The family of the "Sponges" distributes itself over the entire face of
society--its members are familiar with almost every knocker, and with
nearly everybody's dinner-hour. They not unfrequently come in with the
eggs, and only go out with the last glass of negus. They seem to possess
the power of ubiquity; for, go where you will, your own especial sponge
(and everybody with more than two hundred a-year has one), is sure to
present himself. He is ready for anything, especially where eating, love,
duelling, or drinking, is concerned. To oblige you, he will breakfast at
supper-time, or sup at breakfast-time; he will drink any given quantity,
at any time, and will carry any number of declarations of love to any
number of ladies, or of challenges to whole armies of rivals: thus far he
is useful; for he is obliging, and will do anything--but pay.
When he has absorbed all the moisture his victims are able to supply, he
may be seen walking about in moody solitude in the parks, where he sponges
upon the ducks, and owes for the use of the chairs. In this dry and
destitute condition, behold the sponge of the Covent-Garden
Comedy--_Captain Tarradiddle_. He is in St. James' Park; for, possessing
imaginary rather than substantial claims to military rank, he flits about
the Horse-Guards to keep up his character. A person is already upon the
stage, for whom you instinctively shudder--you perceive, at once, that he
is "in" for dinner, wine, theatre, and supper--you pity him; you see the
sponge, speciously, but surely, fasten himself upon his victim like a
vampire. _Mr. Pye Hilary_, being a barrister and a man of the world,
resigns himself, however, to his fate. As to shaking off his leech, he
knows that to be impossible; and he determines to make what use of him he
can. There is a fine opportunity, for _Mr. Pye Hilary_ is in love, in
despair, and in waiting: he expects his mistress's abigail; in negociating
with whom, he conceives _Tarradiddle_ will be a valuable assistant. _Mrs.
Tattle_ arrives. Preliminaries having been duly settled, articles
offensive and defensive are entered into, to carry out a plan by which the
lover shall gain an interview with the mistress; and the treaty is
ratified by a liberal donation, which the _Captain_ makes to the maid out
of his friend's purse. The servant is satisfied, and goes off in the
utmost agitation, for _Miss Mayley_ and her guardian are coming; and she
dreads being caught in the fact of bribery. _Mr. Hilary_ trembles; so does
the young lady, when she appears; and the agitation of all parties is only
put an end to by the fall of the act-drop.
If any class of her Majesty's subjects are more miserable than another, it
is that of gentlemen's servants. One of these oppressed persons is
revealed to us in the next act. Poor fellow! he has nothing to do but to
sit in the hall, and nothing to amuse him but the newspaper. But his
misfortunes do not end here: as if to add insult to injury, the family
governess presumes to upbraid him, and actually insists upon his taking a
letter to the post. _Mr. Nibble_ declines performing so undignified a
service, in the most footman-like terms; but unfortunately, as it
generally happens, in families where there are pretty governesses and
gallant sons, _Miss de Vere_ has a protector in the _Hon. Charles
Norwold_, who overhears her unreasonable demand, and with a degree of
injustice enough to make the entire livery of London rave with
indignation, inflicts upon his father's especial livery, and _Nibble's_
illustrious person, a severe caning. The consequence of this "strike" is,
that _Nibble_ gives warning, _Lord_ and _Lady Norwold_ are paralysed at
this important resignation; for by it they discover that a secret
coalition has taken place between their son and the governess--they are
man and wife! Good heavens! the heir of all the Norwolds marry a teacher,
who has nothing to recommend her but virtue, talent, and beauty!
Monstrous!--"What will the world say?"
