LOVE IN CHANCERY.
About the middle of the year 1821, Horatio, a young apothecary, of a certain city in the West, fell desperately in love with Drusilla, a wealthy damsel of that city; and the damsel returned his passion, though her father forbade her so to do. Then her father, in his anger, had her made a ward in Chancery, and the Lord Chancellor issued an injunction prohibiting Horatio and Drusilla from becoming man and wife. Fathers, and Lord Chancellors, have cruel hearts! and these youthful lovers—instigated, no doubt, by that "giant dwarf, Dan Cupid," and, moreover, not having the fear of the Fleet before their eyes—eloped from their native city, with the intention of uniting themselves in defiance of the solemn injunction above-mentioned.
Now it appears that they contrived to elude the pursuit that was made after them by the father of Miss Drusilla; and also by the officers of the court, who were anxious to serve the enamoured Horatio with a copy of the Lord Chancellor's injunction. In this predicament application was made to Bishop—"Indefatigable Bishop," as he is sometimes called—one of the principal Bow-street officers, and he soon discovered their retreat. He found them, by some means or other best known to himself, in Myrtle-place, or Myrtle-grove, Hoxton. Perhaps it was the name of the place that led him thither; for where could a pair of lovers take refuge more appropriately than in a myrtle-grove?—
And "alas! that an officer's cruel eye
Should e'er go thither
Such sweets to wither!"
—But so it was, he did go, and of course he spoiled every thing—indeed, it would seem that he had no sooner made his appearance at the front door of the house, than "love flew out at the window"—the lady's love at least.
It was just about dusk, in the evening, when Bishop, armed with full powers for the capture of the lady's person, proceeded in a hackney-coach to the Myrtle Grove above mentioned, and alighting at a short distance from the house in which he believed the lovers were concealed, he left his coach in waiting, and walked in silence towards the house. Not the slightest sound was heard from within, but he had no sooner lifted the knocker, than the door was opened by a young lady fully equipped for travelling—it was the fair fugitive, Drusilla herself! She was surrounded by trunks and band-boxes, and bundles; and, as it afterwards appeared, she was at that very moment waiting the return of her beloved Horatio, who was gone to call a coach to convey them to some other place of refuge.
"Your name, I believe Miss, is Drusilla ——, and you are lately arrived from —— ?" said Bishop, with his accustomed courtesy.
"O dear, no, Sir!" exclaimed the lady. "I am Miss Jenkinsop, the daughter of the mistress of this house."
Bishop remarked that he had no doubt she was telling a fib, and desired her to introduce him forthwith to her alleged mama. No; she could not do this, as she was just going out; but if he would walk into the parlour, her mama would come to him presently. Bishop was not to be had in this way; and so, taking the young lady by the hand, he led her into the parlour, and, having rang the bell, the mistress of the house shortly appeared, who disclaimed all relationship to the young lady, and declared she knew no more of her than that she was the "strange young lady" who came to her house with a "strange young gentleman" a day or two ago, and hired her apartments for a week.
The cruel officer now told Drusilla his business, and she wept—for at least a minute and a half; but she no longer denied that she was the identical Drusilla who ran away from —— with Horatio; and wiping away her tears, she put her hankerchief in her reticule, declared she was glad she was caught, and should be very happy to return to her friends, if she was but "sure the Lord Chancellor would do nothing to her."
Bishop told her he had no doubt she would be very kindly received, both by the Lord Chancellor and her father; and offering her his hand, she tripped lightly to the coach he had there in waiting for her. The luggage was then put into the coach, and it was just about to drive off, when another coach drove up, and out jumped Horatio. "Oh! Sir," exclaimed the landlady, who was still standing at the door—"Oh! Sir, they have taken away the lady!" "Who!—who has taken her?" demanded the astonished lover. "Why I have," replied Bishop, ordering the coachman to drive on;—crack went the whip, and away went the horses with the coach behind them:—
"But who can paint Horatio as he stood,
Speechless and fix'd in all the death of woe!"
