a singular name!’ exclaimed the gentlemen, rather confused by the +coolness of the whole affair. + +‘I wish he had finished the story,’ said an old lady. ‘I wonder what a +gum-gum really is?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘Don’t it rain?’ inquired the old gentleman before noticed, when, by +dint of squeezing and jamming, they were all seated at table. + +‘I think it does—a little,’ replied Mr. Percy Noakes, who could hardly +hear himself speak, in consequence of the pattering on the deck. + +‘Don’t it blow?’ inquired some one else. + +‘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. + +‘It’ll soon clear up,’ said Mr. Percy Noakes, in a cheerful tone. + +‘Oh, certainly!’ ejaculated the committee generally. + +‘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. + +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 _would_ 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. + +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: + +‘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—’ + +‘I beg your pardon, Edkins,’ hastily interrupted Mr. Percy +Noakes,—‘Hardy, what’s the matter?’ + +‘Nothing,’ replied the ‘funny gentleman,’ who had just life enough left +to utter two consecutive syllables. + +‘Will you have some brandy?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Will you go on deck?’ + +‘No, I will _not_.’ 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. + +‘I beg your pardon, Edkins,’ said the courteous Percy; ‘I thought our +friend was ill. Pray go on.’ + +A pause. + +‘Pray go on.’ + +‘Mr. Edkins _is_ gone,’ cried somebody. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Percy Noakes is as light-hearted and careless as ever. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII—THE GREAT WINGLEBURY DUEL + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Lady in number twenty-five,’ screamed the landlady.—‘Thomas!’ + +‘Yes, ma’am.’ + +‘Letter just been left for the gentleman in number nineteen. Boots at +the Lion left it. No answer.’ + +‘Letter for you, sir,’ said Thomas, depositing the letter on number +nineteen’s table. + +‘For me?’ said number nineteen, turning from the window, out of which +he had been surveying the scene just described. + +‘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?’ + +‘My name _is_ 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 _not_ dusty, rubbed his hands very hard, walked stealthily to +the door, and evaporated. + +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:— + + +‘Blue Lion and Stomach-warmer, +‘Great Winglebury. +‘_Wednesday Morning_. + + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Horace Hunter. + + +‘PS. There is a gunsmiths in the High-street; and they won’t sell +gunpowder after dark—you understand me. + +‘PPS. You had better not order your breakfast in the morning until you +have met me. It may be an unnecessary expense.’ + + +‘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 +_shall_ I do? What _can_ 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?’ + +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. + +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. + +‘You are the upper-boots, I think?’ inquired Mr. Trott. + +‘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.’ + +‘You’re from London?’ inquired Mr. Trott. + +‘Driv a cab once,’ was the laconic reply. + +‘Why don’t you drive it now?’ asked Mr. Trott. + +‘Over-driv the cab, and driv over a ’ooman,’ replied the top-boots, +with brevity. + +‘Do you know the mayor’s house?’ inquired Mr. Trott. + +‘Rather,’ replied the boots, significantly, as if he had some good +reason to remember it. + +‘Do you think you could manage to leave a letter there?’ interrogated +Trott. + +‘Shouldn’t wonder,’ responded boots. + +‘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.’ + +‘A—what?’ interrupted the boots. + +‘Anonymous—he’s not to know who it comes from.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Show the gentleman in,’ said the stranger lady, in reply to the +foremost waiter’s announcement. The gentleman was shown in accordingly. + +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. + +‘Miss Julia Manners!’ exclaimed the mayor at length, ‘you astonish me.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘But to run away—actually run away—with a young man!’ remonstrated the +mayor. + +‘You wouldn’t have me actually run away with an old one, I presume?’ +was the cool rejoinder. + +‘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 _had_ been asked. + +‘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—’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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?’ + +‘I’ll tell you,’ replied Miss Julia—‘I’ll tell you in three words. Dear +Lord Peter—’ + +‘That’s the young man, I suppose—’ interrupted the mayor. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Has he arrived?’ inquired Overton. + +‘I don’t know,’ replied the lady. + +‘Then how am I to know!’ inquired the mayor. ‘Of course he will not +give his own name at the bar.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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—’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Do,’ replied Miss Julia; ‘and entreat him to act his part well. I am +half afraid of him. Tell him to be cautious.’ + +‘I will,’ said the mayor. + +‘Settle all the arrangements.’ + +‘I will,’ said the mayor again. + +‘And say I think the chaise had better be ordered for one o’clock.’ + +‘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. + +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, + +‘My lord—’ + +‘Eh?’ said Mr. Alexander Trott, in a loud key, with the vacant and +mystified stare of a chilly somnambulist. + +‘Hush—hush!’ said the cautious attorney: ‘to be sure—quite right—no +titles here—my name is Overton, sir.’ + +‘Overton?’ + +‘Yes: the mayor of this place—you sent me a letter with anonymous +information, this afternoon.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Stay, stay,’ said Trott, ‘it _is_ mine; I _did_ write it. What could I +do, sir? I had no friend here.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Lady willing,’ repeated Trott, mechanically. ‘How do you know the +lady’s willing?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Trott, ruminating. ‘This is _very_ extraordinary!’ + +‘Well, Lord Peter,’ said the mayor, rising. + +‘Lord Peter?’ repeated Mr. Trott. + +‘Oh—ah, I forgot. Mr. Trott, then—Trott—very good, ha! ha!—Well, sir, +the chaise shall be ready at half-past twelve.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘To be sure,’ said Trott—‘to be sure.’ + +‘Well, my lord,’ said Overton, in a low tone, ‘until then, I wish your +lordship a good evening.’ + +‘Lord—lordship?’ ejaculated Trott again, falling back a step or two, +and gazing, in unutterable wonder, on the countenance of the mayor. + +‘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!’ + +‘That mayor’s decidedly drunk,’ soliloquised Mr. Trott, throwing +himself back in his chair, in an attitude of reflection. + +‘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. + +‘What do you want here, you scoundrel?’ exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, +with a proper appearance of indignation at his detention. + +The boots beat time with his head, as he looked gently round at Mr. +Trott with a smile of pity, and whistled an _adagio_ movement. + +‘Do you attend in this room by Mr. Overton’s desire?’ inquired Trott, +rather astonished at the man’s demeanour. + +‘Keep yourself to yourself, young feller,’ calmly responded the boots, +‘and don’t say nothing to nobody.’ And he whistled again. + +‘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.’ + +‘You’d better,’ observed the placid boots, shaking the large stick +expressively. + +‘Under protest, however,’ added Alexander Trott, seating himself with +indignation in his face, but great content in his heart. ‘Under +protest.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Make me worse?’ exclaimed Trott, in unfeigned astonishment: ‘the man’s +drunk!’ + +‘You’d better be quiet, young feller,’ remarked the boots, going +through a threatening piece of pantomime with the stick. + +‘Or mad!’ said Mr. Trott, rather alarmed. ‘Leave the room, sir, and +tell them to send somebody else.’ + +‘Won’t do!’ replied the boots. + +‘Leave the room!’ shouted Trott, ringing the bell violently: for he +began to be alarmed on a new score. + +‘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.’ + +‘He _is_ a madman! He _is_ a madman!’ exclaimed the terrified Mr. +Trott, gazing on the one eye of the red-headed boots with a look of +abject horror. + +‘Madman!’ replied the boots, ‘dam’me, I think he _is_ 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?’ + +‘Spare my life!’ exclaimed Trott, raising his hands imploringly. + +‘I don’t want your life,’ replied the boots, disdainfully, ‘though I +think it ’ud be a charity if somebody took it.’ + +‘No, no, it wouldn’t,’ interrupted poor Mr. Trott, hurriedly, ‘no, no, +it wouldn’t! I—I-’d rather keep it!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Bravo!’ whispered Mr. Overton. + +‘Poor dear!’ said the compassionate Mrs. Williamson, ‘mad people always +thinks other people’s mad.’ + +‘Poor dear!’ ejaculated Mr. Alexander Trott. ‘What the devil do you +mean by poor dear! Are you the landlady of this house?’ + +‘Yes, yes,’ replied the stout old lady, ‘don’t exert yourself, there’s +a dear! Consider your health, now; do.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘I’ll never have another,’ said Mrs. Williamson, casting a look of +reproach at the mayor. + +‘Capital, capital,’ whispered Overton again, as he enveloped Mr. +Alexander Trott in a thick travelling-cloak. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Who’s that?’ he inquired of Overton, in a whisper. + +‘Hush, hush,’ replied the mayor: ‘the other party of course.’ + +‘The other party!’ exclaimed Trott, with an effort to retreat. + +‘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.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘Bravo, bravo,’ whispered Overton. ‘I’ll push you in.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Poor dear!’ said Mrs. Williamson again. + +‘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!’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘We may speak now,’ said his fellow-traveller, at length; ‘the +post-boys can neither see nor hear us.’ + +‘That’s not Hunter’s voice!’