'Now mind; from this time forward,' said Mr. Brook Dingwall, suddenly stopping at the table, and beating time upon it with his hand; 'from this time forward, I never will, under any circumstances whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room of this house but the kitchen.--I'll allow my daughter and her husband one hundred and fifty pounds a-year, and never see their faces again: and, damme! ma'am, I'll bring in a bill for the abolition of finishing-schools.'
Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. and Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Ball's-pond, pleasantly situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick-field. They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important, and writes incessantly; but, in consequence of a gross combination on the part of publishers, none of his productions appear in print. His young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real unhappiness; and that a marriage, contracted in haste, and repented at leisure, is the cause of more substantial wretchedness than she ever anticipated.
On cool reflection, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was reluctantly compelled to admit that the untoward result of his admirable arrangements was attributable, not to the Miss Crumptons, but his own diplomacy. He, however, consoles himself, like some other small diplomatists, by satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not succeed, they ought to have done so. Minerva House is in status quo, and 'The Misses Crumpton' remain in the peaceable and undisturbed enjoyment of all the advantages resulting from their Finishing-School.
CHAPTER IV--THE TUGGSES AT RAMSGATE
Once upon a time there dwelt, in a narrow street on the Surrey side of the water, within three minutes' walk of old London Bridge, Mr. Joseph Tuggs--a little dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the ornamental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tuggs, if not perfectly symmetrical, was decidedly comfortable; and the form of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tuggs, was fast ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness which had enchanted the eyes, and captivated the heart, of Mr. Joseph Tuggs in his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tuggs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tuggs's only brother, was as differently formed in body, as he was differently constituted in mind, from the remainder of his family. There was that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a being, possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually appeared in public, in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings; and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock, without tie or ornament of any description.
There is perhaps no profession, however useful; no pursuit, however meritorious; which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer was beyond the breath of calumny; but no--the neighbours stigmatised him as a chandler; and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted that he dispensed tea and coffee by the quartern, retailed sugar by the ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by the pat. These taunts, however, were lost upon the Tuggses. Mr. Tuggs attended to the grocery department; Mrs. Tuggs to the cheesemongery; and Miss Tuggs to her education. Mr. Simon Tuggs kept his father's books, and his own counsel.
One fine spring afternoon, the latter gentleman was seated on a tub of weekly Dorset, behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which ornamented a corner of the counter; when a stranger dismounted from a cab, and hastily entered the shop. He was habited in black cloth, and bore with him, a green umbrella, and a blue bag.
'Mr. Tuggs?' said the stranger, inquiringly.
'MY name is Tuggs,' replied Mr. Simon.
'It's the other Mr. Tuggs,' said the stranger, looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, was distinctly visible, peeping over the curtain.
Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with considerable celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the stranger.
'I come from the Temple,' said the man with the bag.
'From the Temple!' said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective.
'From the Temple!' said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at the same moment.
'From the Temple!' said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as pale as a Dutch cheese.
'From the Temple,' repeated the man with the bag; 'from Mr. Cower's, the solicitor's. Mr. Tuggs, I congratulate you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity! We have been successful.' And the man with the bag leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and glove, as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tuggs.
Now the words 'we have been successful,' had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs rose from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away without the slightest ostensible cause or pretence.
'Water!' screamed Mrs. Tuggs.
'Look up, my son,' exclaimed Mr. Tuggs.
'Simon! dear Simon!' shrieked Miss Tuggs.
'I'm better now,' said Mr. Simon Tuggs. 'What! successful!' And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted away again, and was borne into the little parlour by the united efforts of the remainder of the family, and the man with the bag.
To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To those who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tuggs, it was quite comprehensible. A long-pending lawsuit respecting the validity of a will, had been unexpectedly decided; and Mr. Joseph Tuggs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds.
A prolonged consultation took place, that night, in the little parlour--a consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggses. The shop was shut up, at an unusually early hour; and many were the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for quarterns of sugar, or half-quarterns of bread, or penn'orths of pepper, which were to have been 'left till Saturday,' but which fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether.
'We must certainly give up business,' said Miss Tuggs.
'Oh, decidedly,' said Mrs. Tuggs.
'Simon shall go to the bar,' said Mr. Joseph Tuggs.
