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Updated: May 29, 2025
Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential tone. ‘Dear me!’ replied the hostess, with an air of great commiseration. She couldn’t say more, for the servant again appeared at the door, and commenced telegraphing most earnestly to her ‘Missis.’ ‘I think hackney-coachmen generally are uncivil,’ said Mr. Hicks in his most insinuating tone. ‘Positively I think they are,’ replied Mrs.
‘Julia is a very little eater,’ said Mrs. Maplesone to Mr. Calton. The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish with his eyes: so he only ejaculated, ‘Ah!’ ‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after every one else had been helped, ‘what do you take?’ The inquiry was accompanied with a look intimating that he mustn’t say fish, because there was not much left.
‘I see it all,’ said the Byron-quoter; ‘Simpson marries Julia Maplesone to-morrow morning!’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, ‘of course he does.’ It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate—our feeble pen is inadequate to describe—the expression which the countenances of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively assumed, at this unexpected announcement.
Septimus Hicks, and the pre-engagement of the unwary Tibbs. On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss Matilda Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a ‘holy alliance’ with Miss Julia; Tibbs acting as father, ‘his first appearance in that character.’ Mr.
Maplesone—indeed, the desire of being as amiable as possible extended itself to the whole party; Mrs.
They had been at different watering-places, for four seasons; they had gambled at libraries, read books in balconies, sold at fancy fairs, danced at assemblies, talked sentiment—in short, they had done all that industrious girls could do—but, as yet, to no purpose. ‘What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is!’ whispered Matilda Maplesone to her sister Julia. ‘Splendid!’ returned the youngest.
‘But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goats’ flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton, And when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.’ ‘Very ungentlemanly behaviour,’ thought little Mrs. Tibbs, ‘to talk in that way.’ ‘Ah,’ said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. ‘Tom Moore is my poet.’ ‘And mine,’ said Mrs. Maplesone. ‘And mine,’ said Miss Julia.
Tibbs’s house, on terms which were ‘agreeable to all parties.’ In went the advertisement again, and a lady with her two daughters, proposed to increase—not their families, but Mrs. Tibbs’s. ‘Charming woman, that Mrs. Maplesone!’ said Mrs.
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