Oldalképek
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

Christmas day in a most irresistible quarter. I was expecting, indeed, the felicity of eating plum-pudding with an angel; and, on the strength of my imaginary engagement, I returned a polite note to Mr. P., reducing him to the necessity of advertising for another candidate for Cape and turkey.

The twenty-first came. Another invitation-to dine with a regiment of roast-beef eaters at Clapham. I declined this also, for the above reason, and for one other, viz., that, on dining there ten Christmas days ago, it was discovered, on sitting down, that one little accompaniment of the roast beef had been entirely overlooked. Would it be believed!-but I will not stay to mystify-I merely mention the fact. They had forgotten the horseradish.

the leaf of a lily with a pen dipped in dew. I opened it-and had nearly fainted with disappointment. It was from a stock-broker, who begins an anecdote of Mr. Rothschild before dinner, and finishes it with the fourth bottle-and who makes his eight children stay up to supper and snap-dragon. In Macadamizing a stray stone in one of his periodical puddings, I once lost a tooth, and with it an heiress of some reputation. I wrote a most irritable apology, and despatched my warmest regards in a whirlwind.

December the twenty-fourth-I began to count the hours, and uttered many poetical things about the wings of Time. Alack! no letter came;-yes, I received a note from a distinguished dramatist, requesting the honor, etc. But I was too cunning The next day arrived, and with it a neat epistle, for this, and practised wisdom for once. I happened sealed with violet-colored wax, from Upper Brook to reflect that his pantomime was to make its apStreet. "Dine with the ladies—at home on Christ-pearance on the night after, and that his object was mas day." Very tempting, it is true; but not ex- to perpetrate the whole programme upon me. Reactly the letter I was longing for. I began, how-gret that I could not have the pleasure of meeting ever, to debate within myself upon the policy of Mr. Paulo, and the rest of the literati to be then securing this bird in hand, instead of waiting for and there assembled, was of course immediately the two that were still hopping about the bush, expressed. when the consultation was suddenly brought to a close, by a prophetic view of the portfolio of drawings fresh from boarding-school-moths and roses on embossed paper;-to say nothing of the album, in which I stood engaged to write an elegy on a Java sparrow, that had been a favorite in the family for three days. I rung for gilt-edged, pleaded a world of polite regret, and again declined.

Now my

The twenty-third dawned; time was getting on rather rapidly; but no card came. I began to despair of any more invitations, and to repent of my refusals. Breakfast was hardly over, however, when the servant brought up—not a letter-but an aunt and a brace of cousins from Bayswater. They would listen to no excuse; consanguinity required me, and Christmas was not my own. cousins kept no albums; they are really as pretty as cousins can be; and when violent hands, with white kid gloves, are laid on one, it is sometimes difficult to effect an escape with becoming elegance. I could not, however, give up my darling hope of a pleasanter prospect. They fought with me in fifty engagements-that I pretended to have made. I showed them the Court Guide, with ten names obliterated-being those of persons who had not asked me to mince-meat and mistletoe; and I ultimately gained my cause by quartering the remains of an infectious fever on the sensitive fears of my aunt, and by dividing a rheumatism and a sprained ankle between my sympathetic cousins.

[ocr errors]

As soon as they were gone, I walked out, sauntering involuntarily in the direction of the only house in which I felt I could spend a "happy" Christmas. As I approached, a porter brought a large hamper to the door. A present from the country," thought I; "yes, they do dine at home; they must ask me; they know that I am in town." Immediately afterwards, a servant issued with a letter: he took the nearest way to my lodgings, and I hurried back by another street to receive the so-much-wished-for invitation. I was in a state of delirious delight.

I arrived but there was no letter. I sat down to wait, in a spirit of calmer enjoyment than I had experienced for some days; and in less than half an hour a note was brought to me. At length, the desired despatch had come: it seemed written on

My mind became restless and agitated. I felt, amidst all these invitations, cruelly neglected. They served, indeed, but to increase my uneasiness, as they opened prospects of happiness in which I could take no share. They discovered a most tempting dessert, composed of forbidden fruit. I took down "Childe Harold," and read myself into a sublime contempt of mankind. I began to perceive that merriment is only malice in disguise, and that the chief cardinal virtue is misanthropy.

