A BANQUET IS GIVEN TO THE MORAL MERCHANT.
The world is full of shams. As civilization advances, shams increase
and multiply; indeed, they multiply so fast that human nature in the
nineteenth century might be likened to a pie, with very little room
inside for the fruit, so thick is the crust of shams with which it is
overlaid. And as a chief lieutenant of shams--as a sham which takes
precedence of a host of other shams, from its very shamelessness, may
be ranked the toast of Our Guest, or Our Host, proposed at public
dinners and entertainments. The unblushing fibs told in the speeches
are dreadful to contemplate. Surely, some day a fearful retribution
will fall upon that man who is in the habit of rising when the dessert
is on the table, and endowing Messrs. Smith, Brown, Jones, and
Robinson with every virtue under the sun, and who unctuously dilates
upon their sublimities, their virtues, and their goodnesses. Beware!
thou weak and false platitudinarian! Think not to escape thy fate,
because the word which describes thee is not to be found in the
dictionary. Beware! and reform thy evil courses ere it be too late!
It is not to be supposed that any such thoughts as these entered the
mind of Mr. Zachariah Blemish, as he sat on the right hand of the
chairman at a grand public dinner given in his (Blemish's) honour. For
public enthusiasm with regard to this great and good man had risen to
a very high pitch--to such a pitch indeed, that it was resolved to
give Mr. Zachariah Blemish a banquet; and, all the preliminaries being
arranged, more than two hundred gentlemen, representing wealth and
position, sat down, and ate and guzzled to do him honour. The guest
himself ate sparingly, but Mr. David Dibbs made up for him. Mr. Dibbs
had but few articles of faith, and to eat as much as he could was one
of them. If it had not been that his gold threw a glare of sanctity
around him, Mr. Dibbs would have been looked upon as a glutton. As it
was, what would have been a vice in a poorer man, was in him nothing
but an amiable eccentricity. The company was composed of very
influential atoms: politics, religion, and L.S.D. were largely
represented, the latter especially. The Honourable Mr. Peter Puff was
in the Chair; another Honourable undertook the Vice; and a Bishop said
grace before meat. It was curious to note the conduct of the guest in
whose honour the entertainment was given. He appeared to be quite
oblivious of the occasion, and but for a shade of self-consciousness
which now and then passed across his face, he might have been regarded
as a perfectly disinterested observer. The committee would have been
justified in regarding this conduct as somewhat ungrateful, for they
had been indefatigable in their exertions. Fish of river and sea, game
of forest, fruit of hothouse, were cunningly served up in every
possible variety in honour of Blemish. For long weeks, celebrated
cooks had ransacked their brains to invent new dishes, and every one
admitted, when the dessert was laid, and the wine was passing, that
the result produced was glorious and worthy of the occasion.
Thump--thump--thump! Rattle--rattle--rattle! Gentlemen, Her Most
Gracious Majesty the Queen! Proposed with patriotic enthusiasm. The
Queen! Each gentleman, standing, drains his glass, and sits down again
with becoming solemnity. Buzz of conversation. Thump--thump--thump!
Rattle--rattle--rattle! Gentlemen, His Royal Highness the Prince of
Wales, and the rest of the Royal Family; and may he and they, etc.,
etc., etc. Enthusiasm and general geniality. Thump--thump--thump!
Rattle!--rattle--rattle! Gentlemen, His Excellency the Governor!
With appropriate flunkeyism. As Her Most Gracious Majesty's
Representative--most important and flourishing portion of Her Most
Gracious Majesty's dominions upon which the sun never sets--and so on,
and so on; with The Army and Navy, The Clergy, etc., until the
important moment arrives when the toast of the evening is to be
proposed.
"Gentlemen, are your glasses charged?"
"All charged in the East," responds an indiscreet Freemason, and then
there is a shifting and shuffling, until the Honourable Mr. Peter Puff
rises. He looks round upon the guests, blows his nose, lifts his
glass, puts it down again, coughs, and proceeds to speak.
