"If," said Mr Bombasty, "you had lost your intellect, I am a voluntary
contributor, and could have got you chains and a keeper in Bedlam. If
you had broken a limb, I am a life-governor, and it would have been a
pleasure to me to send you to the hospital. But you may as well ask me
to put life into a dead man, as to be of service to a creature who has
lost his security. You had better die at once. It would be a happy
release. I speak as a friend."
"Thank you, sir," said I.
"I hear complaints against you, but I don't listen to them. Every thing
is swallowed up in one remarkable fact. Your security has let you down.
You must go about your business. I speak as the president of this
Christian society, and not, I hope, without the feelings of a man. The
treasurer will pay your salary immediately, and we dispense with your
services."
"What am I to do?" I asked, half aloud.
"Just the best you can," answered the gentleman. "The audience is at an
end."
Mr Bombasty said no more, but drew from his coat pocket a snuff-box of
enormous dimensions. From it he grasped between his thumb and finger a
moderate handful of stable-smelling dust. His nose and India
handkerchief partook of it in equal shares, and then he rang his bell
with presidential dignity, and ordered up his customary lunch of chops
and porter. A few hours afterwards I was again upon the world, ready to
begin the fight of life anew, and armed with fifteen guineas for the
coming struggle. Mr Clayton had kept his word with me, and did not
desert me until I was once more fairly on the road to ruin.
One of the first consequences of my unlooked-for meeting with the
faithful Thompson, was the repayment of the five shillings which he had
so generously spared me when I was about to leave him for Birmingham,
without as many pence in my scrip. During my absence, however, fortune
had placed my honest friend in a new relation to a sum of this value.
Five shillings were not to him, as before, sixty pence. The proprietor
of the house in which he lived, and which he had found it so difficult
to let out to his satisfaction, had died suddenly, and had thought
proper to bequeath to his tenant the bulk of his property, amounting,
perhaps, to five thousand pounds. Thompson, who was an upholsterer by
trade, left the workshop in which he was employed as journeyman
immediately, and began to work upon his own account. He was a prosperous
and a thriving man when I rejoined him. His manner was, as the reader
has seen, kind and straightforward as ever, and the only change that his
wealth had wrought in him, was that which gold may be supposed to work a
heart alive to its duties, simple and honest in its intentions, and
lacking only the means to make known its strong desire of usefulness.
His generosity had kept pace with his success, his good wishes
outstripped both. His home was finer, yet scarcely more sightly and
happier than the one large room, which, with its complement of ten
children, sire and dame, had still a nook for the needy and friendless
stranger. The old house had been made over for a twelvemonth to the
various tenants, free of all charge. At the end of that period it was
the intention of Thompson to pull it down, and build a better in its
place. A young widow, with her three orphans, lodged on the attic floor,
and the grateful prayers of the four went far to establish the buoyancy
of the landlord's spirit, and to maintain the smile that seldom departed
from his manly cheek. Well might the poor creature, whom I once visited
in her happy lodging, talk of the sin of destroying so comfortable a
residence, and feel assured, that "let them build a palace, they would
never equal the present house, or make a sleeping-room where a body
might rest so peacefully and well." Thompson's mode of life had scarcely
varied. He was not idle amongst his men. When labour was suspended, he
was with his children; another had been added to the number, and there
were now eleven to relieve him of the superabundant profits created in
the manufactory. Mrs Thompson was still a noble housewife, worthy of her
husband. All was care, cleanliness, and economy at home. Griping stint
would never have been tolerated by the hospitable master, and virtuous
plenty only was admitted by the prudent wife. Had there been a oneness
in the religious views of this good couple, _Paradise_ would have been a
word fit to write beneath the board that made known to men John
Thompson's occupation; but this, alas! was wanting to complete a scene
that otherwise looked rather like perfection. The great enemy of man
seeks in many ways to defeat the benevolent aims of Providence. Thompson
had remained at home one Sunday afternoon to smoke a friendly pipe with
an old acquaintance, when he should have gone to church. His wife set
out alone. Satan took advantage of her husband's absence, drew her to
chapel, and made her--a _dissenter_. This was Thompson's statement of
the case, and severer punishment, he insisted, had never been inflicted
on a man for Sabbath-breaking.
When I was dismissed by Mr Bombasty, it was a natural step to walk
towards the abode of the upholsterer. I knew his hour for supper, and
his long hour after that for ale, and pipe, and recreation. I was not in
doubt as to my welcome. Mrs Thompson had given me a general invitation
to supper, "because," she said, "it did Thompson good to chat after a
hard day's work;" and the respected Thompson himself had especially
invited me to the long hour afterwards, "because," he added, "it did the
ale and 'baccy good, who liked it so much better to go out of this here
wicked world in company." About seven o'clock in the evening I found
myself under their hospitable roof, seated in the room devoted to the
general purposes of the house. It was large, and comfortably furnished.
