 CHAPTER III. The Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription on the Garden Gate of Minerva House Hammersmith, the Mrs. Crumpton, were two unusually tall, particularly thin and exceedingly skinny personages, very upright and very yellow. Miss Amelia Crumpton owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted she was forty, an admission which was rendered perfectly unnecessary by the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed in the most interesting manner, like twins, and looked as happy and comfortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were very precise, had the strictest possible ideas of propriety, wore false hair, and always smelled very strongly of lavender. Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was a finishing establishment for young ladies, where some twenty girls of the ages of from thirteen to nineteen inclusive acquired a smattering of everything and a knowledge of nothing. One in French and Italian, dancing lessons twice a week and other necessaries of life. The house was a white one a little removed from the roadside, with close palings in front. The bedroom windows were always left partly open to afford a bird's-eye view of numerous little bedsteads with very white dimity furniture, and thereby impress the passer-by with a due sense of the luxuries of the establishment. And there was a front parlor hung round with highly varnished maps, which nobody ever looked at, and filled with books which no one ever read, appropriated exclusively to the reception of parents who, whenever they called, could not fail to be struck with the very deep appearance of the place. Amelia, my dear, said Miss Maria Crumpton entering the schoolroom one morning, with her false hair in papers, as she occasionally did in order to impress the young ladies with a conviction of its reality. Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note I have just received. You needn't mind reading it aloud. Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note with an air of great triumph. Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, Esquire MP, presents his compliments to Miss Crumpton and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton's calling on him, if she conveniently can, tomorrow morning at one o'clock, as Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, Esquire MP, is anxious to see Miss Crumpton on the subject of placing Miss Brooke Dingwall under her charge. Adelphi, Monday morning. A member of Parliament's daughter ejaculated Amelia in an ecstatic tone. A member of Parliament's daughter repeated Miss Maria with a smile of delight, which of course elicited a concurrent titter of pleasure from all the young ladies. It's exceedingly delightful, said Miss Amelia, whereupon all the young ladies murmured their admiration again. Courteous are but schoolboys and courtlady's schoolgirls. So important an announcement at once superseded the business of the day, the holiday was declared in commemoration of the great event. The Miss Crumpton's retired to their private apartment to talk it over. The smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs of the daughter of a member of Parliament, and the young ladies, verging on 18, wondered whether she was engaged, whether she was pretty, whether she wore much bustle, and many other weathers of equal importance. The two Miss Crumpton's proceeded to the Adelphi at the appointed time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking as amiable as they possibly could, which by the by is not saying much for them. Having sent in their cards through the medium of a red hot-looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into the august presence of the profound Dingwall. Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, Esquire, MP, was very haughty, solemn, and portentous. He had, naturally, a somewhat spasmodic expression of countenance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his wearing an extremely stiff cravat. He was wonderfully proud of the MP attached to his name, and never lost an opportunity of reminding people of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had. And in diplomacy, on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he considered himself unrivaled. He was a county magistrate, and discharged the duties of his station with all due justice and impartiality, frequently committing poachers, and occasionally committing himself. Miss Brooke Dingwall was one of the numerous class of young ladies who, like adverbs, may be known by their answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing else. On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing but trying to look busy playing at shop. Acts of Parliament and letters directed to Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, Esquire, MP, were ostentatiously scattered over the table, at a little distance from which Mrs. Brooke Dingwall was seated at work. One of those public nuisances of spoiled child was playing about the room, dressed after the most approved fashion in a blue tunic with a black belt, a quarter of a yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle, looking like a robber in a melodrama seen through a diminishing glass. For a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton's chair as fast as it was placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, Esquire, opened the conversation. He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the high character he had received of her establishment, from his friend, Sir Alfred Muggs. Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgements to him, Muggs, and Cornelius proceeded. One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with my daughter, is that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas, which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind. Here the little innocent before noticed fell out of an armchair of an awful crash. Naughty boy, said his mamma, who appeared more surprised at his taking the liberty of falling down than at anything else. I'll ring the bell for James to take him away. Pray don't check him, my love, said the diplomatist, as soon as he could make himself heard amidst the unearthly howling consequent upon the threat and the tumble. It all arises from his great flow of spirits. This last explanation was addressed to Miss Crumpton. Certainly, Sir, replied the antique Maria, not exactly seeing, however, the connection between a flow of animal spirits and a fall from an armchair. Silence was restored, and the MP resumed. Now, I know nothing so likely to affect this object to Miss Crumpton as her mixing constantly in the society of girls of her own age, and as I know that in your establishment she will meet such as are not likely to contaminate her young mind, I propose to send her to you. The youngest Miss Crumpton expressed the acknowledgments of the establishment generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily pain. The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was standing upon her most tender foot, by way of getting his face, which looked like a capital O in a red-lettered playbill, on a level with the writing table. Of course, Lavinia will be a parlour-border, continued the enviable father, and on one point I wish my directions to be strictly observed. The fact is that some ridiculous love affair with a person much her inferior in life has been the cause of her present state of mind. Knowing that, of course, under your care she can have no opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to, indeed I should rather prefer her mixing with such society as you see yourself. This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited little creature in the excess of his joyousness, breaking a pane of glass and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. James was wrong for considerable confusion and screaming succeeded. Two little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man left the room and the child was gone. Mr. Brookdingwell would like Miss Brookdingwell to learn everything, said Mrs. Brookdingwell, who