by R S Surtees
STATE YOUR CASE.”
SCARCE was Mrs. Flatter gone, and ere Mr. Jorrocks had arranged a composing speech in his mind for Betsey, Benjamin made his appearance to announce the arrival of another “customer.”
“Another customer, Binjimin!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, starting up, “not another waggabone, I ‘opes?”
“The same as the last,” replied Benjamin, with a grin; “Mother Trotter this time.” —
“Missis Trotter, you should say, Binjimin,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “I shall be ‘appy to see her.”
“Don’t doubt you, old boy,” said Benjamin to himself, as he went away to bring her.
“Good mornin’, Mrs. Trotter!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, as the majestic lady sailed into the room in all the rustle of petticoats and stiff ringlets. “Werry ‘appy to see you; pray take a chair — this ’ere harm one, if you please,” drawing the recently occupied red morocco hunting-chair towards her. “You needn’t mind waitin’, Binjimin,” said he to the boy, who kept fussing about the desk, as if he was going to act clerk. Benjamin reluctantly retired, carrying with him his wig and gown and spectacles.
“Vell, my beauty,” said Mr. Jorrocks to Mrs. Trotter, as the door closed, “veil, my beauty,” said he, his countenance assuming quite a different appearance, “and ’ow are you to-day? Needn’t ax that, though,” said he, squeezing her elbow, “that fine, clear complexion, bright eye, and these full cherry lips, answer that; he’s an ‘appy man wot has the kissin’ on them, I guess!”
“Oh, Mr. Jorrocks, you shocking man! what would Mrs. Jorrocks say?”
“Oh, never fear Mrs. Jorrocks,” replied our hero; “she’s away at her school or some of her wagaries.”
“But if I was to tell her, you’d mind,” observed Mrs. Trotter, with an emphasis; “and I really don’t think I’m doing my duty in not.”
“Trust you for that,” said the old Cockney Squire, with a wink —
“‘Wot passes inter nos,
Mustn’t be proclaim’d at Charin’ Cross, you knows,” added he. “Come, set down, I say, and tell us all about it,” continued he, pushing her into the large chair.
“Well, now, I’ve come,” observed Mrs. Trotter, after a pause, during which she equalised the strings of her reticle; “I’ve come to ask your advice in a little delicate matter connected with my daughter.”
“I twig,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with a wink.
“And I’m sure that in confiding to you I may rest satisfied it will go no further.”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Jorrocks; “close as wax.”
“You see,” continued Mrs. Trotter, in an undertone, “that the Marquis, we think, took a violent fancy to Eliza, and, I make no doubt, would have offered to her, only she was so shy that she didn’t encourage him enough.”
“Jest so,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “wants a little practice, p’raps.”
“Why, she’s very young, you see,” said Mrs. Trotter. “Her mother wouldn’t ‘ave been so green, I guess,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, giving Mrs. Trotter’s arm a squeeze. “I always says,” continued he, “that the gals of the present day are not to be compared to their mothers.”
Mrs. Trotter smiled.
“‘Deed I do,” said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips; “the gals may be nice and slim, and slight and pretty, but they’ve none o’ that fine hupstandin’, commandin’, majestic, knock-me-down, squash-me-flat hair of the women of the present day. I’ll pund it, you’d have brought the. Markis to book in a minute. If there was a prize for fine women you’d get it.”
“Oh, Mr. Jorrocks, how you do talk! It’s lucky Mrs. Jorrocks isn’t here.”
“P’raps it is,” said Mr. Jorrocks, in an undertone; “you know it wouldn’t do for everybody to hear all wot passes ‘twixt his worship and those wot come to consult him.”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Trotter, hoping her mission would be kept snug. “Well, then, you see, Mr. Jorrocks,” continued she, “as I was saying, I make no doubt the Marquis took a violent fancy to Eliza; and if she had known how to play her cards, she might have nailed him at the time; but, as ill luck would have it, he went away without exactly offering, and I fear that sneaking, nasty woman on the hill got him to have an interview with her mealy-faced daughter, and rather put him off Eliza.”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not exactly seeing his way between the rival claimants.
