lapse of years. Mr. Knight Bell replied that the gentleman was always
much accustomed to punch, and it was supposed the acid had gradually
devoured it.
"DR. NEESHAWTS and several of the members were of opinion that the key
must have lain very cold and heavy upon the gentleman's stomach.
"MR. KNIGHT BELL believed it did at first. It was worthy of remark,
perhaps, that for some years the gentleman was troubled with a
night-mare, under the influence of which, he always imagined himself a
wine-cellar door.
"PROFESSOR MUFF related a very extraordinary and convincing proof of
the wonderful efficacy of the system of infinitesimal doses, which
the section were doubtless aware was based upon the theory that the
very minutest amount of any given drug, properly dispersed through the
human frame, would be productive of precisely the same result as a very
large dose administered in the usual manner. Thus, the fortieth part
of a grain of calomel was supposed to be equal to a five-grain calomel
pill, and so on in proportion throughout the whole range of medicine.
He had tried the experiment in a curious manner upon a publican who
had been brought into the hospital with a broken head, and was cured
upon the infinitesimal system in the incredibly short space of three
months. This man was a hard drinker. He (Professor Muff) had dispersed
three drops of rum through a bucket of water, and requested the man to
drink the whole. What was the result? Before he had drunk a quart, he
was in a state of beastly intoxication; and five other men were made
dead-drunk with the remainder.
"The PRESIDENT wished to know whether an infinitesimal dose of
soda-water would have recovered them? Professor Muff replied that the
twenty-fifth part of a tea-spoonful, properly administered to each
patient would have sobered him immediately. The President remarked that
this was a most important discovery, and he hoped the Lord Mayor and
Court of Aldermen would patronise it immediately.
"A Member begged to be informed whether it would be possible to
administer--say, the twentieth part of a grain of bread and cheese to
all grown-up paupers, and the fortieth part to children, with the same
satisfying effect as their present allowance.
"PROFESSOR MUFF was willing to stake his professional reputation on the
perfect adequacy of such a quantity of food to the support of human
life--in workhouses; the addition of the fifteenth part of a grain of
pudding twice a week, would render it a high diet.
"PROFESSOR NOGO called the attention of the section to a very
extraordinary case of animal magnetism. A private watchman, being
merely looked at by the operator from the opposite side of a wide
street, was at once observed to be in a very drowsy and languid state.
He was followed to his box, and being once slightly rubbed on the palms
of the hands, fell into a sound sleep, in which he continued without
intermission for ten hours.
"SECTION C.--STATISTICS.
"HAY-LOFT, ORIGINAL PIG.
"PRESIDENT--MR. WOODENSCONSE. VICE-PRESIDENTS--MR. LEDBRAIN AND
MR. TIMBERED.
"MR. SLUG stated to the section the result of some calculations he had
made with great difficulty and labour, regarding the state of infant
education among the middle classes of London. He found that, within a
circle of three miles from the Elephant and Castle, the following were
the names and numbers of children's books principally in circulation:--
"Jack the Giant-killer 7,943
Ditto and Bean-stalk 8,621
Ditto and Eleven Brothers 2,845
Ditto and Jill 1,998
------
Total 21,407
"He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip Quarlls was
as four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of Valentine and
Orsons over Goody Two Shoeses was as three and an eighth of the former
to half a one of the latter: a comparison of Seven Champions with
Simple Simons gave the same result. The ignorance that prevailed, was
lamentable. One child, on being asked whether he would rather be Saint
George of England or a respectable tallow-chandler, instantly replied,
'Taint George of Ingling.' Another, a little boy of eight years old,
was found to be firmly impressed with a belief in the existence of
dragons, and openly stated that it was his intention when he grew up,
to rush forth sword in hand for the deliverance of captive princesses,
and the promiscuous slaughter of giants. Not one child among the number
interrogated had ever heard of Mungo Park,--some inquiring whether
he was at all connected with the black man that swept the crossing;
and others whether he was in any way related to the Regent's Park.
They had not the slightest conception of the commonest principles of
mathematics, and considered Sinbad the Sailor the most enterprising
voyager that the world had ever produced.
"A Member strongly deprecating the use of all the other books
mentioned, suggested that Jack and Jill might perhaps be exempted from
the general censure, inasmuch as the hero and heroine, in the very
outset of the tale, were depicted as going _up_ a hill to fetch a pail
of water, which was a laborious and useful occupation,--supposing the
family linen was being washed, for instance.
"MR. SLUG feared that the moral effect of this passage was more than
counterbalanced by another in a subsequent part of the poem, in which
very gross allusion was made to the mode in which the heroine was
personally chastised by her mother
"'For laughing at Jack's disaster;'
besides, the whole work had this one great fault, _it was not true_.
"The PRESIDENT complimented the honourable member on the excellent
distinction he had drawn. Several other members, too, dwelt upon
the immense and urgent necessity of storing the minds of children
with nothing but facts and figures; which process the President very
forcibly remarked, had made them (the section) the men they were.
"MR. SLUG then stated some curious calculations respecting the
dogs'-meat barrows of London. He found that the total number of small
carts and barrows engaged in dispensing provision to the cats and dogs
of the metropolis, was one thousand seven hundred and forty-three.
The average number of skewers delivered daily with the provender, by
each dogs'-meat cart or barrow was thirty-six. Now, multiplying the
number of skewers so delivered, by the number of barrows, a total of
sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers daily would be
obtained. Allowing that, of these sixty-two thousand seven hundred and
forty-eight skewers, the odd two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight
were accidentally devoured with the meat, by the most voracious of the
animals supplied, it followed that sixty thousand skewers per day,
or the enormous number of twenty-one millions nine hundred thousand
skewers annually, were wasted in the kennels and dust-holes of London;
which, if collected and warehoused, would in ten years' time afford
a mass of timber more than sufficient for the construction of a
first-rate vessel of war for the use of her Majesty's navy, to be
called 'The Royal Skewer,' and to become under that name the terror of
all the enemies of this island.
"MR. X. LEDBRAIN read a very ingenious communication, from which it
appeared that the total number of legs belonging to the manufacturing
population of one great town in Yorkshire was, in round numbers, forty
thousand, while the total number of chair and stool legs in their
houses was only thirty thousand, which, upon the very favourable
average of three legs to a seat, yielded only ten thousand seats in
all. From this calculation it would appear,--not taking wooden or cork
legs into the account, but allowing two legs to every person,--that ten
thousand individuals (one-half of the whole population) were either
destitute of any rest for their legs at all, or passed the whole of
their leisure time in sitting upon boxes.
"SECTION D.--MECHANICAL SCIENCE.
"COACH HOUSE, ORIGINAL PIG.
"PRESIDENT--MR. CARTER. VICE-PRESIDENTS--MR. TRUCK AND MR.
WAGHORN.
"PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK exhibited an elegant model of a portable railway,
neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. By attaching
this beautiful instrument to his boots, any Bank or public-office
clerk could transport himself from his place of residence to his place
of business, at the easy rate of sixty-five miles an hour, which, to
gentlemen of sedentary pursuits, would be an incalculable advantage.
"THE PRESIDENT was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary to have
a level surface on which the gentleman was to run.
"PROFESSOR QUEERSPECK explained that City gentlemen would run
in trains, being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or
unpleasantness. For instance, trains would start every morning at
eight, nine, and ten o'clock, from Camden Town, Islington, Camberwell,
Hackney, and various other places in which City gentlemen are
accustomed to reside. It would be necessary to have a level, but he
had provided for this difficulty by proposing that the best line that
the circumstances would admit of, should be taken through the sewers
which undermine the streets of the metropolis, and which, well lighted
by jets from the gas-pipes which run immediately above them, would
form a pleasant and commodious arcade, especially in winter-time, when
the inconvenient custom of carrying umbrellas, now so general, could
be wholly dispensed with. In reply to another question, Professor
Queerspeck stated that no substitute for the purposes to which these
arcades were at present devoted had yet occurred to him, but that he
hoped no fanciful objection on this head would be allowed to interfere
with so great an undertaking.
"MR. JOBBA produced a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for bringing
joint-stock railway shares prematurely to a premium. The instrument
was in the form of an elegant gilt weather-glass of most dazzling
appearance, and was worked behind, by strings, after the manner of
a pantomime trick, the strings being always pulled by the directors
of the company to which the machine belonged. The quicksilver was so
ingeniously placed, that when the acting directors held shares in their
pockets, figures denoting very small expenses and very large returns
appeared upon the glass; but the moment the directors parted with these
pieces of paper, the estimate of needful expenditure suddenly increased
itself to an immense extent, while the statements of certain profits
became reduced in the same proportion. Mr. Jobba stated that the
machine had been in constant requisition for some months past, and he
had never once known it to fail.
"A Member expressed his opinion that it was extremely neat and pretty.
He wished to know whether it was not liable to accidental derangement?
Mr. Jobba said that the whole machine was undoubtedly liable to be
blown up, but that was the only objection to it.
"PROFESSOR NOGO arrived from the anatomical section to exhibit a model
of a safety fire-escape, which could be fixed at any time, in less
than half an hour, and by means of which, the youngest or most infirm
persons (successfully resisting the progress of the flames until it was
quite ready) could be preserved if they merely balanced themselves for
a few minutes on the sill of their bed-room window, and got into the
escape without falling into the street. The Professor stated that the
number of boys who had been rescued in the day-time by this machine
from houses which were not on fire, was almost incredible. Not a
conflagration had occurred in the whole of London for many months past
to which the escape had not been carried on the very next day, and put
in action before a concourse of persons.
"THE PRESIDENT inquired whether there was not some difficulty in
ascertaining which was the top of the machine, and which the bottom, in
cases of pressing emergency?
"PROFESSOR NOGO explained that of course it could not be expected to
act quite as well when there was a fire, as when there was not a fire;
but in the former case he thought it would be of equal service whether
the top were up or down."
* * * * *
With the last section, our correspondent concludes his most able and
faithful Report, which will never cease to reflect credit upon him for
his scientific attainments, and upon us for our enterprising spirit. It
is needless to take a review of the subjects which have been discussed;
of the mode in which they have been examined; of the great truths which
they have elicited. They are now before the world, and we leave them to
read, to consider, and to profit.
The place of meeting for next year has undergone discussion, and has
at length been decided; regard being had to, and evidence being
taken upon, the goodness of its wines, the supply of its markets, the
hospitality of its inhabitants, and the quality of its hotels. We hope
at this next meeting our correspondent may again be present, and that
we may be once more the means of placing his communications before the
world. Until that period we have been prevailed upon to allow this
number of our Miscellany to be retailed to the public, or wholesaled to
the trade, without any advance upon our usual price.
We have only to add, that the committees are now broken up, and that
Mudfog is once again restored to its accustomed tranquillity,--that
Professors and Members have had balls, and _soirées_, and suppers, and
great mutual complimentations, and have at length dispersed to their
several homes,--whither all good wishes and joys attend them, until
next year!
Signed BOZ.
A REMONSTRATORY ODE TO MR. CROSS.
BY JOYCE JOCUND.
Good Mr. Cross! we hate the fuss
And flames of your Vesuvius,
Whose roaring quite convinces us,
As each successive shock
Grows louder,
That you deem a dose of powder,
With its deafening noise,
As good as medicine given to girls and boys
Suffering with measles or small-pock;--
In short we do believe, beyond a doubt,
You physic us to bring th'ERUPTION--_out_!
In vain soft balmy sleep one courts,
On exhibition nights; all sorts
Of terrible and strange reports
Drive rest away, and mock it.
Think you our wives can quiet keep,
Or that a child _can_ go to sleep
The while you "squib and _rocket_?"
I tell you, sir, I cannot count
The dangers to our daughters' fame;
But this I'll publish to their shame,
They find their _sparks_, and feel love's flame
Increasing in _a_-MOUNT!
And tho' I'm no amusement hater,
Yet, by my study of LAV-A-ter,
Vesuvius is a dangerous--_crater_!
Bethink you, on some gala night,
Whether you'd much enjoy the sight
Of beasts and birds all taking flight,
And from the gardens, making out,
Should your ERUPTION, with its jars,
Just chance to break their cages' bars.
That were indeed a "breaking out"
And din
I rather think you'd be for "driving in!"
Come, Mr. CROSS, for once do try
To be good-natured, and your name belie;
Indulge no more these furious fiery fits;
Let such freaks cease,
Blow up your Mount Vesuvius--all to _bits_,
And prithee let us have--"a LITTLE PEACE!"
