Christmas Books of Mr M. A. Titmarsh , livre ebook

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146 pages

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During their lifetimes, Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray were engaged in a friendly competition of sorts to see who could gain the most stature and popularity as writers for the masses. Following in Dickens' footsteps, Thackeray began penning a series of heartwarming holiday-themed tales to be published in serial form, often under the pen name "Michael Angelo Titmarsh." Many of the most beloved tales from this series are collected in this volume.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775419907
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE CHRISTMAS BOOKS OF MR M. A. TITMARSH
* * *
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

*
The Christmas Books of Mr M. A. Titmarsh First published in 1847 ISBN 978-1-775419-90-7 © 2010 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Mrs. Perkins's Ball Our Street Doctor Birch and His Young Friends The Kickleburys on the Rhine The Rose and the Ring Endnotes
Mrs. Perkins's Ball
*
THE MULLIGAN (OF BALLYMULLIGAN), AND HOW WE WENT TO MRS. PERKINS'S BALL.
I do not know where Ballymulligan is, and never knew anybody who did.Once I asked the Mulligan the question, when that chieftain assumed alook of dignity so ferocious, and spoke of "Saxon curiawsitee" in atone of such evident displeasure, that, as after all it can matter verylittle to me whereabouts lies the Celtic principality in question, Ihave never pressed the inquiry any farther.
I don't know even the Mulligan's town residence. One night, as he badeus adieu in Oxford Street,—"I live THERE," says he, pointing downtowards Oxbridge, with the big stick he carries—so his abode is in thatdirection at any rate. He has his letters addressed to several ofhis friends' houses, and his parcels, &c. are left for him at varioustaverns which he frequents. That pair of checked trousers, in which yousee him attired, he did me the favor of ordering from my own tailor,who is quite as anxious as anybody to know the address of the wearer. Inlike manner my hatter asked me, "Oo was the Hirish gent as 'ad orderedfour 'ats and a sable boar to be sent to my lodgings?" As I did notknow (however I might guess) the articles have never been sent, and theMulligan has withdrawn his custom from the "infernal four-and-nine-pennyscoundthrel," as he calls him. The hatter has not shut up shop inconsequence.
I became acquainted with the Mulligan through a distinguished countrymanof his, who, strange to say, did not know the chieftain himself. Butdining with my friend Fred Clancy, of the Irish bar, at Greenwich, theMulligan came up, "inthrojuiced" himself to Clancy as he said, claimedrelationship with him on the side of Brian Boroo, and drawing his chairto our table, quickly became intimate with us. He took a great likingto me, was good enough to find out my address and pay me a visit: sincewhich period often and often on coming to breakfast in the morning Ihave found him in my sitting-room on the sofa engaged with the rollsand morning papers: and many a time, on returning home at night for anevening's quiet reading, I have discovered this honest fellow in thearm-chair before the fire, perfuming the apartment with my cigars andtrying the quality of such liquors as might be found on the sideboard.The way in which he pokes fun at Betsy, the maid of the lodgings, isprodigious. She begins to laugh whenever he comes; if he calls her aduck, a divvle, a darlin', it is all one. He is just as much a masterof the premises as the individual who rents them at fifteen shillings aweek; and as for handkerchiefs, shirt-collars, and the like articles offugitive haberdashery, the loss since I have known him is unaccountable.I suspect he is like the cat in some houses: for, suppose the whiskey,the cigars, the sugar, the tea-caddy, the pickles, and other groceriesdisappear, all is laid upon that edax-rerum of a Mulligan.
The greatest offence that can be offered to him is to call him MR.Mulligan. "Would you deprive me, sir," says he, "of the title which wasbawrun be me princelee ancestors in a hundred thousand battles? Inour own green valleys and fawrests, in the American savannahs, in thesierras of Speen and the flats of Flandthers, the Saxon has quailedbefore me war-cry of MULLIGAN ABOO! MR. Mulligan! I'll pitch anybody outof the window who calls me MR. Mulligan." He said this, and uttered theslogan of the Mulligans with a shriek so terrific, that my uncle (theRev. W. Gruels, of the Independent Congregation, Bungay), who hadhappened to address him in the above obnoxious manner, while sitting atmy apartments drinking tea after the May meetings, instantly quitted theroom, and has never taken the least notice of me since, except to stateto the rest of the family that I am doomed irrevocably to perdition.
