BY JOHN COPUS.
Mr. John Leakey inherited an income of five hundred a-year, and a very neat cottage, situated on the high road about three miles from C——, in one of the finest parts of the county of Essex. Of his parentage little need be said. His father was a clergyman, his maternal parent a cook in his grandfather's establishment whom his progenitor rashly married. This fact was a constant source of misery to the sensitive John, and will fully account for the decided antipathy, manifested by him on all occasions, to that useful class of domestics in general, and especially to that particular individual who happened for the time to superintend the culinary department of Hill Cottage. Indeed his language regarding cooks was occasionally quite shocking. His maiden sister Jemima, a highly nervous female of spare and meagre proportions, frequently went into small fits caused by John's outrageous and unbecoming language or conduct, when the subject of cooks was by any chance introduced.
"If I had my way," worthy John would say with stern voice and solemn countenance, "I'd let no woman be a cook who was not fifty at least; had it not been for Jane Grubbings I might hold up my head as a gentleman. They are all of them a set of vicious, impudent, and designing hussies. I attribute half the miseries of human life to cooks."
"No doubt, John—like enough!" replies the ever calm and peaceful Jemima, anxious to agree with her brother in all things; "I've always[256] said that nothing causes greater misery than indigestion, and badly-cooked things, you know, cause it; don't they, John?"
"Jemima, you're a jackass, so hold your tongue!" was the tender answer given to poor Jemima's remarks, on this and on every occasion.
It may be necessary to give the reader some idea of Mr. Leakey. He was a large tall man, of an unwieldy form and ogre-like gait. His countenance was broad and singularly flat; his eyes large and heavy; and as to his nose, I am quite at a loss in what category to class that nasal organ of his. At the top it was all very well, but in its descent it was like the stone gathering moss—a vires acquirit eundo kind of affair; for by the time it reached its termination it was fearfully broad. It was a family nose not maternally but paternally obtained, and that was one comfort. He had it in full vigour at school, and Jemima told a story about it. "Poor John," she would say to a gossip, "certainly has a funny nose. When he was at school, a procacious boy (Jemima occasionally miscalled words) took it into his head, d'ye know, that John had pushed it on purpose into his face, and every morning regularly when he got up, he used to pull it as hard as he could to ascertain, as he said, whether that sneaking nose of Leakey's would come out." A poor Irishman too who had applied for relief at Hill Cottage, and been repulsed, spoke of Leakey as a "quare gentleman anyhow! wid a face for all the world as if a crowner's quest had been on it, and the crowner being a great man, had sat on his face entirely, and the rist of them on his body, and brought in a vardict of 'Found Soft.'"
Enough, however, has been said of John's personal appearance; I only add that he wore bluchers, with trousers tightly strapped over them, cherished flannel waistcoats and comforters, was an intolerable politician because he never read anything but the ——, which was his oracle; and on the whole was a little close-fisted.
Years had flown quietly over Hill Cottage, from which, farther than occasionally to C——, neither John nor his sister Jemima had ever gone; nor indeed did they wish to go. Great, consequently, was the amazement and consternation which prevailed in their quiet little breakfast parlour, when there came from Mr. Jiggins, John's agent in town, a letter announcing said John's accession to some property, and the necessity of his appearance in the great metropolis for a few hours at the least.
"Three hundred a-year, John!" exclaimed his sister; "indeed you are a very fortunate man."
"Ay, ay! no doubt, Jemima; but what in the name of goodness gracious am I to do in London? I've not been there for thirty-five years."
"Well, love!" soothingly answered Jemima; "you can go up at seven by the Star, you know, and return again the same night. So you'd better write and tell Mr. Jiggins when you mean to go, and he can arrange matters accordingly." And John did write forthwith, appointing the hour of twelve on the following Tuesday, to meet the necessary parties at Jiggins' offices, in Tokenhouse Yard.
On Tuesday morning the whole household was in motion as early as four, the coach leaving at seven. There was such a wrapping of shawls, airing of musty camlet cloaks, and putting up of sandwiches and ginger lozenges, as never was seen before. Nay, Jemima insisted on his carrying[257] a basket with him in which she told him had been placed the Rousseaux left at yesterday's dinner.