[ocr errors]

I sat "nursing my wrath," till it scorched me; when the arrival of another epistle suddenly charmed me from this state of delicious melancholy and delightful endurance of wrong. I sickened as I surveyed, and trembled as I opened it. It was dated but no matter; it was not the letter. In such a frenzy as mine, raging to behold the object of my admiration condescend, not to eat a custard, but to render it invisible-to be invited perhaps to a tart fabricated by her own ethereal fingers; with such possibilities before me, how could I think of joining a friendly party," where I should inevitably sit next to a deaf lady, who had been, when a little girl, patted on the head by Wilkes, or my Lord North, she could not recollect which-had taken tea with the author of "Junius," but had forgotten his name and who once asked me "whether Mr. Munden's monument was in Westminster Abbey or St. Paul's?"—I seized a pen, and presented my compliments. I hesitated-for the peril and precariousness of my situation flashed on my mind; but hope had still left me a straw to catch at, and I at length succeeded in resisting this late and terrible temptation.

After the first burst of excitement, I sunk into still deeper despondency. My spirit became a prey to anxiety and remorse. I could not eat; dinner was removed with unlifted covers. I went out. The world seemed to have acquired a new face; nothing was to be seen but raisins and rounds of beef. I wandered about like Lear-I had given up all! I felt myself grated against the world like a nutmeg. It grew dark-I sustained a still gloomier shock. Every chance seemed to have expired, and every-body seemed to have a delightful engagement for the next day. I alone was disengaged-I felt like the Last Man! To-morrow appeared to

have already commenced its career; mankind had anticipated the future; "and coming mince pies cast their shadows before."

In this state of desolation and dismay, I called I could not help it- at the house to which I had so fondly anticipated an invitation, and a welcome. My protest must here however be recorded, that though I called in the hope of being asked, it was my fixed determination not to avail myself of so protracted a piece of politeness. No: my triumph would have been to have annihilated them with an engagement made in September, payable three months after date. With these feelings, I gave an agitated knock—they were stoning the plums, and did not immediately attend. I rung-how unlike a dinner bell it sounded! A girl at length made her appearance, and, with a mouthful of citron, informed me that the family had gone to spend their Christmas-eve in Portland Place. I rushed down the steps, I hardly knew whither. My first impulse was to go to some wharf and inquire what vessels were starting for America. But it was a cold night -I went home and threw myself on my miserable couch. In other words, I went to bed.

terday but a straw-to-day it is but the thistledown; but I will cling to it to the last moment. There are still four hours left; they will not dine till six. One desperate struggle, and the peril is past; let me not be seduced by this last golden apple, and I may yet win my race." The struggle was made "I should not dine at home." This was the only phrase left me; for I could not say that "I should dine out." Alas! that an event should be at the same time so doubtful and so desirable. I only begged that if any letter arrived, it might be brought to me immediately.

The last plank, the last splinter, had now given way beneath me. I was floating about with no hope but the chance of something almost impossible. They had "left me alone," not with my glory, but with an appetite that resembled an avalanche seeking whom it might devour. I had passed one dinnerless day, and half of another; yet the promised land was as far from sight as ever. I recounted the chances I had missed. The dinners I might have enjoyed, passed in a dioramic view before my eyes. Mr. Phiggins and his six clerks-the Clapham beef-eaters-the charms of Upper Brook street

the stock-broker, whose stories ore forgets, and the elderly lady who forgets her stories. - they all marched by me, a procession of apparitions. Even my landlady's invitation, though unborn, was not forgotten in summing up my sacrifices. And for what?

I dozed and dreamed away the hours till day--my pretty cousins, and the pantomime writerbreak. Sometimes I fancied myself seated in a roaring circle, roasting chestnuts at a blazing log: at others, that I had fallen into the Serpentine while skating, and that the Humane Society were piling upon me a Pelion, or rather a Vesuvius of blankets. I awoke a little refreshed. Alas! it was the twentyfifth of the month-It was Christmas day! Let the reader, if he possess the imagination of Milton, conceive my sensations.

