[Illustration]
_Mr. Weller the Elder delivers some Critical Sentiments respecting
Literary Composition; and, assisted by his son Samuel, pays a
small Instalment of Retaliation to the Account of the Reverend
Gentleman with the Red Nose_
The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the readers of this
authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to have been the day
immediately preceding that which was appointed for the trial of Mrs.
Bardell's action, was a busy time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who was
perpetually engaged in travelling from the George and Vulture to Mr.
Perker's chambers and back again, from and between the hours of nine
o'clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both inclusive. Not
that there was anything whatever to be done, for the consultation had
taken place, and the course of proceeding to be adopted, had been
finally determined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in a most extreme state
of excitement, persevered in constantly sending small notes to his
attorney, merely containing the inquiry, "Dear Perker. Is all going
on well?" to which Mr. Perker invariably forwarded the reply, "Dear
Pickwick. As well as possible;" the fact being, as we have already
hinted, that there was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill,
until the sitting of the court on the following morning.
But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly there,
for the first time, may be allowed to labour under some temporary
irritation and anxiety: and Sam, with a due allowance for the
frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master's behests with that
imperturbable good humour and unruffable composure which formed one of
his most striking and amiable characteristics.
Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinner, and was
waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixture in which Mr. Pickwick
had requested him to drown the fatigues of his morning's walks, when a
young boy of about three feet high, or thereabouts, in a hairy cap and
fustian over-alls, whose garb bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in
time the elevation of an hostler, entered the passage of the George and
Vulture, and looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage,
and then into the bar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a
commission; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not improbable that
the said commission might be directed to the tea or table spoons of the
establishment, accosted the boy with:
"Now, young man, what do _you_ want?"
"Is there anybody here, named Sam?" inquired the youth, in a loud voice
of treble quality.
[Illustration: "_Is there anybody here, named Sam?_"]
"What's the t'other name?" said Sam Weller, looking round.
"How should I know?" briskly replied the young gentleman below the
hairy cap.
"You're a sharp boy, you are," said Mr. Weller; "only I wouldn't show
that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, in case anybody took it
off. What do you mean by comin' to a hot-el and asking arter Sam, vith
as much politeness as a vild Indian?"
"'Cos an old gen'l'm'n told me to," replied the boy.
"What old gen'l'm'n?" inquired Sam, with deep disdain.
"Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlour," rejoined the
boy. "He told me yesterday mornin' to come to the George and Wultur
this arternoon, and ask for Sam."
"It's my father, my dear," said Mr. Weller, turning with an explanatory
air to the young lady in the bar; "blessed if I think he hardly knows
wot my other name is. Vell, young brockiley sprout, wot then?"
"Why, then," said the boy, "you was to come to him at six o'clock to
our 'ouse, 'cos he wants to see you--Blue Boar, Leaden'all Markit.
Shall I say you're comin'?"
"You _may_ wenture on that 'ere statement, sir," replied Sam. And thus
empowered, the young gentleman walked away, awakening all the echoes in
George Yard, as he did so, with several chaste and extremely correct
imitations of a drover's whistle, delivered in a tone of peculiar
richness and volume.
Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick, who,
in his then state of excitement and worry was by no means displeased
at being left alone, set forth, long before the appointed hour, and
having plenty of time at his disposal, sauntered down as far as the
Mansion House, where he paused and contemplated, with a face of great
calmness and philosophy, the numerous cads and drivers of short stages
who assemble near that famous place of resort, to the great terror and
confusion of the old-lady population of these realms. Having loitered
here, for half an hour or so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his
way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets and
courts. As he was sauntering away his spare time, and stopped to look
at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by no means surprising
that Mr. Weller should have paused before a small stationer's and
print-seller's window; but without further explanation it does appear
surprising that his eyes should have no sooner rested on certain
pictures which were exposed for sale therein, than he gave a sudden
start, smote his right leg with great vehemence, and exclaimed with
energy, "If it hadn't been for this, I should ha' forgot all about it,
till it was too late!"
The particular picture on which Sam Weller's eyes were fixed, as he
said this, was a highly coloured representation of a couple of human
hearts, skewered together with an arrow, cooking before a cheerful
fire, while a male and female cannibal in modern attire: the gentleman
being clad in a blue coat and white trousers, and the lady in a deep
red pelisse with a parasol of the same: were approaching the meal with
hungry eyes, up a serpentine gravel path leading thereunto. A decidedly
indelicate young gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was
depicted as superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire
of the church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance; and
the whole formed a "valentine," of which, as a written inscription in
the window testified, there was a large assortment within, which the
shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his countrymen generally,
at the reduced rate of one and sixpence each.