The arrival of the Star at Hill Cottage put an end to all these preparations, and with fear and trembling Mr. Leakey was consigned to the inside of the coach. Jemima, elevated on her pattens, and bearing a lantern, came down to the end of the little garden for the purpose of recommending her brother to the especial care of the coachman Burrell, adding by way of further inducement on his part to attend to her request, a small fib, to the effect that "indeed he had not been at all well lately."
Nimrod has so eloquently described the utter amazement of a gentleman of the old school when travelling by a modern ten-mile-an-hour coach, as to render it quite unnecessary for me to attempt any description of worthy John's surprise at the rapid progress made by the Star towards the metropolis; how he gazed in silent wonder at the splendid teams of cattle which at every stage stood ready in their glittering harness to carry him on to town; and finally, how he marvelled when in the space of four hours he was safely landed in Aldgate, having travelled thirty-eight miles in that short time: on all this it is unnecessary for me to dilate. His troubles now seemed to crowd upon him.
"Vant a cab, sir?" eagerly demands an impudent-looking fellow, rushing up, whip in hand, to where the unhappy Leakey stood utterly confounded by the bustle which surrounded him. "Gen'lm'n called me, Bill," exclaims a second in a chiding voice; "I see him a noddin' his head as he come along!" "Don't you go vith them, sir!" angrily breaks in a third; "I've got a reg'lar comfortable old jarvey, sir, cut down o' purpose for you, 'cos I know'd you vos a coming up to-day—and sich a hoss—only cab fares, sir—this vay!" And he was beginning to drag off the unresisting Leakey, when, "Come, just move orf!" exclaims the burley voice of Burrell; "I'll put you into a coach, sir, and remember I leaves this here place at hafe past three, punctooal!" So John was placed in a coach.
"Vhere's shall I drive, sir?" demands the coachman. "Oh! ah!" exclaims our hero, drawing forth a card from which he reads—"a basket,—an umbrella,—a camlet cloak,—two shawls,—a great-coat,—a comforter,—a pair of galoshes,—all right—and self?—yes, then drive to Mr. Jiggins' offices in Tokenhouse Yard, Lothbury." "Wery good, sir." And off they went.
Arrived at Mr. Jiggins's office, he found that worthy engaged, and the other parties not arrived. "Give Mr. Leakey a chair, Jemes," said Mr. Jiggins, "and here's this morning's paper, sir; splendid leader, Mr. Leakey; powerful writing. Stir the fire, Jemes, and put some more coals on—that'll do."
So Leakey was placed on a chair before the fire to amuse himself with a perusal of a paper of whose existence he was only conscious by the fearful denunciations contained occasionally in the —— against it. There sat Leakey, still enveloped in his panoply of cloth and camlet, shawl and galoshes, eyeing "the leader" which had been the subject of Jiggins's eulogium. He read on. Could his eyes have ceased to possess discriminating power? or was there living the caitiff wretch so utterly reprobate[258] as to call his loved —— by such names? It was too true. The more he read, the more convinced was he of the utter depravity of the human heart, and especially of the horrible wickedness of the man who could coolly declare that long article in the ——, over which he, John Leakey, had only yesterday gloated, to be "twaddle." His anger was excessive; another moment and he would have cast "that pestilential rag," as he ever afterwards denominated the vituperating journal, into the fire, had not Jiggins at that moment entered, and with him the men whose presence was required for the settlement of John Leakey's affairs.
Scarcely checking his excited feelings, John suffered himself to be led to business. This being, after a time, satisfactorily finished, an adjournment took place to a neighbouring hostel; John, for once in his life, on the strength of three hundred a-year added to his former property, being generous enough to volunteer tiffin. The beefsteaks were done to a turn, the stout magnificent, the sherry first-rate. Jiggins had no particular business to call him home, so, with the two gentlemen beforenamed, thoroughly enjoyed himself at Leakey's expense, making fun occasionally of poor John, who, luckily, at all times rather obtuse, was becoming more and more muddled and confused every moment, so as not to dream, when his friends burst out into a loud laugh, that he was the subject of it. At half-past three, Jiggins accompanied our friend to Aldgate, saw him safely deposited once more in the Star, and as it was now raining heavily, and he had no further inducement to remain, wished him good-bye, and returned to Tokenhouse Yard.
