1845 1847 1853
I I ~> V
L I L . ^ \
E -ilD lc/2
LAWRENCE, MASS.
"The Story of our Lives from Tear to Year" SHAKESPEAEE.
ALL THE YEAE ROUND,
CONDUCTED BY
CHARLES DICKENS.
WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
VOLUME XL
FRCOI FEBroJAKY 13 TO AUGUST 6, 1861.
Indvjfng No. 251 to No. 276.
r
LONDON:
PUBLISHED AT N- 26, WELLINGTON STREET;
AND BY MESSRS. CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1864.
C. WHITING, BK>UFOKT HOUSE, STRAND.
CONTENTS.
PAOE
A RENT in a Cloud . 18(5, 211, 2 ;:,,
260,282, 304, 331, 356, 377, 402, 424
Admiral s Fit zroy s Predictions 301
Africa, Fighting in . . 130
African Ants . . . 56*, 594
Agricultural Exhibition in
India 272
Alabama, Cruise of the . . 138
All Moonshine .... 2W
Alligators in Gey Ion . . 200,400
Amateur Touting . . . 101
Amazonian Naturalist, An . 592
America Insects in the South
441, 592
America The Fenian Brothers
in 391
American Blockade Story . 497
American Conversation . . 224
American SanitaryCommission 323
Among Pirates . . . .83
Anecdotes of Horses and Dogs 269
Ann Hathaway s Cottage . . 349
Annuities and Pension List . 559
Area Sneaks .... 10
Armstrong and "Whitworth
Guns 21
Army, Female "Workshops . 546
Army, Hospital Nurses . . 328
Army, Sanitary Commission . 328
Army, Soldiers Wives . 546
Art of Unfattening . . 447
Artillery Trials . . .21
Assault and Battery . . 205
Attorney and Barrister . 372
Aunt Bella ... .540
Australia, Gold Digging in . 1S1
Australia, Shooting . . .181
BALCONIES for Foot Passengers 9
Barristers on Circuit . . 372
Bates (Mr.), The Naturalist . 592
Battle of the Barrels . . 421
Bears in Ceylon .... 401
Beer-House Clubs . . 149, 535
Bees 563
Bird-Catching Spider . . 593
Black Art in Grumbleton . 60
Black Men 128
Brinvilliers, The Marchioness 476
Britannia s Head for Figures . 557
Brittany, Superstitions of . 57.1
Brown Bess Gun, The . . 19
Budget, The . . . .557
Buffaloes in Ceylon . . .401
CABS 11
Captain Bluenose . . . 115
Carefully Moved in Town and
Country 341
Carmine 563
Caroline Matilda, The Princess 596
Catamaran Boat . . 296
Ceylon, Animal Life and Ad
ventures in 198, 249, 293, 400, 418
Ceylon, Canoes of 294
Ceylon, Climate of 400
Ceylon, Coffee and Hopper 418
Ceylon, Devil Bird 297
Ceylon, Rivers of 293
Ceylon Robbers . 297, 421
PAGE
Ceylon, Three Simple Men of . 179
Ceylon, Waterspouts on the
Coast of 295
Chambers for Families . . 11
Chancellor of the Exchequer,
Duties of 557
Chicago, Fenian Brothers at . 391
Chinese Kites .... 17
Chintz Bug .... 441
Christian Pasha . . .367
Circuit, Lodgings on . . 373
Civil List, The . . . .559
Clubs of Working Men . . 149
Cochineal 562
Coffee and Hopper . . . 418
Companies, The Promoters of 110
Confederates, Ships for the . 144
Consolidated Fund . . .559
Corpulence before the Con
quest 447
Crossings, Bridges over . . 9
Cruise of the Alabama . . 138
Cupid s Manufactory . . 36
Cuttle Fish . . . .249
DANISH Army, Horses and
Dogs of the . . . .269
Danish Army Surgeon . . 486
Danish Camp, In and Out of
the 484
Danish, Captain Bluenose . 115
Danish Legends . 87
Danish Luminaries . 207
Danish War, The . 115
Danish Writers . . 207
Daoud Pasha . . 368
Dead Sea . . 471
Debt 463
Deer-Stalking . . . .588
Delirium Trcmens, The Visions
during 271
Denmark 85
Denmark, Caroline Matilda,
Queen of 596
Devil Bird 297
Diet, Changes in . 136
Dinner Giving . . 63
Directors of the Adamant 275
Diseases, Changes in 136
Dr. Peregrine s Page 88
Dress, Changes in . 136
Drink, The Sale of . 437
Dogs, Anecdotes of . 269
Duck-lane Club . 152
EARLSWOOD, Idiot Asylum at 565
Easter Revival . 280
Editor s Room, An 475
Elephants in Ceylon 250
Eliot, Sir John . 253
Enfield Rifle . 19
England s Balance-Sheet 557
English Dress, History of 137
Entomoloirist Gone South 440
Epping Hunt, The . . 2SO
Exceedingly Odd Fellows 232
Excursion Agent . . 301
Excursion Trips . . 301
Expenditure of the Nation 561
Eye Spectres 35
FAIR Denmark .
Fairies of the Ranee
Fanners in Muslin .
Farming by Steam .
Fashions
PAGE
85
575
272
67
136, 569
Faversham, Night Attack at . 205
Fenian Brothers . . . 391
Fetishes 569
Fighting in Western Africa
Financial Statement, The
Fire !
Fire at the Cathedral, Santiago
Fitzgerald s Life of Sterne
Fitzroy s (Admiral) Predic
tions
Fields of Norway
Flammand, Monsieur, Story
of
Flies in South America . .
Flowery Land Pirates, The
Flying Foxes . .
Foreign Enlistment Act .
Forster s (Mr.) Life of Sir John
Eliot
Fox, Shackle, and Leggit
France Story of Pere Flam
mand
France - The Poison Chamber .
French Etiquette
Frenchman in London, The .
From the Pen of a Pole
Friendly or Unfriendly
130
57
69
69
489
301
77
228
441
83
249
138
253
612
229
476
616
396
448
202
Friendly Societies . 202, 282, 535
Furnished House to Let . . 444
GALL-NUTS 563
Ghost of Mr. Senior ... 34
Gipsy Concert in Moscow . 156
Girls They Leave Behind Them 544
Gnats in South America . . 441
Godpapa Vance. . . 323,540
Gold Digger s Notes . . . 181
Gout, The 583
Government Annuity Bill 202,232
Government Life Assurance
202, 232
Grouse Shooting . . . 587
Grumble, A 136
Grumbleton Extension Line . 487
Grumbleton, The Black Art in 60
Gunning 585
Guns, Story of the ... 18
HAIR Doctors, the Saxon . . 495
Hankey (Mr.) on Taxation . 558
Happy Idiots .... 64
Hawker (Colonel) upon Shoot
ing 585
Hebron 467
Holstein 86
Holy Land, Travels in the 467
Home Dinners . . 63
Horses, Anecdotes of 269
Horses, Breeds and Races of 319
Hounds for Hunting . 415
House to Let . . 444
Houses in the Suburbs 341
Houses, Moving into . 341
How King Charles s Head was
Loosened 253
CONTENTS.
How Monsieur Flammand
Drasrged his Chain . . . 223
Huntinir, Field Customs . 319, 415
Huntsman, The . . . .416
IDIOT Asylum at Earls wood . 565
In (and Out of) the Danish Camp 4 S 4
In Hie Danish Camp . . . 269
India, Where are the Rupees ? 174
Indian Farming .... 272
Indian Ladies at an Exhibition 274
Indian Railways ... 31
Insect Life .... 562, 592
Insects in the South . . . 440
Insurance Company, On the
Board of an .
Irish Hopes of Freedom .
Ironmasters of Sussex
JEANNE Malobe . . .
Jebel Usdum a-nd the Dead Sea
Joint-Stock Companies . .
KITE Flying ....
275
391
351
574
4(57
110
17
LAST of the Toll-Gate . . 588
Laurence Sterne . . . 4S9
Lebanon, The Christian Pasha
of ...... 367
Legends of Denmark . . 87
Lesson Well Learnt . . . 328
Life Assurance under Govern
ment .... 202, 232
Life of Sir John Eliot . . 253
Lizards in Ceylon . . . 249
Lobster Salad, A ... COO
Lunatic Asylum at Earlswood 505
MAKING Tea in India . . 56
Manna ..... 564
Masada, The Fortress of . . 471
Mechanics Clubs . . . 149
Men, Races of . . . . 123
Merit, Rewards for . . . 11
Meyerbeer A Character . . 374
Mini6 Rifle ..... 19
Minute Life . . . 562,592
Monuments, How to Relieve .
London of .... 12
Moon s Influence, The . . 299
More Trifles from Ceylon . . 193
219, 293, 400, 418
Mosquitoes ..... 441
Moving into Houses . . . 3il
Music in the Streets . . . 421
My Account with Her Majesty
79, 232
My Excursion Agent . . 301
My Newspaper .... 473
NATIONAL Debt, The
New Zealand, Gold Digging in
Newspaper, Work of a
Night Attack at Faversham .
Norway, Sporting in
Norwegian Sociality .
ODD Fellows Societies .
Old Clothes ....
Omnibus Friends
On Circuit
On Fire !
On the Public Service
Organ Nuisance
Organist Wanted
Our Breeds and Races
Our Cousins Conversation
Our Little Friends .
Oysters and Oyster Culture .
PACK of Hounds
Palestine, Travelling in .
Parents, A Few Words to .
559
184
473
205
77
517
232
40
396
372
69
105
421
154
319
224
562
161
415
467
512
I AOE
Parisian Cafe" . . . .439
People We Meet . . . 390
Philipson, Dr., upon Minute Life
5fl 2
Pigeon-House Fort, Dublin . 395
Pirates Aboard the " Flowery
Land" 83
Pirates, Murders by . . .84
Poison Chamber of Paris . . 476
Poisoning System, A . . . 476
Pole, From the Pen of a . . 448
Polish Insurection . . . 448
Poor Man s Club, The . 14?, 535
Poor Man his Own Master . 535
Post Office Sayings-Bank . . 79
Princess Caroline Matilda . 596
Printing a Newspaper . . 474
Promoters of Companies . . 110
Public-Houses .... 437
Public-Houses, Clubs at . 149, 535
Public Service, Travelling on . 105
QUITE Alone . . . . 1, 25,
49, 73, 97, 121, 145, 169, 193, 217,
241, 25, 2S9, 318. 337, 361, SS5, 409,
433, 457, 481, 505, 529, 553, 577, 601
RACE Horses . . . 319, 415
Races of Men . . . .123
Railway, The Grumbleton Ex
tension 487
Railways in India ... 31
Refreshment Houses in England
437
Refreshment Houses in France 437
Rent in a Cloud . . 186, 211, 235
200, 2S2, 304, 331, 356, 377, 402, 424
Revenue, Tlio . . . .560
Roman Siege of Masada . . 471
Rupee to the Rescue . . 174
Russian Cruelty . . . 452
SAINT Swith m . . . .300
Sanitary Commission in Ame
rica 328
Saxon Hair Doctors . . . 495
Saxon Mode of Unfattening . 417
Schoolmistress and Organist . 154
Sea, Ten Terrible Days at . 165
Secretary Wanted . . . 110
Sensational Williams . . 14
Sepia 249
Shakespeare-Mad . . . 345
ShakespeareNot a Man of Parts 253
Shakespeare Tercentenary . 848
Shakespeare s House . . 348
Shakespeare s Sensation Plays 14
Shipwrecked, Ten Terrible
Days 164
Shooting 5S5
Silk-Spinning Spiders . 509, 562
Silkworms 562
Sir E.Tennent upon Guns . IS
Snakes in Ceylon . . . 198
Societies of the Poor . . 202
Soldiers Wives, Employment
for 540
South America, Flies and In
sects of 440
Spider, The Bird-Catching . 593
Spider, The Silk-Spinning 509, 562
Sport on the Nameless Fjeld . 77
Sterne, The Life of ... 4S9
Stone-Eyes, Story of . .519
Story, Aunt Bella, . . . 540
Story, Dr. Peregrine s Page . 88
Story, Godpapa Vance . . 323
Story of the Guns ... 18
Story, Of the Stone-Eyes . . 519
Story, Through the Blockade . 497
Story, Too Late for Copenhagen 546
Story, Under the Rose . . 42
Stratford-npon-Avon . . 347
Street Balconies ... 9
Street Bridges .... 9
_, PAGE
Street Conveyances . . . 11
Street Music .... 421
Suggestions from a Maniac 9
Superstition in the Country . CO
Superstitions of Suliac . . 573
Sussex Ironmasters . . . 351
Sword- Wearing Custom. . 137
TAXATION of the Country
Tea, Effects of . . .
Tea Plantation in India .
Telegraph Newspaper, The
Ten Terrible Days .
Tennent, Sir E., upon Guns .
Three Corpses, The .
Three Simple Men of the East
Through the Blockade
Toll-Gate, Last of the
Tom Moody and Co. .
To Let
To Parents
Too Late for Copenhagen
Touch of the Gout .
Touting
Travelling on Circuit
Trifles from Ceylon .
249, 293, 400,
Trincomalie Harbour
Twelve Hints for Us
UNDER the Rose . ,
Unfattening before the Con
quest
Unfortunate Princess
Upsala, the White Caps of
VALENTINE Manufactory
Varieties of Men
Volunteer Night Attack .
WANTED a Schoolmistress
Wanted a Secretary .
Wasps in South America .
Waterspouts off Ceylon .
Wax from Trees
Weather Predictions
Western Africa, Fighting iu .
Whipper-in, The . . .
W r hite Caps of Upsala
Whitworth Rifle
W r ho Are They ?
Wigs and Hoops
Wilderness in Judsea
Wine at Public-Houses .
Woman s Example and a Na
tion s Work ....
Working Men s Clubs .
YELLOW Flies .
Yellow Jacket Flies .
You must Drink
Your Money and Your Life
557
136
56
473
164
18
574
179
497
588
415
444
512
546
583
101
S73
198
418
249
609
42
447
596
486
36
123
205
134
110
441
295
563
301
130
416
486
21
396
137
471
440
323
149
441
441
437
275
POETRY.
AT Daybreak
Beaten Army, A .
Blossoming Time
Boy and the Ring
Call in Vain, The
Dirge, A ...
Eyes of Mahmud
False Hope .
Guido s Model .
Labours of Thor .
Magician s Servant .
Point Blank
Railway Reverie
Sonnet ....
Spring Rain
Summer in the Citv .
Three Estates .
To his Love .
What Was It? .
When I am Dead
204
372
345
130
564
540
274
396
299
13
109
60
181
421
227
466
444
396
36
204.
"THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO TEAR."
:
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
A WEEKLY JOUKNAL. \\
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.
WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
251.]
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1864.
QUITE ALONE.
BOOK THE FIKST: CHILDHOOD.
CHAPTER I. SETTLE ATT MONDE.
THIS is Hyde Park, at the most brilliant mo
ment in the afternoon, at the most brilliant
period in the season. What a city of magni
ficence, of luxury, of pleasure, of pomp, and of
pride, this London seems to be. Can there be
any poor or miserable people any dingy grubs
among these gaudy butterflies ? What are the
famed Elysian fields of Paris, to Hyde Park at
this high tide of splendour ? What the cavalcade
of the Bois de Boulogne, or the promenade
of Longchamps, to the long stream of equi
pages noiselessly rolling along the bank of
the Serpentine ? Everybody in London (worth
naming) is being carried along on wheels, or be
strides pigskin girthed o er hundred guinea
horseflesh, or struts in bright boots, or trips
in soft sandalled prunella, or white satin with
high heels. There is Royal Blood in a mail
phaeton. Royal blood smokes a large cigar, and
handles its ribbons scientifically. There is a
Duke in the dumps, and behind him is the Right
Reverend Father, in a silk apron and a shovel-
hat, who made that fierce verbal assault upon
his Grace in the House of Lords last night.
There is the crack advocate of the day, the suc
cessful defender of the young lady who was
accused of poisoning her mamma with mix
vomica in her negus; and there is the young
lady herself, encompassed with a nimbus of petti
coat, lolling back in a miniature Brougham with
a gentleman old enough to be her grandfather, in
a high stock, and a wig dyed deep indigo. Is that
Auonyma driving twin ponies in a low phaeton,
a parasol attached to her whip, and a groom with
folded arms behind her ! Bah ! there are so
many Anonymas now-a-days. If it isn t the
Nameless one herself, it is Synonyma. Do you see
that stout gentleman with the coal-black beard
and the tarnished fez cap ? That is the Syrian
ambassador. The liver-coloured man in the dingy
white turban, the draggletailed blue burnous,
the cotton stockings, and the alpaca umbrella, is
the Maronite envoy. The nobleman who is
driving that four-in-hand, and is got up to such
a perfection of imitation of the manners and
costume of a stage-coachman, has a rental of
a hundred and thirty thousand a year. He
passes his time mostly among ostlers, engine-
drivers, and firemen. He swears, smokes a
cutty pipe, and of his two intimate friends, one
is a rough rider and the other a rat-catcher. Mr.
Benazi, the great Hebrew Financier, you must
know : yonder cadaverous, dolorous-looking
figure in shabby clothes, huddled up in a corner
of the snuff-coloured chariot, drawn by the
spare-ribbed horses that look as though they had
never enough to eat. He is Baron Benazi in
the Grand-Duchy of Sachs-Pfeifigen, where he
lent the Grand-Duke money to get the crown
jewels out of pawn. That loan was the making
of Ben. There is nothing remarkable about him
save his nose, which stands out, a hooked pro
montory, like the prow of a Roman galley, from
among the shadows cast by the squabs of the
snuff-coloured chariot. That nose is a power in
the state. That nose represents millions. When
Baron Benazi s nose shows signs of flexibility,
monarchs may breathe again, for loans can be
negotiated. But, when the Benazian proboscis
looks stern and rigid, and its owner rubs it with
an irritable finger, it is a sadly ominous sign of
something being rotten in the state of Sachs-
Pfeifigen, and of other empires and monarchies
which I will not stay to name.
What else ? Everything. Whom else ? Every
body. Dandies and swells, smooth-cheeked and
heavy-moustached, twiddling their heavy guard-
chains, caressing their fawn-coloured favoris,
clanking their spurred heels, screwing their eye
glasses into the creases of their optic muscles,
haw-hawing vacuous common-places to one an
other, or leaning over the rails to stare at all, to
gravely wag the head to some, to nod super
ciliously to others, to grin familiarly to a select
few. Poor little snobs and government clerks
aping the Grand Manner, and succeeding only
in looking silly. Any number of quiet sen
sible folks surveying the humours of the scei.e
with much amusement, and without envy. Fo
reigners who, after a five years residence in
London, may have discovered that Leicester-
square, the Haymarket, and the lower part of
Regent-street, are not the only promenades in
London, and so come swaggering and jabbering
icre, in their braid and their pomatum and
their dirt, poisoning the air with the fumes
of bad tobacco. An outer fringe of nursemaids
then some soldiers listlessly sucking the knobs
XI.
251
2 [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
of their canes, and looking very much as if
they considered themselves as flies in amber,
neither rich nor rare, and wondering how the
deuce they got there. As useless as chimneys
in summer, seemingly, are these poor strong men
done up in scarlet blanketing, with three half
pence a day spending money, and nobody to kill,
and severely punished by illogical magistrates it
they take to jumping upon policemen, or break
ing civilians heads with the buckles of their
belts, through their weariness. Aggravated
assaults, says the magistrate, as he signs their
mittimus, are not to be tolerated.
Anything else in Hyde Park at this high tide
of the season? Much: only a score of pages
would be required to describe the scene. All i;
here the prologue, the drama, the epilogue ; for
here is Life. Life from the highest to the
lowest rung of the ladder : not only in earliest
youth and extreme old age, in comely virtue and
ruddled vice, in wisdom and folly, complacency
and discontent; but look yonder, far beyond
the outer fringe in utter want and misery.
There, under the trees, the ragged woman opens
her bundle, and distributes among her callous
brood the foul scraps she has begged at area
gates, or picked from gutters. There, on the
sunny sward the shoeless tramp sprawls on his
brawny back, grinning in impudent muscularity
from the windows of his tatters in the very face of
well-dressed Respectability passing shuddering
by. And the whole " huge foolish whirligig where
kings and beggars, angels and demons, and stars
and street-sweepings chaotically whirled/ the
Spirit of Earth surveys and plies his eternal task.
Where is my Faustus ? There I cannot read
the German. Here is Monsieur Henri Blaze s
French interpretation of the mystic utterances
of the Esprit de la Terre, " Dans les flots de la
vie, dansl orage de 1 action, jemoute et descends,
flotteiciet la : naissance, tombeau, mer eternelle,
tissu _ changeaut, vie ardente : c est aiusi je
travaille sur le bruyant metier du temps, et tisse
le manteau vivant de la Divinite." Sufficiently
weak, limp, and wishy-washy, is this French
Faustus of Monsieur Henri Blaze, I wot. It
savours of absinthe, and an estaminet where they
charge nothing for stationery. Turn I now to
another, and immeasurably greater translator :
In Being s flood, in Action s storm
I walk and work, above beneath
Work and weave ip endless motion .
Birth and Death,
An infinite ocean ;
A seizing and giving
The fire of living
"Tis thus at the roaring Loom of Time I ply
And weave for God the garment thou seest him by.
"Of twenty millions/ asks the author of Sartor
Resartus, "that have read and spouted this
thunderspeech of the Erd Geist, are there yet
twenty of us that have learned the meaning
thereof?" But, Sage, is not the Spirit of Earth
the Spirit of Nature? Is not Life the warp
and Humanity the woof over which, spread on
the "Roaring Loom of Time," the shuttle of
production is always plying, and what is Ma
ture : a field, a flower, a shell, a seaweed, a bill s
feather, but the woven garment that we s.-e
GOD by ?
When Humanity begins to fade out of Hyde
Park, and goes home to dinner, or to brood by
the ingle nook, dinnerless, or betakes itself to
other holes and corners where it may languish,
panting, until bread or death come ; when only
a few idlers are to be met in the Ring, or
Rotten Row, or on the Knightsbridge road, you
sometimes see a solitary horsewoman. She is
QUITE ALONE. No groom follows : no passing
dandy ventures to bow, much, less to accost, or
condescends to grin as she passes. A spare
slight little woman enough, not in her first
youth not in her second yet; but, just cutre
chieu et loup, between the lights of beauty at
blind man s holiday time, she might be Venus.
She wears a very plain cloth habit, and a man s
hat. I mean the chimney-pot. She has a veil
often down. Great masses of brown hair are
neatly screwed under her hat. She rides easily,
quietly, undemonstratively. If her habit blow
aside you may see a neat boot and a faultless ankle,
wreathed in white drapery, but no sign of the
cloth and chamois leather riding trouser affecta
tion. She carries a light switch with an ivory
handle, which she never uses. That tall lustrous
black mare never came out of a livery stable you
may be sure. She pats and pets, and makes much
of her, and very placidly she paces beneath her
light weight. The groom keeps his distance;
she is always alone : quite alone.
"Who the doose is that woman on the black
mare, one sees when everybody else has left the
Row ?" asks Faineant number one of Faineant
number two at the Club.
" Sure I don t know. Seen her hundreds of
times. Ask Tom Fibbs. He knows everybody."
Tom Fibbs is asked, and takes a "sensation
header" at a guess.
" That s the Princess Ogurzi, who was knouted
at the office of the Secret Police, by Count Orloff s
private secretary and two sergeants of the In-
nailoffsky guards, for sending soundings of the
harbour of Helsingfors to Sir Charles Napier."
" Won t do, Fibbs. Try again. The Princess
Ogurzi died at Spa the year before last, and the
whole story about the knout turned out to be a
hoax."
"Then I am sure I don t know," answers Tom
Fibbs (who is never disconcerted when detected
in a fiction) ; " I give her up in despair. I ve
been trying to find out who she is, for months.
She is always alone ; quite alone. A Brougham
meets her at Apsley House, and the groom takes
tier mare away. I asked him one day who she
was, and he called me Paul Pry, and threatened
to knock me down. She dines, sometimes,
quite alone, at the Castlemaine Hotel in Bond-
street. The waiters think, either that she s a
duchess, or that she s mad. She s the only woman
who ever dined alone in the coffee-room at the
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[February 13, 18C4.] 3
Castlemaine, but nobody dares to be rude to her.
seen her at, the Star and Garter at Rich-
I, at Greenwich, at Brighton, at Ventnor,
iii Paris, always quite alone. She s an enigma.
She s a Sphinx."
"Is she demi-monde ?" Thus, one Insolent.
" Nobody knows. Nobody ever presumes to
speak to her, and she never was seen to speak
to anybody save her groom and the waiters.
She goes to the Opera; to the theatres; always
quite alone. Upon my word, I think that woman
would turn up at a prize fight : alone. I ve seen
her myself at Ascot."
As Tom Fibbs said this, a very tall angular
well-dressed gentleman, with grizzled hair, and
close upon iifty years of age, who had been
sitting in an arm-chair close by, hastily flung
down the Globe he was glancing over, darting a
by no means complimentary loc/k at Mr. Fibbs,
and strode out of the room.
"I think Billy Long must know the Mysterious
Stranger," languidly remarked Faineant number
one, as the door closed. " He knows all sorts
of monstrous queer people, and he didn t half
seem to like what Fibbs said."
" Very likely. He s a cranky fellow."
"Very rich, isn t he?"
"Disgustingly so. What he wants in parlia
ment with twenty thousand a year, I can t make
out. He never speaks, and passes most of his
time in the smoking-room."
"Twenty thousand. That s a tremendous
screw for a Catholic baronet."
" Yes : but he was as poor as Job till his
father died. Painted pictures, or went on the
stage, or turned billiard-marker, or did something
low for a living, I m told ; but he s all right now."
As Thomas Fibbs, Esq., member of the Com
mittee of the United Fogies Club, of the Turn
pike Ticket Commutation Commission (salary
1500/. per annum, hours of business 3 to ^ past 3
P.M., 3 times a week, 3 months in the year), was
selecting his umbrella from the stand about
twenty minutes subsequent to this conversation,
preparatory to looking in at the Burke and Hare
Club, to which he also belongs, and which is
younger and more convivial than the Fogies, he
found Sir William Long, Bart, M.P., in the act
of lighting one of those cigars which he was
almost continually smoking.
"Might I trouble Mr. Fibbs," said the
baronet, in a slow and rather hesitating tone,
" to refrain in promiscuous conversation from
hazarding conjectures as to the identity of a lady
with whom I am acquainted, and who, I can
assure him, is a most respectable and exemplary
person?"
" Certainly oh, certainly, Sir William," stam
mered Fibbs. " I meant no offence. I m sure I
didn t." And, so saying, he buttoned up his
overcoat, and trotted down the steps of the Fogies
considerably flurried. Sir William Long had
been a member of the club for live years, and
this was the first time he had ever spoken to
Fibbs. That worthy, however, recovered himself
by im; time he reached the Burke and Hare
and hinted as mysteriously as mendaciously, that
" Billy Long" lie called him Billy had told
him all about the Sphinx of Rotten Row.
"No offence," murmured the tall baronet,
as puffing his cigar he strode down Pall-Mall. " I
dare say you didn t mean any. Mischief-makers
never do, and burn down the temple at Ephesus
with the best intentions in the world. Ah,
Lily !" he continued, bitterly, " how long will
you give all these idle tongues some grounds to
tattle? How long will you persist in being
quite alone ?"
Still quite alone. Who was this female
Robinson Crusoe ? Tis a question which I
shall endeavour in the course of the next few
hundred pages to solve.
CHAPTER II. BETWEEN HAMMERSMITH AND
CHISWICK-XANE.
ONE bright afternoon, in the summer of 1836,
the whole fashionable world of London had
chosen to abandon Hyde Park, Pali-Mall, Regent-
street, and its other habitual resorts, and to
betake itself to the flower-show at Chiswick.
Probably about one per cent of the ladies who
thus patronised the exhibition of the Royal
Horticultural Society cared one doit about the
products collected in the conservatories and the
tents. The Botanical Revival (which owes so
much to Puseyism and the Tracts for the Times)
was then but in its infancy ; and, besides, a life
passed in the contemplation of artificial flowers
is not very favourable to the study of real flowers.
People went to this great annual garden crush
less to look at the roses in the pots than at those
on the cheeks of other people ; and fuchsias on
their branches were at a discount with them, as
objects of attraction, compared with fuchsias
that grew in white satin bonnets. Yes, ladies,
white satin bonnets were worn in 1836 ; and for
dresses even that sheeny material had not incurred
the cruel proscription under which, it seems to
languish in 1863.
But if one in a hundred among the ladies were
floriculturally inclined, what shall be said of the
gentlemen? Did one in a thousand trouble him
self concerning roses, or fuchsias, or geraniums,
or pelargoniums? It did not much matter.
People went to Chiswick because other people
went to Chiswick. It was the thing, and a very
nice, amusing, and fashionable thing, too.
So all the jobbed horses in London were
spruced up, and currycombed, and polished;
and all the footmen underwent dry cascades
through the medium of the flour-dredger ; and
all the grandees in Granductoo stepped into
their carriages, and were wafted rapidly to
Chiswick. What pails of water had been dashed
over plated axles in hay and clover-smelling
mews behind the mansions of the great ! A\ hat
spun-glass or floss silk wigs had been smoothed
over the crania of ruddy double-chinned coach
men ! What fashionable milliners had sat up all
night to complete the radiant flower-show
4 [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
toilettes: the subordinates wearily wishing for
morning to come and the dolorous task to be got
through ; the principals uttering devout aspira
tions that their bills might be paid at the end of
the season. If poor Mademoiselle Ruche, of
Mount-street, Grosvenor-square, did not obtain
a settlement of her small account (904/. 3s. 6d.)
from the Marchioness of Cceurdesart, when the
season and the session were over, and did in
consequence go bankrupt; if the flower-show
was to unhappy Miss Piucothek, the "first
hand," the seed-time for the harvest which
death reaped next spring ; or if the night before
Chiswick was to Jane Thumb, the apprentice
girl, the last straw that broke the consumptive
camel s back what were such little mischances
in comparison with the immense benefit which of
course accrues to the community at large from
all fashionable gatherings ? That the few must
suffer for the benefit of the many, is an axiom
admitted in the conduct of all human affairs.
According to the rules of fashionable polity, the
many must suffer for the benefit of the few.
There could not have been a more magnificent
day for the holding of a patrician festival. It
had rained the preceding year, and snowed the
year before that; but the show of 1836 was
favoured by the elements in an almost unprece
dented degree. Although the gracious Lady
who now rules over this empire was then but a
pretty young princess, it was really "Queen s
weather" with which the visitors to Chiswick
were for a brief afternoon endowed. One cannot
have everything one s own way, of course, and
although, the sky was very blue, the sun very
warm and bright, and the summer breeze very
gentle, there was rebellion underfoot; and if the
worm in the dust didn t turn when trodden upon,
the dust itself did, even to rising up and eddying
about, and covering the garments of fashion with
pulverulent particles, and half choking every
man, woman, and child who happened to be in
the open between Hyde Park Corner and Kew
Bridge.
The young ladies and gentlemen belonging to
the various colleges, academies, seminaries, and
educational institutions in the high road from
Hammersmith Broadway to Turnham-green for
of course there could be no such vulgar things
as schools in a main thoroughfare, such low
places being only to be found in by-lanes where
children are cuffed and kicked, and don t learn
calisthenics, and have fevers, and don t have
French lessons the fortunate little boys and
girls attached to those gymnasia had a half-
holiday on the flower-show afternoon, just as
their tiny brethren and sisters at Clapham and
Miteliara are exempted from lessons and per
mitted to be all eyes for the passing cavalcade
on the Derby Day. Their shiny well-washed
faces were visible over the copings of many
brick walls ; their eyes shone brighter thai
many brass plates whereon the academical de
grees of their preceptors were engraved; then
pleasant countenances were embowered in green
foliage, so delightfully as to make the specula-
ivc wayfarer ponder on the possibility of there
laving been child-trees among the horticultural
phenomena of the garden of Eden ; their silver
aughter, and the ringing clack of their chubby
lands as they smote them in applause, made the
same wayfarers (if they happened to be philan-
hropists) hope that those argentine tones were
never turned to wails of distress, nor that same
sound of applause derived from cruel smacks
administered by their pastors and masters. The
domestic servants, likewise, along the line of
road, if they had not had a half-holiday conceded
;o them voluntarily, took one without leave, and
appeared at many up-stairs windows in much
eribboned caps, and with lips ceaselessly mobile,
now in admiration, now in disparagement of the
male and female fashionables whom the carriages
bore by. Nor were their mistresses, young, old,
and middle-aged, employed in a very different
manner at the drawing-room and parlour case
ments, from which points of espial they indulged
in criticisms identical in spirit, if not in language,
with those of the upper regions, and bearing
mainly on how beautiful the gentlemen looked,
and what frights the women were ! Although,
thus much must be stated in mitigation: That
while they animadverted on the bad make of the
toilettes, and the awkwardness or ugliness of the
ladies, they did not withhold warm commenda
tion from the quality of the garments themselves.
Enthusiastic admiration for a moire antique is
quite compatible with intense dislike of the lady
inside it. It is one thing to like a dress, but
another to like the wearer.
The lower orders were determined also to have
their part in this great afternoon. All over the
world, when sunshine is once given, the principal
part of a festival is secured. This is why the
Italians are so lazy. As it is almost always sunny
in Italy, the sun-worshippers (and it is astonish
ing howmany Ghebirs there are among Christians)
are nearly always doing nothing, or celebrating
Saint Somebody s festa, which is next door to
it. We see so little of the sun in England, that
we are bound to make the most of him whenever
he favours us with an appearance. The trading
classes on the road to Chiswick enjoyed their
holidays according to the promptings of then-
several imaginations. One abandoned his shop
to the care of an apprentice, and took a stroll
towards the Packhorse, where he met other
tradesmen similarly minded, and was, perhaps,
after many admiring comments on the carriages,
the horses, the footmen, and the fashionables,
induced to stroll back again, diverge from the
main road, and take a boat at Hammersmith
Suspension Bridge for a quiet row up the river.
Another (but he would be in a small way of busi
ness) gravely instructed the wife of his bosom
to place a row of chairs outside his domicile,
and there, enthroned with the partner of his
joys and his olive-branches, would smoke his
pipe and take his placid glass, exchanging the
time of day and the news of the afternoon with
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[February 13, 1SG4.J 5
neighbours similarly employed, and otherwise
behaving in quite a patriarchal manner. A
third, with an eye to business, wafered up san
guine placards relative to tea and cofi ee and hot
water always ready ; or displayed in front of his
establishment, boards on tressels covered with
fair white cloths, and creaking, if not groaning,
beneath the weight of half-cut hams, fruit tarts,
buns, and ginger beer. Eor do what Eashion
will to keep itself exclusive, and have the cream
of things, the common people will not be banished
from the festivals altogether. They will peep
over the palings or through the chinks thereof;
they will peep round the carriages and criticise
the occupants; and what can Fashion, itself, do
more ? Often, the common see the best of the
fireworks ; and the music of the brass bands,
coming from a distance, falls more sweetly
on their ears than of those who are privi
leged to stand within the inner enclosure, and
to be half deafened by the blasting and the
braying. The purest pleasures in life are the
cheapest ones. Once the writer knew a gentle
man of a lively and convivial turn, but whose
circle of acquaintances was limited, and who
was, besides, so chronic an invalid as to be almost
permanently confined to the house. At the back
there was another house, almost always full of
company, and where balls, supper-parties, and
other merry meetings, were continually going on.
It was the valetudinarian philosopher s delight
to sit sipping his sassafras tea at his open window
and cry " Hear, hear," with due attention to the
proprieties of time and place, to the eloquent
speeches, and sometimes to join in choruses
when songs were sung in the convivial chambers
whose lights glimmered in the distance. No
pleasure could be cheaper ; yet he enjoyed it
amazingly. There was no trouble about dressing,
about being introduced, about meeting people
he didn t care for. He went away when he
liked, without having to make, perhaps, a men
dacious assurance to the hostess of having spent
a delightful evening ; and he rose next morning
withoxit a headache, or, worse still, the loss of
his heart to that pretty girl in blue.
If some of the traders just glanced at did not
make holiday in honour of the sun; if one
crusty - looking cheesemonger denounced the
whole proceedings as rubbish, and another
secreted himself in his back parlour to brood
over his speech at the next vestry, or Board of
Guardians meeting; or if another, the worst
of all, shut himself up to grumble over his
books and hard times, and scold his wife and
children, and curse because the people outside
were enjoying themselves what were these but
the little flaws and specks that must needs be
found in the brightest social diamond ! If every
body were happy, what good would there be in
expatiating on the blessings of happiness ? It
is certain, however, that the grumblers this
sunny afternoon were in ,1 grave minority.
Troops of children who did not belong to
seminaries or educational institutes, and perhaps
came out of the by-lanes before alluded to,
invaded the footway, screamed with delight at
the processional pageantry, and endangered
themselves, as usual, under the carriages with
out getting run over. It is certain that the
offspring of Want very rarely enjoy a ride in
Foil une s chariot, yet are they for ever hanging
on behind, running close to the wheels, and
diving beneath the horses hoofs.
Many persons of grave mien and determined
appearance peripatetic, not stationary, traders
were turning the sunshine and its consequent
holiday to commercial account. There did not
seem any great likelihood, at the first blush, of
the Court Guide, the Blue Book, the Peerage or
the Baronetage, descending from their equipages
to purchase lucifer-matches or knitted babies
caps, or to partake of jam tarts, gingerbread
nuts, or apples three a penny ; and the numbers
of speculations entered into towards that end, on
the footway, must have appeared to the super
ficial as rash in conception and pregnant with
disaster. But the peripatetic merchants knew
perfectly well what they were about. There
was somebody to buy everything they had to
sell, and they sold accordingly. Somebody was
the great wandering fluctuating stream of poor
people ; and poor people are always buying
something, and must perforce have ready money
to pay for it. More remarkable was the fact
that all the taverns and beer-shops on the line of
road were full of guests ; the men all smoking
pipes and drinking beer; the vast majority
of the women holding babies in one hand and
Abernethy biscuits in the other. Why was
this ? Why is this ? Why will it be so, if augury
can be hazarded, in ages to come ? This flower-
show was not a popular gathering. The tickets
were ten shillings each. The people had nothing
to do with it. They just took a good long
stare not of envy, be it understood, but of lazy
and listless curiosity, at the fine folks in the
carriages, and then trooped into the nearest
public-house for beer, tobacco, baby-nursing and
biscuit - munching. There is surely a dreary
sameness about the amusements of the English
people; and, for aught we know, the system
adopted of rigorously excluding them from any
thing that is to be seen, and fencing them off by
barriers and reserved seats, just as though they
were unclean animals, from every trumpery
section of infinite space where something humanly
considered grand is going on, may have beeix
carried a little too far. Gentility has robbed the
poor play-goer of his best seats in the pit, and
made them into stalls. The gallery even, once
specially appropriated to the gods, has now its
amphitheatre stalls. The railway formula has
penetrated everywhere. All is first, second, and
third class, from refreshment-rooms to funerals.
Neither pit-stalls nor railway formulae were
thought much of, however, in the year 36, and
the honest folk enjoying their outing, took their
pipes and malt liquor, nursed their bantlings and
ate their biscuits because there was nothing else
6 [February 1-3, 1S(;4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
for them to do, and without asking the reason
why. The present age is always asking Ilie
reason why, and may be much the better for it ;
which I hope it is.
It was about five o clock in the evening when
the gardens at Chiswick were most thronged,
and when a Babel of silvery tongues echoed
on malachite lawn and gravel walk, that a
gentleman s cabriolet of the period a " cab," as
,it was very modestly named (at the risk of being
confounded with the plebeian high-hung saffron-
hued vehicles with a seat for the driver at one
side), passed swiftly by Turnham-green, and so
to the gardens of the Horticultural Society. It
was a faultless cab; exquisitely appointed,
shining in its every part like a pair of Wel
lingtons fresh home from the tip-top maker s.
The tiger was a Lilliputian phenomenon, with
apparently three tightly-fitting natural skins : one
of leather, bifurcated for his nethers: another
of pepper and salt cloth for his coat : a third of
jetty-black surmounted with brown streaks for his
top boots. Portions of his epidermis they must
have been ; for although, if artificial, he might
have got them on, it was beyond the range of
human possibility that he could ever get them
off. Stay, an additional article must be mentioned
in regard to his buckskin gloves. With shining
livery buttons, with a tight little belt round his
tight little waist, and a hat bound with silver
cord, this domestic was surely the tightest tiger
that ever was seen.
He leaped down, like an elfin groom as he was,
when the cab stopped, and in three bounds was
at the head of the great brown champing- horse.
Then the apron was flung open, and a gentle
man descended, and said, " I)rive back to
town!" Whereupon the nimble tiger skimmed,
so to speak, in the airiest manner to the vacant
place, gathered up the reins in his tiny buck-
skinned hand, gave the whip a gentle flourish
about the plated harness of the brown horse, and
departed at an agile trot.
The late occupant, and, it is to be presumed,
owner, of this vehicle, having been duly brushed
down by one of the red jackets who had come
specially from Pali-Mall for the occasion, pre
sented his ticket and entered the gardens. He
was a tremendous dandy, in an age of dandies.
The Brummel type was not yet extinct. The
heavy languid dragoon-like dandy, with his loose
clothes, looser slouch, and pendent moustaches,
had not yet made his appearance. The only
things loose about the dandy, then, were his
morals. The owner of the cabriolet was the
brisk, alert, self-satisfied dandy of the time. The
tailor, the shirt-maker, the bootmaker, the slay-
maker, the hairdresser, could do no more for him
than they had done. They had exhausted their
faculties in adorning him. Another lappel to the
coat, another curl to the coiffure, another whiff
of perfume about him, and the dandy would have
been spoiled. As it was, he was as perfect as a
man could be with three under waistcoats, a very
high shouldered higher collared coat with velvet
collar and cuffs, lavender pantaloons very tightly
strapped over his boots, a hat with a turned up
brim, a voluminous shirt frill with diamond studs
down the breast, white kid gloves, and a gold-
headed cane with a long silk tassel.
Dress makes up so much of the dandiacal entity
that the description of this ineffable person s coun
tenance has been temporarily overlooked. It
was worth looking at. A dandy face, but not
a monkeyfied, not a simpering one. His age
seemed to be between thirty and forty; but
it was evident that at no very remote period he
had been an eminently handsome man. His
teeth were beautiful. His hands and feet were
in a concatenation accordingly. He had a
charming red and white complexion. His
hair was black and glossy, and admirably ad
justed. So, too, with his mathematically cut
whiskers and chin tuft. Moustaches he had
none. When he smiled, he showed the beautiful
teeth a good deal ; when his glove was off, he
made a liberal display of the emerald and diamond
rings on his dainty white hand. There was no
finding any fault with the man s outward appear
ance, for albeit expensively dressed, and with a
great gold chain meandering over his cut velvet
waistcoat, and a double diamond pin in his
cravat, he looked from head to foot a gentleman.
It should finally be mentioned that there were
two trifling drawbacks to his good looks. Across
his left cheek, almost from the corner of the
mouth to the eye, there ran a very deep scar,
which when he talked turned livid. His eyes,
too, were very colourless and sunken, and there
were brownish rings beneath them. But for
these the dandy would have been an Adonis.
He was evidently very well known. He
stopped to speak to ladies belonging to the elite.
He was asked whether he had been to the
duchess s ball ; whether he was going to the
marchioness s rout. His replies were affirma
tive. He was tapped on the arm with pretty
parasols and scent bottles, and scolded prettily
for not having executed some commission, ac
cepted some invitation, joined some junketing
recently afoot. Clearly our dandy was very
popular among the sex. Nor did the men treat
him with less favour.
There came up my Lord Carlton, a wild rake
of the time, and deep player, with little Harry
Jermyn, his admirer, crony, toady, on his arm.
" How do, Griffin ?" was his lordship s saluta
tion. " Monsous baw stopping here. Confounded
military band blows roof of one s head off. Come
away, Griffin, and have a hand at piquet at my
rooms in town."
"I would with pleasure," Griffin answered,
"but I ve a little business to transact in this
neighbourhood before I return."
" Business ?" echoed his lordship. "Business at
a flower-show ? Dooced queer place for business,
Griffin. You haven t turned market gardener?"
" II y a des fleurs animees," quoth little Mr.
Jermyn. " All the Chiswick roses don t grow on
bushes."
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
i-uary 13, 1SC4.J 7
"None are growing c L-e where hercabon;
me," smiled the dandy, lifting- his hat, for the
hundredth time to a passing party of ladies.
"Then what are you going to stop here for,
when it s time to go back to town?" Lord Carl-
ton pursued, eleval ing his eyebrows in pardon
able amazement. " Going to look at a hor
"No."
" Going to dine at Richmond ?" his lordship
said " Wichmond," but it would be both tedious
and indecorous to give typographical expression
to his defective linguals.
" No. I lunched very late, just before coming
down; and if I dine at all, it will not be till
night."
"Never mind, my boy, you ll get plenty of
supper at Crocky s," Mr. Jcrmyn here cut in.
A slight cloud passed across the white forehead
of the dandy, but he cliase d it away with an airy
toss of the head.
"Of which club," he blandly retorted, "Mr.
Jermyn is not, I fear, a member ?"
" Got nothing but black balls," his lordship
added, by way of confirmation, and with a loud
chuckle. " Poor fellow, his proposer stayed
away, and his seconder came from Scotland on
purpose to pill him. There was one white
ball, but that was from a fellow who was short
sighted, and popped his pill into the wrong side."
" Mr. Jermyn will have, 1 trust, better luck
next time," remarked Griffin. "Had I not been
in Paris "
"At Frascati s ?" interposed his noble friend.
" In Paris," he continued, taking no notice of
the interruption, " Mr. Jermyn might have
reckoned on my humble support. I should have
been delighted to find him one of us."
" Yes, I dare say you would," acquiesced Lord
Carlton. " Harry s a very good fellow, and has
plenty of feathers ready to be plucked, before
lie is fit to be made into a compote de pigeons.
You d have given him two white balls, I m sure
you would, Griffin."
" Oh yes, I m sure you would," repeated Mr.
Jermyn. The assurance was double-barrelled-
susceptible of two meanings. Mr. Henry Jermyn
hated the dandy for belonging to a club to which
he had himself failed to procure admittance,
although he well knew that the honorary co-
membership might prove in the long run costly
if not ruinous. Yet he would have jumped for
joy, had the exquisite addressed as Griffin offered
to propose him.
Never mind, Harry," his good-natured lord
ship observed. " Safe to get in next time. Can t
keep you out. Besides," he added, turning to
the dandy, "the fellows made a mistake after
all. They took Harry for big Jack Jermyn you
know big Jack the racing man who was in the
Eighth, and levanted after Newmarket the year
before last. They thought it was all up with
Jack, and didn t care about having a rook in the
dovecot. By Jove! If they knew that Harry
was to have all his grandmother s money how
old is she, Harry ? he d have been elected unani
mously, and received with a salute of tv
guns."
" Mr. Crockford must have shed tears when
informed of the sad truth," remarked the dandy,
with sardonic politeness. "However, fortune
will make amends. I hope to meet Mr. Jermyn
as a fellow-member at supper in St. James s-
street as soon after his grandmamma s de;
as possible. And the dandy, lifting his h;
the hundred and tenth tinn ; fteraoon,
strolled a\
" Monsous well-preserved man, Griffin Blunt,"
Lord Carlton said, looking with careless admi
ration after his retreating friend; "wears very
well. Must, be forty, if he s a clay."
"He looks queer about the eyes," Mr. Jermyn
ventured to observe, in mild disparagement.
"Late hours," explained his lordship, who
generally went to bed about four in the morning
and rose about three in the afternoon. " Griffin
is a shocking night-crow."
"What do they call him Griffin for, and v, ho
is he ?"
" How amazingly raw you are !" exclaimed
his lordship, elevating his eyebrows in some sur
prise. " Don t you know that Frank Blunt goes
by the name of Griffin, because he used to wear
a scaly green-silk coat when he drove his curricle
at the time of the Regency? Dooced queer
time it must have been, too, and dooced queer
fellows. Should have liked to belong to that
set, only they drank so dooeed hard."
" Has he any money ?
living ?"
" How should I know ? P r aps he s his grand
mother s heir, if he hasn t sold the reversion.
You d better ask him. He s apt to turn crusty
sometimes. He got that scar on his cheek in
15, in a duel with a Frencli dragoon officer in
Paris. Griffin Blunt was in garrison at Ver
sailles, and came up to dine in the Palais Royal,
and the dragoon picked a quarrel with him about
Waterloo they were always picking quarrels,
those French fellows, at that time and Griffin
knocked him down ; and then they fought with
sabres in the Bois de Vincennes, and Griffin had
his pretty face laid open ; but, by Jove ! he killed
the dragoon."
" And what does he do now ?"
" What a lot of questions you ask ! I m not
his godfathers and his godmothers. 1 believe he
sold out after the peace, and went to India to
grow indigo, or buy opium, or shake the pagoda-
tree, or something of that sort. Well, he came
back, and he s been on town these ten years ; at
least, I ve known him ever since I came up from
Oxford."
" Est-il mauvais sujet ?" Mr. Jermyn asked.
" I believe, he s about as bad as bad can be,"
coolly replied Lord Carltou. " He s worse than
I am, and that s saying a good deal."
"And about his mon
"Don t know anything about it. He lives
high, and must spend three thousand a .
Charming little house- in Curzon-street. Goes
How does he get his
.
L THE YEAR K
r deep play, and bets, and so forth; but I
don t know whether he s worth twopence in the
world or not"
enure:
By Jove! one would think you
. . - .y .. ; ;..:-;: -. Y.~...
his being iwri**^ and there s nobody in Mayfair
who owns to the name Blunt. Come
Blunt was a squire of dames. Group
group of ladies took him up, and did not
drop him after brief parky, as I am told it is
the elegant but rather embarrassing custom of
the ladies of the great world to do. They
were sorry to part with him, for it was agreed
on all sides that Mr. Blunt was most amus
ing and agreeable. There were some prudent
mammas who looked upon him as a dangerous
man, and warned their daughters to beware of
him; bat then it was impossible to be -.
severe with a gentleman who went into the very
fruitlessly dressed, exquisitely well bred, and
who could always procure a Toucher for \ 1 macks .
Besides, Blunt had the rare art, or rather the
rare tact, of paying court before the world to
old and middle-aged ladies. He cast himself,
morally, at their feet, and overwhelmed them
. . .... - - - _- . v -- . . ::-. ...
the bloom and freshness of youth. It was
... - . -. :. . .--..-- . .....; :_..: M.
Blunt occupied himself with young people;
and it was on the staircase and in the conser-
. . -.:.-. : -: -_L- ". _7 ; . :_ ; ~ ;
"There are always young people growing up for
one/ he would say, in his airy manner; "but the
dowagers who have places to give and money to
leave, pass away. Let us cultivate the dowager.
If a man wants to get on in fife, he can t do
better than study the History of the Middle
Ages." To which Moyen Age culture Mr. Blunt
...:---
-...-....- : . . .-:;
on Griffin Blunt, admired, caressed, envied by
struggling tuft-hunters, who would hare given
their ears (long ones, and good measure) for a
nod or a half-civil word from half the people he
was with. When a man comes to propounding
conundrums to duchesses, and promising to
. - . : .
palpable that he must be well placed in
-
mt would occasionally say, "is worth
of the best country-houses, a year, to me. Of
what use should I be in Dorset or Russell square ?
What do they know about the fine arts there,
beyond the "Beauties of England and Wales,"
the portrait of the late Princess Charlotte, and
the view of the Temple of Concord in Hyde Park ?
At her grace s it is quite another thing, and I go
to her water-parties at Kew. My little musical
accomplishments would be worth an heiress or
an Indian widow to me if I were a mam ing
man. If I could play :ouid
be invited to . -
?Uo. Tell D
Dragonetti lives, and I will give him a guinea a
ure an ambitious fellow, Griffin," would
that shrewd novelist and newspape
Whipstaft to whom Blunt sometimes imparted
these demi-confidences, remark. <; You sai.
before the wind, and in a short heat Til back
you to distance the best ; but you ve no ballast,
my boy, and you ll founder. Take my advice,
and if you haven t laid by for a rainy day, borrow
- . . . .y i.i-; ; : ;-: . .:>. ..:... . .. _-.- .: .;k
:u are an excellent moralis Mr.
Blunt, with a pleasant s: . too,
ready for the wrath of Jupiter Pluvi;
; ver mind," retorted Whipstaff, who was
notoriously not worth a penny, and in dire diffi
cult^ me alone, and I shall turn up
trumps yet. Every bird feathers his nest in a
different manner. The wisest one after all is,
perhaps, he who never troubles himself
making a nest of his own, but pops into some
body Ihere are still a few sinecures left,
that confounded Reform Bill" Whipstaff was a
staunch Conservative " notwithstanding. The
wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, and the old
ravens of the Treasury Bench will provide for
the barrister of seven years standing." Such
was the worldly wisdom of Mr. Whipstaff, who
htid eaten his terms some years before at his own
expense, with the firm and fixed resolve of eating
a great many more terms, one day or another,
at the expense of the country.
Whipstaff was at the flower-show, and re
marked to several acquaintances that he never
saw Griffin Blunt looking b; How he
manages it, he continued, "I can t imagine.
I wish he d give me his recipe for living at the
rate of two or three thousand a year upon
nothing."
"Shakes his elbow," suggested purple-faced
Captain Hanger, who hated Blunt.
" Perhaps." acquiesced Whipstaff, with a sigh,
and is lucky. With me that species of
paralysis has always proved the costliest of
And so the Whirligig went on in
Gardens. Now Scandal s sirocco seized a spite
ful anecdote, and twirled and twisted and sent it
spinning from one end of the gardens to the c
T it caught up a woman s reputation, and
eddied it in wild hide-and-seek through the
summer leaves. It was the merriest kind of
word-waltzing imaginable ; and never a sneer,
an innuendo, a wicked bon mot, but found a
partner. And in the midst of it all, the band of
the Royal Horse Guards Blue brayed forth Su
la Tromba with tremendous and sonorous em
phasis. What did it all matter to them ?
was their business to blow, and they blew
though they would have blown for ever. So the
huntsman winds a find a check, a mort. So the
ALL THE YEAR RQF
drummer bea* - or the chamade
advance or the retreat. I :
the band of the Koyal Horse Guard-
the (. - v, had the best of it.
i their labour was over they ei.
gratuitous cold meats and beer, and the band
master shared between them a handsome dona-
sUGGESTIONS FROM A MANIAC.
THE communication here given to the readers
of this periodical reached the office of its publi-
;i under circumstances of unparalleled sin-
gttla. .
An immense package appeared on the table
one morning, \rhich had been left, as was stated
utside, " on approval." It must be
owned that the dimensions of the supposed ma
nuscript were, to judge from the outside, rather
alarming, but it was none the less determined
that in this, as in other cases, justice should be
done to the volunteer contributor. Tue parcel
opened. What was the surprise of
management " 3 to find nothing inside but an old
and much worn copy of Goldsmith s Abridgment
of the History of England.
