Chapter II

The high contracting powers met according to appointment at the semi-demi-dinner, and it was very soon evident to Jack that his mother had, during his absence, exerted her influence over his juvenile father-in-law, and convinced him that he would find Jack most conformable to all his wishes in the family concerns if he would but show a reciprocal feeling of conciliation and friendliness: indeed, before the bottled porter had entirely vanished, and the drop of something warm, which Mrs. Salmon considered necessary after the dipping which she and J. S. had undergone, the one in the hot and the other in the cold water, had quite disappeared, it was no longer a matter of doubt that Jem would do everything in his power to accommodate our hero in any financial arrangements which he might propose. In order to have all this carried into effect, Mrs. Salmon accidentally--(on purpose)--left the room, giving the gentlemen an opportunity of talking over business.

Mr. Salmon having decided upon his course, and made up his mind as to the system which he intended to pursue, and not being afflicted with that commodity which sometimes most seriously interferes with the progress of worldly concernments, called diffidence, lost no time in doing what he called “coming to the point.”

“I say, John,” said Jem--(and the familiar mode of addressing him was poison to his ears)--“Titsy says you want some stumpy.”

“Why--” said Jack, interrupting him.

“Well now, keep steady,” said J. S; “whatever you want you shall have--twig?”

“Thank you,” said Jack.

“Only now, I tell you what,” said Salmon, “everybody, you know, wants money as well as _you_;--every one, you see, wants a lift. Now Titsy tells me you want fifty or a hundred pounds.”

“Exactly, more or less as the case may be,” said Jack.

“Well now, I tell you,” said Jem, to whose financial reasonings Jack, considering whence he had risen in the concern, of which he might and ought to have been the head, did not listen perhaps with as much urbanity as, under other circumstances, he might have observed,--“suppose you take three hundred.”

“As you please,” said Jack, mollified on the instant, and suddenly impressed with the wonderful liberality of the new head of the house.

“I tell you how we can manage it,” said Salmon: “Titsy tells me your rents will come in at Christmas; now I think we may as well act on the give and take principle--twig?”

“Certainly,” said Jack--“what’s right is right--all fair, and no mistake.”

“Well then,” continued Jem, “_you_ give _me_ your acceptance for five hundred pounds at two months; I’ll give you a checque now for three hundred: you can draw on me for the balance when you want it; and when the bill is due we can settle it all--only it would serve my turn to pay in your bill to my account.”

Jack, who was perfectly convinced that, accept what bill he might, his mother never would permit him to be persecuted on account of it, even if he failed to pay it, jumped at the proposal, although somewhat disgusted by the precautions taken by his juvenile father-in-law, and rather alarmed as to the prosperity of the business which sought to bolster up its character by a payment to _his_ banker, of such a sum in such a shape. Salmon, however, increased his surprise by telling him that the house into which _his_ bill would be paid was not that of their own regular banker, but one with whom _he_ kept a separate account, and who was very liberal in the way of discounts.

Jack saw that if he refused the conditions, he should not get the money, and as he was anxious to have his account look respectable at _his_ banker’s, he determined to accede to the proposition; and, as in such matters nothing is like time present, they proceeded to purchase a stamp, in order to conclude the affair out of hand.

Out of this simple piece of business Jack contrived to carry a point, the management of which, had puzzled him all the morning. Upon enquiring at the library, there was not a stamp of sufficient value in the place to carry so large an acceptance;--“they would send that evening to Lewes, if that would do, and get the stamp by the next morning.”

A ray of light burst in upon Jack,--a certain means of escaping from Eastbourne, and carrying off his near and dear relations, before the return of the dreaded dandies, instantaneously presented itself;--why not go to Lewes themselves, and let the returning travellers to London depart thence in the morning?--they would see another town; the various coaches from Lewes were better than the Eastbourne _one_; in short, it would be a trip, and a variety.

Mrs. Salmon, who was in an exceedingly good humour, and especially pleased with Jack, made no objection--Jim seemed for a moment to doubt: however, their project could not be completed without the stamp; for, although Mr. Salmon had the highest confidence in his son-in-law, he did not exhibit the smallest disposition to give the checque without first getting hold of the acceptance. These doubts, however, were speedily and suddenly terminated by his finding a playbill in the library, announcing that there would be a play and farce acted at the Lewes theatre that evening, by the particular desire of Lady somebody, one of the leading belles of that part of the county, and that it would be a very gay affair. Mr. James Salmon never having been much beyond the limits of the Bills of Mortality, and being of a remarkably theatrical turn, was delighted with the prospect of this amusement, far preferable, as he thought, to the monotonous roll and splash of the waves on the beach: therefore he decreed that thither they should go, there get their stamp, transact their business, have their dinner, see the play, get a bit of supper after it, and so be up and ready for a start to town in the morning.

“Capital notion!” said Jack--“nothing better: don’t you think so, mother?”

