Book: The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 5.
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Robert Seymour >> The Sketches of Seymour (Illustrated), Part 5.
SKETCHES BY SEYMOUR
Part 5.
ANDREW MULLINS.--AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER I.--Introductory.
"Let the neighbors smell ve has something respectable for once."
There is certainly no style of writing requiring so much modest assurance
as autobiography; a position which, I am confident, neither Lord
Cherbury, nor Vidocq, or any other mortal blessed with an equal
developement of the organ of self-esteem, can or could deny.
HOME, ("sweet home,")--in his Douglas--gives, perhaps, one of the most
concise and concentrated specimens extant, of this species of
composition. With what an imposing air does his youthful hero blow his
own trumpet in those well-known lines, commencing,
"My name is Norval."
Although a mere cock-boat in comparison with these first-rates, I think I
may safely follow in their wake. Should the critics, however, condescend
to carp at me for likening myself to a cock-boat, I have no objection, if
by a twist of their ingenuity, they can prove me to be a little funny!
Economy was one of the most prominent characteristics of the family from
which I sprang. Now, some authors would weary their indulgent readers
with a flatulent chapter upon the moral beauty of this virtue; but as my
first wish is to win favor by my candor, I must honestly confess, that
necessity was the parent of this lean attenuated offspring!--For, alas!
My 'angel mother,' (as Anna Maria phrases it,) was a woman of ten
thousand, for she dwelt in one of the most populous districts of London!
My sire, was of the most noble order of St. Crispin; and though he had
many faults, was continually mending--being the most eminent cobbler in
the neighbourhood.
Even in the outset of their connubial partnership, they started under the
most favorable auspices--for, whereas other couples marry for love or
money, they got married for 'nothing' taking advantage of the annual
gratuitous splicings performed at Shoreditch Church on one sunshiny
Easter Monday.
In less than three years my amiable mother presented her lord and master
with as many interesting pledges of their affection--I was the cobbler's
last--and
'Though last, not least, in their dear love.'
CHAPTER II.--Our Lodging.
Our precarious means were too small to permit us to rent a house, we
therefore rented one large room, which served us for--
"Parlor and kitchen and all!"
in the uppermost story of a house, containing about a dozen families.
This 'airy' apartment was situated in a narrow alley of great
thoroughfare, in the heart of the great metropolis.
The lower part of this domicile was occupied by one James, who did
'porter's work,' while his wife superintended the trade of a
miscellaneous store, called a green-grocer's; although the stock
comprised, besides a respectable skew of cabbages, carrots, lettuces, and
other things in season, a barrel of small beer, a side of bacon, a few
red herrings, a black looking can of 'new milk,' and those less
perishable articles, Warren's blacking, and Flanders' bricks; while the
window was graced with a few samples of common confectionary, celebrated
under the sweet names of lollypops, Buonaparte's ribs, and bulls'-eyes.
In one pane, by permission, was placed the sign board of my honored
parent, informing the reading public, that
'Repairs were neatly executed!'
In my mind's eye how distinctly do I behold that humble shop in all the
greenness and beauty of its Saturday morning's display.
Nor can I ever forget the kind dumpy motherly Mrs. James, who so often
patted my curly head, and presented me with a welcome slice of bread and
butter and a drink of milk, invariably repeating in her homely phrase, "a
child and a chicken is al'ays a pickin'"--and declaring her belief, that
the 'brat' got scarcely enough to "keep life and soul together"--the real
truth of which my craving stomach inwardly testified.
Talk of the charities of the wealthy, they are as 'airy nothings' in the
scale, compared with the unostentatious sympathy of the poor! The former
only give a portion of their excess, while the latter willingly divide
their humble crust with a fellow sufferer.
The agreeable routine of breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, was unknown
in our frugal establishment; if we obtained one good meal a day, under
any name, we were truly thankful.
To give some idea of our straitened circumstances, I must relate one
solitary instance of display on the maternal side. It was on a Saturday
night, the air and our appetites were equally keen, when my sire, having
unexpectedly touched a small sum, brought home a couple of pound of real
Epping. A scream of delight welcomed the savory morsel.
A fire was kindled, and the meat was presently hissing in the borrowed
frying-pan of our landlady.
I was already in bed, when the unusual sound and savor awoke me. I
rolled out in a twinkling, and squatting on the floor, watched the
culinary operations with greedy eyes.
"Tom," said my mother, addressing her spouse, "set open the door and
vinder, and let the neighbors smell ve has something respectable for
once."
CHAPTER. III.--On Temperance.
