V3^m^fy^^
^'s-:v-^; ; ' :; \
BENTLEY'S
MISCELLANY.
VOL. XIII.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1848.
LONDON :
BY 8. AND J. BKNTLEV, WILSON, AND FLBY,
Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
\
by Paul Pindar,
The Adventures of Mr. Ledbury and his friend, Jack Johnson,
1, 105, 209, 313, 421
Sonnet, . .-. V '.--;'''
T h o n aC6 ^ *I S n lle ' I Life in Hanover, by Dudley Costello,
A Ball and its Consequences, $
This World of ours, by W. G. J. Barker,
Pleasures of a Trip in a Budgerow, .
The Sedar, . . ...
The Drawing Master,
The English Soldier and the Sepoy,
Novel Revenge,
A Tale of Writers' Buildings, .
Freemasonry in India, .
Indian Jealousy, . .
Too near to be pleasant, . .
The Centipede, . . , * ;
The Scoffer's Fate, . ':*'' ,.
Song of the Morning Star, ': .
George Child's Second Love,
The Two Lieutenants, . .
The Dead Man's Hand,
The Genuine Remains of William Little,
The Wandering Jew | Leaves of Legendary Lore,
1 he Old Castle or Arden, > , n .if & , J .
The Dissuasion from Marriage, J b ^ Co( l ullla Sartorms >
Christmas Eve, . ~ .
The Band of the Forty-seven,
Anecdotes of Peninsular War, from the Re-
collections of the Rifleman Harris,
Visiting the Guard at Holyrood,
The Mysterious Mansion,
Laughter and Learning all the Year round,
Saint Valentine ; or, Thoughts on the evil
of Love in Mercantile Community,
Supplement to Mr. Howard's Lectures at
the Royal Academy, . .
Memoirs of Joseph Munden, the Comedian, by his Son,
71, 135, 276, 362, 476, 586
A Lay of Ancient Rome, by John Stuart,
The Soft Man ....
Figures for the Million, . ( .
The " Done Brown," . . ".
The "Black," . .
The Crusty, < . .
The Hard,
The Plummy, ....
The Lay of St. Medard,
The Knight and the Lady, . ;
Jerry Jarvis's Wig,
To Anna,
To Ellen,
527
25
26
447
34
.. . 36
101
' ; *j ..' ,. , r "\ . 263
266
Hours in Hindostan, 382
by H. R. Addison, 459
. ' 463
., . , , ,-. .-.: , 465
v ; . ., , 467
., j ,,,:! . 470
.-. , ,.- ,1 472
.'., . 40
42
129
234
564
48
177
354
53
184
by Henry Curling,
The Galanti Show,
by Jack Gossamer,
197, 268
299
399
63
151
453
by Alfred Crowquill,
Thomas Ingoldsby,
80
81
87
200
293
412
521
623
95
304
496
104
134
On a Member of the House of Assembly not i , A ,
remarkable for his veracity, . J** A1 nder M'Dougall, 160
j y CONTENTS.
Childhood,
The Willow Tree,
The Siren and the Friar, .
The Death of the Poor,
The^Mother on the Anniversary of her
Child's death, .
by William Jones,
PAGE
155
353
381
, 458
I\iriU)y UUIISUCMO .uiiw & ~, >i TJ IT Tlo^c, QAO
The Nymph of Sand-bed Hole, . /by Henry H. Davis,
Madge Myers the Sportsman's Tale, by Dalton, .
Illustrations of Wine and Wine-drinkers, by a Bacchanalian,
Canzonet,. . Ibv J. T. Ouseley ' 007
Ballad-Mavourneen, . . J 3
The '< Lonely House,"
The Devotion of Rizpah, the Concubine, ^y J
Ten Days in Quarantine, . - 1
Ounce-shooting in Brazil, . >by Ben Bunting .
Burning of a Roca . . . J
The Death Dial at Versailles, by R. Shelton Mackenzie, LL.D.
The Suttee, by R. Hartley Kennedy, M.D. 241
Country Pleasures, and therein chiefly ^1 DV ]V| F T 257
Angling and Fly-fishing, . J
A Tale of Transmigration addressed by a i , p Locker 29 !
Moth to a very beautiful young Lady, / *
Jemima's Journal of Fashionable Life and f by " The Pilgrim in 1 33g
Conversation, . . . . \ London/' J
The Rock of Babake", by Isabella F. Romer, ... 345
The Snail, . . . . ... .372
The Fatal Picture, by Abraham Elder, ? . . n . 374
The Duellists, by George Soane, . . . . . 384
The Pedlar Poet, by George Raymond, ,. . ; Jt . 393
The Poultry Counter, 1. ., , . ;':, .407
The Nocturnal Summons, }l>y Hilary Hypbane, 490
The Maniac's Rhapsody, . . . ' .. '' 446
The Gaol Chaplain ; or, A Dark Page from Life's Volume, 508, 568
Elegy in a London Theatre, . .... ,* 554
Knocks and Erebus, . , . . r " 556
Original Letters of Dr. Southey, . , . '-'.' 596
The Long Nun, by Miss Costello, . : . - J . .. .' . 606
The Exile of Louisiana, 612
ILLUSTRATIONS.
The uninvited Guest at Mr. Ledbury's party, by Leech, 24
Legend of St. Medard, by George Cruikshank, 100
Mr. Ledbury's cold bath, by Leech, . ' . 105
The Husband's revenge, by George Cruikshank, 184
An unintended Tableau at Mrs Grimley's, by Leech, . 223
Legend of the Knight and the Lady, by George Cruikshank, . 304
Mr. Rawkms, as Hercules, returning from a Fancy Ball, by Leech, 328
The Mock Trial, by George Cruikshank, .-.-'. 384
.lac k Johnson at his professional studies, by Leech,
Jerry Jarvis's Wig, by George Cruikshank, . 500
The Foreign Gentleman executes an air upon the grand piano, by
Leech, . m ^ ^
The unexpected Recognition, by George Cruikshank, 612
BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY AND HIS
FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON.
BY ALBERT SMITH.
WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN LEECH.
CHAPTER X.
Of the journey home.
ENGLAND ! there is a sturdy look about the very word a kind
of touch-me-if-you-dare expression, which almost forces you to ima-
gine, that a few hardy letters of the alphabet had combined together
to make a stand against any idle meddlers who wished to disturb
their order. The word is a symbol of the nation, and the unflinch-
ing letters have their prototypes in the people who compose it.
A fine bracing wind was rollicking about the Nore, tumbling the
waves over each other in reckless jollity, or blowing them off in
clouds of spray, and rattling amidst the sails and cordage of the ves-
sel, as the City of Boulogne, with all her steam on, and her sails set,
entered the mouth of the Thames, bearing her cargo of foreign im-
portations, and homeward-bound travellers. A glow of happy ex-
citement was upon every face ; and, as the banks of the river came
rearer and nearer on either side, and the little villages and church-
spires appeared, one after another, upon the shore, there arose ten
thousand old associations, and thoughts of Christmas and its revelry,
and all those loved ones who made home home, whose dear voices
had not fallen upon the ear for so long a time, although their images
had ever been present to the heart. The very water seemed en-
dowed with life and feeling, and leaped and danced so merrily round
the prow, and sparkled so joyously in the bright sunbeams, as it
M as thrown back again to its parent deep in laughing foam, that
every drop appeared a messenger of greeting and affection to wel-
c une the wanderers home.
" Round the Foreland " is at all seasons a passage of extreme un-
easiness to voyagers of delicate fibre and nervous temperament; but,
when the packet arrived in the comparatively still water of the
ri ver, the passengers became somewhat reassured, and one by one
appeared upon deck. Mr. Ledbury and Jack Johnson were amongst
the number ; for, having seen all that they considered worth ob-
serving in Paris, and, moreover, discovering that the treasury was
commencing to run rather low, were now returning to London.
And, indeed, Mr. Ledbury was anxious to eat his Christmas-dinner
at home, and drink his elder wine " on his own hearth," as he ex-
pressed himself, (which Jack Johnson defined as meaning inside the
fender, amongst the fire-irons,) so that their proceedings had at last
b( en somewhat hurried. Had they been less so, we might have re-
lated how they gave a farewell party in their old rooms to their old
VOL. xiu. ' B
2 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
companions; how Aimee, Jules, and Henri came to the office of the
" Aigle," in the Place de la Bourse, to see them off ; how Aimee was
very sorrowful indeed at parting with them ; and how Jules con-
soled her with a two-franc dinner in the Palais Royal, after they
had gone; and, finally, how Mr. Ledbury felt one pang, and one
only, at returning, which arose from his not having been able to
achieve a pair of mustachios during his stay, which would have ren-
dered him so distinguished when he walked through Islington on
the first Sunday after his return. We would have related all these
things at length, and many more besides ; but we wished to follow
the adventures of our hero as closely as time would allow ; and all
this would have taken up so much space, that we should have ex-
perienced some little difficulty in coming up with him again. So the
reader must please to imagine these events, in any fashion most con-
genial to his own fancy ; and having, in company with the two tra-
vellers, given a long good-b'ye to Paris, perhaps for ever, we will
all meet again, Ledbury, Johnson, the reader, and ourself, on board
the steam-boat which is now conveying them up the river on their
return voyage.
Jack Johnson, who appeared endowed with a singular propensity
always to sit on out-of-the-way and uncomfortable situations, had
perched himself on the top of a pile of luggage, and was now, in
company with Ledbury, making out the various localities as they
appeared on the edge of the river.
" There 's old Gravesend ! " cried Jack, as he recognised the piers
of what the guide-books call " this agreeable place of salubrious re-
creation."
" And there 's Rosherville ! further on," continued Ledbury. " I
say, Jack, the dancing there won't go down after the Chaumiere
will it ?"
" Not exactly," replied Jack. < Wouldn't Aimee's waltzing make
Mr. Baron Nathan stare ? wouldn't it put him on his mettle? and
wouldn't he try to cut her out in his Egg-shell and Tea-service
Crackovienne, or his Chinese Fandango in scale-armour and hand-
cuffs ?
"Purfleet," observed Mr. Ledbury, as they proceeded, "is stated
by the guides to be a quiet resort for invalids, unwilling to en-
counter the bustle of a large watering-place. There is sufficient
ex lodld " F m St reS t0 pr duce an effect as far as Condon, if it
Co'^t Co" 6 ^ ^ , th T C K Penny Hand - book for Travellers, and
Coast Companion, said Johnson. I suppose that accounts for
the rapid communication with all parts of Kent' which Purfleet
enjoys, according to the same authority "
alonthHl- the names and ^gns look
along the edge of the river," remarked Ledbury
Certain y not," returned Ledbury. I
w as
id saw * K- A was v ^y happy there,
This led their convermfonlack again to France, and they soon
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 3
lost themselves in a chain of " don't you recollects ?" which called up
all their bygone adventures. But we will do them the justice to say,
that when they looked round, and saw their own fine river, the
mighty evidences of wealth and defiance that rode so proudly on its
surface, and the tokens of commerce and enterprise that were
crowded upon its banks, they agreed that old Thames took a deal of
beating, and was a sight not to be despised, after all. And so, like-
wise, thought a great many of their foreign fellow-passengers, who,
clustering round the fore part of the vessel, and presenting all those
eccentric varieties of caps and cloaks, which migratory continental-
ists love to indulge in, were uttering continuous expressions of ad-
miration at the traffic of the river, and the " mouvement perpetuel "
of the ships and steam-boats.
At last the packet came alongside the wharf; and, after much
pulling and hauling, and many people being requested to stand out
of the way, and more being thrust violently into side-cabins, and
artfully-contrived kitchens and cupboards in the paddle-boxes,
where they remained in great trepidation and compulsory confine-
ment for an indefinite period, to say nothing of the anxiety of
everybody to turn all the luggage topsy-turvy until their own
effects were uppermost, and their acute mental agony at the chance
of the custom-house officers seizing the bottle of brandy which they
had brought from Boulogne with the cork out. After all this, the
passengers were permitted to land between two rows of awe-inspir-
ing men, who looked as suspiciously at everybody as if they were
constructions of gloves, lace, Cognac, and jewellery, in the form of
men and women. Mr. Ledbury walked ashore with two bottles of
Eau de Cologne tucked into each of his boots, a packet of gloves in
his hat, and Galignani's edition of Byron, very boldly carried under
his arm ; whilst Jack Johnson had so stuffed every available corner
of his wardrobe with tobacco, that he looked like a locomotive pin-
cushion, and, upon emergency, would have made an excellent " fen-
der," to let down with a rope over the side of the boat, and keep her
from any damage by concussion against the landing-place !
" There 's a pretty girl, Leddy ! " exclaimed Johnson, as they
gained the shore, and looked up at the people who were upon the
platform of the wharf. " I think she knows us."
" It 's my sister ! " cried Ledbury, immediately falling into a con-
tinuous convulsion of nods and smiles ; " and there is the mater
with her ! Come along, Jack ! I do want to see them so much ! "
And, hurrying up the inclined boards of the floating barge, which
looked like the ribbed planks laid down for the horses in equestrian
dramas, Mr. Ledbury pulled Jack Johnson after him, and soon
reached the spot where his mother and sister stood, amidst a crowd
of loiterers, who were shaking thei? handkerchiefs at the vessel, as
if they were dusting it at a distance, or telegraphing to those of their
friends who still remained on board.
" My mother Mr. Johnson ! " cried Ledbury, in breathless haste,
as he introduced his friend. " Jack my sister I How d' ye do ?
and how are they all? How's the governor ? You got the letter,
then, all right ? I thought you would come down."
And here Mr. Ledbury kissed his mother, who apparently ex-
pected he would do so, by putting up her veil the minute she saw
him land, and next he saluted his sister in the same manner; and,
B 2
4 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
then the two ladies bowed to Jack Johnson, and Jack bent his
head, and inwardly agreed that he should not have minded kissing
the old lady at all, she looked so kind ; and was certain that he
should even have been delighted to pay the same compliment to the
young one. For, though he had been flirting sadly amongst the
belles of Paris, he was not too obstinate to allow that the bright eyes,
and clear rosy cheeks, and cherry -lips of our dear English girls, had
in them something rather attractive than otherwise, even to travel-
lers liKe himself.
" We are much indebted to you, sir," said Mrs. Ledbury, turning
to Jack, " for the attention you have shown to Titus;" for such was
Mr. Ledbury's Christian name, we believe the first time the reader
has been put in possession of the fact. " I hope, now you are re-
turned, that we shall see something of you at Islington."
" I will do myself the pleasure of calling, if not intruding," replied
Jack, who would have made a magnificent bow, only he was afraid
some of the tobacco would tumble out of his hat.
" You are not quite a stranger to us, Mr. Johnson/' said Miss
Ledbury. " We have heard so much of you and your achievements
from my brother, that we almost know you intimately already ! "
" I fear he has told you little to my credit," said Jack, smiling,
and feeling as if he was blushing, which made him do so in earnest.
" Oh ! indeed," returned the young lady, " we are very happy to
make your acquaintance. Your care of my brother will insure you
a welcome."
Mr. Ledbury here informed his mother, that, as no other foreign
boat had come in that day, there was a chance of getting their lug-
gage through the custom-house that same afternoon, and that, there-
fore, he intended to wait. Whereupon Jack Johnson offered his
services to procure a cab for the ladies ; and, after a great deal of
rushing about in the mud of Thames Street, and several narrow
escapes from being crushed to death between walls and waggon-
wheels, he brought a chariot in triumph down to the wharf. Mrs.
and Miss Ledbury then left, after many mutual courtesies and plea-
sant speeches, and charges to Titus to come up home directly his
effects were cleared, and hopes that Jack Johnson would not be long
before he came to see them.
As soon as they had departed, Jack turned to Ledbury, and, with
a countenance beaming with enthusiasm, exclaimed,
" The happy moment has at length arrived, which I have so long
anticipated ! "
" I am very rejoiced to hear it," replied Ledbury, ' < if it gives you
any satisfaction. What is the cause of your joy ?"
' It is four calendar months," answered 'Johnson, " since these
lips have known the taste of half-and-half; but we are once more in
England, the land of the brave and free, and the bar to my happi-
ness has given place to the bar of the nearest tavern away ! "
Jack Johnson here assumed the tone and bearing of a melo-dra-
matic performer at a minor theatre in the last act, and, pointing
with his fore-finger towards a retail establishment, in the attitude of
those energetic gentlemen who figure in shop-windows, at one
penny plain, and twopence coloured, he entered the shop, followed
by Ledbury.
" Give me the goblet ! " exclaimed Johnson, in the same theatrical
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 5
tone, as he saw the bar-maid was rather overdone by customers, at
the same time seizing the pewter pot, " give me the goblet ! The
man who would not assist a female in distress is unworthy the name
of Briton ! "
And, applying himself vigorously to the handle of the beer-en-
gine, he filled a quart of the looked-for beverage, and then buried
his features in its foaming head.
" Ah ! " he added, after a long pull at the contents, as he stopped
for mere want of breath, and passed the tankard to Ledbury, "viu
ordinaire, at twelve sous a bottle, is very good ; but if the French
had cultivated hop-grounds, instead of vineyards, we should have
had much more trouble in thrashing them at Waterloo ! It would
have come to the same thing in the end, but would have taken
longer time, and stronger power, tp accomplish."
Their luggage was cleared that afternoon, nothing particularly
contraband attracting the attention of the custom-house officers.
The only things they looked suspiciously at were six or seven pairs
of new boots, which Jack Johnson had given a little boy at Bou-
logne half a franc to wear, one after another, and run about in the
mud with all day, to make them look old. But Jack contrived, by
dint of equal exhibitions of chaff and persuasion, to get them passed ;
and then, for the first time since they left England, the two friends
parted, Mr. Ledbury flying to the bosom of his family at Islington
in a patent cab, and Jack Johnson leaving his packages until he
sent a man for them with a truck.
"It seems odd, old fellow," said Jack, as they shook hands, " to
say good-b'ye, after having been so long together. However, Leddy,
I shall come up and see you before the week is out. Who knows
but we may have many more adventures yet ; so keep your powder
dry upon the strength of it."
CHAPTER XI.
A few particulars concerning Mr. Ledbury's family.
IT was some little time before the domestic circle, of which Mr.
Ledbury formed an arc, had quite recovered from the excitement
consequent upon his return, or ceased to listen, with astonished
eyes and ears, to his entertaining narratives of what he had wit-
nessed abroad.
As he had given up his lodgings in North Street when he went to
Paris, he was, for the present, located at Islington with his rela-
tives, who were rather proud of his adventures, and looked upon
him as a traveller of no ordinary enterprise. Indeed, on the first
Sunday after his return, when the period arrived that he had looked
forward to so eagerly, and he walked down High Street in the af-
ternoon, dressed in a complete suit of Parisian clothes, he almost
occasioned a dispute. The juvenile portion of his family were so
anxious to secure his arm, that they came to a downright struggle^
in their desire to show the natives of the district most of whom, it
is believed, being a domestic and unambitious people, look upon
France with the same indefinite notions of its customs and position,
as if it was Nova Scotia or the Panjab how very intimate they
were
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
, and upon what familiar terms they stood, with so celebrated a
Mr g6 Ledbury had the honour of being at the head of his brothers
and sisters ; Emma came next to him, in point of seniority ; and
then there were three or four miniature Ledburys, of various ages
and sizes, who peopled the upper part of the house during the week,
and were allowed on Sunday to dine in the parlour, and pledge
their parents in doll's wine-glasses of fifteen-penny Cape, provided
always that the nurse furnished a creditable report of their beha-
viour in the tub on the previous evening, which was sometimes ex-
ceedingly reckless and uncontrollable.
Master Walter Ledbury, an urchin of five years old, was a perfect
infantile revolutionist ; a sad little boy, indeed, whom no domestic
severity could intimidate. He had been known to make faces at
the nurse, and tell her that she was too ugly for him to mind. And
his perseverance in catching that most hapless of all tormented ani-
mals, the nursery kitten, was as remarkable as it was eventually
successful, only equalled by the rapidity with which he dressed it
in the doll's night-gown, whilst Foster had gone down to the kitchen
for some hot water ; and then, with the assistance of his senior sis-
ter, Ellen, gave it several successive dips in the tin-bath, after the
manner of the women they had seen at Margate. None of the dolls
themselves ever escaped this ordeal, or retained their eyes, five mi-
nutes after he got hold of them ; and his intense love of cleanliness
induced him to wash all the toys he could lay his hands upon, until
their colours were reduced to one general neutral tint. He filled up
all the key-holes with the monkeys who held the apples from the
Noah's Ark ; and was never so happy as when he was trying to
swim the cocks and hens belonging to the same establishment in his
milk and water; or clandestinely giving the baby, Japhet and his
wife, that the black paint might be sucked off their round hats, and
the infant's upper lip ornamented with chocolate mustachios from
their gaberdines.
Perhaps, if any one person in the family could manage the juvenile
insurgents better than another, it was Emma Ledbury. In the event
of a nursery emeule, she was always the peace-maker. And a sweet,
gentle girl she was too, as pretty as she was good, and as clever as
she was pretty. She knew how to make all sorts of useful things,
not trashy, fiddle-faddle fancy-work, but really serviceable do-
mestic contrivances. Not but that she could very readily have
embroidered a Berlin-wool chair-cover, or made a perforated- card
sticking-plaster case, if she had chosen to give her time to it; but
she entertained a strange antediluvian opinion, that the same pro-
portion of industry, differently applied, might produce results often
times greater utility. And she could have made a cloak for herself,
in the last and prettiest fashion, in less time than the young lady
who had lent her the pattern would take to finish an orientally-
tinted Chinese cockatoo on an embossed fire-screen, or completed a
set of nothing-holders for the mantelpiece, all straws, card-board
and blue ribbon.
Emma Ledbury was now seventeen; but she possessed more good
sense and information than many young ladies of seven-and-twenty,
if, indeed, young ladies will allow that there is such an age. She
had not one attribute in common with our friend, her brother Titus,
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. '
except his unvarying good-temper and kind-heartedness; never-
theless they agreed remarkably well, and he entertained the highest
notion of everything she did or advised. Her features were inte-
resting and expressive ; and, although not regularly perfect, far
more attractive in their ensemble than those of the inanimate dolls,
to which the world so frequently assigns the epithet of "beautiful,"
the originals of the lithographed divinities who stare, or lan-
guish at us, from the title-pages of songs in the windows of fancy-
stationers. Her eyes were dark and intelligent, and her soft glossy
hair was braided over her smooth forehead, neither papered into
cork-screws, nor vulgarized into plaits.
Mr. Ledbury, senior, was the chief partner of a first-rate London
house, the offices of which were situated in the centre of one of those
intricate ramifications of bricks, mortar, and dirty windows, which
are to be found in various corners of the city, and are approached by
artful alleys and cleverly-concealed courts, known only to the tax-
collectors, sweeps, and employes of the establishment. By dint of
prudent economy, a few lucky speculations, and a very handsome
share of the business, he had built up the edifice of his fortune bit
by bit, and then perched himself comfortably on the top. But he
still paid the same unwearied attention to the duties of his firm ;
more, however, now, from long habit, than any real necessity which
existed for such close application. The identical omnibus-cad, who
had ridden behind the vehicle ever since it first started, never
shouted out " Now, sir I " as it drew up to the door. He knew Mr.
Ledbury would be ready, or, if the conveyance was two minutes
after its time, that he had walked on; and his return in the after-
noon was so punctual, that the neighbours regarded him as an ani-
mated chronometer, by which they arranged their clocks and
watches. He had never been out of England, and very rarely out
of London. He thought the neighbourhood of the Bank the only
spot where a person could breathe a pure, wholesome air ; and looked
upon the country as a useful place for growing vegetables, nursing
children, and feeding sheep, in order that they might supply the
unequalled chops, one of which he was in the habit of taking for
lunch, direct from the gridiron, at a venerable sawdusted tavern,
approached by a species of horizontal chimney, which perforated
the lower part of one of the houses in a bustling thoroughfare.
A few days after our hero's return, he was one evening, as usual,
giving a long account of what he had witnessed, and much more of
what he had not, to his mother and sister, who, having completed
a long debate upon the practicability of cutting down one of Emma's
dresses into a frock for little Ellen, were now making paper patterns
of curious shapes and figures, which gave rise to much surmise in
the mind of the spectator, as to what portion of the dress they could
possibly be intended for. Mr. Ledbury, senior, was reading the
city article in the paper, occasionally indulging in a parenthetical
commentary of a most uncomplimentary nature upon France and
the French, regarding the latter as a species of educated apes, who
did nothing but dance, eat nothing but frogs, manufactured nothing
but sugar-plums, and whose general appearance resembled the fo-
reigners he had seen in pantomimes and penny caricatures.
At length, Titus having come to the end of one adventure, and
not being able, at the instant, to recollect or invent another, there
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
was a pause of a few minutes in the conversation. Mrs. Ledburv
>oked at Emma with an expression of interrogation, and Emma te
legraphed la nod of assent in return; and then Mr. Titus Ledburv
elevated his eyebrows in inquiry, as he gazed at his mother and
sister, previously to nodding his head sideways towards the o
gentleman ; from all which gesture it appeared, taking the e myste
nous signals one with another, that some dark conspiracy was bein^
formed in the family, of which Mr. Ledbury senior wa7 entire^
i? n tM nt ' T alt }! OU S h he was certainly intended for the victim At
last Mrs. Ledbury cut out a pattern in a desperate manner from th
advertisement half of the day^before-yesterday's MorZg Herllj \>>
and then taking off her spectacles, folded them up grfvelv and
placed them upon the table, as, after a slight preparatory hem ?"
apparently to raise her courage, she said ti f herhusband ^
in
' emy love '" re P lied the
evenng party."
> to give
the .' "but there are
..- observed
press the words, "I t^Z h" e fiim theT"' d ' ntendin g to ex '
can you cram an hundred eo !" en
houses are
so very comfortable/' r erybody was so much pleased, and
tW^he^^^fmmoo-^r p b - ? " -.aimed her fa.
than the landing, and j was **& never got further
kickin heels ^ P Ssible
S ab at a time when they
ees
ought to be in bed and asleep." S about
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 9
" Very true, Mrs. Ledbury," answered the old gentleman; "but,
your chief idea of connexion is a parcel of people nobody cares any-
thing aboutj who wear out the knockers, trouble the servants, wipe
their shoes upon the carpets, cut up the gravel before the door, and
fill the card-basket. Yah ! you never ask any of my real business-
connexion."
" They are such very odd people, sir," said Titus ; " who know
nothing of Paris. It is so strange to visit them."
" You would find it much stranger if they were to turn their backs
upon us," replied Mr, Ledbury, senior. " Now, I don't mind dinner-
parties ; you may have one as often as you like."
" But, papa," said Emma, " we find so little amusement in your
dinner-parties ; and I am certain they are more expensive."
" And only entertain such a few people," said Titus.
te And the wine they drink would make all the negus," added
Mrs. Ledbury. " Besides, it need not be so good, if you put plenty
of nutmeg; and, see how the hot-water and little custard-cups help
it out !"
Mr. Ledbury, senior, indulged in a faint groan of resignation.
"And they involve so much anxiety and awkward mistakes,"
continued Mrs. Ledbury, following up the attack. " At the very
last dinner we gave, Hipkins took round brandy-sauce for the tur-
bot, and kept back the oysters for the plum-pudding. Mrs. Claver-
ly took some of course because we wanted her to have every-
thing as good as it could be."
" And you will not learn the names of the dishes, my dear papa,"
>aid Emma. " When old Mrs. Hoddle asked for some of thefondu,
you sent Hipkins with the mashed potatoes !"
" If you have made up your minds to this discomfort," interrupted
Mr. Ledbury, senior, quite overcome, and wishing to raise the
Hege, " why, of course it is of no use endeavouring to make you
think differently."
" Then you give us leave !" exclaimed all three of his companions
at once.
" Well," said the old gentleman, with deliberation, " well ! I
give you leave : in fact, I must make a virtue of necessity. Only
d on't tell me when its going to be ; or, the mere anticipation will
fidget me for a week beforehand."
" We '11 keep it quite a secret, papa," said Emma.
" Or, upon second thoughts, I think you had better let me know,"
resumed Mr. Ledbury, senior ; " because then I will make arrange-
ments to go out for the evening."
The point was gained, much to the satisfaction of the young peo-
ple; and the family then relapsed into their own reflections. Mr.
Ledbury, junior, began to calculate upon the effect his French scarf
and boots would produce ; and was almost sorry he had not got his
dcbardeur's dress; Mrs. Ledbury had already laid out the supper in
imagination ; the old gentleman went back to his city article in the
newspaper; and Emma was lost in a mental inquiry as to whether
there was time for her to have her lilac challis dyed crimson, which,
with short sleeves, and blonde falls, would look very well and sea-
sonable, considering the time of year.
]0 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBUIIY,
CHAPTER XII.
Jack Johnson has an interview with a relative.
AMIDST the wilderness of houses that are crowded together be-
tween St. Giles's church and Long-Acre, there is a labyrinth of
streets, which a man may spend his whole existence in threading,
doubling, and running about, before he can determine in any degree
whither they lead, how they are bounded, or in what aspect their
various thoroughfares run. A confused mass of second-hand sale-
cellars, breweries, gin-shops, old-iron-stores, potato-sheds, and eat-
ing-houses, whose windows display cooked meat of the most repul-
sive and coarsest kind, form the chief characteristics of the locality :
and the inhabitants are equally squalid, smoke-dried, and poverty-
stricken, with their abodes. A polluted and steaming atmosphere,
like a pall of clouds, laden with noisome fumes and dense vapours
from the contiguous furnaces, hangs over these regions by day : and
by night they are illumined by flaring jets of gas from the different
sheds, casting their fitful and intermittent light over the cold fried
fish, lumps of coal, and bundles of firewood, there exposed for sale.
The only signs of wealth in this dreary neighbourhood are found in
the costly gin-shops, wealth, which is obtained by fiery aquafortis,
that extracts the metal from the clods of earth which it destroys.
Beneath the windows of these gaudy establishments, women, in
their worst and most degraded nature, are collected, huddling to-
gether in little knots of two and three, all vociferously declaiming in
the hoarse, thickened accents of disease and intoxication ; without
cap or bonnet, a rough, dirty shawl only being pulled over their
shoulders ; and men of sinister aspect are loitering about the cor-
ners of every court, leaning against posts, or quarrelling, in a harsh
and unintelligible language. Wretched children, too, swarm in every
direction ; but they are not like children. The countenances even
of the dirty and uncared-for infants betoken low and precocious
cunning ; and they creep along under the shade of the walls and
buildings, or crouch in low, narrow alleys, with the fear of light and
publicity, which early crime, coupled with the dread of its detec-
tion, has rendered habitual.
It was through this maze of want and depravity that Jack John-
son was following an ill-clad urchin, who appeared to act as his
guide, on the very evening of his arrival in London. He had found
a large collection of letters when he returned to his old lodgings,
that had arrived in his absence; and one amongst them, delivered
only the day before, had led to his present journey. That it was
important might be assumed from the hurry in which he started
from home ; and, as he carried the note with him to ascertain the
address, he crumpled it in his hand with nervous anxiety, until it
was almost illegible.
After traversing several streets, the boy, at length, stopped before
a cellar, the mouth of which was garnished with several common
theatrical properties, such as iron combat-swords with basket-han-
dles, scraps of worn and tarnished gold-lace, and patched russet-
boots, all intended to captivate the eye, and ease the pocket, of some
aspiung supernumerary, or hunter after the histrionic fame of a
private theatre.
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 11
" Take care o' yer head," said the boy as they descended a cau-
tion which was certainly necessary. " You 'd best turn your face to
the steps, and then you won't fall."
Acting upon his advice, Johnson turned round, and, carefully
watching each of his feet as he placed it on the rickety stair,
lowered himself through the smoke that poured up the outlet in
dense volumes, and at length found himself in a St. Giles's cellar.
The miserable den into which he descended was about twelve feet
square, and not above seven from the ground to the ceiling if the
bare joists and rafters deserved that name. There were two or three
doorways that led into recesses still more limited and filthy, in
which he could just discern, through the smoke which filled them,
figures moving about in every direction. Walls, floor, ceiling, and
fixtures, were all of one uniform cloudy black ; and the inmates par-
took of the same hue. The principal occupier of the front cellar was
;i cobbler, who was plying his calling at the bottom of the steps, to
benefit by the gas-light of the shop overhead ; and various new-foot-
ed boots and shoes, at prices scarcely above the value of the old
leather vamped and polished to the last pitch of ingenuity were
ranged in such pairs as could be selected from them, on a ledge of
rough board, amidst the theatrical properties before spoken of. The
Avails were covered with what had apparently been cheap caricatures,
and execution-bills, but now illegible, and almost invisible, from
dirt. A wretched, featherless bird, hopped from one perch to an-
other, in a patched-up cage, that depended from one of the rafters ;
and some melancholy rabbits were penned up in a corner of the
room by an old shutter ; whilst several helpless children untaught
as animals, without their cleanliness or instinct were crying on the
floor, or crawling through the doorways from one cellar to another.
What the floor itself was made of it was impossible to distinguish ;
bat, from its irregularity, it appeared paved : and, in one part, where
the drip from a leaky cistern-pipe kept it constantly moist, three or
four seeds, which the bird had fluttered from his cage, had taken
root in the dirt, and were struggling to push their two small, dusky
leaflets into existence. In the other rooms were some individuals
whether men or women it was difficult at first to determine, making
shell-pincushions, halfpenny dancing-figures, dolls'-saucepans, and
other articles, which may be daily seen selling for a small price in
the streets , and the whole range was pervaded by a stench of fry-
ing, smoking, and the fumes of gin, that was quite intolerable upon
first entering.
It would seem that the inmates of the cellar had some idea upon
what business their visitor had come. The proprietor looked rather
suspiciously over his horn-spectacles as he descended ; but, when he
saw clearly who it was, he laid down his work, and, turning a cat
without ears or tail, in a very unceremonious manner, from the chair
on which it was seated, offered the accommodation thus procured to
the new comer.
''Thank you ! no," returned Johnson ; " I have merely come here
upon a little business in consequence of this note. Do not let me
disturb you."
''You ain't a blue lion," said a man who stood by, fixing an in-
quiring glance upon Johnson ; c< nor a dragon?"
" Indeed no," replied the other, not having the most remote idea
12 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
what these zoological terms implied. " I have to see some one here,
it appears; but you need not fear anything that I can do. Where
is the person who sent this note ?"
The appearance of a well-dressed young man in the cellar, had
attracted the attention of the other inmates; and they now forsook
their different employments, and clustered about him, exclaiming :
" Here, sir ! this way ! I '11 show you !"
And this was uttered with an eager anxiety, that could only have
been produced by a reward in perspective.
" Now, keep back ! there 's good people !" said Johnson, as they
crowded round him; "one will be sufficient. You know what I
have come about, and will direct me," he continued, addressing the
cobbler.
The man immediately rose ; and, motioning the others to stand
out of the way, with an air of temporary importance, derived from
the choice made of his services, led Johnson through one of the
doorways, and, passing a series of low, vaulted recesses, that looked
like a suite of wine-cellars without doors or bottles, stopped at one
of the most remote. He here lifted aside a dirty patchwork curtain,
that was nailed before the entrance, and allowed the other to pass
in.
On a miserable bed, which nearly occupied the entire space of
the cellar, constructed of a dilapidated frame of packing-cloth,
placed upon four oyster-tubs ; and, covered only by a few old sacks,
sewed roughly together, lay the writer of the epistle which had
brought Johnson to the present scene. He was a young man, about
seven-and-twenty years old, apparently tall, and well-featured ; but
his flesh was wasted, and his eyes sunk, and preternaturally bril-
liant. A florid patch upon his cheeks, in striking contrast to his
pale countenance, would have offered sufficient evidence of the re-
lentless disease that revelled within with uncontrollable progress,
even in the absence of the distressing cough and quick, laboured re-
spiration, which rendered any lengthened speech a matter of painful
difficulty. He raised himself slowly up as Johnson entered ; and,
when the guide left them alone, held out his delicate hand, accom-
panied by a few faint words of recognition to his cousin for such
was the relationship between the two parties, as he approached.
Seating himself on the bed, by the side of the other, Johnson took
the wasted fingers in his grasp, and then looked at him for a minute,
with a gaze of mingled surprise and sorrow, ere he exclaimed,
" Morris ! what has happened that you have come to this ?"
" I am afraid it 's all up !" replied the other, resting between
every two words for a fresh inspiration. " I baulked them, though,
with all their vigilance : they have not caught me yet."
" For God's sake ! tell me what you have been doing," said John-
son earnestly. " I thought I left you comfortably settled at the
bank. You have been turned away."
" No no !" returned his cousin, " I was not turned away, I
left on my own account. They would be glad to see me again ; but
they won't."
" But, this wretched den ? this miserable, poverty-stricken "
" Poverty !" interrupted Morris, with an attempt at a smile,
" poverty ! you are mistaken there."
And, having looked suspiciously around, by the light of the dim
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 13
candle, that flickered in a clay candlestick at the head of the bed, he
drew forth a small, dirty, cloth parcel, from under his pillow, which
he unpinned, and showed his cousin a number of sovereigns con-
cealed in its folds. Johnson uttered an exclamation of surprise as
he saw the gold.
" Hush !" exclaimed Morris, in a low voice, <e hush ! they don't
know of it the people in the house : they would murder me to pos-
sess it, if they did. Who could tell whether one of the inmates
lived or died in this lonely cellar ? I might lie here, and rot rot
like a cur, for aught the police knew. But the seclusion is my
safety."
" I see it all," said Johnson, as the truth broke upon him. " You
have embezzled the property of your employers, and have sought a
refuge in this dreary place from their pursuit."
" You have hit it, Jack/' returned the other, with callous indiffer-
ence ; " I wanted money, and I took it. They stopped the notes ;
but I got some changed before the numbers were advertised. And
they watched for me at all the ports, thinking I should go abroad,
when I was close to them all the time ! ' And he attempted to
laugh as he uttered these last words, but the endeavour was checked
by a long fit of coughing, which sounded as if it was tearing his
lungs to pieces. Johnson supported him in the bed during the
paroxysm ; but, when it was over, he fell back on the mass of rags
which formed his pillow, perfectly exhausted.
"It's it's only a cold!" he articulated, after a short pause, as
he saw Johnson watching him, with a countenance of the deepest
commiseration ; " only a slight cold. I 'm subject to it, you know ;
but, I 'm a great deal better than I was."
" It is more than a cold, Morris," said Johnson, taking his hand.
" I know enough of surgery to feel your pulse. See !" he continued,
as he counted the time by his watch ; " thirty in a quarter of a mi-
nute ! A cold would not raise it to this."
"It is a cold, I tell you !" answered his cousin, apparently annoy-
ed at having his word doubted. " I caught it in the wet streets, and
outbuildings, where I slept, almost out of doors, before I came here.
I shall get better soon. I know it is only a cold."
" Well," continued Johnson, unwilling to contradict him, " I dare
say it is. But, now, Morris, of what service can I be to you ? I
do not see clearly what you would have me do."
" You must take care of that money for me, Jack," answered the
other.
" But it is plunder !" said Johnson. " I will return it, if you will
give it to me."
" Return it ! you have grown punctilious lately," remarked Mor-
ris ironically.
" No ; I have not, Morris," replied Johnson. " Careless, noisy,
and dissipated, if you choose to call it so, I may be ; but I am not
yet criminal. If you give me that money, I shall restore it to the
people you took it from."
"And leave me to starve?"
" I do not think that is very likely. I have kicked down a great
deal more of my income than perhaps I ought to have done in
Paris during the last autumn ; but I can, at least, keep you from
starving."
14 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
"I shall not burthen you long with any expense," continued Mor-
ris, still speaking in a half-satirical, half-earnest tone. " If they
find me, they will hang me out of your way ; or, they will give up
looking after me, and then I shall go. I don't know where ; but I
shall go away perhaps a great distance off; for my cold will have
got better then, and I shall be strong."
"You will give me the money, then?" said Johnson, endeavour.
ing to lead up to a reply in the affirmative.
"If you will keep it for me certainly," was the answer But
if you are going to give it back, it shall remain here until they find
it out ;" and he pointed in the direction where some of the voices of
the other inmates were audible. They will murder me, then and
be the only ones to enjoy it."
A few minutes of silence on either side, succeeded to the last
speech, broken only by Morris's harassing cough, which continued
almost without intermission. At length Johnson was the first to
speak, as follows :
"Now, listen, Morris: if you will not let me have this money
o return, let me keep it in charge for you. I need not saTth^t
it will be sacred; and, what little you may require, until you think
you "to >> ^ dreadfUl ^ Iwil l -devour
oth col ^" -plied the
for an instant, and then replied
btkeepitcarefu.,y. I
,.
bring it back" ^ S me, they would not
I . * you before long?" aske d his cousin, as he rose to de-
ft S4aSi2S3S<i2 shortly '" re / lied Johnson -
secret rests with me; and " ^ \\ have ggested to you. Your
of ai,,g as I have adiised,
it .
. n a strong
re g arde d by the
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 15
was at present located ; and he directly returned some common-
place, but apparently professional answer.
" It pours o' rain, master/' observed the cobbler, who, having re-
moved his stock from the entrance of the cellar, had pulled down
the trap-door, given up work, and was enjoying a pipe by the hob
of a very smoky fire.
" It 's a back'ards and for'ards, up and down sort of rain, as won't
last long."
" I '11 stay here a few minutes, then, until it leaves off"," said
Johnson.
" Why don't you give the docther the seat ?" exclaimed the Irish-
woman, knocking a small boy off a stool, upon which he was perch-
ed, into the centre of a heap of rubbish, from which he did not re-
appear during the sojourn of the visitor.
As Johnson accepted the proffered accommodation, a s'ound arose
from a corner of the room in a simultaneous burst of discordancy,
that directly drew his attention to the spot from whence it proceed-
ed. A row of dirty children, five or six in number, of ages varying
from three to thirteen, were standing with their backs against the
wall, and a man in front of them, with some piece of machinery fixed
on the end of a pole, was apparently directing their vocal efforts.
" Hope you 're well, sir !" said he, as Johnson approached, in a
voice that had an equal dash of the knave and fool in it, but belong-
ed completely to neither.
'* Pray don't let me disturb you," replied Johnson. ' I am curi-
ous to see what you are about."
f ' I 'm a street professor, sir, of misery for the million. This, sir,
is a model of a loom."
And, pointing to the machine on the top of his staff, which looked
something like the skeleton of a cabinet piano fixed to the end of a
four-post bedstead, he pulled a string attached to it, whereby various
bits of the apparatus were set in motion, shooting in and out, moving
up and down, and performing various intricate evolutions, very
curious to behold.
" This is the comb, there is the treadles, and that 'ere little thing 's
the shuttle. Now, the children looks at these, and when the treadles
move they sings a hymn just listen, sir."
And as he pulled the string the children set up a miserable wail,
that would have been certain to have procured them a commission
by purchase to some station in the next street.
At a signal they all stopped ; and the man again addressed
Johnson.
" Now, sir, you '11 see how I guides them in the bits. Attention !"
Whereupon, the children, directed, apparently, by the motions of
the loom, commenced bawling out at the top of their voices,
" We have not tasted food for three days (pause). Our mother died
when we were infants (pause). Pity the distress of an industrious
family."
" Now comes my solo," resumed the man, producing a rapid rno-
tiori of every part of the loom at once, which checked the children's
voices. He then continued, in a solemn, measured tone, " My
Christian friends. I arn ashamed to be seen in such a situation. I
am a native of Stockport, in Lancashire. I have been out of work
for twelve months. The smallest sum will be gratefully acknow-
16 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY,
ledged by an industrious family of smaller children. Then, sir/'
he continued, suddenly changing his voice, and addressing Johnson,
" then, sir, we looks miserable ; and, if nobody comes to the win-
dows, we starts the hymn again. That 's sure to bring 'em out.
" And you find this answer ?" asked Jack.
Uncommon, sir," replied the man ; only, it's dry work, teach-
ing. P'rhaps yer honour would let us drink your health ?
There's a shilling for you," said Johnson ; " it 's all the change
I have left."
" Thank'ee, sir!" returned the man. " I hope yer honour won t
split, 'cos it 's a profitable line, and it 'ud be a pity to have it
spiled."
" Oh, no !" answered Johnson, smiling, " you may depend upon
my secresy."
The cobbler here informed him that the rain had left off ; so John-
son took advantage of the change, and, saluting the inmates of the
cellar, clambered up the steps, and thoughtfully retraced his way
home.
And, when he retired to bed, his rest was broken and unrefresh-
ing, for he thought of his cousin, and the serious matter in which
he himself was innocently involved, again picturing the wretched
scene he had witnessed, and passing all the events of the day in
wearying review through his brain, the only pleasant vision being
the face of Emma Ledbury, as he had seen her for the few minutes,
whose sunny face and bright eyes ever and anon beamed through the
dreary visions he had conjured up in his imagination.
CHAPTER XIII.
Of the grand ball given by Mr. Ledbury's friends to celebrate his return to his
native land.
As soon as the conspirators of the Ledbury family had gained
their point, the guests were put down, and their invitations sent
out, after much discussion as to who should have the French note-
paper, who the lace-work envelopes, whose notes it would not do to
stick a penny Queen's head upon, and whose could be sent by post,
with many other serious matters of consideration. But all this was
done with a comparative rapidity beyond conception, for fear Mr.
Ledbury, senior, should change his mind, and think that a dinner-
party to eight or ten of his own peculiar friends would be better
after all. The intervening time passed quickly by in planning, or-
dering, and canvassing different arrangements, and at length the
eventful day arrived.
The early Islington cock had thrice crowed salutation to the morn-
ing fog, as the breakfast things were cleared away from the parlour,
and the boy in waiting, who sported a calico-jacket in the morning,
and a firmament of buttons in the afternoon, rubbed the table with
a highly-magnified small-tooth-comb-brush, to take out the light
marks which the hot saucers had left behind. Old Ledbury, fore-
seeing a domestic tempest, took his departure for the city with unu-
sual alacrity, indeed, he was ten minutes before the omnibus. Not
that his business that morning was of extra importance, but he
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 17
wanted to fly from the approaching confusion. And if he had not
luckily possessed his counting-house as a place of refuge, he would
have ridden backwards and forwards all day long, from the Bank to
Lisson Grove, from mere dread of returning home. No sooner had
he gone than the first note of preparation was sounded by Mrs.
Ledbury calling for a candle, and then, accompanied by Titus,
plunging into the cellar to see how the blanc-mange and jelly looked,
the latter of which delicacies had been strained through an in-
verted flannel fool's-cap the night before, and to bring up the wine.
The inspection proved satisfactory ; and, by the time Emma had
filled all the pint-decanters, some with sherry, and others with mar-
sala, (intended to pass muster in the confusion of supper,) and Mrs.
Ledbury had mislaid the keys four times, and Master Walter Led-
bury had twice ventured down from the nursery, in the absence of
Foster, and been twice violently carried back again, after pulling off
two or three of the oranges which Titus had tied to some laurel-
branches in a small conservatory on the first-floor landing: by the
time all these things were accomplished, a cart stopped at the door,
loaded with long spars of wood, striped canvass, and tressels, on the
top of all of which was perched Jack Johnson. A crowd of little
boys followed him, who, imagining it was a travelling exhibition,
cheered vociferously as the vehicle stopped at the door, and re-
doubled their greetings when Mr. Ledbury appeared at the window,
and nodded to his friend.
In the short period that had elapsed since the tourists returned
from France, Jack had called several times at Ledbury's house, and
was now looked upon as the most intimate of their friends. This
will account for his appearance at Islington so early on the day of
the party, a time when people are generally not at home to any-
body, except those actually engaged in the preparations for the
evening's festivity. But now his services had actually been solicited
by all the family, to assist them in constructing a temporary apart-
ment. Mrs. Ledbury had originally intended to devote her own
bed-room to the supper-tables ; but the bare hint of such a pro-
ceeding met with so decided a negative from Mr. Ledbury, senior,
that she saw the plan must at once be abandoned, the old gentle-
man not entering into the ideas of fun and convenience, which
everybody else appeared to foresee in such a transformation. Then
the nursery was talked about for the same purpose, and alike dis-
carded, no domestic ingenuity being able to contrive another bivouac
for the infantry therein abiding ; and they were almost giving the
whole affair up in despair, when Jack Johnson, who chanced to be
present at one of the discussions, suggested to Titus the practica-
bility of covering in the garden, which was a narrow slip between
two walls, and thus procuring a very roomy apartment, to be en-
tered from the French windows of the back drawing-room. The
proposal was immediately decided upon, and Jack undertook to su-
perintend the whole of the architectural proceedings, relying upon
the co-operation of a friend, a gentleman in highlows, descended
from an ancient Bohemian family, who kept stables at the races, and
who promised to procure the requisite poles and tarpaulins from
certain of his connexions in the Crown- and- Anchor line, who pro-
vided canvass salons for the votaries of Terpsichore at various fairs
VOL. XIII. C
18 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
and merrymakings about the country ; and with this cargo, accom-
panied by the man, Jack now arrived.
A little confusion occurred in unloading the cart ; but, after Mrs.
Ledbury had requested the man five separate times to rub his shoes
as he went through the " hall," a portion of the mansions of Eng-
land in the olden time, formerly known as the passage, and the
little boys, still holding to the belief that a show was about to be
erected, (the more so as they saw a yellow balloon for illumination
lamps come out of the cart,) had boldly advanced to the very door,
from which Mr. Ledbury gallantly drove them back with an um-
brella after these little events, the whole apparatus was safely
collected in the garden. And then Jack Johnson, in company with
his friend in the highlows, who was commonly known as " Spriggy
Smithers," assisted by the baker's boy, who brought the rolls for the
sandwiches, and was forcibly detained, and pressed into the service,
all went to work together, and laboured so well, that by one o'clock
the whole of the framework was in order, when the baker's boy was
sent home with a shilling, and a tin of patties, and Jack and Sprig-
gy, with that absence of all discomfort from difference of position
attending true good breeding, refreshed themselves with a bottle of
stout which Mrs. Ledbury sent out to them, and discussed some
sandwiches, made from the unpresentable terminations of the above-
mentioned rolls, and certain anomalous dabs of ham ; but which
were, nevertheless, very acceptable, and especially so to Jack, for
hmma. brought them herself; and he suspected that she had cut
them with her own fair hands. Titus, to be sure, was of no very
great assistance, as far as hard work went ; but, he stood upon a tub,
and handed up the tacks and pincers when wanted, or entertained
them with humorous anecdotes, and diverting snatches of melody,
-o that they were glad of his company ; and Mrs. Ledbury was not
sorry to get him out of the house; where, truth to tell, he was ra-
the way, after all the decorative arrangements entrusted to
tent w t C h IT finished \, With this co-operation they covered in the
tent with canvass, and then proceeded to arrange the tables under-
?he neLl'h g T* nT^ at b Z concealed from the gaze of
ha^h* fT 8 '' f f aU the back - win dows of the contiguous houses
naa their tull complement of spectators, who were intently watching
^^^^^^t^'
same time, get old Mrs. HodcUe away from it, or
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 19
she will be sure to be telling its history to all the table, and how
much it cost : she was in the shop when I bought it."
" If you will give me a hint when the time arrives," said Jack,
te I will come out, and light up the balloon. It will come out un-
commonly grand, if my plan answers."
"And, pray, what clever contrivance have you got to astonish our
guests with, Mr. Johnson?" asked Emma Ledbury.
" Why, you must not say anything," replied Jack, confidentially ;
" but I have hung the balloon to the bottle-jack, so that when I
wind it up, it will keep turning round."
And here everybody expressed their admiration at Jack's ingeni-
ous application of domestic machinery to the purposes of social en-
joyment ; and were astonished to see how very cleverly he had con-
trived to conceal the bottle -jack in a large tassel of coloured paper,
fringed at the edges.
" How it will puzzle the company to find out how it is done,"
observed Mr. Ledbury.
" Now, don't go telling the people all about it, Titus," said Emma ;
" as you did last year, when Brown lent us the Chinese lamps out of
the shop- windows to put in the conservatory."
" I shall be studiously secret on this point," replied her brother.
" The only thing that would betray it to a keen observer," said
Jack Johnson, "is this. If any one listens attentively, he will hear
a " click " every half minute, or so ; and then it will turn the other
way."
But they all agreed there was not much chance of this; for peo-
ple at supper were usually occupied in assisting, or being assisted ;
and, as it was a rather noisy period of the evening's festivities, they
were not very likely to detect the contrivance.
It was evening before the preparations were completed, and then
Jack Johnson took his departure, with all sorts of expressions of
gratitude from the family, promising to return as soon as his ball-
toilet w^as made to his satisfaction. Mr. Ledbury vanished to his
own room, where he laid all his French clothes in great state upon
the bed, and then spent half an hour in admiring them : and Mrs.
Ledbury and Emma contrived, about eight o'clock, to procure some
coffee from the nursery tea-things it not being thought advisable
to disturb the order of the China service, which was awaiting the
guests in the parlour. And the old gentleman had not returned from
the city ; but was presumed to be spending the evening in a retired
tavern in the city, so quiet a place, that the very clock appeared
afraid to tick, and vibrated with a grave and subdued beat, which
endowed it with an air of tranquil respectability, perfectly in accord-
ance with the usual frequenters of the house.
Jack Johnson had resolved, for this day and evening, at least, to
cast all his care and troubles to the winds ; and, true to his promise,
returned to Ledbury's at an early hour. Indeed, Titus had not com-
pleted his toilet when his friend arrived ; so Jack bounded upstairs
to his room, and superintended the finish of his ball-costume, event-
ually turning him round three times, as if he was playing at blind-
man's buff without the bandage, to see that everything was perfect-
ly comme-il-faut. They then descended to the drawing-room, where
they found Emma Ledbury admiring a bouquet which was lying on
the cheffonier ; and her admiration greatly increased when Jack
c 2
2Q THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
stated that he had brought it in his hat on purpose for her ; and, then,
she admired the beautiful flowers, and Jack invented an elegant com-
and Titus, perceiving that his presence was not in any way necessary
to the absolute happiness of either his sister or his friend, walked
into the conservatory on the landing, and gave a last glance to see if
his oranges were all right, previously to lighting one or two illumi-
nation-lamps, which he had suspended to the laurel-branches. And,
when he had finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork,
and called Jack and Emma out to look at it, and say if it was not
quite like a scene in the story of Aladdin. But Jack and Emma
were having a turn or two in a waltz to their own music, just to
see if their step was the same, which was proved to be so, to their
entire satisfaction ; so Mr. Ledbury was compelled to be content
with the encomiums of his mother, who came down just at that pe-
riod, and requested Emma would see that all the lamps and candles
were properly lighted, because she thought she heard the sound of a
fly in the lane.