MEMOIR OF BEAU NASH.
Richard Nash--or Beau Nash, as he is commonly called--was born at
Swansea, in the autumn of the year 1674. His father possessed a
moderate income, which he derived from a partnership in a glass
manufactory; and his mother was niece to Colonel Poyer, a chivalrous
old Cavalier, who was executed by order of Cromwell for defending
Pembroke Castle against the assaults of the Roundheads. At the usual
age young Nash was sent to a private school at Carmarthen, whence
in due time he was transferred to Jesus College, Oxford, where he
distinguished himself by an extraordinary and precocious genius for
intrigue and gallantry. Before he was seventeen, he had got himself
into at least a dozen delicate dilemmas; and, but for the seasonable
interference of his college tutor, would have married a female of
abandoned character, whose wit and beauty had completely turned his
brain.
Disheartened by such licentious conduct, his father abruptly recalled
him from the university, and purchased him a commission in the army;
a profession of which he soon grew weary, the more especially as
he had little besides the slender pay of an ensign to support him.
Finding, however, that it was necessary to make some sort of exertion
in order to obtain a decent livelihood, our Beau entered himself as
a law-student in the Temple, and for some months applied himself
assiduously to study. But his natural volatility soon regained its
usual ascendency over him, and, dismissing all thoughts of acquiring
fortune and reputation as a lawyer, he set up for a man of wit and
fashion about town, dressing, as one of his biographers observes, "to
the very edge of his finances," exhibiting himself conspicuously in the
side-boxes of the theatres, cultivating the acquaintance of young men
of rank and wealth, and practising those arts of address and persuasion
for which he was afterwards so celebrated.
It was while he was a student in the Temple that a circumstance
occurred which gave a wondrous lift to his sense of self-importance,
and brought him before the gay world in the very way he most preferred.
It seems that it had been long the custom of the different inns of
court to entertain our sovereigns on their accession to the crown with
a dramatic pageant; and, on the accession of William the Third, Nash
was appointed to conduct this entertainment, a task which he fulfilled
so much to his Majesty's satisfaction, that he made him an offer of
knighthood. But he refused this honour, at the same time hinting that
he should have no objection to be made one of the Poor Knights of
Windsor, for then he should have a fortune sufficient to maintain his
new dignity. The King smiled, but took no further notice of this broad
hint, for he was not one to give pensions without value received; and
jokes, even of the first water, always ranked low in his estimation.
[Illustration: BEAU NASH]
This affair of the pageant procured Nash many associates among the
rich and the titled, who were delighted by his good-humoured vivacity,
his easy assurance, his clever after-dinner stories, and his familiar
acquaintance with the habits of town life. Many characteristic
anecdotes are told of him at this gay period of his life. On one
occasion, when called on by the masters of the Temple for certain
accounts, among other items he made this odd charge, "For making one
man happy, ten pounds." "What is the meaning of this, sir?" said one
of the dignitaries in his gravest and most authoritative manner. "Why,
to tell you the truth," replied Nash, "I happened a few days ago to
overhear a poor man, who had a large family, say that ten pounds
would make him happy for life, and I could not resist the opportunity
of trying the experiment." The masters were so much struck with the
singularity of this explanation, that they not only allowed the charge,
but even insisted on doubling it, in testimony of their approbation
of Nash's benevolence. On another occasion, having gone down on a
sporting excursion to York, our thoughtless Beau lost all his money at
the gaming-table; and on applying for assistance to a college friend
whom he met with in the city, was promised the loan of fifty pounds,
provided he would stand at the great door of the Minster in a blanket,
just as the people were coming out of church. Nash unhesitatingly
agreed to do so, but had not stood there long before he was discovered
by the dean, who had some slight acquaintance with him. "What!"
exclaimed the divine, "Mr. Nash in masquerade?" "Not so, reverend sir;
I am merely doing penance for keeping bad company;" saying which, he
pointed to his companion, who was not a little annoyed at finding the
laugh thus unexpectedly turned against him. A few days afterwards, Nash
won another wager by riding naked through a country village on a cow, a
freak which in those times was considered a clever practical joke!
But the strangest of all his adventures is the following. He was once
invited by some convivial officers of the navy on board a frigate that
had just received sailing orders for the Mediterranean; and, after
spending some hours in revelry, found that during his debauch the
vessel had set sail, and that to return to land was wholly out of the
question. He accordingly, nothing loth, made the whole voyage with
his boon companions, and in the course of it was engaged in action,
and severely wounded in the leg, while one of his friends was shot
dead by his side. In after years Nash was singularly fond of repeating
this story; but as he was apt, like Foote's liar, to be occasionally
"poetical in his prose," his hearers always received it with a
wholesome distrust. "I don't believe one word about your having been
kidnapped on board ship," said a lady of distinction to him one day in
the Bath pump-room. "Fact, upon my honour," replied the unabashed Beau;
"and, if you will step with me into another room, I shall be happy to
show you my leg, which will convince you whether I speak truth or not."
On his return from this naval trip, Nash, who had now reached the
age of thirty, and had neither fortune nor profession to rely on
for support, turned his whole attention to gambling. He encountered
the usual vicissitudes attendant on this course of life, sometimes
winning, but more frequently losing, but always bearing his reverses
with equanimity. _Vive la bagatelle!_ was his motto. He was not one to
sit down and despond because luck had gone against him. If it rained
one day, he felt sure it would clear up the next; so, shrugged his
shoulders, and waited patiently the approach of more sunny weather.
We now come to the great epoch in Nash's life,--his accession to the
throne of fashion! About the year 1705, a short visit paid by Queen
Anne to Bath had the effect of directing the eyes of the gay world to
that city. Our Beau, among others, was attracted to it; and, having
amassed a large sum by gambling, soon made himself conspicuous by the
splendour of his equipage, his trim attire, courteous manners, and
invincible good-humour. In those primitive days Bath was little better
than an ordinary country town; but Nash, with the prophetic eye of
taste, discerned its capabilities as a fashionable watering-place, and
by adroitly flattering the local authorities, and worming himself into
the good graces of all the most influential inhabitants, succeeded in
obtaining the appointment of Master of the Ceremonies, with sole and
uncontrolled power to raise subscriptions for building pump-rooms,
laying out public walks, and making whatever improvements he might
think expedient. From this period down nearly to the day of his death,
Nash was, to all intents and purposes, sovereign of the city. King
George might rule at St. James's, but King Richard ruled at Bath.
"The eagle he was lord above,
But Rob was lord below."
One of the first reforms projected by the new monarch was in the
dress of his subjects. Previous to his accession to the throne it
had invariably been the custom for gentlemen to dance in boots. Nash
resolved to put a stop to this barbarism, and accordingly issued a
ukase ordering his people never henceforth to make their appearance at
the Assembly Rooms, save in pumps, silk stockings, and all the finery
of full dress. For some time this arbitrary mandate was resisted by
more than one Bath Hampden; but perseverance at length gained the day,
and the patriots surrendered at discretion. But not only was Nash
omnipotent at the city of Bladud, but he subdued also Tunbridge Wells
to his authority. In fact, he was as successful a despot as Napoleon,
with this difference in his favour,--that he ruled by the force of
address, while the other ruled solely by force of arms. Napoleon tamed
refractory subjects by threats of exile or imprisonment; Nash, by
threats of epigrams in the county newspapers.
Having crushed rebellion by the strong arm of power, and brought to a
successful issue the important question of boots, or no boots, our Beau
next proceeded to draw up a social code, which in the strictness with
which it was enforced, and the benefits it conferred on the community
for whose use it was intended, may vie with the famous _Code Napoléon_.
"I shall go down to posterity," said the French emperor, "with my code
in my hand." Nash has come down to posterity with his code also in
his hand. We have diligently perused this celebrated document, which,
although it contains as many violations of grammar as a king's speech,
is remarkable for the good sense and simplicity of its directions. On
the conduct, in particular, to be observed by both sexes at public
assemblies, it is shrewd and explicit to a degree. Here Nash showed
himself the very incarnation of punctilious etiquette. Even royalty
itself endeavoured in vain to mitigate the severity of his decrees. The
Princess Amelia having one night humbly requested him to permit her
to join in one more country-dance after the hour of breaking up had
arrived, Nash assured her that the "established rules of Bath resembled
the laws of Lycurgus, which would admit of no alteration without an
utter overthrow of all legitimate authority." Of course, as a member of
the constitutional House of Brunswick, her Royal Highness succumbed to
the force of this logic.
One of Nash's special objects of dislike, and against which he pointed
the whole artillery of his sarcasm, was a white apron, then much worn
by ladies at public assemblies. To such an extent did he carry his
abhorrence of this article of female apparel, that he actually stripped
the Duchess of Queensberry one evening at a ball, "and threw her
apron," says his biographer, "upon the hinder benches among the ladies'
women;" a significant hint which had all the good effect he could
have desired. If Peter the Great has been universally praised for his
address in prevailing on his countrywomen to adopt European costumes,
surely Richard the Great deserves equal credit for having been able to
persuade his female subjects to lay aside their darling prejudices in
favour of aprons!
Nash had now been upwards of three years Master of the Ceremonies at
Bath; and such was the attention which he paid to its amusements,
and so numerous the improvements he made in the architecture and
public walks of the city, that it soon became the most fashionable
watering-place in the empire. But even this did not satisfy his thirst
for notoriety, and accordingly he founded another kingdom at Tunbridge
Wells, whither he was in the habit of travelling once a year, in a
post-chariot drawn by six greys, with out-riders, French horns, and all
the paraphernalia of royalty. His arrival at this picturesque spot was
always followed by that of the nobility and gentry, who regarded him as
their "Sir Oracle." Even the announcement, "Nash is coming," was quite
sufficient to raise the price of lodgings, and set every adventurer on
the _qui vive_.
And here it may be asked, how was it that Nash, who started on his
career without a sixpence in his pocket, and was generally unsuccessful
at play, contrived for so many years to maintain such a splendid
establishment? The answer is soon given. He was a sleeping partner in
one of the most thriving of the Bath gambling-houses. Connected with
his transactions in this line we give the following curious anecdotes,
which will show that whatever were the defects of his head, his heart
was always in the right place. The Earl of T----, when a young man,
was inordinately addicted to gambling, and in particular loved to have
the King of Bath for his opponent. He was, however, no match for his
majesty, who, after winning several trifling sums from him, resolved
to attempt his cure, foreseeing that otherwise he would fall a prey
to adventurers who might not be so forbearing as himself. Accordingly
he engaged his lordship one evening in play to a very serious amount,
and won from him, first, all his ready money, then the title-deeds
of his estates, and, finally, the very watch in his pocket and the
rings on his fingers. When he had thus sufficiently punished the young
nobleman for his infatuation, Nash read him a lecture on the flagrant
impropriety of attempting to make money by gambling, when poverty
cannot be pleaded in justification of such conduct; after which he
returned him all his winnings, merely exacting from him a promise that
he would never play again! Not less generously did he behave to an
Oxford student who had come to spend the long vacation at Bath. This
greenhorn, who also affected to be a gamester, was lucky enough to win
a large sum of money from our Beau, and after the game was ended, was
invited by him to supper. "Perhaps," said Nash, "you think I have
asked you for the purpose of securing my revenge; but I can assure you
that my sole motive in requesting your company is, to set you on your
guard, and to entreat you to be warned by my experience, and shun play
as you would the devil. This is strange advice for one like me to give;
but I feel for your youth and inexperience, and am convinced that if
you do not stop where you now are, you will infallibly be ruined." Nash
was right. A few nights afterwards, having lost his entire fortune at
the gaming-table, the young man blew his brains out!