I swallowed an atom of dry toast-nothing could calm the fever of my soul. I stirred the fire and read Zimmermann alternately. Even reason the last remedy one has recourse to in such casescame at length to my relief: I argued myself into a philosophic fit. But, unluckily, just as the Lethean tide within me was at its height, my landlady broke in upon my lethargy, and chased away by a single word all the little sprites and pleasures that were acting as my physicians, and prescribing balm for my wounds. She paid me the usual compliment, and then-"Do you dine at home to-day, sir?" abruptly inquired she. Here was a question. No Spanish inquisitor ever inflicted such complete dismay in so short a sentence. Had she given me a Sphynx to expound, a Gordian tangle to untwist; had she set me a lesson in algebra, or asked me the way to Brobdignag; had she desired me to show her the North Pole, or the meaning of a melodrama :-any or all of these I might have accomplished. But to request me to define my dinner-to inquire into its latitude-to compel me to fathom that sea of appetite which I now felt rushing through my frame-to ask me to dive into futurity, and become the prophet of pies and preserves!-My heart died within me at the impossibility of a reply.

She had repeated the question before I could collect my senses around me. Then, for the first time it occurred to me that, in the event of my having no engagement abroad, my landlady meant to invite me! "There will at least be the two daughters," I whispered to myself; "and after all, Lucy Matthews is a charming girl, and touches the harp divinely. She has a very small, pretty hand, I recollect; only her fingers are so punctured by the needle and I rather think she bites her nails. No, I will not even now give up my hope. It was yes

Four o'clock. Hope was perfectly ridiculous. I had been walking upon the hair-bridge over a gulf, and could not get into Elysium after all. I had been catching moonbeams, and running after notes of music. Despair was my only convenient refuge; no chance remained, unless something should drop from the clouds. In this last particular I was not disappointed; for, on looking up, I perceived a heavy shower of snow. Yet I was obliged to venture forth; for being supposed to dine out, I could not of course remain at home. Where to go I knew not: I was like my first father-"the world was all before me." I flung my cloak round me, and hurried forth with the feelings of a bandit longing for a stiletto. At the foot of the stairs, I staggered against two or three smiling rascals, priding themselves upon their punctuality. They had just arrived -to make the tour of Turkey. How I hated them!

As I rushed by the parlor, a single glance disclosed to me a blazing fire, with Lucy and several lovely creatures in a semi-circle. Fancy, too, gave me a glimpse of a sprig of mistletoe-I vanished from the house, like a spectre at day-break.

How long I wandered about is doubtful. At last I happened to look through a kitchen window, with an area in front, and saw a villain with a fork in his hand, throwing himself back in his chair choked with ecstasy. Another was feasting with a graver air; he seemed to be swallowing a bit of Paradise, and criticising its flavor. This was too much for mortality-my appetite fastened upon me like an alligator. I darted from the spot; and only a few yards further discerned a house, with rather an elegant exterior, and with some ham in the window that looked perfectly sublime. There was no time for consideration-to hesitate was to perish. I entered; it was indeed a banquet-hall deserted." The very waiters had gone home to their friends. There, however, I found a fire; and there-to sum up all my folly and felicity in a single word-I

DINED.

THE SAYINGS AND DOINGS OF SAM SLICK, OF SLICKVILLE.

FROM THE CLOCKMAKER." BY JUDGE HALIBURTON.

THE ROAD TO A WOMAN'S HEART. As we approached the Inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew uneasy. "It's pretty well on in the evening, I guess," said he, "and Marm Pugwash is as onsartin in her temper as a mornin' in April; it's all sunshine or all clouds with her, and if she's in one of her tantrums, she'll stretch out her neck and hiss, like a goose with a flock of goslins. I wonder what on airth Pugwash was a thinkin' on, when he signed articles of partnership with that are woman; she's not a bad lookin' piece of furniture neither, and it's a proper pity sich a clever woman should carry such a stiff upper lip-she reminds me of our old minister, Joshua Hopewell's apple trees.

into the sitting room, we found the female part of the family extinguishing the fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in her hand, and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery) of sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of the fire, as it fell upon her tall fine figure and beautiful face, revealed a' creature worthy of the Clockmaker's comments.

