Shawl-Straps Part 16

Bonnetless girls roamed about singing and squabbling. Forlorn babies played in the gutter, and men and women in every stage of raggedness and degradation marred the beauty of that fair Sunday morning.

Crowds were swarming into the Tabernacle: but, thanks to the order a friend had given her, Miss Livy was handed to a comfortable seat, with a haggard Magdalen on one side and a palsy-stricken old man on the other.

Staring about her, she saw an immense building with two galleries extending round three sides, and a double sort of platform behind and below the pulpit, which was a little pen lifted high that all might see and hear.

Every seat, aisle, window-ledge, step, and door-way, was packed with a strange congregation; all nations, all colours, all ages, and nearly all bearing the sad marks of poverty or sin. They all sung, cried out if anything affected or pleased them in the sermon, and listened with interest to the plain yet fervent words of the man who has gathered together this flock of black sheep and is so faithful a shepherd to them.

Every one knows how Spurgeon looks in pictures, but in the pulpit he reminded Livy of Martin Luther. A square, florid face, stout figure, a fine keen eye, and a natural, decided manner, very impressive. A strong, clear voice of much dramatic power, and a way of walking the pulpit like Father Taylor.

His sermon was on 'Small Temptations,' and he ill.u.s.trated it by facts and examples taken from real life, pointing out several of his congregation, and calling them by name, which original proceeding seemed to find favour with his people. He used no notes, but talked rather than preached; and leaning over the railing, urged, argued, prayed, and sang with a hearty eloquence, very effective, and decidedly refreshing after High Church mummery abroad, and drowsy Unitarianism at home. Now and then he stopped to give directions for the comfort of his flock in a free and easy manner, which called up irresistible smiles on the faces of strangers.

'Mrs. Flacker, you'd better take that child into the ante-room: he's tired.' 'Come this way, friends: there's plenty of room.' 'Open all the windows, Manning: it's very warm.' And when a sad sort of cry interrupted him, he looked down at an old woman shaking with epilepsy, and mildly remarked, 'Don't be troubled, brethren: our sister is subject to fits,' and preached tranquilly on.

For two hours he held that great gathering, in spite of heat, discomfort, and other afflictions of the flesh, and ended by saying, in a paternal way,--

'Now remember what I've said through the week, and next Sunday show me that I haven't talked in vain.'

He read a list of meetings for every night in the week. One especially struck Livy, as it was for mothers to meet and talk over with him the best ways of teaching and training their children. Spurgeon evidently does not spare his own time and strength; and whatever his creed may be, he is a good Christian in loving his neighbour _better_ than himself, and doing the work his hand finds to do with all his might.

'That is a better church than most of those I enter where respectable saints have the best seats, and there is no place for sinners,' said Livy when she got home. 'Spurgeon's congregation preached more eloquently to me than he did. The Magdalen cried as if her heart was broken, and I am sure those tears washed some of her sins away. The feeble old man looked as if he had found a staff for his trembling hands to lay hold upon, and the forlorn souls all about me, for a time at least, laid down their burdens and found rest and comfort in their Father's house. It did me more good than the preaching of all the bishops in London, or the finest pageant at St. Paul's; and I am truly glad I went, though the saucy conductor did smirk at me over the rosebud.'

In contrast to this serious expedition, the old lady had a very jolly one not long afterward. A certain congenial Professor asked her one day what person, place, or thing in London she most desired to see.

Clasping her hands with the energy of deep emotion, she replied,--

'The home of the immortal Sairy Gamp. Long ago I made a vow, if I ever came to London I'd visit that spot. Let me keep my vow.'

'You shall!' responded the Professor with a responsive ardour, which caused Livy to dive into her waterproof without another word.

Away they went in a pouring rain, and what people thought of the damp but enthusiastic couple who pervaded the city that day I can't say; I only know a merrier pair of pilgrims never visited those grimy shrines.

They met several old friends, and pa.s.sed several familiar spots by the way. Major Bagstock and Cousin Phenix stared at them from a club-house window. Tigg Montague's cab dashed by them in Regent Street, more gorgeous than ever. The brothers Cheeryble went trotting cityward arm in arm, with a smile and ha'penny for all the beggars they met; and the Micawber family pa.s.sed them in a bus, going, I suppose, to accompany the blighted Wilkins to gaol.

