Sketches by Boz
Charles Dickens

Part 6 out of 15

as 'shabby-genteel.'

Now, shabby people, God knows, may be found anywhere, and genteel
people are not articles of greater scarcity out of London than in
it; but this compound of the two--this shabby-gentility--is as
purely local as the statue at Charing-cross, or the pump at
Aldgate. It is worthy of remark, too, that only men are shabby-
genteel; a woman is always either dirty and slovenly in the
extreme, or neat and respectable, however poverty-stricken in
appearance. A very poor man, 'who has seen better days,' as the
phrase goes, is a strange compound of dirty-slovenliness and
wretched attempts at faded smartness.

We will endeavour to explain our conception of the term which forms
the title of this paper. If you meet a man, lounging up Drury-
Lane, or leaning with his back against a post in Long-acre, with
his hands in the pockets of a pair of drab trousers plentifully
besprinkled with grease-spots: the trousers made very full over
the boots, and ornamented with two cords down the outside of each
leg--wearing, also, what has been a brown coat with bright buttons,
and a hat very much pinched up at the side, cocked over his right
eye--don't pity him. He is not shabby-genteel. The 'harmonic
meetings' at some fourth-rate public-house, or the purlieus of a
private theatre, are his chosen haunts; he entertains a rooted
antipathy to any kind of work, and is on familiar terms with
several pantomime men at the large houses. But, if you see
hurrying along a by-street, keeping as close as he can to the area-
railings, a man of about forty or fifty, clad in an old rusty suit
of threadbare black cloth which shines with constant wear as if it
had been bees-waxed--the trousers tightly strapped down, partly for
the look of the thing and partly to keep his old shoes from
slipping off at the heels,--if you observe, too, that his
yellowish-white neckerchief is carefully pinned up, to conceal the
tattered garment underneath, and that his hands are encased in the
remains of an old pair of beaver gloves, you may set him down as a
shabby-genteel man. A glance at that depressed face, and timorous
air of conscious poverty, will make your heart ache--always
supposing that you are neither a philosopher nor a political

We were once haunted by a shabby-genteel man; he was bodily present
to our senses all day, and he was in our mind's eye all night. The
man of whom Sir Walter Scott speaks in his Demonology, did not
suffer half the persecution from his imaginary gentleman-usher in
black velvet, that we sustained from our friend in quondam black
cloth. He first attracted our notice, by sitting opposite to us in
the reading-room at the British Museum; and what made the man more
remarkable was, that he always had before him a couple of shabby-
genteel books--two old dog's-eared folios, in mouldy worm-eaten
covers, which had once been smart. He was in his chair, every
morning, just as the clock struck ten; he was always the last to
leave the room in the afternoon; and when he did, he quitted it
with the air of a man who knew not where else to go, for warmth and
quiet. There he used to sit all day, as close to the table as
possible, in order to conceal the lack of buttons on his coat:
with his old hat carefully deposited at his feet, where he
evidently flattered himself it escaped observation.

About two o'clock, you would see him munching a French roll or a
penny loaf; not taking it boldly out of his pocket at once, like a
man who knew he was only making a lunch; but breaking off little
bits in his pocket, and eating them by stealth. He knew too well
it was his dinner.

When we first saw this poor object, we thought it quite impossible
that his attire could ever become worse. We even went so far, as
to speculate on the possibility of his shortly appearing in a
decent second-hand suit. We knew nothing about the matter; he grew
more and more shabby-genteel every day. The buttons dropped off
his waistcoat, one by one; then, he buttoned his coat; and when one
side of the coat was reduced to the same condition as the
waistcoat, he buttoned it over--on the other side. He looked
somewhat better at the beginning of the week than at the
conclusion, because the neckerchief, though yellow, was not quite
so dingy; and, in the midst of all this wretchedness, he never
appeared without gloves and straps. He remained in this state for
a week or two. At length, one of the buttons on the back of the
coat fell off, and then the man himself disappeared, and we thought
he was dead.

We were sitting at the same table about a week after his
disappearance, and as our eyes rested on his vacant chair, we
insensibly fell into a train of meditation on the subject of his
retirement from public life. We were wondering whether he had hung
himself, or thrown himself off a bridge--whether he really was dead
or had only been arrested--when our conjectures were suddenly set
at rest by the entry of the man himself. He had undergone some
strange metamorphosis, and walked up the centre of the room with an
air which showed he was fully conscious of the improvement in his
appearance. It was very odd. His clothes were a fine, deep,
glossy black; and yet they looked like the same suit; nay, there
were the very darns with which old acquaintance had made us
familiar. The hat, too--nobody could mistake the shape of that
hat, with its high crown gradually increasing in circumference
towards the top. Long service had imparted to it a reddish-brown
tint; but, now, it was as black as the coat. The truth flashed
suddenly upon us--they had been 'revived.' It is a deceitful
liquid that black and blue reviver; we have watched its effects on
many a shabby-genteel man. It betrays its victims into a temporary
assumption of importance: possibly into the purchase of a new pair
of gloves, or a cheap stock, or some other trifling article of
dress. It elevates their spirits for a week, only to depress them,
if possible, below their original level. It was so in this case;
the transient dignity of the unhappy man decreased, in exact
proportion as the 'reviver' wore off. The knees of the
unmentionables, and the elbows of the coat, and the seams
generally, soon began to get alarmingly white. The hat was once
more deposited under the table, and its owner crept into his seat
as quietly as ever.

There was a week of incessant small rain and mist. At its
expiration the 'reviver' had entirely vanished, and the shabby-
genteel man never afterwards attempted to effect any improvement in
his outward appearance.

It would be difficult to name any particular part of town as the
principal resort of shabby-genteel men. We have met a great many
persons of this description in the neighbourhood of the inns of
court. They may be met with, in Holborn, between eight and ten any
morning; and whoever has the curiosity to enter the Insolvent
Debtors' Court will observe, both among spectators and
practitioners, a great variety of them. We never went on 'Change,
by any chance, without seeing some shabby-genteel men, and we have
often wondered what earthly business they can have there. They
will sit there, for hours, leaning on great, dropsical, mildewed
umbrellas, or eating Abernethy biscuits. Nobody speaks to them,
nor they to any one. On consideration, we remember to have
occasionally seen two shabby-genteel men conversing together on
'Change, but our experience assures us that this is an uncommon
circumstance, occasioned by the offer of a pinch of snuff, or some
such civility.

It would be a task of equal difficulty, either to assign any
particular spot for the residence of these beings, or to endeavour
to enumerate their general occupations. We were never engaged in
business with more than one shabby-genteel man; and he was a
drunken engraver, and lived in a damp back-parlour in a new row of
houses at Camden-town, half street, half brick-field, somewhere
near the canal. A shabby-genteel man may have no occupation, or he
may be a corn agent, or a coal agent, or a wine merchant, or a
collector of debts, or a broker's assistant, or a broken-down
attorney. He may be a clerk of the lowest description, or a
contributor to the press of the same grade. Whether our readers
have noticed these men, in their walks, as often as we have, we
know not; this we know--that the miserably poor man (no matter
whether he owes his distresses to his own conduct, or that of
others) who feels his poverty and vainly strives to conceal it, is
one of the most pitiable objects in human nature. Such objects,
with few exceptions, are shabby-genteel people.


Damon and Pythias were undoubtedly very good fellows in their way:
the former for his extreme readiness to put in special bail for a
friend: and the latter for a certain trump-like punctuality in
turning up just in the very nick of time, scarcely less remarkable.
Many points in their character have, however, grown obsolete.
Damons are rather hard to find, in these days of imprisonment for
debt (except the sham ones, and they cost half-a-crown); and, as to
the Pythiases, the few that have existed in these degenerate times,
have had an unfortunate knack of making themselves scarce, at the
very moment when their appearance would have been strictly
classical. If the actions of these heroes, however, can find no
parallel in modern times, their friendship can. We have Damon and
Pythias on the one hand. We have Potter and Smithers on the other;
and, lest the two last-mentioned names should never have reached
the ears of our unenlightened readers, we can do no better than
make them acquainted with the owners thereof.

Mr. Thomas Potter, then, was a clerk in the city, and Mr. Robert
Smithers was a ditto in the same; their incomes were limited, but
their friendship was unbounded. They lived in the same street,
walked into town every morning at the same hour, dined at the same
slap-bang every day, and revelled in each other's company very
night. They were knit together by the closest ties of intimacy and
friendship, or, as Mr. Thomas Potter touchingly observed, they were
'thick-and-thin pals, and nothing but it.' There was a spice of
romance in Mr. Smithers's disposition, a ray of poetry, a gleam of
misery, a sort of consciousness of he didn't exactly know what,
coming across him he didn't precisely know why--which stood out in
fine relief against the off-hand, dashing, amateur-pickpocket-sort-
of-manner, which distinguished Mr. Potter in an eminent degree.

The peculiarity of their respective dispositions, extended itself
to their individual costume. Mr. Smithers generally appeared in
public in a surtout and shoes, with a narrow black neckerchief and
a brown hat, very much turned up at the sides--peculiarities which
Mr. Potter wholly eschewed, for it was his ambition to do something
in the celebrated 'kiddy' or stage-coach way, and he had even gone
so far as to invest capital in the purchase of a rough blue coat
with wooden buttons, made upon the fireman's principle, in which,
with the addition of a low-crowned, flower-pot-saucer-shaped hat,
he had created no inconsiderable sensation at the Albion in Little
Russell-street, and divers other places of public and fashionable

Mr. Potter and Mr. Smithers had mutually agreed that, on the
receipt of their quarter's salary, they would jointly and in
company 'spend the evening'--an evident misnomer--the spending
applying, as everybody knows, not to the evening itself but to all
the money the individual may chance to be possessed of, on the
occasion to which reference is made; and they had likewise agreed
that, on the evening aforesaid, they would 'make a night of it'--an
expressive term, implying the borrowing of several hours from to-
morrow morning, adding them to the night before, and manufacturing
a compound night of the whole.

The quarter-day arrived at last--we say at last, because quarter-
days are as eccentric as comets: moving wonderfully quick when you
have a good deal to pay, and marvellously slow when you have a
little to receive. Mr. Thomas Potter and Mr. Robert Smithers met
by appointment to begin the evening with a dinner; and a nice,
snug, comfortable dinner they had, consisting of a little
procession of four chops and four kidneys, following each other,
supported on either side by a pot of the real draught stout, and
attended by divers cushions of bread, and wedges of cheese.