The walls were of wainscot, painted white, and were graced with two
paintings. One, a family group, consisting of Thompson, wife, and eight
children, most wretchedly executed, was the production of a slowly
rising artist, a former lodger of my friend's, who had contrived to
compound with his easy landlord for two years and three quarters' rent,
with this striking display of his ability. Thompson was prouder of this
picture than of the originals themselves, if that were possible. The
design had been his own, and had cost him, as he was ready and even
anxious to acknowledge, more time and trouble than he had ever given
before, or meant to give again, to any luxury in life. The artist, as I
was informed, had endeavoured to reduce to form some fifty different
schemes that had arisen in poor Thompson's brain, but had failed in
every one, so difficult he found it to introduce the thousand and one
effects that the landlord deemed essential to the subject. His first
idea had been to bring upon the canvass every feature of his life from
boyhood upwards. This being impracticable, he wished to bargain for at
least the workshop and the private residence. The lodgers, he thought,
might come into the background well, and the tools, peeping from a
basket in the corner, would look so much like life and nature. The
upshot of his plans was the existing work of art, which Thompson
considered matchless, and pronounced "dirt cheap, if he had even given
the fellow a seven years' lease of the entire premises." The situations
were striking certainly. In the centre of the picture were two high
chairs, on which were seated, as grave as judges, the heads of the
establishment. They sat there, drawn to their full height, too dignified
to look at one another, and yet displaying a fond attachment, by a
joining of the hands. The youngest child had clambered to the father's
knee, and, with a chisel, was digging at his nose, wonderful to say,
without disturbing the stoic equanimity that had settled on the father's
face. This was the favourite son. Another, with a plane larger than
himself, was menacing the mother's knee. The remaining six had each a
tool, and served in various ways to effect most artfully the beloved
purpose of the vain upholsterer's heart--viz. the introduction of the
entire workshop. The second painting in the centre of the opposite wall,
represented Mr Clayton. The likeness was a failure, and the colours were
coarse and glaring; but there needed no instruction to know that the
carefully framed production attempted to portray the unenviable man,
who, in spite of his immorality and shameless life, was still revered
and idolized by the blind disciples who had taken him for their guide.
This portrait was Mrs Thompson's peculiar property. There were no other
articles of _virtu_ in the spacious apartment; but cleanliness and
decorum bestowed upon it a grace, the absence of which no idle
decoration could supply. Early as the hour was, a saucepan was on the
fire, whose bubbling water was busy with the supper that at half-past
eight must meet the assault of many knives and forks. John Thompson and
two sons--the eldest--were working in the shop. They had been there with
little intermission since six that morning. The honest man was fond of
work; so was he of his children--yes, dearly fond of _them_, and they
must share with him the evening meal; and he must have them all about
him; and he must help them all, and see them eat, and look with manly
joy and pride upon the noisy youngsters, for whom his lusty arm had
earned the bread that came like manna to him--so wholesome and so sweet!
Three girls, humbly but neatly dressed, the three first steps of this
great human ladder, were seated at a table administering to the
necessities of sundry shirts and stockings that had suffered sensibly in
their last week's struggle through the world. _They_ were indeed a
picture worth the looking at. You grew a better man in gazing on their
innocence and industry. What a lesson stole from their quiet and
contented looks, their patient perseverance, their sweet unity! How
shining smooth the faces, how healthy, and how round, and how impossible
it seemed for wrinkles ever to disturb the fine and glossy surface!
Modesty never should forsake the humble; the bosom of the lowly born
should be her home. Here she had enshrined herself, and given to
simplicity all her dignity and truth. They worked and worked on; who
should tell which was the most assiduous--which the fairest--which the
most eager and successful to increase the happiness of all! And turn to
Billy there, that half-tamed urchin! that likeness in little of his
sire, rocking not so much against his will, as against conviction, the
last of all the Thompsons--a six months' infant in the wicker cradle.
How, obedient to his mother's wish, like a little man at first, he rocks
with all his might, and then irregularly, and at long intervals--by fits
and starts--and ceases altogether very soon, bobbing his curly head, and
falling gently into a deep mesmeric sleep. The older lads are making
wooden boats, and two, still older, stand on either side their mother. A
book is in the hands of each, full of instruction and fine learning. It
was the source of all their knowledge, the cause of all their earliest
woes. Good Mrs Thompson had been neglected as a child, and was
enthusiastic in the cause of early education. Sometimes they looked into
the book, but oftener still they cast attentive eyes upon the fire, as
if "the book of knowledge fair" was there displayed, and not a noisy
saucepan, almost unable to contain itself for joy of the cod's head and
shoulders, that must be ready by John Thompson's supper time. The whole
family were my friends--with the boys I was on terms of warmest
intimacy, and smiles and nods, and shouts and cheers, welcomed me
amongst them.
