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Updated: June 17, 2025
Mrs. Teachum then taking the book out of Miss Jenny's hands, and turning to the passage, said, 'How does Lady Brumpton show us the wretched condition of her own mind, when she says, "How miserable 'tis to have one one hates always about one! And when one can't endure one's own reflections upon some actions, who can bear the thoughts of another upon them?"
"And then," continued Brumpton, "Wilkins began to blink over his music-stand, looking as red in the face as his uniform. `Who was that? he says `who was it that dared to make that noise?" "And then no one spoke," sneered Jerry. "Hissed! I'd ha' punched his head. Bandmaster, indeed! I'd ha' been the bandmaster's master that time!" "Wrong, Jerry Brigley!" cried Brumpton.
"I wish I could help you, sergeant," said Dick, at last. "So do I, my lad; but you can't." "Have you tried the doctor?" "Yes yes," said Brumpton, dolefully. "What did he advise?" "Nothing! Laughed at me." Dick sat, tapping the table with his penholder. "I know how it will be," continued the sergeant.
'This is a picture of the confused, the miserable mind of a close, malicious, cruel, designing woman, as Lady Brumpton was, and as Lady Harriet very properly calls her. 'Honesty and faithfulness shine forth in all their lustre, in the good old Trusty. We follow him throughout with anxious wishes for his success, and tears of joy for his tenderness.
It don't make no difference whether I eat and drink hearty or starve myself: it all goes to fat. I really believe sometimes that the very wind agrees with me and runs to it." "Then do as the colonel said train, run, use the clubs." "I have," cried Brumpton, "for months; but I only get worse." "Don't sleep quite so much, then."
Its story turned upon the marriage of the elderly Lord Brumpton to a designing young minx who estranges the nobleman from his son, Lord Hardy, the gentlemanly, poverty-stricken leading man of the piece. When Brumpton has a cataleptic fit, and is apparently dead as a doornail, the spouse confides his body to the undertaker with feelings of serene pleasure.
"I don't want you to get in trouble, too!" "And I don't want to get in trouble," said Jerry; "but I don't call it manly for a lot of fellows who knew Dick Smithson to be a reg'lar gent to the backbone to stand there and hear that mean little wax-match of a man, without saying a word or sticking up for him!" "Who said nobody stuck up for him?" said Brumpton. "You never said anyone did!"
"Here, sergeant," shouted the colonel; and Brumpton doubled up to him, halted, and stood fast, conscious that officers and men were on the grin. "Look here, Brumpton, this really will not do. Confound you, sir! you're making the regiment a laughing-stock." "Very sorry, sir try to do my duty." "Yes, yes," cried the colonel. "You are a capital sergeant; but look at you this morning!"
"I dunno so much about that," said Jerry. "Well, I do!" replied Brumpton. "Say the police here telegraph to twenty stations round, and each of those twenty stations wire to twenty, and each of those to another twenty, it don't take long, at that rate, to send all over the country. You mark my words: the bobbies won't be long before they put their hands on his shoulder and bring him back."
Party men might, perhaps, already feel something of the unbending independence that was in Steele himself, as in this play he made old Lord Brumpton teach it to his son: 'But be them honest, firm, impartial; Let neither love, nor hate, nor faction move thee; Distinguish words from things, and men from crimes.
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