little more money into its treasury. A tender appeal was accordingly drawn up,
and published in all the papers:?
"APPEAL.
"BRITISH WASHERWOMAN'S-ORPHANS' HOME.
"The 'Washerwoman's-Orphans' Home' has now been established seven years: and the
good which it has effected is, it may be confidently stated, INCALCULABLE.
Ninety-eight orphan children of Washerwomen have been lodged within its walls.
One hundred and two British Washerwomen have been relieved when in the last
state of decay. ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-EIGHT THOUSAND articles of male and
female dress have been washed, mended, buttoned, ironed, and mangled in the
Establishment. And, by an arrangement with the governors of the Foundling, it is
hoped that THE BABY-LINEN OF THAT HOSPITAL will be confided to the British
Washerwoman's Home!
"With such prospects before it, is it not sad, is it not lamentable to think,
that the Patronesses of the Society have been compelled to reject the
applications of no less than THREE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND ONE BRITISH
WASHERWOMEN, from lack of means for their support? Ladies of England! Mothers of
England! to you we appeal. Is there one of you that will not respond to the cry
in behalf of these deserving members of our sex?
"It has been determined by the Ladies-Patronesses to give a fete at Beulah Spa,
on Thursday, July 25; which will be graced with the first foreign and native
TALENT; by the first foreign and native RANK; and where they beg for the
attendance of every WASHERWOMAN'S FRIEND."
Her Highness the Princess of Schloppenzollernschwigmaringen, the Duke of
Sacks-Tubbingen, His Excellency Baron Strumpff, His Excellency
Lootf-Allee-Koolee-Bismillah-Mohamed-Rusheed-Allah, the Persian Ambassador,
Prince Futtee-Jaw, Envoy from the King of Oude, His Excellency Don Alonzo di
Cachachero-y-Fandango-y-Castanete, the Spanish Ambassador, Count Ravioli, from
Milan, the Envoy of the Republic of Topinambo, and a host of other fashionables,
promised to honor the festival: and their names made a famous show in the bills.
Besides these, we had the celebrated band of Moscow-musiks, the seventy-seven
Transylvanian trumpeters, and the famous Bohemian Minnesingers; with all the
leading artists of London, Paris, the Continent, and the rest of Europe.
I leave you to fancy what a splendid triumph for the British Washerwoman's Home
was to come off on that day. A beautiful tent was erected, in which the
Ladies-Patronesses were to meet: it was hung round with specimens of the skill
of the washerwomen's orphans; ninety-six of whom were to be feasted in the
gardens, and waited on by the Ladies-Patronesses.
Well, Jemmy and my daughter, Madame de Flicflac, myself, the Count, Baron
Punter, Tug, and Tagrag, all went down in the chariot and barouche-and-four,
quite eclipsing poor Lady Kilblazes and her carriage-and-two.
There was a fine cold collation, to which the friends of the Ladies-Patronesses
were admitted; after which, my ladies and their beaux went strolling through the
walks; Tagrag and the Count having each an arm of Jemmy; the Baron giving an arm
apiece to Madame and Jemimarann. Whilst they were walking, whom should they
light upon but poor Orlando Crump, my successor in the perfumery and hair-
cutting.
"Orlando!" says Jemimarann, blushing as red as a label, and holding out her
hand.
"Jemimar!" says he, holding out his, and turning as white as pomatum.
"SIR!" says Jemmy, as stately as a duchess.
"What! madam," says poor Crump, "don't you remember your shopboy?"
"Dearest mamma, don't you recollect Orlando?" whimpers Jemimarann, whose hand he
had got hold of.
"Miss Tuggeridge Coxe," says Jemmy, "I'm surprised of you. Remember, sir, that
our position is altered, and oblige me by no more familiarity."
"Insolent fellow!" says the Baron, "vat is dis canaille?"
"Canal yourself, Mounseer," says Orlando, now grown quite furious: he broke
away, quite indignant, and was soon lost in the crowd. Jemimarann, as soon as he
was gone, began to look very pale and ill; and her mamma, therefore, took her to
a tent, where she left her along with Madame Flicflac and the Baron; going off
herself with the other gentlemen, in order to join us.
It appears they had not been seated very long, when Madame Flicflac suddenly
sprung up, with an exclamation of joy, and rushed forward to a friend whom she
saw pass.