The book was about to be flung aside, when
Mr. Thomas Idle, who was loitering i
office at the time, happening in sheer iistiess-
to turn over the pases of the volume
denly uttered the dissyllable "Hullo." A
general rush was made towards the spot from
which this sound emanated, and it was then
found that the volume of Goldsmith was
covered, as to the fly-leaves and the margins
of the pages, with manuscript written in pencil,
which, when it had been deciphered with much
difficulty, came out in the form of the subjoined
article.
All endeavours to trace the authorship of the
paper have been made in vain. It had been left
at the office this was all the information that
was to be got by a stout good-natured-looking
personage, with bushy whiskers, and dressed in a
shooting-jacket : who had handed the package in
with a grin, and with the remark, i: You won t
often get anything like thai, I ll be bound !"
manuscript begins thus :
The straw with which mv hair is decorated
has failed lately to afford me the pleasure which
it was wont to give. The lath which I have
furbished up, and made into a sceptre, will not
do, either. It was a great consolation to me at
first, but it has ceased to be so now. Nothing
will give me any satisfaction except the pos-
u of pens, ink, and paper, by means of
.1 to impart my rapidly flowing ideas to the
.e. Ideas ! Flowing ideas ! They crowd
and rush into my brain, trampling on one an
other s heels at such a rate can keep
them in no sort of order and they are such
valuable ideas, that they would set the whole
world to .1 the whole world only knew
about them.
And the world thall know aly . I
asked for pens, ink, and paper
not 1 ve them; but, I ve :
what s it called? G
ry of England
keepe
and I can write all I want to say on the fly
leaves and round the ma.-.
ook, and then Straddles promises to take
it away for me and to get it published,
the pencil point, they wo:. e a knife
TO cut it with, so when I ve worked it down to
the cedar (as if I was ma,
what wood the lead of a pencil is --
.ddles, and he cuts it f
Straddles is out of the way, I h wood
away, till there is lead enough bare to write
with. But I must not wa- ace. I want
to get to my ideas at once. I am
"Where shall I begin? A:.
our pavements up \<.
floors of the houses. Not all the paveme
London at once (that vmld be a mad notion),
but by degrees, and as opportunity offered?
Take Regent-street, for instance. Bless
I know Regent-street well, and h:.
nearly been run over at that awful crossing at
the Circus where Oiford-stre-
not have an iron balcony the whole length of
Rege: on a level with the first-floor
windows, to be used as the promenade for foot-
passengers ? You couldn t do it at once, bat
by degrees you might, beginning : .rcus.
Then might a si: i made once by a dear
friend of mir. Startles) be carried
out completely. His idea was, that light iron
bridges should be thrown up over ^nffs
. and a capital idea it w&
my iron balcony would be like a continuation of
these bridges, or the bridges would be a con
tinuation of the iron balcony, and so you would
be able to walk straight on when you cs
the crossing, and take no account of the carriages,
omnibuses, and carts, roaring along underneath
you. But the wiseacres who think that I have
not weighed all the difficulties of my plan will
say, " And pray what is to become of the sh
My answer is ready instantly. Raise them too,
and let the shop-fronts be on the first, instead
of the ground floor, which should then be
for storehouses, or whatever the upper portions
e houses are used for now. Once more I
repeat, you must do all this by degrees. That
is the great secret. Do it gradu::
How pretty it would be as well as conver.
The balcony or iron pavement would be
ported on pillars of the same metal, and would
communicate with the carriage-road by occasional
staircases at the crossings. AH the smaller
streets would be left are. There
difficulty in crossing over them ; and supposing
you were on my raised pavement in Regent-
street, and wanted to turn intoCond
for instance, you would descend the staircase
at the corner^ on which i liked, and
would proceed along the pavement of the
thoroughfare exactly as usual. (The pavement,
10 [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR BOUND.
[Conducted by
by-lhe-by, might remain just as it is under the
iron arcade, and would be a pleasant refuge in
rainy weather.)
Now something of this sort I am not
bigoted to my own scheme but something of
this sort will have to be done. Even when I
was a gentleman at large, some two years ago
now, I have waited and waited at some of the
principal crossings in London for an opportunity
of getting over, till my poor nerves got into such
a state that I could hardly take advantage of the
chance when it did come. Of course the thing
is much worse now, and what will it be five
years hence ? Modern nerves are more delicate
and susceptible than ancient nerves, and yet they
are in some respects more severely tried. I am
told that already people collect in groups at
some of the London crossings waiting till the
police come to their assistance. What will this
come to, I ask again, five years hence?
So much for that idea. Now for the next.
Let me see, what is the next?
When I kept house an undertaking of such
fearful difficulty, and surrounded with such
severe mental trials, that my having anything
to do with it is one of the causes of my being
here, by mistake when I kept house I observed,
for my occupation led me to look out of window
a good deal, that the street in which I resided
was much frequented by a class of gentry with
greasy hair, wearing caps instead of hats, with
a general second-hand look about everything
they had on, with villanous faces, and with bags
or sacks slung over their shoulders. Sometimes
these individuals carried work-boxes or tea-
caddies in their hands : the boxes in question
being held open, in order to show the splendour
of their interiors. Now, I remarked that these
men were always looking down into the areas, that
they always appeared to be communicating by
signs, or sometimes by word of mouth, with the
servants, and that everything they did was done
in a furtive and sheepish manner, very disagree
able to witness. Their communications with the
servants would often terminate in a descent of
the area steps, but it was always remarkable
that no one of the individuals of whom I speak
ever opened an area gate, or, indeed, did any
thing else without first glancing over his shoulder
to right and left, looking first up the street and
then down the street. On emerging from the
area, that same look was repeated before the
man would venture out into the street.
Sometimes it would happen, naturally enough,
that one of these men would, in the course of
his day s work what work ? arrive at the
house then tenanted by me, and, little suspecting
that I was hiding behind the wire blind and lis
tening with all my might, would go through his
usual manoeuvres in front of my dining-room
window. Watching till one of the servants
chanced to approach the kitchen window, he
would try to attract her attention by gently
rattling a tea-caddy against the railings, and
then, attention ouce caught it was easily done,
Heaven knows he would begin cajoling the
women, and calling the cook " mum :" an offence
in itself which ought to be visited with trans
portation.
"Want a nice work-bos, mum nice tea-
caddy, mum ?" the sneak would begin.
The servants, I suppose, answered only by
signals : at any rate, I could hear nothing o"f
their replies. The sneak looked up and down
the street again, and then crouched down so
as to be nearer the kitchen window. He also
swung the bag off his shoulder, to be able to
get at its contents.
"Nice work-box or caddy, mum! very rea
sonable, mum. Nice ribbings of all colours !
Bit of edging, ladies, for your caps."
The telegraphing from below would seem to
be in the negative, though not sufficiently so
to discourage this wretched sneak. He got
nearer to the gate, and again looked up and
down the street.
" Make an exchange, mum, if you like ! A
old pair of gentleman s boots, if you ve got such
a thing, mum, or a gentleman s old at or coat,
ladies. Take a most anythink in change, ladies,
if it; was even so much as a humbrella, or an
old weskit, or a corkscrew."
And what business, pray, had my female
servants with boots, hats, waistcoats, or cork
screws, in their possession? If these articles
were given to that disgusting sneak, who, at
the conclusion of the last sentence quoted,
made his way furtively down the kitchen steps,
where could they possibly come from ? Women
servants do not wear coats and waistcoats and
hats, nor do they generally have corkscrews of
their own in their possession.
Why are these area sneaks allowed ? They
may be identified by anybody, but by a police
man especially, at a single glance. Why are
they allowed to pursue their avocations ? My
beloved friend Featherhead here, who has con
tinual information from outside the walls, tells
me that lately several robberies have been traced
to these detestable creatures. Featherhead has
a bee in his bonnet, poor fellow, but he is truth
itself; I can depend implicitly upon what he
tells me, and it really seems to me, that if you
go on allowing these area-sneaks to spend their
days in wandering about the less frequented
streets, corrupting the servants, and making
them as great thieves as they (the sneaks) are
themselves, you must be much madder than any
of us poor fellows who are living well, in re
tirement.
I want to know, not that this has anything
to do with the last subject why should it ? I
suppose I may adopt a disjointed style if I
choose I want to know why, among you out
side, the young men, the bachelors, are made
so much more comfortable than they ought
to be ? You cannot keep them out of some
of their luxuries and comforts, it is true. They
live in central situations at trifling rents.
They take their meals at clubs, where they are
provided with such food as is hardly to be ob
tained anywhere else. They have no respon
sibilities, no anxieties worthy of the name.
And, as if this was not enough, what else do
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUXD.
[February 13, ISCi] 11
you do to encourage them in celibacy ? You
allow them at any age to accept your hos-
:ties, and you expect no return, aud you
^ them twelve shillings only for the privi-
)f wearing a denu-grimn rampant on their
little fingers, while the married man has to pay
twenty-four. Now this, I say, is too bad. The
bachelor is a selfish luxurious wretch, able to
do more with three hundred a year than the
family man can with three thousand. Tax
him then tax him heavily. He is young and
strong, and able to endure grind him down with
taxation till he groans under the load, and then
when lie becomes a married man, and a worthy
useful citizen, lighten his load instead of increas
ing it. And at the same time that we bully these
selfish young dogs of bachelors, would it not be
judicious to take a hint or two from them,
flow is it that they manage to get a maximum
of enjoyment out of a minimum of expenditure ?
By combination. And why shouldn t married
people combine as well as bachelors? Not
combine socially, I don t mean that, but pecu
niarily; as they already do to get their sup
plies of water, their gas, the books that they
want to read. We ought to have club cham
bers for families. Great big handsome houses
let off in floors. For want of these we have
ruined our town; we have made metropolitan
distances so vast that we want railways from
one part of the town to another ; we are in
volved, each one of us, in an enormous expen
diture for which we only get the smallest amount
of comfort. In the present state of society,
the providing for families should be the work
of a professional man. Why are you a house
holder, which is another name for a persecuted
miserable swindled wretch? why are you to
be bothered with mysterious papers about gas-
rates, and water-rates, and poor-rates, and police-
rates, besides ten thousand other cares and
botherations, which are at once vexatious and
unworthy of your attention. Let it be the
business and a very profitable business it might
be of a professional man to take a house or
houses, to attend to the rates, taxes, and repairs,
and to superintend and watch its kitchen arrange
ments as carefully as such matters are looked after
by the committee of a club.
" If you please, sir, the thor has set in and all
the pipes is burst ;" " If you please, sir, the man
ave called to see about the biler, and he says
could he speak to you about it;" "There s a
party in the all, sir, as wishes to see you about
the gas-meter, which he says a new one is
wanted." Such announcements as these, together
with incessant intimations that, " A gentleman
lias called for the pore-rate, and has been twice
before," are familiar to every British house
holder. What bliss to hear no more allusions to
such matters, and to make over a cheque once a
quarter to an individual who would take all such
troublesome matters oil your hands for ever!
I have no space to dwell longer on this
particular suggestion. I was thinking just
now of something else that I wanted to say
wiiat was it ? Oh, I remember :
Why don t you improve your street con
veyances ? As to omnibuses, they are beyond
hope. A faint attempt was made to do somei
with them, but it soon subsided, and you have
lapsed back into your old grooves again. But
don t you think something might be done with
the cubs ? Why not follow the plan adopted
on railways, and have first and second-class
cabs. According to the present arrangement,
you go to the play with your wife, in a vehicle
which just before has been occupied by iix
drunken blackguards returning from a foot
race, or even by worse customers. If there were
first-class and second-class cabs, such objection
able people would hail the latter, on account of
the difference in price. And keeping still to
the cab question, why don t you have some
means of communicating with the driver with
out thrusting your head and half your body out
of the window ? Even by doing that, you can
hardly make yourself heard, in a crowded
thoroughfare, till you have got past the house
you wanted to stop at, or the street up which
you should hare turned. By means of a flexible
tube you might give your direction with ease,
without stirring from your place, or bawling
yourself hoarse. And would it be too much to ask
that in close cabs there should always be a light
inside after nightfall ? As it is, you plunge into
the interior of that dark receptacle for locomo
tive humanity, compelled to take your chance of
plumping down upon a scat on which some in
considerate person has just before deposited a
pair of boots thickly encrusted with mud. There
is a lamp outside the Hansom ; why don t you
have a lamp inside the four-wheeler ? And talk
ing of Hansoms, how is it that the public puts
up with that guillotine window ? We have a very
nice fellow in this establishment who once broke
one of those windows with his nose the feature
is a large one, and the scar is upon it to this
hour. If it is not possible to make a window
altogether outside the cab, allowing a good space
between it and the apron for ventilation, at least
the window as at present existing might be left
to the management of the individual inside the
cab. The majority of persons who have sense
enough to find their way into one of these
vehicles, would probably be capable of the
mental and bodily effort of dealing with the
window. But it is a curious thing, and difficult
to account for, that all persons who are profes
sionally mixed up with horses and carriages
always treat you as if in all matters connected
with either you were a perfect baby. I must
leave this subject of Hansoms aud four-whet
I come to my most important suggestion. It is
new. It is practical. It gets us the country
generally the government the people out of
a difficulty. It is economical.
I have to propose a new method of rewarding
merit in this country : a new way of distinguish
ing those among our citizens who have earned a
io our approval, and on whom it is the
general wish to confer some u-ivut public evi
dence of our respect and gratitude. Hitherto,
when we have sought to do honour to a great
12 [February 13, 1SG4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
man, or to render an illustrious name additionally
illustrious, it has been our custom to erect a
monument.
Now, my desire is to establish a system the
very reverse of this. I propose that in grateful
remembrance of every great man who arises
among us, instead of putting up a statue, or
other monument, we go to work with axe and
hammer, and PULL ONE DOWN !
Here would be a stimulus to exertion!
Gracious powers ! who that loved his country
or rather his town would not strain every
nerve to excel in his own particular department,
when the hope was before him of delivering
his fellow-creatures from one of those terrific
monsters, the public statues ! Once let the
edict go forth, once let it be distinctly under
stood that any man who achieved greatness
might not only feel secure himself from ever
appearing in one of our public places with a
scroll in one of his hands, and tights on botl
his legs, but that he would secure to himself
the glory of abolishing a London statue once
let this be understood, and I believe there
would be no end to pur greatness as a nation.
How would the flagging energies of a virtuous
rising man revive as he passed the Duke of
York s Column, or George the Third s Pigtail,
or George the Fourth s curly wig, and said to
himself, " A little more labour, a little longer
effort, and, thou monstrosity, 1 shall lay thee
level with the dust."
Some one has remarked that we are not a
military nation. From the moment when this
plan of mine is adopted as of course it will
be we shall become so. What will a man
not do, what hardship will he not encounter,,
what danger will he not face, with the thought
deep down in the recesses of his heart, that he
is not only combating his country s foes, but
that he is helping to lift that load of horror
off the arch at the top of Constitution-hill !
From one end of our social scale to the other
our whole community would feel this additional
stimulus to exertion. Even the illustrious
prince in whose presence it has never been my
good fortune to bask, would be urged on in a
glorious and virtuous career by the thought
that one day the statue of his great-uncle might
by his greatness be swept away from the surface
of Trafalgar-square, or that his noble acts would
remove another great-uncle from King William-
street, where he interrupts the traffic by vainly
offering a coil of rope for sale, and depresses
the spirits of the passers-by in a perfectly inex
cusable manner. All classes, I say, would feel
this stimulus. The politician would look at
Lord George Bentinck, and, shaking his fist at
him, would mutter, " Thy days are numbered."
The medical man would think of Jenner, and
sign his prescription with a bolder hand. " Fiat
pilula, ruat Jennerum !"
And consider how remarkable it is that the
bronze coinage should have come into existence
just at the moment when we are likely to have
so much bronze thrown upon our hands. What
unnumbered pennies there must be in the length
and breadth of that fearful statue of the Duke
of Wellington. Why, there must be change for
a five-shilling-piece in his nose. The cocked-
hat would be a dowry for a princess. The
stirrups but, the mind shrinks before the con
templation of such wealth.
PROPOSED FORM.
To His Excellency General Lord * * * * # 3
Field-Marshal, &c. &c. &c.
My Lord,
We hasten to approach your lordship with
our heartfelt congratulations on your safe
arrival on these shores, and also on the suc
cess which has attended your arms in every
action in which you have been engaged while
defending the interests of that great country
which you so adequately and nobly represent.
We are directed to convey to your lordship
the acknowledgments of your gracious sove
reign for the services rendered by you to your
country, and we are further directed to add to
the honourable titles which already adorn your
name, those of : &c. &c. &c.
But a prouder distinction yet awaits your
lordship ; one which it will be more glorious
to you to receive, and for us to confer.
It has been decided that such services as
those by which you have recently so eminently
distinguished yourself, are worthy of some more
marked commemoration than any which mere
titles, however illustrious, can afford. We have
to announce to you that it is the intention of
the sovereign of this country to confer upon
you the highest honour which a monarch can
give, or a subject receive.
It has, doubtless, not escaped the notice of
one so well acquainted with our metropolis as
your lordship, that in one of its principal tho
roughfares, at the entrance to one of its principal
parks, in the immediate vicinity of its clubs
and its Tattersall s, there exists a monster of
noisome and appalling proportions, which, be
sides being the terror of the neighbourhood in
which it is located, has disgraced the name of
Britain in those foreign countries which the ru
mour of its existence lias unfortunately reached.
This monster it has been your proud privilege
to depose from his high place. An enemy to
the fair name of this country, almost as much
so as those other enemies over whom you have
lately triumphed that monster has fallen before
your victorious approach, and beneath the spot
which was once its lair may now be seen your
lordship s name, in bold characters, and under
neath it the simple inscription "OVERTHROWN
BY THIS PUBLIC BENEFACTOR."
As your lordship s fellow-countrymen pass-
that inscription in their daily walks, not only
will the remembrance of the numerous exploits
with which your name is associated be kept
continually before them, but their gratitude to
wards the man who has delivered his country
from a terror and a shame, will be reawakened
from day to clay, and from hour to hour.
Feeling that nothing we could add would give
any additional value to this tribute which we
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
18
have thus the honour of offering to your lord
ship, we will now withdraw, wishing your lord
ship long life and health, and many a pleasant
ride under that arch on Constitution-hill which
will henceforth he always associated witli your
proudest triumphs and your most glorious
achievements.
AVc are, &c. &c.
(Signed)
There ! I ve come to the end of the space at
my disposal, and can say no more ; but if you ll
only send me another big book say Hansard s
Debates I ll annotate it with suggestions by
the dozen.
By-the-by, does it strike you, or any of your
readers, that Oliver Goldsmith was at all
mad ?
THE LABOURS OF THOR.
BEING A NORSE LEGEND FROM THE PROSE EDDA.
THE path to the giants country
Lies o er a broad deep cliff-bound sea,
Through forest and swamp, o er fell and moor,
And waste, and barren, stony and poor;
None since the earliest days of yore
Have crossed that sea, or stood on that shore,
Yet Thor once by a magic clue
Traversed it seeking deeds to do.
* : * *
There was the city ; it stood on a plain
Treeless and open to wind and rain.
The. walls rose up and met the stars,
But its gates were guarded with triple bars.
Thor, he wrestled with beam and bolt,
Gave many a twisting angry jolt,
But in vain. So then, as a weasel creeps,
Between the stalks of the wheatsheaf heaps,
He angrily slipped ; how the wise god s thought
All Loki s barriers set at nought.
He found the palace, twas vast and high,
With golden turrets that clove the sky,
And seeing a door wide open stand,
He entered, and saw the giant band
Seated on benches around the hall,
And Loki throned above them all.
They gravely bowed, but the king austere,
Cried, frowning, " Who is this stripling here ?
The warrior Thor ? let him merit his fame
By doing some deed that is fitting his name."
Loki of Utgard, that wily king,
Smiled at Thor s angry challenging,
But he arose, and his giant race,
And came to a broad and level place,
Then called to Hugi, one of his train,
To race with Thor on that grassy plain.
Tears of rage were in Thor s fierce eyes,
He ran as fast as the swallow flies,
But as the arrow the bird o ertakes,
Swifter than fire in the dry grass brakes,
Hugi outran him and reached the place,
Then turned and met Thor face to face.
" Bravely lost," cried Loki then,
"But Hugi is fleeter than gods or men."
" Bring me a drinking-horn," cried Thor,
" I challenge you giants, one or a score."
Loki called for a walrus horn,
Thor looked at it with angry scorn.
" Bold drinker," said Loki, " now drain that <
In two good draughts you should toss it up.
The veriest woman, it seems to me,
Could drain that goblet in two or three."
Twas a simple horn, long tapering,
A mere poor unshaped rustic thing.
The god was thirsty, and raised the horn
To his eager lips with a savage scorn.
A long deep draught he fiercely took,
Never stopping to breathe or look ;
But still when he set the goblet down
(And Loki smiled at his wrathful frown),
The liquor le.-.-ciied never a whit ;
Three draughts he took, but scarce a bit
The cup was emptier ; breathless, worn,
Thor gave back the giants horn.
" Why, fie," quoth Loki, " no prize of mine
Will to day be clutched by those hands of thine."
" Try me again," quoth angry Thor,
" Try me, ye giants, with one feat more ;
Though Utgard Loki may mock and laugh.
I drank a draught that no god could quaff."
" Try him," cried Loki, with crafty eyes;
" Bring him that cat our children prize.
Let us see you lift it, mighty Thor,
Though scarce so strong as we held you fur. :>
While he spoke a large grey cat sprang in,
Whining, and purring, and struggling.
Thor took the cat in his cruel clasp,
And clutched its fur with a tiger grasp.
He strained, and grappled, and clutched each limb,
But that cat was still stronger far than him.
" Ha! Thor," cried Loki, " tis as I thought,
The cat is stalwart, and you are nought."
" Little or big," said Thor, " I see
None who will dare to wrestle with me
Now I am wroth ;" then Loki cried,
" I see none here but would tame thy pride.
Let somebody call that poor old crone,
Elli, my nurse, she will quell thee alone."
A toothless hag, with bleared red eyes,
Came hobbling in ; she was old and bent,
She stared at Thor with a feigned surprise,
And lower upon her crutch she leant.
Tighter Thor held her, firmer she stood,
Firm as the oak-tree in the wood ;
And she twined and grappled him slowly down,
Till at last, in spite of curse and frown,
He fell on one knee. Then the crone laughed out,
And the hall-roof shook with the giants shout.
The next day, Utgard Loki, elate,
Led Thor out of the city gate.
Baffled and chafed was mighty Thor,
Never had he been fooled before.
" Nay," said Loki, " then know twas I
Who baffled thy force with my subtlety.
A cloud of magic was over thee thrown ;
All those spells were mine alone.
What wonder that thou wert set at nought
By Hulgi the runner, for Hulgi was Thought!
No wonder that thou wert laughed to scorn
For failing to drain that mighty horn,
For its one end reached the bottomless sea,
A pretty draught, Thor, for thee.
Midgard serpent that cat of ours
Foiled thy rage and thy fiercest powers.
Old Age was that lean and crippled crone,
By whom thou wert all but overthrown.
[February 13, 18G4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
Sooner or later she lays us low,
And all of us fall beneath her blow.
Xow let us part, and I m not loth,
Come not again, or twere worse for both ;
But if thou dost a spell shall fall,
That will hide from thee giants, city, ;ind all."
Thor waxed wrath, and seized his mace,
But Loki had vanished, nor left a trace.
When Thor strode back to storm the town,
He only found a bare lone down.
THE SENSATIONAL WILLIAMS.
CONTEMPORARY criticism has recently been
deformed hy a species of cant, which, originat
ing, as cant generally does, in a sincere feeling
on the part of a fe\v, has been echoed by the
many simply because it is an effective cry. If
any one writes a novel, a play, or a poem, which
relates anything out of the ordinary experiences
of the most ordinary people some tragedy of
love or revenge, some strange (though not im
possible) combination of events, or some romance
of guilt and misery he is straightway met with
a loud exclamation of " Sensational !" This
foolish word has become the orthodox stone for
flinging at any heretic author who is bold enough
to think that life has its tremendous passes of
anguish and crime, as well as its little joys and
little sorrows its strange adventures and vicis
situdes, as well as its daily progresses from
Brixtou to the Bank, and from the Bank back
again to Brixton ; and who holds that the more
vividly-coloured part of the grouping is as legi
timate a subject for artistic treatment as the
more drab-hued section. But the anti-sensa
tional critic will tell you that, if you would
write a novel or a play that is fit to be read by
any one with tastes superior to those of a butcher-
boy, you must confine yourself strictly to the
common events of common lives, have nothing
whatever to say to any of the extremes of passion
or of action, leave murder to the penny papers,
be ignorant of suicide, have no idea that there are
dark shadows in the world, and shun a mystery
as you would the measles. In short, let Brixton
be your standard, the Alps being among Nature s
"spasms," and therefore very improper subjects
for respectable authors. Moreover, in relating
the even tenor of Brixtonian existence, be care
ful that you are never betrayed into any emotion
of style any throb or pulse of passion in your
language, any glow of description or rapid deve
lopment of action. on pain of being taken to
task for having shown "hectic" and "feverish"
symptoms. When you have fulfilled all these
conditions, then will the organs of Brixtonian
criticism smile on you, and declare that you
have composed "a very sweet, natural, un
affected, and thoroughly healthy tale, inexpres
sibly refreshing in these days of exaggerated
sentiment and spasmodic plot."
Now, there can be no doubt that very beauti
ful and interesting fictions may be made, and
have been made, out of the simplest elements of
every-day life. The commonest threads of the
woof of humanity have that in their composition
which is capable of enlisting the sympathies of
all of us ; and when the humour and pathos of
the most unromantic lives are drawn forth by
the subtle touch of genius, we hail the result by
involuntary laughter and tears. But why is all
art to be restricted to the uniform level of quiet
domesticity? To say nothing of the super
natural regions of imagination and fancy, the
actual world includes something more than the
family life ; something besides the placid
emotions that are developed about the paternal
hearth-rug. It lias its sterner, its wilder, and
its vaster aspects ; adventures, crimes, agonies ;
hot rage and tumult of passions ; terror, and
bewilderment, and despair. Why is the literary
artist to be shut out from the tragedy of exist
ence, as he sees it going on around him ? Why
is it necessarily immoral to shadow forth the
awful visitations of wrath and evil and punish
ment, or to depict those wonderful and unwonted
accidents of fortune which are just as real as
anything that happens between Brixton and the
Bank, only of less frequent occurrence ? It is
very easy to cry " Sensational !" but the word
proves nothing. Let it begrantedthat such things
are sensational ; but then life itself Is similarly
sensational in many of its aspects, and Nature
is similarly sensational in many of her forms,
and art is always sensational when it is tragic.
The (Edipus of Sophocles is in the highest degree
sensational ; so are half the plays of Shakespeare,
at a moderate computation ; so is the Satan of
Paradise Lost ; so is Raphael s Massacre of the
Innocents ; so is the Laocoon; so, one may say,
are the Oratorios of Handel, since they deal
with tremendous elements of suffering and
wonderment, of aspiration and triumph. When
ever humanity wrestles with the gods of
passion and pain, there, of necessity, is that
departure from our diurnal platitudes which the
cant of existing criticism denounces by this
single word. It is quite true that there is a
vulgar species of sensationalism, than which
nothing can be worse. The halfpenny tales of
murder and felony, of which a deluge is usually
being poured forth, are really demoralising; for
the difference between an artist who can look
into the psychology of crime and terror, and the
botcher who can do nothing more than lay on
the carmine with a liberal brush, is so great as
to be essential. In a smaller degree, it is the
difference between the old playwright who,
ending his tragedy with a scene of general
massacre, directs that the dead bodies and
scattered limbs are to lie about the stage " as
bloodie as may be," and the great poet who
says, through the mouth of his murderous
king :
I am in blood
Stept in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o er.
. . . . I have supp d full with horrors :
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts,
Cannot once start me.
The mystery of evil is as interesting to us
now as it was in the time of SHAKESPEAIIE ; and
it is downright affectation or eil emmacy to say
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
AC are never to glance into that i
inally to 001 ill- novels out of
oiag men
and women. If tlie objectors would c<>.
.iU against c
iey would do good service ; but, when
1 recourse to the
- of our lite, we may not unreasonably
inquire how they would have received such a
Macbeth. Our neighbours over the
c discuss " the Divine Williams." Let us,
for a tew moments, discuss "The Sensational
Williams." Let us suppose Macbeth just pub-
1 for the lir^t time by a living author; pro-
. in which the Sensational
Williams would be " reviewed" by anti-sen-
>nal critics :
Macbeth. A Tragedy. By William Shake
speare. Mr. Shakes pi-are is really becoming an
intolerable nuisance, which it behoves all critics
who have at heart the dignity, or even the de
cency, of letters, to abate by the exercise of a
wholesome severity. He has no idea of tragedy
apart from the merest horrors of melodrama.
Lu his Othello, a blackamoor smothers his wife
on the stage, under a preposterous delusion of
isy, encouraged by a gentlemanly Mephis-
tophiles of his acquaintance; and then stabs
himself with a hectoring speech when he finds
out his mistake. In King Lear, the accumula-
of frightful and revolting atrocities is
something almost beyond belief. Lear is sup
posed to have occupied the throne of Britain in
some remote epoch beyond the dawn of authen
tic history. On account of a very natural and
becoming answer made him by one of his
daughters, he disowns her, and afterwards, for
some insufficient reason, pronounces a curse
upon another daughter, expressed in such
frightful language that we must forbear from
making any further allusion to the subject.
Then he goes out on to a heath in a storm, and
curses things in general, his Bedlamite ravings
being varied (such are Mr. Shakespeare s notions
of good taste) by the ribald jokes of a court
fool, whose inanities are evidently addressed to
the gallery auditors. Another character assumes
to be an idiot, and with hideous jibberings
makes up a pretty trio. Finally, the old king
finds out that his disowned daughter is a very
good girl after all, and, when she has met her
i by some unlucky circumstance (as im
probable and horrific as tiie other incidents
of the play), ho brings the corpse on to the
in his arms, " howls" over it, like a
mourner at an Irish wake literally "howls,"
in good downright fashion and presently gives
; ie ghost, to the great relief of the reader.
Besides these agreeable incidents, there is a
,1 of slaughtering, and one nobleman
out, another nobleman s eyes (at the insti-
i uf t\vo princesses), and "sets his foot"
of them! Hamlet which a toadying
urn Mr. Shakespeare has gathered about
him affect to regard as a work of profound phi
losophy and superhuman wisdom is equally
full of absurd and shocking incident*. \\Y
kin-.:; i
er who
:i who marries her brother-in-law ; a crack-
brain- g prince (whose state of mind
would make him a lilting subject for a
mis-ion (It- Innatieo inquirendo) ; a maum.
old gentleman whom Ham
(one of the few reasonable
filings lie ; i in; whole five -mil a
young lady who goes mad, and, after doddering
about with straw in her hair, singit i that
arc not over-delicate, drowns he; acci-
in a horse-pond. In the la-t. s",-ne of this
us burlesque of nature and probability, the
i (Hamlet s mother) dies by a poisoned
cup of wine; the king is stabbed", and Hamlet
and an enemy of his kill each other with a
poisoned foil while they are fencing. As only
one of the foils is poisoned, and it is ne
cessary to the climax that both should die at
once, the two combatants contrive, by some
sleight -ol -iiancl which is quite beyond our com-
usion, to exchange the weapon without
meaning it ! But a writer who for ever aims at
startling effects must of necessity pile up the
agonies in his concluding scene ; and this
agglomeration of fantastic crimes will the less
astonish the reader when he learns that in one
scene Hamlet reviles his own mother in the
most dreadful manner, and in another u
profane jokes in a churchyard while his s,
s grave is being dug, and tosses skulls
about the stage ! So fond is Mr. Shakespeare
of death in its most revolting forms, that
his love-story of Romeo and Juliet is full of
slaughtering and poisoning ; while his very
comedies have generally some smack of the
gallows in them.
AVe do not wish to be unfair on Mr. Shake
speare. He is not devoid of a certain ability,
which might be turned to very reputable ac
count if he only understood his own powers
better. He has a good deal of native humour
exaggerated, indeed, to the pitch of burlesque,
but undoubtedly amusing ; and he poss<
some knowledge of the superficial parts of cha
racter, though, being evidently no scholar, he is
often ridiculously vulgar in his would-be repre
sentations of gentlemen. He would do very
well as a writer of farces and of show pieces ;
but his injudicious friends have flattered him
into the belief that he is a great tragic poet ;
and hence the gory nonsense of this new drama,
Macbeth, of which we now proceed to give some
account.
The scene is laid in Scotland, during the
reign of one Duncan, of whom English readers
know little and careless. The play ope:
good melodramatic (or, rather, pantomimic)
fashion, with a dark scene; thunder rolling and
lightning flashing, and three witches talking
risli in rhyme. Were this last moustr
of Mr. Shakespeare s fancy ever to be played at
any theatre (which, however, is quite impos
sible), we can ue the low tremulous
murmuring of fiddles to which the curtain would
16 [February 13, I864J
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
rise. Scene I, however, does not last above a
minute, as it only consists of eight short lines.
The second scene introduces us ito the old khiq-,
Duncan, to whom " a bleeding soldier" relates
the progress of an insurrection which has just
been quelled by the valour of Macbeth. In
Scene III. we return to thunder, witches, and
gibberish. One of the old women compares
herself to "a rat without a tail," and threatens
to ^drain a certain mariner as " dry as hay,"
which induces us to suppose that she must be a
skittle-sharper in disguise, since the draining of
sailors is generally effected by those ingenious
practitioners. Presently Macbeth conies in
from the wars, and the witches hail him as
thane of Glamis, thane of Cawdor, and future
king of Scotland. Thane of Glamis he is al
ready, but to be thane of Cawdor and king of
Scotland seems to this worthy gentleman beyond
the reach of thought. However, somebody
comes in shortly afterwards, and tells Macbeth
that, the thane of Cawdor being a traitor, the
title has been transferred to the putter-down of
traitors. This sets Macbeth plotting how he
may become a traitor on his own account, and
secure the crown for himself. He has a bold,
bad woman for his wife a strong-minded wo
man, who gives us to understand "that she will
stick at nothing to satisfy her ambition. In
very plain language she invokes all the devils of
the nether regions to take possession of her
soul which we dare say they were not slow in
doing. We have too much respect for our
readers to reproduce the dreadful things uttered
by this she-dragon, perhaps the most unnatural
character that even Mr. Shakespeare s lurid and
unhealthy imagination has ever conceived. Suf
fice it to say that she eggs on her husband to
murder Duncan, which, after a good deal of
hesitation (proceeding rather from cowardice
than conscience), and some idiotic ravings about
c c i i t , O .
an _" air-drawn dagger." which he elegantly de
scribes as oeing covered with " gouts of blood,"
he accomplishes in the dead of night, and lays
the blame on the king s sleeping attendants.
Afterwards he kills these attendants to conceal
his own guilt, and in the next act we find him
king. But Macbeth, fearing that the crown
will in time come to one BaViquo, and his son
Fleance, commissions "two Murderers" to make
away with those individuals. There is some
thing so homicidal and Newgate-Calendarish
about Mr. Shakespeare s mind, that he seems
actually to have persuaded himself that there
was at one time in Scotland a set of men who
followed murder as a trade or profession, and to
whom people applied in the ordinary course of
business whenever they wished to get rid of an
inconvenient rival, while feeling too squeamish
or too dignified to do the work for themselves.
The men in question have no names, but are
simply described as "First Murderer" and
"Second Murderer." Our Scottish brethren
are never slow to resent an insult to their
country, and we therefore confidently leave in
their hands the chastisement of Mr. Shake
speare s ignorant impertinence. Well, the Mur
derers despatch Banquo, but manage to let
Fleance escape ; and in a subsequent scene we
hare Macbeth, his queen, and their courtiers,
seated at a banquet, at which the ghost of
Banquo makes his appearance with " fory locks "
and sits down to table, as if he had designs
upon the meat and drink. This unlooked-for
visitor greatly alarms the tyrant, who "makes
faces" at the spectre, foams at him, and remarks
that, inasmuch as he can "nod" (which seems
a strange occupation for a phantom), he may as
well "speak too." The ghost prudently" de
clines to give tongue (in this respect more mer
ciful than the ghost of Hamlet s father, who is
cruelly verbose) ; and Macbeth laments his
liability to such visitations in this graceful and
feeling manner :
The times have been
That, when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there au end; but now they rise again,
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns,
And push us from our stools.
We have no wish to invade the sanctities of
private life; but we have heard that Mr.
Shakespeare s father was a butcher, and we can
certainly very readily believe that the son was
brought up in a slaughter-house, and thus ac
quired a practical knowledge of what commonly
results after " the brains are out," as well as a
tendency to delight in sanguinary subjects.
In Act IV. we discover the three witches in a
gloomy cavern, preparing a " hell broth" in a
large caldron. The filthy and disgusting ingre
dients of this broth are inflicted on the reader
with abominable minuteness ; for nothing is too
nasty for Mr. Shakespeare s Muse. However, it
does not appear that the broth, or " gruel" for
it is described by both words is intended for
consumption, but only for conjuration. Mac
beth having entered "to consult the witches,
"an armed head," "a bloody child," and "a
child crowned, with a tree in his hand"
(query, a Christmas-tree ?), rise out of the cal
dron, as birds, bouquets, and bon-bons emerge
from the magic hat of M. Robin or Herr Friketl.
These apparitions address Macbeth in some
highly ambiguous language, and then follows a
vision of eight kings, " the last with a glass in
his hand," which is unpleasantly suggestive of
the Cyder Cellars at four o clock in the morning.
After this cavernous scene we are transported
to the castle of Lady Macduff, where the
Murderers come in again, stab a sou of her lady
ship, and pursue the mother, who makes her
exit, crying " Murder !" and we are afterwards
given to understand that she and all her young
ones and servants are slaughtered. Then comes
a little breathing space between Acts IV. and
V. ; but no sooner is the drop scene up for the
last division than we are introduced to Lady
Macbeth walking in her sleep, muttering about
the murder of Duncan (which by this time has
been almost borne out of our remembrance by the
flood of later catastrophes), feigning to wash
her hands, informing us that " hell is murky,"
and remarking that no one would have " thought
the old man to have had so much blood in him !*
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR HOUND.
[February 10, 1SC4.J 17
now fast approaches, and v, e
Hurry on to it with little ceremony.
i dies (off t! are happy !
and, ;in insurrection being got up against the
usurper, Macbeth is slain, after a terrific combat
\vi;li Macduff, \vlio cuts oil his head (behind the
. ami brings it in "on a pole!" .Mutual
Nourish, and curtain falls.
And this stulf is called a tragedy! Why, it
::ink melodrama, of the did Cubing fashion.
Mr. Shakespeare is behind his time. T
i, in the days of Hicks and " Winsunt,"
1 have been a powerful rival to the
authors who supplied the late Mr. Osbaldi
with the dramas of the New Cut. But even
aost uneducated audiences have now out
grown such vulgar horrors. Does Mr. Shake
speare imagine for one moment that any theatre
in London or the provinces would produce such
a play as this Macbeth? It would be hissed
oft tin; boards before the end of the first act.
And even should it obtain a temporary success,
would not posterity explode with laughter at
such a specimen of the literature of our epoch ?
if, indeed, posterity cared to trouble itself at all
about Mr. Shakespeare and his writings. The
advice we can give this gentleman is to
turn a deaf ear to his flatterers, and endeavour,
if possible, to compose something quiet, simple,
and natural. Though it is forbidden the genius
of our nation and our language to produce an
JSschylus, we may at least emulate his good
taste in removing murder from the stage ; and
though we may never be able to scale the
heights of moral grandeur familiar to the intel
lect of Sophocles, we can at any rate refrain
from outraging decency and sense. We say to
Mr. Shakespeare in plain language, " This will
not do. You may think it very fine, and fools
may be found to tell you so ; but, however
rough our speech, we are your true friends, and
we repeat that IT WON T DO !"
CHINESE KITES.
Sin HuTiiEKroRD ALCOCK remarks, in his
interesting work on Japan, on the ridiculous
contrariety presented in many of the habits of
Ihc Japanese to those of Western nations ; how
they mount their horses on the opposite side;
how their carpenters plane towards the person
ad of from it ; how the men fly kites and spin
tops while the boys look on ; how their character
from top to bottom, and their books read
from right to left, and so on. Sir John Davis
notices a similar peculiarity in the Chinese in
his entertaining work on that people.
Perhaps of all the odd practices thus indulged
in, the one most easily to be accounted for, is
practice of kite-flying by grown-up men:
which may be better appreciated, when it is ex
plained t hat t he kites of China and Japan are not
the simple articles we usually know by that
name, but are toys infinitely various in sort,
and sha] Men elaborate in construc
tion, as well as high in price. \Vhat man a
ourselves but baa had his eyes attracted upward,
and more or less of his interest engaged, by
seeing a fire-balloon sailing in mid-air, or a sky-
bursting in the sky ; or, indeed, anything
out of the common happening overload. A
the Chinaman or Japanese to be laughed at, if he
relishes the still stranger sight of a hu ue di
or centipede trailing its scaly length on high, a
hideous ogre face roaring as it sails alon:r, a
pivtly but immense butterfly Happing its v.
like its living model, birds flying about so
life-like that one can hardly believe them to be
made of paper, a couple of fantastically-dressed
friends walking arm-in-arm in the clouds with
an umbrella over their heads, and many other
similarly curious things, which an Englishman
would scarcely dream of ? Yet sights such as
these may be seen in Japanese and Chinese
cities at any time during the kite-flying season ;
and, while they cannot fail to attract the atten
tion of the observant stranger, iu common with
the many other novelties he sees about him,
lead him to conclude that the old men and
adults of those countries have, at any rate,
some excuse for the frivolity they are accused
of. The ability to make such extraordinary
kites is mainly owing to the toughness, tenuity,
and flexibility, of the Chinese and Japanese
paper, and the abundant material for ribs and
frames afforded by the bamboo : a plant which
has not. its equal for the lightness, strength,
flexibility, and elasticity of its librous wood.
With these simple materials, and with the
wonderful neatness and ingenuity the Chinese
and Japanese are famous for, it is astonishing
how rapidly and easily they construct the odd
and complicated figures which they fly as kites.
Let us transport the reader to the line of
low hills which, thickly strewn with the graves
of the dead out of the neighbouring city of
Foo-chow-foo, skirts the picturesque foreign set
tlement of that port, and on which some very
pretty kite-flying may be seen during the season.
The nrst thing to attract his eye (presuming it to
have hacj its fill of the beautiful scenery to be
seen around) will be the centipede kite : which,
with its scaly joints stretching out some sixt-v
to a hundred feet in length, its thousand legs,
and slow undulating motion, looks marvellously
like a giant specimen of that horrible creature
creeping down upon one out of the clouds.
Although complicated enough in appearance,
it is very simply contrived ; something like
it might, without difficulty, be made by any
ingenious English boy, who would take the
trouble, and use sufficiently light materials.
The Chinaman constructs it thus : He first
prepares from fifty to a hundred hoops of fine
split bamboo, taking care to make one-third the
number he intends to use of equal diameter,
say a foot and a half across, and the rest each
one slightly smaller than the other, until :he
last is about the size of a small saucer. On
he stretches thin white or brown p
by pasting the edges down over the hoop with
-round paste. On two opposite points of
c\cry hoop, he then fastens, with lino twine,
IS [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
small bamboo pegs of about an iucli in length
and the size of a slate pencil ; these are in
tended as joints on which to fix the legs por
tions of the kite that need the most care and
attention. To form the legs he procures a
quantity of dry hollow reeds, light as a stalk of
wheat or barley, and very similar to it in ap
pearance, save that the reeds are smooth and
jointless from end to end. Of these he selects
the largest, longest, and best, for those of his
hoops which are of equal size; and, having cut
them to an equal length of from two and a half to
three feet, he carefully balances them all, points
one end delicately with paper, by way of socket
and to prevent cracking, and fixes them on the
pegs, one on either side of every hoop. For the
remainder of the hoops, he selects reeds propor
tionately shorter and lighter, according to their
several sizes. He then connects the hoops to
each other at a distance of about a foot or more
apart, with four pieces of twine : fastening one
over, and one under, each peg, and at points
equi-distant from one another on the circum
ference of the hoops. Having completed the
series, he finishes it, off with a head, represent
ing as near as he can the ugly head and man
dibles of the centipede, and thence depends the
string with which the kite is flown. Thus put
together, the kite extends over a good length ;
in order to get it up, it is necessary to take
hold of it somewhere about the centre hoop,
and fly the tail end first ; when that rises, the
body easily follows, and, once in the air with
any breeze to speak of, the whole sails up as
easily as any single piece of paper would do.
When the time comes for the kite to be
brought down, the person flying it lets it drop
at full length when he gets it near the ground,
so as not to tangle it; slips off the legs,
which he ties up into a bundle ; gathers all the
hoops in their order, one upon the other ; ties
them round with a bit of string; slings the two
packets on his shoulder, and trudges off with
them through the crowded streets with as much
ease and as little risk of hurting the kite as if it
were a small one a foot long.
To describe all the other kites to be seen
on the Foo-chow-foo hill would be to undertake
too much, so we will only venture to speak of
one other sort very common among the Chinese,
and particularly effective as regards appearance
namely, the bird kite. The hawk or com
mon kite is the bird usually represented, and,
to make this they cut a piece of paper the exact
shape and size of the natural bird, when on
the wing; this, they paint the natural colour,
and stretch on ribs of bamboo arranged very
much in the shape of the old English cross
bow when strung, leaving the parts which re
present the ends of the wing and tail feathers,
unbound by twine, so as to shiver in the wind.
This constructed, the kite rises with great ease,
and flies witli wonderful grace of motion, imi
tating the real bird to a nicety by now and then
taking a long swoop, then soaring again, and
then poising itself with a flutter before repeat
ing the process. At times, a number of these
kites are flown at once by attaching them at
different intervals to the string of a centipede
or borne larger kite, and the effect is their bv
much increased ; for the real kites are in the
habit of sailing in a flock together, as they circle
over their prey.
In a previous part of this paper mention is
made of the roaring of one sort or Chinese kite.
It might more correctly, perhaps, be termed
humming or buzzing, for the noise partake
of both those descriptions of sound. This is
very simply effected by fixing across the head
or shoulders of the kite, a light bow, tightly
strung with a ribbon of fine hemp from one
to three-eighths of an inch in breadth; the
bow being so poised as to bring the flat sur
face of the ribbon at a right angle to the line
of the string by which the kite is held, and
of course at an acute angle to the direction of
the wind as it blows past it. The ribbon,
caught by the wind in this position, vibrates
and gives forth a hum, more or less loud, ac
cording to the size of the instrument. The
hum so produced may be heard at a considerable
distance, when the kite is well up in the air,
under a steady breeze ; and it is a favourite
pastime with the kite-flyers to get up this hum
at all the notes and pitches their simple means
can accomplish. They have another expedient
to which they arc very partial, that of sending
up messengers after their kites, and very pretty
and clever ones they succeed in making. The
butterfly messenger is about the best, and it
is so made that it flutters open-winged right
up to the kite, whence it instantly and quickly
descends : having been collapsed and closed, on
coming into contact with the kite, by means
of a little spring which forms part of its me
chanism.
THE STORY OF THE GUNS.
THOUGH embracing the minutest and most
technical particulars, without which no account
of scientific discovery can be held to fulfil its
purpose, The Story of the Guns, as told by SIB,
JAMES EMERSON TENNENT, is as full of interest
as if the subject described rested, for its merits,
on the author s imaginative faculties. We have
met with Sir Emerson in various literary capaci
ties, and our pages have frequently borne witness
to his powers of observation and picturesque
description, and here we find him adapting his
scientific knowledge to the development of the
most prominent and popular topic of the day.
Among Sir Emerson Tenncnt s great qualifica
tions for his task is the fact that, at an early age,
he held a commission as an artillery officer in a
foreign service during a time of war. He mo
destly speaks of this experience as having been
acquired in the "pre-scientific period," and under
circumstances which, however advantageous for
observing the destructive powers of ordnance,
both by land and sea, were little favourable to
the study of its construction. But the work
which is now, or shortly will be, in everybody s
Charles Pic
ALL TIIK VKAI: IIOl. NI).
19
hands
, lie to ild j
u])t. to any pub-
e, in tin 1
irrcncc, 8 memoir
of what has fc war in the
-.ion with II:
s; and finding that
s induced to compile tin lume,
" in i M i . v i- 1 v. ant, - con-
tllC ]irn_
intimated, in i E the
! that want is most ably and amply sup-
plie
nt s work is divided into
of -The Rifled
.Musket-." the second of "Hilled Ordnance;"
the title of "The Iron Iwvy."
sis division the whole subject is exhau
If, according to the old military sayinir,
y bullet has its billet," its meaning, when
Brown Mess (the old regulation musket) was the
weapon from which the bullet issued, must have
been greatly qualified. The bullet was generally
ace, or buried in earl.li, and only excep
tionally found its billet in the quarters for which
it was intended. At the battle of Salamanca, for
instance, no more than eight thousand men were
put bors de combat, although three million five
hundred thousand cartridges were i .ret her
with six thousand cannon-balls ; to say nothing
of cavalry and infantry charges, so that, as re
gards the line, only one sliot in four hundred
and thirty-seven took effect. Instances of this
kind might be quoted ad infmitum, illustrative
of what Sir Emerson Tennent appropriately
calls "the chance performances of the clumsy
and capricious Brown Bess." And so little re
liance had the soldier on her capabilities, even
within the certified range of two hundred yards,
that it was his working rule to reserve his fire
until he saw the whites of his enemy s eyes, and
even thenit was said that, before he could bring
down his man, he must discharge the full weight
of his body in lead. This might very well be
the case when, according to the testimony of an
engineer officer who, in one of the great battles
of the Peninsula, had an opportunity of witness
ing the effect of musketry upon cavalry charging
a square, a volley at thirty paces brought
< men; while another officer en
at Waterloo has stated that he could not sec
more than three or four saddles emptied by the
fire of 01. f a square of British infantry
upon a body of French cavalry close to them.
W itiir^ing these ahurtive performances, a
immami. i! well have joined in
i Trim s remark upon the SieurTripef-
nasties, that "one home-thrust of a
was worth them all;" and, indeed, it was "the
cold steel" that g ic the momen
tous qii
But the proved inefficacy of Brown Bess was
held to be no disqualification on her part, or
rather, no attempt was made when the war was
over, toreudcr her more efficient when next called
lit her capabilities; for when, in
Chatham rtaiu what, the : s of
, thou?!.
resul 1 rtly ludicrous, u
to improve tne weapon. Among other
this occasion, a
six feet wide, and _rh
which the of the
-ia would have seemed like dwarfs-
after shot was fired, from a distance of only
hundred yard*, without one hir
mark. Even an ; in-
.ve firing is cited by Sir \ . :icnt.
very long ago," he says, " a wll (rained
marksman, provided with an old rcgui
musket, was placed to fire at
feet square, at a distance of three hundi
and found that he could not put even into that
spaci> one bvllet out of ticeniy.
hundred yards, hi- success was not greater, and
yet the lire-arm thus tested was the iv .
weapon of the British soldier so late as the
year 1852." A faithful follower of routine,
Brown Bess continued thus to illustrate the
official principle by showing that she knew per-
wcll "How not to doit."
It has been over and over again asserted
that the Duke of Wellington s objection to
change was the reason why no improvement in
the regulation musket was attempted ; but tardy
justice has been done to him in this particular,
and Sir Erne. nnent observes: " So far
from being opposed to the armament of tr
his personal friend and biographer, the Chaplain
ral of the Forces, has placed on record that
the Duke of Wellington was often heard to say
that looking to the amount of mechanical skill
in the country, and the numerical weakin
our army as compared with those of the j
continental powers, British troops ought
the best armed soldiers in Europe." The
Duke, however, did more than pronounce an
opinion. When, according to his invariable rule
of waiting until the success of an experiment
justified the adoption of a new system, he as
certained, not only by example, but by personal
inspection, that the Minic rifle exhibited u
marked superiority over the old musket, he did
not hesitate to recommend its introduction into
the service, or to express a wish that every
soldier of the line should be armed with if.
Improvement (as was manifested by the adop
tion of the Minie rifle < adily kept in view
by Lord Jlanlinire, the Duke s successor in the
command of the army. But, practical!
quainted with the subject, Lord Hardinge soon
found that the Minie rifle, however great a
triumph over Brown Bess, was far from being a
perft .in. Its weight i ve, it
displayed many faults of construction, and the
ball exhii -, the principal
of which are thus enumerated : " : Its te
fouling was considerable, the distended po
of the projectile sometimes detached ti
and clogged the grooves, rendcrii:
20 [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
tremely difficult, and occasionally the iron caps"
(Sir Emerson Tennent illustrates all his written
descriptions by well-executed woodcuts), " in
stead of merely expanding the lead, were driven
completely through the opposite extremity, con
verting the bullet into a distorted tube, which
sometimes remained firmly fixed in the barrel."
Cognisant of these defects, one of Lord Har-
dinge s earliest measures was the institution of
a comprehensive inquiry into the whole subject
of rifled arms and projectiles ; and by placing
himself in communication with Mr. Purdey,
Mr. Westley Richards, and others of the leading
guumakers in England who supplied pattern
muskets of different diameters of bore j by
making comparisons of the weapons in us e in
the armies of other military powers; by collect
ing information from the leading factories of
Europe and the United States ; by aid of the
facts and suggestions so acquired; the adop
tion of the musket now known as the Enfieid
rifle was resolved on, and arrangements were
made for the organisation of a government
factory to be provided with the requisite
machinery for shaping the various parts.
" Such," says Sir Emerson Tennent, " was the
origin of the Enfieid rifle of 1853. It was
stronger than its predecessor of 1851" (the
Minie), "and at the same time the musket and
its sixty cartridges weighed three pounds less.
It was rifled with grooves and lands on the old
system, with one turn in six feet six inches.
Its diameter was .577 of an inch, and at limited
ranges it fired a bullet weighing 530 grains
with great accuracy and force." But, serviceable
as this rifle proved and its value was tested
in the Crimean war still it was not a per
fect weapon, and numerous defects became, by
degrees, apparent, which are thus stated : " The
velocity of the ball proved to be lower than
had been looked for; its trajectory" (the
parabolic line described between the muzzle of
the gun and the object aimed at) " was conse
quently higher, and its precision and penetra
tion less ; the tendency to foul was considerable,
but what was above all embarrassing was, that
no two guns were alike in their properties and
performance, although all underwent the same pro
cess, and were produced by the same means"
Hence it was justly concluded that there must
exist some subtle imperfection in the manu
facture, which required for its detection the
skill and experience of a master mind, and this
master mind was sought in MR. WHITWORTH, by
general admission the greatest mechanical genius
in Europe, and he who had been able to con
struct a machine so delicately and accurately
made, as to measure objects which differ even
by the millionth, part of an inch though not a
guumaker by profession was equal to the great
military requirement. But before he proved this,
or accepted the government proposal to furnish
designs for a complete set of new machinery
for the Enfieid establishment, Mr. Whitworth
insisted upon a preliminary series of scientific
experiments, in order to determine the true
principle on which rifle barrels ought to be con
structed : which experiments he offered to con
duct, provided a shooting gallery was erected for
him, under his own direction, in which to carry on
the necessary trials, and thus obtain data for his
guidance. Though Mr. Whitworth s offer was
purely disinterested for he demanded no com
pensation for his valuable time, and would
rather have incurred the necessary expense
himself _than proceed without preliminary in
vestigationthere was hesitation on the part
of government as to its acceptance ; but Lord
Hardinge s energetic representations finally pre
vailed, and the Lords of the Treasury gave
their assent to Mr. Whitworth s propositions.