"Gentlemen, it is now my proud task to perform a duty, which is no
less a duty than it is a pleasure. (Hear, hear.) I wish that it had
fallen to the lot of some more eloquent speaker than myself--(No,
no!)--to propose the toast or the evening; but being asked to preside
on this memorable occasion, I felt that I should have been wanting in
respect to myself, and in respect to the gentleman who sits upon my
right hand, if I had not at once joyfully and gratefully accepted the
honourable position. Gentlemen, some men are born great, some achieve
greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. (Considerable
doubt here intrudes itself the minds of fifty per cent, of the guests,
whether this is an original observation or a quotation.) Gentlemen, I
have, in this instance, had greatness thrust upon me; for no one can
doubt that the devolvement upon me to propose the toast I am about to
propose, reflects honour and greatness upon--upon the proposer. We
have amongst us this evening, a gentleman--(here every one looks at
Mr. Zachariah Blemish, who looks up to the ceiling, as if he considers
it likely that the gentleman about to be referred to may be discovered
somewhere in that locality)--a gentleman whose undeviating rectitude,
whose integrity, whose moral character, whose wealth, whose position,
are not only creditable and honourable to himself, but creditable and
honourable to the city which he has made his dwelling-place. (Hear,
hear.) We might say, with Hamlet, that in this gentleman (in a moral
sense) may be seen a combination and a form indeed, where every god
doth seem to set his seal to give the world assurance of a man. (Great
rattling of glasses and thumping of knives; Mr. Zachariah Blemish
looks curiously and unconsciously interested, as if still wondering
who is the individual indicated; and the Honourable Mr. Peter Puff
gives a sigh of relief, having delivered himself correctly of a
quotation which he had taken great pains the day before to learn by
heart.) Need I say, gentlemen, that I refer to our guest, Mr.
Zachariah Blemish? (Prolonged applause; the thumping and rattling are
terriffic. Mr. Blemish appears much astonished to learn that he is the
individual referred to, and perceiving that all eyes are turned
towards him, wrinkles his brows, as much as to say, 'Really! can this
be? I _am_ surprised?' and afterwards assumes an air of exceeding
humility.) Gentlemen, we all know him (Cries of 'We do!') and we are
all proud to know him. (Cries of 'We are!') Say that we know him only
as Chairman of the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals, and he is
entitled to our approval; say that we know him only as President of
the Moral Bootblacking Boys' Reformatory, and he is entitled to our
respect; say that we know him only as the Perpetual Grand Master of
the Society for the Total Suppression of Vice, and he is entitled to
our esteem; say that we know him only as the head of the Association
of Universal Philanthropists, and he is entitled to our admiration;
say that we know him only as a leading member of the Fellowship of
Murray Cods, and he is entitled to our veneration. But say that we
know him as all of these combined, and as a merchant of integrity, and
as a gentleman of honour, and words fail us in speaking of him.
Gentlemen, words fail _me_ when I speak of him. Far better for me to
stay my speech, and leave what is unsaid to your discrimination and
your intelligence. Suffice it for me to say that I am proud to know
him, and that I am proud of this opportunity of expressing my
sentiments. With these few remarks--inadequate as they are to the
occasion--I conclude, and propose the health of our guest, Mr.
Zachariah Blemish--in bumpers!"
Hurrah! In bumpers! Our guest, Mr. Zachariah Blemish. No heeltaps!
Three cheers for Mr. Zachariah Blemish! with a hip, hip, hip, hurrah!
hurrah! hurrah! Three cheers for Mrs. Zachariah Blemish! Three cheers
for the little Blemishes (which fell flat, for the little Blemishes
were not, and had never been). For he's a jolly good fellow--for he's
a jolly good fellow--which nobody can deny--with a hip, hip, hip,
hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! And a little one in--hurrah!