“Indeed I do, John,” said the old lady; “and I have had so little of your company of late, that it’s quite a treat to go with you anywhere.”

“Let us lose no time then,” said Brag--“we’ll have a barouche--or sociable, if they have such a thing--that will hold us comfortably, and we’ll have a regular afternoon and evening of it. I’ll settle the bill; you are _my_ visiters, and----”

“No, John, no,” said his mother; “we didn’t come down to see you for what we could get--so don’t talk of that.”

“Well, just as you please,” said Brag. “What time shall I say?--half an hour--eh?--ought to get early to Lewes, and dine in time for the play. I’ll say half an hour, and off we go, right up, straight down, and no mistake.”

Saying which, Jack, glorying in the success of his scheme, and the fortunate turn of circumstances, which at once relieved him of all doubt and difficulty with regard to the conduct of the evening, proceeded to the hotel, ordered the carriage to be ready in time, directed the landlady to charge the horses to Salmon, and left a message to be delivered to Colonel Stiffkey, that he should return to the hotel to sleep; having previously packed up his valise, containing his cap, comb, &c. and ordered it to be put in the carriage; giving directions that, if his servant and phaeton _should_ arrive, they were to wait for him till his return; because if he should not be able to get back in time that evening, he should certainly be back to luncheon the next day. Thus his liberal offer of considering the Salmons as his guests was metamorphosed into _their_ paying not only for their living, but for the horses which, for his own convenience, he had engaged for them; moreover embracing the dexterous contrivance of leaving Colonel Stiffkey to pay for the dinner of the day before, or, if not that, of leaving the landlady to put up with the loss of one half of the expenditure.

Punctual to the moment, the carriage with _four_ horses, rendered necessary by the length of the stage, drove up to the door: the hurry and bustle of the moment, the sight of the equipage, the courtesy of the servants, and the general excitement, threw Mr. Salmon off his guard, and he did not give himself time--indeed, Brag would not allow him any--to discuss the different items of the bill; but having, under his son-in-law’s advice, left a sum sufficient to satisfy the attendants for both parties, he stepped into the open barouche, in which the seat of honour was reserved for him by the side of Titsy, Jack going with his back to the horses, looking as obsequious as an equerry. His excessive humility and politeness upon this occasion had two causes; in the first place, he felt that his mother and her boy-husband would be pleased with his civility; and, in the next, he thought that this show of deference to them in the open carriage would convince any of the promenaders whom they might encounter--always excepting those who might have witnessed their descent from the London coach the preceding evening--that his travelling companions were people of consideration.

Arrived at Lewes, after a stage remarkable for the exorbitant tolls which are levied on the road, the party reached the “Star” in perfect safety and excellent time. Their appearance was the signal for a ringing of bells, and an outrush of waiters, to an extent perfectly astounding to Jem, who had no idea of the difference in the effect producible by four horses when drawing what looked like a private carriage, and that created by them when dragging a stage-coach. All enquiries as to accommodation being satisfactorily answered, dinner was ordered, and John and his father-in-law proceeded to make their purchase of the stamp at the library; whence they repaired to the theatre, where Jack, by dint of certain flourishes, secured one of the stage-boxes, which, luckily for the gratification of his ambitious heart, had been given up only a few minutes before by a very distinguished country lady who was unable to occupy it, because her ninth child had been suddenly attacked with scarletina.

In turning away from the door of the playhouse, Jack was struck by the well-turned figure of an exceedingly smartly-dressed woman, whom by her gait and manner, taken in connexion with the locality, he was induced on the instant to set down in his own mind as one of the actresses. Jack was right; it was one of those fair and fascinating creatures, who, as Gay says of women in general,

“----seduce all mankind;”

but his surprise was inconceivably great when he saw her, the moment she recognised his companion, hasten up and hold out her hand towards him with all the warmth and cordiality of “old friendship.”

“Why, Mr. Salmon,” said Miss Roseville, “what brings _you_ here?”

“Chance, and a little business together,” said Salmon; “twig?”

“I hope you mean to come to the play to-night,” said Miss Roseville, with one of those looks which it is beyond the power of pen to describe.

“We have just taken a box,” said Salmon.

“Where are you staying?” said Miss Roseville.

“At the Star,” was the reply.

“Do you stay long?”

“No,” said Salmon; “go to-morrow.”

“Oh you naughty thing!” said the lady. “Well, good b’ye, if I don’t see you till the evening;--I lodge at the milliner’s, just opposite,--good b’ye.”

Her departure was a considerable relief to J. S., who was kept in a state of perpetual twitter during the brief parley between them. He would willingly have given five pounds not to have encountered the fair syren while in the society of Brag; and would now have readily given twice as much to ensure his silence upon the subject when they got home.

“Why,” said Brag, “you seem quite free and easy with that young creechur--who is she?”

