CHAPTER LXXX
WHO-HOOP!
HE sequel is soon told. Three days after, Sir Archibald Depecarde’s travelling chariot, drawn by four smoking posters, was seen rolling, hurriedly, into Handley Cross, with the pinion-folded Partridge lolling consequentially in the rumble, and to draw up with a dash at Captain Doleful’s door. What took place between them, of course, we are unable to state, but an adjournment was presently moved to Acacia Crescent; and almost immediately after, bales of haberdashery, and piles of cap and bonnet-boxes began to arrive, and Martha had a busy time of it, taking in and letting out the counter-skippers, and genteel young people bringing them. In due time, white favours flourished through the town, Sir Archibald Depecarde giving away the lovely bride.
Concerned, however, we are to add, that just as Mrs. Brantinghame and Martha were clearing out of the Crescent for Bath, Mrs. Doleful cast up at her mother’s, looking so wretched and haggard, that no census-taker would have booked her at fifty. She declared she could not live with that “’orrid man” another day, though for what cause, we, as Sir Thomas Trout would say, are not at liberty to mention. Mamma tried Jorrocks’s famous horse receipt upon her, advised her to be to his faults a little blind, and to his virtues ever kind; but Mrs. Doleful declared she would rather do anything than return to him, and thought, with bitter anguish, of Peter Bullock and Captain Capers, and the other gentlemen she had jilted.
On that very day, James Pigg was seen turning out of the Marquis of Cornwallis’s bottle department into Great Coram Street, with a huge tobacco-stained favour under his nose, holloaing out, as he got staggered into the middle of the street, “Keep the tambourine a rowlin’! Whativer ye de, keep the tambourine a rowlin!” Then having got himself steadied, he went lurching along, holloaing out, “B-r-r-a-andy and baccy ’ill gar a man live for iver! Sink ar say b-r-r-a-andy and baccy ’ill gar a man live for iver!” So he proceeded down Great Coram Street, tendering his nief to everybody he met, declaring he’d been the death of a guinea, and would be the death of another when young Stobbs was born, until losing his head in the open, he finally subsided under the pump in Brunswick Square. Then, just as the little boys were preparing to sluice him, the tall lobster merchant with the big calves, who was going his evening rounds of “Buy Lob-ster-r-r! fine Lob-ster-r-r!” came to the rescue, and restored him unhurt to Great Coram Street, where the lobster merchant was speedily made as drunk as his friend.
On that very day, too, our elegant Bloomer having captured the Conqueror, and found out what day Belinda was to be married, entered into the happy state also, as appears by the following paragraph extracted from the “Paul Pry”: “On the 29th ult., at St. Mary’s Church, by the Rev. Simon Pure, assisted by the Rev. Arthur Lovejoy, William Heveland, Esq., A.D.C., to Constantia, youngest surviving daughter of the late Michael Mendlove, of Handley Cross Spa. The lovely bride, who was dressed as a Bloomer, was attended by six beautiful bridesmaids similarly attired.”
The Conqueror very handsomely settled himself, not quite so good an investment as Charley Stobbs made with pretty Belinda, Mr. Jorrocks having come down with what old Miss Freezer described as “something v-a-a-ry handsome,” and promised them a thousand every time she has twins. They were now down at old Stobbs’s place in Yorkshire, but purpose being back at Handley Cross by the hunting season. They are accompanied by that eminent sportsman Ben, who has been glad to retire from the agonies of hunting and subside into a buttoney-boy for Belinda. This metamorphosis was somewhat accelerated by the following contretemps.
Pigg having gone out in the gray dawn of morn to meet his friend Whiskey Tim and recruit his stock of mountain dew, saw Joe Haddock and Ben having a trial of speed with two of their horses along the south turn-pike, and not all Pigg’s frantic yells and gestures, though he knocked his hat crown out in the effort, could overpower the clatter they made on the road. Pigg therefore made the best of his way home, and providing himself with a cutting whip, surprised Ben in the parlour in the act of refreshing himself with some of Mr. Jorrocks’s marmalade, which he was scooping out of the pot with his thumb. Taking him as he would a hound by the ear, Pigg pitched into him, exclaiming at the top of his voice,—
“Ar’ll teach ye te gallop mar h’ussus, it will ’e (whack)—it will ’e (crack)—it will ’e (smack).”
Squeak, squeal, writhe, wriggle, roar, went Ben, throwing himself on to the floor.
“Ar’ll teach ye te steal t’ard maister’s marmelade,” continued Pigg, now taking Ben by the cuff of the neck; “ar’ll teach ye te steal t’ard maister’s marmelade, it will ’e (crack), it will ’e (smack), it will ’e (whack).”
Writhe, roar, wriggle, murder! shrieked Ben.
“Aye, morder aye,” repeated Pigg, turning him deliberately over and taking him by the other ear. “Aye, morder aye, ar’l morder ye, ye bit brazen bowdekite, whe d’ye think ’ill stand sic wark as this” (whack, crack—whack, crack—whack, crack), and altogether Pigg gave him such an elaborate licking as perfectly disgusted Ben with whips and everything belonging to the chase.
Mr. Jorrocks therefore being without a whip, and in order as he says that they may all break their eggs at the same end, has allowed Pigg to choose his own, who, kenning as he says, “Jist sic another chap as hissel, what used to whop in the Tynedale,” he has written to engage him, character being no object with Pigg, and Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg have entered into a compact that master and man are not both to get drunk on the same day.
Moreover, Mr. Jorrocks has offered to increase Pigg’s wages if he will make Batsay—who, we are sorry to say, has had to get her stays let out again—an honest woman.
And now for our jolly old master himself. He says their people have “be’aved so un’andsome in tryin’ to shop him,” that he’s determined to give a loose to pleasure the rest of his life, and is getting hounds together for four days a week—three and a bye at least, which latter he means to have in Pinch-me-near Forest. This is to be permanently added to his country, and the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of her Majesty’s Treasury having very properly dismissed the Honourable the Commissioner in charge of her Majesty’s Woods and Forests, together with his Scotch sylvan oracle, Mr. Prettyfat is again pretty comfortable and able to turn his attention to his poultry, of which he has appointed Mr. Jorrocks grand protector. Pigg and he are to have their breakfasts and a glass of brandy a-piece every time the hounds meet there.
Mr. Jorrocks’s country is full of foxes, many of which he hopes to make cry “Capevi,” and as the Ordnance hedge-hashers have made hunting comparatively easy where they have carried on their operations, he anticipates being able to scramble about in tolerable safety. He has begun greening his breeches knees among the hazel bushes, cub hunting, and arranged his meets for the first week in November, of which he has kindly sent us the following card:—
