CHAPTER I.

Produced by Donald Lainson

MEMOIRS OF MR. CHARLES J. YELLOWPLUSH

By William Makepeace Thackeray

CONTENTS

MISS SHUM'S HUSBAND

THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE

FORING PARTS

MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS:--

CHAP. I. The Two Bundles of Hay

II. “Honor thy Father”

III. Minewvring

IV. “Hitting the Nale on the Hedd”

V. The Griffin's Claws

VI. The Jewel

VII. The Consquinsies

VIII. The End of Mr. Deuceace's History. Limbo

IX. The Marriage

X. The Honey-moon

MR. YELLOWPLUSH'S AJEW

SKIMMINGS FROM “THE DAIRY OF GEORGE IV.”

EPISTLES TO THE LITERATI

MEMOIRS OF MR. CHARLES J. YELLOWPLUSH

MISS SHUM'S HUSBAND.

CHAPTER I.

I was born in the year one, of the present or Christian hera, and am, in

consquints, seven-and-thirty years old. My mamma called me Charles James

Harrington Fitzroy Yellowplush, in compliment to several noble families,

and to a sellybrated coachmin whom she knew, who wore a yellow livry,

and drove the Lord Mayor of London.

Why she gev me this genlmn's name is a diffiklty, or rayther the name of

a part of his dress; however, it's stuck to me through life, in which I

was, as it were, a footman by buth.

Praps he was my father--though on this subjict I can't speak suttinly,

for my ma wrapped up my buth in a mistry. I may be illygitmit, I may

have been changed at nuss; but I've always had genlmnly tastes through

life, and have no doubt that I come of a genlmnly origum.

The less I say about my parint the better, for the dear old creatur was

very good to me, and, I fear, had very little other goodness in her.

Why, I can't say; but I always passed as her nevyou. We led a strange

life; sometimes ma was dressed in sattn and rooge, and sometimes in rags

and dutt; sometimes I got kisses, and sometimes kix; sometimes gin,

and sometimes shampang; law bless us! how she used to swear at me, and

cuddle me; there we were, quarrelling and making up, sober and tipsy,

starving and guttling by turns, just as ma got money or spent it.

But let me draw a vail over the seen, and speak of her no more--its

'sfishant for the public to know, that her name was Miss Montmorency,

and we lived in the New Cut.

My poor mother died one morning, Hev'n bless her! and I was left alone

in this wide wicked wuld, without so much money as would buy me a penny

roal for my brexfast. But there was some amongst our naybors (and let me

tell you there's more kindness among them poor disrepettable creaturs,

than in half a dozen lords or barrynets) who took pity upon poor Sal's

orfin (for they bust out laffin when I called her Miss Montmorency), and

gev me bred and shelter. I'm afraid, in spite of their kindness, that

my MORRILS wouldn't have improved if I'd stayed long among 'em. But a

benny-violent genlmn saw me, and put me to school. The academy which I

went to was called the Free School of Saint Bartholomew's the Less--the

young genlmn wore green baize coats, yellow leather whatsisnames, a tin

plate on the left arm, and a cap about the size of a muffing. I stayed

there sicks years; from sicks, that is to say, till my twelth year,

during three years of witch I distinguished myself not a little in the

musicle way, for I bloo the bellus of the church horgin, and very fine

tunes we played too.

Well, it's not worth recounting my jewvenile follies (what trix we

used to play the applewoman! and how we put snuff in the old clark's

Prayer-book--my eye!); but one day, a genlmn entered the school-room--it

was on the very day when I went to subtraxion--and asked the master for

a young lad for a servant. They pitched upon me glad enough; and nex

day found me sleeping in the sculry, close under the sink, at Mr. Bago's

country-house at Pentonwille.

Bago kep a shop in Smithfield market, and drov a taring good trade in

the hoil and Italian way. I've heard him say, that he cleared no less

than fifty pounds every year by letting his front room at hanging time.

His winders looked right opsit Newgit, and many and many dozen chaps has

he seen hanging there. Laws was laws in the year ten, and they screwed

chaps' nex for nex to nothink. But my bisniss was at his country-house,

where I made my first ontray into fashnabl life. I was knife, errint,

and stable-boy then, and an't ashamed to own it; for my merrits have

raised me to what I am--two livries, forty pound a year, malt-licker,

washin, silk-stocking, and wax candles--not countin wails, which is

somethink pretty considerable at OUR house, I can tell you.

I didn't stay long here, for a suckmstance happened which got me a very

different situation. A handsome young genlmn, who kep a tilbry and a

ridin horse at livry, wanted a tiger. I bid at once for the place; and,

being a neat tidy-looking lad, he took me. Bago gave me a character, and

he my first livry; proud enough I was of it, as you may fancy.

My new master had some business in the city, for he went in every

morning at ten, got out of his tilbry at the Citty Road, and had it

waiting for him at six; when, if it was summer, he spanked round into

the Park, and drove one of the neatest turnouts there. Wery proud I was

in a gold-laced hat, a drab coat and a red weskit, to sit by his side,

when he drove. I already began to ogle the gals in the carridges, and to

feel that longing for fashionabl life which I've had ever since. When

he was at the oppera, or the play, down I went to skittles, or to White

Condick Gardens; and Mr. Frederic Altamont's young man was somebody, I

warrant: to be sure there is very few man-servants at Pentonwille, the

poppylation being mostly gals of all work; and so, though only fourteen,

I was as much a man down there, as if I had been as old as Jerusalem.

But the most singular thing was, that my master, who was such a gay

chap, should live in such a hole. He had only a ground-floor in John

Street--a parlor and a bedroom. I slep over the way, and only came in

with his boots and brexfast of a morning.

The house he lodged in belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Shum. They were a poor

but proliffic couple, who had rented the place for many years; and they

and their family were squeezed in it pretty tight, I can tell you.

Shum said he had been a hofficer, and so he had. He had been a

sub-deputy assistant vice-commissary, or some such think; and, as

I heerd afterwards, had been obliged to leave on account of his

NERVOUSNESS. He was such a coward, the fact is, that he was considered

dangerous to the harmy, and sent home.

He had married a widow Buckmaster, who had been a Miss Slamcoe. She was

a Bristol gal; and her father being a bankrup in the tallow-chandlering

way, left, in course, a pretty little sum of money. A thousand pound

was settled on her; and she was as high and mighty as if it had been a

millium.

Buckmaster died, leaving nothink; nothink except four ugly daughters by

Miss Slamcoe: and her forty pound a year was rayther a narrow income for

one of her appytite and pretensions. In an unlucky hour for Shum she

met him. He was a widower with a little daughter of three years old,

a little house at Pentonwille, and a little income about as big as her

own. I believe she bullyd the poor creature into marridge; and it was

agreed that he should let his ground-floor at John Street, and so add

somethink to their means.

They married; and the widow Buckmaster was the gray mare, I can

tell you. She was always talking and blustering about her famly, the

celebrity of the Buckmasters, and the antickety of the Slamcoes. They

had a six-roomed house (not counting kitching and sculry), and now

twelve daughters in all; whizz.--4 Miss Buckmasters: Miss Betsy, Miss

Dosy, Miss Biddy, and Miss Winny; 1 Miss Shum, Mary by name, Shum's

daughter, and seven others, who shall be nameless. Mrs. Shum was a fat,

red-haired woman, at least a foot taller than S.; who was but a yard and

a half high, pale-faced, red-nosed, knock-kneed, bald-headed, his nose

and shut-frill all brown with snuff.

Before the house was a little garden, where the washin of the famly was

all ways hanging. There was so many of 'em that it was obliged to be

done by relays. There was six rails and a stocking on each, and four

small goosbry bushes, always covered with some bit of linning or other.

The hall was a regular puddle: wet dabs of dishclouts flapped in your

face; soapy smoking bits of flanning went nigh to choke you; and while

you were looking up to prevent hanging yourself with the ropes which

were strung across and about, slap came the hedge of a pail against your

shins, till one was like to be drove mad with hagony. The great slattnly

doddling girls was always on the stairs, poking about with nasty

flower-pots, a-cooking something, or sprawling in the window-seats

with greasy curl-papers, reading greasy novels. An infernal pianna was

jingling from morning till night--two eldest Miss Buckmasters, “Battle

of Prag”--six youngest Miss Shums, “In my Cottage,” till I knew every

note in the “Battle of Prag,” and cussed the day when “In my Cottage”

was rote. The younger girls, too, were always bouncing and thumping

about the house, with torn pinnyfores, and dogs-eard grammars, and large

pieces of bread and treacle. I never see such a house.

As for Mrs. Shum, she was such a fine lady, that she did nothink but

lay on the drawing-room sophy, read novels, drink, scold, scream, and go

into hystarrix. Little Shum kep reading an old newspaper from weeks' end

to weeks' end, when he was not engaged in teaching the children, or goin

for the beer, or cleanin the shoes: for they kep no servant. This house

in John Street was in short a regular Pandymony.

What could have brought Mr. Frederic Altamont to dwell in such a place?

The reason is hobvius: he adoared the fust Miss Shum.

And suttnly he did not show a bad taste; for though the other daughters

were as ugly as their hideous ma, Mary Shum was a pretty little pink,

modest creatur, with glossy black hair and tender blue eyes, and a neck

as white as plaster of Parish. She wore a dismal old black gownd, which

had grown too short for her, and too tight; but it only served to show

her pretty angles and feet, and bewchus figger. Master, though he had

looked rather low for the gal of his art, had certainly looked in the

right place. Never was one more pretty or more hamiable. I gav her

always the buttered toast left from our brexfust, and a cup of tea or

chocklate, as Altamont might fancy: and the poor thing was glad enough

of it, I can vouch; for they had precious short commons up stairs, and

she the least of all.

For it seemed as if which of the Shum famly should try to snub the poor

thing most. There was the four Buckmaster girls always at her. It was,

Mary, git the coal-skittle; Mary, run down to the public-house for the

beer; Mary, I intend to wear your clean stockens out walking, or your

new bonnet to church. Only her poor father was kind to her; and he, poor

old muff! his kindness was of no use. Mary bore all the scolding like

a hangel, as she was: no, not if she had a pair of wings and a goold

trumpet, could she have been a greater hangel.

I never shall forgit one seen that took place. It was when Master was

in the city; and so, having nothink earthly to do, I happened to be

listening on the stairs. The old scolding was a-going on, and the old

tune of that hojus “Battle of Prag.” Old Shum made some remark; and Miss

Buckmaster cried out, “Law, pa! what a fool you are!” All the gals began

laffin, and so did Mrs. Shum; all, that is, excep Mary, who turned as

red as flams, and going up to Miss Betsy Buckmaster, give her two such

wax on her great red ears as made them tingle again.

Old Mrs. Shum screamed, and ran at her like a Bengal tiger. Her great

arms vent veeling about like a vinmill, as she cuffed and thumped

poor Mary for taking her pa's part. Mary Shum, who was always a-crying

before, didn't shed a tear now. “I will do it again,” she said, “if

Betsy insults my father.” New thumps, new shreex; and the old horridan

went on beatin the poor girl till she was quite exosted, and fell down

on the sophy, puffin like a poppus.

“For shame, Mary,” began old Shum; “for shame, you naughty gal, you! for

hurting the feelings of your dear mamma, and beating your kind sister.”

“Why, it was because she called you a--”

“If she did, you pert miss,” said Shum, looking mighty dignitified, “I

could correct her, and not you.”

“You correct me, indeed!” said Miss Betsy, turning up her nose, if

possible, higher than before; “I should like to see you erect me!

Imperence!” and they all began laffin again.

By this time Mrs. S. had recovered from the effex of her exsize, and she

began to pour in HER wolly. Fust she called Mary names, then Shum.

“Oh, why,” screeched she, “why did I ever leave a genteel famly, where

I ad every ellygance and lucksry, to marry a creatur like this? He is

unfit to be called a man, he is unworthy to marry a gentlewoman; and as

for that hussy, I disown her. Thank heaven she an't a Slamcoe; she is

only fit to be a Shum!”

“That's true, mamma,” said all the gals; for their mother had taught

them this pretty piece of manners, and they despised their father

heartily: indeed, I have always remarked that, in famlies where the wife

is internally talking about the merits of her branch, the husband is

invariably a spooney.

