 | Dashes at life with a free pencil |  |
BROWN'S DAY WITH THE MIMPSONS.
We got down from an omnibus in Charing-Cross.
“Sovereign or ha'penny?” said the cad, rubbing
the coin between his thumb and finger.
“Sovereign, of course!” said B— confidently,
pocketing the change which the man had ready for
the emergency in a bit of brown paper.
It was a muggy, misty, London twilight. I was
coming up to town from Blackheath, and in the
crowded vehicle had chanced to encounter my compatriot
B— (call it Brown), who had been lionizing
the Thames tunnel. In the course of conversation,
it came out that we were both on the town for
our dinner, and as we were both guests at the Traveller's
Club, we had pulled the omnibus-string at the
nearest point, and, after the brief dialogue recorded
above, strolled together down Pall Mall.
As we sat waiting for our fish, one of us made a remark
as to the difference of feel between gold and
copper coin, and Brown, fishing in his pocket for
money to try the experiment, discovered that the
doubt of the cad was well founded, for he had unconsciously
passed a halfpenny for a sovereign.
“People are very apt to take your coin at your own
valuation!” said Brown, with a smile of some meaning,
“and when they are in the dark as to your original
coinage (as the English are with regard to Americans
abroad), it is as easy to pass for gold as for copper.
Indeed, you may pass for both in a day, as I have
lately had experience. Remind me presently to tell
you how. Here comes the fried sole, and it's troublesome
talking when there are bones to fight shy of—
the `flow of sole' to the contrary notwithstanding.”
I will take advantage of the hiatus to give the reader
a slight idea of my friend, as a preparation for his
story.
Brown was the “mirror of courtesy.” He was
also the mirror of vulgarity. And he was the mirror
of everything else. He had that facility of adaptation
to the society he was in, which made him seem
born for that society, and that only; and, without calculation
or forethought—by an unconscious instinct,
indeed—he cleverly reflected the man and manners
before him. The result was a popularity of a most
varied quality. Brown was a man of moderate fortune
and no profession. He had travelled for some
years on the continent, and had encountered all classes
of Englishmen, from peers to green-grocers, and as
he had a visit to England in prospect, he seldom parted
from the most chance acquaintance without a volunteer
of letters of introduction, exchange of addresses,
and similar tokens of having “pricked through
his castle wall.” When he did arrive in London, at
last, it was with a budget like the postman's on Valentine's
day, and he had only to deliver one letter in
a score to be put on velvet in any street or square
within the bills of mortality. Sagacious enough to
know that the gradations of English society have the
facility of a cat's back (smooth enough from the head
downward), he began with a most noble duke, and at
the date of his introduction to the reader, was on the
dinner-list of most of the patricians of May Fair.
Presuming that you see your man, dear reader, let
us come at once to the removal of the cloth.
“As I was calling myself to account, the other day,
over my breakfast,” said Brown, filling his glass and
pushing the bottle, “it occurred to me that my round
of engagements required some little variation. There's
a `toujours perdrix,' even among lords and ladies, particularly
when you belong as much to their sphere,
and are as likely to become a part of it, as the fly revolving
in aristocratic dust on the wheel of my lord's
carriage. I thought, perhaps, I had better see some
other sort of people.
“I had, under a presse papier on the table, about a
hundred letters of introduction—the condemned remainder,
after the selection, by advice, of four or five
only. I determined to cut this heap like a pack of
cards, and follow up the trump.
“`John Mimpson, Esq., House of Mimpson and
Phipps, Mark's Lane, London.'
“The gods had devoted me to the acquaintance of
Mr. (and probably Mrs.) John Mimpson. After turning
over a deal of rubbish in my mind, I remembered
that the letter had been given me five years before by
an American merchant—probably the correspondent
of the firm in Mark's Lane. It was a sealed letter,
and said in brackets on the back, `Introducing Mr.
Brown.' I had a mind to give it up and cut again,
for I could not guess on what footing I was introduced,
nor did I know what had become of the writer—nor
had I a very clear idea how long a letter of
recommendation will hold its virtue. It struck me
again that these difficulties rather gave it a zest, and
I would abide by the oracle. I dressed, and, as the
day was fine, started to stroll leisurely through the
Strand and Fleet street, and look into the shop-windows
on my way—assuring myself, at least, thus
much of diversion in my adventure.