All which being enthusiastically performed, the guests, somewhat
exhausted with their exertions, sat down with the consciousness of
having nobly done their duty.
Mr. Zachariah Blemish, in voice which trembled with emotion, rose to
thank the gentlemen who had so enthusiastically responded to the toast
of his health.
"Mr. Chairman, Vice-Chairman, and Gentlemen," he said, "this is
the happiest moment of my life, and I am naturally much affected.
(Pocket-handkerchief.) When I look around and see the leading members
of every profession and every important interest in the Colony, and
when I consider that they are assembled here to render a tribute of
respect to so unworthy an object as myself (cries of 'No, no!')--yes,
I repeat, so unworthy an object as myself, I am lost in wonder as to
what I have done to entitle me to such an honour. I am conscious,
gentlemen, of having only performed my duty. It is no very hard task,
and yet it is not always done. As a merchant, as a citizen, and as a
public man, this has been my endeavour. In the performance of my duty
I may have done some little good. (Cries of 'A great deal.') You are
kind enough to say so. The good I have done reflects but small credit
upon myself; for it has been, as I may say, evoked by my position as a
not inconsiderable merchant in this city. Gentlemen, I _am_ proud of
my position as a merchant; and never in my hands shall commerce be
degraded--never in my hands shall the spirit of fair and honest
dealing which characterises the British nation be abused. (Thumps
and rattles.) I am extremely affected by this demonstration.
(Pocket-handkerchief.) You will excuse me if my emotion overcomes me,
and you will pardon the little incoherences you may detect in my
speech. (Pocket-handkerchief.) It is usual on such occasions as this
to give a brief _résumé_ of the movements and acts of the individual
upon whom is conferred an honour like the present; and I, with your
permission, will touch upon one or two little matters in which I have
taken a slight interest. Our worthy chairman, my friend, the
Honourable Mr. Peter Puff (a beaming smile from that individual)--has
mentioned the names of a few societies and associations with which I
am connected. You all know, gentlemen, the difficulties with which the
formation of the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals was attended.
When the white man first set his foot upon these shores he found the
native savage wallowing in ignorance and immorality. They ran about
naked; civilisation was a dead letter to them; they knew nothing of
Christianity; and although attempts have been made to throw a doubt
upon their practice of cannibalism, we are all perfectly well aware
that the Australian aboriginals were in the habit of eating and
enjoying one another. Then, again, they were given to intemperance,
and would sacrifice anything for a pint of rum. What was the duty of a
Christian when these things became known? To reform the savage. For
this purpose the United Band of Temperance Aboriginals was formed,
blankets were distributed, moralising influences were brought to bear,
and I am proud to be able to state my opinion, founded upon,
statistics, that in the course of fifty years from the present time,
not a single intoxicated aboriginal will be found in the length and
breadth of the colony. (Loud applause.) As for the Society for the
Total Suppression of Vice, we do our best. Vice is not yet totally
suppressed; but we look forward to the time when we shall view,
perhaps in the spirit, the successful accomplishment of the work we
have initiated in the flesh. The operations of the Moral Bootblacking
Boys' Reformatory, of which I am President, are well known. The
institution of boot-stands in the streets of Melbourne has been
attended with inconceivable blessings. A large number of boys, who did
not even know the meaning of morality, having been made moral through
the influence of boot-stands. It is but a few days ago that I was made
the humble instrument of redeeming a vagrant--a boy in years--who
unblushingly admitted that he was a thief; he had never before worked
at any honest employment, and when I incidentally introduced the
subject of salvation, he actually told me that his soul would go to
immortal perdition, and could not be saved. The saving of this lad's
soul--who bears the extraordinary name of Grif--dates from the moment
when he received from the Reformatory a set of blacking-brushes and a
boot-stand; and he may now be seen, daily, in the streets, waiting for
customers. (Cheers.) What shall I say, gentlemen, of the Murray Cods?