Well, when she was exosted again, down she fell on the sofy, at her old

trix--more screeching--more convulshuns: and she wouldn't stop, this

time, till Shum had got her half a pint of her old remedy, from the

“Blue Lion” over the way. She grew more easy as she finished the gin;

but Mary was sent out of the room, and told not to come back agin all

day.

“Miss Mary,” says I,--for my heart yurned to the poor gal, as she came

sobbing and miserable down stairs: “Miss Mary,” says I, “if I might make

so bold, here's master's room empty, and I know where the cold bif and

pickles is.” “Oh, Charles!” said she, nodding her head sadly, “I'm too

retched to have any happytite.” And she flung herself on a chair, and

began to cry fit to bust.

At this moment who should come in but my master. I had taken hold of

Miss Mary's hand, somehow, and do believe I should have kist it, when,

as I said, Haltamont made his appearance. “What's this?” cries he,

lookin at me as black as thunder, or as Mr. Phillips as Hickit, in the

new tragedy of MacBuff.

“It's only Miss Mary, sir,” answered I.

“Get out, sir,” says he, as fierce as posbil; and I felt somethink (I

think it was the tip of his to) touching me behind, and found myself,

nex minit, sprawling among the wet flannings and buckets and things.

The people from up stairs came to see what was the matter, as I was

cussin and crying out. “It's only Charles, ma,” screamed out Miss Betsy.

“Where's Mary?” says Mrs. Shum, from the sofy.

“She's in Master's room, miss,” said I.

“She's in the lodger's room, ma,” cries Miss Shum, heckoing me.

“Very good; tell her to stay there till he comes back.” And then Miss

Shum went bouncing up the stairs again, little knowing of Haltamont's

return.

. . . . . .

I'd long before observed that my master had an anchoring after Mary

Shum; indeed, as I have said, it was purely for her sake that he took

and kep his lodgings at Pentonwille. Excep for the sake of love, which

is above being mersnary, fourteen shillings a wick was a LITTLE too

strong for two such rat-holes as he lived in. I do blieve the famly

had nothing else but their lodger to live on: they brekfisted off his

tea-leaves, they cut away pounds and pounds of meat from his jints (he

always dined at home), and his baker's bill was at least enough for six.

But that wasn't my business. I saw him grin, sometimes, when I laid down

the cold bif of a morning, to see how little was left of yesterday's

sirline; but he never said a syllabub: for true love don't mind a pound

of meat or so hextra.

At first, he was very kind and attentive to all the gals; Miss Betsy,

in partickler, grew mighty fond of him: they sat, for whole evenings,

playing cribbitch, he taking his pipe and glas, she her tea and muffing;

but as it was improper for her to come alone, she brought one of her

sisters, and this was genrally Mary,--for he made a pint of asking her,

too,--and one day, when one of the others came instead, he told her,

very quitely, that he hadn't invited her; and Miss Buckmaster was too

fond of muffings to try this game on again: besides, she was jealous of

her three grown sisters, and considered Mary as only a child. Law bless

us! how she used to ogle him, and quot bits of pottry, and play “Meet

Me by Moonlike,” on an old gitter: she reglar flung herself at his head:

but he wouldn't have it, bein better ockypied elsewhere.

One night, as genteel as possible, he brought home tickets for

“Ashley's,” and proposed to take the two young ladies--Miss Betsy and

Miss Mary, in course. I recklect he called me aside that afternoon,

assuming a solamon and misterus hare, “Charles,” said he, “ARE YOU UP TO

SNUFF?”

“Why sir,” said I, “I'm genrally considered tolerably downy.”

“Well,” says he, “I'll give you half a suffering if you can manage this

bisness for me; I've chose a rainy night on purpus. When the theatre is

over, you must be waitin with two umbrellows; give me one, and hold the

other over Miss Buckmaster: and, hark ye, sir, TURN TO THE RIGHT when

you leave the theater, and say the coach is ordered to stand a little

way up the street, in order to get rid of the crowd.”

We went (in a fly hired by Mr. A.), and never shall I forgit Cartliche's

hacting on that memrable night. Talk of Kimble! talk of Magreedy!

Ashley's for my money, with Cartlitch in the principal part. But this

is nothink to the porpus. When the play was over, I was at the door with

the umbrellos. It was raining cats and dogs, sure enough.

Mr. Altamont came out presently, Miss Mary under his arm, and Miss

Betsy following behind, rayther sulky. “This way, sir,” cries I, pushin

forward; and I threw a great cloak over Miss Betsy, fit to smother her.

Mr. A. and Miss Mary skipped on and was out of sight when Miss Betsy's

cloak was settled, you may be sure.

“They're only gone to the fly, miss. It's a little way up the street,

away from the crowd of carridges.” And off we turned TO THE RIGHT, and

no mistake.

After marchin a little through the plash and mud, “Has anybody seen

Coxy's fly?” cries I, with the most innocent haxent in the world.

“Cox's fly!” hollows out one chap. “Is it the vaggin you want?” says

another. “I see the blackin wan pass,” giggles out another gentlmn; and

there was such a hinterchange of compliments as you never heerd. I pass

them over though, because some of 'em were not wery genteel.

“Law, miss,” said I, “what shall I do? My master will never forgive me;

and I haven't a single sixpence to pay a coach.” Miss Betsy was just

going to call one when I said that; but the coachman wouldn't have it at

that price, he said, and I knew very well that SHE hadn't four or five

shillings to pay for a wehicle. So, in the midst of that tarin rain,

at midnight, we had to walk four miles, from Westminster Bridge to

Pentonwille; and what was wuss, I DIDN'T HAPPEN TO KNOW THE WAY. A very

nice walk it was, and no mistake.

At about half-past two, we got safe to John Street. My master was at the

garden gate. Miss Mary flew into Miss Betsy's arms, while master begun

cussin and swearing at me for disobeying his orders, and TURNING TO THE

RIGHT INSTEAD OF TO THE LEFT! Law bless me! his hacting of hanger was

very near as natral and as terrybl as Mr. Cartlich's in the play.

They had waited half an hour, he said, in the fly, in the little street

at the left of the theater; they had drove up and down in the greatest

fright possible; and at last came home, thinking it was in vain to wait

any more. They gave her 'ot rum-and-water and roast oysters for supper,

and this consoled her a little.

I hope nobody will cast an imputation on Miss Mary for HER share in this

adventer, for she was as honest a gal as ever lived, and I do believe is

hignorant to this day of our little strattygim. Besides, all's fair in

love; and, as my master could never get to see her alone, on account

of her infernal eleven sisters and ma, he took this opportunity of

expressin his attachment to her.

If he was in love with her before, you may be sure she paid it him back

again now. Ever after the night at Ashley's, they were as tender as two

tuttle-doves--which fully accounts for the axdent what happened to me,

in being kicked out of the room: and in course I bore no mallis.

I don't know whether Miss Betsy still fancied that my master was in love

with her, but she loved muffings and tea, and kem down to his parlor as

much as ever.

Now comes the sing'lar part of my history.

CHAPTER II.

But who was this genlmn with a fine name--Mr. Frederic Altamont? or what

was he? The most mysterus genlmn that ever I knew. Once I said to him on

a wery rainy day, “Sir, shall I bring the gig down to your office?” and

he gave me one of his black looks and one of his loudest hoaths, and

told me to mind my own bizziness, and attend to my orders. Another

day,--it was on the day when Miss Mary slapped Miss Betsy's face,--Miss

M., who adoared him, as I have said already, kep on asking him what was

his buth, parentidg, and ediccation. “Dear Frederic,” says she, “why

this mistry about yourself and your hactions? why hide from your little

Mary”--they were as tender as this, I can tell you--“your buth and your

professin?”

I spose Mr. Frederic looked black, for I was ONLY listening, and he

said, in a voice hagitated by emotion, “Mary,” said he, “if you love

me, ask me this no more: let it be sfishnt for you to know that I am a

honest man, and that a secret, what it would be misery for you to larn,

must hang over all my actions--that is from ten o'clock till six.”

They went on chaffin and talking in this melumcolly and mysterus

way, and I didn't lose a word of what they said; for them houses in

Pentonwille have only walls made of pasteboard, and you hear rayther

better outside the room than in. But, though he kep up his secret, he

swore to her his affektion this day pint blank. Nothing should prevent

him, he said, from leading her to the halter, from makin her his

adoarable wife. After this was a slight silence. “Dearest Frederic,”

mummered out miss, speakin as if she was chokin, “I am yours--yours

for ever.” And then silence agen, and one or two smax, as if there

was kissin going on. Here I thought it best to give a rattle at the

door-lock; for, as I live, there was old Mrs. Shum a-walkin down the

stairs!

It appears that one of the younger gals, a-looking out of the bed-rum

window, had seen my master come in, and coming down to tea half an hour

afterwards, said so in a cussary way. Old Mrs. Shum, who was a dragon of

vertyou, cam bustling down the stairs, panting and frowning, as fat and

as fierce as a old sow at feedin time.

“Where's the lodger, fellow?” says she to me.

I spoke loud enough to be heard down the street--“If you mean, ma'am,

my master, Mr. Frederic Altamont, esquire, he's just stept in, and is

puttin on clean shoes in his bedroom.”

She said nothink in answer, but flumps past me, and opening the

parlor-door, sees master looking very queer, and Miss Mary a-drooping

down her head like a pale lily.

“Did you come into my famly,” says she, “to corrupt my daughters, and to

destroy the hinnocence of that infamous gal? Did you come here, sir, as

a seducer, or only as a lodger? Speak, sir, speak!”--and she folded her

arms quite fierce, and looked like Mrs. Siddums in the Tragic Mews.

“I came here, Mrs. Shum,” said he, “because I loved your daughter, or

I never would have condescended to live in such a beggarly hole. I have

treated her in every respect like a genlmn, and she is as innocent now,

ma'm, as she was when she was born. If she'll marry me, I am ready;

if she'll leave you, she shall have a home where she shall be neither

bullyd nor starved: no hangry frumps of sisters, no cross mother-in-law,

only an affeckshnat husband, and all the pure pleasures of Hyming.”

Mary flung herself into his arms--“Dear, dear Frederic,” says she, “I'll

never leave you.”

“Miss,” says Mrs. Shum, “you ain't a Slamcoe nor yet a Buckmaster, thank

God. You may marry this person if your pa thinks proper, and he may

insult me--brave me--trample on my feelinx in my own house--and there's

no-o-o-obody by to defend me.”

I knew what she was going to be at: on came her histarrix agen, and she

began screechin and roaring like mad. Down comes of course the eleven

gals and old Shum. There was a pretty row. “Look here, sir,” says she,

“at the conduck of your precious trull of a daughter--alone with this

man, kissin and dandlin, and Lawd knows what besides.”

“What, he?” cries Miss Betsy--“he in love with Mary. Oh, the wretch, the

monster, the deceiver!”--and she falls down too, screeching away as loud

as her mamma; for the silly creature fancied still that Altamont had a

fondness for her.

“SILENCE THESE WOMEN!” shouts out Altamont, thundering loud. “I love

your daughter, Mr. Shum. I will take her without a penny, and can afford

to keep her. If you don't give her to me, she'll come of her own will.

Is that enough?--may I have her?”

“We'll talk of this matter, sir,” says Mr. Shum, looking as high and

mighty as an alderman. “Gals, go up stairs with your dear mamma.”--And

they all trooped up again, and so the skrimmage ended.

You may be sure that old Shum was not very sorry to get a husband for

his daughter Mary, for the old creatur loved her better than all the

pack which had been brought him or born to him by Mrs. Buckmaster. But,

strange to say, when he came to talk of settlements and so forth, not

a word would my master answer. He said he made four hundred a year

reglar--he wouldn't tell how--but Mary, if she married him, must share

all that he had, and ask no questions; only this he would say, as he'd

said before, that he was a honest man.

They were married in a few days, and took a very genteel house at

Islington; but still my master went away to business, and nobody knew

where. Who could he be?

CHAPTER III.

If ever a young kipple in the middlin classes began life with a chance

of happiness, it was Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Altamont. There house at

Cannon Row, Islington, was as comfortable as house could be. Carpited

from top to to; pore's rates small; furnitur elygant; and three

deomestix: of which I, in course, was one. My life wasn't so easy as

in Mr. A.'s bachelor days; but, what then? The three W's is my maxum:

plenty of work, plenty of wittles, and plenty of wages. Altamont kep his

gig no longer, but went to the city in an omlibuster.

