BETSY’S BEAU.

Cromwell Argus, Volume I, Issue 25, 4 May 1870, Page 7

BETSY’S BEAU.

) “ It is a thing that I never did 'allow, j jnd that I never will allow,” said my wife, / making up for her small person and uuimposing aspect by speaking very loudly, as '’’’l' if she had had large experience in servants •'•■u —lessons duly instilled by a lady, a near . u, relative, who kindly supervises our domes>‘o affairs, and pays us long visits. “If it feljd been a relative, or I had been asked, w Slight not ave objected ; but I must beg that nothing of the kind ever occurs skfOi igain,” said my wife in continuation of 10 v her lecture. • “ But, please *m, he didn’t have nothink 'ffit to eat,” said our handmaiden deprecatingly, la j but with somewhat of an injured tone, a* “l was not alluding to that, Elizabeth,” ‘b i;: gaid Mrs Scribe severely, “ but to the principle. I do not go so far as to say s i I will not allow followers ; but if anything i f gimilar to last night’s affair takes place, I ‘‘Til shall consider that you have forfeited your "In situation.—Now, clear away the breakfast font things.” er “ Anything similar to last night’s affair,” ha I said, repeating my wife’s words, as soon ■ e ‘ as Elizabeth had indignantly swept the table, and then herself out of the room. i B . “I suppose ‘ anything similar ’ means anrte other life-guard or a grenadier 1” b 0 “ Now, don’t be absurd, dear,” was the reply. “Of com-se we cannot allow such goings on.” “ We ? ” said I. “ Well, there then, I cannot allow such for goings on ; and I’m sure you do not wish ey me to go down into my own kitchen of a night, to be startled by |reat scarlet men.” bU “You never evinced any fear of the iU a great scarlet lady, my dear,” I ventured to assert, and making what I thought a very lea pungent allusion towards vestments, canto’ dies, incense, and flowers, as displayed at £ e< ! a neighbouring church. 0 f “How witty!” was the caustic rejoinSB* der; when I took refuge in the morning paper, and afterwards beat a retreat cityward. By way of peace-offering, I came io ‘ back in the evening bearing the “ neatest thing” I could purchase in the shape of is umbrellas; but it was not warmly received, ves “ Elizabeth has given warning this afterS e ‘ noon,” said my wife, we " ta C I replied ; “ for I’m sure me you gave her warnings enough this morneed ing.” “ And now I think the best thing to be done is to let her go ; for the silly thing is na< quite infatuated with the great tall booby I found in the kitchen last night, and has r. done nothing but sob, and cry, and go on, ever since.” out “ I trust there are no briny pearls in al ‘ this soup ?” 1 said. ncl ** course not,” was the reply. “ I , re . ,made it myself.” Jill, “ How weak are women,” I remarked th S^ter a P ause >** jet how hard upon res OUI deserve the fair,’ says the proverb; and ing the fair think, in consequence, that they red have only a right to the brave.” gjj “The brave! Such stuff! Why, I believe, George, if you had your way, you ttloj would encourage the girl in her mad fit. A soldier, indeed, without a penny to help j himself, let alone keep a wife ! ” m “ But the manly beauty—the uniform !” - I suggested. “ Manly nonsense ! ” “ And besides, it does not seem fair that the whole of the military force should be i j monopolised by the nursemaids, leaving only Policeman X for the cooks, and”— “There!” exclaimed my wite; “look !vi ! at that! Did you ever see such audacity ?” Turning immediately, I could not refrain j from a smile, for plainly shown upon the window-blind by the street lamp was the shadow of a huge life-guardsman, his wellpadded chest, fierce moustache, and ele-gantly-balanced forage-cap being displayed i»t* to great advantage. c. “That’s the same man !” exclaimed my wife ; “ and now, if you watch, you will see him pass the window and go down the to area.” “The soles are getting cold, my love,” I said; “ and I should infinitely prefer a mi Portion, to turning myself into a vidette i to watch the movements of the enemy. = Now, if your respected mamma had hapSEj pened to be here ! ” “ Now, don’t be ungenerous. I’m sure !” 8 mamma never suggested anything that was c °k for your good, George.” “ Perhaps not, my love,” I said ; “ but ret it is not always agreeable to take physic, mu however beneficial it may prove.—Thanks ! e * Now I’ll trouble you for the anchovy. No tec potatoes, thank- you.—Shall I ring for the other things? Slow-moving Betsy will aw Dot have them up before we have done rfr with the fish.” cat " 7 0u please,” was the very polite th. r oply, and turning my head, I found that s. Jo shadow picture upon the blind had ec£ disappeared. 10 “Of course it has,” said my wife, who ).f divined my thought. “And he is tec n ow down in the kitchen, feasting upon me the tit-bits supplied to him by that dis- ® graceful creature.” ■ c: 11 Let’s ring and startle them, then,” in Ij and leaving ray chair, T gave a He * u aty peal at the bell. sil J* the course of a minute or two up , Elizabeth, very smart, and very ruddy jil 0 • wieek—-due, no doubt, to the cooking—rf 'tod began to change the dishes.

