“Waes me! what’s this that lugs sae at my heart,
And fills my breast with seck a dispert smart?
Can’t be that thing cawt luive? Good folks now tell,
And I’se set down just how I find mysel.
“I used to sing my sang, and crack my joke,
And shake my sides at murth like other folk,
But I’se sare chang’d frae what I used to be;
Luik i’ my feace, and you may fairly see.”
_The Costard’s Complaint, by Ewan Clark._
IT was a profound remark of Mrs. Coddle—and women, however humble, read
characters very quickly, especially when their own interests are
concerned—that there was no telling what ever had come to her Major
since them Sandboys had got back to the place. She only knew he hadn’t
been “all there” for the last ten days.
And certainly a peculiar change _had_ taken place in Major Oldschool’s
deportment in general, and to his housekeeper in particular. Do what she
might, there was no pleasing him. For a long time, Mrs. Coddle
speculated as to the cause of the alteration of the gentleman’s conduct
towards her. At first, with a true nurse’s discrimination, she had been
inclined to refer his ill-temper to what she termed the bad state of his
“digester,” being convinced that his stomach rather than his head was
deranged, and felt satisfied it was all owing to his having left off his
nightly brace of “Cockles.” Accordingly, she provided him with a
miniature bandbox of the best antibilious, and endeavoured to persuade
him to swallow a double allowance of the tiny medicinal dumplings—but
all to no avail. Then she felt certain it must be the nasty rheumatiz
flying about him, for he’d been and got his blood chilled the evening he
went to the station-’us, she knew, cause, on taking his shoe off that
night, she had found his sock was quite damp, and the cold must have
struck in’ards; so she made him tureensful of white wine whey and
treacle-posset, and hot milk and suet, but he would not touch a
thimbleful, as she said, of any of them, vowing he never was better in
all his life.
At length, however, Mrs. Coddle communicated in confidence to Mrs.
Fokesell that she had that morning discovered the cause of all her
Major’s tantrums of late, for, on examining the bottom of her teacup at
breakfast that day, she had seen a wedding among the grouts as plain as
she had ever seed any think in all her life; and what was more, so as to
satisfy herself that she couldn’t be mistaken, she had took the trouble
to burn a letter, and watch the sparks among the ashes, and there was
the parson and the clerk a-going one after the other, for all the world
as if they had been right afore her; and so, she said, putting this and
that, and a many other things together, Mrs. Fokesell might take her
word for it that there would be a wedding in that very house afore the
twelvemonth was over.
Mrs. Fokesell shook her head, and remarked that there was no going agin
such things, and that she too remembered of dreaming three times running
of tumbling into a bed of nettles, and that meant marriage all the world
over—adding, that _her_ Fokesell was going to sea again directly, and
there was no telling what might happen afore the year was out. But Mrs.
Coddle had, as she observed, her eye on a very different party, and all
she would then say was, “that there was no fools like _old_ fools,” and
she laid a most significant emphasis on that part of the proverb which
refers to the age of the simpletons.
Every day Mrs. Coddle discovered some fresh evidence to confirm her in
the opinion she had formed as to the cause of the Major’s odd ways of
late. Now she would catch him seated at his desk, and scribbling on his
blotting-pad, in a fit of abstraction, the name of “Elcy.” Then he had
taken to paying daily visits to Covent Garden Market in quest of
bouquets and bunches of violets, or baskets of choice fruit, which he
always sent up stairs with his compliments to the ladies. Then again he
had grown all of a sudden “so dreadful purticlar” about his dress, that
there was no bearing him. To-day the plaiting of his frill wouldn’t suit
him—to-morrow his shoe wasn’t polished to his liking—and he had actually
been and ordered a light poplin palletott, just because he had seed some
of the “young bloods” about in them.
And, to tell the truth, Mrs. Coddle was not very wrong in her surmises
as to the reason of the Major’s altered behaviour towards her. Ever
since he had first seen Elcy Sandboys weeping in the passage, and had
discovered the tenderness of her care and regard for her father, he had
had thoughts that he had never known before. Major Oldschool had left
England as a mere boy of a cadet, and before he had been a year up at
his station in India, he had discontinued corresponding with his
mother’s lady’s-maid, to whom he had sworn eternal attachment on
quitting the country. While out in India, the want of female society
had, in a measure, inured him to celibacy, till at last he had gradually
sunk into what the ladies termed “a hardened old bachelor.”
