The Choice Humorous Works, Ludicrous Adventures, Bons Mots, Puns, and Hoaxes of Theodore Hook

by Theodore Edward Hook

At the ball, my eldest girl danced with the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and found him very chatty, though a bit of a "swell;" Maria danced with the Lord Privy Seal; and my youngest with a very handsome man, who wore a riband and star, but who he was, we none of us could ever find out; no matter—never did I see such a day, although it was but the first of three hundred and sixty-five splendid visions.

It would be tedious to expatiate in detail upon all the pleasures of this happy year, thus auspiciously begun. Each month brought its fresh pleasures; each week its new amusements; each day its festival. Public meetings, under the sanction of the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor; concerts and balls, under the patronage of the Lady Mayoress. Then came Easter, and its dinner—Blue-coat boys and buns; then to St. Paul's one Sunday, and to some other church another Sunday. And then came summer; and then there was swan-hopping up the river, and white-baiting down the river; Crown and Sceptre below, navigation barge above; music, flags, streamers, guns, and company. Turtle every day in the week; peas a pound per pint, and grapes a guinea a pound; not to speak of dabbling in rose-water, served in gold, nor the loving cup, nor the esquires of my household, all in full dress at my elbow.

The days, which before had seemed weeks, were now turned to minutes; scarcely had I swallowed my breakfast, when I was in the justice room; and before I had mittimused half a dozen paupers for begging about the streets, luncheon was ready; this hardly over, in comes a despatch or a deputation; and so on till dinner, which was barely ended before supper was announced. We all became delighted with the Mansion House. My girls grew graceful by the new confidence their high station gave them; Maria refused a good offer because her lover had an ugly name; and my dearest Sarah was absolutely persecuted by Sir Patrick O'Donahoo, who had what is called the run of the house, and who scarcely ever dined out of it during my mayoralty, whether I was at home or not. What did it matter? There was plenty to eat and drink; the money must be spent, and the victuals cooked; and so as we made ourselves happy, it was of no great consequence having one or two more or less at table. We got used to the place—the establishment had got used to us; we became, in fact, easy in our dignity, and happy in our state, when, lo and behold, the ninth of another November came—the anniversary of my exaltation—the conclusion of my reign.

Again did we go to Guildhall; again were we toasted and addressed; again we were handed in and led out; the girls again flirted with Cabinet ministers, and danced with ambassadors; and at two o'clock in the morning drove home from the scene of gaiety to our old residence in Budge Row, Walbrook. Never in this world did pickled herrings and turpentine smell so powerfully as when we entered the house upon that occasion; and although my wife and the young ones stuck to the drinkables at Guildhall as long as was decent, in order to keep up their spirits, their natural feelings would have way, and a sort of shuddering disgust seemed to fill all their minds on their return home. The passage looked so narrow, the drawing-room looked so small, the staircase was so dark, and the ceilings were so low. However, being tired, we all slept well—at least, I did; for I was in no humour to talk; and the only topic I could think upon, before I dropped off, was a calculation of the amount of expenses which I had incurred during the just expired year of my magnificence.

In the morning we assembled at breakfast; a note which had arrived by the twopenny post lay on the table; it was addressed "Mrs. Scropps, Budge Row." The girls, one after another, took it up, read the undignified superscription, and laid it down again. My old and excellent friend Bucklesbury called to inquire after us. What were his first words?—they were the first I had heard from a stranger since my change;—"Well, Scropps, how are you, old boy? Done up, eh?"

"Scropps—old boy"—no deference, no respect, no "My lord, I hope your lordship passed a comfortable night; and how is her ladyship, and your lordship's amiable daughters?" not a bit of it—"How's Mrs. S. and the gals?" There was nothing in this; it was quite natural—all as it had been—all as it must be—all as it should be; but how very unlike what it was only one day before! The very servants themselves, who, when amidst the strapping, state-fed, lace-loaded lackeys of the Mansion House (transferred, with the chairs and tables, from one lord mayor to another), dared not speak, nor look, nor say their lives were their own, strutted about, and banged the doors, and talked of their "missis," as if she had been an apple-woman.

So much for domestic matters. I went out—I was shoved about in Cheapside, in the most remorseless manner, by the money-hunting crowd. My right eye had the narrowest possible escape of being poked out by the tray of a brawny butcher-boy, who, when I civilly remonstrated, turned round and said, "Vy, I say, who are you, I vonder, as is so partiklar about your hye-sight?" I felt an involuntary shudder. "Who am I?—to-day," thought I, "I am John Ebenezer Scropps; two days ago I was Lord Mayor of London;" and so the rencontre ended, evidently to the advantage of the bristly brute. It was, however, too much for me. I admit the weakness; but the effect of contrast was too powerful—the change was too sudden—and I determined to go to Brighton for a few weeks to refresh myself and be weaned from my dignity.

We went—we drove to the Royal Hotel; in the hall stood one of his Majesty's ministers, one of my former guests, speaking to his lady and daughter: my girls passed close to him,—he had handed one of them to dinner the year before, but he appeared entirely to have forgotten her. By-and-by, when we were going out in a fly to take the air, one of the waiters desired the fly-man to pull off, because Sir Something Somebody's carriage could not come up,—it was clear that the name of Scropps had lost its influence.

We secluded ourselves in a private house, where we did nothing but sigh and look at the sea. We had been totally spoiled for our proper sphere, and could not get into a better; the indifference of our inferiors mortified us, and the familiarity of our equals disgusted us,—our potentiality was gone, and we were so much degraded that a puppy of a fellow had the impertinence to ask Jenny if she was going to one of the Old Ship balls. "Of course," said the coxcomb, "I don't mean the 'Almacks,' for they are uncommonly select."

In short, do what we would, go where we might, we were outraged and annoyed, or, at least, thought ourselves so; and beyond all bitterness was the reflection that the days of our dignity and delight never might return. There were at Brighton no less than three men who called me Jack, and that, out of flies or in libraries, and one of these chose occasionally, by way of making himself particularly agreeable, to address me by the familiar appellation of Jacky. At length, and that only three weeks after my fall, an over-grown tallow-chandler met us on the Steyne, and stopped our party to observe, "as how he thought he owed me for two barrels of coal-tar, for doing over his pig-styes." This settled it,—we departed from Brighton, and made a tour of the coast; but we never rallied, and business, which must be minded, drove us before Christmas to Budge Row, where we are again settled down.