Sketches by Boz
by Charles Dickens
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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'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 IDEAL 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 UNA 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 33L. 10S. 4D., 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.

'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 10L. 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 OUTside.

'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.

'Game!' exclaimed Ikey, who had been altering the position of a
green-handled knife and fork at least a dozen times, in order that
he might remain in the room under the pretext of having something
to do. 'He's game enough ven there's anything to be fierce about;
but who could be game as you call it, Mr. Walker, with a pale young
creetur like that, hanging about him? - It's enough to drive any
man's heart into his boots to see 'em together-and no mistake at
all about it. I never shall forget her first comin' here; he wrote
to her on the Thursday to come - I know he did, 'cos I took the
letter. Uncommon fidgety he was all day to be sure, and in the
evening he goes down into the office, and he says to Jacobs, says
he, "Sir, can I have the loan of a private room for a few minutes
this evening, without incurring any additional expense - just to
see my wife in?" says he. Jacobs looked as much as to say -
"Strike me bountiful if you ain't one of the modest sort!" but as
the gen'lm'n who had been in the back parlour had just gone out,
and had paid for it for that day, he says - werry grave - "Sir,"
says he, "it's agin our rules to let private rooms to our lodgers
on gratis terms, but," says he, "for a gentleman, I don't mind
breaking through them for once."  So then he turns found to me, and
says, "Ikey, put two mould candles in the back parlour, and charge
'em to this gen'lm'n's account," vich I did. Vell, by-and-by a
hackney-coach comes up to the door, and there, sure enough, was the
young lady, wrapped up in a hopera-cloak, as it might be, and all
alone. I opened the gate that night, so I went up when the coach
come, and he vos a waitin' at the parlour door - and wasn't he a
trembling, neither? The poor creetur see him, and could hardly
walk to meet him. "Oh, Harry!" she says, "that it should have come
to this; and all for my sake," says she, putting her hand upon his
shoulder. So he puts his arm round her pretty little waist, and
leading her gently a little way into the room, so that he might be
able to shut the door, he says, so kind and soft-like - "Why,
Kate," says he- '

'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.

'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 10L. 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 outside.

'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 potting 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 I 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.