There were yet delays, arising from accidental
causes, which intervened between the first ex
periments and the crowning discovery, but the
secret was ascertained at last, and these are the
terms in whicli its disclosure is stated by Sir
Emerson Tennent: "The principle was found
to consist in an improved system of rifling; a
turn in the spiral four times greater than the
Enfieid rifle ; a bore in diameter one-fifth less ;
an elongated projectile capable of a mechanical
fit ; and last, but not least, a more refined pro
cess of manufacture !"
Into all the details given by Sir Emerson
Tennent, to show the manifest superiority of
the "Whitworth" over the "Enfieid" rifle, we
do not enter ; but we may mention some of the
most striking. When formally tried at Hythe,
in April, 1857, in competition with the best
Enfieid muskets, in the presence of the Minister
of War and a large assemblage of the most
experienced officers, including the superinten
dent of the Enfieid factory, and General Hay,
the chief of the School of Musketry for the
army, its success was truly surprising: in
range and precision the Whitworth excelled
the government musket, three to one. Two
diagrams accompany the statement of this fact,
showing the closeness of the "Whitworth"
shooting as compared with the scattered shots
of the " Eufield ;" but here, where we have no
diagram to convince the eye, we must quote the
written words: "Up to that time the best
figure of merit obtained by any rifle, at home
or abroad, was 27 ; that is to say, the best
shooting had given an average of shots within
a circle of twenty-seven inches mean radius, at
500 yards distance ; but the Whitworth lodged
an average of shots within a mean radius of
four inches and a half from the same distance,
thus obtaining a figure of merit of 4. At
SOO yards its superiority was as 1 to 4, a pro
portion which it maintained at 1000 yards and
upwards. At 1400 yards the Enfieid shot so
wildly that the records ceased to be kept ; and
at 1800 yards they ceased altogether, while the
Whitworth continued to exhibit its accuracy as
before."
The result of the trial at Hythe was the ap
pointment of an official committee, competent
to deal with the question, and of which Mr. Whit
worth was himself a member. In that satisfactory
and exemplary fashion which is peculiar to official
committees, eighteen months were spent in de-
Charles Dickens.]
ALL Till: YKAIi K(! XD.
21
lop-shied report was made, wine-
consistent the
guidance and alt!
no one with eyes to see, or ability to form a
judgment, could doubt the superior merits of
the Whitworfh riilc, the making of the Kntieid
musket went on with unabated assiduity. Not,
however, with perfect fail 10 in
ventor of the best weapon, for, in continuing to
manufacture the Knfield, Mime of the leadintr
features of the Whitworth were introduced,
such as the redueed diameter of the bop
the increased rapidity of the rifling. Yet with
all its borrowed in nts, the Knlieid
musket still remained inferior to the Whitworth
ritle : the testimony of General Hay, the most
impartial witness that, could be found, being
conclusive on that point . I n t he st atement made
by him, in 1860, to the Institute of Civil Kn-
irincers, he said: "Tl. peculiarity
the Whitworth small-bore rifles which no other
similar arms have yet exhibited ; f/iy not only
fer accuracy of J< triple power
/ffritf/o// ; and this last property, one of
the highest importance in a military weapon,
shown in the fact that the Whitworth pro-
"iild penetrate a sandbag and a half,
while the Enfield only penetrated one bag;
and the same proportion existed elsewhere,
the Whitworth projectile going thi-oiiyh a three-
foot gabion, while the Enfield only reached its
middle." It appears that in every trial which
has been made with the Whitworth rille, its
superiority over every other fire-arm has been
conceded ; and a picturesque incident, recorded
by Sir Emerson Tennent, exhibits its most
valuable property precision. "At. Wimbledon,
in 1M)0, the first meeting (of the National Rifle
Association) was inaugurated by the Queen in
person, wlio fired the first shot from a Whitworth
rifle, striking the bull s-eye at only one inch and
a half from the centre, at a distance of 400
yards a shot which, considering that it was
liml in the open air, is probably the most mar
vellous ever tired from a rifle."
It will naturally be asked, after all these
proofs sufficient even for a Dogberry s satis-
011 why has not the Whitworth rifle been
made to supersede the Enfield? The reasons
adduced by the "Ordnance Select Committee,"
which presented its report to parliament last
:-al, but none of them conclusive.
ibjection arising from the expense
already incurred in manufacturing an
weapon an objection wearing the hue of the
reddest of red tape the cost is urged of alter
ing the muhinoy at Knlieid so as to adapt it
; ie production of the Whitworth: though it
appears that this can be done for a compara
tively small sum, and that, once effected, as
Mr. Whitworth d . the musket rili.
his principle can be manufactured at the
cost as the Kiiiield, "the present quality of
i workmanship being the same."
also stated th
(which can be remedied) and the sleuderuess of
! i cartrii:
break !>edi-
whicli ; ! >n of t!
itle ; but, fortunately, it ap|
. .
long the British soldier will be animated by the
of possessing an arm
that the science of his fount ry, com
bined wiih high mechanical ability, -
the " Committee on Small-bor
-, in their report, presented to parliament
i-ssed their conviction as fol!
V of til
of musketry instruction is calcul ;
to attain a very high standard of
throughout the army, the introduction
weapon of long r will
naturally increase the general efficiency of in
fantry, and place it in a j.
Ire of the new rifled artillery, which is one
of the creations of our own day."
sage brim ; he close of the firs
Sir Emerson Tennent s valuable book,
ducts us naturally to the subject of "Ji
Cannon," which occupies its next division.
It begins with a narrative of the earlie ;
tempts to effect in artillery particularly in
lield trims a revolution correspondent witi<
that which had been wrought in musketry. The
idea of rilling artillery, Sir Emerson Tennent
telU us, was not a new one; it had been I
rmany a century before our time; and, as
far back as 17-15, in England, by Robins, the
or of the ballistic pendulum ; while
Ponchara, at. Paris, in 1M9; Montign;
Brussels and St. Petersburg, in 1S30 ; and,
more recently, Colonel Cavalli, in Sardinia, and
Baron Walnvndorf, in Sweden; made renewed
attempts; but the measure of their success was
not attested by the adoption of any of their
plans. Colonel Treuille ue Beaulieu also mado
experiments in France between ISl l and !
but it was reserved for the gentleman who, at
the later date, took possession of everything in
that country including, perhaps, a few ideas the
property of other men, though he is considered
authority in artillery" to make the theory
of rifled cannon a reality. And in the Italian
campaign of 1856 it occupied that place
amongst " the logic of facts" which thence
forward could never more be contested. The
result of the experiin . and Sol-
ferino was "the signal for the reconstruction
of all the artillery of Europe." And Sir Emer
son Tennent follows up th - by enume
rating the inventions of
Britten, IV .lessor Treadwell (of M :
Captain Blakeley, Horsfall, and others making
rits of i
a full description for those of the
rivals Armstrong and Whitworth who
have been most prominently before the
public.
A brief but very interesting memoir intro
duces Sir William Armstrong to ti .and
then Sir 1 --ribe
lie made in the manufacture of
22 [February 13, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
rifled artillery, after lie had been first moved to
the consideration of the question, by that fea
ture of the battle of Inkermann, the bringing
up of the two 18-pounder guns, which, by their
superior range, effectually silenced the Russiaa
fire. " Sir W. Armstrong," says Sir Emerson
Tennent, "was amongst those who perceived
that another such emergency could only be met
by imparting to field-guns the accuracy and
range of the rifle ; and that the impediment of
weight must be removed by substituting forged
instead of cast-iron guns. With his earliest
design for the realisation of this conception, lie
waited on the Secretary for War, in 1854, to
propose the enlargement of the rifle musket to
the standard of a field-gun, and to substitute
elongated projectiles of lead instead of balls of
cast-iron. Encouraged by the Duke of New
castle, he put together his first wrought-iron
gun in the spring of 1855." Of this gun Sir
Emerson Tennent gives an elaborate descrip
tion, accompanied by some excellent woodcuts,
and fully discusses the advantages and disad
vantages of breech-loading, which he considers
" undoubtedly the most assailable portion of the
Armstrong system," giving the substance of the
opinions of the most profoundly scientific en
gineers as his authority for arriving at that
conclusion. For the rest, the merits of the
Armstrong gun were looked upon as so great,
that the War-office authorities pronounced in
the most decided manner in its favour the re
sult being expressed as follows, in the homely
but forcible language of an Edinburgh re
viewer : " The Armstrong gun could hit a
target 2 feet 6 inches in diameter, while the
(old) service gun could not be relied upon to
hit a haystack." General Peel further illus
trated the capabilities of the Armstrong gun,
by saying, in the House of Commons, in the
session of 1859, that "its accuracy at 3000
yards was as 7 to 1 compared with that of the
common gun at 1000 ; whilst at 1000 yards it
would hit an object every time which was
struck by the common gun only once in fifty-
seven times; so that at equal distances the
Armstrong gun was Jiffy-seven times as accurate
as our ordinary artillery."
But only one side of the important question
had been fairly heard at the time when General
Peel pronounced so decisively in favour of the
Armstrong gun; nor, indeed, has a fair trial
yet been made between that weapon and the
invention of Mr. Whitworth. It was natural to
suppose that the engineer who succeeded in
manufacturing the best rifled musket, should
be considered capable of rivalling any one in
the construction of rifled artillery : the prin
ciple having been clearly established that what
was applicable in the one case was equally
applicable in the other. Accordingly, between
the years 1854 and 1857, Mr. AViiitworth was
repeatedly solicited by the Commander-in-Chief
and the Master-General of the Ordnance to
extend his attention to artillery ; and brass
blocks were supplied to him from the royal
factory, adapted to different bores, which, at
the request of the government, he rifled poly-
gonally. All of them when tried at Sho e-
b ury ness were reported on favourably. Im
pressed by this result, but still more so by the
extraordinary performance of Mr. Whitworth s
rifle, in his gallery at Manchester, in 1856,
Lord Hardinge expressed the wish that he
should apply the same system of rifling to heavy
ordnance. This being agreed to, solid brass
blocks for three 24-pounder howitzers were sent
down to Manchester, to be bored and hexagonally
rifled. The result of the performances of these
guns when ready for trial is thus stated by Sir
Emerson Tennent : " Of these one was sent for
trial to Shoeburyness, where its performance
was at that time regarded as something remark
able. With a charge of 2i Ibs. of powder, and
at an elevation of 14|- deg., it sent an elongated
projectile a distance of 3240 yards. Another
was tried on April 14, 1857, in the grounds at
tached to Mr. Whitworth s residence, near
Manchester ; and a few weeks after the same
gun, in order to test its range, was again tried
in presence of military officers deputed by the
War Office, on the sands to the north of the
Mersey, a few miles from Liverpool. Up to
that time, according to Sir Howard Douglas,
the ordinary range of a 24-pouuder, with a
charge of 8 Ibs. of powder, fired at an elevation
of 8 deg., was 2200 yards ; Mr. Whitworth s
rifled gun, with a charge of only 2^ Ibs. of
powdei , fired at an elevation of 8^ deg., sent a
shot of 24 Ibs. to a distance of 3500 yards, being
nearly two miles." And here an incident oc
curred which reminds us of Mause Headrigg s
astonishment, when, " by the help of the Lord,"
she found that, mounted on a trooper s horse,
she had leaped a wall. " This range so far ex
ceeded anticipation, that sufficient caution had
not been exercised in selecting a locality free
from obstruction ; and the shot, after striking
the sand, ricochetted to the right of the line of
fire, and entering a marine villa north of the
village of Waterloo, it rolled upon the carpet,
fortunately doing no greater damage than de
molishing the window and astonishing a lady
who was seated near the drawing-room fire." The
third 24-pound howitzer was tried at Ports
mouth, which, loaded with a flat-headed pro
jectile of peculiar construction, displayed the
singular property of maintaining its direct course
under water, and penetrating eight inches of
oak three feet below the surface ; an exploit
previously held (by no meaner authority than
Sir Howard Douglas) to be impossible.
Up to this period (1857), Mr. Whitworth s
inventions had received their due share of atten
tion from government ; but in 1858 a conjunc
ture arrived, the consequences of which \vere a
diminution of the confidence previously reposed
iu his ability. At the close of the Crimean war,
an apprehension of French invasion which Eng
land was unprepared to resist, prevailed through
out the country. It had been excited, partly
by the Duke of Wellington s warning in his cele
brated letter to Sir J. Burgoyne, partly by the
evidence of unusual activity in the French dock-
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YKAIl
23
and ar .irtly by tin-
j trial to 1) the sac
doll. I - ; ">ll
ii met, th-
T n n
for War, of the
- that ha
tenil. Colonel
. I iir \\ ;ir
drew up a summary, in which, after commenting
ic qua ii i he dill ereir under
.v, and i that "<
ii to base a decision as to the
adoption n| ;my one system," he recount
the imm ; point m< Committee on
vith instructions to examine, with
tlie least possible delay, all the heavy rilled puns
extant, and to render a detailed account of their
rformanccs and capabilities for gar
rison and naval service. The committc-
accordingly appointed, and, having concentrated
their attention on the rival claims of the Arm-
g and \Yhi: worth guns, made their report
within less than three months. As if their choice
had been predetermined, only a very few trials
were made with .lie Whitworth gun, without any
opportunity being given to Mr. \Vhiuvorth to be
:.t them. And their report stated that
t hey found his projectiles had a large and rapidly
increasing di to the right, which ob
structed accuracy of aim; that the shot and
shell used with the .run gave different r
and different degrees of accuracy ; that the shot
were so liable to "jam" in loading th^t very care
ful washing and drying of the gun was indis
pensable after every round; and that although
Mr. Whitworth had overcome this last objection
by the use of lubricating wads, which " ap
peared to answer well," further trials, they said,
were necessary to determine their sufficiency to
enable washing to be dispensed with.
These conclusions were, in fact, a decision
against Mr. \Vhit\vorth s gun, while on all
points the report was favourable to that of Mr.
Armstrong, who being on the spot was able
to modify objections. Basing their report on
the facility of loading the Armstrong guns,
on their accuracy, and apparent durability
qualities which, in all probability, would not
have been deemed exclusive, had a more
Miened and equal trial been made they
recommended "the immediate introduction of
guns rifled on Mr. Armstrong s principle, for
d service in the This report,
son Tennent, "bears unmistakable
traces of the urgency and -peed with which the
members con- ieir inquiry, and probably
to th ascribed an omission, much
regretted, since it has afforded ground for
complaint by Mr. Whit.worth, on the score of
pircipitai . 1 of inadeq.. Animation
into the merits of his gun, as compared with the
attention best owed on the competing one.
Precipitancy, if not bias, was also shown by the
Mr.
\Vhit worth s i -:n ; while
wick. ,
final, and the Arms!
gun v,
by the Duke of VFelliiigion, against ution
of untini- ml imperfect in-
113. It mu>t, ; ed, that
only th ;u which was
Calibre for fortifications and the navy, i
left for futur. the instance
both of Lord Derby and General 1
Sir Emerson Tenm-nt next relates the history
of Mi i nig s appointment of Director of
Rilled Ordnance, of Engii the War De
cent (when he was knight edj, and finally
of Superintendent of the Royal Gun-factory at
Woolwich, with all the partienlars of the go
vernment contract with t ick company.
We do not dwell upon these points, the m
being more special than general, and The
Story of the Guns requiring us rather to follow
Mr. Whitworth s further experiments. Though
no longer in intimate relation with the \\ ar
Office, Mr. Whitworth continued to place at
the disposal of the authorities the use of his
patents for further discoveries, the expenses of
which were defrayed from his private resources ;
and though not the successful competitor for
the honour (and profit,) of supplying the na
tional gun, was employed by Lord Panmure,
y of State for War (at the close
of 1857), in rifling a cast-iron block for a
32-pounder, the intention being to determine
the capacity of that metal for the manufacture
of rilled ordnance. This gun burst under trial,
as afterwards did another of the same metal
and calibre ; but notwithstanding these evi
dences of the insufficiency of cast-iron, Mr.
Whitworth rifled a third gun, a GS-pounder, in
June, 1858, mainly to test the power of a new
projectile, an experiment which, so far as the
projectile went, was a complete triumph, but
the gun was rent into fragments by the explo
sion. The causes of this accident were ex
plained by Mr. Whitworth in a letter depre
cating the further use of cast metal for rifled
ii ; but the explanation was not recei
the Secretary for War (General Peel) dire
Mr. Whitworth to be informed that he had
//(j/. J t ; d "to discontinue further
experiments with ordnance rijled on his 1
Mr. Whitworth met this attack on his
scientific reputation by resolving at once, from
ateur artillerist, to become a professional
POOmaker, never having had, as he at
the House of Commons Committee of
. the m nt. idea of becomi
manufacturer of rilled arms. " I took it up,"
id, "originally, solely be
;:ent, but when I rec.
this leiter from General Peel to inform me that
no more experiments were to be made with guns
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
on my principle, I determined at once to become
a manufacturer, and to prove that my system
was right. With respect to the rifle, it has
already been shown that it was so ; and I think
it will soon be admitted that I was right with
regard to ordnance also." That question is
the great one yet to be determined, but pending
Mr. Whitworth s resolve, and the results which
he anticipates, he founded his rifled ordnance
manufactory at Manchester, and set to work
upon the construction of the existing Whit-
worth gun, which, to be brief in our de
scription, is formed of a tube of one piece of
homogeneous iron, hooped by hydraulic pressure,
a muzzle or breech-loader uniform of bore, ritled
upon the principle already applied to small arms,
and fitted with elongated iron projectiles. How
this gun has answered was shown in the ex
periments made on the Southport Sands in the
spring of I860, when its extreme accuracy and
wonderful range were tested, the latter, it
must be observed, implying the former, a prin
ciple laid down by the best artillerists. The
range, then, on this occasion, is stated as
follows :
"The smallest of the guns, a 3-pounder,
weighing only 208 Ibs., fired at an elevation of
35 deg., threw a shot to the distance of 9688
yards, or a little more than /we miles and a half "
an excess of 500 yards over the greatest
range ever reached by an Armstrong gun," though
a 32-pounder, and fired with 6 Ib. of powder "at
the_ same angle. Yet even the remarkable
achievement of 1860 has been since exceeded
by Mr. Whitwortb, his 12-pounder gun having
sent a ball 10,300 yards, a very little short of
six miles ! It was clear after this extraordinary
result, that a renewed trial between the Whit-
worth and Armstrong guns could no longer be
refused, and it was ordered to take place. Why
it never came off, arose from the nature of the
conditions, wholly unfavourable to Mr. Whit-
worth, which the Ordnance Select Committee
sought to impose on him. Here the actual
Story of the Guns may be said to end, the issue
between the competitive weapons being as
yet undetermined, but the remainder of Sir
Emerson Tennent s book, which describes the
rise and progress of the iron navy, and its capa
bility of resisting the newly invented artillery,
is full of valuable and interesting matter.
What aspect the comparative experiments
[February 13, ISC-!.]
sion as a mechanical engineer. The programme
n j? wllich the guus are to be objected
will doubtless include every point essential to
determine all questions of construction, velocity,
range, and precision ; rapidity of firing, powers
t destruction, and length of endurance. The
issue of this important contest will be watched
by the public with profound and unwonted in
terestbut the result, to whichever side victory
may incline, must not be permitted again to
close the gates against the honourable ambition
J other aspirants. Sir William Armstrong and
Mr. Whitworth are but two out of those clamour
ing for admission ; others in due course of time
will advance their pretensions, and whatever be
the result of the approaching trial, whether it
attest the superiority of the Armstrong gun, or
point to its supercession by the Whitworth, no
judgment, as between them, must preclude the
just claims of other rivals to an equally dispas
sionate scrutiny." With respect to prolonged
competition, Sir Emerson Terment closes his
admirable work with these remarks : " The dis
interred utensils of extinct races, the implements
discovered in the tumuli of Asia, and in the earth-
mounds of the Mississippi; even the instru
ments found in the tombs of Etruria and Upper
Egypt, as well as in the dwellings and workshops
of Pompeii, exhibit combinations of mechanical
parts as effective for their objects as those em
ployed at the present time. There is no reason
why similar excellence should not be attainable
in ordnance ; nor why science should not be so
successfully applied to the construction of large
guns as to render them, by a combination "of
strength and simplicity, so nearly perfect as
practically to require no further improvement.
But till that point shall have been attained, com
petition must remain open; and whatever be
the temporary inconveniences of change, the
abiding interests of the country will henceforth
require that the man who reaches the high
eminence of giving his name to the arms with
whose protection the nation reposes should hold
it by no other tenure than that of uncontested
superiority."
which will shortly commence, are to wear, appears
in the following passage: "They will be con
ducted, not by the usual Ordnance Committee,
composed exclusively of military and naval
officers, but by another specially named, with
whom two scientific civilians have been asso
ciated, Mr. John Penn and Mr. Pole, the former
distinguished in the highest walks of his profes-
XEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," " Copperlleld, 1 1 &c.
In MAT will be published, PART I., price Is., of
A NEW WORK BY CHARLES DICKENS
IX TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
London : CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.
On the 16th of February will be published, bound in
cloth, price 5s. (id.,
THE TENTH YOLUME.
The Eight of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAK, ROUND is reserved by the Authors.
Published at the Ofl
;. C WHITING, Beaufort House,
. : STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YEAR TO HAKESPEA
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
A WKKKLY .joniXAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.
Will IXC OKI iOLD WORDS.
252.]
SA ITKIiAY. FF.r.RrARY -JO, 186-k
[Piiic
QUITE ALONK.
BOOK THE FIRST: CHILDHOOD.
CHAPTER III. NfK.sr. I lf.OTT.
TiiEChiswick festival came to an end, and the
arted. Gritlin Blunt lingered to
the . ! wound his way to the door of
:!ken labyrinth of polite
ions and bowing adieux. Ivauhoff s
I Mali bran s last cadence ; Prince
L-hazy s last conversazione, and the Duke
of Devonshire s last ball at Brighton; the odds
be St. Leger, the beauties of drawn tulle
bounds; taste and the musical glasses without
.c had each their graceful mention, as
.ttered in and abou; res of
: y ami fashion. The scene at the gate was
i cru-h-room at the Opera, only with mellow
sunlight turned on, iustc;, like
the "pin" at St. James s without the trains and
plumes. The company had begun to yawn.
. -hion is not exempt from the laws of
ie; and perhaps one reason why great
people grow tired of one another, is that they
see one another so frequently the endurable
M being so extremely small.
Mr. Blunt had divers offers of conveyance to
town. He might have continued a Squire of
3 to the last, and sat behind the most
ibivcly jobbed horses in the metropolis.
he courteously declined all such proposals.
id a little business to transact, he said, and
;ody s humble aud devoted servant.
iicd, however, chatting, bowing, smiling,
until the crush grew thin, until the shamefaced
people who had come down in glass -coaches
raid hackneys took heart of grace and bade the
ickets summon their hired vehicles, and
one or two attaches of for< lions,
rmd hardened Guardsmen, kindled their cigars
e strolling away. In justice to th.
be admitted, that even these offenders
d round to see there were no ladies near.
-hamc and the smoker i
hopelessly divorced. So far frum hesitati,
-htiiig a cigar in a lady s presence, the wor
shipper of nicotiiie well-nigh presumes to ask
;y for a ia fautc ? Is
>r Bceotia to blai
The trees of Chiswick were bathed in crimson !
and burnished -d cast si
purp! ured to
his cigar. When he began to smoke, lie
smoked vigorously, and as he walked a
a firm ha- , the white wreaths of vapour
circli: .., his gait seemed very different
that of the mincing trip. ,:e of
halt an hour ago. Had you had Fortuna
or had you been in the receipt of fern sect,
might have availed yourself of the privilege of in
visibility, trodden on his varnished heel-
how nervously he turned and started, although
he had but scrunched a pebble and then, look
ing in his face, have discovered, not -without
amazement, that his face was as the face
old man.
Terribly jaded, haggard, and careworn. A
film seemed to have come over the eyes. Xo
silver, but a rust rather, mingled with the
hair and whiskers. And the smile had fled away
; he mouth, aud left only furrows of cruelty
and hardness there.
He struck into a by-lane, green and solitary as
though it had been fifty miles from London, and
walking rapidly, soon came upon a mean little
wayside tavern, all thatch and ivy and honey
suckle, and with the sign of the Goat swing
ing before it. He passed through the bar, where
two market gardeners sprawled over their pipes
and beer on a bench one, awake and uproarious ;
the other, asleep and snoring; both as happy,
doubtless, as the Great Mogul. lie turned to a
little side-window, and in the most unafi
manner in the world ordered a glass of brandy.
He, order brandy ! Nevertheless, he not only
did order brandy, but drank it without flincl.
aud, what is still more singular, paid for it a
performance to which he was, to say the 1
unaccustomed. However, this was to be for Mr.
Blunt an evening imu irked by the dis
bursement of ready moin
"There is a person here with a child," he
said, less a ..ig some
thing of which he entertained no doubt.
dour, sir," the landlady rej
with a low cu .uen so gallantly
accoutred were by no means frequent custo.
at the Goat.
He looked inquiringly feu: the parlour s wl.
about. The landlady bustled from behind her
count; him into a little room
f the passage, and then re-
VOL. XI.
26 [February 20, 1S64.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
turned to gossip with licr daughter about the
beautiful teeth arid whiskers and gold chain o
the distinguished stranger.
"And such a lovely little angel of a child as i
a vaitin for him," the hostess pursued, " his
da ater, for sure."
"Is her mother with her?" asked Phoebe, the
daughter.
"Her mother!" echoed the landlady in greai
disdain. "Do you think, child, such a granc
gentleman would bring his wife here among the
likes of us. No, no, it must be the nuss; foi
she s only got on a cotton print dress and ar
eight-and-twenty shilling shawl, and her bon
net 5 d be dear at four-and-eleveupence, strings
and all."
" What does he bring her here for, and what
could such a grand gentleman want with foui
penn orth of brandy?" persisted Phcebe, who
was of an inquiring disposition.
"There, go along child, and wash up youi
glasses," cried the landlady in a pet : probably
because she too was unable to answer these
questions to her own satisfaction. " It ain t no
business of ours. Maybe he likes brandy, though
the uuss had a pint o wine and a sweet biscuit,
and paid for it like a lady. Go along, I say, and
don t stand chattering there." Whereupon
Mrs. Landlady, who was somewhat hot of
temper, elbowed her daughter into a small cavern
used as a lavatory for the drinking vessels of the
establishment, and entered into communion with
a piece of chalk and a slate : not, however, being
able to dissociate perturbed cogitations as to
her customers from the otherwise absorbing
occupation of calculating what additions might
be discreetly made to the score of the two
market gardeners, while the one was snoring, and
the other singing a song certainly without begin-
ing, and seemingly without end.
Meanwhile the object of this conversation had
entered the parlour and made his salutations to
its occupants. These salutations were of a two
fold nature.
"How do you do, Nurse Pigott?" he said,
with an affable nod and a forced smile, to a fubsy
dumpy woman with a very red round face, and for
whose attire the brief but graphic summary given
by the landlady to her daughter will amply suffice.
" All well with you at home, I hope?"
"Nicely, sir, which it also left my husband,
thankin you kindly, and glory be," responded
the dumpy woman, rising and dropping a pro
found reverence. "But oh, sir, Miss Lily have
been a takin on dreadful."
"What s the matter with her the little
puss?" exclaimed Blunt, sharply. And this
was his second salutation.
The " little puss" was sitting on the dumpy
woman s knee. Indeed, she was a very little
puss a tiny fair girl of three years old. She
had very long brown hair curling in thick pro
fusion round her chubby face. She had very
large wondering blue eyes ; but these, on the
present occasion, were red and swollen. Her
whole face was suffused with the moisture of
sorrow. Her little lips were twitching. It was
evident that the "little puss" had been crying
her eyes out.
"Be quiet, miss, and don t be naughty, or I
shall tell Nurse Pigott to give you a whipping,"
said Blunt.
His words were harsh and unfeeling; but
oddly enough his manner was not so. He spoke
less in anger than in the languid tone of an
Indian Begum telling her slave-girl that really,
if she gave her any more trouble, she would be
compelled to have her buried alive. It may be
that he had enjoyed very very little expe
rience of children, and erroneously imagined that
whipping was the only specific course of treat
ment available in the case of tears. At any rate,
the threat had not the desired effect, the
child being evidently aware that Nurse Pigott
was no more likely to execute it than to cut her
head off with a carving-knife. So she began to
cry louder than ever.
" Tut, tut, tut !" Mr. Blunt murmured, pacing
the room in vexation. "Dear me, dear me,
Nurse Pigott, this is very embarrassing, and not
at all fair to me, you know. When I paid your
last month s bill, and told you I was obliged
to take Miss Lily away, I distinctly informed
you there was to be no crying. My nerves can t
stand it, they can t, indeed." But there was
little good in reasoning with Nurse Pigott.
" Oh ! sir," she sobbed out, half essaying to
comfort Lily, and half to dry her own eyes with
the corner of her shawl, " I can t help it, I can t
indeed, sir, when I thinks of that there blessed
innocent which I took from the breast, and have
never left, night nor day, for three years Janiwerry,
likewise nursing her through measles and hoop-
in -cough, and all her pretty ways, a pulling of
us all to pieces, and hangin 5 round us, and my
usband is a-fond of her as if she was his own,
which we have buried two and the twins being
the one of them that s left is but sickly, and will
never make old bones, which the doctor told me
only last Tuesday was a fortnight, it breaks my
heart, it do, indeed, to part with the little
darling. Oh, sir, let the child bide with us, and
don t take her away. "
Griffin Blunt was too well bred to bite his
nails besides, he had not taken off his gloves ;
out he bit his lips, and contracted his brows, and
paced the room more nervously than ever.
You re a stupid old woman," he muttered,
pettishly.
" I know I am," acquiesced Nurse Pigott, with
a fresh succession of sobs, " and so s my usband,
hat is in bein fond of the little cherub, and
glad would he be for us to keep it, though only
a journeyman plasterer, and times is hard as
lard can be."
"She is trying it on for more money, the
old hypocrite !" Mr. Blunt said, internally. " I
old you," he continued aloud, turning to Nurse
Pigott, " that it was absolutely necessary for me
o remove the little girl. I am about to take
Charles Di
ALL
.
the <
discii
.. " \V. with
:id I must
doing
; ;i^v will be disappointed.
itt, half
iiy I Ins :uch with indigna-
i . " Money ! I scorns it. It
: want, nor my usband neither. If
child had been put out to us by the
ha done our dooty by it. If its
fathers and niotl; lords and ladies and
hemperors, we d ha done the same. It isn t for
jr, though little enough, goodness knows,
and not paid regular, which you know, sir, not
- disrespectable to you. And if you d leave
..trlingwith us, and money -was a little short,
i wait for better times, and never
le you for one brass farthing, if you d only
let us ave our little little Lily." Nurse Pigott
r this int
Mr. Blunt winced when reminded that he had
not been too punctual a paymaster. He could
. that the remark was totally devoid
;dice. He could not help acknowledging
the child, \vhom he had seen, perhaps, six
times during three years, had been reared with
intimte love and tenderness by Nurse Pigott,
all vulgar and dumpy as she was. And some
thing like a feeling of shame made his mind
blush at the remembrance that this love aud
tenderness had been bestowed upon Lily by
ngers.
" There, there, Nnrse Pigott," he said, as
soothingly as he could, "I m sure you ve done
your best with the little thing, and her papa
and her mamma (who is too ill, poor thing,
to come and see her) are very much obliged to
you. Only, you know, the best of friends must
part. I told you that, ever so long ago. Come,
don t let us have any more fus> you can t tell
how it injures my nerves and kiss the child aud
all that sort of thinsr, for I m rather pressed for
tim
Nurse Pigott had her nerves too, and for
he had been attempting to nerve herself
to undergo with fortitude a - u, which
Blunt, to do him justice, had warned he.
. For you I to part with a
pet round which the cords of your
have twined th. . is very very hard.
; ii;;d ki; .-, :i Lily long before
night after night in those sicknesses when the
as a
her gr<.
1, Nurse
. had
little
. aud
toloo-.
..1 her
" niiiii r by
I fellow by nature)
I orce was
iieirown.
They ; but Lily had \
! her the- tranquil little
.vith wisdom far beyond his years, who
ijor part of his time in spra
.und (pr it of door.-), in e;,
:upla ion of the curious features of that
external world which the doctor forbade his
parent* to entertain a hope of his long living to in-
. Lily s nurture under the auspices of
_ott had been the reverse of retiued, but
it had never lacked affectionate and sedulous care.
in absolutely doted on her charge,
although five shillings a week was all the remu
neration she received for tending her. Work
ometimes slack with the plasterer, aud he,
ad the twin (who indly philoso
phical temperament led him to r< ;ato-
,t equal in succulence to
; -aud-butter, or even to meat), had occasion
ally to go on short commons ; but Lily was
never bereft of a meal abundant in quantity and
nourishing in quality. She had never known
what it was to go without pudding. A slight
meat eater she was, as beseemed her age ; yet
what morsels of flesh she required were never
wanting, even if they had to be purchased from
the pi -emiim- from the deposit in tribula
tion of the plasterer s ilver watch. The
male Pig - tion for her was prodigious. In
her earliest youth he could with ditliculty be
deterred from offering her sups of beer from his
evening pint ; and when told that the fermented
infusion of malt and hops was improper refresh
ment for a child, he, of his own motion, absolutely
forewent a nightly moiety of his beer mon
order to purchase appl 1 for his
foster- baby. The price of half a pint of p
was not a very sumptuous bounty; but a penny
goes a very long way in a poor man s h
Lily s stock of clothes had never beo
tensive nor very abundant ; but Xur had
iic little wardrobe with admir , -cru-
pulous neatness. Only once during the three years
half had she ever importuned Mr. Blunt
(with whom she ructed to correspond
through the medium of a London post-office,
the initials F. !>.), for mo:
journey to Kensington unt; irse,
when in the window of
.
coloured merino, so curiously embroidered with
28 [February 20, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
silken braid that she had there and then deter
mined to secure it for Lily either by the legitimate
means of asking Mr. Blunt for the money, or
by selling or pawning her own goods and chattels,
- *- CJ - * f5wv/v*^j i.iiit. WUC*U(SV.LOj
or by bursting bodily into the shop and making off
with the much-coveted robe. Fortunately, how
ever, measures so desperate had not to be resorted
to. Mr. Blunt happened to be in funds and in a
good humour, when he received a pathetic and
ill-spelt letter directed to F. B. ; and the sum
demanded, which was but two guineas, was
forwarded. But chiefly had Mrs. Pigott found
favour in the fine gentleman s eyes from the
exquisite cleanliness and neatness in which she
had always kept Lily. The philosophical twin
objected on principle to soap, and his father
deprecated his being subjected to much lavatory
discipline, on the ground that he (the twin)
would be washed away if he were washed often ;
but there was always warm water for Lily and
Windsor soap for Lily ; nay, on one occasion
good Nurse Pigott had purchased a bar of
Castile soap, the which, from its curiously mar bled
appearance, the child imagined to be sweetstuff,
and essayed to suck. Winter and summer she
never went without her bath, and although her
poor little garments had frequently to be pieced
and darned, she was always shining as the newest
of pins.
A very few words will suffice to explain how
Lily came into Nurse Pigott s custody. Three
years and a half before the commencement of
this history, the plasterer became cognisant ot
an advertisement in the day before yesterday s
Morning Advertiser (it was before the days of
penny journalism), wliich he was in the habit of
borrowing from the hostelry where he purchased
his modest allowance of beer. This advertisement
set forth that a lady and gentleman were de
sirous of placing an infant at nurse with some
respectable person in the immediate vicinity of
London. The Pigotts then occupied a diminutive
cottage at Brentford. Forthwith they answered
the advertisement, in an epistle which the
plasterer considered to be a chef-d oeuvre of
caligraphy and composition, and which was,
indeed, a marvel of archaic orthography and
abnormal pothooks and hangers. In due time an
answer arrived, and an appointment was made to
meet the advertiser in London. Thither went
Nurse Pigott, arrayed in her Sunday best ; and,
at a specified hotel in Dover-street, Piccadilly
she was received not by Mr. Blunt, but by
Monsieur Sournois, from Switzerland, his valet,
who made all the necessary arrangements for the
reception of an infant six months old, and paid a
month in advance of the sum stipulated for.
Being asked whether the child was christened
(for Nurse Pigott was a staunch Church of
England woman), he replied that it did not
matter. Being pressed on this point, he said
it was all right, and that the child s name
was Lily Smith. And as Lily Smith she
was received by Nurse Pigott. The good
woman did not feel herself called upon to ask
any more questions. Infants are put out to
nurse every year, and by the thousand, in and
about London, without references more searching
than a money-payment in advance. Very often
no name at all is asked for or furnished. I
wonder whether such a system encourages im
morality. I should like to hear, on this subject
Jose blessed Sisters of La Sainte Enfancei
the Holy Childhood" at Hong-Kong, who buv
babies from the Chinese mothers to save the
little innocents from being cast into the sea or
thrown (as they are in the interior of China) to
the pigs.
The little Lily Smith throve apace, and had
not more than an average share of infantile
ailments. Monsieur Sournois came at first once
a month to see Baby, and greatly impressed
INurse Pigott with the amenity of his manners
and the affability of his conversation. By-and-
by he was succeeded by Mr. Blunt, who never
kissed the child, or fondled it, or took much more
notice of it, in a languid survey through the
medium of his eye-glass, than if Lily had been
a_waxen doll in a toy-shop. Thus did the little
girl remain until she was nearly four years of
age and it was a day of bitter sorrow for Nurse
Pigott and the plasterer, when a curt letter ar
rived from Mr. Blunt or F. B., as he continued
to sign himself directing the child to be made
ready and brought to the present place of ren
dezvous. So Lily, poor little shorn lamb, after
having the wind tempered to her, was suddenly
to be given up to the grim gaunt wolf.
I retract gaunt if you please, but not grim - f
for while I have been telling the story of Lily s
babyhood, Mr. Blunt s countenance has been
robed in his most dulcet smile, and he has
been exhausting his seductive arsenal to soothe
and conciliate the sobbing child. He lias done
everything but kiss her. One loses the taste for
innocent kisses as one loses the taste for bread-
and-jam.
The nurse was consoled and the child quieted
at last; and after an infinity of hugging, the
plasterer s wife announced that she was ready
to go, and that she was sorry for having kept
the gentleman so long. Between the spasms
of her parting embrace she told Lily that she
should see her again very soon.
"And I may, mayn t I, sir?" she continued,
turning with an appealing look to the dandy.
"Oh say that I may, if it s only once a year. I
shall break my art, I know I shall, if I don t see
my darling again."
"Of course, of course!" replied Blunt, who
would have promised anything to secure a good
deliverance. " The child shall write to you"
poor little Lily, who didn t know great A from a
bull s foot: "that is, I ll write, yes, yes. Now,
my good Nurse Pigott, we really must be going
you know."
So two heavy hearts and one very callous heart
went out of the little tavern parlour and into the
road: the landlady and he/ inquisitive daughter
craning their necks after all the hearts. There
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAll ROUND.
to carry. 1,
not i
itsly informed M .
ild s clot othes
rhither
i. \\li.-ret!
good woman did not
iiy which Mr.
Blunt ha
a hnckney-coaf
nearly dark. I .y |-\ B/8 dire
vhich h;,
-curdy discern, one occu
and . tun. The child was by this time
wholly tired, and half asleep. The dawh
desccudingly pave Nur- a couple of
! jusly In r oil one side, and
imite she found herself crying in
the B road, quite alo;,
But not so lonely as poor little Lily, albeit
she was in a c;; . itli two men, one of
whom told her that he was her papa.
CHAPTER IV. THE HISS EO XYCASTLES
ESTABLISHMENT,
to bed and early to rise was the
-honoured maxim in the establishment of
the -Mi.-s r.unnycastlcs, llhododeudrou House,
Rhododendron private road, Stockwell. Time-
honoured indeed, and with justice it might be
i, for it had been acted upon for at least
;. . ars, during which lengthened period
lie family had kepi, a ladies school
idodendron-road, as aforesaid. .Stay, I have
fallen into a slight error. "When Mrs. Bunny-
first undertook, in the second decade of
the i: MI century, those scholastic duties
at Stockwell which her daughters subsequently
and elliciently performed, Rhododendron private
road existed only in the form of a narrow path
; wo market gardens, and went, I fear,
by the painfully uuacademic name of Cut-throat-
lane. But when culture cam ,ham, and
civilisation to Stockwell, the by-path became a
"private road," neatly gravelled, and bordered
by trim villas. The old market gardener s
habitation indeed remained, but was rcchristened
Rhododendron House. Formerly it had been
.11 as Bubb s Tolly. Bubb was the last
market gardener, and inherited the lion-
ling one-storied structure of red brick:
from his grandfather. Long and carefid
tionto horticulture brought him riches, and in his
old a. - bruited about that he had become
i, though no! -re any
. . ... way incapable of managing
his own affairs; for he
an old I 11 a hand
at a .as could be found
niondsey and Brixton. His madness did not go
further than that harmless eccentricity to which
may have iched
:s, hatters, and m: . are
frequently subject. In pursuance of this craze,
> tunied
e tongue
and an uneontroll i < for silk dn
ir. Brad
u a deac .t shining
,1 light - d headlong
secularism, attended intidel lectures, and e
iieve in anything, lie I
also. In a word, Mr. Bubb was in his latter
that by no means uncommon cbarae
"wicked old man; 1 a quarrelsome old curmud
geon, who swore hard, drank hard, and didn t
. As a climax to his strange proceedings, he
added a tower, or belvedere, to his grandfather s
old brick house. At the summit of this edifice,
winch resembled externally a Chines*
brick faced, and with a dash of the truncated
factory chimney about it, he built a smoking-
room, where he swore and drank and took toL
till his time came, and he died. The pagoda-
chimney belvedere had caused the house to be
called Bubb s Folly ; and long after Bubb s de-
. ancient people persisted iuapplyin.
old title to Rhododendron House.
If the belvedere, however, were Bubb .- 1
the surrounding ground, which he directed in his
will to be carefully let out in building !<.
with equal propriety, have been desiguat<
Com mou Sense. The morganatic hou
to the rage and despair of the nephews and
nieces, came into all the property, and even the
Ilitrli Court of Chancery could not pick a hole
in the crazy old market gardener s last wii
testament. The enriched housckei .ovccl
to grander quarters at Clapham, and the old
brick Folly passed through many .vie.
while houses in the most modern style of do
mestic architecture sprang up on either side.
Bubb, however, had willed that his Folly was not
to be demolished, and, being advertised, at last,
as "eligible school premises," with "an observa
tory admirably suited for scientific purp<
it was taken about the year eighteen hundm;
sixteen by Mrs. Bunnycastle, aud turned into an
establishment for young ladies.
Mrs. Bunnycastle s husband was a gentleman
who had taught writing, arithmetic, and the use
of the globes, in surburban seminaries, for many
instruction in \ .
Lcttres : that is to say, he would recite, with the
sonorous emphasis of the late John Kemble, any
number of pages from the " Elegant Exti
and "Enfield s Speaker." To this dee
young ladies of a literary turn (it was a b.
ing age) listened with intense admiration.
Bunnycastle (necLappin) had been in her youth
a nursery- -s in a great family, and was
of a soft sentimental ion. Si
great educational theorist, and had so :
head with dogmas of tuition out of Jean
Rousseau, Madame Leprince il
Mesdames Chapoue, Trimmer, and 1 !
to say nothing of Dr. Edgworth, and the
30 [February 20, 1S64.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
Reverends Messrs. Gisborne and CMrol, and Dr.
Fordyce s " Discourse on the Character and Con
duct of the Female Sex" that her educational
system ended in her permitting her pupils to do
pretty well as they liked. She was much
beloved by them, in consequence. Her favourite
work, after "Emile,"was " Adelaide andlheodore,
or Letters upon. Education :" that dreary simper
ing old farrago of well-meaning inanities, in
which the baroness writes to Madame d Ostalis
to tell her how Seraphine has bitten her little
brother, but how she has succeeded in "produc
ing perfection" in her daughter Adelaide, who is
" fourteen years old, an excellent musician,
drawing with amazing proficiency, speaking and
singing Italian like a native, and absolutely
cured of all little female deficiencies." Happy
Adelaide, and thrice happy baroness !
The worthy Bunnycastle died a year before
Rhododendron House was taken. His widow was
faithful to his memory, and brought up her three
daughters, Adelaide (so christened after the ba
roness s paragon), Celia, and Barbara, in love and
reverence of their inoffensive papa s portrait,
with its shirt frill, and its hair powder (the latter
beautifully painted), and with the silver standish
"presented to him by the young ladies of
Ostrolenko Lodge, Camberwell, in slight testi
mony of his unwearied exertions in teaching
them plain and ornamental writing, arithmetic
(on Mr. Walkingame s principle), the use of the
globes, and other polite accomplishments, for
many years." In this history s year 1S36 the three
Miss Bunnycastles were all old maids. There is no
use in disguising the matter ; it was palpable.
With Adelaide and with Celia the case was hope
less. They were both past thirty, and had made
up their minds to celibacy. About Barbara, only,
who was barely twenty-five, could any faint and
feeble matrimonial hopes be entertained. When
such hopes were hinted in her presence by the
charitable-minded among her own sex the
married ladies, bien entendu Barbara shrugged
her pretty shoulders she teas pretty and some
times smiled, and sometimes sighed. Meanwhile
she went on watching the pianoforte practice, and
the small-tooth combing (after sundry soap and
towel preliminaries) of the little ones on Saturday
nights. That was her department in the economy
of Rhododendron House. She did not murmur.
She was perfectly resigned. Only, if any eligible
young man had suddenly appeared before her, say
from the Planet Mars, or from the bowels of the
earth, and had said, "It is true that I am a re
turned convict, a professed forger and coiner, and
a monster in human form that I have a blighted
heart and a seared conscience that I murdered
my great-aunt, and sold my country, and picked
a gentleman s pocket of a yellow bandanna at
Camberwell Fair; but still my intentions are
strictly honourable. I have a marriage license
in my right-hand trousers-pocket, and a ring
and a pair of white kid gloves in my left. There
is a glass-coach at the door, the pew-opener will
officiate as bridesmaid, and the beadle will be my
man. Come, my beloved, and I will lead
thee to the hymeneal altar," 1 am inclined to
think that Barbara Bunnycastle would in
continently have cast her arms about that eligible
young man s neck, and cried out "Take me,
interesting stranger !"
In 1S3G, Mrs. Bunnycastle was a very old
smiling lad}-, with glossy-white ringlets. Her
countenance was wrinkled, but it was rosy still.
She was still soft and sentimental, and much
addicted to the perusal of novels : standing, as
regards these characteristics in strong contradis
tinction to her eldest daughter, Adelaide, who
was an exceedingly practical spinster, and the
inflexible disciplinarian of the establishment.
I have said that "early to bed, and early to
rise," was the golden rule abided by at Rhodo
dendron House. The younger pupils retired to
rest at half-past seven. Those of medium age,
that is, under twelve, went to roost at eight.
By nine, the elder girls reached their dormitories.
At ten, the governesses and parlour-boarders bade
Mrs. Bunnycastle good night. At half-past ten,
the three daughters of that estimable and vene
rable person kissed, each, her parent on the fore
head ; and by eleven o clock every light in Rhodo
dendron House was extinguished. All the girls
and their teachers were up by six o clock in the
morning ; the three sisters only indulged in half-
an-hour s extra somnolence ; and, punctually at
eight o clock, Mrs. Bunnycastle, in her unvary
ing cap with yellow satin bows, and her white
ringlets arranged in faultless symmetry, made her
appearance at the common breakfast-table.
All then- meals, with one exception, pupils and
preceptresses took together. Breakfast, dinner,
and tea, were served in the great bow-windowed
dining-room giving on to the lawn ; but supper
was a special and exclusive meal which none of
the children partook of at all, which the parlour-
boarders and teachers consumed in a kind of
still-room adjoining the pantry, but which
Mrs. Bunnycastle and her daughters enjoyed in
their own little parlour. The meal was served
(tea having been got through at five) at nine
P.M. The mother and daughters loved to linger
over their meal, and, although they ate and
drank but little, it was often prolonged to close
upon the time for retiring to rest. It was the
only season throughout the weary monotonous
day when they were alone, and at their ease.
They were free from the constraint of keeping
on their countenance that expression of simulated
gravity, not to say severity, which all those
whose vocation it is to educate youth, whether
male or female, think it their bounden duty to
assume while occupying the rostrum of pedagogic
authority. This is why schoolmasters and school
mistresses get prematurely worn, wrinkled, ai:d
shrunken.
Supper-time, then, was an hour of unmingled
delectation for the Bunnycastle family. Then,
they were free from the heated and half-stifling
atmosphere of the schoolrooms ; for ventilation,
as an adjunct to education, had not been thought
Charles Dickons.]
ALL THE YEAH HOUND.
. >. Then, they were g
swarm
>ome c:
parlour-boarders, a P aici
:,rtheiri ace at
; it a prime article
At supper-time, the school-
1 from
superb ones of
1 frilled trousers. At suppcr-
o, of the .liable
all of them, no doubt,
but wearisome on cluily and unrein; iiaiut-
ance. A- -time, they oonld nhout
C hindrance. Tliry could run over the occur-
the d;i;. . - mid dwell, nov
on, now with discontent, upon how
much their young eh >d, and how much
they ale. They could concoc of thanks
to complimentary parents, or of deprecation to
remonstrant ones. They could revolve pi
scho! -randisement, discuss points of dis
cipline, compare methods of instruction, grumble
:cir lot in that luxuriousncss of complaint
which is well-nigh akin to content, and j
about their neighbours. Thus, supper in the little
back parlour at Rhododendron House, combined
the gravity of a cabinet council with the hilarity
of a symposium.
INDIAN RAILWAYS.
SUPPOSING that for the future we have no
more mutinies and rebellions in India, the pro
gress of railway enterprise promises to provide
a complete system of railway communication in
hat country. The days of palankeen travel-
have come to an end. The days of the
dak are numbered. The iron horse on nearly
all main roads now supplies the place of the
cooley, the bullock, auu the wretched posting
pony. Not only arc the principal lines being
carried through to distant destinations, but cross-
lines, lightly constructed on the American plan,
are being rapidly run up, or, more correctly speak
ing, run down, to connect them one with an*
ct as feeders to the great sources of traffic.
At the present time, the principal communica
tions are in the hands of three great companies
tin idian, the Great Indian Peninsular,
and the Madras. The course of the first
which starts from Calcutta, and runs, with very
little interruption, to Delhi, whence it is making
a bold push for the Punjab, to join a line of
which part is in operation in that province
has been already sketched in a former article.*
In a short time, however, th< :ty of tra
vellers from England will find it more conve
nient to proceed to the nort! :d central
provinces via Bombay, whence it Indian
Peuii : >r a considerable
* See page 561 of th> .:ne.
distance i ulnore, v
a branch of .id.
Another line of the Great Indian Peninsular
is one in a south-eastern direction, fron
open as far as ShoL
Here it will break into two brand:
to Hyderabad (Hyderabad in I
not to be confounded with Hyderabi .ide),
and the other to Bellary, i
line from Madras. The line tollvden
in a direction due south, jc
line at Cuddapore. But this is n
enterprise is doing for !
The Great Indian Peninsular 1. i line in a
direction due north, between Bombay, Baroda,
and Ahmedabad. This is already open for the
irt of the distance, a she
ins being at the Bombay end, where some
:al engineering difficulties prevail. From
the Jubbulpore line, also, there is a branch to
jovernment of theCe
:nces, and this is already partly comp!
Some of the works on the Great Indian
ninsular line arc of considerable importance and
magnitude. Among these, the most remarl.
is the passage through the celebrated Bhore
Ghaut, between Bombay and Poonah, on the line
to Jubbulpore. In a distance of fifteen i,
the railwav climbs an ascent of one thousand
eight hundred and thirty-one feet, the difficulties
in its course being overcome by such a series of
cuttings, tunnels, viaducts, and embankments,
as are not to be found within the same space,
ssured by the official report, in any
quarter of the world. The earthwork alone
necessary to effect these objects, amounts to
four and a half millions of cubic miles. Si
of the embankments exceed sixty feet in ht
;liere is a cutting of one hundred and fifty
feet through solid rock. One of the viadu
one hundred and forty-three feet from the sur
face. Some idea of the general nature of the
works may be formed from the fact, that their
construction occupied seven years and a quarter,
about four years being spent in preliminary
operations. The Bhore Ghaut, it appear?,
first made practicable for the passage of an
by the Duke of "\\ ;i, when in command
of the forces in the De-khan, who, with instinc
tive foresight, sav. ;wtance of impr
communication with Bombay ; and about thirty
three -years ago Sir John Malcolm opened
the Ghaut for cart traffic. But it may
doubted if either of those two great men ever
dreamed of the toilsome and difficult path
through which it was just possible to dr
guns, or transport stores in rude n
drawn by oxen, being superseded by a i
road in the shape of a railway.
A line called the ( utheru of 1
Railway, is also open from the sea-coast south
i.f Madras, at Cauvery, to Trinchinonoly (famous
for cheroots), which will be joiue .fher
line, extending from a point |] the ex
treme south of the Peninsular, to >
Madras and Bcyporc line. These all bclon_
the Madras : Company. The
32 [February 20, 1SG4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conduct
and Beypore line (Bcypore being on the western
coast) has suggested a short route for the mails,
which has many arguments in its favour.
The magnitude as well as the difficulty of the
operations of which the above is a more or less
complete statement, may be estimated from the
fact that up to the period of the last official
report, embracing only a part of last year, no
less than 2,597,94-1 tons of material neces
sary for construction, amounting in value to
13,843,392/., have been sent out from this
country to India, in 3292 ships, for the purposes
of the railways. That these enterprises are con
sidered a good speculation may be gathered
from the fact that, on the 31st of December,
IS 02, the number of proprietors and debenture
holders in the different lines was 31,420, having
increased by 5260 in the course of the year.
The numbers, in fact, increase in about the same
ratio as the capital. In reference to this part
of the subject, it should be explained to the
reader who happens to know nothing about it,
that five per cent is guaranteed to the com
panies by the government, to assist and give
security to their operations. The financial posi
tion as detailed in the report of 1S63 was this :
In the course of the preceding financial year
there had been an expenditure of 5,810,8521.;
that in England having been 1,S54,211/., and
that in India 3, 956,5 63/. The amount raised
by the companies, in addition to the sum of
2,515, 496/., which stood to their credit on the
1st of May, 1862, was 5,238,567^., so that on
the 1st of May there was a balance of 1,943,21K,
available for the current year s expenditure.
