by John Baker Hopkins
The lines of Mr. Albert Fitz-Talbot Copsey are cast at Bayswater, where he occupies Candy Villa, a residence a quarter of a mile remote from the main road, situated in an unpretentious stucco street, which is a favorite resort of open-air musicians by day, and of mouse-catchers by night.
Candy Villa is a breakfast parlor and two-storey house, with twenty-feet grounds in the rear, and a six-feet garden in the front. The abode of Mr. Copsey, though small, is imposing. On the little veranda that juts from the little drawing-window, are four little evergreens in four little tubs. There is a capacious portico, which is approached by a flight of three stone steps, guarded by two stone lions, the magnificent animals having prodigiously luxuriant manes and very long tails.
Let us be introduced to Mr. Copsey in his study. The writing table is covered with letters and papers. There are books on suspended shelves. In a corner are two hat-boxes, a case of mineral waters, and a case of wine. On a small round table are two tumblers, a glass jug of water, an open box of cigars, and a bundle of cigarettes. Over the mantelpiece hangs a weapon that was presented to Mr. Copsey by an African king. The walls are decorated with photographs of Mr. Copsey. One of the photographs has St. Peter's for a back ground, in another Mr. Copsey dwarfs the Niagara Falls, and in others St. Mark's, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the Alps have the honor of playing second fiddle to Mr. Copsey's likeness. The back grounds serve to remind Mr. Copsey of his travels.
The nose of the visitor encounters' a smell of assorted scents, emanating from the pomade with which Mr. Copsey renovates his hair, the cosmetique with which he disciplines his beard and moustache, and the Imperial Perfume with which he saturates his handkerchief. In the crown of Mr. Copsey's hat, on his signet ring, on the case of his watch, on his note-paper, on his linen, on his cigar-case, on his purse, on the knob of his umbrella, and on all that is his there is printed, or embossed, or embroidered, or engraved his initials in monogram and his crest, which is a long-eared tiger, tottering in its hind legs.
Mr. Copsey was always carefully prepared for the gaze of mankind, and though he never left his bed until the vulgar world had done half a day's work, he devoted over two hours to dressing. He is now arrayed for dinner. The extremities of his superfine black trousers gracefully repose on patent-leather shoes. From the button-hole of his rich silk waistcoat is suspended a gold chain and a bunch of ornaments, including a miniature tea-urn, the gift of his Celestial Majesty the late Emperor of China, and a miniature warming-pan, given to him by the late Duke of Wellington. The white necktie is fringed with lace, and gold studs and a ruby pin enrich his shirt front. On his fingers are three rings, which he is constantly feeling—perhaps to make sure that they have not been given into the custody of an accommodating relation; for he has at intervals banked with the descendants of the ancient Lombards. A gold-rimmed eyeglass is suspended round his neck, and the links of his shirt sleeves are conspicuous.
A low and slightly overhanging forehead, an elongated nose, with a snubby termination; eyes of ferret shape and expression, of feline color, and with a fishy film; a capacious and thin-lipped mouth. Neither photography nor art could fail to do him justice.
According to rumor, Mr. Copsey had been in various callings, and, at the time we make his acquaintance, he was supposed to be living on his means, devoting his time to philanthropy.
Mr. Copsey rang the bell, and ordered the servant to ask Mrs. Copsey to come into the study. The lady, who was very much dressed, particularly about the head and skirt, and who appeared to be awkwardly conscious of the grandeur of her attire, speedily complied with the request.
"Where are the children?"
"They are dressing."
"You mean that they are engaged on their toilet."
"Yes; and, poor dears, they are quite upset by the heat."
"Ah!" said Mr. Copsey, "what is this to crossing the line, when to respire is intensest agony, and causes an aqueous discharge from every pore of the skin. But I have been trained to endurance, and the cold of Lapland and the heat of the torrid zone did not evoke a murmur."
"Nonsense, Copsey. No one can be froze or boiled without feeling it."
"My dear, froze or boiled is an expression that, applied to the temperature of humanity, does not befit the lips of a lady."
"We are alone."
Mr. Copsey rectified some mineral water with brandy, and drank the mixture.
"How often am I to repeat that, in order to avoid embarrassments, we should, in the privacy of the domestic circle, seem to one another what we wish to appear in the vision of society."
Mr. Copsey spoke slowly, and mouthed his words as if they were so precious and so nice that he was loath to part with them.
"We have a beautiful bowl of ice, Copsey."
"An indispensable gastronomical obbligato at this season. By the way, we have no ice tongs."
"We can use the sugar tongs."
"That will not do," said Mr. Copsey, as he prepared another tumbler of mineral water, rectified with brandy. "It is better to take our liquids warm, to say that our purveyor of ice has disappointed us, than adopt a vulgar substitute for the proper implement."
"But, Copsey, can't we say that the proper tongs has gone to be mended, or been stolen?"
"My dear, you forestall the utterance of my thought. In a duly regulated establishment, mending is so arranged that no inconvenience accrues from the operation. Our ice tongs, given to me by an Indian prince, were stolen by an applicant for alms, who was left solus in our dining room."
At that moment the two children—the only children of Mr. Copsey—entered the study. They are girls, and their papa often expresses regret that he has not a son to inherit his ancient name.
"My dears, your ma and I have arranged that our ice tongs have been purloined by an impostor soliciting benevolence."