The Baron was left alone with Jemimarann; and, whether it was the champagne, or
that my dear girl looked more than commonly pretty, I don't know; but Madame
Flicflac had not been gone a minute, when the Baron dropped on his knees, and
made her a regular declaration.
Poor Orlando Crump had found me out by this time, and was standing by my side,
listening, as melancholy as possible, to the famous Bohemian Minnesingers, who
were singing the celebrated words of the poet Gothy:?
"Ich bin ya hupp lily lee, du bist ya hupp lily lee.
Wir sind doch hupp lily lee, hupp la lily lee."
"Chorus?Yodle-odle-odle-odle-odle-odle hupp! yodle-odle-aw-o-o-o!"
They were standing with their hands in their waistcoats, as usual, and had just
come to the "o-o-o," at the end of the chorus of the forty-seventh stanza, when
Orlando started: "That's a scream!" says he. "Indeed it is," says I; "and, but
for the fashion of the thing, a very ugly scream too:" when I heard another
shrill "Oh!" as I thought; and Orlando bolted off, crying, "By heavens, it's HER
voice!" "Whose voice?" says I. "Come and see the row," says Tag. And off we
went, with a considerable number of people, who saw this strange move on his
part.
We came to the tent, and there we found my poor Jemimarann fainting; her mamma
holding a smelling-bottle; the Baron, on the ground, holding a handkerchief to
his bleeding nose; and Orlando squaring at him, and calling on him to fight if
he dared.
My Jemmy looked at Crump very fierce. "Take that feller away," says she; "he has
insulted a French nobleman, and deserves transportation, at the least."
Poor Orlando was carried off. "I've no patience with the little minx," says
Jemmy, giving Jemimarann a pinch. "She might be a Baron's lady; and she screams
out because his Excellency did but squeeze her hand."
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" sobs poor Jemimarann, "but he was t-t-tipsy."
"T-t-tipsy! and the more shame for you, you hussy, to be offended with a
nobleman who does not know what he is doing."
A TOURNAMENT.
"I say, Tug," said MacTurk, one day soon after our flareup at Beulah, "Kilblazes
comes of age in October, and then we'll cut you out, as I told you: the old
barberess will die of spite when she hears what we are going to do. What do you
think? we're going to have a tournament!" "What's a tournament?" says Tug, and
so said his mamma when she heard the news; and when she knew what a tournament
was, I think, really, she WAS as angry as MacTurk said she would be, and gave us
no peace for days together. "What!" says she, "dress up in armor, like
play-actors, and run at each other wi
th spears? The Kilblazes must be mad! "And
so I thought, but I didn't think the Tuggeridges would be mad too, as they were:
for, when Jemmy heard that the Kilblazes' festival was to be, as yet, a profound
secret, what does she do, but send down to the Morning Post a flaming account of
"THE PASSAGE OF ARMS AT TUGGERIDGEVIILLE!
"The days of chivalry are NOT past. The fair Castellane of T-gg-r-dgeville,
whose splendid entertainments have so often been alluded to in this paper, has
determined to give one, which shall exceed in splendor even the magnificence of
the Middle Ages. We are not at liberty to say more; but a tournament, at which
His Ex-l-ncy B-r-n de P-nt-r and Thomas T-gr-g, Esq., eldest son of Sir Th?s
T-gr-g, are to be the knights-defendants against all comers; a QUEEN OF BEAUTY,
of whose loveliness every frequenter of fashion has felt the power; a banquet,
unexampled in the annals of Gunter; and a ball, in which the recollections of
ancient chivalry will blend sweetly with the soft tones of Weippert and
Collinet, are among the entertainments which the Ladye of T-gg-ridgeville has
prepared for her distinguished guests."
The Baron was the life of the scheme; he longed to be on horseback, and in the
field at Tuggeridgeville, where he, Tagrag, and a number of our friends
practised: he was the very best tilter present; he vaulted over his horse, and
played such wonderful antics, as never were done except at Ducrow's.