“That,” said Jim, “is Molly Hogg. I’ve known her these three years;--she is engaged at one of the Minors, and calls herself, in the bills, Roseville,--it sounds better than Hogg;--very good-natured girl.”

“She seems so,” said Brag, “and no mistake.”

“I’m sure I didn’t think of finding _her_ here,” said Salmon: “I haven’t seen her now for a good while.”

“Uncommon pretty,” said Brag. “I suppose I have seen her before--don’t recollect,--see so many--eh?”

“Well,” said Salmon, evidently nervous, “shall we go and do this bill? I’ll give you the checque; or, if you like, I’ll draw it in town to-morrow, and cross it to your banker’s--save another stamp--twig?--And, John--there’s no harm in what I’m going to say--only you _can_ do me a favour.”

“What is it?” said Brag, “name it, and i’s done,--straight up, right down, and no mistake.”

“Why,” said Salmon, looking uncommonly sheepish; “there’s nothing in it--but--I--wish you wouldn’t say anything to Titsy about my meeting little Hogg.”

“Not I,” said John; “I know the female sex too well not to know how easy they are made jealous. I conclude there’s nothing serious?”--

“--Nothing, upon my life!” said Salmon: “besides, I give you my word, I haven’t seen the girl these six months--twig?”

“Mum’s the word,” said Brag; “no--no--there’s no use making quarrels in families--life’s too short for that, eh?”----

“Why, Mr. Brag,” said somebody in a stentorian voice, “I thought we had stolen a march upon you, and left you at Eastbourne.”

Brag turned suddenly round on hearing himself accosted, and beheld his sporting friend Peckover.

“Oh, sir,” said Jack, “here you are!”

“Yes,” said the gentle giant; “Mrs. Peckover was invited to join Lady Patcham’s party at the play; it is what the actors call _her_ bespeak, so she has come here, and dines with Lady Patcham early, in order to be in time.”

“We are going to the play too,” said Jack.

“Mrs. Peckover seems to think,” said Mr. P., “that the house will be very full; and she tells me that the play is a good play, and that some of the players are good players; for _my_ part I don’t trouble my head much about such things--Ha, ha, ha!--Do you stay here, or return to-night?”

“Stay,” said Jack.

“You are like Mrs. Peckover,” answered the other; “she doesn’t mean to go back till the morning,--for, as she says, a drive in the dark, of nineteen miles, after the heat of a playhouse, is no treat--Ha, ha, ha!”

“Are you at an inn?” said Brag.

“Yes,” said his friend, “Mrs. Peckover patronizes ‘The Star;’ she says it is the best house. She has secured rooms there,--at least, so she has sent me word from Lady Patcham’s. I leave all these things to her.”

“Well, sir,” said Brag, “I suppose we shall meet in the evening. Stiffkey went off to Hastings this morning; he will be back at Eastbourne in the evening.”

“Capital fellow, the Colonel,” said Mr. P. “Mrs. Peckover says she thinks him one of the most agreeable men she ever met,--and she’s a tolerably good judge of these matters.--Ha, ha! Do you go back to stay at the hotel?”

“Probably not,” said Brag. “I have got a very pressing invitation to the Isle of Wight--can’t be everywhere.”

“No,” said P. “I only asked, because Mrs. Peckover means to invite the Colonel to dine with us one day this week, and she was enquiring this morning how long you proposed to stay.”

“I’m afraid I must start,” said Brag, “however, if I should go back, in course I shall have the pleasure of seeing you.”

“Good morning!” said Peckover; “I must go and find Mrs. Peckover: she told me she should be down in the town shopping with Lady Patcham. I must not lose sight of her. Good morning!”

“Good morning!” said Jack, and away he and his friend proceeded to their temporary residence, where they were received by Mrs. Salmon in a tempestuous humour, the sweetness of her temper having been curdled, and her spirit stirred by circumstances which were but too soon developed.

“Well, I’m sure, gentlemen,” said the matron as they entered the room, “you haven’t hurried yourselves.”

“We have been shopping, Titsy,” said Salmon.

“Don’t Titsy me, sir!” replied the lady, her cheeks burning, and her eyes almost starting out of her head. “I have been shopping too: you did not suppose I was going to be stewed up in this place, while you and Mr. John were flirting all about the town. I have got eyes, Mr. Salmon, and I’ll take care and make pretty good use of them--I can tell you _that_. Pray, sir, who was that fine flaunting miss in the lavender-coloured gown, with the short petticoats, and platted tails hanging over her shoulders?”

“Gown!” said Jem.

“Tails!” said Jack.

“Yes!” said the lady, reddening with rage, “gowns, and tails: you are a nice pair; you’d do uncommon well to run in a curricle, I’m thinking. I ask you who that dressed-up minx was, that you were talking to in the street?”