"Yes, papa; and couldn't our silver fish-knives have been stolen at the same time. For, as Vespasia was just saying, it is so vulgar not to have them."
"Certainly, my dear. We only discovered the cruel theft this afternoon. I will state the circumstance to our guests."
The elder of the children is Miss Innocence Estella Viola Copsey, and, according to the family reckoning, she is about twenty-one years old, though she was baptised with less poetical names, nearly forty years ago. The younger child, Miss Vespasia Rosina Lily Copsey, favored the light of the sun all thirty-five years ago, but, according to the Copsey calculation, she is not quite of her teens. Papa has lately bought a big family Bible, and entered the births of Innocence and Vespasia, at dates which support the theory of their juvenility.
What with the squeezing in and the padding out, the complexion put on, the hair of foreign growth, and the teeth of art, they might be taken, at a distance, for girls. Their manners are quite infantile. They are addicted to giggling, but, as their mamma observes, children will be tickled by straws. In their movements they strive to imitate the friskiness of lambs, and, as their papa remarks, the graceful agility of youth must necessarily herald the dignity of mature life. There is no doubt that the Copseys were perfectly unconscious that their grotesque pretensions were laughed at, yet, as we shall see, they were clever and successful dupers—that they had the ability and tact to live by fraud without being overhauled by justice and dry-docked. The phenomenon can be explained. Personal vanity, the unmingled worship of self, blinds the sharpest sight to defects of self. Also the habitual liar becomes the dupe of his own lying.
"I think, my dear, that on this occasion you might, if the opportunity occurs, ask Mr. Pooner and Mr. Drumhead to assist us in a work of benevolence. Pooner has a very fair income, and Drumhead is rich."
"Yes, papa," said Vespasia; ''but I am sure Pooner is awfully mean. The gloves he gave me were not worth two shillings a pair."
"Perhaps, my dear, Mr. Pooner is a lemon that requires extra squeezing; but in the cause of charity we must not be discouraged."
"Shall we plead for the poor family in the country which wants to emigrate?"
"No, dear Innocence; I am afraid that the poor family in the country is not effective. Why should we not ask for help in the case of Margaret and Martha Manvers, whose bad conduct I have again and again forgiven, who are now in dire distress, and are willing to emigrate and lead a proper life, if the funds can be procured. Your ma might, without my consent, take our friends to see the unhappy women."
"But, pa, they would want us to go with them, so perhaps it would be better to plead for only one woman."
"My dear Vespasia, you and Innocence are too sensitive to look upon such misery; and that is a reason for declining."
"I don't like or trust that Pooner," said Mrs. Copsey. "Old fools have eyes."'
"Let him use his eyes," rejoined Mr. Copsey. "We are not ashamed of what we do in the cause of charity."
"And it is about time we did something," said Innocence, "for nothing is coming in. We wrote to Old Chubb, telling him that the poor widow Ward has just lost her youngest child, and has not a penny for a bit of crape or to buy a coffin, and the brute replies that he will not give her another sixpence, and that we are to tell Mrs. Ward that if she calls at his house again he will not see her and will take some steps to get rid of the nuisance."
"I should like to see the wretch horse-whipped," exclaimed Vespasia.
Mr. Copsey played with his toy tea urn and his toy warming pan, and smiled.
"The brutality of Mr. Chubb will be defeated. I happen to have found out an excessively unpleasant circumstance about his son. I shall call on him in the morning and condole with him on that painful affair, and after that he will be civil to you and to any person whose cause you advocate. He who know's another man's unpleasant secret is master of that man."
Mr. Copsey had devoted much of his time to discovering other people's secrets, and he found the occupation profitable. There were half a dozen men and women who dared not refuse to help his poor family in the country, his distressed widow in town, his ruined professional friend, his clergyman who had disgraced the cloth and was in most pitiable penury, or his orphan girl whose life depended upon a visit to Madeira. Mr. Copsey had a very long list of pensioners on his bounty. There was an author engaged on an immortal work who yearned for a pat, only one pat, of butter to lubricate his dry crust; there was a governess who was always going into a first-rate situation, provided she could obtain a few clothes; there was a mother praying for a few pounds to save her son from shame; there was always on hand a woman earning bread for her helpless family, who was in peril of having her sewing machine seized for rent.
The guests arrived in due course. Mr. Pooner is middle aged and attentive to Vespasia. Mr. Drumhead is young and devoted to Innocence. The dear children were so playful. Vespasia made little bread pills and threw them at Mr. Pooner. Innocence put her plated napkin ring on Mr. Drumhead's thumb, and said, "With this ring O thee wed." Mrs. Copsey did not notice it.
"Try that condiment, Mr. Pooner. It is not unlike the palate stimulant that I enjoyed in Pekin, where I resided for three months. Khan Bang Foo, the Imperial Chamberlain, prepared sumptuous banquets for my stomachic delectation. Khan Bang Foo loved me, and tears streamed down his venerable cheeks when I refused to entertain His Celestial Majesty's offer of £10,000 a year, and a palace to remain in his Empire. Imperial grandeur could not tempt me to forsake my native land. The Emperor was offended at first, but became reconciled and presented me with his miniature tea-urn as a parting gift."
"Pa, dear, wasn't the Emperor's daughter very fond of you?" asked Vespasia.
