On the evening of the same day on which the child and the two negroes
had been saved from the wreck by the fortunate appearance of the
frigate, Mr Witherington, of Finsbury Square, was sitting alone in his
dining-room wondering what could have become of the _Circassian_, and
why he had not received intelligence of her arrival. Mr Witherington,
as we said before, was alone; he had his port and his sherry before him;
and although the weather was rather warm, there was a small fire in the
grate, because, as Mr Witherington asserted, it looked comfortable.
Mr Witherington having watched the ceiling of the room for some time,
although there was certainly nothing new to be discovered, filled
another glass of wine, and then proceeded to make himself more
comfortable by unbuttoning three more buttons of his waistcoat, pushing
his wig further off his head, and casting loose all the buttons at the
knees of his breeches; he completed his arrangements by dragging towards
him two chairs within his reach, putting his legs on one, while he
rested his arm on the other. And why was not Mr Witherington to make
himself comfortable? He had good health, a good conscience, and eight
thousand a-year.
Satisfied with all his little arrangements, Mr Witherington sipped his
port wine, and putting down his glass again, fell back in his chair,
placed his hands on his breast, interwove his fingers; and in this most
comfortable position recommenced his speculations as to the non-arrival
of the _Circassian_.
We will leave him to his cogitations while we introduce him more
particularly to our readers.
The father of Mr Witherington was a younger son of one of the oldest
and proudest families in the West Riding of Yorkshire: he had his choice
of the four professions allotted to younger sons whose veins are filled
with patrician blood--the army, the navy, the law, and the church. The
army did not suit him, he said, as marching and counter-marching were
not comfortable; the navy did not suit him, as there was little comfort
in gales of wind and mouldy biscuit: the law did not suit him, as he was
not sure that he would be at ease with his conscience, which would not
be comfortable; the church was also rejected, as it was, with him,
connected with the idea of a small stipend, hard duty, a wife and eleven
children, which were anything but comfortable. Much to the horror of
his family he eschewed all the liberal professions, and embraced the
offer of an old backslider of an uncle, who proposed to him a situation
in his banking-house, and a partnership as soon as he deserved it; the
consequence was, that his relations bade him an indignant farewell, and
then made no further inquiries about him: he was as decidedly cut as one
of the female branches of the family would have been had she committed a
_faux pas_.
Nevertheless, Mr Witherington senior stuck diligently to his business,
in a few years was partner, and, at the death of the old gentleman, his
uncle, found himself in possession of a good property, and every year
coining money at his bank.
Mr Witherington senior then purchased a house in Finsbury Square, and
thought it advisable to look out for a wife.
Having still much of the family pride in his composition, he resolved
not to muddle the blood of the Witheringtons by any cross from Cateaton
Street or Mincing Lane; and, after a proper degree of research, he
selected the daughter of a Scotch earl, who went to London with a bevy
of nine in a Leith smack to barter blood for wealth. Mr Witherington
being so unfortunate as to be the first comer, had the pick of the nine
ladies by courtesy; his choice was light-haired, blue-eyed, a little
freckled, and very tall, by no means bad-looking, and standing on the
list in the family Bible, Number Four. From this union Mr Witherington
had issue; first, a daughter, christened Moggy, whom we shall soon have
to introduce to our readers as a spinster of forty-seven; and second,
Antony Alexander Witherington Esquire, whom we just now have left in a
very comfortable position, and in a very brown study.
Mr Witherington senior persuaded his son to enter the banking-house,
and, as a dutiful son, he entered it every day; but he did nothing more,
having made the fortunate discovery that "his father was born before
him;" or, in other words, that his father had plenty of money, and would
be necessitated to leave it behind him.
As Mr Witherington senior had always studied comfort, his son had early
imbibed the same idea, and carried his feelings, in that respect, to a
much greater excess; he divided things into comfortable and
uncomfortable. One fine day, Lady Mary Witherington, after paying all
the household bills, paid the debt of Nature; that is, she died: her
husband paid the undertaker's bill, so it is to be presumed that she was
buried.
Mr Witherington senior shortly afterwards had a stroke of apoplexy,
which knocked him down. Death, who has no feelings of honour, struck
him when down. And Mr Witherington, after having laid a few days in
bed, was by a second stroke laid in the same vault as Lady Mary
Witherington: and Mr Witherington junior (our Mr Witherington) after
deducting 40,000 pounds for his sister's fortune, found himself in
possession of a clear 8,000 pounds per annum, and an excellent house in
Finsbury Square. Mr Witherington considered this a comfortable income,
and he therefore retired altogether from business.
During the lifetime of his parents he had been witness to one or two
matrimonial scenes, which had induced him to put down matrimony as one
of the things not comfortable: therefore he remained a bachelor.
His sister Moggy also remained unmarried; but whether it was from a very
unprepossessing squint which deterred suitors, or from the same dislike
to matrimony as her brother had imbibed, it is not in our power to say.
