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THE FATAL PHIAL.

A TALE OF HORROR, OF HAVERSTOCK-HILL.

BY CHARLES R. VERNET.

In a neat little six-roomed suburban cottage, in a dusty street, and separated therefrom by a garden twelve feet long by about fourteen and a half broad, the soil whereof was prolific in marigolds and oyster-shells, dwelt Miss Mary Lasseys, the only "chick or child" of a deceased grocer, chandler, and general dealer." The deceased Lasseys, during his life, was, to all intents and purposes, a grocer, chandler, and general dealer, as his shop-front set forth in green letters on a red ground, and as his daily habits fully testified. The latter denomination more especially became him, as he sold everything that the little town of Guttlebury, in which he was located, could possibly wish or want-tape or treacle, pickles or perfumery, negrohead or needles. From a penn'orth of salts up to a hundred-weight of coals; from a chest of tea down to a farthing candle; anything that he could turn an honest penny by, was kept in his shop, and sold by him. Report even said-but report is such a liar you can't believe her that in his cacoëthes vendendi, in his desire to sell everything that would realise a fair profit, he had gone so far as to sell himself to a certain gentleman not to be mentioned to ears polite, "for and in consideration of " (as the lawyers, the friends of the aforesaid gentleman, say) "certain moneys," and for certain emoluments to be obtained by every means of cheating, false weighing, bamboozling, or backsliding. Whether the report ever reached the ears of old Lasseys, I know not; certain it is, that he continued still in the receipt of custom, and his sugar and sand, both together and separate, his hearth-stones and herrings, his soft soap and sago, still went off. His fair daughter, Mary, or, as her father endearingly called her, Molly, attended to the grocery department, himself to the tobacco, and a redheaded shopman to the coals, colour, and conveyancing. The fair Mary Lasseys above all things detested the whole concern, and more especially the grocery department; and when the parish-clerk, the wit of the place, and V.P. of the "Weekly Social Harmonic Meeting" of the Magpie Tavern and Commercial Inn, and a rejected suitor of Mary's, toasted her publicly as Moll Lasseys, her disgust increased daily, and she turned up her little nose, and twisted her little mouth, every time she turned up a pound of sugar, or twisted a penn'orth of pepper. But with all her turnings and her twistings, behind the counter she still remained, doling out the tea, and dispensing the drysaltery, a slave-a white slave-to the wants of every inhabitant of Guttlebury who chose to ask for “Half a hounce o' tea, please mem;"" Penn'orth o' treacle, and look sharp about it;" or, "A farthing rush, and change for a halfpenny."

One evening, however, old Lasseys, after eating a more than usually hearty supper of highly pickled salmon, and washing it down with four stiff tumblers of Jamaica rum-and-water, with a lump of butter in each, to prevent the fish rising, went to his bed. The rum-and-water effec

tually did its work; the fish never rose again, neither did old Lasseys; but he was found stiff and cold in bed, the next morning, by the redheaded shopman. The village apothecary was at once sent for. A grave man was he, in more senses of the word than one; sententious, slow, and solemn. "Ah! gone at last!" said he; "expected it, though; lancet-case under my pillow-ready at any moment man of full habit-ah! pickled salmon, eh! Such is life-hem!" A jury of intelligent petty tradesman was summoned, and evidence gone into to greater lengths, perhaps, than might appear necessary in so clear a case, who, after deliberating for an hour and a half over the choice of a verdict, whether it should be "Felo de se" or "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," at the coroner's suggestion, returned an open verdict of "Found dead," qualifying it with the opinion that great blame was attributable to the red-headed shopman.

The funeral over, Miss Mary Lasseys turned herself round, as she expressed it, and found herself parentless, pathetic, and pretty; the mistress of herself and of the grocery, chandlery, and general dealing establishment, and owner of a sum of money invested in the funds, the interest of which was about 1251. a year; not a millionaire, perhaps, in the eyes of a Rothschild, but an heiress, at all events, in the eyes of all Guttlebury, four of whose male inhabitants, viz., the parish-clerk (for the second time of asking), the exciseman, the tailor, and her own redheaded shopman, made honourable, and of course disinterested proposals to her, in the course of four-and-twenty hours. Repudiating all their offers, both of matrimony and money-managing, she turned her back upon Guttlebury, transferred her Consols to Three per Cents., her shop and fixtures to the shopman, and herself, per coach, to London. Guttlebury had seen the last of its Moll Lasseys. The sweets of its existence

were gone.