“A friend of mine, my dear mother,” said Brag, resolved to bind Jem eternally to him by an act of self-devotion, which, in the first instance, might induce him to make the checque five hundred instead of three--“knew her in London--one of the actresses:--met her at Lord Tom’s--used always to take a box at her benefit:--very amiable girl--supports an aged mother and nine orphan brothers and sisters.”

“A friend of yours, Master Johnny, is she!” said Mrs. Salmon; “why, then, I wonder she didn’t shake you by the hand instead of Mr. Jim:--that won’t do--no, no! _This_ was the trick of coming over here to the play, instead of enjoying the agreeable company of that genteel colonel, and showing him how we had made up matters, and how comfortable we could live together. Oh! to be sure! Mr. Salmon saw in the playbill who was to act here, and off he comes, helter-skelter, no matter what’s to pay, in order to see _her_ painted face.”

“I assure you, Titsy,” said Salmon, “I did not know a word about it: and as for going to the play, if you don’t like it, we won’t go; and if you like to go back to Eastbourne, we will go back directly.”

“I’m sure that’s fair enough,” said Brag; “so don’t let’s squabble about nothing. Men of the world know great lots of people for whom they don’t care a brass farthing. Here, dinner’s just ready--the stage-box secured--all right, and no mistake.”

“Well,” said the lady, “I don’t want to break up our little family party, and I should like well enough to go to the play; but I will not go if that young woman performs to-night. What’s her name, John?”

“Hogg,” said Jack:--“didn’t you say Hogg, Salmon?”

“I!” said Jem--“no, _you_ said her name was Hogg.”

“So I did, to be sure,” said Jack.

“Have you got the playbill, sir?” said the lady to her husband.

“Yes, there it is,” said Salmon. “And now while Titsy is looking that over, we may as well do this job about the checque.”

“All right,” said Jack; “come along--here’s pen and ink. You draw on me, I accept--payable at my banker’s.”

At this moment, and just as Mrs. Salmon had satisfied herself that no person blest with the euphonic name of Hogg was to contribute to the entertainment of that night’s audience, a tall, fresh-coloured chambermaid opened the door, having previously tapped at it, and entered the room.

“I believe, ma’am,” said she, addressing Mrs. Salmon, “my mistress misunderstood you: she said there were only two beds wanting to-night:--do both the gentlemen stay here?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Salmon--“both.”

“Then the young gentlemen will want two,” said the maid, “and----”

“No, no,” said Mrs. Salmon, “we want but two.”

“Then, where will your son sleep, ma’am?” asked the maid.

“My son,” said Mrs. Salmon--“why in his own bed to be sure--where else should he sleep?”

“Then where will Mr. Brag sleep, ma’am?” said the maid, who had arrived at the knowledge of his name, in consequence of his accustomed enquiries after his “servant and carriage,” which he had told the landlord he firmly believed to have been at Lewes.

“Why, Mr. Brag _is_ my son,” said the lady.

“Oh! beg pardon, ma’am,” said the chambermaid--“I thought the other young gentleman was _your_ son, being the same name.”

“Thought!” said Mrs. Salmon--“then you had better not have taken the trouble of thinking anything about it. Mr. Salmon is my husband:--will _that_ satisfy you?”

“Oh! quite, ma’am,” said the maid, looking exceedingly surprised, and particularly foolish--“I beg pardon,--I----”

And so she retired, having by no means contributed to the settlement of Mrs. Salmon’s agitated mind, who, the moment the door was shut, fired up anew, and exclaimed in a tone of exasperation--

“No wonder, Mr. Jemes, the woman should be mistaken. I have no doubt she saw your goings on in the street, and so made up her mind that you couldn’t be a married man.”

“Never mind her mistake, mother,” said Jack, who was determined to keep all things smooth; “you can’t expect much wisdom in a chambermaid--so--now here’s dinner, let us overcome all our little worries, and you two shake hands and be friends, and no mistake.”

“Come, Titsy,” said Salmon, holding out his hand.

“Oh!” said the lady snatching away hers, “I’ve no patience with you.”

When they sat down to their meal, common prudence dictated the observance of tranquillity and civility before the waiters, and the dinner happening to be good, and the wine extremely palatable, the matron softened from her stern resolve, and before it was time to go to the play, peace was restored, and a calumet-like glass to the healths of their noble selves concluded the sitting, whence, it must be owned, Mrs. Salmon rose with some reluctance, and not a little difficulty. The change of air, the increased exercise, the bottled porter at luncheon, the irritation before dinner, and the strong-bodied port wine after it, had combined to cloud the clearness of her mental faculties, and, to a certain extent, deteriorate from her bodily activity.