"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn
her out!"
Armed with the authority and example of loyalty, for even that renowned
monarch--Old King Cole--was diurnally want to call for
"His pipe and his glass"
and induced by the poetical strains of many a bard, from the classic
Anacreon to those of more modern times, who have celebrated the virtue of
"Wine, mighty wine!"
it is not to be marvelled at, that men's minds have fallen victims to the
fascinations of the juice of the purple grape, or yielded to the alluring
temptations of the 'evil spirit.'
It is a lamentable truth, that notwithstanding the laudable and wholesome
exertions and admonitions of the Temperance and Tee-total Societies, that
the people of the United Kingdom are grievously addicted to an excessive
imbibation of spirituous liquors, cordials, and compounds.
Although six-bottle men are now regarded as monstrosities, and drinking
parties are nearly exploded, tippling and dram-drinking among the lower
orders are perhaps more indulged in than ever.
The gilded and gorgeous temples--devoted to the worship of the
reeling-goddess GENEVA--blaze forth in every quarter of the vast
metropolis.
Is it matter of wonder, then, that while men of superior intellect and
education are still weak enough to seek excitement in vinous potations,
that the vulgar, poor, and destitute, should endeavour to drown their
sorrows by swallowing the liquid fires displayed under various names, by
the wily priests of Silenus!
That such a deduction is illogical we are well aware, but great examples
are plausible excuses to little minds.
Both my parents were naturally inclined to sobriety; but, unfortunately,
and as it too frequently happens, in low and crowded neighbourhoods,
drunkenness is as contagious as the small-pox, or any other destructive
malady.
Now, it chanced that in the first-floor of the house in which we dwelt,
there also resided one Stubbs and his wife. They had neither chick nor
child. Stubbs was a tailor by trade, and being a first-rate workman,
earned weekly a considerable sum; but, like too many of his fraternity,
he was seldom sober from Saturday night until Wednesday morning. His
loving spouse 'rowed in the same boat'--and the 'little green-bottle' was
dispatched several times during the days of their Saturnalia, to be
replenished at the never-failing fountain of the 'Shepherd and Flock.'
Unhappily, in one of her maudlin fits, Mrs. Stubbs took a particular
fancy to my mother; and one day, in the absence of the 'ninth,' beckoned
my unsuspecting parent into her sittingroom,--and after gratuitously
imparting to her the hum-drum history of her domestic squabbles, invited
her to take a 'drop o' summat'--to keep up her I sperrits.'
Alas! this was the first step--and she went on, and on, and on, until
that which at first she loathed became no longer disagreeable, and by
degrees grew into a craving that was irresistible;--and, at last, she
regularly hob-and-nobb'd' with the disconsolate rib of Stubbs, and shared
alike in all her troubles and her liquor.
Fain would I draw a veil over this frailty of my unfortunate parent; but,
being conscious that veracity is the very soul and essence of history, I
feel myself imperatively called upon neither to disguise nor to cancel
the truth.
My father remonstrated in vain-the passion had already taken too deep a
hold; and one day he was suddenly summoned from his work with the
startling information, that 'Mother Mullins'--(so the kind neighbour
phrased it) was sitting on the step of a public house, in the suburbs,
completely 'tosticated.'
He rushed out, and found the tale too true. A bricklayer in the
neighbourhood proposed the loan of his barrow, for the poor senseless
creature could not walk a step. Placing her in the one-wheel-carriage,
he made the best of his way home, amid the jeers of the multitude.
Moorfields was then only partially covered with houses; and as he passed
a deep hollow, on the side of which was placed a notice, intimating that
"RUBBISH MAY BE SHOT HERE!"
his eyes caught the words, and in the bitterness of his heart he
exclaimed--
"I wou'dn't like to shoot her exactly; but I've a blessed mind to turn
her out!"
CHAPTER IV.--A Situation.
"I say, Jim, what birds are we most like now?" "Why swallows, to be
sure,"
In the vicinity of our alley were numerous horse-rides, and my chief
delight was being entrusted with a horse, and galloping up and down the
straw-littered avenue.--I was about twelve years of age, and what was
termed a sharp lad, and I soon became a great favourite with the ostlers,
who admired the aptness with which I acquired the language of the
stables.
There were many stock-brokers who put up at the ride; among others was
Mr. Timmis--familiarly called long Jim Timmis. He was a bold, dashing,
good-humoured, vulgar man, who was quite at home with the ostlers,
generally conversing with them in their favourite lingo.
I had frequent opportunities of shewing him civilities, handing him his
whip, and holding his stirrup, etc.
