The Bedford-Row Conspiracy | Page 7

loveliness, our matrons in the exquisite contemplation of their
children's bliss-- can you, can I, can Whig or Tory, can any Briton be
indifferent to a scene like this, or refuse to join in this heart-stirring
festival? If there BE such let them pardon me--I, for one, my dear
Heeltap, will be among you on Friday night--ay, and hereby invite all
pretty Tory Misses, who are in want of a partner.
"I am here in the very midst of good things, you know, and we old
folks like A SUPPER after a dance. Please to accept a brace of bucks
and a turtle, which come herewith. My worthy colleague, who was so
liberal last year of his soup to the poor, will not, I trust, refuse to taste a
little of Alderman Birch's--'tis offered on my part with hearty goodwill.
Hey for the 6th, and vive la joie!

"Ever, my dear Heeltap, your faithful
"W. PITT SCULLY.
"P.S.--Of course this letter is STRICTLY PRIVATE. Say that the
venison, etc. came from a WELL-WISHER TO OLDBOROUGH."
This amazing letter was published, in defiance of Mr. Scully's
injunctions, by the enthusiastic Heeltap, who said, bluntly, in a preface,
"that he saw no reason why Mr. Scully should be ashamed of his action,
and he, for his part, was glad to let all friends at Oldborough know of
it."
The allusion about the Gorgon soup was killing: thirteen paupers in
Oldborough had, it was confidently asserted, died of it. Lady Gorgon,
on the reading of this letter, was struck completely dumb; Sir George
Gorgon was wild. Ten dozen of champagne was he obliged to send
down to the "Gorgon Arms," to be added to the festival. He would have
stayed away if he could, but he dared not.
At nine o'clock, he in general's uniform; his wife in blue satin and
diamonds; his daughters in blue crape and white roses; his niece, Lucy
Gorgon, in white muslin; his son, George Augustus Frederick Grimsby
Gorgon, in a blue velvet jacket, sugar-loaf buttons, and nankeens,
entered the north door of the ballroom, to much cheering, and the sound
of "God save the King!"
At that very same moment, and from the south door, issued William
Pitt Scully, Esquire, M.P., and his staff. Mr. Scully had a brand-new
blue coat and brass buttons, buff waistcoat, white kerseymere tights,
pumps with large rosettes, and pink silk stockings.
"This wool," said he to a friend, "was grown on Oldborough sheep, this
cloth was spun in Oldborough looms, these buttons were cast in an
Oldborough manufactory, these shoes were made by an Oldborough
tradesman, this HEART first beat in Oldborough town, and pray
Heaven may be buried there!"

Could anything resist a man like this? John Perkins, who had come
down as one of Scully's aides-de-camp, in a fit of generous enthusiasm,
leaped on a whist-table, flung up a pocket-handkerchief, and
shrieked--"SCULLY FOR EVER!"
Heeltap, who was generally drunk, fairly burst into tears, and the grave
tradesmen and Whig gentry, who had dined with the Member at his inn,
and accompanied him thence to the "Gorgon Arms," lifted their deep
voices and shouted "Hear!" "Good!" "Bravo!" "Noble!" "Scully for
ever!" "God bless him!" and "Hurrah!"
The scene was tumultuously affecting; and when young Perkins sprang
down from the table and came blushing up to the Member, that
gentleman said, "Thank you, Jack! THANK you, my boy! THANK
you," in a way which made Perkins think that his supreme cup of bliss
was quaffed; that he had but to die: for that life had no other such joy in
store for him. Scully was Perkins's Napoleon--he yielded himself up to
the attorney, body and soul.
Whilst this scene was going on under one chandelier of the ballroom,
beneath the other scarlet little General Gorgon, sumptuous Lady
Gorgon, the daughters and niece Gorgons, were standing surrounded by
their Tory court, who affected to sneer and titter at the Whig
demonstrations which were taking place.
"What a howwid thmell of whithkey!" lisped Cornet Fitch, of the
Dragoons, to Miss Lucy, confidentially. "And thethe are what they call
Whigth, are they? He! he!"
"They are drunk, ----- me,--drunk, by -----!" said the General to the
Mayor.
"WHICH is Scully?" said Lady Gorgon, lifting her glass gravely (she
was at that very moment thinking of the syllabubs). "Is it that tipsy man
in the green coat, or that vulgar creature in the blue one?"
"Law, my Lady," said the Mayoress, "have you forgotten him? Why,
that's him in blue and buff."

"And a monthous fine man, too," said Cornet Fitch. "I wish we had him
in our twoop--he'th thix feet thwee, if he'th an inch; ain't he, Genewal?"
No reply.
"And heavens! Mamma," shrieked the three Gorgons in a breath, "see,
one creature is on the whist-table.