Chapter III: Part 3

“Well! if I should ever be plagued with a child,” cried Mrs. Deposit, “I shall certainly apply to Mr. Tweazy for a lecture on maternal duties.”

“And you shall be heartily welcome, Madam, to as long or short a dissertation as you think proper,” replied my uncle.

“Sir!” cried the shopman (popping in his head, the express image of a scull on a mop-stick); “Sir! Mrs. Drinkwater wants your attendance immediately.”

“Poh! fool. Why didn’t you say I was out?”

“Why, Sir,” resumed the man (as he hung his whole weight on the creaking lock of the door, whose hinges kept up a wee-war unison), “I didn’t know I was to say that in a life or death case.”

“How’s that! how’s that!” said the Doctor, throwing down his cards.

“Why, Mrs. Drinkwater’s very bad, Sir; and the lawyers at her bed-side, making her will; and he can’t go on without you.”

“What, what, what! not go on without me! Oh, oh! I’ll take a good stiff cordial in my pocket, and be off, if that’s the case.”

“Aye, do,” said my uncle: “it may _operate_ in your _favour_.”

“Take my cards, then--will you?” answered the Doctor; who, snatching up his hat, rushed into the shop to the cordial bottle the old lady best loved, furnished himself with a proper dose, and, mounting his horse, gallopped away from his bad luck to what he hoped would prove better; and my uncle, in consequence, finished his rubber.

As the Doctor closed the door, Mr. Prolix expressed his astonishment, that Mrs. Drinkwater should not have employed his superior abilities on the important occasion; while Mrs. Fungus longed to know who would be the heir.

“We shall know all about it when the Doctor comes back,” said Mrs. Deposit.

“The Doctor must be as dumb as a dumpling,” cried Mr. Prolix: “he must be very careful how he tells tales out of school.”

“Unless he whispers them, in confidence, to you,” replied Mrs. Fungus.

“If the house and furniture are to be sold,” said Mr. Deposit, “I should like to speculate, and conduct the business, I must confess.”

“But you’ll stop, with proper decency, till the woman’s dead, I hope,” said my uncle; “or d’ye mean to go to-morrow morning, and make a live bargain for the job, whenever the casualty may take place?”

A general laugh silenced the disconcerted projector; and Mrs. Fungus very snappishly requested he would attend to his cards, as she was losing a little estate, which, if luck did not take a turn, she should be compelled to mortgage.

The cards now flew briskly round; and Mrs. Bob Tonic’s lap was like Dame Fortune’s cornucopia, for she absolutely cleared every pool; while poor Mrs. Prolix bore her disappointment very composedly and patiently. Not so the Misses Tonic, who snapt and pouted their negro lips, and gave themselves most unwarrantable airs, to which the patient and meek sister-in-law seemed to pay no attention, probably from the system being _habitually_ adopted; for affection or respect to her superiority seemed quite out of the question.

CHAP. XII.

An hour had elapsed, when the Doctor’s horse gallopped up to the door; and, in two minutes after he had taken off his boots, he entered the room.

“Well! Doctor, what news? Is she dead? How stands the will? Were you in time? May we congratulate you? Has the cordial had any effect?”--reiterated from every lip, till they fairly stunned the poor Doctor; who, hemming very loud, demanded silence, to answer their profuse inquiries.

He then deliberately drew his chair, and prefaced the recital by assuring them Mrs. Drinkwater was not dead. “She called me to her bed-side,” continued the Doctor, “to request I would sign her will; which I instantly refused, stating, if I was a witness, of course my name was not in the will; a circumstance which nettled me most devilishly, you must know.”

“Of course,” cried everybody; and the Doctor thus went on; while his auditors, and particularly his own young cormorants, sat, with open mouths and attentive ears, to catch the sequel:--

“Well, Sirs, the lawyer presented me the pen and ink, which, like a man of spirit, I inflexibly pushed away, positively declaring I would not sign any thing to my own disadvantage, having flattered myself, as an old friend, I should have been _handsomely_ remembered.”

“My dear Doctor,” said Mrs. Drinkwater, “don’t mistake my request; for, though your name is not down, I have taken care of your family: I have left all your children a _plum-cake_ a-piece.”

“Oh! very well, Madam,” said I; “if you have done that, I’m satisfied. With that, I seized the pen, and affixed my sign manual at the oven’s mouth; for what _sized_ cake it will produce, I know not. So there’s an end of the concern; and my boys and girls will reap the harvest their father ploughed.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. Tonic, on whose features sat the shade of disappointment: “I confess I’m surprised at her conduct.”

“I hope there’s plenty of plums in the cake, however,” said Bob Tonic, with an unintelligent grin.

“Few or many,” replied the Doctor, “you’ll take your chance: her old fool of a husband served me the same trick--in fact, worse; for he only left me a ring. Egad! I’ve kept her alive, by art, these seven years.”

“Yes; your happy medical art, subjoined to the power of her head physician, the brandy bottle,” said Mr. Prolix, sneeringly, who felt he was five guineas out of pocket by the job. “Are you sure,” continued he, “she was compos?”

“That’s no look-out of mine,” said the Doctor; “I only know I’m d--d mad.”

“Then you know nothing of the tenor of the will?” asked Mr. Deposit.

“Not I! I don’t care a fig about it. If she sends for me any more, Bob shall go; he’s _paid_ for it: I won’t go, by G--d!”

