DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16513#0057
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
4r>
'HE STORY OF A FEATHER.
CHAP. XXVII.—I AM AGAIN TAKEN ABROAD.—THE WIDOW LOSES
HER LOVER AND MYSELF.
It may be supposed that Mrs. Cramp was justly offended at the
ruthless sacrifice of her cap—one of the few tokens by which she
remembered her departed husband ; which, whenever she passed
the looking-glass, convinced her she was a widow. To say the truth,
she had a liking for the cap ; there was a significant prettiness
about it that pleased her mightily. Hence, she was majestically
indignant with Edward. He was a brute—a ruffian ; and then, her
passion suffering a sweet diminuendo, he was finally a very foolish
fellow. She would not take a glass of wine with him ; she would
not even touch the liquid ; well, she would touch it and no more.
She was not the foolish, weak woman he thought her ; but if he was
very good, she might go to the play with him on Tuesday. Should
she ever see his mother, she would tell her what a scapegrace son she
had—that she would.
And thus, with the prettiest affectation of remorse on the part of
the highwayman, and with a coy, wayward pettishness on the side of
the widow, who never having been wooed by Mr. Cramp, promised
herself an enjoyment of courtship in all its dear distracting variety ;
thus, till eleven o'clock they sat, unseen Cupids hovering about them,
snuffing the candles.
I will pass the separation of the lovers, which Mr. Abram vowed—
and he ratified the oath with a bumper of brandy—tore the very
heart out of his bosom. Then he burst into the snatch of an
amorous ditty, whilst Mrs. Cramp begged him to remember the
neighbours. To this appeal he made answer by singing the louder,
and vowing if he were hanged he didn't care, he couldn't die at a
happier moment. And then Mrs. Cramp wondered what nonsense
was in the man's head about hanging, and finally she and Becky-
coaxed him to the door, and " hush-hushed " him into the street.
"Quite a gentleman, me'm," said Becky, left alone with her mis-
tress, who sat silently looking at her fingers. " You didn't see his
hands, me'm ; never saw veal whiter, me'm ; always tell a true
gentleman by his hands, me'm. Can't be a London gentleman, me'm,
—has a country look. Ha ! that's the place, me'm, for my money. I
could live among pigs, me'm ; and then for poultry—for breeding
goslings, me'm—I may say without presumption, me'm, I was born
for it, me'm."
Becky's avowal of her love for an Arcadian life convinced me that
the parlour-door was not without a key-hole.
" Lawks !" cried Becky, getting no answer from her mistress—
*' here's the feather ; I couldn't take it for"—
" Never mind," said Mrs. Cramp, and she took me from the mantel-
piece ; "never mind ; we'll talk about dyeing it another time."
"Well, it would have been a pity and a shame, me'm ; besides,
you won't be in nasty black a year—I'm sure you can't, me'm."
" I've such a headache, Becky," sighed Mrs. Cramp. " I '11 go to
bed." And the widow carrying me with her, and sighing very
heavily, crept slowly up stairs to her bedroom, followed by her
maid. Laying me carefully aside, she sank into a chair. Taking up
her pocket-handkerchief, she sat mutely squeezing it between her
palms, and then she slightly brushed the lawn across her eyes, and
then her lips moved, as with some dolorous soliloquy. At length
the widow cried, " This is lonesome, Becky."
" Might as well be buried alive, me'm ; I couldn't sleep here alone,
me'm, for the world, me'm. And then there's that pictur of master,
me'm"—and Becky glanced at a daub portrait of the late card-
maker, hanging over the chimney-piece—" it's shamefully like him,
me'm, isn't it ? "
"Don't talk so, Becky, you don't know how you distress me."
" Shall I turn him to the wall, me'm ? " and Becky, with the word,
had mounted a chair to give a turn to the card-maker.
"By no means," said the widow, " what harm can the poor man's
picture do me ?"
"I don't know, me'm ; but if I was you, I should think he was
always looking at me, me'm ; and then there's that big silver watch
of his at the head of the bed. Well ! how you can sleep with that,
me'm, I can't telL I should think it was his sperrit tick,
away all night, and I shouldn't wink for him."
" Silly creature," said Mrs. Cramp, with a very faint smile.
" Why do you wind it up, me'm ?" cried Becky.
■" Habit, Becky; I always did when the poor man was alive.