Though it was one of Nash's foibles to be thought "a lady-killer,"
yet this did not prevent him from befriending the fair sex whenever
opportunity offered. He was the means of exposing many a scheming
libertine, and more than one heiress owed to him her escape from
the snares of penniless adventurers. About the time of the treaty
of Utrecht, a certain Colonel M----, a gallant, handsome officer of
dragoons, was in great favour with all the Bath ladies. As, however,
he had nothing to depend on but his pay, it was an object with him
to marry for money; and accordingly he singled out a Miss L----, a
wealthy heiress, whose father was desirous that she should espouse a
nobleman of distinction. But the colonel had gained her affections;
whereupon Nash, who was well acquainted with his circumstances,
wrote to the young lady's parents, advising them strongly to put an
end to the connexion, which they did, by abruptly removing her from
Bath. The disappointed suitor, enraged at the Beau's interference,
instantly sent him a challenge, which was declined; for, among other
of his prejudices, Nash held the _monomachia_ or _duello_ in the most
unequivocal abhorrence. Finding his only chance of retrieving his
finances thus cut off, the colonel quitted Bath, where his creditors
were become quite clamorous, and in a fit of desperation hurried over
to the Continent, and joined the Dutch army in Flanders. Here he
enlisted himself as a volunteer; while his friends, not hearing of or
from him for a considerable period, gave out that he had been killed
in battle. Meantime the nobleman, taking advantage of his rival's
absence, pushed his suit with ardour; but, before he could bring it to
a satisfactory conclusion, the young lady's father died, leaving her
property to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds _per annum_! It was
at this crisis of her fate that Nash happened to hear that the colonel
had returned to England, but, fearful of being discovered by his
creditors, had changed his name, joined a company of strolling actors,
and was then playing at Peterborough. On learning these particulars,
our Beau thought that the time was come for him to make reparation to
the colonel, especially as the lady was now of age, and fully competent
to make her own choice of a husband. He invites her accordingly to join
him and some mutual friends in a short trip to Peterborough, where
they arrive early in the forenoon, and, by way of passing the evening
agreeably, pay a visit to the theatre. Just as they are entering the
box, the colonel appears on the stage. The young lady recognises him in
an instant, and is so much affected by his altered circumstances, that
she faints away. On regaining consciousness, she finds him standing
beside her. Nash has brought him there. "You thought me your enemy,"
said the kind-hearted monarch, "but I was no such thing; I merely
thought one of you too extravagant, and the other too inexperienced,
to be likely to make a happy match of it. But the case is altered
now; if, therefore, you feel inclined to marry, do so in God's name,
and d--n him, say I, that would part you!" They were married within
the month, and Nash spent many a pleasant day at their villa in the
neighbourhood of Bristol.
Mr. Wood, the architect, of Bath, has left on record another anecdote
of Nash, which redounds equally to his credit. About the period of his
greatest popularity, there came to the city a young lady well known
by the name of Sylvia, who, as she was handsome, accomplished, of
"gentle blood," and possessed of a large fortune, soon became one of
the ruling belles of the day. Among the number of this lady's admirers
was a gentleman, nicknamed by his friends the "Good-natured Man," from
his easy and indolent temper. He was of sadly improvident habits; and
having contracted heavy debts, which he was wholly unable to discharge,
he was arrested and thrown into prison, which coming to the ears of
Sylvia, she went to consult Mr. Nash upon the best means of freeing him
from his embarrassments. His majesty strongly endeavoured to persuade
her from interfering in the matter; observing that her interference
would be sure to be misconstrued, and that to evince such extreme
interest in a young man who had no claim on her consideration further
than having occasionally flirted with her in society, would expose her
to the cruellest calumnies; and, moreover, that she could do him no
good, for that her entire fortune, ample as it was, would be scarcely
sufficient to satisfy the demands of his creditors. The thoughtless
and enamoured girl listened to, but was not convinced by, Nash's
arguments. She expended a large portion of her property in defraying
the "Good-natured Man's" debts; but before she could accomplish his
liberation he died, and she had the mortification to discover that she
had not only lost the greatest part of her fortune, but, which was
of more value, her reputation also. In this forlorn condition, her
spirits broken, and her society avoided by those who had formerly been
proud to rank themselves among her flatterers, she accepted the offer
of a plausible old demirep, who kept one of the most splendid gaming
establishments at Bath, to pay an occasional visit to her rooms, for
the hag was shrewd enough to foresee that Sylvia's beauty would prove
a powerful magnet of attraction to the libertines who frequented such
places. Here Nash used often to meet her, and, believing that she was
still innocent, however thoughtless her conduct might be, remonstrated
with her in the kindest terms, and at length succeeded in persuading
her to take up her residence with Mr. Wood's family in Queen Square.
While here, Mr. Wood describes her as having been most exemplary in her
habits, seldom going out, but confining herself to the solitude of her
chamber, where she spent the greatest portion of her time in reading.
About a month after she had been domesticated in his house, business of
importance took her host to London; and it was during his absence that
Sylvia first meditated the idea of suicide. One evening, after having
been more than usually cheerful, and amused herself by dandling one of
Mr. Wood's children in her arms, she ordered supper to be got ready in
the library, and, having spent some hours alone there, went up into
her bed-room. On her way, she had to pass through the chamber where
her host's children lay asleep, and struck with their happy, innocent
countenances, and the consciousness of her own meditated guilt, she
burst into tears; but, recovering herself with an effort, hurried
into her own apartment, carefully locking the door behind her. She
then proceeded to dress herself in white like a bride's-maid, neatly
arranged her hair, and, having procured a pink silk girdle, which she
lengthened by means of another made of gold thread, placed it on the
table, and, throwing herself on the bed, spent some time in reading.
About midnight she rose, and, after kneeling for a few minutes in
prayer, mounted upon a chair, drove a large nail into the closet-door,
and, attaching one end of the girdle to it, fastened the other tightly
about her neck, and so hung suspended. Her weight, however, proving too
much for it, the girdle broke, and she fell to the floor with violence;
but, still resolute to destroy herself, she made a second attempt, in
which she unfortunately succeeded. Her death created an extraordinary
sensation throughout Bath; the coroner's jury brought in a verdict of
lunacy; and Nash, who, with Mr. Wood, was the only friend the poor girl
had left, attended her funeral, and did his best to protect her memory
from insult.
In the year 1734 Bath was honoured by a visit from the Prince of
Orange, and in 1738 by another from the Prince of Wales, both of whom
took particular notice of Nash; for which, in return, the grateful Beau
erected obelisks in their honour. He had now attained the climax of
his popularity. His word was law; his bow an honour; his acquaintance
a sure passport into the best circles. The Prince of Wales having made
him a present of a magnificent gold snuff-box, the rest of the nobility
thought it incumbent on them to follow the example; and, accordingly,
it soon became the fashion--a fashion which he most disinterestedly
encouraged--to give Nash snuff-boxes. As if this were not sufficient
distinction, the corporation, in a paroxysm of gratitude for the
benefits which he had conferred on their city, determined on erecting a
full-length statue of him in the Pump-room, between the busts of Newton
and Pope, which gave rise to one of Lord Chesterfield's wittiest and
most caustic epigrams. We subjoin the closing stanza of this brilliant
gem:--
'The statue, placed the busts between,
Adds to the satire strength;
Wisdom and Wit are little seen,
But Folly's at full length,"
Poor Nash's brains were half-turned by such brilliant prosperity. He
had his levees, where he affected all the airs of a legitimate monarch;
his buffoons, his parasites, and even his poet-laureate. But, so far
was he from being satisfied with the flatteries constantly lavished on
him, that his appetite "grew by what it fed upon." If a beggar in the
street called him "Your honour," he always bowed low to the compliment;
but if he called him "Your lordship," he would give him every farthing
he had about him. He has even been known, when in London, to stand a
whole day at the window of the Smyrna Coffee-house, merely in the hope
of receiving a passing bow from the Prince of Wales or the Duchess of
Marlborough!
The numerous dedications to Nash are not the least curious proofs of
his universal celebrity. Some of these are such exquisite samples of
the servile, that we cannot resist the temptation of extracting a
sentence or two from them. One is from a noted highwayman, who was
taken up for attempting to rob and murder a Dr. Handcock. This scamp,
whose name was Baxter, published a book, dated from Taunton jail,
exposing the tricks of thieves and gamblers, which he dedicated to
Nash, as follows: "As your honour's wisdom, humanity, and interest,
are the friend of the virtuous, I make bold to lay at your honour's
feet the following work," &c. Another dedication is from a professor
of cookery, who says, "As much as the oak exceeds the bramble, so do
you, honoured sir, exceed the rest of mankind in benevolence, charity,
and every other virtue that adorns, ennobles, and refines the human
species. I have, therefore, made bold to prefix your name, though
without your permission, to the following volume, which stands in
need of such a patron." We next find a musical composer essaying the
complimentary. "To whom," asks this sycophantic dedicator, "could I
presume to offer these, my first attempts at musical composition,
but to the great encourager of all polite arts; for your generosity
knows no bounds, nor are you more famed for that dignity of mind which
ennobles and gives a grace to every part of your conduct, than for that
humanity and beneficence, which make you the friend and benefactor
of all mankind!" These dedications, and a hundred others of the same
calibre, which might have turned the stomach of an ostrich, Nash
digested with uncommon facility. But it was with the flatteries of the
poets that he used to be most tickled; and many a hungry browser on
Parnassus has been rescued by his thirst for praise from the fangs of
an unimaginative bailiff.
But the hour was at hand when this Wolsey of the fashionable world was
doomed to experience the caprice and neglect of those circles whom
he had so long ruled with despotic authority. His sun had attained
its meridian, and was already journeying westward. Intoxicated with
self-conceit, and firmly persuaded that he was the first man of the
age, he began to lay aside those magic arts of address to which he
owed all his success; became morose and fidgety; and took a pleasure
in speaking unpleasant truths, which he mistook for wit. He was,
besides, getting fast on in years; and age, which brings wisdom to
some, to men like Nash is apt to bring nothing but petulance and
imbecility. But he was not splenetic without reason; for his fortune,
which he had never husbanded, diminished rapidly, and he had no earthly
means left of recruiting it. His greatest grievance, however, was
the gradual dropping off of his old friends the nobility, who, it is
said, exerted all their influence with the corporation of Bath to
get him superannuated, and Quin, the actor, appointed Master of the
Ceremonies in his stead. This unparalleled ingratitude, as he called
it, stung Nash to the quick, and he threatened to take his revenge of a
degenerate aristocracy by writing his memoirs! His intention, however,
was never carried into effect; which is a pity, for, judging by the
few scraps of composition he left behind, his book would have been a
literary phænomenon of the first water.
Nash was now become a confirmed old dotard; nevertheless, he still aped
the character of a young beau,--still continued to haunt like a spectre
the scenes of his departed glory. Though the snows of eighty-six
winters were whitening on his head, it was still his proudest ambition
to "settle the fashion of a lady's cap," and assign her her proper
station in a country-dance. This, which, to say the worst of it, was
but harmless drivelling, roused against him the pious wrath of the more
straight-laced among the Somersetshire clergy, who pelted him with the
most minaceous pamphlets; exhorted him to quit the assembly-room for
the church, and to repent of those colossal enormities of which they
charitably took for granted he had been guilty. One of these clerical
pamphleteers addressed him in the following indulgent terms: "Repent!
repent! or wretched will you be, silly, vain old man, to eternity!
The blood of souls will be laid to your charge; God's jealousy, like
a consuming flame, will smoke against you, as you yourself will see
in that day when the mountains shall quake, and the hills melt, and
the earth be burned up at his presence." Another says, "God will bring
you to judgment. He sees me now I write; he will observe you while you
read. He notes down my words; he will also note down your consequent
procedure. Not then upon me, not upon me, but upon your own soul will
the neglecting or despising my sayings turn." How different these
fanatical fulminations from the honied flatteries, in the shape of
poems and dedications, on which Nash's vanity had been so long fed!
The poor old man was now hourly decaying; but this quite as much
from grief as age. The season of snuff-boxes was over; the great had
altogether forgotten him; and he was preserved from utter penury solely
by the munificence of the Bath corporation, who granted him ten guineas
the first Monday of every month. For some weeks previous to his decease
it was evident that his last hour was at hand; but he himself would
never admit it. He clung to life with all the tenacity of a Johnson;
and roundly asserted that he was in robust health at the very moment
when he was treading, with palsied head and tottering limbs, on the
threshold of the grave. At length his exhausted powers wholly gave way,
and he expired in the eighty-seventh year of his age, at his house in
St. John's Court, Bath, in the spring of 1761.
No sooner was his death known than the press teemed with tributes to
his memory. The Muses were called on to lament the eclipse of the
brightest luminary of the age; and epitaphs were written on him,--one
in Latin, and another in English,--by two of the most accomplished
scholars in the kingdom. That in Latin, by Dr. King, is a fine sample
of mock-solemnity, comparing Nash, as a legislator, with Solon and
Lycurgus, and giving him the preference to both. But, in his own
capital, the sensation occasioned by our Beau's decease was unexampled.
