Charles Dickens - Sketches by Boz

The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats.

“There he is, my dear,” whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. Malderton.

“How like Lord Byron!” murmured Miss Teresa.

“Or Montgomery !” whispered Miss Marianne.

“Or the portraits of Captain Cook!” suggested Tom.

“Tom—don't be an ass!” said his father, who checked him on all occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming “sharp”—which was very unnecessary.

The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect, until the family had crossed the room. He then started up, with the most natural appearance of surprise and delight; accosted Mrs. Malderton with the utmost cordiality; saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner; bowed to, and shook hands with Mr. Malderton, with a degree of respect amounting almost to veneration; and returned the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising manner, which fully convinced them that he must be an important, and, at the same time, condescending personage.

“Miss Malderton,” said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, and bowing very low, “may I be permitted to presume to hope that you will allow me to have the pleasure—”

“I don't THINK I am engaged,” said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful affectation of indifference—“but, really—so many—”

Horatio looked handsomely miserable.

“I shall be most happy,” simpered the interesting Teresa, at last. Horatio's countenance brightened up, like an old hat in a shower of rain.

“A very genteel young man, certainly!” said the gratified Mr. Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the quadrille which was just forming.

“He has a remarkably good address,” said Mr. Frederick.

“Yes, he is a prime fellow,” interposed Tom, who always managed to put his foot in it—“he talks just like an auctioneer.”

“Tom!” said his father solemnly, “I think I desired you, before, not to be a fool.” Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly morning.

“How delightful!” said the interesting Horatio to his partner, as they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set—“how delightful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the troubles, of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting moments: and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society of one individual—whose frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss; the possession of whose affection would be the brightest and best reward that Heaven could bestow on man?”

“What feeling! what sentiment!” thought Miss Teresa, as she leaned more heavily on her companion's arm.

“But enough—enough!” resumed the elegant Sparkins, with a theatrical air. “What have I said? what have I—I—to do with sentiments like these! Miss Malderton”—here he stopped short—“may I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of—”

“Really, Mr. Sparkins,” returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing in the sweetest confusion, “I must refer you to papa. I never can, without his consent, venture to—”

“Surely he cannot object—”

“Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not!” interrupted Miss Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel.

“He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus,” returned the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise.

“Is that all?” thought the disappointed Teresa. “What a fuss about nothing!”

“It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o'clock, if you have no better engagement,” said Mr. Malderton, at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation with Mr. Horatio Sparkins.

Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering invitation.

“I must confess,” continued the father, offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance, “that I don't enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort—I had almost said the luxury—of Oak Lodge. They have no great charms for an elderly man.”

“And after all, sir, what is man?” said the metaphysical Sparkins. “I say, what is man?”

“Ah! very true,” said Mr. Malderton; “very true.”

“We know that we live and breathe,” continued Horatio; “that we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites—”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound.

“I say, we know that we exist,” repeated Horatio, raising his voice, “but there we stop; there, is an end to our knowledge; there, is the summit of our attainments; there, is the termination of our ends. What more do we know?”

“Nothing,” replied Mr. Frederick—than whom no one was more capable of answering for himself in that particular. Tom was about to hazard something, but, fortunately for his reputation, he caught his father's angry eye, and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty larceny.

“Upon my word,” said Mr. Malderton the elder, as they were returning home in the fly, “that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful young man. Such surprising knowledge! such extraordinary information! and such a splendid mode of expressing himself!”

“I think he must be somebody in disguise,” said Miss Marianne. “How charmingly romantic!”

“He talks very loud and nicely,” timidly observed Tom, “but I don't exactly understand what he means.”

“I almost begin to despair of your understanding anything, Tom,” said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened by Mr. Horatio Sparkins's conversation.

“It strikes me, Tom,” said Miss Teresa, “that you have made yourself very ridiculous this evening.”

“No doubt of it,” cried everybody—and the unfortunate Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. That night, Mr. and Mrs. Malderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter's prospects and future arrangements. Miss Teresa went to bed, considering whether, in the event of her marrying a title, she could conscientiously encourage the visits of her present associates; and dreamed, all night, of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes, bridal favours, and Horatio Sparkins.

Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the mode of conveyance which the anxiously-expected Horatio would adopt. Did he keep a gig?—was it possible he could come on horseback?—or would he patronize the stage? These, and other various conjectures of equal importance, engrossed the attention of Mrs. Malderton and her daughters during the whole morning after church.

“Upon my word, my dear, it's a most annoying thing that that vulgar brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here to-day,” said Mr. Malderton to his wife. “On account of Mr. Sparkins's coming down, I purposely abstained from asking any one but Flamwell. And then to think of your brother—a tradesman—it's insufferable! I declare I wouldn't have him mention his shop, before our new guest—no, not for a thousand pounds! I wouldn't care if he had the good sense to conceal the disgrace he is to the family; but he's so fond of his horrible business, that he WILL let people know what he is.”

Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn't above his business: “he'd made his money by it, and he didn't care who know'd it.”