come to the door. The Twysdens, father and son, were of this canine species: and
there are vast packs of such dogs here and elsewhere.
If Philip opened his heart to us, and talked unreservedly regarding his hopes
and his plans, you may be sure he had his little friend, Mrs. Brandon, also in
his confidence, and that no person in the world was more eager to serve him.
Whilst we were talking about what was to be done, this little lady was also at
work in her favourite's behalf. She had a firm ally in Mrs. Mugford, the
proprietor's lady of the Pall Mall Gazette. Mrs. Mugford had long been
interested in Philip, his misfortunes and his love affairs. These two good women
had made a sentimental hero of him. Ah! that they could devise some feasible
scheme to help him! And such a chance actually did very soon present itself to
these delighted women.
In almost all the papers of the new year appeared a brilliant advertisement,
announcing the speedy appearance in Dublin of a new paper. It was to be called
The Shamrock, and its first number was to be issued on the ensuing St. Patrick's
day. I need not quote at length the advertisement which heralded the advent of
this new periodical. The most famous pens of the national party in Ireland were,
of course, engaged to contribute to its columns. Those pens would be hammered
into steel of a different shape when the opportunity should offer. Beloved
prelates, authors of world-wide fame, bards, the bold strings of whose lyres had
rung through the isle already, and made millions of noble hearts to beat, and,
by consequence, double the number of eyes to fill; philosophers, renowned for
science; and illustrious advocates, whose manly voices had ever spoken the
language of hope and freedom to an would be found rallying round the journal,
and proud to wear the symbol of The Shamrock. Finally, Michael Cassidy, Esq.,
was chosen to be the editor of this new journal.
This was the M. Cassidy, Esq., who appeared, I think, at Mr. Firmin's
call-supper; and who had long been the sub-editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. If
Michael went to Dame Street, why should not Philip be sub-editor at Pall Mall?
Mrs. Brandon argued. Of course there would be a score of candidates for
Michael's office. The editor would like the patronage. Barnet, Mugford's partner
in the Gazette, would wish to appoint his man. Cassidy, before retiring, would
assuredly intimate his approaching resignation to scores of gentlemen of his
nation, who would not object to take the Saxon's pay until they finally shook
his yoke off, and would eat his bread until the happy moment arrived when they
could knock out his brains in fair battle. As soon as Mrs. Brandon heard of the
vacant place, that moment she determined that Philip should have it. It was
surprising what a quantity of information our little friend possessed about
artists, and pressmen, and their lives, families, ways and mean. Many gentlemen
of both professions came to Mr. Ridley's chambers, and called on the Little
Sister on their way to and fro. How Tom Smith had left the Herald, and gone to
the Post: what price Jack Jones had for his picture, and who sat for the
principal figures.��I promise you Madam Brandon had all these interesting
details by heart; and I think I have described this little person very
inadequately if I have not made you understand that she was as intrepid a little
jobber as ever lived, and never scrupled to go any length to serve a friend. To
be Archbishop of Canterbury, to be professor of Hebrew, to be teacher of a
dancing-school, to be organist for a church: for any conceivable place or
function this little person would have asserted Philip's capability. "Don't tell
me! He can dance or preach (as the case may be), or write beautiful! And as for
being unfit to be a sub-editor, I want to know, has he not as good a head and as
good an education as that Cassidy, indeed? And is not Cambridge College the best
college in the world? It is, I say. And he went there ever so long. And he might
have taken the very best prize, only money was no object to him then, dear
fellow, and he did not like to keep the poor out of what he didn't want!"
Mrs. Mugford had always considered the young man as very haughty, but quite the
gentleman, and speedily was infected by her gossip's enthusiasm about him. My
wife hired a fly, packed several of the children into it, called upon Mrs.