"I should ha' forgot it; I should certainly ha' forgot it!" said Sam;
so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer's shop, and requested
to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-paper, and
a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to splutter. These
articles having been promptly supplied, he walked on direct towards
Leadenhall Market at a good round pace, very different from his recent
lingering one. Looking round him, he there beheld a sign-board on
which the painter's art had delineated something remotely resembling
a cerulean elephant with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk. Rightly
conjecturing that this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the
house, and inquired concerning his parent.
"He won't be here this three-quarters of an hour or more," said the
young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of the Blue Boar.
"Wery good, my dear," replied Sam. "Let me have nine penn'orth o'
brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?"
The brandy and water luke, and the inkstand, having been carried into
the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully flattened down
the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried away the poker to
preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred, without the full
privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being first had and obtained,
Sam Weller sat himself down in a box near the stove, and pulled out the
sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper, and the hard-nibbed pen. Then looking
carefully at the pen to see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting
down the table, so that there might be no crumbs of bread under the
paper, Sam tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and
composed himself to write.
To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting themselves
practically to the science of penmanship, writing a letter is no very
easy task; it being always considered necessary in such cases for
the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so as to place his
eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper, while glancing
sideways at the letters he is constructing, and to form with his
tongue imaginary characters to correspond. These motions, although
unquestionably of the greatest assistance to original composition,
retard in some degree the progress of the writer; and Sam had
unconsciously been a full hour and a half writing words in small text,
smearing out wrong letters with his little finger, and putting in new
ones which required going over often to render them visible through
the old blots, when he was roused by the opening of the door and the
entrance of his parent.
"Vell, Sammy," said the father.
"Vell, my Prooshan Blue," responded the son, laying down his pen.
"What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?"
"'Mrs. Weller passed a very good night, but is uncommon perwerse and
unpleasant this mornin'. Signed upon oath, S. Veller, Esquire, Senior.'
That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, untying
his shawl.
"No better yet?" inquired Sam.
"All the symptoms aggerawated," replied Mr. Weller, shaking his
head. "But wot's that, you're a doin' of? Pursuit of knowledge under
difficulties, Sammy?"
"I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment; "I've been a
writin'."
"So I see," replied Mr. Weller. "Not to any young 'ooman, I hope,
Sammy?"
"Why it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. "It's a walentine."
"A what!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken by the word.
[Illustration: _"A what!" asked Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken
by the word. "A walentine," replied Sam._]
"A walentine," replied Sam.
"Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, "I didn't
think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o' your father's
wicious propensities; arter all I've said to you upon this here wery
subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the company o' your own
mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought wos a moral lesson as no man
could never ha' forgotten to his dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha'
done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd ha' done it!" These reflections
were too much for the good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips
and drank off its contents.
"Wot's the matter now?" said Sam.
"Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, "it'll be a wery agonizin'
trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty tough, that's vun
consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked ven the farmer said he wos
afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the London market."
"Wot'll be a trial?" inquired Sam.
"To see you married, Sammy--to see you a dilluded wictim, and thinkin'
in your innocence that it's all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller.
"It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy."
"Nonsense," said Sam. "I ain't a goin' to get married, don't you fret
yourself about that; I know you're a judge of these things. Order in
your pipe, and I'll read you the letter. There!"
We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the pipe, or
the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get married
ran in the family and couldn't be helped, which calmed Mr. Weller's
feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We should be rather disposed
to say that the result was attained by combining the two sources of
consolation, for he repeated the second in a low tone, very frequently;
ringing the bell meanwhile, to order in the first. He then divested
himself of his upper coat; and lighting the pipe and placing himself in
front of the fire with his back towards it, so that he could feel its
full heat, and recline against the mantelpiece at the same time, turned
towards Sam, and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening
influence of tobacco, requested him to "fire away."
Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and
began with a very theatrical air:
"'Lovely----'"
"Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. "A double glass o' the
inwariable, my dear."
"Very well, sir," replied the girl; who with great quickness appeared,
vanished, returned, and disappeared.
"They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam.
