| 132 | https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/132 | 'Horatio Sparkins' | | Published in <em>The Monthly Magazine</em> (February 1834). | Dickens, Charles | <em>The Monthly Magazine, or The British Register of Politics, Art, Science, and the Belles-Lettres.</em> February 1834, pp. 151-176, <em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/details/monthlymagazineo17lond/page/n9/mode/2up">https://archive.org/details/monthlymagazineo17lond/page/n9/mode/2up</a>. | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1834-02">1834-02</a> | | <em>Internet Archive,</em> <a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a>. Access to the Archive’s Collections is granted for scholarship and research purposes only. | | | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Short+story">Short story</a> | 1834-02-Horatio_Sparkins | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Dickens, Charles. "Horatio Sparkins." <em>The Monthly Magazine, or The British Register of Politics, Art, Science, and the Belles-Lettres.</em> February 1834, pp. 151-176. <em>Dickens Search.</em> Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. <a href="https://dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1834-02-Horatio_Sparkins">https://dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1834-02-Horatio_Sparkins</a>. | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Periodical">Periodical</a> | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Monthly+Magazine%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Monthly Magazine</em></a> | | | | | "Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the last assembly night," said Mrs. Malderton, addressing her spouse, who, after the fatigues of the day in the City, was sitting with a silk handkerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender, drinking his port;—"very great attention; and, I say again, every possible encouragement ought to be given him. He positively must be asked down here to dine." "Who must?" inquired Mr. Malderton. "Why, you know whom I mean, my dear—the young man with the black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young—dear me, what’s his name?—Marianne, what is his name?" continued Mrs. Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged in netting a purse, and endeavouring to look sentimental. "Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma," replied Miss Marianne, with a Juliet-like sigh. "Oh! yes, to be sure—Horatio Sparkins," said Mrs. Malderton. "Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man I ever saw. I am sure in the beautifully-made coat he wore the other night, he looked like—like—" "Like Prince Leopold, ma—so noble, so full of sentiment!" suggested Miss Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration. "You should recollect, my dear," resumed Mrs. Malderton, "that Teresa is now eight-and-twenty; and that it really is very important that something should be done." Miss Teresa Malderton was a little girl, rather fat, with vermilion cheeks: but good humoured, still disengaged, although, to do her justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance on her part. In vain had she flirted for ten years; in vain had Mr. and Mrs. Malderton assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance among the young eligible bachelors of Camberwell, and even of Newington Butts; on Sunday, likewise, many "dropped in" from town. Miss Malderton was as well known as the lion on the top of Northumberland House, and had about as much chance of "going off." "I am quite sure you’d like him," continued Mrs. Malderton; "he is so gentlemanly!" "So clever!" said Miss Marianne. "And has such a flow of language!" added Miss Teresa. "He has a great respect for you, my dear," said Mrs. Malderton to her husband, in a confident tone. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire. "Yes I’m sure he’s very much attached to pa’s society," said Miss Marianne. "No doubt of it," echoed Miss Teresa. "Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence," observed Mrs. Malderton. "Well, well," returned Mr. Malderton, somewhat flattered; "if I see him at the assembly to-morrow, perhaps I’ll ask him down here. I hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, my dear?" "Of course—and that you keep a one-horse carriage." "I’ll see about it," said Mr. Malderton, composing himself for a nap; "I’ll see about it." Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited to Lloyd’s, the Exchange, Broad-street, and the Bank. A few successful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity and comparative poverty, to a state of affluence. As it frequently happens in such cases the ideas of himself and his family became elevated to an extraordinary pitch as their means increased; they affected fashion, taste, and many other fooleries, in imitation of their superiors, and had a very becoming and decided horror of any thing which could by possibility be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Egotism and the love of display induced him to keep an excellent table: convenience, and a love of the good things of this life, ensured him plenty of guests. He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such, at his table, because it was a great thing to talk about; but he never could endure what he called "sharp fellows." Probably he cherished this feeling out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respected parent no uneasiness in that particular. The family were ambitious of forming acquaintances and connexions in some sphere of society superior to that in which they themselves moved; and one of the necessary consequences of this desire, added to their utter ignorance of the world beyond their own small circle, was that any one, who could lay claim to an acquaintance with people of rank and title, had a sure passport to the table at Oak-Lodge, Camberwell. The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins at the City assembly had excited no small degree of surprise and curiosity among its regular frequenters. Who could he be? He was evidently reserved, and apparently melancholy. Was he a clergyman?—He danced too well. A barrister?—he was not called. He used very fine words, and said a great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner come to England for the purpose of describing the country, its manners and customs; and frequenting City balls and public dinners, with the view of becoming acquainted with high life, polished etiquette, and English refinement?—No, he had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon, a contributor to the magazines, a writer of fashionable novels, or an artist?—No; to each and all of these surmises there existed some valid objection.—"Then,’"said every body, "he must be somebody."