hardly ever said anything at all. Certainly, said both the Miss Crumptons together. And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in weaning my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton, continued the legislator, I hope you all have the goodness to comply in all respects with any request I may forward to you. The promise was, of course, made, and after a lengthened discussion conducted on behalf of the Dingwells with the most becoming diplomatic gravity, and on that of the Crumptons with profound respect, it was finally arranged that Miss Levinier should be forwarded to Hammersmith on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-yearly ball, given that the establishment was to take place. It might divert the dear girl's mind. This, by the way, was another bit of diplomacy. Miss Levinier was introduced to her future governess, and both the Miss Crumptons pronounced her a most charming girl, an opinion which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of any new pupil. Kurtises were exchanged, acknowledgments expressed, condescension exhibited, and the interview terminated. Preparations, to make use of theatrical phraseology on a scale of magnitude never before attempted, were incessantly made at Minerva House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. The largest room in the house was pleasingly ornamented with blue calico roses, plaid tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, the work of the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken up, the folding doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, and routes seats were taken in. The linen drapers of Hammersmith were astounded at the sudden demand for blue sarsenet ribbon and long white gloves. Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, and a harp and two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the grand piano already on the premises. The young ladies who were selected to show off on the occasion, and do credit to the establishment, practiced incessantly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to the annoyance of the lame old gentleman over the way. And a constant correspondence was kept up between the Mrs. Crumpton and the Hammersmith pastry-cook. The evening came, and then there was such a lacing of stays and tying of sandals, and dressing of hair, as never can take place with a proper degree of bustle, out of a boarding school. The smaller girls managed to be in everybody's way and were pushed about accordingly, and the elder ones dressed and tied and flattered and envied one another as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually come out. How do I look, dear? inquired Miss Emily Smithers, the bell of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom friend because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith, or out of it. Oh, charming dear, how do I? Delightful, you never look so handsome, returned the bell, adjusting her own dress and not bestowing a glance on her poor companion. I hope young Hilton will come early, said another young lady, to miss somebody else in a fever of expectation. I'm sure he'd be highly flattered if he knew it, returned the other, who was practicing lete. Oh, he's so handsome, said the first. Such a charming person, added a second, such a distangue, ah, said the third. Oh, what do you think, said another girl, running into the room? Miss Crumpton says her cousin's coming. What, Theodosius Butler, said everybody in raptures? Is he handsome, inquired an obvious? No, not particularly handsome, was the general reply, but oh, so clever. Mr Theodosius Butler was one of those immortal geniuses who are to be met with in almost every circle. They have usually very deep monotonous voices. They always persuade themselves that they are wonderful persons, and that they ought to be very miserable, though they don't precisely know why. They are very conceited, and usually possess half an idea. But with enthusiastic young ladies and silly young gentlemen, they are very wonderful persons. The individual in question, Mr Theodosius, had written a pamphlet containing some very weighty considerations on the expediency of doing something or other, and as every sentence contained a good many words of four syllables, his admirers took it for granted that he meant a good deal. Perhaps that's he, exclaimed several young ladies as the first pull of the evening threatened destruction to the bell of the gate. An awful pause ensued. Some boxes arrived, and a young lady, Miss Brooke Dingwell, in full ball costume, with an immense gold chain around her neck, and her dress looped up with a single rose, an ivory fan in her hand, and a most interesting expression of despair in her face. The Miss Crumpton's inquired after the family, with the most excruciating anxiety, and Miss Brooke Dingwell was formally introduced to her future companions. The Miss Crumpton's conversed with the young ladies in the most mellifluous tones in order that Miss Brooke Dingwell might be properly impressed with their amiable treatment. Another pull at the bell, Mr Dadson, the writing master and his wife, the wife in green silk with shoes and cap trimmings to correspond, the writing master in a white whisket, black knee shorts and ditto silk stockings, displaying a leg large enough for two writing masters. The young ladies whispered one another, and the writing master and his wife flattered the Miss Crumpton's, who were dressed in amber with long sashes, like dolls. Repeated pulls at the bell, and arrivals too numerous to particularise, papas and mamas, and aunts and uncles, the owners and guardians of the different pupils, the singing master, Signore Lobskini, in a black wig, the piano forte player and the violins, the harp in a state of intoxication, and some twenty young men who stood near the door and talked to one another, occasionally bursting into a giggle. A general harm of conversation, coffee handed round and plentifully partaken of by fat mamas, who looked like the stout people who come on in pantomimes for the sole purpose of being knocked down. The popular Mr Hilton was the next arrival, and he, having at the request of the Miss Crumpton's, undertaking the office of master of ceremonies, the quadrills commenced with considerable spirit. The young men by the door gradually advanced into the middle of the room, and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to be introduced to partners. The writing master danced every set, springing about with the most fearful agility, and his wife played a rubber in the back parlor, a little room with five bookshelves dignified by the name of the study. Setting her down to Wist was a half-yearly piece of generalship on the part of the Miss Crumpton's. It was necessary to hide her somewhere, on account of her being a fright. The interesting Lavinia Brookting wall was the only girl present who appeared to take no interest in the proceedings of the evening. In vain was she solicited to dance, in vain was the universal homage paid to her as the daughter of a member of parliament. She was equally unmoved by the splendid tenor of the inimitable Lubschini, and the brilliant execution of Miss Laetitia Parsons, whose performance of the recollections of Ireland was universally declared to be almost equal to that of Moshele's himself. Not even the announcement of the arrival of Mr Theodosius Butler could induce her to leave the corner of the back drawing-room in which she was seated. Now, Theodosius, said Miss Maria Crumpton, after that enlightened pamphleteer, had nearly run the gauntlet of the whole company. I must introduce you to our new pupil. Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly. She's the daughter of a member of parliament, said Maria. Theodosius started. And her name is, he inquired. Miss Brooke Dingwell. Great Heaven! poetically exclaimed Theodosius in a low tone. Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss Brooke Dingwell languidly raised her head. Edward, she exclaimed, with a half shriek on seeing the well-known Nankine legs. Fortunately, as Miss Maria Crumpton possessed no remarkable share of penetration, and as it was one of the diplomatic arrangements that no attention was to be paid to Miss Lavinia's incoherent exclamations, she was perfectly unconscious of the mutual agitation of the parties, and therefore seeing that the offer of his hand for the next quadrille was accepted, she left him by the side of Miss Brooke Dingwell. Oh, Edward exclaimed that most romantic of all romantic young ladies, as the light of science seated himself beside her. Oh, Edward, is it you? Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature in the most impassioned manner that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself. Then why this disguise? Oh, Edward Neville Walter, what have I not suffered on your account? Lavinia, hear me, replied the hero, in his most poetic strain, do not condemn me unheard. If anything that emanates from the soul of such a wretch as I can occupy a place in your recollection, if any being so vile deserve your notice, you may remember that I once published a pamphlet, and paid for its publication, entitled Considerations on the Policy of Removing the Duty on Beeswax. I do, I do, Sir Lavinia. That, continued the lover, was a subject to which your father was devoted heart and soul. He was, he was, reiterated the sentimentalist. I knew it, continued Theodosius tragically. I knew it, I forwarded him a copy. He wished to know me. Could I disclose my real name? Never. No, I assumed that name which you have so often pronounced in tones of endearment. As Neville Walter, I devoted myself to the stirring cause. As Neville Walter, I gained your heart. In the same character, I was ejected from your house by your father's domestics. And in no character at all have I since been enabled to see you. We now meet again, and I proudly own that I am Theodosius Butler. The young lady appeared perfectly satisfied with this argumentative address, and bestowed a look of the most ardent affection on the immortal advocate of Beeswax. May I hope, said he, that the promise your father's violent behaviour interrupted may be renewed. Let us join this set, replied Lavinia, coquettishly. For girls of nineteen can coquette. No, ejaculated he of the Nankines. I stir not from this spot, writhing under this torture of suspense. May I, may I hope? You may. The promise is renewed? It is. I have your permission? You have. To the fullest extent? You know it, returned the blushing Lavinia. The contortions of the interesting Butler's visage expressed his raptures. We could dilate upon the occurrences that ensued, how Mr Theodosius and Ms Lavinia danced and talked and sighed for the remainder of the evening, how the Miss Crumptons were delighted there at, how the writing master continued to frisk about with one horsepower, and how his wife, from some unaccountable freak, left the wist table in the little back parlour and persisted in displaying her green headdress in the most conspicuous part of the drawing room, how the supper consisted of small triangular sandwiches in trays and a tart here and there by way of variety, and how the visitors consumed warm water disguised with lemon and dotted with nutmeg under the denomination of neegas. These and other matters of as much interest, however, we pass over for the purpose of describing a scene of even more importance. A fortnight after the date of the ball, Cornelius Brooke Dingwall Esquire MP was seated at the same library table and in the same room as we have before described. He was alone and his face bore an expression of deep thought and solemn gravity. He was drawing up a bill for the better observance of Easter Monday. The footman tapped at the door. The legislator started from his reverie and Miss Crumpton was announced. Permission was given for Miss Crumpton to enter the sanctum. Maria came sliding in and having taken her seat with a due portion of affectation, the footman retired and the governess was left alone with the MP. Oh, how she longed for the presence of a third party, even the facetious young gentleman would have been a relief. Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brooke Dingwall and the handsome little boy were in good health. They were. Mrs. Brooke Dingwall and little Frederick were at Brighton. Much obliged to, Miss Crumpton said Cornelius in his most dignified manner for your attention in calling this morning. I should have driven down to Hammersmith to see Lavinia, but your account was so very satisfactory and my duties in the house occupy me so much that I determined to postpone it for a week. How has she gone on? Very well indeed, sir, returned Maria, dreading to inform the father that she had gone off. Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match for her. Here was a favourable opportunity to say that somebody else had been a match for her, but the unfortunate governess was unequal to the task. You have persevered strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed, Miss Crumpton? Strictly, sir. You tell me in your note that her spirit's gradually improved. Very much indeed, sir. To be sure, I was convinced they would. But I fear, sir, said Miss Crumpton with visible emotion, I fear the plan has not succeeded quite so well as we could have wished. No, exclaimed the Prophet. Bless me, Miss Crumpton, you look alarmed. What's happened? Miss Brooke Dingwall, sir? Yes, ma'am. Has gone, sir, said Maria, exhibiting a strong inclination to faint. Gone? Eloped, sir. Eloped? Who? With? When? Where? How? Almost shrieked the agitated diplomatist. The natural yellow of the unfortunate Maria's face changed to all the hues of the rainbow as she laid a small packet on the member's table. He hurriedly opened it, a letter from his daughter, and another from Theodosius. He glanced over their contents. This reaches you far distant, appeal to feelings, love to distraction, beeswax, slavery, etc., etc. He dashed his hand to his forehead and paced the room with fearfully long strides to the great alarm of the precise Maria. Now, mine from this time forward, said Mr. Brooke Dingwall, suddenly stopping at the table and beating time upon it with his hand, from this time forward I never will, under any circumstances, whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room of this house but the kitchen. I'll allow my daughter and her husband one hundred and fifty pounds a year, and never see their faces again. And, dammy ma'am, I'll bring in a bill for the abolition of finishing schools. Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. and Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Ball's Pond, pleasantly situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick field. They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important and writes incessantly. But in consequence of a gross combination on the part of publishers, none of his productions appear in print. His young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real unhappiness, and that a marriage contracted in haste and repented at leisure is the cause of more substantial wretchedness than she ever anticipated. On cool reflection Cornelius Brooke Dingwall, a Squire MP, was reluctantly compelled to admit that the untold result of his admirable arrangements was attributable not to the Miss Crumpton's but his own diplomacy. He, however, consulsed himself, like some other small diplomatists, by satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not succeed, they ought to have done so. Minerva House is in status quo, and the Mrs. Crumpton remain in the peaceable and undisturbed enjoyment of all the advantages resulting from their finishing school. End of Chapter 3 of Tales from Sketches by Boz. Chapter 4 of Tales from Sketches by Boz. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ruth Golding. Sketches by Boz by Charles Dickens Illustrations by George Cruickshank Chapter 4 of Tales The Tugs Is at Ramsgate Once upon a time there dwelt in a narrow street on the Surrey side of the water, within three minutes' walk of Old London Bridge, Mr. Joseph Tugs, a little dark-faced man with shiny hair, twinkling eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring from the centre button of his waistcoat in front to the ornamental buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tugs, if not perfectly symmetrical, was decidedly comfortable, and the form of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tugs, was fast ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness, which had enchanted the eyes and captivated the heart of Mr. Joseph Tugs in his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tugs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte Tugs' only brother, was as differently formed in body as he was differently constituted in mind from the remainder of his family. There was that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a being possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually appeared in public in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings, and was observed to be particularly attached to a black-glazed stock, without tie or ornament of any description. There is perhaps no profession, however useful, no pursuit, however meritorious, which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds. Mr. Joseph Tugs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer was beyond the breath of calamity, but no. The neighbours stigmatised him as a chandler, and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted that he dispensed tea and coffee by the cotton, retailed sugar by the ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by the pat. These taunts, however, were lost upon the Tugs's. Mr. Tugs attended to the grocery department, Mrs. Tugs to the cheese-mongery, and Mrs. Tugs to her education. Mr. Simon Tugs kept his father's books and his own counsel. One fine spring afternoon the latter gentleman was seated on a tub of weekly dorset, behind the little red desk with a wooden rail, which ornamented a corner of the counter. When a stranger dismounted from a cab and hastily entered the shop, he was habited in black cloth, and bore with him a green umbrella and a blue bag. Mr. Tugs said the stranger inquiringly. My name is Tugs, replied Mr. Simon. It's the other Mr. Tugs, said the stranger, looking towards the glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the inside of which the round face of Mr. Tugs's senior was distinctly visible peeping over the curtain. Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tugs, with considerable celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the stranger. I come from the temple, said the man with the bag. From the temple, said Mrs. Tugs, flinging open the door of the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tugs in perspective. From the temple, said Miss Tugs and Mr. Simon Tugs at the same moment. From the temple, said Mr. Joseph Tugs, turning as pale as a Dutch cheese. From the temple, repeated the man with the bag, from Mr. Cowell's the solicitors. Mr. Tugs, I congratulate you, sir. Ladies, I wish you joy of your prosperity. We have been successful. And the man with the bag leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and glove, as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tugs. Now the words we have been successful had no sooner issued from the mouth of the man with the bag than Mr. Simon Tugs rose from the tub of weakly dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell into the arms of his anxious mother and fainted away, without the slightest ostensible cause or pretense. Water! screamed Mrs. Tugs. Look out, my son! exclaimed Mr. Tugs. Simon, dear Simon! shrieked Miss Tugs. I'm better now, said Mr. Simon Tugs. What, successful? And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted away again, and was born into the little parlor by the united efforts of the remainder of the family and the man with the bag. To a casual spectator, or to any one unacquainted with the position of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To those who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were moreover acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon Tugs, it was quite comprehensible. A long-pending lawsuit respecting the validity of a will had been unexpectedly decided, and Mr. Joseph Tugs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds. A prolonged consultation took place that night in the little parlor, a consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tugs's. The shop was shut up at an unusually early hour, and many were the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for courtons of sugar, or half-courtons of bread, or pennants of pepper, which were to have been left till Saturday, but which fortune had decreed were to be left alone altogether. We must certainly give up business, said Mrs. Tugs. All decidedly said Mrs. Tugs. Simon shall go to the bar, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. And I shall always sign myself C-Y-M-O-N in future, said his son. And I shall call myself Charlotte, said Mrs. Tugs. And you must always call me Ma, and Father Pa, said Mrs. Tugs. Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits, interposed Mrs. Tugs. I'll take care of all that, responded Mr. Joseph Tugs complacently. He was at that very moment eating pickled salmon with a pocket knife. We must leave town immediately, said Mr. Simon Tugs. Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to being gentile. The question then arose, where should they go? Graves End. Mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tugs. The idea was unanimously scouted. Graves End was low. Margate insinuated Mrs. Tugs. Worse and worse, nobody there but tradespeople. Brighton. Mr. Simon Tugs opposed an insurmountable objection. All the coaches had been upset in turn within the last three weeks. Each coach had averaged two passengers killed and six wounded. And in every case the newspapers had distinctly understood that no blame whatever was attributable to the coachman. Ramsgate. Ejaculated Mr. Simon thoughtfully. To be sure, how stupid they must have been not to have thought of that before. Ramsgate was just the place of all others. Two months after this conversation, the City of London Ramsgate Steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her band was playing, her passengers were conversing. Everything about her seemed gay and lively. No wonder the Tugs's were on board. Charming, ain't it? said Mr. Joseph Tugs in a bottle-green greatcoat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue travelling cap with a gold band. Soul-inspiring, replied Mr. Simon Tugs, he was entered at the bar. Soul-inspiring. Delightful morning, sir, said a stoutish military-looking gentleman in a blue sertu buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers chained down to the soles of his boots. Mr. Simon Tugs took upon himself the responsibility of answering the observation. Heavenly, he replied, You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of nature, sir, said the military gentleman. I am, sir, replied Mr. Simon Tugs. Travelled much, sir? inquired the military gentleman. Not much, replied Mr. Simon Tugs. You've been on the continent, of course, inquired the military gentleman. Not exactly, replied Mr. Simon Tugs, in a qualified tone, as if he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and come back again. You, of course, intend your son to make the grand tour, sir? said the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tugs. As Mr. Joseph Tugs did not precisely understand what the grand tour was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, Just as he said the word, there came tripping up from her seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce-coloured silk cloak and boots of the same, with long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles. Walter, my dear, said the young lady to the military gentleman. Yes, Belinda, my love, responded the military gentleman to the black-eyed young lady. What have you left me alone so long for? said the young lady. I have been stared out of countenance by those rude young men. What, stared at? exclaimed the military gentleman, with