DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16513#0045
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
:iS
THE STORY OF A FEATHER.
chap. xxvi.—mrs. cramp's new suitor.—the widow's cap.
" You needn't wait lor Mr. Cloudy, I'll show him out,' said Mrs.
Cramp. " And Becky, go directly where I told you. You know,'
added the widow siguiticantly, and I felt Becky clutch me closer as
she answered, " I know, me'm and she immediately turned from
the room. Ere, however, she closed the street-door, I heard Mrs.
Cramp again loud in her silver laughter ; again evidently taking on
lor the buried card-maker.
It was nearly dark, and Becky tripped along with the true timidity
of a London maid-of-all-work. For myself, 1 was in despair. 1 telt
it—I knew it—1 was carried onward to be stained, lost tor ever :
widowhood had passed sentence upon me, I was to be dyed. I put
it to the reader—proud, it may be, of the clearness of his complexion,
what would be his agony if he knew that to-morrow morning he must
inevitably rise a blackamoor ! I put it to you, madam ; you, with
your milky cheek, carnation-tinted—Would you not break your
glass when it showed you a Hottentot ?
Still Becky tripped along, inhumanly humming, I think, " Nancy
Dawson," when a man, crossing tiie way, stood before her. Becky
immediately drew herself up ; and 1 could feel that her heart began
to flutter and beat, precisely as every woman's heart has beat since
the first rub-a-dub in Paradise. Becky knew not whether the
•monster was about to compliment or insult her ; she was equally
prepared for either incident.
" My pretty maid," began the stranger—
" .None o' your nonsense," broke in Becky, and I could feel her
jerk, and 1 have no doubt she sneered.
" Don't be cruel, child," said the man, in a soft, gentle voice.
" Never was cruel in my life," said Becky, the man's musical words
melting in her bosom.
" Well then, my dear," and the stranger laid his hand upon the maid.
"None o'your nonsense," cried Becky, starting back; "you'd
better not; 1 wears pattens."
" You have the advantage of me," replied the man, with a bow ;
" but I am sure you are too much a lady of honour to use it.
" I've two bauds of my own, and they 're quite enough upon me
■at one time, that's all," said Becky ; " so what you've got to say, you
can say with your hands in your pockets."
Becky's reproof evidently struck upon the fine sense of the
stranger, for he immediately pulled out his purse, and offering the
maid, as it appeared to me, a piece of gold, asked if she would make
him happy by acc epting it.
Becky received the coin, merely observing, " There could be no
harm in that."
" And now, my dear, one word—is your sweet mistress within ?"
asked the donor.
" In course ; crying her dear eyes out for poor Mr. Cramp."
" That's a pity !" said the stranger.
" She's inurderin' herself ! " answered Becky.
" She must be saved," cried the man.
" But it's just like us," answered the maid ; " we are all fools
alike. 1 wonder if lie'd ha' gone on so about her ? Not he ; men
are flints—not made as we are."
" And Mrs. Cramp is at home ? Alone, too, no doubt ?" said the
stranger.
"Alone!" said Becky, and she said no more. Her manner war-
ranted the solitude of her mistress.
"You must tell her that a gentleman wishes particularly to see
her," said the man.
"And her husband not been buried a week !" cried the maid, who,
however, suffered the stranger to pass his hand under her elbow,
turning her towards the widow's house. " 1 wouldn't do it for a thou-
sand pounds," said Becky, as she stood at the late Mr. Cramp's door.
"'Twill be worth more than that to your dear mistress," said the
stranger. "Come, I've no doubt you've the key."
'• Well, what a man you are !" cried Becky, immediately producing
that domestic instrument. "Shouldn't wonder if I get turned away
for it. Who shall I say ?"
Say, Edward—that's enough," said the man.
' Hush ! Stop a minute, while I see if missus is alone ; a neigh-
bour may be with her," said Becky, softly turning the key, and
entering the house with caution, the stranger following her. Beckv
immediately entered the parlour. " You are alone, me'm 1"
'"Oh, yes!" answered Mrs. Cramp, and again she burst into
laughter. " I've made such a fool of the man. He thinks—"
"Hush, me'm; there's a gentleman in the passage wants to see
you. He seized me in the street, and would make me bring him to
you. His name, me'm—it's all he'll tell me—his name he says is
Edward !"
