Going into Society

Published：2026-07-30 00:34:36 Source: wooden dollhouses for 3 year olds under 20 dollars Author: Microphone Toys

Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and plush bears for 12 year olds under 30 dollarsHall edition of “ChristmasStories” by David Price, email [email protected]

GOING INTO SOCIETY

At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupationof a Showman.  He was found registered as its occupier, on theparish books of the time when he rented the House, and there was thereforeno need of any clue to his name.  But, he himself was less easyto be found; for, he had led a wandering life, and settled people hadlost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves on being respectablewere shy of admitting that they had ever known anything of him. At last, among the marsh lands near the river’s level, that lieabout Deptford and the neighbouring market-gardens, a Grizzled Personagein velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that helooked as if he had been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the doorof a wooden house on wheels.  The wooden house was laid up in ordinaryfor the winter, near the mouth of a muddy creek; and everything nearit, the foggy river, the misty marshes, and the steaming market-gardens,smoked in company with the grizzled man.  In the midst of thissmoking party, the funnel-chimney of the wooden house on wheels wasnot remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in a companionable manner.

On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let,Grizzled Velveteen looked surprised, and said yes.  Then his namewas Magsman?  That was it, Toby Magsman—which lawfully christenedRobert; but called in the line, from a infant, Toby.  There wasnothing agin Toby Magsman, he believed?  If there was suspicionof such—mention it!

There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured.  But,some inquiries were making about that House, and would he object tosay why he left it?

Not at all; why should he?  He left it, along of a Dwarf.

Along of a Dwarf?

Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf.

Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman’s inclination and convenienceto enter, as a favour, into a few particulars?

Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars.

It was a long time ago, to begin with;—afore lotteries anda deal more was done away with.  Mr. Magsman was looking aboutfor a good pitch, and he see that house, and he says to himself, “I’llhave you, if you’re to be had.  If money’ll get you,I’ll have you.”

The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsmandon’t know what they wouldhave had.  It was a lovelything.  First of all, there was the canvass, representin the picterof the Giant, in Spanish trunks and a ruff, who was himself half theheighth of the house, and was run up with a line and pulley to a poleon the roof, so that his Ed was coeval with the parapet.  Then,there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Albina lady, showingher white air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform.  Then, therewas the canvass, representin the picter of the Wild Indian a scalpina member of some foreign nation.  Then, there was the canvass,representin the picter of a child of a British Planter, seized by twoBoa Constrictors—not that wenever had no child, nor noConstrictors neither.  Similarly, there was the canvass, representinthe picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies—not that wenever had no wild asses, nor wouldn’t have had ’em at agift.  Last, there was the canvass, representin the picter of theDwarf, and like him too (considerin), with George the Fourth in sucha state of astonishment at him as His Majesty couldn’t with hisutmost politeness and stoutness express.  The front of the Housewas so covered with canvasses, that there wasn’t a spark of daylightever visible on that side.  “MAGSMAN’S AMUSEMENTS,”fifteen foot long by two foot high, ran over the front door and parlourwinders.  The passage was a Arbour of green baize and gardenstuff. A barrel-organ performed there unceasing.  And as to respectability,—ifthreepence ain’t respectable, what is?

But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worththe money.  He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIALBULGRADERIAN BRIGADE.  Nobody couldn’t pronounce the name,and it never was intended anybody should.  The public always turnedit, as a regular rule, into Chopski.  In the line he was calledChops; partly on that account, and partly because his real name, ifhe ever had any real name (which was very dubious), was Stakes.

He was a uncommon small man, he really was.  Certainly not sosmall as he was made out to be, but where isyour Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommon small man, with a most uncommon large Ed; andwhat he had inside that Ed, nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposinhimself to have ever took stock of it, which it would have been a stiffjob for even him to do.

The kindest little man as never growed!  Spirited, but not proud. When he travelled with the Spotted Baby—though he knowed himselfto be a nat’ral Dwarf, and knowed the Baby’s spots to beput upon him artificial, he nursed that Baby like a mother.  Younever heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant.  He didallowhimself to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady fromNorfolk; but that was an affair of the ’art; and when a man’s’art has been trifled with by a lady, and the preference giv toa Indian, he ain’t master of his actions.

