MY dear T.,—Now cannot I call him Serjeant; what is there in a coif? Those canvas-sleeves protective from ink, when he was a law-chit—a Chittyling, (let the leathern apron be apocryphal) do more ’specially plead to the Jury Court of old memory. The costume (will he agnize it?) was as of a desk-fellow or Socius Plutei. Methought I spied a brother!
That familiarity is extinct for ever. Curse me if I can call him Mr. Serjeant—except, mark me, in company. Honour where honour is due; but should he ever visit us, (do you think he ever will, Mary?) what a distinction should I keep up between him and our less fortunate friend, H. C. R.! Decent respect shall always be the Crabb’s—but, somehow, short of reverence.
Well, of my old friends, I have lived to see two knighted: one made a judge, another in a fair way to it, Why am I restive? why stands my sun upon Gibeah?
| 1833 | TALFOURD A SERJEANT | 899 |
Variously, my dear Mrs. Talfourd, (I can be more familiar with her!) Mrs. Serjeant Talfourd,—my sister prompts me—(these ladies stand upon ceremonies)—has the congratulable news affected the members of our small community. Mary comprehended it at once, and entered into it heartily. Mrs. W—— was, as usual, perverse—wouldn’t, or couldn’t, understand it. A Serjeant? She thought Mr. T. was in the law. Didn’t know that he ever ’listed.
Emma alone truly sympathised. She had a silk gown come home that very day, and has precedence before her learned sisters accordingly.
We are going to drink the health of Mr. and Mrs. Serjeant, with all the young serjeantry—and that is all that I can see that I shall get by the promotion.
Valete, et mementote amici quondam vestri humillimi.
