University of Virginia Library

8. VIII.
How the Fudges Worship.

I BEG to return to Mrs. Solomon Fudge. She
is in her pew, within the brilliant church of the
esteemed Dr. Muddleton. The parti-colored light
plays very happily: the pink reflection upon herself,
the blue upon Wilhelmina, and a dark shadow upon
the scanty-haired pate of Solomon Fudge, late
mayor, bank-director, and vestryman.

The church is, as I said, a brilliant one, and by
virtue of the coloring within and without, creates
the illusion of a gigantic hot-bed, in which the
velvets, plumes, and gauzes figure as chrysanthemums,
orange-flowers, and azalias; and the Reverend
Doctor, in his modest soutane, accomplishes the gardener—who

applies the steam, and who, with rare
nicety of judgment, secures such an even and gentle
atmosphere as quickens the vital succulence, and
promotes to an enormous extent all floral development.
The Doctor, however, does not pluck his
flowers—save only in a spiritual sense.

The Doctor has advanced some distance in his
discourse, but Mrs. Fudge is not, I regret to say,
over-attentive to its burden; on the contrary, she
is thinking intently of Geo. Wash. Fudge, and of
the Jenkinses. I will not say that proper thoughts
have been wholly out of her mind. She has meditated
upon the pleasing intonations of the Doctor;
has indulged in agreeable speculations upon the
quiet and repose of the church-services. Nay, she
has pitied Miss Scroggins, who has a seat behind
the column; has indulged in a compassionate regard
for the Miss Slingsbys, who have uncommonly sharp
noses, and for Mrs. Scrubbs, whose daughter has
made a run-away match with a poor man.

Mrs. Fudge has gone even farther: she has determined
to give her blue watered silk (having seen
one precisely similar upon the person of old Mrs.
Gosling) to her waiting-maid. She has made her
responses in a reverent tone; she has mused with
half-closed eyes upon the nicety of Faith and
Religion; she has experienced a cheerful glow in

her spirits, and feels proud and happy that a comfortable
doctrine can diffuse such charity and
contentment over her somewhat ambitious life.
The old-fashioned Baptist ministrations were sometimes
annoying: Dr. Muddleton, dear, good man,
is never annoying. She wonders if he is engaged
to dine on Thursday; and if he likes a filet—à la
sauce piquante, or served plain?

From all this, however, as the Doctor progresses,
her reflections warp, as I have said, to a consideration
of Geo. Wash. Fudge, now in Paris, and of
the Jenkinses. She wonders who the Jenkinses
are? She has asked several friends. Her friends
do not know the Jenkinses. Still, it is quite possible
that the Jenkinses are—somebody.

She figures to herself Geo. Washington, the
husband of a rich and elegant Miss Jenkins—living
in style—giving small, recherchés dinner-parties—
sprinkled with foreign guests—spoken of in the
Sunday papers—highly fashionable. She portrays
to herself Miss Jenkins in very glowing colors.
She murmurs to herself, “Mrs. Geo. Washington
Jenkins—Fudge.”

She pictures to herself her dear Wash. in plaid
tights, with an eye-glass, and Paris hat, and short
stick set off with an opera-dancer's leg, and a large
budget of charms, brilliant waistcoat, and moustache.

She fancies him quite the envy of all the
stylish mammas about town; half the stylish young
ladies dying for love of him. She fancies him very
carelessly winning some literary consideration —
writing sonnets as if they were beneath him —
patronizing poor “penny-a-liners,” or possibly himself
the suspected author of a poem in the Literary
World.

Then there is Wilhelmina Ernestina. Mrs.
Fudge has reason to be grateful to Providence for
such a daughter. She is showy. Mrs. Fudge,
with matronly solicitude, has `put her through' an
unexceptionable course of French phrases and pantalets.
Wilhelmina is positively beginning to startle
attention. There were certainly fears for a time;
but Wilhelmina is, as I said, become an object of
remark. Her hat alone would insure it. Miss
Lawson, in that hat, has outdone herself; and,
strange as it may seem, has outdone her usual
prices. Miss Lawson—for a wonder—has exerted
herself.

Wilhelmina has not a bad face: not indeed so
tell-tale, or so wrought over with blue veins, as her
cousin Kitty's; but it is even better adapted to the
work on hand. It is a striking face; her eyes are
not tender, but good-colored, and well cultivated.
Her figure is firm, tall, and jaunty; her hand not

over-small, but reduced considerably by Chancerelle's
gloving.