The very day after, the corporation, with the mayor at their head, met
in full and solemn conclave, and voted _nem. con._ fifty pounds towards
defraying their monarch's funeral expenses. The corpse lay four days in
state; after which it was conveyed to the Abbey Church, in the midst
of one of the greatest crowds that had ever assembled in Bath. The
following week, the principal local journal commented on the mournful
event as follows: "Sorrow sate on every face, and even children lisped
that their sovereign was no more. The peasant discontinued his toil;
the ox rested from the plough; all nature seemed to sympathise with our
loss; and--the muffled bells rung a peal of bob-major!" It must be
confessed, to our shame, that we have no such newspaper writing as this
now-a-days. We have become as unimaginative as steam-engines, and no
longer indulge in those astounding bursts of eloquence and sensibility
which used to electrify our grandfathers and grandmothers.
In person Nash was large and awkward, with harsh, strong, and
irregular features. Nevertheless, he was popular with women, and not
unsuccessful as a gallant; for he dressed showily, had some wit,
abundance of small talk, and was by no means encumbered with modesty.
He used frequently to say of himself, that he was, "like Nestor, a
man of three generations." The Beau of his youth, he would observe,
was stiff, solemn, and formal to a degree; visiting his mistress, as
Jupiter visited Semele, in state; toasting her on bended knees; and
languishing, a timid suppliant, at her feet, by the hour together.
The Beau of his manhood was just the reverse; being a pert, grinning,
lively chatterbox,--such as we meet with in Congreve's comedies; ready
for any absurd, _outré_ display of sentiment; and deeming it an exalted
proof of gallantry to eat "a pair of his idol's shoes tossed up in a
fricassee." The Beau of his old age was a still more extraordinary
character, for his whole secret in intrigue consisted in perfect
indifference. If his mistress honoured him with her approbation, well;
if not, she might let it alone. He had no notion of breaking his heart
for love. Women were as plentiful as mushrooms, and always to be had
for the asking. Nash was a great theorist on all matters of sentiment.
It was a favourite maxim with him that good-humour and fine clothes
were enough to ruin a nunnery; but that "flummery," or the art of
saying nothings, was worth them both put together. Women, he used to
say, dote upon lively nonsense; always talk to them, therefore, in
the language they best understand. The instant you begin to converse
rationally with them the game is up, which is the reason why learned
men make such indifferent lovers.
Next to his powers of gallantry, Nash piqued himself on his wit. But
he was by no means remarkable for this quality, though never did
mortal man labour harder to say good things. His best jokes were
always cracked unawares. The majority of them are well known to the
world, for Smollett, with the coolest effrontery, has transferred
them, unacknowledged, into his own novels. We will, however, give one
or two of them. Meeting one morning, in the Pump-room, a lady who was
deformed, Nash asked her where she came from. Her reply was, "Straight
from London." "Then, madam," replied the Beau, "you must have been
confoundedly warped by the way." Doctor Cheney, on some occasion
having recommended to him a vegetable diet, he tartly observed,
"I suppose you would have me go grazing and eating thistles like
Nebuchadnezzar!" "No, no," said the doctor, who was also a wag, "there
needs no such metamorphosis; your ears are quite long enough already."
Being once confined to his house by sickness, the same physician drew
up a prescription for him, and, calling on his patient next day,
found him up and well. "I'm glad you had the good sense to follow my
prescription, Mr. Nash," quoth the leech. "Follow it!" exclaimed the
other. "Egad, if I had, I should have broke my neck, for I flung it out
of my bed-room window." We are not without our suspicions that this
last witticism is a regular Joe Miller, for we have detected it in at
least a dozen different publications. But this is not to be wondered
at, for your good joke is the greatest of travellers. The "facetiæ" of
the old Greek wag, Hierocles, have been naturalised in every language
of Europe.
Though convivial in his youth, yet, for the greatest portion of his
life, Nash was rigidly abstemious in his habits. He loved plain dishes,
seldom remained long at table, and usually contented himself with two
glasses of wine. But he liked to see his friends enjoy themselves,
and would encourage them in these elegant and emphatic terms: "Eat,
gentlemen,--eat and drink, in God's name; spare, and the devil choke
you!" His favourite meal was supper; and so fond was he of potatoes,
which he called the English pine-apple, that he used to eat them, like
fruit, after dinner. He was also remarkable for his love of early
rising, being seldom in bed after four in summer, and five in winter.
His generosity and benevolence were unbounded. He gave away enormous
sums in charity, and founded a hospital at Bath, the expenses of which
for a time almost beggared him. Though he had a great respect for rank,
yet he discouraged anything like aristocratic assumption; and, whenever
he heard a young lord boasting of his family, never failed to put him
down with a sneer. In this respect he resembles the late John Kemble,
of whom it is recorded, that, when dining with the Dukes of Hamilton
and Gordon, who were boasting somewhat ostentatiously of the antiquity
of their blood, he lost all patience, and put an abrupt stop to their
egotism by exclaiming, "D--n both your bloods; pass the bottle!" Owing
to his frequent intercourse with small poets, Nash fancied that he was
a judge of the art. A volume of Pope, who was his favourite writer,
generally lay on his table, though we question much whether he ever
got beyond the "Rape of the Lock." This, however, was a production
every way calculated to please him; and, accordingly,--a rich trait of
character,--he was never weary of repeating the lines,
"Sir Plume, of amber _snuff-box_ justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane."
Though he had mixed so much with the world, yet Nash was a man of
great simplicity of character. He imagined that others were as frank
and sincere as himself; and, in his connexion with the gambling
establishments at Bath and Tunbridge Wells, never kept an account, but
trusted entirely to the honour of his partners. He was never married,
though he once made proposals to a young lady, whose parents favoured
his suit, for he was then at the summit of his celebrity. She, however,
declined his addresses; but, apprehensive of her father's indignation,
went to Nash, and candidly told him that her affections were fixed upon
another. He immediately sent for his rival; gave him the lady with his
own hand; and reconciled her parents to the match by settling on her a
fortune equal to that which they proposed to give her. Unfortunately,
however, his generosity was thrown away; for soon after her marriage
she ran away with her footman, and her husband died of grief.
Late in life Nash set up for a teller of good stories, which he would
repeat half-a-dozen times in the same day. As he seldom allowed
truth to stand in the way of a point, his anecdotes were sometimes
amusing, despite the "says he's" and "says I's" with which he stuffed
them _usque ad nauseam_. The surest way to gain his favour,--next to
dedicating a work to him,--was to laugh, in the right place, at his
conceits, and call him an "odd fellow;" for, like the majority of
mankind, he looked upon eccentricity as a sure test of genius. But,
indeed, vanity was his ruling foible. He had numerous other weaknesses;
but this, "like Aaron's serpent, swallowed all the rest." He considered
his office to be the most important in the world, and himself the
greatest man in it. Yet he was not naturally devoid of good sense; but,
having been long accustomed to pursue trifles, his mind insensibly
shrunk to the size of the petty objects on which it was employed.
Even the most frivolous duties of his office he discharged with the
gravest punctiliousness; and, though overflowing with the milk of human
kindness, never forgave a breach of his regulations. The man might
relent; but the Master of the Ceremonies was inexorable!
The influence that Nash had on the social character of his age was
greater than has been generally supposed. Men of far more exalted
pretensions than he have not effected one half the good. He was the
first who promoted a taste for elegant amusements, and an ease of
address, among a people notorious for their anti-gregarious habits, and
reserved and awkward bearing. The disposition for familiar intercourse,
which--encouraged by his example--strangers acquired at Bath and
Tunbridge Wells, they carried with them to the metropolis, and whatever
other place they might visit; and thus the whole kingdom became
gradually more refined and social in its character. When it is borne in
mind that Nash laid the foundation of this wholesome change without any
help from birth, fortune, connexions, or superior intellect; that, with
nothing but his good-humour and his address to support his claims, he
reigned the undisputed monarch of the empire of fashion for upwards of
half a century; though we cannot affirm that he was a great man, it is
impossible to deny that he was an extraordinary one.
GRUB-STREET NEWS.
Acres is made by Sheridan to say, "The best terms will grow obsolete."
This, every day's experience proves to be true. "What a shocking bad
hat!" "There he goes with his eye out!" and "Flare up!" were doomed to
make way for "Who are you?"--as "All round my hat," with the public
street vocalists, has been superseded by "Jump, Jim Crow."
But it may be remarked that popular phrases founded on a well-known
fact have had a longer duration than those which cannot be proved to
have any such origin.
The cry of "_Nosey!_" at the theatres, when it was wished that the
music should play up, which arose about a century ago in honour of
Mr. Cervetto, whose nasal promontory used to adorn the Drury-lane
orchestra, survived till a very late period, and indeed has hardly yet
fallen into desuetude; and "_Grub-street news_" is still spoken of by
our elder _quidnuncs_, though probably they would be puzzled to tell,
not the meaning of the sentence, but how those words came to convey the
meaning they embody.
It has been said that they took their rise from the circumstance of a
set of needy scribblers having established themselves in Grub-street,
a mean narrow passage leading from Chiswell-street to Fore-street, now
dignified with the name of Milton-street, and thence sending forth
fabricated intelligence. This may be true; but still there was a
founder of this hopeful colony, whose name has not been preserved. It
is intended in this paper to fill up the _hiatus_ in history which has
so long been deplored. George Iland appears to have been the man.
In the early part of the reign of Charles the Second, some very bold
inventions were hazarded, and given to the world duly attested, with as
good a set of signatures appended as Morison's pills can command now.
They somehow attracted the notice of those in authority, and one of the
marvellous narratives launched in the year 1661 was thought worthy to
be made the subject of an official investigation. Some curiosity will
be felt to know what sort of a narrative it could be that received this
singular honour. A verbatim copy is therefore subjoined. The original
filled six pages, and was adorned with a grotesque engraving, which it
is hardly worth while to transcribe. The title-page ran thus:
"A STRANGE AND TRUE
RELATION
OF A WONDERFUL AND TERRIBLE
EARTH-QUAKE,
That happened at HEREFORD on _Tuesday_ last, being the first of this
present _October_ 1661,
Whereby
A Church-Steeple and many gallant Houses were thrown down to the
ground, and several of the Inhabitants slain; with the terrible
Thunder-claps and violent Storm of great Hail-stones that then
fell, which were about the bigness of an Egge, many Cattle being
thereby utterly destroyed as they were feeding in the Field.
Also,
The prodigious and wonderful Apparitions that was seen in the Air,
to the great amazement of all Spectators, who beheld two perfect
Armes and Hands: In the Right-Hand being graspt a great broad
Sword, and in the Left, a Bowl full of Blood, from whence they
heard a most strange and loud Voice, to the wonderful astonishing
of all present, the fright whereof causing divers Women to fall in
Travel, amongst whom the Clerk's Wife, named _Margaret Pelmore_,
fell in labour and brought forth three Male-Children, who had all
Teeth, and spake as soon as they were born, and presently after
gave up the Ghost and died together; the like having never been
known before in any Age!
"The Truth hereof is witnessed by
_Francis Smalman_, and _Henry Cross_, Churchwardens.
_Peter Philpot_, Constable.
_Nicholas Finch_, Gent.
_James Tulley_, Gent.
_George Cox_,
_Robert Morris_,
_Thomas Welford_, &c.
"_London, Printed for J.J. 1661._"
"A
"TRUE AND PERFECT RELATION OF THE TERRIBLE EARTH-QUAKE, GREAT
CLAPS OF THUNDER, AND MIGHTY HAIL-STONES, WHICH HAPNED AT
HEREFORD, ON TUESDAY LAST, THE FIRST OF THIS PRESENT OCTOBER, &C.
"Before I mention any further concerning this strange and sudden
Accident, which hath so lately befaln at Hereford, and that this Real
and Authentique Truth may not seem doubtful, I shall put the Reader
hereof in minde to take notice and remember the several Disasters that
hath befaln, not long since, in and about London, which I need not here
to declare, yet none so wonderful or worthy of observation as this;
but let it not seem strange, for we know, and often read, that the
Lord doth sometimes manifest his will unto the World in Wonders and
Signes, thereby in some part to shew his Omnipotency, and let them know
that he is still the Almighty God, and that he sees and knows all our
ways, how slight soever we make thereof. Then how can we praise him
sufficiently, when we hear of this strange Disaster that did so lately
befal at Hereford, in that he was pleased to keep the like from us here
in London, we being as sinful as any? But he that is all Mighty and all
Powerful, is also all Goodness and all Merciful, whereon depends the
best hopes of all good Christians.
