had ensconced himself therein, I sprang up the steps and placed myself by his side. "Now, Mr Peacock," said I, "you will tell me at once how you come to wear that livery, or I shall order the cabman to drive to Lady Ellinor Trevanion's, and ask her that question myself."
"And who the devil! – Ah, you're the young gentleman that came to me behind the scenes – I remember."
"Where to, sir?" asked the cabman.
"To – to London Bridge," said Mr Peacock.
The man mounted the box, and drove on.
"Well, Mr Peacock, I wait your answer. I guess by your face that you are about to tell me a lie; I advise you to speak the truth."
"I don't know what business you have to question me," said Mr Peacock sullenly; and, raising his glance from his own clenched fists, he suffered it to wander over my form with so vindictive a significance that I interrupted the survey by saying, "Will you encounter the house? as the Swan interrogatively puts it – shall I order the cabman to drive to St James's Square?"
"Oh, you know my weak point, sir; any man who can quote Will – sweet Will – has me on the hip," rejoined Mr Peacock, smoothing his countenance, and spreading his palms on his knees. "But if a man does fall in the world, and, after keeping servants of his own, is obliged to be himself a servant,
– 'I will not shame
To tell you what I am.'"
"The Swan says, 'To tell you what I was,' Mr Peacock. But enough of this trifling: who placed you with Mr Trevanion?"
Mr Peacock looked down for a moment, and then, fixing his eyes on me, said – "Well, I'll tell you: you asked me, when we met last, about a young gentleman – Mr – Mr Vivian."
Pisistratus. – Proceed.
Peacock. – I know you don't want to harm him. Besides, "He hath a prosperous art," and one day or other, – mark my words, or rather my friend Will's —
"He will bestride this narrow world
Like a Colossus."
Upon my life he will – like a Colossus,
"And we petty men – "
Pisistratus (savagely.) – Go on with your story.
Peacock (snappishly.) – I am going on with it! You put me out; where was I – oh – ah yes. I had just been sold up – not a penny in my pocket; and if you could have seen my coat – yet that was better than the small-clothes! Well, it was in Oxford Street – no, it was in the Strand, near the Lowther —
"The sun was in the heavens; and the proud day
Attended, with the pleasures of the world."
Pisistratus, (lowering the glass.) – To St James's Square?
Peacock. – No, no; to London Bridge.
"How use doth breed a habit in a man!"
I will go on – honour bright. So I met Mr Vivian, and as he had known me in better days, and has a good heart of his own, he says —
"Horatio, – or I do forget myself."
Pisistratus puts his hand on the check-string.
Peacock. – I mean, (correcting himself) – "Why, Johnson, my good fellow."
Pisistratus. – Johnson! – oh that's your name – not Peacock.
Peacock. – Johnson and Peacock both, (with dignity.) When you know the world as I do, sir, you will find that it is ill travelling this "naughty world" without a change of names in your portmanteau.
"Johnson," says he, "my good fellow," and he pulled out his purse. "Sir," said I, "if, 'exempt from public haunt,' I could get something to do when this dross is gone. In London there are sermons in stones, certainly, but not 'good in everything,' – an observation I should take the liberty of making to the Swan, if he were not now, alas! 'the baseless fabric of a vision.'"
Pisistratus. – Take care!
Peacock – (hurriedly.) – Then says Mr Vivian, "If you don't mind wearing a livery, till I can provide for you more suitably, my old friend, there's a vacancy in the establishment of Mr Trevanion." Sir, I accepted the proposal, and that's why I wear this livery.
Pisistratus. – And, pray, what business had you with that young woman, whom I take to be Miss Trevanion's maid? – and why should she come from Oxton to see you?
I had expected that these questions would confound Mr Peacock, but if there really were anything in them to cause embarrassment, the ci-devant actor was too practised in his profession to exhibit it. He merely smiled, and smoothing jauntily a very tumbled shirt-front, he said, "Oh sir, fie!
'Of this matter,
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made.'
If you must know my love affairs, that young woman is, as the vulgar say, my sweetheart."
"Your sweetheart!" I exclaimed, greatly relieved, and acknowledging at once the probability of the statement. "Yet," I added suspiciously – "yet, if so, why should she expect Mr Gower to write to her?"
"You're quick of hearing, sir; but though
'All adoration, duty, and observance;
All humbleness, and patience, and impatience,'
the young woman will not marry a livery servant – proud creature, very proud! – and Mr Gower, you see, knowing how it was, felt for me, and told her, if I may take such liberty with the Swan, that she should
– 'Never lie by Johnson's side
With an unquiet soul,'
for that he would get me a place in the Stamps! The silly girl said she would have it in black and white – as if Mr Gower would write to her!"
"And now, sir," continued Mr Peacock, with a simpler gravity, "you are at liberty, of course, to say what you please to my lady, but I hope you'll not try to take the bread out of my mouth because I wear a livery, and am fool enough to be in love with a waiting-woman – I, sir, who could have married ladies who have played the first parts in life – on the metropolitan stage."
I had nothing to say to these representations – they seemed plausible; and though at first I had suspected that the man had only resorted to the buffoonery of his quotations in order to gain time for invention, or to divert my notice from any flaw in his narrative, yet at the close, as the narrative seemed probable, so I was willing to believe that the buffoonery was merely characteristic. I contented myself therefore with asking —
"Where do you come from now?"
"From Mr Trevanion, in the country, with letters to Lady Ellinor?"
"Oh, and so the young woman knew you were coming to town?"
"Yes, sir; some days ago. Mr Trevanion told me the day I should have to start."
"And