"Now, close your book, Bob," said the mother, soon after I was seated,
"and, Alec, give me yours. Put your hands down, turn from the fire, and
look up at me, dears. What is the capital of Russia?"
"The Birman empire," said Alec, with unhesitating confidence.
"The Baltic sea," cried Bob, emulous and ardent.
"Wait--not so fast; let me see, my dears, which of you is right."
Mrs Thompson appealed immediately to her book, after a long and private
communication with which, she emphatically pronounced both wrong.
"Give us a chance, mother," said Bob in a wheedling tone, (Bob knew his
mother's weaknesses.) "Them's such hard words. I don't know how it is,
but I never can remember 'em. Just tell us the first syllable--oh, do
now--please."
"Oh, I know now!" cried Alec. "It's something with a G in it."
"Think of the apostles, dears. What are the names of the apostles?"
"Why, there's Moses," began Bob, counting on his fingers, "and there's
Sammywell, and there's Aaron, and Noah's ark"----
"Stop, my dear," said Mrs Thompson, who was very busy with her manual,
and contriving a method of rendering a solution of her question easy.
"Just begin again. I said--who was Peter--no, not that--who was an
apostle?"
"Oh, I know now!" cried Alec again, (Alec was the sharp boy of the
family.) "It's Peter. Peter's the capital of Russia."
"No, not quite my dear. You are very warm--very warm indeed, but not
quite hot. Try again."
"Paul," half murmured Robert, with a reckless hope of proving right.
"No, Peter's right; but there's something else. What has your father
been taking down the beds for?"
There was a solemn silence, and the three industrious sisters blushed
the faintest blush that could be raised upon a maiden's cheek.
"To rub that stuff upon the walls," said the ready Alec.
"Yes, but what was it to kill?" continued the instructress.
"The fleas," said Bob.
"Worse than that, my dear."
"Oh, I know now," shrieked Alec, for the third time. "_Petersbug's_ the
capital of Russia."
Mrs Thompson looked at me with pardonable vanity and triumph, and I
bestowed upon the successful students a few comfits which I had
purchased on my road for my numerous and comfit-loving friends. The mere
sight of this sweet "reward of merit" immediately inspired the two boys
at work upon the boats with a desire for knowledge, and especially for
learning the capitals of countries, that was most agreeable to
contemplate. The lesson was continued, more to my amusement, I fear,
than the edification of the pupils. The boys were unable to answer a
single question until they had had so many _chances_, and had become so
very _hot_, that not to have answered at length would have bordered on
the miraculous. The persevering governess was not displeased at this,
for she would not have lost the opportunity of displaying her own skill
in metaphorical illustration, for a great deal, I am very sure. The
clock struck eight; there was a general movement. The three sisters
folded their work, and lodged it carefully in separate drawers. The
eldest then produced the table-cloth, knives, forks, and spoons. The
second exhibited bibs and pinafores; and the third brought from their
hiding-places a dozen modest chairs, and placed them round the table.
Bob assured the company "he was _so_ hungry;" Alec said, "so was he;"
and the boatmen, in an under tone, settled what should be done with the
great cod's eyes, which, they contended, were the best parts of the
fish, and "shouldn't they be glad if father would give 'em one a-piece."
The good woman must enquire, of course, how nearly the much-relished
dainty had reached the critical and interesting state when it became
most palatable to John Thompson; for John Thompson was an epicure, "and
must have his little bits of things done to a charm, or not at all."
Half-past eight had struck. The family were bibbed and pinafored; the
easy coat and slippers were at the fire, and warmed through and
through--it was a season of intenseness. "Here's father!" shouted Alec,
and all the bibs and pinafores rushed like a torrent to the door. Which
shall the father catch into his ready arms, which kiss, which hug, which
answer?--all are upon him; they know their playmate, their companion,
and best friend; they have hoarded up, since the preceding night, a
hundred things to say, and now they have got their loving and attentive
listener. "Look what I have done, father," says the chief boatman, "Tom
and I together." "Well done, boys!" says the father--and Tom and he are
kissed. "I have been _l_ocking baby," lisps little Billy, who, in
return, gets rocked himself. "Father, what's the capital of Russia?"
shrieks Alec, tugging at his coat. "What do you mean, you dog?" is the
reply, accompanied by a hearty shake of his long flaxen hair.