Mugford, and chose to be delighted with that lady's garden, with that lady's
nursery��with everything that bore the name of Mugford. It was a curiosity to
remark in what a flurry of excitement these women plunged, and how they schemed,
and coaxed, and caballed, in order to get this place for their prot�g�. My wife
Mugford's fond desire was to shine in the world. "Could we not ask some
people��with��with what you call handles to their names,��I think I before heard
you use some such term, sir,��to meet the Mugfords? Some of Philip's old
friends, who I am sure would be very happy to serve him." Some such artifice
was, I own, practised. We coaxed, cajoled, fondled the Mugfords for Philip's
sake, and heaven forgive Mrs. Laura her hypocrisy. We had an entertainment then,
I own. We asked our finest company, and Mr. and Mrs. Mugford to meet them: and
we prayed that unlucky Philip to be on his best behaviour to all persons who
were invited to the feast.
Before my wife this lion of a Firmin was as a lamb. Rough, captious, and
overbearing in general society, with those whom he loved and esteemed Philip was
of all men the most modest and humble. He would never tire of playing with our
children, joining in their games, laughing and roaring at their little sports. I
have never had such a laugher at my jokes as Philip Firmin. I think my wife
liked him for that noble guffaw with which he used to salute those pieces of
wit. He arrived a little late sometimes with his laughing chorus, but ten people
at table were not so loud as this faithful friend. On the contrary, when those
people for whom he has no liking venture on a pun or other pleasantry, I am
bound to own that Philip's acknowledgment of their waggery must be anything but
pleasant or flattering to them. Now, on occasion of this important dinner, I
enjoined him to be very kind, and very civil, and very much pleased with
everybody, and to stamp upon nobody's corns, as indeed, why should he, in life?
Who was he, to be censor morum? And it has been said that no man could admit his
own faults with a more engaging candour than our friend.
We invited, then, Mugford, the proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette, and his
wife; and Bickerton, the editor of that periodical; Lord Ascot, Philip's old
college friend; and one or two more gentlemen. Our invitations to the ladies
were not so fortunate. Some were engaged, others away in the country keeping
Christmas. In fine, we considered ourselves rather lucky in securing old Lady
Hixie, who lives hard by in Westminste, and who will pass for a lady of fashion
when no person of greater note is present. My wife told her that the object of
&
nbsp; the dinner was to make our friend Firmin acquainted with the editor and
proprietor of the Pall Mall Gazette, with whom it was important that he should
be on the most amicable footing. Oh! very well. Lady Hixie promised to be quite
gracious to the newpaper gentleman and his wife; and kept her promise most
graciously during the evening. Our good friend Mrs. Mugford was the first of our
guests to arrive. She drove "in her trap" from her villa in the suburbs; and
after putting up his carriage at a neighbouring livery-stable, her groom
volunteered to help our servants in waiting at dinner. His zeal and activity
were remarkable. China smashed, and dish-covers clanged in the passage. Mrs.
Mugford said that "Sam was at his old tricks;" and I hope the hostess showed she
was mistress of herself amidst that fall of china. Mrs. Mugford came before the
appointed hour, she said, in order to see our children. "With our late London
dinner hours," she remarked, "children was never seen now." At Hampstead, hers
always appeared at the dessert, and enlivened the table with their innocent
outcries for oranges, and struggles for sweetmeats. In the nursery, where one
little maid, in her crisp, long night-gown, was saying her prayers; where
another little person, in the most airy costume, was standing before the great
barred fire; where a third Lilliputian was sitting up in its night-cap and
surplice, surveying the scene below from its crib;��the ladies found our dear
Little Sister installed. She had come to see her little pets (she had known two
or three of them from the very earliest times). She was a great favourite
amongst them all; and, I believe, conspired with the cook down below in
preparing certain delicacies for the table. A fine conversation then ensued
about our children, about the Mugford children, about babies in general. And
then the artful women (the house mistress and the Little Sister) brought Philip
on the tapis, and discoursed � qui mieux, about his virtues, his misfortunes,
his engagement, and that dear little creature to whom he was betrothed. This
conversation went on until carriage-wheels were heard in the square, and the
knocker (there were actually knockers in that old-fashioned place and time)
and arranging her cap and flounces, with neat-handed Mrs. Brandon's aid, came
down-stairs, after taking a tender leave of the little people, to whom she sent
a present next day of a pile of fine Christmas books, which had come to the Pall
Mall Gazette for review. The kind woman had been coaxed, wheedled, and won over
to our side, to Philip's side. He had her vote for the sub-editorship, whatever
might ensue.