In a certain grimly genteel street they paused to stare up at a row of grimly respectable houses; for, though the name wasn't on any of the doors, they were sure Mr. Dombey still lived there. A rough dog lay on one of the doorsteps, and a curtain fluttered at an open upper window.

Poor Di was growling in his sleep, and above there little Paul was watching for the golden water on the wall, while faithful Florence sung to him, and Susan Nipper put away derisive sniffs and winks in closets and behind doors for the benefit of 'them Pipchinses.'

Coming to a poorer part of the city, they met Tiny Tim tapping along on his little crutch, pa.s.sed Toby Veck at a windy street-corner, and saw all the little Tetterbys playing in the mud.

'Come down this street, and take a glimpse at St. Giles's, the worst part of London,' said the Professor; and, following, Livy saw misery enough in five minutes to make her heart ache for the day. A policeman kept near them, saying it wasn't safe to go far there alone.

Vice, poverty, dirt, and suffering reigned supreme within a stone's throw of one of the great thoroughfares, and made Alsatia dangerous ground for respectable feet. Here, too, they saw familiar phantoms: poor Jo, perpetually moving on; and little Oliver led by Nancy, with a shawl over her head and a black eye; Bill Sykes, lounging in a doorway, looking more ruffianly than ever; and the Artful Dodger, who kept his eye on them as two hopeful 'plants' with profitable pockets ready for him.

They soon had enough of this, and hurried on along High Holborn, till they came to Kingsgate Street, so like the description that I am sure d.i.c.kens must have been there and taken notes. They knew the house in a moment: there were the two dingy windows over the bird-shop; the checked curtains were drawn, but of course the bottomless bandboxes, the wooden pippins, green umbrella, and portrait of Miss Harris were all behind them. It seemed so real that they quite expected to see a red, snuffy old face appear, and to hear a drowsy voice exclaim: 'Drat that bell: I'm a coming. Don't tell me it's Mrs. Wilkins, without even a pincushion prepared.'

While Livy stood gazing in silent satisfaction (merely regretting that the name on the door was Pendergast, not Sweedle-pipes), the Professor turned to a woman, and asked with admirable gravity, 'Can you tell me where Mrs. Gamp lives?'

'What's her business?' demanded the matron, with interest.

'A nurse, ma'am.'

'Is she a little fat woman?'

'Fat, decidedly, and old,' returned the Professor, without a smile on his somewhat cherubic countenance.

'Well, she lives No. 5, round the corner.'

On receiving this unexpected reply, they looked at one another in comic dismay; but would certainly have gone to No. 5, and taken a look at the modern Sairy, if the woman hadn't called out as they moved on--

'I b'lieve that nuss's name is Britiain, not Gamp; but you can ask.'

Murmuring a hasty 'thank you,' they fled precipitately round the corner, and there enjoyed a glorious laugh under an umbrella, to the great amazement of all beholders.

Being on a d.i.c.kens pilgrimage, they went to Furnival's Inn, where he wrote 'Pickwick' in a three-story room, and read it to the old porter.

The same old porter told them all about it, and quite revelled in the remembrance. It did one's heart good to see the stiff, dried-up old fellow thaw and glow with the recollection of the handsome young man who was kind to him long ago, before the world had found him out.

'Did you think the book would be famous when he read it to you in 1834, as you say?' asked the Professor, beaming at him in a way that would have melted the heart of the stiff-tailed lion of the Northumberlands, if he'd possessed such an organ.

'O dear, yes, sir; I felt sure it would be summat good, it made me laugh so. _He_ didn't think much of it; but I know a good thing when I see it;' and the old man gave an important nod, as if all the credit of the blessed 'Pickwick' belonged to him. 'He married Miss Hogarth while livin' here; and you can see the room, if you like,' he added, with a burst of hospitality, as the almighty sixpence touched his palm.

Up they went, over the worn stairs; and, finding the door locked, solemnly touched the bra.s.s k.n.o.b, read the name 'Ed Peck' on the plate, and wiped their feet on a very dirty mat. It was ridiculous, of course; but hero-worship is not the worst of modern follies, and when one's hero has won from the world some of its heartiest smiles and tears, one may be forgiven for a little sentiment in a dark entry.

Next they went to the Saracen's Head, where Mr. Squeers stopped when in London. The odd old place looked as if it hadn't changed a particle.