“Well, then, you see,” continued Mrs. Trotter, “what’s passed since, we have no means of knowing. One would naturally have expected that a young man so desperately smitten would have taken an early opportunity of returning to see the young lady.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with a sagacious nod of the head; “I would, I knows.”
“But no! from that day to this,” continued Mrs. Trotter, “we’ve heard nothing of him; and I really now am so puzzled what to do, that I’ve come to you in confidence, as an old friend, and one that, I’m sure, would be glad to do me a good turn.”
“No doubt on it,” said Mr. Jorrocks, patting her plump back, “no doubt on it.”
“You’re very good, I’m sure,” resumed Mrs. Trotter, with a smile that displayed her beautiful pearly teeth; “I’ve just come to ask, in fact, what you think we had best do under the circumstances.”
“Do under the circumstances?” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, regularly posed—” do under the circumstances?” repeated he, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. “Vy,” said he, looking especial grave, “if you axes me as a jestice o’ the peace, I should tell you that the law on this point is werry doubtful — indeed, I may almost say, werry dubersome; there certainlie are cases in the books — Barnewall and Halderson, and six Wesey Junior” —
“Oh, but it’s not the law of the point — it’s the prudence of the point I want,” interrupted Mrs. Trotter.
“The prudence o’ the point,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “is another view o’ the matter. In these cases, I always think it well to be prudent—’ Si sit prudentia,’ as the poet has it. Eliza’s a werry nice gal — werry pretty gal, and it would be a grand thing to see her a Duchess.”
“Wouldn’t it!” exclaimed Mrs. Trotter, clasping her hands.
“But I’m rayther inclined to think,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “that the Markis will be difficult to catch.”
“Why so?” exclaimed Mrs. Trotter.
“Vy, in the first place, you see, there’s a great demand for Markisses in London; and wot sells readily there, are seldom disposed of in the country.”
“But one’s heard of such cases, you know, Mr. Jorrocks.”
“Yy, one has certainly,” replied our friend, with a sagacious elevation of his brows, “read on them, at all ewents.”
“Well, but, however, it’s oh the cards,” observed Mrs. Trotter, “and trying costs nothing.”
“Tryin’ costs nothin’, as you say,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “not like a jestice’s petty session — information — summons — conwiction, and all that sort of thing.”
“Well, but you’ll do what you can to assist Eliza and me, won’t you, Mr. Jorrocks?”
“Certainly,” replied our Squire—” always ready to serve the ladies; you must give Eliza a lesson or two in love-makin’ though,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “she don’t take arter her mother in that respect, I guess,” added he.
“How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Trotter.
“Those sparklin’ black eyes tell a different tale,” replied.
Mr. Jorrocks. “I never see’d sich a pair o’ pierces afore — no wonder little T. knocked under at once. Yell, I don’t know,” added lie thoughtfully, “but somehow or other I doesn’t think the gals of the present day are to be compared to their mothers. They’re nice and pretty, and hilegant, and so on, but they haven’t the gumption o’ women — a ‘ooman isn’t a ‘ooman, I say, till she’s forty — tall, dark, and forty’s my motto,” added he, giving Mrs. Trotter a touch under the chin.
Mrs. Trotter laughed.
“You’ve a beautiful ‘ea
d for bampology,” observed Mr.Jorrocks, looking under her bonnet. “Twenty’s werry prominent; that’s the bamp o’ wit — have it myself — quick perception o’ the meanin’ of others; presence of mind, readiness to perceive the incongruous and ridicklous. Bamp of amitiveness too — behind the ear” (feeling her there). “No. I, marriage, love, and all that sort o’ thing; werry fine ‘ead indeed — am a great bampology man — wonders wot’un bamps the Markis has; should say he has the bamp of amitiveness — most young chaps have indeed.”
“Some old ones too, I think,” observed Mrs. Trotter, with a laugh.
“Doesn’t know nothin’ about old ‘uns,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “Never mean to be old — stick where I am — jest the right age — wiggour blended with discretion.”
While all this was going on, Joshua, who had been uncommonly active that day, arrived with a half-drunken, roystering, tramping mechanic, who had been ordered out of the public-house for creating a disturbance by wanting to fight.
Benjamin saw them coming, and sent Betsey to desire Joshua to shove his prisoner into the wash-house, and let them have a word together.
Accordingly Joshua did so.