But it is loud to-night, and my head is, I think, going to pieces. Put
the watch under the mattress, Becky."
ticking
"Yes, me'm," and in a trice the cardmaker's chronometer was
crammed away. "Shall I turn the pictur, too,me'm ?" cried Becky.
"I'm afraid you should touch it : 'tis in such a wretched state, so
worm-eaten, and I don 't know what—remind me that I send it away
to-morrow to be revived. And Becky, as I see, foolish girl !—you are
a little frightened, you shall sleep with me to-night."
And mistress and maid slept. The widow, for she told her vision
when she awoke, dreamt that she was carried to the Land's End
through the air, drawn by a team of pouter pigeons ; whilst Becky,
who was also favoured with a vision, declared that she had hatched a
couple of dozen of goose-egg's, with twin goslings in everv one of
*- d oo 7 o o
them.
Days passed on, and every day gave new brightness to the widow.
She sang louder, laughed louder, trod her chamber with lighter step,
and would lie and giggle in bed, Becky giggling in concert with her
mistress. One morning, the widow observed to her confidential
friend, " this black, Becky, is sad hypocrisy."
" To be sure, me'm, it is ; but then, me'm, we can't be respectable
without it."
" And then people stare so, if they see one in weeds with a gentle-
man, especially if one smiles, or "—
"A wicked world, me'm ; think people ought to have their sperrits
in mourning as well as their backs. I should like to know what
mourning was made for. if it wasn't to carry it all off."
" I'll not go out in black to-morrow," said the widow, after a pause.
"Well, me'm, I honours you for the resolution," cried Becky.
"At the same time the neighbours needn't know it," observed
Mrs. Cramp.
" Why should they, me'm ? Ah, them neighbours! They're the
cuss of one's life, me'm. How happy all the world might be, me'm,
if all the world hadn't neighbours, me'm."
" I can wrap a cloak about me, and sneak into a coach, Becky,"
said Mrs. Cramp.
" And not a mouse be the wiser," said her maid.
The morrow came, the widow flung aside her black, and burst into
colours. More ; as an excelling bit of beauty, she took me. I was
placed in her head ; and 1 was delighted to find, as she looked and
looked in the glass, that she fully appreciated the value of my
presence. " A beautiful feather, isn't it, Becky \ "
" I '11 tell you the world's truth, me'm," cried Becky, putting
together her extended palms, and flinging them from her as she
spoke—"I've seen the Queen, me'm, and she isn't fit to see you
to bed. me'm !" Thus irreverently did Becky speak of her anointed
majesty, Queen Charlotte, of rappee memory.
It was evening ; a coacli was called. Mrs. Cramp,as cautiously as
a midnight cat would cross a gutter, put her foot into the street, and
for an instant looked hurriedly about her : the next moment, she
was in the coach. The action was so rapid—but I thought I saw
two or three figures on the opposite side of the way, watching the
progress of innocent Mrs. Cramp.
The coach drove on. At length it stopped at the corner of a
street. "All right," said a voice to the coachman, and immediately
the door was opened,and " Edward" was seated beside Mrs. Cramp.
" My angel !" he cried, " why wouldn't you let me take you up?"
" The neighbours, Edward—the neighbours," said the widow.
" The fellow knows where to drive to 1" asked the highwayman.
" I've told him—he can't mistake," said Mrs. Cramp. The coach
rolled on.
" This surely can't be the way," cried the thief.
" He can't be wrong—I was so particular, Edward," replied the
widow. " I hope we shall be in time for the beginning."
" Oh, I see ! all right," said Abram, glancing through the window.
At this moment the coach stopt. "This isn't Drury Lane," cried the
highwayman.
" No," said a man, who presented himself at the coach-door, and
whom I instantly recognised as Hardmouth, the police-officer—" No,
but it's Bow-street."
Instantaneously the highwayman turned round, and grasping the
widow's hand, and looking like a demon in her face, he asked—"Did
you do this 1"
" What! what ! " cried the widow.
"Nothing, nothing, my dear," said Abram, assured by the woman's
look of innocence. " Never mind, 'twill all be right. Hardmouth,
take care of the lady," cried the highwayman, jumping nimbly out of
the coach, and immediately disappearing amidst a crowd of constables
" Edward, Edward !" exclaimed the widow.
" He's in a bit of trouble, mum," said one of the officers.
" Trouble ! " cried the widow, and with the word she stood upon
the pavement.