an emphasis which made Mr. Simon Tugs withdraw his eyes from the young lady's face with inconceivable rapidity. Which young man, where? And the military gentleman clenched his fist and glared fearfully on the cigar smokers around. Be calm, Walter, I am cheat, said the young lady. I won't, said the military gentleman. Do, sir, interposed Mr. Simon Tugs, they ain't worth your notice. No, no, they are not indeed, urged the young lady. I will be calm, said the military gentleman. You speak truly, sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, which may have spared me the guilt of manslaughter. Calming his wrath, the military gentleman rung Mr. Simon Tugs by the hand. My sister, sir, said Mr. Simon Tugs, seeing that the military gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotte. My wife, ma'am, Mrs. Captain Waters, said the military gentleman, presenting the black-eyed young lady. My mother, ma'am, Mrs. Tugs, said Mr. Simon. The military gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies, and the Tugs' looked as unembarrassed as they could. Walter, my dear, said the black-eyed young lady after they had sat chatting with the Tugs' some half hour. Yes, my love, said the military gentleman. Don't you think this gentleman, with an inclination of the head towards Mr. Simon Tugs, is very much like the Marquis Cariweeney? Lord, bless me, very, said the military gentleman. It struck me the moment I saw him, said the young lady, gazing intently and with a melancholy air on the scarlet countenance of Mr. Simon Tugs. Mr. Simon Tugs looked at everybody, and finding that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary difficulty in disposing of his eyesight. So exactly the air of the Marquis, said the military gentleman. Quite extraordinary, sighed the military gentleman's lady. You don't know the Marquis, sir? inquired the military gentleman. Mr. Simon Tugs stammered a negative. If you did, continued Captain Walter Waters, you would feel how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance, a most elegant man, with the most pre-possessing appearance. He is, he is indeed! exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically. As her eye caught that of Mr. Simon Tugs, she withdrew it from his features in bashful confusion. All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tugs' and when, in the course of Father Conversation, it was discovered that Ms. Charlotte Tugs was the facsimile of a titled relative of Mrs. Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tugs herself was the very picture of the dowager duchess of Dobbleton, their delight in the acquisition of so gentile and friendly an acquaintance knew no bounds. Even the dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed to that degree that he suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tugs to partake of cold pigeon pie and sherry on deck. And the most delightful conversation aided by these agreeable stimulants was prolonged until they ran alongside Ramsgate Pier. Good-bye, dear! said Mrs. Captain Waters to Ms. Charlotte Tugs just before the bustle of landing commenced. We shall see you on the stands in the morning, and as we are sure to have found lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks to come. Oh, I hope so! said Ms. Charlotte Tugs emphatically. Tickets, ladies and gentlemen! said the man on the paddle-box. Want a porter, sir? inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks. Now, my dear! said Captain Waters. Good-bye! said Mrs. Captain Waters. Good-bye, Mr. Simon! And with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man's nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. Captain Waters disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured boots were seen ascending the steps. A white handkerchief fluttered. A black eye gleamed. The waterses were gone, and Mr. Simon Tugs was alone in a heartless world. Silently and abstractedly did that too-sensitive use follow his revered parents and a train of smock-frocks and wheel-barrows along the pier, until the bustle of the scene around recalled him to himself. The sun was shining brightly, the sea dancing to its own music rolled merrily in. Crowds of people promenaded to and fro. Young ladies tittered, old ladies talked. Nurse-maids displayed their charms to the greatest possible advantage, and their little charges ran up and down and to and fro and in and out, under the feet and between the legs of the assembled concourse, in the most playful and exhilarating manner. There were old gentlemen trying to make out objects through long telescopes, and young ones making objects of themselves in open shirt-colours. Ladies carrying about portable chairs, and portable chairs carrying about invalids. Parties waiting on the pier, for parties who had come by the steamboat. And nothing was to be heard but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment. Fly, sir! exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six boys. The moment Mr. Joseph Tugs, at the head of his little party, set foot in the street. Yes, a gentleman at last, said one, touching his hat with mocked politeness. Worry glad to see you, sir. Been a-waiting for you these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir. Nice light-fly and a fast trotter, sir, said another, fourteen-mile-a-hour, and surrounding objects rendered invisible by extreme velocity. Large fly here, luggage, sir, cried a third. Worry large fly here, sir, regular blow-bowl. Here's your fly, sir, shouted another aspiring charioteer, mounting the box and inducing an old grey horse to indulge in the wind. And some imperfect reminiscences of a canter. Look at him, sir, temper of a lamb and haction of a steam engine. Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable a quadruped as the last named, Mr. Joseph Tugs beckoned to the proprietor of a dingy convent of a greenish hue, lined with faded striped calico, and the luggage and the family having been deposited therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest of lodgings. How many beds have you got? screamed Mrs. Tugs out of the fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house, which displayed a bill intimating that apartments were to be let within. How many did you want, Mum? was, of course, the reply. Three. Will you step in, Mum? Down got Mrs. Tugs. The family were delighted, splendid view of the sea from the front windows, charming. A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tugs again, one parlour and a mattress. Other devil didn't they say so at first, inquired Mr. Joseph Tugs rather pettishly. Don't know, said Mrs. Tugs. Wretches exclaimed the nervous Simon. Another bill, another stoppage, same question, same answer, similar result. What do they mean by this? inquired Mr. Joseph Tugs thoroughly out of temper. Don't know, said the placid Mrs. Tugs. All vis-à-vis here, sir, said the driver, by way of accounting for the circumstance in a satisfactory manner, and off they went again to make fresh inquiries and encounter fresh disappointments. It had grown dusk when the fly, the rate of whose progress greatly belied its name, after climbing up four or five perpendicular hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, the bay window, from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea, if you thrust half of your body out of it at the imminent peril of falling into the area. Mrs. Tugs alighted. One ground-floor sitting-room, and three cells with beds in them upstairs, a double-house, family on the opposite side, five children milk and watering in the parlour, and one little boy expelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back in the passage. What's the terms? said Mrs. Tugs. The mistress of the house was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea, so she coughed slightly and effected not to hear the question. What's the terms? said Mrs. Tugs in a louder key. Five guineas a week, ma'am, with attendance, replied the lodging-housekeeper. Attendance means the privilege of ringing the bell as often as you like for your own amusement. Rather dear, said Mrs. Tugs, Oh, dear no, ma'am, replied the mistress of the house with a benign smile of pity at the ignorance of manners and customs which the observation betrayed. Very cheap! Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tugs paid a week's rent in advance and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour's time the family were seated at tea in their newer boat. Capital shrimps! said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Mr. Simon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl as he emphatically said, Shrimps! Well then, shrimps! said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Shrimps or shrimps, don't much matter! There was pity blended with malignity in Mr. Simon's eye as he replied, Don't matter, father. What would Captain Waters say if he heard such vulgarity? Oh, what would dear Mrs. Captain Waters say? added Charlotte. If she saw mother, ma'am, I mean, eating them whole, heads and all. It won't bear thinking of, ejaculated Mr. Simon with a shudder. How different, he thought, from the dowager duchess of Dobbleton. Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Simon? inquired Miss Charlotte. A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr. Simon Tugs as he replied, An angel of beauty. Hello, said Mr. Joseph Tugs. Hello, Simon, my boy, take care. Married lady, you know. And he winked one of his twinkling eyes knowingly. Why? exclaimed Simon, starting up with an abolition of fury as unexpected as alarming. Why am I to be reminded of that blight of my happiness and ruin of my hopes? Why am I to be taunted with the miseries which are heaped upon my head? Is it not enough to—to—to?" And the orator paused, but whether for want of words or lack of breath was never distinctly ascertained. There was an impressive solemnity in the tone of this address, and in the air with which the romantic Simon, at its conclusion, rang the bell and demanded a flat candlestick, which effectively forbade a reply. He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tugs's went to bed two-half an hour afterwards in a state of considerable mystification and perplexity. If the pier had presented a scene of life and bustle to the Tugs's on their first landing at Ramsgate, it was far surpassed by the appearance of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine, bright, clear day with a light breeze from the sea. There were the same ladies and gentlemen, the same children, the same nursemates, the same telescopes, the same portable chairs. The ladies were employed in needlework or watch-guard making, or knitting, or reading novels. The gentlemen were reading newspapers and magazines. The children were digging holes in the sand with wooden spades, and collecting water therein. The nursemates, with their youngest charges in their arms, were running in after the waves, and then running back with the waves after them. And now and then a little sailing boat either departed with a gay and talkative cargo of passengers, or returned with a very silent and particularly uncomfortable looking one. Well, I never! exclaimed Mrs. Tugs, as she and Mr. Joseph Tugs, and Ms. Charlottea Tugs, and Mr. Simon Tugs, with their eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated themselves on four rush-bottomed chairs, which, being placed in a soft part of the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half. Well, I never! Mr. Simon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the chairs and removed them further back. Why, I'm blessed if there ain't some ladies are going in! exclaimed Mr. Joseph Tugs, with intense astonishment. Loupa! exclaimed Mrs. Charlottea. There is my dear! said Mr. Joseph Tugs, and sure enough, four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped up the steps of a bathing machine. In went the horse, floundering about in the water, round turned the machine, down sat the driver, and presently outburst the young ladies aforesaid with four distinct splashes. Well, that singler, too, ejaculated Mr. Joseph Tugs after an awkward pause. Mr. Simon coughed slightly. Why, here some gentlemen are going in on this side! exclaimed Mrs. Tugs in a tone of horror. Three machines, three horses, three flounderings, three turnings round, three splashes, three gentlemen, desporting themselves in the water like so many dolphins. Well, that singler, said Mr. Joseph Tugs again. Mrs. Charlottea coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was agreeably broken. How do you do, dear? We have been looking for you all the morning! said a voice to Mrs. Charlottea Tugs. Mrs. Captain Waters was the owner of it. How do you do? said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity, and a most cordial interchange of greetings ensued. Belinda, my love! said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea. Yes, my dear! replied Mrs. Captain Waters. There's Harry Thompson. Where? said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye. Bathing! Lord, so it is! He don't see us, does he? No, I don't think he does, replied the Captain. Bless my soul, how very singular! What? inquired Belinda. There's Mary Golding, too! Lord, where? Up went the glass again. There! said the Captain, pointing to one of the young ladies before noticed, who in her bathing costume looked as if she was enveloped in a patent macintosh of scanty dimensions. So it is, I declare! exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. How very curious! we should see them both. Very, said the Captain, with perfect coolness. It's the regular thing here, you see? whispered Mr. Simon Tugs to his father. Oh, I see it is! whispered Mr. Joseph Tugs in reply. Queer, though, ain't it? Mr. Simon Tugs nodded ascent. What do you think of doing with yourself this morning? inquired the Captain. Shall we lunch at Pegwell? I should like that very much indeed! interposed Mrs. Tugs. She had never heard of Pegwell, but the word lunch had reached her ears, and it sounded very agreeably. How shall we go? inquired the Captain. It's too warm to walk. A shay suggested Mr. Joseph Tugs. Shays, whispered Mr. Simon. I should think one would be enough, said Mr. Joseph Tugs, aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. However, two shays, if you like. I should like a donkey so much, said Belinda. Oh, so should I! echoed Charlotte Tugs. Well, we can have a fly, suggested the Captain, and you can have a couple of donkeys. A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would be decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tugs would be gallant enough to accompany them. Mr. Simon Tugs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly protested that he was no horseman. The objection was at once overruled. A fly was speedily found, and three donkeys, which the proprietor declared on his solemn a separation to be three parts blood and the other corn, were engaged in the service. Came up, shouted one of the two boys who followed behind to propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotte Tugs had been hoisted and pushed and pulled into their respective saddles. High, high, high! groaned the other boy behind Mr. Simon Tugs. Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of Simon's boots, and Simon's boots nearly scraping the ground. Way, way, woo! cried Mr. Simon Tugs, as well as he could, in the midst of the jolting. Don't make it gallop! screamed Mrs. Captain Waters behind. My donkey will go into the public house! shrieked Miss Tugs in the rear. High, high, high! groaned both the boys together, and on went the donkeys, as if nothing would ever stop them. Everything has an end, however. Even the galloping of donkeys will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Simon Tugs bestowed, feeling sundry uncomfortable Tugs at the bit, the intent of which he could by no means divine, abruptly sidled against a brick wall, and expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Simon Tugs' leg on the rough surface. Mrs. Captain Waters' donkey, apparently under the influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly headfirst into a hedge, and declined to come out again. And the quadruped on which Miss Tugs was mounted, expressed his delight at this humorous proceeding by firmly planting his forefeet against the ground, and kicking up his hind legs in a very agile but somewhat alarming manner. This abrupt termination to the rapidity of the ride naturally occasioned some confusion. Both the ladies indulged in vehement screaming for several minutes, and Mr. Simon Tugs, besides sustaining intense bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of witnessing their distressing situation without having the power to rescue them, by reason of his leg being firmly screwed in between the animal and the wall. The efforts of the boys, however, assisted by the ingenious expedient of twisting the tail of the most rebellious donkey, restored order in a much shorter time than could have reasonably been expected, and the little party jogged slowly on together. Now let them walk, said Mr. Simon Tugs. It's cruel to overdrive them. Worry well, sir," replied the boy, with a grin at his companion, as if he understood Mr. Simon to mean that the cruelty applied less to the animals than to their riders. What a lovely day, dear," said Charlotte. Charming, enchanting, dear," responded Mrs. Captain Waters. What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tugs. Simon looked full in Belinda's face as he responded. Beautiful indeed. The lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal she was riding to fall a little back. Simon Tugs instinctively did the same. There was a brief silence broken only by a sigh from Mr. Simon Tugs. Mr. Simon, said the lady suddenly, in a low tone, Mr. Simon, I am another's. Mr. Simon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which it was impossible to controvert. If I had not been," resumed Belinda, and there she stopped. What, what, said Mr. Simon earnestly, do not torture me, what would you say? If I had not been," continued Mrs. Captain Waters, If in earlier life it had been my fate to have known and been beloved by a noble youth, a kindred soul, a congenial spirit, one capable of feeling and appreciating the sentiments which Heavens, what do I hear? exclaimed Mr. Simon Tugs. Is it possible? Can I believe my—come up? This last unsentimental parenthesis was addressed to the donkey, who, with his head between his forelegs, appeared to be examining the state of his shoes with great anxiety. Hi, hi, hi! said the boys behind. Come up! expostulated Simon Tugs again. Hi, hi, hi! repeated the boys. And whether it was that the animal felt indignant at the tone of Mr. Tugs's command, or felt alarmed by the noise of the deputy proprietor's boots running behind him, or whether he burned with a noble emulation to outstrip the other donkeys—certain it is that he no sooner heard the second series of hi-highs than he started away with a celerity of pace which jerked Mr. Simon's hat off instantaneously, and carried him to the Pegwell Bay Hotel in no time, where he deposited his rider, without giving him the trouble of dismounting, by sagaciously pitching him over his head into the very doorway of the tavern. Great was the confusion of Mr. Simon Tugs, when he was put right end uppermost by two waiters. Considerable was the alarm of Mrs. Tugs in behalf of her son. Agonising were the apprehensions of Mrs. Captain Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered, however, that he had not sustained much more injuries than the donkey. He was grazed, and the animal was grazing. And then it was a delightful party to be sure. Mr. and Mrs. Tugs and the Captain had ordered lunch in the little garden behind. Small saucers of large shrimps, dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was without a cloud. There were flower-pots and turf before them. The sea from the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could discern anything at all. Vessels in the distance, with sails as white and as small, as nicely got up Cambridge handkerchiefs. The shrimps were delightful, the ale better, and the Captain even more pleasant than either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in such spirits after lunch. Chasing first the Captain across the turf and among the flower-pots, and then Mr. Simon Tugs, and then Mrs. Tugs, and laughing too, quite boisterously. But as the Captain said, it didn't matter who knew what they were there. For all the people of the house knew, they might be common people. To which Mr. Joseph Tugs responded, to be sure. And then they went down the steep wooden steps a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff, and looked at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, till it was more than fully timed to go back to Ramsgate again. Finally Mr. Simon Tugs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one. And Mr. Simon Tugs discovered that the foot and ankle of Mrs. Captain Waters were even more unexceptionable than he had at first supposed. Taking a donkey towards his ordinary place of residence is a very different thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished than taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and presence of mind in the one case to anticipate the numerous flights of his discursive imagination. Whereas in the other all you have to do is to hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Simon Tugs adopted the latter expedient on his return, and his nerves were so little discomposed by the journey that he distinctly understood they were all to meet again at the library in the evening. The library was crowded. There were the same ladies and the same gentlemen who had been on the sands in the morning and on the pier the day before. There were young ladies in maroon-coloured guns and black velvet bracelets dispensing fancy articles in the shop, and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. There were marriageable daughters and marriage-making mammas, gaming and promenading, and turning over music and flirting. There were some male beau doing the sentimental in whispers, and others doing the ferocious in moustache. There were Mrs. Tugs in amber, Ms. Tugs in sky blue, Mrs. Captain Waters in pink. There was Captain Waters in a braided shirtu. There was Mr. Simon Tugs in pumps and a gilt waistcoat. There was Mr. Joseph Tugs in a blue coat and a shirt-frill. Numbers three, eight and eleven cried one of the young ladies in the maroon-coloured guns. Numbers three, eight and eleven echoed another young lady in the same uniform. Numbers three is gone said the first young lady. Numbers eight and eleven Numbers eight and eleven echoed the second young lady. Number eight's gone, Marianne, said the first young lady. Number eleven! screamed the second. The numbers are all taken now, ladies, if you please. Said the first. The representatives of numbers three, eight and eleven, and the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table. Will you throw, mam? said the presiding goddess, handing the dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady with four girls. There was a profound silence among the lookers on. Throw, Jane, my dear! said the stout lady. An interesting display of bashfulness, a little blushing in a Cambridge handkerchief, a whispering to a younger sister. Amelia, dear, throw for your sister, said the stout lady. And then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowland's Maccather oil, who stood next to her, and said, Jane is so very modest and retiring, but I can't be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated girl is so truly amiable that I often wish Amelia was more like her sister. The gentleman with the whiskers whispered his admiring approval. Now, my dear, said the stout lady. Miss Amelia threw, eight for her sister, ten for herself. Nice figure, Amelia, whispered the stout lady to a thin youth beside her. A beautiful and such a spirit. I am like you in that respect. I cannot help admiring that life and vivacity. Ah, I wish I could make poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia. The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment. Both he and the individual first