"Stop, my lord," says Mr. Deuceace, very humble: "I shall not share your hospitality--but--but you know my condition; I am penniless-- you know the manner in which my wife has been brought up--"
"The Honorable Mrs. Deuceace, sir, shall always find a home here, as if nothing had occurred to interrupt the friendship between her dear mother and herself."
"And for me, sir," says Deuceace, speaking faint, and very slow; "I hope--I trust--I think, my lord, you will not forget me?"
"Forget you, sir; certainly not."
"And that you will make some provision--?"
"Algernon Deuceace," says my lord, getting up from the sophy, and looking at him with sich a jolly malignity, as I never see, "I declare, before heaven, that I will not give you a penny!"
Hereupon my lord held out his hand to Mrs. Deuceace, and said, "My dear, will you join your mother and me? We shall always, as I said, have a home for you."
"My lord," said the poar thing, dropping a curtsy, "my home is with HIM!"
. . . . . .
About three months after, when the season was beginning at Paris, and the autumn leafs was on the ground, my lord, my lady, me and Mortimer, were taking a stroal in the Boddy Balong, the carridge driving on slowly ahead, and us as happy as possbill, admiring the pleasant woods and the goldn sunset.
My lord was expayshating to my lady upon the exquizit beauty of the sean, and pouring forth a host of butifle and virtuous sentaments sootable to the hour. It was dalitefle to hear him. "Ah!" said he, "black must be the heart, my love, which does not feel the influence of a scene like this; gathering as it were, from those sunlit skies, a portion of their celestial gold, and gaining somewhat of heaven with each pure draught of this delicious air!"
Lady Crabs did not speak, but prest his arm and looked upwards.
Mortimer and I, too, felt some of the infliwents of the sean, and lent on our goold sticks in silence. The carriage drew up close to us, and my lord and my lady sauntered slowly tords it.
Jest at the place was a bench, and on the bench sate a poorly drest woman, and by her, leaning against a tree, was a man whom I thought I'd sean befor. He was drest in a shabby blew coat, with white seems and copper buttons; a torn hat was on his head, and great quantaties of matted hair and whiskers disfiggared his countnints.
He was not shaved, and as pale as stone.
My lord and lady didn tak the slightest notice of him, but past on to the carridge. Me and Mortimer lickwise took OUR places. As we past, the man had got a grip of the woman's shoulder, who was holding down her head sobbing bitterly.
No sooner were my lord and lady seated, than they both, with igstream dellixy and good natur, burst into a ror of lafter, peal upon peal, whooping and screaching enough to frighten the evening silents.
DEUCEACE turned round. I see his face now--the face of a devvle of hell! Fust, he lookt towards the carridge, and pinted to it with his maimed arm; then he raised the other, AND STRUCK THE WOMAN BY HIS SIDE. She fell, screaming.
Poor thing! Poor thing!
MR. YELLOWPLUSH'S AJEW.
The end of Mr. Deuceace's history is going to be the end of my corrispondince. I wish the public was as sory to part with me as I am with the public; becaws I fansy reely that we've become frends, and feal for my part a becoming greaf at saying ajew.
It's imposbill for me to continyow, however, a-writin, as I have done--violetting the rules of authography, and trampling upon the fust princepills of English grammar. When I began, I knew no better: when I'd carrid on these papers a little further, and grew accustmd to writin, I began to smel out somethink quear in my style. Within the last sex weaks I have been learning to spell: and when all the world was rejoicing at the festivvaties of our youthful Quean--*when all i's were fixed upon her long sweet of ambasdors and princes, following the splendid carridge of Marshle the Duke of Damlatiar, and blinking at the pearls and dimince of Prince Oystereasy--Yellowplush was in his loanly pantry--HIS eyes were fixt upon the spelling-book--his heart was bent upon mastring the diffickleties of the littery professhn. I have been, in fact, CONVERTID.
* This was written in 1838.
You shall here how. Ours, you know, is a Wig house; and ever sins his third son has got a place in the Treasury, his secknd a captingsy in the Guards, his fust, the secretary of embasy at Pekin, with a prospick of being appinted ambasdor at Loo Choo--ever sins master's sons have reseaved these attentions, and master himself has had the promis of a pearitch, he has been the most reglar, consistnt, honrabble Libbaral, in or out of the House of Commins.
Well, being a Whig, it's the fashn, as you know, to reseave littery pipple; and accordingly, at dinner, tother day, whose name do you think I had to hollar out on the fust landing-place about a wick ago? After several dukes and markises had been enounced, a very gentell fly drives up to our doar, and out steps two gentlemen.
One was pail, and wor spektickles, a wig, and a white neckcloth.
The other was slim with a hook nose, a pail fase, a small waist, a pare of falling shoulders, a tight coat, and a catarack of black satting tumbling out of his busm, and falling into a gilt velvet weskit. The little genlmn settled his wigg, and pulled out his ribbins; the younger one fluffed the dust of his shoes, looked at his whiskers in a little pockit-glas, settled his crevatt; and they both mounted upstairs.
"What name, sir?" says I, to the old genlmn.
"Name!--a! now, you thief o' the wurrld," says he, "do you pretind nat to know ME? Say it's the Cabinet Cyclopa--no, I mane the Litherary Chran--psha!--bluthanowns!--say it's DOCTHOR DIOCLESIAN LARNER--I think he'll know me now--ay, Nid?" But the genlmn called Nid was at the botm of the stare, and pretended to be very busy with his shoo-string. So the little genlmn went upstares alone.
"DOCTOR DIOLESIUS LARNER!" says I.
"DOCTOR ATHANASIUS LARDNER!" says Greville Fitz-Roy, our secknd footman, on the fust landing-place.