He was always in love, of course; every human nat’ral phenomenonis.  And he was always in love with a large woman; I never knowedthe Dwarf as could be got to love a small one.  Which helps tokeep ’em the Curiosities they are.

One sing’ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must havemeant something, or it wouldn’t have been there.  It wasalways his opinion that he was entitled to property.  He neverwould put his name to anything.  He had been taught to write, bythe young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quitea writing master hewas, and taught scores in the line), butChops would have starved to death, afore he’d have gained a bitof bread by putting his hand to a paper.  This is the more curiousto bear in mind, because HE had no property, nor hope of property, excepthis house and a sarser.  When I say his house, I mean the box,painted and got up outside like a reg’lar six-roomer, that heused to creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at)on his forefinger, and ring a little bell out of what the Public believedto be the Drawing-room winder.  And when I say a sarser, I meana Chaney sarser in which he made a collection for himself at the endof every Entertainment.  His cue for that, he took from me: “Ladiesand gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan,and retire behind the curtain.”  When he said anything important,in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, andthey was generally the last thing he said to me at night afore he wentto bed.

He had what I consider a fine mind—a poetic mind.  Hisideas respectin his property never come upon him so strong as when hesat upon a barrel-organ and had the handle turned.  Arter the wibrationhad run through him a little time, he would screech out, “Toby,I feel my property coming—grind away!  I’m countingmy guineas by thousands, Toby—grind away!  Toby, I shallbe a man of fortun!  I feel the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, andI’m swelling out into the Bank of England!”  Such isthe influence of music on a poetic mind.  Not that he was partialto any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.

He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is athing you may notice in many phenomenons that get their living out ofit.  What riled him most in the nater of his occupation was, thatit kep him out of Society.  He was continiwally saying, “Toby,my ambition is, to go into Society.  The curse of my position towardsthe Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society.  This don’tsignify to a low beast of a Indian; he an’t formed for Society. This don’t signify to a Spotted Baby; hean’t formedfor Society.—I am.”

Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had a good salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day cameround, besides having the run of his teeth—and he was a Woodpeckerto eat—but all Dwarfs are.  The sarser was a little income,bringing him in so many halfpence that he’d carry ’em fora week together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher.  And yet he neverhad money.  And it couldn’t be the Fat Lady from Norfolk,as was once supposed; because it stands to reason that when you havea animosity towards a Indian, which makes you grind your teeth at himto his face, and which can hardly hold you from Goosing him audiblewhen he’s going through his War-Dance—it stands to reasonyou wouldn’t under them circumstances deprive yourself, to supportthat Indian in the lap of luxury.

Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. The Public was shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his littlebell out of his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over hisshoulder as he kneeled down with his legs out at the back-door—forhe couldn’t be shoved into his house without kneeling down, andthe premises wouldn’t accommodate his legs—was snarlin,“Here’s a precious Public for you; why the Devil don’tthey tumble up?” when a man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon,and cries out, “If there’s any person here as has got aticket, the Lottery’s just drawed, and the number as has comeup for the great prize is three, seven, forty-two!  Three, seven,forty-two!”  I was givin the man to the Furies myself, forcalling off the Public’s attention—for the Public will turnaway, at any time, to look at anything in preference to the thing showed’em; and if you doubt it, get ’em together for any indiwidualpurpose on the face of the earth, and send only two people in late,and see if the whole company an’t far more interested in takinparticular notice of them two than of you—I say, I wasn’tbest pleased with the man for callin out, and wasn’t blessin himin my own mind, when I see Chops’s little bell fly out of winderat a old lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin the wholesecret, and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says tome, “Carry me into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water overme or I’m a dead man, for I’ve come into my property!”

Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops’s winnins. He had bought a half-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, andit had come up.  The first use he made of his property, was, tooffer to fight the Wild Indian for five hundred pound a side, him witha poisoned darnin-needle and the Indian with a club; but the Indianbeing in want of backers to that amount, it went no further.