'And I shall always sign myself "Cymon" in future,' said his son.
'And I shall call myself Charlotta,' said Miss Tuggs.
'And you must always call ME "Ma," and father "Pa,"' said Mrs. Tuggs.
'Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits,' interposed Miss Tuggs.
'I'll take care of all that,' responded Mr. Joseph Tuggs, complacently. He was, at that very moment, eating pickled salmon with a pocket-knife.
'We must leave town immediately,' said Mr. Cymon Tuggs.
Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being genteel. The question then arose, Where should they go?
'Gravesend?' mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was unanimously scouted. Gravesend was LOW.
'Margate?' insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse--nobody there, but tradespeople.
'Brighton?' Mr. Cymon Tuggs opposed an insurmountable objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the last three weeks; each coach had averaged two passengers killed, and six wounded; and, in every case, the newspapers had distinctly understood that 'no blame whatever was attributable to the coachman.'
'Ramsgate?' ejaculated Mr. Cymon, thoughtfully. To be sure; how stupid they must have been, not to have thought of that before! Ramsgate was just the p
lace of all others.
Two months after this conversation, the City of London Ramsgate steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band was playing, her passengers were conversing; everything about her seemed gay and lively.--No wonder--the Tuggses were on board.
'Charming, ain't it?' said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, in a bottle-green great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue travelling-cap with a gold band.
'Soul-inspiring,' replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs--he was entered at the bar. 'Soul-inspiring!'
'Delightful morning, sir!' said a stoutish, military-looking gentleman in a blue surtout buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers chained down to the soles of his boots.
Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the observation. 'Heavenly!' he replied.
'You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, sir?' said the military gentleman.
'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.
'Travelled much, sir?' inquired the military gentleman.
'Not much,' replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.
'You've been on the continent, of course?' inquired the military gentleman.
'Not exactly,' replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs--in a qualified tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and come back again.
'You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir?' said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs.
As Mr. Joseph Tuggs did not precisely understand what the grand tour was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, 'Of course.' Just as he said the word, there came tripping up, from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce- coloured silk cloak, and boots of the same; with long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles.
'Walter, my dear,' said the young lady to the military gentleman.
'Yes, Belinda, my love,' responded the military gentleman to the black-eyed young lady.
'What have you left me alone so long for?' said the young lady. 'I have been stared out of countenance by those rude young men.'
'What! stared at?' exclaimed the military gentleman, with an emphasis which made Mr. Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the young lady's face with inconceivable rapidity. 'Which young men-- where?' and the military gentleman clenched his fist, and glared fearfully on the cigar-smokers around.
'Be calm, Walter, I entreat,' said the young lady.
'I won't,' said the military gentleman.
'Do, sir,' interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. 'They ain't worth your notice.'
'No--no--they are not, indeed,' urged the young lady.
'I WILL be calm,' said the military gentleman. 'You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter.' Calming his wrath, the military gentleman wrung Mr. Cymon Tuggs by the hand.
'My sister, sir!' said Mr. Cymon Tuggs; seeing that the military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta.
'My wife, ma'am--Mrs. Captain Waters,' said the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady.
'My mother, ma'am--Mrs. Tuggs,' said Mr. Cymon. The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies; and the Tuggses looked as unembarrassed as they could.
'Walter, my dear,' said the black-eyed young lady, after they had sat chatting with the Tuggses some half-hour.
'Yes, my love,' said the military gentleman.
'Don't you think this gentleman (with an inclination of the head towards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carriwini?'
'Lord bless me, very!' said the military gentleman.
'It struck me, the moment I saw him,' said the young lady, gazing intently, and with a melancholy air, on the scarlet countenance of Mr. Cymon Tuggs. Mr. Cymon Tuggs looked at everybody; and finding that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of his eyesight.
'So exactly the air of the marquis,' said the military gentleman.
'Quite extraordinary!' sighed the military gentleman's lady.
'You don't know the marquis, sir?' inquired the military gentleman.
Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative.
'If you did,' continued Captain Walter Waters, 'you would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance--a most elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance.'
'He is--he is indeed!' exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically. As her eye caught that of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, she withdrew it from his features in bashful confusion.
