WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

Are you a sympathetic reader? If not, I pray you to pass over the few pages which constitute this article, and indulge your risible propensity with the happier effusions of the laughing philosophers of this Miscellany. I have no cachinnatory ambition, and would have my leaves well watered, not with the sunny drops of joy, but with the camomilical outpourings of sorrow.

Concluding that my request is granted, I will now proceed, sympathetic reader, to narrate a few passages of my "strange, eventful history."

I am a disappointed man,—nay, I was even a disappointed baby; for it was calculated that the parental anticipations of my forebears would have been realised on the 1st of May 1792, whereas, by some contradictory vagary of Dame Nature, I entered this valley of tears on the 1st of April! This ought to have been considered prognosticatory of my future disappointments, and the law of Sparta should have been rigidly enforced; for what are crooked limbs to a crooked destiny?

It was the intention of my father (whose name was Jacob Wise) to have had me christened after my maternal uncle, Theodosius Otter, Esq.; but, having selected a stuttering godfather, I was unfortunately baptized as "The-odd-dose-us Oth-er Wise." Nor was this the only disappointment which attended me on this occasion, for the pew-opener having received instructions to clean the copper coal-scuttle in the vestry-room, the basin which contained the vitriol necessary for that purpose was by some means or other placed in the font; and to this day I have more the appearance of a tattooed Indian than a Christian Englishman.

My babyhood was composed of a series of disappointments. My hair was to have been, in the words of the monthly nurse, "the most beautifulest horburn," but sprouted forth a splendid specimen of that vegetable dye called carroty. I was to have been "as straight as an arrow;" but a cup of tea having been spilled over me as I lay in the servant's lap before the kitchen fire, I became so dreadfully warped that I am now a sort of demi-parenthesis, or, as a malicious punster once called me, "a perfect bow."

I had the measles very mildly, as it was affirmed, for the whole virulence of the disorder displayed itself in one enormous pustule on the tip of my nose. This luminary so excited my infant wonder, that my eyes (really fine for green) were continually riveted to the spot, and have never forgotten it, for one or other of them is invariably engaged in searching for the lost treasure.

I was not in convulsions above a dozen times during teething; but no sooner had I completed my chaplet of pearls, than the striking-weight of a Dutch clock which overhung my cradle dropped into my mouth, and convinced me of the extreme simplicity of dental surgery.

My "going alone" was the source of an infinitude of anxieties to my excellent mamma, who was so magnificently proportioned that it was many months before I could make the circuit of her full-flounced printed calico wrapper without resting. Poor mamma! she lost her life from a singular mistake. The house in which we lived had taken fire, and two good-natured neighbours threw Mrs. Wise out of the window instead of a feather-bed. She alighted on the head of Captain S——, who was then considered the softest man in the three kingdoms, and received little injury by the ejectment; but her feelings were so lacerated by the mistake, that she refused all food, and lived entirely by suction, till she died from it.

I will pass over my school-days, merely observing en passant that

a squabby, tyrannical, double-jointed pedagogue. He was nicknamed Cane-and-Able, and I can testify to the justness of the nomenclature. At college the same mis-fortune attended me. There was ever an under-current of disappointment, which rendered all my exertions nugatory. If I was by accident "full of the god," I could never knock down any one but a proctor. If I determined on keeping close in my rooms, the wind immediately changed to N.E. by N. at which point my chimneys smoked like a community of Ya-Mynheers. My maternal uncle, Theodosius Otter, Esq. had signified that my expectations from him must be regulated entirely by my academical distinctions, and I was "pluck'd for my little-go." This occurred three months before the old booby's death. My legacy consisted of a presentation to the Gooseborough free school.