Mr Witherington was three years younger than his sister; and although
he had for some time worn a wig, it was only because he considered it
more comfortable. Mr Witherington's whole character might be summed up
in two words--eccentricity and benevolence: eccentric he certainly was,
as most bachelors usually are. Man is but a rough pebble without the
attrition received from contact with the gentler sex: it is wonderful
how the ladies pumice a man down to a smoothness which occasions him to
roll over and over with the rest of his species, jostling but not
wounding his neighbours, as the waves of circumstances bring him into
collision with them.
Mr Witherington roused himself from his deep reverie, and felt for the
string connected with the bell-pull, which it was the butler's duty
invariably to attach to the arm of his master's chair previous to his
last exit from the dining-room; for, as Mr Witherington very truly
observed, it was very uncomfortable to be obliged to get up and ring the
bell: indeed, more than once Mr Witherington had calculated the
advantages and disadvantages of having a daughter about eight years old
who could ring bells, air the newspapers, and cut the leaves of a new
novel.
When, however, he called to mind that she could not always remain at
that precise age, he decided that the balance of comfort was against it.
Mr Witherington, having pulled the bell again, fell into a brown study.
Mr Jonathan, the butler, made his appearance; but observing that his
master was occupied, he immediately stopped at the door, erect,
motionless, and with a face as melancholy as if he was performing mute
at the porch of some departed peer of the realm; for it is an understood
thing, that the greater the rank of the defunct the longer must be the
face, and, of course, the better must be the pay.
Now, as Mr Witherington is still in profound thought, and Mr Jonathan
will stand as long as a hackney-coach horse, we will just leave them as
they are, while we introduce the brief history of the latter to our
readers. Jonathan Trapp has served as foot_boy_, which term, we
believe, is derived from those who are in that humble capacity receiving
a _quantum suff._ of the application of the feet of those above them to
increase the energy of their service; then as foot_man_; which implies
that they have been promoted to the more agreeable right of
administering instead of receiving the above dishonourable applications;
and lastly, for promotion could go no higher in the family, he had been
raised to the dignity of butler in the service of Mr Witherington
senior. Jonathan then fell in love, for butlers are guilty of
indiscretions as well as their masters: neither he nor his fair flame,
who was a lady's maid in another family, notwithstanding that they had
witnessed the consequences of this error in others, would take warning;
they gave warning, and they married.
Like most butlers and ladies' maids who pair off, they set up a
public-house; and it is but justice to the lady's maid to say, that she
would have preferred an eating-house, but was overruled by Jonathan, who
argued, that although people would drink when they were not dry, they
never would eat unless they were hungry.
Now, although there was truth in the observation, this is certain, that
business did not prosper: it has been surmised that Jonathan's tall,
lank, lean figure injured his custom, as people are but too much
inclined to judge of the goodness of the ale by the rubicund face and
rotundity of the landlord; and therefore inferred that there could be no
good beer where mine host was the picture of famine. There certainly is
much in appearances in this world; and it appears that, in consequence
of Jonathan's cadaverous appearance, he very soon appeared in the
_Gazette_; but what ruined Jonathan in one profession procured him
immediate employment in another. An appraiser, upholsterer, and
undertaker, who was called in to value the fixtures, fixed his eye upon
Jonathan, and knowing the value of his peculiarly lugubrious appearance,
and having a half-brother of equal height, offered him immediate
employment as a mute. Jonathan soon forgot to mourn his own loss of a
few hundreds in his new occupation of mourning the loss of thousands;
and his erect, stiff, statue-like carriage, and long melancholy face, as
he stood at the portals of those who had entered the portals of the next
world, were but too often a sarcasm upon the grief of the inheritors.
Even grief is worth nothing in this trafficking world unless it be paid
for. Jonathan buried many, and at last buried his wife. So far all was
well; but at last he buried his master, the undertaker, which was not
quite so desirable. Although Jonathan wept not, yet did he express mute
sorrow as he marshalled him to his long home, and drank to his memory in
a pot of porter as he returned from the funeral, perched, with many
others, like carrion crows on the top of the hearse.
And now Jonathan was thrown out of employment from a reason which most
people would have thought the highest recommendation. Every undertaker
refused to take him, because they could not match him. In this
unfortunate dilemma, Jonathan thought of Mr Witherington junior; he had
served and he had buried Mr Witherington his father, and Lady Mary his
mother; he felt that he had strong claims for such variety of services,
and he applied to the bachelor. Fortunately for Jonathan, Mr
Witherington's butler-incumbent was just about to commit the same folly
as Jonathan had done before, and Jonathan was again installed, resolving
in his own mind to lead his former life, and have nothing more to do
with ladies' maids. But from habit Jonathan still carried himself as a
mute on all ordinary occasions--never indulging in an approximation to
mirth, except when he perceived that his master was in high spirits, and
then rather from a sense of duty than from any real hilarity of heart.