All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggses; and when, in the course of farther conversation, it was discovered that Miss Charlotta Tuggs was the fac simile of a titled relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture of the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton, their delight in the acquisition of so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds. Even the dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed, to that degree, that he suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tuggs, to partake of cold pigeon-pie and sherry, on deck; and a most delightful conversation, aided by these agreeable stimulants, was prolonged, until they ran alongside Ramsgate Pier.
'Good-bye, dear!' said Mrs. Captain Waters to Miss Charlotta Tuggs, just before the bustle of landing commenced; 'we shall see you on the sands in the morning; and, as we are sure to have found lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks to come.'
'Oh! I hope so,' said Miss Charlotta Tuggs, emphatically.
'Tickets, ladies and gen'lm'n,' said the man on the paddle-box.
'Want a porter, sir?' inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks.
'Now, my dear!' said Captain Waters.
'Good-bye!' said Mrs. Captain Waters--'good-bye, Mr. Cymon!' and with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man's nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured boots were seen ascending the steps, a white handkerchief fluttered, a black eye gleamed. The Waterses were gone, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs was alone in a heartless world.
Silently and abstractedly, did that too sensitive youth follow his revered parents, and a train of smock-frocks and wheelbarrows, along the pier, until the bustle of the scene around, recalled him to himself. The sun was shining brightly; the sea, dancing to its own music, rolled merrily in; crowds of people promenaded to and fro; young ladies tittered; old ladies talked; nursemaids displayed their charms to the greatest possible advantage; and their little charges ran up and down, and to and fro, and in and out, under the feet, and between the legs, of the assembled concourse, in the most playful and exhilarating manner. There were old gentlemen, trying to make out objects through long telescopes; and young ones, making objects of themselves in open shirt-collars; ladies, carrying about portable chairs, and portable chairs carrying about invalids; parties, waiting on the pier for parties who had come by the steam- boat; and nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment.
'Fly, sir?' exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six boys, the moment Mr. Joseph Tuggs, at the head of his little party, set foot in the street.
'Here's the gen'lm'n at last!' said one, touching his hat with mock politeness. 'Werry glad to see you, sir,--been a-waitin' for you these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir!'
'Nice light fly and a fast trotter, sir,' said another: 'fourteen mile a hour, and surroundin' objects rendered inwisible by ex-treme welocity!'
'Large fly for your luggage, sir,' cried a third. 'Werry large fly here, sir--reg'lar bluebottle!'
'Here's YOUR fly, sir!' shouted another aspiring charioteer, mounting the box, and inducing an old grey horse to indulge in some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. 'Look at him, sir!--temper of a lamb and haction of a steam-ingein!'
Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the proprietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined wit
h faded striped calico; and, the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings.
'How many beds have you got?' screamed Mrs. Tuggs out of the fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house which displayed a bill intimating that apartments were to be let within.
'How many did you want, ma'am?' was, of course, the reply.
'Three.'
'Will you step in, ma'am?' Down got Mrs. Tuggs. The family were delighted. Splendid view of the sea from the front windows-- charming! A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tuggs again.--One parlour and a mattress.
'Why the devil didn't they say so at first?' inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, rather pettishly.
'Don't know,' said Mrs. Tuggs.
'Wretches!' exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another bill--another stoppage. Same question--same answer--similar result.
'What do they mean by this?' inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs, thoroughly out of temper.
'Don't know,' said the placid Mrs. Tuggs.
'Orvis the vay here, sir,' said the driver, by way of accounting for the circumstance in a satisfactory manner; and off they went again, to make fresh inquiries, and encounter fresh disappointments.
It had grown dusk when the 'fly'--the rate of whose progress greatly belied its name--after climbing up four or five perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, with a bay window, from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea--if you thrust half of your body out of it, at the imminent peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tuggs alighted. One ground- floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them up-stairs. A double-house. Family on the opposite side. Five children milk- and-watering in the parlour, and one little boy, expelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage.
'What's the terms?' said Mrs. Tuggs. The mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea; so, she coughed slightly, and affected not to hear the question.
Works of Charles Dickens (200+ Works) The Adventures of Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, A Christmas Carol, A Tale of Two Cities, Bleak House, David Copperfield & more (mobi) Page 1412
