Although there was a regular cut between the next-door people and us,
yet Tug and the Honourable Master Mac Turk kept up their acquaintance
over the back-garden wall, and in the stables, where they were fighting,
making friends, and playing tricks from morning to night, during the
holidays. Indeed, it was from young Mac that we first heard of Madame de
Flicflac, of whom my Jemmy robbed Lady Kilblazes, as I before have
related. When our friend, the Baron, first saw Madame, a very tender
greeting passed between them, for they had, as it appeared, been old
friends abroad. "Sapristie," said the Baron, in his lingo, "que fais tu
ici, Aménaïde?" "Et toi, mon pauvre Chicot," says she, 'est ce qu'on t'a
mis à la retraite? Il parait, que tu n'est plus Général chez Franco—"
"_Chut!_" says the Baron, putting his finger to his lips.
"What are they saying, my dear?" says my wife to Jemimarann, who had a
pretty knowledge of the language by this time.
"I don't know what '_Sapristie_' means, mamma; but the Baron asked
Madame what she was doing here? and Madame said, 'And you, Chicot, you
are no more a general at Franco.' Have I not translated rightly,
Madame?"
"Oui, mon chou, mon ange; yase, my angel, my cabbage, quite right.
Figure yourself, I have known my dear Chicot dis twenty years."
"Chicot is my name of baptism," says the Baron; "Baron Chicot de Punter
is my name." "And, being a general at Franco," says Jemmy, "means, I
suppose, being a French General?"
"Yes, I vas," said he, "General Baron de Punter, n'est il pas,
Aménaïde?"
"O, yes!" said Madame Flicflac, and laughed; and I and Jemmy laughed out
of politeness: and a pretty laughing matter it was, as you shall hear.
About this time my Jemmy became one of the Ladies-Patronesses of that
admirable Institution, "The Washerwoman's Orphans' Home;" Lady de Sudley
was the great projector of it; and the manager and chaplain, the
excellent and Reverend Sidney Slopper. His salary, as chaplain, and that
of Doctor Leitch, the physician (both cousins of her Ladyship's), drew
away five hundred pounds from the six subscribed to the Charity: and
Lady de Sudley thought a fête at Beulah Spa, with the aid of some of the
foreign Princes who were in town last year, might bring a little more
money into its treasury. A tender appeal was accordingly drawn up, and
published in all the papers:
"APPEAL.
"BRITISH WASHERWOMAN'S ORPHANS' HOME.
"The 'Washerwoman's Orphans' Home' has now been established seven
years; and the good which it has effected is, it may be confidently
stated, _incalculable_. Ninety-eight orphan children of washerwomen
have been lodged within its walls. One hundred and two British
washerwomen have been relieved when in the last state of decay. ONE
HUNDRED AND NINETY-EIGHT THOUSAND articles of male and female dress
have been washed, mended, buttoned, ironed, and mangled, in the
Establishment. And, by an arrangement with the governors of the
Foundling, it is hoped that THE BABY-LINEN OF THAT HOSPITAL will be
confided to the British Washerwoman's Home!
"With such prospects before it, is it not sad, is it not lamentable
to think, that the Patronesses of the Society have been compelled to
reject the applications of no less than THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED
AND ONE BRITISH WASHERWOMEN, from lack of means for their support?
Ladies of England! Mothers of England! to you we appeal. Is there
one of you that will not respond to the cry in behalf of these
deserving members of our sex?
"It has been determined by the Ladies-Patronesses to give a fête at
Beulah Spa, on Thursday, July 25; which will be graced with the
first foreign and native TALENT, by the first foreign and native
RANK; and where they beg for the attendance of every WASHERWOMAN'S
FRIEND."
Her Highness the Princess of Schloppenzollernschwigmaringen, the Duke of
Sacks Tubbingen, His Excellency Baron Strumpff, His Excellency
Lootf-Allee-Koolee-Bismillah-Mohamed-Rusheed-Allah, the Persian
Ambassador, Prince Futtee-Jaw, Envoy from the King of Oude, His
Excellency Don Alonzo Di Cachachero-y-Fandango-y-Castañete, the Spanish
Ambassador, Count Ravioli, from Milan, the Envoy of the Republic of
Topinambo, and a host of other fashionables, promised to honour the
festival: and their names made a famous show in the bills.
