THERE’S NO ROMANCE IN THAT!
“So while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, and flattered myself that I should outwit and incense them all; behold, my hopes are to be crushed at once, by my aunt’s consent and approbation, and I am myself the only dupe. But here, Sir,—here is the picture!”—LYDIA LANGUISH.
THE ABSTRACTION.
——“draws honey forth that drives men mad.”—LALLA ROOKH.
THE speakers were close under the bow-window of the inn, and as the sash was open, Curiosity herself could not help overhearing their conversation. So I laid down Mrs. Opie’s “Illustrations of Lying,”—which I had found lying in the inn window—and took a glance at the partners in the dialogue.
One of them was much older than the other, and much taller; he seemed to have grown like quick-set. The other was thick-set.
“I tell you, Thomas,” said Quickset, “you are a flat. Before you’ve been a day in London, they’ll have the teeth out of your very head. As for me, I’ve been there twice, and know what’s what. Take my advice: never tell the truth on no account. Questions is only asked by way of pumping; and you ought always to put ’em on a wrong scent.”
“But aunt is to send her man to meet me at the Old Bailey,” said Thickset, “and to show me to her house. Now if a strange man says to me, ‘young man, are you Jacob Giles,’—an’t I to tell him?”
“By no manner of means,” answered Quickset; “say you are quite another man. No one but a flat would tell his name to a stranger about London. You see how I answered them last night about what was in the waggon. Brooms, says I, nothing else. A flat would have told them there was the honey-pots underneath; but I’ve been to London before, and know a thing or two.”
“London must be a desperate place,” said Thickset.
“Mortal!” said Quickset, “fobs and pockets are nothing! Your watch is hardly safe if you carried it in your inside, and as for money——”
“I’m almost sorry I left Berkshire,” said Thickset.
“Poo—poo,” said Quickset, “don’t be afeard. I’ll look after ye; cheat me, and they’ve only one more to cheat. Only mind my advice. Don’t say anything of your own head, and don’t object to anything I say. If I say black’s white, don’t contradict. Mark that. Say everything as I say.”
“I understand what you mean,” said Thickset; and with this lesson in his shock head, he began to busy himself about the waggon, while his comrade went to the stable for the horses. At last Old Ball emerged from the stable-door with the head of Old Dumpling resting on his crupper; when a yell rose from the rear of the waggon, that startled even Number 55, at the Bush Inn, at Staines, and brought the company running from the remotest box in its retired tea-garden.
“In the name of everything,” said the landlord, “what’s the matter?”
“It’s gone—all gone, by goles!” cried Thickset, with a bewildered look at Quickset, as if doubtful whether he ought not to have said it was not gone.
“You don’t mean to say the honey-pots!” said Quickset, with some alarm, and letting go the bridle of Old Ball, who very quietly led old Dumpling back again into the stable; “you don’t mean to say the honey-pots?”
“I don’t mean to say the honey-pots,” said Thickset, literally following the instructions he had received.
“What made you screech out then?” said Quickset, appealing to Thickset.
“What made me screech out, then?” said Thickset, appealing to Quickset, and determined to say as he said.
“The fellow’s drunk,” said the landlord; “the ale’s got into his head.”
“Ale,—what ale has he had?” enquired Quickset rather anxiously.
“Ale,—what ale have I had?” echoed Thickset, looking sober with all his might.
“He’s not drunk,” shouted Quickset; “there’s something the matter.”
“I’m not drunk; there is something the matter,” bellowed Thickset, and with his fore-finger he pointed to the waggon.
“You don’t mean to say the honey,” said Quickset, his voice falling.
“I don’t mean to say the honey,” said Thickset, his caution rising.
The gesture of Thickset, however, had conveyed some vague notion of danger to his companion. With the agility of a cat he climbed on the waggon, and with the superhuman activity of a demon, soon pitched down every bundle of besoms. There is a proverb that new brooms sweep clean, and they certainly seemed to have swept every particle of honey clean out of the waggon.
Quickset was thunderstruck; he stood gazing at the empty vehicle in silence; while his hands wandered wildly through his hair, as if in search of the absent combs.
When he found words at last, they were no part of the Litany. Words, however, did not suffice to vent his passion; and he began to stamp and dance about, till the mud of the stable-yard flew round like anything you like.
“A plague take him and his honey-pots, too,” said the chambermaid, as she looked at a new pattern on her best gingham.
“It’s no matter,” said Quickset. “I won’t lose it. The house must stand the damage. Mr. Bush, I shall look to you for the money.”
“He shall look to you for the money,” da-capo’d Thickset.
“You may look till doomsday,” said the landlord. “It’s all your own fault; I thought nobody would steal brooms. If you had told me there was honey, I would have put the waggon under lock and key.”