You are acquainted with the gigantic difficulties with which we had to
contend, and which we have successfully overcome. Here was a fish,
vast in its proportions, delicious in its flavour--(Hear, hear, from
Mr. David Dibbs),--which could only be caught in the River Murray. Why
should it not be transplanted, if I may use the word, to other waters?
That was a question, gentlemen, which naturally suggested itself to
the Murray Coddians. A society was formed, subscriptions were raised,
and the monopoly the River Murray enjoyed in its Cod was destroyed.
This is a single but significant proof of the determination of the
colonists. In our hearts, gentlemen, we are all Murray Coddians. The
energy which the Murray Coddians threw into their task reflects credit
upon the Colony--(here the Honourable Mr. Peter Puff whispers to the
speaker)--and I am informed by our honourable Chairman, that on this
very dinner-table was placed a Murray Cod which was not caught in the
River Murray, (Frantic applause.) I look upon the Cod placed upon the
dinner-table this evening as a mark of respect paid to me for my
efforts in its cause; and looking upon it in that light, I cannot
restrain a natural feeling of emotion. (Pocket-handkerchief.)
Gentlemen, here I pause. The remembrance of this happy evening will
always be with me. You have imposed upon me a debt of gratitude, which
is the only debt, gentlemen, which I doubt of ever being able to pay."
In the next morning's papers appeared glowing accounts of the dinner,
and verbatim reports of Mr. Blemish's speech. But if the reporters,
while they were transcribing their shorthand notes, could have seen
the object of the night's adulation, they might have been puzzled to
account for the singular change that had come over his appearance.
For, say it was two o'clock in the morning when they sent away the
printer's devil with the last slip, at that very hour Mr. Zachariah
Blemish was locked in the private room of his mansion near the sea,
his table strewn with papers and documents, and his head resting
wearily on his hands. Surely that was not the face of Mr. Zachariah
Blemish! Its freshness and roundness had departed from it; it looked
positively thin and haggard. Did the great Blemish possess a
skeleton, and was it even now staring at him in the face in his own
sanctum? It looked uncommonly like it. Or, perhaps the triumph of the
evening had been too much for him, and he was thinking of his own
unworthiness. Under any circumstances, it was well for the credit
(moral and commercial) of Mr. Zachariah Blemish that he kept such
expressions as his face then wore for his own private use, and that he
did not exhibit them in public.
It was about two o'clock in the morning, also, that Mr. Nicholas
Nuttall was wending his way, somewhat; unsteadily, homeward. He had
been at the Blemish banquet, and had lingered until the very last
moment. Then he had been cajoled into joining half a dozen gay fellows
in "just another glass," which just another glass having been
submitted to a multiplication process, rendered him a decidedly unfit
companion for a lady with such a strong sense of the proprieties as
Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall. Some notion of this sort floated across his
mind, and produced therein considerable disturbance, inasmuch as he
stopped suddenly in the midst of the chorus--"We won't go home till
morning," which was being trolled out by himself and a couple of young
gentlemen, who had volunteered to see him home, and shook his head
gravely and reproachfully.
"Ni--hic!--cholas Nuttall!" he observed, leaning his back
against a lamp-post, "Ni--hic!--cholas Nuttall, you are an immoral
cha--hic!--character."
The two young gentlemen, who had been induced to see Mr. Nuttall home
solely because he had a pretty daughter, endeavoured to persuade him
to walk on, and said, coaxingly, "Come along, old fellow. Come home."
"Home!" scornfully exclaimed Mr. Nicholas Nuttall, and regarding
them with an expression of deep disdain. "Home!--hic!--do you
know what home is--hic!--Home is a--hic!--place where you are
badgered--hic!--and nagged--hic!--and worried. I wish you were married
to Mrs. Nuttall!"
Here Mr. Nuttall began to cry, and called himself a villain, and a
destroyer of domestic hearths. He allowed himself, however, to be
prevailed upon to resume his homeward course, and in a very miserable
condition he arrived at his street-door.