“ Did I hear some one down-stairs, Elizabeth ? ” said my diplomatic wife. “ Down-stairs, mum ? No, mum ; not since the milk came.” “ Oh, that was. at four o’clock," said my wife; “ I mean just now.” “ No, mum, not as I’ve heord ; the boll hasn’t been touched for a good hour,” “ Oh I” said my wife, and then all was silent, while the soup and fish were removed, and the partridges Smyth seat us were placed upon the table, and the maid disappeared. “ Pity she admires or rather has her destiny ruled by Mars, for she is a capital cook,” I said, going on with the carving. “ Daresay she reads ZadkieL” “ Of course,” said my wife ; “ and Bow Bells, and the London Journal , and Family Herald , and all sorts of stuff” “ And the Moonstone, and Birds of Prey, I suppose, too,” I observed ; “ but perhaps she does not favour Mudie.” “ If you wish to send me up to my bedroom iu tears, George, pray say so. I’m sure that I don’t know what I have done that ” —sob—“ that ” —sob—pocket-hand-kerchief, and one tear right in the breadsauce. But the next moment, plainly heard, there was the buzz, buzz, of a manly voice, a giggle, a squeak, and the scraping of a chair—all plainly heard to proceed from the kitchen—coming up, as it were, through the floor: for the houses in New Park Crescent are very slightly built—so slightly, indeed, that we have never started a piano of our own, in consequence of the abun dance of musical sounds proceeding from Nos. 4 and 6, right and left of us. “ A deceitful creature ! ” exclaimed my wife, no longer tearful; “ and did she not declare to my face, ten minutes ago, that there was no one down-stairs I —Ring the bell, George.” “ Not till I have finished my dinner in peace, my love,” I said firmly, “ even if there were the Turkish Contingent downstairs. After dinner, I’m at your service ; but if I am to engage Sbaw the life-guards-man, I must have another glass or two of sherry first.—Who the deuce can that be ?” I exclaimed, for a cab stopped at the gate, and there was a loud ring at the front bell. Then came the soft patter of poor Elizabeth’s feet, the opening of the front door, a sharp altercation as if a cabman -were dissatisfied with his fare, and then my wife started from her chair, exclaiming “ Why, it's mamma!” “ The devil!” “ George !” exclaimed my wife ; and the next moment the door opened : there was embracing ; and I had to leave the choicest, brownest tir-bit of partridge on my plate, to be kissed and called “ my dear boy.” “ No,” she would not have the soup up —mamma would not. She was so sorry, but the train was late, or she would have been with us iu time to sit down to dinner. —There was a sole left, was there 1 Then she would have that; it could not be so very cold. “ Bring the fish back, Elizabeth,” said my wife ; and it was evident that for the present Mars was out of her head. A few minutes elapsed,- during which “ dear mamma” had a glass of sherry, and then Elizabeth came back, holding in her hand the head of a sole ; the one I was ready to swear ! had left on my plate, for I knew it by its gouged-out eye. “ Oh, ’m, if you please, ’m ?” exclaimed Elizabeth. “ Well, Elizabeth ?” said my wife. “ That there cat, ’in, while I was up answering the door. There was nothing left but this here head, mum, as I was just in time to see it j amp off the table on to the floor.” “You careless creature,” cried my wife, “to leave it like that. There, bring a hot plate—Have a little partridge, mamma dear?” Directly afterwards, I saw some one’s face change, and a very suspicious look was directed at the handmaid, but that young lady evidently saw nothing ; and the meal passed off in a most satisfactory manner—that is to say, as far as appearances went; for I knew that I did not have anything like my share of the birds. At last I was left alone to have my one glass or two of sherry, and the ladies ascended, as I supposed, to the drawing-room; while, under the idea that the new ai-rival would render her secure from interruption, the fair Elizabeth descended to the nether regions. “ Now, I wonder whether that gentleman is below stairs ?” I thought; and then, somehow, my ideas were shunted off at express rate, till I was roused by hearing the front door open. “ Who in the world is that going out ?” I thought, and then I listened for the closing, but in vain; while, directly after, a strange, ghostly shadow passed the window, which shade 1 made out to be that of my respected mother-in-law, with a mantle over her head. “ Why, she’s going down to the kitchen,” I muttered ; and leaving my seat, I opened the door just in time to see my wife in the passage. “ Oh, I see!” I exclaimed, softly; “going to attack the enemy front and I’ear. Elaborate tactics, I must say.” “ You need not trouble yourself, sir, unless you please,” was the reply. “I daresay mamma and I can discomfit the enemy, as you term him, without your help,”

