[MAGA. Oct. 1840.]
In a town which we will call Middletown, because it was of the middle size, dwelt a worthy shopkeeper bearing the odd name of Jeremiah Wag. By dealing in all sorts of commodities, and steady attention to his business, he had managed to keep up his respectability, and doubtless would have considerably increased his store, but for the gradual increase of his family. For several years after his marriage a new little Wag was ushered annually into the world; and though there had latterly been somewhat less of regularity, as many as ten small heads might be counted every evening in his back parlour. Jerry, the eldest boy, was, however, almost fourteen years of age, and therefore began “to make himself useful,” by carrying out small parcels and assisting behind the counter. All the rest were, to use their parent’s phrase, “dead stock,” and “were eating their heads off;” for, sooth to say, they were a jolly little set, and blessed with most excellent appetites. Such was the state of family matters at the time when our narrative commences.
Now, on the opposite side of the street, exactly facing the modest board on which Jeremiah’s name was painted, with the usual announcement of certain commodities in which he dealt, was another board of a very different description. On it were emblazoned the arms of his Majesty, with the supporters, a lion and a unicorn, as the country folks said, “a-fighting for the crown.”
The establishment indicated by this display, was upheld by a very different class of customers to that which patronised the shop. Two or three times in each day some private carriage or post-chaise would stop to change horses at the King’s Arms, and occasionally “a family” took up their quarters there for the night; but the latter was a piece of good-luck not often to be expected, as there were no lions to be seen in Middletown save the red rampant guardian on the sign-board.
It was haymaking time, and business was very “slack” with the worthy Jeremiah; but he said that he didn’t care much about it, as the country folks were earning money, part of which he trusted would find its way into his till in due course. So, after rummaging about among his stock to see if he was “out of anything,” he took his stand at the door, just to breathe a mouthful of fresh air. Titus Twist, the landlord, made his appearance at the same moment, in his own gateway, apparently with the same salubrious intent, and immediately beckoned to his neighbour just to step across.
“Well, how are you, Master Wag?” said he, when they met. “Did you observe that green chariot that stands down in the yard there, and came in more than an hour ago?” Jeremiah answered in the negative. “Well,” continued mine host, “it belongs to one of the oddest, rummest, little old gentlemen I ever clapped my eyes on. He’s been asking me all sorts of questions, and seems mightily tickled with your name above all things. I think he’s cracked. Howsomever, he’s ordered dinner; but hush! here he comes.”
The little gentleman in question seemed between sixty and seventy; but, excepting a certain sallowness of complexion, carried his years well, his motions being lively, and wearing a good-humoured smile, as though habitual, on his countenance. His dress was plain, but good, and altogether becoming his apparent rank.
“I shall be back in a quarter of an hour,” said he to the landlord; “I’m only going over the way to the shop to buy something;” and away he went, and, of course, was followed by Jeremiah, who, immediately on entering his own house, skipped nimbly behind the counter to wait upon his new customer.
After trying on some gloves, and purchasing two pair, the little strange gentleman looked round the shop, as though examining its contents to find something he wanted.