The coach was full inside, and John had just satisfactorily arranged his camlet, &c., when Burrell came to the door, put his head gently in at the window, as he stood on the steps, and said, "Have you any objection, gen'lm'n, to let a young ooman ride inside? it's raining fearful, and she'll get her death, I know she will, outside."
"No, no!" gruffly responded the other three. It would have been well had John been equally opposed to five inside. As it was, however, "tiffin" had enlarged his heart, and he said, "Oh, yes, Burrell, I'll make room for her; you know, gentlemen, it would be a sad thing if she got her death through our unkindness."
The persons addressed made no reply, nor had Leakey much time to consider the prudence of his act, before the door was opened, and Burrell handed a good-looking young woman into the coach, who seeing no disposition on the part of the other three to make room for her, very quietly sat down on Mr. J. Leakey's knees, being no mean weight. This was, however, scarcely a voluntary act, for the coach moved on at the moment and forced her to assume that position. Thus for twelve miles did he sit, at times wincing rather under his somewhat uncomfortable position, and not particularly pleased with the undisguised amusement of the others.
Eventually he was liberated, for the three hard-hearted individuals left the coach at the end of twelve miles, and Leakey and the interesting female were left together. John felt that some little stimulus to his exhausted spirits might be desirable, so called for a glass of brandy-and-water; of which he drank as much as he wished for, and offered the rest to his fair vis-à-vis, who really seemed a very pleasing kind of person. She thanked[259] him, and saying, "Here's to your very good health, sir," smirked, and drank it off. When the coach went on again, Leakey felt wonderfully invigorated, and entered into conversation with the lady, who proved highly communicative as to the respectability of her mother, and the moral excellence of all her relations. It was a very critical moment for an old bachelor, muddled as poor John most undoubtedly was. He called to mind Jemima's spare figure and not very beautiful face, and more than once thought how much pleasanter it would be to have at the head of his table so comely and intelligent a person as seemed the interesting individual now before him.
"Infatuated a second time" (as Julia Mannering says to Bertram on his arrival from Portanferry at Woodburne, but why I never could discover)—"Infatuated a second time" was our hero, for a second glass of brandy-and-water was had at the next stage, and duly consumed between the lady and himself. Leakey was now thoroughly fuddled, and the lady more agreeable than ever. In short—for the afflicting, the humiliating truth will force its way—before the coach stopped to change for the last time, the frantic John Leakey had actually proposed to his unknown enslaver—nay, worse—he was her accepted!
It was not until this climax of his folly had put a temporary stop to conversation that he had time to think at all. Muddled as he was, he began to fear he had been too hasty. The fair lady was silent, as labouring under powerful emotions; and the coach having changed at C——, was not more than a mile from Hill Cottage, when she said, mildly—
"It's a very fortnit circumstance, sir, as I met with you; becos, I'm a going to a old genlm'n as lives near here—as——"
"Eh?" groaned John, "as—what, eh?"
"Oh, I was a going as cook; on'y, in course, I shan't stay with him long."
"As cook! my gracious me!" exclaimed, or rather screeched, the miserable man; "what's the gentleman's name?—tell me quick!"
"Mr. Leakey, sir!"
When Burrell opened the coach-door as soon as Hill Cottage was gained, he found the unhappy John Leakey perfectly frantic. "Coachman, Burrell, take her away! she's a cook! she's a vicious, designing, impudent thing! she's made me propose to her—me—me—the son of a cook—Oh! o-oh! o-o-oh!"
Draw we a veil over the proceedings which followed. Mr. Leakey, what with brandy and agony of mind, was put to bed perfectly raving. The cook was taken in for the night, and on being attacked by Jemima was scarcely restrained from flying at that exemplary spinster, who called her all the names she had ever heard her brother apply to women of her class. Next morning cook was dismissed, and shortly threatened an action, which Leakey was glad to compromise by the payment of one hundred pounds; making at the same time a solemn vow that he never would travel inside a coach again, or if he did, that he never would take compassion on a woman so far as to let her ride inside, though it should rain cats, dogs, and hedgehogs!
[260]