DOI Heft:
July to December, 1853
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16612#0053
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
4i
AFFECTING IGNORANCE.
Cabman. “ 1 leg your pardon, Sir, but is my Fare really a
Sixpence ? ”
OUR HONEYMOON.
SUNDAY, MAY 26, 18—.
“ My dear,” said Fred, this morning—“ I—I don’t think I can go
to church. But, of course, you can go, I don’t feel like myself this
morning.”
“ I don’t wonder at that, love. Indeed, you don’t look yourself.
But I expected as much.”—
“ You, Lotty ! ” and Fred opened his eyes.
“Why, I knew what would come of it. Here were you out till
twelve o’clock ”—
“ It wanted a quarter,” said Fred, as if a quarter could make any
I difference.
“ Twelve o’clock,” said I firmly, “ allowing for watches, before you
came home.”
“ I told you—I was out talking with Tom,” and Fred tapped the
table.
1 “ Well, if I must say what I think, Fred ; I don’t like Mr. Truepenny.
/—do—not—like—him.”
“ I don’t wish you to like him, my dear. You ’re to like and love
me ; and to love one man industriously and conscientiously is as much
as any woman can be expected to do. More no reasonable husband
can ask of her.”
But this I wouldn’t seem to listen to. “Twelve o’clock,” I
repeated. “ Well, what you could find to talk about all that time—
and I sitting here at the window alone ”—
“ You might have gone to bed,” said Frederick.
“ Gone to bed! And you out 1 Why, what can you think me made
of P ” But he only looked at me from under his eyes and laughed.
“ I’m not a stock or a stone.”
“ Certainly not, .my darling. I may perhaps he permitted to observe
—in your own picturesque language—quite the reverse. Quite the
reverse,” and he again tapped the table.
“ No, love’’—said I; for I thought I’d at once nip that notion in
the bud—“ of course I don’t wish, in fact, I should never think of such
a thing, as to desire to control you in the choice of your friends. If I
don’t like Mr. Truepenny, why I can’t help it; and there’s an end.
But what I wish to say, my love, is this—oh, it’s no laughing matter,
for I’m quite in earnest, I assure you—if Mr. Truepenny thinks he’s
to keep you out till twelve at night, and I’m to go to bed ; if he thinks
that”—
^ “But I don’t believe”—said Fred coolly—“he thinks anything of
the matter. Indeed, what is it to him whether you never go to bed
at all?”
“ Of course; nothing. Only I’m not going to sit up and say
nothing. A woman’s not to be kept out of her bed as if hei soul
wasn’t her own.”—
“ Why, your soul doesn’t wear a nightcap, does it ? ” asked Fred,
meaning to be aggravating.
“I don’t know that” said I- for, as I’ve said, I was determined to
nip the notion in tne bud. “Nevertheless”—for I wasn’t to be put
off—“ what could you talk of till twelve o’clock ? ”
Fred said nothmg, but looked up at the ceiling.
“No good. I’m sure,” said I in a bit of a passion, and before I
knew it.
“ Charlotte ! ” cried Frederick, and his eyes flashed, as I’d never
seen ’em. And then in a moment he looked kind, and I thought sad;
and holding out his hand, he said, looking at me and his eyes softening,
—“Lotty, love, don’t let us quarrel.”
My heart was in my throat, and my arm about his neck. “ We
shall never quarrel, Fred,” said I. “ But what I meant to say was—
what an odd person Mr. Truepenny is.”
“ Odd P A most excellent fellow! ” said Frederick with energy.
“Of course. You wouldn’t have any other for a friend; I know
that, love. But what I mean is, he’s so confused—so bashful.”
“ Yes. A bachelor’s fault. I was so myself once. But it’s wonder-
ful what confidence marriage gives a man. Kiss me, my darling.”
“There, now, Fred ; it’s Sunday,” said I, not knowing what to say.
“ But why should Mr. Truepenny be in such a twitter when he sees
me P He blushes and stammers, and ”—
“ It’s your beauty, no doubt,” said Ered.
“ Nonsense! ”
“ A solemn truth. Ah! my dear, it’s a great comfort for timid
men that beauty, like the elephant, doesn’t know its strength. Other-
wise, how it would trample on us ! It’s a fact, Lotty, if you had only
known half your power, you’d never have married me. Certainly not.
But then women never do. Looking-glasses are thrown away upon
’em, poor things. When you consented to take me, Lotty, I don’t
know that I didn’t feel quite crushed by your condescension. Quite
crushed. Yes : the last knowledge a woman ever acquires is a proper
sense of the power of her own beauty. Otherwise, Lotty, they’d
never throw it away upon us ; but live and die like the roses. Don’t
you think they would P Like the roses ? ”
I said nothing, but was just gently pulling his ear, when the church
bells struck out.
“H it isn’t church-time,” said I; “but I’mdrest. Nothing, but
my bonnet.”