Nor was she mistaken, for immediately afterwards ' there was a
knock at the door ; and,, after much mysterious shuffling about in
the passage, and inquiries of the servant as to what time the carri-
ages were ordered for flys are always " carriages " at evening par-
ties, the guests were ushered upstairs, preceded by the boy in but-
tons, who rushed up like a lamplighter, and announced " Mr. and
the Miss Simpsons." Mr. Simpson was a young gentleman, with
his hair curled, of delicate fibre, and mild temperament, in a rich,
plaid, satin stock, which he imagined to be very fashionable, having
seen so many of that quiet, unobtrusive pattern in the shops of Is-
lington, in compliment to Her Majesty's visit to Scotland. The
Miss Simpsons were three tall young ladies, with red hair, who look-
ed as if they had been cut out of Parian marble, and nourished upon
writing-paper ; and, being thin withal, and dressed in light poplins,
they prompted Jack Johnson to tell Emma Ledbury, very wicked-
ly, that they put him in mind of animated sticks of self-lighting seal-
ing-wax. Then Jie young ladies remarked what a beautiful day it
had been ; and asked Miss Ledbury if she had been out walking ;
and Mr. Simpson inquired of Mr. Ledbury how he liked Paris, and
whether there was anything in the papers.
Old Mrs. Hoddle, who lived a few doors off, next made her ap-
pearance, preceded to the gate by her maid with a lantern (although
the entire distance was between two bright gas-lamps), and having
her head enveloped in some artful contrivance of green calico, lined
with pink, about the size and fashion of the calash of a Margate
bathing-machine. The old lady was a long while coming up stairs,
and would stop on the landing, to look at the conservatory, which
pleased Titus when he perceived that his ingenuity was already re-
warded with one admirer ; and, when she finally arrived at the
drawing-room, she "would say this, that, amongst all her friends,
Mrs. Ledbury certainly did contrive to exhibit the greatest taste in
her arrangements :" and then, after the customary courtesies, she
began a long story or how dreadfully she and her maid had been
frightened the night before by a strange cat, and one or two other
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 21
appalling circumstances, which were cut short by the arrival of some
more guests. Mrs. Hoddle was then inducted by Titus to a com-
fortable seat at the end of the room, where she remained until
supper, greatly edified by the quadrilles, which she still called the
new-fashioned way of dancing, and occasionally considerably ter-
rified by the waltzers.
When the hour of invitation to an Islington evening-party is stated
to be nine o'clock, the guests have a curious custom of assembling
within a short period of the exact specified time ; and, accordingly,
they now began to arrive pretty quickly ; so much so, that Titus
saw, with honest pride, as he peeped through the blinds, at one
time there were actually two cabs and a fly waiting to put down
their inmates at the gate. And he felt the triumph the greater be-
cause his family were not exactly on the best of terms with the Grim-
leys, next door ; and only hoped that Mrs. Grimley was at the win-
dow, to see what a large connexion they had. Besides, he knew
there were some private carriages to come the Claverleys, at all
events, never minded taking their horses out at night : and he was,
also, uncharitable enough to imagine how uncomfortable Miss Grim-
ley would feel, as she lay in bed, and listened to the piano, through
the wall, playing the various dances.
But if this trifling circumstance afforded Mr. Ledbury gratifica-
tion, how much more was he delighted when he received the con-
gratulations of all his friends, by turns, upon his safe return to
England ! And when the thrilling time came for him to commence
the quadrille with one of the prettiest girls in the room, in all the
glory of his Paris trousers, and little French boots, with glazed toes,
he thought all his past dangers were compensated by the power they
thus endowed him with of being able to distinguish himself. And
he did not feel awkward by the side of his partner, nor find a diffi-
culty in entering into conversation, as he did when we first knew
him, before he went abroad ; but he indulged in a rapid succession
of brilliant images and descriptions, that almost astonished himself,
but at the same time persuaded him of the wonderful efficacy of
travelling in expanding the mind.
Jack Johnson danced opposite to him with Emma ; and there
were many telegraphic signals between them, or sly speeches when
they chanced to meet in the quadrille. And now and then, when
Jack caught Ledbury 's eye, in the confusion of the figure, he intro-
duced a quiet imitation of the cancan, quite betwixt themselves, and
understood by nobody else, which instantaneously gave birth to a
new train of ideas, and souvenirs of their own party in the Rue St.
Jacques, and Aimee, as her own pretty self, and as the debardeur,
with recollections of Mr. Ledbury 's debut at Tonnelier's, when he
could not waltz at all, and many other pleasant retrospections, which
Titus was almost tempted to tell his partner about, thinking it
would astonish her. And, in all probability, it would have done so
very much.
The guests had all arrived, including the Claverleys, who did come
in their own carriage, as Mr. Ledbury hoped they would ; and one
of the young ladies who had brought their music, of extreme ti-
midity, and with a faint soprano voice, was in the middle of favour-
ing the company with the trumpet- chorus at the commencement of
'' Norma," put to some highly vigorous and poetical English words
22 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
about her cottage-home, or her native land, or something of the
kind, when a scuffle, accompanied by sounds of infantile anger, was
heard upon the stairs, and the door being thrust violently open,
Master Walter Ledbury made his appearance, habited only in his
night-gown and cap, with the nurse's shawl partly dragging behind
him and partly wrapped round him, in a manner which led the
spectators to believe he had made his own toilet. And his presence
was scarcely noticed ere Foster rushed in after him, and exclaiming,
in mingled accents of distress and intimidation, "Oh! Master
Walter you naughty, naughty boy ! " caught him up in her arms.
But Master Walter was not going to yield himself a prisoner
without a struggle; and, after vainly attempting to seize the light-
blue sarsnet ribands of Foster's cap, published quite new upon the
occasion, he commenced a series of loud cries and struggling gym-
nastics, kicking his little fat legs about very wildly, in a reckless
manner, that caused great confusion amongst a large part of the
company. Nor did there at first appear a great chance of getting
him back again ; for the truth was, that the young gentleman, hav-
ing been wide awake all the evening, with a restlesspess induced,
most probably, by indigestion, had listened to the music until he
felt desirous of joining in the revelries ; and, taking advantage of
Foster's absence in theVefreshment-room, had marched down stairs,
to her great consternation.
" Now, my darling Watty ! there 's a dear, good boy ! go up
stairs so pretty and nice with Foster," said Mrs. Ledbury, overcome
with confusion, and putting on her most winning look and accent.
" I shan't/' was the simple, but energetic reply.
" Return to the nursery, sir ! " cried Mr. Ledbury, in a voice that
was absolutely terrific, and made his partner tremble.
" No, I won't/' said Walter. " I don't care for you, and I don't
care for Foster, and I don't care for mamma, and I don't care for
nobody."
Nor did it appear as if he did ; for even Emma's proverbial as-
cendancy over his actions entirely failed. And the usually potent
threat of summoning the tall man in the cocked-hat and shirt-
sleeves, who kept the bogies to eat little boys, was of no avail ; so
that at last Titus, losing all command over his better feelings, and
with a wrath he had never before shown, seized his brother wildly,
and bore him off in a Rolla-like paroxysm, when the closing of the
nursery-door soon shut out his very energetic cries. One or two of
the guests had the curiosity to watch the retreating group ; and
these were also favoured with a momentary glimpse of Mr. Led-
bury, senior, who had arrived at home during this slight interrup-
tion to the gaieties of the night, and forthwith darted to his own
bed-room with all the alacrity he could muster, never once showing
his face amongst the guests all the evening, but regarding the whole
assemblage as a society of harmless lunatics, each, in the true spirit
of the inmates of Bedlam, finding amusement in the other's antics.
The usual routine of evening-party amusements went on in the
accustomed order, in the course of which Jack Johnson was, to use
his own phrase, swindled into singing a sentimental song, which
was an impropriety he would never have been guilty of had not
Emma Ledbury played the accompaniment; and about a quarter
past twelve Mrs. Ledbury informed Titus, in great confidence, that
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 23
she thought it was time the lamps in the supper-room were lighted,
if Mr. Johnson would be kind enough to look after them. Where-
upon Jack enlisted the boy in buttons into his service, and left the
room, giving Miss Ledbury the hint to get up another quadrille, or
" prevail upon some young lady to favour them with another of her
delightful songs," just to carry on time, both of which Emma con-
trived to do ; and, by the time they had finished, Jack hadgtouched
all the wicks with turpentine, lighted the lamps, and wound up the
jack, which set the illuminated balloon revolving in a manner highly
gratifying to behold.
In a short time, all being pronounced perfectly in order, the
French window of the supper-room was thrown open, amidst the
continuous expressions of lively admiration from the guests, and
more especially from old Mrs. Hoddle, who, knowing the accommoda-
tions of the house, had been wondering all the evening whereabouts
the supper would be, or whether they were to be put off with a few
tarts, sandwiches, and cut oranges handed about the room. There
was the customary confusion in providing seats for all the ladies ;
and several funny young gentlemen, who had ensconced themselves
very comfortably next to their last partners, for the sake of talking
all sorts of delightful nonsense to them, and turning the whole meal
into a melange of fowls and flirting, creams and compliments, and
lobster-salad and love-making, were summarily ejected by Jack
Johnson, as soon as he discovered that there were ladies still without
seats. Emma displayed considerable generalship in placing Mrs.
Claverley exactly opposite the trifle ; and Titus, in a most polite
manner, offered his arm to old Mrs. Hoddle, and, engaging her in
conversation, walked her quite down to the bottom of the table,
where there was nothing for her to tell the price of to her neigh-
bours. Nobody appeared to notice the absence of Mr. Ledbury,
senior, or if they did, nobody seemed to care about it : indeed, as
two or three of the most presentable clerks in his office had been in-
vited, the chances are that they were much more gratified to find
he did not show upon the occasion.
After a space of about twenty minutes had elapsed, during which
considerable havoc had been made amongst the delicacies of the
table, Jack Johnson took a pint-decanter in his hand, and, rising
from his seat, exclaimed,
" Gentlemen, may I request you to see that the ladies have some
wine in their glasses ; and will you do me the favour to fill your
own ?"
Hereupon there was a little simultaneous bustle, every young
gentleman seizing the nearest decanter, and every young lady, after
about four drops had been poured into her glass, arresting the effu-
sion of a greater quantity with her hand, as she said, " That is quite
sufficient, thank you."
" Ladies," continued Jack, laying much softness on the word,
"and gentlemen, I have the permission of Mrs. Ledbury to propose
a toast, which I am sure will be received by all of you in the most
enthusiastic manner, and more especially by the ladies, if I may
judgeirom the kind expression of that rearer, dearer, clearer heaven
of stars that beams around me."
And here Jack gently pressed Emma Ledbury 's foot under the
table, and Emma, very much offended, drew her foot away, but,
24 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY.
with her usual amiability, forgetting the affront altogether, allowed
it to return to the same place the next instant.
" The individual, whose health 1 am about to propose, is known
to all of you ; and I am certain you will agree with me, that to know
him is to admire him."
" Hear ! hear ! " from the gentlemen, and especially the pr<
able clerks. e
" I have proved his good qualities beneath the skies of foreign
Lmds," continued Jack, " and on the bounding ocean, that mighty
monster, that lies coiled like a green serpent round about the
world " ..-..
"Beautiful!" from several young ladies, including the Misses
Simpson. .
"And I can assure you that I am proud to call him my friend.
I therefore will intrude upon your time no longer, but beg you will
drink the health of Mr. Titus Ledbury, whose happy return we are
met here to celebrate this evening : and if you please with the
usual honours."
Great applause followed the conclusion of the speech, everybody
looking towards our hero, and thumping the table; and, as they
all drank his health, a very close observer might have seen his eyes
glisten under his spectacles ; especially when Jack Johnson shook
his hand warmly, and merely observed, " Leddy ! old brick ! here 's
your jolly good health !" in an under-tone, but not the less warmly
upon that account.
There was a general silence as Mr. Ledbury tremblingly poured
out a glass of wine until it ran over, and rose from his seat. But,
scarcely had he uttered " Ladies and gentlemen," scarcely did the
majority of the guests know that he had commenced his speech,
when there was a sudden and violent rent in the canvass of the ceil-
ing, a leg forcibly protruded itself; and, the same instant, to the
horror and astonishment of the guests, a boy in buttons burst through
the top of the temporary room, and fell down, all in a heap, upon the
trifle, breaking the barley-sugar temple that enshrined it into ten
thousand fragments, and scattering its contents far and wide, but
more especially into the lap of Mrs. Claverley. At the same time
he knocked over an argand-lamp into the lap of one of the Miss
Simpsons, and kicked a decanter of port over the dress of the
other.
The wildest confusion followed the unexpected apparition. Many
of the young ladies, who had eligible gentlemen near them, fainted
clean off. Old Mrs. Hoddle was perfectly paralysed. Mrs. Led-
bury, as soon as her intellects returned, recollected there would be
five-and-twenty shillings to pay for the broken trifle-dish ! and Mrs.
Claverley, whose emerald velvet was covered with trifle, remained a
few minutes in speechless anger ; and then, boldly asserting that
people who gave evening-parties ought to provide better accommo-
dation, strode majestically from the room, and was never seen again.
It was her final retirement from the Islington theatre ; and a most
dramatic exit she made.
Springing from their respective places, Jack Johnson like a tiger,
I Ledbury like a mechanical frog, they seized the intruder, and
1 him from the table. In an instant the truth was apparent.
Ihebnmleysnext door, curious to have an account of the festivities
SONNET. 25
from which they were excluded, had stationed their " page " on the
garden- wall, to watch the proceedings, and report accordingly. But
the " page," in the manner of his ancient pretty prototypes, anxious to
' look out afar," had climbed on to the roof, to get a better view. As
long as he kept upon the poles, he was tolerably safe ; but, chancing
to miss his hold, he had glided down a little, and, the canvass not
being strong enough to support him, allowed him to enter the sup-
per- room in the unceremonious manner here described. The greater
part of this was inference, for the boy was in such an extreme state
of trepidation that he could not utter a word. So Jack Johnson com-
mitted him to the care of Ledbury's boy in buttons, with directions
that he should be immediately kicked back again by the front doors,
with his kind regards to the family : and, as, in a similar manner to
ancient times, the feuds of the family were followed up amongst the
retainers, the order was immediately executed in a most satisfactory
manner.
Of course the ladies immediately left the table ; and it was not
until they had danced two sets of quadrilles by themselves that they
recovered from the affright. The harsher sex, it is true, looked
upon it as a glorious joke, and their re-appearance set everything
going again as merrily as before : more especially when Mrs. Ledbury
and Emma agreed not to tell the old gentleman anything about it,
but leave him to find it out. And so the evening passed, or rather
the night, and part of the next morning, until Jack Johnson, who
remained until the last, took his departure, promising to send Sprig-
gy the next day to take down the things, with a recommendation
for them to look after him. And Mrs. Ledbury, Titus, and Emma,
having seen that all the plate was right, and not a great deal of glass
broken, or oil spilt on the carpet, blew out what remained of the
wax-candles, and retired to bed, each having comforted the other
with the assertion, "that they were sure -everybody must have
passed a very happy evening," and delighted to think, with the
exception of the accident, that everything had gone off so well.
SONNET.
SAIL on, thou pearly barque, through ocean heav'n,
Young summer-moonlight turn away from me
A happy course through starry isles is giv'n
To thy fair splendour in that waveless sea !
Why look upon a wretch in sorrow weeping
Over a tomb, where all he loved lies sleeping?
He would be lonely in his grief, but thou
Dost light him to the glare of curious eyes
Let a dim vapour hide thy glorious brow,
And leave him to the darkness he doth prize !
Or, like the anguish'd parent-bird, that flies
Far from her nest, to lure the hunter on ;
Be thou that bird to me, with kind disguise,
Oh ! turn thy beams elsewhere, and leave me lone !
W.
LIFE IN HANOVER.
BY DUDLEY COSTELLO.
EARLY the next morning, as Denham was walking down the
Burg Strasse, with the half-formed intention of visiting the garden,
to get a glimpse of its fair inhabitant, he heard some one call out his
name, and, looking across the street, he perceived Templewell, Sa-
ville, and Sir Nicholas at the open window on the ground- floor of a
house opposite. It was where Templewell lodged, and, in his qua-
lity of host, he was sitting at the breakfast- table in a flowered-silk
dressing-gown, with a cigar in his mouth, and a glass of brandy-
and- water before him. On the table, amidst the debris of the meal,
which was just over, lay an open volume of Wordsworth, his con-
stant companion, whose philosophy he had been expounding at in-
tervals to no indifferent listeners ; for he possessed the rare art of
fixing the attention of his audience upon every subject which he
discussed. But the thunder scarcely follows the flash in quicker
succession than his transitions from grave to gay : he was familiar
with every mood, and adopted all, apparently, without an effort. It
was, perhaps, the intensity of suffering which his countenance some-
times betrayed, that caused him so recklessly to fling himself away
upon things which, in his mind, he held in utter contempt. He
knew no contented medium. If he failed in high and noble aims,
he plunged at once into the depths of the lowest excesses. He was
determined to be great, if not in virtue, at least in vice.
"Halloa! old fellow, come over here!" shouted Templewell,
beckoning with his cigar ; " you 're just the man we wanted. Come
in. You '11 find the door in the passage, on your left hand."
"Oh ! there 's a shorter way than that, I dare say," said Denham,
availing himself of a narrow ledge beside the entrance ; and with an
easy spring he seated himself on the window-sill, much to the asto-
nishment of a staid old gentleman who witnessed the feat outside,
but highly to the gratification of the party within, especially that of
the host.
" Well done, old boy ! " cried he; "you 're a trump, I see, and
no mistake. Em trumpf und kernes versehen, hey, Sir Nicholas?
Well, come to an anchor. Have some brandy-and-water ? No !
Oh ! you 're a young man, mild, and gentle, I supposenever drink
anything before tea. That 's my rule ; and, for fear I should break
it, I never drink tea at all. What do you think ? we are all going
to the races."
Races ! What races ?" inquired Denham.
" Why, the races at Celle, about twenty miles off. They are the
great attraction in this part of the world. Everybody will be there.
shall have a steeple-chase ; and Von Stir'emup, of the Jagers, is
backed to win. All the women bet on him : he is the Adonis of
lanover. We have got a carriage, and want a fourth."
1 hope you '11 join us," said Sir Nicholas and Saville together.
* . with pleasure," replied Denham, who was never backward
set o^t >" WaS a pros P ect of amusement abroad. When do we
fc* f thC Hanoverians are gone already ; but it will be time
ough tor us to set out in the morning, only it must be early, not
A PICTURE OF STILL LIFE. 27
later than four o'clock, or else we shall never get there, they 're so
infernally slow on the road."
" That is early," yawned Sir Nicholas. " How the deuce shall
we ever get up ?"
" I '11 tell you," said Templewell ; " we won't go to bed. Those
that like to sleep can have a shake-down on my sofas ; and we who
stay awake will drink their particularly good healths, and pleasant
dreams to them."
" And have you ordered the carriage ?"
" Yes ; and here comes the Graf to tell us all about it. Well,
Count, what sort of a drag are we to have ?"
" Oh ! mein Gott ! gentlemen," replied that worthy, who at the
moment entered the room, " upon my honour, I tell you sincerely,
you shall have the very best carriage in Hanover. And for the
horses, upon my soul ! gentlemen, I don't know whether the horses
tire better as the carriage, or the carriage as the horses."
" Speak English, old fellow ! You mean to say that they 're both
so bad, there isn't a pin to choose ?"
" Upon my honour ! Mr. Temple, I tell you sincerely, they are fit
for my Lord Mayor. They carry you to Celle in less time as I talk
to you about it."
" What sort of a driver is the kutscher ?"
" Oh ! such a fine man ! He is my brother-in-law. He sings as
{in angel ! " < ' A good recommendation for a coachman," said Saville.
" One of his best, I dare say," observed Templewell. " Then,
Count, he must be here exactly at four o'clock to-morrow morning ;
and you will go on the box, and take care to keep him up to the
mark."
" Upon my honour ! " began the Count ; but his speech was cut
.short by Templewell.
" There, go, you old humbug ! take that, and see you are in
time."
So saying, he threw him a dollar, which the Count pocketed,
pulled off his hat, made a low bow, and departed.
We need not recount the further proceedings of the day. It re-
sembled its predecessor in all its principal features, and ended in a
.somewhat noisy carouse ; from which, however, feigning an excuse,
-Oenham stole away at a comparatively early hour, leaving the rest
of the party too busily engaged to note his departure.
Daylight had broken, but the sun was not yet up, when Denham
rose on the following morning to prepare for the projected expedition.
He was soon ready ; and, after giving directions at the hotel for the
carriage to follow to the Burg Strasse, he proceeded thither on foot,
enjoying, as he went, the freshness of the morning air, and the per-
fect stillness that yet reigned over the city. He traversed the silent
square, and crossed the narrow bridge, beneath which the waters of
the Leine now flowed with a hoarse murmur which was lost amid the
many sounds of the busy day ; then, pausing only to glance for a
moment at the fantastic forms of the old buildings, whose outlines
vvere so strongly defined against the clear, pale sky, he made the
best of his way to the house where the three revellers had passed
ihe night. The promise of wakefulness had not been kept. It was
.-is silent as those around it, though a faint light still glimmered through
' he uncurtained windows.
03 LIFE IN HANOVER.
The street-door was opened by a slip-shod portress who yawn-
ing, and rubbing her eyes, came slowly to answer the bell, Den-
ham was admitted, and entered the room where he had left the
party It presented a singular contrast to the scene out of doors.
There, Nature was just awaking from her slumber, calm and pure,
the sweet breath of morning was stealing through the air, and the
rosy light of the undiscovered sun but faintly tinged the highest
arch of heaven ; here, the inmates were locked in the heavy sleep
which succeeds a long vigil of dissipation, their deep breathing the
only sounds that broke the universal silence, the only light was
that which flickered from a dying lamp, and the vapours of spent
tobacco the best perfume that filled the chamber.
On a large table in the middle of the room were tokens of the
business of the night. Empty porter-bottles, broken wine-glasses,
a saucer of cut tobacco, a punch-bowl thoroughly drained, plates
and dishes in admired confusion, containing the fragments of a sup-
per, a pile of oyster- shells, the well-picked bones of chickens,
a bottle of brandy half full, a water-jug lying on its side, two or
three meerschaums, and other fancy pipes, an inkstand, with a
cigar stuck in it instead of a pen, a sheet of paper, dabbled with
hieroglyphics, the ineffectual attempt to record the words of some
Bacchanalian song, a long loaf of bread transfixed by a knife, the
handle decorated with a rich travelling-cap, of which the heavy
golden tassels lay soaking in a pool of brandy- and- water, and the
remembered volume of Wordsworth, sadly stained with bottled-
porter, lying open in the midst.
The three sleepers were in different positions. On a small bed in
a cabinet, the door of which was wide open, lay Sir Nicholas Lack-
land, his heels, asserting a right which belonged to them intellec-
tually at the moment, were considerably higher than his head, and,
as they rested on a pillow, displayed the boots, which he still re-
tained, to the greatest advantage. In order that the fiction of going
to bed might be kept up, he wore a white cotton night-cap, which
he had pulled completely over his face, as if he had expected to be
turned off in the course of the night. His coat and waistcoat were
lying on the ground ; in other respects, he was completely dressed.
The Honourable Mr. Saville had selected the floor of the saloon
for the repose of his limbs, having evidently preferred it to a vacant
couch which stood invitingly near. He had been effeminate enough,
however, to wish for a pillow ; and, accordingly, his head rested
upon the sharp edge of the tripod which sustained the table. In
order to keep him steady in this position, a chair had been carefully
tumbled across his body, probably by himself, whose weight must
have materially increased the effect of a very pleasant visitation of
night-mare, which seemed to oppress his slumbers. The Honourable
Mr. Saville had not divested himself of any of his garments.
Templewell, who, like Yorick on another occasion, had relin-
quished the " droit de la ckambre " to his friend, Sir Nicholas, re-
clined upon a sofa. He, too, was booted ; but, having cast off his
neckcloth, and wearing his large loose dressing-gown, he appeared
more en costume de nuit than either of his companions. His head
was thrown back, his face was pale as death, his mouth half open,
i breathing thick and heavy, and his long black hair straggled
Idly over his features. One arm was doubled up under his head,
THE RACES AT CELLE. 29
and the other stretched towards a chair beside the sofa, on which
>tood a full glass of brandy-and- water, and an empty candlestick,
the candle, broken in two, lay on the floor.
This aspect of things was taken in at a glance by Denham, who
saw at once how the affair stood, and anticipated some trouble and
delay in rousing the party, and getting under weigh. Having first
thrown the windows wide open, he turned to the sleepers ; and, in
order to get at the Hon. Mr. Saville. was obliged to pull him gently
by the legs from under the table. This act removed his head from
its uneasy pillow, and, as it came with a smart concussion to the
floor, it awoke the sleeper, who, fancying himself rather roughly
treated by some individual bestriding him, set to work vigorously to
pummel the unconscious chair which lay across him ; and having, at
the expense of his knuckles, dislodged his supposed antagonist, he
got upon his feet, and, staring about him, requested, in forcible lan-
guage, to know where he was.
Denham, who could hardly speak for laughing, contrived at
length to enlighten him, and begged his assistance in rousing the
others, to which he at once agreed ; and, after much shaking, and
the gentle shock of a little cold water sprinkled over their faces,
with the intervention of a wet towel to the side on which they
turned their heads, and other such devices, they contrived to dispel
the slumbers of Templewell and Sir Nicholas. The first words of
the former were an earnest inquiry as to what he had said in his
sleep ; the only remark proffered by the baronet had reference to
the monosyllable "beer."
Having quieted Templewell's apprehensions, and provided a sub-
stitute for the wants of Sir Nicholas, the business of the toilet made
progress ; and it was high time, for the carriage was ready at the
door, and the hour long past at which it should have set out.
At length they were fairly under weigh, and, once clear of the
town, got on at a tolerable pace along the level road that leads to
Celle. We shall not pause to describe how, when the horses
were baited about half way, the party breakfasted in the carriage
on cold fowls and Burgundy, and how they afterwards exercised
their ingenuity, and displayed their skill in making " cock-shies "
of the empty bottles ; neither shall we dwell upon the songs sung
from the box by the Count, and his brother-in-law, the coachman,
to which the British youths responded in harmonious chorus ; nor
narrate how, after more than once kicking over the traces, the cattle
were urged to the full gallop, at which they triumphantly entered
the gay, but astonished, town of Celle. These are circumstances
which may well be imagined, where high spirits and strong stimu-
lants were operating in conjunction.
With no longer delay than was absolutely necessary to inquire
the road to the race-course, the party proceeded on its route, and,
after toiling for about a mile along a heavy, sandy road, the scene of
amusement broke upon the view. Few things in England present
a gayer appearance than a race-course, provided always that the
weather be fine, and in Germany the effect is not diminished ;
for, though neither the women nor the horses are comparable to
our own, yet the former have a certain share of out-of-doors beauty,
and the latter are mostly of English strain. One peculiarity, how-
ever, on this occasion, added much to the brilliancy of the show :
30 LIFE IN HANOVER.
scarcely a single peasant, man or woman, (and hundreds were pre-
sent,) was without a bright crimson umbrella, to keep off the burn-
ing rays of the mid-day sun; and the dense line that surrounded
the course looked at a distance like a thick belt of many-coloured
flowers. The tents for the accommodation of the better classes
were thronged with visitors ; and the booths, spread out like a fair,
contained numbers who came as much to eat and drink, and make
merry, as to see the horses run.
Racing is not indigenous in Germany ; but in the north, espe-
cially in Holstein and Mecklenburg, it has been readily grafted ;
and not only do the horses show very well, but they are also fairly
ridden, though in this respect they owe much to the tuition of Eng-
lish jockeys.
As soon as the carriage reached the course, the party quitted it to
reconnoitre the ground ; and Templewell, Saville, and Sir Nicholas
soon found sufficient attraction amongst the booths to keep them
there ; while Denham, leaving them to the enjoyment of the hu-
mours of a band of grotesque musicians, instinctively took his way
to the stands. Having paid his dollar fee, and, imitative of the na-
tives, stuck the green card in his hat, which secured admission at
pleasure, Denham entered the principal stand, the front rows of
which were filled with ladies, a group of whom were clustered
round a young man in the centre of the arena an object, apparently,
of general attraction. This was Lieutenant Von Stir'emup, of the
Jagers, who, attired in the costume of a jockey, was that day to
ride his own horse in a match against one belonging to the Duke of
Brunswick. He seemed not a little proud of the figure he cut in
purple and orange, and manfully accepted every wager with which
he was defied by the fair dames who surrounded him. He was se-
cure of winning, or it might have gone hard with his patrimonial
estate at Osnaburg, an old house, with twenty-four windows and
one door in it, to raise the needful to pay for all the gloves which
he now so freely betted.
Amidst the chorus of voices which assailed the gallant reiter, there
was one at whose clear, laughing tones, Charles Denham suddenly
started. He could not be mistaken ; it was one which he well re-
membered to have heard before. " Ludwig/' the speaker said, in
playful accents, " I bet you no gloves ; the stake must be deeper
between you and me."
" Whatever you please, cousin Armgart. Shall it be the hand
that fits the glove?"
"Whoever wins, Ludwig! you know the risk you run of
course, I give my hand to the conqueror."
" And he keeps it, of course ! "
" Cela depend; there must be an equivalent." And, as the lady
spoke, she turned her head from the circle, and beheld gazing upon
her with an intensity that sent the eloquent blood to her cheek, the
^nghshman whom she had before seen in the garden of her mother,
Madame de Bortfeld. He had already made a similar discovery.
r a moment she met his gaze, and then, turning quickly away
returned^ the seat which she had quitted in front of the stand,
rtip ernup saw the movement, though he knew not the cause,
and merrily exclaimed, Well, at any rate, I am safe. If I lose the
race, Armgart can't marry the Duke of Brunswick's jockey."
THE RACES AT CELLE. 31
f
Denhara fixed his eye upon the Jager, and scanned him atten-
tively ; then, as if some idea had suddenly struck him, he threw one
glance towards the Fraulein Armgart, whom he saw engaged in
close conversation with a friend, and hastily quitted the stand.
Passing quickly through the crowd of loiterers below, he made
the best of his way to the booths, where, in the midst of an uproar
of laughter, he found Temple well seated on a barrel, smoking a long
pipe, and haranguing a circle of bauern on the utter impracticability
of their language, the ugliness of their frauen, and their own in-
tense stupidity, a theme which, perhaps, was but imperfectly un-
derstood, from the fact of its consisting chiefly of strong English,
sprinkled with a few German expletives. It had the effect, how-
ever, of Scrub's personal appearance in the comedy it made his au-
dience " laugh consumedly."
Forcing himself through the ring of amused listeners, Denham
went up to his new friend, and, after a little persuasion, induced
him to leave his exalted position, and enter one of the booths, where,
when they were quietly ensconced, he narrated briefly the circum-
stances detailed in our first chapter, the conversation he had just
heard, and the plan he had suddenly formed, and respecting which
he now came to ask Templewell's opinion.
The plan was this : Denham was an excellent horseman, and had
ridden many a steeple-chase and hurdle-race in England, and he
conceived that, if by good luck he could take the place of the Duke
of Brunswick's jockey, he might win the race, discomfit Von Stir-
emup, whom he already looked upon as his rival, and obtain an in-
troduction to the noble Fraulein, the object of his aspirations. The
scheme was sage and notable, and there remained only the question
Was it feasible ?
Templewell, to whom no proposition of rashness, or adventure,
came amiss, at once decided that the project was a good one, but
observed, " You should make your party as strong as you can, and
get hold of some of these Hanoverians. There are some excellent fel-
lows in the Guards, who are as fond of fun as we are ourselves. If
we can find Steinmann, or Brinkhausen, I dare say we can manage it.
Have you any objection to mention the thing to Saville and Sir
Nicholas ? they may be able to help us. I see them at the entrance
to the next booth, talking to a knot of rather good-looking girls."
" None in the world," replied Denham ; "in fact, I would rather
do so."
" We want your assistance/' said Templewell, approaching them,
"man affair of some moment. This young gentleman has fallen
over head and ears in love, and is bent upon doing something des-
perate. Your sage advice is much desired."
As soon as the subject was named, Saville exclaimed, "By George !
it 's very lucky. There 's an aide-de-camp of the Duke's here, if I
can find him, with whom I was very intimate at Berlin. He said he
should be at the Celle races to a certainty. Let us go to the betting-
stand."
Thither they went, and by good fortune soon espied not only
Saville's friend, Captain Von Hartig, but the officers whom Temple-
well had also named. The greeting between the former was most
friendly, and Denham was introduced at once to the aide-de-camp
as a first-rate gentleman rider, who, fond of these amusements, would
32 LIFE IN HANOVER.
be happy to ride for the Duke of Brunswick if he stood in need of
such service.
" Upon my word," said Von Hartig, who spoke English remark-
ably well, " I really do think the Duke would catch at the oppor-
tunity. He has a match with Count Von Stir'emup, of the Jagers,
a conceited fellow, who thinks he can ride, and, what is more, has
made others think so too ; so that none of the officers will venture
against him ; and the Duke has been obliged, to let the match go
on, to mount his own jockey. I know he would rather a gentleman
rode his horse ; for, he says, there would be no credit gained if little
Stumps, the English groom, were to beat Von Stir'emup. But we
must see his Highness. Will your friend, Captain Denham, come
with me to be presented?"
Immediate assent being given, Von Hartig took Denham's arm,
crossed the course to the stables, where the Duke was at the moment
inspecting his racing-stud. His Highness received the Englishman
with the courtesy for which he was remarkable, smilingly observing,
" I know your countrymen are proficients in this exercise ; but
you will be so good as to let me see what you can do. It is a hurdle-
race, and Von Stir'emup is a clever dog. I make no doubt you can
ride well ; but let me see you take a few leaps. Here ! Stumps
Stumps put up the bar in the inclosure outside. Is four feet too
much of a jump?"
" Certainly not, if your Highness does not think it too little."
" Here, bring out Oscar ! He is a fine creature ! an Irish horse,
accustomed to these things. I won with him last year."
Denham gazed admiringly upon him, and, vaulting lightly into
the saddle, sat firm and erect, while the noble creature made two or
three sidelong bounds on being thus suddenly backed.
"A good seat! "said the Duke, "a very good seat! Now, sir,
will you try him?"
Denham slightly raised his hand, and in an instant he was rapidly
in motion, and over the bar without the slightest effort ; but it was
not his purpose to stop here. The wall of the inclosure, about a
hundred yards distant, stood apparently between five and six feet
high, and Denham dashed on towards it.
" Gott in Himmel!" exclaimed the Duke, " what is he going to
do? He will kill himself and the horse,, and knock down the wall
into the bargain ! "
" Never you fear, yer 'ighness," said little Stumps, who looked
on approvingly ; that 'ere 's a genTm'n as can ride. He '11 take
the wall, and no mistake." And the words were scarcely uttered
before Denham, giving the Irish horse his head, cleared the wall
in gallant style, and, greatly to the Duke's astonishment, repeated
the leap into the inclosure, bringing Oscar safe and sound to the
spot where the Duke stood.
" Upon my honour, sir ! " said his Highness, I had no idea that
any horse of mine could have done such a feat. Poor Von Stir'em-
up ! he is beaten already."
" I '11 back the genTm'n at five to one," said Stumps. " He 's as
safe to win as if I rode him myself."
The Duke seemed to be of the same opinion, and it was accordingly
tied that Denham should ride the match, which was to come off
the last of the sports of the day. In the meantime he returned to
THE RACES AT CELLE. 33
the course, where the first race was about to begin. Templewell and
Sir Nicholas had gone back to the booths ; but he found Saville,
who told him that the report had already got abroad that an Eng-
lishman was to ride the Duke's horse, and much speculation had
been set afoot about him. Brinkhausen and Steinmann had offered
to back him at even, and Von Stir'emup had caught eagerly at the
bets.
" Now, then," said Saville, " you must point out the lady for
whose sake you have made all this coil. In which stand is she to
be found ?"
" Here," replied Denham, " directly opposite to us. She wears
a light blue bonnet and scarf."
Armgart Von Bortfeld was at that moment engaged in an ani-
mated conversation with the friend who sat beside her, and Saville
at once admitted that she was an exceedingly beautiful girl.
The business of the races now began, and, considering that they
were not contested on an English course, were, for the most part,
very creditable. During almost the whole time Denham remained
in the position he had originally taken up, as thence he could gaze
upon his mistress ; nor did he fail to observe that, from time to time,
a steady and searching glance was thrown to the spot where he stood,
by a pair of eyes whose hue rivalled the colours which she wore.
At length the hour approached when it became necessary for him
to prepare for the coming race ; and it was not without a slight feel-
ing of nervousness that, accompanied by Saville and Von Hartig, he
withdrew to the Duke of Brunswick's stables. That feeling, how-
ever, vanished in a moment as his eye caught the figure of Von
Stir'emup piaffing across the course on a wild-looking chesnut horse,
.ill mane and tail.
" That may do very well in the manege," said he to himself. " A
good enough cavalry seat ; but you must ride a little shorter for the
hurdles, or you '11 never fetch them."
There was no lack of jockey costume at the Duke's stables; and,
as Denham was a light weight, and neat figure, he found no diffi-
culty in suiting himself. We need not say that he chose light-blue
for the colours of his cap and jacket. Having duly weighed, the
antagonists mounted, Von Stir'emup cantering to the starting-post,
while Denham followed at a walk. The former rode a hot chesnut
mare, called Wildblast, with a good deal of action, the latter, the bay
1 orse, Oscar. All was eagerness and excitement. The men shouted,
and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and expectation stood on
tiptoe. The odds were in favour of the Jager ; for Wildblast and her
rider were both Hanoverian, Denham and Oscar foreigners.
After two or three preliminary curvets on the part of Von Stir-
't:mup, the horses were brought to the post, and, on the signal being
given, the mare started off at score, Oscar waiting upon her quietly
to the first hurdle, of which there were five in the race, the distance
to be run being a mile and a quarter, twice round.
Von Stir'emup took his leaps in very good style, though the mare
jumped anything but steadily. The Irish horse behaved very well,
and Denham felt that he had him in perfect command. It was evi-
dently his policy, as much as his inclination, not to take the lead.
In this position, therefore, they went round the first time, Wildblast
about two lengths in front. The unsophisticated Germans looked
VOL. XIII. n
34 THIS WORLD OF OURS.
upon this as a certain indication of winning, and shouted " Hohoh ! "
and "Juchhei!" with all their lungs. The Duke, however, was
calm and silent ; for Stumps, who stood behind him, had already
pronounced his opinion. "He can vin vhen he likes," was the
only observation he made.
As Denham passed the principal stand, he turned his head, and
thought he did not deceive himself when he saw a white handker-
chief wave after Von Stir'emup had gone by. It was evidently a
token of encouragement to him from the Fraulein von Bortfeld.
" Now, then," said Denham to himself, " she is interested in the
race. Look to yourself, Mr. Von Stir'emup !" And, letting his
horse out,, though not to his full powers, in a few strides he was
abreast of the mare ; and this time they took the first hurdle to-
gether.
This was evidently a surprise to the Jiiger, who thought till now
that he had the thing hollow ; but, seeing Denham close beside him,
he spared neither whip nor spur to maintain the vantage he had at
first taken. Denham's tactics were now altered ; it was no longer a
waiting-race with him ; the contest became exceedingly animated
and interesting, and the horses ran neck-and-neck till the fourth
hurdle was past. Von Stir'emup here flogged with all his might ;
but Denham never lifted his whip. The consequence to the Jager
was, that his mare, always hot, and now slightly restive, swerved
something from the course, and it was with difficulty her rider could
keep her from bolting. Oscar headed her a few yards, and they
drew near the last hurdle. Von Stir'emup became desperate ; and,
burying his spurs in Wildblast's sides, he took his leap a thought too
soon, and, for want of coolness in the rider, the mare caught one of
her hind-feet in the hurdle, and down she went, sending Von Stir-
'emup over her head, flying in his purple and orange jacket, like a
balloon in a state of collapse. Not so Denham ; with the same ease
that had marked him throughout the race, he cleared the hurdle at
a stride ; and, merely turning his head for. an instant, to note Von
Stir'emup's actual position, went past the winning-post like light-
ning, amidst a loud and uproarious noise of mingled congratulation
and disappointment. The Jager, who, luckily, was only shaken,
soon found his legs again, as well as the mare; but they had parted
company for that day, and he led her off the course. Denham had
taken the first step towards the conquest he sought.
THIS WORLD OF OURS.
BY W. G. J. BARKER.
THIS world of ours, if free from sin,
Oh ! would it not be fair ?
Sunshine above, and flowers beneath,
And beauty everywhere !
The air, the earth, the waters teem
With living things at play ;
Glad Nature from an hundred throats
Pours her rejoicing lay.
THIS WORLD OF OURS. 35
Each balmy breeze that wand ers by
Whispers some angel tone ;
And the clear fountains have a voice
Of music all their own.
Even the leaves of forest trees,
Moved by the zephyr's wing,
Make a low murmur of content
To little birds that sing.
The busy bees o'er garden-flowers
A holy song attune,
Joining, with never-tiring mirth,
The minstrelsy of June :
And the great waves upon the deep,
Leaping, like giants free,
Add, in their hollow monotone,
The chorus of the sea.
There 's beauty in the summer sky,
When from his ocean bed,
Like a strong man refreshed by sleep,
The Sun uplifts his head ;
And when behind the western rocks
At eventide he goes,
How beauteous are the crimson clouds
That curtain his repose !
Are not the grassy valleys fair,
Deck'd in their spring array ?
And the high hills with forests clad,
How beautiful are they !
Look on the sea, that girdle vast,
Wherewith the earth is bound !
Even in Fancy's wildest dreams
Can aught more grand be found ?
Oh ! 'twere indeed a radiant world,
A paradise complete,
So redolent of lovely things,
So fill'd with voices sweet,
If Sin had not in evil hour
Enter' d this pleasant clime,
Yielding them over unto Death,
Sad consequence of crime !
Hence is it that the choicest flow'rs
Fall by a swift decay,
And hopes to which we fondly cling
Pass suddenly away ;
Yet, 'mid all trials of our life,
This blessed thought is given,
Earth is not our abiding place,
Man's native clime is Heaven !
Banks of the Yore.
:
PLEASURES OF A TRIP IX A BCDGEROW.
BT H. K. ABM90K.
WHEN I ink embarked bond my
rmU for Berbampore, to jmm y
the superiority of this mw 1
veyances of Europe. It is
to be eight days pertomnn^
by a " yeUow'past-cfcBBe" m
band I'found that mffjltm
line enough for agkt peraoB-
bed-room, and abwe dbese a hslf-deck^
and enjoy my hookah. The river up viidb I
its bob wwe i^OMi^aL, wi pniai
even to be MMJcd by tbe efl rf *.
sapernumerary servants ; they bad a sepmte bvft
a respectful distance, IB a vord, I diujMULd tbe
far as living goes, between
the Company
of them
We
Europe,
bottles
reral bottles rf Cliti
Arrived at our destir .
park-like grawads f tbe Gw^erawjent-Wase, w/aft to a
which a gnd arafdt was to be beftd. Here w caw aevcnl
black girk twisting abantanflBelMtsWidicBieafflbevxn
the air; wbiie tbers sat by , aagiax a lagvbniBS tne thraagb
f n
ONldfeel
ebwy Vewn; aad m
MV liiiaad day's ji
We
*;.,:-..- : >:.;.f : ::.
only pPoocevBii ten
- ir _---r - :: r :::: : . _.
A TUP is A
::r
V *. "W
38 PLEASURE OF A TRIP IN A BUDGEROW.
where I had ordered my budgerow to meet me. I did not dare to turn
round ; but I could hear the furious beast close behind me. Every
instant brought him nearer. He was within a dozen paces of me, when
my hat flew off. To that trivial circumstance I owe my life. The bull
stopped for an instant in his full career to trample on it. Finding it,
however, an inanimate object, he again started off in pursuit of me.
There were now about a hundred paces between us. I need not say
how I exerted myself, my very existence depending on my speed. The
animal, m spite of all my efforts, gained on me. At length I doubled
the corner, where I expected to find my boat. It had not arrived ; I
looked on the broad stream, not a vessel was to be seen. I cast a
glance around me, not a soul was visible ; no living object broke the
quiet of the scene, save the infuriated monster that now came up more
quickly than ever. I already began to pant with fatigue. My last
hope, my last chanee was gone. The agony of that moment I can
never forget to describe it would be impossible.
I saw but one course before me, and that was almost as full of
danger as my present position ; yet it presented a less painful, though
perhaps as sure a doom. I was unable to swim ; the river was deep and
rapid, and filled with alligators. The chances were a thousand to one
that I was either drowned or destroyed by these monsters if I plunged
in ; but, even that was better than being gored and trampled to death.
In a single thought I commended my soul to its Creator, and plunged
in. As I did so, I thought I heard a sudden report, which mingled
with the gush of waters as I instantly sank. In the next moment I
rose ; as I did so, I was suddenly laid hold of, and dragged into a
boat, with no other harm than a severe ducking. I was safe I was
saved.
The budgerow had grounded on a sand-bank ; and, being unable to
proceed, they had sent forward a portion of the boat's crew in a light
canoe. It had just turned the point as I leaped into the stream, and
miraculously picked me up in the very nick of time. After uttering
a prayer of thanksgiving for my escape, I looked round. The bull
was still pacing up and down the bank, apparently half-inclined to
pursue me, even into the water. I looked with terror at him. He
was severely wounded, and, evidently, unable to live ; he was fast
bleeding to death. But this fact, instead of decreasing his rage,
seemed to add strength to it. He tore up the earth around him, and
kept pacing about in agonies of pain and anger.
I never felt more happy than when I re-entered my budgerow. The
fright had altogether robbed me of appetite for my breakfast. This I
was annoyed at, as I wished to be looked upon as a man of courage
by my followers ; but, then, again, I rightly argued that a Brahmin
bull was a most unfair foe. The two servants who had fled I never
saw again. On passing the spot, in my barge, where I had left my
antagonist, I saw him lying down in the last agonies of expiring life.
One of my people soon after went ashore, and recovered my English
guns ; which were both, however, injured by being thrown down.
1 hat night I slept most uneasily, and began to dislike travelling by
water. The next morning I was disturbed from my slumbers by a
loud and angry colloquy between my crew and a number of persons,
tood jibbering away on the bank of the river. I instantly went
out, and found a crowd of natives, accompanied by some of their strange-
looking provincial guards, with shields and rusty arms, yet half-naked
PLEASURE OF A TRIP IN A BUDQEROW. 39
and barefoot, clamorously calling for my presence. It appeared, as soon
I was able to make out the case, that, in the first place, the people
were dreadfully irate at my having killed a sacred bull ; and, in the
second, the owner of the said animal insisted on my making good to
him the price of the brute I had destroyed ; and, until the matter was
settled, they positively refused to let my boatmen unmoor the budgerow.
A conflict with these people, even had I been sure of victory, would
have brought me into much trouble and annoyance, so I philosophi-
cally determined on giving them the sum demanded, though I confess
I did so grumbling all the time, at thus paying for being nearly killed.
The case was, however, clear. I had no right to trespass ; and, if I
had not trespassed, I should not have been attacked by the bull ;
so I handed them, the amount, and was suffered to proceed on my
voyage.
I was annoyed all day by the constant sight of dead bodies floating
down the stream. Every now and then one of these grim objects
would bump against the boat ; and, when I looked out to see the
cause, I frequently beheld objects so sickening to view, corpses so mu-
tilated by birds of prey and carnivorous fish, and so decomposed that I
drew in my head with horror and disgust. I found two scorpions in
my calm ; one of my dandies broke his leg. I never spent a more un-
pleasant day. I forgot, moreover, to put down my gauze- cur tains that
night ; and, consequently, was almost bitten to death by musquitos.
When I was sitting on the deck next morning, smoking my hookah,
with a chatter over my head, I saw at a short distance a wild duck
swimming about in the water, near a large bed of rushes. I sent for
my gun, and was about to fire at it, when I found that it was an In-
dian fowler, who, ensconced in an artificial and moveable bunch of
rushes, was sitting in the river, with his decoy duck, to draw others
near him j but, as he had no weapon, I was anxious to know how,
when the game was within a proper range, he would be able to destroy
it. This I soon learnt. As soon as a flight of wild-ducks settle in the
river, he pops a large jar (called in India a kidgeree pot), or a gourd,
over his head, and, entering the river considerably above, manages to
swim, or float, uprightly down with the stream. The ducks see no-
thing but the gourd, or jar, coming down ; and, unsuspectingly, remain
where they are, and allow the wary Indian to get in amongst them,
who drags them down one by one, and fixes them in his girdle ; con-
tinuing to do so till some unlucky accident betrays him, when he shifts
his quarters, and re-enacts the same scene elsewhere.
In the evening I went to take a stroll on the shore, which was
sandy ; and, as there was a village near, I had no fear of being attack-
ed by bulls, or other wild animals. After walking for some time, and
taking up several of the skulls which lay scattered about, I heard the
assurance of a native that the jagged joining of the upper and lower
parts were nothing more nor less than the predestination of the man,
written by the finger of his Maker on his pericranium before he is sent
into this world. I found that my shoe-string had become undone, and
was about to place my foot on a log of wood, which lay just in front of
me, for the purpose of tying 'it, when, lo ! the apparent log suddenly
started up, and plunged into the river. It was an enormous alligator
that I had disturbed; a monster with whom, had he attacked me, I
could never have been able to cope. My very blood ran cold. I has-
tily got back to my budgerow, from which, I firmly vowed, I would
not again move till I arrived at Berhampore.
40 SONG OF THE MORNING STAR.
I was about to retire to my couch, when I perceived a light on
shore. I went on deck ; and found that it proceeded from a bonfire, on
which some natives were burning a dead body. I instantly made my
people undo the vessel, and proceed a mile higher up the river. Here
I was again annoyed by precisely the same occurrence. I afterwards
found that I was almost sure to be subjected to the same thing, if I
persevered in my wish to make fast my budgerow in the neighbour-
hood of a native village.
On the following night my head-boatman was very particular about
choosing a place for mooring. On inquiry, I found that the greatest
danger might be apprehended if he made the slightest mistake, as it
was just at that period of the moon's age when a boa might be expected.
Though somewhat alarmed at this intelligence, I was rather pleased at
having an opportunity of witnessing this strange phenomenon. As the
man had foretold, at ten o'clock it came on. For miles before it reach-
ed us I could hear the roar of the wave as it plunged down the edge
of the river, destroying everything in its course ; for I must inform my
reader that the boa is a dreadful wave, of some ten or twelve feet high,
which at certain periods regularly surges down one of the banks of the
river, crosses at particular points, travelling its exact, its invariable,
course, which is so well known, that a skilful and practised dandy may
always manage to avoid it. My pilot unfortunately anchored u little
too near a spot where it crossed ; so that, though not actually in it, we
caught the swell at a short distance. The boat lurched over ; and I
was thrown down. By this accident I received such a severe blow on
my head that I was for a time deprived of consciousness. On the fol-
lowing morning I arrived at Berhampore, thoroughly sick of the river,
and its barges.
SONG OF THE MORNING STAR.
AGE on age has rolPd away,
Like the waves of a shoreless sea ;
Age on age has been past me borne,
By the band of its spectre hours forlorn,
To its home in Eternity,
Siqce I first look'd forth from my starry throne
On the countless worlds around me strewn ;
Since I first : , drank in with eager ears
The mighty music of circling spheres,
And a shout of joy through Heaven rang,
When the Morning Stars together sang.
I saw the hour
When Almighty Power
Waked the earth from its dreamless sleep
And Chaos and Night
From the holy light
Fled in alarm to the startled deep !
Oh ! how fair did the face of creation seem,
As it met the kiss of that first pure beam !
The mountains their snow-crown'd heads unreal f d
The vales in their robes of green appeared
And dimpling smiles on ucean play'd,
As the new-born breeze o'er its bosom stray 'd --^
SONG OF THE MORNING STAR. 41
All Nature assumed her fairest dress,
As she woke at once into loveliness !
The Moon came forth with her starry train,
And smiled on the smiling earth ;
The Planets utter'd a mystic strain
Of joy at their sister's birth ;
For sorrow was then a thing- unknown,
And Eden's bliss was undim'd by a tear ;
Not yet from this earth was Happiness flown,
But Love, Joy, and Peace were inhabitants here.
As a ruin, which Time and Neglect efface,
Of its former glories still shows some trace ;
As Hell's dark monarch, with thunder riven,
Still bore some signs of his native Heaven,
So the faded charms of this still fair world
Show what it was, ere Sin unfurl' d
His sable banner, and led the way
For Death to seize on his destin'd prey :
All beauty fled from his gaze, aghast,
As the gloomy king through the doom'd world pass'd
With a conqueror's step; while by his side
Crept the form of Corruption, his ghastly bride ;
Like a spring-flower crush'd by the North's keen breath,
Shrank the young World's bloom from the glance of Death !
A thrill shot through me of sudden fear,
As the shadow of Death dim'd my bright-orb'd sphere,
And I view'd each grim and loathsome form
Which gloom'd around his path ;
Like clouds which robe the coming storm
And herald the Lightning's wrath.
Then I turn'd to the Future in wild amaze,
And the mists which veil it from mortal eyes
Melted before my ardent gaze,
Like the ling'ring snow 'neath the South wind's sighs ;
And I saw far off the shadowy hours
Which slumber in Time's dim halls,
Till one by one they awake, like flowers
When the soft voice of Summer calls.
As I gazed entranced on that wondrous sight,
A form step'd forth, and all around
Was flooded with rays of purest light,
Shed from a star, which her forehead crown'd :
And she seem'd, as she cleft the yielding air,
Clad in the light of those silver beams,
Like the fabled form of some Nai'ad fair,
View'd through the waves of her moonlit streams.
She check'd by my side her swift career,
And her voice fell like dew on my thirsting ear ;
For, she told of a time when the earth should be
Happy, and sinless, and pure and free !
When a mighty spirit should reign abroad,
And the sceptre be torn from Death's grasp away,
While the earth, which so long his frown had awed,
Should bloom again 'neath a holier sway !
When tyrant and slave should alike be unknown,
The victor's pride, and the captive's groan ;
When Sin and Sorrow should fly forlorn,
Like ghosts, as Mercy smiles above,
And Earth, as at Creation's dawn,
Own but one Lord the Lord of Love !
GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE.
A LEGEND OF SOUTHWARK.
BY PAUL PINDAR, GENT.
COURTEOUS reader ! if you have not interested yourself with our
metropolitan antiquities, and would know anything of ancient Lon-
don and its boundaries, before the " greate and dreadful fier," which
laid the greater portion of it in ashes, you had need take a peep at
the panoramic view of the faithful Hollar, from the top of Saint
Saviour's church; you will then see what a monster this Babel of
ours has grown since that terrible event, and be enabled* to picture
to yourself its appearance in the first half of the seventeenth cen-
tury. You may there count off the churches, the sites of which are
now, in many places, merely churchyards, and all the other edifices
which then rendered London venerable, but which fell " a prey to
the devouring element," as our newspapers phrase it, in the days of
the " most religious and gracious king."
But, if a change has come over the city, how great has been that
of the suburbs ! What rows of dull, uninteresting dwellings ! what
an interminable line of brick and mortar ! what an endless succes-
sion of cockney " villars " now meet the eye, where green fields and
hedges once flourished ! Mile-end and Stepney, Shoreditch and
Hogsden, (where Ben Jonson " killed his man,") Islington, Clerk-
enwell, and Holborn, and, lastly, Saint George's Fields, where
Prince Hal played his mad pranks. It is not fire which has been
busy here, but man. It is the especial delight of a thorough-bred
cockney to destroy every tree which he himself has not planted ;
but we are growing testy, so to our tale.