4r>
'HE STORY OF A FEATHER.
CHAP. XXVII.—I AM AGAIN TAKEN ABROAD.—THE WIDOW LOSES
HER LOVER AND MYSELF.
It may be supposed that Mrs. Cramp was justly offended at the
ruthless sacrifice of her cap—one of the few tokens by which she
remembered her departed husband ; which, whenever she passed
the looking-glass, convinced her she was a widow. To say the truth,
she had a liking for the cap ; there was a significant prettiness
about it that pleased her mightily. Hence, she was majestically
indignant with Edward. He was a brute—a ruffian ; and then, her
passion suffering a sweet diminuendo, he was finally a very foolish
fellow. She would not take a glass of wine with him ; she would
not even touch the liquid ; well, she would touch it and no more.
She was not the foolish, weak woman he thought her ; but if he was
very good, she might go to the play with him on Tuesday. Should
she ever see his mother, she would tell her what a scapegrace son she
had—that she would.
And thus, with the prettiest affectation of remorse on the part of
the highwayman, and with a coy, wayward pettishness on the side of
the widow, who never having been wooed by Mr. Cramp, promised
herself an enjoyment of courtship in all its dear distracting variety ;
thus, till eleven o'clock they sat, unseen Cupids hovering about them,
snuffing the candles.
I will pass the separation of the lovers, which Mr. Abram vowed—
and he ratified the oath with a bumper of brandy—tore the very
heart out of his bosom. Then he burst into the snatch of an
amorous ditty, whilst Mrs. Cramp begged him to remember the
neighbours. To this appeal he made answer by singing the louder,
and vowing if he were hanged he didn't care, he couldn't die at a
happier moment. And then Mrs. Cramp wondered what nonsense
was in the man's head about hanging, and finally she and Becky-
coaxed him to the door, and " hush-hushed " him into the street.
"Quite a gentleman, me'm," said Becky, left alone with her mis-
tress, who sat silently looking at her fingers. " You didn't see his
hands, me'm ; never saw veal whiter, me'm ; always tell a true
gentleman by his hands, me'm. Can't be a London gentleman, me'm,
—has a country look. Ha ! that's the place, me'm, for my money. I
could live among pigs, me'm ; and then for poultry—for breeding
goslings, me'm—I may say without presumption, me'm, I was born
for it, me'm."
Becky's avowal of her love for an Arcadian life convinced me that
the parlour-door was not without a key-hole.
" Lawks !" cried Becky, getting no answer from her mistress—
*' here's the feather ; I couldn't take it for"—
" Never mind," said Mrs. Cramp, and she took me from the mantel-
piece ; "never mind ; we'll talk about dyeing it another time."
"Well, it would have been a pity and a shame, me'm ; besides,
you won't be in nasty black a year—I'm sure you can't, me'm."
" I've such a headache, Becky," sighed Mrs. Cramp. " I '11 go to
bed." And the widow carrying me with her, and sighing very
heavily, crept slowly up stairs to her bedroom, followed by her
maid. Laying me carefully aside, she sank into a chair. Taking up
her pocket-handkerchief, she sat mutely squeezing it between her
palms, and then she slightly brushed the lawn across her eyes, and
then her lips moved, as with some dolorous soliloquy. At length
the widow cried, " This is lonesome, Becky."
" Might as well be buried alive, me'm ; I couldn't sleep here alone,
me'm, for the world, me'm. And then there's that pictur of master,
me'm"—and Becky glanced at a daub portrait of the late card-
maker, hanging over the chimney-piece—" it's shamefully like him,
me'm, isn't it ? "
"Don't talk so, Becky, you don't know how you distress me."
" Shall I turn him to the wall, me'm ? " and Becky, with the word,
had mounted a chair to give a turn to the card-maker.
"By no means," said the widow, " what harm can the poor man's
picture do me ?"
"I don't know, me'm ; but if I was you, I should think he was
always looking at me, me'm ; and then there's that big silver watch
of his at the head of the bed. Well ! how you can sleep with that,
me'm, I can't telL I should think it was his sperrit tick,
away all night, and I shouldn't wink for him."
" Silly creature," said Mrs. Cramp, with a very faint smile.
" Why do you wind it up, me'm ?" cried Becky.
■" Habit, Becky; I always did when the poor man was alive.