The time at length arrived for me to fall in love. I experienced the first symptom of this epidemic at a bombazine ball in the city of Norwich. Selina Smithers was the name of my fair enslaver: she was about nineteen, fair as Russia tallow, tall, and somewhat slender. Indeed her condition is perhaps better described by "the slightest possible approximation to lanky." During one short quadrille she told me of all her tastes, hopes, experience, family connexions, (including a brother at sea,) expectations probable and possible, and of two thousand seven hundred and forty-five pounds, fourteen shillings, and sixpence, standing in her own name in the three and a half per cents.

With the last chassez I was a victim. At the close of the ball I handed Selina and her mamma into a green fly, and found the next morning that I had a violent cold in my head, and a violent heat in my heart.

As I flourished the brass knocker of Mrs. Smithers' door on the following day, the clock of St. Andrew's church struck two; and chimed a quarter past, as a girl strongly resembling a kidney-potato, red and dirty, gave me ingress into a room with green blinds, seven horsehair-bottomed chairs, a round mahogany table, four oil-paintings (subjects and masters unknown), two fire-screens of yellow calico fluted, and a very shabby square piano. On the music-rest was the song, "We met,—'twas in a crowd." Singular coincidence,—we met in a crowd!

The door opened, and Selina bounded into the room like a young fawn. Our eyes met, and then simultaneously sought the carpet. I know not what object her pale blue orbs encountered; but mine fell on the half-picked head of a red herring! "Can it be possible," thought I, "that Selina—Pshaw! her brother has returned from sea;" and to his account I placed the body of the vulgar fish. I took her hand, and gracefully led her to a chair, and then seated myself beside her. Our conversation grew animated,—confiding. She recapitulated the amount of her three and a half per cents, and in the most considerate manner inquired into my pecuniary situation. I was then possessed of seven thousand pounds; for my father, during the three last years of his life, had been twice burned out, and once sold up, and was thus enabled to leave me independent. She could not conceal her delight at my prosperous situation,—generous creature! Possessing affluence herself, she rejoiced at the well-doing of others. Day after day passed in this delightful manner, until I ventured to solicit her to become my wife. Judge of my ecstasy when, bending her swan-like neck until her fair cheek rested on the velvet collar of my mulberry surtout, she whispered almost inaudibly,

"How can you ask me such a question?"

"How can I ask you such a question? Because—because it is necessary to my happiness. Oh! name the happy hour when Hymen's chain—that chain which has but one link—shall bind you to me for ever!"

She paused a moment, and then faltered out,

"To-morrow week."

I fell upon my knees. Selina did the same; for, in my joy at her compliance, I had forgotten that one chair was supporting us both.

Oh, what a busy day was that which followed! I entered Skelton's (the tailor's) shop with the journeymen. I ordered three complete suits!

As the rolls were taken into Quillit's parlour, I was shown into the office. The worthy lawyer thrice scalded his throat in his anxiety to comply with my repeated requests to "see him immediately." He came at last. A few brief sentences explained the nature of my business, and he hastened to accompany me to Selina. I was so excited by the novelty of my situation, that I fell over the maid who was cleaning the step of the door, and narrowly escaped dragging Quillit after. Had he fallen, I shudder at the contemplation of the probable result; for he was a man well to do in the world, and enjoyed a rotundity of figure unrivalled in the good city of Norwich. His black waistcoat might have served for a bill of fare to an eating-house, for it exhibited samples of all Mrs. Glass's choicest preparations.

Away we went, realising the poet's description of Ajax and Camilla:

We resembled Reason and Hope, or one of Pickford's barges and a towing-horse.

The little brass knocker was again in my hand, the kidney-potato was again at the door, and I led in the perspiring lawyer, but looked in vain for that expression of admiration which I fondly anticipated would have illumined his little grey eyes at the sight of my Venusian Selina.

"This is Mr. Quillit," said I.

"Indeed?" replied Selina.

"We have come, mum," said Quillit, "to arrange a very necessary preliminary to the delicate ceremony which my friend Wise has informed me will take place on this day week."

Selina blushed. Her mother (bless me! I've quite overlooked her!) screwed up her face into an expression between laughing and crying; and I—I pushed one hand through my hair, and the other into my breeches pocket.

