The Newcomes

tailors called at a man's lodgings to dazzle him with cards of fancy

  waistcoats; when it seemed necessary to purchase a grand silver

  dressing-case, so as to be ready for the beard which was not yet born (as

  yearling brides provide lace caps, and work rich clothes, for the

  expected darling); when to ride in the Park on a ten-shilling hack seemed

  to be the height of fashionable enjoyment, and to splash your college

  tutor as you were driving down Regent Street in a hired cab the triumph

  of satire; when the acme of pleasure seemed to be to meet Jones of

  Trinity at the Bedford, and to make an arrangement with him, and with

  King of Corpus (who was staying at the Colonnade), and Martin of Trinity

  Hall (who was with his family in Bloomsbury Square), to dine at the

  Piazza, go to the play and see Braham in Fra Diavolo, and end the frolic

  evening by partaking of supper and a song at the "Cave of Harmony."--It

  was in the days of my own youth, then, that I met one or two of the

  characters who are to figure in this history, and whom I must ask leave

  to accompany for a short while, and until, familiarised with the public,

  they can make their own way. As I recall them the roses bloom again, and

  the nightingales sing by the calm Bendemeer.

  Going to the play, then, and to the pit, as was the fashion in those

  honest days, with some young fellows of my own age, having listened

  delighted to the most cheerful and brilliant of operas, and laughed

  enthusiastically at the farce, we became naturally hungry at twelve

  o'clock at night, and a desire for welsh-rabbits and good old

  glee-singing led us to the "Cave of Harmony," then kept by the celebrated

  Hoskins, among whose friends we were proud to count.

  We enjoyed such intimacy with Mr. Hoskins that he never failed to greet

  us with a kind nod; and John the waiter made room for us near the

  President of the convivial meeting. We knew the three admirable

  glee-singers, and many a time they partook of brandy-and-water at our

  expense. One of us gave his call dinner at Hoskins's, and a merry time we

  had of it. Where are you, O Hoskins, bird of the night? Do you warble

  your songs by Acheron, or troll your choruses by the banks of black

  Avernus?

  The goes of stout, the "Chough and Crow," the welsh-rabbit, the

  "Red-Cross Knight," the hot brandy-and-water (the brown, the strong!),

  the "Bloom is on the Rye" (the bloom isn't on the rye any more!)--the

  song and the cup, in a word, passed round merrily; and, I daresay, the

  songs and bumpers were encored. It happened that there was a very small

  attendance at the "Cave" that night, and we were all more sociable and

  friendly because the company was select. The songs were chiefly of the

  sentimental class; such ditties were much in vogue at the time of which I

  speak.

  There came into the "Cave" a gentleman with a lean brown face and long

  black mustachios, dressed in very loose clothes, and evidently a stranger

  to the place. At least he had not visited it for a long time. He was

  pointing out changes to a lad who was in his company; and, calling for

  sherry-and-water, he listened to the music, and twirled his mustachios

  with great enthusiasm.

  At the very first glimpse of me the boy jumped up from the table, bounded

  across the room, ran to me with his hands out, and, blushing, said,

  "Don't you know me?"

  It was little Newcome, my school-fellow, whom I had not seen for six

  years, grown a fine tall young stripling now, with the same bright blue

  eyes which I remembered when he was quite a little boy.

  "What the deuce brings you here?" said I.

  He laughed and looked roguish. "My father--that's my father--would come.

  He's just come back from India. He says all the wits used to come here,--

  Mr. Sheridan, Captain Morris, Colonel Hanger, Professor Porson. I told

  him your name, and that you used to be very kind to me when I first went

  to Smithfield. I've left now; I'm to have a private tutor. I say, I've

  got such a jolly pony. It's better fun than old Smile."

  Here the whiskered gentleman, Newcome's father, pointing to a waiter to

  follow him with his glass of sherry-and-water, strode across the room

  twirling his mustachios, and came up to the table where we sate, making a

  salutation with his hat in a very stately and polite manner, so that

  Hoskins himself was, as it were, obliged to bow; the glee-singers

  murmured among themselves (their eyes rolling over their glasses towards

  one another as they sucked brandy-and water), and that mischievous little

  wag, little Nadab the Improvisatore (who had just come in), began to

  mimic him, feeling his imaginary whiskers, after the manner of the

  stranger, and flapping about his pocket-handkerchief in the most

  ludicrous manner. Hoskins checked this ribaldry by sternly looking

  towards Nadab, and at the same time called upon the gents to give their

  orders, the waiter being in the room, and Mr. Bellew about to sing a

  song.

