DOI issue:
October 2, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0161
October 2, 1880,]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
15.
THE BEADLE! .
OR,
THE LATEST CHRONICLE OE SMALL-BEERJESTEK.
BY
ANTHONY DOLLOP.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Bishop's Charge.
NDOMITABLE 111
courage, and
panting for
the fray, Mrs.
Dowdie ad-
vanced to the
writing-table.
“Now, Bi-
shop, tell me
what’s been
going on here?
Why is this
most disrepu-
table person
still in your
entire confi-
dence ?”
The Bishop
was silent.
He had stood
patiently and
placidly; but,
like cream, he
had stood too
long, and was
now begin-
ning to turn;
and, when he
did turn, he
felt he would
be uncom-
monly sour.
“ Perhaps,” commenced Mr. Mattix, “ if I might-”
“You mightn’t,” retorted the infuriated dame. “ Now, Bishop, are you
going to turn this person out, or not ? ” inquired the indignant dame.
There was a dead pause in the room. How long it had been there it was
impossible to say, for it was only at this minute that the three became aware of
it. And the Bishop sniffed uncomfortably, as though there were somethin"
wrong with, the drainage. He sat on his chair twiddling his thumbs, ana
wishing that the two would fight it out there and then, like two evil Genii,
and leave him to benefit by the result.
“Do you know, Bishop, how this person,” and she pointed with infinite
contempt and aversion to Mr. Mattix, “has been going on with the female
who calls herself the Marchesa di Zazzeglia ? ”
“The Bishop is in full possession of the facts, Mrs. Dowdie,” said Mr.
Mattix.
“Is this true?” asked the Bishop’s wife, facing her husband.
“Mrs. Dowdie,” interrupted Mr. Mattix, humbly. “His Lordship, like
the Admiral in the ballad of William Taylor, ‘has wery muchi applauded
what I’ve done,’ and with his sanction and his smile on my work I am happy.”
What dreadful words were these that greeted the ear of Mrs. Dowdie !
Rebellion, flat rebellion, or rather upstanding rampant rebellion stirring up
the Bishop on his throne, and rearing her hideous head in the Cathedral City of
Small-Beerjester! If Rebellion were allowed to rear her hideous head in the city,
she would soon rear the hideous heads of a hundred communistic offspring,
as plenty as asparagus, springing up from the ground in the night, like fungi,
within the very walls of the Palace itself!
“ Mr. Mattix,” said the Lady, with slow and dignified voice, measuring
out her words as if they were verses at so much a foot,I beg you will take
your notice to quit from me. Yrou are too much a caricature of a man yourself
for me to ask you to take yourself off. But I order you to go.”
The Chaplain felt that everything depended on the Bishop’s firmness. If the
Bishop could cut himself adrift from his apron-string moorings, hoist the flag
of freedom, and set sail on his own See before Ms mate could launch out, the
wind would bear them away, and the victory would be gained at a single blow.
“ Leave the room! ” said Mrs. Dowdie, imperiously.
“If I go I shall certainly not take the room with me,” returned the Chaplain,
eyeing his patron uneasily.
“My Lord,” exclaimed the exasperated Lady, “is Mr. Mattix to quit, or
amI?”
In making it a question of quits, Mrs. Dowdie was wrong. A drawn battle
was as much out. of the question as a painted one on canvass. It was real,
deadly war. She was boiling over with wrath. Up to this moment the husband
of her choice had answered very well; now he wouldn’t
answer at all. All compromise was impossible. It would
not do for Dr. Dowdie to discharge the Canon at the
enemy’s request; that was to waste powder and shot.
He had one strategic movement at command, which he
had never yet employed against his better half. Quick
as thought he opened a drawer and took thence a volu-
minous and clearly printed pampMet, which he folded
up like a Eield-Marshal’s baton, and waving it wildly
above his head he dashed forward at his luckless spouse.
Horrified at the sight, Mrs. Dowdie turned ashen pale,
and placing her bands to her ears, fled precipitately
through the open door which the Canon immediately
locked behind her. Having done this, he turned to
examine the weapon the Bishop bad used with sucb
marvellous effect. One glance at the title-page sufficed
—it was His LordsMp’s Charge.
“Up, Guards, and at ’em!” exclaimed the Bishop,
throwing himself back in his chair. ‘ ‘ It was Waterloo
over again! ”
“Charge, Chester, charge!” cried tbe Chaplain,
exultingly.
“And I did—rather,” said the Bishop; “it broke
the enemy thoroughly.”
“ A splendid charge! ” cried the Chaplain ; and then
they sang together, “ Suoni la Tromba" from I Puri-
tani.