“Somewhere about two o'clock, I left daylight behind,
and plunged into Mark's Lane. Up one side
and down the other—`Mimpson and Co.' at last, on a
small brass plate, set in a green baize door. With my
unbuttoned coat nearly wiped off my shoulder by the
strength of the pulley, I shoved through, and emerged
in a large room, with twenty or thirty clerks perched
on high stools, like monkeys in a menagerie.
“`First door right!' said the nearest man, without
raising his eyes from the desk, in reply to my inquiry
for Mr. Mimpson.
“I entered a closet, lighted by a slanting skylight,
in which sat my man.
“`Mr. John Mimpson?'
“`Mr. John Mimpson!'
“After this brief dialogue of accost, I produced my
letter, and had a second's leisure to examine my new
friend while he ran his eye over the contents. He
was a rosy, well-conditioned, tight-skinned little man,
with black hair, and looked like a pear on a chair.
(Hang the bothering rhymes!) His legs were completely
hid under the desk, so that the ascending eye
began with his equatory line, and whether he had no
shoulders or no neck, I could not well decide—but it
was a tolerably smooth plane from his seat to the top
curl of his sinciput. He was scrupulously well dressed,
and had that highly washed look which marks the
city man in London—bent on not betraying his `diggins'
by his complexion.
“I answered Mr. Mimpson's inquiries about our
mutual friend with rather a hazardous particularity,
and assured him he was quite well (I have since discovered
that he has been dead three years), and conversation
warmed between us for ten minutes, till we
the merchant seemed very much perplexed.
“`To-morrow,' said he, rubbing the two great business
bumps over his eyebrows—`no—yes—that is to
say, Mrs. Mimpson—well, it shall be to-morrow!
Can you come out to Rose Lodge, and spend the day
to-morrow?'
“`With great pleasure,' said I, for I was determined
to follow my trump letter to extremities.
“`Mrs. Mimpson,' he next went on to say, as he
wrote down the geography of Rose Lodge—`Mrs.
Mimpson expects some friends to-morrow—indeed,
some of her very choice friends. If you come early,
you will see more of her than if you just save your
dinner. Bring your carpetbag, of course, and stay
over night. Lunch at two—dine at seven. I can't
be there to receive you myself, but I will prepare Mrs.
Mimpson to save you all trouble of introduction.
Hampstead road. Good morning, my dear sir.'
“So, I am in for a suburban bucolic, thought I, as I
regained daylight in the neighborhood of the Mansion
House.
“It turned out a beautiful day, sunny and warm;
and had I been sure of my navigation, and sure of my
disposition to stay all night, I should have gone out
by the Hampstead coach, and made the best of my
way, carpetbag in hand. I went into Newman's for a
postchaise, however, and on showing him the written
address, was agreeably surprised to find he knew
Rose Lodge. His boys had all been there.
“Away I went through the Regent's park, behind
the blood-posters, blue jacket and white hat, and,
somewhere about one o'clock, mounted Hampstead
Hill, and in ten minutes thence was at my destination.
The postboy was about driving in at the open gate,
but I dismounted and sent him back to the inn to
leave his horses, and then depositing my bag at the
porter's lodge, walked up the avenue. It was a much
finer place, altogether, than I expected to see.
“Mrs. Mimpson was in the garden. The dashing
footman who gave me the information, led me through
a superb drawing-room and out at a glass door upon
the lawn, and left me to make my own way to the lady's
presence.
“It was a delicious spot, and I should have been
very glad to ramble about by myself till dinner, but,
at a turn in the grand-walk, I came suddenly upon
two ladies.
“I made my bow, and begged leave to introduce
myself as `Mr. Brown.'
“With a very slight inclination of the head, and no
smile whatever, one of the ladies asked me if I had
walked from town, and begged her companion (without
introducing me to her) to show me in to lunch.
The spokester was a stout and tall woman, who had
rather an aristocratic nose, and was not handsome,
but, to give her her due, she had made a narrow
escape of it. She was dressed very showily, and evidently
had great pretensions; but, that she was not
at all glad to see Mr. Brown, was as apparent as was
at all necessary. As the other, and younger lady,
who was to accompany me, however, was very pretty,
though dressed very plainly, and had, withal, a look
in her eye which assured me she was amused with my
unwelcome apparition, I determined, as I should not
otherwise have done, to stay it out, and accepted
her convoy with submissive civility—very much inclined,
however, to be impudent to somebody, somehow.