"Petersburg," cry Tom and Alec both, following him to the hearth, each
one endeavouring to relieve him of his boots as soon as he is seated
there. The family circle is completed. The flaky fish is ready, and
presented for inspection. The father has served them all, even to little
Billy--their plates are full and smoking. "Mother" is called upon to ask
a blessing. She rises, and assumes the looks of Jabez Buster--twenty
blessings might be asked and granted in half the time she takes--so
think and look Bob, Alec, and the boatmen; but at length she pauses--the
word is given, and further ceremony is dispensed with. In childhood,
supper is a thing to look forward to, and to _last_ when it arrives; but
not in childhood, any more than in old age, can sublunary joys endure
for ever. The meal is finished. A short half-hour flies, like lightning,
by. The children gather round their father; and in the name of all, upon
his knees, he thanks his God for all the mercies of the day. Thompson is
no orator. His heart is warm; his words are few and simple. The three
attendant graces take charge of their brethren, detach them from their
father's side, and conduct them to their beds. Happy father! happy
children! May Providence be merciful, and keep the grim enemy away from
your fireside! Let him not come now in the blooming beauty and the
freshness of your loves! Let him not darken and embitter for ever the
life that is still bright, beautiful, and glorious in the power of
elevating and sustaining thought that leads beyond it. Let him wait the
matured and not unexpected hour, when the shock comes, not to crush, to
overwhelm, and to annihilate, but to warn, to teach, and to encourage;
not to alarm and stagger the untaught spirit, but to bring to the
subdued and long-tried soul its last lesson on the vanity and
evanescence of its early dreams!
It is half-past nine o'clock. Thompson, his wife, and two eldest boys
are present, and, for the first time, I have an opportunity to make
known the object of my visit.
"And so they have turned you off," said Thompson, when I had finished.
"And who's surprised at that? Not I, for one. Missus," continued he,
turning to his wife, "why haven't you got a curtain yet for that ere
pictur? I can't abear the sight of it."
Mrs Thompson looked plaintively towards the painting, and heaved a sigh.
"Ah, dear good man! He has got his enemies," said she.
"Mrs Thompson!" exclaimed her husband, "I have done with that good man
from this day for'ards; and I do hope, old 'ooman, that you'll go next
Sunday to church with me, as we used to do afore you got that pictur
painted."
"It's no good talking, Thompson," answered the lady, positively and
firmly. "I can't sit under a cold man, and there's an end of it."
"There, that's the way you talk, missus."
"Why, you know, Thompson, every thing in the church is cold."
"No, not now, my dear--they've put up a large stove. You'll recollect
you haven't been lately."
"Besides, do you think I can sit in a place of worship, and hear a man
say, '_Let us pray_,' in the middle of the service, making a fool of
one, as if we hadn't been praying all the time? As that dear and
persecuted saint says, (turning to the picture,) it's a common assault
to our understandings."
"Now, Polly, that's just always how you go off. If you'd only listen to
reason, that could all be made out right in no time. The clergyman
doesn't mean to say, _let us pray_, because he hasn't been praying
afore;--what he means is--we have been praying all this time, and so
we'll go on praying again--no, not again exactly--but don't leave off.
That isn't what I mean either. Let me see, _let us pray_. Oh, yes!
Why--stay. Where is it he does say, _let us pray_? There, I say,
Stukely, you know it all much better than I do. Just make it right to
the missus."
"It is not difficult," said I.
"Oh no, Mr Stukely, I daresay not!" added Mrs Thompson, interrupting me.
"Mr Clayton says, Satan has got his janysarries abroad, and has a reason
for every thing. It is very proper to say, too, I suppose, that it is an
_imposition_ when the bishops ordain the ministers? What a word to make
use of. It's truly frightful!"
"Well, I'm blessed," exclaimed Thompson, "if I don't think you had
better hold your tongue, old girl, about impositions; for sich oudacious
robbers as your precious brothers is, I never come across, since I was
stopped that ere night, as we were courting, on Shooter's Hill. It's a
system of imposition from beginning to end."
"Look to your Bible, Thompson; what does that say? Does that tell
ministers to read their sermons? There can't be no truth and right
feeling when a man puts down what he's going to say; the vital warmth is
wanting, I'm sure. And then to read the same prayers Sunday after
Sunday, till a body gets quite tired at hearing them over and over
again, and finding nothing new! How can you improve an occasion if you
are tied down in this sort of way."
"Did you ever see one of the brothers eat, Stukely?" asked Thompson,
avoiding the main subject. "Don't you ask one of them to dinner--that's
all. That nice boy Buster ought to eat for a wager. I had the pleasure
of his company to dinner one fine afternoon. I don't mean to send him
another invitation just yet, at all events."
"Yes," proceeded the fair, but stanch nonconformist; "what does the
Bible say, indeed! 'Take no thought of what you should say.' Why, in the
church, I am told they are doing nothing else from Monday morning to
Saturday night but writing the sermon they are going to read on the
Sabbath. To _read_ a sermon! What would the apostles say to that?"
"Why, didn't you tell me, my dear, that the gentleman as set for that
pictur got all his sermons by heart before he preached 'em?"
"Of course I did--but that's a very different thing. Doesn't it all pour
from him as natural as if it had come to him that minute? He doesn't
fumble over a book like a schoolboy. His beautiful eyes, I warrant you,
ain't looking down all the time, as if he was ashamed to hold 'em up.