When the cloth was removed, Mr. Thomas Potter ordered the waiter to
bring in, two goes of his best Scotch whiskey, with warm water and
sugar, and a couple of his 'very mildest' Havannahs, which the
waiter did. Mr. Thomas Potter mixed his grog, and lighted his
cigar; Mr. Robert Smithers did the same; and then, Mr. Thomas
Potter jocularly proposed as the first toast, 'the abolition of all
offices whatever' (not sinecures, but counting-houses), which was
immediately drunk by Mr. Robert Smithers, with enthusiastic
applause. So they went on, talking politics, puffing cigars, and
sipping whiskey-and-water, until the 'goes'--most appropriately so
called--were both gone, which Mr. Robert Smithers perceiving,
immediately ordered in two more goes of the best Scotch whiskey,
and two more of the very mildest Havannahs; and the goes kept
coming in, and the mild Havannahs kept going out, until, what with
the drinking, and lighting, and puffing, and the stale ashes on the
table, and the tallow-grease on the cigars, Mr. Robert Smithers
began to doubt the mildness of the Havannahs, and to feel very much
as if he had been sitting in a hackney-coach with his back to the

As to Mr. Thomas Potter, he WOULD keep laughing out loud, and
volunteering inarticulate declarations that he was 'all right;' in
proof of which, he feebly bespoke the evening paper after the next
gentleman, but finding it a matter of some difficulty to discover
any news in its columns, or to ascertain distinctly whether it had
any columns at all, walked slowly out to look for the moon, and,
after coming back quite pale with looking up at the sky so long,
and attempting to express mirth at Mr. Robert Smithers having
fallen asleep, by various galvanic chuckles, laid his head on his
arm, and went to sleep also. When he awoke again, Mr. Robert
Smithers awoke too, and they both very gravely agreed that it was
extremely unwise to eat so many pickled walnuts with the chops, as
it was a notorious fact that they always made people queer and
sleepy; indeed, if it had not been for the whiskey and cigars,
there was no knowing what harm they mightn't have done 'em. So
they took some coffee, and after paying the bill,--twelve and
twopence the dinner, and the odd tenpence for the waiter--thirteen
shillings in all--started out on their expedition to manufacture a

It was just half-past eight, so they thought they couldn't do
better than go at half-price to the slips at the City Theatre,
which they did accordingly. Mr. Robert Smithers, who had become
extremely poetical after the settlement of the bill, enlivening the
walk by informing Mr. Thomas Potter in confidence that he felt an
inward presentiment of approaching dissolution, and subsequently
embellishing the theatre, by falling asleep with his head and both
arms gracefully drooping over the front of the boxes.

Such was the quiet demeanour of the unassuming Smithers, and such
were the happy effects of Scotch whiskey and Havannahs on that
interesting person! But Mr. Thomas Potter, whose great aim it was
to be considered as a 'knowing card,' a 'fast-goer,' and so forth,
conducted himself in a very different manner, and commenced going
very fast indeed--rather too fast at last, for the patience of the
audience to keep pace with him. On his first entry, he contented
himself by earnestly calling upon the gentlemen in the gallery to
'flare up,' accompanying the demand with another request,
expressive of his wish that they would instantaneously 'form a
union,' both which requisitions were responded to, in the manner
most in vogue on such occasions.

'Give that dog a bone!' cried one gentleman in his shirt-sleeves.

'Where have you been a having half a pint of intermediate beer?'
cried a second. 'Tailor!' screamed a third. 'Barber's clerk!'
shouted a fourth. 'Throw him O-VER!' roared a fifth; while
numerous voices concurred in desiring Mr. Thomas Potter to 'go home
to his mother!' All these taunts Mr. Thomas Potter received with
supreme contempt, cocking the low-crowned hat a little more on one
side, whenever any reference was made to his personal appearance,
and, standing up with his arms a-kimbo, expressing defiance

The overture--to which these various sounds had been an ad libitum
accompaniment--concluded, the second piece began, and Mr. Thomas
Potter, emboldened by impunity, proceeded to behave in a most
unprecedented and outrageous manner. First of all, he imitated the
shake of the principal female singer; then, groaned at the blue
fire; then, affected to be frightened into convulsions of terror at
the appearance of the ghost; and, lastly, not only made a running
commentary, in an audible voice, upon the dialogue on the stage,
but actually awoke Mr. Robert Smithers, who, hearing his companion
making a noise, and having a very indistinct notion where he was,
or what was required of him, immediately, by way of imitating a
good example, set up the most unearthly, unremitting, and appalling
howling that ever audience heard. It was too much. 'Turn them
out!' was the general cry. A noise, as of shuffling of feet, and
men being knocked up with violence against wainscoting, was heard:
a hurried dialogue of 'Come out?'--'I won't!'--'You shall!'--'I
shan't!'--'Give me your card, Sir?'--'You're a scoundrel, Sir!' and
so forth, succeeded. A round of applause betokened the approbation
of the audience, and Mr. Robert Smithers and Mr. Thomas Potter
found themselves shot with astonishing swiftness into the road,
without having had the trouble of once putting foot to ground
during the whole progress of their rapid descent.

Mr. Robert Smithers, being constitutionally one of the slow-goers,
and having had quite enough of fast-going, in the course of his
recent expulsion, to last until the quarter-day then next ensuing
at the very least, had no sooner emerged with his companion from
the precincts of Milton-street, than he proceeded to indulge in
circuitous references to the beauties of sleep, mingled with
distant allusions to the propriety of returning to Islington, and
testing the influence of their patent Bramahs over the street-door
locks to which they respectively belonged. Mr. Thomas Potter,
however, was valorous and peremptory. They had come out to make a
night of it: and a night must be made. So Mr. Robert Smithers,
who was three parts dull, and the other dismal, despairingly
assented; and they went into a wine-vaults, to get materials for
assisting them in making a night; where they found a good many
young ladies, and various old gentlemen, and a plentiful sprinkling
of hackney-coachmen and cab-drivers, all drinking and talking
together; and Mr. Thomas Potter and Mr. Robert Smithers drank small
glasses of brandy, and large glasses of soda, until they began to
have a very confused idea, either of things in general, or of
anything in particular; and, when they had done treating themselves
they began to treat everybody else; and the rest of the
entertainment was a confused mixture of heads and heels, black eyes
and blue uniforms, mud and gas-lights, thick doors, and stone

Then, as standard novelists expressively inform us--'all was a
blank!' and in the morning the blank was filled up with the words
'STATION-HOUSE,' and the station-house was filled up with Mr.
Thomas Potter, Mr. Robert Smithers, and the major part of their
wine-vault companions of the preceding night, with a comparatively
small portion of clothing of any kind. And it was disclosed at the
Police-office, to the indignation of the Bench, and the
astonishment of the spectators, how one Robert Smithers, aided and
abetted by one Thomas Potter, had knocked down and beaten, in
divers streets, at different times, five men, four boys, and three
women; how the said Thomas Potter had feloniously obtained
possession of five door-knockers, two bell-handles, and a bonnet;
how Robert Smithers, his friend, had sworn, at least forty pounds'
worth of oaths, at the rate of five shillings apiece; terrified
whole streets full of Her Majesty's subjects with awful shrieks and
alarms of fire; destroyed the uniforms of five policemen; and
committed various other atrocities, too numerous to recapitulate.
And the magistrate, after an appropriate reprimand, fined Mr.
Thomas Potter and Mr. Thomas Smithers five shillings each, for
being, what the law vulgarly terms, drunk; and thirty-four pounds
for seventeen assaults at forty shillings a-head, with liberty to
speak to the prosecutors.

The prosecutors WERE spoken to, and Messrs. Potter and Smithers
lived on credit, for a quarter, as best they might; and, although
the prosecutors expressed their readiness to be assaulted twice a
week, on the same terms, they have never since been detected in
'making a night of it.'


We were passing the corner of Bow-street, on our return from a
lounging excursion the other afternoon, when a crowd, assembled
round the door of the Police-office, attracted our attention. We
turned up the street accordingly. There were thirty or forty
people, standing on the pavement and half across the road; and a
few stragglers were patiently stationed on the opposite side of the
way--all evidently waiting in expectation of some arrival. We
waited too, a few minutes, but nothing occurred; so, we turned
round to an unshorn, sallow-looking cobbler, who was standing next
us with his hands under the bib of his apron, and put the usual
question of 'What's the matter?' The cobbler eyed us from head to
foot, with superlative contempt, and laconically replied 'Nuffin.'

Now, we were perfectly aware that if two men stop in the street to
look at any given object, or even to gaze in the air, two hundred
men will be assembled in no time; but, as we knew very well that no
crowd of people could by possibility remain in a street for five
minutes without getting up a little amusement among themselves,
unless they had some absorbing object in view, the natural inquiry
next in order was, 'What are all these people waiting here for?'--
'Her Majesty's carriage,' replied the cobbler. This was still more
extraordinary. We could not imagine what earthly business Her
Majesty's carriage could have at the Public Office, Bow-street. We
were beginning to ruminate on the possible causes of such an
uncommon appearance, when a general exclamation from all the boys
in the crowd of 'Here's the wan!' caused us to raise our heads, and
look up the street.

The covered vehicle, in which prisoners are conveyed from the
police-offices to the different prisons, was coming along at full
speed. It then occurred to us, for the first time, that Her
Majesty's carriage was merely another name for the prisoners' van,
conferred upon it, not only by reason of the superior gentility of
the term, but because the aforesaid van is maintained at Her
Majesty's expense: having been originally started for the
exclusive accommodation of ladies and gentlemen under the necessity
of visiting the various houses of call known by the general
denomination of 'Her Majesty's Gaols.'

The van drew up at the office-door, and the people thronged round
the steps, just leaving a little alley for the prisoners to pass
through. Our friend the cobbler, and the other stragglers, crossed
over, and we followed their example. The driver, and another man
who had been seated by his side in front of the vehicle,
dismounted, and were admitted into the office. The office-door was
closed after them, and the crowd were on the tiptoe of expectation.

After a few minutes' delay, the door again opened, and the two
first prisoners appeared. They were a couple of girls, of whom the
elder--could not be more than sixteen, and the younger of whom had
certainly not attained her fourteenth year. That they were
sisters, was evident, from the resemblance which still subsisted
between them, though two additional years of depravity had fixed
their brand upon the elder girl's features, as legibly as if a red-
hot iron had seared them. They were both gaudily dressed, the
younger one especially; and, although there was a strong similarity
between them in both respects, which was rendered the more obvious
by their being handcuffed together, it is impossible to conceive a
greater contrast than the demeanour of the two presented. The
younger girl was weeping bitterly--not for display, or in the hope
of producing effect, but for very shame: her face was buried in
her handkerchief: and her whole manner was but too expressive of
bitter and unavailing sorrow.