One would have thought, I say, that Mrs. A., with such an effeckshnut

husband, might have been as happy as her blessid majisty. Nothing of the

sort. For the fust six months it was all very well; but then she grew

gloomier and gloomier, though A. did everythink in life to please her.

Old Shum used to come reglarly four times a wick to Cannon Row, where

he lunched, and dined, and teed, and supd. The pore little man was a

thought too fond of wine and spirits; and many and many's the night that

I've had to support him home. And you may be sure that Miss Betsy did

not now desert her sister: she was at our place mornink, noon, and

night; not much to my mayster's liking, though he was too good-natured

to wex his wife in trifles.

But Betsy never had forgotten the recollection of old days, and hated

Altamont like the foul feind. She put all kind of bad things into

the head of poor innocent missis; who, from being all gayety and

cheerfulness, grew to be quite melumcolly and pale, and retchid, just as

if she had been the most misrable woman in the world.

In three months more, a baby comes, in course, and with it old Mrs.

Shum, who stuck to Mrs.' side as close as a wampire, and made her

retchider and retchider. She used to bust into tears when Altamont

came home: she used to sigh and wheep over the pore child, and say, “My

child, my child, your father is false to me;” or, “your father deceives

me;” or “what will you do when your pore mother is no more?” or such

like sentimental stuff.

It all came from Mother Shum, and her old trix, as I soon found out.

The fact is, when there is a mistry of this kind in the house, its a

servant's DUTY to listen; and listen I did, one day when Mrs. was cryin

as usual, and fat Mrs. Shum a sittin consolin her, as she called it:

though, heaven knows, she only grew wuss and wuss for the consolation.

Well, I listened; Mrs. Shum was a-rockin the baby, and missis cryin as

yousual.

“Pore dear innocint,” says Mrs. S., heavin a great sigh, “you're the

child of a unknown father and a misrable mother.”

“Don't speak ill of Frederic, mamma,” says missis; “he is all kindness

to me.”

“All kindness, indeed! yes, he gives you a fine house, and a fine gownd,

and a ride in a fly whenever you please; but WHERE DOES ALL HIS

MONEY COME FROM? Who is he--what is he? Who knows that he mayn't be a

murderer, or a housebreaker, or a utterer of forged notes? How can he

make his money honestly, when he won't say where he gets it? Why does he

leave you eight hours every blessid day, and won't say where he goes to?

Oh, Mary, Mary, you are the most injured of women!”

And with this Mrs. Shum began sobbin; and Miss Betsy began yowling like

a cat in a gitter; and pore missis cried, too--tears is so remarkable

infeckshus.

“Perhaps, mamma,” wimpered out she, “Frederic is a shop-boy, and don't

like me to know that he is not a gentleman.”

“A shopboy,” says Betsy, “he a shopboy! O no, no, no! more likely a

wretched willain of a murderer, stabbin and robing all day, and feedin

you with the fruits of his ill-gotten games!”

More crying and screechin here took place, in which the baby joined; and

made a very pretty consort, I can tell you.

“He can't be a robber,” cries missis; “he's too good, too kind, for

that: besides, murdering is done at night, and Frederic is always home

at eight.”

“But he can be a forger,” says Betsy, “a wicked, wicked FORGER. Why does

he go away every day? to forge notes, to be sure. Why does he go to

the city? to be near banks and places, and so do it more at his

convenience.”

“But he brings home a sum of money every day--about thirty

shillings--sometimes fifty: and then he smiles, and says it's a good

day's work. This is not like a forger,” said pore Mrs. A.

“I have it--I have it!” screams out Mrs. S. “The villain--the sneaking,

double-faced Jonas! he's married to somebody else he is, and that's why

he leaves you, the base biggymist!”

At this, Mrs. Altamont, struck all of a heap, fainted clean away. A

dreadful business it was--hystarrix; then hystarrix, in course, from

Mrs. Shum; bells ringin, child squalin, suvvants tearin up and down

stairs with hot water! If ever there is a noosance in the world, it's a

house where faintain is always goin on. I wouldn't live in one,--no, not

to be groom of the chambers, and git two hundred a year.

It was eight o'clock in the evenin when this row took place; and such

a row it was, that nobody but me heard master's knock. He came in, and

heard the hooping, and screeching, and roaring. He seemed very much

frightened at first, and said, “What is it?”

“Mrs. Shum's here,” says I, “and Mrs. in astarrix.”

Altamont looked as black as thunder, and growled out a word which I

don't like to name,--let it suffice that it begins with a D and ends

with a NATION; and he tore up stairs like mad.

He bust open the bedroom door; missis lay quite pale and stony on the

sofy; the babby was screechin from the craddle; Miss Betsy was sprawlin

over missis; and Mrs. Shum half on the bed and half on the ground: all

howlin and squeelin, like so many dogs at the moond.

When A. came in, the mother and daughter stopped all of a sudding. There

had been one or two tiffs before between them, and they feared him as if

he had been a hogre.

“What's this infernal screeching and crying about?” says he. “Oh, Mr.

Altamont,” cries the old woman, “you know too well; it's about you that

this darling child is misrabble!”

“And why about me, pray, madam?”

“Why, sir, dare you ask why? Because you deceive her, sir; because you

are a false, cowardly traitor, sir; because YOU HAVE A WIFE ELSEWHERE,

SIR!” And the old lady and Miss Betsy began to roar again as loud as

ever.

Altamont pawsed for a minnit, and then flung the door wide open; nex he

seized Miss Betsy as if his hand were a vice, and he world her out of

the room; then up he goes to Mrs. S. “Get up,” says he, thundering loud,

“you lazy, trolloping, mischsef-making, lying old fool! Get up, and get

out of this house. You have been the cuss and bain of my happyniss

since you entered it. With your d----d lies, and novvle rending, and

histerrix, you have perwerted Mary, and made her almost as mad as

yourself.”

“My child! my child!” shriex out Mrs. Shum, and clings round missis. But

Altamont ran between them, and griping the old lady by her arm, dragged

her to the door. “Follow your daughter, ma'm,” says he, and down she

went. “CHAWLS, SEE THOSE LADIES TO THE DOOR,” he hollows out, “and never

let them pass it again.” We walked down together, and off they went: and

master locked and double-locked the bedroom door after him, intendin,

of course, to have a tator-tator (as they say) with his wife. You may be

sure that I followed up stairs again pretty quick, to hear the result of

their confidence.

As they say at St. Stevenses, it was rayther a stormy debate. “Mary,”

says master, “you're no longer the merry greatful gal I knew and loved

at Pentonwill: there's some secret a pressin on you--there's no

smilin welcom for me now, as there used formly to be! Your mother and

sister-in-law have perwerted you, Mary: and that's why I've drove them

from this house, which they shall not re-enter in my life.”

“O, Frederic! it's YOU is the cause, and not I. Why do you have any

mistry from me? Where do you spend your days? Why did you leave me,

even on the day of your marridge, for eight hours, and continue to do so

every day?”

“Because,” says he, “I makes my livelihood by it. I leave you, and don't

tell you HOW I make it: for it would make you none the happier to know.”

It was in this way the convysation ren on--more tears and questions on

my missises part, more sturmness and silence on my master's: it ended

for the first time since their marridge, in a reglar quarrel. Wery

difrent, I can tell you, from all the hammerous billing and kewing which

had proceeded their nupshuls.

Master went out, slamming the door in a fury; as well he might. Says he,

“If I can't have a comforable life, I can have a jolly one;” and so

he went off to the hed tavern, and came home that evening beesly

intawsicated. When high words begin in a family drink generally follows

on the genlman's side; and then, fearwell to all conjubial happyniss!

These two pipple, so fond and loving, were now sirly, silent, and full

of il wil. Master went out earlier, and came home later; missis cried

more, and looked even paler than before.

Well, things went on in this uncomfortable way, master still in the

mopes, missis tempted by the deamons of jellosy and curosity; until a

singlar axident brought to light all the goings on of Mr. Altamont.

It was the tenth of January; I recklect the day, for old Shum gev me

half a crownd (the fust and last of his money I ever see, by the way):

he was dining along with master, and they were making merry together.

Master said, as he was mixing his fifth tumler of punch and little Shum

his twelfth or so--master said, “I see you twice in the City to-day, Mr.

Shum.”

“Well, that's curous!” says Shum. “I WAS in the City. To-day's the day

when the divvydins (God bless 'em) is paid; and me and Mrs. S. went for

our half-year's inkem. But we only got out of the coach, crossed the

street to the Bank, took our money, and got in agen. How could you see

me twice?”

Altamont stuttered and stammered and hemd, and hawd. “O!” says he, “I

was passing--passing as you went in and out.” And he instantly turned

the conversation, and began talking about pollytix, or the weather, or

some such stuff.

“Yes, my dear,” said my missis, “but how could you see papa TWICE?”

Master didn't answer, but talked pollytix more than ever. Still she

would continy on. “Where was you, my dear, when you saw pa? What were

you doing, my love, to see pa twice?” and so forth. Master looked

angrier and angrier, and his wife only pressed him wuss and wuss.

This was, as I said, little Shum's twelfth tumler; and I knew pritty

well that he could git very little further; for, as reglar as the

thirteenth came, Shum was drunk. The thirteenth did come, and its

consquinzes. I was obliged to leed him home to John Street, where I left

him in the hangry arms of Mrs. Shum.

“How the d--,” sayd he all the way, “how the d-dd--the

deddy--deddy--devil--could he have seen me TWICE?”

CHAPTER IV.

It was a sad slip on Altamont's part, for no sooner did he go out the

next morning than missis went out too. She tor down the street, and

never stopped till she came to her pa's house at Pentonwill. She was

clositid for an hour with her ma, and when she left her she drove

straight to the City. She walked before the Bank, and behind the Bank,

and round the Bank: she came home disperryted, having learned nothink.

And it was now an extraordinary thing that from Shum's house for the

next ten days there was nothing but expyditions into the city. Mrs.

S., tho her dropsicle legs had never carred her half so fur before, was

eternally on the key veve, as the French say. If she didn't go, Miss

Betsy did, or misses did: they seemed to have an attrackshun to the

Bank, and went there as natral as an omlibus.

At last one day, old Mrs. Shum comes to our house--(she wasn't admitted

when master was there, but came still in his absints)--and she wore a

hair of tryumph, as she entered. “Mary,” says she, “where is the money

your husbind brought to you yesterday?” My master used always to give it

to missis when he returned.

“The money, ma!” says Mary. “Why here!” And pulling out her puss, she

showed a sovrin, a good heap of silver, and an odd-looking little coin.

“THAT'S IT! that's it!” cried Mrs. S. “A Queene Anne's sixpence, isn't

it, dear--dated seventeen hundred and three?”

It was so sure enough: a Queen Ans sixpence of that very date.

“Now, my love,” says she, “I have found him! Come with me to-morrow, and

you shall KNOW ALL!”

And now comes the end of my story.

. . . . . .

The ladies nex morning set out for the City, and I walked behind, doing

the genteel thing, with a nosegy and a goold stick. We walked down the

New Road--we walked down the City Road--we walked to the Bank. We were

crossing from that heddyfiz to the other side of Cornhill, when all of a

sudden missis shreeked, and fainted spontaceously away.

I rushed forrard, and raised her to my arms: spiling thereby a new

weskit and a pair of crimson smalcloes. I rushed forrard. I say, very

nearly knocking down the old sweeper who was hobbling away as fast as

posibil. We took her to Birch's; we provided her with a hackney-coach

and every lucksury, and carried her home to Islington.

. . . . . .

That night master never came home. Nor the nex night, nor the nex.

On the fourth day an octioneer arrived; he took an infantry of the

furnitur, and placed a bill in the window.

At the end of the wick Altamont made his appearance. He was haggard and

pale; not so haggard, however, not so pale as his miserable wife.

He looked at her very tendrilly. I may say, it's from him that I coppied

MY look to Miss ----. He looked at her very tendrilly and held out his

arms. She gev a suffycating shreek, and rusht into his umbraces.

“Mary,” says he, “you know all now. I have sold my place; I have got

three thousand pounds for it, and saved two more. I've sold my house

and furnitur, and that brings me another. We'll go abroad and love each

other, has formly.”