Most of our guests had already arrived, when at length Mrs. Mugford was
announced. I am bound to say that she presented a remarkable appearance, and
that the splendour of her attire was such as is seldom beheld.
Bickerton and Philip were presented to one another, and had a talk about French
politics before dinner, during which conversation Philip behaved with perfect
discretion and politeness. Bickerton had happened to hear Philip's letters well
spoken of��in a good quarter, mind; and his cordiality increased when Lord Ascot
entered, called Philip by his surname, and entered into a perfectly free
conversation with him. Old Lady Hixie went into perfectly good society,
Bickerton condescended to acknowledge. "As for Mrs. Mugford," says he, with a
glance of wondering compassion at that lady, "of course, I need not tell you
that she is seen nowhere��nowhere." This said, Mr. Bickerton stepped forward,
and calmly patronized my wife, gave me a good-natured nod for my own part,
reminded Lord Ascot that he had had the pleasure of meeting him at Egham; and
then fixed on Tom Page, of the Bread-and-Butter Office (who, I own, is one of
our most genteel guests), with whom he entered into a discussion of some
political matter of that day��I forget what: but the main point was that he
named two or three leading public men with whom he had discussed the question,
whatever it might be. He named very great names, and led us to understand that
with the proprietors of those very great names he was on the most intimate and
confidential footing. With his owners��with the proprietor of the Pall Mall
Gazette, he was on the most distant terms, and indeed I am afraid that his
behaviour to myself and my wife was scarcely respectful. I fancied I saw
Philip's brow gathering wrinkles as his eye followed this man strutting from one
person to another, and patronizing each. The dinner was a little late, from some
reason best known in the lower regions. "I take it," says Bickerton, winking at
Philip, in a pause of the conversation, "that our good friend and host is not
much used to giving dinners. The mistress of the house is evidently in a state
of perturbation." Philip gave such a horrible grimace that the other at first
thought he was in pain.
"You, who have lived a good deal with old Ringwood, know what a good dinner is,"
Bickerton continued, giving Firmin a knowing look.
"Any dinner is good which is accompanied with such a welcome as I get here,"
said Philip.
"Oh! very good people, very good people, of course!" cries Bickerton.
I need not say he thinks he has perfectly succeeded in adopting the air of a man
of the world. He went off to Lady Hixie and talked with her about the last great
party at which he had met her; and then he turned to the host, and remarked that
my friend, the doctor's son, was a fierce-looking fellow. In five minutes he had
the good fortune to make himself hated by Mr. Firmin. He walks through the world
patronizing his betters. "Our good friend is not much used to giving dinners,"
��isn't he? I say, what do you mean by continuing to endure this man? Tom Page,
of the Bread-and-Butter Office, is a well-known diner-out; Lord Ascot is a peer;
Bickerton, in a pretty loud voice, talked to one or other of these during dinner
and across the table. He sat next to Mrs. Mugford, but he turned his back on
that bewildered woman, and never condescended to address a word to her
personally. "Of course, I understand you, my dear fellow," he said to me when on
the retreat of the ladies we approached within whispering distance. "You have
these people at dinner for reasons of state. You have a book coming out, and
want to have it noticed in the paper. I make a point of keeping these people at
a distance��the only way of dealing with them, I give you my word."