I leave you to fancy what a splendid triumph for the British
Washerwoman's Home was to come off on that day. A beautiful tent was
erected, in which the Ladies-Patronesses were to meet; it was hung round
with specimens of the skill of the washerwomen's orphans, ninety-six of
whom were to be feasted in the gardens, and waited on by the
Ladies-Patronesses.
There was a fine cold collation, to which the friends of the
Ladies-Patronesses were admitted; after which, my ladies and their beaux
went strolling through the walks; Tagrag and the Count having each an
arm of Jemmy; the Baron giving an arm a-piece to Madame and Jemimarann.
Whilst they were walking whom should they light upon but poor Orlando
Crump, my successor in the perfumery and hair-cutting.
"Orlando!" says Jemimarann, blushing as red as a label, and holding out
her hand.
"Jemimar!" says he, holding out his, and turning as white as pomatum.
"_Sir!_" says Jemmy, as stately as a Duchess.
"What! madame," says poor Crump, "don't you remember your shopboy?"
"Dearest mamma, don't you recollect Orlando?" whimpers Jemimarann.
"Miss Tuggeridge Coxe," says Jemmy, "I'm surprised of you. Remember,
sir, that our position is altered, and oblige me by no more
familiarity."
"Insolent fellow!" says the Baron; "vat is dis canaille?"
"Canal yourself, Mounseer," says Orlando, now grown quite furious; he
broke away, quite indignant, and was soon lost in the crowd. Jemimarann,
as soon as he was gone, began to look very pale and ill; and her mamma,
therefore, took her to a tent, where she left her along with Madame
Flicflac and the Baron; going off herself with the other gentlemen, in
order to join us.
It appears they had not been seated very long when Madame Flicflac
suddenly sprung up, with an exclamation of joy, and rushed forward to a
friend whom she saw pass.
The Baron was left alone with Jemimarann; and, whether it was the
champagne, or that my dear girl looked more than commonly pretty, I
don't know; but Madame Flicflac had not been gone a minute when the
Baron dropped on his knees, and made her a regular declaration.
Poor Orlando Crump had found me out by this time, and was standing by my
side, listening, as melancholy as possible, to the famous Bohemian
Minne-singers, who were singing the celebrated words of the poet Gothy:
Ich bui ya hupp lily lee, du bist ya hupp lily lee,
Wir sind doch hupp lily lee, hupp la lily lee.
Chorus.—Yodle-odle-odle-odle-odle-odle hupp! yodle-odle-aw-o-o-o.
They were standing with their hands in their waistcoats, as usual, and
had just come to the o-o-o, at the end of the chorus of the
forty-seventh stanza, when Orlando started: "That's a scream!" says he.
"Indeed it is," says I; "and, but for the fashion of the thing, a very
ugly scream too:" when I heard another shrill "O!" as I thought; and
Orlando bolted off, crying, "By heavens, it's _her_ voice!" "Whose
voice?" says I. "Come and see the row," says Tag; and off we went, with
a considerable number of people, who saw this strange move on his part.
We came to the tent, and there we found my poor Jemimarann fainting; her
mamma holding a smelling-bottle; the Baron, on the ground, holding a
handkerchief to his bleeding nose; and Orlando squaring at him, and
calling on him to fight if he dared.
My Jemmy looked at Crump very fierce. "Take that feller away," says she,
"he has insulted a French nobleman, and deserves transportation, at the
least."
Poor Orlando was carried off. "I've no patience with the little minx,"
says Jemmy, giving Jemimarann a pinch. "She might be a Baron's lady; and
she screams out because his Excellency did but squeeze her hand."
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" sobs poor Jemimarann, "but he was t-t-tipsy."
"T-t-tipsy! and the more shame for you, you hussy, to be offended with a
nobleman who does not know what he is doing."
[Illustration:
AUGUST—A Tournament.
]
[Illustration]