“Blessed is he who never expects, for he shall never be disappointed,” exclaimed Parson Faddle.

“Amen,” ejaculated Bob Tonic, bursting into a laugh at his own sagacity.

“Well,” cried the Widow Quiz (primming her mouth, and shoving her elbows into her sides, as she drew up her head); “I wonder whether she has _cut off_ the _entail_ of her estate.”

“She may cut off her head, for what I care,” replied the Doctor. “But come, good folks; if your cards are over, we’ll adjourn to supper; where, if we don’t find plum-cakes, we must content ourselves with bread and cheese.”

We now followed, en train, to a table of cold relics: but as there was no _chantilly_, Mistresses Deposit and Fungus declined eating what they privately termed _kitchen scraps_, which the derisive contraction of their noses most perfectly evinced. The Doctor made a stiff bowl of punch, at which he was a famous hand; and Miss Elizetta treated us, after supper (at her papa’s request), with the “Beautiful Maid,” whom she completely murdered, for no screech-owlet ever quivered or shrieked more unmusical. My uncle fixed his eyes on me; and I very prudently cast mine on the table, till the hooting scream finished.

“Bravo! bravo!” thundered the Doctor, rapping the table with his knuckles; while Mr. Deposit responded with the foot of his wine-glass, with as much dexterity as if it had been his own pulpit hammer.

“Did you ever hear Braham sing that delightful song, Miss Tonic?” asked Mrs. Deposit, winking at Mrs. Fungus.

“No, Ma’am; I never heard _nobody_ sing it,” answered the bronze songstress.

“I suppose not, my dear,” replied Mrs. Deposit, bursting into a rude laugh. “But that was not exactly the question I asked; because, of course, _nobody never_ could sing _nothing nowhere_; but _somebody_, blessed with the enchanting powers of a Braham, might sing _anywhere_.”

“True,” said the Doctor (who was neither aware of the exposure of his daughter’s oratory by the sarcastic lip of Mrs. Deposit, nor of Miss Elizetta’s self-conviction of false grammar), “true; but my daughter’s are all _pure wild notes_; therefore, I say, the greater the merit. What think you, Mr. Victor?”

“I agree with you, that _some_ wild notes are exquisitely melodious, Sir,” returned I.

“Can’t you tip us a stave, Victor?” asked my uncle. “They tell me you were always a devotee at the Oxford Music Meetings. It’s my opinion, you’re like the monkeys--know more than you think proper to own. Come, strike up; I challenge you. If I could sing, I’d set you the example.”

Recollecting my uncle’s injunction, to _dash_, I instantly complied, and, to the best of my abilities, sang “Beware of Love;” for which I received a thunder of applause from Mrs. Deposit, who discovered I was well versed in the science of music. “Why, my dear Sir,” said she, “you are positively the Apollo of the village: you frequent the Opera, I’ll be bound.”

I confessed it an amusement of which I was extravagantly fond.

“I thought so, I declare,” continued the voluble lady; “and, I dare say, you are a frequenter of that fashionable lounge, the “_Odechorologean_,” the “_Musederian_,” &c.”

“I am, Madam, an occasional visitor.”

“Oh, oh!” said Mrs. Fungus, “I find you’re a very dashing young man: I shall send you a card for my fête, addressed to Apollo Victor St. Alban, Esq.--hey!”

“Omit the first and last title, Madam,” said I; “and I’ll answer to the rest, according to the wishes of my uncle, and the record of the parish register.”

“You see what we Londoners can do, Doctor,” cried my uncle. “Ah! London’s the mart of science, the school of manners; it’s the only place worth living in.”

“There I beg leave to differ,” said Widow Quiz: “I think London’s the school of vice--a nasty, dirty, smoky place--full of bad people--all extravagance and extortion.”

“Then you don’t allow there are any bad people in the country,” replied my uncle; “or that, while a great hulking clodpole is swinging on a gate, and chewing fat bacon, he can possibly be brooding mischief, on the score of a _blight monopoly_ in his corn, and a _dearth monopoly_ of his cattle! No, no; let a countryman alone for that: though a fool in form and manners, he’s a knave in principle. And what else can you expect from an uncivilized being, bred up amongst sticks, stones, and the beasts of the field--a mere living composition of pork and cabbage--just human, and that’s all?”

“And, pray, what’s better than good wholesome pork and cabbage, Sir?” resumed the Widow. “If you lived with me, you’d have pork and cabbage, _cold_, for breakfast; cabbage and pork, _hot_, for dinner, by way of change; and cold pork and cabbage for supper, all the year round; with the exception of stone dumplings and harvest puddings.”

“I thank you, Madam, for your bill of fare,” said my uncle; “but it would not suit my appetite.”

“No, I believe not,” replied the Doctor. “However, we thank you for your portrait of a country man. You’re a very severe genius, upon my word. We must mind what we’re about.”

“Oh! I don’t mind being quizzed for a satirical crab, I assure you: I speak the plain, honest, home truth: I can nip as sharp as your blisters; aye, make as sore a place, occasionally,” retorted my uncle.

At this moment Mrs. Fungus’s little lacquey-boy was announced, with his mistress’s clogs and lantern; and Mrs. Prolix’s girl-maid brought her mistress’s umbrella. This intelligence dissolved the party. The Widow Quiz retired to the Doctor’s best _check_ bed; and my uncle, self, and Parson Faddle, found our way home in the dark; while the fantastic Mrs. Deposit condescended to follow her dear neighbour Fungus’s “_glow-worm_,” she styled it; her family _scout_ being left in London to sweep out the auction-room. And thus finished our visit.