"Yes," replied his father, "I've been here before, in my time. Go on,
Sammy."
"'Lovely creetur,'" repeated Sam.
"'Tain't in poetry, is it?" interposed his father.
"No, no," replied Sam.
"Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. "Poetry's unnat'ral; no man
ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin' day, or Warren's blackin',
or Rowland's oil, or some o' them low fellows; never you let yourself
down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy."
Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam once more
commenced, and read as follows:
"'Lovely creetur i feel myself a damned----'"
"That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.
"No; it ain't 'damned,'" observed Sam, holding the letter up to the
light, "it's 'shamed,' there's a blot there--'I feel myself ashamed.'"
"Wery good," said Mr. Weller. "Go on."
"'Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir--' I forget what this here
word is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, in vain attempts
to remember.
"Why don't you look at it, then?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"So I _am_ a lookin' at it," replied Sam, "but there's another blot.
Here's a 'c,' and a 'i,' and a 'd.'"
"Circumwented, p'raps," suggested Mr. Weller.
"No, it ain't that," said Sam, "circumscribed; that's it."
"That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," said Mr. Weller,
gravely.
"Think not?" said Sam.
"Nothin' like it," replied his father.
"But don't you think it means more?" inquired Sam.
"Vell, p'raps it is a more tenderer word," said Mr. Weller, after a
moment's reflection. "Go on, Sammy."
"'Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' of
you, for you _are_ a nice gal and nothin' but it.'"
"That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, removing
his pipe to make way for the remark.
"Yes, I think it is rayther good," observed Sam, highly flattered.
"Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller,
"is that there ain't no callin' names in it--no Wenuses, nor nothin' o'
that kind. Wot's the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a angel,
Sammy?"
"Ah! what, indeed?" replied Sam.
"You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a king's
arms at once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o' fabulous
animals," added Mr. Weller.
"Just as well," replied Sam.
"Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows: his father
continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency,
which was particularly edifying,
"'Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike.'"
"So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller, parenthetically.
"'But now,' continued Sam, 'now I find what a reg'lar soft-headed,
inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been; for there ain't nobody like you,
though _I_ like you better than nothin' at all.' I thought it best to
make that rayther strong," said Sam, looking up.
Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.
"'So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary my dear--as the gen'l'm'n
in difficulties did, ven he walked out of a Sunday--to tell you that
the first and only time I see you, your likeness was took on my hart
in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever a likeness was
took by the profeel macheen (vich p'raps you may have heerd on Mary my
dear) altho it _does_ finish a portrait and put the frame and glass
on complete, with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two
minutes and a quarter.'"
"I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller,
dubiously.
"No it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid
contesting the point.
"'Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think over what I've
said.--My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That's all," said Sam.
"That's rather a sudden pull up, ain't it, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller.
"Not a bit on it," said Sam; "she'll vish there wos more, and that's
the great art o' letter writin'."
"Well," said Mr. Weller, "there's somethin' in that; and I wish your
mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the same gen-teel
principle. Ain't you a goin' to sign it?"
"That's the difficulty," said Sam; "I don't know what _to_ sign it."
"Sign it, Veller," said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.
"Won't do," said Sam. "Never sign a walentine with your own name."
"Sign it 'Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller; "it's a wery good name and
an easy one to spell."
"The wery thing," said Sam. "I _could_ end with a werse; what do you
think?"
"I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. "I never know'd a
respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an affectin'
copy o' werses the night afore he wos hung for a highway robbery; and
_he_ wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule."
But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had
occurred to him, so he signed the letter,
"Your love-sick
Pickwick."
And having folded it in a very intricate manner, squeezed a down-hill
direction in one corner: "To Mary, Housemaid, at Mr. Nupkins's Mayor's,
Ipswich, Suffolk;" and put it into his pocket, wafered, and ready for
the general post. This important business having been transacted, Mr.
Weller the elder proceeded to open that on which he had summoned his
son.
"The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.
"He's a goin' to be tried to-morrow, ain't he?"
"The trial's a comin' on," replied Sam.
"Vell," said Mr. Weller, "now I s'pose he'll want to call some
witnesses to speak to his character, or p'raps to prove a alleybi. I've
been a turnin' the business over in my mind, and he may make his-self
easy, Sammy. I've got some friends as'll do either for him, but my
adwice 'ud be this here--never mind the character, and stick to the
alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, Sammy, nothing." Mr. Weller looked
very profound as he delivered this legal opinion; and burying his nose
in his tumbler, winked over the top thereof, at his astonished son.