Well, one day last season, I had received from my kind and mostestimable friend, MRS. PERKINS OF POCKLINGTON SQUARE (to whose amiablefamily I have had the honor of giving lessons in drawing, French, andthe German flute), an invitation couched in the usual terms, on satingilt-edged note-paper, to her evening-party; or, as I call it, "Ball."
Besides the engraved note sent to all her friends, my kind patroness hadaddressed me privately as follows:—
MY DEAR MR. TITMARSH,—If you know any VERY eligible young man, we giveyou leave to bring him. You GENTLEMEN love your CLUBS so much now, andcare so little for DANCING, that it is really quite A SCANDAL. Comeearly, and before EVERYBODY, and give us the benefit of all your tasteand CONTINENTAL SKILL.
"Your sincere
"EMILY PERKINS."
"Whom shall I bring?" mused I, highly flattered by this mark ofconfidence; and I thought of Bob Trippett; and little Fred Spring, ofthe Navy Pay Office; Hulker, who is rich, and I knew took lessonsin Paris; and a half-score of other bachelor friends, who might beconsidered as VERY ELIGIBLE—when I was roused from my meditation by theslap of a hand on my shoulder; and looking up, there was the Mulligan,who began, as usual, reading the papers on my desk.
"Hwhat's this?" says he. "Who's Perkins? Is it a supper-ball, or only atay-ball?"
"The Perkinses of Pocklington Square, Mulligan, are tiptop people,"says I, with a tone of dignity. "Mr. Perkins's sister is married to abaronet, Sir Giles Bacon, of Hogwash, Norfolk. Mr. Perkins's uncle wasLord Mayor of London; and he was himself in Parliament, and MAY BE againany day. The family are my most particular friends. A tay-ball indeed!why, Gunter . . ." Here I stopped: I felt I was committing myself.
"Gunter!" says the Mulligan, with another confounded slap on theshoulder. "Don't say another word: I'LL go widg you, my boy."
"YOU go, Mulligan?" says I: "why, really—I—it's not my party."
"Your hwhawt? hwhat's this letter? a'n't I an eligible young man?—Isthe descendant of a thousand kings unfit company for a miserabletallow-chandthlering cockney? Are ye joking wid me? for, let me tell ye,I don't like them jokes. D'ye suppose I'm not as well bawrun and bred asyourself, or any Saxon friend ye ever had?"
"I never said you weren't, Mulligan," says I.
"Ye don't mean seriously that a Mulligan is not fit company for aPerkins?"
"My dear fellow, how could you think I could so far insult you?" says I."Well, then," says he, "that's a matter settled, and we go."
What the deuce was I to do? I wrote to Mrs. Perkins; and that kindlady replied, that she would receive the Mulligan, or any other of myfriends, with the greatest cordiality. "Fancy a party, all Mulligans!"thought I, with a secret terror.
MR. AND MRS. PERKINS, THEIR HOUSE, AND THEIR YOUNG PEOPLE.
Following Mrs. Perkins's orders, the present writer made his appearancevery early at Pocklington Square: where the tastiness of all thedecorations elicited my warmest admiration. Supper of course was inthe dining-loom, superbly arranged by Messrs. Grigs and Spooner, theconfectioners of the neighborhood. I assisted my respected friend Mr.Perkins and his butler in decanting the sherry, and saw, not withoutsatisfaction, a large bath for wine under the sideboard, in which werealready placed very many bottles of champagne.
The BACK DINING-ROOM, Mr. P.'s study (where the venerable man goes tosleep after dinner), was arranged on this occasion as a tea-room, Mrs.Flouncey (Miss Fanny's maid) officiating in a cap and pink ribbons,which became her exceedingly. Long, long before the arrival of thecompany, I remarked Master Thomas Perkins and Master Giles Bacon, hiscousin (son of Sir Giles Bacon, Bart.), in this apartment, busy amongthe macaroons.
Mr. Gregory the butler, besides John the footman and Sir Giles'slarge man in the Bacon livery, and honest Grundsell, carpet-beater andgreen-grocer, of Little Pocklington Buildings, had at least half adozen of aides-de-camp in black with white neck-cloths, like doctors ofdivinity.
The BACK DRAWING-ROOM door on the landing being taken off the hinges(and placed up stairs under Mr. Perkins's bed), the orifice was coveredwith muslin, and festooned with elegant wreaths of flowers. This wasthe Dancing Saloon. A linen was spread over the carpet; and aband—consisting of Mr. Clapperton, piano, Mr. Pinch, harp, andHerr Spoff, cornet-a-piston arrived at a pretty early hour, and wereaccommodated with some comfortable negus in the tea-room, previous tothe commencement of their delightful labors. The boudoir to the leftwas fitted up as a card-room; the drawing-room was of course for thereception of the company,—the chandeliers and yellow damaskbeing displayed this night in all their splendor; and the charmingconservatory over the landing was ornamented by a few moon-like lamps,and the flowers arranged so that it had the appearance of a fairy bower.And Miss Perkins (as I took the liberty of stating to her mamma) lookedlike the fairy of that bower. It is this young creature's first yearin PUBLIC LIFE: she has been educated, regardless of expense, atHammersmith; and a simple white muslin dress and blue ceinture set offcharms of which I beg to speak with respectful admiration.
My