And now you ask me, Who he was? I shudder to relate.--Mr. Haltamont SWEP

THE CROSSING FROM THE BANK TO CORNHILL!!

Of cors, I left his servis. I met him, few years after, at

Badden-Badden, where he and Mrs. A. were much respectid, and pass for

pipple of propaty.

THE AMOURS OF MR. DEUCEACE.

DIMOND CUT DIMOND.

The name of my nex master was, if posbil, still more ellygant and

youfonious than that of my fust. I now found myself boddy servant to the

Honrabble Halgernon Percy Deuceace, youngest and fifth son of the Earl

of Crabs.

Halgernon was a barrystir--that is, he lived in Pump Cort, Temple: a

wulgar naybrood, witch praps my readers don't no. Suffiz to say, it's on

the confines of the citty, and the choasen aboad of the lawyers of this

metrappolish.

When I say that Mr. Deuceace was a barrystir, I don't mean that he

went sesshums or surcoats (as they call 'em), but simply that he kep

chambers, lived in Pump Cort, and looked out for a commitionarship, or

a revisinship, or any other place that the Wig guvvyment could give

him. His father was a Wig pier (as the landriss told me), and had been

a Toary pier. The fack is, his lordship was so poar, that he would be

anythink or nothink, to get provisions for his sons and an inkum for

himself.

I phansy that he aloud Halgernon two hundred a year; and it would have

been a very comforable maintenants, only he knever paid him.

Owever, the young genlmn was a genlmn, and no mistake; he got his

allowents of nothing a year, and spent it in the most honrabble and

fashnabble manner. He kep a kab---he went to Holmax--and Crockfud's--he

moved in the most xquizzit suckles and trubbld the law boox very little,

I can tell you. Those fashnabble gents have ways of getten money, witch

comman pipple doan't understand.

Though he only had a therd floar in Pump Cort, he lived as if he had

the welth of Cresas. The tenpun notes floo abowt as common as

haypince--clarrit and shampang was at his house as vulgar as gin; and

verry glad I was, to be sure, to be a valley to a zion of the nobillaty.

Deuceace had, in his sittin-room, a large pictur on a sheet of paper.

The names of his family was wrote on it; it was wrote in the shape of

a tree, a-groin out of a man-in-armer's stomick, and the names were on

little plates among the bows. The pictur said that the Deuceaces kem

into England in the year 1066, along with William Conqueruns. My master

called it his podygree. I do bleev it was because he had this pictur,

and because he was the HONRABBLE Deuceace, that he mannitched to live

as he did. If he had been a common man, you'd have said he was no

better than a swinler. It's only rank and buth that can warrant such

singularities as my master show'd. For it's no use disgysing it--the

Honrabble Halgernon was a GAMBLER. For a man of wulgar family, it's the

wust trade that can be--for a man of common feelinx of honesty, this

profession is quite imposbil; but for a real thoroughbread genlmn, it's

the esiest and most prophetable line he can take.

It may praps appear curious that such a fashnabble man should live in

the Temple; but it must be recklected, that it's not only lawyers who

live in what's called the Ins of Cort. Many batchylers, who have nothink

to do with lor, have here their loginx; and many sham barrysters, who

never put on a wig and gownd twise in their lives, kip apartments in the

Temple, instead of Bon Street, Pickledilly, or other fashnabble places.

Frinstance, on our stairkis (so these houses are called), there was

8 sets of chamberses, and only 3 lawyers. These was bottom floar,

Screwson, Hewson, and Jewson, attorneys; fust floar, Mr. Sergeant

Flabber--opsite, Mr. Counslor Bruffy; and secknd pair, Mr. Haggerstony,

an Irish counslor, praktising at the Old Baly, and lickwise what they

call reporter to the Morning Post nyouspapper. Opsite him was wrote

MR. RICHARD BLEWITT;

and on the thud floar, with my master, lived one Mr. Dawkins.

This young fellow was a new comer into the Temple, and unlucky it was

for him too--he'd better have never been born; for it's my firm apinion

that the Temple ruined him--that is, with the help of my master and Mr.

Dick Blewitt: as you shall hear.

Mr. Dawkins, as I was gave to understand by his young man, had just left

the Universary of Oxford, and had a pretty little fortn of his own--six

thousand pound, or so--in the stox. He was jest of age, an orfin who

had lost his father and mother; and having distinkwished hisself at

Collitch, where he gained seffral prices, was come to town to push his

fortn, and study the barryster's bisness.

Not bein of a very high fammly hisself--indeed, I've heard say his

father was a chismonger, or somethink of that lo sort--Dawkins was glad

to find his old Oxford frend, Mr. Blewitt, yonger son to rich Squire

Blewitt, of Listershire, and to take rooms so near him.

Now, tho' there was a considdrable intimacy between me and Mr. Blewitt's

gentleman, there was scarcely any betwixt our masters,--mine being

too much of the aristoxy to associate with one of Mr. Blewitt's sort.

Blewitt was what they call a bettin man; he went reglar to Tattlesall's,

kep a pony, wore a white hat, a blue berd's-eye handkercher, and a

cut-away coat. In his manners he was the very contrary of my master, who

was a slim, ellygant man as ever I see--he had very white hands, rayther

a sallow face, with sharp dark ise, and small wiskus neatly trimmed and

as black as Warren's jet--he spoke very low and soft--he seemed to be

watchin the person with whom he was in convysation, and always flatterd

everybody. As for Blewitt, he was quite of another sort. He was always

swearin, singing, and slappin people on the back, as hearty as posbill.

He seemed a merry, careless, honest cretur, whom one would trust with

life and soul. So thought Dawkins, at least; who, though a quiet young

man, fond of his boox, novvles, Byron's poems, foot-playing, and such

like scientafic amusemints, grew hand in glove with honest Dick Blewitt,

and soon after with my master, the Honrabble Halgernon. Poor Daw! he

thought he was makin good connexions and real frends--he had fallen in

with a couple of the most etrocious swinlers that ever lived.

Before Mr. Dawkins's arrivial in our house, Mr. Deuceace had barely

condysended to speak to Mr. Blewitt; it was only about a month after

that suckumstance that my master, all of a sudding, grew very friendly

with him. The reason was pretty clear,--Deuceace WANTED HIM. Dawkins had

not been an hour in master's company before he knew that he had a pidgin

to pluck.

Blewitt knew this too: and bein very fond of pidgin, intended to

keep this one entirely to himself. It was amusin to see the Honrabble

Halgernon manuvring to get this poor bird out of Blewitt's clause, who

thought he had it safe. In fact, he'd brought Dawkins to these chambers

for that very porpos, thinking to have him under his eye, and strip him

at leisure.

My master very soon found out what was Mr. Blewitt's game. Gamblers

know gamblers, if not by instink, at least by reputation; and though Mr.

Blewitt moved in a much lower speare than Mr. Deuceace, they knew each

other's dealins and caracters puffickly well.

“Charles you scoundrel,” says Deuceace to me one day (he always spoak in

that kind way), “who is this person that has taken the opsit chambers,

and plays the flute so industrusly?”

“It's Mr. Dawkins, a rich young gentleman from Oxford, and a great

friend of Mr. Blewittses, sir,” says I; “they seem to live in each

other's rooms.”

Master said nothink, but he GRIN'D--my eye, how he did grin. Not the

fowl find himself could snear more satannickly.

I knew what he meant:

Imprimish. A man who plays the floot is a simpleton.

Secknly. Mr. Blewitt is a raskle.

Thirdmo. When a raskle and a simpleton is always together, and when the

simpleton is RICH, one knows pretty well what will come of it.

I was but a lad in them days, but I knew what was what, as well as my

master; it's not gentlemen only that's up to snough. Law bless us! there

was four of us on this stairkes, four as nice young men as you ever see:

Mr. Bruffy's young man, Mr. Dawkinses, Mr. Blewitt's, and me--and

we knew what our masters was about as well as thay did theirselfs.

Frinstance, I can say this for MYSELF, there wasn't a paper in

Deuceace's desk or drawer, not a bill, a note, or mimerandum, which I

hadn't read as well as he: with Blewitt's it was the same--me and his

young man used to read 'em all. There wasn't a bottle of wine that we

didn't get a glass out of, nor a pound of sugar that we didn't have some

lumps of it. We had keys to all the cubbards--we pipped into all the

letters that kem and went---we pored over all the bill-files--we'd the

best pickens out of the dinners, the livvers of the fowls, the forcemit

balls out of the soup, the egs from the sallit. As for the coals

and candles, we left them to the landrisses. You may call this

robry--nonsince--it's only our rights--a suvvant's purquizzits is as

sacred as the laws of Hengland.

Well, the long and short of it is this. Richard Blewitt, esquire, was

sityouated as follows: He'd an incum of three hundred a year from his

father. Out of this he had to pay one hundred and ninety for money

borrowed by him at collidge, seventy for chambers, seventy more for his

hoss, aty for his suvvant on bord wagis, and about three hundred and

fifty for a sepparat establishment in the Regency Park; besides this,

his pockit-money, say a hunderd, his eatin, drinkin, and wine-marchant's

bill, about two hunderd moar. So that you see he laid by a pretty

handsome sum at the end of the year.

My master was diffrent; and being a more fashnable man than Mr. B., in

course he owed a deal more mony. There was fust:

Account contray, at Crockford's L 3711 0 0

Bills of xchange and I. O. U.'s (but he

didn't pay these in most cases) 4963 0 0

21 tailors' bills, in all 1306 11 9

3 hossdealers' do 402 0 0

2 coachbuilder 506 0 0

Bills contracted at Cambridtch 2193 6 8

Sundries 987 10 0

------------

L 14069 8 5

I give this as a curosity--pipple doan't know how in many cases

fashnabble life is carried on; and to know even what a real gnlmn OWES

is somethink instructif and agreeable.

But to my tail. The very day after my master had made the inquiries

concerning Mr. Dawkins, witch I mentioned already, he met Mr. Blewitt on

the stairs; and byoutiffle it was to see how this gnlmn, who had before

been almost cut by my master, was now received by him. One of

the sweetest smiles I ever saw was now vizzable on Mr. Deuceace's

countenance. He held out his hand, covered with a white kid glove, and

said, in the most frenly tone of vice posbill, “What! Mr. Blewitt? It is

an age since we met. What a shame that such near naybors should see each

other so seldom!”

Mr. Blewitt, who was standing at his door, in a pe-green dressing-gown,

smoakin a segar, and singing a hunting coarus, looked surprised,

flattered, and then suspicious.

“Why, yes,” says he, “it is, Mr. Deuceace, a long time.”

“Not, I think, since we dined at Sir George Hookey's. By-the-by, what

an evening that was--hay, Mr. Blewitt? What wine! what capital songs! I

recollect your 'May-day in the morning'--cuss me, the best comick song

I ever heard. I was speaking to the Duke of Doncaster about it only

yesterday. You know the duke, I think?”

Mr. Blewitt said, quite surly, “No, I don't.”

“Not know him!” cries master; “why, hang it, Blewitt! he knows YOU; as

every sporting man in England does, I should think. Why, man, your good

things are in everybody's mouth at Newmarket.”

And so master went on chaffin Mr. Blewitt. That genlmn at fust answered

him quite short and angry: but, after a little more flummery, he grew as

pleased as posbill, took in all Deuceace's flatry, and bleeved all

his lies. At last the door shut, and they both went into Mr. Blewitt's

chambers together.

Of course I can't say what past there; but in an hour master kem up to

his own room as yaller as mustard, and smellin sadly of backo smoke. I

never see any genmln more sick than he was; HE'D BEEN SMOAKIN SEAGARS

along with Blewitt. I said nothink, in course, tho I'd often heard him

xpress his horrow of backo, and knew very well he would as soon swallow

pizon as smoke. But he wasn't a chap to do a thing without a reason: if

he'd been smoakin, I warrant he had smoked to some porpus.

