In this way of thinking, and a primrose satin waistcoat, Augustus proceeded to essay the truth of his philosophy. A great poet has said, "All the world's a stage;" had he added, "licensed only for the performance of pantomime," the fancy would have well assorted with the fact. To succeed in the drama of life the performer needs only activity—to keep his eyes open, and his heart and his mouth shut. The two former of these elements of success Kutitphat possessed; had the three been combined, he might have become Lord Mayor. Though a denizen of Islington, inhabiting a chamber which, had the house been another remove from town (at the Antipodes), would have been the cellar—by grace of patent-leather Wellingtons and a Polish tailor, he himself achieved a polish that not one in a thousand would have known from the true metal. Even the ingenious youth who, with a red coatee and nose to correspond, enacts the esquire at Crockford's, looking after the coursers of the knights-errant who there do congregate—even he, albeit as good an authority in such matters as the Lord Chamberlain himself, was almost led into the indiscretion of a bow. Augustus had just turned into St. James's Street, when our Cad-Crockfordian caught sight of him. His right hand had all but reached the bit of felt that did duty for the rim of his hat; but it fell ere the error was irretrievable. "No," he soliloquized; "it ain't not qvite the ticket, but unkimmin good at the price: blest if I warn't nearly had—wont he step into some on 'em. At first, wouldn't I have pounded it he was a real swell; but, now I twig him nearer, his mother don't know as he's a taking of the air."
Premium and Discount.
Angelina Ampletin was one of the prettiest girls in Pimlico, and, if there was any truth in rumour, very far from one of the worst catches. Papa had retired from business at Billingsgate, with money enough to found a dozen joint-stock banks, and leave a handsome surplus. In fact, his turbot and salmon were all gold and silver fish! Now, as Augustus entered the enclosure of the Park, Angelina and one of her friends were studying ornithology on the margin of the stream that meanders between the Horse Guards and Buckingham Palace. A glance of soul-speaking sympathy passed between the youth and maiden—and, behold! the tiny hand of her Breguet had not accomplished another revolution ere they were in confidential communication. Let us not dwell on the progress of their loves; day by day did they perambulate the sylvan shades of Kensington Gardens (so called because destitute of both flower and fruit); and at length the critical avowal was made—Angelina blushed her passion—"she lived only for her Augustus; would he, indeed, fondly love on to the close?" History is divided concerning the exact nature of his reply. According to one account he is said to have declared that, if false, nothing should prevent his being "jiggered;" while another asserts that, in evidence of immutability, he called upon the zephyrs that sighed around them, then and there to "blow him tight." Alas! for Augustus, that which the figure of his form had built up, the figure of his rhetoric laid desolate. Angelina was the soul of refinement and education, having been finished at Turnham Green. With a look of horror she fled the presence of Kutitphat—that blow was the unkindest cut of all!
It was November, but still the weather was delicious. All the gay things of nature were abroad; and even the wretched sought to borrow a ray of the rich sunshine. Over the still verdant carpet of Hyde Park were gliding graceful groups of fair women; while, among them, moved a form that seemed to have little business there at such a time. Bless ye! dear muffs and boas, no heresy is here intended, for instinct would curl the nose of an angel in Eden who should chance upon a fellow in the débris of an ancient Taglioni, and no shirt. Was it a wonder, then, that Angelina gave a wide berth to Augustus when she encountered him in such a category? Where were now his airs and graces? All—all gone! The station, like "the herald Mercury," exchanged for a posture between a faint and a sneak; the glance of scorn, for the mien of supplication; the sheen of promise, for the sear of despair! People speak of Brummel frying his own tripe as if it were something to wonder at. Let them take a turn in St. James's Park, any day between the first of January and the last of December, and, unless they shut their eyes, they will discover more than one member of the Kutitphat family at a discount.
XI.
Tom Gad, Tom Gad—my lad, my lad,
Now never mind your head O!
Here comes your wife to save your life;