Thus far have we traced the domestic history of Miss Mary Lasseys, and we find her settled in a small, genteel cottage, in the romantic neighbourhood of Camden Town, remote, indeed, from the busy scenes of the Red-Cap, within a few minutes' walk of the canal, and closely approximating to the delightful rurality of Chalk Farm. Here did she pitch her tent, taking as her companion, confidante, and servant, a middleaged female, of ascetic disposition; and here, as she tended the domestic marigold, or sportively twined the giddy pea in gay festoons about her parlour-window, she endeavoured to forget, in the proud consciousness of her independence, all that had embittered her cup of life; strange to say, that the retailing of sugar and the dispensation of figs should ever have produced that effect. But so it was: and to her no insult could have been more indelible, no injury more acute, than to tax her, directly or indirectly, by word, sign, or look, with ever having retailed the hateful article. In the pleasant retirement of No. 4, Marigold Cottages, as the tenement was called, Miss Mary looked abroad, too, for a husband; and as soon as it was known that she was possessed of a sum of money in the funds, she became the cynosure of all the eyes of all the neighbourhood; but more especially of a pair of brown eyes over the way, behind the counter at the chemist's shop, belonging to Bubb, the chemist, himself, and of a pair of grey eyes round the corner, and turning down by the public-house, appertaining to one Theodosius Sping.

"John Bubb, Chemist and Druggist, Family Recipes and Physicians' Prescriptions carefully prepared, No. 7, Buggins's-buildings," was the name, profession, occupation, and address of the first-named individual, written over his shop-front, repeated in his window, affixed to each bottle of medicine, and engraved, finally, on highly-glazed cards, in a mixture of old English, Roman text, and plain cypher. One of these cards did Mr. John Bubb leave at the door of his fair opposite neighbour; and, as it was a neat card, it sufficed, both as a visiting ticket and also as a printed suggestion, that if Miss Lasseys wished for any family recipes or physicians' prescriptions, Mr. John Bubb would carefully prepare them. He was a mild young man, of placid disposition, with a tendency to corns, which he said was constitutional; and he derived a moderate income by the exercise of his business. He rolled up the pills and bottled the black draughts in so quiet and polite a manner, that speedily recommended him to all the ladies of the neighbourhood, and finally to the attention of Miss Mary herself, who patronised his perfumery one fine day; and hoped that they would be good neighbours in so charming a manner, that Mr. Bubb, as he has since declared, felt his heart going faster and faster from him all the time she was in the shop, till she finally carried it quite away, with three squares of old brown Windsor. From that time Bubb was an altered man; and he felt that with her, life would be a bed of rosæ fol., his cup of life filled with syrupus simp.: without her, existence was a bitter pill, washed down with tinct. aloes. Such were his thoughts, day after day, as he looked through ingenious loopholes, contrived among the bottles in the window, at Mary in her parlour at work, at Mary as she walked out, at Mary calmly irrigating the marigolds, with a liberal display of arm, from a green watering-pot. When evening came, he would watch the light in her parlour-window, and her flitting shadow on the blind, and he would sigh deeply as he put up the shutters, which shut him out, or in, rather, from the sight of the casket containing the jewel.

Not so Mr. Theodosius Sping. He was un homme fait, of about fiveand-forty, with a large body, on which was placed a large head, with a bull-terrier kind of expression, and a gruff voice and blustering manner. He called himself on a brass door-plate, "Theodosius Sping, Agent"though in what his agency consisted was a profound secret-and "Theodosius Sping, Esq.," in his letters to his tradesmen, who were numerous, and, strange to say, had all small accounts against him, which they petitioned him to discharge regularly every week, as they all had, without an exception, a bill to take up on the Monday following. Sping would do a bill or a tradesman with the greatest sang froid; was of a fierce romantic disposition; quoted Byron or Shakspeare, and had a head of hair like a violent hearth-broom. Sping wore as his best suit a bottlegreen coat and brass buttons, light kerseymere never-mention-'ems, and a velvet waistcoat. His linen was like his character, dubious. Sping was in debt, dirty and dissolute; he heard of Miss Lassey's Three per Cents., and his eye was upon them.

It was on the afternoon of a very wet day (for there are wet days even at Camden Town) that Miss Mary Lasseys was set down from a 'bus on her return from town, unprotected, unfriended, and umbrellaless. She had gone to town early in the morning, ere the rain came on, and had hoped that the ascetic female would meet her, on her return, with an umbrella.

But that respectable middle-aged woman was one of that class who imagine the keeping of one's feet dry to be the great object of life; therefore, poor little Mary, shivering in the damp at the door of the Red-Cap, awaited the clearing up of the sky, or the appearance of some friendly cab. But there was no prospect of either; and just as she was mournfully endeavouring to summon up courage to make a run for it, a harsh voice met her ear:

"Permit me, miss, to lend you my umbrella; it is so very wet!" at the same time a shabby gingham was held over her, and she became conscious of a perfume floating in the air, not of the spices of Araby, but more closely resembling the odour of the cordial known as rum-shrub. The voice, the gingham, and the odour, belonged to a person who had witnessed her discomfiture from the parlour of the Red-Cap, and was now standing by her side, bowing politely.

"Oh, I'm afraid you'll get so wet yourself, sir," said Mary. "Not at all!" said the individual; “the rain can't hurt me.' This was true; it might have benefited him had it descended in bucketsful.

