The ring o' bells, etc.

Front matter

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Prologue

Tue tumblers were rattled upon the table, sticks were thumped upon the floor, and there was a stentorian chorus of ‘ Brayvo, Sparkins ?’

Mr. Sparkins, the esteemed and respected parish ' clerk of Marshton-by-the-Sea, a small, rambling fishing town on the Essex coast, had just delighted the company assembled in the parlour of the Ring o Bells public-house with ‘The Mistletoe Bough.’ Mr. Sparkins was an elegant singer, and he lent a sentimental tone to all his songs by giving them forth with closed eyes. Whenever Mr. Sparkins sang—and he was the most popular visitor to the free-and-easy which was held every Friday night in the parlour of the Ring o’ Bells—he always commenced by coughing and clearing his throat, then he took a couple of whiffs at his long churchwarden, and solemnly and gently laid it on the

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2 THE ORING OO CBLLLS, table by the side of his glass of grog; then he leant back in his chair, inserted his thumbs under the armholes of his waistcoat, spread his fingers out, closed his eyes, gave another little cough, and commenced. He kept his eyes closed from the first verse to the last ; he never even opened them during the chorus, no matter how jovial and rollicking it might be. For twenty years in succession Mr. Sparkins had obliged the company on Christmas Eve with ‘The Mistletoe Bough. He kept it for the occasion. When Sparkins commenced ‘The Mistletoe Bough, the landlady, Mrs. Van Hooten, always came into the parlour and stood respectfully by the door. At the conclusion she always shed a tear, and wiped it away with the corner of her neat little black satin apron. Mrs. Van Hooten was a widow. The last thing on earth that the lamented Van Hooten had heard was ‘The Mistletoe Bough’ sung by Mr. Sparkins. He had taken the chair at the concert, and had cheered Mr. Sparkins as vociferously as anybody; then his red face had turned suddenly purple, there had been a gurgle, and the landlord of the Ring o’ Bells had dropped his head down quietly among the pipes and glasses, and had gone to sleep for ever.

The circumstance lent a solemnity to the Christmas Eve gathering under the old-fashioned roof. It imparted an air of chastened sorrow to what would otherwise have been a jovial occasion, but it also added in a sense to the festivity. Mrs. Van Hooten, having shed the tributary tear, always rang the bell, and Polly, the waitress, appeared with a bowl of exquisitely brewed punch; and in this cheering beverage the company, standing and in solemn silence, drank to the memory of the late Nicholas Van Hooten, once skipper of a passenger boat running between Rotterdam and Harwich, and latterly the landlord of the Ring 0’ Bells.

This Christmas Eve, when the song was over and the landlady’s in memoriam tear had been shed and dried, and just as Polly was entering with the bowl of punch and a tray of glasses, and the company were preparing to drink to the departed Dutchman, an extraordinary event occurred—an event unparalleled in the history of the house.

A young woman, pale, trembling, and evidently ill, pushed open the door, glanced round the room, gave a little cry, staggered towards the landlady, and then fell down in a swoon upon the floor. The gentlemen rose hurriedly from the table. Polly, the waitress, ejaculated, ‘O Lord, ma’arm? and let the tray of glasses fall with a smash; and the landlady, after giving a hurried and terrified glance at the prostrate form, exclaimed, ‘ Run for a doctor, somebody, quick—and the rest of you go? 1—2

4 THE RING O BLILS.

There was a hurried stampede of guests—married men most of them, who had taken in the situation at a glance. They all went in a body to the village surgeon, Dr. Lambert, and Polly and her mistress were left alone with the senseless woman.

Half an hour afterwards Dr. Lambert, who had been out when the free-and-easy deputation arrived, came puffing and blowing into the parlour.

“You are too late, sir, said the landlady, pointing to the sofa, which had been rapidly turned into a bed by Polly.

‘Too late? cried the doctor. ‘ Is she——

‘Dead! answered the landlady. ‘God help the poor creature! She only opened her eyes once; she spoke a few words in some foreign language as I didn’t understand, and then fainted again.’

At that moment there was a feeble cry.

The doctor looked in the direction from which it came, and exclaimed, ‘ God bless me, what an extraordinary event! ‘Tell me all about it.

The landlady told him all about it, and he went away and told everybody else; and that night everybody in Marshton-by-the-Sea knew that there had been a death and a birth on Christmas Eve at the Ring o’ Bells.

Lite RlINGEOCBELLS, 5