CHAP. XIII.

“Well, Victor,” cried my uncle, as we entered the parlour, “how stands your heart? You have not left it behind you, I hope, with the “Beautiful Maid.”

“No, on my honour, Sir, it’s perfectly safe,” replied I.

“And if it had been entrapped, I suppose you would not have had candour enough to acknowledge it--hey!”

“Indeed, I would, Sir: I always estimate the truth too highly to disgrace it,” answered I.

“Have a care, my boy, I don’t try the reality of that profession some day, when you least suspect it.”

“I’ll give you leave, Sir,” resumed I; “for, I trust, the person who ensnares my heart, captivates it, or whatever you please to term it, will never disgrace my choice, or your consequence.”

“Time will prove it, Victor! Good night; pleasant dreams. In the morning, we’ll talk over the visit we have made. We are engaged, to-morrow, at Mr. Macfriz’s; where we shall have plenty of subject matter to amuse us: but, you’ll remember, you must not raise your ideas above par; we shall be in the mediocrity squad, and, therefore, suit our manners to our company. You’ll not have Mrs. _Calypso_ Deposit at your elbow, Master Telemachus; old Mentor knows better than to train his pupil in the den of a hyena: we go none to her cottage: you don’t want a microscope to inspect the motives of her crocodilic civility, I’ll be bound.”

“Oh, no! I’d rather view them through a telescope,” said I.

My uncle had now reached his chamber door, and we parted for the night.

The next morning, while we were taking breakfast, another invitation card made its appearance from Mrs. Henpeck, requesting our company to dinner the following day.

“Egad! we shall live cheap,” exclaimed my uncle: “our parties flow in so fast, that our own bread and cheese will grow mouldy. But, I suppose, I must give a grand gala in return; and you can assist in the duties of the table, by _anchovyising the apple-dumpling_.”

“My dear Sir,” said I, “I feel the heat of one this moment on my cheek; the convictive crimson of which must, I’m sure, be evident proof.”

“Why, you do look _cherry-cheeked_,” rejoined he.

“There, again, Sir, I feel a retort,” not forgetting the espalier and the pane of glass, thought I.

“A truce, a truce, to old grievances!” cried my uncle. “Before I answer Mrs. Henpeck’s cards, I want your opinion of our companions last night. In the first instance, what think you of Mrs. Deposit?”

“A complete woman of the world, whose husband ought to correct her vices, and improve his own virtues, however slender.”

“You’re right! she’s the weakest of mortals, a composition of vanity and extravagance, and, by aping her superiors, renders herself truly ludicrous and disgusting, which her manners and converse must have evinced. But what say you of Mrs. Fungus?”

“I think her the counterpart of her neighbour Deposit, extremely affected, self-consequential, and a countenance so replete with disdain, as to induce one to devote one’s attention to some more smiling and fascinating object.”

“But do you know the reason of this lately assumed arrogance?” rejoined my uncle.

“Reason can never justify arrogance, Sir.”

“But what reason could _not_ effect, fortune has,” replied my uncle; “for a legacy of two thousand pounds, left her by a distant relative, has so elevated her consequence, that the power of gold acted like electricity: it impaired her eye-sight, whenever she met an old friend in the street (though a hundred times her superior); it caused a defalcation of memory, so great, she forgot her best and real friends, and, in a very short time, she _forgot herself_ completely. She furnished a fashionable city drawing-room; oh! how superior to her former smoky parlour, decked with markettings, a littering cradle containing a squalling baby, a clothes-horse of _wet linen_, and a basket of _ragged stockings_, _baby’s etceteras_, and other family _repairs_; in which style Mrs. Fungus _mucked_ on, and _entertained_ her friends, en famille; though, were such things now whispered in her ear, it would horrify her gentility. Her husband, as times go, is a phœnix, and never contradicts her extravagant whims; because his deary’s _legacy_ has _raised_ him from _obscurity_, and made him a common-councilman, strutting, at a Guildhall dinner, by the side of his white and gold wife; while Miss Minerva Fungus, mama’s little image and darling pet, is bringing up, under her intuitive wing, a rival goddess: she reads with the fluency and emphasis of a Siddous, recites theatrical speeches with the grace and action of a Roscius, sings à la Catalani, dances like Angeolini; in short, if you heard Mrs. Fungus’s description of her little daughter’s accomplishments, you have only to add to the panegyric, by informing the world, she owes all her abilities to the _instructions_ of her mama. We shall, no doubt, be invited to her fête; and then you will see how to _dash_, when your old uncle leaves you a _brace_ of thousands.”

“I hope I shall expend them consistently,” said I.

“If you don’t, it will make no odds to me: I shan’t be alive to witness your folly; you’ll feel its effects, not me, my boy,” said my uncle, as he sipped his cocoa.

We hadn’t cleared the table many minutes, before our regular morning visitor, the Doctor, popp’d in.

“How d’ye do? Have you heard the news? Miss Fitzclarence is arrived at the Rectory. By G--d, she’s the loveliest girl in England, a perfect Venus, beautiful as an angel, meek as a dove, and as rich in mind as in pocket, I don’t doubt.”

“Heyday! heyday!” cried my uncle. “Why, Doctor, you’re an enthusiast. Zounds! I must take care of Victor.”