This expenditure for 1863-64 was estimated
at 20,112^. in England, and 4,189,000^. in India;
and it was anticipated that 5,293,000?. would be
raised to meet it, in addition to the balance oi
1,943,2m.
Among the novel appearances on the Indian
lines which cannot fail to strike the passenger,
may be noted the decidedly permanent setting
of the electric telegraph, which faithfully fol
lows their course, as in England. Originally,
the wires were supported by the trunks of palm-
trees, which gave a decidedly picturesque ap
pearance to the Bidglee Dak (lightning mail), as
it is christened by the natives, especially when
the said trunks would insist upon looking un
scientific, by sending forth their feathery foliage
at the summit. But the wind and the rain
played sad havoc with these supports, and th<
natives assisted nature by mounting them a
inconvenient seasons to deposit articles of more
or less bulk, which they desired to have trans
mitted by this expeditious conveyance ! It has
been found desirable, therefore, to replace then
by solid columns of masonry, which are now t<
be seen in most places, and as masonry is no
liable to be blown about, the wires are kep
properly extended, and above suspicion of being
tampered with. One of the chief dangers in th
transit of the trains is the intrusion of cattl
upon the rails ; and in order to provide for it
the ingenious device of a "cow-catcher" ha
been much resorted to. This is a triangular
machine attached to the engine in front, which
eing called a "cow-catcher," is not intended to
atch cows, but simply to clear those animals
ut of the way. It is a decided " caution" to
he intruder, who finds himself on a sudden
ripped up and insinuated on one side, witli
berty to resume his equilibrium and journey
. hen the monster whose path he lias ventured
cross has gone rushing and roaring on its
vay. The arrangement must be slightly be
wildering to the cow, but it is certainly condu-
iive to the public safety.
The general working of the lines may be thus
letailed: The net receipts from all the open
ines for the year ending 30th of June, ISO;!,
were about 434,000^., against 311,367/. of the
)revious year.
The number of passengers conveyed in the
ame period were 6,484,338 and 4,912,955 re
spectively.
The traffic, it is believed, has, upon the whole,
)een conducted with regularity and safety. Ac-
idents have of course happened, but the official
report is not aware that any have proved fatal to
msseugers. The native temperament is favour
able to regularity and punctuality, and the casual-
ies have been confined to the cows already
alluded to, and a few natives who have been
qually incautious. Fire has in many instances
destroyed goods while in transit. This is in conse
quence of the use of wood instead of coal in many
places coal being a scarce article in India. But
a hint taken from America, where the same in-
onvenience is felt, resulting in the use of wire-
guards and similar precautions, has mitigated
the evil. Wood of course will get into a blaze
and send up a great deal of burning matter while
in motion, which may set fire to a whole train
unless proper protection be adopted.
The present changeable condition of the lines,
we are told, makes it very difficult to draw any
satisfactory conclusions as to their real value.
While some are partially finished and extending
in length every few months, while others are
finished, but are without access to the stations,
and while it is uncertain what will be the cost
of the permanent establishments, and what the
expenses of maintenance, it is impossible to
estimate, with any degree of accuracy, their re
munerative powers. And in connexion with the
question of maintenance of way, it may be men
tioned that while coal is scarce for one purpose,
wood is also scarce for another. On several
lines the wood used for sleepers has rapidly
decayed, and it has been found expedient to use
iron for the purpose. That this material lasts
longer for the sleepers themselves is beyond a
doubt; but the absence of elasticity has aujn-
jurious effect upon the locomotives and rolling
stock, which wear out in their stead. The
official report, however, does not admit the force
of this objection. The consulting engineers of
the companies count upon a great saving in the
cost of maintenance from the use of iron sleepers,
which are now sent out from England in large
quantities, being adopted by the principal com-
1 panics. l A he necessity for substituting iron, it
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR HOUND.
[February .
is stated, may to son
the high price of wood in India, as well as to its
tendency to decay.
The amount the several companies for
:> to the 31st December,
.wasVJ is subject to a
deduction of about 1, f>00,000/., which t 1
nicnt had received from the earnings of the
railways, leaving a debt of aboi .OOO/.
! .uual amount
i will be due from the government for
.itecd interest, \\hen the lines are finished,
taken at 3,000,000/. ; but the profits
aile per week of the lines are now rapidly
;i>iderable portion of the above
sum will consequently be met by payments into
vernment. treasuries in India. The liability
vill thus diminish gradually until
it ceases altogether, and the railways are
financially able to run alone. The amount of
gross mileage receipts which should be earned
;e companies to relieve the government
from the payment of guaranteed interest, varies,
of course, with the cost of construction, and of
maintaining and working each mile ; but taking
the ;i e amount of capital to be expended
upon 4600 miles to be GO.OOO.OOO/., the gross
receipts necessary to earn the guaranteed in
terest, supposing that fifty per cent is suffi
cient intenance and working, would be
G.000,000/. a year, or about 1300/. a mile a
or 2")/. a mile a week. In connexion with
this fact, it is satisfactory to know that the gross
receipts of the East Indian Railway, when the
line is completed, should be about 36/., and of
the Great Indian Peninsular about 25/. per mile
k ; and that they are both earning
upwards of 22/., and are increasing their receipts
month.
That the railways will before long prove
remunerative themselves without government
aid, there is uo reason to doubt; and it will be
it day for the companies, as well as for the
. when they shall be released from
the supervision which authority naturally insists
. when it undertakes responsibility. At
nt, the Indian government has a regular
dway Department," and its offices in the
lencics and the provinces must necessarily
conflict, at times unpleasantly, with those of
the companies. The check is not only justifiable,
but necessary. It does not, however, conduce
to perfect harmony, and the sooner the companies
.ed independent control, the better for
theiii- id everybody else. The commercial,
social, and political advantages gained to the
couir :c- establishment of the iron roads,
are becoming more and more apparent. It is
something, as the last report says, to have
already raised the condition of the labourer by
" gW 60 01 ;>er cent :
> have enabled upwards of
,000 of people to ha\
in twelve mouth -
seen a locomoth
earned i
lines were opened, i
cotton-fields of Central India and of Guzerat
will be in direct communication with Bombay;
and Delhi, at the present time, is probably
within two days reach of Calcutta. In many
districts between, -where there has beei.
no communication at all, a sure and rapid n.
of transit is fast being established ; a:
many places before unknown
will shortly be established markets where
no interchange of commoditi
place.
h dread
trymen at home of the climate in India ; and the
loss of life in high places of ^ induced
hinglikea pani -i who would
ot herwise desire to cast t heir fortunes in the i
The fear felt in this country is generally delu
sive; the mortality which n place
mainly caused by exceptional circumstances,
wear and tear of the mutinies killed many men
who might have battled with the climate for
years. Lord Dalhousie, who, by the way, had
not to face the political crisis, died through
ailments quite independent of the influeur-
which he was subjected during his vicero
Lord Canning, who bore the brunt, wore hi
out with work and anxiety, which would have
killed a man of his nervous temperament in any
climate in the world. Lord Elgin, whose loss
has so lately been lamented, died of heart disease,
brought to a fatal conclusion by climbing a
mountain, which would have been an equal
enemy had it been an Alp. There is
any man having the c i of five hundred
; in India, and who is not driven by duty
into particular exposure, who cannot
good care of his life as a governor-general.
Civil and military officers die continually in the
country, whose deaths are not laid to the cli
and deaths in high places should not tell ag
it more than deaths in low places. Anassi-
magistrate or a lieutenant dies, and nobody
thinks the worse of the climate; but, let a
great man become, what in military returns
is called a "casualty," and people on all
discover that India must be essentially ui:
for Europeans. Indian invalids will iii.
the railway system a safeguard such
never before enjoyed. The majority of
in the East require, before everything, to be
taken in time. Change of air is the great re
storative in most cases; but a race for life to
the hills or the sea was more than most invalids
could endure in the days of the road. Many a
man and woman have been killed by the wea.
k journey, who might hav
life, had they been able to get quie
the journey s end. By the railway t
travel from cue climate to another
hours, without trouble, with very little fatigue,
and with the satisfaction of knowing
chauc y against the engine j^
a screw, refusing to move, jibbing, i uck-
jumping, or overturning the c
- upon c>
and material prosperit;
out. _-iven a wonderful im-
.") 1 [Februar .
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
petus to the trade of the country in every direc
tion; and in the article of cotton alone haye
been the means of working great good, by miti
gating the disastrous effects of the Lancashire
famine iu that staple. Politically, they are of an
importance which cannot be exaggerated. Its
extent will be sufficiently indicated by a single
paragraph from the speech of Sir Bartle Prere, the
governor of Bombay, at the opening of the Shore
Ghaut incline. After alluding to certain advan
tages, so obvious as scarcely to require pointing
out, his excellency added, " Some of us have
served with the men of our old European regi
ments who marched with but one halt from Pau-
welltoPoonah, to fight the battle of Kirkee; and all
of us can estimate the militaryand political advan
tages of a work which will connect all the capi
tals of India, and place the garrisons of Madras
and Bombay as close to each other in point of
time as those of Poonah and Bombay were within
living memory. It is no exaggeration to say
that the completion of our great lines of railway
will quadruple the available military strength of
India."
How near we are to that object may be esti
mated from the latest official statement of pro
gress. Prom this it appears that out of 4679
miles of railway the length open and in operation
on the 1st of January, 1863, was 2527. In
1863 it was expected that 624 would be com
pleted, as has probably been the case. During
1864, 620 are due, which will leave a balance
of 906 to be completed in 1865, and (say) the
middle of the following year. These items com
prise the mileage of the lines already sanctioned.
But it is not to be supposed that railway pro
gress will stop here, or will stop at all so long
as there is a plausible project for an enterprising
engineer, and a speculative public for both.
Even now railway travellers are in such force as
to demand a " Bradshaw," the first number of
which recently appeared in Calcutta. It is of
sufficiently respectable dimensions, but nothing
to what it will be ten years hence. That
there should be a Bradshaw at all is a sufficient
anomaly in a lazy, lotus-eating country like
India where nobody is in a hurry, except for
pleasure ; where work, when done is done for
the worker s sake, as he would take a constitu
tional; and where the principal drawbacks to
life are " the noise of the nightingales and the
litter of the roses."
THE GHOST OP MR. SENIOR.
WHAT is a spectre ?
The dictionaries tell us that a spectre is " a
frightful apparition, a ghost." The popular
notion of a spectre is, a figure enveloped in a
long white robe with outstretched skeleton
right hand, gliding noiselessly through the ruins
of some deserted castle.
Spectres are the aristocracy of ghosts. If
" Hodge," passing through the village church
yard late at night, happens to think he sees
" something white" which frightens him out of
what fie calls his wits, he does not say he has
seen a spectre, he speaks and thinks of what
he saw as a ghost.
I have a theory about spectres, and it is
but I can better explain it after I have related
what I am about to tell.
The facts to which I allude occurred many
years since, before table-turning, spirit-rapping,
spirit hands, " et hoc genus omue," were
invented. At that time, "too, I did not take
a nap after dinner, however attractive forty
winks may now appear. I mention this lest?
my readers should say, " Oh, he dropped off
asleep."
I was born in a small country town in the
west of England ; the inhabitants were princi
pally shopkeepers and working people, and
consequently I had but few companions beyond
the circle of rny own family. There was, how
ever, an old gentleman, a Mr. Senior, a kind-
hearted, good-tempered old man, a widower
without children, who took a great fancy to
me, and was never better pleased than when I
was allowed to go and keep him company.
He lived in a house of his own in the main
street of the town ; he was a cheery old gentle
man, and used to delight to tell me tales of
what he had seen in his youth. He had been a
fur merchant, and had lived for several years at
Hudson s Bay. And soon our acquaintance be
came intimacy, and, ere long, ripened into friend
ship, and few days passed without my paying a
visit, longer or shorter, as home engagements
permitted.
The room we used to sit in was the dining-
room. Since the death of his wife Mr. Senior
had seldom gone into the drawing-room. It
revived painful feelings, he said ; recollections
of the departed one; for there still stood
her piano, the tambour-frame, and her work-
basket.
So we always sat in the dining-room. It was
a moderate sized apartment, with nothing par
ticular in it except a large long table, and two
old-fashioned oak arm-chairs, which stood oue
at each end of the table, and there they always
stood, whether in use or not. I used to sit in
one of these chairs, Mr. Senior, as a matter of
course, occupying the other.
Years fled, seed time and harvest, summer and
winter, succeeded each other ; I grew up to
man s estate, and began to think of having an
establishment of my own.
About that time my old friend died, and his
relatives, wishing to make as good an income
as they could out of his property, proposed to let
the house furnished. After some negotiation I
became the tenant, and in due time took up my
abode in the house. It was rather dull at first
being alone, after having been used to the
cheerfulness of a family circle, and more
especially in that particular house, as reminis
cences of my old friend were inevitable ; but I
had my profession to occupy me ; it took me a
good deal from home, and I soon became used
to my new mode of life.
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YKAIl
64.] 35
Ttly after I had sctti
I-) lea\*
u i lie
. J did not arriv. til rather
awaitii;-
. next day, and as <f the 1
.T8 of urgeut
-inined to ; night. I
: we call in our part of the country
." and, having implied it, brought
iook, &c., to the table, am!, sitting
. iu my old accust isair, went to
-k.
I had written two letters, and \va.-> about to
com; third, when, happening to ra:
what seemed to be my old ;
i the chair at the other end of the table,
6 had been used to sit there in the old
feu 1 was startled. I rubbed my
and looked more attentively, but there he
Diking at me with the old benignant smile.
ion as I could collect my thoughts I got
id feeling that there must be some delusion,
and stirred the fire, hoping to dive.
i from the subject. On looking round,
- great relief I saw that the chair was
em].
[ sat down again and went on writing,
but I could not help from time to ti:
a h;, :ee towards the other end of the
,euly, there he sat again, as distinct
: in bodily presence.
I had read that the spirits of the departed
could not rest in peace under certain cir
cumstances, and not being in a frame of
mind to reason calmly, I thought that my old
friend had something to communicate, so I
spok
1 \Vhy do you come here :"
!Xo a us
" Can I do anything for you :
ill dead silence.
This won t do at all!" cried I, starting up
and going round the table. But, as I moved,
; s form faded away.
I felt unfit for more letter-writing that night,
ling up the blotting-bou :iy re-
y bedroom.
Consider, now, what it is ti do, -when
we see.
The eye is furnished inside, with a sensitive
curtain, upon which are produced, or reflected,
the pictures of such objects as may happen to
be within the range of vision; and those pic-
. in u wonderful manner, communi
to our intelligence, so that without touching a
whieh we look, we know what the
_ r as the object remains before
the eye, the pieture of it remains on what we
the picture is retaint the object
1. I m- in.- .i>peii to look
. when :
- on the
. jn, which causes us I
colour <
look. .it time the
,-ain, once, twice :hree
, accord of the
res in I
colour ; if v
fur half a minute or so at a hi >ured
upon which
turn the eye i<< wall or wii,
blind, we see a figure of i I
at which we i g this also will
and return .several times. Of course the
figure is not on the wall; of course the
is produced by an impression remain!
W, 1 do not propose . ;<t to ac:
for mistakes which people make through
or any other cause ; we
liable to be deceived, and that .and-
post" has, ere now, been mistaken fur a ghost.
\Vhat I wish to deal with is the !ac: that im-
ions are someti:i
without there being a corresponding
tually within view, and although the <
which originally caused the in, . may not
have been seen for weeks, for mo rliaps
for years. This is more likely to occur if there
be anything presented to the eye suggestive
merely of any one particular object at which
ve been accustomed to look.
I contend, also, that imagination has some
thing to do with the matter. If i .itted
(and it can scarcely be denied) th: plete
picture may be revived on the sensitive curtain,
if anything merely suggestive of such picture is
presented to the eye, then it will not be difficult
to understand how I, being in the room where I
had been accustomed to sit with my old friend,
occupying the position I was so familiar with,
and looking at the very chair in which he always
used to sit, had before me an object sufficiently
suggestive to reproduce on the sensitive curtain
of my eye not only the chair, which I did sec,
but also the form of my old friend, who was
not present.
re is nothing which should be the
incredible in this. We experience every day
ions quite as wonderful, and more inex
plicable. Take, for cxampi TV. An
impression is made on the mind by a particular
fact. We can recal it at pleasure, as well as
innumerable other events, but wu don t in the
ud how it is, or by what process
we remei. : .<>r is there anything t<>
monstrate the existence of such, or any par
ticular impression -ring pe.
know, by every-uay experi
ence, that a vi -tivc
of any past event will suffice to bring back,
as it were, the picture of such event to our
mind as cleari n the event actually took
Why should not the eye, or its sensitive
.
ise such iily in cases
sug-
of .( 1 oriii
36 [February 20, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAK ROUND.
[Conducted by
mere thinking of a particular person is sufficient
to excite this reproductive faculty, I will con
sider on another occasion.
WHAT WAS IT ?
IT was not a scold, nor a cuff, nor a kick,
The wound of a sword, nor a blow from a Stick,
A shot from any sort of a gan
That ever was forged beneath the sun,
A fall from a horse, nor a bite of a dog ;
A burn from a torch carried out in a fog,
That made me ache confonndedly
Just where a gentleman s heart should, be.
It \vas not a plaister, nor lotion, nor draught,
Homoeopath practice, or Allopath craft,
Nor any description of patent pill,
That ever was pounded to cure or kill:
Nor the cure for nerves that arc running to seed
A sedative puff of the fragrant " weed,"
That cured my pain. Twas a smile for me
Just where a pretty girl s lips should be.
For my heart had been aching for many a day,
And my mind full of trouble and sorrow,
I vowed that I never would see her again ;
But haunted her steps on the morrow.
I worried my friends, and neglected my work,
Was horribly jealous of stupid young Smirk,
In short, was a nuisance to hear or to see,
Just as a fellow in love should be.
Well, well! it s all over, my smile I got,
And stole something else from its pretty birth-spot,
Went home with a breast that with rapture was
thrilling,
Gave cabbie a sovereign instead of a shilling,
And the sweet lips that cured me at breakfast and
tea
Are just where a gentleman s wife s should be.
CUPID S MANUFACTORY.
THE name and address of the eminent manu
facturing firm of Cupid and Co. are not to be
found in the Post-office Directory. I know this
because I have searched the magnum opus
through all its divisions without being able to
discover them. Nevertheless, the firm has not
only a name but a local habitation ; and I have
visited the habitation, been over the works,
and know all about the concern. I have long
aspired to possess this knowledge. Years past,
when, long before the advent of the mouth
which is popularly supposed to usher in the
mating season of both birds and men, I have
noticed the windows of small booksellers and
stationers break out into a pictorial rash in an
ticipation of the Feast of St. Valentine, I have
been in the habit of wondering how and where
the outbreak originated. With regard to such
matters I can claim a certain community of mind
with his deceased majesty, King George the
Third. When I see apple-dumplings I am very
curious to know how the apples found their way
inside the dumplings. So, for years, I was
anxious to know where the valentines came
from ; who executed those highly-coloured illus
trations of a lady and gentleman walking arm
in arm up a pale brown pathway towards a
salmon - coloured church in the immediate
vicinity (the lady and gentleman being con
siderably taller than the church) ; who wrote
that beautiful poetry where " love" is for ever
sweetly linked with " dove," save occasionally
when it spoils the rhyme by a disposition to
" rove," or retire into a " grove," and where
" twine" is so largely employed in the penultimate
lines as to convey the idea that the poet ran his
poetry off a reel and made it up in balls ; who
printed them, who coloured them, who stuck
Cupids and transfixed hearts upon them ; how, in
fact, they found their way into those shop win
dows, to be offered to an affectionate public at
prices varying from one farthing up to two
pound two ?
I have been to the mint, and, having seen love s
tokens coined, I am now about to describe the
process. No matter how I discovered the mint ;
suffice it that, from information I received, I pro
ceeded there, and found Cupid and Company ac
tively engaged in their business, on extensive pre
mises situated in Love-lane, number thirty-five.
Perhaps you are unacquainted with Love-lane :
may never have heard of it before. Well, no
matter ; if you should ever go there, you will
find it remarkably like Red Lion-square. Paint
the picture how you will, you cannot make any
thing but a red lion of it. However, Love -lane
is better, as it gets rid of an unpleasant associa
tion with the Mendicity Society, an idiot asylum,
and several forlorn institutes, with dirty door
steps and cobwebbed windows. The outside of
Cupid s manufactory is perhaps a little disen
chanting to the visitor, who has been drawing
fancy pictures of it in his mind coming along.
If you expect wreaths and festoons, you will be
disappointed ; if you look for cornucopias, you
will not find them ; if you have called up a
vision of Cupid swinging on a rope of roses
over the doorway, you will not realise that
vision. You find simply a plain brick house,
bearing no other emblem of the trade carried
on within than a pair of iron extinguishers on
each side of the doorway, in which, by a con
siderable stretch of the imagination, you may
conceive the torch of Hymen to have been occa
sionally quenched, at a period prior to the in
troduction of gas. Neither the red rose, nor the
blue violet, nor the sweet carnation, embowers
the windows ; these being wholly unadorned,
rather dingy, and provided each with a wire
blind, on which are painted, in the severest prose 3
the words " Cupid and Co., Manufacturers."
Entering that mundane doorway, and wiping
my feet on that cocoa-nut mat, of the earth
earthy, I could not conceive the realm of sub
limated fancy which lay beyond. With a lively
impression of what was afterwards revealed to
me, I feel now that it was like going up the
greasy gallery-stairs of a theatre, to find the trans
formation scene on, and all the fairies gracefully
reposing in the Bower of Bliss. I was not,
however, inducted to the mysteries too sud
denly. A youth, in all the elegance of turned-
up shirt-sleeves, came and took my card, and
I had to wait in the counting-house Cupid s
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[February 20, 18C4.] 37
counting-house! until lie returned, which he
eventually did, quite at his leisure, whistling
who)
Young Dream, but which I presently i
as a melody less in harmony with the genius loci
namely, T: IL.g > \V tuld I
step this iis hesita
tion natural to t.lie n ;, and
next moineut found with
a remarkablv good-looking little genii
who acknowledged, in answer to my polite in
sinuation in upid.
I don t know that I was quite prepan
the personal appearance he presented. It had
: occurred to me to picture the God of
. even in his manufacturing capacity, other-
than in a full Miit of wings and with a bow
and arrow. But here he stood before me in a
black frock-coat and a pair of possibly Sy den-
ham t rr users. A little reflection, ho-
reconciled me to the make up. I had Il:<
of Cupid as he appears on high days and holi-
But here he was "in business." .V>
doubt the wi B carefully doubled down
under the broadcloth, and the bow and arrow
probably hung up in the best bedroom
with the pink fleshings, ready for Sunday.
1 received me with a courtesy which was
most flattering, considering that I had come
there, a stranger, boldly preferring a request to
be shown over his establishment, and initiated
into the mysteries of his craft. He was ready to
show me all without reserve, and, leading the way,
he introduced me at once into the press-room.
Ir was like a chamber in the Mint. The
knobbed arms of five or six fly-presses were
swinging about so near each other that it seemed
impossible to steer through them without being
dashed to pieces. I did not try. The presses
were stopped, and I was shown how a plain
sheet of paper was prepared for a lace-edged
valentine. Every one is familiar with the pro
cess of die-stamping, so this part of the opera
tion will not require minute description. The
paper is laid upon the matrice, the arms of the
are swung round and the die descends,
embossing the paper by one pressure. But the
dies here are no ordinary dies, and the process
is yet far from complete. Each die consists of
vv square block of iron enclosed with the
matrice in a metal box, which is furnished with
two handles like the legs of a pair of tongs, for
the convenience of the operator. The de
1 icing drawn upon the surface of the iron,
is hammered into it !>. punches.
The iron of the die, of course, is softer or
:>-d than thr
of the punch ; but \\-\\n\ the design is completed
the die is hardened by the usual process of tem
pering. A great number and variety of punches
are required ::iple,
in an embossed border every little hex;
every dot, and every flower, requi;
punch. The < i of a design, therefore, is
a tedious and e\ . There
<ps, a Imud: : .out the
room, and some of them have cost nearly twenty
pounds. The matrices are made of mill
board, and, ranged on shelves round the -
look like a library of well-thumbed dog-
books. I am now standing aside, and tni
presses are in full swing embossing two or
sheets of paper each per minute. Some of these
is contain a picture in the
>le, the before-n,
lady and L > utleman, who, with the pathway and
the church, have already been printed on the
paper by the familiar process of Utliogr
They are now receiving embossed borders. The
process is to convert these borders into
larr, with all the interstices proper to the
particular kind which the design represents. The
dies are removed from the presses, and with the
embossed sheets handed over to a distinct set
of workmen in another room. These workmen,
who practise this branch of the manufacture
solely and exclusively, lay the eml aper
neatly on the die, adjusting it exactly by means
of regulating pins at the corners, and then with
flat iron tools covered with fine sand-paper, rub
off the projecting bosses on the paper. This
process is very neatly and rapidly performed,
and a strip of Valenciennes or Mechlin starts
out under the tool at every rub. In this room
a dozen workmen do nothing else all day long
but use the sand-paper file. It is a very ma
gical way of making lace, and the operation
seems easy, but it is not so easy as it Menu . It
requires great nicety of touch not to tear the
paper. One of the pressmen down stairs.
d to complete the process for my benefit,
!!y failed with the sand-paper file, and tore
what might have been a gorgeous messenger of
love, all to tatters.
Let us follow our valentine step by step from
its cradle to I will not say its grave, but to
that neat white box in which it is packed,
others of its kind, to be sent out to the trade.
Let us say that we begin with the sheet of
paper bearing the plain, unadorned presentment
of the lady and gentleman lovingly wending
their way towards the sacred fane. "\Ve
seen them encompassed by an embossed bo:
we have seen that border magically transformed
into lace. Bui still, with all this, the vale-
remains in the penny plain condition. Now,
however, it passes into the twopence coloured de
partment a long mom, containing some twenty
neat-handed nymphs seated at a bench,
with a little pot of liquid water-colour a
elbow. Valentine comes into the hand of
nymph number one. Nymph lays it flat !;
icr, and places over its surface a pcrfo:
sheet of cardboard, the perforations in which
correspond exactly with, say the pathway. The
miih is dipped in the pot of pale brown and
daubed over the perforatio:
jrown pathway ! The valentine passes to ny
number two, who uses another stencil plate of
cardboard, and daubs in the salmon-coloured
liurch. Number three in the same
- in the gentleman s blue coat,
our his yellow waistcoat, number iilac
continuations, number six the lady s green
[February 20, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
mantle, number seven the lady s pink bonnet,
while it probably remains for other nymphs to
clothe the fields with verdure, and indicate the
smiling morn by tipping the hills with gold.
Thus a highly-coloured valentine passes through
at least half a dozen hands in the process of
colouring, or poouing, as it is technically called.
The pooniug cards, perforated with all sorts of
irregular holes, and daubed with various colours,
have a very odd appearance, lying together in a
heap on a bench. A stranger to these mysteries
could not possibly guess the use of such queer
-?s. He would probably arrive at the conclu
sion that they were the efforts, not of methodical
genius, but of most unmethodical madness.
When pur valentine has passed through this
room, it is, for all ordinary purposes, complete,
and, with a lace border and highly-coloured
illustration, may be sold at prices varying from
sixpence to half-a-crown ; but if it aspire to
value itself at five shillings or half a guinea, it
imist yield to further adornment in another de
partment. Again, a long room occupied by
nymphs, each one having at her elbow a pot,
not of colour this time, out of glue. Strewed
before each girl in apparent confusion, but
really in regularly-assorted heaps, lie hearts and
darts and doves and bows and arrows, and rose
buds and true lovers knots, and torches of
Hymen, and every variety of emblem appertain
ing to love and matrimony. These ornaments
are cut out of every kind of material by means
of punches. Some are paper, some are silk and
velvet, some tinsel and gold-leaf. The business
of the girls here is to stick these ornaments
upon the valentines, so as perhaps to enclose
the picture in a posie of flowers and emblems.
Our lady and gentleman are now under treat
ment. You will observe that there is an un
adorned space between the border and the pic
ture. This is about to be filled up, and the
basis of the operation is a series of paper springs.
Cupid, who is in close attendance, explaining
everything in the most obliging manner, says to
the nymph, "Show the gentleman how you
make paper springs." It is done in a moment.
A strip of writing-paper is doubled lengthways
alternately backwards and forwards three times
in the form of a pipe-light and then cut into
lengths of about half an inch. The lower ends
of these springs are fastened to the valentine
with glue, and then upon the upper surfaces are
fixed strips of plain flat paper. Upon these
strips the nymph, according to a design which
lies before her, arranges flowers and love-knots
and all kinds of devices. Immediately over the
church she glues on a gilt Cupid ; at the corners
she places birds -uests with eggs ; down the
sides, festoons of flowers, relieved here and
there with united hearts and crossed darts and
lyres and flying doves. This decoration forms a
pretty bas-relief frame to the picture, and the
paper springs which support it permit the frame
to be pressed flat for the convenience of pack
ing. Each of the girls in this department is at
work upon a different design, some of which are
exceedingly pretty and tasteful. Some, too, are
very expensive. Here, for example, is one con
taining in the centre a really well-executed pic
ture, in the ivory miniature style, of Cupid, sur
rounded by a rich ornamental border studded
with pearls. The price of this elegant article,
enclosed in an enamelled box neatly tied up with
white satin ribbon, is two guineas. I am natu
rally curious to know if many of these are sold.
The answer to my query is, "A good many." I
am informed, however, that the most expensive
chiefly go to the colonies. I could imagine a gold-
digger buying this valentine with the pearls,
and paying for it with a nugget. It seems very
absurd to give two guineas" for a valentine, but
the one under notice really appears to be worth
the money. It is a most elaborate affair, and,
as_a piece of delicate workman and workwoman-
ship, looks to be better worth the price than
many fancy articles of more intrinsic value which
we see in the windows of the jewellers. The
brightly-coloured varnished flowers that are used
in this department have hitherto been made
almost exclusively in Germany, but Cupid in
forms me, with great satisfaction, that he will
shortly be in a position to compete with the
Germans on their own ground, and dispense
with foreign aid altogether.
Our lady and gentleman are now proceeding
to church under every imaginable circumstance
of glory. Cupid keeps watch over them with
more than a cherub s personality, doves flutter
round them, flowers bloom at their feet, while
the air is laden with a rich perfume, emanating,
I am bound to state, from a pinch of Jockey
Club artfully inserted in a piece of cotton woo),
and stowed away under the exalted seat of
Cupid. Still our lady and gentleman have to
pass through another ordeal. They must step
into the next room and be examined. Nymphs
again are the examiners, and there are six of
them. They sit here permanently, as a com
mittee of taste. If there be anything wrong,
a dove flying with its feet in the air, a Cupid
standing on his head, or a rose violating the laws
of nature by growing downward, the lady and
gentleman are sent back to have their glorious
surroundings put to rights ; it not, they receive
the imprimatur of approval, and are placed in
cardboard boxes to be delivered to the trade.
In following the progress of our valentine
from the embossing-room to the finishing de
partment, we have passed in review about sixty
hands, nearly forty of these being girls, the rest
men and boys. In all the departments the work
struck me as being of a healthy aud cheerful
kind. The rooms are well lighted and airy,
and the girls exhibit none of the languor and
weariness which are painfully apparent in the
workrooms of the milliner and dressmaker.
They are very neatly dressed, and some of them
are very pretty, and these appearances, together
with a briskness of manner and a cheerfulness
of expression, convinced me that if the Song
of the Valentine were written, it would form a
lappy contrast to the Song of the Shirt. The
girls work from eight o clock in the morning
ill seven o clock at night, with intervals for
Charles Dickens.]
ALL r lIIK YEAU KOTM).
being
young bo
o childi .
there arc slack a iu this I
!ar all (he Year rou.
; July th
and c
I ith thei;
v articl
i les which come iu at unpoetical
iis, to keep the machinery of the establish-
full pla; B lace dies iu
tlie press-room, you will find a consid*
-if dies for printing trade marks labels
ii s, and tinsel devices for linen and
calico, duly registered to imitate which is now
our, punishable with fine and im
prisonment. The d linen and
cotton fabrics, hn re quite in the valen
tine style, and only fa l short of ideality in so
they are minus j ilere, for example,
i^ an oval device in silver paper, in the midst of
which a lady of the ballet is standing on the
: her toes, gracefully surrounding
her lovely form by a scarf the whole being de
signed to give the stamp of authenticity to a
bale of muslin, which is possibly destined to be
cut up for bridal g expected
in Cu -innfactory to meet with an nnpor-
ind significant commercial fact. But I
did. It is, that the demand for trade mark
cotton goods, which fell off suddenly at the be
ginning of the American war, and which a year
1 1 almost entirely, is now again becoming
A sign of reviving trade among the
of languishing love, which I commend
c notice of the City-article writers. It is
worthy of note, that the export trade in
valentines is reviving. That, too, was damaged
bytl. Atlantic struggle: there being na-
.y no corner for love, in hearts inflamed
with anger and hate.
Hut let not considerations of commerce and
politics interfere with the higher claims of art.
of the questions which I often put to
If in the days when I was wholly ignorant
of the great valentine economy yet remain un-
:-ed. Who draws the pictures ? Who writes
the poetry ? For a practical elucidation of this
we very properly and fitly go up-stairs
-, her regions > .ishment. In
.^-lighted room, exclusively devoted to art,
we find six draughtsmen transferring their
".is to stone. The designs are highly
d and elaborately coloured, and some of
really beautiful. They don t look so
when th. r much the same
i that, a wood-e; rarely comes up
to the original d It by
the : i of colouring, as the
I on wood is often nr. . the
\er. There are no n
i will excuse the popular phrase, the
: none,
blood red and no surrender! ].
t no
fault in them. I i.
on the stairs of the 11
these desi intendc<; rior order
of valentines. The common kinds and the
comic kinds are drawn out of doors,
coarse or vulgar is issued from this
blishment, and the common specimens are only
common, in so far as the paper is inferior and the
> dashed in with more regard to effect
than The subjects of some of the comic
valentines are copied from drawings in Punch
and his humorous contemporaries, but the great
majority of them are original, and deal mainly
with the ; day
crinoline, the Dundreary whiskers, the jacket
the spoon bonnet, and so forth. The
regular comic artist of the establishmei.
very clever fellow, by the way does not work
on the premises : his fancy being probably of too
ait a nature to brook being chai
bench, or controlled by regular hours. I under
stand that he is a highly prosperous person,
that he drives up to the door in a Hansom cab,
and is very sharp and short with the head of the
The poet, too, works out ; but it was my
happiness to meet him on the door-step on
taking my leave. I am bound to say that he
looked like a poet. He had raven "ringlets,
wore a cloak with a velvet collar, and had a
fine phrensy in his eye. I caught it just as it
was rolling, and I said to myself, " Nascitur, non
fit." What does he sing of our lady aud gen
ii churchward-bound along the pale brown
pa: h way ?
The path before me gladly would I trace,
"With one who .s dearest to my constant heart,
To yonder church, the holy sacred place,
Where I my vows of Love would fain impart ;
And iu sweet wedlock s bonds unite with thee,
Oh, then, how blest my life would ever be !
And there is that rather sporting-looking
young man, in the green waistcoat and the pink
necktie, "rasping by the hand the irencrally blue
maiden iu the gipsy hat under the cliffs appa
rently, of Dover who thus pours forth liis soul :
XuYr doubt, fair maid, the vows I make,
A constant heart no time can shake ;
Rather than cause it e er to wa.
Time, the true heart, makes grow fonder.
Our poet is evidently of a serious turn, aud
riven to the sentimental aud the pathetic ;
itliids it difficult to screw himself down to the
low level of the comic. There is quite a touch
of th in the opening line of his
satire upon the lad y in the spoou bom,
Tell me, gentle lady fair.
Why such ugly thin;:- ar.
ill your
oon to carry on your h
He is almost didactic in ki ;pon
the gentleman with the scrub:
who is admiring himself in the looking-gla
40 [February 20, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
Looking at thyself within the glass,
You appear lost in admiration ;
You deceive yourself, and think, alas !
You are a wonder of creation.
If it be alleged that the poet-laureate of Love
is somewhat halt, it must be remembered that
Love himself is blind. I have not heard that a
butt of sherris sack forms part of the reward of
Cupid s laureate ; but I believe his verses are
estimated as being worth twopence a line, which
is, at any rate, a penny over the conventionally
standard price of prose. At this price, the poem
just quoted would come to eightpence. But the
great difficulty in dealing with the valentine poet
is to make him comprehend that brevity is not
only the soul of wit, but the essence of economy.
His efforts are very frequently vain, owing to
his strong disposition to spin the subject out
to twelve lines, and make an even shilling of it.
There are many pounds of poetry up-stairs that
would have been declined with thanks had they
not been furnished by contract.
It might be imagined that the hard practical
nature of our time had tended in some degree to
bring the sending of valentines into contempt, as
being a practice beneath the dignity of the age.
But this is by no means the case. Cupid informs
me that, in the height of his season, he turns
out two hundred and fifty pounds worth of
valentines a week, and at these times he pays
about a hundred and sixty pounds a week in
wages. That his business is yearly on the in
crease is proved by the annual report of the
Postmaster-General, which shows that, while
the number of valentines which passed through
the London office in 1862 was four hundred and
thirty thousand, in 1863 it was upwards of four
hundred and fifty thousand. The iron of our
age has not entered the national soul so deeply,
after all.
OLD CLOTHES.
NOTHING, perhaps, is so full of sad sugges-
tiveness as an old-clothes shop. It is an epi
tome of human life, working out in its own
dumb way the form, if not the solution, of many of
the problems which oppress us, and setting forth
in faded, melancholy fashion, the vanity of all
earthly things, and how transitory is all created
beauty. Each coat and hat and limp loose
gown might be a text for preachers, and no one
need sit vacant for want of thought while ragged
remnants of past glories are mouldering in the
dingy air beside him. The histories of whole
families are written there, and the saddest
tragec-ies that evil days and folly can enact
together are phrased in those shabby wardrobes,
offering their decayed gentlehood to the baser
world. What analogies may we not find and
make there ! The flimsy tags of Elorinda the
stage-duchess, come down by steady degradation
to iDolly the dairymaid, and that Dolly a White-
chapel dairymaid, who would as soon attempt
to milk an elephant as a cow why that one
single image is an essay in itself on all things
sham and seeming! The fine velvet bonnet
that once bent its stateliness to Royalty in
the Park, passing through the crush-mill of
time and servile uses, till it falls to final ruin
on the head of a crossing sweeper could the
Preacher himself have found a fitter example
for his piteous cry over the falling of the
mighty, and the vanity of vanities of which life
and the earth are made ? Look at that soiled,
worn baby s frock hanging up by the torn sleeve,
and marked at just a few pence, so few as to be
within the compass of a very beggar. Soiled
and worn, the texture of that baby s frock can
scarcely be made out from here, but take it in
youHiand and examine it for yourself; you will
find it to be of richest silk, fit for the coronation
robes of the Queen of Sheba. That was the
countess s court-dress one gorgeous June day.
By degrees my lady s gown lost little and little,
and more and more, of its lustrous loveliness,
till it grew dull enough for Abigail, who pranced
to church in it on Sundays, proud as my lady
herself on that memorable presentation day.
Then it went to Abigail s little nieces at the
greengrocer s yonder the standard Sunday
frock for many years, till at last cut down to
baby s requirements, whence, when baby had
grown big, was no beyond. And then it came to
the old-clothes shop, and perhaps to the singing
beggar with a borrowed baby in the streets.
Look at that girl s ball-dress, once so light
and pure ; useless, if you will, like all a girl s
pleasures the mere froth of human life, but of
the froth that floated Venus Auadyomeue to the
Cyprian shore and see what it is now: a
ball-dress still, but fit only for a gathering of
chimney-sweeps, each in his own colours, sable
splashed with gules. Have the freshness and
purity gone out of her soul as they have out of
her dress ? From being fit comrade of the
vestals, with robes as snowy and spotless as
theirs, has she fallen into ranks which the soil
of burnt-out ashes and the stain of impure fires
have sealed and marked to enduring degrada
tion? That torn, soiled, tattered ball-dress,
once so fresh in its virginal grace and modesty,
ah me ! it is no pleasant sight to see it swinging
here, crushed into disgraceful foulness, among
these worn-out castings of recklessness and
Side by side with this hangs a widow s
ruin !
" suit of sables," glossy and fresh, the crispness
of the crape untouched, and the depth of black
ness in the solemn stuff by no means rusted by
use. There they lie, handy for the first poor
weeping applicant, who will not stop to ask
why they look so new and feel so fresh, or how
it comes to pass that the snowy cap is snowy
yet, or why the deep crape veil has no tear-
dimmed spaces on it. Grief and poverty toge
ther will blind one eye and open the other ; for
when our own hearts are saturated with sorrow
we have seldom any sympathy left running over
for balm to the sorrows of others ; and when the
metal lining of our purses has fallen away to a
mere glaze, like picture-frame gilding, we are
not often solicitous as to the reason why we
obtain a shilling s worth for our worn-out six-
Charles Dickens.]
ALL TIIK YKAH i
[February -11
_ h for us if it he honestly obta
from without i
il down to ;..
thii. -k.
tial, but somewhat <
a, a trille \\
, and
wort: :u its decadenf. than the
aletot of
;h. A .
uitiai, and t -table
f the
in the family ;
.f tin- solid English worlh anil stainless
have be ! i and reaped
.us, and which now have
:.ammer like .Jitest thing of
. bought only for its hour of shine and
glitter. We lily picture all that has
brought this coat of honest broadcloth to the
-imp to the companionship of stage-
and the soii es of feather-
headed girls, not careful of playing with fire ;
we c:;;. run through the causes, one by one,
broke the ploughshare short off the yoke
before the sowing-time was done, so that the
_ w up choked with weeds and couch-
. and strewn with llaring poppies, fiery red
lor shame of flaunting where the children s
i should have been. Bad companions ; the
weakness that < _>ay No, and that
consents to iniquity 1 too soft-tempered
to resist; the fatal !< i.at was unworthy
a love tha 1 inoiig
. ad took up tin- place of the quieter
and nobler growths, yet an honest love, too,
.:iun s heart, and therefore of more
.liucnce; the large-handedness, tra
ditional to the race, widening into lavislmess,
>a degenerating into extravagance,
,ance losing itself in the black peat-
l ruin yes, we can read ofT all its history
rn seams and elbows of that stout old-
i Jiuest broadcloth, lying now
lie old-clothes shop to be bought ami worn
by burglar, thief, or sharper, at pleasure. And
, down in the rich heart of Kent, lie the
u ploughshare and the rusty harrow
the mother sits by the darkened casement,
.iig over the fair fields that were once hers,
that are no : there, in the
quiet churchyard, sleeps the brave old father
would have broken if he had lived
y ; while, on his tombstone for a
ruin who has
u to his fall. Scarlet poppies are
in her hand, and are blue as that blue
;i hair hangs down
in tendril.- like the curling stems of the climbing
which have overrun the e
she si the i , stone and laughs
r companion, and lures him, too, on I
. as she has lured on o; i will
.. But that compan. . >t the sou of
has done with him ;
wrung ; ,iag from him, got
by the sale of his fath> . Icloth coat to the
old- .11 in llnuini
i tale is told in those n,
blank- .t for .1 r
re new, aid be still,
they been properly cared for. But
;an who scouted homely work and ways
who sat with her feet on the fender and read
l, while her children sprawled on the
ground untendcd, and her household
pieces for want, of the sustaining hand to knit it
ner. She started with a i air wind and all
: she put out into tin ea of
life and loving marriage : but she brough;
ship befo:
lessness and indolence, and the evil pilot i
neglect. She let the moth eat into her blai.
and the rust eat into her steel, and the damp
mildew her silk and linen, and the mir
her cheese and bacon ; till her husband one day
saw himself gazetted as a bankrupt, because his
wife liked to read novels better than to keep
house, and preferred the heroisms of romance
to the nobleness of reality. There are more
motheaten blankets in middle-class houses than
one would like to contemplate, if one but knew
the secrets of store-closets : the homely duty of
careful housekeeping having fallen into dis-
ur of late among the tribe of line ladies.
Here, too, are baskets of second-hand baby-
clothes layettes, as our neighbours call them
the bows and ends of white, ribbons gone
I . i the bright pink il. :shed
into a melancholy salmon - colour, as unlike
the radiancy of its first freshness as the hoary
sinner is unlike the innocent boy. Perhaps
that basket of baby-clothes has done duty for
a long succession of little strangers ; so no
wonder if all the finery has disappeared, if the
bows and tags of white satin ribbon have becu
cut off, if the worked frills and flounces have
more rents than broideries in them. For the
mamma thought it no hardship to strip her yet
young marriage clothes of half their prettiness,
that she might make baby look the child of a
prince at least. Older mothers smiled in their
hearts when they saw mamma snipping off her
Gueri knew to what a peaceful state of
languid indifference in the matter of ribbons
and laces she would come by the time the sixth
or even the fifth had to be provided for :
how a lopsided strip of old grey
Saxony, if only serviceable to its purpose, would
be quite as acceptable in her eyes as the ex-
actest parallelogram of delicate rose-colour
bound with inch-wide ribbon exquisitely worked.
At present, it is all the difference between the
new and the old, the strange and the well-
instinct just awakened, and all l:i
ing in its emotion, and the instinct become quite
comely and matronly, and taking to its duties in a
r-of-fact kind "of way, solicitor
expedient and the actual necessity. Motherhood
and baby-clothes are not the 01. fa in this
life tl iieir sliai
r to these baskets boldi:.-
12 [February 20, 1SG4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
of the small people, are bundles of faded mar
riage finery, where all that was once white has
now turned a pale cream yellow, and where
dust and smoke have cast long pencil lines
of dingy grey. The wedding-bells are silent
now there may have been a passing bell since
their last peal rang out its "molten golden
notes" the wedding-feast is cold, and the
wedding-dress is old and faded. Yet, per
haps, the hearts that bounded then in joy
together, beat still in the full unison of love
and trust, and the lives that gave themselves in
mutual troth have never failed their vows or
wished the words unspoken. In the wreck and
ruin of so much that lies about us, it is precious
as sleep to the weary to believe in the quiet
continuance of love and the happy issue of faith !
It is not pleasant to see a veteran soldier s
coat hanging up for sale in a miserable rag-
store. It has an ungrateful look, as if both
coat and wearer had gone to the dogs since
their last day of usefulness to the country,
and no one cared to inquire how, or why, or if
any of the pain could be averted. We ought
to take better care of the old defenders of our
hearths and homes than that, and not let the
country s livery and the badge of sacrifice and
valour come to open grief, swinging like a
scarecrow among the graves of the dead.
Close to the old scarlet coat dangle a pair
of pink silk stockings, of ample size and perfect
manufacture fit for the legs of the grandest
lord in the peerage. To which, indeed, they
have belonged ; for they are silk stockings that
have once been gartered with that, courted bit of
blue, but are now to be sold to Snooks for money.
Other things are to be sold to Snooks for money
in this early afternoon of the nineteenth century :
things which once were to be had only by the
sharp logic of the sword, or through the pure
descent of blood.
Look at that heap of linen rags ; perhaps the
most noticeable things of all in the collection.
Those rags were once the snowy wrapper
of a queen; but, passing down by the slow
stages of successive uses, they came at last to
be mere rags rags pure and simple good for
dressing the poor man s sores in hospitals. And
now, having fulfilled all the purposes possible in
their present form, they are to go into the paper
mill, there to become the medium of the best
thoughts and the noblest instruction of our
time. It is pleasant to think of that transfor
mation ; and how, from stately beauty to homely
use and pitiful charity, they mount up again into
even a higher world than their pristine highest,
and become the bearers of good words and the
carriers of good thoughts to a thousand souls
seeking eagerly for the light which shall know
no night. But, indeed, everything has its
uses. Even the miserable rags and tatters
of the lowest outcast have their appointed
way for the benefit of the world. Was there
not once a Lord of Flies ? Jupiter coming
down from Olympus, where, as Zeus on the
thunderbolt, he had been Sovereign of Gods and
Men, to make himself the immediate patron of
the fly? The meaning of the myth may have
been one meaning generally serving the purpose
of explanation quite as well as another that
even the vilest and most noxious thing that lives,
has a special usefulness in the diviue economy,
and a special place appointed in the divine or
dering ; like the outcast s rags and tatters, which
come to final and nobler uses to the world at large.
Another noticeable feature in the old-clothes
shop is the ingenious way in which old things
are furbished up to pass for new, and the clever
manipulation by which flaws are hidden, defi
ciencies supplied, the worst parts put out of sight
altogether, and the only slightly soiled made to
look unsullied by dexterous juxtaposition. All
life is onlya marshalling of comparisons; and good
is not to be found in absolutes, look where you
will. These shabby garments, furbished up to look
like new, serve the purpose of novelty to the
buyer; as old opinions, and gouty thoughts, and
worn-out systems, and philosophies dying of
atrophy ancl fatigue, polished up with plate
leather, and steeped in benzine-collas, and cut
and carved into new shapes and modes, pass for
quite original with the unknowing, not quick at
the hall-mark or clever in the generation of the
loom.
UNDER THE ROSE.
A LOVELY May evening. Twilight melting
into moonlight and it wanted only a week
to the wedding. Jack Wyvill believed himself
the luckiest man alive, and his Minnie the pret
tiest little darling in Christendom. He assured
himself of these pleasing truths a score of
times as he marched away towards Skelton
Place, smoking his after-dinner cigar, with his
honest hands thrust deep into his pockets, and
his honest heart free from every shadow of care.
He had come down from town, by the six o clock
train, a day earlier than Minnie had been bidden
to expect him ; and now he was off for a chat
with the squire about the business that had car
ried him to London, and a glimpse of her before
sleeping.
He had a two miles walk before him, but
the way by the fields was pleasant, and his
thoughts were excellent company. He antici
pated Minnie s exclamations of surprised delight,
her face of joy at his return, and insensibly
quickened his steps, flinging away the end of
his cigar as he came within sight of the gate
into the plantation that bordered the park. It
was quite dusk in the wood ; but he could have
followed the narrow path under the fir-trees
blindfold ; he had known it ever since he was a
lad, and for several mouths past he had tra
versed it almost daily. The evening air was
heavy with the scent" of the wild hyacinths,
which grew here in lavish profusion, and Jack
snuffed it up with a grateful sense of pleasure,
feeling quite pastoral in his happiness, until
suddenly his nostrils were delicately assailed by
another perfume much less sylvan but much more
familiar the perfume, iu short, of a capital cigar.
kens.]
L Tin: YKAII
-
"V, j with IK
not the ocloi.
al hi;
es on
he \vcnt si; to the
house, without fu Mjuire
winks in the
.luck i
fb hiiii, lie into the drawing
-Id him he would find
Miss Minnie ^ras out some
where with M>- \\harton."
Jack di iroveofMiii
dew after nightfall ; he experienced a chill -
. and Lady
come did not warm him.
" Who is it ?" asked she, raisin? herself from
the couch, v. <), had been tak
brief nap. "Oh, .Mr. Wyvill, is it you? \Vc
.u back until to-morro\v or
the day after."
.V v it h t he lawyers was done, and
there was nothing else to stay in town for," said
he.
"Andofc< i were es. at home.
Minnie would tell you in hi : hat her friend
\Vharton v, . They went ov
gether for a turn on the terrace about half an hour
ago. They will be in soon, or perhaps you
would like to go in quest of
"No, I ll wait. They were not on the ter
race five minutes since, and I might miss them
if I went into the gardens. That is the con
servatory door here they are !"
Ye>, here they were. .Minnie entered first, with
a black lace shawl thrown over her golden curls,
and a br>. iral rose on her cheek, which
deepened to a burning blush when she espied
her lc
"Oh, Jack, was it you in the wood? You
us such a fright !" cried she, and ran for-
t him.
" You should not go into the wood so late,
Minnie," said her aunt. "It is damp and un-
wholesoi
Jack Wyvill was as generous-tempered and as
little suspicious as any gentleman in Yorkshire;
but he b a very uncomfortable
spasm of doubt and dread clutching at his heart
when he saw Mi-*- Wharton furtively twitch
Mini vf, and give her a warning glance.
" Yes, I came through the wood; who was
1 he, dropping the cordial
hand tlur buch a pretty
franknc- on.
iy ; \\r were alone," was the u:.
!y ; and then the bt
he truthfulest eyes in
:-; ".: : . . : ~
at him with blair
unnecessarily near them in i-
door, and he was sure si other
: irn in a rout
felt lik
. iiarton I.
-
I, and a
riiarm. If those f;,
of her eil of slyness, t
love in. There mi xf have
somebody in i with th
impetuous; he was very at:/
than half in a mind
very lucky Lady Wallace broke up hi
by a r i at he would
for tea; forti non-place acti
time to reconsii If, and partially to
smother his unworthy suspicions. I 1 he
ever had cause to doubt of his pure white Minnie
before? never! And he must not
doubt of her now. Still that cigar, that
blush that blush not of joy only, but of c
sion. What could she be concealing from him ?
child ! what could she have to cone
I he be a jealous fool beca? \Vharton
was odious ? Still that cigar !
At this point of his meditation, M rton
reappearea, looking perfectly cool, and amiable
and easy almost too easy to be natural :
there was a touch of s nnerthat
was far from prepossessing. Jack Wyvill eyed her
askance, and wondered in his own mind how his
linnie had ever come to call her
friend. She was a middle-sized, broad-built
figure of a woman, with square shoulder?-,
chest, long arms, and a singular uuguinliness of
gait. She had a certain power of countenance
which redeemed her irregularity of feature, lit r
were handsome, her brow was wide, her
hair was beautiful and abundant. At the i
section of her tluutarily glanced
twice, unless he were a student of phys:
which Jack Wyvill was not. He look
and did not like her, but he could not have
Driven any valid reason why, except that he did
not like ugly women, aud she was the Uj
hade\ l>ut ugly or not, Miss \
was clever, and she knew it. She had
humour and originality than commonly fall to
the lot of t she prided herself on the
possession of that which c
utter unscrupuloi ; speech, and v.
with eq > on the foibles of IV
or foe. S i with small vanities,
and swathed about with elaborate affectations;
but she had ti of character which assimi
lates such vanities and affectations until
seem more like the : -come o:
ture than the assumption of art. In
shrewdest observer would have been hard ]
it, to say where in M ton uatu:
and art b< .
uilar in society rather than c
wise, for though utterly intolerant of fools,
41 [February 20, 1SG4J
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted ty
she Lad great tact, and kue\v as well Low to
ingratiate Lerself where sLe Lad an object in
view as Low to avoid offence on all occasions.
