mentholmountains: December 2011

“.....You, peraps, may igspect that I should narrait at lenth the suckmstanzas of my hawjince with the British Crown. But I am not one who would gratafy IMPUTTNINT CURAIOSATY. Rispect for our reckonized instatewtions is my fust quallaty. I, for one, will dye rallying round my Thrown.

“Suffise it to say, when I stood in the Horgust Presnts,— when I sor on the right & of my Himperial Sovring that Most Gracious Prins, to admire womb has been the chief Objick of my life, my busum was seased with an imotium which my Penn rifewses to dixcribe — my trembling knees halmost rifused their hoffis — I reckleck nothing mor until I was found phainting in the harms of the Lord Chamberling. Sir Robert Peal apnd to be standing by (I knew our wuthy Primmier by Punch’s picturs of him, igspecially his ligs), and he was conwussing with a man of womb I shall say nothink, but that he is a hero of 100 fites, AND HEVERY FITE HE FIT HE ONE. Nead I say that I elude to Harthur of Wellingting? I introjuiced myself to these Jents, and intend to improve the equaintance, and peraps ast Guvmint for a Barnetcy.

“But there was ANOTHER pusn womb on this droring-room I fust had the inagspressable dalite to beold. This was that Star of fashing, that Sinecure of neighboring i’s, as Milting observes, the ecomplisht Lady Hangelina Thistlewood, daughter of my exlent frend, John George Godfrey de Bullion Thistlewood, Earl of Bareacres, Baron Southdown, in the Peeridge of the United Kingdom, Baron Haggismore, in Scotland, K.T., Lord Leftnant of the County of Diddlesex, &c. &c. This young lady was with her Noble Ma, when I was kinducted tords her. And surely never lighted on this hearth a more delightfle vishn. In that gallixy of Bewty the Lady Hangelina was the fairest Star — in that reath of Loveliness the sweetest Rosebud! Pore Mary Hann, my Art’s young affeckshns had been senterd on thee; but like water through a sivv, her immidge disappeared in a momink, and left me intransd in the presnts of Hangelina.

“Lady Bareacres made me a myjestick bow — a grand and hawfle pusnage her Ladyship is, with a Roming Nose, and an enawmus ploom of Hostridge phethers; the fare Hangelina smiled with a sweetness perfickly bewhildring, and said, ‘O, Mr. De la Pluche, I’m so delighted to make your acquaintance. I have often heard of you.’

“‘Who,’ says I, ‘has mentioned my insiggnificknt igsistance to the fair Lady Hangelina? kel bonure igstrame poor mwaw!’ (For you see I’ve not studdied ‘Pelham’ for nothink, and have lunt a few French phraces, without which no Gent of fashn speaks now.)

“‘O,’ replies my lady, ‘it was Papa first; and then a very, VERY old friend of yours.’

“‘Whose name is,’ says I, pusht on by my stoopid curawsaty —

“‘Hoggins — Mary Ann Hoggins’— ansurred my lady (laffing phit to splitt her little sides). ‘She is my maid, Mr. De la Pluche, and I’m afraid you are a very sad, sad person.’

“‘A mere baggytell,’ says I. ‘In fommer days I WAS equainted with that young woman; but haltered suckmstancies have sepparated us for hever, and mong cure is irratreevably perdew elsewhere.’

“‘Do tell me all about it. Who is it? When was it? We are all dying to know.”

“‘Since about two minnits, and the Ladys name begins with a HA,’ says I, looking her tendarly in the face, and conjring up hall the fassanations of my smile.

“‘Mr. De la Pluche,’ here said a gentleman in whiskers and mistashes standing by, ‘hadn’t you better take your spurs out of the Countess of Bareacres’ train?’—‘Never mind Mamma’s train’ (said Lady Hangelina): ‘this is the great Mr. De la Pluche, who is to make all our fortunes — yours too. Mr. de la Pluche, let me present you to Captain George Silvertop,’— The Capting bent just one jint of his back very slitely; I retund his stare with equill hottiness. ‘Go and see for Lady Bareacres’ carridge, George,’ says his Lordship; and vispers to me, ‘a cousin of ours — a poor relation.’ So I took no notis of the feller when he came back, nor in my subsquint visits to Hill Street, where it seems a knife and fork was laid reglar for this shabby Capting.”

“Thusday Night.— O Hangelina, Hangelina, my pashn for you hogments daily! I’ve bean with her two the Hopra. I sent her a bewtifle Camellia Jyponiky from Covn Garding, with a request she would wear it in her raving Air. I woar another in my butnole. Evns, what was my sattusfackshn as I leant hover her chair, and igsammined the house with my glas!

“She was as sulky and silent as pawsble, however — would scarcely speek; although I kijoled her with a thowsnd little plesntries. I spose it was because that wulgar raskle Silvertop WOOD stay in the box. As if he didn’t know (Lady B.‘s as deaf as a poast and counts for nothink) that people SOMETIMES like a tatytaty.”

“Friday.— I was sleeples all night. I gave went to my feelings in the folloring lines — there’s a hair out of Balfe’s Hopera that she’s fond of. I edapted them to that mellady.

“She was in the droring-room alone with Lady B. She was wobbling at the pyanna as I hentered. I flung the convasation upon mewsick; said I sung myself (I’ve ad lesns lately of Signor Twankydillo); and, on her rekwesting me to faver her with somethink, I bust out with my pom:

“‘WHEN MOONLIKE OER THE HAZURE SEAS.

“‘When moonlike ore the hazure seas
In soft effulgence swells,
When silver jews and balmy breaze
Bend down the Lily’s bells;
When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
Has lapt your soal in dreems,
R Hangeline! R lady mine!
Dost thou remember Jeames?

“‘I mark thee in the Marble All,
Where Englands loveliest shine —
I say the fairest of them hall
Is Lady Hangeline.
My soul, in desolate eclipse,
With recollection teems —
And then I hask, with weeping lips
Dost thou remember Jeames?

“‘Away! I may not tell thee hall
This soughring heart endures —
There is a lonely sperrit-call
That Sorrow never cures;
There is a little, little Star,
That still above me beams;
It is the Star of Hope — but ar!
Dost thou remember Jeames?’

“When I came to the last words, ‘Dost thou remember Je-e-e-ams?’ I threw such an igspresshn of unuttrable tenderniss into the shake at the hend, that Hangelina could bare it no more. A bust of uncumtrollable emotium seized her. She put her ankercher to her face and left the room. I heard her laffing and sobbing histerickly in the bedwor.

“O Hangelina — My adord one, My Arts joy!” . . ."

-from The Diary of C. Jeames De La Pluche, Esq.