Arter he had been mad for a week—in a state of mind, in short,in which, if I had let him sit on the organ for only two minutes, Ibelieve he would have bust—but we kep the organ from him—Mr.Chops come round, and behaved liberal and beautiful to all.  Hethen sent for a young man he knowed, as had a wery genteel appearanceand was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectable brought up, fatherhavin been imminent in the livery stable line but unfort’natein a commercial crisis, through paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, andsellin him with a Pedigree), and Mr. Chops said to this Bonnet, whosaid his name was Normandy, which it wasn’t:

“Normandy, I’m a goin into Society.  Will you gowith me?”

Says Normandy: “Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimatethat the ’ole of the expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?”

“Correct,” says Mr. Chops.  “And you shallhave a Princely allowance too.”

The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him,and replied in poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears:

“My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea,
And I do not ask for more,
But I’ll Go:—along with thee.”

They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. They took lodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away.

In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in theautumn of next year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-whitecords and tops, I cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one eveningappinted.  The gentlemen was at their wine arter dinner, and Mr.Chops’s eyes was more fixed in that Ed of his than I thought goodfor him.  There was three of ’em (in company, I mean), andI knowed the third well.  When last met, he had on a white Romanshirt, and a bishop’s mitre covered with leopard-skin, and playedthe clarionet all wrong, in a band at a Wild Beast Show.

This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: “Gentlemen,this is a old friend of former days:” and Normandy looked at methrough a eye-glass, and said, “Magsman, glad to see you!”—whichI’ll take my oath he wasn’t.  Mr. Chops, to git himconvenient to the table, had his chair on a throne (much of the formof George the Fourth’s in the canvass), but he hardly appearedto me to be King there in any other pint of view, for his two gentlemenordered about like Emperors.  They was all dressed like May-Day—gorgeous!—Andas to Wine, they swam in all sorts.

I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had doneit), and then mixed ’em all together (to say I had done it), andthen tried two of ’em as half-and-half, and then t’othertwo.  Altogether, I passed a pleasin evenin, but with a tendencyto feel muddled, until I considered it good manners to get up and say,“Mr. Chops, the best of friends must part, I thank you for thewariety of foreign drains you have stood so ’ansome, I looks towardsyou in red wine, and I takes my leave.”  Mr. Chops replied,“If you’ll just hitch me out of this over your right arm,Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I’ll see you out.” I said I couldn’t think of such a thing, but he would have it,so I lifted him off his throne.  He smelt strong of Maideary, andI couldn’t help thinking as I carried him down that it was likecarrying a large bottle full of wine, with a rayther ugly stopper, agood deal out of proportion.

When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to himby holding on to my coat-collar, and he whispers:

“I ain’t ’appy, Magsman.”

“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chops?”

“They don’t use me well.  They an’t gratefulto me.  They puts me on the mantel-piece when I won’t havein more Champagne-wine, and they locks me in the sideboard when I won’tgive up my property.”

“Get rid of ’em, Mr. Chops.”

“I can’t.  We’re in Society together, andwhat would Society say?”

“Come out of Society!” says I.

“I can’t.  You don’t know what you’retalking about.  When you have once gone into Society, you mustn’tcome out of it.”

“Then if you’ll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops,”were my remark, shaking my head grave, “I think it’s a pityyou ever went in.”

Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slappedit half a dozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thoughtwere in him.  Then, he says, “You’re a good fellow,but you don’t understand.  Good-night, go along.  Magsman,the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retirebehind the curtain.”  The last I see of him on that occasionwas his tryin, on the extremest werge of insensibility, to climb upthe stairs, one by one, with his hands and knees.  They’dhave been much too steep for him, if he had been sober; but he wouldn’tbe helped.

It warn’t long after that, that I read in the newspaper ofMr. Chops’s being presented at court.  It was printed, “Itwill be recollected”—and I’ve noticed in my life,that it is sure to be printed that it willbe recollected, wheneverit won’t—“that Mr. Chops is the individual of smallstature, whose brilliant success in the last State Lottery attractedso much attention.”  Well, I says to myself, Such is Life! He has been and done it in earnest at last.  He has astonishedGeorge the Fourth!