"Mum," continued Quillit, "our business this morning is to make the arrangements for your marriage-settlement; and my friend Wise wishes to know what part of your two thousand——"

"Seven hundred and forty-five pounds, fourteen shillings, and sixpence," said I sotto voce.

"—You wish settled upon yourself."

"Oh, nothing,—I require nothing!" exclaimed Selina.

"Hur—!" said I, half rising from my chair in ecstasy at her disinterestedness.

"Hem!" coughed Quillit, and took out his toothpick.

"Nothing!" I at length ejaculated. "No, Selina; you shall not be subject to the accidents of fortune. Mr. Quillit, put down two thousand pounds." And so he did.

The day before my intended nuptials I had paid my customary visit to Selina, and it was arranged that the settlement should be executed (what a happy union of terms!) that night. I had left but a few minutes when I missed my handkerchief. I returned for it. The kidney-potato shot out of the house as I turned the corner of the street. I found the door ajar, and, not considering any ceremony necessary, I walked into the parlour. I had put my handkerchief into the left pocket of my coat when I was somewhat startled by a burst of very boisterous male and female merriment. I paused. A child's treble was then heard, and in a moment after a child—a live child entered the room crying most piteously. It ceased on beholding me; and when its astonishment had subsided, it sobbed out,

"I want mamma!"

"Mamma?" said I. "And who's mamma?"

My query was answered from the first floor.

"Come to mamma, dear!" shouted—Selina!

I don't know what the sensations of a humming-top in full spin may be, but I should imagine they are very similar to those which I experienced at this particular moment. When I recovered, I was stretched on the hearth-rug with my head in the coal-scuttle, surrounded by my Selina, her mother, the maid, and I suppose her "brother at sea."

"What is the matter, love?" said —— You know whom I mean,—I can't write her name again.

"Nothing, madam," I replied, "nothing; only I anticipated being married to-morrow,—but I shall be disappointed."

The ensuing week I received notice of action for a breach of promise of marriage; the ensuing term the cause was tried before an intelligent jury; and the ensuing day Quillit handed me a bill for seven hundred and sixty-two pounds, one shilling, and eightpence, being the amount of damages and costs in Smithers versus Wise. I paid Quillit, sold my house and furniture at Norwich, and took up my abode at Bumbleby, in Lancashire, resolving to be as love-proof as Miss Martineau, which resolution I have religiously observed to this day.

I was, however, involved in one other tender affair, by proxy, which produced me more serious annoyances than even my own.

I became acquainted with a merry good-looking fellow, of the name of Thomas Styles, who had come from somewhere, and was related to somebody, but no one recollected the who or the where. In the same town lived an old gentleman, who rejoiced in the singular name of Smith. He was blessed with one daughter and a wife. The latter did not reside with him, having taken up her permanent residence in a small octagonal stone building in the dissenters' burial ground. Styles, by one of those accidents common in novels, but very occasional in real life, had become acquainted with Miss Smith. They had gone through those comparative states of feeling,—acquaintance, friendship, love; and, when I was introduced to him, he was just in want of a good fellow to help him into matrimony. I was just the boy; my expensive experience, my good-nature, my leisure,—in short, there was nothing wanting to fit me for this confidential character. Now, be it known that old Smith had very strong parliamentary predilections, and one of his sine qu nons was, that his son-in-law should be M.P. for somewhere,—Puddle-dock would do,—but an M.P. he must be. Politics were of no consequence; but he must have a decided opinion that the Bumbleby railway would be most beneficial, if carried through a swampy piece of ground which Smith had recently purchased. Styles was of the same opinion; but then he was only a member of the "Bull's-eye Bowmen," and Mr. Snuffmore's sixpenny whist club. I had made myself particularly uncomfortable one afternoon, in Styles' summer-house, with three glasses of brandy and water and four mild havannas, when old Smith rushed in to announce the gratifying intelligence that Mr. Topple, the member for our place, had fallen into the crater of Mount Vesuvius, and that nothing had been heard from him since, but a solitary interjection, in consequence of which there was a vacancy in the representation. The writ had been issued, and so had an address from Mr. Wiseman, a gentleman possessing every virtue under the sun, save and except a due sense of the advantages of Smith's swamp to the railway. This was conclusive. Smith made a speech, which, being for interest and not for fame, was short and emphatic.