addressed were perfectly contented. Who's this? inquired Mr. Simon Tugs of Mrs. Captain Waters, as a short female in a blue velvet hat and feathers, was led into the orchestra by a fat man in black tights and cloudy berlins. Mrs. Tipping of the London theatres, replied Belinda, referring to the programme of the concert. The talented Tipping, having condescendingly acknowledged the clapping of hands and shouts of bravo, which greeted her appearance, proceeded to sing the popular cavatina of Bidme Discourse, accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tipping. After which Mr. Tipping sang a comic song, accompanied on the piano by Mrs. Tipping. The applause consequent upon which was only to be exceeded by the enthusiastic approbation bestowed upon an air with variations on the guitar by Mrs. Tipping, accompanied on the chin by Master Tipping. Thus passed the evening. Thus passed the days and evenings of the Tugs' and the Waters' for six weeks. Sands in the morning, donkeys at noon, pier in the afternoon, library at night, and the same people everywhere. On that very night, six weeks, the moon was shining brightly over the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs, with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep without disturbing the young ones, when two figures were discernible, or would have been if anybody had looked for them, seated on one of the wooden benches which are stationed near the verge of the western cliff. The moon had climbed higher into the heavens by two hours journeying, since those figures first sat down, and yet they had moved not. The crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed. The noise of itinerant musicians had died away. Light after light had appeared in the windows of the different houses in the distance. Blockade man after blockade man had passed the spot, wending his way towards his solitary post, and yet those figures had remained stationary. Some portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr. Simon Tugs and Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on that bench. They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the scene. Walter will return tomorrow, said Mrs. Captain Waters, mournfully breaking silence. Mr. Simon Tugs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of gooseberry bushes, as he replied, Alas, he will! Oh, Simon! resumed Belinda. The chaste delight, the calm happiness of this one week of platonic love is too much for me. Simon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he stopped himself and murmured unintelligibly. And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is, exclaimed Belinda, is now to be lost for ever. Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda! exclaimed the excitable Simon, as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face. It was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase. Do not say for ever! I must! replied Belinda. Why, urged Simon! Oh, why! such platonic acquaintance as ours is so harmless that even your husband can never object to it! My husband, exclaimed Belinda, you little know him, jealous and revengeful, ferocious in his revenge, a maniac in his jealousy. Would you be assassinated before my eyes? Mr. Simon tugs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination to undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of anybody. Then leave me, said Mrs. Captain Waters. Leave me this night, for ever. It is late. Let us return. Mr. Simon tugs sadly offered the lady his arm and escorted her to her lodgings. He paused at the door. He felt a platonic pressure of his hand. Good night! he said, hesitating. Good night! sobbed the lady. Mr. Simon tugs paused again. Won't you walk in, sir? said the servant. Mr. tugs hesitated. Oh, that hesitation! he did walk in. Good night! said Mr. Simon tugs again when he reached the drawing-room. Good night! replied Belinda, and if at any period of my life I hush! The lady paused and stared with a steady gaze of horror on the ashy countenance of Mr. Simon tugs. There was a double knock at the street door. It is my husband! said Belinda as the captain's voice was heard below. And my family! added Simon tugs as the voices of his relatives floated up the staircase. The curtain! gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, pointing to the window before which some chintz hangings were closely drawn. But I have done nothing wrong! said the hesitating Simon. The curtain! reiterated the frantic lady. You will be murdered! This last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed Simon concealed himself behind the curtain with pantomimic suddenness. Enter the Captain, Joseph tugs, Mrs. tugs, and Charlotte. My dear! said the Captain, Lieutenant Slaughter! Two iron-shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Simon to advance and acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the Lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor as he seated himself at the table. Mr. Simon's fears almost overcame his reason. The brandy, my dear! said the Captain. Here was a situation. They were going to make a night of it, and Mr. Simon tugs was pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe. Slaughter! said the Captain, a cigar! Now, Mr. Simon tugs never could smoke without feeling it indispensable necessary to retire immediately, and never could smell smoke without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced. The Captain was a professed smoker, so was the Lieutenant, so was Joseph tugs. The apartment was small, the door was closed, the smoke powerful. It hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at length found its way behind the curtain. Simon tugs held his nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use. Out came the cough. Bless my soul! said the Captain. I beg your pardon, Miss tugs. You dislike smoking? Oh, no, I don't indeed! said Charlotte. It makes you cough. Oh, dear, no. You coughed us not. Me, Captain Waters? Lord, how can you say so? Somebody coughed! said the Captain. I certainly thought so, said Slaughter. No, everybody denied it. Fancy, said the Captain. Must be! echoed Slaughter. Cigars resumed, more smoke, another cough, smothered but violent. Then odd, said the Captain, staring about him. Singler ejaculated the unconscious, Mr. Joseph tugs. Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then at another, then laid down his cigar, then approached the window on tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the curtain. Slaughter! ejaculated the Captain, rising from table. What do you mean? The Lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr. Simon tugs behind it, pallid with apprehension, and blue with wanting to cough. Aha! exclaimed the Captain furiously. What do I see? Slaughter, your sabre! screamed the tugs. Mercy! said Belinda. Plotonic! gasped Simon. Your sabre! roared the Captain. Slaughter, unhand me, the villain's life! screamed the tugs. Houd him faster! faintly articulated Simon. Water! exclaimed Joseph tugs. And Mr. Simon tugs, and all the ladies forthwith, fainted away, and formed a tableau. Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the six weeks acquaintance. A troublesome form and an arbitrary custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion in addition to a commencement. We have, therefore, no alternative. Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message. The Captain brought an action. Mr. Joseph tugs interposed. The Lieutenant negotiated. When Mr. Simon tugs recovered from the nervous disorder into which misplaced affection and exciting circumstances had plunged him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance, that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds, and the Captain, plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up. But it got abroad notwithstanding. And there are not wanting some who affirm that three designing imposters never found more easy dupes than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant Slaughter, in the tugs's at Ramsgate. End of chapter four of Tales from Sketches by Boz.