—thought Alexander, astonished. + +‘Dear Lord Peter!’ said Miss Julia, most winningly: putting her arm on +Mr. Trott’s shoulder. ‘Dear Lord Peter. Not a word?’ + +‘Why, it’s a woman!’ exclaimed Mr. Trott, in a low tone of excessive +wonder. + +‘Ah! Whose voice is that?’ said Julia; ‘’tis not Lord Peter’s.’ + +‘No,—it’s mine,’ replied Mr. Trott. + +‘Yours!’ ejaculated Miss Julia Manners; ‘a strange man! Gracious +heaven! How came you here!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Do you come from Lord Peter?’ inquired Miss Manners. + +‘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—’ + +‘Whither are we going?’ inquired the lady tragically. + +‘How should _I_ know, ma’am?’ replied Trott with singular coolness; for +the events of the evening had completely hardened him. + +‘Stop stop!’ cried the lady, letting down the front glasses of the +chaise. + +‘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.’ + +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 _was_ pardoned; and Mr. Trott took _his_ 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. + + + + +CHAPTER IX—MRS. JOSEPH PORTER + + +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. + +‘When we’re a _leetle_ more perfect, I think it will go admirably,’ +said Mr. Sempronius, addressing his _corps dramatique_, 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 _Roderigo_ beautifully.’ + +‘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! _Roderigo_ simpered +and bowed. + +‘But I think,’ added the manager, ‘you are hardly perfect in +the—fall—in the fencing-scene, where you are—you understand?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘But, egad,’ said the manager, rubbing his hands, ‘we shall make a +decided hit in “Masaniello.” Harleigh sings that music admirably.’ + +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. + +‘Let’s see,’ resumed the manager, telling the number on his fingers, +‘we shall have three dancing female peasants, besides _Fenella_, 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.’ + +‘Sure! sure!’ cried all the performers _unâ voce_—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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘Oh, it’s too ridiculous!’ said Miss Porter, hysterically. + +‘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. + +‘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 _so_ ill-natured. Ah, my dear Miss Lucina, how d’ye do? +I was just telling your mamma that I have heard it said, that—’ + +‘What?’ + +‘Mrs. Porter is alluding to the play, my dear,’ said Mrs. Gattleton; +‘she was, I am sorry to say, just informing me that—’ + +‘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 _Fenella_.’ + +‘Highly impertinent, whoever said it,’ said Mrs. Gattleton, bridling +up. + +‘Certainly, my dear,’ chimed in the delighted Mrs. Porter; ‘most +undoubtedly! Because, as I said, if Miss Caroline _does_ play +_Fenella_, 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—’ + +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. + +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. + +‘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—”’ + +‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Lucina, ‘I recollect— + + +“The heavens forbid +But that our loves and comforts should increase +Even as our days do grow!”’ + + +‘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 _days_. That’s the way, +my dear; trust to your uncle for emphasis. Ah! Sem, my boy, how are +you?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Of course, of course, my dear boy.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Well, I flatter myself, I _should_ have been tolerably up to the +thing,’ responded Uncle Tom. + +‘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.’ + +‘I am sure I shall be most happy to give you any assistance in my +power’ + +‘Mind, it’s a bargain.’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘She can’t make us ridiculous, however,’ observed Mr. Sempronius +Gattleton, haughtily. + +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 _Cassio_ 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 +_Masaniello_ 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; _Iago_ 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. + +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. + +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 _too-too’d_ 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.’ + +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. + +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 _solus_, and decked for _Othello_. 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: + +‘Ladies and Gentlemen—I assure you it is with sincere regret, that I +regret to be compelled to inform you, that _Iago_ 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 _Iago_, 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 _Iago_ 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. + +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 _Iago_ had finished dressing, and just as the play +was on the point of commencing, the original _Iago_ 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 _Othello_ addresses the Senate: the only +remarkable circumstance being, that as _Iago_ 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 _Othello_ started with his address +to the Senate (whose dignity was represented by, the _Duke_, _a_ +carpenter, two men engaged on the recommendation of the gardener, and a +boy), Mrs. Porter found the opportunity she so anxiously sought. + +Mr. Sempronius proceeded: + + +‘“Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, +My very noble and approv’d good masters, +That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter, +It is most true;—rude am I in my speech—”’ + + +‘Is that right?’ whispered Mrs. Porter to Uncle Tom. + +‘No.’ + +‘Tell him so, then.’ + +‘I will. Sem!’ called out Uncle Tom, ‘that’s wrong, my boy.’ + +‘What’s wrong, uncle?’ demanded _Othello_, quite forgetting the dignity +of his situation. + +‘You’ve left out something. “True I have married—”’ + +‘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— + + +—‘“true I have married her;— +The very head and front of my offending +Hath this extent; no more.” + + +(_Aside_) Why don’t you prompt, father?’ + +‘Because I’ve mislaid my spectacles,’ said poor Mr. Gattleton, almost +dead with the heat and bustle. + +‘There, now it’s “rude am I,”’ said Uncle Tom. + +‘Yes, I know it is,’ returned the unfortunate manager, proceeding with +his part. + +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. + +Several other minor causes, too, united to damp the ardour of the +_dramatis personae_. 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER X—A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF MR. WATKINS TOTTLE + + + + +CHAPTER THE FIRST + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Who’s there?’ inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle, as a gentle tap at his +room-door disturbed these meditations one evening. + +‘Tottle, my dear fellow, how _do_ you do?’ said a short elderly +gentleman with a gruffish voice, bursting into the room, and replying +to the question by asking another. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘How is Mrs. Gabriel Parsons?’ inquired Tottle. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Oh, I don’t know—have you any whiskey?’ + +‘Why,’ replied Tottle, very slowly, for all this was gaining time, ‘I +_had_ some capital, and remarkably strong whiskey last week; but it’s +all gone—and therefore its strength—’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘It’s of no use humming and ha’ing about the matter,’ resumed the short +gentleman.—‘You want to get married.’ + +‘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 _think_ I should like—’ + +‘Won’t do,’ said the short gentleman.—‘Plain and free—or there’s an end +of the matter. Do you want money?’ + +‘You know I do.’ + +‘You admire the sex?’ + +‘I do.’ + +‘And you’d like to be married?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘Then you shall be. There’s an end of that.’ Thus saying, Mr. Gabriel +Parsons took a pinch of snuff, and mixed another glass. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I’ll pay my addresses to her,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle. ‘She isn’t +_very_ young—is she?’ + +‘Not very; just the thing for you. I’ve said that already.’ + +‘What coloured hair has the lady?’ inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle. + +‘Egad, I hardly recollect,’ replied Gabriel, with coolness. ‘Perhaps I +ought to have observed, at first, she wears a front.’ + +‘A what?’ ejaculated Tottle. + +‘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 _rather_ lighter than the front—a shade of a +greyish tinge, perhaps.’ + +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. + +‘Now, were you ever in love, Tottle?’ he inquired. + +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. + +‘I suppose you popped the question, more than once, when you were a +young—I beg your pardon—a younger—man,’ said Parsons. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I think so, too,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle; ‘certainly.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Quite right!’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle; ‘she could not possibly have +behaved in a more dignified manner. What did you do?’ + +‘Do?—Frank took dummy; and I won sixpence.’ + +‘But, didn’t you apologise for hurting her feelings?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘And what did the lady say to that?’ inquired Tottle, deeply +interested. + +‘Changed her ground, and said that Frank being a single man, its +impropriety was obvious.’ + +‘Noble-minded creature!’ exclaimed the enraptured Tottle. + +‘Oh! both Fanny and I said, at once, that she was regularly cut out for +you.’ + +A gleam of placid satisfaction shone on the circular face of Mr. +Watkins Tottle, as he heard the prophecy. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Tottle, will you “go in?”’ inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he +approached him, wiping the perspiration off his face. + +Mr. Watkins Tottle declined the offer, the bare idea of accepting which +made him even warmer than his friend. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Splendid, majestic creature!’ thought Tottle. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Put my name down, for two sovereigns, if you please,’ responded Miss +Lillerton. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘You are so severe,’ replied Timson, with a Christian smile: he +disliked Parsons, but liked his dinners. + +‘So positively unjust!’ said Miss Lillerton. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Really, Mr. Parsons, I hope you don’t mean to insinuate that I wish to +see _my_ name in print, on the church-door,’ interrupted Miss +Lillerton. + +‘I hope not,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle, putting in another word, and +getting another glance. + +‘Certainly not,’ replied Parsons. ‘I dare say you wouldn’t mind seeing +it in writing, though, in the church register—eh?’ + +‘Register! What register?’ inquired the lady gravely. + +‘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. + +‘What do you think of her?’ inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons of Mr. Watkins +Tottle, in an under-tone. + +‘I dote on her with enthusiasm already!’ replied Mr. Watkins Tottle. + +‘Gentlemen, pray let us drink “the ladies,”’ said the Reverend Mr. +Timson. + +‘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. + +‘Ah!’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ‘I remember when I was a young man—fill +your glass, Timson.’ + +‘I have this moment emptied it.’ + +‘Then fill again.’ + +‘I will,’ said Timson, suiting the action to the word. + +‘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.’ + +‘Was that before you were married?’ mildly inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘I spent my wedding-night in a back-kitchen chimney,’ said Parsons, by +way of a beginning. + +‘In a back-kitchen chimney!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle. ‘How dreadful!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘You didn’t go, of course?’ said Watkins Tottle. + +‘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.’ + +‘Make love upon a kitchen-dresser!’ interrupted Mr. Watkins Tottle, +whose ideas of decorum were greatly outraged. + +‘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?’ + +‘On the dresser,’ suggested Timson. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘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—’ + +‘Please, sir, missis has made tea,’ said a middle-aged female servant, +bobbing into the room. + +‘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?’ + +‘If you please,’ said Mr. Watkins Tottle. + +‘By all means,’ added the obsequious Mr. Timson; and the trio made for +the drawing-room accordingly. + +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. + +‘It’s all right, I think,’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons to Mr. Watkins +Tottle as he opened the garden gate for him. + +‘I hope so,’ he replied, squeezing his friend’s hand. + +‘You’ll be down by the first coach on Saturday,’ said Mr. Gabriel +Parsons. + +‘Certainly,’ replied Mr. Watkins Tottle. ‘Undoubtedly.’ + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER THE SECOND + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘Mr. Parsons?’ said the man, looking at the superscription of a note he +held in his hand, and addressing Gabriel with an inquiring air. + +‘_My_ name is Parsons,’ responded the sugar-baker. + +‘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’.’ + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +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_l._ 10_s._ 4_d._, and dated his communication +from a lock-up house in the vicinity of Chancery-lane. + +‘Unfortunate affair this!’ said Parsons, refolding the note. + +‘Oh! nothin’ ven you’re used to it,’ coolly observed the man in the +Petersham. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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, +_would_ 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. + +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. + +‘I want to see Mr. Watkins Tottle,’ said Parsons. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Well, that a’n’t a bad un,’ replied the other, who was a horse-dealer +from Islington. + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Oh! I’m all right,’ replied the smoker. ‘I shall be bailed out +to-morrow.’ + +‘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 _bailed out_. Ha! ha! ha!’ + +‘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?’ + +‘’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?’ + +‘A’n’t he a rum un?’ inquired the delighted individual, who had offered +the gin-and-water, of his wife. + +‘Oh, he just is!’ replied the lady, who was quite overcome by these +flashes of imagination. + +‘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.’ + +‘That’s a very strange circumstance!’ interrupted the jocose Mr. +Walker, _en passant_. + +‘—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?’ + +‘Why, I suppose the bills went out, and you came in. The acceptances +weren’t taken up, and you were, eh?’ inquired Walker. + +‘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.’ + +‘Why don’t you ask your old governor to stump up?’ inquired Walker, +with a somewhat sceptical air. + +‘Oh! bless you, he’d never do it,’ replied the other, in a tone of +expostulation—‘Never!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +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 _whirr—r—bang_ of the spring door announced that +they were out of hearing. It was broken by the wife of the +ex-fruiterer. + +‘Poor creetur!’ said she, quenching a sigh in a rivulet of +gin-and-water. ‘She’s very young.’ + +‘She’s a nice-looking ’ooman too,’ added the horse-dealer. + +‘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. + +‘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—’ + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘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. + +‘I want to speak to you,’ said Gabriel, with a look strongly expressive +of his dislike of the company. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘What’s the amount with the costs?’ inquired Parsons, after an awkward +pause. + +‘37_l_. 3_s_ 10_d_.’ + +‘Have you any money?’ + +‘Nine and sixpence halfpenny.’ + +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.’ + +‘I do.’ + +‘And from all I see, I infer that you are likely to owe it to me.’ + +‘I fear I am.’ + +‘Though you have every disposition to pay me if you could?’ + +‘Certainly.’ + +‘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_l._ 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.’ + +‘My dear—’ + +‘Stop a minute—on one condition; and that is, that you propose to Miss +Lillerton at once.’ + +‘At once! My dear Parsons, consider.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘What—what?’ eagerly interrupted the enamoured Watkins. + +‘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.’ + +Mr. Watkins Tottle rose hastily from his seat, and rang the bell. + +‘What’s that for?’ inquired Parsons. + +‘I want to send the man for the bill stamp,’ replied Mr. Watkins +Tottle. + +‘Then you’ve made up your mind?’ + +‘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 _out_side. + +‘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.’ + +‘I will—I will!’ replied Watkins, valorously. + +‘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. + +‘There’s Fanny and your intended walking about on the lawn,’ said +Gabriel, as they approached the house. ‘Mind your eye, Tottle.’ + +‘Never fear,’ replied Watkins, resolutely, as he made his way to the +spot where the ladies were walking. + +‘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. + +‘Did you see how glad she was to see you?’ whispered Parsons to his +friend. + +‘Why, I really thought she looked as if she would rather have seen +somebody else,’ replied Tottle. + +‘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.’ + +‘Certainly,’ whispered Tottle, whose courage was vanishing fast. + +‘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. + +‘Yes, yes, I will—presently,’ replied Tottle, greatly flurried. + +‘Say something to her, man,’ urged Parsons again. ‘Confound it! pay her +a compliment, can’t you?’ + +‘No! not till after dinner,’ replied the bashful Tottle, anxious to +postpone the evil moment. + +‘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.’ + +‘We were talking of the _business_, my dear, which detained us this +morning,’ replied Parsons, looking significantly at Tottle. + +‘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. + +‘_I_ think it has passed very slowly,’ mildly suggested Tottle. + +(‘That’s right—bravo!’) whispered Parsons. + +‘Indeed!’ said Miss Lillerton, with an air of majestic surprise. + +‘I can only impute it to my unavoidable absence from your society, +madam,’ said Watkins, ‘and that of Mrs. Parsons.’ + +During this short dialogue, the ladies had been leading the way to the +house. + +‘What the deuce did you stick Fanny into that last compliment for?’ +inquired Parsons, as they followed together; ‘it quite spoilt the +effect.’ + +‘Oh! it really would have been too broad without,’ replied Watkins +Tottle, ‘much too broad!’ + +‘He’s mad!’ Parsons whispered his wife, as they entered the +drawing-room, ‘mad from modesty.’ + +‘Dear me!’ ejaculated the lady, ‘I never heard of such a thing.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Miss Lillerton, my dear,’ said Mrs. Parsons, ‘shall I assist you?’ + +‘Thank you, no; I think I’ll trouble Mr. Tottle.’ + +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. + +‘Extremely sorry,’ stammered Watkins, assisting himself to currie and +parsley and butter, in the extremity of his confusion. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘Miss Lillerton,’ said Gabriel, ‘may I have the pleasure?’ + +‘I shall be most happy.’ + +‘Tottle, will you assist Miss Lillerton, and pass the decanter. Thank +you.’ (The usual pantomimic ceremony of nodding and sipping gone +through)— + +‘Tottle, were you ever in Suffolk?’ inquired the master of the house, +who was burning to tell one of his seven stock stories. + +‘No,’ responded Watkins, adding, by way of a saving clause, ‘but I’ve +been in Devonshire.’ + +‘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?’ + +Mr. Watkins Tottle _had_ 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. + +‘When I was in Suffolk—’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons. + +‘Take off the fowls first, Martha,’ said Mrs. Parsons. ‘I beg your +pardon, my dear.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘John,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, in a low, hollow voice, ‘don’t spill +that gravy.