On his return to England, however, Major Oldschool soon began to find
that the Indian life, food, and climate, had made such inroads upon his
constitution, and accustomed him to such habits of indolence, or rather
dependence upon others for the execution of even his most trifling
wants, that now that his retinue of black domestics was no longer at his
command, he found it was utterly impossible to remain without some one
to look after him, so he provided himself with that most miserable of
all matrimonial make-shifts, an old crone of a housekeeper. Mrs. Coddle
was not long in discovering how necessary she was to the comfort of the
Major, nor in taking every advantage of him that his dependence upon her
permitted. Major Oldschool, however, had not been altogether blind to
the exactions of his housekeeper—but being naturally deficient in
energy, and not exactly seeing any way of immediately extricating
himself from the web that she had spun round him, he had tolerated her
tyranny in as patient a manner as possible.
On becoming acquainted with Elcy, the Major began to feel the thraldom
of Mrs. Coddle unusually irksome to him. He was continually contrasting
the truthfulness of the young girl with the artifice and deceit of the
old woman, and comparing the gentleness and loving care of the one with
the exactions and hollow sympathy of the other; and as he grew to like
the younger one, he got almost to hate the older in an equal degree.
Still he would hardly allow himself to imagine that he could be in love
at his time of life; and whenever he caught himself thinking how
wretched he was with old Mrs. Coddle, and how happy he could be with
Elcy Sandboys to attend upon him, he drove the thought from his mind,
calling himself an old fool, and mentally inquiring what the world would
think of him marrying a girl who was young enough to be his daughter.
The gentle cause of all this disturbance in the bosom and domestic
arrangements of Major Oldschool was utterly unconscious of the effect
she had produced; nor did she reciprocate the feelings of that
gentleman. It is true, she was much struck with his kindness to herself
and to her father during their trouble, and that she did not hesitate to
confess she thought him a very nice old gentleman indeed; and whenever
the Major had formed the subject of conversation with her family during
his absence, she had always spoken warmly of his kindness and attention
to them; but this the girl had done on every occasion, frankly and
without a blush.
Mrs. Coddle, however, who was sufficiently well skilled in the
development of the gentle passion, from the budding, as it were, to the
blossoming of the orange flowers—not having lived all her years, as she
said, for nothing,—soon required no prophetic vane to tell her which way
the wind blew in the front parlour of Mrs. Fokesell’s establishment, and
did not hesitate to confess as much to the landlady herself. She knew
how it would all turn out from the very first time the Major set eyes on
the “chit” a-snivelling in the passage. His going out without his tea
was quite enough for her: and of all artful young husseys, Miss Sandboys
was the wust she ever come a-nigh. She couldn’t abear to see such
scheming and planning as there was with young gals, now-a-days, to get
well settled in life—no matter to them what poor cretur they threw out
of bread by it: and she had no doubt that after all she had done for the
Major, she’d be thrown o’ one side, like an old shoe, when she wasn’t
wanted no longer. But she could tell the pair on ’em that she wasn’t
agoing to be got rid on quite so easy; and if they didn’t know their
dooty, and had never given it so much as a thought what was to become of
her, why, she’d just let them see what she considered was her rights. It
made her quite ill to think of the deceit there was in the world; and
what business had that “bit of a girl” to come turning her out of house
and home—especially when she thought she were comfortable settled for
life—was all she wanted to know.
Thus matters went on, the hatred of Mrs. Coddle toward Elcy Sandboys
increasing in a direct ratio with the liking of the Major for the same
person, and when the housekeeper learnt that the intended visit of the
Sandboys to the Exhibition, in company with the Major, had been
postponed by the amputation of his wooden leg, she was as delighted at
first as she was annoyed on hearing afterwards that the Cumberland folk
had been prevailed upon by the Major to remain in London until such time
as he could get his leg repaired, and fulfil his engagement with them.
Indeed the Major, much to Mrs. Coddle’s discomfort, would not listen to
the departure of his friends, and promised to make all haste in
providing himself with a new limb, expressly for their visit to the
Crystal Palace. Accordingly, he set himself to work, thinking what kind
of a new leg he should have, and whom he should get to make it. This
time he made up his mind he would employ a person who had some
experience in the line, for the last leg he had made was by a mere
novice, and had cost him no little trouble; at first the manufacturer
had constructed it of too great a length, and it had made him lean on
one side, for all the world like a human tower of Pisa,—then the man cut
it down too short, and he had been thrown from one side to the other,
like a fresh-water sailor in a heavy swell,—then, too, the fellow had
manufactured the thing out of green stuff, and it had warped so, that
the wooden leg positively looked bandy.