The treaty formed between _Mistress Tattle_ and _Mr. Pye Hilary_ is in the
next act being acted upon. We behold _Captain Tarradiddle_, as one of the
high contracting parties' ambassador, taking lodgings in a house exactly
opposite to that in which _Miss Mayley_ resides. Of course nothing so
natural as that the Captain should indulge his friend with a visit for a
few days, or, if possible, for a few weeks. It is also natural that the
host, under the circumstances, should wish to know something of the birth,
parentage, and education of his guest, of which, though an old
acquaintance; he is, as yet, entirely ignorant. Now, if it be possible to
affront a real sponge (but there is nothing more difficult), such
inquiries are likely to produce that happy consummation. _Tarradiddle_,
however, gets over the difficulty with the tact peculiar to his class, and
is fortunately interrupted by the announcement that _Tattle_ is in the
parlour, duly keeping her agreement, by bringing her mistress's favourite
canary, which, having flown away quite by accident, under her guidance,
has chosen to perch in _Hilary's_ new lodging, on purpose to give him the
opportunity of returning it, and of obtaining an interview with _Miss
Mayley_. The expedient succeeds in the next scene; the lover bows and
stammers--as lovers do at first interviews--the lady is polite but
dignified, and _Tarradiddle_, who has been angling for an invitation, has
his hopes entirely put to flight by the entrance of the lady's guardian,
_Mr. Warner_, who very promptly cuts matters short by ringing the bell and
saying "Good evening," in that tone of voice which always intimates a
desire for a good riddance. This hint is too broad ever to be mistaken; so
the sponge and his victim back out.
_Mr. Warner_ is a merchant, and all merchants in plays are the "noblest
characters the world can boast," and very rich. Thus it has happened that
_Warner_ has, through a money-agent, one _Grub_, been enabled to lend, at
various times, large sums of money, to _Lady Norwold_--her ladyship being
one of those who, dreading "what will the world say?" is by no means an
economist, and prefers "ruin to retrenchment." As security for these
loans, the lady deposits her jewels, suite by suite, till the great object
of all _Warner's_ advances gets into his possession--namely, a bracelet,
which is a revered relic of the Norwold family. So far _Warner_, in spite
of a troublesome ward, and his late visitors, is happy; but he soon
receives a letter, which puts his happiness to flight. His daughter, who
has been on a visit in Paris, became, he now learns, united some months
before, to _Charles Norwold_, and a governess in his father's family. By
further inquiries, he learns that the son is discarded, and is, with his
wife, consigned to beggary, for fear of--"what will the world say?"
The fourth act exhibits one of the scenes of human life hitherto veiled
from the eyes of the most prying--a genuine specimen of the sponge
species--at home! Actually living under a roof that he calls his own; in
company with a wife who is certainly nobody else's. She is
ironing--_Tarradiddle_ is smoking, and, like all smokers, philosophising.
Here we learn the _Honourable Charles Norwold_ and his wife have taken
lodgings; hither they are pursued by _Hilary_, who has managed to
ingratiate himself with _Warner_, and undertaken to trace the merchant's
lost daughter; here, to _Pye's_ astonishment, he finds his friend and
sponge. Some banter ensues, not always agreeable to the Captain, but all
ends very pleasantly by the entrance of _Warner_, who discovers his
daughter, and becomes a father-in-law with a good grace.
The denouement is soon told:--_Warner_, having received his daughter and
her husband, gives a party at which _Lady_, and afterwards _Lord Norwold_,
are present. Here Warner's anxiety to obtain the bracelet is explained. He
reminds his lordship that he once accused his elder brother of stealing
that very bauble; and the consequence was, that the accused disappeared,
and was never after heard of. _Warner_ avows himself to be that brother,
but declines disturbing the rights or property of his lordship, if he will
again receive his son. This is, of course, done. _Hilary_ jokes himself
into _Miss Mayley's_ good graces, and _Tarradiddle_, in all the glories of
a brown coat, and an outrageously fine waistcoat, enters to make the scene
complete, and to help to speak the tag, in which all the characters have a
hand; Mrs. Glover ending by making a propitiatory appeal to the audience
in favour of the author, who ought to be very grateful to her for the
captivating tones in which she asked for an affirmative answer to the
question--
"What will the world say?"
Circumstances prevent us from giving any opinion whatever, except upon the
scenery, the appointments, and the acting. The first is beautiful--the
second appropriate and splendid--the last natural, pointed, and in good
taste.
* * * * *