Isn't it a privilege to see his blessed eyes rolling all sorts of ways;
and don't they speak wolumes to the poor benighted sinner? Besides,
don't tell me, Thompson; we had better turn Catholics at once, if we are
to have the minister dressing up like the Pope of Rome, and all the rest
of it."
"You are the gal of my heart," exclaimed the uxorious Thompson; "but I
must say you have got some of the disgracefulest notions out of that ere
chapel as ever I heard on. Why, it's only common decency to wear a dress
in the pulpit; and I believe in my mind, that that's come down to us
from time immemorable, like every thing else in human natur. What's your
opinion, Stukely?"
"Yes; and what's your opinion, Mr Stukely," added the lady immediately,
"about calling a minister of the gospel--a _priest_? Is that
Paperistical or not?"
"That isn't the pint, Polly," proceeded John. "We are talking about the
silk dress now. Let's have that out first."
"And then the absolution"----
"No, Poll. Stick to the silk dress."
"Ah, Thompson, it's always the way!" continued the mistress of the
house, growing red and wroth, and heedless of the presence of the
eager-listening children; "it's always the way. Satan is ruining of you.
You'll laugh at the elect, and you'll not find your mistake out till
it's too late to alter. Mr Clayton says, that the Establishment is the
hothouse of devils; and the more I see of its ways, the more I feel he
is right. Thompson, you are in the sink of iniquity."
"Come, I can't stand no more of this!" exclaimed Thompson, growing
uneasy in his chair, but without a spark of ill-humour. "Let's change
the topic, old 'ooman; I'm sure it can't do the young un's any good to
hear this idle talk. Let's teach 'em nothing at all, if we can't larn
'em something better than wrangling about religion. Now, Jack," he
continued, turning to his eldest boy, "what is the matter with you? What
are you sitting there for with your mouth wide open?"
"What's the meaning of Paperist, father?" asked the boy, who had been
long waiting to propose the question.
"What's that to you, you rascal?" was the reply; "mind your own
business, my good fellow, and leave the Paperist to mind his'n; that's
your father's maxim, who got it from his father before him. You'll learn
to find fault with other people fast enough without my teaching you. I
tell you what, Jack, if you look well after yourself, you'll find little
time left to bother about others. If your hands are ever idle--recollect
you have ten brothers and sisters about you. Look about you--you are the
oldest boy--and see what you can do for them. Do you mind that?"
"Yes, father."
"Very well, old chap. Then just get out the bottle, and give your father
something to coax the cod down. Poll, that fish won't settle."
The long hour was beginning. That bottle was the signal. A gin and water
nightcap, on this occasion, officiated for the ale. Jack and his brother
received a special invitation to a sip or two, which they at once
unhesitatingly accepted. The sturdy fellows shook their father and
fellow-labourer's hand, and were not loth to go to rest. Their mother
was their attendant. The ruffle had departed from her face. It was as
pleasant as before. She was but half a dissenter. So Thompson thought
when he called her back again, and bade his "old 'ooman give her hobby
one of her good old-fashioned busses, and think no more about it."
Thompson and I were left together.
"And what do you mean to do, sir, now?" was his first question.
"I hardly know." I answered.
"Of course, you'll cut the gang entirely--that's a nat'ral consequence."
"No, Thompson, not at present. I must not seem so fickle and inconstant.
I must not seem so to myself. I joined this sect not altogether without
deliberation. I must have further proof of the unsoundness of its
principles. A few of its professors have been faithless even to their
own position. Of what religious profession may not the same be said? I
will be patient, and examine further."
"I was a-thinking," said Thompson, musingly, "I was a-thinking, 'till
you've got something else to do----but no, never mind, you won't like
that."
"What is it?"
"Why, I was thinking about the young un's. They're shocking back'ard in
their eddication, and, between you and me, the missus makes them
back'arder. I don't understand the way she has got of larning 'em at
all. I don't want to make scholards of 'em. Nobody would but a fool.
Bless 'em, they'll have enough to do to get their bread with sweating
and toiling, without addling their brains about things they can't
understand. But it is a cruelty, mind you, for a parent to hinder his
child from reading his Bible on a Sunday afternoon, and to make him
stand ashamed of himself before his fellow workman when he grows up, and
finds that he can't put _paid_ to a bill on a Saturday night. The boys
should all know how to read and write, and keep accounts, and a little
summut of human nature. This is what I wants to give 'em, and nobody
should I like better to put it into 'em than you, my old friend, if
you'd just take the trouble 'till you've got something better to do."
"Thompson," I answered instantly, "I will do it with pleasure. I ought
to have made the offer. It did not occur to me. I shall rejoice to repay
you, in this trifling way, for all your good feeling and kindness."
