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m 



1 



" Familiar in their Mouthi as JTOUSEIFOLD WOJRDS."~snAmmtrtAai 



HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. 



|i oBulih louriml. 



CONSUCTKD BY 



*t. 



CHARLES DICKENS, 



VOLUME Tin. 



^tto gDik: 

PUBLISHED BY McELRATII AND BARKER, 

No. ir SPRUCE STEEET, 
•l8E4. 






n 



CONTENTS. 



2%< SOf^ Ihnmbtr fat ChrMmat, "Anonm Roosn er STOStcs by Tvb Ciibdtvai Fiss," 
fmni on pag*i 109* lo MS* tnelutitt. 



I 



< ( 



ABrt-Ann im.) TTAloiSfl . . 

A' 11 for Quiilsuoea 

A .... 

^. lu Trade Ui . 

A'\r\r..'. !t-:i<! . . , 

AlVtran ZTpbyra 

Air Miil» . • . . 

Altnola, An Enrtliqanto ID 

AlfailD* Ann}-, Z*ph]fni of 

Alw(jr> l.'<ilco<l 

Amtrtri, S«(ll«r» In . 

Amlrnt .... 

Alimns Ihf" flh»ll<n>» . 

A:r -'.■■■; 

>:. ... 



'I 

Kranca 



" lit 




i-.if 



! al Stmm 



Complaint of t>i« Old Macietta . MO ' 

'" : • ■ ''''(O . . * . 4'": 

. \ti Adri'nfiirerin i"'.' 
!■ • ■■ rut 41;, 

• ■.. ■ t- .:, I. . , . 49 

.... . ■., . , . . 3.^ 

*e» 

MA 

-at Ul 

M» 

817 

n 

SIS 



l!41 

so' 

4TH 

49 

43 

C 

13« 



BiDi 

Beef 

Blank Bolilen in Tarlt 
Blankslilre H.<un<U, Tbo . . 
fiunr* r»nnil at Uxford . &% 
Uoek* fur M»nehest«r . . , 
Borttcr ottha BUck Swi, A 
Bottlril Inr»riiutlon . . 

Boaaiicia 

BrazIliaD In Bloomtbtuy, A 
BrtllluU DlA|<Iay sfFlreworki . 

Bucburest 

Bulcarla . . SOT, MS. STS, i 
Bull* And ISean . . . 'jVi 

Br D*v,k to Hclbl . . MS 

BJrron'K DncrlpUon of the C«d- 
deuuaUun of a I'li/ . . 444 



( • .lit . 

< -tt rUcu* at 

I iM<trw( 

La" »trti .... 

CnltW Show at Bakar Straot 

C«nirht In B Tvplioon 



l-li:iii:;o r,l .v,r 
I'lteaUiutt, The Bnck of . 
Clillilrxii 

OUUd a llUtory of Enclaotl. 
Its. ato, UO, 

OblnMc TltTcn 

Clil|>9 194,SUT. 281, SOJ, Saj, 

OhrUfma* fTewenta 

I." " .VD. K . 

I XIalorjrofa 

I t;n 

« hCenslnftoa 

( 1 1 for a 



■ j;l«terail . 
ibiisaiaor 



. . ITS 

. 1S4 

. «T 

. 407 

. 8S6 

. KT 

, 4a» 

851,433 
. 4(16 

. . 074 

. 4«a 

, . K» 
0». ll«, 
307,800 

. 'SI 
4i4. 47« 
O'fl, S83 
. . 4&i 

. MTi 
. . 8M 

. 83» 
. . 15 

. 407 

. 477 

. SM 
. . 4<9 

. 100 
. . 44S 



•Dt 



:i.-iluro 



! Svilenliam 
iaiiM3 . 



Dacdamllxi, Tlie . . 

t'T'L T "■•!- in India . 

I' .- at tlie Morms . 

" . . . . 

II ■■■. . . . 

1' 1 'VAMcmblrat 

I' . . . . 

I).- ... ..umu . 

Diggtr'f, Diarjr , , , , 
niofinin. Krum SrilnaT lo Ibe . 

I)H-..|„ ■-, .\ l',n(„. , .,,>h0 . . 

I) lM«n . 

I> ' - rt 

t>,i^,, . ... -.^ ..^.....roof 



DM 

Hi 

27 
416 
191 
Kit 

« 
8tS 

817 
418 

iia 

S25 



Girni()iTA.KE In Albania . . 3.1S 
K'lltor'a iioom. An ... 810 
RlwaMaaSQuare, Kcnalocton . 8'ifl 



Kzypt, A Freicli Seltler In . 
Elplijnitniie, Mr. Jninfa 
Embaulvs ami Atlat^hta . 
rriii:-r.,ii,.n. ilurernmeot 



, . 14 

433,5*8 

. . 48 

. 185 

■r.The . . . ITS 

-..(Idlearortli, Tho lit 

LAl;,^ III SlbtrU . . . . bU 

Exploded UagailB* . . 90 



FaIKlB^ Tlie Qaeen of tbe 
Falr/lanil lo 'tUlj-four . 

KajliloD 

Female I.lfe ami Wrltlnff In tlia 
OMen Timei .... 
Fire and Snow . . , , 
Klrew»rk\ Tlie Manufictur* of 
FInii Niglit In Melbourne . . 
FIrat Suit o to Auatralla . 
Flea* in Turkey . . . . 
FInwrr Ticl'i . . . . 
y ■ -iTaa . . . 



457,640 
518 
1<.»8 



191 

4«1 

46 

8 

49 

4I« 
108 
S80 

Bti) 

Fns'iis at i'\r,>ril . . 68,909 
Foundlin?* of Paris . . 870 

Fraud* on tlie Knlrteo . . 97 
French Armr, Z«nliyra of the . 145 
French Miu«ier, Mr . . S«l, 849 
Freni-li .Setiirr In Kgypt . . 985 
French Workman . . . 199 

FTf« Library at Mancheatar . 877 
Frozen and Thawed . . . B.18 
Fiiclnlii, tli^tory of tbe . . 196 
Fur Trade T 449,471 

Qmi Cooklne Apparatna . . 885 
Gentleman Daber In 1611 . . 516 
Olioal of a Lore Stvry . . C59 



n!io>tlr FnntenilniM . 



iiri-nr jiiii.ui m iiM-»::iik,Tlie . 
Orent i*»dd!ow"rtli EthlMlnn . 
Great ^l>ll: I..ake, Newt ftucn Ui« 
Great Screw, A . , 

Opek Knstar at Conatantinopl* 
Greek Keaal .... 
Groerennr Eaat Isdlamao, LoM 

of the 

OuIUvat'a, Mr., EBtertalomuat . 



llALr-a-Doxm T.«eehea .^^| 

Halaetrell Kaat IniUainan, Loti ii 

nf llio .... 4 

Ilarmnnloiia Blackamllb . . 4 
Ilaruiunium, Tbe , . .4 

Hay Attliins 41 

H«lf«iit.Tlio Carnpat . . 8' 
Ilrr .MiO«t>'> ^rvlrs . .488,01 
llUtory of a Cool C«II . . 81 
lloiiae A^tenta . , . S 

riouae that Jack built . . SI 
TIorM Gu[ir4a Rampant, The . 41 
IludMin'i Uav Company, Tbe 449, 4' 
Huf^iii-nola, ftlorlet of tbe . , • 
lliintlni; In America . . ,4 
UyJo I'ark Corner . . . S 



Ta!(o«i.tOonclactor»Xobleinan 41 
Incbl^al't. Mre. . . 15, S79, 8! 
[q llie r>ar<lnnellM . . .81 
lndl«,Tli« KeveniieTkepartmeolof I 
■ ■■ ~" •" ■ ■ 4 

a 
« 

91 
H 



India, The 8teani Wlilatle In 
India, Travelllnif In 
Indiana and the Seltlera . 
Influenxa, Tbe . 
Inoa , ■ . 

Iron IIouMs .... 
Iron Incldenta 
Iron 8canMlje.«a 



Jtw< Harp, The 
Juatlce la I'uaUbmant . 



KEvaivoTOX 
KenalnKton Chnreh 
EeBilngtoa Wortbien 



Lasim' Aaaembly la the Oldmi 
TImea . . , . 

Lamp* iif the Anclenta 

I.nllc«^Illro WlloUcraft 

I.anna Tixel .... 

Ij«w anil Ita Care for Women 

J.eailen Cnfflns ilinnd In tlio Ab- 
ber of 8t Pcnla . 

T.ear llrom tbe Farbb Register 

Leallier .... 

Leeches • 

I.ettrra U) H^iphle 

Lleht of other Dayi 

l.llMi>ClilMrc!i . 

I.ltlle ItcimtiMc 

Lireaof I'laota . 

I/>(3ki'.l Out . 

Locust Hunt. A . 

LmU'ril In Neweate 

I.oiidi>n and Is'ortb-Wealera B«U> 
w*y 



i 



r 

* 

I 



CONTENTS. 



Lou of the QRWrvnor . 
Lou ot tb« UalMwall 



409 
4tl 
410 



MAOAXDrBfortbaTrarlTW. . II 

Vbu^a 540 

UAlMhlM 91 

liUocbwter M<n at tlielr Boolu . STT 
IhpkoftbaAIr ... . ]tf 
Uarjr-Cel! in St^rU . . MS 

UaiUr of lbcOerfinoni«i,Baold 626 
MuwlD, Th» IlQcbeu of . . IT 
)Ierbonrne,Th« ]^ne Night in . 8 
Mona^cria Id Paris, A . . . 64 
Merebant'i Hcu-t, Tb« . . 54 
Uiffbtr Huoten ■ ■ ■ . 44< 

HiMlnn S88 

Model Lo<ls1ti(( Vooica . . . S86 
Modoni Iliinuc SaoriflcM . . S61 
Ifodcrn Pnuitoe of Phytic . . IM 
MoMo-W«U«bla . . . B4 
ltor« PlMC* Wanted . . )M 
Uorgos, The . . IM 
Uonnos^ The , . V» 
Morton Hall. . 965,S«8 
Mr. WiMman in Print . . . tg» 
Mr Frecoh Uaitar . . .Mt,t88 
Mrtilene aW 



NKAi-oLtTAH Purity . 
Near ChrUtmas . . . . 
Needlewomen . , . . 
Newgate, Imprtioiied la . . 
Newtpaper, Editor's Room 

News Rooms 

Nll^ A Little Repnblie on the . 
'Nlnetj-elgbt, a MasulDft of 
Nobleman. Ignoble Condact of a 
Norman Story 
North Ooontrr Couiteiles . 
North- Vest P■M■c^ The 
Ntyrth-»''csterD Railway . 
Northern WLiard . 
Nothin: Like Leather 
Number Forty-two 



Orrl OffI . 

OldBoDes 

Old Settlers of Tenneaae* . 

On Her M^^esty's Berrlca 

Only an Earthquake . 

OtiBlrike 

Oat fur a Walk . 

Onr Wine MeivliaOt 

Oxford, Klephaat'a Bonea at 

Oxford Foulla 



6T1 

ssr 

ST5 
t 

840 

88 

384 

SI 

iVt 

78 

191 

S49 

411 

SS.V 

AT 

17 



. 443 

. 88 

. 1S8 

4U,fi33 

. 185 

. OSd 

. u 

. 41W 

. 8-i 

. 209 



Pau.iiki'b hnntln; In America 444 

PaBtomlmes a Century Ago . 89T 

Pepier-Mache Houiea . . . %^ 
Paris, Blank Bablee la . .370 

Parish Register, A Leaf ^om . 4ST 

Patent Oorkterew Company . 48!^ 

Penny News Booms . . . (>3 

Phalansterlan Meni^rerle . . (U 

riiarlMeA anil tilnoere . Vii 

Phvslc. Tho^Iodern Practice of 160 

PIruit-Ceii, The . . . . 4S4 

Flays Condemned . . . . 448 

FortRQOntb. The Doebeu of . 13 

Pot and Kettle Plillosopby . . 418 
Praatoo. The Strike at S18,65.1 

Prinoa d« Tc&d6ma . . . SA5 

PtattRM of the Cxar ... 84)1 

Provisionally RrglsUred . . 469 

Punlabnicnt, The Ineqoallty of. S8S 



Qimci Mab 



r*«« 
45T,M) 



441 



RaiLWATa, Opening oC In India 
Railway, London and North- 

Wulem . . .413 

KtJiwar in Snow . . . 481 

ItoulyNVlt 583 

KegtMratiiin 489 

EcKular Trappers . . . 4T1 

Keportets, Dullee af. . . . 841 

ItoelrrDclani, Lampe of tba . 1S5 

Ronen 410 

Roving Englishman :— 

AtConstanUnople . . . M4 

And tbePriDcedeYeodAma S.iS 

A Greek Feast . TO3 

Greek Eastar . . . 4t; 

Royal Adversity . 4.tT 

Rupert's Land 

RuBlaa Btranmr 

Rutefim Outle, A 



4»>,4n 

. . 91 

Obest Story of 598 



fljiOK of Cbeatn nt> 
Saddleworth Exhibition, The 
Bailor's Orieraocea 
Banllary Improvement . 
Bcandale Hoosa 
Bohool-keeptng 
Bclanee and Bophv 
Beraw Pivpeller, The 
■eHutiaaa, The Iron 
Beeaonabie Oaina . 
Benslble Town . 
Aenlimeatal Oeograpby 
Seraphlne, The . 
Bfalpwrecka 

Shipwrecks, Ineidents of, 
Siberia, An £zUe in 
Slang 

Slatae . ... 
Bbow on the Railway 
Snowdown 

Splendid Match, A . 
Stags nn Change 
Standing on Ceremony 
St. Denis, The Abbey of 
Steam Whistle In India 
Stereoaoope, The . 
Stook Exchange, Tba 
Stop the Way Company, The 
Btoriee of the Hogaenots 
Btovaa and Gratea 
Btrlka at Preston . 
Btyrlan Mecca, The 
Sunday at Tattaraall'a . 



Ill 
4S4 

ton 

M6 
4W 
086 

181 
575 
4.14 

801 
806 
401 
581 

410 
W8 

T3 



. 481 
. « 

. ISO 
. 4T0 
■ Dfi8 
. II 
. 440 
. 87 
. 817 

449.471 

. 848 

888 

84«,&&8 
. Ml 
. ISS8 



TaaaA.<nA, Origin of the Kama . 808 
TatteisaU's .... 888 

Taylenr, Iavm of the . . . 588 
Tennessee, Old Settlen of . . IBS 
Ten per Cent. Songs . . . 84T 
Theatrical Failure . . .441 

The Comer 889 

Tilings that Caonol bo Dona . Ill 

Too Lata 548 

Traits and Stories of the Hngae- 

nota 848 

Travel. Incidents of . . ,400 
TribnnaU of Commerce . . 100 

Troy, The Plains of . . .881 
Trust and No Trnfit . . . 94 
Tuclced TTp .... 414 

Tnrkey, Fleas in . . . 416 

Turks in Bulgaria . 857,848 

Two Conslns 148 

Typhoon, Canght In a , .177 



roiT Norellng , 
Unspotted Snow 



Va.u.oina ..... Ml 
Van DIemen's L«ad. Tha DIM6- 

verer of |0< 

Tama 878 

Tolcrs nrom the I>ee|^ 



Walk, Walking tn , . 

Walea, SlaU Quaniaa In . 
Watlachia, The Olpeey Slave* d 
Wallaehlan Sqolfa . . 

Want Placea . . . . 
W»% I'lowen . . . . 

Why niv Uncle waa a Bachelor 
Wedding in illgb Lift 
Wllkiais House In Kensington . 
WInda, The 

Wines 

Wiseman. Mr., In Print 
WUard. The Northern . . 

Workmen In Franca 
Workmen's Dwellings . . . 




M 
488 
198 
tM 



lis 

89T 

188 



199 
18« 



Torn Tery Good Health . M4 



ZmiTas of the French Amy . 143 



POETRT. 



BaLia, The . 

Bran , , 

Bright Little OJrl, The 

CMUtrt, The 

Echnas . 

OobUns of the Marsh 

Gone 

Ilolldari 

Laily Hcrtba . 

Lady of the Fen 

Ijunent for Somroer 

Life and De<th . 

Miasma . 

Mooorisa 

Motlev . . . 

New-Vear's Ere 

Now 

Old London Bridge 

One Spot of Orern 

Pictnree in the Fire 

Preaton Strike Bonga 

Sung for November , 

Btarlleht tn the Gardes . 

Ten Per CcnU . 

Wishing 



. 445 
. 179 
. 816 



IS 

491 
IS3 
M7 
M« 
810 
IM 

80 
A48 

St 
A3» 
418 

sot 

M6 



. 86 
848,558 

. 9T8 
. . 108 

. 847 
. . 864 



CoxTKKTs orTBKOmaiBTMMNraBn. 



Tn» Schoolbov's Story 
The Old Lsily^s Story 
Over the Way's Btoty 
The Angel's Story 
The Squire's Story 
Uncle George's Story 
The Colonel s Story 
The BchoUr's Story . 
Nobody's Story 



409* 

, 4I8« 

. 417* 

. 4K* 

. 410* 

, 488* 

486* 

440* 

449* 



I 



" Familiar in tfuiir MotttJu at EOUSEITOLD WORDS." - 



HOUSEHOLD WOEDS. 

A WEEKLY JOURNAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



You vin, 



MoELRATH «t BAIIKER, PUBLISHERS 



Wbojlb No. 180. 



LODGED IN NEWGATE. 

Police Constable Ktggs, when he put liis 
hand upon my shoulder and infonned nie thiit 
he had a warrant for my apprehension, causfd 
mo to feel sick at heart In face and voice he 
seemed to be the most repulsive of oil mortals. 
I must go with him he said, to Bow Lano 
Btalion-hou.se. I might go home for Imlf-an- 
hour and explain matters to my wife ; but 
the night I must spend " locked up." As wo 
went along he advised mc — supposing I 
might be deficient in tact or feeling — how 1 
could best break the news, so that the sud- 
den 'blow should fall as lightly a.s it might 
upon her. I think when we got home that, 
with an ea.<fy soothing way, he really did help 
yniy efTcctively to comfort her. 

At Bow Iwino — tha charge against me 
baring been entered, and the contents of 
my pockets cnlratited to the inspwtor on 
duty for the night — I was locked up in a cell 
containing only one other person—" highly 
respectable" they told me. Ills snoring was 
not interrupted by the cla.«h and rattle of 
doors, bolts, and keys, upon my entrance ; and, 
as ho occupied the whole of the narrow 
bench, which was the only available bed, I 
took my boota otf and walked up and down 
throughout the night. A small gas lamp in 
a niche at the top of the wall (lighting two 
cells at once) enabled me to sec that he was 
a homy man who had done rough work in 
the world. Towards morning he awoke .ind 
saw mc : " Halloa I" he cried ; " what time 
did you come in ?" " Between cloven and 
twelve." " Drunk and riotous, or incapable '<" 
"No," I replied. "Oh!" he said, "some heavy 
business p'raps. Well, /'m in for forgery." 

He got up and wallcL-d up and down, and 
told me a wild story of his former life, to 
which I gladly listened as a break on my own 
painful mcditjitions. At eleven o'clock the 
oflkcr carac for mc, and conveyed mc in si 
cab (paid for with the money that had been 
found in my pockets) to the Man.'iion-house. 
Through the d»rk j)ai<st«ge under the Police 
Court I was ushered into an apartment like 
a vau't, lighted with gas, though there was 
Oie bright noon of summer flooding aJl Iho 
streets ouL-fide. The vault was crowded with 
policemen in uniform, among whom there 
irere also somu ofBcora in plain clothes, 



and two or three minor officials of the court 
above. The warder of tlie place — a tlmroughlj 
kind-hearted man, dangling a hijgc bunch of 
bright keys ujion his finger — led me down a 
passage to the left into a corridor, along the 
walls of which were iron cages, like the dena 
which eontinc beasts of prey at the Zoo!<>gical 
Gardens. Into one of these he locked me. 
Otiur prisoners were brought aflerwards 
into the cages, so that we soon came to bo 
rather closely packed. A luigc gas burner 
glare<l upon us, and the place was very close ; 
but there was nothing in tho air half so un- 
wbolcsomo as tho wandering uO <:raDCC8, 

"The voices and the shadows, 
And imiigea of voice," 

which filled my ears with the knowledge thai 
I was among people morally degraded. Old 
offenders winked their recognitions to eajh 
other; men — self-occupied, as is the w.ny vritii 
nil the ignorant — talked of themselves to 
their neighbours ; discussed crime as a calling, 
and their chances of escape, or tho character 
of tlieir several convictions, as a set of fiirlncra 
might discuss their prospects for the harvest, 
only with less decorum and more mirth — a 
very ugly liiirth. Levity was the prevailing 
habit. A quiet-looking boy asked in a meek 
voice, as the warder pa.ssed him, "Oh, if you 
jilense, sir, might I have a little drop of 
water?" Everybody was at once struck 
with intense thirst, and the joke was relished 
all the more as there was only one tin can to 
supply the whole. It was handed round, and 
even' one praised the ale, declared it was in 
prinie con'dition ; some adding that they 
would " tick it up this time," but th.at the 
next time they happened to bo passing they 
woukt be sure to call in and rub oil the score. 
My solicitor having come down we held a 
conference, lie told me that, ntthongh — as it 
w.'\s in due time shown — I had been accusea 
of a grave crime hastily and in error, he shoulc 
apply for a remand ; for he would be unable to 
meet tho charges against mc cirectually at once. 
I expected iuunediatc liberation on bail; and, 
as I drtaded no stain wpon my character, con- 
sidered that my trouble w:i3 already over. 
After the magistrate had taken his seat, and 
the fonns proper on opening the court had 
been completed, tho various officers came 
down, ready each at tho fit time to uocage bl 



\ 



s 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



lOoMlMUd > 



" cnscs." Mine wag the second case called. I 
followed Mr. Keggs up an extremely narrow 
Staircase ; and, waiting at the top of it for a 
niinnte or two, saw that a trap-door was 
raised over my head, through which I was 
to be wound up, like a stage ghost, and 
quite a.s jiale. I made my first appearance 
as a ])ri.soncr in the dock, and stood before 
the rulu-K and chains of City magistrates. 
My mouth was dry, and I felt faini I 
scarcely heard the case. I saw, as through a 
mist, a witness at the witness's rail. I heard 
persons on my right and left speaking loudly, 
as it seemed, against me ; and a quiet, resolute 
voice, which seemed to speak on my behalf. 
In my confusion I could not tell to what end 
the proceedings tended, until I caught the 
words fi-om the Bench : " Well, if all parties 
are agreed, I see no reason for not granting 
it Let the case be remanded until this day 
fortnij,'ht." 

Then my thoughts dwelt upon the prospect 
of imuiedintc delirerance. There was more 
talking, and whispering, and consulting on 
my rifilit hand. Every man engaged in it 
was irksome to me, for prolonging my deten- 
tion as the mark for a vague crowd of staring 
eyes. The voice from the bench was again 
audible to me : " Oh, decidedly not I cannot 
think of accepting bail. Bui is out of the 
question." 

Before I had attached a meaning to the 
words titc trap was raised, and I was being 
hurried down the narrow staircase. In a 
minute or two I was again locked up in the 
den with my old companions, who received 
me with a simultaneous pull of long, commi- 
serative faces, meant to bo comic«L 

"You can have a cab if you like" — of 
course, out of my own funds— " instead of 
-.iing with the rest," said Mr. Keggs. 

" But where am I to go to !" I asked in 
bewilderment "Where is Mr. Bartle, my 
•olicitor ?" 

" Mr. Bartle will b« down to speak to you 
directly." 

" And then t" 

" Why, then you must go to Newgate." 

I was taken to Newgate in a cab. In the 
entrance-hall of that dark buiKling I was oiH- 
dally delivered over to the warden ; who, with 
ft cheery comfortable face, suggested thoughts 
lather of warden pie than grueL 

"Prisoner on remand, said Mr. Keggs, 
handing to him the committal from the 
Mansion-house. 

Having asked me a few questions formally, 
to satisfy himself that I was the person speci- 
fied in the document, and having inquired 
whether I had anything in my pockets, he 
shouted once or twice to some one who was 
slow to come out of the innermost recesses 
of the jilace. His voice echoed among the 
labyrinth of passages, beating itself against 
the thick stone walls, until another voice 
came echoing an answer to it In a short 
time a man appeared behind the maaaive iiOD 



gate, and threw it open with a heavy sound, 
terrible to one who had not been scared before 
by anything more wretched than an unoiled 
bedroom hinge. " Here's one for the remand 
ward," said the warden. " Very well," said 
the man, who was in no good temper, " come 
this way." I shook hands with the officer, 
and felt, when he departed, as if I had 
lost a valued friend. He would meet me, 
he said, at the Mansion-house, punctually on 
the appointed day ; talking of it as genially 
as if it were a dinner appointment Then, 
as admin strator of my funds, he gave to 
tljc warden sixpence wherewith to buy for 
me postage stamps, and left me to make 
myself at home In Newgate. 

Strong and stony as the prison seems to 
passers by, it looks much stonier and stronger 
to the men who enter it The multiplicity 
of heavy walls, of iron gJUt* and doorways ; 
of huge locks, of bolts, spikes and bars" of 
every imaginable shape and size, make of the 
place a very nightmare dungeon. I followed 
the gruff under- wardcL, through some dark 
and chilly vaulted passages, uow turning to 
the right, now to the left We crossed a 
large hall, in the centre of which is a glass 
room for the use of prisoners when they are 
giving instructions to their lawyers. When 
n is so used, a prison ofScer walks round and 
round it, seeing all that may take place 
within, but hearing nothing. In another 
passage was a small recess, in which three or 
four under-wardcns in their regulation uni- 
form were dining. One vacant seat, with a 
half emptied plate before it, let mo know 
why my guide was not in a good humour. 
Sad I arrived ten minutes later, he would 
have been, I do not douot, in an excellent 
humour. Still following; I was led into 
another large recess or chamber, on one side 
of which was a huge boiler with a furnace 
glowing under it, and on another side a large 
stone bath. On the third wall there were a 
couple of round towels on a roller, with a 
wooden bench beneath them. " Stop," cried 
the warden, " take your clothes oflf." I hesi- 
tated. " Take oflFyour clothes, do you hear?" 
My clothes were soon laid on the bench, and 
a hot bath filled, and I went in. The ofliccr 
had then his opportunity of taking up my 
garments one by one, searching their pockets 
and their linings, feeling them about and 
holding them against the light My boots 
appeared to bo especially suspicious. After 
he had put his hands into them, he thumped 
them violoatly on the stone floor ; but there 
rolled nothing out Having bathed, I was led 
down another passage, at the end of which 
were two gratings of iron bars, closely woven 
over with wire-work, distant about two feet 
firom each other. Unlocking both he pushed 
me through, and started me up two or three 
steps into a square court-yard, where ther* 
was a mar x alking to and fro very violently 
After shonting " One in I" he locked the two 
gratinga, and retreated rapidly in the directioB 



Ckarfia IM4«M.] 



LODGR, IN NEWGATE. 



of his dinner. Another warden witl. « ouncli 
of koys came from a glo<jmy building that 
fortned one side of iho court " Go up," he 
said lo the pcdi'^striun ; who disappvureU up 
a stiiirciue imstantly. 

" Where turn you from f" the jailor asked 
tno, and " W'hnt JU'y you here for f" Being 
rcplii'J lo on ihiau points, he snid sJ)orily, 
*' Corue this way." Hu led up the dark stonv 
Btaia'»<<u to m corridor with cells on one side, 
haring iron doors to thtjn a foot or more in 
thickncsK. One of those culU wna to bo 
mine. Venturing aa I wont in to ask 
" Whether I might be allowed to walk in the 
yard when I pleasetlj" he answered sharply, 
" i'ou'll just please to walk where and when 
you're told." He sliiinmed tlio door, bolt«d 
it, locked, and piidlo<'kcd it. 

""►w cell was al)out eight feet by four, 
lighted by a I'^ophole above eye-level. It eou- 
tained, besides an iron bedstead with a straw 
inattres.s and two eonrse rugs upon it, an 
unconil'ort«ble Ntool and a slanting reading- 
detik fastened to the wall, on which were 
a Bible, a prnj'er-lwok, and liymn-book. 
Alone (or the first time since my apprehen- 
sion, I stretched myself upon the bed ; and, 
with my hands over my eyes ondoavoured to 
collect my thoughts. I was Hoon aroused 
by tho undoing of bolts and bars below, 
while a stentorian voice shouted from the 
vard, " All — rlown I" I heard the cell doors 
being opened in the corridor; and, in due turn 
mine waa flung open, and the Jailor looked 
in. The imprejsvion my body had left upon 
the rugs enrnged him dreadfully. " What," 
he crie<J, almost in a scream, " you've been 
a lying on that 'ere bed, have you I You ju.st 
let rac catch you on it again till night, that's 
all!" 

" Oh," I said soothingly, " I didn't know. 
Now that I do know, I will not lie down 
again." 

" If I find you on it again I'll have you 
up before tlic jrovernor or stop your supper. 
That's all. Go down." 

In tho yard I found nine fellow "remands;" 
two or tlirec of them well dressed, the others 
ragged. Those who were ncur me ."tsked 
piu^iculars about m\"8elf, and were commu- 
nicative about them.selvcs. We fell into line. 
An iron gate was unbolted, and nt the same 
tim« there was a cry of "Hats olfl" The 
govM i 1 red, with the head w.ird en and 

It .'11 luiel. " Have any of you any- 

thiiifi I'j ^a^ to the governor?" asked the 
trirden. The governor himself repeated tlio 
question, and at the sama time looked at us 
critically, There wa.s .«ilcnce, and the gover- 
nor departed. We returned then to our 
celk ; and, for the rest of the afternoon I 
remained undisturbed, except by the clock of 
St. Sepulchre's and the occ-asional shout of 
•* Ono in ;" which let me know that time as it 
passed on never tbimd Xcwgnte idle. 

AuiiOBt simultaneously with the striking 
of five from St. Sepulchre's, I heard the 



shout of " Gruel I" followed by a clink of 
cans and spoons. My cell w-ts unbolted, 
anil there wa.s handed in to nie a tin of 
smoking gruel, and a pie<'e of dry bread. 
I am not squeaaii.sh, but I could not eat it 
I kiK'W that my wife with our home walla 
about her felt more desolate than I. I left 
my gruel and my bread, after a vain .■struggle 
to eat them. In a short time the Jailor came 
and look away the can, ordering uie down 
for a half hour's walk in the j^ard. 

Just before locking up for the night at eight 
o'clock, the cell doors were again opened and 
the prisoners invited to drink from a bucket 
of water, by tho help of a little can. Chain.% 
padlock.s, and additional bolts noisily ad- 
justed, made all safe for the night ; and, when 
the work of listening wa.i finished, the head 
Warden came tlu°ough the silence with a 
measured tread, and, raising a little peep- 
hole in each door, bade "Good niglit" to 
each priiioner ; awaiting a reply, in order that 
he might report to tlie governor that all 
vras welL Until six in the iut>mLng all was 
quiet. 

The somuls of keys and bolts arou.scd mo 
in the morning. I hud some c.Tj:iericnco of 
soldiers' beds and how they are made ; 
and the Newgate beds are of the barrack 
character. Hearing my neighbours who had 
made their beds u|i cUnnsily .sii.irfily ndnin- 
ni.shed, I packed mine up in military style 
before the jailor eaiiio to me. He looked sur- 
prised and gratilied. The order being " ''lo 
below and wash," I obeyed it, and washed 
with the help of a bucket at the cistciu 
ta]3 in the yard and a very small piece oj 
soap, finishing oil" with a towel that had 
been moile very damp by having gone the 
rounds before I took my turn nt it. When 
I came bade, the Jailor — who had not lived 
down his admiration of my bed-nuiking — • 
took me to a cell not fKr from 013' own and 
bade me teach that shiftless Hilson how to 
make up a bed, exhorting Bilson at tho 
same time to heed the lejison. Bil.fon of 
course introduced himself to me with tho 
questions " When are you going up?" " What 
are you in for ?" &.C., which stipply to New- 
gate prisoners such a topic as the weather is, 
to men out in the free air. 

1 was glad to get with my gruel and 
breail, at half-past seven, tbo informatioD 
that if, when my friends came to see roe, 
they left any money with the porter at 
the gate I might buy myself provi.sions 
out of it. Of course there were restrictions. 
Cold beef and mutton were admissilile, pork 
and veal were excluded. I could be allowed 
a little butter or cheese, but not cgg.s and 
not bacon. There is a person, I was told, 
just outside the g.ites who regularly supplies 
prisoners in Newgate for whom the door- 
keeper has funds in trust, with the regula- 
tion comforts, including coll'ee and rolls la 
the morning, tea and toast ij the afternoon 
There was inciderital relaxation also, aa I 



\ 



HOUSKHOLD WORDS. 



iC^vitaA V 



I<»'«nd, connected with this arrangement. All 
those who are victualled by this worthj man 
arc allowed to leave their cells and to go into 
the corridor where he serves out prison luxu- 
ries. Then for a minute or two rapid con versa- 
tion could take place among us ; hut, if it 
were protracted half a minute heyond the 
time sufficient for the drawing of our allotted 
portions, the stem voice of the jailor waiting 
to lock up again made ua run like rats into 
our holes. 

It hehig the first day of my residence in 
Newgate, I reccivctl a visit from the doctor, 
who made diligent inquiry on the subject of 
my hc.nlth. Soon afterwards I was sent 
down, with all the others who had come in 
on the previous day, to sec the Ordinary in 
the vestry. Through an intricate stone lahy- 
rinth, by aid of numerous directions shouted 
out hy tfio warden, we found our way into the 
comfortably furnished chamber at the foot of 
the chape! stairs. The Ordinary .sat in a 
large easy chair at a bible covered with 
papers, anJ he wa.s backed by a large book- 
case, on the top of wliich were proper New- 
gate ornajncnls, consisting of casts of the 
features of men who had been hanged, I 
fonnd him kind and gentle. Ho inter- 
rogated mo as to the charge which was 
entered in a book before him; conversed 
with and advised mc for a few nunutea 
in a considerate and humane way, and sent 
me back with a iiampblct which he con- 
sidered suit.nl )le to iny condition. It was en- 
titled \ Warning of Advice to Young Men in 
the Metropolis. 

In the exercise yard I found all the ro- 
Toandcd prisoners turning out for chapel 
p.arade. There was a gentlemanly young 
man who pos.scssed a clothes brush which 
all — down to the most ragged — were s<ili- 
dtous to borrow. The desire was for some- 
thing to do, and there were great brushtngs. 
Thnt young ninn had been in the remand 
department for three months or more, on 
suspicion of having been impltoatfd in a bank 
robberj'. Ho went out at last with a clear 
character, the police having in his case been 
on a false scent, for even police sometimes err. 
There was a showy foreigner anxious that I 
fihnuld tell him — as I was a newcomer — what 
the public thought about his chances of 
acquittal. There wero some boys accused of 
larcenies, perverting the light-hcartcdness of 
childhood into a play of wretched raockerics 
and jokes, not checked by the authoritativp 
" Keep (juiet you there, won't you ;" but 
greatly promoted by the smile into which 
now and then tlic jailor was betrayed. 

Tlic part of Newgate cliapel set a.stde for 
the congregation differs of course in its 
planning from any church or chapel nsed by 
people who have liberty to come and go. 
There arc only four pews, separate and far 
apart. One is for the governor, one for the 
head warden or deputy governor, and the 
Other two, one in each gallery, for the 



sheriffs or City authorities who came at specie, 
time^ : on condemned sermon Sundays for 
example. We wero marched across the 
chapel to the cage set apart for remand!) ; 
which is in close contact with the governor's 
pew, and I observed that the jailor so 
formed the line of our proces.sion every 
morning that the well-dressed men of our 
party were placed nearest to the dignitary. 
A black veil from tlie ceiling hung before the 
gallery above us and concealed the female 
prisoners. The lock.^ of our cage having been 
fastened, and our jailor having seated him- 
self so as to command a full view of all who 
were in his charge, the convicts in their grey 
suits were marshalled into a cage opposite to 
ours. _When they had been locked up, some 
other prisoners were brought into the body 
of the chapel and ranged upon forms. There 
came a fine-looking old man who walked 
with an air of great conscf]ucnce to a seat at 
the communion rails. He proved to have 
been a prisoner for some years past, a col- 
lector of taxes who had pocketed the public 
money. We were all so well classified in 
chapel that remands before committal, com- 
mittals awaiting trial, convicted and sentenced 
prisoners could at a glance be distin- 
guished from each other by the governor or 
chaplain. 

t'haplain and clerk being in their places, 
the governor entered his pew ; n prison Itird 
silting behind me, wanted to know whether 
be had his boots on ? Yes, be had. " Then," 
said the wliL-cperer, " he'll visit im after this. 
When he is not going over jail till afternoon 
and keeps to himself all morning, he always; 
comes to chapel in his slippers. I've not 
been here a down times for nothing. I can 
tell you." After prayers and ps.ilms wc had 
a sermon on the lesson of the day, in which 
we were not specially addressed as sinners, 
but as dear brethren who were to avoid sin. 
I was struck by the force which the whole 
boijy of prisoners threw into hymn singing ; 
the jailors led, and there was scarcely a 
pri.soner who did not take the opportunity 
to use his lungs. The hymns were really 
well sung, but my experience among tlws 
denixens of Newgate made me feel vexed at 
the hollowncss of adoration .so expressed. And 
yet, what would one have ? Even such 
shows may lead the way to something more 
substantial. 

After chapel service, we were marched 
bark to our wards : I, vritli the new ai-rivaJ», 
being fiT-^l t.iken to the governor's office and 
paraded there l>cfnrc the door, near the great 
entrance pate. We were called in one by 
one, ."tnil fl)und the governor sitting on the 
table, having a warder before hira witl> 
writing materials, and a book in which ho 
wrote what was dictated to hira, Looking 
stedfastly at me, the great authority ?<fer 
us rapidly dictated the description of my 
person I "Light — grey- small — short — no 
distinguishing:" the iag> words, I guppoi*^ 



.AfcfM D.44MM.] 



LODGED -N K^WQATK 



meant tliat I ha<l no mark upon mo br which 

«I might be nt once identiticd. '* W hat are 
you i-h:irg«d with J" " Ever in gaol before?" 
Then 1 waa measured by t'<e standard rule, 
(I had bcrore been measun^I in the station- 
house,) and dismissed by the governor trith n 
sharp reproof to the warden for having brought 
inu before him in a higlily improper slate 
(I had a tiro days' bcani). IJu wa; S) see at 
once and have me cleanly shaved. 

Next followed the "ninety minutes' wnica 
to me were all the day. I had been lockcil 
up only a short lime when I was unbarretl 
and onlered to " the grate," at which I had 
been left by the first warden yesterday. It 
was the place for seeing visitors, and there I 
found my wife. The comfort and quiet of the 
other prisoners and prisoners' friends, who 
formed two close 6Ies opposite each other 
with the space between the two gratings 
parting them, was disturbed that morning. 
My dear wife crietl loudly the whole time. 
The head warden came to her, and with a 
kindness not to be forgotten, begged her 
"not to take on so, it would be all right" 
Then he brought her a form to sit upon, tell- 
ing her she would find it tiresome work to 
stand an hour and a half on the cold stones. 
When the two gates were opened that the 
bundles brought by visitors mig}it be passed 
in, he made her advance half-way through, 
that she might shake hands with mo. ilis 
.eart was not of Newgate stone. 

Indeed, T found that while there was a great 
deal, especially among tlie under- wardeiLS, 
of the i-oughness that they considered neces- 
sary to discipline, there was no lack of a 
right human feeling anywhiTe. The hour 
and a half of interview at the grate, from half- 
past ten to twelve for female relatives and 
friends, and the hour from one to twi o'clock 
for male friends, were always full of noticea- 
ble scenes, that on ihe whole were to the 
ctod't of the people concerned in them. tMdy 
ODi' visitor was allowed to each prisoner at a 
taaf ; and, considering the pressure for front 
ptacc.4, that was a fair rule. At the grate, 
prisoners of every grade jostled one another 
vigorously, and the confusion of tongues was 
terrible, Some visitors were sad, and came 
weeping or dejected ; others, at home in 
Newgate, sought to encourage their caged 
acquaintances with rude fiin. The turnkey 
of the ward favoured us sometimes with his 
company and exchanged recognitions with 
/iimiliar "-eople; adding a contribution of 
good-humoured turnkey jokes. It was worthy 
of observation, that altliough there might be 
tears seen and regrets heard, no wife ever 
reproached her husband, no mother her son, 
no sLstcr her brother. It was not the time 
for admonition, their hearts knew. With one 
exception the same right feeling was shown 
by the men. 

A young man guilty of a small cmbeMlc- 
ment, who ha<l given himself iirto cu.stody, 
Dad been brought iota Ne«ga^£ a day or two 



after my arrival, and made all night sacb 
dreadful lamentations in his cell, that at ch«^ 
pmrade vvc all had to compare notes ahr', .ur 
broken slumbers, lie was walking f and 
down the yard with his Cice buri« in his 
hands; and, at chapel, groanc-i so mv ch be- 
fore the arrival of the Ordinary, thtt tin 
warden sung out, " You had better, I think, 
fitop that cat's noise here, you sir I" The 
next morning he told mc that he luid expect- 
ed his brother, but that nobody bad been to 
see him. Ho wanted to see his brother very 
much. That afternoon while I was at the 
grate talking to a friend, a sedate-looking, 
sanctimonious, well-dressed man arrived. It 
was the expected brother. He did not appear 
much atfectcd, and addressed his repentant 
relative in a way that made the turnkey 
stare. The turnkey always came to have a 
thorough look at a new visitor. " Well, sir," 
said the good brother, " so here you are, and 
here of coui-se you shall remain. I have 
just come; not because you sent for mc, but 
to say that none of the family will have any- 
thing to do with you." The cai;taway had 
no answer, for he was groaning and lament- 
ing; but the turnkey shouted after the 
righteous one as he was departing, " I say, 
sir, you must send him a clean slitrt and a 
collar, and a bit of a hairbrush. And I teli 
you what, he don't relish his gruel ; so just 
you leave a shilling at the gate to get liira 
soiiicthiiig better." 

The brother was exasperated at the impu- 
dent demand. " Prison fare," he replied, 
" is good enough for him, too good for him. 
I'll send the other things, if you assure mc I 
can have them buck when he is sentenced. 
Arjd mark me, brother," heaiid, turning with 
fifrce deliberation on his old jome play- 
fellow, "if by any chance you should escape 
punishment, don't como near any of us. 
We'll have nothing to do with you. The 
sooner you get out of the way ■Jic better.' 
Shouldering his umbrc-n he 3iai-.bed off, ana 
the turnkey speaking fCT the Givi imie gen 
tly to the youth, stud, "Come nowl up to 
your cdl, there's a good fellow I You «nntod 
to SCO your brother. Now I hope you're 
HatisBed." 

The chief event of the afternoon in New- 
gate, next to the constitutional walk in the 
yard, is being locked up in a large cell on the 
ba.Su' .XT' «v > with pen, ink, and paper. 
The . we wrote ieiiers which a turnkey saw 
us sign and marked vv'lh his initiiJs ; they 
were then take i. h« ! .«d by the authorities 
before they were pustea. i*^'vaf'*inuu> ^ whs 
locked up with one of the manj j<tiM)ncrs who 
could not write, or even 'iictate sensibly ; but 
such men never would allow that it vrna pos- 
sible to make their meaning cl(.a:fr than they 
made it, by another than their own appointed 
form of words. 

When being escorted through the pa.ssage8 
to the glass-room for interviews with mjr 
toUcitorj I used oftca to meet a Qum carrj^tg 



i 



HOTTSEHOLD -WORDS. 



(OnrfHMkf 



wine bortlci .n a basket, and wondered who 
It wfiK that had so large a traffic to and from 
his cellar T found out that the bottles con- 
ained ^a'.A draught and physic for the 
prisr .v-rs, and then my interest abated. 

At last the morning came on which I was to 
be again taken to the Mansion-house. Before 
breakfast, I was got up for the event like a 
jchool-hoy who is wanted in the parlour. As 
' had never shown any symptoms of a desire 
Co defeat the ends of justice, I had been trust- 
ed with my razor, and allowed to shave myself. 
The warder, however, lounged against one of 
the window-sills in the yard (the barber's 
•hoj)) the while, indulging in gruff but well- 
meant remarks on the young men who had 
come under his care. On tliis particular 
morning he was more than usually chatty. 
*' Ah ! I have known some first-rate men m 
here ; and enjoy themselves very much, they 
did. Poor fellows; all their troubles com- 
menced when they left here. That's the time 
— you'll find that when you get out. Every 
man that looks at you a little harder than 
usual in the streets youll think knows you 
have been in Newgate. You'll think every 
one knows where you've come from ; and, sure 
enough, its wonderful what a sight of people 
do find it out" He ended by hoping ho 
Bhoulil not see me back again in Newgate. 

Soon after morning chapel there was a cry 
heanl of " Send down them remands !" I was 
taken down with half-a-dozen others, and 
paraded in line waiting for the van. When 
all was ready we were led through the long 
dark ])assagc to the entrance-hall. The 
warden at the gate, having seen that we were 
the right persons to go out, required me to 
enter my naVne in his account-book as an ac- 
quittal for his disbursements in the character 
of steward to my funds. The great iron gate 
then !^wung upon its hinges, and we passed to 
the van one by one through a lane of curious 
observers. 

The van contained separate cabins, with 
swing shutters to the doors fastened by but- 
tons, and all opening into the central passage. 
A yoinig man, "very faint," requested that 
his shiiltcr might bo left open. "Yes," said 
the .seijeant — " then you'll be all talking, yon 
will." — " no indeed, sir, wo won't, I assure 
you. Do let me have it open if j'ou please, 
sir." The plaintive tone prevailed ; and, af- 
ter the van door was locked, the young man, 
putting out his arm, unbuttoned the other 
eliutters, and a romp began. Jokes were 
bandied, arrangements and appointments 
made in the event of release, and the great 
game wa.s for each to lie in wait watching the 
otlier shutters, and be ready to box the ears 
of any one who popped his head out In 
that sitiiit of levity young and old men, ac- 
cused of grave offences, went to trial. At 
the -Mansion-house the hand of Mr. Keggs ap- 
peared at the van door ready to help me 
dowv. That amiable friend bade me good 
day, and took me to the cage again. 

^==.^^_- - 



I did not reappear in Newgate to add to 
my experience a knowledge of the kind of life 
led by committed prisoners or others in a lower 
deep — the convict department I have told 
my talc simply as so much experience, and 
have no desire or talent for constructing any 
theories upon it 

A DIGGER'S DIARY. 

IN OCCASIONAL CBAPTERS. 

September 7th. — So, here we are at last, in 
sight of Australia. That faint grey some- 
thing, seen through the worst of weather, we 
are told is Cape Otway. AVhat a time wo 
have had of it these last three weeks. It is 
all over with my Diary, as indeed it has very 
nearly been all over with everything else 
in the Rodneyrig, ever since we passed the 
little black rocky islands of St Paul's and 
Amsterdam. If I ever again take to keeping 
a journal, it must be on the plan of no-plan 
— I mean of no sort of regularity as to' the 
intervals. 

The condition of our cabin — our berths — 
every cabin, and every berth in the 'tweea 
decks, no tongue can tell. All washed oul^ 
and everything left, not high and dry, but 
moist, rotten, broken, trodden up, strewn 
about, and turned to rags and slush. The 
grand summit of all our sea-disasters we 
reached on the 10th inst — was it the 10th or 
the 9th, or the 7th? — oh, I forget, but it topped 
everything. We had gone to bed during 
gales, and got up in the morning to find a 
storm, to say nothing of any of the roaring 
hours between, for some time ; but one doy 
we had a hurricane that never ceased for a 
minute, so that when it grew dark wo all fair- 
ly turned into our berths to avoid being 
knocked and battered to pieces against the 
ship and each other, and there we all lay wide 
awake, listening to the various effects — such 
as roarsL howls, hisses, gushes, creaks, clanks, 
shrieks, flaps and flanks, rumbles and falls, and 
sudden shocks, with the steadv. monotonous, 
vibratmg drone of the migntv wind holding 
on through all. without intermission. Thif 
lasted in all its fbrce through the night, tif 
from sheer exnaustion by attending to it } 
dropped off to sleep. Sometime bctweet 
twelve and two I awoke with a st-irt, cau6e< 
by a loud and violent booming blow, followed 
by a rush of water, which came dashing 
down the main hatchway, and flooding aU 
the 'tween decks, every ^bin inclusive. A 
lurch instantly followed, ♦rhich sent all the 
water swosh over to the other side of the 
ship, but this seemed only done to give a 
more vehement impuliHi to the counter-lurch 
on our side, the roll of which went to such 
an extent lower and lower that I thought 
this time at last we must go clean over, and 
while the result was yet suspended in the 
darkness, down came rushing to our low 
sunken side an avalanche of all the moveabl' 
contents of the entire 'tween de(^'> -<:ooki>: 




A DIGGER'S DIARY. 



f 



tins ani\ aockery, w*«hing things, all loose 
articles of ever \ ii, witli Uo^cs jors, 

and tubs*, and k in rurnitnri; burst- 

ing away from till ir i ! -i' mugs, tlilNiilgll oaliin 
doors, and Urinpinj; many cabin doors and 
panels ftlonp wiili lliem, togetiicr with the 
heavy cra-iiin" liuk-hway laddt'i-s — in one 
treincnd.jiis avalanche, catiir.ict, and chaos, 
like (lie total dusti-uction and end of rII 
IhiiiL--'. It was 80 !?uddcn, so roraplcto, so far 
1 ill wk liad previously experienced, 

J. . r, that it produced for a second or 

two a. lUad silence. The suspense was mo- 
mentary, for out of that sileiice there nrose 
one loud, unnnimous, spontaneous, simul- 
taneous hiiaa ! from nearly every cabin in 
the 'tween decks, just as though we had re- 
ceived Iho tlr>t bronrlsiilc of an enemy on 
going into action- This is literally true. I 
ftJt proud of my countrymen. Most of us on 
our tlrst voynjje too. Certainly we English 
wore meant to V>e a nation of sailors. 

\(\th. — The foulest weather of the whole 
voyage was in tlic Indian Ocean, when we 
vrcrc first nearly abreast of Cape Lewin, otf 
the invisible Australian coast. Our boos'n 
said he Kinl been out here fourteen times, 
and always had a storm off this coast. The 
booj'n A lirst-ratc sailor. Had two holes, and 
one long rent in his blue trowscrs — the 
largi-st pati.'heil with a great canvas heart, 
the ne.\l with an anchor cut out in leather — 
And the long rent was covered with a 
Turkish scymetar, also of canvas. But here 
■we wen? at last ncaring the " Heads," and I 
did not care how soon I lost sijj;htofall these 
potty olvjei'ts and interests of the stupid old 
Ro<iiicyri;;. Took pilot on board. Crowd 
BOrroundL-d him with eager looks and fjuus- 
lions. Pilot said grulHy at once, " iVll rtcht 
as to the gold — now, I won't answer another 
question. Haul up the mains.ail!" 

11 fA. — Hobson's Bay. Who would have 
erpccfed to see so many ships/ Could not 
h ' '■ '' vz a momentary ahirm, lest all the 
L 1 have been pickc4 up. Hut the 

(,(,,!•- ,.,...^.^l all empty, deserted, as we pa.s.sed. 
In one there seemed to be nol«nly but the 
captain, who was Icanin-:; discon.solntcly over 
the side. Others showed no signs of life at 
aiL On lliis deck perhaps a hoy, or that a 
dog, but peiicmlly no moving thing at all. 
Fell that if the gold had been picked up ever 
BO extmittvely, at least it hod not been carried 
KKny. 

A row on deck between passengers and 
Captain V'eiinysage. Hobson's Buy was not 
Melbourne — yet ho declarexl he had no rnoro 
to do with us now, and that v;e nni.<t gel 
ashore in tnKits, how we could, at our own 
expense. We learnt from the pilot that the 
cbaiges of boatmen for passengers and b:ig- 
ragc ashore, were most exorbitant, and no 
help for it. How wc raged at the ca[)tatn 1 
We all execrated Saltash and Pincher 1 

\2th. — Tliirfy shillings for every forty cubic 
feet of luggage by the steom-tug tliat took us 



ashore, measured by their own off-hand men, 
besides paying for our own pas-sage. Nobody 
with all his luggage, sck that we had this to 
go through several time.'. Steam-lug calling 
at all maimer of vessels by the way, round 
about and in and out, made it dark w'».in wo 
were landed on the wharf In a few minntcs, 
to our surpri.se and dismay, the air became 
dark — ^it was nigid, and the rain began to 
fall heavily. Rain had fallen before in the 
day, and all under foot was mud and slush. 
Most of their higpragc all the passengers had 
to carry or drag ashore themselves ; the rest, 
excepting what was carele.isly left behind by 
the sailors of the tug, was bundled after us, 
pell melt. Cattle would never have been put 
a.shore in so reckless a manner. There wM 
not a single lamp on the wharf, nor even the 
temporary help of a lanthorn. Fkixes, bales, 
c.ises, frajrmenls of m.tcliinery, bundles of 
diggers' tool.'f, merchandise of all sorts burst- 
ing from their confines and being trampled 
into the mud, men, women, lanic families, 
with the children all cryinji, now a dog 
running between your legs, now you running 
up against a liorse who had also lost hia 
master, and all this in a strange place, in the 
rain and dark, and nobody knowfng anything 
yon wanted to know, but retortinc ]ireci,sely 
your own question in a wilil tone — especially 
'" Which is the way to the town f"— " Where 
can we get lodgings for the night ?'' — ^" What 
on earth is to become of our lupgage ?" 
Arrowsniilli,by agreement, had rushed ashore 
directly we touched the edge of the wharf, to 
go up to Melbourne and try and find lotigings 
for u.s, which we knew must bo no easy 
matter. T had lost Waits in the scramble 
and confusion. I saw no more of either of 
them all night. In the miserable conipjiny of 
some forty or fifty passengers by the Roilncy- 
rig, and another ship that had fust sent a 
cargo of ffirlom wretches ashore, I jwsscd the 
whole night on the wharf, stantling with my 
back against a large packing case, and 
occasionally lying with my hand and elbows 
upon it indulging in no very lively train of 
refleciion. I wa.s very wet and cnld of course, 
but not ^o cold as I had fancied I should be. 
About daybreak I discerned a larce rusty 
boiler of a. steam engine (one of the numerous 
piccesof machinery which for want of cranes, 
or other apparatus, besides labourers, had 
been left, ns I subsequently found, to rot on 
the wlmrf), and into this boiler I crept, and 
coiling myself as nearly into a ball 9& I could, 
gave a sigh, and went to sleep. 

2+i'/(. — ^HoiTible b-id cold, aches in every 
joint of my bone.-*, more rain, wandering aboul 
on the wbrirf searching for our luggage, with 
no breakfast, everybody rushing to and fro 
in a scrnmble., anil nobody able tonnswiT any 
question, orrefusingtoUstena moment Ahont 
nine o'elo<'k, the sun came out bright and hot. 
Saw Arrowsmith hurrying along covered 
with mud, ami followc<l by Waits with a 
bloody nose and one of the skirts of hia 



i 



8 



HOUSEHOLD WORDa 



tOH<M<*4IS 



coat hauging in shreds. They would answer 
no questions, but cried out, "The luggage I 
all the things 1" Oh what a job it waal 
The^ accuse me of deserting the luggage, it 
was they who had deserted me I Found most 
of it, and in a pretty pickle. We had to 
carry it ourselves up to the town, with the 
exception of a large heavy chest of Arrow- 
smith's which we left at an old shackety shed 
of planks and dirty canvas called a "store," 
for wliich he was to pay ten shillings " en- 
trance," and half-a-crown a week. 

Went to a one-storied, yellow-ochred, im- 
pudently squalid place in Flinders Lane, a 
sort of gin-shop, beer-shop, lodging-house, 
eating-house, and coffee-shop aU in one, 
where they also sold potato^ tin-pans, and 
oats, outside at a stall, and bought gold to any 
amount Here (our luegage being bundled 
into a muddy yw^i at the back, where there 
was already a chaos of boxes, bundles, and 
rubbish) we got some very muddy coffee, 
with the chill off, some remarkably dirty 
brown sugar, stale bread, bad potatoes, the 
filthiest knives, forks, and table-cloth the 
house could afford, and a huge dish piled 
up with at least nine or ten pounds of 
smoking hot fried beef-steaks. We were all 
fiercely hungry, from what we had gone 
through since yesterday afternoon, but the 
hopeless toughness absolutely made us all 
leave off wiUi aching jaws long before our 
craving was satisfied. We finished, therefore 
upon stale bread and potatoes, with some 
rancid butter, and lots more coffee. We paid 
8even-and-sixpenco a head. I asked to be 
^own to my bedroom, and was answered by 
a grin from the bearded brute who con- 
descended to act as waiter pro tern. " You 
see it before you," said Arrowsmith, " and 
here" (tapping the table) " are our bedsteads. 
They will find us blankets of some kind or 
other." I asked him if he and Waits had 
slept here last night He said no, ho had not, 
and he now proceeded to tell us (he and 
Waits having lost each other) why he had 
not returned to me on the whari^ and what 
had been the adventures of the night I shall 
give it in Arrowsmith's own words, as nearly 
as I can recollect 

THE mtST KIOHT n HELBOURNX. 

Everybody, said Arrowsmith, from all I 
can hear, is astonished and disgusted with the 
first night in Kelboumo ; but the first night 
of the arrival of three ladies, perfect strangers 
in the place, will show the extraordinary 
state of affairs hero in a peculiarly strong 
light 

Arrived in the town, I at once began to 
hunt for lodgings, and went from street to 
street in vain, till at last, finding a house 
where they agreed to find room for three more 
— dead or alive, as the landlord invitingly 
said — I was on my way back to the whu^ 
when who should I see paddling along in the 
mud but oar fellow panengera^ Mrs. Watson, 



Miss Dashwood, and Mrs. Pounderby, who had 
very knowingly left the Rodncyrig with the 
earliest boat, in order to secure lodgings 
before they were all taken. They came 
luckily without any luggage but their night* 
bags. They had been from house to house 
almost, and during six or seven hours had 
been treated with such insult or unseemly 
ridicule at nearly every door, that each 
fresh application — which they undertook in 
turn — had been a greater effort, they said, 
than going to a dentist with an aching tooth. 
It had rained more or less the whole <&y, and 
they were wet to the very bones, as Mrs. Wat- 
son expressed it Mrs. Pounderby was cry- 
ing — indeed they had all cried several times 
in concert Captain Watson had come ashore 
with them ; but, never dreaming of this diffi- 
culty, had gone to dine and sleep at the pri- 
vate house of a merchant in the bush, with 
whom he had some business. And here they 
were I They besought me not to leave them, 
as they were sure tiiey should be all dead 
before morning. So of course I could but 
remain with them, and try after lodgings 
onoe more. 

We renewed our inquiries — ^humble solici- 
tations, preparatory overtures, cautious ad- 
vances If I had had you two fellows with 
me, it might have been managed more than 
once, but directly they found that women 
were in question (the term ladies was aliso- 
lutcly dangerous to breathe, as it instantly 
received an inverted interpretation from thjcso 
brutal householders) all hope was dashed out 
in a moment I ought as a gentleman — as a 
man —to have engaged in five regular fights, 
besides countless tortures of passive self-com- 
mand, in consequence of the atrocious, un- 
manly, ten times worse than black savage 
replies that were made to my request touch- 
ing my three dripping, bedraggled, half- 
fainting companions. The answers— divested 
of all their gold-mania ferocity — were to the 
effect that they wanted no women or children 
here, and they might all just go to a place 
which the speakers considered infinitely 
worse than Melbourne I Well, these things 
are not merely accidental adventures — I 
know that numbers have experienced the 
same — they are historical, and very bad bits 
of history everybody must admit them to 
be. 

By this time p<y. r Mrs. Pounderby, being, 
you know, very &t, was sobbing and puffing 
as though she would burst — and no joke to 
see, though ridiculous to relate. Mrs. Watson 
with her hands clasped, continually referred 
to the Captain dining in the bush ; and Miss 
Dashwood, having good Irish blood, still 
tripped along, sore-footed as she was, with 
tears in her eyas, but saying that surely, per- 
haps. Providence after all would stand their 
friend. Now, in my own mind (I could have 
made that giri ari offer on the spot — ^but that 
by the by), I had fully prepared myself for 
passing the night in the streets. I irent oo» 




OicWM.) 



A DIGGER'S DIARY. 



pretcD<V:ag still to look for lodgia^, but in 
reality I was looking for a dry archway, or 
other covered place with a moderate draught. 
£ach of the ladies h/kving a cloak or shawl, 
besides what they might have in their night- 
bags, I thought they might mauagc pretty 
well considering. 

>ViiiLe lookijig out for such a place, aad 
coming upon nothing but hideous lanes of 
mud and rubbish, I was beginning to think 
we must contant ourselves with getting under 
the lee of some lonely wall (at the risk of 
being robbed and murdered — of course, I kept 
this Cuicy to oiyseli), when passing the door 
of a long shed-like house, a t«ll man smoking 
a short pipe, said " Walk in, mate." To this 
polite novelty I was about to respond with 
alacrity, but the fellow spoilt it by adding, 
"Oh, you've got women with you!" and 
turned on his heel. But catching sight of a 
woman imdde whom I took to be his wife, I 
instantly went in and accosted her, rcprc- 
seuting the predicament of lu}' fair com- 
panionii, in tvhich I was immediately sup- 
portcil by all three in dcspuiriiig tones 
begging the mistress of tho house to give 
them siiclccr for the night. The woman 
BL-cmed rather moved by tins case of real 
distress, but s^'d she had no room, "Oh, 
put US anywhere! — anywhere!" cried my 
poor dripping companion.^. The woman 
hesitated, and as wo renewed our entreaties 
at this glimpse of hope, she went to speak 
with her husband. In a few seconds bhe 
returned, saying she thought it could be 
managed ; ."v " stretcher" would be put up 
for me in the lodgers' room below, and my 
friends could sleep " in the place above, 
where they would be quite safe, and to them- 
selves." Rejoicing at this, and with a. thousand 
thanks, we bade each other good night, the 
ladies foUoning our kind hostess along a dark 
passage, and I, groping my way as dirccte<I, 
towarJs a door on the left with a light show- 
ing through the chinks. 

I advanced by a descending foot-way of 
broken bricks and slush till I arrived at the 
door, and pushed it open. The room was a 
large one, for Melbourne, and as it lay about 
a foot and a half lower than the street, the 
whole surface was literally flo<Klcd by the 
day's rain. This was the lodgers' bed-room. 
It was lull of stretchers — some thirty of 
them — with blankets, or rugs, or other rough 
covering by way of bed-clothes. Nearly all 
were occupied, and the men for tho most part 
sound asleep, Uiough it was b.-irely nine 
o'clock. Many of the beds held two huddled 
together, and hero and there a complicated 
bundle with feet sticking out, looked like 
three. In one comer a gruff conversation on 
the subject of gold scales and weights was 
gomj; on in an under tone ; several lay 
smoiung-, others gave an occasional roll and 
grunt in a drunken, sleep, or muttered in- 
coherent imprecations. Scarcely any of theiii 
had their clothes off, but I noticed two ex- 



ceptions — one of a mnn who had evidently 
taken off everything but his boots (which 
clung no doubt from the wet), and a btuver- 
skin eap lied under his chin ; the other dis- 
played a |iair of immense legs from beneath 
liis dirty blanket, decked iu a pair of scarlet 
stockings with j-ellow clocks, a recent pur- 
chase perhaps from some clown at the circus 
at an exorbitant price. Blue, shirtp and crim- 
son shirts were also visible at ii.tervais, and 
ouo shirt seemed to be of some drub colour, 
with great Orleans plumbs all over it A 
largo gold watch w'lh o gaudv chain was 
hung upon a nail near one of the sleepers' 
heads, and a massive gold chain, and seals 
were dangling over the edge of a quart pot 
(the watch being safe and softly lodging in 
the beer dregs inside) standing on the vi in- 
dow-ledge. There could not have been less 
than five-and-forty or fifty people here. Of 
the few who were awake no one took tho 
least notice of my entrance — a total stranger 
being no event where nearly all arc total 
strangers to the place or to each other. 

The landlord of this delectable retreat now 
pushed open the door behind me by a lurch 
with his starboard shoulder, and placing him- 
self against tho wall, being by this time very 
drunk, pointe»l to s stretcher which luckily 
had no occupant (having just been sent in), 
and holding a tumbler towards me asked 
roughly if I'd take a nobler afore turning in. 
I thanked him — drank off the brandy — and 
returned the tumbler, lie rolled round 
against the door and dis.tppeared. 

The room was lighted by one bad candle, 
stuck ir. the r.eck of a bcer-bcttle, placed on 
a flour-cask near the opposite wall. Itz flick- 
ering i-eHectJoa ill tliu dark waters beneath 
contributed an ailJitional gleam to the com- 
fortable scene around. I was standing at this 
time oa a sort of raised step, or threshold 
mound of loose bricks above the level of the 
floor, or rather lagooti, of Uie bed-room, con- 
sidering how I .should iilLain my stretcher. I 
felt that it would not do to step from stretcher 
to stretcher, because if I escaped trending 
upon a limb of any of tlio sleepers, I might 
.still tip the thing with all upon it clean over; 
so I deliheratcly walked through. From the 
inequalities of the ground the depths varied 
from six to twelve or fourteen inches. I 
mounted my rickotty couch — drew off my 
boots, at the imminent risk of upsetting the 
concern with my struggles in a siioted position 
— and enveloped my.-ielf in the blanket, trust- 
ing that my wet clothes would produce a 
warm steam on the water-cure principle ; 
before the reali:wtion of which, being very 
tired indeed, I fell asleep. 

So much for my bed-room ; but now for the 
ladies. Miss Dashwood related it to me this 
morning directly we were outside the house, 
and wliilc walking along, though ot every 
ends all three s[ioke together. 

The woman of tho house led tho way 
through a dark narrow pasiwge full of water, 



I 
I 



t 



J 



10 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS, 



being also below the level of the street, with 
a brick hero and there to step upon, for those 
who could see them, or knew where they were 
planted, till they came to a yard. This 
yard was a slough, having been torn up by 
the wheels of heavily laden drays and the 
hoofs of bullocks. They cro.'sed by means 
of several broken planks, half embedded in 
the mud, close under the horns of a team of 
bullocks standing there till the driver got 
sober enough to attend to them, and then 
getting behind a muddy wheel, the ladies 
fouiul their hostess had paused at the foot of 
a ladder. This they all by a very slow 
and difficult process ascended ; but one 
of the spokes having been broken out, 
it W.1S thought that poor Mrs. Pounderby 
would never accomplish the task ; nor would 
she, but that the drunken bullock driver 
seemed to be coming to her assistance, which 
induced a succession of struggles that were 
at last successful. Of course, being so fat as 
she is, it was a dangerous moment for the 
ladder. 

The hostess now led the way along some 
cracking boards till they arrived at the en- 
trance of a loft or lumber attia This loft, 
however, was only fragmentary, being quite 
uniioored, the only apology for which con- 
Fisted of some eight or nine long planks laid 
across from side to side and resting on ledges 
on the top of the walls, just where the 
upward slant of the roof commenced. "Oh 
gracious heavens alive!" cried Mrs. Poun- 
derby ; but her ccstacies were cut short by 
the woman of the house who said, "Better 
than the streets, I'm thinking ;" with which 
curt remark she set down the candle on a 
plank, and departed before they could at all 
make out where they were. 

Surveying their apartment, as well as the 
squalid gloom would permit, they saw that 
•bout the centre of the planks lay a horribly 
dirty old bag made of packing canvass, and 
stulVcd with straw and some lumps and rolls 
like cast-off clothes and rags made up into 
bundles. Upon this a couple of distempered 
looking blankets were placed, while the 
bi lister was a sack filled with straw and brick- 
rubbish, which knocked upon the floor when 
moveil.* Between the edges of this bed and 
tin; outside planks was a space of about two 
feet at most on each side, and beyond that 
was an unknown abyss. To the verge of 
this. Miss Dashwood cautiously approached, 
held fast behind, by the skirts of her dress, 
by Mrs. Watson, who was held in turn by 
^irs. Pounderby in the same way. Peering 
over the brink, Miss Da.shwood thought she 
rniilil distinguish through the dark haze a 
larire tank or reservoir, below, covered with 
Ftrangc shapes sleeping in little boats ; gradu- 
ally, however, she was enabled to sec that 
it was a room carpeted with water, and 

• It m»j be DPoesusry to state (m Melbonrne Bcems 
lesllned to hf a place in history) that all thii ^p- 
yarautlf eztravigant deecrlption la a rocord of bet 



containing a bevy of occupied Etretcherr 
enlivened by the gleam of one candle ap- 
its reflection. They were just over c-. 
beads. 

The three poor ladies now sat down upoi> 
the bag-bed, and all had a good cry. Tal&otl 
of having had every comfort at home, an' 
lamented they had ever set foot in A'>ftralir 
After this, feeling rather better, Mre, ''^atsc 
produced some biscuits and potted bt?* ^~ "as 
a little basket she had, and reserving ha.; foi 
the morrow, shared the remainder, while Mrs. 
Pounderby found she had got a little flask of 
spirits in her bag, which was good against the 
spasms. They now began to feel their mind? 
somewhat relieved. At least there was nc 
danger here, except of felling over; bu' <■•* 
this they all agreed to be very careful. C 
ering themselyes over with the blankets, with 
many expressions of disgust at their dirt and 
stains, and strong odour of stale tobacco- 
smoke and cheese, otu: three fair friends crept 
and nestled close to each other, holding very 
fast round each others' waists. Mis.s Dash- 
wood believes that they all full asleep almost 
immediately. 

But the fates had not willed that there 
should be any sleep for them during their 
first night in Melbourne. Squeaks and 
scrimmages soon aroused them, quickly fol- 
lowed by rattlings, and nishings, and sharp 
impatient irate little cries, and then a patter- 
ing over the planks. Three or four rats came, 
as atant couriers, to reconnoitre, and in no 
time there were a dozen describing circles 
round them. The ladies screamed, and the 
rats made a precipitate retreat ; but presently 
returned in full force, apparently in open 
column, and again made a circuit of the bed, 
till several of the chivalrous took to making 
a dash across the bed. At this the ladies 
renewed their screams for help so loudly 
that it awoke some of the men below, who 
answered by brutal shouts and imprecations. 
Meantime the numbers of the rat-armj' aug- 
mented, and a whole squadron being detached, 
made a sharp wheel to the left, and gallopped 
clean over the shrinking, writhing, plunging, 
and vibrating bodies of our three luckless 
ladies. Mrs. Watson feinted away, and Mrs. 
Pounderby was in hysterics. The candle had 
been knocked out and eaten ; they davxl not 
rise in the darkness to attempt an cscajie for 
fear of tumbling over into the place below ; 
and they dared not again cry for helj) lest 
some of the savages below should come up to 
them. As for me, I slept through it all, and 
never heard anything. 

These tortures they endured beneath the 
close drawn blanket."*, with buried heads, till 
daybreak. All the remaining liiscuits and 
potted beef had been carriei'. off from Mrs. 
Watson's basket ; and the night-bag of Mrs. 
Pounderby had been torn to atoms, as it 
had a savoury smell of medical comforts 
which had been secreted there during tja 
vo)'age. 



CROWNS IN LEAD. 



11 



June 1, 185S. Although nianr extraor- 
dinary changes have ocriirred in Melbourne 
since the above trtnspirc-il, now six or seven 
months back, the ni«rch of improvement 
hns gone on hiit slowly. The constant 
influx iif pco|ilo rttartls ahnos^l everything, 
themselves included. Pnsscngt-rs nre slill 
lundi'd at diifk ; luggage baii«;ed n.nd dashed 
a)>out in ronrusion ; no pavement, or even 
road, on the wharfs ; no Itinips ; only one 
crane; no I'omraou civility to new arrivals; 
and certainly no respectable or even decent 
loiljfins^ for ladies, who want them intmc- 
diaiely, and have no resident friends. 

CROWNS IN' LEAD. 



I 



b 



BironF railways -were established, the 
traveller from Paris to Boulogne, whilst jour- 
neying down those vales of dust tliey cnlled a 
road, which was contined between great rows 
of Irei'S from which all shade was taken by 
the lopping of the lower branches, the spire of 
St. Denis was a well-known object. Towering 
above the plain, it was visible for miles around, 
and formed a beacon to the stranger who ap- 
proached the capital. That spire \* now no 
more, ami the basilica of which King Dagoliert 
and St. Elvi laid the lowest stones is lopj)cd of 
its most precious relics. What nutcri&s would 
be heard from the »n-hilect«, nntiquarics, an"l 
lovers of the pieturesr|uo in Knglnnd, if 
Westminster Abbey were treated thus 1 JJiit 
gnp|)o.se a greater desecration — suppose the 
|omb.> were titled ; the bonc-s of our kings 
•mi queens removed ; our gcncraliJ, and 
■dmiraLs and poets tiken from their resting- 
places, and thrown into the Thames ; under 
what iiretcnce could the despoilers screen 
themselves? 

The Abbey of St. Denis has l«-en thus des- 
poiled. It is not alnne deprived externally i>f 
that which made it.*! fume, but it has been 
ritlcd also of all that oge makes sacred. The 
Bcpolohrcs and monunn-nU are there; you 
mark the spot.i where anxious tourists have 
lo|>pcd oir a fingi.T or a nose to carry awiiy 
and place in their museums ; but the bones 
or a#.hes which these inonumcnls were wont 
to cover have been gone for many ycnrs. 
Not a King of France, since Dngobert, re- 
mains; for U)C grim assaults of the republic 
no more spared the long departed than the 
living. Wo know that the bones of Cromwell 
irere taken at the Restoration and hung upon 
a gibbet ; tliat the tombs of the Dukes of 
Burgundy wore opened at Dijon for puqioses 
of plunder. We know that for curiosity and 
in searcli of food for history, the old kryp- 
tian sepulchres have been ritied, and tliat 
their linen-covered and well-pre*ervefl con- 
tents adorn the museums of the world ; and 
wc an' told th.it pniins of wheat were found 
ii ')ne of them, which, being filant»"d, grew, \ 
and left a progeny whoae yearly produce | 
lecde the English people. Of the tombs of I 
1^1 the Oeeaars only one remains undcsccratcd, I 



for heaps of gold were thought t:i rest in 
them ; but the object of the French repub- 
licans when flicy swept the tombs of their 
ancient kings, was not goUl. They required 
lead. 

In seventeen lir'ndrL'd and ninety-three, 
when France was hemmed in b^' hungry 
enemies who pressed upon h<"r undcfenth.vl 
frontiers, the m.nnnftictilnj of warlike raisstlca 
did not keep pace i^ith their consumption. 
Measures of extraordinary kinds were then 
re.sorte<l to lo fill this void. To get .sjdtpetre, 
tlie cellars of every house were dug and 
sifted till not a particle of salt remained. The 
roofs -were stripiHjd of everything that could 
be melted into bullets; pot.s and pans and 
leaden spouts were melted down. .\11 was 
insufficient ; r»ud, as a last resource, it was 
determined to exhume the old sarcophagi of 
St. Denis, lo puss them throiiph the bullet 
mouli), and to throw the venerable relics into 
a common ilitcli. 

An edict was therefore passwl V>y which 
that energetic boily.the Constituent .Vsscnibly, 
called upon the municipals of I.a Franciade — 
for .«o St. Denis had then been christened, 
from patriotic hatred of a saint — to enter the 
basilica, and open in succession the li^mbs of 
all those tyrants the kings of Fnince, despoil 
their coffins of the lead contained in them, 
and mi.x the bones and ashes of tlie roynl 
houses in n common tomb. Un the evening 
of its reception the orders we)"c proeeeiled 
with. There w;l'J no faltering. A tn^ip of 
soldiers itccomp:vnie<l by (ii;;jri:rs with picks 
and shovels, and artncil with torches, and with 
frj'ing-pans for burning vinegar and powder, 
entered the abbey; and — whilst the lurid 
glare lit up the aisles and colom-ts, which the 
emokc blackened; amidst the cj-a.sh of piling 
nmskrts and the ontlis of mustnchioed vete- 
rans — the work began. 

In searching for the relics of the Bourbons 
the workmen were not at first successful ; and 
bj' a strniige fat.'dity it was not a king they 
lil'St dug up ; but, on raising the earth from 
the lirst tomb, ilifV found the frame and 
features of the great Turenne. Thty treated 
htm with great respect; that is to .sjiy, they 
left him in his cotlin, |)liiced him in the 
sacristy, whcn,^ he was shown for months, at 
a penny per heail ; and, aOerwards, in the 
Garden of Plant-;, wheri: he was shown for 
nothing. They then interred him beneath a 
splendid monument erected on the spot where 
he wa^ disinterred. 

The scrutiny jiroceeded, and at last they 
found a Bourbon, lie was perfect. The 
lineaments were those of Henry of Kavnrrc, 
the Cither of that loug line of Louises of 
whom (lie last had recently met with so me- 
lancholy a death. His beard, moustache, and 
hair were perfect ; and, as the soldiers stand- 
ing round looked on in awe at the strange 
spectacle, one of them drew his sword, and, 
casting himself down before the hotly of the 
victor of the League, lopped olT one of his 



I 



12 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CMaMtolky 




inoujttachesi, and placed it upon his own lip, 
giTing vent, at tlic same time, to a vehement 
burst of nafional cntliuriiasm. 

There was no enthusiasm when the pick 
anH shovel had laid bare tho rold and vacil- 
lating fuaturcs of the thirteenth Louis; svhieh 
Were in perfect preservation ttlso ; but it was 
not without respect and admiration tliat Louis 
the Fourteenth, dccrcpid though he seemed 
and de|irivcd of wig nnd every other onia- 
meiit which adorned him when called " The 
Great," was exposed to viexv. Near him 
wefL' discovered Maria Theresa and his son 
the dimphin ; on whose frame were visible 
the traces of hia violent and untimely 
death. 

For days and nights the search continued. 
Some of Ihc remnants of tho House of .Stuart 
were taken from the ground. Among others, 
the remains of Henrielta Maria, vrlfe of 
Charles the First, and her daughter, Hen- 
rietta Stuart Strange that of that family 
the body of tho father should be buried 
in an unknown grave, and that, ages nflcr, 
the remnants of those he loved should be 
(lesccralcd, and thrown into a common ditch. 
Philip of Orleans?, father of Egalite, and 
Regent of France, was next discovered ; and 
near to him Louis the Fifteenth, who seemed 
still living, BO rosy were the tints on his face 
pre.'it-rvcfC Mary of Mddicis and Anne of 
Austria, and, with them, all the relatives of 
Henry the Fourth, Louis tho Fifltfcnth, and 
Louis the Sixteenth, lay close toother near 
the same spot. 

Older monuments, more difUcuIt of reach, 
were tken broken into. Charles the Fifth 
of France, who died in thirteen hundred 
and eighty, was found beside his wife, Joan 
of Bourbon, and his daughter, Isabella. In 
his coffin was a silver frosted crown, a hand 
of justice, and a silver frosted sceptre four 
feet long. In that of Joan there were the 
remnants of a crown, a rinj of gold, and the 
fragments of a spindle and a bracelet. Her 
feet — or the bones of them — were shod with 
a pair of painted slippers, known in her 
time as iouiifri A la poutainf, on which were 
still the marks of gold and silver workman- 
ship. Charlea the Sixth and his wife, Fsnbeau 
of Bavaria, Charles the Seventh and Mary of 
Anjou, wore taken up immediately after; and 
the ditch in which the remnants of all the 
Bourbons had been thrown was closed for 
aver. 

A vault was then disclosed in which were 
found Marguerite do Valoii;, the gay and 
beautiful wife of Ilcnry of Navarre ; and near 
her Alcn^on, whose love for her originated a 
romantic chapter in history. The remains of 
Francis tho Second and Mary Eliiabeth, 
daughter of Charles the Ninth, were next dis- 
interred. Tho vault of Charles the Eighth, 
which was next opened, contained Henrj' the 
Second and his wife, Cfttherinc dc Medieis, and 
her favourite son Henry the Third, who was 
Qmrderud. Louis the Twolilh and Anne of 



Binttany were discovered a littlo further 
on. 

The workmen began at this time to reach 
the oldest tombs and vaults in the Abbey. 
They discovered Joan of France in a atone 
coffin lined with lend in strips, leaden cof^na 
not being then invented {one thousand three 
hundred and forty-nine). Htigucs, the 
father of Capet, was known by an inscription 
on a stone sarcophagufi, which contained hia 
nshes. Tho pulverized remains of Charles 
tho Bold were also found enclosed within a 
leaden casket in a stone sarcophagus, and the 
relics of Philip Augustus, cotemporary and 
competilor of CoBur do Lion, were found in 
the same state. Tho bones of Louis the 
Eighth were found in perfect preservation in 
a bag of leather, which retained its elasticity 
although buried in the year one thousand two 
hundred and twenty-six. 

At dead of night and by the tight of torches 
held by weary trooper;;, the scarchcn* stumbled 
on the scaled stono vault which contained the 
body of Dagobert, who died in six hundred 
and thirty-eight. Did the prof-nators 
know that he had founded that old church } 
It was with difficulty that they pene- 
trated inio it, so strongly was it buttressed 
and dosed up. They broke a statue at the 
entrnnec and found inside a wooden Ik>.x two 
feet in length, which contained the bones of 
Dagobert and his wife Nantbildc; who died in 
six hundred and forty-five, both enveloped and 
kept together in a silken bag. 

The skeleton of tbie Knight of Brittany — 
Bertrand Duguesclin — the terror of tho 
Spaniards, was found in the T&olta of the 
chapel of the Charles's. 

It was not till after long and laborious search 
that the vault of Francis the Firet was found. 
The leaden coiTin which held his body was of 
gigantic proportions, and confinncd tho 
historicid flcoounts of his enormous siae. Near 
him were his mother Louise of Savoy, hia 
wife llaudc of France, his dauphin Chartcs, 
and his other chiUlren the Duko of" Orleans 
and Charlotte of France. The thigh of 
Fi-ancis on being measured was found to be 
twenty inches long. Below the windows of 
the choir the vault was opened which con- 
tained the relics of St. I^ouis and his imme- 
diate circle. They were chiefly bones and 
dust confined in leaden caskets, and were 
thrown into the grave whe.-e lay the rem- 
nants of Philip Augustus, Loui.s the Eighth, 
and Francis the FirsL 

The hust tombs discovered were those of 
Philip of Valois, King of France and Duke 
of Burgtmdy, and his wife Anne of Burgundy, 
and that of John who was taken prisoner by 
the Black Prince and brought to England, 
where be died in one thousand three hundred 
nnd sixty-four. In the tomb of Philip and 
his wife were found a sceptre, and a bird of 
Copper, a spindle, nnd a ring; and in the tomb 
of John a crown, a sceptre, and a band of 
justice of silver gilL The searching aAer 



ekutaaOltkm.] 



KENSINGTON. 



h 



this was given up. Thus the Abbey of SL 
Dents was despoiled of its most ancient 
relics. 



ECHOES. 

Sttll the anirol .itArs arc shining, 
Still the rippliny^ waters flow, 

But tlio miKol-voico \» silent 
Tliiil I licttrd here long igv. 
Uork ! tliii QchoM murmur low 
Long ago ! 

Still tliA wood ia dim nnd lonely, 
Btill tbo pliuitiinir fonntninst play, 

Bat tUe piut niul nil its beniity, 
Wliitber bus it fled awiiy i 
IlArkl tha luouruful oolioea say 
Flod BWay I 

Btill tVio bird of niKht eomplaineth 
(Now, iiiilceil, her »oDg is puin), 



Vicious of my huppy hours 

mul call 11 



Do I cs>ll Hjul call 111 vain ( 
Hark ! tho ccboes cry a^jain 

All iu vain I 



O«aso, oh echoes, monrDfuI echoes I 
Onoe I loved yonr voices well ; 

Now my heart i» uiclf and weary, 
Days of old, a long farewell I 
Uark ! llio echoes sod auJ drcAry 
Cry Farewell, farewell I 



KENSINGTON. 

Fkox Goi^ House to the town of Ken- 
sington we pass houses botli old and new, some 
in rows, and some by themselves encloscil in 
gardens. They are all more or less good ; 
and the turnings out of them lead into a 
considerable district which has lately been 
^ converted from nursery and garden ground 
into more streets, and is called Kensington 
New Town. It is all very clean and neat, 
and astonishes visitors, who, a few years ago, 
beheld scarcely a house on the spot. A plea- 
sant hedge lane, paved in the middle, and 
looking tow.inls the wooded grounds of Glou- 
cester Lodpe, where Canning lived, leads out 
of it into Old Brompton. One street, which 
has no thoroughfare, is quite of a stately 
character though defaced at the comer with 
one of those unmeaning rounded towers, 
■whose tops look like spicc-boxes, or trifles 
from Margate. The smaller streets also par- 
take of those improvements, both external 
and internal, which have succeeded to the 
unambitious barrack-like streets of a former 
generation ; nor, in acquiring solidity, have 
they, for the most part, been rendered heavy 
and dumpy — the too couiuion fuiilt of new 
buildings in the suburbs. It is ridiculous to 
sec lumpish stone balconies constructed for 
the cxhihit>iTi of a Rnv fiowor-pots ; and 
doors and flights of steps big enough for 
houses of three stories, put to " cottages" of 
one. Sometimes, in tlicsc dwarf suburban 
grandiosities the stopfl look as weighty as 



half the building : sometimes the door a1ono 
reaches from the ground to the storey abova 
it, so that *' cottages" look as if they were 
inhabited by giants, and the doorways as if 
they had been maxiiniKcd, on purpose to 
enable them to go In. 

This Kensington New Town lies chiefly 
between the Gloucester and Victoria roads. 
Returning out of the latter into the high 
road, we pass the remainder of the buildings 
above noticed, and just before entering 
Kensington itself, halt at an old mansion 
remarkable for its shallowness compared 
with its width, and attracting the attention 
by the fresh look of its red and pointeti 
brick-work. It is called Kensington House, 
and surpasses Gore House in the varieties of 
its history ; for it has been, first, the habita- 
tion of a king's mistress ; then a school kept 
by an honest pedant whom Johnson visited ; 
then a French emigrant school which bad 
noblemen among its teachers, and in which 
the late Mr. Shicl was brought up; then 
S Roman Catholic boarding-hmise with 
Mrs, Inchbald for an inmate ; and now it is 
an "asylum" — a term into which that con- 
sideration for the feelings which so honourably 
marks the progress of the present day has 
converted the plain-spoken " mad-house" of 
our ancestors. 

The king's mistress was the once famous 
Duchess of Portsmouth, a Frenchwoman — 
Louise de Qucrounille — who first came to 
England in the train of Henrietta, Duchess 
of Orleans, the sister of Charles the Second. 
She returned and remained for the exjjrcss 
purpose (it h said) of completing the im- 
pression she had made on him, and assisting 
the designs of Louis the Fourteenth and tha 
Jesuits in making him a papist, and reducing 
him to the treasonable condition of a 
pensioner on the Fjench court Traitor and 
pensioner, at all events, he became, and the 
French young lady became an English 
Duchess ; but whether she was a party to the 
plot, or simply its unconscious instrument, 
she has hardly had justice done her, we think, 
by the historians. She appears to have been 
a somewhat silly person (Evelyn says she had 
a " baby face") ; she was bred in France at 
a time when it was a kind of snrred fashion 
to admire the mistresses of Louis tha 
Fourteenth, and think them privileged con- 
cubines ; she had probably learnt in the 
convent where she was brought up that 
lawless things might becom*; lawful to serve 
religious ends; and she was visited during 
her elevation by her own p.irents — straight- 
forward, unaffected people, according to 
Evelyn ; the father a "good fellow," who 
BL'om.-^ at once to have rejoiced in her position 
and yet to have sought no advantages from 
it The Duchess, to bo sure, ultimately got as 
much for herself as she could out of the 
king. She was as lavish as he was ; became 
poor, a gambler, and a gourmande ; and as 
her occupation of the house at Kcnsingtoa 




il 

i 



4 



.d 



14 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS, 



[Cooilatu^ hf 



appears to have been subsequent to the reign 
of Charles, it probably took place on one 
of her visits to England during the reigns 
of William the Third and George the First, 
on which latter occasion she is supposed 
to have endeavoured to get a pension 
from the English Government — on what 
ground it would be curious to know. But 
the " baby-face" probably thought it all right 
We take her to have been a thoroughly 
conventional, common-place person, with no 
notions of propriety but such as were received 
at court ; and quite satisfied with everything, 
here and hereafter, as long as she had plenty 
to eat, drink, and play at cards with, and a con- 
fessor to make all smooth in case of collateral 
peccadilloes. The jumble of things religious 
and profane was carried to such a height in 
those days, that a picture representing the 
duchess and her son (the infant Duke of Rich- 
mond) in the characters of Virgin and Child 
was painted for a convent in France, and 
actually used as an altar-piece. They thought 
her an instrument in the hands of God for the 
restoration of Popery. 

Adieu to the "baby-face" looking out of 
the windows at Kensington House in hope of 
some money from King George, and hail to 
that of the good old pedagogue, James 
Elphinatone, reformer of spelling, translator 
of Martial, and friend of Doctor Johnson. 
He is peering up the road, to see if his great 
friend is looming in the distance ; for dinner 
is ready; and he is afraid that the veal 
stuffed with plums (a favourite dish of the 
Doctor's) will be spoilt. 

Mr. El^instone prospered in his school, 
but failed in his reformation of spelling, which 
was on the phonetic principle (one of his 
books on the subject was entitled Propriety's 
Pocket Dictionary ;) and ho made such a 
translation of Martiaj, that his friend Strahan 
the printer — But the circumstances must be 
told out of Boswell : — 



" Garrick. Of all the translations that ever were 
attempted, I think EIphinstonc'B Martial the most 
extni'irdinary. IIo consulteJ mo upon it, who am a 
little of an epiBrammatiiit myself, you know. I lolJ 
him freely, ' Yon don't seem to have that turn.' I 
askcil liim if he was serious ; and, flndine he was, 
I n-lvised him njrninst publishinf;. Why, his trang- 
latioii is more difficult to aadcrstand than the 
oripiiul. I thought him a man of some talents; 
but he seems crazy in this. Johssom. Sir, yon have 
done what 1 had' not oourasre to do. But he did 
not nsk my advice, and I did not force it upon him 
CO make him an<rry with mo. Garrick. Bat as a 
friend, sir — Jou.xsoV. Why, such a friend as I am 
with him — no. Garrick. *Bnt, if_)'On see a friend 
goiii^ to tumble over a precipice} Joansox. 
That U an extrnvatrunt ca«o, sir. Yon are sure a 
friend will thank you for liinderine him f^om tnm- 
bliiiL' over o precipice; but, in the other case, I 
Mioiild hurt hU vanity, and do him no i^ood. He 
w.mM not take tny advice. Ills brother-in-law, 
Stralinn, sent him a subscription of flftv pounds, 
and sail he would send him fifty more if' he would 
not publish. Garrick. What, eh ! is Strahan a 
good j idge of an epi(jTam I Is he not rather an 
obtubu man, oh I Johksox. Why, air, he may 



not be a judge of an epigram ; but you see be 
is a judge of what is not an epigram." 

That the readers of Household Words may 
judge for themselves, especially as the book ig 
very rare, and nobody who speaks of Elphia* 
stone quotes it, we add a specimen or twow 
We confess they are not favourable sped* 
mens ; but they are not unjust : 

" TO THE gUBSORIBEBS. 

" If Martial meekly woo'd Subscription's charms, 
Subscription |[;racious met a Martial's arms ; 
Contufrious taste illum'd th' imperial smile. 
And, Julius greater, Martial, won onr ile.'* 

" ON APOLLODOR09 : TO BEOULin. 

" Five for Ten, and for Lusty ho jrrcctod you C«3^ 

As for Free he saluted you Bond. 
Now lie Ten, Free, and Lusty articulates cleslfc 

Oh ! what pains can ! He wrote, and ho conn'd." 

Not a word of explanation, though the hooli 
is full of the longest and most superfluous 
comments. It is a quarto of six hundred 
pages, price a guinea in boards ; and among 
its hundreds of subscribers are the lead- 
ing nobility and men of letters ; so pros- 
perous had some real learning and a good 
characto» rendered the worthy school- 
master. 

Elphinstone had won Johnson's heart by 
taking charge of a Scotch edition of the 
Rambler. He also translated the Latin 
mottoes at the head of the papers ; and did it 
in a manner that gave little or uo token of tho 
coming Martial Johnson, Jortin (of whom 
more hereafter), and we believe Franklin 
visited him at his house. 

" I am going this evening," says Johnson, 
"to put young Otway to school with Mr. 
Elphinstone." — Letter to Mrs. Thrall. Otway 
is an interesting name. One would like to 
know whether ho was of the poet's race. 
It is pleasant also to fancy the Doctor, then 
in his sixty -fourth year, walking hand in hand 
down the road with the little boy. 

"On Monday, April nineteenth, seventeen 
hundred and seventy-three, he called on me 
(says Boswell) with Mrs*. Williams, in Mr. 
Strahan's coach, and carried me out to dine 
with Mr. Elphinstone, at his Academy at 
Kensington. Mr. Elphinstone talked of a new 
book that was much admired, and asked Dr. 
Johnson if he had read it Johnson : ' I 
have looked into it' 'What,' said Elphin- 
stone, ' have you not read it through V John- 
son, offended at being thus pressed, and so 
obliged to own his cursory mode of reading, 
answered hastily, ' No, Sir ; do you read booki 
through?'" 

It is said in Faulkner's History of Ken- 
sington, that Elphinstone was "ludicrously 
cnaracterised in Smollett's Roderick Random, 
which in consequence became a forbidden 
book in his school." But none of the brutal 
schoolmasters of Smollett resemble the gentle 
pedagogue of Kensington. The book might 



Ii 



-1 

fori; J 
Te»>. 
thd 1 
t«ii 
Um 

tiOli 
to 

tht;: 

the. 



hs^e bocD furbiddon in coniiidtration for the 
common cliaraclur of Che prufessioa ; to isay 
nothing of utLcT reasons. 

But \rc must not stop lunger with Mr. 
ElpliiiL^lotie. or the school kept in this sumt' 
houso by the Jesuits, a dcJiglitful account hu 
been Idl by Mr. .Sliicl in thu muinoir jirc- 
flxcd to iJii: volume of iiis Speeches. C'hiuU'S 
tliu Teotb, of Knuicc, 'mis one of " tlic boys." 
Poor L.'li4rifS thy Tenlk! himscll" one of 
the Iciujt of cliildrcn in the greatest of bchools 
— adversity; which hu lell only to be scut 
back to it and die. 

In the year eighteen hundred and nineteen 
Ki-Qsiiigtoti liousu was a CathoUc boarding 
estttblii..bmi.'nt, kept by a Mr. and Mrs. 
SaitvrcUL 

- ' -ys Borwdcn, in hib lleiiioirt of 

clibisliuj) of Jorusiili-rn jM;r- 

• liirii!;; the criHv |milol' lior 

Mtuil wljcii 

;j- wiia cx- 

. „', bowBVur, 

diulitj' iiiiii lliu I'uriuu- 

i.iictti.-., however, »ccm 

u!i 1 .Mnt. Ikloe, uud Mr. 

II, worn old IricuUs, wliu uii 

i;u utUmjked iWr jiliiuaurc : — 

. .Mr. BU.i Mri. i.'o.twii^, iipou 

.■, wort! ut Ki.;u.iiij;t<ju liuiuu 

. v^. .>i;r, beluru tiiuj ouillcJ upon 

house in tUo l^i^ovrore road." 