I didn't hear the convysation betwean 'em; but Mr. Blewitt's man did:

it was,--“Well, Mr. Blewitt, what capital seagars! Have you one for

a friend to smoak?” (The old fox, it wasn't only the SEAGARS he was

a-smoakin!) “Walk in,” says Mr. Blewitt; and they began a chaffin

together; master very ankshous about the young gintleman who had come

to live in our chambers, Mr. Dawkins, and always coming back to that

subject,--saying that people on the same stairkis ot to be frenly; how

glad he'd be, for his part, to know Mr. Dick Blewitt, and ANY FRIEND OF

HIS, and so on. Mr. Dick, howsever, seamed quite aware of the trap

laid for him. “I really don't know this Dawkins,” says he: “he's a

chismonger's son, I hear; and tho I've exchanged visits with him, I

doan't intend to continyou the acquaintance,--not wishin to assoshate

with that kind of pipple.” So they went on, master fishin, and Mr.

Blewitt not wishin to take the hook at no price.

“Confound the vulgar thief!” muttard my master, as he was laying on his

sophy, after being so very ill; “I've poisoned myself with his infernal

tobacco, and he has foiled me. The cursed swindling boor! he thinks

he'll ruin this poor Cheese-monger, does he? I'll step in, and WARN

him.”

I thought I should bust a-laffin, when he talked in this style. I knew

very well what his “warning” meant,--lockin the stable-door but stealin

the hoss fust.

Next day, his strattygam for becoming acquainted with Mr. Dawkins we

exicuted; and very pritty it was.

Besides potry and the flute, Mr. Dawkins, I must tell you, had some

other parshallities--wiz., he was very fond of good eatin and drinkin.

After doddling over his music and boox all day, this young genlmn used

to sally out of evenings, dine sumptiously at a tavern, drinkin all

sorts of wine along with his friend Mr. Blewitt. He was a quiet young

fellow enough at fust; but it was Mr. B. who (for his own porpuses, no

doubt,) had got him into this kind of life. Well, I needn't say that he

who eats a fine dinner, and drinks too much overnight, wants a bottle

of soda-water, and a gril, praps, in the morning. Such was Mr. Dawkinses

case; and reglar almost as twelve o'clock came, the waiter from “Dix

Coffy-House” was to be seen on our stairkis, bringing up Mr. D.'s hot

breakfast.

No man would have thought there was anythink in such a trifling

cirkumstance; master did, though, and pounced upon it like a cock on a

barlycorn.

He sent me out to Mr. Morell's in Pickledilly, for wot's called a

Strasbug-pie--in French, a “patty defau graw.” He takes a card, and

nails it on the outside case (patty defaw graws come generally in a

round wooden box, like a drumb); and what do you think he writes on it?

why, as follos:--“For the Honorable Algernon Percy Deuceace, &c. &c. &c.

With Prince Talleyrand's compliments.”

Prince Tallyram's complimints, indeed! I laff when I think of it, still,

the old surpint! He WAS a surpint, that Deuceace, and no mistake.

Well, by a most extrornary piece of ill-luck, the nex day punctially

as Mr. Dawkinses brexfas was coming UP the stairs, Mr. Halgernon Percy

Deuceace was going DOWN. He was as gay as a lark, humming an Oppra tune,

and twizzting round his head his hevy gold-headed cane. Down he went

very fast, and by a most unlucky axdent struck his cane against the

waiter's tray, and away went Mr. Dawkinses gril, kayann, kitchup,

soda-water and all! I can't think how my master should have choas such

an exact time; to be sure, his windo looked upon the court, and he could

see every one who came into our door.

As soon as the axdent had took place, master was in such a rage as, to

be sure, no man ever was in befor; he swoar at the waiter in the most

dreddfle way; he threatened him with his stick, and it was only when he

see that the waiter was rayther a bigger man than hisself that he was

in the least pazzyfied. He returned to his own chambres; and John, the

waiter, went off for more gril to Dixes Coffy-house.

“This is a most unlucky axdent, to be sure, Charles,” says master to me,

after a few minits paws, during witch he had been and wrote a note,

put it into an anvelope, and sealed it with his big seal of arms. “But

stay--a thought strikes me--take this note to Mr. Dawkins, and that pye

you brought yesterday; and hearkye, you scoundrel, if you say where you

got it I will break every bone in your skin!”

These kind of promises were among the few which I knew him to keep: and

as I loved boath my skinn and my boans, I carried the noat, and of cors

said nothink. Waiting in Mr. Dawkinses chambus for a few minnits, I

returned to my master with an anser. I may as well give both of these

documence, of which I happen to have taken coppies:

I.

THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE TO T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ.

“TEMPLE, Tuesday.

“Mr. DEUCEACE presents his compliments to Mr. Dawkins, and begs at

the same time to offer his most sincere apologies and regrets for

the accident which has just taken place.

“May Mr. Deuceace be allowed to take a neighbor's privilege, and to

remedy the evil he has occasioned to the best of his power if Mr.

Dawkins will do him the favor to partake of the contents of the

accompanying case (from Strasbourg direct, and the gift of a

friend, on whose taste as a gourmand Mr. Dawkins may rely), perhaps

he will find that it is not a bad substitute for the plat which Mr.

Deuceace's awkwardness destroyed.

“It will also, Mr. Deuceace is sure, be no small gratification to

the original donor of the 'pate', when he learns that it has fallen

into the hands of so celebrated a bon vivant as Mr. Dawkins.

“T. S. DAWKINS, Esq., &c. &c. &c.”

II.

FROM T. S. DAWKINS, ESQ., TO THE HON. A. P. DEUCEACE.

“MR. THOMAS SMITH DAWKINS presents his grateful compliments to the

Hon. Mr. Deuceace, and accepts with the greatest pleasure Mr.

Deuceace's generous proffer.

“It would be one of the HAPPIEST MOMENTS of Mr. Smith Dawkins's

life, if the Hon. Mr. Deuceace would EXTEND HIS GENEROSITY still

further, and condescend to partake of the repast which his

MUNIFICENT POLITENESS has furnished.

“TEMPLE, Tuesday.”

Many and many a time, I say, have I grin'd over these letters, which

I had wrote from the original by Mr. Bruffy's copyin clark. Deuceace's

flam about Prince Tallyram was puffickly successful. I saw young Dawkins

blush with delite as he red the note; he toar up for or five sheets

before he composed the answer to it, which was as you red abuff, and

roat in a hand quite trembling with pleasyer. If you could but have seen

the look of triumph in Deuceace's wicked black eyes, when he read the

noat! I never see a deamin yet, but I can phansy 1, a holding a writhing

soal on his pitchfrock, and smilin like Deuceace. He dressed himself in

his very best clothes, and in he went, after sending me over to say that

he would except with pleasyour Mr. Dawkins's invite.

The pie was cut up, and a most frenly conversation begun betwixt the two

genlmin. Deuceace was quite captivating. He spoke to Mr. Dawkins in

the most respeckful and flatrin manner,--agread in every think he

said,--prazed his taste, his furniter, his coat, his classick nolledge,

and his playin on the floot; you'd have thought, to hear him, that such

a polygon of exlens as Dawkins did not breath,--that such a modist,

sinsear, honrabble genlmn as Deuceace was to be seen nowhere xcept

in Pump Cort. Poor Daw was complitly taken in. My master said he'd

introduce him to the Duke of Doncaster, and heaven knows how many nobs

more, till Dawkins was quite intawsicated with pleasyour. I know as a

fac (and it pretty well shows the young genlmn's carryter), that he went

that very day and ordered 2 new coats, on porpos to be introjuiced to

the lords in.

But the best joak of all was at last. Singin, swagrin, and swarink--up

stares came Mr. Dick Blewitt. He flung opn Mr. Dawkins's door, shouting

out, “Daw my old buck, how are you?” when, all of a sudden, he sees Mr.

Deuceace: his jor dropt, he turned chocky white, and then burnin red,

and looked as if a stror would knock him down. “My dear Mr. Blewitt,”

says my master, smilin and offring his hand, “how glad I am to see you.

Mr. Dawkins and I were just talking about your pony! Pray sit down.”

Blewitt did; and now was the question, who should sit the other out; but

law bless you! Mr. Blewitt was no match for my master: all the time he

was fidgetty, silent, and sulky; on the contry, master was charmin.

I never herd such a flo of conversatin, or so many wittacisms as he

uttered. At last, completely beat, Mr. Blewitt took his leaf; that

instant master followed him; and passin his arm through that of Mr.

Dick, led him into our chambers, and began talkin to him in the most

affabl and affeckshnat manner.

But Dick was too angry to listen; at last, when master was telling him

some long story about the Duke of Doncaster, Blewitt burst out--

“A plague on the Duke of Doncaster! Come, come, Mr. Deuceace, don't

you be running your rigs upon me; I ain't the man to be bamboozl'd by

long-winded stories about dukes and duchesses. You think I don't know

you; every man knows you and your line of country. Yes, you're after

young Dawkins there, and think to pluck him; but you shan't,--no,

by ---- you shan't.” (The reader must recklect that the oaths which

interspussed Mr. B.'s convysation I have left out.) Well, after he'd

fired a wolley of 'em, Mr. Deuceace spoke as cool as possbill.

“Hark ye, Blewitt. I know you to be one of the most infernal thieves and

scoundrels unhung. If you attempt to hector with me, I will cane you; if

you want more, I'll shoot you; if you meddle between me and Dawkins, I

will do both. I know your whole life, you miserable swindler and coward.

I know you have already won two hundred pounds of this lad, and want

all. I will have half, or you never shall have a penny.” It's quite true

that master knew things; but how was the wonder.

I couldn't see Mr. B.'s face during this dialogue, bein on the wrong

side of the door; but there was a considdrable paws after thuse

complymints had passed between the two genlmn,--one walkin quickly up

and down the room--tother, angry and stupid, sittin down, and stampin

with his foot.

“Now listen to this, Mr. Blewitt,” continues master at last. “If you're

quiet, you shall have half this fellow's money: but venture to win a

shilling from him in my absence, or without my consent, and you do it at

your peril.”

“Well, well, Mr. Deuceace,” cries Dick, “it's very hard, and I must say,

not fair: the game was of my startin, and you've no right to interfere

with my friend.”

“Mr. Blewitt, you are a fool! You professed yesterday not to know this

man, and I was obliged to find him out for myself. I should like to know

by what law of honor I am bound to give him up to you?”

It was charmin to hear this pair of raskles talkin about HONOR. I

declare I could have found it in my heart to warn young Dawkins of the

precious way in which these chaps were going to serve him. But if THEY

didn't know what honor was, I did; and never, never did I tell tails

about my masters when in their sarvice--OUT, in cors, the hobligation is

no longer binding.

Well, the nex day there was a gran dinner at our chambers. White soop,

turbit, and lobstir sos; saddil of Scoch muttn, grous, and M'Arony;

wines, shampang, hock, maderia, a bottle of poart, and ever so many

of clarrit. The compny presint was three; wiz., the Honrabble A. P.

Deuceace, R. Blewitt, and Mr. Dawkins, Exquires. My i, how we genlmn in

the kitchin did enjy it. Mr. Blewittes man eat so much grous (when it

was brot out of the parlor), that I reely thought he would be sik; Mr.

Dawkinses genlmn (who was only abowt 13 years of age) grew so il with

M'Arony and plumb-puddn, as to be obleeged to take sefral of Mr. D's.

pils, which 1/2 kild him. But this is all promiscuous: I an't talkin of

the survants now, but the masters.

Would you bleeve it? After dinner and praps 8 bottles of wine between

the 3, the genlm sat down to ecarty. It's a game where only 2 plays, and

where, in coarse, when there's only 3, one looks on.

Fust, they playd crown pints, and a pound the bett. At this game they

were wonderful equill; and about supper-time (when grilled am, more

shampang, devld biskits, and other things, was brot in) the play stood

thus: Mr. Dawkins had won 2 pounds; Mr. Blewitt 30 shillings; the

Honrabble Mr. Deuceace having lost 3L. l0s. After the devvle and the

shampang the play was a little higher. Now it was pound pints, and five

pound the bet. I thought, to be sure, after hearing the complymints

between Blewitt and master in the morning, that now poor Dawkins's time

was come.

Not so: Dawkins won always, Mr. B. betting on his play, and giving him

the very best of advice. At the end of the evening (which was abowt five

o'clock the nex morning) they stopt. Master was counting up the skore on

a card.

“Blewitt,” says he, “I've been unlucky. I owe you, let me see--yes,

five-and-forty pounds?”

“Five-and-forty,” says Blewitt, “and no mistake!”

“I will give you a cheque,” says the honrabble genlmn.