Saint George's Fields were, as already said, not defiled with brick
and mortar, and unpicturesque dwellings, in the days of the British
Solomon, hight James the First, but, like other parts of the country
around London, were the occasional resort of holiday folks in fine
weather. The old people came to sniff the air of the country, young
couples a sweet-hearting, and children for cakes and cream. Then
there was no lack of hedge-alehouses, where the lovers of the regally
denounced Indian weed might enjoy a whiff", without offence to
majesty.
One fine afternoon, in the year 1605 (we love accuracy in dates ;
and, though our story will not be found in Howell, nor Aubrey, nor
the collections of Rushworth, we defy the critic to pick a hole in our
chronology) one fine afternoon, then, in the year 1605, the third of
the reign of the Royal Demonologist, a loving couple were seen
strolling along a green lane, in the neighbourhood of the spot where
now stands that classic erection, ycleped by Mrs. Ramsbottom " the
Obstacle." Anybody might have discovered at a glance that they
were either lovers, or a newly-married pair who had not yet passed
their honey-moon, they were so very loving, and used such an abun-
dance of honied phrases. On they went, entirely engrossed by their
own conversation; the lark was caroling above their heads, and
the early note of the cuckoo was heard in the tall elms at a little
distance ; but neither were heeded by the fond couple, who stopped
at length before a small cottage, at the door of which sat an aged
woman, feeble and deaf, but busily engaged in knitting. There was
GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE. 43
n. magpie in a cage against the wall, which began to chatter at the
i pproach of the strangers, and a couple of goldfinches, disturbed,
perhaps, in some more favourable spot by truant schoolboys, were
assiduously making up for lost time, and building their pretty nest
in the moss-grown branches of an old apple-tree, which grew in the
garden in front of the cottage.
" The good time o' the evening to you, mother," said the young
man. " We would fain hear what good or ill is in store for us."
And he placed a piece of money in her hand, taking, at the same
time, that of his fair companion, which he presented to her, having
first drawn the wedding-ring from her finger.
"Ah ! yes marry, that would you ay, in sooth," muttered the
old dame, as if talking to herself, while she put away the piece of
money; then, fumbling with the fair hand which had been placed
in hers, she continued aloud, " So you have tied the knot which
man cannot untie, fair mistress. I warrant you would know how
many tall sons and pretty daughters will call you mother ? "
" Ha ! how know you that I am married ?" interrupted the young
wife, withdrawing her hand. "Thou art a witch ! "
" Softly, my love," remarked the young man ; " you would offend
her, if she could hear you. Hearken to what she has to say."
The bride, for such she really was, extended her hand again to
the ancient dame, who had been looking at them both with the in-
quiring countenance peculiar to deaf persons, and the sybil con-
tinued, " Ah ! fair mistress, you are light of heart now ; but sorrow
awaits you both."
The bride again withdrew her hand, and said peevishly, " Come
away, George ; I don't like the woman. Let us begone from such
;i boding owl." And, taking the arm of her husband, she constrained
him to leave the spot, and proceed homeward.
George Child was a notary, residing on the west side of London
Bridge. He was an only son, and had been left a tolerable com-
petency, though he still followed the profession of his father. He
was a handsome young fellow, a captain in the city train-bands,
dressed well, and associated with some of the gayest within the city
walls. These companions, however, were abandoned when he mar-
ried the daughter of a wealthy citizen, five years after his father's
death. She was a girl of great beauty ; and, as the match was one
of mutual affection, George was the happiest man in London. On
the day with which our story commences he had strolled out with
his bride/when he remembered the cottage of the old fortune-teller,
cf whom he had heard some of his companions speak. The result
c f their visit is already narrated.
Now Mistress Child, though a kind-hearted dame, was yet a wo-
man ; and the most uxorious husband will confess that the sex are of-
ten " uncertain, coy, and hard to please." George found this out be-
fore the honey-moon had passed. His wife was, besides, exceedingly
superstitious ; a very excusable thing, when we consider that the
reigning sovereign maintained the existence of witches and demons,
and many of the learned considered unbelief in such matters a sort
of Sadduceeism. She " took on," as the nurses say, and thought a
^ood deal of the fortune-teller. She dreaded to know the worst,
and yet she wished to visit the old woman again, a wish which she
c ommunicated to her husband, who used every means to dissuade
44 GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE.
her, of course, in vain; so Mistress Child, attended by her maid,
stole out one day to the cottage in Saint George's Fields. What she
heard is not precisely known ; it will be sufficient to say, that it
made her perfectly miserable, and that all the endearments of her
fond husband were insufficient to chase away the settled melancholy
which took possession of her, her health declined daily, and six
months after their marriage George Child was a widower.
We shall not dwell unnecessarily on the distress of the bereaved
husband, who seemed crushed by the weight of his affliction. He
shut himself up, and refused to see even his most intimate friends
and neighbours, who justly feared that grief would soon consign
him to the grave. At length one of the companions of his more
youthful days, a law-student, named Herbert, ventured to call, and
endeavoured to withdraw him from the melancholy seclusion to
which he had devoted himself. Though a gay fellow, Herbert,
touched by his friend's altered appearance, with much tact proceeded
to engage him in conversation, and succeeded so well, that he suf-
fered himself to be enticed abroad again. Having once yielded,
George Child could no longer endure the solitude of his own cham-
ber ; everything reminded him of his beloved wife. He contem-
plated giving up business, and retiring into the country j but his
friend dissuaded him, alleging that it would only furnish him with
food for melancholy. Wretched, indeed, was the condition of the
young notary, when, after spending the evening with his friend, he
returned to his desolate home, where so many objects recalled the
recollection of what he had for ever lost. Home, at length, became
intolerable, and George sought to overcome his sorrow by indul-
gence in dissipation. The theatres and the bear-gardens were his
frequent resort, the intervals being filled up at the tavern.
One fine afternoon, George Child, his friend Herbert, and several
of their companions, were assembled at a tavern called the Mer-
maid, in the neighbourhood of the Globe theatre, on Bankside. The
wine was circulating freely, and song and joke made the upper
room, in which they were assembled, ring with their merriment.
Any casual looker-in would not have supposed that George Child
was so young a widower. While thus engaged, the sound of a pipe
and tabor was heard in the neighbourhood.
" Ha ! " cried Herbert, jumping up, and looking out, " there 's a
pipe and tabor ! By cock and pie ! I never hear the sound without
finding my feet keeping time." And he began to skip about the
room.
" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed one of the company, Will Harrison, the
son of a city alderman. I saw Bruin dance the same pavise at
the Bear-Garden yesterday ! Bring thyself to a seat, and I '11 sing
thee a song made by Jack Davy, the player on this same pipe and
tabor."
" A song ! a song !" cried the company ; and Herbert sat down,
while Harrison, with a preparatory hem or two, sang as follows :
" Hey for the sound of pipe and tabor I
'Tia music fit for prince or king ;
The one we '11 blow, the other belabour,
Till we make the welkin ring :
The wailing- flute
May lovers suit ;
\
GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE. 45
But pipe and tabor
Give to me ;
We '11 foot it while the sun goes down ;
Then thump and blow right lustily !
" There 's bandy "Will, the serving man,
And lusty Mat, the miller's son,
And Kate, and black-eyed Marian,
Who love a dance when work is done.
Pan made such strains
For village swains.
Let every one,
His labour leave :
We'll foot it while the sun goes down,
Like merry gnats on a summer's eve !"
By the time the applause which followed this song had subsided,
the authors of the music were under the windows. They were
three countrymen, dressed up with ribbons, as morris-dancers ; one
of them carrying a pipe and tabor. They were accompanied by a
buxom wench, as Maid Marian ; she danced with a vigour that
quite delighted the company, who rewarded them with several pieces
of money.
" Bravely danced, wench !" cried George Child, throwing the
girl a groat; " what is thy name? thy face bespeaks a light
heart."
"Millicent, sir," replied the girl, picking up the money, and
curtsying as she spoke.
George Child withdrew from the window as he heard the name
pronounced it was that of his deceased wife ; and, though the
incident would have made but a slight impression on some .minds,
on his, in its morbid state, it acted like an electric shock, which al-
most deprived him of his senses. A few minutes afterwards he
found himself in the fields on the south of the Thames, whither he
had walked, scarcely conscious of his having quitted his companions,
who naturally were surprised at his abrupt departure.
It matters not how long George wandered about in this manner ;
it will be sufficient to say that, exhausted by rapid walking, he sat
himself on a stile, and looked about him with the air of a man who
cared not where his next walk might be. London rose in the dis-
tance ; the broad stream of the Thames glowed in the rich sunset,
and the shadows of the trees and houses which studded the land-
scape were rapidly lengthening.
As he looked listlessly about him, George saw a female, of elegant
figure and gait, approaching the stile. Surprised at seeing a woman
in that lonely spot, he leapt from the stile, which he supposed she
was desirous of crossing. He was not mistaken : the lady drew
nigh, and George, bowing gracefully to the fair stranger, proffered
his hand, which she took without the least embarrassment, and
assisted her in the ascent. He perceived that she wore a mask ;
which, however, did not conceal her mouth and chin, both of the
most perfect form and expression. She smiled sweetly as she ac-
cepted the gallant offer, and disclosed a most beautiful row of
teeth ; and, as she reached the ground on the other side of the stile,
George caught a momentary glimpse of the prettiest pair of ankles
in the world.
46 GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE.
"Fair mistress," said he, "your road is lonely; the evening is
drawing in."
He was checked by the stranger, who laid her finger on her lip,
and, with a negative motion of her head, walked away.
" Strange creature !" thought George, " and as fair as strange !
She took my hand with the familiarity of long acquaintance, and
yet that gesture forbade me to advance a step."
He looked at the receding figure of the lovely stranger, who pro-
ceeded along the path with a rapid step, and a turning soon hid her
entirely from sight.
" She is gone," continued the young notary, " and I may never
see her again ; yet that step will "
He checked himself suddenly, as if his soliloquy could be over-
heard ; and, quitting the spot, walked homewards, musing on his
adventure.
From that evening the young notary had no relish for the society
of his companions j and it was soon whispered abroad that George
had found matter more attractive. Indeed, a tradesman living at
the bridge-foot had told his neighbours that he had, one afternoon,
while returning from Lambeth, seen Child walking in the fields
with a lady of elegant figure, wearing a mask, which concealed the
upper part of her face, but left the lower part uncovered ; and that,
as she conversed she was observed to display a remarkably beautiful
set of teeth. These vague gossipings were soon verified, and the story
of George Child's acquaintance with the masked lady was rife in
every tavern in South wark.
One evening the notary had just returned from the city, when the
youth who acted as his clerk came in to say that a lady was waiting
in the outer-office, and was very desirous of seeing him on import-
ant business. Desiring that she should be immediately admitted,
George arranged his ruff, smoothed his doublet, and twirled his
moustache into its most inviting shape. He had scarcely effected
this important preparation when the visitor entered.
" By this light ! you are welcome, my sweet mistress !" cried the
notary, in a transport of joy, handing his visitor a seat, and pressing
her hand with much warmth : then, closing the door, he continued,
" So, thou art resolved to be no longer coy eh ? Come, let me
remove that envious vizard, that I may behold those eyes, which I
have seen but in my dreams. Come I"
He essayed to remove the mask ; but the lady, with a very sig-
nificant gesture, positively forbade it. George, restraining his ar-
dour, sat down again, drew his chair close to his fair companion,
and resumed,
" You promised when we last met that you would tell me how
long you have vowed to wear that vile curtain, which shrouds so
much beauty ; prithee, speak !"
He concluded with one of the extravagant compliments in use
by the coxcombs and euphuists of those days ; at which the lady
smiled.
"Master Child, thou art the veriest flatterer within this good
city," said she : " methinks these honied phrases have oft been utter-
ed to the disquieting of poor simple maidens."
" Prithee, cease," replied George ; " thou dost belie me ; or, if
thou wilt torment me by unkind speeches, let me look upon thy fea-
tures the while." J
GEORGE CHILD'S SECOND LOVE. 47
<( Flatterer !" rejoined the lady, shaking her head, "they would
soon become plain in thy eyes."
" Never !" interpolated the young notary passionately.
<f You have not performed your promise," continued his visitor
playfully ; " you swore (o me that I should have the ring you value
so highly ; but, doubtless, it reminds you of one to whom you have
already given your heart."
George Child felt his heart flutter almost to choking him. It was
the ring which his wife in her dying moments had placed on his
finger, exacting from him a promise that he would never remove it
a promise which he had bound by a solemn oath. It was a tur-
quoise, set very plainly ; but he valued it more than all he possessed
in the world ; yet, he dared not think of her who had bequeathed it
to him ; to think of those sad moments was madness ; to withhold
it would give mortal offence to one who had entire dominion over
him. With a groan of anguish, which he vainly endeavoured to
suppress, George drew the precious relic from his ^finger ; his heart
swelled to bursting ; his lip quivered, big tears filled his eyes ; and
the dying words of his wife rung in his ears. He held out the
ring, seized the hand of the enchantress, and placed it on her finger ;
which, to his great surprise, was cold and rigid as an icicle.
With a powerful effort to repress his feelings, George raised
once more his downcast eyes ; but, as he did so, he beheld a sight
which froze the blood in his veins. The mask of his companion
was melting like wax before the summer's sun ; it did not fall from
hex face, but seemed to become a part of it. Petrified with terror,
he gazed at the appalling sight in speechless agony, when, oh
horror ! the features of his deceased wife became apparent. They
looked at him for a moment with an expression of reproach and
pity, and then vanished !
A few words will suffice to conclude this strange story. The
boj who waited in the outer office, hearing a heavy fall, entered the
room, and found his master lying on his face in a fit; but the lady
was gone ! The doctor came, and bled the spectre-haunted man ;
and, about two hours after he was sufficiently recovered to utter a
few incoherent words ; the purport of which was, that he wished to
see the curate of St. Magnus. The curate came to him ; and he sub-
sequently related the particulars of his final interview with the
masked lady.
Of course, in these matter-o'-fact times of ours the whole would
be attributed to a diseased imagination, notwithstanding the collat-
eral evidence of the boy; but, in those days scepticism in such
matters was considered akin to infidelity, and old and young religi-
ously believed in the story of George Child being visited by his de-
ceased wife ; while King James, it is said, meditated a new book
on demons and spectres; but the diabolical scheme to blow up his
majesty, and his liege parliament, being detected soon after, the royal
intention was never fulfilled. As for poor Child, he lived for some
years afterwards, a victim to occasional fits of blue-devils, and deli-
rium Iremens, from which death at length relieved him, to the infi-
nite delight of a poor cousin, to whom he bequeathed the bulk of
his property.
P. P.
48
LEAVES OF LEGENDARY LORE.
BY COQUILLA SERTORIUS, BENEDICTINE ABBOT OF GLENDALOUGH.
THE WANDERING JEW.
WE are not acquainted with any popular English ballad on the sub-
ject of the Wandering Jew, though the adventures of this extraordi-
nary being have afforded themes to the poets of the people in almost
every other country in Europe. France, especially, is rich in legends
connected with this fabled personage ; songs and sermons equally re-
late the horrors to which "the undying one " was subjected, and the
heritage of woe conjoined to his unparalleled length of life. Most of
the notices are announcements of his speedy appearance at some spe-
cified place, or anecdotes supposed to have been related by those who
had the good fortune of meeting with him. They all agree in describing
him as aged, care-worn, with a white beard of immense length, and
grizzled hair. His dress, though ragged and torn, was said to retain
traces of oriental finery ; but he also wore a leather apron, which, in
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, was the usual cognizance of la-
bourers, and the lower class of mechanics. Xeniola declares that, in
Spain, he appeared with a very awful mark, which is not mentioned
either by the French or Germans. According to this worthy Father,
whom Lewis has followed in " The Monk," the Jew wore a black
bandage on his forehead, which concealed a crucifix of flame, ever
burning a brain that grew as fast as it was consumed. It is intimated
that the familiars of the Inquisition had orders to keep a sharp look-
out for the wanderer, and that the crucifix was designated as the mark
by which he might be known. The Inquisitors never caught him ;
though they often had information of his practising as a conjuror, and
exhibiting the blazing cross on his forehead in the dark, a trick often
practised by school-boys with a bit of phosphorus. ' They arrested, in-
deed, a juggler at Seville ; but, on inquiry, he proved to be " no con-
juror," and had the good luck to be liberated, after having endured
"only the moderate torture."
While the Spaniards were taught to regard the Wandering Jew as
an object of horror, the French and Brabantine legends always spoke
of him as deserving the warmest sympathy and compassion. The Ger-
mans invested him with something of a speculative and philosophic
character; whence Goethe, in his singular piece, " Ahasuerus," the
name last bestowed upon the wanderer, has made the Jew a scholastic
cobbler, strongly attached to materialism, particularly in the shape of
material comforts. Ahasuerus is represented as having engaged in a
dialectic controversy with our Saviour, who, provoked by his insensi-
bility to spiritual blessings, sentences him to continue in the life for
which he manifests so decided a preference. This is one of the worst
perversions of a poetic legend with which we are acquainted ; and it
is saddening to find it connected with so great a name.
Ahasuerus was the name usually given to the Wandering Jew in
the last century ; but in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries he was
known as Isaac Lackedem, or Lackedionnames which point to an
THE WANDERING JEW.
49
Armenian or Greek origin of the story. The Chanson, of which we
are about to lay a version before our readers, as nearly in the original
metre as the structure of our language will admit, is believed to have
been composed in Brabant, rather earlier than the age of the Reforma-
tion. The language has been softened and modernized, as it passed
down the stream of tradition ; but the air possesses the psalmodic cha-
racter of those slow and plaintive chaunts, with which in the Middle
Ages the relics of martyrs were venerated, and the sufferings of the
saints lamented. We have preserved in the translation some of the
roughness which characterizes the original ballad, particularly in the
verses spoken by the burgesses to the Wanderer.
Can life, with each transition,
From bright to darkest hue,
Show one of worse condition
Than the poor Wandering Jew ?
How horrid is his state !
His wretchedness how great!
One day, before the city
Of Brussels, in Brabant,
We saw, with fear and pity,
This man of comforts scant,
And ne'er before our sight
Was beard so long and white !
His garments, torn and streaming,
The winds could not withstand,
A nd we knew by his seeming
He came from Eastern land :
A leathern bag before
He., like some workman, wore !
We said, " Good-morrow, master !
One little moment stay,
And tell us the disaster
Which has brought you this way.
Come, do not plead excuse,
N or sympathy refuse."
Then he replied, " Believe me,
I suffer bitter woe ;
Incessant travels grieve me ;
No rest for me 's below ;
A respite I have never,
Bat march on, on for ever I"
" Come, join us, good old father !
And drink a cup of ale ;
We've come out here together
On purpose to regale ;
And, if you '11 be our guest,
We '11 give you of the best."
" [ cannot take your proffer,
[ 'm hurried on by Fate ;
But for your hearty offer
My gratitude is great.
I '1.1 ever bear in mind
Strangers so good and kind."
VOL. XIII.
" You seem so very aged,
That, looking on with tears,
We find ourselves engaged
In guessing at your years.
We 'd ask, if not too bold,
Are you a century old ?"
" Years more than eighteen hundred
Have roll'd above my head
Since Fate has kept me sunder'd
Both from the quick and dead !
I was twelve years that morn
When Christ our Lord was born ! "
" Are you that man of sorrow,
To whom, our authors write,
Grief comes with every morrow,
And wretchedness at night?
Oh ! let us know are you
Isaac, the Wandering Jew ?"
" Yes ; Isaac Lacked ion
To me was given for name,
And the proud hill of Zion
As place of birth I claim.
Children ! in me you view
The hapless Wandering Jew !
' ' Good Lord ! how sad, how weary
This length of life is found !
Now, for the fifth time, hear ye !
I 've paced the earth's wide round !
All else to rest have gone,
But I must still live on !
" I 've cast me in the ocean
The waves refused to drown ;
I 've faced the storm's commotion
In heaven's darkest frown ;
But elemental strife
Went by, and left me life !
" I 've pass'd through fields of battle,
Where men in thousands fell j
While the artillery 's rattle
Peal'd forth their funeral knell:
The mangling shell and shot
Whizz'd by, and harm'd me not !
50
LEAVES OF LEGENDARY LORE,
" Beyond the broad Atlantic
I 've seen the fever spread,
Where orphans, driven frantic,
Lay dying on the dead :
I gazed with hope, not fear ;
But still death came not near.
I have no home to hide me ;
No wealth can I display ;
But unknown powers provide me
Five farthings every day.
This always is my store,
'Tis never less nor more 1"
" We used to think your story
Was but an idle dream ;
But, when thus wan and hoary,
And broken-down you seem,
The sight cannot deceive,
And we the tale believe.
" But you must have offended
Most grievously our God ;
Whose mercy is extended
To all on earth who plod :
Then tell us for what crime
You bear his wrath sublime ?"
" 'Twas by my rash behaviour
I wrought this fearful scathe :
As Christ, our Lord and Saviour,
Was passing on to death,
His mild request I spurn'd,
His gentle pleading scorn'd.
" Beneath the cross when sinking,
He pass'd before my door ;
From the crowd's insults shrinking,
He stepped the threshold o'er,
And made a mild request
That I would let him rest.
" ' Begone !' said I, * thou vile one !
Move on, and meet thy fate,
I know it would defile one
To suffer thee to wait ;
Blasphemer ! haste ! begone !
To death to death move on !' "
" Then Jesus, turning mildly,
Look'd on my angry brow,
And said, ' Thou speakest wildly,
For onward, too, must thou !
March onward ! 'tis thy doom,
And TARRY TILL I COME!'
" A secret force expell'd me
That instant from my home ;
And since THE DOOM has held me
Unceasingly to roam ;
For neither day nor night
Must check my onward flight.
" Farewell, ye pitying strangers !
For I must now away ;
Ye cannot know the dangers
Which menace my delay :
Farewell, ye kindly men !
We never meet again !"
Thus ends this most singular and beautiful legend, in which the
simplicity, and almost ruggedness, of the style, greatly enhances the
miracle of the story. It is scarcely necessary to say, that there is no
historical authority for the legend ; but the Wandering Jew may be
regarded as an allegorical impersonation of the destiny of the Jewish
nation, which, since the death of Jesus Christ, has been outcast and
wandering among the nations of the earth, still subject to that fearful
imprecation, " His blood be upon us and upon our children ! " The
words " Tarry thou till I come " were actually addressed to the
apostle St. John ; and, as this evangelist himself informs us, they led
many of the disciples to believe that St. John would be one of those
who should be found alive at the second coming of the Messiah. An-
other prophetic declaration of our Lord was similarly misunderstood :
"Verily I say unto you, that there be some of them which stand ^ere
which shall not taste of death until they have seen the kingdom of
God come with power." This prophecy, which the best commentators
apply to the destruction of Jerusalem, was, by many Greek Christians,
supposed to refer to the second advent ; and the story of the Wander-
g Jew was probably invented to support the truth of the interpreta-
rhis was very naturally suggested to the Greeks by their own
nati mal legend of Prometheus, whose immortality of woe, fettered to
rocks of the Caucasus, with a vulture eternally preying upon his
THE WANDERING JEW. 51
liver, had been rendered familiar to them by the noblest poem that
ever proceeded from an uninspired pen.
The first direct mention of the Wandering Jew dates in the year
1215, when his story was made known to the learned of that day by
an Armenian prelate, who came on a pilgrimage to the relics of the
saints, which the Crusaders had brought from the Levant to England.
According to this episcopal pilgrim, who averred that he had seen and
conversed with the wanderer, the name of the hapless Jew was Carto-
philus ; a name which not a little strengthens the theory of the Greek
origin of the legend. He was a subordinate officer in Pilate's court ;
one of the many chronicles which have repeated the story, calls him
l< the crier;" and, when Jesus was condemned, he struck him a violent
blow on the back, and pushing him towards the infuriate crowd, ex-
claimed, " On with thee, Jesus ! wherefore dost thou tarry ?" Jesus
turned round, and, with a severe accent, replied, " I go ; but thou must
tarry until I come !" The doom was no sooner pronounced than Car-
tophilus found himself irresistibly hurried onwards from his family and
friends, compelled to be a vagabond and wanderer on the face of the
earth, without ever finding any relaxation from his toils. After wan-
dering over the whole of the East, he was converted and baptized by
the same Ananias who baptized St. Paul, when he took the name of
Joseph. Baptism, however, could not efface the curse ; he still con-
tinues his erratic life, and looks daily for the second coming of the
Messiah. Every hundred years he is seized with a strange malady,
which brings him to the very point of death ; but, after remaining for
several days in a trance, he awakes, restored to the same condition of
youth and health which he possessed when he insulted our Saviour.*
The chroniclers of the fourteenth century, in relating this legend,
< -hanged the name of Joseph into Isaac Lackedem or Lackedion, and
omitted the fine incident of his periodical renovation. The ballad
which we have translated is founded on this version of the story, which
was generally received in Brabant. Indeed, he visited this country,
recording to the Brabantine Chronicle, in 1575. Notwithstanding the
meanness of his apparel, he was found to be a man of superior educa-
tion, for "he spoke better Spanish than any nobleman in the court of
the Duke of Alva."
Goethe's travestie of the story is derived from an earlier appearance
of the Wandering Jew in Europe. On the Easter Sunday of the year
1542, two German students encountered him in a church in Ham-
burgh, listening to the sermon with great attention and devotion. He
\vas a very tall man, with white hair that reached below the middle of
Ms back, and a beard that extended to his girdle ; though the weather
was still cold, his feet were naked ; his dress, which the chronicler de-
scribes with edifying particularity, consisted of a sailor's trowsers " a
world too wide for his shrunk shanks," a tight-fitting vest, and a large,
loose cloak. He readily entered into conversation with the students,
tilling them that his name was Ahasuerus, and that he had been a
thriving shoemaker at the time of Christ's crucifixion. Impelled
by the vulgar passion for excitement, which collects crowds to wit-
ness executions, rather than by religious bigotry, or personal ran-
cour, he formed one of the multitude which surrounded the judgment-
* Godwin has introduced this part of the legend into his singular romance of St.
Leon.
E2
52 LEAVES OF LEGENDARY LORE.
seat of Pilate, and clamoured for the release of Barabbas. When
Jesus was condemned, he hastened home to give his wife and children
an opportunity of seeing the procession which was to pass by their
doors. When Jesus came up the street, he staggered under the
weight of the cross, and fell against the wall of the house. Ahasuerus
repulsed him rudely, and pointing to Calvary, the appointed place of
punishment, which was visible in the distance, said, " Get on, blas-
phemer, to thy doom !" Jesus replied, " I will stop and rest ; but you
shall march onward until I return." He was instantly hurried for-
wards by an irresistible impulse, and never afterwards knew rest.
Ahasuerus, according to the report of the students, was a man of few
words, very abstemious in his mode of living ; accepting alms only for
the purpose of distributing them to the poor, and at the same time so-
liciting their prayers, that he might be blessed with the boon of death.
Twenty years later Ahasuerus appeared in Strasburg, where he re-
minded the magistrates that he had passed through the place two cen-
turies before, a fact which was verified by a reference to the police
registers of the city ! He inquired rather affectionately after the stu-
dents with whom he had spoken at Hamburgh, and declared that since
his conversation with them he had visited the remotest parts of the
Eastern Indies. It is recorded that he spoke German with very great
purity, and had not the slightest foreign accent.
In "1604, the Wandering Jew visited France ; "The true history of
his life, taken from his own lips," was printed at Bourdeaux, in 1608 ;
and his " Complaint," set to a popular air, was a very favourite ballad.
The learned Louvet saw him, mi a Sunday, at Beauvais, coming from
mass. He was surrounded by a crowd of women and children, to whom
he recounted anecdotes of Christ's passion in so affecting a manner as
to draw tears from the most obstinate eyes, and to unloose the strings
of the tightest purses. On this occasion, he asked for alms with a lofty
tone of superiority, as if he was conferring, instead of receiving, a fa-
vour. His appearance excited great emotion throughout France ; some
being alarmed at such a portentous apparition, and others affecting to
be edified by the instructive narratives he related. Indeed, for nearly
twenty years, about this time, several impostors made large sums of
money by personating the Wandering Jew.
Passing over some vague accounts of his being seen at Salamanca,
Venice, and Naples, in which last city he was rather successful as a
gambler, we find that he visited Brussels on the 22nd of April, 1771,
and sat for his portrait, to illustrate the ballad composed on his inter-
view with certain of the burgesses some centuries before. The por-
trait was graven on wood, and copies of it may be seen suspended in
most of the cottages of Belgium, where his legend has always been
more popular than anywhere else. In fact, the two great objects of
hero-worship among the Flemings are the Wandering Jew and Na-
poleon.
Dr. Southey has based The Curse of Kehama " on this legend ; and
Dr. Croly has made it the subject of his gorgeous romance, Salathiel ;
but the fiction has never laid hold of Unpopular mind in England, as it
has m France and Germany, though there are few superior to it in the
power of captivating the imagination.
53
CHRISTMAS EVE.
THE STORY OF A SKULL.
BY HENRY CURLING.
I ONCE spent a merry Christmas at a regular old-style country man-
sion in Yorkshire, where the yule-clog, the hudening-horse, and the
morris-dance, together with all the time-honoured observances of " the
old age," were most scrupulously and sacredly held in especial rever-
ence and delight during that festive season. Alas ! well-a-day ! such
practices and pastimes are fast fading away in merrie England, even
from our remembrance ! 'Tis a cold, calculating, and selfish age, my
masters ! this that we have fallen upon. The good old customs of for-
mer times are now considered slow, unworthy, and ridiculous ; conse-
quently they have been altogether reformed, and refined away.
As I am not about to give another version of Bracebridge Hall in
this paper, I shall not, therefore, describe the jovialities, and the varie-
ties of diversion, which followed fast upon each other during the de-
lightful visit I have before hinted at. Suffice it, there were all sorts of
revels, masques, games, dances, and even a play toward ; whilst no-
thing was omitted which could by possibility contribute to pass away the
lazy-footed time, and ease the anguish of a torturing hour, should one
be found, that at all hung on hand. Such, however, was not likely to
be the case in a hospitable and ample mansion, situate upon the wolds
of canny Yorkshire, and in which were assembled a party composed
of several members of those families of condition resident in the
immediate neighbourhood; most of them related to the host and
hostess, and picked and culled, from their known conviviality and ami-
ability of disposition. My own introduction was accidental ; I was
visiting on the wolds, and consequently introduced by my invited
friends there. It was after a somewhat noisy revel on Christmas-eve,
and on which we had been rehearsing the play intended to be produced
a few nights afterwards, as we were seated cozily around the ample
fire-place, watching the crackling log upon the hearth, and listening
to dark December's snow-storm against the casements, that story-tell-
ing commenced. Now came in "the sweet o' the night," as old
Falstatf words it, 'twas the very witching hour, when churchyards
yawned, and graves stood tenantless, accordingly, many and awful
were the ghostly stories and withered murders then and there re-
counted. Hebe faces then might be observed crouching more nearly
to their protecting partners of the dance ; and even the hostess, as she
drew her high-backed chair closer to the hearth, was fain to glance "a far-
off look "into the gloom of the old oak-paneled hall we were seated in.
Amongst the stories related on that night was one which, perhaps,
more from the manner of its relation, and the appearance of the narra-
tor, than from anything else, particularly interested me. The narrator
was an officer on half-pay, a remarkably stern-looking, sedate, and
Quixotic -visaged individual; he was a Cornish man, but lately return-
ed from foreign parts, where, since childhood, he had been a wanderer
and an exile ; a true soldier of fortune, who had seen the sun rise and
set in foreign parts, till his own country, when he returned to it,
seemed the only spot of earth where he had neither kindred nor friends
to greet him, and whose customs and manners were now totally at va-
54 CHRISTMAS EVE.
riance with his habits and tastes. He was, however very distantly re-
lated to our hostess; and but lately landed in England, laden with an
accumulation of rupees which he had neither health nor wish to make
use of Fifty years had elapsed since, a youth, he had left his home ;
and now, as the poet says, there came a worn-out man. He stalked
about, I remember, during this visit with a most unbending presence,
watching all that was going on, but taking no part in the diversion.
At the present time, as more than one ghost was dilated upon, the
bright eyes of several of the young ladies sought and dwelt upon the
Bois-Guilbert visage of the stern-looking soldier. At length his turn
,
"Come," said the squire, "now let's have your tale, Colonel Pen-
ruddock. Methinks one who hath put a girdle round about the globe,
and ' in the spiced Indian air' so long been sojourner, must have seen
many things worthy of record."
The Colonel's iron visage slowly relaxed ; he drew himself up, look-
ed around, and smiled, after a sort, Tales of flood and field, cap-
tures by an insolent foe, deeds of blood, he said, were not exactly
sport for ladies. He must be held excused : in sooth, he must
" Not for the worth of his commission," said the squire, " shall he
escape. A song, a story, or a quart of salt and water, one or other
shall go round the circle, though we sit by the fire till the early village
cock salute the morn."
" What shall 't be ?" said the militaire, " a tale of gramarie, a love-
story, or a murder?"
" Most hands up for love and murder," cried the squire. " Murder
has it ; I thought so ; all the ladies are for deeds of horror. Begin,
murderer ! begin ! leave your damnable faces, and begin !"
The Colonel cleared his brazen throat with a preliminary cough or
bo, and commenced his story with military brevity.
THE SOLDIER'S STOBY.
" Near the village of Abbots Lillington, in Cumberland, in the year
1616, stood a small church, of Saxon architecture : on the right of the
overgrown pathway of the hungry-looking churchyard, on Christmas-
eve of that same year, yawned a newly-dug grave.
" The sun was setting upon the walls of that old grey tower, as a
stranger slowly took his walk of meditation amongst the tombs. Ever
and anon, as he paused to decipher some moss-covered epitaph upon
the sunken grave-stones on either hand, his ear caught the sounds of
mirth and revelry, which floated upon the evening breeze from the
distant hamlet. Wrapped in his own imaginings, as he continued to
saunter onwards, he gradually approached within a few yards of the
newly-made grave, and his eye rested upon a skull, which Goodman
Delver had that morning thrown up.
" The stranger paused, and gazed intently upon the poor remains
before him. What he thought, or what the reflections this bleaching
fragment of mortality called forth, is not at all necessary to the story.
Perhaps, amongst other things, it struck him for the first time that it
was a somewhat hard case, when even the sexton's spade could give
no secure and certain resting-place, but that in the cold damp grave,
like an inn or caravansera, the old guest was made to turn out to give
room for later company.
" Suddenly the stranger started, and, just as he was about to turn
away, gazed more intently at the skull.
THE STORY OF A SKULL. 55
" There was nothing very uncommon in a skull thus lying upon the
Fresh mould, which had so recently been thrown up from a newly-dug
.^rave, but that which followed was a trifle more extraordinary ; for,
is the stranger gazed upon the skull, he distinctly beheld it move.
Starting back a pace or two, he involuntarily shook his riding-cloak
from his shoulder, and laid his hand upon his rapier.
" ' Pshaw ! ' said he, smiling at his own folly, ' what an idiot I am,
10 grasp my hilt in opposition to a decaying piece of bone like this !
How full of shapes is fancy ! '
" Just as he was about to turn and leave the spot, again he distinctly
beheld the skull move. This time he was convinced that it was not his
lancy which had deceived him. The skull continued in motion ; and,
rolling off the ridge of earth it had before lain on, actually reached the
pathway, and struck the toe of his heavy riding-boot. Still more asto-
nished, he kicked the skull from his path, and out rolled a great lump
of poison, in the shape of a huge, bloated, overgrown toad !
" The stranger had been a soldier in his time, and even now had
returned to his native land, after many years of toil and service. In
fact, he was one of those adventurous blades who, following the fashion
of the time, set by Sir Walter Raleigh, and other choice and master-
spirits of his age, had for many years buffeted the broad waves of the
Atlantic, in search of unknown islands and continents, which existed
but in their own heated brains. He had sold his own lands, as Rosa-
lind has it, to see other men's ; and returned to his native country to
find his kith and kin for the most part dead, and his inheritance in the
hands of strangers.
" He felt rather annoyed with himself for being thus startled at so
Mmple a circumstance as that of a toad having taken shelter in a dead
man's skull, and, in the endeavour at emancipating itself, caused it to
roll to his feet. With a ' hah ! ' and a fierce twist at his moustache,
he stooped, and picked up the skull.
" The sundry contemplation of his travels had, doubtless, wrapped
lam in a most humorous sadness, and it is likely he moralized, cu-
riously as the royal Dane, upon the memento in his hand. Whether,
however, it was the pate of a politician, * one that would circumvent
God,' or that of a courtier, who praised my Lord Such-an-one's horse
when he meant to beg it, or whether it was the t skull of a lawyer,
with his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks,' he did not give
liimself time enough to consider; for, as he turned it over and over in
las hand, to his surprise, he discovered that, just above the right ear,
a twenty-penny nail had been driven into it. Struck with the cir-
cumstance, he examined it yet more attentively, and found the nail
Lad evidently lain in the earth as long as the skull itself, the decom-
posing iron having formed a red stain, an indelible mark upon the
bone, of at least half an inch in breadth, around the spot where it had
been driven in.
" The circumstance of a skull, with a rusty nail sticking in it,
having rolled to his feet, was somewhat curious, independent of the fact
that an overgrown toad had been its inside-passenger.
" ' Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ;
Augurs, and understood relations, have
By maggot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth
The secret'st man of blood !
Yes ! blood will have blood, they say.'
56 CHRISTMAS EVE.
It was singular, to say the least of it. The nail was firmly fixed
and rusted in the skull; it had evidently been driven in whilst the
wearer of the head was in life, or rather life in him.
" ( 'T must have been a curious pia mater/ said the traveller, if it
bore this infliction, and kept its functions ergo, some lewd son of Be-
lial hath done a murder upon this osfrontts.'
" Clapping the skull beneath his cloak, the stranger looked around
him. ' The crow was winging to the rooky wood,' the gloaming ap-
proached, and once more he was about to turn and leave the church-
yard, when, from the porch of the old tower, where he had been taking
his evening nap, after depositing his pick and spade, hobbled forth old
Martin Delver, the sexton. You might see, by his earthy look, that
he gained his living by making the narrow house of the dead ; and,
accordingly, the traveller stopped the old muck-worm as he was about
to pass, and accosted him.
" ' Did you make that grave there, old man ?' said he.
" ' Fa's doutin' that ?' returned the digger sulkily. ' I 've made a
pretty many on 'em in my time here. Speak up ! I 'm hard o'
hearin'.'
" ' You 're sexton here, then, I presume ?'
" ' Fat 's yur wull ?'
" ' You 're a Scot, I find. How long have you been sexton here ?'
" ' A Scot am 'e ? fa 's doutin' that ? I 've been sexton here any
time these four-and-thretty years ; and I '11 dig a grave wi' living mon
by the same token. I were in the trade in my ain kintra before I
crossed the border.'
" ' And you really dug this grave ?'
" ' Hout tout ! who but I ? I 'm sexton, I tell ye ! Dug yon grave,
quotha ! I 'd like to see the mon would dig its equal ! arn't she a
beauty ? I '11 scoop ye out a hole in this churchyard, if yer needing
one while ye stay here at Lillington. Here, just step up, and look in.
Now, that 's what I calls a bonny piece of workmanship. Yes, yer a
pretty man enough. I 'd like to make yer grave. Six feet twa, if yer
an inch, without the chopines/
The stranger smiled. < Thanks, friend, thanks !' said he. " No,
no, good sexton ; I trust I shall not need your art ; and hope the ser-
vice will not be required, good delver, till you yourself have long been
debtor for the same good turn to your successor, ay, till your old
pate is as fleshless and decayed as this skull I hold in my hand. And,
now tell me, sexton ! since you say you have dug every grave here for
the last forty years, have you any idea who that piece of bone belonged
to?'
kenitweel: by the same token, I buried the mon twa-and-twenty
years agone, as owned it. Ye took it up frae this mould here.'
" * I '11 not deny it, sexton,' returned the traveller, keeping the old
man back ; ' more pertains, perhaps, to this head-piece than you think
for. Hold ! there 's a dollar for thee ; let that content ye, old man :
and now, tell me truly, since you say you buried it some two-and-twen-
ty years ago, to whom did the skull belong, and how did its owner
" The old sexton didn't half relish this examination from one whom
THE STORY OF A SKULL. 57
he had never seen before. He evidently thought the place had its pri-
vilege; and that the secrets of the grave should be respected ; however,
the touch of a Spanish dollar somewhat mollified his testy humour, and
untied his tongue.
" ' That skull/ said he, ' belonged to one I know well. Mony a
mutchkin ha'e we tossed off together in his time ; mony 's the pottle-
pot we ha'e drank out ! Ah ! it 's pleasant to remember the jolly
nights I ha'e had wi' some o' the tenants of this churchyard ! and then
to think, as I do, how I 've pit 'em all to bed my ainsel, with the pick
and shovel. There, on that mound, where your foot rests, lies my ain
father; it's just six-and-twenty years agone sin I put him there wi'
my ain hands. That mound on your left is my mother's grave. Yon-
dor, awa' there, nearer the wall, just under that spout wi' the ugly
face, lies my youngest brother, Walter. The Duke's head keeper gied
him the death of a fat buck one night, for walking too late amongst
the fern by moonlight. Yonder, awa' to his right, lies my wife hout !
ay! Aweel aweel ! I'm eldest o' seven sons; and I've lived to
eurth 'em all with my ain hands, like decent Christian souls ! I should
hu' grieved at any other body putting my family i' the earth.'
" The stranger plainly saw that the easiest way to come at what he
wished to learn was, to let this eccentric old sexton run himself
aground before he proceeded to question him further. He was evidently
a character ; and custom had not only made grave-digging a habit of
easiness, but 'twas evidently a labour of love ; he was quite an enthu-
siast in his profession, and took as much delight in giving the last
finishing touch to his tenement of clay, as a sculptor would in chisel-
ling from the Medicean Venus, or a painter, in perfecting a Madonna !
" ( And, how about the future tenant of this last grave you have
finished, did you know him, too ?' he continued.
" ' It 's for a young 'oman, that a lying-in 'oman, and her babe :
no, I did na ken her/
" ' 'Tis no matter/ said the stranger to himself. ' I shall earth the
incorrigible old fellow here at last. Arid so, then, you Ve many old
friends about you in this churchyard, you say ?'
"'Hout! ay! it's pleasant to have one "'s old friends around one,
ain't it ? I 've outlived all my kith, and kin, and auld acquaintance, in
these parts, I have. There 's a new world in the village, now ; all
the old hands are here ; and, as I canna tak my pipe wi' 'em, as I used
to do, at the public, why, I e'en come up, and bring my stoup o' licker,
on fine nights, and smoke it amongst my acquaintances here. I pay
'em reg'Jar periodical visits, I do. Sometimes I comes and has a chat
wi feather : we goes over the old stories exactly as we used, twenty
years agone, in the ingle nook. Sometimes I visits my brothers; and
sometimes I pays a visit *
"To your wife, I dare be sworn?' said the traveller.
'"Na! na! we bean't on visiting terms, she and I; we 're fairly
divorced, praised be God for 't !'
"Well, then; your old friend here, the owner of this skull;
you've smoked many a pipe over his clay, I suppose?'
'* 'Ay, have I! I always gied him a libation, as the saying is. I
poured half my stoup on his mound, for mortal weel did he love the
licker in his life-time. He wur landlord of the Shin o' Beef and Sad-
dlt bags down in the village yonder.'
"'So!' said the traveller; 'and, did the liquor he loved so well
58 CHRISTMAS EVE.
prove fatal to him at last? did he die of pint-stoups and half-
inutchkins ?'
" ' Nae ; I cannot just answer that. He died o the sudden some-
what : he wur found by 's wife dead in his bed one morning !'
" ' Were there any circumstances about his death which led folks at
the time to think his end extraordinary, did you ever hear ?'
" ' Extraordinar', did ye say ? Noa ; not that I ever heard. He died
of an apoplex' in 's sleep, there 's nought very extraordinar' in that !
I wur wi' him the very night afore, taking a glass of canary in his bar.
I remember he rated Will Ostler soundly that night, and swore he 'd
discharge him next morning, for making away wi' the aits out o' the
girnel-kist. I mind weel the wife took Will's part ; and he went aff
to 's bed in rage at 'em baith. Doubtless the passion he wur in brought
on the fit/
" ' Did you see him after he was dead ?'
" ' Troth, did I ! I seed him after the mistress had strekkit the
corpse.'
" ' How did he look ?'
" f Why, just like any other mon dead in a fit how should he look ?
just as ye wad look in a fit o' apoplex' ; and I buried him here, as I
told* ye. I '11 bury ye, if ye stay here long enough. I 'd like to ha'e
the digging of your grave, for I 've rather ta'en a liking to ye/
" ' Pshaw !' said the stranger, turning away, ' I like not such jest-
ing, old man, upon so grave a subject.'
" ' Ha ! ha ! good ! good !' returned the sexton, with a sort of se-
pulchral laugh, which seemed to come from his stomach, and had an
unnatural sound. ' It's no jesting I am. I '11 pit ye i' the earth, sure
as you stand up before me I 'm sure on 't !'
" ' Harkee !' said the stranger, who began not to like the turn the
conversation was taking, ' you said but now that you knew the wife of
the landlord of the Shin of Beef; is she alive ?'
" * Ay, is she ! she keeps t' house yonder/
" ' What ! then she married again, did she ?'
" ' Ay, did she ; she married Will Ostler him as I told ye of,
rather o'er soon arter the first mon's death, I 'm thinking.'
" ' How soon ?'
" ' Why, three months arterwards/
" ' Good !' said the traveller, musing deeply.
" * Na ; 'twasn't good, neither ; folks hereawa' said 't were d d
bad !' struck in the sexton.
" 'What manner of man is the landlord of the Shin of Beef? Do
you ever take your pipe and mutchkin with him, as you used to do
with his predecessor ?'
" ' Na ! na ! I dinna like the chiel well enough ; he 's but a dour,
down-looking mon. I don't go to 's house ava ! there 's a something
tells me I shall never have him in my churchyard here. 1 'm seldom
out in my reckoning ; and.1 '11 nae hesitate to say yon man 's not for the
earth ava ; he '11 never lay i' the earth ! he 's either for the air or the
water, that chiel, tak my word for 't ! An the kites and crows dinna
pick out 's een, the eels will/
" ' I begin to think so,' said the stranger, ' from what you have told
me. Well, good sexton ! the air is somewhat cold here, and the sleet
begins to fall: I shall now wish ye good-night. Perchance I may re-
quire your services again/
THE STORY OF A SKULL. 59
"''Troth will ye!' said the sexton, seating himself upon a square,
flat tomb, beside which he had stood, and, taking out his pipe and tin-
der-box, ' troth will ye j and sooner than you think for, too !'
" ' About this skull, I mean,' said the traveller.
" 'What ! ye 're no going to take Master Phillpot away wi' ye !' said
the sexton sharply. ' I 'se no permit him to leave/
" ' Rest ye content,' said the traveller, gathering his cloak about him,
and taking the skull beneath it ; ' I must do so ; Master Phillpot must
go with me to-night ; but I promise you he shall return, sexton ; and
you shall once more have the pleasure of burying your old friend.'
' '' ' Ay, shall I ?' said the sexton sulkily ; ' and you, too ; tak my
word for 't, I 'm never deceived, I arn't ! Good night, sir ! good
night! Yes; I'll pit him i' the earth before this day week! Ay,
gang yer way ! I see the death-mark on yon man's brow as plain as
I see that yew-tree before me there ; and that 'minds me I '11 pit him
in that very spot there, under yon yew ! Ay, will I ; and I '11 begin
his grave first thing to-morrow morn. Nae ; not to-morrow to-mor-
row's Christmas-day ! Ay, 'twas this very night, twa-and-twenty
years agone, that Phillpot and I foregathered together in his bar for
the last time. Aweel ! aweel, Phillpot ! I did nae think ye would ha'e
left; this churchyard as ye ha'e done the night wi' yon stranger !
Aweel ! aweel ! ye went awa' together, and together will ye return
here !'
" Half an hour after the conversation we have thus recorded, a tall,
military-looking man entered the hostel of Abbots Lillington, and
made his way into the kitchen, or common apartment thereof. It was
Christmas eve, as we have before said, and the host and hostess, toge-
ther with all the servants of the little inn, and several guests, were
seated around the ample fire upon the hearth, discussing the good cheer
customary at the season. The song, the story, and the Christmas carol
were duly seasoned with the hot spicy liquor, and the mistletoe and
holly-branch garnished every part of the roof.
f ' ' A guest,' said the landlady, rising and coming forward. ' Will
your honour be pleased to walk this way ? We Ve a good warm fire
in the sanded parlour.'
" ( Thanks, hostess,' returned the stranger, ' I will so, more espe-
cially as I would fain speak with ye on business of import, connected
with your late husband.'
" The hostess paused, and her alacrity seemed to leave her. ' My
late husband ! ' said she ; ' business about him, said ye, sir ?'
" ' Even so/ returned the traveller. f He died possessed of pro-
perty in other lands, and which, perhaps, you, having been his se-
cond wife, was not aware of. I must speak with you alone for a few
minutes/
" The hostess seemed rather taken aback : she turned towards her
husband.
" ' Get a candle, Margery, in the parlour,' said the host. ' Go, wife ;
hear what the gentleman has to tell us of. An' he bring money of old
Phillpots, it shall be welcome ! '
" The hostess looked hard at the stranger, and, leading the way to
the parlour, he followed.
You know me not, hostess,' said he, after shutting the door,
and taking off his high-crowned beaver, ' you know me not, I dare
say ; nevertheless I am native here/
60 CHRISTMAS EVE.
" ' I cannot say I have the least recollection of your features, sir,'
returned the hostess.
" ' 'Tis very like/ said the traveller. ' You may, however, remem-
ber the circumstance of Sir Nautilus Seaward parting with Mouldy
Hall to the Earl of Cumberland, investing all his money in ships for
the western voyage, and joining the expedition under Sir Walter Ra-
leigh, some five-and-twenty years agone ?'
" The traveller was a tall," swarthy-looking cavalier, with high fea-
tures, and a keen dark eye ; his hair was thin, and partially grey ; and
in his sunken and sun-burnt cheek was to be seen the traces of
both climate and disease ; ' war, and care, and toil ' had evidently
f ploughed his very soul from out his brow.'
" ' Perchance the mother that him bore,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan cheek and sun-burn'd hair
She had not known her child.'
" The hostess again looked hard at him ; she evidently did not re-
cognise his features.
" ' To be sure, I remember that/ said she, ' since it was Sir Nau-
tilus Seaward who set my husband up in this tavern when he left the
country. I recollect, too, although I was but young at the time, how
the ships were said to have been built on a Friday, launched on a Fri-
day, and set sail on a Friday. They were all wrecked, I 've heard ;
at least they were never heard of more in these parts/
" * They were lost/ said the traveller, with a sigh, ' though all did
not perish, as you may surmise ; for I am Sir Nautilus Seaward/
"'What has this to do with my husband, sir/ said the hostess,
something re-assured.
" ' Much/ returned the traveller, ' since I had transactions with him
before I left the country. Pray, tell me, how did he die, Mrs. Snake ?
I believe that 's your present name, is it not ?'
" ( It is, sir/ returned the hostess. ' He died of apoplexy. I found
him dead in his bed.'
" t You 're sure he died of apoplexy ?' said the stranger sharply,
' quite sure of that, Mrs. Snake ? God bless me ! what a sharp pain I
feel across my head here ! It 's just as if a nail was being driven into
my brain ! '
" ' God be here ! ' said the hostess, turning deadly pale ; ' what mean
ye, sir ?'
"'Nothing/ said the traveller; < 'tis gone. 'Twas a sharp pang,
however, just as though a twenty-penny nail had been driven into
my skull !
" The hostess sank into the chair beside her ; whilst the traveller,
stepping to the door, beckoned to a man who was in waiting there.
' Take charge of this woman, constable ; allow her neither to call
out nor move till I return.' So saying, the stranger left the room
abruptly, as the hostess fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor.
"After leaving the room, Sir Nautilus Seaward walked straight to
the kitchen, and, making his way through the circle of guests, placed
his back to the blazing fire, and fixed his eye upon the landlord, a
stout, broad-shouldered, sulky-looking fellow, who was seated in the
chimney corner. There was a something so steady and so stern in
the knights gaze, that the man, although he could not for a moment
endure it, at length grew angry under its infliction, and, rising from
THE STORY OF A SKULL. 61
his seat, fumbled at his girdle, as if seeking for some weapon to rid
himself of his tormentor ; whilst the whole assemblage, the good
cheer marred, and their mirth stayed by the intrusion of the stranger,
and the oddity of his bearing, awaited the result in a silence which
grew at length quite painful.
"The knight was still enveloped in his ample riding-cloak, and, as
he stood before the light of the fire, he seemed a form of giant-height.
Still keeping his eye fixed upon the host, he thus addressed him :
"'You were once the ostler of this inn, sir?' he began.
" e I thank thee for the news,' said the other surlily.
" ' And married your master's widow, after his death ?'
" ' Again I 'm bounden to ye for the information/ said the host.
" ' Three months after ! ' continued the knight sharply.
" ' I shall be more bounden to ye still, if ye mind your own busi-
ness, and trouble yourself less with mine,* said the host, growing more
angry.
" ' Your master died suddenly, I think ?' continued the stranger.
" ' You think right, then/
" c Exactly on this night, two-and- twenty years ago?'
" ' More or less.'
" < What did he die of, sir ?'
< A fit/
"' Of what sort?'
" ' How can I tell ? You 'd best ask the doctor," if you want to
know. A fit of drunkenness like as not/
" ' Were there not circumstances connected with his death which
were considered extraordinary at the time ?'
" The host grew uneasy, his bearing became less resolute ; that se-
cret fear, which is ever present with the guilty, warned him that
danger hovered near. He became less dogged, and his eye glanced
towards the door, whilst his cross-examiner mercilessly hurried his
questions upon him.
" ' Did you see the body after death ?'
" ' What ! me ? me see the body ?' said the host, with a shudder.
f Noa, noa, not I ! not for worlds would I have look'd on't ! that is I
Margery, lass ! Where 's the missus all this time ? I '11 go seek her/
" ' Stay, sir,' said the traveller, ' I 've further trade with you. Who
did examine Roger Phillpot's body? Some one, I conceive, was em-
ployed to ascertain the cause of his demise ?'
" ' The leech of the village saw him,' said the host.
" ' Where is that leech ?'
" { Dead and buried, many years agone/
" ' What did he say ?'
" ( Why, that he died of a fit : I told you so before. He was found
doad in 's bed he died suddenly/
" 'Well might he die suddenly ! ' cried the knight, instantly bringing
forth the skull from beneath his cloak, and thrusting it in the very
face of the astounded landlord, ' well might he die suddenly, when
you drove a nail into his brain, villain ! '
ct The landlord glanced one glance at the grinning deah's-head, ut-
tered a piercing cry, and attempted to fly from the apartment ; but the
knight closed with, and arrested him.