“Ah! I wish I’d a son with an unengaged heart,” resumed the Doctor; “I’d break every bone in his body, I’d kick the rascal out of doors, if he did not make himself _agreeable_ to such a woman.”

“But that might not be in his power, perhaps,” said my uncle.

“Why, indeed, if she looked for beauty, we might fall short in that essential, to be sure.”

“Perhaps, also,” continued my uncle, “she might require equal sensibility, and equal or superior fortune. What then, Doctor--hey? how would you come on thereabouts?”

“Oh! perseverance, perseverance, is every thing with a woman! _coax_ first, _bluster_ afterwards, and then rouse their energies by _talking_ of pistols, swords, ropes, or poison; and that settles the business.”

“Without making _use_ of either,” interrupted my uncle. “A very pretty mode of making love à la Tonic. You’ve the _family receipt_, I suppose; so that you could prepare the prescription for Victor, if it should be necessary. We’ll try the effect to-morrow morning, when the young lady’s a little more settled.”

“Oh! Markwell’s family’s in high bustle, I assure you. There’s half a cart-load of goods at the door; there’s a fine gold harp, a beautiful piano, a most elegant work-table, a large portfolio, of drawings I suppose, with a curious writing-desk, and three large trunks of apparel. Such a bustle! they were running about like scalded magpies!”

“Then how could you think of intruding in such a busy moment?” said my uncle.

“Curiosity impelled me, and I could not resist the temptation.”

“Temptation!” echoed my uncle: “what have such old fellows as you and I to do with temptation? The very idea ought to be tartar emetic to you.”

“Well; we shall hear your opinion of her,” continued the Doctor.

“And it shall be an impartial one, depend upon it; not founded on the basis of momentary curiosity,” said my uncle. “Why, Mrs. Deposit and Mrs. Fungus will go crazy.”

“I’m just going to call on the identical ladies, to impart the news,” rejoined the Doctor; “and so, gentlemen, I’m your most obedient;” and off he swaggered.

“Victor! Victor!” exclaimed my uncle, as the door closed, “can you possibly exist till to-morrow, without gratifying your curiosity? If you can, I’ll order my horses, and we’ll amuse ourselves with a morning’s ride: I want to treat you with a few of our beautiful prospects, as well as our beautiful maids. Egad! methinks the two songs selected last night by you and Elizetta Tonic, were extremely applicable to this said divinity, Miss Fitzclarence; not that I estimate the Doctor’s judgment of beauty with that of a Paris; add to which, he looks through very defective optics.”

CHAP. XIV.

The horses were now ordered: my uncle mounted his old favourite mare, and I had Geoffry’s strong black nag; and, in a jog-trot style, we proceeded through the village.

We had not gone above a mile, when, passing through a narrow lane, we met a gentleman on horseback, in the exact position of an X; that is to say, his elbows and toes were so horizontally stretched, they touched the hedges on each side.

“Good-morning, good Sir! How d’ye do? how d’ye do? I’m taking a little air,” said the gentleman.

“That you’ve a right to, but not to _all_ the road, by the by. Why, my dear fellow, there’s no room to pass you: you’re as formidable an object as a broad-wheel waggon. But what’s the matter with you--you look poorly?” said my uncle.

“Eh! exactly so; I’m extremely asthmatic; I’ve wasted a pound within this fortnight, owing to profuse and constant perspiration: in short, Mrs. Dashwell is very asthmatic, and so’s my daughter-in-law and my nephew; and the _maid’s_ very unwell.”

“What! is _she_ asthmatic too?” asked my uncle, with a suppressed smile.

“Eh! not exactly so: but, I assure you, Mrs. D---- is very ill; she’s so _delicate_ a constitution; she has not power to fetch the water to wash her hands.”

“Indeed!” said my uncle, doubtingly, as he tossed up his chin: “a good, strong constitution, that can stand wind and weather, is a very enviable blessing.”

“Exactly so: no woman possessed a better formerly,” answered he.

“But we don’t grow younger and stronger every day,” cried my uncle: “and, perhaps, she may have made too free with her constitution in the early part of life; such as the damp _night air_, _high suppers_, _playhouse heats_ and _colds_, and _so forth_. Those kind of things all take effect in time.”

The gentleman turned pinkish, set up a hollow cough, tucked his toes under the saddle to give us room to pass, and, wishing us good-morning, cantered gently away.

“Your friend has brushed off in a hurry,” said I.

“Yes,” replied my uncle; “he’s a bad digestion, advice sticks in his stomach, and an explanation of _causes_ and effects always gives him a certain unexplanatory twinge. He’s a keen tradesman of the day; boasts his horses, his _half pipe_ of _Madeira_, his haunch, turbot, and game parties; and longs to sport a shell of calipash to establish his galas; where the city nobility, alias the ci-divant _penny-postman’s son_, and the ci-divant _tallow-chandler’s daughter_, always find an upper seat, amongst many other plebeian fashionables; and while there’s strength enough in the _gunpowder_ to make a _good report_, and prevent a _flash_ in the _pan_, who so great, so consequential, while the rags circulate. But you’re a novice to my hieroglyphics, Victor: you don’t know the world in masquerade; yet it’s a very necessary science to learn. But here comes a chaise: you must squeeze your horse close into the hedge, or there’ll be no room to pass.”