Jonathan was no mean scholar for his station in life, and during his
service with the undertaker, he had acquired the English of all the
Latin mottoes which are placed upon the hatchments; and these mottoes,
when he considered them as apt, he was very apt to quote. We left
Jonathan standing at the door; he had closed it, and the handle still
remained in his hand. "Jonathan," said Mr Witherington, after a long
pause--"I wish to look at the last letter from New York, you will find
it on my dressing-table."
Jonathan quitted the room without reply, and made his reappearance with
the letter.
"It is a long time that I have been expecting this vessel, Jonathan,"
observed Mr Witherington, unfolding the letter.
"Yes, sir, a long while; _tempus fugit_," replied the butler in a low
tone, half shutting his eyes.
"I hope to God no accident has happened," continued Mr Witherington:
"my poor little cousin and her twins e'en now that I speak, they may be
all at the bottom of the sea."
"Yes, sir," replied the butler; "the sea defrauds many an honest
undertaker of his profits."
"By the blood of the Witheringtons! I may be left without an heir, and
shall be obliged to marry, which would be very uncomfortable."
"Very little comfort," echoed Jonathan--"my wife is dead. In caelo
quies."
"Well, we must hope for the best; but this suspense is anything but
comfortable," observed Mr Witherington, after looking over the contents
of the letter for at least the twentieth time.
"That will do, Jonathan; I'll ring for coffee presently;" and Mr
Witherington was again alone and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
A cousin of Mr Witherington, and a very great favourite (for Mr
Witherington, having a large fortune, and not having anything to do with
business, was courted by his relations), had, to a certain degree,
committed herself; that is to say, that, notwithstanding the injunctions
of her parents, she had fallen in love with a young lieutenant in a
marching regiment, whose pedigree was but respectable, and whose fortune
was anything but respectable, consisting merely of a subaltern's pay.
Poor men, unfortunately, always make love better than those who are
rich, because, having less to care about, and not being puffed up with
their own consequence, they are not so selfish and think much more of
the lady than of themselves. Young ladies, also, who fall in love,
never consider whether there is sufficient "to make the pot boil"--
probably because young ladies in love lose their appetites, and, not
feeling inclined to eat at that time, they imagine that love will always
supply the want of food. Now, we will appeal to the married ladies
whether we are not right in asserting that, although the collation
spread for them and their friends on the day of the marriage is looked
upon with almost loathing, they do not find their appetites return with
interest soon afterwards. This was precisely the case with Cecilia, or
rather, Cecilia Templemore, for she had changed her name the day before.
It was also the case with her husband, who always had a good appetite,
even during his days of courtship; and the consequence was, that the
messman's account, for they lived in barracks, was, in a few weeks,
rather alarming. Cecilia applied to her family, who very kindly sent
her word that she might starve; but, the advice neither suiting her nor
her husband, she then wrote to her cousin Antony, who sent her word that
he would be most happy to receive them at his table, and that they
should take up their abode in Finsbury Square. This was exactly what
they wished; but still there was a certain difficulty; Lieutenant
Templemore's regiment was quartered in a town in Yorkshire, which was
some trifling distance from Finsbury Square; and to be at Mr
Witherington's dinner-table at six p.m., with the necessity of appearing
at parade every morning at nine a.m., was a dilemma not to be got out
of. Several letters were interchanged upon this knotty subject: and at
last it was agreed that Mr Templemore should sell out, and come up to
Mr Witherington with his pretty wife: he did so, and found that it was
much more comfortable to turn out at nine o'clock in the morning to a
good breakfast than to a martial parade. But Mr Templemore had an
honest pride and independence of character which would not permit him to
eat the bread of idleness, and after a sojourn of two months in most
comfortable quarters, without a messman's bill, he frankly stated his
feelings to Mr Witherington, and requested his assistance to procure
for himself an honourable livelihood. Mr Witherington, who had become
attached to them both, would have remonstrated, observing that Cecilia
was his own cousin, and that he was a confirmed bachelor; but, in this
instance, Mr Templemore was firm, and Mr Witherington very unwillingly
consented. A mercantile house of the highest respectability required a
partner who could superintend their consignments to America. Mr
Witherington advanced the sum required; and, in a few weeks, Mr and
Mrs Templemore sailed for New York.
Mr Templemore was active and intelligent; their affairs prospered; and,
in a few years, they anticipated a return to their native soil with a
competence. But the autumn of the second year after their arrival
proved very sickly; the yellow fever raged; and among the thousands who
were carried off, Mr Templemore was a victim, about three weeks after
his wife had been brought to bed of twins. Mrs Templemore rose from
her couch a widow and the mother of two fine boys. The loss of Mr
Templemore was replaced by the establishment with which he was
connected, and Mr Witherington offered to his cousin that asylum which,
in her mournful and unexpected bereavement, she so much required. In
three months her affairs were arranged; and with her little boys hanging
at the breasts of two negro nurses,--for no others could be procured who
would undertake the voyage,--Mrs Templemore, with Coco as male servant,
embarked on board of the good ship _Circassian_, A1, bound to Liverpool.