Supported, however, by her living, loving props, the matron succeeded in reaching the theatre. When they arrived, the play had just begun, and the bangings and flappings of the door and the seats drew all eyes to the stage-box, in the front row of which, and nearly occupying it all, Mrs. Salmon placed herself, J. S. taking his seat beside her--

“Still fond, and amorous, and billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a shilling:”--

Jack occupying the place immediately behind his mother. To be sure, however desirable the stage-box might have appeared to be, the circumstances which had occurred during the day, rendered it, if a post of honour, at least a post of danger, particularly as far as Jem was concerned. In the first place, the glare of the whole row of flaring lights in front of the stage rested directly upon Mrs. Salmon’s eyes; in the second place, the illumination proceeding from the said lights exhibited her personal attractions, and all the peculiarity of her costume, with a most awful precision to the audience; and in the third place, their proximity to the actors, and the view which the box commanded of “behind the scenes,” not only destroyed her comfort as destroying the illusion, but afforded the most unfortunately favourable opportunity for Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, to telegraph J. S. at every available opportunity.

In the opposite box and the box adjoining it, were ranged Lady Patcham’s party, including the Peckovers, Mr. Peckover having been placed in the corner next the stage of the third row of the stage-box, in which snuggery it is probable Mrs. Peckover thought he would be more at his ease than anywhere else.

The play was Othello. The Moor, by what is called a London star,--King Log amongst the frogs;--and as ill-luck would have it, Miss Roseville, who in London had been doomed to the humbler walks of the illegitimate drama, was the Desdemona. She was, naturally, elated at her promotion, and determined to act in right earnest. To Mrs. Salmon “Shakspeare” was yet a sealed book,--she seldom went to theatres in London, and even if she did, the size of the houses, combined with the distance at which she sat from the stage, would have rendered any one of his finest plays a mere blank to her mind. But it so happened that she had never seen Othello, and, although it is quite impossible to spare sufficient space in these pages to record all her running commentary on the text as it proceeded, we may be able to save a little of it, which certainly did contain some new ideas and illustrations, even after Johnson, Warburton, Steevens, Malone, and Co. had done their best, or worst.

In the senate scene she began to criticise the probability of the story.--“Run away with an old man’s daughter!--what, a nigger!--Stuff--nonsense, Jim--not true.--What does he mean by his head and front?--I don’t see any curls.--Antropoppygeis--where do they live?--with their heads under their shoulders.--Well I’m sure--heard her story by parcels--that was to save postage, I suppose.”

This accompaniment was droned out in a tone of voice sufficiently loud to induce the audience to cry, “Hush! hush! silence!” and to compel Jack just respectfully to hint that his mother’s remarks were, unlike the speeches of certain modest members in another place, quite audible in the gallery;--but--just as the “nigger,” as Mrs. Salmon called the “Moor,” had got to the words

----“she wished
That Heaven had made _her_ such a man.”

Desdemona,--Miss Roseville,--Molly Hogg herself, appeared at the wing, ready to come on:--the moment she arrived there, and before her train was consigned to the dirt of the stage, her eye caught that of Salmon;--a look of recognition followed,--the excited matron saw it;--she, what she called, “contained herself” at the minute,--but, coupling what she had seen in the afternoon with what she then witnessed, she was not long in making up her mind, that, although she had unplatted her tails and lengthened her petticoats, the girl in the lavender gown in the street, was the nigger’s wife in the play.

Miss Roseville was extremely well received, and played very respectably, and things went on very quietly; but, after Mrs. Salmon had somewhat loudly denounced Brabantio as an old fool for making it up, and the scene had proceeded to where Othello takes Desdemona away, Miss Roseville, having nothing better to do, cast a lightning look at Jem Salmon, standing within two yards of him, and when she made her exit, the old lady could no longer resist the influence of her rage.

“Did you see _that_, Mr. Jemes?” said she.

“What, Titsy?--what?” asked Salmon.

“That girl’s look at _you_,” replied the enraged wife; “I’m sure it’s the same I saw you talking to before dinner:--if she does it again I’ll speak to her--I will--”

“My dear mother,” said Jack, interposing in a whisper. The attempt, however, was futile; the dæmon had been awakened, and was not so easily to be appeased. It is true, that while the dreadful Desdemona was out of sight, it seemed to slumber; although when Cassio, by Iago’s desire, gives Emilia a chaste salute, Mrs. Salmon’s delicacy was so greatly alarmed, that she exclaimed, “Well, I’m sure, what next?” which created a slight laugh in the vicinity of the stage, and even on the stage itself; and when Othello performed a similar act of kindness to Desdemona, a somewhat similar observation escaped her. Still, as the heroine happened to be placed during that short scene with her back towards their box, nothing occurred to rouse the lion, until, as she turned to go off, the irresistible desire of Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, to ascertain who Mrs. Salmon was, and in what manner she could be related to or connected with her smart friend Jem, induced her to throw another transient glance into the corner where they sat,--a movement which was instantly followed by Mrs. Salmon’s giving her husband a pinch, of anything but an amatory character, on his knee, accompanied with a terrific “Ugh,” at the bottom of her voice.

