Samuel Warren - Ten Thousand a-Year. Volume 3

I should have thought that the foregoing would have proved a lesson to Mr. Titmouse, and restrained him for some time from yielding to his cursed propensity to drink. Yet was it otherwise—and I shall tell the matter exactly as it happened. Within a fortnight after the mischance which I have above described, Titmouse dined with the members of a sort of pugilistic club, which met every fortnight, for the purpose of settling matters connected with the "ring." On the present occasion there had been a full muster, for they had to settle the preliminaries for a grand contest for the championship of England—to which Titmouse's master, Mr. Billy Bully, aspired. Titmouse had scarcely ever enjoyed himself more than on that exciting occasion; and, confident of his man, had backed his favorite pretty freely. Towards eleven o'clock, he found the room very close—and it was not to be wondered at, when you considered the dreadful quantity of hard ale, harder port-wine, and poisonous gin and water, which the little wretch had swallowed since sitting down to dinner. About the hour I have named, however, he, Sir Pumpkin Puppy, and one or two others, all with cigars in their mouths, sallied forth to walk about town, in search of sport. I have hardly patience to write it—but positively they had not proceeded half-way down the Haymarket when they got into a downright " row ;" and, egged on by his companions, and especially inwardly impelled by the devil himself, the miserable Titmouse, after grossly insulting a little one-eyed, one-legged, bald-headed old waterman attached to the coach-stand there, challenged him to fight, and forthwith flung away his cigar, and threw himself into boxing attitude, amid the jeers and laughter of the spectators—who, however, formed a sort of ring in a trice. At it they went, instanter . Titmouse squared about with a sort of disdainful showiness—in the midst of which he suddenly received a nasty teaser on his nose and shoulder, from his active, hardy, and experienced antagonist, which brought him to the ground, the blood gushing from his nose in a copious stream. Sir Pumpkin quickly picked him up, shook him, and set him fairly at his man again. Nearer and nearer stumped the old fellow to the devoted "swell," who, evidently groggy, squared in the most absurd way imaginable for a moment or two, when he received his enemy's one two in his eye, and on his mouth, and again dropped down.

"He's drunk—he can't fight no more than a baby; I won't stand against him any more," quoth the fair and stout-hearted old waterman. "It warn't any o' my seeking; but if he thought to come it over an old cripple like me"–

"Bravo! bravo!" cried his companions. "Come along, old chap—come along," said one; "if I don't give you a jolly quartern, may I stick here without a fare all this blessed night;" and the speaker led off the victor to the public-house opposite, while Titmouse's friends led him away, nearly insensible, to a tavern a few doors off. Having given directions that he should be forthwith taken to a bedroom and washed, they ordered broiled bones and mulled claret for themselves. After about an hour and a half's nap, Titmouse, who probably had benefited rather than suffered from his blood-letting, rejoined his friends, and called for a cigar and a glass of cold brandy and water; having had which, they set off homeward: he reaching his rooms about one o'clock, with a very black eye, a swollen nose and mouth, a very thick and indistinct speech, and unsteady step; in fact, in a much worse pickle than he had as yet exhibited to his valet, who told him, while preparing for him a glass of brandy and soda-water, that no fewer than five messengers had been at his rooms. While he was yet speaking, a thundering knock was heard at the outer-door, and on its being opened, in rushed, breathlessly, Mr. Phelim O'Doodle.

"Titmouse!—Titmouse! Och, murther and thunder, where are ye? Where have ye been, wid ye?" he gasped—

drowsily sung Titmouse—it being part of a song he had heard thrice encored that evening after dinner—at the same time staggering towards O'Doodle.

"Och, botheration take your too-ra-lady! Come, fait—by Jasus! clap your hat on, and button your coat, and off to the House—immediately—or it's all up with us, an' out we go every mother's son of us—an' the bastely Tories'll be in. Come! come!—off wid ye, I say! I've a coach at the door"–

"I—(hiccup)—I sha'n't—can't—'pon my life"—

"Och, off wid ye!—isn't it mad that Mr. O'Gibbet is wid ye?"–

"He's one eye—aha! and one leg—Too-ra-laddy," hiccuped the young senator.

