Sketches by Boz Page 37

  “Yes.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eight, next We'nsday. How old are YOU?”

  “Alexander,” interrupted his mother, “how dare you ask Mr. Minns how old he is!”

  “He asked me how old I was,” said the precocious child, to whom Minns had from that moment internally resolved that he never would bequeath one shilling. As soon as the titter occasioned by the observation had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sitting at the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had been endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan, called, out, with a very patronising air, “Alick, what part of speech is BE.”

  “A verb.”

  “That's a good boy,” said Mrs. Budden, with all a mother's pride.

  “Now, you know what a verb is?”

  “A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer; as, I am—I rule—I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma.”

  “I'll give you an apple,” replied the man with the red whiskers, who was an established friend of the family, or in other words was always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked it or not, “if you'll tell me what is the meaning of BE.”

  “Be?” said the prodigy, after a little hesitation—“an insect that gathers honey.”

  “No, dear,” frowned Mrs. Budden; “B double E is the substantive.”

  “I don't think he knows much yet about COMMON substantives,” said the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable opportunity for letting off a joke. “It's clear he's not very well acquainted with PROPER NAMES. He! he! he!”

  “Gentlemen,” called out Mr. Budden, from the end of the table, in a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, “will you have the goodness to charge your glasses? I have a toast to propose.”

  “Hear! hear!” cried the gentlemen, passing the decanters. After they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded—“Gentlemen; there is an individual present—”

  “Hear! hear!” said the little man with red whiskers.

  “PRAY be quiet, Jones,” remonstrated Budden.

  “I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present,” resumed the host, “in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight—and—and—the conversation of that individual must have afforded to every one present, the utmost pleasure.” ['Thank Heaven, he does not mean me!” thought Minns, conscious that his diffidence and exclusiveness had prevented his saying above a dozen words since he entered the house.] “Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself, and I perhaps ought to apologise for allowing any individual feeling of friendship and affection for the person I allude to, to induce me to venture to rise, to propose the health of that person—a person that, I am sure—that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to those who know him—and those who have not the pleasure of knowing him, cannot dislike him.”

  “Hear! hear!” said the company, in a tone of encouragement and approval.

  “Gentlemen,” continued Budden, “my cousin is a man who—who is a relation of my own.” (Hear! hear!) Minns groaned audibly. “Who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not here, would certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all feel in seeing him. (Loud cries of hear!) Gentlemen, I feel that I have already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With every feeling—of—with every sentiment of—of—”

  “Gratification”—suggested the friend of the family.

  “Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns.”

  “Standing, gentlemen!” shouted the indefatigable little man with the whiskers—“and with the honours. Take your time from me, if you please. Hip! hip! hip!—Za!—Hip! hip! hip!—Za!—Hip hip!—Za-a-a!”

  All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping down port wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endeavoured to conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency would admit, he rose, but, as the newspapers sometimes say in their reports, “we regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance of the honourable gentleman's observations.” The words “present company—honour—present occasion,” and “great happiness”—heard occasionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive of the utmost confusion and misery, convinced the company that he was making an excellent speech; and, accordingly, on his resuming his seat, they cried “Bravo!” and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones, who had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up.

  “Budden,” said he, “will you allow ME to propose a toast?”

  “Certainly,” replied Budden, adding in an under-tone to Minns right across the table, “Devilish sharp fellow that: you'll be very much pleased with his speech. He talks equally well on any subject.” Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded:

  “It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many circumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honour to be surrounded, I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own—for why should I deny it?—felt the overwhelming nature of the task I have undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the subject. If such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions, what must they be now—now—under the extraordinary circumstances in which I am placed. (Hear! hear!) To describe my feelings accurately, would be impossible; but I cannot give you a better idea of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens, oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On one occasion, when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan, was—”

  Now, there is no knowing what new villainy in the form of a joke would have been heaped on the grave of that very ill-used man, Mr. Sheridan, if the boy in drab had not at that moment entered the room in a breathless state, to report that, as it was a very wet night, the nine o'clock stage had come round, to know whether there was anybody going to town, as, in that case, he (the nine o'clock) had room for one inside.

