So, to please the honest woman, I looked at her "fine country," and beheld on my side the road (for we were sitting at cross corners) a stunted hedge-row, inclosing a field or two of stubble; and on hers, a sear, dismal heath, whereupon were marshalled, in irregular array, a few miserable, brown furze bushes; amongst which, a meagre, shaggy ass, more miserable still, with his hind legs logged and chained, was endeavouring to pick up a scanty subsistence. What the road of the other day could have been, it surpassed even my capacity, with this specimen of "the bootiful" before me, to surmise; but my companion was evidently one of those enviable individuals, whose ignorance is indeed their happiness, or whose imagination supplies the deficiencies of bare reality.
Shortly afterwards we took up another passenger—a "lady" also—whose figure was youthful, and whose face, perhaps, was not otherwise; but as she was weeping bitterly, her features were concealed by a white cambric mouchoir from my curious gaze. Poor creature! Had she parted from a lover?—a parent?—a child? Was she a reduced lady, quitting, for the first time and the last, her paternal home, to seek, by the exertion of her talents, or the labour of her hands, a precarious subsistence in the cold, wide world? Had she hurried from the bed of death? or, did she merely indulge in the soft sentimental sorrow, induced by Colburn's, or Longman's, or Newman's last novel? Alas! the fair mourner informed us not. I felt delicate on the point of intruding upon private sorrows, and so, I presume, did my loquacious friend for she was actually silent;—albeit, I perceived that the good woman was embarrassed as to the line of conduct she ought to adopt towards the afflicted stranger. To make acquaintance with, and comfort her, was the prompting of her benevolent heart; so she put a blue glass bottle of smelling-salts into the mournful lady's hand, which was immediately returned with a dignified, repellant bow. The basket of provisions was next offered; but this the weeping fair one, it was clear, did not see; and my honest widow, not a little disconcerted, made yet another attempt to console one who evidently "would not be comforted," by a full, particular, and authentic relation of certain woful passages in her own monotonous life. All, however, would not do—Niobe still wept; and the widow and I felt ourselves in a very awkward, uncomfortable situation.
After awhile, however, we took up another passenger—a "lady" again—and, Heaven bless the woman! one even more voluble than my first companion, and decidedly more candid, since she had not been seated five minutes in the vehicle, ere she unblushingly announced herself—a baker's wife! Good Heavens! and in these march-of-intellect and refinement days, too! Well might Niobe wake with a start from her trance of woe, and, glancing sovereign contempt upon the new, unconscious passenger, discover to me a countenance as plain, withered, and fraught with the impress of evil passions, as that of the Lady in the Sacque, in Sir Walter's tale of the Tapestried Chamber. I never beheld so fretful and malignant-looking a being!—and the contrast which her visage afforded to that of my kind-hearted widow, which beamed with satisfaction and good-humour, was quite remarkable. This "lady," indeed, now appeared to have regained her native element, and not to be out-done in frankness by Mistress Baker, first avowed herself the widow of a chandler, but lately retired from business; and subsequently I gathered from her discourse that the gentleman her relation was, until his infirmity deprived him of the situation—groom, in a REAL gentleman's family (the distinction I particularly admired); and that the lady, her condescending friend, was a grocer's daughter! Niobe, at this precise point of the conversation, bestowed a ghastly grin upon the new allies, and producing from her reticule a well-soiled and much be-thumbed volume (whether of plays, or a novel, I could not discern), commenced perusing it with an avidity apparently unchecked by its disgusting odour, the which powerfully assailed me. I, too, was allowed by my loquacious widow, now that she had fallen in with a bird of her own feather, to read in peace for the space of some three or four miles; but at length my attention was aroused from my book by the loud voice of Mrs. Baker, who was promulgating to Dame Chandler the mysterious manner in which she fattened her dogs, by giving them, twice or thrice a day, a quartern loaf, crumbed, and sopped in melted fat, or dripping, which saved meat, since the animals liked that food far better. But at this instant the Telegraph stopped; and the coachman demanding his fare, since she had reached the place at which she had desired to be set down, a violent altercation ensued between them respecting sixpence; and finally the lady just stepped out of the vehicle in time to save herself from the indignity of being pulled from it by its infuriated driver.
"A fine sturren (stirring), business-like woman!" exclaimed the widow, as we again proceeded; "likelies to turn a penny whiles other folks lay a bed snoring; but mortal wasteful um sure, for one that talks about saving! Meat indeed she may save; but lauk now, only consate the grase she gives 'em confounded brutes, and the taller trade so low!"
"And only think," added I, "of the numbers of poor creatures who are starving, whilst she bestows quartern loaves of fine white bread upon her dogs!"
"An' has for saving meat," cried Niobe (then did she speak for the first time), "sure am I, my fath—that's to say, the butchers, wouldn't thank her for her pains."
Here was a discovery! but a greater was at hand; for when the Telegraph arrived at its destination—the White Horse, Fetter-lane—a livery-servant met this sentimental, and inordinately proud, and ill-humoured lady; and after delivering a message from her "new misses," called a hackney-coach to convey her to her "new place."
My honest widow hurried to the bar, in order to obtain some stomachic which should enable her to endure the further fatigue of reaching her own abode; and Mr. S. (a real gentleman I hope) meeting me, I amused him uncommonly with this description of my fellow-travellers, as we returned to our happy home in —— Square.—M.L.B.