The vehicle now approached, drove by a fat elderly woman; beside whom were stuck her two full-moon-faced daughters, in plebeian pomp, dressed in all the gaiety of presbyterian pride. She bowed, and immediately stopped her horse to facilitate our passing.

“Good-morrow, Ma’am,” said my uncle: “I hope you are going to London to obtain an act of parliament for _widening_ this road, since you’ve set up your _chaise_; it’s well enough to bump along in a _cart_; and where a man’s got his _bread_ dependant, like _your husband_, why, the width of the road to _interest_ is of little consequence.”

“I assure you, Sir,” answered the fat lady, “I am astonished the inhabitants don’t rectify such a _nuisance_; I wonder they don’t go to _law_ with the commissioners of the roads: I’m sure I’d readily _sign_ the requisition: a set of _confederating_ wretches!”

“Aye; and, if they did not comply, you’d have no objection to lend us a hand to throw it into _Chancery_! Would you, Madam?”

“Indeed, I would,” replied the lady, whose face flushed crimson. “I don’t mean to take things as I _have done_. Thank God! we’re out of _debt_ and out of _danger_.”

“That’s a comfort,” replied my uncle. “There’s nothing like honesty. I dearly love to see the _bond_ of _generosity_ cancelled by the stamp of _gratitude_.”

The lady’s countenance changed from a _pink_ to a damask-rose tincture; and, wishing us “good-morning,” her chaise whirled on with its _cargo_ of _hypocrisy_.

“And, pray, who is that group, Sir?” asked I.

“Why, it’s Madam Sponge and her two girls, whom the unexpected windfall of a few thousands has raised from the abyss of poverty to the comforts of affluence, which their pride and folly will soon reduce to their former exigence; while the innocent and generous benefactor, whose unsullied fame they _vainly_ strove to tarnish with the mildew of their calumniate breath, beholds, with the just abhorrence of every upright, honest man, the villainous principle of their corrupt hearts, and treats them with the sovereign contempt of _Virtue_ trampling on the _scorpions of Vice_, _invulnerable_ to their _sting_. We shall pass their newly-embellished hovel presently; and it’s a chance but we have a peep at the master, as well as the mistress. But let us trot briskly till the road widens, for it’s very unpleasant meeting carriages; and methinks I hear more wheels advancing.”

Scarce had we attained the wished-for extent, when a miller’s cart approached; on the copse of which sat the miller and a farmer; both of whom bowed civilly, but spoke not; and the cart rattled out of sight.

“I must again apply to your biographical book of knowledge, Sir,” said I.

“Why, those two persons are Farmer Strut, and his son, Cloddy the miller, going home from market. You ought to have made a bow to him, to grind away all your sins; for, I assure you, he calls himself one of the _elect_.”

“I don’t comprehend, Sir.”

“That’s a sign you’re not _enlightened_, like Miller Strut. A methodist preacher turned his brains about seven years ago, and converted the sinner to the saint; since which, he infected the major and minor part of his own family with the religious mania; which contagion spread through great part of the village. The females of the family were easily persuaded to adopt their brother’s sentiments, but the elder and younger preferred their own opinion; while their father, the farmer, prudently considered there were more methods than one to pursue: he therefore suffered his wife and family to act in conformity to their feelings; while he rode up weekly to London, to arrange his _rag-shop_, see what _fish_ was best to fry, make his observation how the _grasshopper_ jumped, take a peep at the _fat cattle_ in _Racket-market_, and do a few convenient odd _jobs_--hear much, say little, _get_ all he could, meet old friends with old faces, which, for want of walking in his spectacles, he mistook for _new_ faces; for which reason he sold the _supposed masks_ for the paltry sum of twenty pounds--the worst day’s-work he ever did; precluding _all future grist_ to the mill. But Farmer Strut pleased himself.”

“Silly man!” said I.

“Aye; it is not every gander sees his own interest,” replied my uncle.

CHAP. XV.

We now jogged sociably on, calling at several cottages to distribute some of my uncle’s mites, surveyed the beauties of the surrounding country, and returned home to dinner, well satisfied with our ride; after which my uncle took a short nap to recover the fatigue of his morning jolt, and I amused myself by looking over the library, where I found the highest amusement, till he finished his snore; at which time we retired to make some necessary alteration in our habiliments, and, at six o’clock, set off for our visit to Mr. Macfriz, who received us very politely, and, like Dr. Tonic, introduced us, in the same form, to a room full of company and pictures; for the wainscot was so bedizened with the latter, that I could almost have supposed myself at the Royal Academy.

The first lady to whom we were introduced was Mrs. Macfriz, a most diminutive, ill-built woman; who, when she rose from her chair, appeared to fall upon her knees: her features were extremely plain, and her complexion almost a woman of colour; her dress antiquely grotesque, and her toute ensemble disgusting in the extreme.

Having gone through the ceremony of bowing and courtesying, we were introduced to the rest, in the following order:--Mr. and Mrs. Dashwell, Mr. and Mrs. Downright, Mr. Earwig, Mr. Undermine, Mr. Simon Undermine, and Mr. Consequence.

“You’re late, gentlemen,” observed Mr. Macfriz, drawing his watch; “it wants but a quarter to seven.”

“You are incorrect, Sir,” replied Mr. Dashwell, looking at his repeater; which example was followed by every watch in the room: but none cut so great a dash as Mr. Simon Undermine’s, decorated with three immense large seals, suspended by a flashy chain, which he sat rattling in his hand, like a baby with its coral.