—"I should think he must be," reasoned Mr. Malderton, within himself, "because he perceives our superiority and pays us so much attention." The night succeeding the conversation we have just recorded, was "assembly night." The double-fly was ordered to be at the door of Oak-Lodge at nine o’clock precisely. The Miss Maldertons were dressed in sky-blue satin, trimmed with artificial flowers; and Mrs. M. (who was a little fat woman), in ditto ditto, looked like her eldest daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Malderton the eldest son, in full-dress costume, was the very beau ideal of a smart waiter; and Mr. Thomas Malderton, the youngest, with his white dress-stock, blue coat, bright buttons, and red watch-ribbon, strongly resembled the portrait of that interesting though somewhat rash young gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party had made up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Miss Teresa of course was to be as amiable and interesting as ladies of eight-and-twenty on the look out for a husband usually are; Mrs. Malderton would be all smiles and graces; Miss Marianne would request the favour of some verses for her album; Mr. Malderton would patronise the great unknown by asking him to dinner; Tom intended to ascertain the extent of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, the family authority on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement - who had lodgings of his own at "the west end," who had a free admission for Covent-Garden theatre, who always dressed according to the fashions of the month, who went up the water twice a week in the season, and who actually had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who formerly lived in the Albany,—even he had determined that Mr. Horatio Sparkins must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would do him the honour of challenging him to a game at billiards. The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family, on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats. "There he is, my dear," anxiously whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. Malderton. "How like Lord Byron!" murmured Miss Teresa. "Or Montgomery!" whispered Miss Marianne. "Or the portraits of Captain Ross!" suggested Tom. "Tom—don’t be an ass!" said his father, who checked him upon all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming "sharp"—which, by-the-by, was very unnecessary. The elegant Sparkins attitudinized with admirable effect until the family had crossed the room. He then started up with the most natural appearance of surprise and delight: accosted Mrs. Malderton with the utmost cordiality, saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner; bowed to, and shook hands with Mr. Malderton, with a degree of respect amounting almost to veneration, and returned the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising manner, which fully convinced them that he must be an important and, at the same time, condescending personage. "Miss Malderton," said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, and bowing very low, "may I be permitted to presume to hope that you will allow me to have the pleasure—" "I don’t think I am engaged," said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful affectation of indifference—"but, really—so many— —" Horatio looked as handsomely miserable as a Hamlet sliding upon a bit of orange-peel. "I shall be most happy," simpered the interesting Teresa, at last; and Horatio’s countenance brightened up like an old hat in a shower of rain. "A very genteel young man, certainly!" said the gratified Mr. Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the quadrille which was just forming. "He has a remarkably good address," said Mr. Frederick. "Yes, he is a prime fellow," interposed Tom; who always managed to put his foot in it—"he talks just like an auctioneer." "Tom!" said his father, "I think I desired you before not to be a fool."—Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly morning. "How delightful!" said the interesting Horatio to his partner, as they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set—"how delightful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the troubles of life, even if it be but for a few short, fleeting moments; and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society of one individual—of her whose frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss; the possession of whose affection would be the brightest and best reward that heaven could bestow on man.’ "What feeling! what sentiment!" thought Miss Teresa, as she leaned more heavily upon her companion’s arm. "But enough—enough," resumed the elegant Sparkins, with a theatrical air. "What have I said? what have I—I—to do with sentiments like these? Miss Malderton," here he stopped short—"may I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of—" "Really, Mr. Sparkins," returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing in the sweetest confusion, "I must refer you to papa. I never can without his consent, venture to—to— —" "Surely he cannot object—" "Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not," interrupted Miss Teresa—well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel. "He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus," returned the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise. "Is that all!" said the disappointed Teresa to herself. "What a fuss about nothing!" "It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next, at five o’clock, if you have no better engagement," said Mr. Malderton, at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation with Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering invitation. "I must confess," continued the manœuvering father, offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance, "that I don’t enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort—I had almost said the luxury—of Oak Lodge: they have no great charms for an elderly man." "And after all, sir, what is man?" said the metaphysical Sparkins—"I say, what is man?" "Ah! very true," said Mr. Malderton—"very true." "We know that we live and breathe," continued Horatio; "that we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites—" "Certainly," said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking very profound. "I say, we know that we exist," repeated Horatio, raising his voice, "but there we stop; there, is an end to our knowledge; there is the summit of our attainments; there is the termination of our ends. What more do we know?" "Nothing," replied Mr. Frederick—than whom no one was more capable of answering for himself in that particular. Tom was about to hazard something, but, fortunately for his reputation, he caught his father’s angry eye, and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty larceny. "Upon my word," said Mr. Malderton the elder, as they were returning home in the fly, "that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful young man. Such surprising knowledge! such extraordinary information! and such a splendid mode of expressing himself!" "I think he must be somebody in disguise," said Miss Marianne.