"My dear child, you awaken a delicate memory. The illustrious Princess honored me by a profound attachment, which, if I had forsaken my native land, would doubtless have eventuated in an alliance. Her feet were so exquisitely small that I could barely get my thumb into the jewelled shoe, that she gave me as a memento of our friendship."
Mr. Copsey enlivened the dinner with many such anecdotes of his travels.
"Put some ice into your claret, Mr. Drumhead. When I was in Africa, the honored guest of King Tumtum, I had a refrigerating apparatus in my baggage, and made artificial ice. The delight of the king and his wives was ecstatic. His majesty offered to abdicate in my favor. Often when I had been panting in the hot air of the torrid zone, far away from the haunts of civilisation, I have thought that the manufacturing of artificial ice was the most beneficial invention of any age."
Mrs. Copsy again and again apologised for the plainness of the dinner.
"My dear," said Mr. Copsey, "our friends did not expect a princely banquet. When my fortune was shattered by the failure of Overend, Gurney and Co., I had only enough salvage from the wreck for that simplicity of style, that is happily not incompatible with the aspirations of a noble soul. We might have a somewhat larger establishment, but I can't spend all I have over ourselves. To bestow on the needy is as indispensable to my life as food. Alas! I deplore the loss of fortune because I have now so little wherewith to alleviate distress. Even in the society of my friends, even at this moment I am oppressed by a case that I cannot adequately relieve."
Mr. Copsey wiped his gold-rimmed eyeglass, emptied his glass, and sighed.
"If my purse was as large and full as my heart, the sun would not shine on suffering that riches could assuage. My child, fetch some cigars from my study. Some of the Cabanas that were sent me by His Grace. I find a cigar soothing to painful emotion."
When the guests left about midnight, they had to walk some distance for a cab, and began to talk, as departed guests are apt to do, about their entertainers and entertainment.
"These cigars are A1, Pooner. Copsey is a queer fish, but he is good-natured, and does his best to make a fellow comfortable."
"Very queer, indeed. If he is not an artful cadger, I am."
"Well, of course, the Emperor of China, Bang Foo, and King Tumtum, and all that talk is cram; but I don't think the girls are a bad sort."
Candy Villa is a breakfast parlor and two-storey house, with twenty-feet grounds in the rear, and a six-feet garden in the front. The abode of Mr. Copsey, though small, is imposing. On the little veranda that juts from the little drawing-window, are four little evergreens in four little tubs. There is a capacious portico, which is approached by a flight of three stone steps, guarded by two stone lions, the magnificent animals having prodigiously luxuriant manes and very long tails.
Let us be introduced to Mr. Copsey in his study. The writing table is covered with letters and papers. There are books on suspended shelves. In a corner are two hat-boxes, a case of mineral waters, and a case of wine. On a small round table are two tumblers, a glass jug of water, an open box of cigars, and a bundle of cigarettes. Over the mantelpiece hangs a weapon that was presented to Mr. Copsey by an African king. The walls are decorated with photographs of Mr. Copsey. One of the photographs has St. Peter's for a back ground, in another Mr. Copsey dwarfs the Niagara Falls, and in others St. Mark's, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the Alps have the honor of playing second fiddle to Mr. Copsey's likeness. The back grounds serve to remind Mr. Copsey of his travels.
The nose of the visitor encounters' a smell of assorted scents, emanating from the pomade with which Mr. Copsey renovates his hair, the cosmetique with which he disciplines his beard and moustache, and the Imperial Perfume with which he saturates his handkerchief. In the crown of Mr. Copsey's hat, on his signet ring, on the case of his watch, on his note-paper, on his linen, on his cigar-case, on his purse, on the knob of his umbrella, and on all that is his there is printed, or embossed, or embroidered, or engraved his initials in monogram and his crest, which is a long-eared tiger, tottering in its hind legs.
Mr. Copsey was always carefully prepared for the gaze of mankind, and though he never left his bed until the vulgar world had done half a day's work, he devoted over two hours to dressing. He is now arrayed for dinner. The extremities of his superfine black trousers gracefully repose on patent-leather shoes. From the button-hole of his rich silk waistcoat is suspended a gold chain and a bunch of ornaments, including a miniature tea-urn, the gift of his Celestial Majesty the late Emperor of China, and a miniature warming-pan, given to him by the late Duke of Wellington. The white necktie is fringed with lace, and gold studs and a ruby pin enrich his shirt front. On his fingers are three rings, which he is constantly feeling—perhaps to make sure that they have not been given into the custody of an accommodating relation; for he has at intervals banked with the descendants of the ancient Lombards. A gold-rimmed eyeglass is suspended round his neck, and the links of his shirt sleeves are conspicuous.
A low and slightly overhanging forehead, an elongated nose, with a snubby termination; eyes of ferret shape and expression, of feline color, and with a fishy film; a capacious and thin-lipped mouth. Neither photography nor art could fail to do him justice.
According to rumor, Mr. Copsey had been in various callings, and, at the time we make his acquaintance, he was supposed to be living on his means, devoting his time to philanthropy.
Mr. Copsey rang the bell, and ordered the servant to ask Mrs. Copsey to come into the study. The lady, who was very much dressed, particularly about the head and skirt, and who appeared to be awkwardly conscious of the grandeur of her attire, speedily complied with the request.
"Where are the children?"
"They are dressing."
"You mean that they are engaged on their toilet."
"Yes; and, poor dears, they are quite upset by the heat."