“Yes, indeed, I’m glad the gentlemen are come,” said Mrs. Downright, an elderly woman, the epitome of vulgarity; “for I’m almost starved: I uses myself so to drink tea at five o’clock, that I’m like our black cat--I always looks for it, as the saying is.”

No person made any answer; and Mrs. Macfriz rung the bell, which produced two such high-piled plates of muffins and crumpets as might have victualled a small regiment; and Miss Macfriz was placed at the tea equipage to do the honours, to which her mama seemed incompetent.

A fine Dutch piece, by Teniers, having attracted my notice, I could not help giving praise to the genius of that charming artist.

“Yes, Sir, it’s a beautiful _thing_,” answered Mrs. Macfriz; “and I haven’t had a little trouble to _clean_ them all: this morning I was three hours mucking over them; for, being a _valuable_ collection, I never suffers nobody to do nothing to them but myself.”

“That’s right,” cried Mrs. Downright: “you’re like me, as I say to my chuck, and there he sits--there’s nothing like doing things one’s-self: I’m sure I’d more plague and mess with the _chimbley_-sweeps this morning than enough.”

“And what weather we had for our _great wash_ last week,” interrupted the lady of the house.

“Well,” said Mrs. Dashwell, “those are things I never trouble my head about; my constitution is too _delicate_ to permit my attendance to household concerns.”

“It’s lucky you’ve no _call_ to do it,” replied Mrs. Downright: “but I likes it; I loves to be notable; not as I’ve any occasion, as the saying is; for _chuck_ and I don’t want for _stuff_. We have worked hard; both pulled the same way, and _scrope_ up a good bag of sweepings for our little darling, Jenny. We ben’t _musherroons_! No, no! We can buy our girl a husband any day. Can’t we, _chuck_?”

Chuck grinned, and, distending his wide snub from cheek to cheek, gave lovey a nod of approbation, and sat twirling his thumbs, as dumb as an effigy: and the ladies having finished their _notable_ conversation, Mr. Consequence began to expatiate on the various topics of politics; amongst which, arguments strongly enforced, and as strongly defended, the subject of city concerns took its rotation; on which he declaimed with great vehemence, supported by his neighbour, Mr. Undermine, who had been _mole-working_ for his friend, Mr. Penslow, on the late common-council election, by _ousting_ what he termed the _old_ and _useless_ members, such as had grown grey in the service of their constituents, expended their property in support of the rights of the situation, without deriving _one penny emolument_, and then receiving for their pains the base ingratitude of being denominated _deaf_, _blind_, or _superannuated_, which rendered them _ineligible_, according to the _new system_, and erased names from the _honourable_ list that would have honoured a much superior.

As the controversy increased, the gentlemen grew warm; Mr. Consequence declaring, it was highly proper to elect new, young, and able members. “I headed the business in our parish last St. Thomas’s day,” cried Mr. Consequence, “and ousted an old _deaf_ member, who was laid on a sick bed, and, therefore, totally incapable of attending his precinct.”

“Poor man!” said the humane Mrs. Downright, who possessed an excellent heart, which exhibited its virtues on many laudable occasions. “I think, Sir, _axing_ your pardon, you broke your ninth commandment most completely; for it was a very cruel action to a sick neighbour, if he was an honest member of society. My chuck wouldn’t have _ficiated_ in such a piece of treachery for the world: he’d have been ashamed of it.”

“Oh dear! there’s no shame in the case,” observed Mr. Undermine. “My friend Penslow was a much more eligible man; and, therefore, we persevered, night and day, in our canvass, and succeeded to a miracle, compelling him to retire with _blighted_ laurels, because he would not resign, consonant to my friend Consequence’s _positive requisition_...”

“Pardon me! pardon me!” exclaimed Mr. Dashwell; “Mr. Penslow’s were the _blighted_ laurels, torn from the pillowed brow of a worthy veteran to adorn his own, where they must fade, _unenvied_ and _unrespected_, as the emblems of corrupt _subtlety_; for I do hold it an unprecedented piece of _iniquity_ and _mean_ cowardice to attack an individual, merely because he is _defenceless_, owing to the affliction of Providence. For my part, I’m a common-councilman-maker; but I voted for no “jacks in office!”--not I.”

“_Jacks in office!_” retorted Mr. Undermine, glancing an important look at his son Simon. “I hope, Sir, you don’t mean to insinuate, that _I_ am a jack in office!”

“I did not make any such pertinent allusion, Sir,” replied Mr. Dashwell: “for, in fact, till you have brought it to my recollection, I had forgot your late lucrative _agency_; which, to be sure, in the literal sense of the word, is a _government dependence_, and thereby renders your situation _official_; which, if I am not mistaken, I have heard disputed, as a point of _ineligibility_--hey! What say you, Mr. Earwig?”

Mr. Undermine, who had thus undesignedly knotted a lash for his back, because conviction popped the cap on his head, knitted his scowling brow, and, dropping his long chin an inch longer, while it quivered with passion, observed, “that any man who troubled his head with the concerns of another, in which he had no business to interfere, was an ignorant, impertinent fellow, who deserved proper correction.”

“That’s precisely my opinion,” replied Mr. Dashwell; “for, I am well persuaded, one-half of your _city meddlers_ had better attend to their counting-houses, than squabble away the precious hours that ought to be devoted to business.”