  Newcome's father came up and held out his hand to me. I dare say I

  blushed, for I had been comparing him to the admirable Harley in the

  Critic, and had christened him Don Ferolo Whiskerandos.

  He spoke in a voice exceedingly soft and pleasant, and with a cordiality

  so simple and sincere, that my laughter shrank away ashamed, and gave

  place to a feeling much more respectful and friendly. In youth, you see,

  one is touched by kindness. A man of the world may, of course, be

  grateful or not as he chooses.

  "I have heard of your kindness, sir," says he, "to my boy. And whoever is

  kind to him is kind to me. Will you allow me to sit down by you? and may

  I beg you to try my cheroots?" We were friends in a minute--young Newcome

  snuggling by my side, his father opposite, to whom, after a minute or two

  of conversation, I presented my three college friends.

  "You have come here, gentlemen, to see the wits," says the Colonel. "Are

  there any celebrated persons in the room? I have been five-and-thirty

  years from home, and want to see all that is to be seen."

  King of Corpus (who was an incorrigible wag) was on the point of pulling

  some dreadful long-bow, and pointing out a halfdozen of people in the

  room, as R. and H. and L., etc., the most celebrated wits of that day;

  but I cut King's shins under the table, and got the fellow to hold his

  tongue.

  "Maxima debetur pueris," says Jones (a fellow of very kind feeling, who

  has gone into the Church since), and, writing on his card to Hoskins,

  hinted to him that a boy was in the room, and a gentleman, who was quite

  a greenhorn: hence that the songs had better be carefully selected.

  And so they were. A ladies' school might have come in, and, but for the

  smell of the cigars and brandy-and-water, have taken no harm by what

  happened. Why should it not always be so? If there are any "Caves of

  Harmony" now, I warrant Messieurs the landlords, their interests would be

  better consulted by keeping their singers within bounds. The very

  greatest scamps like pretty songs, and are melted by them; so are honest

  people. It was worth a guinea to see the simple Co
lonel, and his delight

  at the music. He forgot all about the distinguished wits whom he had

  expected to see in his ravishment over the glees.

  "I say, Clive, this is delightful. This is better than your aunt's

  concert with all the Squallinis, hey? I shall come here often. Landlord,

  may I venture to ask those gentlemen if they will take any refreshment?

  What are their names?" (to one of his neighbours). "I was scarcely

  allowed to hear any singing before I went out, except an oratorio, where

  I fell asleep; but this, by George, is as fine as Incledon!" He became

  quite excited over his sherry-and-water-("I'm sorry to see you,

  gentlemen, drinking brandy-pawnee," says he; "it plays the deuce with our

  young men in India.") He joined in all the choruses with an exceedingly

  sweet voice. He laughed at "The Derby Ram" so that it did you good to

  hear him; and when Hoskins sang (as he did admirably) "The Old English

  Gentleman," and described, in measured cadence, the death of that

  venerable aristocrat, tears trickled down the honest warrior's cheek,

  while he held out his hand to Hoskins and said, "Thank you, sir, for that

  song; it is an honour to human nature." On which Hoskins began to cry

  too.

  And now young Nadab, having been cautioned, commenced one of those

  surprising feats of improvisation with which he used to charm audiences.

  He took us all off, and had rhymes pat about all the principal persons in

  the room: King's pins (which he wore very splendid), Martin's red

  waistcoat, etc. The Colonel was charmed with each feat, and joined

  delighted with the chorus--"Ritolderol ritolderol ritolderolderay" (bis).

  And when, coming to the Colonel himself, he burst out--

  "A military gent I see--And while his face I scan,

  I think you'll all agree with me--He came from Hindostan.

  And by his side sits laughing free--A youth with curly head,

  I think you'll all agree with me--That he was best in bed.