"Ah!" said Mr. Copsey, "what is this to crossing the line, when to respire is intensest agony, and causes an aqueous discharge from every pore of the skin. But I have been trained to endurance, and the cold of Lapland and the heat of the torrid zone did not evoke a murmur."
"Nonsense, Copsey. No one can be froze or boiled without feeling it."
"My dear, froze or boiled is an expression that, applied to the temperature of humanity, does not befit the lips of a lady."
"We are alone."
Mr. Copsey rectified some mineral water with brandy, and drank the mixture.
"How often am I to repeat that, in order to avoid embarrassments, we should, in the privacy of the domestic circle, seem to one another what we wish to appear in the vision of society."
Mr. Copsey spoke slowly, and mouthed his words as if they were so precious and so nice that he was loath to part with them.
"We have a beautiful bowl of ice, Copsey."
"An indispensable gastronomical obbligato at this season. By the way, we have no ice tongs."
"We can use the sugar tongs."
"That will not do," said Mr. Copsey, as he prepared another tumbler of mineral water, rectified with brandy. "It is better to take our liquids warm, to say that our purveyor of ice has disappointed us, than adopt a vulgar substitute for the proper implement."
"But, Copsey, can't we say that the proper tongs has gone to be mended, or been stolen?"
"My dear, you forestall the utterance of my thought. In a duly regulated establishment, mending is so arranged that no inconvenience accrues from the operation. Our ice tongs, given to me by an Indian prince, were stolen by an applicant for alms, who was left solus in our dining room."
At that moment the two children—the only children of Mr. Copsey—entered the study. They are girls, and their papa often expresses regret that he has not a son to inherit his ancient name.
"My dears, your ma and I have arranged that our ice tongs have been purloined by an impostor soliciting benevolence."
"Yes, papa; and couldn't our silver fish-knives have been stolen at the same time. For, as Vespasia was just saying, it is so vulgar not to have them."
"Certainly, my dear. We only discovered the cruel theft this afternoon. I will state the circumstance to our guests."
The elder of the children is Miss Innocence Estella Viola Copsey, and, according to the family reckoning, she is about twenty-one years old, though she was baptised with less poetical names, nearly forty years ago. The younger child, Miss Vespasia Rosina Lily Copsey, favored the light of the sun all thirty-five years ago, but, according to the Copsey calculation, she is not quite of her teens. Papa has lately bought a big family Bible, and entered the births of Innocence and Vespasia, at dates which support the theory of their juvenility.
What with the squeezing in and the padding out, the complexion put on, the hair of foreign growth, and the teeth of art, they might be taken, at a distance, for girls. Their manners are quite infantile. They are addicted to giggling, but, as their mamma observes, children will be tickled by straws. In their movements they strive to imitate the friskiness of lambs, and, as their papa remarks, the graceful agility of youth must necessarily herald the dignity of mature life. There is no doubt that the Copseys were perfectly unconscious that their grotesque pretensions were laughed at, yet, as we shall see, they were clever and successful dupers—that they had the ability and tact to live by fraud without being overhauled by justice and dry-docked. The phenomenon can be explained. Personal vanity, the unmingled worship of self, blinds the sharpest sight to defects of self. Also the habitual liar becomes the dupe of his own lying.
"I think, my dear, that on this occasion you might, if the opportunity occurs, ask Mr. Pooner and Mr. Drumhead to assist us in a work of benevolence. Pooner has a very fair income, and Drumhead is rich."
"Yes, papa," said Vespasia; ''but I am sure Pooner is awfully mean. The gloves he gave me were not worth two shillings a pair."
"Perhaps, my dear, Mr. Pooner is a lemon that requires extra squeezing; but in the cause of charity we must not be discouraged."
"Shall we plead for the poor family in the country which wants to emigrate?"
"No, dear Innocence; I am afraid that the poor family in the country is not effective. Why should we not ask for help in the case of Margaret and Martha Manvers, whose bad conduct I have again and again forgiven, who are now in dire distress, and are willing to emigrate and lead a proper life, if the funds can be procured. Your ma might, without my consent, take our friends to see the unhappy women."
"But, pa, they would want us to go with them, so perhaps it would be better to plead for only one woman."
"My dear Vespasia, you and Innocence are too sensitive to look upon such misery; and that is a reason for declining."
"I don't like or trust that Pooner," said Mrs. Copsey. "Old fools have eyes."'
"Let him use his eyes," rejoined Mr. Copsey. "We are not ashamed of what we do in the cause of charity."
"And it is about time we did something," said Innocence, "for nothing is coming in. We wrote to Old Chubb, telling him that the poor widow Ward has just lost her youngest child, and has not a penny for a bit of crape or to buy a coffin, and the brute replies that he will not give her another sixpence, and that we are to tell Mrs. Ward that if she calls at his house again he will not see her and will take some steps to get rid of the nuisance."
"I should like to see the wretch horse-whipped," exclaimed Vespasia.
Mr. Copsey played with his toy tea urn and his toy warming pan, and smiled.
"The brutality of Mr. Chubb will be defeated. I happen to have found out an excessively unpleasant circumstance about his son. I shall call on him in the morning and condole with him on that painful affair, and after that he will be civil to you and to any person whose cause you advocate. He who know's another man's unpleasant secret is master of that man."