“No doubt! no doubt!” cried Mr. Earwig; who, like his insect brother, always creeps into the best situation, and never crawls into a crab-apple while he can glide into a pine--whispers _impracticable promises_ into your ear, and slides his hand into your _convenient pocket_, with the same effrontery that he introduces himself to every great table; where, perching himself as near the president as an eminent stock of assurance will permit, he seizes his button, which he never relinquishes till fumigated with the effluvia of his snuff; and, bored with his ceaseless half-articulate Champaigne jargon, the disgusted auditor releases his _imprisoned_ button, and resigns his uncomfortable seat to the vice, leaving Mr. Earwig to buz his nonsense to some idle listener. Thus Mr. Earwig lives _cheap_, boasts innumerable invitations, _listens_ to the _commoner_, _sides_ with the _lord_, and loves all _great folks_ and _great feasts_--considers himself occasional _king_ of the _Rose in June_ and the _Canterbury Mail_, in which he makes frequent convenient excursions, when the _spice_ business does not require his attendance in London; and, being now on a visit in this village, chance jumbled us together. This intelligence I gained, in a whisper, from my uncle, who had known him many years.

“I assure you,” whispered Simon Undermine to Mr. Macfriz, “father and I took a deal of pains to get in Mr. Penslow; which we never should have done, if the old member hadn’t been too close confined with the gout to hobble round the ward; or else it would all have been _dickey_; because he was a _favourite_ inhabitant, who had been _bred_, _born_, and _patronised_, as member of the court, near _thirty_ years. Egad! we’d tight work of it.”

“I don’t wonder at that; I never heard of such a thing in my life,” said Mr. Downright, lifting up his hands and eyes. “But I hope the cruel disappointment didn’t kill the poor gentleman: I heartily hope he’s recovered.”

“Oh, yes!” answered Mr. Consequence: “I’ve met him twice since, when I least wished it; and I hear he treats the matter with great contempt.”

“Then, I say, he’s a cock of the game!” vociferated Mrs. Downright; “and I’ll bet a _farden_ he could put half his parish into his pocket; aye, buy ’em, out and out! A rich man has always more enemies than a poor one.”

“Poh!” cried Mr. Undermine: “property’s nothing to do with the common-council.”

“Egad! I believe you,” answered Mrs. Downright: “any thing does now-a-days, if they can but _kick up a bother_. Lord bless you! they all _squeedges_ in, in hopes of getting the loaves and fishes that’s given away, except my chuck; and everybody knows he wants nothing of nobody. They can’t say, when he was churchwarden, that he ever flashed away with parish property, as _many folks do_.”

Here Mrs. Downright drew up her head, dragged her pearl satin gown two inches higher into her lap, and took a good bonny mouthful of butter-soaked muffin, desiring her husband to do the same, after spreading his silk handkerchief over his black sattins, which, she boasted, were her _own making_.

This caused a smile from some, a titter from Miss Macfriz, and a _grin simple_ from Mr. Simon Undermine, whose cassimeres looked, by their dimension, as if he had borrowed them of Messrs. Gog and Magog at Guildhall, where Simon dearly loved to wedge himself in, along with his _par_, every Lord-Mayor’s day, to a good dinner and dance with the girls; for, being now a man grown, he was occasionally his walking-stick or coachman; with an excellent family character, as a very _nice_ young man, possessing all his father’s virtues, and in a fair train to obtain a wife, whenever he can meet with _plenty_ of _money_; as none other need apply for that preference, who could not bring at least five thousand; and that’s barely sufficient to help supporting six o’clock dinners, a two-wheeled basket, and a four-legged factotum.

Tea being over, the card-tables were adjusted, consisting of two whist, a speculation game, and a backgammon party, which created as much racket as the Stock Exchange, and highly perplexed Mr. Earwig and Mr. Dashwell: add to which, Mrs. Downright, who was on the losing game, kept repeatedly declaring she hadn’t got a _play-first_, could turn up nothing but the _d--’s bedstead_, shuffled nothing but rubbish and _Yorkshiremen_ into her hand, and should not win above two tricks; and, whenever her husband hesitated, “Don’t be afraid; _clap a piece of butter_ on it, my chuck!”

Mr. Consequence and Mr. Undermine both played extremely unsuccessful, and thereby irritated their sour tempers; particularly that of Mr. Consequence, who had been all his life a member of the Snap and Snarl Club; for, though all the parish were compelled to bow to his decree, as its primary deputed guide and _guardian_, his sullen, morose, and disobliging temper rendered him much more an object of disgust than admiration.

CHAP. XVI.

Three hours had glided away amongst the contents and non-contents, when Mrs. Macfriz requested the game might be broke up to make room for the servant to lay the cloth, which was, of course, immediately complied with; and the table was spread with an inundation of spoons, glasses, silver goblets, and numerous etceteras; till the entrance of three immense capons, a leg of pork, a smoaking tongue, with sallad, vegetation, pies, and custards, wholesale, completed the set-out; Mr. Macfriz presiding at the _head_ of the table, Mrs. Macfriz took the _bottom_, and the guests were promiscuously seated.

Now it happened to be the fate of Simon Undermine to sit next Mrs. Downright, who modestly requested the leg of a chicken; and wishing to hand her plate for that purpose, and enforce his attention, she gave him a violent slap on the shoulder, and exclaimed, “Come, cockey, hand up my plate--will you?”