Her agitation now became visible, and the next thing she did, was to take so horrible a dislike to Iago, for being vulgar enough to mention King Stephen’s inexpressibles by their coarsest and commonest name, that her companions began to think she was sufficiently disgusted with what was going on, to wish to retire;--but no--as soon as _the_ scene between Othello and Iago commenced, her attention was fatally recalled. She fancied and felt that it was all real, and got so interested in the progress of the discovery of Desdemona’s guilt, of which she was herself perfectly satisfied, that she kept encouraging him by continuous exclamations of “That’s right,”--“Tell him all,”--“Nasty hussey!”--and when he came to the words

“Beware, my lord, of jealousy,
It is a green-eyed monster,”--

she could not help saying to J. S. in a tone by no means confidential--“Better _that_ than a black-eyed one at any rate.”

Things after this proceeded rather calmly, until the Moor, in the height of his rage and abhorrence, exclaimed in a most impassioned manner--

“I’d rather be a toad”--

Mrs. Salmon, who did not wait for the alternative, cried out loud enough to be heard half over the house--“Well, that’s a rum taste, anyhow!”

This observation again attracted the attention of the gentle Desdy, who was again at the side scene waiting for her cue to come on with the handkerchief, and again her regards were thrown upon Salmon.

“There, Jim,” said the lady--“there she is again.” And when she appeared solacing her husband on account of his headache, all her anxieties were met by her respectable rival and auditor, with the words “Gammon!”--“Pooh!”--“I don’t believe you;” until, on quitting the stage, and repeating the words,

“I am very sorry to see that you are not well!”

Miss Hogg certainly _did_ look somewhat pointedly at Mrs. Salmon herself.

“I’ll tear her eyes out, Jemes,” said the bride.

“Shall I go away, Titsy?” said Salmon.

“Go away, indeed!” replied the lady--“no no!--you don’t budge an inch.--Did you ever,” continued she, turning to her son, “ever see such imperence as that? I’ll watch her pretty closely, and if it’s what I think--if I don’t!--Never mind; them as lives longest sees the most.”

This sounded ominous, but Jack and Salmon hoped that nothing more would come of it. However, when Desdemona next appeared, and ventured so near the box that the direction of her eyes could no longer be doubted, although the expression of her countenance was more indicative of anger and curiosity than of love, Mrs. Salmon exclaimed--

“Jim, I’ll spit in her face!”

“Titsy! Titsy!” said Salmon.

“Oh, Titsy! my eye!” cried she:--“can’t I see?”

“Hush! hush! hush!” cried the audience in the boxes: “Silence!” said the pit: “Turn her out!” roared the gallery.

This noise, the more particularly, attracted the looks of Miss Roseville to the offending party, and consequently provoked some horrid grimaces on the part of the jealous wife, which, when the poor girl put on something like a supplicating look, was consummated by Mrs. Salmon’s performing that, which my friend Mr. Gurney saw the convicted pot-stealer at the Old Bailey exhibit to the astonished judge, in the shape of what is conventionally called a double sight. Still the tumult was suppressed--every glass in Lady Patcham’s box--being directed point-blank into Brag’s box--until that part of the scene in which Desdemona, (still availing herself of every opportunity of casting looks rather of enquiry than tenderness towards Salmon,) is spoken to, by Othello, in the most cutting terms. At the end of every one of his severe speeches, Mrs. Salmon kept crying out in a sort of spasmodic whisper, “That’s it!”--“Give it her, nigger!”--“Sarve her right!”--till at last the Moor becoming so violent, that even the mightiness of Shakspeare himself, does not justify a repetition here of the word he uses, calls her an impudent--something; when Mrs. Salmon, starting from her seat, exclaimed at the top of her voice--“You are right, old fellow!--she _is_ one, and I know it!”

Here the uproar became general--the cry of “Turn her out!” instead of being confined to the Gallery,--was universal. The black star came forward and bowed; Desdemona herself stepped to the front of the stage, and performed a certain number of regulation heavings and pantings, amidst loud cries of “Down, down!--Silence, silence!”--Salmon holding his bride back in an immense fright, and Jack actually ready to die of the disaster.

After a few minutes, silence was obtained, when Miss Roseville, trembling like a leaf, said, or rather faltered out:--“La-dies and gen-tle-men,--” (here a flood of tears P.S. produced three rounds of applause)--“I am placed in a situation of painful difficulty. Conscious of earnestly exerting the small ability I possess, for your entertainment, I find myself so loudly and constantly interrupted by a lady in the stage-box, of whom I have no knowledge, that I have only to throw myself upon the accustomed liberality of a British public for protection.” (Loud cheers.) “If I have offended”--(“No, no, no!”)--“Ladies and gentlemen, from my heart I thank you!” This said, with a profound inclination of the head, hands crossed over the bosom, and a curtsey down to the ground, which produced upon Miss Molly Hogg’s drapery the effect of what is called, in gamesome times, “making a cheese,” produced reiterated shouts, accompanied with cries--“Turn them out!--turn them out!”