And now?oh that I had twenty pages, instead of this short chapter, to describe
the wonders of the day!?Twenty-four knights came from Ashley's at two guineas a
head. We were in hopes to have had Miss Woolford in the character of Joan of
Arc, but that lady did not appear. We had a tent for the challengers, at each
side of which hung what they called ESCOACHINGS, (like hatchments, which they
put up when people die,) and underneath sat their pages, holding their helmets
for the tournament. Tagrag was in brass armor (my City connections got him that
famous suit); his Excellency in polished steel. My wife wore a coronet, modelled
exactly after that of Queen Catharine, in "Henry V.;" a tight gilt jacket, which
set off dear Jemmy's figure wonderfully, and a train of at least forty feet.
Dear Jemimarann was in white, her hair braided with pearls. Madame de Flicflac
appeared as Queen Elizabeth; and Lady Blanche Bluenose as a Turkish princess. An
alderman of London and his lady; two magistrates of the county, and the very
pink of Croydon; several Polish noblemen; two Italian counts (besides our
Count); one hundred and ten young officers, from Addiscombe College, in full
uniform, commanded by Major-General Sir Miles Mulligatawney, K.C.B., and his
lady; the Misses Pimminy's Finishing Establishment, and fourteen young ladies,
all in white: the Reverend Doctor Wapshot, and forty-nine young gentlemen, of
the first families, under his charge?were SOME only of the company. I leave you
to fancy that, if my Jemmy did seek for fashion, she had enough of it on this
occasion. They wanted me to have mounted again, but my hunting-day had been
sufficient; besides, I ain't big enough for a real knight: so, as Mrs. Coxe
insisted on my opening the Tournament?and I knew it was in vain to resist?the
Baron and Tagrag had undertaken to arrange so that I might come off with safety,
if I came off at all. They had procured from the Strand Theatre a famous stud of
hobby-horses, which they told me had been trained for the use of the great Lord
Bateman. I did not know exactly what they were till they arrived; but as they
had belonged to a lord, I thought it was all right, and consented; and I found
it the best sort of riding, after all, to appear to be on horseback and walk
safely a-foot at the same time; and it was impossible to come down as long as I
kept on my own legs: besides, I could cuff and pull my steed about as much as I
liked, without fear of his biting or kicking in return. As Lord of the
Tournament, they placed in my hands a lance, ornamented spirally, in blue and
gold: I thought of the pole over my old shop door, and almost wished myself
there again, as I capered up to the battle in my helmet and breastplate, with
all the trumpets blowing and drums beating at the time. Captain Tagrag was my
opponent, and preciously we poked each other, till, prancing about, I put my
foot on my horse's petticoat behind, and down I came, getting a thrust from the
Captain, at the same time, that almost broke my shoulder-bone. "This was
sufficient," they said, "for the laws of chivalry;" and I was glad to get off
so.
After that the gentlemen riders, of whom there were no less than seven, in
complete armor, and the professionals, now ran at the ring; and the Baron was
far, far the most skilful.
"How sweetly the dear Baron rides," said my wife, who was always ogling at him,
smirking, smiling, and waving her handkerchief to him. "I say, Sam," says a
professional to one of his friends, as, after their course, they came cantering
up, and ranged under Jemmy's bower, as she called it:?"I say, Sam, I'm blowed if
that chap in harmer mustn't have been one of hus." And this only made Jemmy the
more pleased; for the fact is, the Baron had chosen the best way of winning
Jemimarann by courting her mother.
The Baron was declared conqueror at the ring; and Jemmy awarded him the prize, a
wreath of white roses, which she placed on his lance; he receiving it
gracefully, and bowing, until the plumes of his helmet mingled with the mane of
his charger, which backed to the other end of the lists; then galloping back to
the place where Jemimarann was seated, he begged her to place it on his helmet.
The poor girl blushed very much, and did so. As all the people were applauding,
Tagrag rushed up, and, laying his hand on the Baron's shoulder, whispered
something in his ear, which made the other very angry, I suppose, for he shook
him off violently. "Chacun pour soi," says he, "Monsieur de Taguerague,"?which
means, I am told, "Every man for himself." And then he rode away, throwing his
lance in the air, catching it, and making his horse caper and prance, to the
admiration of all beholders.
After this came the "Passage of Arms." Tagrag and the Baron ran courses against
the other champions; ay, and unhorsed two apiece; whereupon the other three
refused to turn out; and preciously we laughed at them, to be sure!
"Now, it's OUR turn, Mr. CHICOT," says Tagrag, shaking his fist at the Baron:
"look to yourself, you infernal mountebank, for, by Jupiter, I'll do my best!"