"Why, what do you mean?" said Sam; "you don't think he's a goin' to be
tried at the Old Bailey, do you?"
"That ain't no part of the present con-sideration, Sammy," replied Mr.
Weller. "Verever he's a goin' to be tried, my boy, a alleybi's the
thing to get him off. Ve got Tom Vildspark off that 'ere manslaughter,
with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man said as nothin' couldn't
save him. And my 'pinion is, Sammy, that if your governor don't prove
a alleybi, he'll be what the Italians call reg'larly flummoxed, and
that's all about it."
As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable conviction
that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicature in this
country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding regulated and
controlled the practice of all other courts of justice whatsoever, he
totally disregarded the assurances and arguments of his son, tending
to show that the alibi was inadmissible; and vehemently protested that
Mr. Pickwick was being "wictimised." Finding that it was of no use to
discuss the matter further, Sam changed the subject, and inquired what
the second topic was, on which his revered parent wished to consult him.
"That's a pint o' domestic policy, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. "This here
Stiggins----"
"Red-nosed man?" inquired Sam.
"The wery same," replied Mr. Weller. "This here red-nosed man, Sammy,
wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness and constancy as I never see
equalled. He's sitch a friend o' the family, Sammy, that ven he's avay
from us, he can't be comfortable unless he has somethin' to remember us
by."
"And I'd give him somethin' as 'ud turpentine and bees'-vax his memory
for the next ten year or so, if I wos you," interposed Sam.
"Stop a minute," said Mr. Weller; "I wos a going to say, he always
brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half and fills it
vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay."
"And empties it afore he comes back, I s'pose?" said Sam.
"Clean!" replied Mr. Weller; "never leaves nothin' in it but the cork
and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these here fellows,
my boy, are a goin' to-night to get up the monthly meetin' o' the
Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance
Association. Your mother-in-law _wos_ a goin', Sammy, but she's got
the rheumatics, and can't; and I, Sammy--I've got the two tickets as
wos sent her." Mr. Weller communicated his secret with great glee, and
winked so indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must
have got the _tic doloureux_ in his right eye-lid.
"Well?" said that young gentleman.
"Well," continued his progenitor, looking round him very cautiously,
"you and I'll go, punctival to the time. The deputy shepherd won't,
Sammy; the deputy shepherd won't." Here Mr. Weller was seized with a
paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually terminated in as near an approach
to a choke as an elderly gentleman can, with safety, sustain.
"Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days," exclaimed
Sam, rubbing the old gentleman's back, hard enough to set him on fire
with friction. "What are you a laughin' at, corpilence?"
"Hush! Sammy," said Mr. Weller, looking round him with increased
caution, and speaking in a whisper: "Two friends o' mine, as works
the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o' games, has got the deputy
shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he does come to the Ebenezer
Junction (vich he's sure to do: for they'll see him to the door,
and shove him in if necessary), he'll be as far gone in rum and
water, as ever he wos at the Markis o' Granby, Dorkin', and that's
not sayin' a little neither." And with this, Mr. Weller once more
laughed immoderately, and once more relapsed into a state of partial
suffocation, in consequence.
Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam Weller's feelings,
than the projected exposure of the real propensities and qualities
of the red-nosed man; and it being very near the appointed hour of
meeting, the father and son took their way at once to Brick Lane: Sam
not forgetting to drop his letter into a general post-office as they
walked along.
The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand
Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in a large room,
pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe and commodious
ladder. The president was the straight-walking Mr. Anthony Humm, a
converted fireman, now a schoolmaster, and occasionally an itinerant
preacher; and the secretary was Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler's-shop
keeper, an enthusiastic and disinterested vessel, who sold tea to the
members. Previous to the commencement of business, the ladies sat upon
forms, and drank tea, till such time as they considered it expedient to
leave off; and a large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon
the green baize cloth of the business table, behind which the secretary
stood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile, every addition to the
rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.
On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most alarming
extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller senior, who, utterly
regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about him in every
direction with the most undisguised astonishment.
"Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, "if some o' these here people don't want
tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and that's wot it is.
Why, this here old lady next me is a drowndin' herself in tea."
"Be quiet, can't you?" murmured Sam.