Now had Mrs. Salmon’s wrath reached its highest pitch: “I won’t go out!” she exclaimed. “It’s all very fine your talking; but I tell you what, Miss Hogg--I won’t let you stand making sheep’s-eyes at my J. S.--I won’t; and if you come near him, I’ll tear them out of your head, and leave you to see through the holes.”

Here the riot and confusion were such as to convince Brag that nothing but the retirement of his respectable parent could save her from expulsion; he therefore put on a supplicating air, and begged her to come out with _him_--a petition in which Mr. Salmon earnestly joined, and for which his exemplary bride, having no other means of venting her rage, gave him a most tremendous slap in the face, which sent him sprawling over the second seat, accompanied with a loud remark, that he was as bad as Molly Hogg. Jack, assisted by a box-keeper and the manager, succeeded in getting the infuriated dame into the lobby, whence seeing a door at its termination evidently leading on to the stage, she dashed through it, and if, by the merest chance in the world, her companions had not kept fast hold of her, she would assuredly have rushed on to the scene, and utterly annihilated the gentle heroine of the night, in the sight of all the audience.

To Brag, the events of the evening were destructive, as far as Eastbourne, or that part of Sussex went: they would form an era in the theatrical annals of Lewes; and the delight which Mrs. Peckover exhibited during the whole proceeding, was but too certain a confirmation of Jack’s previous suspicion, that she had directed Peckover to find out when he meant to leave the neighbourhood, in order that she might regulate her invitation to Colonel Stiffkey, so that it might not be sent to him until his little sporting friend was gone.

Here was another of the numerous disastrous results of Jack’s unconquerable propensity for rhodomontade and quackery. If he had not made himself ridiculous at Dover, he need not have feared encountering Gunnersbury at Eastbourne; he then would not have felt so anxious to get to Lewes, where, as his ill stars decided, a detachment of Eastbourne fashionables had (as if purposely) arrived, in order to be the historians of his exposure to the colonel and his friend upon their return.

When the discomfited trio reached the inn, much to the surprise of the host and hostess, the condition of Mrs. Salmon was beyond description pitiable. Brag and Salmon were quite aware that the matter would not rest where it was: that Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, knowing from his own lips where he lived at Lewes, would most unquestionably despatch a note, or perhaps come herself, to that _locale_, to enquire what the real cause of the elderly gentlewoman’s extraordinary and outrageous conduct could really be; and Salmon’s looks, occasionally interchanged with Brag, spoke too plainly his apprehensions on that score to be misinterpreted.

That Mrs. Salmon would permit her J. S. to leave the house that evening, or indeed trust him out of her sight till after their return to London, was not to be imagined; and therefore Jack, with a good-humour not uncongenial with his vanity and folly, determined to save the _éclat_ of such a visitation by returning to the theatre himself, seeking out the young lady, and explaining, in Salmon’s name, the real history of the case. His difficulty was, how to “put Salmon up” as he called it, “to what he contemplated:” however, he thought if he mentioned his return to the playhouse with an emphasis upon the words “he wanted to see somebody particularly,” his father-in-law would understand what he was going to do, and there would be no mistake,--Jack certainly being rather stimulated to his friendly exertions in the affair by his opinion of Miss Hogg’s personal attractions, and being moreover anxious, for the sake of his mother’s peace of mind, to ascertain to what extent the intimacy of James and the romantic Molly had actually been carried.

Of course Mrs. Salmon did not interfere to prevent her son’s return, which he told her he felt necessary; but although he really did contrive to make Mr. Salmon understand that it was for _his_ good he was going, the unfortunate husband apprehended so much from being left _tête-à-tête_ with his bride, after the indiscreet use of what she called “Miss Hogg’s black rollers,” that he would have preferred the chance of a battle-royal, in which they would all be engaged together, to the discipline which he was quite confident he had to undergo when left alone in the society of his lady.

What passed in Jack’s absence we do not seek to enquire; suffice it to say, that, after various applications to the servants for water and hartshorn, and sundry other restoratives, Mr. and Mrs. Salmon departed to bed--whether to rest or not, it is not for us to determine. A message was left with the waiter for Mr. Brag, that they had secured places by the morning-coach for London, and should breakfast before they started. In fact, everything had been so decently conducted after John’s departure, that the waiters and others concerned in the administration of affairs at “The Star,” and who had up to that time received no intelligence of the “row” at the playhouse, were perfectly unconscious that there had been such a storm, or that the ill-matched pair resident in their house had played so prominent a part in the performances of the evening.

When Jack reached the theatre, he procured an audience of Miss Roseville, whom he found protected by her mamma, and dressed _à la paysanne_, ready to sing the popular ballad,--

“I’m a poor country maid, that’s for sartain,”

for the performance of which she was particularly celebrated. He explained to her in his smartest manner the history of the affair, and that he had called on the part of his friend, to explain away the extraordinary conduct of the lady who was his wife.