“Well, Lotty, you can go without me; yes, you”—and then he
paused, and looked at me, I thought so strangely, and said—“ no, my
love: you shall not go alone. We’ll go together.” With this, he left,
the room; and a sudden shadow seemed to fall about me.
The next moment, the servant introduced “ Mr. Truepenny.” With
his face the truth flashed upon me that—that—I didn’t know what.
But, instantly, I felt resolved to find it out; and so, in a minute, was
in my very best spirits.
“ Frederick,” said I, “ will be here directly. He’s preparing for
church.”
. “ Church,” said Mr. Truepenny, as if the word half stuck between
his bps.
“ Don’t you ever go to church, Mr. Truepenny ? I mean”—
“ Always,” said he. “ But the fact is, when one Comes to the
sea-side ”—
“ Peter’s boat,” I observed very seriously, “ was at the sea-side.”
“ To be sure, certainly,” said he; then he looked at the toe of his
boot, and then at the pattern of the carpet; in fact, anywhere but. at
me. Then he coughed, and said—for all the world as if he was talking
of prawns—“ I’m told there’s very good preaching about here.”
“ I should hope, Mr. Truepenny, that there is good preaching
everywhere; that is, if persons are only disposed to listen to it.” _Mr.
Truepenny—his eye still on his boot—bowed. “I hope,” said I,
“ you will accompany us to church ?”
“ What! I ? ” cried the man, really alarmed.
“ To be sure : why not ? ” said Fred, coming into the room. “ And
then, Tom, we’ll take a walk—Lotty isn’t equal to the fatigue”—how
did he know that ?—“ and then we’ll all dine, and comfortably close the
day together.”
“ Well, I—I—I’ve no objection,” said Mr. Truepenny ; as though
desperately making up his mind to endure the worst.
“ A most admirable preacher, I’m told. Has preached before his
Gracious Majesty, when Prince Hegent,” said Fred.
“ Indeed ? ” said Mr. Truepenny, as if he wished to be astonished.
“ A great favourite at Brighton; he’s so extremely mild and well-
bred. Touches upon the pomps and vanities of this wicked world—
and scourges the miserable sinners who keep carriages—gently, ten
derly. For all the world as if with a bunch of peacock’s feathers you’d
dust so many images of Dresden China.”
“ That’s lucky,” said Mr. Truepenny.
“ Why lucky ? ” I asked — for there was something in the man’s
manner.
“ I meant to say,5’ he stammered, “ that there are times when one
Vol. 25.
2—2
4i
AFFECTING IGNORANCE.
Cabman. “ 1 leg your pardon, Sir, but is my Fare really a
Sixpence ? ”
OUR HONEYMOON.
SUNDAY, MAY 26, 18—.
“ My dear,” said Fred, this morning—“ I—I don’t think I can go
to church. But, of course, you can go, I don’t feel like myself this
morning.”
“ I don’t wonder at that, love. Indeed, you don’t look yourself.
But I expected as much.”—
“ You, Lotty ! ” and Fred opened his eyes.
“Why, I knew what would come of it. Here were you out till
twelve o’clock ”—
“ It wanted a quarter,” said Fred, as if a quarter could make any
I difference.
“ Twelve o’clock,” said I firmly, “ allowing for watches, before you
came home.”
“ I told you—I was out talking with Tom,” and Fred tapped the
table.
1 “ Well, if I must say what I think, Fred ; I don’t like Mr. Truepenny.
/—do—not—like—him.”
“ I don’t wish you to like him, my dear. You ’re to like and love
me ; and to love one man industriously and conscientiously is as much
as any woman can be expected to do. More no reasonable husband
can ask of her.”
But this I wouldn’t seem to listen to. “Twelve o’clock,” I
repeated. “ Well, what you could find to talk about all that time—
and I sitting here at the window alone ”—
“ You might have gone to bed,” said Frederick.
“ Gone to bed! And you out 1 Why, what can you think me made
of P ” But he only looked at me from under his eyes and laughed.
“ I’m not a stock or a stone.”
“ Certainly not, .my darling. I may perhaps he permitted to observe
—in your own picturesque language—quite the reverse. Quite the
reverse,” and he again tapped the table.
“ No, love’’—said I; for I thought I’d at once nip that notion in
the bud—“ of course I don’t wish, in fact, I should never think of such
a thing, as to desire to control you in the choice of your friends. If I
don’t like Mr. Truepenny, why I can’t help it; and there’s an end.
But what I wish to say, my love, is this—oh, it’s no laughing matter,
for I’m quite in earnest, I assure you—if Mr. Truepenny thinks he’s
to keep you out till twelve at night, and I’m to go to bed ; if he thinks
that”—
^ “But I don’t believe”—said Fred coolly—“he thinks anything of
the matter. Indeed, what is it to him whether you never go to bed
at all?”