Mr. Copsey had devoted much of his time to discovering other people's secrets, and he found the occupation profitable. There were half a dozen men and women who dared not refuse to help his poor family in the country, his distressed widow in town, his ruined professional friend, his clergyman who had disgraced the cloth and was in most pitiable penury, or his orphan girl whose life depended upon a visit to Madeira. Mr. Copsey had a very long list of pensioners on his bounty. There was an author engaged on an immortal work who yearned for a pat, only one pat, of butter to lubricate his dry crust; there was a governess who was always going into a first-rate situation, provided she could obtain a few clothes; there was a mother praying for a few pounds to save her son from shame; there was always on hand a woman earning bread for her helpless family, who was in peril of having her sewing machine seized for rent.
The guests arrived in due course. Mr. Pooner is middle aged and attentive to Vespasia. Mr. Drumhead is young and devoted to Innocence. The dear children were so playful. Vespasia made little bread pills and threw them at Mr. Pooner. Innocence put her plated napkin ring on Mr. Drumhead's thumb, and said, "With this ring O thee wed." Mrs. Copsey did not notice it.
"Try that condiment, Mr. Pooner. It is not unlike the palate stimulant that I enjoyed in Pekin, where I resided for three months. Khan Bang Foo, the Imperial Chamberlain, prepared sumptuous banquets for my stomachic delectation. Khan Bang Foo loved me, and tears streamed down his venerable cheeks when I refused to entertain His Celestial Majesty's offer of £10,000 a year, and a palace to remain in his Empire. Imperial grandeur could not tempt me to forsake my native land. The Emperor was offended at first, but became reconciled and presented me with his miniature tea-urn as a parting gift."
"Pa, dear, wasn't the Emperor's daughter very fond of you?" asked Vespasia.
"My dear child, you awaken a delicate memory. The illustrious Princess honored me by a profound attachment, which, if I had forsaken my native land, would doubtless have eventuated in an alliance. Her feet were so exquisitely small that I could barely get my thumb into the jewelled shoe, that she gave me as a memento of our friendship."
Mr. Copsey enlivened the dinner with many such anecdotes of his travels.
"Put some ice into your claret, Mr. Drumhead. When I was in Africa, the honored guest of King Tumtum, I had a refrigerating apparatus in my baggage, and made artificial ice. The delight of the king and his wives was ecstatic. His majesty offered to abdicate in my favor. Often when I had been panting in the hot air of the torrid zone, far away from the haunts of civilisation, I have thought that the manufacturing of artificial ice was the most beneficial invention of any age."
Mrs. Copsy again and again apologised for the plainness of the dinner.
"My dear," said Mr. Copsey, "our friends did not expect a princely banquet. When my fortune was shattered by the failure of Overend, Gurney and Co., I had only enough salvage from the wreck for that simplicity of style, that is happily not incompatible with the aspirations of a noble soul. We might have a somewhat larger establishment, but I can't spend all I have over ourselves. To bestow on the needy is as indispensable to my life as food. Alas! I deplore the loss of fortune because I have now so little wherewith to alleviate distress. Even in the society of my friends, even at this moment I am oppressed by a case that I cannot adequately relieve."
Mr. Copsey wiped his gold-rimmed eyeglass, emptied his glass, and sighed.
"If my purse was as large and full as my heart, the sun would not shine on suffering that riches could assuage. My child, fetch some cigars from my study. Some of the Cabanas that were sent me by His Grace. I find a cigar soothing to painful emotion."
When the guests left about midnight, they had to walk some distance for a cab, and began to talk, as departed guests are apt to do, about their entertainers and entertainment.
"These cigars are A1, Pooner. Copsey is a queer fish, but he is good-natured, and does his best to make a fellow comfortable."
"Very queer, indeed. If he is not an artful cadger, I am."
"Well, of course, the Emperor of China, Bang Foo, and King Tumtum, and all that talk is cram; but I don't think the girls are a bad sort."
"Precious old girls, but not old enough to fool me. Vespasia looked spiteful, though she pretended to be very grateful when I gave a sovereign to help the two unfortunate women named Manvers. She expected a fiver."
"I gave Innocence two fivers for the Manvers women."
"Bravo, Drumhead! Then our dinner, wine and cigars are handsomely paid for."
"Come, my boy, they are not quite so fishy as to cheat the poor."
"I no more believe in the Manvers' women, than I do in Bang Foo and his Celestial Majesty's daughter."
"Nonsense, Pooner. Innocence proposed that I should go and see the women."
"The sweet Vespasia made the same suggestion to me."
"It's not pleasant to be bled, Pooner. Only a fortnight ago, Copsey got a twenty from me for a parson who has gone to the dogs, and was quite savage when I said I could not afford more than a fiver. It is this way, Pooner. About two years ago I did my first and last turf plunge, and to pay my losses discounted bills secured by a post obit. Somehow or other Copsey knows about that job, which is all squared, but if it came to the ears of my Governor, I should be cut off with a bronze token, and serve me right, and old Copsey has a way of letting you know he knows your secret. So you see I don't want to offend him."
Before he again spoke, Mr. Pooner whistled a popular air with elaborate variations.
"Look here, Drumhead, I'll lay you long odds, it shall be twenty sovs. to one, that the Manvers' women are a sham."
"It would he plundering you to take the bet."
"No, it would not. Let it be a bet, to oblige me, Drumhead."