SLe was not so much masculine as she was
manuisL. SLe rode to Lounds, and talked stable
witL not more blunders than are inevitable to a
woman \vlio cultivates tLat sort of lore on stray
numbers of the Field, and is but part owner of
one third-rate hack ; she sang a good second to
anybody s song, took a Laud at whist or at loo,
and could always cap a good story with a better.
Her father Lad ruined a fair estate on the
turf, and she now lived with a broken-down
brother of similar tastes, on an encumbered
remnant of it, about five-and-twenty miles from
Skelton Place. When the elder WLarton died,
he besought Squire Couyers, his life-long friend,
to be kind to Lis motherless daughter; and
though Lady Wallace disliked her from the first
as a companion for Minnie, tLe squire kept Lis
promise by annually inviting her to join them, in
their sea-side trip to Scarborough, WLitby, or
Piley, as the case might be. There was a
difference of six years between the girls ages,
but they struck up a friendly alliance by tLe
rule of contraries, to which both Lad continued
outwardly staunch down to tLe present day,
wlien. Miss WLarton was four-and-tweuty, and
Minnie Couyers was just eighteen.
This was Miss Wharton s first visit to Skelton
Place, but sLe was skilfully manoeuvring tLat it
should not be her last, and" tLe chances were ten
to one tLat she would carry her point. She had
won over Lady Wallace not only to forgive Lei-
eccentricities, but almost to admire them, and
the squire was quite at her feet. He protested
that she Lad Lad tLe narrowest escape in tLe
world of being a very handsome woman, and
tLat as it was, wLen sLe warmed up after dinner
or by candlelight, she put all merely pretty,
puling faces quite out of countenance in which
the squire was perfectly just.
Minnie did not present Lerself in tLe drawing-
room until some time after Ler friend, and as
the squire and tea came in simultaneously with
her, Jack Wyvill Lad nothing to do but to be
himself again as far as lie could, and take Lis
part in tLe general conversation. He did not
acLieve perfect success in either effort, for lie
was very ill-at-ease, and Minnie wore a vexed,
puzzled air of bewilderment sucL as lie had
never seen in her before. TLe good squire was,
happily, obtuse ; he congratulated Jack on Lis
prompt return from town, with one or two sly al
lusions which brought tLe rosy-red into Minnie s
face ; Le talked about coming events on the turf,
and the four-year-old Le was going to enter for
tLe October Meeting at York ; then asked what
tLe world of London was doing, all in Lis round
about, after-dinner way, until ten o clock struck
by tLe timepiece over tLe chimney, and Jack
rose to depart.
It was Lis custom to leave the house, by the
conservatory, whence Le could strike across tLe
garden and tLe park in a direct line towards Lis
own Lome ; and it Lad been Minnie s duty and
privilege of late to go witli him, and let him out
at the glass door opening on tLe terrace. She
looked rather shy of her office to-night, but as
there was kindness and invitation in Lis over
cast face sLe did not Lold back, and they passed
silently side by side between the banks of
fragrance, neither caring to be the first to
speak, until just at tLe last Minnie laid an im
petuous Land on Lis arm, and whispered, tear
fully, "Jack, you are angry with me, and you
don t tell me why."
" I am not angry \t\i\\you, Minnie, but I don t
like your mannish friend," said he.
"Hush, Jack, she will Lear you!" And,
half laughing, half alarmed, she put up a hasty
linger to close his indiscreet lips.
" I don t care if she does," was the reckless
response.
" But you must care for grieving me. SLe
Las a thousand oddities, but she has a thousand
good points as well. If you knew Ler better,
you would say so. Ask papa, and lie will tell
you tLe same. Aunt Mary is beginning to like
her too, and it is not everybody Aunt Mary
likes." (Aunt Mary was Lady Wallace.) "She
complains that somebody is always trying to
improve her figure, or Ler manners, or her
morals. But I am under a vow not to meddle
with any of them, and for my sake you must
take her as she is, and be gracious, Jack. SLe
is quite disposed to like you."
"I m much obliged to her, but I don t think
I shall fraternise with her. How long does she
remain here ?"
Minnie gave him to understand that she was to
remain over the wedding. The arrangement did
not please him, though Le Lad nothing reason
able to urge against it ; it was only natural
Minnie sLould wisli to keep Ler friend with her,
and Lis sudden prejudice rested on sucli frivolous
grounds Le was ashamed to mention it. He did
not mention it, but, standing witL his darling
beside him in the moonlight, Le forgot all about
it for a minute or two, and tlien went Lis way
Lome as gaily as Le Lad come ; while Minnie,
lingering amongst the flowers, felt rejoicingly
tLat tLe light cloud which Lad come between
them was gone.
Jack Wyvill was not the man to try back on
an old doubt without strong provocation when
Le Lad once tlirust it away from Lis mind ; and
tlie next morning Le put a jeweller s case, which
Le Lad brought from town, into his pocket, and
set off towards Skelton Place again, just at that
Lour when, according to previous experience, Le
was most certain of finding Minnie disengaged
and alone. He took tLe same direction as ou
tLe night before, but he had not quitted the
bounds of Lis own fields when Le was met by
Lis steward, who detained him with prosy busi
ness-conversation, and even walked him round
half a mile out of his way, to a certain farm
stead where improvements and repairs were
going ou ; so that, instead of entering the wood
by the gate, Le had to climb the fence at an
other part, and make a short cut through what
was called the Lower Copse. TLe undergrowth
Charlei Dickens.]
ALL THE VI TXD.
was very thick hereabouts, but at one spot
inner, in the midst of which stood an
old pi :ilt of boughs and thatched
or two, and \\ tiling into unsightly ruin.
The plact her, vras" lonely and unattrac-
, 1 withoti I, and
Jack Wyvill refore, no little sur,
when from th ce he saw Minnie Conyers
and her friend just vanishing within the hut.
They did nut perceive him, and for a moment
:. too much startled to analyse hi-
tions; but even while he halted, he saw Minnie
forth again, and peer cautiously about, as
if watching for some one, or lookin_
spies; but her examination was very lirir
she retreated apparently ! without dis-
lover, who, between fear, suspicion,
and rage, hardly knew what he did. He drew
nt -house, however, keeping in
the rear of it, until, being within a few yards of
the ragged spot, once hat fragrance of a
gar, blended with the sweet sol
of tin- May morning, assailed his senses; and,
before he had time to rally from the shock of it,
he heard Miss Wharton s voice observing, with
unctuous deliberation, "There is no better cigar
than the Lopez none !"
-nine one with them in the
pheasant-house ! It was an appointment, and
Minnie was scout ! He did not suspect her, but
he could have strangled Miss Wharton, that his
sweet, guileless darling should be tainted
by the knowledge of her clandestine affairs ! I If
would not surprise their secret, whatever it might
be, but gave himself a vigorous shake and tra
on, heedless whether he was heard or not; and
probably he was beard, and even seen through
the gaps of the rotten boughs, for when he gained
the open ground, on the edge of the wood, there
Uinnie, arm in arm with her friend, saunter
ing leisurely towards him, and looking as inno-
as if not lung wrong had happened since the
Fl<x
But there was storm in his face that he could
not hide, and Minnie s heart sank as she read the
unmistakable signs of it. He had always been
so good to her, so truly tender and loving, that
the reappearance of last night s gloom in this
morning s sudden displeasure frightened her, she
hardly knew why. She dreaded explanations
and scenes at all times ; there was a large mea
sure of feminine unreasonableness and cowardice
in her composition ; and instead of making an
opportunity for him to tell her what was on his
mind, she detained Miss Wharton as a screen
until they met the squire, who carried Jack off
to the stables, sorely against his will, to assist
at a consultation over the four-year-old, which
was expected to do such wonderful things, and
bring such glory to the Skelton stud at the next
York Meeting. But Jack was not his own man
at all, and he only earned himself the trainer s
contempt by his vague remarks, while he con
siderably lowered the squire s jubilation.
II v. . s experiencing a feeling of intense mor
tification that Minnie, who had hitherto never
f-mble her simpl
.v, within a few davs of their
i him. "I m n
:;i not," though 1
humbly, " but I ll be shot if that frieuc
who is so wise and witty, and
shall come between us, making mischief!" And
answered the squire twice or
thrice at cross-purposes, until the impetuous old
gentleman asked what the devil ailed him that
i short. " Had Minnie and he got
" Xo, we have not got wrong, but there is no
telling what we may do if that Mi-- Wharton is
for ever in the way," replied Jack, blurting out
his wrath in one angry gust. " I don t
for Minnie s friend, and I ll be hanged if I ll have
her hside as my wife s friend !" The
squire reddened ; he saw the young man s blood
was up, and his own warmed too ; he felt that
Jack meant what he said, and that he had, or
believed himself to have, excellent grounds for
it ; but for a few days past there had been some
indistinct sentiments hovering sheepishly about
the old gentleman s fancy that made this fiery
speech anything but easy or pleasant to digest.
He stammered something about Miss Wharton s
being his guest, and then went on to say, in a
tone of almost eager defence :
ie is a good fellow is Harry Wharton,
Jack ; iv ind that sort of
. but a downright good fellow, and a bit of
nv I ll tell you what if she
had been old Ralph s son, instead of that ne er-
do-weel of a Tom, she would have set the estate
on its legs again. Such a headpiece as In
lost on a woman s shoulders. Ilmiu it, Jack,
what have you got to say against her ? Lady
Wallace didn t like her once, but even she is
coming round ; and I call Mary one of the most
prejudiced women alive."
Jack Wyvill did not consider that he had any
right to mention such suspicions as rose merely
out of cigar-smoke ; if Miss Wharton had her
secret?, she might keep them for him; but
Minnie s quiet heart and conscience should not be
marred and sullied by being made the confi
dential keeper of them ; he, therefore, simply
reiterated, in a dogged manner, what lie had
said before ; and then abruptly changed the
subject. The squire felt huffed for a moment ;
but, after an inarticulate growl or two, he fol
lowed the irritated lover s lead, and the hazard
ous topic of difference was abandoned. Soon
after they parted company by mutual consent ;
the squire went to look after his woodmen
ing timber, and Jack turned his steps tov.
the house, where he sat for nearly an hour, wait
ing and hoping for Minnie s appearance. Lady
Wallace, who was detained from writing her daily
dues of letters to entertain him, very uatn.
wished him away, and at last she pro;
sending a ; quest of Minnie a hint
to depart which he could not but accept.
" We shall see you at dinner this evening,
of course h a little kindly <
punction, ;s on the point of going. He
46 [February 20, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
said, "Yes; he supposed so," and then reluct
ant ly took himself off; the lovely pearls that
he had brought from town to present to his
Minnie, reposing forgotten in their case in the
depths of his pocket.
Meaawhile Minnie and her friend were again
lounging lazily about the Lower Copse, whither
they had retired when the squire carried off
Jack to the stables. Miss Wharton was in a
mood of serene satisfaction and enjoyment,
but Minnie was miserably uneasy. She had
not her companion s resources for making her
self apathetically comfortable under adverse
circumstances; and she was afraid lest, having
avoided Jack, he should return the complf-
ment, and leave without seeing her again.
This dread seized on her so strongly by-and-by,
that she said, "Do you mind going in-doors
now, Harry ?" She had a hope that she might
yet be in time to intercept him, by taking the
path through the upper wood to the house ; but
she did not like to say so precisely, even to her
familiar friend.
:< I don t mind going iu-cloors if you are tired,
though it is pleasanter here. I should like one
more turn round by the pheasant-house, if you
are not in a fuss. What have you to do ?" said
Miss Wharton, indifferently.
Minnie was in the habit of yielding to her
caprices, and she replied now that she had no
thing particular to do; so the one turn more round
by the pheasant-house resulted in a dozen turns,
and when the servants dinner-bell rang, at one
o clock, they were still in the copse, and Jack
Wyvill was plodding his weary way home, unenli
vened by any thoughts but angry thoughts against
Minnie s friend, to whose evil influence he attri
buted his darling s incomprehensible behaviour.
Until Miss Wharton appeared on the scene there
had never been word, or look, or fancy to sow a
doubt between them, and now lie felt that they
were balancing dangerously on the brink of a
serious misunderstanding. But it should not
come to a quarrel if it lay in his power to hinder
it. He would stand on no foolish ceremony;
he would have it out with Minnie that night, let
what would come of the explanation; and in
this wise, firm,_ substantial resolve he set off to
Skelton Place in the evening, arriving only just
in time to give her his arm in to dinner. She
looked shyly bright, and happily penitent when
he met her with la s natural air and manner, but
this was no time for any but general chat, and
the difficult moment was of necessity delayed.
Mr. Warren, Squire Conyers s lawyer, made
a sixth at table that day, and in his company
Jack Wyvill left the old gentleman, after a
couple of glasses of wine, to seek the society of
the ladies in the drawing-room. But when he
presented himself, he found Lady Wallace alone ;
and she told him, sleepily, that the young people
had availed themselves of the pleasant half-hour
that remained before sunset to take a stroll on
the terrace, where he had better join them. He
waited for no second hint, but immediately
snatched his wide-awake from the stand in the
hall, and, leaving the house by the principal
[Conducted by
entrance, directed his steps towards the raised
walk on the south front, where he expected to
hnd Miss W hai-ton and Minnie, debating in his
own mind by what ingenious devices he should
get his darling to himself, and banish her ob
noxious friend.
^ hen Jack Wyvill stepped out upon the
terrace, it was deserted. The vases of scarlet
geraniums stood along it at equal distances from
end to end, but nothing more interesting was
visible. He walked down into the flower-garden
and through the rosery, but nobody was there.
Ihence be climbed to the Wilderness, a hilly
ornamental shrubbery of several acres in the
rear of the house, where he paced to and fro
tor ever so long, whistling a familiar air, not as
a signal exactly, but that if Minnie were here she
might be made aware he was here too, and seek
ing her. By this time the sun had disappeared,
and twilight was creeping on. He returned to
the terrace, pausing to look in at the conser
vatory as he passed ; but they had not hidden
themselves there. They were not, in the house,
nor about the house, nor, as far as eye could see,
were they wandering in the glades of the park ;
they must, therefore, have betaken themselves
to the wood or to the copse again !
Jack felt almost sick with vexation and im
patience. It was clear to him that Miss
Wharton had private affairs, and that Minnie
lent herself to the furtherance of them. He
was not inclined to play the spy on Miss
Wharton, but he was strongly disposed to act
watch-dog to his Minnie, and the difficulty of
separating the one proceeding from the other
was very embarrassing. After a brief term of
consideration, he judged it expedient to await
the reappearance of the missing pair, and re
turned to Lady Wallace in the drawing-room.
:c Have you not found them ?" asked she,
surprised to see him come back so quickly. He
replied that they were not anywhere in the
gardens or pleasure-grounds through which he
had walked. " Miss Wharton is fond of wan
dering further afield than I like ; I must remind
Minnie not to leave the terrace of an evening,"
added her Aunt Mary. She perceived that Jack
was displeased, and allowed to herself that he
had some cause to show why; but, with the
native kindliness of her disposition, she endea
voured to make a little light conversation to
divert his mind from brooding on it, and, pro
bably, magnifying it. She did not meet with
the success she deserved ; Jack grew more and
more restless and disquieted every minute of
Minnie s absence, and at length, unable to bear it
in patience any longer, he strayed into the con
servatory, and marched to and fro, watching and
waiting in a mood of gathering wrath.
Presently the squire and Mr. Warren entered
the drawing-room, when the squire immediately
asked, "Where are the girls and Wyvill in the
garden?" Lady Wallace s calm reply was
grounded upon Jack s information, and, after
hearing it, the old gentleman came into the con
servatory, and with a good-humoured wag of his
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YKAK KoTXD.
(February 47
i ieved I
up and down ;
are a good sr a-, Jack :
In the
"Or in the wood or tl. . r Copse,
;
ue Lower Copse ! What
should t acre at dusk, or what should
ilo in the Lower Copse at all : The
a ; lie
a on thi . , went
. 1J: U til
butler a
.k the young ladies.
likely they are in the gardens or the Wilde;-.
Jack heard ,d the directions, hut
:ti not interfere. The servant said,
with perfect respect of tone and composure
of feature, but as soon as he was on the other
side of the drawing-room door his expi
changed, and he nut; ucally to hiin-
- ue s a queer sort of youu! woman is
Miss Wharton. I ll go anil seek em
If; I ll not send JoliiTe. He has a tongue
ng as to-day and to-morrow, and would be
for telling if he found out her goings on. I
: ur my part, how Miss Minnie can abide
her," And the butler, who had known Squire
"a daughter ever since she was born,
I stecmed her the best and kindest as well
he most beautiful of young ladies, went
,ihily out at the front door, and, as Jack
.11, watc >m the conservatory, saw,
struck across the lawn and the park in a direct
ards the Lower Copse. Whatever Hi.-*
rtoii s clandestine afl airs, they were already
evidently known in the servants hall.
Jack sat down in a mood of intense disgust
and mortification. How long he sat he never
knew, but it seemed hours before he heard swift
footsteps passing along the gravelled walk, and
then Miss Whartou saying, with sup-pressed
.ce, " If you tell him, Minnie, I ll never
forgive you? What is it to him ? J/y business
is not your business. You arc not half so kind
to me as you were once." To which Minnie re-
; iu as pettish a tone as she could assume :
;a not going to tell him ; you need not be
; but I will not steal off to the Copse any
more when Aunt Mary believes we arc in the
garden. You can go alone if you like, but I
hate hide-and-seek work; and I don t know
; ")lton must think."
" That wooden-faced old butler ? Oh, he will
not be so impertinent as to think at all," replied
Mi>s Wharton: and with these words she ran
up the steps, Minnie following close behind, and
so 1 ln\v entered the conservatory. They seemed
to espy Jack Wyvill simultaneously, and Minnie s
blush was painful; oven Miss Wharton did not
quite succeed in keeping her countenance, but
she dissembled her confusion to the best of her
power, and observed that it was much pl>
out iu the open air than in this atmo.-phere
loaded with the heavy perfumes of green-house
r her cooh.
oul, and he betrayed it.
lied; but as he said not;
effort to detain her, she passed forward to the
oom, w!i ucounter the
que- .itions of In r father.
the timepiece, Minnie; twenty
nine ! Wl. u been ?
Did " asked he, hastily.
Minnie hesitated, stammered, looked almost
Wharton came to the
16, and took the difficulty of judicious reply
out of her mouth. She answered with a ready
d a skilful i ^s, but while she was
in the midst of her inventive exercise, Jack
Wyvill followed into the drawing-room with a
visage as black as a thunder-cloud, which did
not escape the squire s observations. His
htforward shrewdness detected something
amiss when his open-hearted Minnie could not
give him a plain answer to a plain question, but
must stand by and let some one else be her
spokeswoman ; and at that moment the fluent
Miss Wharton revolted him almost as much as
revolted Minnie s lover.
"There is underhand business going on, and
I ll not have it: that is what Jack Wyvill has
got an inkling of," thought he. But he saw
tears in Minnie s eyes, ana said no more for the
at, though it was an awful staggering shock
to him when he drew down her sweet i ace to
. one of her sunny bright curls, and instead
of the flowery perfume which ordinarily scented
)lden hair, he detected the odour of smoke
the unmistakable, undeniable fragrance of to
bacco!
During tea the squire stood on the rug, his
back to the fire, his cup in his hand, and his
observations travelling from one face to another
of the disunited party. Miss Wharton would
suffer no awkward pauses in the conversation,
and talked incessantly, Mr. Warren supporting
her, until the squire gave Jack Wyvill a hint to
accompany him to the library, when she glanced
anxiously at Minnie s dolorous countenance, and
wondered what was about to happen. The lawyer
now left alone to amuse the ladies, exerted
If to the best of his ability, but Miss Whar
ton presently retired to take counsel within her
self. " I am afraid somebody suspects," thought
she, with genuine but well-concealed alarm. " It
is a frightful bore to be amongst such orderly,
proper people, and there is another week of it
to come ! I ll write to Tom to-morrow, and
order him to recal me; he can say he has the
croup or something, and that he wants me to
nurse him. I would rather live with poor Tom
than live here, strangled with proprieties and
conventionalities. Jealous, clod-hopping noodle
(hat Jack Wyvill is ; but Minnie is not overbur
dened with wisdom herself, so they will be
cquallv mated. She is like a scared rabbit
Oh, llarry this! Oh, Marry that ! as if the
very tires had eyes, and the birds of the air
could literally carry tl: .0 is
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[February 20, 1SG4.]
the best of the bunch, but even he is full of old-
fashioned notions. I almost wish I had never
come ! People are so bigoted ; there is Lady
T\ all ace sniffing and snuffing, and peeping and
prying, as if there were a fox in the room ! No
I ll be off ! I thought it would be pleasant,
and safe, and easy, to make oneself happy in
one s own way here; but Minnie is always "in a
fidget, and that makes the risk too great. So
jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle at Skelton Place !"
TV hile Miss Wharton was working round to
this conclusion in the drawing-room, the squire
and Jack were holding a private talk in the
library, Jack being by no means reluctant to
unbosom himself of his wrongs, when he per
ceived that the squire was smitten with sus
picion too. But the subject was scarcely a
pleasant one to open, and it was several minutes
before either found courage to do more than
hover about it. But at last, said the squire,
" Jack, all is not going quite smoothly betwixt
you and Minnie, and that is awkward, seeing what
is impending over next Tuesday. My girl is a
good girl, and I am sure she loves you "
" God bless her, sir, I know she does !" in
terrupted Jack, eagerly. " I have not a doubt
of Minnie, but Miss Wharton is making a tool of
her to promote some mysterious affairs of her
own, and I ll not stand it. This is the second
evening that I have not had a chance of a word
with my darling, and this morning she fairly ran
away from me under her friend s wing. I want
to know what it all means, this lurking about
after dark, and in that dreary Lower Copse where
I saw them this morning. If Miss Wharton
has a lover under the rose, I ll not let her use
my innocent Minnie for a fence. You must speak
about it, squire, or I shall."
" You think there is a lover in the case, do
you ? and I have my reasons for thinking so,
too ; though why Miss Wharton should make a
secret of it, unless it be from a woman s taste
for romantic mysteries, I am at a loss to con
jecture. If she chose to marry my rough-rider
or her brother s groom, Tom is not the man to
object and I m sure I m not. My duties as
her guardian ended three years since, but she
had taken the reins of government into her hands
long before that. I do not like to address her,
but I ll have in Minnie perhaps you had better
leave us for five minutes, Jack. Go into the
conservatory, and when I have had my say I
will send her to you."
There was a second entrance into the green
house through the library, and by this door Jack
Wy villvanished as Minnie came slowly and shyly,
summoned by Bolton, to her father s presence.
The tender-hearted lover hoped and prayed the
squire would deal gently with his darling, as
he hurried out of sight amongst the flowers;
but he had a very short interval allowed him
either to think or to wish ; for not a minute
had elapsed since his retirement when Minnie
rushed out to seek him, her cheeks a-blaze, her
sweet eyes glistening through thick tears. Her
father had addressed her with some little sar
casm, which she had taken in earnest, and in
stead of staying to answer him she carried her
defence to head-quarters at once, indignantly
sobbing out reproaches to Jack that he could
imagine she went with her friend to meet any
body in the wood !
It was impossible to resist the candour of
those pleading eyes, and it was equally impossible
to resist the temptation of taking his darling s
bonny face between his two hands, as he saTd,
" If you met nobody in the wood, then, have you
taken to smoking . "
Minnie s eyes cleared, and she broke into a
merry laugh ; " Oh ! it is Harry s cigars," whis
pered she.
"Hany s cigars, indeed!" stammered Jack.
Why does she not put on the hang it,
Minnie, they might have lost you a husband,
and me the dearest little sweetheart in Christen
dom !"
" Don t be a goose, Jack let me go !" re
sponded Minnie; and at that moment Miss
Wharton appeared coming towards them from
the further end of the conservatory.
" It is moonlight on the terrace ; let us go
and smoke a cigar, my friend," said Jack, address
ing her, while the squire looked out from the
library door all a-grin and delighted.
Miss Wharton crimsoned. " It is too bad,
Minnie; you promised you would not tell," began
she ; but Minnie interrupted her with lively de
fiance.
"I won t be scolded, Harry; your horrid,
selfish cigars have nearly made Jack quarrel
with me," exclaimed she ; " but, now that he
knows, you can enjoy your little pleasures in
peace and in public ! " There is nothing wicked
in smoking a cigar "
But Minnie had said enough, and more than
enough. Miss Wharton had turned away in
high dudgeon, and disappeared for the rest of
the evening, and the next day, in spite of en
treaties and almost of tears, she went away
borne. The day after Minnie s wedding she re-
seived, not cards or bride-cake, but a box of
Lopez cigars.
NEW WORK BY MR. DICKENS,
[n Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," " Copperfield," &c.
In MAY will be published, PART I., price Is., of
A NEW WORK BY CHARLES DICKENS
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
London : CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.
Now ready, bound in cloth, price os. Cd.,
THE TENTH YOLUME.
The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAH EOTJKD is reserved ly the Authors.
Published at the Office. No. 2C. \" - <". \YM ITING. Beaufort HOUSL-,
.STORY OF OUR I.IVKS FROM YEAR TO YKAK - EAEE.
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
A WEEKLY JOUENAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.
WITH WHICH IS INCORPOUATK 1) HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
L -
SATURDAY, FKP.lir.YUY 27, I
QUITE ALOM:.
BOOK THE FIIIST: CHILDHOOD.
IN CO I NCIL.
Tut: hack parlour at Rhododendron !!
dedicated to the nocturnal meal spoken of in the
dintr chapter, was a very moderately
apartment. Indeed, if an observer of its dimen
sions had hazarded an opinion that there v.
room to swing a cat in it, the remark, although
coarse (and, as such, naturally intolerable in
an establishment so gen!> lodendroo
would not have fallen very Car short of
the truth. This is intended to be a candid
, : BO] will at once confess that 1he back
parlour was well, what shall 1 say? poky,
ir of folding-doors took up very nearly one
of it ,ve admittance to the
. or drawing-room, or
which was furnished in a style of classic but
frigid splendour, and where parents, guardians,
and other visitors, to whom the Bunny castles
rtl to show ceremonial honour, were re-
d. No pupil dared to enter that sacred
aparuncnt without permission. .Many, indeed,
v it from the day when they arrived at
school, and were regaled with the sacrilicial cake
and wine (both of British manufacture), to the
when their friends came to fetch them away.
Kven the Bunny cnstlcs were chary about in
truding on their fcfala Kegia, save on festive or
Min occasions. The back parlour was t
tially their keeping and sitting chamber their
bower and their home.
The late Mr. Bnnnycastle s portrait hung on
one side of the mode ass on the mantel,
and an effigy a very vile one in cray<
. Jiunny castle, Hanked it. Oppo.-ite, was
;ano ; and you will see, by-and-
by, that Rhododendron J louse was famous for
a of modern improvements on the
harpsichord and the spinet. The window-cur
tains were of a dull decorous moreen; the
car; : . .1 able had
cloth in imitation needlework, like a schoolgirl s
plet o- uitwo! n out of its frame.
The char r. Ja
vss v.ci desk
and three rosewood work
taining to the ti. r le. .Mrs
ack leather writing-case, where she
; :er school register, and her account-b
and her valuables, had an
self; and when I have added to the pic
mbellishments of the room, an a
I houirh somev,
; lindin^ the Jnfa: - in the Bull-
rushes, and when 1 have remarked lha
side of the window hung a cage con;
canary, both of which were unccasi:
by a grey cat of sly and Jesuitical mien, I may
lie absolved from further performance of my
favourite but unpopular part of the broker s
It was the s c evening the even
ing of tli- the flower-show ! .vick,
! Griffin Bl tint s rendezvous with
terer - hour
sitting down to supper. Pepper, th f ; maid, a
.11 far gone into spiiist erhood,
led upon them. Ti,
had a decided objection to bit- ," as
nied to call all ft Mies-
tics under flve-and-twenty. Kv< , ,t at
Rhododendron J louse was expected t .
. or to wear caps and
tenance e iding to that period in life.
Pepper s Christian name happened to b,
but she was rigidly addressed as " !
.ant in the hou- sur
name. ]t averted the possibility of familiarity
on the part of the young ladies.
The supper was not a very sumptuous rei
It never was. Frugality, as well as ea
and timeous retiring, formed the rule at Khodo-
dendron lion- e Miss Bum, were
small he remnant of a !
mutton, cold, grinning in a vcryghasti.
,1 on the operating table at the one
o clock dinner. It was brought up more for
ornament than for use, and unless some friend
dropped in a very small an circle of
iices were so permitted to pa;,
supper-tmu it was rarely siibjiv
.I action of the knife. M laide
lUuii -upped on a small basin
seldom partook of an
incut more nourishing than a min Holo
gram of and a diminutiv!
ith, perhaps, a slip or two of pickled
cabbage ; and Miss Barbara habitually
.f with a slice of bread-and-butter. ^
of them would have submitted to t
. xi.
50 [February 27, 1SC4.]
ALL THE YEAH ROUND.
[Conducted by
sacrifices rather than go without that which
they imaginatively styled their "supper." Only
with Mrs. Bunnyeastle did the meal assume the
aspect of substantiality, and not of an airy and
fanciful myth. She really supped. A nice bit
of rumpsteak, or a boiled "collop, or an egg and
a slice of ham, or a mutton-chop ; something
warm, and meaty, and comfortable, in fact, was
always prepared for her.
The beverage in which, and in the strictest
moderation, the Miss Bunnycastles indulged
during their unpretending banquet, was the no
more aristocratic one than table-ale of the very
smallest brewing. There could scarcely have
been malt enough, in a whole cask of it, to have
given a headache to the rat that ate the malt
that lay iu the House that Jack built. The
ladies took two or three sips of the mawkish in
fusion of gyle and hops, which had been more
frightened than fermented by the yeast, and
the ceremonial supper beer was over. But
Mrs. Bunnycastle was nightly provided a pint
of the very best bottled stout. Normy pro
test of candour being duly allowed shall I
be taking an unwarrantable liberty, I infer, in
hinting that after supper the good old lady was
accustomed to refect herself with a tumbler
three_ parts full of a curious and generously
smelling mixture, of which the component parts
appeared to be hot water, lemon-peel, sugar,
and juniper.
On this particular flower-show evening, the
Bunnycastle meal was of an extraordinary festive
character, and the conversation of an unusually
animated nature. Not that there was anything
more to eat than usual, but there was a guest.
The Midsummer holidays were just over, nearly
all the pupils had returned, and some new pupils
(all of them to learn extras) had arrived. Hence
one reason for jubilation. Then, the quarterly
bills had been paid by the majority of the
parents and guardians, and with not more
grumbling or reductions than usual. Another
cause for joyfulness. Finally, Mr. Drax, the
apothecary, had looked in to supper, and the
Bunnycastles were ail very glad to see him.
Mr. Drax was the very discreetest of apo
thecaries to be found in College-street, Clapham,
in the county of Surrey, or anywhere else you
like to name. The first evidence of his discre
tion was in his keeping, by word and deed, his
age a profound secret. He was the oldest
looking young man, or the youngest looking
old man in the medical profession, or, for the
matter of that, out of it. You might have
fancied Drax to be just over sixteen, or just on
the verge of sixty. I am not exaggerating.
How are you to judge of a man s age, when
upon his face not a vestige of hirsute adornment
i&to be seen when his cheeks are as round
and as smooth as apples (apples in wax, before
the colouring matter is applied : for Mr. Drax
was pale) when he wears spectacles, and a wig,
and a white tie ? He had lost all his hair, he
said, through a fever in his early youth, and was
thus compelled to adopt an artificial coiffure.
Wheu occurred the period of that early youth ?
Two years ago? Or half a century ago ? I must
answer, with Montaigne, "qua scais-je ?" and
the inquisitive ladies of Clapham, although
their acquaintance with the works of the quaint
old essayist may have been but slender, were
constrained to give a similar reply to the oft-
posed question. There were no actual wrinkles
on the Draxian countenance, and the slight
puckerings under his eyes and about his mouth
might have been the result of arduous study of
his art; for, although I have hastily dubbed
him apothecary, Parfitt Drax had passed both
Hall and College, and was a general practi
tioner. He wore spectacles, he said, because
he was short-sighted ; but nobody knew whether
his imperfect vision was inborn, or had grown
upon him with years. He was too discreet
to tell you. If he were, indeed, a profound
dissembler and young, his spectacles, his wi"-
and his white tie, relieved him from that appear
ance of juvenility which, in discreet board
ing-schools, at Clapham and elsewhere, would
have been a reproach and a stumbling-block
to him. If he were old, his make-up w^as
perfect, and he, or his wig-maker, or his tailor,
had triumphed over Time, who ordinarily
triumphs over all. The accomplished Madame
Rachel, and her more accomplished daughter,
with all their Arabian, Indo-Syriac, and Meso-
potamian enamels and varnishes, could not have
made Drax look more " beautiful for ever" than
he looked of himself under the influence of im
perturbable discretion, scrupulous cleanliness, a
neckerchief of white cambric, a pair of glasses,
and a false head of hair. This head, this wig,
\yas in itself an achievement. It was discreet,
like its possessor. It showed no tell-tale parting!
It was rigid with no unnaturally crisp curls.
It was a waving, flowing, reasonably tumbled,
human-looking scalp covering, of a discreet
mouse colour, that might have begun to turn
grey the next moment, or have preserved its
natural hue until Drax was gathered to his
fathers. It was a wig for any age, or for no
age at all.
Drax, I say, wore a white tie; a strictly
medical neckband, a consulting neckcloth, a
family cravat symmetrical without being formal
degage without being careless tied in a
little square bow. Drax wore very large and stiff
wristbands, in hue and consistence belonging to
the glacial period. They added to his discreet
appearance. His right middle finger was adorned
with a mourning ring containing a lady s hair,
and an indecipherable monogram. The hair was of
an. ambiguous shade. It might have been that of
his deceased wife, or of his sister, or of his sweet
heart, or of his grandmother. It formed an addi
tional piece of artillery in his discretional battery.
Mr. Drax was a frequent visitor at the school,
not only in his professional capacity, but as a
friend of the family. He was allowed to come
as often as he liked, and to supper uninvited.
In fact, he " dropped in." But on this particu
lar evening his presence at the usual repast was
not due to the immediate exercise of his own
personal volition. The Buunycastles had agreed,
Charles Dickon*.]
ALL THE YEAH 1LOUXD.
51
, and in pursuam
. Bunnycastle ha i, in her
i
tin, " I - ar Mr.
M to sup
\vitll YOU
. and
not mil
Thi
nthfiilly,
iring th
Dinna forget," was tin
and kni;
:itll!V, \V11 il I b
nee a week for tour hours,
of the Rkododendroniuu retinurj
In Mr. Unix. * surgery or shop in College-si
and punctually at. half-pad nine, the di-
apot nade his api in the little
back parlour. He had as small an appetite
or, in his discretion, chose to i vmious
he had consumed a very ihiu slice of the grin
ning mutton, and sipped a very >mall quau-
.; ile-ale, \
1 him, with her own lair hands (never mind
if they were slightly bonyi, a tumbler full of
the warm, colourless, but comforting mixture
.; her mamma was in the habit of imbibing
Then the conversation, which hud
hitherto been fitful and desultory, became con
centrated and engrossing.
"Did you ever hear of such a strange ro
mantic affair P" asked M : ide.
" Only fancy," Miss Celia continued, " no
name ^iven at least, no real one no address,
no references, but an offer of fifty guineas a
able in advance, for a little girl not
yet four years of
,ud such a beautiful spoken gentleman is
the dark one," remar,. ira.
"AnJso beautifully spoken is the one with
head," interposed Adelaide.
" Rubbish, girls," quoth good Mrs. Eunny-
ui-heailed one isn t a gentle
man at all. He s the dark one s man-servant ."
"lie lias lovely eyes," pleaded Barbara, "and
charming teeth, and an anirel smile."
a diamond r a four-
penn " said the practical Add;.
" 1 tell >"ii he s nothing but the other one s
valet. He. as much as owned it to me, th>
time J5ut, master or man, it
; mailer. Do tell US now, m\
lit to take this little
girl or i.
All Mr. 1 1 d to
ion a lilting
reply. ! !e stroked his chin v -.and
le foot of 01.
;, his favour found
d his di
:ird and downward, .
iidence in his discretion. At last
Ice.
\our usual sums, my dear .Mrs.
r "
" V, e thirty, or what-
with
,nd her !
a purse-proud tradesman, with more money
than wit."
"Parents are growing stingier and stii
every day," added y think
ing costs nothing, and they won t even p.
at church, < . That s, why
i the viva voce system of instruc
tion, d half ti looks."
" They have the impudence to come and
us that there are schools advertised, with un
limited diet, 1 wenty-sevrn acre., of ground, a
carriage kept, lectures by university professors,
.\ examinations by a clergyman, a drill-
sergeant to teach calisthenics, milk from the
cow, and all the accomplishments, including the
harmonium and tii D sceptre, fn.
pounds a year. And no vacations, and the
quarter to commence from the day of entrance ."
" I wonder what they feed tl:
quotes M ara, disdainfully : "snips and
snails, and puppy-dogs tails, 1 should imagine."
"I ; -I d,"
Ivctl, with proper pri Bunnyc
been spared the
principals of Rhododendron House."
" Which always will continue to be exempt
from such a humiliation," Mr. Drax put in,
with a decided bow. "Advertising has been
overdone, even in the case of patent medi-
The discreet Drax had committed one indis
cretion in the course of his professional career.
He had dreamed of a Pill which should ec
the renown of all other pills, which should be
vended by millions of boxes at one shilling and
a penny-halfpenny each ( government stamp in
cluded), and which should realise a rapid and
splendid future for himself. Drax s Antiseptic,
Auti/.ymotic, Antivaseular Herbal Fills were
launched, but did not attain success. Either
they were not advertised enough, or they
puffed through wrong channels. The pills
a sore point with Drax; and his cellar was full
of them. 1 hope the constitution of tin
benefited by their consumption, and that the old
women supplied with the pills at Mr. D-
gratuitous consultations were likewise the better
for them.
"Well, doctor, what do you
Adelaide contim:
>ur terms are forty, and
makiii- i further reduction when \
are numerous, and an increase in nuinbe.
You had rather a bad tim
of thirty-eight pupils who \u
[February 27, 18C1.]
ALL THE YEAH ROUND.
escape infection only twenty-nine returned to
resume then- studies."
" And then, you know, Mr. Lc- the roil
merchant who had four daughters l?e with the
smallest heads and the largest appetites it is
possible to conceive, had the wickedness and
dishonesty to go bankrupt, and we never cot a
four*" quarters schooling of the whole
"Rent and taxes are heavy; risks are nume-
ous ; parents are, as you remark with pardonable
seventy, stingy; provisions are dear" thus
went on discreetly pondering aloud, Mr. Drax
- and the fifty guineas are to be paid by half-
yearly payments, in advance. Well, dear ladies,
1 think, if I were you, I should take the little
[Conducted by
"""
<ept a school as long as I have, girls, you ll
know that there are, as the doctor sayVh n
dreds of reasons for putting a little tit of a
cl Id away, and leaving her under proper care
HL K&TO T, l {hto we"* all agreed ?
"She won t want any accomplishments yet
awhile and when she does we must ask hieher
terms.
AT" Aj^her P a P a is evidently a gentleman"
iuiss Barbara added.
To say nothing of the man-servant with
the diamond ring," interposed Adelaide, some
What maliciously.
"With one so young," wound up Mrs. Bunny-
e, with soft didacticism, "on a mind so
ier and so plastic, who shall say what
durable and valuable impressions may not be
How many children are treated with
slmess and want of consideration ; how many
have been set dowu as dunces and idlers be
cause their natures have not been understood
because their capacities have not been discrimi
natingly ascertained; because their susceptibili
ties have not been worked upon; because the
responsive chords in their characters have not
been touched by the judicious fingers of kind
ness and sympathy "
: < There ma, that will do," Miss Adelaide
iroke in with a shake of sadness in her voice
were talking business, and don t want ex-
3 from the prospectus at supper-time The
principal stumbling-block to me, dear doctor, is
the absence of references. We are, you know
so very exclusive."
Exclusiveness at Rhododendron House meant
Ills and it has pretty nearly the same signifi-
ition at five hundred boarding-schools-the
Bunnycastles had a decided objection to takin-
any pupils unless they were perfectly certain o"f
punctuality m the receipt of quarterly payments
from their relatives or friends!
"Admitting that the want of satisfactory re
ferences is a serious impediment," remarked Mr
Drax, with his discreetest smile, "is it an in
superable one ?
Adelaide^ ^ ^ & l ^>" "Sgested
t t Or a scion of nobility," added Celia.
Or one against whom great machinations
have been formed," said Barbara.
Stuff and nonsense !" exclaimed Mrs. Bun-
nycastle with an energy unusual to one of her
t and sentimental nature. "When you ve
O -- >- KUJ.U.IX
little one is to be taken ?"
;; Certainly chorused the three maidens.
You could not have arrived at a more sa-a-
cious decision," acquiesced Mr. Drax.
TVT- ??r?S most embar rassing thing of all is "
Miss Adelaide resumed, "that she is to be
minute. The gentleman with the diamffrin^
the man-servant, I mean-said they might beas
ate as half-past ten. Only fancy a visit at so
late an hour and from a stranger too, at Rho-
dodendron House ! Such a thing has never
happened to us since we first came here \nd
it was principally for that reason, doctor, that we
asked you to come. We wished, iu case you
advised us to take this little thing, to have you
here, as a kind of witness, as it were, when her
papa brought her."
"Perhaps her papa will object," remarked
xiarbara,
:< To what? To something he can t see any
more than the man in the moon can?" retorted
ier sister, snappishly. "Nothing would be
likelier than his objection to a stranger beiuo-
present if his object is to secure secresy: buf
at the same time, nothing is easier than to avoid
the slightest unpleasantness."
Of course of course," said the discreet
apothecary. "I apprehend your meaning in a
moment, my dear young lady. You wish me to
be a witness, but an invisible one. You must
receive the visitors in the front drawing-room.
If you wil kindly have the lamp lighted the,and
leave me here in darkness (and, he might have
added, m discretion ), with one of the foldin"--
doors the slightest degree in the world on ti?e
jar, 1 shall be an auditor to all that passes, and
you may depend on my adroitness to see as well
as hear."
. Miss Adelaide Bunnycastle clapped her hands
m grave applause at the apothecary s su^es-
tion Celia regarded him with eyes of favour
Barbara smiled upon him. Old Mrs. Bunny-
cast le was just on the point of asking him if he
would take just one little drop more of spirits-
and-water (although I am certain that Drax in
Ins discretion, would have refused), when the
bell was rung, and, a moment afterwards
the sound ot carriage-wheels was heard crunch,
ing the gravel-walk before Rhododendron House
Ine ladies hurried into the drawing-room A
solemn lamp with a green shade round it was
hastily illumined ; and presently Pepper an
nounced that two gentlemen, with a little child
requested an interview with Mrs. and the Mis-
Buunycastles.
CHAPTER VI. LILY SITS UP LATE.
KIS BLUXT, ESQ., sometimes called Frank,
familiarly known as Griffin, entered the
cholastic presence with the assured step of one
who felt himself among those ready to do him
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THK YEAR R01
i . as Still <
; hilt
of the Marqi.
Js.
. I Hunt had thrown over his Ml in- of the
: a long ample cloak of (rirculai
iy faced q iih velvet, and lines!
broadcloth. It was called a Spanish 1 cloak;
and in Spanish I am afraid the : Mr.
C who had made it,
: had long since passed into that, s
indebted; n a man gets credit so!
thr i of his already owing BO much.
ipon his heels, and . a .slight
childish form wrapped up ill a cloak, was -Mr.
iJluut s friend. Yes; he \vas his friend his
guide and philosopher too, although to the world
on iu which he stood towards the man
of fashion was not more exalted than that of a
valet de chambre. Mr. Blunt s friend was hero
and valet in one, and looked each character
equally well.
In his way lie was as exquisitely dressed as
his master. It is difficult to make anything
remarkable out of a full suit of glossy black.
You must needs look, in general, either iike a
r, or a doctor, or a schoolmaster, or an
undertaker. The friend and valet of IM
.Blunt, Esq., did not approach any one of the
above-mentioned types of humanity. Mr. IS ugee
the coats of the man as well as of the
er. The valet s coat was perfection. It
i t a body-coat, and it wasn t a swallow-tail
nay, uor a frock, nor a surtout, nor a speuser,
nor a shooting-jacket. It was a coat with which
no one could quarrel. It had the slightest
clerical appearance, just tinged with a shade of
the sporting cut. There is little need to say any
thing of the supplementary garments worn by Mr.
i .hint s friend. That incomparable coat disarmed
all ulterior criticism, and would have compensated
for any short-comings in the remainder of the
attire. Such short-comings, however, were non
existent. Everything came up to a high standard
of excellence. A delicate appreciation of art was
shown in the thin brown gaiter with pearl but-
- that showed it self between the termination
of the pantaloon and the foot of the varnished
boot. A retined spirit of propriety was manifest
in the narrow shirt-collar, and. the quietly folded
scarf of black ribbed silk, ,i wit.li a sub-
eameo i- !ng the prolile of a Roman
emperor. Even that, diamond ring to which
MNs Bunnycastle had called attention, large
and evidently valuable as it was, had nothing
about it on which the imputation of obtrusive-
ild be lixed. It was worn
on the li: er of the left hand, and rarely
bnuiLrlr ey.
is about ihe indi-
! for whom a skilful tailor and his own
delicacy of taste had to much. Mature
had been partially k , with I
capr: . to the individual.
He was of tl,- i, but
all the powers of the c< ded and
he would hav. Juasimodo; will,
nly a gentleman who, unfo.
d. Jlis head v. .
the collar of that, iiivaluab!
; sit well on his torso. His In.
of thi raven black blue in
d and, had it It; i way, wuu ut have
grown in wildly tufted luxuriant- from
to temples his locks had been shor
orable shortness; yet, close as the
. you could tell at a glance that a forest had
i there.
In the whole attitude of the man there was
repose, concealed strength, a!
ward show. Had he given his eye-, and lips
full play, the expression of his countenance
would have been terrible. But, with rare self-
denial, he kept his eyelids habitually drawn
down, and veiled his great, flashing, devouring
orbs with the yellow nimbus round each pupil.
In the same spirit of abstention from show, his
lips, naturally full and pulpy, were under in
dexible management, and were kept firmly set
together. Kot half the world knew what :
regular, white teeth he had. He some;
smiled, but he never bit, in public. There
one concealment he could not, or had not, cared
to make. The very large, bushy black eye
brows were untampered with, and notwithstand
ing the laboured amenity of his physiognomy,
him a somewhat, forbidding look. A
this that his complexion was dark, but i
removed from sanguineous hues as to be well-
nigh sallow, and that on each cheek he wore a
short closely-cropped triangular whisker str
resembling a mutton-cutlet, and you have
complete.
Tliis individual was Monsieur Constant, valet
de chambre and confidential factotum to 1 rancis
Blunt, Esq., and speaking English fluently and
idiomatically. He knew all that his master did ;
and there were a great many things within his,
the servant s ken, of which the master had
not the slightest idea. Monsieur Const an;
that he was five-and-thirty years of age, bicn
sonnes, which means that he might h .
between five-arid-thirty and forty; and there
was no reason for disbelieving his statement.
Monsieur Constant came from Switzerland
from one of the cantons bordering upon Italy,
I should opine, to judge from his swarthy com-
>n. I believe his Christian name was
liaptiste. Of! pi antecedent reti
cent. His English rats could be known to
all who were at the pains to inquire. T
enrolled in a long catalogue of disti
service with the British aristocracy. 11 is cha
racter, or rat her his char
lie had been the Mai.
; the Duke of ;
r, and ;r
, Marquis of Trullleton,
! iirou.: r. He had
a short time groom of the c!. to Lord
54 [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
Buffborough, when that nobleman was ambas
sador at Paris. Griffin Blunt had won him from
the diplomatic service, and although he lost
promotion, if not caste, by the change, the valet
clung with strange tenacity to his new master,
in whose service he had now been three years.
Master and man alike suited each other. Each,
perchance, had his own game to play, and played
it with tranquil skill. Mr. Bhmt declared that
his man Constant was unrivalled. " None of
your five-act comedy valets," he would say,
"but a steady-going, responsible fellow, who
knows his business, and goes about it without
boring you. He s a proud fellow enough. Sells
my old clothes to a Jew, and has his own coats
made by my tailor. Never dresses beyond his
station, however. He does me credit ; and,
egad ! I fancy he shares in it, though I dare say
he s got much more money than I have." I
fancy Monsieur Jean Baptiste Constant had.
As for the third person in this group, poor
little Lily, the child was placidly slumbering in
the folds of the great warm shawl. She had
cried herself to sleep in the hackney-coach, and
her waking, when the vehicle stopped at Rhodo
dendron House, was but for a moment. Mon
sieur Jean Baptiste Constant laid her gently
down in the state arm-chair, with its elaborately
worked anti-macassar : slightly to the horror
of Miss Celia Bunuycastle, who had never
seen a new pupil permitted to occupy that
imposing throne of maroon-coloured morocco,
and then stood respectfully in the background,
a demure smile mantling on his dark face.
Adelaide Bunnycastle admitted in the inmost
recesses of her heart that the scene was emi
nently romantic. It was like Lara; it was
like the Corsair ; it was like Thaddens of War
saw.
Meanwhile, Mr. Blunt had allowed his mantle
to drop gently from his shoulders, and accepted
with his gracefullest bow the seat offered him by
Mrs. Bunnycastle, who had reserved the moreen
morocco fauteuil for his reception, but had, in
stress of upholstery, been fain to fall back on a
high-backed chair of walnut wood. He was
overwhelming in compliments and apologies for
intruding on the ladies at so unseemly an hour ;
pleaded stress of business, and an imminent de
parture for foreign parts.
"Ah! he s been abroad, has he?" mused
Mr. Drax, in the dark. "The man-servant s
a foreigner too. Let s have another look at
him," And in his anxiety to obtain a better-
view, Mr. Drax, slightly derogating from his
reputation for discretion, opened one of the
doors yet a little and a little more, till it
creaked.
Mr. Blunt started. "What the devil is that
noise :" he asked, with an abruptness not pre
cisely in unison with the tone of mellifluous
suavity he had adopted a moment before.
Mrs. Bunnycastle had no time to be shocked
at the irreverence of the stranger s query. She
was too much flurried by the creaking of the
door, and in a nervous murmur laid the blame
of the occurrence on the cat. Mr. Blunt seemed
perfectly satisfied when the grave, respectful
voice of Monsieur Constant gave a fresh turn to
the conversation.
He had politely declined the seat offered him
by the youngest Miss Bunnycastle, and remained
standing ; but now advanced a couple of paces.
" Monsieur, whom I have the honour to serve,"
he said, " has brought the little girl of whom
mention has already been made. Monsieur is
ready to pay the sum agreed upon, fifty guineas,
for one year s board and education, and only
requires a little paper of receipt undertaking
that no further demand shall be made upon him
until a year is past."
" We don t even know the gentleman s name
if we made such a demand," Mrs. Bunnycastle
remarked, with a smile. " But the young lady
must be called by, some name or other."
"Certainly, certainly," broke in the dandv.
" Call her Boris. I m Mr. Floris."
"Floris; a very pretty name indeed," said
Miss Barbara, writing it down on a sheet of
paper. " And her Christian name ?"
The master looked uneasily at the valet. I
think he had forgotten his daughter s name.
"Lily," said Monsieur Constant, thus ap
pealed to.
As he spoke, the child woke up from her
sleep, and thinking herself called, answered
with a sob that she was "vay tyde." The
sound of her voice was a signal to the two
younger Miss Bunnycastles to hasten to the
arm-chair, to unrol the little one from her
shawl, to kiss her, and smooth her hair, and
fondle her, and go through the remainder of the
etiquette invariably observed at Rhododendron
House at the reception of a new pupil of tender
age. Not that tlie Miss Bunnycastles were
either hypocritical or ill-natured. They were
naturally very fond of children, but they saw so
many, and so i!i"T of them.
The requireu paper was duly made out, raid
signed by Mrs. Bunnycastle ; and Monsieur Con
stant, advancing to the table, respectfully placed
a little wash-leather bag, containing fifty-two
pounds, ten, in the hands of the schoolmistress.
Nothing loth, Mrs. Bunnycastle proceeded to
count it ; and even the eyes of her two eldest
daughters twinkled as the sovereigns gave out
their faint " chink, chink." Barbara Bunnycastle
was insensible to the gold s seductive sound.
Her eyes wandered from the master to the
valet, and her soul was filled with wonder and
admiration for both. It was like the Cottagers
of Glenburnie. It was like the Children of the
Abbey. It grew more and more romantic every
moment.
" There is only one little thing more," said
Mrs. Bunnycastle, rather hesitatingly. " Has
a has your has the gentleman (she indi
cated Monsieur Constant) brought the vouug
lady s boxes ?"
" What boxes ?" asked the dandy, with a
polite stare.
" Her clothes her linen," explained all the
Bunnycastle family with one voice.
Francis Blunt, Esq., looked at them, generally,
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR 1IOUXD.
in b
; hut tl>
his po\\
" Confound very
cloti
"A nil Mr.
i\, in t lie dark.
The dilemma v. ig, but not irre
mediable. Monsieur ( instant explained that
MoiiMeur whom lie haii the hono trto -
Mademoi
ill London. Would tin ke to
procure iild, it a sum we
in advance, sniti ML- might pro
bably require ? Mrs. Bunnycastle bowed her
in graeions approval of this proposal.
\VJiat sum would be requisite f Oh! merely a
The valet whispered the m
The latter, looking anything but pleased, but,
.y embroidered with bead-
and gold thread, took out a couple of crisp live-
id notes, which he handed to Mrs. Bunny-
Then he rose, MI (.pressing a slight
I, baying that it was past eleven o clock,
and that he had detained the ladies an uncon
scionably long time.
All the wuaien s garments rustled for
had dressed themselves in silk attire, in ex
pectation of his visit as ho made his reve
rence of farewell. Mrs. iUmuyeasi !< was profuse
in her thanks, and ] of solicitude
for Lih s wflt are. The young ladies chimed in
harmoniously.
" She is to be brought up in the principles of
the Church of England :"
" Of course, of course. By all means ; eh,
Constant ?"
Monsieur Constant bowed diplomatically, as
though to convey that, professing as he might
himself a dill ed, he had the profoundest
respect for the Church of England, as that of
the ladies before him, of Monsieur whom he
had the honour to serve, and of the g
classes generally.
"As her little mind expands," said Mrs.
Bunnycastle, " no efforts of ours shall be spared,
not only to instil into her piety and virtue, but
to lay the foundation of clever ornate accom
plishments "
"Thank you, thank you," Mr. Blunt rein.-
rather hastily, and cutting short a further in-
staln, ie paraphrased proapeotus ; "when
she s old enough, of course she ll learn Trench
and drawing, and that sort of thing."
"And e alet, in a low
deeply respectful
Mr. Blunt as though a v.
g him. When he spoke airain, there
strange dry harshness in I: iam,"
turning to "liiiistrcss with a
sternness unv. , so urbane a gents
" I do not want my dang!:
Mind that, if you
Lily Floris. 1 h honour to wish you a
sold,
1
10 la
With
printed a kiss o -
did ii ,d fallen
1 touched ti
un-
again bent in cdd
and Pepper usher. vo to the door, and
went u\\.