"Gentlemen!" he then said, "my wife--hic!--does not--not allow me a
latch--hic!--key. Pull the bell. When you are married--hic!--have a
latch key put down--hic!--in the settlements. This--hic!--is the
advice of a miserable wretch."
The sound of steps along the passage drove Mr. Nuttall into a
condition of abject despair. "Don't go--hic!"--he exclaimed,
affectionately clinging to his companions. "Don't go--hic!--come in
and have a glass--toddy."
The person who was unfastening the door had evidently heard strange
voices, for it was suddenly thrown open, and a glimpse of a white
nightgown flying hastily up the stairs, flitted across the vision of
the three inebriates.
"Come in," said Mr. Nuttall, with a mingled feeling of exultation and
dismay, for he knew that the figure in white was the figure of the
wife of his bosom. "Hic!--come in, and we'll make a night of it."
But when they got in, they were doomed to disappointment. The
cupboards were locked, and not a bottle or glass could be found. The
young gentlemen were therefore compelled to beat a retreat. Left to
himself, Mr. Nicholas Nuttall sank into a chair. He was in the enemy's
camp, and he felt that there was no hope for him. With his head sunk
upon his bosom, he waited doggedly for the blow.
Mrs. Nicholas Nuttall, in her nightgown, looked ridiculously
diminutive; but her moral power was tremendous. Mr. Nuttall felt its
effects the instant she made her appearance; and he shivered. When she
seated herself opposite to him, he had not the courage to raise his
head. He thought that she would speak first, but he was mistaken. He
waited for a long time, and the silence grow so awfully oppressive
that he was compelled to break it.
"Why did you lock up all the de--hic!--canters?" he asked.
"Because I knew the state you would come home in," returned his
spouse; "and I have some regard for your health, little as you deserve
it."
"You've no right, Mrs. Nuttall, to make me look--hic!--ridiculous in
the eyes of my friends."
"Ridiculous!" said Mrs. Nuttall, with lofty sarcasm "As if you don't
make yourself look ridiculous enough without my help! You may outrage
my feelings as much as you like, sir, but you shall not turn the
parlour into a tap-room, although it _may_ be the custom in this
country!"
"The two gentlemen who came home with me are very
respect--hic!--table."
"Don't tell me, Mr. Nuttall!" said Mrs. Nuttall. "Gentlemen, indeed! A
couple of tipsy brutes!"
"Why didn't you--hic!--go to bed? You must be very cold, sitting up
with scarcely anything on."
"I _am_ very cold. But what do you care for that?"
"Not a bit," murmured Nicholas, recklessly.
"And this man I married!" exclaimed Mrs. Nuttall, in a horror-struck
voice, appealing to the chairs and tables. "This is the man I
sacrificed myself for. This is the man I sit up for night after night,
while he is dissipating and destroying the happiness of his family!"
"Don't be stupid--hic!--Maria!" said Mr. Nuttall, rising, and
staggering to the door. "I am going to bed. Where's the door-handle?
You haven't locked that up, have you?"
Mrs. Nuttall made no reply, but walked after him, statelily, with the
chamber-candlestick in her hand.
"A nice example you are to your children!" she said, when she got
between the sheets. "A nice example!"
"Children, Maria!" exclaimed Mr. Nuttall, before she could proceed any
further. "Children! You--hic!--forget yourself, my dear. We've only
got one."
"A pretty thing to reproach me with, upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs.
Nuttall, indignantly. "A nice example you are, then, to our only
child! I wonder you don't want to come to bed with your boots on! Oh,
if I had known this before I was married--"
"It's too late now, Maria," observed Mr. Nuttall, maliciously, tugging
at his boots.