“Oh! don't mention it, my dear sir!” But master got a grate sheet

of paper, and drew him a check on Messeers. Pump, Algit and Co., his

bankers.

“Now,” says master, “I've got to settle with you, my dear Mr. Dawkins.

If you had backd your luck, I should have owed you a very handsome sum

of money. Voyons, thirteen points at a pound--it is easy to calculate;”

and drawin out his puss, he clinked over the table 13 goolden suverings,

which shon till they made my eyes wink.

So did pore Dawkinses, as he put out his hand, all trembling, and drew

them in.

“Let me say,” added master, “let me say (and I've had some little

experience), that you are the very best ecarte player with whom I ever

sat down.”

Dawkinses eyes glissened as he put the money up, and said, “Law,

Deuceace, you flatter me.”

FLATTER him! I should think he did. It was the very think which master

ment.

“But mind you, Dawkins,” continyoud he, “I must have my revenge; for I'm

ruined--positively ruined by your luck.”

“Well, well,” says Mr. Thomas Smith Dawkins, as pleased as if he had

gained a millium, “shall it be to-morrow? Blewitt, what say you?”

Mr. Blewitt agreed, in course. My master, after a little demurring,

consented too. “We'll meet,” says he, “at your chambers. But mind, my

dear fello, not too much wine: I can't stand it at any time, especially

when I have to play ecarte with YOU.”

Pore Dawkins left our rooms as happy as a prins. “Here, Charles,” says

he, and flung me a sovring. Pore fellow! pore fellow! I knew what was

a-comin!

But the best of it was, that these 13 sovrings which Dawkins won, MASTER

HAD BORROWED THEM FROM MR. BLEWITT! I brought 'em, with 7 more, from

that young genlmn's chambers that very morning: for, since his interview

with master, Blewitt had nothing to refuse him.

Well, shall I continue the tail? If Mr. Dawkins had been the least bit

wiser, it would have taken him six months befoar he lost his money; as

it was, he was such a confunded ninny, that it took him a very short

time to part with it.

Nex day (it was Thursday, and master's acquaintance with Mr. Dawkins

had only commenced on Tuesday), Mr. Dawkins, as I said, gev his

party,--dinner at 7. Mr. Blewitt and the two Mr. D.'s as befoar. Play

begins at 11. This time I knew the bisness was pretty serious, for

we suvvants was packed off to bed at 2 o'clock. On Friday, I went to

chambers--no master--he kem in for 5 minutes at about 12, made a little

toilit, ordered more devvles and soda-water, and back again he went to

Mr. Dawkins's.

They had dinner there at 7 again, but nobody seamed to eat, for all the

vittles came out to us genlmn: they had in more wine though, and must

have drunk at least two dozen in the 36 hours.

At ten o'clock, however, on Friday night, back my master came to his

chambers. I saw him as I never saw him before, namly reglar drunk. He

staggered about the room, he danced, he hickipd, he swoar, he flung me

a heap of silver, and, finely, he sunk down exosted on his bed; I pullin

off his boots and close, and making him comfrabble.

When I had removed his garmints, I did what it's the duty of every

servant to do--I emtied his pockits, and looked at his pockit-book and

all his letters: a number of axdents have been prevented that way.

I found there, among a heap of things, the following pretty dockyment--

I. O. U.

L 4700.

THOMAS SMITH DAWKINS.

Friday, 16th January.

There was another bit of paper of the same kind--“I. 0. U. four hundred

pounds: Richard Blewitt:” but this, in corse, ment nothink.

. . . . . .

Nex mornin, at nine, master was up, and as sober as a judg. He drest,

and was off to Mr. Dawkins. At ten, he ordered a cab, and the two

gentlmn went together.

“Where shall he drive, sir?” says I.

“Oh, tell him to drive to THE BANK.”

Pore Dawkins! his eyes red with remors and sleepliss drunkenniss, gave a

shudder and a sob, as he sunk back in the wehicle; and they drove on.

That day he sold out every hapny he was worth, xcept five hundred

pounds.

. . . . . .

Abowt 12 master had returned, and Mr. Dick Blewitt came stridin up the

stairs with a sollum and important hair.

“Is your master at home?” says he.

“Yes, sir,” says I; and in he walks. I, in coars, with my ear to the

keyhole, listning with all my mite.

“Well,” says Blewitt, “we maid a pretty good night of it, Mr. Deuceace.

Yu've settled, I see, with Dawkins.”

“Settled!” says master. “Oh, yes--yes--I've settled with him.”

“Four thousand seven hundred, I think?”

“About that--yes.”

“That makes my share--let me see--two thousand three hundred and fifty;

which I'll thank you to fork out.”

“Upon my word--why--Mr. Blewitt,” says master, “I don't really

understand what you mean.”

“YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I MEAN!” says Blewitt, in an axent such as I never

before heard. “You don't know what I mean! Did you not promise me that

we were to go shares? Didn't I lend you twenty sovereigns the other

night to pay our losings to Dawkins? Didn't you swear, on your honor as

a gentleman, to give me half of all that might be won in this affair?”

“Agreed, sir,” says Deuceace; “agreed.”

“Well, sir, and now what have you to say?”

“Why, THAT I DON'T INTEND TO KEEP MY PROMISE! You infernal fool and

ninny! do you suppose I was laboring for YOU? Do you fancy I was going

to the expense of giving a dinner to that jackass yonder, that

you should profit by it? Get away, sir! Leave the room, sir! Or,

stop--here--I will give you four hundred pounds--your own note of hand,

sir, for that sum, if you will consent to forget all that has passed

between us, and that you have never known Mr. Algernon Deuceace.”

I've seen pipple angery before now, but never any like Blewitt. He

stormed, groaned, belloed, swoar! At last, he fairly began blubbring;

now cussing and nashing his teeth, now praying dear Mr. Deuceace to

grant him mercy.

At last, master flung open the door (heaven bless us! it's well I didn't

tumble hed over eels into the room!), and said, “Charles, show the

gentleman down stairs!” My master looked at him quite steddy. Blewitt

slunk down, as misrabble as any man I ever see. As for Dawkins, heaven

knows where he was!

. . . . . .

“Charles,” says my master to me, about an hour afterwards, “I'm going to

Paris; you may come, too, if you please.”

FORING PARTS.

It was a singular proof of my master's modesty, that though he had won

this andsome sum of Mr. Dawkins, and was inclined to be as extravygant

and osntatious as any man I ever seed, yet, when he determined on going

to Paris, he didn't let a single frend know of all them winnings of his;

didn't acquaint my Lord Crabs his father, that he was about to leave

his natiff shoars--neigh--didn't even so much as call together his

tradesmin, and pay off their little bills befor his departure.

On the contry, “Chawles,” said he to me, “stick a piece of paper on my

door,” which is the way that lawyers do, “and write 'Back at seven'

upon it.” Back at seven I wrote, and stuck it on our outer oak. And so

mistearus was Deuceace about his continental tour (to all except me),

that when the landriss brought him her account for the last month

(amountain, at the very least, to 2L. 10s.), master told her to leave it

till Monday morning, when it should be properly settled. It's extrodny

how ickonomical a man becomes, when he's got five thousand lbs. in his

pockit.

Back at 7 indeed! At 7 we were a-roalin on the Dover Road, in the

Reglator Coach--master inside, me out. A strange company of people there

was, too, in that wehicle,--3 sailors; an Italyin with his music-box and

munky; a missionary, going to convert the heathens in France; 2 oppra

girls (they call 'em figure-aunts), and the figure-aunts' mothers

inside; 4 Frenchmin, with gingybred caps and mustashes, singing,

chattering, and jesticklating in the most vonderful vay. Such

compliments as passed between them and the figure-aunts! such a munshin

of biskits and sippin of brandy! such “O mong Jews,” and “O sacrrres,”

and “kill fay frwaws!” I didn't understand their languidge at that time,

so of course can't igsplain much of their conwersation; but it pleased

me, nevertheless, for now I felt that I was reely going into foring

parts: which, ever sins I had had any edication at all, was always my

fondest wish. Heavin bless us! thought I, if these are specimeens of

all Frenchmen, what a set they must be. The pore Italyin's monky, sittin

mopin and meluncolly on his box, was not half so ugly, and seamed quite

as reasonabble.

Well, we arrived at Dover--“Ship Hotel” weal cutlets half a ginny,

glas of ale a shilling, glas of neagush, half a crownd, a hapnyworth of

wax-lites four shillings, and so on. But master paid without grumbling;

as long as it was for himself he never minded the expens: and nex day we

embarked in the packit for Balong sir-mare--which means in French, the

town of Balong sityouated on the sea. I who had heard of foring

wonders, expected this to be the fust and greatest: phansy, then, my

disapintment, when we got there, to find this Balong, not situated on

the sea, but on the SHOAR.

But oh! the gettin there was the bisniss. How I did wish for Pump Court

agin, as we were tawsing abowt in the Channel! Gentle reader, av you

ever been on the otion?--“The sea, the sea, the open sea!” as Barry

Cromwell says. As soon as we entered our little wessel, and I'd

looked to master's luggitch and mine (mine was rapt up in a very small

hankercher), as soon, I say, as we entered our little wessel, as soon

as I saw the waives, black and frothy, like fresh drawn porter, a-dashin

against the ribs of our galliant bark, the keal like a wedge, splittin

the billoes in two, the sales a-flaffin in the hair, the standard of

Hengland floating at the mask-head, the steward a-getting ready the

basins and things, the capting proudly tredding the deck and giving

orders to the salers, the white rox of Albany and the bathin-masheens

disappearing in the distans--then, then I felt, for the first time,

the mite, the madgisty of existence. “Yellowplush my boy,” said I, in a

dialogue with myself, “your life is now about to commens--your carear,

as a man, dates from your entrans on board this packit. Be wise, be

manly, be cautious, forgit the follies of your youth. You are no longer

a boy now, but a FOOTMAN. Throw down your tops, your marbles, your

boyish games--throw off your childish habbits with your inky clerk's

jackit--throw up your--”

. . . . . .

Here, I recklect, I was obleeged to stopp. A fealin, in the fust place

singlar, in the next place painful, and at last compleatly overpowering,

had come upon me while I was making the abuff speach, and now I found

myself in a sityouation which Dellixy for Bids me to describe. Suffis to

say, that now I dixcovered what basins was made for--that for many, many

hours, I lay in a hagony of exostion, dead to all intense and porpuses,

the rain pattering in my face, the salers tramplink over my body--the

panes of purgatory going on inside. When we'd been about four hours in

this sityouation (it seam'd to me four ears), the steward comes to that

part of the deck where we servants were all huddled up together, and

calls out “Charles!”

“Well,” says I, gurgling out a faint “yes, what's the matter?”

“You're wanted.”

“Where?”

“Your master's wery ill,” says he, with a grin.

“Master be hanged!” says I, turning round, more misrable than ever. I

woodn't have moved that day for twenty thousand masters--no, not for the

Empror of Russia or the Pop of Room.

Well, to cut this sad subjik short, many and many a voyitch have I sins

had upon what Shakspur calls the “wasty dip,” but never such a retched

one as that from Dover to Balong, in the year Anna Domino 1818. Steemers

were scarce in those days; and our journey was made in a smack. At last,

when I was in a stage of despare and exostion, as reely to phansy myself

at Death's doar, we got to the end of our journey. Late in the evening

we hailed the Gaelic shoars, and hankered in the arbor of Balong

sir-mare.

It was the entrans of Parrowdice to me and master: and as we entered the

calm water, and saw the comfrabble lights gleaming in the houses, and

felt the roal of the vessel degreasing, never was two mortials gladder,

I warrant, than we were. At length our capting drew up at the key, and

our journey was down. But such a bustle and clatter, such jabbering,

such shrieking and swaring, such wollies of oafs and axicrations as

saluted us on landing, I never knew! We were boarded, in the fust place,

by custom-house officers in cock-hats, who seased our luggitch, and

called for our passpots: then a crowd of inn-waiters came, tumbling and

screaming on deck--“Dis way, sare,” cries one; “Hotel Meurice,” says

another; “Hotel de Bang,” screeches another chap--the tower of Babyle

was nothink to it. The fust thing that struck me on landing was a

big fellow with ear-rings, who very nigh knock me down, in wrenching

master's carpet-bag out of my hand, as I was carrying it to the hotell.