“The lunch was on a tray in a side-room, and I
rang the bell and ordered a bottle of champague. The
servant looked surprised, but brought it, and meantime
I was getting through the weather and the other
commonplaces, and the lady saying little, was watching
me very calmly. I liked her looks, however, and
was sure she was not a Mimpson.
“`Hand this to Miss Armstrong!' said I to the footman,
pouring out a glass of champagne.
“`Miss Bellamy, you mean, sir.'
“I rose and bowed, and, with as grave a courtesy
as I could command, expressed my pleasure at my
first introduction to Miss Bellamy—through Thomas,
the footman! Miss Bellamy burst into a laugh, and
was pleased to compliment my American manners,
and in ten minutes we were a very merry pair of
friends, and she accepted my arm for a stroll through
the grounds, carefully avoiding the frigid neighborhood
of Mrs. Mimpson.
“Of course I set about picking Miss Bellamy's
brains for what information I wanted. She turned
out quite the nicest creature I had seen in England—
fresh, joyous, natural, and clever; and as I was delivered
over to her bodily, by her keeper and feeder, she
made no scruple of promenading me through the
grounds till the dressing-bell—four of the most agreeable
hours I have to record in my travels.
“By Miss Bellamy's account, my advent that day
was looked upon by Mrs. Mimpson as an enraging
calamity. Mrs. Mimpson was, herself, fourth cousin
to a Scotch lord, and the plague of her life was the
drawback to the gentility of her parties in Mimpson's
mercantile acquaintance. She had married the little
man for his money, and had thought, by living
out of town, to choose her own society, with her husband
for her only incumbrance; but Mimpson vowed
that he should be ruined in Mark's Lane, if he did
not house and dine his mercantile fraternity and their
envoys at Rose Lodge, and they had at last compromised
the matter. No Yankee clerk, or German
agent, or person of any description, defiled by trade,
was to be invited to the Lodge without a three days'
premonition to Mrs. Mimpson, and no additions were
to be made, whatever, by Mr. M., to Mrs. M's dinners,
soirées, matinees, archery parties, suppers, dejeuners,
tableaux, or private theatricals. This holy
treaty, Mrs. Mimpson presumed, was written `with a
gad of steel on a leaf of brass'—inviolable as her cousin's
coat-of-arms.
“But there was still `Ossa on Pelion.' The dinner
of that day had a diplomatic aim. Miss Mimpson
(whom I had not yet seen) was ready to `come
out,' and her mother had embarked her whole soul in
the enterprise of bringing about that debut at Almack's.
Her best card was a certain Lady S—,
who chanced to be passing a few days in the neighborhood,
and this dinner was in her honor—the company
chosen to impress her with the exclusiveness of
the Mimpsons, and the prayer for her ladyship's influence
(to procure vouchers from one of the patronesses)
was to be made, when she was `dieted to their
request.' And all had hitherto worked to a charm.
Lady S— had accepted—Ude had sent his best
cook from Crockford's—the Belgian chargé and a
Swedish attaché were coming—the day was beautiful,
and the Lodge was sitting for its picture; and on the
very morning, when every chair at the table was ticketed
and devoted, what should Mr. Mimpson do, but send
back a special messenger from the city, to say that he
had forgotten to mention to Mrs. M. at breakfast, that he
had invited Mr. Brown! Of course he had forgotten
it, though it would have been as much as his
eyes were worth to mention it in person to Mrs.
Mimpson.
“To this information, which I give you in a lump,
but which came to light in the course of rather a desultory
conversation, Miss Bellamy thought I had
some title, from the rudeness of my reception. It
was given in the shape of a very clever banter, it is
true, but she was evidently interested to set me right
with regard to Mr. Mimpson's good intentions in my
behalf, and, as far as that and her own civilities would
do it, to apologise for the inhospitality of Rose Lodge.
at a most ha'penny valuation.
“I had made some casual remark touching the absurdity
of Almack's aspirations in general, and Mrs.
Mimpson's in particular, and my fair friend, who of
course fancied an Almack's ticket as much out of Mr.
Brown's reach as the horn of the new moon, took up
the defence of Mrs. Mimpson on that point, and undertook
to dazzle my untutored imagination by a picture
of this seventh heaven—as she had heard it described—for
to herself, she freely confessed, it was not
even within the limits of dream-land. I knew this
was true of herself, and thousands of highly-educated
and charming girls in England; but still, looking at
her while she spoke, and seeing what an ornament she
would be to any ballroom in the world, I realized,
with more repugnance than I had ever felt before, the
arbitrary barriers of fashion and aristocracy. As accident
had placed me in a position to `look on the reverse
of the shield,' I determined, if possible, to let
Miss Bellamy judge of its color with the same advantage.
