PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
SEPTEMBER 12, 1841.
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER III.
After the ceremony, the happy pair setoff for Brighton.”
There is something peculiarly pleasing in the above paragraph.The imagination instantly conjures up an elegant yellow-bodiedchariot, lined with pearl drab, and a sandwich basket. In onecorner sits a fair and blushing creature partially arrayed in thegarments of a bride, their spotless character diversified with somefew articles of a darker hue, resembling, in fact, the liquidmatrimony of port and sherry; her delicate hands have been denudedof their gloves, exhibiting to the world the glittering emblem ofher endless hopes. In the other, a smiling piece of four-and-twentyhumanity is reclining, gazing upon the beautiful treasure, whichhas that morning cost him about six pounds five shillings, in theshape of licence and fees. He too has deprived himself of thesunniest portions of his wardrobe, and has softened the glare ofhis white ducks, and the gloss of his blue coat, by the applicationof a drab waistcoat. But why indulge in speculative dreams when wehave realities to detail!
Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite and his beauteous JulianaTheresa (late Waddledot), for three days, experiencedthat—
“Love is heaven, and heaven is love.”
His imaginary dinner-party became a reality, and the delicateattentions which he paid to his invisible guest rendered hisJuliana Theresa’s life—as she exquisitely expressedit—
“A something without a name, but to which nothing waswanting.”
But even honey will cloy; and that sweetest of all moons, theApian one, would sometimes be better for a change. Juliana passedthe greater portion of the day on the sofa, in the companionship ofthat aromatic author, Sir Edward; or sauntered (listlessly hangingon Collumpsion’s arm) up and down the Steine, or the no lessdiversified Chain-pier. Agamemnon felt that at home at least heought to be happy, and, therefore, he hung his legs over thebalcony and whistled or warbled (he had a remarkably fine D)Moore’s ballad of—
“Believe me, if all those endearing youngcharms;”
or took the silver out of the left-hand pocket of his trousers,and placed it in the right-hand receptacle of the same garment.Nevertheless, he was continually detecting himself yawning ordozing, as though “the idol of his existence” was achimera, and not Mrs. Applebite.
The time at length arrived for their return to town, and, tojudge from the pleasure depicted in the countenances of the happypair, the contemplated intrusion of the world on their familycircle was anything but disagreeable. Old John, under the ablegeneralship of Mrs. Waddledot, had made every requisite preparationfor their reception. Enamelled cards, superscribed with the namesof Mr. and Mrs. Applebite, and united together with a silver cordtied in a true lover’s knot, had been duly enclosed in anenvelope of lace-work, secured with a silver dove, flying away witha square piece of silver toast. In company with a veryunsatisfactory bit of exceedingly rich cake, this glossy missivewas despatched to the whole of the Applebite and Waddledotconnexion, only excepting the