Having by these cogent reasons convinced himself that it would be far
better to place his leg in the hands of an experienced artificer, the
Major next began to debate within himself as to what should be the style
and material of the limb. One thing he had made his mind up to; he was
not going to continue in the Greenwich pensioner style any longer,
hobbling about on a leg that was as straight, and had no more symmetry
in it than a stork’s. No! he would have a cork one. He had often seen in
the shops some beautiful fellows, with a black silk stocking over them,
and a calf as plump as a footman’s in high life. Yes! he would despatch
a letter that moment to the very place where he remembered having seen
one worthy of a fashionable physician in the window. Accordingly, he
hopped along to his desk, as best he could, and scribbled a hasty
summons to the artificial limb-maker.
It was not long before the human centipede—the modern Briaræus—the Argus
of the nineteenth century, made his appearance; and having learnt from
the Major the nature of the accident, proceeded to describe to the
gentleman the quality of the several artifices at present in vogue for
supplying the various defects in the human frame. The limb-maker had an
odd way with him of describing the respective artificial appurtenances
of his business, as if they were his own individual possessions, and
formed part of his own frame, instead of his stock in trade.
“Yes, sir, I believe I may say, without vanity,” observed the loquacious
Frankenstein of 1851, “that I have been long celebrated for the make of
my legs. It is universally allowed that there are not such legs as mine
in all Europe, sir. A lady of quality had one of my legs—the right leg
it was—and she danced the polka in it as well as ever she could have
done it with her own, sir.”
Major Oldschool threw up his eyebrows with astonishment, while he smiled
with delight.
“I can assure you, sir,” continued the man, rubbing his hands as if he
were washing them in phantom soap and water, “you will find my knees not
at all stiff nor shaky; not like the cheap slop articles, that—if you
will permit me to say so—are very much in the hackney-coach-horse style.
Then, doubtlessly, you may have heard of the superior quality of my arms
and hands, sir. Only the other day I sent home an arm to a general
officer, with a dessert service fitted up inside, knife and fork,
table-spoon, tea-spoon, meerschaum pipe, cork-screw, and boot-hooks, and
the fingers made to take a pinch of snuff positively with an air of
grace, sir—an air of grace, I may say, sir.”
Major Oldschool was too glad to listen, and therefore refrained from
saying a word that might interrupt the strain of the tradesman’s
boastings.
“Then again,” resumed the man, “there are my eyes, sir, which I will
challenge the whole world to equal. I will put my eyes against theirs
for any sum they please, let them be black, blue, grey, or hazel, sir.
Perhaps you may have noticed my eyes in the shop window, sir. I have
_one_—a black one, sir—that obtained me the prize from the Society of
Arts last year, sir. I don’t think, sir, you could go into any
fashionable church or chapel without their being either one or two of my
eyes in the place. I serve all the first people, I can assure you, sir.
Then I have a charitable society in connexion with my establishment, for
the gratuitous distribution of eyes to the poor, and a very great relief
it is to them, sir. To servants they are a real blessing—for mistresses
object to one-eyed nurses, or lady’s-maids, or cooks, you know, sir—so I
let those kind of people have my eyes at what they cost me, and they are
very thankful for them, indeed, sir. I should think I have got at least
a hundred eyes in place at the present time, sir.”
“Bless me! bless me!” cried the Major; “I had no idea that art was
carried to such perfection;—but we live in wonderful times.”
“You may say that, sir,” replied the man of _eye art_. “We can remedy
any defect—no matter what, sir. Humpbacks we can pad out into perfect
symmetry; spindle legs we can plump into the finest calves. If you will
take my word for it, there are several tragedians and footmen in high
life who are strutting about at this present time in my calves; and as
for waiters and dancing-masters, we do a prodigious business with them
in the course of the year. You would not believe it, perhaps, sir, but I
have known a leg that was modelled into mahogany bootjacks that was
merely made up of my calves, after all. But you will excuse me, sir;
this but little concerns you. Touching your own leg, sir, I think you
said you should like cork; but if you will allow me to recommend, I
should advise you to have a gutta percha one. We are now making up some
beautiful limbs in that material. I had one leg at home that I did
intend to have brought round with me under my arm, just for your
inspection, sir. I am sure you would have liked it, the article is so
light and elastic: indeed, it is one of my best legs, and not at all
dear, sir. Now, let me make you up one of those; for I can assure you,
sir, if you will only leave your leg in my hands, I will turn you out
such a nice, light, elegant one”—and here he smiled and bowed—“that will
make you regret you have not lost the other. Our art, you see, sir, is
no base imitation of Nature, but I may say an improvement upon her—as,
indeed, all high art _should_ be, sir. All our limbs are warranted to be
true Grecian proportions. If you will oblige me by taking a seat, I will
just take the dimensions of your limb, sir.”