"And now to descend to the subject I was before speaking of, which was
of the violent Tempest, and terrible Earth-quake, &c. that hapned at
Hereford, be pleased to observe the true Relation thereof, which is
thus:
"On Tuesday last, being the first of this present October 1661, about
2 of the clock after Noon, there hapned a great and violent storm to
arise, to the amazing and astonishing of all the inhabitants. The first
beginning was with a most terrible Winde, which continued for the space
of 2 hours, with such vehemency, that it forced the Tiles off the
Houses, insomuch that none durst come out at their doors; in the midst
of which storm was blown down the Steeple of a Church, and many brave
Houses, the falling whereof hath killed some persons, but what they
are, or whom, we yet know not.
"Then the Air began to be darkned, but, suddenly clearing again,
the people began to look abroad; and so continuing for a while, all
assuredly thought the storm to be over: but contrary to their hopes,
about 6 or 7 of the clock in the evening, their ears were solicited
with unwonted Claps of Thunder; and, more to augment their fear,
presently fell such Hail-stones, that the like was never seen in any
Age before, each Hail-stone being about the bigness of an Egge, which
several gentlemen of quality affirm, here present in London, who
certifie that they destroyed the Cattle in the Field, and did much
other harm.
"Then followed a terrible and fearful Earth-quake, which continued
almost for the space of half an hour, which so amazed the inhabitants,
that they thought the last Day had been come; and immediately appeared
a great brightness, as if it had been Noon-day, but was presently
overcast with a Black Cloud, out of which appeared a perfect Armes and
Hands; in the right-hand was grasped a great broad Sword, and in the
left a Cup, or Boul, as they conceived, full of Blood.
"Having glutted their eyes with amazement, and filled their hearts
with great fear, with beholding these prodigious Apparitions, more to
astonish both them and us, appeared to their eyes a piece of Corn,
ground, ready to mow, and a Sythe lying by, from whence they heard a
most strange and loud voice, which said, 'Woe, woe to thee, and to the
inhabitants thereof, for he cometh that is to come, and ye shall all
see him!'
"At the conclusion of these words, the people made a grievous cry, as
indeed they might, and many Women that were with Child, through extream
fear, fel in travel; but none so wonderful to be taken notice of, as
Mrs. Margaret Pelmore, the Clerk's Wife of the Town, who, for the space
of twenty Weeks, wanting her bodily health, had sought for cure of the
Doctors: This Margaret Pelmore at that very instant fell in travel,
being exceedingly affrighted, and brought forth 3 Male Children, who
had all teeth, and spake as soon as they were born. The first said,
'The Day is appointed which no Man can shun.' The second demanded,
'Where would be found sufficient alive to bury the Dead?' And the third
said, 'Where will there be Corn enough to satisfie the hungry and
needy?'
"As soon as they had spoken these words, they all immediately gave
up the Ghost and died, to the great astonishing and amazement of all
present; and the Mother of the said Children doth at this moment lie
Distracted, and raging in such extream manner, that none can tell, as
yet, whether she will live or die!
"The truth whereof is witnessed by
_Francis Smalman_,
_Henry Cross_, Churchwardens.
_Peter Philpot_, Constable.
_Nicholas Finch._
_James Tulley_,
_George Cox_,
_John Groom_,
_Robert Maurice_,
_Thomas Welford_,
And divers others.
"FINIS."
Such was the experiment then made on public credulity. The inquiry
which has been mentioned is proved to have taken place by a paper found
some years ago in the State Paper Office, attached to the pamphlet
itself, which was marked, "Examina[~c]on of Jo. Jones," and dated "20th
8ber, 1661." The examination is reported as follows:
"This Examinate saith that he had a share in the printing of the booke
of an Earth quake at Hereford, but did not Print it; and that it was
printed in Mr. Alsop's house in grub streete where one Geo. Iland, who
brought the coppy, liveth.
"JOHN JONES."
SONG OF THE MONTH. No. XI.
November, 1837.
Of all the months that compose the year,
From January chill, to December drear,
Commend us to November;
For, sure as its period comes around,
Good fellows are over the wine-cup found,--
'Twas so since we remember.
Let April boast of its sunny showers,
Let May exult in its gay young flowers,
And June in its heat and its light;
This, this is the month to surpass them all,
While wine-cups circle in wood-lit hall,
And wit flashes on through the night.
What flowers can vie with the charms we view
Around us then? Love's rosiest hue
To woman's cheek is given.
No shower is like the tear of the grape,
In its rainbow Joy has his happiest shape,
And each tint is direct from heaven.
If mists veil the earth, and if storms arise,
And darkness broods gloomily over the skies,
And the gusty wind sullenly moans;
Let them e'en do their worst:--we care not a pin,
Though it's dreary without, we are merry within
As we listen to music's gay tones.
Then of all the months that compose the year,
From January chill, to December drear,
Commend us to November;
For, sure as its period comes around,
Good fellows are over the wine-cup found,--
And 'twas so since we remember.
OLIVER TWIST;
OR, THE PARISH BOY'S PROGRESS.
BY BOZ.
ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH
RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY.
The narrow streets and courts at length terminated in a large open
space, scattered about which, were pens for beasts, and other
indications of a cattle-market. Sikes slackened his pace when they
reached this spot, the girl being quite unable to support any longer
the rapid rate at which they had hitherto walked; and, turning to
Oliver, commanded him roughly to take hold of Nancy's hand.
"Do you hear?" growled Sikes, as Oliver hesitated, and looked round.
They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track of passengers, and
Oliver saw but too plainly that resistance would be of no avail. He
held out his hand, which Nancy clasped tight in hers.
"Give me the other," said Sikes, seizing Oliver's unoccupied hand.
"Here, Bull's-eye!"
The dog looked up, and growled.
"See here, boy!" said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver's throat,
and uttering a savage oath; "if he speaks ever so soft a word, hold
him! D'ye mind?"
The dog growled again, and, licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were
anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without any unnecessary delay.
"He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn't!" said
Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval.
"Now you know what you've got to expect, master, so call away as quick
as you like; the dog will soon stop that game. Get on, young 'un!"
Bull's-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this unusually
endearing form of speech, and, giving vent to another admonitory growl
for the benefit of Oliver, led the way onward.
It was Smithfield that they were crossing, although it might have been
Grosvenor Square, for anything Oliver knew to the contrary. The night
was dark and foggy, and it was just beginning to rain. The lights
in the shops could scarcely struggle through the heavy mist, which
thickened every moment, and shrouded the streets and houses in gloom,
rendering the strange place still stranger in Oliver's eyes, and making
his uncertainty the more dismal and depressing.
[Illustration: Oliver's Reception by Fagin and the Boys]
They had hurried on a few paces, when a deep church-bell struck the
hour. With its first stroke his two conductors stopped, and turned
their heads in the direction whence the sound proceeded.
"Eight o'clock, Bill," said Nancy, when the bell ceased.
"What's the good of telling me that; I can hear, can't I?" replied
Sikes.
"I wonder whether _they_ can hear it," said Nancy.
"Of course they can," replied Sikes. "It was Bartlemy time when I was
shopped, and there warn't a penny trumpet in the fair as I couldn't
hear the squeaking on. Arter I was locked up for the night, the row and
din outside made the thundering old jail so silent, that I could almost
have beat my brains out against the iron plates of the door."
"Poor fellows!" said Nancy, who still had her face turned towards the
quarter in which the bell had sounded. "Oh, Bill, such fine young chaps
as them!"
"Yes; that's all you women think of," answered Sikes. "Fine young
chaps! Well, they're as good as dead; so it don't much matter."
With this consolation Mr. Sikes appeared to repress a rising tendency
to jealousy, and, clasping Oliver's wrist more firmly, told him to step
out again.
"Wait a minute," said the girl: "I wouldn't hurry by, if it was you
that was coming out to be hung the next time eight o'clock struck,
Bill. I'd walk round and round the place till I dropped, if the snow
was on the ground, and I hadn't a shawl to cover me."
"And what good would that do?" inquired the unsentimental Mr. Sikes.
"Unless you could pitch over a file and twenty yards of good stout
rope, you might as well be walking fifty mile off, or not walking at
all, for all the good it would do me. Come on, will you, and don't
stand preaching there."
The girl burst into a laugh, drew her shawl more closely round her, and
they walked away. But Oliver felt her hand tremble; and, looking up in
her face as they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had turned a deadly
white.
They walked on, by little-frequented and dirty ways, for a full
half-hour, meeting very few people, for it now rained heavily, and
those they did meet appearing from their looks to hold much the same
position in society as Mr. Sikes himself. At length they turned into a
very filthy narrow street, nearly full of old-clothes shops; and the
dog, running forward as if conscious that there was now no further
occasion for his keeping on guard, stopped before the door of a shop
which was closed and apparently untenanted, for the house was in a
ruinous condition, and upon the door was nailed a board intimating that
it was to let, which looked as if it had hung there for many years.
"All right," said Sikes, looking cautiously about.
Nancy stooped below the shutters, and Oliver heard the sound of a bell.
They crossed to the opposite side of the street, and stood for a few
moments under a lamp. A noise, as if a sash-window were gently raised,
was heard, and soon afterwards the door softly opened; upon which Mr.
Sikes seized the terrified boy by the collar with very little ceremony,
and all three were quickly inside the house.
The passage was perfectly dark, and they waited while the person who
had let them in, chained and barred the door.
"Anybody here?" inquired Sikes.
"No," replied a voice, which Oliver thought he had heard before.
"Is the old 'un here?" asked the robber.
"Yes," replied the voice; "and precious down in the mouth he has been.
Won't he be glad to see you? Oh, no."
The style of this reply, as well as the voice which delivered it,
seemed familiar to Oliver's ears; but it was impossible to distinguish
even the form of the speaker in the darkness.
"Let's have a glim," said Sikes, "or we shall go breaking our necks, or
treading on the dog. Look after your legs if you do, that's all."
"Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one," replied the voice. The
receding footsteps of the speaker were heard, and in another minute
the form of Mr. John Dawkins, otherwise the artful Dodger, appeared,
bearing in his right hand a tallow candle stuck in the end of a cleft
stick.
The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any other mark of
recognition upon Oliver than a humorous grin; but, turning away,
beckoned the visitors to follow him down a flight of stairs.
They crossed an empty kitchen, and, opening the door of a low
earthy-smelling room, which seemed to have been built in a small
back-yard, were received with a shout of laughter.
"Oh, my wig, my wig!" cried Master Charles Bates, from whose lungs the
laughter had proceeded; "here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin,
look at him; Fagin, do look at him! I can't bear it; it is such a jolly
game, I can't bear it. Hold me, somebody, while I laugh it out."
With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master Bates laid himself
flat on the floor, and kicked convulsively for five minutes in an
ecstasy of facetious joy. Then, jumping to his feet, he snatched the
cleft stick from the Dodger, and, advancing to Oliver, viewed him round
and round, while the Jew, taking off his night-cap, made a great number
of low bows to the bewildered boy; the Artful meantime, who was of a
rather saturnine disposition, and seldom gave way to merriment when it
interfered with business, rifling his pockets with steady assiduity.
"Look at his togs, Fagin!" said Charley, putting the light so close
to Oliver's new jacket as nearly to set him on fire. "Look at his
togs!--superfine cloth, and the heavy-swell cut! Oh, my eye, what a
game! And his books, too;--nothing but a gentleman, Fagin!"
"Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear," said the Jew, bowing
with mock humility. "The Artful shall give you another suit, my dear,
for fear you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't you write, my
dear, and say you were coming?--we'd have got something warm for
supper."
At this, Master Bates roared again, so loud that Fagin himself relaxed,
and even the Dodger smiled; but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound
note at that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally or the discovery
awakened his merriment.
"Hallo! what's that?" inquired Sikes, stepping forward as the Jew
seized the note. "That's mine, Fagin."
"No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine, Bill, mine; you shall have the
books."
"If that ain't mine!" said Sikes, putting on his hat with a determined
air,--"mine and Nancy's, that is,--I'll take the boy back again."
The Jew started, and Oliver started too, though from a very different
cause, for he hoped that the dispute might really end in his being
taken back.
"Come, hand it over, will you?" said Sikes.
"This is hardly fair, Bill; hardly fair, is it, Nancy?" inquired the
Jew.
"Fair, or not fair," retorted Sikes, "hand it over, I tell you! Do you
think Nancy and me has got nothing else to do with our precious time
but to spend it in scouting arter and kidnapping every young boy as
gets grabbed through you? Give it here, you avaricious old skeleton;
give it here!"