Not one offensive word had Philip said to the chief writer of the Pall Mall
Gazette; and I began to congratulate myself that our dinner would pass without
any mishap, when some one unluckily happening to praise the wine, a fresh supply
was ordered. "Very good claret. Who is your wine-merchant? Upon my word I get
better claret here than I do in Paris��don't you think so, Mr. Fermor? Where do
you generally dine in Paris?"
"I generally dine for thirty sous, and three francs on grand days, Mr.
Beckerton," growls Philip.
"My name is Bickerton." ("What a vulgar thing
for a fellow to talk about his
thirty-sous dinners!" murmured my neighbour to me). "Well, there is no
accounting for tastes. When I go to Paris I dine at the Trois Fr�res. Give me
the Burgundy at Trois Fr�res."
"That is because you great leader writers are paid better than poor
correspondents. I shall be delighted to be able to dine better." And with this
Mr. Firmin smiles at Mr. Mugford, his master and owner.
"Nothing so vulgar as talking shop," says Bickerton, rather loud.
"I am not ashamed of the shop I keep. Are you of yours, Mr. Bickerton?" growls
Philip.
"F. had him there," says Mr. Mugford.
Mr. Bickerton got up from table, turning quite pale. "Do you mean to be
offensive, sir?" he asked.
"Offensive, sir? No, sir. Some men are offensive without meaning it. You have
been several times tonight!" says Lord Philip.
"I don't see that I am called upon to bear this kind of thing at any man's
table!" cried Mr. Bickerton. "Lord Ascot, I wish you good-night!"
"I say, old boy, what's the row about?" asked his lordship. And we were all
astonished as my guest rose and left the table in great wrath.
"Serve him right, Firmin, I say!" said Mr. Mugford, again drinking off a glass.
"Why, don't you know?" says Tom Page. "His father keeps a haberdasher's shop at
Cambridge, and sent him to Oxford, where he took a good degree."
And this had come of a dinner of conciliation��a dinner which was to advance
Philip's interest in life!
"Hit him again, I say," cried Mugford, whom wine had rendered eloquent. "He's a
supercilious beast, that Bickerton is, and I hate him, and so does Mrs. M."
CHAPTER II. NARRATES THAT FAMOUS JOKE ABOUT MISS GRIGSBY.
For once Philip found that he had offended without giving general offence. In
the confidence of female intercourse, Mrs. Mugford had already, in her own
artless but powerful language, confirmed her husband's statement regarding Mr.
Bickerton, and declared that B. was a beast, and she was only sorry that Mr. F.
had not hit him a little harder. So different are the opinions which different
individuals entertain of the same event! I happen to know that Bickerton, on his
side, went away, averring that we were quarrelsome, underbred people; and that a
man of any refinement had best avoid that kind of society. He does really and
seriously believe himself our superior, and will lecture almost any gentleman on
the art of being one. This assurance is not at all uncommon with your parvenu.
Proud of his newly-acquired knowledge of the art of exhausting the contents of
an egg, the well-known little boy of the apologue rushed to impart his knowledge
to his grandmother, who had been for many years familiar with the process which
the child had just discovered. Which of us has not met with some such
instructors? I know men who would be ready to step forward and teach Taglioni
how to dance, Tom Sayers how to box, or the Chevalier Bayard how to be a
gentleman. We most of us know such men, and undergo, from time to time, the
ineffable benefit of their patronage.
Mugford went away from our little entertainment vowing, by George, that Philip
shouldn't want for a friend at the proper season; and this proper season very
speedily arrived. I laughed one day, on going to the Pall Mall Gazette office,
to find Philip installed in the sub-editor's room, with a provision of scissors,
wafers, and paste-pots, snipping paragraphs from this paper and that, altering,
condensing, giving titles, and so forth; and, in a word, in regular harness. The
three-headed calves, the great prize gooseberries, the old maiden ladies of
wonderful ages, who at length died in country places��it was wonderful
(considering his little experience) how Firmin hunted out these. He entered into
all the spirit of his business. He prided himself on the clever titles which he