" ' Your wife, caitiff, hath confessed all to me in the next apart-
ment ! ' said he, grasping the collar of his doublet. ' Yield thee ! '
62 CHRISTMAS EVE.
< Nay, then/ said the host, grappling with his enemy, ' 'tis useless
to deny the fact. I '11 ha'e a spat at thee, however.' In saying this,
he assaulted the knight in his turn, and both went down together.
" Sir Nautilus, who had seen many a stricken field, and brought
away more than one scar in token, succeeded in getting his antagonist
beneath him ; and calling to the astonished spectators, desired them to
assist in securing the murderer of Roger Phillpot. Several of the
guests, accordingly, rushed upon the prostrate host, and secured him ;
whilst Sir Nautilus rose, though not altogether scatheless, from the
fray.
" In his struggle with the murderer of Roger Phillpot he had still
held fast to that respected publican's ill-used brain-pan, and, in falling,
the twenty-penny nail had pierced deeply into his hands. Disregard-
ing the wound, he took order for the security of the prisoner, and his
being brought forthwith to justice.
" Before morning's dawn, however, owing to the shattered state of
his constitution, sharp and racking pains attacked the hand and arm,
violent fever supervened^his pulse beat rapidly as the strokes of a full-
ing-mill, and, in twenty-four hours from the time of his finding the
skull in Abbots Lillington churchyard, he was seized with lock-jaw.
"It was exactly a week after Christmas day of the year 1616, that
old Martin Delver was to be seen, about the hour of noon, labouring
in his vocation, burrowing like the blind-mole, and throwing up little
hillocks of mould in the aforesaid churchyard. He stood about shoul-
der-deep in the pit he was then making to order, and Phillpot's skull
once more rested upon the turned-up earth, on the margin of a new-
made grave. Ever and anon, as he paused to wipe off the sweat from
his brow, he regarded his sometime crony's head-piece with infinite
satisfaction and self-complacency. As they were thus face to face, he
lightened his toil with an occasional chat :
" ' Ha ! Phillpot,' said he, ' so ye 're come awa' hame again, have
ye ? Weel, weel ; ye 've borne testimony i' the Court-house yonder,
like an honest, decent mon ; an' I respect ye for 't. You 've convicted
that ill-fared loon and his wife, and, doubtless, they '11 swing for 't
fine that ! Hout, ye daft gomeril ye ! but ye were always a sly rogue \
pit
auld yew, and he '11 lie snug and pleasant enough. He was a decent,
civil body yon ; and I think I ha'e dug him out as handsome a grave
as any in the hale kintra side. Troth ! but he suld ha'e lain in the
vault yonder ; for he came o' gentle bluid. But then, they say, he was
but a puir body, though he was a knight ; so he mun e'en rest content
wi' what I ha e done for him here.' "
The Colonel said, and glanced around the circle " the whole quire "
were in a deep and balmy slumber the yule-clog had expired, the
wassail bowl was empty
"Night's candles were burnt out, and jocund day
Stood tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops."
Winning, therefore, a pair of gloves from the prettiest girl in the
room, with Tarquin's ravishing strides, he betook himself to his
truckle-bed.
63
THE GALANTI-SHOW;
OR,
LAUGHTER AND LEARNING ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
BY JACK GOSSAMER, PPP.S.S.B.
RAILROAD PHILOSOPHER EXTRAORDINARY TO THE MILLION.
SHOWMAN. Now, my merry customers, my show is meant for all.
For, though it looks but fun at best, I assure you there 's a moral.
The current of my talk goes smooth ; yet you can't tell how deep the
thing may run ; but, if you '11 lend your ears a while, it will strike you
every one.
"Punch in the eye."
1 1 must be confess'd that, at best, the world is but a show ; For how
one half of it lives the other half, I 'm sure, can never know. We are
all puppets, and do, like them, the most ridiculous things, Acting as
wildly in the scene when passion pulls the strings. When first we
are born, what is there then to mark us from the rest ? We may be
beggars, or be kings, like puppets, 'till we 're dress'd.- Therefore, I do
confirm what you all ought to know, Life, at best, is but a jest, the
world is but a show.
I have been very exact in "noting down " every fact, or "throwing
up " each funny act, to make a volume of mirth compact. There 's
drawing, and music, and science, and physic for the skyantific ; and
logic and laming, to suit the xiiscarning; and philosophy, for those that
L'ee-ant-jly ; and am lie-censed by authority to have a great my-JAW-
rity.
So just gather round, and keep silence profound, Till my yarn I
have spun, which recordeth the fun of the months, one by one ; for
in this my mission I have seen, by intuition, mankind and womankind
in every shade of condition. Then witness my grand exhibition.
64
THE GALANTI-SHOW.
The Pig Piano.
SCENE I. A NEW INVENTION.
Music springs from the rocks, if any one knocks ; In fact, she is
everywhere in natur : in the air, in the sea, in the earth hid, you
see, buried in the hardest of strata : in such commonplace things
her melody rings : we scarcely expect you believers. When people
get married, they are played upon, and carried, we mean the mar-
row-bones and cleavers. Mr. Hullah is next in and out most per-
pkxed unravels the thread in a minute. No babies now squall ; he
makes them sing small, and sees nothing difficult in it. But this is
a joke to our pig in a. poke, a thing ne'er thought of before ; al-
though they 've been roasted, and as pickled been boasted, did you
ever see them as a score ? Scored pork in a line, I 'm told, 's very
Jine, with a very large flowery potaty ; and why should it fail in
a musical scale, if its grunt is sufficiently weighty ? I Ve no need
to speak of the little pig's squeak, which in music is so necessary ;
it gives all the grace to the old boar's bass, without which we
never should vary. So thus all the keys I can handle with ease,
while their tails to those irons are tied up ; they grunt at each pull,-
with a note round and full, as the octaves I gracefully slide up.
The object of this invention is to call public attention to the
state of musical society, now in a state of great satiety ; to bring
into existence, not genius from a distance, but to let the " creative"
be exclusively " native." And, as Irish pigs are sweetest, it is
certainly meetest to select from the mire-land of darling ould Ire-
land the best of the creatures that live on potatoes, to turn all
their mumblings, and squeakings, and grumblings to music delight-
ful, in spite of the spiteful, as the chink of the rint to Dan is at
this minit.
THE GALANTI-SHOW. 65
Then, ladies and gentlemen, wise men and simple men, with
souls all intent, look at this instrument. 'Tis made of my hog and I
(mahogany), and will bear all your scrutiny, like ripe " Yarmouth
bloaters," or Nottingham voters. 'Tis a bran-new piano, ev'ry hog
a soprano. Those Whites of Killarney give the natural blarney.
Those "Cork county blacks" are the sharps and the flats. Half
grunting, half squaking, half singing, half spaking. Each pig has
but one note coiled up in his throat, like the unvaried speech that
Roebuck can screech, trying vainly to rouse a half-empty house,
to look in a morning like a Jackass a-yawning. But each jockey a
finger, each saddle a springer, each stick is a hammer, on my
soul! 'tis no Cramer, each nose is a wire, and each octave a
choir !
Blessed machine ! 'twill be bringing a new-born grace to conven-
tional singing ! will stir up the Quakers, the Jumpers, and Shakers,
will rouse the Oxonians, cheer up Muggletonians, be better than
organs to all Swedenborgians, make musical schism back up Metho-
dism, give a tone to rank heresy of loveliest melody, and to all
sorts of ranters, and all sorts of canters, from field-preachers to
horse-chaunters, be a might and a power, each day and each hour;
arid thus will the Church be left in the lurcfe and sects not op-
pressed by the *' woman and beast," the saints shall have rest.
Sure this is the instrument that, to every intent, ought to be
prized, and Patronised, as it is sure to be the way to popularity ;
for it will give to the greatest of the three estates of the realm
greater power over the helm, always ready to overwhelm. It will
br.ng into action a new power to put a tax on. It will hasten re-
pale, and raise in the scale of music and civilization the Pigarchy,
the Svvinocracy, and Hogonomy of this great, grand, pure, thrivin', and
wonderful nation !
SONG FOR THE PIG-PIANO.
Arranged as a solo for four voices.
" The tooth-and-nail policy."
There were two tom-cats on a wall,
Both full of political gall,
Tommy Buff, and Tommy Blue ;
These two tom-cats on a wall,
Both full of political gall,
In a thundering passion flew.
'Twas " Patronage " made them to sigh,
In an Augean stable hard by,
Which brought the two lovers that way,
To give her a sweet serenade ;
And a pretty malrowing they made,
From the close to the break of the day !
With speeches like daggers they met,
And to it like tigers they set '
It was doubtful which was the stronger ;
They spat, and they scratch'd, and they swore;
Their poor mottled jackets they tore,
Till they could hold out no longer,
Miss Public awoke at the clatter,
Pop'd her head out and cried " What 's the matter ?"
And seem'd both angry and coolish.
VOL. XIII. p
6(3 THE GALANTI-SHOWT.
Says Tom Blue, " My sad plight only view !
I 've got this in fighting for you !
Says she, " That is devilish foolish !
Says Tom Buff, " I love you to distraction !
And promise no more to be tax on ^
I '11 renounce for your sake pelf and mammon.
Miss Public replied in a rage,
For nothing her wrath could assuage,
Old Nick fly away with your gammon !
"But," said he, " I have lost half my tail."
Says Miss Public, That does not avail.
I vow that my back it quite up is,
To think that two cats on a wall,
For the sake of political gall,
Should go for to act like two puppies !
MORAL.
Hear this, if you please !
Be not too hot !
Never stay measures good and great,
Because you 're in a " savage state ;"
Or it will surely be your fate
To go to pot,
Like pork and peas I
The next sight, ladies and gentlemen ! is a " sight of sights" a
scene seldom seen in this here most perfect of all possible worlds. The
idea is owin' to Mr. Owen, a great " mixed pickles " marchant, on the
principle of the parallelogram, who, not being able to make things
square well, has " gone round " to the disunited " United States " of
America.
" United States.
You see before you, ladies and gentlemen ! the representation of
Univarsal Harmony, parfect and complete, under the Queen's own
royal letters patent, and ready for delivery. And here you may see
hanimals of different, nay, of the most hopposite, natures, tied toge-
ther by the true-lovers' knots " plenty of wittles." It is a symbol of
the union which ought to subsist atween nations, and, if carried into
effect upon a " slidin* scale," would freeze the vorld into one broad,
waveless, iceful pacific " notion."
Liberty and equality for ever ! ladies and gentlemen ! that is to
say, have no " quality," which means " Free and Easy " all the vorld
o'er ; and here you behold a tableau of the Free-and-Easy System.
'Tis the union of parties, the knittin' together of " jarrin' sects," and
a " pictorial " personification of the " Society for the Confusion of Use-
less Knowledge," and of the " Bubble-and-Squeak School Society,"
THE GALANTI-SHOW. 67
" Every Boy his own Parson," and " Jack 's as good as his master/'
and 'tisn'i afraid of its own principles.
This part of the exhibition, ladies and gentlemen ! may be said to
stand alone, just as an empty sack won't. It is sue generous, i. e.
wastly good-humoured and liberal, as the cook was when she gov
an ay her misseses tea and sugar. Look at 'em, the pretty dears !
Can anything be more inwitin' ! There is the lion lyin' down by the
lamb, the fox dancin' a pas seul with the goose, rabbits sittin'
cheek-by-jowl with hawks, cats quadrillin' with rats, owls and
turtle-doves, puppy-dogs and monkeys, guinea-pigs and serpents,
- all regular Socialists, and makin' together, hindewidually and col-
lectively, a grand social system, and all alive !
MRS. MARVEL (putting on her specs). Hem ! hem ! Mr. Show-
man ! I am glad to hear you say the animals are all alive j for a gentle-
man positively assured me that they were stuffed.
SHOWMAN. It was all stuff, maarm, if he said they wasn't alive.
But they sartinly are stuffed, and well stuffed, too. The stuffiti is
the grand secret o' the whole concern.
MRS. MARVEL. But, is it not very cruel to the poor creatures to
cram them so ? Don't you come under Mr. Martin's act ?
SHOWMAN. Cruel, maarm ! I calculate you haven't cut your eye-
teeth yet ! The crammin' and the stuffin' system is more univarsal
than you seem to have any notion of. It begins as soon as we are born.
The Lord knows the quantity of pap, baked flour, tops and bottoms,
Dalfy's Elixir, Godfrey's Cordial, &c., we are stuffed with. Then,
when we gets to school, the crammin' system begins quite reg'lar.
Isn't Latin and Greek forced into us like gunpowder into a Congreve-
rocket ? and isn't a divinity degree the very essence of cram ? Then, look
at the crammers we tell the gals and the old maids, and (sometimes
the vives, and always the vidders ! And, don't lawyers cram us with
rhetoric, and doctors with physic, and mountebank-parsons with tropes
and figures, till at last the undertaker's man finishes the vork by
crammin' sawdust into our coffins ? I do declare that knowledge, and
vartu, and all natur', is nothin' more nor less than a regular cram.
MRS. MARVEL (rubbing her spectacles with her pocket-handker-
chief, and putting them again on her nose). Well ! I declare 1 is it
possible ? Can it be ? Yes, it is ! yes, it does ! But is it not very
unnatural, Mr. Showman, for a man to suck a lion?
SHOWMAN. Lawks bless you, maarm, not at all ! Such things do
happen : and I should not wonder if the lamb be not turned into a lion
some day. This lamb has sucked the lion for a long time at the back
of the cage. But, now he has lost his " mamas honte," and comes
boldly forward, as if he was the lion's own bantlin*. It is a livin'
lesson on the reciprocity system. There's nothin' unnatural in it.
Did you never hear of a lamb-on-table (lamentable) statesman, who
was glad to draw strong principles from his natural enemy, to prop up
a weak cause ? Just as that lamb sucks lion's milk. If you haven't, I
have, maarm !
MRS. MARVEL. 'Tis very wonderful ! But, will you be so good as
to toll me the name of that skulking, brooding, sullen, swollen bird,
which seems to be muffled up in his own thoughts, with his eyes
shut.
SHOWMAN. That, maarm, is the most vonderful bird in the whole
collection. He is called the strix stridula, or great tawny owl, and is
F 2
68 THE GALANTI-SHOW.
a bird wot always sees best in the dark. He is fond of twilight, and
of the time between twilight and darkness ; and, in the peculiar dark-
ness of his own light, calls out almost incessantly to-whit-to-woe / In,
strong sunlight, and vhen things are as clear as noonday, his eyes are
the veakest. He has lately got a knack of dozin' in the sun, and has
lost much of his natural propensity to prowl about ; and, although he
used to be continually " hootin'," he has seldom done so since he has
been a member of the " Plenty-of-Wittles' " community. Here is one
of its old songs, maarm.
Darkness ! O darkness is light to me,
Under the shade of the hangman's tree ;
Here I can sing right merrily,
To-whit-to-whit-to-woe !
And when the heavens are all in a smoke,
Perch'd on a Little ton of Coke,*
I sing the turie of the "Black Joke,"
To-whit-to-whit-to-woe !
I can see best through a stone-wall ;
I can see light where there 's none at all ;
And so, from day o day would call
To-whit-to-whit-to-woe !
MRS. MARVEL. A very pretty song, I declare ! almost as pretty as
that little bird hopping about so nimbly from pillar to post, and from
post to pillar. First, he is on the back of the eagle, twittering and
chattering ; then he perches on the lion's nose, and looks as fierce as
if he would peck his eyes out. Then he pecks fleas out of the fox's
tail ; and then has a pluck at the lamb's wool, as if he wanted to make
a nest; and, then he picks up a stray feather of the eagle's, as if he
wished to feather it. It is a very pretty bird, I do declare, upon my
modesty !
SHOWMAN. That bird, maarm, is called the " Tooke-tit," or torn-tit,
or Duncombrensis parva ; a very sprightly little bird indeed, and up
to all manner of tricks. He will peck at anythin', and bob about here,
there, and everywhere, in a "brace of shakes," as the sayin' is. It is
feared, however, that some day he will jump down the lion's throat ;
and, therefore, we watch him very narrowly.
MRS. MARVEL. How is it, Mr. Showman ! that the finest bird in
the collection, the noble eagle, perches himself up in the corner ? Is
he afraid of the rest of the creatures ?
SHOWMAN. He afraid ! I should think not ! Why, that old eagle,
maarm, is a bird, and no mistake ! He afraid ! vhy, he is the king o'
the whole of 'em. He keeps rather aloof as a king ought to do. He
is on the top perch, you see. When he shakes his vings, the rest o'
the animals are seized with a shakin' also ; only of a different kind.
Why, maarm, sometimes, when he only raises his toe to scratch his
old, weather-beaten nose, the whole of the lower animals are put into
a strange quandary. He keeps the whole lot in awe, I can tell you.
He is on good terms with the lion, and always perches over him.
MRS. MARVEL. There is an animal, Mr. Showman, at the back of
the cage. I can only discern the tip of his nose, and a small portion
of his fore-paw. Will you be so kind as to stir him up with your
long pole ?
SHOWMAN (stirring up the beast). Come out, you warment ! You '11
bite, will you ? Take that in your ribs, then ! This, maarm, is what
* Coke and Littleton.
THE GALANTI-SHOW.
69
is called the t! vulpesjinalitis." The New-England fox and a cun-
nin' dog he is, as sharp as one of the bran-new Exeter Hall con-
structive schoolmasters ! He is pretty quiet just now ; but, depend
upon it, his head is as full of projects as an egg is full of meat ! Lawks !
maurm, he is the downiest cove as ever lived. He will run up one
side of a hidge, while the hunters come down the other side ; and give
'em the double close under their wery noses. Look at his soft fur, and
full, bushy tail, although, by the way, he lost part of it some time
ago by the slappin'-to of the lid of the corn-bin. But, you see, he is
just made for goin' slick through anythin'. He greases himself all
over once a day, by rubbin' against the lamb's tail ; and then he slips
through the fingers that would lay hold of him, like an eel. When-
ever he gets his head in, his body is almost sure to follow. He robs
the parson's hen-roost every night, reg'lar ; takes the cream off the
farmer's milk ; and sometimes sucks the cows. Springes, and pitfalls,
traps, and gins, are nothin' to him ; he smells the very iron of
trap !
" Up to trap."
MRS. MARVEL. Dear me ! I wonder, then, you ever " cotched "
him ?
SHOWMAN. I will tell you how 't was, maarm. Old Farmer Bull,
having been plundered by him for a long time, till there was scarcely a
fowl left in the farm-yard, or a bird on the estate, determined to trap
him ; so he tied a string to the door of the corn-spout, in such a man-
ner that vulpus could not get into the bin, without draw-in* the
weight of a comb of wheat upon his shoulders. He then placed a
savoury bait at the bottom. Reynard soon jumped in ; and, he was
no sooner in than down came the corn, like the falls of Niagara, and
smothered him. He was taken out for dead. His funeral oration was
pronounced. He was taken by the tail, and swung into a certain re-
ceptacle ; but he fell softly, and rose again speedily, and, like Cavil
the bookseller, in the Dunciad, he "scoured and stunk along," till he
was captured for this exhibition by regular " funkin' " in his hole.
But, I fear we shall lose him for ever, maarm, for he has made several
70 THE GALANTI-SHOW.
attempts to jump down his own throat ; and I have no doubt he will
succeed some day.
MRS. MARVEL. Well, Mr. Showman ! yours is a most extraordinary
exhibition ! but it seems strange to me, when I am in a proper con-
templative mood, that such animals should be created. What can
be the intention of Nature to make things of such opposite characters ?
SHOWMAN. Ah ! maarm, you may well wonder when you see such
things as those is ; but, I assure you, they are all put down to the
metempsychosis. Every hanimal you sees here was once a "human
actor. He died, and lives again, to show what was his real character.
That Adjutant was in the law how like a lawyer, still ! he's doomed
to show his character by that preposterous bill ! Those two rats sit-
tin' dos-d-dos, were! turncoat members for the mob; now, here you see
the proper change they got out of the job I That bear was once a Mun-
ster of Russia; and, by goles ! he still remembers what he was, by
musin' o'er the Poles. That lamb that sulks so moodily, was once
high in the State ; but, still remainin' what he was, he grumbles at
his fate. That hyaena, with constant grin, is of a common sort. A
courtier he ! there 's shoals of them now, every day, at court. That
owl, with solemn, buzwig face, and lantern-lookin' eyes, was once upon
the bench to look but never did the wise. That Secretary vulture,
who stands aloof, not noticin* the rest, was a state secretary once
how well the bird has feathered all his nest I That 'ere rattlesnake,
what gets every year a new joint unto his tail, was once a mad M.P.,
whose fangs were drawn so his rattle 's no avail.
MRS. MARVEL. Oh ! do tell me, Mr. Showman ! what were those
love-birds they coo and coo, like turtles.
" A pair of loving turtles."
n, T^ N * y ' maa r m ' W ? re a P rince and a q ue *n, celebrated for
their fidelity and love. Now, in death thev are not divided ; but live
again, their constancy to prove !
U i8 a P erfect model > Mr -
one ever since I condescended to exhibit. Coalition, maarm 'there s
Teuuafi in.^ ' ti0n ' de P? nd "I *. . One of the besTof method fo
a stirrin f staE S. ^K" - 6 Practical in c temp]ation,- makin'
stagnauon; and brmgin everythin' again to statu quo.
71
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN,
COMEDIAN.
BY HIS SON.
ON the 10th June, 1776, Mr. Garrick retired from the stage, and
quitted it, leaving no rival or successor ; for no subsequent actor could
embrace the vast sphere of his genius. He ran through the " whole
compass " of the drama, and was " master of all." Even Mrs. Siddons,
the miracle of our times, who was as fond of playing comedy as Mrs.
Jordan, another miracle, was of attempting tragedy, could not com-
mand the gift of universal dramatic talent : the comedy of the one was
serious, and the pathos of the other insipid. When some one observed to
Sheridan, that a tragedy of Cumberland's was not entertaining, " I
am sure it is," said Sherry ; " for 1 laughed at it from beginning to
end."
It is difficult to estimate the powers which constitute an actor. Men
of the highest attainments, of the most efficient physical powers, and
agreeable persons, have totally failed. The instances are not rare
where a performer, who approached so near the summit, that he
seemed to touch it, was yet an inch beneath. Others have played
effective parts with correctness and judgment, and met with but cold
approbation the " mens divinior" was not in them. The applause
was, in no few instances, reserved for the ignorant, the dissolute, and
tht; idle.
None of these remarks apply to the three distinguished performers
referred to, especially not to Garrick. Truly characterized
" As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine ;
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line."
We have spoken of the first ; in the latter character, he relied to
Goldsmith's Retaliation with force and neatness ; and lashed his assail-
ant, Dr. Hill, in two, perhaps, the most poignant epigrams in our lan-
guage. His epitaph on Sterne, his prologues and epilogues, are mas-
terpieces in their way. In conjunction with the elder Colman, he
wrote the " Clandestine Marriage," the second best comedy of modern
times. The part of Lord Ogleby * has generally been attributed to
Garrick.
Mr. Garrick took his farewell of the stage in Don Felix, in Mrs.
Centlivre's play, " A Wonder ! a woman keeps a secret ;" thus con-
firming Sir Joshua Reynolds' impression, who, in delineating him at a
loss to choose, between Tragedy and Comedy, turns his admiring
* I believe George Colman, junior, denies this. However, it is certain that
Garrick had a large share in writing it. Mr. Austin was present when Garrick
read the play in the green-room : feeling fatigued, he handed the MS. to Mr. King.
Mr. King read it in his usual tone, until, warming with the subject, he imitated
the voice and manner of an old country beau, the counterpart of the character, well
known to himself and Mr. Austin. Garrick listened with evident delight, and
when he took back the MS. said, " King, I intended that part for myself; but you
shall play it. I cannot play it, after having heard you read it." King did play it,
and in such a style as was never approached, until it was acted by Mr. William
Farren.
72 MEMOIRS OF
glance towards Tragedy ; but his attitude and smiling face seem to
imply, " How can I tear myself from Comedy ?" He delivered a fare-
well'address, and took his leave, admired and regretted, by all. .
In summing up the, general merits of this unrivaled actor, it is ad-
mitted on all hands that he carried his art to its highest pitch of per-
fection ; whilst he conferred dignity on its professors uy the propriety
of his conduct, his literary abilities, and his familiar intimacy with
noble and eminent men. Even the House of Commons, when it re-
fused to enforce the standing order, which would have excluded him
from the gallery during a debate, paid a high tribute to the merit of
the greatest master of elocution. Most of his predecessors, excepting
Betterton, who, from Colley Gibber's eloquent description, must have
been a master of his art, were mere mouthers. Garrick banished
declamation from the stage, and introduced a natural tone of speak-
ing, more in conformity with the language of passion in ordinary
life. There had prevailed, also, a pedantry in the use of action, and
in gesticulation. It was supposed that the dignity of tragedy required
that the arms should be moved horizontally, " sawing the air," and
one at a time ; " the right hand laboured while the left lay still."
Garrick broke through this conventional rule at once in Murphy's
ft Orphan of China j" advancing to the front of the stage, and exclaim-
ing, " China is lost for ever ! " with both arms raised above his head.
The effect was startling, and the truth of the attitude at once recog-
nised by the audience. The only fault alleged against him is, his
want of perception in continuing the incongruity of the usage of mo-
dern costume in tragedies of an ancient date ; playing, for instance,
Macbeth in a red coat. But the writer can state, on the authority of
the late Mr. Austin, that Garrick had long considered the subject. It
was not in the catalogue of his demerits, which Sterne's " Critic " dis-
covered ; and, had it been, he might have appealed to the thorough
illusion which he always created, and exclaimed, " Was the eye silent ?"
But Garrick was a prudent man ; he knew that the public did not
demand the novelty, and were satisfied without it. He was afraid of
encouraging a taste, which might prove in the end too exorbitant to
gratify, of raising a spirit which he could not exorcise j and he did
not think it necessary to sacrifice his hard-earned competency to
gratify a fastidious appetite for secondary objects. No doubt the
public were largely indebted to that accomplished man and excellent
actor, Mr. John Kemble, for the benefit which his classical education,
correct judgment, and thorough knowledge of his profession conferred
on the national taste ; but it was Agamemnon sacrificing his child !
Mr. Kemble devoted a large portion of his fortune to the ambition
of forming a correct scenic personification.
Like the great masters in painting, Mr. Garrick endeavoured to
transmit his perfection in his art to posterity. He instructed many
tyros, especially the junior Bannister, in tragedy, and Miss Young,*
--wrote for, and encouraged, the young comedians, Quick and others,
whom he brought prominently forward, and termed his children. But
The anecdote of Miss Young is affecting. She played Cordelia to Mr. Gar-
k s Lear, a few days previous to his retirement. On returning to the green-
room, Garrick remarked, "My dear, I shall never be your father again ?! "
len sir, rejoined Miss Young, kneeling, "give me a father's blessing."
"God blew you, my cnild ! " said Mr. Garrick, placing his hands on her held in
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 73
there were comic actors, his contemporaries, who needed not instruc-
tion, for they seemed to play from instinct ; such actors were Weston*
and Shuter. To the latter performer, who took great pains with the
young aspirant, the public is indebted, unaccompanied by servile
imitation, for a large portion of the diversion which it derived from
the rich humour of Munden.
Joseph, or, as he was more generally called, Joe Munden, was the
son of a humble tradesman, in Brook's Market, Holborn, where he
was born, in the year 1758. He might have replied, as Home Tooke
did, with great readiness, when, at the university, some impertinent
person inquired what profession his father followed, " He is a Turkey-
merchant." True it was that the elder Mr. Munden, like the elder Mr.
Borne, dealt in geese and chickens. Brook's Street is a short one ;
but it was the grave of Chatterton, and the birth-place of Munden.
Joe was a very refractory boy. He is said to have been apprenticed
to an apothecary ; but, though not highly educated, he wrote an extra-
ordinarily fine hand, and, through this accomplishment obtained a situ-
ation in the office of Mr. Druce, a respectable law-stationer in Chancery
Lane. Here, it is reported, Joe handled the ruler as a truncheon, and
taught the hackney" writers to perform Richard the Third.
In the evening he emerged from his parental window, which the
curious may satisfy themselves, by inspection, is not far from the
ground, and stole to the gallery of the theatre to witness the per-
formance of Garrick, &c. He thus imbibed a taste for acting ; if, in-
deed, a taste is ever formed in human beings, without that afflatus
which, like the faculty of instinct in animals, seems to direct them to
the most natural bent of their pursuit. It is singular that the number
of persons who are what is termed " stage-struck," has greatly de-
creased since it has become a profitable profession. The new stars are
very rare ; but, when it barely afforded a subsistence, there was scarcely
an attorney's clerk who did not leave that '* calling for this idle trade."
Perhaps there was something attractive in the romantic career they
followed, as gypsies are said to despise the practices of ordinary life.
Some of the greatest actors that the stage has yet seen performed in
barns, Yates and Shuter in a booth at Bartholomew fair.
Many were the times that truant Joe eloped from his home to join a
band of strollers, and was followed and brought back by his fond and
indulgent mother. She knew his haunts, and that he had not the
means of wandering far from town, and she generally succeeded in
firding him. Dreading an escapade, she was in the habit of mixing
with the audience, and pouncing upon poor Joe when he made his
appearance. On one occasion, his coat thrice presented itself to the
view of the audience before its owner appeared in propria persona,
being the best coat in the company, and consequently the most suit-
able for gentlemen in comedy. His coadjutors were "put to sad shifts.
The actor off the stage, as we have seen, supplied part of his ward-
rol>e to him that succeeded; and a jack-chain, borrowed from the
r Weston is said to have been a prototype of Liston, occasioning roars of laugh-
ter by a single look. This seems confirmed by the portrait of him by Zoffani, in Dr.
Last. On one occasion, when the audience were dissatisfied at some assumption of
Woston's, and called out, " Shuter ! Shuter ! " Weston, looking towards the lady
who was on the stage with him, exclaimed, with an appeai-ance of simplicity,
" Why should you shoot her ? I am sure she plays her part very well ! "
74 MEMOIRS OF
kitchen of a neighbouring alehouse, served for the fetters that bound
the tyrant Bajazet.*
Various droll stories have been recorded of Joe's early career. Some
of them are, doubtless, apocryphal ; for, in after life, Munden was in
the habit of what is called cramming the hunters after theatrical
biography, who sought to fill the magazines at his expense. The most
suspicious tale is, that, in a moment of emergency, he presented himself
before a sergeant of the Warwickshire militia, and, under the pretext
of enlisting, obtained bed and board for the night, quietly taking his
departure the next morning. This is manifestly a fiction : the ser-
geant would have tendered the shilling at once, and knew his duty too
well to let his recruit be a deserter. It is certain that he contrived to
get conveyed to Liverpool, and there, in consequence of his great skill
in penmanship, obtained a situation in the Town Clerk's office .t It
was at Liverpool that he met with Shuter, and experienced his kindly
attention. The demon of theatrical mania took possession of his soul,
and he is said to have played sundry characters of small repute for
eighteenpence per night ! From Liverpool he repaired to Rochdale,J
where he had relations, and joined a strolling company. A laughable
circumstance is related of this company, which took place during the
performance of the " Fair Penitent." In the scene where Calista is
seated, in all the dignity of grief, beside the clay-cold corse of the false
Lothario, it unfortunately happened that the person who lay as the
lifeless form of the gay perfidious was neither more nor less than a
footman in the neighbourhood. His master happened accidentally to
be at the theatre, and presented himself behind the stage, to the great
discomfiture of poor John, who, hearing his voice, speedily started up,
to the surprise of the audience, and immediately took to his heels.
Munden returned to Liverpool, and remained for some time at the
Town Clerk's office ; but the fascination of a stroller's life could not
be resisted. With a guinea in his pocket, he set off for Chester, and
expended his last shilling for admittance to that theatre, of which he
afterwards became the proprietor. It is said that, on leaving the
house, he made a vow that he would one day be the manager. Some
prophesies insure their own fulfilment ; for they direct the energy of
powerful minds to a distinct object, when difficulty and doubt hang
around them.
Again he had recourse to his pen, and obtained employment in the
office of a writing stationer. Here he met with a London acquaint-
ance, who, not being flush of money, pledged his ring, and with the
produce they repaired to Whitchurch, where they separated. From
Whitchurch Joe managed to reach, with some casual assistance, Bir-
mingham, and again met with a friend, a supper, and a bed. Thence,
by some means or other, he contrived to get to Woodstock, where he was
* In the country they played upon what is called shares ; and even the pieces of
candle were carefully divided.
t The late Mr. Pope presented me with the cash-book of this office, which had
somehow fallen into his hands. Munden's salary is there entered at ten shillings
and sixpence a- week. It does not appear to have been suffered to remain long in
arrear. T. S. M.
+ Mr. Munden had a near relation at Rochdale who was wealthy, and from
whom he had large expectations. He did not leave him a farthing ; and the reason,
which was pretty well ascertained was, that Munden, in the fulness of his heart,
invited him to the principal inn, and gave him a handsome dinner, which the care-
ful tradesman considered a wasteful expenditure.
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 75
recognised by a person who had left Liverpool a few weeks before, in
consequence of a law-suit, in which a verdict had been given against
him. At Liverpool this man followed the business of a gardener,
which he quitted on that occasion, and had fled to this place, where, in
the gardens of Blenheim, he again wielded the spade.
Much pleased at meeting Munden, owing to a grateful remembrance
of services which our hero, during the time he was clerk to the gentle-
man who defended his suit, had rendered him, he administered to his
wants, and gave our adventurer a comfortable proof that good offices
are not always forgotten. In the morning Joe pursued his journey.
Nothing material happened for some days, till he fortunately met a
friend near Acton, to whom he had written from Oxford to meet him
on the road with money. Fortunately, it may be said ; for a second
day's travel and fasting had nearly exhausted his strength, and he was
just sinking beneath the pressure of hunger and fatigue.
His chequered journey completed, for some time the quill supplied
the means of subsistence, until the long vacation to attorneys, and all
dependent on them, stopped for a time the course of cash, that friend
of all friends, without which none can be said to live. Munden, in
after life, remembering his early distress, was accustomed to say, in
the strong language which he sometimes used : " By G d, sir, a man's
best friend is a guinea ! "
At this moment of necessity Munden became acquainted with the
manager of a strolling company, then assembled at Letherhead, in
Surrey. He entered his name among the list, and under the banner
of this theatric monarch he set off, possessed of the amazing sum of
thirteen-pence !
As the reader may reasonably suppose, the thirteen pence was near-
ly exhausted in a journey of eighteen miles. He found the theatre
;i barn ; the stage-manager making the necessary arrangements, whilst
the prompter was occupied in sweeping down the cobwebs, and clear-
ing away the refuse of corn and straw on the floor. Munden wanted
money ; the manager had none ; and the actor's watch was pawned for
support.
The following night was appointed for a performance ; the rehearsal
over, the barn-floor cleared, planks erected, and saw -dust strewed for
the expected company : but, in vain was the barn-floor cleared, in
vain the saw-dust strewed, the audience were nil I
At length a play was bespoke by a gentleman in the neighbourhood
for Saturday-night ; which, being a night of fashion, the audience as-
sembled, and the profits of the evening allowed to each performer, six
shillings I besides having paid off incidental expenses incurred by the
failure of the two unfortunate nights. To this good luck may be add-
t'd the saving of two small pieces of candle.
This was the first sum of money Joe* Munden had yet gained by
acting ; but, such amazing good fortune could not be expected to last
long. The theatre, after this, was poorly attended ; and, had it not
been for a custom,* which prevailed among itinerant companies, of the
* A near relative of the writer, a great many years ago, saw the afterwards ce-
lebrated and wealthy Mrs. Siddons walking up and down both sides of a street in
a provincial town, dressed in a red woollen cloak, such as was formerly worn by
menial-servants, and knocking at each door to deliver the playbill of her benefit.
Koger Kemble, the father, was manager of a strolling company, in which Mr. and
Mrs. Siddons performed. The company consisted, principally, of the Kemble
f imily.
76 MEMOIRS OF
performers delivering the playbills themselves round the neighbour-
hood, and who, on such occasions, were styled orators, and for which
service he gained one shilling, poor Munden would have sunk into his
former distress.
The theatre was burnt down. Joseph wrote a petition in the best
style of Tomkins ; and a collection was made, which amounted to be-
tween twenty and, thirty pounds. The manager dealt five shillings
a-piece to about twelve members ; and, under the pretence of going to
London, to furnish a wardrobe for the Guildford theatre, left a
part of his troop at Letherhead in vain to expect his return.
Munden's next performance was at Wallingford, in Berkshire;
thence to Windsor and Colribrook : here, again, the manager deserted
his company. He then returned, like the prodigal son, to the abode of
his parents ; but, the fatal bias still existing, he performed in private
plays at the Haymarket theatre.
At one of these representations, Hurst, the Canterbury manager, saw
his promise, and engaged him for the season. At this period (1780),
Munden began to emerge from his difficulties. The line he was to
figure in was that of second parts in tragedy and comedy ; but, for
want of a comedian, he was persuaded to attempt the first line in low
comedy. His success was equal to his wishes ; and he left Canterbury
with the good-will and applause of its inhabitants. His companion
from Canterbury was Mr. Swords, subsequently of the Haymarket
theatre ; who, after enacting Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, and
the tyrant, Richard, at the Canterbury theatre, was obliged, with Mun-
den, to take his passage from that city to London in a cart ! In the
course of their journey, the former exclaimed, " Tap my eyes ! when
you are at Covent-Garden, and I at Drury-Lane, for you know we
shall be too eminent to be both retained by one house, what will the
theatrical biographers say when they hear that the great Billy Swords,
and the great Joe Munden, rode from Canterbury to London in a
cart ?" Swords had but one pair of boots ; which, when of red mo-
rocco, had graced the boards, but were now blackened for general use.
Time having done his worst with them, they were daily taken to the
cobbler for repair. One day, when the little drab girl "who conveyed
them approached the cobbler's stall, he took up his last in anger, shook
it at her, bade her begone, swearing he would have the job no more,
as he lost money by the time expended in the reparation.
Munden afterwards went to Brighton, where again he met with in-
dulgence and patronage.
About this time a performer of some consequence in the company of
Messrs. Austin and Whitlock, at Chester, dying, Munden was applied
to ; the proffered terms were accepted, and he supplied the place of
the deceased comedian. From Chester he went to Whitehaven by
sea ; his finances not permitting him to go by land. Here success still
followed him. From Whitehaven the company repaired to Newcastle-
upon-Tyne. After a stay of three months, he visited Lancaster and
Preston. He likewise played at Manchester ; still rising in the esti-
mation of his audience.
He had engaged as a performer, with a low salary ; but, his general
good conduct, attention to the business of the theatre, and evident
ability, raised him high in the estimation of the Chester audience. A
gentleman, whose memory is still highly esteemed in Chester, and who
survived to see his protege in the highest rank of his profession, lent
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 77
him the money to purchase Mr. Austin's share (that gentleman being
desirous of retiring) in the circuit of theatres of which Chester formed
the principal. The money was punctually repaid. Munden thus be-
came joint-manager and lessee, with Mr. Whitlock, of the Chester,
Newcastle, Lancaster, Preston, Warrington, and Sheffield theatres.
Mr. Austin continued to reside at Chester as a private gentleman. It
is a singular circumstance that, many years afterwards, after having
been widely separated, the three managers took up their abode in the
same village, Kentish Town, near London.
Never has it been the fortune of a provincial (and seldom of a me-
Iropolitan) theatre to possess such a company of able actors as were
then on the boards of the Chester theatre. The principal tragedian
was George Frederick Cooke,* a name afterwards so renowned,
then in the prime of life, with powers said to be superior to those he
afterwards evinced, and a voice as mellifluous, as it became, in the
t nd, hoarse from intemperance. Mrs. Whitlock was the tragic heroine.
This lady is reported to have trodden closely in the steps of her sis-
ter, Mrs. Siddons, whom she greatly resembled in her commanding
figure, dignified attitude, and expressive intonation ; she was not, how-
ever, handsome. Mrs. Whitlock subsequently appeared on the London
boards ; but was borne down by the surpassing talents of the greatest
of past and present actresses, as her brother Charles was, for many years,
eclipsed by the superior genius of John Kemble. There is a portrait
of Mrs. Whitlock in Bell's " British Theatre," in Margaret of Anjou.
She afterwards went to America, where she was a great favourite, and
amassed a handsome fortune. The chief comedian was Joseph Shep-
Lerd Munden, then remarkably good-looking, and in the full posses-
sion of buoyant spirits, and exuberant humour. Mr. Whitlock per-
formed the lighter parts in comedy. Mr. Hodgkinson played those
parts which Lewis and Jones represented on the London boards ; and
is said to have been little inferior to those excellent actors. Mr. Aus-
tin,t who formed one of the company when Munden first joined it, had
been greatly in the confidence of Garrick, who trusted to him not only
in matters of a professional nature, but as a private friend. Mr. Austin
excelled in the part of Lord Ogleby. It must be presumed that he
* Cooke had then begun to indulge in his favourite propensity. On the occa-
sion of the company's removal from one town to another, Cooke accompanied Mrs.
Munden in a post-chaise. He was exceedingly sentimental ; decried the fatal ef-
fects of liquor. "Never, my dear Mrs. Munden," said he, " permit my friend,
J oe, to drink to excess ; but, above all things, make him refrain from spirits :
b candy and water has been my bane." They separated for the night to their dif-
ferent quarters. In the mprning Cooke did not come to rehearsal. Search was
n lade after him in every direction ; and, with some difficulty, he was discovered,
lying dead drunk on the floor of a subterranean wine-vault.
f Austin used to relate that, in walking up the stage with Garrick, until the
burst of applause which followed one of his displays in " Lear" should subside, the
great actor thrust his tongue in his cheek, and said, with a chuckle, " Joe, this is
si age-feeling/' In like manner, Mrs. Siddons, after rushing off the stage in, ap-
parently, the most excruciating anguish in Belvidera, or Mrs. Beverley, was accus-
tomed to walk quietly to the green-room, thrusting up her nose enormous quanti-
ties of snuff, with the greatest nonchalance imaginable. After commending Kelly's
noting in " The Deserter," she gravely added, "But, Kelly, you feel too much : if
you feel so strongly, you will never make an actor." True it is, that an actor, who
piays from feeling, will play worse at every successive representation, until he will
bu unable to act at all.
78 MEMOIRS, ETC.
was not an ordinary actor, since he had played such parts as Edgar to
Garrick's Lear. He was the last surviving hero of the Rosciad, in
which he is immortalized by one line,
" Austin would always glisten in French silks."
Among the actresses was Miss Butler, whose history will be related
hereafter, and Mrs. Hun, the mother of the celebrated George Can-
ning. This lady, whose maiden-name was Costello, occasioned, by her
marriage with the father of Mr. Canning, a breach between that gen-
tleman and his relatives, which was never healed : he entered in the
Temple, but died in indifferent circumstances. Her second husband
was Mr. Reddish, of Covent Garden theatre ; and her third, Mr. Hun,
by whom she had two daughters. Being unsuccessful in business,
they resorted to the stage for subsistence, Mr. Canning being then a
boy at school, under the protection of his uncle. Munden was god-
father to one of the daughters. When Mr. Canning, on his secession
from office, became entitled to a retiring-pension, he settled it on
his relatives. It is honourable to the memory of that great statesman
that, amidst his struggles for political advancement, and the bitter
warfare of party animosity, he never forgot his duty to his mother.
He duly corresponded with her, never omitting to write to her on
Sunday, which he set aside for that purpose, as the only day he could
account a leisure one. So invariably punctual was he, that, during his
mission to Lisbon, not being always able to transmit his letters regu-
larly, he still continued to write, and sent sometimes two letters by the
same packet. Mrs. Hun is dead ; but the letters are, probably, in ex-
istence : it is to be hoped they will, at some future period, be given to
the world, divested, of course, of all matters of a personal or confi-
dential nature. We ought not to lose " one drop of that immortal
man." Mrs. Hun was an indifferent actress, but a sensible and well-
informed woman.
Mrs. Sparks performed in characters of old women, and subsequent-
ly, played at the Lyceum, and Drury Lane. She was inferior, in her
line, only to Mrs. Mattocks and Mrs. Davenport.
There was another actress, of whom mention must be made, as she
exercised a large influence over the fortunes of Munden. She played
under the name of Mrs. Munden ; but her real name was Mary Jones.
She possessed some beauty ; but was vulgar and illiterate in the ex-
treme. In the wild thoughtlessness of youth, when the looseness of
his habits did not afford an introduction to respectable female society,
Munden had formed a connexion with this woman. When he had a
settled abode at Chester, he sent for her, and had the imprudence to
introduce her as his wife. By his consummate skill in his profession
he had contrived to instruct her sufficiently to render her competent to
play minor parts, and to prevent an exposure of her ignorance on the
stage. By Mary Jones, Munden had four daughters, when the event
took place which we are now about to relate.
In the year 1789, this wretched female, with whom he had so long
cohabited, and who had borne him so many children, eloped with Mr.
Hodgkinson, carrying with her thirty guineas of Munden's money, his
daughter, Esther, and a child yet unborn. Munden had long suspected
that some familiarities existed between the parties, and had called
A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME. 79
Mr. Hodgkinson to account ; but the fact was denied. A vile scrawl
which she left behind her, addressed to Mr. Whitlock, apprized Mun-
den of the step she had taken. After many entreaties to soothe and
calm him, which, indeed, were not needed, she adds, " I likewise
inclose a leter wich I beg give him also the lisd of his property
with many thanks for your frensip for 9 years/' Mr. Hodgkinson,
also, wrote to Mr. Whitlock, attempting to justify his own conduct,
and throw the blame on Munden. This precious couple were married
at Bath, the female being in the last stage of pregnancy ; but Hodg-
kinson soon found out what a bargain he had got, and separated from
h(3r at Bristol, embarking for America with an actress of the name of
Brett. Previous to his departure he addressed a letter to Munden,
bogging him to take care of the children. Mrs. Hodgkinson had been
delivered at Bristol of a boy, whom she christened Valentine Joseph.
Hodgkinson stated candidly that his wife, " by the worst temper in
the world had brought misery on them both," and added, " Justice de-
mands I should acknowledge it (the connexion) has terminated as it
ought ; and, I dare say, as it was expected." Many years afterwards,
the lady who became Mrs. Munden, taking her seat in a box at the
Hay market theatre, at her husband's benefit, observed a face that was
familiar to her close by her side it was Hodgkinson. He did not re-
cognise her ; and she immediately removed to another box. He had
returned from America, where he had played with great success ; but
soon afterwards went back, and died there.
The poor creature he left behind at Bristol was taken dangerously
ill, and became penitent. In her last moments, she begged a person
with whom she had lodged to write to Mrs. Munden, which was done
in these terms : " Before she died, she told me that I should soon
come to her funeral. She said, ' You will some time have an oppor-
tunity of letting the injured Munden know how sensible I am of my
ingratitude to him. Oh ! say 'tis the greatest affliction I labour under.
Sure he will forgive me ! And to that amiable woman who is a mo-
ther to my children, tell her my prayers are daily, nay hourly, sent up
for her happiness." To the credit of Munden be it said, that he sup-
plied her with money during her illness, paid for her burial, and took
care of the two children, whom he sent to be nursed at Newcastle,
with their infant sisters.
This event had well-nigh shaken Munden's popularity at Chester,
as it drew aside the veil of his pretended matrimony. He acted, how-
ever, like a man of sense and determination ; attempted no pursuit ;
admitted his error, and set about repairing it, by getting married in
earnest. His choice fell on Miss Butler, a young actress of merit, and
considerable personal attractions, who hai been some time in the
company.
A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME.
BY JOHN STUART.
Sin ROMULUS was born a twin ; Sir Remus was his brother;
Their father was unknown to them ; they never knew their mother
So. hand in hand, they wander'd, like the "children in the wood,'*
In search of an asylum, and some proper infant food.
80 A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME.
At length they found a lady-wolf, who 'd lately lost her cubs ;
And in her friendly, furry breast, they warm'd their little snubs ;
I do them wrong to call them snubs, for both had Roman noses,
And Lupa's couch to them appear'd a thornless bed of roses.
This Wolf a buxom widow was ; her husband had been slain
On lofty heights of Abraham, across the western main.
Thus left without society, most dreary was her day,
So she was very much amused to see the children play.
With nursing such as hers, the boys in time grew strong and stout
/~\_ ..! ,f*^sl 4-"U . /\1r1;\* \nA CC f nr\a -fi+ 4-Viof 1 ix/a l/\rklr rfcli +
One morning cried the elder lad, " 'Tis fit that we look out
To make our w ~ J *- *"* "~ "" '
A robber / sho
To make our way in this wide world, and try what we can do.
ould like to be ; dear brother, what say you ?"
To whom, Sir Remus, " That 's the trade that I should likewise choose,
And her consent our foster-mother surely won't refuse."
Then, with pistols in their girdles, and a broadsword in each hand,
These youths made many travellers lie, whom they desired to " stand."
Said Romulus, " There 's hereabout a deal of useless ground;
I 'm tired of dens and caverns, a large city let us found !
free masons are we, say no more ! quick ! let the town be built !
Like other rising towns, 'twill let to misery and guilt !"
They set to work ; and, when the walls were raised about three feet,
Young Remus, in derision, cried, " Is this your empire's seat ?"
Then leapt the wall ; but Romulus, who couldn't take a joke,
From off his shoulders whip'd his head at one decided stroke !
Then mildly to his comrades said, " Now we have built our cabins,
We '11 give a spread at our Town Hall, and ask our friends, the Sabines.
The ladies, too, shall have invites their girls are very pretty ;
And wives are what we now require to populate our city."
The day was fix'd, the cards sent out, the ladies all accepted;
For at a fete by bachelors there's something crack expected.
They came, and when the Sabine gents, were steep'd in drug'd Falernian,
The maidens were abducted in a fashion quite Hibernian.
Next day the topers wondered much wherever they could be,
And why the ladies had forgot to summon them to tea ?
But, being easy-temper'd blades, they stagger'd home next day,
Not dreaming that their daughters were en route another way.
Their mas were quickly reconciled, as all the girls were " settled ;"
But at their husbands' carelessness the matrons felt much nettled.
While those, in lame excuse, thus spoke, " My dears ! we wern't at home ;
And folks must do as Romans do, while they abide at Rome."
Forthwith Rome went to war with them, destroying many lives,
And made the Sabines pay th' expense of keeping these new wives.
Says Romulus, " My countrymen ! of what I 've done I 'm proud ;
off to join the gods, for which I 've hired a cloud !
So now I 'm
" And, when you read my will, you '11 see I 've left you this advice
Treat all the neighb'ring nations as a cat treats rats and mice !
Kill your own Kings and Consuls ; but, if you 've any hope
Of absolution, you '11 not hurt his Holiness the Pope ! "
9th December, 1842.
THE SOFT MAN.
BY ALFRED CROWQUILL, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE Soft Man is one of the cuts and clippings from the world.
" Cuts and clippings I humph ! a sort of literary larceny, we
suppose I " exclaims the sagacious reader, " a work of paste and
scissors ! " Of sheer industry, call it, gentle reader! with a sprinkling
of genius, flavoured with wit and humour, and coloured by the rain-
bow tints of sentiment. An olla podrida of romance and reality,
wherein the short pieces shall not be low, nor the long broad; and
whorein, if we sometimes play the fool for your entertainment, we
shall always remember that we are playing to the dress-boxes, and
not to the gods of the gallery 1 And if we now and then do " do a
little tumbling," depend on it, you shall have occasion to applaud
the head as well as the/eet ; or, should we ever offend your taste or
delicacy, we are right willing that the tumbler should be cut.
Not wishing to cramp or limit the exuberance of our genius, we
VOJ,. XIII. O
$2 THE SOFT MAN.
have resolved to place the whole world before us, that we may have
as extensive a field as possible ; and assuredly no wit ever proposed
to himself a greater latitude, nor could our ambition have possibly
placed us in a position more favourable for taking a degree.
To those who are ignorant of the world, some going through it so
smoothly that they think it a little plain, while others, gastronomic-
ally inclined, regard it as an ordinary, we think it necessary to ex-
plain that the world is a ball, flattened (like some of the Indian
tribes) at the poles, revolving round the jolly sun, until it is done,
a process which takes a year. That, however, is neither " here nor
there."
Now it does appear, from our deep philosophical observations for
many years, for we are p. M. (past the meridian of life), that the
imaginary spit, or axis, on which it turns must have been thrust
through the said ball in a very peculiar manner, by which the crea-
tures inhabiting certain portions of the outer crust are done black,
some slightly salamandered to a brown, others remain merely with
the chill off, while thousands are never even warmed through ; ay,
and all this apparent negligence goes on, notwithstanding our en-
lightened government sent a Cook round the said world, expressly to
arrange these matters I
The world, ladies and gentlemen ! is like a large plum-pudding.
There is abundance of fruit in it, too ; but somehow it does not ap-
pear to be well mixed and stirred ; for we daily see some cut a slice,
and get nothing but the burnt crust ; while others, with less brains,
and born to good luck, obtain a plum!
We have made many cuts, and we hope to supply the fastidious
reader with samples of the hard, the crusty, the crummy, the soft,
the " done brown," the very black, the raw, the undressed, and the
plummy. Without phrase or metaphor, we intend to be very amus-
ing ; hand and head have both been long at work to cater for your
critical palates.
Should we succeed in making you laugh, not at, but with us,
we shall be amply repaid for all our labours. On the contrary, should
we fail, we shall be like a cooked calf's head, garnished with lemons,
appearing before you both simple and sour, and certainly feel not
only dashed, but dished !
THE SOFT.
DANIEL GREENE was a wealthy man, in whom the want of brains
and education was more than balanced by a superabundance of that
industry and prudence which form the two first rounds of the ladder
by which the mayors of London usually mount to the civic chair.
He possessed the negative virtue of a good neighbour ; for, as he
frequently observed, " he never molested nobody." He was an ex-
cellent citizen ; for he punctually paid all the dues, and willingly
served every office in the ward in which he dwelt, preferring on
every occasion the service to the fine, even taking upon himself the
irksome duties of the headborough, to the great disappointment of
the small green-grocer, who had been the paid substitute for every
gentleman, " as was a gentleman," in the ward.
Daniel had been originally a porter in the house of which he was
now the principal, and, indeed, the only representative. We mention
this rather to his honour than disparagement ; for, by his habits of
THE SOFT MAN. 83
business, and his cunning in the mysteries of the trade, he had, in
the course of thirty years, become a partner; the rest of the firm
had gradually retired, or had undertaken a journey " to that bourne
whence no traveller returns ;" and, at the age of sixty, Daniel was
left alone in his glory, doing a good stroke of business in the whole-
sale line, with a good capital, unlimited credit, and an only son, the
fruit of his marriage with a widow, who had taken him in as a lodger,
and subsequently married him. For, although she was an ordinary
woman, she possessed the peculiar attraction at that period of two
thousand pounds invested in the " fives."