It is not often that a plebeian like myself
has the authority to
Fillip the stars.'
“We were near the open window of the library,
and I stepped in and wrote a note to Lady —
(one of the lady patronesses, and the kindest friend I
have in England), asking for three vouchers for the
next ball. I had had occasion once or twice before to
apply for similar favors, for the countrywomen of my
own, passing through London on their travels, and I
knew that her ladyship thought no more of granting
them than of returning bows in Hyde Park. I did
not name the ladies for whom the three tickets were
intended, wishing to reserve the privilege of handing
one to Miss Mimpson, should she turn out civil and
presentable. The third, of course, was to Miss Bellamy's
chaperon, whoever that might be, and the
party might be extended to a quartette by the `Monsieur
De Trop' of the hour—cela selon. Quite a dramatic
plot—wasn't it?
“I knew that Lady — was not very well, and
would be found at home by the messenger (my post-boy),
and there was time enough between soup and
coffee to go to London and back, even without the
spur in his pocket.
“The bell rang, and Miss Bellamy took herself off
to dress. I went to my carpetbag in the bachelor
quarters of the house, and through a discreet entretien
with the maid who brought me hot water, became
somewhat informed as to my fair friend's position in
the family. She was the daughter of a gentleman who
had seen better days. They lived in a retired cottage
in the neighborhood; and, as Miss Bellamy and a
younger sister were both very highly accomplished,
they were usually asked to the Lodge, whenever there
was company to be entertained with their music.
“I was early in the drawing-room, and found there
Mrs. Mimpson and a tall dragoon of a young lady I
presumed to be her daughter. She did not introduce
me. I had hardly achieved my salutary salaam when
Miss Bellamy came in opportunely, and took me off
their hands, and as they addressed no conversation to
us, we turned over music, and chatted in the corner
while the people came in. It was twilight in the reception-room,
and I hoped, by getting on the same
side of the table with Lady S— (whom I had
the honor of knowing), to escape recognizance till
we joined the ladies in the drawing-room after dinner.
As the guests arrived, they were formally introduced
to Miss Mimpson by the mother, and everybody but
myself was formally presented to Lady S—, the
exception not noticeable, of course, among thirty
people. Mr. Mimpson came late from the city, pos
sibly anxious to avoid a skirmish on the subject of his
friend Brown, and he entered the room barely in time
to hand Lady S— in to dinner.
“My tactics were ably seconded by my unconscious
ally. I placed myself in such a position at table,
that, by a little management, I kept Miss Bellamy's
head between me and Lady S—, and my name
was not so remarkable as to draw attention to me
when called on to take wine with the peccant spouse
of the Scotch lord's cousin. Meantime I was very
charmingly entertained—Miss Bellamy not having, at
all, the fear of Mrs. Mimpson before her eyes, and
apparently finding the Yankee supercargo, or cotton
clerk, or whatever he might be, quite worth trying her
hand upon. The provender was good, and the wine
was enough to verify the apocrypha—at least for the
night—`a man remembering neither sorrow nor debt'
with such glorious claret.
“As I was vis-a-vis to Miss Mimpson, and only two
plates removed from her mother, I was within reach
of some syllable or some civility, and one would have
thought that good-breeding might exact some slight
notice for the devil himself, under one's own roof by
invitation; but the large eyes of Miss Aurelia and her
mamma passed over me as if I had on the invisible
ring of Gyges. I wonder, by-the-way, whether the
ambitious youths who go to London and Paris with
samples, and come back and sport `the complete varnish
of a man' acquired in foreign society—I wonder
whether they take these rubs to be part of their polishing!
“The ladies rose and left us, and as I had no more
occasion to dodge heads, or trouble myself with humility,
I took Lady S—'s place at old Mimpson's
right hand, and was immediately recognised with great
empressement by the Belgian chargé, who had met me
`very often, in very agreeable society.' Mimpson
stared, and evidently took it for a bit of flummery or
a mistake; but he presently stared again, for the butler
came in with a coronetted note on his silver tray,
and the seal side up, and presented it to me with a
most deferential bend of his white coat. I felt the
vouchers within, and pocketed it without opening, and
we soon after rose and went to the drawing-room for
our coffee.