"That's right," sobbed the lady, the frills of her nightcap fluttering
in sympathy with her agitation. "Taunt me with my folly! But I deserve
it. I brought it all on myself. Mamma warned me of the consequences,
when I told her that I had accepted you; but I wouldn't listen to her,
and now I am justly punished. Oh! turn your head the other way. How
you smell of tobacco! 'Take my word for it,' mamma said, 'if you marry
that ninny, you will repent it all your life.'" Here Mrs. Nuttall
jumped up suddenly in the bed, and said, "Mr. Nuttall, there is some
one walking about in the parlour."
"I don't care," murmured Nicholas, digging his head into his pillow.
"He won't find much to eat and drink; that's one comfort."
"Get up and see if there is any one there, or I shan't be able to
sleep a wink all the night."
"Get up yourself, and see," suggested Nicholas, drowsily.
"Is it possible," indignantly continued Mrs. Nuttall, "that any man
can be so unmanly? Nicholas! Do you hear me?"
"Don't bother! Let me go to sleep!"
"Perhaps it's the new servant I took this morning. I shouldn't wonder
if Australian servants walked in their sleep."
"If I thought so," murmured Nicholas, "I would go and admonish her.
She's a very pretty girl."
Wifely indignation kept Mrs. Nuttall silent for awhile, but she soon
commenced the nagging system again, and so worried her husband that,
in an agony of desperation, he sprang up like a Jack-in-a-box, and
after driving his fist fiercely into his pillow half-a-dozen times,
fell back exhausted.
"Very pretty!" exclaimed Mrs. Nuttall, sarcastically. "Very pretty,
indeed! I wonder you don't beat me!"
"The man who raises his hand against a woman," said Mr. Nuttall,
slumberously, "except in the way of kindness, is--is--I don't exactly
remember what he is. There's a thing, Maria, I have thought of often,
and have never spoken of to you. It isn't right--there should not be
any secrets between man and wife."
"My very words, Nicholas, my dear! What is it you are going to say?"
"In the course of our confidential conversations--as we are having
now, Maria"--(in her eagerness not to lose a word, Mrs. Nuttall placed
her close to her husband's lips, for he spoke very drowsily, and
appeared to be addressing his pillow)--"you have frequently mentioned
your respected mamma. Did she know a lady of the name of Mrs. Caudle?"
"I am not aware that she knew any person with such a vulgar name."
"You never heard her speak of Mrs. Caudle?"
"Never!"
"Strange!" murmured Mr. Nuttall. "There is a deep mystery here. For
you have the Mrs. Caudle spirit so very strongly developed, Maria,
that I am certain a family connection exists between you."
Not knowing whether this were meant for a compliment or a reproach,
Mrs. Nuttall deemed it wise to make no comment upon it. So she
proceeded to ask him about the dinner at which he had been present.
"It was a very nice dinner," said Mr. Nuttall.
"And how many people were there, Nicholas?"
"A room full."
"How do I know what sized room it was--it might hold twenty, or it
might hold a thousand--how many sat down to dinner?"
"A hundred--a hundred and fifty--two hundred--two hundred and fifty,"
said Mr. Nuttall, vaguely.
"Was your brother there, Nicholas?"
"No."
"Did Mr. Blemish make a speech?"
"What did he say?"
"All sorts of things."
"Nicholas, you are enough to vex a saint. Tell me instantly, what did
Mr. Blemish say?"
Instead of replying, Mr. Nuttall groaned, and screwed himself up tight
in the bed-clothes.
"That's right," said Mrs. Nuttall, tugging at the sheets. "I'd take up
the whole bed, if I were you!" Mr. Nuttall partially unscrewed
himself. "I'm much obliged, I'm sure! And now, Nicholas, answer me one
question. Are we going to spend Christmas at your brother's Station?"
"Yes. I have told you so a dozen times."
"I wanted to make certain," she said, sweetly. "Good night, Nicholas."
"Oh, good night," he said, somewhat savagely, muttering between his
clenched teeth, "I wish the man who invented Caudle lectures had been
at the bottom of the Red Sea first!"
And sleep then descended upon the Conjugal Nuttalls.