WE know—and all people know—so many specimens of this class, that in
selecting the few heads our limits enable us to take from a great number,
we have been induced to give the very friendly young gentleman the
preference over many others, to whose claims upon a more cursory view of
the question we had felt disposed to assign the priority.
The very friendly young gentleman is very friendly to everybody, but he
attaches himself particularly to two, or at most to three families:
regulating his choice by their dinners, their circle of acquaintance, or
some other criterion in which he has an immediate interest. He is of any
age between twenty and forty, unmarried of course, must be fond of
children, and is expected to make himself generally useful if possible.
Let us illustrate our meaning by an example, which is the shortest mode
and the clearest.
We encountered one day, by chance, an old friend of whom we had lost
sight for some years, and who—expressing a strong anxiety to renew our
former intimacy—urged us to dine with him on an early day, that we might
talk over old times. We readily assented, adding, that we hoped we
should be alone. ‘Oh, certainly, certainly,’ said our friend, ‘not a
soul with us but Mincin.’ ‘And who is Mincin?’ was our natural inquiry.
‘O don’t mind him,’ replied our friend, ‘he’s a most particular friend of
mine, and a very friendly fellow you will find him;’ and so he left us.
‘We thought no more about Mincin until we duly presented ourselves at the
house next day, when, after a hearty welcome, our friend motioned towards
a gentleman who had been previously showing his teeth by the fireplace,
and gave us to understand that it was Mr. Mincin, of whom he had spoken.
It required no great penetration on our part to discover at once that Mr.
Mincin was in every respect a very friendly young gentleman.
‘I am delighted,’ said Mincin, hastily advancing, and pressing our hand
warmly between both of his, ‘I am delighted, I am sure, to make your
acquaintance—(here he smiled)—very much delighted indeed—(here he
exhibited a little emotion)—I assure you that I have looked forward to it
anxiously for a very long time:’ here he released our hands, and rubbing
his own, observed, that the day was severe, but that he was delighted to
perceive from our appearance that it agreed with us wonderfully; and then
went on to observe, that, notwithstanding the coldness of the weather, he
had that morning seen in the paper an exceedingly curious paragraph, to
the effect, that there was now in the garden of Mr. Wilkins of
Chichester, a pumpkin, measuring four feet in height, and eleven feet
seven inches in circumference, which he looked upon as a very
extraordinary piece of intelligence. We ventured to remark, that we had
a dim recollection of having once or twice before observed a similar
paragraph in the public prints, upon which Mr. Mincin took us
confidentially by the button, and said, Exactly, exactly, to be sure, we
were very right, and he wondered what the editors meant by putting in
such things. Who the deuce, he should like to know, did they suppose
cared about them? that struck him as being the best of it.
The lady of the house appeared shortly afterwards, and Mr. Mincin’s
friendliness, as will readily be supposed, suffered no diminution in
consequence; he exerted much strength and skill in wheeling a large
easy-chair up to the fire, and the lady being seated in it, carefully
closed the door, stirred the fire, and looked to the windows to see that
they admitted no air; having satisfied himself upon all these points, he
expressed himself quite easy in his mind, and begged to know how she
found herself to-day. Upon the lady’s replying very well, Mr. Mincin
(who it appeared was a medical gentleman) offered some general remarks
upon the nature and treatment of colds in the head, which occupied us
agreeably until dinner-time. During the meal, he devoted himself to
complimenting everybody, not forgetting himself, so that we were an
uncommonly agreeable quartette.
‘I’ll tell you what, Capper,’ said Mr. Mincin to our host, as he closed
the room door after the lady had retired, ‘you have very great reason to
be fond of your wife. Sweet woman, Mrs. Capper, sir!’ ‘Nay, Mincin—I
beg,’ interposed the host, as we were about to reply that Mrs. Capper
unquestionably was particularly sweet. ‘Pray, Mincin, don’t.’ ‘Why
not?’ exclaimed Mr. Mincin, ‘why not? Why should you feel any delicacy
before your old friend—_our_ old friend, if I may be allowed to call you
so, sir; why should you, I ask?’ We of course wished to know why he
should also, upon which our friend admitted that Mrs. Capper _was_ a very
sweet woman, at which admission Mr. Mincin cried ‘Bravo!’ and begged to
propose Mrs. Capper with heartfelt enthusiasm, whereupon our host said,
‘Thank you, Mincin,’ with deep feeling; and gave us, in a low voice, to
understand, that Mincin had saved Mrs. Capper’s cousin’s life no less
than fourteen times in a year and a half, which he considered no common
circumstance—an opinion to which we most cordially subscribed.
Now that we three were left to entertain ourselves with conversation, Mr.
Mincin’s extreme friendliness became every moment more apparent; he was
so amazingly friendly, indeed, that it was impossible to talk about
anything in which he had not the chief concern. We happened to allude to
some affairs in which our friend and we had been mutually engaged nearly
fourteen years before, when Mr. Mincin was all at once reminded of a joke
which our friend had made on that day four years, which he positively
must insist upon telling—and which he did tell accordingly, with many
pleasant recollections of what he said, and what Mrs. Capper said, and
how he well remembered that they had been to the play with orders on the
very night previous, and had seen Romeo and Juliet, and the pantomime,
and how Mrs. Capper being faint had been led into the lobby, where she
smiled, said it was nothing after all, and went back again, with many
other interesting and absorbing particulars: after which the friendly
young gentleman went on to assure us, that our friend had experienced a
marvellously prophetic opinion of that same pantomime, which was of such
an admirable kind, that two morning papers took the same view next day:
to this our friend replied, with a little triumph, that in that instance
he had some reason to think he had been correct, which gave the friendly
young gentleman occasion to believe that our friend was always correct;
and so we went on, until our friend, filling a bumper, said he must drink
one glass to his dear friend Mincin, than whom he would say no man saved
the lives of his acquaintances more, or had a more friendly heart.
Finally, our friend having emptied his glass, said, ‘God bless you,
Mincin,’—and Mr. Mincin and he shook hands across the table with much
affection and earnestness.
But great as the friendly young gentleman is, in a limited scene like
this, he plays the same part on a larger scale with increased _éclat_.
Mr. Mincin is invited to an evening party with his dear friends the
Martins, where he meets his dear friends the Cappers, and his dear
friends the Watsons, and a hundred other dear friends too numerous to
mention. He is as much at home with the Martins as with the Cappers; but
how exquisitely he balances his attentions, and divides them among his
dear friends! If he flirts with one of the Miss Watsons, he has one
little Martin on the sofa pulling his hair, and the other little Martin
on the carpet riding on his foot. He carries Mrs. Watson down to supper
on one arm, and Miss Martin on the other, and takes wine so judiciously,
and in such exact order, that it is impossible for the most punctilious
old lady to consider herself neglected. If any young lady, being
prevailed upon to sing, become nervous afterwards, Mr. Mincin leads her
tenderly into the next room, and restores her with port wine, which she
must take medicinally. If any gentleman be standing by the piano during
the progress of the ballad, Mr. Mincin seizes him by the arm at one point
of the melody, and softly beating time the while with his head, expresses
in dumb show his intense perception of the delicacy of the passage. If
anybody’s self-love is to be flattered, Mr. Mincin is at hand. If
anybody’s overweening vanity is to be pampered, Mr. Mincin will surfeit
it. What wonder that people of all stations and ages recognise Mr.
Mincin’s friendliness; that he is universally allowed to be handsome as
amiable; that mothers think him an oracle, daughters a dear, brothers a
beau, and fathers a wonder! And who would not have the reputation of the
very friendly young gentleman?