With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked the note from between
the Jew's finger and thumb; and, looking the old man coolly in the
face, folded it up small, and tied it in his neckerchief.
"That's for our share of the trouble," said Sikes; "and not half
enough, neither. You may keep the books, if you're fond of reading; and
if not, you can sell 'em."
"They're very pretty," said Charley Bates, who with sundry grimaces
had been affecting to read one of the volumes in question; "beautiful
writing, isn't it, Oliver?" and at sight of the dismayed look with
which Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates, who was blessed
with a lively sense of the ludicrous, fell into another ecstasy more
boisterous than the first.
"They belong to the old gentleman," said Oliver, wringing his
hands,--"to the good, kind old gentleman who took me into his house,
and had me nursed when I was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send
them back; send him back the books and money! Keep me here all my life
long; but pray, pray send them back! He'll think I stole them;--the
old lady, all of them that were so kind to me, will think I stole them.
Oh, do have mercy upon me, and send them back!"
With these words, which were uttered with all the energy of passionate
grief, Oliver fell upon his knees at the Jew's feet, and beat his hands
together in perfect desperation.
"The boy's right," remarked Fagin, looking covertly round, and knitting
his shaggy eyebrows into a hard knot. "You're right, Oliver, you're
right; they _will_ think you have stolen 'em. Ha! ha!" chuckled the
Jew, rubbing his hands; "it couldn't have happened better if we had
chosen our time!"
"Of course it couldn't," replied Sikes; "I know'd that, directly I see
him coming through Clerkenwell with the books under his arm. It's all
right enough. They're soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn't
have took him in at all, and they'll ask no questions arter him, fear
they should be obliged to prosecute, and so get him lagged. He's safe
enough."
Oliver had looked from one to the other while these words were being
spoken, as if he were bewildered and could scarcely understand what
passed; but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly to his feet,
and tore wildly from the room, uttering shrieks for help that made the
bare old house echo to the roof.
"Keep back the dog, Bill!" cried Nancy, springing before the door, and
closing it as the Jew and his two pupils darted out in pursuit; "keep
back the dog; he'll tear the boy to pieces."
"Serve him right!" cried Sikes, struggling to disengage himself from
the girl's grasp. "Stand off from me, or I'll split your skull against
the wall!"
"I don't care for that, Bill; I don't care for that," screamed the
girl, struggling violently with the man: "the child shan't be torn down
by the dog, unless you kill me first."
"Shan't he!" said Sikes, setting his teeth fiercely. "I'll soon do
that, if you don't keep off."
The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the further end of the
room, just as the Jew and the two boys returned, dragging Oliver among
them.
"What's the matter here?" said the Jew, looking round.
"The girl's gone mad, I think," replied Sikes savagely.
"No, she hasn't," said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle;
"no, she hasn't, Fagin: don't think it."
"Then keep quiet, will you?" said the Jew with a threatening look.
"No, I won't do that either," replied Nancy, speaking very loud. "Come,
what do you think of that?"
Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and customs
of that particular species of humanity to which Miss Nancy belonged,
to feel tolerably certain that it would be rather unsafe to prolong
any conversation with her at present. With the view of diverting the
attention of the company, he turned to Oliver.
"So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you?" said the Jew, taking up
a jagged and knotted club which lay in a corner of the fire-place; "eh?"
Oliver made no reply, but he watched the Jew's motions and breathed
quickly.
"Wanted to get assistance,--called for the police, did you?" sneered
the Jew, catching the boy by the arm. "We'll cure you of that, my dear."
The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with the club, and
was raising it for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested
it from his hand, and flung it into the fire with a force that brought
some of the glowing coals whirling out into the room.
"I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin," cried the girl. "You've got
the boy, and what more would you have? Let him be--let him be, or I
shall put that mark on some of you that will bring me to the gallows
before my time!"
The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this
threat; and with her lips compressed, and her hands clenched, looked
alternately at the Jew and the other robber, her face quite colourless
from the passion of rage into which she had gradually worked herself.
"Why, Nancy!" said the Jew in a soothing tone, after a pause, during
which he and Mr. Sikes had stared at one another in a disconcerted
manner, "you--you're more clever than ever to-night. Ha! ha! my dear,
you are acting beautifully."
"Am I!" said the girl. "Take care I don't overdo it: you will be the
worse for it, Fagin, if I do; and so I tell you in good time to keep
clear of me."
There is something about a roused woman, especially if she add to all
her other strong passions the fierce impulses of recklessness and
despair, which few men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be
hopeless to affect any further mistake regarding the reality of Miss
Nancy's rage; and, shrinking involuntarily back, a few paces, cast a
glance, half-imploring and half-cowardly, at Sikes, as if to hint that
he was the fittest person to pursue the dialogue.
Mr. Sikes thus mutely appealed to, and possibly feeling his personal
pride and influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss
Nancy to reason, gave utterance to about a couple of score of curses
and threats, the rapid delivery of which reflected great credit on the
fertility of his invention. As they produced no visible effect on the
object against whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to more
tangible arguments.
"What do you mean by this?" said Sikes, backing the inquiry with a very
common imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human features,
which, if it were heard above, only once out of every fifty thousand
times it is uttered below, would render blindness as common a disorder
as measles; "what do you mean by it? Burn my body! do you know who you
are, and what you are?"
"Oh, yes, I know all about it," replied the girl, laughing
hysterically, and shaking her head from side to side with a poor
assumption of indifference.
"Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined Sikes with a growl like that he was
accustomed to use when addressing his dog, "or I'll quiet you for a
good long time to come."
The girl laughed again, even less composedly than before, and, darting
a hasty look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till the
blood came.
"You're a nice one," added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a
contemptuous air, "to take up the humane and genteel side! A pretty
subject for the child, as you call him, to make a friend of!"
"God Almighty help me, I am!" cried the girl passionately; "and I wish
I had been struck dead in the street, or changed places with them we
passed so near to-night, before I had lent a hand in bringing him here.
He's a thief, a liar, a devil, all that's bad, from this night forth;
isn't that enough for the old wretch without blows?"
"Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, appealing to him in a remonstratory
tone, and motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all
that passed; "we must have civil words,--civil words, Bill!"
"Civil words!" cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see.
"Civil words, you villain! Yes; you deserve 'em from me. I thieved for
you when I was a child not half as old as this (pointing to Oliver). I
have been in the same trade, and in the same service, for twelve years
since; don't you know it? Speak out! don't you know it?"
"Well, well!" replied the Jew, with an attempt at pacification; "and,
if you have, it's your living!"
"Ah, it is!" returned the girl, not speaking, but pouring out the words
in one continuous and vehement scream. "It is my living, and the cold,
wet, dirty streets are my home; and you're the wretch that drove me to
them long ago, and that'll keep me there day and night, day and night,
till I die!"
"I shall do you a mischief!" interposed the Jew, goaded by these
reproaches; "a mischief worse than that, if you say much more!"
The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a
transport of phrensy, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably
have left signal marks of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists
been seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which she made a few
ineffectual struggles, and fainted.
"She's all right now," said Sikes, laying her down in a corner. "She's
uncommon strong in the arms when she's up in this way."
The Jew wiped his forehead, and smiled, as if it were a relief to have
the disturbance over; but neither he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the
boys, seemed to consider it in any other light than a common occurrence
incidental to business.
"It's the worst of having to do with women," said the Jew, replacing
the club; "but they're clever, and we can't get on in our line without
'em.--Charley, show Oliver to bed."
"I suppose he'd better not wear his best clothes to-morrow, Fagin, had
he?" inquired Charley Bates.
"Certainly not," replied the Jew, reciprocating the grin with which
Charley put the question.
Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his commission, took the
cleft stick, and led Oliver into an adjacent kitchen, where there were
two or three of the beds on which he had slept before; and here, with
many uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he produced the identical old
suit of clothes which Oliver had so much congratulated himself upon
leaving off at Mr. Brownlow's, and the accidental display of which
to Fagin by the Jew who purchased them, had been the very first clue
received of his whereabout.
"Pull off the smart ones," said Charley, "and I'll give 'em to Fagin to
take care of. What fun it is!"
Poor Oliver unwillingly complied; and Master Bates, rolling up the new
clothes under his arm, departed from the room, leaving Oliver in the
dark, and locking the door behind him.
The noise of Charley's laughter, and the voice of Miss Betsy, who
opportunely arrived to throw water over her friend, and perform other
feminine offices for the promotion of her recovery, might have kept
many people awake under more happy circumstances than those in which
Oliver was placed; but he was sick and weary, and soon fell sound
asleep.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.
OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN TO LONDON
TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION.
It is the custom on the stage in all good, murderous melodramas, to
present the tragic and the comic scenes in as regular alternation as
the layers of red and white in a side of streaky, well-cured bacon. The
hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed down by fetters and misfortunes;
and, in the next scene, his faithful but unconscious squire regales the
audience with a comic song. We behold with throbbing bosoms the heroine
in the grasp of a proud and ruthless baron, her virtue and her life
alike in danger, drawing forth her dagger to preserve the one at the
cost of the other; and, just as our expectations are wrought up to the
highest pitch, a whistle is heard, and we are straightway transported
to the great hall of the castle, where a grey-headed seneschal sings a
funny chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free of all sorts
of places from church vaults to palaces, and roam about in company,
carolling perpetually.
Such changes appear absurd; but they are by no means unnatural. The
transitions in real life from well-spread boards to death-beds, and
from mourning weeds to holiday garments, are not a whit less startling,
only there we are busy actors instead of passive lookers-on, which
makes a vast difference; the actors in the mimic life of the theatre
are blind to violent transitions and abrupt impulses of passion or
feeling, which, presented before the eyes of mere spectators, are at
once condemned as outrageous and preposterous.
As sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes of time and
place, are not only sanctioned in books by long usage, but are by
many considered as the great art of authorship,--an author's skill in
his craft being by such critics chiefly estimated with relation to
the dilemmas in which he leaves his characters at the end of almost
every chapter,--this brief introduction to the present one may perhaps
be deemed unnecessary. But I have set it in this place because I am
anxious to disclaim at once the slightest desire to tantalise my
readers by leaving young Oliver Twist in situations of doubt and
difficulty, and then flying off at a tangent to impertinent matters,
which have nothing to do with him. My sole desire is to proceed
straight through this history with all convenient despatch, carrying my
reader along with me if I can, and, if not, leaving him to take some
more pleasant route for a chapter or two, and join me again afterwards
if he will. Indeed, there is so much to do, that I have no room for
digressions, even if I possessed the inclination; and I merely make
this one in order to set myself quite right with the reader, between
whom and the historian it is essentially necessary that perfect faith
should be kept, and a good understanding preserved. The advantage of
this amicable explanation is, that when I say, as I do now, that I
am going back directly to the town in which Oliver Twist was born,
the reader will at once take it for granted that I have good and
substantial reasons for making the journey, or I would not ask him to
accompany me on any account.
Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning from the workhouse gate, and
walked, with portly carriage and commanding steps, up the High-street.
He was in the full bloom and pride of beadleism; his cocked hat and
coat were dazzling in the morning sun, and he clutched his cane with
all the vigorous tenacity of health and power. Mr. Bumble always
carried his head high, but this morning it was higher than usual; there
was an abstraction in his eye, and an elevation in his air, which might
have warned an observant stranger that thoughts were passing in the
beadle's mind, too great for utterance.
Mr. Bumble stopped not to converse with the small shopkeepers and
others who spoke to him deferentially as he passed along. He merely
returned their salutations with a wave of his hand, and relaxed not in
his dignified pace until he reached the farm where Mrs. Mann tended the
infant paupers with a parish care.
"Drat that beadle!" said Mrs. Mann, hearing the well-known impatient
shaking at the garden gate. "If it isn't him at this time in the
morning!--Lauk, Mr. Bumble, only think of its being you! Well, dear me,
it is a pleasure this is! Come into the parlour, sir, please."
The first sentence was addressed to Susan, and the exclamations of
delight were spoken to Mr. Bumble as the good lady unlocked the garden
gate, and showed him with great attention and respect into the house.
"Mrs. Mann," said Mr. Bumble,--not sitting upon, or dropping himself
into a seat, as any common jackanapes would, but letting himself
gradually and slowly down into a chair,--"Mrs. Mann, ma'am, good
morning!"
"Well, and good morning to you, sir," replied Mrs. Mann, with many
smiles; "and hoping you find yourself well, sir?"