—"How charmingly romantic!" "He talks very loud and nicely," timidly observed Tom, "but I don’t exactly understand what he means." "I almost begin to despair of your understanding any thing, Tom," said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened by Mr. Horatio Sparkins’ conversation. "It strikes me, Tom," said Miss Teresa, "that you have made yourself very ridiculous this evening." "No doubt of it," cried every body—and the unfortunate Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. That night Mr. and Mrs. Malderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter’s prospects and future arrangements. Miss Teresa went to bed, considering whether, in the event of her marrying a title, she could conscientiously encourage the visits of her present associates, and dreamt all night of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes, bridal favours, and Horatio Sparkins. Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the mode of conveyance which the anxiously-expected Horatio would adopt. Did he keep a gig?—was it possible he would come on horseback?—or would he patronize the stage? These, and various other conjectures of equal importance, engrossed the attention of Mrs. Malderton and her daughters during the whole morning. "Upon my word, my dear, it’s a most annoying thing that that vulgar brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here to-day," said Mr. Malderton to his wife. "On account of Mr. Sparkins’ coming down, I purposely abstained from asking any one but Flamwell. And then to think of your brother—a tradesman—it’s insufferable! I declare I wouldn’t have him mention his shop before our new guest—no, not for a thousand pounds. I wouldn’t care if he had the good sense to conceal the disgrace he is to the family; but he’s so fond of his horrible business, that he will let people know what he is." Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn’t above his business: "he’d made his money by it, and he didn’t care who know’d it." "Ah! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d’ye do?" said Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered the room. "You got my note?" "Yes, I did; and here I am in consequence." "You don’t happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name?—You know everybody?" Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remarkably extensive information whom one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to know every body, but who, of course, know nobody. At Malderton’s, where any stories about great people were received with a greedy ear, he was an especial favourite; and, knowing the kind of people he had to deal with, he carried his passion of claiming acquaintance with everybody, to the most immoderate length. He had rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies in a parenthesis, and with an air of self-denial, as if he feared being thought egotistical. "Why, no, I don’t know him by that name," returned Flamwell, in a low tone, and with an air of immense importance. "I have no doubt I know him though. Is he tall?" "Middle-sized," said Miss Teresa. "With black hair?" inquired Flamwell, hazarding a bold guess. "Yes," returned Miss Teresa, eagerly. "Rather a snub nose?" "No," said the disappointed Teresa, "he has a Roman nose." "I said a Roman nose, didn’t I?" inquired Flamwell. "He’s an elegant young man?" "Oh, certainly." "With remarkably prepossessing manners?" "Oh, yes!" said all the family together. "You must know him." "Yes, I thought you knew him, if he was anybody," triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Malderton. "Who d’ye think he is?" 'Why, from your description," said Flamwell, ruminating, and sinking his voice, almost to a whisper, 'he bears a strong resemblance to the Honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. He’s a very talented young man, and rather eccentric. It’s extremely probable he may have changed his name for some temporary purpose." Teresa’s heart beat high. Could he be the Honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne? What a name to be elegantly engraved over two glazed cards, tied together with a piece of white satin ribbon! "The Honourable Mrs. Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne!" The thought was transport. "It’s five minutes to five," said Mr. Malderton, looking at his watch: "I hope he’s not going to disappoint us." "There he is!" exclaimed Miss Teresa, as a loud double-knock was heard at the door. Every body endeavoured to look—as people when they particularly expect a visitor alway do—as if they were perfectly unsuspicious of the approach of any one. The room door opened—"Mr. Barton!" said the servant. "Confound the man!" murmured Malderton.—"Ah! my dear sir, how d’ye do! Any news?" "Why no," returned the grocer, in his usual honest, bluff manner. "No, none partickler. None that I am much aware of.—How d’ye do, gals and boys?—Mr. Flamwell, sir—glad to see you." "Here’s Mr. Sparkins!" said Tom, who had been looking out at the window, "on such a black horse!" —There was Horatio sure enough, on a large black horse, curvetting and prancing along like an Astley’s supernumerary. After a great deal of reining in and pulling up, with the accompaniments of snorting, rearing, and kicking, the animal consented to stop at about a hundred yards from the gate, where Mr. Sparkins dismounted and confided him to the care of Mr. Malderton’s groom. The ceremony of introduction was gone through in all due form. Mr. Flamwell looked from behind his green spectacles at Horatio with an air of mysterious importance; and the gallant Horatio looked unutterable things at Teresa, who tried in her turn to appear uncommonly lackadaisycal. "Is he the Honourable Mr. Augustus—what’s-his-name?" whispered Mrs. Malderton, to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the dining-room. "Why, no—at least not exactly," returned that great authority—"not exactly." "Who is he then?" "Hush!" said Flamwell, nodding his head with a grave air, importing that he knew very well; but was prevented, by some grave reasons of state from disclosing the important secret. It might be one of the ministers making himself acquainted with the views of the people. "Mr. Sparkins," said the delighted Mrs. Malderton, "pray divide the ladies. John, put a chair for the gentleman between Miss Teresa and Miss Marianne." This was addressed to a man who on ordinary occasions acted as half-groom, half-gardener; but who, as it was important to make an impression on Mr. Sparkins, had been forced into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up and brushed to look like a second footman. The dinner was excellent; Horatio was most attentive to Miss Teresa, and every one felt in high spirits, except Mr. Malderton, who, knowing the propensity of his brother-in-law, Mr. Barton, endured that sort of agony which the newspapers inform us is experienced by the surrounding neighbourhood when a pot-boy hangs himself in a hay-loft, and which is "much easier to be imagined than described." "Have you seen your friend, Sir Thomas Noland, lately, Flamwell?" inquired Mr. Malderton, casting a sidelong look at Horatio, to see what effect the mention of so great a man had upon him. "Why, no—not very lately. I saw Lord Gubbleton the day before yesterday." "I hope his lordship is very well?" said Malderton, in a tone of the greatest interest. It is scarcely necessary to say that until that moment he was quite innocent of the existence of such a person. "Why, yes; he was very well—very well indeed. He’s a devilish good fellow: I met him in the City, and had a long chat with him. Indeed, I’m rather intimate with