“ But are you sure there is any one below 1” I asked. “Oh dear no, sir ; only that there is a cat there with u strong love for fried soles 1" “ There, come along,” I said, for there was no help for it; an(l if there is anything I dislike, it is meddling with servants aud their belongings. But wo had not half descended the kitchen stairs, before we heard loud voices in altercation. “ That I’m sure there ain’t, mum, if it’s the last vords I had to utter, mum, there ain’t; and if missus was here”— “ Your mistress is here, Elizabeth I” said my wife, now entering the kitchen, with the writer following, feeling rather, small, and taking in the coup d icd of Mrs Scribe’s mamma standing at the area door, and Betsy keeping guard over that leading into the back kitchen. “ Take that candle and look in the coalcelhu’, George,” said my mother-in-law. “ I’m certain I heard some man’s voice downstairs.” “ It must have been next door, sir," said Betsy, appealing to me. “ Walls are thin !” I suggested, feeling disposed to draw off the forces, and to give the unfortunate enemy, if one there were, an opportunity to retreat. “*’S true as goodness, mum, there’s no one here,” said Betsy. “ Oh, you bad abandoned hussy !” said Mrs Scribe’s mamma, shaking her head at the maiden.—“ Why don’t you look in the coal-cellar, George 1” I felt disposed to swear at the coal-cellar, but Mrs Scribe just then whispering “Must Igo V’ I went to make the pleasant discovery that there was not above one sack left out of the last two tons : but Mars was not there, neither was he in the dust-bin; and coming back out of the area, I found our dear mamma peering in the kitchen cupboard, and apparently about next to open the drawers of the dresser.

(To be continued in our next.)

Parliamentary Reporting-. The Australasian says :—We are told that in the Legislative Assembly of New South Wales the fun does not begin until 11 o’clock p.m. But then it is worth waiting for. The faces of the reporters grow brighter, the points of their pencils sharper, their fingers nimbler, their ears more acute, and their eyes more watchful, as the hour of midnight approaches. Up to that time, reporting is dreary work, almost as wearisome as sitting out a five-act tragedy of the old school, or listening to a teoiperance speech from Mr Yale. But towards the short hours the gentlemen of the press prepare to enjoy themselves. The members who have been boring them for six or seven hours now begin to entertain them, and, while so doing, prove how much of the vis comica may lie concealed beneath the hat and waistcoat of the member of Parliament. Here is a sample of the humorous powers of aMr Ryan. “On the evening of the 23rd ult., the subject under discussion,” says a clever contributor to the Herald, “ was a vote proposed for a gratuity to an unfortunate woman whose husband (a Government boatman) had been drowneJ, in the execution of his duty. Of course the vote was opposed by the economists, and then Mr Ryan came down upon them in his wrath, wondering at them first, and then pitying them afterwards, for not having the heart that can feel for another. ‘ A few years ago,’ said he, ‘ I had something of the same Sort of thing happen to me.’ There was an outburst of amusement at the idea of Mr Ryan having been either drowned or left a widow, and several voices asked him in which of these two respects he had suffered. The hon. gentleman joined in the laughter, took no heed of the questions, and continued— ‘ I had a valuable servant of mine drowned—and a very good man he was—and left a wife behind him.’ This statement again excited the risible muscles of the hon, gentlemen, noc so muck by the picture presented by the hon. gentleman’s words, as by the manner in which the words were delivered. ‘ Luckily,’ Mr Ryan went on, ‘ she was a young woman.’ Here again there was a general roar, at which Mr Ryan was at first astonished, but in which he subsequently joined. ‘ Now I had to keep her for three years;’ and the hon. member said this as if he thought it a good joke, and hon. members thought with him, for the laughter was louder than ever. * However,’ said Mr Ryan, * she was a good-look-ing young woman,’ Hero again he was stopped by the laughter he elicited. ‘ She was a good-looking young woman, and one day a young chap came by, and took her off my hands. There was no family in the road, and the young fellow married her, and I got rid of her.’ Not more than half-a-dozen words of the last passage were said at once, for the amusement of hon. members was so great that Mr Ryan was repeatedly interrupted, and when he had finished, he was greeted with a general cheer appreciative of the telling character of his argument.” We wonder whether our friends in New South Wales, would be willing to “ make a swop” for Mr Ryan. We should not mind offering; in exchange, the two Smiths, Mr Vale, and half-a-dozen old hats the New Welshmen might select.