  Ritolderol," etc.

  --the Colonel laughed immensely at this sally, and clapped his son, young

  Clive, on the shoulder. "Hear what he says of you, sir? Clive, best be

  off to bed, my boy--ho, ho! No, no. We know a trick worth two of that.

  'We won't go home till morning, till daylight does appear.' Why should

  we? Why shouldn't my boy have innocent pleasure? I was allowed none when

  I was a young chap, and the severity was nearly the ruin of me. I must go

  and speak with that young man--the most astonishing thing I ever heard in

  my life. What's his name? Mr. Nadab? Mr. Nadab, sir, you have delighted

  me. May I make so free as to ask you to come and dine with me to-morrow

  at six? Colonel Newcome, if you please, Nerot's Hotel, Clifford Street. I

  am always proud to make the acquaintance of men of genius, and you are

  one, or my name is not Newcome!"

  "Sir, you do me hhonour," says Mr. Nadab, pulling up his shirt-collar,

  "and perhaps the day will come when the world will do me justice,--may I

  put down your hhonoured name for my book of poems?"

  "Of course, my dear sir," says the enthusiastic Colonel; "I'll send them

  all over India. Put me down for six copies, and do me the favour to bring

  them to-morrow when you come to dinner."

  And now Mr. Hoskins asking if any gentleman would volunteer a song, what

  was our amazement when the simple Colonel offered to sing himself, at

  which the room applauded vociferously; whilst methought poor Clive

  Newcome hung down his head, and blushed as red as a peony. I felt for the

  young lad, and thought what my own sensations would have been if, in that

  place, my own uncle, Major Pendennis, had suddenly proposed to exert his

  lyrical powers.

  The Colonel selected the ditty of "Wapping Old Stairs" (a ballad so sweet

  and touching that surely any English poet might be proud to be the father

  of it), and he sang this quaint and charming old song in an exceedingly

  pleasant voice, with flourishes and roulades in the old Incledon manner,

  which has pretty nearly passed away. The singer gave his heart and soul

  to the simple ballad, and delivered Molly's gentle appeal so pathetically

  that even the professional gentlemen hummed and buzzed--a sincere

  applause; and some wags who were inclined to jeer at the beginning of the

  performance, clinked their glasses and rapped their sticks with quite a

  respectful enthusiasm. When the song was over, Clive held up his head

  too; after the shock of the first verse, looked round with surprise and

  pleasure in his eyes; and we, I need not say, backed our friend,

  delighted to see him come out of his queer scrape so triumphantly. The

  Colonel bowed and smiled with very pleasant good-nature at our plaudits.

  It was like Dr. Primrose preaching his sermon in the prison. There was

  something touching in the naivete and kindness of the placid and simple

  gentleman.

  Great Hoskins, placed on high, amidst the tuneful choir, was pleased to

  signify his approbation, and gave his guest's health in his usual

  dignified manner. "I am much obliged to you, sir," says Mr. Hoskins; "the

  room ought to be much obliged to you: I drink your 'ealth and song, sir;"

  and he bowed to the Colonel politely over his glass of brandy-and-water,

  of which he absorbed a little in his customer's honour. "I have not heard

  that song," he was kind enough to say, "better performed since Mr.

  Incledon sung it. He was a great singer, sir, and I may say, in the words

  of our immortal Shakspeare, that, take him for all in all, we shall not

  look upon his like again."

  The Colonel blushed in his turn, and turning round to his boy with an

  arch smile, said, "I learnt it from Incledon. I used to slip out from

  Grey Friars to hear him, Heaven bless me, forty years ago; and I used to

  be flogged afterwards, and serve me right too. Lord! Lord! how the time

  passes!" He drank off his sherry-and-water, and fell back in his chair;

  we could see he was thinking about his youth--the golden time--the happy,

  the bright, the unforgotten. I was myself nearly two-and-twenty years of

  age at that period, and felt as old as, ay, older than the Colonel.

  Whilst he was singing his ballad, there had walked, or rather reeled,

  into the room, a gentleman in a military frock-coat and duck trousers of

  dubious hue, with whose name and person some of my readers are perhaps

  already acquainted. In fact it was my friend Captain Costigan, in his

  usual condition at this hour of the night.