One day he came to the ride in a most amiable and condescending humour,
and for the first time deigned to address me--"Whose kid are you?"
demanded he.
"Father's, sir," I replied.
"Do you know your father, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"A wise child this;" and he winked at the ostler, who, of course, laughed
incontinently.
"I want a-lad," continued he; "what do you say--would you like to serve
me?"
"If I could get any thing by it."
"D-me, if that a'int blunt."
"Yes, sir; that's what I mean."
"Mean! mean what?"
"If I could get any blunt, sir."
Hereupon he laughed outright, at what he considered my readiness,
although I merely used the cant term for "money," to which I was most
accustomed, from my education among the schoolmasters of the ride.
"Here, take my card," said he; "and tell the old codger, your father, to
bring you to my office to-morrow morning, at eleven."
"Well, blow me," exclaimed my friend the ostler, "if your fortin' arn't
made; I shall see you a tip-top sawyer--may I never touch another tanner!
Vy, I remembers Jim Timmis hisself vos nothin but a grubby boy--Mother
Timmis the washer-woman's son, here in what-d've-call-'em-court--ven he
vent to old Jarvis fust. He's a prime feller tho', and no mistake--and
thof he's no gentleman born, he pays like one, and vot's the difference?"
The next morning, punctual to the hour, I waited at his office, which was
in a large building adjoining the Stock Exchange, as full as a dove-cot,
with gentlemen of the same feather.
"O!" said he, eyeing my parent, "and you're this chap's father, are you?
What are you?"
"A boot and shoe-maker, sir; and my Andrew is an honest lad."
"For the matter o' that, there's little he can prig here;" replied my
elegant and intended master. "But his tongs--eh--old fellow--can't you
rig him out a little?"
My father pleaded poverty; and at last he bargained to advance a guinea,
and deduct it out of my weekly-wages of two and sixpence, and no board.
My father was glad to make any terms, and the affair was consequently
soon arranged. I was quickly fitted out, and the next morning attended
his orders.
I had, however, little else to do than wait in his office, and run to the
Stock Exchange, to summon him when a customer dropped in. I had much
leisure, which I trust was not wholly thrown away, for I practised
writing on the back of the stock-receipts, of which a quantity hung up in
the office, and read all the books I could lay my hands on; although, I
must confess, the chief portion of my knowledge of the world has been
derived from observation.
"The proper study of mankind is man."
Although quick in temper, and rude in speech and manners, Timmis was
kind; and, if he had a failing, it was the ambition of being a patron;
and he was certainly not one of those who do a good deed, and
"Blush to find it fame."
He not only employed my father to make his boots, but recommended him to
all his friends as a "good-fit," and procured the old man some excellent
customers. Among his acquaintance, for he had few friends, was Tom
Wallis, a fat, facetious man, about forty, with whom he was always
lunching and cracking his jokes. One day, when the stocks were "shut"
and business was slack, they started together on a sporting excursion
towards the romantic region of Hornsey-wood, on which occasion I had the
honour of carrying a well-filled basket of provisions, and the inward
satisfaction of making a good dinner from the remnants.
They killed nothing but time, yet they were exceedingly merry, especially
during the discussion of the provisions. Their laughter, indeed, was
enough to scare all the birds in the neighbourhood.
"Jim, if you wanted to correct those sheep yonder," said Tom, "what sort
of tool would you use?"
"An ewe-twig, of course," replied my master.
"No; that's devilish good," said Wallis; "but you ain't hit it yet."
"For a crown you don't do a better?"
"Done!"
"Well, what is it?"
"Why, a Ram-rod to be sure--as we're sportsmen."
My master agreed that it was more appropriate, and the good-natured Tom
Wallis flung the crown he had won to me.
"Here's another," continued he, as Mr. Timmis was just raising a bottle
of pale sherry to his lips--"I say, Jim, what birds are we most like
now?"
"Why swallows, to be sure," quickly replied my patron; who was really, on
most occasions, a match for his croney in the sublime art of punning, and
making conundrums, a favourite pastime with the wits of the Stock
Exchange.
CHAPTER V.--The Stalking Horse.
"Retributive Justice"
On the same landing where Timmis (as he termed it) 'held out,' were five
or six closets nick-named offices, and three other boys. One was the
nephew of the before-mentioned Wallis, and a very imp of mischief;
another, only a boy, with nothing remarkable but his stupidity; while the
fourth was a scrubby, stunted, fellow, about sixteen or seventeen years
of age, with a long pale face, deeply pitted with the small-pox, and an
irregular crop of light hair, most unscientifically cut into tufts.