'How long are you for, Emily?' screamed a red-faced woman in the
crowd. 'Six weeks and labour,' replied the elder girl with a
flaunting laugh; 'and that's better than the stone jug anyhow; the
mill's a deal better than the Sessions, and here's Bella a-going
too for the first time. Hold up your head, you chicken,' she
continued, boisterously tearing the other girl's handkerchief away;
'Hold up your head, and show 'em your face. I an't jealous, but
I'm blessed if I an't game!'--'That's right, old gal,' exclaimed a
man in a paper cap, who, in common with the greater part of the
crowd, had been inexpressibly delighted with this little incident.-
-'Right!' replied the girl; 'ah, to be sure; what's the odds, eh?'-
-'Come! In with you,' interrupted the driver. 'Don't you be in a
hurry, coachman,' replied the girl, 'and recollect I want to be set
down in Cold Bath Fields--large house with a high garden-wall in
front; you can't mistake it. Hallo. Bella, where are you going
to--you'll pull my precious arm off?' This was addressed to the
younger girl, who, in her anxiety to hide herself in the caravan,
had ascended the steps first, and forgotten the strain upon the
handcuff. 'Come down, and let's show you the way.' And after
jerking the miserable girl down with a force which made her stagger
on the pavement, she got into the vehicle, and was followed by her
wretched companion.

These two girls had been thrown upon London streets, their vices
and debauchery, by a sordid and rapacious mother. What the younger
girl was then, the elder had been once; and what the elder then
was, the younger must soon become. A melancholy prospect, but how
surely to be realised; a tragic drama, but how often acted! Turn
to the prisons and police offices of London--nay, look into the
very streets themselves. These things pass before our eyes, day
after day, and hour after hour--they have become such matters of
course, that they are utterly disregarded. The progress of these
girls in crime will be as rapid as the flight of a pestilence,
resembling it too in its baneful influence and wide-spreading
infection. Step by step, how many wretched females, within the
sphere of every man's observation, have become involved in a career
of vice, frightful to contemplate; hopeless at its commencement,
loathsome and repulsive in its course; friendless, forlorn, and
unpitied, at its miserable conclusion!

There were other prisoners--boys of ten, as hardened in vice as men
of fifty--a houseless vagrant, going joyfully to prison as a place
of food and shelter, handcuffed to a man whose prospects were
ruined, character lost, and family rendered destitute, by his first
offence. Our curiosity, however, was satisfied. The first group
had left an impression on our mind we would gladly have avoided,
and would willingly have effaced.

The crowd dispersed; the vehicle rolled away with its load of guilt
and misfortune; and we saw no more of the Prisoners' Van.




Mrs. Tibbs was, beyond all dispute, the most tidy, fidgety, thrifty
little personage that ever inhaled the smoke of London; and the
house of Mrs. Tibbs was, decidedly, the neatest in all Great Coram-
street. The area and the area-steps, and the street-door and the
street-door steps, and the brass handle, and the door-plate, and
the knocker, and the fan-light, were all as clean and bright, as
indefatigable white-washing, and hearth-stoning, and scrubbing and
rubbing, could make them. The wonder was, that the brass door-
plate, with the interesting inscription 'MRS. TIBBS,' had never
caught fire from constant friction, so perseveringly was it
polished. There were meat-safe-looking blinds in the parlour-
windows, blue and gold curtains in the drawing-room, and spring-
roller blinds, as Mrs. Tibbs was wont in the pride of her heart to
boast, 'all the way up.' The bell-lamp in the passage looked as
clear as a soap-bubble; you could see yourself in all the tables,
and French-polish yourself on any one of the chairs. The banisters
were bees-waxed; and the very stair-wires made your eyes wink, they
were so glittering.

Mrs. Tibbs was somewhat short of stature, and Mr. Tibbs was by no
means a large man. He had, moreover, very short legs, but, by way
of indemnification, his face was peculiarly long. He was to his
wife what the 0 is in 90--he was of some importance WITH her--he
was nothing without her. Mrs. Tibbs was always talking. Mr. Tibbs
rarely spoke; but, if it were at any time possible to put in a
word, when he should have said nothing at all, he had that talent.
Mrs. Tibbs detested long stories, and Mr. Tibbs had one, the
conclusion of which had never been heard by his most intimate
friends. It always began, 'I recollect when I was in the volunteer
corps, in eighteen hundred and six,'--but, as he spoke very slowly
and softly, and his better half very quickly and loudly, he rarely
got beyond the introductory sentence. He was a melancholy specimen
of the story-teller. He was the wandering Jew of Joe Millerism.

Mr. Tibbs enjoyed a small independence from the pension-list--about
43l. 15s. 10d. a year. His father, mother, and five interesting
scions from the same stock, drew a like sum from the revenue of a
grateful country, though for what particular service was never
known. But, as this said independence was not quite sufficient to
furnish two people with ALL the luxuries of this life, it had
occurred to the busy little spouse of Tibbs, that the best thing
she could do with a legacy of 700l., would be to take and furnish a
tolerable house--somewhere in that partially-explored tract of
country which lies between the British Museum, and a remote village
called Somers-town--for the reception of boarders. Great Coram-
street was the spot pitched upon. The house had been furnished
accordingly; two female servants and a boy engaged; and an
advertisement inserted in the morning papers, informing the public
that 'Six individuals would meet with all the comforts of a
cheerful musical home in a select private family, residing within
ten minutes' walk of'--everywhere. Answers out of number were
received, with all sorts of initials; all the letters of the
alphabet seemed to be seized with a sudden wish to go out boarding
and lodging; voluminous was the correspondence between Mrs. Tibbs
and the applicants; and most profound was the secrecy observed.
'E.' didn't like this; 'I.' couldn't think of putting up with that;
'I. O. U.' didn't think the terms would suit him; and 'G. R.' had
never slept in a French bed. The result, however, was, that three
gentlemen became inmates of Mrs. Tibbs's house, on terms which were
'agreeable to all parties.' In went the advertisement again, and a
lady with her two daughters, proposed to increase--not their
families, but Mrs. Tibbs's.

'Charming woman, that Mrs. Maplesone!' said Mrs. Tibbs, as she and
her spouse were sitting by the fire after breakfast; the gentlemen
having gone out on their several avocations. 'Charming woman,
indeed!' repeated little Mrs. Tibbs, more by way of soliloquy than
anything else, for she never thought of consulting her husband.
'And the two daughters are delightful. We must have some fish to-
day; they'll join us at dinner for the first time.'

Mr. Tibbs placed the poker at right angles with the fire shovel,
and essayed to speak, but recollected he had nothing to say.

'The young ladies,' continued Mrs. T., 'have kindly volunteered to
bring their own piano.'

Tibbs thought of the volunteer story, but did not venture it.

A bright thought struck him -

'It's very likely--' said he.

'Pray don't lean your head against the paper,' interrupted Mrs.
Tibbs; 'and don't put your feet on the steel fender; that's worse.'

Tibbs took his head from the paper, and his feet from the fender,
and proceeded. 'It's very likely one of the young ladies may set
her cap at young Mr. Simpson, and you know a marriage--'

'A what!' shrieked Mrs. Tibbs. Tibbs modestly repeated his former

'I beg you won't mention such a thing,' said Mrs. T. 'A marriage,
indeed to rob me of my boarders--no, not for the world.'

Tibbs thought in his own mind that the event was by no means
unlikely, but, as he never argued with his wife, he put a stop to
the dialogue, by observing it was 'time to go to business.' He
always went out at ten o'clock in the morning, and returned at five
in the afternoon, with an exceedingly dirty face, and smelling
mouldy. Nobody knew what he was, or where he went; but Mrs. Tibbs
used to say with an air of great importance, that he was engaged in
the City.

The Miss Maplesones and their accomplished parent arrived in the
course of the afternoon in a hackney-coach, and accompanied by a
most astonishing number of packages. Trunks, bonnet-boxes, muff-
boxes and parasols, guitar-cases, and parcels of all imaginable
shapes, done up in brown paper, and fastened with pins, filled the
passage. Then, there was such a running up and down with the
luggage, such scampering for warm water for the ladies to wash in,
and such a bustle, and confusion, and heating of servants, and
curling-irons, as had never been known in Great Coram-street
before. Little Mrs. Tibbs was quite in her element, bustling
about, talking incessantly, and distributing towels and soap, like
a head nurse in a hospital. The house was not restored to its
usual state of quiet repose, until the ladies were safely shut up
in their respective bedrooms, engaged in the important occupation
of dressing for dinner.

'Are these gals 'andsome?' inquired Mr. Simpson of Mr. Septimus
Hicks, another of the boarders, as they were amusing themselves in
the drawing-room, before dinner, by lolling on sofas, and
contemplating their pumps.

'Don't know,' replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who was a tallish, white-
faced young man, with spectacles, and a black ribbon round his neck
instead of a neckerchief--a most interesting person; a poetical
walker of the hospitals, and a 'very talented young man.' He was
fond of 'lugging' into conversation all sorts of quotations from
Don Juan, without fettering himself by the propriety of their
application; in which particular he was remarkably independent.
The other, Mr. Simpson, was one of those young men, who are in
society what walking gentlemen are on the stage, only infinitely
worse skilled in his vocation than the most indifferent artist. He
was as empty-headed as the great bell of St. Paul's; always dressed
according to the caricatures published in the monthly fashion; and
spelt Character with a K.

'I saw a devilish number of parcels in the passage when I came
home,' simpered Mr. Simpson.

'Materials for the toilet, no doubt,' rejoined the Don Juan reader.

- 'Much linen, lace, and several pair
Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete;
With other articles of ladies fair,
To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat.'

'Is that from Milton?' inquired Mr. Simpson.

'No--from Byron,' returned Mr. Hicks, with a look of contempt. He
was quite sure of his author, because he had never read any other.
'Hush! Here come the gals,' and they both commenced talking in a
very loud key.

'Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones, Mr. Hicks. Mr. Hicks--
Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones,' said Mrs. Tibbs, with a
very red face, for she had been superintending the cooking
operations below stairs, and looked like a wax doll on a sunny day.
'Mr. Simpson, I beg your pardon--Mr. Simpson--Mrs. Maplesone and
the Miss Maplesones'--and vice versa. The gentlemen immediately
began to slide about with much politeness, and to look as if they
wished their arms had been legs, so little did they know what to do
with them. The ladies smiled, curtseyed, and glided into chairs,
and dived for dropped pocket-handkerchiefs: the gentlemen leant
against two of the curtain-pegs; Mrs. Tibbs went through an
admirable bit of serious pantomime with a servant who had come up
to ask some question about the fish-sauce; and then the two young
ladies looked at each other; and everybody else appeared to
discover something very attractive in the pattern of the fender.

