My brother William had rented a house in Brompton, engaged two female
servants, and commenced house-keeping after the manner of most
Londoners.
In his house I was permitted to occupy two apartments--a parlour, and
bed-room.
The servant, who attended to these rooms, possessed a character, marked
by some peculiarities that were rather amusing. She was over fifty
years of age; and carried about the house a face that most people would
have considered unpleasant.
I did not. I only believed that Mrs Nagger--such was her name--might
have experienced several disappointments in her life; and that the
expression, caused by the latest and last of them, had become so
indelibly stamped upon her features, as not to be removed by any hope of
future happiness.
Like a good many of her sex, Mrs Nagger's tongue was seldom at rest,
though the words she uttered were but few, and generally limited to the
exclamatory phrase, "More's the pity!" followed by the confession,
"That's all I can say."
I had, sometimes, cause to complain of the coffee, which the old
housekeeper used to set before me--fancying it inferior to any, I had
met elsewhere.
"Mrs Nagger," I would say--laying an emphasis on the Mrs, of which she
seemed no little vain--"I do not think this is coffee at all. What do
you suppose it to be?"
"Indeed I don't know, sir; and more's the pity!"
"And this milk," I would continue, "I fancy it must have been taken from
an iron-tailed cow."
"Yes, sir; and more's the pity! That's all I can say."
I soon learnt that the old creature was quite right in her simple
confession. "More's the pity" was about all she could say; and I was
not sorry that it was so.
One day I was honoured by a visit from Cannon, who, being some years
older than myself, and having rather an elevated opinion of his own
wisdom, volunteered to offer me a little advice.
"Stone," said he, "why don't you settle down, and live happily like your
brother? If I had your opportunity of doing so, I wouldn't put up with
the miserable life I am leading, a week longer."
"What opportunity do you speak of?"
"Why that of marrying Jessie H--. Do not think me meddlesome, or
impertinent. I take it for granted that you and I are sufficiently
acquainted for me to take the liberty I am doing. The girl likes you; I
know it, and it is a deuced shame to see a fine girl like her thrown
away on such a puppy as Vane. Why don't you save her? She is
everything a man could wish for--although she is a little different from
most of the young ladies of London. In my opinion, she's all the better
for that."
In thus addressing me, Cannon acted in a more ungentlemanly manner than
I had ever known him to do, for he was not a man to intrude advice upon
his friends--especially on matters of so serious a nature, as the one he
had introduced.
Believing him to have some friendship for myself, more for the H--
family, and a great antipathy to Vane, I listened to him without feeling
offended.
"I am not insensible to the attractions of Miss H--," said I, "but the
happiness, you speak of, can never be mine."
"Oh! I understand you," rejoined he. "You have been disappointed in
love by some one else? So was I, once on a time--madly in love with a
girl who married another, whom I suppose she liked better than me. At
first I thought of committing suicide; but was prevented--I suppose, by
fear. I was afflicted with very unpleasant thoughts, springing from
this disappointment. They stuck to me for nearly three years. I got
over them last, and I'll tell you how. I accidentally met the object of
my affections. She was the mother of two rosy, apple-cheeked children;
and presented a personal appearance that immediately disenchanted me.
She was nearly as broad as she was long. I wondered how the deuce I
could ever have been such a fool as to love the woman--more especially
to have made myself so miserable about her. If you have been
disappointed in the same manner, take my advice, and seek the remedy
that restored me."
Absurd as Cannon's proposition might appear, I could not help thinking
that there was some philosophy in it; and, without telling him of my
intention, I determined on giving it further consideration.
To change the conversation, I rang the bell. I knew that Cannon was
fond of a glass of Scotch whiskey; and, when Mrs Nagger made her
appearance, I requested her to bring a bottle of Glenlivet into the
room--along with some hot water and sugar. The "materials" were
produced; and we proceeded to mixing the "toddy."
"This is the right brand," said Cannon, taking up the bottle, and
scrutinising its label, "the very sort to my taste."
I could see the lips of Mrs Nagger slightly moving; and I knew that she
was muttering the words, "more's the pity!" I have no doubt that she
suffered a little at being deprived of the opportunity of giving her one
idea a more audible manifestation.
Cannon did not suffer from any disappointment as to the quality of the
liquor. At all events, he appeared to find it to his liking: for he
became so exhilarated over it, that he did not leave until sunset; and
not then, till he had prevailed upon me to accompany him--with the
understanding, that we should spend the evening together.
"What's the use of your living in London," he asked, "if you stay all
the time within doors? You appear even less inclined to see a little
life, than when I met you in Melbourne. Why is it, Stone?"
"Because I came here to rest myself. A life spent in labour, has given
me but few opportunities of acquiring that knowledge, that may be
obtained from books; and now that I have a little leisure given me, I
wish to make a good use of it."
"That's a very sensible design, no doubt," said Cannon, "but you must
not follow it to-night. Come along with me; and I'll show you something
of London."
I consented to accompany Cannon--on the condition of his taking me to
some place where I could be amused in a quiet, simple manner--any
spectacle suitable to a sailor, or gold-digger, and at which there might
be no disgrace in being present.
"Take me to some place," said I, "that is neither too high nor too low.
Let me see, or hear something I can understand--something that is
popular with the majority of Londoners; so that I may be able to form an
idea of their tastes and habits."
"All right," answered Cannon, "I'll take you to several places of the
sort; and you can judge for yourself. You wish to witness the
amusements most popular among, what might be called, the middle classes?
Well, we shall first visit a concert hall, or music room. The
Londoners profess to be a musical people; and it must be admitted that
much, both of their time and money, is expended in listening to vocal
and instrumental performances. It is in the theatres and music halls,
that one may best meet the people of London--not the very lowest class
of them; but those who profess, and fancy themselves up to a high
standard of civilisation. Come on!"
Yielding myself to the guidance of my sage companion, I followed him
into the street.
Volume Three, Chapter XXVII.