(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with abag of money in his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and alady in Ostrich Feathers fallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword,and buckles correct.)

I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries—thoughnot the honour of bein acquainted—and I run Magsman’s Amusementsin it thirteen months—sometimes one thing, sometimes another,sometimes nothin particular, but always all the canvasses outside. One night, when we had played the last company out, which was a shycompany, through its raining Heavens hard, I was takin a pipe in theone pair back along with the young man with the toes, which I had takenon for a month (though he never drawed—except on paper), and Iheard a kickin at the street door.  “Halloa!” I saysto the young man, “what’s up!”  He rubs his eyebrowswith his toes, and he says, “I can’t imagine, Mr. Magsman”—whichhe never could imagine nothin, and was monotonous company.

The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle,and I went down and opened the door.  I looked out into the street;but nothin could I see, and nothin was I aware of, until I turned roundquick, because some creetur run between my legs into the passage. There was Mr. Chops!

“Magsman,” he says, “take me, on the old terms,and you’ve got me; if it’s done, say done!”

I was all of a maze, but I said, “Done, sir.”

“Done to your done, and double done!” says he. “Have you got a bit of supper in the house?”

Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we’dguzzled away at in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassagesand gin-and-water; but he took ’em both and took ’em free;havin a chair for his table, and sittin down at it on a stool, likehold times.  I, all of a maze all the while.

It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, andto the best of my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdomas was in that little man began to come out of him like prespiration.

“Magsman,” he says, “look upon me!  You seeafore you, One as has both gone into Society and come out.”

“O!  You areout of it, Mr. Chops?  How didyou get out, sir?”

“SOLD OUT!” says he.  You never saw the like ofthe wisdom as his Ed expressed, when he made use of them two words.

“My friend Magsman, I’ll impart to you a discovery I’vemade.  It’s wallable; it’s cost twelve thousand fivehundred pound; it may do you good in life—The secret of this matteris, that it ain’t so much that a person goes into Society, asthat Society goes into a person.”

Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on adeep look, and said, “You’re right there, Mr. Chops.”

“Magsman,” he says, twitchin me by the leg, “Societyhas gone into me, to the tune of every penny of my property.”

I felt that I went pale, and though nat’rally a bold speaker,I couldn’t hardly say, “Where’s Normandy?”

“Bolted.  With the plate,” said Mr. Chops.

“And t’other one?” meaning him as formerly worethe bishop’s mitre.

“Bolted.  With the jewels,” said Mr. Chops.

I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.

“Magsman,” he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiseras he got hoarser; “Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of St. James’s, they was all a doing my old business—alla goin three times round the Cairawan, in the hold court-suits and properties. Elsewheres, they was most of ’em ringin their little bells outof make-believes.  Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. Magsman, the sarser is the uniwersal Institution!”

I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes,and I felt for Mr. Chops.

“As to Fat Ladies,” he says, giving his head a tremendiousone agin the wall, “there’s lots of themin Society,and worse than the original.  Herswas a outrage upon Taste—simplya outrage upon Taste—awakenin contempt—carryin its own punishmentin the form of a Indian.”  Here he giv himself another tremendiousone.  “But theirs, Magsman, theirsis mercenaryoutrages.  Lay in Cashmeer shawls, buy bracelets, strew ’emand a lot of ’andsome fans and things about your rooms, let itbe known that you give away like water to all as come to admire, andthe Fat Ladies that don’t exhibit for so much down upon the drum,will come from all the pints of the compass to flock about you, whateveryou are.  They’ll drill holes in your ’art, Magsman,like a Cullender.  And when you’ve no more left to give,they’ll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have yourbones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prairiesthat you deserve to be!”  Here he giv himself the most tremendiousone of all, and dropped.

I thought he was gone.  His Ed was so heavy, and he knockedit so hard, and he fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance inhim must have been so immense, that I thought he was gone.  But,he soon come round with care, and he sat up on the floor, and he saidto me, with wisdom comin out of his eyes, if ever it come:

“Magsman!  The most material difference between the twostates of existence through which your unhappy friend has passed;”he reached out his poor little hand, and his tears dropped down on themoustachio which it was a credit to him to have done his best to grow,but it is not in mortals to command success,—“the differencethis.  When I was out of Society, I was paid light for being seen. When I went into Society, I paid heavy for being seen.  I preferthe former, even if I wasn’t forced upon it.  Give me outthrough the trumpet, in the hold way, to-morrow.”

Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had beeniled all over.  But the organ was kep from him, and no allusionswas ever made, when a company was in, to his property.  He gotwiser every day; his views of Society and the Public was luminous, bewilderin,awful; and his Ed got bigger and bigger as his Wisdom expanded it.

He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the expiration of that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressedone evenin, the last Company havin been turned out, and the door shut,a wish to have a little music.

“Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.”with him; the world might do it, but not me); “Mr. Chops, areyou sure as you are in a state of mind and body to sit upon the organ?”

His answer was this: “Toby, when next met with on the tramp,I forgive her and the Indian.  And I am.”

It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; buthe sat like a lamb.  I will be my belief to my dying day, thatI see his Ed expand as he sat; you may therefore judge how great histhoughts was.  He sat out all the changes, and then he come off.

“Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “the littleman will now walk three times round the Cairawan, and retire behindthe curtain.”

When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a muchbetter Society than mine or Pall Mall’s.  I giv Mr. Chopsas comfortable a funeral as lay in my power, followed myself as Chief,and had the George the Fourth canvass carried first, in the form ofa banner.  But, the House was so dismal arterwards, that I givit up, and took to the Wan again.

* * * *

“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up thesecond manuscript, and looking hard at Trottle.  “I don’ttriumph over this worthy creature.  I merely ask him if he is satisfiednow?”

“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering forTrottle, who sat obstinately silent.  “This time, Jarber,you have not only read us a delightfully amusing story, but you havealso answered the question about the House.  Of course it standsempty now.  Who would think of taking it after it had been turnedinto a caravan?”  I looked at Trottle, as I said those lastwords, and Jarber waved his hand indulgently in the same direction.

“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber. “You were about to say, my good man?”—

“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “ifyou could kindly oblige me with a date or two in connection with thatlast story?”

“A date!” repeated Jarber.  “What does theman want with dates!”

“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persistedTrottle, “if the person named Magsman was the last tenant wholived in the House.  It’s my opinion—if I may be excusedfor giving it—that he most decidedly was not.”

With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room.

There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, lookedsadly discomposed.  He had evidently forgotten to inquire aboutdates; and, in spite of his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries,it was quite as plain that the two stories he had just read, had reallyand truly exhausted his present stock.  I thought myself bound,in common gratitude, to help him out of his embarrassment by a timelysuggestion.  So I proposed that he should come to tea again, onthe next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and should make such inquiriesin the meantime, as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of Trottle’sobjection.

He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment,and took his leave.  For the rest of the week I would not encourageTrottle by allowing him to refer to the House at all.  I suspectedhe was making his own inquiries about dates, but I put no questionsto him.

On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came,punctual to the appointed time.  He looked so terribly harassed,that he was really quite a spectacle of feebleness and fatigue. I saw, at a glance, that the question of dates had gone against him,that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant of the House, and thatthe reason of its emptiness was still to seek.

“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “wordsare not eloquent enough to tell.  O Sophonisba, I have begun anotherseries of discoveries!  Accept the last two as stories laid onyour shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving your curiosity unappeased,until you have heard Number Three.”

Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much. Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time. In the course of his investigations he had stepped into the CirculatingLibrary, to seek for information on the one important subject. All the Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relativeof the last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left,sent a little manuscript poem to them which she described as referringto events that had actually passed in the House; and which she wantedthe proprietor of the Library to publish.  She had written no addresson her letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to begiven back to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) whenshe might call for it.  She had never called for it; and the poemhad been lent to Jarber, at his express request, to read to me.

Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined tohave him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy. To my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle hadstepped out without saying where.  I instantly felt the strongestpossible conviction that he was at his old tricks: and that his steppingout in the evening, without leave, meant—Philandering.

Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy,stifled my indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listento Jarber.

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