"Retributive Justice"
On the same landing where Timmis (as he termed it) 'held out,' were five
or six closets nick-named offices, and three other boys. One was the
nephew of the before-mentioned Wallis, and a very imp of mischief;
another, only a boy, with nothing remarkable but his stupidity; while the
fourth was a scrubby, stunted, fellow, about sixteen or seventeen years
of age, with a long pale face, deeply pitted with the small-pox, and an
irregular crop of light hair, most unscientifically cut into tufts.
He, by reason of his seniority and his gravity, soon became the oracle of
the party. We usually found him seated on the stairs of the first floor,
lost in the perusal of some ragged book of the marvellous school--scraps
of which he used to read aloud to us, with more unction than propriety,
indulging rather too much in the note of admiration style; for which he
soon obtained the name of Old Emphatic!--But I must confess we did obtain
a great deal of information from his select reading, and were tolerably
good listeners too, notwithstanding his peculiar delivery, for somehow he
appeared to have a permanent cold in his head, which sometimes threw a
tone of irresistible ridicule into his most pathetic bits.
He bore the scriptural name of Matthew and was, as he informed us, a
'horphan'--adding, with a particular pathos, 'without father or mother!'
His melancholy was, I think, rather attributable to bile than
destitution, which he superinduced by feeding almost entirely on
'second-hand pastry,' purchased from the little Jew-boys, who hawk about
their 'tempting' trash in the vicinity of the Bank.
Matthew, like other youths of a poetical temperament, from Petrarch down
to Lord Byron, had a 'passion.'
I accidentally discovered the object of his platonic flame in the person
of the little grubby-girl--the servant of the house-keeper--for, as the
proverb truly says,
"Love and a cough cannot be hid."
The tender passion first evinced itself in his delicate attentions;--nor
was the quick-eyed maid slow to discover her conquest. Her penetration,
however, was greater than her sympathy. With a tact that would not have
disgraced a politician--in a better cause, she adroitly turned the
swelling current of his love to her own purposes.
As the onward flowing stream is made to turn the wheel, while the miller
sings at the window, so did she avail herself of his strength to do her
work, while she gaily hummed a time, and sadly 'hummed' poor Matthew.
There being nearly thirty offices in the building, there were of course
in winter as many fires, and as many coal-scuttles required. When the
eyes of the devoted Matthew gazed on the object of his heart's desire
toiling up the well-stair, he felt he knew not what; and, with a heart
palpitating with the apprehension that his proffered service might be
rejected (poor deluded mortal!), he begged he might assist her. With a
glance that he thought sufficient to ignite the insensible carbon, she
accepted his offer. Happy Matthew!--he grasped the handles her warm
red-hands had touched!--Cold-blooded, unimaginative beings may deride his
enthusiasm; but after all, the sentiment he experienced was similar to,
and quite as pure, as that of Tom Jones, when he fondled Sophia Western's
little muff.
But, alas!--
"The course of true love never did run smooth."
Two months after this event, 'his Mary' married the baker's man!--
* * * * * * * * * *
Wallis's nephew had several times invited me to pay him a visit at his
uncle's house, at Crouchend; and so once, during the absence of that
gentleman who was ruralizing at Tonbridge, I trudged down to his villa.
Nothing would suit Master John, but that he must 'have out' his uncle's
gun; and we certainly shot at, and frightened, many sparrows.
He was just pointing at a fresh quarry, when the loud crow of a cock
arrested his arm.
"That's Doddington's game 'un, I know," said Master John. "What d'ye
think--if he did'nt 'pitch into' our 'dunghill' the other day, and laid
him dead at a blow. I owe him one!--Come along." I followed in his
footsteps, and soon beheld Chanticleer crowing with all the ostentation
of a victor at the hens he had so ruthlessly widowed. A clothes-horse,
with a ragged blanket, screened us from his view; and Master'John,
putting the muzzle of his gun through a hole in this novel ambuscade,
discharged its contents point blank into the proclaimer of the morn--and
laid him low.
I trembled; for I felt that we had committed a 'foul murder.' Master
Johnny, however, derided my fears--called it retributive justice--and
ignominiously consigned the remains of a game-cock to a dunghill!
The affair appeared so like a cowardly assassination, in which I was
(though unwillingly--) 'particeps criminis'--that I walked away without
partaking of the gooseberry-pie, which he had provided for our supper.