"Sam," whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone of deep
agitation, "mark my words, my boy. If that 'ere secretary fellow keeps
on for only five minutes more, he'll blow hisself up with toast and
water."
"Well, let him, if he likes," replied Sam; "it ain't no bis'ness o'
yourn."
"If this here lasts much longer, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, in the same
low voice, "I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to rise and
address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next form but two, as
has drunk nine breakfast cups and a half; and she's a swellin' wisibly
before my wery eyes."
There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his benevolent
intention into immediate execution, if a great noise, occasioned by
putting up the cups and saucers, had not very fortunately announced
that the tea-drinking was over. The crockery having been removed, the
table with the green baize cover was carried out into the centre of
the room, and the business of the evening was commenced by a little
emphatic man, with a bald head, and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed
up the ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs
encased in the drab shorts, and said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr. Anthony Humm,
into the chair."
The ladies waved a choice collection of pocket-handkerchiefs at this
proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved Mr. Humm
into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and thrusting him into
a mahogany frame which had once represented that article of furniture.
The waving of handkerchiefs was renewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek,
white-faced man, in a perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the
great admiration of the females, and formally took his seat. Silence
was then proclaimed by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm
rose and said--That, with the permission of his Brick Lane Branch
brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretary would read
the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; a proposition which was
again received with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.
The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and the cough
which always seizes an assembly, when anything particular is going to
be done, having been duly performed, the following document was read:
"+Report of the Committee of the Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand
Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association+
"Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the past
month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the following
additional cases of converts to Temperance.
"H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of drinking
ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did not twice a
week for twenty years taste 'dog's nose,' which your committee find
upon inquiry to be compounded of warm porter, moist sugar, gin, and
nutmeg (a groan, and 'So it is!' from an elderly female). Is now out
of work and penniless; thinks it must be the porter (cheers) or the
loss of the use of his right hand; is not certain which, but thinks
it very likely that, if he had drunk nothing but water all his life,
his fellow-workman would never have stuck a rusty needle in him, and
thereby occasioned his accident (tremendous cheering). Has nothing but
cold water to drink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).
"Betsy Martin, widow, one child and one eye. Goes out charing and
washing, by the day; never had more than one eye, but knows her mother
drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder if that caused it (immense
cheering). Thinks it not impossible that if she had always abstained
from spirits, she might have had two eyes by this time (tremendous
applause). Used, at every place she went to, to have eighteenpence a
day, a pint of porter, and a glass of spirits; but since she became a
member of the Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three and sixpence
instead (the announcement of this most interesting fact was received
with deafening enthusiasm).
"Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various corporation
dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of foreign wine; may
sometimes have carried a bottle or two home with him; is not quite
certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he drank the contents.
Feels very low and melancholy, is very feverish, and has a constant
thirst upon him; thinks it must be the wine he used to drink (cheers).
Is out of employ now: and never touches a drop of foreign wine by any
chance (tremendous plaudits).
"Thomas Burton is a purveyor of cats' meat to the Lord Mayor and
Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the announcement
of this gentleman's name was received with breathless interest). Has
a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg expensive, going over the stones;
used to wear second-hand wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin and
water regularly every night--sometimes two (deep sighs). Found the
second-hand wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded
that their constitution was undermined by the gin and water (prolonged
cheering). Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks nothing but water and
weak tea. The new legs last twice as long as the others used to do, and
he attributes this solely to his temperate habits" (triumphant cheers).
Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itself with a song.
With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment, Brother Mordlin
had adapted the beautiful words of "Who hasn't heard of a Jolly Young
Waterman?" to the tune of the Old Hundredth which he would request them
to join him in singing (great applause). He might take that opportunity
of expressing his firm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the
errors of his former life, had written that song to show the advantages
of abstinence. It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers). The
neatness of the young man's attire, the dexterity of his feathering,
the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautiful words of
the poet, to
"Row along, thinking of nothing at all,"
all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker (cheers).
Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity! (rapturous cheering). And what
was the young man's reward? Let all young men present mark this:
"The maidens all flock'd to his boat so readily."
(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright example! The
sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the young waterman, and urging
him along the stream of duty and of temperance. But, was it the maidens
of humble life only, who soothed, consoled, and supported him? No!
"He was always first oars with the fine city ladies."