The first thing the Bunnycastles did when
ound of the hackney-coach wheels had
died away, was to bear the lamp and the
money into the back parlour, and rejoin the
discreet Mr. I.)rax. Th ii they proci
count the fifty-two is and a half, all
again. Then they examined t
bank-notes, from the medallion of i
to the signature of Mr. Henry llasc. Then
they turned to the backs of
scanning the much-blotted dorsal scribblii
the worst pens, the worst ink, and the v
pothooks and hangers in the world always seem
called into play lor the endorsement of
and wondered \vhether " i who
! from Isleworth, or " Cut.chins and Co.,"
who gave their address in Leather-lane, or
"C. J. Gumby," who seemingly resided at
eould have anything to do with the mysterious
Grangers who had just faded away from their
ken, leaving a little child, not four years old, a
checked woollen shawl, and sixty pounds odd,
sterling money of this realm, behind them. Thev
could make nothing of the notes, however, be -
yond the fact that they were genuine, or of the
u-old, save that it chinked cheerily, or of ei
save that the money looked very nic>
they drew breath, and interchanged glanc
pleasing perplexi
I think it was Mr. Drax who, with his n
failing discretion, now it might
perhaps be better to put the " new pupil
oed, as she had come a lo must be
tired. Poor little new pupil!" The
Bunny ca- : ten all about her.
Adelaide acknowledged with a smile that the
-lipped her memory, and,
while she rang the bell for Pepper, requt
Barbara to fetch the child from the drawing-
room.
child looked up when she was brought
into the cozy back parlour, but did not
She seemed to be rather relieved by the ab
sence of the two men who had brought her to
dcndron SoUBC. The dandy
attire and dazzling teeth, and the valet s coat,
cine
i the oth
while be patted on I
by Mrs. Buimycastle, and severely snu i
56 [February 27, 1SC4.]
ALL THE YEAR KOUSD.
[Conducted by
the three young ladies, she took very kindly to
Mr. Drax, and, coming toddling towards him,
essayed to climb upon his knees, stretching for
ward one of her plump little hands as though
she desired to touch his discreet and mystic
neckcloth.
" Ah !" smiled Mr. Drax, as he lifted her up
and imprinted a discreet kiss on her forehead,
just at the roots of her hair. "She won t be
so very fond of me when she has taken half the
nasty things I shall be obliged to give her. Poor
little thing ! I wonder whether she s had the
measles ?"
He leaned back in his chair and regarded her
in fond anticipation, as though mildly gloating
over a subject who was to conduce to the en
largement of his professional experience, and in
the increase of his quarterly bills. His reverie
was put an cud to by the arrival of Pepper,
who, like a good-natured woman as she was,
had in a few moments stroked Lily s brown
curls, kissed her on both cheeks, chucked her
under the chin, hoisted her up in her arms, and
told her half a merry story about a little girl who
was always ready to go to bed, and was, in conse
quence, much beloved by all the angels.
"This is Miss Floris, Miss Lily Floris,
Pepper," Mrs. Bunnycastle remarked, with
calm dignity. " Her papa, who is going abroad,
was obliged to bring her very late. What beds
are there vacant, Pepper ?"
" There s number two, in the first room,
mum," answered the domestic.
" Among the elder girls," interposed Ade
laide ; " that would never do. They never go
to sleep until daybreak, I do believe, and they d
question her out of her life before breakfast-
time. And Mamselle, though it s her duty not
to allow them to talk, is just as bad as they
are."
" There s five and nine in the second room ;
but there s no mattress on five ; and as for nine,
vou know, mum "
" Well, what do we know ?" asked Miss Celia,
sharply.
" It s the bed Miss Kilty died in," Pepper
returned, with an effort.
There was a prejudice in Rhododendron
House against sleeping in the bed that Kitty
had died in.
" Stuff and nonsense !" cried Mrs. Bunny-
castle.
" Well, where are we to put her ?" Adelaide
asked, impatiently. " We can t keep the child
up all night."
Lily looked remarkably wide awake, and as
though she intended to remain so. She was
playing with the ribbons in Pepper s cap, and
apparently would not have had the slightest ob
jection to the continuance of that amusement
until cockcrow. As for Mr. Drax, his discretion
stood him in good stead during this essentially
domestic conversation, and he feigned to be
immersed in the perusal of a volume of the
Missionary Magazine for 1829.
" Well, if you please, mum," Pepper ventured
to represent, "1 think that as the dear little
fill s so young, and so tired, and so strange,
d better take her to bed with me, mum, and
then, to-morrow, you know, mum, you can see
about it."
The ladies were graciously pleased to accept
this suggestion, and it was agreed to nem. con.
And then it being now fully half-after eleven
o clock Lily and her new guardian disappeared,
and the discreet Mr. Drax took his leave, pro
mising to call in on the morrow afternoon, in
case his advice should be needed.
" A very nice girl is Barbara Bunnycastle,"
said Mr. Drax, softly to himself, as he walked
home to College-street. " A very nice girl,
and one who would make any man s home
happy."
Both Adelaide and Barbara dreamed of Mr.
Drax.
" MAKING TEA" IN INDIA.
THE journey from Calcutta to the tea-growing
districts of Assam and Cachar, during the dry
weather, necessitates a visit to the Soonderbunds
an enormous tract of desolate jungle, stretch
ing from the river Hooghly, on the western side
of the Bay of Bengal, to Chittagong, on the east,
a distance of upwards of two hundred miles
across, and intersected with innumerable narrow
streams, the various outlets of the Gauges. This
dreary waste of country is the sole and undis
puted property of tigers, leopards, and other
wild beasts, and is only visited occasionally by
a class of natives calling themselves "wood
cutters," who constantly fall victims to these
animals.
While steering through these narrow rivulets,
herds of deer feeding on the edges of the jungle
attracted our attention, the more so as they
allowed us to get quite close to them before
condescending to take the slightest notice of our
steamer. Had we been disposed, we might have
shot any number of them, but it being consi
dered unadvisable to stop the course of the
vessel, we had sufficient humanity to leave them
in peace. We were by no means sorry when
we steamed clear of this desolate region, and
anchored on the fifth day at Koolneah, the first
coaling depot after leaving Calcutta. The after
noon of the ninth day brought us to Dacca, and
here we bade farewell to our steamer, the vessel
being ordered to return, and we being instructed
to shift for ourselves as we best could until
another arrived to take us on to Cachar.
I was not long before I found myself comfort
ably housed. A letter of introduction in England
means a little civility when you deliver your cre
dentials, or, at most, an invitation to dinner, while
in India it signifies board, lodging, and every com
fort and attention that it is possible to offer. I
have reason to speak favourably of Indian hos
pitality, for I was detained at Dacca upwards of
three weeks, and during the whole of that period
was entertained by people whom I had never seen
before in my life. Much has been written and
said concerning the arrogance of Indian officials,
Charles Dickens.]
ALL TIIK YKAU K(>r.\l>.
both in their ]>ublic and private character, hut
my
in*, opened up by railways in every
and nou-oiiicial, i
ling whom ti be to take up ;
resiT i- many cases have
iiality haviiv.
ivcnturers, and imluer.
W: rrived (hat was to convey
: by no i d t(
find that she had in tow two large liar .
flats," loaded with several hundred Cooliesfor
the tea plantations.
Tin: horrors of a slave ship are familiar cnoncrh,
and in attempting to describe the posit ion of t lie
poor wretch .\vded into these
- iiien, women, and children indiscrimi
nately without r dl put
forward no statement that cannot be substan
tiated. Soon after we left Dacca, cholera broke
out amongst these miserable creatures, and in
less than three days we consigned several bodies:
to the river. It will, perhaps, be as well if Itake
the reader back to Calcutta, for the purpose of
showing how the system of Coolie emigration to
the tea districts of Assam and Cachar was car
ried on only aonths a
The enormous demand for labour in those
provinces necessitated the establishment i
nts ; and men,
women, and cliil e contracted for like
cattle, at so much per head, the contractors
receiving from the 1 TS a certain sum
for every individual landed on their plantations,
as well as for those who died on the pa
The result of this human traffic was, as might
been expected, an amount of dishonesty
and cruelty as disgraceful and repugnant as the
African slave tnt ; , of little con
sequence to the contractors how many died
during the three weeks passage to Cachar or
incc they received so much per head
for all those that quitted Calcutta. The re
sult was, that old men and women, whose
might be reckoned in days, and even
hours, the lame, the halt, the blind, and the
diseased, were crammed pell-mell into these
s, to infect men, women, and children who,
when they left Calcutta, were in the enjoyment
of robust health. 1 revious to embarkation they
certain depots, where, to use
the language of a government official well
known and respected throughout India, and who
Li -k on the
cultivation of tea, "these unfortunate creatures
in placi . stilential vapours
of which. ordure and filth with
which th ! Iy to human
life. Many emit; I inper
and i: d in
panes final
and huddle.
: un-
cleanncss revolting to human nat :
the mor
tality in a
weeks voyage."
Deration in this description 1 am <
1 ha\ notes taken during our journey
ir on b
y a voyage which lasted 01;
and I find not only mum hs recorded
Coolies from cholera and <
also the fact mentioned, that
nu r the number are several sull i .
elephantiasis, three totally blind, other- unable
to walk except with the aid of crut>
ho has had his right hand amputated a
valuable addition, certainly, to : ion."
It will naturally be asked what bee. these
useless creatures? The reply is, that tin
turned adrift to shift for themselves as best they
can.
When we landed at Cachar, a dispute arose
en some of the planters to whom the
Coolii consigned and the captain of the
Thomas Brassey ; the planters contending that
they had received no advice concerning such a
large batch, and refusing to take overcharge of
more than the number posed themselves
entitled to ; the captain of the r in-
shting that every man, woman, and child should
his vessel at once, as he had performed the
-d undertaken of bringing them to
Cachar, and that he would not i\\- meal
for them after the anchor had dropped. They
were all accordingly landed on the banks of the
river. When we left Cachar, a few d;
wards, many of them were still there, without
shelter of any description, and would ho doubt
have starved if it had not not been for the kind
ness of a few government ollieials, who supplied
them with means of subsistence from their own
private purses. One would have imagined
to the scarcity of labour < oolie
would have been greedily snatched up,
doubtless they would have been if thcemac
countenances and wasted limbs of those that re-
1 ha d not unmistakably given warning
:ea*h had set his seal upon them.
To corroborate what I have stated conccr:
,hc transmission of Coolies from Calcn:
ca-growing districts, 1 will make a few
t report drawn up by a committee of j
lemen appointed by the Bengal government to
nquire into the system.
The opinion at which tliey arrived v.
Coolies were shipped. in large bat ;out
my arrangement to secure order and cleanlii:
ncooked food was issued without r
o prepare it ; that the medical charge of the
ay c:>.s. ,gnorant
Jhupr v. ho were entrusted \\itii small
upplics of medicine, with tin aich
hey were, of i
diom they administered it, "and
5S [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
were embarked in some instances almost in a
dying state." The committee found that the
supply of Coolies was an ordinary commercial
transaction between a native contractor and the
planter, " all parties considering their duty and
responsibility discharged when the living were
landed and the cost of the dead adjusted."
They also found that "after the Coolies had
been inspected by the planter s agent in Cal
cutta, that feeble and sickly persons were sub
stituted for the healthy men accepted and
passed."
It is to be hoped that this state of affairs,
discreditable alike to the government and to
the planters, has been stopped. There can
be no doubt that the Bengal government con
sidered it the duty of those interested in the
cultivation of tea, to adopt a systematic and
honest course of proceeding in the importation
of labour from Calcutta and other parts of India;
for Sir John Peter Grant, the late Lieutenant-
Governor of Bengal, on tlje 20th January, 1860,
wrote : " It is not for the government, but for
those immediately interested in the tea planta
tions of Assam, to apply themselves to this as
to other requirements of their position." Hence
it is clear that the government considered they
had no right to interfere in the matter; but
nothing can exonerate them for allowing the
emigration system to sink to the level of the
African slave trade.
A visit to one of the " smiling tea-gardens"
of C achar I had long looked forward to, and on
the day after our arrival in the district,
the kindness of one of the planters enabled
me to gratify my curiosity. As the country
in the immediate vicinity of the station was
nearly entirely under water, we started on our
elephant for the plantation, and after two hours
of jolting arrived at a very comfortably-built
bungalow. I was astonished when ushered into
its comfortable and elegantly furnished rooms.
.The walls were covered with valuable prints,
the furniture was tastefully arranged, and of the
latest pattern ; baskets containing exquisite or
chids were suspended from the three centre
arches which, divided the sitting from the dining
room ; a Broadwood s grand piano and a harp
occupied one corner ; handsome cases well
stocked with books, vases of flowers, and other
ornaments one might expect to find in a Bel-
gravian drawing-room, completed the furniture
of the apartment.
" I see," said my friend the planter, noticing
my look of astonishment, " you expected to
find us established in a sort of barn, with nothing
but the bare necessaries of life around us;
but my rule is, wherever I go, to make my
self comfortable." And, certainly, things looked
like it. Under the circumstances, 1 felt that
the isolation of a tea-planter s life might be
made very endurable, though it is right to state
that it is not every man who can afford to fare
as sumptuously as my friend, or who is blessed
with such a helpmate to cheer the monotony of
such an existence.
Before sitting down to breakfast, he initiated
me into what he called "the secrets of his
den." The den consisted of a room hung round
with hunting trophies, spears, guns, sporting
prints, and meerschaum pipes. In the centre
was an office-table covered with letters and
papers ; and in front of the window was a most
luxurious rocking-sofa. This " den," he in
formed me, was sacred ; no one was allowed to
enter it unless by special invitation, except a
very large kangaroo dog, who appeared to con
sider the apartment as much his property as his
master s, and who exhibited most disagreeable
signs of dissatisfaction at my intrusion.
Breakfast over, we proceeded to visit the
gardens, the various M orkhouses, and the village
where the people belonging to the plantation
resided. The general appearance of a tea-
garden may be described in few words. It is
exactly like several acres of gooseberry -bushes
laid out in rows, the shrubs planted a few
feet apart from each other, and about five feet
in height, and from five to six in diameter.
The tea-plant, which is indigenous to Assam and
the slopes of the Himalayas, is peculiarly hardy,
and the higher the altitude at which it grows
the more fragrant and delicate its flavour. A
rich soil and a humid atmosphere with consider
able heat, are conducive to luxuriant crops and
a tea of the greatest strength ; while a light,
though not poor, soil, a temperate climate, and
a moderate elevation, are more favourable to
average crops of the finest or most delicately-
flavoured teas.
The cultivation and general treatment of the
plant in India is precisely the same as in China ;
the government having, in 1842, imported
experienced Chinese cultivators, manipulators,
and manufacturers, to superintend and teach the
various processes. The tea of Assam and
Cachar is as good as, if not better than, the
ordinary tea exported from China, and is free
from the obnoxious colouring matter (indigo, I
believe) used by the Chinese for the purpose
of making it look inviting when packed for the
European market. The tea-gardens are generally
formed on undulating country. In Assam and
Cachar, owing to the great quantity of rain that
falls during the year, they do not require artifi
cial irrigation. In consequence of the extreme
moisture of these districts, the produce of tea
is more abundant and luxuriant than in any
district of the same size in the best parts of
China.
From the gardens we went to visit the work
houses and godowns, and found young and old,
women and children, engaged in the manipula
tion and manufacture of the leaves. I cannot
describe the various processes from the time
the leaf is plucked until it is packed for ex
portation, and stowed away in large dry go-
downs to await the arrival of a steamer from
Calcutta, as it would occupy too much space,
and my object is rather to afford a casual glance
at a planter s life and habits, and the estate over
which he reigns supreme, than to dive into de
tails of the actual culture and manufacture of
the tea-plant.
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YKAll
[February 27, 18C4.] 59
of Coolie
nls ton
1
the property of the planter. The word
l)ly be objec
DO much rican slavery, but is ;
the ri -rht. word to use, for he does become to
all ii id purposes the property of the
planter, and considers himself so. li is true
v throw up any
moment, and" take his departure, d by
..ml family, if he be a man
1C question is wher i go to. He
; range land aim _e people,
hundreds of miles from his own home, and
without means of tr< :i if he have the
;tnd lie therefore very wisely iu my
opini irds himself as part of the property
of the CM
lu company with my friend I visited the
village, which was within a stone s throw of the
bungalow. Anything neater, cleaner, or more
comfortable, I never saw in my life. I am
aware that the plantation I visited was a model
one, ami t hat to the lady, who shared the solitary
1 riend, must be accorded a large share of
for the admirable way in which everything
on the estate was conducted, still 1 have reason
to believe, that, as a rule, the tea-planters are
nd and generous to their dependents as
they are hospitable to any Europeans who may
ily break in upon their loneliness. The
.ml indeed the Europeans both male
and female, suffer very much throughout the
rainy season from leech-bites. My friend was
much amused at the state of nervousness
i was in during my visit on account of these
troublesome creatures. Being armed with boots
up to the thigh, he walked along through the
thick jungly grass with impunity: while I,
before many minutes, found myself attacked
by several -leeches that had crawled up my
trousers and into my boots, and fastened them
selves upon my unlucky legs with a vicious-
ness that was perfectly appalling. No sooner
had I dislodged one, than another fixed itself
upon me, until, in sheer desperation, I was
compelled to seek shelter and protection in a
pair of " planter s boots." The bite of a Cachar
; is far from pleasant : it causes inflamma
tion, and a mount of irritation; and
one lady I met, the wife of a planter, was or-
i home to England on account of severe
illness solely caused by the bites of these
creatur
On my return to the station of Cachar, while
- plain, I was surprised
some ! <>rty individuals, Europeans and natives,
i upon small, stout ponies, and armed
with long heavy clubs, apparently engaged in
conflict. On inquiring the cause of
the informed tlr play-
a more novel and u
both planters and iv
hard blows and fai 1
to i
k moment I allow* If to be
> the D i myself
/re many minutes had
: the thick of the scrimmage, not
one of the ponies injured me with his hoofs :
all b> roitly to avoid treading
lien opponent. The exi very
ruble
pluck, and p aice. T
_c hockey is a \ urite
amuse assemble
from i .mi, on certain days, solely for the
purpose of joinii:-.
The amount of nominal capital represented
.e tea companies in Bengal up to
nber, according to the
Market Circular, v million, eight hundred
thousand pounds, and of this e: : two
million two hundred thousand pounds had
called for. It is intended that all the capital shall
d up within a limited period, ana the calls
are spread over intervals of three months. As
might, have been foreseen, the Calcutta money
market has become seriously affected. The
Bank of Bengal raised its rate of interest three
per cent within a month, and the current rate,
when the last mail left, was twelve per cent ; as
much as twenty per cent had been paid for ac
commodations to enable shareholders to meet
their calls. This state of the money market is
likely to continue until the full amount of sub
stantial capital employed in the cultivation of
tea has been provided. Notwithstanding this
extreme and sudden pressure, shares in tea
companies have not depreciated to any serious
extent in Calcutta. A parcel were thrown upon
the market and sold to the highest bidder by
public auction at fifty per cent premium!
This of itself will sufficiently indicate the sound
ness of this new and wonderful industrial enter
prise.
Besides the immense number of companies
started within the last five years in India,
there are several compani i shed in Lon
don for the same purpose, and the shares in
all are a favourable security with the investing
public.
When the Honourable Mr. Beadon became
governor of Bengal, his first act was to visit
provinces of Assam and Cachar. Ad
dressing the Kuropean and native gentry of
Dibrooghur, he said : " It has been
the first aim of the British government, on the
occupation of a province, to give securr
life and prosperity to all, and to ensure to
man his just These are the
ments of civilisation and prosperity.
ament has been succ
in accomplishing this end, is from the
f wealth, revenue, and population;
clearance of many thous
forest ; from the cont the
people ; and from the existence of this thriving
town ami
who are brought hundreds of uu.
CO [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAE ROUND.
[Conducted by
own homes, to assist in developing the resources
of this wonderful country of India, may justly
look for encouragement and protection.
POINT BLANK.
You complain that I am narrow,
Going straightly to my aim :
"Will you quarrel with the arrow
For the same?
Many a bitter word hast thoa:
"Pedant," "bigot." Keep thy blame
While that sword, and nail, and plough
Are the same.
I would cleave my world-path cleanly
With an axe , a razor edge ;
Drive my truth through, not more meanly
Than a wedge.
Far is wide, though force is narrow :
Look straight to thy aim !
Crystal, bud, and flame, and arrow,
Are the same.
THE BLACK ART IN GKUMBLETON.
Ix my rural parish of Grumbleton, there are
many superstitious usages, politely supposed to
be obsolete, but in full force and full swing none
the less.
A musty remnant of hard-baked loaf such a
loaf as, when it was new, no baker could have
sold, and any beggar to whom it might have
been given would have thrown to the rats in
the gutter hangs from the ceiling of one of our
" models."
The invalid woman, a very spectre in a shroud
of rags and wretchedness, will tell us the use of
it. Baked on Good Friday, with a few remarks
and mysteries by way of incantation and charm,
it is all that remains of " the sovereign cure."
At all events, the cure has not been complete in
this case. The invalid always feels the better
for a little bit of it, but must husband it with
great care, because it will be months before
Good Friday comes again, and if the charm
Avere eaten up, what help could she have but
the doctor s, and the doctor only look at her
has never done her any good.
Now that confidence is established between
us, I hear also of a " sovereign cure " for
toothache, which has made Grumbleton almost
independent of the dentist. It appears that we
have a wise woman among us, who can remove
the pain without touching the tooth. The
patient goes himself, or, if he is too ill, sends a
messenger asking relief. About the time that
the messenger finds the witch doctress, and even
before he tells her his business, the pain ceases.
If the sufferer visits her in person, words as
mysterious to him as "Propria quse maribus"
are pronounced solemnly, and thrice, repeated,
after which he experiences the blessing of faith
in the black art.
Although the enchantress has great power in
Grumbleton, it is a power not to be obtained or
bought by money. Money would kill her charms,
and, so 1 am informed, destroy her power.
While Mr. Home and Mr. Zadkiel possess the
confidence of persons belonging to educated
classes, and while the law forbids us to call
such personages by the little simple name that
is their due, there is ground for hope that
Grumbleton may become a resort of persons of
fashion suffering from toothache, and may grow,
thanks to our wise woman, into a Spa that shall
make all the dentists grind their teeth to the
gums for vexation. And couldn t we bake loaves
enough on Good Friday to enable us to dispense
with the services of the whole medical profes
sion !
Catkins is now a highly respectable young
man, though I have known him to be otherwise.
He has a young wife and one child, and lives in
another of our " models." The child was lately
taken ill, so Catkins tells me, and adds that " no
doctors, neither parish nor firmary, can cure
him."
I answer, that with a mother s care and nurs
ing the child may outgrow the disease.
"There is a quicker way/ he replies, mys
teriously, " if it warn t for a difficulty we are
afraid of."
He is going to take the child some fine morn
ing, before long, at sunrise, to a young ash sap
ling hard by. The sapling is to be split. The child
is to be stripped. Catkins is to be permitted to
hold the split parts of the sapling far enough
asunder to allow his infant to be passed between
them by the wise woman, while she repeats
mysterious words, which either he does not
know, or he dares not communicate. After this
is done, the sapling will be carefully bound to
gether, and its wound will be plastered with
mud and clay. If the tree grows, the child
certainly recovers ; if it dies, or is -cut down,
the disease returns, and will remain for life.
" And here," says Catkins, " is the deuce of it
all. All the sticks in these parts is wanted for
hop-poles every ten or twelve year, and the cure
is never safe, because folks won t let em be and
grow into timber."
" How can you believe such nonsense, James
Catkins ?"
" I doan t say I do believe it exactly ; it s a
speriment. If Polly gets better, I believe it ;
if 1he tree lives and she doan t, I shouldn t
believe it no more nor nothin at all."
It further appears that Catkins is suffering
from a similar complaint, and he has more than
half a mind at all events, his old mother ad
vises him to undergo the same process, but
then he adds, as I turn away in disgust, "it s
cutting down them hop-poles that s the mischief
of it."
Here, again, is another very respectable trades
woman, who has lost the middle finger of her
right hand. There was a swelling. The medical
man wished to remove the top to save the rest,
and so she was persuaded to discard the skill of
the doctor for the charms of the witch. Not
withstanding fomentations and poultices, which
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THK YKAi: KOI XD.
[February 27, 18C4.] 01
did sons woman in her
lent to 111:111;.
niu h: while pon
white rf] ladll t
f tlic
ilcd \vitli :i Imire misshapen stump, a
fitting linger-post of Cmimbletonian sup
tion.
It i old that such cases are
fail in- t tlian
r.ly it docs as much
:octoriii .. . it costs nothing. Me-
ilieai I liow cases may go.
unlimited control over them.
AVliy exclude aid so easih i!c, which does
notV jTOtl iVom using the regular medical
or regular quack reincdi.
The rnchant ress, however, does not always
oil with Hying colours. A case of rlieu-
inatic fever did ti ipathy
and help, and the patient, \vas inlonned that the
woman hail bewitched her. In order to he
set free from her "thrall," the daughter of the,
sick person, watching her opportunity, one day
rushed upon the witch and contrived to BC
her with a brass pin from the shoulder to the
wrist. By drawing blood, the spell of witch
craft was removed, but, for some other unknown
reason, the patient did not live Jong after-
war
When anybody s cow is sick in Grumbleton,
instead of sending to t , inary surgeon, we
have a charm in a sealed paper from a l
medicine" in an adjoining village. The charm
iened on the part affected, and if the cow
does not recover, she is judged unworthy to live,
and is forthwith sent to the butcher.
Such is the state of the art in (irumbleton as
:ds the health of man and beast, and can we
not also boast of an equal power that is exerted
on occasion in support of law and order, a power
which, fully developed, would do a great deal
towards superseding our police. The other day
there -obbcry from one of the cottages of
a few shilling.-, and a piece of bacon. Recourse
immediately had, not to the nearest police
man, but to the wise woman aforesaid, and
with the happiest results, as will immediately
app
It was quickly circulated throughout the vil-
tlie wise woman, on being informed of
, remarked that she knew it afore."
She knew who was the thief. And here, all
Gnunbleton trembled ; but we breathed freely
i on learning that " it was nobody belonging
to the parish."
" Would the property be rec " was the
next question. "That would depend/ 5 was the
reply, " upon the thief. Jf he wished the bacon
him, or what he hud already eaten, as
well MIU him a dis
Compared to which Hero,. trille,
lie would continue obstinate, i would
Consult i .!d then be
icr, which she would :f per
mit Tuo or tlr re, purp
id, before they were over.
the owners of the lost pr informed
at, it would
and would !>
II ii
;iiced, among which blindness by ligh
iritle, so terrible were \\.
tionsoft! , on all v. :d dare to be
nt, or so much as stir out of doors on the
evening of th restitution.
All Qrambl nor
throng . hole,
a fact t i iy re-
i, to tin ad to the
honour and renown of the wi
thereof.
Hut, let me do Grumbleton justice. I
bad we may be, in some respects, none
of us eare about In this respect, we
can bear favourable comparison with a: :
England. 1 have known a stout Yorkshircman
lie thought of passing
through a churchyard on his way home at i
iy admit ted, the spirits of one
or two old fogies he never cared two straws for
when in the body, should "play him some un
chancy prank now that they had got ini>
." I remember a Cumberland mi,
not proof good men, I suppose, have their
weak points against horrible anecdotes, cur
rent in the neighbourhood, of misfortunes to
those who did not: make the best of their
even like Tarn O Shanter, across a bridge some
half mile distant; and I know the boys who
huddled together under the hedge, and
howls, which by no means re-
-1 his pace as he ran to cross runni
Worthy man, he has no malice in him, for he
has had opportunities enough of repaying his
tormentors in kind, for it is long since he was
gathered to his fathers, and has reached a place,
1 hope, where nob raid.
Still, in obscure parts of the country, where
a railway whistle, has never sounded, or the
daily press penetrated terrible foes to ghosts,
fairies, and witchcraft, arc railways aiv
numberless, still, are the apparition
ably attested to, and devoutly believed i
numerous are they, that a solitary gh
scarce worth mention, where every house,
and lane has its Hivlary bogie, and wher
may see the long funeral procession o:
mourners enter the church-porch, or issue from
it, on any more than n ,-igh winter s
along our vii . and
.-.ill find indications enough t aible-
ton, though it may indeed, doe
rap for any of them.
A story, told of our worthy ol i
Drowse, and never contr by him, will
show the state of feeling on the subji
He was out late man;,
howling through the fn
mud and rain, horse tired and rider
it dark as pitch. Alt I;
thought, lie knew his way
id the cr
overhanging woods, he in:
62 [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
by bad luck, the woods ranged on either side
for miles, there was a bad prospect before him
one of spending the night in them. At length,
there twinkled a light through the trees, and, as
he made the best of his way towards it, lie saw
several more lights, and made out what was,
doubtless, a large house full of company, to
judge from the blaze of light from tlje windows
as lie came into full view. He should, at all
events, dismount here, and ask his way. So he
led his horse up the avenue, and rang the door
bell. The door immediately opened, and, before
he well knew what he was about, as he after
wards said, he had stepped across the threshold.
The entrance-hall was large and handsome, with
a fine old oak staircase branching right and left,
and facing the entrance. The room was hung
round with pictures, one or two of the style of
Holbein, and some apparently of older date.
He found himself, to his surprise, in the pre
sence of some guests of the evening.
It was an abrupt unintentional intrusion,
but there was no help for it. A venerable old
gentleman, whom Drowse thought at first he
had known when he was a boy, but then he
recollected that he had been dead for years,
stepped forward with the unsurpassed polite
ness of the gentleman of the old school, and,
finding a benighted traveller who had lost
his way, at once proffered him hospitality. His
horse was taken good care of, the traveller was
brushed up a little by a couple of footmen who
wore hair-powder, and our good parson was
made as presentable as the exigencies of the
case permitted.
The company was numerous, and the rector
congratulated himself on having fallen into plea
sant quarters. Some of the company sang beau
tiful old English glees and madrigals : " When
first 1 saw your face," " Summer is a-coming in,"
" Strike it up, neighbour, with pipe and with
tabor." "Nice folks, all of 5 em," thought Drowse;
" how well they sing !" The venerable old gentle
man then produced a violin, and played one or
two of Corelli s solos, accompanied by his sister,
who managed the thorough-bass part beauti
fully. Very odd it all seemed to Drowse, and
beautiful as well as odd. Then followed a pre
lude and fugue of Bach s, which it would have
delighted King Joachim himself to have heard.
Then came a dance between two stately old
ladies, which was called a Sarabande, followed
by another, much more lively and spirited, called
Bourree by the young ones, which was explained
to him to be a Provencal dance of the time of
Rene the king. Those who did not care for
music and dancing had a round game at cards
in the next room, excepting a couple of gentle
men in a corner, who looked, Drowse thought,
liked Church dignitaries somewhat out of their
element, for they took very little notice of the
company. But the great attraction was the
music, and if the intruder learned nothing else
by his visit, he was charmed with the composi
tions of the great old song and fiddle masters,
and much wondered that he had never heard any
of them before.
At last the company began to disperse. A
carriage, containing the two sisters who danced
the Sarabande, was going his way, he was told,
and would pilot him through the wood. On
taking leave of his host, he wished to know to
whom he had been indebted for so pleasant an
evening ? The venerable old gentleman smiled
and told his name. Drowse started. "The
very name and form," he replied, "of an old
friend a great musician, who was very kind to
me when I was a boy. But he s been dead for
years," he added. The old gentleman smiled
again, but made no remark, beyond wishing him
a polite and cordial adieu, and the traveller was
soon on his way, splashing through the mud
after the carriage.
At first the pace was pretty good, but his
guides had lights and knew the road, and any
way he must keep up with the carriage. In a
few seconds, however, he found it well-nigh
impossible. The trot became a gallop soon, and
Drowse, under the impression that the horses
in front of him were running away, and that it
was his duty as a clergyman to be in at the
death, gave his horse the spur and followed at
the top of his speed.
The lights in front bounced up and down, the
equipage reeled and staggered as if it would
upset every moment, but it didn t upset. Not
so the rector. A sudden sharp turn, which the
carriage had safely taken, tossed the luckless
clergyman over his horse s head. How long he
remained in this state, stunned, as he described
it, by the fall, he never knew ; but when he
came to himself lie was lying on the ground in
the thicket, and the horse was standing quietly
beside him.
In the midst of his perplexity, wondering
what would become of him, and shivering with
cold, for he was wet through, he heard the
stroke of twelve from a church tower. This
proved his rescue, for by the tone of the bell he
recognised his whereabouts. So he made his
way to the neighbouring church, which was the
means of setting him all right, as a church ought
to be.
Some stupid people said that our old friend
fell asleep on horseback, tumbled off, and dreamed
the story. As he comes of a sleepy family, there
was, perhaps, some likelihood in the surmise.
But Drowse declared he didn t, and adds that
he never dreamt anything in his life, except the
night before his wedding, when he dreamed he
had lost the ring at the moment it was wanted.
Anyway, it is firmly believed in Grumbleton to
this day that he spent the evening with a party
of ghosts, who were not only innocent and harm
less, but hospitable and accomplished. Circum
stances certainly give much force to this popular
belief, among which is the fact that he has
never since been able to find that house, or met
with any of the guests.
Dreams have a good number of believers
among us, but dreams are on a better footing
than superstitions. That the mind should
continue the exercise of its faculties while its
tenement of clay lies inert and motionless, is
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR KOFND.
y. The belief that, though 1
i the mind in one s sleep, and In.
niory 1.
* nothing , I should think, ol
ural in a- anc
in: \Vlicu both body am.
sou! , liow many con
1 upon as likely to
ha i-ourse 01
do -,3. Once concede that, the mini
do i raj ! -ike its complete repose \vhei
some
ieiiul tilings foretold in . But, as
aether in men or dogs there
r there is little chance for the
ion to work, either asleep or awake
and L partly believe him.
ve not much mis-
:ii. We tin-kettle our bees. We think
it u: salt; lucky to find a
aid those Grumbletonians who are
part , ml their nails but the number is
.11 will on 110 account pare them on a
MV.
Defensive charms may be mentioned.
On each side le-door, on the fir.it ot
" up a birch bough, to keep witch
craft from the horses. It is occasionally a bough
of maple instead of birch.
Old Christmas-day is most scrupulously kept
among us. Horses must not be worked on that
nor must women go out of doors. We
kill our j ie full moon; then the bacon
"plum-, ii|)," so says Grumbleton, and is lucky.
iiieky also for the heir who inherits from
one dying at full moon ; his estate then, like the
ii, plums up." If death occurs when the
. is waning, the fortune will injure its
inheritor. No instance is, however, on record
of an estate being refused because it fell to a
man under such malign lunar influences, though
orse than worthlessness is as well authenti-
I as the belief that bacon will not cure if
the pig is killed after full moon. One instance,
er descriptive of the nature of the viper than
adding much to Grumbleton superstition, may be
subjoined.
a or three country fellows intently examin
ing a viper, cut in two by the scythe of the
mov.
;i t read that ere," says one.
"Knows the English of it, anyway,"
another.
What s the matter, my h
I hereupon am informed that the mottled
part of the dying reptile consists of writing in
an unknown tongue.
ion is known to my iufoiinaut, aud
is as follows :
If I could hear as well as see,
No man or beast should p;us by me.
Now comes the question, what harm is there in
all t >pular belief ? "Superstition,
and aets of - . , but
lie mind." So said the good Dr.
Arnold. The remark is just, and it is one that
others beside Grumbletonians might not be worse
It is a fact, and one which, in this
i , that
our rural
the parishioners of Selbornc
White s time, a century ago. In \\
chapter of th- of Selborne may
be found an instance nearly identical win
furnished by Catkins in tiiis \
The only differences between the two cases are,
the incantation is performed at sunset
instead of sunrise, and that there is no mention
of witches or hop-poles.
Nor are our peasantry better than their
rs with regard to superstitious actions.
But for the arm of the law, the land
would be full of them. A poor deaf and dumb
Frenchman, who had taken re fug; untry
village in Essex, was but recently done
by the process of swimming him for a wizard.
The poor creature kissed the hand of one who
would have saved him, but could not. It was
the only sign of gratitude in bis power to make.
It was the mute appeal for the help of a fellow-
mortal at the mercy of a brutal mob. The
i made in an enlightened age and country
proved ineffectual, and ignorance and brutality
destroyed their victim.
Acts of superstition, even when apparently of
small importance, whether fashionable or un
fashionable, should be scorned and rejected on
the ground of their debasing influence. May-
fair, just now, cannot afford to sneer at
Grumbleton.
HOME DINNERS.
AT the head of the table of the arts and
sciences, let us place with becoming dignity, the
science or the art of social dining. Theoretical
and practical text-books issue every month from
the press for the use of students, out the study
itself wants a name as great as its importance.
The Greeks, who took the chief meal of their
day at our now customary evening dinner-hour,
it the most dignified of names, as " to
Ariston" the Best. Whoever prepared dinner
was said in their language to Do his Best. Who
ever received another to dinner :id to
aristize, or make-the-best-of him. Dinner-time
was the Best Hour, and a dinner companion was
istos, a fellow-at-t he-Best. So let us, if we
a long word, give to the science of fellow
ship in dining all the dignity of sii-syliabled
Greek, aud call it Synaristology. Gastronomy,
which is, by interpretation, paunch-law, looks
no further than the pots and kettles, and we are
a long way ahead of Epicurus. >loey
s the art of comradeship in the 1. i, by
naking the best of one s self, the best of one s
rieuds, and the best of one s victr
Let us understand clearly, too, that this is an
.ce, or at best a science common
o all nicii who have bread to break. L>
64 [February 27, 1SC4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
scout and despise the miserable notion of one
fixed exalted form of conventional dinner-party,
to which all must yield themselves, or resign
hope that they may ever dare to divide mutton
with a friend. It is a deadly heresy that has
been on the increase of late, and has been setting
up the conventional for the real standard of
hospitality in house after house. The result is,
that at this day many a genial man of moderate
income, who is at once sensible and sensitive,
will not attempt to do what he cannot do well ;
and because he dares not defy the conventional
heresies, does violence to his inclinations, and
asks to his house no dinner-guests but those who
are content to share his customary meal. Other
men, equally genial but less sensitive, do not
flinch from the dinner of compromises with
which English society is too familiar. They ask
their friends to swallow the greengrocer-butler,
the cheap wines of an expensive sort, the ill-
made sauces, and the lukewarm entremets
with ambitious names : lumps of spoilt food
horribly unlike anything that a sane man with a
healthy stomach would, of his own free choice,
on any day of the year, sit down to eat. Enough
of this-. Let us be sociable, let us be liberally
festive, but let us be honest withal, and let each
man give in his own way, and according to his
taste and means, his own best welcome to his
friend.
Dr, Johnson was sound in his distinction when
he said of a dinner he had eaten that it was "a
good dinner enough, but not a dinner to ask a
man to," but the vulgarly polite interpretation
of " a dinner to ask a man to " is not at all
sound. Let us see how this is. Aristology, or
the science of Dinner-fellowship, sets out, as we
have said, with the three postulates, that it calls
on a man to make the best of himself, and of
his friends, and of his victuals. In a conven
tional dinner, even where the victuals are of the
best, the third of these conditions has not been
fulfilled. The mind of the host is not in the
feast he has spread. If the courtesy also be
formal, or if the show of cordiality towards
only one guest be insincere, if there be one man
with his legs under the mahogany whose pre
sence is not really wanted, but who has been
asked to dinner by reason of some conventional
sense of necessity, then we say of such a ban
quet, let the cooks who made it, eat it. There
is a fly in the pot. The dinner stinks, and we
will none of it. It is true that there are some
of us so unhappily situated that we think our
selves obliged, and perhaps are obliged, to ask
people whom we do not care for to formal
dinners. For such conventional guests the con
ventional is the fit form of dinner. The victual
ling of these discordant guests is like buying or
selling on Change a pure matter of business;
and as stockbrokers, merchants, and tradesmen
formularise all methods of business transaction
because they find it convenient in commerce to
hide their individualities behind phrases ap
pointed to express all customary wants and
relations of their business life, so may we for
mularise our dinners whenever they are mere
matters of debtor and creditor account, as now
and then they must be. But as the merchant
when he converses with his private friends drops
the style of his business intercourse, so should
the host, Avhen he is at home with his true friends
about him, abjure the vain repetitions of the
heathen, and delight to give a dinner like himself.
For, we may reckon it the first great law in
Synaristology that the dinner itself should be
honestly individual. The perfect host is bound
to put his mind into it, and make it accord in the
best manner with his means, his taste, or any
special opportunity he may have of setting
fortli in the most pleasant manner, one, or a few,
or many, of the meats and drinks that are best
after their kind. Let us give to the right form
of English social dinner a right English name,
and call it a Home Dinner. By asking a man to
a family dinner, it is understood already that we
ask him to share the ordinary dinner of the
household. The conventional dinner-party that
we know too well, let us leave henceforth to the
uses it will always have in the mere commerce
of society. But let us mean by a Home Dinner,
a domestic festival for those whom the host
knows, or desires to know, as his real friends or
well-liked acquaintances, and in whose company
lie means to make the best of himself, of them,
and of his victuals.
He will not make the best of himself if his
dinner be in any way a sham. He must fairly
and fearlessly proportion its cost to his means.
This he must not do as one who pinches himself
and his household in private that once a year, or
oftener, by a strained effort that gives pleasure
to nobody, he may afford to make his dinner-
table a coarse imitation of the table of a duke ;
his board must be spread as that of one who
likes often to see his best friends about him, and
who, without discomfort to himself, knows how,
whenever they come, to entertain them well. The
scale of the Home Dinner being, then, in the first
place, honestly proportioned to the income of
the host and his resources, the indispensable
condition of its plan is that everything of which
it consists shall be of its kind the best. If the
best quality of costly wines be too expensive,
then those wines must not have their names
taken in vain at the Home Dinner. There are
wholesome and excellent wines of less cost, and
of one or two of these the best quality should
very carefully be chosen. If possible, let there
be no mutton but four year old, no beef but
Highland bred. In short, the Home Dinner is to
mean, whatever its degree of costliness, a sincere
welcome, hearty intercourse, and meats and
drinks, however modest their character and
small their variety, pleasantly set forth, each
the best after its kind. Let all assent to this,
and there is an end to a legion of social
nuisances.
As the world now runs, friendship, based upon
like-mindedness rather than upon like-moneyed-
ness, is constantly arising between men of very
different degrees of income. Tomkins has two,
three, four, live, six, seven, or eight hundred a
year and a family ; Wilkins has fifteen hundred
L TIII-: YJ:AU KOCXD.
iul no family. T. , 6 firm
\\ ., but looks in
vain
-
hundred slmnM ask \V. tn
, like T., but I cio
II.- wi]
mil thii. ill be
red into I he liai:
I iy the L
near), but
1 h;u that
ng \\ ill appear only in the
:\cr dinner, involving
afier the unattainable, lint
fter is kind, a.nd \Vilkins,
Jad to dine \\ith his friend ! . may find
better with him than even at the
.cc the Ilishop of Ry-
One difficulty . nds in the \vay of a
pliant success lor this Home Dinner sys-
lem. The master and the mistress of a house
may d (lowers to adorn their .
,i at pain i-ct the choicest of its
kind for the material of e\ery dish, but how are
they to secure all against the mishap of a dirty
saucepan, the stupidity or inattention of a cook
whu has no soul for the deli: f her art ?
It is true that the Home Dinner .system, even
when it breaks down, is an abated evil, for
where the cook is not faithful over a few things,
-hall she be faithful over many? V.
the principle of action is to work within limits
proportioned to the resources of the house and
Its master for the utmost attainable perfection
of result, the cook whose energies are not un
reasonably taxed is put upon her mettle, and if
she be made of ordinary flesh and blood, the
best work of which she is capable will be
got out of her. Bad is usually the best if she
i alone; for the cook, even when she has
been taught by practice to reproduce a certain
number of preparations of food without spoiling
them very much, and writes herself "thorough
good " in the advertisements, has not
trained to think, and is ignorant of the llrst
principles of what is, in fact, a strictly intellec
tual employment. Before we can reform our
cooks, we must reform a million or two of our
S and restore among them the old
genius for household government in all its
branches. It is because the natural queen of
the household has either dropped the reins of
.eminent, or become lux of rule, that scr-
now-a-days claim absence of oversight as
if it were their right, and resent any gentle at
tempt that may be made to "teach them their
business." It concerns a great many higher
things than the production of good dinners that
this should not be so. No degree whatever of
rank or wealth should be held to release the
if a household from fulfilment of the
duties of her government. The nobler the lady,
ore e!evatin-_ the contact with
her mind, which is the just right of all who form
part of her household.
. and
little
tilled T
and Dinner Parties " i ,1 by
, and llali). T
.an in
e, and only one man in live,
. and what is L
wealth of a : >.f small mnt.
upwards of twenty millions of
money are annually wasted in this country,
through want of a proper knowledge of the way
.1 \\ith food. Our royal priiu.v^es have re
in model kitchens, ha-. .ught
to weigh out stores, and even to make bread
and churn butter. Many ladies of tin-
nobility, and more on the Continent, have main
tained the old custom of attend!; nally
to the .superintendence of their household, and
such ladies inspire with their intelligence the
action of their cooks. la. Canada the ladies
play, and sing, dance, ride, skate, often are well
and good linguists, while they know at the
same time ho-, . .ke good bread, and cakes,
and jellies, and how to rear poultry. C
quently, they give to home more of the cheer
of order and nicety, with the help of a single
servant girl, than one is accustomed to find in
the household of an English couple with three
.Is. At Xeres de la Erontera, the author
of this pica for a graceful homeline-
the English gentlewomen of all classes, dined
with a Spanish grandee, whose wife showed
him with pride the light luxurious kitchen in
which she herself had attended not only to the di
rection but also to the manipulation of t he dinner,
and, he adds, " it icas a dinner." The gentle
woman who adds to her accomplishment a first-
rate knowledge and tact in the direction of the
duties of the kitchen is mistress, he says, not
quite untruly, of an art equal to that of the
physician ; " a noble art it is; it is a swet
of temper, it is the I r of life, it pro
longs life. It is a far nobler art to be able to
prepare that which shall agree with the delicate
organisation of the human frame, than the art
which is employed to get rid of the injurious
eil ects of bad cooking." If you mix dirt with
your coal you dull the fire in your grate, and if
yon mix dirt with your food yon dull, says this
e of clean ladylike cookery, the fire of life
within your bodies, or those of your friends. Of
course, then, we 1.
with us thoroughly in deprecation of dii.
that, by help of a pastrycook, affect ntagniti-
beyond the giver s means. "No, no," he
"there is no dinner like an honest cl
for a party of eight or twelve on
n it is enjoyment instead of burlesque, it
is friendship i. : deceit."
And the model kitchen is an economy, not an
extravagance, for in the Ions: run < ss is
always cheaper than dirt. The p<
whose wife is skilled in household duty will
make every sera]) of food ; and whole-
66 [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
some. " She opencth her mouth with wisdom,
and in her tongue is the law of kindness. She
looketh well to the ways of her household, and
catetli not the bread of idleness. Her children
arise up and call her blessed ; her husband also,
and he praises her."
The model kitchen, described by the author
of these little books, needs no immense range,
devouring tons upon tons of coal. In it, a good
dinner is cooked to the moment, at the cost of a
few pence for fuel. It is established in any
small room, handy to the dining-room; that
room, for example, which a doctor, if he occu
pied the house, would make his surgery; and
everything it contains is absolutely clean. The
very cloths used in it are washed at home in
clean water, with soda only, and without contact
with yellow soap. The stewpans are bright ;
the dozen saucepans of each required size, from
the butter saucepan to that which is large enough
to simmer an aitchbone of beef, are of fireproof
porcelain ; and cookery is achieved also in porce
lain dishes that come, with their contents un-
cooled, direct to the dinner-table. There is in one
corner of this kitchen, a china sink large enough
to soak a ham, with water laid on, and a tap to
let it off. Where gas cannot be had, the Ame
rican stove is used ; but in towns where gas is
laid on, the model cooking stove should be a gas
stove, to which the heat can be applied and regu
lated at discretion, without waste, with but slight
increase of the temperature of the room, and
not the least consideration with the utmost
possible saving of waste in the meat. In such
a home-kitchen, under the skilled care of a lady,
the cold mutton reappears as a delicacy, piping
hot; and the simple dinner of beefsteak and
summer cabbage is set on the table of the thrifty,
cooked to perfection, and so hot that a cold plate
is almost welcome. Let not the housewife take
fright at the mention of porcelain dishes and
saucepans. Such cooking utensils are now made
at Dresden, and used very generally on the Conti
nent. They will not, it is true, bear any kitchen-
maid s rough battering about ; but used by gen
tlewomen and by well-trained handmaids, they
may last for ever, while the use of them gets
rid of all the labour and dirt of imperfect pot-
scouring.
There can be no doubt that the use of
ladies kitchens, each fitted with an American or
gas-stove, and furnished upon some such plan as
this, would, in the first place, tend greatly to
the promotion of frugality, and to the bettering
of cooks. The mistress of the household would
not only teach by precept and example, but
would excite curiosity and emulation. Her little
laboratory would be a school of nicety and clean
liness, and the whole house would reap the benefit
of its teachings : while no cook could stand long
in defence of the old ground of ignorant and
negligent routine in face of the results she
would be seeing constantly produced by the
application of a little study and care to her art.
And there can be no doubt that, in the second
place, where the mistress thus skilfully gives
her mind to the entertainment of her guests,
and is not ashamed of her personal interest
in the results of her own foresight, but, on
the contrary, is proud to have it known that
this or that well-contrived dish has been the
work of her own hands, the Home Dinner is
most surely to be enjoyed in its perfection.
Such a mistress is usually the one who can
make the piano sing, while her neighbour, who
is ashamed of household duty, only beats and
tortures it. It is the thorough housewife who,
at the head of the table which her skill has fur
nished with the best of fare, knows how to
bring a cheerful heart and a sound cultivated
intellect to the elevation of the table-talk about
her : while her neighbour, who is ashamed to be
thought capable, and is grossly incapable, of
household duty, can only produce minced com
mon-places upon the emptiest topics that happen
to be accounted fashionable by the politer sort
of addle-pates.
Away, then, we say again, with the whole
greasy indigestible sham of conventional dinner
parties, aping a style inconsistent with the natural
means of the. giver. Let us substitute for it
the Home Dinner everywhere, honest and cha
racteristic. Who would not exchange a preten
tious mess, diluted with counterfeit wines, for a
hot well-cooked chop, a mealy potato, and a
glass of Bass or Allsopp ? Let the Home Dinner,
of course, so far exceed the daily fare of the
house giving it, as to express with a right gene
rosity the hospitable mind. But while the
material expenditure is held modestly within
its just and honest bounds, let the expenditure
of thought be without stint. If ladies studied
cookery as their foremothers did, there would be
no house without its individual recipes and ori
ginal dishes. Some housewives would be famous
for one thing, some for another, and the plague
of sameness would soon vanish from our enter
tainments.
What constant variety may, without extrava
gance, be introduced into the ordinary meals
of a household, is partly shown in a capital
new housekeeper s book called Cre-fydd s Family
Fare. It gives a range of varying breakfast s
and dinners for every day in the year, and adds
a store of recipes to show how everything that
is mentioned is to be prepared. Such a book
would carry any housewife, resolved to become
pleasantly skilled, as she ought to be, in culinary
lore, far on her way. But the great end for her
to achieve, is such an acquaintance with prin
ciples, and such familiarity with the best-known
combinations in the cookery of food, as will enable
her to run alone. Her aim should be to work
as the skilled physician works when he has gone
through hospital training, by individual tact
and intelligence applied to every case. Let it
be her ambition to find three hundred and sixty-
five ways of treating a rumpsteak, all of them
better than the simple use of the gridiron. For,
if she can do that, she will deserve to have her
name inscribed by that of Shakespeare, and to
have some day her tercentenary kept with a great
Home Dinner, to which all England shall sit
down without quarrelling, everything set forth
leans.]
ALL THI: YEA::
[Februan
of the best, aiul ev at the
i- of
did of hi
FAUMIM; IJY STEAM.
BY tlie help of rai 1 the
tin! the merchant, iu c within
fli of some of ;
i ! hard
on some of the tenant-fanm :
mi the produce of their lands for livelihood.
the farm are
uerchant-fariner with a resignation
: .
in tli ions of commerce, larger .sums lost
or \voii by a sin ^e, than his crop and
stock could make in a v. WP; so he has
learnt to take his rebutTs quietly. At the
time, he is 1, t bargain, and t
1 on his establishment. "\Vhfii he
.nned up the amount to be provided for
rent ; his rent-charge commutation iu lieu of
tithes ; his land tax, poor rates, bad hay, mouldy
grain, diseased cattle and a dozen obstinate and
ugly laets which could be so dwelt upon as to
make the old original British farmer a prophet of
woe in the market-place for lifty-two \veeksevery
\v farmer consoles himself, when a
few hundreds are on the wrong side of his farm
accounts, with the reflection that they only re-
ost of relaxation from the cares of
business. Therefore he will go on selling his
bacon at when it cost him a shii
pound, and butter at fourtcenpence which a care
ful calculation proves to have cost him half-a-
crown. His chickens, ducks, and turkeys, are
almost a success. He can rear them within a
trifle of what he could buy them for in the meat
market, after he has had the pleasure of seeing
them run about, and of hearing them cackle and
crow "extra parliamentary utterances."
Wherever such men bring their wealth into
the farmer s neighbourhood, the farmer who
is dependent on his land for bread cannot sustain
their competition. Whatever maybe the ulti
mate tendency of this disturbing influence on
agriculture, its earlier results do not at present
tend to improve the position of the poorer class
of farmers.
But skill and enterprise are now brought into
action by our merchant-agriculturists. They
will have the best machinery ; and, though a
good many implements prove useless, they
use of practical trial; poorer men wait
and learn from them when the inventor s eifort
really produc ving of time, labour, and
outlay. It would be idle now to speak of -
flit, when all the men who are at
lead of their profession look on it as in-
usable upon the farm. It makes its way
quietly but surely. The old plough, that lazily
scratched its one furrow, . up for an im
plement which passes briskly over the ground,
and turns up in its progress three I urrov.
even more, at every passage. Tne wheat,
i ud ther how
ever i
With
pace.
;o a shrewd wn; .->uch
faniii andl athers would
have taken oil their hats ; and no one who re
1 of their ;d has visited
icultun:: 5 d, or
of the local corn
and cattle markets in our better-far
will dispute the truth of such That
are still lairging behind their day is true
TV class of men.