—He did not stand many seconds, however, but ran after the coach like a greyhound, jumped up behind it, and peeping in at the window called mournfully upon Drusilla. "Drusilla, my angel! where are you going?" His angel sat snugly in the corner of the carriage, and made no reply; but Bishop, looking out at the opposite window, said, "Come, come, young chap, don't be rude; or I shall be under the necessity of taking you somewhere—get down from the coach instantly, or I'll take you into custody." Horatio took the hint and jumped down; but, like a true knight, he continued to follow, even on foot, panting and puffing, till the coach stopped in Bow-street; and then his Drusilla having been deposited in a place of safety, without seeing him—for he could not, with all his fervour, keep up with the coach—he attempted a parley with Bishop, about his share of the luggage, which had been carried off with the lady. Bishop told him if he would call at the Public Office in Bow-street next morning, he should have "what belonged to him;" and with this promise he departed apparently pretty comfortable. Bishop is a shrewd sort of a subject—his object, in getting Horatio to call at the office, was to give the Chancery Solicitors an opportunity of serving him with a copy of the injunction; and he completely succeeded, for Horatio was punctual in calling for "his share of the luggage." He was shown into a private room; where, neither the copy of the injunction nor "his share of the luggage" being ready, he amused himself with a volume of "Coke upon Lyttleton"—instead of pacing the room with his arms folded across his breast to keep his heart down. Indeed it was very evident that he considered himself pretty comfortable under the circumstances. By-the-bye, notwithstanding the desperate adventure he had undertaken, he seemed of a very cool, phlegmatic temperament; and how Drusilla could have fallen so deeply in love with him we cannot imagine; for, though he was nearly six feet high, and had a pleasing obliquity of vision, his nose was embossed with very angry-looking pustules, and his person was spare and uncouth.—But—de gustibus non est disputandum.
A length, after he had pored over "Coke upon Lyttleton," and "the Statutes at Large," for about an hour and a half, the Chancery Solicitor arrived and served him with a copy of the injunction; and, had it been a tavern bill of fare, he could not have taken it more comfortably. He opened it; turned it about in different directions; looked at it both on the outside and the inside, played leisurely with the red tape that bound it, and then—thrust it into his coat pocket.
"I have sent for your proportion of the luggage, Sir, and it will be here directly," said Bishop. Horatio gave a nod, as much as to say "thank ye," and then he looked out at the weather. In a minute or two his share of the "luggage" arrived. It consisted of a little band-box, and some unwashed shirts and cravats tied up in an old silk handkerchief. Horatio opened the hand-box. There was a well-worn hat in it, two pairs of cotton stockings, and three pairs of gloves—that, somehow or other, had lost the ends of the fingers; and there was, moreover, a very nice pair of yellow morocco slippers, nearly new. Horatio turned over these things some time, seemingly in a sort of brown study; and at last, he remarked that there was a piece of Irish cloth which he did not see amongst them. Bishop said he understood the Irish cloth belonged to the lady. "No, Sir," said Horatio, "it belongs to me. It was to make me some shirts. But it is of no great consequence—let her keep it!" As he said this, he sighed a little; and Bishop—willing to console him for the loss of his love as much as possible—sent for the piece of Irish cloth and delivered it to him. Horatio tied it up in his bundle; put the bundle under his arm; and, balancing the band-box on the palm of his hand, he stalked forth into the street, with the Lord Chancellor's injunction sticking out of his hinder pocket like the handle of a stewpan. Unfortunately for the picturesque, however, as he was crossing the street, the wind, which was then rather high, blew the band-box from his hand. Horatio attempted to catch it before it fell to the ground; but, instead of doing so he struck it—up it went in the air, off flew the lid, and the old hat, the stockings, the fingerless gloves, and the yellow morocco slippers, were scattered on the muddy pavement. Horatio—the luckless Horatio—gathered them up as quickly as the wind, and the carts, and the coaches would permit; but, whilst he was busied in getting them together, the injunction dropped from his pocket. At last he managed to cram them, injunction and all, into the band-box; and, calling a coach, he set off for the White Horse Cellar, with the intention, no doubt, of returning to the culling of simples at home—for he was manifestly a young man who, like his namesake in the play, could take Fortune's buffets as thankfully as her rewards.
The lady, in the course of the day, was delivered to her friends in town; and thus ended the loves of Horatio and Drusilla.