Here Mrs. Inchbald spent the last two 
years of Ult Ufe; and here, on the tirit 
o£.Augurit, i;i;^hteen humkcd and twenty-one, 
siic d.v'J, -vve fear — how shall wo say it of so 
tscellent a woman, and in the .•jix.ly-eiglilh 
year of her age < — of light lacing ' But she 
had bck'U very hundsonie; was btill haiulsoiue; 
was growing tat ; and had uuver liked to part 
witli her beauty. 

We have dwelt a littlu on this point ns a 
warning — if u'l^ht-liicers can take warning. 
\Ve olinust fear they would sooner quote 
ilrs. Inchbald ns iiu e.xcufjo, than an adtao- 
nitioa. liut at tdl events, beauties of mxty- 
cight niay perhaps consent to bo a littlo 
Bt&rtlcd. 

If this WAS a weakness in Mrs. Inchbald, 
let tighl-lttccrs resemble her in olberreifpecls, 
and if iheir rickety children can forgive theui 
the rest of tl»e world may heartily do so. 
Mrs. Inchbald never had any children to 
need their forgiveness, iiho was a woman of 
rare endowments — an actress, a dramatist, 
a, novelist — and possessed of virtue so rare, 
that slio would practise painful self-denials in 
order to alford deeds of charity, iler acting 
was perhaps of tho sensible, rather than 
the arlisticul sort ; and though some of her 
plays and llirccs have still their seitsous of 
reappearance on the stage, she was too much 
giveu, as a dramatist, to tbcatricul and .senti^ 
meotal effects — too melo-draniatic ; but her 
novels arc admirable, particularly the Simplt) 
Story, which hiis all the element..* of duration 
— invention, passion, and thorough truth to 
aatore in word and deed. To bahiaco thcae 



advnntagea, which she possessed over other 
people, she must needs have some fault^•, and 
we take them (besides the tight-lacin;:) to 
hnve been tiiosc of temper and stubboruness. 
Charles Lamb speaks of her somewhere aa 
tlic "beautiful vixen." The word must 
surely have been too strong for such a 
woman, who is s.'»i<I to have posscs^scd both 
the respect and alfection of all who knew her. 
If our memory does not deceive u.<, he applies 
it to her upon an occasion when she might 
well liavo been angry, and when she 
thought herself bound to resort to measures 
of self-defence, physical as well as monil. A 
distinguished actor, who was enamoured of 
her — and who seems to have been a warmer 
lover otf the stage than he was ujjon it — 
persisted one day in forcing upon her a sm»1u- 
tation, which appeared so alarming, that she 
seixed hini by ttie pigtail and tugged it with 
a vigour so etlicacious as forced hitr to desist 
in trepidation. She related the circumstanco 
to a friend ; adding, with a touch of her 
comic humour, which mu.st have been height- 
ened by the difficulty of getting out the words 
(for she stammered sometimes) — " How lucky 
ihat he did not w-w-wear a w-w-w-wig. ' 
— .MiU Inchbald ha<l lived in several other 
houses in Kensington, which shall be noticed 
as we pass them ; for the abodes of tho 
authoress of lliu Simple Story make clo-ssic 
ground. 

We have now come to Kensington High 
Street, and shall take our way on the lofl- 
Iwnd side of it, continuing to do so through 
the whole town, and noticing the streets 
and- squares tli.Tt turn out of it n.s we pro- 
ceed. NVe shall then turn at the end of the 
town, and come back by Holiantl House, 
Campden House, and Kensington Palace and 
Gardens. 

On our right hand, over the wny, is the 
Palace (iato with its sentinels, and op]iosito 
this gate, where wo are halting, is a sturdy 
good-sized house, a sort of undergrown 
mansion, singularly so for its style of building, 
and looking as if it must have Vjeen the work 
of Vnnbrugh ; one of whose edifices will be 
noticed further on. It is just in his " No- 
nonsense" style; what hi.s opponents called 
"heavy," but very sensible nnd to the purpose ; 
built fur duration. It is only one storey high, 
and looks as if it had been made for some 
rich old bachelor who chose to live alone, but 
liked to have everything about him strong 
ar.d safe. 

Such was probably the casft ; for it is called 
Colby House after a baronet of that name, 
who lived in tho time of George the First, 
nnd who appears to luive been a man of 
humble origin, and a miser. A spectator 
might imagine tliat the andiitcct was 
stopped when about to commence a third 
storey, in order to save thu expense. Dr. 
King, the Jacobite divine, who know Colby, 
nnd who thinks he was a commissioner in tho 
Victualling Oificv, says (la U« Lvt&twc^ wv^ 



< 



t 



k 



HOUSEHOLD "WORDa 



(0Mt4MM 19 



Political AnccJotes of his own Times) that 
the baranct killed himself by rising in the 
niiddle of the night when he was in a profuse 
perspiration (the consequence of a medicine 
Uikt-n to that end), and going downstairs for 
the key of (lie colliir, which he hnd inadver- 
tently left on a tabic. " lie was apprehensive 
tliat his scr«*aiitii might seize the key, and rob 
him of a bottle of his port-wine." 

" This man (adds the doctor) died intestate, 
sjtd Icfl more than two hundred thousand 
poundH in the funds, which were shared 
among five or six day-labourers, who were his 
nearest relations." 

"Who aem pale Mammon pino amidtt hii> store, 
8«o8 but » wwkvard steward for the poor." 

The High Street of Kensington, though 
.he place is so near London, anil contains so 
aiRny new buildings, has a considerable 
resemblance to that of 3. country town. This 
is owing to the moderate size of the houses, 
to their general style of building (which is 
tliat of a century or two aRo), and to the 
curious, though not obvious fact, that not ono 
of the fronts of them is exactly like another. 
It is also neat and clean ; its abutment on n 
putace associates it with something of an air 
of refinement ; and the first object that 
presents itself to the attention, next after the 
senlineh at the Palacc-gatc, is a white and 
pretty lodge at the entrance of the new road 
leading to Bayswater. The lodge, however, 
b somewhat loo narrow. The road is called 
Kensington Palace G.'irdens, and is gradually 
filling with manHionss, sonic of which arc in 
good tsistu and others in bad, and none of 
tiiicse have gardens to speak of; so that the 
spectator does not well see why anybody 
Bhould live there, who can afford to live in 
houses so large. 

Plosant, however, aa the aspect of High 
Street is on first entering it, the eye has 
Bcarcely caught Eight of the lodge just men- 
tioned when it encounters a " sore," in the 
shape of some poor Irish people hanging 
about at the conitr of the first turning on the 
left hand. They look like people from the 
old brokeiY-up cslabli.shiuent of Saint GiWs, 
•nd probably are so ; a considerable influx 
from the " Rookery" in that quarter having 
augmented the " Itookery" in this ; for .so it 
has equally been called. Tins Itookery has 
long been a nuisance in Kensington. In the 
morning you .seldom see more of it than this 
indication at the entrance ; but in the evening 
the inmates mingle with the rest of the 
inhabilants out of doors, and the naked feet 
of the children, and the ragged and dissolute 
looks of men and women, present a pain- 
fiil contrast to the general decency. We 
understand, however, that some of these poor 
people are very respectable of their kind, and 
that the improvements which are taking 
place in other portions of the kingdom, in 
ooQSoqucnce of the attention so nobly p^d of 



late years to the destitute and uneducated, 
have not been without effect in this quarter. 
The men for the most part are, or profess to 
be, labouring bricklayers, and the women, 
market-garden women. They are calcu- 
lated, at a rough guess, to amount to a 
thousand ; all crammed, perhaps, into a placfl 
which ought not to contain above a hundred. 
The reader, from late and painful statemcnta 
on these subjects, knows how they must 
dwell. The place is not much in sighL 
You give a glance and a guess at it, as you 
look down the turning, and so pass on. 
There was a talk, not long since, of bringing 
the new rood, just mentioned, from over the 
way, and continuing it through the spot, so 
as to sweep it clean of the infection, as in the 
case of Now Ilolbom and St. Giles's ; and 
in all probability the im])rovenient will take 
place, for ono advance brings another, and 
Kensington has become of late so much 
hnndsoincr as well as larger, that it will 
hardly leave this blemish on its beauty. But 
leases must expire; and lettings and Bub- 
lettinga for poor people die hard. It is not 
the fault of the Archdeacon, nou-resiilent in 
Kensington {wo mention it to his honour), 
that these lettings and sub-lettings arc still 
alive. 

Most of this unhappy multitude are 
Roman Cntholirs. Their priests tell us of a 
fine house at Lorclto, in Italy, which the 
Virgin >Inry lived in at N.izareth, jiiul which 
angels brought from that place into the 
dominions of the Pope. They al.'so tell us 
that miracles never cease, at Icn.st not in 
Roman Catholic lands ; and that nobody 
feels for the poor as they do. What a pity 
that (hey could not join these feelings, these 
hands, and these miracks, and pray a set of 
new houses into England ibr the poor brick- 
layers. 

Continuing our way from this inau.spicious 
corner, we come to the turning at Young 
Street, which leads into Kensington Srjuarc, 
formerly as important n place in this .suburb 
as Grosvenor Square was in the Melropolis. 

Kensington Square occupies an area of 
some hundred and fifty feet, and was com- 
menced in the reign of James the Second, and 
finished towards the close of that of William. 
It is now a place of obsolete-looking, though 
respectable, houses, such as seem made to 
become boarding-schools, which some of them 
are ; and you cannot help thinking it has 
a desolate air, though all the houses 
arc inhabited. In the reigns of William, of 
Anne, and the first two Georges, Kensington 
Sqvi.are was the most fashionable spot in the 
suburbs; it was fll.'id with freqiientiTs of the 
court; and these are the identical houses 
which they inhabited. Faulkner s.iys, that 
" at one time upwanLs of forty carriages were 
kept in and about (he ncighbnurtiood ;** and 
that " in the time of George the .Second, tlie 
demand for lodgings was so great that an 
ambassador, a bishop, and a physician, won 



NUMBER FORTY-TWO. 



1. 



■Ui-TJUlj 



Known to occupy Bpartmcnts in the aanio 
house." 

Tliu earliest distinguished mime of an 
inliabitaut of this spot in tlie parish-books in 
that of the Dache«3 of Maaarin, in the year 
one thousand six hundred and ninctj-tvro. 
We know not which houso she Uvec] in ; but 
the render must iranjiinne her, nftor the good 
French fashion, tilking; hvr uvom'ng walk in 
Ihusquaiv, the envy ofgiii'-.i'ii. iin r petticoaU, 
kccompaniod by a net o\ iid French 

ts, Villiers, Godolj • 'ot>ys, &i'., 

ng whom is her daily visitor and constiint 
' ng old friend, St Evremoml, with his 
white locks, little scull-cap, and tlic great wen 
on his Ibreiiead. lie idolises her to the very 
tips of hiT fingers, though she borrowed his 
money, which he could ill alford, and gambled 
it away besides, which he could rfot but pray 
her not to do. He also begged her to resist 
the approaches of UHqavbaugli. 

The Duchess waa then six-and-forty, an 
Italian, with black hair^ and, according to his 
description of Iier, still a perfect beauty. 
Fielding thought her so when she v/aa 
younger, for he likens her portrait to Sophia 
Western. 

Uortcnsi^ Mancini was niece of Cardinal 
Mazarin, at whose death (to use her own 
word-s, in the Memoirs which she dictated to 
Saint Kcal) she became " the richest heiress, 
and the nnhappiest woman in Chri.stendom ;' 
that is to say, she found she had got a Jealous, 
mean bigot for her husband, wlio grudged 
her a hanJ-some participation of the money 
he obtained witli her; and, as this was 
touching her on the tenderest point, slic run 
away from him in pure desperation, to see 
how she could enjoy herself cLjewherc, and 
what funds to pay for it she would get out of 
him, by disclosing their iiuarrols to the world. 
The Duke (his name was Meilleraye, but ho 
took the name of Mazarin when he married 
her) wa.s inexorable, and not to be scandiilised 
cut of his meanness; so his wife, after divers 
wanderings which got her 8C4indalii>e<l in her 
t:;rn, came into England on pretence of visiting 
hsr cou.sin Mury of E.ste. Duchess of York, 
but in reality to get a pension from Charles 
the SeconiL This she did, to the amount of 
four thousand "a year ; evcrv" pennv of which 
was probably grudged her by the lavish king 
himself, who could not afford it, and who is 
said to have been disguitted by her falling in 
love with another man the moment she got 
it. Charles, when in exile, bad sued for 
Ilortensia's nand in vain from her unclu the 
Cardinal, who thought the royal pro.spccts 
hopeluKS, and who was in fear of the Protector, 
Madame de Mazarin, however, continued to 
Bouriidi among the ladies at Whitehall during 
Charles's reign ; she had half her pension 
confirmed to her by King William; did 
nothing from first to last but keep company 
and gamble it away ; and six years after her 
residence at Kingston, died so poor, at a 
null hotue in Chelsea (the last, aa you go 



from London, in Paradise Row), that her 
body was detained by her creditors till her 
husband redeemed it The husband em- 
balmed it; and surviving her many years, is 
said (which is hru-dl}' credible) to have 
carried it about with him all that time, wher- 
ever ho went, a.s if determined on ha%-ing the 
woman with him, dead, who would not 
" abide " him while she was living. 

Madame de Mazarin was praised by Saint 
Evrcmontl for every kind of good quality 
except prudence in money matters. When 
she was a girl, she tells us that she and her 
sisters one day threw upwarvls of three hun- 
dred louis out of window, for the pleasure o.* 
seeing a parcel of footmen scramble and fight 
for tlicra. They must luive been louis d'ora, 
or so many pound wterling; a sum worth 
two or three times the amount at present 
She says that the amusement was thought to 
have hastened her uncle's death. She was 
afterwards accused, while in a convent, where 
her husband succeeded in " stowing " her for 
a time, of putting ink into the hoi}* water box 
(to blacken the nuns' faccn), and of frightening 
them out of their sleep at night, by running 
through the dormitory with a parcel of little 
dogs, yelping and howling. She saya that 
these stories were cither inventions or exagge- 
rations; but wo arc strongly disposed to 
believe them. 

NUMBER FORTY-TWO. 

. Tire true original Number Forty-two — of 
which a copy may be seen in any of the 
tliousand.s of towns and cities between Nepau 
and Ceylon— is situated in the very heart of 
the black town of Colombo, amidst Uio streets 
in which dwell natives, half-castes, and 
Eurasians, or country-born descendants of 
Europeans. It is to be found in the chief 
thoroughfare of the town, if such a term as 
thoroughfare can properly bo applied to the 
narrow choked-up pa.'isage boiling over with 
hot coolie.H, enraged bnllock-drivcrs, furious 
horsckccpcrs, dusty hackeries, and ricketty 
palanquins. 

This state of tropical conglomeration will 
be more readily understood when I mention 
that the carriago-way or street is the only 
passage available for ])edestrians and eques- 
trians, for bipeds and quadrupeds. The 
Dutch, when raa.slers of the place, had 
provided every hou.so with broad lux- 
uriant verandahs, covered in and nicely 
paved; so that the dwellers ia the town 
might not only sit out under shade in the 
open air of an evcnin^j; but during the furious 
heat of the day, could walk from one end ot 
the street to the other under these broad 
and pleasant covered ways;. Now, however, 
these verandahs have been appropriated 
and railed off, as open receptacles of all 
sorts of merchandise. Where in former 
jolly days radiant Dutchmen sat and smoked 
their pipes, and quailed Schiedam, are now 



I 
I 



nOUSBH3LD WORDS. 



[OailieMk- 



pilcd up tOo mosses of iron and crntcs of 
carthcnwore. AVIicre buxom, merry-cyt'd 
la&ocs once flirted with incipient burp)- 
masters, aro shiploads of rice, and car- 
goes of curry BtulFs. Thu pcrftmie of the 
rose and the oleander nre supplanted by the 
caustic fmpinco of garlic and salt-fish. 

Dotted along this fnigrnnt street, among 
rice stores, iron depots, ;ind dried lish ware- 
houses, are the shops of the Moonncn trader!^ 
the only attractions for Europeans in this 
quarter. The supply of all deacriptions of 
u.<!cful or fancy articles of domestic use 
to the English is in the hand^ of tlits^c 
people, who may bo gaiil, indeed, to be the 
Jews of India. Ili-re and there a BurRher 
or Kura.sian may lie seen vending pickltd 
pork, perfumery, and parasols, but never one 
of the indigenous natives of the country. 
They cannot make up their roving, unsettled 
minds to shopkeeping; although some of their 
women have now and then the industry to 
Siscome manufacturers and vondora of 
" hoppers," "jaggery," and other Indian 
village luxuries. 

Your regular Moormen shopkeepers, or 
bazoar-mcii, possess such terrifically unpro- 
nouni't'ablo names that, by common consent, 
tiieir English customers "designate them by 
the numbers of their shops. In this way a 
little, thin-faced, shrivelled-up Moorman, a 
small portion of who.'se name cflnsists of 
Mcera Lcbbe Hema Lebbe Tamby A.hamadoc 
Lebbe Marcair, is cut down to Number 
Forty-eight ; which is the title he is usually. 
known by. 

The most flourishing of these gentry is 
certainly Number Forty-two ; a portly, 
oily-skinned, well-conducted Moorman, with 
a remarkably well-shaven head, snruiounted 
on its very apex by a ridiculously little white 
linen cap, like an expanded miiflin, ilis 
bazaar is admitted on all hands, especially 
amongst the fair sex, to be " tirst chop." 
Yet a stranger would imngino that the 
fiscal had pos.ses,sion of the place and was on 
the point of selling off by auction the entire 
contenU : so confused and motley an ap- 
pearance do tliey wear. 

The doorway, narrow and low, is jealously 
gnarded by a pile of grindstones, sunnuunted 
by a brace of soup-tureens on the one side, 
and by tools and weapons of otTence on the 
other; so that the chances are that, in try-irg 
to cs<-!ipe the Newcastle and SLnflbrdshirc 
Oharybtlis you get caught upon the sharp 
jwinLs of the Sheffield Scylln. Once past 
these dangers, however, you forget •all 
your anxiety and nervousness in the bland 
Bunny countenance of Number Forty-two. 
He is truly delighted to sec you, he is so 
anxious to place the whole contents of his 
store at your complete disposal that one 
might fancy his solo object in life was to 
minister to the pleasure of the English 
community. 

Number Forty-two directs your atten- 



tion, in tho most winning manner, to a 
choice and very dusky collection of hanging- 
lamps of the most grotesque ffushicn. His 
fowling-pieces are poiiitotl out to you as 
perfect marvels. If you require any blacking- 
brushes, or padlocks, or Wind.sor soap, or 
smoking cap.s, or tea-kdtdcs, he possesses 
them in every possible variety, just out by 
the very latest ship. 

Our bazaar. is by no means aristocratic 
On the contmry, it is most decidedly repub- 
lican in aU its tendencies. It admits of no 
distinction of ranks. The higher born wares 
are placed on an equal f<>uting with the most 
lowly merchandise, the most plebeian goods. 
Earthenware joaUes cut-glass; ironmongery — 
and some of it rare and ruily too — Kjlbows the 
richest porcelain ; vulgar tin-ware hob-nobs 
with silks and satins. Tart-fruiLs and pickles 
revel in the arms of forty yiirds of the best 
crimson velvet. Pickled salmon in tins are 
enslirincd amongst Coventry ribbons. 

I don't happen to require any of his per- 
fumery or preserves, nor am 1 anxious about 
muslins or plated-candlesticks ; I simply war.t 
to select a few very plain winc-glasse.s, and 1 
know there are none better than at Number 
Forty-two. Piles after piles of the fragile 
glass-ware are raked out from under a mass 
of agricultural implements, and it is really 
marvelloiR to see how haritilcssly the brittle 
tilings are towslcd and tumbled about amongst 
pondcrou.s wares nnd massive goods. Jlow 
peacefidly the lions and the lambs of manu- 
facturo.ii repose together within the dusty 
dark walla of Forty -two. 

My portly friend with the muffin-cap is 
never disconcerted by any demand, however 
out of the common way. From ships' anchors 
and chain-cables down to mtmiikin-pins, iio 
has n supply of every possible variety of wares. 
I have often asked for things that I never 
dreamt of requiring, just to try the wonderful 
resources of Numl>cr Forty-two, and sure 
enough he would produce the articles one by 
one. I thought I had caught liiin oiue when 
I requested to look at a lew warrtiing-p.ina, 
and pictured to myself how hugely chap- 
fallen he would appear, to be obliged to con- 
fess that he had no such things in his store 
But not a bit of it. lie sidle aw.ny very 
placidly into some dismal dark hole of a place, 
amongst a whole cavern of bottles and jara, 
and just as 1 pictured him emerging into broad 
daylight, dead-beaten, he came upon mo 
radiant nnd cheerful a.s ever, benring a gigan- 
tic and genuine " warn)ing-]>,nn," apologising 
to nu', as he removed the CDaiing ufdust from 
it, for having but that one to olfer — it was tho 
lust of bis stock. T li:id it sent home as a 
real curio.sity, and bung it uji in my library 
amongst other rare articles of vtrtu. 

There was one pecuiiarity about my im)Q!n- 
capped (Hend which must not be omitted 
He never njade any ab.itemetit in tho price 
demanded for his articles, be they of the latest 
im[iortation, or the remains of .in invoice 






Ctwiw Ikrkm^t 



NUMBER FORTY-TWO. 



If 



' 



stMtdiag over since he first started in busi- 
ness. A shop-keeper in nearly any other 
country in the world would, at the end of a 
ccrtnin number of years, clear out his old 
slock, and dispose of it as he best could to 
make room for new wares. But not so 
Number Forty-two; nor indeed any other 
nuuiber in tliat bazaar. There lay the old- 
fashioned cotton-prints, and silk waistcoat 
piecc-s, «nd queer-looking ribbons of no colour 
Mt «ll. Years hiave rolled past aince they 
Qrst entered their present abode. The mer- 
chant who imported them died of a liver 
attack a do2en years fiinco, Thej' would not 
Hell in eighteen hundred and twenty, and 
tlicitfore are not Tery likely to move off in 
sightcen hundred and Hfty; but the s-ime price 
is atSscd to thcni now as then, and the only 
ch-ntice for their di.sposal apj)ears to be by the 
direct intcrpobition of a tire or an earthrpiiike. 
Number Forty-two had doubtless heard thi»t 
wines are improved by age, anil he may 
possibly imagine that some- mellowing and 
enriching proceia goes on in a lapse of years 
with regard to silks and cottons. 

Tliia class of Indian shop-keepers have 
moreover a very confused and my.-^titied con- 
ception of the real value of some goods. They 
can tell you to a tritlu the worth of a dinner- 
Bot, or of a dozen Dutch hoes, but in milli- 
nery and other fanej* articleis they are oftt-n 
fearfully mistaken. A Sfoorman buys what 
ia tcrme<l, in technical lang\iiigc, a " Chow- 
chow'' invoice — in other word.s, a mi.xed 
assortment of hardware and solt-ware, of eat- 
ables and wearablei. ile is told the lot is 
Talucd at a hundred pourub sterling ; he 
offers eighty, and tidces them at ninety. Ho 
refers to the invoice on opL-ning out the 
goods, tuid gets on very well in pricing them 
until he comes to such things as ribbons, 
gloves, lace, ±c. ; which are the dear and 
which the cheap ho cannot possibly tell, and 
be, therefore, tickets them at so much the 
yard or the pair all round, as the case may 
W In this way I often pick up a glorious 
bargain at Forty-two, buying kiif-gloves for 
cightccn-pcnce, for which in London 1 should 
have to pay at least four shillings; and a 
tritlo of real Brus-sels lace for my wife at the 
price of the very commonest Nottingham 
article. 

The fortunes of Forty-two were once 
placed in the most imminent jeopardy from 
m circumstance which happened in his shop 
while I was there, and which became, at the 
lime, the food of all the hungry gossip-mon- 
gers of the place. My friend had a Moorish 
assistant remarkably active, but dissiptilcd 
and impertinent, lie was ugly beyond mea- 
sure, and when ho grinned, which he fre- 
quently wuuld do in spite of strict injunctions 
to the contrary, he distended a cavern of a 
mouth that w.is perfectly repulsive. This 
creature had become one day unusually ex- 
cited, and it appears in the fervour of his 
jollity bad l^d a wagor with a young neigh- 



bour of kindred habiU, that he would kisfl 
the first female customer who should set fi-wt 
within his master's shop on that morning, be 
she fair or dark. I can imagmo the horror 
with which poor Forty-two beheld his grin- 
ning deputy fulHl his engagement by saluting 
the fair cheek of an Knglish Isdv, and that 
ladj- — as chance would have it — the wife of 
one of the highest civil functionaries of the 
place. The nlfiiir was hushed up as much 
as it could be, but in the end it oozed out; 
and people, so far from deserting Number 
Forty-two, actually flocked to it to hear the 
particulars of the affair. The offender was 
dismissed ; but not until he had imparted to 
that particular shop a celebrity it had never 
previously enjoyed. 

There are other numbers besides Forty- 
two which enjoy a cousiderahlo reputation, 
all things considered, but they certainly lack 
the fashionable repute of the aforesa-d. For 
instance, there is Number Fortj-seven, a 
remarkably well-conducted man, very steady, 
very civil, and exceedingly punctual in set- 
tling his accounts with the merchants, who 
esteem him accordingly. This worthy iloor- 
man transacts business much on the samo 
principle as his neighbours, but unlike 
Forty-two and one or two other active 
numbers, he is given to indulge in certiuii 
»if»ta» during the heat of the dny, which no 
influx of customers can debar him frotti en- 
joying. As the hour of high noon appronches, 
he spreads his variegated mat upon the little, 
dirty, ricketty, queer-looking couch, under the 
banana tree in the back court-yard by the 
side of the well, and tlivrc, under the plea- 
sant banana shaile, he dor.cs off, fanned by 
such truant brcezea .ts have the courage to 
venture within such a cooped-up, shut-in pit 
of a yard, dreaming of customers, accounts, 
and promissory-notis. During this .slumber, 
it is in vain for any onu .to attempt to coax 
a yard of muslin, or a fish-kettle, out of 
the incxornblo Forty-s^eVLtu The .somnife- 
rous spell has desccndwl upon liis dwarfy 
deputy; who, rather than wako his master, 
would' forfeit his chance of Paradise; and 
he, no less drow.^v himself, ojvens one eye 
and his mouth only, to assure you that the 
article you retjuii'o is not to be found in their 
shop. You in-^iisl that it i.^ You know 
where to lay your hand upon it The deputy 
Forty-seven sl»nkes liis dr<.>w8y head in sora- 
nifcroas uubelii f You seek it out from its 
du.sty, nmrUy hidiiig-|dace, and produce it 
befi^re his unwilliiiu; face. lie opens another 
eye, smiles, nods to you, and is away again 
far into the seveiitli heaven. There is no 
help for it, but to appropriate. tlie article and 
pay for it on your next visit. 

Number Forty-ei(;ht is a small bustling 
variety of .Xloormnri, making a vast show of 
doing a large stroke of business; but, as for oa 
1 could ever perceive, doing next to nothing. 
He bought largely, paid as regularly as most 
of other numbers, was constantly opemng 



i 



30 



HOUSEHOLD TTORDS. 



[OiadHMd kf 



Lugo packing-cnsw and cralcs, and sorting 
out their contfnls into heaps; but I never 
rotnunibcreJ to have soon a singlo customer 
within his shop. How the man lived was, 
for a long time, a perfect mystery to me ; but 
I learnt at length that he disposed of his 
purchases entirely by means of itinerant 
hawkers wlio, armed with a yard-measure 
and a pair of scales, and followed by a pack 
of loaded coolies groaning under huge tin 
CMeS and buCTalo-skin trunkys, perambulated 
from town to village, from house to hut; and 
by dint of wheedling, pulling, and flattering, 
succeeded in returning witli a bag full of 
rupees and pice. 

For Number Sixty-two I entortained a 
more than ordinary respect. Unlike his 
Moorish brethren ho possessed • remarkably 
rational name; — Saybo Dora. Originally a 
hawker, he had by his steady conduct won 
the confidence of the merchants, who sup- 
plied him with goods wherewith to open a 
titore, at a time when such places did not 
e-xist in town. From small beginnings, he 
rose to |E:reat transactions ; and now, beside 
a flourishing trade in the baza&r, carried on 
pretty extensive operations in many smaller 
towns throughout the country. It was by no 
means an unusual thing for this siniply-clnd, 
moan-looking trader to purchase in one day 
from one merchant mufillns to the value of 
n thousand pounds, crockery for half that 
amount, and, perhaps, glass-ware for ss much 
more. For these he would pay down ono 
fnurth in hard cash, and so great was the 
confidence reposed in him, that his bags of 
rupees, labellod and endorsed with liis name 
and the amount of their contenlti, were re- 
ceived and placed in the strong-room of the 
Englishnuin without being counted. Saybo 
Dora's name on the packages gave thom cur- 
reacy. 

So much for their business aspect; bjt 
once I paid a visit to Forty-two in hi* private 
dwelling. In one of the dullest, dirtiest, and 
most Hqualid-lookiiig streets of the black 
town dwelt he of the muffln-cnp and portly 
person, The hut was perched high up on a 
natural parapet of red iron-stone, with a 
glaeier of rubbish in front. The day had l>een 
fearfully iiot, even for India ; the very road- 
way was scorching to the feet though the sun 
had Bet, yet the tiny windows and the rara- 
Bhackling door were all closed. Nobody wa.s 
lying dead in the house, as I first imagined 
might he the case. They had only shut out 
the heat 

I found Forty-two enveloped in a sort of 
winding-sheet, reclining on some coarse mat- 
ting, and snioking a very large and dirty 
hookah. A brazen vessel was by his side, a 
hnum lamp swung from the ceiling; and, on n 
curiously csarved ebony stand, was a little sort 
of Rtew-pan cninu.s a handle HUcd with sweet- 
meats. In an adjoining part of the dwelling, 
divided off only by some loose drapery for 
want of c door, lay sprawling on the earthen 



floor a leash of infantine, embryo Forty-twos; 
while^ shrouded in an impenetrab!* mass of 
lauslin, crouched Mrs. Forty-two, masticating 
tobacco kavos and betel nut Smoking, eating 
sweetmeats and curry, and sleeping foi-m the 
sum total of the earthly enjoyraenti of tlua 
race of people. Their sole exception to thia 
dreary, ca^;ed existence being an oixasional 
religious festival, or a pilgrimage to some 
shrine of great s.inctity, when the muslin- 
shrouded wife, the mu.slin-loss children, the 
swcebueats, the hookah, and the braxcn ves- 
sels are packed into a hackery which, with 
its huge white bullock, jingles and creaks over 
the ruts and stones as though the wheels 
and a.\le had got a touch of St. Vitus's 
dance, and for that one day at any rate 
Number Forty-two may be fairly said to be 
out of town. 



^\J^ EXPLODED MAGAZINE. 

SovE years, ten or a dozen ago, during 
the Repeal agitation conducted by the late 
Mr. O'ConncIl, an outburst of retrospective 
patriotism and poesy took place in a ballad 
furnished willi the title, " Who fears to speak 
of 'Ninety-eight?" It was first published 
in a newspaper, and referred, I suppose, to 
the unhappy rebellion which in tfiat year 
desolated the fairest portion of Ireland ; but 
I have never read it, nor, beyond its title, 
have r anything more to do with it here 
It awakens no partisan feeiiugs within me, 
and might as well be the song of The IJnyne 
Water, or the Shan van Vatigli, Vinegar Hill, 
or Cn>j>(>ie9 lie down — intensely orange, or 
vividly green, for any effect it could have on 
my susceptibilities. 

'Ninety -eight was not an anntts mirabilu, 
although Nelson's great victory at .\boukir 
was won in its autuiim. But every year was 
one of wonder then, and the age was one of 
nmrvels. Dynasties and thrones were being 
pounded up by the French armies like rotr 
ten bones in mortars. Wherever over the 
globe there were no wars, there were, at 
least, rumors uf wars. And yet the world 
wagged, and the seasons came and went 
There were as many wet and sunny days 
under republics as there had been under mo- 
narchies — in anarclu' as in tranquillity. Tha 
monthn brought their same tribute of fruit, 
or flower.H, or grain ; and were the same 
months, though the calendar had been remo- 
delled, and they were henceforth to be Fruo 
tidors, Therniidors, or Pentoses. And it 
was the same death that kings sufftTud on the 
scaffold and soldiers in the tield that a poor 
shepherd or a servant maid suffers to-day, 
and that you and I may suffer tu-morrow. 
Sleeves nnd ho.sc may alter, but legs and anus 
remain the same. Hunger was hunger and 
thirst thirst in 'Ninety-eight as it is in 'Fifty- 
three. 

The other day, rambling about, I stumbled 
upon an odd volume of an old Magazine for 



ih= 



CbatlM DMksB*^] 



AN EXPLODED MAGAZINE. 



II 



my isTourite 'Ninetj-eiglit. Tltis was at a 
book-stall close to the Four Courts, Dublin ; 
and I iiuaieJiiitc'y h'.'c.ime its po.sscasor atthvi 
OuUttJofscv iliug. The book-stall 

keeper, who . . Sir Charles Grandison 

of bibliopolci, politely offered to send my 
purehode home for me, but I took it to my 
habitat myself and revelled in 'Nin«>ty-cight 
half that night. 

I found ray Mag. to he in the hundred and 
third volume of ius age, a very rv!.spectable 
antiquity even in 'Ninety-eight; and, had it 
lived to the present day, it would have been a 
very Methuselah ainong Mags ; but the work 
went the way of all waste paper, I am afraid, 
years ago. f cannot pretend to give you any 
detailed description of its contents ; for, as per 
title-page they included letters, debates, anti- 
quity, philosophy, mechanics, husbdndry, 
pirdomng, Qfteen more subjects, and "other 
txtti And scicucfei," besides " an itnpartitd 
account of books in several languages," the 
" state of learning in Europe," and the " now 
theatrical entertainments of 'Ninety-eight. 
And mark that my Mag was only a half- 
year's volume, from June to December. So 
1 will say very little about philosophy or 
husbandry, the state of European learning, 
and the new thcatric^il entertainments of 
'Ninety-eight, merely culling as I go on what 
seems to me curious, principally antong 
the domestic occurrences of my year, and 
which may intei-cst even those Mho have 
no peculiar solicitude concerning 'Ninety- 
ctghL 

First, I found a frontispiece elegantly 
engraved on copperplate, representing a 
wood or bosky thicket, in which reposed a 
lady in the coetumo of Queen EUizabcth, 
but much handsomer; behind her the poet 
Dante; by her side a lady in a Grecian 
costume, name unknowii ; and around her a 
lion, several sheep, and a rabbit In the fore- 
ground a hideous dwarf in a fancy dres.q, 
whom I was uncertain whether to take for 
the fabulist Esop or the Polish Count Boru- 
]aw»ki, was presenting a laurel wreath to a 
gentleman in a full bottomed wig, large cuffs, 
rnlBcs, shorts and buckles, who seemed very 
anxious to get the wreath indeed, and wa.s 
incited thereto by the poet Horace; who 
egged him on with a large scroll, backed up 
by another gentleman, of whoso person or 
dress nothing was visible but a very volumi- 
nous wig looming above his friend's shoiJder, 
mad was on that account perhaps intended 
KS an allegoiy of Mr. Charles James ¥ox. 
On reference to ray Mag. for an explication 
of this engraving, I was informed that it was 
emblematic of Summer, and some lines from 
the Seasons followe*! the information ; but ns 
I could not see what he of the wig and ruffle 
had to do with summer and Queen Elizabeth, 
I considered it and passed it, over aa a mystery 
of 'Ninety-eight, to be bo1v«1 by future study 
and niMarcb. 

Mrs. Muscadine writes to the editor during 



June, complaining of the mania for volun- 
teering. She bewails the fact that her hus- 
band, .and all the hosbanda of ho* acquaintance, 
have now the same squareness of the shoulders 
to the body and the front, their heels arc all 
in a line, and their thumbs are all as far back 
as the seams of their trousers. She complains 
that her husband's aiFections are completely 
alienated from her by the rival charm of one 
Brown Boss, and that at prayer time he calls 
out "front rank, kneel!" for all 'of which 
she rates th* Duke of York heartily, but 
gooil humouredly. I wonder whether the rei- 
embodiment of the Militia, or the recollections 
of Chobham will call forth any Mrs. Mu.sca- 
dines in 'Fiftj'-eight Next I find a long 
biography of John Wilkes. Wilkes died in 
the year before. In addition to his biogra- 
phy, ray Mag. has this month a notice of Dr. 
Farmer, the author of the Essay on the 
learning of Sbakspeare, also deceased in 
'Ninety-seven. In the House of Lords, on 
the twenty-eighth of March (my Mag. only 
reports it in June), the Bishop of Rochester 
attributes the numerous applications for 
divorces, which have recently taken place in 
ttieir lordships' House, to the Jacobinical 
principles which had been inculcated from 
Prance. In the House of Commons, on the 
third of April, on a motion for leave to bring 
in a bill for the abolition of the slave trade at 
a period to be specified, whicli had been 
moved by Mr. Wilberforce, there aro eighty- 
three ayes, and eighty-seven noes — m.ajority 
for the middle passage, the harracoons, tho 
bilboes, and the cartwhip, four. 

April the twcnty-fldh, in a social little 
committee of ways and means, Mr. Pitt 
moves for a trille of twelve millions eight 
hundred and fifly-scven thousand pounds 
sterling for tho army. He states, pleasantly, 
that he thought lost Christmas that ten 
millions cr so might have done ; but that 
" into the particulars of that sum ho will lot 
now enter." Considerate, this, of the pilot 
that weathereii the storm. To make things 
plensant he clap» on, in the same cosy little 
committee, tho " additional tax upon s-ilt," 
and the " additional duty upon tea," and the 
"tax on armoriid liearings," " which," saya 
Mr. Pitt, " re.sts upon a principle exceedingly 
dtlFerent," which in truth it does. 

Three-fourths of this month's number of 
my Mag. arc occupied with a narrative of 
the events of<the Irish rebollion, and of the 
battle of Vinegar Hill. They belong to 
history. 

On May tho third tlic Whig Club dine 
together at the Freemasons' Tavern, Lon- 
don, Mr. Fox in the chair. They are all very 
nierry, ani Mr. Fox gives the " Sovereignty 
of the Pco[ile" (the Habeas Corpus Act has 
just been suspcn<lc<l). The Duke of Norfolk, 
on his health being drunk, sensibly observes, 
that " where the people hrive no rights, the 
nobility have no privileges worth enjoying;" 
and tho Duke of Bedford in a neat speech 



I 




C2 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



^ConilacWd b) 



intimntcs that tho meeting is respectiiVjlo. 
-Mr. Erskino is rather glum ; and wh«i his 
henltli is drunk, couplttl with " Trial by 
Jury," he contents himself with merely 
thanking the company, telling them that they 
know the reason wliy he is silent Where- 
upon Mr. Sheridan (indefatigable in the pur- 
suit of a joke under difficulties) guts up and 
proposes, " Our absent friend, the Habeas 
Corpus ;" at which it needs no very rctros[)ec- 
tivo effort of second sight to see the bumpers 
tossed off, and hear them jingled lustily by 
the Whig Club. 

The suspension of "our absent friend" 
authorises, on the first of June, the arrest by 
Town.send, the How -street ofliecr, of Mr. Ag«r, 
a barrister, Mr. Curran (the son of the 
Curran), Mr. Stewart, and the Hon. V. D. 
LawleM (now Lnnl Cloncurry, and still alive 
I think), all under the authority of the Duke 
of Portland's warrant on a charge of trco-son- 
ablo practices. Failing our " absent friend," 
justice, in the shape of Mr. Townaend, lays 
hold of Jfr. Lawless's French valet and of 
his papers. Mr. Lawless was taken in SL 
Albnn's Place, Pall Mall, — that peaceful, 
shady, tranquil little thoroughfare, hard 
by the Opera Arcade, the Piilraos of half-pay 
officers, 'Tv9 as difficult K>r mc to fancy an 
arrest for high trea~<on in St. .\lban's Place, 
as to picture the rotting skulls of Jacobites 
over Tumple Bar ; yet both have been almost 
within the memory of man. 

Od the seventh of June three persons 
named Reeves, Wilkinson, and Adams, are 
hangwl in front of Newgate. .-Vll for forgery. 
My Mag. says that this was " the rao.st awful 
example of justice ever witnessed." Doubt- 
1«»; but the exampK", however awful, was 
not efficacious enough to prevent its repetition 
many many more times in 'Ninety -eight. On 
the eighth of June there i.s another awful 
example (though my Mag. does not say 
bo) on Ptjinenden Heath, one O'Coiglcy 
being hanged for high treason, in carry- 
ing on an improper correspondence with the 
French. 

The next day dies, in Newgate, Dublin, of his 
wounds, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, son of the 
Duke of Leinster. On the twenty -first of May 
a proclamation offering a thougand pounds 
reward for his capture liacl been issued. 
Through tho treachery of a servant-girl the 
place of his retreat was made known. A Cap- 
tain Ryan, Mr. Swan, a magistrate, and the 
well-known Major Sin; went with three 
coaches and some soldiers, aa privately as 
pos-sible to tho house of one Murphy, a 
fcather-dreasor, in Thomas-street. There 
they found Lord Edward lying on a bod, 
witliout his coat and shoes. He feigned, 
at first, to surrender ; but a desperate 
struggle ensued, ho being provided with a 
cut-and-thrust dagger. With this he gave 
Captain Ry\n S"ven wounds between the 
collar and the waistband, and Swan tho justice 
t^o. He was at last disabled by a pistol-shot 



from Major SiiT; overpowered, TOn<!uctod to 
the castio, and thence to Xevvp:ile, where, as 
I have said, he died on the ninth of June. 
Captain Ryan died of his wounds two days 
before his prisoner. Major Sirr lived till 
within a short pcriotlof the present day. Ho 
was for many years one of the Dublin city 
magistrate*", and sat in the Carriage Court to 
determine ciisjjules and bear complaints 
against that eccentric race of beings, the 
I>ublin car-drivers. He was of cour--*o cor- 
dially hated by all the cabbies. One Jehu, a 
most inveterate declarer of tho thing which 
was not, on being remonstrated with by tho 
uslier of the Court for tergivers.ition (to use 
a mild word) retorted " Mu.sha then ! Cock 
him up with the truth ! It's more than I 
over told the likes of him!" Singiilarly 
enough Jfajor Sirr's last moments were spent 
among his enemies. He ^^•as tiikcn mortallj 
ill whilo riding in an inside car, and was 
scarcely carried from it before he died ; it 
was even currently reported that ho did 
actually dio in the vehicle. A short time after 
his death a cnr-drii'cr was summonsed (or, as 
t!ie carman calls it, " wrote by tho polis") for 
stumping a brother whip, i. e. inveigling a 
fare away from him. " I wouldn't a minded 
his stumping 1110," said the complainant ; " but 
cEdn't he call out, when the laily was getting 
into t!io kyar, thnt it was loinc was the kyar 
that the black ould major died in ? And one 
couldn't sLiiod that yer lionourl" 

In the month of July my Msig. has great 
news from the Convict Settlement at Botany 
Bay. Not the least curious among these is tho 
niitificalion of the appointment of the noto- 
rious George Barriiigton the pickpocket to be 
a peacc-olRwT or superintendent of convicts — 
with a grant of thirty acres of land, and a war- 
rant of emancipation. I5«irrington h.id. ren- 
dered considerable services to the executive 
during a mutiny on the pass.ige out, nTtd since 
hi.s arrival in the colony had behaved himself 
to the entire satisfaction of the authoritie.s. I 
believe he died a magistrate, in ea.sy circum- 
stances, and univcrsixlly respccteiL 

But tho most noteworthy item in this 
Antipodean budget, i-s the account of the 
opening of a theatre at Sydney ; the manager 
(Mr. Johr. Sparrow), tlio actors and actrcs.sca 
and tho inajority of the audience being con- 
victs. Of tlie men Green, and of tho women 
Miss Davis, best deserved to be calle<l actors. 
The first performance appropriately com- 
mcnee<i with tlie " Fair Penitent," and on ano- 
ther occasion the "Revenge," and the "Hotel," 
were presented. The dresses were chiefly 
made by the company themselves; but some 
veteran costumes and properties from tho 
York Theatre were among tho best that 
made their appearance. Tho motto of theso 
histrionic exiles was modest and well chosen, 
being " We cannot command, but will 
endeavour to deserve success." I supposo 
that it was on this occasion that the 
celebrated prologue, tho produclion of Mr- 



II 



DickcM.] 



AN EXPLODED lilAGAZINL 



28 



Barringion, was spoken, in which woro to 
be found tia appropriate lines : — 

" Troo pntriols we, for bo it understood 
W.e left cuit cOB&try tor our country's good/' 

The Hiithoritics on licensing the undcr- 
takini; gave the manager to understand that 
the slightest infraction of propriety would be 
visited by the banishment of the entire 
company to aiiotlier setth'nient, there to work 
Ln chains. The coercive aaslership of the 
revels is somewhat nkin to the theatric*! 
discipline in u.su in the Italian provinces 
under Austrian yoke, where refractory tenors 
are not unfrequently threatened with the 
bastinado by the military commandant, and 
pnma donnas in the sulkH arc marched o(f to 
the guard-house bet\vc«n two files of Croat 
Grenadiers. The principal drawback to the 
prosperity of the Sydney theatricals scctns, 
•Gcording to my Mag., to have been the 
system of accepting at the doors, in lieu of 
the price of admission, as milch flour, beef, or 
rum, as the manager chose to consider an 
equivalent It was feared that this would 
act like gambling, as an inducement to the 
convicts to rob ; and more serious evil arose 
in the fivqucnt losses of watches and money 
by the respi.-ctable portion of the audience 
during the performances, and in the advan- 
tage some of the worst of the fair penitents 
took of the absence of tlio inhabitants at the 
theatre to break into their houses, and rob 
them of their contents. 

On the twenty -eighth of July my con-stant 
Mag. returns to the "Awful Examples." Two 
gentlemen, borriutere and brothers, Henry 
and John Sheared, are hanged and decapitated 
in Dublin for high treason. At the List 
moment an urgent appeal was made to the 
Government for mercy, were it even to otic 
of the brothers, and with an offer on their 
rarts to make ample confessions ; but the 
Gtovcrnment replied "That they had a full 
knowledge of everything that could come out 
in confe«.siun, and that the law must take its 
course." Which the law does. 

July the twenty-first, William Whiley Ja 
flogged through the fleet at Portsmouth for 
mutmy on board Her Majesty's ship Pluto. 
On the same day, Brian, for the same mutiny 
on board the tame ship, is banged at the 
yard-arm. 

July the twenty-third, McCann is tried for 
high treason in Dublin, as being the author 
of some treasonable papers found in the house 
of Mr. Oliver Bond. He i« found guilty, 
sentenced to death, and hanged on the nine- 
teenth of August On the twenty-sixth, 
Sfichael \7illiam Byrne is also tried for the 
same offence, and thw jury, after five tninutfs' 
consideration, And him guilty. He is impeni- 
tent, ^nd exclaims, " with a warm accompani- 
oientof action," tluit "he glories in the event 
of Viis trial." He is executed on the twcnty- 
flllb rS August " Several other person!*," 
ado J my Mag. as if weary of particularising 



the examples, "have also been hanged for 
high treason during the present month." 

On the thirty-first of July, the Blenheim, 
a whale ship, arrives at Hull fro?n the Green- 
land seas. Passing >Vhitcbooth Iloa<ls the 
Nonsuch and Redoubt men-of-war, guard- 
^ips, fire scvcr.'il shot into her (as a species 
of welcome, to England, home, and beauty, 
I presume), but without effect Three boats 
arc then matmed and sent towards her, for 
the purpose of impressing the seamen of the 
Blenheim ; but these opinionated mariners 
"agree to differ" from the men-of-war's 
men, and arming} thetnsulves with harpoons, 
Greenland knives, an<I spears, resolutely op- 
pose their coming on board The Nautilus 
sloop of war, havinir, by this time, joined the 
other two, also sends a boat, and hres more 
than thirty shot into her " with intent to 
bring her to," but without effect A dc.idly 
struggle ensues ; and the seamen of the 
whale ship fire a swivel, loaded with grape- 
shot, into the mcn-of-war'a boat, and des- 
perately wound two men and an officer ; and 
at liLst their opponents row oil'. One of the 
woundctl int-n dies in the hospital the next 
night, «nd the life of another is despairLMi of; 
whereupon, a coroner's jury sit on thu- body 
of the scuuian deceased, and return a verdict 
of wilful murder a;;ain.st a person unknown. 
Meanwhile, the crew of the Blenheim hav« 
reached the .shore and concealed themselvoa 
— none of tlicm being wounded. I wonder, 
if any one of them had been killed, and the 
same coroner's jury had sat on the corpse, 
what would have been the verdict upon rti>«. 
I mu.st not omit to state (hat, the day afler 
this abominable affray, warrants are issued 
for the .ip prehension of such of the Blenheim's 
crew as had been identified by the crews of 
the men-of-war boats. My Mag. docs not 
state if they are ciptured or not; but our 
friend the Habeas Corpus being still absent, 
I am not without mi.«giving for them if they 
are aiTcsted. 

On the Second of August an event takes 
place with which rao.st readers of the annaU 
of the stage must be familiar. Mr. John 
Palmer, a fiivourite actor, while enacting 
the i)art of the " Stmngcr' in the Liverpool 
theatre, drops down de.id upon the stage. 
He is buried on the thirteenth, at Warton 
near Liverpool, and mi his tombstone (with 
questionable ttt.ste) arc engraven these awfully 
significajat words — 

" There m nnotliei and a better world 1" 

My Mag., to add to the vulgar horror of the 
catastrophe, stiites th.it these very words 
were the Last ho uttcrud on earth ; but a 
reference to the text of the Stranger will 
show that the words m question are in thu 
part of Mr.*?. TTaller. 

On tlie sixth of September, my Mag. chro 
nicies the rcHult of six informations heard 
before the magistrates at Bow Street, London, 
and laid by the Stamp Office against a 



\ 



I 



S4 



IIOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



Mr. Williams, for suffering, in his room in Old 
Round Court, Stmnr], sundry pDraons to rend 
tlie Daily .Advertiser, and other newspapers, 
for (he consideration of one penny each. The 
oITfnce being held to bo clearly made out, 
Mr. Williams Ls convicted in the penalty of 
five pounds on each information ; " which is 
certainly sufficient," sagely concludes nly 
Uag., " to convince the proprietors of reading 
rooms that newspapers must not be among 
the number of the publications which they 
sufF(.T to he read for hire, or, as they caU it 
(my Mag. is ironical) admi&sioa money." 
From which it would appear likewise that 
even penny news-rooni.<s have had their per- 
secutions and their martyrs. Ludicrously 
»nd iucowiistently enough my Mag. in thus 
pleasantly rooording Mr. Williams' malprac- 
ticoe, docs so in a "llistorical Chronicle," 
clearly news, and taxable accordingly, but of 
which the Stamp Office docs not take the i 
slightest notice. 

On September eleventh, at six o'clock 
in the cveninnr, the north-east hank of the 
New Rivor bursts near Hornscy-house, and 
inundates a circuit of four miles of meadow 
land. 

On the 1 7th September, Robert Ladbrook 
Troys is tried for forger)'. Guiltv. Drath. 
On the same day John Collins is mdictod at 
the instance of the Stamp Office for forging a 
platu to counterfeit the " two shilling hat 
stamps." The principal evidence against him 
18 that of ft Jew, Barnard Salomons, who 
acknowledges hi.s having suffered about two 
yelrs previou.sly, three months' imprisonment 
for coining counterfeit halfpence. For the 
forgery of the "two shilling hat stamits" tho 
verdict on John Collins is, Guilt)'. Death. 
The next day, the 18th, twenty-Sve nu-n arc 
tried on board the ship Glaiiiator, at Ports- 
mouth, fur mutiny. Nineteen are found Guilty. 
Death. Thirteen are executed ; two are to 
have two hundred lashes ; two one hundred, 
and one \n acquitted. On the twentieth, 
Mr. Silvester, tue common-seijcant at the 
Old Bailey, pronounces judgment (Death) 
upon ten men and four women. Twenty- 
six are to be transported, twenty-six im- 
prisoned, and two whipped. .\nd so from 
month to month '\incty-cight pursues the 
even tenor of its way. The " awful example" 
harvcttt is unvaryingly fruitful ; but it would 
bo wearisome to continue recording the 
etatistici of each hemp crop. 

Mr. Sabatier, impressed with the preva- 
lence of poverty and crime in "Ninety -eight, 
attempts to elucidate their CAU.ses. One great 
caoflo of poverty according to (his gentle- 
man is in "buying of unprofitable food. 
I" Tea and bread and butter," he says, " is a 
Tory unprofitable br'-akikst fgr working 



people." Cheese and porter are still worse : 
" The former of these have very little nourish- 
ment, and the latter is costly." Unfbrtnnately 
Mr. Sabaticr dors not point out the profit- 
able food. A paramount muse of poverty is 
keeping a pig; " a pig, if it runs about, con- 
sumes time in looking afler it ; it frequently 
gets into the pound; and eats up the scraps 
of the family where there should bo none ; it 
occasions the boiling of victuals merely for 
the sake of the pot-liquor ; and then this 
stunted, half- starved crcftturc must be 
fattened." I wonder that in Mr, Sabatier's 
virtuous indignation against the pig, he did not 
add in aggravation of its crime.>t that it 
squeaks in infancy and grunts when grown up, 
and that in feeding, it puts its foot in ihc 
trough, quit* ungcntecUy, Giving cliildrcn 
pence to buy tarts is, in Mr. Sab.itier's eyes, 
a heinous offence, and invariably productive 
of poverty. He clenches Uis argument by « 
moral piece on the downfall of the eldest 
son of a peer, who was reduced by impro- 
vidence (beginning with penny tartu) to 
the s-id necessity of enlisting as a common 
soldier. 

The causes of crime, Mr. Sabaticr ascribes, 
among others, to fijting the same punishment 
to different crimes, tlic greater of which has 
a tendency to conceal the lesser : To impu- 
nity as in unconditional pardon, or in com- 
muting dci^th into transportation; To the 
confinement of prisoners before trial in 
idleness and bad company ; To allowing legal 
passages for escape : To proscribing a man's 
character by visible dismemberment, such as 
public whipping, the pillory, or the stocks ; 
To legalising, or rather not prohibiting pawn- 
broktre " and other receivers :" To pennitting 
profligate characters to flU the religious 
ministry ; To non-residence and neglect of 
incumbents : To permitting mendicity : To 
KulFcring seditionists to escape punishment: 
To allowing temptations to lie in the way of 
poor pcofile, such as game and wood in forests : 
To the sale of spirituous liquors and lottery- 
tickets : To levying high duties on foreign 
commodities, and thereby encouraging smug- 
gling. Among a variety of notions eminently 
germane to 'Ninety-eight Mr. Salwtier, as it 
will be seen, is in some respects many many 
years in advance of iL 

So I lay by my Mag. for the present 
Years hence perhaps our grandchildren may 
take up some exploded magazine for thiS 
pressent year ; and, as they turn it cursorily 
over, wonder how such things, therein re- 
cordcil, could ever have been. I sincerely 
trust, however, that littlo a<Ivnnced as wo 
may \k\ 'Fifty-tiireo bag not evinced any 
symptoms of rutrogression towards 'Ninety- 
eight. 



I 



**iimaiar in their Mouth as E0U8EH0LD W0RD8:'-«<u»mf». 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A WEEKLY JOURNAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



Vol. VUL 



McELBATH .t BARKER, PUBLISHERS. 

Omct Ko. 11 Srkvci vmsTTt Hnr Taaic. 



WUULE No. 181. 



■ OUT FOR A WALEL 

Toe people tritli portmanteaus, trunks, 
Macintoshes, and umbrellas, bandUoxi'S, car- 
pet-bags, sha-.' t'-'- ' ■--, and niuirclees, 
gentlemen w 1 1 ,• caps and i-arry 

,|r,rt..i 1...I I... .,..,.,^,. that you 

li.T. . ' ■ boiif^tit a 

ntA , -, , . I in Euro pi'. 

but, tii'licvc me, j'ou mnst tread your way if 
you dctiirc to feel honestly that you liavti 
travelled it 

I am not a gro&t traveller. Have nerer 
been in the East, and never been in the West, 
luve only board of the North Pole, and do 
not up to tliia date entertam .iny idea that 
I shall ever toko a passage to Australia. 
Parriiig a quiet walk up the Moselle, and 
little trips of that sort, I have never been 
out of my own country. But I have spent 
some of the happiest days of tny life afoot in 
England. 

I should recommend any one in want of a 
good home walk not to stop out longer than 
about a week. Dc may let the railway take 
him quickly to new ground — it does not in 
the Ica-st matter what or where ; there is no 
dull ground anywhere for the pedestrian — 
anil tlicn let him step out He should never 
look up to the sky in fear, but in love and 
enjoyment. The more change*! there arc in 
it, the more variety and pleasure is provided 
f.ir lurn. Let the sun beat at him, and the 
\\ cheerily in his face, and the wind 
i ill-hum(;ura out of him. He should 
go out impeded with nothing; have no knap- 
sack, not even a sly scrap of luggage in hiis hat, 
no second coat upon bi.^ back, and no umbrella 
in biR band. He should go out nothing but a 
bi'l ' f ' red man, to have communion 
til Mth nature. lie miLst make up 

his Mijiiu iui- iho week to disreprard his per- 
sonal appfftrruice. In fine exciting stormy 
weather he will get a little draggle -t'ulod : he 
muiit not mind that lie must be content 
for the week with a comb, a tooth-brush, a 
towel, and a pair of socks, in one coat pocket, 
suii a single reserve shirt in the other. That 
last-named garment will very likely have been 
wet through once, and certainly be crumpled, 
by the time ho puts it on. Its appearance 
does not matter in the least ■, the purposes of 
cleanliness will be fur the nonce sumciently 



answered, and he must demand no more. 
Every morning ho should' batlio in the first 
sparkling stream with which he meets, and 
that is why the towel should Ijc carried. More 
impediment he ought not to lake with him. 
Unless attached to it by habit he ought not 
to tJike even a stick : bands absolutely free 
are altogether preferable. I need not say 
that he must have a little money in his purse ; 
it ought, however, to be little, and should he 
used only to satisfy simple wanti«. 

It is not necessary that a \^^lk should last 
a week. One may get ajoy that will become 
a memory for ever out of the walking of a 
smgle day or night I remember one night 
taking a thirty miles' walk into Birmingham 
to catch a train that started before sunrise. 
There were not more shades of light between 
sunset and darkness, than there were emo- 
tions begotten by the scenery that shifted 
during sucfi a walk. First, the long sun.set 
shadows of the trees ; then a glimpse fronj a 
hill top of t!ic Severn between deep banks 
with the blue darkness of evening about it ; 
thi'n twilight softening into delieious thought, 
promoting gloom, and the moon rising over a 
flat surface of trees and hedges, contrasting its 
pure light with a red glare of fire on othcr 
]>arts of the horicon, as I got into Wolvor- 
hampton. 

Properly I meant to have taken the train at 
Wolverhampton, but I found the train gone 
when 1 reached the little station, and there 
were a couple of sleepy men sitting with a 
lantern on one of the benches, making a great 
noise in the place whenever they roughed or 
moved their feet Tlicn they looked up when 
they heard my footfall, and saw how the 
mrjon threw the big shadow of mj- hat over the 
railway sleepers. I was glad the train was gone, 
and tnnlged away again rejoicing over the ten, 
thirteen, or fifteen miles — I forget how many 
they were — to Birminphani. That is the 
most wonderful night walk in this coTiutry ; 
all blighted soil, and glare of fire, and roar of 
furnacos. Tho iiiten.sc purity and calm of the 
moonlight and tho starlight seen from among 
such fh-cs impress the mind with an entirely 
new sensation. I got into Binningham a 
couple of hours too soon, and found the town 
calmly asleep. The place was my own, and 
I occupied the empty streets with a full 
heart, rejoicing. 



I 



I 
I 



L 



9H 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[UnlMUtlf 



One great source of enjoyment in that walk 
vrns its uncxprutcdnuss. A walk is never so 
good as when it comes upon one by surprise. 
I h.ad set out orisinnlly, meaning to walk four 
miles to the iriuil-eoiich, from an out-of-the- 
way inn. I had not bwkeJ my place; the 
mail was full; and so the walk began. 

Another iiiii.rovi.sod walk wa.s coiitrivej in 
conijiany. One quiet autumn afternoon, I sat 
with a coupk' uf good friends, one old, one 
Toung, in the ^ai-den of a rustic public-house 
in Cheshire. There was a big tree overhead, 
and a small spire among adjaceut bushes, 
and there n'jis some tea (the produce of our 
native hcdjjjes) on the table before us. Far 
away the Mersey* glittered in the afti;rnrion 
sun; the smoke of Liverpool dulled the 
horizon. On the other side were the Welsh 
mountains. 

"Glorious oat-door weather!" said one 
of us. 

"How beautiful the mountains look!" said 
another. 

" I should like to be among them." 

"Let us go 1" 

Elder friend laughed, but yoilngcr friend 
looked serious. " It is only nine miles to 
Chester; wo e.in sleep there to-night, and 
walk round North ^\'alos in about Ave daj^." 
Elder friend thought us mad; but, fluding 
us in earnest, an<l not disposed to be knw':fd 
down by a mere clean shirt difliculiy he 
agreed to carry word to our friends thiit we 
should be home in less than a week. Off 
wo set 

Oh, tlio delight of a first trudge into North 
"Wales thus suddenly presented to the fancy ; 
when satisfaction comes at once with the 
first burst of strong desire. We might linve 
made up our minds to go on that day fort- 
night, hare thought about it, have got up out 
of our beds to start, and finnlly have set 
about it as a preconcerted business, vcith a 
fog upon our spirits. But we did nothing so 
stupid. Since there wa.s no rca.«;on why wc 
should not give rein to the humour, while 
•ur hearts were open to the promised pleasure 
and under the very sunlight, while still in the 
very mood of buoyancy that had begotten the 
desire to tread the mountains, off we wont. 
The Cheshire girls in their Welsh jackets 
were figures on the frontisinece of llie great 
bock ".f pictures with which wc were setting 
on. t; 11\ our memories. Villages fixed them- 
Belres house by house, and black beam by 
black beam, u[ion our hearts. We can tell 
any man upon our deatli-bcd.s how many geese 
were busy aboyt nothing on a little triangle 
of green that faced us as wc rested by the 
handle of a village pump. The short cut 
oTer the fields that we made brought u.-?, to 
our dismay, when evening was far iidvanccd, 
down to the dirty banks of the broad estuary 
of the Dec — evur so many miles from Chester 
— and there were our Welsh mountains 
ominously full of night, over the way, quite 
ii»ocenibl& 



That is another of the glories of foot 
travelling. I would not give a song for the 
society of a pedestrian who was not a bold 
fellow at short cuts. There is an excitement 
in trespassiog and going astray out of the 
bondage of paths over an unknown eountty— 
steeple-chasing for a place to which one has 
never been in his life before, but which he 
hopes by his superior ingenuity to get at by 
a rood unknown to any of his ffllow-crcaturcaL 
The wonder as to what may be the result^ 
and the strong, wholesome emotion that 
makes the heart beat, as though one had 
taken suddenly a shower bath when something 
wonderfully unexpected comes in sight, is a 
fine tonic for the jaded spirits. It was a fine 
surjirise for us to come down upon the muddy 
waters of the Dee, when we believed we 
might l>e on the point of getting into Chester. 
A Hncr surprise of the kiud is to come down 
from behind -n hill upon the dashing breakers 
of the Bca itself by moonlight, when ono 
thinks ho has achieved a short cut to some 
town twenty miles inland. Tlie dushing of 
fire is nearly as good an accompaiiinient to 
such a surprise as the dashing of water. I 
remember one night being out on business 
in deep snow, f was on horseback then. 
Trying to get home in the dark, long after 
midnight, I became more and more per- 
plexed ; and suddenly a turn of the road 
brought me into the immediate prcsscnce of a 
set of blast furnaces, spouting up fire into the 
daiV sky, and clamouring fiercely in my cara. 
I did not in the least know what blikst fur- 
naces they were, had never seen them before; 
and their huge {tower made me aghoet 
at the sense of my own heljilessness. 1 suj> 
pose that is the reason why such a thing 
as a bla.st furnace, or the thunder of the soa 
upon a shore, can impress helpless mortola 
who have lost their way with such peculiar 
emotion. It is an emotion very wholesome in 
the main, as every emotion is that is entirely 
natural. 

To go back to the Dee. I need not say that 
having corae upon its estuary, we had nothing 
to do but trace the river up its course to find 
our way to Chester. There we slept soundly, 
true to our purpose, and, the next mornings 
we set out into Wales. Some driy I may 
think it worth while to trouble the world 
with some of my experiences in Wales 
during one or two trips aa a pedestrian. 
T intend nothing of that sort now. Aa,I 
write, I can recall the solemn closing of the 
hills about our road at twilight, and the glit- 
ter of the afternoon sun through the bushel 
as we lay over the clear trout stream in some 
happy valley. Wc enjoyed also the trout; 
wo did indeed. We wore amused at the port- 
manteau travellers, who at Llanbcris fur- 
nished themselves with guides and ponies 
and donkics (lacking mules), for the .iscent of 
Snowdon, the great JBritish Chimborazo. The 
path being obvious, wc took no guides, and 
I umplj walked up after dinner and walked 



I 



down again. To the top of Snowdoti from 
LkuiberLs is not ft bit more diilicult or com- 
plex au adventure Otaa a cliiub up Snow Hill 
from llolborn. Th* way from Bcddgelert is 
more tedious. 

Upon the strength of my first walk about 
Wales I set up as a guide, and was showing a 
friend over the Welsh mountains on a subse- 
quent occasion. De did not full}- enjoy rain, 
ajid set out afler brc-vkfast from (.'.'imarvon 
one wet morning, only induced so to do by 
the assurance that it was on!}' seven miles! lo 
Llanbcris, and that I, being an old Welsh- 
man, knew the way. But ways look different 
in ditfcrent weather, espcciiJIy to people who 
have only seen them once or twice. W'e got 
up among unknown mountains, passed ro- 
m&ntic lakes, over which now and then the 
sun broke fitfully. The walk wa.s gloriou.s, 
but we ware out of the Llanberis road ; and, 
as li. shortly became evident, on the wr6ng 
side of Snowdon. Then the rain c*me down 
in sheets, and we arrived, wet through, and 
Rowing famously, at a small stmg);ling vil- 
lage. Disposed naturally to fortify our con- 
stitutions with brandy and water, wc stopped 
at the village inn. Pure AV'elsh — no English 
spoUen. "llave you brandy ?" Shake of the 
bcoti. " Have you rum ?" Shake of the head. 
"Have you gin?" Nod— " Yek, yek." And 
the good woman brought us whiskey. Each 
of us had accordingly a gla-ss of hot whiskey 
and water, for which the iaiullady knew 
enough English to make a charge of twopenco 
a head. Cheap, certainly, but we bad not 
wherewith to pay, A dire catastrophe broke 
in upon our peace, we had both I'.-ft Carnar- 
von without change, and wore afloat with 
nothing snuiUer than a sovereigrn. Change 
for a Boven-ign was not to bo had in Bet- 
twys. I doubt whether twenty shillings in 
rilver could have been raised by the united 
fundholders of the whole village. A sovereign 
was too much to leave for fouq)encc with 
a magnanimous wave of the hand and a 
"nevermind the change;" while not to pay 
go moderate and fair a demand, would have 
been abeolutcly wicked. The woman stared 
at us and grinned, and left us to do as we 
could. Then my good genius reminded mo 
that in the compendious list of my luggage 
was included half-a-dozen postAge stamp.^i. 
We thought the problem solved. I offered 
them in triumph; but, alas! the worthy 
woman shook her head — she had not the 
leaat idea what they were. We said that 
she might sell them — take them to the Post 
Office; she shook her head and smiled on 
helplessly. Nobody in Bettwys writes or 
receives letters, it appeared. Then there 
arose from the chimney-corner a grey-hcadef" 
Welshman who had been looking on. He 
picked up the stamps, examined the gum at 
the backs, and looked at the Queen's heads. 
Having sadsScd himself, he put the six 
stamps into hia poucli, and gave the woman 
fburpence. She curtsied and looked pleased. 



The man looked solid and commercial. Tf 
ever Bettwys bo a great town, that was the 
sort of man you would expect to sec thriving 
on 'Change there. He ought to have be«n 
bom in Change Alley. 

We went on through wind and sun and 
rain, under wild snatches of cloud, Ihat rolled 
in great volumes, choru.ssing to the eye a 
music of their own through the broad heaven. 
Instead of midiing a seven mile walk to Llan- 
beri.-i, we traversed nineteen miles of a most 
glorious country — all of it new and unex- 
pected — and at last contrived to find our 
way into Beddgelert ll was a place quite 
out of our route; but the pedestrian who 
cores about his route does' not deserve tho 
legs he walks upon, Tliat unexpected march 
upon Bcddgelert is another of my choice rc- 
mctnbmnces. 

I might go on conjuring up such recol- 
lections by tho hour together, but I do not 
want to be a bore, so I will leave off I have 
wished simply to show people how they may 
go out for a pleasant walk. Tlicre is a fine 
season now before us, though indeed every 
season is fine to the man whom I should ro' 
gard as a right-minded pedestrian. Only i 
mean to say, that-a season of travelling caps, 
trunks, portmanteftus, plaids, and so forth, has 
set in ; and while half of our neighbours are 
up the Kliine and down the Rhone, wo who 
remain behind have no rea.son to envy any 
man his continental triji.s. We have only to 
make up our minds, and take a hearty walk 
or two at horae in the old country. 

A DEAD SECRET. 

Is what manner 1 became acquainted with 
that which follows, and from whom 1 had it, 
it serves not to relate here. It is enough tliat 
he teat hanged, and that this is his story. 

* « « « • 

" And how came you," I asked, "to be — " I 
did not like to say hanged for fear of wounding 
his delicacy, but I hinted my meaning by an 
exiires.sivc gesture, 

" How came I to bo hanged?" ho echoed 
in ft tone of strident hoarscne&s, " You would 
like to know all about it — ^wouldn't you !" 

lie was sitting opposite to rac at the end of 
the walnut-tree tabic in his shirt and trousers, 
hi.'j bare feet on the bore polished oak floor. 
There was a dark bistro ring round each of 
his eyes ; and they — being spherical nUhcr 
than oval, with the pupils fixed iind coldly 
shining in the centre of tho orbit.'; — vrcTO 
more like tho.se of some wild nniniid than of 
a man. The hue of his forehead, t«x>, was 
ghastly and dingy ; blue, violet, anil yellow, 
like a bruise that is five days old. There 
wns a clammy sweat on his beard and under 
do lobes of his ears ; and the sea-brcczo 
coming gently through the open Venetians 
(fcT tho night was Very sultry), farned his 
long locks of coarse dark hair until you 
might almost fancy you saw the sevpenta of 




the Tories imthing in them. The fingers 
of his lean hands were slightly crooked in- 
MTirds, owing to some involuntary muscular 
figicUty, and I nob'ccd that his whole frame 
was pcrvadci] liy a nervons .trembling, lesa 
iipu.<miodic than regular, and resembling that 
which shakes a man afflirtcd with delirium 
tremen*. 

I had pivcn him a ci^r. After moistening 
the end of it in his mouth, he said, bending 
his eyes towards roe, but still more on the 
wall behind m)' choir than on my face : " It's 
no use. You may torture me, sconrge me, 
flay me alive. You may rasp mo with rusty 
files, and seethe me in vinegar, and rub my 
eyes with gunpowder — but I can't tell you 
where the child is. I don't know — I never 
knew I How am I to make you believe that 
I don't know — that T never knew?" 

"My good friend," I remarked, "you do 
not seem to be aware that, so far from wish- 
ing you to tell mc where the child you allude 
to is, I am not actuated by the slightest 
curiosity to know anything about any child 
whatever. Permit tt\c to observe that I can- 
not sec the smallest connection between a 
child and your being hanged." 

" No connection?" retorted ray companion 
with vehemence, " It w the connection — the 
cause. Hut for tliat child I should never have 
been hanged." 

lie went on muttering and panting aliout 
this child ; and I pushed towards him a bottle 
of thin claret (Being liabltj to be called up 
at nil hours of the night, I find it lighter 
drinking than any other wine.) lie filknl a 
large tumbler — which he emptied into hitii- 
sel^ rather than drank — and I observed thnt 
his lips were so dry and smooth with parched- 
Dcss, that the liquid formed little globules of 
tnoisturc on them, like drops of water on an 
oil-cloth. Then bo began : 

I had the misery to be bom (he said) about 
eeven-and-thirty years ago. I was the off- 
spring of a double misery, for ray mother 
was a newly-made widow when 1 was born, 
and she died in giving mo birth. What my 
name was before I aj^sumcd the counterfeit 
that has bln.stcd my life, I shall not tell you. 
But it WM no patrician high-sounding title, 
for my father was a petty tradesman, and my 
mother had been a domestic servant Two 
kinsmen succoured me in my orphanage. 
They were both unclos ; one by my father's, 
one by my mother's side. The former was a 
retired sailor, rich, and a bachelor. The latter 
waa a grocer, still in business, lie was a 
widower, with one daughter, and not very 
well-to-do in the world. They hated each 
other with the sort of cold, fixed, and watch- 
ful aversion that a savage cat has for a dog 
too large for her to worry. 

These two uncles playc<l a miserable game 
of battledore and shuttlecock with me for 
nearly fourteen years. I was bandied about 
from one to the other, and equally maltreatetl 
by both. Now, it was my Uncle CoUerer who 



discovered that I was starred by my Uncle 
Morbus, and took me under his protection. 
Now, my Uncle Morbus Was indignant at my 
Uncle follerer for beating me, and insistedJ 
that I fihoiiiti rcttim to hia roof. I was beateQi 
and starved by one, and starved and beaten 
by the other. I etwlvavoured — with tliat can- 
ning which brutal treatment will teach the 
dullest child — to trim my sails to please both 
uncles. I could only succeed by ministering 
to the hatred they mutually had one for tb«J 
other. I could only propitiate Collerer b» 
abusing Morbus : the only road to Morbtu'i 
short-lived favour was by defaming CoUerer. 
Nor do I think I did either of them much in- 
justice ; for they werti both wickcd-mindcd 
old men. I believe either of them would 
have allowed me to starve in the gutter ; only 
each thought that, apptariTig to protect me, 
would naturally spile the other. 

When I waa about fifteen years old it oc- 
curred to me, that I should make an election 
for good and all between my uncles; else^ 
between these two knotty crabbed stools I 
might fall to the ground. Naturally enough 
I chose the rich uncle — tlic retired saflor, 
Collerer; and, although I dare say he knew 
I only clove to him for the ^ake of his money, 
ho seemed perfectly satisfied with my hearty 
abuse of my Uncle Morbus, and my "total ab- 
negation of his society; for, for three years I 
never went near his house, and when he met 
me in the street I gave him the breadth of the 
pavement, and recked nothing for ht.s shaking 
hi.<5 fist at niP, and calling iiie so ungratefiu 
hound. My Uncle Collerer, although retiroi . 
fwrn the sea, had not left off making mone/.i 
He lent it at usury on mortgages, and in' 
numberless other crawling ways. I soon 
became his right hand, and assisted him in 
grinding the needv, in seUiug up poor trades- 
men, and in buckling on the spurs of i>pen(t 
thrifts when they started for the nice, the end 
of which waa to be the jail. Mv uncle wM 
pleased willi me ; and, although lie was mit- 
erably parsimonious in his house-keeping 
and in Lis allowance to mc, I had hopes and 
lived on ; but very much in the faiihion of i 
rat in a hole. 

I had known Mary Morbus, the groocr'l 
daughter, years before. She wa.s a sicklj 
delicate child, and I had often teased and 
struck and robbed her of her playthings, in 
my evil childhood. But she grew up a bop- 
passingly beautiful creature, and I loved her. 
Wo met by stealth in the park outside her 
father's door while he was o-sloep in church 
on Sundays ; and I fancied she began to 1ot« 
mc. There was little in raj' mind or person, 
in my white (ace, elf-locks and dull speech to 
captivate a girl j but her heart was full of love^ 
and its brightness gilded my miserable clay, 
I felt my heart newly opened. I hoped for 
something more than my uncle's money bagSi 
We interchanged all the flighty vowsof ctcP' 
lasting alfeetion and constancy common ts 
boyg and girls ; and aJthough wc knew the 



iU 



f 



A DEAD SECRET. 



29 



rce hstredfi that stood betwixt us and 

ewe hit the accomplishment of our 
time and fi)rtun«, and went on 

uid loving. 

evening, at snpper-timc — for which 
re had me heel of a Dutch chci"^, a 
' seconds bread, and a pint of small 
I noticed that my UncU Collerer looked 
nalignant and sullen than ui^uol. Ue 
Uttic, and bit bis food as if hu had a 
gainst it When supper waa urer, he 

an old worm-eaten Viurcau in wliich 

1 wont to keep document* of value ; 
Jong out a bundle of papers, untied 
pa to road them. I took little heed of 
»r his favourite course of evening rcad- 
I bonds and mortgage dwth ; and on 
T8 of bills of exchange falling Juo be 
ipond hours in poring over tlic acccpt- 
irid endorsement'^, and even in bed 
.Id lie awake half tli- n'n-lit moaning 
>oning lest the bill. i be paid 
morrow. After err _ uiing and 

these papers, he toased them over to 
i left the room willtout a word. Then 
1 him going up stairs to the top of the 
where mv room wiw. 

the packet with trembling hands 
ling heart I found every sinido' 
'^had written to Mary Morbus. The 
semi'd to turn round. The white sheet 
ind the black letters dancing on it were 
)u]d see. Ail beyond — the room, the 
the world — waa one black unutt«:rabIo 
darkness. I tried to rearl a hne — a 
ad knovra by heart for months ; but, 
scared senses, it mi|;ht as well have 
baldee. Then my uncle's heavy step 
ard on the stairs. 
mtcrod the room, dragging after him 

I black portmanteau in which I kept 

I I was able to call my own. " I hap- 
have a key that opens this," he said, 
lave read every one of the fine love- 
that silly girl has sent you. But I 
HO much more ediflod by the perus.il 
(«, which I only received from your 
ids Uorbu.s — stituiglc him! — last night 
covetous hunks, am 1 1 Ton live in 
do you I Hope told a flattering talc, 
ung frienib I've only two words to 
you," continued my uncle, after a few 
s' composed silence on his part, and of 
sinitniuttion on mine. " All your rags 

that trunk. Either give up Ma^ 
i now and for ever, and write a 
» hor here in my presence to that 
-or turn out into the street and never 
our face hcr« again. Make up vour 
uickly, and for good." He then ftlled 
a and lighted it 

lat he sat composedly smoking his pipe, 
employed in making up my wretched 

liive, fear, interest, avarice — cursed 
■ — alternately gained aaoendancy within 
Lt length there came a craven inspira- 
lat I might temporise; that by pre- 



tending to renounce Mary, and yet secretly 
assuring her of my constancy, I might pbiy 
a double game, and yet live in hopes of 
succeeding to my uncle's wealth. To ifty 
shame and conAision, I caught at this coward 
expedient, and signified my willingness to do 
as my uncle desired. 

" Write then," he rosimied, flinging me a 
sheet of letter-paper and a pen. "I will 
dicUte." 

I took the pen ; and following his dicta- 
tion wrote, I scarcely can tull what now ; but 
I sappo.se some abject words to Mary, saying 
that 1 resigned all claim to her hand. 

" That'll do very nicelv, nephew," said mr 
ancle, when I had fini.slied. " We needa t 
fold it, or seal it, or post it, because — he, he, 
he ! — we can deliver it on the spot" Wo 
were in the front parlour, which was sepa- 
rated from the back room by a pair of folding- 
doors. M}' uncle got up, opened one of these ; 
an<J, with a mock bow, ushered in my Uncle 
Morbus and my cousin Mary. 

" A letter for you, my dear," grinned the 
old wretch; "a letter from your true lore. 
Though I dare say you'll have no occasion to 
read it, for you must have heard mo. I speak 
plain enough, though I am asthmatic, and 
can't lost long — can't last long — eh, nephew V 
This was a quotation from one of my own 
letters. 

When Mary bxik the letter from my uncle, 
her hand shook tt.s with the pal'iy. But, when 
I besought her to look at oil; und passion- 
ately adjured her to bcticvu that I was yet 
true to her, she turned on me a glance of 
scornful incredulity: and, crushing the 
miserable paper in her hand, cost it con- 
temptuously from her. 

" Vou marry my daughter," my Uncle 
Morbus piped forth — " you ?" Your father 
couldn't pay two-and-twopcnce in the poimih 
He owed me money, he owesS mo money to 
this day. Why ain't there laws to make sons 
pay their fathers' debts? You marry iny 
daughter I Do you think I'd h.ive yjiur 
fatlier's son — do you think I'd have your 
uncle's nephew for my son-in-law?" I could 
SCO that the temporary bond of union between 
my two uncles was already beginning to 
loosen ; and a wretched hope sprang up with- 
in me. 

" Oct out of my house, you and your niece, 
tool" cried my Uncle Collerer. "You've 
served my turn, and I've served yours. Now, 
go I" 

I could hear the two old men fiercely, yet 
ffeebly, i^uftrrelling in iho passage, and Mary 
weeping piteously without saying a word. 
Then the great street door was banged to, 
and my uncle came in, muttering and panting. 
" I hope you are satisfied now, uncle," I 
■aid. 

'" Satisfied !" he cried with a tort of shriek, 
catching up the great earthen jar, with the 
leaden top, in whith ho kept his tobacco, aa 
though be oaeant to fling it at me. "Satisfied I 



i 



ao 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ICo»aiic««« I 




— ril satisfy you : go. Go ! and never let me 
Bcc your hang-dog face again ! " 

'' You surely do not intend to turn me out 
of doors, uncle," I f&ltcred. 

"March, bag and baggage. If you arc 
here a minute longer Fll call the police. 
Go!" And he pointed to the door. 

" But where am I to go ?" I asketl. 

" Go and beg," «aiii my uncle ; " go and 
cringe to your dear Uncle ilorbus. Go antl rot." 

So saying he opened the door, kickcil my 
trunk into the hall,_^thrust mc out of the room 
and into the street, find pushed my portmnntenu 
after me, without my mukinj the slightest 
resistance. IJc Blammed the door in my face, 
and left me in the open street, at twelve 
o'clock at night 

I .slept thitt ntght at a coffee-shop. I lind 
a few shillings in my pocket; «nd, next 
morning I took a Imlging at, I think, four 
shillings a week, in a court, somewhere up a 
back street W'tween Gray's Inn and Le.ither 
Liine, [lolborn. My room was at the top 
of the hou.sc. The court below swarmed 
with dirty, ragged children. My lodging was 
a back garret ; and, when I opened the win- 
dow I could only see a narrow strip of sky, 
and a foul heap of sooty roofs, chimney-pots 
and leadii, with the great dingy brick tower 
of a church towering above all. Where the 
boily of the church was I never knew. 

I wrote letter afler letter to ray uncles 
and to .\I;iry, but never received a line 
in answer. I wandered about the street-; 
It!] day, feeding on saveloys and penny loaves. 
I went to my wretched bed by dayliglit, 
and groaned for darkness to come ; then 

foancd th;vt it might grow light again, 
knew no one to whom I could apply for 
employment, and knew no means by which 
I could olftiiin it The hou.so I lived in 
and the neighbourhood were full of fweign 
refugees and street mountebanks whose jiirgcm 
I could not underiitaiid. My little stock of 
money slowly dwindled away ; ftnd,in ten days, 
my mind wa.s ripo for suicide. You must 
serve an apprenticeship to acquire that ripe- 
Dttsa. Crowded strijei*, utter desolation and 
friendlRSsnew in them, scanty food, and the 
knowledge that, when you have spent all your 
money and sold your coat and waistcoat, you 
must starve, are the best masters. They produce 
that frame of mind which coroners' juricfs call 
temporary insanity. I determined to die. T ex- 
pended my l.-ust coin in purchasing lauda- 
num at dilTiTcnt cheroiiiLs' sliri))s — n pt-nny- 
worth Btcachj which, I, said, I wanted for the 
toothache ; for I knew they would notsupfily 
A large quantity to a stranger. I took my 
dozen phials home, and poured their contents 
into a broken mug that stood on my wa.sh- 
hand stand. I locked the door, sat down 
on my fatal black portmanteau, and tried to 
pray ; but I could not 

It was about nine in the evening, in the 
summer time, and the room was in that state 
of semi-obscurity you call " between the 



lights." White I sat on my black port- 
manteau, I heard through my gaiTct window, 
which was wide open, a loud noise ; a confusion 
of angry voice."!, .in which I could not dis- 
tinguish one word I could conqtrehend. The 
noise was followed by a pistol-shot I he«r 
it now, as distinctly as I beard it twenty 
years ago ; and theu another. As I look«d 
out of tiio window, I saw a pair of hands 
covered with blood, clutching the sill, and I 
heard a voice imploring help for God's sake I 
Scnreely knowing what I did, I drew up 
from the lead& below and into the room the 
body of a man, who.so face was one miL<%s of 
blood — like a crimson mask. He stood upright 
on the floor when I had helped him in ; his 
face glaring at me like the spot one sees after 
gazing too long at the sun. Then he began 
to staggtr ; and went reeling alxiut the room, 
catching at the window curtain, the table, the 
wall, and leaving traccsof his blood whcruvor 
he went — 1 following him in an agony — unffl 
he fell faoc-forcmost on the bed. 

I lit a candle as well as I could. lie wu 
quite dead. Ilis features were so scorchod| 
and mangled, and drenclicd, that not one 
trait was able to l>e distinguished. The pi&tol 
must have been discharged full in his fkc«, 
(or some of his long black hair wa.s burned oft 
He held, clasi)cd in hi.s left hand, a pistol 
which evidently had t>een recently discharged. 

I .sat by the side of thi.s horrible object 
twenty minutes or more waiting for the alarm 
which I thought must necessarily follow, and 
restdving what I should do. But all wiis as 
silent as the grhve. No one in the houM 
seemed to have heard the pistol shot, and no 
one without seemed to have heeded it. I 
looked from the window ; but the dingey mass 
of roofs and chimneys had grown Uack with 
night and I could perceive nothing moving. 
Only, as I htsld my candle out of the windowit 
mirrored itself dully in a pool of blood on tlu 
leads below, 

I began to think I might be accused of tho 
murder of this unknown man. I, who had 
so lately courted a violent death, began to fett 
it, and to shake like an aspen at the thought 
of the gallow.s. Then I tried to persuada 
myself that it was all a horrible dream: 
but there, on the bed, was the dreadful dead 
man in his blood, and all about the room 
were the marks of his gory fingers. 

I began to examine the body more mi- 
nutely. The dead man was almost exactly of 
my height and stoutness. Of his age I could 
not judge. His hnir was long and black like 
mine. In one of his pockets 1 found a pocket- 
book, containing a mass of closely-written 
sheets of very thin paper, in a character 
utterly incom[)rehensib]c to me ; morcoTer, 
there was a roll of English bank-notea to 
a very considerable amount. In his waist- 
coat pocket was a gold watch ; and, in ft 
silken girdle round his waist, were two 
hundred English sovereigns and louis d'ors. 

What fiend stood at my elbow while I 







OuiIm D(ck<M.] 



A DEAD SECRET. 



81 






made tbia exanxination I know not The 
plan I fixfil upon was not long revolved in my 
minil. It svLined l«> Start up maturoJ, like 
Uiuerva, fi-vjiu the lieadof Jupitor. I was re- 
solved. Tlic dead should bu alive, and the live 
man, dead. In les< 'im" tinn it takes to tell, 
I bad stripped the ■ 'd it in tny own 

clothes, aJi^^llBed tin : ^^ garments, and 

secured the pocket-book, the watch, and the 
" money about ray person. Then 1 overturned 
the )ight«xl candle on to the bed, slouched my 
bat over my eyes, and stole down stairs. No 
man met me on the stairs, and I emerged 
into the court No man pursued me, and I 
gained the open street It was only«n hour 
after perhaps, ajs I croased Ilolboni towards 
St Andruw'.s Church that I saw tire-engines 
come rattling along ; and, asking uncon- 
cernedly where the tire was, heanl that it was 
"somewhcie oirciray's Inn Lane." 

I islept nowhere that night I scarcely 
remember what I did ; but I have an in- 
distinct renicnibranco of flinging sovereigns 
about in blazing gas-lit tavem.s. It is a 
marvel to me now that I did not become 
senseless with b'quor, unaccustomed as I 
was to ilLssipatjon. The next morning I read 
the following paragraph in a newspaper : — 

'■ ' - u iD« AND Fire thur Gray's I.njj 

L»^ .litthoiohabitimta of Crag's Court j 

UuoL., ^ , 'Jray's Inn Lane, were ulurinod 

bj voJumcH ol Bniok'e i^sain^ iVom the windown of 
number flvu in that court, oeeiipipd oa a lodgiiif? 
hou»e. On Mr. Pl'jse, tlio liiudlord, entering a 
nirol OQ llic third tlopr, it wai) fouiicJ that iu t«aant 

Mr. , huJ couii]iUt«d .luieidc liy blowiiijf hia 

brnius out with a pistol, whicli was I'oand ti^'titlj 
deiicliod in tbe wrv^chtd iniin's liund. Eillicr from 
tliii itTuition ol' the woilJiug, or Irora soino other 
canso the lire littJ coinmunicutcd to tlio bo<l-dotli«a ; 
oil of w!rivti. witli tlio hH nn>l n portion of the 
j'lirii ' '!' ri.-itiesof the North 

(}( i. ijitly on thexpot; 

an I jlty at lost mn^ 

ct* yoml I be room 

occi i'irod. Tlicbody 

■lull..-. ,;....,. >.u wcru friiflitfully 

ttliitod ; but surticicnl eviilencti wrw (UFordcd 
lli'a clot 'ii^ an. I pupcrBtocstaibiish hU identity. 
1 for tho rash ucl; uiid it m 
bad prolonged liia exi.ileiice 
kw kon : would Imvo como into pog- 

•tUMiioii ijfft (...rtinii; of thirty llioiiwmdpoimds, bin 
miclu Urlpnle Colluror, Kiq.. of JtiwlAn Street, 

CI' r'- ' '■■■•..■ died only two day* before. 

Ui.\ ;:cd liiiii Ilia lolo bcir nuil 

lcj_' and ifi'('!!i;.-eiit ptirUh otBoLT, 

Mr. ' i tlio neceKrtary 

inL' u inqiicat will bo 

iiel ; ,^ V s Anus, lIusUo 

Street. " 

I ha<l lost all — name, existence, tliirly 
thou.Kand pounds, everything — for about four 
hundred pounds in gold and notes. 

"So I sufipose," I said, as he who was 
hanged paused, " that you gave yourself up 
with a view of re-establishing your identity ; 
and, failing to do that, you were banged for 
murder or arson i" 

I waited for a reply. He bad lit another 



cigar, and sat smoking it Seeing that he was 
calm, I judged it best not to excite or aggra- 
vate him by further questioning, but stayed 
his pleasure. I had not to wait long. 

" Not so," he resiuned ; " what I became 
that night I have renuiined ever since, and 
am now : that is, if I am anything at 
all. The very day on which that para- 
graph appeared, I set off by tho coaclu 
My only wish was to get as far from London 
and from England as I possibly could ; and, in 
due time, we came to Hull. Hearing that Ham- 
burg was the nearest foreign port, to Hamburg 
I went I lived there for six month.s in aa 
hotel, frugally and in solitude, and endea- 
vouring to learn Gennan ; for, on narrower 
examination of the papers in the jiocket- 
book, I guessed some portions of thcni to he 
written in tluit language. I was a dull scho- 
lar ; but, at the end of sis months, I had 
.scraped together enoug^li (.lenuan to know 
tlint the dead man's name w.hs Miiller ; that 
ho had liccn in Ru.ssia, in France, and in 
America. I managed to tran.slato ]>uri;<ms of 
a diary he had kept while in thv.s latter 
country ; but they only related to his iini)rc.s- 
(iiniis of the town he had visited. He often 
alluded too, casuall}-, to his ' secret' and his 
' charge"; but what tliat secret and that 
charge were, 1 could not di.soover. There 
were al.so hints about a ' shepherdess,' an 
'antelope,' and a 'blue tiger' — fictitious 
names I presumed for some persons with 
whom he was connected. The great muss 
of the documents was in a cipher utterly 
inexplicable to my most strenuous inge- 
nuity and research. I went by the nams of 
Miillcr; but I found that there were hun- 
dreds more Miillersin Hamburg, and no man 
souglit me out 

1 was in the habit of going every evening 
to a large bccrhouso out.side Uie town to .smoke 
my pipe. There generally sat at the same table 
with me a little fat man in a grey great-coat 
who .smoked ami drank beer incessantly. I 
was suspicious and shy of strangers; but, be- 
tween this little man and me there gradually 
grew up a (juict kind of tavern acquaint- 
ance. 

One evening, when we had had a rather 
libend potation of pipes and beer, he n.sked 
me if I had ever ta,stcd the Iknioiis Ilaerischo 
or Bavarian beer, adding, that it threw all 
other Gennan beers into the shade, and libe- 
rally oitring to pay for a flask of it. I was 
in rather merry humour, and as.senlcd. We 
had one bottle of Bavarian beer; then ano- 
ther, and another, till, what with the beer and 
the pipes and the wTangling of tho domino 
[>layers my head swam. 

" I tell you what," said my companion, 
"wo will just have one chopinc of brandy. 
I always take it after Baerischer beer. We 
will not have it here, but at the (rrune Gam 
hard by ; which is an hone.st house, kept by 
Jlax Romliach, who is a widow's son." 

I was in that state when a man havin,^ 



I 



i 



33 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ICnAKMbr 



tUreadv hnd too much u sure to want more, 
»nd 1 followed tho man in tho gri-'y 
coot. How many chopincs of brandy I had 
at tho Oriifif Oan» I know not ; but I 
found myself in bed next morning with an 
intolerable thirst and a racking headache. 
My first action was to Bpring out of bed, and 
search in the pocket of my coat for my pocket- 
book. It was gone. Tlio waiters and the 
landlord were summoned ; but no one knew 
anything about it I had been brought 
liomo in a carriage, rcry inebriated, by 
a stout m-in in a grey great-coat, who 
said ho wns my friend, helped, me upstairs, 
and assisted mc to undress. The investigation 
ended with a conviction that the man in 
the grey coat wns the thief. lie had ma- 
nifestly been tempted to the robbery by no 
pecuniary motive ; for the whole of niy re- 
maining stock of bank-notes, which I always 
kept in the pocket-book, I found in my waist- 
coat pocket neatly rolled up. 

That evi-ning I walked down to the beer- 
house where t usually met my friend — not 
with the remotest idea of seeing him, but 
with the hope of eliciting some inforioatioD 
as to who and what he was. 

To my surprise he was sitting at his accus- 
tomed table, smoking and drinking as usual ;' 
and, to my stem salutation, replied with a 
good humoured h(ipc that my head was not 
any the worse for the branntteein overnight 

*' I want a word with you," said I. 

" With pleasure," ho returned. Whereupon 
he put on his broad-brimmed hnt and ri>l- 
lowed me into the garden behind tlw house, 
with an alacrity that was quite surprising. 

" I was drunk last night," I commenced. 

*' Zo" he replied, with an unmoved counte- 
nance. 

" And while drunk," I continued, " I was 
robbfcd of my pocket-book." 

" 2ii," he repeated, with equal composure. 