The present tendency of farming is. however,
to the use of capital upon lar_ any
small farmers must be, sooner or later, driven
from the field. The change may be, and should
be, slow. Already some land ho have
numerous small farms appear to be expecting
and endeavouring to defer the full accomi
ment of such a change. At an important county
ug recently held in the north of England,
d that a certain number of tenants
should unite and form a company for purr-
and use of steam machinery. The plan remains
to be tried, and is open to criticism. Given
any ten men with small holdings and a &
engine for their common use : each fanner will
want to thrash his grain so as to sell to the
advantage, even if he n use of the steam-
engine on other occasions to his neighbour. On
land the cleverest and most enterpi
man o i n will win. He will with <
conditions out-general the nine, buy their ma
chinery, and rent their land. The remains of
the company will descend a step in the social
ladder, and become in name what they are now
in fact farm labourers. The practice of hiring
machinery by the job is common in some coun
ties, but the farmer in that case seldom bas the
use of it on tiie days most convenient and pro
fitable to himself. The capitalist who owns the
steam power, and land enough to keep it
employed, has still the larger and the surer
profits.
On dairy farms, where wife and family assist
in the care and management of three or four
or even on fruit lands, where the same
help is available, the conditions of a livelihood
may remain much as they are at present,
all events, changes in store for them are too
remote to need present attention.
One chief occupation for many of the small
tenant-farmers who are now, it is to be fe;
being foreed in<o a false position by the new
work on the farm, will be that of :
baililis. iSuch men are conversant with :
tieal detail, and trustworthy. It is tnir
men are born to a win discipline of
trouble, and must find their level in the world
in the natural progress -. But it
honourable of those laiulo
ins for protecting 1 .oiig
63
[February 27,
1864.]
ALL
THE
YEAR
HOUND.
[Conducted
by
settled on their estates, from hurt by changes
which, however inevitable, it is the duty <
to make, as far as possible, simply beneficent.
If there be truth in this belief, then the new
ways opened to improvement of the position of
farm labourers will be found worthy of special
and generous consideration. These useful mem
bers of the community will be more than ever a
class by themselves, and as the work will, there
fore, be better done, the country will, under the
known principle of "each man to his trade," be
come the gainer. The farm labourer has, indeed,
means of raising his position above the point he
has hitherto attained. The difficulty is to con
vince him of it, and make him his own friend.
Assistance may be afforded him, information
may be offered, good legislation may be substi
tuted for that which appears unsound ; but, after
all, we cannot compel him to better himself any
more than he can force his horses to drink after
taking them to water. Let us give him all fair
means of bettering his lot. And let us keep the
stream of his life pure as we may.
Whatever be the difference of wages to farm
labourers and the range is considerable the
average payment throughout the country is, we
are told, eleven-and-fourpence a week. An in
dustrious man, in good health, can, with the help
of his household, earn enough honestly to main
tain himself, his wife, and family, with much
about the same struggle in one part of England
as another. Therefore, we need not go into any
question of comparison of those who have cheap
fuel, gardens, low rent, permission to keep a
pig, and nine shillings a week wages, with others
who live in expensive districts where every perch
of laud is wanted by a farmer, paying nearly
double the amount in cash wages, but adding to
them few perquisites or pickings.
Neither is the average day s work of ten
hours too much for an able-bodied countryman.
It may be noted that the steam-engine compels
a fair day s work for a fair day s wages, and the
reaping-machine has done much to discourage
strikes for increase of wages among the reapers,
at the critical juncture of a ripe crop and a
sunny morning. Generally, also, now that pre
judice is adjusting itself to the new phase of
farming life, there is a better and more social
feeling between the workmen on the farm,
which is a pleasure and a gain to men and
masters.
But what we said years since of the uufeuced
factory machinery, it is to a certain degree ne
cessary to repeat of the use of steam-engines
among the farmers. Enough has not yet been
done to secure farm labourers against accidents
arising from machinery. So long ago as the
meeting of the lloyal Agricultural Society at
Chester, in 1858, the danger was thus pointed
out in the judges report in a rather alarming
manner :
"" Cn entering the show-yard at Chester, the
visitor s direct path to the stock and implements
lay through an avenue of steam-engines, neatly
arranged at equal distances, their fly-wheels in
(perpetual) motion, presenting a very animated
scene ; but what would have been the effect
produced on the visitor s nerves had he known
that three of these engines were liable to burst
at any moment ? It is hardly necessary to say
that the stewards, on being informed by one of
the judges of this serious fact, immediately or
dered their fires to be extinguished ; and the
police had strict injunctions to remove any man
from the show-yard who should attempt to get
steam up in a dangerous engine."
There may have been reasons for limiting the
action of the Society to protecting visitors to
its own show-yard, but a danger to the farm
labourer, thus deliberately foreshadowed, ought
surely to have been met and averted. Yet no
legislative interference appears to have been
attempted, and that which M~as threatened has
come to pass.
In the course of the recent harvest, fatal
accidents have occurred by the bursting of such
engines. In one case, at Plaxtol, in Kent,
where a life was lost, skilled evidence was given
before the coroner, to the effect that the plate
which burst was " decomposed generally."
Another fatal accident, in which two lives
were lost, happened from the same cause at
Clearsfield, in Suffolk. The agricultural society
of the county has in consequence, it is said,
passed a resolution under which the association
recommends the appointment of a competent
engineer as " inspector of such motors." The
inspection is proposed to be made at least half-
yearly, at a certain fixed payment per engine, to
be shared between the owners and the society.
The inspector is further to examine every
" engine driver" as to his fitness, and will certify
his fitness, and authorise him to wear a badge
in testimony of the same when at work.
The danger of bursting is certainly not likely
to decrease as such machines become old ; and,
unless measures of precaution be taken before
next harvest, we may fairly expect a further
waste of human life. The recommendation of
the Kentish jury is surely worth the attention
of parliament. Why should it not be made
somebody s duty to provide generally that se
curity which the county of Suffolk is already
striving to obtain for her own farm labourers ?
Engine-driving, as it is called, would thus
become, as it should be, a distinct occupation,
by which a higher rate of pay in one new occu
pation for the better class of farm labourer
would be obtained. But it is a notorious evil,
that a common farm labourer, who knows no
more of the steam-engine than he does of loga
rithms, should be entrusted with its manage
ment. Such men are painstaking, and with in
struction would, no doubt, qualify themselves
for the duty. We asked one of them recently
why he was not at work on the engine ? His
reply was : " Well, sir, I thought she was
getting very old, and, if she blowed up, rny Re
putation would be blowed up with her" he
did not think about his life " so I came
along home."
The class of accidents on farms is fast coming
to resemble those in mills : loss of
fingers
or
Char!
ALL Till] YEAR HO!
toes, or Imply au arm, by 1 lie machine. If \u:
enter a shed of one of the Society
, ;ui l the di!
:i tin-
whirl, the wonder is that accidents arc not more
coinii
ON FIRE!
THE recent terrible catastrophe in San
recals vividly to my mind one of the mo-
traordinary adventures of my chequered life.
1 H us ago, 1 was captain of
the Northern schooner trading
between Hull and St. Petersburg. A long ac-
qnaintanee v,i:h the vicissitudes of the- Russian
climate had made me somewhat reckless. The
quence was, that one 3Uth of October I
i -iuud my vcs-cl tight locked in ice. I had
1 a \\x-ck too long, in my eagerness to
take a full cargo of timber, and 1 was justly
punished for my temerity: a prisoner till the
middle or end of April, far away from my friends,
and doing what a livery-stable-keeper would call
"eating my own head off."
Being, however, of a sanguine tempera
ment, and having no wife at home to be
anxious about, I resolved to make the best of
it, and enjoy myself as well as I could. I saw
all the sights of Si. Petersburg, from Peter the
Great s wooden house down to the Mammoth.
I visited Moscow. I went bear-hunting. I
drove about in sledges. I fell in love and fell
out again. Nor did I neglect business. I fre
quently attended the Exchange, and made
myself known to the chief tallow, hemp, and
timber merchants. I studied Russian com
merce. I arranged for cargoes for two years
to come. The Anglo-Russians are very hospit
able, and, thanks to the kindness of Mr.
Anderson, the English banker, my hotel ex
penses were very small. My fur coats were my
chief expense ; they cost me a large sum then ;
but I reckoned that they would last me my life,
and so they have at least, I wear them to this
day.
Nevertheless, I pined for the hour of liberty.
An idle life did not suit a man of my tempera
ment one who had been at sea ever since he
was twelve years old. Like all sailors, 1 was
always grumbling against the sea, and yet I
was never happy away from it. At last the
order of my release came. The ice on the
, opposite the Custom-house especially,
-1 to melt into thin bars an inch or so wide,
came dangerous to venture on it, except
where it was piled with snow. The ice-slabs
the quay began to break, when 1 pushed
on
with my stick, into glassy fragments,
and there some space i to open,
and dirty brown snow water pooled on th
I d warm days, but
now rain and wind came, and they soon melted
the walls of my crystal prison. SI-
NY va, though the water rose up
to the horses ku-
monm u 1 looked out of my
window on th i floor .v on s,
on tli ;
i
known sign that the ice had b
and si hold water, and in a I
would break away from t!. _-;n to
ud.
1 had just sat down to breakfast, when a
thunder-peal of cannon hi t the for:
" What, is that,
ile.
"That," she replied, "is th that the
commander of the citadel, with I
> inter Palace with a goblet 01
in token of the return of spring. The Em
peror will give him the cup back filled with
doot
" Hurrah! 1 I cried; "then hey for old Eng
land !
It took me some days to get the ship off, for
nous going backwards and foi
Cronstadt. It was the But In that
seven -,st which pn :it, and is fol
lowed by the rejoicing of Easter. In t
vals of business, as 1 went to and fro to my
i nisei 1 myself with observing the
revelry of this great Russian festival.
There were thousands of peasants devo
blinni (pancakes), and caviare, hor
nuts. There were swings, see-saws, ai
abouts. The great square of the Admiral!;,
ief scene of the amu- (
r Palace, the War-otlice, and the Senate-
House, there were scores of tempo:
and long lines of ice mountains, dor.;:
the sledges kept rushing incessantly, :
shouts and laughter of the good-natured but
wild-looking peasants. At, the doors of the
theatres stood the tea-sellers, with huge br
semovars smoking in the centre of tin
and surrounded by countless teapots. The
keepers themselves, in fur caps and ghn
by their stalls, stamping, and clapping I
hands, and shouting: -Gentlemen, will you
please to take a glass of warm tea, w:
or cream : How will you take tin (for
a true Russian keeps his sugar in his mouth,
and does not put it into his teacup). The
miralty square was strewn with nut-shells ; here
and there a drunken bear of a peasant, a :
reeling bundle of greasy sheepskin, j<
against me, and then, with the simpl* -
u-bs of his race, took -oil and hie-
cuped out : " Pardon me, my litt! , but
mber it is Butter week."
One day 1 sallied out into the i
about noon to see tin-
drive through the fair, and I neve: -?h a
sight. The line was guarded by moui.
/esscd like i
blue 11 with brown epaulettes. T:
Clune-e, Turks, Tartar
,n prine s, soldi iier-
i their purtlv
colonels of the
70 [February 27, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
helmets, and serfs, in a long procession of car
riages, which, beginning at the rock on which
Peter the Great s statue stands, reached to the
base of the great granite column of Alexander,
facing the enormous pile of the Winter Palace.
Tired at last of the procession, I turned aside
to one of the largest of the wooden theatres.
A clash of music from within announced the
commencement of a new performance ; joining
the torrent of people, old and young, rich and
poor, who were jostling for admittance, I at last
made my way to the pay-place, where a mob of
clamorous moujiks were thrusting out their hands
with the admittance-money, in childish impa
tience.
I drew back to make way for a respectable old
grey-bearded merchant and his pretty daughter,
who, muffled up in a cloak trimmed with the fur
of the silver fox, clung to his arm, and shrank
back from the rough gesticulating crowd. I
thought I had never seen so charming a girl,
so tender in manner, so gentle and spring-like
in beauty. The merchant and his daughter
bowed and thanked me in broken English for
my politeness, paid their money, and passed in.
I followed rapidly, but a crowd of peasants
thrust themselves in before me, so that when I
took my seat I could obtain no glimpse of the
merchant or his pretty daughter.
The wooden theatre of the Katsheli was an
enormous building, built, as a peasant next
me said, to hold five thousand persons. It
had large galleries, balconies, and Corinthian
pillars, hung with cheap drapery, and gay with
red and blue paint. A vast chandelier lighted
up the tent-like interior.
The theatre was already full when I entered,
so that I had to content myself with a back
seat in an upper box, not far from the head of
one of the staircases as I soon found by the
keen-edged iced draught. I amused myself,
while the overture was playing, with the motley
view before me. The Tartar faces, only par
tially reclaimed from barbarism, were worth
studying, now that they beamed with fun.
The little oblique eyes glistened with enjoy
ment, the great bearded tangled heads roiled
about in ecstasy. Here and there, the eye fell
on a Polish or Circassian face, with large fine
eyes, and almost a Greek contour. Every now
and then, a gronp of grave portly merchants in
furred caftans and ooots, mingled with the
serfs, but with an obtrusive reserve that showed
they did so under protest. Their children, also
dressed in caftans and boots, were exactly like
themselves all but the beards. Nor was there
any lack of women of the lower orders : rough,
honest, Irish-looking women, few of them in
bonnets, most of them with their heads bound
round with coloured handkerchiefs.
I did not listen much to the music ; it was
that brazen mechanical sort of music, without
colour or life, that no oiie listens to. By-and-by,
it ended with a jolting crash. There was a mo
ment s pause, and the curtain drew up. A deep
hush passed over the troubled waves of the pit.
The children clutched their fathers hands, the
soldiers ceased their practical jokes, the country,
women paused in their gossip, the boys stopped
eating, every eye turned to the stage.
An honest old woman just before me a
housekeeper, as I judged by her dress amused
me especially by her child-like eagerness. She
put on her spectacles, and leaned forward with
both hands on her knees, to drink in every word.
The play was a little operetta, half French,
half Italian. I think they called it " Rose and
Lubin." It was a gay, trifling thing. The hero
and heroine were villagers, and an old cross
father, and a malicious fool, were the constant
interrupters of their stolen meetings. Rose was
dressed in a little tucked up gowii of white silk
striped with pink, and wore a gipsy hat ; Lubin
wore a nondescript sort of blue silk coat and
flapped waistcoat, while the Zany tumbled into
a thousand scrapes in a sort of miller s dress all
white, and a blue broad-brimmed hat. There
was a good deal of hiding and searching about
with soldiers, until the true lover enlists, and
finally returns a General, to marry Rose. It
was a flimsy pretty bit of nonsense, mixed up
with dances and songs, and now and then a
chorus; and it was all over in half an hour.
Silly as it was, it pleased the audience, who
shouted, laughed, and encored everything. A
display of fireworks was to follow, and then a
short farce.
Between the acts, I tried the little Russian I
knew, and asked the old woman, who had turned
round and offered me some honey-cakes. " How
she liked it ?"
" My little father," she said, quite seriously,
" it is the most wonderful thing I have ever be
held since I saw those accursed Trench act at
Moscow, in Napoleon s time."
Suddenly all the clatter and laughter died
away. The curtain had not risen, but a faint
crimson light was shining behind it. It was the
commencement of the pyrotechnic display, and
I was curious to see what the Russians could
do in these matters. The first scene was to be
the illumination of the Kremlin at the corona
tion of the Emperor Alexander the First. Pro
bably that was only the preparation, for, though
the red light widened and glowed, the curtain,
strangely enough, did not rise.
The people stamped and shouted. All at once
the bajozzo (the clown), in his white dress, ran
forward, pale as death, his eyes staring, his hands
tossing about like those of a madman, "We
are on fire !" he shouted. " Save yourselves, you
who can."
"Bravo, Ferrari!" cried the peasants, with
roars of laughter. " Excellent ! Viva Ferrari !
Bravo, Ferrari !"
The clown fled from the stage, as it seemed,
in an agony of feigned fear. The laughter re
doubled. A n;an in evening dress rushed
forward, whispered to the orchestra, and waved
his hand to some men who were not visible to
the audience.
The curtain rose swiftly at that ominous
signal, and disclosed, to my horror, a rolling
mass of fire and crimsoned smoke. Already the
kens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[February 71
flies had o Ve and were i
I i re.
eithe, The i!i< Tin;
, jt been rribly
in i
I ihall n that
from those four thousand people when then
broke upon them. I In nt. <>
look, but in that i
\vluii urn as by our impulse to the door.
Then. lienlot
amals. Many dire forward without
a thought b> . n safety, others
snatched up their ehi ners dragged for
ward I motliers or fathers, or bore their
inns. Then came
rapple for life, the trampling suffocating
for existence that only M-rvedtol.
; >n ii<
In many thiuirs t am coward enough, but in
Midd- r I have always found myself cool
and collected. JVrhaps a sailor s frequent
nd the constant thought of the possi
bility of death, is a sort of training; perhaps
i constitutional quality. 1 know not how
I only state the fact. 1 .saw imme-
iy that though for the moment safe, and far
from the full torrent of the struggle, my hopes
cape were quite as desperate as the hopes
oftho-c who ing each other to
at the cut ranee below. Unfortunately, one of the
great folding-doors opened inward, in ti.
rush it had been closed, and now the pressure
it could not be moved one way
ler.
The ilames were spreading rapidly, the smoke
rolled towards us in blinding clouds, and from
clouds darted and h rpent tongues
of lire. The Ilames seemed with cruel g:
ness to spring from seat to seat. The slips
blazing, the orchestra W
of tire. The screams and groans on all sides
heart-breaking.
1 hesitated for a moment whether to remain
6 I was and meet death, or to breast the
human whirlpool below. At that moment a
surge of llame ran along the ledge of the next
box. to me, blackening and blistering as it went.
The heat grew in i determined to make
one struggle for my life. I ran to the head of
the &j .d looked down. There, the herd of
screaming shouting people fought with hands and
feet in a horrible tangle of life and death.
I u if up as lost, when a hand si
my coat. It u as the old housekeeper, scream
ing 1 itics to me to save her. I told her
to cling to me and I would do what I could.
MIC courage to think I v. -gling
-elf. She kneeled and
prayed to God for us both.
had placed myself at the edge of the
;i in order to husband my strength for a
t. One thing I determined, and that
was that I would m ading
poor and children un . Rather
: , 1 would let the tire bum me slowly,
or I v.
no crati , and -
quick thought alone shot
through my heart, ai. .1 thought for
:eu so innocent aim happy
iod there like a diver
and burnt, dashei; from the crowd
had trampled upon DUD ring for
i \\ith smoke, fell fae.
ual with
ariist in his beit behind. A thought of
self-preservation, surely sent st
Heaven, llashed thnmirii my brain. I stooped
and drew out the ;
" Make way there, or I cut down the first
man who stops me !" I cried out, in broken
an.
1 half fought, half . to give
way, until I readied the bottom of t:
and had the bare plank wall of the outer en
closure of the theatre before me.
" I will save you all," I cried, " if you will
let me free my arm."
old \\oman still clung to me, but as I
advanced to strike my iir.-,t blow at the plank
partition that arose between life and death,
came a rush which for a moment separated
1 had no time or room to turn, but
moment 1 felt her grasp still tinner and cl<
One blow, and the splinters Hew; a second
blow, a plank gave ; a third blow, and the
blessed da .urcd in . fourth blow,
and a i nougli for the pa-
of myself and my charge. After us, hundreds
-ed out rapidly.
I found myseff among a crowd of shrii
women, who were calling on an officer standing
in a barouche drawn by six horses, to g
husbands, sons, brothers. Suddenly a man
with a scorched beard, his eyes streaming with
. came and took from me the woman I had
saved. I was so blinded with smoke and
fevered with excitement, that I had scarcely
given her a thought. All I knew was, that I
had saved an old woman, and, by God s grace,
opened a door of escape for some hu;.
otherwise doomed creatu.
"U hen I looked round, I found the merchant
whom I had before seen (he was the scorched
and weeping man), sheddn of joy over a
.ful girl who had fainted. The old woman
had been divided from me in the tumult. The
merchant s daughi who had then cl:
me it was her whom I had saved.
I as I bent over her and received her
father s b.
The tali officer was the emperor. " My
children," he he mob, "I will
save all I can ! Bring that brave man to
I am not ashamed to repeat tho.-
though I. did no- them.
-liman," he said to me in French,
"the ;
I it is for me to repay it j come to ii
mono
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[F.-. l.ruary 27, 1SC4J
I bowed my thanks, and handed my card ) o
one of the emperor s staff.
YV hen the fire -was subdued, and they began
to dig for the bodies, the scene was agonising.
Heaps of charred and trampled corpses lay under
the smoking beams some stifled, others trodden
or beaten to death. Some were charred, others
half roasted, many only burnt in the chest and
head, the holiday clothes still bright and gay.
In the galleries, women were found suffocated
and leaning over the front boxes. In one passage
they discovered a crowd of dead, all erect, like
so many shadows marshalled from the other
world. More than a hundred were found still
alive, but dangerously burnt. Most of these
afterwards died iii the hospitals.
One little boy was discovered cowering un
hurt under a bench; he had crept there when
the burning roof began to break up and drop
among the struggling multitude. The beams
and dead bodies had so fallen as to form a shel
ter over his head, and there he had remained
till we disinterred him.
The official returns set down the number of
the dead as three hundred ; but my agent told
me that while he himself stood there, he counted
fifty waggons pass, each laden with from ten to
fifteen corpses ; and many people made a much
higher estimate.
I need not say much about my visit to the
palace ; suffice it to mention that the emperor
rewarded me with an order that I highly prize.
On the same day the priests offered up public
prayers for the souls of the sufferers, on the site
of the burnt theatre. It was a solemn spectacle,
and as I rose from those prayers, full of grati
tude to God for my deliverance, a rough hand
grasped mine.
It was the merchant whose daughter I had
saved. Tears streamed from his eyes as he em
braced me and kissed my forehead and my cheek
in the Oriental manner of his nation.
"My little father," he said, "I would rather
have found thee than have cleared a thousand
red rouble notes. Little Catherine, whom you
saved, has been praying for you ever since.
Come, you must dine with us. " I will take no
denial, for do I not owe you more than my life ?
Come, a droshky there quick to the Fon-
tauka; Catherine will leap for joy when she sees
you."
That visit was an eventful one to me, for on
my third voyage from that date I married Ca
therine Maslovitch, and a loving and devoted
wife I found her. She is kissing my cheek as I
pen these words.
But it is not to dwell upon my own personal
good fortune and happiness, that I have written
this plain remembrance. It is, that I may do
what little I can to impress upon those who
may read it, that a rush from any building on
fire is certain to be fatal, and that an orderly
departure from it is certain deliverance. The
Theatre, Concert-room, Church or Chapel, does
not exist, through which a fire could spread so
rapidly as to prevent the whole assembly from
going out unscathed, if they would go free from
panic. The Santiago case was an extremely
exceptional one. The whole of the gaudy clap
traps were under the management of priests
(the worst managers on earth), and what kind
of priests they were, may be inferred from the
fact that the base cowards all precipitately fled,
and that not one of them had the manhood to
stand at the Altar, his place of authority, where
he could be seen on a platform made to render
him conspicuous, and whence his directions
would have been issued at an immense advan
tage. Again, the assemblage was mainly com
posed of women and children in light inflammable
dresses. Again, the Show was lighted by lamps
of paraffme dangling by strings from the whole
of the roof above the people s heads, which
dropped upon them, so many overturned pots
of liquid fire, as the strings were burnt. But
even under these specially disastrous conditions,
great numbers of the assemblage would have
been saved but for the mad rush at the door
which instantly closed it. Suppose that rush
not to have been made, suppose the door
wide open, suppose a priest with the soul of a
man in him to have stood on the Altar steps,
passing the people at that end of the church,
out of the Priestly door (of which we hear
nothing, and which the last of those quick
fugitives perhaps shut after him), and how
changed the result ! I entreat any one who
may read this experience of mine, and may after
wards be in a similar condition, to remember
that in my case, and in the Santiago case,
numbers lost their lives not because the build
ing was on fire, but because there was a desperate
rush at tlie door. Half a dozen men capable of
self-control, might save as many thousand lives,
by urging this on a crowd at the critical moment,
and by saying " We will go the last."
NEW WOEK BY MR. DICKEXS,
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfleld," &c.
In MAY will be published, PART I., price Is., of
A NEW WORK BY CHARLES DICKENS
IX TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
London: CHAPMAN- and HALL, 193, 1 iceadilly.
Now ready, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE TENTH YOLUME.
In March will le published, securely bound in neu-ly designed covers, and gilt edged, pric&
Three Pounds, the TEN VOLUMES of ALL THE YEAH HOUND, com
pleted since the Miscellany was commenced. With a General Index to afford easy
reference to every article in the Work.
The liujht of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR HOUND is reserved by the Authors.
Published tttthe Office. Xo. 26. WeHinri ni m-i. S!r:in<;. Primed C. WHITING Beaufort Howe. Strand.
"THE STORY OF OUR LIVES FROM YF.AU TO Y: Sauusn
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
A \\ I-;I;KLY JOURNAL.
CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS.
WITH WHICH IS INCORPORATED HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
254.]
SATCKDAY, MARCH 3, ISfii.
QUITE ALONE.
BOOK THE FIRST: CHILDHOOD.
CHAPTER VII. WHEN WILLIAM THE FOURTH
WAS KING.
THE epoch, there was no denying it, was a
wild and dissolute one. The imprint of the
Regent s cloven foot had not >ru away.
A man was upon the throne. He made a de
corous king enough in his old age, mainly through
the influence of a pious and admirable wife; hut
his youth had been the converse of reputable.
The sons of George the Third had not contri
buted in any great degree to the elevation of
the moral tone of the country. The trial of
Queen Caroline, and the private life of G
the Fourth, had done a good deal towards de
praving the national manners. There were no
young princesses save one, the Hope of Eng
land, whom her good mother kept sedulously
aloof from the polluting atmosphere of the age.
The Duchess of Kent and her daughter went
tranquilly about from w.it ering-place to watering-
place, and gathered shells and weeds upon the
sands, and visited poor people in their cot-
. and sat under evangelical ministers, and
allowed the age to go by, and to be as wild and
lute as it chose. They hoped and waited
for better times, and the better times came
at last, and have continued, and will endure,
we trust.
Party spirit ran high. "\Vc had been on the
verge of a revolution about Catholic Emancipa
tion, of another about Parliamentary Reform.
;. filing was disorganised. There were com
missions sitting upon everything, with a view to
in of most things. Barrister* of
i years standing, fattened upon the treasures
om the sinccurists, and the pcnsion-
f the old Black Book. Commissioners
anil inspectors became as great a nuisauc
to the country as the clerks of the Pipe
or \\\c. Tellers if-r had
-d his theory for regenerating so-
, but kcked sincere faith in his own
nins; and so, after a wh
<>f terror without much i
was mostly one of words and priu-
i-ence,
;df. decency, had gone to sleep for a v.
O Connell cal ilington a " ; cor
poral," and .\ ;iuffbon," and
Disraeli the younger "a lineal descendant, of the
impenitent thief." One Cocking had cast him
self into space in a parachute, and, coming into
contact with the earth, was smashed to d
A crafty Frenchman lured many hundreds of
simpletons into taking tickets for a passage in
his navigable balloon or a. Jrial ship.
timeoudy, he ran away, and left them with their
tickets, and an empty bag of oiled silk. There
were people who did not believe in steam. There
were others who did believe in it, but held thai
locomotives and paddle-steamers were only the
precursors of the end of the world. Meanwhile,
s had been drained by Stephenson, and
Brunei was piercing the Thames Tunnel. But
nothing was settled. Nobody knew where any
thing was to end. Steam and scepticism and
tractarianism and Murphy s weather almanack,
the abolition of slavery and the labour of chil
dren in factories, lions and tigers at Drury Lane,
and the patents taken away therefrom, and from
Covent Garden too ; commutation of tithes and
reform of municipal corporations, charity com
missions and the new Poor-law, chartism, trades-
unionism and the unknown tongues ; oceans of
pamphlets ; new clubs starting up all over the
-end; pigtails, knee-breeches and
powder beginning to be laughed at ; the
Chancellor jumping up and down on the wool
sack like a parched pea in a fire-shovel, hi
of gravely doubting and doubting for years, and
working no end of misery and ruin, as Chancellor
Eldou had done : all these things, with Irish out-
, colonial discontents and embarrassing rela
tions with foreign powers (order reigned in War
saw, and Vivent les Polouais !" in Paris meant
the erection of barricades and a tussle bet
the blouses and th
whirlwind of sand and pebbles and brie:
and scraps of paper, the whole accompanied by
a prodigious noise, driving peaceably-minded
It blind, and half deaf, and parcel-
mad.
Blunt, Esq., and Monsieur Con-
had left r- after c\
The hackney-coachman had K
.
midn .a two jaded hoi drew
voi.
5, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAH ROUND.
[Conducted by
the vehicle clattered over Westminster Bridge.
Mr. Blunt felt so exhausted that he was com
pelled to descend at a tavern on the Surrey side
of the bridge and refresh himself with a small
glass of brandy. He re-entered the coach, making
wry face?, and declaring the liquor abominable.
Constant treated the coachman to a glass of ale,
but did not presume to accompany his master
to the bar of the tavern. He partook, outside,
of a moderate sip of his own from a small
pocket-flask.
"Why didn t you tell me you had something
to drink with you ?" said Blunt, pettishly, as
he saw his companion replace the flask in a side-
pocket.
"I could not venture to ask monsieur "
began the valet, gravely.
" I dare say you couldn t, Constant. You re
a sly fox, and always keep the best of the game
to yourself. Here, give me the bottle. I have
need of a little Dutch courage to-night."
Mr. Blunt took a pretty heavy draught of the
Dutch courage, which was, indeed, the very
best French cognac. He took a pretty deep
draught of it, for a man of such delicately-strung
nerves.
"Capital brandy," he murmured, smacking
his lips. "You have a talent for buying the
best of everything for yourself. Why on earth
did you allow me to go into that atrocious gin-
palace ?"
" It is for monsieur to lead the way."
"And for you constantly and carefully to avoid
following me, and to allow me to fall into the
lions den. Constant, do you know what I have
to do to-night ?"
"To be bold, and to win."
" You have taught me how to manage the one.
I think I can depend on my own presence of
mind for the other. But do you know how
much I want?"
" Monsieur s wants are extensive."
"And so are yours, monsieur the sleeping
partner. Egad, unless I rise from the table a
winner of five thousand pounds I am a ruined
man !"
" Monsieur s creditors indeed are pressing."
"The creditors be hanged," Francis Blunt,
Esq., returned, with much equanimity. " It isn t
for them I shall have to sit up till five o clock
this morning. But there are debts of honour,
Constant, that must be paid. I owe Carlton
fifteen hundred. I owe the Italian prince, what s
his name ? Marigliauo a monkey. I must send
that she-wolf of mine, a hundred pounds before
to-morrow afternoon, or she will be crawling
after me as usual. And then my ready money is
all gone, or nearly so. I don t think I ve got
fifty pounds in my pocket. I ve dropped over
sixty pounds at that school at Clapham, Khodo-
something House, to pay for that little brat:
by your advice, Monsieur Jean Baptiste. I tell
, I must have five thousand pounds out
J)ebonuair before sunrise, or I am done. I
must have ready money to go abroad with, and
then Dobree has most of my valuables; and
then there arc your wages, Constant."
" And my commission, if monsieur pleases."
"And your commission, most immaculate of
commercial agents. Five per cent, is it not?
You go abroad with me, Constant, so that you
know I am perfectly safe. By the way, you
couldn t manage to take the hundred to the she-
wolf to-night, could you?"
" Ready money is not very plentiful," returned
the valet, after some consideration; "but I
think I can contrive to obtemperate, by a
little finessing, to monsieur s demand. Might
I, however, ask him to promise me one little
thing ?"
What is it, Constant : a rise in your wages ?"
" Monsieur s service is sufficiently remunera
tive," answered the valet, and I believe he spoke
with perfect sincerity. " It is not that."
"What then?"
"Not to touch the dice to-night. As an
amusement, they are admirable ; as a commercial
operation, they are destruction."
" Confound the bones, I know they are," Mr.
Blunt, with some discomposure, acknowledged.
"If I had stuck to the coups you taught me
at Vanjohn, I should have made ten thousand
this season alone. I never get that infernal
box in my hand without coming to grief in some
way or other. And yet what money I have
won !"
" And what money lost !"
" Your answer is unanswerable. Yes ; I will
promise you. I will keep my head cool, and
won t touch ivory to-night."
" You are going to Crockford s ?"
" Must go there, you know. Shan t stop an
hour. The only way of luring my pigeon out."
"And then?"
" To the umbrella-shop, of course. The worthy
Count Cubford will expect his commission on
the transaction, for permission to play Vanjohn
in his sanctum. Everybody wants his com
mission now-a-days. I wonder Langhorne, of
the Guards, doesn t ask for fifteen per cent for
having introduced me to Debonnair."
"You will be able to afford it if you only
follow the instructions I gave you. You I
mean monsieur must keep his head very cool,
and, as much as possible, his eyes fixed on his
opponent. Monsieur must never lose his temper,
and must never grow tired. Then, if he takes
care, and Debonnair is gris enough, he will
win his five thousand and more before morn
ing.
" I believe I shall. Five thousand pounds are
more than five thousand louis, most unsophisti
cated foreigner. Where are we ? Oh, Chariiig-
cross. We ll get rid of this ramshackle old tub
here. I shall go to the club, have a warm bath,
and then "
" To St. James s-street ?"
" No. Gamriclge s. After that, the business of
the evening will commence. The night is young
yet. It isn t a quarter-past twelve."
".sens.]
ALL THE YKAIl HOITXl).
75
.ill ha\v lonour, i
have the
u this
; but pic
ults of tin: t.v be
:ui .\ . you know, Inn . urn out a
:ht. L have no vi<
to be
; any or else you arc up tu
all, , ark mils
. Mr. Blunt waved his hand to
.utlie din
tall.
iid the coachman five .shillings in
. his i are, at which jarvcy drove away
His master had flung him his cloak
iving, saying that lie would put
. lighter in texture, at his club. Jean
Baptiste Constant enveloped himself in. this
n* , but did not throw it into any melo-
. It ceased to be the mantle of a
Byronic-looking patrician. It was now merely
the cloak of a highly accomplished gentleman s
> knew his eloak and kc;
" Yes," murmured Monsieur Jean Baptiste Con
stant very softly to himself, us he walked round
the hoarding of those old Mews once occupy-
<. Trafalgar-square, but then just in
f demolition, " it may be Austerlitz,
iy be AVaterloo more than Waterloo
in St. Helena and captivity, and
death. Ah ! jc tiens I enfaut. Ah, that dear
old nabob at Cutchapore who writes such
y letters about his little niece. Ah ! le
beau jeii que le vingt et un. Aliens voir la
Louve."
It was rather late at night to pay a visit to a
she-wolf; but Monsieur Constant seemed bent
on the enterprise, and diving into St. Martin s-
nd through the mazes of Crauboume-alley,
very soon in Leicester-place, Leicester-
.
CHAPTER VIII. THE HOTEL RATAPLAN.
1 DON T know what has become of the i .
ill these days. The neighbourhood of
orrc-squarr" is no more exempt from
.n lity than its Anglo-Saxon vicinage; and
. may have faded into decadence, or
undergone an aristocratic change of name, or
.vept away altogether. It is
; ;er of much consequence. I amtrcat-
:>G; and in 36 the Hat
much the
i kept it. He was ;\
looked not only a
i cook he was. Who
:!d hims
.
:ous-loo! conceive,
and his face, like that of many other fat men,
great
.
with white linen. For this reason the clumsy
,vhen they give : r woman
1 in wh; iy make ithy,
.low, or olent. llubens is <
dereil to i ho really
iliieuitics of chair centre
slicuild have come to the
Kaiaplan and studied its proprietor. Ra
id cook in his own ho el, and wore,
the orthodox costume of chef. His jacket, his
long apron, his duck trousei
all while, and dirty white. His
face and han liitc too, and yet
the c . his lineaments and his
habiliments was marked with satisfactory
:ih. It was the texture. it did
it. Oi lierwisc, face and garments were identical.
He looked like a pierrot who had grown fat.
Xo, he didn i, he looked like what he was a
cook.
Rataplan s countenance \vas so seamed and
pitted with traces of the small-pox, that his
.s presented a not remote r> ce to
one of his own colanders. He had very little
hair, and that >ae to his
;i la malcontent, and all but concealed
iiteap. Not a trace of beard or
whisl. oustache, did he show. Perhaps
the heat of the fire had dried up the capillary
forces, or i a of many saucepans had acted
as a depilatory. He was splashed in many places
with ancient gravy, giving him the appearance of
a bluited skin of parchment. He wore ear
rings. He had a thin gold ring on his left
hand to tongue ; and, strange to tell, Rataplan
wore over his heart a discoloured red ribbon
sewed on the breast of his jacket, and which he
declared to be that of the French Legion of
Honour.
" Received from the hand of the Emperor
himself on the field of Arcis-sur-Aube," he was
accustomed to say. " C est la- quo nous avons
flanque une raclee a ces canailles d Auhichiens.
Et les Cosaques ! heiu! c est Desire Hai.
r ir donna a boire et a manger en 1813. Ma
parole d honncur, je les ai accommodes a toutes
sauces ce-
Hc it he had the cross of the
Legion ii > in a box. He had not
had
..1 Army. He had :
the Bcrcsina. lie had been at Leipsic. He
caily >() the regiment
to which he bclon i be
hind the Loii
do la Loire, moi qui vous parle!" he v,
if, ha stated, was the Tn
. -
..ould become an hotel-keeper,
7G [ilarcli 5, 1SG4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted fcy
or a cook, was no such very astonishing thing ;
but that so corpulent a man should have served
in the light infantry exceeded reason and pro
bability. He endeavoured to reconcile assertion
with fact, by stating that he had been drum-
major to the Thirty-seventh. But his audi
tors remained obstinately incredulous. As a
sapper and miner, as a heavy cuirassier, as a
grenadier of the Old Guard, even, they were
willing to accept him; but they declined all
credence to his ever having been a "light
bob."
He appealed to his wife. " Madame Rataplan
was my comrade," he would say. "She was
cantiniere to the Trente-septieme. She gave her
own tabatiere once to the Emperor, when he was
out of snuff. Davoust has taken la goutte from
her, over and over again. Monsieur le Prince
d Eckmuhl was very partial to Madame Ra
taplan."
To which, Madame, who was a meek brown
little woman, usually habited in a chintz bed-
jacket and a petticoat of blue serge, as though
she had never had time thoroughly to equip her
self in feminine attire after resigning the tunic
and pantaloons of a cantiniere, would reply:
"T as raison, mon homme. C est nioi-z-aussi
qu a servi le Grand Homme."
They were all frantic in their fanaticism for
the memory of the great man. In a dozen rooms
of the Hotel Rataplan, his portrait _was hung.
There was a plaster statue of him in the hall ;
an ormolu bust over a clock in the coffee-room.
Rataplan would have called his hostelry the
Hotel Napoleon, but for the entreaties of his
wife, who represented that the establishment
was of so humble a character, that to affix the
name of the Great Man to it would be desecra
tion. He did a very comfortable business under
the more humble sign of the Hotel Rataplan,
however.
M. Rataplan had two children. Desire, his
son and heir, was away in France, head waiter
at Calais, until in the fulness of time it should be
his lot to assume the direction of the establish
ment in Leicester-place. " I should have placec
him sous les drapeaux, to serve his country as a
soldier," said the paternal Rataplan, " but what
is that flag, what is that caricature of the tricolor
I see now !
Helas ! soudain tristement il s e crie :
C est un drapeau que je ne connais pas.
Ah ! si jamais vous vengez la patrie,
Dieu, mes enfants, vous donne un beau trepas ! :
He was very fond of quoting Berangcr s Vieu:
Sergent, although he certainly looked much rnor
like the foolish fat scullion in Tristram Shandy
than a relic of the Empire. He had a daughter,
Adele, aged seventeen, whose only duties until
she was old enough to be married were, as her
parents understood those duties, to keep her
eyes cast down, and to divide her time between
needlework and the pianoforte. She had a
tambour-frame in the office of the hotel, and a
pretty little cottage piano in her own little
sitting-room; and she played and sewed and
cept her eyes cast down, with exemplary assi
duity.
Stay ! The list of the family is not quite com
plete. There was a very large poodle dog by the
name of Azor, who in youth had been a sprightly
animal, capable of going through the martial
exercise and performing numerous other tricks,
}y means of which poodles have ere this won
fame and fortune for their masters, on the public
stage. But Azor had grown lazy from long pos
session of the run of his teeth, in such a land of
:ioney as the kitchen of an hotel. Formerly he
used to be shaved, but was now allowed to wear
the totality of his shaggy coat, so that he re
sembled a small Polar bear quite as much as a
Large poodle.
Finally, there was at the Hotel Rataplan a
prodigious old woman, who was called La Mere
Thomas. Nobody could tell with precision who
she was. Some said she was Rataplan s grand
mother. Others, that she was madame s aunt.
She was evidently a kinswoman, for she tutoyed
the whole family, called Rataplan mon bichou,
and his wife ma biche, and occasionally boxed the
ears of Adele. La Mere Thomas was of im
mense, but uncertain age. Her complexion was
of a fine mahogany colour, and she wore a mous
tache that might have been envied by many a
subaltern in the Life Guards. On her chin, too,
there sprouted sundry hairs, which, but for her
otherwise jovial appearance, would have given
her an uncomfortable family likeness to one of
the witches in Macbeth. La Mere Thomas wore
a crimson and yellow pocket-handkerchief bound
lightly round her head and tied in a bow in front,
another silk handkerchief crossed over her ample
bosom and -tied behind her very much in the
style adopted by the engaging damsels resident
in the neighbourhood of Ratcliff Highway, a
large gold cross at her neck, a skirt of some
indescribable fabric and of no colour at all
people said it had originally been a flannel
petticoat pieced with a soot-bag and carpet
slippers, like an upholsterer s assistant. She
snuffed continually from one of those little tin
boxes with a perforated top, like those which are
used to keep gentles for fishing in. She was the
night porter at the Hotel Rataplan; and tra
vellers, whom she had let in very late, declared
that she habitually smoked a short pipe after
two in the morning. Her conversation was not
copious. Her English was monosyllabic, and
not abundant, although she had been at least
ten years iu this country. She was a hearty old
soul, however, and very fond of beer, which she
drank by the quart.
Such was the Rataplan family. They were a
good-natured group, all very fond of one another,
and quarrelling very seldom: as is the foolish
manner with these French people.
The hotel was conducted without the slightest
ostentation, but was, nevertheless, a sufficiently
prosperous speculation. It was eminently French.
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAH HOUND.
Turning from .
sadly in
:. The hull v rd with : dirty
marble, decorated with tl.
; with th> .1 tinkling
bells. The walls v,
kighly d<
vn, Lille, Dunkirk -
whc:. poky ntiire, with
pigeon-holes for the lodgers candlesticks, and
numbered plates and hooks for their keys ; a
i-fihaded lamp on the cseritoiiv, limp,
shagreen-covered registers to keep the accounts
ill; a long low arm-chair covered with Utrecht
i, for Mademoiselle Adele ; another, I
and black leather covered, for La Mere Thomas.
.Madame Rataplan wa a seen in the upper
us. She was, in fact, head chambermaid, her
dirty Irish girl, with a face like
a kidney potato, and many chilblains, who got on
very well with the Rataplans principally for the
reason that they were all Roman Catholics. The
salle a manger was a long low room, uncarpeted,
and the floor beeswaxed ; furnished with the
usual array of rush-bottomed chairs, the usual
litter of half-emptied wine battles, dingy napkins
in dingier bone rings, knives that wouldn t cut,
forks lacking their proper complement of prongs,
copies of the Sicclc and the Charivari seven
old, and a big mezzotint engraving after
Horace Ycrnet, representing Napoleon rising
from the Tomb. Everything was very French
indeed. Everything was very dour indeed. There
was a table d hote every clay at half-past six,
at which the cookery was, admirable and the
wines were detestable. The hotel was gene
rally full of foreigners. The llataplau clientele
abroad was extensive ; and foreign visitors to
md were accustomed to declare that, al-
-h the hotel accommodation of perfidious
Albion was in general execrable, that offered by
the Hotel Rataplan was passable, mais diablemcnt
cher. They did not seem to be aware of the
possibility of any hotels existing anywhere in
London out of Leicester-place, or at least " Lay-
rre-squarr."
Rataplan, then, prospered. He only kept one
waiter : a young man from Alcnpon, named
Antoiuc, with a red head and a face like a fox.
This serviteur appeared by day in a
black calico sleeves and baggy pantaloons
of blue canvas terminating in stock
At table d hote time he attired himself in the
black tail 1 white cravat dc rigueur, and
d a serviette in lieu of a feather broom
under his arm. He v, -.rood naturecl, and,
ucstion of the n , passably
honest. He lit the Irish servant girl to
piquet with him, and, when ai
is wanted a little q> Ming, A:
always ready with a e roulette box
with an ivory bail. He did 11 r to cheal
until he was found out.
I 1. state that f. :nent
to roof tl. ngly
of tobacco-smoke.
SPORT ON THE LESS FJELD.
TALK of laughing-gas ! It is nothing to the
t he bracing air of the Norv
.
11 one inhales up (here, produces a too
ir of the system, is a p:
in I don t feel competci;
; but I incline to think the reverse to be
I Inn the quantity of carbon assimilated
in the shape of provisions is taken into ace
On the I jclds a man is always hungry. If
ever I were reduced to such straits as to be
obliged to devour my shooting-boots, in default
of better diet, 1 could do so up there withgi
complacency and relish than elsewhere.
I am what is termed an "old hand" in
Norway, and have been in the habit of spending
my summers there for a number of years ; and
when I have had my fill of catching salmon,
and of eating them (and when the musqi:
had their fill of me), I repair to the
Ijeids to pay my attentions to the grouse and
reindeer. Norway is the safety-valve for all my
ailments. Whether it is the air, or the sea-
4C, or the "roughing," or the sharp
exercise, certain is it, that when I get back to
England, I feel better in body and in mind.
This last year, 1SG3, our party consisted of
four. Tents, canteen, rods, dogs, and guns
were all packed up, and we had secured berths
on the old Scandinavian.
Let us hasten over that horrid North Sea,
and pass over all the troubles to which flesh
is heir on a rough passage, as quick
possible. It was as bright a day as you could
wish to see, when we found ourselves on board
the " Skibladncr" at Eidsvold, the southern end
of the beautiful Miosen Lake. Of course the
first thing we did there, was to light our pipes
with some of the " Bedste Tabak subter
Solem," otherwise called Petum, costing the
(-table sum of not quite tenpeiice the
Norwegian pound.
I take it for granted that the Miosen Lake
has been so frequently described, that further
remarks on it would be superfluous. So, in
stead of the scenery, I \\ill devote a fc\v lines
to some of our fellow
The boat was crowded. > 1 air in
iana was just over, and the timber-
chants were returning to their homes from the
polis. A jo. those Homier
and, to judge from the quant i .
champagne they consumed, I should .-
off. Among our j : girl,
who in company with IKT el
estern i
She wore a felt hat, with : t stuck in it
on one side in the most jau
. blue yachting jacket witli i
and pockets, and a dress of t.
78 [March 5, 1S64.]
ALL THE YEAR KOUND.
[Conduct^
reaching a little lower than half way down a
pair of the neatest legs I ever saw. These dear
legs were cased in bright sealing-wax red stock
ings, shooting boots with brass eyelet-holes,
and brass-bound heels. Add to her other
charms, that she could " snakke Norsk," and
say "Tak," and "Veer saa god," with the
prettiest air imaginable.
As she and I were both bound on the same
errand, namely, to kill salmon, we soon entered
into conversation. She had never fly-fished
before, though she averred she could throw a
fly pretty well. I was curious to learn how
she had acquired the art.
" I used to get Bob, the gardener s boy," she
said, " to stand at a respectable distance, and
then I would make casts at him till I could
touch almost any button on his waistcoat. When
I had practised throwing, long enough, I would
cry, " Now, Bob, hook on ! and so Bob fastened
the end of his line round a button, and, ima
gining himself a salmon, rushed oil as fast as he
could. Now, Bob, up stream; now jump! 3
and then I lower the end of my rod."
"Quite right," I said; "I see you know all
about it."
" And then, when we were both fairly out of
breath, I would call out, Now, Bob, come and
be gaffed ! And so ended my morning s prac
tice !"
If there had not been so many spectators, I
would have offered my services there and then
to act the salmon. I m sure she could have
hooked me easy enough !
There was one old Norwegian on board, and a
cynical dog he was. He could speak English
pretty well, and seemed rejoiced at having the
opportunity of speaking it with a native. The
following is the " burthen of his tale" put in
better English than he used :
" What a queer lot of fellows you English
are," he said, after we had spoken together for
a while, " coming all this way to catch fish, and
to hunt deer. Besides, you do a wonderful lot
of harm to our peasantry."
" How so !" I said. " We pay pretty well
for our amusement."
"Much better stay at home," growled my
friend. " You are so inconsistent ; at one time
you overpay, at another you underpay. If
some of you are munificent, others are mean and
stingy to a degree. Our simple-hearted people
can t understand such treatment. You do them
as much harm by paying grandly, as by paying
meanly."
I could not but acknowledge that there was a
truth in his remarks.
" To give you an instance," he added ; "last
year I met one of your countrymen, and he cer
tainly maintained the character you bear of being
a nation of grumblers. At every station at which
he stopped, some complaint was entered in the
road-book. Now he had been kept waiting
ten minutes for horses, or he had been charged
an exorbitant price for a cup of coffee, or
the station-master was an extortionate rascal.
Of course, all these remarks were Hebrew to
the individual denounced, but perhaps they were
intended for the benefit of future English tra
vellers. But I was glad to see, on returning by
the same route, that some others of your coun
trymen had felt disgusted at his remarks, for I
found at one place, entered below one of his
complaints, This old grumbler ought to have
remained at home ; and at another, I have to
complain that I found no toothpicks at this
station ; and Mr. does not seem to have
enjoyed his trip overmuch.
" I rather think I know the man you mean,"
I said.
But now the boat had arrived at Lillehammcr,
so bidding adieu to our friends, we hastened up
to the inn. Early next morning we started
for our fishing quarters, where we remained
three weeks, meeting with fair success, at the
end of which we found ourselves only too glad
to go up to what I shall call Nameless Fjeld,
where I had had a small shooting-box knocked
up. I purposely omit the name of the Ejeld, as I
have a great desire to keep this bit of ground to
myself. Pardonable selfishness !
It is not my purpose to enter into a detailed
account of our manner of living up there. Nor
how we feasted like princes on trout, char, vyper,
venison, cloud-berries and cream from a neigh
bouring Soeter ; neither will I recount all our
spoiling adventures, and how Bogus would spend
all his time in going after an imaginary bear,
which of course he never saw, and which, I be
lieve, nobody ever did see ; Iwill merely recount
the deeds of September 4th : a day ever memo
rable in the sporting annals of Nameless Fjeld.
It was our custom to divide our forces so
that only two went out reindeer hunting, while
the others remained near home, to pay their
attentions to the ryper and ptarmigan, and to
catch trout and char, with which the small tarns
and " becks" abounded. This day it was
Bogus s turn to go reindeer hunting with me.
It was as lovely a morning as ever hunter saw,
when we left our quarters at four in the morn
ing. We bent our steps to a part of the Fjeld
where the other two had seen a large herd of
deer the day before, but had been unable to get
near them.
After a long and tedious walk, halting every
few minutes to sweep the horizon with our
glasses, we arrived at the spot where we ex
pected to find them. Not a horn could we see.
But there were signs that there had been a
large number there only very recently, for we
could see where they had been cropping the
Alpine ranunculus, their favourite " bonue-
bouclie." The dog began to sniff about, and,
after satisfying himself that there was nothing
close by, seemed as if he caught scent of them
at a long distance. The boy who accompanied
us held him lightly in leash, and we determined
to follow him in any direction he might choose.
We walked on, perhaps for an hour, when all
at once we detected the herd at about three
English miles distant.
A\ r e could see them quite plainly through our
glasses, and counted more than a hundred.
Charles Pickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
fllan
some
luck would h
mars 1 "et
wormed our
, but occa-
lly takinir advanl mlder
behind" which h iu>-
for a
coBplc of hours.
I h hun
dred it when wo came to look for
not one of them was to be seen.
growled Bogus, in a sup-
age.
"Glad yn\i think so," was grc,-. -k in
return, whil I was li p the horizon
with " i y ,Jvr ! there 1
!i us all lying down. One, two,
three. l><>v. n ! ; :iet ; tliat old
buck shier, Well, they arc having
their o I vote we i
the servants say at home. We will wait till
they pet up." The basket was unpacked. I
had pone back a little way to pet. a drink from
:n that came bubbling down the
Fjeld sid , and was stooping down to have a
pood pull at it, uhen en - us s rifle.
"Confound the fellow!" I thought, "there s
the result of keeping the hammer down ;
there s an end of our sport." But tin
up and yelliup like a mad Indian.
K; other In vain L 1
round to see the deer on my flank. But as he
was loading again, L hurried up to him. While
1 had been gone something had startled the
animals, lie said, and they had suddenly got
up. Of course it was absurd to wait for me,
so he had taken aim at the nearest buck ami
fired. He felt sure he had hit, but the smoke
had blown back into his eyes, and prevented him
from seeing.
" But what made you shriek in that insane
manner ?" I asked.
"Oil, that was a dodge old Olc, my hunter
in Valders, taught me at all events, it suc
ceeded, for they all stopped as if terrified, and
I know I hit with mv second barrel."
" Well ! let us seeV
At about one hundred and seventy yards from
where we had stood, we found two deer lying
dead, side by side. The conical bullet had
gone through the heart of the first, and pierced
the neck of the second, which now lay gasping
in the agonies of death.
" Hollo," I cried, "you re in luck to-day
there s another deer lying dead there on
right."
;iis second bullet had also
bron. i-cr. Three deer in two -
" Well ! I had better get off home with the
lad and send a horse back to take home the
quarry, while yon remain to Hay them," said
triumphant, after a pull at.
! M>y, while I prod
to my task after the mostn
it w;t i was
r waiting and waiting, I >
mined to try and B
would otl
all, I set off, I
iio further,
old Scratch, and !
buck n
He v,
season, it is usual for the la,
rate from the main herd. I r
let fly.
" fifege kudt," cried a
mortale and fell d<
man had arri-
nessed the operation. So, return! here
the other thre.
back, and >>ne.
tea as if 1 was destined ; -port
that day ; for, on descending into a dell, three
more deer slowly trotted
.ty pace:- in did the or
sivape nature ta!. , my
rifle covered the leading bnek nicely. I .u 1
have never sine edit a feeling i-
mc that we had committed enough havoc for
one day, so I stoically threw up n.
infinite disgust of my companion, who cursed and
swore as a Norwegian peasant only can.
It was one in the morning when we arrived
at home. I had had noth:
Bogus had forgotten : me the ;
-o, as may be imagined, 1 had a ravenous
ile.
" Why, old fellow," said he, " we thought
you were lost, and as the trout were nie
a pity to spoil them by v
vain."