“The old ‘un’s werry busy to-day,” observed Benjamin, “and werry grumpey, too; I dar’nt go in to him again — should ‘ave the boot-jack at my ‘ead, p’raps.”
“What’s happen’d?” inquired Joshua.
“The old game,” replied Benjamin, “the old game — a woman, a woman.”
“The old fellow!” exclaimed Joshua. “Well, then, we must just keep the chap till he’s more at leisure,” added he.
“What’s he been a doin’ of?” inquired Benjamin.
“Getting drunk, and threatening to fight,” replied Joshua.
“Getting drunk, and threatenin’ to fight,” repeated Benjamin, “the warmint! wot’un a chap is he? Does he belong here?”
“No, he’s a stranger — a Londoner I should say, by his tongue.”
“The Lunnuners are queer chaps,” observed Benjamin; “I lived there myself. Howsomever, drunkenness ar’nt no great wice in the eyes of the old ‘un; indeed, in the eyes of a vast of the beaks. It’s just one of those pints that is either right or wrong, as occasion suits. If a chap commits a gross assault and pleads drunkenness, they immediately flare up with, c Drunkenness is no excuse! rather an aggrawation.’ Then, if he pleads sobriety, they tell ‘ him {he’d better ‘old his tongue, for drunkenness would be the only excuse he could make for his conduct.’”
“Just so,” observed Joshua, digesting the law as Benjamin proceeded.
“I knows nicely wot the old ‘un would give him,” continued Benjamin; “he’d storm, and threaten, and bully, as if he were a goin’ to transport him for life, then talk about the disgraceful, degradin’, disgustin’ situation of a drunken man, finish by finin’ of him a shillin’ or ‘alf-a-crown, and werry likely throwin’ it at his ‘ead as he went away, sayin’, Take your tin and be off with you! It’s a poor ‘eart wot never rejoices!’”
“Indeed!” observed Joshua; “why, we could do better than that ourselves!”
“No doubt we could,” replied Benjamin; “no doubt we could — save the old boy all the trouble too. If you’ll fetch the waggabone forrad, I’ll sarve him out ‘andsomely, and we can divide the fine for our trouble.”
“Well, I’ve no objection,” replied Joshua.
“Fetch him forrad quickly, then,” observed Benjamin, “and let us get the case heard — we’ll not trouble none of his bamps,” added he, imitating his master.
“Not we!” said Joshua, closing the door, as ho went in quest of his friend. —
Benjamin then proceeded to array himself in his judicial habiliments — Welsh wig, with broad-rimmed green spectacles and black gown. His own mother wouldn’t have known him. Having taken an arm-chair at the énd of the kitchen table, and ranged a few old books before him, Joshua made his appearance with the prisoner — a strapping young joiner in his working trousers and Sunday coat and waistcoat — a sort of half dress. He was handcuffed.
“Who have you got there?” growled Benjamin, as they made their appearance.
“A prisoner, please your worship,” replied Joshua, with a low bow.
“Fatch him forrad, fetch him forrad,” rejoined Benjamin, imitating his master’s voice and dialect.
“Who prefers the charge?” inquired Benjamin, as they reached the end of the table; “who prefers the charge?” repeated he.
“Me, please your worship,” replied Joshua.
“Then take this ’ere book in your right ‘and,” said Benjamin, handing Joshua Mrs. Glass’s Cookery Book; “take off your glove, and I’ll swear you.”
Joshua did as desired.
“Now listen to me,” continued Benjamin. “The evidence wot you shall give before this grand court shall be the truth, the ‘ole truth, and nothin’ but the truth. Kiss the book.”
Joshua kissed it.
“Now then,” continued Benjamin, receiving back the book, and taking up an old goose-quill, “you are on your oath; now state your case as shortly as you can: tell me all about it, in fact.”
Joshua having cleared his voice with a preparatory hem, thus commenced.
“Please your worship,” said he, “as I was going my rounds this morning, I was called into the public-house, the sign of the ‘Man loaded with Mischief,’ to quell a disturbance created by this hero, who had challenged all the company round to fight” —
“That’s a lie!” observed the man.
“You scoundrel! how dare you speak in such a way before his worship — a justice of the peace of our Sovereign Lady the Queen?” inquired Joshua.
