The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 214: what you’re looking at

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THE MYSTERIES. 199 LL Three measured and solemn knocks were given at the room-door, as if a ghost were about to enter. * Come in!” exclaimed Meagles, instantly put- ting on a demure aspect—a proceeding in which he was imitated by the beautiful huntress, at least so far as she could induce her lovely, laughing, joyous features to assume a serious expression. The door was thrown wide open—and the Rev. Mr. Nathaniel Sneaksby entered the apartment with slow and sanctimonious face, followed by one of the sleek-looking men whom Tim Meagles had seen at the dvor of Salem Chapel. But while these two pious individuals are settling themselves in the chairs which Meagles hastens to place near the table for their accommodation, we will just say a word respecting their external ap- - | pearance. The Rev. Mr. Nathaniel Sneaksby was a man of about five-aad-forty years of age. The crown of his head was bald: but dark frizzy hair stood out in a bunch, on each side, between the temple and the ear. Behind it was cut very short indeed, and lay quite flat and straight. His countenance was thin, pale, and somewhat of the hatchet de- scription: but it would not have been disagreeable were it not for the settled expression of sanctimo- nious gloom and melancholy demureness which it wore. For cant was written in every lineament and on every feature as plainly as the word may be read on this page: cant was seen in the rolling of the eyes—the gradual elevation and depression of the brows—the pursing-up of the lips—the elongation of the chin—the slow and studied movements of the head. Yes—and cant, too, was recognised in the low white cravat that encircled the long, scraggy neck—the large shirt-frill—the clerical cut of the black coat and waistcoat with stand-up collars— and the knee breeches, bluish-black cotton stock- ings, and the great shoes with silver buckles. In person Mr. Nathaniel Sneaksby was tall, thin, and slightly inclined to a stoop; and were it not for the measured pace at which he was accustomed to walk, his gait would have been shambling and awkward to a degree. The individual who accompanied him, was dressed in precisely the same manner: but in person he was very different. Short, thick-set, stout, and with a large, round, rubicund countenance, he pre- sented a somewhat sleek, oily, and comfortable appearance in comparison with his friend—save that the habitual assumption of a demure expres- sion of features would have led a stranger to believe that a naturally jovial and contented disposition had been marred and rendered wretched by some sudden affliction which had lingered ever since in the shape of a deeply-seated and unappeasable woe. In a word, he looked like a jolly landlord fond of good ale, who having drunk himself into insolvency was compelled to adopt the profession of undertaker’s mute and moisten his food with nothing better than water. Not that such was really the case in the present instance: but such, we Say, was the impression his aspect would have made upon the mind of any one who saw him for | the first time. Scarcely had Mr. Sneaksby and his friend taken their seats, when their looks fell simultaneously apon Lady Lade, who was surveying them from the corner of her laughing eyes, and gently puffing the cigarette with the lips which could not altogether suppress a smile, The Rev. Mr, Sneaksby seemed petrified with sudden astonishment—and his friend appeared pre- cisely in the same predicament. For upwards of @ minute did they gaze, open-mouthed, upon the lovely creature lounging with graceful negligence in her chair. At the first glance they fancied it was a young and dandified man with his hair dressed in a feminine style: but as their looks | wandered over the beautiful white forehead with its transparent tracery of azure veins faintly marked —the profile too delicate for the male sex—the brightness of the rich moist coral lips—the total absence of beard and whisker—the fairness of the complexion—and the glossy silkiness of that raven hair,—as their eyes, we say, embraced all these fas- cinating details one after another, they began to entertain sore misgivings ;—and when their looks settled upon the exuberant and swelling contours of the full bosom over which the riding-surtout fitted with such shapely tightness, developing rather than concealing those feminine charms of which the Amazon possessed such a voluptuous abundance, their faces gradually elongated to a degree pre- senting the most ludicrous aspect of woe-begone sauctimoniousness and hypocritical misery. “Nathaniel Sneaksby,” said the short gentleman, at length recovering the power of speech, and raising his eyes and lifting his hands as if he were going off ina fit, “know ye aught of that carnal creature ?” “Verily, my dearly-beloved Ichabod Paxwax, she seemeth to me like the woman of Babylon,” responded the reverend gentleman, imitating his friend in respect to the elevation of the eyes and hands. Thereupon both Tim Meagles and the huntress burst into a hearty laugh: for, so far from being offended at the observations just made, they had expected something of the kind an@ were highly amused at what they did hear. “Brother Sneaksby, let us depart hence,” said the gentleman whose name appeared to be Ichabod Paxwax; “for I fear that we have fallen in with the ungodly.” “It is precisely for that reason we must stay and do our holy behest,” returned the reverend minister. “ Peradventure we may be enabled, by our savoury discourse, to render that lost one sensible of her evil ways: for she is comely to look upon, and it were a sorrow and a shame to abandon her to the vanities by which she is encompassed round about.” '“ We will stay, then,” said Mr. Ichabod Paxwax, with whom Mr. Sneaksby’s will was evidently law. “Now, gentlemen,” exclaimed Meagles, “if you are really desirous that your presence should work salutary effects with regard to myself and my fair companion, you will accept such humble hospi- tality as I can offer you. There’s Port, Sherry, and Madeira upon the table—and at ten o’clock there’s roast turkey, chine, mashed potatoes, and so on.” “ Flesh-pots | ” exclaimed the Rev. Mr. Sneaksby, shaking his head solemnly, but unable to prevent his lips from smacking slightly—for his nose had caught the rich odour which came up from the kitchen as he was ere now descending the stairs, “Vanities!” murmured Mr. Ichabod Paxwax, his own lips watering amazingly and a hungry sensation coming over him. —— (C(O) nn) (@ 6)(0)©) (Ss (C(O)