Always thoughtful!" I replied; "but make
yourself useful for once, and get me somei
to eat, if you don t wish me to begin on you.
Then for a pipe, and the grog. And then I ll tell
you all about it." And I recounted to them my
adventures, as I have done here, and I put a
mark against Sept. 4 in my journal.
MY ACCOUNT WITH HER MAJESTY.
R laid by a penny till the Post-offic*
Savings-banks came up. Not that I mightn t
have done so, for I earned good wages, and after
_, r all the expenses at home, 1 had al
plenty of loose cash to spend. I was i
without mom; but alw
1 had spent all I had rec
d a good
bit, without cutting down the weekly allov.
to the missus for the house, or stintir,
of an\ iblc enjoyment; but I li
begun the thing, and when 1 thought :
it, I was at a .
I had a little lump of
.
If, "I
but I ll put more to it from
80 [March 5, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
when it amounts to a hundred, I ll do some
thing with it put it in the bank, or invest it in
a building society, or something of that sort."
But, somehow, the money didn t grow as I ex
pected. You see, I always had the key of that
drawer in my pocket, and at any time, if I ran
a little short, through being rather free with my
mates or going upon the spree, I had nothing
to do but go to the drawer and help myself. I
hesitated over it sometimes, but never for long;
the drawer was so handy, and I used to say to
myself, "If I take a sovereign it won t reduce
the money much, and I can put it back again
next week. But it generally happened when
next week came that it wasn t convenient to put
the money back. And so I went on going to
the drawer for sovereigns and half-sovereigns,
until the bit of money dwindled down so low
that it wasn t worth keeping. It s the same
with drink. If you make up your mind that
you won t taste a drop for a week, and stick to
it, you are all right ; but only be persuaded to
make a beginning to take one glass, just one,
and you take another and another, and then it s
all wrong. It s the same, too, I. dare say, with
swindling and robbing your master : once make
a beginning, and on you go, like rolling down
One-Tree-hill on Whit-Monday, the further you
go, the faster you go.
Susan used to say to me, " George, how s the
money getting on ?" And she used to say it
in a sly, sarcastic sort of way, meaning that I
was spending it, and that it was going very
fast. I know it was, but I didn t like to ac
knowledge it, and always said: "Oh! it s all
right in the drawer, there, what s of it."
"Well, George," she would say, "you put
away ten pounds about a month ago, and as
Christmas is coming on, it will enable us to
buy all we require, and give a little party to
our friends." "Yes," I would say, "but "you
know, my dear, that I have had to pay So-
and-so, and So-and-so;" and then I d name
.certain bills, and the subscription to my lodge
for I m an Odd Fellow and add it up and
subtract it from the ten, and Susan, not
being good at figures, would be quite puzzled,
and give the sum up in despair. But she
found me out more than once. One day, when
I came home to dinner, she says to me,
"George," she says, "you left the key of the
drawer on the mantelshelf this morning." She
didn t look at me, but went on carving the
boiled rabbit. My wife is odd that way, and
not like the generality of women. Nagging is
not one of her faults. She doesn t say much,
but she thinks the more. So, when she told
me about the key in that quiet way, I knew she
had been to the drawer and counted the money.
That s where I don t hold with Bluebeard. He
might have tried his wife with anything but a
secret ; it is downright unreasonable to expect
a woman not to be curious. I merely said
" Oh !" in an indifferent kind of a way; but I
am sure my looks convicted me. However,
Susan did not make any remark about the
money being nearly all gone, but, by-aud-by,
when she was helping me to a suety dumpling,
she says in her usual demure way, "Don t you
think, George, it would be a good thing to put a
little money away in the savings-bank r" "Well,"
I says, " it wouldn t be a W thing, Susan."
"No," she says, "I m sure it wouldn t, and if
I was you I would make a beginning." " Well,"
I says, " I would, if I knew how to go about
it." " There s no difficulty about that," Susan
says; "you ve only to go to Welbeck-street,
and put a little in, and they ll give you a book,
and there you are." "Very well, Susan," I
says, " I ll take your advice, and go to Welbeck-
street to-morrow."
I was as good as my word, and next day, at
the dinner-hour, I walked up to Welbeck-street
to put in three pound ten, which was all that
was left of the fifteen. But, lo and behold !
when I got to the bank it was shut, and for the
moment I thought it had broke, or the manager
bolted with the funds, or something; but on look
ing about I noticed a brass-plate on the wall
with information about the bank hours, and from
that I learned that the bank was only open three
days a week, from ten to two in the morning,
and from six to eight in the evening. I had
come on the wrong clay. I was a good bit vexed
to have all my trouble for my pains, but Susan,
when I told her, took it quite quiet, and says,
" Never mind, George, you can go again on
Saturday, when the bank is open." Well, I
fully resolved to go, and on Saturday morning I
took the money with me, intending to walkover
to the bank after my work. However, just as I
was leaving the shop at six o clock, who should
I meet but an old mate of mine, that I hadn t
seen for years. Nothing would do for Dave but
I must go and have a glass with him. Well,
you know, you can t refuse to drink with a mate,
especially when he s been away in Birmingham
for ever so long, and got a holiday on purpose
to come up and see his friends. So in we goes
to the Yorkshire Grey and has a glass of rum-
and-water each, and you know how the time
slips away when old friends meet as have been
long parted. Dave had so much to tell me
about Birmingham gun-barrels, and I had so
much to tell Dave about Clerkenwell watch-
springs, and one thing followed another, in
cluding glasses of rum-and-water, that it was a
quarter to eight in no time. It was no use; I
couldn t get to Welbeck-street in a quarter of
an hour unless I took a cab, and it didn t seem
natural like to take a cab to go to a savings-
bank with three pound ten : so I stopped with
Dave and had another glass.
When I went home and told Susan, she didn t
say an angry word, but just remarked that I
was very unlucky. You don t know how
aggravating Susan is in that way. I d rather
have tongue-pie a good deal, than that sit-and-
say-nothiug, but think-the-more way of hers.
It s more aggravating than saying the thing
right out ; for you can t tell what an awful
character a quiet woman thinks you are. Tor
my part, I d rather have teacups. However, I
was resolved to show Susan that I was in
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAH HOI ?
earnest, and on the folio y I got to
.auk in good
lOUgh, t
now whe< !i it in in
.t of people in the bank that there
no gett r the counter for full a
f an lid- 1 get
iu t seem inclin
any notice of n,< or thrc
hat 1 v, three
pound ten, but he paid ii"
tun: man with
half-a-crown cut (ir-t, and thru I \va>
by a charity-boy with a shilling
all iu coppers. They were regular cust<
and used to the banking business, I suppose, and
. How. got it in t and
ay book, and a load
mind. When I showed the book
said, "That s right, George, and 1
you ll g 1 fully intended to do
so then ; but it s easy to intend, and not s<
to carry your intendings out. It s like sitting
over a tire on a winter s night, and saying, " I ll
get up early to-morrow morning and do over
time ;" but when the morning comes, and you
peep out between the clothes and see the
upon the windows, it s very easy to Cud an ex
cuse for lying a little longer.
The evening song and tne mornins? song don t
often agree. So it was with my saving. I had
always a pretty lively recollec;
it was to walk all ii. Velbeck-street
after my day s work, and then to have to push
my way through a crowd of old women, and
wait my turn at the counter. It s not worth
doing for a few shillings, I used to say to my
self ; I ll wait until there s more of it, and then
put it in in a lump. So I put the shillings away
m the drawer until such time as they should
grow to be pounds ; but owing to the key being
always handy they didn t, and what with club-
nights and sprees now and then, it never came
to be enough to be worth while taking down to
Welbcck-street. When Christmas-time came,
all I had in the bank was the three pounds ten
1 first put in. However, that was some
and as I was rather short just then, it would
come in handy to get the Christmas extras.
Three days hristmas I went down to
the bank to draw the money out, promising
i to come straight home with it. \ i
judge how mad 1 was, when the clerk told
me that I couldn t draw the money out without
giving a week s notice. Here wa- a pretty go ;
i at home waiting for the money to get in
the tea and sugar, the plums and currants, and
no*, and the cash not to be got until after
Cliri- This sort of saving won t suit me,"
-elf; "there s too much ceremony
about it." 1 had tu borrow the money from one
of my mates to get the Christmas dinner, and at
:id of the week I drew my money out of
. him back ; and that
;iic end of my account at that savings-
bank.
-t year, Susan belonged to a pudding-club
at. the grocer
at the Yorkshire Grey.
a parcel of groceries, :.
ami a 1- it tie
id when th
d like a gift.
thought i han putt
the savings-bank,
;i thought so too.
, John, who isae
linendni > dinner on Clui-
old him how we had been s;,
he burst out a-la:
"What am i laughing
ys, almost c 7 with a mouthful
of goose " why, at. you." " What for," 1
being so jolly green," he says. "Jolly
green!" I says; "is it ;o lay by
y for a rainy , for
Christmas-day, when a family require-
"Fiddlesticks!" John says. "Let me ask you
a question, George." " Twenty," I says ;
ahead, John." " Well," he says, "wh
you begin to pay into the goose-club at the
Yorkshire Grey ?" "At Midsummer," I says.
"And you paid in sixpence every
twenty-six weeks?" "Ye-." 1 -ys, "I did."
\Vhieh made, thirteen shillings, George ?"
et ly," I says. " Well," he says, " is the
goose and the liquor wo .ludgefor
yourself, John," 1 says. " Could I have bought
such a goose as that, you are now partaking of
for less than eight-ar.d-six in the sh<
"No," he says, "I don t think you could."
"Very well," I says, "where syour fiddlesticks,
and how do you make me out jolly gn
"Why this way, George," he says: "in the
first place, you ve been losing the interest upon
your money for six months." "That s not
much," I says. "No," \\> not;
but that s not all. I ll be bound to say, George,
if you ll only be candid enough to confe-
that every time you went to the Yorkshire Grey
to pay in sixpence to the goose-club, you had a
glass of something?" "1 don t deny i :
says ; " you can t well go to a public-house
without having a "Sometimes two,"
"Well," I says, "sometimes two;
perhaps three, when 1 happened to ni<
friend." " Then, let us say, George, that every
time you went to pay in sixpence to the club,
vou spent, on an average, another sixpence on
drink." "It might be about that," I says.
Very well then, George, upon your own
::ig, you: , ittle of gin, and
bottle of rum, have cost you six-and-tv
shillings, to say nothing of your loss of
and the injury to your constitution through
drinking more than was good for you."
thought y, John," I
of course not, "for
if you had thought of it in t!:
.n t liav. -uch a ( <} it."
you ll >usan lias
82 [March 5, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
had her money s-worth at the grocer s, and not
paid more than she ought?" "I m not going
to dispute that," he says; "but you must re
member that the grocer lias had the use of hei
money, and supposing he had failed about the
iiiing of December, what would have be
come of Susan, and all the other Christmas-
club geese? I m surprised at a sensible man
like you, George, doing such things, when
there s a Post-office Savings-bank close to yom
door." "But," I says, "there s so much
ceremony about savings-banks ; they re only
open certain days a week, and the hours are in
convenient for a working man, and " "You
don t know anything about them, George," he
says, taking me up short ; " for the Post-office
Savings-banks that have just come up are open
every day from ten to four, and you may put
money in, and draw it out, whenever you like."
Well, John," I says, " I ll see about it."
I did see about it, and found that one of the
Post-office banks had been opened at Bardsley s,
the tea-grocer s, in the next street. Bardsley s
is our post-office and money-order office as well ;
and walking up the shop through an avenue of
sugar- loaves, I found a clerk reading the news
paper.
" I want to put some money in the new bank,"
I says.
The clerk never said a word, but placed a
printed paper before me to sign. I read it
over and signed it, thereby declaring that I
was not directly or indirectly entitled to any
deposit in that, or any other savings-bank, and
that I submitted myself to the rules of the Post-
office Savings-bank. The clerk then handed
me a small paper book, about the size cf a penny
memorandum-book, only it had a white cover
with the royal arms at the top, and was printed
all over with rules and regulations.
" Sign your name on that line, across the
inside of the cover," the clerk says. . I signed
it. "That s your signature," he says, "for
drawing out, and you should be particular always
to use the same one."
I then handed the clerk five shillings as my
first deposit. He took the money, -wrote in the
book, "Number 857. 1862. Jan. 1. 5,"
put the post-office letter stamp for the day
against the entry, and the thing was done. I
don t think I was more than five minutes in the
shop altogether. The very next evening, when
Susan and I were sitting at supper, the post
man came to the door. Susan answered him,
and came back with a letter in her hand. "Lor ,
George," she says, "it s a letter, On Her
Majesty s Service ; whatever can it be about ?
I shouldn t wonder if it was the water-rates,
for you know the man has called three times,
and- "
" There, let s open, it," I says, " that s the
best way to find out what it s about. It s all
right, Susan," I says; "it s a letter from the
Post master-General." " And whatever does he
want :" Susan says. "Oh, nothing," I says;
" he only writes to say that five shillings have
been placed to my credit in the books of his
department," "Well, it s very condescending
of him," Susan says, " for so little." " Well,"
I says, "it s a guarantee that it s all right,
and there s his signature, Geo. Chetwynd. "
"Cheatwind!" Susan says; "are you sure it s
all safe, George ?" " Safe as the bank," I says,
"and safer; for the Queen, the two Houses of
Parliament, and all the taxes, are security."
I quite took a fancy to the Post-office Savings-
bank when I found how simple the machinery
was. It was almost as handy as the drawer, to
have a bank round the corner where you could
buy your tea and sugar, and put your money away
all at once, and without ceremony. I was as
pleased with it as a child with a pretty toy, and
I liked the importance of receiving letters every
now and then "OnHerMajesty s Service." Susan
used to put the letters on the chimney-piece for
people to see. It was soon the talk of the
neighbourhood that I was holding a corre
spondence with the government, and it was
reported that I was going to be appointed
watchmaker to the Queen and the royal family.
I passed the post-office twice every day on
coming home to dinner and going back again
to work, and to walk in with my book and put
away a few shillings, was just like dropping in to
the public-house to have a glass of ale. And
always the next day, whether it was pounds or
shillings, I had a letter "Oa Her Majesty s Ser
vice;" and Susan would meet me at the door
and say, " George, here s another letter from
the Queen," and then we d sit down after supper
and count it up, and see how much I had at my
banker s. I found putting money away in the
Post-office Savings-bank so easy and so pleasant
like, that I rather overdid the thing, and put
more money away than I could spare. So one
day I ran short, and had to draw out. It was
almost as easy and expeditious as drawing a
cheque upon one of the big banks. At the post-
office they gave me a slip of paper with a form
of withdrawal upon it, and addressed in print
to the Postmaster-General on the back. I had
nothing to do but fill in the number of my book,
the amount I wanted to draw out, sign my
name, double the bit of paper up, and shove it
in the post. It only took me about a minute,
for the paper was ready gummed for sealing,
and no stamp was required, it being marked on
the back, "On Her Alajesty s Service." It was
two o clock on Tuesday when I posted the letter.
At four o clock next day I had an answer in the
shape of a printed form, very similar to the notice
oaper. I had nothing to do but sign it and present
it at the post-office, and the money was handed
;o me, the clerk marking off the withdrawal in
my book.
It s my belief that saving is a habit, like
smoking, or taking snuff, or like extravagance.
If you begin it and go on with it for a little
;ime, you come to have a sort of passion for it.
Whenever I had any spare cash, I was off to
Bardsley s with it, and often when I thought of
withdrawing some I didn t do it, saying to my
self, " Oh, I can give notice to-morrow, or the
next day, or any time I like ;" and so perhaps I
Charles Dickens.]
ALL TIIK VKAK HOUND.
[March 5, 1864.]
i over tl . difficulty,
: didn t withdrav.
Ab
clerk wouldn t tak \V hat s
g to stop?"
y
took, you ll to put
in more than thirty pound- That, I
:iar ininkfrs, and il
/iit, but I d in i. exae.tiy see it.
I ki; before the r, when 1
mi. in to put in again, 1 had blewed that
tl:. . . rv wouldn t take. It
it did .i to the regular bankers, it cer
tainly didn t, do 8 ne. Howe.
i, 1 bad Sfty pounds at the
Mvings-bank, and 1 might have had
, only 1 took a holiday in August, and went
down with Susan for u \\> ate, where
we were rather free. And here 1 fou>.
iier advantage of this wonderful Post-office
bank. Susau and I went boating, and raffling,
and driving in chaises, and ran short, and were
likely to be in a tix, until I looked over the
rules and regulations in rny bank-book, when I
d that I might withdraw my money at any
-office Savings-bank in the kingdom, by
giving notice to that e fleet . So I sent up the
usual notice of withdrawal to London I keep
/en of them stitched together in a cover,
and call it my cheque-book stating that I
wanted to withdraw the money at the post-
office at Margate; and, almost by return, back
came the withdrawal paper, and I had nothing
to do but go to the post-olliee and get it cashed.
i.s don t cost you a farthing; there s
no ]! } pay, and when the time comes for
you to send up your book to the chief office in
London for the interest at two and a half per
to be calculated and added to your account
which is the anniversary of the day on which
the first deposit was made the Postm
ral sends you a big envelope for the pur
pose.
"get her, it s the best regulated thing I
ross, and if it doesn t make people
. nothing will. But it docs, I m sure.
. at 1! an I. -ley s shop now, to what it was.
"\Viiy, that little box with the pigeon-hole,
e they used to do the post-office order
busi. -ilen into a great banking de
partment, and there s Bardsl- .) , with a
. lo help him, at it all day long, with piles
of bank-notes and i all of I
e them just like Twining s, or the
. i Kngland itself. Bardaley a proud of
it, too; 1 Know he is. He s never behind
the counter now, serving tea and sugar; he
- that to his young men; he s a banker,
ui.
I don t believe I should ever lia\
thing if these ! .t-oiiiee i -banks hadn t
come up; and I m sun Tally
n how handy and conveni- are,
i soon learn to be careful and ;
dent. If there s a philanthropist that s hard up
icct, I don t kn- could do
. I ad van
of the Post-* iks.
AMONG PIRATES.
MY friend MICHAKL ANHKIISKN, la e carpenter
of that ill-fated bark l lie ;v LANK
f few words. These being, for the most
part, Norwegian, he lias a certain difficulty in
making his sentim iiigiblc to the
British mind, and this difficul;
the effect produced upon the poor fellow s ner
vous system, both by the murder* we he
has witnessed, and his subsequent compi,
association of three weeks with the piratical
gang who had murdered the captain and others,
ei/cd the ship. Nevertheless, in the e
of an hour s visit he lately paid me, with .
ence to obtaining _:e back to Cliristian-
sand, Michael related enough to make his >
rience worth recording in the "story of our
lives fronvyear to year."
It is no exaggeration to say that, for the whole
period I have mentioned three weeks the
man s life hung upon a hair. In his condi
evidence given at the recent trial, Am!
I that while standing at the top of the
cuddy-stairs, and bending over the mangled
body of the mate, he was himself struck with
a handspike on the back of the neck. This
blow, which struck him half senseless down the
,d of six feet, was no doubt intended
to have been deadly. Lighting upon the
neck and shoulder, it only occasioned him a
few days stillness and pain, and warned him
of the critical tenure on which he retained his
life.
There seems to have been little general in
tercourse among the polyglot crew, but, fortu
nately for Andersen, he had established a sort
of friendship with one of the Manilla mis
creants Lyons who ultimately came forth
as the leading spirit of the murderous con
spiracy. To this man s persistent inter
lion, Andersen, the second mate, and the
boy Early, were unquestionably indebted for
their lives.
Of these three, my friend Michael stood in
the most imminent peril. The second mate was
I to navigate the vessel. The boy are-
served and timid lad was held in contempt. No
carpenter was needed, and the very appearance
of poor Andersen at any part of the ship gave
such umbrage to the mutineers, that, in sp
the opposition of his friend "Joe Lyons," as
lie called him, no d without ,
i kill hii.. itsclose. Solongas
"Joe Lyons" was pr Michael was com-
>arativefy safe. The ticklish part of it was
to survive during his patron s unavoidable dis-
ippearanees. To facilitate this process, the
.-iilar
. in deportmeut, suggested by the existing
84 [March 5, 18C4.J
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
feeling of each individual miscreant respecting
him.
"Keep clear of Lopez, this watch," Lyons
would say ; "if Santos or Marsalino speaks to
you, don t look so cursedly sulky ; they
right just now. Fling that knife overboard, you
(something d) booby ! Do you want it in your
own ribs ? Now, mind this ; if you see Blanco
lounging about you with his hands in his pockets,
sheer wide of him, d ye hear ? Don t go below
for a moment to-day ; they don t like it. Keep
out of all dark places, and, when I m on deck,
take your snooze."
Such though not conveyed in that precise
language were some of the directions Michael
had daily to observe, and were sent well home
to his memory by the supplementary informa
tion his instructor had almost always to add
that his life was to be taken that day, should
the slightest pretext be afforded, and that even
the manner of the deed, by knife, handspike,
slung shot, or flinging overboard, had been de
cided on.
With wits sharpened by this intelligence,
Michael did, under a merciful Providence,
weather the dangerous storm : preserved, as
we know, to aid materially in the conviction
of the merciless band, even of him who saved
him ; but whose conduct, with this exception,
unhappily, presented no other feature of ex
tenuation.
According to Michael, this deed of piracy and
murder one of the foulest in our annals had
its origin solely in cupidity. The vessel, a well-
found bark, of about five hundred tons, had
more than the usual number of hands on board.
The crew were all, with one or two excep
tions, practised seamen, who knew their duty,
and, in spite of the variety of languages, did it
well.
The unfortunate captain, Michael declared,
"was a very nice man." So also was the
captain s brother, who had been a master
carpenter, and in whose employ Michael had
purposed to remain, at Singapore.
There was, according to Michael, little or no
ground for discontent on board some occa
sional harshness of expression on the part of
the captain not being worth taking into account
but an impression had got about among the
men that the ship s freight included a quantity
of specie. It appears to have been a fact that the
captain had with him certain bags of medals, or
metal counters, burnished to look like sovereigns,
and worth about a penny each. The sale of these
impostors, in many parts of the metropolis, but
especially near the river, is so common as to
run no risk of deceiving the most innocent
purchaser. Nevertheless, to their unlucky
presence in the " Flowery Land," was probably
due the catastrophe which betel that unfortunate
ship.
Poor Michael, after all his dangers and
escapes not to mention the assistance he
afforded in bringing the criminals to justice
ran some risk of perishing by starvation in
liberal England. He was indeed paid for his
attendance as a witness ; and, while so engaged,
was provided with a lodging at the house "of a
policeman; but, the trial over, he was turned
adrift ; and had it not been for the refuge offered
by the Sailors Home, and the kindness of a
charitable gentleman who was present at the trial,
would have been left in a state of actual desti
tution: his clothes, money, box of tools, &c.,
having gone down with the scuttled ship. As
the vessel was insured for four or five thousand
pounds, it might have been imagined that the
owners would have taken the poor man s case
into their consideration.
Narrow as Michael Andersen s escape has
been, it was even surpassed in narrowness by
that of a gentleman Mr. S. to whom a mos t
extraordinary adventure occurred about twenty-
five years since, but which, never finding a place
in the Annual or other registers of the time,
may scarcely be remembered.
Mr. S., who had held an appointment in
India, and married, while there, a half-caste
Malay lady of great beauty, embarked with his
wife at Singapore, on board a large country
ship of eleven or twelve hundred tons burden.
In the same vessel were placed a large number
of Chinese convicts, going to fulfil their respec
tive sentences at different depots. Now, instead
of providing for these desperadoes a regular
escort, it pleased the authorities to assemble a
sort of " scratch" pack, composed of Sepoys,
pensioned and returning home, and of men
who had been policemen, but who no longer
were.
They had been but a few days at sea, when
Mr. S. was awakened one night by a disturbance
on deck, and, rushing up, found a regular
battle going on between the convicts (who had
risen) and their inefficient guard : apparently to
the disadvantage of the latter. Mr. S. quickly
returned to his cabin, and was groping for his
arms, when the captain rushed in, fired his pistol
through the skylight, and crying out that the
Chinese were masters of the ship, darted up
the steps, threw himself overboard, and was
drowned.
A few minutes of suspense followed, when a
party of convicts came below, and, without
molesting Mrs. S., ordered her husband on
deck. Compelled to obey, he found the deck
deluged with blood, and the victorious convicts
compelling the survivors of the British crew
and Sepoys to " walk the plank."
Presently, it came to Mr. S. s turn. Instead,
however, of falling at once into the sea, he, with
great muscular efforts, clung to the plank, and
refused his fate. In vain the murderers tried
to prod him with pikes. He dodged their
points successfully, until, at length, a Chinese,
creeping forward on the plank, aimed a blow at
him with a sabre. In avoiding the stroke, Mi .
S. lost his hold, and fell into the sea.
It was midnight, the sea was full of sharks,
Mr. S. could not swim a stroke, the ship was in
complete possession of the convicts, a thousand
miles from land. Could any position seem more
hopeless ? Yet Mr. S. lived to relate the story
Charles flu-
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[March 5,
at a London dinner-party to a friend of the
writo
In falling, In- ean-Jit I rowing over
board. By this he him?, invisible, hearing
successive victims full, ami distinguishing be-
d and living bodies, by ti\,
in the former
for exi<i
lost hold of the rope; but, at that instant, it oc
curred to him that he had heard it nliirmed that
it in: ould not swim would only throw
himself boldly ou his hack, keeping his head
well down, he might float, f T an indefinite
period. He did >o, and floated ; but every now
nen his lid sink lower and lower,
t length them struck a hard sub-
stane nge as it may appear, it. is a
positive fact that he had unconsciously drifted
into one of the ship s boats, which, half sub-
d, was towing astern. Once aware of
ln s position, he was able to support himself
without difficulty till morning broke, when he
discovered, brought on deck, and, to his
utter astonishment, allowed to go to his cabin
unmolested ; not, however, until he had seen
the unfortuir te, who had taken
refuge in the rigging, brought down, ham
strung, and left to bleed to death.
The ship was now put about ; and, under the
charge of a native pilot, who had been sparea
for the purpose, shaped her course for China.
Mr. S. was confined to his cabin, and though,
naturally, a prey to considerable anxiety, was
relieved from any immediate fear of death, inas
much as one or other of his captors came every
day to inquire what he would like for dinner !
In due time land was sighted, a bold headland,
round which the pilot declared they must steer.
although there presently appeared also a broad
fine channel, dividing the headland from the main
land. In spite of the man s repeated assurance
that this was full of rocks, the Chinese, doubting
his good faith, compelled him to lay what seemed
to them the shorter course and enter the chan
nel. Scarcely had they done so when the ship
stranded. A hasty council was held, at which
it was resolved that half the party should escape
to land, sending back the boats for the other
half, who should then follow their comrades,
having first murdered Mr. and Mrs. S., and fired
the ship.
The former part of the programme was duly
executed, and the boats were returning, when
the three masts of a British sloop of war became
visible, not a mile distant. She had seen the
course of the devoted ship, and, knowing what
must ensue, gave chase to pick up the pieces.
Her boats were already out, and no sooner
came within hail than Mr. S. made known the
of affairs. In a moment , the Chinese were
on their knees prayin :r prisoners, inter-
on. The sloop s i . perly armed, went
ire and captured every individual of those who
had landed. Tlie whole were rcconvcycd i
gapore, and probably not the Id rkahle
.able story is, that for some
11 best known to themselves, the jury could
not be induced to award against the actors in
that cruel deed of piracy and murder any other
verdict than "manslaughter!"
FAIR DENMARK.
MOST people have their Ultima Thule on the
map, beyond which all is shadowy twi!
terra incognita, peopled by icht!
throjv r " men whose I: / be-
their shoulders." "Spain s an island,"
said one of the lights of the harem. T
d reader, as well as to the general tra
veller, Denmark, as a wl: unknown
ning with its entrance-hall (by
land), the Duchy of Holstein.
The portal to the Danish kingdom for visitors
from Western Kurope Mill by land) is 1
burg, a city unique after its kind a I
without its tower, a Babylon without its fa!!.
Other towns and other provinces have \y
their heads to monarchic sceptres ; Hamburg
retains its ancient constitution and its privileges
as a free city. Its bourgomaster still bear
title of magnificent, and its senators ha
riirhf- to be addressed as their wisdoms. .
the confusion of tongues which stuns the ear,
the language of trade is universally understood ;
" money" is the password from one end of the
town to the other. The Hamburgian babies
learn to lisp it soon after they come into the
world, the old men mutter it iu their dreams
before lying down to take their final sleep. They
are prudent, and would give offence to no man.
Once upon a time, a journalist had the bole
to state tl; ."h gunpowder was better than
Prussian. The censor of the press struck out
the sentence, seeing that Prussia cannot be
supposed to be, in any respect, inferior to
France. Another writer translated a speech
of the King of Sweden, in which he mentioned
ic cholera. The word " Asiatic" had to be
suppressed, because Russia might take urn
at it. Despite all which, the men of Hamburg
are honourable, amiable, hospitable, and will
honour a letter of introduction as readily as a
bill of exchange.
Almost touching Hamburg, is Altona, the
capital of Holstein, the second city of the D
dominions, and the. dullest i\\ the universe. !t
rivals London, nevertheless, in having a hand
some street called Pallmail. The scenery of
Holstein, without aspiring to the picture-
is pleasing in its character. The farms, with
their nea -; or low stone fenc.
almost an English look. Gentle knolls occur
now and then, interspersed with little sheets of
r. The clumps of beech around
small lakes are vocal with the nightingale. Iu
general, there is little wood; but wl
occurs, from its consisting of trees with glossy
_re, it tells well in the lanclsc.
iact, the land U a v The
- little, t - Of
.
of especial mention. AVith tl.
86 [March 5, 1864.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
accurate as mosaic, houses of bright compact
brick, avenues of elms forming sheltered walks
from end to end, and streets delightfully clean,
they greatly remind the traveller of the highly-
polislied little towns of Holland.
The system pursued in filling up vacant
clerical charges is, as nearly as can be, that of
uncontrolled popular election The parishioners
meet at the church on a day of which due inti
mation has been given by the ecclesiastical judi-
catory of the district. The only inhabitants of
the parish who do not attend on these occasions
are the proprietors of the larger estates ; they
absent themselves lest they should be suspected
of influencing their tenants in behalf of some
particular preacher. The candidates are gene
rally those young clergymen of the neighbour
hood with whose pulpit ministrations the people
are best acquainted. The names of these
being duly proposed, every male parishioner
who has received the sacrament votes for the
person he prefers, and the appointment is given
to him who unites the greatest number of
voices. The system appears to work well,
there. There are few instances of serious divi
sions among the people, and as few in which the
best qualified candidate is not selected.
Pretty little Kiel, in a snug baylet on the
north coast of Holstein, receives, if not its vi
tality, at least a great part of its animation,
from the fresh blood which flows through it in
the shape of strangers. The steamers arriving
from Copenhagen import objects of constant in
terest. Faces are seen in its peaceable streets
which nobody has ever seen before, and dialects
are heard whose interpretation would puzzle its
learned university : which university, by the way,
includes imprisonment amongst its modes of
discipline. He is no myth, that travelling stu
dent of dramatic notoriety, who, when asked by
country acquaintances where he resided, frankly
gave his address, "at the University Prison,
Heidelberg."
But Kiel is best known to German idlers from
its attractions as a watering-place, notwithstand
ing the rivals it has to contend with. Cux-
haven, Nordeuci, and Heligoland. But though
these rivals stand on the North Sea, whose
waters are reckoned more restorative than those
of the Baltic, yet Kiel attracts a fair proportion
of the thousands who annually flock from all
parts of Germany to some other part of Father
land.
Holstein, for its present annoyance, is the
joint which unites to the great German body the
long straggling arm known as Continental Den
mark. The little duchy, hitherto best known for
its agricultural fame, holds also a conspicuous
place in the annals of the royal houses of Europe.
Its princely line has given kings to most of the
thrones of the north, and if they all begin to
squabble about it, there is no knowing where
the quarrel will end. A different supply con
sists of cart-horses, the Holstein breed main
taining its reputation as amongst the fittest for
draught in the world. The dairies are also in
high repute. There are farms in the neighbour
hood of Kiel where a couple of hundred cows
are kept, and in whose storerooms a thousand
cheeses, ready for export, may be seen at one
time. Though Kiel is somewhat sunk from its
importance as the capital of the Gottorp portion
of Holstein (formerly belonging to the imperial
family of Russia), yet, in consequence of a brisk
commerce and some manufacturing spirit, the
inhabitants have long been reputed wealthy.
On doubling the Point of Falster, after leaving
Kiel, the steamer takes you between Zealand
and an archipelago of islands scattered about on
either side poor little islets scarcely rising
above the water s edge, covered with scanty-
grass and a few hovels, whose peasant inhabi
tants lead a life much akin to that passed on
shipboard. The wind clashes the spray of the
waves against their huts. The sea roars by day
around the family table, and by night beneath
the pillows on which they sleep. The sea is
their element, their delight, and their sorrow,
their wide world, their boundary. Casting their
nets therein, they reap their harvests.
It is a popular tradition that some of these
islets were made by enchanters, who wished for
greater facilities of going to and fro, and dropped
them in the sea as stations on their way. At
certain spots they are so close to each other
that the sea no longer resembles a sea, but a
mighty river like the Rhine. You distinguish
the shore on either side ; you can count the
dwellings ; and on Sundays, when the boat runs
along the coast of Falster, you can hear the bells,
and can respond to the hymns chanted inside
the churches.
A little further on, the natives will take you
to the prow of the vessel and point with pride
to a tall white mass of rock surmounted by
several sharp peaks, and crowned with trees.
What a geologist would call calcareous rock, is
not a rock, but a beautiful young fairy who
reigns over the island and its surrounding
waters. The naked cliff is her white robe,
which falls in graceful folds to the sea, and is
diapered by the glancing sunbeams. The pointed
pyramid is her sceptre, and the belt of wood her
diadem. From the summit of the Dronnings
Stol (the Queen s Seat), she surveys her em
pire and protects the fisherman s barque as
watchfully as the merchant vessel. Thus does
the popular imagination poetise material objects.
Passing along the shores of a lake, it hears the
water-sprites singing in their grottos, and be
holds the mermaids rising to the surface. Gazing
at a hill of chalk, it discovers a queen there, and
calls it the Moensklint (the Maiden s Rock). At
Moensklint the sea resumes its open character,
and the coast of Kioge almost seems to retreat,
to make way for the vessels which incessantly
pass. Thence to Copenhagen the sea is covered
with ships. Here, as elsewhere, the Baltic
coast is full of traditions, some impressed with
true religious feeling, others bearing the trace
of paganism.
In these islets evervbody is acquainted with the
history of elves and giants, with magic swords, and
treasures guarded by dragons. They are the resort
Charles Dickens.]
ALL Tin: VLAI; norxn.
[March 5, I
of mermen, W] i hair lik
i sing
at evrnii: u the
heir crystal grots.
Tucy hide sorcer , by for- "haut-
k the boats of i he
:ly huntsmen, c
their crimes to an endless chase through thicket
and marsh. J rieM Island recals a
There dwelt on it named A
Hie on account, of ii . lie w
if one penny only.
i he wan his penny
to the dealer or the lab Hirer, who invariably and
u-ned it, with the addition of the
aired. The island still retains its name,
-nfortunately, lo.st ihe marvellous penny.
uer part- of the o<>aM, a chnreh sunk
hot torn of I . after being profaned
iiiions men. Bj night, you may hear the
unhappy i>enitential psalms,
uinglcd witli sobs and waitings. When the
on may see through the transparent
s the lighted candles before the altar. Tor
1 heir sins, t hey are condemned to bitter imprison
ment iu this sunken church until the day of
judgment.
In the same neighbourhood, the sailors have
often beheld, in the midst of tempests and by
the glare of lightning, a strange built i
hoisting an unknown Hag. The captain and his
Committed a great, crime; and they
are to wander over the waves, without halt, or
nd of the world. When these
poor maritime wandering Jews perceive another
1 at a distance, they send off to it letters
for their relations and friends. But the letters
are addressed to persons who have not existed
for centuries, and to streets with names known
to no living creature.
In Falster island there was once a very rich
woman who had no children. Wishing to devote
her fortune to pious uses, she built a church,
which, when finished, appeared in her eyes so
beautiful, that she felt herself entitled to ask a
apense. She therefore prayed to be per
mitted to live as long as her church should stand.
1 1 1 -r desire was granted. Death passed before her
door wit u-ring it. He knocked at the
doors of all her relations and friends, but did not
show her so much as the tip of his scythe.
lived unscathed through all the wars, through all
-lilences, through all the
famines which ravaged her country. She lived
so loi ft to talk with ; for
iked of suehanci
eon Id understand her. But when
she asked for extension of life, she forgot to
a- a continuation of youth and m
! for and no more.
,-rew older and older. She lost her stn
. her hearing, and her speech. She
iu uu oaken cniiVr and
the church. Once a y irist-
:or an
hour, and every year, at that hour, the priest
rders.
" ^ the
. " \Vonlu -, " it
had fallen to the ground!"
back with a deep sigh, and the lid of
in.
A | it his son in a ship
wreck. . day In
into his 1,
, he rolls a drum with all hi . and
calls to his son in a 1 /me;
out of your
and I wii; me in my !/ it. If
you are dead, i ve in the
ng the and
You will sleep better there than
:h the waves." But lie calls and looks out
in vain. At nightfall he returns,
"To-morrow, I will go further; my poo:
did not hear me."
Most of these legends are melancholy iu their
character, and turn upon the differ
family affection. For instane ng went
to a distant island and took a handsome girl to
wife. They lived together seven years, and she
presented him with seven children. Then death
came into the country, and carried o!f the wife,
so fresh and so rosy. Dyring went, to a distant
island, married another girl, and brought
home. But this one was unkind and hard
hearted. When she entered her husband s
house, the seven children wept ; they wept and
were anxious. She repulsed them with her foot.
She gave them neither beer nor bread, and told
them, "You shall sleep on straw, with nothing to
cover you." She extinguished the great torches,
and said, " You shall remain in darkn*
The children wept very late into the night.
Their mother heard them, where she lay, under
the earth. "Oh !" she cried, " that 1 could go
and see my little children !" She prayed
prayed till she obtained permission to go and see
her little children, on condition that, at cock
crow, she would leave them. So the poor mother
raised herself on her weary legs, and climbed
over the stone wall of the burial-ground. She
i raversed the village, and the dogs howled as
they heard her pass. She reached the door of
her former dwelling ; her eldest daughter was
standing there.
" What are you doing hero, my child ?" she
asked. " How arc your brothers and sist
" You are a fine grand lady, but you are not
irling mother. My mother s cheeks were
and red, whilst you are as pale as death."
id how can I be white and red, after
>o long iu my coll m r
She went into the chamber; her lit tie children
were there with 1 ears on t heir cheeks. She took
one and combed it, smoothed the hair of another,
and caressed a third and a fourth. She took
the iifth i:i her arms and opened her box-
it. Then, calling her c! lighter, "Go
and tell Dyring to come here," she said. When
Dyring came, sin ilv. "I
iei t you beer and bread, and my children are
88 [March 5, 1864.]
.ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted ty
hungry and thirsty. I left you blue cushions
and coverlids, and my children sleep on naked
straw. I left you tall flambeaux, and my
children are in darkness. If you often make
me thus return by night, misfortune will come
of it." At this the mother-in-law exclaimed,
" Henceforward I will be kind to your children."
And from that day, whenever the husband and
wife heard the dogs growl, they gave the children
beer and bread ; and when they heard them howl
and bark, they went and hid themselves, lest they
should see the dead woman come back again.
The Ksempeviser are songs and stories written
in the national language of Denmark. They
contain, amongst others, the touching history of
Queen Dagmar (Aurora, or Daybreak), who, for
seven years, was adored by the king and his
people, and who died in May, 1212. Her
arrival in Denmark is thus related :
King Valdemar and his noble, Strange Ebbe-
sou, are sitting in the castle hall, and are dis
coursing together.
"Do you hear, noble Ebbeson, what I tell you ?
You will set out for Bohemia, from whence you
will bring me back my young bride."
Noble Ebbeson, of handsome mien and elo
quent speech, replied, " If I go to Bohemia,
who will accompany me ?"
"Choose first," replied the king, "the young
Lord Limbek and Olaf Gliick ; choose the rich
Seigneur Peter Glob and others, according to
your liking."
At their departure, the king accompanied
them to the shore with a numerous and brilliant
suite. For three weeks they sailed over the
azure waves, and when they caught sight of the
land of Bohemia they gaily saluted it. They
cast anchor, furled their sails, and landed. The
retinue was dazzling to behold, preceded by the
noble Ebbeson.
" God be with you, King of Bohemia ! You
are a prince worthy of all honour. King Val
demar of Denmark sends me to you; he loves
your daughter, and demands her hand."
The king then entered his palace to consult
with the queen. "There are some noble seig
neurs from Denmark, who are come to take our
daughter away. If mighty Valdemar desires to
espouse her, we will leave her to these brilliant
lords, and give a rich dowry with her hand."
They dressed the princess in blue silk and led
her into the great hall. "Here is the princess
herself, so beautiful in modesty and virtue."
They then brought the chess-board and the table
of massive gold, that the noble Ebbeson might
play with the princess and converse with her
alone. At the third move they were agreed;
noble Ebbeson had won a good wife for his
king. The silken carpets were spread on the
ground, and a long train accompanied the prin
cess to the place of embarkation. She bade
aclieu to her dear parents, and they blessed her
from a distance. She was gentle and delicate.
She arrived by the island of Manoe, to the west
of Schleswig. The King of Denmark made his
horse prance on the shore of Ripen.
"Noble Ebbeson," asked the princess, "be
fore we land, tell me who is that bold cavalier
who rides to and fro along the bank ?"
"You are welcome, princess," replied Ebbe
son; "but do not speak so loud. It is King
Valdemar of Denmark, come to offer three
crowns to his bride."
" Shame on you, noble Ebbeson ! Have you
deceived me ? Has King Valdemar of Den
mark only one eye ?"
"King Valdemar is a hero worthy of the
blood of Orlog; he has reconquered for Den
mark all the land to the north of the Elbe. Such
glory must needs be purchased by something."
The wedding was brilliant, and the young
couple loved each other from the bottom of their
hearts. It was a happy time for all in Denmark.
Queen Dagmar took care of the honest peasant ;
lie lived without burthen, and in peace. She
was the sweetest flower jn Denmark s garden.
DR. PEREGRINE S PAGE.
i.
IN one of the earlier volumes of my diary I
find the following passage :
" Tuesday, January 17th, 18. This morn
ing, at half-past three A.M., poor John Bentmore
expired. Conscious to the last full of self-con
demnation for errors which were more those of
judgment than intention ; pious, earnest, humble-
minded, he died, bitterly accusing himself of
having injured his boy s prospects. A touching
end. I promised to befriend his child. How
shall I fulfil that promise ?"
Of all my humble proteges, John Bentmore
was the most grateful, and the least satisfactory.
He was emphatically an unlucky man. Nothing
prospered with him. He had tried everything.
Service in all sorts of capacities. He had been
a greengrocer, a lodging-house keeper ; a
traveller for a wine merchant ; a traveller in
the grocery line ; foreman to an upholsterer. I
got up a subscription for him, and fitted him out
for Australia ; but in less than two years he was
back again, with little besides the clothes which,
to use his own expression, he stood upright in.
By-and-by he set up for himself in the up
holstery trade with capital borrowed from one
of his old employers. He had been brought up
to it, his father having been an upholsterer;
and he ought to have understood it himself.
But his ill luck, or rather his want of business
habits, pursued him still. He employed the best
men; he bought the best materials. Yet, his
wood always warped ; his blinds never worked
properly ; his carpets wore white ; his very
nails never held. He was wont to admit him
self with a sigh, as he wiped the perspiration
from his brow, that "there was a many
complaints. He didn t know how it was, but
there was a many complaints."
At last he sunk under his ill fortune. On his
death-bed he accused himself bitterly, and
bewailed the destitute state of his son, whose
future prospects naturally formed his chief
anxiefy. I had much ado to reconcile him to
the idea of the boj s seeking his living (at any
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
S9
rate in the first instance) by servitude, and I
undertook, before I sought a service for Arthur,
to induce 3.1 r. Moreen, the upholsterer with
whom John Bcntmore had lived twice as fore-
to employ him ; but John s hopes on this
were slight. " He won t do it, sir," he
said, with a sigh of self-reproach ; " and I don t
I ve that he should. He s a just man Mr.
Moreen. And I I owe him money. I owe him
a large sum of money, and he s not one to over
look that. If indeed he would let the boy work
for him any number of years without wages,
and so pay him off what 1 owe, that would be a
blessed thing! but he won t do it ! he won t do
it, sir. I have enraged him ; and Mrs. Moreen
she can t overlook his having lent me the
money; not but what it would be the best
thing they could do to get paid; for Arthur
would do his duty by them, I m sure of that.
He s very different from me, you see, sir a
deal better. He s got twenty times my head for
niaircs, and book-keeping, and that. He ll make
t-rate man of business, will Arthur. They
Ett his school, that he s an uncommon turn
for mathematics. It is a pity, ain t it, to make
a menial of sucli a lad as that ?"
And the father looked proudly and fondly at his
boy, who was seated in the hospital window
intent upon a book ; and a single tear rolled
down upon his pillow.
The hour came at last. lie fixed on his boy
ace of loving recognition, and the tender
faded away ; in its place there came a film,
and all was over.
II.
Arthur Bent more had not completed his thir
teenth year when his father died. He was tall
for his age, with small and well-cut features. The
mouth was full and handsome ; but the com
pressed lips, and square chin, indicated firm
ness, whilst the singularly prominent eyes had
in them a thoughtful abstraction unusual in one
so young. I had learnt from Mr. Gillies, his
schoolmaster (whom I had met more than once
by his father s bedside), that he was studious and
persevering, though not particularly clever ; and
from the father himself, that he was dutiful and
obedient in no ordinary degree. But my own
observations had served rather to puzzle than to
enlighten, me, although at one conclusion I had
arrival, namely, that he was reserved even to se
cret iveness. liis nature seemed to be one of those
which, to open at all, must be wrenched open.
His father s affairs were set in order with as
,s possible. When all was sold,
scarcely enough remained to pay the funeral
and other necessary expenses ; nothing whatever
towards defraying Mr. Moreen s debt. I had
, d the boy in decent mourning, and paid
his small arrears of schooling myself, taking
him for the moment into my own lodging ; and
now I felt it was time to think of putting him
in some way of earning an independent liveli
hood; but it was not without the utmost diffi
culty and considerable exercise o f patience, (hut
I wrung from him the confession that lie would
rather be an upholsterer than a servant.
I took him to Mr. Moreen, whom I had long
been in the habit of attending professionally,
and who I believed had a rial regard for me.
I would make an attempt in that quarter. After
all, it could but fail.
Mr. Moreen was a huge, sturdy, ruddy-faced
giant, working hard, living generously, doing
business, as business should be done, in a busi
ness-like way. He piqued himself on llic quality
of his materials, and the excellence of his work
manship, and was wont to look with an eye of
something like contempt on any work but his
own. Though as straightforward, shrewd, and
experienced a tradesman as London ever pro
duced, he was completely under the thumb of
his wife. He came down to us iio\v, from the
comfortable meat tea he had been enjoying with
Mrs. M. (as he respectfully called her) and the
children, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as
he entered. He smiled on seeing me ; but cast
a sharp glance of something like disi avour on
my companion ; who, pale and slender, looked
above his station in his new mourning suit, re
lieved by an inch or two of his father s gold
chain, that peeped from his waistcoat. I said
it had been his late foreman s last wish that his
son should be brought up to the trade he had
followed himself, and that he had not been with
out hope that Mr. Moreen would permit the
boy to be in his shop, at least for a while.
The upholsterer heard me attentively to the
end. He was not one to speak hastily, nor yet
one to mince matters when he did speak. He
knew his own mind, iu general when Mrs. M.
was not by.
; tfir, 1 wouldn t have a son of John Beut-
more s in my shop, not if you was to pay me
all he owed, and fifty pounds more to the back
of that. I ve had enough of the father; I
don t want no more of the lot. That boy ll be
just like em all turn out as bad as the rest.
John Bentmore used me ill, sir. I trusted him,
and lie deceived me. He deceived me."
Not wilfully !" I interrupted. " When he
borrowed that money, he intended to repay it. "
" I trusted him, and he deceived me," Mr.
Moreen resumed, not condescending to notice
my interruption. " He promised in black and
white, that he would pay back that money
before the year were out, and he never paid me
a shilling of it no, nor meant to it. There s
no honesty in the blood, that s where it is !
there s no honesty in the blood ! Eighty-seven
pounds nine shillings and threepence that man
owed me, and I shall never see a farthing of it.
No, sir, I thank you ; but I ll have nothing to
do with his boy."
" Father would have tried to pay you, if he
had lived, sir !" Arthur s young voice was heard
to say ; " I know he would huvc done his best
to pay you."
fiiccd at the boy. He was pale, and the
perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead.
His eyes, full of an eager and glow;
:ixcd intently on the upholster
bled for him. It was cruel : thus
of his dead father in his presence.
90 [March 5, 1SC4.]
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
[Conducted by
"Not lie !" Mr. Moreen replied, putting his
hands into his waistcoat-pockets, and jingling
his loose silver, with a dogged kind of careless
ness. " Not he ! twasn t in him. 5 T wasn t in
him. no more than twas in his brother Charles,
who died some eight or nine years ago, deep in
debt. He was another of the same sort always
borrowing, never paying nobody again always
in trouble and difficulties and prison (with a
strong emphasis). It s in the blood. There s
no backbone among them ! And the boy s one
of them. Of course !"
lie jerked out these sentences with strong
contempt, making short pauses between each,
that seemed to add tenfold weight to his words.
I felt indignant at the cruelty of such re
marks, before a lad whose parent was scarcely yet
cold in his grave. "Mr. Moreen," I said, "you
have a perfect right to refuse to employ the lad,
but you have no right to wound him, by casting
bitter reflections on the memory of his father."
" Sir," said Mr. Moreen, taking one square
brawny hand out of his pocket, and stretching it
towards me with a gesture of power, "I speak as I
find. Youforget as I ve boys myself amauyboys."
He heaved a sigh, that seemed to come from
some cavernous depths, and made a kind of
draught in the shop. " I ve no less than five of
em, and Mrs. M. expecting again in Oc
tober. Sir, them boys look to me to be fed
and clothed, and put in the way of feeding and
clothing their own selves. I ve enough to do
for them. They re brought up strict, and honest,
and hard, they are not taught to give them
selves airs not dressed like young Eton gents.
IV hat they wears is paid for, honest and reg lar.
I should scorn to borrow money for my boys."
He turned away, and bending a little forward,
seemed to be examining a piece of old oak fur
niture that stood near. But his thoughts were
evidently not with that. A moment afterwards
he resumed in a somewhat deprecating tone, as
though willing to justify himself to me. " You
see, sir, I ve had little comfort since the day
when that money was borrowed. Mrs. M.,
she ll never overlook it. Nev-er overlook it.
Not if she lives to a hundred. She has her
ideas, has Mrs. M., and her opinions. Strong.
She was always against lending of it. Many a
time she says to me, says she, Mark my words,
M. Don t you trust that Bentmore he s a
slippery fellow. If you please, sir," said Mr.
Moreen, suddenly taking his hands from his
pockets, and changing his tone to one of un
common briskness, by way of changing the sub
ject, " if you please, sir, we ll say no more about
it. Only 1 won t have nothing to do with his lad."
And so we parted.
in.
A page s place was soon found for Arthur
Bentmore ; and a good one. One of my patients
willingly engaged him, inexperienced as he was,
after hearing the particulars of his story from
me. Admiral and Mrs. Sullivan were kindly,
liberal people, living alone, spoiling their ser
vants, as they would have spoilt their children
if they had had any, laying themselves out to be
imposed upon in a hundred ways, on all sides.
Their butler, Mr. Tapps, having decanted their
wine, and imbibed the greater part of it, for two-
and-twenty years, was looked upon by them
priceless treasure. Their coachman, a corpulent
but lenient man, allowed them the use of their
horses for an hour or two occasionally, when
his wife thought it good for him to drive ; nor
was there a pair in all London that could match
his for sleek and decorous slowness. The lady s-
maid had ruled her mistress with a yard measure
of iron for thirty years, and was looked upon by
that lady with a truly filial respect. The cook
had grown fat on the proceeds of that which she
sold out of her luxurious kitchen. The house
maid and scullery-maid might as yet be con
sidered babies in the service, having been only
three and four years in the family ; but, influ
enced by the general tone of the establishment,
they were of course prepared to remain there
(if spared, and not taken possession of by the
baker or the greengrocer) half a century at least.
Every one of the domestics spoke of the house,
and all it contained, as theirs. It was "our
plate," "our carriage," "our dinner-parties,"
" our uniforms," " our court dresses," and " our
diamonds."
The first thing done by the treasure, Mr.
Tapps, on the new page being respectfully pre
sented to him by his mistress in my presence,
was to alter his cognomen to that of Jeames.
He could not be expected to call him any other.
Of course not. Jeames were the proper name
for a page, and had been ever since lie were a
page himself. "And if you does as I tell you,"
said Mr. Tapps, with dignified emphasis, turning
to the ci-devant Arthur, and mingling encourage
ment with the stern dignity of office, " if you
does as I tell you, and minds nothing nor nobody
else, you ll do well enough in time, I des-say."
During the page s probation, the reports of
his conduct were excellent. Mrs. Sullivan had
nothing to say but in his praise. Tapps, the
treasure, spoke highly of him. Tapps was en
tirely satisfied. He had broken wonderfully
little crockery for a raw lad in his first service,
and there was a marked improvement in his
double knocks.
I was sitting one morning in my consulting-
room, having just dismissed the last of my gra
tuitous patients, when my page (I called him
my page, from having put a guiding hand to his
destiny) called upon me. He looked thin and
ill, and paler even than usual.
" Nothing wrong, I hope ?" I said, thinking
that the boy grew too fast, and that he ought to
be well nourished, and not overworked.
" Nothing, sir. I came to speak to you on a
little matter that "
He paused.
" What is it ?"
" Well, sir, I came to ask you that is (cor
recting himself, as though he had not been
sufficiently respectful) I made bold to come
and ask you, if you would kindly take care of
this money for me, sir ?"
Charles Dickens.]
ALL THE YEAR KOTXI).
II - took from 1:
iu a piece of olti
on tin- table. There \\
half-r
ainouiil o set
be his.
"Certainly," I this for
yon, if you wish it. "What is it .
11 v. as silent.
^articular obj< ci :"
" Well yes/sir,"
" Perhaps you would rather ni t tell
llr. incut, anil I ! I .-red
that " It :at debt."
"T ! What drbi P
"}>( to Mr. Monen, v.u kno\v,
sir. Father owed him eighty-seven pounds nine
shillii ;ee," lie said.
I looked at the little heap of money on the
table, and involuntarily smiled.
1 v irood boy, you don t hope that you can
;m as tl
" I mean to pay it, sir."
" You m 