"So-so, Mrs. Mann," replied the beadle. "A porochial life is not a bed
of roses, Mrs. Mann."
"Ah, that it isn't indeed, Mr. Bumble," rejoined the lady. And all the
infant paupers might have chorused the rejoinder with great propriety
if they had heard it.
"A porochial life, ma'am," continued Mr. Bumble, striking the table
with his cane, "is a life of worry, and vexation, and hardihood; but
all public characters, as I may say, must suffer prosecution."
Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing what the beadle meant, raised her
hands with a look of sympathy, and sighed.
"Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!" said the beadle.
Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann sighed again, evidently to the
satisfaction of the public character, who, repressing a complacent
smile by looking sternly at his cocked hat, said,
"Mrs. Mann, I am a going to London."
"Lauk, Mr. Bumble!" said Mrs. Mann, starting back.
"To London, ma'am," resumed the inflexible beadle, "by coach; I, and
two paupers, Mrs. Mann. A legal action is coming on about a settlement,
and the board has appointed me--me, Mrs. Mann--to depose to the matter
before the quarter-sessions at Clerkinwell; and I very much question,"
added Mr. Bumble, drawing himself up, "whether the Clerkinwell Sessions
will not find themselves in the wrong box before they have done with
me."
"Oh! you mustn't be too hard upon them, sir," said Mrs. Mann coaxingly.
"The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon themselves, ma'am,"
replied Mr. Bumble; "and if the Clerkinwell Sessions find that they
come off rather worse than they expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions have
only themselves to thank."
There was so much determination and depth of purpose about the menacing
manner in which Mr. Bumble delivered himself of these words, that Mrs.
Mann appeared quite awed by them. At length she said,
"You're going by coach, sir? I thought it was always usual to send them
paupers in carts."
"That's when they're ill, Mrs. Mann," said the beadle. "We put the sick
paupers into open carts in the rainy weather, to prevent their taking
cold."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Mann.
"The opposition coach contracts for these two, and takes them cheap,"
said Mr. Bumble. "They are both in a very low state, and we find it
would come two pound cheaper to move 'em than to bury 'em,--that is, if
we can throw 'em upon another parish, which I think we shall be able to
do, if they don't die upon the road to spite us. Ha! ha! ha!"
When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his eyes again encountered
the cocked hat, and he became grave.
"We are forgetting business, ma'am," said the beadle;--"here is your
porochial stipend for the month."
Wherewith Mr. Bumble produced some silver money, rolled up in paper,
from his pocket-book, and requested a receipt, which Mrs. Mann wrote.
"It's very much blotted, sir," said the farmer of infants; "but it's
formal enough, I dare say. Thank you, Mr. Bumble, sir; I am very much
obliged to you, I'm sure."
Mr. Bumble nodded blandly in acknowledgment of Mrs. Mann's curtsey, and
inquired how the children were.
"Bless their dear little hearts!" said Mrs. Mann with emotion, "they're
as well as can be, the dears! Of course, except the two that died last
week, and little Dick."
"Isn't that boy no better?" inquired Mr. Bumble. Mrs. Mann shook her
head.
"He's a ill-conditioned, vicious, bad-disposed porochial child that,"
said Mr. Bumble angrily. "Where is he?"
"I'll bring him to you in one minute, sir," replied Mrs. Mann. "Here,
you Dick!"
After some calling, Dick was discovered; and having had his face put
under the pump, and dried upon Mrs. Mann's gown, he was led into the
awful presence of Mr. Bumble, the beadle.
The child was pale and thin; his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes large
and bright. The scanty parish dress, the livery of his misery, hung
loosely upon his feeble body; and his young limbs had wasted away like
those of an old man.
Such was the little being that stood trembling beneath Mr. Bumble's
glance, not daring to lift his eyes from the floor, and dreading even
to hear the beadle's voice.
"Can't you look at the gentleman, you obstinate boy?" said Mrs. Mann.
The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered those of Mr. Bumble.
"What's the matter with you, porochial Dick?" inquired Mr. Bumble with
well-timed jocularity.
"Nothing, sir," replied the child faintly.
"I should think not," said Mrs. Mann, who had of course laughed very
much at Mr. Bumble's exquisite humour. "You want for nothing, I'm sure."
"I should like--" faltered the child.
"Hey-day!" interposed Mrs. Mann, "I suppose you're going to say that
you _do_ want for something, now? Why, you little wretch----"
"Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!" said the beadle, raising his hand with a show
of authority. "Like what, sir; eh?"
"I should like," faltered the child, "if somebody that can write, would
put a few words down for me on a piece of paper, and fold it up, and
seal it, and keep it for me after I am laid in the ground."
"Why, what does the boy mean?" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, on whom the
earnest manner and wan aspect of the child had made some impression,
accustomed as he was to such things.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I should like," said the child, "to leave my dear love to poor Oliver
Twist, and to let him know how often I have sat by myself and cried to
think of his wandering about in the dark nights with nobody to help
him; and I should like to tell him," said the child, pressing his small
hands together, and speaking with great fervour, "that I was glad to
die when I was very young; for, perhaps, if I lived to be a man, and
grew old, my little sister, who is in heaven, might forget me, or be
unlike me; and it would be so much happier if we were both children
there together."
Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker from head to foot with
indescribable astonishment, and, turning to his companion, said,
"They're all in one story, Mrs. Mann. That out-dacious Oliver has
demoralised them all!"
"I couldn't have believed it, sir!" said Mrs. Mann, holding up her
hands, and looking malignantly at Dick. "I never see such a hardened
little wretch!"
"Take him away, ma'am!" said Mr. Bumble imperiously. "This must be
stated to the board, Mrs. Mann."
"I hope the gentlemen will understand that it isn't my fault, sir?"
said Mrs. Mann, whimpering pathetically.
"They shall understand that, ma'am; they shall be acquainted with the
true state of the case," said Mr. Bumble pompously. "There; take him
away. I can't bear the sight of him."
Dick was immediately taken away, and locked up in the coal-cellar;
and Mr. Bumble shortly afterwards took himself away to prepare for his
journey.
At six o'clock next morning, Mr. Bumble having exchanged his cocked hat
for a round one, and encased his person in a blue great-coat with a
cape to it, took his place on the outside of the coach, accompanied by
the criminals whose settlement was disputed, with whom, in due course
of time, he arrived in London, having experienced no other crosses by
the way than those which originated in the perverse behaviour of the
two paupers, who persisted in shivering, and complaining of the cold
in a manner which, Mr. Bumble declared, caused his teeth to chatter
in his head, and made him feel quite uncomfortable, although he had a
great-coat on.
Having disposed of these evil-minded persons for the night, Mr. Bumble
sat himself down in the house at which the coach stopped, and took a
temperate dinner of steaks, oyster-sauce, and porter; putting a glass
of hot gin-and-water on the mantel-piece, he drew his chair to the
fire, and, with sundry moral reflections on the too-prevalent sin of
discontent and complaining, he then composed himself comfortably to
read the paper.
The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble's eyes rested, was the
following advertisement.
"FIVE GUINEAS REWARD.
"WHEREAS a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or was
enticed, on Thursday evening last, from his home at Pentonville,
and has not since been heard of; the above reward will be paid
to any person who will give such information as may lead to the
discovery of the said Oliver Twist, or tend to throw any light upon
his previous history, in which the advertiser is for many reasons
warmly interested."
And then followed a full description of Oliver's dress, person,
appearance, and disappearance, with the name and address of Mr.
Brownlow at full length.
Mr. Bumble opened his eyes, read the advertisement slowly and carefully
three several times, and in something more than five minutes was on his
way to Pentonville, having actually in his excitement left the glass of
hot gin-and-water untasted on the mantel-piece.
"Is Mr. Brownlow at home?" inquired Mr. Bumble of the girl who opened
the door.
To this inquiry the girl returned the not uncommon, but rather evasive
reply of, "I don't know--where do you come from?"
Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver's name in explanation of his
errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had been listening at the parlour-door,
hastened into the passage in a breathless state.
"Come in--come in," said the old lady: "I knew we should hear of him.
Poor dear! I knew we should,--I was certain of it. Bless his heart! I
said so all along."
Having said this, the worthy old lady hurried back into the parlour
again, and, seating herself on a sofa, burst into tears. The girl, who
was not quite so susceptible, had run up-stairs meanwhile, and now
returned with a request that Mr. Bumble would follow her immediately,
which he did.
He was shown into the little back study, where sat Mr. Brownlow and his
friend Mr. Grimwig, with decanters and glasses before them: the latter
gentleman eyed him closely, and at once burst into the exclamation,
"A beadle--a parish beadle, or I'll eat my head!"
"Pray don't interrupt just now," said Mr. Brownlow. "Take a seat, will
you?"
Mr. Bumble sat himself down, quite confounded by the oddity of Mr.
Grimwig's manner. Mr. Brownlow moved the lamp so as to obtain an
uninterrupted view of the beadle's countenance, and said with a little
impatience,
"Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen the
advertisement?"--"Yes, sir," said Mr. Bumble.
"And you _are_ a beadle, are you not?" inquired Mr. Grimwig.
"I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen," rejoined Mr. Bumble proudly.
"Of course," observed Mr. Grimwig aside to his friend. "I knew he was.
His great-coat is a parochial cut, and he looks a beadle all over."
Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose silence on his friend, and
resumed:
"Do you know where this poor boy is now?"
"No more than nobody," replied Mr. Bumble.
"Well, what _do_ you know of him?" inquired the old gentleman. "Speak
out, my friend, if you have anything to say. What do you know of him?"
"You don't happen to know any good of him, do you?" said Mr. Grimwig
caustically, after an attentive perusal of Mr. Bumble's features.
Mr. Bumble caught at the inquiry very quickly, and shook his head with
portentous solemnity.
"You see this?" said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumphantly at Mr. Brownlow.
Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Bumble's pursed-up countenance,
and requested him to communicate what he knew regarding Oliver, in as
few words as possible.
Mr. Bumble put down his hat, unbuttoned his coat, folded his arms,
inclined his head in a retrospective manner, and, after a few moments'
reflection, commenced his story.
It would be tedious if given in the beadle's words, occupying as it
did some twenty minutes in the telling; but the sum and substance of
it was, that Oliver was a foundling, born of low and vicious parents,
who had from his birth displayed no better qualities than treachery,
ingratitude, and malice, and who had terminated his brief career in
the place of his birth, by making a sanguinary and cowardly attack on
an unoffending lad, and then running away in the night-time from his
master's house. In proof of his really being the person he represented
himself, Mr. Bumble laid upon the table the papers he had brought to
town, and, folding his arms again, awaited Mr. Brownlow's observations.
"I fear it is all too true," said the old gentleman sorrowfully, after
looking over the papers. "This is not much for your intelligence; but
I would gladly have given you treble the money, sir, if it had been
favourable to the boy."
It is not at all improbable that if Mr. Bumble had been possessed with
this information at an earlier period of the interview, he might have
imparted a very different colouring to his little history. It was
too late to do it now, however; so he shook his head gravely, and,
pocketing the five guineas, withdrew.
Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and fro for some minutes, evidently so
much disturbed by the beadle's tale, that even Mr. Grimwig forbore to
vex him further. At length he stopped, and rang the bell violently.
"Mrs. Bedwin," said Mr. Brownlow when the housekeeper appeared, "that
boy, Oliver, is an impostor."
"It can't be, sir; it cannot be," said the old lady energetically.
"I tell you he is," retorted the old gentleman sharply. "What do you
mean by 'can't be'? We have just heard a full account of him from his
birth; and he has been a thorough-paced little villain all his life."
"I never will believe it, sir," replied the old lady, firmly.
"You old women never believe anything but quack-doctors and lying
story-books," growled Mr. Grimwig. "I knew it all along. Why didn't you
take my advice in the beginning; you would, if he hadn't had a fever, I
suppose,--eh? He was interesting, wasn't he? Interesting! Bah!" and Mr.
Grimwig poked the fire with a flourish.
"He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, sir," retorted Mrs. Bedwin
indignantly. "I know what children are, sir, and have done these forty
years; and people who can't say the same shouldn't say anything about
them--that's my opinion."
This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, who was a bachelor; but as it
extorted nothing from that gentleman but a smile, the old lady tossed
her head and smoothed down her apron, preparatory to another speech,
when she was stopped by Mr. Brownlow.
"Silence!" said the old gentleman, feigning an anger he was far from
feeling. "Never let me hear the boy's name again: I rang to tell you
that. Never--never, on any pretence, mind. You may leave the room, Mrs.