“ Of course; nothing. Only I’m not going to sit up and say
nothing. A woman’s not to be kept out of her bed as if hei soul
wasn’t her own.”—
“ Why, your soul doesn’t wear a nightcap, does it ? ” asked Fred,
meaning to be aggravating.
“I don’t know that” said I- for, as I’ve said, I was determined to
nip the notion in tne bud. “Nevertheless”—for I wasn’t to be put
off—“ what could you talk of till twelve o’clock ? ”
Fred said nothmg, but looked up at the ceiling.
“No good. I’m sure,” said I in a bit of a passion, and before I
knew it.
“ Charlotte ! ” cried Frederick, and his eyes flashed, as I’d never
seen ’em. And then in a moment he looked kind, and I thought sad;
and holding out his hand, he said, looking at me and his eyes softening,
—“Lotty, love, don’t let us quarrel.”
My heart was in my throat, and my arm about his neck. “ We
shall never quarrel, Fred,” said I. “ But what I meant to say was—
what an odd person Mr. Truepenny is.”
“ Odd P A most excellent fellow! ” said Frederick with energy.
“Of course. You wouldn’t have any other for a friend; I know
that, love. But what I mean is, he’s so confused—so bashful.”
“ Yes. A bachelor’s fault. I was so myself once. But it’s wonder-
ful what confidence marriage gives a man. Kiss me, my darling.”
“There, now, Fred ; it’s Sunday,” said I, not knowing what to say.
“ But why should Mr. Truepenny be in such a twitter when he sees
me P He blushes and stammers, and ”—
“ It’s your beauty, no doubt,” said Ered.
“ Nonsense! ”
“ A solemn truth. Ah! my dear, it’s a great comfort for timid
men that beauty, like the elephant, doesn’t know its strength. Other-
wise, how it would trample on us ! It’s a fact, Lotty, if you had only
known half your power, you’d never have married me. Certainly not.
But then women never do. Looking-glasses are thrown away upon
’em, poor things. When you consented to take me, Lotty, I don’t
know that I didn’t feel quite crushed by your condescension. Quite
crushed. Yes : the last knowledge a woman ever acquires is a proper
sense of the power of her own beauty. Otherwise, Lotty, they’d
never throw it away upon us ; but live and die like the roses. Don’t
you think they would P Like the roses ? ”
I said nothing, but was just gently pulling his ear, when the church
bells struck out.
“H it isn’t church-time,” said I; “but I’mdrest. Nothing, but
my bonnet.”
“Well, Lotty, you can go without me; yes, you”—and then he
paused, and looked at me, I thought so strangely, and said—“ no, my
love: you shall not go alone. We’ll go together.” With this, he left,
the room; and a sudden shadow seemed to fall about me.
The next moment, the servant introduced “ Mr. Truepenny.” With
his face the truth flashed upon me that—that—I didn’t know what.
But, instantly, I felt resolved to find it out; and so, in a minute, was
in my very best spirits.
“ Frederick,” said I, “ will be here directly. He’s preparing for
church.”
. “ Church,” said Mr. Truepenny, as if the word half stuck between
his bps.
“ Don’t you ever go to church, Mr. Truepenny ? I mean”—
“ Always,” said he. “ But the fact is, when one Comes to the
sea-side ”—
“ Peter’s boat,” I observed very seriously, “ was at the sea-side.”
“ To be sure, certainly,” said he; then he looked at the toe of his
boot, and then at the pattern of the carpet; in fact, anywhere but. at
me. Then he coughed, and said—for all the world as if he was talking
of prawns—“ I’m told there’s very good preaching about here.”
“ I should hope, Mr. Truepenny, that there is good preaching
everywhere; that is, if persons are only disposed to listen to it.” _Mr.
Truepenny—his eye still on his boot—bowed. “I hope,” said I,
“ you will accompany us to church ?”
“ What! I ? ” cried the man, really alarmed.
“ To be sure : why not ? ” said Fred, coming into the room. “ And
then, Tom, we’ll take a walk—Lotty isn’t equal to the fatigue”—how
did he know that ?—“ and then we’ll all dine, and comfortably close the
day together.”
“ Well, I—I—I’ve no objection,” said Mr. Truepenny ; as though
desperately making up his mind to endure the worst.
“ A most admirable preacher, I’m told. Has preached before his
Gracious Majesty, when Prince Hegent,” said Fred.
“ Indeed ? ” said Mr. Truepenny, as if he wished to be astonished.
“ A great favourite at Brighton; he’s so extremely mild and well-
bred. Touches upon the pomps and vanities of this wicked world—
and scourges the miserable sinners who keep carriages—gently, ten
derly. For all the world as if with a bunch of peacock’s feathers you’d
dust so many images of Dresden China.”
“ That’s lucky,” said Mr. Truepenny.
“ Why lucky ? ” I asked — for there was something in the man’s
manner.
“ I meant to say,5’ he stammered, “ that there are times when one
Vol. 25.
2—2