“Why, there was honey,” said Quickset and Thickset.
“I don’t know that,” said Mr. Bush, “you said last night in the kitchen there was nothing but brooms.”
“I heard him,” said John Ostler; “I’ll take my oath to his very words!”
“And so will I,” roar’d the chambermaid, glancing at her damaged gown.
“What of that?” said Quickset, “I know I said there was nothing but brooms.”
“I know,” said Thickset, “I’m positive, he said there was nothing but brooms.”
“He confesses it himself,” said the landlady.
“And his own man speaks agin him,” said the chambermaid.
“I saw the waggon come in, and it didn’t seem to have any honey in it,” said the head waiter.
“May be the flies have eaten it,” said the postillion.
“I’ve seen two chaps the very moral of them two at the bar of the Old Bailey,” said Boots.
“It’s a swindle, it is,” said the landlady, “and Mr. Bush shan’t pay a farthing.”
“They deserve tossing in a blanket,” said the chambermaid.
“Duck ’em in the horsepond,” shouted John Ostler.
“I think,” whispered Thickset, “they are making themselves up for mischief!”
There was no time to be lost. Quickset again lugged Old Ball and Old Dumpling from the stable, while his companion tossed the brooms into the waggon. As soon as possible they drove out of the unlucky yard, and as they passed under the arch, I heard for the last time the voice of Thickset:
“You’ve been to London before, and to be sure know best; but somehow, to my mind, the telling the untruth don’t seem to answer.”
The only reply was a thwack, like the report of a pistol, on the crupper of each of the horses. The poor animals broke directly into something like a canter: and as the waggon turned a corner of the street, I shut down the sash, and resumed my “Illustrations of Lying.”
“He is become already a very promising miller.”—Bell’s Life in London.
I WAS walking very leisurely one evening down Cripplegate, when I overtook—who could help overtaking him?—a lame elderly gentleman, who, by the nature of his gait, appeared to represent the Ward. Like certain lots at auctions, he seemed always going, but never gone: it was that kind of march that, from its slowness, is emphatically called halting. Gout, in fact, had got him into a sad hobble, and, like terror, made his flesh creep.
There was, notwithstanding, a lurking humorousness in his face, in spite of pace, that reminded you of Quick or Liston in Old Rapid. You saw that he was not slow, at least, at a quirk or quip,—not backward at repartee,—not behind-hand with his jest, in short, that he was a great wit though he could not jump.
There was something, besides, in his physiognomy, as well as his dress and figure, that strongly indicated his locality. He was palpably a dweller, if not a native, of that clime distinguished equally by “the rage of the vulture and the love of the turtle,”—the good old City of London. But an accident soon confirmed my surmises.
In plucking out his handkerchief from one of his capacious coat pockets, the Bandana tumbled out with it a large roll of manuscript; and as he proceeded a good hundred yards before he discovered the loss, I had ample time before he struggled back, in his Crawly Common pace, to the spot, to give the paper a hasty perusal, and even to make a few random extracts. The MS. purported to be a Collection of Civic Facetiæ, from the Mayoralty of Alderman * * * * up to the present time: and, from certain hints scattered up and down, the Recorder evidently considered himself to have been, for wise saws or witty, the Top Sawyer. Not to forestal the pleasure of self-publication, I shall avoid all that are, or may be, his own sayings, and give only such jeux de mots as have a distinct parentage.
EXTRACTS FROM THE MS.
“Alderman F. was very hard of hearing, and Alderman B. was very hard on his infirmity. One day, a dumb man was brought to the Justice-room charged with passing bad notes. B. declined to enter upon the case. ‘Go to Alderman F.,’ he said: ‘when a dumb man utters, a deaf one ought to hear it.’”
“B. was equally hard on Alderman V.’s linen-drapery. One day he came late into Court. ‘I have just come,’ said he, ‘from V.’s villa. He had family prayers last night, and began thus—Now let us read the Psalm Nunc Dimities.’”
“Old S., the tobacconist of Holborn Hill, wore his own hair tied behind in a queue, and had a favourite seat in the shop, with his back to the window. Alderman B. pointed him out once to me. ‘Look! there he is, as usual, advertising his pigtail.’”
“Alderman A. was never very remarkable for his skill in orthography. A note of his writing is still extant, requesting a brother magistrate to preside for him, and giving, literatim, the following reason for his own absence:—‘Jackson the painter is to take me off in my Rob of Office, and I am gone to give him a cit.’ His pronunciation was equally original. I remember his asking Alderman C., just before the 9th of November, whether he should have any men in armour in his shew.”
“Guildhall and its images were always uppermost with Alderman A. It was he who so misquoted Shakspeare—‘A Parish Beadle, when he’s trod upon, feels as much corporal suffering as Gog and Magog.’”