He, by reason of his seniority and his gravity, soon became the oracle of
the party. We usually found him seated on the stairs of the first floor,
lost in the perusal of some ragged book of the marvellous school--scraps
of which he used to read aloud to us, with more unction than propriety,
indulging rather too much in the note of admiration style; for which he
soon obtained the name of Old Emphatic!--But I must confess we did obtain
a great deal of information from his select reading, and were tolerably
good listeners too, notwithstanding his peculiar delivery, for somehow he
appeared to have a permanent cold in his head, which sometimes threw a
tone of irresistible ridicule into his most pathetic bits.
He bore the scriptural name of Matthew and was, as he informed us, a
'horphan'--adding, with a particular pathos, 'without father or mother!'
His melancholy was, I think, rather attributable to bile than
destitution, which he superinduced by feeding almost entirely on
'second-hand pastry,' purchased from the little Jew-boys, who hawk about
their 'tempting' trash in the vicinity of the Bank.
Matthew, like other youths of a poetical temperament, from Petrarch down
to Lord Byron, had a 'passion.'
I accidentally discovered the object of his platonic flame in the person
of the little grubby-girl--the servant of the house-keeper--for, as the
proverb truly says,
"Love and a cough cannot be hid."
The tender passion first evinced itself in his delicate attentions;--nor
was the quick-eyed maid slow to discover her conquest. Her penetration,
however, was greater than her sympathy. With a tact that would not have
disgraced a politician--in a better cause, she adroitly turned the
swelling current of his love to her own purposes.
As the onward flowing stream is made to turn the wheel, while the miller
sings at the window, so did she avail herself of his strength to do her
work, while she gaily hummed a time, and sadly 'hummed' poor Matthew.
There being nearly thirty offices in the building, there were of course
in winter as many fires, and as many coal-scuttles required. When the
eyes of the devoted Matthew gazed on the object of his heart's desire
toiling up the well-stair, he felt he knew not what; and, with a heart
palpitating with the apprehension that his proffered service might be
rejected (poor deluded mortal!), he begged he might assist her. With a
glance that he thought sufficient to ignite the insensible carbon, she
accepted his offer. Happy Matthew!--he grasped the handles her warm
red-hands had touched!--Cold-blooded, unimaginative beings may deride his
enthusiasm; but after all, the sentiment he experienced was similar to,
and quite as pure, as that of Tom Jones, when he fondled Sophia Western's
little muff.
But, alas!--
"The course of true love never did run smooth."
Two months after this event, 'his Mary' married the baker's man!--
* * * * * * * * * *
Wallis's nephew had several times invited me to pay him a visit at his
uncle's house, at Crouchend; and so once, during the absence of that
gentleman who was ruralizing at Tonbridge, I trudged down to his villa.
Nothing would suit Master John, but that he must 'have out' his uncle's
gun; and we certainly shot at, and frightened, many sparrows.
He was just pointing at a fresh quarry, when the loud crow of a cock
arrested his arm.
"That's Doddington's game 'un, I know," said Master John. "What d'ye
think--if he did'nt 'pitch into' our 'dunghill' the other day, and laid
him dead at a blow. I owe him one!--Come along." I followed in his
footsteps, and soon beheld Chanticleer crowing with all the ostentation
of a victor at the hens he had so ruthlessly widowed. A clothes-horse,
with a ragged blanket, screened us from his view; and Master'John,
putting the muzzle of his gun through a hole in this novel ambuscade,
discharged its contents point blank into the proclaimer of the morn--and
laid him low.
I trembled; for I felt that we had committed a 'foul murder.' Master
Johnny, however, derided my fears--called it retributive justice--and
ignominiously consigned the remains of a game-cock to a dunghill!
The affair appeared so like a cowardly assassination, in which I was
(though unwillingly--) 'particeps criminis'--that I walked away without
partaking of the gooseberry-pie, which he had provided for our supper.
CHAPTER VI.--A Commission.
"Och! thin, Paddy, what's the bothuration; if you carry me, don't I carry
the whiskey, sure, and that's fair and aqual!"
I was early at my post on the following morning, being particularly
anxious to meet with Mr. Wallis's scapegrace nephew, and ascertain
whether anybody had found the dead body of the game-cock, and whether an
inquest had been held; for I knew enough of the world to draw my own
conclusions as to the result. He, although the principal, being a
relative, would get off with a lecture, while I should probably be kicked
out of my place.
In a fever of expectation, I hung over the banisters of the geometrical
staircase, watching for his arrival.
