The treaty formed between Mistress Tattle and Mr. Pye Hilary is in the next act being acted upon. We behold Captain Tarradiddle, as one of the high contracting parties’ ambassador, taking lodgings in a house exactly opposite to that in which Miss Mayley resides. Of course nothing so natural as that the Captain should indulge his friend with a visit for a few days, or, if possible, for a few weeks. It is also natural that the host, under the circumstances, should wish to know something of the birth, parentage, and education of his guest, of which, though an old acquaintance; he is, as yet, entirely ignorant. Now, if it be possible to affront a real sponge (but there is nothing more difficult), such inquiries are likely to produce that happy consummation. Tarradiddle, however, gets over the difficulty with the tact peculiar to his class, and is fortunately interrupted by the announcement that Tattle is in the parlour, duly keeping her agreement, by bringing her mistress’s favourite canary, which, having flown away quite by accident, under her guidance, has chosen to perch in Hilary’s new lodging, on purpose to give him the opportunity of returning it, and of obtaining an interview with Miss Mayley. The expedient succeeds in the next scene; the lover bows and stammers—as lovers do at first interviews—the lady is polite but dignified, and Tarradiddle, who has been angling for an invitation, has his hopes entirely put to flight by the entrance of the lady’s guardian, Mr. Warner, who very promptly cuts matters short by ringing the bell and saying “Good evening,” in that tone of voice which always intimates a desire for a good riddance. This hint is too broad ever to be mistaken; so the sponge and his victim back out.
Mr. Warner is a merchant, and all merchants in plays are the “noblest characters the world can boast,” and very rich. Thus it has happened that Warner has, through a money-agent, one Grub, been enabled to lend, at various times, large sums of money, to Lady Norwold—her ladyship being one of those who, dreading “what will the world say?” is by no means an economist, and prefers “ruin to retrenchment.” As security for these loans, the lady deposits her jewels, suite by suite, till the great object of all Warner’s advances gets into his possession—namely, a bracelet, which is a revered relic of the Norwold family. So far Warner, in spite of a troublesome ward, and his late visitors, is happy; but he soon receives a letter, which puts his happiness to flight. His daughter, who has been on a visit in Paris, became, he now learns, united some months before, to Charles Norwold, and a governess in his father’s family. By further inquiries, he learns that the son is discarded, and is, with his wife, consigned to beggary, for fear of—“what will the world say?”
The fourth act exhibits one of the scenes of human life hitherto veiled from the eyes of the most prying—a genuine specimen of the sponge species—at home! Actually living under a roof that he calls his own; in company with a wife who is certainly nobody else’s. She is ironing—Tarradiddle is smoking, and, like all smokers, philosophising. Here we learn the Honourable Charles Norwold and his wife have taken lodgings; hither they are pursued by Hilary, who has managed to ingratiate himself with Warner, and undertaken to trace the merchant’s lost daughter; here, to Pye’s astonishment, he finds his friend and sponge. Some banter ensues, not always agreeable to the Captain, but all ends very pleasantly by the entrance of Warner, who discovers his daughter, and becomes a father-in-law with a good grace.
The denouement is soon told:—Warner, having received his daughter and her husband, gives a party at which Lady, and afterwards Lord Norwold, are present. Here Warner’s anxiety to obtain the bracelet is explained. He reminds his lordship that he once accused his elder brother of stealing that very bauble; and the consequence was, that the accused disappeared, and was never after heard of. Warner avows himself to be that brother, but declines disturbing the rights or property of his lordship, if he will again receive his son. This is, of course, done. Hilary jokes himself into Miss Mayley’s good graces, and Tarradiddle, in all the glories of a brown coat, and an outrageously fine waistcoat, enters to make the scene complete, and to help to speak the tag, in which all the characters have a hand; Mrs. Glover ending by making a propitiatory appeal to the audience in favour of the author, who ought to be very grateful to her for the captivating tones in which she asked for an affirmative answer to the question—
“What will the world say?”
Circumstances prevent us from giving any opinion whatever, except upon the scenery, the appointments, and the acting. The first is beautiful—the second appropriate and splendid—the last natural, pointed, and in good taste.
SIBTHORPIANA.
A clergyman was explaining to the gallant officer the meaning of the phrase “born again;” but it was quite unintelligible to Sib., who remarked that he knew no one who could bear him even once.
“Do you read the notice to correspondents in PUNCH?” quoth Sib.—“I do,” replied Hardinge, “and I wonder people should send them such trash.”—“Pooh!” retorted the punster—“Pooh! you know that wherever PUNCH is to be found, there are always plenty of spoons after it.”