“Lady S— sat with her back to the door, besieged
by Mrs. Mimpson; and at the piano, beside
Miss Bellamy, who was preparing to play, stood one
of the loveliest young creatures possibly to fancy. A
pale and high-bred looking lady in widow's weeds sat
near them, and I had no difficulty in making out who
were the after-dinner additions to the party. I joined
them, and was immediately introduced by Miss Bellamy
to her mother and sister, with whom (after a
brilliant duet by the sisters) I strolled out upon the
lawn for an hour—for it was a clear night, and the
moon and soft air almost took me back to Italy. And
(perhaps by a hint from Miss Bellamy) I was allowed
to get on very expeditiously in my acquaintance with
her mother and sister.
“My new friends returned to the drawing-room,
and as the adjoining library was lighted, I went in and
filled up the blank vouchers with the names of Mrs.
Bellamy and her daughters. I listened a moment to
the conversation in the next room. The subject was
Almack's, and was discussed with great animation.
Lady S—, who seemed to me trying to escape
the trap they had baited for her, was quietly setting
forth the difficulties of procuring vouchers, and recommending
to Mrs. Mimpson not to subject herself
to the mortification of a refusal. Old Mimpson
backed up this advice with a stout approval, and this
brought Mrs. Mimpson out `horse and foot,' and she
declared that she would submit to anything, do anything,
give anything, rather than fail in this darling
object of her ambition. She would feel under eternal,
for herself and daughter, admission for but one
night to Almack's.
“And then came in the sweet voice of Miss Bellamy,
who `knew it was both wrong and silly, but she
would give ten years of her life to go to one of Almack's
balls, and in a long conversation she had had
with Mr. Brown on the subject that morning—'
“`Ah!' interrupted Lady S—, `if it had been
the Mr. Brown, you would have had very little trouble
about it.'
“`And who is the Mr. Brown?' asked Mrs. Mimpson.
“`The pet and protegé of the only lady patroness
I do not visit,' said Lady S—, `and unluckily,
too, the only one who thinks the vouchers great rubbish,
and gives them away without thought or scruple.'
“At that moment I entered the room.
“`Good heavens!' screamed Lady S—, `is
that his ghost? Why, Mr. Brown!' she gasped, giving
me her hand very cautiously, `do you appear
when you are talked of like—like—like—'
“`Like the devil? No! But I am here in the
body, and very much at your ladyship's service,' said
I, `for of course you are going to the duke's to-night,
and so am I. Will you take me with you, or shall
my po-chay follow where I belong—in your train?”
“`I'll take you, of course,' said her ladyship, rising,
`but first about these vouchers. You have just come,
and didn't hear our discussion. Mrs. Mimpson is extremely
anxious that her daughter should come out
at Almack's, and as I happened to say, the moment
before you entered, that you were the very person to
procure the tickets from Lady —. How very
odd that you should come in just then! But tell
us—can you?'
“A dead silence followed the question. Mrs.
Mimpson sat with her eyes on the floor, the picture
of dismay and mortification. Miss Mimpson blushed
and twisted her handkerchief, and Miss Bellamy
looked at her hostess, half amused and half distressed.
“I handed the three vouchers to Miss Bellamy,
and begged her acceptance of them, and then turning
to Lady S—, without waiting for a reply, regretted
that, not having had the pleasure of being presented
to Mrs. Mimpson, I had not felt authorized to
include her in my effort to oblige Miss Bellamy.
“And what with old Mimpson's astonishment, and
Lady S—'s immediate tact in covering, by the
bustle of departure, what she did not quite understand,
though she knew it was some awkward contre
temps or other, I found time to receive Miss Bellamy's
thanks, and get permission from the mother to
call and arrange this unexpected party, and in ten
minutes I was on my way to London with Lady
S—, amusing her almost into fits with my explanations
of the Mimpson mystery.
“Lady S— was to be still at Hampstead for a
few days, and, at my request, she called with me on
the Bellamys, and invited the girls up to town. Rose
Bellamy, the younger, is at this moment one of the
new stars of the season accordingly, and Miss Bellamy
and I carry on the war, weekly, at Almack's,
and nightly at some waxlight paradise or other, and
Lady S— has fallen in love with them both, and
treats them like daughters.
“So you see, though I passed for a ha'penny with
the Mimpsons, I turned out a sovereign to the Bellamys.
“Pass the bottle!”
| Dashes at life with a free pencil | |