"Edward! Oh, heavens! bring the candles," cried Mrs. Cramp,
sinking upon a chair. Becky immediately flung me upon a table,
and rushed out of the room ; in the same instant Edward passed
from the passage, and—why was not I already dyed to be spared my
blushes—and caught the widow in his arms ! The worst remains to
be told. Mrs. Cramp neither squealed, nor shrieked ; nor conjured
the man to depart—conjured him by the memory of her husband
yet green in earth—by the gloom and sadness of her desolate weeds;
no—astounded by the violence, all the poor woman was able to utter
was—" Edward ! Is it you ?"
" It is," said Edward ; and somehow it was impossible for the
woman any longer to doubt it.
Can it be ? Is it possible ? Why does not Becky bring the candles!
Edward kisses the widow ; kisses her, and calls her his Clarissa !
To kiss a woman in a widow's cap ! Excuse human infirmity as we
may, is there not very great presumption in the act ? Is it not
greeting the handmaid of death—the—but it is plain, Edward wants
imagination again. We askit, is there not something awful, freezing,
in that white, chilling muslin, that sometimes surrounds the face of
Venus with a frame of snow—that ices beauty for a twelvemonth ? In
the superstition of custom, we think the dead has yet some lien upon
her—a year's hold at least. Is there not ?—But there is this excuse
for Edward ! it is dusk ; he cannot see the cap that ought tofreeze him.
Thank goodness ! Becky has brought the candles.
I was now enabled to have a good stare at Edward. He was a
very handsome fellow ; that is, ninety women out of a hundred
would have called him handsome. His figure was thickset, but far
above the middle height, with the chest and back of a gladiator. His
face was large and open, with careless good humour upon it-—his brow
unlined by thought. lie had a fine colour,black whiskers, asufficiently
large mouth, and remarkably white teeth. I know that Mrs. Cramp
thought his eyes—they were black as coals—very beautiful : for my
part, I liked not their expression. They were of those eyes that seem
always trying to look gay and sparkle ; and then there was an
occasional dropping dow n and pulling of the corners of the mouth,
as though twitched by uneasy heart-strings. My gentleman had
clothed his fleshly tnau with a due sense of its excellence. There
was lace on his cravat—gold-lace on his coat and waistcoat—gold
C? O
loop and button in his beaver. He wore a jewel on his finger, and
took snuff" from what seemed a box of embossed silver. And this
was Edward !
No, reader, it was not. It was Clickly Abram, highwayman. And
did Mrs. Cramp know this ? Not she, poor widowed dove. The
truth is, she had met the man at Ranelagh ; and as, conscientious
soul! she could not boast of her husband, she had never spoken of
his existence. Again, knowing that Mr. Cramp could not much
longer endure this sinful world, his wife, like a provident woman,
looked around her for a more than substitute for the dying card-
maker, and looking, beheld—Edward. Hence, she had always
spoken of obstacles that time might destroy, and then—and then—
Edward and she might wed ; but Edward must wait. To Edward,
the widow' was the ward or niece of some ancient villain—for she
now and then spoke of an old tyrant;—whilst to the widpw, Edward
was the only darling son of a rich lady of the manor somewhere near
the Land's End. All this, I afterwards discovered ; but as I hate
mystery, I lay the case before the reader at once.
" Supper—something nice," said Mrs. Cramp in a whisper to Becky,
as the widow crossed the room to lay me upon the mantel-piece ;
and then as she returned—" never mind expense."
" Ar'n't you surprised to find me as—as I am ?" asked Mrs. Cramp,
glancing at her mourning.
or* o
" Not in the least, my angel—I knew your husband's doctor all the
time," said Abram.
" Is it possible ! Well, if I'd have known ! I shall never forgive
myself," exclaimed the widow, trying to look very like a penitent.
"And now the maid's gone, my sweet one—name the day, when
shall it be ? I'm tired of this damned London, and I don't know how
it is, I get quite foolish—I want to see the old lady—I want to liu?
my old mother again." Such were the filial yearnings of Edward ;
but we fear that the stir caused by the highway robbery of Clickly
Abram had some influence upon their wish for travel. " When shall
it be ?" he asked, smiling upwards in the widow's eyes.
" Why do you ask me ? You can leave London when you like—
can't you?" said Mrs. Cramp, with an innocence that would havs
adorned girlhood at sixteen.