But we got to it safe at last; and, for the fust time in my life, I slep

in a foring country.

I shan't describe this town of Balong, which, as it has been visited by

not less (on an avaridg) than two milliums of English since I fust

saw it twenty years ago, is tolrabbly well known already. It's a dingy

melumcolly place, to my mind; the only thing moving in the streets is

the gutter which runs down 'em. As for wooden shoes, I saw few of 'em;

and for frogs, upon my honor I never see a single Frenchman swallow

one, which I had been led to beleave was their reg'lar, though beastly,

custom. One thing which amazed me was the singlar name which they give

to this town of Balong. It's divided, as every boddy knows, into

an upper town (sitouate on a mounting, and surrounded by a wall, or

bullyvar) and a lower town, which is on the level of the sea. Well, will

it be believed that they call the upper town the Hot Veal, and the other

the Base Veal, which is on the contry, genrally good in France, though

the beaf, it must be confest, is excrabble.

It was in the Base Veal that Deuceace took his lodgian, at the Hotel

de Bang, in a very crooked street called the Rue del Ascew; and if he'd

been the Archbishop of Devonshire, or the Duke of Canterbury, he could

not have given himself greater hairs, I can tell you. Nothink was too

fine for us now; we had a sweet of rooms on the first floor, which

belonged to the prime minister of France (at least the landlord said

they were the premier's); and the Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace, who had

not paid his landriss, and came to Dover in a coach, seamed now to think

that goold was too vulgar for him, and a carridge and six would break

down with a man of his weight. Shampang flew about like ginger-pop,

besides bordo, clarit, burgundy, burgong, and other wines, and all the

delixes of the Balong kitchins. We stopped a fortnit at this dull place,

and did nothing from morning till night excep walk on the bench, and

watch the ships going in and out of arber, with one of them long,

sliding opra-glasses, which they call, I don't know why, tallow-scoops.

Our amusements for the fortnit we stopped here were boath numerous and

daliteful; nothink, in fact, could be more pickong, as they say. In the

morning before breakfast we boath walked on the Peer; master in a blue

mareen jackit, and me in a slap-up new livry; both provided with long

sliding opra-glasses, called as I said (I don't know Y, but I suppose

it's a scientafick term) tallow-scoops. With these we igsamined, very

attentively, the otion, the sea-weed, the pebbles, the dead cats, the

fishwimmin, and the waives (like little children playing at leap-frog),

which came tumblin over 1 another on to the shoar. It seemed to me as if

they were scrambling to get there, as well they might, being sick of the

sea, and anxious for the blessid, peaceable terry firmy.

After brexfast, down we went again (that is, master on his beat, and me

on mine,--for my place in this foring town was a complete shinycure),

and putting our tally-scoops again in our eyes, we egsamined a little

more the otion, pebbils, dead cats, and so on; and this lasted till

dinner, and dinner till bedtime, and bedtime lasted till nex day, when

came brexfast, and dinner, and tally-scooping, as before. This is the

way with all people of this town, of which, as I've heard say, there is

ten thousand happy English, who lead this plesnt life from year's end to

year's end.

Besides this, there's billiards and gambling for the gentlemen, a little

dancing for the gals, and scandle for the dowygers. In none of these

amusements did we partake. We were a LITTLE too good to play crown pints

at cards, and never get paid when we won; or to go dangling after the

portionless gals, or amuse ourselves with slops and penny-wist along

with the old ladies. No, no; my master was a man of fortn now, and

behayved himself as sich. If ever he condysended to go into the public

room of the Hotel de Bang--the French (doubtless for reasons best known

to themselves) call this a sallymanjy--he swoar more and lowder than

any one there; he abyoused the waiters, the wittles, the wines. With his

glas in his i, he staired at every body. He took always the place before

the fire. He talked about “my carridge,” “my currier,” “my servant;” and

he did wright. I've always found through life, that if you wish to be

respected by English people, you must be insalent to them, especially

if you are a sprig of nobiliaty. We LIKE being insulted by noblemen,--it

shows they're familiar with us. Law bless us! I've known many and many

a genlmn about town who'd rather be kicked by a lord than not be noticed

by him; they've even had an aw of ME, because I was a lord's footman.

While my master was hectoring in the parlor, at Balong, pretious airs

I gave myself in the kitching, I can tell you; and the consequints was,

that we were better served, and moar liked, than many pipple with twice

our merit.

Deuceace had some particklar plans, no doubt, which kep him so long at

Balong; and it clearly was his wish to act the man of fortune there for

a little time before he tried the character of Paris. He purchased a

carridge, he hired a currier, he rigged me in a fine new livry blazin

with lace, and he past through the Balong bank a thousand pounds of the

money he had won from Dawkins, to his credit at a Paris house; showing

the Balong bankers at the same time, that he'd plenty moar in his

potfolie. This was killin two birds with one stone; the bankers' clerks

spread the nuse over the town, and in a day after master had paid the

money every old dowyger in Balong had looked out the Crabs' family

podigree in the Peeridge, and was quite intimate with the Deuceace name

and estates. If Sattn himself were a lord, I do beleave there's many

vurtuous English mothers would be glad to have him for a son-in-law.

Now, though my master had thought fitt to leave town without

excommunicating with his father on the subject of his intended

continental tripe, as soon as he was settled at Balong he roat my Lord

Crabbs a letter, of which I happen to have a copy. It ran thus:--

“BOULOGNE, January 25.

“MY DEAR FATHER,--I have long, in the course of my legal studies, found

the necessity of a knowledge of French, in which language all the early

history of our profession is written, and have determined to take a

little relaxation from chamber reading, which has seriously injured

my health. If my modest finances can bear a two months' journey, and a

residence at Paris, I propose to remain there that period.

“Will you have the kindness to send me a letter of introduction to Lord

Bobtail, our ambassador? My name, and your old friendship with him, I

know would secure me a reception at his house; but a pressing letter

from yourself would at once be more courteous, and more effectual.

“May I also ask you for my last quarter's salary? I am not an expensive

man, my dear father, as you know; but we are no chameleons, and fifty

pounds (with my little earnings in my profession) would vastly add to

the agremens of my continental excursion.

“Present my love to all my brothers and sisters. Ah! how I wish the

hard portion of a younger son had not been mine, and that I could live

without the dire necessity for labor, happy among the rural scenes of my

childhood, and in the society of my dear sisters and you! Heaven bless

you, dearest father, and all those beloved ones now dwelling under the

dear old roof at Sizes.

“Ever your affectionate son,

“Algernon.

“THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF CRABS, &c.,

SIZES COURT, BUCKS.”

To this affeckshnat letter his lordship replied, by return of poast, as

follos:--

“MY DEAR ALGERNON,--Your letter came safe to hand and I enclose you the

letter for Lord Bobtail as you desire. He is a kind man, and has one of

the best cooks in Europe.

“We were all charmed with your warm remembrances of us, not having seen

you for seven years. We cannot but be pleased at the family affection

which, in spite of time and absence, still clings so fondly to home. It

is a sad, selfish world, and very few who have entered it can afford to

keep those fresh feelings which you have, my dear son.

“May you long retain them, is a fond father's earnest prayer. Be sure,

dear Algernon, that they will be through life your greatest comfort, as

well as your best worldly ally; consoling you in misfortune, cheering

you in depression, aiding and inspiring you to exertion and success.

“I am sorry, truly sorry, that my account at Coutts's is so low,

just now, as to render a payment of your allowance for the present

impossible. I see by my book that I owe you now nine quarters, or 450L.

Depend on it, my dear boy, that they shall be faithfully paid over to

you on the first opportunity.

“By the way, I have enclosed some extracts from the newspapers, which

may interest you: and have received a very strange letter from a Mr.

Blewitt, about a play transaction, which, I suppose, is the case alluded

to in these prints. He says you won 4700L. from one Dawkins: that the

lad paid it; that he, Blewitt, was to go what he calls 'snacks' in the

winning; but that you refused to share the booty. How can you, my dear

boy, quarrel with these vulgar people, or lay yourself in any way open

to their attacks? I have played myself a good deal, and there is no man

living who can accuse me of a doubtful act. You should either have shot

this Blewitt or paid him. Now, as the matter stands, it is too late to

do the former; and, perhaps, it would be Quixotic to perform the latter.

My dearest boy! recollect through life that YOU NEVER CAN AFFORD TO BE

DISHONEST WITH A ROQUE. Four thousand seven hundred pounds was a great

coup, to be sure.

“As you are now in such high feather, can you, dearest Algernon! lend

me five hundred pounds? Upon my soul and honor, I will repay you. Your

brothers and sisters send you their love. I need not add, that you have

always the blessings of your affectionate father,

“CRABS.”

“P.S.--Make it 500, and I will give you my note-of-hand for a thousand.”

. . . . . .

I needn't say that this did not QUITE enter into Deuceace's eyedears.

Lend his father 500 pound, indeed! He'd as soon have lent him a box on

the year! In the fust place, he hadn seen old Crabs for seven years, as

that nobleman remarked in his epistol; in the secknd he hated him, and

they hated each other; and nex, if master had loved his father ever

so much, he loved somebody else better--his father's son, namely: and

sooner than deprive that exlent young man of a penny, he'd have sean all

the fathers in the world hangin at Newgat, and all the “beloved ones,”

as he called his sisters, the Lady Deuceacisses, so many convix at

Bottomy Bay.

The newspaper parrografs showed that, however secret WE wished to keep

the play transaction, the public knew it now full well. Blewitt, as I

found after, was the author of the libels which appeared right and left:

“GAMBLING IN HIGH LIFE--the HONORABLE Mr. D--c--ce again!--This

celebrated whist-player has turned his accomplishments to some profit.

On Friday, the 16th January, he won five thousand pounds from a VERY

young gentleman, Th-m-s Sm-th D-wk-ns, Esq., and lost two thousand five

hundred to R. Bl-w-tt, Esq., of the T-mple. Mr. D. very honorably paid

the sum lost by him to the honorable whist-player, but we have not heard

that, BEFORE HIS SUDDEN TRIP TO PARIS, Mr. D--uc--ce paid HIS losings to

Mr. Bl-w-tt.”

Nex came a “Notice to Corryspondents:”

“Fair Play asks us, if we know of the gambling doings of the notorious

Deuceace? We answer, WE DO; and, in our very next Number, propose to

make some of them public.”

. . . . . .

They didn't appear, however; but, on the contry, the very same

newspeper, which had been before so abusiff of Deuceace, was now loud in

his praise. It said:--

“A paragraph was inadvertently admitted into our paper of last week,

most unjustly assailing the character of a gentleman of high birth and

talents, the son of the exemplary E-rl of Cr-bs. We repel, with scorn

and indignation, the dastardly falsehoods of the malignant slanderer

who vilified Mr. De--ce-ce, and beg to offer that gentleman the only

reparation in our power for having thus tampered with his unsullied

name. We disbelieve the RUFFIAN and HIS STORY, and most sincerely

regret that such a tale, or SUCH A WRITER, should ever have been brought

forward to the readers of this paper.”

This was satisfactory, and no mistake: and much pleased we were at the

denial of this conshentious editor. So much pleased that master sent

him a ten-pound noat, and his complymints. He'd sent another to the same

address, BEFORE this parrowgraff was printed; WHY, I can't think: for I

woodn't suppose any thing musnary in a littery man.

Well, after this bisniss was concluded, the currier hired, the carridge

smartened a little, and me set up in my new livries, we bade ojew to

Bulong in the grandest state posbill. What a figure we cut! and, my i,

what a figger the postillion cut! A cock-hat, a jackit made out of a

cow's skin (it was in cold weather), a pig-tale about 3 fit in length,

and a pair of boots! Oh, sich a pare! A bishop might almost have

preached out of one, or a modrat-sized famly slep in it. Me and Mr.

Schwigshhnaps, the currier, sate behind in the rumbill; master aloan in

the inside, as grand as a Turk, and rapt up in his fine fir-cloak. Off

we sett, bowing gracefly to the crowd; the harniss-bells jinglin, the

great white hosses snortin, kickin, and squeelin, and the postilium

cracking his wip, as loud as if he'd been drivin her majesty the quean.

. . . . . .