"Done. But how can we decide it?"
"I feel a sudden interest in their case, and you and I will be willing to come down handsomely to get them abroad. We will go and see them as proposed by the sweet Vespasia and the charming Innocence. Come to my chambers for a brandied soda, and we will fix up the details.
Perhaps if Mr. Copsey had heard the conversation of his departed guests, he would not that night have slept the sound sleep of infancy before it is troubled with teething.
The next day he called on Mr. Chubb, and when he returned to Candy Villa, said:
"After an interesting and confidential conversation with Mr. Chubb, about an unpleasant affair, I told him that I knew my children had ventured to trouble him about the distress of a poor widow, and that he must excuse you for so doing, because I had trained you to regard charity as the business of your life. He was very polite, and spoke most kindly of your benevolence. I think that Mrs. Ward should call on him."
"Yes, pa," said Innocence, "perhaps I had better go with Mrs. Ward. I can see Chubb whilst she sits in the cab."
"I suppose the widdy has buried the kid by this time," said Vespasia, laughing.
"Do not jest about these matters, my dear, or you will be caught laughing when you ought to be serious."
"Of course not, Vespy; did we not write the evening before last to say that the child had just died, and poor Mrs. Ward could not provide for the funeral!"
"I think," said Mr. Copsey, "that besides temporary relief, something substantial should be done for the bereaved widow. If Mr. Chubb will find £30, I will put £30 to it, and we can furnish two rooms for her; and as she is an accomplished woman, we can put her in the way of getting a living for herself and surviving child, by teaching."
Then Mr. Copsey dined. A little soup. A taste of fish. A delicate preparation of sweetbread. Vegetables cooked in French fashion. Claret and two or three glasses of burgundy. Mr. Copsey often spoke of the refined and aesthetical tendencies of his nature. He abhorred common food, the vulgar chop, steak or joint, plain boiled potatoes, and brutal beer.. Even his nose was aesthetical, and was tortured by contact with even the finest cambric, unless the cambric had been aesthetically perfumed.
"Now, my dear children, whilst you are charitably engaged in connection with the appalling distress of the poor widow Ward, I shall recline on the couch, for I am suffering from a sense of fatigue. With my postprandial cigar, I will take some mineral water with a slight precautionary infusion of alcohol in the form of brandy. Oh, my dear Innocence, not that thick tumbler. Please give me a thin and elongated mineral water glass. I cannot help the asthetical sensitiveness of my nature. My lips shrink from contact with thick glass. I remember when I was in Africa, and tormented by the raging thirst which is incidental to jungle fever, I could not moisten my parched lips until my faithful attendant brought my liquid in a suitable vessel, that is to say, in the burnished silver goblet always carried in my valise."
Mr. Copsey smoked his cigar and then dosed placidly, the aesthetically perfumed cambric being put over his head as a defence against the flies which have no respect even for a Copsey. But the fatigued philanthropist did not enjoy the contemplated evening of seclusion and repose.
Clifford, the general domestic—her real name was Ann Mugg, but Mr. Copsey preferred a more aristocratic appellation—aroused her master from his sweet sleep to announce that Mr. Proven wanted to see him about a case of charity.
"Conduct him to me, Clifford, for even a stranger, if he comes on an errand of mercy, has a claim to disturb your master's rest."
He put the brandy out of sight, took up a book, and began to read.
"Good evening, Mr. Copsey, I hope I don't interrupt. Mr. Neal has referred to us a letter you wrote to him about the case of a merchant who is sick and starving. If you will oblige me with the details the case shall be looked into, and if it turns out genuine, shall be duly and promptly relieved."
Mr. Copsey coloured and looked hard at his visitor through his gold-rimmed eyeglass.
"And who are you, sir?"
"My name is Proven, sir. I am a local superintendent of the Charity Organisation Society."
Mr. Copsey rose from his chair, and spoke in a tone of indignation that ought to have made Mr. Proven quake in his stockings.
"This is a most unwarrantable and unprovoked intrusion, sir. If Mr. Neal will not lay up treasure in heaven that is his affair: but it is a breach of etiquette, a violation of the law of honor, almost a violation of the law of the land, to send you my letter. As for your society, sir, I hate it, I abhor it, I detest it; and before men and angels I anathematise it. Is the dew of heaven, sir, to be sold by measure? So far as I can I will oppose the cruel desecration of charity. You have my answer to your request. Good night to you."
The indignant philanthropist had not recovered from the shock of Mr. Proven's wicked request, when Clifford announced Mr. Burrell.
"How are you? I am delighted to see you. Mrs. Copsey and the children will be in shortly."
"Thanks; but I cannot remain to-night. I have called about the distressed clergyman. Ever since I have had your letter it has worried me. Such trouble and misery is awful."
"Ah, my dear Mr. Burrell, the eyes of my heart are suffused with tears—pitying tears of blood—when I think of the suffering of a man whom I knew when he basked in the sunshine of prosperity. True, my unfortunate friend has erred, and deeply. In a moment of weakness he sullied his cloth; he forgot the reverence due to his sacred office. But when I behold my fallen fellow creature writhing in the dust, spurned by the world, and mangled by remorse, I forget his iniquity, and hold out to him my ungloved hand."