Simon, bursting with indignation at her vulgar and familiar address, snatched it rudely from her, and called the servant to relieve his lily-white _do-nothing_ of its incumbrance.

“I could have done that myself,” said Mrs. Downright. “La! la! what a _tom bore_ of a young man you be, Mister; you should always serve the ladies!”

Simon curled up his nose in derision, and turned his back upon her.

“You sha’n’t be my son-in-law; you’d never do for my Jenny,” continued Mrs. Downright, giving him a second slap, which acted like an electric shock on his nervous system. “Be so good to give me a slice of that there tongue.”

“I thought you had got some,” replied sulky Simon.

“That’s well said,” answered his father: “few ladies are in want of that article! Ha, ha, ha! Well said, Simon.”

Mrs. Downright, nothing daunted by the retort of any puppy whatever, jumped up, and fetched herself a piece of bread; observing, those who were too indolent to _get_ their bread ought to go without it.

“Then I should soon starve,” replied Mrs. Dashwell, “for I could not earn mine now.”

“Oh, there’s more ways than one of _yearning_ one’s livelihood,” replied Mrs. Downright: “if you could not do it one way, you _mought_ another.”

“But Mrs. Dashwell has no occasion to do it,” replied her lord and master, piqued at his gross companion’s _inuendo_.

“That makes no odds,” replied Mrs. Downright: “what she _is_, and what she _may_ be, are two very different things.”

“Well, I’m a very happy man,” cried Mr. Earwig: “I’m like a gardener; I can raise my _salary_ quicker than any man, and dispose of my _time_ as I think proper.” Then grinning at his own wit, and displaying his _amber dechements_, he actually hummed the O. P. dance, while his plate was refreighting with bonbons.

“And I’ll tell you what you can do beside,” said Mr. Consequence, in an audible whisper--“you can get the blind side of one great man, and the _deaf_ side of another great man--eh, Earwig! you can do any thing but what you’re _wanted_, we all know.”

This caused a general laugh; but Mr. Earwig swallowed it in custard; and it died away.

At length the diligent Mr. Macfriz, wiping the pearls of notability from his face, ordered the fragments to be removed, and the wine set on the table.

Various patriotic toasts having briskly circulated, the ladies were called on for their favourites.

“Lord have ye! I’ve no favourites upon earth, but my chuck: however, I’ll give you a toast,” cried Mrs. Downright: “so here’s a health to the poor sick gentleman, and may he live to see those _turn’d out_ who _turn’d him out_! I _loves_ a bit of tit for tat; but some folks _is_ like the hedgehog--love to worm themselves _in_, and worm others _out_.”

The glasses of Mr. Undermine and Mr. Consequence were very sparingly replenished, which being perceived by the Argus eye of Mrs. Downright, she insisted on bumpers, which was very reluctantly complied with.

My uncle proposed the addition of three cheers, in the energy of which applause he knocked off the foot of his wine-glass.

“Never mind!” exclaimed Mrs. Downright: “I’d sooner make Mr. Macfriz a present of a dozen to-morrow, than lose the honour of my toast.”

“Come, come! as we a’n’t in the House of Commons, gentlemen, I _begs_ we may be all _unonymous_, and not reap up old grievances. Who will give us a song? None of my family were born skylarks; but I’ve some notion Mr. Simon Undermine can tip us a stave,” cried Mr. Macfriz.

Mr. Simon, who was sitting at full stretch on his chair, with his hands, as usual, _tucked into his breeches pockets up to his elbows_, assured the company, in his silly way, he never could sing in all his life, though he had had the advantage of plenty of singing-masters.

“How d’ye mean? how d’ye mean?” asked his father.

“Why, haven’t I kept an aviary of Canary birds this _ever so long_?” replied Simon.

“Pish!” said his scarlet-faced papa, shocked at his son’s nonsensical pun.

“Oh-ho, Monsieur Canarie!” exclaimed the pedantic Mr. Earwig (who loved to let the world know he had attained a smattering of French, as well as a few _Irish bulls_); “vous êtes wit-ty.”

Simon, abashed, sat silent; and, as I much suspected, my uncle pitched on me, requesting I would sing “Old Towler,” with which I unhesitatingly complied, and for which I received some very high encomiums from everybody but Mr. Consequence and Messrs. Undermine.

Mrs. Downright soon afterwards found out she began to feel sleepy, and it was time for all honest tradesfolks to go home to bed; she therefore began pinning up her pearl sattin, which gave the signal of departure, and broke up the company.

“I think old Mother Downright cut up the _ousters_ with a vengeance,” said my uncle, as we walked home. “To be sure, she’s a woman of very low extraction and rough manners; but she possesses an excellent heart of honesty and benevolence, and that’s an equivalent.” Few more comments passed, as the hour was late; and we therefore retired to rest.

END OF VOL. I.

Plummer and Brewis, Printers, Love-lane, Eastcheap.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.

Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,
when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

p12: ‘had’nt’ amended to ‘hadn’t’
p18: ‘out of of sight’ amended to ‘out of sight’
p70: ‘bepoke’ amended to ‘bespoke
p95: ‘bacheldor’ amended to ‘bachelor’
p120: ‘fifteeen’ amended to ‘fifteen’
p125: Archaic spelling of ‘desert’ has been retained
p184: ‘valeable’ amended to ‘valuable’
p200: ‘we’ll’ amended to ‘well’