Chapter X

All pale and weak, before the beak,
Degraded Tom is taken;
He _was_ too late to save his pate,
He _is_ to save his bacon!
He stands and listens, sad and dogged,
To "fined five bob" for being grogged.

15. The Ladies at the Palace, hearing that at the expected birth
Royal salutes were to be given, petitioned the Prince that they
might not be overlooked in the arrangement.

24. A tidey overflow of the Thames.

The river o'erflow'd—to the grief of good _fellers_,
The tide soon invaded the publicans' _cellars_;
The _buyers_ ne'er found that it injured their store,
For surely the gin was all water before.

30. Affair of the Caroline—M'Leod's acquittal.

It would have been almost beyond a joke
For such a cloud to end in aught but smoke;
But had he been sedate, discreet, and staid, he
Had never quarrell'd about any lady;
And Grog-an, grog had mix'd, in better quarters,
Than came of mixing up in troubled waters.

Mount! Eagle.
]

Making light of it.

A burning shame.
]

PREMIUM AND DISCOUNT.

No third-floor front that ever looked upon the golden waters of Ball's Pond harboured swain more favoured by nature and art than the young Augustus Kutitphat. His father was the renowned Orlando Kosenem Von Kutitphat who, passing over from Germany to this country in three ships, became _arbiter elegantiarum_ at Hockley-in-the-Hole, and his mother was nearly related to that unprecedented Simpson who conferred immortality upon the bowers of Vauxhall. At the age of nineteen Augustus was bereaved of his parents, from whom he inherited a mine of brass (in his face), and a harvest of curls (_hair_-looms) unparalleled in the annals of (Bear's) _Greece_. He was not, as he himself asserted, critically handsome, but eminently genteel. "Manners make the man," he was accustomed to observe, "but the tailor, the gentleman: appearance is the premium where-with you can discount society; it's gammon to talk about the aristocracy of birth; why there's a second fiddle at Astley's that no Duke in the 'Red Book' is fit to hold a candle to: _I_ never had a grandfather, and is there any mistake about _me_?"

In this way of thinking, and a primrose satin waistcoat, Augustus proceeded to essay the truth of his philosophy. A great poet has said, "All the world's a stage;" had he added, "licensed only for the performance of pantomime," the fancy would have well assorted with the fact. To succeed in the drama of life the performer needs only activity— to keep his eyes open, and his heart and his mouth shut. The two former of these elements of success Kutitphat possessed; had the three been combined, he might have become Lord Mayor. Though a denizen of Islington, inhabiting a chamber which, had the house been another remove from town (at the Antipodes), would have been the cellar—by grace of patent-leather Wellingtons and a Polish tailor, he himself achieved a _polish_ that not one in a thousand would have known from the true metal. Even the ingenious youth who, with a red coatee and nose to correspond, enacts the esquire at Crockford's, looking after the coursers of the knights-errant who there do congregate—even _he_, albeit as good an authority in such matters as the Lord Chamberlain himself, was almost led into the indiscretion of a bow. Augustus had just turned into St. James's Street, when our Cad-Crockfordian caught sight of him. His right hand had all but reached the bit of felt that did duty for the rim of his hat; but it fell ere the error was irretrievable. "No," he soliloquized; "it ain't not qvite the ticket, but unkimmin good at the price: blest if I warn't nearly had—_wont_ he step into _some_ on 'em. At first, wouldn't I have pounded it he was a real swell; but, now I twig him nearer, _his mother don't know as he's a taking of the air_."

Angelina Ampletin was one of the prettiest girls in Pimlico, and, if there was any truth in rumour, very far from one of the worst _catches_. Papa had retired from business at Billingsgate, with money enough to found a dozen joint-stock banks, and leave a handsome surplus. In fact, _his_ turbot and salmon were all gold and silver fish! Now, as Augustus entered the enclosure of the Park, Angelina and one of her friends were studying ornithology on the margin of the stream that meanders between the Horse Guards and Buckingham Palace. A glance of soul-speaking sympathy passed between the youth and maiden—and, behold! the tiny hand of her _Breguet_ had not accomplished another revolution ere they were in confidential communication. Let us not dwell on the progress of their loves; day by day did they perambulate the sylvan shades of Kensington Gardens (so called because destitute of both flower and fruit); and at length the critical avowal was made—Angelina blushed her passion—"she lived only for her Augustus; would he, indeed, fondly love on to the close?" History is divided concerning the exact nature of his reply. According to one account he is said to have declared that, if false, nothing should prevent his being "jiggered;" while another asserts that, in evidence of immutability, he called upon the zephyrs that sighed around them, then and there to "blow him tight." Alas! for Augustus, that which the figure of his form had built up, the figure of his rhetoric laid desolate. Angelina was the soul of refinement and education, having been finished at Turnham Green. With a look of horror she fled the presence of Kutitphat—that _blow_ was the unkindest _cut_ of all!

It was November, but still the weather was delicious. All the gay things of nature were abroad; and even the wretched sought to borrow a ray of the rich sunshine. Over the still verdant carpet of Hyde Park were gliding graceful groups of fair women; while, among them, moved a form that seemed to have little business there at such a time. Bless ye! dear muffs and boas, no heresy is here intended, for instinct would curl the nose of an angel in Eden who should chance upon a fellow in the _débris_ of an ancient Taglioni, and no shirt. Was it a wonder, then, that Angelina gave a wide berth to Augustus when she encountered him in such a category? Where were now his airs and graces? All—all gone! The station, like "the herald Mercury," exchanged for a posture between a faint and a sneak; the glance of scorn, for the mien of supplication; the sheen of promise, for the sear of despair! People speak of Brummel frying his own tripe as if it were something to wonder at. Let them take a turn in St. James's Park, any day between the first of January and the last of December, and, unless they shut their eyes, they will discover more than one member of the Kutitphat family at a discount.