Part 8 (1/2)

Well, they are a source of infinite fun, these eccentrics--the comets of our social system. They have, no doubt, an object in their eccentricity, a method in their madness, which we prosaic planetary folks cannot fathom. At all events, they amuse us and don't harm themselves. They are uniformly happy and contented with themselves. Of them a.s.suredly is true, and without the limitation he appends, Horace's affirmation, _Dulce est desipere_, which Mr. Theodore Martin translates, ”'Tis pleasing at times to be slightly insane.”

CHAPTER XXV.

INTERVIEWING AN ASTROLOGER.

For several years--in fact ever since my first acquaintance with these ”occult” matters whereinto I am now such a veteran investigator--my great wish has been to become practically acquainted with some Professor of Astral Science. One friend, indeed, I had who had devoted a long lifetime to this and kindred subjects, and of whom I shall have to speak anon; but he had never utilized his knowledge so as to become the guide, philosopher, and friend of amorous housemaids on the subject of their matrimonial alliances, or set himself to discover petty larcenies for a fee of half-a-crown. He a.s.sured me, however, that the practice of astrology was as rife as ever in London at this moment, and that businesses in that line were bought and sold for sterling coin of the realm, just as though they had been ”corner” publics, or ”snug concerns”

in the cheesemongery line. All this whetted my appet.i.te for inquiry, and seeing one Professor Wilson advertise persistently in the _Medium_ to the effect that ”the celebrated Astrologer may be consulted on the events of life” from two to nine P.M., I wrote to Professor Wilson asking for an interview; but the celebrated astrologer did not favour me with a reply.

Foiled in my first attempt I waited patiently for about a year, and then broke ground again--I will not say whether with Professor Wilson, or some other pract.i.tioner of astral science. I will call my Archimago Professor Smith, of Newington Causeway, princ.i.p.ally for the reason that this is neither the real name nor the correct address. I have no wish to advertise any wizard gratuitously; nor would it be fair to him, since, as will be seen from the sequel, his reception of me was such as to make it probable that he would have an inconvenient number of applicants on the conditions observed at my visit.

Availing myself, then, of the services of my friend above-mentioned, I arranged that we should together pay a visit to Professor Smith, of Newington Causeway, quite ”permiscuous,” as Mrs. Gamp would say. My companion would go with his own horoscope already constructed, as he happened to know the exact hour and minute of his birth--particulars as to which I only possessed the vaguest information, which is all I fancy most of us have; though there was one circ.u.mstance connected with my own natal day which went a long way towards ”fixing” it.

It was on a Monday evening that I visited this modern Delphic oracle; and, strangely enough, as is often the case, other events seemed to lead up to this one. The very lesson on Sunday evening was full of astrology. It was, I may mention, the story of the handwriting on the wall and the triumph of Daniel over the magicians. Then I took up my Chaucer on Monday morning; and instead of the ”Canterbury Tales,” opened it at the ”Treatise on the Astrolabe,” which I had never read before, but devoured then as greedily as no doubt did ”Little Lowis,” to whom it is addressed. All this tended to put me in a proper frame of mind for my visit to Newington; so, after an early tea, we took my friend's figure of his nativity with us, and went.

Professor Smith, we found, lived in a cosy house in the main road, the parlours whereof he devoted to the purposes of a medical magnetist, which was his calling, as inscribed upon the wire blinds of the ground floor front. We were ushered at once into the professor's presence by a woman who, I presume, was his wife--a quiet respectable body with nothing uncanny about her. The front parlour was comfortably furnished and scrupulously clean, and the celebrated Professor himself, a pleasant elderly gentleman, was sitting over a ma.n.u.script which he read by the light of a Queen's reading lamp. There was not, on the one hand, any charlatan a.s.sumption in his get-up, nor, on the other, was there that squalor and neglect of the decencies of life which I have heard sometimes attaches to the pract.i.tioners in occult science. Clad in a light over-coat, with spectacles on nose, and bending over his MS., Professor Smith might have been a dissenting parson en deshabille ”getting off” his Sunday discourse, or a village schoolmaster correcting the ”themes” of his pupils. He was neither; he was a nineteenth century astrologer, calculating the probabilities of success for a commercial scheme, the draft prospectus of which was the doc.u.ment over which he pored. As he rose to receive us I was almost disappointed to find that he held no wand, wore no robe, and had no volume of mystic lore by his side. The very cat that emerged from underneath his table, and rubbed itself against my legs was not of the orthodox sable hue, but simple tabby and white.