The battle was won. Now all they had to do was to
make the best use of their victory before the enemy
repulsed, routed, beaten at every point, and utterly
demoralised, could steal a march upon them. Capua
and Canncc are close together; and a victory may be
the prelude to a total defeat. Mrs. Dowdie has not
been portrayed in these pages as an agreeable or an
amiable Lady ; and no page in her family Mstory that
I’ve seen in the Palace would give her a better character
than I have done. She retired to her boudoir, and
looked out of her window at her laurels, wMch had
suffered considerably in the recent storm. ^ Should she
summon allies to her aid ? If so, whom ? Who was
there in Small-Beerj ester but would rejoice at her fall?
She had offended the Archbeacon and Mrs. Overwayte
by bringing forward Mr. Mattix as a Candidate for
Mr. Simon Simpler’s Mastership of Deedler’s. But
Mr. Simpler still held it. Then she had intended her
husband’s Chaplain for the Precentorship; hut Mr.
Arable was now comfortably installed in that position.
Mokleena hated her, because she thought that Mr.
Mattix had been incited by Mrs. Dowdie to pay her
his odious addresses. Doubtless Mr. Arable held the
same views. And how was she to call on her former
enemies for help to expel her husband’s Chaplain from
her own Palace ?
Had I the pen of an Epic Poet, I might possibly do
some justice to the struggle now raging in Mrs. Dowdie’s
breast; hut I have not, and so will content myself, and
I trust my readers also, by simply informing them that
at this minute, as Dido Dowdie sits disconsolate at her
Palace-gate, “a darning a hole in her stocking, 0 ! ” there
appear on the war-path no less a personage than the
Arehbeacon of Small-Beerj ester accompanied by Mrs.
Overwayte, and the Master of Deedler’s.
Editor to Author.—Sir,—In your own interests, ours, and
those of our readers, we must draw \ our attention to the fact
that the doings of Mr. Mattix and the Marchesa, the Bishop,
and the Bishop’s wife in your latest Chapters, so closely re-
semble those of Mr. Slope and Madame Neroni in JBarchcster
Towers as to make us doubt their absolute originality. We
request an explanation.
Author to Editor.—My name’s Dollop, not Trollope.^ for
whom I have the greatest possible respect. If his Mr. Slope
and Madame Thingummy and his Eowdics resemble my
thoroughly original characters—so much the better for them.
Similar subjects similar treatment. But when you impugn my
honesty, I say what the Raven said—“ Never more ! ” So let
the Novel Publishing Co. settle up, and I’ve done.
Editor to Author. — Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
Cheque with last Chapter.
Author to Editor.—In that case, last Chapter at once.—A. D.
NAUTICAL NOVELS.
A new Sea-Waverley Series, being Romances
Amphibilious Life, by the Author of White Wings.
of.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
15.
THE BEADLE! .
OR,
THE LATEST CHRONICLE OE SMALL-BEERJESTEK.
BY
ANTHONY DOLLOP.
CHAPTER XVII.
The Bishop's Charge.
NDOMITABLE 111
courage, and
panting for
the fray, Mrs.
Dowdie ad-
vanced to the
writing-table.
“Now, Bi-
shop, tell me
what’s been
going on here?
Why is this
most disrepu-
table person
still in your
entire confi-
dence ?”
The Bishop
was silent.
He had stood
patiently and
placidly; but,
like cream, he
had stood too
long, and was
now begin-
ning to turn;
and, when he
did turn, he
felt he would
be uncom-
monly sour.
“ Perhaps,” commenced Mr. Mattix, “ if I might-”
“You mightn’t,” retorted the infuriated dame. “ Now, Bishop, are you
going to turn this person out, or not ? ” inquired the indignant dame.
There was a dead pause in the room. How long it had been there it was
impossible to say, for it was only at this minute that the three became aware of
it. And the Bishop sniffed uncomfortably, as though there were somethin"
wrong with, the drainage. He sat on his chair twiddling his thumbs, ana
wishing that the two would fight it out there and then, like two evil Genii,
and leave him to benefit by the result.
“Do you know, Bishop, how this person,” and she pointed with infinite
contempt and aversion to Mr. Mattix, “has been going on with the female
who calls herself the Marchesa di Zazzeglia ? ”
“The Bishop is in full possession of the facts, Mrs. Dowdie,” said Mr.
Mattix.
“Is this true?” asked the Bishop’s wife, facing her husband.
“Mrs. Dowdie,” interrupted Mr. Mattix, humbly. “His Lordship, like
the Admiral in the ballad of William Taylor, ‘has wery muchi applauded
what I’ve done,’ and with his sanction and his smile on my work I am happy.”
What dreadful words were these that greeted the ear of Mrs. Dowdie !
Rebellion, flat rebellion, or rather upstanding rampant rebellion stirring up
the Bishop on his throne, and rearing her hideous head in the Cathedral City of
Small-Beerjester! If Rebellion were allowed to rear her hideous head in the city,
she would soon rear the hideous heads of a hundred communistic offspring,
as plenty as asparagus, springing up from the ground in the night, like fungi,
within the very walls of the Palace itself!