" .\nd 1 venture to assert that you arc the 
person who stole it" 

" Zo. You are quite right, my son," he re- 
turned, with the most astonisliing coolness. 
" I did take your pocket-book ; I have it here. 
Sec" 

He tapped tho bre.nst of his grey great- 
coat ; and, I could clearly distinguish, through 
the cloth, the square form of my pocket-book 
with its grcot clasp in tiie middle. I sprang 
at him immediately, with the intention of 
wrenching it from him ; but he eluded my 
grasp nimbly, and, stepping aside, drew forth 
a small silver whistle, on which he blew a 
shrill note. In an instant a cloak or tihcet 
was thrown over my head. I felt my hands 
muffied with soft but strong ligatures ; and, 
before I had time to make one ctFort in self- 
defence, I was lifted off my feet and svriflly 
conveyed away, in total darkness. Presently 
we slopped, and I was lifted still higher; was 
placed on a seat ; a. door was Hlammcd to ; and 
the rumbling motion of wheels convinced me 
that I waa in a carriage. 



My journey must have lasted some hours. 
We stopped from lime to time : to change 
horses, I suppose. At the commencement of 
the journey I made frantic efllbrts to disengage 
myself, and to cry out But I was so well 
gi^ggod, and bound, and niulticd, that in sheer 
weariness and despair, I desiste(L We halted 
at last for good I was liflcd out, and again 
carried swiftly along for upwards of ten 
minutes. Then, fi-om a difficulty of rcspirm- 
tion, I concluded fliat I had entered a house^ 
and was perhaps being borne along some un- 
derground passage. AVe ascendeti and de- 
scended staircaacA I beard doors locked and 
unlocked! FinaDy, I was thrown violently 
down on a hvd surface. The gag was re- 
moved from my mouth, and the mufflers from 
my hands ; I hcat^ a heavy «inor clang to, and 
I was at liberty to spenk and to move. 

My first care was to disengage myself from 
tho mantle, whose folds still clung around 
mo. I was in total darkness — darkness so 
black, that at first I conchwlcd some infernal 
device hud been made use of to blind mo. But 
after straining my eycsin every direction, I was 
able to discern high above me a small circular 
orifice, through which permeated a minute 
thread of light Then I became sensible that 
I was not blind, but in some subterranean 
dungeon. The surface on which I was lymg 
was hard and cold — a stone paTement. 1 
crawled about, feeling with my band.s, tnde*- 
vouring to deflne the limits of my jirison, 
NoUiing was palpable to the touch,' Lut the 
bare smooth pavement, and the bare .smooth 
walls, I tried for tioura to find the door, 
but could not I shouted for help ; but no 
man came near mc. 

I must have lain in this den two days and 
two nights — at le.ist the pangs of hunger and 
thirst made me suppose that length of time 
to have elapsed Then the terri-blc thought 
possessed mc that I was imprisoned there to 
be starved to death. In the middle .of the 
third day, as it seemed to mo, however, 1 
heard a rattling of keys ; one grated in the 
lock ; a door opened, a flood of light broke 
in itpon mo; and a well-rcmembercd voice 
cried " Come out!" as one might do to a 
beast in a cage. 

The light was so dazzling that I could not 
at first distingviish anything. But I crawled 
to tJ»e door ; and then standing up, found I 
WHS in a sm.all courtyard, and thnt opposite 
to me was my enemy, tlie man of the grey 
coat 

In A grey coat no longer, however. He 
was dressed in a scarlet jarket, richly laced 
with gold; which fitted him so tightly with 
the short tails sticking out behind, that, under 
any other circumstances, he would bare 
seemed to me inconceivably ridiculous. He 
tooknomore notice of me than if he had nerer 
Been me before in his life ; but, merely mo- 
tioning to two servants in scarlet liveries to 
take hold of me under tho arms, waddled on 
before. 



J 



A DEAD SECRET. 



88 



We went in and out or hair-.vdozen doors, 
and trnvcrscd us m.inr small courtyards. 
The buildings sum»iinillnff them were ati in 
a handsotno stjie of architecture ; and in ono 
of them I oouI(i Ui-%em, through the open 
grated windows on the ground door, several 
men in white cajis and jiirkel^ A distant 
row of copper Stcwpans, and H deUcious 
odour, made ttie conjecture tliat «*e were 
close to the kitthcn. We stopped some 
moments in this neighbourhood ; whctlier 
from previous orders, or from pure nialig- 
nity towards me, I wa^ unubic then to tcU. 
He glanced over his shoulder with an expres- 
sion of such intinite malice, that what with 
hunger anil rage I atnjsrgled violently bnt 
unsuccessfully to burst from my guards. At 
last we ascended a narrow but h.indsomely 
carpeted staircase ; and, aAcr Iraversiiig a 
splendid picture gallery, entered an apart- 
ment Ui.T:unously ftimished; half library and 
half dr*\ving-room. 

A cheerful wood fire crackled on the dogs 
in the fireplace ; and, with his back towards 
it, stood a t'lU elderly man, his thin grey hair 
carefully brushed over his forohesid. He was 
dresjied in black, had a stitT white neckcloth, 
and a parti-cotoured ribbon at his buttonhole. 
A few feet from him was a tabic, covered 
with hooks and papers ; and ^tling thereat 
in a larg« arm-chair, was an old man, im- 
mensely corpulent, swathed in a richly furred 
dressing-j;own, with a sort of jockey cap on 
bis head of black velvet, to which was at- 
tached a hideous green shade. The servants 
brought inu to the foot of this table, still 
holding my arm.s. 

" Monsieur XI filler," said the man in black, 
poliU'lv, and in excellent English. " How do 
you feel ?" 

I replied, indignantly, that the stale of ray 
hcoltli wafi not the point in question. I 
demanded to know why I had been trepanned, 
robbed and starved. 

"MoiLsicur Miiller," returned the man in 
black, with immovable politeness. " You must 
excuse the apparently discourteous m.innor 
in which you have been treated. The truth 
is. Our house was built, not for a prison, but 
for a ptclace ; and, for want of proper dungeon 
accomrondation, we were compelled to utilise 
for the moment an apartment which I believe 
was formerly a wine-cellar. I hope you did 
not find it damp." 

The man with the green shade shook his 
fat Rhoiildcn;, as if in silent laughter. 

" In the first instance. Monsieur," resumed 
the other, politely motioning me to be silent ; 
for I was about to speak, " we deemed that the 

Sossession of the papers in your pocket-book" 
la touched that fiital book as he spoke) 
" would have been sufBcient for the accom- 
plishment of the object we have in view. Bui, 
finding that a portion of Uie correspondctioo 
in in a cipher of which you alone have the 
key, wo judged the pleasure of your company 
■beolutcly indispensable." 



" I know no more about the cipher and its 
key than you do," I ejaculated, " anil, before 
heaven, no secret that can concern yr u is in 
my keeping." 

" You must bo hungry. Monsieur Miiller," 
pursued tlic man in black, taking lo more 
notice of what I had said than if I had not 
spoken at all. " Carol, bring in hmch." 

Ho, lately of the grey coat, now addres.scd as 
Carol, bowed, retired, and presently returned 
with a tray covered with smoking viands and 
two flasks of wine. The servants half loosened 
then- hold ; my heart leaped within me, and I 
was about to rush towards the viands, when 
the man in black raised his hand. 

" One moment. Monsieur MiiUcr," ho said, 
" before you recruit your strength. Will you 
oblige me by answering one question, Where 
is the child 'V 

" Ja, where is the child?" echoed the man 
in the green shade. 

" I do not know," I replied passionately ; 
" on my honour I do not know, If you wore to 
ask me fora hundred years, I could not tell you." 

"Carol," said the man in block, with an 
unmoved countenance, " take away the tray. 
Monsieur Midler has no appetite. Unless," 
he added turning to me, "you will bo so good 
as to answer lliat little question." 

" I cannot," I repeated ; " I don't know, 
I never knew." 

" Carol," said my questioner, taking up a 
newspaper, and turning his back upon lue, 
" take away the things. Monsieur Miiller, 
good morning." 

In spite of my cries and strug^lea I wag 
dragged away. We traversed the picture 
gallery ; but, instead of descending the stair- 
case, entered another suite of apartments. Wo 
were cro.ssing a long vestibule liKhtud with 
lamps, and one of my guards had stopped to 
unlock a door while the other Inyrged a few 
paces behind, (they had loosened their hold of 
mo, and Carol was not with us,) when a panel 
in the wainscot opened, and a lady in black 
— perhaps thirty j'card of age and beautiful — 
bent forward through the aperture. " I heard 
all," she said, in a rapid whisper " You have 
acted nobly. Bo proof against their tempta- 
tions, and Heaven will reward your devoted- 
ncss." 

I had no time to reply, for the door was 
closed immediately. I was hurried forward 
through room after room ; until at last wo 
entered a small bed-chamber simply, but 
cleanly furnished. Here I was left, and the 
door was locked ami barred on the outside. 
On the table were a small loaf of black bread, 
and a pitcher of water. Both of these I con- 
sumed ravenously. 

I was left without fvirthcr food foranothci 
entire day and night From my window, 
which was heavily prated, I could see that 
my room overlooked the court-yanl where 
the kitchen was, and the sight of the cooks, 
and the smell of the hot meat drove mo 
almost mad. 



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84 



HOUSEHOLD WORDi 






On the second day I wms agsun ushered 
into the presence of the man in black, and 
the man with the green shade. Again the 
infvrna drama was played. Again I was 
tempte I with rich food. Again, on my ex- 
pressing my inability to answer the question, 
it was ordered to be removed. 

" Stop !" I cried desperately, as Carol was 
about to remove the food, and thinking I 
might satisfy them with a iklaehood ; " I will 
confoss. I will tell alL" 

" Speak,'' said the man in black, eagerly, 
"wlure is the child?" 

" In Amsterdam," I replied at random. 

" .Vmsterdam — nonsense !" said the man 
in the gn"cen shade impatiently, " what has 
AtiistciSam to do with the Blue Tiger?" 

" I need not remind you," said the man in 
black, sarcastically, " that the name of any 
town or country is no answer to the question. 
You know as well as I do that the key to the 
whereabouts of the child is tA«r«," and he 
pointed to the pocket-book. 

" Yes ; there" echoed the man in the green 
shade. And he struck it 

" But, sir — ^" I urged. 

The answer was simply, " Good morning, 
Montiiour Miiller." 

Again was I conducted back to my prison ; 
again I met the lady in black, who ad- 
ministered to me the barren consolation th.at 
" Htaven would reward my devotedness." 
Aprain I found the black loaf and the pitcher 
of water, and again I was left a day and a 
night in semi-starvation, to be again brought 
forth, tantalised, questioned, and sent back 
again. 

" Perhaps," remarked the man in black, at 
the fifth of these interviews, " it is gold that 
Monsieur Miiller requires. See." As he 
spoke, he opened a bureau crammed with 
baps of money, and bid me help myself. 

in rain I protested that all the gold in 
the world could not extort from me a secret 
which I did not possess. In vain I exclaimed 
that my name was not Miiller ; in vain I dis- 
closed the ghastly deceit I had practised. 
The man in black only shook his head, smiled 
incredulously, and told me — while compli- 
menting me for my powers of invention — ^that 
my sLitement confirmed his conviction that I 
knew where the child was. 

AftiT the next interview, as I was retnm- 
fng to my starvation meal of bread and water, 
the bxly in black again met me. 

" Take courage," she whispered. " Your 
deli voranco is at hand. You are to be removed 
to-night to a lunatic asylum." 

How my translation to a mad-house could 
accomplish my deliverance, or better my 
prospects, did not appear very clear to me; 
but that very night I was gagged, my arms 
were confined in a strait waistcoat, and placed 
in a carriage, which immediately set off at a 
npid pace. We travelled all night ; and, in 
the early moming arriTcd at a largo stooe 
boildmg. Hero I waa itrippod, examined, 



placed in a bath, and dressed in a suit of 
coarse grey cloth. I asked where I was t I 
was told in the Alienation Refuge of the 
Grand Duchy of Sachs-Pfeigiger. 

" Can I see the head-keeper?" I asked. 

The Herr-ober-Direktor was a little maa 
with a shiny bald head and very white teeth. 
When I entered his cabinet he received me 
politely and asked me what he could do for 
me ? I told him my real name, my history, 
my wrongs ; that I was a British subject, and 
demanded my liberty. He smiled and simplj 
called—" Where is Kraus?" 

" Here, Heir," answered the keeper. 

" What number is Monsieur ?" 

" Number ninety-two." 

"Ninety-two," repeated the Herr Direk- 
tor, leisurely writing. " Cataplasms on the 
soles of the feet Worsted blisters behind 
the ears, a mustard plaster on the chest, and 
ice on the head. Let it be Baltic ice." 

The abominable inflictions thus ordered 
were aU applied. The villain Kraus tortured 
me in every imaginable way; and in the 
midst of his tortures, would repeat, " Tell me 
where the child is, Miiller, and you shall 
have your liberty in half an hour." 

I was in the madhouse for six months. If 
I complained to the doctor of Kraus's ill- 
treatment and temptations, he immediately 
began to order cataplasms and Baltic ice. 
The bruises I had to show were ascribed to 
injuries I had myself inflicted in fits of frcnxy. 
Tne maniacs with whom I was caged de- 
clared, like all other maniacs, that I was out- 
rageously mad. 

One evening, as I lay groaning on my bed, 
Kraus entered my cell " Get up," he said, 
"you are at liberty. I was bribed, by you 
know who, with ten thousand Prussian 
thalers to get your secret from you, if I 
could ; but I have been bribed with twcntf 
thousand Austrian florins (which is really 
a sum worth having) to set you fhHS. 1 
shall lose my place, and have to fly; but 
I will open an hotel at Frankfort for the 
Englanders, and make my fortune. Come I" 
He led me down stairs, let mo out of a 
private door in the garden; and, placing a 
bundle of clothes and a purse in my hand, 
bade me good night 

I dressed myself^ threw away the mad- 
man's livery, and kept walking along until 
morning, when I came to the custom-house 
barrier of another Grand Duchy. I had 
a pa.ssport ready provided for me in the 
pocket of my coat, which was found to be 
perfectly en regie, and I passc<l unquestioned. 
I went that morning to the coach-office of the 
town, and engaged a pl.nce in the Eilwagen 
to some German town, the name of which I 
forget; and at the end of four days' weary 
travelling, I reached Brus.'tcls. 

I was very thin and weak with confinement 
and privation ; but I soon recovered my health 
and strength. I must say that I made ap 
by good living for my former compulsory 



■Kstinrnce ; and both in Brussels and in Paris, 
to whioh 1 next directed my steps, I lived on 
the bfpt. One evening I entered one of the 
magnificent rcstaumnts in the Palais Royal 
to dine. I had ordered my ineal from the 
eor(<; when my attention was roused by a 
gmall piece of paper which had been (dipped 
between its leavM. It ran thus :— 

" Fcicrn to «it, bnt eat no fl«h. B«maia the usail 
tiiiH rin MaMpicioii, batimnift- 

di.i :i' nay to Kugliuii.1. Bo 

euTL, ... ^.— -„ : „ -- l-JutloQ, to ciill on HUde- 

buiger.' 

I had ordered a tole au gratin ; but when it 
arrived, managed to throw it piece by piece 
under the tabb.'. When I had diseased tlie 
rest of my <iii)ncr, I summoned the gnr^on, 
and asked for tny bill 

" Yon will pay t)ic head waiter if you please, 
Monsieur," said he. 

The head WHiter came. If lie had been a 
centaur or a sphynx I could not have stared 
at him with more horror and a.stonish- 
mcnt than I did ; for there, in a waiter's 
dress, with a napkin over hia arm, was Carol, 
the man of the grey coat 

" Midler," he said, coolly, bending over the 
table. " Your sole wa.^ poiiioned. Tell me 
where the child is, and here is im antidote, 
and four hundred thousand frane.«." 

For reply I seizc<l the heavy water de- 
canter, and da.'ihed it with all the force I 
could command, full in the old rutfian's face. 
He fell tike a »tone, amid the ecreams of 
women, the oaths of men, and cries of A Ui 
Oanle! n hi Garde! 1 slipped out of the 
restaurant and into one of the passages of 
outlets which abound in the Palais Royal 
Whether the man died or not, or whether I 
waa pursued, I never knew, I pained my 
lo<lgings unmolested, packed up my luggage, 
and started the nest morning by the diligence, 
for Boulogne. 

I arrived in due time in London ; but I did 
not call on " Hildeburger" because I did 
not know who or where Hildeburger wiis. 
I started the very evening of my arrival in 
London for Liverpool, being determined to 
go to America. I was fearful of remaining 
in England, not only on ac<;ount of my 
pcrsucutora, but because I was pursued 
everywhere by the spectre of the real 
MiiUer. 

I took my passage to New York in a 
Btcamcr whidi was to sail from the Docks in 
a week's time. It was to .start on a Monday ; 
and on the Friday preceding I was walking 
about the Exchange, congratulating myself 
that I should soon have the Atlantic between 
raysi'lf and my pursuers. All at once I heard 
the name of JI idler pronounced in a loud tone 
close behind me, I turned, and met the gaze 
of a tall thin young man with a downy 
moustache, who was dressed in the extreme 
of fashion, and was sucking the end of an 
ebony alick. 



" Monsieur Miiller," ho said, nodding to mo 
easily. 

" My name is not Miiller," I answered, 
boldly. 

" You have not yet called on Hildeburger," 
he abided, slightly elevating his eyebrows at 
my denial. 

r felt a cold shiver pass over me, and 
stammerefl, "N — n — no! 

" We had considerable difficulty in learning 
your whereabouts?" he went on with great 
composure. " The lady was obstinate. The 
screw and the water were trietl in vain ; but 
at length, by a judicious use of the cord and 
pullies, we succeeded." 

I shuddered again. 

" Will you call on Hildeburger now t" ho 
resumed quickly and .sharply. "He is hero 
— close by." 

" Not now, not now," I faltered. " Some 
other time." 

" The day after to-morrow ?" 

'" Yes, yes," I answered eagerly, "the day 
after to-morrow." 

"Well, Saturday be it You will meet me 
here, at four in the afternoon ! Good ! Do 
not forget Ju rcroir, .Monsieur Miiller." 

lie had no sooner uttered the.so words than 
he turned and disappeared among the crowd 
of merchants on 'Change, 

I could not doubt, by his naming Saturday, 
as the dav for our meeting, that he had some 
inkling ot my intended departure. Although 
1 had paid my passage to New York, I 
dutcmiined to forfeit it, and to change my 
course so n.s to evade my persecutors. I 
entered a shipping-ofRec, and learnt that 
a good steamer would leave (Jeorge's Dock 
at ten that same night for Glasgow. And 
to ( rla.sgovv for the present I made up mj 
mind to go. 

At a quarter before ten I was at tho doi-.v 
with my iugpige. It was raining heavily, and 
there was a den.>ie fo;;. 

" This way for the Glasgow steamer — this 
way," cried a man in a Guernsey shirt, " this 
way, )-our honour. I'll carry your trunk." 

He took my trunk as he 8])oke, and led 
the way down r» ladder, arroiw tho decks of 
two or three steamers, and to tho gangway of 
a Iburth, where a man stood with dark bushy 
whiskers, dressed in a pea-coat, and holding a 
lighted lantern. 

" Is this the Glasgow steamer?" I asked, 

" .\ll right 1" answered the man with the lan- 
tern, " Look sharp, the bell's a-going to ring," 

" Reniember poor Jack, your honour," a&id 
the man in the Guornsej', who had carried my 
trunk. I gave him si,\pence and stepped on 
board. A bell began to ring, and there was 
great confusion on board with hauling of 
ropes and s-to%ving of luggage, Tlie steamer 
Ecemcd to me to be intolerably dirty and 
crowded with goods ; and, to avoid the crush, 
I stepperl aft to the wheel. In due time we 
had worked out of the dock and were steam- 
ing down the Memey. 



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HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Owd» m «ly 



" How long will the run to Glasgow take, 
think you, my man?" I asked of the man at 
the wheel. He stared at me as if he did 
not understand me, and muttered some unin- 
telligible words. I repeated the question. 

" He does not speak English," stud a voice 
at my elbow, "nor can any soul on board 
this vessel, except you and I, Monsieur 
MiiUer." 

I turned round, and saw to my horror the 
young man with the ebony cane and the 
downy moustache. 

"I am kidnapped!" I cried. "Let me 
have a boat Where is the captain!" 

" Here is the captain," said the young man, 
as a fiercely bearded man came up the com- 
panion-ladder. " Captain Uiloschvich of the 
Imperial Russian ship Pyroscaphe, bound to 
St. Petersburg, M. Miillor. As Captain 
Miloschvich speaks no English you will 
permit mo to act as interpreter." 

Although I feared fix>m his very presence 
that my case was already hopeless, I en- 
treated him to explain to the captain that 
there was a mistake ; that I was bound for 
Glasgow, and that I desired to be set on 
shore directly. 

"Captain Miloschvich," said the young 
man, when he had translated my speech, and 
received the captain's answer, " begs you to 
understand that there is no mistake ; that you 
arc not bound for Glasgow, but for SL Peters- 
burg; and that it is quite impossible for 
him to set you on shore here, seeing that he 
has positive instructions to set you on shore 
in Cronstadt Furthermore, he feels it his 
duty to add that should you, by any words 
or actions, attempt to annoy or disturb the 
crew or passengers, he will be compelled to 
put you in irons, and place you in the bottom 
of the hold." 

The captain frequently nodded during 
these remarks, as if he perfectly under- 
stood their purport, although unable to 
express them; and, to intimiate his entire 
coincidence, he touched his wrists and 
ancles. 

If I had not been a fool I should have 
resigned myself to my fete. But I was so 
maddened with misfortune, that I sprang on 
the young man, hoping to kill him, or to be 
killed myself and to bo thrown into the sea. 
But I was chained, beaten, and thrown into 
the hold. There, among tarred ropes, the 
stench of tallow-casks, and the most appalling 
sea-sickness, I lay for days, fed with mouldy 
biscuit and putrid water. At length we 
arrived at Cronstadt 

All I can tell you, or I know of Russia is, 
that somewhere in it there is a river, and on 
that river a fortress, and in that fortress a 
cell, and in that cell a knout Seven years of 
my existence were passed in that cell, under 
the lashes of that knout, with the one horrible 
question dinning in my ears, " Where is the 
cbild ? 

How I escaped to incur worse tortures it 



is bootless to tell you. I have swept the 
streets of Palermo as a convict, in a hideous 
yellow dress. I have pined in the inquisition 
at Rome. I have been caged in the madhouse 
at Constantinople, with the rabble to throw 
stones and mud at me throngh the bars. I 
have been branded in the back in the hagna 
of Toulon and Rochfort ; and everywhere I 
have been offered liberty and gold, if I would 
answer the question, "Where is the child?" 
At last^ having been accused of a crime I 
did not commit, I was condemned to death. 
Upon the scaffold they asked me " Where is 
the child?" Of course there could be no 
answer, and I was— — 

Just then, Margeiy, my servant, who nevc . 
will have the discrimination to deny roe to 
importunate visitors, knocked" at the ooor, 
and told me that I was wanted in the surgery. 
I went down stairs, and found Mrs. Walking 
shaw, Johnny Wallun^haw'a wife, who twd 
me that her "master" was "took all over 
like," and quite "stroaken of a heap." 
Johnny Walkingshaw is a member of tiie 
ancient order of Sylvan Brothers ; and, as I 
am club doctor to the Sylvan Brothers, he 
has a right to my medical attendance for the 
sum of four shillings a year. Whenever he 
has taken an overdose of rough cyder he is 
apt to be " stroaken all of a heap" and to 
send for me. I was the more annoyed at 
being obliged to walk to Johnny Walking- 
shaw's cottage at two in the morning, be- 
cause the wretehed man had been cut short 
in his story just as he was about to explidn 
the curious surgical problem of how he was 
resuscitated. When I returned he was gone, 
and I never saw him more. Whether he 
was mad and had hanged himself^ or whether 
he was sane and had been hanged according 
to law, or whether he had ever been hanged 
or never been hanged, are points I have never 
quite adjusted in my mind. 



PICTURES IN THE FIRE. 

What is it yoa uk me, darling! 

All my Btorica, child, yon know; 
I have no strange dreams to tell you, 

Pictores I have none to show. 

Tell yon glorions scenes of travel f 
Nay, my child, that cannot be, 

I have seen no foreign ooantries, 
Marvels none on land or sea. 

Tet strange sights In truth I witnesa. 

And I gaze nntil I tire ; 
Wondrous pictures, changing ever, 

As I look into the fire. 

There, last night, I saw a cavern. 
Black as pitch : within it lay 

Coiled in many folds a dragon, 
Qlaring as if tnn'd at bay. 

And a knight in dismal armour 

On a wingid eagle came. 
To do battle with this dragon ; 

Hi* towering oreat was all or flamtt. 



x'HE STEREOSCOPE. 



^ 



Ah I n>zo<l the dragon faded, 
Ana, iiiBteiki, saC PIqm crovrncd. 

By u Ukc of biiniing fire: 
Spirits iark were croaoUing round. 

That WM Roae, and lo 1 before me, 

A cathedral vast and grim ; 
I could almost h«iir tlie organ 

Boll aloD^ tlie arches dim. 

it I watched the wreathed pUlars, 
A lliick grovo of palms arose, 

And a group of awanby Indiana 
Gtealing on some sleeping foes. 

Star; a cataract glnnoing brizhtl}^, 
iJnshed and BparkJe^i ; and beside 

Iat a broken marble monster, 
ilonth and eyes were starinjg wide. 

Vfeen I law a maiden wreathing 
StaiTT ftowers in garknds sweet ; 

Did she sea the fiery aerpent 

That was wrapped about her feel f 

"Stat fell crashiog all and vanished ; 

And I saw two onoies close — 
'' could almost hour the cUirions 

And the shouting of the foes. 

They were gone ; and lo ! bright angels, 

On a barren mooutoLn wild, 
Bjdted appealing arms to Heaven, 

Bearing op a Uttlo child. 

And I gaMd, and gazed, and slowly 
Gathered in niy eyos Had tears, 

And the fiery picturoa bore mo 
Back through diatont dreams of years. 

OuoB again I tasted sorrow, 

7 ith past joy was onco more gay, 

"nn the shade nad gatlicrod round ma 
Aai i£t fire had died away. 



THE STEREOSCOPE. 

Tebsi is a good deal of romance to bo 
found even in the details of pure M^ivncc, and 
t book of wonders could very well be made 
out of what might be called the social Uiwtory 
of optical diacoTcrics. Much of it would be 
co-«KlcnsiTC with a history of the black arts 
— dark sdenceB that often get their darkness 
out of light. 

Evety one has been told that the old 
priests of Egypt and of Greece were better 
Bklllcd in optics than in necromancy, that 
many an awful ghost, riding upon a cloud, 
was the result of hocussing and focussing. 
Any commentator is entitled to suppose 
that an old form of incantation (said to 
have had a more sacred origin) has be- 
come sliRhUy corrupted by the exchange of 
conrertiblc letters in the lapse of time, and 
was in the first instance, really hocus, focus. 
Let him take up a pscudoscope, and look 
through it, properly focusscd. Let him look 
it fome man on the other side of the way. 
He will not appear to bo on thq other side at 
■U, the street will hare oon:>e m doors, and 



the house will be turned out of wiadow. I*v 
him look at a friend's lace. The checks will 
so decidedly fall in, that the face will become 
no bee but a hollow mould. Let him look 
into the bottom of a teacup. For a minuto 
he may see it as it is ; but — 0, hocus, focus- 
in the twinkling of an eye, it has turned in- 
side out. It has no hollow, but is all solid. 
Let him look at a framed picture hung 
against the wall, It will seem to be, not 
hung against the wall, but to he let into ii 
The frame will appear to Mirround it like a 
mo&t There is a pretty instrnment for turn- 
ing everything hindside foremost! If it 
were possible lo take a bird's-eye view of the 
whole world through a pseudoscopc, and get 
It all at one time into focus, every mountain 
would appear to be a valley, every valley 
would exalt itself into a mountain. Such 
abasement of the lofty, and such exaltation 
of the lowly, such bringing forward of the 
backward, and putting backward of the for- 
ward, is effected by two simple prisms of 
gloss — properly focussed. 

Again, a couple of flat daguerreotype pic- 
tures of any scene are put into a little box. 
When they arc looked at in a couple of re- 
flectors properly arranged, the scene itself 
seems to be visible in bold relief. So, for 
example, we may perchance look in upon the 
river Volga flowing between its banks, and 
inspect the piles and works of a great un- 
&'U£hed bridge, forming a track partly across 
the tide from t>ank to bank, every post as 
round and real as though tlie river and its 
banks and the great work there in progress 
had been modelled by the fairies. Qocthe 
tells a story of a fairy who w.is earned about 
by a mortal in a small box, through the 
chinks of which there could be seen her 
sumptuous pttl.ice. Here is a box of about 
the same Bi7A', coniiining any fairy -scene that 
by the help of photography »•« rrtj bo dis- 
posed to conjure iiji. It id calJfti the Stereo- 
scope. And of what use is its magic? To 
go no fartlier than the particular picture just 
suggested, of very grc.it use. The Emperor 
of all the Russias is in a great hurry for the 
completion of the bridge therein represented. 
He used to make frequent long expeditions 
to the works, and if he remained long absent, 
the architect never seemed to him to be suf- 
ficientty industrious. The architect now 
saves all trou!)]c to his imperial master, and 
maintains his own credit, by having a, couple 
of true and undeniable copies of the works 
taken onco a fortnight by the sun, and sent to 
SL Petersbui^. There they arc put into a 
stereoscope, with which the emperor may sit 
in his own room, and in which he m.iy count 
every dam and post, see every ripple of the 
distant tide. 

The pseudoscope is of the same parentage 
as the stereoscope. In speaking of photo- 
graphy we said about the stereoseope, that it 
was invented some years since by Professor 
Wbeatstone to illustrate his discoverif of tha 



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HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



|<Oc.<«to. ^ 



J 



principlea of binocular vision. As we are 
now, however, treating spocifleally of the 
stereoscope and not incidentally, we shall go 
into a litUo more detail, as to the history of 
the instrument 

Although Professor 'VVhcatstone's disco- 
very was alluded to in Herbert Mayo's Out- 
linos of Physiology in the year eighteen 
hundred and thirty-three, it was not until 
the twenty-first of June eighteen hundred 
and thirty-eight that Professor Wheat- 
stone detailed the true theory of binocular 
vision, together with a description and dia- 
gram of h'« illusti-ntive apparatus, which ho 
there first called the Stei-eoscope, (after two 
Greek words meaning "solids — I see") before 
the Royal Society, in a paper ; for which, in 
eighteen hundred and forty, he was awarded 
the Royal Medal. The stereoscope was after- 
wards produced and explained by Mr. 
Whcatstone at the Now^castle meeting of the 
British Association in September, eighteen 
hundred and thirty-eight The form of in- 
strument then exhibited remains to this day 
tlio most efficient that has been constructed, 
t is the most beautiful, because it is the sim- 
ikst; it is the most useful, because it can 
>e ;ipplictl to the inspecUon of all drawings 
ii.iile upon the stereoscopic principle, what- 
!vor may bo their size, and it is capable of 
'VI TV kind of adjustment A very little ex- 
,1 ( isi- of ingenuity has sufficed to make it also 
not less portable than any other, for it is made 
on the lazy-tonga principle, and can be opened 
ami packed like scissors. Of this instrument, 
when first shown to the British Association, 
one literary journalist, expressing the opinion 
of the time, now perfectly confirmed, said that 
it rendered the phenomena of double vision, 
about which volume upon volume have been 
written, clear to the comprehension of child- 
hood ; and by a contrivance so simple, that, 
when once seen, any person can construct a 
copy in an hour. The importance of the 
discovery was recognised at once on all 
sides. 

In a report of that meeting of the Asso- 
ciation, published in the same year, it is 
recorded, that "Sir David Brewster was 
afraid that the members could scarcely Judge, 
fh>m the very brief and modest account 
given of this principle, and the instrument 
devised for illustrating it, of its extrelne 
beauty and generality. He considered it one 
of the most valuable optical papen which 
had been presented to the section." Sir 
John Jlerschcl, on the same occasion, justly 
characterised the discovery as "one of the 
most curious and bcautifVil for its simpli- 
city in the entire range of experimental 
optics." 

At that time photography was an unheard- 
of science, and there could be used in the 
stereoscope only drawings made by the hand 
of an artist Geometric figures, and a few 
qmple sketches, could be made; but the eye 
f the best artist was not accurate enough 



to catch the delicate distinctions of outline, 
light and shade existing in the same land- 
scape or figure, as it would appear seen from 
two points at a distance of only two and a half 
inches from each other. At the beginning of the 
year eighteen hundred and thirty-nine, pho- 
tography became known, and Mr. Wheat- 
stone, not slow to perceive that the sun would 
supply his stereoscope with pictures of the 
necessary accuracy, soon obtained from Mr. 
Talbot stereoscopic Talbotypes of statues, 
buildings, and even living persons. The first 
Daguerreotypes were produced for Mr 
Wheatstone by M. Fizcau and M. Claudct 
The application of the stereoscope to photo 
graphy having been communicated by llr 
Wheatstone to M. Quetclet, specimens bemg 
at the same time aant, was made public in the 
bulletins of the Brussels Academy for October, 
eighteen hundred and forty-one. . Eight Vr 
nine years afterwards, Sir David Brewster 
helped to popularise the idea by pronapting 
M. Dubosq SoIeil(a8 we have elsewhere said) to 
the construction of a number of stereoscope»t, 
in which, by the use of a couple of semi-lcnscb 
with their edges directed towards each other, 
a fbrm of instrument was obtained very co& 
venient for the Daguerreotypist, who deals 
rarely in large pictures. . This instrument is 
a slight modification of the second form of 
stereoscope — the refracting — suggested by 
the original discoverer. The old reflecting in- 
strument, the first form, remains, however, 
for all purposes of experiment and study, as 
well as for many purposes of common use, by 
f^ the best 

Before we proceed to an account of the 
steps which led up to the discovery of the 
stereoscope, and of some facts in nature 
which it proves and illustrates, we should 
say two or three wonls about the method 
of investigation also illustrated by it Mr. 
Wheatstone is Professor of Experimental Phi- 
losophy in King's College, London, and one 
of the most successful of the experimental 
philosophers of our own time. Down in the 
vaults of King's College we remember seeing, 
years ago, a great array of wires which we 
were told belonged to an experiment of Mr. 
Whcatstone's then in hand. Those wires 
were the unborn electric telegraph, which 
came into life out of the experiments of Mr. 
Wheatstone on electrical velocity. The dis- 
covery of the stereoscope furnishes an inte- 
resting illustration of the method by which 
the chief operations of experimental philoso- 
phy are conducted. The surest way to get 
a secret out of nature — ^if one is clever enough 
to do it — is to overreach her : to entrap her 
into a confession by compelling her to work 
under unheard of conditions. She cannot 
go to work on fresh material of your own 
choosing without betraying some part of her 
mode of setting about business. If all the 
information that you want is not to be bad 
by playing the mysterious mother one trick, 
t^ her Tith another and another. I%e 




THE STI 



secrets of double Tision, which could nerer 
hive boon citVicr thought out or discovered 
bj ft mere watching of nature at hur dftilv 
work, have been wormotl out of her by sucL 
tricks or such experiment'!. 

Placi: any fm-gular or anffiilar solid boiiy 
on tho inhla before you. Close each eye in 
turn, while you observe tlie ol>jcft accurat4fly 
with the other. You will not fail to observo 
thiit A .«ilight — but very sen.«ibte — thtrerence 
exists between the results of the two aights 
taken from two points in the SAtno hcnd at 
the some object The points of sight in the 
two eyes are of course different, and by 
the laws of perspective it is ea*y to de- 
termine that the views of the same thing 
taken from those two points could not be 
identical. That is very obvious and very 
nmplc. Yet that simple observation i.s the 
whole basis of the theory of the stereo- 
BCOpo, and it had not been made or rather 
when made had been always set aside as iin- 
niaterial, before Professor Whealstone built 
Upon it one of the most bcautiftil little disco- 
veries that gfrace the science of our day. 
There is a reason, thought Mr. WheatMone, 
for this dilference. It had been coininunly 
Buppo«e(l that single vision with two eyes only 
resulted from the falling of tbu same point of 
the picture fonued by an object on the same 
point in each eye. But that is what can take 
placA.- only in the case of a painted landscape. 
If we look at a Claude or a Canalctto the 
eyes both sec the same picture, and both ece 
it in precisely the Batoo way, but the result 
is that they see it as a flat painting on can- 
vas, and are so convinced of its flatnt-.ss, that 
the be.st skill in shadow and pentpective will 
not cause the houses to louk really solid, 
the hills really to appear as lumps arising 
on a broo<l Hat earth. The best picture will 
not, as an illusion, stand the test of two 
eyes. But if wo look at it with one eye, 
the painter can cheat that. If one eye be 
not allowed to compare notes with its tieigh- 
hour, and to see the objects which profess to 
he one behind another from a second point of 
view, then accurate lights and shadows in a 
picture, corresponding to the real light in the 
room, will be assamed «a evidence of actual 
solidity. In a landscape that consii>ted of 
real fields an<l trees, or in a real street, one 
eye could have obtained not much more 
evidence than that, and the luind, satisfied to 
get the utmost evidence attainable, would 
upon that have founded a conclusion. P'or 
thi.s reason, connoisseurs may be seen oltcn 
shutting one eye when they examine a 
painting. If use be made of a Itollow tMbu, 
or a roll of paper, which is the same thing, in 
such a way that the frame, and all Rurrnunil- 
ing objects of comparison arc caiel'utly ex- 
cluded, the clu'iit perpetrated upon one eye 
by a really good picture is very complete 
indeed. 

Leonardo da Vinci coileed this method of 
examining h picture with one eye, and is tho 



Jm 



only person who before our times liad rea- 
soned on the matter. Fie pointed out, that 
if you look at a solid globe with one eye 
it conceals a certain jiieco o(* background, 
which to the other eye is visible ; and if you 
change the eye you change the background, 
so that, a,s he said, except a certain part 
behind the globe invisible to both eves, tiie 
solid body is iii a certain sense transparent 
He thought that the iinp08sil>ility of cheating 
two eyes with a pictiu-e lay in the impossi- 
bility of getting at this state of alfairs in the 
background. Mr. \\'heatstone observes justly, 
tliat had the philosophic painter taken any 
other solid than a ball on which to found 
his illustration, be would have observed not 
only the difference in the backgrouml, but 
also the difference between the two perspec- 
tives. But he did not llr. Vv'lieatstone, 
therefore, was tho first who called distinct 
attention to this very obvious, but, ncvcrtho- 
le.ss, practically new fact in the theory of 
vision. 

Then the experimenter said to liimself; 
The old theory which supposed an identity 
between tho pictures painted at the same 
time on the two eyes being fdse, there 
must be something more in the disparity 
than a mere necessary awkwardness result- 
ing from tlie impossibility of having two 
eyes in one place. If the possession of two 
eyes only caused a confusion to be got over 
by habit, we two-eyed poojilc should bo all 
really worse olf than Polyphemus. Why 
have we two eyes ? That was tlje qiicstioD 
which Mr. AVheatstono entrapped Nature 
into answering. The trap act by bim was the 
stereoscope. 

One could not easily imagine any apparatua 
simpler in its construction. Since it whs not 
possible twenty years ago, by aid of photo- 
graphy, to obtain on paper or silver two 
sketches of the same scene, having only the 
minute din'erence hi tlic point of view that 
would exist between the two points of sight 
furnished to man by Nature — which are 
about two-and-a-liidf inches distant from 
cich other in an ordiniiry adult lieafl — Mr. 
Wheatstouc took the simple forms of cubca 
and other solid matheiuatical figures, placing 
tliein before him, and carefully making two 
sketches of each, corresponding to tho two 
appearances presented by it to the two eyes. 
They were obvious and easy of dejiiclion. 
They were made simply in outline, and in 
each case, of course, were evidently Bat 
copies. Let us tike the example of the cube, 
The.so, tho experimental philosopher then 
reasoned, are the images of tho cube scpa- 
ralely presented to each e)-c ; flat outlines 
ovidfntly. Let me contrive now to look at 
thetn in such a way that the right eye shall 
sec only its own proper picture a.s I have 
drawn it from its own proper point of viow, 
and the left eye the other j)iclure, and that 
they .shall fall as they do in nature witli their 
respective dificrcQces upon corresponding 



M 



HOtrSBHOLD WORDS. 



[CoBdMiaatJ 



parts of the two eyes. What will be the 
result f 

The instrument was soon made. Two bits 
of looking-glam placed back to back were 
arranged in the form of a broad letter V, 
their angle a right angle and their mirrors 
looking outwards. On two little walls placed 
at equal distances beyond the mirrors, the 
two j/ictures of the cube were hung and care- 
fully adjusted so that the two images should be 
reflected in precisely the right way. Then an 
observer, placing his nose at the point of the V, 
and looking with one eye into oneTnirror, and 
with the other eye into the other mirror 
would, of course, see with each eye its own 
distinct view of the cube, as it had been 
sketched. What, then, was the result? Not a 
conflision of two sketches, but a complete re- 
producticr. of the cube itself in all its whole- 
ness of length, breadth, and depth. The illusion 
was perfect The instrument so constructed, 
and here rudely described, was a reflecting 
stereoscope ; and, by its use, Mr. Wheatstone 
w^as able to demonstrate so simply that *all 
could understand, and no man could dispute 
the fact, that the use of two eyes is to obtain 
two pictures from different points of view, 
and that the use of the diCTerences that exist 
in the two images of every solid object so 
seen is to assure to the mind the idea of 
depth or distance. 

Irfr. Wheatstone reflected in his mirrors a 
pau- of real cubes. When they were so 
placed that they threw upon the eyes in the 
due way two pictures so differing, that they 
represented the two aspects of a single cube as 
seen by the two eyes, there was a single 
cube seen in relief: when they were so ad- 
justed that each eye received a precisely 
similar impresaon, though two solid forms 
were looked at, the mind believed that it saw 
only the flat picture of a cube. I need not 
multiply such illustrations of a fact already 
placed beyond dispute. 

A great many experiments could be made 
with the reflecting stereoscope by a philo- 
sopher gifted with Professor Wheatstone's 
ingenuity; a great many experiments were 
really made, and more secrets were in fact 
discovered. 

Of course the nearer any obiect is to 
the two eyes, the greater is ftie discre- 
pancy between the pictures of it seen by 
them, and the more vivid the notion of relief. 
Of distant objects the views taken by both 
eyes are almost identical, and we judge of the 
reality of the whole distant scene as the one- 
eyed man judges of all things visible. Wo 
judge by experience and comparison, by the 
effects of light and shade, and by conclu.sions 
drawn from the movements of the head, 
which enable us to note how the view 
changes as we change the point of observation. 
In looking with a single eye through a micro- 
scope at crystals or other object^ every ob- 
server knows how difiScult it is to avoid 
ir<<'conception as to which parts of an object 



are nearer to the eye, which are more distant 
from it. 

Since the same object, say a jug of punch, 
throws a larger image on the eye in pro* 
portion to its nearness, and since there are 
few positions in which it is not nearer to one 
eye than to the other, the two images seen at 
one time by the two eyes can rarely be quite 
alike in size, and so there occurs another 
interference with the identity of the two 
pictures Having reflected upon this matter, 
Mr. Wheatstone drew two circles differing 
somewhat in their size, and presented by 
means of his stereoscope one to each eye. 
He did not see two circles. Though different 
they coincided, and presented the impression 
of a circle intermediate in size between the 
two. Beyond certain limits ; that is to say, 
beyond the utmost difference of this kind that 
can occur in any case of vision with two eyes 
— ^when each eye squints outwards ; no such 
coincidence can take place in the stereoscope 
between two outlines of unequal magnituw. 
The mind, however, never does more than its 
assigned work in the way of fusion. Whoever 
wears a pair of spectacles with one glass 
blue and the other yellow, will not see sur> 
rounding objects coloured green. The diffe- 
rent impressions made upon his two eyes wOl 
not in that case mingle, but — sometimes one 
predominating, and sometimes the other — 
he will see things always tinged either with 
blue or yellow, sometimes with one colour 
and sometimes with the other, but always 
with only one of the two colours at one time. 

One of the oddest and most instructive 
results of experiment with the reflecting 
stereoscope, detailed by Mr. Wheatstone — one 
which creates artificially a complete chaos of 
the laws of vision — we must endeavour in the 
next place to explain. In order to do so, we 
must make use of and first understand a 
technical expression— optic axes. What are 
optic axes? Place upon the table before you 
one small stone, and look at it with both 
your eyes. The line drawn from the stone 
at which you are looking through the centre 
of one eye-ball is one optic axis, and the 
line from the same point, through the other 
eye-ball, is the other axis. On the stone, 
when you look at it, the lines of course con- 
verge. Look at the stone from a consider- 
able distance, and the two lines or axes ran 
for a long way side by side ; look at it from 
a distance of three inches, and the lines con* 
verge very rapidly; in other words, they 
form, when they meet on the stone, in Hm 
first case a smau angle, and in the last case a 
large one. Very well. Now, as you come 
nearer to the stone in walking from a comer 
of the room towards the table, the optic axes 
converge upon it gradually more and more^ 
at the same time that the image of the stone 
enlarges on the retina. It is a familiar ex- 
perience that things in motion become larger 
on the eye as they approach us, smaller as 
they recede. At the same time, while they 



OariM tK<kn>.] 



THE STEREOSCOPE. 



41 



t 



approach the optic axes converge more to- 
wards thi'in, and again the sjiiil a^es become 
more nearly parallel as they are departing. 
Now it waa no hanl matter for Professor 
Wlieatstone so to adjust pairs of pictures on 
the moveable walls of Lis reflecting stereo- 
scope as that all ordinary experience should 
iu this matter be contradicted. 

In the first place, he arranged the etorco- 
Ecopic pair on arms moveable only in a circle, 
so that the images in the two mirrors should 
always be of the same size^ hi-ing formed by 
pictures always at a like distance from the 
mirrors, but that the eyes should be obliged 
ID foUowing the movements of the pictures to 
vary the degree of convergence of the optic 
axes. Ho found that as the convergence of 
the optic axes lessened ^suggesting distance) 
the perceived size of the unage grew upon the 
mind, and it seemed to become smaller as the 
convergence was increasei The real size of 
the imago was, as wo have said, unaltered In 
nature, as the convergence of the axes Icssen.s, 
the size of the image les.sens, but its per- 
ceived magnitude rcmain.s the same ; because 
the mind, at all ren.sonable distances, insen- 
»bly, through habit and txperieiicc, forms a 
pretty equal and just conception of the size 
of objectsi, 

The experiment, just cited, wa,? then re- 
versed. By simply sliding the two pictures 
nearer to tLc mirrors, the size of the imago 
thrown U|ion each eye was enlarged, but the 
position of the images upon the mirrors not 
being .shifted, in observing them the inclina- 
tion of the optic axes was not altered. The 
alterations in size were perceived accurately, 
and while the pictures were moved to and 
fro, the image, enlarging and diminishing, 
cheated the mind in a fresh manner ; it ap- 
peared in the most evident way to be moving 
backwards an<l forwards. And yet observe 
the curiou.s distinction, whenever it stood 
still, and whatever might bo then its i»er- 
ceived str.e, there wits no apparent change in 
its position, it never seemed to have moved 
at all. It always appeared, when motioalcsi^, 
to be at one and the same distance from the 
eye, because the chief measure of distance — 
the amoont of convergence of the optic axes 
— never altered. 

A similar delusion wa? elicited in the com- 
panion orperiment, wherein though the real 
size of the image never aftered, the degree of 
convergence of the axes being made constantly 
to vary, caused it apparently to increase and 
decrease. In that case, while the picture 
grew or dwindled, as we know by experience 
that it would increase upon the eye or 
dwindle if advancing or receding, yet, for all 
that it never seemed to move. It stood stilJ 
enlarging like the dog that grew into a hip- 
popotamus before the eyes of Dr. Faustu.s, 
Xevertlieless, whenever the trial ceased, 
whatever change has* been mado in the 
posiKon of the stereoscopic plates was 
represented to the eye as a difference of dis- 



tance ; the image had got, apparently, into a 
new place, because the inclination of the axes 
cca.sed to bo_ the same. Thus, we may be 
told to look at an object in this magic instru- 
ment advancing and receding without chang- 
ing place, and changing place without hving 
observed to move. A state of things utterly 
contradictory and confusing, scarcely or not 
at all conceivatile, because it never has been 
in the experience of any man from Adam 
downwards, until Mr. Whcatst^ne Icnrned to 
detect and re-combine and make experiments 
upon the tiret principles of vision in his new 
instrument, the stencoscopc. 

Enough has been said to show the great 
value and importance of the stereoscope to a 
philo.sophical investigator of the laws of sight, 
When we before spoke of this instrument we 
saiil that, apart from its philosophical use, it 
was employed only as a toy. It i.'* to bo 
purchased now — in its less perfect forma — ■ 
in all tciy-shops ; and the use to which it is 
[Hit commonly by the photogmpher, though 
agreeable, is unimportant The stereoscope 
itself, however, is not only of philosophical 
importance, it admits of many really valuable 
practical applications. Wo need refer only 
to what has been already said of the difficulty 
experienced by the microscopist in determia- 
ing with one eye whether crystals and other 
objects seen by him ore hollow or Kolid, If 
a sovereign be looked at through a microscope, 
the Queen's head upon it will as often appear 
to be sunk into the coin as to sUind out in 
relief from it. Now, however, when photo- 
graphic copies can be taken of objects seen in 
the field of the microscope, it will suffice to 
take two copies of the same object, with the 
duo angle of difference between their points 
of view, and place them in a stereoscope. 
The power of two eyes will bo then brought 
to bear upon the o'yect seen with one eye 
only through the glasses of the microscope, 
and a correct impre.s-iiou will be formed o*' 
its relative dimen.sions. 

Having explained their principle, wo do not 
think it worth while to discu.ss the construc- 
tion of the ditfercnt forms of stereoscope now 
in use. In the refracting instrument, in- 
vented afterwards by Mr. AVhcatstono, as 
convenient for the examination of small 
pictures, prisms are used to deflect the 
rays of light proceeding from the pictures ; 
refracted are there substituted for reflected 
images. 

Of this instrument the small portable 
stereoscope in common use is a modification 
suggested by Sir David Brewster. Its pair 
of pristns are the two halves of a common 
Icn.'j. An ordinary lens having been cut 
in half, the cut cages are turned outwardji, 
and the two half circles, or thin edges of the 
two priffnis so made, arc directed towarda 
each other. They are placed about two 
inches and a h.'df apart, with a power of 
adjustment that enables them to be presented 
accurately to any pair of eyes^ so th&t. «.«e.\x 




4S 



HOUSEHOLD WORDa 



eye of the pair may look preciselj through 
. the centre of the half lens presented to it 
I Under such prisms the stereoscopic pictures 
I are adjusted. 

I Minute details upon subjects of this kind 

{ must of course be sought in other publica- 

, tions. Wc must in this place be satisfled if 

j wc convey general ideas of a just kind upon 

such topics: a notion of the stereoscope — and 

at the best no more has now been given — as 

we attempted on a former occasion to convey 

a notion of photography. We desire to note 

[ in this place that in our brief sketch of the 

t processes of that art, we conveyed among 

I other things an error by a slip of the scribe, 

I which set down dilute pyrogallic acid as an 

I agent used for fixing the picture on the 

I metallic plate. A solution of hyposulphate 

I of soda was the agent that should have been 

\ named. Having stepped aside to correct that 

erratum, we return to our proper subject and 

have to content ourselves now with a final 

word or two about the pseudoscope ; an in- 

; strumcnt of which the name implies " false- 

i hoods, I see." 

I If we cheat the eyes in a stereoscope by 
i showing to each eye the picture that belongs 
only to its neighbour's point of view, every- 
thing is perverted. Upon every point, not 
, immediately in the middle line between and 
' before the two eyes, the optic axes must con- 
verge in the wrong way, and objects or 
parts of objects will appear distant in pro- 
i portion as they otherwise would have seemed 

near. 
j The pseudoscope is especially contrived for 
1 the illustration of this fact It is a little 
instrument, convenient as an opera glass in 
the hand and as easily adjusted. It consists 
of two prisms of flint glass, so joined, that 
they may be adjusted before the eyes to the 
exact focus of observation of any object The 
prisms reflect the two images of any one 
thing— each apparently but not actually to 
the wrong eye — and, when the instrument 
is 80 adjusted that the two images coincide 
and the object consequently appears single, 
the observer is at once subjected to illusions 
of the oddest kind. A globe, so observed, 
may for a minute be a globe, but after the 
spectator has gazed at its rotundify for a 
short while, suddenly, as if without cause, it 
appears to be converted into a concave hemi- 
sphere, over the brim of which continents are 
flowing as the globe revolves. A China cup, 
with coloured ornaments upon it in relief, 
becomes a mould of half the cup with painted 
hollow impressions of the flowers inside, in- 
stead of outside. 

The suddenness of the metamorphosis suf- 
fered by such a cup belongs, one might say, 
wholly to the days of sorcerv. The explanation 
is, however, very natural. Relief and distance 
we not suggested solely by the use of two 
^es and the convergence of their optic axes. 
We are accustomed to note other signs which 
•» perceived by euh eye nngly. The idea 



of relief being suggested by the presence 
of some signs, the eyes at first are apt 
to dwell upon them, and ire not dis- 
posed to be immediately disturbed in their 
impression. 

FIRST STAGE TO AUSTRALIA. 

It is of no use pretending not to know 
where Park Street, Westminster, is. Dont 
ask your way of the crossing-sweeper. Dont 
enquire of the policeman at the comer. 
You need not trouble the elderly woman 
of the fniit stall to point out to you the 
direction of this Open Sesame of the Great 
South Land — the abode of these ofSdal gnmr- 
dians of the Golden Regions, according to 
popular belief. Follow the stream of furtian 
jackets, corduroy trousers and smock-froclca^ 
keep in the rear of the chattering, excited 
parties of half-shaven mechanics, slatternly 
females, and slip-shod children. They axe 
all moving in one direction, and you oonld 
not miss your way if you tried, for it'a 
much easier to follow this stream than to 
move against it 

Across the broad street, along the pave- 
ment on the right-hand ade, cross over again, 
keep straight on, round a little to the left, 
then sharp to the right, and the third house 
on the right-hand side, if we can but get 
at it through the crowd, is the much-sought 
office of tiie Commissioners of Land and 
Emigration. The dense throng of impromptu 
sheep-shearers, ready-made agriculturists, 
and shepherds by inspiration, find it difScult 
to get through the iron wicket and down the 
steep stone steps into the area, where they 
are compelled to pass to the lower waitings 
room. Indeed, it is almost as intricate and 
dangerous an undertaking as wading through 
the labyrinth of type comprised in the thirty- 
four rules of the Commissioners. There is a 
warm and lively performance going on in 
that waiting-room down below the iron 
wicket amongst the ready-made &rm-8or^ 
vants fVom Whitechapel and the shepherds 
of Shoreditch. It would be impossible to 
say precisely how many tongues were going 
at once about steerage passages, and sea- 
sickness, and split peas. 

Up the cold, broad, stone staircase, and in 
the first floor on the left hand, is a quiet, bosry 
room, full of active clerks — a Custom Hooae 
Lcug Room in miniature. Pens are travel- 
inj! over acres of paper ruled in an infinitf 
of tabular forms: heads are reckoning np 
shiploads of shepherds with three childn»i 
and wheelwrights with one, and carpenter* 
with only a wife. Senior clerks are adding 
up and tabulating the totals of male aiM 
female statute adults shipped by the " Wig- 
gins" for Adelaide and the "Scroggina" foe 
Port Phillip, and a table-full of supernume- 
rary deputy-assistant clerks are ticking oflf 
as many single young women as they can 
afford to do for six shillings a-day. There 



DIUlM.] 



FraST STAGE TO AUSTRALIA. 



is a bald-headed supcmumemy in one cor- 
ner, in the depths of dt^spair because an 
etnt^n^nt frtight note from some Irish port 
will not add up. He makes the total come 
to three hundred and thirty-nine and a half 
statute adults; and, being a fresh hand, ho 
cannot conceive the possibility of half of an 
Irishman emigrating to any part of the 
globe; not yet being aware that by the 
GoremmeoC regulations it requires two 
young children to make up the full statute 
adulC 

Hi(rhcr up on the next floor, secretaries, 
assistant secretaries, &nd comnus!doncri<, hold 
solemn dclibcnttions about shipR, shcphcnl.^, 
single women, and salt pork. Early in the 
mornin;;, the desks of the iussktant secretary 
and chief clerk are piled with enormous 
heaps of letters from every part of the United 
Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, not 
etting the Orkney and Shetland Island^:, 
i the Isle of Man. Erery town and village 
auphout the empire is represented in the 
corresponding department of the Colonial 
lAnd and Emigration Commission in Park 
Street. The rcjuiremcnts of the colonists 
Bendin<r home the funds for emigration are 
all in fiiTotir of married labourers of certain 
ages and ocrupations, and those considera- 
tions hare, of course, to be borne in mind 
in (he selection of candidates for free pas- 
sages to Australia. The callings most in 
requisition for these colonics are agricultural 
labourers, shepherds, herds-nien, journeymen 
mechanics and artisaos. It follows, that 
while such persons as sliopnien, clerks, 
bokers, butchers, tulors, confectioners, green- 
grocers, wire-drawers, wig- makers, and jew- 
ellers, are invariably refused, and whilst all 
single men (e.\ccpt those who may be part 
of a family) are al-so rejected, the search in 
for blacksraitlis, carpenters, sawj'ers, gar- 
deners, agrtcuituriata, with their wives and 
families. To select the hale and honest 
artisan or farm servant from the pauperiyicd 
town labourer; to choose the valuable family 
colonist frcni the London candidate who has 
more than three children un<ler ton years 
of age, or who has not been vai-cinated, or 
has mors sons than daughtcpji, or who has 
been in the habitual receipt of parish relief 
— ^orras no inconsiderable or plcasurabte 
task. It taxes the patience, the industry, 
and the good temper of the scCTctary and his 
&ssi.<!tants to an inordinate degree. 

The work of opening, sorting and docket- 
ing these Dumlierless letters begins. The 
m^ority are oddly folded, oddly spelt, oddly 
addressed, oddl)» worded. There is one ex- 
tremely uncouth-looking epistle soldered to- 
gether by cobbler's wax, and pressed tightly 
down wilh the thumb. It contains an ad- 
mixture of the officiol and free-and-cn.«iy 
stylo ; commencing " Honoured sir," and 
ending " Tours afTe-xenelly." This correspon- 
dent appears to be as versatile in his " begs 
to infonn to tlie honountble commissioners" 



that he can not only do all sorts of field-work, 
but housti-work also ; and that he believes he 
shall do his country a service by going to 
" Orstraley ;" that his wife can make butter, 
is very stout, and has had the measles : his 
three childi-en are perfect prodigies. Ano- 
ther applicant indulges in a desponding 
strain, telling Her Majesty's CommissioneTS 
that ho is extremely desirous of biing mar- 
ried to a young woman, five feet live inches 
in height, with whom he has been keeping 
company for three years ; but that he sees 
no pros(>ect of accomplishing this unless they 
will do thi-ra.selves the pleasure of sendinf 
him out to the colonies. lie is a paintei 
and glazier ; but is quite prepared to un<ier- 
take any sort of work from a j>olice-sergeant 
down to a shepherd, the r]uiiHflcations being, 
he thinks, precisely the same. A third can- 
didate for ex(iatrialion states himself to be 
"a yung mon of goo<i ten stim fore; used to 
os-scs, with a wife which will bcnr investi- 
gation." A fourth is "a mill -rite with two 
female children." A fifth reprciwnts himself 
to be "ju.st like the fond lover wishing to 
gain the <iesirc of his art, but oflcn me«ta 
with disappointment;" and has an ardent 
attachment for .-iustralia, and entreats the 
Conmiissioners to take his case in hand by 
return of post 

Whiile, above stairs, piles of such letters are 
la-ing read imd replied to (sometimes with 
lithographed circulars), the crowd of personal 
applicants have to be attended to below. 
One hy one, or two by two, these are ad- 
mitted to an interview •with a deputy in- 
spector-general of emigrants, in a small 
oirwial cabin very like a regulation steerage 
berth. This oflicer is a keen-eyed, sharp- 
wifted person, up to no end of artful dodg'cs, 
and more than a match for any number of 
painters and glaziers, or half a hundred 
"niill-ritca," trying to get out under falso 
pretences. "VVe have explained that only 
emigrants of certain callings are eligible 
for free passages out of the Government 
funds. Consequently, it is the unceasuig 
object and aim of hundreds of Spitnlflelds 
weavers, Lambeth labourers, and Kentish 
Town ends, to transform themselves into 
rustic swains by the aid of sniock-frocka, 
slouch hats, and laced boots. They might M 
well endeavour to pa.ss themselves off as 
noble savages or Aztec dwarfs. Our keen- 
eyed friend in the steerage is thoroughly 
up to them. He knows tliat pale faces and 
smock-frocks do not belong to each other; 
he can tell that bony fingers cannot pos- 
sibly know anything about Rhccp-shearing, 
or hedging and ditching. He can sec the 
difTercncc between hands tliat have worked 
with the spade and those that liuve only 
made acquaintance with the yard or the 
scales. He can tell by the way » man walks 
into his little 'tween decks, whether he has 
ever followed the plough or sewn up • 
coat 



4 



\ 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Ooodacfad kf 



From the quid digni^ of Park Street, 
Westminster, we will taki- a rapki rim down 
U the London Einigration Depot at the Nine 
Elms Station oftlio South- Western Ilailway. 
SDuthami)t«n is now the gredt |)ort of erabar- 
cation for Government emigrants from tlie 
Eouth coast; and, by special arrangcnicnte 
with till' directors of the Railway Conipttny, 
emigrants are tumporai-ily housed and fed at 
their Nino Elms Station ; and ore eventually 
conveyed to Southampton for a verj'' stnull 
Bum per head. The extensive suite of lofty 
well vontilntcd rooras;, once (he London head- 
quarters of the Company, are now converted 
into dormitories, refectories, and reception- 
rooms for GoTcmmcnt cmigronts; and a 
very comfortahle time they have of it wliitst 
awaitldz the arrival of a sufficient ni:m- 
b<sr to be sent off by special train to South- 
ampton. 

At that port the disused tcnninus is also 
uiRd for the same purpose. What was once 
the .iire'-kOrs' boarJ room contait,3 a nun- 
drcd beds for married couples ; -the secretary's 
rooms accommodate as many more for sin- 
gle men; and single women are safely ac- 
commodated in the old trcasuTy. The ancient 
booking-ofBcc is now the dining-hnll ; and, 
adjoining, the luggage-room has been con- 
verted, by the aid of huge boilers and steam- 
pipes, into a gigantic kitchen. The savoury 
fumes of soups and meats permeate the 
whole establishment; hcsTy boiler-lids are 
coti.stantty leaping up, and reeking joints 
peep out like Uadji Baba's thieves from the 
oil-jars inijtiirtng if it were time. The hissing 
an(\ Btearaing cauldron.? contain the mid-day 
meal of a party of Government emigrants 
momentarily expected to join the copjier- 
fiifitened, swift-sailing schooner (standing A 1 
at Lloyd's) "Muffineer," now in the S'outh- 
Mnpton doclc^, which is promised to have 
"quick dispatch" for Melbourne. 

The humble passengers begin to pour in 
by half-doKons, then in scores ; and presently 
men, women, children, and luggage inundate 
the depot, tumbling over one another fur the 
first half hour in the most hopeless confusion. 
But time and patience convinces everybmiy 
that there is room for all and to spare. Every- 
thing goes on systematically. Heavy pack- 
ages are placed in an outer railed shed ; 
parcck and children are carefully stowed 
away on one side of the dinner-hall. There 
IB a good deal of talking, and pushing about, 
and wondering where ever "my boxes," or 
"my Johnny,' or "my missus with baby 
and the toa-canister with the money in it," 
can have got to. But at length one o'clock 
comes; a large bell sounds; and, as it 
die.i away, there is not one of ali that 
motley crowd who ia not seated before a 
clean plate. 

Many of these poor emigrants have not 
partaken of such a meal as that which is 
now r.pread before thejD for many a day; 
perhaps never before in the course of their 




toilsome lives. Certainly none of them ever 
laid down to rest in more comfortable beds 
than they do on this first night of their wan- 
derings towards the GoH World at the 
Antipodes, 

Long before the Southampton public are 
awake or moving, tlie emigrants arc up, and 
submitting their baggage to the examination 
of the government officer ; whose duty it is to 
SCO that each has an outfit sufficiently abun- 
dant for a four months' voyage. Sometime* 
a few articles of clothing arc found wanting; 
for many of these people ore of the poorest 
class ; but the deficiency is in certain cases 
made good by a Ladies' Emigration Com- 
mittee at Southampton; which takes care 
that no mother of a family leaves her 
home without such comfortfi for herself and 
her children as are indispensable to a long 
Toyage. 

Every attention is necessarily given to 
cleanliness and ventilation on board the ships 
chartered by the Emigration Coaimissioners ; 
and, as soon aa the pa.s8cngers have been 
allotted their respective berths, they are each 
served with a set of utcnsHs necessary for the 
voyage ; such as a tin pot, a bread basket, a 
can for water, metal plates, knives, forks, and 
spoons, in addition to bedding and a clothes 
bag. These articles become the property of 
the emigrants at the end of the voyage, ex- 
cept in crises of misconduct Recently, it has 
been found necessary to take from the emi- 
grants at the port of cmbarcation a written 
engagement, that, if they go to the gold ftflda» 
or if they quit the colony within four yeart 
after landing, they will repay to the colonial 
government a proportionate part of their pas- 
sage money, at the rate of four pounds per 
adult for each year remaining to complete 
four years from landing. This i.s the merest 
justict! to the colonists ; who provide funds 
in order thnt l.ibimrera. might be forwarded 
to them ; and not with the romantic bene- 
volence of stocking the diggings with g;old 
seekers. 

It does not require many days to fill fhs 
' ' Muffineer." The stores are all on board, the 
sails are loojccned, the last group of partinjf 
friends have Itft the gangway, the emigraticm 
agent certifies that all is complete, the word is 
given to the little steam-tug to move ahead, 
whilst hats and handkerchiefs arc waved, 
tears are shed, and as the " ttuflSnecr" is being 
towed out of the mouth of the harbour, somS 
few rather bolder and stouter than the rest 
try to get up a parting cheer ; hut it generally 
turns out a, miserable failure. They are ofT, to 
swell the living tide that floats towards the 
south. They xvho have been inured to 
labour are off, from hunger, toil, and sorroir, 
to plenty, to comfort, and happiness. They 
are off, from the poor-hniisc, the jail, and tht 
asylum, to the green hills, and fertile fields of 
a new land. 

During this present year to the end of Jans 
there bad left our shores for all parts of the 



Gharha DtekiiiL] 



A BRILLIANT DISPLAY OF FIREWORKS. 



48 



I 



world not fewer than two hundred and 
ninety-two thousand three hundred and 
forty-seven persons. Of these, one hundred 
and ninety-nine thousand left for the United 
States of America, and fiily-two thousand for 
the Australian gold regions. The remainder 
went to Canada and to other places. The 
channels through which all this has taken 
place havo been various. Parish emigra- 
tion, assisted emigration, fi-ee emigration, 
emigration through the aid of relatives, 
and lastly that mode of which we pur- 
pose treating more especially, Government 
emigration. 

A BRILLIANT DISPLAY OP 
FIREWORKS. 

It is eleven o'clock at night The moon is 
shining, not too brightly to dim tlie fun of the 
" Gardens." There is a temporary respite. 
The Suftblk pro'lig.v, eight years of age, and 
weighing an unlimited number of " stun," 
has exhibited his fat legs for the small charge 
of threepence. Sporting amateurs in pina- 
fores have had a pop at a revolving htrget 
of foxca and hares at a penny per shot. 
Professor Contortini and his talented son 
have tied themselves up into endless knots, 
and the Signora Doublcdoni has petrified her 
patrons and patronesses (at twopence a head) 
by her inexplicable powers of clairvoyance and 
tliought-reiiding. The grand concert is over, 
in which the celebrated comic singer obtained 
five encores. The angels of the grand ballet 
liavo shed their wings and their muslin, 
and are supping off saveloys with their re- 
spective husbands and families. The visitors 
have ascertained satisfactorily, by the ex- 
penditure of BJindry pennies, which amongst 
themselves is the tallest, which the heaviest, 
and which can punch a spring-bulfer with the 
greatest force. The Hungarian Baud have 
bung up their instruments, and ar'i sporting 
pea coats over their spangles and tights. 
The Polygraphic Views are rolled up ; the 
American nine-pins are all finally knocked 
down, and the Chinese peg-top has gone 
to sleep for the night The rifie-gallerj' 
has coucd its whiz, fizz, slap, bang. The 
Circus has displayed the talents of "the 
graccfuUeuyer^," the "dashing horsewoman," 
the "sylph of the arena," tlie " queen of the 
maniQt, the " equestrian star," the " demon 
horseman," the " gymnastic wonder," and the 
" uAqualled contortionists." The butler-tub 
phenomenon has rolled his perilous way up a 
hundred feet of inclined plane anitil.st the 
breathless droad of the spectators that he 
will tumble off and break his neck before ho 
lias reached the end of the phnk. The Elastic 
Brothers have performed then: matchless 
feats of standing upon nothing and swinging 
on chin-balanccd poles twenty feet high. — 
The din of amusement is over ; and now 
nothing remain.s to be seen but the achicve- 
Bients of Chevalier Mortnm, witli his troop 



of Salamanders. They have taken possession 
of a certain dark portion of ground, backed 
by a wootl and canvas temple of an unknown 
order of that ultra composite architecture 
known as the Indescribable. 

What the Chevalier is about to do no one 
is supposed to know but him.self. lii the iin- 
penctrablo breast of the artist lies the de- 
termination whether there shall be rockets 
with tail-stars, or with golden rain, or 
with brilliant heads ; whether Bengal lights 
shall burst with green fire or red fire ; 
whether there shall be a pot d'aigrette, 
with a tree of silver flowers and a grand 
shower of fiery serpents; whether a shell 
shall explode with brilliant stars, or with 
snakes; whether there shall be a six-rayed 
star, with Chinese flyers and a grfttid 
cros.* of jerb fire; whether Jack-in-the-Box 
shall explode his crackers in the air; whether 
a Devil-among-the-Tailors shall tdd his 
freaks with a grand explosion of flower-pots 
and fizzgigs ; whether there shall be a 
cascade of golden flowers, or an asteroid 
rocket to change colour seven times, or an 
o-scending shower of snakes, or a fiery dragon 
to dart and wriggle and spit fire over the 
heads of the spectators. 

We arc behind the scenes ; and we there 
learn from the renowned fire artist aiany 
curious and interesting things. Wo arc told 
first that the pyrotechnic art illustrates many 
of the iin>st imjwrtant principles in chemistry, 
optica and dynamics. Explosion itself i.s, he 
says, a chemical phenomenon. As a general 
rule, jiyrotechny depends on the property 
which nitre jiosscsses of accelerating the cora- 
bu.stion of inHaramablc substances, even when 
excluded from tlie air; nitre, or saflpetro, or 
sal-prunella (for they are nearly equivalent 
names) is on this account the soul of all 
pyrotechny. Of the substances whose com- 
bustion nitre accelerates, sulphur is the 
principal ; it is used either as roll-suljibEr or 
tlower of sulphur. The third most important 
ingredient is charcoal ; which is made from 
hard wood or soil wood, and is ground finely 
or coarsely, according to the kind of effect 
which is rctjuired to be produced. Nitre, 
^ulfihur, and charcoal, are the three ingro- 
dieiiLs of gunpowder, and the pyrotechnist 
uses them largely, as gunpowder, in this com- 
bined Btitc; but he also uses them sepa- 
rately and in varied pro[)ortions. For minor 
purpases, bitumen, pitch, tiiHow, resin, coal, 
camphor, glitsit, rot<-a, orpiment, alcohol, metal 
filings, benzoin, oils, sawdiLst, amber, clay, 
frankinccaae, myrrh, and other substances, 
arc occasiomjly employed ; but nitre, sulphur, 
charcoal, metal filings, and a few salts, arc 
the materials in ordinary of a brilliant display 
of fireworks. 

Let those materials be combined in 
what number op proportions they may, a 
chemical change instantly follows ignition. 
The desired result may be an cxplo.sion, or a 
recoil, or a flame, or > stream of sparks ; but 



a 



m 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



all these arc alike chemical phenomena. 
\Vhcn an explosion takes place, the solid 
ii)ateri.tlR, or some of them, are instantly 
converted into gases ; and these gases occupy 
PC much more space than the solids, that they 
must displace air to obtain room for them- 
selves, and the violent of this displacement 
occasions the noise of the explosion. If the 
materials bo confined within a strong paper 
case, or a gun barrel, the greater efforts of 
the exjianding gSises to rend it increases the 
intensity of the noiso. If flame be required, 
exploding materials must be loosely confined, 
and the solids must bo such that their 
resultant gases will inflame or ignite. If 
sparks be wanted, some one of the materials 
must bear an intense heat and reflect an 
intense light before being dissipated. All 
these are chemical eflects ; and different com- 
binations of ingredients are neces-sary to 
ensure their production. For simple explosion 
without other attendant phenomena, gun- 
powder is the chief or only agent; for a 
recoil motion, such as that of rockets and 
seri>ents a little less proportion of nitre is 
used ; for flame, charcoal is as much as 
possible excluded ; for sparks, charcoal pre- 
ponderates, aidetl by metal filings. The slow 
or the quick burning of substance, the pro- 
duction of soundorof light, the exhibition of 
flames or of sparks — arc all the result of 
chemical laws. 

Xo one can di.<!puto the optical beauty of 
fire-works. The sparks and the flames may 
be regarded as luminous particles, rendered 
visible by intense heat; but the most gor- 
geous effects are produced by the reflection 
of coloured rays derived fhjm various che- 
mical mixtures ; the nitre and the sulphur 
and the charcoal, one or more, produce 
the flame and the sparks, but it is some- 
thing else which imparts brilliancy of colour. 
The theatres arc famous show places for 
these coloured fires. When Jessonda is about 
to be immolated, and the Portuguese besiege 
the ca.stle, one feels terribly hot at the idea of 
the approaching flames ; and when Don 
Juan is pushed down by small devils in 
horns, tails i^nd brown tights through a 
trap-door, there are misgivings as to the 
•lature or the red fire into which he is 
plmijiod. But there is nothing to fear. 
Nitrate of strontian docs it all ; and chemistry 
thus comes to the aid of Spohr and Mozart 
Very while light, used for " white speckles" 
or illumination lights in ornamental fire- 
works, owe much of their whiteness to zinc 
<iliii<;s. Poie blue light is indebted to a little 
antimony as well as zinc. Red is producwl 
by the addition cither of mica or nitrate of 
strontian to the other ingredients. Purple 
fire is aided by red lead ; yellow by black- 
lead ; preen by nitrate of copper ; yellowish- 
white by red orpiment, and so on. The che- 
nistry of colour is taxed by the pyrotechnist 
to the utmost : a new colour would be wel- 
comed by him as much as a new sauce by 



an epicure or a new idea by a poet Nor 
are radiant and reflected coloured lights alone 
treasures to him ; but he occasionally makes 
use of transmitted light In the old-fashioned 
illuminating lamps, fed with oil instead of 
gas, the gay colours are due to the little 
glass vessels and not to the flame itself; 
they are examples of coloured light produced 
by transmission. This tnuwmitted light does 
wonders on the stage. When Mario and 
Grisi in I^i Favorita mope in the moonlight; 
or when the dead nuns in Robert le Diable 
dance an unearthly ballet, we may make 4 
tolerably near guess that a green glass bottle, 
placed in front of a strong light, produces the 
moonshine. 

The laws of dynamics or mechanical move- 
ment are, besi<les those of chemistry, illus- 
trated and brought into play in pyrotechnics. 
The ascent of a sky-rocket, and the revolving 
of a fire- wheel, arc beautiful examples of these 
laws. When a cannon is fired, the ball goes one 
way and the cannon another — ^the latter being 
affected by a recoil. It is true this rccoQ ii 
very slight, on account of the great weight of 
the cannon, and the mode in wliich it is ooii> 
nected with the ground. The gunpowder 
behind the ball explodes or expands into gas; 
this gas must and will find room for itBel( 
eitiier by driving the ball out of the cannon, 
or by driving the cannon away from the 
ball, or both. Apply this to a sky-rocket 
A rocket is a strong paper tube, filled with 
inflammable matter. It is fixed vcrtic^hr 
to a stick ; and, when fired at the lower en^ 
the composition becomes converted into t 
gas. This gas, pressing and driving in all 
directions, finds an outlet, rushing out with 
great force ; and is accompanied by a briUiant 
shower of sparks at the opened lower end; 
but it also drives the case itself upwards br 
the recoil. The ascent of the rocket is whoDj 
due to the efforts of the gaseous cxplodtd 
mixture to escape. Tliis recoil is the saiat 
in principle as that displayed by a satw 
propeller, however different it may appev u 
action. The screw must turn round, becasae 
a steam-engine irresistibly compels it, but H 
cannot do this without either driving tht 
water in one direction or the ship in another. 
It does both ; the ship recoils under the fbroe 
used, and thus is it moved along. The bcis- 
tiftil revolving wheels which form such at* 
tractive objects in pyrotechnic displays an 
in like manner dependent on the dyouec 
action of the wheel. They are kindled it 
certain points — sometimes at the pcriphorr, 
sometimes at the side of the spokes — and the 
expanding gases rush out at the orifices. Bat 
this nish tends to recoil against the wheel 
itself; and, if the orifice be judiciously placed 
the recoil will cause the wheel to rotate with 
great velocity. There are many machines in 
which a rotatory movement is given by tht 
escape of water or air through orifices, on 1 
principle somewhat analogous. The model 
of applying these chemical, and optical, and 



r 



/ 




A BRILLIANT DISPLAY OP FIREWORKS. 



47 



djDamictil principles may be almost inQnite. 
It is the pyrott'chnisl's business to find out 
these mofles; it is his craft, his art aj»d mys- 
tery, the fniit of his ingenuity, and the source 
of his bread and cheese. 

Listen to a catalogue of some among the 
many forms which these graceful displays of 
light and colour and form and motion are 
made to pre«ent ; — 

First Uwre is the Sky-rocket, already 
noticed — a cylindrical case intended to ascend 
to a great height, give out a provision 
oP sparks daring its ascent, and spread a 
brilliant shower of coloured stars when it 
explode.^*, high up in the skiey regions. A 
Tonrbilhn is a sort of double rocket, having 
oriflces so placed a* to produce a doulilc recoil 
—one rotatory and one vertical ; the Tour- 
Vdhui revolvuti and asccnJ:^ at the same time, 
and is ar> exceedingly beautiful and brilliant 
tiraflrork- A Roman Candle is a case containing 
one or more smaller cases; a stream of 
sparks carries up a brilliant kind of star, 
which nmy be white, blue, or sparkling, 
according to the ingredients which it contains. 
A gerb or jcrb Is a firen-ork tlcpending chiefly 
on the hriiliant sparkles of steel and iron 
filings; and a Chinese founlJiin is somewhat 
similar to it A Pot-de-Brin is a case or 
cavity fWim which serpents, stars, and 
crackers, are thrown up into the air. A Pot- 
d'AujretU tlirows up serpents only ; while a 
Pot-d«-''iiuciiDion throws up cases which arc 
half serpent half cnicker. A Balloon (in the 
pjTotechuic, not the aeronautic icnse) is a 
ahoJl propelled from a mortar, and made to 
Mfttter squibs, cracker;, serpents, and stars, 
when it e^cplodes at a great height: this is 
often very magntficcot A Cracker is a small 
case filled with dense powder, and producing 
a loud re]>ort when exi>lodeii ; a Maroon is a 
large cracker; and both form component 
partj of larger fireworks. A Saueunon is 
compounded of a brilliant (!re and a bounce, 
and is discharged out of a mortar fl.ved on 
the ground. A Scroll is a kind of tovrhilLon 
on a amall scalo, provided with a rotatory 
motion. A Ritin is a composition for adding to 
sky-rockets and other pieces ; it pours down 
a vertical shower of brilliant sparks, which 
may br of any desired colour. A Star is a 
brill iitnt light, produced by the explosion 
of a small case connected xvith sky-rockets 
and Roman candles. A Wheel — v?hether a 
single case, or a spiral, or a compound, or a 
horizontal, or a compound spiral, or a diverg- 
ing vertical, or a rererHcd, or a conical hori- 
zontal, or an extending, or a diminishing, or a 
concentric, or an alternating wheel — is a 
framework of wood or iron, having cert.-iin 
axial movements according to its kind ; long 
tubes filled with gunpowder or composition 
arc twined upon, or around, or within the 
wheel in various directions ; and when these 
compositions are fired the recoil cau.scs the 
wheel to revolve horizontally, or vertically, or 
to ascend or descend — endless beauties are av 



the pyrotcclmifit's command in these pro- 
ductions. .A. Geometrical Figure is such an 
arrangement of tilled paper cases as will pro- 
duce when ignited a fiery cross, ti-iangle, 
square, hexagon, octagon, or otlier figure. .\n 
Ostrich Feather, or Prince of Wales's plume is 
a pleasing spread of sparkling fin.', usually 
forming (he apex of a pyramidal fu-ework. 
A Tree throws out coloured fires at various 
angles for either side of a vertical ct-ntre. 
These are only some among the many Tiiriettes 
at the dispo.sal of the artist 

There were Mortrams, llenglers, Southbys, 
and Darbys in early daj's ; although rather for 
militiry than for holiday duties. The Chinese 
and Hindoos m.ade and exploded fireworks 
long before Europe had any fireworks to ex- 
plo(Je. The famous Greek Fire which was 
used at Acre against the crusading army of 
St Loui.s, has occasioned numberless specula- 
tions and controversies. This fire, the old 
annalists tell us, " came forward as large as a 
barrel of verjuice, with a tail of fire issiiing 
from it as big as a great «vord, making a 
noise in its passage like thunder, and seeming 
like a dragon flying through the air; and 
from tho great quantity of light it threw out, 
giving such a light that one might sec in the 
camp as if it had been day." It is also de- 
scribed as " consuming even flint and iron," 
and as* emitting an awful .stench. The Hy- 
Mntincj used the Greek Fire against the 
Pisana ; Pliilippe Auguste employed it against 
the Eiigli.sh vessels at the siege of Calais ; and 
it was used at tho siege of Yprcs in thirteen 
hunilrcd and eighty-three. The late Dr. 
Macculloch, after a labourotl attempt to dis- 
cover what the Greek Fire really vva."!, gave 
it up as a hopeless task, concluding that 
the peoi)lc who witnc.s.sed it were too iniii'h 
frightened to speakintelligibly about iL When 
nitre came into use as an aid to combustibles, 
fireworks and gunpowder may equally be a-iid 
to have been invented. Whatever Roger 
Uacon may have done in this way in Europe, 
it is certain tho Chinese preceded him by a 
dozen or two of ix'nturies. Without speaking 
of Chinese fireworks generally, we may say a 
few words concerning the Chinese " drum," 
which so excited Sir George Staunton's admi- 
nition during hia visit to China. This 
firework appears to resexnble a cylindrical 
band-box, oniainented on the exterior with 
paintings. When it is to be fired, it is 
suspended from a stand twelve or fifteen 
feet high. Tho light is applied at tho 
lower jiart There immediately drops out 
below a transparent piece, accompanied by 
brilliant light, which falls to the ground 
iflcr being burned out ; and this is suc- 
ceeded by ten or a dozen others, all differ- 
ing in device. These appear to bo — not merely 
transparent pictures — ^but castles, ship.s lan- 
terns, globes, cones, and other hoUow moilels, 
illumined within and without They are 
made of transparent painted paper, sup- 
ported on a light wooden framework. All 



I 



4S 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 




these object'* are packed awny with great in- 
genuity in tl»e bottom of the drum; and they 
»ro so surrounded and connected by tubes, 
and slow matches, and composition, and firu- 
worka, that tliey drop ono by one out of the 
open end of the drum, displaying their 
b«auties for a brief space, and then quietly 
go out 

Whetlier it is Chin-chop-chow making 
fireworks for the Celestials at Pekin, or 
Chevalier Mortram making for the British 
public, there is doubtless much simtlaritj in 
the workshop proccases, the manufacturing 
operations. The gunpowder haa to bo 
pounded, and the sulphur and charcoal 
pounded and purified, The metal filings 
have to bo brought to different degrees of 
finenesR, and l}ic colouring jnaterials preiiared 
and the various combinations mixed in due- 
proportions. The paper cases also must be 
made. Strong cartridge or brown paper is 
rolled round a mandril or rod into a tubular 
form, the Ia.st lap being secured by paste. 
These paper tubes, filled in various ways and 
to different degrees, constitute the whizzing, 
and bouncing, and cracking, and sparkling 
fireworks. Tlien there are veins or arteries, 
not necessary for visible display, but for con- 
veying the fiery impulse from one work to 
another. These ore called lead<'rs. Tliey 
con.^ist of paper tubes containing string which 
haa been dipped in certain solutions, varied to 
act as dow-matcb or quick-match, according 
to need. 

On the fifth of November, when Muffincap 
and his schoolfellows prepare a grand display 
of firewsrks, at their joint cspcnse, tliey of 
course take care not to omit the .squibs [ but 
they know nothing of these two facts — that 
every halfpenny squib undergoes no less than 
thirteen distinct processes, end that tbcslio]i- 
keeper gets more for selling it than the pyro- 
technist gets for making it. The cutting, 
the rolling, the choking, the charging, the 
knocking-out, the bouncing, the capping, the 
tying arc some, but not all, of the events 
in the birth of a squib. First, strong broivn 
paper, weighing eighty pounds to the renin, is 
cut into thirty-six pieces per sheet, each piece 
to make a squib ; the case is formed with this 
stout paper, and is covered with much thinner 
white paper ; each little tube is choked witli a 
dent or depression near ono end ; it is partly 
filled with composition through a funn«i(, and 
rammed down with a rod ; it is further filled 
with loose powder; it is provided with a 
nipple, and touch paper, and i blue cap and 
a sealing of wax or glue — and thus it goes 
forth into society at the cheap cost of half-a- 
Tfown per gros-s. 

A squib is a Diiniature representative of a 



large number of fireworks ; for the mixing of 
the composition, the making of the tube, and 
the filling, are the types of operation both on 
the large and the small scale. To a rocket 
there is a sti-ong cylindrical cartridge case, to 
contain the composition which is to produc« 
the projectilu force by its explosion. Upon its 
upper extremity is fixed a conical ease, also of 
paper, to contain the stars, or serpents, or 
crackers, which are to astonish tlie natives by 
their display when high up in the air. A 
pound rocket is perhaps an inch-and-a-half in 
diameter by fourteen and fifteen incthes lon^ 
The composition in the conical part difien 
from that in the cylindrical part chiefly in 
the addition of antimony or some metal whicb 
shall aid in producing the grand fiarc-up vvhoi 
the rocket has reached its greatest height 
The filling and securing of the cases arc niea 
operations, requiring much care ; and when 
these arc completed, the rocket is attached to 
a long wooden rod. This rod acts like the 
tail of a kite, or the feather of an arrow ; 
preserves the line of direction during 
rocket's (light _ 

All smrh operations as theso — the preparing 
of ingredient.s, the making of cases, the filFuig, 
the sealing and touching — are carried on 
the workshops of our Chevalier and 
brother pyrotechnists: where are also made 
the frames and wheels which are to support 
the largest Artworks. At the public garde 
where .such disjilays occur there is n sutjsidia 
workshop, in which the tubes, and Icade 
anil fuxis, are adjui>led to their proper placet 
on the frames or scallulding. And nere it iS 
interesting to observe how time becomes an 
element in the work. All the leaders, c<m» 
tainiug the match or fu^e compasition, are i 
adjusted in length that they shat! convey i 
ignition to every spot at the exact iiist 
required ; else the banging of the cracken 
might commence before the bcautirul star ha 
done its shining work, or the rotation of I 
wheel might be so ill-timed as to burst the 
cnicker. The appearance of the frame itself 
with all the tubes and lenders tie<l to it to 
various directions, wouid give a stranger very 
little idea of the uUim.itc forms and mor*- 
ments intended to be produced. 

In his mysterious plot of ground, •with hb 
frames, and rockets, and wheels, and marooos 
placed conveniently at hand, the monarch of 
the fiery region kindles the results of fait 
labours, one by one, and oQ" they go — anudR 
exclanmtions of the wildest delight buratinj 
from thousands of upturned cotintcnancea 
At length the National Anthem bursts forih, 
the last stir faints and expires; and thert 
is an end to the brilliant display of. 
works. 



the 

1 

fuig, A 

M 

iiort T 



" F'lmiliar in lUir Moutht <u HOUSEltOLD WORDS."- 



n-AKBvm«aL 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A WEEKLY JOURNAL. 

CONDUOXED BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



Vol. VIII. 



McELRATH <b BARKER, PUBLISUERS. 



Whclb No. 182. 



CONVICTS IN THE GOLD REGIONS. 



Os arriving at the main Sydney route from 
the town bounilary of MeUjoilrne^Melhourne 
ikiiious, among other thiiii;6, ever siiu'e it rosi; 
to fame two years ago, for no roads, or the 
worst rutxl;*, or impassable slouglm, it\V!ini]is, 
and rights of way through suhiirb wastes of 
bush, and boulder stones, and stumps of trees 
— leaving, I say, all these pwuliaritics be- 
hind, you suddenly arrive at the oiieiiiu}? of 
the main road to Sydney, leading in a dirci-t 
line to tlic village of Pentridge, the position 
of the Convict Stockado. This is tlio chief 
pifnril deput of the colony. 

Tliti first thing that lilrikes you, adcr all 
you have gone through, is the excellence of 
the road, its direttness, and its lenjjtli. You 
look aliViga straight road, broad, well-formed, 
hard, clean, with drains running along each 
aide, protected (together with the lower edges 
of the road) by laVge bouliier-stones and 
heavy lops at intervals, and the eye traverses 
along this to an unvarying distance of two 
miles and a quarter. There is no road to 
be compared with it in the colony, and the 
whole of this has been the product of convict 
labour, within the space of httlc more than 
two yeartj and four or tive months. Ik- it 
undenrtocxl very great difficulties had to 
be OTcrcom'', in respect of swamps, huge 
stones, .inil large trees, and stuuipH with ;;re:it 
roots. Nor was this the whole of the work 
performed by the convicts of Pentriilfj;i\ a 
bridge and part of a road elsewhere having 
been constructed simultaneously ; the bridge 
alone, if it had been built by free labour 
during these periods of high wages, being of 
the value of Qve thousand pounds. Whatever 
the saTUig ks to cost, however, the value of a 
good road and a bridge to a new country like 
this i.s nhnost beyond calculation. I forget 
what prriciiral philosopher it was who said, 
"The worst use you can put a man to is to 
hang him," but surely most people wilt readily 
admit that such a rood tia the above, in any 
country, and more especially in the colony of 
Victoria, in not only fiir more useful, but a 
flv more huiuane and sightly object than the 
gdlowa 

The road to Pontrideo gradually and 
slightly ris« till you reach the top, when a 
turn to the right brings you at once upon the 



ground of the Stockade, which iies in a hoi 
low a little below. A lirst impression docj 
not convey any ade<|uate impression of its 
strenpth, or general ckiratter as a penal 
establi.shmenL You see several detached 
tents upon the higher ground, with a sentinel 
walking to and fro in front of them; and you 
look down upon a low-roofed, straggling 
range of buildings, something in appearance 
between an English country brewhouse, and 
a military outpost liolding it in charge. De- 
scending the slope, and reaching ttie house of 
the superintendent, a Sf|uare garden of cab- 
bages, and s(juare beds of weeds mixed with 
flowers and shrubs fa type of most of the 
gardens since the discovery of the gold), ia 
seen on the other side of the horseway be- 
tween, with a green swampy field beyond, 
bounded by a long iron-grey wall of largo 
loose .stones, with a few trees to the right, 
and the head of a sentinel moving backwards 
and forwards — upon legs we assume — in the 
nieridow or tn.nr.sh below on the other side. 

Keing left alone for a white under tho 
wooden vcrawlah of the house, tlie picture is 
further enlivened by the slow approach of a 
cow from a cow-house in the pro.\imity of the 
cabbage square, which pauses and looks at 
mu with a rueful and rather commiserating 
expresiiion. She is pretty comfortable her- 
self, but she sees that I nm a new comer, and 
wonders perhaps whnt I have done to be 
brought there. The place is all very silent ; 
so is the cow I so of course nra I. .\ dog now 
comes round tho corner, and after looking at 
me, without barking or other demonstration, 
retires, I follow mechanically, and on turn- 
ing the angle of the house I come in view of 
what [ had at first compared in my mind 
to a country brewhouse, which on a closer 
examination becomes formidable enoitgh, pre- 
senting as it docs very tmmisLakeablo indica- 
tions of strength, precaution, and watchful 
vigilance, both within and without. No voice 
fs heard ; nothing is heard but the clash of 
the chains of a g^ng of convicts pa.s.?ing across 
one of the yards. 

Tho Sitperintendcnt, Mr. Barrow, who is 
at the head of the penal estahlishment.s of 
the colony, appears, and on my making some 
allusion to the men in chains, gives me their 
collective history in a few words, which show 
that the said cWns are by no means un- 



so 



HOUSEHOLD WORDa 



[CwlMto4 ky 



I 



t 



necessary ornanitnts. Mast of the convicts 
have liccn, in one place or otlier, prisoners 
frora cliildhood. They have been three times 
convicted at homo; first of all, whipped, per- 
haps, in the Parkhurst prison for juvenDc 
odenders. After beinR exposed to the coii- 
tnniinnting iiitiutncc of many more depraved 
thnn (lieniKekes they have been pardoned, 
and Bcnt iidrill on the world, worse thnn 
when tlvcy entered it. Again apprehendeJ nnd 
convicted they litivc been sent to Pentonville, 
or some other prison. Liberated after years, 
again following a coui-se of crime, ainl once 
more apprehended and convicted, they have 
been transported to Van Dii'iiien'^ Lund, or 
Norfolk Island. At cneli of these [ihices, ,iiid 
in all their prisons, at Ijotiie and fibroad, the 
pet system of penal traiiiins? and reform in 
use at the period has been tried, and all have 
failed. Obtaining their condiLional pardons, 
after a certain number of j-ears in Van 
Diemen's Land, or Norfolk Island, they have 
had it in their power to go with their ticket 
of leave to any of the .■\u.stralian colniiies. Of 
course they have made directly for Jlelhoiirne 
— first to the gold region of the dijifjins, 
and next to the more fixed gold region of llie 
wealthy lommunity ia the town. Most of 
the crimes of these men — that is to say, ninety 
per cent, of them, have origirmted in England. 
They hiid Iheir tliief experience and training 
at home. They have eommitted everj- crane 
here, to obtain gold, whith tiieir previous 
knowledge, skill, and depravity could suggest 
— and here they are at last 

It is night; a cold wind blows and a 
drisKling rain falls. An iron tongue, that is 
to Kay, a large bell in the Stockade, now 
Announces that the time has arrived for all 
the prisoners to go lo bed. A jingling of 
chains \s heard as the several gangs pass 
across the yard, then a sound of the drawing 
of boltit, then silence, I cannot help specu- 
lating on the different sorts of Buppresscd 
ferocity in the faces of all these subdued 
human tigers, as they sit up on their wooden 
palleUi, or look out from beneath their 
blankets. 