Then, as the Major sank into the nearest chair, the leg-maker proceeded
to take his measure, and as he pushed up the trousers, said, after
having passed the tape round the ankle, “How shall we do about the calf,
sir? Shall we reduce the proportions of the artificial, or plump out
those of the natural limb? For my own part, I should recommend a little
of both; and if you will allow me, sir, to send you round just one or
two of my calves to look at, I think you would be exceedingly pleased
with them. I could let you have one calf at a very low figure just now,
for I remember I have an odd calf by me, as I supplied an Admiral of the
Blue with one just your size, for her Majesty’s last Levee—or else, you
see, sir, it would become expensive to break the pair. The one I should
send you is made on the best plan; it forms part of the web of the
stocking, and so there is no fear of its turning round to the shin while
dancing or taking any other active exercise, sir, as I dare say you
remember used frequently to happen with the dreadful things they wore a
few years back, and which you may perhaps recollect, sir, looked more
like the cricketer’s paddings than improvers of the ‘form divine.’”
Major Oldschool thought of the ladies, and assented to the tradesman’s
proposal.
The limb-furnisher rose from his kneeling position, and having rolled up
his measure, and brushed his hat with his sleeve, previous to his taking
his departure, drew a card from his pocket, and presenting it to the
Major, said—“Should you be in want of any teeth at any time, sir, you
will find that gentleman very skilful and moderate in his charges. He
has some remarkably fine china sets just now; you may have noticed one
in our window, sir, in a beautiful working wax head, with the eyes
moving, the mouth opening, and the teeth going in and out every other
minute, by clock-work. I have not the least doubt you remember seeing
the model, sir; it has a fine jet-black beard; at one moment the figure
is as toothless as a sloth, sir—and the next minute his mouth is filled
with an entire set, as beautiful and white as a sweep’s. But perhaps,
sir,” he added, finding the Major made no reply, “you are not in want of
anything in that way. You will see, sir, the gentleman states at the
bottom of the card that his teeth are so much admired, that he has no
doubt that his china sets will shortly supersede all others.” Here the
man made a profound bow, and, saying the Major should have his leg home
in a day or two, quitted the room.
The limb-maker had no sooner closed the door than he returned, and
presenting a small pamphlet, said—“I beg your pardon, sir; but would you
allow me to present you with this little list of testimonials; you, or
some of your friends from the country may, perhaps, be troubled with
corns or bunions, and I can assure you that Professor Rootzemout,
Chiropodist to her Royal Highness the Duchess of Gloucester, and the
rest of the royal family, extracts them with no more pain than corks,
sir. You will see that the Professor has had the feet of the ‘first of
the land’ under his hands, sir. The Bishop of Calcutta certifies that
the Professor has removed a bunion from his great toe, that he had been
suffering a martyrdom from for months; and even the Prime Minister of
the country publicly expresses his gratitude to the Professor for the
eradication of a soft corn that had allowed him no rest for years. The
Professor’s specimens in his museum are really quite marvellous, sir.
One he has from a late Lord Mayor of London, I give you my word, sir, is
as big as a spring onion; but I fear I am intruding on your valuable
time;” and so saying, the enterprising tradesman wiped his shoes several
times on the carpet as he bowed obsequiously and withdrew.
* * * * *
True to the appointed time, the anxiously-expected leg was sent home
carefully enveloped in silver paper, and shortly afterwards the maker
arrived to fit it on, and see whether his limb was sufficiently well-set
to be allowed to run alone. When he had fixed it the man was in raptures
with his own handiwork; and while the Major paced the room, the
limb-maker declared, as he bobbed about to look at him from every point
of view, that the Major’s leg was the very best he had yet made in the
same material.
Major Oldschool was almost as pleased as the man, and exclaimed, on
looking at himself in the pier-glass, that he positively shouldn’t have
known his own figure again; adding, as he thrust the leg forward, and
leant his head on one side to look at the calf of it, that no one could
tell it was not his own: and, as he paid the maker, he expressed himself
much indebted to his skill for his improved appearance.