“A well-known editor of a morning paper enquired of Alderman B., one day, what he thought of his journal. ‘I like it all,’ said the Alderman, ‘but its Broken English.’ The editor stared and asked for an explanation. ‘Why, the List of Bankrupts, to be sure!’”
“When Alderman B. was elected Mayor, to give greater éclat to his banquet, he sent for Dobbs, the most celebrated cook of that time, to take the command of the kitchen. Dobbs was quite an enthusiast in his art, and some culinary deficiencies on the part of the ordinary Mansion-House professors driving him at least to desperation, he leapt upon one of the dressers, and began an oration to them, by this energetic apostrophe,—‘Gentlemen! do you call yourselves cooks!’”
“One of the present Household titles in the Mansion-House establishment was of singular origin. When the celebrated men in armour were first exhibited, Alderman P., who happened to be with his Lordship previous to the procession, was extremely curious in examining the suits of mail, &c., expressing, at the same time, an eager desire to try on one of the helmets. The Mayor, with his usual consideration, insisted on first sending it down to the kitchen to be aired, after which process the ambition of the Alderman met with its gratification. For some little time he did not perceive any inconvenience from his new beaver, but by degrees the enclosure became first uncomfortably, and then intolerably warm; the confined heat being aggravated by his violent but vain struggles to undo the unaccustomed fastenings. An armourer was obliged to be sent for before his face could be let out, red and rampant as a Brentford Lion from its iron cage. It appeared, that in the hurry of the Pageant, the chief Cook had clapped the casque upon the fire, and thus found out a recipe for stewing an Alderman’s head in its own steam, and for which feat he has retained the title of the Head-Cook, ever since!”
“G. the Common-council-man, was a Warden of his own Company, the Merchant Tailors’. At one of their frequent Festivals, he took with him, to the dinner, a relation, an officer of the tenth foot. By some blunder, the soldier was taken for one of the fraternity, but G. hastened to correct the mistake:—‘Gentlemen, this isn’t one of the Ninth parts of a man—he’s one of the Tenth!’”
“One day there was a dispute, as to the difficulty of Catch-Singing, Alderman B. struck in, ‘Go to Cheshire the Hangman—he’ll prove to you there’s a good deal of Execution in a Catch.’”
To Harvey Williams, Esq., Regent’s Terrace, Portland Park.
HONNERED SUR,
Being maid a Feller of the Zoological Satiety, and I may say by your Honner’s meens, threw the carrachter your Humbel was favered with, and witch provd sattisfacktry to the Burds and Bests, considring I was well quailifid threw having Bean for so menny hears Hed Guardner to your Honner, besides lookin arter the Pigs and Poltry. Begs to axnolige my great fullness for the Sam, and ham quit cumfittable and happy, sow much sow as wen I ham amung the Anymills to reckin myself like Addam in Parodies, let alone my Velvoteens.
Honnerd Sur,—awar of your parshalty for Liv Stox and Kettle Breading, ham indust to faver with a Statement of wat is dun at the Farm, havin tacken provintial Noats wile I was at Kings-ton with a Pekin elefunt for chainges of Hair. As respex a curacy beg to say, tho the Sectary drawd up his Report from his hone datums and memmorandusses, and never set his eyes on my M.E.S.S., yet we has tallys to our tails in the Mane.
Honnerd Sir,—I will sit out with the Qadripids, tho weave add the wust lux with them. Scarse anny of the Anymills with fore legs has moor nor one Carf. Has to the Wappity Dears, hits wus then the Babby afore King Sollyman, but their his for one littel Dear betwin five femail she hinds. The Sambo Dear as was sent by Mr. Spring was so unnatral has to heat up her Forn and in consequins the Sing-Sing is of no use for the lullabis. Has for Corsichan hits moor Boney nor ever, But the Axis on innqueries as too littel Axes about a munth hold. The Neil Gow has increst one Carf, but their his no Foles to the Quaggys. Their his too littel Zebry but one as not rum to grow; the Report says, “the Mail Owen to the Nessessary Confinement in regard to Spaice is verry smal.”