Dining with the Superintendent, and tlie 
chief ofiiccr in conamand of this de[iartnK'nt 
{an old army captain), ttc arc waited upon by 
one of the aborigines, whose black face is 
•without a Fingle tint of negro brown, lie 
is a prisoner of the Stockade, but in reward 
for a long period of good conduct, is en- 
trusted with this comparative degree of 
liberty. He understands enough English — 
chiefly nouns, with a few morsels of verbs — 
to wait very well; and though in lii.s training 
he let fall or otherwise demolished a fearfid 
amount of plates, glasses, and other Klrance 
and wondrt>us domestic articles which were 
previously unknown to his bands or eyes, he 
nas now attained sufficient skill to avoid all 
Buch disasters. But he has his ninny old 
misfortunes of this kind in constant memory, 
and is full of dreadful apprebeofiiona at every^ 



feat he performs. When he places a de- 
canter of wine on the table, he remains % 
second or two with glaring eyes, and slowly 
withdrawing his open hands from both sides, 
ready to catch it in case it should take a fit 
of tumbling over as he walks away. Lie has 
an awful look of care in lianding me a larga 
dish of smoking potatoes. It seems like a 
solemn rite to un idol. I do not dare to 
glance up at his face. His constant care and 
watchftilncs.s are extraordinarj', and he ob- 
viously possesses far more intelligence than 
the aborigines of Australia are generally 
believed capable of acquiring. Mr. Barrow 
inform.* me that ho is really in all ordinary 
respects a very good and trusty servant, and 
that he has n«rer been known to tell an 
untruth. 

T5nt the picture I have formed in my imagi- 
nalion, of all those fierce convicts in their 
chains — which arc not taken off even at 
night — sitting up in their dens, or scowling 
up from beneath their blankets, still haunting 
ine, I feel obliged to communicate my wish 
to Mr. BaiTow to be permitted, if not con- 
trary to rules, to pay them a pa.ssing visit 
forthwith. My wish being courteou.sly ac- 
corded, I accompany the captain to the gate 
of the Stockade, and having passed this, and 
the armed sentinels, T find myself in a sort of 
barrnck-yard, to appearance, with store- 
rooms at each side, having strong narrow 
doors, immense iron bolLs, and an iron grating 
above for ventilation. The captain informs 
me that the stores arc n(ft thus protected to 
prevent anybody from walking off with them, 
but to render it almost impossible for the 
stores themselves lo escape. These strong 
rooms are, in fact, the wards, or dormitories 
of the convicts. Being invited to look in upon 
them, I a[iproach one of tliese bolted doon 
A square shutter is unfastened and pushed 
aside by the captain, and displays an iron 
grating through which I look at the irre- 
clairaablcs in their Jairs. How absurdly 
different is the reality from the picture I had 
framed in my imagination f Over a largo 
room are distributed on stretchers, or other 
raised surface, and all so close together as 
only to allow of space for passage round each, 
a number of bundles of bedding, apparently, 
each enveloped in a grey and blue chequered 
coverlid of the same pattern. The bales or 
bundles are without motion or sound ; no 
voice is heard, no hc-ul Or foot i.<i visible. Eicb 
bundle contains the huddled up form of a 
convict, who adopts this plan to obtain the 
greatest degree of warmth. Some are, no 
doubt, asleep; many wide awake, and full of 
peculiar thoughts: and perhaps even of fresh 
plans, should they ever again get a chance. 
What a volume of depraved life, what a 
prison-history lies enfolded in each of those 
moveless coverlids! There is absolutely 
nothing more to be seen, and wc pass on to 
the nest door. It is very much the same. 
A third ward, however, presents a dificrence, 



dwlM I>l<k«M.1 



till' sleeping; plnces being built up in separate 
berths, formed of cros? batlL-nii, like very 
strong wooden cages for benrs. The occu- 
pants of the upyier tier ascend by means of a 
woodrii bracket whirh juts out nbout half 
way up. lliTC I did see one fo'H pnilrudiiig, 
belonging probably to some taJl miin who 
was not in irons. A lantborn i.< siispendiHl 
from the centre of the roiif, by a cunl which 
is passed oTur a pulley, atid niiu; througli a 
hole above the door, so that the guard cun 
raise it or lower it at any tiiue during the 
night without opening the door. When the 
light needs trimming, the lantboru beiug 
lowered, one of the prisoners, whose turn it 
is, has to get up and attend to it The gleam 
it sheds i£ very melancholy, aluiost funereal. 
Hard nature!!, indeed, must ibey be, who, 
lying awake soraeli: ' ■■ night, are not 

softened to a few si-; . Iits or emotions 

ae they look arouu'i m^iu; but hard no 
doubt they are, and most of them of the 
hardest. 

The Superintendent has work to do in hi.s 
office — letters, reports, calculations, ac- 
count-s, <lkc. ; ha becomes absent and Uciturn, 
and I betake myself to bed. Thiou^hout the 
whole night, I am awakened every half hour 
by the Stockade bell, and am five limoj> in- 
fonned, by the different voices of five sen- 
tinels, heanl in succession from different points 
of the building, near and remote, that " all's 
well !" After the sixth or seventh round of 
this, however, I get used to it, and drop to 
sleep again after bearing the satisfactory 
announcement. 

Early in the morning, Billy — the aboriginal 
— comes bolt into my room with my boots in 
one band, and a jug of hot water in the 
other. He neither utters a word, nor looks at 
me (except in a way he has with his eyebulls 
turned /row me), but places the boots on the 
floor, hovering with one hand over them in 
case either of them should fall sidewaj-s, and 
then gets tlie jug upon the dressing- table. 
He stares at it with a w.nming, or rather a 
threatening, look, when, seeing that it stands 
firmly, his gloomy features relax, and he 
departs as abruptly as he entered. 

At seven o'clock the bell calls the convicts 
to a genera] muster in the principal yard, 
preparatory to the diflcrent gangs being 
marched ofif to their various description.^ of 
work. Mr. Barrow accompaiues tne into the 
yard. ^V'o pass through the little narrow 
massive pate, and I am at once in the presence 
of the tljn<-e picked and sifted incorrigiblcs 
of the mother country and her Australian 
colonies. .Sentinels, with loaded muskeLs, 
patrol the outskirts of (he yard, and officers 
and constables anncd with truncheons stand 
on guard outside the ranks. Many of the 
convicts have irons on their logs, but the 
majority are quite free, and can "make a 
ni.'ih " if they will. 

The convicts arc ranged like a regiment of 
■oldiers at muster, the rear ranks taking 




CONVICTS IN THE GOLD REGIONa 



open order. Tliey are all rbresscd in the 
usual grey, or dark pepper-and-salt coarsu 
cloth. Tho yard is quite silent, and the 
names are called over. None of the black 
sheep are mistiing. I look along the ranks 
from face to face — with apparent inditTLTcnce, 
casually, and with as little offence or purpose 
in my gnzc as possible ; and F am quile sure 
that it is not from knowing what they are, but 
really from a genuine impre!*.-iion of what is 
written by the Bngers of experience in vixy 
marked lines and characters, and fluctuating 
or fixed sbad&s that I am persua<led there is 
not one gooti face among them. No, not one. 
Ou the contrary, nearly every face is ex- 
tremely bad. 1 go over them all again in the 
same ca.sua!, purposeless way (they are not 
deceived by it a bit), and I feel satisfied that 
a worse .set of fellows never stood in a rovr 
than those before rue. BenejUh tliat silent 
outwardly subdued air there is the manifest 
lurking of fierce, depraved, remorseless 
spirits, ready with the first chance to rush 
away into the course of crime that brought 
them here. By thi.s time they ai-e all 
at work upon nic, quietly sj>eculating on 
who I am, what I want, and if my visit 
portenils anything to them. The yanl id 
covered with loose stones of broken granite ; 
and I notice close to my feet, and looking up 
directly into my face, a magpie. lie also, 
holding his head on one side intcrrogiilively, 
seems to ask my basincss here. 1 tmko a, 
frt'sh breath as I look down at the little 
thing, as the only relief to tho oppressive 
seuso of prison doom Uiat pervades the lieavy 
scene. 

Tho different working gangs aro now 
marched utf, about twenty at a time, with n 
suflicient interval both of time and dLstanco 
between each, in case of a combination for a 
rush. Some go to work at building, .some on 
the roads, some to the bridges, some to shoe- 
making, carpentering, &c. Tramp — tramp — 
tramp — with a jingle of irons — and they aro 
all gone, and the little, narrow, massive gate 
is closed. The yard is vacant and silent, with 
nothing to be seen but the magpie bopping 
Over the broken granite, and nothing now to 
be heard but tho faint retiring jingle of the 
chains, the low continuous quire of the frogs 
in the swamp, and the distant lowing of a 
forlorn cow. 

It will have been evident before thi.s that 
everything is conducted here on a <i.ved sys- 
tem, rigidly and undeviatingly cnforce<l, and 
that this is perfectly necessiirv, considering 
the subjects that have to bo dealt with. No 
loud voice of coramnncl is ever huini, and 
the Superintendent has .strictly forbidden all 
strong laiignago on tli':' pnrl of the various 
oifieers and constables; the eoiivii-l.s are all 
controlled by the Stockade bell. When tho 
bell orders them to come forth, they corne 
forth ; \vlien the bell orders them to retire, 
they retire ; if they are L-ilking after retiring 
to rest, aad the bcU rings for silence, they art 



i 



6-3 



HOUSEIIOLD WORDS. 




li«ifd no more. Thus, all sense of personal 
tyraimicR, and all special aniraositice, arc 
BToidcd ; tlic convicts ffcl thoy arc under 
the spell of n sort of iron Cite, a doom with 
ail iron tongue — they are subdued nnd sur- 
rounded \>y an ever-vigilant and inflexible 
system, and they submit in spite of their will 
not to submit. 

Mr. Harrow Iiaa been engngcd in this 
anxious, painful, and unresting work these 
twelve long years — first in Norfolk Island, 
then in Van Diemen's Land, Bnally placed over 
Ptnlridge Stockade, the htvad-quartcrs of all 
the penal establishments of the colony. Of 
all public officers, there is probably not one 
whose duties arc so full of sleepless anxieties, 
nnd so imperfectly appreciatwl (partly be- 
cause they are but little known), as those he 
performs with such rigid constancy. 

I have taken a stroll round the outskirt-S 
of the Stockade, and, while gazing over the 
swampy fields, now wearing the green tints 
of the fresh grass of winter which is near at 
bund, and thence turning my gaze to the 
bush in the distance, with its uncouth nnd 
lonely appearance, I hear the jingle of chains 
to the left of where I am standing, and pre- 
Bcntty I see winding round the road a gang 
of cotivicts on their way to work at a bridge. 
They are succeeded by another gang; and, at 
the .same interval, by a third. I am instantly 
and forcibly reminded of the string of con- 
victs whom Don Quixote met and set at 
liberty, driving away their guards, taking off 
their fetters, and making them a noble 
Bpcecli ; in return for which they ran off scoff- 
ing and hooting, and saluting their deliverer 
with a volley of stones. I never before felt 
60 strongly the truthfulness of this scene. 
Here arc a set of men who would have done 
— and who would this very day do — the same 
thing to any eccentric philanthropist in a 
broad-brimmed hat who should set them free 
and make tliem an address on liberty and 
humanity. So true may fiction be in the 
hands of genius. 

Other convict establishments have been 
•Ihidcd to, which consist of two smaller 
stockades, and the hulks which are lying in 
Hobson's Hay. The stockades being con- 
ducted in the same manner as the one just 
described, it will be unnecessary to particu- 
larize them, but I at once accept Mr. Barrow's 
obliging offer to take me on board the prison 
ships. We mount his gig and drive off. 

On the way to Melbourne, through the 
bush, I ask many questions of the Supcriti- 
tcndent^as to the growth of corn and cab- 
bages — the latter, with other vegetables, being 
expensive luxuries in Melbourne. I also ask 
if the convict? can be trusted with er]ge tools, 
out of sight of the guards, or tn sight? Is a 
funeral of one of them at all a melancboly 
Bight to the others? and go forth. To these 
questions, I only receive raonosyllabic replies, 
and often no reply; I half expect to get an 
answer frota the distant bell, The Super- 



intendent scarcely hears mc; bis mind is 
away at Pentridge, or on board one of his 
hulks. We pass through Melbourne, cross 
the bridge, and moke our way along the 
muddy road to Liardet's Beach. I am indis- 
creet enough to ask u few more questions, 
but the anxious and absorbed look of the 
Superintendent shows me that ho is absent 
from the gig, drive as well as he may, and I 
give it up. We arrive at the beach, and put 
off in the Government boat. 

It is a long pull, xnd by no means a rery 
lively one, for it is pretty clear that everybody 
in the boat feels a certain sort of cloud over 
his spirits from the serious business all are 
upon ; but the sky is clear and bright, and I 
am soon in quite as absent a .state as my friend 
the Superintendent, though it is probable that 
our thoughts are nut in the .same direction. 

We first pull on board a. hulk, a new one, 
to meet the rapidly increasing exigencies of 
the gold fields, which is being " fitted up *' at 
a convict ship. P'rom the magnitude and 
strength of the wooden bars, rails, and battens^ 
one might imagine that it wa.s intended for 
young elephajits, buffaloes, and wild boars. 
But I am assured by one of tin.- wardens that 
they arc not at all too strong. From tbia 
we row away to the prison ship for s&ilors — 
not convicts, but refractory. This word re- 
fiiiclory includes all tbe otfenecs of running 
away to the gold fields on the very first chance 
after the vessel drops her anchor in the bay, 
or of refusing their duty, or otherwise mis- 
conducting themselves while on board, witk 
a view to distracting and overthrowing all 
arrangements for a iiK>st didicult port, and 
escaping in the confusion. To this hulk many 
captains of vessels have been obliged to send 
half their crews as soon as tbt-y have entered 
the harbour, and several have even adopted 
the more resolute plan of sending the whdil 
crew off to prison at once, on the first sboV 
of insubordination, and keeping them there, 

From the refractory, would-be gold-digging 
sailors' jtrison we push off for Williaiui' 
Town, and land rear the light-house, at * 
little boat-pier of loose stones now in course 

of erection by a gang of convicts sent n-' 

for the purpoise, Cfuards with loaded 111 i 

patrol on the outskirts. It is a most i. 

work, and the e-xtrcmity towards the water 
being made circular, for a small salutioj 
battery, may serve to salute in another w( 
if there should ever be need. We pass 
the pier to other works. of building, drains^ 
and so on, all performed by convict labour 
Mr. Barrow attending to his duties, and lea' 
me to stroll aliout and observe what I 
and judge for myself. To sinn up all this 
two words, I cannot perceive that the 
Ticts have one spark of manly shame at tli 
position ; but I do most certainly observe tl 
without any hard words from the ovci 
or the least personal violence (which w( 
not for B moment be allowed), they <lo twics 
as miicb work in an hour as double titm 






Cb*ilM Okk«ai.l 



CONVICTS IN THE GOLD REGIONS. 



53 



number of free Government labourers get 
through in ft day. The chief reason seems to 
me to be that the conricts are thinking of 
their work aa an agreeable relief after solitary 
confinement, and are glad to use their limbs ; 
whereas the free labourers are thinking of the 
gold fields, and how to get ten shillings a di»y 
for doing nothing, until they are able to be otf 
to the digging!!. 

The Superintendent now rejoins me, and 
carrj-ing me along with him at a brisk pace, 
informs me tliat we are going on board the 
President, his principal convict hulk. This 
prison-ship contains the worst of the worst — 
men who cannot b« trusted to work at any- 
thing — who pass their time in solilury con- 
finement and in irons, excepting an hour's 
exercise on deck, when they are also hand- 
cuffed together — m- '' " ' "'Ui the Stockade 
of Pcntridge is nc'i ly protection — 

"ihecrcruedela CI' ■:■■ , ■■'•■ lUrrowsays, "of 
the prisotis of the mother country and her 
Australian colonies." 

We ascend to the deck, where the vessel, 
a Utile in front of the gangway, is separated 
by inassire iron bars of some ten or eleven 
feet high from tlie rest of the ship. The Su- 
perintendent leaves me, as before, to attend 
to bis dutii'S of inspection, 4c., hut the chief 
officer in command (whose name I am rather 
uncomfortably startled at finding to be the 
same as my own) places me in charge of one of 
the head wartlcna, to accompany me where I 
wish to go. Of course I at once express a 
dceirc to pass through the great iron bars of 
this terrible cage, and to go below and see the 
Ctime di hi erim«. 

We enter, and descend the ladder to the 
main-deck. There is very little to be seen of a 
kind to make a picture, or a bit of description 
— -in fact, nothing — all is in a state of severe, 
quiet, onlerly, massive siinplicily. The niiiin 
deck is reduced (o a passage, with rows of 
ccUs of immense strength on each side. The 
name of the occupant of the cell is written on 
a placard outa-i'k — with his crime, and the 
number of years fur which he is sentenced. 
The great majority of otfenees are robbery 
with violence, and the tenu of imprisonment 
Tarics from five to twenty years. As I read 
I cannot ny I at all envy the snug berth of 
my namesake in command. I feel that I 
would tar rather be the Wandering Jew, or 
the captain of the Flying Dutchman. The 
cells arc very like clean dens for wild beasts 
— their huge solid timbers and ironwork 
being quite strong enough for lions and tigers, 
bears and rhinoceroses, but not more so than 
neoesury — so strong, so wilful, so resolute, 
and so unconquerable is man in his In.st stage 
of depravity. I express a desire to have the 
door opened of a certain cell, where the jilacarti 
outside exerci.se.s a grim attraction upon me ; 
but the warden at n)y side informs ine tliat the 
convicts here arc all under prolonged puni.sh- 
ment, and my namesake docs not con.sidcr it 
right to make a show of them. " Oh, indeed]," 



I say — •" very proper." — " Not," adds th# 
warden, '* that it would hurt iheir feelings in 
any way ; they are always too glad of any 
opportunity of having the door opened. Wo 
do not open it even at meal times ; we push 
their allowance through a trap with a slide, 
«4»ich is instantly clojied .tgaiu and bolted." — 
Wluit a life for all parties I 

I hear some of the prisoners singing in a 
low voice, ajid others holding a conversation 
between their partitions of four or five inch&a 
thick. To avoid some of the mental evila 
of long solitary confinement, they are wisely 
aind humanely permitted to do this, provided 
no noise is made, or any loud tones audible. 
In an equally wise spirit Mr. Barrow has 
arranged a kind of prospect of amelioration ; 
a degree of hope, well founded, however re- 
mote, is open to all. A certain number of 
years of good conduct here, gives the vilest 
ruRinn of former times a fair prospect of re- 
moval to one of the Stockades; a certain 
number of years of good conduct there, gives 
him the probability of further promotion : 
namely, to work at some trade, or to go at 
large as a house servant and to attend in the 
yards; while, as a final result of ni.any years 
of good conduct, he gets his ticket of leave to 
go where he pleases in the colony. .Many do 
really reform, and lead decent lives thence- 
forth ; some rush away to the gold fields — 
not to dig, but to jilundcr — and are back 
again heavily ironed, on hoard this dreadful 
prison-ship, in less than three months. Tha 
fresh term of punishment in these final of 
all final cases is twenty, or even thirty years. 
I inquire if they sink into utter hopeless de- 
spondency in such cases. " No ; only for tho 
first week or two. After that they are again 
scheming, and plotting, and looking forward 
to some chance of escape." 

I hear a regular tramp going round over- 
hiwMl, accompanied by a jingling of chains. 
The warden iriforius iiic that ten of the con- 
victs arc now on deck for an hour's exercise. 
Only ten at a lime are ever allowed to be out 
of tlieir cells, none of these being cvcrtru.sted 
to go ashore to work, or to work at anything 
on board. I inmjcdiatcly go upon deck to have 
one look at the Superintendent's erinu da la 
crime. 

The ten men arc all atlired in the pepper- 
and-salt convict dress, with irons on their legs, 
and handcuffed toguthtr, two and two, as they 
walk round and round the main hatchway. 
I make no pretence of not looking at them ; 
and they make none as to nie. There is 
nothing violent or ferocious in the appearance 
of any of them ; the predominating iinpre»- 
sion they convey is that of brutal ignorance, 
grossness, and utter absence of the sense of 
shame. The one who has most sense in his 
countenance is a dark, quiet, determined, 
patient villain, cqii.il to any atrocity or daring, 
Ilis look, as he comes round and faces tne, 
never changes; most of the rest have some 
ulight fluctuations. Presently they begin to 



r)4 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



tOM4«1«4 t; 



whisper each other ; and one makes a remark 
and passes it on ; iind preseiilly they begin to 
cxchnngo jokes, and indulge in a high degree 
of Moisvless merriment at their own obser- 
Tution. spcruktions, and conimentp, until it 
becomes quite apparent that 1 am getting the 
worst of it. I retire with a modest uncon- 
scious air, wliich seems to delight them 
immensely. 

Ironed, barricaded, and guarded, as these 
men are, they sometimes attempt an escape, 
though without success. Their t'hkf hope 
often turns upor> bribing one of the wardens; 
for these prisoners — settled for life as they 
may be — have really the means of bribing. 
Most of them have gold in MelViourne in care 
of a friend, or in tho banks, or secreted at 
gome of the diggings, 

THE MERCII.\NrS HE.VRT. 

^^ATTnIAR, the Levantine merchant, had 
spent bis whole life, from his boy-time 
upwjtrd, in travelling for the sake of gain, lo 
the l^Jisl and to the West, arid to the islands of 
the South Sea-s. IFe hnd rtttirned to his native 
place, Tarsus, in the full vigour of manhood, 
and wu-s reported to have am.ossed great 
we.nlth. His (irst ,ttep was to make n prudent 
call upon the governor, and to present him 
with a purse ami a string of pearls, in order 
to hfspeok his gooil-will. He then built him- 
self a spacious palace in the midst of a garden 
on the borders of a stream, and began to lead 
a quiet life, resting nfler the fatigues of his 
many voyages. Most persons considered him 
to be the limppiest of merchants; but these 
who wiTC iiitroiliiced to his intiniacj' knew 
that his constant companions were thought 
and e,idness. When he had departed in his 
youtli, he had left his father, and his mother, 
and his brothers, and his sisters in health, 
although poor; but, when lie rettimed in 
hopes to gild the remainder of their days, 
he found that the hand of death had fallen 
upon them every one, and that there was no 
one to .share his prosperity: and a blight 
came over his heart. 

Thcgo.«si[isin tire bazaars soon hetran to talk 
of his case, and it was then that Ilntina the 
Chrintiun tiilor one day said in a loud voice 
to his opposku neighbour the Jewish money- 
chaiigtr, " I will Jay the value of my stock 
that tUti mercbnnt .Matthias will find cotiso- 
ktinn in matTiage ; that ho will choose the 
most bcamiful of our maidens ; and that he 
wilt found a family which shall be cehbrated 
in this city as long as its prosperity endures." 
To I' -s the Jew replied: "What is the value 
of thy stock? Three j.iekets returned upon 
Ihy hands, a rusty pairof scissors, nn «lil stool, 
and some bundtes of thread? Vtrily the risk 
is not great." The Chri.sltnn said a prayer or 
two to himself, that he might not curse his 
neighbour, and then answered : " I will 
throw in Zarifeh, the ebony-black girl whom 
I bought lost spring lo foUow my wife whea 



8hc goes out with the little Goi-gcs to the 
gardens. What sayest thou now?" 

The Jew pondered awhile, leaning his grey 
beard on the breast of his caftan. Ho rc- 
roeinbered that forty years before he, tx>, had 
returned from travel with liis moiiev-bags, 
and h.id found bis house desolate; and that 
he had devoted himself ever since to nioody 
reflection, and to the heaping of mahbow 
upon mahbonb. The thought had therefore 
beeomo fixed in his mind that when the middle 
time of life comes, there can remain no affec- 
tion in the heart, either of Christian, or of 
Jew, or ofMuhijinrnadan, but for gold. So he 
said: "Let the odds be equal. I will venture 
tive hundred pieces against thy five bundled 
pieces, that within five years the merchant 
Matthias docs not take to his bosom a wife." 
" Agreed I" cried the Christian. The neigh- 
bours were called in as witnesBcs, and eveiy 
one Iniighed at the absurdity of Uic dispute 

Matthias was not long in learning thai i 
wager bad been laid upon his future life ; and, 
in passing through the bazaar, he stopped one 
day and said sternly to the Christian l.iilor: 
"Son of nishncss, why liasl thou risked more 
than the whole of thy havings upon a matttT 
wliich is only known to Ileaven? I hare 
looked upon nil the maidens of my people, 
and no emotion hasstiiTcd within me. Verjlj 
thou wilt become a prey to tl^s Jew." 

" My lord," replied the tailor, smiling, " it is 
impossible for a good man to remain all his 
life alone. If thou wilt come to my liouse anil 
sec my wife and my little Gorges d.inciog in i 
the arms of the ebon.y-black girl, Zarifeh, thou 
wilt surely relent and si>ek at once to be as J 
am. Perhaps thou bust not well looked aroua4 
thee. There is .Miriam, the daughter of our 
linker, who is of mnjestic presence, being K 
big as thyself She will suit thee to a hair; 
and, if thuu desire.st, my M'ifc shall mak ' 
proiposals for Ihec this nfternoon." MattI 
laughed and frowned, and went on, and 
Jew chuckling in his beaKl said : " O H 
for bow much wilt thou ficc thyself from 
wager? Wilt thou pay a hundred pieces 
let all be said?" But the Christian ropMi 
" In <5ve years Saint Philotea wore away ' 
stone a.s big a.s this stool with her ki.sses 
her tears — iti five years the heart of thia 
may melt." 

Matthias went not on his way un 
after his conversation with the Ch 
tailor. He began to think tbrtt peri 
indeed, he was wearing away his life use! 
in solitude. There was certainlj- no be»i 
and no satisfaction in that maimer of beii 
It was belter lo take to himself a compani 
Hut where find her? Amongst all the frivol 
daughters of Tarsus, was there one ^vith wh 
he would not be more lonely than with hi 
Self? Tlidr mothers had taught thi 
nothing hut love of dres.s, and love of tbi 
selves. How could their capricious 
selftsh natures find pleasure in commu 
with a man whom this world hod £ore 



^uUn [>i«kM»,] 



THE IfERCIUNT'S HEART. 




SS 



And who wished to wait in meekness and in 
patience for the world to come? 

Thi>8c ine<litattoii3 disturbed Matthiai<, but 
they ilitl not rtnderhini more unhappy. They 
occu[iieil his mind ; they relieved the mono- 
tony ef his cxisttuee ; ihey prevented hira 
from always turning hia eyes inward upon 
huuself ; they forced him to look nbroud. He 
went to the bouses of his friemis and once 
moTv iiludied the perfections or imperfections 
of their daughters, ilis object wus so ranni- 
feet, that the Joke went round t int he wished 
to saive the Christian tailor from ruin. People 
jested with the Jew as they brought in their 
XDuney m change. But although Mntthius 
saw many hcnutiful girls who threw the 
glances of their .'dmond-shaped eyes eiicoa- 
ragingly toward? him, he saw none that pleaf^ed 
his hi.-art ; and suddenly retiring from society, 
shut himself up for u whole year in hi^ palace, 
J9c<|p ' ....t....1y, and taking back melancholy 
ail III for his only companions. 

.\ ' , ; -MatthLos began to feel the desire 
of change, and made it a practice every luorn- 
ing to have his mule saddled and to ride out to 
the btt'^eof the mountains; and, tlien putlitij; 
ftx)l to ground to wander until evening 
Miiidsl (he rooks and valleys. On one occasion 
he went so far that ho could not return to 
where ho liiid lefl his mule and servant before 
niglK-fiill, and lost his way. After going 
hither and thither for some lime, ho was cotn- 
pelkd to Hut'k the 8helti.-r of a caw, anil to 
wait until uioming. Sleep overtook him, and 
he did not wake until the sun's ray.*, shiiidng 
in through the deft of the rock, played upon 
his cyc-Iids. lie got up ; and, having said 
his praytTK, went forth and behcM a beautiful 
green meadow stretching along the banks of 
a stream which catne from a narrow gorge 
at no great distance. lie did not recognise 
his whereabouts and was doubtful of hnding 
his way luK'k, until he saw, at the further 
end of the meadow, some object moving 
npidly to and fro. It was a young girl 
chasing a row that had escaped front her, and 
nui with :i cord tjmpled aliout his horns in 
the (Urer1i<in of Matthi.is. " Ah !" said lie, " I 
will catch this unruly niiimal, and then make 
iti keeper point out to me the direction of 
Tar.aug." So he tucked up his robes ; and, 
being «lnjng and vigorous, soon came up to 
the row tlial was wantonl}- galloping hitlver 
and thither, und brought it to a Kt;in(l-still. 
" May blessings light upon thy sturdy arms, 
strang'.T," excliurncd the girl, running \ip 
out of brcalli, and unwinding the rope 
from the cow's horns ; " If Naharah had 
eacapcd the)' would have beaten me." 

" .\nd who could find it in his heart lo beat 
theo, child ?" ^iuFil the merchant, as he looked 
at her and woMdered at her delicate lovclines.s. 

" The fatlurs,"8he rvplicd, pulling Nahanih 
in the direction she wanted to go. "Triple 
blessings upon thee, igain I sty, stranger!" 

Matthias forgot «ll aliout Tarsus, and 
Vkiko i by the side of the girl, asking ques- 



tions of her. He learned that she was the 
bond-maiden of a monastery situated in those 
mountains, and that her duty was to take out 
the cows, Biid especially this one, every morn- 
ing to the pa.stiirage. " Do not follow me," 
.said she, when they came to tlic entrance of 
th» giirgc from which the stream flowed ; 
" for I am forbidden to talk with those whom 
I may meet" Matthias thought awhile, and 
then l»ade her adieu, having learned what 
path he was to follow, and returned to bis 
palace full of nothing but the image of this 
simple bond-maiden. 

" Verily." sjiid he to himself next morning, 
" I forgot to nak the name of that girl. I 
mu.st Icani it, in order that I may send her a 
recompeii.se." Under this poor pretence ho 
mountcil his mule and rode towards the 
mountains, and began his walk at the usual 
place, onil repaired to the cave and pas.<!(Hl 
the night there, and was out on the meadow 
before dawn, lie soon saw four or five cows 
driven out of the gorge, and the girl follow- 
ing them, leading the frolicsome N.iharah. 
" There is no need for thee to-day, stranger," 
.said she smiling playfully, " tmless thou wilt 
drive my herd down to the water to drink, 
and take care that the black one gcx-a in first, 
or else she will gore the others." Upon this, 
Malthias took the branch of a tree nnd began 
to cry, " Jlool boo I" like a heriLsnian, and lo 
heat the lianks of the blni;k cow, which 
scnnii>ercd away, and Icrl liim a long ch-ise 
round the meadow ; so Jhat Iw did not come 
back until all the other anininls hitd taken 
their morning drink, and the girl vfim sitting 
on the bank laughing at him, and wreathing 
a crown of flowers to deck the horns of 
Naharah. 

" Thou dost not know thy now business," 
said she, to Matthias, as he came up out of 
breath ; whereupon he began to curse the 
cow whicii had led hiui that dance, and to 
think that he had nia<I>< himself ridiculous 
ill the eyes of the girl. However, they were 
soon .silting side by side in pleasant talk, and 
the mercliant Icariu'd that the name of the 
bond-maiden was Carino. 

lly this time he had quite made up \m mind 
to tnarry her if she would have him ; but, 
although relieeting upon his wealth and her 
poverty, it seemed scarcely probable that she 
should refuse, his modesty was eo gre;il tiiat 
he dared not ventnro to t^dk of love. They 
parted early, snrl Matthias went away, pro- 
mising to return on the mtirrow. He did so ; 
and fornvnny weeks continued these meetings 
in wliii'h, for the lirst time since his youth, he 
found r«-:il biiiipiness. At length, one day he 
took coinage, and told Garine that he intended 
lo take her away and marry her, nnd make 
her the niislress <if his wealth. " My lord," 
said she, with simple surprise, " has madness 
stricken thee? Dost thou not know that lam 
a bond -maiden, and that there is no power 
that can free me ?" 

" Money can free thee, child," said Malthi'i*- 



I 



1 



^ 



&6 



HODSEHOLD WORDS. 



[C»4mM ty 




" Not 80 ;" replied she, " for it is an ancient 
privilege of this monastery that bondsmen 
and bondswomL-n shall for over appertain to 
it If any freeman casts his eyes upon one of 
us, and desires to marry her, he must quit 
his stfttc and become a slave, he and his de- 
scendant'; for ever, to the monnstery. This 
is why I was not married last year to 
Skandar, the porker, who offered twenty pigs 
for ii:y freedom, but who refused to give up 
his liberty." Matthias internally thanked 
Heaven for havinf^ given an independent 
spirit to the jiorker, and replied, smilinp, 
"Believe nie, Carine, that tlie fatliers love 
money — they all do — and I shall purchase 
tliee as my wife." 

" It is nonsense," said she, shaking her 
head, " ttiey refused twenty pigs." 

" i will give twent}' sacks of gold, baby," 
cried Matthias, enraged at her obstinacy. 
Carine replied, that she was not worth 
so much ; and that, if she were, it was of 
no use talking of the matter, for the fathers 
would not sell her. " By Saint Maron !'' 
exclaimed Matthias, " I can buy their whole 
monastery." 

lie was mistaken. The monastery of Se- 
lafkii was the richest in ail the East, and the 
bead of it was the most self-willed of men. He 
cut short the propositions uf tiie merchant — 
who went straight to him that very day — by 
saying that on no account could the liberty of 
Carine he granted. " If thou wouldst marry 
her," said he, looking, as Miittliiajj thought, 
more wicked than a (lemon, " thou must give 
up all thy wealth (<> us, and become our 
bondsman." \S'ith this answer the lover went 
sadly away, and returned to Tarsus, saying to 
himself, " It is impossible for tue to give up, 
not only the gavus of all ray life, but even my 
liberty, for the sake of thiscow-girL I must 
try to' forget her." 

So he went back among his friends, and 
began again to walk in the bazaars. 
When the Jew saw him, he cried out, " Hail, 
oh wise man, that will not burthen him- 
self with the society of a woman 1" But 
the mercliant frowned black upon hira, and 
turned away ; and, to the surprise of all 
the neighbours, went and sat down by the 
side of the Christian tailor, and, taking his 
hand, whispered to him ; " Close thy shop, 
my friend, and load me, that I may see, 
as thou didst promise, thy wife and thy 
child." 

" Which child V said the tailor. " I have 
now three. Gorges, Lisbet, and Ilanna." 

"All of them," said Matthias: "and also 
the eljony-black girl, Zarifeh." 

" Oh !" «aid the tailor, " I have set her 
free, and she is married to the pudding-seller, 
round the corner." 

" It seems," said Matthias to himself, " that 
it is the law of Heaven that every cue shall 
marry." 

The tailor shut up his shop and took the 
merchant home and showed him his domestic 



wealth ; — that is to say, his pretty wife, hia 
three stout children, and a coal-black girl 
called Zara, who was kneading dough in the 
court-yard " My friend," said Matthiaa, 
" what would.st thou do if the powerful were 
to say to thee, thou must be deprived of all 
this, or else lose thy liberty and become a 
slave." 

" Liberty is sweet," replied the tailor, shm^ 
ging his shoulders ; " yet some live without 
it ; but none can live without love." 

Upon this the merchant went back to hia 
palace and mounted his mule and rode to the 
monastery, where he found the court-yard full 
of people. "I am come," said he to one of 
the fathers whom he met in the gateway, 
" to give up my liberty and my wealth for the 
sake of Carine." 

" It is too late," wa.«i the reply ; Skandar, 
the porker, has just driven in all his pigs, and 
they are putting the chain upon his neck ia 
the chapel, and all these pfojile that thou 
seest collected are to be witnesses of bis 
marriage with Carine." 

Mattliias smote his breast with his hand& 
and the sides of his mule with his heels, and 
galloped through the crowd shouting out 
that nobody should be made a slave that day 
bat he. The chief of the monastery, on 
learning what was the matter, smiled' and 
said, '* that the porker had a previous claim ;" 
but the monks, who, perhaps, looked forward 
to the enjoyments which the merchant's 
wealth would afford them, ingeniously sug- 
gested that he had the best claim who had 
hesitated least. Carine's opinion was asked; 
and she, seeing both of her suitors resolved, 
heartlessly condemned the cnntnourcd porker 
to liberty, and said : " Let the chain be put 
upon the neck of the merchant." The cere- 
mony was immedintely performed ; and, whilst 
the head of the convent was )ireparing to 
begin the more interesting rite of the mar- 
ringe, brother Boag, the treasurer of the 
monastery, sctotf to take an inventory of the 
wealth which had just fallen under fail 
jurisdiction. 

It is said that Matthias never gave a 
single thought to hi.? lost property, being 
too much absorlied in contemplating the 
charms of the beautiful Carine. The onlf 
.stiplilatioh he made was, that ho should he 
allowed to go out to the pasturages with 
her ; and, next morning he found himself 
in sober seriousness helping to drive Naharth 
and its companions down to the water's 
side. 

Meanwhile the Governor of Tarsus heaid 
what had happened to Matthia.s, and was 
stricken with rage, and caused his mule to be 
saddled and his guards to be mounted, and 
set forth to the monastery and summoned the 
chief, s.«iyirig, " Know, Monk, that Matthias 
is my friend ; and it cannot be that ho shall 
he thy slave, and that all his wealth shall be 
transferred from my city to thy monastery. 
He is a liberal citizen, and I may not lose hia 



^ 




NOTHING LIKE LEATHER. 



^ 



from sinoDgst us." Tho Qovemor spoke thus 
liy reason of certain loans n-itliout interest 
anil presents (over and above tiio jmrso and 
the string of pearls which tho merchttnt had 
privst-nied at his first coming), wiili which 
Matthias had froelj obliged the tJuvornor: 
who also hoped a continuance of ttio same. 
Whereupon the chief of the monastery hid 
his hands and vras humbled ; and thu Go- 
vernor and he parted witli a good under- 
stan'iiog nod agroement. 

It fell out, therefore, that afler a month of 
acrvitudo ilatthias and his bride were called 
before on assembly of the whole monastery, 
and informed that the conditions imposed 
were simply for the sake of triaL Nearly a!l 
the wealth of the merchant was restoretl to 
him, and he wa-s liberated and led back amidst 
applatuling crowtls to his palacB at Tarsus. 
Of course he made a liberal donation to the 
monastery, over and above a round sum which 
Boag tl>e trciuwrer had not found it in his 
heart to return with the rest Uciug a just 
and generous man, he not only relieved the Jew 
from the conscqoences of his wager, b\it nuwle 
such presents to the Christian tailor, that he 
had no longer any need to ply the needle for 
his liri-libocHJ. Imdition dilates with delight 
on the happiness which Carine bestowed on 
her husband ; who used always to s-ny, " that 
with wealth or without wealth, with lilieriy 
or without hberty, she was suHicicnt to bring 
content irtto auy house, and to make the 
fltcrnuitt heart happy." 

NOTHING LIKE LEATlIEa 

It is time that Leather — the tough old 
veteran whose fame extends far and wide 
. — shiiuld look to his laurels, He is from 
time to time attacked by a number of annoy- 
ing anta^ionists, who saucily threaten to 
" put him down." Once it is Papier M.iche, 
a conglomc-rated paste-like stripling, who 
claims a toughness and lightne.s.<i of his own, 
without the solid consistency of Leather. At 
another lime it is young Carton Pierre, a 
native of France, who presents a substance 
built up of paper and plaster. But the veteran 
has lud more formidable attjtcks from two 
other interlopers — Mecr India Rubber and 
Shah Gutta Percha ; these boast so nmch of 
their ebiatieity, their toughness, their inde- 
structibility, and every other corporeal and 
corpuscular excellence, that Leather has had 
as much a^ he can do to maintain his ground 
a^inst them. It is well, therefore, to know, 
that tougii old Leather does not mean to give 
up the contest. He will fight his battle yet, 
and shows a disposition to carry the contest 
into tlic enemy's country. Already we Hud 
ladies making leather picture frames and 
leather adornments of various kinds for their 
apartmeuts ; and we perceive that salo<)ns 
and gallcnes are onco again, as in times of 
yore, exhibiting leather tapestries. We find, 
too, architects aud docoratora acknowledging 



that leather may bo accepted as a titling and 
graceful means of embellishment in many 
caiKB where carved wood would otherwise be 
used, 

A leather tapestry is not a curtain hanging 
loose, like the airas or Gobelin hangings ; but 
it ia stretched on canvas, and made to Ibnn 
the panels of a room ; the stiles or raised 
portions being of oak or some other kind of 
wood. Such was generally the case in the old 
leather tapestries, and such it is in those 
now produced ; but tho mode of use is sus- 
ceptible of much variation; since the gilding, 
and stamping, and painting of the leatlier 
arc independent of the mode of lising. These 
tough old garments, to keep ih^^ralls warrei, 
were known in early times to aU extent which 
we now little dream of. 

Aa a wall-covering, leather presents great 
advantages j not only from its durability and 
its power of resisting damp, but from its 
facility of being embossed, the ease with 
which it receives gold, silver, and coloured 
decoration, and the scope it alTords for intro- 
ducing landsca[ics, arabesques, emblazon- 
ments, or other painted devices. All these 
properties were known l«;fore decorators had 
been startled by tho novelties of Carton 
Pierre, Papier Mich% and Gutta Percha. 
Continental countries were more rich in these 
productions than England. In tUo Alliara- 
bra, the Court of thu Lions .still presents, 
if wo mistake nut, the same leather hangings 
which were put up tliere si.\ centuries ago. 
The great Flemish towns — Lille, Urussels, 
Antwerp, and Mechlin — were all fiimous for 
producing these hangings ; those from the 
last-named town were especially remarkable 
for their beauty. Eighty years ago the 
French manufacturers complained that, 
however excellent their gilt and emboesed 
leather might be, the Parisians were wont to 
nm after those of Flanders; just as Worcester 
glove-makers in our day deprecate the wear- 
ing of French gloves by true-born Britons. 
There were, nevertheless, fine specimens pro 
duccd at Paris and Lyons ; and there were 
one or two cities in Italy aUn, in which tho 
art was practised. Many old mansions in 
England have wherewithal to show that 
leather hangings of great beauty were pro- 
duced in this country in tho old time. Blen- 
heim, the scat of tho Dukes of Marlborough, 
is one of tho places at which these English 
leathers are to be found. At Eastham manof 
house, in Essex, built by Henry the Eligbth, 
there were leather tapestries of great sump- 
tuousncss, covered with such largo ciuaatitics 
of gold, that they realised a considerable 
sum when sold half a century ago, by a pro- 
prietor who cared more for coined gold than 
for art- It is curious to note that tiie writer 
of an old French treatise on this art, acknow- 
ledges the superior skill of the Englishmen 
engaged in it, and laments that hiscouiilnrmcn 
cannot maintain an even position with them 
in the market Thus thu English leather 



68 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



*[CiiodMMI bf 



ttpestrics must have been, at one time, ex- 
cellent. 

'J'lie leather required for these purpcscs 
unili.Tgoes a process of tanning and currying, 
dilfiTing from that to which leather for other 
purposes is subjected. The old French leather 
jrililers about the times of I^uis the Four- 
toonth and Fifteenth generally employed 
slu>ep-leather ; but sometimes calf and lamb- 
ski ns. The last two were better, but the first 
w:i-< the cheapest. The dry skins of leather 
Will! soaked in water, to mollify them ; they 
\\\ic> then vigorously pommelled, to give 
(Ik'mi suppleness. The leather was laid upon 
II M.it stone, and scraped and scraped until its 
\\ riiikk'S were removed — not filled np, as with 
til • cosmetic of the wrinkled dowagers of the 
(ill school — but fairly and honestly scraped 
out of existence. There was a stretching 
prcx'i'ss effected at the same time, whereby 
the- k'athcr became somewhat lengthened and 
\\'iclened at the expense of its thickness. As 
it is the fate of many skins to have defective 
])liicos, the workmen showed a nice skill in 
triiuniing the margin of the hole or defective 
spot, and pasting or glueing a little fragment 
of k-alher so neatly over it so as to form an 
ill vi.-ible joint. When the leather was thus far 
n.lvanoi'd, it was covered with leaf silver ; for 
it appears that, in those days, gilt leather was 
Hot (;ilt leather; it was silvered leather 
Ii'ipivrcfl to a golden hue. The silverer 
ni!)l)c(l a little bit of parchment size over the 
i'-atiicr with his hand ; and while this was 3'et 
i;i a sticky or tactile state, he applied ui)0n it 
li.-avi-s of very thin beaten silver — not attenu- 
ati'il to so extraordinary a degree as leaf-gold, 
but still very thin. IThcso leaves were, as 
applied side by side on the leather, pressed 
doun by a fox's tail rolled into a sort of little 
mop ; and the leather w.is exposed to air and 
sunshine until dry. This lacquer was a mys- 
terious mixture of resin, aloes, gum 8.andarach, 
litharge, red lead, and linseed oil, brown in 
colour, but assuming a golden hue when 
backed by a silvery substance. The lacquer, 
like a thick syrup, was laid on by the hand, 
as the best possiblo lacquering brush; 
and, after two or three applications, the 
Iac<iiiL'red silver leather was drie<l in open 
air. Sometimes the leather was coated with 
loaf-copper, instead of leaf-silver; and in that 
case the lacquer was required to be of a dif- 
f'Tcnt kind to produce the desired gold hue. 
'I'luu came the artistic work, the employ- 
lU'.'nt of design as an mlomment Wood 
blocks were engraved, much in the same way 
as for the printing of iloor-cloths and paper- 
lia:iuiii.p4 — with this variation, that the 
cavities or cut otit portions constituted the 
<U-si:_'n, instead of the uncut parts of the 
orij;iiial surface. The dcagn was printed on 
till! silvere<l Uathcr by an ordinary ]>res.s, 
with the aid of a counter mould, if the relief 
were required to be higher than usual ; 
the leather being previously moistened on 
tiic uaJer surface to facilitate the pressing. 



There was thus produced a uniform goldca 
or silver surface, varied only by a stampc<! 
or relievo pattern ; but occasionally th* 
design was afterwards picked out wit^i 
colour. 

The advocates for the use of gilt and em- 
bossed leather tapestries have a fonnidabh 
list of good things to say in their favour. 
They assert, in the first place, that leather 
bents wool in its power of resisting damp and 
insects — whether the light-minded moths of 
the summer months, or the dull-souled creep- 
ing things which have a tendency to lay their 
cg^ in woolly substances. They assert, also, 
that well-prepared gilt leather will preserve 
its splendour for a great length of time. And, 
lastly, that a soft sponge and a little water 
furnish an easy mode of cleansing the sur- 
face, and keeping it bright and clear. These 
various good qualities have induced one or 
two firms in England and in France to 
attempt the rcvivid of leather tapestriea It 
has been up-hill work to induce decorators 
and connoisseurs to depart from the beaten 
track, and adopt the old-new-material ; but it 
has taken root; it is growing; and many 
sumptuous specimens are finding their way 
into the houses of the wealthy. The ducal 
mansions of the Norfolks and the Suthei^ 
lands, the Hamiltons and the Wellingtons, 
the Devonshires, the Somersets, and otiier 
brave names, have something to show in this 
way ; and royalty has not been slow to take 
part in the matter. The English reviren 
adopt, we believe, many of those described is 
having been followed by the old French work- 
men, but with various improvements; among 
others, they use gold-leaf instead of lacqucnd 
silver-leaf — a very proper reform in these 
California day.s. 

The relief on the leather tapestries is THy 
low or slight, but by deepening the engiraving 
or embossment of the stamps, it can be made 
much more bold. It thus arises that leatheit 
become available for a great variety of orna- 
mental jjurpose,", varying from absolnte 
plainness of surface to very bold rcliet Tlmi 
we hear of the employment of adOTncd 
leather for folding-screens, for cornices tai 
frames, for pendents and flower-bordera, ftr 
panellings, for relief ornaments to dom 
pilasters, shutters, architraves, friezes, anl 
ceilings; for chimney pieces, for suljeet- 
panels, for arabesques and patcras ; for moin^ 
inffs in imitation of carvings; for decoratioef 
to wine-coolers, dinner- waggons, tabloR, chains 
pole-screens, and cheval scri'ens ; for bindiniA 
cases, and cabinets of various kinds; liir 
clock-cases .and brackets, for consoles and 
caryatide.s, for decorations in ships* cabins 
steamboat saloons, railway can-iages — but m 
must stop. 

Some such things as thegc were prodoeed 
in the old times; but more can now l» 
effected. Pneumatic and hj'draiilic prciwnn 
are now brought into play. Without dMi^ 
into the mysteries of the workman's sanctai% 



f 




OtokML] 



NOTHING LIKE LEATHER. 



S9 



wo believe thnt the leather is firgt brou^rht, 
by »n applicniion of 6tc«in, to the statu of x 
tniigh pulpy rnalcnal, ready to assuiiieany one 
of B ihousiiiid nietainorphoscs. The cU-fiipn has 
beo prcTiously prepared ; nnd from this a 
mo ..i\ is cnpnivoii or c^^ in a peculiar mixed 
mctiil w'ni(-h iriij not diseoior the k-ather. The 
K-ftth«r is forced into tlic mould by a gradual 
»pp5i.;Uion of pressure, partly hydraulic and 
partly pneumatic, so tempered as to enable 
llie li.Mtlitr ti^mnfomi to the physical foree, 
the pr<-ssur6^Bp without, without breakage 
or [terforatioir The leather, when once 
removed from the mould, retains its new 
form while dryinfr, and can then cither be 
kept in its honest unsophisticated leathery 
condition, or can be brought by paint or gold 
to any dtsired ilegrve of splendour. 

No one can conetivi' — without actual 
insjKJction — that such l>oUl relief coulfi be 
produced in Iciilher. Not only is thus in 
some speciuicns so bold as to be fully half 
round, but there is even the backxrard curve 
to imitate the under-cut of carving : this 
could only be obtained by mcnns of the 
rcinarkahle combination of elasticity and 
tougrhnojM in leather. Some of the recent 
proihictions, in lc5s bold relief, display a very 
hijrh degree of artistic beauty. Her Majesty 
and the Royal Consort, a few years afro, 
jointly sketched a desig:n for a eatiinet, of 
which the whole of the decorations were to 
be of leather ; thiii has been completed ; the 
dlmen.sions arc nine feet by seven ; tlie 
dtyle is Renaissance, and the ornanu'ntation 
is most elaborate ; two of the panels are 
OcciipiiMl by bas-reliefs, in which the figures 
•re represented with nearly as much beauty 
of detail as if carrcd— ftnd yet all Is done 
in stamped leather. 

In all these articles formed in leather, to 
break Ihera is nearly out of the question ; 
to cut them is nnt particularly ea-sy ; to 
destroy thera in any way would seem to 
require the Terj- pervvrsity of ingenuity. 
To be sure, if a leather biis-rolicf were 
M»k'-il in water for some hours, and then 
knofkvd about, it would receive a per- 
manent disfljn'rement. But so would a man's 
foeo. Whereas if the Boakins were not 
follovrcd by the thrashing, both the leather 
relievo and the man's face would retiin 
their proper forms. j\( nny rate, a leathern 
ornament is one of the tonj;hest and strongest 
productions which could be named. Occu- 
pying, as it does, a midway position in 
expense between carved womi and Tarions 
stamped and e*,st materials, leather has 
a sphere of usefulness to till dependent on 
it* qualities relative to those of its anta- 
g:oni8tR 

I^eather flower-making is becoming an 
occasional resource for industrious ladies. 
And a very ^ood resource, too. AVhy should 
croohot and embroidery continue to reign 
without a rival f It i» so very pleasant to 
make on li- Macassars and slippers and coUars 



and furniture covering, that no new employ- 
ment for spare half hours need he song;1it? tf 
a lady sho\ild deem it unplea.sant to have to 
deal with little bits of damp leather, l<t her 
remember that there is a grt-at scopu for the 
display of tas^te — always an important tnattor, 
whether in business or in pleasure. AVhcu 
we mention picture- frames, we must be under- 
stood as referring to their ornamental deco- 
rations only. A carpenter or a frame-maker 
propart's a flat deal frame, with neither 
mouldings nor adornments ; the fair artist 
covers this with leather ornaments, and then 
paints the whole to imitate ancient oak, or 
in any other way which her tii.stu may 
dictate. The prepamtioti of tlie ornament 
depends on this fact — that leather can bo 
brought into almost any desired form while 
wet, and will retain th.it fonu when dry. 
The leather (a piece of common sheepskin 
will suffice) is cut with .seis.sors or sharp 
knives into little pieces, shaped like leaves, 
staiki?, tendrils, fruit, petjils, or any other 
simple object ; and these pieces are curved, 
and pressed, and grooved, and marked, ami 
wrinklc<l, until they assume the required 
form. It is not dilticult to we how, with a 
lew small modelling-tools of bone or hard 
wooil, iill this may bo dune. And when done, 
the little pieces are left to dry ; and when 
dry, they are tucked or paste*! on the frame ; 
imd when tacked or pa.sted, th«'y are finished 
just as the ornate taste of the lady-worker 
may sngjrest. If a pieture-li-ame may be 
thus adorned, .so may a screen, a chimney 
ornament — anything, almost, which you may 
ptea,se. 

If we mistake not, the leather-embossers 
have liegim to sell the simple tools, and to 
give the simple instructions, requisite for the 
practice f>f this pretty art But whether 
this be so or not, a tasteful woman can easily 
work otit the requisite knowledge for hersoif. 
Our ladv reailcrs, however, need not he left 
wholly to their own resources in the practice 
of this ai-t M.idamc de t^onde, in her little 
shillin;^ essay on the leather imitation of 
old onk carving, tells us all about it She 
instructs us how to select the Vjasil or sheep- 
skin, how to provide a store of cardboard, 
wire, moul'ling instruments, glue, asphaltum, 
onk stain, nniber, varnish, brushes, and the 
other working tackle ; how to take patterns 
from Icrtvrs in canlbonrd ; how to cut the 
leather from the ctmlbonnl patterns ; how to 
mark the fibres or veins with a blunt point; 
how to pinch u|) the leather leaf in imitation 
of Nature's own leaf; how to make .stems by 
strips of leather wrapped round copuer wire ; 
howto imitate roses, chrysanthcmun.s, daisies, 
china-asters, fnch.sias, and other flowers, ■' 
snft bits of leather crumpled up into f^6 
form ; how to imitate grapes, l>y wrai""? 
up peas or beans in bits of old l''''"^ j.T*" '► 
how to obtain relief ornaments by f^^'lhng 
soft leather on a wo(vlen foundatin'i "ow to 
affix aU these dainty devices to r»"PI^'"'"»g 



=7^ 



i 



60 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ICnilacIra ^ 



framework ; and how to colour and vamish 
the whole. These items of wisdom are all 
duly set fortlu 

LIFE AND DEATH. 

" What is Life, Father !" 

" A Battle, mj child, 
WherQ the strongest lance may hW, 

Where the wariest eyes m»y be bewailed, 
And the RtontcKl heart mny quail. 

Where Iho foos are (irnthcred on every hand, 
And rest not dny nor Tiight, 

AnJ the feeble little onct mnst stand 
In the ihiekcsl of the fighl." 

" Whnt in De«th, Father f" 

" The rest, ray child, 

When the »trife and the toil are o'or, 
And the angel of God, who, culm and mild, 

Sayn wo need fixlit no more ; 
Who drivolh away the demon band, 

Bida the din of the buttle eea-^o ; 
Takes the hnRner anil fipenr rrtimonrfitilinghand, 

And proclaims aa eternal Peace." 

"Let me die, Father I I tremble. I fear 
To yield in that terrible strife I" 

" The crown must be won for Ileaven, dear, 

In the bnttle-flcUl of life ; 
Mv child, ihongh thy focsi are titrong and tried, 

lie loveth the weak and dinall ; 
The AnfoU of Heaven are on thy side, 

And Qod is over all 1" 



THE GREAT INDIAN BEAN-STALK. 

Tnis bean-stalk, by which many very 
8TDa)l ftdvfntnrcrs Imve climbed to wealth, 
fiourishcs umler the vice-regal Fway of the 
nonoarabic Ea.it India Company, where a 
costly staff of Europi-an otliciat.s is ,<iip- 
po.scd, by s pleasant fiction of the Cove- 
nanted Service, to administer jiiisticc to the 
hundred millions of worthy Briti.sh subjpcis 
inhabiting those wide-spreading eountrie.'*. 
Judges of various degrees, magistrates ami 
deputy mft{^i»trate.<i, preside singly over the 
ftita of districts as large a.^ Yorkshire or 
Wales, and to enable them to make the most 
remote pretence of discharging their diitie.«, 
they receive the assistance of » swnnn of 
native subordinates, whoso name may truly 
be called legion. 

The revenue department of the Indian 
fTOvemraent is equally beholden to the min- 
iKterings of these indigenous olfi<'ii}l8, without 
whom, indeed, we could make but small pro- 
gress in the collection of the twenty-seven 
millions of pounds sterling annually squeezed 
from the muscles of Indian ryots. I am 
quite willing to admit at starting, what it 
Tould be folly to deny, that to drcain of ear- 
'jing on Iho administration of mir Indian 
em jro without the aid of native subordinates 
WOUJ he an utter absurdity. 

Thtn authorities arc, unfortunately, ta- 
ken frc., the very dregs of Asiatic society, 
iind conm iRdiacriminitcly of Mahometmns 



at d Hindus. It would perhaps be very dif- 
ficult, if not impossible, to say which of these 
two races are the greatest adepts at extor- 
tion and every species of cunning rascality. 
Mi.semt»ly paid, they Bfck, by an infinity of 
methculs, to swell up their income, and this 
they contrive to do with the utmost impu- 
nity — living in the midst of luxuries when an 
honest man would starve. The steps upon 
the branches of this Great Indian }>can-Stalk 
arc many r but, patiently followed, they lead 
at last to a golden certninty^HR 

Lallah Ram, of whose liffi am about to 
relate a few trifling incidents, was a man of 
humble station, but a.spiring in mind, and 
being well acquainted with mo.st of the native 
Oml'oh or judicial .siubordiiiate.s of the city, 
used every influence in his power to obljun thft 
inost menial appointnxent in the police court 
After many tnonths of pntirnt watchfulncSB, 
Lallah, by dint of duatur or fee, wa.s installed 
as Orderly to the Deputy Magistrate of the 
district, on a salary of eight shillings a month. 
This pay was small enough, especially as 
Lallah had a wife and three children to 
maintain with it. But my hero had not been 
a hanger-on of police courts and Cutchcrries 
(collectors' offices) for nothing. He hod gained 
a complete insight into the history of the 
Great Indian Bcan-Stalk, and panted for an 
opportunity of reducing his knowledge to 
practice. 

Lallah began systematically, and lo.st no 
opportunity of ingratiating himself with his 
master the Sahib Bahadur, or great magis- 
trate ; hs made it appear on every occasion 
that he was on the best possible footing with 
Sahib ; to whom he was really quite iu- 
dispensable. No sooner was this feeling 
fairly established than the aspiring orderly 
began to turn it to account Did any one, no 
matter what his rank, desire an audience 
with his highness the magistmto, he wa.9 kept 
cooling his heels in the outer hall, until haviiij 
exhausted his patience he oflered Lallah 
a rupee to take his name to the Bahadur. 
The orderly would give the solitary coin a 
look of the utmost contempt, move not an 
inch, and say that he was a poor man, but 
had every desire to oblige the vi.sitor if io 
his power. The suitor would relax, slip 
five rupees into his willing palm, and trw 
at once ushered info the presence amkU 
many adjurations to the heathen pantheon, 
and all sortfi of prosperity evoked on tin 
donor's head. • 

These visitors were numerous ; and, al- 
though a few now and then endeavoured t« 
rebel against the innocent practices of Lallah, 
he was invariably a match for them. Should 
there be any disposition to avoid the duthtt 
{nngliee " down with the dust"), the fflrderly 
(•.\prcs,sed umny regrets ; but the Sahib wi 
most particularly engaged, and had given 
express orders not to be disturbed on any 
aecoutit It was seldom that a sentence of 
this kind was misunderstood; the fe« mi 



ak»uDi.k«Ml 




THE GREAT INDIAN BEAN-STALK. 



{iroduccJ, and tho door flung wide open. Pcr- 
laps the visitor corupUincd, and tho orderly 
may, porchnncc, have got a wigging. To be 
even with him, the very next daj', when the 
Sahib is particularly busy, I^llah pours in 
upon himiRrhoIe host of troublesome people ; 
ftnd when remonstrated with, declares that 
*' Siihib wifihed it to be so." And tlms things 
fall back to their old course. 

rt^^d^|wly suitors and other visitors 
^.whi^^^^^Mfc contribute to the orderly's 
Wtfml^^^^^Knd up his golden ladder 
the ve^^Wce inspectors, or thannadars, 
cannot approach the prcsonco vrithout dtu- 
tuf. Once upon a time an inspector, 
either poorer or more stubborn than his 
fellowB, did not choose to fall into the cus- 
tomary practice, and declined bleeding for the 
benefit of Lallah. The latter was, of course, 
indignant at this unprincipled conduct, and 
although he dared not act openly against the 
ivciisant official, he laid hisi plans so quietly 
and surely fw to effect all he desired. The 
Sahib had many idle moments ; and, during 
these, IjiJIah contrived to whisper to one of 
tl»c hsngers-on, loud enough to be heard, some 
granilaloiig proceeding of the thantiadar. The 
other replied, also in a sort of stage whisper, 
that he too hati heard something of the same 
Sort, whilst the mohurrir, or clerk, chimed in 
with another story against the doomed police- 
man, and remarked that he was a scoundrel 
and " unfaithful to hia oath." These whisper- 
ings were of course, overheard ; and being 
repeated at intervals, left an impression on 
the mind of the Sahib bj- no incuns favourable. 
No jiuins were spared to watch the victim ; 
and aa might be expected, some irregularity 
was at Inst brought against him, not perhaps 
of any moment, but Lallah's whispered 
poisons had worked their vlFoct in tho mind 
of the magistrate, and the consequence was 
Uial the thannadar was dismisseil. 

Such were a (>;v: of the proceedings carried 
on in the outer courts, tne vestibule of the 
temple of justice. My hero was not less bold 
and successful within the sanctuary itself. 
His Viean-stalk was planteil deep at the 
verv r.Hit .if tlie ju.stice seat No sooner was 
n •!, no matter how insignificant, 

till ii liful, indefatigable Lallah slipped 

out ; aiul, following the successful suitor, ex- 
tended towards him his open palm, into which 
the other, too wise to decline, dropped a 
nipce. The orderly offers up a mental vote 
of thanks to Brahma, Siva and Vishnu, and 
sneaks back to his place in court ; none but 
those in the secret having observed his 
absence. 

The registry oflice was another locality 
highly favourable for tho upward growth of 
this fomous bc.in-stftlk. Whenever an order 
of court was made out for a report from the 
Sheristah, or nativo registry, bearing upon 
eorac case in suit, LalUh took especial care 
that the matter was not proceeded with for 
many days. When tlie litigant was worn out 



with delay, and became importunate, the 
wily orderly took him outside, and quietly 
requested to know how much he would give 
to have the report made out forthwith. The 
impatient suitor gladly proffered a nipce. 
The dualur v%3 pocketed; and, proceeding 
with his retainer to the registry office, Lallah 
called out to the record-keeper, in a well- 
understood swaggering tone, which was 
meant to say " It's all right," that the Sahib 
was highly incensed at tho deky with tho 
plaintitTs reconl, and that he desired him to 
intimate that any further hindrance would bo 
punished with a smart fine. 

The refusals to bleed wore far from being 
many ; still they did happen occasionally. 
When that was the ca.se, Lallah was in no way 
disconcerted, for ho knew that it must come 
at last, proceeded with tho unmanageable 
suitor to the registry, and, winking his eye at 
the vSheristah, simply enquires why the report 
is not made out, in a inild tone of voice, 
which plainly enough intimated that it was 
not all right yet The Shcristah of course 
understood ; and stroking his beard (he was a 
Mahometan) called upon tho Prophet to 
witness that some most important papers had 
been demanded by a superior authority 
which required immediate attention ; the 
Sahib must accordingly allow him a few 
more days' grace. The suitor, driven to 
despair by this delay, con.scnted to a heavy 
fee, and instantly Lallah became bis warmest 
friend. Hastily retracing his steps, the 
orderly, in a voice of thunder, expressed his 
astonishment at the impertinence of the 
Sheristuh, and gave him to know that if his 
friend did not at once receive the report the 
whole affair should be reported. Again the 
tone and manner of the pliable orderly were 
duly appreciated ; the report appeared as if 
by magic, and Lallah, the lucky, retired to 
share the spoil with the Shcristah, muttering 
a song of thanksgiving to that very respect- 
able boily tho Hindu Triad. 

In this wny the bean-stalk had flourished 
greatly ; but was now destined to bo trans- 
planted to another locality, though still 
within a genial, kindly soil. My hero, find- 
ing the office of orderly not quite im|)ortant 
enough for his ambition, and thirsting for 
distinction and rupees, managed by a va- 
riety of artful oriental devices to get elected 
a Chuprassic, or process-server, to the native 
sheriff of the district This was truly a 
splendid field for his talents, and he was not 
long before he turned tho golden opportunity 
to account. 

Tho mode of coining rupees in this depart- 
ment was of the simplest kind, Tho sum- 
monses for the appearance of defaulters of 
revenue before the deputy magistrate were 
very numerous, and the defendants were all 
of the Ryot class, the poorest grade in society. 
But unless the Zemindar, or landholder, who 
took out the summons agreed to fee the chu- 
prassic in addition to paying for the lummona, 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[ClBdMtad Vf 



I 



ho might a.s vrcll hare spared himself the 
liitttT expense ; for the documents were left 
quietly in the ofitziurs turban or his pouch 
until the dititur was forthcoming. Some of 
IIk-so zemindars were very rich and very 
stin<ry, and now and then gave my friend 
J-alliih a little trouble. 

Some people would have been di.sconccrted 
if the powerful zemindar of the next division 
pivc no token of the usual fee. But not so 
Liillah. He was prepared for every contin- 
poncy, and was always cool and resolute. Ue 
did nothing. The writ never left his pouch, 
.and at the end of many days the plaintiff 
complained that no summons had been served. 
The cliuprassic, on being questioned, declared 
by all the sacred spotd in Hindostan, that 
the plaintiff's agent had refu^M.>d to indicate 
the party to him, and what was he to do ? 
There was no help for it but to issue a warrant 
of ai)prehension, for which the zemindar had 
to |>ay in addition, and who, aware at length 
of the impos.sibility of proceeding without 
(Jn-tfur, came down handsomely to the process- 
stTvor, 

Lallah became less particular as he moved 
onwards in his career; and, i)rovided a handful 
of coin was to bo the reward, never flinched 
li-om any daring act of villany. It was of no 
use doing things by halves. A greedy ze- 
mindar wished to dispossess a poor cultivator 
of a tract of fine laml held by the latter 
uniUr a pottah, or lease, for which the ryot 
iiad paid handsomely some time before. The 
wealthy scoundrel trumped up a ca.se of 
arrears of rent against the cultivator, and 
obtnined a simple summons against him. 
This document he placed, with some weighty 
considerations, in the hands of Lallah the 
obsequious, who undertook not to serve it 
At the end of some days a return was made 
to the Sahib magistrate to the effect that the 
ryot would not show himself, but lay hidden 
within his hut .so that his sutnmons could not 
he. served. This is one of the most imfavour- 
ahle otfcnccs a native can commit, in the eyes 
'<f a conipany's magistrate ; it is never for- 
iriven, and is always visited with severity. 
The irate justice instintly made out an order 
to dispossess the cultivator of his lands and 
ni.'ike them over to the plaintiff. This was 
as'a matter of c-ourse done, to the ruin of 
the villager, the delight of the zemindar, and 
the replenishment of Lallah's overflowing 
purse. 

It need not be wondered at, that by along 
continuance of such practices, carried on by 
iii<;lit and d.ty, at all sca.<:ons, and with all 
clnsses, my hero was enabled to amass a 
consiilerable sum, which was placed snugly 
out :it usurious interest. A more lucrative 
fi<*l'l, however, lay before him in the depart- 
ment of Opium and Salt revenue, in which 
he obtained admis.-?ion by the usual means. 
The salary attached to this post was very 
small considering the large amount of 
revenue placed at his mercy. It was but 



looK QUI tor con- 
ic thoMomc in for 

loKnflimookah 



two pounds a month, and for this, he paid 
to the English deputy collector ten pounds 
monthly. 

One of the chief duties of the officers of 
this department is to search for contraband 
dealers in opium ; all of whomflbe hi^^vily 
fined. The right of sale is farmed out 
annually ; and, naturally enough, these 
ihrnicrs are always on the look out for con- 
trabandists, especially since thoaHuuc in for 
a lion's share of the fine. ^" 
Lallah was waited on one fin' 
sipping his coffee and smok 
like any other great man, by the opium 
farmer of the district ; who prefaced his 
mission by most humble salaams and a 
douceur of ten rupees slipped under his 
hookah-stand. Of course the wary officer 
took no notice of this little piece of panto- 
mime, but knew that his services were in 
requisition. The hookah was finished ; and, 
without asking any troublesome qnestionti, 
Lallah followed the farmer as meekly as a 
lamb. Arrived at the suspected house, 
accompanied by a posse of the fanner's 
people and officers, an entrance was demanded 
and obtained. The owner of the house was 
a respectable and wealthy trader, and ap- 
peared quite conscious of his innocence ; so 
much so, that he paid small attention to the 
proceedings of the party. 

The search went on, and Jjallah, while he 
seemed most inattentive, was really mo.-'t 
watchful, saw one of the fanner's servants 
conceal something under a heap of rubbish in 
a corner. Presently another of the searchers 
turned over the identical heap, and of couree 
dragged from it that which had been placed 
there — a quantity of the forbidden opium. 
It was in vain for the trader to protest Us 
innocence ; equally vain to declare timt the 
whole thing was a plot Lallah asked him 
with an air of offended dignity whether he 
thought that he, Lallah, would be a party to 
any knavery ? The whole thing was con- 
clusive. The trader was rich, and could 
therefore afford to pay the fine of one hun- 
dred and fifty rupees, which were shared 
between the government, the opium-fanner, 
and Lallah. 

Sometimes it happened that the fiirmrr 
would not or did not " make things pleasant f 
in which case my hero generally contrived to 
show him the folly of his conduct by siding 
with the suspected parties, and thus foiling 
the attempts of the informers. It mattered 
very little to him on which side he was 
enlisted, provided the ways and means were 
supplied ; indeed, he rather liked a little 
opposition to the regular course of thingi^ 
seeing that it usually had the effect of bringing 
back his former friends with stronger proo& 
than ever of their regard for him. 

From this department of the service 
Lallah managed to climb a little higher on 
the bean-stalk in his old calling — that ot 
the police. He was now a Thannadar, or 



CktriMi lKJh«AJ^l 



THE GREAT INDIAN BEAN-STALK. 



ita^edot of a district, and a personage of 
Boinc PoniM.'<]uence. The same course of fees, 
bribery, oiid presents, was carried on ns of 
old ; I'Ut on a larger R-ale. His career was, 
however, no longer smooth and unrnflled, 
Anxleiii'S and cnrea stole upon the now great 
man':; life, to vvbich he had before been an 
ullor !?tri' - >•: "'id although he did contrive 
by dint ri and well-niatured poliey 

to cxtii -if from every fi'csh dilfl- 

cul( V- :\n it aroiie, it tiiitoUed upon him great 
walclifulni's*. 

Munlere had become very frequent in 
hi.-i now di'^trict, and the attention of the 
superior uiithorilicB had been seriously called 
to llie subject Just at tliat period a report 
was sent in Irom a village to the elfcct that 
a trader of some consaquence had disap- 
pcarcl in a mysterious manner, and no tidings 
of liim could be learnt. The m&gistr.itc re- 
ceived to show his zeal in the cause, and 
•DOonlinKly onlered Lallah to brin^ the 
guilly parlies to justice, under penalty of 
forfeiture of his office. The tbannadar set to 
work in right good eameat, with every in- 
Btnintcnt at bis disposal Fields, rivers, 
hoiifios, hedges, jungle, forest — all were 
Bcnn-hcd. but in vain ; no trace of the mur- 
dored raan could be found, and for once 
iallah was nt fault. 

# A thanriaflir of a low and grovelling nature 
irotdd hare reported his failure to hi.s supe- 
rior; but not so Lallah. Tiic Sahii) wanted 
evidence and a prisoner, and he was resolved 
to provide tlic same at all hazards. 

By sonic means Lallah ascertained that in 
the same village in which the missing man 
hail resideii, there dwelt another trader who 
Was largely indebted to the supposed victim, 
and who was known to be a raan of riolent 
temiKT and loose habits. This wa» tlie very 
man for Uie Uiaonadar. Who more likely to 
have m.'ide away with the trader than his 
debtor ijf ill-repntf? Had Lallah advertised 
in the Mofussilite under the heading of 
"Wantf'd, a .Munlercr," ho could not have 
succet'dt'd mi)re to his wishes. 

The shopkeeper was apprehended, together 
with hia wife. Witnesses were of course 
forthcoming, who swore by every Hindu 
deity that they had heard the prisoners 
and the missing roan at high words, and 
that when lact seen the latter was in com- 
pany with the former. So far so good ; but 
the prisoner* denied their guilt to Lallah, 
and that was a difficulty that had to be 
overcome. They were confined in a deep pit 
up to their waiHts in putrid Qlth during a day 
and nij^'ht. On the following day they were 
exposed to the burning rays of a tropical sun ; 
and when, parched and feverish, they called 
faintiiigly for water, a hag of dry and broken 
chillies or capsicums was shaken over their 
head& the fierce dust irom which, piercing 
into tneir eyes and down their throats, drove 
the miserable creatures almost mad Human 
nature could not stand up against such treat- 



ment: the rack and the wheel were mercy 
to such torture; and in their agony tlicy con- 
fessed to the commission of the crime in tlie 
presence of witnesses, and offered their sig- 
natures to a statement to that effect. 

The case was thus in excellent condition, 
and Lallah took it in triimiph before the 
magistrate, who was equally pleased at the 
result. The examination of the witnesst\s \va.s 
very brief, and the case was sent up to tlie 
sessions judge. 

Bcfi^rc the higher tribunal little more was 
done than recapitulating the proceedings of 
the magistrate's court; and although no body 
had been found, no bloo'ly weapon had been 
produced, no one had ever witnessed the 
deed, the prisoners were found guilty, and 
sentenced to bo hung. This sentence had 
ncces-sarily to be afnnned by a court of 
appeal, which body sent the case back to tlie 
judge, directing his attention to the fact that 
he h.id forgotten to ask the pri.>wni:rs to plead 
to the indictment, and had not examined any 
witnejjses on their behalf, though they ap- 
peared to have had some I The judge went 
through the form of asking the prisoner.^ to 
plead, and they as a last hope pleaded " Not 
guilty." No witnesses appearing, the case 
was again sent up for affirmation, when, for- 
tunately fiir the condemned couple, the su- 
perior tribunal decided that, owing to tho 
plea of " Not guilty," and the aVjsence of (11 
direct evidence, the criminals should not be 
hung, but merely imprisoned for life, first 
being branded on the forehead as felons. 

So far all was well ; Lallah was rewarded, 
and the magistrate praised for his activity. 
But some few months after tho murdered 
Duin turned up. Ho had been keeping out 
of the way for some private reasons, and re- 
turned on hearing of the trial and sentence of 
bis supposed murderers. The latter were, of 
course, set free ; but no pardon could erase the 
feloii-hrand from their foreheads. The accused 
man died broken-hearted soon afterwards, 
having first related how he h.vJ been tortured 
into a corifeasion, though, in doing so, he did 
not dare to implicate the powerful Lallah. 
The big scoundrel escaped, and tho little ones 
were punished by dismitisal. 

A year or two of these duties, and Lallah felt 
anxious to be relieved of them. I lis wealth had 
accumulated to an extent that wnrmnted him 
in starting in quite a different career. Ho 
next ajipeared at Calcutta in the chnrarter of 
haninn, or moiiey-lcmler; a wide and fruitful 
field for gain. Here Lallah Ram Sing figured 
as a man of immense wealth and influence; 
and, truly, few possessed more advantages 
than bo did. Ho soon contrived to get a 
dozen of the Calcutta officials deeply in his 
books, and once there ho knew how to turn 
thein to account. They w ere too needy to 
refuse him any favour, or to decline to bo- 
cotiio parties to jobs, however barefaced; and 
in this way the bean-stalk grew so strong 
tl»t Lallah was enabled to climb nearly to 



A 



M 



HOUSEHOLD WUKUS. 



COniacM^, 



the top of it. His establishment is now 
one of the largest in the City of Palaces. 
His naiitchcs arc on the most magnificent 
scale; the Governor-general was present at 
the last. His clicni'; are more numerous than 
those of any other banian; his monetary 
trnnsactions more extensive ; and, in speaking 
of his wealth, people talk not of thousands, 
but of millions of rupees. 

Tiiis Bean-stilk is not an imaginary plant. 
It is not culled from Arabian romance or 
fairy legend, but is taken from the veritable 
records of Indian cvcry-day life. It grew 
yesterday ; it grows to-day ; it will grow on 
to-morrow, and will continue to grow until 
the axe of Indian Reform cuts it down for 



THE PHALWSTERIAN MENAGERIE. 

OsB evening lately I found myself at Paris, 
without being exactly able to remember how 
I got there. I ought to have been on the 
north coast of France, philosophising on the 
beach at regular hours, or perhaps unphiloso- 
phically contemplating the freaks of the adult 
and infant bathers there. For I had a tire- 
some lM>ok in hand to be forthwith edited, 
and my last letter from England contained a 
sovcrc" demand for " copy." Moreover, there 
•)Viis a convalescent nursling in the way, for 
whom Channel breezes were urgently prc- 
sirjlu'd; nor had I any clear recollection of 
li:ivin;c settled with my native landlady before 
thus abruptly (|uitting her comfortable board 
and lod};ing. IJut railways are such leaders 
into temptation. "To Paris and back for 
twenty francs" had been placarded about for 
a fortnight past. I have s&bstantial proof 
that it is a vulgar error that " rolling stones 
gather no moss." In short, at Paris Iseemed 
to bo, without my French mother — and they 
are a .shar]j-.<iglited set — ^having the least sus- 
picion that I was out 

It is a luxury of ecstatic degree to make 
this kind of sudden escape, and to break loose 
out of the mill-round of duties which have 
daily to bo done from morning till night A 
new set of faces, a new set of streets, a new 
set of hedges and ditches and fields, arc most 
elTcctual tonics. There are people in the 
worlil who would die, or go mad, if they 
could not freely and fairly take wing now and 
then. I am closely related to that family of 
mip;rants ; and that, T suppose, was the reason 
why I happened so oddly to be strolling about 
Paris, unconscious of the means which had 
conveyed me. 

I had no object on earth to take me there, 
and I wandered along in delightful careless- 
nes.s. As it was getting dusk, I reached one 
of the quays. IJefore me flowed the ru.shing 
Seine; behind roc rose a large and dingy 
buiMing. which bore some resemblance to a 
publi8her*s shop. I leaned over the parapet, 
gazing at the river, and musing on some 
■trangc notions about electricity thai had 



been proposed to my consideration, when a 
sudden glare of light interrupted my thoughtSt 
and nude me turn round to ascertain the 
cause. The building was brilliantly and in- 
stantly illuminated — could it be by the elec- 
tric light? — and through the windows I oould 
see that it contained, besides books, a lar^ 
collection of living animals. Of course, in 
Paris all such treasures as this woald be 
open to the inspection of a well-behaved 
public, and I at once determined to ascertain 
the prescribed form of obtaining admittance. 
But, as I approached the door, it was opened 
wide to receive my visit, and a handsome, 
brown-bearded, full-eyed man invited me in 
with pleasing yet dignified looks and ges- 
tures. 

" I only occupy a portion of this catabUdh 
mcnt," he said. "My fellow-labourers, not 
less enthusiastic than myself, have each their 
special department assigned them. Mine, 
just now, is to exhibit the Menagerie. The 
public will not arrive quite yet in any num- 
bers to require my attention; bo, as I per- 
ceive you are a stranger and an Englishman, 
it will afford me pleasure to act as your guide 
for a private view, during the brief interal 
which I have to spare before lecturing to uj 
usual audience." 

Only one reply— a bow of thanks — conM ba 
made to this obliging oficr. I followed my 
Mentor, charmed with his manner and nmntf^ 
with his matter, but often seriously askiiig 
myself whether or not I were in compaaj 
with an escaped lunatic. Still, at many ■ 
remark which he made, I resolved to try sad 
remember that, and give some report of Ui 
observations. 

Let us first — he said — ^inspect the aainsb 
which have rallied around the standard <f 
man; some of them as auxiliaries, otlMfl 
merely as domestic slaves. What a pity tW 
I should have so few to show youT WiA 
exceedingly rare exceptions, every livi^ , 
creature, whether bird or beast, sincerely dt- | 
sires to fraternise with man ; and during (hi ' 



space of six thousand years, with 
thousands of animals to work upon, «e hen 
only succeeded in attaching to us some Wf 
of them, at the very outside calculatioiL i 
do not know of any fact which ia UK 
severely condemnatory of the actiul phaMif 
society, than the simple comparison of tlMi 
figures respectively. 

Here you observe a goodly collection if 
dogs, all admirable for their special meiik 
God havini^ in the beginning created nHi 
and beholdmg him so feeble, gave him A> 
dog; and in order that the dog might entinif 
belong to man, he exclusively endowed Vk 
with friendship and devotion. He inatSW 
into his heart the most profound oonteofl 
fo^ family joys and paternity. He Undtii 
his sentiment of love to the animal instinettf 
reproduction. He left love and familism, fti 
pas.<!ions of the minor mode, to the inferi* 
canine race, the Fox. The dog is the noUfil 



IL 



X 



' 



conquest that roan hu ever ma<le ; for he b 
the first element in the progress of humanity. 
Without the do^, man iroulil have been coin- 
pcllLti to vegetate eternally on the border-land 
of SavagiTy. The dog unableb human society to 
.pus from the ravage to the pntriarohal stjttc, 
^f presenting it with Hooks and herds. No 
dog, no tiock nor herd, — no (lock nor herd, no 
certain mcuns of subsistence ; no leg of mut- 
ton, nor roast beef lit pleasure; no wool, 
no plaids, nor hurnoiu ; no leisure hours, no 
astronomical observations, no science, no in- 
dustry. The dog h.is enabled in.tnkiml to 
tlnd time for all those things. The cast la 
the cradl<j of civilisation, because the east 
u the native land of the dog. Take away the 

M; from Asia, and Asia is no belter off than 
terica. What constitutcii the superiority 
the <Jld over the New World, is the i>o.s- 
lion of the dog. What, in fact, is the end 
all the ettbrts of intellect, all the labours 
of the Mohican, who has only the chace to 
{Impend on for a subsJKtencc ? It is nothing 
JMrc than the 8tU'Jy of the great art of 
mcking and fullon'ing his game, or his enemy. 
Now, that young terrier who is peeping out 
of his kennel, knows as much, or more, of 
this dil'Bcult science afler six months' study, 
as tiio DiMt intelligent savage at the end of 
forty years. The natives of the East, then, 
who possessed the dog, were relieved fl-oin an 
amount of jixiuful labour which employed the 
whole life and faculties of the Reil Skins. 
They had time to spare, and they were able 
to employ it in the creation of industry. 
Such is the origin of arts and trades ; such 
is the whoh: dillervaee between the Old and 
New Continents. Hibtorians have written 
thou.sands of volumes on this grave question, 
without lighting upon the discovery of this 
simple truth ; and brave anatomists continue 
to dissect the sculls of Americans, in order 
to find out tiio cause of the inferiority of tliat 
race, without even suspecting that they uru 
wandering a hundred leagues away from thu 
solution of the problem. 

To this new and luminous antliropological 
solution there hangs another observation, 
which i8 equally my own, namely tliat canni- 
balism ia an eo<lcmic disease in all countries 
that have the misfortune to be without dogs. 
Why 18 cannibalism never met with amongst 
pastoral nations, amongst the Chaldeans, 
Egyptians, Arabians, Mongolians, and Tartars ? 
Because the milk and tlesh of the herds and 
flocks, with which the dog has endowed those 
nations, constantly preserve them from the 
criminal tcmptatioos of hunger. i.>n this 
subject, I will beg permission not to add my 
anathema to those which have .so often iicen 
hurled agninst anthropophagy by the hnnd 
of false morality and false philanthropy. Can- 
nibalism is one of the diseases of the earliest 
infancy of humanity ; a depraved taste which 
fhtuine expUiua, if it doea not entirely justify. 
Pity the caimibul, and dotft abuse him, yu 
tncnibers of civili^id society, who eat under- 



done meat, and kill millions of men, for much 
less plausible molive^s than hunger. Accord- 
ing to my own ideas, of all the wars which 
men wage against each other, war for th« 
sake of eating one's eucuiy is the only ra- 
tional warfare on the whole list Uoasting 
one's adversary after he is dead, is not h.nlf 
so senseless and wicked un action as killing 
him by wholesale when he feels no incliniilion 
to die, From cannibalism, and all its iilten- 
dant horrors, our faithful friend, the dog, baa 
rescued us. It is not his fault if we still 
commit the most atrocious form of human 
madness — war. 

Behold a specimen of domestic swine, which 
are allowed the entne of the raeniigcrie. If 
the pig still continued to lend to man the aid 
of his snout to discover and Jisiuter the 
truffle, I should have been able to include 
him in the hst of auxiliaries; but it is evident 
that the moment he allowed the dog to disjilace 
him from his special function, he Inst the right 
of figuring in tliat honourable cla.^s. I may 
be told that he has been employed in St. 
Domingo and elsewhere, as a call-pig, playing 
exactly the same port in the woods as his 
pa,s,sional homologue, the call-duck, does upon 
the lake. I do not deny the fact ; but the 
mere act of calling, quacking, or grunting, 
does not constitute an auxilLiiy. There i.s, 
besides, another reason of a superior or<ler, 
& reason of analogy, which compels me to 
refuse that title to the pig. Ho is the em- 
blem of the miser ; and the misi-r is good for 
nothing till after hi.s death, Con.sequently 
it was not amongst the pig's possibilities to 
be useful to man during lii.s li^. 

The he-goat, the mutilated typo of the 
Houquetin of the Pyrenees and the .Mps, has 
never enjoyed any great reputation fbr sanctity, 
and I will not take upon me to a.ssert timt ho 
has nnpiired a much worse name than he 
deser^'cs. It is very certain that, by his dis- 
Holute morals, he laya himself open to 
calumny, and that tlie odour he exhales docs 
not Kviiibolisc a model of purity. Ho is the 
emblem of brutal sensuality. The Greek, 
Jewish, and Christian religions accord with 
analogy in this respect Thu Greeks were 
not content with eacriticing a goat to Bacchus, 
as being one of the vine's enemies, one of the 
plagues of attractive labour; they di.sguised 
their satyrs with the mask and character of 
the lascivious animal, in order to brand grci-a 
and material love with an unmistakeable 
mark of reprobation, in order to declare their 
belief that purely sensual passion is degrading 
to man, and lowers him to the level of tha 
brute. 

I am sorry to pass sentence on a po<5r 
anini.ll already laden with the sins of I.Toel ; 
but I cannot find it in my heart to utter a 
word of cxcu.se for an emblem of lust and 
moral flfltb, for an eoKniy of vineyards and 
agriculture. I confms that the future pro.<v- 
pects of the goat lill me with considerable 
alarm ; for I find no employment for hvn\ vw 



I 



I 



\ 



66 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ii 

L 



harmony, when leather breeches will suffer 
an ininiunsc reduction in price, in conHequence 
of the suppression of the gendannerie. The 
most nivoiirablo lot the gout can then expect 
is to be banished to his native country, for 
the purpose of repeopling the glaciers and 
rocky precipices, in company with thevigogne, 
the iiiotiilon, and the chamois. 

I.nsr.ivious, capricious, and easy-tempered, 
addirted to vagabondage and sorcery, fond of 
haltpetre, but a gowl daughter and a good 
niotlmr at the bottom of her heart, the she- 
gojit represents the thorough-bred gipsy, the 
siiisirt Esmeralda. Lament if you like, but 
biwarc of endeavouring to avert the lot 
whi<h awaits Esmeralda and the goat The 
pvAt and her family may henceforth fiud 
their ajipropriatc place in the colonisation of 
desei'l i.slands and uninhabitable mountains. 
Uiuler every latitude the goat and the rabbit 
are undoubtedly the best agents which God 
hiis f;iveii to man, for derivuig some profit 
from the barren rock. 

I'rudence forbids niy speaking my mind on 
the subject of the slicep and the lamb, which 
you see folded there. I have ■ very littlo 
esteem for sheep-like people, who submit to 
be shorn without resistance. Innocence, 
candour, and resignation under suffering are 
virtues which I do not desire to see too com- 
mon in France. It is high time that the 
liitnb, and the poor working man, should 
cease (o play the i)art of victim. Therefore, 
mind how you behave yourselves, ye cruel 
butchers and iniquitous shepherds! 

I do not value the tame rabbit in th.at 
hutch, either for his flesh or for his habits, 
which latter are tinged with cannibalism; 
but I am plea.<«ed with his fecundity, his rapid 
growth, and many other merits — with his 
low j)ricc especiidly — permitting him to make 
arifuaintaiice with poor people's stomachs 
who have no means of tasting butcher's meat 
The nibliit is the emblem of the poor labourer 
who lives by working in quarries and mines, 
a race which sometimes finds repose at the 
liottom of its subterranean retreat, but liable 
to be attacked by a thousand enemies the 
moment it puts its nose above ground. It is 
not gifted with foresight, like the hamster 
and the squirrel, because the wages of tiic 
workmen, whom it symbolises, are too low 
for them to be able to lay by the lea.st 
fi:;cti.in against a rainy day. The rabbit 
mrw limes kills its young. Every day, want 
and ]irolligaoy drive' the starving workwoman 
to commit infanticide. This crime, so common 
in the tiibe of rabbits, happens more rarely 
in the trilie of hares. The reason is, that 
destitution is more frightful in manufacturing 
towns than in agricultural districts. The 
ral<bit has made riots, and overthrown cities, 
according to the account of Pliny. In 
great towns the poor occasionally indulge 
in the same amusement, but never in the 
country, because they arc not crowded close 
enough together, to be able to compute 



their own numbers and strength. In Cham- 
pagne I used to know a gamekeeper who 
]>iped rabbits by means of a bird-call, in the 
same way as is practised with robin red- 
breasts, and which forced them out of 
their burrows quicker than the ferret would. 
The art of piping rabbits was practised in 
Spain in very ancient times ; the verb eheUar 
being coined to specify the process, which 
was also not unknown in Provence, 

Next vou have a group of stinkards, 
vermin whom I hold in abomination. Neither 
the boar nor the stag is a scentless animal, 
yet no one ever thougnt of applying the name 
of stinkard to them. A denomination m 
gracefully characteristic has been reserved 
for these lowest of Iwings, which hiding in 
some subterranean retreat, and poisoning the 
air with their odious effluvia, live by danger- 
less murder and rapine. The polecat — the 
best known type of the pjoup which I style 
"cut-throats"'^ and " blood-drinkers"— the 
polecat, and all the rest of its tribe, have 
been gifted by the Creator with a membra- 
nous pouch, situated close to the tail, and 
secreting an odoriferous liquid In the 
stinkards of our on-n climate, this odour it 
nothing worse than repulsive; but in the 
species of Central America, known unclpr the 
significant name Mephitics, it is fw> honiblj 
and unbearably fetid as to suffocate and 
poison those who breathe it In that country, 
there have been ca.ses proved of persons being 
killed in their "beds by the odour of stinkards; 
and it is sufficient for one of these creatart* 
merely to pass through a granary, a trtS^ 
room, or a cellar, to render every proviraon in 
them uneatable, every beverage undrinkabk. 
Charitable souls will learn with dcliglit that 
the science of military engineering, the ndUe 
art of legal destruction, h.ns lately borrowtl 
a wrinkle iVom the stinkard in tlie pmctia 
of distant poisoning. People in general an 
not prep.nrcd for the surjmse which mwiib 
them on the next declaration of hostilitici 
between absolutism and democracy. HuH^ibi 
will not run in their usual style. Instead of 
that, we shall read in the (Jazettc, •' AHw 
two hours' cannonading, at the distance rf 
fldeen hundred yards, the enemy fled in d 
directions, abandoning their arms and Aeir 
cannon, and holding their noses. So complete 
a victory was never attended with so Htdi 
bloodshed. The enemy fell, like brimstonrf 
bees, performing the most grotesque aai 
laughable contortions. Nose-witnesses tf- 
serted that the infection from our howitiof 
was such, that the air was tainted for ft> 
distance of several miles. The successes of 
the day may be in prent part .attributed tt 
the ingenious precaution wnicli I had taken; 
namely, to furnish each of our soldiers wift 
a pair of spectacles." 

This blootl-thirsty family includes fte 
animals which furnish the finest and the moil 
esteemed peltry ; wherefore, stinkard-hunti^ 
is an important alfiur, both in Siberia and 



^1 

i 



OtarMM t>t«fc«M.] 



THE PHALANSTBRTAN MENAGERIE. 



«T 



Amcricai. Analoi^ teaches us the rnwon, 
both of the Kingiiinory disposition which 
chw.'icteriscs thi.s species, fts well us of the 
inMipporfnhle O"ioor vrbi«'h it exhales, and the 
uilk-iiK-y anii strength of it8 garment of fur. 
ThiOilond-flrinkers — the J/iM^e/ /am of learned 
Ungii.'igc— .are the most gnnpuinary animnlc 
in all crciition; bewu^fe they symbolise 
thieves in little and murderers In little — 
cn»[i<iison(TR of proTisions nnri adulterators 
of drinks — nnd because the crafty pnu*lice8 
of tlii"ic mriinrst of indusfrialp, who sprout 
»nJ di-iurish on the outslcirts of civilisiBtion, 
canse the death of an infinitoly greater niim- 
i|Mr of persons than the cannon and the 
^fqronet The purveyor for the fti-my or 
narr, who pares off hi? profit fi-om the 
soldier's ration, nniJ the Director of the Al- 
gerian hospital, who arlultfratcs the fiulphate 
of (piinine, have killed a hundred times as 
mny* soldiers as the .■Vrabs, even since 
il^een hundred and thirty. I rejoice to 
Warn that nothing of the' kind has ever 
oWMijTfd in proi'isionin» the Britir^h fleet. 