But it is loud to-night, and my head is, I think, going to pieces. Put
the watch under the mattress, Becky."
ticking
"Yes, me'm," and in a trice the cardmaker's chronometer was
crammed away. "Shall I turn the pictur, too,me'm ?" cried Becky.
"I'm afraid you should touch it : 'tis in such a wretched state, so
worm-eaten, and I don 't know what—remind me that I send it away
to-morrow to be revived. And Becky, as I see, foolish girl !—you are
a little frightened, you shall sleep with me to-night."
And mistress and maid slept. The widow, for she told her vision
when she awoke, dreamt that she was carried to the Land's End
through the air, drawn by a team of pouter pigeons ; whilst Becky,
who was also favoured with a vision, declared that she had hatched a
couple of dozen of goose-egg's, with twin goslings in everv one of
*- d oo 7 o o
them.
Days passed on, and every day gave new brightness to the widow.
She sang louder, laughed louder, trod her chamber with lighter step,
and would lie and giggle in bed, Becky giggling in concert with her
mistress. One morning, the widow observed to her confidential
friend, " this black, Becky, is sad hypocrisy."
" To be sure, me'm, it is ; but then, me'm, we can't be respectable
without it."
" And then people stare so, if they see one in weeds with a gentle-
man, especially if one smiles, or "—
"A wicked world, me'm ; think people ought to have their sperrits
in mourning as well as their backs. I should like to know what
mourning was made for. if it wasn't to carry it all off."
" I'll not go out in black to-morrow," said the widow, after a pause.
"Well, me'm, I honours you for the resolution," cried Becky.
"At the same time the neighbours needn't know it," observed
Mrs. Cramp.
" Why should they, me'm ? Ah, them neighbours! They're the
cuss of one's life, me'm. How happy all the world might be, me'm,
if all the world hadn't neighbours, me'm."
" I can wrap a cloak about me, and sneak into a coach, Becky,"
said Mrs. Cramp.
" And not a mouse be the wiser," said her maid.
The morrow came, the widow flung aside her black, and burst into
colours. More ; as an excelling bit of beauty, she took me. I was
placed in her head ; and 1 was delighted to find, as she looked and
looked in the glass, that she fully appreciated the value of my
presence. " A beautiful feather, isn't it, Becky \ "
" I '11 tell you the world's truth, me'm," cried Becky, putting
together her extended palms, and flinging them from her as she
spoke—"I've seen the Queen, me'm, and she isn't fit to see you
to bed. me'm !" Thus irreverently did Becky speak of her anointed
majesty, Queen Charlotte, of rappee memory.
It was evening ; a coacli was called. Mrs. Cramp,as cautiously as
a midnight cat would cross a gutter, put her foot into the street, and
for an instant looked hurriedly about her : the next moment, she
was in the coach. The action was so rapid—but I thought I saw
two or three figures on the opposite side of the way, watching the
progress of innocent Mrs. Cramp.
The coach drove on. At length it stopped at the corner of a
street. "All right," said a voice to the coachman, and immediately
the door was opened,and " Edward" was seated beside Mrs. Cramp.
" My angel !" he cried, " why wouldn't you let me take you up?"
" The neighbours, Edward—the neighbours," said the widow.
" The fellow knows where to drive to 1" asked the highwayman.
" I've told him—he can't mistake," said Mrs. Cramp. The coach
rolled on.
" This surely can't be the way," cried the thief.
" He can't be wrong—I was so particular, Edward," replied the
widow. " I hope we shall be in time for the beginning."
" Oh, I see ! all right," said Abram, glancing through the window.
At this moment the coach stopt. "This isn't Drury Lane," cried the
highwayman.
" No," said a man, who presented himself at the coach-door, and
whom I instantly recognised as Hardmouth, the police-officer—" No,
but it's Bow-street."
Instantaneously the highwayman turned round, and grasping the
widow's hand, and looking like a demon in her face, he asked—"Did
you do this 1"
" What! what ! " cried the widow.
"Nothing, nothing, my dear," said Abram, assured by the woman's
look of innocence. " Never mind, 'twill all be right. Hardmouth,
take care of the lady," cried the highwayman, jumping nimbly out of
the coach, and immediately disappearing amidst a crowd of constables
" Edward, Edward !" exclaimed the widow.
" He's in a bit of trouble, mum," said one of the officers.
" Trouble ! " cried the widow, and with the word she stood upon
the pavement.