Honnerd Sur, the Satiety is verry rich in Assis, boath Commun assis and uncommon assis, and as the Report recumends will do my Inndever to git the Maltese Cross for your Honner. The Kangroses as reerd up a large smal fammily but looks to be ill nust and not well put to there feat, and at the surjesting of a femail Feller too was put out to the long harmd Babboon to dry nus, but she was too violent and dandled the pure things to deth. The infunt Zebew is all so ded owen to Atemps with a backbord to prevent groing out of the sholders, boath parrents being defourmd with umphs; but the spin as is suposed was hert in the exspearment, and it sudenly desist. Mr. Wallack will be glad to here the Wallachian Sheap has add sicks lams, but one was pisend by eating the ewes in the garden witch is fattle to kattle. Has to gots we was going on prospus in the Kiddy line, but the Billy gots becum so vishus and did so menny butts a weak we was obleeged to do away with the Entire. As regards Rabits a contiguous dissorder havin got into the Stox, we got rid of the Hole let alone one Do and Brewd, witch was all in good Helth up to Good Fridy wen the Mother brekfisted on her bunnis. The increas in the Groth of Hairs as bean maid an object, and the advice tacken of Mr. Prince and Mr. Roland, who recumendid Killin one of the Bares for the porpus of Greece. We hav a grate number of ginny pigs—their is moor than twenty of them in one Pound.
About Struthus Burds the Ostreaches is in in perfic helth and full of Plums. The femail Hen lade too egs wile the Committy was sittin and we hop they will atch, as we put them under a she Hemew as was sittin to Mr. Harvy. We propos breading Busturds xept we hav not got a singel specieman of the specious Galnatious Burds. I am sory to say The Curryso has not bread. Hits the moor disapinting as we considder these Birds as our Crax. We sucksided in razing a grate menny Turkys and some intresting expearimints was maid on them by the Committy and the Counsel on Crismus day. Lickwise on Poltry Fouls with regard to there being of Utility for the Tabel and “under the latter head” the report informs “sum results hav bean obtained witch air considdered very satisfactry,” but their will be more degested trials of the subjex as the Report says “the expeariments must be repetid in order to istablish the accuracy of the deduckshuns.” Wat is remarkable the hens pressented by Mr. Crockford hav not provd grate layers tho provided with a Better Yard and plenty of Turf. We hav indevourd to bread the grate Cok of the Wud onely we have no Wud for him to be Cok of—and now for aquotic Warter Burds we hav wite Swons but they hav not any cygnitures, and the Black is very unrisenable as to expens but Mr. Hunt has offerd to black one very lo on condishun hits not aloud to go into the Warter. The Polish swons wod hav bread onely they did not lay. The Satiety contanes a grate number of Gease and witch thriv all most as well as they wood on a commun farm and the Sam with Dux. We wonted to have dukelings from the Mandereen Dux but they shook there Heds. Too ears a go a qantitty of flownders and also a quantitty of heals of witch an exact acount is recordid wear turned into one of the Ponds but there State as not bean looked into since they wear plaiced their out of unwillingnes to disturb the Hotter. At pressent their exists in one Pond a stock of Karps and in too others a number of gould fish of the commun Sort. The number left as bean correcly tacken and the ammount checkt by the Pellycanes and Herrins and Spun-bills and guls and other piskiverous Burds. Looking at the hole of the Farm in one Pint of Vue we hav ben most suckcesful with Rabits and Poltry and Piggins and Ginny Pigs but the breading of sich being well none to Skullboys, I beg as to their methodistical principals to refer your Honner to Master Gorge wen he cums home for the Holedays. I furgot to say the Parnassian Sheap was acomidated with a Pen to it self but produst nothin worth riting. But the attemps we hav maid this here, will be prosycutid next here with new Vigors.
Honnerd Sur,—their is an aggitating Skeam of witch I humbly aprove verry hiley. The plan is owen to sum of the Femail Fellers,—and that is to make the Farm a Farm Ornay. For instances the Buffloo and Fallo dears and cetra to have their horns Gilded and the Mufflons and Sheaps is to hav pink ribbings round there nex. The munkys is to ware fancy dressis and the Ostreaches is to have their plums stuck in their heds, and the Pecox tales will be always spred out on fraim wurks like the hispaliers. All the Bares is to be tort to Dance to Wippert’s Quadrils and the Lions mains is to be subjective to pappers, and the curling-tongues. The gould and silver Fesants is to be Pollisht evry day with Plait Powder and the Cammile and Drumdearis and other defourmd anymills is to be paddid to hide their Crukidnes. Mr. Howerd is to file down the tusks of the wild Bores and Peckaris and the Spoons of the Spoonbills is to be made as like the Kings Patten as posible. The elifunt will be himbelisht with a Sugger candid Castle maid by Gunter and the Flaminggoes will be toucht up with Frentch ruge and the Damisels will hav chaplits of heartifitial Flours. The Sloath is proposd to hav an ellegunt Stait Bed—and the Bever is to ware one of Perren’s lite Warter Proof Hats—and the Balld Vulters baldnes will be hided by a small Whig from Trewfits. The Crains will be put into trousirs and the Hippotomus tite laced for a waste. Experience will dictait menny more imbellishing modes, with witch I conclud that I am
Your Honners
Very obleeged and humbel former Servant,
STEPHEN HUMPHREYS.