'Julia, my love,' said Mrs. Maplesone to her youngest daughter, in
a tone loud enough for the remainder of the company to hear--

'Yes, Ma.'

'Don't stoop.'--This was said for the purpose of directing general
attention to Miss Julia's figure, which was undeniable. Everybody
looked at her, accordingly, and there was another pause.

'We had the most uncivil hackney-coachman to-day, you can imagine,'
said Mrs. Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential tone.

'Dear me!' replied the hostess, with an air of great commiseration.
She couldn't say more, for the servant again appeared at the door,
and commenced telegraphing most earnestly to her 'Missis.'

'I think hackney-coachmen generally ARE uncivil,' said Mr. Hicks in
his most insinuating tone.

'Positively I think they are,' replied Mrs. Maplesone, as if the
idea had never struck her before.

'And cabmen, too,' said Mr. Simpson. This remark was a failure,
for no one intimated, by word or sign, the slightest knowledge of
the manners and customs of cabmen.

'Robinson, what DO you want?' said Mrs. Tibbs to the servant, who,
by way of making her presence known to her mistress, had been
giving sundry hems and sniffs outside the door during the preceding
five minutes.

'Please, ma'am, master wants his clean things,' replied the
servant, taken off her guard. The two young men turned their faces
to the window, and 'went off' like a couple of bottles of ginger-
beer; the ladies put their handkerchiefs to their mouths; and
little Mrs. Tibbs bustled out of the room to give Tibbs his clean
linen,--and the servant warning.

Mr. Calton, the remaining boarder, shortly afterwards made his
appearance, and proved a surprising promoter of the conversation.
Mr. Calton was a superannuated beau--an old boy. He used to say of
himself that although his features were not regularly handsome,
they were striking. They certainly were. It was impossible to
look at his face without being reminded of a chubby street-door
knocker, half-lion half-monkey; and the comparison might be
extended to his whole character and conversation. He had stood
still, while everything else had been moving. He never originated
a conversation, or started an idea; but if any commonplace topic
were broached, or, to pursue the comparison, if anybody LIFTED HIM
UP, he would hammer away with surprising rapidity. He had the tic-
douloureux occasionally, and then he might be said to be muffled,
because he did not make quite as much noise as at other times, when
he would go on prosing, rat-tat-tat the same thing over and over
again. He had never been married; but he was still on the look-out
for a wife with money. He had a life interest worth about 300l. a
year--he was exceedingly vain, and inordinately selfish. He had
acquired the reputation of being the very pink of politeness, and
he walked round the park, and up Regent-street, every day.

This respectable personage had made up his mind to render himself
exceedingly agreeable to Mrs. Maplesone--indeed, the desire of
being as amiable as possible extended itself to the whole party;
Mrs. Tibbs having considered it an admirable little bit of
management to represent to the gentlemen that she had SOME reason
to believe the ladies were fortunes, and to hint to the ladies,
that all the gentlemen were 'eligible.' A little flirtation, she
thought, might keep her house full, without leading to any other

Mrs. Maplesone was an enterprising widow of about fifty: shrewd,
scheming, and good-looking. She was amiably anxious on behalf of
her daughters; in proof whereof she used to remark, that she would
have no objection to marry again, if it would benefit her dear
girls--she could have no other motive. The 'dear girls' themselves
were not at all insensible to the merits of 'a good establishment.'
One of them was twenty-five; the other, three years younger. They
had been at different watering-places, for four seasons; they had
gambled at libraries, read books in balconies, sold at fancy fairs,
danced at assemblies, talked sentiment--in short, they had done all
that industrious girls could do--but, as yet, to no purpose.

'What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is!' whispered Matilda
Maplesone to her sister Julia.

'Splendid!' returned the youngest. The magnificent individual
alluded to wore a maroon-coloured dress-coat, with a velvet collar
and cuffs of the same tint--very like that which usually invests
the form of the distinguished unknown who condescends to play the
'swell' in the pantomime at 'Richardson's Show.'

'What whiskers!' said Miss Julia.

'Charming!' responded her sister; 'and what hair!' His hair was
like a wig, and distinguished by that insinuating wave which graces
the shining locks of those chef-d'oeuvres of art surmounting the
waxen images in Bartellot's window in Regent-street; his whiskers
meeting beneath his chin, seemed strings wherewith to tie it on,
ere science had rendered them unnecessary by her patent invisible

'Dinner's on the table, ma'am, if you please,' said the boy, who
now appeared for the first time, in a revived black coat of his

'Oh! Mr. Calton, will you lead Mrs. Maplesone?--Thank you.' Mr.
Simpson offered his arm to Miss Julia; Mr. Septimus Hicks escorted
the lovely Matilda; and the procession proceeded to the dining-
room. Mr. Tibbs was introduced, and Mr. Tibbs bobbed up and down
to the three ladies like a figure in a Dutch clock, with a powerful
spring in the middle of his body, and then dived rapidly into his
seat at the bottom of the table, delighted to screen himself behind
a soup-tureen, which he could just see over, and that was all. The
boarders were seated, a lady and gentleman alternately, like the
layers of bread and meat in a plate of sandwiches; and then Mrs.
Tibbs directed James to take off the covers. Salmon, lobster-
sauce, giblet-soup, and the usual accompaniments were discovered:
potatoes like petrifactions, and bits of toasted bread, the shape
and size of blank dice.

'Soup for Mrs. Maplesone, my dear,' said the bustling Mrs. Tibbs.
She always called her husband 'my dear' before company. Tibbs, who
had been eating his bread, and calculating how long it would be
before he should get any fish, helped the soup in a hurry, made a
small island on the table-cloth, and put his glass upon it, to hide
it from his wife.

'Miss Julia, shall I assist you to some fish?'

'If you please--very little--oh! plenty, thank you' (a bit about
the size of a walnut put upon the plate).

'Julia is a VERY little eater,' said Mrs. Maplesone to Mr. Calton.

The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish with
his eyes: so he only ejaculated, 'Ah!'

'My dear,' said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after every one else had
been helped, 'what do YOU take?' The inquiry was accompanied with
a look intimating that he mustn't say fish, because there was not
much left. Tibbs thought the frown referred to the island on the
table-cloth; he therefore coolly replied, 'Why--I'll take a little-
-fish, I think.'

'Did you say fish, my dear?' (another frown).

'Yes, dear,' replied the villain, with an expression of acute
hunger depicted in his countenance. The tears almost started to
Mrs. Tibbs's eyes, as she helped her 'wretch of a husband,' as she
inwardly called him, to the last eatable bit of salmon on the dish.

'James, take this to your master, and take away your master's
knife.' This was deliberate revenge, as Tibbs never could eat fish
without one. He was, however, constrained to chase small particles
of salmon round and round his plate with a piece of bread and a
fork, the number of successful attempts being about one in

'Take away, James,' said Mrs. Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed the fourth
mouthful--and away went the plates like lightning.

'I'll take a bit of bread, James,' said the poor 'master of the
house,' more hungry than ever.

'Never mind your master now, James,' said Mrs. Tibbs, 'see about
the meat.' This was conveyed in the tone in which ladies usually
give admonitions to servants in company, that is to say, a low one;
but which, like a stage whisper, from its peculiar emphasis, is
most distinctly heard by everybody present.

A pause ensued, before the table was replenished--a sort of
parenthesis in which Mr. Simpson, Mr. Calton, and Mr. Hicks,
produced respectively a bottle of sauterne, bucellas, and sherry,
and took wine with everybody--except Tibbs. No one ever thought of

Between the fish and an intimated sirloin, there was a prolonged

Here was an opportunity for Mr. Hicks. He could not resist the
singularly appropriate quotation -

'But beef is rare within these oxless isles;
Goats' flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton,
And when a holiday upon them smiles,
A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.'

'Very ungentlemanly behaviour,' thought little Mrs. Tibbs, 'to talk
in that way.'

'Ah,' said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. 'Tom Moore is my poet.'

'And mine,' said Mrs. Maplesone.

'And mine,' said Miss Julia.

'And mine,' added Mr. Simpson.

'Look at his compositions,' resumed the knocker.

'To be sure,' said Simpson, with confidence.

'Look at Don Juan,' replied Mr. Septimus Hicks.

'Julia's letter,' suggested Miss Matilda.

'Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers?' inquired Miss

'To be sure,' said Simpson.

'Or Paradise and the Peri,' said the old beau.

'Yes; or Paradise and the Peer,' repeated Simpson, who thought he
was getting through it capitally.

'It's all very well,' replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who, as we have
before hinted, never had read anything but Don Juan. 'Where will
you find anything finer than the description of the siege, at the
commencement of the seventh canto?'

'Talking of a siege,' said Tibbs, with a mouthful of bread--'when I
was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred and six, our
commanding officer was Sir Charles Rampart; and one day, when we
were exercising on the ground on which the London University now
stands, he says, says he, Tibbs (calling me from the ranks), Tibbs-

'Tell your master, James,' interrupted Mrs. Tibbs, in an awfully
distinct tone, 'tell your master if he WON'T carve those fowls, to
send them to me.' The discomfited volunteer instantly set to work,
and carved the fowls almost as expeditiously as his wife operated
on the haunch of mutton. Whether he ever finished the story is not
known but, if he did, nobody heard it.

As the ice was now broken, and the new inmates more at home, every
member of the company felt more at ease. Tibbs himself most
certainly did, because he went to sleep immediately after dinner.
Mr. Hicks and the ladies discoursed most eloquently about poetry,
and the theatres, and Lord Chesterfield's Letters; and Mr. Calton
followed up what everybody said, with continuous double knocks.
Mrs. Tibbs highly approved of every observation that fell from Mrs.
Maplesone; and as Mr. Simpson sat with a smile upon his face and
said 'Yes,' or 'Certainly,' at intervals of about four minutes
each, he received full credit for understanding what was going
forward. The gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room
very shortly after they had left the dining-parlour. Mrs.
Maplesone and Mr. Calton played cribbage, and the 'young people'
amused themselves with music and conversation. The Miss Maplesones
sang the most fascinating duets, and accompanied themselves on
guitars, ornamented with bits of ethereal blue ribbon. Mr. Simpson
put on a pink waistcoat, and said he was in raptures; and Mr. Hicks
felt in the seventh heaven of poetry or the seventh canto of Don
Juan--it was the same thing to him. Mrs. Tibbs was quite charmed
with the newcomers; and Mr. Tibbs spent the evening in his usual
way--he went to sleep, and woke up, and went to sleep again, and
woke at supper-time.

