Part 49 (1/2)

_Clem._ (_rising._) Stay then--but I shall not. Oh, Edward! Edward!

[_Exit, weeping._

_Jel._ (_alone._) Well, I really thought I should have burst--to be forced not to allow people to suppose that I cared, when I should like to tear the old wretch out of his coffin to beat him. _His_ wardrobe! If people knew his wardrobe as well as I do, who have been patching at it these last ten years--not a s.h.i.+rt or a stocking that would fetch sixpence! And as for his other garments, why a Jew would hardly put them into his bag! (_Crying._) Oh dear! oh dear! After all, I'm just like Miss Clementina; for Sergeant O'Callaghan, when he knows all this, will as surely walk off without beat of drum, as did Mr Edward--and that too with all the money I have lent him. Oh these men! these men!--whether they are living or dying there is nothing in them but treachery and disappointment! When they pretend to be in love, they only are trying for your money; and e'en when they make their wills, they leave to those behind them nothing but _ill-will_!

[_Exit, crying, off the stage as the curtain falls._

How to write a Fas.h.i.+onable Novel

[_Scene.--Chambers in Lincoln's Inn. Arthur Ansard at a briefless table, tete-a-tete with his wig on a block. A. casts a disconsolate look upon his companion, and soliloquises._]

Yes, there you stand, ”partner of my toils, my feelings, and my fame.”

We do not _suit_, for we never gained a _suit_ together. Well, what with reporting for the bar, writing for the Annuals and the Pocket-books, I shall be able to meet all demands, except those of my tailor; and, as his bill is most characteristically long, I think I shall be able to make it stretch over till next term, by which time I hope to fulfil my engagements with Mr C., who has given me an order for a fas.h.i.+onable novel, written by a ”n.o.bleman.” But how I, who was never inside of an aristocratical mansion in my life, whose whole idea of Court is comprised in the Court of King's Bench, am to complete my engagement, I know no more than my companion opposite, who looks so placidly stupid under my venerable wig. As far as the street door, the footman and carriage, and the porter, are concerned, I can manage well enough; but as to what occurs within doors, I am quite abroad. I shall never get through the first chapter; yet that tailor's bill must be paid.

(_Knocking outside._) Come in, I pray.

_Enter Barnstaple._

_B._ Merry Christmas to you, Arthur.

_A._ Sit down, my dear fellow; but don't mock me with merry Christmas.

He emigrated long ago. Answer me seriously: do you think it possible for a man to describe what he never saw?

_B._ (_putting his stick up to his chin._) Why, 'tis possible; but I would not answer for the description being quite correct.

_A._ But suppose the parties who read it have never seen the thing described?

_B._ Why then it won't signify whether the description be correct or not.

_A._ You have taken a load off my mind; but still I am not quite at ease. I have engaged to furnish C. with a fas.h.i.+onable novel.

_B._ What do you mean to imply by a fas.h.i.+onable novel?

_A._ I really can hardly tell. His stipulations were, that it was to be a ”fas.h.i.+onable novel in three volumes, each volume not less than three hundred pages.”

_B._ That is to say, that you are to a.s.sist him in imposing on the public.

_A._ Something very like it, I'm afraid; as it is further agreed that it is to be puffed as coming from a highly talented n.o.bleman.

_B._ You should not do it, Ansard.

_A._ So conscience tells me, but my tailor's bill says Yes; and that is a thing out of all conscience. Only look here.

[_Displays a long bill._

_B._ Why, I must acknowledge, Ansard, that there is some excuse. One needs must, when the devil drives; but you are capable of better things.

_A._ I certainly don't feel great capability in this instance. But what can I do? The man will have nothing else--he says the public will read nothing else.