"You are right, Mr. Copsey. I'll call on the poor fellow, and when I see what he can do, we must and will find him a means of living. I was struck by his noble remark you quote in your letter, that the bread of charity chokes him, and that it is only honestly earned bread that can restore his health and sustain his life. He must be a manly fellow. Where shall I find him?"
Mr. Copsey shook his head.
"Alas! my dear Mr. Burrell, the sensitiveness of his nature is intensified by suffering, and he would rather decease than be seen in his misery and degradation. Even the visit of my gentle child Vespasia caused a nervous shock that was nearly fatal."
"But, Mr. Copsey, how can a man be helped who will not be seen?"
"My dear friend, let him receive the aid he needs as the flowers of the field receive the refreshing dew."
"I promise you I will not wound his feelings. Give me his address."
"No, Mr. Burrell. My soul so deeply sympathise with the sensitiveness of woe, that I cannot comply with your kindly meant request."
"Then I can't help him."
"So be it, my dear friend. However, when I see him to-morrow I will mention your proposal."
Mr. Burrell handed two sovereigns to Mr. Copsey.
"Give him that. I'll do more for him if he'll let me."
Mr. Copsey put two sovereigns to Mr. Burrell's gift, and wrapped the four in an envelope.
"Ah, my dear Mr. Burrell, what a blessed investment is charity!" There is no fraudulent trustee or dishonest director to steal our money. There is no winding up and calls to pay. The land shall be desolate and consols shall be no more; but these sovereigns, that we have invested in mercy, will yield us a dividend of bliss for ever."
When Mr. Burrell had left Candy Villa, Mr. Copsey, transferred the sovereigns from the envelope to his purse.
"There is no nobility of soul left in the world! Burrell must be worth three or four thousand a year, yet he gives a paltry two pounds for a case of awful distress. I wish I had tried him for the Manvers women or for the widow Ward, for then he might have seen the case.
Miss Innocence did not bring cheering news to the eminent philanthropist.
"Yes, pa, we have seen old Chubb, and he only gave three pounds, and said he could do no more."
"But I think he will do more, my dear Innocence. It is a very unpleasant affair indeed I have discovered about his son. I think he will do more for the widow."
"I hope he will be made to do it, for he quite upset us. He came up to the cab to see the widow, and said, 'I will call on you, what is your address?' Of course she began to sob, and I sobbed too. Then the wretch said: 'I'll go with you now, and see what is to be done!' But I was equal to him, for I said, 'Oh, how good and brave you are, dear Mr. Chubb, for no one will come near the poor thing, because her child died of putrid fever.' He made such a bolt into his house that we couldn't help laughing; but he was too frightened to hear our laughter. The mean wretch."
Vespasia tripped in, wearing a white cotton wrapper trimmed with red ribbon.
"My dear child, what a style for this hour. A lady puts on evening attire for dinner, and continues in evening attire until she disrobes for her couch. The observation of the etiquette of the elite is a moral tonic that no one can dispense with without deterioration."
Mr. Copsey's speech, always slow, was slower than usual, and clammy. The children looked at the brandy bottle. Pa had taken a great deal of precaution in the rectification of the mineral water.
"Well, pa, I am so hot after black, and I am tired of dressing. But, Inny, who do you think has written to me? Pooner. And what do you suppose he says? Guess what the letter is about."
"My dear child, I object to anything that has the remotest affinity to a riddle. It is the amusement of the inferior classes, and therefore a vulgar practice."
The children never regarded the admonitions of the pa when he was in the clammy stage of alcoholic precaution. Innocence took the letter and read it.
"Oh, isn't it jolly! Pa, old Pooner writes to Vespy, that he talked to Drumhead about the Manvers case, and they will give a hundred pounds between them to help the unfortunate women, and put them in a decent position. Pooner and Drumhead will call here to-morrow afternoon for us to take them to see the women."
"There is some nobility of soul in the world, my children, though it is hard to get at it; for the ear of those who have is so encrusted and hardened with gold, with the dross of commerce, that it is deaf as the auricular of the adder to the moan of distress. We will debate the affair in the morning; for I am too exhausted to-night. l am afraid that mineral water, though it pleasantly gratifies and allays the liquid craving of the palate, relaxes the nervous tone. Ask your ma, my dear, to prepare a thin sandwich of tongue, with a little condiment in the form of mustard. And though I abhor malt liquor I will swallow a glass of bitter beer, which is the least objectionable form of malt infusion."
Mr. Copsey continued to talk very slowly and with increasing clamminess until he was in bed and asleep. Mr. Copsey was never intoxicated, but a stranger might have mistaken his nightly mineral water clamminess for a stage of the complaint; that is to say, a stranger who did not know and hold the Copsey doctrine, that Albert Fitz-Talbot Copsey never said, or did, or thought amiss, and that a person who obeyed the behest of the said Copsey only did his duty; and any person who denied the said Copsey was vulgar, ignoble, and wicked. There is no doubt whatever that Mr. Copsey was persuaded that blackest black was brightest white, that he a most despicable scoundrel was a truly noble and meritorious man. Perhaps it is not uncommon for scoundrels to be blind to their faults and imagine themselves to be very superior to the rest of their fellow creatures, and not a whit lower than the angels.
Mr. Copsey slept soundly, as the innocent sheep sleeps unconscious that to-morrow it will be butchered into mutton.
When Mr. Podner and Mr. Drumhead arrived at Candy Villa, the children were out purchasing flannel to be made into petticoats for the Poor Female Winter Clothing Club.