When the artificer had left, the Major gave full vent to his feelings,
and strutted about the room inwardly gloating over the surprise that the
ladies and old Sandboys would feel on beholding him firmly on his legs
once more. Then he wondered however he could have gone hobbling about on
that spindle of a leg so long, with the iron tip thumping, as he went
along, like a blind man’s stick on the ground; and he promised himself
that immediately after dinner he would arrange with the Sandboys to be
off, the first thing in the morning, to the Exhibition; for he longed to
show himself there with his new leg quite as much as his Cumberland
friends wished to look at the wonders of the Show.
When the Sandboys _did_ behold the Major’s new leg, they were one and
all as much astonished as he expected or wished them to be, and the
evening was spent in jests at his previous appearance, and in mirthful
remembrances of the accident which had brought about the change. Even
the fatalistic Mr. Sandboys was obliged to declare that Destiny, for
once, had done them a good turn, and before retiring to rest, he had
grown to look upon the past adventure as a propitious omen, foretelling
their speedy attainment of the object they had so repeatedly sought.
Nor could Elcy herself help speaking in terms of admiration at the
Major’s improved appearance, declaring, that had she not seen him with
his previous wooden substitute, she should never have been aware of his
loss of limb—all of which was so extremely gratifying to the old
soldier, that he felt more delighted with the girl than ever.
Major Oldschool got but little rest that night, for he kept thinking
over and over again of all that had occurred,—muttering to himself, half
unconsciously, when he _did_ doze off, what Elcy had said in admiration
of the change that had taken place in him. Nor were the slumbers of Elcy
and Jobby more profound; they both ran over in their minds the several
wonders they had read of in the Exhibition, and longed for the daylight
that was to reveal to them all the marvels of the Crystal Palace.
Mr. and Mrs. Sandboys themselves were up with the sparrows the next
morning, alive with the conviction that at last the eventful day which
was to consummate their hopes and wishes had really arrived; and in a
short time they would be back again to Cumberland in their quiet
mountain home, talking over the many wonders they had seen, and laughing
with their neighbours over the perplexing adventures they had gone
through.
When the party were assembled, Major Oldschool propounded the order of
the day’s amusements, as he had mentally arranged them previously to
rising that morning. He had crammed the day, he said, as full of sights
and shows as he possibly could. He proposed that they should first, as
it was a lovely morning, go by the steamer up to the New Houses of
Parliament, and having viewed them, and looked in at the Courts of Law,
they were to step over to the Abbey and take a peep at the Poet’s
Corner. Then they could have a beautiful stroll through the parks, past
Buckingham Palace, and along Constitution Hill, to the Wellington
Statue; after which they could just drop in at the St. George’s Gallery,
and see the splendid Diorama of the Holy Land, and Cumming’s African
Hunter’s Exhibition; which done, they could step along to the Chinese
Collection, and look at the lady who had only two inches to stand upon,
instead of a foot; and after that, just to fortify them against the
fatigues of the day, they could drop into M. Mouflet’s restaurant, and
have a nice little luncheon, for the Major said it was whispered that
the tepid ices, and soupy jellies, and Bath buns—strongly resembling
their hard and dry relations the Bath bricks—which were to be had at the
Exhibition, could not be included among the _chef-d’œuvres_ of the
Crystal Palace. After luncheon, Major Oldschool told them they would be
ready for a good four-hours’ feast of their eyes at the Grand Show; and
this over, he proposed they should retire to M. Soyer’s Imposium and
have a nice little dinner of cold meat and pickles in the Baronial Hall,
at the small charge of half-a-guinea a head; and in the evening, he
said, they could take a cab, and drive to Leicester-square, and have a
turn round the Great Globe, and be nearly broiled by the gas up among
the Polar Regions; next, they might step across to M. Cantelo’s
Incubator, and see the process of hatching chickens, which was
remarkably curious, for he _had_ been informed by one of the first
physiologists of the age that the young brood invariably evinced an
instinctive attachment to their maternal boiler, striving to nestle
themselves under their parent kettle immediately it began to sing. And
as a conclusion to the day’s entertainments, they might all pop in at
the Adelphi, and having passed an hour or two there, they might then be
able to get to Vauxhall just in time to see the horsemanship and
fireworks; and there, after a cold fowl and lobster salad, by way of a
little supper, they could return home ready and thankful for bed.