The polecat and its inunlerous brethren 
owe to the elaKtieity of their intercostal 
cartilages a suppleness of backbone which 
allows them to insinuate themselres thrnuph 
the narrowest chinks of the dovecote and the 
poultrv-housp. An entrance once effected, 
Uic vilianons hnitvs bathe in blood, intoxicate 
themselves with murder, and kill rijht nnd 
left (or the mere plpasiiro of killin;:r. This 
stipple Bpirie and in^xtineui^hable thirst for 
frore represent the inpatiable avidity, pro- 
fliiraoy, and astuteness of the usurer, the man 
of Uw. the pkadcT, and the legist, who creep 
ihroujrh the smallest chinks of the code — 
(Wmetimes miasinc the pilleys by the merest 
bsir's-brcadth — to penetrate into hard-work- 
ing households, entwine the poor labourer in 
their deadly folds, and blcci him till he is as 
pale a» death. The polecat is pililcBs ; ft 
dc«troy/J every individual bird which it finds. 
Exactly in the same way, the Jew, after 
drawing the last drop of gold from the vein^ 
of his victiir. will throw him on a Bfraw bed 
in prison, repardloKs of his unhappy family, 
whom the lietention of their head reducs 
to want, and delivers to the terrible saprges- 
tions of hunirer. Innoocnt species — the 
pigeon, the hen. the pheasant, the rabbit — 
are tho nsoul victims of the polecat's ra?e. 
The weak, the poor city workman, and the 
hutiibic fiinn hihourw, arc the prey of the 
cheat, the parajfite, and the usurer. The 
remarkable adherence of the hair to the skin, 
which conslil'iles the value of fur, symbolises 
the avarice of men of the law, traffickers in 
lyin;; words, and dealer* in adulterated good.^, 
NothinK can ef|U*l the tenacity with which 
thc!i« muni/i/fJi hold their ill-jjotlen we.tlth. 
The infected odour exhalefl by stinkards is 
the extortion and stock-johbin?, the assault 
Md miirder, which transude from the ^n- 
prmed body of France, when! Jewish influence 
18 paramount 



Would we cure the body social of its 
inftmjcs, and extenninato the nuisance from 
our territory? Tlie means of both arc one 
nnd the same ; and, moreover, have the ad- 
vantajrc of being oxceedinpl)* easy. To heal 
the wounds of society, nnd exttmuinale the 
polcat, wo must sub.slitute fnilcniity for 
selfishness, centralism for divergence, uni- 
versal partnership for piecv-nieal property. 
Let uji suppress all piecc-raeal property, 
which is the golden-egged hen of chicanery, 
mort«ragp, and iLsurj' ; witneJis the subtle 
pleader, the sworn interpreter of the code, 
and the retail dealer in stamped paper, who 
shuts up shop \vithout any warninjr. Let us 
exchange the five hundred miserable huts, 
which arc the pride and glory of civilised 
vilIap?R, into one splendid communal palace, a 
comfort.ible club-house for the entire popula- 
tion. r<et us replace the five hundred barns, 
covered with thatch, piercctl with holes, an(l 
tumbling to pieces, into ono vast, united 
granary, to receive the produce of the com- 
mune, nnd over whose inviolability numberless 
agents will feel it their offlce to keep strict 
watch. Instantly, every one of tho noisome 
Tt^rmin which arc the ruin tif the labourer — 
polecats, rats, weevils, and so on — will dis- 
appear from tho nui'M for ever. U is evident 
that the question of the polecat, ami of the 
V3n>pires of parasitism, is identical ; that both 
these pests have simiiltuneously invaded tho 
body social ; that thej' issue fnini the same 
source, antagonism ; and that, the cniise 
ce.%sing, its necessary effuct will also cease. 
I await the death of "the last surviving pole- 
cat to deliver a triumphant funeral oration 
ov<*r the grave of the Inst of thieves. 

Now for the fox — a nasty <T<-atiire, the 
object, too, of nnsty sport. Fox-huntinc is 
only excusable as one means of fox destruc- 
tion. You English hunt the fox for hunting's 
sake ; and it is a rejiroach of which you will 
never clear yourselves. tUlicr beasts you 
hunt, not for the sport, but to break your 
necks and practice liorse-dealfng. Fox- 
hunting affords no interest at all, and hardly 
deserves to have a word bestowed upon it. 

Young foxes ar.j cisily familiariseil In tho 
faces and creatures of the house in which they 
arc- brought up. The part of our institutions 
which they most readily full in with, are our 
regular fixed hours for eating. T know no 
chronometer that indicates the precise time 
of dinner with greater exactness than a fox's 
stomach. Tame foxes which had regained 
their liberty, have been known af^cr three 
month.s' absence, to return to the farm where 
they had lived, and always, observe, rit dinner 
time. 

A Ion? while ago, T was the proprietor 
(continued my scientific showman) of a very 
young fox, a remarkable wng, who was (m\- 
pable of beating .a commissary-gi-ncral in 
the art of playing tricks with estnble.s. lie 
was my own and my .school-fellowR' ;;n'at 
consolation, during our study of La.V.wv t!LT\\ 



I 



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68 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



(OMtecteAlf 



L 



Greek. The applause bestowed upon hLs 
clever tricks, together with too much self- 
satisfaction, perhaps, and the intoxication of 
s»icccs.<«, had developed to an extraordinary 
degree the manifestations of his crafty nature. 
My mother, who, according to the terms of 
the Civil Code, was responsible for the nets 
and deeds of my fox, asserted sometimes, in 
an undertone, that she might have bought a 
hand.some horse with the sum total of the 
indemnities which my mischievous brute 
had cflst her for murdered chickens, plun- 
dered soup-boilers, and tame rabbits artfully 
made away with. At last, a price was set 
upon his head; but who, in our presence, 
dared to undertake the execution of the 
sentence ? 

A kite of courage, when the thing was 
proposal to him, did not shrink from the 
cnter{)rise. He was a redoubted bird, the 
terror of all the cats and poodles of the place, 
and jiroudly conscious of fifty victories. He 
challenged the fox to single combat, and the 
lists were opened with my consent. The 
kitchen was the field of battle. The first 
attack was terrible. Surprised and frightened 
by the aggressor's impetuosity, Reynard dis- 
gracefully turned tail, and sought a retreat 
in the darkest comer of the room. Tlie bird 
then pounced upon the enemy's rump, slashing 
away with all the power of his beak. But 
that portion of the adversary, the only part 
he could work upon, was also hairy and in- 
vulnerable. Satiated at lait with his apparent 
triumph and the uproarious applause of the 
delighted public, he left his quarry, perched 
upon the back of a low chair, and soon was 
dozing like a gorge<l buzzard. The spectators, 
supposing that all the fun was over, discussed 
the superior gallantry of carnivorous birds 
over carnivorous quadrupeds ; and the debate 
became so animated, that the actual com- 
batants were completely Io.<;t sight of, till a 
fearful .scream re-echoed through the place. 
We turned and looked, and — lieart-rending 
sight! — the kite lay prostrate on the floor of 
the arena, beating tho air with his dying 
wing, and contracting his claws in a final 
convulsion of agony. 

How the death-wound had been dealt, I 
was the only person able to say. Tt was a 
feint borrowed from tho femous combat of 
the Horatii and the Curatii. The fox had 
(led, in order to induce the bird to pursue 
him, and waste his strength upon his padded 
burklor. As soon as tho kite was tired and 
had given up tho contest, the cunning brute 
turned his head, observed the position, and 
mrasured the distance. Then, darting forward 
with a terrible bound, which no one foresaw 
and no one heard, he seized the unsuspecting 
creature in his mouth, and pierced him 
through and through with a single bite. The 
whole affair was the work of a moment 
When we looked to see where the murderer 
was, we perceived him under the kitchen 
sink, contemplating the maid as she washed 



up the dinner plates, like a complete stranger 
to the tragic event 

Further on, I will show you some creatares 
which stand as the symbols of literary men. 
You bear the bell which is ringing at this 
moment ; it announces to them their feeding 
time. * ♦ * Here the loud sound of some 
heavy body falling plump between my feet, 
diverted my attention from the speaker'" h»- 
rangue. I looked on the floor to discover what 
had occasioned the noise; and there, sure 
enough, lay a half-open, thick octavo volume, 
whose aspect was perfectly familiar to me. I 
stooped to raise it from the ground. On listen- 
ing for the continuation of my conductor's 
address, and the sequel remarks on literkiy 
animals, the Illuminated Menagerie bad en- 
tirely disappeared, and I was sitting in my 
arm-chair in my snug little study, exactly 
where I ought to have been — namely, on the 
north coast of France, instead of at Paris, I 
knew not how. 

"Moniieur est Mnif" shouted a female 
voice, in a very unusuiQ tone of displeasure. 
" The dinner has been on the table for ever 
so long, and everybody is tired of waiting: I 
have rung the bell till my arm quite aches. 
The soup, made of a magnificent veal ankle^ 
is now as cold as fountain-water; and the 
omelette, in which I surpassed myaelf, dadi* 
ing it off in a moment of enthusiasm, is no 
bettor than a bit of buttered sponge. It is 
cruel of you. Monsieur Feelsone, to serve me 
so," continued my landlady as she entered the 
room. "But, ah! I see tTie cause of the in- 
difference to meal-times which has lately over- 
clouded your spirit I behold the reason of 
the ungrateful return which you make to-dsy 
for my kitchen labours. It all arises fttn 
tliat ugly, wicked treatise. In vain I Be 
awake all night, contemplating a happy com- 
bination of dishes ; in vain I ransack ths 
waters, salt and sweet ; in vain I send emis- 
saries to marsh and wood, all to procur« yvu 
fish and game. Now-o'-days you care no 
more about them than if they were slices flf 
bread and butter. But if ma'tters are mneh 
longer to go on in this way, I shall wish Pha- 
lansterianism at the bottom of the aca. IL 
Victor had a groat deal better attend to bk 
patients' maladies, than keep sending to Fteii 
for books by the dozen, to corrupt rour mind 
as well as his own. I shall soon 'be locked 
upon as a complete nobody in the house, if 
comfortable lodging and liberal bcNird an 
treated as things not worth attending ta 
Philosophy is to have tho upper hand! 
Worlds of Birds! and Minds of Brutes! I 
wonder what nonsense will next bo thongfat 
off I am sure all your friends are sick of 
tho subject For my part, if Dubois — ^ 

" Madame Dubois," I calmly answered, "I 
plead guilty to having fallen fa.<!t asleep. But do 
not bo too angry with our books ; for I assmo 
you that, if ever you let lodgings in Harmony, 
you will have a much wider and more honom^- 
able scope in which to exercise the cuUnaiy 



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A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND, 



69 



art Wc shall thvn be gided with a gamut 
of Ui6t«s, as :otnpIcta as novr i» our gamut 
of Bounds. For insUnce, loaves of bread will 
then be made to aaswur exactly to eucli of 
the savoury notes of the scale. You will be 
able to compose chromatic suucuii, to S4:rve ax 
the variations to diatonic dishes. You will 
cook a grand pastoral dinner in E flat major, 
to be followed by an allegro supper in D. 
That the books, though eccentric, are not bad 
ftt the bottom, your own acute judgment 
■hall decide for itsclC You arc aware, 
Madame, that women, in France, are not 
treated with sulficient consideration. They 
have too little to do ; they are kept far too 
much in the back-ground ; thuy exercise too 
little influence both in public and private 
affairs; and are not consulted half oflcn 
enough about things which concern their 
sons and their husbands. Well; the writer 
of this very book proposes to remedy the evil 
of thia completely. Henceforth, instead of 
gentlemen taking the lead, 'Mrs. and Mr. 
Smith' will be the polite style. Listen only 
to one short pasjiage : ' Females in general 
are the epitome of all that i.s good and beau- 
tiful. Why do men shave their bearil-s if it be 
not to resemble the feminine tyiie i Woman 
is th(i second edition of man, revised and cor- 
_|»ctcd, and considoi-ably embellished.' There, 
wiarao Dubois, what do you think of thntf" 
b(K)ks are not heretical, after all!" 
■ answer. " Study is certainly a vcrj' 
ing thin;;. You and M. Victor have 

3uite a right to cultivate j-our mind.*!, if you 
o not neglect your dinner-limes. Perhaps, 
by-and-bye, 1 may allow the Messieurs D. to 
peruse a few extracts, if you will make it the 
effect of your goodncs-s to select the mo.>it 
edifying parts for their instruction — like that 
which you readjust now. Never mind tilings 
being cold for once. The soup shall soon bo 
hot again. I'll whip up an omelette to eclipse 
the first The roast shall retire into the oven 
for a moment; and the .salad will be the 
better for a second dressing." 

"IJravo, Madame 1 I am wide awake now. 
When wc pass from Civilisation to Harmon}', 
you shall rule the roast and boiled, in the 
Commuiuil Palace in which I dwell. For, in 
thftt liappy state of existence, no work is to 
be done but labours of love." 



A CHILD'S inSTORY OP ENGLAND. 

CHATTTB XXITU. 

Tup. I^ong Parliament assembled on the 
tJiird of .\ovcmber, one thousand six hundred 
an<l forty-one. That day week the F>arl of 
Strairord arrived from York, VL-ry sensible that 
the spirited and determined men who fonned 
that Parliament were no friends towards him, 
who bad not only deserted the cause of the 
people, but who bad, on all occasions, opposed 
himself to their liberties. The King told hiro, 
for his comfort, that the parliament " should 
not hurt one hair of hid head." But, on tlie 




very nest day, Mr. Pym, in the House of 
Commons, and with great solemnity, im- 
peached the Earl of Strafford as a traitor. 
He was immediately taken into custody, and 
fell from his proud height in a moment 

It was the twenty-second of March before 
he was brought to trial in Westminster Hall, 
where, although he was very ill, and .sulTered 
great pain, he defended himself with such 
ability and m-ijesty, that it was doubtful 
whether he would not get the best of it iiftor 
all. But on the thirteenth day of the trial, 
Pym produced in the House of Commons a 
copy of some notes of a council, found by 
young Sir Harrt Vame in a red velvet 
cabinet belonging to his father (Secretary 
Vane, who sat nt the council-table with tlio 
Earl), in which Strafford had diiitinctly tt)ld 
the King that he was frt'e from all rules and 
obligations of government and might do with 
his people whatever he liked ; and in which 
he had added — " You have an army in Ire- 
land that you may employ to reduce this 
kingdom to obedience." It was not clear 
whether by the words "this kingdom," ho 
had really meant England or Scotland, but 
the Parliament contended that he meant 
England, and of course this was treason. At 
the same sitting of the House of Commons it 
wjis resolved to bring in a bill of attainder 
declaring the trc.ison to have liccn comtiiifted : 
in i)refcrcncc to proceeding with the trial by 
impeachment, which would have required the 
treason to have been proved. 

So a bill was brought in at once, was 
carried through the House of Commons by a 
large majority, and was sent up to the Hoiise 
of Lords. While it was still uncertain 
whether the House of Ix)rds woiild pass it 
and the King consent to it, Pym disclosed to 
the House of Commons that the King and 
Queen had both been plotting with the 
officers of the army to bring up the soldiers 
and control the Parliament, and also to 
introduce two hundred soldiers into the 
Tower of I^ondon, to effect the Earl's escape. 
The plotting with the anny was revealed by 
one Georoe Gofusci, the .son of a lord of that 
name : a bad follow, who w.<w one of the 
original plotters, and turned traitor. The 
King had actiinlly given his warrant for the 
admission of the two lumdred men into the 
Tower, and they would b."ive got in too but for 
the refusal of the governor — a sturdy Scotch- 
man of the name of Balfoi-k — to admit thcni. 
These mutters being maile public, gre.it num- 
bers of people began to riot outi^ide the 
Houses of Parliament, and to cry out for (he 
execution of the Earl of Strafford, as one of 
the King's chief iiislniments against them. 
The bill pa.sscd the House of Lords while the 
people were in this state of agitation, and 
was laid before the King for his as.<cnt, to- 
gether with another bill, declaring tliat the 
Parliament then as-scmWed .should not be 
dissolved or adjourned without their own 
consent The King— not unwilling to savo 



I 



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I 



I 



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70 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CmdiKMtj 



a faithful servant, though he had no great 
attachment for him — was in some doubt what 
to do ; but he garo his consent to both bills, 
although ho in his heart believed that the 
bill against the Earl of Strafford was un- 
lawful and unjust The Earl had written to 
him, tulling him that he was willing to die for 
hJH sake. But he had not expected that his 
royal master would take him at his word 
'|iiitc so readily ; for when he heard his doom 
he laid his hand upon his heart, and said, 
" Put not your trust in Princes !" 

The King, who never could be straight- 
forward and plain, through one single day 
or through one single sheet of paper, wrote a 
litter to the Lords, and sent it by the young 
Prince of Wales, entreating them to prevail 
with the Commons that "that unfortunate 
man should fulfil the natural course of his 
life in a close imprisonment" In a postscript 
to the very same letter, he added, " If he must 
die, it were charity to reprieve him till 
Saturday." If there h.ad been any doubt of 
his fate, this weakness and meanness would 
have settled it The very next day, which 
was the twelfth of May, he was brought out 
to be beheaded on Tower Hill. 

Archbishop Laud, who had been so fond of 
having people's cars croj)ped off and their 
noses slit, was now confined in the Tower 
too ; and when the Earl went by his window, 
to his death, he was there, at his request, to 
nivL- him his blessing. They had been great 
f>icnds in the King's cause, and the Earl had 
wriiten to him, in the d.ays of their power, 
that he tliought it would be an admirable 
thing to have Mr. Hampden publicly whipped 
for refusing to pay the ship-moiicy. However, 
those high and mighty doings wore over now, 
and the Earl went his way to death with 
dignity and heroism. The governor wished 
him to get into a coach at the Tower gate, 
for fear the people should tear him to pieces ; 
but he said it was all one to him whether he 
die<l by the axe or by their hands. So, he 
walked, with a firm tread and a stately look, 
and sometimes pulled off his hat to them as 
he passed along. They were profoundly 
<]uict He made a >peech on the scaffold 
from some notes he hud prepared (the paper 
was found lying there after his head was 
struck off), and one blow of the axe killed 
him, in the forty-ninth j^ear of his age. 

This bold and daring. act the Parliament 
accompanied by other famous mca.sure.<, all 
originating (as even this did) in the King's 
having so gro.ssly and so long abased his power. 
The name of Delixqcents was applied to 
all sheriffs and other officers who had been 
concerned in raising the ship-money, or any 
uthcr money, from the people, in an unlawful 
n):inner; the Ilampdcn judgment was re- 
versed; the judges who had decided against 
Hampden were called upon to give large 
securities that they would tike such conse- 
quences as Parliament might impose upon 
them ; and one was arrested as he sat in 



High Court, and carried off to prison. Laud 
was impeached; the unfortunate victims, 
whose ears had been cropped and whoso 
noses had been slit, were brought out of 
prison in triumph ; and a bill was passed, 
declaring that a Parliament should be called 
every third year, and that if the King and 
the King's officers did not call it, the people 
should assemble of themselves and summon 
it, as of their own right .and power. Great 
illuminations and rejoicings took place over 
all these things, and the country was wildly 
excited. That the Parliament took advan- 
tage of this excitement, and stirred them up 
by every means, there is no doubt ; but you 
are always to remember those twelve long 
years, during which the King had tried so 
hard whether he really could do any wrong 
or not. 

All this time there was a great religious 
outcry against the right of the Bishops to sit 
in Parliament ; to which the Scottish people 
particularly objected. The English were 
divided on the subject, and, partJy on this 
account, and partly because they had had 
foolish expectations that the Parliament 
would be able to take off nearly all the taxes, 
numbers of them sometimes wavered and 
inclined towards the King. 

I believe myself that if, at this or almost 
any other period of his life, the King could 
have been trusted by any mnn not out of his 
senses, he might have saved himself and kept 
his throne. But, on the Enijlish .army being 
disbanded, he plotted with the officers .tgain, 
as he had done before, and established the 
fact beyond all doubt, by |)utting his si{^n«r 
ture of approval to a petition against the 
Parliamentary leaders, which was drawn up 
by certain officers. When the Scottish army 
was disbanded, he went to Edinburgh in roui 
days — which was going very fast at that time 
— to plot again, and .so darkly, too, tliat it if 
difficult to decide what his whole object wa& 
Some suppose that he wanted to gain over the 
Scottish Parliament, as he did in fact gain 
over, by presents and favours, many Scottish 
lords and men of pow^er. Some think that h« 
went to get proofs against tlje Parliamentary 
leaders in England of their having treasonably 
invited the Scottish people to come and hclf 
them. With whatever object he went ti 
Scotland, he did little good by going. At 
the instigation of the Eakl of Montkosi, a 
desperate m.an who was then in prison foi 
j)lotting, he tried to kidnap three Scottish 
lords, who escaped. A committee of the Par- 
liament at home, who had followed to watch 
him, wrote an account of this bicmEiiT, 
as it was called, to the Parliament ; the Par 
liament made a fresh stir about it ; were (m 
feigned to be) much alarmed for themselves 
and wrote to the Eakl ok Essex, the com 
mander-in-chief, for a guard to protect them 

It is not a>>solutely proved that the Kin| i 
plotted in Ireland besides, but it is very pro 
bablc that he did, and that the Queen did too, 



and that ho had some wild hope of gaining the 
Irish people owr to Ui» side by favouring a 
rise among them. Whethtr or no, they did 
rise in a most brutal, savage, and atrocious 
rebellion ; in which, encouraged by their 
priests, thoy comraittud Buch ntrocitiis upon 
numbers of the Cngiish, of both se.vo-s »nd 
of all ages, as nobody could believe, but for 
their being rt'latod, on oath, >>y ijye-wilnesse^t. 
Whether one hundred thousand or twa hun- 
dred thoiis;iiid f'n)teitants were miinlorcd in 
this outbrcali, is uncertain ; but, tliut it wiis 
US ruthless and barbarousi an outbreak as 
eycT was knijwn among any savage people on 
earth, is absolutely certain. 

The King cjirae home from Scotland, detar- 
miiu'd to make a great struggle for his lost 
power. He believed that, through his presents 
and favours, Scotland would take no part 
against him ; and the Lonl Mayor of London 
received him with such a magniticent dinner 
that he thought he must have become popular 
again in Kngland. It would take a good rnany 
Lord Mayors, however, to make a people, and 
the King soon found himself mistaken. 

Not so soon, though, but that there was a 
great opposition in the Parliament to a cele- 
brated paper put forth by Pym and Hampden 
and the rest, called "The Remosstkanck," 
which set forth uU the illegal acts thrit the 
King had ever done, but politely laid the 
blame of Ihem on his bad advisers. Even 
when it was pft.%.«ed and presented to him, the 
King still thou<rht hiro.'+elf strong enough to 
discharge Balfour from his command in the 
Tower, and to put in his place a man of had 
character : to whom the Commons instantly 
objected, and whom he was obligc<l to 
abandon. At this time, the old outcry about 
the Bishops became louder than ever, and the 
old Archbishop of York was so near being 
murdered as he went down to the Hoiisu of 
Lorrls — being laid hold of by the mob iiml 
riolently knocked al>out, in return for very 
foolishly scolding a shrill boy who was yelping 
out "No Bishops 1" — that he sent for all the 
Bishops who were in town and proposed to 
them to sign a declaration that as they could 
no longer, without danger to their lives, 
attend their duty in Parliament, they pro- 
tested against the lawfulness of everything 
done in their absence. This they nsked the 
King to Send to the House of Lords, which 
ho did. Then the House of Commons im- 
peached the whole party of Bishops and sent 
them off to the Tower. 

Taking no warning from this, but encou- 
raged by their being a moderate party in 
the Parliament who objected to these strong 
measure.*, the King, on the third of January, 
one thousand six hundred and forty-two, took 
the rashc.^t step that ever woa taken by 
mortil man. 

Of his own accord, and wHIiout a<lvicci, bo 
sent the Attorney-Oencral to the Elouse of 
Lords to accuse of treason certain memhera of 
Parliament, who, aa popular leaders, were the 



most obnoxious to him : Lord Kimboltos, 
Sir Arthi'k Uaselkio, Dexzu. Hdlljs, Joidi 
P» M (they u.scd to call him King Pytn, he 
Tiossessed such power and looked so big"), Joint 
Hakpden, and VVili.um Stk;jdb. The housed 
of these members h»< caujied to be cJitered, 
and their papers to be sealed up. A.t the 
same time, he sent a messenger to the House of 
Commons demanding to have the live gentle- 
men who were members of that House imme- 
diately produce<L To this the Hou^e replied 
that they should appear as soon as there was 
any legal charge against them, and immo- 
dialely adjoumeil 

Next day, the House of C-ommons send into 
the City to let tlie Lord Mayor know that 
their privileges arc invaded by tho King, 
and that there is no safety for anybody or 
anything. Then, when the tlve members are 
gone out of the way, down comes the King 
himself, with all his guard and from two to 
three hundred geritleineu and soldiers, of 
whom the greater part were anned. Theso 
he leaves in tho hall, and then, with his 
nephew at his side, goe^ into the House, takes 
off his hat, atid walks up to the Speaker's 
chair. The Speaker leaves it, the King stands 
in front of it, looks a>»otit him steadily fi>r a 
little while, and says he has come for those 
five members. No one speaks, and then he 
calls John Pym by name. No one .'speaks, 
and then ho calls Deuzil llollis by name. 
No one speak.s, and then he asks the Speaker 
of the House where those five members are? 
The Speaker, answering on his knee, noblj* 
replies that he is the servant of that House, 
and that he has neither eyes to see, nor 
tongue to speak, ani'tliiiig but what the Hou.so 
commands him. Upon this, the King, beaten 
from that time evermore, replies that he will 
seek them him.self, for they have committed 
treason; and goes out, with his hut in his 
hand, amid some audible murmurings from 
the members. 

No wonls can descrilxj the hurry that 
arose out of doors when all this was known. 
The five members had gone for safijty to a 
house in Colem.in Street, in the City, where 
they were guarded all night ; ami indeed the 
whole city watched in arms like an army. At 
ten o'clock in the morning, the King, alrca<ly 
frightened at what ho had ilone, came to the 
Guildhall, with only half a dozen lords, and 
made a speech to the people, hoping that 
they would not shelter tho.se whom he accused 
of treason. Nest day, ho issue<i a proclama- 
tion for the apprehension of the five members ; 
but the Parliament minded it so little that 
they made great arransements for having 
them brought down to Westminster in great 
state, five days afterwards. The King was so 
alarmed now at his own Imprudence, if not 
for his own safety, that he left his palace at 
Wliitchall, and vicnt away with hid Queen 
and children to Hampton Court 

It was the eleventh of ^fay when the flro 
members were carried in state and triumph 



\, 



72 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



to Westminster, They were token by water. 
Tlic river could not be seen for the boats on 
it ; and the fire members were hemmed in by 
barges full of men and great gims, i-cady to 
protect them, at any cost Along the Strand 
a large body of tlie train-bands of London, 
under their commander, Skippon, marcheil 
to be ready to assist the little fleet Beyond 
them, came a crowd who choked the streets, 
roaring incessantly about the Bishops and the 
Papistii, and crying out contemptuously as 
they passed Whitehall, " What has become of 
the'King ?" With this great noise outside the 
House of Commons, and with great silence 
within, Mr. Pym rose and informed the House 
of the great kindness with which they had 
been received in the City. Upon that, the 
House called the sheriff in and thanked 
them, and requested the train-bands, under 
their commander Skippon, to guard the 
House of Commons every day. Then, came 
four thousand men on horsclDack out of Buck- 
inghamshire, offering their services as a guard 
too, and bearing a petition to the King, com- 
plaining of the injury tliat had been done to 
Mr. Hampden, who was their county man 
and much beloved and honoured. 

When the King set off for Hampton Court, 
the gentlemen and soldiers who had been 
with him, followed him out of town as far 
as Kiiigston-upon-Th.imes, and next day 
IjOtH Digby came to them from the King at 
Hampton Court, in his coach and six, to 
inform tliem that the King accepted their 
protection. This, the Parliament said, was 
making war against Uic kingdom, and Lord 
Digby fled abroad. The Parliament then 
imtnc'(lial(,>ly applied themselves to getting 
hold of the militory power of the country, 
well knowing that the King was already try- 
ing liard to use it against them, and had 
secretly sent the Earl of Newcastle to Hull, 
to secure a valuable magazine of arms and 
gunpowder that was there. In those times, 
every county had its own magazines of anns 
and powder for its own train-bands or 
militia ; so, the Parliament brought in a bill 
claiming the right (which up to this time had 
belonged to the King} of appointing the Lord 
Lieutenants of counties, who commanded 
these train-bands; and, also of having all 
the forts, castles, and garrisons in the king- 
dom, put into the hands of such governors as 
they, the Parliament, ;uld confide in. It ako 
pas^cd a law depriving the Bishops of their 
votes. The King gave his assent to that bill, 
but ivnuld not abandon the right of appointing 
the Lord Lieutenants, though he said he was 
willing to appoint such as might be sugpcstcd 
to him by the Parliament When the Earl cf 
Pembroke asked him whether he would not 



give way on that question for a time, ho saiu, 
" By (rod ! not for one hour I" and upon thii 
ho and the Parliament went to war. 

His young daughter M-as betrothed to the 
Prince of Orange. On pretence of taking her 
to the count] y of her future husband, the 
Queen was already got safely away to Hol- 
land, there to pawn the Crown jowcla for 
money to raise an army on the King's 
side. The Lord Admiral being sick, the 
House of Commons now named the Earl 
of Warwick to hold his place for a year. 
The King named another gentleman ; the 
House of Commons took its own way, and the 
Earl of Warwick became Lord Admiral with- 
out the King's consent The Parliament 
sent orders down to Hull to have that maga- 
zine removed to London ; the King went 
down to Hull to take it himself The citizeu 
would not admit him into the town, and the 
governor would not admit him into the 
castle. The Parliament resolved that what- 
ever the two Houses passed, and the King 
would not consent to, should be called an 
Ordinance, and should be as much a law as 
if he did consent to it The King protested 
against thi.s, and gave notice that these ordi- 
nances were not to be obeyed. Tho King, at- 
tended by tho majority of the House of Peers, 
and by many members of the House of 
Common.«, established himself at York. The 
Chancellor went to him with tlie Great Seal, 
and the Parliament made a new Great Seal 
The Queen sent over a ship full of arms and 
ammunition, and tho King issued letters to 
borrow money at high interest The Pariia- 
mcnt raised twenty regiments of foot and 
seventy-five troops of horse ; and the peopb 
wUlingly aided them with their money, platc^ 
jewellery, and trinkets — the married women 
even with their wedding-rings. Every mea> 
ber of Parliament who could raise a troop « 
a regiment in his own part of the coantiT, 
dressed it according to his ti.sto and in mi 
own colours, and commanded it Foremoit 
among them all, Oliver Cromwell raised a 
troop of hor.se — thoroughly in earnest and 
thoroughly well anned — who were, porfaap^ 
the best soldiers that ever were seen. 

In some of their proceedings, this famoa 
Parliament unquestionably passed the bonndi 
of all previous law and custom, yielded to anl 
favoured riotous assemblages of the peopK 
and acted tyrannically in imprisoning boom 
who differed from tlie popular leaders. But, 
again you arc always to remember that tbt 
twelve years during which the King had had 
his own wilful way, had gone before ; and thit 
nothing could make the times what thty 
might, cculd, would, or should have been, if 
those twelve years had never rolled away. 



// 



'• Fofniliar in thtir JToutJu tu HOUSEHOLD WORDS," 



HOUSEHOLD WOUDS. 

A WEEKLY JOLTiNAL. 

CONDUC-TED BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



Vou VIII. 



McELRATH <k BAKKER. PUBLISHERS. 

Oftic* No. II S^ace* nuwt, Niw YoaK. 



Vi'mnK Ko. 183 



SI.AXG. 

It has been a pleasant conceit vrith philo- 
sophers and wriltrs to disUnguish the suc- 
cessive agva of what, in the plcnitudo of their 
wL^lijiD, they call the world, bj sonii.' nit-tflllic 
ntcknaine. Wo have had the Golileii .\go, 
and the Silver Age, the Age of Iron, luui ilie 
Age of Uronzc ; this present era will, por- 
hapa, be knoivn to our grandchildren as the 
age of Electro-jilating, from its general 
tendency to .sh/tms an<I counterfeits ; and, 
when the capiiul of the Anglo-Saxon Empire 
fihall bo, BOine liinidn-ds of 3'ears hence, some- 
where in the South Seas, or in the centre of 
Afrioa or interior of Chiun, tlic age that l.s to 
come may he kno«-n us the .Age of Platina 
or that of Potiiosititii, or sntne one of the 
hundreds of ne«' iiutiis, which will, of course, 
be di.icovcred by tliat time. 

However, this present age may be di^tin- 
guitihcd by future generations whether fcrru- 
ginously, or auriferously, or nrgentinally, there 
can be no iloubt that the Victorian era wnli 
be known hcreailcr — and anything but favour- 
ably, I surrnise — as an epoch of tlie most un- 
scnipulout heterodoxy hi the application of 
names. What was onco occasionally tole- 
rated *i a humorous aberration, afterwards 
degenerated into folly and perversity, and 
is now A vice and a nuisance. Without 
the slightest regard to the proprietieu of 
nomeiicUturb, or to what I may call 
the unities of signiQcation, we apply 
names to objects, abstmcliunK, and persons 
stupidly, irrationally, and inconsistently : com- 
pk-ti'ly ignoring the nature, the quality, the 
gvnder, the structure of the thing, wc prefix 
to it a name which not only fails to convey 
an idea of what it materially is, but actually 
obscures and mystilies it, .\ persistence 
in such a coui-»e must inevitably tend to 
debase, and corrupt that currency of speech 
which it has been the aim of the greatest 
scholar:; and publicLst-s, from the days of 
Elizabeth downwards, to elevate, to improve, 
and to rctiiic; and, if we continue the reck- 
le-^s and indiscriminato importation and in- 
corporation into our Ungn,ig« of every cant 
tcnii of speech from the columns of American 
nuw.<spapers, every Canvas Town epithet from 
liic vocabularies of gold-diggcra, every ba^tanl 
cln-^ici'in dragged head and shoulders from 
Tou VJU.— :*o. iss 



a lexicon by an advertising tradesman to puff 
his wares, every slip-slop Gallicism from 
the shelves of the circulating library ; if 
we persist in yoking liaraltts of adjectives 
to Hccubas of nouns, the noble English 
tongue will become, fifty years hence, a mere 
dialect of colonial idiomK, enervated ultramon- 
tjinisms and literate slang. The fertility of a 
language may degenerate into tlio fecutencc 
of weeds and tares; should we not rather, 
instead of raking and heaping together worth- 
less noveltiesof expression, endeavour to weed, 
to c.vpurgatc, to cpuratc ; to render, once more, 
wholesome and pellucid that which was once 
a " well of English undefilcd," and rescue it 
from the sewerage of verbiage and slang? 
The Thames is to be purified ; why not the 
language ? Should we not, instead of dabbling 
and dirtying the stream, endeavour to imitate 
those praiseworthy men of letters wi»o, at 
Atliens, in that miserable and most forlorn 
capital of the burlesque kingdom of Greece, 
have laboured, and successfully laboured, iu 
the Cice of discountenance, indifference, igno- 
rance, and a foreign court, to clear the Gavk 
language from the barbarisms of words and 
phra.ses, Venetian, Genoese, French, Lingua 
Franca, Arabic. Turki.sh, .\rmenian, Spanish, 
Sclavonic, Teutonic which, iu the course of 
successive centuries of foreign domination and 
oppression, had crept into it ; and now (though 
in the columns of base-priced ncivspapers, 
printed on I'otten paper witli broken type) 
give the debates of a venal chamber, and tho 
summary of humdrum passing events, in the 
language of Plato and Sorw^tes ? These men 
have done more good and have raised a more 
enduring monument to the genius of tlicir 
country, than if they had reared again every 
column of the Acropolis, or brought back 
every fragment of the Elgin marbles from 
Great Russell Street, Bloomsbur)'. 

It is no c-xcusc for this word-sinning of ours 
to say, that we have Icamt a gre4»t portion 
of our new-fangled names and expressions 
from America. The utterer is as bad ns thii 
cohicr. It is true that our trans-nllantic 
cousins have not only set us the example, but 
have frequently surpassed us in their eager- 
ness to coir» new words, and to apply names 
to things w\th which they have not tho 
remotest relation. The Americans call New 
York the " empire city," »a if a city— and in 



I 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CeodaoUA Wf 



I 



I v.-iiiMi': moreover — rauld bo under any 
ii'-u:ii-.tiiiicos an empire. Another town of 
. . i.> is the "crescent city," and so fond of 
i:.- iiaiiiu of city arc they, that they fre- 
1 i- iitly apply it to a group of half-a-dozen 
l",' oiibins and a whisky shop in a marsh, on 
( K- banks of some muchly, fevcr-hauntcd 
liwr. Every speculator in "town lots" 
(sl.'in^ ngain) in tho States has founded balf- 
;i-diiz(.n such "cities." 

Ill tiio United States if Italf-a-dozun news- 
]<:i|K-r editors, post-masters, and dissenting 
ii!ii!isier.«, two or three revolvers, a bowie 
kiiifi', :i tooth-pick, and a plug of tobacco pet 
toirtilicr in the bar room of an hotel, tlie 
niciting is forthwith called a "caucus" or a 
•• niii>.s meeting." If Joe! J. Wainwright 
blows out General Zebedce Ruffle's brains on 
the New Orleans levee, it is not murder but 
a " dilliculty." In South America, if a score 
of swarthy outlaws — calling themselves gen- 
erals and colonels, and who were muleteers 
the week before — meet in an outhouse to 
concert the assassination of tho dictator of 
the republic, (who may have been the land- 
lord of a renta or a hide jobber a year ago) 
the ragged conclave calls itself a ^^ pronuncia- 
liu'iito." 

And touching the use of the terms "mons- 
ter," "mammoth," "leviathan," how very 
trying have those misplaced words become ! 
Their violent tran.sformation from substan- 
tives into adjectives is the least of their 
wrongs; the poor harmless animals have 
been outraged in a hundred ways besides. 
The monster, I believe, first became ac- 
quainted with a meeting in connection with 
that great agitator, so calm now in Glasnevin 
cemetery, and whoso agitation has been fol- 
lowed by such a singular tranquillity and 
apathy in the land he agitated. As some- 
thing possibly, but not necessarily expressing 
hugeness (for the most diminutive objects 
may be monstrous) tho term of monster 
was not inapplicable. But in a very few 
months every re-union of four-and-twcnty 
fiddlers in a row was dubbed a monster con- 
cert; a loaf made with a double allowance of 
dough was a monster loaf; every confec- 
tioner's new 3'ear's rafile was a monster 
twelflh cake; wo had monster slop-selling 
shops, and the monster pelargonium drove 
our old familiar friend, the enormous goose- 
berry, from the field. Then came the mam- 
moth. An xVmcrican speculator — who in the 
days when spades were spades, would have 
been called a showman, but who called him- 
self a " professor and a tiger king," neither of 
which he wits — had a horse, some hands above 
the ordinary standard of horseflesh, and 
forthwith railed him the mammoth horse. 
That obsolete animal the Mammoth being 
reputed to have been of vast dimensions , 
gave to the horse this new nickname; but 
in a short time there started up from all 

auarters of tlic Anglo-Saxon globe, from 
10 sky, the earth, and from tbo waters 



under tho earth, a plethora of mammoths. 
The wretched antediluvian bea.st was made 
to stand godfather to unnumbered things 
that crawled, and things tliat crept, and 
things that liad life, and things that had 
not. The mammoth caves of Kentucky 
howled from acro.ss the Atlantic. Peaceable 
tradesmen hung strange signs and wonden 
over their shop-doors ; and we heard of mam- 
moth dust pans, and mammoth loo tables, 
and mammoth tea trays. Large conger cela, 
fruits of unusual growth, and cheeses made 
considerably larger than was convenient, 
were exhibited in back streetii at sixpence a 
head, under the false pretence of being mam- 
moths. If anybody made anything, or saw 
anything, or wrote anything big, it became 
a mammoth, tliat the credulous might suppose 
the Titans, Anak and all his sons, were come 
a^ain, and that there were giants in the land. 
Vi'v wait patiently for a plesiosaurus pump- 
kin, or an ichthyosaurus hedgehog ; and we 
shall have them in good time, together with 
leviathan lap-dogs, behemoth butterflies, and 
gi-eat-sea-scrpent parliamentary speeches. 

Brigand.s, burglars, beggars, impostors, and 
swindlers will have their slang jargon to the 
end of the chapter. Mariners too, will nse the 
terms of their craft, and mechanics will borrow 
from the technical vocabulary of their tnde. 
And there arc cant words and terms tradi- 
tional in schools and colleges, and in the 
playing of games, which are orally authorised 
if not set down in written lexicography. Bat 
so universal has the use of slang terms be- 
come, that, in all societies, they are fircqnentljr 
substituted for, and have almost usurped W 
place of wit An audience will sit is a 
theatre, and listen to a strine of briOiiDt 
witticisms with perfect immobility ; but W 
some fellow rush forward and roar out "Itli 
all serene," or " Catch 'cm alive, oh I" (tMl 
last is sure to take) pit, boxes and gaUdj 
roar with laughter. 

I cannot find much tendency to the cmpkr- 
mcnt of slang in tho writings of onr eiii^ 
humorist.s. Setting aside obsolete words ud 
phrases rendered obscure by involution, that 
arc not a hundred incomprehensible tcnofk 
all Shakspeare's comedies. The glut of em- 
mentators to the paucity of disputed wordiil 
the best evidence of that AVc can appreciik 
the humour of Butler, the quaintnca d 
Fuller, the satire of Dryden, the wit of Cat 
gn-ve and AVycherly, nay, even the ««' 
rilities of Mr. Tom Brown, as clparly il 
though they had been written yesterday. In 
Swift's Polite Conversation, among all the 
homely and familiar sayings there ia no slang; 
and 3'ou may be sure, if there had been any rf 
that connuodity floating about in polite ciralci 
then, the Dean would have been the man IR 
dish it up for posterity. Fielding and Smollrt^ 
in all their pictures of life, with all thrir 
coarseness and indecency, put little clnng into 
the mouths of their characters. Even Mr. 
Jonathan Wild the great, who, from hb 



DidM.1 



SLANQ. 



76 



M ftnd antccedenta, must hftvc been a 

»f slang in ererj shape, makes but 
of it in his conversation. And in 
•Ogiie's epic — that biographux fnyitioaa 
Bfcgars' Open* — we can understand 
cnlh^ Filch, Jtnny Diver, and Mat of 
Mint without dictionarj' or glossary. 
)nly man who wrote slang was Mr. Ned 
I ; but that worthy cannot be taken as 
xiuti|)lc of the polite^ or even of the 
vy conversation of his day. 

Py lie objected to nic timt although 
ay be a large collection of slang 
outing about, they are made use 
by loose, or at best illiterate per- 
and arc banished from refined society. 
may be begging the question, but I 
the truth of the olijcction. If words 
I be fiiund in standard dictionaries, not 
rlscd by writings received as classics, 
for which no literary or gramniatical 
lenls run be adduced, are to be called 
— 1 will aver that you shall not read 
ingle parliainenLiry debate a.s reported 
first-elaas newspaper, without meeting 
scores of slang words. U'hatcver may 
kc claims of the Commons' Jlouse to 
tivc vrisJom, it is as a whole an assembly 
acated gentlemen. From Mr. Speaker 
chair to the Cabinet niiiustera whisper- 
ihind it — from mover to seconder, from 
l>!uo protectionist to e.xtrcmcst rudical, 
arry's New House echoes and re-echoes 
ilang. Yo»i may hear slang every day 
m from barristers in their robes, at 
iDciis table, at every bar me.<is, at every 
e coinmonfi, in every club dining-room. 
iin, with great modesty and profound 
i.4sii.in, I must express my opinion either 
slang should be proscribed, bauished, 
bited, or that a New Dictjonnry should 
>mpiled, in which all llio slang terms 
a use among educated men, and made 
Tin publications of est.iblished character, 
d be rc^i.-^tered, etymologised, explained, 
itain|icu with the le.xicogriiphic stamp, 
we uiay have ehiijiter and verse, mint 
;(«ll-tnark for our sl.ing. I,et the new 
nary couUiin a well-digested array of the 
tuile of synijDvms for familiar objects 
»g about ; let them give a local habitfl- 
ind a name to all the little by-blows of 
ugc skulking and rambling about our 
h, like th« nigged little Bedouins about 
hamelcss streets, and give Ihcin a setlle- 
and a parisli. If the evil of sbng has 
ti too gigriuticj to be suppressed, let us at 
give it decency by legalising it ; else, 
L-dl_v, this age will be branded by pos- 
with the shamo of jabbering a broken 
:t in pri.'ferencc to speaking a nervous 
Ignified language ; and our wits nill be 
cd at and undervalued as mere word- 
jrs, who supplied the lack of humour by 
jar facility of low langunge. 
It coni]iiler of such a dictionary would 
DO light tuk. I call imagine him at 



work in the synonymous department. Only 
consider what avast multitude of equivalents 
the perverse ingenuity of our slanginoss has 
invented for ihe one generic word Money. 
Money — the bare, plain, simple wonl itself — 
has a sonorous, significant ring in its sound, 
and might have sufficed, yet we substitute for 
it — tin, rhino, blunt, rowdy, stumpy, dibbs, 
browns, stuff, ready, mopusses, shiners, dust, 
chips, chinkei-s, pcAvter, horscnails, brads. 
Seventeen synonyms to one word ; and then 
wo come to species — pieces of money. Sove- 
reigns are yellow boj's, coolers, quidk ; crown- 
pieces are bulls and cart-wheels ; shillings, 
bobs, or benders ; sixpenny-piccesarc fiddlers 
and tizzies ; fourpenny-pieccs, joeys or bits ; 
pence, browns, or coppers and mags. To say 
that a man is without money, or in poverty, 
some persons remark that he is down on his 
luck, hard up, stuuipe<l up, in Queer Street, 
under a cloud, up a tree, quisby, done up, sold 
up, in a Hs. To express that ho is rich, we 
say that he is warm, comfortable, that he has 
feathered his nest, that he has lots of tin, or 
that ho has plenty of stuff, or is worth a 
plum. 

For the one word drunk, besides the autho- 
rised synonyms tipsy, inebriated, intoxicated, 
1 find of unauthorised or slang equivalents 
the astonishing number of thirty-two, viz. : in 
liquor, disguised therein, lushy, bosky, buffy, 
boo2y, mojis and broflms, half-snjis-ovcr, far- 
gone, tight, not able to see a hole through a 
ladder, three sheets in the wind, fojrgy, 
screwed, hazy, sewed up, moony, muddled, 
muzzy, swipey, lumpy, obfuscated, muggy, 
beerj', winoy, slewed, on the rnn-tnn, on the 
re-raw, groggy, ploughed, cut and in hia 
cups. 

For one article of drink, gin, wo have ten 
synonyms: max, juniper, gatter.duke, jackey, 
tape, blue-ruin, cream of the valley, white 
satin, old Tom. 

Synonymous with a man, are a cove, a 
chap, a cull, an article, a codger, a buffer. A 
gentleman is a swell, a nob, a tiptopper ; a 
low person is a snob, a sweep, and a scurf, 
and in Srotlaml, a gutter-blood. Thieves 
arc prigs, cracksmen, inouchers, goiiophs, 
go-alongs. To steal is to prig, to jjinch, to 
collar, to nail, to grab, to nab. To go or run 
away is to hook it, to bolt, to tike tracks, to 
absquatulate, to slope, to step it, to mizzle, to 
paddle, to cut, to cut your slick, to evaporate, 
to vamose, to be off, to vanish, and to tip 
yotir mgs a pillop. For the verb to beat I can 
at once Biui fourteen synonyms : thus to thrash, 
to lick, to leather, to hide, to tan, to l.irrup, 
to wallop, to pummel, to whack, to whop, to 
towel, to maui, to quit, to pay. A horse is a 
nng, a pnid, a tit, a .s^rew. A donkey is a 
moke, a ncddy. A policcmnn is n i>ccK'r, a 
Imbbv, a criiiher ; a .soldier a swaddy, a 
loljster, a red herring. To pntvn is to spout, 
to pop, to lumber, to blue. Tlie hands 
are mauleys, and the fingers flij>pcrs. The 
feet are steppers; the boots craosbclls, or 



76 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[OomIkM t) 



trotter cases, or grabbers. Food is grub, 
prog, and crug ; a hackney cab is a 
!!hoful ; a Punch's show a schwasslc-box ; a 
five pound note is a flimsy ; a watch a ticker ; 
anything of good quality or character is stun- 
ning, ripping, out-and-out ; a magistrate is a 
beak, and a footman a flunkey. Not less can 
I set down as slang the verbiage by which 
coats are transformed into bis-uniques, al- 
pftoa.4, vicunas, ponchos, anaxandrians, and 
siphonias. 

Tlio slang expressions I have herein set 
down I have enumerated, exactly as they 
have occurred to me, casually. If I had made 
research, or taxed my memory for any con- 
siderable time, I have no doubt that I could 
augment the slang terms and synonyms to at 
least double their amount And it is possible 
that an accomplished public will be able to 
supply from their own recollection and experi- 
ence a goodly addition to my list The 
arrival of every mail, the extension of every 
colony, the working of every Australian 
mine would swell it Placers, squatters, 
diggers, clearings, nuggets, cradles, claims — 
where were all these words a dozen years ago? 
and what arc they, till they are marshalled 
in a dictionary, but slang? We may say 
the same of the railway phraseology : buffers, 
switches, points, stokers, and coal bunks — 
whence is their etymology, and whence their 
authority ? 

But slang docs not end here. It goes higlier 
— to the very top of the social Olympus. 
If the Duchess of Downderry invites some 
dozen of her male and female fashionable 
acquaintances to tea and a dance afterwards, 
what do you think she calls her tea-party ? 
A the dantnntc — a dancing tea. Docs tea 
dance ? Can it dance ? Is not this libel upon 
honest Dohea and Souchong slang? — ^pure, 
unadulterated, unmitigated slang. 

The slang of the fashionable world is 
mostly imported from France ; an unmeaning 
gibberish of Gallicisms runs through English 
fashionable conversation, and fashionable 
novels, and accounts of fashionable parties in 
the fashionable newspapers. Yet, ludicrou.';ly 
enough, immediately the fiishionablc magnates 
of England seize on any French idiom, the 
French themselves not only universally 
abandon it to us, but positively repudiate it 
altogether from their idiomatic vocabulary. 
If jou were to tell a well-bred Frenchman 
that such and such an aristocratic marriage 
was on the tajpit, he would stare with astonish- 
ment, and look down on the carpet in the 
stirtlcd endeavour to find a marriage in so 
unusual a place. If you were to talk to him 
of the henu, monJe, he would imagine you 
meant the world which God made, not lialf- 
a-dnzen streets and squares between H)'de 
Park Comer and Chelsea Bun House. The 
thf danaantt would be completelyinexplicablc 
to him. If you were to point out to him the 
Dowager Lady Grimguffin acting as chaperon 
to IaAj Amanda Crcamville, ho would 



imagine you were referring to the petit 
Chaperon Rouge — to little Red Riding Hood. 
ITe might just understand what was metnt 
by ti»-a-ti», entremet*, and some others of the 
flying horde of frivojous little foreign 
slangisms hovering about fashionable cookery 
and fashionable furniture ; but thi ec-fburtiu 
of them would seem to him as barbaroaa 
French provincialisms, or, at best, but as 
antiquated and obsolete expressions picked 
up out of the letters of MademoiseOe Scuderi^ 
or the talcs of Cribillon the younger. 

But, save us, your ladyship, there are thoa- 
sands of Englishmen who might listen to 
your ladyship for an hour without nnder- 
stan(''ng half-a-dozen words of your disconn& 
When you speak of the la&ifauxpaA, of poor 
Miss Limberfoot's sad misalllanee, of the 
Reverend Mr. Caudlecup's being " so full of 
soul," of the enchanting rouladea of that n- 
vishing eantatri<x Martinuzzi, of your dinner 
of the day before being recherchf, of your gem 
being insolent and inattentive, how shall plain 
men refrain from staring wondcrstruck at 
your unfathomable discourse ? 

And when your ladyship d«es condeacmd 
to speak English, it is only with a deligfatfU 
mincingness of accent and a liberal use of 
superlatives. The Italian singer you heaid 
last night was a "divine creature ;" if wa 
are slightly tired or dull you are "awfullf 
bored'' or "devoured with ennui;" if yourfta 
be pale you vow you are a " perfect fright;* 
if a gentleman acquaintance volunteer a nqr 
mild joke he is a "quizzical monstec''— • 
dreadful quiz, he is so awfully satirical : arf 
the comic actor last night was " killing;" nl 
Julie, my child, hand me my nnaigr^ti,mi 
take a shilling out of my }iorte'tnonnme,ui 
tell Adolfu to get soma jujubet for Fido;a( 
let me see, if I go out in the pilentum t»dqi 
or stay, the barouche (we have a ehar^-iut 
down at our place. Doctor), I will wear^ 
moire antique and my ruehe of Brussda In 
and my mantelet, and my chatelaine^ trithd 
the "charms" Lord Bruin Fitzurse hna^ 
me from Dresden, and then we will taki ■ 
drive into the Park, and I will leave a tuii 
Bojannee LoU's for my next " Thuradaj,"il 
really m}' dear " lions" are so scarce wr, 
that even Bojannee Loll will be an acqi^ 
tion : and so on. 

I believe the abominable slanc practinrf 
writing P. P. C. on a card of leave-takii( 
and R. S. V. P. at the bottom of a letter vbt 
you wii^h an answer to it, is gone ont i 
fashion, and I rejoice that it has. 

Young Lord Fitzurse speaks of himrf 
and of his ari.<;tocratic companions as "tt' 
lows" (very often pronounced '* fajYtmifi 
if he is going to drive a four-hom onA 
down to Epsom Races, he is going to "trf 
his drag down to the Derby." Lord BaUf 
Robbin's great coat, which he admhi^ 
is "down the road." An officer in *• 
tenth hussars is "a man in the tenth ;*• 
pretty young lady is a " neat little Wtj ;*> 



t 



SLANG. 



77 



)ich 13 not a drag (or dkvag) u a 
a " cask ;" his lordship's ludginga 
1 Street are his "crib," his "dig- 
he " Langs out" there. His father 
^vemor;'' his bill discounter a 
, old screw,'' if he refuses to do a 
iff" for him. When Ills fiicnd has 
1 his estate, he pronounces it to be 
' Everyibing thnt pleases him is 
J hj Jore!" everything that dis- 
pi (from bad sherry to a ■nTit from 
is " infcrnaL" 

ierc is tho slang of criticism. Lite- 
Mtic, artistic, and scientific. Such 
esthetic, transcendental, the " har- 
thc unities, a myth: such phrases 

Eiisite ntorqeau on the big drum, 
e rendering of John the Baptist's 
" keeping," " harmony," " mid<lle 
"atrial perspective," "delicate 
• "ncrvoua chiaroscuro," and the 
kiu<le uiic of pell-mcil, without the 
don to their real nieajiiogs, their 
their real rcquiremcnlis. 
le Stage has iU sJang, both before 
pd the curtain. Actors speak of 
[«uch a farco being a " screamer," 
tnd such a tragedy being " diiiniied " 
td." IC an actor forgets his part 
Ibo stage, he is said to " stick " and 
i" the actors who may be pcrform- 
kira, by putting them out in their 
;"part" has so many "lengths;" 
It " ran " so many nights. Belvilie 
I the country to "star" it When 
I are forthcoming on .Saturday, tho 
in't walk" — a benelit is a " ben," 
" sal ;" an actor is not engaged to 
ly or comedy, but to "do the heavy 
F or " Becond low comedy," and when 
•of an engagement he is said to be 
Ollar." 

brough all grades and professioa') 
Ib this omnipresent slang, 
i immense number of new wohIh 
jbeing cnntinu.Hlly coined and dissc- 
Riroughout our gigantic periodical 

i conceive, the chief difficulty of the 
guage to foreigners. The want of 
■nd competent authority as to what 
ft classical and what merely slang, 
Mete and what improper, must be a 
pcrjHjtual tribulation and uncertainty 
shappy stranger. If he is to take 
and Walker for standards, a waJk 
iring Cross to Temple Bar, an hour 
ire, or an evening in society, will 
perturbed tympanum with a deluge 
■ conceminz which Johnson and 
are absoluldy mute. How is the 
to make bis election ? Suppo.se tlic 
ite Monsieur, or Herr, or Signor 
dress himself to write, as De Lolme 
taliso on tho Engliiib constitution. 
ke wore (a begin a paas&gc thus: — 
I Lord Protocol was an out-and-out 
Sir Roddy lapewax wsa not such a 



flat as to bo taken in. He proved the gammon 
of Lord Protocol's move, and, though ha 
thought him green, did him completely 
brown." How many young politicians would 
not think it beneath them to Uilk in this 
manner, yet how bitterly tho foreign essayist 
would be ridiculed for his conrcreational 
style of composition. 

The French have an Academy of Letters, 
and the dictionary of that Academy, pub- 
lished after forty years labour, nearly two 
centuries ago, is still the standard model of 
elegance and propriety in composition and 
conversation. The result of this has been 
tlmt every work of hterary excellence in 
France follows the phraseology, and within 
very little the orthography' which we find in 
the poetry of Racine and Boilcau, and the 
prose of Pascal and Fenelon. And tlic French 
has become, moreover, the chief diplomatic 
conversational and commercial language in tho 
world. It i.scuiTcnt everywhere. It i.s neither so 
copious;, so sonorous, or so dignified as English 
or German, but it is fixed. The Emperor of 
Rus.sia or the Sultan of Turkey may write and 
speak (accent apart) as good French as any 
Parisicnne. But in England, an Engligbinaii 
even has never done learning his own lan- 
guage. It has no rules, no limits; its ortho- 
graphy and pronunciation arc almost entirely 
arbitrary ; its words are like a provisional 
committee, with power to add to their num- 
ber. A foreigner may hope to rend and 
write English tolerably well, after assiduous 
study; but he will never speak it without a 
long residence in England ; and even then lie 
will be in no better ca.so than the English 
bted Englishman, continually learning, con- 
tinually hearing wonls of whose signification 
bo has not the slightest idea, continually 
perplexed to as what shoiild be considered 
a familiar idiom, and what inadmissible 
slang. 

To any person who devotes himself to 
literary composition in the English language 
tho redundancy of unauthorised words and 
expressions must always be a source of un- 
utterable annoyance and vexation. Should 
he adopt the phraseology and style of the 
authors of tho erafi of Elizabeth or Anno he 
may be censured as obsolete or as perversely 
(|tiaint Should be turn to the Latin tongue 
for the construction of his phrases and the 
choice of liis language, he will be StigmatLsed 
as pedantic or with thnt grave charge of 
using hard words. And, should he take 
advantage of what he hears and sees in his 
own days and under bra own eyes, and in- 
corporate into his language those idiomatio 
words and expressions ho gathers from tliu 
daily affairs of life and the daily conversation 
of hia fellow men, ho will have no lack "J 
critics to ttU him that he writes insufferubie 
vulgarity and slang. 

Her Miije.sty Queen Anne is dead; but for 
Her Majesty's decease we should have had 
an Academy of Letters aud an Academy 



I 



I 





78 



HOTTSF.IIOLD WORDS. 



[CoBhcMlf 



I 



Dictionary in England. There arc two opinions 
in tliis country relative to the utility of acade- 
mics ; and, without advocating the formation 
of such an institution T may be permitted 
submissively to plead that we really do want 
a new dictionary — ^if not in justice to our- 
selves, at least in justice to foreigners, and in 
justice to our great-grcat-grand-children. 

A KORMAN STORY. 

Not many evenings ago, when the south- 
west wind had cooled the atmosphere, I was 
sauntering with my dog on the top of tho 
cliffs not fiir firom Fecamp, in Normandy. All 
at once my dog made a halt, pricked up his 
ears, and uttered a low growl. A few seconds 
ancrwards I perceived in the shade a man 
who had also stopped on my approach. I 
called my dog ; the man came forward ; and, 
by his cloak lined with sheepskin, I recognised 
one of those numerous coast-guards, whose 
duty it irt to watch all night long in little 
liiding-places that are built upon the cliff^!, 
more than three hundred yards above the 
lcvi-1 of the sea. 

" You have got there," he observed, as he 
laid his hand upon my dog's head, " an excel- 
lent companion for the evening. A real 
Newfoundlander," he added, "I once had 
one like him, but was obliged to part with 
him. We aro no longer allowed to take 
dogs out with us. To be sure, they would 
discover a smuggling transaction sooner than 
we could by ourselves; but they would also, 
inform ns of the visits of our night inspec- 
tor.«, and that would not exactly suit them." 
While gossipping thus, he gave mu to under- 
stind that this was his native place; that, 
although he was not particularly rich, with 
his sal.-iry of six hundred francs a year, he 
was yet glad to be home again. "And, 
Monsieur," he continuc<l, " I have not enjoyed 
that pleasure long. Although T have now 
been here three days I cannot literally say 
that I have slept under my family roof; for I 
have only every fourth night to myself." 
During the course of this speech, he leaned 
forward from time to time, and peeped over 
the edge of the cliff. 

" Do you hear anything?" I asked. 

" No," he replied ; " but I am looking for 
a grotto about which my mother used for- 
nu-r1y to tell mo a curious story. The spots 
on which we have passed the happiest mo- 
ments of our lives, are old friends whom we 
are (Klightcd to meet again. Look there — 
that's the very place." And he pointed with 
his finger to a cavern in tho cliff, wliich im- 
/trintofl upon its white side a vast and irre- 
gular black spot. I will spare you the relation 
of the manoouvring which I employed, to 
induce the coast-guard to tell me his story. 
AVe sat ourselves down inside his little hut, 
and he began : — 

" In the first place, Monsieur, I as.<*nre you 
that neither my mother nor myself ever knew 



the persons whose history I am going to teD 
you. The talc was told to my mother, as 
she told it to me, and as I shall shortly tell it 
to you. 

"A very long time ago, a young man 
named Louis Moran<l was sent by his lather t< 
Paris, to complete his studies, and to take his 
Doctor's degree in tho Faculty of Mcdidne. 
The father died ; and the report went about 
that it was in consequence of grief at his son's 
ill conduct However that might be, the 
youth, who had no great inheritance to ex> 
pect, simply sent for the papers of his dcceafcd 
parent, and employed himself one evening in 
destroying them, and in selecting those that 
promised to be of use. After the inspection 
of much thiit was of no consequence, he camo 
to a bundle which contained letters all in the 
same handwriting. The very first letter made 
him extremely anxious to examine the ra^ 
and he n.'ad a tolerably voluminous correspon- 
dence. They came from a friend who seemed 
greatly attached to his father. ' Since it is 
j-our wish,' he wrote, ' that I should resem 
for your son what \ desire and am able to 
bequeath to you, send him to me as soon H 
he is fivc-and-twentv ; and, if he shovs i 
good disposition, I will undertake to proiidi 
for him handsomely. On the other liand, I 
will take good care not to furnish him ilftk 
the means of developing a vicious and a i 
lignant character, to the prejudice of thw 
with whom lie has to do.' When Lodi 
Morand read the signature, he recogniaedtti 
name of a man who was reputed hero to let 
sorcerer and a necromancer. Ho langfaidtf 
first at this offer of protection ; but ailrlc 
had spent, in as bad a way as possibk^ thi 
trifling amoimt of money which 1 1 \\\mi 
after his father's affairs were settled, be I 
resolved, under pressure from his crefiM 
and in uncertainty about his future proniA 
to try his chance upon new ground, andU^ j 
duce himself to this unknown benefiietor, ik 
appeared to have both the power and tha«l 
to serve him. He set out on hin jouiMr; 
and, after a troublesome search, arrived wW 
at the necromancer's house. I oug^t to ■ 
you that this necromancer was pcrfaani* 
more a soreercr than you and I. PrAiH^ 
he was only better informed than other M^ 
and by means of a few chemical and mich^ 
nical secreti), contrived to impose npouAi 
credulity of tho vulgar." 

At this last word, I looked at the etf^ 
guard with some degree of surprise. "D* 
yon think so ?" I saicl 

" I don't think anytlu'ng about it," *• 
answered. *' What I am now telling ytn* 
part of the narrative like all the rest f! 
mother told it me in that way, and probd^f 
that is exactly how she heard it herselt H* 
magician's house was in the midst of a ««' 
on the slope of a hill. When Louis Moi*^ 
knocked at the door, a little black -faced 
came and opened it. His appearance 
deep impression upon Louis. At th M ^ 



i 



poopic were not accuiitoln^d to the sight of 
negroes; ftii'l, moreoror, the fij^iire an J the 
costume or llie slave were altogether stratij^e 
and fnnt-istic. Ilis entire litllo person wn.s 
completely covered witli golJ anil precious 
Btones. On beholding liini, Lnuis took liim 
for a gnome — one of tbo«c genii wfio, in the 
bowels of the earth, are deputed to keep 
gijurfl over the treasure* there. lie inquired 
for Master Guillaume, trembling all the 
while to receive an answer ; for the aspect of 
the tin_v creature was by no lucanK calculated 
to inspire con/ldence. The gnome — I am un- 
able to state exactly whether hu was a negro 
or a feal gnome — the gnome iritro<luced Uiin 
into nn immense saloon, where his master was 
rending by the light of & large fire. Nor can 
I tell you whether Louis's imagination caused 
him t> see things differently to what they 
actually were; or whether this fire were 
g\ipcmftturj\l ; or whether the effect was firo- 
duccd fiy ordinary causes; but, to Louis's 
eyes, the lire was reflecte<l in bright blue light 
all around the walls of the room. 

" The old man's appearance was venerable. 
He had a long white beard ; his silver locks 
w<-re partially hidden beneath a violet cap ; 
the rest of his coslutnc was equally in keeping 
with his necromantic reputation. Immedi- 
ately Ihat Iw>iii;i was announced, ho embraced 
him and Uiiied about his father with tears in 
his cye«; and then, after this outburst of 
feeling, he ordered dinner to bo served di- 
rectly. Tiic repast was of exquisite delicacy ; 
the wines, esjieeinlly, were most delicious. 
Louiii ate and drank to hii* heart's content. 
He arterward.i. however, thought ho remem- 
bered tliiil Miisttr Gui1laum<', who ate nothing; 
but rice, and drank nothing but water, knitted 
his brows two or three times when he saw 
him fill and empty his glass ; but the rccol- 
Kvtion wj»* KO utterly vague, that he never 
could feel quite certain of the fact. ' .My 
Bon,' said .Master Guillaume, 'your father was 
my dc«re?;l IViend. His simple t;»stes and hi.-4 
conlt'iupt for earthly things made him refuse 
to profit by my friendship d\iring the whole 
of hU life. If you are not degenerated from 

BO t' — ''•'.' a parentage, you shall inherit 

it, to hi.4 wish ; and it is no con- 

teii., :iL'ri(ancc that I offer you, as you 

youraeir shall judge by and bye. We will 
now drscend into my laboratory. There, we 
will talk nboiil it, and I will then bco what 
is to be done for j'ou.' 

•• Guillaume and Louis then descended, by 
K dark and narrow staircase, for more than 
jin hour. At the end of that time they 
found thera.selves in i large apartment richly 
liting with purple. It was illumined by 
Uunps that shed a purple light, and gave an 
extraordinary- air to the necromancer's siib- 
tcTninean retreat. Louis was struck with 
complete astoni.-thmcnt When they wcrcl>i')th 
■eater] upon some downy cushions, Master 
Guillaume pulled a bell, whose golden wire was 
hidden in one of the folds of the drspery. The 



gnome instantly made his appearance. Louis 
was nlaTTned at the apparition of the little 
creature who, in less than a couple of se- 
conds, had passed a distance which ha<i cost 
them an hour to traverse. The gnome remained 
standing, awaiting in silence the orders of his 
superior. ' Zano,' s.iid Master Guillaume. 
' there is one thing of importance which f 
have forgotten. It will perhaps bo late n hen 
wo leave this place ; let a couple of partridges 
be prepared for our supper, one for each of 
us; but do not put them down to ro.tst until 
I give tlic ordci'.' 

" A flora long conversation, in which Master 
Guillaume questioned Louis about his past 
life, his habits ami his tastes, ho said : ' My 
son, in consideration of the ftiendshtp which 
I still bear to your father, even beyond the 
grave, I will give you whatever j'ou chooso 
to ask tne. But I am able to grant you only 
one single thing ; iind therefore, think of it 
carefully befiirehand. My [lower e,\trnds no 
further than that.' — ' Master,' replied Louis, 
' 1 have often pondered in my mind which is 
ihu most useful thing in life, and I am so 
thoroughly convinced that the surest and 
most fruitful source of enjoyment is to be the 
pos.se8.sor of a large fortune, that I do not 
hesitate to lusk you for it,' — ' So be it as you 
desire,' the old man replied with gentleness; 
' but fir>it allow me to warn you of tlie dangers 
which your choice will draw around your 
head. Men arc like ships ; they founder the 
more easily, in proportion as they are heavier 
laden with wealth. However honourable one 
may feel one's self to be, it is best to avoid 
the po.s.ses8ion of too powerful and efficacious 
weapons. The sheep, perhaps, would be as 
ferocious as the wolf, if its teeth were as 
strong and sharp as those of its enemy.'— 
The old man here added a nniltitude of rcllec- 
tions and examples, which I will not relate to 
you, because my mother, who probably did 
not hear a word about them, repea.ted nothing 
of the sort to me ; only Louis afterwartla 
stated that his aged friend's eloqucnue was 
by no means amusing ; and that he pa.ssed 
all the time which it iilcased Mnstor Guil- 
laume to employ in making his peroration, in 
thinking of the Urio he would make of his 
future riches, and of the pleasures which ha 
was upon the point of enjoying. 

" Ma.ster <.iuillaume concluded his long dis- 
course in the very same words with which 
he had commenced it : ' So be it an you 
desire. Here is a little casket filled with goltl. 
ItVhenevcr it is empty you will come to nic, 
and I will fill it for you again. I shall not 
trouble j-ou with any questions about the ti.se 
which you make of your money. I only beg 
you not to visit me till the contents of the 
casket are entirely expended. More frequent 
applicjitions would bo a useless disturbance 
of my favourite pursuiti. On the other hand, 
you have no occasion to hoard. If I die 
before you, tho casket will continvio to fill 
itself, according as you empty it' 



I 
I 

I 



■ 
I 



=i 



80 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



Guillaumo then gave him some further 
counsel — which you might find tiresome. 

" Louiti came tolerably often to get his 
ca<iket filled. One day he again fancied that 
he saw the Master knit his brows. He then 
thought that perhaps some caprice of the old 
man might deprive him, at one moment or 
another, of the wealth to which he had be- 
come accustomed ; and he determined to 
make a fresh demand as soon as half the 
money in the casket was spent, in order to 
he able to amass a treasure, and render his 
future career indciiendent of the necro- 
mancer's whims. lie spent his life in gamb- 
ling, and in orgies of every description. There 
was nothing which he did not believe himself 
permitted to practise ; and unhappily, the 
immense fortune which he had at his dis- 
posal converted th(»o who surrounded him 
into TO many slaves, who spared no pains to 
confirm him in that idea. In his de.spotic 
license, he knew no check ; and aftcrwanls, 
cloyed with pleasures which he could not 
greatly vary, on account of being unable to 
travel far from the source of his riches, he 
could find amusement in no other pursuit 
than in doing mischief to those around 
him. 

"The intimate companion of his debau- 
cheries was a clever and pfood-natured young 
man, who although partaking of a portion of 
his pleasures, did not, on that aceoilnt, hesi- 
tate to blame other parts of his conduct ; and 
who, for that very reason alone, had put him- 
self in danger of incurring Louis's displeasure. 
An accident changed this discontent into a 
deep and envenomed hatred. Louis had a 
niislrwui, who resided a league from this spot ; 
ami her house was the usual scene of the riot 
and debauchery which occupied his life, ex- 
cei)ting the moments when he was a prey 
to ennui. One day, he imagined that he dis- 
covered between her and Rechteren certain 
looks of intelligence, which kindled a burning 
jealousy in his heart lie did not, however, 
cease to receive Rechteren in the most friendly 
manner. But one evening, when they were 
departing together fix)m the house of — " 
Here the coast-guard hesitated. I waited 
for fiome time; and then, fearing that he 
might have &llen asleep, I made a noise to 
awaken him. But he was not asleep ; only 
puzzling his brains. 

" It is singular !" he said, " that I cannot 
remember the name of Louis Morand's 
mistrcfis." 

" Sul>stitute some other, then." 

" I shall remember it directly. I want to 
tell you the story exactly as it was told to 
me. — Her name was Hortense. — As they were 
leaving Hortcnse's house together, liOuis 
llorand said to his friend, ' If you will be 
guided by mo, wo will take advantage of the 
ebb tide to follow the path at the foot of the 
cliffs. We shall see the sun set in the sea.' 
It is most probable," added the coast-guard, 
" that Louis Morand mado use of some addi- 



tional arguments to persuade his companion 
to go that way ; for sunset is not so very un- 
common a sight The sun must set every 
evening, as long as he rises every morning. 
It was, as near as may be, at this scaaon of 
the year, and the moon was at the full. Con- 
sequently, it was ' spring tides,* and the tide 
began to flow at four o'clock. As you would 
easily perceive if the water was not so high, 
and as you have most likely observed on other 
occasions, it is rather a rough and fatiguing 
task to have to walk over points of rock and 
pebbles which roll beneath }'Our feet. They 
were proceeding exactly below the hut in 
which we are sitting. At this time of day, 
the tide rises ten fathoms over the spot where 
their feet were standing. They amused them- 
selves with admiring the sunset, and with 
gossiping. The wind blew from the north ' 
west, and slighfly tipped the waves with 
white. There arc people in the world who 
would spend a whole week in gazing at the ! 
sea, without doing anything else. For the ' 
last eleven years it has been my prindpii 
emploj'mcnt, and I have yet to leant what 
pleasure it can give them. All of a sudden, 
Rechteren noticed that for the last hour the 
tide had been flowing, that the wind wu " 
driving the waves before it, and that it would [ 
be more prudent to retrace their steps, espe- ' 
cially as they had scarcely advanced man \ 
than a quarter of a league. But Louii i 
Morand burst out laughing, asked him scoru- 
fully if he were afraid, and assured bim thai 
in another quarter of an hour they would bt 
walking in the town of Fecamp. 

" * Very well, then,' said Rechteren, • ktH 
proceed.' 

" But they could only proceed at a my 
slow rate. It was now almost night; arf 
they incurred every moment the risk cf 
breaking their legs between, the rocksy Lodi 
was continually finding some pretext §K \ 
retarding their progress. Sometimea hi 
pointed out to Rechteren the yelloir trnli 
which the sun hod left in the west ; aonu- 
times he noticed tho earliest stars which wen 
making their first appearance in the ettt 
They were still far from the end of thA 
journey, and the sea roared in a menicnf 
tone. Every wave which broke upon tt< 
rocks advanced further thaq its piiJcuiinr 
had done. It now became completel 
and a faint glimmer behind tho cl 
nounccd the rising of the moon. 

"Rechteren stopped. ' Louis 1' he «» 
claimed, 'let us return. In half an hour** 
can retrace the distance which wc have i'- 
vanced ; and we do not know how long H 
will take 
path, 
us. She 
which the 
offing.' 

" ' Return, if you like,' said Louis HonBdj 
' for my part, I shall go on.' 

" ' I will follow you then,' said RechtoA 



upon at • 
idecoHT J 

chflk » ,1 




CterlM OHktM.] 



A NORMAN STORY. 



81 



And they started again without exchanging 
another word. 

•' A few hutidreti puces further, Re<-litcrcn 
a^in hulU^d. The pubbles wen; black, benenlh 
hirt feet, and be stooped to touch them with 
his tingirs. IIu then perceived that the 
cause of their blai-kncss was tliat a wave, 
somewhat strrniger tlian the rest, Irnd reached 
the Tcry foot of the cHIF, and wetted it Never- 
theless, he made no remark ; for, at the point 
which they had reached, if they were not 
nearer to Fecamp than to their place of 
starting, they must inevitably be drowned. 
Another step, and a wave glided forwards, 
wc4dng tlieir leg« as it broke on the shore 

" ' Ixiuis, wc are lost 1' he saiiL Louis made 

no reply, but doubled his pace. Rechtcren 

refrained from uttering any reproach ; but 

still it was hja companion's obstinacy which 

had thus endangered both their lives. At 

last they rau as last as they could toward.s a 

portion of tlie cliff which jutted out into the 

sea. Perh.ips behind that projecting point 

they might lind a track where it would be 

possible to climb. But, aa soon as they had 

gained the promontory, the sea burst roaring 

against the cliiK 'Louis,' repeated Rcchtercn, 

' wc are utterly lost 1' lie tried to measure 

tlie cliH'-* »t a glance, as well as the night 

would allow him to do so. Far as his cye- 

»ight could pierce the gloom, nothing w.is to 

be seen but a wall tltrec hundred feet iiigh, 

and a.i upri|;ht as the mast of s ship. They 

hastily ran back again ; but froui time to 

time fatigue compelled them to pause and 

take breath. Kcchtcren swallowed a mouth- 

5 ful from a tiaf-k of spirits ; and then they 

again endeavoured to press forward. In a 

quarter of an hour, they were once nifire 

arrested by the sea, which broke against the 

cliff. On eitlier side escape was iinpossiWe. 

The space of a couple of hundred feet was all 

that wa-s left uncovered. Every advancing 

wave devoured the dry land ; and before 

another half hour could elapse, the place on 

which they then stood would certainly be six 

fathoms under water. Kcchteren slopped 

short, and looked right and left at the fust 

rising tide. Before him was the boiling ocean; 

behind, the smooth, unbroken cliff. 

" ' This ia not the moment to flee like a 
hnrc,* ho said ; ' still less to give way to 
despair. We must bo resigned to our fate, 
and await it boldly. Come, Louis ; it is all 
over with us.' 

" Louis walked a few steps onwards, and 
climbeil a boulderVhich had fallen from the 
clifl", and which leaned against it to thu height 
of seven or eight feet above the level of the 
beach. There, ho sat himself down in silence, 
Rcchtercn followed him, and stood by his side. 
" ' My good friend Louia,' he said, ' canyon 
gticss what vexes roc most in the midst of 
this terrible catastrophe ? It vi!, that two or 
three fools of my acquaintance, who havi; 
ofl* n tensed me because I cannot switu, and 
who have always ])redicted that I should die 



in the water, will conclude their funeral 
oration over me with an imperltnent '' I (old 
him so!" That, I must confess, is a pleasure 
which I was scarcely disposed to confer upon 
them.' After a moment's (>ause, he continual : 
'This is a horrible death I 1 do not fear t.. 
die, but I do fear the pain of dying. Look at 
those rocky points against which wc shall 
soon be dashed ! How frightful is the voice 
of these roaring waves and this whistling 
wind I But, however fearful it may be, th« 
awful spectacle elevates the soul, raises a man 
above himself, and endows him with strength 
to die becomingly. It is better to meet death 
in this decided style, Uian to take the chance 
of bfing shot for giving tiic lie to a fotil, who 
is afraid to flre the bullet which kills you. 
But Louis, you do not speak a word.' 

" There was another moment of solemn 
silence, during which the sea could be hearo 
to be constantly advancing. A wave, crowned 
with its wreath of foam, came and touched 
the rock which was their la.st refuge. 

" ' I have just expericnctd,' said Hechtcren, 
' a final paro.xysm of desjiair and rage ; I have 
been tempted to rush against the cliff, and 
try to climb it with my nails and lingers.' 
He then added, with a burst of blasphemy, 
'a cat could not uianuge to perform the feat I 
A strange expres-Mon,' he ailded, ' has escaped 
my lips ; that oath, uttered so near to death, 
tcrrilics me. You may laugh if you like, my 
dear Louis, although you do not seem in a 
laughing mood ; but I feel an irresistible im- 
pulse to praj-. These voices of the sea and 
the winds, this death which advances on the 
foaming waves, all seem to command me to 
fill down upon my knees.' Uuchteren then 
knelt down upon the rock. ' It would be very 
dithcult just now,' he said, 'to remember all 
tlie praj'ers which they taught me in days 
gone by ; but the one I shall make will 
be as good as any.' ARer a few rao- 
mcuti!, lie aroic again. ' Louis, do you in 
turn follow my example. I assure you that 
it will do you no harm.' 

" ' No ; muttered Louis. 

" ' You seem to me to be rather in a stupor ; 
I will not arouse you from your insensibility. 
It is one way, among others, of meeting deatli, 
and is perhaps the best thing that could hap- 
pen to you. Only, if I have offemlcd you 
in any respect, 1 now entreat your panlon 
fur it.' 

" Louis fi.xcd his glittering eyes full upon 
the countenance of his friend. 

"'I confess to have injured you with re- 
gard to llortcnse. But ! am dying with coM. 
1 should wish during the few minuU.s i'y I 
I still have to live, to feel as little suderiM-x 
as possible. Ah, yes! I have it now.' Aii.l 
ho emptied the spirits which remained in 
his flaslv into a little hollow on the top of the 
rock : then, taking from his pocket the flint 
and steel which he alvvays carried nbdut him, 
he set fire to it, and a" blue flame soon (qui- 
vered over its si^facc. ' What a capital 



a 



82 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CMdaeM kf 



tlioiiKlit!' he exclaimed; 'But it is unlucky 
that vrv. have no sugar here. It would be de- 
lightful to drink a glass of punch while wc 
arc waiting for the tide to rise enough. At 
:niy rate, it will warm my fingers till the sea 
coinos and puts it out liut I shall then hare 
no further need for it.' 

" ' Wretch !' said I/onis Jlorand, ' do you 
not HOC that the waves arc breaking against 
the rock which wc have mounted ? ' 

" ' I sec it, as well as you do; and I almost 
wish that it was all over and ended. For 
thiTu is n moment coming which frightens 
me a little. But, Louis, why arc you undress- 
ing yourself? ' 

" ' Why ? Because you have confes.scd your 
crime, of which I was already aware ; be- 
cause I have brought you up hither to have 
my revenge. Think, now, of your own and 
Uortense's perfidy.' 

" He stepped from the rock ; the water was 
up to his middle. As Rcchtercn shouted 
after him, 'Louis! Louis 1 Do you abandon 
me thus? ' an enormous billow rose above 
Mnrand's head. He dived, and reappeared on 
the other side of the wave, which broke 
against the foot of the rock. Louis Morand 
had hard work to swim, plunging under 
every wave. Rcchtercn screamed, but he did 
nnt Jicar him ; for the sea made a deafening 
noise, till he got completely away from the 
breakers. He then turned round. The bhio 
Haiiie was .<:till shining in the darkness of night 
A little afterwards, he turned again. Tlic 
flame was extinguished. Three hours later 
he arrivc<l at F« camp. 

" Look that way," said the coast-guard, 
pointing to the protto which he had already 
indicated, " if the tide were low I could still 
show you, by descending to the beach, the 
hole in the rockjn which Rcchtercn set light 
to the flask of spirits. 

" Louis related the death of his friend, 
exactly as suited his own convenience. They 
hail been surprised by the tide; in .s])itc of 
desperate efforts, he had been unable to 
resciK! Ilcchteren, and had had great difficulty 
in saving himself. He o.stentatiously mourned 
the death of the man whom he had murdered ; 
and (•veryl)ody agreed in praising his excel- 
lent heart and his sensibility. But, what he 
really feared, was the presence of Master 
Ouillau'.ne and his severe and penetrating 
glanri'. 

"This time he waited till the casket was 
(Miii|.litfly empty before he made up his 
mind to ajiply to the sorcerer. At the door, 
he Insitated, and was very near turning back 
n;;ain ; but by repeatedly reminding himself 
that Master Guillaume had imposed no con- 
ditions upon his favours, and that, moreover, 
he would be sure to be deceived, like other 
peojilc, by tlie reports that were current, he 
to<jk courage, and entered. Master Guil- 
laume, according to cu.stom, filled the casket 
without speaking a word. But there was 
■omething cruelly .sardonic in his look ; and 



when Louis \(orand offered his hand as usual 
on enterinfr, the master did not oifcr his in 
return. Louis n-tired, pale and horribly 
agitated ; the master had evidently refused 
to take the hand of a murderer. An ii'onical 
smile had for a moment contracted hia lipSk 
Louis had everything to fear. Not only 
might he soon cease to receive any further 
supply of money from the sorcerer, but it waa 
probable that his punishment would not end 
there. He n-ns more than three months 
without daring to present him.self again ; and 
he spent all that time in the most serious 
anxiety. He had exhausted all the pleasures 
which the neighbourhood could offer him. 
Like the goat, which, after having cropped 
the grass within the circle which the length 
of its tctlter allows it to traverse, crops it 
again as short as velvet, and then lies down 
hi discontent, so Louis, ^tiated with his 
past enjoyments, lived a life of worn-out 
dulness. 

" A fearful thought entered his mind. Ft 
fixed itself there, and took finn root It 
completely occu|)icd him by night and by 
day. He turned it over, and arranged his 
plans in liis head ; all his diOlculties vanished, 
all his dangers were over. As soon as every- 
thing was prepared for the execution of fail 
project, he went to the house' of his aged 
friend. When Zano opened the door for him 
to enter, he ru.shcd tipon the negro, enveloped 
his head in his mantle to smother his crie^ 
and handed him to some men who canied 
him away. Then, followed by his accoiii> 
plices, he proceeded, pistol in hand, to Muter 
Guillaume's chamber, where they bound hm 
hand and fi>ot. 'liouis Morand,' asked tk 
sorcerer, ' what is it that you want of me f 

" No one answered. Louis was left abn 
with the master, to whom he said, * DcUts i 
up all the trea,»!ures you possess.' 

" ' Louis Morand, replied the Master, * jroa 
have made too bad a use of the wealth I ' 
have already bestowed upon you, for me tt 
be guilty of such an act of madness as to Teed 
your vices any longer. With what you hare 
hitherto received, you have only turned ort 
foolish and wicked ; if you were in possesnoi 
of my hidden treasure, j'our vices wooU 
become criines, and your wickedness wooJd 
increase with the means of indulging it' 

"Meanwhile, Louis's attendant.^ searched 
the house, from the roof to the cellar. Th«T 
returned to .xar that they could not find tbt 
value of ten crowns altogether. Then th^ 
carried the ol<l man away, and shut himiW 
in a prison which Louis had contrived >M 
built It was a tdl tower, lined inndc 
throughout with plates of polished iroa 
Here, they told him, he should 1>e starrtd 
to death ; and here he lay, enduring the 
dreadful ])angs of hunger and thirst, for fli 
day."!. 

" Towanls the evening of the sixth day » 
voire was heard, and Louis Morand's face ap- 
peared at one of the windows, lie employed 




crcrj tncati:^ hi.s intAgfiiiilton could sug- 
gest to iiulucc the sorcerer to deliver up 
liis treasures. Mnstcr Guill»ume was in- 
ticriljlc. lie Iningered and lliirstcd, three 
dnyH luorc. Louis Mordnd appeared at a 
wifidow ; tlio Master threatened liiiii with 
tlie vvrijro«nce of Heaven. L<.>iiis Monind re- 
plied by an insulting smile, and urged him 
to give up hh treasures. .Master Giiillatimo 
WTTipped liis head in his mantle, and weut to 
sleefi. Next daj, Louia Morand appeared 
again. . 

" ' Ih the name of Heaven,' the M:istcr 
faintly crie<.l, 'do not kill, in such a cruel 
way, an old man who never did you anything 
but good !' — ' Give me, then, your treasures,' 
Bald Louis Morand. The old nmn bowed his 
head witliout replying. Louis disappeared. 
That night Ma.stcr (iuillaume did not sleep. 
He pmycd, without being able to calm hi^ 
spirit,f. Hi; called Louis Morand, Louis 
Morand appeared. 

*' ' .My Bon,' he said, ' what have I done, to 
be condunmed to die such a horrible death ? 
Have pity on my white hairs ! Have pity on 
your fa-lher's fnend .' Spare my life ; if you 
refuse that, at least shorten the torments I 
sulFer.' — 'Give me, then, your treasures,' 
repeated Louii 'Mercy! mercy !' cried the 
old man. But Louis constantly replied, * Give 
me your treasure!; !' 

" At last, Master GuilLiume pulled a golden 
belL A thick vapour rolled before Louis's 
tyc3. With the vapour, the prison di.sappeareJ. 
Loui.> beheld the sorcerer sittinf; opposite to 
bim in hi.s velvet chair, which he had never 
quitted. He also found himself in precisely 
the same position ho haii occupied when the 
necromancer said to him, ' So be it, as you 
desire.' The golden licll was Ptill vibmling 
within the purple drapery. The illusion, 
the effect of the sorcerer's art, w.'ts at an end. 
Zano entered. 

" ' Zano,* said Master Guillaumc, ' put down 
only a itingle partridge to roast for supper.' " 

OLD IJONES. 

Not many years ago there were discovered 
by some labourers who wern digging in the 
gnivcl in front of Sl John's College, Oxford, 
Boine "giant's bones." They were carefully 
placi-d in a whe"l-barrow, and trundled off to 
tbo Professor of Geology, who had the repu- 
tiLiion in that town of giving the best price 
for all old bone*. The discoverers presently 
returned to their fellow worknicn, with in- 
formation that the doctor had decided the 
bones to be, not bonc» of giants, but of 
elephants ; and that he had given them 
(although there wa« no brag about it in his 
windows) two sovereigns more per pounJ 
than they could have obtained at any other 
houBe. 

Hut how came an elephant to have been 
buried in the middle of the street? The 
oldest inhabitant at onca decided, that 



althongh the doctor had as usual hi.s owi 
book-lcnrned theor}', the elephant w.is one 
that had died in Mr. Wombwell's metiaperie 
when it was being exhibited in Paradise 
S<piaro, long, long, ago. 

This wa.s an elephant, however, that had 
lived before the days of Wombwell. I^ong 
before King .\lfred had laid the found:»tion 
Btone of University College, or the Fellows 
of St, John's had begun to encloife the 
nightingale-haunted groves of Bagley Wood, 
did this elephant, in company with other.** of 
his clas«, fearing no proctor, room over the 
tract of land on which the undergraduate 
now loungcst, looking about to see how 
he may spend paternal moneys. Time-i arc 
changed, and we ought to be thankful for it. 
Great would be the annoyance suffered by 
the white-throated M. A., who in eighteen 
hundred and lifky-three should suddenly havi- 
his ideas disannnged by (he at'parilion of that 
great leviathan on the top of Heddinirton Hill. 
There is no danger of that now ; it is certain 
that those elephants are dead and gone, hut 
at the .«atnc time it is not less ccrLnin that 
they die<l and went the way of their Hesh in 
the neighbourhood of Oxford; and not about 
Oxford only, but throughout nearly the 
whole of England. In the streets of London 
the teeth and bone.« of elephants arc fre- 
quently turned u[) by the pick-axes of men 
digging foundati'ins and .scwcns. Kleplinnis' 
teeth have been found under twelve feet of 
gmvel in Gray's Inn Lane. They have lieeti 
found too at a'depth of thirty feet. In digiriui.' 
tlie grand sewer near Charles Street, on tlia 
east of Waterloo Place, Kingsland, ne.-ir 
lloxton, in eiirhteen hundred and six, an 
entire elephant's skull wa.s discovered con- 
taining tusks of enormous length, lus well as 
the grinding teeth. In the AshmnliTiT) 
Mu.seum at Oxford, there are some vertebno 
and a thigh-bone of an enormous elephrmi. 
which must have been at least si.vteen liot 
high ; the.se bones are in the most deliiMie 
state of preservation. They were found :it 
Abingdon in Berkshire, about six miles Irom 
Oxford. 

Near the same place — namely, at Lulham— 
during the digging of n gravel pit, not very 
long ago, there were found some "giant's 
bones," that were indeed human, and must 
have belonged to a man of considerable sijte. 
This discovery made a sensation at the lime ; 
and, to quiet the agitation and the sc:ind;il 
raised thereby, a coroner's inquest was held 
in due form "over the skeleton, ending in a 
verdict, honestly arrived at by twelve tru:' 
and lawful Bcrk.shiremcn. Upon subsc(|ueiit 
examinntion by competent authorities, the 
mysterious skclc Ion was pronounced, most 
decidedly, to be that of an old R.iman, who 
had been buried with all his arms and niili- 
lary nceoutrcmentK near the camp to whicii 
bo had probably belonged, nnd of which the 
remains are still to be seen on the two hills 
calle<3 the Dorchester Clumps. Little did his 



i 



I 



I 



\ 



84 



HOUSEHOLD words. 



(CndiMt^ bf 



comrades think when covering him up with 
graTcl, how their departed friend would be 
disinterred and " sat upon." 

With the elephant's bones found at Abing- 
don were mixed fragments of the horns of 
several kinds of deer, together with the bones 
of the ihinoceros, horse, and ox ; showing that 
thoDe creatures co-existed with the elephant, 
and that tiiey formed a happy family. 
There were carnivorous races also then ex- 
isting. We have only to go further down the 
Great Western Railway from Oxford, and, 
getting out at the Weston-super-Mare station, 
ask the way to Banwell Bone Caves. There 
may be found evidence enough of the former 
existence of more savage and rapacious 
animals than elephants or deer. The caves 
are situated at the western extremity 
of a lolly grass-coloured range of hills. The 
hills contain ochre, calamine (carbonate of 
zinc), and lead. Some years ago, when 
sinking a shaft into them, caves were dis- 
covered, and the quantity of bones then 
brought to light excited as much surprise 
among the learned as aifiong the unlearned. 

The principal cavern is about thirty feet 
long, and there is a branch leading out of it 
thirty feet further. Of course it is quite 
dark, and victors must carry candles. The 
visitor must take heed that he keeps his 
candle alight ; no easy matter, for the water 
comes down pretty freely in largo heavy 
drops i>om the stalactites above. By help of 
the light there are to be seen bones, bones ; 
everywhere bones. 

They are piled up against the wall ; they 
stick into the floor; they fill up recesses, in 
the most fantastic shapes. Here a candle is 
stuck in the eyeless socket of a skull : there 
John Smith, London, has inscribed his name 
in letters of hyaenas' teeth. We are invited 
to rest halfway upon a seat composed of 
horns and leg bones. They may be handled 
by the most ustidious ; having lost all traces 
of corruption for some ages past Yonder 
deer's bone was picked, perhaps, by the teeth 
in this huge hyaena's skull ; and as for the 
hyaena himself he died of a good ago — that 
his teeth tell us. His tough body, after death, 
may have been dainty dinner to the bear whose 
monstrous skull is employed as the crown and 
summit of the monument of old bones raised 
in the cave in honour of a learned bishop— 
the Bishop of Bath and Wells. When the 
caves were first discovered, in eighteen hun- 
dred and twenty-six, it was he who took 
every means in the most laudable manner to 
preserve them and their contents intact 
Mr. Beard was appointed curator, and he has 
arranged in his own house a fine collection of 
all the best specimens that have been found 
below. 

To Mr. Beard I went, and by him I was 
most hospitably welcomed. His museum dis- 
plays a very fine collection of the remains of 
the ancient British Fauna. The hones of the 
bear claimed first attention, and especially 



one large bone of the fore leg, which 
measured at the joint seven inches round; 
being larger than the corresponding bone io 
any known species of ox or horse. It is quite 
evident that the inhabitants of the bone caves 
lived before the times of King Edgar the 
wolf-destroyer — for the museum contained 
wolvess' bones in abundance. Fine patriarchal 
old wolves they must have been that run upon 
them. Many a fine old English deer, all of the 
olden time, they mast have run down and de- 
voured on the Mendip hill.s, their cry resound- 
ing through the valleys and over the dales 
where now the screaming whistle and the 
rush of the express train stvtles timid shecpy 
who live in a land where their great enemy 
exists only as a fossil. 

Then, again, in those old days there were 
foxes living in a country that contained no 
hounds, who ground down their teeth to the 
stumps that are exhibited in Mr. Beard's pill- 
boxes, and died of sheer senility. Glonoua 
to foxes were the good old times, and thii 
poor little mice that lived then, as we see by 
Uie contents of other boxes, had their bonef 
crunched. 



MOOSllISE. 

A KAK stood on a barren moniitain peak 
In the ni;r1it, and cried: "UIi, world of hear/ 

ploom t 
Oh, ■iinlcilA world 1 Oh, nnirersnl tomb ! 

Blind, cold, mechanic i>phore, wherein I seek 

la vain for Life and Love, till Hope kiowu weak 
And fahcrs towards ChiiOA ! Vu.st, blank Douul 
Hu^o darkncM in a narrow prison-room ! 

