by Miss Pardoe [Julia Pardoe].
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.2 #5 (1847).
Towards the close of the last century, an elderly individual who had figured upon the Stock Exchange for upwards of thirty years, where he had been sufficiently successful to realize a comfortable little independence, resolved to retire from public life, and to enjoy, in dignified retirement, the fruits of his previous industry.
Mr. Launcelot Barham was a tall, thin, erect personage, of some sixty-five years of age. He wore a snuff-coloured coat, with plated buttons as large as half-crowns; a canary-coloured waistcoat, edged with silver twist; a very stiff and stainless white neckcloth; a cocked-hat, and a clouded cane, with a gold head, on which his family crest was conspicuously engraved. Be it said, also, par parenthèse, that Mr. Launcelot Barham was extremely proud of his connexions; his grandfather had been the younger brother of a baronet, and his own mother was sister to a sheriff of the city of London; and there was a conscious importance in the mien and manner of the ex-stockbroker, which convinced all his acquaintance that he never suffered himself to forget the exact amount of dignity which, as the last of his race, had centered in himself.
After this description of the man, it need scarcely be added that he was a bachelor; he had never had either time or inclination to play the Strephon; and when, occasionally, a qualm of regret stole over him, as he remembered that in his person the blood of the Coggleton Barhams would become extinct, he dismissed the unpleasant feeling with a shrug; and consoled himself with the reflexion that, as his successors could not do anything for him, so there was no necessity for him to sacrifice his personal comfort and independence to a probable generation, who would never be led to believe in the extent of their obligation. His establishment consisted of a housekeeper, as old, as stiff, and, if possible, as dignified as himself; and a boy, who was her grand-nephew, and the fourth of the family who had, in turn, been fortunate enough to act as miniature valet to Mr. Launcelot Barham, until he outgrew that gentleman's particular standard; who being remarkably proud of his own height, of which, owing to his scrupulously erect carriage, even time had failed to deprive him of an inch, never kept about his person any male domestic who reached above his own shoulder; and thus, as boys will grow in spite of all the prayers of their prudent relatives, who would rather see them dwarfed in stature than in circumstances, so three of the Master Snaggs had successively lost their places by increasing their inches; and Bobby, the last of the family, a little stunted lad, who bid fair to keep all his life within the prescribed bounds, had in his turn succeeded to the vacant clothes-brushes, at the eventful epoch of Mr. Launcelot Barham's secession from the anxieties and bustle of his profession.
His residence he had obtained through the medium of a public journal, wherein an advertisement set forth that "a gentleman of respectability could be accommodated with convenient and airy apartments in a pleasant situation within five minutes' walk of the Bank." He was at the time located at Hampstead; but as he suffered great annoyance from the dust of the road on his daily progress into town—for then, be it remembered, that water-carts were not—he determined to reside absolutely in London, where he could reach the Exchange without being under the necessity, on his arrival, of dusting his crayat and gaiters, and then putting the sullied handkerchief into his coat pocket. The "convenient and airy apartments" consisted of a first floor over the shop of a portly widow, who kept a haberdasher's shop in Cheapside; and who, gradually growing old with her lodger, had been for so many years accustomed to take her tea with Mrs. Snaggs, and to supply her master with white neckcloths and doeskin gloves, that she was almost as much surprised, when the announcement of his quitting the Stock Exchange and her apartments was made to her, as though the Monument had walked up to her counter, and asked for six yards of black galloon to re-tie the pigtail of the mounted monarch at Charing Cross.
The fiat had gone forth, however, and without more delay Mr. Launcelot Barham proceeded to search for a fitting place of abode, The animation and companionship of the sounds and sights of Cheapside had lost their attraction; and as he would no longer be compelled to encounter either dust or mud when he should see it fitting to remain under his own roof, he determined finally to settle himself in some quiet spot, where he might see leaves and flowers, and be enabled to "babble of green fields" with precision and propriety, like one who understood his subject. Mrs. Snaggs, when consulted on the matter, had given it as her decided and deliberate opinion that the arrangement was a most judicious one, and the rest, of course, was easy.
Then commenced excursions in every direction round the metropolis, wherever public notice or private information led the stately old bachelor to believe, for the moment, that he had met with the very thing that would suit him; and every "snug box" on sale at Hampstead, Highgate, Notting-hill, Brixton, Streatham, and every other suburban village, was visited and inspected, in which a retired citizen may take his wine at an open window overlooking his own china-asters and hollyoaks, his own brass-plated gate and green paling, without losing altogether an occasional sniff of the peculiar atmosphere to which he has been for so many years accustomed.