"Good evening, marm," said Mr. Slick; "how do you do, and how's Mr. Pugwash ?" "He," said she, "why he's been abed this hour; you don't expect to disturb him this time of night, I hope ?" "Oh no," said Mr. Slick, "certainly not, and I am sorry to have disturbed you, but we got detained longer than we expected; I am sorry that "So am I," said she, "but if Mr. Pugwash will keep an Inn when he has no occasion to, his family can't expect no rest."

[ocr errors]

Here the Clockmaker, seeing the storm gathering, stooped down suddenly, and staring intently, held out his hand and exclaimed, "Well, if that ain't a beautiful child! come here, my little man, and shake hands along with me-well, I declare, if that are little feller ain't the finest child I ever seed

"The old minister had an orchard of most particular good fruit, for he was a great hand at buddin', graftin', and what not, and the orchard (it was on the south side of the house) stretched right up to the road. Well, there were some trees hung over the fence, I never seed such bearers, the apples hung in ropes, for all the world like strings of onions, and the fruit was beautiful. Nobody touched the minister's apples, and when other folks lost theirn from the boys, his'n always hung there what, not abed yet? ah you rogue, where did like bait to a hook, but there never was so much you get them are pretty rosy cheeks; stole them as a nibble at 'em. So I said to him one day, from mamma, eh? Well, I wish my old mother 'Minister,' said I, 'how on airth do you manage to could see that child, it is such a treat. In our keep your fruit that's so exposed, when no one country," said he, turning to me, "the children are else can't do it nohow?' 'Why,' says he, 'they are all as pale as chalk, or as yallar as an orange. dreadful pretty fruit, an't they?' 'I guess,' said I, Lord, that are little feller would be a show in our "there an't the like on 'em in all Connecticut. country-come to me, my man." Here the 'soft 'Well,' says he, 'I'll tell you the secret, but you sawder' began to operate. Mrs. Pugwash said in needn't let on to no one about it. That are row a milder tone than we had yet heard, "Go, my next the fence, I grafted it myself; I took great dear, to the gentleman-go, dear." Mr. Slick kisspains to get the right kind. I sent clean up to ed him, asked him if he would go to the States Roxberry and away down to Squawneck Creek.' along with him, told him all the little girls woul (I was afeard he was a goin' to give me day and fall in love with him, for they didn't see such a date for every graft, being a terrible long-winded beautiful face once in a month of Sundays. "Black man in his stories,) so says I, 'I know that, min-eyes-let me see—ah mamma's eyes too, and black ister, but how do you preserve them?' 'Why, I hair also; as I am alive, you are mamma's own was a goin' to tell you,' said he, 'when you stopped boy, the very image of manima." "Do be seated, That are outward row I grafted myseif with gentlemen," said Mrs. Pugwash-"Sally, make a the choicest kind I could find, and I succeeded. fire in the next room." "She ought to be proud They are beautiful, but so etarnal sour, no human of you," he continued. "Well, if I live to return soul can eat them. Well, the boys think the old here, I must paint your face, and have it put on my minister's graftin' has all succeeded about as well clocks, and our folks will buy the clocks for the as that row, and they sarch no further. They sake of the face. Did you ever see," said he, again snicker at my graftin', and I laugh in my sleeve, I addressing me, "such a likeness between one huguess, at their penetration.' man and another, as between this beautiful little "Now, Marm Pugwash is like the Minister's ap-boy and his mother?" "I am sure you have had ples; very temptin' fruit to look at, but desperate If Pugwash had a watery mouth when he married, I guess its pretty puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act ugly, I'll give her a dose of soft sawder,' that will take the frown out of her frontispiece, and make her dial-plate as smooth as a lick of copal varnish. It's a pity she's such a kickin' devil, too, for she has good pointsgood eye-good foot-neat pastern-fine chest-a clean set of limbs, and carries a good - But here we are, now you'll see what 'soft sawder' will do."

me.

sour.

no supper," said Mrs. Pugwash to me; "you must be hungry and weary, too—I will get you a cup of tea." "I am sorry to give you so much trouble,"

said I.