Upon the occasion of her irreparable loss, which happened when
his son had not attained his fifth year, he prudently summoned his
sister, who was housekeeper to a single gentleman, to superintend his
domestic establishment, by which he obtained the services of one in-
terested in his welfare, at little more than the expense of her '< keep ;'*
and, in two or three years more, he invited his sister, Jane, (an ex-
cellent cook,) to reside with Maria, by which means he saved the
exjiense of a servant ; and contrived to conduct his economical esta-
blishment with one maid-of-all-work, who generally received warning
to quit after a two months' service ; for they were " sich screws, and
found fault so continually, as was unpossible for any gal to bide under
the same roof with 'em." And they soon found it very difficult to
obtain any respectable servant'; for their character was reported to
all the recommending tradespeople in the neighbourhood, and they
were, consequently, compelled to have recourse to the register-offices
and newspaper advertisements for a continual supply.
Daniel was too much engrossed by his commercial speculations to
note these revolutions in his household. Certain it is that he never
experienced any inconvenience from them ; for the two long-necked,
sharp-eyed jackals who superintended his house, took especial care
that their kind and affectionate relative should not be unprovided
with anything that could tend to his comfort ; and he was, therefore,
content with his petticoat ministers, the formidable Maria and Jane.
Little Daniel, too, was scrupulously cared for, petted, and spoiled.
They dressed him as old maids usually dress children, like a doll, and
humoured him to the top of his bent. Nothing could be too good for
the heir of their brother ; and they were as remarkable for their ex-
travagance in all that pertained to his adornment, as they were mean
and paltry in the expenditure of the kitchen and larder.
The boy had no capacity ; and he was so " dullicat," as Maria said,
and so " sensible, that he cried his little heart out, if he was only
snubbed," as Jane added, that at the age of ten, when he was a long-
legged boy, though still in the garb of a miss, in a frock and trou-
sers, and curled locks, they thought it best not to subject him to
the rude and boisterous collision of a boys' school, and engaged a
morning-governess for him at home ; a genteel girl, who was soon
disgusted with the vulgarity and interference of the " ladies," who
thought, because the idle boy did not " get on," as they termed it,
that the fault was in the teacher, and so " changed " her, as they did
the servants, without finding, however, that it wrought any material
change in their dunderheaded nephew, whose spelling at twelve was
verj bad, and his writing illegible. " But what 's the odds ? " re-
marked the elegant Maria ; " for the ' dear ' will have money enough
G2
84 THE SOFT MAN.
to keep him, without bothering his brains about pot-hooks and hang-
ers, and all that, thank goodness I "
And the lean spinster had good cause to be grateful that her hope-
ful nephew was the son of a rich man ; for truly, if he had not been
born with a silver spoon in his mouth, the slenderness of his acquire-
ments would never have found him in meat, drink, washing, and
lodging ; for he had all the stupidity, without the usefulness, of a
donkey.
When the te child " (so the sallow spinsters still called little Da-
niel, although he had actually used a razor for the last twelve
months,) had attained his nineteenth year, his father, after the
fashion of many before him died !
How a man, possessed of everything his heart or his ambition
could desire, could make up his mind to such a termination, would be
inconceivable, were we not assured that it was not his intention, nor
was it hinted at in his will, made a few months before, which set
forth that he was in good health, and was of sound mind, memory,
and understanding.
The whole of the property was bequeathed to Daniel ; and his
aunts recommended to his care and protection I and, certainly, they
merited his consideration ; for, however they had erred in their in-
dulgence and his education, their error arose solely from affection
combined with ignorance.
For a short time Daniel continued attached to their apron-strings ;
but in the course of a few months the wilful heir expressed a deter-
mination to turn up that beautiful white collar, which still reposed on
his narrow shoulders, and to have a tail to his coat, having up to
this period worn a short jacket and trousers.
The fact is, he began to look abroad ; and, having the organ of
imitation as. strongly developed as a monkey, he resolved to do as
others did, despite the remonstrances of his affectionate relatives,
and, of course, he carried the day.
He persisted in going out by himself, and would not tell them
where he went, and who were his companions ; and, then, sometimes
he did not come home till past midnight, to the consternation of his
aunts ; who sent in all directions to find him, and failed ; and im-
patiently sat down to needlework by a solitary candle, pricking up
their ears, and running to the door, at the sound of every approach-
ing footstep : the ungrateful cub only laughed at their anxiety when
he did arrive, and cut short their complaints by advising them " not
to preach to him, for he would not stand it I"
At length, to his delight, he attained his majority ; and, the fol-
lowing week, the house and furniture were advertised for sale by auc-
tion, without reserve, as he had resolved to turn everything into mo-
ney, cut the city, and take lodgings at the fashionable end of the town.
The aunts were dismayed ; but, as they had been recommended to
his care and protection, he promised to allow them an annuity of fifty
pounds per annum, which was as much as he could spare out of a
clear income of some two thousand a year !
The practical meanness which they had early taught him, had
taken root in his weak and vulgar mind, and sprung up as vigorously
as nettle-seed, to be used in retributive justice upon themselves.
Of course, this was regarded by his discontented relatives as a most
"ongrateful" return for all the kindness and attention they had
THE SOFT MAN.
85
lavished upon him for so many years : but, the sum total of all they
had imparted was selfishness ; and what could they expect ?
Daniel was now an independent man, in every sense of the word.
He had neither friends nor relatives whom he could visit ; and, na-
turally, had recourse to those amusements which the town so abun-
dantly furnishes for the gratification of those who have the means ;
and Daniel, who had no resources within his own mind, walked
listlessly through the exhibitions, dropped into chop-houses and
taverns, and lounged in the boxes of the theatres.
Although shy and reserved, he met many agreeable " fellows " at
the usual places of his resort, who saved him a vast deal of trouble
by introducing themselves to his acquaintance, and cracking a bottle
with him at his expense; and he would, probably, have been a vic-
tim to these " dear " friends, if he had not, fortunately, encountered
a mentor, a guide, and friend, in the person of Cornelius O'Kane,
Enquire, who timely rescued him from the fangs of these harpies, and
effectually preserved him, as men preserve game, for their own
peculiar benefit and recreation.
Cornelius O'Kane was a handsome young Irishman, with most un-
exceptionable whiskers, an agreeable brogue, and a suit that fitted his
handsome figure without a wrinkle. Few men could speak in his
prt sence, for his eloquence was like a cataract ; and he was such a
shot (by his own account,) that very few ventured to contradict
him !
He soon insinuated himself into the favour of the friendless Daniel,
and became his most inseparable and attached friend. He even con-
descended to forego innumerable invitations from families of the first
rank and fashion, (so he asserted,) to contribute to the entertainment
of his dear friend.
Daniel congratulated himself in monopolizing his excellent com-
pany, and really felt extremely happy, for he had gradually become
very miserable for want of excitement, and felt like a man in posses-
86 THE SOFT MAN.
sion of a valuable cremona, the music of which he delights in, but
cannot play, and is compelled to be indebted to the skill of another to
bring out its tones.
He was, consequently, never so happy as when Cornelius was pre-
sent ; and the young Irishman possessed so much of the milk of hu-
man kindness that he actually sacrificed most of his time to his ex-
cellent friend ; chalking out for him the routine of amusements for
the day, and accompanying him everywhere.
He found fault with his tailor, and recommended his own ! He
bought a horse for him, arid a cabriolet, and engaged a smart tiger ;
and even condescended to drive it for him. He was " quite awake,"
as he said, and would not allow anybody (else?) to swindle him; and
took so much trouble off Master Daniel's hands in every money trans-
action, that he felt unutterably obliged to him.
He went so far as even to make sundry small bills payable at
Daniel's lodgings a confidence which was so flattering, that Daniel
could do no less than give a cheque for the amount on his bankers !
" I have paid this bill for you, Cornelius," Daniel would innocently
say.
" By my soul ! now, Dan," would Cornelius reply, lt but you 've
bate me by chalks, you have ; for it 's a thing that, by the holy
poker ! I could not have convaniently done myself, anyhow !"
" What a rum devil you are !" exclaimed Daniel, delighted with
his humour and there the matter ended !
Daniel's passions, like his intellects, were, fortunately, not strong ;
he, therefore, escaped many difficulties, into which he might have
been led : at the same time, he was so complete a blank, and so
perfectly dependent on others for amusement, that on one occasion,
when his dear friend was compelled to go to Brighton for a fortnight,
he was so overwhelmed with ennui, that he wrote to him three several
times, " for goodness' sake, to return, or he should be eaten up with
the blue-devils 1" and, his dear friend, his prop and alter ego, at a
great sacrifice, obeyed his summons, after receiving a remittance, for
which he had written, for the thoughtless creature had outrun the
constable," and could not, in honour, return to London before he had
paid his tavern-bill a circumstance, as he stated, which he would
not have communicated to any other mortal breathing for the co-
gent reason that it would have been fruitless I
Notwithstanding the bold and blustering manner of Cornelius,
there were certain occasions on which he exhibited the most refined
delicacy ; he would, for instance, command the waiter at a tavern to
bring our bill, after a champagne-and-chicken dinner, and then invari-
ably look out of the window, or adjust his cravat, when he returned
with the note payable at sight ; while Daniel disbursed the charges,
merely inquiring, for the sake of information, "What have they
charged us ?" And, sometimes he would proceed so far as to thrust
his hand in his pocket when the bill was produced, (an obstinate
pocket, that appeared to grasp him by the wrist, and handcuff him
like a pickpocket,) and insist upon paying the score ; but Daniel
would not hear of it, and Cornelius had too much respect for him to
give him any offence. How kind is Nature in the distribution of her
favours ! Some are born with brains ; and some with silver-spoons in
their mouths I How just is the interchange ! and, what a delectable
picture does it produce !
87
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
BY
A CYPHER.
ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED CROWQ.UILL.
" Go the whole figure." SAM SLIGK.
A figurante !
"GooD wine needs no bush," and, therefore, little by way of pre-
face is necessary. " He who is ignorant of arithmetic," says Archi-
medes, "is but half a man." Therefore, for the sake of manhood,
which drapers'-boys and lawyers'-clerks attempt by means of musta-
cMos and penny-cigars, read this, for, if the dead abstractions of this
science will make a man, what must the living realities do ? Nothing
less than a Phoenix D'Orsay, which is, at least, 1 man J and f .
Read this book, then, my friends, young and old. It teaches
practical philosophy in every chapter; wisdom in every page, and
common sense in every line. Get this manual at the fingers' ends of
your mind, and your physical and mental powers will be so expanded
that you will be able to catch a comet by the tail, take the moon by
the horns, knock down the great wall of China, a la Cribb ; or mea-
sure the spectre of the Brocken for a pair of breeches, and thus cut a
pretty FIGURE.
88 FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
EXPLANATION OF ARITHMETICAL SIGNS AND CHARACTERS.
" Who are you ?"
Equality. The sign of equal-
ity : as ' ' A living beggar is
better than a dead king;"
or, both being dead, are
equal to each other.
Minus, less. The sign of
subtraction : as, for instance,
an elopement to Gretna; or,
a knocking-down argument
by the way-side, minus
ticker. Take from from
take.
A pluralist.
Plus, or more. The sign of
addition : as, 3 livings -f to
1 =4 ,* orj 5 millions of new
taxes -f to 48 = 53.
The sacred haltar.
Multiplied by. The sign of
multiplication : as, " The sun
breeds maggots in a dead
dog." See Shakspeare. Or,
"Money makes money."
See Franklin. Or, Anti-
Malthus. See Ireland.
Divided by. The sign of divi-
sion. Example 1. The Whigs.
2. The Church. A house di-
vided against itself. Division
of property ; the lion's share,
r &c.
Dividing the Chinese, a cutting joke.
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION. 89
SIGNS OF PROPORTION.
Is to : so is ! ! As Lord B is TO Bishop P , so is a blue
musquito to a planter's nose.
As Sir Robert Inglis is TO Joey Hume, so is a pair
of donkey's-ears to a barber's-block.
As Tommy Buncombe is TO Lord Stanley, so is
shrimp-sauce to a boiled turbot.
OP ARITHMETIC AN*D ITS IMPORTANCE.
ARITHMETIC is the art or science of computing by numbers. It is
national, political, military, and commercial. It is of the highest im-
portance to the community ; because it pre-eminently teaches us to
take care of NUMBER I. Our ministers succeed according to their
knowledge of the science of numbers. Witness, the skilful manage-
ment of majorities of the lower house.
He who understands the true art of Addition, Subtraction, Multi-
plication, and Division, as here laid down, will not be considered a
mere cypher in the world ; but will, in all probability, make a consi-
derable figure : and in the figurative words of Horace be " Dives
agris, dives positis in foenore nummis."
Let us, therefore, under the guidance and protection of that god of
honest men, the light-heeled and light-fingered Mercury, be delighted
so to add to our store by subtracting from the stores of others, that we
may add to our importance. Let us so multiply our resources, by en-
couraging division among our contemporaries, that we may see their
reduction in the perfection of our own practice.
RULE I.
%-VjJ : : ; -.:.vA,'t:f.i '. V *
NUMERATION.
NUMERATION teaches the different value of figures by their different
places (see Walkinghame, Court Guide, Law List, &c.), also the
value of cyphers, or noughts, according to their relative situations (see
Intellectual Calculator, or Morton's Arithmetical Frames). As re-
gards the value of figures in places, we have illustrations in sinecures
of all grades, from the Lords of the Treasury to the meanest underling
of the Stamp- office.
Place and pension make the unit a multitude, according to the posi-
tion of the noughts, that is, that large portion of the public called the
nobodys. The more a man is surrounded by his inferiors, the greater
he becomes. Hence the necessity of restrictive tariffs to prevent
wealth in a community, and of impediments to education. It is not,
therefore, nauglity for our betters to keep us down by any kind of
mystification ; as the sun always looks larger through a fog.
The value of figures and of cyphers will be well understood in the
following table, which ought to be committed faithfully to memory.
It will be seen that when the noughts, the nobodys, that is, the peo-
ple, go before the legislative uflits, their value, is consequently de-
croased ; but, when they follow as good backers in good measures, the
value of the characters is increased ad infinitum.
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
TABLE I. "LEGISLATION BEHIND THE PEOPLE."
The good old times.
1 King.
02 Lords.
003 Tithe-eaters,
0004 Quarrel-mongers (lawyers).
00005 Men-killers (army).
000006 Land-swallowers (landlords).
0000007 Dividendists.
00000008 Pensioners.
000000009 Sinecurists.
TABLE II. LEGISLATION IN ADVANCE OF THE PEOPLE.
The new system, or march of intellect.
King 100000000 \
Lords 20000000
Tithe-eaters 3000000
Quarrel-mongers 400000
Land-swallowers 50000
Dividendists 6000
Men-killers 700
Pensioners 80
Sinecurists 9 /
RULE II.
ADDITION.
OUR life is an addition sum ;
sometimes long, sometimes short ;
and Death, a kind of Joey Hume,
with
'jaws capacious, sums up
the whole of our Aimanity by
making the " tottle " of the whole.
Man is an adding animal ; his
instinct is, to get. He is an illus-
tration of the verb, to get, in all its
inflexions and conjugations; and
thus we get and beget, till we
ourselves are added to our fathers.
There are many ways of per-
forming addition, as in the follow-
ing : A young grab-all comes upon
the fumblers at long-taw, as Co-
lumbus did upon the Indians ; or,
as every thrifty nation does upon
the weak or unsuspecting, and
cries " Smuggins !"
Addition is also performed in a
less daring manner by the save-all process, till Death, with his ex-
tinguisher, shuts the miser up in his own smoke.
Addition may also be performed by subtraction by other methods.
It is one to make " Jim alone Josev !" the watchword. -A* JOPV rWs in
the pantomime.
A Save-all.
long Josey !" the watchword, as Joey does in
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
If you would be merry,
And never would fret,
Then, get all you can,
And keep all you get,
91
Mini cura futuri.
Addition teaches, also, to add units together, and to find their sum
total, as A + B = 2. A bachelor is a unit ; a Benedict, unitee.
MATRIMONIAL ADDITION. By common cyphering 1 and 1 make 2.
But, by the mathematics of matrimony, 1 and 1 will produce from 1
A man of many woes.
92 FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
to 20, arranged in row, one above another, like a flight of stairs.
They make a pretty addition to a man's effects, if not to his income ;
and, if not themselves capital, are a capital stimulus to exertion. Sur-
rounded by these special pleaders, a man becomes as sharp-set as a
Lancashire ferret, and looks as fierce as a rat-catcher's dog at a sink-
hole. Such men ought to be labelled, "Beware of this unfortunate
dog \" for he would bite at a file !
ADDING TO YOUR NAME. This is another mode of performing ad-
dition. It is not necessary to go to a university for this, any more
than it is necessary to go to a church to get married. The thing can
now be done better without. Schoolmasters, and pettifoggers of all
kinds, will find this an excellent piece of practical wisdom.
"ADDITION FOB COMMON NAMES."
The Reverend Dr. O'Crikey, D.D. Duke of Dunces, or Dull
Donkey.
The Reverend Samuel Snuffers, A.M. A Muff.
John Petty Fog, Esq. . LL.D. Devilish Lying Lawyer.
The Right Hon. Lord Dolittle, F.S.A. Fumbler in Science and Art.
The Most Noble the Marquis
ofSligo, . . . F.R.S. Fellow of the Rigmarol Society.
The Lord Knowswho, . F.A.S. Fool a star-gazing.
Jeremy Stony batter, . F.G.S. Fluking of the Gammony So-
ciety.
Billy Buttercup, Esq. . F.L.S. First of the Lubberhead So-
ciety.
Captain Marlinspike, . F.N.S. Fellow of no Society.
ADDING TO A STORY.
" Oh ! Mrs. Wiggins, I declare
I never heard the like !
The wretch knows how to curse and swear,
To bite, and scratch, and strike !
"All day he's tossicated, and
All night he roams about ;
But that is lucky, sure, for he
Is worse when in than out."
" If this is what you get when wed,
I 'm glad I yet have tarried :
Better to keep one's single bed,
Than venture to get married.
" But such a monster ! By and by
That idle minx, his wife,
With all her mawkish tenderness,
Must 'gainst him swear her life.
" The fine piano long ago,
Just after my last rout,
With candlesticks and cruets too,
Are all gone up the spout.
" And bills return'd, as I have heard,
Last week, one, two, or three ;
And summonses for grocery
'Tis nothing, though, to me.
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION. 93
" They live like cat and dog. I own
She always was a scold.
She broke the table on his crown ;
So I was lately told.
"'Tis nothing, though, my dear, to me,
As I before have said.
If married people don't agree,
They ought not to get wed."
To go back a little to first principles, which should never be lost
sight of in the teaching of any art or science, we must set forth the
grand leading rule before our pupils. Addition teaches, therefore,
1. To get all we can.
2. To keep all we get.
SONG.
<c Argent comptant."
PARENTAL, ADVICE.
RULE i. Get money, my son, get money,
Honestly if you can.
It makes life sweet as honey
My son, get money, get money !
Don't stand upon ceremony,
Or you may look mighty funny ;
But make it your constant song,
Get money, get money, get money !
Money makes the mare to go, boy,
Where every path looks sunny.
Go it ! my lad, through thick and thin ;
Get money, get money, get money !
RULE II. TAKE CARE OP NO. I.
NO. I.
O ! since the world was made from 0,
And since old Time began,
The maxim was, and still must be,
Take care of No. I.
Look at the " Times," our oracle,
As sure as any gun,
With hand upon the dial-plate,
It points to No. I.*
All men are fond of him, and for
His sake round earth will run,
And bustle, turmoil, rub, and scrape
For goodly No. I.
* Any one wishing to observe this great lesson to all mankind set forth by the
leading journal of Europe, has only to look at the little vignette at the top of the
leading article of the " Times."
94
FIGURES FOR THE MILLION.
The soldier, who so gallantly
Hath battles nobly won,
Though bravely fighting, ever still
Takes care o*f No. I.
The mouthing prigs of Parliament,
With long yarns nightly spun,
Watch well for place and patronage,
And all for No. I.
And those who preach of charity,
Enough your ears to stun,
In making up their long accounts
Take care of No. I.
One follows law, one physic serves,
As shadows serve the sun ;
But briefs, and draughts, and boluses
All make for No. I.
And those that oft make love more sweet
Than cakes of Sally Lunn,
In all their ardour ever have
An eye to No. I.
In short, mankind, both young and old,
When serious or in fun,
From hour to hour, from day to day
Take care of No. I.
The rich, the poor, both high and low,
Ay, every mother's son^
From Court to Poor-law Union
Take care of No. I,
Too bad it is to be a bore,
And so my strain is done,
Except it is to say once more,
Take care of No. I.
The man who takes care of No. I.
95
THE GOLDEN LEGEND. No. VII.
THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD.
BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, ESQ.
WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK/]
" Heus tu ! inquit Diabolus, hei mihi ! fessis insuper humeris reponenda est sar-
cina ; fer opem quseso ! "
" Le Diable a des vices ; c'est la ce qui le perd. II est gourmand. II cut dans
ce<;te minute-la l'ide"e de joindre 1'ame de Medard aux autres ames qu'il allait
emporter. Se rejeter en arriere, saisir de sa main droite son poignard, et en
percer Poutre avec une violence et une rapidite" formidable, c'est ce que fit Medard.
Le Diable poussa un grand cri. Les ames d61ivr6es s'enfuirent par Tissue que le
poignard venait de leur ouvrir, laissant dans 1'outre leurs noirceurs, leurs crimes,
et ieurs m6chancet6s," &c. &c.
IN good King Dagobert's palmy days,
When Saints were many, and sins were few,
Old Nick, 'tis said,
Was sore bested
One evening, and could not tell what to do.
He had been east, and he had been west,
And far had he journey'd o'er land and sea ;
For women and men
Were warier then,
And he could not catch one where he 'd now catch three.
He had been north, and he had been south,
From Zembla's shores unto far Peru,
Ere he fill'd the sack
Which he bore on his back
Saints were so many, and sins so few !
The way was long, and the day was hot ;
His wings were weary ; his hoofs were sore ;
And scarce could he trail
His nerveless tail,
As it furrow'd the sand on the Red Sea shore !
The day had been hot, and the way was long ;
Hoof-sore, and weary, and faint, was he ;
He lower'd his sack,
And the heat of his back,
As he leaned on a palm-trunk,, blasted the tree.
He sat himself down in the palm-tree's shade,
And he gazed, and he grinn'd, in pure delight,
As he peep'd inside
The buffalo's hide
He had sewn for a sack, and had cramm'd so tight;
96 GOLDEN LEGEND.
For, though he 'd gone over a good deal of ground,"
And game had been scarce, he might well report
That, still, he had got
A decentish lot,
And had had, on the whole, not a bad day's sport.
He had pick'd up in France a Maitre de Danse,
A Maitresse en titre, two smart Grisettes,
A Courtier at play,
And an English Roue
Who had bolted from home without paying his debts.
He had caught in Great Britain a Scrivener's clerk,
A Quaker, a Baker, a Doctor of Laws,
And a Jockey of York
But Paddy from Cork
" Desaved the ould divil," and slipp'd through his claws !
In Moscow, a Boyar knouting his wife
A Corsair's crew, in the Isles of Greece
And, under the dome
Of St. Peter's, at Rome,
He had snapp'd up a nice little Cardinal's Niece.
He had bagg'd an Inquisitor fresh from Spain
A mendicant Friar of Monks a score ;
A grave Don, or two,
And a Portuguese Jew,
Whom he nabb'd while clipping a new moidore.
And he said to himself, as he lick'd his lips,
" Those nice little dears I what a delicate roast I
Then, that fine fat Friar,
At a very quick fire,
Dress'd like a woodcock, and serv'd on toast !"
At the sight of tit-bits so toothsome and choice
Never did mouth water more than Nick's ;
But, alas ! and alack I
He had stuff'd his sack
So full, that he found himself quite " in a fix :"
For, all he could do, or all he could say,
When, a little recruited, he rose to go,
Alas I and alack I
He could not get the sack
Up again on his shoulders " whether or no !"
Old Nick look'd east, old Nick look'd west,
With many a stretch, and with many a strain,
He bent till his back
Was ready to crack,
And he pull'd, and he tugg'd, but he tugg'd in vain.
THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD. 97
Old Nick look'd north, old Nick look'd south ;
Weary was Nicholas, weak, and faint,
And he was aware
Of an old man there,
In Palmer's weeds, who look'd much like a Saint.
Nick eyed the Saint, then he eyed the sack
The greedy old glutton I and thought, with a grin,
" Dear heart alive I
If I could but contrive
To pop that elderly gentleman in I
" For, were I to choose among all the ragouts
The cuisine can exhibit flesh, fowl, or fish,
To myself I can paint,
That a barbecued Saint
Would be for my palate the best side-dish !"
Now St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile,
In a Pyramis fast by the lone Red Sea.
(We call it " Semiramis,"
Why not say Pyramis ?
Why should we change the S into a D ?)
St. Medard, he was a holy man,
A holy man I ween was he,
And even by day,
When he went to pray,
He would light up a candle, that all might see !
He salaam 'd to the east, he salaam'd to the west ;
Of the gravest cut, and the holiest brown
Were his Palmer's weeds,
And he finger'd his beads
With the right side up, and the wrong side down.
* # # * *
(Hiatus in MSS. valde deflendus.)
St. Medard dwelt on the banks of the Nile ;
He had been living there years four score,
And now, " taking the air,
And saying a pray'r,"
He was walking at eve on the Red Sea shore.
Little he deem'd that holy man !
Of Old Nick's wiles, and his fraudful tricks,
When he was aware
Of a Stranger there,
Who seem'd to have got himself into a fix.
Deeply that Stranger groan'd and sigh'd,
That wayfaring Stranger, grisly and grey f
" I can't raise my sack
On my poor old back,
Oh ! lend me a lh% kind Gentleman, pray !
VOL. XIII. H
GOLDEN LEGEND.
" For I have been east, and I have been west,
Footsore, weary, and faint am I,
And, unless I get home
Ere the curfew borne,
Here in this desert I well may die ! "
Now Heav'n thee save ! " Nick winced at the words,
As ever he winces at words divine
" Now Heav'n thee save !
What strength I have,
It 's little, I wis, shall be freely thine !
" For foul befal that Christian man
Who shall fail, in a fix, woe worth the while I-
His hand to lend
To foe, or to friend,
Or to help a lame dog over a stile ! "
St. Medard hath boon'd himself for the task:
To hoist up the sack he doth well begin ;
But the fardel feels
Like a bag full of eels,
For the folks are all curling, and kicking within.
St. Medard paused he began to " smoke "
For a Saint, if he isn't exactly a cat,
Has a very good nose,
As this world goes,
And not worse than his neighbour's for " smelling a rat.'
The Saint look'd up, and the Saint look'd down ;
He " smelt the rat," and he " smoked " the trick ;
When he came to view
His comical shoe,
He saw in a moment his friend was Nick.
He whipp'd out his oyster-knife, broad and keen
A Brummagem blade which he always bore,
To aid him to eat,
By way of a treat,
The " natives " he found on the Red Sea shore ;
He whipp'd out his Brummagem blade so keen,
And he made three slits in the Buffalo's hide,
And all its contents,
Through the rents, and the vents,
Came tumbling out, and away they all hied.
Away went the Quaker, away went the Baker,
Away went the Friar that fine fat Ghost,
W 7 hose marrow Old Nick
Had intended to pick,
Dress'd like a woodcock, and served on toast !
THE LAY OF ST. MEDARD. 99
Away went the nice little Cardinal's Niece,
And the pretty Grisettes, and the Dons from Spain,
And the Corsair's Crew,
And the coin-clipping Jew,
And they scamper'd, like lamplighters, over the plain !
Old Nick is a black-looking fellow at best,
Ay, e'en when he 's pleased ; but never before
Had he look'd so black
As on seeing his sack
Thus cut into slits on the Red Sea shore.
You may fancy his rage, and his deep despair,
When he saw himself thus befool'd by one
Whom, in anger wild,
He profanely styled
t A stupid, old, snuff-coloured son of a Gun ! "
Then his supper so nice that had cost him such pains,
Such a hard day's work now " all on the go ! "
'Twas beyond a joke,
And enough to provoke
The mildest, and best-temper'd, fiend below !
Nick snatch'd up one of those great big stones,
Found in such numbers on Egypt's plains,
And he hurl'd it straight
At the Saint's bald pate,
To knock put te the gruel he call'd his brains."
Straight at his pate he hurl'd the weight,
The crushing weight of that great, big stone ;
But Saint Medard
Was remarkably hard,
And solid, about the parietal bone.
And, though the whole weight of that great, big stone
Came straight on his pate, with a great, big thump,
It fail'd to graze
The skin, or to raise
On the tough epidermis a lump, or bump !
As the hail bounds off from the pent-house slope,
As the cannon recoils when it sends its shot,
As the finger and thumb
Of an old woman come
From the kettle she handles, and finds too hot;
Or, as you may see in the Fleet, or the Bench,
Many folks do in the course of their lives,
The well-struck ball
Rebound from the wall,
When the Gentlemen jail-birds are playing at fives :
1Q0 GOLDEN LEGEND.
All these, and a thousand fine similes more,
Such as all have heard of, or seen, or read
Recorded in print,
May give you a hint
How the stone bounced off from 1 St. Medard's head.
And it curVd, and it twirl'd, and it whirl'd in air,
As this great, big stone at a tangent flew !
Just missing his crown,
It at last came down
Plump upon Nick's orthopedical shoe.
Oh ! what a yell and a screech were there !
How did he hop, skip, bellow, and roar !
" Oh dear ! oh dear ! "
You might hear him here,
Though we 're such a way off from the Red Sea shore !
It smash'd his shin, and it smash'd his hoof,
Notwithstanding his stout orthopedical shoe ;
And this is the way
That, from that same day,
Old Nick became what the French call Boiteux !
Quakers, and Bakers, Grisettes, and Friars,
And Cardinal's Nieces, where ever ye be,
St. Medard bless !
You can scarcely do less
If you of your corps possess any esprit.
And, mind and take care, yourselves, and beware
How you get in Nick's buffalo bag if you do,
I very much doubt
If you '11 ever get out,
Now sins are so many, and Saints so few !
MORAL.
Gentle Reader, attend
To the voice of a friend ;
And, if ever you go to Herne Bay, or Southend,
Or any gay Wat'ring-place outside the Nore,
Don't walk out at eve on the lone sea-shore ;
Unless you 're too Saintly to care about Nick,
And are sure that your head is sufficiently thick I
Learn not to be greedy ! and, when you 've enough.
Don't be anxious your bags any tighter to stuff;
Recollect that good fortune too far you may push,
And " A BIRD IN THE HAND is WORTH TWO IN THE BUSH !
Then turn not each thought to increasing your store,
Nor look always like " Oliver asking for more ! "
THE SEDAR. 101
Gourmandise is a vice a sad failing, at least ;
So remember " Enough is as good as a feast ! "
And don't set your heart on stew'd," " fried,'* " boil'd," or
" roast,"
Nor on delicate " woodcocks served up upon toast! "
Don't give people nick-names ! don't, even in fun,
Call any one " snuff-coloured son of a gun ! "
Nor fancy, because a man nous seems to lack,
That whenever you please you can " give him the sack ! "
Last of all, as you 'd thrive, and still sleep in whole bones,
IF YOU 'VE ANY GLASS WINDOWS, NEVER THROW STONES ! !
T.I.
Taopington Everard,
Dec. 20, 1842
THE SEDAR.
BY H. B. ADDISON.
f RECEIVED a letter addressed to me at Calcutta, from a friend at
Berhampore, stating that several robberies had taken place in my
household during my absence, and that my sedar-bearer, on whom I
could rely, had begged of my friend to write to me to return as soon
as possible.
This information reached me as I lay on my couch, completely
worn with the fatigues of the day previous ; for I had been with some
brother- officers to Barrackpore, to see a hunt by leopards a sight
the most curious that I ever beheld in India. These animals are so
tame, that they range at large, and actually sleep beside their keeper.
This I can vouch for, as I have seen it. They protect him with the
same fidelity that a dog would defend his master, if any stranger
should approach him during his slumbers. This I particularly know,
as I unfortunately went to awake him, unaware of his faithful guar-
dians, and nearly paid the penalty of my folly. The keeper, how-
ever, started up, and called them off. They obeyed with the
docility of domestic animals, and fell behind him at his word of
command. They belong, I believe, to the Govern or- General for the
time being, and are kept in the park of the government-house. It
w,is here that I saw them run down a deer. Never in my life have I
be held anything so graceful as their movements, or so rapid as their
speed. Considerably swifter than greyhounds, they bounded along,
and soon brought down their game. Fatigued with the excitement
of this beautiful sport, I returned to Calcutta, and, as I have
mentioned, was lying on my couch when the information, con-
veyed by my friend at Berhampore, arrived. No time, however,
was to be lost ; so, starting up, I ordered my palanquin to be brought
to the door, determined on travelling up the one hundred and six-
teen miles by bearers. This mode of proceeding may appear strange
to Europeans, who will scarcely believe the rapidity with which
102 THE SEDAR.
such a journey is accomplished. By the river, on account of the
current, seven days are required to arrive at Berhampore ; by land,
it only takes twenty-eight hours. The bearers, like post-horses, are
relieved every twelve or fifteen miles. Each relay consists of eight
men, who shift the burden to each other at the end of about every
league. The others trot alongside to rest themselves, the whole
party singing and jolting on at the rate of about four miles and a
half an hour. During the night the disengaged bearers carry torches,
to scare away the wild beasts. The fire-flies buzzing about, like in-
numerable stars, add to the beauty of the picture, and render this
scene most romantic and picturesque; though I must confess the
uneasy motion, the broiling of the sun in this luxurious, coffin-like
conveyance, and the fear of a voracious tiger, or other savage mon-
ster, take away, in my opinion, all the charms which would other-
wise gild this mode of travelling.
At daybreak on the second morning, (for I had halted a few hours
at Aghardeep,) I arrived in the cantonments, and entered my house,
which stood in the extensive barrack-square.
After breakfasting most luxuriously on Bombay ducks, (a small
salt fish, something like the European caplin,) the sable fish, (closely
resembling our salmon,) and snipes, which are here far more plen-
tiful than sparrows in England, I secretly sent for the WISE MAN of
the place to come and discover the thief; then, ordering the ser-
vants to fall in, in a row under the verandah, I quietly and confi-
dently awaited his arrival. I had often seen his powers tested, and
never knew them fail. I am aware that my countrymen will smile
at my credulity ; but, as I have the conviction from personal and
constant observation, I do not hesitate to assert, that his manner of
discovering crime, though the simplest, was the most wonderful that
I ever beheld. The present instance served to strengthen my belief.
In every bazaar or village in India there exists a wise man, a sort
of half-priest, half-conjuror, who predicts events, tells fortunes, se-
cures families, and discovers crimes. These individuals are looked
upon with great awe by the natives, and are often found useful in
the last instance by Europeans.
On the arrival of the magician, he made the men form a circle
round him ; then, uttering some prayers, he produced a small bag
of rice, and taking out a handful, gave it to the man nearest to
him, and desired him to chew it, while he continued to recite cer-
tain prayers, or incantations. In a moment or two he held a plate
to the man, and desired him to spit out the grain. He did so ; it
was well chewed, and the man instantly declared innocent. An-
other and another succeeded. At length he came to one of my
favourite servants one whom I never suspected. On taking the
rice, the man seemed dreadfully convulsed. He ground his teeth,
and worked hard to masticate it ; but all in vain. When he rendered
it on the plate, the grain was uncrushed, unchewed. The WISE MAN
instantly proclaimed him to be the thief; upon which, the servant,
falling on his knees, confessed the crime, and detailed a series of
thefts, for which I had suspected, and even punished, others. By his
own showing he must have been the greatest rascal, the greatest
scoundrel alive. He had, however, lived long with me ; so I content-
ed myself with instantly dismissing him,
In the evening I was sitting at whist, when I was called out by
THE SEDAR. 103
my sedar-bearer, whom I before mentioned as one of the most faith-
fat creatures in existence. He begged of me instantly to set out for
Moorshedabad a distance of about ten miles, in order to see a cou-
sin of mine, who had sent me a verbal message by a pune (a foot-run-
ner,) requesting my instant attendance, as he had met with a serious
accident. When I asked to see the servant, I found he was already
gone ; and, when I expressed my astonishment that he had not even
sent me SL chit (note), my bearer assured me the accident had deprived
him of the power of writing; but that he earnestly solicited me to
lose no time in setting out. Of course I did not hesitate ordering
my palanquin out once more. Though sadly tired, I started off,
after making an apology to my friends for thus abruptly leaving them.
On my arrival at Moorshedabad, I hurried to the bungalow of my
relative. Here I found all the world fast asleep ; and, amongst
others, my cousin. He was perfectly well, and slumbering most
comfortably. On being awoke, he positively denied having sent
any messenger whatever to me, and had met with no accident, nor
was ever better in his life.
The deception thus practised on me staggered me so much, that,
in spite of every remonstrance, I borrowed a relay of bearers, and
set out on my instant return home.
On re-entering my quarter I found all quiet and still as the
grave. I aroused some of the sleeping-servants ; and, having ob-
tained a light, asked for the sedar-bearer, determined to make an ex-
ample of the rascal for having thus played off a practical joke on
me. None of the others> however, knew where he was; so I pro-
ceeded to my bed-room, resolved to punish him in the morning. As
I passed through my dressing-room, I perceived my drawers open ;
I examined them, and found that a suit of my clothes had been ex-
tracted; and, by a turban I found lying near, I discovered that they
had been taken by the sedar. That a man, whom I had hitherto
looked upon as incorruptibly honest, should thus act, was a matter
of the greatest surprise. That one, who had ever been considered
as the most faithful of my servants, should thus suddenly turn thief,
annoyed, and disappointed me. But, what puzzled me more than
all was, that my people declared he had been seen to enter this room
early in the evening, but most positively had not passed out again*
Tired with conjecture, I went into my sleeping apartment.
[ started back with surprise. Upon the bed lay a figure, the very
counterpart of myself ! My heart misgave me as I rushed forward,
and tore a handkerchief from the features of my other self, who so
closely resembled me, as he appeared stretched on my bed, that my
followers kept staring first at me, and then at the figure before them,
as if doubtful of my identity.
As the covering was removed, I perceived the countenance of my
sedar. He was fast asleep. I attempted in anger to awake him.
Ho was a corpse. Stone dead before me was stretched my late fa-
vourite servant. On a close examination I found a sharp-pointed
instrument (probably poisoned) thrust into his heart, from which
it was still undrawn. I could not decipher the dreadful mystery.
Presently one of my kidmutgars rushed up. He held a leaf in his
hand on which some characters in Hindostannee had been traced (as
usual) with a pin. I sent for my munchee (interpreter), who thus
translated them. " Beloved master ! a plot was formed by the man
104 TO ANNA.
whom you this day discovered to be a thief, to murder you. It was
too well planned for you to escape. I was too solemnly sworn to
dare to reveal it to you ! Pardon me, beloved master ! but I ven-
tured to deceive you. I took your place ; and have felt happy to
die for you ! May the God of the white man make you happy !"
The riddle was solved. The delinquent, thinking he had com-
pleted his deed of blood, had fled. I provided for the family of my
attached servant. Not one of his fellows, however, seemed astonish-
ed at the act. They appeared to look upon such devotion as a
matter of course. For myself, I never can, I never will, forget the
fidelity of my devoted ' f sedar."
TO ANNA.
BRIGHT, bright as a beam of the glorious sun
To the ransomed captive free !
Or the glance that speaks of a mother's love;,
Is thy gentle smile to me,
My love,
Thy gentle smile to me.
And soft as the sigh of Italian breeze,
As it plays round the orange flower,
And glad as the songs of happy birds,
Thy notes from thy perfumed bower,
My love,
Thy notes from thy perfumed bower.
And modest the ray of thy beautiful eye
From its heav'n of liquid blue ;
As light as a rose-leaf drops thy kiss
From lips qf a kindred hue,
My love,
From lips of a kindred hue.
And glossy, and free as the chainless wind,
Waves the hair o'er thy spotless brow ;
And white as thy snowy fazzolet
The hand that thou wav'st to me now,
My love,
The hand that thou wav'st to me now.
Thou art gone ! and my soul is as dark as the night
When the moon and the stars have fled ;
But a sunny morrow will greet me yet,
And thy light o'er my soul be shed,
My love,
And thy light o'er my soul be shed.
Edinburgh. j e j.
105
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY AND HIS
FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON.
BY ALBERT SMITH.
WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY JOHN LEECH.
CHAPTER XIV.
In which we find Jack Johnson at home.
.
THE morning had advanced to an hour halfway between the aver-
age time of breakfast and lunch in sober and well-conducted families,
ere Jack Johnson awoke, on the day subsequent to the party at Led-
bury's. Upon retiring to bed, in the vanity of his heart, and the re-
liance upon his strength of mind, he had set the alarum of a small
clock, which hung in his chamber, to go off at half-past eight ; but,
when the time came, and the weight ran down in a most intoxicated
manner, to the shrill clatter of its own bell, he was still wrapt in a
deep slumber. Nor were his dreams disturbed either by the noise
ID the house, the perambulating euterpeon in the streets, (which al-
ways reminded one of many trumpets put into a coffee-mill,) or the
occasional information conveyed to him by the servant at the door,
that each time she came it was half-an-hour after her last visit; and
that the warm water had been changed three times, in consequence
(to use the language of useful knowledge) of diminution of caloric
caused by gradual evaporation.
At length he awoke ; and, collecting an immense quantity of reso-
lution, as soon as he understood clearly that he was in proper pos-
session of his faculties, he proceeded to make his toilet, which he
did pretty well, considering that he got through the greater part of
the process with his eyes shut. But all the time he could not banish
tho vision of Emma Ledbury from his imagination; and when he
sat down to breakfast, he thought what an elysium his second-floor
front would become if she were there to make coffee for him ! With
her for a companion, how smoothly the current of his life would
flow, and how very pretty she looked last night! with many won-
ders as to whether she cared for him, or merely regarded him as she
did other friends of her brother; and various other pleasant specu-
lations which young gentlemen are apt to fall into after they have
met attractive young ladies at evening-parties. But, perhaps, all
these reveries were the more singular in Jack Johnson, because he
had not often amused himself, before this time, with building ma-
trimonial bowers in the air, or giving way to any other delicious ab-
surdities of the same class.
lie was trying to persuade himself that he really had an appetite
for his breakfast a custom usual with people after a festive evening
when the servant announced that a man wished to speak to him ;
and, as she appeared anxious not to leave him alone in the passage
longer than was absolutely necessary, Johnson ordered him up.
As iie entered the room, our friend immediately recognised the pro-
fessor of "misery for the million," whom he had met in the cellar in
St. Giles.
VOL. XIII. I
106 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
" I 've brought this bit of paper, doctor," said the man, who ap-
parently still believed such to be Johnson's profession, " from the
young man as was ill in our crib."
Johnson hastily took the note, and read with some difficulty the
following words, faintly scrawled in pencil :
" I have not thought it advisable to stay here longer ; and, by
the time you receive this, I shall have left the place. You will hear
from me as soon as I have again settled. Take care of that you
know for we may need it."
" When was this written?" asked Johnson.
"Last night, sir," was the reply ; " before he left. I don't think
he was much fit to go. He look'd uncommon cranky, to be sure !"
" Did any one ever come to see him besides myself?"
" There was a gentleman, sir, as come two or three times, and
went off in a cab with him last night."
" What sort of a man ?"
"A perfect gentleman, sir. He wore a scarlet neckcloth and
mustachios."
Johnson made no further remark, but remained for a few minutes
lost in reflection. His visitor also kept perfectly silent, perched up-
on the extreme corner of a chair, with his legs tucked underneath it,
after the manner of the common orders in general, when they sit
down in company with their superiors, as if they thought it was
good breeding to wear out as little of the carpet and furniture as
possible. And so they rested for a short period, Johnson finding
out models of the Alps in the moist sugar, and the man looking
about at the neighbouring windows of the street, apparently calcu-
lating what sort of an audience he could entice to them, on a future
occasion.
" I beg pardon, doctor," said the visitor, at length breaking si-
lence ; " but, perhaps, you can be of some service to me."
" Oh ! certainly," replied Johnson, not exactly hearing the ques-
tion. "What is it?"
" I keeps a fantosceny, magic lantern, and punch ; and perwides
amusements for parties," continued the man. I '11 make bold, sir,
to give you my card."
Whereupon he searched in some mysterious pocket of his fustian
coat, and produced a small parallelogram of dirty pasteboard, im-
printed with the information which he had conveyed to Johnson ;
and immediately afterwards dived into another capacious opening
in his jacket, and dragged out a Punch's head, which he exhibited
with great admiration, accompanying the action by one of the
squeaks peculiar to that facetious puppet.
" There 's a pictur', sir ! ain't it nat'ral ?" asked the man, looking
at it with the affection of a parent. " My pardner's going to tog it
to-night ; and then we shall keep it for families of respectability."
"I think it is too smart for the streets," said Johnson, feeling
himself called upon to pay some compliment to the wooden offspring
of his visitor.
Bless you ! he '11 never perform in the streets !" answered the
man, apparently feeling his protege insulted ; the dodges there is
too wiolent for such a handsome Punch as this. He 's too genteel to
attract the street-people, he is. He wouldn't draw no more than a
second-hand blister upon a milestone."
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 107
" Then, what is he for ?" asked Jack. ; *
lf Why, you see, sir,, we are obliged to cut the jokes uncommon
underdone for families ; they doesn't like the baby being thrown
out o' window, nor the coffin for Jack Ketch."
"And, why not?"
"Because the children always pitches their dolls into the streets,
to imitate us, from the nursery- windows. I 've know'd 'em try to
hang the babies, where there has been any, before this."
Johnson could not forbear smiling at the man's caution, in as-
suming to himself the censorship of his own drama; but, as he was
at present in no very great humour for talking, he told him that he
would let him know if he required his services, previously to wish-
ing him good morning. And, when he was gone, Jack again fell
into a train of anxious thought respecting his cousin, mingled with a
certain proportion of apprehension least he should be inveigled into
any unpleasant position from the. trifling share he had taken in the
transaction. More than once he felt tempted to start immediately to
the bank from which Morris had absconded, and return the whole
of the money entrusted to his charge, which, to his surprise,
amounted to upwards of a hundred sovereigns : but, then, the so-
lemn promise he had made to his cousin, and the hope that he might
still be reclaimed, again changed his resolution, and for a period he
remained in exceeding perplexity ; the reaction, after his high
spirits of the previous evening, in no wise tending to make him
think the better of the world, or its inmates ; or helping him, for the
moment, to place things in a more cheering point of view. Then he
thought of his own position, and the little prospect which appeared
of his ever being able to improve it sufficiently to reach that proper
station in society, which, with all his levity, he wished to occupy ;
and this point of his ruminations brought him again to Emma Led-
bury, towards whom, he could not persuade himself that his feelings
were altogether indifferent. And, finally, he thought of all these
things at once, until he got into a labyrinth of intricate ideas, that
almost made him imagine his brain was revolving on its own axis.
We have never studied metaphysics, nor shall we make the at-
tempt until we have heard an argument upon that science which
will conclude by one of the parties disputing being brought round
to the other's way of thinking a consummation we never yet wit-
nessad ; but we may, perhaps, be allowed to speak of the elasticity
of the mind as one of its most glorious attributes. It turns the
brain into a stuffed spring-seat for the weary spirits to repose upon
after any unusual exertion ; and provides an easy-chair for thought
nearly worn out by trouble, luxurious and repose-inviting as an hy-
drostatic bed. And, very accommodating indeed was Jack John-
son's mental organisation in this respect, for it resembled the metal-
coil of a patent candlestick; since, however forced down by contin-
gent circumstances, yet, as soon as a light dispelled the dark shade
that hovered round, it rose up again higher and higher, until the
cause of its depression had disappeared altogether, and it retained its
wonted freedom and elevation. He might, perhaps, have been as
aptly considered as a human Jack-in-the-box, whom no adverse
casualties, however forcible at the time, could permanently beat
down ; but, on the contrary, they enabled him to rise again above
the gloom of his troubles, even with increased power, and aspiring
i 2
108 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
energy. Had he allowed himself to be depressed by every unplea-
santry, he would have experienced a sad time of it altogether ; but
he was, as we have seen, of a cheerful and vivacious disposition, ra-
ther inclined to look at the bright side of everything and everybody,
and seldom paying trouble the compliment of meeting it half-way ;
which proceeding, from a sense of politeness on the part of the com-
ing evil, often causes it to advance with greater confidence, when it
would otherwise have kept off altogether.
Although Jack was not above six-and-twenty, yet he had lived
and seen more than many with ten or twelve additional years on
their shoulders. Thrown upon his own resources at comparatively
an early age, he had precociously acquired a practical knowledge of
the world, and the usages of nearly all classes of society. His father
had been an idle and improvident man, always in embarrassed cir-
cumstances, although, it is but fair to state, more from carelessness
than dishonesty ; and allowing his children to grow up, rather than
be brought up, solely because he would not exert himself to put
them in the right path. The consequence was, that, upon his death
a perfect separation of the family took place ; one or two of the
boys going to situations in the colonies, or other refuges for the des-
titute social- suicides ; and Jack, who was the eldest, inheriting what
little property was left behind ; which, whilst it was scarcely enough
to enable him to live in moderate comfort, was yet sufficient to give
him a distaste for exertion in following any avocation. And so, after
trying various schemes ; after having taken up medicine, literature,
law, and even the drama, he gave up the pursuit of employment
under difficulties, and eked out his small property by some of those
mysterious occupations which men follow who are reported to live
by their wits.
He had just determined upon taking a walk to Hampstead, to im-
bibe a little fresh air, when he heard a knock at his door ; and Mr.
Ledbury came in, all smiles and pleasantry, with some violets in his
button-hole, and looking quite like a gallant cavalier. From this
Jack inferred that he had been calling to inquire after the health of
one of the belles who had shone on the preceding evening, which
E roved to be the case ; Mr. Ledbury having risen rather earlier than
e would otherwise have done, and, by crafty mechanical appliances
of glue, ribbon, and gold-paper, mended a fan in most workmanlike
style, which the most attractive of his partners had broken in one of
the quadrilles ; and now he had been to return it, with many de-
lightful speeches and compliments, and energetic assurances from
the young lady that " it was the most delightful evening she ever re-
collected," as is customary upon such occasions.
" Well, Jack ! old man ! how are you ?" was Mr. Ledbury's first
question, as he shook hands with his friend.
" Oh ! very well, as the times go, Leddy ! What fun we had !
And, what are you going to do to-day ?"
" Nothing particular," replied Ledbury : " can you put up any-
thing ? I am not much inclined for work ; and they are doing no-
thing at home but putting things away. There 's no great fun in
that, Jack ?"
" Not much. How 's the governor ?"
" Nobody has seen anything of him. The servants say he went
into the city this morning, as usual I believe, a little time before
they thought of going to bed. Well ; " what shall we do ?"
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 109
" Rush out, and take our chance of whatever may turn up," re-
plied Jack. " I feel myself as if I wanted to be shaken about a little ;
and I suppose they will not miss you at home?"
" Not at all !" said Ledbury. " It will be a decided case of go-to-
ted- early with all of them."
Whereupon they both agreed that they would make a night of it ;
and Ledbury went back to Islington, intending to get the key, as
v ell as a highly-fashionable and picturesque ten-and-sixpenny-coal-
s.ick-looking coat, which he had been persuaded by Jack Johnson to
buy, for night-excursions ; promising to meet his friend in the after-
noon, and dine with him at the old eating-house where we first in-
troduced them both to the reader.
CHAPTER XV.
Of the adventure which Mr. Ledbury, in company with his friend, met with at
a penny-show.
TRUE to the appointment, just as the gas-lamps were beginning to
glimmer in the haze of the declining daylight, and Hanway Yard
and Great Russell Street were nearly filled with a stream of popula-
tion, (chiefly young ladies, governesses, and little girls, hurrying
home in a north-easterly direction, to the squares, with the purchases
they had been making at the West-End,) just as the post-meridian
milk-pails intimated their arrival, with melancholy cry, at the areas
of Alfred Place, and the alfresco merchants of Tottenham Court
R )ad began to exhibit their whity-brown paper transparencies, cast-
ing a mellow and subdued light upon the baskets ; which, in com-
pany with Hesperus, brought f all good things home to the weary, to
the hungry, cheer/ as we have it so well described by a great poet,
who goes on to talk about the " welcome stall " and " hearthstones,"
which prove incontrovertibly he had Tottenham Court Road in his
mind when he penned the stanza; just at this time, then, (for we
are losing ourselves in a very long sentence, and must come back to
where we began,) Mr. Ledbury once more found himself at Jack
Johnson's lodgings. His friend was finishing a letter for the post;
and, requesting Ledbury to sit down for a short time, begged him to
send out for some very immense and finely-flavoured half-and-half,
which was to be obtained round the corner, a peculiar locality, con-
nected with every house where everything is always to be got. But,
as dinner-time was approaching, Ledbury declined ; contenting him-
self with borrowing Johnson's pipe, which he filled with some to-
bac co from the capacious stomach of a broken Lablache tumbler-
doll, standing on the mantelpiece, and then puffing away with suit-
able gravity, watching the smoke as it assumed a thousand fantastic
shapes ere it disappeared; which occupation is presumed to be one
of the chief pleasures which a pipe can offer.
At last they started off; and the moment they left the door all
Jack Johnson's vivacity returned, his merriment being in no de-
gree lessened by the recollection of bygone frolics, which being
out once more alone with Ledbury gave rise to. And Mr. Ledbury
partook of his friend's hilarity, and even once attempted to chaff a
policeman, by making a courteous inquiry after the health of his
inspector. After which Jack knocked over a row of little boys, one
afti r another, who were standing on their heads by the side of the
110 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
pavement ; which proceeding drew after them a volley of salutations
peculiar to little boys, much increased when he put one of their caps
in his pocket, and carried it with him an indefinite distance, con-
cluding the insult by throwing it a great way into a linendraper's
shop ; where it hit one of the gentlemen in the white neckcloths,
who revenged himself upon the little boy by kicking him out of the
shop, across the pavement, and clean over to the cab-stand, the mi-
nute he went in to ask for it.
The dinner passed off with considerable spirit, aided by the " feast
of reason, and the flow of" beer ; and, having ordered a pint of wine
in a reckless manner, that completely paralysed the waiter, no such
fluid ever having made its appearance there before in the memory
of the oldest frequenter, they sallied forth again.
" I shall trust to you, Jack," said Ledbury ; " for I am quite as
ignorant of t-he ways of London as I' was of Paris when I first got
there. But I shall soon improve under your tuition."
" Of course," replied Johnson ; " before I have done with you I '11
make you ' such a fellow !' Do you ever go into Piccadilly when
there is a levee or drawing-room ?"
Ledbury replied in the negative.
" Well, then," said Jack, " I always do ; and great fun you may
have there. I get a walking-stick, with a pin at the end of it: and
when I see a particularly nice John Thomas behind a carriage, who
does not seem at all proud of his calves and whiskers, and thinks
he 's nobody, I pretend to cross, and gently dig the pin into his leg
only a little way, to amuse him."
" And what does he do?" asked Ledbury.
" Do !" replied Johnson ; " what can he do ? fixed up on the board,
and bobbing about, like a solitary potato in a wheelbarrow. He
usually looks very indignant; and, if he's insolent, and it chances
to be muddy, I dip my stick in the dirt, and dab his silk stockings."