The Sandboys were all delighted with the Major’s programme for the day’s
festivities, and having swallowed a hasty breakfast, and decked
themselves out in their holiday costume, they once more descended to the
parlour, ready to start for the Great Sight, with Cursty fidgeting at
their heels, in inward fear of something or other occurring that would
once more delay their departure.
At length, however, the whole party were fairly off; and as Mr. Sandboys
stood on the door-step, wondering within himself how they had succeeded
in getting even that far towards their destination, he said thoughtfully
to the Major, as he held him by the button-hole, while Jobby, Elcy, and
Mrs. Sandboys went tripping along lightly up the street, “I’ll tell thee
what I’ll do, Major——”
“Yes, yes,” answered his friend, “but tell me as we go, or we shall miss
the ladies.”
Cursty paid little or no attention to the Major’s impatience, but still
musing, said, “I’ll wager thee a crown, man, that we never get inside t’
Girt Exhibition to-day.”
“Done!” shouted the Major, and he dragged the fatalistic Cursty Sandboys
with him, as he hobbled up the street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER THE LAST.
“Wi’ sic thoughts i’ my mind,
Time thro’ the warl may gae,
And find me still, in twenty years,
The same as I’m to-day:
’Tis friendship bears the sway,
And keeps friends i’ the e’e;
And gin I think I see thee still,
Wha can part thee and me?”
_Song, by Miss Blamire._
IN a few moments the Sandboys and Major Oldschool were safe on board the
penny “Bee,” steaming along the Thames towards the Westminster pier.
The Major, who had found it impossible, with his artificial leg, to keep
up with the ladies, had availed himself of the circumstance of his being
left alone with Cursty, to paint a vivid picture (as they hobbled
through Hungerford Market) of the solitary state of his household, and
the horrors of a life dependent for its comforts and enjoyments on the
tender mercies of a selfish old housekeeper, expatiating in the meantime
on the sufficiency of his funds to maintain a wife in ease, if not in
luxury; and winding up with a modest eulogium as to the amiability of
his temper—the domesticity of his habits—and his cat-like love of a
quiet hearth.
Mr. Sandboys had just inquired how it was—if such were the bent of his
inclinations—that he remained in a state of wretched bachelorhood; and
the Major had just answered that it was the very thing he wished to
speak to him about, when a shrill voice suddenly shouted, “Pay here for
the ‘Bee,’ gents! pay here!”
The demand having been complied with, the Major, immediately he was on
board the penny steamer, sought out a retired spot where he might
continue the delicate subject of their previous conversation, and
perceiving that the most quiet part of the vessel was immediately
adjoining the line of demarcation between the lovers and the haters of
the “fragrant weed,” drew his friend Cursty towards the gangway: leaning
their backs against the funnel, the couple resumed the tender topic
which had recently engaged them.
As the “Bee” went buzzing over the water, the Major made the father of
Elcy his own father-confessor as to the state of his bosom at that
particular moment, declaring the object of his affection to be none
other than that gentleman’s daughter.
The simple and unobservant, because unsuspicious, Cursty was nearly
taken off his nautical legs by the announcement: but referring the Major
to Elcy herself for an answer, he confessed that, provided she saw no
cause or impediment, &c., he himself would not be the man to forbid the
banns; whereupon they both grew so interested in the “momentous
question”—the Major intent on making the most of his qualifications for
a good husband, and descanting rapturously on Miss Elcy’s possession of
all the requisites for a good wife, and Cursty Sandboys lost in the
pleasure of listening to the praises of his child—that, though the heat
of the funnel at their backs was almost sufficient to cook an omelette,
it was utterly unheeded by them.