Thon art dead— dead I" Yet, ere be ocaaoJ to aptil^ 

Across tlie level ocean in the &ut 
The Moon-dawn grow ; and all that laonntdA 
Hide 
Bose, newly-born from empty diuk. Hddi| 
trees. 

And deep glen-hollows, as the !ij;ht itt 

Seemed vitiil ; and from Heaven bar.t and < 
The Moon's wliito soul looked over lands i 
seas. 



MOLDO-WALLACHIA. 

Betond railways, beyond diligences, hajvd 
post-chaises, out of the track of travellen, W 
full in the high road of conquest firom Ai 
north to the south, lie the sister proTinccitf 
Moldavia and Wallacliia, which, for shortmA 
some are accu.stomcd to designate as MoU^ 
Wallachia. Their names liavc become noto- 
rious of late by taking place in the vocabnlMt 
of political writers and speakers ; but it oij 
be doubted — certain vague statisUcs set spirt 
— whether in most men's minds any ideas >l i 
all are connected with them. When we tA 
of Paris we picture to ourselves the Plandi 
la Concorde or the Boulevards ; an allusioali I 
Berlin implies a recollection of Under Ih I 
Linden Trees ; to Naples of the StnM ' i 
Toledo ; but who thinks of the Pd de Magi' I 
choya at mention of Bucharest, or has Hfl 



4C 



associations whntcvcr with Curt d'i\rgis and 
Kiinpolongo? Let us ti-j' to connn't a few 
imagcH, a few fomis, a fen- colours, with these 
words. This Ia the best way to extend our 
Bfmpatliica in that direction. 

Moldo-Wallacbia is iilUe more than a huge 
fann, givinj; ctuployuicnt to sonju Ihrets or 
four millions of labourers. It is not, however, 
a farm laid out on the principles of Mr. Meohi, 
but an eastern backwoods farm, very vast 
and strapgling; hero and there cut up by 
patches of original desert and extents of pri- 
niitirc forests, made rugged by spurs of 
mountains and watered by boisterous rivers, 
navigable lor the most part only by fallen 
trees. These rivers tlow from the Carpathian 
mountain.4, which divide the country to the 
northward from Ausln'a, and fall into the 
Danube, which divides it from Turkej'. There 
is a kind of postern-gate to the East, ill-closed 
by the Prulh, a river that has oflen been 
mentioned this year. In neither of the Prin- 
cipalities arc there many roads worthy of the 
name. The cities, villages, or (ai-ming stations, 
arc generally connected only by trackti and 
bridie-path.s. 

The geological construction of Moldo- 
Wallachia is essentially volcanic. Its moun- 
tains contain many crateni fre<pit.-ntly in a 
ttatc of eruption. Sulphur and bitumen arc 
plentiful. In some parU little spiu-ts of 
liquid metal are seen, front time to time, 
breaking from the schistous rocks, flowing a 
little way like melted lead, and then con- 
densing to the hardness of iron. In various 
places, of late years, miniature volcanoes have 
been known to start up from the ground and 
6ame bravely away for a tuvr days amidst 
corn-fields and pasturage. The PrathOva 
river, in certain parts of its course, becomes 
tepid or hot, or even boiling, according as it 
flows or not over subterranean galleries of 
fire. Earthquakes are frcquenL It i.s not 
long since nearly the whole of the city of 
Bucharest was destroyed — Pu de Mogocbof a, 
and all The shock was felt whUbt the prin- 
cipal inhabitants were at the theatre listening 
to one of the dramas of Victor Hugo. Many 
persons perished, and an immense amount of 
projicrty was of course hist. In the countries, 
howeviT, that arc subject to these epileptic 
Mb of Nature, such accidents are quickly for- 
gotten and their consequences repaired. They 
Serve, indeed, the purpose of revolutions or 
sanitaiT bills in more civilised lands. Bucha- 
rest, nt any rate, like Paris and London, has 
been induced to widen its thoroughfares and 
improve tlie build of its houses. 

A great part of Moldo-Wallachia, especially 
towards the mountains, is clothed in forest. 
In fc-w countries arc beheld more mngnili- 
cent oaks; and trnvelters talk of having seen 
tliooaands with trunks rising straight more 
than eighty feet without branches. Minglcl 
with these splendid trees, or covering the 
higher slopes with their dull verdure, are 
enormous firs, that would delight the eye of 



the ship-builder. Besides these, there are 
elms and beeches of pro'ligious size, with 
wild pear trees and senna, maple, cherry, and 
yew ijees, with many others. All these grow 
in a tangled mass — grow or fall togetlier, 
beaten down by the tempest or uprooted by 
rushing inundations. "In the low country 
the millet has no more husk than the apple 
has rind in the high," says the Wallachian 
proverb, to picture the fertility of the country. 
Its vast plains, indeed, are covered in the 
season with splendid crops; of which those 
who travel to Galatx can say something. 
These districts are counted now, as they have 
always counted, among the granaries of 
Europe. It is worth remarking, that a yoimg 
French gentleman, who has studied political 
economy, has lately rccorainendcd the Moldo- 
Watlachiins to neglect the culture of the 
ground and take to the manufacture of cotton 
cloths, in order to escape from the commercial 
t3Tanny of perfidious Albion. The mysteries 
of supply and demand, however, the definitions 
of value, and the influence of tariffs, do not lie 
in our way at present We are not going to 
discuss what is a pound, but to explain what 
Is the Wallachian substitute for a railway. 
Before visiting or describing a country in 
detail, it is good to know what means of 
locomotion it possesses. 

If you are not particularly pressed for time, 
which no one ought to be in that part of the 
world, it is best to use the great waggon 
called the Kcixintza, which rcscniVdes the 
vehicles in which the burly boors of the Capo 
.sleep and smoke in their journey from ono 
kloiif to another. It is of solid construction, 
and well roofed with leather. A larg^' family, 
with all their luggage and paraphernalia, even 
their cocks and hens, may travel in it; and 
perhaps there could he no more romantic 
way of spending six nu)nth.-i than in jolting 
about in one of these lumbering chariots 
amidst the plains and forests of Wallaehio. 
The people of the country generally go from 
place to place on foot, or mounted on horses, 
buifaloes, or oxen. Asses are little used; 
those humble quadrupeds being treated with 
the same unchristian contempt ns in most 
other European cotintries. .\sia and Africa 
arc their paradise. Among the Boyarda, 
however, it is fashionable to make use of 
whiit is called a Knroutchor, a kind of vehicle 
peculiar to the country, and whidi we sincerely 
hope may ever remain so. As a traveller has 
already remarked, it holds a position in the 
scale of conveyances, a little above a wheel- 
barrow and a iiftla below a dungcart It i.s, 
properly speaking, a trough, a i)0.\ without 
a cover, three feet long, two feet wide, and 
two feet and a half higH. It rests, of course 
without the intervention of springs, upon the 
axles or beajiis ; and is poised upon four 
wheels made of soliil wood, more or less 
rounded by means of a hatchet. Perhaps 
Boadicttt's war-t'hariot was something of the 
make of a karoutchor. Not a single nail 



I 



i 



86 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Coadaett«Vr 



I 



cntci-s into its composition. Tlie harness is 
as primitive as the vehicle. To a single 
shaft, generally with the bark on, eight, ten, 
or twelve horses are fastened by means of 
long cords, with collars at the end through 
which the heads of the beasts are passed. 
Three surijions or postillions mount three of 
the horses without saddles, without stirrups, 
and without bridles; and these arc all the 
preparations made to travel express in 
Wailachia. 

If you have courage enough to undertake 
this nio4,e of progression, you present yourself 
to the Aga or the Ispravnick of the city you 
inhabit, and inform him 9f your desperate 
intention, and also of the place you want to 
reach, the day on which you wish to set out, 
and your address. This information is set 
down upon a piece of paper, which it is ne- 
cessary to show to each post-master on the 
way. The chief formality, however, consists 
in paying the whole fare in advance — a pre- 
caution probably taken because there exist so 
very few chances of your arriving safely at 
the end of your journey, and because it would 
not be decorous to exact payment from a 
dead traveller. 

AVhen the fatal moment has arrived, and 
you have said adieu to your friends and made 
your will, the karoutchor comes dashing up to 
your door ; and it is considered wisest, if you 
really intend to travel, to leap in without 
taking a moment to think of the consequences. 
The Ispravnick has given a thought to your 
comfort You will And an armful of hay, not 
very sweet, it is true, to sit upon ; and whilst 
you are arranging it underneath yon, the 
chief surijion will utter his "all right" in the 
shape of a savage cry, as if he were about to 
whirl you to the infernal regions, will crack 
his enormous whip, and thus give the signal 
of departure Off you go— with a frightful 
jerk and an ominous hop of all the four 
wheels at once; for they have not yet got 
Uised to go round. They will get into the 
habit one by one, never fear. You feel the 
necessity at once of clutching hold of the 
edge of j'our abominable post-box, as an 
awkward rider seizes hold of the pommel of 
his saddle. The neighbours shout out a long 
farewell, or look commiseratingly at you, as if 
you were going to bo hanged ; ruthless boys 
laugh at your deplorable countenance; and 
the postillions yell like mad. Thus you arrive 
at the gates of the city, exhibit your pass- 
port — shame preventing you from getting out 
— submit probably to the last extortion you 
will suffer in this life ; and rush into the open 
plain. 

Now the three postillions begin to show 
themselves in their true character. You 
have alrc-ady had some ugly suspicions. They 
are not postillions. They are demons. They 
arc carrying j'ou away, soul and body, to 
their great master. As soon as they have 
the wide horizon of plain and forest around 
them, they begin to scream with delight, 



and to exhibit their infernal joy under a 
false pretence of singing. The first in rank 
sets up a discordant rhythmical howl, some- 
times as gay as the psalms on a witch's 
sabbath, sometuncs as dreary as the shriclCb 
of ghosts disturbed in their midnight evolu- 
tions. Then the others join in in chorus, 
and you would assuredly stop your eara if 
your hands were not fully employed in holding 
on. Meanwhile, these wretches accompany 
their screams with the most furious gesticula- 
tions, wriggling their bodies into all manner 
of postures, leaning now this way, now that, 
lashing furiously the herd of wild animals 
that is bounding under them; and giving, 
indeed, every additional proof that is neces- 
sary of their supernatural character. 

Once you have set out, you feel yourself 
reduced to a most miserable state of insijrni- 
fieance. You are utterly forgotten. Tho 
surijions think of nothing but their songs 
and their horses. They have not even a 
glance to spare for the karoutclior. On 
fiiey go, whether there be a road or not, 
caring only to swallow so many miles in the 
least pcssiblc space of time. The tracks in 
the African deserts are often marked by the 
bones of camels that have fallen under their 
burdens ; those in Wailachia are marked by 
tho bones of madmen who have undertaken 
to travel post. But the surijion cares not 
for — noticesnot — these lugubrious mementoes 
of former journeys. He skips lightly over 
them all. Ravines, torrents, ditches, patches 
of brushwood, are dashed tlu-ough with laQ- 
road rapidity. The horses E>cem to take 
delight in this infernal race. They too forgcl 
that they have anything at their heels, aal 
struggle desperately which shall be forcinosL 
A steeple chase is notliing to it. If you an 
a very bold man, the excitement keeps you up 
for half an hour ; but then alarm rushes into 
your soul. Not one of tho postillions deigioi 
to turn his head. He is not there for con- 
versation. He has nothing to say to yoiL 
As to stopping, or going slower, or not 
going quicker, the idea is absurd. At 
length, in all probability, a wheel breaks, the 
trough falls over, and the traveller is shot 
off into some deep hole, with a broken 
leg or collar-bone, and is thankful that 
he is not quite killed. Still on ^oes the 
karoutchor, rendered lighter by this alight 
accident ; and it is only on reaching the next 
relay, that the surijions turn round and 
perceive that they have lost a wheel and 

their passenger. Peace be to his manes hit 

fare is paid. 

The distinguishing characteristic of Moldo- 
Wailachia being theabsence of cities, travelling 
is not very prevalent among the people. It 
is true that each principality possesses nomi- 
nally a capital, and tliat Bucharest and Jassy 
contain a considerable agglomeration of in- 
habitants. Both these places, however, thou^ 
they exhibit some tendencies to civilisation— 
though they put on fragments of Franch 



Okwta IMrliaH.1 



MOLDOWALLACHIA. 



87 



costume as the 8»rages put on the inex- 
pressibles or Captain Cook — are little better 
even lunv than vast villages. The true life 
of the l)anubiHn provinces is in the country 
— in llic j)1aio6 tiut stretch from the bank.s 
of the Danube towards the Krappncks nnd 
Dneistcr — out amidst the fields where PT'-'*''. 
probiiblv, the com which made the bread 
we, sitting here at breakfast in London, have 
this day eaten — out into the forests that 
funiish the wood >vith which Coutitaniinople 
is built — out uito the districts where men 
lire like moleis Lri the earth, and where you 
may ride over the roofs of a village without 
suspecting its existence, unless your horse 
stumble into a chimney hole. 

Ir Moldo-VVallachia possessed a proper 
government, and were insured against the 
dangers of conquest, it would probably pro- 
duce ten times the amount of gn«in it now 
produccfi. The cultivated fields, so far from 
succeeding one another in unbroken succe^ioii, 
arc loosely scattered over the country, and 
divided by patches of forest and waste laml, 
and somctimeti by vast extent of marsh. They 
are allowed to lie fallow every other year 
from the want of a proper system of manuring. 
The seed time is generally in autumn; but if 
a short crop is feared, an inferior quality of 
grain is sown in other lands in the spring. 
SL\ oxen drag a heavy plough, which makes a 
deep furrow. Every year, as in a new coun- 
try, virgin tracts are brought under culti- 
vation to replace others, which have been 
wilfully abandoned, or have been ruined by 
violent inundationa of the Danube, or its 
tributary torrents. These newly-conquered 
fields are first planted with cabtuges, which 
g:row to an enormous size, and aro supposed 
to exhaust certain salts which would be 
iiyurious to the production of wheat, of barley, 
of nmize, of peas, of beans, of lentil.s and 
Other grain and pulse. Maize was first intro- 
duced into these countries in the last century, 
and yields prodigious returns. 

Tli« Danubian provinces are familiar to the 
EnglLshiuan chiedy as corn-growing countries; 
bui ^c must repeat, in order to leave a cor- 
rect impression, that great portions of them 
are still clothed in primwval forest Patriots, 
taking this fact to be a sign of barbarism, 
insist thit the wood-lands are every day 
giving way to cultivation, and pride them- 
selves on the fact; but a grave Italian writer, 
who 8c«ra8 to fear that some day the world 
will be in want of fuel, deplores this circum- 
stance, and attributes it to *hat he con.sidcrs 
sn extravagant, absurd, and almost impious 
use of good things granted by Providence, 
namely, the custom of paving a few of the 
principal streets, or rather ketinck, of Ja-ssy 
and Bucharest with woo'L The worthy man, 
however, might have spared himself the 
anxiety which this hideous waste appears to 
have created in his mind. There is no dan- 
ger tliat Moldo-NS'allachia will soon be di.H- 
fowMit ed, and the sentimental, perhaps, will 



rejoice in this fact, when they know that the 
vast seas of foliage which form the horizon of 
the plains and roll over the mountains are 
inhabited by prodigious colonies of niglilin- 
gales. In no place in the world arc tber« 
found so many of the.se delightful songsters 
as in WalliK-liia. In the months of .Alay nnd 
June it is considered to be one of the greatest 
enjoyments that man can taste, to go out by 
moonlight and listen to the concert of nightin- 
gales, swelling full and melodious above the 
rustling of the leaves, and the rattling of 
small water-courses. Benighted travellers 
often stop their waggons by the side of some 
forest-lake that spi-cads over half a g'ade, 
on purpose to listen to this marvellous 
music, and then after having feasted their 
ears for a while, give the order to march, 
upon which, amid the clacking of whips, the 
shouts of the drivers, and the creaking of 
the whecb?, all those sweet sounds are stitlccl, 
and you are brought back as it were from 
fairy-land to the country of Boyards, serfs, 
and gipsies. 

Let us suppose Ibc reader to be wending his 
way according to this primitive stylo, through 
one of the vast plains that stretch we.stward 
from the Dimbowitza. If it be summer there 
is little danger, even after midnight, from the 
wolves ; and the bears remain up amidst the 
krappncks. Yon ma)', therefore, jolt along in 
eafet\', unless you happen to deviate into a 
morass, or upset into oneof thecrevii'es, which 
so frfrpiently occur. It is pleasant to travel 
by night on arcoimt of the great comparative 
coolness of that time; but nothing can exceed 
the delight of moving leisurely along in the 
early hours of the moniing, when the air is 
full of grey light, and the skies are covered 
by flights of birds on the look out for a break- 
fast ; when bu.stards go rustling through the 
underwood, when partridges start up from the 
dewy grass and take semicirouLir flighU to 
get out of the way of the intruders, and when 
awkward storks are seen perched upon boughs 
watching for serpents and other reptiles to 
take homo to their young. The sunri.sc in 
those districts is wonderfully fine, clear, nnd 
red. Once the winter season fwssed the 
weather is balmy and agreeable, except in the 
arternoon, when tho fierce heat shrivels the 
vegetation, and causes the traveller to dro^p. 
This is why tho dark hours, or those wliii-li 
u.shcr in tho day, are preferred for travelling; 
and if you are out in the plains at that time, 
you arc sure to hear tho disconlant creaking 
of wheels approaching or receding in ditferent 
directions, ju.st as in the enchanted forest to 
which Don Quixote was taken by the hu- 
morous (and not very amiable) hospitality of 
his ducal hosts. 

The approach to a "Wallachian village^ in 
these wild regions is remarkable. On cmerKing 
perhaps from a sombre wood, along the skirts 
of which hang white patches of morning mist, 
you dimlv see signs of cultivntian, (icIiJs of 
maize or'wheat and beds of cucuinbera and 



I 



I 



88 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Ondir 



I 

// 



cabbai;e3. So you begin to have thoughts of 
eggs an I poultry, and leap oat of your slow- 
movin.-; waggon and push on, expecting, if 
you arc quite a novice, to descry comfortable 
looking cottages, and it may be the steeple of 
a village church. Whilst you arc gazing ahead 
in this vain expectation, a slight breeze wails 
a strong odour of smoke around you, and look- 
ing atttntively you see a few blue ringlets 
coming up from the ground just in front. 
Presenlly some slight elevations may be dis- 
tinguished, scattered over what appears to you 
a patch of rough grass land, and now and then 
a wild-looking figure rises mysteriously, flits 
along a little way, and then drops into the 
earth. Those arc Moldo-Wallachians making 
their morning calls. You have stumbled upon 
a village or rather upon a human warren. 
The houses arc mere holes dug in the ground, 
with a roof composed of long poles, which are 
covered with earth and thatched with the 
grass (hat naturally grows. This style of 
living was adopted by the people of these 
unfortunate countries for the sake of con- 
cealment from the marauders, to whose in- 
roads they have always been subject on every 
side. 

The villages arc dug as far aa possible from 
any line of route ordinarily used. They rarely 
contain more than a few hundred inhabitant, 
and are sulyect to a tox, the amount of which 
is fixed according to the supposed number of 
the houses. For example, a village set down 
as containing a hundred dwelling places, has 
to pay four Itundred piastres. Tlie Ispravnick, 
or povi.'iTior of the district, receives a list of 
villagts from the treasury, with the sum re- 
quired from each affixed, and sends an agent 
to inform llie people of their liabilities. It 
often happens that a village is set down as 
containing more or less houses than it really 
does. If there is a greater number, that is to 
say, if the estimate of the treasury is under 
the nnrk, the peasants collect in a public 
mcetinf; to discuss in what proportion each is 
to benefit by the mistake. At these meetings 
they shout, quarrel, and even fight But 
though wounds and death sometimes occur, 
nothing ever transpires before the tribunals. 
It is a family quarrel in which no stranger 
interferes. When matters arc settled the head 
man of the village collects the various items 
of the tax, and carries the sum to the agent, 
who has no call to meddle otherwise in the 
matter. But if, as often happens, the village 
contains fewer houses than are set down, the 
peasants collect and nominate a deputation 
entrustud with the duty of representing the 
ovcnhfirie in the proper quarter. If they 
rriniiDt olitnin redress they often abandon 
tluir houses or holes, and separate and pass 
into ncizhbourins parishes and districts, leav- 
ing their old dwelling places entirely deserted. 
After a little time, of course, taxation pursues 
tlieiu in their new retreat In this way the 
populatjim remains unsettled, and we never 
meet with what in other countries would be 



called rising towns. It is calculated that in 
the two principalities there arc about fivo 
thousand boroughs and villages, most of them 
of the character we have just described. How- 
ever, on the mountains, the houses are above 
ground, and are not disagreeable in appear- 
ance or uncomfortable to live in. Near most 
villages may be seen long granaries, if they 
may be so called, of peculiar construction. 
They arc often about three hundred feet in 
length, six feet high, and three or four feet 
w^idc, and are made of open trellis work. In 
them the maize is thrown, and being dried by 
the wind is preserved, when necessary, for 
several years. It is, on this account, that the 
cargoes of maize from Galatz are seldom or 
never injured on the passage, whilst those 
from Eg}'pt and other places, being shipped 
whilst yet half-dried, often corrupt on the 
way. 

ACCOMMODATION FOR QUIDNUNCS. 

Quid nvnef "What now?" or, "What's 
the news!" is a question that can be answered 
more readily by the multitude in prorindai 
towns than in the Metropolis. About two 
years ago we called attention to the Ikct 
that London was in one respect left behind 
by Liverpool and other towns: — ^wc had 
no Penny News Room.'*. Attempts, moro or 
less vigorous, to supply that want, have since 
been made in divers quarters of the town, 
and they appear to have succeeded man 
or less according to the greater or less de- 
gree of vigour that has been thrown intt 
their management The harvest gatherad 
by each speculator seems to have 
pretty well proportioned to the capital ul 
labour spent External signs of prosperilj •. 
are, to be sure, very delusive. Yet, sett&ig ' 
up our opinion only upon them (hariitg 
watched the growth of London Penny Newt 
Rooms — still infant phenomena not able, ft 
would seem, to run alone), we are able to 
report of them that they are growing in health 
and strength. 

The first attempt towards the supply of 
penny news was made, in an unpretcn^W 
way, by some ncwsvendor, who annooBcei 
in his window that the papers mifrfat bt 
read for a penny on his premises. HaTiDg 
the raw article passing through his handi 
in the way of business, it became ea^ ftr 
him to establish a reading-room in his iMui 
parlour, if he did not believe that the practice 
tended to reduce the number of newspaper 
buyers, and so damage his trade. Very few 
such attempts were made. We know at tlul 
date only of two. They are impromptus difr 
fering from the reading-rooms planned with ^ 
deliberation as improvisation differs from 
poetry. The first Penny News Room, more de« 
liberatcly established, is situated in Ghcapsid& 
So far as the system is concerned, it is not a ftir 
experiment, inasmuch as it probably was not 
established with a view to the profit that » ooU 






C^riM ObkiM.) 



ACCOMMODATION FOR QUIDXUNOS, 



89 



be extracted fromitself «lone. It U subsidiary 
to on cuting-housctinil tavern. Tt is iioL on tlint 
account the worse confluoted, and no one who 
visits it is made to feci tliat he is bound to 
supply body and mind togfthcr. The dignity 
and iiidfpctnlonw of the entrance penny are in 
no degree impaired. It admits t^J a ptrus.il of 
all tlie duily morning anil eyening papers 
properly arninge<l on stands, and to the tilis 
of baek numbers both of them and of the 
loidiug weekly journal.-? for the Wt six 
months. The wccklj- papers are im stands in a 
second room, a story higher. There is al.so a 
very good representation of the provincial 
prej«s. There are scarcely any foreign papers, 
and the quarterly reviews and monlUly maga- 
zines may indeed l>e kept, but lUey must be 
askid for especially. The rooms arc verj' well 
conductc<l, and we have always found them 
crowded on the tirst Boor with readers of the 
day's news •, respectable, determined, active 
quidnuncs, bent upon ascertaining how the 
world wags in the lea.^t pos.siblo time, and being 
otf again about their daily biisineta. These 
liberally established Neiv.s Rooiii.s are, in fact, 
a variation upon the ordinary dining-room, in 
whieli a moderate supply of new.<papers is 
provided for thij satislaction of the diners. 
In those you dined and h.vi the oppor- 
tunity of looking at the papers ; in Uierfc 
you look at the papers, and, if you please, 
can dine. 

I am not quite sure whether the Beconi) 

Penny News Room was not the one established 

in Ilolbom or Oxford Street by a teacher of 

languages, who has always a cla.>:s in course 

of being formed on very cheap terin.s ; and 

who has also a penny-a-volume library of 

cheaply printed French novels and other 

•vorks. The chamber used is tlie front room 

^n the first floor, unusually domestic in its 

proportions and in furniture. It is carpeted, 

and, in winter, there was always a good 

fire burning in an open parlour grate, under 

the cover of a domestic mantel-piece. The 

penny taker .sits at a small table m-.ir the 

door. There i.s a low table in the middle 

the room, and there are about a dozen, 

Tnorc or le«g, cine-bottomed chairs Bprinkletl 

about The French books occupy a scries 

of shelves on one wall : and, as a gentle 

hint to the news-readers that they arc not 

to help themselves to the.se books, a cordon 

is drawn across the room, i.soiating a little 

sanctum Eanctonim, in which the philologist 

and his .staff rule over the penny-a-volume 

library. The table is supplied with a number 

of daily new.spapers, and a selection of weekly 

journals. There are aUo one or two French 

jiowspapers ; of monthlies and qiurterJies the 

supply is scanty and uncertain. About this 

room there are rarely so many a,s a dozen 

quiet persona quietly Bcated, quietly reading. 

1 hey are evidently not City men. They are in 

no hurry. The}' are only interested in Rii-wia 

and Turkey, and in the Cab Quciition, like 

ordinary news-readers, and not in the Capel 



Court or Lombard Street sense. They prefer 
that News Room to more prosperous establish- 
ments (one of which stands nearly opposite), 
although it contains fewer papers, because it 
contains also fewer men. They simply wish 
to look over the day's news in peace ; to 
read about the world in a snug nook with- 
drawn from all its bustle. Tlie philologist 
exactly caters for their wants. 

There is another quiet, but .somewhat more 
business-like News establishment in the 
Strand apparently under the auspices, of a 
photographer, whose frame is hung out at 
Iho door. It occupies two rooms on the lirst- 
floor ami includes not only the Penny News 
Kootn, but other desirable accommoJalions 
for the public A letter may be wriiten 
there, pen and ink, paper and envelojie being 
furnished for a penny. Letters may be 
addres.scd there nn<l are taken and delivered 
ty the enquirer at the charge of a halfpenny : 
fi>r some such charge use may be made yf 
a wa.shing-rooin. 

Thiitthe public is re.illv disposc<l to support 
a Penny News Room when a man is found 
who tlirow.s hi.s mind into its management, 
has been [iroved, in the case of an eatabli.>ih- 
ment in Oxford Street, which appeared to 
be under the management of a stationer 
in a small way of busine-ss ; or some one who 
hail superadded stationery to his news tratle. 
[ entered his shop door, and found the pro- 
prietor boxed up in a littlo place mea-suritig 
four feet by three, more Or less. Out of that 
four feet by three shop a sort of wicket gate 
gives admii^aion to the News Room — a pliicc 
scarcely equal in size to tlie room* of the 
photographer or the philologist ; and yet 
iniii'h more abundnntly supplied, ilow so 
much paper and print could be spread opcu 
in such a S[)acc was a marvel. There were 
six morning newspapers (two copies of the 
Times), three evening papers, thirty-two 
weekly jouriiala and newspapers, about 
the simie rmmber of country newspaper.", 
twelve Irish and Scotc-h papers, twelve 
foreign ncw.spapcrs, and sixteen monthly and 
quarterly publications. Every number of all 
of these was supplied on the day of publica- 
tion ; and there was such an embarrassment 
of riches that one was nearly smothered in 
paper. The readers sat or stoo<l or screwed 
themselves up as they might ; they knocked 
cjuch other's head.«, and troil on each other's 
toc.«, II nd jolted each other's elbow.s, from 
sheer want of space ; and, when the gas was 
liglited ond the room filled with evening 
readers, (there was always an escape of gas 
(lavouring the air,) oh, the temperature 1 
There was a degree of discipline — probably 
connected in some degree with that paucity 
of space — quite rigorous. The daily papers 
were framed up against the wall, the weeklies 
and proviucinls were placed on two tables, 
the Irish and Scotch were poked into a little 
corner, the pamphlets and miscellanies wer» 
placed in portfolios, while the mnut.Wit% »xv\ 



I 



\ 



•:m) 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



IL 



■|ii»rU!r!ii-s wore boarded — not technically but 
literally ; for each was strung to a wooden 
hoard, from which the reader was requested 
in no wise to remove it. Regular visitors 
were aceustouu-d to observe a constant 
work of improvement going on in those 
rooms. The number of periodicals and papers 
increased — from French and German journals 
we got on to S])anish — new means of estab- 
lishing order and providing a place for every- 
thing (so that any Journal might at once 
be found) were always being brought into 
play. The conductor of that room never 
was satisfied that ho had brought it to 
perfection. It filled well, and attracted 
many foreigners. At the little wicket the 
foreigner was courteously told in French, 
Italian, or German that he had to pay a 
penny on entrance. 

Suddenly one day this well-ordered room 
fell into confusion. Although it had given no 
previous signs of decline or fall, it was mani- 
festly suffering the throes of dissolution. 
Presently it died out IJut it died in Oxford 
Street only to be resuscitated in Holborn, in 
a spacious and well-appointed saloon behind 
a tailor's shop. The shop in Oxford Street 
became devoted to pure stationery, and a dash 
of the tailoring business was thrown into the 
News Room for a change. Whether we are to 
regard the tailor as the grand promoter of the 
undertaking, or the lessee of the promises who 
reserves a privilege of advertising himself 
freely among the news-readers, we do not 
know. We are not bound to acknow- 
ledge any impertinent suggestions of a con- 
nection existing between penny news and 
guinea trousers. The News Rooms behind 
the tailor's sho)) arc large, commodious, and 
well supplied. The grand step made by the old 
News Room in the course of its resuscitation 
was the -introduction of the practice of filing a 
large number of the journals, both metropo- 
litan and provincial. A certain amount of 
success or capital is necessary before the pro- 
prietor of a News Room can file the journals 
he receives instead of selling them. A body 
of filed papers will, however, be found in the 
end to form the most substantial ba.«is of 
profit for any establishment of this kind. It 
should be a place supplied with ample means 
of reference as well as of daily current in- 
formation. So far, therefore, the resuscitated 
News Room is improved. It is improved also 
in breadth of house-room. The papers, British 
and foreign, arc also, wc believe, not less 
liberally supplied than under the old rigime. 
With more simce, however, has come leas 
scrtipulous attention to the necessity of neat- 
ness and order, and a bu.sy visitor may by 
chance waste ten minutes in the endeavour to 
find any particular journal that he may wish 
to see amon^ the confused mass of papers on 
the table. We are certain, however, that if 
the business has not changed hands, this 
objection will soon vanish. 

In all these rooma^ except perhaps the 



smallest, there are provided Directories 
Court Guides, Railway Gui<le8, maps of Lon- 
don, Law Lists, and other books of comraon 
reference. In the case of such books, it is 
convenient for every one to know where they 
can at any time be seen. In most of the 
rooms — wo have already instanced one — 
letters arc uken in for strangers or sub- 
scribers. In all of them letters can bo written. 
There should be also, as in the Strand est« 
blishmcnt, lavatories and other accommoda 
tion for the pedestrian in London streets. 
There are half a dozen little wants, the 
ministering to which can very fairly be made 
part of the machinery of the Penny Newt 
Room. 

Penny News Rooms prosper very well in 
our northern toniis, and there is no reason 
why they should not abound in Londoa 
Peel's Coffee-house in Fleet Street, Deacon's 
in Walbrook, and the Chapter Coffee-house, 
have become famous as coffee-houses for the 
files of papers that they keep. They have 
supplied admirably in their way, but still 
inadequately, a part of the great want which 
is now forcing the Penny News Rooms into 
existence. When we first broached the sul>- 
ject, wc referred to the example more espe- 
cially of Paris ; and any reader who refers 
to what wc then said,* will find that we 
have hitherto been by no means too bold 
in our ventures. Wliije we are timidly 
grafting news upon philology, photography, 
or tailoring, in Paris the Sfilona Je Uetvn 
exist of the highest character. AbundioM 
of French, English, German, Italian, Dnlds 
Spanish, and American newspapers ; rcrim^ 
magazincj^ and other penodicals ; ^Mt% 
atlases, and maps ; a handsomely-bound at 
lection of classical and popular literatim |^ 
spacious windows letting in a flood of firit 
by day, and shaded and chastened gas-li^li 
for use in the evening ; embossed mapa ■ 
the walls and writing conveniences on ttt 
tables ; green velvet sofas and divans ; lani 
mirrors and elegant decorations — all araSaM 
at a charge of four sous or twopence pa 
day. As wc then al.oo stated, there are m 
less than four hundred of these re adiii F 
rooms in Paris ; and if the reader should tA ' 
no desire for the luxuries of TeWet lad 
mirrors, he could find abundance of establiib- 
ments to which the rate of admission is tM 
sous or one penny. 

Heartily wishing prosperity to thone *i» 
have established, or may hereafter establiib, 
well-conducted Penny News Rooms, we tan 
now to an allied subject of still greater interMt 
and importance. An attempt is being madt 
in Westminster to set on foot, under ti* 
shadow of the Abbey, Reading and RefVeib- 
ment Rooms for working people. Penw 
News Rooms are frequented by all classet: 
but chiefly by those who are coniparativi^ 
well to do. The introduction of rvfreshmeoB 



• Hauahold WonU, YoL ItL p. 81. 



t 



Chvim D.<t«M.| 



A RUSSIAN STRANGER. 



91 



inU> them would defeat their purpo!«c and 
destroy tbeir character. The RtHuliiig; nnd 
Refreshmfent Rooms for working people arc 
dcsij^iicd to supplj- in the best possible way 
Uie particular wnats of a class. Tlic first 
room of the kind ever opened is in Cdiiiburgli, 
where it n-ds estabiisbcd about a year ago. 
Thevo arc now in that city sevcml othent 
Thr3- »ri' opened at fire o'clock in the morn- 
ing, nnii provide at that hour coffee or 
con)fort«blL" breakfa.sts for many n man wlio 
used to commence work with a gla.sa of 
wliiKky, Thousands of working men, 
wanting refreshment, go to a public-house 
becau.se they scarcely know what eli** to do. 
To take the ease of Westminster — in which 
district it is projKJsed that the first London 
rooms of this kind shall he established — there 
arc in the neighbourhood of the Abbey great 
DumbtTs of work-pcople employed ujwn the 
new Victoria Street, many of whom come 
from a distance and are compelled either to 
bring food with them and eat it in the open 
air, or to retire into the public-houses. Two 
large public-houses hare been in fact created 
for their use. U'by not create .'something more 
desirable If ETcry one who is acquainted with 
that stran;fe and ctct widening I^ondon 
boundary of bricks and mortar, among which 
workmen are for ever stirring, and out of 
which hou.si'>< are for ever risinyr, knows how 
the public-bouiics are built out in the fields 
at rijrular distances, in antiripation of the 
workpeople who presently will swarm about 
theni. Why not set on foot the practice of 
providing in a better way for the comfort of 
respectable and titeady workmen, who accept 
now unwillingly the tap-room as a neces- 
sary but most undesirablu kind of accommo- 
dation? 

The Reading and Refreshment Rooms 
for wnrkinp people, which it is thought 
desirable to found in those and other localities, 
»re by no moans intended to diffuse tecto- 
talism. They should supply meals on any 
scale within tlie workman s means; he will 
rccpiire generally roast or boiled meat for hi."? 
dinner, and he will in most cases like a gla-ss of 
beer Tht>re is no reason why, with a few 
obviously n-Jvsunable prccnutionF, anytliinp 
that is comfortable within the limit.s of 
moderation should be denied. There arc in 
London some few cheap lo<lpng-hou.ses for 
the work-pcoplp, in which they can get a 
good dinner, ini^luding beer, for sixpence, 
and a woman who has kept such a hon^e 
for some years allows that she makes fifty 
per cent, on Iter whole outlay. Contenting 
themselves witli a more reasonable return 
for their investments the founders of Refresh- 
mcnt and Reudinj Room.s for working men 
could easily provide at a cost within the 
means of every industrious man a place in 
which durinR the interralsof labour he could 
wash, if he please<I. eat and drink, and obtain 
rational intellectual amusement 

We trust that titc promoters of the scheme 



at Westminster, and of all cheap News Rooms, 
will succeed in their good work, and stimulate 
to exertion many active imit.itors. 



A RUSSIAN STRANGER. 

Aw illustrious stranger made his appear- 
ance in London in the year eighteen hmidrcd 
and fifty -one. He w.ns not entirely unknown; 
the jewellers, and tlie lapi<laric.«, and the 
dealers in articles of rertd had long appre- 
ciated him, and by them he was rccog:nised .is 
a valuable acquaintance; but to the world at 
large his very existence was scarcely known. 
When he made his first appearance in a 
polished green jacket, the inquiry ran around 
— who is he; what is his name ; whence does 
he come; and how does he make his Jacket J 
It was found that his name was JIalnchite ; 
that he belonged to a Russian family; ami 
that his jacket, like that of a harlequin, wfis 
a patchwork of pieces placed edge to edge. 
Still there were anxious queries put forth — 
What is malachite? and wo have reason to 
believe that among the millions who made 
their first acquaintance with this foreigner 
in the year named, there is a vcrj' notable 
pur-centagc who could not and cannot yet 
answer this question. And yot it deserves 
to be answered, as we may soon see. 

One very strange circurastanco coimectcd 
with malachite Is, that it is not a stone or a 
marble of any kind; it has neither lime, nor 
clay, nor flint, nor sand in its composition — 
nothing whirli can be considered as a neces- 
sary or integrant part of stone or marble or 
alabaster. It is a salt A sore puzzle this 
will be to those (and their name is legion) 
who recognise salt only as a condiment to be 
added in little crumbles to savoury mouthfuls; 
but the learned chemists have a way of 
applying the term salt, which it is worth 
while to know. When an acid is combined 
with a metal, or the oxide of a metal, or an 
alkali, or an earth, the compound becomes a 
Bah — the chemists say 80, ami therefore of 
cour.sc it must be so. Now the delicate white 
gmnular substance which we can buy for 
daily u.se at three pounds for a penny, and 
which >Ve should be perfectly willing to buy 
at a shilling a pound if we could not obtain it 
for less, is a salt because it is composed of 
muriatic acid and the alkali soda (or more 
strictly chlorine and sodium) ; and by the 
8.itne token malachite is a salt because it 
fon-ifists of carbonic acid and oxide of copper. 
We need not carry our chemistry further 
than this ; suffice it to say that malachite is 
really and tnily carbonate of copper. There 
may be, and are other forms of c.irlwnale of 
copper; but raalaohite is believed to acquire 
its remarkable and beautiful appeartmce by 
being formed in dropit, a sedimentary deposit 
analogous to stalactite and stalagmite. It is 
supposed by Sir Roderick Murclii.-ion that the 
carbonate was once a liquid, and that it gra- 
dually Bolidititsd by slow dropping— iuat. %& \& 



t 



i 



M 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ICariMMtf 



the case at the petrifying dripping well near 
Knaresborough. Every mass of it seems to 
have been grouped round a centre, in more 
or less concentric layers; and according to 
the varying richness of the solution at dijfcr- 
cnt times, so do the concentric-layers exhibit 
a lighter and darker tint of green. A beau- 
tiful theory is this ; for it explaias not only 
the globular or rounded form of the masses, 
but also the rich play of green tints observa- 
ble in all specimens of malachite. 

It is a necessary consequence, or rather 
a necessary preliminary, that ores of copper 
should exist near the localities whence mala- 
chite is obtained ; for it is & solution of the 
carbonate of metal which produces the gem 
(if malachite may be calted a gem, which it 
almost deserves to be). It is not disseminated 
in large masses, like a metallic ore ; it seems 
rather to have trickled into clefts and cavi- 
ties, which determine its dimensions. Rarely 
can a piece be obtained weighing so much as 
twenty pounds. It is softer than marble, 
very much heavier, brilliant in its lustre, and 
almost silky in the delicate gleam of its green 
streaks; yet these qualities ore marred by 
the extreme diflBculty of working it Fragile 
and yet obbdnate, it sorely tries the patience 
of the workman. A Russian, however, is 
accustomed to patience; and ho has con- 
quered in ids Ume moro obstinate things than 
malachite. 

Another curious circumstance connected 
with malachite is, the extremely limited 
number of spots where it has been found. 
Siberia and Australia are nearly the only 
two which can bo named. In Australia the 
discovery has been very recent; but. in 
Silx-ria malachite has long been known. 
Until within a few years, the largest mass 
obtained weighed about a hundred poods, (a 
pood equ:ls thirty-six English pounds); it 
was obUiincd from the copper-mine of M. 
TourclianinofF, at Goumecheff (oh! these 
Russian names), and is deposited in one of the 
National Museums. But this has been beaten 
into insignificance by a recent discovery, to 
which are due the magnificent specimens of 
malachite brought to England. The Messrs. 
Dcmidotr, of St Petersburgh, are the owners 
of some copper mines in the Ural mountains; 
and while the miners were in search of the 
metallic ore, they on one fortunate day 
lighted upon a mass of malachite, weighing 
not less than three thousand poods. The 
miners were able to detach this in one block, 
and they then met with another thousand 
poods weight, filling up clefts and crevices in 
the surrounding rock. What a treasure this ; 
con^id( ring that a fair specimen of malachite 
will bring fifteen shillings per English pound 1 
Tiicre is supposed to bo a still larger deposit 
of malachite near the spot whence this mass 
W.1S obtained : precious nuggets (albeit green) 
which m.iy by and bye put money into the 
pockets of' the proprietors. 

liut like other treasures, malachite requires 



the hand of man before it becomes practically 
valuable. The large masses crumble in the 
air, generally into pieces of two to four pounds 
weight; and the question arises how to work 
so very brittle a material. It is not altogether 
a new art ; for museums and royal palaoeSi 
in many parts of Europe, contain specimenf 
of inlaying or veneering with malachite. 
But when Messrs. Dcmidolf made their grand 
discovery, an incentive was given towards 
the adoption of larger mechanical appliances. 
They determined to establish a manufkbtory 
of their own at St Petersburgh, which they 
placed under the care of M. Leopold Joifriand, 
who left no means untried to obtain a mastery 
over the material, and make it applicable to 
ornamental purposes. How he succeeded in 
his task, the malachite doors at the Crystal 
Palace testified ; and what difficulties he hai 
had to surmount, the following details will 
show. 

In the first place, then, it must be borne in 
mind that the malachite is used, not in mas(^ 
but as a thin veneer. The pieces are cut by 
saws into veneers varying from a quarter to a 
twelfth of an inch in thickness. To effect this 
the block is cemented upon a carriage which 
has a traversing motion along a little rail- 
way; and the malachite is kept fbrcildy 
pressed against the edge of a vertical drcnlu 
saw; fine sand and water are continnallT 
applied to the cut, until the slice of malachite 
is at length severed from the block. Thu k 
the block sliced away, not quite bo qoieklr 
but much more carefully than the houflewifel 
quartern loaf. Where a curved surlao* ii 
to bo covered with malachite, the sawtihr 
cutting the veneer are bent to a corremari- 
ing curvature ; and an extrctacly ddicA 
and precarious procciis of cutting .tk* 
ensues. 

The slices being cut, their junction in(M 
uniform plane is the next point attended h 
Here the most unwearied attention ia cilU 
for. In every piece of malachite, the dot 
and light streaks of green form gnccM 
curves, varying infinitely in appearance Nmi 
it would not satisfv an artistic eye to ■■ 
pieces joined together edge to edge vittat 
any reference to varying tints of the SiniMi 
there would be a mottled, confused, indeUk 
jumble of bits of curves and bits of tintL H* 
workman, consequently, selects his piooei fHk 
especial reference to their strealdogi, m1 
combines them edge to edge in such a way* 
to carry out somewhat like a principle 4 
design — not stiff and formal, but just lol- 
cient to satisfy the eye by a kind of intdfigi 
bility of arrangement This is very diiBcdl 
to accomplish, on account both of the sn^ 
ncss of the pieces and the variation of th«r 
shape. Every little fragment has its edfd 
cut by means of a copper wheel. For each 
joint there must be two or three little coops 
grinding wheels employed, one to give th 
convexities or protuberances to one edge, ani 
the other to impart the concavities or amn^ I 



eta«<wn>kwL.] 



A RUSSIAN STRANGER, 



93 



l^ 



siona to tlio other edge. It is in these joinings 
tliat JL JolTrinnd has made tlie niost niiirkcd 
inaproveinunls. Before the establishment of 
tlic manufactory at St Petershupgh, all mala- 
chite veneering had straight edges to the 
Heparatc pieces, and rery little attention was 
paid to the veins or markings ; but the 
curved joinings non* oflbrd many facilities 
for producing elegance and symmetry in 
marking. 

The fixing of these numtwrless little iiicces 
upon the ground-work which ia to support 
theui ij not so difhcult an art as those which 
precede it; but still it roquircs great care and 
attention. This ground-work or substratum 
may be stone or maible ; but it is generally 
iron or copper. Tlie malachite is cemented 
down piece by piece, each in its proper posi- 
tion. Small interstices are left hero and 
there, which are aftcr^Tirds filled up with 
green breccia — plaster coloured with pow- 
dered malachite, and Hpecklcd with minute 
fragment;;. When the whole is filled up, 
the surface is ground with s.and, to bring 
it to a proper level ; and after this it is 
poliiihed. 

Those who remember (and few will forget) 
the gorgeous miitachito productions in the 
Rustiian department at the Crystal Palace 
will be able to fonn .some faint conception 
of the dilticulties entailed in their execution. 
Every pound of malachite becomes reduced 
by weight to half a pound by the time it 
has reached the form of veneer, and fur- 
ther reduced to a quarter of a pound by 
the waste unavoidable in adjusting and tit- 
ting. The veneered surface thus assumes 
a value of about three guineas a pound; 
and OS there arc at least two pounds and a 
half to the square foot, this gives a value 
of seven or eight guineas for a square foot 
of malachite veneer, f^jr material alone, irre- 
spective of the value of the labour bestowed 
upon it. 

Some of the churches in St PetersBurgh 
are Mui to h&vc fiutcd columns of malachite, 
which present an exquisitely bcaiitiful ap- 
pearance ; but nothing ever seen out of 
Ru.-'Mia has ever cquolli:^ the wonderful pro- 
ductions which were sent over to us in 
eighteen hundred and fifty-one. There were 
transmissions of this remarkable material 
from a few other quarters. Thus, a Derhy- 
tthirc firm, accustomed to works in gems and 
stones, prepared marble slabs with a surface 
of malachite ; and a South Australian (Irm 
showed that the celebrntcd Burra liurrri 
copper mines are capable of yielding flue 
roalnchif e ; and a Prussian firm e.xliil>ited a 
beautiful silver casket with four tablets of 
malachite ; and some of the mining corapanies 
of Ku&Ma exhibited masses of the substance 
just AS they had been obtained from their 
ro'-Wy bed. But all these sank into insig- 
nilicnnce before the gorgeous productions of 
the Mi'ssR", DcmidoiT. Who can forget the 
chimney-piece, and the round, and oval, and 



square tables, and the chairs, and the tazzo,, 
and the vases, and the pede.^tals, and the 
clock, and above all, who can forgot tf>e 
door.s ? These doors, suitable for the folding- 
doors of a grand saloon, ond measuring 
together about fourteen feet iu height, by 
seven in width, were made "f metul, covered 
with malachite veneer about a quarter of an 
inch in thickness — much thicker than is 
ordinarily used. Tho cement with which 
the veneer was fastened to tlie metal was 
Dtode with fragments of the malachite itself^ 
so AS to correspond with it in colour. It was 
stated by the Messrs. DemidoO' that those 
two doors employed thirty men upwards 
of a year to Jit, finish, and polish the mala- 
chite veneer! One almost feels inclined to 
ask whether, after all, they were worth so 
much labour; but this is a delicate poli- 
tico - cconomico - sesthetico - social question, 
which must not hastily be answered. Tho 
malachite productions altogether were valued 
at the largo sum of eighteen thousand 
guinea.^. 

Such is this illustrious Russian stronger — 
malachite. When the name was scarcely 
known in England, there waji another 
analogous substance well known to our 
jewellers and wearers of jewels — turquoise. It 
IS curious to trace the points of resemblance 
between them. Both occur in small portions 
mostly rounded, imbedded in other rocks. 
Both owe their colour to copper. Both can 
with care ho cut, and both receive an exquisite 
polish. Tlio chief diffbrence Ls, that while tho 
Olio presents various tints of rich green, the 
other has a delicate blue or greenish blue 
colour. As the m&lachitc ntliuirers have, 
almost to this day, been mu-^h in doubt 
whether malachite ought to be considered a 
Btone ; so was turquoise for many years a 
mystery ; it being a matter for speculation not 
only what it is, but whence it comes. Some 
persons thought ihat turquoisie is a sort of 
fossil ivory titij^d ivith copper ; while others 
stoutly maintained its claim to the rank of a 
true mineral. There appear, indeed, to ho 
diOerent kinds of turquoise, owing their blue 
colour more or less to the presence of a little 
copper ; and it is supposed that .some of the 
specimens which contain phosphoric aijd are 
bones or teeth of animals, mineralised by the 
cirocta of a turquoise solution. Be this as it 
may, tho Turks and Persians ore amazingly 
fond of turquoise ; they wear it as a gem in 
diadems and bracelets ; they employ it as an 
adornment for the hilts of swords and the 
handles of knives ; and they value it as an 
amulet or Lilisraan. It is near Nishaporc, in 
Persia, that tho truo turquoise is chiefiy 
found. It is generally attached in small 
pieces to porphyritie rock, at some depth 
below the surface of the ground ; but some- 
times it seems to have bubbled out from the 
rock in the form of Uttio beads or pimples : 
white, nt other times, the blue turquoise matter 
pervades the flssurcb of the rock in the ^orm of 



4 



\ 



94 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CoBAncUd if 



veins. Tt thiia becomes evident that turquoise 
has either been at one time liquiik-d like 
malachite, or h.is been in a molten state by 
heat The mines belong to the Shah, and 
he farms tSem out to the villagers who dig 
for the turquoii'e. The prwluce is either sold 
to travelling merchants who come to the 
villages, or it is sent for sale to Meshed. The 
lapidaries in that city cut and polish the 
turquoise, and bring it into the various forms 
fitted for ornamental use ; and the gems thus 
made find their way, by means of the 
merchant caravans, to Herat, Candahar, 
Turkey, Bokhara, and other countries. Such 
at lca.st used to be the case when Mr. Baillie 
Fra.wr travelled and wrote; but Persia is 
such an out-of-the-way place in these our 
railway days, that it is difficult to know 
what IS doing there at present AVc have 
Shylock'a authority that a turquoise, especially 
if given by Leah to a bachelor, is worth 
a " wilderness of monkeys ;" but notwith- 
standing this indefinitely lai^e valuation, 
turquoises are much less known in Europe 
than in the East Whatever may be the 
analogies between the green Russian and the 
blue Persian, however, there is this difference 
— the malachite is used as a veneer, and the 
turquoise is not 

TRUST AND NO TRUST. 

I MEET my friend Claypaw once or twice 
In the year, commonly in Cheapside ; now 
and then at a friend's house. When we meet 
he shakes hands with me in a formal friendly 
way, and looks round the corner of mo for 
the bits of shirt that ought to be apparent at 
my elbows. They ought to be, but are not 
yet apparent; and Claypaw is, I fear, dis- 
gusted at the slowness with which I proceed 
towards the verification of his prediction. 
For Claypaw is a practical man, a man who 
knows the world, and ho has booked me for 
a fast coach on the road to ruin. I am all 
that he is not ; if he, therefore, dubs himself 
with justice practical, I must be fantastical. 
Nevertheless I feed, and clothe, and house 
my-^elf, take care of Mrs. Green, and lay by 
some provision for the future. Mis.<ing, no 
doubt, many a pound, T hit upon a good deal 
of pleasure : life is, indeed, much pleasanter 
to me than Claypaw finds it Claypaw, 
shoulil this meet your eye, yoti will know 
that it is the writing of your cousin Phineas 
Green, whose wife and seven children ought 
lonj; since to have rubbed all the nap out of 
his coat; Green, the unpractical man, the 
theorist — and here ho beards you. 

At the bottom of my worldly theorising lies 
—as you know, Claypaw— the firm belief 
that men and women are, in the main, good 
fellows ; ami that because I happen never in 
my life to have seen A. B. (one of the eight 
hundred million, the pleasure of whose 
acquaintAncc it has been unfortunately im- 
possible for ine to make) I have no ri^'bt to 



iL™^ 



set A. B. down as untnist worthy, fence about 
when I hold communication with A. B., or 
expect from A. B. anj' injury whatever. 
You, Claypaw, tell me that by this theory I 
lay myself open to be cheated right and left, 
that I have been already seriously bitten 
once or twice, and that I shall get a bite that 
will be fatal presently. I am at i.ssuc with 
you there. 

Of course I do not mean to propose that, in 
the present state of the world, men should 
let any large stake depend too lightly on the 
assumed credit of a stranger. Let it l>e 
granted that I should not think it theoretically 
proper to place the key of Mrs. Green's 
pantry in the hands of the aforesaid A. B., 
without receiving from some X. Y. Z. of 
known respectability assurance that A. B. 
also was worthy of respect Such proper 
a.ssurance could be sought in no distrustful 
spirit. In all smaller matters I am theo- 
retically disposed until I sec rca.son to the 
contrary to ttkc any man's good will and 
honesty at once for granted. 

Again, I should say that I approve bcariily 
of every business arrangement or strict habit 
of oversight which makes it difficult for a 
dishonest action to escape discovery, because 
in that way temptations to crime are much 
lessened ; and though we may be in the main 
good folk-s, wo are in grain also peccabla 
We ought not to trust one another with oor 
eyes shut. Let us work cheerily ; but ki 
every man have sense enough to Icnow vha 
an undue advantage has been taken of hii 
confidence. Wo need not bite and ring 
every coin we touch, and we may tain to 
ourselves, now and then, a bad one n- 
suspiciously ; but we ought, nevertbeldi^ ■■ 
a rule, to know the look of a bad sbiS^[; 
Let us deal so with men in worldly inir 
course. 

Before T show you by examples, my dtf 
cousin, how it is that I am not yet thm^ 
bare, T must lay down as an abstract p ri ndpli 
another uf my theories which you regard,! 
know, as a finger-post to shame. I attest 
no mystifications, make no struggle to or- (I 
round myself with false appearances, letewf 
man know fairly and freely w much of ■' 
ways, means, or opinions, as it may pn6 
him — not mc — to be acquainted with, ad 
take my chance. You tell me that, as I pt 
no such candour in return (so, at least, J« 
believe), I expose all my weak points * 
people prompt to take advantage of thcOi 
throw away my armour to fight men «k* 
come against mc harnessed cap-a-pie. if JM 
be rights Claypaw, and if I do (as I don'^ 
live in a state of daily battle amonft folks wbi 
have thrown truth aside, I think the W 
must be that they have cast off tlicir aimoo; 
not I mine. 

Those are my two main theories, prsLtial 
frienil. I am for a path through bright ligk 
and free air, yon for a burrow undcrgTOiiii: 
I would be a lark ; you would be a mo!e. 1 



Ckila BakMrn.) 



TRUST AND NO TRUST. 



118 



walk with my ncighboar arm-in-arm as « 
friend, you follow with an eye upon his pockets. 
As a man of business you reply thnt the mole 
turns up anJ stores up-man}' a treasure, but 
that the liiik finds ncitliiT worms nor furthnuts 
ill the empty sky. A}iO that I get no butter 
for my pui>nips from the soft wonls of my 
neighbour, while it is you only wlio know 
how to RL't at his purse. It is for me (o 
stai-vc, for you to fiitten. But you see, Clay- 
paw, I do not starve. 

That brewery transaction. There, you 
think, you Imve me on the hip. Didn't I go 
and invest all my capitAl in partnership with 
a ptranpor whom I took to be an honest man, 
but who turned out to be a scamp 7 Didn't 
I gvt involved? Wasn't I forced to borrow? 
Didn't I narrowly escape bankruptcy ? Didn't 
I inCTir oblipttions that were for years a drag 
upon my after life ; hadn't I to eat bread 
for years when I was earning cike? And 
wa.«n't that enough to .Kickcn mc of putting 
confidence in man ? Mr. Claypaw, to all j'our 
first question*, yes; but to your last, emphati- 
cally no. That brewery transaction is the 
source of half my belief in tlio goodness of 
humanity. 

When I vras a young man and wroto poetry, 
my licart was shattered three several times 
— once by Polly Bacon, aged eleven — but 
her « liora once I loved the most, [ soon forgot 
I had loved at all. My ill-fated livart next 
bcoaire an abandoned urn on account of 
Mary Loiii'iji .lohason, who was too like a 
dre;uii of ileavcn to Vw merited by rac, and 
went to a school nt Tonbridge Wells, from 
which she went (o an aunt in Ireland for the 
holidays. My breast then thrilied before the 
look of Mariu Susannah, but before I wag 
niiiettM.'!! ^ears old I sang on account of her, 
in the spint of a poet who in those days wa^ 
a favourite of mine, 

"Awny! away! my ei\rly rlruain, 
Kemeiiibraiiixi never inn^t nwuke: 

Oh I wliere in L«tl>e'» fiiblod ittroamt 
My lool^b heart, be still, or break." 

It would not bo still, and it broke. Now 
while 80 many breakagu.i were going on 
within me, I was not at all contented with 
the world. It was a great alistraction. 
Something very hard and very cold. My 
goal iK-gan with an S for Kunimer, the 
world with a W for winter. They were op- 
posites. It never occurred to me that the 
world io which I sulked was a great universe 
of souls. 

How r despised money! The pelf for 
which men sold thcmaclves, the calf they 
wonshippcd, when wm not even I a much 
more proper calf for them to honour t That 
men with money comforted their parcnt.s in 
old age, fed and instructed children ; that it 
represented physical existence, and that the 
struggle for it was ordained in Heaven as a 
metluxi of dcvelojiing 80cief3', of widening 
the human intellect, of testing, exercising 



strengthening the virtues that aro in ua, I 
never then so much as dreamed. I said tliat 
men kept their hearte locked up in their 
cash-boxes, and called the search for gold a 
sperits of slavery, coinparetl it to forced toil- 
ing in the mines. For then I was too young 
to see what some have never yet discovered, 
tliat out of the active honest struggle, even 
for the gold we sneer at, ought to come iho 
health and freedom of the spirit ; that the 
mind so labouring and putting forth all its 
resources and its strength, !■! as the boily 
that becomes athletic by good honest toil in 
the free air ; that the mind with few ilesirea 
to carry it abroad is as the body locked in 
jail, or glowing cumbrous and unwholesome 
in the hermit's cell If money bo loved, not 
for itself, but tor its uses (truly they sutfer 
who misuse it), I have begun now to think 
that it lies at the root not only of all com- 
merce, all civilisation, but that it gives rise 
to nine-tenths of all the strong and active 
virtue in the world, as truly as ever it can 
have bcon said to beget ainc-tenllis of all the 
vice. 

Now, my dear cousin, I got these very 
theoretical opinions out of my unlucky 
brewery transaction. I had sung about the 
Hollow World, and the false [mm-] that made 
up the triuin|ihs on it> .stage. Thercarter I 
made my ilcbut in it nnd broke down. But I 
wa-s not hissed. The little bark nf my for- 
tunes after I \vu\ Ifiuuclied it w.vs unfortu- 
nately bonnled by a pirate who hung out 
false colour.-: ; T was allured, plundered, taken 
in tow for a short time, and cut adrift. But 
so adrift I found that the ships on the high 
sens were not all pirate vessels, an<l that their 
captains were not dead to the requirements 
of a vessel in distresw. 

I know, my dear Claypaw, your distaste for 
metaphorical statements of all kinds. I beg, 
therefore, to inform you plainly that I had 
reason to feel the Hearts, with a capital II, of 
business men beating quite wartuly, often un- 
der form.ll letters three lines long, that began 
with " Mr. Phineas Green, Sir," and ended 
with " obedient scrvantSs Firm, Brothers, and 
Co.'^ I found that so long as any Firm, 
Brothers, and Co. felt satisfied that Mr. 
Phineas Green, Sir, was trying no experi- 
ments of tactic! with them, they met truth 
with trust, candour with liberality and kind- 
nes.s. Some there were who went selfishly 
to work, but I found the world on the whole, 
though I had such bad luck in it, warm to the 
hone. Though nobody would do my own 
work for me, and supply my purse out of 
his own cotfer.s, I expected that from none 
But I found reason to e.xpcct and did receiv 
from A. B., from C. ])., from E. F., and 
from a whole alphabet of strangers, a full 
return for all frank trust that I was Liught 
to put in them. With very few exception*, I 
had only to hoh'evc men good and find them 
so. Cousin Claypaw, should the Bank of 
England ever break, and should you ever 



I 



96 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



tumble to the bottom cif the hill that you arc 
diligently mounting with no help but your 
own staff, of course y»u will not sit lamenting 
at the bottom, but let me advise you not again 
to work your way up in proud silence. You 
may get on ikster, but, believe me, the 
fliinbiug is much pleasantcr when cheerful 
talk beguiles the way, when you are ready to 
k't any fellow-traveller hold out a hand to 
help your efforts where the hill is steep, 
and not less ready to stand still and lend 
a pull yourself when it is wanted. You 
may get on faster with your iron pole, but 
it is my theory that you would get on 
better if you went in company with flesh, 
and blood, and bone. Your distrust may be 
very practical, my worldly doctrine may be 
very theoretical, but I abide by the belief 
that there are more hands in the world ready 
to help a man than fists ready to knock him 
down. 

Now, my dear cousin, if my theory bo 
worth a farthing, can you tell me why there 
should be any need for all the trouble that 
\vu take about what arc called, very properly, 
appearances! If the appearance correspond 
to the reality, there will be no need to sec 
about its manufiicture. It would be waste 
study, indeed, to take thought of what we 
should do to make a globe seem to be round. 
If tbc appearance be at variance with truth, 
we make it to our hurt and damage ; always 
to the damage of our comfort, often to tlie 
damage of our worldly prospects which, in 
such cases, can be looked aftci; in no thorough- 
ly straightforward way. You practical men 
think much about appearances, and may 
get profit out of them : to me, as a theo- 
retical man, they would be fatal. It is not 
the lark's wish or interest to seem to be a 
parrot 

I know that a great deal of the struggle 
for appearances — as, for example, the desire 
to live behind the largest possible brick 
frontage, though one must rob a lodger to 
obtain the means of doing so — comes oftcner 
of weakness than dishonesty. I know, also, 
that any man who is disposed to carry out 
my theories, will find it, seen even from its 
own point of view, the most complete mistake. 
The world does not respect people for seeming 
what they are not — it generally finds out 
sooner or later what they are. On the con- 
trary, let any one of my sect of theorists defy 
comment by showing himself undisguisedly 
for what he is, and the poor cowards of 
appearance-makers will bo the first to respect 
him for his courage, and to wish that they 
could be as bold themselves. He may go 
about with a true seeming of poverty, but he 
will find it less despised than the false seem- 



ing of wealth. A man who desires friends and 
neighbours in their intercourse with him as a 
matter of courtesy to take for granted that 
he is what he is not, pitches a false key, struns 
the voices of his companions,and converts good- 
nature itself into a daily system of pretences, 
lie throw.4 his whole social position Just so 
much out of joint as to create petty discom- 
fort everywhere, and beget petty distrusts. 
Nor was this all — as most people know — sheer 
nonsense. Nobody worth listening to will 
tell you that he regards his friends in any 
proportion whatever to the amount of brick- 
work and upholstery surrounding them. 
When I was first married to Matilda Jane 
I could have said, "My income makes it 
proper that I should assume a certain social 
status." 

But there were the brewery debts. Very 
well. I made no secret of them, attempted 
no sccmings, lived on a little, and maintained 
really a better and sounder socinl status among 
the very same friends that I should have had 
dancing quadrilles, if I had thought that 
neces.«ary, in a drawing-room. Between five 
and nine years ago my first three children, 
Matilda Jlaria, Pliincas Ernest, and Victoria 
Kcgia, though I had then (but for the 
brewer}') an ample income, went withoat 
nursemaids in their infancy. To save their 
mother's arms, I carried them about con- 
stantly myself under a fire of eyes ih»i 
London neighbours. It was an honest thing 
to do, and so I did not mind the look of it 
Now the conventional principle in my wt^ 
hours and those people whom I met rinifil 
them at first to reflect that " it looked m to 
sec a gentleman carrying a child in \Kg- 
clothes down a public street" Deeper An 
the conventions lay another feeling, wtitk 
suggested that it was no very bad or qnetr 
thing after all to see an infant in its fauflA 
arms ; and that the public, which is made 9 
wholly of Others, mothers, and children, m 
no reason to be scandalized. It was not (k 
the contrary, I found new friendships nuit 
the faster, and old friendships made the firatf 
for all such proofs of resolute adherence if 
my worldly theories. Paulina Matflda,Mr 
last child, lies now in the arras of a nane 
maid, born to a house deficient in no itSMB- 
able comfort 

Are you now able to understand bov ft 
is that tlte world, my dear Claypaw, tnili 
me as a friend, and why it is of no use Ir 
you to look round at my elbows t You n9 
predict my ruin as a theorist ; nevertheha 
my coat will remain whole, I think. LetM 
shake hand.s, therefore, more warraly thenctf 
time we meet 



i 



" FamiliaT in their Mvutht as HOUSEHOLD WORDS" 




HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A WEEKLY JOURNAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARU-ES DICKENS. 



Voi. Vlll. 



^cELRATH <t BARKER. PUBLISHERS. 

Oirnca X<>* II Sriii'c* «T«ft«T. Xiw Toms. 



Wui.LK No. 184 



FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES. 

We mny assume that we aro not singular 
in entertaining a very great tcndcrat-ss for 
the fttiry literature of our childhood. What 
«nch:int'fil IIS then, and i-s ciptivaling a tnillion 
of younir fiincics now, has, at the a.-ni)c blessed 
tirao of life, enchanted vast host.i of men and 
women who have done their lonj" day's work, 
•ad laid their grey head:J down lo rest. It 
trould be hard to estiiii/itc the amount of 
gunttenesii and mercy tlint has mode its way 
•niong us through thc<e slight channelij. 
ForhMraiice, coiird'Ay, cou^idenition for the 
poor .ind aged, kind treatment of anim.tls, the 
lo^e of nature, abhorrence of tyniuny mid 
bmte force — tnnny such pi)^)d things have 
been first nourished in llic child's he.irt by 
this powerful aid. It ha.-; greatly helped to 
keep us, in some sense, ever young, by pre- 
serving through our worldly ways one slender 
track not overgrown with weeds, where we 
may walk with children, sharing their de- 
lights. 

In an utilitarian agi?, of all other times, it 
is a nnnttiT of grave iinport-nncc that Fairy 
tslcs should be respecte<l. Our English red 
tape is l*x) magnificently red ever to be em- 
ployed in the tying up of such trifles, but 
every one who has considered the subject 
knows full well th.it a nation without fancy, 
without some romance, never did, never 
can, never will, hold a great place under the 
sun. The theatre, having done its worst 
to dMtroy these admirable fictions — an«t 
having in & most exemplary manner destroyed 
itself, its arti.>it<^ and its audiences, in that 
perversion of iU duty — it becomes doubly 
important that the little books themselves, 
nurseries of fancy as they are, should be pre- 
served. To preserve them in their usefulne.s,*, 
they must be as much prtservcd in their 
gimpltcity, and purity, and innocent extrava- 
gance, as if they were actual fact. Whoso- 
ever alters them to suit his own opinions, 
whatever they are, is guilty, to our thinking, 
of an net of I )rc .sumption, and appropriates to 
himself what 'Iocs not belong to him. 

We havo liitoly olMcrved, with pain, the 
intniftion of ft Whole Ilog of unwieldy dimen- 
Bions into the fairy flower garden. The 
rooting of the animal among the roses woiihl 
in itself have nwakened in us nothing but 

Vol. Vni.-No. l&l 



indignation ; our pain nri.scs from his being 
violently driven in by a m;>n of genius, our 
own beloved friend, .Mu. (ieokc.e CariKsiiASK. 
That incompamble artist is, of all men, the 
last who should lay his exquisite hand on 
fairy text In his own art he understands it 
.so perfectly, and illu.^tnUes it so beautifully, 
so humorously, so wisely, that he should 
never lay down his etching noodle to " edit ** 
the Ogre, to whom with that little instru- 
ment he can render such extraordinary 
ju.stico. But, to "editing" Ogres, and Hop- 
o'-my-thumb.s, and their fiimilics, our dear 
morali.st has in a rash moment Ukon, as a 
means of propagating tlio doctrines of Total 
Abstinence, Prohibition of the sale of spirit- 
uous liquors, Free Trade, and Popular Edu- 
cation. For the introduction of these topics, 
ho has altered the text of n fairy story ; and 
against his right to do any such thing we pro- 
test with all our might and m^tin. Of his 
likewi.sc altering it to advertise that excellent 
series of plates, " The Bottle," we .say nothing 
more than that we foresee a new and im- 
proved edition of Goody Two Shoes, edited 
by E. Moses and Son ; of the Dervi.sh with 
the bo.x of ointment, edited by Professor 
Holloway; and of Jack and the ItcaiisLalk 
edited by Mary Wedlake, the popular 
authoress of Do you bruise your oats yet 

Now, it makes not the least ditTerenc-e to 
our objection whether we agree or disagree 
with our worthy friend, Mr. €ruik?hank, in 
the opinions ho interpolutes upon in old 
fairy story. Whether good or bad in them- 
selves, they are, in that relation, like the famous 
definition of a weed ; a thing growing up ia 
a wrong place He has no greater moral justi- 
fication in altering the harmless little books 
than we shouJd have in altering his best 
etchings. If such a precedent were followed 
wo must soon bijcoine disgusted with the old 
stories into which modern personages so ob- 
tnided themselves, and the stories tlicmselves 
must .so(m be lost. With seven Blue Beards 
in th'" iu'ld, each coming at a gallop from hij 
own platform mounted on a foaming hobby, 
a generation or two hence would not know 
which was which, and the grout original 
Blue Beard would be confouniled with tho 
counterfeits. Imagine a Tiital abstinence 
edition of Robinson Crusoe, with tlio rum 
ieft out Imagine a Peace edition, with tho 



I 



I !)3 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS, 



(Coodmeltd tf 



I 



gunpowder left out, and the rum left in. Ima- 
gine a Vugotarian edition, with the goat's flesh 
Kilt out Imagine a Rontucky edition, to in- 
troduce a flogging of that 'tamal old nigger 
Friday, twice a week. Imagine an Abori- 
ginos Protection Society edition, to deny the 
cannibalism and make Kobinson embrace 
tlm amiable savages whenever they landed. 
Kobinson Crusoe would bo "edited" out of 
}iis island in a hundred j'eans, and the island 
would be swallowed up in the editorial ocean. 
Among the other learned professions we 
h.'ive now the Platform profes-sion, chiefly cx- 
iroisi'd by a new and meritoriou.s class of 
conunercial travellers who go about to take 
the sense of meetings on various articles : 
some, of a very superior description : some, 
not quite BO good. Let us write the story of 
Cinderella, " edited " by one of these gentle- 
men, doing a good stroke of busines.<, and 
having a rather extensive mission. 

OscE upon a time, a rich man an<l his wife 
were the parents of a lovely daughter. She 
was a beautiful child, and became, at her own 
desire, a member of the Juvenile Kands of 
llojie when ahe waa only four years of age. 
When this child was only nine years of age 
her mother died, and all the Juvenile Itands 
of Hope in her district — the Central dis- 
trict, number five hundred and twenty-seven — 
formed in a procession of two and two, 
amounting to fifteen liundre<l, and followed 
her to the Krave, singing chorus Number 
forty -two, " come," &c. This grave was out- 
side the town, and under the direction of the 
Local Board of Health, which reported at 
certain stated intervals to the General Uoard 
of Health, Whitehall. 

The motherless little girl was very sor- 
rowful for the loss of her mother, and so 
was her father too, at first ; but, after a year 
was over, he married again — a very cross 
widow lady, with two proud tyrannical 
daughters as cro.sB as herself. He was aware 
that he could have made his marriage with 
this lady a civil process by simply making 
a declaration before a Registrar ; but he was 
averse to this conrso on religious grounds, 
and, being a member of the Montgolflan per- 
suasion, was married according to the cere- 
monies of that respectable church by the 
llcvcrcnd Jared Jocks, who improved the 
occasion. 

He did not live long with his disagreeable 
wife. Having lieen shamefblly accustomed to 
shave with warm water instead of cold, which 
he oujrht to have used Csee Medical Appendix 
11. and C), his undermined constitution could 
not bear up against her temper, and he soon 
died. Then, this orphan was cruelly treated 
by her stepmother and the two daughters, 
and was forced to do the dirtiest of the 
kitchen work ; to scour the saucepans, wash 
the dishes, and light the fires — which did not 
consume their own smoke, but emitted a dark 
vapour prejudicial to the bronchial tubes. 



The only warm place in the house where she 
was free from ill treatment was the kitchen 
chimney-corner ; and as .she used to sit down 
there, among the cinders, when her work was 
done, the proud fine sisters gave her Uie name 
of Cinderella. 

About this time, the Kinj- of the land, who 
never made war again.st anybouy, and allowed 
everybody to make war against him — which 
was the reason why his subjects were the 
greatest mnnufncturcrs on earth, and always 
lived in secunty and peace — ^gavo a great 
feast, which was to last two days. This 
splendid banquet was to consist entirely of 
artichokes and gruel ; and from among those 
who were invited to it, and to hear the de- 
lightful speeches aflcr dinner, the King's son 
was to choose a bride for himself. The proud 
fine sisters were invited, but nobody knew 
anything about poor Cinderella, and she was 
to stay at home. 
I She was so sweet-tempered, however, that 
she a.ssisted the haughty creatures to dres^ 
anil bestowed her admirable taste upon them 
.as freely as if they had been kind to her. 
Neither did she laugh when they broke seven- 
teen stay-laces in drcs.sing ; for, although she 
wore no stays herself, being sufficiently ac- 
quainted with the anatomy of the human 
figure to be aware of the destructive effects 
of tight-lacing, she always reserved her 
opinions on tliat subject for the Regenerative 
Record (price three halfpence in a neat 
wrapper), which all good peoplo take in, and 
to which she was a Contributor. 

At length the wished for moment arrived^ 
and the proud fine sisters swept away to ths 
feast and speeches, leaving Cinderella in ttl 
chimney-corner. But, she could always occoDf 
her mind with the general question of US 
Ocean Penny Postage, and she had in her 
pocket an unread Oration on that subject 
made by the well known Orator, Xehemiik 
Nicks. She was lost in the fervid eloqnena 
of that talented Apostle when she becaiM 
aware of the presence of one of those femab 
relatives which (it may not be generally 
known) it is not lawful for a man to many. 
I allude to her grandmother. 

"Why so solitary, my child?" said thi 
old lad}' to Cinderella. 

" Al.as, grandmother," returned the po« 
girl, " my sisters have gone to the feast and J 
speeches, and here sit I in the ashei '■ 
Cinderella !" i 

"Never," crie<l the old lady with anima- 
tion, " shall one of the Band of Hope despair! 
Run into the garden, my dear, and fetch at 
an American Pumpkin I American, bccami 
in some parts of that independent countiy, 
there arc prohibitory laws against the sale of 
alcoholic drinks in any form. Also ; bccaoM 
America produced (among many great pump- 
kins) the glory of her sex, Mrs. CoIomI 
Bloomer. None but an American Putnpkia 
will do, my child." 

Cinderdla ran into the gaiden, and broqg^ 



CWriM OkkvM-) 



FRAUDS ON THE FAIRIES. 



Ot 



the largast American Pumpkin she could find. 
This virtuously democralic vegetable her 
^TTtndmoUier immediately changed into a 
splendid couch. Then, she sent her for six 
mice from the mouse-trap, which she changed 
into prancing horses, free from the ohnoxjous 
and ojiprefsiru posl-horse duly. Then, to the 
ral-lrip in the stable for a rat, which she 
changed to A .stato-coachman, not amenable 
to the iniquitous aiuessed taxes. Then, to look 
behind a wttcring'-pot for six lizards, which 
she changed into six footmen, each with a 
petition in his hand ready to present to the 
Prince, signed by fifty thousani. jfcrsons, in 
fkTOur of the early closing movement. 

" But grandmother," gaid Cinderella, stop- 
ping in the midst of her delight, and looking 
at her clothes, " how can I go to the palace 
in these miM:rable rags ?" 

"Bo not uneasy about that, my dear," 
returned her grandmother. 

Upon which the old lady touched her with 
her wand, her ra^ disafipcared, and she was 
l)i-a.uiifulty dretJsed, Not in the present cos- 
tuini? of the fuwale .sex, wlu'ch hag been proved 
to be at once grossly imniode.st and absurdly 
inconvenient, but in rich sky-blue natin pan- 
CaIoods' ^rallitrod at the an!ik>, a puce-coloured 
•olin peliii.'^e sprinkled with silver flowcrii, and 
3 vtry broail Leghorn hat The hat was 
clia>trly ornamented with a rainbow-cololircd 
ribbon hanging in two bell-pulls down the 
Imck; the ptmtjdoon.s were ornamented wiih 
a, ^'oldi.'rt stiipe ; and the effect of the whole 
WHS unsja'akably sensible, feminine, and 
retiring. Lastly, the old lady put on Cinde- 
rellii's fet't a pair of ahoea made of glass: ob- 
serving tVrnt but for the abolition of the duty 
oil lliat article, it never could have been 
devoted to auch a purpose; the effect of all 
Htich taxes b«ing to cramp invention, and em- 
liarrai» the producer, to the manifest injury 
of 111 5 consumer. When the old lady had 
made these wise remarks, she dismissed Cin- 
<ierclU to the feast nnd speeches, charging 
bcr by no means to renuun after twelve 
oVIoi'k at nig) it. 

Thi- arrival of Cinderella at the Monster 
Cat!; rn; • urcxiiiccd a great excitement. As 
s '■ m the United Stales had just 

m i lie King do take the chair, ami 

a.-* tilt uioiiun had been seconrleJ nnd carrieil 
tinaniiiiiiiibly, the King himself could not go 
forth lo receive her. But His Royal Highness 
the l*rince (who was to move the second 
rcsioliilionj, went to the door to hand her 
from her carriage. This virtuous Prince, 
bi>ing coinplctily covered from head lo foot 
with Total .\bslinence Medals, shone as if 
he wire iittired in complete armour; while 
the intipirii'ijr flrains of the Peace Brass 
Hand in the gullery (composed of the Lamb- 
kin Family, i ii^hfren in number, whn cannot 
bo too much encouraged) awakcm-d additional 
enihiiHigintti, 

The King's son handed Cinderella to one 
of the reserved seata for pink tickets, on the 



platfonn, and fell in love with her imuicoi- 
ately. His appetite deserted hiin ; he scarcely 
tu.sted his artichokes, and merely trilletl with 
his gruel. When the speeches began, and 
Cinderella wrappi-d in the elorjuvnce of the 
two inspired delugntes who occupie<i the 
entire evening in speaking to the first Keso- 
hition, occasionally cried, " Hear, he:ir!" the 
sweetness of her voice cotofileted her eon- 
quci^t of the Prince's heart But, indeed iho 
whole male portion of the a.ssembly loved 
her — and doubtless would have done .so, even 
if she had been less beautiful, in consi'quence 
of the conlra.st which her dress presented lo 
the bold and ridiculous garments of the other 
ladies. 

At a quarter before twelve the second 
insjiircd delegate having drunk all the wiiter 
in the decanter, and fainted away, the King 
put the question, " That this Meeting do now 
ailjoiirn until to-morrow," Those who were 
uf tliul ofiinion holding up their hands, nnd 
then those who were of the contnuy, theirs, 
there appeared an immense majority in favour 
ot the resolution which was consequently 
carried. Cinderella got home in safety, and 
heard nothing al' that night, or all next day, 
but the praises of the unknown hidy wilit tho 
sky-blue satin pantaloons. 

When the time for the feast and speeches 
came round again, the cross stcimiothcr 
and the proud fine daughters vi'ent out in good 
time to secure their places. As soon as they 
were gone, Cinderella's grandmother relumed 
and changed her as before. Amid n bliust of 
welcome from the Lambkin family, she was 
agjin handed to the pink seat on the platform 
by His Rovat Highness. 

This gilied Prince was a power''ul speaker, 
and had the evening before him. He rose al 
precisely ten minutes before eight, and was 
greeted with tumultuous cheers and waving 
of handkerchiefs. When the excitement had 
in .some degree subsided, he proceeded to 
address the meeting : who were never tired 
of listening to speeches, as no gotn! people 
ever arc. He held them enthmllcil for four 
hours and a quarter. Cinderella forgot tho 
time, and hurried away so when she heard 
the first stroke of twelve, that her beautiful 
dress changed bick to her old rags at tha 
door, and she left one of her glass shoes 
behind The Prince took it up, and vowed 
— that is, made a declaration before n magis- 
trate; for he olyected on principle to tho 
multiplying of oaths — that ho would only 
marrj' the charming creature \o w hom that 
shoe belonged. 

He accordingly caused an adrcrtiscmcnt to 
that effect to be inserted in oil the newspapers ; 
for, the ailvertiscmcnt duty, an impost most 
unjust in principle and most unfair in ope- 
ration, did not cxi.st in that country; ncithiT 
was the sUmp on newspapers known in lh»| 
land — which had as many newspapers as iU» 
United States, and got as much good out of 
them. Innumerable ladies aitswcrcd ihi 



"1 



I 



100 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



(CkndacMbr 



L 



Advertisement and pretended that the shoe 
was theirs; but, everyone of them was unable 
to get her foot into it The proud fine sisters 
answered it, and tried their feet with no 
greater success. Then, Cinderella, who had 
answered it too, came forward amidst their 
scornful jeers, and the shoe slipped on in a 
moment. It is a remarkable tribute to the 
improved and sensible fashion of the dress 
her grandmother had given her, that if she 
had not worn it the Prince would probably 
never have seen her feet 

The marriage wa.s solemnized with great 
rejoicing. When the honeymoon was over, 
the King retired from public life, and was suc- 
ceeded by the Prince. Cinderella, being now 
a queen, applied herself to the government of 
the country on enlightened, liberal, and free 
principlca All the people who ate anything 
she did not cat, or who drank anything she 
did not drink, were imprisoned for life. All 
the newspaper offices from which any doc- 
trine proceeded that was not her doctrine, 
were burnt down. All the public speakers 
proved to demonstration that if there were 
any individual on the face of the earth who dif- 
fered from them in anything, that individual 
was a desiiniing ruffian and an abandoned 
monster. She also threw open the right of 
voting, and of being elected to public offices, 
and of making the laws, to the whole of her 
sex ; who thus came to be always gloriously 
occupied with public life and whom nobody 
dared to love. And tlicy all lived happily 
ever afterwards. 

Frauds on the Fairies once permitted, we 
sec little reason why they may not come to 
this, and great reason why they may. Tlie 
Vicar of Wakefield was wisest when* he was 
tired of being always wise. The world is too 
much with us, early and late. Leave this 
precious old escape from it, alone. 



TRIBUNALS OF COMMERCE. 

In France, Germany, Spain, Portugal and 
Sweden, men of commerce have obtained, 
since generations past, tribunals other than 
of law, by which their difTerencca are amica- 
bly and speedily adjusted. No sooner has a 
dispute arisen than the di.oputants present 
themselves to one of these friendly councils; 
which does all that a court of law could do, 
except delay, and a great deal which no legal 
tribunal could accomplish. These councils are 
at once special juries and judges. In Paris 
they are composed of a president ten judges, 
and sixteen assistant judges, selccteii from 
the commercial inhabitants of the district, 
who sit in sections so arranged that each 
memlKsr performs duty twice within fifteen 
days. Their labours are discharged gratui- 
tously ; they take cognizance not only of all 
conmiercial disputes but of bankruptcies. 

The leading feature in the proceedings of 



these councils is despatch. So simple arc the 
forms of procedure that a decision is, in most 
cases, obtained immediately. The utmost 
time allowed for defendant to appear in conrt 
is twenty-four hours, whilst in certain caeca 
requiring urgent decision the president can 
command the appearance of those concerned 
within an hour, if his messengers can find 
them. The cases arc conducted and defended 
by the disputants themselves, the interference 
of attorneys being disallowed ; onlv a few 
" licenciates," well acquainted with t^c com- 
mercial law of the country, arc permitted 
to assist in expediting cases through the 
courts. That business in these places it 
wonderfully facilitated will be evident when 
I mention that no longer ago than eighteen 
hundred and forty-eight several hundred suits 
were dispo.sed of in one day before the council 
of the Seine. Of course this could only be 
done by weeding out all extraneous matters, 
by rigorously conforming to tho known 
usages of commerce, and by having seven] 
judges sitting at the same time. 

The bankruptcy section of this com- 
mercial tribunal had been not less actively en- 
gaged. It is on record that, between the 
years eighteen hundred and thirty-six and 
eighteen hundred and fifty — that is to say 
during fifteen years — not fewer than tax. hon- 
dred and sixty-four thousand fire bandred 
and sixteen decisions had been giiven : which 
is an average of forty-four thousand thm 
hundred and one judgments in each vcar. 

I would, however, remark that it is not 
only in expediting proceedings that the tri- 
bunals of commerce of the Continent an n 
valuable: they sift matters of a techmal 
character with a degree of accuracy wUdk \ 
no amount of legal acumen could pretend tt; ■ 
simply because the men composing them n \ 
intimately acquainted with the details aai I 
usages of every day commercial life. lb | 
reader may poissibly have some very fiuit \ 
idea of the singular technicalities whidh ooet- 
sionally beset and bewilder both counsel taL \. 
judges; but there are few readers who hsn t 
any distinct conception of the difflculties, tU 
blunders, the absurdities, the niiscUef «- j 
tailed by lawyers undertaking to conduct mi i 
juilgcs to decide upon matters pertainiif 1 1 
strictly to trade, manufactures or science. ' 

The rapid strides made by art-manufitctmt, i 
by chemistry applied to industry, by sciena I 
in relation to our most ordinary rcquircmcDH 1 1 
have materially increa.sed the conflict d "l 
interests amongst the commercial part of tbe 
community, and the range of knowledge ne- 
cessary to unravel the intricacies of com- 
mercial and manufacturing disputes. ]bdt 
year tho learned in more law arc bewildend^ 
judges are perplexed, and suitors are St- 
gu.sted with the necessity which compdl 
men of law to wade through statements and 
arguments on topics which are as intelligibli 
to them as one of Southey's poems wouU h 
to a red Indian. 



Imagine for a moment the position of 
counsel employ(?d to iTefuod a suit involring 
gome delicate chemical invention, or a subtle 
point of science. The man of law, although 
a good Latiuist, would nevertheless he at bis 
witH' end to understand one »:ingle iota of the 
atomic theory, to fathom the mysteries of 
free and latent caloric, or to prolju the depths 
of the " Ph'jrimteoj'mia Lo'til'ite'ui\" wr'th 
its terrific array of Sabacetates, Protocar- 
horiates, and Supersulphates. 

Al>out seven years since I was interested 
in some raluabfe improvements in electric 
telegraphs, and applied for protection for 
ihcni by Letters Patent. I was opposed 
by one of the great electrical Professors of 
llio day, on the ground thixt my invention 
was neither more nor less than an infringe- 
ment of his owu patented discoveries. 
Counsel hinl of course to be engaged on both 
Mdes ; and, inasmuch as the points in dispute 
were of a spccLiUy scientific character, my 
barrister underwent several most severe 
drillini;s, in the hope that I should enable him 
to argue my case. Xcvcr shall I forget the 
bewilderment and annoyance be suffered in 
' his anxious endeavours to master the dis- 
tinctive technicalities of the electric scieticc. 
How he floundered amongst negative j)ole8, 
and po- " "':"' uts ; how he impaled him- 
self up" its of " contacting needles." 
He wouiu ,....^ i,iven a dozen new silk gowns 
to have mastered but one half of what I 
vainly endeavoured to drum into his mind 
and memory. Was it indeed possible that 
in a few short hours he could Ik: expected to 
comprehend the inner ditficultics of a science 
which had occupied my time and anjiious 
thoughts for years ? 

As a scientific forioro-hope, I took my 
counsel to my laboratory ; and set the model- 
tcdcgraph in action in his presence. I soon 
Ibund, however, that I was making matters 
worse instead of better. The complicated 
apparatus, the labyrinth of wires, the maze 
of choniical terrni^, tlie entire novelty of the 
scene, completely scattered from the lawyer's 
brain the small conception he had previously 
formed of the process. It was in vain that I 
discnurwd upon the *' metallic circuit ;" he 
slin4>k his head and intimated that that was a 
circuit of which he was not a mero'ier. The 
mention of " battery" he connerteH in some 
way with an assault ca.se ; and, when I en- 
deavoured to explain the nature ot " lateral 
metallic contaijta," it was clear that he iraa- 
rincd 1 was alluding insidiously to his fees. 
Nor was my opponent's counsel in any better 
ph;;ht The judge was still more puzzled 
with the conflicting claims, and so completely 
blended the two opposing inventions in one 
heterogeneous whole, that in the depth of big 
chaotic hcwildenncnt he decided on doing 
that wliich under a wholesome state of things 
should have been done in the first Instance ; 
he referred the case tea practical and scientific 
arbitrator ; thus in fac^ at once constituting 



a most competent Tribunal of Commerce in 
the person of Professor Faraday. 

It is true tliat in certain cases a special 
jury is formed, composed of men supposed to 
bo particularly versed in the matter in hand ; 
yet, although that very expedient demon- 
strates the desirableness of practical tribunals, 
the special jury is too often hampered and 
perplexed r-ither than lided by the laboured 
pleading of learned cuun.4cl ; who deem it 
their duty to talk for a certain time very 
wide of the subject. In llicsc cases, too, 
the matter resting virtually with the jury^ 
the judge — who cannot and docs not attempt 
to form any opinion apart finom theirs — 
becomes a mere automaton. 

It is not long since a circumstance occurred 
in connection with one of those special jury 
cases, which bears so strongly upon tbo 
point I am anxious to illustrate, that I cannot 
refrain from relating it. Like my own case, 
it was a contested point of patent-right; tho 
invention being a machine of peculiar con- 
struction and application. As usual, counsel 
floundered dreadfully amidst cog-wheels, 
sockets, pinions, pistons, bearings, coupling- 
bcxcs, and cranks. The special jury had to 
depend entirely upon the witnesses to form 
the faintest judgment on the merits of the 
csimpeting machines. 

Whi.-n counsel had finished torturing the 
principal witness for the plaintiff, the fDreman 
of tlie jury — a thorouii^hly practical and 
shrewd man of tho world — requested hira 
lo be so good as to repeat carefully his de- 
scription of tho plainttif's machine ; in onler 
that ho might commit it to paper, and thug 
prevent any misconception. The witness 
complied; and on the completion of his 
details, ho was told that as he had been 
a long time in the witness-box he would not 
just then be called upon to hear tho paper 
read over to him, but that it should be 
done on his being called up for re-eiamina- 
tion. The chi«f engineering witne"-* on the 
other sMe was rcqucsttd, ii» a similar manner, 
to detail most eniimtcly tlie several parts of 
Am employer's machinery; and, having done 
so, w:ts in like manner desired to stand on 
one side for the present ; the foreman taking 
down his words also. Further evidence was 
taken ; and eventually the two engineers 
were recalled separately, when the lorcmati 
of the jury, having read over the accounts 
of Uie two distinct machines, asked each of 
them if they felt positive that the description 
therein given was a true and full explanitioti 
of their respective employers' inventions. 
They felt no sort of hcsilation in declaring 
that they did so most complctelj'. 

The foreman then ad<lressed the Court, 
and begged it to observe as a means of test- 
ing the value of the evidence they h.ad just 
received, that he had read the description of 
the defendant's machine to tho {ilaintifTB 
witness, and that of the plaintiff to the 
defendant's witness, and that they had thoa 



loa 



HOUSEHOLD TTGRDS. 



[CMjw toO y 



both sworn to their opponent's specification. 
No (loul)t if they had been left to toll their 
respootivc stories in their own way, without 
the worryinp; of coiinwl, they would not have 
l)cen confused, and would have given clear and 
distinct evidence. The ca.se was eventually 
dc-cided upon the personal inspection of the 
oppnsinf; machines by the members of the 
jury, who thus, after all, acted the part of 
Tribunals of Commerce. 

T remember another circumstance which 
.«till more forcibly illustrates the folly of 
flinging every dispute into a court of law 
whvn a reference to a tribunal of practical 
men would arrange the difference on the 
moment, and for the merest shadow of costs. 
A City merchant had purchased a nnmVx-r of 
cases of foreign goods, — I believe maccaroni. 
M.iny, on being weighed and examined, were 
found to be no more than half full. A hole 
was discovered in these cases, and much of 
the maccaroni had been bitten to pieces, so 
that there could be no doubt but that the 
damnire had been caused by mice. But who 
was to bear the loss ? Certainly not the pur- 
chaser, who had bargained for full cases and 
sound maccaroni. The importer declared that 
the mice must have attacked the goods while 
on the wharf in Thames Street; it being 
inifiossil>le his agents abroad should have 
shipped the animals along with the goods. 
On the other hand the wharfinger protested 
tlint there was not such a thing as a mouse 
to be found upon his premises ; w.hich he had 
liecn at great cost to have made mouse-tight. 

Each party was resolute. Theta.se was placed 
in the hands of " eminent lawyers," and there 
was every prospect of somebody having to pay 
handsomely in addition to the value destroyed 
by the mice. By great good luck the two 
disputants encountered each other one day 
on 'Change; and, happening to ri'latc the 
m.itter with some bitterness to a third person, 
tluy were n.ssurcd by him that, if they chose, 
they could settle the affair in ten minutes 
bi-tween themselves, by only taking a com- 
mon-sense view of the case. He pointed out 
to them the certainty that the direction in 
which the mice-holes were gnawed would 
cli'srly indicate whether the animals had 
entered the boxes whilst lying on the wharf, 
or whether tlicy had been imported in 
them ; which might have occurred fVom the 
boxes having been left open at the port of 
sliii)ment after iwcking. The intruders could 
nut have got in during the voyage ; for, ex- 
<'i:{it in a few coasting vessels, mice are never 
found, as they liave insuperable objections to 
sea-sickness. The whole question was ; — did 
• the mii-e eat their way into the boxes or did 
they eat their way out of them ? If they were 
Italian mice, packed in with the maccaroni, 
wliicli had eaten their way through the case 
for air, the holes would be gnawed and jagged 
witliin, and smooth without; if they were 
Enplish mice, with a taste for maccaroni 
which deal boards could not baulk, the out- 



side of the holes would bear the marks of 
teeth, and the inside would be smooth. The 
matter appeared so simple, when viewed ia 
this light, that both parties agreed to adjust 
their dispute by the appearanc« of the holes 
in the cases. They did so with n ten minutn 
of that time ; and not only saved hundreds of 
pounds, but preserved their former friendly 
feeling, which, had the law-suit gone on, 
would no doubt have been completely at an 
end. 