"Where shall I send it to, sir?" asked Mary, taking the umbrella; and the man, with a flourish and a bow, presented a limp card, whereon was inscribed, "Mr. Theodosius Sping, Agent, &c., Canal-street, Camden Town."

Such was the commencement of an acquaintance which Mr. Sping knew full well how to improve. He called to inquire after Miss Lasseys on the day after their meeting; she was out. Within a few days after the return of the umbrella, he was seen steadily regarding the marigolds at No. 4, Marigold Cottages. Mary came out, and thanked him for his kindness in the umbrella transaction. Sping affected an interest in the culture of marigolds, and got up an enthusiasm about sweet peas. It was a different kind of Mary Gold he was after. "Would he walk in and take tea ?"—it was Miss Lasseys' tea-time. Sping noted down the time in the tablet of his memory, with a view to future invitations. Mary would be happy to see him to tea. Sping thanked her, and walked in, and took tea to his infinite satisfaction, and to the perpetual indignation of Bubb, who witnessed the transaction. A few days after, he called again; he knew of an eligible investment for Miss Lasseys' capital; and again he discussed tea and Shakspeare, Byron and muffins, with Miss Lasseys; and in this way Theodosius Sping became very intimate with Miss Mary Lasseys, and became more bumptious, more bullying, and more nonchalant every day; while Bubb, the chemist, was driven to the verge of distraction, and so goaded by the frequent opportunities his rival, who had no employment, had over him, who was unable to leave his shop till nine at night, that it is a mercy he did not swallow the contents of the large carboy of laudanum that stood under the counter. But no! the deadly means of accomplishing a deed of a different stamp to that of self-murder was in Bubb's hands, or rather in his shop; and, like the Ravenswoods of Lammermoor, he "bided his time."

"Another tea-drinking at No. 4," sighed poor Bubb, after two or three of these tender meetings had taken place; the signs whereof he knew to be, the arresting of the muffin-boy in his onward progress, and the investing of capital in his capital muffins. "How that fellow Sping

does manage to carry on there!" continued he, addressing the large mortar in which he was pounding a very hard piece of aloes. (He had received an order from a neighbouring brewer for rather a large quantity of that delicious bitter.) "Ah, if I could get his fuzzbush of a head under my pezzle, I'd make him remember it; I'd put him out of his misery," added he, humanely. There was a tacit dislike to each other on both sides; for while Mr. John Bubb viewed with alarm the amazing facilities Mr. Theodosius Sping had of "carrying on" at all hours and in all seasons, and heard of the resources of his conversation and powers of quotation, Sping, malgré the superior sound of his name, dreaded lest the constant presence of the more youthful person of Bubb, combined with the fact of his being adequate to the exercise of a business or profession, might not be of some weight even against Byron and Shakspeare. Thus, when the pair met, which was not seldom, Mr. Sping would scowl under his heavy eyebrows at Mr. Bubb, while the valiant but mild Bubb would cock his hat more fiercely than ever, and glare defiance at Sping, with a glance that plainly told both mortal aversion and a desire for combat à l'outrance. On the afternoon above named, therefore, when the eyes of Mr. Bubb were seeking, through a loophole formed by a large red carboy and a castor-oil bottle in the window, for a glance of the fair Mary, and the large form of Theodosius Sping for a second obstructed his view, as he passed the shop-front, it will not be wondered at that Mr. Bubb should snort defiance, and pound more fiercely than ever at the refractory piece of aloes in the mortar.

Theodosius Sping passed the shop-front, but stopped at the door. In the keen malice of his heart, he had formed a resolution which would have done credit to a demon. He had resolved that this very tea-drinking should tell him whether or no he had found favour in the eyes of Miss Mary, or as he afterwards expressed it to Mary, the afternoon had come, which was to make him the blessedest individual on the face of the earth, or to send him forth a blighted exile, a miserable outcast, and a broken-hearted man. To say the truth, his confessions might not have been so premature, had he not that morning received a polite note from his landlord, informing him that in case he failed to bring a certain sum of money, due for rent, within a week, he should be under the necessity of distraining on Mr. Sping's goods and chattels, which, at the time we speak of, might perhaps realise the sum of three shillings and sixpence. With this note fresh in his mind, he resolved to conquer or to die; and fraught with this determination, he had adorned his person with more than usual care; he had arrayed himself in the blue coat and bright buttons, had incased his legs in the light kerseymeres, and covered his chest with a meadow-green velvet vest, over which meandered gracefully, like a little rivulet, a splendid silver curb-chain, at the end of which was not a watch. More than this, he had disguised himself in a clean shirt and collar, with a Joinville tie, the ends whereof stuck out to each shoulder, and was about to draw a pair of cheap kid-gloves over his red knotty fingers. What more did he want? Yet, as he looked at himself all over in the small Dutch shaving-glass, one thing displeased him. Do what he would, his hair, that fuzzy hair, would neither smooth nor look glossy; but, like a rebellious mastiff, stood boldly up, and refused all his attempts to make it lie down. He must have some hair-oil, that was certain.

It