"Tom, you must contest this election, or never darken my doors again."

"My dear, sir," said Tom, "nothing would give me greater pleasure; but——"

"I'll do all that. I'll form a committee instanter," replied Smith; "leave all to me. Capital hand at an address—pith, nothing but pith. Ever see my letter in support of the erection of a pound for stray cattle?—pithy and conclusive:—'Inhabitants of Bumbleby, twenty shillings make a pound.' The motion was carried."

"One moment," said Tom. "It will appear so presumptuous on my part, unless a deputation waited on me."

"Certainly,—better, by all means,—I'll form one directly," said Smith.

"In the mean time, issue a placard to prevent the electors making promises, and——"

"I will," said Smith. And so he did; for in an hour afterwards there was not a dead wall in Bumbleby but was papered from one end to the other.

"Other Wise," said Styles, as Smith waddled up the garden, "this won't do for me. I couldn't make a speech of ten consecutive lines, if the revenues of the Duchy of Cornwall were depending upon it."

"Pooh!" replied I, rolling my head about in that peculiar style which an over-indulgence in bibicals will induce.

"It's a fact," replied Tom. "Now, my dear fellow, you can serve me and your country at the same time. Smith would be equally gratified at your return for Bumbleby; your opinions are the same as my own; and your abilities require no panegyric from me."

Whether it was the suddenness of the probable glory, or the effect of the tobacco and brandy and water, I sat speechless. Silence gives consent, says an old adage, and so did the town of Bumbleby the next morning, for every quarter cried out "Other Wise for ever!" It was too late to retract; and accordingly I was nominated, seconded, and unanimously elected by a show of hands. A poll was demanded; and, after a short contest of two days, it was announced in very large letters, and still larger figures,

I was satisfied, and so was my party. During the preparation for this unfortunate contest I had allowed Styles to draw ad libitum upon my banker. His friendship knew no bounds; his liberality was as boundless; and so chagrined was he at the defeat I had experienced, that he left the next morning without an adieu. I must confess that I was rather disappointed at his sudden retreat, and considerably more so on finding that his exertions in my behalf had reduced my income from four hundred pounds to forty pounds per annum. For the first time I doubted his friendship. Subsequent inquiries convinced me he was a scoundrel, and I commenced an immediate pursuit of him, and an action at law.

Some three months afterwards, I was sauntering about the streets in the neighbourhood of St. James's Square, when I encountered Styles. His surprise was as great as mine, but not so enduring; for, advancing towards me with all the coolness of the 1st of December, he exclaimed,

"Other Wise, how are you? I dare say you thought my sudden departure odd; I did myself; but I couldn't help it. I'm sorry to hear how much your contest has distressed you. I was the cause. Give me your check for fifty pounds, and here's a bill for five hundred, due to-morrow."

Suiting the action to the word, he handed me an acceptance for that amount inclosed in a dirty piece of paper. All this was so rapidly said and done, that before I was aware of it I had given him a draft on Drummond, shaken hands with him, and was mechanically discussing a mutton-chop and a bottle of sherry, which I had unconsciously ordered in the delirium which succeeded Styles' unheard-of generosity.

I went the next day to Messrs. Podge and Co. in Lombard-street, with my promise-to-pay—Eldorado in my pocket. I entered the counting-house, presented my bill, and fully expected to have received either bank-notes or gold in exchange. I waited a few minutes, and was then ushered into a back-room, and politely requested to account for this money promissory document.

