Part 47 (1/2)
”Heaven only knows,” replied Mortimer; ”the whole family is in an uproar of surmise and alarm,--what may be the end of it I know not.”
”A pretty breeze Master Sparkle has kick'd up, indeed,” continued Tom; ”but I have for some time noticed an alteration in him. He always was a gay trump, and whenever I find him seriously inclined, I suspect some mischief brewing; for rapid transitions always wear portentous appearances, and your serious files are generally sly dogs. My life for it they have stolen a march upon your Uncle, queered some country Parson, and are by this time snugly stowed away in the harbour of matrimony. As for Merrywell, I dare be sworn his friends will take care of him.”
Expectation was on tiptoe as Dashall broke the seal of a letter that was handed to him on arrival at home. Mortimer was on the fidget, and Tallyho straining his neck upon the full stretch of anxiety to hear the news, when Dashall burst into a laugh, but in which neither of the others could join in consequence of not knowing the cause of it. In a few minutes however the mystery was in some degree explained.
”Here,” said Tom, ”is news--extraordinary news--an official dispatch from head-quarters, but without any information as to where the tents are pitched. It is but a short epistle.” He then read aloud,
”Dear Dashall,
”Please inform the Mortimer family and friends that all's well.
Your's truly,
C. Sparkle.”
Then handing the laconic epistle to Mortimer--”I trust,” said he, ”you will now be a little more at ease.”
~356~~ Mortimer eagerly examined the letter for the postmark, but was not able to make out from whence it came.
”I confess,” said he, ”I am better satisfied than I was, but am yet at a loss to judge of the motives which have induced them to pursue so strange a course.”
”The motive,” cried Tom, ”that may be easily explained; and I doubt not but you will find, although it may at present appear a little mysterious, Sparkle will be fully able to shew cause and produce effect.
He is however a man of honour and of property, and most likely we may by this time congratulate you upon the change of your Sister's name. What a blaze it will make, and she will now most certainly become a sparkling subject. Hang it, man, don't look so dull upon a bright occasion.
”To prove pleasure but pain, some have hit on a project, We're duller the merrier we grow, Exactly the same unaccountable logic That talks of cold fire and warm snow.
For me, born by nature For humour and satire, I sing and I roar and I quaff; Each muscle I twist it, I cannot resist it, A finger held up makes me laugh.
For since pleasure's joy's parent, and joy begets mirth, Should the subtlest casuist or sophist on earth Contradict me, I'd call him an a.s.s and a calf, And boldly insist once for all, That the only criterion of pleasure's to laugh, And sing tol de rol, loi de rol lol.”
This mirth of Dash all's did not seem to be in consonance with the feelings of Mortimer, who hastily took his departure.
”Come,” said Tom to his Cousin, ”having gained some information respecting one friend, we will now take a stroll through Temple Bar, and have a peep at Merrywell; he may perhaps want a.s.sistance in his present situation, though I will answer for it he is in a place of perfect security.”
”How,” said Bob--”what do you mean?”
”Mean, why the traps have nibbled him. He is arrested, and gone to a lock-up shop, a place of mere accommodation for gentlemen to take up their abode, for the purpose of ~357~~ arranging their affairs, and where they can uninterruptedly make up their minds whether to give bail, put in appearance and defend the suit, or take a trip to Abbott's Priory; become a three months' student in the college of art, and undergo the fas.h.i.+onable ceremony of white-was.h.i.+ng.”
”I begin to understand you now,” said Bob, ”and the only difference between our two friends is, that one has willingly put on a chain for life--”
”And the other may in all probability (continued Tom,) have to chaff his time away with a chum--perhaps not quite so agreeable, though it really is possible to be very comfortable, if a man can reconcile himself to the loss of liberty, even in ”durance vile.”
By this time they were walking leisurely along Piccadilly,
”And marching without any c.u.mbersome load, They mark'd every singular sight on the road.”
”Who is that meagre looking man and waddling woman, who just pa.s.sed us?”
inquired Tallyho.
”An old Bencher,” was the reply; ”there you see all that is left of a man of _haut ton_, one who has moved in the highest circles; but alas!
bad company and bad play have reduced him to what he now is. He has cut up and turn'd down very well among the usurers and attornies; but it is impossible to say of him, as of his sirloin of a wife (for she cannot be called a rib, or at all events a spare rib) that there is any thing like cut and come again. The poor worn-out Exquisite tack'd himself to his Lady, to enable him to wipe out a long score, and she determined on taking him for better for worse, after a little rural felicity in a walk to have her fortune told by a gipsy at Norwood. He is now crippled in pocket and person, and wholly dependent upon bounty for the chance of prolonging a miserable existence. His game is up. But what is life but a game, at which every one is willing to play? one wins and another loses: why there have been as many moves among t.i.tled persons, Kings, Queens, Bishops, Lords and Knights, within the last century, as there are in a game at chess. p.a.w.ns have been taken and restored in all cla.s.ses, from the Sovereign, who p.a.w.ns or loses his crown, to the Lady whose reputation is in p.a.w.n, and becomes at last not worth half a crown.