My friend opened the proceedings by producing the figure of his nativity, and saying he had come to ask a question in horary astrology relative to a certain scheme about which he was anxious, such anxiety const.i.tuting what he termed a ”birth of the mind.” Of course this was Dutch to me, and I watched to see whether the Professor would be taken off his guard by finding he was in presence of one thoroughly posted up in astral science. Not in the least; he greeted him as a brother chip, and straightway the two fell to discussing the figure. The Professor worked a new one, which he found to differ in some slight particulars from the one my friend had brought. Each, however, had worked it by logarithms, and there was much talk of ”trines” and ”squares” and ”houses,” which I could not understand; but eventually the coveted advice was given by the Professor and accepted by my friend as devoutly as though it had been a response of the Delphic oracle itself. The business would succeed, but not without trouble, and possibly litigation on my friend's part. He was to make a call on a certain day and ”push the matter” a month afterwards; all of which he booked in a business-like manner. This took a long time, for the Professor was perpetually making pencil signs on the figure he had constructed, and the two also discussed Zadkiel, Raphael, and other astrologers they had mutually known. Continual reference had to be made to the ”Nautical Almanack;” but by-and-by my friend's innings was over and mine commenced. I have said that I did not know the exact hour and minute of my birth, and when, with appropriate hesitation, I named the 1st of April as the eventful day, the Professor looked at me for a moment with a roguish twinkle of the eye as though to ascertain that I was not poking fun at him. I a.s.sured him, however, that such was the inauspicious era of my nativity, and moreover that I was born so closely on the confines of March 31--I do not feel it necessary to specify the year--as to make it almost dubious whether I could claim the honours of April-Fooldom. This seemed enough for him--though he warned me that the absence of the exact time might lead to some vagueness in his communications--and he proceeded forthwith to erect my figure; which, by the way, looked to me very much like making a ”figure” in Euclid; and I peered anxiously to see whether mine bore any resemblance to the Pons Asinorum!

I feared I had led my philosopher astray altogether when the first item of information he gave me was that, at about the age of twenty-one, I had met with some accident to my arm, a circ.u.mstance which I could not recall to memory. Several years later I broke my leg, but I did not tell him that. Going further back, he informed me that about the age of fourteen, if I happened to be apprenticed, or in any way placed under authority, I kicked violently over the traces, which was quite true, inasmuch as I ran away from school twice at that precise age, so that my astrologer scored one. At twenty-eight I married (true), and at thirty-two things were particularly prosperous with me--a fact which I was also constrained to acknowledge correct. Then came a dreadful mistake. If ever I had anything to do with building or minerals, I should be very successful. I never had to do with building save once in my life, and then Mr. Briggs's loose tile was nothing to the difficulties in which I became involved. Minerals I had never dabbled in beyond the necessary consumption of coals for domestic purposes. I had an uncle who interested himself in my welfare some years ago--this was correct--and something was going to happen to my father's sister at Midsummer, 1876. This, of course, I cannot check; but I trust, for the sake of my venerable relation, it may be nothing prejudicial. I was also to suffer from a slight cold about the period of my birthday in that same year, and was especially to beware of damp feet. My eldest brother, if I had one, he said, had probably died, which was again correct; and if my wife caught cold she suffered in her throat, which piece of information, if not very startling, I am also constrained to confess is quite true. Then followed a most delicate piece of information which I blush as I commit to paper. I wished to marry when I was twenty-one, but circ.u.mstances prevented. Then it was that memories of a certain golden-haired first love came back through the vista of memory. I was then a Fellow of my College, impecunious except as regarded my academical stipend, so the young lady took advice and paired off with a well-to-do cousin. Sic transit gloria mundi! We are each of us stout, unromantic family people now; but the reminiscence made me feel quite romantic for the moment in that ground floor front in Newington Causeway; and I was inclined to say, ”A Daniel come to judgment!” but I checked myself and remarked, sotto voce, in the vernacular, ”Right again, Mr. Smith!”

Before pa.s.sing on to a.n.a.lyse me personally he remarked that my wife's sister and myself were not on the best of terms. I owned that words had pa.s.sed between us; and then he told me that in my cerebral development there was a satisfactory fusion of caution and combativeness. I was not easily knocked over, or, if so, had energy to get up again. This energy was to tell in the future. This, I believe, is a very usual feature of horoscopic revelation. Next year was to be particularly prosperous. I should travel a good deal--had travelled somewhat this year, and was just now going to take a short journey; but I should travel a great deal more next year. I own to asking myself whether this could bear any reference to the Pontigny Pilgrimage in which I shared this year, and the possible pilgrimage to Rome next summer, and also a projected journey to Scotland by the Limited Mail next Tuesday evening! On the whole, my astrologer had scored a good many points.

The most marvellous revelation of all yet remains to be made, however.

When we rose to go we each of us endeavoured to force a fee on Professor Smith, but nothing would induce him to receive a farthing! I had got all my revelations, my ”golden” memories of the past, my bright promises of the future free, gratis, for nothing! It will be evident, then, why I do not give this good wizard's address lest I inundate him with gratuitous applicants, and why I therefore veil his personality under the misleading t.i.tle of Professor Smith of Newington Causeway.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A BARMAID SHOW.