Well, I shan't describe our voyitch. We passed sefral sitties,

willitches, and metrappolishes; sleeping the fust night at Amiens,

witch, as everyboddy knows, is famous ever since the year 1802 for

what's called the Pease of Amiens. We had some, very good, done with

sugar and brown sos, in the Amiens way. But after all the boasting about

them, I think I like our marrowphats better.

Speaking of wedgytables, another singler axdent happened here concarning

them. Master, who was brexfasting before going away, told me to go and

get him his fur travling-shoes. I went and toald the waiter of the

inn, who stared, grinned (as these chaps always do), said “Bong” (which

means, very well), and presently came back.

I'M BLEST IF HE DIDN'T BRING MASTER A PLATE OF CABBITCH! Would you

bleave it, that now, in the nineteenth sentry, when they say

there's schoolmasters abroad, these stewpid French jackasses are so

extonishingly ignorant as to call a CABBIDGE a SHOO! Never, never let

it be said, after this, that these benighted, souperstitious, misrabble

SAVIDGES, are equill, in any respex, to the great Brittish people. The

moor I travvle, the moor I see of the world, and other natiums, I am

proud of my own, and despise and deplore the retchid ignorance of the

rest of Yourup.

. . . . . .

My remarks on Parris you shall have by an early opportunity. Me and

Deuceace played some curious pranx there, I can tell you.

MR. DEUCEACE AT PARIS.

CHAPTER I.

THE TWO BUNDLES OF HAY.

Lieutenant-General Sir George Griffin, K.C.B., was about seventy-five

years old when he left this life, and the East Ingine army, of which he

was a distinguished ornyment. Sir George's first appearance in Injar was

in the character of a cabbingboy to a vessel; from which he rose to be

clerk to the owners at Calcutta, from which he became all of a sudden a

capting in the Company's service; and so rose and rose, until he rose to

be a leftenant-general, when he stopped rising altogether--hopping the

twig of this life, as drummers, generals, dustmen, and emperors must do.

Sir George did not leave any mal hair to perpetuate the name of Griffin.

A widow of about twenty-seven, and a daughter avaritching twenty-three,

was left behind to deploar his loss, and share his proppaty. On old Sir

George's deth, his interesting widdo and orfan, who had both been with

him in Injer, returned home--tried London for a few months, did not

like it, and resolved on a trip to Paris; where very small London people

become very great ones, if they've money, as these Griffinses had.

The intelligent reader need not be told that Miss Griffin was not the

daughter of Lady Griffin; for though marritches are made tolrabbly early

in Injer, people are not quite so precoashoos as all that: the fact is,

Lady G. was Sir George's second wife. I need scarcely add, that Miss

Matilda Griffin wos the offspring of his fust marritch.

Miss Leonora Kicksey, a ansum, lively Islington gal, taken out to

Calcutta, and, amongst his other goods, very comfortably disposed of

by her uncle, Capting Kicksey, was one-and-twenty when she married Sir

George at seventy-one; and the 13 Miss Kickseys, nine of whom kep a

school at Islington (the other 4 being married variously in the city),

were not a little envius of my lady's luck, and not a little proud of

their relationship to her. One of 'em, Miss Jemima Kicksey, the oldest,

and by no means the least ugly of the sett, was staying with her

ladyship, and gev me all the partecklars. Of the rest of the famly,

being of a lo sort, I in course no nothink; MY acquaintance, thank my

stars, don't lie among them, or the likes of them.

Well, this Miss Jemima lived with her younger and more fortnat sister,

in the qualaty of companion, or toddy. Poar thing! I'd a soon be a gally

slave, as lead the life she did! Every body in the house despised her;

her ladyship insulted her; the very kitching gals scorned and flouted

her. She roat the notes, she kep the bills, she made the tea, she

whipped the chocklate, she cleaned the canary birds, and gev out the

linning for the wash. She was my lady's walking pocket, or rettycule;

and fetched and carried her handkercher, or her smell-bottle, like a

well-bred spaniel. All night, at her ladyship's swarries, she thumped

kidrills (nobody ever thought of asking HER to dance!); when Miss

Griffing sung, she played the piano, and was scolded because the singer

was out of tune; abommanating dogs, she never drove out without her

ladyship's puddle in her lap; and, reglarly unwell in a carriage, she

never got anything but the back seat. Poar Jemima! I can see her now

in my lady's SECKND-BEST old clothes (the ladies'-maids always got the

prime leavings): a liloc sattn gown, crumpled, blotched, and greasy; a

pair of white sattn shoes, of the color of Inger rubber; a faded yellow

velvet hat, with a wreath of hartifishl flowers run to sead, and a bird

of Parrowdice perched on the top of it, melumcolly and moulting, with

only a couple of feathers left in his unfortunate tail.

Besides this ornyment to their saloon, Lady and Miss Griffin kept a

number of other servants in the kitching; 2 ladies'-maids; 2 footmin,

six feet high each, crimson coats, goold knots, and white cassymear

pantyloons; a coachmin to match; a page: and a Shassure, a kind

of servant only known among forriners, and who looks more like a

major-general than any other mortial, wearing a cock-hat, a unicorn

covered with silver lace, mustashos, eplets, and a sword by his side.

All these to wait upon two ladies; not counting a host of the fair sex,

such as cooks, scullion, housekeepers, and so forth.

My Lady Griffin's lodging was at forty pound a week, in a grand sweet

of rooms in the Plas Vandome at Paris. And, having thus described their

house, and their servants' hall, I may give a few words of description

concerning the ladies themselves.

In the fust place, and in coarse, they hated each other. My lady was

twenty-seven--a widdo of two years--fat, fair, and rosy. A slow, quiet,

cold-looking woman, as those fair-haired gals generally are, it seemed

difficult to rouse her either into likes or dislikes; to the former,

at least. She never loved any body but ONE, and that was herself. She

hated, in her calm, quiet way, almost every one else who came near

her--every one, from her neighbor, the duke, who had slighted her at

dinner, down to John the footman, who had torn a hole in her train. I

think this woman's heart was like one of them lithograffic stones, you

CAN'T RUB OUT ANY THING when once it's drawn or wrote on it; nor could

you out of her ladyship's stone--heart, I mean--in the shape of an

affront, a slight, or real, or phansied injury. She boar an exlent,

irreprotchable character, against which the tongue of scandal never

wagged. She was allowed to be the best wife posbill--and so she was; but

she killed her old husband in two years, as dead as ever Mr. Thurtell

killed Mr. William Weare. She never got into a passion, not she--she

never said a rude word; but she'd a genius--a genius which many women

have--of making A HELL of a house, and tort'ring the poor creatures of

her family, until they were wellnigh drove mad.

Miss Matilda Griffin was a good deal uglier, and about as amiable as

her mother-in-law. She was crooked, and squinted; my lady, to do her

justice, was straight, and looked the same way with her i's. She was

dark, and my lady was fair--sentimental, as her ladyship was cold. My

lady was never in a passion--Miss Matilda always; and awfille were the

scenes which used to pass between these 2 women, and the wickid, wickid

quarls which took place. Why did they live together? There was the

mistry. Not related, and hating each other like pison, it would surely

have been easier to remain seprat, and so have detested each other at a

distans.

As for the fortune which old Sir George had left, that, it was clear,

was very considrabble--300 thousand lb. at the least, as I have heard

say. But nobody knew how it was disposed of. Some said that her ladyship

was sole mistriss of it, others that it was divided, others that she had

only a life inkum, and that the money was all to go (as was natral) to

Miss Matilda. These are subjix which are not praps very interesting to

the British public, but were mighty important to my master, the

Honrable Algernon Percy Deuceace, esquire, barrister-at-law, etsettler,

etsettler.

For I've forgot to inform you that my master was very intimat in this

house; and that we were now comfortably settled at the Hotel Mirabew

(pronounced Marobo in French), in the Rew delly Pay, at Paris. We had

our cab, and two riding horses; our banker's book, and a thousand pound

for a balantz at Lafitt's; our club at the corner of the Rew Gramong;

our share in a box at the oppras; our apartments, spacious and elygant;

our swarries at court; our dinners at his excellency Lord Bobtail's

and elsewhere. Thanks to poar Dawkins's five thousand pound, we were as

complete gentlemen as any in Paris.

Now my master, like a wise man as he was, seaing himself at the head of

a smart sum of money, and in a country where his debts could not bother

him, determined to give up for the present every think like gambling--at

least, high play; as for losing or winning a ralow of Napoleums at whist

or ecarty, it did not matter; it looks like money to do such things, and

gives a kind of respectabilaty. “But as for play, he wouldn't--oh no!

not for worlds!--do such a thing.” He HAD played, like other young men

of fashn, and won and lost [old fox! he didn't say he had PAID]; but he

had given up the amusement, and was now determined, he said, to live

on his inkum. The fact is, my master was doing his very best to act

the respectable man: and a very good game it is, too; but it requires a

precious great roag to play it.

He made his appearans reglar at church--me carrying a handsome large

black marocky Prayer-book and Bible, with the psalms and lessons marked

out with red ribbings; and you'd have thought, as I graivly laid the

volloms down before him, and as he berried his head in his nicely

brushed hat, before service began, that such a pious, proper morl, young

nobleman was not to be found in the whole of the peeridge. It was a

comfort to look at him. Efry old tabby and dowyger at my Lord Bobtail's

turned up the wights of their i's when they spoke of him, and vowed they

had never seen such a dear, daliteful, exlent young man. What a good son

he must be, they said; and oh, what a good son-in-law! He had the pick

of all the English gals at Paris before we had been there 3 months. But,

unfortunately, most of them were poar; and love and a cottidge was not

quite in master's way of thinking.

Well, about this time my Lady Griffin and Miss G. made their appearants

at Parris, and master, who was up to snough, very soon changed his noat.

He sate near them at chapple, and sung hims with my lady: he danced with

'em at the embassy balls; he road with them in the Boy de Balong and

the Shandeleasies (which is the French High Park); he roat potry in Miss

Griffin's halbim, and sang jewets along with her and Lady Griffin; he

brought sweet-meats for the puddle-dog; he gave money to the footmin,

kissis and gloves to the sniggering ladies'-maids; he was sivvle even

to poar Miss Kicksey; there wasn't a single soal at the Griffinses that

didn't adoar this good young man.

The ladies, if they hated befoar, you may be sure detested each other

now wuss than ever. There had been always a jallowsy between them:

miss jellows of her mother-in-law's bewty; madam of miss's espree: miss

taunting my lady about the school at Islington, and my lady sneering at

miss for her squint and her crookid back. And now came a stronger caws.

They both fell in love with Mr. Deuceace--my lady, that is to say, as

much as she could, with her cold selfish temper. She liked Deuceace, who

amused her and made her laff. She liked his manners, his riding, and his

good loox; and being a pervinew herself had a dubble respect for real

aristocratick flesh and blood. Miss's love, on the contry, was all flams

and fury. She'd always been at this work from the time she had been at

school, where she very nigh run away with a Frentch master; next with

a footman (which I may say, in confidence, is by no means unnatral or

unusyouall, as I COULD SHOW IF I LIKED); and so had been going on sins

fifteen. She reglarly flung herself at Deuceace's head--such sighing,

crying, and ogling, I never see. Often was I ready to bust out laffin,

as I brought master skoars of rose-colored billydoos, folded up like

cockhats, and smellin like barber's shops, which this very tender young

lady used to address to him. Now, though master was a scoundrill and no

mistake, he was a gentlemin, and a man of good breading; and miss CAME

A LITTLE TOO STRONG (pardon the wulgarity of the xpression) with her

hardor and attachmint, for one of his taste. Besides, she had a crookid

spine, and a squint; so that (supposing their fortns tolrabbly equal)

Deuceace reely preferred the mother-in-law.

Now, then, it was his bisniss to find out which had the most money. With

an English famly this would have been easy: a look at a will at Doctor

Commons'es would settle the matter at once. But this India naybob's

will was at Calcutty, or some outlandish place; and there was no getting

sight of a coppy of it. I will do Mr. Algernon Deuceace the justass to

say, that he was so little musnary in his love for Lady Griffin, that he

would have married her gladly, even if she had ten thousand pounds less

than Miss Matilda. In the meantime, his plan was to keep 'em both in

play, until he could strike the best fish of the two--not a difficult

matter for a man of his genus: besides, Miss was hooked for certain.