Bedwin. Remember; I am in earnest."
There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow's that night. Oliver's sank
within him when he thought of his good, kind friends; but it was well
for him that he could not know what they had heard, or it would have
broken outright.
[Illustration: The Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman]
THE CONFESSIONS OF AN ELDERLY GENTLEMAN;
CONTAINING HIS LAST LOVE.
WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.
The Countess of Blessington need not be afraid that I shall interfere
with her work in the unhappy tale which I am about to begin; my
scene will be laid in a very different walk of life, and the lady
whose charms have wounded my heart bear no resemblance whatever to
the aristocratic beauties which grace the book of the Countess. My
arrangement ever goes upon an opposite principle to hers; her elderly
gentleman proceeds from first to last, getting through his fates and
fortunes in regular rotation, as if they were so many letters of the
alphabet, from A to Z: I read mine backward, in the manner of Turks,
Jews, and other infidels; for worse than Turk or Jew have I been
treated by the fair sex!
When I confess to being an elderly gentleman, I leave my readers
to their own conjectures as to the precise figure of my age. It is
sufficient to say that I have arrived at the shady side of fifty,--how
much further, it is unnecessary to add. I have been always what
is called a man in easy circumstances. My father worked hard in
industrious pursuits, and left me, his only son, a tolerably snug
thing. I started in life with some five or six thousand pounds, a good
business as a tobacconist, a large stock-in-trade, excellent credit
and connexion, not a farthing of debt, and no encumbrance in the
world. In fact, I had, one way or another, about a thousand a year,
with no great quantity of trouble. I liked business, and stuck to it;
became respected in my trade and my ward; and have frequently filled
the important office of common-councilman with considerable vigour
and popularity. As I never went into rash speculations, and put by
something every year, my means are now about double what they were some
thirty-five years ago, when Mr. Gayless, sen. departing this life, left
the firm of Gayless, Son, and Company, to my management.
It is not to be wondered at, that a man in such circumstances should
occasionally allow himself relaxation from his labours. I entered
heartily into all the civic festivities; and, at my snug bachelor's
country-house on Fortress Terrace, Kentish Town, did the thing
genteelly enough every now and then. Many an excursion have I made up
and down the river, to Greenwich, Richmond, Blackwall, &c.; have spent
my summer at Margate, and once went to the Lakes of Westmoreland. Some
of that party proposed to me to go over to see the Lakes of Killarney;
but I had by that time come to years of discretion, and was not such
a fool as to trust myself among the Irish. I however did go once
to Paris, but, not understanding the language, I did not take much
interest in the conversation of the Frenchmen; and as for talking to
English people, why I can do that at home, without distressing my purse
or person.
The younger portion of my fair readers may be anxious to know what is
the personal appearance of him who takes the liberty of addressing
them. I have always noticed that young ladies are very curious on
this point; and it is difficult, if not impossible, to persuade them
how irrational is their anxiety. It is in vain to quote to them the
venerable maxims of antiquity, such as, "It is not handsome is, but
handsome does," or, "When Poverty enters the door, Love flies out at
the window," or, "All is not gold that glitters," or many more adages
of equal wisdom. It is generally of no avail to dilate upon the merits
of mind and intellect to persons whose thoughts run after glossy locks
and sparkling eyes, and to whose imagination a well-filled ledger is of
secondary importance to a well-tripped quadrille. In my own knowledge,
a young lady of our ward refused to accept the hand of a thriving
bill-broker in Spital-square,--a highly respectable middle-aged man,
who had made a mint of money by sharp application to his business,--and
chose a young barrister of the Inner Temple, whose bill, to my certain
knowledge, was refused discount by the Spital-square broker at
twenty-five per cent. I have been assured by officers in the army that
the case has sometimes occurred of girls in garrison towns preferring
an ensign to a major of many years' service; and I have heard, on
authority which I have reason to credit, of a West-end lady rejecting
an actual governor of a colony, on the ground that he was a withered
fellow as old and prosy as her grandfather,--as if there was anything
disgraceful in that,--and shortly afterwards cocking her cap at a
penniless dog, because he had romantic eyes, and wrote rubbish in
albums and pocket-books. I really have no patience with such stuff.
Middle-aged ladies are far less fastidious.
If I must delineate myself, however, here goes. So far from
deteriorating by age, I think I have improved, like Madeira. A
miniature of me, taken in my twenty-first year by an eminent artist
who lived in Gutter-lane, and drew undeniable likenesses at an hour's
sitting for half-a-guinea, forms a great contrast to one by Chalon,
painted much more than twenty years afterward. You really would never
think them to represent the same man, and yet both are extremely alike.
I was in my youth a sallow-faced lad, with hollow cheeks, immense
staring eyes, and long thin sandy hair, plastered to the side of my
head. By the course of living which I have led in the city, the sallow
complexion has been replaced by a durable red, the lean cheek is now
comfortably plumped out, the eyes pursed round and contracted by
substantial layers of fat, and the long hair having in general taken
its departure has left the remainder considerably improved by the
substitution of a floating silver for the soapy red. Then, my stature,
which, like that of many celebrated men of ancient and modern times,
cannot be said to be lofty, gave me somewhat an air of insignificance
when I was thin-gutted and slim; but, when it is taken in conjunction
with the rotundity I have attained in the progress of time, no one can
say that I do not fill a respectable space in the public eye. I have
also conformed to modern fashions; and when depicted by Chalon in a
flowing mantle, with "_Jour à gauche_" (whatever that may mean) written
under it, I am as grand as an officer of hussars with his martial
cloak about him, and quite as distinct a thing from the effigy of Mr.
M'Dawbs, of Gutter-lane, as the eau de Portugal which now perfumes my
person, is, from the smell of the tobacco which filled my garments with
the odour of the shop when first I commenced my amorous adventures.
Such was I, and such am I; and I have now said, I think, enough to
introduce me to the public. My story is briefly this:--On the 23rd
of last December, just before the snow, I had occasion to go on some
mercantile business to Edinburgh, and booked myself at a certain hotel,
which must be nameless, for the journey--then rendered perilous by
the weather. I bade adieu to my friends at a genial dinner given, on
the 22nd, in the coffee-room, where I cheered their drooping spirits
by perpetual bumpers of port, and all the consolation that my oratory
could supply. I urged that travelling inside, even in Christmas week,
in a stage-coach, was nothing nearly so dangerous as flying in a
balloon; that we were not to think of Napoleon's army perishing in the
snows of Russia, but rather of the bark that carried the fortunes of
Cæsar; that great occasions required more than ordinary exertions; and
that the last advices concerning the house of Screw, Longcut, and Co.
in the High-street, rendered it highly probable that their acceptances
would not be met unless I was personally in Edinburgh within a week.
These and other arguments I urged with an eloquence which, to those
who were swallowing my wine, seemed resistless. Some of my own bagmen,
who had for years travelled in black rappee or Irish blackguard, shag,
canaster, or such commodities, treated the adventure as a matter of
smoke; others, not of such veteran experience, regarded my departure
as an act of rashness not far short of insanity. "To do such a thing,"
said my old neighbour, Joe Grabble, candlestick-maker and deputy, "at
your time of life!"
I had swallowed perhaps too much port, and, feeling warmer than usual,
I did not much relish this observation. "At my time of life, Joe,"
said I; "what of that? It is not years that make a man younger or
older; it is the spirits, Joe,--the life, the sprightliness, the air.
There is no such thing now, Joe, as an old man, an elderly man, to be
found anywhere but on the stage. Certainly, if people poke themselves
eternally upon a high stool behind a desk in a murky counting-house in
the city, and wear such an odd quiz of a dress as you do, they must be
accounted old."
"And yet," said Joe, "I am four years younger than you. Don't you
remember how we were together at school at old Muddlehead's, at
the back of Honey-lane-market, in the year seventeen hundred and
eighty-fou--?"
"There is no need," said I, interrupting him, "of quoting dates. It is
not considered genteel in good society. I do not admit your statement
to be correct."
"I'll prove it from the parish register," said Joe Grabble.
"Don't interrupt, Joe," said I; "interrupting is not considered genteel
in good society. I neither admit nor deny your assertion; but how does
that affect my argument? I maintain that in every particular I am as
young as I was thirty years ago."
"And quite as ready to go philandering," said Joe, with a sneer.
"Quite," replied I, "or more so. Nay, I venture to say that I could at
this moment make myself as acceptable to that pretty young woman at the
bar, as nine-tenths of the perfumed dandies of the West-end."
"By your purse, no doubt," said Joe, "if even that would obtain you
common civility."
I was piqued at this; and, under the impulse of the moment and the
wine, I performed the rash act of betting a rump and dozen for the
present company, against five shillings, that she would acknowledge
that I was a man of gaiety and gallantry calculated to win a lady's
heart before I left London, short as was the remaining space. Joe
caught at the bet, and it was booked in a moment. The party broke up
about nine o'clock, and I could not help observing something like a
suppressed horselaugh on their countenances. I confess that, when I was
left alone, I began to repent of my precipitancy.
But faint heart never won fair lady; so, by a series of manœuvring
with which long practice had rendered me perfect, I fairly, in the
course of an hour, entrenched myself in the bar, and, at about ten
o'clock, was to be found diligently discussing a fragrant remnant of
broiled chicken and mushroom, and hobnobbing with the queen of the
pay department in sundry small glasses of brandy and water, extracted
from the grand reservoir of the tumbler placed before me. So far all
was propitious; but, as Old Nick would have it, in less than ten
minutes the party was joined by a mustachoed fellow, who had come
fresh from fighting--or pretending to fight--for Donna Isabella, or
Don Carlos,--Heaven knows which, (I dare say he didn't,)--and was full
of Bilboa, and San Sebastian, and Espartero, and Alaix pursuing Gomez,
and Zumalacarregui, and General Evans, and all that style of talk, for
which women have open ears. I am sure that I could have bought the
fellow body and soul--at least all his property real and personal--for
fifty pounds; but there he sate, crowing me down whenever I ventured
to edge in a word, by some story of a siege, or a battle, or a march,
ninety-nine hundred parts of his stories being nothing more nor less
than lies. I know I should have been sorry to have bulled or beared
in Spanish on the strength of them; but the girl (her name is Sarah)
swallowed them all with open mouth, scarcely deigning to cast a look
upon me. With mouth equally open, he swallowed the supper and the
brandy for which I was paying; shutting mine every time I attempted
to say a word by asking me had I ever served abroad. I never was so
provoked in my life; and, when I saw him press her hand, I could have
knocked him down, only that I have no practice in that line, which is
sometimes considered to be doubly hazardous.
I saw little chance of winning my wager, and was in no slight degree
out of temper; but all things, smooth or rough, must have an end, and
at last it was time that we should retire. My Spanish hero desired to
be called at four,--I don't know why,--and Sarah said, with a most
fascinating smile,
"You may depend upon 't, sir; for, if there was no one else as would
call you, I'd call you myself."
"Never," said he, kissing her hand, "did Boots appear so beautiful!"
"Devil take you!" muttered I, as I moved up stairs with a rolling
motion; for the perils of the journey, the annoyance of the
supper-table, the anticipation of the lost dinner and unwon lady,
aided, perhaps, by what I had swallowed, tended somewhat to make my
footsteps unsteady.
My mustachoed companion and I were shown into adjacent rooms, and I
fell sulkily asleep. About four o'clock I was aroused by a knocking,
as I at first thought, at my own room, but which I soon found to be
at that of my neighbour. I immediately caught the silver sound of the
voice of Sarah summoning its tenant.
"It's just a-gone the three ke-waters, sir, and you ought to be up."
"I am up already, dear girl," responded a voice from inside, in tones
as soft as the potations at my expense of the preceding night would
permit; "I shall be ready to start in a jiffy."
The words were hardly spoken when I heard him emerging, luggage in
hand, which he seemed to carry with little difficulty.
"Good-b'ye, dear," said he; "forgive this trouble."
"It's none in the least in life, sir," said she.
And then--god of jealousy!--he kissed her.
"For shame, sir!" said Sarah. "You mustn't. I never permit it; never!"
And he kissed her again; on which she, having, I suppose, exhausted
her stock of indignation in the speech already made, offered no
observation. He skipped down stairs, and I heard her say, with a sigh,
"What a nice man!"
The amorous thought rose softly over my mind. "Avaunt!" said I, "thou
green-eyed monster; make way for Cupid, little god of love. Is my rump
and my dozen yet lost? No. As the song says,