Vol. 5.
:iS
THE STORY OF A FEATHER.
chap. xxvi.—mrs. cramp's new suitor.—the widow's cap.
" You needn't wait lor Mr. Cloudy, I'll show him out,' said Mrs.
Cramp. " And Becky, go directly where I told you. You know,'
added the widow siguiticantly, and I felt Becky clutch me closer as
she answered, " I know, me'm and she immediately turned from
the room. Ere, however, she closed the street-door, I heard Mrs.
Cramp again loud in her silver laughter ; again evidently taking on
lor the buried card-maker.
It was nearly dark, and Becky tripped along with the true timidity
of a London maid-of-all-work. For myself, 1 was in despair. 1 telt
it—I knew it—1 was carried onward to be stained, lost tor ever :
widowhood had passed sentence upon me, I was to be dyed. I put
it to the reader—proud, it may be, of the clearness of his complexion,
what would be his agony if he knew that to-morrow morning he must
inevitably rise a blackamoor ! I put it to you, madam ; you, with
your milky cheek, carnation-tinted—Would you not break your
glass when it showed you a Hottentot ?
Still Becky tripped along, inhumanly humming, I think, " Nancy
Dawson," when a man, crossing tiie way, stood before her. Becky
immediately drew herself up ; and 1 could feel that her heart began
to flutter and beat, precisely as every woman's heart has beat since
the first rub-a-dub in Paradise. Becky knew not whether the
•monster was about to compliment or insult her ; she was equally
prepared for either incident.
" My pretty maid," began the stranger—
" .None o' your nonsense," broke in Becky, and I could feel her
jerk, and 1 have no doubt she sneered.
" Don't be cruel, child," said the man, in a soft, gentle voice.
" Never was cruel in my life," said Becky, the man's musical words
melting in her bosom.
" Well then, my dear," and the stranger laid his hand upon the maid.
"None o'your nonsense," cried Becky, starting back; "you'd
better not; 1 wears pattens."
" You have the advantage of me," replied the man, with a bow ;
" but I am sure you are too much a lady of honour to use it.
" I've two bauds of my own, and they 're quite enough upon me
■at one time, that's all," said Becky ; " so what you've got to say, you
can say with your hands in your pockets."
Becky's reproof evidently struck upon the fine sense of the
stranger, for he immediately pulled out his purse, and offering the
maid, as it appeared to me, a piece of gold, asked if she would make
him happy by acc epting it.
Becky received the coin, merely observing, " There could be no
harm in that."
" And now, my dear, one word—is your sweet mistress within ?"
asked the donor.
" In course ; crying her dear eyes out for poor Mr. Cramp."
" That's a pity !" said the stranger.
" She's inurderin' herself ! " answered Becky.
" She must be saved," cried the man.
" But it's just like us," answered the maid ; " we are all fools
alike. 1 wonder if lie'd ha' gone on so about her ? Not he ; men
are flints—not made as we are."
" And Mrs. Cramp is at home ? Alone, too, no doubt ?" said the
stranger.
"Alone!" said Becky, and she said no more. Her manner war-
ranted the solitude of her mistress.
"You must tell her that a gentleman wishes particularly to see
her," said the man.
"And her husband not been buried a week !" cried the maid, who,
however, suffered the stranger to pass his hand under her elbow,
turning her towards the widow's house. " 1 wouldn't do it for a thou-
sand pounds," said Becky, as she stood at the late Mr. Cramp's door.
"'Twill be worth more than that to your dear mistress," said the
stranger. "Come, I've no doubt you've the key."
'• Well, what a man you are !" cried Becky, immediately producing
that domestic instrument. "Shouldn't wonder if I get turned away
for it. Who shall I say ?"
Say, Edward—that's enough," said the man.
' Hush ! Stop a minute, while I see if missus is alone ; a neigh-
bour may be with her," said Becky, softly turning the key, and
entering the house with caution, the stranger following her. Beckv
immediately entered the parlour. " You are alone, me'm 1"
'"Oh, yes!" answered Mrs. Cramp, and again she burst into
laughter. " I've made such a fool of the man. He thinks—"
"Hush, me'm; there's a gentleman in the passage wants to see
you. He seized me in the street, and would make me bring him to
you. His name, me'm—it's all he'll tell me—his name he says is
Edward !"