"Not the least trouble in the world," she replied; on the contrary, a pleasure." We were then shown into the next room, where the fire was now blazing up, but Mr. Slick protested he could not proceed without the little boy, and lingered behind to ascertain his age, and concluded by asking the child if he had any aunts that looked like mamma.

As the door closed, Mr. Slick said, "it's a pity When we entered the house, the travellers' room she don't go well in gear. The difficulty with those was all in darkness, and on opening the opposite door | critters is to git them to start; arter that, there is

[graphic][ocr errors]

no trouble with them, if you don't check 'em too | short. If you do they'll stop again, run back and kick like mad, and then Old Nick himself wouldn't start 'em. Pugwash, I guess, don't understand the natur' of the crittur; she'll never go kind in harness for him. When I see a child," said the Clockmaker, "I always feel safe with these women folk; for I have always found that the road to a woman's heart lies through her child."

[ocr errors]

"You seem," said I, "to understand the female heart so well, I make no doubt you are a general favorite among the fair sex." Any man," he replied, "that understands horses, has a pretty considerable fair knowledge of women, for they are jist alike in temper, and require the very identical same treatment. Incourage the timid ones, be gentle and steady with the fractious, but lather the sulky ones like blazes.

[ocr errors]

People talk an everlastin' sight of nonsense about wine, women, and horses. I've bought and sold 'em all, I've traded in all of them, and I tell you, there ain't one in a thousand that knows a grain about either on 'em. You hear folks say, Oh, such a man is an ugly grained critter, he'll break his wife's heart; jist as if a woman's heart was as brittle as a pipe stalk. The female heart, as far as my experience goes, is jist like a new India-rubber shoe; you may pull and pull at it till it stretches out a yard long; and then let go, and it will fly right back to its old shape. Their hearts are made of stout leather, I tell you; there's a plaguy sight of wear in 'em.

"I never knowed but one case of a broken heart, and that was in tother sex, one Washington Banks. He was a sneezer. He was tall enough to spit down on the heads of your grenadiers, and near about high enough to wade across Charlestown River, and as strong as a tow boat. I guess he was somewhat less than a foot longer than the moral law and catechism too. He was a perfect pictur' of a man; you couldn't fault him in no particular; he was so just a made critter; folks used to run to the winder when he passed, and say, 'there goes Washington

Banks; beant he lovely!' I do believe there wasn't a gal in the Lowel factories, that warn't in love with him. Sometimes, at intermission, on Sabbath days, when they all came out together (an amazin' handsom' sight, too, near about a whole congregation of young gals), Banks used to say, 'I vow, young ladies, I wish I had five hundred arms to reciprocate one with each of you; but I reckon I have a heart big enough for you all; it's a whapper, you may depend, and every mite and morsel of it at your service.'Well, how do you act, Mr. Banks,' half a thousand little clipper-clapper tongues would say, all at the same time, and their dear little eyes sparklin' like so many stars twinklin' of a frosty night.

"Well, when I last see'd him, he was all skin and bone, like a horse turned out to die. He was teetotally defleshed, a mere walkin' skeleton. 'I am dreadful sorry,' says I, 'to see you, Banks, lookin' so peecked; why, you look like a sick turkey hen, all legs; what on airth ails you?' 'I am dyin',' says he, of a broken heart.' What,' says I, 'have the gals been jiltin' you?' 'No, no,' says he, 'I beant such a fool as that neither.' 'Well,' says I, have you made a bad speculation?' 'No,' says he, shakin' his head, 'I hope I have too much clear grit in me to take on so bad for that.' 'What under the sun, is it, then?' said I. 'Why,' says he, 'I made a bet the fore part of summer with Leftenant Oby Knowles, that I could shoulder the best bower of the Constitution frigate. I won my bet, but the anchor was so etarnal heavy that it broke my heart.' Sure enough he did die that very fall, and he was the only instance I ever heard tell of a broken heart."

FATHER JOHN O'SHAUGHNESSY. "I was to Halifax, and who should I meet but Father John O'Shaughnessy, a Catholic Priest. I had met him afore in Cape Breton, and had sold him a clock. Well, he was a leggin' it off hot foot. 'Possible,' says I, Father John, is that you? why, what on airth is the matter of you? what makes you in such

« ElőzőTovább »