(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man--he begged pardon, to a
female--rallied round the young waterman, and turned with disgust from
the drinker of spirits (cheers). The Brick Lane Branch brothers were
watermen (cheers and laughter). That room was their boat; that audience
were the maidens; and he (Mr. Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was
"first oars" (unbounded applause).
"Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy?" inquired Mr. Weller, in a
whisper.
"The womin," said Sam, in the same tone.
"He ain't far out there, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller; "they _must_ be a
soft sex,--a wery soft sex, indeed--if they let themselves be gammoned
by such fellers as him."
Any further observations from the indignant old gentleman were cut
short by the announcement of the song, which Mr. Anthony Humm gave out,
two lines at a time, for the information of such of his hearers as
were unacquainted with the legend. While it was being sung, the little
man with the drab shorts disappeared; he returned immediately on its
conclusion, and whispered Mr. Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest
importance.
"My friends," said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a deprecatory
manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout old ladies as were
yet a line or two behind; "my friends, a delegate from the Dorking
Branch of our Society, Brother Stiggins, attends below."
Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force than ever;
for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the female constituency
of Brick Lane.
"He may approach, I think," said Mr. Humm, looking round him, with a
fat smile. "Brother Tadger, let him come forth and greet us."
The little man in drab shorts who answered to the name of Brother
Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, and was immediately
afterwards heard tumbling up with the Reverend Mr. Stiggins.
"He's a comin', Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, purple in the countenance
with suppressed laughter.
"Don't say nothin' to me," replied Sam, "for I can't bear it. He's
close to the door. I hear him a-knockin' his head again the lath and
plaster now."
As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and Brother Tadger
appeared, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Stiggins, who no sooner
entered, than there was a great clapping of hands, and stamping of
feet, and flourishing of handkerchiefs; to all of which manifestations
of delight, Brother Stiggins returned no other acknowledgment than
staring with a wild eye, and a fixed smile, at the extreme top of
the wick of the candle on the table: swaying his body to and fro,
meanwhile, in a very unsteady and uncertain manner.
"Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?" whispered Mr. Anthony Humm.
"I am all right, sir," replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in which
ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; "I am all
right, sir."
"Oh, very well," rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a few paces.
"I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am _not_ all right,
sir?" said Mr. Stiggins.
"Oh, certainly not," said Mr. Humm.
"I should advise him not to, sir; I should advise him not," said Mr.
Stiggins.
By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited with some
anxiety for the resumption of business.
"Will you address the meeting, brother?" said Mr. Humm, with a smile of
invitation.
"No, sir," rejoined Mr. Stiggins; "no, sir. I will not, sir."
The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and a murmur of
astonishment ran through the room.
"It's my opinion, sir," said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his coat,
and speaking very loudly; "it's my opinion, sir, that this meeting
is drunk, sir. Brother Tadger, sir!" said Mr. Stiggins, suddenly
increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man in
the drab shorts, "_you_ are drunk, sir!" With this, Mr. Stiggins,
entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of the
meeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hit Brother
Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring aim, that the drab
shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning. Brother Tadger had been
knocked, head first, down the ladder.
Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming; and rushing in
small parties before their favourite brothers, flung their arms around
them to preserve them from danger. An instance of affection which had
nearly proved fatal to Humm, who, being extremely popular, was all but
suffocated, by the crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck,
and heaped caresses upon him. The greater part of the lights were
quickly put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all
sides.
"Now, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, taking off his great-coat with much
deliberation, "just you step out, and fetch in a watchman."
"And wot are you a goin' to do, the while?" inquired Sam.
"Never you mind me, Sammy," replied the old gentleman; "I shall ockipy
myself in havin' a small settlement with that 'ere Stiggins." Before
Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroic parent had penetrated
into a remote corner of the room, and attacked the Reverend Mr.
Stiggins with manual dexterity.
"Come off!" said Sam.
"Come on!" cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation he gave the
Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head, and began dancing
round him in a buoyant and cork-like manner, which in a gentleman at
his time of life was a perfect marvel to behold.
Finding all remonstrance unavailing, Sam pulled his hat firmly on,
threw his father's coat over his arm, and taking the old man round the
waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and into the street; never
releasing his hold, or permitting him to stop, until they reached the
corner. As they gained it, they could hear the shouts of the populace,
who were witnessing the removal of the Reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong
lodgings for the night: and could hear the noise occasioned by the
dispersion in various directions of the members of the Brick Lane
Branch of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association.