There was the wooden gallery outside, where the chamber-maids stood to see the coach off; the archway under which poor Nicholas drove that cold morning; the office, or bar, where the miserable little boys shivered while they took alternate sips out of one mug, and bolted hunches of bread and b.u.t.ter as Squeers 'nagged' them in private and talked to them like a father in public. Livy was tempted to bring away a little porter-pot hanging outside the door, as a trophy; but fearing Squeers's squint eye was upon her, she refrained, and took a muddy pebble instead.

They took a peep at the Temple and its garden. The fountain was not playing, but it looked very pleasant, nevertheless; and as they stood there the sun came out, as if anxious that they should see it at its best. It was all very well to know that Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night'

was played in Middle Temple Hall, that the York and Lancaster roses grew here, that Dr. Johnson lived No. 1 Inner Temple Lane, and that Goldsmith died No. 2 Brick Court, Middle Temple; these actual events and people seemed far less real than the scenes between Pendennis and f.a.n.n.y, John Westlock and little Ruth Pinch. For their sakes Livy went to see the place; and for their sakes she still remembers that green spot in the heart of London, with the June sunshine falling on it as it fell that day.

The pilgrimage ended with a breathless climb up the Monument, whence they got a fine view of London, and better still of Todgerses. Livy found the house by instinct; and saw Cherry Pecksniff, now a sharp-nosed old woman, sitting at the back window. A gaunt, anxious-looking lady, in a ma.s.sive bonnet, crossed the yard, with a basket in her hand; and the Professor said at once, 'That's Mrs. Todgers, and the amount of gravy single gentlemen eat is still weighing heavy on her mind.' As if to make the thing quite perfect, they discovered fitful glimpses of a tousled-looking boy, cleaning knives or boots, in a cellar-kitchen; and all the lawyers in London couldn't have argued them out of their firm belief that it was young Bailey, undergoing his daily torment in company with the black beetles and the mouldy bottles.

That nothing might be wanting to finish off the rainy-day ramble in an appropriate manner, when Livy's companion asked what she'd have for lunch, she boldly replied,--

'Weal pie and a pot of porter.'

As she was not fond of either, it was a sure proof of the sincerity of her regard for the persons who have made them immortal. They went into an eating-house, and ordered the lunch, finding themselves objects of interest to the other guests. But, though a walking doormat in point of mud, and somewhat flushed and excited by the hustling, climbing, and adoring, it is certain there wasn't a happier spinster in this 'Piljin Projess of a wale,' than the one who partook of 'weal pie' in memory of Sam Weller, and drank 'a modest quencher' to the health of d.i.c.k Swiveller at the end of that delightful d.i.c.kens day.

Much might be written about the domestic pleasures of English people, but as the compiler of this interesting work believes in the sacredness of private life, and has a holy horror of the dreadful people who outrage hospitality by basely reporting all they have seen and heard, she will practise what she preaches, and firmly resist the temptation to describe the delights of country strolls with poets, cosey five-o'clock teas in famous drawing-rooms, and interviews with persons whose names are household words.

This virtuous reticence leaves the best untold, and brings the story of two of our travellers to a speedy end. Matilda decided to remain and study art, spending her days copying Turner at the National Gallery, and her evenings in the society of the eight agreeable gentlemen who adorned the house where she abode.

Amanda hurried home with friends to enjoy a festive summer among the verdant plains of Cape Cod. With deep regret did her mates bid her adieu, and nothing but the certainty of soon embracing her again would have reconciled Livy to the parting; for in Amanda she had found that rare and precious treasure, a friend.

'Addio, my beloved Granny; take care of your dear bones and come home soon,' said Amanda, in the little back entry, while her luggage was being precipitated downstairs.

'Heaven bless and keep you safe, my own Possum. I shall not stay long because I can't possibly get on without you,' moaned Livy, clinging to the departing treasure as Diogenes might have clung to his honest man, if he ever found him; for, with better luck than the old philosopher, Livy had searched long years for a friend to her mind, and got one at last.

'Don't be sentimental, girls' said Matilda, with tears in her eyes, as she hugged her Mandy, and bore her to the cab.

'Rome and Raphael for ever!' cried Amanda, as a cheerful parting salute.

'London and Turner!' shouted Matilda with her answering war-cry.