* * * * *

We are not about to adopt the licence of novel-writers, and to let
'years roll on;' but we will take the liberty of requesting the
reader to suppose that six months have elapsed, since the dinner we
have described, and that Mrs. Tibbs's boarders have, during that
period, sang, and danced, and gone to theatres and exhibitions,
together, as ladies and gentlemen, wherever they board, often do.
And we will beg them, the period we have mentioned having elapsed,
to imagine farther, that Mr. Septimus Hicks received, in his own
bedroom (a front attic), at an early hour one morning, a note from
Mr. Calton, requesting the favour of seeing him, as soon as
convenient to himself, in his (Calton's) dressing-room on the
second-floor back.

'Tell Mr. Calton I'll come down directly,' said Mr. Septimus to the
boy. 'Stop--is Mr. Calton unwell?' inquired this excited walker of
hospitals, as he put on a bed-furniture-looking dressing-gown.

'Not as I knows on, sir,' replied the boy. ' Please, sir, he
looked rather rum, as it might be.'

'Ah, that's no proof of his being ill,' returned Hicks,
unconsciously. 'Very well: I'll be down directly.' Downstairs
ran the boy with the message, and down went the excited Hicks
himself, almost as soon as the message was delivered. 'Tap, tap.'
'Come in.'--Door opens, and discovers Mr. Calton sitting in an easy
chair. Mutual shakes of the hand exchanged, and Mr. Septimus Hicks
motioned to a seat. A short pause. Mr. Hicks coughed, and Mr.
Calton took a pinch of snuff. It was one of those interviews where
neither party knows what to say. Mr. Septimus Hicks broke silence.

'I received a note--' he said, very tremulously, in a voice like a
Punch with a cold.

'Yes,' returned the other, 'you did.'



Now, although this dialogue must have been satisfactory, both
gentlemen felt there was something more important to be said;
therefore they did as most men in such a situation would have done-
-they looked at the table with a determined aspect. The
conversation had been opened, however, and Mr. Calton had made up
his mind to continue it with a regular double knock. He always
spoke very pompously.

'Hicks,' said he, 'I have sent for you, in consequence of certain
arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with a

'With a marriage!' gasped Hicks, compared with whose expression of
countenance, Hamlet's, when he sees his father's ghost, is pleasing
and composed.

'With a marriage,' returned the knocker. 'I have sent for you to
prove the great confidence I can repose in you.'

'And will you betray me?' eagerly inquired Hicks, who in his alarm
had even forgotten to quote.

'_I_ betray YOU! Won't YOU betray ME?'

'Never: no one shall know, to my dying day, that you had a hand in
the business,' responded the agitated Hicks, with an inflamed
countenance, and his hair standing on end as if he were on the
stool of an electrifying machine in full operation.

'People must know that, some time or other--within a year, I
imagine,' said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency.
'We MAY have a family.'

'WE!--That won't affect you, surely?'

'The devil it won't!'

'No! how can it?' said the bewildered Hicks. Calton was too much
inwrapped in the contemplation of his happiness to see the
equivoque between Hicks and himself; and threw himself back in his
chair. 'Oh, Matilda!' sighed the antique beau, in a lack-a-
daisical voice, and applying his right hand a little to the left of
the fourth button of his waistcoat, counting from the bottom. 'Oh,

'What Matilda?' inquired Hicks, starting up.

'Matilda Maplesone,' responded the other, doing the same.

'I marry her to-morrow morning,' said Hicks.

'It's false,' rejoined his companion: 'I marry her!'

'You marry her?'

'I marry her!'

'You marry Matilda Maplesone?'

'Matilda Maplesone.'

'MISS Maplesone marry YOU?'

'Miss Maplesone! No; Mrs. Maplesone.'

'Good Heaven!' said Hicks, falling into his chair: 'You marry the
mother, and I the daughter!'

'Most extraordinary circumstance!' replied Mr. Calton, 'and rather
inconvenient too; for the fact is, that owing to Matilda's wishing
to keep her intention secret from her daughters until the ceremony
had taken place, she doesn't like applying to any of her friends to
give her away. I entertain an objection to making the affair known
to my acquaintance just now; and the consequence is, that I sent to
you to know whether you'd oblige me by acting as father.'

'I should have been most happy, I assure you,' said Hicks, in a
tone of condolence; 'but, you see, I shall be acting as bridegroom.
One character is frequently a consequence of the other; but it is
not usual to act in both at the same time. There's Simpson--I have
no doubt he'll do it for you.'

'I don't like to ask him,' replied Calton, 'he's such a donkey.'

Mr. Septimus Hicks looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor;
at last an idea struck him. 'Let the man of the house, Tibbs, be
the father,' he suggested; and then he quoted, as peculiarly
applicable to Tibbs and the pair -

'Oh Powers of Heaven! what dark eyes meets she there?
''Tis--'tis her father's--fixed upon the pair.'

'The idea has struck me already,' said Mr. Calton: 'but, you see,
Matilda, for what reason I know not, is very anxious that Mrs.
Tibbs should know nothing about it, till it's all over. It's a
natural delicacy, after all, you know.'

'He's the best-natured little man in existence, if you manage him
properly,' said Mr. Septimus Hicks. 'Tell him not to mention it to
his wife, and assure him she won't mind it, and he'll do it
directly. My marriage is to be a secret one, on account of the
mother and MY father; therefore he must be enjoined to secrecy.'

A small double knock, like a presumptuous single one, was that
instant heard at the street-door. It was Tibbs; it could be no one
else; for no one else occupied five minutes in rubbing his shoes.
He had been out to pay the baker's bill.

'Mr. Tibbs,' called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, looking over
the banisters.

'Sir!' replied he of the dirty face.

'Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment?'

'Certainly, sir,' said Tibbs, delighted to be taken notice of. The
bedroom-door was carefully closed, and Tibbs, having put his hat on
the floor (as most timid men do), and been accommodated with a
seat, looked as astounded as if he were suddenly summoned before
the familiars of the Inquisition.

'A rather unpleasant occurrence, Mr. Tibbs,' said Calton, in a very
portentous manner, 'obliges me to consult you, and to beg you will
not communicate what I am about to say, to your wife.'

Tibbs acquiesced, wondering in his own mind what the deuce the
other could have done, and imagining that at least he must have
broken the best decanters.

Mr. Calton resumed; 'I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an
unpleasant situation.'

Tibbs looked at Mr. Septimus Hicks, as if he thought Mr. H.'s being
in the immediate vicinity of his fellow-boarder might constitute
the unpleasantness of his situation; but as he did not exactly know
what to say, he merely ejaculated the monosyllable 'Lor!'

'Now,' continued the knocker, 'let me beg you will exhibit no
manifestations of surprise, which may be overheard by the
domestics, when I tell you--command your feelings of astonishment--
that two inmates of this house intend to be married to-morrow
morning.' And he drew back his chair, several feet, to perceive
the effect of the unlooked-for announcement.

If Tibbs had rushed from the room, staggered down-stairs, and
fainted in the passage--if he had instantaneously jumped out of the
window into the mews behind the house, in an agony of surprise--his
behaviour would have been much less inexplicable to Mr. Calton than
it was, when he put his hands into his inexpressible-pockets, and
said with a half-chuckle, 'Just so.'

'You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs?' inquired Mr. Calton.

'Bless you, no, sir,' returned Tibbs; 'after all, its very natural.
When two young people get together, you know--'

'Certainly, certainly,' said Calton, with an indescribable air of

'You don't think it's at all an out-of-the-way affair then?' asked
Mr. Septimus Hicks, who had watched the countenance of Tibbs in
mute astonishment.

'No, sir,' replied Tibbs; 'I was just the same at his age.' He
actually smiled when he said this.

'How devilish well I must carry my years!' thought the delighted
old beau, knowing he was at least ten years older than Tibbs at
that moment.

'Well, then, to come to the point at once,' he continued, 'I have
to ask you whether you will object to act as father on the

'Certainly not,' replied Tibbs; still without evincing an atom of

'You will not?'

'Decidedly not,' reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a pot of porter
with the head off.

Mr. Calton seized the hand of the petticoat-governed little man,
and vowed eternal friendship from that hour. Hicks, who was all
admiration and surprise, did the same.

'Now, confess,' asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked up his hat,
'were you not a little surprised?'

'I b'lieve you!' replied that illustrious person, holding up one
hand; 'I b'lieve you! When I first heard of it.'

'So sudden,' said Septimus Hicks.

'So strange to ask ME, you know,' said Tibbs.

'So odd altogether!' said the superannuated love-maker; and then
all three laughed.

'I say,' said Tibbs, shutting the door which he had previously
opened, and giving full vent to a hitherto corked-up giggle, 'what
bothers me is, what WILL his father say?'

Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton.

'Yes; but the best of it is,' said the latter, giggling in his
turn, 'I haven't got a father--he! he! he!'

'You haven't got a father. No; but HE has,' said Tibbs.

'WHO has?' inquired Septimus Hicks.

'Why, HIM.'

'Him, who? Do you know my secret? Do you mean me?'

'You! No; you know who I mean,' returned Tibbs with a knowing

'For Heaven's sake, whom do you mean?' inquired Mr. Calton, who,
like Septimus Hicks, was all but out of his senses at the strange

'Why Mr. Simpson, of course,' replied Tibbs; 'who else could I

'I see it all,' said the Byron-quoter; 'Simpson marries Julia
Maplesone to-morrow morning!'

'Undoubtedly,' replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, 'of course he

It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate--our feeble
pen is inadequate to describe--the expression which the
countenances of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively
assumed, at this unexpected announcement. Equally impossible is it
to describe, although perhaps it is easier for our lady readers to
imagine, what arts the three ladies could have used, so completely
to entangle their separate partners. Whatever they were, however,
they were successful. The mother was perfectly aware of the
intended marriage of both daughters; and the young ladies were
equally acquainted with the intention of their estimable parent.
They agreed, however, that it would have a much better appearance
if each feigned ignorance of the other's engagement; and it was
equally desirable that all the marriages should take place on the
same day, to prevent the discovery of one clandestine alliance,
operating prejudicially on the others. Hence, the mystification of
Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks, and the pre-engagement of the
unwary Tibbs.