"Oh no!" answered my friend, "none of that. We must have an
understanding. Don't you think I should have asked the question, if I
meant to sneak out in that dirty sort of way. No, that won't do. It's
very kind of you, but we must make all that right. We sha'n't quarrel, I
dare say. If you mean you'll do it, I have only just a word or two to
say before you begin."
"I shall be proud to serve you, Thompson, and on any terms you please."
"Well, it is a serving me--I don't deny it--but, mind you, only till you
have dropped into something worth your while. What I wish to say is as
this: As soon as ever my missus hears of what you are going to do, I
know as well what she'll be at as I know what I am talking of now.
She'll just be breaking my heart to have the boys larned French. Now,
I'd just as soon bind 'em apprentice to that ere Clayton. I've seen too
much of that ere sort of thing in my time. I'm as positive as I sit
here, that when a chap begins to talk French he loses all his English
spirit, and feels all over him as like a mounseer as possible. I'm sure
he does. I've seen it a hundred times, and that I couldn't a-bear.
Besides, I've been told that French is the language the thieves talk,
and I solemnly believe it. That's one thing. Now, here's another. You'll
excuse me, my dear fellow. In course you know more than I do, but I must
say that you have got sometimes a very roundabout way of coming to the
pint. I mean no offence, and I don't blame you. It's all along of the
company you have kept. You are--it's the only fault you have got--you
are oudaciously fond of hard words. Don't let the young uns larn 'em.
That's all I have to say, and we'll talk of the pay some other time."
At this turn of the conversation, Thompson insisted upon my lighting a
pipe and joining him in the gin and water. We smoked for many minutes in
silence. My friend had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and had drawn the table
nearer to his warm and hospitable fire. A log of wood was burning slowly
and steadily away, and a small, bright--very bright--copper kettle
overlooked it from the hob. My host had fixed his feet upon the
fender--the unemployed hand was in his corduroys. His eyes were three
parts closed, enjoying what from its origin may be called--a pure
tobacco-born soliloquy. The smoke arose in thin white curls from the
clay cup, and at regular periods stole blandly from the corner of his
lips. The silent man was blessed. He had been happy at his work; he had
grown happier as the sun went down; his happiness was ripening at the
supper table; _now_, half-asleep and half-awake--half conscious and half
dreaming--wholly free from care, and yet not free from pregnant
thought--the labourer had reached the summit of felicity, and was at
peace--intensely.
A few evenings only had elapsed after this interesting meeting, before
I was again spending a delicious hour or two with the simple-hearted and
generous upholsterer. There was something very winning in these moments
snatched and secured from the hurricane of life, and passed in thorough
and undisturbed enjoyment. My friend, notwithstanding that he had
engaged my services, and was pleased to express his satisfaction at the
mode in which I rendered them, was yet alive to my interests, and too
apprehensive of injuring them by keeping me away from loftier
employment. He did not like my being _thrown out_ of the chapel,
especially after he had heard my determination not to forsake
immediately the sect to which I had attached myself. He was indifferent
to his own fate. His worldly prospects could not be injured by his
expulsion; on the contrary, he slyly assured me that "his neighbours
would begin to think better of him, and give him credit for having
become an honester and more trustworthy man." But with regard to myself
it was a different thing. I should require "a character" at some time or
another, and there was a body of men primed and ready to vilify and
crush me. He advised me, whilst he acknowledged it was a hard thing to
say, and "it went agin him to do it," to apply once more respectfully
for my dismission. "It won't do," he pertinently said, "to bite your
nose off to be revenged on your tongue." I was certainly in a mess, and
must get out of it in the best way that I could. Buster and Tomkins had
great power in _the Church_, and if I represented my case to either or
both of them, he did hope they might be brought to consent not to injure
me, or stand in the way of my getting bread. "In a quarrel," he said, in
conclusion, "some one must give in. I was a young man, and had my way to
make, and though he should despise his-self if he recommended me to do
any thing mean and dirty in the business, yet, he thought, as the father
of a numerous family, he ought to advise me to be civil, and to do the
best for myself in this unfortunate dilemmy."