"Edward! Oh, heavens! bring the candles," cried Mrs. Cramp,
sinking upon a chair. Becky immediately flung me upon a table,
and rushed out of the room ; in the same instant Edward passed
from the passage, and—why was not I already dyed to be spared my
blushes—and caught the widow in his arms ! The worst remains to
be told. Mrs. Cramp neither squealed, nor shrieked ; nor conjured
the man to depart—conjured him by the memory of her husband
yet green in earth—by the gloom and sadness of her desolate weeds;
no—astounded by the violence, all the poor woman was able to utter
was—" Edward ! Is it you ?"
" It is," said Edward ; and somehow it was impossible for the
woman any longer to doubt it.
Can it be ? Is it possible ? Why does not Becky bring the candles!
Edward kisses the widow ; kisses her, and calls her his Clarissa !
To kiss a woman in a widow's cap ! Excuse human infirmity as we
may, is there not very great presumption in the act ? Is it not
greeting the handmaid of death—the—but it is plain, Edward wants
imagination again. We askit, is there not something awful, freezing,
in that white, chilling muslin, that sometimes surrounds the face of
Venus with a frame of snow—that ices beauty for a twelvemonth ? In
the superstition of custom, we think the dead has yet some lien upon
her—a year's hold at least. Is there not ?—But there is this excuse
for Edward ! it is dusk ; he cannot see the cap that ought tofreeze him.
Thank goodness ! Becky has brought the candles.
I was now enabled to have a good stare at Edward. He was a
very handsome fellow ; that is, ninety women out of a hundred
would have called him handsome. His figure was thickset, but far
above the middle height, with the chest and back of a gladiator. His
face was large and open, with careless good humour upon it-—his brow
unlined by thought. lie had a fine colour,black whiskers, asufficiently
large mouth, and remarkably white teeth. I know that Mrs. Cramp
thought his eyes—they were black as coals—very beautiful : for my
part, I liked not their expression. They were of those eyes that seem
always trying to look gay and sparkle ; and then there was an
occasional dropping dow n and pulling of the corners of the mouth,
as though twitched by uneasy heart-strings. My gentleman had
clothed his fleshly tnau with a due sense of its excellence. There
was lace on his cravat—gold-lace on his coat and waistcoat—gold
C? O
loop and button in his beaver. He wore a jewel on his finger, and
took snuff" from what seemed a box of embossed silver. And this
was Edward !
No, reader, it was not. It was Clickly Abram, highwayman. And
did Mrs. Cramp know this ? Not she, poor widowed dove. The
truth is, she had met the man at Ranelagh ; and as, conscientious
soul! she could not boast of her husband, she had never spoken of
his existence. Again, knowing that Mr. Cramp could not much
longer endure this sinful world, his wife, like a provident woman,
looked around her for a more than substitute for the dying card-
maker, and looking, beheld—Edward. Hence, she had always
spoken of obstacles that time might destroy, and then—and then—
Edward and she might wed ; but Edward must wait. To Edward,
the widow' was the ward or niece of some ancient villain—for she
now and then spoke of an old tyrant;—whilst to the widpw, Edward
was the only darling son of a rich lady of the manor somewhere near
the Land's End. All this, I afterwards discovered ; but as I hate
mystery, I lay the case before the reader at once.
" Supper—something nice," said Mrs. Cramp in a whisper to Becky,
as the widow crossed the room to lay me upon the mantel-piece ;
and then as she returned—" never mind expense."
" Ar'n't you surprised to find me as—as I am ?" asked Mrs. Cramp,
glancing at her mourning.
or* o
" Not in the least, my angel—I knew your husband's doctor all the
time," said Abram.
" Is it possible ! Well, if I'd have known ! I shall never forgive
myself," exclaimed the widow, trying to look very like a penitent.
"And now the maid's gone, my sweet one—name the day, when
shall it be ? I'm tired of this damned London, and I don't know how
it is, I get quite foolish—I want to see the old lady—I want to liu?
my old mother again." Such were the filial yearnings of Edward ;
but we fear that the stir caused by the highway robbery of Clickly
Abram had some influence upon their wish for travel. " When shall
it be ?" he asked, smiling upwards in the widow's eyes.
" Why do you ask me ? You can leave London when you like—
can't you?" said Mrs. Cramp, with an innocence that would havs
adorned girlhood at sixteen.
Vol. 5.