  Holding on by various tables, the Captain had sidled up, without accident

  to himself or any of the jugs and glasses round about him, to the table

  where we sat, and had taken his place near the writer, his old

  acquaintance. He warbled the refrain of the Colonel's song, not

  inharmoniously; and saluted its pathetic conclusion with a subdued hiccup

  and a plentiful effusion of tears. "Bedad, it is a beautiful song," says

  he, "and many a time I heard poor Harry Incledon sing it."

  "He's a great character," whispered that unlucky King of Corpus to his

  neighbour the Colonel; "was a Captain in the army. We call him the

  General. Captain Costigan, will you take some
thing to drink?"

  "Bedad, I will," says the Captain, "and I'll sing ye a song tu."

  And, having procured a glass of whisky-and-water from the passing waiter,

  the poor old man, settling his face into a horrid grin, and leering, as

  he was wont when he gave what he called one of his prime songs, began his

  music.

  The unlucky wretch, who scarcely knew what he was doing or saying,

  selected one of the most outrageous performances of his repertoire, fired

  off a tipsy howl by way of overture, and away he went. At the end of the

  second verse the Colonel started up, clapping on his hat, seizing his

  stick, and looking as ferocious as though he had been going to do battle

  with a Pindaree.

  "Silence!" he roared out.

  "Hear, hear!" cried certain wags at a farther table. "Go on, Costigan!"

  said others.

  "Go on!" cries the Colonel, in his high voice trembling with anger. "Does

  any gentleman say 'Go On?' Does any man who has a wife and sisters, or

  children at home, say 'Go on' to such disgusting ribaldry as this? Do you

  dare, sir, to call yourself a gentleman, and to say that you hold the

  King's commission, and to sit down amongst Christians and men of honour,

  and defile the ears of young boys with this wicked balderdash?"

  "Why do you bring young boys here, old boy?" cries a voice of the

  malcontents.

  "Why? Because I thought I was coming to a society of gentlemen," cried

  out the indignant Colonel. "Because I never could have believed that

  Englishmen could meet together and allow a man, and an old man, so to

  disgrace himself. For shame, you old wretch! Go home to your bed, you

  hoary old sinner! And for my part, I'm not sorry that my son should see,

  for once in his life, to what shame and degradation and dishonour,

  drunkenness and whisky may bring a man. Never mind the change, sir!--

  Curse the change!" says the Colonel, facing the amazed waiter. "Keep it

  till you see me in this place again; which will be never--by George,

  never!" And shouldering his stick, and scowling round at the company of

  scared bacchanalians, the indignant gentleman stalked away, his boy after

  him.

  Clive seemed rather shamefaced; but I fear the rest of the company looked

  still more foolish.

  "Aussi que diable venait--il faire dans cette galere?" says King of

  Corpus to Jones of Trinity; and Jones gave a shrug of his shoulders,

  which were smarting, perhaps; for that uplifted cane of the Colonel's had

  somehow fallen on the back of every man in the room.

  CHAPTER II

  Colonel Newcome's Wild Oats

  As the young gentleman who has just gone to bed is to be the hero of the

  following pages, we had best begin our account of him with his family

  history, which luckily is not very long.

  When pigtails still grew on the backs of the British gentry, and their

  wives wore cushions on their heads, over which they tied their own hair,

  and disguised it with powder and pomatum: when Ministers went in their

  stars and orders to the House of Commons, and the orators of the

  Opposition attacked nightly the noble lord in the blue ribbon: when Mr.

  Washington was heading the American rebels with a courage, it must be

  confessed, worthy of a better cause: there came up to London, out of a

  northern county, Mr. Thomas Newcome, afterwards Thomas Newcome, Esq., and

  sheriff of London, afterwards Mr. Alderman Newcome, the founder of the

  family whose name has given the title to this history. It was but in the

  reign of George III. that Mr. Newcome first made his appearance in

  Cheapside; having made his entry into London on a waggon, which landed

  him and some bales of cloth, all his fortune, in Bishopsgate Street;

  though if it could be proved that the Normans wore pigtails under William

  the Conqueror, and Mr. Washington fought against the English under King