It is my opinion that Mrs. Fudge bears her
daughter considerable affection, especially in Sunday
trim. It is my opinion that Wilhelmina bears
her mother considerable affection, especially in view
of the tempting baits which Mrs. Fudge holds out
to fashionable young men.

It would be interesting to notice the proud
glances which Mrs. Fudge, in the intervals of Sunday
reflection, throws upon Wilhelmina's hat, or
her glove, or the exceedingly pretty fit of her
basque waist. Mrs. Fudge only regrets that more
eyes do not see it than her own. She fairly pines
at the thought that such charms should not be
doing execution upon the susceptible and highly
advantageous young Spindle—son of the wealthy
Spindle. Wilhelmina, by request, appears entirely
unaware of her mother's enraptured glances.

I have said that Wilhelmina had admirers.
They are not, however, very acceptable to Mrs.
Fudge. Mrs. Fudge is ambitious—very. So is
Wilhelmina.

Mrs. Fudge has not spent her life, and money,
and affection (wasted upon Solomon) for nothing.
Wilhelmina is not to be thrown away—not she.
An old clerk of her father's—a sensible young man

in other respects—has sent repeated bouquets to
Wilhelmina. Mrs. Fudge condemns them to the
basement. A small one, however, from Bobby Pemberton
(eighteen last March), with card attached,
holds place upon the parlor table up to a very
withered maturity.

As for Mr. Solomon Fudge, during this service,
he exercises most praiseworthy attention; and
shows such engrossment of thought — either in
Dauphin or Doctrine—as is highly exemplary.

He commends and admires Dr. Muddleton, as a
respectable and sound man, of healthy doctrine and
unimpeachable character. He considers these opinions
safe, and they bound his religious ideas. Dr.
Muddleton does not give up his desk to begging
agents, or any enthusiastic declaimers. Mr. Fudge
does not trouble himself to inquire into the merits
of any such haranguers—not he. He chooses to
let well enough alone; and well enough in Christian
matters seems to be written all over the person of
Dr. Muddleton. His surplice, robe, manner and all
seem to him the very incarnation of a good catholic
faith. Indeed, an expression of opinion to this
effect, to the clerical gentleman himself—when Mr.
Fudge was a little maudlin with wine—met with no
opposition on Dr. Muddleton's part.

Mr. Fudge is satisfied; Dr. Muddleton is satisfied;

and for aught I know or believe, the Prince
of Darkness, himself, is satisfied.

I am aware that these remarks are not in a
fashionable vein. Fashion does not recognize intensity,
either in faith or in manner. I should say
that intensity, either in preaching, conversation, or
habit, was vulgar and low-lived.

Presumptuous, wild people might picture to themselves
a better livelihood and habit for Mrs. Fudge,
daughter, son, and husband. They might imagine
that a quiet modesty, charitable disposition, a careless
submission to such superiority as Fashion
bestows, a cultivation of the refinements rather
than the enormities of life, might lend them more
dignity, humanity, and contentment. This, however,
is a prejudice of education.

Mrs. Fudge, reflecting upon her improved prospects,
felicitating herself upon the effect of Wilhelmina's
hat, and casting comparative glances around
the very populous pews, suddenly caught a glimpse
of a young gentleman, in company with the Spindles,
whose appearance excited her keenest interest.

The Spindles, indeed, were rare people—subjects
of considerable study, and not a little envy, with
the Fudges. The Spindles appeared to have a
natural aptitude for dress: some people seem born
with all the adaptation to stays and stomachers

which belongs to the revolving figures of those
enterprising hair-dressers opposite Bond-street. The
Spindles are among these. I doubt if the hair-dresser
himself could have improved their figures in
any respect for window-models. They are reputed
very wealthy; their father being a heavy broker.
They have a country-seat, speak French, polk liberally,
and read the opera librettos from the Italian
side.

It is natural that Mrs. Solomon Fudge should
admire them (although she does talk about them
outrageously); and it is, moreover, natural that
she should feel a curious interest in the young gentleman,
who was now luxuriating in what she considered
as the very meridian of fashionable splendor.

Mrs. Fudge observes, after a series of reconnoitering
glances (in which she is very careful not
to catch the eye of the Spindles), that the young
man is of a genteel figure; that his coat is
remarkably short-tailed (excellent taste); that
his cravat has the so-called Parisian tie; that
his eye is mild, as if he were of a yielding temperament;
and that his forehead, though somewhat
low, is balanced by a very happy parting
of the hair behind the head.