him. I couldn’t stop to talk to him as long as I could wish though, because I was on my way to a banker’s, a very rich man, and a member of Parliament, with whom I am also rather, indeed I may say very, intimate." "I know whom you mean," returned the host, consequentially, in reality knowing as much about the matter as Flamwell himself. "He has a capital business." This was touching on a dangerous topic. "Talking of business," interposed Mr. Barton, from the centre of the table. "A gentleman whom you knew very well, Malderton, before you made that first lucky spec of your's, called at our shop the other day, and—" "Barton, may I trouble you for a potatoe?" interrupted the wretched master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud. "Certainly," returned the grocer, quite insensible of his brother-in-law’s object—"and he said in a very plain manner—" "Flowery, if you please," interrupted Malderton again; dreading the termination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition of the word "shop." "He said, says he," continued the culprit, after despatching the potatoe;—"says he, how goes on your business? So I said, jokingly—you know my way—says I, I’m never above my business, and I hope my business will never be above me. Ha, ha, ha!" "Mr. Sparkins," said the host, vainly endeavouring to conceal his dismay, "a glass of wine?" "With the utmost pleasure, sir." "Happy to see you." "Thank you." "We were talking the other evening," resumed the host, addressing Horatio, partly with the view of displaying the conversational powers of his new acquaintance, and partly in the hope of drowning the grocer’s stories; "we were talking the other night about the nature of man. Your argument struck me very forcibly." "And me," said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a graceful inclination of the head. "Pray, what is your opinion of women, Mr. Sparkins?" inquired Mrs. Malderton. The young ladies simpered. "Man," replied Horatio, "man, whether he ranged the bright, gay, flowery plains of a second Eden, or the more sterile, barren, and I may say common-place regions, to which we are compelled to accustom ourselves in times such as these; man, I say, under any circumstances, or in any place—whether he were bending beneath the withering blasts of the frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of a vertical sun—man, without woman, would be—alone." "I am very happy to find you entertain such honourable opinions, Mr. Sparkins," said Mrs. Malderton. "And I," added Miss Teresa. Horatio looked his delight, and the young lady blushed like a full-blown peony. "Now, it’s my opinion—" said Mr. Barton.— "I know what you’re going to say," interposed Malderton, determined not to give his relation another opportunity, "and I don’t agree with you." "What!" inquired the astonished grocer. "I am sorry to differ from you, Barton," said the host, in as positive a manner as if he really were contradicting a position which the other had laid down, "but I cannot give my assent to what I consider a very monstrous proposition." "But I meant to say—" "You never can convince me," said Malderton, with an air of obstinate determination. "Never." "And I," said Mr. Frederick, following up his father’s attack, "cannot entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins’s argument." "What!" said Horatio, who became more metaphysical, and more argumentative, as he saw the female part of the family listening in wondering delight. "What! is effect the consequence of cause? Is cause the precursor of effect?" "That’s the point," said Flamwell, in a tone of concurrence. "To be sure," said Mr. Malderton. "Because, if effect is the consequence of cause, and if cause does precede effect, I apprehend you are decidedly wrong," added Horatio. "Decidedly," said the toad-eating Flamwell. "At least, I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction," said Sparkins, in a tone of interrogation. "No doubt of it," chimed in Flamwell again. "It settles the point." "Well, perhaps it does," said Mr. Frederick; "I didn’t see it before." "I don’t exactly see it now," thought the grocer; "but I suppose it’s all right." "How wonderfully clever he is!" whispered Mrs. Malderton to her daughters as they retired to the drawing-room. "Oh! he’s quite a love," said both the young ladies together; "he talks like a second Pelham. He must have seen a great deal of life." The gentlemen being left to themselves a pause ensued, during which everybody looked very grave, as if they were quite overcome by the profound nature of the previous discussion. Flamwell, who had made up his mind to find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins really was, first broke silence. "Excuse me, sir," said that distinguished personage. "I presume you have studied for the bar; I thought of entering once, myself—indeed, I’m rather intimate with some of the highest ornaments of that distinguished profession. "No—no!" said Horatio, with a little hesitation, "not exactly." "But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake?" inquired Flamwell, deferentially. "Nearly all my life," returned Sparkins. The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flamwell.—He was a young gentleman "about to be called." "I shouldn’t like to be a barrister," said Tom, speaking for the first time, and looking round the table to find somebody who would notice the remark. No one made any reply. "I shouldn’t like to wear a wig," said Tom, hazarding another observation. "Tom, I beg you will not make yourself ridiculous," said his father. "Pray listen, and improve yourself by the conversation you hear, and don’t be constantly making these absurd remarks." "Very well, father," replied the unfortunate Tom, who had not spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at a quarter-past five o’clock P.M., and it was then eight. "Well, Tom,' observed his good-natured uncle, "never mind; I think with you. I shouldn’t like to wear a wig. I’d rather wear an apron." Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed—"For if a man’s above his business—" The cough returned with tenfold violence, and did not cease until the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had quite forgotten what he intended to say. "Mr. Sparkins," said Flamwell, returning to the charge, "do you happen to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford-square?" "I have exchanged cards with him; since which, indeed, I have had an opportunity of serving him considerably," replied Horatio, slightly colouring; no doubt, at having been betrayed into making the acknowledgment. "You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity of obliging that great man," observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect. "I don’t know," whispered Flamwell to Mr. Malderton confidentially as they followed Horatio up to the drawing-room. "It’s quite clear, however, that he belongs to the law, and that he is somebody of great importance, and very highly connected." "No doubt, no doubt," returned his companion. The remainder of the evening passed away most delightfully. Mr. Malderton, relieved from his apprehensions by the circumstance of Mr. Barton’s falling into a profound sleep, was as affable and gracious as possible. Miss Teresa played "The Falls of Paris," as Mr. Sparkins declared, in a most masterly manner, and both of them assisted by Mr. Frederick, tried over glees and trios without number; they having made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonised beautifully. To be sure they all sang the first part; and Horatio, in addition to the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly innocent of knowing a note of music; still, they passed the time very agreeably, and it was past twelve o’clock before Mr. Sparkins ordered the mourning-coach-looking steed to be brought out—an order which was only complied with on the distinct understanding that he was to repeat his visit on the following Sunday." "But, perhaps, Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party to-morrow evening?’ suggested Mrs. M. "Mr. Malderton intends taking the girls to see St. George and the Dragon"—Mr. Sparkins bowed and promised to join the party in box 48 in the course of the evening. "We will not tax you for the morning," said Miss Teresa, bewitchingly; "for ma is going to take us to all sorts of places, shopping. But I know that gentlemen have a great horror of that employment." Mr. Sparkins bowed again, and declared he should be delighted, but business of importance occupied him in the morning. Flamwell looked at Malderton significantly.—"It’s term time!" he whispered. At twelve o’clock on the following morning the "fly" was at the door of Oak Lodge, to convey Mrs. Malderton and her daughters on their expedition for the day. They were to dine and dress for the play at a friend’s house, first driving thither with their bandboxes; thence they departed on their first errand to make some purchases at Messrs. Jones, Spruggins, and Smith’s, of Tottenham-court-road; after which to Redmayne, in Bond-street; and thence to innumerable places that no one ever heard of. The young ladies beguiled the tediousness of the ride by eulogising Mr. Horatio Sparkins, scolding their mamma for taking them so far to save a shilling, and wondering whether they should ever reach their destination. At length, the vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking ticketed linen-draper’s shop, with goods of all kinds, and labels of all sorts and sizes, in the window. There were dropsical figures of a seven with a little three-quarter in the corner; something like the acquatic animalculæ disclosed by the gas microscope "perfectly invisible to the naked eye;" three hundred and fifty thousand ladies’ boas, from one shilling and a penny halfpenny; real French kid shoes, at two and nine-pence per pair; green parasols, with handles like carving-forks, at an equally cheap rate; and "every description of goods," as the proprietors said—and they must know best—"fifty per cent. under cost price." "Lor! ma', what a place you have brought us to!" said Miss Teresa; "what would Mr. Sparkins say if he could see us!" "Ah! what, indeed!" said Miss Marianne, horrified at the idea. "Pray be seated, ladies. What is the first article?" inquired the obsequious master of the ceremonies of the establishment, who, in his large white neckcloth and formal tie, looked like a bad "portrait of a gentleman" in the Somerset-house exhibition. "I want to see some silks," answered Mrs. Malderton. "Directly, ma’am.—Mr. Smith! Where is Mr. Smith?" "Here, sir," cried a voice at the back of the shop. "Pray make haste, Mr. Smith," said the M.C. "You never are to be found when you’re wanted, sir." Mr. Smith thus enjoined to use all possible despatch, leaped over the counter with great agility, and placed himself before the newly-arrived customers. Mrs. Malderton uttered a faint scream; Miss Teresa, who had been stooping down to talk to her sister, raised her head and beheld—Horatio Sparkins! "We will draw a veil," as novel-writers say, over the scene that ensued. The mysterious, philosophical, romantic, metaphysical Sparkins—he who, to the interesting Teresa, seemed like the embodied idea of the young dukes and poetical exquisites in blue silk dressing-gowns, and ditto ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamt, but had never expected to behold—was suddenly converted into Mr. Samuel Smith, the assistant at a "cheap shop;" the junior partner in a slippery firm of some three weeks’ existence. The dignified evanishment of the hero of Oak Lodge on this unexpected announcement could only be equalled by that of a furtive dog with a considerable kettle at his tail. All the hopes of the Maldertons were destined at once to melt away, like the lemon ices at a Company’s dinner; Almacks was still to them as distant as the North Pole" and Miss Teresa had as much chance of a husband as Captain Ross had of the north-west passage. Years have elapsed since the occurrence of this dreadful morning. The daisies have thrice bloomed on Camberwell-green—the sparrows have thrice repeated their vernal chirps in Camberwell-grove; but the Miss Maldertons are still unmated. Miss Teresa’s case is more desperate than ever; but Flamwell is yet in the zenith of his reputation; and the family have the same predilection for aristocratic personages, with an increased aversion to anything low. | 18340201 | | | | | | | | https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/Horatio_Sparkins/1834-02-Horatio_Sparkins.pdf | |
| 133 | https://dickenssearch.com/items/show/133 | 'Mrs. Joseph Porter, "Over the Way"' | | Published in <em>The Monthly Magazine, or The British Register of Politics, Art, Science, and the Belles-Lettres</em>,<span> February 1834, pp. 11-18.</span> | Dickens, Charles | <em>Internet Archive,<br /></em><a href="https://archive.org/details/monthlymagazineo17lond/page/n9/mode/2up">https://archive.org/details/monthlymagazineo17lond/page/n9/mode/2up</a><span>.</span> | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=40&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=1834-02">1834-02</a> | | <em>Internet Archive,</em><span> </span><a href="https://archive.org/about/terms.php">https://archive.org/about/terms.php</a><span>. Access to the Archive’s Collections is granted for scholarship and research purposes only.</span> | | | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=51&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Short+story">Short story</a> | 1834-02-Mrs_Joseph_Porter_Over_The_Way | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | <span>Dickens, Charles. "Mrs. Joseph Porter, 'Over the Way.'" </span><em>The Monthly Magazine, or The British Register of Politics, Art, Science, and the Belles-Lettres.</em><span> February 1834, pp. 11-18. </span><em>Dickens Search.</em><span> Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. </span><a href="https://dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1834-02-Mrs_Joseph_Porter_Over_The_Way">https://dickenssearch.com/short-stories/1834-02-Mrs_Joseph_Porter_Over_The_Way</a><span>.