"Devil burn me if I don't tie ye hand an' foot together!" cried O'Doodle, impetuously. "What the devil have ye been about wid that black eye o' yours, and—but I'll spake about it in the coach. Off wid ye! Isn't time worth a hundred pounds a minute?"–

Within a minute or two's time O'Doodle had got him safely into the coach, and down to St. Stephen's they rattled at top speed. There was going on, indeed, a desperate fight—a final trial of strength between Ministers and the Opposition, on a vote of want of confidence; and a division expected every minute. Prodigious had been the efforts of both parties—the whip unprecedented. Lord Bulfinch had, early in the evening, explicitly stated that Ministers would resign unless they gained a majority : and, to their infinite vexation and astonishment, three of their stanch adherents—Titmouse being one—were missing just at the critical moment. The Opposition had been more fortunate; every man of theirs had come up—and they were shouting tremendously, "Divide! divide! divide!"—while, on the other hand, Ministers were putting up men, one after another, to speak against time, (though not one syllable they said could be heard,) in order to get a chance of their three missing men coming up. If none of them came, Ministers would be exactly even with their opponents; in which case they were very much afraid that they ought to resign. Up the stairs and into the lobby came O'Doodle, breathlessly, with his prize.

"Och, my dear O'Doodle!—Titmouse, ye little drunken divil, where have ye been?" commenced Mr. O'Gibbet, on whom O'Doodle stumbled suddenly.

"Thank Heaven! Good God, how fortunate!" exclaimed Mr. Flummery, both he and O'Gibbet being in a state of intense anxiety and great excitement.

"In with him!—in with him!—by Jove, they're clearing the gallery!" gasped Mr. Flummery, while he rushed into the House, to make the way clear for O'Doodle and O'Gibbet, who were literally carrying in Titmouse between them.

"Sir!—Mr. Flummery!" gasped O'Doodle—"ye won't forget what I have done to-night, will ye?"

"No, no—honor! In with you! In with you! A moment and all's lost."

They reached, however, the House in safety, Mr. O'Gibbet waving his hand in triumph.

"Oh, ye droll little divil! where have you been hiding?" he hastily whispered, as he deposited the insensible Titmouse on the nearest bench, and sat beside him. Mr. O'Gibbet took off his hat, and wiped his reeking head and face. Merciful powers! what a triumph!—and in the very nick of time.—Titmouse had saved the Ministry! Tremendous was now the uproar in the House, almost every one present shouting, "Divide!—divide!"

"Strangers, withdraw," cried the Speaker.

Then, at it they went, with an air of tumultuous and irrepressible excitement; but, through Titmouse, the Ministers triumphed. The numbers were announced—

On which glorious and decisive result, there burst forth immense cheering on the ministerial side of the House, and vehement counter-cheering on the opposition side, which lasted for several minutes. The noise, indeed, was so prodigious, that it almost roused Titmouse from the sort of stupor into which he had sunk. Mr. O'Doodle accompanied him home; and, after drinking a couple of tumblers of whiskey and water with him, took his departure—caring nothing that he had left Titmouse on the floor, in a state of dangerous insensibility; from which, however, in due time he recovered, but was confined to his bed, by a violent bilious attack, for nearly a week. Mr. O'Doodle's services to the Government were not forgotten. A few days afterwards he vacated his seat, having received the appointment of sub-inspector of political caricatures in Ireland, with a salary of six hundred pounds a-year for life. His place in the House was immediately filled up by his brother, Mr. Trigger O'Doodle, who kept a shooting-gallery in Dublin. Profuse were Phelim's thanks to Mr. O'Gibbet, when that gentleman announced to him his good fortune, exclaiming, at the same time, with a sly wink and smile—"Ye see what it is to rinder service to the state—aha! Aisy, aisy!—softly, say I. Isn't that the way to get along?"