“And one of the jorum,” observed Benjamin.
“And one of the quorum,” remarked Joshua.
“I’ll skin you alive,” added Benjamin, with a shake of the head. “Well, come, get on with your story,” said he to Joshua. —
“Then, please your worship, when I went into the ‘Man loaded with Mischief,’ I found this fellow standing with his hat cocked on one side before the kitchen fire, bragging any of the company out to fight.”
“That’s a lie!” interrupted the man.
“Silence, you waggabone!” screamed Benjamin, “or I’ll make mince-meat on ye — chop you into sarsingers! Go on with your story,” added he to Joshua.
“Then, please your worship,. I ordered him to sit down and behave himself like a gentleman, if he was one; and thereupon he used most abusive language to me, too shocking for me to repeat.”
“Dreadful!” observed Benjamin, with another shake of the head. “Wot ‘ave you got to say for yourself?” asked his worship of the man.
“I mean to say,” replied the prisoner, with a lurch, “that all that (hiccup) blackguard has been saying’s a (hiccup) lie.”
“That won’t do,” replied Benjamin; “the gen’lman’s on his oath — couldn’t tell a lie if he would. I makes no doubt you’re a great waggabone, werry great waggabone. Every man,” added he very sententiously, “wot cocks his ‘at on one side is a waggabone. Every man wot cocks his ‘at on one side would cock his gun at a fizzant or an ‘are if they were to come in his way. ‘ That’s the law o’ the case. I conwicts you in the penalty of five shillings for being drunk; and for God’s sake,” added he in an undertone to Joshua, “get the tin and shove him out of sight as quick as ever you can, for I hear the old ‘un a letting his woman out, and there’s no saying but he may be poking in here after Batsay.” —
CHAPTER XXII.
“NOW I STATE in the presence of many of my tenants, that I am willing to do everything in my power for the improvement of stock. If a committee selected from among themselves will first go into Birmingham, the great metropolis of this part of the country, and ascertain there what description of stock is in the greatest demand, which fattens best, or yields the greatest produce of milk, or is best adapted for the food and pasture of this district, I will, regardless of price, introduce the best bull I can find
of such species, and my tenants and their cows shall have free access to the animal (loud laughter).” — Sir Robert Peel’s Agricultural Speech at Tamworth.
LET us pay a visit to Donkeyton Castle.
The Duke of Donkeyton sat in state in the midst of his spacious library, fitted up in rich Gothic style, with every appliance of modern luxury. Noble bookcases, glittering with well-bound, rarely touched books, rose from the softly carpeted floor towards the deeply mullioned ceiling, between the top of the bookcase and which were ranged, in close-drawn line, exquisite marble busts of poets, of statesmen, of orators, of heroes, of great men of ancient and modern times, of every clime and country — the wisdom of the world looking down on the folly of the day. Antique and easy chairs of every shape and make were scattered about among Gothic tables, portfolio stands, busts, banner screens, and globes. A clear-ticking, curiously wrought, and beautifully inlaid timepiece on the elaborately ornamented stone mantelpiece alone disturbed the solemn repose of the large, light-subdued apartment. —
His Grace sat in an easy chair, at a small black oak table, with gold mother-of-pearl-cased eye-glasses in hand, surveying the county map, particularly the part about Donkeyton Castle. The inner and outer circles were clearly defined, like the errand circles of a London club, and his Grace was bewildering himself in the attempt to draw a sleeping and non-sleeping party from among the omitted, prevented, and excused of the last gathering. Three attempts had he made, and thrice had he failed, owing to the usual confusion of his mind, and the impossibility of remembering whether it was Mr. Tom Brown of the Hill, or Mr. John Brown of the Vale, who had honoured him on a former occasion; or whether it was Mr. T. Smith or Mr. G. Smith who was on their side in politics.
Just as his Grace began his fourth list, the Marquis entered the library. “Ah, Jeems!” exclaimed his Grace, looking up, “come here, my dear; I am so monstrously puzzled, I hardly know what to do. Three lists have I drawn up of people to be invited, and three times have I destroyed them, owing to mistakes of some sort or other. Just come now and tell me, have the Tompkinses of Lintley been here this summer, or not; or have they been invited, or how?”