"Since infancy my dear children have daily toiled in the sweet and noble field of charity. Ah, Mr. Drumhead, our National Debt, though immense, would not, though it were multiplied by a thousand, produce the income my girls have laid up in another world. No wonder that some little ragged children came to them the other day and said—'Oh, please, please, Miss Innocence, and Miss Vespasia, we know you are angels, for mother says so, and you are so good. Oh, please do show us your wings!' I am not ashamed to confess that when I heard that touching anecdote my eyes were not tearless."
"It was proposed that we should see the unfortunate women, the Manvers," said Mr. Pooner.
"I am aware of your benevolent design, and that is one reason why I insisted upon the children going out. It prostrates them, it is almost fatal to them to look upon such misery as afflicts Martha and Margaret Manvers. Five years ago, Martha was as well-shapen as my own girls, but now she is bent, and deformed by curvature of the spine caused by the weakness engendered by want.
For three months, the poor creature had no other food than an occasional dry crust and the fumes of boiled beef and carrots that she daily inhaled by standing over the grating of a cookshop. Once the poor creature tore some cat's meat from the mouth of a cat and eat it. That was not honest, but let us forgive the dishonesty. Margaret is so lamed with rheumatism, caught by exposure to the weather in soleless shoes, that she cannot move without the help of a stick. Yet those women are educated daughters of a refined gentleman, whose face was not unknown to the gold stick in waiting at the court of our sovereign."
"We will go alone to see the unfortunates."
"No, my dear Mr. Pooner. Mrs. Copsey will conduct you to the abode of misery."
Whilst Mrs. Copsey and the gentlemen were engaged on what Mr. Copsey described as the heart-rending mission of angelic mercy, the eminent philanthropist, drove to the Park in a hansom, walked half-an-hour, and then dined at his club. It was twilight when he returned to his residence.
Mrs. Copsey and the children were in the reception room. Mrs. Copsey was lying on the couch, groaning. Vespasia was swallowing some brandy and water, the glass being held to her lips by Innocence.
"What does this mean? What I ask, is the meaning of this excitement and confusion?"
"Oh, that horrid Pooner!" said Innocence.
"I'll murder the wretch," exclaimed Vespasia.
"I told your pa what Pooner was," groaned Mrs Copsey.
Presently, whilst Mrs. Copsey continued to groan, and Vespasia to scream, Innocence informed the eminent philanthropist of what had happened.
Mrs. Copsey conducted Mr. Pooner and Mr. Drumhead to the miserable unfurnished cottage in which a benevolent landlord allowed the unfortunate Manvers women to shelter until it was left. Margaret Manvers was on the straw mattress covered with a ragged quilt and moaning with agony. Her rheumatism was so bad she could not sit up or even speak to the benevolent visitors. Martha Manvers, dreadfully deformed with a huge lump on her back, was so weak that she could only speak in a whisper. Mrs. Copsey called Pooner to a corner of the room and said she was sure the woman on the mattress was attacked with fever, and it would not be prudent to remain long in the place. Pooner opened the door and whistled, and old Chubb came in. In a moment Pooner seized Martha, violently tore off her wig and hump, whilst Chubb and Drumhead took the rags and wig off the moaning Margaret.
I can't tell you what was said, for we were stunned. As soon as the wretches left we came home. I am sure they will go to the police."
"What trouble you have brought upon me," said Mr. Copsey. "I shall leave, and you had better follow."
"How dare you talk of forsaking me and the poor children? You are as bad as Pooner,"
"Don't be such fools as to row when every moment is valuable," said Innocence.
"Hark!" exclaimed Mr. Copsey, "there is some one at the door. It is only the postman. Yes, Innocence, we have not a moment to waste."
The following afternoon the milkman was surprised to find that the milk he had left in the morning in a can, under the guardianship of the stone lions, had not been taken in. After knocking and ringing, he enquired of the neighbors. The opinions were various.
At the end of the week the landlord of Candy Villa, received a post packet bearing a French post mark. It contained a key and the following letter:
"France, Thursday Night.
"I am compelled for a while to sojourn in a foreign land. After a life devoted to the work of charity and mercy, I am the victim of a cruel and fiendish plot. An innocent masquerading frolic of my children has been wickedly misconstrued. But I am blessed with a noble soul and a tender heart, and I forgive my enemies, who have for a time deprived the afflicted of their friend in need, their brother in adversity. Sell the furniture and effects at Candy Villa, and out of the proceeds take the rent due to you, and be good enough to disburse the balance in charity. Even in my own trouble I cannot forget the troubles of others. I am a child in business, and indeed the only business I understand is helping others. Hoping you will cheerfully undertake to act as my almoner, and that the sale may yield a goodly balance for the relief of distress,
"I am, Your faithful friend,
"ALBERT FITZ-TALBOT COPSEY."
In the children's room was found a large trunk, which was fastened by a patent lock.
The trunk contained tattered dresses, widow's caps and bonnets, an assortment of false hair of various colors, several sets of artificial teeth, crutches, and a back hump similar to that which had been worn by Martha Manvers.
Whether Mr. Copsey has returned to his native land is uncertain; but he may have done so, and under another name and in another locality, be engaged in philanthropic enterprise, aided by the charming Innocence and the sweet Vespasia.
Warragul Guardian, Thursday 28 July 1881, supplement page 2.
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