On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss
Matilda Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a 'holy alliance'
with Miss Julia; Tibbs acting as father, 'his first appearance in
that character.' Mr. Calton, not being quite so eager as the two
young men, was rather struck by the double discovery; and as he had
found some difficulty in getting any one to give the lady away, it
occurred to him that the best mode of obviating the inconvenience
would be not to take her at all. The lady, however, 'appealed,' as
her counsel said on the trial of the cause, Maplesone v. Calton,
for a breach of promise, 'with a broken heart, to the outraged laws
of her country.' She recovered damages to the amount of 1,000l.
which the unfortunate knocker was compelled to pay. Mr. Septimus
Hicks having walked the hospitals, took it into his head to walk
off altogether. His injured wife is at present residing with her
mother at Boulogne. Mr. Simpson, having the misfortune to lose his
wife six weeks after marriage (by her eloping with an officer
during his temporary sojourn in the Fleet Prison, in consequence of
his inability to discharge her little mantua-maker's bill), and
being disinherited by his father, who died soon afterwards, was
fortunate enough to obtain a permanent engagement at a fashionable
haircutter's; hairdressing being a science to which he had
frequently directed his attention. In this situation he had
necessarily many opportunities of making himself acquainted with
the habits, and style of thinking, of the exclusive portion of the
nobility of this kingdom. To this fortunate circumstance are we
indebted for the production of those brilliant efforts of genius,
his fashionable novels, which so long as good taste, unsullied by
exaggeration, cant, and quackery, continues to exist, cannot fail
to instruct and amuse the thinking portion of the community.

It only remains to add, that this complication of disorders
completely deprived poor Mrs. Tibbs of all her inmates, except the
one whom she could have best spared--her husband. That wretched
little man returned home, on the day of the wedding, in a state of
partial intoxication; and, under the influence of wine, excitement,
and despair, actually dared to brave the anger of his wife. Since
that ill-fated hour he has constantly taken his meals in the
kitchen, to which apartment, it is understood, his witticisms will
be in future confined: a turn-up bedstead having been conveyed
there by Mrs. Tibbs's order for his exclusive accommodation. It is
possible that he will be enabled to finish, in that seclusion, his
story of the volunteers.

The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers.
Results must be reserved for another chapter.


'Well!' said little Mrs. Tibbs to herself, as she sat in the front
parlour of the Coram-street mansion one morning, mending a piece of
stair-carpet off the first Landings;--'Things have not turned out
so badly, either, and if I only get a favourable answer to the
advertisement, we shall be full again.'

Mrs. Tibbs resumed her occupation of making worsted lattice-work in
the carpet, anxiously listening to the twopenny postman, who was
hammering his way down the street, at the rate of a penny a knock.
The house was as quiet as possible. There was only one low sound
to be heard--it was the unhappy Tibbs cleaning the gentlemen's
boots in the back kitchen, and accompanying himself with a buzzing
noise, in wretched mockery of humming a tune.

The postman drew near the house. He paused--so did Mrs. Tibbs. A
knock--a bustle--a letter--post-paid.

'T. I. presents compt. to I. T. and T. I. begs To say that i see
the advertisement And she will Do Herself the pleasure of calling
On you at 12 o'clock to-morrow morning.

'T. I. as To apologise to I. T. for the shortness Of the notice But
i hope it will not unconvenience you.

'I remain yours Truly

'Wednesday evening.'

Little Mrs. Tibbs perused the document, over and over again; and
the more she read it, the more was she confused by the mixture of
the first and third person; the substitution of the 'i' for the 'T.
I.;' and the transition from the 'I. T.' to the 'You.' The
writing looked like a skein of thread in a tangle, and the note was
ingeniously folded into a perfect square, with the direction
squeezed up into the right-hand corner, as if it were ashamed of
itself. The back of the epistle was pleasingly ornamented with a
large red wafer, which, with the addition of divers ink-stains,
bore a marvellous resemblance to a black beetle trodden upon. One
thing, however, was perfectly clear to the perplexed Mrs. Tibbs.
Somebody was to call at twelve. The drawing-room was forthwith
dusted for the third time that morning; three or four chairs were
pulled out of their places, and a corresponding number of books
carefully upset, in order that there might be a due absence of
formality. Down went the piece of stair-carpet before noticed, and
up ran Mrs. Tibbs 'to make herself tidy.'

The clock of New Saint Pancras Church struck twelve, and the
Foundling, with laudable politeness, did the same ten minutes
afterwards, Saint something else struck the quarter, and then there
arrived a single lady with a double knock, in a pelisse the colour
of the interior of a damson pie; a bonnet of the same, with a
regular conservatory of artificial flowers; a white veil, and a
green parasol, with a cobweb border.

The visitor (who was very fat and red-faced) was shown into the
drawing-room; Mrs. Tibbs presented herself, and the negotiation

'I called in consequence of an advertisement,' said the stranger,
in a voice as if she had been playing a set of Pan's pipes for a
fortnight without leaving off.

'Yes!' said Mrs. Tibbs, rubbing her hands very slowly, and looking
the applicant full in the face--two things she always did on such

'Money isn't no object whatever to me,' said the lady, 'so much as
living in a state of retirement and obtrusion.'

Mrs. Tibbs, as a matter of course, acquiesced in such an
exceedingly natural desire.

'I am constantly attended by a medical man,' resumed the pelisse
wearer; 'I have been a shocking unitarian for some time--I, indeed,
have had very little peace since the death of Mr. Bloss.'

Mrs. Tibbs looked at the relict of the departed Bloss, and thought
he must have had very little peace in his time. Of course she
could not say so; so she looked very sympathising.

'I shall be a good deal of trouble to you,' said Mrs. Bloss; 'but,
for that trouble I am willing to pay. I am going through a course
of treatment which renders attention necessary. I have one mutton-
chop in bed at half-past eight, and another at ten, every morning.'

Mrs. Tibbs, as in duty bound, expressed the pity she felt for
anybody placed in such a distressing situation; and the carnivorous
Mrs. Bloss proceeded to arrange the various preliminaries with
wonderful despatch. 'Now mind,' said that lady, after terms were
arranged; 'I am to have the second-floor front, for my bed-room?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'And you'll find room for my little servant Agnes?'

'Oh! certainly.'

'And I can have one of the cellars in the area for my bottled

'With the greatest pleasure;--James shall get it ready for you by

'And I'll join the company at the breakfast-table on Sunday
morning,' said Mrs. Bloss. 'I shall get up on purpose.'

'Very well,' returned Mrs. Tibbs, in her most amiable tone; for
satisfactory references had 'been given and required,' and it was
quite certain that the new-comer had plenty of money. 'It's rather
singular,' continued Mrs. Tibbs, with what was meant for a most
bewitching smile, 'that we have a gentleman now with us, who is in
a very delicate state of health--a Mr. Gobler.--His apartment is
the back drawing-room.'

'The next room?' inquired Mrs. Bloss.

'The next room,' repeated the hostess.

'How very promiscuous!' ejaculated the widow.

'He hardly ever gets up,' said Mrs. Tibbs in a whisper.

'Lor!' cried Mrs. Bloss, in an equally low tone.

'And when he is up,' said Mrs. Tibbs, 'we never can persuade him to
go to bed again.'

'Dear me!' said the astonished Mrs. Bloss, drawing her chair nearer
Mrs. Tibbs. 'What is his complaint?'

'Why, the fact is,' replied Mrs. Tibbs, with a most communicative
air, 'he has no stomach whatever.'

'No what?' inquired Mrs. Bloss, with a look of the most
indescribable alarm.

'No stomach,' repeated Mrs. Tibbs, with a shake of the head.

'Lord bless us! what an extraordinary case!' gasped Mrs. Bloss, as
if she understood the communication in its literal sense, and was
astonished at a gentleman without a stomach finding it necessary to
board anywhere.

'When I say he has no stomach,' explained the chatty little Mrs.
Tibbs, 'I mean that his digestion is so much impaired, and his
interior so deranged, that his stomach is not of the least use to
him;--in fact, it's an inconvenience.'

'Never heard such a case in my life!' exclaimed Mrs. Bloss. 'Why,
he's worse than I am.'

'Oh, yes!' replied Mrs. Tibbs;--'certainly.' She said this with
great confidence, for the damson pelisse suggested that Mrs. Bloss,
at all events, was not suffering under Mr. Gobler's complaint.

'You have quite incited my curiosity,' said Mrs. Bloss, as she rose
to depart. 'How I long to see him!'

'He generally comes down, once a week,' replied Mrs. Tibbs; 'I dare
say you'll see him on Sunday.' With this consolatory promise Mrs.
Bloss was obliged to be contented. She accordingly walked slowly
down the stairs, detailing her complaints all the way; and Mrs.
Tibbs followed her, uttering an exclamation of compassion at every
step. James (who looked very gritty, for he was cleaning the
knives) fell up the kitchen-stairs, and opened the street-door;
and, after mutual farewells, Mrs. Bloss slowly departed, down the
shady side of the street.

It is almost superfluous to say, that the lady whom we have just
shown out at the street-door (and whom the two female servants are
now inspecting from the second-floor windows) was exceedingly
vulgar, ignorant, and selfish. Her deceased better-half had been
an eminent cork-cutter, in which capacity he had amassed a decent
fortune. He had no relative but his nephew, and no friend but his
cook. The former had the insolence one morning to ask for the loan
of fifteen pounds; and, by way of retaliation, he married the
latter next day; he made a will immediately afterwards, containing
a burst of honest indignation against his nephew (who supported
himself and two sisters on 100l. a year), and a bequest of his
whole property to his wife. He felt ill after breakfast, and died
after dinner. There is a mantelpiece-looking tablet in a civic
parish church, setting forth his virtues, and deploring his loss.
He never dishonoured a bill, or gave away a halfpenny.

The relict and sole executrix of this noble-minded man was an odd
mixture of shrewdness and simplicity, liberality and meanness.
Bred up as she had been, she knew no mode of living so agreeable as
a boarding-house: and having nothing to do, and nothing to wish
for, she naturally imagined she must be ill--an impression which
was most assiduously promoted by her medical attendant, Dr. Wosky,
and her handmaid Agnes: both of whom, doubtless for good reasons,
encouraged all her extravagant notions.

Since the catastrophe recorded in the last chapter, Mrs. Tibbs had
been very shy of young-lady boarders. Her present inmates were all
lords of the creation, and she availed herself of the opportunity
of their assemblage at the dinner-table, to announce the expected
arrival of Mrs. Bloss. The gentlemen received the communication
with stoical indifference, and Mrs. Tibbs devoted all her energies
to prepare for the reception of the valetudinarian. The second-
floor front was scrubbed, and washed, and flannelled, till the wet
went through to the drawing-room ceiling. Clean white
counterpanes, and curtains, and napkins, water-bottles as clear as
crystal, blue jugs, and mahogany furniture, added to the splendour,
and increased the comfort, of the apartment. The warming-pan was
in constant requisition, and a fire lighted in the room every day.
The chattels of Mrs. Bloss were forwarded by instalments. First,
there came a large hamper of Guinness's stout, and an umbrella;
then, a train of trunks; then, a pair of clogs and a bandbox; then,
an easy chair with an air-cushion; then, a variety of suspicious-
looking packages; and--'though last not least'--Mrs. Bloss and
Agnes: the latter in a cherry-coloured merino dress, open-work
stockings, and shoes with sandals: like a disguised Columbine.