</span> | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=94&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=Periodical">Periodical</a> | <a href="/items/browse?advanced%5B0%5D%5Belement_id%5D=93&advanced%5B0%5D%5Btype%5D=is+exactly&advanced%5B0%5D%5Bterms%5D=%3Cem%3EThe+Monthly+Magazine%3C%2Fem%3E"><em>The Monthly Magazine</em></a> | | | | | Most extensive were the preparations at Rose Villa, Clapham Rise, in the occupation of Mr. Gattleton (a stock-broker in especially comfortable circumstances), and great was the anxiety of Mr. Gattleton’s interesting family as the day fixed for the representation of the Private Play, which had been "many months in preparation," approached. The whole family was infected with the mania for Private Theatricals; the house, usually so clean and tidy, was, to use Mr. Gattleton’s expressive description "regularly turned out o’ windows;" the large dining-room, dismantled of it's furniture and ornaments, presented a strange jumble of flats, flies, wings, lamps, bridges, clouds, thunder and lightning, festoons and flowers, daggers and foil, and all the other messes which in theatrical slang are included under the comprehensive name of "properties." The bedrooms were crowded with scenery, the kitchen was occupied by carpenters. Rehearsals took place every other night in the drawing-room, and every sofa in the house was more or less damaged by the perseverance and spirit with which Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, and Miss Lucina, rehearsed the smothering scene in "Othello"—it having been determined that that tragedy should form the first portion of the evening’s entertainments. "When we’re a leetle more perfect, I think it will go off admirably," said Mr. Sempronius, addressing his corps dramatique, at the conclusion of the hundred and fiftieth rehearsal. In consideration of his sustaining the trifling inconvenience of bearing all the expenses of the play, Mr. Sempronius had been in the most handsome manner unanimously elected stage-manager. - "Evans," continued Mr. Gattleton, the younger, addressing a tall, thin, pale young gentleman, with extensive whiskers—"Evans, upon my word, you play Roderigo beautifully." "Beautifully," echoed the three Miss Gattletons; for Mr. Evans was pronounced by all his lady-friends to be "quite a dear." He looked so interesting and had such lovely whiskers, to say nothing of his talent for writing verses in albums and playing the flute! The interesting Roderigo simpered and bowed. "But I think," added the manager, "you are hardly perfect in the—fall—in the fencing-scene, where you are—you understand?" "It’s very difficult," said Mr. Evans, thoughtfully; "I’ve fallen about a good deal in our counting-house lately, for practice; only it hurts one so. Being obliged to fall backward you see, it bruises one’s head a good deal." "But you must take care you don’t knock a wing down," said Mr. Gattleton, sen., who had been appointed prompter, and who took as much interest in the play as the youngest of the company. "The stage is very narrow, you know." "Oh! don’t be afraid," said Mr. Evans, with a very self-satisfied air; "I shall fall with my head 'off,' and then I can’t do any harm." "But, egad!" said the manager, rubbing his hands, "we shall make a decided hit in 'Masaniello.' Harfield sings that music admirably." Everybody echoed the sentiment. Mr. Harfield smiled, and looked foolish,—not an unusual thing with him—hummed "Behold how brightly breaks the morning," and blushed as red as the fisherman’s night-cap he was trying on. "Let’s see," resumed the manager, telling the number on his fingers, we shall have three dancing female peasants, besides Fenella, and four fishermen. Then there’s our man Tom, he can have a pair of ducks of mine, and a check-shirt of Bob’s, and a red night-cap, and he’ll do for another—that’s five. In the chorusses, of course, we can sing at the sides, and in the market-scene we can walk about in cloaks and things. When the revolt takes place, Tom must keep rushing in on one side and out on the other, with a pickaxe, as fast as he can. The effect will be electrical; it will look exactly as if there were an immense number of ’em: and in the eruption scene we must burn the red fire, and upset the tea-trays, and halloo and make all sorts of noises—and it’s sure to do." "Sure! sure!" cried all the performers unâ voce—and away hurried Mr. Sempronius Gattleton to wash the burnt cork off his face, and superintend the "setting up" of some of the amateur-painted and never-sufficiently-to-be-admired scenery. Mrs. Gattleton was a kind, good-tempered, vulgar old soul, exceedingly fond of her husband and children, and entertaining only three dislikes. In the first place, she had a natural antipathy to anybody else’s unmarried daughters; in the second, she was in bodily fear of anything in the shape of ridicule; and, lastly—almost a necessary consequence of this feeling—she regarded with feelings of the utmost horror, one "Mrs. Joseph Porter over the way." However, the good folks of Clapham and its vicinity stood very much in awe of scandal and sarcasm; and thus Mrs. Joseph Porter was courted, and flattered, and caressed, and invited, for very much the same reason that a poor author, without a farthing in his pocket behaves with extraordinary civility to a twopenny postman. "Never mind, Ma," said Miss Emma Porter, in colloquy with her respected relative, and trying to look unconcerned; "if they had invited me, you know that neither you nor Pa would have allowed me to take part in such an exhibition." "Just what I should have thought from your high sense of propriety," returned the mother. "I am glad to see, Emma, you know how to designate the proceeding." Miss P., by-the-by, had only the week before made an "exhibition" of herself for four days, behind a counter at a fancy fair, to all and every of her Majesty’s liege subjects who were disposed to pay a shilling each for the privilege of seeing some four dozen girls flirting with strangers, and playing at shop. "There!" said Mrs. Porter, looking out of window; "there are two rounds of beef and a ham going in—clearly for sandwiches; and Thomas, the pastry-cook, says, there have been twelve dozen tarts ordered, besides blancmange and jellies. Upon my word! think of the Miss Gattletons in fancy dresses, too!" "Oh, it’s too ridiculous," said Miss Porter, with a sort of hysterical chuckle. "I’ll manage to put them a little out of conceit with the business, however," said Mrs. Porter; and out she went on her charitable errand. "Well, my dear Mrs. Gattleton, " said Mrs. Joseph Porter - after they had been closeted for some time, and when, by dint of indefatigable pumping, she had managed to extract all the news about the play; - "well, my dear, people may say what they please; indeed we know they will, for some folks are so ill-natured. - Ah, my dear Miss Lucina, how d’ye do? - I was just telling your mama that I have heard it said, that—" "What?" inquired the Desdemona. "Mrs. Porter is alluding to the play, my dear," said Mrs. Gattleton; "she was, I am sorry to say, just informing me that—" "Oh, now pray don’t mention it,: interrupted Mrs. Porter; "it’s most absurd—quite as absurd as young what’s-his-name saying he wondered how Miss Caroline, with such a foot and ankle, could have the vanity to play Fenella." "Highly impertinent, whoever said it," said Mrs. Gattleton, bridling up. "Certainly, my dear," chimed in the delighted Mrs. Porter; "most undoubtedly! Because, as I said, if Miss Caroline does play