The Sun.
London, England, 1847-09-06 00:00:00

MONDAY EVENING, SE PTEMBER 6, 1847.

" Why, upon my life,' said Cousin Feenix, there's
nothing in it; it really is not worth repeating: in point
of fact, it's merely an anecdote of Jack Adams. I dare
say my friend Dombey;' for the general attention was
concentrated on Cousin Feenix; may remember Jack
Adam's, Jack Adams, not Joe ; that was his brother.
Jack—little Jack—man with a cast in his eye, and a
slight impediment in his speech—man who sat for some-
body's borough. We used to call him in my Parlia-
mentary time W. P. Adams, in consequence of his being
Warming Pan for a
.young fellow who was in his mi-
nority. Perhaps my friend Dcmboy may have known
the man?'

" Mr. Dombey, who was as likely to have known Guy
Fawkes, replied in the negative. But one of the seven
mild men unexpectedly leaped into distinction, by saying
he had known him, and adding—' always wore Hessian
boots!'

" ' Exactly,' said Cousin Fesnix, bending forward to
see the mild man, and smile encouragement at him down
the table. ' That was Jack. Joe wore—'

" Tops!' cried the mild man, rising in public estima-
tion every instant.
" Of course,' said Cousin Feenix, you were intimate
with 'ern?'

" I knew them both,' said the mild man. With
whom Mr. Dombey immediately took wine.
" Devilish good fellow, Jack?' said Cousin Feenix,
again bending forward, and smiling.
Excellent,' returned the mild man, becoming bold
on his success. One of the best fellows I ever knew.'

" ' No doubt you have heard the story ?' said Cousin
Feenix.

" I shall know' replied the bold mild man, when I
hare heard your I:udship tell it.' With that, he leaned
back in his chair and smiled at the ceiling, as knowing it
by heart, and being already tickled.
" point of tact, it's nothing of a story in itself,'
said Cousin Feenix, addressing the table with a smile,
and a gay shake of his head, and not worth a word of
preface. But it's illustrative of the neatness of Jack's
humour. The fact is that Jack was invited down to a
marriage—which I think took place in Barkahire?'
" Shropshire,' said the bold mild man, finding him-
self appealed to.
"' Was it? well! In point of fact it might have been
in any shire,' said Cousin Feenix. So, my friend being
invited down to this marriage in Anyshire,' with a
pleasant sense of the readiness of this joke, goes. Just
as some of us, having had the honour of being invited to
the marriage of my lovely and accomplished relative with
my friend Dombey, did'nt require to be asked twice, and
were devilish glad to be present on so interesting an oc-
casion.—Goes---Jack goes. Now, this marriage was, in
point of fact, the marriage of an uncommonly fine girl
with a man for whom she did'nt care a button, but whom
she accepted on account of his property, which was im-
mense. When Jack returned to town, after the nuptials,
a man he knew, meeting him in the lobby of the House
of Commons says, ' Well Jack, how are the ill-matched
couple?' 111-matched,' says Jack. Not at all. It's a
perfectly fair and equal transaction. She is regularly
bought, and you may take your oath its is as regularly
sold!' "

Mrs. Chick leaves the party in dudgeon ; Mr.
Dombey quarrels with his lady (before Carker) when
int an interviewheguests with m
have departed ;rs. Dm
nestobmorey, has morning
sMr.
that C
lady
under his thumb ; and Mrs. Skewton is struck in her
diamonds, and short sleeves and rouge, and curls, and
teeth, and other juvenility—before her glass----by
paralysis. She lay there " like a horrible doll that
had tumbled down." " They took her to pieces in
very shame, and put the little of her that was real on
a bed." Mrs. Skewton, however, gradually recovers,
though—" it was a tremendous sight to see this old
woman in her finery leering and mincing at Death, and
playing off her youthful tricks upon him eas if he had
been the Major." Forlorn Lucretia Tox, denied all in-
tercourse with the Dombeys and the Chicks, resolves
to cultivate the acquaintance of Mrs. Richards, other-
wise the Toodles, that she may pick up a casual
scrap of news about the august family from which she
is an outcast. This inclination introduces us, as well
as Miss Tox, again to the domestic arrangements of the
Toodles. Mr. Toodle is there, cindery and swart, in
the bosom of his home, for he is described as having
three stages of existence. "He was either taking
refreshment in the bosom just mentioned, or he was
tearing through the country at from twenty five to
fifty miles an hour, or he was sleeping after his fa-
tigues." Mr. Toodle is mentioned, also, as shovelling
in the bread and butter with a clasp-knife, "as if he
was stoking himself;" and, in regard to tea, swallow-
ing, in his own phrase, the indefinite quantity of " a
sight of mugs." To his children—and " Mr. Loodle
was never out of children, hut always kept a good
supply on hand"—he distributes irregular morsel- of
his own meal, as possessing a relish—after partaking
of which these young Toodles performed private
dances of ecstacy among themselves, and stood on one
leg a-piece, and hopped, and indulged in other salta-
tory tokens of gladness. The number is rich in the
development of characters and the delineation of
scenes—besides which it abounds with passion and
drollery, and an interest that enlarges and deepens as
the story progresses.