Miss Wilhelmina observes that he wears a large
bunch of charms to his watch-chain; that his

mouth is lighted up with a very lively-colored
moustache; that he is of good height for a dancing-partner;
that he pays little attention to the Miss
Spindles (by which she judges him accustomed
to elegant society); and, what pleases her still
more, that he seems, by one or two eager glances
thrown in her direction, to have a lively appreciation
of her face.

Miss Wilhelmina concludes from these observations
that he must be a delightful person; that he
is probably not in love, at least not with the
Spindles; and that he drives a fast trotter. Mrs.
Fudge, on her part, decides that he is a young
man of “good position,” and possibly of expectations;
at any rate, a very desirable acquaintance
for herself and daughter. Mr. Fudge himself, if
attention had been called to the young gentleman,
would have indulged only in a pleasant comparison
between young men generally, and his own dignity
as former Mayor; from this he would have recurred
to the sermon of his friend the Doctor, giving
such earnestness to the hearing as would not
interfere with a grateful and pervading sense of
his own dignity and distinction.

There are those in the city who remember, some
of them to their cost, an old brokerage firm of
Spindle and Quid. Spindle and Quid held very

high moneyed rank; their dealings at the board
were extensive. Embarrassments, however, after
a time, ensued: assignments were made in a quiet,
orderly way; Mrs. Spindle, of course, retaining
her house, carriage, and opera-box; and the
creditors generally retaining the paper of Spindle
and Quid. Arrangements, however, were soon
made for a renewal of business under the name of
Ezekiel Spindle; Quid retiring. All claims upon
the firm were referred to Mr. Quid, who had
retired, no one knew where. The credits of the
firm were managed by Mr. Spindle, as agent for
the old house.

It is supposed by many that an understanding
still exists between Spindle and Quid, although
of what precise nature it is impossible to say.
Wall street partnerships are generally somewhat
involved. Too searching a curiosity is found only
to increase the fog which belongs to such arrangements,
and sometimes even to dissolve the firm
altogether. The fact, however, that some connection
still existed, seemed to be confirmed by the
easy circumstances in which young Quid—no other
than the short-coated gentleman already subjected
to Mrs. Fudge's observation—appeared to move

Outsiders and simple-minded persons, knowing
only that Mr. Quid, senior, if he still existed, was a

broken broker, would have wondered at the
pleasant and affluent style in which Mr. Quid,
junior, was observed to amble along upon the high-road
of life. There are many young men about
town, I observe, who suggest similar wonder.
Young Quid has just returned from a European
tour. He is clearly a man of the world: he is a
member of a metropolitan club, at which his dues
are very much cut down by a happy knack he
possesses at whist or écarté. He has an eye for the
arts; reasons well upon the comparative merits of
ballet-dancers, and has his room set off with several
naked statuettes of agreeable proportions, arranged
upon plaster brackets. He has also prettily-engraved
portraits of the horse Bostona, of Lady
Suffolk, and of Celeste. His books are various;
numbering a paper-covered Tom Jones, apparently
much read; a well-bound Youatt on the Dog; a
copy of Count d'Orsay, of Lalla Rookh, and a
small volume of poetical quotations. He has also a
French and Italian phrase-book; he is on familiar
terms with some of the better-known barbers of the
town, and will sometimes crack a word or two
of Italian in their company; not extending, however,
usually beyond “buon giorno,” or “ una ragazza
dulcissima.”

He is fond of mentioning incidentally his dinners

at the Trois Frères, or the Café de Paris, and his
adventures, of a very superior character, at the
Ranelagh, or the Bal masqué. The countesses he
has met with on these occasions are exceedingly
numerous; and the tears they must have shed at
his desertion are almost frightful to contemplate.
He has also a large and glowing record of similar
adventures (reserved for the ear of his particular
friends) in his own comparatively new country.

He enjoys the acquaintance of sundry English
and French gentlemen, but not, as I am aware,
of any Hungarians or Poles. His sympathies are
wide, but aristocratic. He sometimes dines with a
Londoner at the club, an agent, possibly, for some
Manchester print-house, who pretends to a familiarity
with steeple-chases, who has followed Sir
Ralph Dingley's hounds down in Kent, and who
has sometimes taken a tandem drive to the races,
on a Derby day.

Mrs. Fudge remembers that her cousin Truman
has had commercial dealings with the house of
Spindle. She sees in this connection a channel
opening toward gracious interviews, and congratulates
herself in advance upon the attachment of so
distinguished a young gentleman as Master Quid
to the train of the youthful Wilhelmina.

And this is the way she worships.