They wandered through a number of back-streets, making various
observations, philosophical and playful, upon what they saw, until
their attention was arrested by the announcement of an exhibition
of peculiar interest at the door of a house which they were passing ;
and several loiterers were on the pavement, listening to the organ,
that was playing to entice an audience, or endeavouring to peer into
the mysteries of the penetralia beyond the entrance. The price of
admission was one penny, which they both paid, after Johnson had
offered to toss the proprietor whether they should give him two-
pence or nothing a speculation which the exhibitor repulsed with
much indignation.
Mr. Ledbury felt rather nervous as he approached the dark portal
of the exhibition-room ; and was not re-assured, upon asking a de-
cent-looking female seated at the door which was the way, in re-
ceiving no answer ; until he perceived he had been addressing a wax-
likeness of Maria Martin. At last they arrived at a long room,
adorned with panoramic paintings of several of the most favourite
localities in the artist's imagination, the most effective being a view
of Constantinople from the middle arch of Blackfriars' Bridge. A
large party of wax heads, put upon bodies, and furnished with
clothes, were ranged round the room ; and the inventive facetious-
ness of the owner had been taxed in assigning to them various names
of popular or notorious individuals, whom he supposed or wished
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. Ill
them to resemble. Mr. Ledbury had never been to Madame Tus-
sa.ud's, nor, indeed, had he seen any wax-figures at all, except the
vivid representation of a gentleman as he appeared with his hair
curled in the window of a coiffeur at Islington, who had been by
turns Marshal Soult, Prince Albert, and the King of Prussia, so
that he was still somewhat awed at finding himself in the presence
of so many great people. But at last he took courage from watch-
ing the reckless manner in which Jack Johnson behaved, question-
ing the exhibitor right and left respecting his curiosities.
" This," said the man, approaching a species of oblong cucumber-
frame with great importance, tf this is the mummy of an Egyptian
above three thousand year old."
" Bless me !" observed Jack, with an air of great importance ;
" what an age they lived to in Egypt ! Pray, sir, is it Cheops !"
1 ' No, sir," replied the man indignantly ; " it 's real bones and flesh."
" I never saw a mummy," said Ledbury, peering into the case,
upon the compound of pitch and brown paper which it enclosed.
" You '11 see thousands soon," replied Jack. " The New Asphalte
Company are going to import all they can find in Egypt, to pound
them up, and pave the walks of Kensal Cemetery with. Come along,
or we shall lose the description."
" This is George the Fourth," said the man, pointing to a very
slim figure, with a theatrical crown on its head.
"I thought he was a very stout man," observed Ledbury, pluck-
ing up sufficient courage to make an observation.
"Very likely," replied the man shortly, not approving of the com-
ments of his visitors ; " but, if you 'd been here without victuals half
as long as he has, you 'd be twice as thin !"
There was a laugh from the other spectators ; and Mr. Ledbury,
completely overcome, did not try any more chaff, but followed the
man and his audience to another salon upstairs, where a coarse, red
curtain was drawn across the room, concealing more wonders. The
exhibitor formed his audience into a semicircle upon low forms
round the chamber ; and then, first of all, led forward a young lady
with pink eyes, who appeared to have allowed no end of silkworms
to spin all over her head ; and next, a little man, about two feet
hii^h, in knee-breeches and mustachios, who bowed very politely to
the company, and then, without further preface, struck up a song,
with a very indistinct articulation, which Jack Johnson defined to
be expressive of fear, commencing, as nearly as he could catch the
words " My heart 's in my highlows !"
He had not got through four lines, when Ledbury heard a sudden
noise in the thoroughfare, upon which the window close to him
looked down one of those mysterious localities only disclosed when
tht ir unknown topography is occasionally invaded by a new street.
A hack-cab had stopped at the top of the court, surrounded by a
crowd of people, who beset it on either side, peeping in at the win-
dows, crawling up to the box, and betraying various other signs of
intense curiosity to behold what was inside. Presently a couple of
pol icemen appeared, and cleared a passage to the door ; and then
Ledbury saw a female, in what appeared to him a theatrical dress,
carried from the cab to the door.
'' Look here ! what is going on below ?" said Ledbury, interrupting
the dwarf's song, and calling the attention of the man to the window.
112 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
The noise in the court had put all the inhabitants on the qui vive,
and every window had an occupant gazing upon the tumult. The
neighbours, also, had assembled on the steps of each other's doors,
to inquire " What was the row ?" and add to the general Babel of
chatter ; for a disturbed ant's nest is a scene of tranquillity compared
to the sudden gathering of a court in a low London neighbourhood,
when an itinerant posture-master, a drunken riot, an insulted police-
man, or an unexpected accident, breaks in upon its general uniform-
ity of dirt, drunkenness, and poverty.
" I 'm shot if it ain't Letty brought home bad ! " observed the man
to the dwarf, as he caught a sight of the girl, who was being taken
into the house.
" Oh dear ! oh dear ! " cried the little dwarf, in accents of distress,
as he stopped his song, " what has happened to her ?" And, hurry-
ing towards the window, round which the greater part of the audi-
ence now collected, he ran backwards and forwards, trying to peep
between them, as we have seen a mouse do between the wires of his
cage, when newly introduced.
" I '11 be much obliged to you to go away, ladies and gentlemen,
if you please," said the showman. " I think an accident has happened
to a young woman as lives in the house."
" Keep by me," whispered Johnson to Ledbury, as the people
were departing, " and we may see something here. I am a medical
man," he continued, addressing the exhibitor, " and so is my friend.
We shall be happy if we can be of any service to you."
The offer was thankfully accepted ; and, leaving Ledbury for a
minute to make the agreeable to the young lady with the pink eyes,
Johnson and the showman, followed by the dwarf, whose counte-
nance betrayed extreme anxiety, went down stairs, and met a po-
liceman carrying the girl, whom they immediately assisted.*
Being directed to one of the rooms at the top of the house, they
had no little difficulty in supporting their patient up the steep and
narrow stairs ; nor were their clothes improved by the contact of the
rough and craggy walls on each side of them, the plaster from which
had fallen off in large flakes, laying bare the laths in several places,
and crushing under their feet as they ascended. At every landing
the occupants had collected from curiosity, peeping over one an-
other's heads through the half-opened doorways of their apartments,
one or two miserable slip-shod females following them up stairs.
They kept going up and up, until they came to the topmost gar-
ret, and here they entered, when Johnson ordered the policeman to
remain at the door, admitting only Ledbury, the Albinese, and the
dwarf. They then placed their patient upon an apology for a bed
m the corner of the room, and proceeded to ascertain what had be-
fallen her.
It appeared that she had been dancing on the tight rope as a
< Swiss gleaner," or something of the kind, at one of the inferior
musical taverns of the neighbourhood ; and the rope, not having
been firmly secured by the pulley, had slipped, and thrown her upon
the floor, giving her foot a severe wrench. She was unable to stand,
and her face assumed an expression of acute pain, ill disguised by
the coarse rouge and powder covering her features, which, but for
their jaded and anxious look, would have been perfectly beautiful.
Whilst the pink-eyed girl was divesting the sufferer of a few outer
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 113
portions of her tawdry, spangled dress, Johnson sat upon an old deal-
box in the corner, and cast a glance round the room. From the
slanting roof, it was evidently immediately beneath the tiles, and
about ten feet square. A few bricks, divided by pieces of old iron-
hooping, formed the fire-place; but the blackened front of the man-
telpiece, and ceiling altogether, showed the smoke had a predilection
for the interior of the apartment, instead of going up the chimney,
in spite of the tattered piece of drapery nailed across the top of the
aperture to improve the draught. A patched and ancient bed-cur-
tain, which had once been blue-check, attached to a line, divided the
room into two small portions. There was an old Dutch clock in one
corner of the apartment, surmounted by a quaint little figure of a
skeleton, which mowed away in unceasing unison with the beat of the
pendulum ; but, as the hands pertinaciously refused to move, except
when they went occasionally a little backwards, the whole affair
seemed in the situation of a favourite done-up horse, turned out for
the rest of his life in a paddock, who having worked hard in his
time, and being no longer useful, is allowed to go on as he likes,
just for his dwn amusement. A few articles of stage-costume and
jewellery were scattered about the room, and some worn-out slippers,
edged with tarnished lace, were lying upon the floor.
:c Well, now we '11 see the foot," said Johnson kindly, as he ap-
proached the bed.
;c I hope you 're not going to cut me, sir ?" said the dancer, enter-
taining the common opinion [of the lower orders, that no operation
can be accomplished without knives.
:t No, no ; you need not alarm yourself," replied Johnson, grasp-
ing the foot, and moving it in different directions. We have said
that he knew something of surgery, and the examination sufficed to
show him that no bones were broken. But he kept up the import-
ance of his assumed profession, and, turning round to his friend,
said, " Now, Mr. Ledbury, have the kindness to look at this. I think
you will agree with me that there is no fracture."
For a wonder, Ledbury perceived his drift, and, pretending to
ex imine the joint, although with much trepidation, returned a satis-
factory answer.
:l It is a bad sprain," continued Johnson, " and will require rest.
Have you any rags, for some pads and a bandage ?" he asked of the
Albinese.
The pink-eyed girl didn't know she was not quite sure the
children did take everything so, and she had only been saying that
morning that they shouldn't do so. Last week she had plenty,
more than she knew what to do with ; but now she hadn't any."
r- The dwarf, who had been silently watching the whole of the scene
with great interest, went outside the door, and communicated with
the man on the landing. The result of the conference was an agree-
ment to rob the heads of Courvoisier and Oliver Cromwell of their
contents; and, the plan being adopted, a quantity of rags was the
result, which Johnson soaked in some vinegar, and applied with
praiseworthy adroitness.
lf How long do you think it will be before my sister can dance
ag;dn, sir ?" asked the dwarf.
' f Is this your sister ?" exclaimed Johnson, somewhat amazed to
think that so small a man could have so well-formed a relation.
114 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
" She is indeed, sir, by the same mother," replied the dwarf, as
he clasped one or two of her fingers in his tiny hand.
" She must not think of moving just yet," said Johnson, not know-
ing exactly what space of time to mention.
" It is a bad job both for Madame Angelique and myself," said the
girl despondingly.
And who is Madame Angelique ?" inquired Jack.
" She dances the double dance with me, sir, that earns us most
money," said the girl. " She cannot do it by herself."
" Tilly Davis could learn it very soon, I 'm sure," said the dwarf,
most probably alluding to another artiste; " but I don't know where
she 's gone, since she quarrelled with the Chinese Gladiator at Croy-
don Fair."
" I shouldn't wonder," said the pink-eyed girl, " if she is one of the
Styrian Stunners at the Albert Pavilion. You can see to-morrow."
This appeared to be a great triumph of suggestion, from the man-
ner in which it was received by the girl .and her friends. And now,
upon the patient's declaring that she felt much easier, Johnson and
Ledbury prepared to take their departure, having promised, with
grave looks, to call and see how the foot was going on the next day.
And then, leaving the Albinese with her, they went down stairs to
the room they had quitted at the time of the accident, lighted by
the dwarf, who carried an emaciated candle stuck in an old ink-
stand, so yellow and thin, that it appeared to have suffered from
jaundice for some time.
The policeman having been treated to a glass of gin, went away,
having first engaged to call upon Johnson the next morning, who
promised to procure him an out-door patient's order for one of the
hospitals, to cure a bad cough from which he suffered ; the man hav-
ing applied to him, believing him to be a surgeon, and* receiving no
benefit from the medical man attached to the force.
" I beg you '11 be seated, gentlemen," said the dwarf, as they en-
tered the show-room, now quite deserted. " I have nothing to offer
but a glass of whisky, which I hope you will do me the favour to taste."
There was such an appearance of gratitude, and anxiety to evince
it, in the little man's manner, that Ledbury and his companion
seated themselves at the fire-place, and accepted the proffered re-
freshment.
"That is very fine," said Johnson, as he drank off the contents of
a wine-glass without a stem, and handed it to Ledbury.
" It is very good, I believe, sir," answered the dwarf. " I had an
Irishman in my exhibition once, who was the Wild Malay. We
were very good friends, and sometimes he sends me some."
" You are master, then, of this establishment ?" asked Ledbury,
with as staid a politeness as a fit of coughing, brought on by the
whisky, would permit.
" I am, sir," returned the little man. " It is very hard work,
though ; and my health is not very good. I have sung my song
four-and- twenty times in a day, when I could hardly hold my head
up. Once I used to wince under the coarse jokes of the spectators
at my figure ; but I do not mind them now."
' Does your sister belong to the show as well ?" inquired Johnson.
" She did, until about a twelvemonth ago, sir," replied the dwarf,
as his voice fell, " and then she left me for a time. Poor thing !
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 115
poor thing ! I believe him to have been a villain, although she was
very fond of him. But she has suffered for it ! "
There was something very touching in the mannekin's voice as he
uttered these words. Johnson, with ready tact, immediately turned
the conversation, fully sorry that he had led up to it. They sat some
little time longer, much amused at the intelligence and conversation
of their small host ; and then, wishing him good night, took their
leave, promising to return.
" It is very strange," said Johnson to Ledbury, when they gained
the street, " that all this should have happened. I know that girl's
face as well as I know yours, and I thought that once or twice she
regarded me very strangely. Where can we have met?"
" I would not trouble myself to find it out/' said Ledbury. " Those
things always come upon you all at once, and so will this. In the
meantime let us hunt up some more amusement."
CHAPTER XVI.
Of the diverting manner in which Mr. Ledbury concluded the evening.
AFTER a variety of minor adventures, not of sufficient importance
for us to chronicle, although highly interesting to the parties con-
cerned, our friends found themselves, about midnight, in the neigh-
bourhood of the theatres. Crossing over in the direction of Covent
Garden Market, and enlivening the journey by occasional banterings
with the basket- women, in which, it must be confessed, they gene-
rally got the worst of it, they entered Maiden Lane. Lingering an
instant over the kitchen-grating of the Cyder cellars, in contempla-
tion of the large fire, and affectionate admiration of the viands there
displayed, they went down one flight of stairs, and up another, until
they stood at the entrance of the supper-room.
'' Now, then, Leddy, go a-head ! " said -Johnson, giving his friend
a push.
" Beg your pardon, gentlemen," interrupted the waiter at the
door, placing himself in their way ; " song 's going on."
" Well, let it go on, if it likes," said Johnson ; " I don't want to
stop it."
" No, sir/' replied the waiter, in a vague negative ; f( only it inter-
rupts the harmony."
In the course of two minutes, an unusual excitement in singing
the chorus proclaimed that the " harmony " was about to finish.
' Is this your first visit here ?" asked Jack of Ledbury, to which
he received an answer in the affirmative.
' Very well, then," he continued, " they will be sure to applaud
you, as a welcome, when you enter; so be prepared."
In another instant the song concluded ; and, as Jack seized Led-
bury by the hand, and led him into the room, the burst of applause
commenced, meant, of course, for the singer. But Mr. Ledbury took
it to himself, and, removing his hat, as he would have done in a
French cafe, smiled very amicably, and kept bowing on either side
with much grace, all the way to the top of the room, to the great
admiration of the spectators ; and at last he took his seat, amidst the
jingling of stout-glasses, the cries of " encore" the shouts for " wait-
er/' and the concussions of pewter-goes upon the table. The room
had just filled from the theatres, and the usual bustle was in full
116 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
play. There were a great many guests walking into poached eggs
and roast-potatoes, as if they had eaten nothing for a month ; and a
great many others smoking and drinking grog, and some talking,
and others asleep, so that altogether there was a large company.
" This is a gratifying sight, indeed, Jack ! " said Mr. Ledbury,
rubbing his hands with glee, and feeling considerably better for a
pint of stout. " What a noble room ! "
"And noble company, too," replied Johnson, getting wicked.
" You would not credit the number of great people who come here."
" Law ! Point out some of them to me," said Ledbury.
"Do you see that gentleman in the white Chesterfield, with the
green shawl, and his hat on one side, sitting by the third pillar ?
Well, that's Sir Robert Peel."
" Indeed ! " said Mr. Ledbury, rising, to get a better view of the
gentleman. " And who are those two next to him ?"
" Why, I think they are Count Kielmansegge and Baron Bjornst-
jerna."
"Who?" asked Mr. Ledbury, somewhat confounded.
" Don't ask me again," said Johnson ; " they are troublesome
names to pronounce. They are the Hanoverian and Swedish am-
bassadors."
" I suppose Prince Albert never comes ?" observed Ledbury.
" I think not," said Johnson, sinking his voice, and speaking
confidentially ; " but I have seen Herr Von Joel here."
" God bless me ! " exclaimed Mr. Ledbury, not liking to appear
ignorant, and setting down the last-named person as a relative of the
Prince.
A knock from the chairman's hammer on the table commanded
silence for a song, which was immediately obeyed by everybody
calling out " order ! " at once. When quiet was obtained, the gen-
tleman who did the comic melody sung a humorous song, at which
Mr. Ledbury so laughed, that his joyous hilarity was the admiration
of everybody near him. There were one or two points in the song
at which very staid people might have taken a slight exception ;
but it told very well in the present company, and was followed up
by enthusiastic cries of "encore !" a word implying a wish to hear
anything over again, which the singer attended to by trolling out
an entirely different one.
Thus things went on, and, aided by grog and excitement, Mr.
Ledbury's mirth became fast and furious. He was in ecstasies. He
laughed at the comic songs, applauded the sentimental ones, slap-
ped Jack Johnson on the back, and once even attempted to make a
pun ; but this was not until after the second go of brandy. At last
Jack reminded him that it was getting late, and he had a long way
to go home.
" Home ! " said Mr. Ledbury ; never mind home ! What 's the
use of going home? You can always go there, when you can go
nowhere else."
And indeed he did not seem at all inclined 'to seek his paternal
roof, until Johnson had used all his eloquence and influence to per-
suade him. But then, before he left, he insisted upon thanking the
company publicly for their kind reception of him ; and next he
shook hands with all the singers, telling them how happy he was
sure his father would be to see them all at Islington to stay a fort-
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 117
night. Then he paid the like compliment to the waiters, and finally
to Mr. Rhodes himself, thanking him for his hospitality, and assuring
him that he had spent a very delightful evening.
Spirituous excitement does not receive much benefit from cold
air, and, in consequence, Mr. Ledbury's vivacity increased when he
got out of the room. As he really had a great distance before him,
Johnson, who felt little inclined to go to bed, walked with him al-
most as far as Sadler's Wells' theatre, and then wishing him good-
b'ye, and telling him to take care of himself, returned home. It
was a fine frosty, moonlight night, and Titus remained for a little
time gazing on the New River, between the iron rails, and allowed
his thoughts to wander romantically to the happy days of his child-
hood when he fished therein, always buying his tackle at the adja-
cent shop, where there was a large stuffed perch in the window,
about a foot and a half long, in the firm belief that he should catch
nothing but similar ones. Having ruminated here for some little
time, he pursued his journey towards the Angel ; and when he ar-
rived there, as he had not a very great distance further to go, he
mechanically felt in his waistcoat pocket for his key. But how was
he horrified to find it was not there ! He searched all his pockets
twice over ; he took out his handkerchief, and shook it ; he even
looked in the lining of his hat; but all to no purpose the key was
gone ! And now in an instant the sense of his situation broke upon
him. He could not go home. They had, doubtless, all retired to
bed early, fatigued from the preceding evening; and what would
his father say if he disturbed the house at that unusual hour ? John-
son, he knew, would have given him a bed ; but he was at home by
this time, upwards of two miles off. It was so late, that the very
inns were fast closed ; he did not even see a policeman to make in-
quiries of; nor were any other persons about in the street that he
chose to apply to. The nights were also the longest of the year,
and he was very tired already, or he would have walked about until
morning. In fact, he felt in a very awkward and uncomfortable
plight, from which he saw at present no chance of escape.
But oftentimes, when everything around us assumes its darkest
form, a light will break in from a quarter whence it was least of all
expected ; and so it proved in the present instance. It will be
hardly necessary to inform our readers, that High Street, Islington,
where Mr. Ledbury now found himself, is an airy and imposing
thoroughfare, intersected by a colossal turnpike, and bordered with
broad footpaths and trees. The intelligent and enterprising trades-
m< n of this locality have the custom of placing their wares for show
on the broad space in front of their houses, and emblazoning their
names and callings on standards there erected. Now one of these
good people a cunning worker in metals had caused a huge slip-
pe;--bath to be fixed against a tree in front of his house, about ten
fei't from the ground, possibly for the purpose of advertising the
passers-by that he kept such articles for sale or hire. We believe
this may be seen at the present hour.
Driven to desperation by circumstances, Mr. Ledbury resolved, as
the bath caught his eye, to make it his lodging for the night, to
wl \ich end it seemed very well adapted. At another time he would
ha ye thought himself in the last stage of insanity to have even
dreamt of such a proceeding ; but now the plan appeared very fea-
118 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
sible, and by no means to be disapproved of. Making a rapid survey
up and down the street, to see that he was unobserved, he took off
his rough coat, and pitched it up on to the bath ; and then ascended
himself, by means of certain large nails and hooks, which the cu-
rious observer may still perceive driven into the trunk of the tree.
Having ascertained, to his satisfaction, that the bath would bear his
weight, he let himself gently into it ; and, pulling his coat over his
shoulders, was in five minutes perfectly settled and comfortable,
delighted at his enterprising spirit, and feeling a thrill of excitement
from his novel position.
For a time he employed his mental powers in the contemplation
of the heavenly bodies ; and then, his love of harmony once more
gaining the ascendant, he indulged in a few snatches of songs, com-
mencing with " I '11 watch for thee from my lonely tower," as the
most appropriate. But he had not sung above half a dozen, when a
policeman of the N division, parading down High Street in his beat,
and holding his lantern successively to the keyholes, as if he ex-
pected to find a thief getting through them, was struck by sounds of
harmony, proceeding evidently from some elevated situation close
at hand. His first impulse was to look up to the houses ; but, as the
middle of January is a strange time for people to sing with open
windows at three in the morning, he found no solution of the mys-
tery. Then he looked up the trees, and amongst some tubs piled at
their feet, but nobody was there ; and he was giving up the search,
and going away, when a sudden burst of melody once more attracted
his attention; and, looking round, he perceived, in strong relief
against the moon, what eventually turned out to be Mr. Ledbury's
conical French hat showing above the rim of the bath, and rocking
backwards and forwards in time to the song he was giving forth.
" Halloo there ! " shouted the policeman, as he advanced to the
foot of the tree. " Who are you ?"
Mr. Ledbury's song immediately ceased, and his head peeped over
the top of his tin bed-room.
" Come, I '11 trouble you to walk a short distance with me," con-
tinued 135 N.
" I don't want your company," said Mr. Ledbury, rather haugh-
tily. " I am not in the habit of associating with policemen."
"Now, are you coming?" repeated the policeman, getting im-*
patient.
" No," replied Ledbury, " I am not ; and I ' won't go home till
morning, until daylight does appear/ "
"Where is your home, then?" asked the policeman.
" Mr. Ledbury's, you know : you were at the door last evening.
So go away and leave me ; ' for it's my delight of a shiny night, in
the season of the year,' to sleep where I choose. It 's a wager."
The man immediately recognised his intended prisoner, and, see-
ing it was all right, and that he was not a burglar, directly altered
his tone, coming to the conclusion that Mr. Ledbury was a little
flighty.
" You must find it very cold, sir," said N; "I think you had
better come down."
" Cold ! " said Ledbury, still harmonious ; " not at all : it 's the
' warmth of its December, and the smiles of its July.' "
" There 's a fire at the station-house," observed the policeman,
holding out an inducement for Titus to descend.
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 119
" Now, don't worry me, there 's a good fellow ! " replied Mr.
Ledbury. " I 'm very well here, and mean to stay. Leave me alone,
and call me at seven o'clock, if I am not down."
Seeing that the gentleman was determined, and not exactly mak-
ing out how he could be got down, if he did not choose to descend
himself, the policeman walked away. But he kept watch still over
the bath and its contents, returning at short intervals, to see that all
was right. At two or three visits Mr. Ledbury was still singing ;
but at length he became tired, and, pulling his coat all over the top
of the bath, covered himself in, and, it is presumed, went into a
doze. And when the first grey light of morning crept over the dis-
trict, before the crowd of passengers had commenced, he came cau-
tiously down, and returned to his home. The servants were just
up, so that he had no occasion to disturb the household ; only telling
them not to say anything about his entrance, he walked quietly up to
his own room, and, undressing himself, got into bed, his brain being
still a little confused, although he was pleased to see the key of the
door on the dressing-table, whence he had forgotten to take it the
evening before.
CHAPTER XVII.
The encampment in Burnham Beeches.
IF the reader wished us to point out to him one of the loveliest
pictures of rural scenery in our leafy England, so tranquil and se-
cluded, and yet comparatively so small a distance from an important
and bustling highway, that any one wishing to live the life of a con-
vivial anchorite could therein combine his retirement with every
novelty or luxury that the great world could offer, we would con-
duct him into the centre of a finely-wooded district in Buckingham-
shire. Its goodly trees may be perceived by the traveller on the
Great Western Railway, after he has passed the Slough station, on
the headland to the right of the line between Farnham Common and
Dr opmore, and it is known as Burnham Beeches.
The tract of land, broken and irregular, is thickly covered with
the trees from which it takes its name, presenting some of the finest
and most picturesque specimens of forest scenery in the kingdom.
Long shady avenues of velvet turf, spangled with daisies, and teem-
ing with quivering harebells, which ever and anon ring out their
sofc music to the fairies who ride by on the passing zephyr, for,
aft<3r all, we cannot believe that the fairies have entirely gone away
from us, pierce the green-wood in every direction; now as small
footpaths, climbing up the side, and running along the edge of some
forsaken and precipitous gravel-pit ; and now plunging into the
depths of the forest, apart from the beaten track, amidst coverts of
fern and underwood, until they widen into fair glades. These are
bordered on either side by the gnarled and misshapen bolls of trees,
venerable in their garniture of hoary lichen, whose moss-covered
and distorted trunks, far above the ground, offer natural and luxu-
rious settles to the visitor, and induce him to rest awhile, as he lin-
gers with a sense of intense pleasure so exquisite that it almost
amounts to pain, upon the deep tranquillity and loveliness around
him. And many changes have those old trees seen, during the cen-
120 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
turies of smiling summers and stern winters that have rolled their
sunshine and shadow over their venerable head-tops: they have
budded and put on their foliage when the chimes of Burnham Abbey
called the villagers to the compline, and the low chaunt of Saxon
prayer floated on the breeze towards them ; they will still put forth
their verdure when the very recollection of those who now loiter in
their shade shall have passed away. The remembrance of the calm
seclusion of Burnham Beeches, when once visited, will never be ba-
nished from the mind of the traveller, but come back fresh and
green upon his heart, after many years of worldly toil and harass-
ing existence, and cheer his pilgrimage, by awakening every old and
pleasant association connected with the time when all was fair and
peaceful as the surrounding prospect.
But at the exact period of our story few of these attributes were
visible, for it was towards the end of January ; whilst a heavy snow
lay upon the ground, and was still falling, from which the huge
stems of the trees started up like spectres, black and fantastic from
the contrast. Everything was wrapped in the dead silence of the
country, broken only by the occasional report of a gun, sharp and
clear, in the freezing air, which echoed for a few seconds through the
woodland, and then died away ; or the fall of small heaps of snow,
disturbed from their equilibrium by the perching of some intrusive
sparrow restless with hunger, and tumbling through the crisp and
naked branches of the trees. Even the waggons and horses, with
muffled wheels and feet, went noiselessly across the common, pulling
up the snow after them, and leaving marks like those we see upon
removing the ornaments of a twelfth-cake, the only evidences of
sound which they gave out being the creaking and straining of the
wheels as they lumbered over the heavy ground, or the flick of the
driver's whip.
Along one of the principal avenues of the beeches, about the mid-
dle of the day, any one who had chosen to take his station there at
such an uninviting time, and keep an attentive look-out, might have
seen a solitary pedestrian trying to make what way he might to-
wards the centre of the wood. Had he been previously acquainted
with the person, he would probably have recognised Spriggy Smithers
the gentleman in ankle-jacks, the acquaintance of Jack Johnson,
who, it may be recollected, assisted him in building the temporary
supper-room on the morning of the party at Ledbury's. We say
he would, probably, have recognised our friend, because he might
have been readily pardoned for not perceiving at first who it really
was, Spriggy having swaddled himself up in so many old worsted-
comforters about his neck, and hay bands round his feet and legs, as
to destroy all leading traces of identity. His toilet was never very
carefully made at the best of times ; but now it was even more ec-
centric than ever ; and he had mounted an additional ornament, in
the shape of a red-cotton handkerchief tied round his hat, over the
band, for what exact purpose it is difficult to determine. An old
game-bag, patched and mended with pieces of sacking, carpet, net,
and whatever had come uppermost at the time it was required, was
slung over his shoulder, offering certain evidence, from its outward
appearance, of being well filled ; and he carried a long staff in his
hand, which had been, without doubt, pulled from some eligible
spray-pile that had fallen in the line of his journey.
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 121
It was snowing hard, as we have stated ; and the feathery parti-
cles seemed to have combined against Spriggy, and put all their in-
ventive powers to the stretch, that they might render his progress as
uncomfortable as possible. They had, evidently, made friends with
the wind, who entered into the joke as well, and blew them into his
ejes, whenever he opened them wider than usual, or lifted up his
face, until they made him wince again. Then they waited for him
in sly corners at the topfc of avenues, and when he came by they all
scuffled out at once, and tumbled and whiffled about his head, the
more desperate getting into his ears, and violently rushing down his
neck ; but by the time he put up his hand to catch them, they had
all vanished away. The idler flakes did not personally insult him,
but settled gently upon his hat, as well as the perfect absence of nap
would allow them to remain there ; and contented themselves with
being carried a little way for nothing, when they quietly disappear-
ed, and were seen no more.
But, in spite of these intrusive annoyances, Spriggy still kept
on his journey, occasionally turning off along a by-track, whose si-
tuation beneath the deep snow could be ascertained only by some
peculiar briar or hornbeam in its vicinity ; all of which were, how-
ever, as well known to him as our various coast landmarks to a chan-
nel-pilot. It was heavy walking, to be sure, and there was not a
trace left by previous travellers to guide him, for the snow kept
falling so thickly that even his own footmarks were soon obliterated,
and all was as dazzling and level as before. But he had, as he
termed it, put the steam on ; which process was accomplished by
lighting a short pipe ; and, setting the snow at defiance, he crunched
his way still deeper into the wood, until a sudden turn round a
thicket of holly, yew, and other evergreens, brought him to the
end of his walk.
The spot at which he now arrived was situated on the side of a
small, but steep declivity ; part of which had given way in a landslip,
forming the hill, as it were, into two large steps. Upon this platform,
and against the embankment above, a large, rude tent, had been con-
structed of poles and ragged canvass, apparently the remnants of
some ancient race- course or fair drinking-booth. Before it the
greater part of the snow had been swept away, and two fires lighted,
round which a large party of individuals were gathered, more or less
disreputable : several having the costume and expression of real
gipsies, but the majority evidently belonging to that anomalous class
of perambulating manufacturers known as 4f tramps." A couple of
tilted carts with chimneys were stationed near the tent, in one of
which a fire was also burning, and to these were attached bundles
of the thick sticks used to throw at snuff-boxes, as well as poles for
building stalls ; and one of them also carried a light deal table, with
three legs, from which an ingenious observer might have inferred
that some of the party were versed in the necromantic mysteries of
the pea-and- thimble. A pile of fire-wood had been collected, and
stacked up close at hand ; and lower down the slope, in a decayed
cow -shed, two miserable horses and a donkey were mumbling such
scanty fodder as their owners could procure for them.
"Well, my beans, here we is," said Spriggy, announcing his
own arrival, which was perfectly unnecessary, to judge from the
cordial manner in which he was received. " How 's the times ?"
VOL. XIII. K
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
" Brickish," replied one of the party, showing a small bit of wool
to the new comer. " Cooper took something in that line the night
afore last from a farm t'other side the Splash."
" Cut up ?" inquired Spriggy.
Safe," replied the man, pointing to the large saucepan which was
slung over one of the fires. " What have you brought ?"
With an air of anticipated triumph, Spriggy unslung the game-
bag he was carrying, and, shooting out a Quantity of vegetables, at
last produced a very fine jack, of some ten or twelve pounds' weight.
" There 's a jockey ! " he exclaimed admiringly. " I took a pair
of 'em with trimmers in Squire Who-is-it's fleet last night, and sold
one to him this morning. Wouldn't the guv'nor swear neither if he
know'd it ! "
Whereupon, chuckling at his deception, in that hearty spirit ever
displayed by the lower orders when they impose upon their supe-
riors, Spriggy was attacked with such a fit of coughing, aggravated
by the combined influence of night-air and mountain-dew, that it
was found necessary to produce some cordial from a flat stone bottle
in possession of one of the party, to bring him round again ; and,
after a tolerable draught of its contents, poured into a small pipkin
without a handle, he felt considerably relieved.
"And now to business," he observed, as soon as he recovered his
breath. " Is the Londoner still here ?"
The man nodded his head, and pointed towards the cart.
" He 's got into rayther a okkard fix, then," continued Spriggy.
" I 've walked ten blessed miles this very morning to get him away,
for there 's no time to be lost."
" Are the beaks fly ?" asked the man.
" Downy as goslins," returned Smithers. " They 're coming here
all in a lump, you may depend upon it, and won't do you much
good if you ain't careful. How about that mutton ?"
" All right," replied the tramp. " The snow hides it, and it will
keep for ever if the frost lasts. But look sharp, if the young un is
to be got off; for them rails is terrible things for quick journeys."
Following his advice, Spriggy went towards the cart, from whose
chimney the smoke was ascending, and knocked at the door, which
was fastened on the inner side. It was opened by Edward Morris,
the cousin to whom Jack Johnson had paid the visit in St. Giles',
the night of his arrival in London. We have learned already that he
had left the cellar ; and he had now joined the present party, with
one or two of whom he became acquainted in his late domicile, in the
hope of remaining safely in the refuge which their encampment
offered, from the vigilance of the London police.
One of those delusive changes the occasional supposed ameliora-
tions which form, to the professional eye, the most distressing evi-
dence of confirmed pthisis had somewhat improved his appearance
since the interview in St. Giles. But his eye was brighter, his lips
more vividly tinted ; and the same self-satisfied conviction that he
was quickly recovering from his " slight cough," only went to prove
how the blighting canker was still rapidly, though silently, at work
within. As Smithers informed him in a few words that his retreat
was suspected, he betrayed some slight emotion ; but immediately
afterwards assumed his customary indifference as he calmly inquired
of his visitor what course was best to pursue.
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 123
' I reckon you are not much of a hand at walking now you are
ba<l ?" said Spriggy ; "and yet, there are four or five miles of snow
to be trudged through this afternoon, if you wish to get away !"
" Why should I not walk?" asked Morris hastily. "I am strong
enough now to go any distance."
" I only want you to go as far as Eton Brocas," returned Spriggy.
" I 've got a skiff lying there that will soon take us to my place at
Peaton Hook. The river's as full as a tick, and will carry us down
in no time of itself ; but we haven't a minute to lose."
"I will be with you directly," said Morris; "as soon as I have
collected these few things. Tell them to keep awake, in case of any
pursuit; and, of course, not to know anything about it. Do you
hear?"
" All right !" replied Smithers, clapping his hand against his open
mouth, intending to intimate by the pantomime that they would be
silent.
Then, going back to his friends, he made a hasty, but very satis-
factory meal, whilst Morris was preparing for his departure. The
whole business, rapidly transacted as it had been, scarcely seemed
to disturb the economy of the camp in the slightest degree. Possibly
they were accustomed to such scenes, for they took no notice of
what was going on, although by this time all of them were perfectly
aware of the circumstances ; their only care being, apparently, di-
rected to putting their social establishment in order, and disposing
of such objects as might give rise to any unpleasant arguments with
the expected police as to right of possession, or lawful acquisition ;
and, when this was done, they set to work in their tent, making
clothes'-pegs and door-mats, with an alacrity that would have led
any one to believe he was visiting a most industrious community of
hard-working individuals.
In a quarter of an hour from the commencement of this hurried
interview all was arranged, and Spriggy, re-lighting his pipe, led
the way, having put the parcel of the other into his empty game-bag,
followed by Morris, to whom he had given his staff as an assistance.
The gipsies watched their forms until they were lost in the copse of
evergreens, and then resumed their wonted occupations.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The flight of Johnson and Morris at Savory's Weir.
THE policeman for whom Jack Johnson had promised to procure
the outpatient's ticket to the hospital, presented himself at that
gentleman's lodgings the next morning, some little time before the
appointed hour. He apologised for so doing by informing Jack that
he had received orders, in company with others of the force, to pro-
ceed that very day to the country, in pursuit of a young man
charged with felony, who was supposed to be concealed in the
neighbourhood. It is needless to state that Johnson's suspicions
were; immediately aroused as to the object of the search ; but, as-
suming an indifference as well as he was able, he contrived not only
to learn that it was indeed Morris they were in search of, but also
to worm out a description of the locality in which they expected to
find him.
THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
Informed of the danger that threatened his cousin by this singu-
lar chance, as soon as the officer had departed he began to consider
by what means it was possible to avert the impending evil ; and,
after half an hour of anxious thought, he determined upon leaving
town without delay, and endeavouring to give Morris timely notice
of the pursuit by arriving at the Beeches before the police, should
he be fortunate enough to get the start of them. He, therefore, lost
no time in proceeding to the railway ; but had the mortification of
finding that one of the trains had left scarcely a minute before he
arrived at the terminus, involving a delay of two hours : and, to
add to his dismay, he learnt from one of the guards, after a few
indirect inquiries, that several police-officers were included amongst
the passengers. Under the present circumstances this was most un-
fortunate, as there was no resource left except to wait until the next
departure. At length, after two hours which appeared multiplied
into half-a-dozen of harassing suspense, Johnson took his seat in
the train, and set off, as fast as steam could take him, for the Slough
station.
There was yet some little daylight before him when he arrived
at the end of his journey ; and the fall of snow had ceased for
a time, although the sky still looked threatening. He immediately
went to the hotel, and procured a horse, thinking that he should
travel quicker by that means ; at the same time he was anxious not
to be embarrassed by the company of another person. Whilst the
animal was being saddled he got all the information he wished re-
specting his route to the Beeches from the ostler ; and also found
out that the officers had not long departed, having waited some time
at the inn " to keep out the cold." This information induced him to
use more haste ; so that, in three-quarters of an hour from his leaving
Paddington he was riding in the direction of Farnham Common,
across the uplands, as fast as the state of the roads would permit.
As he arrived at the less-frequented lanes and bridle-paths, he
plainly made out the traces of the party who had preceded him, as
well as some prints of horse-shoes, from which he conceived that
they had procured the assistance of the local horse-patrol as guides.
He inquired of every person he met how long the police had passed ?
and from every one received the reply, that they were about twenty
minutes ahead of him ; but were not using very great speed, in con-
sequence of one or two of them being upon foot. There was but a
slender chance, he knew, of reaching Morris before them ; more
especially as they were in advance : but still, the chance was worth
pushing for, and he determined at all hazards to ride on at a quick-
ened pace, and pass the officers as a casual traveller. He therefore
took advantage of a favourable piece of road to increase his speed,
and soon reached the borders of the common at a sharp trot.
A shepherd was standing, with his dog, at the gate of a field
which he now came to, and he pulled up for a minute to ask which
road he should take ; for several thoroughfares crossed one another
at this point, and the footmarks were lost amidst many others.
"Are you along of them patrols?" asked the rustic.
Johnson hesitated for an instant ; and then thought it best to an-
swer in the affirmative.
"I seed them go up the hill, nigh half an hour back," continued
the rustic ; " they 're after a poacher in the Shaw ain't 'em !"
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON.
Yes yes !" answered Johnson impatiently, " I think they are ;
but, which is the nearest way?"
" Why, if you likes to come over this field," said the man ; " and
through that gap at the end, you '11 cut off two mile or more."
"That will do!" cried Johnson; "and there's a shilling for
you ! "
" Thank ye, sir !" answered the man, touching his hat, and ap-
parently overcome by the munificence of the present. "You '11 just
put up the hurdle again when you 've got through."
" All right !" exclaimed the other ; and, setting off again, he was
soon at the end of the field.
Skirting the copse all the way, he passed through the gap, as
directed ; and then, crossing another long meadow, he pushed down
the hurdles, without caring to replace them, and entered one of the
avenues of the Beeches. Fortunately, whilst he was deliberating
which direction to proceed in, an urchin came up, with a bundle of
dry brushwood; and, finding that he was going to the very spot,
forming in himself a small member of the gipsy community, John-
son stimulated him to a little increased action by the promise of a
fe\v pence ; and, starting the boy to run before him, he followed as
closely as he could, without riding him down. They traversed se-
veral thickets, in some of which the branches hung so low that John-
son was compelled to stoop completely forward, until his head touch-
ed the horse's neck. At length, to his inexpressible joy, he saw
the fire of the encampment shining through the trees of the Shaw in
intermitting flashes.
The whole party of gipsies, and their associates, were apparently
in great confusion when Johnson arrived ; and one or two approach-
ed him, when they saw that he was alone, with countenances ex-
pressive of anything but courtesy or polite reception. But, luckily,
the man who had conversed with Spriggy Smithers in the morning
was amongst them, and he directly recognised Johnson as a friend of
Morris, having been in the St. Giles's cellar on the evening when the
former called. He immediately explained to him what had occurred,
producing no little alarm in our hero's mind when he told him that
he was too late after all, for that the police had been there already ;
in fact, it was singular enough he did not meet them, as they had
not left above ten minutes.
"' And what has become of Morris ?" inquired Johnson anxiously.
' Of the young man ?" replied the other. " Oh! he's all safe at
present with Smithers; but I don't know how long he'll be so."
The tramp here informed Johnson of his cousin's having left them
with Spriggy in the morning; but added, that the police had gained
intelligence of his flight, by some extraordinary means or another ;
for that, upon failing to discover their expected prisoner in the
Shaw, he had heard them express their intention of going directly to
Penton Hook, where Smithers resided.
' They 're uncommon crafty birds, them police," he concluded. " I
think they'd find a man in the middle of a hay-stack, when he
wasn't there even."
' Would there be a chance of passing them ?" asked Johnson.
*' Like enough, like enough," returned the man. " It 's nine miles
if k's an inch ; and they are sure to have a drain or two upon the
journey."
126 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY
" There is a hope yet, then," thought Jack ; and, bestowing
another trifling gratuity upon the man for his information, he turned
his horse's head, and once more started upon his enterprise.
The wind howled mournfully through the naked branches of the
copse, whilst the day was rapidly declining, as he quitted the Beeches,
and gazed upon the dreary expanse of country before him which he
had to traverse, in its one unbroken cloak of snow, now darkening
in the cold wintery twilight. Large flakes, the indications of an
approaching heavy fall, began to descend, and the drifts were in
many spots so high, that the boundary of the road was scarcely per-
ceptible. But, under the excitement of the position, Johnson urged
his horse along a narrow lane, which had apparently remained un-
disturbed since the first fall, and, by dint of caution, and no small
degree of courage. for the snow in some places reached to his stir-
rups, he passed the more exposed portion of the country, and ar-
rived at the comparatively low grounds below East Burnham, where
the road was somewhat clearer, and allowed him to progress for a
trifling distance with tolerable speed. But this was of short dura-
tion ; the drifts had again collected from the uplands, and when he
reached the line of the railroad, which crossed the lane, he found the
archway completely filled up with snow. This presented, at first
sight, an insurmountable obstacle to any further advance. It was
impossible to cross the line, or he would immediately have done so ;
for the embankment directly beyond the ox-rails that bounded it,
rising up like a wall, precluded the possibility of clearing them by
a leap ; nor, indeed, would it have been practicable on level ground,
from the quantity of snow on either side. There was but one chance
left, and that was to ride right through it, trusting to its being a
mere curtain. But the horse refused to charge it, as if it had been
a solid mass, and turned sharp round each time Johnson approached
it. At length he hit upon a new plan. Without descending from
the saddle, he took out his handkerchief and tied it as a bandage
over the animal's eyes ; then, applying the whip pretty vigorously,
urged him forward against it. The whole body of snow immediately
crumbled down about him, and the horse, alarmed at the falling
mass, made a violent plunge forward, which nearly threw Johnson
from the saddle, but sufficed at the same time to clear the archway.
The road to the leeward of the embankment was tolerably practi-
cable ; and, taking the handkerchief from the head of the horse
who was snorting and quivering with fright, he rode on with
little delay through Slough, and along the turnpike road to Eton.
As he reached Windsor bridge, and halted at the gate, he was much
gratified to learn from the toll-keeper that the officers had not yet
passed, and the lamps and animation of the town, as he slowly rode
through its streets, somewhat reassured him; but, when he had
passed it, the darkness seemed more apparent from the lights which
he had quitted. Still he kept on his way, stopping only for ten mi-
nutes at the "Bells of Ouseley," to take some hurried refreshment,
before he crossed Runnymede.
The distant bell of Egham church tolled the hour of six as he ar-
rived at this extended waste, and it was now quite dark, scarcely a
star appearing in the black sky. The river, too, had in some places
overflowed the road, rendering the greatest caution necessary to
distinguish between its depths and the firm ground, whilst the col-
AND HIS FRIEND, JACK JOHNSON. 127
lected snow began to ball in the horse's feet, rendering every step
precarious. There was no alternative for Johnson but to get down,
and walk at the head j and this he did with much difficulty and ex-
ertion, until he reached the causeway on the high road. Here there
was very little snow, the sharp wind having carried it all away into
the hollows as it fell ; so, clearing out the shoes of his horse, he once
more mounted, and the animal's hoofs rang sharply over the frozen
ground towards Staines Bridge, the gas-lamps on which could now
be seen about a mile off. After several inquiries, he learned the si-
tuation of Smithers' house ; indeed he could not well miss it, for
they told him there was no other dwelling upon the road for two
miles ; and, turning off from the great road, at the foot of the bridge,
he traversed another rough piece of country, and in twenty minutes
more was shouting for entrance at the gate of Spriggy's almost am-
phibious habitation on the banks of the Thames.
After some little delay, the owner of the mansion made his appear-
ance at the door, where he remained, imagining that the noise pro-
ceeded from some traveller who had lost his way interruptions of
this kind, on such an out-of-the-way road, being by no means unu-
sual. But, as soon as he recognised Johnson's voice, he bustled for-
ward, and assisted him to dismount, leading the horse round to a
small shed at the side of the house ; and then, with a few expres-
sions of surprise at his unexpected appearance, ushered him into the
interior of the cottage. Morris was smoking at the fireside, but he
started up, as if alarmed, when Johnson entered ; and, shading the
light of the solitary candle from his eyes, gazed anxiously towards
the door.
" Jack ! is it only you ?" he exclaimed, as soon as he knew it was
his cousin. " Who would have dreamt of seeing you here at this time
of night? I declare I thought it was the police."
And, with an attempt to force a laugh of indifference, he resumed
his place on the settle of the hearth.
" Is this all you have to say to me, Morris?" returned Johnson, as
he approached the fire-place. " I am sorry you do not think me
v orth a better welcome."
Oh ! well, then, how d'ye do ? if that 's it," replied the other,
c.irelessly, holding out his hand. " I 'm better, you see ; my cold
is quite gone ; I told you that it was nothing. But what brings
you here?"
" The police are after you ; they have discovered your retreat."
" I know it," returned Morris ; " but we have given them the slip,
after all."
*' You are deceived," returned Johnson, with an earnestness that
caecked his cousin's derisive laugh. " They are now in pursuit of
you, and a few minutes may bring them to the gate."
" Oh ! you must be mistaken. How could they have found out
where I had gone to?"
" I know not ; it suffices that they have done so, and are close
upon my track."
As he spoke, a short, expressive whistle from Spriggy, who was
stationed at the window, attracted their attention.
" Look !" he exclaimed, " if there isn't the bull's-eye lanterns com-
ing down the lane, may I never set a night-line again. Up with the
dead-lights, until we see what stuff they are made on ! "
128 THE ADVENTURES OF MR. LEDBURY, ETC.
He closed up the window-shutter as he concluded this sentence,
and a few seconds passed of anxious silence, so perfect, that nothing
disturbed it but the quick, fevered respiration of Morris, which was
painfully audible. Johnson held his breath, and compressed his
lips between his teeth, until he had nearly bitten them through ;
whilst Smithers rapidly threw some water on the wood embers in
the fire-place, extinguished the candle, and took up his position of
sentinel at the door, having put up the bar, assuming an attitude of
earnest watchfulness.
" Hush !" exclaimed the fisherman, after a short pause ; " it 's
them, sure enough ! Ah ! werry good ! werry good !" he continued,
as the party were heard calling out from the lane ; " you must wait
a bit ! we 're all gone to bed, and asleep."
" We are taken !" cried Morris, in accents of distress, now losing
all his fortitude. What can be done ?"
" Get t down to the river as fast as you can, by the back-door,"
answered Sprigey. " You '11 find the punt lyjng there ; and I '11
keep 'em all right for five minutes ; but you must lose no time."
Quickly collecting their outer articles of dress, they prepared
to follow his advice. Johnson gave a few brief directions to Smithers
respecting the horse; and then, catching up the lantern, which
Spriggy had left on the floor, folded his coat round it, to conceal the
light, and hurried towards the Thames, in company with his cousin.
The punt was moored there, hauled a little way up the bank. Morris
directly entered, and took his seat at the end, whilst Johnson pulled
up the iron- spike that fastened the boat by a chain to the land ; and,
pushing it off with all the force he could collect, jumped on to it
as it floated in the deep water.
The river, swollen with the floods, was rapid and powerful ; and
directly bore the punt away from the shore, whirling it round with
ungovernable force in the eddies, and then bearing it at a fearful
rate down the stream. But they had scarcely started when Johnson,
to his horror, found that in their hurried departure they had forgot-
ten to bring anything with them to guide it, and were, consequently,
entirely at the mercy of the angry waters. In vain he endeavoured
to arrest its progress with a few slight rods, pertaining to some fish-
ing apparatus, that were lying in the boat ; they snapped off like
reeds. In vain he caught at the large rushes that danced and co-
quetted with the stream, as the punt occasionally neared the side of
the river. They eluded his grasp, or were torn away from their
stems as if they were pieces of thread. On, on went the boat in its
headlong career ; the rapidly-passing outlines of the bare and ghast-
ly pollards on the river's bank proving how swift was their pro-
gress. And, now, for the first time, they heard a deep and continu-
ed roar, which increased each moment, as if they were quickly ap-
proaching its source. Neither could offer an explanation of the
noise ; and they remained in painful anxiety for some seconds, un-
til Johnson, who was endeavouring to peer through the darkness,
cried out,
" I can see the barge-piles of the lock ! We shall be carried down
the weir !"
129
THE TWO LIEUTENANTS.
A SKETCH OF THE YEAR 1628.
BY PAUL PINDAR, GENT.
" Revenge is a kind of wild justice A man that studieth revenge
keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well." BACON.
ONE evening in August, in the year 1628, the upper room of the
tavern called " The Anchor," looking on Tower Hill, was filled with
company, among which were several officers of foot, quartered in the
Tower. Some of them had been drinking pretty freely, and their
boisterous manners, hard swearing, and profane songs, seemed to be
ill relished by half a dozen staid-looking citizens in one corner of the
room. Among the officers was one who sat a little apart from the
rest, and maintained a moody silence, taking no part in the revelry,
though occasionally addressed by his military brethren with free-
dor i, and by some with familiarity, especially by one who, like him-
self, wore the uniform of a lieutenant. This young man, of hand-
some features, and elegant figure, had exceeded his companions in
his libations, and was talking and making more noise than any two
of the company.
" Why, Jack ! " cried he, addressing the silent officer, " honest
Jack, what makes thee so moody, man ? Cheer up, cheer up, my
heart? What saith thy favourite, Flaccus ?
' non si male nunc, et olim
Sicerit.'"
He to whom this remonstrance was addressed raised his downcast
eyes for a moment, glanced reprovingly at the speaker, and then re-
sumed his look of abstraction.
" Well," continued the young man, "if you won't take a leaf out
o' your favourite, 'tis not my fault. I 've heard you say 'twas a good
book for those out o' favour with Fortune. As for me, 1 '11 laugh at
grizly Care, till he flee from me with the speed of Sir Tristram I-
ha! ha! ha!"
" Silence ! Sam Lovell ! " cried one of the company ; " or, if thou
wilt be uproarious, prithee, give us a song ; we can then turn thy
nois-e to some profit."
" With all my heart ! " replied the lieutenant. '* What shall it be?
King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid ?' or ( Greene Sleeves ?' or
' The Tanner of Tedbury ?' It matters not to me ; but first let me call
for a cool tankard ; this wine hath made my throat like an oven.
What ho! drawer ! bring me a tankard of ale, and look ye, sirrah,
that it be well stirred with an icicle ! "
While the drawer was gone on his errand, Lovell took his purse,
and. probing it with his fore-finger, extracted a small silver coin, the
only one left therein.
" There 's room for the Devil to dance in thee to-night," said he,
as it' talking to himself. " I must send thee to plead with my vene-
rated uncle, Sir Timothy, who, I trow, will bestow on thee more
curves than Caroluses. Well, never mind 'La speranza e il pan de'
povcri,' as my little master o' fence hath it ; and I have lived upon it
often."
130 THE TWO LIEUTENANTS.
The ale was now brought, and he was about to raise the tankard
to his lips, when he suddenly proffered it to his silent friend, who
shook his head in token of refusal.
" Come, come, Jack/' said he imploringly, " don't refuse to drink
with thy old friend ! It may be years before we meet again."
" I drink to thy good fortune, Sam," said the other, taking the
tankard ; then adding, in a low, subdued tone, " 'tis the last I shall
drink with thee, I ween ! "
Lovell heeded not this remark ; perhaps he did not hear it ; and
his brother officers now called for the promised song.
" You shall have it," said he, laughing, and finishing the ale.
" The whistle being wetted, you shall hear it anon. Remember to
join in the burden.
' 'Twas in the piping time of June,
When Nature was in merry mood,
The sparrow chirp'd upon the thatch,
The jay was chattering in the wood,
And gossips at my birth did say
My life would be one holiday.
Then take thy pipe and tabor, boy,
And strike me up a merry tune ;
For I was born in peascod time,
All in the merry month of June !
' When boyhood came, I proved that they
Were right in this their prophecy ;
I frolick'd all the live-long day,
None was so gay, so blithe as I ;
And, free as Nature's child should be,
'Twas summer always then with me.
Then take thy pipe and tabor, boy,
And strike me up a merry tune;
For I was born in peascod time,
All in the merry month of June !
But, when to man's estate I came,
^And Fortune looked no longer fair ;
When old familiar friends grew shy,
Who whilom did my bounty share,
1 quitted all, nor did I grieve
' Such cold, unfeeling mates to leave.
Then take thy pipe and tabor, boy !
And strike me up a merry tune ;
For I was born in peascod time,
All in the merry month of June !
' They tell us of an ancient wight,
Who, laughing always, Care defied ;
Then, let not such ensample be
By moping moderns e'er decried ;
For laughing take this truth from me
's the sum of all philosophy.