“What!” said Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, “is Salmon married to that old catamaran? I shouldn’t be surprised, ma’, if she was the old tallow-chandler’s widow, with the fool of a son, that he used to talk to us about.”

“Very likely, my dear,” said Mrs. Hogg: “Keep your shawl round your throat, dear. We are very much obliged to this gentleman for explaining that it was not Mr. Salmon’s fault.”

“Very much indeed,” said the young lady. “Of course the public press will give a proper explanation of the affair; it is a case that must be deeply interesting to every lover of the drama, and indeed to everybody in the empire,--for it is a most extraordinary affair. Ma’ and I know several of the gentlemen who are engaged ‘_on_’ the London papers, and we mean to draw up a statement which will no doubt be satisfactory, and remove any unfavourable impressions which an incorrect report of the transaction may in the first instance make.”

“But I think, dear,” said Mrs. Hogg, “you should send a civil message to Mr. Salmon, and say you are sure he had no share in the disturbance, because, dear, he has always been a very kind friend to _you_.”

“Pray, say that to him, sir,” said the young lady; “and if you have an opportunity of speaking to him alone, ask him from _me_, if his present amiable lady is really the Widow Waddle?--he’ll know whom I mean.”

“My dear love, what a girl you are!” said mamma.

“But,” said Jack, “perhaps that may be dangerous; it _may_ be Widow Waddle, and then----”

“It won’t make the least difference,” said the playful young creature. “What she _has_, not what she _is_,--he used to say; and as it was only her money he married her for, now he has got _that_, and put capering Jack’s nose out of joint, you may say what you please of the widow.”

“And whom,” said Brag, “did my friend Jim call capering Jack?”

“Why that, sir,” said Mrs. Hogg, “was what he used to call the old woman’s son, who has turned fine gentleman, and we used to have great fun about him: Salmon used to give us imitations of him whenever he came to sup with us.”

That they had not been good imitations seemed tolerably evident, inasmuch as the original had not been recognised. However, Jack went on making the amiable, somewhat agitated, and rather hurried by the novelty of his position and the bustle going on behind the scenes, and, above all, by the concluding and conclusive evidence as to the character of his father-in-law’s affection for his mother, his marriage with whom appeared, from what he had just heard and seen, extremely like a stepping-stone to the future attainment of the hand of Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg.

“I’ll give Mr. Salmon your message, depend upon it,” said Jack. “Do you stay long here, Miss?”

“No,” said the mamma, “we go up to town to-morrow, by the coach, and so to Northampton, where Mary has got a three nights’ engagement. When we return, her regular theātre opens,--and we shall settle down in London.”

“I assure you,” said Miss Roseville, “I shall not be sorry;--this starring is very tiresome work.”

“By the coach to-morrow!” said Jack, thinking to himself how very agreeably that would “come off,” if it should be the same coach into which the “Widow Waddle” and her hopeful spouse were to pack themselves. “Well, ladies, I’ve done my duty--executed my commission. I’m much obliged by your civility, and glad to have satisfied you that as far as Mr. Salmon and myself are concerned, we had nothing to do with this unpleasant business.--Good night, ladies.”

Saying which, Jack retired under a heavy fire of acknowledgments and reciprocated good wishes, and returned to the inn greatly relieved at finding the coast clear. He received the message that had been left for him; and after revolving in his mind, over a glass of “hot mixture,” the occurrences of the evening, and the information he had derived from the fair Thespian, satisfied himself that they all had their origin in his own ever-failing dexterity in attempting to wriggle out of difficulties, into which his unquenchable vanity and conceit were perpetually hurrying him.

After summing up the whole of the case, he resolved that the extraordinary conduct of his mother, coupled with the hypocrisy and worthlessness of her husband, fully justified his retiring in disgust, and leaving them to their own inventions. He therefore called for pen, ink, and paper, and having ascertained that the whole history of the _émeute_ at the playhouse was now known all over the inn, began, when the waiter produced them, to denounce the extraordinary conduct of the eccentric old lady, with whom he denied anything more than a casual acquaintance--she, as the reader may remember, having herself, before dinner, indignantly proclaimed their consanguinity to the chambermaid. Having concluded his letter addressed to Salmon,--announcing the absolute necessity of his starting by seven o’clock for the Isle of Wight, in order to avail himself of the offer of a seat in the carriage of a friend, whom he had met at the playhouse on his return; and having desired his affectionate love to his mother, signed himself Mr. Salmon’s “faithful and sincere,” and added in the postscript, “Don’t forget to pay in the three hundred pounds to-morrow, or the next day, as I shall have occasion to draw upon it,” he folded and sealed the despatch, and proceeding to his room, desired to be called at half-past six, resolved to bolt before the “happy pair” were stirring.