All was in vain, however: go where he might, see what he would, there was always a drawback, either to the house itself, or to its situation. The water was bad, or the roofs were low, or the spot was damp, or the stairs were steep, or the kitchen was dark—or, in short, it had some defect of some description, and consequently, as the purchase of Mr. Launcelot Barham was to be perfection, they were all naturally out of the question.
Months wore on—months of perpetual worry and exertion, and still the ex-stockbroker, his housekeeper, and his boy Bobby, were domiciliated on the first floor of No. —, Cheapside, simply and solely because Mr. Launcelot Barham had failed to meet with an eligible purchase—when, on one occasion, during a morning saunter through the streets, he was overtaken by a sharp summer shower, which in two minutes made the pavement look like a succession of dingy mirrors, and drove every one under shelter, who was so fortunate as to be able to secure it. It is bad enough for lawyers' clerks, linen-drapers apprentices, ginger-beer venders, and maids-of-all-work, to be drench by one of these sudden down-pourings of an angry vapour; but for Mr. Launcelot Barham, in cocked hat, white cravat, and drab-coloured gaiters, to be overtaken during an airing of pure pleasure, totally unconnected with business of any description, such a catastrophe was almost too much for human endurance. He looked right and left for some spot of refuge, and ere long found it, as if by a singularly happy chance, in the Auction Mart, where a sale was at the moment going forward, of estates and houses in and about the metropolis.
For a time Mr. Launcelot Barham remained perfectly uninterested by the proceedings of the Auctioneer, who disposed at different intervals of eligible dwelling-houses in Shoreditch, and pleasant retreats at Mile-end; and more than once he took pains to assure himself whether the rain still continued, being anxious to resume his homeward stroll, when suddenly his ear was attracted by the strain of elevated eloquence in which the bland and energetic functionary who occupied the commercial pulpit, was setting forth the advantages of "the next lot which he should have the honour to submit to public competition."
"I am instructed, gentlemen," said Mr. --, "to dispose, without reserve, of an elegant and substantially-built stone residence, on the banks of the Thames, with right of fishing in the river, right of common on Runnymeade, and sundry other immunities, which will, after the sale has been effected, be explained to the purchaser. The river runs immediately behind the house, which has a small and well-arranged plot of ground, laid out in pleasure-garden, upon two of its sides. It is in so perfect a state of repair, that it will require no outlay of any description for the next ten years. The property is freehold, and the title unquestionable, and the premises, which are well suited to a small family, or a bachelor devoted to the pleasures of the angle, will be found highly convenient, being situate immediately contiguous to the pretty and interesting village of Staines, and within seven miles of the royal residence of Windsor Castle."
"Will you be answerable, Mr. --?" asked Mr. Launcelot Barham, with much sententiousness, "for the perfect accuracy of this description?"
"I am happy to be enabled so to do, sir," was the reply. "I have not myself visited the property, but from the great respectability of the party to whom it belongs, I can have no hesitation in selling it according to my instructions. The actual size of the house I am not competent to specify, nor the extent of the garden in which it partially stands; but I can only repeat my instructions, that it is an elegant and substantially-built residence, and that certain privileges devolve upon its possessor—in complete repair, and with an excellent title. It is to be sold without reserve, gentlemen; and now I have only to request the favour of a bidding.—Thank you, sir," with a courteous bend to a well-known house-agent, who stood in the centre of the room—"anything will do for a beginning. One hundred and fifty pounds are bid for an elegant and substantially-built residence on the banks of the Thames, with right of fishing and common, freehold garden, and other privileges. Two hundred—two hundred pounds are bid, gentlemen."
"Two hundred and fifty," nodded Mr. Launcelot Barham.
"Two hundred and fifty!" declaimed the official echo.
"Three hundred," growled a little man, with a wide-brimmed hat and green spectacles.
"Three hundred. Consider the situation of the property, gentlemen. Staines is proverbially healthy; Windsor within an easy walk; the fishing at your very door, without let or hindrance."
"Three hundred and fifty," nodded Mr. Launcelot Barham, who had caught the eye of the auctioneer, and on whom the "right of river" had produced a great effect.
"Three hundred and fifty. The property is freehold, with a right of common on Runnymeade; fine associations, gentlemen—King John, and Magna Charta, and the British Constitution. An elegant stone-built residence.—Shall I say four hundred for you, sir?"
The man in the green spectacles grunted an assent.
"Four hundred and fifty!" shouted a young lounger near the door, who had evidently been driven in by the rain, and did not even know for what he was bidding.
"Four hundred and fifty—thank you, sir. No finer fishing on the river—noble sport with the gudgeons--"
"Five hundred," winked Mr. Launcelot Barham, upon whom the attentive auctioneer scrupulously kept an eye.