Then take thy pipe and tabor, boy !
And strike me up a merry tune ;
For I was born in peascod time,
All in the merry month of June !' ''
"An excellent ditty ! " cried the men of the sword. " 'Twas surely
made by thyself on thy mother's own son."
THE TWO LIEUTENANTS. 131
" A fitting stave for one who is on the high road to perdition ! "
charitably grunted one of the aforesaid puritan-looking citizens ; but
the observation, luckily for him, was not heard.
The silent lieutenant here rose, drew on his gloves, and was leav-
ing the room.
" What ! going, honest Jack ! " exclaimed Lovell ; " then I will
bear thee company. Gentlemen ! valiant cavaliers ! give you good
even !" And, taking the arm of his friend, he reeled out of the room.
" Sam ! " sighed the elder of the two officers, as they got into the
stre et, " thou art always merry. Oh ! for the light heart I once
had ! It is nigh breaking now ! "
Lovell stopped short, and, steadying himself by a post, which hap-
pened to be at hand, looked earnestly in his friend's face. " Why,
wh.it now ?" said he, endeavouring to assume a serious air.
Si The die is cast," continued the other ; " my hopes are blighted ;
even that I cherished, is fled ; the Duke threw my letter into the
fire, with a curse upon the writer !"
" How know you this ?"
" I have it from good report."
"Tush ! I don't believe it! he will send for thee, some day, be
assured."
" Never !" exclaimed his friend bitterly ; " he is heartless and
worthless, a hollow friend, a traitor to his country, a "
'-' Whist! whist, man !" interrupted Lovell, taking his arm, " these
loiterers here may catch thy words, and bear them where they may
work thee mischief."
' They can work no mischief on a desperate man !" observed the
other despairingly.
' Nay nay ; despair is for cowards ! and thou hast a stout heart.
Pluck up a spirit, and come with me, and try thy luck with the
dice this evening."
The elder officer smiled sarcastically.
' Why," said he, " if mine eyes deceived me not, I saw thee draw
the last groat from thy purse !"
< Tut tut !" replied Lovell, laughing ; f< they will take my word
of lion our. I shall stake my week's pay ; which, thou knowest full
well, is the goodly sum of fourteen shillings for a poor lieutenant of
foot ; and, if Fortune 's my friend, why I may march away with as
many broad pieces !"
' They will fleece thee !"
'-' Nay, good Jack ! I shall fleece them ! Come with me, man ;
and thou shalt see me sweep the board come!"
'' I will not come ; they will make thee a beggar, like myself, who
am bankrupt of hope and fortune !"
'' Then good even to thee ! I v/ill call at thy lodging to-morrow/'
said the young lieutenant, and he strode away across Tower Hill.
His friend looked after him for a moment.
' Farewell!" he mentally ejaculated, "thou hast a kind heart and
a high spirit; but the accursed vices of gambling and drinking
cle.ive to thee like rank weeds around a noble plant ! Farewell ! we
shall meet no more in this world !"
While the younger of the two officers reeled away to the gaming-
table, the other sauntered moodily into Barking churchyard, and,
entering the shop of a Jew, after a few minutes emerged from it
132 THE TWO LIEUTENANTS.
without his sword. He then crossed the hill, and entered the
Tower.
Scarcely half an hour had worn away when the moody officer
quitted the Tower by the postern-gate. With his hands folded be-
hind him, and his eyes bent on the ground, he again crossed the hill,
muttering to himself, and heeding nothing around him.
" The parliament are right !" soliloquised he ; " his sentence is
pronounced, but who dare execute it ? who will strike the blow ?
who dare wag his tongue ? who dare raise a finger against this fa-
vourite of Fortune ? this rank fungus, raised in the hot-bed of a cor-
rupt court ?"
He ceased for a moment, and looked furtively around him, as if
he suspected his musings might be overheard, and then continued :
<f But, what said the preacher at St. Faith's ? ' Every man in a
good cause is both judge and executioner of sin !' Yet, fool that I am !
I have parted with my weapon ! Lo ! yonder is a fitting one for my
purpose."
At the moment that he uttered this, his eye fell on a glass-case on
the stall of a cutler, within which, among other instruments, was a
knife, designed, as its shape denoted, more for some useful and
peaceful purpose of e very-day life than as a weapon of offence, the
blade and handle together being scarcely twelve inches in length.
" Goodman cutler," said the officer, pointing with his finger to the
knife, " I would fain know thy price for that misshapen tool
yonder."
The shopkeeper, with a smirk, opened the glass-case, and taking
out the object thus designated, carefully wiped the blade with his
leather apron, and handed it to the querist.
" 'Tis an excellent blade, sir !" said he, " fashioned from a morsel
of Spanish steel, and might be stricken through an oaken panel with-
out snapping."
" Ha ! how know'st thou that ?" asked the officer. " Know'st
thou anything of steel beyond thy craft ?"
" I know a Bilboa-blade from a Flemish tuck, sir," replied the
cutler, drawing himself up to his full height, for he was somewhat
doubled by age. " I served under the Lord Essex in Ireland, in
Queen Elizabeth's days, and have seen hard blows given, coming in
for a share myself."
" Good ! then I will take thy word for its quality. What hast
thou the conscience to ask for it ?"
" Sixteen pence, sir," was the reply. " I '11 not bate a farthing,
even to the Prince, or the great Duke himself."
A smile of dubious import illumined for a moment the rigid and
sombre features of the customer; but they quickly relapsed into
their former moody expression, while he drew from his purse, which
appeared anything but plethoric, a shilling and a groat, which he
threw down on the counter. He then pocketed the knife, and
walked away.
The sun was rising in all his splendour, and the yellow corn
waved to the gentle breath of a south wind, as a man of woe-begone
aspect, in a thread-bare suit, of military cut, but without any weapon
at his side, trudged wearily along the road leading to the town of
THE TWO LIEUTENANTS. 133
Portsmouth. He was well powdered with dust, and seemed foot-sore
with walking. It was the moody lieutenant, who had purchased the
knife at the cutler's shop on Tower Hill. A sudden turning in the
road brought him in sight of a ruined cross, upon the steps of which
he threw himself down to rest awhile. Half sitting, half reclining,
he covered his face with his hands, and remained for some moments
as if lost in contemplation. So completely insensible was he to every-
thing around, that a thunderbolt might have fallen near and not
aroused him from his fit of abstraction. Two countrymen, proceed-
ing along the road with their team, passed a coarse joke upon the
wayfarer ; while a farmer's wife, as she trotted by, " supposed it was
one o' the Duke o' Buckingham's people, who had strolled out, and
got a leetle drap too much last night."
We have said that the weary man heeded nothing around ; but,
when the road was again clear, he raised himself from his recumbent
posture, and looked vacantly about him.
" Shall I do it ?" he muttered, " shall I send him, with all his sins
upon him, into that dread presence ?" Then, after a pause, " Pshaw !
what means this trembling ? Hath distress palsied my hand, and
rendered me nerveless ? I '11 up and be doing. Come forth, thou
only remedy for so great an evil ! thou scalpel, that shalt excise this
great moral cancer ! and, if thou art true to thine owner, thou shalt
be honoured, ay, more than the sword of Arthur or Charlemagne ! "
He drew forth the knife from his bosom, and continued, " Lo ! on
this monument of our forefathers' idolatry I '11 fit thee for the de-
struction of an idol, whose worshipers are more corrupt than those
of Baal."
With these words, he proceeded to improve the point of the knife
on the steps of the cross, which having accomplished, he placed it
in his bosom, and, snatching up his walking-staff, walked towards
the town.
Portsmouth was then, as it has been ever since, in time of war, a
scene of bustle and preparation. The Duke of Buckingham was at
his lodgings, and the fleet was on the point of sailing to the relief of
Rochelle. As the travel- worn officer entered the town, the crowd
around a certain house told him where the Duke was staying; and
it was with no small surprise that he saw emerge from it his friend,
Sam Lovell, gaily appareled, and with the flush of excitement and
expectation on his cheek. Lovell did not see him, and proceeded
towards the harbour with a joyous step.
" Ha ! Sam !" sighed the lieutenant, " thy good looks and gallant
bearing have done for thee what long service would have failed to
procure/'
People were every mbment passing in and out of the house, and
the new-comer had no difficulty in finding ingress. He had scarce-
ly entered, when footsteps were heard on the stairs, and the Duke,
followed by Sir Thomas Friar, one of his colonels, descended into
the passage.
" Farewell, my Lord Duke !" said Friar, bowing low.
" Farewell farewell, honest Tom!" replied Buckingham, bend-
ing his tall and graceful figure, and embracing the colonel. He then
attempted to draw aside the hangings which concealed the door of
the parlour in which he was about to enter, when the intruder step-
ped forward, as if he would have performed this service; and with
a single blow stabbed the Duke to the heart !
134 TO ELLEN.
Not a word escaped the victim, who, with a gasp, drew the fatal
weapon from the wound, and fell dead on the floor of the passage !
The consternation and tumult which followed this frightful deed
may be imagined. Men were hieing in every direction in pursuit of
the assassin, who, in the confusion, had walked away unmolested ;
the drums were beating, and the troops flew to arms. In the midst
of the uproar, Lovell came running from the harbour, and with dif-
ficulty forced his way into the house. Directed by a violent uproar
in the kitchen, he proceeded thither, and found it crammed with
persons of all ranks; some of whom, with their swords drawn, were
making passes at the assassin, who, though held and shaken by a
dozen pair of hands, betrayed no fear of the impending danger.
With a feeling which he would have found it difficult to explain,
but which, perhaps, originated in the very natural one that it would
be unnecessary thus to dispatch a man already seized and disarmed,
Lovell drew, and struck up the threatening weapons, one of which
flew over the head of its owner, Stamford, a follower of the Duke,
who had nearly accomplished his purpose ; but, as he did so, his eye
glanced at the prisoner. Dashing his own weapon to the ground, he
cried, with bitter emphasis,
" Merciful heaven ! FELTON !" Then wringing his hands, he add-
ed, in accents which made even the assassin start and shudder, " Oh,
Jack ! thou art damned for ever for this bloody deed !"
The sequel to this story need not be recapitulated ; it is known to
every reader of English history. The arrival of the homicide in
London was greeted with acclamations by thousands of republican
spirits, and his health was toasted in all the taverns an indulgence
which cost some of the drinkers their ears. Among these was
Alexander Gill (the son of Dr. Gill, master of Saint Paul's School,)
the tutor of Milton ; who, on three charges, one of which was the
drinking the health of Felton, was heavily fined by the Star-Cham-
ber, and condemned to that barbarous punishment !
TO ELLEN.
BY ALEXANDER M<DOUGALL, ESQ., OF NOVA SCOTIA.
THOUGH thy bosom appear like the drifted snow,
There 's a heart that can cherish a flame below.
Thy hair has its " Cupids in ev'ry curl/'
And thy white, white teeth are like rows of pearl,
That shine in despite of thy coral lips ;
And thine eyes are like stars in the moon's eclipse !
There 's a charm on thy cheek, with its crimson dye ;
There 's a spell in the light of thy soft blue eye ;
There 's a thrilling touch on thy finger's tip,"
And a magic dew on thy rosy lip ;
While a potent pow'r, which I gladly own,
Exists in thy voice, with its silver tone !
What joy is mine ! when I fondly see
The light of thy glance shining down on me;
When thy fairy fingers I faintly press,
Or woo thy cheek with a soft caress ;
While thy sweet voice, swell'd to its'utmost stretch,
Cries " What are you arter ? Get out, you wretch !"
135
MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN,
COMEDIAN.
BY HIS SON.
Miss FRANCES BUTLER had been born to affluence. She was a
lineal descendant from Wollaston, the author of " The Religion of
Nature," and, consequently, nearly related to Dr. Wollaston, head-
master of the Charter-house, and Dr. Wollaston, the great chemist,
the discoverer of the metals, palladium and rhodium, and the method
of rendering platina malleable. Her father, a private gentleman of
landed property, usually resided at one of his estates near Lutter-
worth, in Leicestershire. He had two sons apprenticed at Birming-
ham. When they were out of their time, he was induced, with the
view of bringing them forward in the world, to remove to Birming-
ham, and enter into trade as, what was then termed, a merchant,
taking them, and another person acquainted with the business, into
partnership. The extravagance of the former, and ill conduct of the
latter, soon brought him into the Gazette. He stayed some time at
Lichfield, and then repaired to London, where he shortly after-
wards died. Miss Butler maintained her mother by working at
millinery and embroidery. She was at length persuaded by some
friend to try the stage, and made her first appearance at the Lewes
theatre, on the 28th July, 1785, as Louisa Dudley, in "The West
Indian." Osborne, the Lewes manager, subsequently obtained the
Coventry theatre. Miss Butler, being there thrown among her fa-
ther's old connexions, was much patronised at her benefit. She was
afterwards engaged, at the particular instance of some respectable
townspeople, at Birmingham, by the celebrated comedian, Yates,*
the manager there ; subsequently at Lichfield, where she received
much kindness from Miss Seward, the distinguished poetess ; and
was favoured with a letter of introduction from Mr. George Garrick,
brother to the Roscius, for the purpose of presenting a MS. play.
When she had an opportunity of delivering the letter to Mr. Gar-
rick, at his house in the Adelphi, that eminent man had retired from
all interference with theatricals. He told Miss Butler that he had
not recommended a play to the theatre since the appearance of Miss
Hannah M ore's " Percy." He conversed with her for a considerable
tiim;, and with great affability. She had also an interview with Mr.
Sheridan on the same subject. Her last removal was to the com-
pany of Messrs. Austin and Whitlock, where she met with Mr.
Muuden. In all these journeys, and during all her performances,
she was accompanied by, and watched over with parental care, by
* Miss Butler called on Yates at his residence at Pimlico. The manager re-
quesied a specimen of her abilities. After she had recited a speech, Yates repeat-
ed the speech himself, commenting as he went on. On a sudden the folding-doors
were burst open, and in rushed Mrs. Yates. She was one of the greatest of Mrs.
Siddons' predecessors, and had been the rival of Mrs. Crawford. Turning to her
husband, she said, in an angry tone, "What do you teach the young woman in
that foolish way for ? Listen, Miss ; speak the speech as I pronounce it;" and,
though then a coarse old woman, bedaubed with rouge, she delivered it with an
energy, which proved that the latent tire of genius was not yet extinguished.
136 MEMOIRS OF
her mother. Munden was united in marriage to Miss Butler, at the
parish church of St. Oswald, in Chester, on the 20th of October,
1789, in the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock. Whilst absent on
the wedding excursion, Mrs. Munden's mother, from whom she had
not been separated before for years, was suddenly taken ill at Ches-
ter, and died. Her affectionate daughter, in a diary of that date,
bitterly laments that she was not present to close her eyes, terming
herself " a bride and orphan within a month." After her marriage,
Mrs. Munden quitted the stage.
By his wife, Munden had two children, a boy, who died an in-
fant, and is buried at Lancaster, and the writer of the present narra-
tive. But Mrs. Munden, compassionating the helpless condition of
her husband's illegitimate children, and the prospect of their being
consigned to obscurity, not many years afterwards took them to her
home, tended them in infancy like her own offspring, saw that they
were properly educated, and, by her respectable sanction, elevated
them to a station in society, through which two of the daughters
formed happy and wealthy alliances in marriage. One of them, ^Uice,
who died some years ago, was a lady of extreme beauty, and most
amiable disposition. Valentine, the son, an ingenuous and brave
young man, rose to the rank of chief mate in the East India Com-
pany's naval service. Although in a merchantman, he was three
times in action. He ruptured a blood-vessel off St. Helena, whilst
in the active discharge of his duty, in command of the vessel, during
a gale of wind, was landed on the island, and, dying soon after-
wards, was followed to his grave by the military and naval officers
on the station. No stone or monument marks the spot where his
remains rest, though something of the kind might have been looked
for at the hands of those connected with him by the ties of relation-
ship. These children, of whom only one survives, testified a grateful
sense of the obligations they were under to Mrs. Munden, with one
exception.*
Returning to Chester, Munden, who had led hitherto rather a
free life, now moored " in the calm haven of domestic bliss," settled
down into quiet habits. The theatre was profitable, and he began
to save money. He received great attention from the neighbouring
gentry. Amongst other compliments paid to him, was an invitation
from the late Earl Grosvenor to some private theatricals at Eaton
Hall. He used to describe these performances as ludicrous in the
extreme. The noble actors and actresses, accustomed to tread in
drawing-rooms with perfect ease, no sooner found themselves on the
stage than they were thoroughly embarrassed. They did not know
what to do with their arms, and could not contrive to get off the
stage without turning their backs to the audience. Even Lord Bel-
grave, (the present Marquis of Westminster,) then an elegant young
man, in addressing the audience to apologise for a delay in t the per-
formance, occasioned by the detention of some of the aristocrat ical
performers in a snow-storm, committed the gaucherie of commencing
with " Gentlemen and ladies ;" but Munden said he played very
* Truth obliges me to state that the exception is the survivor a lady of fortune,
who, when her benefactress was labouring under the affliction of blindness and ex-
treme old age, (she was then above eighty,) neither visited nor inquired after her
for some years previous to her death, nor sought her forgiveness in her dying mo-
ments ! T. S. M.
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 137
well, and was the only one that did. It is to be hoped that the
theatricals at Bridgewater House are better managed ; otherwise,
Mrs. Bradshaw must be sadly confused. An illustrious personage
is said to have inquired of one of the colleagues of an amiable and
intelligent nobleman, who is fond of acting, " what sort of an actor
he was?" "A very bad one, madam/' is the reported reply of the
Minister ; ne sutor, &c.
In 1790 died the " Inimitable Edwin/' as he is called in the re-
cords of the times. Very little is preserved which can give us a no-
tion of his peculiar qualities. A writer, who seems to understand
his subject, describes him as "a thin, tidy, dollish kind of man, with
a quizzical, drollish air. He acted a sort of fribble, a weak-headed
dandy of those times. There was a quaintness about his manner
which took possession of the town, although, in general, he played
solely to the upper classes the gallery." He must have been much
better than this criticism describes ; for few comedians ever carried
the town so far with them as Edwin did. It is undoubted that he
was one of the best comic singers that ever trod the stage. The sub-
joined original letter will show that he was not a man of much educa-
tion or refined feeling.* He is said to have been as fond of raising the
glass to his lips as Cooke was. The late Stephen Kemble once asked,
rather jesuitically, if Cooke did not owe much of his celebrity to
this vice, and his utter disdain of public opinion. There might be
something in this insinuation. The crowds who flocked to see
Richard the Third, and Sir Pertinax Macsycophant, were always in
doubt whether they should have value for the price of their admis-
sion ; since it was an even chance that, before the curtain rose an
apology would be made for Mr. Cooke, who was suffering under
" violent spasms." This, unquestionably, created excitement, and
rendered him a rarity, which his more regular rival, Kemble, was not.
When he did appear, the rapture of the audience knew no bounds.
In a similar way, Edwin, as is described by the writer before refer-
red to, " was brought to the stage-door, senseless and motionless at
the bottom of a chaise. Brandon was then called in as practising
physician. If they could put on him the proper dress, and push
him to the lamps, he rubbed his stupid eyes for a minute ; consci-
ousness and quaint humour awoke together, and he seemed to play
the better for it." Be that as it may, the public thought Edwin a
great actor ; and great, without doubt, he was ; for the public are
seldom wrong.t
* " DEAR MARY, I wrote to you by the post before dinner to-day, in answer
to your letter of eleven o'clock this morning ; but, fearing, as I wrote it in a hurry,
I might say something to displease you, I write again, to request the favour of your
company at Mrs. P.'s to-night to explain myself, and you may rest assured I will
not say anything to displease you. I wish to explain myself entirely to you. I am
not in the farce, and will go to Leicester Street as soon as I have finished in the
play. Your letter has made me unhappy. Oh ! dearest love ! think hoxv much I
esteem and admire you. I would do everything for you. I love and adore you !
my heart bleeds when I reflect on your displeasure, and can never be happy but in
your smiles. Reflect on my truth and love ; and be certain of my honour and my
friendship. Do not be so easy to be offended. Come to me, and continue to love,
"EDWIN."
' Tuesday, six o'clock.
" To the only one that is lov'd by Edwin."
t The Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser for Friday, 26th Nov. 1790, contains
the following
VOL. XIII. !
138 MEMOIRS OF
This huge void in the green-room it seemed impossible to fill. It
happened that Mr. Const (the late chairman of the Clerkenwell Ses-
sions,) who held a share in Covent Garden theatre, had a liaison with
Miss Chapman, an actress respectable in her line. Miss Chapman
having frequently played with Munden in the country, spoke warm-
ly of his merits, and strongly pressed Mr. Const to engage Munden
to supply the place of Edwin. Mr. Const wrote to the country-
manager to offer him four, five, and six pounds per week ; the an-
swer, as reported in Mr. Bunn's book, is perfectly true : " I can't
think of it, sir; it is too much it is, indeed ; I shall never be able
to gain you as much." Miss Chapman's friendship went further.
She remonstrated with her friend, and strongly urged that, to render
the new actor of value to the theatre, he ought to have more ; at
least sufficient to entitle him to the entree of the principal green-
room. The salary, it is believed, was finally fixed at eight pounds
per week. Munden came to London with his wife, having previ-
ously disposed of his share in the country theatres to Mr. Stephen
Kemble. He took lodgings at the corner of Portugal Street, Clare
Market now a coal-shed. Here, again, Miss Chapman's foresight
interposed. She called upon him on his arrival, and, looking round
the rooms, said, " Munden, you must not live here ; these lodgings
are not sufficiently respectable for you." He, consequently, removed
to Catherine Street, in the Strand, where he occupied apartments at
the house of Mr. Steele, who was afterwards so barbarously murdered
on Hounslow Heath.
Munden determined to "take the bull by the horns," as the
phrase is, and at once to measure his strength with the memory of
the defunct comedian in one of his best parts.* On entering upon
44 LINES EXTEMPORE ON THE DEATH OF EDWIN.
" Here, master of the comic art,
Who ne'er in vain that art applied,
Lies Edwin ! finished now his part ;
He gave but sorrow when he died.
*' Failings he proved the human lot,
Let Pity shed a kindly tear ;
For, ah ! when these shall be forgot,
Shall Mirth hang drooping o'er his bier !
" Too late departed worth we prize,
To living merit oft unkind ;
Regret exclaims, with sad surprise,
He has not left his like behind !"
The same newspaper contains an announcement underneath the Covent Garden
bill, " On Thursday, Mr. Munden will make his first appearance on this stage, in
the characters of Sir Francis Gripe and Jemmy Jumps, in the comedy of " The
Busy Body," and the opera of " The Farmer."
* The annexed is a copy of the original play-bill :
" Theatre- Royal, Covent Garden.
This present Thursday, December 2, 1790, will be presented a comedy,
called
THE BUSY BODY.
Marplot, . Mr. Lewis. Sir George Airy, . Mr. Holman.
Sir Jealous Traffic, . Mr. Thompson. Charles Gripe, . Mr. Macready.
Whisper, . Mr. Bernard.
Sir Francis Gripe, . Mr. Munden (being his first appearance on this stage).
Isabinda, . Mrs. Mountain. Patch, . Mrs. Harlowe.
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 139
the stage he was received with much applause, which he bore with
great presence of mind ; but was for a moment disconcerted by ob-
serving an old Newcastle acquaintance in the centre of the pit,
standing on the bench,, waving, in the enthusiasm of the moment, his
wig above his head, and bawling out " Bravo! Joe Munden ! "
This well-meaning person had a short time previously made his way
to his dressing-room, whilst the new actor was dressing, in a state of
nervous excitement ; and, bursting in, addressed him in these terms,
giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder, by way of encourage-
ment, "Now, Joey, my boy ! show 'em what thee art, for the honour
oi Newcastle !" The success of the debutant is thus described by
Mr. Boaden:
" On December 2nd, 1 790, Mr. Munden, an actor of great provin-
cial celebrity, made his first bow at Covent Garden theatre, in the
character of Sir Francis Gripe, in ' The Busy Body/ Since the
dsys of Shuter nothing had been so rich, for Wilson was not a tythe
of him ; and his mind seemed teeming with every surprise of comic
humour, which his features expressed by an incessant diversity of
playful action, and his utterance conveyed in an articulation of much
force and neatness. He was received by a very crowded house with
triumphant applause ; and, with the proper confidence of a great
master of his art, he acted in the farce also, the facetious Jemmy
Jumps. Here he felt some alarm, from the recent impression of
poor Edwin ; but he was above imitation, and played from himself
so peculiarly and divertingly that he pleased even those who could
not think him equal to Edwin ; and, although the latter was a master
in musical science, Munden sang the ' Fair-haired lassie ' in a style
so powerful as to show that burletta had gained in him nearly as
much as comedy."
A more moderate criticism is given in the " Public Advertiser "
of December 3rd, 1790 : " Co vent Garden. Mr. Munden, a gen-
tleman who had acquired much celebrity in many of the provin-
cial theatres for his comic talents, yesterday made his first ap-
pearance in the character of Sir Francis Gripe, in Mrs. Centlivre's
comedy of ' The Busy Body/ and in Jemmy Jumps in ' The
Farmer/
iC Mr. Munden evinced a considerable share of ability in Sir Francis
Gripe; and, though labouring under the disadvantages of a muscu-
lar person, joined to a powerful voice, contrived to make a very fa-
vourable impression upon the audience. His conception of the
character was correct; and he played in a style of chaste and dry
humour, rather than with great force of comic colouring.
Scentwell, . Mrs. Platt.
Miranda, . Mrs. Pope (being her first appearance in that character).
End of the play, a dance, called
The Wapping Landlady.
To which will be added, the comic opera of
THE FARMER.
Jemmy Jumps, . Mr. Munden. Valentine, . Mr. Johnstone.
Rundy, . , Mr. Blanchard. Dormant, . Mr. Hull.
Fairly, . Mr. Thompson. Farmer Stubble, . Mr. Powell.
Blackberry (first time), . Mr. Bannister.
Molly Maybush, . Mrs. Martyr. Louisa, . Mrs. Mountain.
Landlady, . Mrs. Platt. Betty Blackberry, . Mrs. Mattocks."
L 2
140 MEMOIRS OF
Mr. Munden afterwards appeared in Jemmy Jumps. To follow
the late Mr. Edwin with success extraordinary talents are requisite.
This gentleman, considering the great drawback the name of his
predecessor will have upon the performance of the person who suc-
ceeds him, made a very tolerable stand in the character. In some
parts he reminded us strongly of the original, and in others he
played from himself, and with deserved applause. His tavern-
scene, in particular, was excellently acted.
" Upon the whole, we think this gentleman will prove an useful
addition to the company, though we do not think his abilities of that
very powerful nature which the sanguine reports of his friends had
given us reason to expect. He was extremely well received by a
most numerous and elegant audience."
Munden's success was, indeed, complete and immediate. The
public and the critics were alike satisfied. Of the latter, Anthony
Pasquin alone carped, and wrote an epigram, in the last line of
which he asserted,
" He is neither the Quick nor the dead/'*
The actors hailed him as a brother. The veteran comedian King,
writing shortly afterwards to Mr. Austin, spoke of him in these
terms r " Munden is a great favourite with the public, and with me
also ; but they have given him a hint lately about improving Shak-
speare in Dogberry."
Thus was the highest object attained which a provincial actor
covets to fill first-rate parts on the London boards, and to have his
merits appreciated by the acknowledged criterion of English taste.
Munden found Mr. Quick in possession of the best parts, as was
justly his due, from priority, admitted talent, and high favour with the
public. At Covent Garden was, also, Wilson ; at Drury Lane, King,
Parsons, and Suett, fearful competitors to contend with : however, he
* Of course this allusion was to Quick and Edwin. Anthony Pasquin (or, as
his real name was, John Williams,) was the most degraded of human beings. He
wrote only for the purpose of extorting money, and defamed everything and every-
body venerable in the land. He published the "Children of Thespis," a bad
imitation of Churchill's " Rosciad," and gave to the world, from time to time,
extracts from a MS. poem, entitled " The Kembliad," which he pretended to have
written, no doubt, in the hope of forcing a bribe from Mr. Kemble for its suppres-
sion, a hope which, assuredly, he did not realize. Mr. Adolphus states, that, after
partaking of John Bannister's hospitality, he proceeded to some den in the neigh-
bourhood to write a foul attack on him. He wrote to Mrs. Martyr, with a threat,
for a set of shirts, and obtained them. He had the impudence to bring an action
against Mr. Gifford for a libel on him in the ** Baviad or the Mo3viad," which alluded
to " the rank fume of Tony Pasquin's brains ;" but got so severely handled by
Garrow, that he judged it expedient to proceed to the United States of America.
Cobbett, who was there at the time, enacting Peter Porcupine, alludes, in language
as coarse as the subject he treated of, to his arrival. " They tell me that dirty fel-
low, Anthony Pasquin, has come here. I have often heard say that people like
their own-stink, but I never heard they liked another's stink ; so I trust they will
drag him through the Hudson to make him clean, before they allow him to land,"
Williams afterwards returned to England, abused Sir Walter Scott and Edmund
Kean, until the newspapers would have nothing to do with him. He died in a
garret, near Tottenham -court Road 1 . From Munden he never got a farthing,
though he afterwards paid much court to him. It was Munden's habit never to
reply to a newspaper attack. <' If I do," he said, very sensibly, " I play into their
hands, and raise a nest of hornets around me ; if I do not, they '11 fall upon some-
body else to-morrow, and I shall be forgotten."
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 141
studied carefully, played what was set down for him, and lost no
ground. It is a great mistake of actors to suppose that they derogate
from their station in performing occasionally second-rate characters. In
some instances there may be reasons for such a belief. Cooke used to
remark that in playing lago to John Kemble's Othello, he felt the dif-
ficulty of making a point. " It seemed to me," he said, ' c as if I were
a snail, which, endeavouring to issue from its shell, finds a large stone
impeding its progress/' Without taking into account the great powers
of his antagonist, and the disparity between the parts, it must be ad-
mitted by all who witnessed Mr. Cooke's performance, that, although
displaying great vigour in a portion of it, it was an entire misconcep-
tion of the character. It was the very reverse of " honest honest
lago." His villany was so apparent that it degraded Othello from a
confiding dupe to a credulous dotard. The spectators wondered that
he could not discern what they saw the manifest imposture. "If
Cooke," said a gentleman of great experience in theatricals, on leaving
the pit, " be right, Henderson must have been sadly mistaken." Set-
ting aside this digression, it is really of benefit to a good actor to play
at times an inferior part. Granting that vanity be wounded, the pub-
lic perceive that the talent which produces such effects, when they
have been accustomed to witness inanity, must be extraordinary ; and
the whole tableau is complete ; the actors play up to each other, and
wonderful is the emulation when the one in the superior part feels
him in the inferior treading on his kibe. Murray's performance of the
Old Man in tf The Stranger," and (the late) Mr. Macready's delivery
of the few speeches in the small part of the Hosier in "The Road to
Ruin," were cases in point : they could not have obtained more ap-
plause had they played Alexander the Great. Munden, after filling
equal parts with his great rivals, played, without a murmur, the First
Carrier (in " Henry IV.") to Wilson's Falstaff.
On the 4th February, 1791, he performed his first original part,
Sir Samuel Sheepy, in " The School for Arrogance," by Holcroft.
Holcroft's politics, and an impression that Mr. Harris was unfavour-
able 1 to him, induced him to request Marshall to father the piece.
February 16, he played Lazarillo, in " Two Strings to your bow,"
" never before acted in this kingdom." March 14th, Frank, in " Mo-
dern Antiques," a new farce, by O'Keefe. Cockletop by Mr. Quick.
Muaden's excellence in Cockletop, which he, and he only, performed
in Liter days, is recorded in a chapter by Charles Lamb, in language as
eloquent as the criticism is just and discriminative. It is useless to
transcribe it, for who has not read Elia ? Mr. Lamb sent Munden the
book, with the annexed inscription :
" Mr. Lamb presents his respects to Mr. Munden, and begs his ac-
cept ance of a volume, at the end of which he has ventured a faint de-
scription of the pleasure he has received from Mr. Munden's acting.
20, Great Russell Street, Covent Garden."
His next parts were, Lovel, in "High Life below Stairs ;" and, the
16tli April, another original part, Ephraim Smooth, in " Wild Oats,"
by O'Keefe, produced by Lewis for his benefit. May 2nd, Cassander,
in " Alexander the Little," for Quick's benefit. For Johnstone's benefit,
Pedrillo, in " The Castle of Andalusia." Mrs. Martyr's benefit,
Daphne, in " Midas Reversed;" and Sir David Drowsy, in " The
Dreamer Awake." Miss Brunton's benefit, Tipple, in " The Flitch of
Bacon." Wilson's benefit, Young Quiz, in " Union ; or, St. Andrew's
142 MEMOIRS OF
Day," a farce written by Wilson himself. May 19th, for his own
benefit, Caleb, in "He would be a Soldier;" and Darby, in "Love in
a Camp." In " Primrose Green," a farce not printed, for Mr. and Mrs.
Bernard. June 6th, Camillo, in " The Double Falsehood." At this
period Drury Lane was pulled down, for rebuilding ; and the company
performed at the King's Theatre (Opera House). September 12th,
Munden played, first time, Ennui, in " The Dramatist." The Gene-
ral Evening Post, a newspaper of that period, alludes to his perform-
ance in these terms : " Munden had frequent applause in the per-
formance of his new character, Ennui, which he sustained with more
ease and discrimination than his predecessor."
September 21st, Fawcett, from the York Theatre, made his first ap-
pearance in Caleb (" He would be a Soldier.") Munden subsequent-
ly played the Gentleman Usher, in " King Lear ;" Lord Jargon, in
" Notoriety," a new comedy by Reynolds ; Lopez, in " Lovers' Quar-
rels ;" Mustapha, in "A Day in Turkey ;" and Tippy Bob,* in " Blue
Beard ;" or, the Flight of Harlequin." January 6th, 1792, the Second
Witch in "Macbeth;" Meadows, in " The Deaf Lover ;" Sebastian, in
" The Midnight Hour." On the 18th February, was performed, for
the first time, " The Road to Ruin," by Holcroft ; and Munden ap-
peared in the part, which formed the corner-stone of his fame. It is
not generally known that the original title of this piece was " The
City Prodigals." The manager, fearful of some party opposition,
counselled an alteration of the title ; and Holcroft, who, from the vio-
lent part he took in politics, was in constant dread of an adverse au-
dience, (one of his pieces having been stopped until an assurance was
given that it contained nothing political,) readily consented to the al-
teration. The part of Old Dornton was sent to Mr. Quick (the writer
has it in his possession, with Mr. Quick's name, and the original title
of the play affixed) ; and Silky was assigned to Munden. As this was
the first opportunity of making a hit in a strong original part, Munden
studied it deeply and carefully, and told his wife he felt confident of
the effect he could produce. Those who recollect his performance of
Sir Francis Gripe will readily believe that he had formed a just esti-
mate of his conception. What was his mortification when the part of
Silky was withdrawn from him, and that of Old Dornton substituted !
Mr. Quick, after much consideration, deemed it too sentimental for
his cast of characters, and, insisting upon the choice of parts, which
was his undoubted right, selected Silky: he played it admirably.
Munden, with vexation and regret, and many a violent ejaculation
against the manager, received the new part, and, in bitterness of
* By his style of singing it, Munden rendered a song called " Tippy Bob " very
popular. It ran as follows :
" My name is Tippy Bob,
With a watch in each fob,
View me round, view me round on each side, and the top ;
If I 'm not the thing,
May I wish I may swing,
Since I Ve got such a nice natty crop, natty crop.
" As I walk through the lobby,
The giris cry out " Bobby !"
" Here, Bobby ! here, Bobby ! my tippety Bob 1"
Such squeaking ! such squalling !
Such pulling ! such hauling !
Oh ! I can't get them out of my nob of my nob ! "
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 143
spirit, sat down to study it. He soon perceived the weapon he had
within his grasp. All former triumphs he had achieved were whelm-
ed in this great effort. The power, the pathos, the deep, intense feel-
ing he threw into it, rendered it the chief, the prominent part in the
play. The original cast was as follows : Goldfinch, Lewis ; Old
Dornton, Munden ; Harry Dornton, Holman ; Silky, Quick ; Sulky,
Wilson ; Milford, Harley ; Mrs. Warren, Mrs. Mattocks ; Sophia,
Mrs. Merry ; Jenny, Mrs. Harlowe. " Munden," says the Public Ad-
vertiser, (February 20th, 1792,) " gave some of the fatherly tints with
great force and much judgment. The tears of beauty were the best
possible proofs of his doing justice to the tender affection of a fond
parent." At a later period, when, perhaps, his performance had become
more mellow, he is thus described : f< His was an unique piece of
acting; so full of feeling, so imbued, even in its most angry parts,
with the milk of human kindness, that we despair* of ever seeing its
parallel. In some of his scenes the indignant feelings of the man,
softened down by the fond affection of the father, as oil thrown on
the turbulent waves is said to moderate their fury, presented as fine a
picture of undulating passion as the pathetic of comedy (the structure
of our modern comedies will allow the expression,) is susceptible of."
Tht; audience went with him. They saw, with astonishment, an
actor, whose forte had been hitherto considered to be comedy broad
comedy, display the greatest power over the tragedy of domestic life.
Holcroft, the author, who had remonstrated against entrusting his
favourite part to a comparatively untried actor, was surprised at the
effect of his own composition. His perpetual attention to the man
who had followed out his idea, perhaps beyond the bounds of his own
conception, was such, that, when the Secretary of State issued the war-
rant for his apprehension, on the silly charge of high-treason, that
functionary directed the officer to search for him at the residence of
Mr. Munden. Munden, though never extreme in politics, was at that
time a Whig, and wore the " blue and buff of Fox ;" in which dress he
is painted by Sir Martin Archer Shee. " The Road to Ruin " was re-
peated thirty-eight nights during the season, and was twice command-
ed by the King. Fawcett spoke the prologue.
As a London performer, he was now a star of the first magnitude;
and in that capacity was engaged during the vacation at the Dublin
theatre. At his benefit there he netted two hundred and fifty pounds.
He afterwards visited his friends at Newcastle, and played there with
acclamation. He was accustomed to say that the first one hundred
pouads he realized he laid out in a pipe of port-wine. Perhaps it was
ajoice upon the bibacious propensity, which was so much the fashion of
the day. A host would have blushed at his own want of hospitality
had he sent away his guests sober. He hid their hats, locked the
door, and detained them by force. Austin once dined at the house of
Mr. Bowes, who carried off Lady Strathmore. Being a domesticated
man, he was desirous of quitting in reasonable time. After earnestly
remonstrating against the violence used to detain him, he at lengthiest
all ] >atience, took up a plate, threw it at a pier-glass, which was smash-
ed ia pieces, exclaiming, "Now, will you let me go?"
His host, seeing him cast a menacing look at another in the room,
thrc w down the key of the door, and called out, " Oh ! by G-d !
Austin, go as soon as you like !"
Jack Bannister dined with another madman, who, in his drunken
144 MEMOIRS OF
fit, attempted to inflate a balloon in such a way as to occasion a sense
of suffocation. The company rushed to the glass folding-doors, aud
burst them open ; they fortunately opened upon a balcony.
There were clubs, at which fines were inflicted on any member who
was not drunk when the sittings were closed ; whist-clubs, where the
members sat up to their knees in the rejected packs of cards, curtains
being drawn between their faces to conceal any expression of disap-
pointment at a bad hand. This practice is said to have been intro-
duced in consequence of Mr. Fox losing a large sum of money by the
cards being reflected on the bright surface of some large steel buttons
which he wore. One of these card-clubs had a singular constitution.
It was called " The never-ending club ;" and the law was, that no one
should quit the table until relieved by the arrival of a fresh member.
Days passed, and even nights ; and the fresh dawn beheld the parti
carre, after a snore*or two, commencing a new game. They did not
" Carve at the meal
With gloves of steel,
And drink the red wine with their helmets barr'd !"
but they did " carve at the meals " with dirty hands, which had so
long thumbed the cards; and they "drank the red wine" with eyes
half-closed by exhaustion, and the fever of gambling. We have lost
much of the " wisdom of our ancestors," and this amongst the rest.
On the 26th March, 1792, Munden played Proteus, in a new piece,
for Mrs. Pope's benefit ; and Nicholas, in *' Fashionable Levities," for
Lewis's benefit. April 10th, Aircastle, in " The Cozeners," for Quick's
benefit. May 10th, for his own benefit, Stave (the clerk of the vil-
lage), in a new piece, entitled "Just in time;" and recited "Jemmy
Jumps in the Dumps ;" concludfag with " The Deaf Lover." June
18th, 1792, Munden's old friend, Mrs. Whitlock, made her first ap-
pearance at the Haymarket theatre, in the Queen in the " Battle of
Hexham." September 17th, Covent Garden being rebuilt, the prices of
the boxes were advanced to six shillings ; pit, three shillings and six-
pence ; gallery, two shillings. An upper gallery was afterwards added.
The insane row, which took place at the next rebuilding, and which, in
defiance of all law and justice, was permitted to take place in the Eng-
lish metropolis, did not then commence its disgraceful origin.
November 3rd, Munden played Peregrine Forester, in a new farce,
called "Hartford Bridge;" and, November 17th, Sir Anthony Abso-
lute, in " The Rivals." December 8th, Sir Francis Wronghead, in
" The Provoked Husband." December 27th, Polonius, in " Hamlet."
Mention is made of this part, as it was one of our actor's chastest per-
formances. It had been the custom to represent Polonius as a buf-
foon : a more erroneous conception could not be entertained. Shaks-
peare intended him for a pliant and supple courtier, and man of the
world, ready to accord with any man's opinions, whom he deemed it ex-
pedient to flatter : but his advice to his son indicates sound sense, and
just reflection. Munden, apart from his humorous acquiescence in
Hamlet's assumed vagaries, exhibited in his personification a venera-
ble and dignified demeanor, which he imitated from old Lord Mans-
field, " Murray the Polite."
At the conclusion of this year (1792) we lose sight of Wilson. He
is said to have died in the King's Bench, in 1796. Munden succeed-
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 145
ed to most of his characters, which formed a very wide range. January
2nd, 1793, he played Hardcastle, in "She Stoops to Conquer;" 16th,
Don Jerome, in " The Duenna." 29th, was represented, for the first
time, " Every one has his fault," by Mrs. Inchbald : Sir Robert Kem-
ble, Lewis ; Harmony, Munden ; Irwin, Pope ; Lord Norland, Far-
ren; Solus, Quick; Placid, Fawcett: Edward, Miss Grist; Miss
Wooburn, Mrs. Esten; Lady Eleanor Irwin, Mrs. Pope; Miss
Placid, Mrs. Mattocks ; and Miss Spinster, Mrs. Webb. This come-
dy was excellently performed. Munden continued to play new
parts in succession. For his own benefit (May 3rd, 1793), Robin
Redhead, in (first time) " To Arms ; or, The British Recruit :" with
Old Dornton, and Lazarillo. May llth, was represented (first
time) " Sprigs of Laurel," Nipperkin, Munden; a part he render-
ed famous. O'Keefe, the author, alluding to his own production,
saj-s, " Munden was very diverting in the most impudent, bold, au-
dacious character that I think was ever before any audience." This
farce was revived at Covent Garden, May 17, 1797* reduced to one
act, and entitled " The Rival Soldiers." O'Keefe counted much on
Munden in such parts as these ; for he played up to the extrava-
gance of the character. Strange that hyper-criticism should have
discovered this was over-acting. Who ever expects a caricaturist to
be bound by the strict rules of painting? Most of the creations of
O'Keefe could only be played in this way, or could not be played at
all. So sensible of this was the author that he never augured well of
a piece unless it was nearly damned the first night; if received with
cold approbation, he gave it up for lost. When the audience had
pretty well hissed, they began to laugh at the oddity of the concep-
tion, and the next night roared with laughter. On one occasion,
when Munden had an incipient attack of the gout at his chambers,
in Clement's Inn, on the eve of a new play, O'Keefe called, with
Mr. Harris, the manager, and implored him, if possible, to play his
part for one night, even though he resigned it the next day to an in-
ferior performer. l"he actor consented, postponed the fit by the use
of u violent remedy, got through the part with difficulty, and en-
sured the success of the piece.
The following dry enumeration of parts played, from the period of
September, 1793, upwards, by Munden, is exhibited to show his ac-
tivity, versatility, and quickness of study. September 18th, 1793,
"Much Ado about Nothing;" Dogberry, Quick; Town Clerk,
Munden ; Verges, Fawcett. October 18th, Skirmish, in " The De-
serter." 19th, Peachum, in " The Beggar's Opera." 25th, Puzzle,
in " Grief-a-la-mode." November 12th, Old Grovely, in " The Maid
of the Oaks." 23rd, "The World in a Village," first time, by
O'Keefe; Jollyboy, Munden. January 1, 1794, Sir Andrew Acid,
in ''Notoriety." January 2nd, "School for Wives ;" General Sa-
vage, Munden. February 5th, Craig Campbell, in " Love's Frail-
ties," a new comedy, by Holcroft 22nd, Sydney, in (first time)
" Travellers in Switzerland." April 7th, for Mrs. Pope's benefit, was
performed "The Jealous Wife;" Oakly, Pope; Major Oakly,
Quick; Charles, Holman ; Sir Harry Beagle, Fawcett; Captain
O'Cutter, Johnstone ; Russet, Munden (being their first appearance
in 1 hose characters) ; Lord Trinket, Lewis : Mrs. Oakly, Mrs. Pope ;
Lady Freelove, Mrs. Mattocks (first time) ; Harriet, Mrs. Moun-
tain (first time). This, indeed, was a strong cast.
146 MEMOIRS OF
April 12th, for Lewis's benefit, Trim, in " Tristram Shandy."
29th, for Johnstone's benefit, Joey, in " British Fortifications/' never
before acted ; and Old Pranks, in " The London Hermit." May
13th, for his own benefit, " School for Wives ;" with, never before
acted, "The Packet Boat; or, a Peep behind the Veil/' Quick,
Johnstone, Munden, Mrs. Martyr ; after which, " British Fortitude,"
fifth time. 22nd, " Speechless Wife," Quick, Munden, Incledon ;
this opera was damned 23rd, Mrs. Mountain's benefit, Lopez, in
" Lover's Quarrels." 28th, Middleton's benefit, Martin, in " The
Sicilian Romance," never before acted. June llth, Robin, in " The
Waterman." Parsons died in February, 1795. He had played with
Garrick, and was one of his " children." He is represented by Zof-
fani, as one of the Watchmen, in the scene with Garrick, as Sir John
Brute, and the expression of his face is very comical. Parsons'
chief forte was in old men in comedy, in which he greatly excelled.
His best part was Corbaccio, which he played from the recollection
of Shuter.
At this period Munden took a house in Frith Street, Soho. His
next-door neighbour was his friend, Jack Bannister. They were
chosen parish-constables. With the whimsicality that attaches itself
to the profession, they waited on the vestry, and were excused, by
urging that their authority would not be respected, as the constant
habit of appearing as Dogberry and Verges rendered them too
comical for anything but stage-exhibition. They established a kind
of club, which met alternately at their respective houses. The actors
came in the dresses they had worn during the performances at the
theatres. Amongst their visitants were Colman, Peter Pindar,
O'Keefe, Lord Barrymore, and Captain Wathen. Here Peter Pin-
dar extemporized the following epigram on O'Keefe, after the dra-
matist had quitted the room :
" Some say, O'Keefe, that thou art a thief,
And stealest half of thy works or more ;
But, I say, O'Keefe, thou canst not be a thief,
For such stuff was ne'er written before."
The supper consisted of rump-steaks and mutton-chops ; and the
author's revered mother told him that she never saw anybody eat
with more appetite than the luxurious prodigal, Lord Barrymore.
So it is : sweets produce satiety. A royal epicure is said to have
fallen back on mutton-chops.
The man in this society who was most talked of at this time was
Lord Barrymore. He was one of a motley trio, known by the nick-
names of Newgate, Crippiegate, and Hell-gate. His Lordship was
the first ; his successor, the next Lord, who was lame, the second ;
and the Hon. Augustus Barry, a clergyman, the third. The latter
gentleman passed much of his time in prisons for debt. The two
noblemen were both addicted to gambling, with this difference, that
the first played to lose, and the second to win ; and they both by
their several ways succeeded in the attempt. The habit of extrava-
gance was early fostered in Lord Barrymore. It is asserted that his
grandmother, who doted on him, gave him, when he went to Har-
row, a thousand pounds, just as a good-natured old woman would
slip a crown-piece into her darling's hand at parting. The freaks
that this nobleman played have not been equalled in our days, so
prolific in lordly riots ; but it will always be the case, when young
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 147
men of rank come early into the possession of their vast estates
without control. The usurer supplies them at first with the ready
means of folly ; and when the rents are collected, there is no need of
hangers-on : the very excesses they commit enable these scoundrels
to take them unawares, and secure their plunder.
Among the ingenious expedients which Lord Barrymore invented
to ruin himself, was drawing straws from a truss with the Prince of
Wales the holder of the longest straw to receive a thousand pounds.
He gave a sumptuous entertainment at Ranelagh, to which, it is said,
only himself and two other persons came; drove a tandem along
the cliffs at Brighton, close to the declivity ; one of those high
tandems which Sir John Lade brought into vogue, and from which
Lady Lade used to step into the first-floor window. At the theatre
in that town he played Harlequin, and jumped through a hoop. He
was a very good comic actor, as may be seen from the representa-
tion of him in " Bell's Theatre," in Scrub, with Captain Wathen in
Archer ; and, with all his wildness, at bottom a man of sense and
education. In a company, where more than one literary man was
present, it was proposed that each person should write an epigram
upon a given subject, within a very 'limited space of time, and Lord
Barrymore was the only one who accomplished it. He built a theatre
at his seat at Wargrave, where he played, with other amateurs, and
occasional professional assistance. The whole audience were after-
wards entertained at supper.
His end was an untimely one. In stepping into his curricle to
convey, as commanding officer of the militia in the district, some
French prisoners from one depot to another, he accidentally trod
upon the lock of his carbine, and the contents lodged in his brain.
He had not been many years of age ; but he had contrived to dissi-
pate an enormous fortune.
Munden was ejected from his house in Frith Street in a more
summary way than he anticipated. An individual who lodged next
door, the other side from Bannister, being a friend to "The Rights
of Man," had indulged in a few extra glasses on the acquittal of the
soi-disant patriots, Hardy, HorneTooke, &c. On returning home,
and getting into bed, he took the precaution to put the candle under
the bed. He soon became sensible of the inconvenience of such a
practice. Starting up with the heavy insensibility of an intoxicated
ma a, he stumbled against the window, and, making a dash at it, fell
into the court behind. Luckily he carried part of the window-
frame with him, which, meeting with obstructions, broke his fall, so
that, although he descended a considerable distance, and was much
bruised, no bone was broken. That this gentleman was deeply im-
plicated in the dangerous proceedings of the day there is little
doubt. During his confinement from illness, he received innumer-
able communications by letter, which he would not intrust to others,
but tore open with his teeth, his hands being much bruised. In
later years he made a large fortune by editing an evening news-
pa] >er, and advocating with ability ultra Tory principles. No lives
were lost by this mishap, though Munden's house also caught fire.
The narrator of the tale, then an infant, was carried through the
flames by his affectionate mother.
Munden then removed to a small cottage at Kentish Town not
a " cottage of gentility " for it had no apartment underground. A
148 MEMOIRS OF
little vault beneath the dining-room served for a cellar; and the
master of the house, when he had guests, was obliged to raise the
carpet, and descend a step-ladder, to fetch up a fresh bottle ; yet
here Moore sang, and Morland painted. The cottage looked on the
fields ; and that strange mortal, George Morland, was accustomed to
sit there for hours, with the favourite gin-bottle before him, and
sketch cattle from the life. Many of the best of these productions
Munden purchased.*
Our actor afterwards removed to a larger house, where a circum-
stance occurred which is worth recording. He had a party of friends
dining there, who remained late. In the middle of the night, or ra-
ther early in the morning, the house was broken open by thieves.
The family were not disturbed ; but the thieves, setting one of the
party to listen on the stairs, examined the contents of the larder,
and, finding abundant remnants of good feeding, brought them up
to the dining-room. Without troubling themselves with the for-
mality of a table-cloth, or knives and forks, they proceeded to de-
molish the provender by the primitive process of tearing it to pieces
with their fingers. The marks on the table where each had depo-
sited his pinches of salt determined the number : there were six.
They opened the cellaret, and regaled themselves with a bottle of
wine and a bottle of porter. Their booty, however, was slight ; a
ring, taken off and accidentally left by Mrs. Munden, whilst super-
intending domestic arrangements, formed nearly the whole. They
had emptied a trunk, containing theatrical clothes, to the last coat,
when they were alarmed by the early rising of one of the maid-ser-
vants. These clothes were valuable, as they were covered with a
great deal of gold and silver lace. Munden always provided his
own costume, t wearing nothing that belonged to the theatre, and
gave large sums for any dress that suited his fancy. Among the
suits which formed his wardrobe was a black velvet coat, &c. which
had belonged to George the Second, of the finest Genoa velvet, and
another made for Francis, Duke of Bedford, at Paris, on the occa-
sion of the Prince of Wales' marriage, which is said to have cost a
thousand pounds. The coat had originally been fringed with pre-
cious stones, of which the sockets only remained when it came into
the hands of thefripier; but in its dilapidated state Munden gave
forty pounds for it. His wigs, also, for old men were of great anti-
quity and value ; they were always in the care of, and daily inspected
by, a hair-dresser attached to the theatre. On the morning after
the burglary, the injured party applied to his friends, the sitting
magistrates at Bow Street, Sir William Parsons and Mr. Justice
Bond, for advice. They asked what he had lost, and, learning the
trifling amount, said,
" Munden, you must not tell any one we gave you this advice ;
* Though not, like his friend, Bannister, possessing a professional knowledge of
painting, he had a fine perception of the art. He got together a valuable collection
of drawings by Turner, in his earlier and best style, Girtin, Cousins, Cipriani, and
Bartolozzi. Two companion drawings, on a large scale, which he possessed Wells
Cathedral, by Turner, and Durham Castle, by Girtin were works of extraordinary
merit. Girtin sent him over from Paris, by Holcroft, one of the last of his pro-
ductions. An intimacy with the artists, and a ready admittance to their studios,
enabled him to obtain these drawings at moderate prices.
f To his attention to costume our actor owed much of his fame. Fuseli, the
painter, broke into a burst of admiration when he saw him dressed for one of the
Witches in "Macbeth."
JOSEPH SHEPHERD MUNDEN, COMEDIAN. 149
but to prosecute will cause you a great deal of trouble and unplea-
santness, and you had better put up with the loss."
One of the magistrates whispered to an officer, and inquired
" Who was on the North Road last night ?"
"Little Jemmy, with a party, your worship."
" Have you ascertained, Munden," rejoined Sir William Parsons,
" how the robbers gained an entrance ?"
" By forcing up the parlour-window."
" Was there an impression of a very small foot on the mould be-
neath ?" " Yes."