And before Jemmy and the rest of us, who were quite bewildered, could say a
word, these two friends were charging away, spears in hand, ready to kill each
other. In vain Jemmy screamed; in vain I threw down my truncheon: they had
broken two poles before I could say "Jack Robinson," and were driving at each
other with the two new ones. The Baron had the worst of the first course, for he
had almost been carried out of his saddle. "Hark you, Chicot!" screamed out
Tagrag, "next time look to your head!" And next time, sure enough, each aimed at
the head of the other. br />
Tagrag's spear hit the right place; for it carried off the Baron's helmet,
plume, rose-wreath and all; but his Excellency hit truer still?his lance took
Tagrag on the neck, and sent him to the ground like a stone.
"He's won! he's won!" says Jemmy, waving her handkerchief; Jemimarann fainted,
Lady Blanche screamed, and I felt so sick that I thought I should drop. All the
company were in an uproar: only the Baron looked calm, and bowed very
gracefully, and kissed his hand to Jemmy; when, all of a sudden, a
Jewish-looking man springing over the barrier, and followed by three more,
rushed towards the Baron. "Keep the gate, Bob!" he holloas out. "Baron, I arrest
you, at the suit of Samuel Levison, for?"
But he never said for what; shouting out, "Aha!" and "Sapprrrristie!" and I
don't know what, his Excellency drew his sword, dug his spurs into his horse,
and was over the poor bailiff, and off before another word. He had threatened to
run through one of the bailiff's followers, Mr. Stubbs, only that gentleman made
way for him; and when we took up the bailiff, and brought him round by the aid
of a little brandy-and-water, he told us all. "I had a writ againsht him,
Mishter Coxsh, but I didn't vant to shpoil shport; and, beshidesh, I didn't know
him until dey knocked off his shteel cap!"
. . . . . .
Here was a pretty business!
OVER-BOARDED AND UNDER-LODGED.
We had no great reason to brag of our tournament at Tuggeridgeville: but, after
all, it was better than the turn-out at Kilblazes, where poor Lord Heydownderry
went about in a black velvet dressing-gown, and the Emperor Napoleon Bonypart
appeared in a suit of armor and silk stockings, like Mr. Pell's friend in
Pickwick; we, having employed the gentlemen from Astley's Antitheatre, had some
decent sport for our money.
We never heard a word from the Baron, who had so distinguished himself by his
horsemanship, and had knocked down (and very justly) Mr. Nabb, the bailiff, and
Mr. Stubbs, his man, who came to lay hands upon him. My sweet Jemmy seemed to be
very low in spirits after his departure, and a sad thing it is to see her in low
spirits: on days of illness she no more minds giving Jemimarann a box on the
ear, or sending a plate of muffins across a table at poor me, than she does
taking her tea.
Jemmy, I say, was very low in spirits; but, one day (I remember it was the day
after Captain Higgins called, and said he had seen the Baron at Boulogne), she
vowed that nothing but change of air would do her good, and declared that she
should die unless she went to the seaside in France. I knew what this meant, and
that I might as well attempt to resist her as to resist her Gracious Majesty in
Parliament assembled; so I told the people to pack up the things, and took four
places on board the "Grand Turk" steamer for Boulogne.
The travelling-carriage, which, with Jemmy's thirty-seven boxes and my
carpet-bag, was pretty well loaded, was sent on board the night before; and we,
after breakfasting in Portland Place (little did I think it was the?but, poh!
never mind), went down to the Custom House in the other carriage, followed by a
hackney-coach and a cab, with the servants, and fourteen bandboxes and trunks
more, which were to be wanted by my dear girl in the journey.
The road down Cheapside and Thames Street need not be described: we saw the
Monument, a memento of the wicked Popish massacre of St. Bartholomew;?why
erected here I can't think, as St. Bartholomew is in Smithfield;?we had a
glimpse of Billingsgate, and of the Mansion House, where we saw the
two-and-twenty-shilling-coal smoke coming out of the chimneys, and were landed
at the Custom House in safety. I felt melancholy, for we were going among a
people of swindlers, as all Frenchmen are thought to be; and, besides not being
able to speak the language, leaving our own dear country and honest countrymen.
Fourteen porters came out, and each took a package with the greatest civility;