"Gudgeons are not flat fish, I believe, Mr. —?" asked the young fashionable, with affected simplicity.
"They are not, sir," said the functionary. "I have caught a good many in my time, and they afford excellent sport. Five hundred—this elegant and substantially-built stone residence, with freehold garden, and right of river and common, going for --"
"Five hundred and fifty," followed up a corpulent old gentleman, with a large cotton umbrella, who was taking snuff out of his waistcoat pocket by handsfull—"five hundred and fifty, if the place is in good repair."
"Five hundred and fifty—I take the bidding. My instructions are explicit, that both the house and the garden fences are in the best state—fit for occupancy at a day's notice. Thank you, sir. Five hundred and fifty. Really, gentlemen, the property is going for a song."
Mr. Launcelot Barham began to gnaw the crest-laden head of his cane.
"Six hundred!" shouted the fun-loving lounger.
"Seven hundred," said our bachelor, resolutely, who, long unaccustomed to opposition, had begun to lose his temper.
"Seven hundred. Thank you, sir—a noble bidding! Seven hundred pounds are offered for an elegant and substantially-built freehold stone residence on the banks of the Thames, with fenced-in garden, and valuable local privileges. Going for seven hundred pounds. Really, gentlemen, when you reflect upon the nature of the property which I have now the honour to submit to your notice—its interesting and important situation near a great high road, and on the borders of a lordly river—its fenced-in garden—its complete repair—and the fact that the tenement is entirely built of stone—you must at once admit that seven hundred pounds are no bidding—that is, no ultimate bidding for such a possession."
The earnest functionary looked round, with his ivory hammer suspended between his fore-finger and thumb, into the faces of all his previous bidders, but they gave him no encouragement. The fat gentleman was taking a huge pinch of snuff; the gruff man was wiping his green spectacles; the lounger was in the act of leaving the room; while the house-agent, as he was well aware, had only "started the lot;" and he therefore suffered the hammer to fall.
"Going!—really, upon my honour, I almost feel remorseful—"
Mr. Launcelot Barham felt, on his part, as though he could have annihilated him for a specimen of verbiage which involved the torture of so much unnecessary suspense.
Again Mr. — looked right and left, with the same result; and then he uttered a little affected laugh of wondering astonishment. "Well, gentlemen! it must be as you think proper. Going—once—twice—this freehold house, stone-built, and fenced-in garden, local privileges, and undeniable situation, for seven hundred pounds. May I not say seven hundred and fifty for you, sir?"
"No, I thank you," growled the fat gentleman through his snuff. "I have gone as far as I think proper for 'a pig in a poke.' I'll have no more to do with it."
"In that case, gentlemen," said the auctioneer, with a sigh of regret, so deep that it was almost painful—"I have no alternative, and must do my duty. This capital, stone-built, freehold residence, going for seven hundred pounds. Going, positively and without reserve, for seven hundred pounds. Going, once—going, twice—" (a long and scrutinizing pause!)—"gone!! I congratulate you, sir," was the climax, as he bowed to the purchaser. "What name shall I have the honour to register?"
"Mr. Launcelot Barham," replied the bachelor, approaching the rostrum. "There is my card; send some one to my house to-morrow, at twelve, and I will be ready to pay down the purchase-money. Good day, sir." And away walked the cocked hat and the gold-headed cane.
Mr. Launcelot Barham was once more in the street. The rain had ceased, and the sun was shining blithely above his head. Everything looked bright and cheerful; his anxieties were at an end. The object of his pursuit was attained; he was at length the happy possessor of a freehold—the owner of a stone-built residence. He had a stake in the country! His step became unconsciously more firm than ever, and his body more erect; and after giving one brief thought to the extreme delight with which good Mrs. Snaggs would welcome the tidings which he should shortly bear to her, he determined to proceed forthwith to Furnival's Inn, in whose learned recesses dwelt the companion of his boyhood, and the friend of his riper years, Mr. Henry Hotham, an attorney in good practice, whom he had been in the constant habit of consulting in every little matter of doubt or difficulty throughout his professional career.
"Well, Harry, my boy!" he exclaimed, as he entered the presence of his learned friend; "here you are, up to your neck, as usual, in papers and parchments, making out titles for pigsties, and spoiling parchment, while I have contrived, without a single stroke of the pen, to become proprietor of a freehold estate, and the master of a stone-built residence on the banks of the Thames--"
"Ha, indeed!" said Mr. Hotham, somewhat startled by the unusual animation of his visitor; "a bequest, I suppose?"
"Fiddle, faddle! Who have I to bequeath me anything? No, Harry, my boy, a purchase."
