He Had Never Seen Golden Grove, But Had Often Wished To Visit
It.
Thus it came to pass that we three secured our cabins in
one of the West India mailers, and left England in December
1849.
To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description of
his figure, as before said, is all-important, though the
world is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a master
caricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches,
round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and head,
closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes, - in a word, so
like a seal, that he was as often called 'Phoca' as Archy.
Do you recognise the portrait? Do you need the help of
'Glevering Hall' (how curious the suggestion!). And would
you not like to hear him talk? Here is a specimen in his
best manner. Surely it must have been taken down by a
shorthand writer, or a phonograph:
MR. HARRY FOKER LOQUITUR: 'He inquired for Rincer and the
cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss
Rincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid his
compliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, all
in a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness
which set all these young ladies in a giggle. "Have a drop,
Pen: it's recommended by the faculty, &c. Give the young
one a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly."'
I fancy the great man who recorded these words was more
afraid of Mr. Harry PHOCA than of any other man in the
Garrick Club - possibly for the reason that honest Harry was
not the least bit afraid of him. The shy, the proud, the
sensitive satirist would steal quietly into the room,
avoiding notice as though he wished himself invisible. Phoca
would be warming his back at the fire, and calling for a
glass of 'Foker's own.' Seeing the giant enter, he would
advance a step or two, with a couple of extended fingers, and
exclaim, quite affably, 'Ha! Mr. Thackry! litary cove! Glad
to see you, sir. How's Major Dobbings?' and likely enough
would turn to the waiter, and bid him, 'Give this gent a
glass of the same, and score it up to yours truly!' We have
his biographer's word for it, that he would have winked at
the Duke of Wellington, with just as little scruple.
Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry Foker; and,
from the cut of his clothes to his family connection, and to
the comicality, the simplicity, the sweetness of temper
(though hardly doing justice to the loveableness of the
little man), the famous caricature fits him to a T.
The night before we left London we had a convivial dinner at
the Garrick - we three travellers, with Albert Smith, his
brother, and John Leech. It was a merry party, to which all
contributed good fellowship and innocent jokes.
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