The installation of the Duke of Wellington, as Chancellor of the
University of Oxford, was nothing, in point of bustle and turmoil,
to the installation of Mrs. Bloss in her new quarters. True, there
was no bright doctor of civil law to deliver a classical address on
the occasion; but there were several other old women present, who
spoke quite as much to the purpose, and understood themselves
equally well. The chop-eater was so fatigued with the process of
removal that she declined leaving her room until the following
morning; so a mutton-chop, pickle, a pill, a pint bottle of stout,
and other medicines, were carried up-stairs for her consumption.

'Why, what DO you think, ma'am?' inquired the inquisitive Agnes of
her mistress, after they had been in the house some three hours;
'what DO you think, ma'am? the lady of the house is married.'

'Married!' said Mrs. Bloss, taking the pill and a draught of
Guinness--'married! Unpossible!'

'She is indeed, ma'am,' returned the Columbine; 'and her husband,
ma'am, lives--he--he--he--lives in the kitchen, ma'am.'

'In the kitchen!'

'Yes, ma'am: and he--he--he--the housemaid says, he never goes
into the parlour except on Sundays; and that Ms. Tibbs makes him
clean the gentlemen's boots; and that he cleans the windows, too,
sometimes; and that one morning early, when he was in the front
balcony cleaning the drawing-room windows, he called out to a
gentleman on the opposite side of the way, who used to live here--
"Ah! Mr. Calton, sir, how are you?"' Here the attendant laughed
till Mrs. Bloss was in serious apprehension of her chuckling
herself into a fit.

'Well, I never!' said Mrs. Bloss.

'Yes. And please, ma'am, the servants gives him gin-and-water
sometimes; and then he cries, and says he hates his wife and the
boarders, and wants to tickle them.'

'Tickle the boarders!' exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, seriously alarmed.

'No, ma'am, not the boarders, the servants.'

'Oh, is that all!' said Mrs. Bloss, quite satisfied.

'He wanted to kiss me as I came up the kitchen-stairs, just now,'
said Agnes, indignantly; 'but I gave it him--a little wretch!'

This intelligence was but too true. A long course of snubbing and
neglect; his days spent in the kitchen, and his nights in the turn-
up bedstead, had completely broken the little spirit that the
unfortunate volunteer had ever possessed. He had no one to whom he
could detail his injuries but the servants, and they were almost of
necessity his chosen confidants. It is no less strange than true,
however, that the little weaknesses which he had incurred, most
probably during his military career, seemed to increase as his
comforts diminished. He was actually a sort of journeyman Giovanni
of the basement story.

The next morning, being Sunday, breakfast was laid in the front
parlour at ten o'clock. Nine was the usual time, but the family
always breakfasted an hour later on sabbath. Tibbs enrobed himself
in his Sunday costume--a black coat, and exceedingly short, thin
trousers; with a very large white waistcoat, white stockings and
cravat, and Blucher boots--and mounted to the parlour aforesaid.
Nobody had come down, and he amused himself by drinking the
contents of the milkpot with a teaspoon.

A pair of slippers were heard descending the stairs. Tibbs flew to
a chair; and a stern-looking man, of about fifty, with very little
hair on his head, and a Sunday paper in his hand, entered the room.

'Good morning, Mr. Evenson,' said Tibbs, very humbly, with
something between a nod and a bow.

'How do you do, Mr. Tibbs?' replied he of the slippers, as he sat
himself down, and began to read his paper without saying another

'Is Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?' inquired
Tibbs, just for the sake of saying something.

'I should think he was,' replied the stern gentleman. 'He was
whistling "The Light Guitar," in the next room to mine, at five
o'clock this morning.'

'He's very fond of whistling,' said Tibbs, with a slight smirk.

'Yes--I ain't,' was the laconic reply.

Mr. John Evenson was in the receipt of an independent income,
arising chiefly from various houses he owned in the different
suburbs. He was very morose and discontented. He was a thorough
radical, and used to attend a great variety of public meetings, for
the express purpose of finding fault with everything that was
proposed. Mr. Wisbottle, on the other hand, was a high Tory. He
was a clerk in the Woods and Forests Office, which he considered
rather an aristocratic employment; he knew the peerage by heart,
and, could tell you, off-hand, where any illustrious personage
lived. He had a good set of teeth, and a capital tailor. Mr.
Evenson looked on all these qualifications with profound contempt;
and the consequence was that the two were always disputing, much to
the edification of the rest of the house. It should be added,
that, in addition to his partiality for whistling, Mr. Wisbottle
had a great idea of his singing powers. There were two other
boarders, besides the gentleman in the back drawing-room--Mr.
Alfred Tomkins and Mr. Frederick O'Bleary. Mr. Tomkins was a clerk
in a wine-house; he was a connoisseur in paintings, and had a
wonderful eye for the picturesque. Mr. O'Bleary was an Irishman,
recently imported; he was in a perfectly wild state; and had come
over to England to be an apothecary, a clerk in a government
office, an actor, a reporter, or anything else that turned up--he
was not particular. He was on familiar terms with two small Irish
members, and got franks for everybody in the house. He felt
convinced that his intrinsic merits must procure him a high
destiny. He wore shepherd's-plaid inexpressibles, and used to look
under all the ladies' bonnets as he walked along the streets. His
manners and appearance reminded one of Orson.

'Here comes Mr. Wisbottle,' said Tibbs; and Mr. Wisbottle forthwith
appeared in blue slippers, and a shawl dressing-gown, whistling 'Di

'Good morning, sir,' said Tibbs again. It was almost the only
thing he ever said to anybody

'How are you, Tibbs?' condescendingly replied the amateur; and he
walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever.

'Pretty air, that!' said Evenson, with a snarl, and without taking
his eyes off the paper.

'Glad you like it,' replied Wisbottle, highly gratified.

'Don't you think it would sound better, if you whistled it a little
louder?' inquired the mastiff.

'No; I don't think it would,' rejoined the unconscious Wisbottle.

'I'll tell you what, Wisbottle,' said Evenson, who had been
bottling up his anger for some hours--'the next time you feel
disposed to whistle "The Light Guitar" at five o'clock in the
morning, I'll trouble you to whistle it with your head out o'
window. If you don't, I'll learn the triangle--I will, by--'

The entrance of Mrs. Tibbs (with the keys in a little basket)
interrupted the threat, and prevented its conclusion.

Mrs. Tibbs apologised for being down rather late; the bell was
rung; James brought up the urn, and received an unlimited order for
dry toast and bacon. Tibbs sat down at the bottom of the table,
and began eating water-cresses like a Nebuchadnezzar. Mr. O'Bleary
appeared, and Mr. Alfred Tomkins. The compliments of the morning
were exchanged, and the tea was made.

'God bless me!' exclaimed Tomkins, who had been looking out at the
window. 'Here--Wisbottle--pray come here--make haste.'

Mr. Wisbottle started from the table, and every one looked up.

'Do you see,' said the connoisseur, placing Wisbottle in the right
position--'a little more this way: there--do you see how
splendidly the light falls upon the left side of that broken
chimney-pot at No. 48?'

'Dear me! I see,' replied Wisbottle, in a tone of admiration.

'I never saw an object stand out so beautifully against the clear
sky in my life,' ejaculated Alfred. Everybody (except John
Evenson) echoed the sentiment; for Mr. Tomkins had a great
character for finding out beauties which no one else could
discover--he certainly deserved it.

'I have frequently observed a chimney-pot in College-green, Dublin,
which has a much better effect,' said the patriotic O'Bleary, who
never allowed Ireland to be outdone on any point.

The assertion was received with obvious incredulity, for Mr.
Tomkins declared that no other chimney-pot in the United Kingdom,
broken or unbroken, could be so beautiful as the one at No. 48.

The room-door was suddenly thrown open, and Agnes appeared, leading
in Mrs. Bloss, who was dressed in a geranium-coloured muslin gown,
and displayed a gold watch of huge dimensions; a chain to match;
and a splendid assortment of rings, with enormous stones. A
general rush was made for a chair, and a regular introduction took
place. Mr. John Evenson made a slight inclination of the head; Mr.
Frederick O'Bleary, Mr. Alfred Tomkins, and Mr. Wisbottle, bowed
like the mandarins in a grocer's shop; Tibbs rubbed hands, and went
round in circles. He was observed to close one eye, and to assume
a clock-work sort of expression with the other; this has been
considered as a wink, and it has been reported that Agnes was its
object. We repel the calumny, and challenge contradiction.

Mrs. Tibbs inquired after Mrs. Bloss's health in a low tone. Mrs.
Bloss, with a supreme contempt for the memory of Lindley Murray,
answered the various questions in a most satisfactory manner; and a
pause ensued, during which the eatables disappeared with awful

'You must have been very much pleased with the appearance of the
ladies going to the Drawing-room the other day, Mr. O'Bleary?' said
Mrs. Tibbs, hoping to start a topic.

'Yes,' replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast.

'Never saw anything like it before, I suppose?' suggested

'No--except the Lord Lieutenant's levees,' replied O'Bleary.

'Are they at all equal to our drawing-rooms?'

'Oh, infinitely superior!'

'Gad! I don't know,' said the aristocratic Wisbottle, 'the Dowager
Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently dressed, and so
was the Baron Slappenbachenhausen.'

'What was he presented on?' inquired Evenson.

'On his arrival in England.'

'I thought so,' growled the radical; 'you never hear of these
fellows being presented on their going away again. They know
better than that.'

'Unless somebody pervades them with an apintment,' said Mrs. Bloss,
joining in the conversation in a faint voice.

'Well,' said Wisbottle, evading the point, 'it's a splendid sight.'

'And did it never occur to you,' inquired the radical, who never
would be quiet; 'did it never occur to you, that you pay for these
precious ornaments of society?'

'It certainly HAS occurred to me,' said Wisbottle, who thought this
answer was a poser; 'it HAS occurred to me, and I am willing to pay
for them.'