  Mr. Minns started up; and, despite countless exclamations of surprise, and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept the vacant place. But, the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be found; and as the coachman couldn't wait, he drove back to the Swan, leaving word for Mr. Minns to “run round” and catch him. However, as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or so, that he had left the brown silk umbrella with the ivory handle in the other coach, coming down; and, moreover, as he was by no means remarkable for speed, it is no matter of surprise that when he accomplished the feat of “running round” to the Swan, the coach—the last coach—had gone without him.

  It was somewhere about three o'clock in the morning, when Mr. Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street-door of his lodgings in Tavistock-street, cold, wet, cross, and miserable. He made his will next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict confidence in which we inform the public, that neither the name of Mr. Octavius Budden, nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master Alexander Augustus Budden, appears therein.

  CHAPTER III

  SENTIMENT

  The Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription on the garden-gate of Minerva House, Hammersmith, “The Misses Crumpton,” were two unusually tall, particularly thin, and exceedingly skinny personages: very upright, and very yellow. Miss Amelia Crumpton owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted she was forty; an admission which was rendered perfectly unnecessary by the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed in the most interesting manner—like twins! and looked as happy and comfortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were very precise, had the strictest possible ideas of propriety, wore false hair, and always smelt very strongly of lavender.

  Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was a “finishing establishment for young ladies,” where some twenty girls of the ages of from thirteen to nineteen inclusive, acquired a smattering of everything, and a knowledge of nothing; instruction in French and Italia
n, dancing lessons twice a-week; and other necessaries of life. The house was a white one, a little removed from the roadside, with close palings in front. The bedroom windows were always left partly open, to afford a bird's-eye view of numerous little bedsteads with very white dimity furniture, and thereby impress the passer-by with a due sense of the luxuries of the establishment; and there was a front parlour hung round with highly varnished maps which nobody ever looked at, and filled with books which no one ever read, appropriated exclusively to the reception of parents, who, whenever they called, could not fail to be struck with the very deep appearance of the place.

  “Amelia, my dear,” said Miss Maria Crumpton, entering the schoolroom one morning, with her false hair in papers: as she occasionally did, in order to impress the young ladies with a conviction of its reality. “Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note I have just received. You needn't mind reading it aloud.”

  Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with an air of great triumph:

  “Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M. P., presents his compliments to Miss Crumpton, and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton's calling on him, if she conveniently can, to-morrow morning at one o'clock, as Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M. P., is anxious to see Miss Crumpton on the subject of placing Miss Brook Dingwall under her charge.

  “Adelphi.

  “Monday morning.”

  “A Member of Parliament's daughter!” ejaculated Amelia, in an ecstatic tone.

  “A Member of Parliament's daughter!” repeated Miss Maria, with a smile of delight, which, of course, elicited a concurrent titter of pleasure from all the young ladies.

  “It's exceedingly delightful!” said Miss Amelia; whereupon all the young ladies murmured their admiration again. Courtiers are but school-boys, and court-ladies school-girl's.

  So important an announcement at once superseded the business of the day. A holiday was declared, in commemoration of the great event; the Miss Crumptons retired to their private apartment to talk it over; the smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs of the daughter of a Member of Parliament; and the young ladies verging on eighteen wondered whether she was engaged, whether she was pretty, whether she wore much bustle, and many other WHETHERS of equal importance.

  The two Miss Crumptons proceeded to the Adelphi at the appointed time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking as amiable as they possibly could—which, by-the-bye, is not saying much for them. Having sent in their cards, through the medium of a red-hot looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into the august presence of the profound Dingwall.

  Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M. P., was very haughty, solemn, and portentous. He had, naturally, a somewhat spasmodic expression of countenance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his wearing an extremely stiff cravat. He was wonderfully proud of the M. P. attached to his name, and never lost an opportunity of reminding people of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had; and in diplomacy, on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he considered himself unrivalled. He was a county magistrate, and discharged the duties of his station with all due justice and impartiality; frequently committing poachers, and occasionally committing himself. Miss Brook Dingwall was one of that numerous class of young ladies, who, like adverbs, may be known by their answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing else.

  On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing, but trying to look busy, playing at shop. Acts of Parliament, and letters directed to “Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M. P.,” were ostentatiously scattered over the table; at a little distance from which, Mrs. Brook Dingwall was seated at work. One of those public nuisances, a spoiled child, was playing about the room, dressed after the most approved fashion—in a blue tunic with a black belt—a quarter of a yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle—looking like a robber in a melodrama, seen through a diminishing glass.