While I was thus occupied, my nerves "screwed up,"--almost to cracking,
Mr. Wallis's office-door was thrown open, and I beheld that very
gentleman's round, pleasant physiognomy, embrowned by his travels,
staring me full in the face. I really lost my equilibrium at the
apparition.
"Oh!--it's you, is it," cried he. "Where's my rascal?"
"He's not come yet, sir," I replied.
"That fellow's never at hand when I want him--I'll cashier him by ___."
He slammed to his own door, and--opened it again immediately.
"Timmis come?" demanded he.
"No, sir; I don't think he'll be here for an hour."
"True--I'm early in the field; but what brings you here so soon?--some
mischief, I suppose."
"I'm always early, sir, for I live hard by."
"Ha!--well--I wish--."
"Can I do anything for you, sir?" I enquired.
"Why, that's a good thought," said he, and his countenance assumed its
usually bland expression. "Let me see--I want to send my carpet-bag, and
a message, to my housekeeper."
"I can do it, sir, and be back again in no time," cried I, elated at
having an opportunity of obliging the man whom I had really some cause to
fear, in the critical situation in which his nephew's thoughtlessness had
placed me.
In my eagerness, however, and notwithstanding the political acuteness of
my manoeuvre, I got myself into an awful dilemma. Having received the
bag, and his message, I walked off, but had scarcely descended a dozen
stairs when he recalled me.
"Where the devil are you going?" cried he.
"To your house, sir," I innocently replied.
"What, do you know it, then?" demanded he in surprise.
Here was a position. It was a miracle that I did not roll over the
carpet-bag and break my neck, in the confusion of ideas engendered by
this simple query.
I could not lie, and evasion was not my forte. A man or boy in the wrong
can never express himself with propriety; an opinion in which Quinctilian
also appears to coincide, when he asserts--
"Orator perfectus nisi vir bonus esse non potest."
I therefore summoned up sufficient breath and courage to answer him in
the affirmative.
"And when, pray, were you there?" said he.
"Yesterday, sir, your nephew asked me to come and see him."
"The impudent little blackguard?" cried he.
"I hope you ain't angry, sir?"
"Angry with you?--no, my lad; you're an active little chap, and I wish
that imp of mine would take a pattern by you. Trot along, and mind you
have 'a lift' both ways."
Off I went, as light as a balloon when the ropes are cut.
I executed my commission with dispatch, and completely won the favour of
Mr. Wallis, by returning the money which he had given me for coach-hire.
"How's this?--you didn't tramp, did you?" said he.
"No, sir, I rode both ways," I replied; "but I knew the coachmen, and
they gave me a cast for nothing."
"Umph!--well, that's quite proper--quite proper," said he, considering a
moment. "Honesty's the best policy."
"Father always told me so, sir."
"Your father's right;--there's half-a-crown for you."
I was delighted--
"Quantum cedat virtutibus aurum;"
and I felt the truth of this line of Dr. Johnson's, although I was then
ignorant of it. I met his nephew on the landing, but my fears had
vanished. We talked, however, of the departed bird, and he wished me, in
the event of discovery, to declare that I had loaded and carried the gun,
and that he would bear the rest of the blame.
This, however, strongly reminded me of the two Irish smugglers:--one had
a wooden leg, and carried the cask; while his comrade, who had the use of
both his pins, bore him upon his shoulders, and, complaining of the
weight, the other replied:--"Och! thin, Paddy, what's the bothuration; if
you carry me, don't I carry the whiskey, sure, and that's fair and
aqual!" and I at once declined any such Hibernian partnership in the
affair, quite resolved that he should bear the whole onus upon his own
shoulders.
CHAPTER, VII.--The Cricket Match
"Out! so don't fatigue yourself, I beg, sir."
I soon discovered that my conduct had been reported in the most
favourable colours to Mr. Timmis, and the consequence was that he began
to take more notice of me.
"Andrew, what sort of a fist can you write?" demanded he. I shewed him
some caligraphic specimens.
"D___ me, if your y's and your g's hav'nt tails like skippingropes. We
must have a little topping and tailing here, and I think you'll do. Here,
make out this account, and enter it in the book."
He left me to do his bidding; and when he returned from the
Stock-Exchange, inspected the performance, which I had executed with
perspiring ardour.
I watched his countenance. "That'll do--you're a brick! I'll make a man
of you--d___ me."
From this day forward I had the honour of keeping his books, and making
out the accounts. I was already a person of importance, and certainly
some steps above the boys on the landing.