I accepted his advice, and determined to wait upon the dapper deacon. I
was physically afraid to encounter Buster, not so much on account of
what I had seen of his spiritual pretension, as of what I had heard of
his domestic behaviour. It was not a very difficult task to obtain from
Mrs Thompson the secret history of many of her highly privileged
acquaintances and brethren. She enjoyed, in a powerful degree, the
peculiar virtue of her amiable sex, and to communicate secrets,
delivered to her in strictest confidence, and imparted by her again with
equal caution and provisory care, was the choicest recreation of her
well employed and useful life. It was through this lady that I was
favoured with a glance into the natural heart of Mr Buster; or into what
he would himself have called, with a most unfilial disgust, "HIS OLD
MAN." It appeared that, like most great _actors_, he was a very
different personage before and behind the curtain. Kings, who are
miserable and gloomy through the five acts of a dismal tragedy, and who
must needs die at the end of it, are your merriest knaves over a tankard
at the Shakspeare's Head. Your stage fool shall be the dullest dog that
ever spoiled mirth with sour and discontented looks. Jabez Buster, his
employment being over at Mr Clayton's theatre, his dress thrown aside,
his mask put by, was not to be recognised by his nearest friend. This is
the perfection of art. A greater tyrant on a small scale, with limited
means, never existed than the saintly Buster when his character was
done, and he found himself again in the bosom of his family. Unhappy
bosom was it, and a sad flustration did his presence, nine times out of
ten, produce there. He had four sons, and a delicate creature for a
wife, born to be crushed. The sons were remarkable chiefly for their
hypocrisy, which promised, in the fulness of time, to throw their
highly-gifted parent's far into the shade; and, secondarily, for their
persecution of their helpless and indulgent mother. They witnessed and
approved so much the success of Jabez in this particular, that during
his absence they cultivated the affectionate habit until it became a
kind of second nature, infinitely more racy and agreeable than the
primary. In proportion to their deliberate oppression of their mother
was their natural dread and terror of their father. Mrs Thompson
pronounced it "the shockingest thing in this world to be present when
the young blue-beards were worryting their mother's soul out with
saying, '_I sha'n't_' and '_I won't_' to every thing, and swearing
'_they'd tell their father this_,' '_and put him up to that, and then
wouldn't he make a jolly row about it_,' with hollering out for nothing
at all, only to frighten the poor timid cretur, and then making a
holabaloo with the chairs, or perhaps falling down, roaring and kicking,
just to drive the poor thing clean out of her wits, on purpose to laugh
at her for being so taken in. Well, but it was a great treat, too," she
added, "to hear, in the midst of all this, Buster's heavy foot in the
passage, and to see what a scrimmage there was at once amongst all the
young hypocrites. How they all run in different directions--one to the
fire--one to the table--one out at the back-door--one any where he
could--all of 'em as silent as mice, and afeard of the very eye of the
blacksmith, who knew, good man, how to keep every man Jack of 'em in
order, and, if a word didn't do, wasn't by no means behind hand with
blows. Buster," she continued, "had his faults like other men, but he
was a saint if ever there was one. To be sure he did like to have his
own way at home, and wasn't it natural? And if he was rather overbearing
and cruel to his wife, wasn't that, she should like to know, Satan
warring with the new man, and sometimes getting the better of it? And if
he was, as Thompson had hinted, rayther partial to the creature, and
liked good living, what was this to the purpose? it was an infirmity
that might happen to the best Christian living. Nobody could say that he
wasn't a renewed man, and a chosen vessel, and faithful to his call. A
man isn't a backslider because he's carnally weak, and a man isn't a
saint because he's moral and well-behaved. 'Good works,' Mr Clayton
said, 'was filthy rags,' and so they were. To be sure, between
themselves, there were one or two things said about Buster that she
couldn't approve of. For instance, she had been told--but _this_ was
quite in confidence, and really must _not_ go further--that he
was--that--that, in fact, he was overtaken now and then with liquor, and
then the house could hardly hold him, he got so furious, and, they did
say, used such horrid language. But, after all, what was this? If a
man's elected, he is not so much the worse. Besides, if one listened to
people, one might never leave off. She had actually heard, she wouldn't
say from whom, that Buster very often kept out late at night--sometimes
didn't come home at all, and sometimes did at two o'clock in the
morning, very hungry and ill-tempered, and then forced his poor wife out
of bed, and made the delicate and shivering creature light a fire, cook
beefsteaks, go into the yard for beer, and wait upon him till he had
even eat every morsel up. She for one would never believe all this,
though Mrs Buster herself had told her every word with tears in her
eyes, and in the greatest confidence; so she trusted I wouldn't repeat
it, as it wouldn't look well in her to be found out telling other
people's secrets." Singular, perhaps, to say, the tale did not go
further. I kept the lady's secret, and at the same time declined to
approach Mr Jabez Buster in the character of a suppliant. If his
advocate and panegyrist had nothing more to say for him, it could not be
uncharitable to conclude that the pretended saint was as bold a sinner
as ever paid infamous courtship to religion, and as such was studiously
to be avoided. I turned my attention from him to Tomkins. There was no
grossness about him, no brutality, no abominable vice. In the hour of my
defeat and desertion, he had extended to me his sympathy, and, more in
