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Updated: May 21, 2025
Bloss, with a proper approximation to hysterics; ‘I think the house is on fire, or else there’s thieves in it. I have heard the most dreadful noises!’ ‘The devil you have!’ shouted Gobler again, bouncing back into his den, in happy imitation of the aforesaid dragon, and returning immediately with a lighted candle. ‘Why, what’s this? Wisbottle! Tomkins! O’Bleary! Agnes!
The gentlemen looked out at the window; walked about the room; and, when they got near the door, dropped off one by one. Tibbs retired to the back parlour by his wife’s orders, to check the green-grocer’s weekly account; and ultimately Mrs. Tibbs and Mrs. Bloss were left alone together. Bloss, ‘I have not seen Mr. What’s-his-name yet.’ ‘Mr. Gobler?’ suggested Mrs. Tibbs. ‘Yes.’ ‘Oh!’ said Mrs.
The lady whom we have hitherto described as Mrs. Bloss, is no more. Mrs. Gobler exists: Mrs. Bloss has left us for ever.
‘I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all fours,’ replied the discontented one. ‘Upon the whole, I should have liked our evening very well,’ gasped Gobler; ‘only I caught a desperate cold which increased my pain dreadfully! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, before I could leave my room.’ ‘Capital things those shower-baths!’ ejaculated Wisbottle.
One evening, the different inmates of the house were assembled in the drawing-room engaged in their ordinary occupations. Mr. Gobler and Mrs. Bloss were sitting at a small card-table near the centre window, playing cribbage; Mr.
O’Bleary ate as much as he could conveniently carry, and Mrs. Tibbs felt a due degree of indignation thereat; Mr. Gobler and Mrs.
Tibbs by proving that she was negotiating with Mr. O’Bleary to influence her mistress’s affections in his behalf; and how Mr. Gobler threw a damp counterpane on the hopes of Mr. Bloss; how Agnes was discharged from that lady’s service; how Mr. O’Bleary discharged himself from Mrs.
A low, monotonous, gushing sound was heard, which added considerably to the romantic dreariness of the scene. It was the water ‘coming in’ at number eleven. ‘He must be asleep by this time,’ said John Evenson to himself, after waiting with exemplary patience for nearly an hour after Mr. Gobler had left the drawing-room.
By Timothy Beck the Happy Cobler of Portugal-street." Perhaps some collector of eighteenth century pamphlets may be able to reveal these comments of the 'Happy Gobler of Portugal-street' upon the 'artifices' of Henry Fielding.
What the deuce! all up and dressed?’ ‘Astonishing!’ said Mrs. Bloss, who had run down-stairs, and taken Mr. Gobler’s arm. ‘Call Mrs. Tibbs directly, somebody,’ said Gobler, turning into the front drawing-room.—‘What! Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson!!’ ‘Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson!’ repeated everybody, as that unhappy pair were discovered: Mrs. Tibbs seated in an arm-chair by the fireplace, and Mr.
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