Fenella, it doesn’t follow, as a matter of course, that she should think she has a pretty foot; and then such puppies as these young men are; he had the impudence to say, that—’ How far the amiable Mrs. Porter might have succeeded in her pleasant purpose, it is impossible to say, had not the entrance of Mr. Thomas Balderstone, Mrs. Gattleton’s brother, familiarly called in the family "Uncle Tom," changed the course of conversation, and suggested to her mind an excellent plan of operation on the evening of the play. Uncle Tom was very rich, and exceedingly fond of his nephews and nieces; as a matter of course, therefore, he was an object of great importance in his own family. He was one of the best-hearted men in existence; always in a good temper, and always talking. It was his boast that he wore top-boots on all occasions, and had never worn a black silk neck-kerchief; and it was his pride, that he remembered all the principal plays of Shakspeare from beginning to end—and so he did. The result of this parrot-like accomplishment was, that he was not only perpetually quoting himself, but that he could never sit by, and hear a mis-quotation from "The Swan of Avon" without setting the unfortunate delinquent right. He was also something of a wag: never missed an opportunity of saying what he considered a good thing, and invariably laughed until he cried at anything that appeared to him mirth-moving or ridiculous. "Well, girls, well," said Uncle Tom, after the preparatory ceremony of kissing and how-d’ye-do-ing had been gone through—"how d’ye get on? Know your parts, eh?—Lucina, my dear, act 2, scene 1—place, left-cue—'Unknown fate,'—What’s next, eh?—Go on—'The heavens—'" "Oh, yes," said Miss Lucina, "I recollect - “ 'The heavens forbid But that our loves and comforts should increase Even as our days do grow!'" "Make a pause here and there," said the old gentleman, who was a great critic. 'But that our loves and comforts should increase'—emphasis on the last syllable, 'crease,'—loud 'even,'—one, two, three, four; then loud again, 'as our days do grow;' emphasis on days. That’s the way, my dear; trust to your uncle for emphasis. Ah! Sem, my boy, how are you?" "Very well, thanky'e, uncle," returned Mr. Sempronius, who had just appeared, looking something like a ringdove, with a small circle round each eye: the result of his constant corking. "Of course we see you on Thursday." "Of course, of course, my dear boy." "What a pity it is your nephew didn’t think of making you prompter, Mr. Balderstone," whispered Mrs. Joseph Porter; "you would have been invaluable." "Well, I flatter myself, I should have been tolerably up to the thing," responded Uncle Tom. "I must bespeak sitting next you on the night," resumed Mrs. Porter; "and then, if our dear young friends here, should be at all wrong, you will be able to enlighten me. I shall be so interested." "I am sure I shall be most happy to give you any assistance in my power, mem." "Mind, it’s a bargain." "Certainly." "I don’t know how it is," said Mrs. Gattleton to her daughters, as they were sitting round the fire in the evening, looking over their parts, "but I really very much wish Mrs. Joseph Porter wasn’t coming on Thursday. I am sure she’s scheming something." "She can’t make us ridiculous, however," observed Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, haughtily. The long-looked-for Thursday arrived in due course, and brought with it, as Mr. Gattleton, senior, philosophically observed, "no disappointments, to speak of." True, it was yet a matter of doubt whether Cassio would be enabled to get into the dress which had been sent for him from the masquerade warehouse. It was equally uncertain whether the principal female singer would be sufficiently recovered from the influenza to make her appearance; Mr. Harfield, the Masaniello of the night, was hoarse, and rather unwell, in consequence of the great quantity of lemon and sugar-candy he had eaten to improve his voice; and two flutes and a violoncello had pleaded severe colds. What of that? the audience were all coming. Everybody knew his part; the dresses were covered with tinsel and spangles; the white plumes looked beautiful; Mr. Evans had practised falling, till he was bruised from head to foot and quite perfect; Iago was sure that, in the stabbing-scene, he should make "a decided hit." A self-taught deaf gentleman, who had kindly offered to bring his flute, would be a most valuable addition to the orchestra; Miss Jenkins’s talent for the piano was too well known to be doubted for an instant; Mr. Cape had practised the violin accompaniment with her frequently and Mr. Brown, who had kindly undertaken, at a few hours’ notice, to bring his violoncello, would, no doubt, manage extremely well. Seven o’clock came, and so did the audience; all the rank and fashion of Clapham and its vicinity was fast filling the theatre. There were the Smiths, the Stubbs's, the Halfpennys, the Gubbins's, the Nixons, the Dixons, the Hicksons, people with all sorts of names, two aldermen, a sheriff in perspective, Sir Thomas Glumper (who had been knighted in the last reign for carrying up an address on somebody’s escaping from something); and last, not least, there were Mrs. Joseph Porter and Uncle Tom, seated in the centre of the third row from the stage; Mrs. P. amusing Uncle Tom with all sorts of stories, and Uncle Tom amusing every one else by laughing most immoderately. Ting, ting, ting! went the prompter’s bell at eight o’clock precisely, and dash went the orchestra into the overture to "The Men of Prometheus." The pianoforte player hammered away with the most laudable perseverance; and the violoncello, which struck in at intervals, "sounded very well, considering." The unfortunate individual, however, who had undertaken to play the flute accompaniment "at sight," found, from fatal experience, the perfect truth of the old adage, "out of sight, out of mind;" for being very near-sighted, and being placed at a considerable distance from his music-book, all he had an opportunity of doing was to play a bar now and then in the wrong place, and put the other performers out. It is, however, but justice to Mr. Brown to say that he did this to admiration. The overture, in fact, was not unlike a race between the different instruments; the piano came in first by several bars, and the violoncello next, quite distancing the poor flute; for the deaf gentleman too-too’d away, quite unconscious that he was at all wrong, until apprised, by the applause of the audience, that the overture was concluded. A considerable bustle and shuffling of feet was then heard upon the stage, accompanied by whispers of "Here’s a pretty go!