Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 340: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| | Eee ——— - — JOSEVH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. were crowded with packages and parcels of all shapes and descriptions,—amongst which were several portable writing-cases. Great coats, cloaks, and glazed waterproof capes, were suspended to the pegs against the wall; and over them hung large comforters, some of woollen and others of shawl materials. Umbrellas and whips were also conspicuous articles in the room. The gentlemen themselves who were the proprietors of these mis- cellaneous effects, exhibited as much of the variety of the white species of the human race as such a limited number of individuals could possibly dis- play: but upon these divers characteristics it is by no means my purpose to dwell descriptively, though I may anon glance passingly at them in a few words. For the present I have to observe that the eight or ten bagmen in question, evidently had a great idea of comfort. All of them had put off their boots, and had on slippers: one sat lounging back in an immense easy chair,—another, while occupying one chair, had a second on which to re- pose his legs: a third, with his chair tilted back, lolied against the wall: a fourth had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and thrown off his stock and false collar, so that he might feel loose and easy: a fifth, doubtless apprehensive of a cold draught from the door or window, wore his hat; while a sixth, for the very reason that the room was hot almost to suffocation, had tossed off his wig, and looked very much like the picture of the bald gentleman whom you see in the advertisement of ventilated peruques. All were smoking either pipes or cigars: all, too, had the means of libation upon the table before them. A couple had joined in a bottle of wine: a third had a huge tumbler of rum punch, ladling it out into a wine-glass, whence he imbibed it: a fourth was moistening his clay with bottled stout: a fifth, ditto ale; and steaming glasses of spirits-and- water were in front of the rest. The impression made by the general aspect of the company was that of persons who having done a good day’s work, considered themselves entitled to appropriate the evening to their own special enjoyment ; and they all looked as if this sort of entertainment was by no means a rare indulgence, but a process to which they were uncommonly well accustomed—so that as one day for them told another, the evening in the same way certified all the rest. “ Here’s a young friend of mine,” said Henley, as he introduced me into the room, “who is going to have a glass and a cigar with us for an hour.” “ Welcome, sir,” said a stout pimply-faced man, who sate at the head of the table. “Sit down, sir. Make yourself at home. Here’s the waiter: give your orders.” “Will you permit me,” I whispered to Mr. Henley, “ to order a bottle of wine—and a cigar for yourself? I never smoke.” ; “We will drink a bottle,” responded the com- mercial traveller; “but we will share the damage. Now, Charles you villain,” he added, thus plea- santly addressing himself to the waiter, who glided noiselessly into the room with a placid smile upon his countenance and a napkin under his arm ; “ go and bring us a bottle of that prime old Port—you know which bin I mean—and one of the best Havannahs for me. Don’t get the cigar out of the ordinary box: but just tell the landlord to give you one out of the little nook there, on the shelf behind the door of the bar-parlour.” 327 The waiter disappeared: there was a few mo- ments’ silence, during which the commercial gentlemen all looked at me over their pipes and cigars, just as if the aforesaid pipes and cigars were ranges of longer or shorter proportions, spe- cially intended and used to assist their visual organs in thus concentrating their rays upon any particular individual. “Now then, Smudge,” said one of the gentle- men, at length breaking silence—and he was a very thin, pale-faced, red-haired, pinky-eyed young person of about one-and-twenty, but who had all the airs of the oldest of the company—* now then, Smudge, give us that song you promised just before Henley came in with his friend.” Mr. Smudge, the gentleman thus appealed to, was a short, stout, jolly-looking individual, with an immense face as round as the full moon, but as red as the sun when seen through a morning mist ; and his nose bore unmistakable proof of his loyal adhesion to the punch which he ever and anon ladled out. After sitting very quiet for about three minutes, and looking fixedly at one of the candles, as if inspiration were to be thence derived, he slowly laid down his pipe, and com- menced a well known air in the following man- ner :— Hi give thee hall—I can no more, Though poor the hoffering be— “That’s too high,” said Mr. Smudge, abruptly leaving off: and having taken three sips and five whiffs, he recommenced—but this time in a lower key, though without any diminution of the aspira- tion of the h’s. He again broke off at the same point as before, —this time however because he was too low; and after some more sips and whiffs, he tried again. Again too he broke off—whereupon one of his friends kindly recommended him to take his time— another not to be in a hurry—a third to try again —and so forth: but the end of it all was that Mr. Smudge was not in voice to-night—he couldn’t manage it—and he must beg Mr. Tarbox to sing for him by deputy. It however appeared that Mr. Tarbox was incapacitated from accepting the vicarious office, from the plain and simple fact that he was just in the midst of his seventh glass of hot whiskey-and-water, and so far from being able to settle his ideas to a song, was at a loss to settle them as to the right comprehension of whether he stood on his head or his heels. “Well, gentlemen,” said a shabbily dressed in- dividual, who appeared to have been out for a whole fortnight without ever once performing his ablutions, combing his hair, or changing his shirt, —T’ll give you a recitation :’—and up he sprang from his seat. “Bravo, Mummery!” cried one gentleman. “ Brayvo !” yociferated another. “ Bra—a—vo!” exclaimed a third: and there was a chorus of fists rapping upon the table with such violence that all the glasses and bottles danced as if they were mad. Mr. Tarbox’s tumbler tum- bled over; and Mr. Tarbox himself tumbled down on the carpet. * Halloa, old fellow !” exclaimed one of the gen- tlemen at the opposite side of the table; “that’s a fine to be drunk before nine o’clock.” This ejaculation was greeted with vociferous peals of laughter, in the midst of which Mr. Tar- ElOOO S co iin!