"From whom did you receive this bill?" said a gentleman with a powdered head and an immense watch-chain.

"From Mr. Styles."

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know exactly; but I hope there is nothing irregular."

"You can step in, Banks," said the powdered head; and a stout well-fed man, in a blue coat, with the City arms on the button, did step in, and very unceremoniously proceeded to inspect the contents of my various pockets. "Conclusive!" said the powdered head, as he minutely examined a small piece of crumpled paper which had occupied one of the pockets of my small-clothes.

I was handed into a hackney-coach, and then into the Mansion-house, where I was informed that I was to live rent-free for the next week in his Majesty's jail of Newgate. The bill was a forgery!

The day of trial approached. I walked into the dock with mens conscia recti depicted on my countenance. I knew I was innocent of any felonious intention or knowledge; and was certainly very much disappointed at being found guilty upon the silent evidence of the little piece of crumpled paper, which was covered with pen and ink experiments on the signature of John Allgold and Co. whose name occupied the centre of Styles' bill. The recorder (in a very impressive manner, I must allow, for his white handkerchief was waving about the whole time) passed sentence of death upon me, and I was ordered to be taken from thence, and on the Monday following to be hung by the neck till I was dead. A pleasant termination, truly!

I was led, stupified by the result of my trial, back to the prison. When I regained the use of my faculties, my awful situation became horridly apparent. There was I, an innocent and injured man, condemned to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. For endeavouring to gain possession of my own, I was about to become a spectacle for the fish-fags and costermongers of London,—to have my name handed down to posterity by that undying trumpeter of evil-doers, Mr. Catnach, of the Seven-dials, who alternately delights the public with "three yards long of every new song, and all for a penny," and "the last dying speech and confession" of those who, dreading to be bed-ridden, and possessing an unconquerable aversion to doctors' stuff and virtue, have danced upon nothing, and died with their shoes on. "How often," thought I, "have I seen a withered hag kneeling at the rails of an area, exciting the sympathies and curiosity of servants of all-work, and greasy melting cooks, by the recital of atrocities that the hand of man never executed. 'Here's a full, true, and 'tickler account of a horrid murder, which was performed in the New-cut, Lambeth, on the body of a baked-'tater manufacturer, who was savagely and inhumanly murdered by that ferocious and hard-hearted villain, Benjamin Burker;—here you have the account how, arter putting a poor man's plaister, composed of pitch and bird-lime, over the unhappy indivigual's mouf until the breath was out on his body, he shoved him into the oven, and lived seven days and nights on baked taters and the manyfacterers.' Thus might I be misrepresented. The thought was madness!"

The morning at length arrived for my execution; but, oh! the horrors of the night that preceded it! Young, and in the full enjoyment of life, the morrow was to bring me death! In a little week, the hand which I then gazed on, would be a banquet for the red worm of the grave. Even the mother who watched the cradle of my infancy would have turned loathingly away from the corrupted mass; the earth which covered me would be thought unhallowed, and my name would become symbolical with crime. But even this, was nothing to the contemplation of the scene I had still to enact. To be led forth "the observed of all observers," who would look on me with an eye, not of pity, but of morbid curiosity,—to hang quivering in the air,—and to feel, while consciousness remained, that each shuddering of struggling nature was imparting a savage delight to those who could be the willing witnesses of the sacrifice of a fellow-creature! My brain sickened with its agony, and I fell into a stupor which my jailor called sleep. I was pinioned, and led forth to die. Life had now no charm for me,—I was beyond the reach of hope, and death was a desired blessing. The hangman's hands were about my neck,—the blood curdled in my veins as I felt the deadly embrace of the cord. I longed for the signal of departure; but I was again disappointed. I was reprieved,—for I awoke, and found that the bill and all its frightful consequences were but the result of having eaten a hearty supper of pork-chops very much underdone! So I was once again a disappointed man, though, on this occasion, I must own, most agreeably so.