[Illustration:
The Dispersion of the Works of all Nations From the great Exhibition
of 1851
]
Now, gutta percha is a most admirable material, especially adapted for
boats, ropes, and other commodities to be used in the Arctic regions;
but, unfortunately, it has the slight drawback of softening like
“hardbake” at a high temperature, and consequently it is _not
particularly_ suited for firemen’s helmets, owing to its liability to
run down the faces of the “brigade” like treacle, when exposed to a
“terrific conflagration;” nor is it especially adapted to the
manufacture of shaving-pots, seeing that the infusion of the boiling
water is certain to elongate the vessel into something approximating the
form and appearance of a huge German sausage; and we _have_ known
candlesticks made of the treacherous “gutta” _gutter_ away with the
expiring “stearine” until nothing was left of the antique candelabrum
but a leathery pancake on the tablecloth; picture-frames, too, composed
of the same uncertain substance have been found, in the dog-days, to
suffer almost as much as aldermen from the extreme heat of the weather,
and to grow as limp and bendy at the joints as an acrobat, while the
cornices ran down into a series of chocolate-coloured stalactites. Nor
is the soluble stuff better adapted to the formation of harness, for
gutta percha traces have been occasionally seen, when the thermometer
stood at 80° in the shade, to elongate like vulcanized India-rubber, and
to leave the vehicle a considerable distance behind the horse which was
supposed to be drawing it, while the whip which was intended for the
flagellation of the animal has gone as soft as a lollipop, and of no
more service than a straw; and to this catalogue of commodities unfitted
to be manufactured in gutta percha still one other article must be
added, and that is—as an Irishman would say—wooden legs; for though legs
are intended to run as well as to walk, it is somewhat inconvenient to
find them, on the least increase of temperature, run away altogether,
and the limb which was meant as a crutchlike support give way, for all
the world as though the wearer had become suddenly afflicted with the
“rickets,” his gutta percha leg gradually bending in or bulging out,
like a barley-sugar bird-cage at an evening party.
Presently the tender thread of Major Oldschool’s discourse was rudely
snapped asunder by a kind of echo duet performed by the captain of the
“Busy Bee” in deep bass, and the call-boy in shrill treble, the burden
of which was—“ease her! _ease her!_—back her! _back her!_—stop her!
_stop her!_”—and then bump went the vessel against the Westminster pier,
making the barge wabble on the water like a yeast dumpling in a
saucepan.
Until this moment the Major, whose back had been resting against the
funnel, had not attempted to stir a foot, and no sooner was he roused
from his reverie by the cry of “Now, then, any one for Westminster?”
than, seizing Mr. Sandboys by the arm, he cried, “Here we are. Come
along, quick! or we shall be carried off to Chelsea;” and made a
desperate effort to reach the plank that connected the “Bee” with the
pier; but no sooner did he trust the weight of his body to the
treacherous gutta percha limb, which the heat of the funnel had by this
time rendered as limp as a stale sugar-stick in a confectioner’s window,
than it bent under him like a soldier’s penny cane, and down went the
Major on his side, dragging the terrified Cursty along with him.
The Major was so unprepared for the mishap, that he was utterly unaware
of the cause of his sudden fall, until, on attempting to get up, and
trusting once more to his “gummy” leg, he was again precipitated on top
of the bewildered Cursty, before that gentleman had time to rise. On
looking to the state of his new limb, however, the problem was speedily
solved, for he found that his gutta percha calf, softened by the heat of
the funnel, had run into his boot, while his artificial ankle had
swollen into a “model gout,” while what was originally the thick part of
the leg, had been attenuated into a mere tendon, no thicker than a
harp-string.
Major Oldschool raved at all new-fangled inventions, and vowed as he
clasped his head with vexation, that there was nothing like wood, after
all, and called himself an idiot for allowing himself to be talked into
any such “tomfoolery,” while the passengers laughed violently at the
catastrophe; and even the Sandboys, vexed as they felt at the further
postponement of their visit to the Crystal Palace, could not refrain
from taking part in the merriment excited on the occasion.
To proceed to the Exhibition with such a leg was utterly impossible, and
to the Sandboys’ great discomfiture nothing remained to be done but to
have the _uni-ped_ Major carried to a cab, and conveyed back to
Craven-street as rapidly as possible.
* * * * *
Mr. Cursty Sandboys, as usual, saw that the calamity had been planned by
some of the invisible sprites and mischievous elfins in the employ of
that blind and spiteful old maid passing under the name of Destiny or
Fate, and whom he felt thoroughly convinced were having a hearty
demoniac laugh in their phantom sleeves at the many annoyances they were
causing him; and no sooner was he once more located within the parlour
of Major Oldschool, than he registered a vow on the ceiling of that
apartment, that he would never again move a leg to get to that bothering
Crystal Palace. It was no use talking to him—go home he _would_—and
people might laugh as they pleased.
That evening, as the Major and Cursty sat enjoying their toddy after the
family had retired to rest, and Mr. Sandboys was growing eloquent, under
the influence of the whisky punch, on the many beauties of his native
Buttermere, Major Oldschool begged Cursty to defer his return to
Cumberland until he (the Major) had escorted Elcy to the Exhibition, and
availed himself of that opportunity to speak to the young lady on the
subject of their morning’s conversation; for, as he said, half laughing,
he could not think of marrying a lady who was unacquainted with the
wonders of the Exhibition—he might as well pick a wife from a convent at
once, and unite himself with one who had had her head shaved, and
foresworn the world and every kind of _show_. As an additional
inducement, moreover, the Major promised that if he were fortunate
enough to gain the young lady’s consent, he would return with the
family, be married at Lanthwaite Green Church, as his old friend had
been, and pass the rest of his days with the family at Buttermere.