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘My dear, I didn’t interrupt you,’ said Mrs. Parsons. + +‘But, my dear, you _did_ interrupt me,’ remonstrated Mr. Parsons. + +‘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.’ + +‘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—’ + +‘Pie to your master,’ interrupted Mrs. Parsons, again directing the +servant. + +‘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—’ + +‘Pudding here,’ said Mrs. Parsons. + +‘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.’ + +This attack was received in the usual way. Mrs. Parsons talked _to_ +Miss Lillerton and _at_ 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. + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘Don’t _you_ 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. + +‘Well—well—I only made a suggestion,’ said poor Watkins Tottle, with a +deep sigh. + +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. + +‘God bless me!’ exclaimed Parsons, starting up with well-feigned +surprise, ‘I’ve forgotten those confounded letters. Tottle, I know +you’ll excuse me.’ + +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. + +He had scarcely left, when Martha put her head into the room, +with—‘Please, ma’am, you’re wanted.’ + +Mrs. Parsons left the room, shut the door carefully after her, and Mr. +Watkins Tottle was left alone with Miss Lillerton. + +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. + +‘Hem!’ coughed Miss Lillerton; Mr. Watkins Tottle thought the fair +creature had spoken. ‘I beg your pardon,’ said he. + +‘Eh?’ + +‘I thought you spoke.’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Oh!’ + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘To me!’ said Miss Lillerton, letting the silk drop from her hands, and +sliding her chair back a few paces.—‘Speak—to me!’ + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘She has.’ + +‘Then, what?’ inquired Miss Lillerton, averting her face, with a +girlish air, ‘what could induce _you_ to seek such an interview as +this? What can your object be? How can I promote your happiness, Mr. +Tottle?’ + +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?’ + +‘Disinterested creature!’ exclaimed Miss Lillerton, hiding her face in +a white pocket-handkerchief with an eyelet-hole border. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Our situation, Mr. Tottle,’ resumed the lady, glancing at him through +one of the eyelet-holes, ‘is a most peculiar and delicate one.’ + +‘It is,’ said Mr. Tottle. + +‘Our acquaintance has been of _so_ short duration,’ said Miss +Lillerton. + +‘Only a week,’ assented Watkins Tottle. + +‘Oh! more than that,’ exclaimed the lady, in a tone of surprise. + +‘Indeed!’ said Tottle. + +‘More than a month—more than two months!’ said Miss Lillerton. + +‘Rather odd, this,’ thought Watkins. + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Then allow _me_ to name it,’ said Tottle eagerly. + +‘I should like to fix it myself,’ replied Miss Lillerton, bashfully, +‘but I cannot do so without at once resorting to a third party.’ + +‘A third party!’ thought Watkins Tottle; ‘who the deuce is that to be, +I wonder!’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Mr. Timson!’ said Watkins. + +‘After what has passed between us,’ responded Miss Lillerton, still +averting her head, ‘you must understand whom I mean; Mr. Timson, +the—the—clergyman.’ + +‘Mr. Timson, the clergyman!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle, in a state of +inexpressible beatitude, and positive wonder at his own success. +‘Angel! Certainly—this moment!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Stay,—stay,’ cried Watkins Tottle, still keeping a most respectful +distance from the lady; ‘when shall we meet again?’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘May I come in?’ said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, peeping in at the door. + +‘You may,’ replied Watkins. + +‘Well, have you done it?’ anxiously inquired Gabriel. + +‘Have I done it!’ said Watkins Tottle. ‘Hush—I’m going to the +clergyman.’ + +‘No!’ said Parsons. ‘How well you have managed it!’ + +‘Where does Timson live?’ inquired Watkins. + +‘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!’ + +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. + +‘Miss Lillerton’s compliments,’ said Martha, as she delivered it into +Tottle’s hands, and vanished. + +‘Do you observe the delicacy?’ said Tottle, appealing to Mr. Gabriel +Parsons. ‘_Compliments_, not _love_, by the servant, eh?’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Capital!’ echoed Gabriel Parsons; and in five minutes they were at the +garden-gate of the villa tenanted by the uncle of Mr. Timson. + +‘Is Mr. Charles Timson at home?’ inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle of Mr. +Charles Timson’s uncle’s man. + +‘Mr. Charles _is_ at home,’ replied the man, stammering; ‘but he +desired me to say he couldn’t be interrupted, sir, by any of the +parishioners.’ + +‘_I_ am not a parishioner,’ replied Watkins. + +‘Is Mr. Charles writing a sermon, Tom?’ inquired Parsons, thrusting +himself forward. + +‘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.’ + +‘Say I’m here,’ replied Gabriel, leading the way across the garden; +‘Mr. Parsons and Mr. Tottle, on private and particular business.’ + +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. + +‘How do you do, sir?’ said Watkins Tottle, with great solemnity. + +‘How do _you_ 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. + +‘I beg to deliver this note to you,’ said Watkins Tottle, producing the +cocked-hat. + +‘From Miss Lillerton!’ said Timson, suddenly changing colour. ‘Pray sit +down.’ + +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. + +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?’ + +‘Our friend is in _my_ confidence,’ replied Watkins, with considerable +importance. + +‘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.’ + +‘He thinks I recommended him,’ thought Tottle. ‘Confound these fellows! +they never think of anything but their fees.’ + +‘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.’ + +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?’ + +‘On Thursday,’ replied Timson,—‘on Thursday morning at half-past +eight.’ + +‘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.) + +‘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—’ + +‘Eh!’ said Parsons, with one of the most extraordinary expressions of +countenance that ever appeared in a human face. + +‘What!’ ejaculated Watkins Tottle, at the same moment. + +‘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.’ + +Mr. Watkins Tottle staggered against the wall, and fixed his eyes on +Timson with appalling perseverance. + +‘Timson,’ said Parsons, hurriedly brushing his hat with his left arm, +‘when you say “us,” whom do you mean?’ + +Mr. Timson looked foolish in his turn, when he replied, ‘Why—Mrs. +Timson that will be this day week: Miss Lillerton that is—’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Good night, Timson,’ said Parsons, hurrying off, and carrying the +bewildered Tottle with him. + +‘Won’t you stay—and have something?’ said Timson. + +‘No, thank ye,’ replied Parsons; ‘I’ve had quite enough;’ and away he +went, followed by Watkins Tottle in a state of stupefaction. + +Mr. Gabriel Parsons whistled until they had walked some quarter of a +mile past his own gate, when he suddenly stopped, and said— + +‘You are a clever fellow, Tottle, ain’t you?’ + +‘I don’t know,’ said the unfortunate Watkins. + +‘I suppose you’ll say this is Fanny’s fault, won’t you?’ inquired +Gabriel. + +‘I don’t know anything about it,’ replied the bewildered Tottle. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI—THE BLOOMSBURY CHRISTENING + + +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. + +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 _to_ himself a +wife, and _for_ 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.’) + +‘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. + +‘I cannot, indeed I cannot,’ returned Dumps. + +‘Well, but why not? Jemima will think it very unkind. It’s very little +trouble.’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘But come, don’t refuse. If it’s a boy, you know, we must have two +godfathers.’ + +‘_If_ it’s a boy!’ said Dumps; ‘why can’t you say at once whether it +_is_ a boy or not?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Not born yet!’ echoed Dumps, with a gleam of hope lighting up his +lugubrious visage. ‘Oh, well, it _may_ be a girl, and then you won’t +want me; or if it is a boy, it _may_ die before it is christened.’ + +‘I hope not,’ said the father that expected to be, looking very grave. + +‘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.’ + +‘Lord, uncle!’ ejaculated little Kitterbell, gasping for breath. + +‘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—’ + +‘How frightful!’ interrupted the horror-stricken Kitterbell. + +‘The child died, of course. However, your child _may_ not die; and if +it should be a boy, and should _live_ to be christened, why I suppose I +must be one of the sponsors.’ Dumps was evidently good-natured on the +faith of his anticipations. + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _worst_.’ + +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:— + + +‘_Births_.—On Saturday, the 18th inst., in Great Russell-street, the +lady of Charles Kitterbell, Esq., of a son.’ + + +‘It _is_ a boy!’ he exclaimed, dashing down the paper, to the +astonishment of the waiters. ‘It _is_ 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. + +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:— + + +‘_Great Russell-street_, +_Monday morning_. + + +‘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. + +‘Believe me, dear Uncle, +‘Yours affectionately, +‘Charles Kitterbell. + + +‘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.’ + + +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. + +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 _Morning Herald_ +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_ 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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Anywhere but on my _chest_, sir,’ replied the old gentleman in a surly +tone. + +‘Perhaps the _box_ would suit the gentleman better,’ suggested a very +damp lawyer’s clerk, in a pink shirt, and a smirking countenance. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘I told you not to bang the door so!’ repeated Dumps, with an +expression of countenance like the knave of clubs, in convulsions. + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +‘I want to be set down!’ said Dumps in a faint voice, overcome by his +previous efforts. + +‘I think these cads want to be _set down_,’ returned the attorney’s +clerk, chuckling at his sally. + +‘Hollo!’ cried Dumps again. + +‘Hollo!’ echoed the passengers. The omnibus passed St. Giles’s church. + +‘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. + +‘Doory-lane, sir?—yes, sir,—third turning on the right-hand side, sir.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘Ah, uncle!’ said Mr. Kitterbell, ‘how d’ye do? Allow me—Jemima, my +dear—my uncle. I think you’ve seen Jemima before, sir?’ + +‘Have had the _pleasure_,’ returned big Dumps, his tone and look making +it doubtful whether in his life he had ever experienced the sensation. + +‘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—’ + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Now, uncle,’ said Mr. Kitterbell, lifting up that part of the mantle +which covered the infant’s face, with an air of great triumph, ‘_Who_ +do you think he’s like?’ + +‘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. + +‘Good God, how small he is!’ cried the amiable uncle, starting back +with well-feigned surprise; ‘_remarkably_ small indeed.’ + +‘Do you think so?’ inquired poor little Kitterbell, rather alarmed. +‘He’s a monster to what he was—ain’t he, nurse?’ + +‘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. + +‘Well, but who is he like?’ inquired little Kitterbell. + +Dumps looked at the little pink heap before him, and only thought at +the moment of the best mode of mortifying the youthful parents. + +‘I really don’t know _who_ he’s like,’ he answered, very well knowing +the reply expected of him. + +‘Don’t you think he’s like _me_?’ inquired his nephew with a knowing +air. + +‘Oh, _decidedly_ not!’ returned Dumps, with an emphasis not to be +misunderstood. ‘Decidedly not like you.—Oh, certainly not.’ + +‘Like Jemima?’ asked Kitterbell, faintly. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘Thank you,’ said Dumps, feeling particularly grateful. + +‘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?’ + +‘Yes, dear.’ + +‘Are you sure you won’t have another shawl?’ inquired the anxious +husband. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘There are at least some well-disposed men in the world,’ ruminated the +misanthropical Dumps, as he proceeded towards his destination. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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?’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +‘Your card-case? snuff-box? the key of your lodgings?’ continued +Kitterbell, pouring question on question with the rapidity of +lightning. + +‘No! no!’ ejaculated Dumps, still diving eagerly into his empty +pockets. + +‘Not—not—the _mug_ you spoke of this morning?’ + +‘Yes, the _mug_!’ replied Dumps, sinking into a chair. + +‘How _could_ you have done it?’ inquired Kitterbell. ‘Are you sure you +brought it out?’ + +‘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!’ + +‘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. + +‘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 _to_ the young ladies, and _against_ a gentleman +behind him, and took no notice whatever of the father, who had been +bowing incessantly for three minutes and a quarter. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Very warm,’ said Dumps, feeling it necessary to say something. + +‘Yes. It was warmer yesterday,’ returned the brilliant Mr. Danton.—A +general laugh. + +‘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. + +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 _so_ fond of babies in +company.) + +‘Oh, you dear!’ said one. + +‘How sweet!’ cried another, in a low tone of the most enthusiastic +admiration. + +‘Heavenly!’ added a third. + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘Never, in my life,’ returned her admirer, pulling up his collar. + +‘Oh! _do_ let me take it, nurse,’ cried another young lady. ‘The love!’ + +‘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, _nem. con._, agreed that he +was decidedly the finest baby they had ever beheld—except their own. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +A dead silence ensued, and the glasses were filled—everybody looked +serious. + +‘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). + +‘Order! order!’ said little Kitterbell, endeavouring to suppress his +laughter. + +‘Order!’ said the gentlemen. + +‘Danton, be quiet,’ said a particular friend on the opposite side of +the table. + +‘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 _apparently_ +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. + +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 _bon-bons_ 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. + +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.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XII—THE DRUNKARD’S DEATH + + +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 _quondam_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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 _she_? 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Is that you, father?’ said the girl. + +‘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?’ + +‘I am not well, father—not at all well,’ said the girl, bursting into +tears. + +‘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?’ + +‘Father,’ whispered the girl, shutting the door behind her, and placing +herself before it, ‘William has come back.’ + +‘Who!’ said the man with a start. + +‘Hush,’ replied the girl, ‘William; brother William.’ + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘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 _as_ certain. And there’s an end of it.’ + +‘You mean to say, you’ve been robbing, or murdering, then?’ said the +father. + +‘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. + +‘Where’s your brothers?’ he said, after a long pause. + +‘Where they’ll never trouble you,’ replied his son: ‘John’s gone to +America, and Henry’s dead.’ + +‘Dead!’ said the father, with a shudder, which even he could not +express. + +‘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.’ + +The girl wept aloud; and the father, sinking his head upon his knees, +rocked himself to and fro. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +‘You’ll drink with me, master,’ said one of them, proffering him a +glass of liquor. + +‘And me too,’ said the other, replenishing the glass as soon as it was +drained of its contents. + +The man thought of his hungry children, and his son’s danger. But they +were nothing to the drunkard. He _did_ drink; and his reason left him. + +‘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. + +‘The right sort of night for our friends in hiding, Master Warden,’ +whispered the other. + +‘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?’ + +‘No, he didn’t,’ replied the father. + +The two men exchanged glances. + +‘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.’ + +‘Very,’ said the second. + +‘Capital luck,’ said the first, with a wink to his companion. + +‘Great,’ replied the second, with a slight nod of intelligence. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + + + + +SKETCHES OF YOUNG GENTLEMEN + + +TO THE YOUNG LADIES +of the +United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland; +also +THE YOUNG LADIES +of +the principality of wales, +and likewise +THE YOUNG LADIES +resident in the isles of +guernsey, jersey, alderney, and sark, +the humble dedication of their devoted admirer, + + +Sheweth,— + +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. + +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. + +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 _are_ animals, +still he humbly submits that it is not polite to call you so. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +And your Dedicator shall ever pray, &c. + + + + +THE BASHFUL YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, ‘_Good_ morning, _good_ +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. + +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. + +‘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 _bouquet_, 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 +_him_. 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. + +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. + + + + +THE OUT-AND-OUT YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _rather too wild_!’ + +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. + + + + +THE VERY FRIENDLY YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +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. + +‘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—_our_ 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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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 _éclat_. +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? + + + + +THE MILITARY YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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 +_they_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_were_ 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. + +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. + +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! + +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! + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE POLITICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +Once upon a time—_not_ 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. + +If the political young gentleman be resident in a country town (and +there _are_ 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. + +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. + +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 _now_; 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 _the +other people_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE DOMESTIC YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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 _had_ 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 _he_ 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. + +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 _him_, 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE CENSORIOUS YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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_ 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. + + + + +THE FUNNY YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _that_ high (something +smaller than a nutmeg-grater), he had never beheld him in such +excellent cue. + +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! + +To recount all the drollery of Mr. Griggins at supper, would fill such +a tiny volume as this, [429] 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. + + + + +THE THEATRICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE POETICAL YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!’ + +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. + + + + +THE ‘THROWING-OFF’ YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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. + +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 _could_ 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. + +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. + +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_ love her! Think not so meanly of me, Miss Lowfield, I beseech, +as to suppose that title, lands, riches, and beauty, can influence _my_ +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE YOUNG LADIES’ YOUNG GENTLEMAN + + +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. + +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 _sandy_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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-_not_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _she_ 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. + +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. + +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 _badinage_ on the subject of ladies’ dresses, he had +evinced as much knowledge as if he had been born and bred a milliner. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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 +_esteem_ 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.’ + +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. + +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. + + + + +SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES + + +AN URGENT REMONSTRANCE, &c. + +TO THE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND, +(being bachelors or widowers,) +THE REMONSTRANCE OF THEIR FAITHFUL FELLOW-SUBJECT, + + +Sheweth,— + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE YOUNG COUPLE + + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _he_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + + + + +THE FORMAL COUPLE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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 _there_ 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 +_are_ made of, and what their notions of propriety _can_ be! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE LOVING COUPLE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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!’ + +‘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! + +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. + +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. + +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?’ + +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. + +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. + +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 _would_ steal Mrs. Leaver’s tongue, and Mrs. Leaver _would_ +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE CONTRADICTORY COUPLE + + +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? + +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: + +‘What a very extraordinary thing it is,’ says he, ‘that you _will_ +contradict, Charlotte!’ ‘_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 _not_ 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.’ + +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. + +‘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_ +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!’ + +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!’ + +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!’ + +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 _not_ +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. + +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. + + + + +THE COUPLE WHO DOTE UPON THEIR CHILDREN + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples +who dote upon their children, it is nearly impossible for him to divert +the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds Mr. +Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before +Ned was born, or the time before Mary Anne was thought of. The +slightest remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering +recollections of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of them. +They will come uppermost, let the poor man do what he may. Ned has been +known to be lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been forgotten, +the name of Mary Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins will out. +Nothing can keep down the twins. + +‘It’s a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,’ says Mr. Whiffler to the +visitor, ‘but—you have seen our little babies, the—the—twins?’ The +friend’s heart sinks within him as he answers, ‘Oh, yes—often.’ ‘Your +talking of the Pyramids,’ says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter of +course, ‘reminds me of the twins. It’s a very extraordinary thing about +those babies—what colour should you say their eyes were?’ ‘Upon my +word,’ the friend stammers, ‘I hardly know how to answer’—the fact +being, that except as the friend does not remember to have heard of any +departure from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of these +twins, they might have no eyes at 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 _were_ 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, _that’s_ not a +common thing in twins, or a circumstance that’ll happen every day.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _are_ 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 _are_ 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!’ + +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 _bon mot_ 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. + + + + +THE COOL COUPLE + + +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. + +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 _you_ 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_ was +quite willing to stay at home, and that it’s no fault of _mine_ we are +not oftener together.’ + +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. + +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. + +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, _of course_,’ 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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE PLAUSIBLE COUPLE + + +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. + +‘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. + +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 _and_ 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. + +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!’ + +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. + +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. ‘_You_ 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 _will_ 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. + +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! + +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 _did_ I do with my pocket-handkerchief!’ + +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? + + + + +THE NICE LITTLE COUPLE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE EGOTISTICAL COUPLE + + +Egotism in couples is of two kinds.—It is our purpose to show this by +two examples. + +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. + +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. + +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 _such_ 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!’ + +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. + +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!’ + +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. + +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 _was_ 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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES + + +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. + +Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and the +venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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 _must_ +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +THE OLD COUPLE + + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 +_his_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + + + + +CONCLUSION + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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— + + +God bless them. + + + + +THE MUDFOG AND OTHER SKETCHES + + +PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE—ONCE MAYOR OF MUDFOG + +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 _will_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘My dear,’ said Mr. Tulrumble to his wife, ‘they have elected me, Mayor +of Mudfog.’ + +‘Lor-a-mussy!’ said Mrs. Tulrumble: ‘why what’s become of old Sniggs?’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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.’ + +‘I _might_ have a show in Mudfog, if I thought proper, I apprehend,’ +said Mr. Tulrumble mysteriously. + +‘Lor! so you might, I declare,’ replied Mrs. Tulrumble. + +‘And a good one too,’ said Mr. Tulrumble. + +‘Delightful!’ exclaimed Mrs. Tulrumble. + +‘One which would rather astonish the ignorant people down there,’ said +Mr. Tulrumble. + +‘It would kill them with envy,’ said Mrs. Tulrumble. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +_sobriquet_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Well, Twigger!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, condescendingly. + +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. + +‘I want you to go into training, Twigger,’ said Mr. Tulrumble. + +‘What for, sir?’ inquired Ned, with a stare. + +‘Hush, hush, Twigger!’ said the Mayor. ‘Shut the door, Mr. Jennings. +Look here, Twigger.’ + +As the Mayor said this, he unlocked a high closet, and disclosed a +complete suit of brass armour, of gigantic dimensions. + +‘I want you to wear this next Monday, Twigger,’ said the Mayor. + +‘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.’ + +‘Nonsense, Twigger, nonsense!’ said the Mayor. + +‘I couldn’t stand under it, sir,’ said Twigger; ‘it would make mashed +potatoes of me, if I attempted it.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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. + +‘It’s the easiest thing in the world,’ rejoined the Mayor. + +‘It’s nothing,’ said Mr. Jennings. + +‘When you’re used to it,’ added Ned. + +‘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?’ + +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. + +‘Now, wear that with grace and propriety on Monday next,’ said +Tulrumble, ‘and I’ll make your fortune.’ + +‘I’ll try what I can do, sir,’ said Twigger. + +‘It must be kept a profound secret,’ said Tulrumble. + +‘Of course, sir,’ replied Twigger. + +‘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. + +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. + +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! + +The day—_the_ Monday—arrived. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘They won’t laugh now, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble. + +‘I think not, sir,’ said Mr. Jennings. + +‘See how eager they look,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble. ‘Aha! the laugh +will be on our side now; eh, Mr. Jennings?’ + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The crowd roared—it was not with wonder, it was not with surprise; it +was most decidedly and unquestionably with laughter. + +‘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!’ + +‘I am afraid, sir—’ faltered Mr. Jennings. + +‘Afraid of what, sir?’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, looking up into the +secretary’s face. + +‘I am afraid he’s drunk, sir,’ replied Mr. Jennings. + +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. + +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. + +‘Twigger, you villain!’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, quite forgetting his +dignity, ‘go back.’ + +‘Never,’ said Ned. ‘I’m a miserable wretch. I’ll never leave you.’ + +The by-standers of course received this declaration with acclamations +of ‘That’s right, Ned; don’t!’ + +‘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. + +‘Here! will anybody lead him away?’ said Nicholas: ‘if they’ll call on +me afterwards, I’ll reward them well.’ + +Two or three men stepped forward, with the view of bearing Ned off, +when the secretary interposed. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘But, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas Tulrumble, ‘he’ll be suffocated.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘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?’ + +‘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. + +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 _him_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Are you going to put down pipes, Mr. Tulrumble?’ said one. + +‘Or trace the progress of crime to ‘bacca?’ growled another. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +FULL REPORT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION +for the advancement of everything + +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. + +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. + +‘_Mudfog_, _Monday night_, _seven o’clock_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past seven_. + + +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!’ + +‘_Tuesday_, _noon_. + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Five o’clock_. + + +‘It is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Professors Snore, Doze, +and Wheezy will _not_ repair to the Pig and Tinder-box, but have +actually engaged apartments at the Original Pig. This intelligence is +_exclusive_; 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. + +‘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! + +‘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.’ + +‘_Twenty minutes past six_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Three-quarters part seven_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past eight_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Ten minutes to nine_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Nine o’clock_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half after ten_. + + +‘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 _protégé_. 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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Twelve o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘No news yet of either of the Professors Snore, Doze, or Wheezy. It is +very strange!’ + +‘_Wednesday afternoon_. + + +‘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 _his_ 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.’ + +‘_Four o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past ten_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Eleven o’clock_. + + +‘I open my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred since I +folded it up.’ + +‘_Thursday_. + + +‘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 + + + + +‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY. +GREAT ROOM, PIG AND TINDER-BOX. + + +_President_—Professor Snore. _Vice-Presidents_—Professors Doze and +Wheezy. + +‘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 _coup d’oeil_ +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. + +‘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.” + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘The President congratulated the public on the _grand gala_ 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. + +‘A Member wished to know how many thousand additional lamps the royal +property would be illuminated with, on the night after the descent. + +‘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. + +‘The Member expressed himself much gratified with this announcement. + +‘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! + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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? + +‘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. + + + + +‘SECTION B.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE. +COACH-HOUSE, PIG AND TINDER-BOX. + + +_President_—Dr. Toorell. _Vice-Presidents_—Professors Muff and Nogo. + +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 _per diem_, 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. + +‘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? + +‘Dr. Kutankumagen replied in the affirmative. + +‘Dr. W. R. Fee.—And you found that he bled freely during the whole +course of the disorder? + +‘Dr. Kutankumagen.—Oh dear, yes; most freely. + +‘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. + +‘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 _post mortem_ 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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + + + + +‘SECTION C.—STATISTICS. +HAY-LOFT, ORIGINAL PIG. + + +_President_—Mr. Woodensconce. _Vice-Presidents_—Mr. Ledbrain and Mr. +Timbered. + +‘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:— + +‘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 + + +‘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. + +‘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 _up_ a hill to fetch a pail +of water, which was a laborious and useful occupation,—supposing the +family linen was being washed, for instance. + +‘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 + + +“‘For laughing at Jack’s disaster;” + + +besides, the whole work had this one great fault, _it was not true_. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + + + + +‘SECTION D.—MECHANICAL SCIENCE. +COACH-HOUSE, ORIGINAL PIG. + + +_President_—Mr. Carter. _Vice-Presidents_—Mr. Truck and Mr. Waghorn. + +‘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. + +‘The President was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary to have +a level surface on which the gentleman was to run. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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 _soirées_, 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! + +Signed Boz. + + + + +FULL REPORT OF THE SECOND MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION +for the advancement of everything + + +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. + +‘_Saloon of Steamer_, _Thursday night_, _half-past eight_. + + +‘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! + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Ten minutes past nine_. + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half past nine_. + + +‘Some dark object has just appeared upon the wharf. I think it is a +travelling carriage.’ + +‘_A quarter to ten_. + + +‘No, it isn’t.’ + +‘_Half-past ten_. + + +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. + +‘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! + +‘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! + +‘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? + +‘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. + +‘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!’ + +‘_Half-past eleven_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Twenty minutes to twelve_. + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Twelve o’clock_. + + +‘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 _ought_ to have come off victorious. There is an +exultation about Professor Grime incompatible, I fear, with true +greatness.’ + +‘_A quarter past twelve_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_One o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_A quarter past one_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Five minutes later_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Twenty minutes before two_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Three o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past ten_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Friday afternoon_, _six o’clock_. + + +‘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! + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past six_. + + +‘I am again in bed. Anything so heart-rending as Mr. Slug’s sufferings +it has never yet been my lot to witness.’ + +‘_Seven o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +‘Professor Grime is in bed, to all appearance quite well; but he _will_ +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?’ + +‘_Black Boy and Stomach-ache_, +_Oldcastle_, _Saturday noon_. + + +‘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 _savans_ of both sexes. The tremendous +assemblage of intellect that one encounters in every street is in the +last degree overwhelming. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past nine_. + + +‘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.’ + +‘_Sunday_, _two o’clock_, _p.m._ + + +‘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. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Half-past six_. + + +‘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. + +‘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!” + +‘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) _that he had requested Sowster to attend on the Monday +morning at the Boot-jack and Countenance_, _to keep off the boys_; _and +that he had further desired that the under-beadle might be stationed_, +_with the same object_, _at the Black Boy and Stomach-ache_! + +‘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.’ + +‘_Nine o’clock_. + + +‘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. + +[Picture which cannot be reproduced] + +The under-beadle has consented to write his life, but it is to be +strictly anonymous. + +‘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.’ + +‘_Monday_. + + +‘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. + + + + +‘SECTION A.—ZOOLOGY AND BOTANY. +FRONT PARLOUR, BLACK BOY AND STOMACH-ACHE. + + +_President_—Sir William Joltered. _Vice-Presidents_—Mr. Muddlebranes +and Mr. Drawley. + +‘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. + +‘The President inquired by what means the honourable member proposed to +attain this most desirable end? + +‘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. + +‘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? + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘After a scene of scientific enthusiasm it was resolved that this +important question should be immediately submitted to the consideration +of the council. + +‘The President wished to know whether any gentleman could inform the +section what had become of the dancing-dogs? + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘The President wished to know what botanical definition the honourable +gentleman could afford of the curiosity. + +‘Mr. Flummery expressed his opinion that it was a decided plant. + + + + +‘SECTION B.—DISPLAY OF MODELS AND MECHANICAL SCIENCE. +LARGE ROOM, BOOT-JACK AND COUNTENANCE. + + +_President_—Mr. Mallett. _Vice-Presidents_—Messrs. Leaver and Scroo. + +‘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. + +‘After some slight delay, occasioned by the various members of the +section buttoning their pockets, + +‘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? + +‘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. + +‘The President hoped that no such fanciful objections would be allowed +to stand in the way of such a great public improvement. + +‘Mr. Crinkles hoped so too; but he feared that if the gentlemen of the +swell mob persevered in their objection, nothing could be done. + +‘Professor Grime suggested, that surely, in that case, Her Majesty’s +Government might be prevailed upon to take it up. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Professor Nogo wished to be informed what amount of automaton police +force it was proposed to raise in the first instance. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Professor Muff.—Will you allow me to ask you, sir, of what materials +it is intended that the magistrates’ heads shall be composed? + +‘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. + +‘Professor Muff.—I am quite satisfied. This is a great invention. + +‘Professor Nogo.—I see but one objection to it. It appears to me that +the magistrates ought to talk. + +‘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. + +‘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, + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘Mr. Blank.—Nobody can, and that is the beauty of it. + + + + +‘SECTION C.—ANATOMY AND MEDICINE. +BAR ROOM, BLACK BOY AND STOMACH-ACHE. + + +_President_—Dr. Soemup. _Vice-Presidents_—Messrs. Pessell and Mortair. + +‘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. + +‘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. + + + + +‘SECTION D.—STATISTICS. +OUT-HOUSE, BLACK BOY AND STOMACH-ACHE. + + +_President_—Mr. Slug. _Vice-Presidents_—Messrs. Noakes and Styles. + +‘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 _data_ 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. + + + + +‘SUPPLEMENTARY SECTION, E.—UMBUGOLOGY AND DITCHWATERISICS. + + +_President_—Mr. Grub. _Vice Presidents_—Messrs. Dull and Dummy. + +‘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 _Fitfordogsmeataurious_. 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. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +‘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.” + +‘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!” + +‘The President begged to call the learned gentleman to order. + +‘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?” + +‘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.’ + +‘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 _bon mot_ 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 _spread_ of science, and a +glorious spread it is.”’ + + + + +THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Of all the pantomimic _dramatis personae_, 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. + +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. + +Take that old gentleman who has just emerged from the _Café de +l’Europe_ 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! + +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! + +‘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 _not_ 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 _do_ mean; and, with becoming respect, we proceed to +tell them. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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 _the change_ too, the +parallel is quite perfect, and still more singular. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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— + + +‘All the world’s a stage, +And all the men and women merely players:’ + + +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. + + + + +SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING A LION + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +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 _such_ cue to-night! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +MR. ROBERT BOLTON: THE ‘GENTLEMAN CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS’ + + +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 _hem_! 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. + +‘Can you lend me a ten-pound note till Christmas?’ inquired the +hairdresser of the stomach. + +‘Where’s your security, Mr. Clip?’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Well, to be sure!’ cried the baker. ‘But how d’ye mean, Mr. Clip?’ + +‘Mean! why, that it’s got the _hottergruff_ of Pope. + + +“Steal not this book, for fear of hangman’s rope; +For it belongs to Alexander Pope.” + + +All that’s written on the inside of the binding of the book; so, as my +son says, we’re _bound_ to believe it.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘Perhaps, sir,’ said Clip, a little flurried, ‘you’ll pay for the first +upset afore you thinks of another.’ + +‘Now,’ said the undertaker, bowing amicably to the hairdresser, ‘I +_think_, I says I _think_—you’ll excuse me, Mr. Clip, I _think_, 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.’ + +‘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?’ + +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, _newness_, 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 _tout ensemble_ 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. + +‘Horrid murder in Westminster this morning,’ observed Mr. Bolton. + +Everybody changed their positions. All eyes were fixed upon the man of +paragraphs. + +‘A baker murdered his son by boiling him in a copper,’ said Mr. Bolton. + +‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed everybody, in simultaneous horror. + +‘Boiled him, gentlemen!’ added Mr. Bolton, with the most effective +emphasis; ‘_boiled_ him!’ + +‘And the particulars, Mr. B.,’ inquired the hairdresser, ‘the +particulars?’ + +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— + +‘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.’ + +The speaker took another draught, everybody looked at everybody else, +and exclaimed, ‘Horrid!’ + +‘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 +_maternal_ 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. + +‘“Where’s my boy?” shrieked the mother. + +‘“In that copper, boiling,” coolly replied the benign father. + +‘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.’ + +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. + + + + +FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD +aged two years and two months + + +My Child, + +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. + +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) _inside_ 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. + +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!’ + +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. + +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. + +Unlike the driver of the old Manchester mail, I regard this altered +state of things with feelings of unmingled pleasure and satisfaction. + +Unlike the guard of the new Manchester mail, _your_ 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 _in loco parentis_ 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, + +Boz. + + + + +Footnotes: + + +[122] 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. + +[161] 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. + +[165] These two men were executed shortly afterwards. The other was +respited during his Majesty’s pleasure. + +[429] [In its original form.] + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES BY BOZ *** + +***** This file should be named 882-0.txt or 882-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/8/8/882/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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