—what’s to be done?" &c. The audience applauded again, by way of raising the spirits of the performers; and then Mr. Sempronius desired the prompter, in a very audible voice, to "clear the stage, and ring up." Ting, ting, ting! went the bell again. Everybody sat down; the curtain shook; rose sufficiently high to display several pair of yellow boots paddling about; and there remained. Ting, ting, ting! went the bell again. The curtain was violently convulsed, but rose no higher; the audience tittered; Mrs. Porter looked at Uncle Tom, Uncle Tom looked at every body, rubbing his hands, and laughing with perfect rapture. After as much ringing with the little bell as a muffin boy would make in going down a tolerably long street, and a vast deal of whispering, hammering, and calling for nails and cord, the curtain at length rose, and discovered Mr. Sempronius Gattleton solus and decked for Othello. After three distinct rounds of applause, during which Mr. Sempronius applied his right hand to his left breast, and bowed in the most approved manner, the manager advanced and said - "Ladies and Gentlemen, I assure you it is with sincere regret, that I regret to be compelled to inform you, that Iago who was to have played Mr. Wilson—I beg your pardon, Ladies and Gentlemen; but I am naturally somewhat agitated (applause)—I mean, Mr. Wilson, who was to have played Iago, is—that is, has been—or, in other words, Ladies and Gentlemen, the fact is, that I have just received a note, in which I am informed that Iago is unavoidably detained at the Post-office this evening. Under these circumstances, I trust—a—a—amateur performance—a—another gentleman undertaken to read the part—request indulgence for a short time—courtesy and kindness of a British audience." Overwhelming applause. Exit Mr. Sempronius Gattleton, and curtain falls. The audience were, of course, exceedingly good-humoured; the whole business was a joke; and accordingly they waited for an hour with the utmost patience, being enlivened by an interlude of rout-cakes and lemonade. It appeared by Mr. Sempronius’s subsequent explanation, that the delay would not have been so great, had it not so happened that when the substitute Iago had finished dressing, and just as the play was on the point of commencing, the original Iago unexpectedly arrived. The former was, therefore, compelled to undress, and the latter to dress for his part, which, as he found some difficulty in getting into his clothes, occupied no inconsiderable time. At last, the tragedy began in real earnest. It went off well enough, until the third scene of the first act, in which Othello addresses the Senate, the only remarkable circumstance being, that as Iago could not get on any of the stage boots, in consequence of his feet being violently swelled with the heat and excitement, he was under the necessity of playing the part in a pair of common hessians, which contrasted rather oddly with his richly embroidered pantaloons. When Othello started with his address to the Senate (whose dignity was represented by, the Duke, a carpenter; two men engaged on the recommendation of the gardener; and a boy); Mrs. Porter found the opportunity she so anxiously sought. Mr. Sempronius proceeded - "' Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, My very noble and approv’d good masters, That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter, It is most true;—rude am I in my speech—'" "Is that right?" whispered Mrs. Porter to Uncle Tom. "No." "Tell him so, then." "I will. - Sem!" called out Uncle Tom, "that’s wrong, my boy." "What’s wrong, Uncle?" demanded Othello, quite forgetting the dignity of his situation. "You’ve left out something. 'True I have married—'" "Oh, ah!" said Mr. Sempronius, endeavouring to hide his confusion as much and as ineffectually as the audience attempted to conceal their half-suppressed tittering, by coughing with extraordinary violence - - " 'true I have married her; - The very head and front of my offending Hath this extent; no more.' (Aside). Why don’t you prompt, father?" "Because I’ve mislaid my spectacles," said poor Mr. Gattleton, almost dead with the heat and bustle. "There, now it’s 'rude am I,'" said Uncle Tom." "Yes, I know it is," returned the unfortunate manager, proceeding with his part. It would be useless and tiresome to quote the number of instances in which Uncle Tom, now completely in his element, and instigated by the mischievous Mrs. Porter, corrected the mistakes of the performers; suffice it to say, that having once mounted his hobby, nothing could induce him to dismount; so, during the whole remainder of the play, he performed a kind of running accompaniment, by muttering every body’s part, as it was being delivered, in an under tone. The audience were highly amused, Mrs. Porter delighted, the performers embarrassed; Uncle Tom never was better pleased in all his life; and Uncle Tom’s nephews and nieces had never, although the declared heirs to his large property, so heartily wished him gathered to his fathers as on that memorable occasion. Several other minor causes, too, united to damp the ardour of the dramatis personæ. None of the performers could walk in their tights, or move their arms in their jackets; the pantaloons were too small, the boots too large, and the swords of all shapes and sizes. Mr. Evans, naturally too tall for the scenery, wore a black velvet hat with immense white plumes, the glory of which was lost in "the flies;" and the only other inconvenience of which was, that when it was off his head he could not put it on, and when it was on he couldn't take it off. Notwithstanding all his practice, too, he fell with his head and shoulders as neatly through one of the side scenes, as a harlequin would jump through a panel in a Christmas pantomime. The pianoforte player, overpowered by the extreme heat of the room, fainted away at the commencement of the entertainments, leaving the music of "Masaniello" to the flute and violoncello. The orchestra complained that Mr. Harfield put them out, and Mr. Harfield declared that the orchestra prevented his singing at all. The fishermen, who were hired for the occasion, revolted to the very life, positively refusing to play without an increased allowance of spirits; and, their demand being complied with, they got drunk in the eruption-scene as naturally as possible. The red fire which was burnt at the conclusion of the second act not only nearly suffocated the audience, but they narrowly escaped setting the house on fire; as it was, the remainder of the piece was acted in a thick fog. In short, the whole affair was, as Mrs. Joseph Porter triumphantly told every body, "a complete failure." The audience went home at four o’clock in the morning, exhausted with laughter, suffering from severe head aches, and smelling terribly of brimstone and gunpowder. The Messrs. Gattleton, senior and junior, retired to rest with a vague idea of emigrating to Swan River early in the ensuing week. Rose Villa has once again resumed its wonted appearance: the dining-room furniture has been replaced; the tables are as nicely polished as formerly; the horsehair chairs are ranged against the wall as regularly as ever; Venetian blinds have been fitted to every window in the house to intercept the prying gaze of Mrs. Joseph Porter. The subject of theatricals is never mentioned in the Gattleton family, unless, indeed, by Uncle Tom, who cannot refrain from sometimes expressing his surprise and regret at finding that his nephews and nieces appear to have lost the relish they once possessed for the beauties of Shakspeare and quotations from the works of the immortal bard. | 18340201 | | | | | | | | https://dickenssearch.com/files/original/5/Mrs._Joseph_Porter_Over_the_Way/1834-02-Mrs_Joseph_Porter_Over_The_Way.pdf | |