“ Mr. Mattix,” said the Lady, with slow and dignified voice, measuring
out her words as if they were verses at so much a foot,I beg you will take
your notice to quit from me. Yrou are too much a caricature of a man yourself
for me to ask you to take yourself off. But I order you to go.”
The Chaplain felt that everything depended on the Bishop’s firmness. If the
Bishop could cut himself adrift from his apron-string moorings, hoist the flag
of freedom, and set sail on his own See before Ms mate could launch out, the
wind would bear them away, and the victory would be gained at a single blow.
“ Leave the room! ” said Mrs. Dowdie, imperiously.
“If I go I shall certainly not take the room with me,” returned the Chaplain,
eyeing his patron uneasily.
“My Lord,” exclaimed the exasperated Lady, “is Mr. Mattix to quit, or
amI?”
In making it a question of quits, Mrs. Dowdie was wrong. A drawn battle
was as much out. of the question as a painted one on canvass. It was real,
deadly war. She was boiling over with wrath. Up to this moment the husband
of her choice had answered very well; now he wouldn’t
answer at all. All compromise was impossible. It would
not do for Dr. Dowdie to discharge the Canon at the
enemy’s request; that was to waste powder and shot.
He had one strategic movement at command, which he
had never yet employed against his better half. Quick
as thought he opened a drawer and took thence a volu-
minous and clearly printed pampMet, which he folded
up like a Eield-Marshal’s baton, and waving it wildly
above his head he dashed forward at his luckless spouse.
Horrified at the sight, Mrs. Dowdie turned ashen pale,
and placing her bands to her ears, fled precipitately
through the open door which the Canon immediately
locked behind her. Having done this, he turned to
examine the weapon the Bishop bad used with sucb
marvellous effect. One glance at the title-page sufficed
—it was His LordsMp’s Charge.
“Up, Guards, and at ’em!” exclaimed the Bishop,
throwing himself back in his chair. ‘ ‘ It was Waterloo
over again! ”
“Charge, Chester, charge!” cried tbe Chaplain,
exultingly.
“And I did—rather,” said the Bishop; “it broke
the enemy thoroughly.”
“ A splendid charge! ” cried the Chaplain ; and then
they sang together, “ Suoni la Tromba" from I Puri-
tani.
The battle was won. Now all they had to do was to
make the best use of their victory before the enemy
repulsed, routed, beaten at every point, and utterly
demoralised, could steal a march upon them. Capua
and Canncc are close together; and a victory may be
the prelude to a total defeat. Mrs. Dowdie has not
been portrayed in these pages as an agreeable or an
amiable Lady ; and no page in her family Mstory that
I’ve seen in the Palace would give her a better character
than I have done. She retired to her boudoir, and
looked out of her window at her laurels, wMch had
suffered considerably in the recent storm. ^ Should she
summon allies to her aid ? If so, whom ? Who was
there in Small-Beerj ester but would rejoice at her fall?
She had offended the Archbeacon and Mrs. Overwayte
by bringing forward Mr. Mattix as a Candidate for
Mr. Simon Simpler’s Mastership of Deedler’s. But
Mr. Simpler still held it. Then she had intended her
husband’s Chaplain for the Precentorship; hut Mr.
Arable was now comfortably installed in that position.
Mokleena hated her, because she thought that Mr.
Mattix had been incited by Mrs. Dowdie to pay her
his odious addresses. Doubtless Mr. Arable held the
same views. And how was she to call on her former
enemies for help to expel her husband’s Chaplain from
her own Palace ?
Had I the pen of an Epic Poet, I might possibly do
some justice to the struggle now raging in Mrs. Dowdie’s
breast; hut I have not, and so will content myself, and
I trust my readers also, by simply informing them that
at this minute, as Dido Dowdie sits disconsolate at her
Palace-gate, “a darning a hole in her stocking, 0 ! ” there
appear on the war-path no less a personage than the
Arehbeacon of Small-Beerj ester accompanied by Mrs.
Overwayte, and the Master of Deedler’s.
Editor to Author.—Sir,—In your own interests, ours, and
those of our readers, we must draw \ our attention to the fact
that the doings of Mr. Mattix and the Marchesa, the Bishop,
and the Bishop’s wife in your latest Chapters, so closely re-
semble those of Mr. Slope and Madame Neroni in JBarchcster
Towers as to make us doubt their absolute originality. We
request an explanation.
Author to Editor.—My name’s Dollop, not Trollope.^ for
whom I have the greatest possible respect. If his Mr. Slope
and Madame Thingummy and his Eowdics resemble my
thoroughly original characters—so much the better for them.
Similar subjects similar treatment. But when you impugn my
honesty, I say what the Raven said—“ Never more ! ” So let
the Novel Publishing Co. settle up, and I’ve done.
Editor to Author. — Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
Cheque with last Chapter.
Author to Editor.—In that case, last Chapter at once.—A. D.
NAUTICAL NOVELS.
A new Sea-Waverley Series, being Romances
Amphibilious Life, by the Author of White Wings.
of.