sorrow than in anger, I am convinced he voted for my expulsion from the
church when he found that his vote, and twenty added to it, would not
have been sufficient to protect me. He could not act in opposition to
the wishes of his friend and patron, Mr Clayton, but very glad would he
have been, as every word and look assured me, to meet the wishes of us
both, had that been practicable. If the great desire of Jehu Tomkins'
heart could have been gratified, he never would have been at enmity with
a single soul on earth. He was a soft, good-natured, easy man; most
desirous to be let alone, and not uneasily envious or distressed to see
his neighbours jogging on, so long as he could do his own good stroke of
business, and keep a little way before them. Jehu was a Liberal too--in
politics and in religion--in every thing, in fact, but the one small
article of _money_, and here, I must confess, the good dissenter
dissented little from the best of us. He was a stanch Conservative in
matters connected with the _till_. For his private life it was
exemplary--at least it looked so to the world, and the world is
satisfied with what it sees. Jehu was attentive to his business--yes,
very--and a business life is not monotonous and dull, if it be relieved,
as it was in this case, by dexterous arts, that give an interest and
flavour to the commonest pursuits. Sometimes a customer would die--a
natural state of things, but a great event for Jehu. First, he would
"improve the occasion" to the surviving relatives--condole and pray with
them. Afterwards he would _improve_ it to himself, in his own little
room, at night, when all the children were asleep, and no one was awake
but Mrs Tomkins and himself. Then he would get down his ledger, and turn
to the deceased's account--
"----How _long_ it is thou see'st,
And he would gaze 'till it became _much longer_;"
"For who could tell whether six shirts or twelve were bought in July
last, and what could be the harm of making those eight handkerchiefs a
dozen? He was a strange old gentleman; lived by himself--and the books
might be referred to, and speak boldly for themselves." Yes, cunning
Jehu, so they might, with those interpolations and erasures that would
confound and overcome a lawyer. When customers did not die, it was
pastime to be dallying with the living. In adding up a bill with haste,
how many times will four and four make _nine_? They generally did with
Jehu. The best are liable to errors. It cost a smirk or smile; Jehu had
hundreds at command, and the accident was amended. How easy is it
sometimes to give no bill at all! How very easy to apply, a few months
afterwards, for second payment; how much more easy still to pocket it
without a word; or, if discovered and convicted, to apologize without a
blush for the _mistake_! No, Jehu Tomkins, let me do you justice--this
is not so easy--it requires all your zeal and holy intrepidity to reach
this pitch of human frailty and corruption. With regard to the domestic
position of my interesting friend, it is painful to add, that the less
that is said about it the better. In vain was his name in full, painted
in large yellow letters, over the shop front. In vain was _Bot. of Jehu
Tomkins_ engraven on satin paper, with flourishes innumerable beneath
the royal arms; he was no more the master of his house than was the
small boy of the establishment, who did the dirty work of the place for
nothing a-week and the broken victuals. If Jehu was deacon abroad, he
was taught to acknowledge an _arch_deacon at home--one to whom he was
indebted for his success in life, and for reminding him of that
agreeable fact about four times during every day of his existence. I was
aware of this delicate circumstance when I ventured to the
linen-draper's shop on my almost hopeless mission; but, although I had
never spoken to Mrs Tomkins, I had often seen her in the chapel, and I
relied much on the feeling and natural tenderness of the female heart.
The respectable shop of Mr Tomkins was in Fleet Street. The
establishment consisted of Mrs Tomkins, _première_; Jehu,
under-secretary; and four sickly-looking young ladies behind the
counter. It is to be said, to the honour of Mrs Tomkins, that she
admitted no young woman into her service whose character was not
_decided_, and whose views were not very clear. Accordingly, the four
young ladies were members of the chapel. It is pleasing to reflect,
that, in this well-ordered house of business, the ladies took their
turns to attend the weekly prayer meetings of the church. Would that I
might add, that they were _not_ severally met on these occasions by
their young men at the corner of Chancery Lane, and invariably escorted
by them some two or three miles in a totally opposite direction. Had Mrs
Tomkins been born a man, it is difficult to decide what situation she
would have adorned the most. She would have made a good man of
business--an acute lawyer--a fine casuist--a great divine. Her
attainments were immense; her self-confidence unbounded. She was a woman
of middle height, and masculine bearing. She was not prepossessing,
notwithstanding her white teeth and large mouth, and the intolerable
grin that a customer to the amount of a halfpenny and upwards could
bring upon her face under any circumstances, and at any hour of the day.
Her complexion might have been good originally. Red blotches scattered
over her cheek had destroyed its beauty. She wore a modest and becoming
cap, and a gold eyeglass round her neck. She was devoted to
money-making--heart and soul devoted to it during business hours. What
time she was not in the shop, she passed amongst dissenting ministers,
spiritual brethren, and deluded sinners. It remains to state the fact,
that, whilst a customer never approached the lady without being repelled
by the offensive smirk that she assumed, no dependent ever ventured near
her without the fear of the scowl that sat naturally (and fearfully,
when she pleased) upon her dark and inauspicious brow. What wonder that
little Jehu was crushed into nothingness, behind his own counter, under
the eye of his own wife!
* * * * *