'Well, and it has occurred to me too,' replied John Evenson, 'and I
ain't willing to pay for 'em. Then why should I?--I say, why
should I?' continued the politician, laying down the paper, and
knocking his knuckles on the table. 'There are two great

'A cup of tea if you please, dear,' interrupted Tibbs.

'And supply--'

'May I trouble you to hand this tea to Mr. Tibbs?' said Mrs. Tibbs,
interrupting the argument, and unconsciously illustrating it.

The thread of the orator's discourse was broken. He drank his tea
and resumed the paper.

'If it's very fine,' said Mr. Alfred Tomkins, addressing the
company in general, 'I shall ride down to Richmond to-day, and come
back by the steamer. There are some splendid effects of light and
shade on the Thames; the contrast between the blueness of the sky
and the yellow water is frequently exceedingly beautiful.' Mr.
Wisbottle hummed, 'Flow on, thou shining river.'

'We have some splendid steam-vessels in Ireland,' said O'Bleary.

'Certainly,' said Mrs. Bloss, delighted to find a subject broached
in which she could take part.

'The accommodations are extraordinary,' said O'Bleary.

'Extraordinary indeed,' returned Mrs. Bloss. 'When Mr. Bloss was
alive, he was promiscuously obligated to go to Ireland on business.
I went with him, and raly the manner in which the ladies and
gentlemen were accommodated with berths, is not creditable.'

Tibbs, who had been listening to the dialogue, looked aghast, and
evinced a strong inclination to ask a question, but was checked by
a look from his wife. Mr. Wisbottle laughed, and said Tomkins had
made a pun; and Tomkins laughed too, and said he had not.

The remainder of the meal passed off as breakfasts usually do.
Conversation flagged, and people played with their teaspoons. The
gentlemen looked out at the window; walked about the room; and,
when they got near the door, dropped off one by one. Tibbs retired
to the back parlour by his wife's orders, to check the green-
grocer's weekly account; and ultimately Mrs. Tibbs and Mrs. Bloss
were left alone together.

'Oh dear!' said the latter, 'I feel alarmingly faint; it's very
singular.' (It certainly was, for she had eaten four pounds of
solids that morning.) 'By-the-bye,' said Mrs. Bloss, 'I have not
seen Mr. What's-his-name yet.'

'Mr. Gobler?' suggested Mrs. Tibbs.


'Oh!' said Mrs. Tibbs, 'he is a most mysterious person. He has his
meals regularly sent up-stairs, and sometimes don't leave his room
for weeks together.'

'I haven't seen or heard nothing of him,' repeated Mrs. Bloss.

'I dare say you'll hear him to-night,' replied Mrs. Tibbs; 'he
generally groans a good deal on Sunday evenings.'

'I never felt such an interest in any one in my life,' ejaculated
Mrs. Bloss. A little double-knock interrupted the conversation;
Dr. Wosky was announced, and duly shown in. He was a little man
with a red face--dressed of course in black, with a stiff white
neckerchief. He had a very good practice, and plenty of money,
which he had amassed by invariably humouring the worst fancies of
all the females of all the families he had ever been introduced
into. Mrs. Tibbs offered to retire, but was entreated to stay.

'Well, my dear ma'am, and how are we?' inquired Wosky, in a
soothing tone.

'Very ill, doctor--very ill,' said Mrs. Bloss, in a whisper

'Ah! we must take care of ourselves;--we must, indeed,' said the
obsequious Wosky, as he felt the pulse of his interesting patient.

'How is our appetite?'

Mrs. Bloss shook her head.

'Our friend requires great care,' said Wosky, appealing to Mrs.
Tibbs, who of course assented. 'I hope, however, with the blessing
of Providence, that we shall be enabled to make her quite stout
again.' Mrs. Tibbs wondered in her own mind what the patient would
be when she was made quite stout.

'We must take stimulants,' said the cunning Wosky--'plenty of
nourishment, and, above all, we must keep our nerves quiet; we
positively must not give way to our sensibilities. We must take
all we can get,' concluded the doctor, as he pocketed his fee, 'and
we must keep quiet.'

'Dear man!' exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, as the doctor stepped into the

'Charming creature indeed--quite a lady's man!' said Mrs. Tibbs,
and Dr. Wosky rattled away to make fresh gulls of delicate females,
and pocket fresh fees.

As we had occasion, in a former paper, to describe a dinner at Mrs.
Tibbs's; and as one meal went off very like another on all ordinary
occasions; we will not fatigue our readers by entering into any
other detailed account of the domestic economy of the
establishment. We will therefore proceed to events, merely
premising that the mysterious tenant of the back drawing-room was a
lazy, selfish hypochondriac; always complaining and never ill. As
his character in many respects closely assimilated to that of Mrs.
Bloss, a very warm friendship soon sprung up between them. He was
tall, thin, and pale; he always fancied he had a severe pain
somewhere or other, and his face invariably wore a pinched,
screwed-up expression; he looked, indeed, like a man who had got
his feet in a tub of exceedingly hot water, against his will.

For two or three months after Mrs. Bloss's first appearance in
Coram-street, John Evenson was observed to become, every day, more
sarcastic and more ill-natured; and there was a degree of
additional importance in his manner, which clearly showed that he
fancied he had discovered something, which he only wanted a proper
opportunity of divulging. He found it at last.

One evening, the different inmates of the house were assembled in
the drawing-room engaged in their ordinary occupations. Mr. Gobler
and Mrs. Bloss were sitting at a small card-table near the centre
window, playing cribbage; Mr. Wisbottle was describing semicircles
on the music-stool, turning over the leaves of a book on the piano,
and humming most melodiously; Alfred Tomkins was sitting at the
round table, with his elbows duly squared, making a pencil sketch
of a head considerably larger than his own; O'Bleary was reading
Horace, and trying to look as if he understood it; and John Evenson
had drawn his chair close to Mrs. Tibbs's work-table, and was
talking to her very earnestly in a low tone.

'I can assure you, Mrs. Tibbs,' said the radical, laying his
forefinger on the muslin she was at work on; 'I can assure you,
Mrs. Tibbs, that nothing but the interest I take in your welfare
would induce me to make this communication. I repeat, I fear
Wisbottle is endeavouring to gain the affections of that young
woman, Agnes, and that he is in the habit of meeting her in the
store-room on the first floor, over the leads. From my bedroom I
distinctly heard voices there, last night. I opened my door
immediately, and crept very softly on to the landing; there I saw
Mr. Tibbs, who, it seems, had been disturbed also.--Bless me, Mrs.
Tibbs, you change colour!'

'No, no--it's nothing,' returned Mrs. T. in a hurried manner; 'it's
only the heat of the room.'

'A flush!' ejaculated Mrs. Bloss from the card-table; 'that's good
for four.'

'If I thought it was Mr. Wisbottle,' said Mrs. Tibbs, after a
pause, 'he should leave this house instantly.'

'Go!' said Mrs. Bloss again.

'And if I thought,' continued the hostess with a most threatening
air, 'if I thought he was assisted by Mr. Tibbs--'

'One for his nob!' said Gobler.

'Oh,' said Evenson, in a most soothing tone--he liked to make
mischief--'I should hope Mr. Tibbs was not in any way implicated.
He always appeared to me very harmless.'

'I have generally found him so,' sobbed poor little Mrs. Tibbs;
crying like a watering-pot.

'Hush! hush! pray--Mrs. Tibbs--consider--we shall be observed--
pray, don't!' said John Evenson, fearing his whole plan would be
interrupted. 'We will set the matter at rest with the utmost care,
and I shall be most happy to assist you in doing so.' Mrs. Tibbs
murmured her thanks.

'When you think every one has retired to rest to-night,' said
Evenson very pompously, 'if you'll meet me without a light, just
outside my bedroom door, by the staircase window, I think we can
ascertain who the parties really are, and you will afterwards be
enabled to proceed as you think proper.'

Mrs. Tibbs was easily persuaded; her curiosity was excited, her
jealousy was roused, and the arrangement was forthwith made. She
resumed her work, and John Evenson walked up and down the room with
his hands in his pockets, looking as if nothing had happened. The
game of cribbage was over, and conversation began again.

'Well, Mr. O'Bleary,' said the humming-top, turning round on his
pivot, and facing the company, 'what did you think of Vauxhall the
other night?'

'Oh, it's very fair,' replied Orson, who had been enthusiastically
delighted with the whole exhibition.

'Never saw anything like that Captain Ross's set-out--eh?'

'No,' returned the patriot, with his usual reservation--'except in

'I saw the Count de Canky and Captain Fitzthompson in the Gardens,'
said Wisbottle; 'they appeared much delighted.'

'Then it MUST be beautiful,' snarled Evenson.

'I think the white bears is partickerlerly well done,' suggested
Mrs. Bloss. 'In their shaggy white coats, they look just like
Polar bears--don't you think they do, Mr. Evenson?'

'I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all
fours,' replied the discontented one.

'Upon the whole, I should have liked our evening very well,' gasped
Gobler; 'only I caught a desperate cold which increased my pain
dreadfully! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, before I
could leave my room.'

'Capital things those shower-baths!' ejaculated Wisbottle.

'Excellent!' said Tomkins.

'Delightful!' chimed in O'Bleary. (He had once seen one, outside a

'Disgusting machines!' rejoined Evenson, who extended his dislike
to almost every created object, masculine, feminine, or neuter.

'Disgusting, Mr. Evenson!' said Gobler, in a tone of strong
indignation.--'Disgusting! Look at their utility--consider how
many lives they have saved by promoting perspiration.'

'Promoting perspiration, indeed,' growled John Evenson, stopping
short in his walk across the large squares in the pattern of the
carpet--'I was ass enough to be persuaded some time ago to have one
in my bedroom. 'Gad, I was in it once, and it effectually cured
ME, for the mere sight of it threw me into a profuse perspiration
for six months afterwards.'

A titter followed this announcement, and before it had subsided
James brought up 'the tray,' containing the remains of a leg of
lamb which had made its debut at dinner; bread; cheese; an atom of
butter in a forest of parsley; one pickled walnut and the third of
another; and so forth. The boy disappeared, and returned again
with another tray, containing glasses and jugs of hot and cold
water. The gentlemen brought in their spirit-bottles; the
housemaid placed divers plated bedroom candlesticks under the card-
table; and the servants retired for the night.

Chairs were drawn round the table, and the conversation proceeded
in the customary manner. John Evenson, who never ate supper,
lolled on the sofa, and amused himself by contradicting everybody.
O'Bleary ate as much as he could conveniently carry, and Mrs. Tibbs
felt a due degree of indignation thereat; Mr. Gobler and Mrs. Bloss
conversed most affectionately on the subject of pill-taking, and


Back to Full Books