the S.P.C.K. His wife is gone with the children to the Soho Bazaar, or is spending her day with the friend of her childhood—now married to the Reverend Josiah Chasuble, and resident in the Polygon, Camberwell—with an abundant nursery. He is balked, and I am glad of it; but whom can one trust? When the trap opened this last time, there were no contentious voices—only dead silence broken by a low female moaning, and stifled sobs. Can Sir Cresswell have caused Mrs. Dobbs to be placed on the rack, and is the policeman with the red whiskers giving a last turn to the screw? I can’t stand this—as a man—as a husband—as an Englishman—in the name of Flora, and womanhood—here goes! Down with Haynau and Sir Cresswell! Just as, in defiance of all constituted authority, I was about to make a violent assault on the door, in order to relieve Mrs. Dobbs from her agony, it suddenly opened, and, to my surprise, a gentleman stepped out who was evidently making strong efforts to suppress his laughter. With difficulty I repressed my indignation to the articulating point, and was about to give him a bit of my mind; when, on glancing at him a second time, I fancied I recognised the face—could it be? No. Yes it was my old friend—Horatio Lamb. We exchanged the friendly grasp—he passed his arm under mine, and led me out into the Hall.
My friend Lamb had, I believe, in early life, been upon the provincial boards, but he was not fond of alluding to this period of his career. He had subsequently been articled to an attorney, but, though admitted, I never heard that he had practised his profession on his own account. He had subsequently been secretary to a steam-packet company with enormous pretensions, but owing to a series of untoward circumstances they never succeeded—as far as I am aware—in getting a vessel afloat, and the affairs of the company were subsequently wound up. Lamb next turned up in the wine-trade, in connection with a speculation for bringing South African sherry home to every Englishman’s door; and during the epoch of his eventful career, he was much engaged with a project for amending the currency. I do not pretend to understand the question myself, but as he often explained to me in those days, when I invited him to dinner—poor fellow! I was sometimes afraid that he did not dine every day in the week—the result of his system, if adopted, would have been to add 800,000,000l. immediately to the national wealth, with unlimited powers of expansion—and it was based upon credit. Certainly no man knew more about that part of the subject than Lamb; but somehow or other there seemed to be some hitch about the adoption of his ideas. The successive Chancellors of the Exchequer, as he used to tell me, were “stupid dogs—stupid dogs, sir; slaves of routine.” I fear he was sadly out at elbows when we last parted; it was some years since we had met; and now he presented every appearance of a smiling, prosperous gentleman. “Come along,” said he, “come along; my brougham is waiting, and it will take us round to Great George Street,—my offices, you know.”
I knew nothing about the matter, and I confess I was thunderstruck, but not even in the midst of my surprise could I lose sight of Sir Cresswell’s horrid cruelties, and the agonies which Mrs. Dobbs must at that moment bo undergoing. I stopped my friend in the middle of the Hall, and seizing him solemnly by the coat, said:—
“Lamb—friend of my youth—I rejoice to see you well, and to all appearance a prosperous man, and at any other time I would cheerfully go with you, and a proud man I should be to sit by your side in your own brougham, with your own horse in shafts before you—”
“My own horse,” broke in Lamb, “pooh! pooh! pair of horses—as neat a pair of greys as ever stepped. I gave a cheque for 240l. for them the other day to our friend Hinchinbroke.”
Now Hinchinbroke was Sir Jasper Hinchinbroke, Bart., of Sloply Mead, Lincolnshire, and I had myself endeavoured, but in vain, to procure for Lamb, some years ago, the situation of clerk in the office of his bailiff; but this was neither here nor there just then. I couldn’t get that poor creature’s agony out of my mind.
“Lamb,” I continued. “I won’t stir from this Hall, till I know what is taking place within that horrid den of iniquity.”
“What den? The Divorce Court? Sweetest spot in town!”
“But those sobs—that moaning—those groans—it was a woman’s woe. I tell you, Lamb, Sir Cresswell is torturing a female in there!”
The unfeeling man actually burst into a long fit of laughter.
“Groans—agony—woe—stuff and nonsense. That’s only my client, Mrs. Dobbs, repeating her lesson; and devilish well she does it, too. I gave her the first principles myself; but, egad! she has so far outstripped her teacher, that I was fairly obliged to leave the Court lest the jury should catch me laughing—and that would have done for our case in no time. We had to prove cruelty in order to entitle us to dissolution, and so I called Mrs. Dobbs, and left her to make out her own case. Women have a surprising genius for these things. But, come along, and we’ll talk as we go. By the way, what brought you down to the Divorce Court? Nothing wrong at home, eh?”
I was enabled to give my friend Lamb the honest assurance, dearest Flora, that despite of the few occasions on which our peculiarities of character slightly clash, there was no disposition on the side of either of the partners, trading under the name of the matrimonial firm of “Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” to dissolve their connection, and wind up the concerns of that well-known establishment. It may be that we have both discovered that there are other flowers of the field besides roses, and other birds in the air besides the nightingale and the lark—that Romeo will lose his figure, and Juliet suffer from occasional nervous attacks. Still, and on the whole, Flora is quite prepared to scratch out the eyes of any lady who should venture upon any disparaging remarks with regard to her beloved Frederick; and Frederick stands equally ready and willing to punch any gentleman’s head who may insinuate that improvements in his Flora are possible. Petrarchs and Lauras of XL can you hope for more?
In return for my explanations, my friend H.