  After a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton's chair as fast as it was placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., opened the conversation.

  He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the high character he had received of her establishment from his friend, Sir Alfred Muggs.

  Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgments to him (Muggs), and Cornelius proceeded.

  “One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with my daughter, is, that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas, which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind.” (Here the little innocent before noticed, fell out of an arm-chair with an awful crash.)

  “Naughty boy!” said his mamma, who appeared more surprised at his taking the liberty of falling down, than at anything else; “I'll ring the bell for James to take him away.”

  “Pray don't check him, my love,” said the diplomatist, as soon as he could make himself heard amidst the unearthly howling consequent upon the threat and the tumble. “It all arises from his great flow of spirits.” This last explanation was addressed to Miss Crumpton.

  “Certainly, sir,” replied the antique Maria: not exactly seeing, however, the connexion between a flow of animal spirits, and a fall from an arm-chair.

  Silence was restored, and the M. P. resumed: “Now, I know nothing so likely to effect this object, Miss Crumpton, as her mixing constantly in the society of girls of her own age; and, as I know that in your establishment she will meet such as are not likely to contaminate her young mind, I propose to send her to you.”

  The youngest Miss Crumpton expressed the acknowledgments of the establishment generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily pain. The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was standing upon her most tender foot, by way of getting his face (which looked like a capital O in a red-lettered play-bill) on a level with the writing-table.

  “Of course, Lavinia will be a parlour boarder,” continued the enviable father; “and on one point I wish my directions to be strictly observed. The fact is, that some ridiculous love affair, with a person much her inferior in life, has been the cause of her present state of mind. Knowing that of course, under your care, she can have no opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to—indeed, I should rather prefer—her mixing with such society as you see yourself.”

  This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited little creature, in the excess of his joyousness breaking a pane of glass, and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. James was rung for; considerable confusion and screaming succeeded; two little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man left the room, and the child was gone.

  “Mr. Brook Dingwall would like Miss Brook Dingwall to learn everything,” said Mrs. Brook Dingwall, who hardly ever said anything at all.

  “Certainly,” said both the Miss Crumptons together.

  “And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in weaning my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton,” continued the legislator, “I hope you will have the goodness to comply, in all respects, with any request I may forward to you.”

  The promise was of course made; and after a lengthened discussion, conducted on behalf of the Dingwalls with the most becoming diplomatic gravity, and on that of the Crumptons with profound respect, it was finally arranged that Miss Lavinia should be forwarded to Hammersmith on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-yearly ball given at the establishment was to take place. It might divert the dear girl's mind. This, by the way, was another bit of diplomacy.

  Miss Lavinia was introduced to her future governess, and both the Miss Crumptons pronounced her “a most charming girl;” an opinion which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of any new pupil.

  Courtesies were exchanged, acknowledgments
expressed, condescension exhibited, and the interview terminated.

  Preparations, to make use of theatrical phraseology, “on a scale of magnitude never before attempted,” were incessantly made at Minerva House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. The largest room in the house was pleasingly ornamented with blue calico roses, plaid tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, the work of the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken up, the folding-doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, and rout-seats were taken in. The linen-drapers of Hammersmith were astounded at the sudden demand for blue sarsenet ribbon, and long white gloves. Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, and a harp and two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the grand piano already on the premises. The young ladies who were selected to show off on the occasion, and do credit to the establishment, practised incessantly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to the annoyance of the lame old gentleman over the way; and a constant correspondence was kept up, between the Misses Crumpton and the Hammersmith pastrycook.

  The evening came; and then there was such a lacing of stays, and tying of sandals, and dressing of hair, as never can take place with a proper degree of bustle out of a boarding-school. The smaller girls managed to be in everybody's way, and were pushed about accordingly; and the elder ones dressed, and tied, and flattered, and envied, one another, as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually COME OUT.

  “How do I look, dear?” inquired Miss Emily Smithers, the belle of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom friend, because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith, or out of it.

  “Oh! charming, dear. How do I?”

  “Delightful! you never looked so handsome,” returned the belle, adjusting her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her poor companion.

  “I hope young Hilton will come early,” said another young lady to Miss somebody else, in a fever of expectation.