The present age, denounced by some ungenial censors as the age of shams, may be described by more kindly critics as emphatically an age of ”shows.” Advancing from the time-honoured shows of Flora and Pomona--if not always improving on the type--and so on from the cattle show, suggestive of impending Christmas fare, we have had horse shows, dog shows, and bird shows. To these the genius of Barnum added baby shows; and, if we are not misinformed, a foreign firm, whose names have become household words amongst us, originated, though not exactly in its present form, the last kind of show which has been acclimatized in England--an exhibition of barmaids. We had two baby shows in one year--one at Highbury Barn by Mr. Giovannelli, the other at North Woolwich Gardens by Mr. Holland; and it is to the talent of this latter gentleman in the way of adaptation that we owe the exhibition of young ladies ”practising at the bar.” From babies to barmaids is indeed a leap, reversing the ordinary process of going from the sublime to the ridiculous, for while to all but appreciative mammas those infantile specimens of humanity savour largely of the ridiculous, there can be no question that the present generation of _dames de comptoir_ is a very sublime article indeed. I do not say this in derision, nor am I among those who decry the improvements introduced during the last few years, both into refreshment bars themselves, and notably into the cla.s.s of ladies who preside over them. The discriminating visitor will decidedly prefer to receive his sandwich and gla.s.s of bitter at the hands of a pretty barmaid rather than from an oleaginous pot-man in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves; and the sherry-cobbler acquires a racier flavour from the arch looks of the Hebe who dispenses it. If silly young men do dawdle at the bar for the sake of the sirens inside, and occasionally, as we have known to be the case, take unto themselves these same sirens ”for better or for worse,” we can only cite the opinion of well-informed authorities, that very possibly the young gentlemen in question might have gone farther and fared worse, and that it is not always the young lady who has, in such a case, the best of the bargain.

So, then, the ”Grand Barmaid Contest” opened; and in spite of the very unmistakable appearance put in by Jupiter Fluvius, a numerous a.s.semblage gathered in the North Woolwich Gardens to inaugurate a festival which, whatever else we may think of it, is at all events sui generis. Prizes to the value of _300l._ were to be presented to the successful candidates, varying from a purse of twenty sovereigns and a gold watch and chain, down to ”a purse of two sovereigns,” with ”various other prizes, consisting of jewellery, &c.”

Among the conditions it was required, that every young lady should be over sixteen years of age; that she should be dressed in _plain_ but _good_ articles of attire, ”in which a happy blending of colours without prominent display is most suitable;” and it was moreover stipulated that each ”young lady” should ”ingratiate herself with the public in the most affable manner at her command, without undue forwardness or frivolity, but still retaining a strict attention to business.” No young lady was permitted to take part in the contest unless she had been in the refreshment business for twelve months, and could produce good testimonials of character.

Upwards of 700 applications were made, out of which Mr. Holland selected fifty. Whence the large number of rejections ”deponeth sayeth not.” Of these twenty-eight actually put in an appearance at three P.M. on the opening day and four were expected to join in a day or two. Every visitor is provided with a voting ticket, which he hands to the lady of his admiration, and which counts towards the prize. Each young lady also receives 5 per cent. on what she sells at her bar. The places are awarded by lot; and, by a freak of fortune, the two most attractive demoiselles happened to come together. These were Numbers One and Fourteen. The former young lady--who desires to be known by her number only, true genius being ever modest--was certain to stand Number One in popular esteem; and, if chignons are taken into account, she ought literally to ”head” the list by a very long way. The room was tastefully decorated by Messrs. Defries, and an excellent band enlivened the proceedings. As evening drew on the meeting grew more hilarious, but there was not the slightest impropriety of any kind, the faintest approach thereto leading to immediate expulsion.

Many persons may be disposed to ask, in respect of such exhibitions, Cui bono? But at all events there was nothing which the veriest Cato could denounce as demoralizing. The ”young ladies” were all most modestly attired in ”sober livery;” and certainly--though comparisons are odious--not so pressing in their attentions as we have seen some other young ladies at Dramatic Fetes, or even some devouees at charitable bazaars. If we may judge from the large numbers that visited North Woolwich, ”in spite of wind and weather,” Mr. Holland was likely to reap an abundant harvest from this latest ”idea,” excogitated from his fertile brain. As the babies have had their ”show,” and the stronger s.e.x is not likely to be equal to the task of being exhibited just yet, there seems only one section of society open to the speculations of a skilful entrepreneur. Why does not some one, in a more serious line than Mr.

Holland, try what Sydney Smith calls the ”third s.e.x,” and open an exhibition of curates, with a genuine compet.i.tion for prizes? There could be no possible doubt as to the success of such a display, and the instruction to be derived from it would be equally beyond question. In the meantime we have advanced one step towards such a consummation. The adult human being has taken the place of the baby; and people evidently like it. Where will the rage for exhibitions stop? Who can say to the advancing tide of shows, ”Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther?” Other cla.s.ses of society will probably have their turn, and may think themselves fortunate if they show up as well as Mr. Holland's ”young ladies.”

CHAPTER XXVII.