No third-floor front that ever looked upon the golden waters of Ball's
Pond harboured swain more favoured by nature and art than the young
Augustus Kutitphat. His father was the renowned Orlando Kosenem Von
Kutitphat who, passing over from Germany to this country in three ships,
became _arbiter elegantiarum_ at Hockley-in-the-Hole, and his mother was
nearly related to that unprecedented Simpson who conferred immortality
upon the bowers of Vauxhall. At the age of nineteen Augustus was
bereaved of his parents, from whom he inherited a mine of brass (in his
face), and a harvest of curls (_hair_-looms) unparalleled in the annals
of (Bear's) _Greece_. He was not, as he himself asserted, critically
handsome, but eminently genteel. "Manners make the man," he was
accustomed to observe, "but the tailor, the gentleman: appearance is the
premium where-with you can discount society; it's gammon to talk about
the aristocracy of birth; why there's a second fiddle at Astley's that
no Duke in the 'Red Book' is fit to hold a candle to: _I_ never had a
grandfather, and is there any mistake about _me_?"
In this way of thinking, and a primrose satin waistcoat, Augustus
proceeded to essay the truth of his philosophy. A great poet has said,
"All the world's a stage;" had he added, "licensed only for the
performance of pantomime," the fancy would have well assorted with the
fact. To succeed in the drama of life the performer needs only activity—
to keep his eyes open, and his heart and his mouth shut. The two former
of these elements of success Kutitphat possessed; had the three been
combined, he might have become Lord Mayor. Though a denizen of
Islington, inhabiting a chamber which, had the house been another remove
from town (at the Antipodes), would have been the cellar—by grace of
patent-leather Wellingtons and a Polish tailor, he himself achieved a
_polish_ that not one in a thousand would have known from the true
metal. Even the ingenious youth who, with a red coatee and nose to
correspond, enacts the esquire at Crockford's, looking after the
coursers of the knights-errant who there do congregate—even _he_, albeit
as good an authority in such matters as the Lord Chamberlain himself,
was almost led into the indiscretion of a bow. Augustus had just turned
into St. James's Street, when our Cad-Crockfordian caught sight of him.
His right hand had all but reached the bit of felt that did duty for the
rim of his hat; but it fell ere the error was irretrievable. "No," he
soliloquized; "it ain't not qvite the ticket, but unkimmin good at the
price: blest if I warn't nearly had—_wont_ he step into _some_ on 'em.
At first, wouldn't I have pounded it he was a real swell; but, now I
twig him nearer, _his mother don't know as he's a taking of the air_."
[Illustration: Premium and Discount.]
Angelina Ampletin was one of the prettiest girls in Pimlico, and, if
there was any truth in rumour, very far from one of the worst _catches_.
Papa had retired from business at Billingsgate, with money enough to
found a dozen joint-stock banks, and leave a handsome surplus. In fact,
_his_ turbot and salmon were all gold and silver fish! Now, as Augustus
entered the enclosure of the Park, Angelina and one of her friends were
studying ornithology on the margin of the stream that meanders between
the Horse Guards and Buckingham Palace. A glance of soul-speaking
sympathy passed between the youth and maiden—and, behold! the tiny hand
of her _Breguet_ had not accomplished another revolution ere they were
in confidential communication. Let us not dwell on the progress of their
loves; day by day did they perambulate the sylvan shades of Kensington
Gardens (so called because destitute of both flower and fruit); and at
length the critical avowal was made—Angelina blushed her passion—"she
lived only for her Augustus; would he, indeed, fondly love on to the
close?" History is divided concerning the exact nature of his reply.
According to one account he is said to have declared that, if false,
nothing should prevent his being "jiggered;" while another asserts that,
in evidence of immutability, he called upon the zephyrs that sighed
around them, then and there to "blow him tight." Alas! for Augustus,
that which the figure of his form had built up, the figure of his
rhetoric laid desolate. Angelina was the soul of refinement and
education, having been finished at Turnham Green. With a look of horror
she fled the presence of Kutitphat—that _blow_ was the unkindest _cut_
of all!
It was November, but still the weather was delicious. All the gay things
of nature were abroad; and even the wretched sought to borrow a ray of
the rich sunshine. Over the still verdant carpet of Hyde Park were
gliding graceful groups of fair women; while, among them, moved a form
that seemed to have little business there at such a time. Bless ye! dear
muffs and boas, no heresy is here intended, for instinct would curl the
nose of an angel in Eden who should chance upon a fellow in the _débris_
of an ancient Taglioni, and no shirt. Was it a wonder, then, that
Angelina gave a wide berth to Augustus when she encountered him in such
a category? Where were now his airs and graces? All—all gone! The
station, like "the herald Mercury," exchanged for a posture between a
faint and a sneak; the glance of scorn, for the mien of supplication;
the sheen of promise, for the sear of despair! People speak of Brummel
frying his own tripe as if it were something to wonder at. Let them take
a turn in St. James's Park, any day between the first of January and the
last of December, and, unless they shut their eyes, they will discover
more than one member of the Kutitphat family at a discount.
[Illustration]