As soon as the Major was provided with a new limb, he accompanied Elcy
and her brother to the Great Exhibition, and there, as he led her
through all the countries of the civilized globe, he endeavoured to
reveal the state of his feelings—now, as they paused for a moment in
France, he asked her whether she thought she could be happy with him for
life—and now, as they rambled through China, he inquired whether she
fancied she would be very miserable if she had him for a companion for
the remainder of her days. Elcy replied that he had been so kind to them
all, that she was sure she should always be glad to be in his company,
and that ever since her first acquaintance with him, she had esteemed
him as one of her father’s best friends—all which so encouraged the
Major, that he availed himself of the solitude of America to beg to be
informed whether her esteem for him as a friend could make her love him
as a husband?
The young lady was wholly unprepared for such an inquiry, and as she
thought of the disparity of their ages, she hurried on and pretended to
be so absorbed with the ingenuity of the sewing machine, as not to have
heard the question; the Major, however, had no sooner led his fair
companion into Russia, than he whispered the same tender question in her
ear as she stood admiring the beauty of the malachite doors. Elcy,
finding at last that it was impossible to evade the question, begged of
the Major not to press her for an answer, telling him that the
remembrance of his great kindness would always insure him her best
regard, and as she said so, the frank-hearted girl shook him by the hand
in token of her friendship; all of which the sanguine Major construed
into a modest assent to his proposal, and he plucked up his shirt
collar, as he felt as if the snows of some thirty winters had been
suddenly swept away from his head. On the return home of the party,
after their day’s tour of the world, the Major announced at tea that he
proposed passing the remainder of his days in Buttermere, and it was
accordingly arranged between himself and Cursty that they should leave
London for Cumberland with the least possible delay.
But the departure of the Sandboys and the Major was doomed to be delayed
once more; for Mrs. Cursty no sooner received a full and impartial
account from Elcy and Jobby, of all the many curiosities contained
beneath the huge glass case of the Crystal Palace, than she made up her
mind she would have one peep at it before she left.
And when Mrs. Sandboys had feasted her eyes on the banquet of the works
of Industry of all nations, she in her turn came back with a glowing
account of its many marvels, so that poor Cursty began inwardly to long
for a peep at it himself, but remembering the vow he had registered on
the ceiling, he still pretended to be firm, though in his heart he was
really waiting for his friends to press him to abandon his resolution,
and to find some little excuse by which he could, with any show of
honour, sneak out of the determination he had come to; and in the hope
of their so doing, he managed to put off their departure, day after day,
until at last, on the Monday morning fixed for their return to
Buttermere, as Cursty sat at breakfast, sipping his hot tea hastily, so
as to be in time for the train to the North, he confessed it would be a
shame for him to go back without seeing the Exhibition. Accordingly, he
asked the Major if, as a man of honour, he thought he could rescind his
vow, saying that it struck him that, as he had taken an oath he would
not stir a foot to get to the Great Exhibition, that did not prevent his
being carried there. The Major smiled at the equivocation, and telling
his friend that he might do so, and still preserve his honour unsullied,
Mr. Sandboys consented that the cab which was then at the door to convey
them to the station on their way back to their mountain home, should go
round by the Exhibition, and drop him at the transept, so that he might
pop his head in, and just be able to say that he had seen it, after all.
The Major who, while Cursty was coquetting with his conscience, stood at
the window entertaining himself with the perusal of the morning paper,
which he had bought to lighten the tedium of the long journey, no sooner
heard the announcement of his friend’s altered determination, than he
shouted out, “It’s no use now, Cursty! for here is a long account of the
closing of the Exhibition last Saturday.” Mr. Sandboys’ jaw fell like a
carriage dog’s, and, knocking his “wide-awake” on his head, he hurried
into the cab, and in a minute the Sandboys family, in company with the
Major, were on their way back to Buttermere, Cursty vowing that if there
was ever another Exhibition, he would never think of coming up to London
again to enjoy himself.
THE END.
Savill & Edwards, Printers, 4, Chandos-street, Covent garden.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ The inconsistent formatting of chapter headings was regularized.
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_);
text that was bold by “equal” signs (=bold=).