A thousand similar instances could be ad- 
duced to demonstrate the soundness of tin 
views entertained by those who arc at the pre- 
sent moment using their best exertions to pro- 
mote the fonnation of Tribunals of Commerce 
in this country. Commercial differences, and 
many others of a similar character, cannot be 
met by the common law of the land : they 
require something more than a mere definition 
of legal rights for their proper adjustment 
Even were it always possible for lawyers to 
conduct and decide upon such coses, the 
delay involved ia frequently much more 
damaging than the costliness of the pro- 
ceedings : often indeed so ruinous that a 
commercial man will prefer submitting to* 
any amount of injustice rather than bg 
involved in the delay, the vexations, and the 
spoliation of a law-suit A case which was 
heard and argued at no more remote period 
than this last August is well worthy of a^ 
tcntion ; ina.smuch as it does something mora 
than support the arguments, already Btnmg, 
in favour of practical common sense tribowi 
for practical common sense cases. It shon 
how completely the most eminent men cf 
science, the most accomplished student^ tke 
deepest philosophers, may differ upon a peW 
of practical chemistry or geology. The ttU 
took place in Edinburgh, before the kri 
president and a jury, as to whether a certiil 
mineral substance found in certain lands ii 
Scotland was or was not coal. It appeani 
that the plaintiff had leased some land ti I 
the defendant on certain terms of royal^, - 
for the purpose of digging for eoaL Thi 
latter had succeeded in turning up very laigi 
quantities of a black inflammable subetanci 
richly impregnated with hydrogenous pit 
and, as such, very valuable for gas-work% >- 
although not so suitable for ordinaiy AmL t 
The speculation became, in consequence, na- 
expectedly remunerative to the workers; and i 
mortifying in proportion to the proprietor; 
who, beholding the huge mine of w^Itk i 
opened by others on his land, bronefat tb< 
action to try whether — as the right ne W 
leased away was solely and exclusively the 
exploitation of coal — the substance dug vf 
by the lessees was, or was not, coal ; for, if ' 
not coal, they had no right to it The ' 
plaintiff, therefore, by his counsel maintained 
that the mineral worked by the defendaat i 
was not coal ; and, although he was not ptc- ' 
pared to say what it really was in ordinaiy | 
language, ho called a legion of professon of | 



I 




TRIBUNALS OP COMMERCE. 



lot 



gcoloiry and mincrslogy, of mJcroscopists »nd 
miners, to declare that it was shale, clay, 
bUuminoua earth — anything in fart but roal. 
A geologist took hU hammer, and aTcrrcd 
on his reputation as a professor, thnt if had 
no appearnnce of coal. The chemist took his 
crucible ariil his blow-pipe, and lie too insisted, 
on tlif word of ft philosopher, that it did not 
burn like coal, and did not leave the a.nhes of 
coal. Tliu niii'poiscopi.st applied n powerful 
lens, and ^ad no sort of hesitation in nvowinj; 
tlic ab.ecnco of all traces of thoso cellular and 
Tcgelabic tissues which existed in fill cosl ; 
conwquontly, it could not be coal. The 
miner declared that hf< had never Been any 
coal similar to that worked by the defendant, 
and tliat, therefore (mo<le8t man) it was 
absard to call it coal. 

So much for the science of the plaintiff. 
Tlie defendant had a still larjjer array of 
philosophy on his side ; and a host of men, 
equally known in the scientific world, did 
declare, on their reputations as peologistf, 
chemist?, and microscopisL"?, that the .sub- 
Btancc in di.«pute had all the chamcteri.Htic!* 
necessary lo make it coal ; that in short it was 
moKt decidedly, unequivocally', and beyond 
diii'putc coal, and nothing bnt conl. 

The array of evidence prewnts a curious 
illtistrntinn of the fallacies of wience in the 
ninilrenih century, and is qnite worth 
quoting. Professor A. declared tluit it burnt 
pncifjely like coal : Professor H. protested in 
plain Knj;li»ih that it did not ProffS.sor A. 
Slated ibiit he found it to contain only six per 
Cent, of fixed cnrlioo: Professor R. had found 
ten per cent, of carbon in it ; while Profe.ssor 
C met with sixty-five per cent, of carbon. 
Profeswor A. st.Tted that the minond was a 
bitiinunoHs shale : I*rofes8or B. asserted that 
it contained the merest trnce of bitumen. 
Theirdnel btin? over. Professor C. fmmd thnt 
no degree of heat would cau,<e it to yield 
bitoinen. Professors A., B., C, and !>,, dc- 
c1*r>?d poKitivdy in fnll chorus that it pos- 
I»esi«etl no signs of an orpanic stnirture. On 
the other side. Professors E., F., G., and 
H., avowed much more positively, that it 
had n miwt unrni.'<takeablt vegetable orpin- 
isati'in, with pt-rfect traces of woody fibre, 
cellular tiHsuo. and every other character- 
istic of the best Wall's End. Profes.sor i. 
found liiat it bad no fixed carbonaceous base, 
but its hsKc was earthy matter : Professor K. 
discovered on the contrarv that the liase wa^i 
dcnde<lly carbonaceous, with very slight traces 
of earth. Professor I. could obtain nothing 
like coke from it, and he had tried very bant 
too ; whilst Professor K., with scarcely an 
ell'ort, ha«l obtained forty-one per cent of coke 
from it! 

Now, I take it, that there is no need of an 
acquaintance with chemistry or geology — no 
ncref»ily for fallioming the constituents of 
bitiirninoiiit shales, earbonacenns bases, cel- 
lular tissues, Ac, to arrive at a due apprecia- 
tion of the absurd and anomalojs position 



in which science w«a here placed. The evi- 
dence of a Newcastle coal viewer adduced 
before a properly conslituted Tribunal of 
Commerce would have settled the case in live 
minutes. 

Setting these considerations aside, we arrive 
at a powerful argument for the establish- 
ment of tribunals ; which, by a mere ell'oK 
of common sen-W and common jii.sfice, will 
save the pockets of disputant.^, the time of 
public officials, and moreover save men of 
science from hunu'liatiog exhibitions. The 
coal case was given in favour of the defendant 
and les-sce; and, .so far, justice was doubtless 
served, for according to a straiphll'orward 
and honest interpretation of words, a black 
infiamniable substance dug out of the earth 
which gives forth intlnmmnhle gas, rcmnin.s 
coal, until a new f^iecial word be given to it; 
and even then it niiisf nnd will nlwity.s belongto 
the (^cnus Coal. Hnd the di.cpute been brought 
before a coinnxpciitl Iribiinnl the technicalrliea 
of science would (mt li.ive been called to thotf 
aid — they wo4ild have contented them.selves 
with an examination of the true puruo)-t of 
the lease by which the defendant held the 
mines, and whether the nn'neral in questian 
was or was not what is popularly nnd genc- 
rnlly known amongst business nicn ns a coal, 
without reference to any scientific distinctionA 
or legal quiddities. 

The agitation in favour of " Tribunals" 
was commenced in the City of London 
about two years since. It has gone on with 
.some degree of success; although far from 
sharing that countenance which it richly 
descrve.s. There are conflicting interests at 
work. Strong prejudices and legal opposition 
have hitherto stood in the way. Thanks, 
however, to the zeal and public t.pirit of 
one man, the tide of public opinion has 
begnn to set in favotu- of the movement. 
The adhesion of nearly nil the Chnmbcrs 
of Commerce Ihroiighout the pKivjnies 
testify how keenly nun of busines.s fcti! the 
incubus of the law in their linily opera- 
tions, and the result of strong oonvi.tiuns on 
the subject has been the ado|.tion of pe- 
titions lo both Houses of Parliament praying 
that a committee may be appointed for 
the purpose of inquiring into this most im- 
port.int subject with a view to legislating 
thereon. 

Such a committee would n.s.suredly bn'ng 
to light some curious and forcible testimony 
in favour of what is now asked, and there is 
no rea.son why Tribunals of Commerce may 
not be a» readily formed in this country as 
vlsewhere. The m.ichiTiery ninr be so simple, 
the expense so trifling, that it is difficult to 
conceive any real objections to their formation. 
A council of merchants, bankers, and others 
accessible to the trading and miinuractiiring 
community nt all times nnd in the sjieediest 
ntanner, would undoirbtcfily prove » welcomo 
boon. Tho suggc.*;tion ofa sti|iendiary judge 
with a sound legal education and training, 



104 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CMtatMIr 



instead of a purely commercial president may 
be well worth consideration. The legal cle- 
ment would perhaps be an essential ingredient 
in such a Court Our complaint is, that it 
at present overrides and swamps every other 
good clement Sagacity in seizing the corns 
of evidence and separating it in an instant 
from the husk ; skill in combining scattered 
points of testimony; acutencss in detecting 
discrepancies, and in harmonising varieties 
of evidence seemingly discordant but really 
in unison, arc only to bo found in a "legal 
mind." 



BUCHAREST. 

The name of Bucharest has of late become 
familiar in our mouths, and meets our eye in 
the comer of every newspaper. Political 
writers, and geographers call it a caoital, 
and it certainly is the chief place, the seat of 
Government of the province of Wallachis. 
But it does not rise to our notions of a 
capital ; being in reality nothing but a huge 
villa<;c scattered upon a plain on both sides 
the Uimbowitza at about thirty-seven miles 
of direct distance from the confluence of that 
river with the Danube ; and two hundred and 
eighty miles west-north-west of Constanti- 
nople. The space it covers is enormous; 
and, when seen from a distance, it suggests 
ideas of prosperity — even of splendour. This 
is the case with most Oriental cities. They 
dazzle from afar; but, as you approach, their 
beauty vanishes; just as, in tho mirage, 
imaginary forests, lakes, and islands dwindle, 
on near inspection, into tufls of sunburnt 
gras-s. 

If you wish to have the pleasure of con- 
trast, yon must approach Bucharest from tho 
north, and come suddenly to tho edge of 
the eminence where stands the principal 
church, sometimes called the Cathedral. Tho 
whole extent of the city is visible from this 
vantage ground, and three hundred and sixty- 
five steeples, seeming architectural in the 
distance, shoot up and fla.sh above tho houses 
and gnnlcns. Let the time be the bright 
beginning of spring. The sky overhead has 
not a speck ; except that here and there may 
be seen, slowly soaring, some hundreds of 
those huge vultures which serve as tho 
s(-»yciigi-rs of Eastern cities. The scene is 
one of exquisite beauty. The houses cluster 
far down on the banks of the river, nowhere 
unaccompanied by trees, and then scatter 
away on either hand, seemingly without 
lines; for whei-e they appear to end, and tho 
forest to begin, there may always bo dis- 
covered other roofs and other white walls 
pUaniing amidst the foliage. On the plain to 
the ri^lit several intensely green oval expanses 
are stmrply defined. These are marshes on 
th« cd^ert of which the Zigans or gipsies 
dig in search of tortoises, wliich they bring 
to the market to sell. To tho east, the 
country is covered as far as the eye can reach 



with vast forests of larch, pine, and oak treei. 
Beyond the city the yellow fields of maize nl 
sharply off from verdant pasturages, or are 
intersected by streaks of ground covered with 
reeds and patches of brushwood. Altogether 
the impression is produced, especially on one 
who has just traversed the rugged defiles of 
the Krappack Mountains, that this is an 
opulent city — a city of merchants and monk^ 
such as one has read or dreamed oL 

Enter. Its grandeur is not OTcrwhclming'. 
You come up to a hedge of prickly arti> 
chokes, which some German topographiata 
— fresh from descriptions of Choczin — have 
called the lines of Bucharest; and a single 
great beam is, or was (for this refers to 
ante-Russian times) drawn up by a pulley 
to admit you. Beyond, you find a semi- 
circular little place bordered by huts, with 
a few trees scattered here and there. A. 
vague idea suggests itself to the European 
traveller that this is the spot where the 
maidens of the neighbourhood come out to 
dance when daily work is done. But he is 
soon undeceived; for his waggon at once 
sinks axle-deep into black mud, and his horses 
or oxen hegin to splash and struggle ineffec- 
tually. What may be the social reasons why 
every entrance of Bucharest is stopped up by 
a bog wo do not exactly know. Some say it 
is for tho convenience of the custom-houso 
officers; who, if they happen to be asleep^ 
are certain that no travellers can go 
stealthily in our out Afler a nap they aie 
sure to find half-a-dozen waggons slidciiy - 
fast in the mud, from which they cannot be | 
extricated except by several additional beeiti ' 
brought for that purpose. It is true tkt ' 
in the hot season this mud is changed iak ' 
grey dust, and is consequently more easy ti 
cross ; but there is no travelling at that tiH ■ 
of year. Wo must ob.serve that both thi '' 
custom-hou-se officers and the poUcc, who is- 
variably accompany them, at Bucharest, i^ 
though inquisitive, arc generally polite, aoj ^ 
when they commit extortion, do it in > , 
gentlemanly manner, that proves them to 
have received the influence of French civili- | 
sation. 

Nothing can be more trivial than the pr»- 
vailing style of architecture in Bucharest i 
native will tell you tliat it is not worth whDi 
to buUd fine houses, because oarthqaakd 
would probably shake them down ; otherwise^ 
he adds, London and Paris would be left ftr 
behind. There is a great deal of good hu- 
moured provincial pride in theso ezcclkot 
Wallachians. The houses are all, or neailf 
all, of one story, generally standing sepantt '■ 
and are surrounded sometimes by gardens; ] 
sometimes by expanses of rough ground :| 
The materials arc bricks and wood rougUf 
whitewashed, which has an unpleasant effect ', 
in summer. The glare they occasion acoountl m 
for the fact that the people always go aboot 
with their eyes puckered up as if they had 
just laid aside spectacles. Here and then ii« 



tnean-look'mg churches; something in the 
Byzutilinc btyle, each with two, Ihrei', or even 
four stcLplcs, ill which the eastern traveller 
iui*ses the clegaucc of the miniirot. The 
Lelk arc not hung in these steeples, but uywn 
a ctoss-pole supported \>y two uprights in 
front of the door, no that on church going 
days, which frequently occur, a couple of 
moustachioed ringers dressed in sheep-skin 
amy be seen dangling from the rope, and at 
uiistknce may be supposed to be undergoing 
me eilreme sentcuco of the law. There 
are nearly a hundred churches, hut not one 
coutsias anything worthy of description, 
except, perhaps, tliut on the eminence to lh« 
nortli of tbe town. It was founded by Saint 
Spiridion, bishop of Erivan, iu Armenia, and 
like all Greek churches, has the form of a 
cross. At tirst sight it resembles a fortress, 
and is in fact so built thai it could serve for 
that pur[>ose. The interior is decorated with 
paintings which are no doubt admired — in 
Uucharcst-, and there is a balustrade around 
the sanctuary, riclily gilt and covered with 
mouldings iiud arabesques, executed with 
some ta«te. 

Of iatc years, especially since the great Ore, 
there havu been built a good many houses, 
which are called pakces. At a little dis- 
tance they appear not inelegant, being sur- 
rounded by colonnades or fronted with 
porticos; yet the pillars arc nothing but 
IcQgtlis of piuo trees covered with stucco, 
llcre and there attcinpta at a frieze with 
plasler-of-Paiis bas-reliefs peep out. Within, 
tliero are tolerably tioo apartments lUtcd up 
curiously, half in the French and lialf in tbe 
Eastern siylc, with arni-chairs and divans, 
tables and .-.uudl carpets to sit upon, books of 
cnrii-atiires and long pipes. In tlie same room 
ruay soiiielimes be seen a lady dressed from 
the Urst 'iliops iu the Chausi e d'Antin and 
her husband, a wealthy Boyard (landed pro- 
prietorj with n lung beard, clothed iu a 
•J|»ft«n. 

' Let us not yet, however, seek the shelter 
of a roof. Wc luvc something more to say 
about Uie streets, which are of various degrees 
of v< ikllh ; sometimes diminishing to mere 
alley* an<l bijiuetimes spreading as broad as 
I'orlliinil Place. A few are paved roughly 
vith slohe^ placed, or rather thrown care- 
lessly upou the ground. It would have been 
better had tlie people of Bucharest stuck to 
their wooden pavements, for as it is, their 
best streets sometimes resemble the bed of a 
mountain torrent Tbe namo for streets 
is jtoiiti (bri(lj;es); which, when laid with 
transverse log^ of wood, they retilly are. But 
now nt certain seasons they are channels 
without bridges. At various places re- 
gularly every spring when the snow mtlts, 
the eiirth givis way and sinks into great 
lioK'4, vthich the peoplv are compelled to lill 
up with straw and laggots. It never seems 
to have occurred to anyone that a fouiuk- 
tlon was ruqutrcd for tho paviug-stoues. 



The older streets are still covered with long 
beams of wood placed crosswise, under which 
water and mud collect undisturbed. They 
are not fastened with any pretence of care; 
and, when a carnage passes on one side of a 
street, it sometimes weighs down the end ofa 
plank and casL'i the uiifortunato pas.senger 
who may happen to be at the other end 
into the air. The people near him begin to 
JAUgh; but, when the plank goc-s down, 
a splash of black mud covers them from 
head to foot and chan;;es their merriment 
into rage and disgust In winter, a depth of 
three or four feet of snow paves the street 
It is rapidly trod into a hard mass, mixed 
with stones and dirt Then they appear clean 
and smooth and the sledges go whirling to and 
fro. But spring comes on and when the thaw 
commences, neither horse nor man can pro- 
ceed. Hundreds of galley-slaves arc turned 
out uudcr taak-uiasters armed with whips, 
to clear away the snow which rapidly de- 
generates into nmd. Instead of removing 
it outside the town they pile it against the 
walls of the houses, wliicli are therefore in 
some places half concealed by heaps of dirt, 
consisting of the sediment which has been 
left after the snow has melted. The streets 
ore converted then into so many slimy 
kennels. 

The bazaars of Bucharest are not interesting 
or well supplied. A few shops of semi- 
European apptaranco contain nnicles of 
French manufacture, but they are flanked hy 
stalls in the native style; that is to sny, re- 
cesses with great shutters that open upwards 
to form a projecting roof during the diiy-lime 
A.S usual, in the E."e5t, each trade has a little 
street to itself. There is, for example, the 
street of tho Leipsikani or traders from 
Leipsic; the street nf tliu iiifiney-chnngerB; 
the street of the fiddlers, niid above all the 
street of tlio Kofetars or svvectnK'at-Jealers 
In some quartens the streets are bordered 
by lofty wooden palings, behind which tho 
huts are concealed. It is here that strangera 
go to see the dances of the Zigans in per- 
fection. 

But we must not forget the Po-de 
Mogoclioya. This is the principal promenade 
of Bucharest It crosses the town nearly 
from one en<] to the other, with a mean 
breadth of thirty feet Here in the afternoon, 
or hither in tho evening — for the hour 
becomes more fashionable as it grows later — 
may be seen a very curious spectacle. The 
Boj-ards are out to take tho air; every one 
in hLs enrringc, his droski, his sledge, or his 
tandi'Tn. They do not move gently ali)nc, hut 
take that opportunity to show tlie mottle of 
their horses. It seems to be one of tlu-ir ob- 
jecU to drive all pedestrians out of the street: 
fis for their aci-oiiimodiUion no foot pave- 
ment exiMls. The ground is almost always 
covered with mud and pools of wntiT. About 
four o'clock some impatient Wallachian liandy 
comes dashing down. Iminediatcly <\uiut 



I 
I 
I 



v 



106 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



people, who cannot afford a vehicle, begin to 
disappear. Those who arc obstinate pn.>pare to 
take refuge on the mounds that exteiul along 
the walls of the houses. The precaution is 
in vain, for the mud splashes up to the roofs 
,on cither hand, and prudent housewives shut 
tlic'ir windows. Presently another j-oung 
Koyanl whirls into the street. By tacit con- 
sent a race is at once begun. A tiiird com- 
petitor appears. Then a fourth. At length 
dozens, hundreds, of various kinds of vehicles 
join in ; all moving at terrific speed, back- 
wavd and forward, as if they were running des- 
perate races for enoniious stakes. Some may 
(lr«)p oir, but others come to increase the whirl 
and confusion, and the hurry-skurry continues 
until long after the crazy lanterns are lighted, 
Tliis is the best time to see the Po-de-Slogo- 
choya in, what the fashionables of Bucharest 
are pleased to call its glory. From the roof 
of the hotel, kept by M. Louzzo, this thorough- 
fare resembles a vast trench, at the bottom of 
which lights are flashing to and fro with 
immense rapidity. Besides the trampling of 
the high stepping horses, and the rattling 
of the wheels, there rises on the air a con- 
tinued shout; for the coachmen, getting ex- 
cited in tlieir work, urge on their horses 
with half-savage cries, or jeer one another ; 
whilst their masters occasionally put their 
heads out of window and roar a salutation 
to .<;ome passing acquaintance. Accidents 
rarely occur, which seems a miracle. At 
ii!)0ut nine o'clock every one goes home to 
corFi-e and whist, and the streets are entirely 
de.-'erted, save by a band of some fifty police- 
men, who patrol in various directions, and 
by some hundreds of private watchmen, 
called, from the cry they use, Quini Aejlo 
(who goes there ?). 

It must be admitted that Bucharest is 
rapidly improving. In a few years our 
flfscription will no longer apply ; that is to 
say, if the development of civilisation bo 
not checked by the continued presence of 
a foreign army, and the interference of rival 
despotisms. It would not be doing justice to 
the W.illachians if we omitted to mention, 
that all the classes which are acc«ssiblu by 
position to education, have been, for some 
years p.i8t, animated by an extreme desire of 
iin|irovement Two distinct influences are at 
work : that of Russia, which is accepted by 
neoi'ssily ; and that of Franco, which is chosen 
from taste. The Wallachian ladies, cspc- 
ri;illy, im])ort their ideas and their bonnets 
from I'atis, and we have known some whose 
eleiriitKC and refinement, both of manners 
and of mind, could not be surpas.sed in 
n« ];;r:ivin, or the Faubourg St Germain. 
They have besides a certain simplicity 
of character that exhibits itself now and 
then in charming simplicities that only 
render them more fascinating. The fault 
into which they are most liable to fall, is 
afTectation. They arc sometimes a.shamcd 
of the very quality that gives the charm 



to their character, and escape into extra- 
vagance to avoid what they fear may be called 
rusticity. 

It is not long since the people of Wallachia, 
nobles and peasants, were amongst the rudest 
and most uncouth people in Europe. Nearly 
all their improvement dates from this centuiy. 
Fifty years ago, the children of the richnt 
Boyards were brought up in alnaost a wild 
state, in company with the servants and slaves 
of the house; who were for the most part 
Zigans, who took pleasure in teaching them 
their own vices. The little instruction that 
existed, comprised a knowledge of t)ie Greek 
language, which was made fashionable bj the 
Court of the Zanariate Hospodars. A kaloyer, 
procured from some convent for the purpose, 
became part of the family, and whilst teaching 
his language, contrived to infiltrate a few 
notions principally on theological subjcctL 
Some stiff old Boyards resisted this Hellenic 
influence ; but as a general nile, all the uppet 
classes spoke Greek, In the last ccntuiy the 
services of the church were celebrated in the 
Sclavonic language, which neither the cleiCT 
nor the people understood; but nfterwanfa 
they were translated into 'Wallachian or 
modem Greek. At present, the French lan- 
guage has been very generally introduced, and 
iit is rare to find a respectable person who 
cannot speak it In most houses there is 
a library of French literature, and it a 
worth observing that the Belgian piraciei 
are looked upon with distrust and ea»- 
tempt: every one prides himself on iuawg 
the best Paris edition. Since, indeed, the 
final emergence of Wnllachia into the ftti , 
independence in the year eighteen huadM i| 
and thirty-four, praise-worthy efforts hiw 
been made, especially in Bucharest, to Bapflf 
all classes with means of education. 

We cannot say, however, that as a genori 
rule the cla.ss of Boyards is very fcr rf 
vanced. To undcrstind their real state ail 
position, the knowledge of a few detili 
is nece&sari'. As in many countries (^tk 
east, the population of AVallachia is pnfr 
tically divided into four distinct castes, Al 
limits of which are divided by social and pot 
tical, not reliprious prejudices. Above di 
Zigans come the peasants ; and then the nw 
chants and the Boyards. This last word ma* 
a fighting man or warrior, and is now usedilt 
title. Those who bear it are all landed propn- 
etors, and indeed nearly the "vh .ie Xiu.joyii 
divided between them ana iho reli<rious «»• 1 
gregations. In old times, they lived scattcrri ', 
through the whole province on their estatei 
like our feudal barons; but they now coo' 
gregate in the capital and have the chaigeot 
their i)roperty to stewards. When we spitk 
of the influence of foreijm civilisation «■ 
AVallachian ."ociety, we allude to this fOB- 
gregation of more or less wealthy land- 
owners whose means and position alk* 
them to indulge in luxury and to coltifiti 
refinement 



OarlM OukaiAl 



BUCHAREST. 



lOT 



A grcttt many Bojarda have now throtm 
•side tlio old kaftan and adopted our in- 
elegant costume. A Uuoharest dandy is 
WTctclicd if not well supplied with patent 
leather lioots and line kid glovts. He has 
also an exnjrgcratcd fondness for cye-f;la>iscs 
and spoctfiolcs ; watch-chains, rings, and every- 
thing in fact that he supposes to he the out- 
ward sip;n of civilisation. As in the case of 
the Li'varitinea wlio ape European manners, 
the young Wallachi-in.s Pometiinos full into 
the mislaktf ofs^upposin^ that there cannot be 
too inucli of a good thing, so that their 
toilette is often Overdone. In (iict a great 
portion of their faculties arc expended in 
bringing their appearance into agreement 
with (tome ideal pattern of elegance, that 
is to say, some French exquisite fresh from 
the Boulfcvanls dcs Italiens, who has passed 
that way in search of emotions. The satirical 
say that it became the fashion in Bucha- 
rest to yawn, because a certain dandy 
C'onnt, attached to the French ronsulato, 
was addicted to that habit. IJowever. we 
mu;!t ha.stcn to remind the reader that it 
is not necessary (o go to the banks of the 
Dimbawjtza for empty-headed dandies ; and 
to add that there exists in Wallachia, a 
n'lclcu.s of intelligent, well-educated, and 
high-sfiirjted young men, who will probably 
at some future time exercise a great and 
decisive influence on the foriuiUMJ of their 
country. Let them not be offended at our 
good-humoured notice of the absurdities of 
soin'-> amonprst them— for, in common with 
thciiisinds of Englishmen, wc have felt for the 
suH'.rin^ of tlioir country, and earnestly wish 
thcni better limes. 

We h»»e already noticed the recent in- 
troduction of European ideas. There was 
tiiucii to reform. Within this century there 
li:»*e been committed acts in that country 
which rival all the horrors that have been 
related of more eastern parallel. The princes 
were cruel to the Boyards, the Boyards to 
the peasants. In eij;htcen hundred an<l two 
a man's feet were cut oti' for irreligion ; and 
in eighteen hundred and twenty-one un- 
inenlionable horrors were perpetrated. Fre- 
quently, up to a very recent period, the 
Boyards u.tcd to exercise, with itrLiitrary 
fi-rm-ity, the ri^ht of life and death over their 
»:rb and slaves. The punishments in u;je, 
lioth atnang.st them and the agents of autho- 
rity, were htninge and barbarous. One of 
the principal was the deprivation of sleep, 
which is now often applied in other countries 
of th? E.ist, espeeiuDf Egypt. The patient is 
force I to remain ujtright by blows, and some- 
times by wound.s, until he dropa from sheer 
CJihaustion. 

These are disagreeable subjects. Let us 
run away from them into the country. There 
is a plai-e called Ii.'tnia£<a, about a league 
from Bucharest, where ladies and gctitlo- 
Btten go in line weather to breathe the fresh 
air ami cnjuy (he rerilare of the fields, the 



perfume of the shrubs and flowers, and the 
pleasant shade of the trees. The wood is 
a succession of arcade?, in which you some- 
times meet a pcas4iijt dressed in his .sheep- 
skin tunic ; sometimes a pretty woman dang- 
ling her parasol in her hand and listening 
to the soft things which a dnndy in plaid 
pantaloons is whispering into her ear. The 
only objection to this otherwise charming 
spot is that it is too artificial. It is the 
Richmond or the St. Cloud of Bucharest, and 
contrasts curiously with the va.st larch-woods 
beyond. There in reality can be admired 
the l»eautics of nature ; and wc wouM advise 
all those who are a little disappointed with 
the well-regulated beauties of Baniassa to 
pu.sh on over the semi-cultivnted plain 
towards the confines of the hill-covered 
forests. 

Besides, they may meet with n little adven- 
ture like that which once occurred to a gentle- 
m.in, who wad going in the country, but 
who learned more in one night alwut its 
manners than, if unfavoured by accident, he 
might have done in a month. lie had 
proceeded about a couple of miles from Bani- 
a.ssa, when suddenly there cjimca burst of 
mingled screams and laughter from a grove 
near at hand ; and, whilst he was consicjcring 
what this might import, there rushed forth A 
crowd of youths and maidens pursued by an- 
other crowd, some armed with thongs, oth'-ra 
with rod-s both of which were used witli good 
effect. Our traveller checked his horse and 
looked on in amazement, fancying himself 
sudilenly transported back into the times of 
the Monades and B.icchanti. The girls had 
their black hair floating wildly over their 
shoulder?, and were dressed .simply in a sort 
of polka bordered with fur that reached only 
to their knees. They wore leather siuululs, 
and .IS they ran the strings of lieads and orna- 
ments of metal on their necks, arms, and 
ankles jingled loudly. At first the spec- 
ffltor imagined that this w£ts mere sport; 
hut a maiden who passed right before his 
horse's heail received such a lash from a 
vignrnus pursuer that she turned round with 
tears in her eyes and an imprecation on her 
lips. 

The triiveller thought hi.'? path had been 
crossed by the inmates of a madhouse ; and 
when the last of the group had di.sappeared 
in the distance, proceeded on his visit to the 
forest .\ little way on he came up with a 
man w.illiiu'^ briskly along;; he recognised in 
him the servant nf one of his H-icnds, and re- 
mcmbprcd that he could speak French. He 
asked for an exi>liiiiat.ion of what ho had 
seen. 

"That," said the man. "is the marriage of 
my cousin. They have begun the ccrcmonj 
rather early, so that I miss my share." 

Mr. Smith (the wayfarer) was piizzleii 
rie had travelled in many cminlrieii, but had 
never seen the nuptial benediction adminis- 
tered at the end of a thong. Bein^ oC * 



I 



i 



i08 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Qaa*B 



L 



mythological turn of mind, bo tried for an 
allegorical explanation, but could make no- 
thing of it Ho was quite convinced of one 
thing, bowcTcr; that the girl who had re- 
ceived a lash under his eyes would carry 
the mark to her grave. Shame pre- 
vented him at first ifom frankly pursuing 
his inquiries. He did not like to show 
his ignorance. However, he at last mus- 
tered up courage to say, "Which was the 
bride?" 

The man, who had no conception that mar- 
riages could bo celebrated in any other manner, 
did not tako notice of the absurdity of this 
question ; but went on to explain the whole 
aflair. From his eloquent description it ap- 
peared that as soon as the parents have con- 
sented to the union of their daughter with a 
young man who has asked for her hand, 
a certain day near at hand is fixed. Long 
engagements are unknown. There is no legal 
contract, the blessing of the priest supplying 
the place of everything. On the morning of the 
eventful day four of the bride's female friends 
come early, and dress her out for the ceremony. 
A tightly-fitting jacket, or polka, is first put 
on, often, y^/t are sorry to say, without any of 
those intermediates, known under the generic 
name of linen. Over this is thrown a loose 
woollen tunic that entirely conceals the form ; 
M-hilst an impenetrable veil, is wrapped round 
the head. The chief feature of the bridal cos- 
tume, however, is a heavy crown of tall black 
feathers pUccd upon the head, resembling 
the plumes of a hearse. Thus accoutred, the 
bridesmaids take the hand of the bride, and 
lead her slowly like a victim to the altar. On 
the way the procession, which is often very 
numerous stops from time to time, for her 
to distribute alms to the poor. At the door 
of the church she shakes off her companions; 
and it is a point of etiquette that she should 
walk, as Mr. Smith's informant expressed 
it, in the attitude of a saint, to the seat pre- 

Eared for her near the altar. Here the 
ridegroom meets her; a few prayers are 
read, their forefingers are hooked and 
joined during the pronunciation of the 
blessing, they kiss the back of the Papa's 
hand, and are told that they are man and 
wife. 

Once escaped from the church a scene of 
confusion ensues. The bridegroom takes his 
bride by the hand, and runs back with her 
towardshis bouse, pursued by her parents, and 
friend.*, who pretend to try and overtake 
tliom. Not succeeding, and not desiring to 
succeed, they turn upon the relations of the 
bridegroom, and revenge upon them the loss 
tlioy have suffered by blows and stripes. 
Sometimes this nngular retaliation is inflicted 
in the evening, during the supper, by the 
father and mother of the new wife; but 
oftcncr it becomes a romp among the young 
people, who tako this opportunity to revenge 
themselves with impunity for any indignity 
they may liavo suffered. Probably the 



maiden, whose sufferings Mr. Smith deplored, 
had atrociously jilted her pursuer, and de- 
served her punishment Resistance, let oa 
add, is forbidden ; but immunity may bo par- 
chased by a jar of sulphured wine or a joadc 
of arakee. 

Mr. Smith arrived at the village, situated 
on the skirts of the forest, just as a couple of 
szigoms, armed with fiddles, were beginning 
to strike up a merry tune. Instead of pro- 
ceeding at once to the country house of 
Prince Plikza, where ho was to pass the niefat, 
he determined to alight and look on. At mut, 
indeed, he had some intention of asking the 
young lady whose whipping he had witnessed 
to dance a quadrille with him ; and it would 
have been amusing to see our stiff, countij- 
man, with a shirt^ollar sticking halfway up 
to his eyes — for we Englishmen adhere to this 
national feature in costume whcreyer we go 
as religiously as the Chinese do to their taDa 
— ^bobbing up and down by the side of a lithe 
maiden, agile as a fawn. A tight jadcet 
trimmed with fur served to display the sym- 
metry of her figure. But it was not a qua- 
drille that was danced; and Mr. Smith, 
being an indifferent waltzer and not com- 
prehending the mazes of the other dancc^ 
felt quite unable to shine in that sort d 
exhibition. 

Ho was told that neither among the 
szigoms nor the peasants is the marriage tit 
very much respected. Tho morals m the 
country are certainly relaxed. Better thiMl 
might be expected, be thought, of the B(mv£; 
but an hour's conversation that CTentng at 
supper enlightened him. We are aonjto 
confirm his testimony. Russian conH^ 
nication has corrupted good manners. At 
story of Bcppo was not very long ago nnNiri 
here under peculiar circumstances. Ahuabol 
went away from his young wife for a jrac 
On his return he found her married aak 
She had procured by somo means a If^ 
separation during his absence. He exp* 
tulated, and brought the matter befora lb 
law courts. Grave judges pondered oa fti 
case, a verdict was given for the wife, ui 
the plaintiff-husband was non-suited fA 
costs! 



STARLIGHT IN THE GARDEN. 

Tm Garden (bv itH Ivied walls ineloned) 
Beneath the witchin); of the nifrht remun* 

All tranced and brcathlesx; and, in dreams repoM^^ 
Tho white-walled bouKe, with blinded windv^ 
panes, 

GMmmers fh>m far like one vast pearl between 

The clasterlng of it* dark and ibndowy greaa. 

A night in Jnno ; ond yet 'tia scarcely nighti 
Hilt mthor a fiunt dnsk — a languid day, 

Slpcpine in heaven — the interfluent Iij;ht 
Ot Even and Momin^r, met npoii one way; 

And, nil about the watohful »Vy, a bloom 

Of silver Btar-flowera fills the soft blue rIooib. 




OwlM ndiraa.] 



I g un 

^^BcDM And ndnrnn* HnnlifA^, like a ffhost, 

^^P'a-se** till • 

^^■bu fcriu!'-]! irrv h04t; 

^^V T^e trt.'va 1" isc^ions skr ; 

I 'Thv flowom, iiuiiliuruU Ui kluvp, uud dew, jisd 
bulin, 
lliolJiii^ at tlieir hutU an Influito calm. 

»en the old hricTc wall — that with the ann 
Of many ^. ■iicd like a fruit, 

I streak* oi io\r, red, and dan, 

With brui.U ,, . „ . i iicl>cn«, that strike root 
Tn arid flssiire*— weum a face of rent, 
Like oti« who bli«»e» nil thiaj;s, and ia bleat. 

hi" empty vaaea on tho terrnec-walk, 
■ The fiath-wftj-» win^iinif nndcmuith the tree*. 
Tlie moon-whiie fouutuina that aya atir and tolK, 
The ivy's dark and munniirlnif mjr»t«rio9, 
ad all th* pale and qnict statue.t. *v«m 
lif ahroudod in eomo bright and fllmjr dream. 

litre is a soul to-ni^ht in evoryxhinif 
Within tliis "anlen, old, and trreen, and atill: 
'■■•-•' the Stars, irith noixelcsa wioff. 
. i about it, — and hit odours ml 
11 .'h lil'tf ; bnt most of all the flowen, 

lo^f hUui, like maidens lo endionted towers. 

lie swoet breath of ftio flowers asccndn tlio air, 
And perfume* all the starry piiIiHX'-iJatfs, 

limbing tl') v.-iiifi.- I I..' r.'.'in IMrr- n i.hiyor : 
Huquicl!- ne'trates 

tKiWM the and piirtt 

lliw»y, and :... l^.:..; . ...... ^...icn heurt». 

•' Oh, bright aky-people !" aay the flower.<, " we 

" know 

Thnt wc miut poM and rnni»]i tiko ■ brcatli 
Pheni"'—" '' ' -I '•"■ »■ "ts altaJI bid o«go; 
[And ' iih nu Klia<i« of dcat)], 

kt flu ! stream of years, 

Cucid an'l miiuuiij, wticre never ead'appiuus. 



THE GREAT SADDLEWORTH EXniBITION. 



t09 



'V 



-• •'--'^ ' V -'itl— weyeani 
, and vre 
.lied to bnm 
a '-■( ye. 
I ' 19 hiiet 

• '1 • , ., . 1, Linterfuto! 

" Out of the mTstcrr of the fbrtnlMs nlirht 
Wc '. ■ ..: Jawn, 

Atidf. ..l,t; 

And . irawu 

Like aitfli* iiilo tlie wide uir'i e)iit]>iue«« : 

Vl-i aauifttintott of new life we drcaiu and ^ess. 

" Millioiia of blo<*oma like oar>clvc», we feel, 
Il/tre dn»hcd before auatcre Eternity, 

And twined ul<ont the yenrV fact running wheel, 
And dropped, and failed to the quiet sky. 

W<i lire ludew in noon ; vet we aKpire, 

Hoth-tike, towurda year white, etheriiJ Are." 

And tho atars answer— " There la no true death ; 
Wind veems to blight tho green earth like iv 
cnr4e 
t.« hnt n •hnde that briefly flnttereth, 

God-t)irr>wa upon the fnminont nnivenie. 
To liiiik the too great spleodour. Therefore, 

flower*, 
Your toula ahull ineense all the endloaa hoara. 

" Wi'Wn th« lipht of oar onuettinB dny 

V ■!■ witliiri-cl hlooniK xhall waken, and expand 
^■ '"r iliiin n'lW when set in ctirlhly olay, 
■t ri^iening tu iho j(ravo in which ye ataad. 



Tlie lender ^hosta of faaci and odonra dead 
Are •■ the ((rouud on which our nations trend." 

At this, the flowers, as if in pleaaare atirr'd. 
And a new Joy waa bom within the night: 

The wind breathed low its one primeval word, 
Like some nio^t nnciciit secret on ici flight ; 

And Heaven, and £unh, and all things, soouied t« 
kiss, 

Love-lost in many mingling syropathiea. 



THE GREAT SAPBLEWORTH 

EXHIBITION. 

Last week my friend. Miss Ciytemnestra 
Stanley, asked mc to go with her and her 
sister, Misg Cordelia, to the Saddleworth 
Great Exhibition, and to have • day's holiday 
upon the moors to gather bilberries. As 
1 am rather proud of Miss Clytcmncstra'a 
regard, I felt flattei^ by her invitation, 
to say nothing; of wishing to see the Exhi- 
bition, of which I had heard wonders. 
One fine day last week we sta^t^d early, 
to have a long day before us. The rail- 
way would hare taken us within half a 
mile of the place, but we preferred going 
in our own conveyance— -a light butcher's 
cart, drawn by a mare of many virtues, 
but considerably more spirit than was de- 
sirable. 

Ciytemnestra and her two sisters are 
dealers in fish and pame; fine high-spirited 
women, who live by themselves, and scorn to 
have tho shadow of a man near them. They 
liave lived together for years. Miss Cordelia 
waa taught to groom Uie mare and stablo it 
down when she was so little that she liad lo 
stand upon a stool to reach its neck. She is 
grown a fine toll young woman now, and 
nobody to look at her would su.spect that she 
can not only groom her horse, but build a 
stable with her own han<!s if need be. They 
arc three very remarkable women, but they 
would require an article all to themselves. 
How they came to be christened such mag- 
nificent names is a mystery I never waa 
told. 

Well, wo startofl with many injunctions 
from the eldest sister to take care of our- 
selves. Miss Addiu secmod to consider ua 
as giddy young creatures who would be sure 
to get into mischief— and she could not go 
along with us, as she hud to attend to the 
scaling of a fine cod and the boiling of a peck 
of shrimps — after stuffing an armful of cloaks 
into Uie cart behind us, and enquiring whether 
we had recollected to take money enough, she 
allowed us to depart, watching us all tlie way 
down the street. Ciytemnestra drove. She 
was accustomed to it 

"The Saddloworth district," as it is called, 
lies on tho confines of Yorkshire and Lan- 
cashire. The high road runs along the edgo 
of a deep valley, surrounded on all sides by 
a lahyrinUi of bills, the ridizcs forming a 
combination of perspective which pocras mor» 



I 



< 



1 



no 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



PoaJwIvd V; 



i 



like tho clouds at sunset, than things of solid 
land. Above tho high road, along a steep 
cmbankuicnt, is the railway, and the hills 
rise steep on the other side of it The railway, 
with the electric telegraph, the high road, 
the canal, and the river, all run side by side 
within the breadth of a hundred yards of each 
other. The country is very thinly popu- 
lated, and except when the mills arc loose, 
there is an oppressive sense of loneliness. At 
every turn the hills shut out tlic world more 
and more, until it seems a wonder how we 
ever got hero, or how we are ever to get out 
The roa«l is not level for a yard together, and 
every step brings us deeper amongst the 
hills. It is an intensely manufacturing dis- 
tri(.-t, the Streams from the hills making a 
splendid water power. Magnificent cotton 
mills, looking more like palaces than places 
of industry, with beautiful villa-like resi- 
dences at short distances from them, belong- 
ins: to the proprietors, are to be seen in all 
directions, in the vaoiit picturesque situa- 
tions, and often in places where it would 
seem impossible for ft mill to stand. These 
mills, as well as the residences, are built of 
white stone, and are five or six stories high, 
with tall spire-like chimneys ; they are all 
full of costly machinery. Glu.ster8 of grey 
stone cottages for the work-people are scat- 
tered alK>ut; hut neither the mills nor 
>>H' cottages seem to take up any room, nor 
<1i> they break the loneliness and silence of 
the scene. Tho amount of capital in- 
ve-^ed within a compass of six miles round 
Ashtoi) and Stayley Bridge is something 
wonderful. 

We passed through tho village of Mossley, 
wl.jih seems cut out of the rock, and is inha- 
liited entirely by work-people — "hands" as 
tli«y are called. One small village rejoices in 
tiie name of " Down-at-the-bottom," another 
is cnlled " Herod," consisting of scattere<l 
houses, above otir head and below our feet. 
The changing shadows on the hills and the 
(leij) elenr purple mist that filled the valley, 
(ii'l not hinder the view, but gave it a strangely 
solemn aspect No human life or human 
!m>tle seemed aV)le to assert itself— the silence 
of nature swallowe<i it up. Our plan was to 
fro to " Dills o' Jacks," about three miles from 
f'aildleworth. dine there, and then walk across 
til'- moor to the Exhibition. 

fJrniliially all signs of human life disap- 
I'ejired. and at^er asrending a steep hill, 
<•* ryhimtring n precipice without any parapet 
'.vn,l to keep ns from falling over, we 
e;iirie ujon a wild tract of moorland, with 
^ t •■li r rajrs toworinR high above our heads, 
:'ii.| liM-e blocks of prov rock lying about, 
liU>' mas'ses of the solidest masonry ovcr- 
t >:v,xvi,; not a habitation in sight, only the 
li: ■< shnttinsr us in more closely than ever. 
I' look-,.,| the very spot where a murderer 
im-ht tfike refuffo to hide himself. A sharp 
f "in atiil a siiddi-n descent brousrht us to a 
little wayside hsuse of entertainment lying 



in a hollow under the high road, and not 
to be seen before. This is Bills o' Jftcks, 
a place of great resort, in spite of ita lone- 
liness. Some years ago it was the scene 
of a ghastly murder. An old man and bis 
son lived there together. It was then, as 
it is DOW, a wayside inn, and was their owe 
pro])erty: it had been in their fiunily for 
generations. The son was married, and had 
two children, but he did not lire with his 
wife, as he had a romantic attachment to his 
father, and would not live away ironi him. 
They kept no servant One day the son 
went out to buy some flour and groceries. 
Some acquaintance in the town asked him 
to stay a while and rest He said, "No; 
he had met some Irish tramps on his road, 
going towards their house, and ho was afraid 
the old man might bo put about with them 
— he must make haste home to help him." 
The next day people calling at the house 
found the son lying just within thc'Moorway 
with his head all beaten to pieces, and the 
things he had brought home with him satu- 
rated with blood. He had been killed, appa- 
rently, as he entered. The old man was lying 
dead upon the kitchen hearth, covered With 
frightful wounds. The murderers have never 
been heard of; and now, most likely, never 
will be. The house still belongs to the same 
family. 

The first person we saw on our arrival wn 
the widow of the son, now an old voama, 
but erect and alert She was extrcmdj 
kind and friendly ; but I &ncicd that ifcl 
looked as if she had seen a horror vUch 
had put a desperation between her and Ike ' 
rest of tho world. She lives with her MB 
and his wife ; the son a handsome, aensibfe- 4 
looking man, and his wife the very ideal of i ' 
comely matron — calm, kind, sensible, wift !" 
mellow beauty ; she seemed to spread t T 
motherly peace and comfort around htf. ' 
There was much bustle going on, for partid ; 
of country holiday-makers were there ; bat j 
nothing seemed to disturb her cidm hos- ' 
pitality. She was very fond of Clytemnestn 
and her sisters, whom she had known ftr 
years, so that our coming was hailed wiA 
delight The best of everything was set 
before us to eat, and though I could not 
suppress a shudder at finding myself on fht 
very spot where the old man had lain, y«t 
as the kitchen looked bright and cheerfiJ, and 
no traces of the tragedy were visible, I tried 
not to think of it ' 

AdcT dinner, we set off over the hillnsidc^ 
which was in full bloom with the heather. , 
XnmWrs of children and country people whs 
had come from many miles round were . 
swarming amongst the rocks, picking bil- 
berries for sale. It was a lovely day and a 
lovely scene. As far as the eye could rwdi 
there was not a habitation in sight ; a ^cp i 
valley lay at our feet, and across it w«r« 
the hills rising in long ridges, the breaks in 
them disclosing further ridges of other hiDi 



ebul«&Urea.1 



THE GREAT SADDLEWTORTH BXIIIBITION, 



111 



beyond, and again bejond those, funning a 
singular series of jtcrsipoctiTe Uislancea, over 
wliich l)ie (li'pp blue shadows shifted and 
rariud coiitinually. It was bard to believe that 
such a tiling as a toim, or nny congregation 
of human tiwcllings had tlicre an cxislvni.-e, 
and it (vns certainly a most unh'kely locality 
in which to eeck for an Ezbibitiom. 

After dusci-'nding the hill, at the fbot of 
the rock called "Pots and Pans," we saw 
a little island of stone houses Iviii^ nu'.tv 
before u^, in tl>e hollow of some hills, vihicn 
rose in an amphitheatre above them. This 
was the villngo of Sudillcworth ; and, after 
a quarter of an hour's farther walking across 
some rough fields, we h&>i reached the I'nd of 
our journey. Saddkwortli is two s.tr:i;;gling 
streets of shops and cottages; the ground 
so ahrti(it f»iid irrcgulnr that the back door 
of one house will be often on a IcVul with 
the tup "itory of another. It is chiedy in- 
babiteii t||-'tbe work-people of the ncipliboiir- 
iiig mills. A mihvay st.ition ha.^ within the 
laat few years, brought it into llie direct line 
from M.-inchester to Leed.s. 

ExHiniTiiLN, in great letters over a door, 
told us wc were before the object of our 
Bearcli, Asccndin;; a dark, narrow, wooden 
fetaircasc, we paid onr shillin;;:.^ on the 
topnioi^c step, and found ourselves standing 
plump face to face with the wonders of the 
place. I felt curious to see the sort of people 
who would ho gathered in that out-of-the- 
world sjwt. Thi.'y were not "mill-hands," 
but quite a different clasS ; people who, most 
likely, luid doth looms of their own at home 
— for in Yorkshire there is still very much of 
this domestic manufactnrc going on. The 
incn buy their yam, get it dyed for them, 
and weave it up in their own houses. They 
then take the web of cloth on their shoul- 
ders, an<i either go with it about the country 
to sell it, or else take it to the Cloth 
Hall at Leeds or lluddersfleltl, and dispose 
of it llierr on miirket-<Jay. There was some- 
thing inijchiiig in the good-humoured stupid- 
ity with which they looked upon the 
objects they had never se«n before, and the 
intelligent gn'cting they garc to whatever was 
familiar. 

Tlie Exhibition had no speciOc feature; 
but, in tho rare and tasto with which the 
rariou.s objects were arranged, it gave evi- 
dence that those who had presided over 
its getting up had not grudged troubte. The 
articles had chiefly been contributed by 
families connected with the district, who 
must have di.«niantlcd their houses and 
drawing-roi>nm of itomc of their most vnlii- 
^le adornments ; and this gave a certain 
apirit of good intention and kind hcarted- 
ness to the whole a(&ir, which iras the 
real chann of iL The object, 1 was told, is 
to recruit the funds of the Mcch.inics' In- 
stitute, which (as is no wonder) arc in a very 
languishing state. The first room contained 
several plaster casts and busts of every 



species of phrenological development — groat 
men, murderers, and criminals of every dcin-ee- 
and there wjas also tho cast of that unhappy 
youth with the enlarged head, who secuis to 
h.'ivc been .sent to die of water on the brain for 
the especial interest of science ; for hi.s etDgy is 
to be seen either cast or engraved in all places 
where the " human skull divine" is treated 
of. ClytemncBtra was much attracted in this 
room by tho bust of Sir Isaac Newton, and 
the anatoniicid preparation of a horse's head ; 
but tho real interest of the party was not 
CKcited until wo entered a roon« where there 
were some cases of stuffed binJs, not very 
rare ones ; but such as may be seen in Eng- 
land. Here tho little girl whom we had 
brought with us from Bills o' Jacks, camo 
bc.iming up with the exclamation that " she 
foimd some real nioor-gamc in a gla.ss case, 
and a fox, that looked as if he was alive I" 
This sharp, bright little child of twelve 
years old — who had lived on the moors all 
her life, and had never been further from 
homo than to Ashton, which to her scuined 
a great metropolis — took no sort of interest in 
the pictures, and bron«e.>!, and statuettes, and 
other fino things, but greeted the objects she 
knew, with a burst of enthusiasm, the only 
novelty she seemed to caro about, w.as an 
ostrich egg, which she spoke of just as the 
people in the .\rabian Nights' spoke of tho 
roc's egg. Clytemnestra — an excellent judge 
of game — pulled me to come an<l look at some 
lovely pUirmigans, and the most beaiitiful 
grouse sho ever saw. Certainly they wero 
excellently well preserved and stuffed ; but 
amongst so many novelties I did not expect 
they would have attracted one who 8c«« grouse 
professionally every day of the season : I 
suppose it was like recognising the face of a 
friend in a strange place. 

One room was filU'd with electrical and 
philos4'iphical apparatus. A crowd of people 
were looking at them as if they had been 
implements of sorcery ; whilst one, a pla- 
cid, gixxl-nntiired countryman was prepar- 
ing to be "electrified ;" his "missu.s" sitting 
by with an air that seemed to say he de- 
served whatever he might be bringing on 
himself 

fn tho machinery -room there were a few 
beautiful models : a knitting-machine in full 
force, which turned out beautifully knitted 
grey stockings : and a sewing-machine, which 
was even a greater innovation than tho other. 
Thi.'? appeared to bo an attractive room. 
There were Sfvme tolerable pictures, which the 
people admired when the suhje<;ts were things 
they understood or hail seen before — whatever 
was absohitely new, nobody appeared to care 
about. A hall was fitted up \.ith curious 
old furniture, carved cabinets, old armour, 
tapestry, Ac. — all arranged in a very tasteful 
manner — whilst an organ or .scmphine, which 
was constantly played, made this the centre 
of attraction. ' Articles for siile were laid out 
in the centre of one room, and a collection of 



i 



113 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[CHdacMlg 



what some think curiosities, and others 
rubbisli, was arranged along one side of the 
room. Amid the medley of carved ivory 
boxes, Chined mandanns, and black-lcttcr 
bookM, one pair of curiosities elaborately 
labcUcd attracted mc ; the shoe and patten 
of a certain Mrs. Susannah Dobson, or 
some such name, the daughter of her father 
and mother, whoso names were inscribed. 
She died — tlie label told us how many years 
ago, and also that a monument to her mem- 
ory had been erected in her parish church I 
the old lady was doubtless a notability m 
her day, and we saw how people walked 
in pattens when they were ingenious in- 
ventions. 

By this time wo had gone pretty well 
through the Exhibition, and prepared to 
retrace our steps over the rocky moor. That 
strange wild district seems to lie apart from 
all the world, but in some of the scattered 
cottages, there are histories going on, beside 
which the incidents in a French novel are 
tame. There arc men and women, too, who 
go about looking quite rough and natural, who 
have had incidents in their past lives that 
one would have thought mu-st inevitably have 
wrecked any existence for ever — but it seems 
that fancy goes for a great deal in these 
matter:!. The m-itter-of-fact prosaic manner 
in which I was told some of the most startling 
incidents one could well listen to, astonished 
mu even more than the thin$<:fl themselves. 
>\'hen we once more reached Bills o' Jacks, wc 
had only time to have tea ; for the evenings 
soon begin to close in, and our road home 
wa.s not made for travelling in darkness. 
Our return home did not seem likely to be as 
successful as our coming out ; for the little 
jailc of {I mare — who had had nothing to do 
but eat com and enjoy herself — chose to be 
excited at findinR herself in a strange place, 
and to be startled by the sound of the falling 
water, and began to plunge and dance in a 
way that Clytcmnestra called playful. She 
mailc as many excuses for her as a mother 
might for a spoiled child ; but the two facts 
remained — that I was a rank coward and that 
the road for the first two miles was down a 
hill that was awkward enough when wo came 
»ip it in the morning. So Cordelia good- 
nnturcdly walked with mc to the bottom; 
althou;;h I am sure it must have tried the pa- 
<ii*nce of both sisters to see me frightened at 
what they did every day. 'When we were 
onre more fairly seated in the cart, I was 
toll! that the marc had been kept without 
wfirk and on an extra allowance of com for 
thric or four days, "in order that she 
'ni;rht be quite fresh for u.<!." It was un- 
inteful of mc, but how thankfully would 
i have chanjied her for a sedate cart-horse 
without any imapnation, and with much 
less corn ! The light* were gleaming on the 
hill sides as we passed along, and the dusk 
had Ion": sot in l>efore we arrived home, and 
found Adeliza lookmg anxiously up the street 



for us, for she had begun to feci some mi» 
givings about our capabilities of tab ing cut 
of ourselves. She had a comfortable suppei 
ready for us, and when she had heard our ad- 
ventures, she declared, with an emphatie 
shake of her head, that the little Jezebel of « 
mare should go through a course of hard 
work before sne trusted her to go anywhere 
without her again. 

Thus wc accomplished one object of war 
expedition. Wo had seen the Great Saddle* 
worth Exhibition ; but the pranks of the 
marc had prevented us from bringing h«»M 
a single bilberry. 

DEAD RECKONING AT THE 
MORGUE. 

On the island of the city of Paris, standi 
the Palace of Justice, with its numerous 
courts of law and echoing Hall of the Lort 
Footsteps (Salle de» Pom perdu*) ^ its near 
and necessary neighbour, the Prison of the 
Conciergcrie, once vomiting indiscriminately 
into the guillotine-cart crime and innocence; 
the Holy Chapel, that marvel of Gothic 
architecture ; the great flower market, which, 
with its rival on the Place do la Made- 
leine, supplies all Paris with iouyueti; the 
Prefecture of Police, where strangers miut go 
or send, if for no other purpose than to have 
their passports indorsed ; the great cathediai 
of N6tre Dame, alone worthy of a pilgri* 
mage ; the hospital of the Hotel Dieu, ilwni 
dedicated to humanity, and once called if 
that name, when the virtue was acara ai 
Paris; and, not the least curious, thou^to 
the majority of sight-seers, perhaps the hat 
agreeable, the Morgue or " dead-house." 

Why the Morgue is so designated, iff 
except philologists can tell. According ft 
Vaugelas, morgue is an old French word ijf 
nifying face ; and it is still used to ezpresi 
consequential look or haughty manner r eflechi 
from the countenance. In former times thM 
used to bo a small lobby just within the » 
trance to all the prisons, which, in France, «■ 
called the morgve ; because it was thwe tU 
the gaolers examined the morgue or 6oe d 
each prisoner before he was taken to his o4 
that he might be recognised in case of tf- 
temptcd evasion. At a later period, it waiii 
these ante-chambers that tlie bodies of wk 
as were found dead in the streets or elsewhm 
were exposed, for recognition, to the gase d 
the public, who peep(^ at them through i 
wicket in the prison door. In Paris, tk 
general place of exposure was in the hnnr 
gaol or morgue of the prison of the peat 
Ch&telct, and the principal regulations to bi 
observed in giving effect to the measure mti 
set forth in a police ordinance of the wiA 
of the month Florial, in the year eight, wluck 
means the twenty-eighth of April, cightM* 
hundred, as follows : — 

As soon as a corpse was broaght to tin 
lower gaol, '.t was to be exposed to pobGt 



lh«<M Stckua.1 



DEAD RECKONING AT THE MORGUE. 



na 



view, with all the respect due to decency and 
propriety, the clothes of the deceased hanging 
bc8ldc it, und it vr&s thus to rcmnin for three 
days. In case of tlie body being recognised, 
tho30 who idvntiScd it were to niukc their 
declaration before the magislnite of the 
quarter, or tlie nearest coinuiiisary gf police, 
and he having furnished the necei>i;ary paper, 
the prefect of police woitld give an order for 
the delivery of the retnains and their inter- 
ment in the usual manner. Tlio^e who 
Claimed tiie corp&e were expected, if it was in 
their power, to pay the expenses atlcnduut 
upon lindiiig and exposing it, and were al- 
lowed to hare the clothes and other etleots 
found upon the deceased. All the reports 
relating to the bodies taken to the lower gaol 
as Weil lii the orders of inlenuent, were to 
be inscribed in a register kept for that pur- 
pose at the prefecture of police ; and a similar 
book w.Ts to l>c kept at tlie lower gaol itself, 
in which, day by day, were to be inscribed the 
admission of dead bodies, their appearance, 
the presumed cause of death, and the date of 
their removal. When fragments of a corpse 
were fished out of the Seine, those who dLv- 
covered them were to give intimation of 
the fact to tlio nearest coramis.sary of police, 
who was to take the same steps with re- 
gard to them as if tho body had been found 
entire. 

This ordinance remained in force for four 
years ; but it being then thought advi.sable 
to have a building expressly devoted to the 
exposurv nf the dea;il, the present Morcfui; 
was constructed close to the north-eustcm 
extremity of the bridge of St Michel, en 
tho Marehij NeuC No change took place in 
the regulttiioiis above cited, nor has any 
materiul »lii'ratiou been made in them since 
the promulc^ation of the original ordinance. 

Till' ist^blishment of the M<ii-gue was par- 
ticularly intended to apply to that class of 
persons respteting whose habits of life and 
place of abode it wnn difficult to obtain such 
infoniiaiiun a.s would enable the authorities 
to ri-(ji.sur their deaths in a proper manner ; 
and the obji-et which llie administration 
hoped to attain by the institution, was that 
of universal identitication. This has never 
been altogether possible, but great progress 
has been made towanls> it I'o/ ic.staiiCA in 
the year eighteen hundred and thirty, the 
proportion of bodies recognised was not more 
than four out of ten, while at present tliey 
amount to nine-tenths of the whole number 
exposed ; with this material addition that, 
whereas the bodies formerly remained for the 
full period prescribed by law, and goraetimea 
even exceeiiod .it, the average time within 
which nco^jnilion now takes place is little 
more tliaii twenty-four hours. 

This inforisation, with what will further he 
detaileil. was comnmuicated to me in a wry 
busiuessrltke, and I had almost stiid, a Vi:ry 
pltn.>eint manner, by Monsieur Uiiptiste, the 
inteUigent grejJUr or clerk of the Morgue. 



No " mysterious disappearance of a gentle- 
man," or lady, such as with us produces an 
advertisement in the Times, was the cause of 
my " looking in" one line sunny moniing while 
on my way, by tho route which most people 
take, to Notre Dame. 1 was simply pBi;sing 
along the Murche Neuf when, from the open 
door of a wine-shop, three or four men in 
blouses, accompanied by a woman, suddenly 
rushed out, and exclaiming loudly, " Ah ! it is 
he then I" ran hastily' across tho street and 
dashed into the Morgue. I had often glanced, 
with an involuntary shudder, at the cold- 
looking vault-like building, and had always 
hurried onward ; but on this occasion a feel- 
ing of curiosity made me pause. I asked 
myself who it was that had excited the sudden 
cnjotion which I hud just witnessed < and, as 
I put the qMcstion, I found I was proceeding 
to answer it by following those who I had no 
doubt were the relatives or fricuds of some 
one newly discovered. 

Passing through a wide carriage gate, I 
entered a large vestibule, and, turning to the 
left, saw before me the Salle iF Exposition, 
where so many ghastly thousands, the victims 
of accident or crime, had been brought for 
identitication after death. It was separated 
from the vestibule by a stroiig barrier, which 
supported a range of upright bars, placed a 
few inches apart and reaching to the ceiling, 
and through the iuterstiees everything within 
could be distinctly seen ; this barrier ran 
tho wlmle length of the chamber, dividing 
it into two nearly equal parii^. It had need 
to have been strong, if the grief of all who 
pressed ag'&inst it had equalled tlie passionate 
sorrow of tho woman who now clung to the 
bar in her frenzied c.igernesa to cisisp tho 
dead. 1 soon learnt, ii'om her own sobbing 
voice, that it was her son. The facts attending 
his exposure were of evcry-day otTcurrence: 
he had been fished out of the Seine, and there 
he laj', livid and swollen ; but, whether ho 
had accidentally Allien into the river, or hod 
committed suicide, there seemed to be nothing 
to show. So at least it appeared to me; 
but the mother of the drowned man — ho was 
under twenty, and she herself had scarcely 
passed middle agt — thought otherwise; for 
every now and then she moaned forth a 
female name, which the friends who stood 
beside her endeavoured to hush, and (ram' 
thw 1 inferred that the deceased had proba- 
bly acted under one of those impulses of 
jealousy which, when it does not seek tho 
life of a rival, resolves to suppress its own.. 
Hut come by his death how ho might, the 
identilicaiion was complete, and defeatured 
as he wa-s his mother found the sad task 
iiodilficulty. Indeed, the manner of exposure 
oilers every facility' for recognition. Th« 
clothes are hung up over the corpse in audi 
a manner that they can be re-idily recognised.. 
The body iUelf 'is placed on a daik slab,. 
Klightly inclining towanls tlie spectatoi-, with- 
tho head resting upon a sort of desk or 



I 

■ 



1 



iU 



nOUSRHOLP WOROa 



rOmlulM kf 



I 



low bitwk coTcreii willi »iiic; no that tlie 
fi;ntuivs nix* clcurly U> be seun Ixnc-ntli llic 
liglil, wliii-h cotiic's in from windows high up 
in the wall htliind the corpse. There is a tAp 
in the wall for turning on water, whioh rims 
otV liy a sniall gutter at the Tool of the slab. 
ThiM is all. 

It wtt* oiih' oftfr cttreme persuasion thftt 
thv inothi'i' of the lii'i i:i-;ftl suffvroil hursclf to 
V IlhI *H(iy from the Morpjuc to lier dwelling 
ojipoKite. One of the purly remained behind. 
He, trto, hiid iileiititied the body a.'i tliat of his 
c«>iisin ; mid, upon his declaration, the grtjikr 
proceeded to draw up the document, whieh 
wns to be taken to the commissioners of 
police before the body could be removed 
from the biiililing, atthough it was now with- 
drawn from the talle tTcipofition and placed 
in miother apartnient. Perceiving that I 
lingored in the vvstibnle after the departure 
of the cou.sin, Monsieur Baptiste accoetcd 
ine, and civilly conjectured thot, as I waa 
alone, perhaps it would afford mo BOine 
"ainiLsenient" to see that part of the builil- 
ing which wnj* not usually shown to the public. 
He plftcedliiniself cntin-Iy atniydiKposition. I 
accepted his courtesy with many th.inlw ; and, 
harini; crosseil the vestibule, he opened a door 
on the right hand, and intrmhiced nic into the 
otBcc ovcrwhich he presided. " lien?," he raid, 
with a slight flourish of hi.s hand, "all the 
iinportjuit forms attendant upon the several 
«nirie» and departures were filled up by 
himself—* function which, he knew he need 
not asMurc me, wa.i a highly responsible one. 
To discover a dead body," ho atided, " was a 
sufflcienlly simple process — to dajfuerreotypc 
it in pen and ink was another. Even if that 
talU ifeTpiyrlfion diil not exist, Monsieur, 
here," he exclaimed, tapping an enormous 
folio *rith brazen clasps, " could be seen, 
in tny own handwriting, dl Uie proofs 
nece.sinry for eHtablisliing a secaru ideiitili- 
calion." 

I ventui-ed to suggest, with humility — for I 
was a straniri'r in I'aris — that some impedi- 
ineiif ■ • — . offered to lliis mwle of giving 
gi-n. ■ ! ion, in the possible fuel that 

the tnuion-i of .It lea.<t one-half of the unfor- 
tunate people wliose bodies were taken to the 
Morgue might not be able to read. 

"Then," replie<l Monsieur Iljtptisto, un- 
dauntedly, " I would read my description to 
thoRc poor people." 

Of eoiitse, it was not for me to donbt the 
skill nf ihi? worthy little grt^gier, but I conld 
not help fancying from a certain recollection 
df the jiortraiture of pawports — that it wa.s 
quite as well the hall of cxpos;ure and idcnti- 
flcatfon did exiHt. However, I made no com- 
ment upon Monsieur Baptisto's triumphant 
rejoinder, and we passed on. ^ 

Apart from a little pleasant personal vanity i 
I found >[onsi>.-ur Kaptiste a very intelligent . 
companion. FVoiu the office he conducle\l mo ' 
to the »alU (Tautitpiie (di.ssccting-room), in I 
which were two diiscctii]g tables, one of Ihem | 



' supplied with a disinfecting apparatuit, com- 
inuntcating with a stove in an adjoining 
apartment. Beyond this was the rtmut 
(coach-house) containing the wagg^m -shaped 
hearse, which conveyed to the cemetery — 
without show, and merely shroude«i in a 
coarse cloth — such bodies aa were either un- 
claimed or unrecognised. The next chamber 
was called tlio talU d« Intnge, or washing 
room. It was flagged all OTer and fiupplied 
with a large stone trough, in which the clothes 
of the persons brought iti were washed ; it 
served also for sluicing the bodied Sinnlarly 
(lagged throughout wa.s anciUier apartment, 
the tallf tie drgagemmt, or priviito room, 
situate<I between the »nlU dii lurngtt and the 
»alU iTexfX'iiitio)!, where temf>or.irily depo- 
sited on fttoue tables — out of the reach bf 
insects fVom whose attacks they were pro- 
tected by a covering of prepared cloth — lay the 
bodies of tliosc who had been idcntifle<1, such 
as were in too advanceil a ■■'tagc of decompo- 
sition to admit of recognition, and sucli aa 
were destined for intcnuent The last afiSTt* 
ment in the Morgue that ix-ninins to be 
noticed, but which I did not enter, wa.* the 
(V>mA/«, a hort of garret, in which that one of 
the two attendants slept, who^e duly it is to 
pass the night on the premises ; his sleep 
being very frequently disturbed by fresh 
arrivals. 

" .\nd how many admissions take pla^e In 
the Morgue, in the course of the year ?" I 
inquired of Monsieur Baptiste. 

" Faith," replied he, slirugiring his should- 
ers, " of one kind or other, there is .scarcely 
a single day without something fre.'^h. Ob- 
serve, Monsieur, they do not come in regtl- 
larly. Not at all, Sometinies wc are quite 
empty for days ; an<l then, again, wc are 
cniwdeil to such a degree as scarcely to be 
able to fuid room for all that arrive. In the 
extremes of the seasons — the height of sum* 
mer and the depth of winter — the number! 
are the greatest But if Monsieur is curiooe 
to know the precise factn, I shall have great 
pleasure in informing him." 

Thereupon Monsieur Baptiste invited me 
once more to enter his office ; and, having 
accommodated me with a .H-at, he appealed to 
the brazen clasped volume to correct hi.s star 
tistirs, and communicated to mc Uie following 
particulars. 

The Morgue, he said, was supplied notonlr 
from the forty-eight qvartirrt into which 
Paris is divitled ; but received a coiipideraWe 
share from the seventy -eight enmvtvn" of the 
fmnlievf, or townships within the jurisdiction 
of the capita] ; from the rommvne» of Scvnia, 
.Saint Cloud, and Mcudon ; frnn; " ' nil, 

Saint CJermain, and from other pi; i iig 

on the river. The average nnml" t ; i iunium 
amounted to three hundred ami si.\1y-four, 
which Monsieur Buf>liste arranged as lolluws: 
including the separate fragment* of dead 
bodies, which he rated at eleven entries there 
were brougiit, be said.tbirty-eight children pro. 




MibM.] 



DEAD RECKONING AT THE MORGUE. 



lis 



mattirely bom, twenty-six th«t hod reached 
th<> full tcnn, nnd of aHuIti; two hundred 
tind thirt_v-(-ig1it mon ami fifty-one women. 
Me divided the two Inst into four ontegorics. 
Of Rcctxt honiiriilei*, IIkto were the Imilies of 
'.hrec nn'n nnd two women ; of such ds had 
diM from sicl;nrss or very suridenly, thirty- 
four men and elcTcn women; of the acd- 
dentnlly hurt where dentli had supervened, 
sixty -sis men and four women ; and of sui- 
cides, the larpe number of one hundred and 
thirty men and thirty-five woroen. 

I rcmsrkeil that the disproportion between 
thu wxi^s van ranch prenter than I had 
iina^int-d ; indeed I had rather expected that 
the liolanec would have inclined the other 
way. 

'' If MonBieur -would permit me," said the 
polite Ilaptiste, " I would cause bim to observe 
th.it men have more rc&Aons for comniittinj; 
snilcide than women ; or, if this he dis-pufed, 
that they are less tenacious of existence than 
the other sex, who unden^tand that their 
muwion ia to bear. A woman's hope, Monsiicur, 
is almost as strong as her lore, often they are 
the same. But a man! Iiefore the fai-e of 
adversity he turns pale; the pain of the pre- 
sent is intolenililc to him ; in preference to 
that, he wvers tics which a woman slmddcrs 
to think of hrrakinp. A woman never forjrels 
that her children are a part of herself; a 
man frequently considers them a mere acci- 
dent. 

'■ Rut, after all," T remarked, " the sum 
total which j'ou have named appears to me 
not enormous, con».tdcrin!? the extent of 
Paris and itss dependtneios, the numiiur of its 
iniwihilants, and,' I added, after a short 
pause, "the irapreBsioTuble character of the 
peofilc." 

"That obsi I ration would be perfectly 
jusrt," returned Monsieur Baptiste, "if all 
who met with violent deaths in Paris were 
trntLsported to the Moi-j^ue. But the fact is 
(HflVreiit. Those chielly — I mi^ht almost syjy 
those only — are broujrht here, whasc place of 
abode ia unknown in the quarter where they 
are found. The persons neciilcntally killed 
at work, a proportion of those who ore run 
over or injured by animals, the victims of 
jioison or chnn-oal, or hanpn?, nr duel«, have 
for the roMt part a fixed residence, nnd to 
brinfr them to the Morf^uc for identification 
would be nnnereiKary. Even such as try the 
water, and they furnish the majority of caKCS 
(this act being tlie least premeditated), have 
homes or the dwcllincs of friends or masters 
to which they arc conreycd hy witnesses of 
the dec<l. It is the solitarj', homeless suicide, 
who in the middle of the. nipht leaps from 
the parapet of the brid^ and is found in the 
mesbfs of the./?/'"'* dm mnrtt (the dead-net.*) 
that comos to this establi.<i.hnient. That this 
ix n fiict the eenenil returns otilcially declare ; 
for the mimber of drowned persons who are 
•X]if«ed in tho Moriciio are only one-sixth 
of those whose remains arc taken to their 



own dwellings; and this proportion is ex- 
ceeded in most of the other cases." 
. I ventured to suppose that where cvery- 
thinpf was so methodically ordered, some ap- 
proximation ns to thi- cnu.«c of the numerous 
suicides — the lii.<t scene of which was wit- 
nessed in the Morjjne — had been arrived at in 
the estahlishment. Monsieur Bnptiste told 
me I was ri^ht. Diligent inquiry, voluntary 
information, and conjecture ba.sed upon long 
experience, had, he believed, arrived very 
nearly at the truth, and these condusiona 
were thus set forth. 

Taking one hundred and sixty-nine for the 
annual aggrepate, the number of men who 
commited suicide in a state of insanity or de- 
lirium, was twenty-two ; of women eight. On 
account of domestic trouble, the numbers were 
eighteen and .six; of drunkenness, fifteen and 
two ; of misery, thirteen and four; ofdisgust of 
life, eleven and three; of disappointed love, ten 
and three; of misconduct, eight and two; of 
incurable maladies, eight and one; dread of 
judicial investigation, .seven and one; em- 
bcizleraent and defalcations, si.x .iiid one; 
wfiile on account of causes that could not be 
ascertained or gues.sed at there remained 
sixteen men and live women. 

It appeared from what Monsieur Baptista 
further stated, that selfactivity in procuring 
the means of death w.is much greater in the 
men th.Tn the women. 

" A woman, Monsieur," fi.iid the (fi'fffit'f, 
"when she has made up her mind to die, 
chooses the speediest ami most passive form 
of self-destruction. Shrinking from Ihi' 
thoughts of blood, she seldom employs fire- 
arms or a sharp instrument — these are a nmirs 
weapons; for those who shoot themselves, 
we have ten men and only one woman ; by 
the knife three men alone; it is merely on 
the stage that a woman uses the dagger. In 
sutfocation by the fumes of charcoal — the 
easiest death known — tlie women exceed the 
men, the numbers being three atid two; in 
CJ19CS of drowning, the general proportion 
holds twenty-six women and ninety-seven 
men selecting that mode of death. Sixteen 
men and two women hang themselves, four 
men and three women throw themselves from 
high places, two men end their lives by 
poison; nnd in this way. Monsieur, the sum 
total i.s made up." 

" I have," I said, " but one more quesHpn 
to ask now, Wbnt is the period of life at 
which suicide is most frerjuent ?" 

'* \ uinn's tendency to shorten his days," 
replied .Monsieur Baptiste, " is principally 
developed between the ages of twenty and 
fifty ; it is strongest in woman before sbc 
reaches thirty, diminishes fronj that age to 
forty, subsides still more within the next ten 
years, revives agiiin for another decade, and 
then bci^omes almost extinct. Old men 
become wciiry of life towards its close much 
oftencr tli.in women. Fn that »"fl« ifMrfioti- 
(ioi) I have Seen in one year the white liaiis 



4 



\ 



I 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



I 



I 



P 



of four men of eighty, more or less ; but of aged 
women never wore than two. Ah, Monsieur, 
the Morgue i.s not a very gaj place to live in, 
but it is a great teiicher." 

A CBILD'S niSTORY OF ENGLAND. 
cnArTEB xxxvin. 

I SHALI not try to relnte tlie partio'il«r8 of 
the great civil war between Kinp; Charles the 
First and the Long Parliament, which lB.«te<1 
nearly four yearn, and n full account of which 
would Rll many large books. It wa.s s nad 
thin^ that Englishmen Rhould once more he 
n^htini; against Englishmen on English 
cronml ; but, it is some ccmRolation to know 
tliat on both sides there w.ns preat htimanitv, 
f'lrbcarancc and honour. The soldiers of the 
Parliament were far more remarkable for 
llioi^e ;:ood qualities than the soldiers of the 
Kinn (ninny of whom fought for mere pay 
"iiliout much caring for the cause); buttho.ie 
->r the nobility and gentry who wure on the 
Kin;r'K side were so brave, and so faithful to 
liini, that their conduct cannot but command 
our highest admiration. Among the.'ie were 
trnat numbers of Catholics, who took the 
niynl fide because the Queen was so strongly 
«>f their persuasion. 

The King might have disfinptiishcd some 
of these gallant ftpiriL^, if he had been as 
(Tcncrous a spirit himself, by giving them the 
commandof his anny. Instead of that, how- 
ever, true to hi."? old high notions of royalty, 
he cntru.sted it to liii! two nephews, Prince 
Ri'i'EKT and Prince Matrice, who were of 
TDval tilood, nod cnme over from abroad to 
help him. It might have been better fur him 
if they had stayed away, since Prince Rupert 
was nn impetuous hot-headed fellow, wbo.^e 
only idea wa-s to dash into b.ittle at all times 
ind seasons, and lay about him. 

The gencml-in-chief of the Parlinmcntary 
army was the Earl of Esssc.t, a gentleman of 
honour and an excellent Boldier. A little 
while Ix'forc the war broke out, there had been 
some rioting at AVcstminster between certain 
officiou.s law students ntul noi.sy soldiers, and 
the shopkeepers and their apprentices, and the 
ppooral people in the streets. At that time thp 
King'.s friends called the crowd, Roundheads, 
bccau.sc the apprentices wore short hair; the 
crowd, in return, called their opponents 
Cavaliers, meaning that they were a bUister- 
ing set, who pretended to be very military. 
Th'.'Rc two word." now b'-gsn to bo Msed to 
distinguish the two sides in the civil war. 
The Royali.sts al.so called the Parliamentary 
men Rebels and Rogues, while the Parlia- 
mentary men called them Malignants, and 
spoke of themselves as the Godly, the Uonest, 
and so forth. 

The war broke out at Portsmouth, where 
that dcuhle traitor Goring had again pone 
over to the King and was besieged by the 
Parliamentary troops. Upon this, the King 
proclaimed the Earl of Essex and the officers 



serving under him, traitors, and called upon 
his loyal subjeotii to meet him in arms at 
Nottingham on the twenty-fifth of August. 
But his loyal subjects came about him in 
scanty numbers, and it waa a windy gloomy 
day, and the Royal Standard got blown down, 
and the whole affair was very melancholy. 
The chief engagements after Ihi.s, took place 
in the vale of the Red Horse near Banbnrr, 
in Wiltshire, at Urcntford, at Devi/,cs, at 
Chalgravc Field (where Mr. Hampden was 
so sorely wounded while fighting at the head 
of hus men, that he died within a week), at 
Tewkesbury (in which battle Lord Falk- 
LANP, one of the best noblemen on the King's 
side, was killed), at Leicester, at Nasi-bv, at 
Winchester, at Marston .Moor near York, at 
Newcastle, and in many other parts ot 
England and Scotland. These battles wens 
attended with various succc.s.ses. At one 
time the King was victorious; at another time 
the Parliament But a1mo.st all the great 
and busy towns were against the King ; and 
when it was considered necessary lo fortify 
London, all ranks of people, from labouring 
men and women up to lords and Indies, 
worked hard together with heartiness and 
good-will. The most distinguished leaders 
on the Parliamentary side were llAMrDKK, 
Sia Thomas FAiKrAX, and above all, Outkr 
Cromwejj,, and his .son-in-luw IncToM. 

During the whole of this war, the people, 
to whom it was very expensive and irksome, 
and to whom it was made the more <listres.sing 
by almost every family being divided — some 
of its members attaching themselves to tho 
one side and some to the other — were over 
and over again most anxious for peace. So 
were some of the best men in each cause. 
Accordingly, treaties of peace were discussed 
between commissioners from the Parliament 
and the King; at York, at Oxford (whcr<' the 
King held a little Parliament of his own), 
and at TT.vbridci-'. But they came to nothings 
In all these negociations, and in nil bis diffl- 
nilties, (he King showed himself at his best 
He was courageous, cool, self-possessed and 
clever; but, the old taint of his character was 
always in him, and he was never for one 
single moment to be trusted. Lord Clarendon, 
the historian, one of his highest admirers, 
supposes that he had unhappily promised the 
t^ueen never to make peace without her con- 
sent, and thai this must often be taken as his 
excuse. He never kept his word from night 
to morning. He signed o cos.satinn of hos- 
tilitiea with the blooil-stained Irish rebels 
for a sum of money, and invited tho Iriah 
regiments over, to help him against the 
Parliament In the battle of Naseby, his 
cabinet was seized and was foiiml to contain 
a rorrespondenre with the Queen, in which 
he expressly told her (hnt he had deceived 
the Parliament — a mongrel Parliiinient, he 
called it now, as an improvtmerit on his old 
term of vipers — in pretending to n-cngniM it 
and to treat with it ; and (roai which it 



■rfal Drakcui ] 



A CHILD'S mSTOitY OP ENGLAND. 



117 



further appeared that he had been long in 
secret treaty with the Duke of Lorruine for 
t foreign army of ten thousand men. Dis- 
appointed in tiiis, he sent a most devoted 
friend of his the Eaul op GLAMonGAjr, to 
Ireland, to conclude a secret treaty with the 
Catholic powers, to send him an Irish army 
of ten thoii.'iAnd men ; in return for which 
he wa? to IkkIow great favours on the 
Catholic religion. And when this treaty was 
discorercd in the carriage of a lighting Tri.sh 
Archbishop, who was killed in one of the 
many skirmislies of those' day*, he basely 
denied and deserted his attiichetl friend, the 
Earl, on his being charged with high treason ; 
and — even worse than this — liad left blanks 
in tlic secret instructions he gave him with 
bis own kingly hanti, expressly that he 
might thus save himself. 

At last, on the twenty-seventh day of April, 
one thousand six hundred and fortr-si.T, the 
King found himself in the city of Oxford, so 
surrounded V>y the Parliamentary array who 
were closing in upon him on all sides, tlint he 
felt that if he would escape, he must delay 
no longer. So, that night, having altered the 
cut of his hair and beard, he was drca-sed up 
as a servant and put upon a horse with a 
cloak strapped behind him, and rode out of the 
town behind one of hi.s own faithful followers, 
with a clergyman of that country, who know 
tlic road well, for a guide. Uc rode towards 
London as far a.s ^Bm^w, and then altered 
hh plans, and rtsolved, it would seem, to go 
to the Scottish camp. The Scottish men had 
been invited over to help the Parliamentary 
array, and bad a large force then in Knsland. 
The King wai* so dr»p<Tatcly intriguing in 
everything he did, that it is doiihtfiil what he 
exactly meant by thi.s step. He took it, any- 
how, and delivered himself up to the Eaki. 
or Lbves, the Scottish general-in-chief, who 
treated him as an honourable prisoner. Ne- 
gotiations between the Parliament on the onu 
Land and the Scottish authorities on the other 
as to what should be done vrith him, l.nstcd 
until the following February. Then, when 
the King had refused to the Parliament the 
conce.«ion of that old militia point for twenty 
years, and had refused to Scotland the recog- 
nition of its Solemn League and Covenant, 
Scotland got a hatidsomo sum for its army 
and its help, and the Kins; into the bargain. 
He vrtis taken by certain Parliamentary com- 
mi.^iioners appointed to receive him, to one 
of his own houses, called llolmby House, near 
Althorpe, in Northamptonshire. 

W'hile the Civil War was still in progrc.s.<i, 
John Pytn died, and was buried with great 
honour in Westminster .\bbey — nnt with 
greater honour than he deserved, fop thcliltcr- 
ties of Englishmen owe a mighty debt to Pym 
and Hampden. The war w.'<s hut ncwty over 
when the Eirl of Essex died, of an illncs-s 
brought on by his having overheated himself 
in a stag hunt in Windsor Forest He, too, 
was buried in Westmin8*.er Abbey, with great 



state. I wish it were not necessary to add 
that Archbishop Laud died upon the scaffold 
when the war was not yet done. His trial 
lasted in all nearly a year, and, it being 
doubtful even then whether the charges 
brought against him amounted to trca.son, the 
odious old contrivance of the worst kings was 
resorted to, and a bill of attainder was brought 
in against him. He was a violently prejudiced 
and mischievous person, bad had strong car- 
cropping and nosc-sUtting propensities, as you 
know, and had done a world of harm. But he 
died peaceably, and like a brave old man. 

COAPTER XXXIX. 

AVhes the Parliament had got the King 
into their hands, they became very anxious 
to get rid of their army, in which Oliver 
Croiuwetl had begun to acquire great power ; 
not oidy because of his courage and high 
abilities, but because he professed to be very 
sincere in the Scottish sort of Puritan religion 
that was then exceedingly popular among the 
soldiers. They were as much opposed to the 
Bishops as to the Pope himself; and the very 
privates, drummers, and trumpeters, had such 
an inconvenient habit of starting up and 
preaching long-winded discourses, that I 
would not have belonged to that army on 
any account 

So, the Parliament being far fh>m sure but 
that the army might begin to preach and 6ght 
against them now it h.td nothing else to do, 
proposed to disband a greater part of it, to 
send another part to serve in Ireland against 
the rebels, and to keep only a small force in 
England. But, the army would not consent 
to be broken up, e.\ci'fit upon its own con- 
ditions; and when the Parliament showed 
aji intention of compelling it, it acted for 
itself in an unexpected manner. A certain 
cornet, of the name of Joice, arrived at 
Uohnby House one night, attended by four 
hundred horsemen, went into the King's 
room with his hat in one hand and a pistol 
in the other, and told the King that ho 
had come to take him away. The King, 
was willing enough to go, and only sti[ivdftteJ 
that he should be [)ublicly required to do so 
next morning. Next morning, accordingly, 
he appeared on the top of the steps of tho 
house, and a.-^ked Cornet Joit-e before his men 
and the guard set tliere by the Parliament, 
what autiiority he had for Ljiktng him away? 
To thiji Cornet Joice replied, '" the authority 
of the army." " Have you a written com- 
mi.ision !" .said the King. Joice, pointing to 
his four hundred men on horseback, replied, 
" that is my comini.s.sion." " Well," said the 
King smiling, as if ho were pleased, "i 
never Iternro read sueh a commis.sion ; but 
it is written in fJiir and legible eharacterft. 
This is a company of as liandsomo proper 
gentlemen as I have seen a long while. He 
was asked where he would like to live, and 
he said at Newmarket So, to Newmarket 
he, and Comet Joice, and the four hundred 



I 
I 
I 



i 



118 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



ICMdoeiWtf 



horsemen, rode ; the King remarking in the 
same smiling way, that he could ride as far 
at a spell as Cornet Joice, or any man there. 

Tlie King quite believed, I think, that the 
anny were his friends. lie said as much 
to Fairfax when that general, Oliver Cromwell 
and Ircton,. went to persuade him to return 
to the custody of the Parliament. He pre- 
ferred to *^main as he was, and resolved to 
remain as he was. And when the army 
moved nearer and nearer London to frighten 
the Parliament into yielding to their demands, 
they took the King with them. It was a 
deploring thing that England should be at 
the mercy of a great l)ody of soldiers with 
anus in their hands, but tlie King certainly 
favoured them at this impoi'tant time of his 
life in reference to the more lawful power that 
tried to control him. It must be atldcd, how- 
ever, that they treated him, as yet, more re- 
spectfully and kindly than the Parliament 
had ever done. They allowed him to be 
attended by his own servants, to be splendidly 
entertained at various hoiuses, and to sec his 
children — at Cavesham House, near Reading 
— for two days. Whereas, tlie Psirliament 
had been rather hard with him, and had only 
allowed him to ride out and play at Ik>w1s. 

It is much to be believed that if the King 
could have been trusted, even at this time, 
he might havo been saved. Even Oliver 
Cromwell expressly said that ho did believe 
that no man could enjoy his possessions in 
])eac«, unless the King had his rights. He 
was not unfriendly towards the King; he 
had been present when he received his 
children, and had been much afTccted by the 
pitiable nature of the scene ; he saw the King 
often ; he frequently walked and talked with 
him in the long galleries and pleasant 
gardens of the Palace at Hampton Court, 
whither lie was now removed; and in all 
this risked something of his influence with 
the army. But, the King was in secret hopes 
of help from the Scottish people; and the 
moment he was encouraged to join them he 
bejran to be cool to his new friends, the army, 
and to tell the officers that they could not pos- 
sibly do without him. At the very time, too, 
when he was promising to make Cromwell and 
Irelon noblemen, if they would help him up 
to his old height, he was writing to the Queen 
that ho meant to hang them. They both 
afUrwards declared that they had l)een 
privately informed that such a letter would 
be found, on a certain evening, sewn up in a 
«i(ldle, which would be taken to the Blue 
Hoar in lloUwrn to be sent to Dover ; and 
that they went there, disguised as common 
soldiers, and satdrinkinjr in the inn-yard until 




of tK„ V . X ,"'.T Cromwell told one 

Kin„ '^'."K 8 most faithful followers that the 
King could not be trusted, and that he would 
not bo answerable if anyUiing amiss were 



I ilUfc uu 



to happen to him. Still, even after that, he 
kept a promise he had made to the King, by 
letting him know that there was a plot with 
a certain portion of the army to seize hinL 
I believe that, in fact he sincerely wanted 
the King to escape abroad, and so to be got 
rid of without more trouble or danger. That 
Oliver himself had work enough with the 
army is pretty plain, for some of the troops 
were so mutinous against him, and against 
those who acte<l with him at this time, that 
he found it necessary to have one man shot 
at the head of his regiment to overawe the 
rest 

The King, when he received Oliver'i 
warning, made his escape from Hampton 
Court, and, after somo indecision and un- 
certainty, went to Carisbrooke Castle in the 
Isle of Wight At first, he was pretty free 
there ; but, even there, he carried on a pre- 
tended treaty with the Parliament, while h« 
was really treating with commissiuDers from 
Scotlantl to send an army into £ugland to 
take his part When he broke off this 
treaty with the Parliament (having settled 
with Scotland) and was treated as a prisoner, 
his treatment was not changed too soon, for 
he had plotted to escape that very night to 
a ship sent by the Queen, which was lying 
olF the island. 

He was doome<l to be disappointed in hii 
hopes from Scotland. The agreement be 
had miidc with the Scottish Coramtssioncn 
was not favourable enough to the religion tt 
thatcountry, to please thu Scottish clergy, and 
they preached against it. The consequcan 
was, that the army raise<l in Scotland ad 
sent over, was too smiill to do much; ui 
that, although it was helped by a riaing <( 
the lloyallsts in England and by good fiolain i 
from Ireland, it could make no head agaisri 
the Parliamentary army under Buch men ■ 
Cromwell and Fairfax. The King's eldirt 
son, the Prince of Wales, came over froa 
Holland with nineteen ships (a pturt d* Iki 
English fleet having gone over to him) M 
help his father, but nothing came of U 
voyage, and he was fain to return. The rant 
remaricabic event of this second civil «■ 
was the cruel execution by the Fulii' 
mentary General, of Sm Charles LFCAsad 
Sib Georgk Llslr, two gallant RoyaEl 
generals, who had bravely defended GUI' 
Chester under every disadvantage of ftmix 
and distress for nearly three months. Whs 
Sir Charles Lucas M-as shot, Sir Geoi|i 
Li.sle kissed his body, and said to the solAai 
who were to shoot him, " Come nearer, ui 
make sure of me." " I warrant you, Sk 
George," said one of the soldiers, *' wc ibd 
hit you." " Aye ?" he returned with KtaSt, 
" but I have been nearer to you, my Mend^ 
many a time, and you have missed me." 

The Parliament, after being fearfully bulM 
by the army, who demanded to have sera 
members whom they disliked given up tt 
them, had voted that they woidd Un 



\ 



I piit.a>.] 



A CHILD'S HISTORY OF EXGLANT). 



notliing more to do vrith the King ; on the 

conclusion, however, of litis second I'ivil nrar 
(which i1i(i not last more cluiibix laontli^) Uiey 
ftppointcii conimiiisioDcrs to treat with him. 
Thu Kin;^, then so far released again ns to be 
allowed to live in a private house at Newport 
in the l:ile of Wight, managed his own poi't 
of the negotiation vrith a sense tliat was 
admired by all who saw him, and ^iive up, iu 
the end, all that was asked of him — even 
yielding (which he had steadily refused, so 
fw) to the'teinporary abolition of the bishops 
ami the transfer of their church land to 
the Crown. Still, with bis old fatal vice 
upon liira, when his best friends joined the 
commissioners in bescccliing him to yield all 
those points as the only mcaas of saving him- 
self from the army, he was plotting to escape 
from the island ; he was holding corrcspoti- 
dcpri; with hiii {riends and the Catholics in 
Ireland, though declaring tliat he wu^ not; 
and he wa.s writing with his own hand Uiat in 
what he yielded, he ineaiit nothing but to get 
time to escape. 

Matters were at tliis pass wfaen the army, 
resolved to defy the Parliament, marched up 
to London. The Parliament, not afraid of 
them now, and boldly led by Hollis, voted 
that the King's concessions were sutficietit 
ground tor settling the peace of the kingdom. 
IFpon tl»3t, Coto.N'Ei, Ilicn and Colomx 
Pkide went down to the House of Common.'* 
with a regiment of horse soldiers and a regi- 
ment of foot ; and Colonel Pride, st.nnding in 
the lobby with a list of the members who 
were obnoxious to the army in his hand, had 
them pointed out to him (u they c-anio 
through, an<l took thum all into cu.stody. 
This proceeding was afterwards called by the 
people, for a joke. Pride's Plbob. Crom- 
well was in the Xortb, at the head of Lis 
men, at the time, but when he came home, 
approved of what had been done. 

What with imprisoning .>>otne members and 
causing otliers to slay away, the army had 
now reduced the House of Commons to sonic 
filly or BO. These soon voted that it vras 
treosuD in a king to inoko war against his 
parliament and hia people, and sent an ordi- 
nance up to the House of Lords for the King's 
being tri«d as a traitor. The House of Lonis 
then .sistcon in number, to a man rejected it. 
Thereupon, the Commons mode an ordinance 
of their own, that they were the supreme 
government of the country', and would bring 
the King to trial. 

The King had been taken for security to a 
place oalk-d Hurst Castle : a lonely house on 
a rock in tiie sea, connected with the coast of 
Hampshire by a rough road two miles long 
at low water. Thence be was ordered to be 
removed to Windsor ; thence, after being 
but rudely used (here, and having none but 
■oldicrs to wait upon him at table, he w.'ts 
brought up to St. James's Palace in London, 
and told that his trial was appointed for nest 
day. 