"A purchase!—not a definitive one, I hope, unless it be under very peculiar circumstances. However, you are the best judge, Barham, and you have been so cautious ever since you determined on buying a place, that I have no right to suspect you of rashness now. So let me hear all about it—where it is, and so forth."
"The locality is beyond all praise: close to Staines, and on the very bank of the river."
"Ha, indeed! pretty enough. Some years ago, you may remember that the bridge at Staines was one of the most elegant things in the neighbourhood of London; charming design! graceful, and all that—even the toll-house was considered ornamental, it was so well suited to its purpose. But the bridge turned out unsafe, and so was pulled down, and an iron one substituted, of a single arch, which also failed—strange fatality, to be sure; so, then, they built a third, a little higher up, or a little lower down—I'm sure I forget which—and were obliged to turn the road, which was a considerable expense. However, the present bridge answers; but in talking of what was, I am forgetting what is—so now, to your purchase."
"It consists," said the ex-stockbroker, somewhat consequentially, "of an elegant and substantially-built stone residence on the banks of the Thames—right of fishing, Harry, my boy! You shall come down, gudgeon-catching, whenever you can snatch a day from your parchments. The house partially surrounded by a fenced garden—right of common on Runnymeade—lawyer's land, ay, Harry,—can turn out your old cob there occasionally—the very thing I've been looking for ever since I left off business."
"And of what does the house consist?"
"Don't know yet—I'm just going off to see; but must be monstrous comfortable, you may take my word for it, for you know how particular I am—took care to ascertain that it was in thorough repair, warranted not to require a workman in it for ten years, barring accidents; river running past the back-door—no one to interfere—thought of you, Harry, my boy! Never mind Johnson—he was no angler, or he wouldn't have talked of a worm at one end and a fool at the other—didn't understand the sort of thing, or he'd have thought differently. Haven't I been lucky?"
"Why, indeed, I don't see my way yet, my good friend. Did I understand you to say that you were just going off to look at the place? Do you mean me to understand that you have purchased a place without knowing what it is?"
"Certainly not: I have been telling you for the last half hour what it is—an elegant and substantially-built—"
"Yes, yes, I have heard all that—but have you seen it?"
"Seen it! of course not—how could I? I only bought it a couple of hours ago, and heard of it quite by chance."
Mr. Henry Hotham looked up with an expression of countenance that was anything but encouraging, but he only uttered the question—" And may I ask where you heard of it?"
"At the Auction Mart. I went in accidentally for shelter during a shower, and this estate was put up. Nothing could be more lucky—the very thing I wanted."
"Suppose you were to order a chaise, and we were to run down and look at the property," said the lawyer, drily.
"The very thing I should like, and we can take a chop at Staines, after we have walked over the place. By the bye, we may as well make an evening of it; so, just bring your fishing-rod with you."
"Not to-day," responded Mr. Henry Hotham; "my tackle is out of order, and it would detain us too long; besides," he added, with an attempt at facetiousness, "on this occasion we have other fish to fry. So, Jeremy!"—and as he called, a keen-looking, ferret-eyed lad entered the office. "Run as fast as you can to the --, and order out a chaise and pair for Mr. Launcelot Barham, to come round immediately, and then go and inform Mrs. Snaggs that her master will dine from home to-day."—And having issued these orders, the worthy lawyer began carefully putting away sundry of the documents which were strewn over the table before him, and locking them away in his desk, while Mr. Launcelot Barham continued to expatiate on the peculiar excellences of the property of which he had become the fortunate possessor; until, at length, the arrival of the chaise broke up the tête-à-tête; and the friends were soon on their way to the land of promise. The drive was delightful. Mr. Launcelot Barham was in the highest spirits; he felt all the conscious responsibility and importance of a free-holder, and was half angry at the imperturbable gravity of his legal companion, who sat gnawing the finger of his right-hand glove, and ever and anon, as they neared Staines, looking anxiously right and left for the fishing villa. The auctioneer had stated, among its other admirable features, that it presented a very pleasing object from the bridge, and consequently the eager bachelor had instructed the post-boy to pull up midway of that interesting edifice, in order that he might then and thence feast his eyes with a first view of the house. He was obeyed; but the two friends looked in vain for a considerable time, until the lawyer bethought him of the post-boy, whose local information must at once set them right.
"Oh, ay, sir," said the knight of the whip and spur; "I knowed as it were to be sold, and a precious go it is for the gen'Iman as has bought it. My stars, but they're deep 'uns! There's the property, sir." And as the four eyes within the vehicle followed the direction of his outstretched arm, each fell back aghast.
Mr. Launcelot Barham had purchased the abandoned Toll-house at Staines Bridge!