" Enough ! Should you like to see the leader of the gang that
robbed your house ?"
" I have rather a fancy for it," said the astonished comedian.
" Then go over to the Brown Bear, opposite, at one o'clock to-
morrow afternoon, open the room on the right, and you will see
Townshend, the officer, seated at the head of a table, with a large
company. You may be assured that all the rest are thieves. If he
asks you to sit down, do so ; and the man who sits upon your right
hand will be the person who planned and conducted the robbery of
your house."
With the glee consequent upon a relish for humorous situations,
the actor promised compliance. He attended at the appointed time,
knocked at the door, was told to enter, and a group of gaol-birds
met his eye, headed by Townshend, who was diligently engaged in
carving a sirloin of beef.
" Mr. Townshend," said the aggrieved child of Thespis, " I wanted
to speak to you ; but I see you are engaged."
" Not at all, Mr. Munden. I shall be at your service in a few
minutes ; but, perhaps, you will take a snack with us. Jemmy,
make way for Mr. Munden."
Jemmy, with a wry face, did as he was bid. The actor sat down,
turned towards his uneasy neighbour, and examined his features
minutely. The company, believing that Jemmy was undergoing
the process of identification, laughed immoderately. It happened
that a sirloin of beef, with the remnant of a haunch of venison, had
formed the repast with which Muiiden's uninvited guests had re-
galed themselves. The thieves, who were well aware of the bur-
glary, and knew the person of the victim, indulged themselves in
extewpore and appropriate jokes.
" Jemmy, your appetite is failing," said one ; " have a little more.
You were always fond of boiled beef."
Curiosity satisfied, the actor withdrew, greatly to the relief of Mr.
Jemmy, to whom he made a low bow at parting. This hero after-
wards suffered the last penalty of the law, for some offence of greater
magnitude. These were the customs that prevailed half a century
ago. The officer had the thieves under his immediate eye, and sel-
dom gave them much trouble until they were worth forty pounds,
that is, candidates for the gibbet and the halter. If much stir was
made after a lost gold watch, and a handsome reward offered, a hint
from the man in office recovered it ; and, when the final period of
retributive justice arrived, this functionary fearlessly entered a room
crowded with malefactors, and, beckoning with his finger, was fol-
lowed by his man, who well knew " he was wanted." " The Brown
Bear " was as safe a place of retreat for the thief as any other. It is
even said that a famous highwayman ensconced himself for some
150 MEMOIRS OF MUNDEN.
time very snugly in lodgings near it, knowing that search would be
made after him in every other direction ; as Young Watson did in
Newgate Street, when every wall was placarded with a large reward
for his apprehension.
Munden was fond of attending the police courts in Bow Street,
during the intervals of rehearsal, to witness the comedy of real life.
On one occasion, sitting by the side of Sir Richard Birnie, with
whom he was very intimate, Dick Martin, the eccentric but humane
Member for Galway, came to prefer one of his usual charges of
cruelty to animals. After the charge was disposed of, Sir Richard
whispered in Martin's ear : " The gentleman who sits beside me is
Munden, the comedian."
The bailiff whom Mr. Martin's tenants plunged into the bogs of
Cunnemara, and forced to swallow the writ of which he was the
bearer, could not have looked more astonished than did Dick at this
announcement.
Is he, by G d ! " he retorted.
"Mr. Martin," gravely added the magistrate, "it is my duty to
fine you for that oath."
" With all my heart," said Dick ; and, bowing to Munden, cheer-
fully paid the fine.
The Fire-King pursued the comedian to his calm retreat. A lady,
who was stopping on a visit, sent her maid to search for some ar-
ticles of female finery in her bed-room, to be exhibited to the won-
dering gaze of the other visitors. The careful servant, fearful that
a spark might drop into the drawers, held the candle behind her,
and ignited the bed-curtains. She then ran screaming below to her
mistress, leaving the door and windows open. In a moment the room
was in a blaze, and the flames flashed out on the staircase. Again
did the fond mother preserve her infant son, who was sleeping in
his crib in the next room, regardless of the scorching heat through
which she bore him. The now flourishing village of Kentish town
was then little more than a hamlet, and contained no fire-engine.
The house would have been burned down, but for the exertions of
the volunteers, who assembled, and, forming themselves in line, per-
formed the peaceable duty of passing buckets of water to each other
from a neighbouring pond, until they reached the soldier exposed to
the heat of the fire, who discharged their contents on the foe. These
volunteers were commanded by a Captain Frazer.* They arranged
themselves in loyal array, and saluted their sovereign (George the
Third) as he passed through the village to visit Lord Mansfield, at
Caen Wood. The King stopped the carriage, and, inquiring the
name of the commander, sent for him, and shook him cordially by
the hand. The scene was affecting ; for Captain Frazer was the
grandson of Lord Lovatt, who had been in arms against the House
of Hanover, and was beheaded for high treason, on Tower Hill, in
* This gentleman was once riding in the stage-coach from Kentish Town to
London, in company with a lady, a recent resident in the village, and Mrs. Mun-
den. The lady began to launch out in most extravagant praise of Munden's per-
son and manners. When she had concluded, Captain Frazer quietly said, " Al-
low me to introduce you, madam, to Mrs. Munden." The actor himself fell into a
similar mistake during the performances of the young Roscius. Seeing a friend
behind the scenes, who took a warm interest in Master Betty, he accosted him
thus r"I like your protege much; but I wonder you had his portrait painted by
." His friend stopped him by saying, Mr. Munden, let me have the plea-
sure of making you acquainted with Mr. Opie."
151
SAINT VALENTINE ;
OR, THOUGHTS ON THE EVIL OF LOVE IN A MERCANTILE
COMMUNITY.
BY JACK GOSSAMER, RAILROAD PHILOSOPHER.
" Seynt Valentine of custome yeere by yeere
Men have an usaunce in this regioun,
To loke and serche Cupides kalendere,
And chose theyr choyse by grete aifeccioun,
Such as ben move with Cupides moccioun,
Takyng theyre choyse as theyr sort doth falle :
But I love oon whiche exelleth alle,
And that be myselfe. I "
LYDGATE, Monk of Bury, A.D. 1440.
" MANY waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it.''
No, no. To throw " cold water " on love is like throwing it on high-
pressure steam, which begets ten thousand degrees of expansion, and
increases its force ten thousand fold. But it ought to be quenched,
that is certain ; for, whether we consider the question morally or po-
litically, love is an evil of the most stupendous magnitude. In a na-
tion standing upon the pinnacle of commercial greatness, and taking
the latitude and longitude of the pockets of the whole world with the
sextant of bankruptcy, by means of the transits of falling stars in the
Gazette, love should be repudiated as a national curse, and St. Va-
lentine ought to be erased from the calendar.
What have a people to do with love, that is a manufacturing and a
mercantile people, who are born political economists, and bred calcu-
lating machines ? Most assuredly nothing. They are not organised
for it ; and if they were, it is a clear mistake on the part of Nature,
and ought to be rectified by an act of the legislature. Lips were not
given to girls for kissing, but to hold cotton reels during the process
of " tying/' at the factory. Hands were not made for squeezing, but
for handling the spade, plough, curry-comb, whip, hammer, trowel,
peei, cleaver, dung-fork, and billy-roller. Knees were not made to
bend at " Beauty's shrine," but to crawl up the inclined planes of
coal-pits, with "Hettons"or "Lambtons." Hearts were not made
to " feel emotions," but just to pump so many pounds of blood per diem
through the system, with the prime mover of the smallest minimum
of victuals, and as a component part of the machinery of a " power-
loom."
Love is also inconsistent with British freedom ; for a man in love is a
slave of the worst possible die, blacker than the " nigger." Liberty is
crushed in him into smash everlasting. He is proud of his fetters as
an alderman of his chain, and is overcome with a desire to link him-
self yet faster. He is like a fly in a treacle-tub, leg-bound in a quag-
miro of sweets, and, although neither te free nor easy," thinks himself
happy ; or, as a bluebottle in a cobweb, the more he struggles the
152 SAINT VALENTINE.
firmer he is bound, according to the dynamics of the true-lover's-
knot. He sighs to tie himself up with Hymen's halter, would gibbet
himself on his mistress's neck, and burns to become a martyr, that he
may flare up like a Guy on the fifth of November, in spite of the
police and Puseyites. His heart bumps and cracks with the impe-
tuosity of a burning chestnut, and he pops, fumes, and sputters like
an apple roasting, or a bedeviled kidney. The measure of heat stands
in him at the point of Wedgewood's thermometer at which brass is
fuzed, or flint melts, and all his sensibilities are amalmagated as in a
" Papin's digester." He feels himself half real, half ideal, with a
dash of the metaphysical, and is uncertain whether he is in the body
or out of it. He resembles the countryman's horse, with his head
where his tail should be. His faculties are at sixes and sevens,
higglede-pigglede, like a drove of porkers, up all manner of streets.
His ideas run into each other, like the colours of a fourpenny chintz,
warranted to wash. His head is all fuzzy, and muzzy, and buzzy,
like " the devil in a bush," or a mouldy Norfolk dumpling ; and
he is
By day and by night in ,
Concerning his Patty, or Dolly, or Mary ;
And he either sits mumbling,
By daylight still grumbling,
Or on the bed tumbling
Throughout the dull night so long :
He is dreaming and scheming,
And wondering and blundering,
And tattling and prattling
Of blisses and kisses,
Of blossoms and bosoms,
Of wooing and cooing, ,
Of billing and killing,
Purse-filling, blood-spilling,
Of dashing and flashing,
And thrashing and smashing, '/ ,' .
Of routing and spouting,
Of meeting and treating,
Of bowing and vowing,
Kneeling, appealing,
And coaxing and hoaxing,
Adoring, imploring,
For ever still boring
The maid with his passion strong ;
And sidling and bridling,
And hurrying and scurrying,
And worrying and flurrying,
And craving and raving,
And quivering and shivering,
And shaking and quaking,
And groaning and moaning,
And twining and whining,
And squeezing and wheezing,
And carneying and blarneying,
Gammoning, soft sowdering,
Protesting and jesting,
And still never resting,
In the confines below, or the regions above ;
But, advancing, and prancing, and dancing,
Confessing, caressing, and pressing,
SAINT VALENTINE ! 153
And driving, and riving, and striving,
And panting, and canting, and ranting,
And cramming, and ramming, and shamming,
And sighing, and dying, and lying,
And swearing, and d aring, and tearing,
Delaying, and praying, and yeaing and naying,
Amusing, confusing, abusing, and choosing,
Confiding, and siding, deriding, and chiding,
Snickering, and snivelling, and puckering, and drivelling,
And fluttering, and sputtering, and stuttering, and muttering,
And hugging, and mugging, and lugging, and tugging,
And rumpling and crumpling, and crumpling and rumpling,
And mauling, and hauling, and still caterwauling,
Oh ! this is the state of a man when in love !
Such is love in the individual appertaining to man only, as man in
the abstract ; but, taking this " monster passion " in general, it is far
more appalling to every right-minded economist, who wishes to see
his beloved country retain her proud station among the nations of the
earth. Let us, therefore, look at the subject with a mercantile or
commercial eye. Take the professions. The divine, overcome, or
overtaken, or overshot, or overdone, or done over, with love, thinks his
flame an angel, and worships his doxy instead of orthodoxy. If a
limb of the law be served with a " writ " in the shape of a Valentine,
it leads direct to the filing of a " declaration" and the pressing of a
suit, and a court in the wrong court ; judgment is suspended, for his
brains are addled, and an " attachment " of the wrong sort is served.
His heart has bilked his bail., the head, and is non est inventus. He
is himself " non compos" and looks for unibus in celibas, and for issue
to be joined by matrimonial, instead of legal, machinery. If Cupid
shoots at your man of war, your " soger bold," he no longer " stands
at ease," but fires himself instead of a musket ; and goes to be drilled
with a black eye instead of his sergeant ; is for ever thinking of his
baggage, and puts his best leg, instead of his right shoulder, forward.
Then there is your merchant. Is he a drysalter ? he soon finds himself
as hot as pepper, and in a pretty pickle. And for your handicrafts, or
tradesmen ; tallow-chandlers are absorbed in " melting moments "
out of trade, and love brings on a rising of the lights ! Cooks are
"done brown" before their gravy meat, and put themselves into a
stew, instead of their onions. Cobblers are no longer lads of wax ;
but wax foolish, and lose their soles. Carpenters are chisseled out of
themselves. Bakers get heated before their ovens; and are brown in
lieu of their rolls. Cabmen and jarveys set their souls on busses. And,
in short, the whole of an enlightened, free, and happy community are
mystified, transmogrified, turned topsy-turvy, inside out, and mes-
merised !
Such being the unquestionable fact, and " Cupid " thus being in-
imical to the praiseworthy cupidity which should influence every
member of a great and thriving nation, it becomes a serious ques-
tion for the legislature, to consider the best means of repressing,
or extinguishing, or destroying, so great a national grievance. It
was a great blunder on the part of Sir Robert Peel to let loose
upon the tender susceptibilities of cooks, scullions, housemaids,
ladies'-maids, servants-of-all-work, milliners, dress-makers, nurse-
maids, governesses, and other menials, the sum-total of ten thousand
VOL. XIII. M
154 SAINT VALENTINE !
policemen, to pace before doors, and behind walls, and under palings,
at all hours of the day and night, slinking, and peeping, and leering
abput, like so many tom-cats arter their kin'e. It is true, a mandate
has been issued to rectify this great political blunder, viz., " That
the privates do have their whiskers shaved off." A good measure, so
far as it goes ; but it does not go far enough, and ought to have ex-
tended to their noses, on the precedent of the nuns of St. Kilda ; for,
alas ! the police nose all the secrets of every girl in the kingdom.
But what is the remedy for this great blot in the national es-
cutcheon? It is not to be found in the letting in of horned cattle at
a low duty. It is not to be discovered in the importation of foreign
asses. It is not to be cured by a Russell-purge dietary, although such
might be palliative ; nor by a Yankee model-prison, which would
only drive out of one madness into another ; nor would the " plague be
stayed" by a repeal of the Jump-over-" The-Broomstick Marriage-
Act;" nor by the passing of a bill against the billing-system. No,
indeed I such would be but futile experiments, not reaching the seat
of the disease, which is to be found primarily to be concentrated in
the horrible profanation of the sacred edifice of a post-office, esta-
blished solely for grave commercial purposes, by making it the vehi-
cle of communication between love-stricken swains and damsels on
the fourteenth of this identical month ; thus perpetuating a " love-
fever" through the length arid breadth of the land, from one genera-
tion to another, to the loss of the revenue, and injury of the manu-
facturing and mercantile interests.
We call, then, upon you, legislators, to arrest this desecration, to
withstand this mighty tide, which must eventually sweep commerce
from the face of the earth. We call upon you, as friends to freedom
and foes to slavery, to strike from the hands and hearts of twenty
millions of your fellow-creatures the fetters of that little tyrant,
Cupid. We call upon you to direct the energies of a people, who
would adore you, into the legitimate channel, that is, of working
double hours to pay the income-tax. We call upon you to suffer the
important and stupendous truth, that
" Love 's an ague that 's reversed,
Whose hot fit takes the patient first,
And after burns with cold as much
As even in Greenland does the touch !"
to go forth to an astonished and admiring world as a motto for all
seasons, and all ages, and all times. We call upon you, by example,
as well as precept, to inspire our young men with a spiritual abhor-
rence of young women, as a part of national virtue ; and to teach
young women to turn up their noses at young men, as the surest
mark of political independence, and as the high road to wealth and
a mayoralty.
But how shall this be done ? Shut up the post-office from the
tenth to the eighteenth of this month ! Pass an act, and appoint com-
missioners (with good salaries) in every district, to open and over-
haul all letters, with power to commit to the flames all those ad-
dressed to new or old " flames." The commissioners will be numerous,
and may become a political staff in every town and village in the
CHILDHOOD. 155
kingdom. Pass another act to prevent dying (the hair or whiskers)
for love ; and another to suppress the works of " Basia," " Little's
Poems," " Ovid," and IC Cupid's Calendar." Cut off the eyebrows,
ears, and whiskers, and slit the noses and lips of all policemen.
Make it high-treason to put the hair in papers, or to curl it by irons.
Render sighing a penal offence. Subject amatory transports to trans-
portation ; make it felony for a butcher to " cast a sheep's eye ;" and
append the crime of arson to black eyes generally. Let the terrors
of the law be set forth against " winking," and fulminate the thunders
of St. Stephen against kissing, above all things, as the great head
and front of the offending. Let the writer, the inditor, the vendor,
or i he sender, the believer, or the receiver of a Valentine, be punish-
ed with the horrid ceremony of
MARRIAGE !
CHILDHOOD.
BY WILLIAM JONES.
How beautiful is Childhood ! with its free and buoyant air,
With joy upon each dimpled brow, and tresses light and fair ;
How smilingly they trip along ! how fairy-like they move !
And gain upon our soften'd hearts to bless us with their love !
How beautiful is Childhood ! so guileless and unstain'd !
Methinks, to see them at our side is Paradise regain'd !
To Hsten to their spirit's flow, to hearken to their mirth,
And clasp unto our loving breast the little ones of earth !
How beautiful is Childhood ! when calling by the name
Of mother, father, or the ties that Nature bids them claim ;
When lisping forth so touchingly a language all their own,
Unfetter' d by the worldly chain that chills our years like stone!
How beautiful is Childhood ! when the fondlings kneel to pray,
And when, with hand in hand entwined, some broken words they say !
With beaming eyes of innocence to yonder land upraised,
They prattle out their artless theme ! Could Heav'n be better praised ?
How beautiful is Childhood ! how endearingly they seem
To cling to those who over them with looks of fondness beam !
To share the kindly smile and nod, how anxious they will be!
How hard the struggle to obtain a place upon the knee !
How beautiful is Childhood ! and how saintly is the charm
That takes from man his bitter cares, and makes his feelings warm !
That gladdens him with happiness, and cheers his lonely hours !
How beautiful is Childhood ! with its coronal of flowers !
156
LEGENDS OF LUNE.
BY HENRY H. DAVIS.
PERHAPS, no portion of " Merrie Englonde " is less known, or more
beautiful, than that tract of land extending for thirty miles north of
the palatine town of Lancaster, known by the name of Lunesdale, or
the Vale of Lune.
Magnificent, but not sublime ; mountainous, but not sterile ; pas-
toral, but not tame ; we know of no district that can vie with it in
beauty of landscape, or variety of detail. Its charming straths, its
wooded eminences, its romantic glades, its rocky dells, but, above all,
its beautiful river, clear as crystal now a mountain-stream, rushing
and foaming over crag and through crevice, then a reach of still water,
like a summer lake, all these form a succession of delightful objects,
upon which the eye rests with never-fading pleasure.
It has its castle, too, famed in song and story ; its ancient halls
crumbling into dust, the scenes of innumerable legends ; its remains of
British and Roman antiquities, the delight of the antiquary, and the
wonder of the ignorant : and its guardian hills contain amongst their
lonely recesses, awful caverns, and tremendous chasms, which, even in
the present age of philosophical enlightenment, are peopled by beings
of more than mortal mould, whom the dwellers in the mountains as
firmly believe in as in Divine revelation.
Before summer-tours became so common, and the modes of convey-
ance so cheap, the Lake district was the British Utopia ; but that
cloud land is now transferred to the Vale of Lune, whose traditions are
yet unknown beyond its own limits, and the knowledge of which is
confined to a favoured few.
It was my fortune, in early youth, to be thrown much in the society
of old people, grandpapas and grandmammas, both paternal and ma-
ternal, who were well acquainted with the wild and marvellous le-
gends of the valley ; and there is scarcely a hall, a manor-house, a
spring in the rock, or a deep pool in the river, that is not the scene of
some tale of murder, love, or faery. I had an old friend, too, who re-
sided at the head of the valley, and with whom I was wont to spend a
few months of each year, who used to horrify me with the narrations of
ghosts and dobbies, till I dared not to pass a lonely bridge or solitary
barn ; for, strange to say, such were the places where, in the imagina-
tion of the people, the spirits were confined when " laid " by the priests.
Although the supernatural has now given place to the natural, and
the ideal to the real, yet the following legends will show, in a striking
point of view, the credulity of our forefathers, even to the last age,
and furnish, also, a tolerably correct picture of the manners, customs,
scenery, an4 general features of the Vale of Lune :
KIRKBY-LONSDALE BRIDGE.
Of this very ancient romantic structure no authentic records have
ever been traced, either as to its founder or the time of its erection.
The only account of it is found in Burn and Nicholson's " History of
Westmorland," where it is stated that, in the third year of the reign
KIRKBY-LONSDALE BRIDGE. 157
of the first Edward, a rate of pontage was granted for repairs. From
whatever point the structure is viewed, it presents a beautiful picture.
Its lofty but narrow proportions, its ribbed arches, its rocky site, the
deep green pellucid waters that slowly wind their way between the
overhanging and shelving rocks on either side, and its banks thickly
clad with fine trees, which dip their branches in the passing wave, form
a coup d'ceil which must be seen to be appreciated. The following le-
gend of its origin is now for the first time offered to the public, and
embodies all the known traditions upon the subject :
'Twas the soft glooming of a summer's day,
The hour when Love dons all his lovingness ;
The thrush y-sung her melting, mellow lay,
To hail the peeping stars, which shone to bless
The pilgrim's path with their bright cheerfulness ;
The closing flowers shed tears of pearly dew,
And hung their heads in weeping bashfulness,
Because no mortal could their beauties view,
Ne scent their sweet perfume, ne praise their varied hue.
It fell upon this eve, an ancient wight
Was slowly wending on his weary rode ;
All travel-stain' d the vest which him bedight,
Though fourscore winters o'er his head had snow'd,
And care had bow'd him 'neath his troublous load !
Still, wandering slowly, did he journey on,
In search of rest within some kind abode,
Sith he all day had travell'd by the Lonne,
JSv'n from its first small spring, to lovely Casterton.
His woolly hair was parted o'er a brow
Where Age had set his seal ; but, then, his eye
Gleam'd bright, yet mild, and full of youthful glow,
Like starlight beaming from a frosty sky !
And though his form was bent, yet firm and high
His bearing was, as destin'd to command ;
And, folded in his vest, ye mote espy
A ponderous volume, which, with one frail hand,
He did uphold ; the other grasp'd an ebon wand.
The pilgrim paused ; on Lonne's sweet banks he stood,
And gazed with wonder on the scene around;
On every side was dark and waving wood ;
Beneath his feet the stream, with gurgling sound,
Flow'd deep through rugged rocks, with moss embrown'd ;
He chose the shelter of an ancient tree,
And sat him down upon the dewy ground ;
Then strain'd his eyne, as though he long'd to see
Some well-known spot of bliss, which haunted memorie.
He mused not long, for lo ! eftsoons, he took
From the thick foldings of his flowing vest
(Bound with huge silver clasps) his weighty book,
Companion of his toil, and eke his rest,
Which evermore had lean'd upon his breast ;
And from his pouch a golden lamp he drew,
On which strange mystic characters were traced,
Fill'd with the magic oil, which, lighted, threw
On every side a glare of wild, unearthly hue.
158 KIRKBY-LONSDALE BRIDGE.
And, as the flame grew brighter, sounds were heard
Of shrieking laughter, and of wailing woe !
The twinkling stars affrighted, disappeared ;
The stream stood still, and seem'd afraid to flow,
And listening zephyrs quite forgot to blow !
But, when the ponderous volume he unbound,
Fierce was the strife unseen, above, below ;
A shuddering horror thrill'd through all around,
And subterranean thunders shook the rocky ground !
He waved his ebon wand, and with deep voice
Utter'd dark spells of wild diablerie ;
The thunders died away, and every noise
Upon the very instant ceased to be ;
With such strong power he wrought his witcherie
Again his wand he waved, and redde the page
Where words of living fire were plain to see,
Whose awful meaning quell'd the spirits' rage,
Arid bound them to their oaths of magic vassalage !
THE INVOCATION.
PILGRIM. Spirits of Flood and Fell !
Nymphs of the Fountain !
Fays of the Greenwood Dell !
Elves of the Mountain !
I warn ye come hither
On pinions of speed ;
The volume is open,
Then list what I read !
SPIRITS, 1st. We come from the mountain ;
2nd. We come from the wave ;
3rd. We come from the fountain ;
All. Say, what dost thou crave ?
PILGRIM. By the spots where ye dwell,
By the gifts ye inherit,
I bind to my spell
Nymph, fairy, and spirit !
Ye shall come at my call
Wheresoever ye be !
Ye shall bow to my thrall,
And fulfil my decree !
SPIRITS ) We have heard, we obey,
Omnes. j And the dawning of day
Shall see thy will done, and ourselves far away !
He stamp'd his foot, and lo ! on every side,
Hosts of unearthly creatures thronging pressed ;
Some flew in air, some floated on the tide,
Some danced about, in glistening splendour dress'd
There was the goblin with his flaming crest,
The brown and hairy elf, the fairy bright,
The water-kelpie in his weedy vest,
The foul-mouth'd imp, the sinewy water-sprite
All waiting to begin the labours of the night.
When thus he spake : " Ere the first morning ray
Break through the portal of the eastern sky, '
Ye shall employ the greatest power ye may, "
To build a noble bridge, with arches high,
KIRKBY-LONSDALE BRIDGE. 159
And wide, and strong, to last eternally !
Upon the solid rock its piers shall stand,
Upon the solid rock its ends shall lie,
The fairest structure in all fair England,
Framed by no mortal art built by no mortal hand ! "
To work they went, and that right earnestly ;
The mountain spirits hew'd and shaped the stone,
The hairy elves, with speedy gramayrie,
Convey'd them in their aprons, one by one,
From the brown, rugged fell, hight Casterton !
The kelpies mix'd the mortar with the blood
Of slaughter^ kine, and water from the Lonne ;
Whilst nimble fays made scaffolding of wood,
And lofty ladders, where the busy builders stood !
Hard did they labour, with a mighty din,
And soon the noble structure was uprear'd ;
And, ere the dawn of day was usher'd in,
The BRIDGE in all its gracefulness appear'd
Spanning the gloomy gulf, which travellers fearM
To approach at glooming tide ; for there did dwell
(Which lured poor strangers to a dreadful wierd !)
Within the abyss, dark, deep, and horrible,
A monstrous water-snake, unscathed by ban or spell !
But now its hour was come ! The Pilgrim stood,
With burning lamp, and open book, I ween,
Upon the margin of the seething flood,
Whose shelving, weedy rocks could scarce be seen,
So deep they dived beneath the waters green ;
And by some invocation he did call
Th' unwieldy monster from his rocky dean
It was a sight the stoutest might appal,
Saving the ancient man who held the snake in thrall.
The hideous reptile from the waters rose,
And from his scaly sides y-dash'd the spray,
Which floated round his head, like the pale bows
Form'd in the mountain mist by Cynthia's ray,
Dim, yet delightful, splendourless, yet gay !
His meteor eyne glared with a dreadful ire,
Like the red sunset of a stormy day ;
His horrid jaws displayed, in order dire,
Four bristling rows of teeth, each pointed like a spire^
The Pilgrim spake a strong and nameless spell,
And cursed him with a deep and bitter ban.
Loud sounds of joy arose through greenwood dell,
Triumphant strains throughout the valley ran !
The spirit-builders all at once began
To yell, and shriek, and sing with wild delight,
And eager throng' d around that ancient man ;
For he had vanquished in a single night
The monster, which, till now, defied their utmost might.
Down, down he sank into the deep profound,
With one tremendous, loud, and bellowing groan,
Which waked the slumbering echoes all around,
And roused the eagle from his mountain- throne
160 ON A MEMBER OF THE HOUSE OF ASSEMBLY.
The Pilgrim's task was done, and all alone
He found himself upon the river's side ;
For in the east appear'd the morning's dawn,
Which scatter* d elves and fairies far and wide,
To sleep the sunny hours away till eventide.
The Pilgrim's task was done ! he closed his book,
And quench'd his magic lamp's ethereal light ;
He lean'd upon his wand, and then he took
A survey of the labours of the night,
Wrought by the gramayrie of elf and sprite ;
There stood the Bridge, on which he cast his eyes,
Which swam with tears of most heartfelt delight,
And, as he view'd it in the bright sunrise,
He knelt, and pour'd his prayer to Him who rules the skies.
" Father of Heaven ! with whom all mercies be,
Listen with favour to thy suppliant's pray'r !
Sweet Saviour Jesus ! intercede for me !
And thou, fair Virgin ! who the Godhead bare,
Take a poor sinner underneath thy care !
I have fulfill' d my vows, as ye shall know,
Destroy 'd the snake, and built this structure fair ;
And, though the waters rage, and tempests blow,
Still let it firmly stand, as long as Lonne shall flow ! "
His tears fell fast, as though some hidden grief,
Long lock'd within his bosom, had found vent,
Or, like some dying wretch, to whom relief,
When hope is just departing, had been sent !
And, kneeling long, with posture forward bent,
He seem'd to wrestle with some power unseen ;
His plenteous tears the mossy rock besprent,
And where they fell the verdure still is green,
And flourisheth above the rest until this day, I ween !
The Pilgrim rose, and northward took his way
To where fair Melrose lifts her sacred tower ;
The gaping rustics, in the open day,
Beheld the wondrous work of midnight glower,
Wrought by the Wizard's spell, and spirits' power.
Thousands since then have pass'd the lovely spot,
But never knew its founder till this hour I
His was a name that ne'er can be forgot,
The Wizard of the North ! the wondrous Michael Scott !
ON A MEMBER OF THE HOUSE OF ASSEMBLY, NOT
REMARKABLE FOR HIS VERACITY.
BY ALEX. M'DOUGALL.
BROWN promised, in terms that could not be withstood,
If we gave him a seat, it should be for our good.
Nor can we complain that he 's alter'd his tone :
He sits for our good, buthe lies for his own.
161
MADGE MYERS.
THE SPORTSMAN'S TALE.
BY DALTON.
BRIGHTLY blazed the log, and cheerily steamed the bowl, and
merrily " wagged the beards " in the hall of the old manor-house. The
party there assembled consisted of seven or eight individuals, all of
whom, save one, the Squire's daughter, a young lady with especially
wicked eyes, bore the appearance of sportsmen ; indeed, the general
condition of their boots and nether garments betokened that the ride
that day had been both hard and long. Two or three old pet grey-
hounds slumbering upon the hearth, some very stiff-legged portraits
of the same species hanging from the walls, together with a pair of
silver cups on the sideboard, also " charged " with greyhounds courant,
covchant, &c., afforded tolerable evidence of the particular pursuit in
which the company delighted to engage. The general conversation,
as might be expected, was loud ; and ran, for the most part, upon
" tarns," and " cotes," and " wrenches," and bay-mares, and the like.
The private chat between the lady aforesaid and her neighbour, a
young gentleman in a very smart coat, and still smarter cravat, was
in a lower key, and of a far more intelligible nature.
*' Come, gentlemen," said the host, " fill your glasses. Here 's to
Clio, the best bitch that ever ran a course ! Briggs, my buck, you
don't drink ! "
Mr. Briggs, a thin, cynical, little man, looked at the speaker, reple-
nished his glass, and, turning to an abstracted gentleman on his left,
observed,
''You remember Cleopatra?" A nod was the reply. " She was
a bitch ! " added Mr. Briggs, and emptied his tumbler at a draught.
A long discussion ensued. The Squire was nettled. His friend's
pointed assertion that Cleopatra was a bitch, seemed to convey by
implication an opinion that Clio was not.
Mr. Briggs maintained his ground ; not, indeed, after the fashion of
the; vulgar, by argument and speechifying No ! Mr. Briggs smoked
smoked defiance, manoeuvring his pipe the while, (that greatest
known aid to social elocution,) and emitting his puffs in a certain
logical, incontrovertible way, that told greatly on the company.
" Well, gentlemen," observed the hitherto silent individual, (he
had finished his potation and his pipe, and had, therefore, a few
leisure moments to devote to less important objects,) " after all, my
great-uncle had a queer-looking pup "
* { So had your father," said Mr. Briggs.
The Squire laughed ; the silent gentleman could not guess why, and
continued,
" I don't remember him ; but, as I was saying, my great-uncle had
a queer-looking pup, a brindle, that would have run both Clio and
Cleopatra for their heads and tails. Nothing in this world ever could
beat him, and nothing in t'other ever did"
There was something either in the manner or in the matter of this
last, remark, or, perhaps, in both, that drew the attention of the little
circle upon the speaker. He had, however, resumed his pipe, and
162 MADGE MYERS.
was again dumb. A sudden pause ensued. The young lady and her
companion, startled by the silence, looked up, and looked very foolish
too.
" Nothing in t'other ever did ! nothing in t'other ever tried, I
should think," observed the Squire, at length, somewhat doubtfully.
His friend winked ; it was no frivolous, no knowing, no wicked
wink, but a wink of deep import and mystery. This was not to be
endured ; the company burst forth en masse, Miss Caroline being
among the most impetuous in demanding an explanation.
" Come, Gervase, I see you are bent upon telling a story/' said Mr.
Briggs ; " so we may as well have it at once."
" No, no really well, if I must," responded the former, with an
air of resignation, " perhaps the sooner it is over the better. I '11
trouble you for one more lump of sugar, Miss Caroline. Thanks.
Well, it was about twenty years ago, and a little before the Louth
meeting, that a large party assembled at Leybury Grange, the seat
of old Squire Markham, my great-uncle. There were Colonel Paunch,
Lord Mountmartingale, the Hon. Augustus Legge, and some others,
all good men and true coursers ; and the Squire was pledged to show
them some sport. Everything seemed favourable enough ; the day
was fine, the dogs in condition, and the country promising.
" * Come,' said my uncle, leading the way over a low stile into a
large open tract, * we shall find on this bit of tilt. Form a line, gen-
tlemen ! '
" The line was formed, and on they went, with a long-legged slip-
per in front, holding a brace of greyhounds ; but no hare was * view-
ed ' back again still no hare.
" * Devilish odd I ' said my uncle, a little nettled. ' We will try
along the brow. There are always six or seven brace to be met with
there.'
" The brow was tried ; fallows and ploughs, rough grasses, and
stubbles, all were tried, still no hare. Forms there were, indeed,
fresh and frequent, but not a hare was to be seen. My uncle swore
at the long-legged slipper ; and Lord Mountmartingale buttoned up
his coat.
" ' 'Pon my life, my lord, I am very sorry,* said the Squire ; * but
really I can't understand it. There *s not a better preserved country
in all England.'
" * I certainly never saw better lying,' observed Colonel Paunch,
with a slight shiver."
" Heard better, he means," interrupted Mr. Briggs.
" Well be quiet, Briggs up and down, across and back, they
rode for another hour, and to no better purpose. Meanwhile most of
the party began to grow cold; my uncle grew warm in proportion.
It 's enough,' he exclaimed, to make coursers cursers /'
" This was his pet pun, and the kind consideration it met with
was sufficient to sustain him a good quarter of an hour longer. But
again his spirits flagged under such persevering ill fortune.
' I tell ye what it is, sir,' said the long-legged slipper, at length,
stopping suddenly, it's all along of that tarnation old Madge Myers ;
she 's a-field.'
By the living jingo ! Tim, you 're right !' said my uncle. * Burst
my boots !'
MADGE MYERS. 163
' He was a little given to adjurations ; which, indeed, were con-
fined, for the most part, to ' dashing his buttons !' ' blowing his wig !'
&c. ; but now he went the length of wishing his boots (a new pair of
cream-coloured tops) might be burst, if he did not show a hare in a
particular spot.
" 'Tim/ he continued, ' my head to a haystack, we shall find her
by the old elm !'
'- ' Why, sir, you bean't a-going to course the witch, sure-/y f
* k * Bean't I ?' muttered my great-uncle."
" And, pray, who, or what, was Madge Myers ?" inquired Mr.
Briggs.
" Madge," continued the narrator, "was an ugly eld crone, whose
human dwelling stood at one extremity of the little village hard by
the Grange. She was a witch, beyond question. Had other proofs
been wanting, her age and ugliness afforded sufficient evidence of the
fact ; inasmuch as it is well known that the devil takes possession of
bodies as well as buildings when they become dilapidated, and fit for
no one else. Now, it was one of Madge's constant amusements to
assume the appearance of a great grey hare. She had oftentimes been
descried by the neighbours, hopping about her garden in this shape.
The old woman, indeed, used to persist that it was nothing but a tame
rabbit which they saw ; and she generally had one at hand, to give a
colour to her assertion ; but, of course, the good people were not such
fools as to believe that. Her great delight, however, was, having wor-
ried and chased every other hare off the manor, to squat herself among
the roots of an old elm-tree, situate in the middle of a wild common,
about a couple of miles from the cottage.
" Hither my uncle now conducted his party. Many a time had he
coursed that great grey hare ; but without success. She always took
towards the village, and was soon lost in the small inclosures, running
clear away from the best dogs in the county ; indeed, some mischance
or another seemed invariably to attend her pursuers. One had broken
a rib, others had been lamed, and several severely cut, in the course.
" f Bring up the brindle-pup/ said my great-uncle solemnly. ' And
nov/, my lord, I '11 back him for a hundred, against your best.'
" The match was made ; the dogs coupled ; and, they had scarcely
reached the spot, when ' So-ho !' shouted the slipper, as away went
puss.
' < No law I* cried my uncle ; and the dogs were slipped on the in-
stant. The brindle led, and ran well up to the hare. The latter,
hoA^ever, her ears laid flat and her back arched, sped like lightning
across the common, making, as usual, for the inclosures : up one of
these (a quick-hedge, protected by a low, double rail) she ran ; and
my lord's dog broke his leg in attempting to follow : still the brindle
kept to his work ; twice he turned her, and once more she was forced
into the common. My uncle, meanwhile, on a thorough-bred chestnut,
kept a good place, sweeping over dykes and fences like a professor, as
he was. As for Lord Mountmartingale, he soon found himself up to
his neck in a drain ; while Colonel Paunch was pleasantly located, at no
great distance, in the midst of a furze-bush. The rest were nowhere.
Squire Markham had it all to himself; and, better horse and rider,
better dog and hare, never ran a course. Puss, meanwhile, pressed
harder than she had ever been before, succeeded with difficulty in
J64 MADGE MYERS.
gaining the high-road, and, with " the pup" not a yard behind, dashed
gallantly through the village. She reached the low mud wall ad-
joining the cottage of old Madge, and was in the very act of springing,
when the brindle, leaping forward with a tremendous bound, caught
her by the scut ; off it came ! The hare gave a shriek, like a human
being, in its agony, and in the same instant disappeared over the gar-
den-fence. The dog followed ; but the course was done !
t( On my uncle's galloping up, he found the greyhound panting,
and dead beat, among the cabbages, with the scut of the lost hare,
yet fresh and warm, by his side ; but not a trace of puss herself was
visible. Next morning most particular inquiries were made concern-
ing the movements, &c. of old Madge. She had not been seen The
same reply was given on the day following.
* Tim,' said my Great-uncle, request Mr. Leach, the apothecary,
with my compliments, to call in at Madge's cottage. There must
be something the matter with the old lady ; and add, that I shall be
happy to see him at dinner afterwards.*
" At precisely five minutes to four Mr. Leach made his appearance
at the Grange.
. * Well, doctor, pray how is Madge Myers ?'
" ' Ah I how is she ?' burst from many voices.
" * I found the poor old creature/ replied the medical gentleman,
rather astounded by the multiplicity of these inquiries, * in bed, very
weak ; indeed, almost dead from exhaustion. I have reason to fear
the barbarous little wretches in the village have been again mal-
treating her as a witch;' (your medical men are ever sceptics;)
' there were evident traces of blood upon her clothes ; but she per-
sisted in declining my assistance.'
" ' Bravo !' said the Squire, looking round in triumph, * I told
you so !' "
" Told them what ?" inquired Mr. Briggs, a little pettishly.
" Ah ! that I can't say ; but, soon after, the old woman was seen
with a large new cushion in her chair ; and was never known, to the
day of her death, to sit down without it ; and then and then "
Here the old gentleman dropped his voice/and whispered mysterious-
ly, first on his left hand, then on his right.
" Nonsense !" "You don't say so ?" " Well, I never I" " No!"
and sundry other ejaculations followed, accompanied by divers nods,
shrugs, and other pantomimic expressions of astonishment, as the
whisper gradually pervaded the circle.
" Fact !" said the old gentleman aloud, with oracular decision.
". And, pray," asked the young lady, who, probably from her prox-
imity to the fire, had acquired an unusual brilliancy of colour, " pray,
what became of the brindle-pup ?"
" He was bit by a mad dog within the week, and shot, in conse-
quence."
11 And you believe all this, do you ?" inquired Mr. Briggs.
" Yes, sir, I do," said the old gentleman, turning round very sharp-
ly ; " and, what then ?"
" What then ? Oh ! nothing nothing whatever," replied Mr.
Briggs, a little startled ; " why, then so do I ; that 's all V
His eyebrows attained a perceptible elevation, he tossed off his
glass, and here the matter ended.
D.I.
165
ILLUSTRATIONS OP WINE AND WINE-DRINKERS.
BY A BACCHANALIAN.
THERE is no use in denying it the vinous ages of the world seem
to be fast drawing to a close an aqueous one to be rapidly succeeding.
Of Jill the strange revolutions of this time, this is the one I can the
least relish or conceive. It is as much of a mystery to me as a grief.
Fanaticism I can comprehend, Socialism even, and Chartism, but
Teetotalism I can comprehend as little as I can abide. I can under-
stand how men should make a dead investment of their pleasures in
this life, in order to get an usurious profit upon them in the next, I
perfectly conceive how the unlucky man who has nothing should make
a good-natured tender of his services, in the way of partition with the
lucky man who has much, I quite comprehend that they who are ill
at ease under laws which they do not make should fancy they would
be very much at ease under laws of their own making, I comprehend
how some men should make foolish combinations to secure new enjoy-
ments, which so many things dispose them to require ; but I cannot,
for my life, account for the still more foolish combinations of others to
annihilate old pleasures, which nothing requires them to destroy. Sin-
gular conceit ! which, identifying an age of water with an age of gold,
would bring back " the nonage of the world, when the only buttery
for man or beast was the fountain and the river," change our wine-
casks into water-butts, and dilute man from a vinous animal into a
lymphatic.
For my own part, I am free to confess, that to me the most unpic-
turesque and insupportable of reformers is Father Mathew. The very
thought of him feels damp to me, worse than that of a wet day, or an
unaired bed, or a cold clammy hand that most formidable variety of
humid chill. When he crosses my mind's disc, it is as a vast water-
spout, with the form and lineaments of man, ready at any given mo-
ment, like Undine's mischievous uncle, to condense into a destroying
stream, whirling along with its mad eddies, wine-press and vat, the
fruits of vineyard and orchard, together with the mingled fragments of
mall-house and brewery ; in a word, with the wreck and garniture of
a brave world, once under the hallowed patronage of antique Bacchus,
and our own Sir John Barleycorn. Oh ! it saddens me to think how soon
the t ime may come when the wine-cup will be nothing more than a sym-
bol of departed joys, and the clustering grape have no higher association
than the surfeit of a rich man's feast ! when bottles and decanters
the former, by a caprice of fate, already a mere tradition at the mess-
table will sound as strange to unfamiliar ears, as to ours the Mazics,
the Noggins, the Whiskins, the Bombards, and Black-Jacks of other
days ; when Burgundies and Clarets, Ports, Sherries, and Madeiras
will be things as ambiguous and dark as the Sack, which has puzzled
the wits of contending commentators as much as it ever moistened the
clay of our jolly and absorbing sires. Yes ! it saddens and maddens
me to think that the very language of jollity, as well as its instru-
ments, will soon become nothing more than dry memorials of the past,
mere ineffectual fires and glow-worms across the track of antiquarian
research.
166 ILLUSTRATIONS OF
Not that I am insensible to some slight good which has been achiev-
ed ; not that I would deny that the tepid sobriety of him whose maxi-
mum is a quart is not, on the whole, preferable to the fierce inebriety
of him whose minimum was a gallon, or that the march of society is
less graceful, or less true, for its being a trifle steadier on its legs :
still, I am free to confess that, to my mind, there was something
massive and noble, as it were, in the deep carousings of the elder men ;
a kind of wild grandeur in their excesses, which harmonises well with
their robuster natures, and begets a species of reverence for what old
Heywood calls the mnosity of nations. Much shall we misconceive the
true character of the colossal orgies of our sires, if we see in them no-
thing higher than the extravagant forms of a base sensual enjoyment ;
if we do not respect in them the presence of a powerful energy ; seek-
ing in animal excitement, in the stimulus of the grape, as in that of
war and the chase, the only outlets which the immaturity of their times
supplied. It is a saucy, but shrewd, remark of that jeering fellow,
Bayle, that, at the time of the Reformation, Christendom was divided
among two classes of people, the intemperate and the incontinent, the
votaries of Bacchus and Venus ; that the former went over to Protes-
tantism, whilst the latter remained where they were. Now, though as
ticklish on this point as any man, yet, as Truth is stated, on unexcep-
tionable authority, to reside in a well, I cannot for my life think it any
disparagement to the Reformation to have been fished out of a wine-
flask. Nay, as Venus herself, its alleged rival, is only the more lovely
for having sprung from the foam of the sea, it would not much distress
me to learn that it was even born of the foam of a tankard ! I therefore
accept his remark as indicating an interesting fact, that the nations which
have run up the longest scores with the vintners are those which have
been the boldest in their wars, and have the largest account in the ledgers
of national greatness ; while the people whose infancy was moistened
with water have grown up sickly and weak, plants that must die
without propping.
A French writer, who has given an elaborate and interesting illus-
tration of the ancient customs of his country, Le Grand d'Aussy, has
not failed to indicate the fierce jollity and exuberant carousings of the
Gauls as consequences of their great constitutional energies ; and has
referred their custom of pledging and challenging each other in their
cups, to a proud unwillingness*^ be outdone in any species of contest.
Certain it is, to such a pitch was this noble emulation of having the
strongest . head carried, that Charlemagne, in his Capitulars, found
it necessary to check it, by subjecting the transgressors to a kind of
temporary civil sequestration, and, what was much more frightful, and
shows the savageness of those times, to a diet of bread and water.
This was vindictive enough to satisfy a teetotaller ; but it so happens
that national habits, or vices, if you will, are not to be corrected by
penal edicts, however stringent they may be, and which, indeed, are
in general ineffectual in the ratio of their stringency. And so it was
that, centuries afterwards, Francis the First was obliged to try his
hand in the same way, and with about the same success. In an ordi-
nance of 1534, it was ordained, that every man convicted of drunken-
ness should, for the first offence, be imprisoned on bread and water
Francis begins where Charlemagne ends ; for the second, be privately
whipped ; for the third, publicly ; and if he then relapsed, he was to
have his ears cut off, and to be banished the kingdom. If persecution
WINE AND WINE-DRINKERS. 167
could have exterminated drinking, its death-warrant was signed. But
the energetic will of a people is not to be frightened by penalties, or
fettered by edicts ; and, had it been as much their will to be free as
it was to be drunk, they might have had their liberties with the same
ease as they had their bottle. And, even in the fury which was un-
chained against their favourite pursuit, we perceive a certain indefinite
respect for inebriety that checked the excesses of power; for, having
advanced so far as to eliminate the ears, there must have been some
peculiar reason for not also including the head. For in those times
the neck of the sovereign people was twisted with as little ceremony
as a, crow's ; and the " free and enlightened " of that day found their
way to the gallows as easily as they now do to the lock-up-house or
the tread-mill. We have an amusing instance of the summary way of
dealing with the mass in an ordinance of Philip Augustus, which or-
dered all persons guilty of " profane swearing in public houses " to be
arrested, the gentlemen swearers to be iined a livre ; but those of the
commoner sort to be thrown into the river I Nor was Francis himself at
all backward in this way ; for it was with great difficulty that Charles
the Fifth, during his stay at Orleans, could save the life of an unhappy
perfumer, who, being charged to purify the imperial bed-room, had
been so profuse of his odours as to give the Emperor a headache ; on
which Francis, with an admirable promptness, and most exquisite at-
tention to his guest, ordered him to be immediately hanged ; and so
he would have been, if Charles, on whom the compliment was evi-
dently lost, had not, somewhat churlishly, said, he " came to visit
France, not to see executions!" That the head of the tippler, then,
was not confiscated, as well as his ears, is a proof of the deference
which even despotism was obliged to show towards tippling; while
thi! fierceness of the proscription proves the power and extent of its
grasp on those vigorous times.
Strange fluctuations of things ! now the honour of one hour is the
derision of the next ; now the cap goes up to-day for what the heel
will trample on to-morrow ! It has been so with learning and philoso-
phy, with religion and government, with science and art, and why
should it not be so with wine ? Poets have sung it ; kings and
statesmen, philosophers and scholars, have revelled in, and protected,
it ; divines have winked at, or commended it ; and " now none so
poor to do it reverence." Not a day but teetotalism is dragging it
through a horse-pond, bemiring it, and treating it worse than a Turk.
" How the poor world is pestered with these water-flies ! " Two cen-
turies ago, France was convulsed for a much slighter matter. A me-
dical student, having maintained a thesis in the schools of Paris, in
which he ascribed the most noxious qualities to the wines of Cham-
pagne, and asserted that, by his physician's order, the Grand Monarque,
the king of nations, had broken off his alliance with the king of wines,
so small a matter set the whole kingdom in a flame, for the age of
chi valry was not then gone ; and it is curious to remark, that, while in
those days we may run down the whole family of wines with charges
of poison and murder, such was the sensitiveness of those times, that
an insult was not suffered to pass unresented even on a single branch
of them. No sooner was this thesis published than the indignation of
the Academy of Rheims was immediately uncorked ; a replicatory
tht sis denied the imputation, but ^unhappily, in the vehemence of its
effervescence, made an onslaught on the wines of Burgundy. That
168 ILLUSTRATIONS OF
instant Beaume was in the field, in the person of Salins, one of its
physicians. tf A defence of the wines of Burgundy against the wines
of Champagne " presently electrified the world, of which five editions
no trifling matter in those times attested the author's merit, and
the interest of the drinking and thinking public in the debate. But
such a discussion was not to be cooped up in the provinces ; it very
soon passed from them to the capital, and from the physicians to the
poets. The colleges are alive with it. A learned professor of one col-
lege tilts with a Sapphic ode in favour of Burgundy ; of another, with
well-written Alcaics in favour of Champagne ; and then, most affect-
ing act of all, comes the city of Rheims to reward its champion, not
with a mural crown, but, better still, with some round dozens of the
choicest samples of its heart-stirring vintage. The contest raged for
years, and the principal results were collected into a volume, where
they who have a thirst for such matters may consult them.
But these were days when men gloried in their cups, and knew how
to protect them. More than a century before the civil convulsion we
have alluded to, John Cornaro, a distinguished physician of Germany,
had defended the convivial habits of his countrymen, some of the
wildest, and shown how nicely they were moulded on those of the
wisest nations of antiquity. Socrates, he reminds us, in conformity
with the good customs of his times, used to sit up o' nights and tipple
till daybreak ; so did the Germans. Socrates would walk home as
steady as though he had been ballasting his heels, instead of his head,
and so would the Germans. What the course of the philosopher's
potations was, we know not ; but, thanks to Cornaro, we do know what
the order of his countrymen's was, and, as we shall perceive, there
was a profound method and purpose in it. First they began with
Rhenish, with which they washed down their suppers ; then, when the
thermometer was pretty well up with that, they betook themselves to
light beer, to reduce, as he tells us, the heat of the wine, and to differ-
ent kinds of beer, in the order, we must presume, of their refrige-
rance ; then again with wine, to restore the balance of heat, too much
diminished by the beer ; and so on, from stimulant to refrigerant, and
refrigerant to stimulant like the steps of a diplomatic squabble from
beer to wine, and wine to beer, till, the proper balance being secured,
they, some time between daybreak and sunrise, rounded off with a
bevy of sweet wines, just as an orator in his peroration does with mel-
lifluous words to give a fulness and finish to the close. Now, as we
cannot suspect that any mortal man would go through such a process
for the gratification of taste, we may unsuspiciously admit, that it was
not so much to tickle the palate as to fortify the body, not ad quce-
rendum voluptatem, sed adjustam temper antiam corponbus indagandum.
Nor can we be surprised that such high-principled potations were ob-
jects of general respect, and that it was held no mean distinction to
drink deep, and to be able to bear it. But, perhaps, it may be fancied
that necessity was the mother of the arrangement, and that the scanti-
ness of the. wine-cellars explains the auxiliary beer. By no means ;
for Cornaro says they had all the best sorts of wines, neat as imported,
besides such as are made up and sacked, " that is, after being fla-
voured with spices steeped in sacks are racked off, and strained, and
these kinds are called Claret and Hippocras."* From which, also, you
may learn claiet was then a brewed wine, as it is now, the spice of
* See Note at the end of this paper.
WINE AND WINE-DRINKERS. 169
other days being succeeded by some other stimulant in these. Why
called claret is not so clear, as the vin-clairet, of which claret seems a
corruption, was simply the wine of the last press, which had under-
gone a sufficient fermentation to absorb some of the colouring matter,
and was usually of a grey or straw-colour, ceil~de-perdrix, or similar
tints. As to spiced wine, it was a main pillar in the orgies of our
sires, but was often of a more composite order than is here described ;
for, in a receipt of the thirteenth century, we are directed to make it
by putting cloves, nutmegs, raisins, three ounces of cubebs into a
cloth, and boiling them up with three pounds of wine, until reduced
to one half, and then to be sweetened.
Such is the picture which Cornaro gives us of the vigorous bibacity
of the Germans in his day ; and that it is not overcharged we know,
from the noble traces which have been preserved to us by a much later
hand. About the beginning of the seventeenth century, Fourner,
bishop of Hebron, wrote a work, " De Temulentia et JEbrietate,"
which has some curious evidence to this point. Among other things,
he tells us that, in very many cities in Germany, there were drinking-
clubs which rejoiced in the name of Antonists. Their patron was not
as indeed, without the good bishop's help, we might have guessed
that holy Antony whom St. Jerome tells us never wet his lips with
anything but water, a sign of superhuman sanctity in those winey
days, but that glorious Marc Antony of bibacious fame, who gloried
in the public display of his intoxication, and wrote a book, it is said,
in praise of it. There was, doubtless, in the apprehension of those
good old times, a classic grandeur in the example, which recommended
it to men as jealous of the dignity, as they were alive to the fascina-
tions, of their cups. Another form of association was that of the Or-
ganists. They took their name from the method of their potations,
which was to place a number of tall glasses, of different heights and
dimensions, on a tray, disposed like the pipes of an organ, and the
members were obliged to keep the instrument continually going, each
of them in his turn exhausting the whole of its pipes in rapid succes-
sion. How many airs each member was expected to play, or what in-
tervals were allowed between them, are points on which the good
bishop does not touch, though it were much to be wished that he had.
This idea of giving a musical character to the arrangement of their
wine-glasses seems to have been a favourite one in Germany; for
Misson, a French traveller of that day, tells us that it was a general
practice to ornament the walls of the rooms to at least half their
height with a glittering display of drinking-glasses, arranged like
organ-pipes. But not only did this truly scientific people love to ex-
press the divine harmony of tippling, by investing it with musical
forms ; they also endeavoured t 