On Saturday, the twentieth of Jatiuary, cno 
thousand six hundred and forty-nine, this me- 
morable trial began. The House of Commons 
had settled tJiat one hundred and thirty- Jive 
persons should foim the Court., and these 
were taken from the House itself, from among 
the officcre of the army, and from among the 
lawyers and citizens. John BiiAi)i-u,\w, ser- 
jeant-at-law, was appointed president The 
place was Wcstniinster Hall, At the upper 
end, in a red velvet chair, sat the prcsidett, 
with his hat (lined with plates of iron for his 
jirotection) on his head. The rest of the 
Court sat on side benches, also wearing their 
hats. The King's seat was covered with 
velvet, like that of the president, and was 
opposite to it. He was brought from SL 
James's to Whitehall, and from Whitehall he 
came by water, to his trial. 

When he came in, he looked round very 
steadily on the Court, and on the groat 
number of spectators, and then sut down : 
pnsintly he got up and looked roimd a^in. 
On the indictment "against Charles Stuart, 
for high trca-son," being read, he smiled 
several timis, and ho denied the authority 
of' the Court, saying that there could be no 
j)arliami.'nt without a House of Lords, and 
that he saw no House of Lords there. Also 
that the King ought to be there, and that 
he saw no King in the King's right place. 
Bradshaw rcplitd, that the Court was satistii.d 
with its aulliority and thnt its authority 
was God's authority and the kingdom'^ 
He then adjourned the Court to the following 
Monday. On that day, the triiU wan re- 
sumed, and went on all tlio week. When 
the Saturday came, as the King passed 
forward to his place in the Hall, some soldiers 
and others cried for "justice I" and cxecu' 
tion on him. That daj', too, Bradshaw, like 
an angry Sultan, wore a red robe, instead 
of the black one ho had worn before. The 
King w:is sentenced to death that day. As 
he went out, one solitary soldier suiil, "God 
bless you, Sir!" For this, his officer struck 
him. The King said he tboutrht the punish- 
ment exceeded the otience. The .silver head 
of his walking-stick had fallen off white ho 
leaned upon it, at one time of the tii.*!. The 
accident seemed to disturb him, tin if he 
thought it ominous of the falling of his own 
head ; and ho admitted as much now it was 
all over. 

Being taken back to Whitehall he sent to 
the House of Common.s saying that as the 
time of his execution might be nigh, ho 
wished he might be allowed to see his darling 
children. It wa.<« gnknted. t>n the Momlay 
he wo-s taken back to St. Jamcs'.-i, and his two 
children then in Eiiglaml, the Piii.Ncr^s Eli- 
7.ABETIJ thirteen years olii, and (he Ui'kk o» 
GuuxESTKii nine years old, were brought to 
take leave of him, from Sion House, near 
ISrentford. It was a sad and touching scene, 
when he kissed and fondled these poor 
children, and made a little present of two 



\ 



ISO 



HOUSEHOLD WORD& 



diiimond geals to the Princess, and gave them 
tundcr messages to their mother, (who little 
deserved them, for she had a loTcr of her 
own whom she married soon afterwards) and 
told them that he died "for the laws and 
lilicrtics of the land." I am bound to say 
that I don't think ho did, but I dare say he 
believed so. 

There were ambassadors from Holland, that 
da}', to intercede for the unhappy King, whom 
you and I both wish the Parliament had 
spared ; but they got no answer. The Scottish 
Commissioners interceded too; so did the 
Prince of Wales, by a letter in which he 
offered, as the next heir to the throne, to 
accept any conditions from the Parliament; 
so did the Queen by letter likewise. Not- 
withstanding all, the warrant for the execu- 
tion w^as this day signed. There is a story 
that as Oliver Cromwell went to the table 
with the pen in his hand to put his signa- 
ture to it, he drew his pen across the 
face of one of the commissioners who was 
standing near, and marked it with the ink. 
Thitt commissioner had not signed his ovm 
name yet, and the story adds, that when he 
came to do it, he marked Cromwell's fece 
witli ink in the same way. 

The King slept well, untroubled by the 
knowledge that it was his last night on earth, 
and rose on the thirtieth of January, two 
liotirs before day, and dressed himself care- 
fully, lie put on two shirts lest he should 
tremble with the cold, and had his hair very 
carefully combed. The warrant had been 
directed to three officers of the army, Coloxel 
II.\cKi:n, Colonel Hunks, and Colonel 
PnAvr.K. At ten o'clock, the first of those 
came to the door and said it was time to go 
to Whitehall. The King, who had always been 
a quick walkcr,N walked at his usual speed 
through the Park, and called out to the 
giianl, with his accustomed voice of command, 
"March on apace!" ^Vhen he came to 
Whitehall, he was taken to his own bed- 
room, where a breakfast wa.s set forth. As 
he had taken the Sacrament, he would eat 
nothing more, but at about the time when 
the church bells struck twelve at noon (for 
ha had to wait, through the scaffold not being 
ready) he took the advice of the good Bisnop 
Jrxos who was with him, and eat a little 
broad, and drank a glass of claret. Soon 
after he had taken this refreshment, Colonel 
11 acker came to the chamber with the warrant 
ui his hand, and called for Charles Stuart 
,.-r."'\ *''*" through the long gallery of 
A\ httehall Palace, which he had oRen seen 
..-lit ami Rny and merry and crowded, in 
very different times, the fallen King paj^sed 
along, until he came to the centre window 



of the Banquetting House, through which 
he emerged upon the scaffold, wbich vu 
hung with black. He looked at the two 
executioners who were dressed in black 
and masked; be looked at the troops of 
soldiers on horseback and on foot, who 
all looked up at him in silence; he looked 
at the vast array of spectators, filling up 
the view beyond, and turning all their &cea 
upon him; he looked at his old Palace of 
St James's; and he looked at the blodc 
He seemed a little troubled to find that it 
was so low, and asked " if there were no place 
higher?" Then, to tho.sc upon the scaiTold, 
he said " that it was tho Parliament who had 
begun the war, and not he ; but he hoped they 
might be guiltless too, as ill instrumailii 
had gone between them. In one respect," be 
said, " he suffered justly, and that wai 
because he had permitted an unjust sentence 
to be executed on another." In this he re- 
ferred to the Eari of Strafford. 

He was not at all afraid to die ; but be 
was anxious to die easily. When some one 
touched the axe while he was speaking, be 
broke off and called out, " take heed of the 
axe ! take heed of the axe !" He also aud to 
Colonel Hacker, " Take care that they do net 
put me to pain." He told the cxecationer, > 
" I shall say but very short prayers, and then 
thrust out ray hands " — as the sign to strike i 

He put his hair up, under a white sadn t 
cap which the bishop had carried, and aid, : 
" I have a good cause and a gracious God oa I 
my side." The bishop told him that he bad 
but one stago more to travel in this wwy 
world, and that though it was a turbriat 
and troubolsome stage, it was a shwt tu, 
and would carry him a great way — all fti 
way from earth to Heaven. The Kiaii 
last word, as he gave his cloak andw 
George — ^the decoration iVom his breast— fc 
the bishop, was this, "Remember I" Ik 
then kneeled down, laid his head apon tki 
block, spread out his hands, and was inatullf 
killed. One universal groan broke fivm tb 
crowd ; and the soldiers, who had sat on tbA 
horses and stood in their ranks immovdbk 
as statues, were of a sudden all in moliH 
clearing the streets. 

Thus in the forty-ninth year of bii if^ 
falling at the same time of bis career * 
Strafford bad fallen in bis, perished Cbari* 
the First AVith all my sorrow for biai. I 
cannot agree with him that ho died "tk 
Martyr of the people;" for the people W 
been martyrs to him and his ideas of a Kiif* I 
rights, long before. Indeed I ana afnid 4*1 
he was but a bad judge of martyrs; fcrh 
had called that infamous Duke of BuddnglMB 
" the Martyr of his Sovereign." 



litLm »i> Bioniu, Priihri ud SURaljptn, M Hertli WlllUm SttM^ Hew T«k. 




HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A WEEKLY JOUP.NAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARUES DICKENS. 



Vol. VIU. 



McELRATH i BAUKER, PUBLISiiERA 

OvfKS Ntt. 11 Sj-avcB «T««BT, Niv YOIIK. 



WuotE No, 185. 



THINGS THAT CANNOT BE DONE. 

NoTUisa QagrAntl)' wrong c«n be dune, 
without atlequato punishment, unJcr the 
English law. What a comfortalilc truth that 
is ! I have always achiiirol the En^h'sh law 
with all my heart, as being plain, chv^ip, corn- 
prehcnsivo, ea.sy,unmL>!t.akable, strong to help 
the right AacT, weak to help the wrong doer, 
entirely free from adherence to barbarous 
usages which the worl<l haj passcfi, ami 
knows to be riiJiculoiis and unjust It is 
delightfiil never to sec the law at fault, never 
to ftnd it in what our American relatives call 
a iix, never to behoUl a 8<:oundrcl able to 
ghicld himself with it, alway' to contemplate 
the improving spoet-ii-le of l.aw in its wig and 
gownri leading blind Justice by the liand and 
keeping her in the stniight broad cwirse. 

I am parti<'ularly struck at the present 
time, by the majesty with which the Law 
proteeta its own humble administrators. 
Next to the x)unishment of any otTunce bv 
fining tht ottunder in a sum of money — which 
is a pra-'tice of the Law, too enlightened and 
too obviou.sly just and wise, to need any com- 
mendation — the penalties inflicted on an 
intolerable brute who maims a police officer 
for life, make my soul expand with a soIlmtiu 
joy. I constantly read in the newspapers of 
such an olTender being committed to prison 
with hani labour, for one, two, or even three 
months. Side Viy siiie with Siuch a case, I 
read the statement of a surgeon to the piilice 
force, that within nuch a 8|)cciflcd short time, 
BO many men liave been nnder his care for 
similar injuries ; so many of whom have re- 
covered, after undergoing a refinement of 
pain expressly contemplated by their a.^iail- 
ants in the nature of tlieir attack ; so many of 
whom, being permanently debilitated and iii- 
capacita(c<i, have been dismi.ssed the force. 
Then, I know that a wild bcn-st in a man'!* 
ionn cannot gratify bis savage hatred of 
those who check him in the perpetration of 
crime, without suffering a thousand times 
more thiui the object of his wrath, and with- 
out being made n certain and a stern example. 
And this is one of the occasions on which the 
beauty of the Law of England {ills me with the 
8olen)n joy I have mentione<L 

The paeans I have of late been singing 
within myself on the subject of the determi- 
Tou VIII.-N0. iSft 



nation of the Law to prevent by .severe pun- 
i.'^iinictit the oppression and ill-treatment of 
Women, have been echoed in tlie public 
journals. It is true that an ill-conditioned 
friend of mine, possessing the remarkably 
inappropriate name of Common Sense, is nut 
fully satisfied on this head. It i.s true that 
lie .s.tys to jne " Will j-ou look at these cases 
of brutality, and tell nie whutheryou consider 
six years of the hardest prison task-work 
(instcjid of six month;*; punishment enough 
fur such enormous cruelty ? Will you read 
the iniTc.i.sing records of these violences 
from <lay to day, as more and more sulferers 
are gi-aduiilly encouraged by a la>v of six 
month.s' standing to disclose their long endu- 
rance, and will you consider what a legal 
system that mu.st be which only now applies 
an imperfect remedy to such a giant evil! 
Will you think of the torments and murders 
of A «5ark perspective of past years, and ask 
yourself the question whether in exulting so 
mightily, at this lime of da)-, over a hiw fjuntly 
asserting the lowest first principle of all law, 
yo" are not somewhat sarca.stic on the virtuous 
.SUtutes at large, piled up there on innume- 
rable shelves?" It is true, I .say, that my ill- 
condltiont'd friend does twit me, and the law I 
dote on, after this manner ; but it is enough 
for me to know, that for a miin to inaiin and 
kill his wifo 1)}' inches — or even the woman, 
wife or no wife, who shares his home — with- 
out most surely incurring a punishment, the 
justice of which satisfies the mind and heart 
of lhL> common level of humanity, is one 
of the things tliat cannot bo done. 

But, deliljerately, falsely, defarningly, pub- 
licly and pcfseveringly, to pursue and outrage 
any woman is foremost among the things that 
cannot be done. Of course it cannot be done. 
This is the year one thousand eight hundred 
and fifty-three ; and Steam and Electricity 
would indeed have left the limping Law 
behind, if it etiuld be done in the present age, 

Let me put an impo.ssible case, to illu.s- 
tmte at once my admiration of the Law, and 
its tender care for Women. This may be an 
appropriate time for doing so, when most of 
■us are complimenting the Law on its avenging 
galir.ntry. 

Suppo.se a young lady to be !c(l a great 
heiress, under cii-cumstanees which cause the 
general attention to be attracted to her 



I 



123 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



tCendacMlf 



I 



name. Suppose her to be modest, retiring, 
otherwise only known for her virtues, charities, 
an«l noble actions. Suppose an abandoned 
sharper, so debased, so wanting in tlic man- 
hood of a commonly vile swindler, so lost 
to every sense of shame and disgrace, as to 
conceive the original idea of liunting tliis 
young lady through life until she buys him 
off witlt mone.v. Suppose him to adjust the 
speculation deliberately with liimsi-lf. "I 
know nothing of her, I never saw her ; but 
I am a bankrupt, with no character and no 
trade that brings me in any money ; and I 
mean to make the pursuit of her, my trade. 
She seeks retirement ; I will drag her out of 
it She avoids notorietr ; I will force it upon 
her. She is rich ; she shall stand ond deliver. 
I am poor ; I will have plunder. The opinion 
of society. AVhat is that to me ? I know 
the Law, and the Law will be my friend — 
not hers." 

It is very difficult, I know, to su])pose such 
a set of circumstances, or to imagine such an 
animal not caged behind iron bars or knocked 
on the head. But, let us stretch elastic fancy 
to such an extreme point of supposition. lie 
goes to work at the trade he has taken up, 
and works at it, industriously, say for fifteen, 
sixteen, seventeen years. lie invents the 
most preposterous and transparent lies, which 
not one human being whoso cars they ever 
reach can pos.sibly bcIicTC. He pretends that 
the lady promised to marry him — say, in a non- 
sensical jingle of rhymes which he produces, 
and which he says and swears (for wliat will he 
not say and swear except the truth ?) is the 
proiluction of the lady's hand. Before in- 
capable country justices, and dim little 
farthing rushlights of the law, he drags this 
lady at his pleasure, whenever he will. He 
makes the Law a screw to force the hand she 
has had the courage to close upon her purse 
from the beginning. He makes the Law a 
rack on which to torture her constancy, her 
affections, her consideration for the living, 
and her veneration for the dead. He shakes 
the letter of the Law over the heads of the 
puny tribunals he selects for his infamous 
purpose, and frightens them into an endu- 
rance of his audacious mendacity. Because 
the Law is a Law of the peddling letter and 
not of the comprehensive spirit, this magis- 
trate shall privately bribe him with money to 
condescend to overlook his omission (sanc- 
tioned by the practice of years) of some 
miserable form as to the exact spot in which 
he puts his magisterial signature upon a docu- 
ment ; and that commissioner shall publicly 
compliment him upon his extraordinary 
acquirements, when it is manifest upon the 
face of the written evidence before the same 
learned commissioner's eyes in court, that he 
cannot so iimch as spell. But he knows the 
Law. And the letter of the Law is with the 
rascal, and not with the rascal's prey. 

For, we are to suppose that oil through 
these years, he is never punished with any 



punishment worthy of the name, for his real 
offence. He is now and then held to bail, 
guts out of prison, and goes to his trade 
again. He commits wilful and con-u|>t per- 
jury, down a byeway, and is lightly punished 
for that ; but he <akes his brazen face ilong 
the high road of bis guilt, ancrushcd. Th» 
blundering, babbling, botched Law, in split- 
ting hairs with him, makes business fbr 
it.self; they get on very well together — 
worthy companion.s — shepherds both. 

Now, I am willing to admit that if such % 
case as this, could by any pos-xibility 1>e ; if 
it could go on so long and so publicly, as that 
the whole town should have the facts within 
its intimate knowledge ; if it were as well 
known as the Queen's name; if it nerer 
preseuted itself afresh, in any court, without 
awakening an honest indignation in tbs 
breasts of all the audience not learned in the 
Law ; and yet if tliis nefarious culprit wen 
just as free to drive his trade at last as he 
was at first, and the object of his ingenious 
speculation could find absolutely no redress ; 
then, and in that case, I say, I am willing to 
admit that the Law would be a fal.sc pretence 
and a self-convicted failure. But, happily, 
and as we all know, this is one of the things 
that cannot bo done. 

No. Supposing such a culprit face to &ee 
with it, the Law would address him thaa 
" Stand up, knave, and hear me ! I am doI 
the thing of shreds and patches you Kuppoe& 
I am not tlio dcg^raded creature whom any , 
wretch may invoke to gratify his bsKit 
appetites and do his dirtiest work. Not fer 
that, am I part and parcel of a costly sjitM 
maintained with cheerfulness out of ihi 
labours of a great free people. Not for tW, 
do I continually glorify my Bench and af 
Bar, and, from my high place, look compb' 
cently upon a sea of wigs. I am not i 
jumble and jargon of wonls, fcllov; I ami 
Principle. I was set up here, by those «li 
con pull me down — aud will, if I be ii' 
capable — to punish the wrong-doer, for th 
sake of the body-politic in whoso name I 
act, and from whom alone my power is it 
rived. I know you, well, for a wrongHdotr; 
I have it in proof Ijefore me that jou ores 
forsworn, crafty, defiant, bullying, peatilal 
impostor. And if I be not an impostor tM^ 
and a worse one, my plainest duty is to e' 
my heel upon you — which I mean to dobefitt 
j'ou go hence. 

" Attend to mo yet, knave. Hdd jvm 
peace! You are one of those landshaita 
whose eyes have twinkled to see the driving if 
co.ichcs and six through Acts of Parliament 
and who come up with their dirty little dog'i 
meat carts to follow through the nX 
crooked ways. But you shall know, that I 
am something more than a maze of tortnoni 
ins and oub>, and that I have at least tm 
l)l.ain road — to wit, the road by wliich, forth 
general protection, and in the exercise of off 
first function, I mean to Bend you into tff' 



A«W< Pukfiw.) 



LANNA TIXEL. 



ISW 



keeping ; filly ihousand Acts, and a huDdrtd 
thousand Cnpt>, and fire hundred thouwnd 
Sees, notwithstanding. 

" For, Buast of Pre/, above the ptrplexcd 
letter of all Law that has ftiiy luiglit in it, 
goes the spirit If I be, as I elniiii to be, 
the child of Justice, and not the oflipring of 
the Artful Dodger, that spirit shall, boforc I 
gabble through one k-gail argument more, 
provide for you and all the like of you, as 
you deserve. If it oannot do that of itself, 
I will have letter to help it Hut I will not 
remain here, a spectacle and a scandal to 
those who arc the breath of niy nostrils, with 
jour dirty hands clinging to my robe, your 
brazen lungs iniarepn.«euthig me, your 
shameless fj*co beslarering mu in my prosti- 
tution." 

Thus the Law clearly would addre«s any 
such impossible person. For this reason, 
aiuong others not dissimilar, I glory in the 
Law, and am ready at all times to shed my 
best blood to uphold iL For this reason loo, 
I am proud, as an Englishman, to know that 
such a design upon a woman tki I liavc, in a 
wild moment, imagined, is not to be entered 
upon, and is— as it ought to be — one of the 
things that can never be done. 

LAXXA TIXEL. 



U.MDBH a Stiff hollybush cut like a dragon, 
tile chief glory in the garden of her father 
the BurgomHstcr, little I>nnna Tixcl lay with 
her face to the grass, sobbing and quivering. 
Ten minutes ago she had parsed silently out 
of her father's sick chamber with a white 
face and eyes large with terror ; she had fled 
through the great still bouse into the garden, 
and fallen down under the dragon to give 
way to an agony of something more tliaji 
childish grief. Poor little I^anna I Sheltered 
by the priukly wings of that old garden 
monster, she had wept many a time for the 
lo.<s of a pale, blue-eyed mother, who hud 
gone from her to be one of the stars ; but that 
was a grief fidl of love and tenderness, that 
led to ycarning.s heavenward. Shu lay then 
grieving with her tearful eyes fixed on the 
blue sky, watching the clouds or wondering 
which of the first Stars of evening might he 
the bright soul of her saint. Now she had 
her face pressed down into the earth — htT 
father waa on his death-bed ; but there was 
something wilder in her agony than childish 
sorrow. In the twilight the green dragon 
Bcomird to hang like a real fiend over the 
plump little child that ha<l been thrown to it, 
And that liij cowering within reach ol its jaivs. 

So perhaps thought the sallow-faced Hans 
Dank, the leanest man in the Low Countries 
wn<\ VL't no skeleton ; who, after a time, ha<i 
followed the child down from the sick cham- 
ber and stood gravely by, lending his car to 
her distreas. lie might liuve thought so, 
though he was by no means imaginative, for 
be ha<l facts in his head that could have, 



by themselves, suggested such a notion. 
"Lannal" said Steward Dank, us ijuielly aa 
though he was but calling her to dinner. 
"Ijinna!" She heard nothing. "Your 
father asks for you." She rose at once, with 
a fierce shudder, and Mr. Dank led her 
indoors by the hand. 

Burgomaster Tixel was the richest and 
most friendless man in Amsterd.im. He loved 
only two things, his money, and his daughter, 
and he loved both in a wretched, comfortless 
and miserably jealous way. He was ignorant 
and superstitious, as most people were in his 
time — two or three centuries ago. If ha could 
live to-day, and act as he u.sed to act, he 
would be very properly confined in Bedlatu. 

lie lay very near death in a large room, 
gloomy with the shadows of eveiiirig and 
hung with heavy tapesti'ies. Mr. Dunk led 
I^nna to his side. "You will conquer your 
fear, darling," said the Burgomiister, with a 
rattle in his harsh voice. "If you have loved 
me I prepare for you a pleasure. If you 
have not loved rac, if my memory is never to 
be dear to von — be punished." 

"0 father!" 

" You arc too young to think — but twelve 
years old — it is tuy place to think for you, and 
Dank will pare for you when I am gone, 
because, dear, it is made his interest to do ua 
When you know the worth of your inheritance 
you will not speak as you have si)oken. You 
are a child. U'hat do you know (" 

" She knows," said Mr. Dank, in a 'dry 
tnntter-of-foct way, " the value of a Citlicr a 
blessing." 

" True," said the Burgomaster, glaring at 
the child ; ilic signal lights of the great rock 
of death on vviiich he was fast breaking to 
pieces, glittered in his eyes. "True, I/inna. 
Your obedience ia the price of my last 
ble-ssing." 

" I will obey you," she said, and he blessed 
her. Then the little girl fell in a great agony 
of fear uvvt his hand crying, " O father, ] 
should like to die with you!" 

" That is well, darling," said the Burgo- 
master. " Those arc tender words." 

lie made her nestle on the bod beside him 
and then put an ann about her : prcs,sing her 
again.st his breasL " Now," said he, " let the 
priests come in!" and the last rites of the 
Church were celebrated over the Burgo- 
ma-ster, while his little daughter remained 
thus imprisoned. And the dead arm of the 
Burgomaster, when hid miserly and miserable 
soul was lied, still pressed the little girl to 
bis dead heart. 

Eight years afUr.tho death in Amsterdam 
of Burgomaster Ti.xol, there was born at 
Blickford, in Devonshire, the first and last 
child of Ilodge Xoddison, a tiller uf the soil, 
willi, a lar^c body, a hai'd haml, and a heart 
to match it. Ho was not naturally a bad 
fellow, but he was intensely stupid (as hand- 
labourers in those days usually were) for w »nt 



4 



IM 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



(OMdacMtt 



of teaching; and so through sheer stupidity 
he was made rallou!!, obstinate, and cruel. 
Ho beat his wife every day more or less; 
auuisvd hinisi-lfon holidays with brubil sports, 
and very much preferred strong drinks to the 
coan^; bn-ad then eaten by the poorer classes 
in ttiis country. Xoddison had been twelve 
years married and had only recently been 
l)le<so<1 with a child, solely in consequence of 
the aid of some scrapings from the tooth of a 
oroco«lilo, mixed with a little hedgehog's fat 
and eaten off a fig-leaf 

t)ne May evening Ilodge Koddison was 
rolling home by the field path from a rough 
drinking party at the Bull Inn near Blick- 
'ord, when the fat ribs of the (attest man in 
Devonshire came in his way, and he was 
not soIkt enougli to see reason why he should 
not pummel them. To work he set with 
such drunken exasperation, that he bc- 
Ltl>oured his victim too frantically to find out 
that he was driving, as fast as he was able, 
the life out of the tyrannical Dutchman whom 
he calle<.1 master ; the dreadful old Dank, upon 
whom at that time, himself, his wife, and his 
first-lwni were dependent for bread. The fat 
old foreigner roaivd and screamed and bel- 
lowed nith pain to such an exces.<s that his 
orios tlow over the blossoms of the blackthorn 
hedge from the ditch in which ho was Iving, 
and reached the ears of Mrs. NodJison. 
Out she Hew ; and found Dank, although not 
Siriously hurt, lying insensible behind the 
hedge. Notldison's wife had time to discover 
what deed had been done, and to take 
counsel, with herself, before law and ven- 
geance knocked at the door of their miserable 
shed. 

Tiuy lived in a sort of grotto made by a 
rniU< lieaj) of stones piled together on the 
edgi- of a great moor. There was a piece of 
nuuKly water close by, known to the Blickford 
I'oople as Nick's Pond, in which it wa.-! the 
custom of the place to drown all the black 
kituns that were bom, and through which 
all the bUi'k cats of the parish liad gone 
down to pervlition years ago. 

Mrs. Noddison got her husltand home with 
ditllcuhy, and commcnce^l maturing hor ]>1ar.s. 
It was quite evident that he would not gi't 
ni\y work again on the Dutch farm, and 
she did not mind that, for the estate was 
iu>t in go^vl repute among the neighl>ours ; 
it wa<5 also evident that' he would be re- 
tiuired to go to jail if he could not escape 
(ho con-siaWes. How should ho do that 
whon he had his liquor to sleep otf. and 
v:i^ nlreudy suorini: at full length on the 
iiulhen lloorf lU-r gixnl man might W 
carted oil to safety; but she had nocart.'aiid he 
was uuuh U>M heavy to W earrio>l piok-a-Kick. 
lluw was no chimney up which he nu"cht W 
thrust ; there was, of course, no ci:j>Kvirvl ; for 
huleetl there was not somueh a* a second r^vin 
In th« Kne old cottagi" where thev dwelt, a'l of 
Iho »ildeii liH\e. Tl>en« was the straw ihev slept 
upon J but there was not enough of that to 



cover him. Besides, if there had been 
chimneys, cupboards, or whole waggon loads 
of straw, how could they conceal a man 
who snored so mightily ? 

Mistress Noddison, living in a lone place, 
had no near neighbours to whom she 
might run for counsel ; great was her joy, 
therefore, when Goody Fubs happened to 
come in, late as it wa.s, with the bit of frog's 
bile, which she had promised and vowed at 
a godmother should be her present to the 
baby. A most precious remedy against all 
mundane ills. 

" Do you think, Goody, it would pat n^ 
husband out o* harm !" Mrs. Noddison added 
to her question an exceedingly long narrativa 
Mrs. Fubs responded with long maledictioni 
on the Dutch ; and wished to know what 
right foreign wenches had eating up the com 
in Devonshire. Mrs. Xoddison didnH so 
much mind the wench ; she was a bit mad to 
be sure : but if, as folk said, the heretics wen 
out in her own country, and the powers of 
evil were let loose, and there were burnings, 
and quarterings, and cannon roaring perfaapi 
she was no fool to have come to Devonshire 
for peace and quiet. For herself^ too, sbe 
I was free enough of money and pleaiut 
enough. — " When she is not possessnl," said i 
Gootly Fubs. The gossips then proceeded to ; 
discuss how far the evil one had ]>ower enr | 
Lanna Tixel, who had a queer stare brtimei ii 
about the eyes and wandered about naaieatf |l 
and — Holy Mary ! what was ihat I 

A white figure flitted, like a phantoa^ if 
the open door. The two women looted M 
together. It was she of whom they tdU 
It was Lanna. When the moon shflMNt 
from among the flying clouds they recogBRl 
hor, hurrying along like one pursued. 

They came in and shut the door, and tt 
toned it, and shook their heads at one anotha 
Goodv Fulis presently drawing a long broA 
hopej the Dutch witch might not be off b 
meeting. She looked, said Mistress Noddim 
as if she had a mighty way to travel beta 
midnight. .V loud knocking at the dooraroorf 
them, and its clumsy fikstenings were ahnaalil 
the same in«tant burst open. The wooB 
overlo>>ked Hodge altogether; justice hi 
not No lamentation hindering, he was I 
once bound wrist and anole and diaggti 
gruntir.g like a pig. to jail. 

On th? same evening, but somevlid 
earlier, hi- fore the night clouds had begun II 
flov-k in: > the sky. a young English coldia; 
captain of a regiment.' h.id ridden firom 4» 
stables o: the manor house. leaving the sqnn. 
his fatlicr. ci>:n;ortab!y coi'.cd under his o«* 
d-nver ta*>!o. ar...l had galloped down theliM 
' between the h^-ilges full of May blos««n,tt 
pay a visit to his neighhour<> of the GnB|!b 
known c\Mn::'.orly as the Dutch Farm. H» 
.<aw fr\»m h's saddle over the hedge-top b»» 
IKylg»> Xoi:dis.in was helping his unsta^T 
homeward walk by steering with his co^ 



iXvb4 tXckaM.! 



JLANNA TIXEL. 



135 



Moreover, he was not bchtt prescntlj to see 
llic portly fhime of Mr. Dank, surmounted 
by his very satumiue anil ugly fiicc, moving 
towardfl bim, with bis back turned to the 
Grange. The soldier grvcted Dutch Dank 
with unwonted cordiality as he rode by, whis- 
pering to himself, " Latina will be altme." 

The Dutch Fann answered to its title; 
Cuyp might bare painted scenes out of it 
The Grange itself had a trim, closely shaven 
aspect ; aiul, on a wide smooth lawn that 
Btretclicd before the windosvs of the bouse, 
there were yew and box trees cut into fantastic 
sliapes of cocks and men, and even fishes : 
one tree, a large bollybush, was being clipped 
and trained into the form of a green dragon 
witlj (.'Xpanded wings. There were no fi'agra.nt 
(lower-beds or pleasant bowers; there was 
nolbiiii; gayer than a clump of guelder rows 
and laliurnunia near an open window. 

At the window Lanna sat and saw the 
■olUicr coming. She was a girl of twenty, 
lovely as a girl can be who lias a colourless 
Ikce. She had a great wealth of brown hair, 
and bad alw) birge blue wondering eyes. 
Site knew that she looked well in a white 
drefcs, and she, in some odd, boding way, ex- 
i)eclod Captain Artliur — the young soldier, 
in his father'ii neighbourhood, went by his 
Chrisiian natuo — .she was, therefore, dressed 
in white. 
[" Dear lady, you have never before looked 
lie,'' he saicL 

The captain's horse was soon tied by its 
bridle t<j the bollybush, and Lanna, hurrying 
out upon tile lawn, erprcssed her regret that 
Mr. Dank was absent. Yet, since she loved 
Captain Arthur — the first man who had 
tuken pains to win her heart — with all the 
ardour of a young girl who is fatherless and 
motherless ; who lives expoi>i.'d to daily check 
and chill ; in whom a ilood of repressed feeling 
has for years been accumulaling, she could 
not have regretted much the absienco of the 
watchful steward. Captain .'Vrtbur was ivo 
genius, as Lanna would have known had she 
bean ten years older, but he was in a passion 
of what they call love, with Lanna. .-Vnd he 
had persisted in it, notwithstanding much 
that he had beard. He did not care if it 
wore true, as the old squire swore, indignantly, 
that she bewitched bim with her glances. To 
■ay that of a young lady is now a very pretty 
album phrase. 'JPhcn it conveyed coarser 
imputations tlian can decently be specitted. 
Lanna, holy as an angel in her rnnidcn's 
heart, gucHsed her Iriond's love, and wished 
to hear it sj)oken. 

Captain Arthur did not disappoint her 
wishes. IIo f-poke boldly out. \Vhon he 
would have placed the trembling girl upon 
% bench erected close under the clump of 
guelder roses, .she looked at liiiii, and saiil 
with a quivering face tliat would not lend 
fttHsIf to an attempt at smiles, "Let us sit 
Bnder the dragon." So they did sit under 
the dragon ; and there the captain made an 



end of speaking and left 00" so confident of 
her answer, that, while she remained fixed as 
the statue of a listener, he must needs turn 
from the main theme to ask her why her 
humour favoured that extremely ugly holly- 
bush, and why she must pronounce his 
sentence under such a canopy. Lanna broke 
out into a wild fit of sobbing; Captain 
Arthur comforted her clumsily ; but suddenly 
she became calm. 

" Here," she said, " is best ; I shall talk 
to this dragon when you are gone. Wo had 
such a dragon that knew my secrets at hoTne. 
If you would know my secrets this is a good 
tree for you to be under. Here is your horse 
close by within reach. Should the wish 
suddenly seize you to leave mc alone and 
forlorn, you have but to mount and fly." 

The captain moved restlessly ; did she 
mean to confirm Ibo worst suspicions of the 
parish before answering his question? "I 
have no right to say what I should say to 
you," ho liegan, " but there is an odd question 
I would if I dare " — He stopped suildcnly 
— the stars of evening were coming out, and 
Lanna looked up at them. 

"Help me, mother I" she cried; and Cap- 
t.iin .\rthur, running his thoughts on in the 
old groove, remnrke<l that she demanded 
help of mother somebody, and (a auspicious 
fttctj did not cry, " Help me, God I" 

'* I cannot let my heart loo.se, or answer 
you any question that takes so much hesi- 
tation to ask," Launa said, " until you know 
the terrible condition by which torment is 
prepare*! for any man who marries me." 

The captain shrank from her side, and 
lookttd up with a .shuddt-r at the wings of the 
groen dragon under which they sat cnsha- 
dawed. 

" There is a doom upon mc," Lanna mur- 
mured ; "and it is I, now, who am wtviting to 
bo scntcncctl," 

The captain had risen, and was stroking 
nerrou.sly his horse's mane. 

" Yet it is no great thing," Ijjnna con- 
tinued, "that it should .so much ulTriglit me. 
You are a man, and perha])3 may laugh at it, 
and teach rao to laugh at it with you." Still 
she spoke in a rceklcss, hopeless way, and 
Captain Arthur was more shocked than lie 
bad beeu before. 

"Leave your horse but for one minute," 
Lanna said, " and come into the house." 

Tlic captain wavered for a Uttlo while ; bat 
there was yet love — or his sort of love — 
manfully ivrestling in his heart with supcr- 
slttiou. He followed Lanna through the 
rumbling passages of the great house, lit 
dimly by the twilight out of doors. With a 
key taken from her girdle she opened w.iy for 
bim into a, room, over the floor of which ho 
walked some steps and instntitly turned back 
in atfright, and meeting her on the thresh- 
bold, with uplifted hands nnd an imploring 
face, he pu.shcd bur from him with a heavy 
hand, mounted his horse and galloped away. 



1 



1S« 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



(OonAinM Iv 



I 



I 

I 

I 



I 



She reeled ; but the blow gave no pnin to her 
flesh. It siftncd to her that but on instant 
passed before she heard the rapiil g:nIloj) of 
liis horse. The first impulse nhe obeyed wns 
absurd ; she Followeii him. If she had told 
her story more metljodically it cowhl never 
hare affirted liim so much, although it would 
DO doubt have ended in his quitting; her, 
She must explain all, or what would he 
think? But Captain Arthur galloped aa 
thuugli he were pursued bj somebody not 
quite so innocent as Lanna Ti.tel. A few 
minutes of running through cool evening air, 
cau<scd that first impulse to die out 

Then «lie sat down under the blos-soms of a 
Maythorn hedge, picking industriously at its 
leaves; and so she sat in a long reverie, till 
the moon rose, and she heard groans of which 
she had not earlier been conscious. At the 
same lime she saw, behind the opposite hedge, 
a face covered with blood, which she took to 
be a dead face. It was the living face of Mr. 
Dank, who had returned to sense after his 
tlini.'ihing. She could not go home to rest. 
Territied and vexed in (spirit she fled, looking 
like a shrouded corpse herself, towards the 
moor, and then it was that she interrupted 
the gosKips' learned conversation. 

" .Vnd how docs (he frog's bile actf" asked 
Mr.*. Noddison. "That," said Gooily Ful>?, 
" I (jiiite fiirgot to ask, I had it from a gowip 
who is dead. No doubt it nuii't be eaten." 
Mrs. NixWison was not at all comfortless over 
the de|iarlure of her hu.sband. Free he would 
earn nuthing, after his last evening's work, 
lie might nswell therefore be fed in jail. Her 
skin too would be the sounder for a rest The 
baby was just one of those puny squalid 
things that used to perish by thoiiiiands in 
the wretched hut."! of a fine old English 
pcftSJinlry, all of the olden time. Mrs. Nnd- 
dison was full of mother's care about it 
Goody Fubs was full of neighbourly advice, 
and very eloquent upon the subject of her 
nostrum, n black fetid mess containing nobody 
knows what. 

While the two gossips talked, the flying 
clouds let fall a flying shower. I.anna was 
still on tlie moor, and the sudden rain recalled 
her to a sense of her position. She wns 
out, she recollected, at a strange hour, k 
must be at the earliest ten o'clock, an hmir 
later than bed-time. Lanna turnetl home- 
wards, tliivijjh there WM no place so terrible 
to htr «.s home. 

" Vrell then, if you will hold the child." 
said Goitdy Fiibs to Mistres.s Noddison, "I'll 
give it the remedy, and then it never shall 
know Imrni again in this world." " .\men. 
Goody, iinil thank you," When the child felt 
the fvo'/s liilo in its throat it besan to ^crc.'>tIl 
mightily and choke, but the stuff nevertheless 
was swiillnweii .\t tliat instant, as Goody 
rtalvd iiRiTward-s tlie rain .suddenly ci'ascd 
to patler on the shingles. The child srresmed 
more fin<l iihiro. It went into convulsion.s. 
T'lL' liitt d'l.ir bad been left open, and indeed 



almost broken to pieces by tbc ronstablesw A 
white figrtirc glided by. "Ave Maria I" 
gn>aned old Goody Fubs, not to be heard 
through the screaming of the child, " there's 
Lanna Tixel !'' The child's face was black, 
llie (Icrcinesflof tbc screaming caused Lanna 
(o turn back, and stand irresolutely in th« 
doorway, rtacly to enter and bring help if she 
wci-c able. Goody Fubs made a great cross 
with her fingers over her own wrinkled fore- 
head, and then llcw at the delicate cheekjs of 
Lanna with her nails. L.inna fled .Tgain, 
followed by loud RJirieks from Mrs. N'iKldiwon ; 
the child's voice was gone, it lay dun^b in a 
dead struggle. 

"O, the bile!" moaned Mrs. Koddison. 

" The witch !" groaned Good)- Fubs. 

The two or three domestics living in the 
Grange were in attendance on the barber 
surgeon, bu.sy, I^anna found, with Mr. Daidc, 
who had been waylaid and beaten, as she un- 
derstood. She knew then that it was no 
ghost she had .'*cn, and, pitying his condition, 
though he was no friend to her, she tended by 
the steward's bedside half the night through, 
after she had paid a visit to her seenrt 
chamber. His bruises were not serious, (ho 
cut upon his head had been bound up, be had 
been comfortably shaved, had been bled in 
the arm, and had received an emetic. Ilia 
case therefore promi.sed well, and towards 
morning the surgeon left him quietly a.sleep, 
and reconiniendeil I^nna to rvtirv, at the 
same time suggesting that » he shoul<l balho 
her swollen nose with rincgar, and take a 
powder, for she seemed to bare had a rery 
ugly fall. 

Lanna slept heavily for a great many hotjrR, 
and in the morning found that .Mr. Dank, 
though very much weakened, w.-is not con- 
fined to his bed : he was up and out gon« to 
encounter Noddison in a formal and judicial 
way before the squire and his brother justic«. 
Ijinna, with acliitig heart and throbliing nose, 
and a wide border of black rouml one of her 
blue e}"es, endeavoured to pa tlirotigh hcT 
usual routine of duties. In the course of t)M 
day they took her into Blickford. 

Two little Iioys at (ilay in a ditch about a 
(juarter of a mile out of the village, leaped up 
when they saw her coming, and scampered on 
before as fast a.s they were able, sliouting her 
name aloud. They had been put there as 
scouts or Ifviik-out men, and h;i<l beguiled 
their tiuie while on their fiost with jiitch and 
tns.s. r.<nnna understood nothing of that, and 
could not at nil tell what it meant, when a 
turn in the road liroiiplit her in sight of the 
first hou.ses in Blickford, and f-he saw the 
wh'>le village turning out with broonia to 
meet her. Goody Fubs advancing; as the 
village champion, struck the poor orphan with 
her broom, and then throwing away the 
weapon, grappled with her. Men threw 
stones at her, women pressed round, jrrapplod 
together and fought for the privilege of 
pinching her or pulling at the ricti locks of 




LANNa fIXEL. 



UT 



brann hair that Goody their leader had set 
floating. 

" Kick's Pond I" «•« the try. The yoiing 
foreign uitcti must be tried \>y wntor — inno- 
cent if she drowned, and guilty if ehogwaiu. 
In ft wild and tcrriWe proctssicMi of the whole 
;i>>|iulutiijii uf till- vilJ.i|<Vi with the children 
hiTenuiiiig and dancing joyoiwly about in the 
excitvinent of a witch-ducking, Lanna wan 
draggfd to the moor, where Mistrc-jw No<ldi- 
8on tife«- from ber cottage as a tigrcsa from her 
lair, ind lore ihc llcsh and garments of the 
will li, and showed her the dead child. Mounted 
constables were hurrying in the dirL-ction of 
the riut, I'ut tlioyonly came in time to drag the 
wtcIcIumI tirl out of the pond into which she 
W3» thrust, and Ihuy came not to jirotect hut 
to arrint lur. There was fresii evidence, 
some of iho uiiii hinted to the villagei-s, and 
a tno«t aggravated case against her. Stic wis 
therefore eniTied U> the round-house, and 
spent the next thirty hours, half sntrocated, 
and U)cked uji with very filthy people. 

Then she waM brought out on one of the 
last and tine»t days of the merry month of 
May, and taken into the presence of tlie 
justices, with *Mjnire t'aufeat Uieir head, who 
had long been of opinion that she had be- 
witcliL-d his son by wicked arts, ami now was 
ture of iL The case was then gone into. 

It was shown tliat on a ceruiin evening 
Ho<Jg<« XoJdison maltreated the companion 
of liie accu!«>.-d, a foreigner nxnied iiuns 
Dank, who it was now a-sccrtained had 
accretly ina<te his escape out of the neigh- 
bourliiHid, and had gone no one could tind 
out whither. It was presumed that she rc- 
cvived iiiKlant information from Kotnc imp 
of the deed that Noddison had done, for she 
was out in the direction of N'oddigon'a honse 
bcfori' any human tidings could liinrc reached 
her. It vvas proreil that NodJison was ca.st 
into a deadly letiiarg}', duriii2;wlii<'li the witch 
wa-i Been Hitting about upon the niour before 
hi-i diKir, and that immediatcty after she had 
vani.shed Noddison was taken by the con- 
Eta1ilc!< It WON proved that in further puni^li- 
inotit of NtvUison, the accused Ijinna Tilcel 
4id by her arts tlirow his only child into 
violent conrulsions, during which she again 
appeared at the floor and gazed in upon the 
child with her large blue eyes, immediately 
tStcr (he- inlliction of which ^ar.e it died. It 
was shown »ko that the min cca«!e<l when 
she a|iiii.ircd, and that Goody Fub.s lo.st a 
yonntr riorker, and sutFered more than asuallj 
from her rh<"umatism on the day that she 
aa.>-i-<ted at tin.- uinking of the wicked woman. 

Tiiesi' rfvelanons were not ni.rcss.iry to 
induce I'aiifkin Arthur to appear against the 
■tren wtio had oracfised on him with herait«. 
Ha nrovi-'l that when he had been drawn by 
ftcr aevices — etspecially, he thought, by her 
larpc eyes — to declare love towanls her, she, 
lM>Ei<'Tin"thatMhe had himin her toils,confis'5i-<J 
' to hnn in plain words that she had a fnmillnr 
tn tn. shapi- of a dragon or a hollybush with 



which she of\en talked, and that it was >o- 
quainte*! with her Kccrcts. The dragon on 
the Lawn wss, therefore, part of her enchant- 
ment, »nd it wa.s natural to consider that the 
Btrangc figures of cocks and tlshe.s to be Been 
on the Dutch fann. though they looked like 
box, and yew, and holly trees must be really 
and truly demoas. The ciiptain further 
proved, that l>eing in nonio trouble, and 
sobbing, the witch called for help upon a 
certain Mother Somebody, he did not catch 
the name, because she, the said witciv, sobbed 
while she was speaking. 

In answer to a question from the bench 
he said that it was not "Mother of God." 
" She fiu'tlier," he said, " vi-ntnrcd so far 
as to tell me that I was to mnrry upon tho 
condition of Rutrcring eternnl torment" 
(Here a thrill ran through the whole a.'s.sera- 
bly). " She told mc that she herself was 
doomed, but that it wa.«i a light tiiatlcr, and 
that we misht laugh at it togrther." 

During this revelation Lanna fainte<3. She 
showed no trace of her former beauty, for no 
change of dress or mean.s of clennlinc-.'ss ha>l 
been provided for her since she was liiken 
from the tilthy pond, and she appeared to 
have C4iught sontc kind of ft-vcr in the round- 
house. \VlH'n she recoverol she was com- 
pelled to -Stand 11)1 that her (a<"e might bo seen 
during the rest of tlic cxuniinafion. Her 
hou^e had been searched. A white object 
wa.s brought tlirough a lane made in the 
shudd'.ring crowd, and suddenly presented 
before Lanna. She was seized with violetit 
h3'steric.«. It was the waxen image of a 
corpse robed in its graveclothes : an exact 
effigy of the dead body of her father. 

"She took me to a room," said Captain 
Arthur, "in which lay this image. Ithought 
it had been taken lh>m the grave, and fell at 
once that she was one of the worj<t kind 
of witches. 1 See now that it i.>; made of wax." 

AVhilo Ltnnn remained still inscuftililc a 
learned prie.'it stood forward, and gave evidence 
that the u-sc of these waxen images by witches 
w.as well known. They were the figures of 
men to whom they wished evil. The witches 
moulded them and Mu.sed them to wiusto 
slowly, and a* the was wa.'Jted, so wasted the 
victim's lli'sli. Thev also pricked and stabbed 
them, and when tfiey did so the true desh 
felt every hurt that was indietod. This wag 
undoubtedly the image of .some person whom 
the witch ti.vel had killed by her enchant- 
ments. 

The Icarnciljustieci then waited until Lanna 
wa.s 80 far recovered that she could bu made to 
speak ; pains l>eing t.aken to expedite her re- 
collection of herself hy means not altogether 
free from cruelty. She siid, however, very 
little. There wa.s no escape fur her, she said, 
nnri she desired none. She had lived too long. 
But she wished Captain Arthur to reflect upon 
the words she had used, and hear now, if he 
would, the story she designed to tell him. 

She WIS ordered to address tho court, and 



i 



I 



=1 



128 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



did so, Captain Arthur being present " That 
image was the doom I spoke of. It is the 
image of my father as he lay dead trhcn, if I 
might, I would have died with him. He was 
superstitious, as you all are who accuse me 
here to-day of witchcraft. He was jealous 
of my lore, and wished to bo remembered by 
me daily when I had his wealth. I would 
liarc rejected that, for his desire was horrible 
to me. But next on the peril of losing his 
blessing, I was made to promise that, wher- 
ever I lived, I would preserve the effigy of my 
dead father, every day eat my dinner in its 
presence, and every night kiss it before I 
went to rest I was a child then, and a 
terror seized mc which I never have been 
able to shake off. I have not dared to dis- 
obe}'. Hans Dank was my fiither's steward, 
who was privy to it all, and who was made 
by will my guardian and inquisitor. Let him 
prove that 1 speak truth in this. There is 
one thing more which concerns me little now. 
My father thought that while the image of 
his body lasted, the body itself would remain 
whole in the tomb, awaiting mine that was 
to be placed beside it Then our dust was 
to mingle. He was a superstitious man, as 
you are superstitious men. I shall be burnt ; 
you will defeat his wishes. That is the truth 
which I wish Captain Arthur now to hear. 
My mother died when I was four years old. 
I am friendless ; and there is no one but the 
man who offered mc bis love for whose sake 
I care whether or not I die disgraced." 

The squire was vcrv wroth at these allu- 
sions to his son, and said, when she had made 
an end of speaking, " AVitch, you know truly 
wliat will be your end. If your accomplice 
wore indeed here, ho could not save you, but 
you can have no support from him, because, 
knowing his guilt, he fled when he first heard 
that these proceedings would bo taken. For 
your tale, by which you artfully endeavour to 
mislead my son, it cannot serve you. It 
touches in nothing what has been proved 
against you in the case of the Noddisons, your 
victims. With what mysterious designs you 
cau.sed this dreadful image to be made, and 
kept it secretly within your house, we cannot 
tell, nor does it concern us very much to 
know. The meaning of the image we know 
well, and we know also," said the squire, 
with a malicious grin, " to what good use it 
can be put Truly it will be a fine thing 
to save faggots in the burning of a witch so 
worthless." 

And the law took its course, and solemn 
trial led in. due time to solemn sentence, 
and Lanna Tixcl, with the fatal waxen effigy 
bound in her armii, was made the core of a 
great holiday bonfire, which enlivened the 
mhabitants of Blickford. When the wax 
caught, the blaze made even babies in their 
mothers' arms crow out, and clap their hands 
with pleasure. 

A brilliant ending to this very pleasant 
story of the good old times ! They are quite 



gone and never will come back again. And 
so, nothing is left for us to do but to regret 
their memory, we puny men, we miserable 
shams. 



AIR MAPS. 

In a former number of this work we gun 
a short account of the new science of Sub- 
marine Geography, by means of which it has 
been shown that the great undnlatory beds of 
the oceans may be as accurately mapped fiir 
all practical purposes of navigation, as are the 
mountains and valleys of our own dir earth. 
In that paper we dwelt upon the aeop-aca 
soundings which had been carried on by the 
Government of the United States, and of some 
of the more immediate results of the know- 
ledge thas acquired. 

Current-charts and maps of the hills and 
valleys of Old Ocean formed but one portton 
of the labours of our persevering brethren 
across the Atlantic. A most important fea- 
ture in their scientific proceedings was so to 
track the winds met with in the navigatka 
of the highways of the seas, as to be able to 
lay down with tolerable accuracy a compldc 
chart of the various currents of the atmo- 
sphere in cvcr;^ part of the world, at all tioM 
of the year—in short, to construct a hngt 
Air Map. 

The proceedings of the American Govwn- . 
ment since that paper was printed may be 
learned by what transpired at a public meet- 
ing convened, a short time ago, in the llff- 
chants' Room at Lloyd's for the purptw of 
receiving a communication from LicuttBUi 
Maury of the United States Navy, in refc* 
ence to the co-operation of British eos- 
mandcrs with those of America in canjif 
on a series of atmospheric observations. 

Already a knowledge of the hitherto » I 
noticed variable winds havo enabled a* I 
gators to shorten their voyages to some paiti' 
the world by fully one-third of Uie usual tiH 
and in a few instances to onc-hal£ In mak- 
ing of the growing importance of our ffltr 
course with the Australian Colonies, lit* 
nant Maury cxpressc>d his belief that ■> 
very few years the run to and from Anttflk 
from this country would bo accomplisbtdlf 
ordin.ory good sailing vessels in one hmM 
and forty daj'S, instead of, as at present, i* 
hundred and eighty to two hundred daja t 
Ls not, therefore, to bo wondered at tW 
shipowners, merchants, and marinenii 
take a deep interet^t in them. Time ktf 
ever been considered as money, and M 
this was never more truly the case If 
at the pre.sent moment, when electrie kk" 
graphs, high-pressure locomotives, udi* 
proved screws are doing all that ikdf' 
cit\', steam, and iron can do to annM* 
space, and bring distint places together, k 
thus looking, however, to shortening ^ 
voyage to and from the other cide of # 
globe no new and costly mechanical appGnt' 



I 



trc ncede«I, no novel motVe power is thought 
of, not H new rope is roquircil, not an extm 
square yard of canvas is askt-il fur — nil t)iat 
is needtd is b lliorough knowledge of the 
■winds at sea, fo tliat the navigator tuny, by 
avoiding such of them us are adverse to bim, 
make use only of tliose which arc in bis 
favour. 

In so fir ns this practical, «mtter-of-fact 
end is arrived at, the man of the world will of 
courae feel warmly interested in tlie inquiry. 
But the sympathies of the student of science 
are not less enlisted on the same side, for he 
will by ^uch means gather together many new 
and beautiful facts serving to illuslralo the 
economy of Nature in some of her grandest 
operations. Without a doubt it will bo 
through a knowledge of the world of winds 
that we shall arrive at an understanding of 
many plu-nomena at present but guessed at. 
The cniir.se and duration of the air-currents 
will exrplnin the fertility or sterility of many 
large tracts of country. The direction of the 
winds will go far to account fur the luxuriant 
growth of particular plants in particular loca- 
lities. The winds will be found to be tlie great 
ministers of good throughout the surfa«*e of 
this globe, carrying on their invisible wings 
preciou* gifts yielded np by Ocean to fertilize 
and bcoutifv the earth in far distant places, 
and by a still wider and higher influence so 
to equalise the ever-recurring disturbances 
of tc-tiiperalure, moisture, electricity, as to 
fit the world for the life and health of the 
many species — animal and vegetable — which 
exist upon its varied face. 

" Fickle ns iho wind " is not an inapt adage, 
when opplied to the local character of the 
winds. But looking at the general course of 
the air-currents over the ocean, if we follow 
the many wind-roads which stretch across 
the deep, wc shall see that, so for from 
possessing any features of instability, the 
circulation of the atmosphere about us is 
fully as regular and well-defined, as are the 
motions of the earth itself and the other 
great iKwIies of our system. lu fact, the 
windji are a part of that wondrous and bentt- 
tiful whole which was called forth when " lie 
measured the waters in the hollow of his 
tuind, and comprehended the dust in a mea- 
sure, and weighed the mountains in scales 
and the hills in the balance." Long before 
niodem science had told us anything con- 
cerning almospherie phenomena, an inspired 
•writer promulgated the whole system — 
•' The wind goeth towards the .south, and 
tumeth about unto the north : it whirleth 
about continually, and the wind n-turneth 
«g«.in accoriling to hU circuits." This [«asage 
>e^ly indicates what has been pa.ssing in 
the world of winds since earth was created. 
The aberrations of air-currents upon land 
arc but tlie eildies and offsets of the great 
atmospheric tides caused by geological irregu- 
Inritie."!, just as we find dead water and wiiirl- 
pools ami 1st the largest rivers. 



The winds must no longer be regarded an 
types of instability, but rather as ancient and 
faithful chroniclers; we have but to consult 
them intelligently to gather from them great 
natural truths. 

In order to learn the course of ocean 
currents, investigators have long been in the 
habit of casting into the sea, bottles, labelled 
and marked, so that on these being found 
cast ashore at remote jilaces their course 
might be made known to the world. What 
man docs with the waters Nature accom- 
plishes unasked with the air : she strangely 
places tallies and marks upon the wings of 
the wind in certain parts of the globe, by 
which the philosophers in a distant country 
may recognise the same wind, end so trace 
it in its path over ocean and over land. 

The sirocco, or African dust, which in spring 
and autumn has long been observed falling 
in the vicinity of the Cape dc Verdes, Malta, 
Genoa, Lyons, and the Tyrol, was believed to 
have been brought from the great sandy 
deserts of Africa by the prevailing winds 
coming from that quarter, and the theory 
appeared plausible enough. Men of science 
were, however, not content to take this 
supposition ns it stood, and thanks to re- 
cent improvements in the construction of 
microscopes, one persevering philosopher, 
Ehrenherg, has l)cen enabled to ascertain 
the precise nature and consequently the 
Original source of this sujiposed African 
dust. Ilis examinations have demon.sliiLted 
timt this rain-dust does not belong to the 
mineral, but to the vegetable king<lom ; that 
it consists not of earthy particles finely 
divided, but of minute infusoria and organ- 
isms whose habitat is not Africa, but South 
Atncriov, and that too in the region of the 
south-west trade winds. The professor was 
not content with examining one specimen ; 
he compared the "rain-dust" gathered at 
the Cape de Verdes with that collected at 
Genoa, Lyons and Malta, and so closely 
did they all resemble each other that they 
might have been pronounced as taken from 
one spot. Xay, more than this, one spe- 
cies of infusoria, the ciinotia amphtfoxit, has 
often been found in this dust with its green 
ovaries, and therefore capable of life. That 
this dust could not have conio from Africa 
is evident from its hue, which is red or 
cinnamon colour, whereas the sands from 
the great African deserts are all white oc 
greyish, 

Ciixrying this inquiry still further wo shall 
by its Hieans arrive at a key to the entire 
system of atmospheric currents. We have 
said that the rain-dust falls in the spring and 
autumn : the actual time has been at perio<Ia 
of thirty or forty days after the vernal and 
autumnal equinoxes. It requires no irgu- 
nient to demonstrate that these minuto 
imrticle.H of tirganic matter must have been 
lifted from the surface of the earth, not 
during a rainy season, but at a period whea 



I 



1 



18C 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



IL. 



evcrvthing in the rcgctable kingdom was 
parciii-d and dr)', and consequently in a fit 
condition for being carried aloft and whirled 
through the upper realms of air on the wings 
of t!ie wind. 

If we examine the seasons of the various 
parts of the great South American continent, 
we shall find that the tract of country which 
suflc-rs most severely from the tropical drouplit 
at the period of the vernal equinox is the 
valley of the lower Oronoco ; which is then 
parched and burnt with intense heat Its 
pools arc dry, its marshes and plains arid ; 
all vegetation has ceased; the great rc])- 
tik'S have buried themselves deep in the 
sands; the hum of insect life is hushed, 
and the stillness of death reigns through the 
valley. 

In the autumnal equinox wc find a similar 
state of tilings in the upper Oronoco and the 
great Amasonian basin. It is precisely at 
tiicse times that ail vegetable matter is in 
the fittest, impalpable, and feather-light 
condition for being liflcd up and carried 
away, and it is precisely at such periods of 
the year that these regions are vi.sited \>y 
tcrrinc gales, whirlwinds, and tornadoes; 
which, sweeping over their lifeless, death-like 
plains and basins, raise up vast clouds of 
microscopic organisms and bear them away 
with lightning speed to be rained down in 
remote countries, chroniclers of tlie great 
wind-roads of the world. 

It is quite evident from what has been here 
ftatod, that for these "organisms" to be 
carried from south-west to north-east, imme- 
diately opposite to the course of the pre- 
vailing surface winds of tliose regions, there 
muiit be other upper currents performing 
this work. This is the case, and in stating 
it to be so, we arrive at a solution of the 
whole secret mechanism of the atmosphere: 
wc learn how it is that "the wind goeth 
towanis the south, and turncth al>out unto 
the north." 

AVc on shore find" the wind frequently 
veering about from point to point of the 
coin[ia.ss, often blowing in opposite directions 
during a few hours. Not unfrequently we 
are visited with strong gales of wind, lasting 
fur a day or more, and then followed by 
heavy falls of rain and calma Yet such winds, 
in comparison with the general system of at- 
mospheric circulation, are but eddies of the 
iiiaiii cvirrent They have no more efTect 
in cliiringing or disturbing that system than 
the showers which they bring with them have 
ill aUtrinp the course' of the Gulf stream or 
olh'T <K;e»m currents. 

Let ns see, then, what this general atmo- 
rpherii! system is. On either side of the 
equator, commencing at a distance of some few 
degn-crt from it, we find a sone of peri)etual 
winds extending to about thirty degrees north 
and south. These blow constantly in similar 
dinrrtioiis as steadily and perpetually as the 
(idcH of Uie Thames flow and ebb, and ore 



called from the directions whence they come the 
nortli-ea.<it and south-east trades. These winds 
are constantly travelling from the poles, north 
and south, to the equator. Their spiral or 
curved motion is accounted for by the rotation 
of the earth on its axis from west to cof^t. I^ 
using the language of Lieutenant Maary, 
wc imagine a particle of atmosphere at the 
north pole, where it is at rest, to be put in 
motion in a straight line towards the equator, 
we con easily see how this particle of air 
coming from the pole, where it did not par- 
take of the diurnal motion of the earth, would, 
in consequence of its tit inertia, find, as it 
travels south, the earth slipping under it, is 
it were, from west to east, and thus it weald 
appear to be coming from the north-east, and 
going towards the south-west : in other wordi, 
it would be a north-east wind. A similar 
course is followed by the wind coming from 
the south pole towards the equator. Nov 
as these two winds arc known to be perpe- 
tually flowing from the poles, it is quite we 
for us to assume that the air which they 
keep in motion must return by some channels 
to their former places at the poles, othe^ 
wise these winds would soon exhaust the 
polar regions of their atmosphere, utd 
piling it up, so to speak, about the equator, 
would cease to blow for the want of a fitib 
supply of air. 

Looking at it in this light it has beta 
assumed, and proved almost to a ccrtamtr, 
that there exist fiir above these tradc-iriiiai 
other and counter currents of air retwaif 
to the poles as rapidly as they are flying ftw 
it. In short that above the south-east tnit 
there is a north-west wind, and aborsfc 
north-cast trade a south-west wind peiprit 
ally blowing. We have already told hf 
Nature has so wonderfully and bctntiN^ 
placed tallies on the wings of the latter. If 
means of the microscopic infusoria raised fHt 
the Oronoco and ^Vmazon valleys, and doM 
less this first outlining of the new Air Hf 
will, in due course, be filled up in other pak j 
of the world bv certain indications of Ik 
true course of tde upper strata of air Tetat 
ing towards the south pole. 

Believing that these phenomena aretkat 
actually in operation, we will cndean* |{ 
to show more in detail the course of Ai 
" wind roads " of the worlil, ond to do M> If 
again making use of Lieutenant Maury*s iO* 
tration of a single particle or atom of air,« 
representing the entire volume. 

AVc will start from the north pole, i 
company with our fellow atom, and fcw 
we find by some ogency not yet nniff 
stood that wc arc travelling southwards k 
the ui)per regions of the atmofq>herv, •* 
not along the surface of the world, until W ' 
reach about the parallel of thirty north tf 
tude, in the vicinity of the Canary Idani 
Here wc meet with a similar snppcsril 
particle, travelling also in tho upper at 
sphere the return Journey towatds the pih I 



Am HAP& 



181 



I 

I 



I 



I 



The two adverse particles press a^s^ninst each 
othor with their entire force, and being of 
equal power, produce an equilibrium or nccii- 
miilation of dead air. This ia the calm bolt 
of Caneer. 

From under (his belt or bank of calms, 
two Miifaoe euirenta of wind are ejected ; 
one towards the equator and, irom the cause 
nlroady assigned, tjikin^ a south-westerly 
coursi; as the north-cast trade wind ; the 
olhiT towards tlie pole, as the gouth-west 
passage wind. These winds, coming out as 
they do at the lower surface of this calm 
region, must come from above by mean^ of 
downward currents, just as we may supi.io.-ie 
a vessel of water filled from (he top by two 
slrewnis flowing in from opposite directions 
and flowing out from two openings below 
in cotiLrary channel,'^. In support of \.\i\» 
downward theory of tlio air, wc find the 
tcstiraoiiy of Humboldt who tells us (as others 
do) tiiat in this calm region, the barometer 
Btands higher th:in it does to the north or 
south of it 

Not the least interesting feature of this jour- 
ney of the winds, is the fact that the currents 
of air thus forced out from the lower surface 
of this calm belt, are not those which were 
previously travelling in the contrary direc- 
tion : the wind from t\ie pole does not sink 
dort-n and return northwards *» a surfitce 
wind ; it has yet a long journey before it, a 
journey given to it to perform, by infinite 
wisdom, for wise and beneficent purposes : it 
has yet to go towards the south before it 
turneth atjout unto the north. The particle 
of nir in company wth which we have tra- 
velled thus far, makes its way by some ni3's- 
terious agency — bclieveil to be eleolricjil, and 
indeeil all but proved to be so by Faniday's 
recent discoveries — across this calm xonc, but 
at the same time downwards, and ai>pears on 
tlie surface going southerly as the north-cast 
trade wind : it cannot pass along in the 
uppcT sir, for there is another similar particle 
wending its way back to the pole, having 
perfonned the allotted circuit which this 
one fresh from the north is about to 
make. 

As the north-east trade, our particle jour- 
neys until mar the equator, where it en- 
counters a siniilar particle as the south-east 
trade. Here, at this placf of the equatorial 
meeting, there is another conHict and another 
calm region, as all those who have made a 
voyage to the south know full well. The 
consequence of this encounter of the two 
typical particles is similar to that which 
took place at the calm belt of Cancer, but 
is brought aVjout in a ditTetvnt manner. 

Till- great heat of the sun near the equator, 
adik-d to the presence of the two conflicting 
winds one agiuiist the otlier, causes thejn to 
ascend, and once more crossing the belt of 
calm.o, they make their way still in their 
onward course ; the northern particle, with 
irhicfa wc will suppose ourselves still La com- 



pany, taking an upper coarse, until, arrived 
at the 7.ono of Capricorn, between twenty 
and tl)irty degrees of south latitude, it en- 
counters the southerly breeiea, and this time 
descending comes out at the lower sur- 
Cice on the opposite side nf the calm region, 
and makes its way to the south |iole as a 
surface wind. Entering the polar regions 
obliquely, it is pressed against by similar 
particles coming from every nieridiiin, and as 
it approaches the higher latitudes, having 
less sjMicc to move in, it flics along more ra- 
pidly and more obliquely, until it, with all 
Uic rest, is whirled about the pole in a con- 
tinued circular gale : at last, reaching the 
great polar vortex, pressed up on every side, 
it is carried upwards to Uie regions of atmo- 
sphere above, whence it commences agnin its 
circuit, and journeys back to the north as an 
upper current, thus fuUilling its allotted task 
of turning about unto the north. It now 
passes back over the same space, but this 
time its path i.s altered ; where it was before 
an upper current it is now a surface wind, 
and FiVc Term. 

Having thus pictm-cd the winil-roada 
across our Air Map, wc will proceed to 
point out the reasons fur Ijclicving them 
to be the actual paths travelled on day hy 
day, from year to year, in the great world 
of air. 

It will be necessary to biar in mind the 
following facts, since they (brni the ground- 
work on which our structure of reasoning 
will be built. In the northern half of the 
globe land grcatl^' predominates over water ; 
the southern half of the world being chiefly 
occupied by the ocean. Nearly all the gieat 
rivers of the world are to 1)C found north 
of the equator ; whilst south of the line there 
is but oae large stream, the PlaLT, the .Vinazon 
being in the eqtmtorinl region and receiving 
half iU supply from the riorth and half from 
the south. Ill South Africa there is no river 
of any nioiuent, and the rivers of Australia 
are insignificant. 

The main source of supply for the waters of 
these rivers is of course to be founil in the 
clouds, which furnish it in the shape of rain. 
The clouds derive tht ir supply from the ocean, 
whence vapour is raised by evaporation. " .411 
the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not 
full ; unto the place from whence they camo 
thither thev return ng-ain." This is precisely 
what is taking jilace daily. If the winds 
did not lake up from tlie 8C« largo quantities 
of vafiour, and store it in the clouds for 
distribution when wanted, the sea would " be 
full." with all these gigantic streams passing 
into it ; vet it is never full. 

The fact^ here given appear at first sight 
nnomalouK, but on examination they will 
be found to spe.-tk in fiivour of the theory 
previously adv.inced as to the wind-roads. 
The all but riverlcss countries of Si.ulh<rn 
Americ:i. South Africa and Australia are 
situated in llie midst of the largest expanse 



I 



I 



I 

I 



of ocean, with surface winds blowing orw 
them ihnt liaTc swept the fnco of the 
waters for manv ihouiiandg of miles, and 
which must at their tciDpcrature he heavily 
loaded with vapour. Yet these winds furnish 
no supplies of rain sufficient to form any 
rivers of magnitude. Those hinds arc almost 
rireriess. 

On the other hand the winds which blow 
over the gigantic rivers of the northern 
hemisphere — the mighty stream.** of America, 
Kuseia, India and China — have all traversed 
but little of ocean, their way from the 
equator has chiefly l)efn over dry land, 
whence they could raise up little if any 
moisture. VVIicnce then is it that countries 
with comparatively so little water about 
them should rccicve so copiou.sly of rain, 
whilst thoso in the very heart of the seas arc 
devoid of any such supply ? 

To take up surface water and hold it in 
suspense tlic air must he at a high tempera- 
ture ; to part witii it again m the shape of 
rain its temperature must be considerably 
lowered. Tlie only winds whichj by reason 
of the temperature, can perform this lifting 
process, are the Trades on either side of the 
equatorial region. In their course over the 
vast body of waters, they become highly 
charged with vapour. On their meeting at 
the zone of cqualurial calms they rise, reach 
a cooler atmosphere, and consequently become 
expanded and part with some of their mois- 
ture; and hence we hear of such extraordinary 
falls of rain in thciio regions as that sailors 
have actually taken up buckets of fresh water 
from the surface of the ocean during one of 
these down-pourings. But the winds only 
part with a portion of their load ; the south- 
cast trade \U\s itself and its lo.id of aqueous 
vapour high above the surface, and coursing 
on towards the north in the contrary direction 
of the north-east trade below, becomes 
gradually cooled on its way, and as it cools 
parts as gradually with its vapours in the 
shape of rain. 

In like manner the north-east trade that 
rose as an upper current at the ctjuntor to 
take its way to the south, performed also its 
lofik of evaporation, but to a far less degree. 
Coming from the regions of the north, it is a 
cold wind, anil therefore not in a condition to 
raise up vapour until it be near the equator, 
consequently it has but little to precipitate in 
the shape of rain, and hence we find the lands 
of the south so devoid of rivers. Were it to 
l)C otherwise than thus, were the south-east 
vapour-loadefi winds to traverse the surface 
of tde earth in their northerly career, they 
would not part with their moisture where 
most Deeded by reason of their high tem- 
perature, but would deposit the whole 
when arrived in the frigid stone, where least 
needed. 

Again, if this 80uth-ca.st ivind when it rose 
np was turned back in its course, and instead 
of passing over to the northern hemisphere 



to water the.sc vast regrions of dry earth, 
pursued a southerly career, its .stores of rain 
would be spent over very small track* of eartii 
and over immense regions of water, ft is 
clear, therefore, that no other system than that 
which it is now believed is the course of the 
winds could bo productive of the great 
benefits which we receive from them. The 
southern hemisphere may hv likene«l to an 
enortaous boiler, the northern to a huge 
condenser, by means of which all the 
moisture in the world is dealt with for 
distribution. 

The one exception of the Rio de la Plate 
to the absence of large rivers in the south, 
serves equally to prove the theory. If the 
reader will refer to a map of the world, 
he wnll perceive that the north-eajit trade- 
wind which is lifted at the equator, passea 
as an upper current of precipitation over the 
sources of the Plata, must have crossed the 
equatorial region in about one hundred de- 
grees west longitude, and, therefore, having 
come from the north-ea.st, must have tra- 
versed some thousands of miles across the 
Atlantic, and then meeting in its southerly 
career with the lofty Andes, become forced 
up by them into still higher regions of cold, 
draining in its ascent the last djTop of 
moisture from those mountains to supply the 
solitary river of the south. 

In like manner, a reference to the map will 
show that the north-cast wind which tra- 
verses the great Sahara of central Africa, Is 
flung up at the equator, and thence pa^ises 
over South Africa in a south-westerly direc- 
tion, leaving no rain in that riverles.'? coun- 
try. Again, the same trade which sweeps 
the sterile, rainless steppes of Chinese Tor- 
tary, cro.sses the line to the southward of 
Ceylon, and thence takes its vapouricss way 
over the great Australian continent, where 
also tlierc arc no rivers of any size. 

There m a roraftrkablo circumstance con- 
nected with whirlwinds at sen, or cyclones 
as they arc termed, which goes far to confirm 
this theory of our Air Map. In the northern 
heinisplicrc, all these circular storms revolve 
frotn right to left ; in the s"Ulh they re- 
volve from led to right ; and these are pre- 
cisely the counws indicated by the present 
theory, which the various currents of atmo- 
sphere take at the two poles in their return 
circuits. 

AVe have tlius given the main features of 
the great wind-roads of this earth, as laid 
down by Lieutenant Maury. There arc, 
however, many lesser tracts — small footwayn, 
as it were — diverging from the main trunk 
roads of the atmosphere, which taking their 
course and strength from the varied .surface 
of the land follow irregular, mid, ns yet, but 
little known directions. It is to these, and 
to the cotdirmntion of wimt is already be- 
lieved to be the case, that the attention of 
nautical observers is winhed to be directed, 
fio that, in the coarse of timc^ by the unltwl 



^^ 



ClailMnckRa.1 



BAD LUCK AT BENDTGO. 



183 



efforts of British an4 American navig;atora, 
we may be enabled to fill up the many blank 
and uncertain spaces in our great Air Map. 



GONE I 

I HAV* the letter ret, Minnie, 

Voo «ctit the very J»v 
Timi (f»vo ^ocir first-born to your arms, 

Ad"J I "Oil far RWny. 
I Miv iliniii^h e»cry Iruinbling line 

1 -; wu» the boy. 

U-. ,lio"k the wc»kenel h»nJ 

'i ^ ;jj wiali me joy. 

Of all thv mottier's little one*, 

The pUylhinp »ii<i the pot, 
Poor eliildren, lovingly tbey oomo 

To rock the omille yet ; 
An<J, knowing tiol how sound Wa fleep, 

All »rU to w«ko bun try. 
Alas ! from so much love, Minnie, 

To think tUitt ho bhould itie 1 



L«ok at the «mall pure himd, Minnie, 

So molionleMi in mine, 
I n-eJ In let It, (toft ami warm, 

Ab-^iit my rt'i^fr rwine. 
Ar " '.Mrt 

1, 
It' - v lllUld 

TiU uiy liiuid loo id uulJ. 

Onr bridal di\y ; thM snmmor day ! 
Do»t. thon remember now I 

Jo' ' ' ' » were iinHullicd tUon 

>. 'lit thy brow, 

Til 1 have my fnir bride still J 

Au'J, i y tliT loving Rve, 
Thou wouMkI not irivo iiu up, Minnie, 

£°eu tluit ho mi^lit not dio. 

A Heaven of «cfcty and repoM ; 

Ah I should we wi»h him bark 
From its clear light! and tliornloaa flowers 

T ! ''".i'« dunty track. 

T 1 radiant little one 

1-1 by-und-bve. 
Au.l yd ihut lie should i\e, Minnie — 

Alas, that he should die ! 



BAD LUCK AT BENDIGO. 

Arrtth) ftt Melbourne on the nineteenth 
of September, I took an early opportunity 
of disitributing my pile of letters of intro- 
duction. Pound, that although addressed 
by influential people to influential people, 
they were altogether valueless. Influential 
fricnd.s in England wore at that time showing 
no mercy to the Melbourne people, \vh<t 
received a great many more draughts upon 
their courteay than it was possible for thctn 
to honour. 

I agreed then to join a party of my fellow 
paiwengcrs, and try fortune's temper witli 
them at the di);j;ing& All the tool.s and im- 
plements which my new friends had brought 
from London being buried at the bottom of 



the ship's hold, we were told that some days 
must elapse liefore they could be disinterred. 
As for myself, I had taken out only a knap- 
sack and a sea chest. If I ever were to make 
the trip again I should take only a knap- 
sack. Not meaning to bo detained for an in- 
definite time we resolved, bold Layardi? that 
we were, to institute some excavations on our 
own account We set to work therefore at 
once, and had no lack of curious discoveries. 
Barrels of flotir, casks of stout, bags of sugar, 
bates of slops, butt of water, bundlt-s of 
spades, we dragged and hauled about, 
meeting with a little of everything except 
the things we wanted. After lighting an 
unlawful lantern, and exploring all the 
crannies, wc at last saw, at the bottom of a 
well du» through the other merchandize, a 
cart Wc hoped it was our own, and after 
several hours' lalwur, during which we moved, 
among other articles, a grand piano in a 
case, wc came down cleverly upon it "Just 
you let that air cart alone, will you ?" Truly 
we had no right to touch it, for it was not 
ours. More hours' labour, and at last wo 
got our property together ; ours, because' I 
ha/1 bought ray share in it The cart had 
been brought out, in the innocent belief that 
horses were to be bought at about fifteen 
pounds each. The price of a horse wo found 
was about seventy pounds. One wc learnt 
also would not be enough ; two would bo 
required, and they would very likely be both 
stolen before the week was out Tools of all 
kinds which wc had brought from t^ie other 
end of the world were to be bought at the 
diggings, from men leaving, at a trifle less 
than the common London price. Nobody 
carried picks and shovels out from Mclhourno 
with him. The best thing we could do we 
did ; put cTerything into a sale, and so got 
rid of a!l cncuinlirance. 

The only thing we did not sell, of all our 
London importations, was a tent, which we 
proposed sending to the diggings by a carrier. 
After a search through the town which cost 
us a whole day, we at last found a carrier 
starting to Bendigo — our destination — who 
for the moderate sum of eight gtiinea.'s en- 
gaged to take charge of our gold-diggers' 
home. 

The next mnrning wo were up betimes, 
h.id an early breakfast, and equipped our- 
selves in mnrcliiiig ordtT. Rich ofus strapped 
on a belt, containing a revolver, an axe, and 
a knife ; each carried on his shoulders a knap- 
sack and blanket, and slung by his side a 
havrcsaok with hrend, meat, and a can for 
water. Sii furnished, otf we started. The 
transition frotn town to bush is very abrupt, 
and in a few niiiiules we seemed to have 
passed all traces of civilisation. We halted 
at middny, and dined. After an hour's rest 
strapped on our "swag" again and went our 
way. .M simset we found ourselves in 
a rough-looking country, abounding witli 
volcanic boulders, and very scant of trees. 



I 



=i 



184 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



fCaBiatrnttt 



Tlicrc was a clump of them to be seen on our 
right, and as a supply of wood is very neces- 
sary for judicious camping, we selected that 
clump as our lodging for the night. On reach- 
ing it wc found it to be located upon very 
swampy land, and promising a bed infested 
witli a new kind of jumper — not with fleas, 
l>ut frogs. Frogs were hopping about there 
by tens of thousands. 

V/'c had not yet been broken in to all that 
."sort of thing ; we minded frogs, and therefore 
I suggested that we should be careful to pick 
out the highest and the drye.st spot Wc 
did so, and then having thrown the knap- 
sacks from our aching shoulders, cut down 
wood with our axes and kindled a bonRre, 
which we set to roar again.st the trunk of a 
fine tree. Thereupon wc made ourselves 
some tea in our tin pots, and .oat down upon 
our knapsacks to a hearty supper. While 
munching we were accosted by three horse- 
men, stock farmers, on their way home. 
They cheered us with the information that 
if we were bound for Bcndigo wc were not 
on the right track, at the same time pointing 
out Mount Macedon in the distance (a hint 
afterwards important to us), by which they 
said the road wound ; then wishing us luck 
they rode off. 

To have gone astray in the wood like the fa- 
mous babies was no great luck, but it consoled 
us that we could be savage ; London savages. 
We took to forest life, as boys to cricket 
I'irst, we cut down about a cart-load of wood 
and built it into a heap near the Are, for iise 
as fuel. Then, with the bushy ends of the 
branches, wc formed about ourselves a sort 
of hedge to keep the wind off. Within our 
enclosure we arranged that each should 
watch in turn for two hours during the 
nijrht; that is to say, from eight o'clock till 
daybrmk. I lay down on the ground, head 
on knapsack, hand to pistol, feet to fire, and 
in three minutes was sound asleep. At two 
o'clock I was roused to take my watch, and 
found the stock of wood exhausted and the 
fire low ; so I took my axe, and kept myself 
awake by hacking away at the trees in the 
dark — a good savage amusement — splashing 
about, ancle deep in water, because I could 
not see to pick mv steps. There is a wild 
cliarm after all about a night bivouac, of 
which a man must be a dullard if he is not 
sensible. I grew to like it But for the 
s<and.il I should now be glad to quit mv 
house m Cambcrwell of night.s, and go to 
U'd by a bonfire set alight under the lamp- 
^1 used never to tire of watching the 



post. 



Jitful flame tliat cml)race.l the tree, against 
which It was alw.ays kindled, killing it with 
kisses ; of the dimly defined trunks that 
fonned our chamber wall, and against which 
hung our liavresacks; of the wild firelit 
figures of the sleepers, with their arms in 
readiness; and of the silence, broken only 
by the wind that moaned in the dim for- 
est So wc enjoyed our first night in the 



li v»i. ao y/c enjoyea our first 



bush. At daybreak I aroused our party; 
and, after * refreshing wash in the next pud 
die, we had breakfast, and resumed om 
journey. 

Noonday halt and evening camp Tore tha 
same for several days. Our route lay through 
a picturesque country, with many Ngns of 
volcanic origin. On the evening of the fourth 
day we camped at the bottom of a dell, by 
the side of a pleasant running stream, 
among enormous fragments of volcanic stone. 
Towards the middle of the night it rained 
heavily. Tho rain awoke mc, but as it 
could not be turned off by any tan T knew 
of, I lay still. After a short time I heanl a 
low conversation between two of my com- 
panions. They were uncomfortable. Veiy 
much so. They did not like it Our meat 
was all gone, and nothing remained but a 
few biscuits. When they also wore pone we 
might be star%eil to death. Goaidod by 
such horrible thoughts I heard thoin con- 
spiring how they would return to Melbourne. 
Day broke ; and during brcakGist (which con- 
sisted of a biscuit each) they broached to me 
their ]>lot I a.sked them. Did they want to 
go back for umbrellas? As for provisioiH, 
it was certain that we must soon come upoo 
some flocks of sheep, when wc could buy odc 
and eat it Finally, I declared that I meuit 
to go on, that I was willing to wait two honn 
in our camp while they tried about for 
mutton ; but if they did not, by the end 
of that time, return to inc, I should go oo 
alone. I had — each of us had — three bis- 
cuits ; I would put myself upon a bisodt t 
day ; and there was no fear but that wittun 
three days I should meet with sometiiiag 
eatable. 

They consented to this plan, and off thef 
went When tho two hours were fully vf, 
I climbed on to the highest boulder for i 
parting look after my coinrndcs, and tutdd ; 
that I saw them in tho distance ; fired nr 
pistol, and was answered by anoUier. I tha 
waited. They came back unsuccessful, raj ; 
sulky ; moreover, they had been scunilf 
used. Seeing a man at a distance tliey hii 
gone up to him to ask for food, when br 
savagely presented a pistol, threatening •• 
shoot them if they did not keep their distucc- 
The stranger had no food to spare fbr thca^ 
and did not know where tlicy could get any. 
Now, it happened that during the abaenoe of 
my friends I had been thinking, and had can 
to the resolve, that if compcllmi to tninl Iff 
myself, I would abandon the tracks, wW* 
are the marks left by the carts going to d( 
diggings. These tracks often 1»fad tbT 
circuitously to avoid the hills; and I «iw«i 
reason why, guided by a pocket compw •* 
an excellent map of the colony that I ^^ 
with me, I should not try for a Mraiglit rf 
across the country. Mount Macedon, > 
known point, was visililo in the distance, •* 
I calculated that if I crossed the chdnrf 
mountains, of which Macedon forms par^k 



t 



■ N.N. W. dii«ction, I shoald save many milM 
of journey. All this I stated to my comrudcs ; 
and, an<-T much disicussion, it was agriMhl that 
wc would try the »dvenltiro of a dash into 
the pathless country. 

So wo did ; and, after crosiring solitary 
plain.'i, arrival by night nt hills covorxd with 
dense wood. \Vc supped upon half a biscuit 
each, and in the niorninj bn!akfa.sted upon 
the other half Then, with angry stomachs, 
we rt'siiincdourmarch. It would be difHcuIt 
to convcj' an idea of the intcn»e lahonr and 
fotigue we next experienced For nsiles after 
miles our course lay across mountains heavily 
timbered, overwovcn with thick tang;lo<i 
underwood. Of level open ground there 
WU3 litenlly not an acre ; the base of one 
mountain joine<l to the bas« of the next, with 
a quagmire always at the point of junction. 
At the top of each mountiiin, as well as at 
the bottom, the compaiss was referred to, and 
there were bearings taken. Mountain after 
mountain we had scaled, frequently obliged 
to cling with both our liands, and pause to 
pant for breath at every few step.4. How 
often, on arriving at the summit of mmc 
beigbt, we looked eagerly forward, hoping to 
sec an expanse of clear, level pround ! But 
no, there was ever another mighty barricade 
to climb over, and our limbs ached and our 
stomachs himgered at the sight 

Once through an opening in the forest, I 
caught sight of Mount Macedon, and calling 
my companions pointed it out to them. On 
examining the compass we found that our 
course wa.s exactly true. By that discovery 
they got a little confidence. 

\Ve bail been, for a long time, forcing our 
way tlirough the tangled underwood to the 
top of one particular mountain which, from 
the ble««:.hed skeleton of a sheep that we found 
on the top, I claimed ray right, as a pioneer, 
to call Mount Skeleton. When we did reach 
the lop of that mount we were utterly e.v- 

Kku.ttt.'d, and for some time totally unable to 
t any farther. Flinging ourselves on our 
ir' -ri;! for breath, and all of us black 

I ^ m contnct with the trunks of the 

C'- >, "lo. .. lied by bush fires) wo were too 
tired to speak or stir, and lay stretched out 
as motiotdcss as though we ourselves had 
been, or were about to become skeletons. 
Flocks of brightly coloured birds danced in 
the air about us, screaming, perhaps a wake ; 
and the laughing jaguar (commonly calle<i 
ja<'ka.>«) witli his loud Ha, ha, hal seemed to 
corLsidcr our predicament the happictjt of 
joke.s. 

Suddenly a report was heard, quickly 
followed by anotner, and another. Some- 
thing mortil that way came. PWgetfiil of 
latigue up wc started, and made olf in the 
direction of (he sound. Down the iSdoof the 
mountain we went, plunging through the 
underwood, heedless of pain, and came at fast 
upon a Ktockman driving a team of bullocks. 
He told us titat we could get meat, flour, and 



other necessaries, at a station a few miles 
further on ; that we were right for Brii'ligo, 
and had saved twenty miles by oiirshoit i-iii. 
So, bidding him good day, we pushed on for 
the station, There we told the ownrr what 
we wanted, and he led us int. ' h, 

wooden building like an K it 

iustea<l of i-orn in it, there «iie < .■iiiii"imies 
of all kinds ; the place was a gt neral store. 
The farmers in the interior, when they sell 
their wool, lay in at such places a suJBcient 
stock of everything thev arc likely to want 
for a year. We each bought flour and a 
quarter of mutton. That is the smallest 
quantity sold; and, during the heat of the 
Australian summer, it is gi'neniHy halfthrown 
away, for it becomes covered with maggot- u 
few hours after it is killed. Ours was ;i hot 
summer experience, and I may state gunt.r.<illy 
that we were obliged to eat our meat cither 
before the warmth of life was out of it, 
or else with more life in it than might 
Ive palatable to anybody nice about iiis 
dinner. 

Nest d.iy wo resumed our journey, which 
still lay through forest. In a few hours we 
camo upon an extensive encampment, and 
found that it was composed of some sixty 
emigrants on the way to the diggings. They 
complained sadly of the difficulty they had in 
6nding enough food for so many ; had no 
compass among them, and had lost their way 
repeatedly since they first CJ»mo into the 
wo<m1. It was the famous Black Forest, in 
which, as we journeyed on, we passed several 
other parties going up to Bendigo, It was 
wretcheil work for horses there, and bullorks; 
numbers of them lay like camels in the 
desert, dead by the roadside. The tracks 
were ploughed up to the very axles. Fre- 
quently a dray would be bogged, and it 
would be the work of sixteen oxen fa.stened 
on to extricate it At other times the road 
on a hill side was so shelving, that there 
were ropes fastened to one side of the 
dray, and held by men, to prevent an over- 
turn. 

We had been eleven days in the Black 
Forest, and were growing tired of its scorched 
trunks. It is a notorious place for bu.sh- 
rangers, who come and go with a strange 
suddenness, Of this we had an instance. We 
had halted at miil-dav, and were deep in the 
mysteries of cooking, when a horse's head 
was laid afTectionately on my shoulder. I 
felt for my pistol, and turning round, faced a 
bold horsenmn, 4iuite of the Claiule du Val 
school, lie was mounted on a blood marc, 
wore long riding boots of polished enamelled 
leather, had a Colt's revolver in his belt, 
nnothcr pair in his holsters, and a gr^'tn veil 
hanging from his broad stra>v hat Tlio long 
lash of a harulsoincly inounted stock whip naa 
coiled elegantly in hts hnntl. Probably he 
came to reconnoitre; but as ho found us 
too well anned for his [uirpose, ho simply 
nskecl the usual qucslioD, " Had we seen an/ 



I 
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186 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



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bullocks :" to whicli we replied No, and asked 
in return where we could buy meat He di- 
n>cted us to a station and rode ofT. Not one 
of our party liaJ seen his approach until he 
was close upon us. Had we not been well 
amied (we took care to let him satisfy his 
mind on that point;, we should certainly hare 
bi-in attacked. 

Then we had an odd parody upon shopping 
in the bush. We saw by public advertise- 
ment upon a paper, nailed against a tree, 
like the boots of Bombastcs, tiiat meat and 
flour were to be sold hard by. The place in- 
dicated was a station, situated on a gently 
rising ground, around which ran a clear 
stream. As there was no bridge to be seen, 
I Tdiintcered to leap across the water, and 
bring back supplies for all our party. So I 
did. The building, when I reached it, proved 
to be of the rudest kind. The walls were of 
hewn plank.s, clumsily nailed together, having 
crevices between them wide enough to let 
the hand through ; the floor was of beaten 
clay. There were no flowers planted there, 
and no attempt whatever had been made to 
give an air of comfort to the place. Yet I 
learned that the owner and his family had 
been residing in that shed for sixteen years. 
I went with the dair}--woman to an outhouse 
for provisions. She was very independent, 
and on my politely expressing a preference 
for another joint instead of the one she 
wished to sell, I was told that there was 
my beef, and that I might take it, or leave it, 
she did not care which. A coarse Joint being 
better than no meat, I decided of course to 
take it, and also bought some flour, paying 
sixpence for the pound of each. I ai»ked 
whether tliore was not a bridge by which I 
couM return ; slie said there was a small one 
on the other side for their own use, but that 
it would not suit them to build bridges for 
Btran<^-rs. I was glad to leave the scornful 
lady and return to my companions ; but they, 
durint; uiy absence, had been walking on by 
the side of the stream. I shouted to them 
and they stopped ; but when I came up loaded 
with my meat and flour, I found the stream 
between us rather more than could be taken 
at a leap; the only way of crossing for a 
strancrer was to wade through it So I put 
down the flour upon the grass, and walked 
into the little river, meat in hand. The 
water rose to my chest, but I soon cros.*ed, 
and handini; up the meat went back to fetch 
the tiour, which aljio was brought over safely. 
Now. I think a little competition would have 
rubbed the rust off those uncivil shopkeepers. 
And who know.i that there mav not be a 
Tcry Oxfonl Street of shops fifty years hence, 
across that hill; f»>r we wore 'there getting 
to the verge of the Black Forest, and soon 
»ftcr quittmg it, the country bei-amo more 
open, and we met more travellers. Tents 
for the Bale of provisions, were set up at short 
int«rTals, and all fears upon the score of 
provonder were at rest On the last night's 



' camp, before entering Bcndigo, I felt a desire 
to wash the linen frock and trousers which I 
I had worn during the journey, for I had 
noticed what appeared to be a nice pool of 
water close at hand. I look, therefore, my 
^ piece of soap, put on my other suit of clothes 
out of my knapsack, and set ofl; Down went 
" my wash " beneath the crystal surface ; bat 
oh ! woe was me when it came up again, con- 
verted into a thick lump of green slima 
Rinse it off I could not, for the whole pool 
was a fraud, a trick of Nature played on 
the unwary traveller. The top of the water 
was indeed clear, but underneath it was a 
museum of aquatic botany. Naturally dis- 
concerted, I set to work with my knife to 
scrape ofl* the mass of specimens that I had 
thus collected, and next morning had to 
squeeze the clothes into my knapsack, streaky, 
smeary, and damp, a lump of linen most 
ridiculous and lamentable. 

After we had been fourteen days on tba 
journey through the wood as aforesaid, «e 
reached Bcndigo. Pits, tents, and people 
gradually became numerous. On each sid« 
of the dusty path the earth was turned ap, < 
and there were miners at work; stores « 
goods were exposed for sale. We inquirad i 
our way to the Commissioner's camp, in order J 
that we might be ready to get our liccnoH m | 
the morning, for we had no mind to kie ' 
time, and having taken up a satisfactory posi- l! 
tion, flung ofiT our loads like pilgrims, with T 
our progress ended, and so camped at kit !* 
within our golden city. 

In the morning our first care was to wk 
the tent of which the carrier had tikn 
charge. We could not find it ; wc never Si 
find it The carrier had taken our dg^ 
guineas, and remained charged with the tout 
into the bargain. He would not burden ni 
again with it, g-x>d man. We also lo^el 
about for sccond-h^nd tools, and of these m 
found that there were plenty to be had,il 
reasonable pricef:. Having ntadc our p(n>- 
chase.<, and taken out our liccnccst, we wtot 
back to our location, voting ourselves worthf 
of a holida}- for the remainder of the dij. 
That over we set to work, and dug ioor 
holes. After delving down to a depth d 
about six feet, the water came into our bok^ 
and wc came out of them. We found thists 
be a common accident, numbers of pits bong 
rendered useless by the underground {>priiia 
Shifting our operations wc sunk four hoM 
more, and were bu.-sy in them for some daji 
The ground was obstinately hard, being • 
burnt clay, and every shovel full of earthw 
wo threw out could be thrown out only ate 
it had been loosened by the pickaxe. V* 
ha<l built a hut of boughs to snield us fitn 
the mid-day sun ; the days were very bo^ 
but the nights dreadfully cold. One n'q^ 
while wc were asleep a heavy rain set io, 
which la.<ted until morning. The boughi^of 
course, aflbnlcd no protection ; we and out 
blankets were soon dripping wet ; the canf 



I 



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fire was i-st!ngui.shcd, and the ground around 
us ft eoraplL'te )uke district. If there was 
nnytliiiig that my companions particularly 
hated it was rain, for tiiuir umbrellas were 
unfortunately lefl in London. It occurred to 
me that our best course was to build a hut 
which should be quite as sound as an uni- 
brelliu This was proposed and agreed to; 
\vc aiTanged to work at the pits and the hut 
alternately. AVe had by that time come to 
the bottom of one pit about twenty feet deep, 
without getting anything more satisfiictory 
out of it, than if we Imd gone out to dig on 
Putney Common. Tlicrcfore we set to work 
on fre.*h holes. 

After a time we wanted flour, and one 
evening, after our day's work was finished, I, 
and another of our party went to purchase it. 
Knowing how quickly darkness succeeds 
sunset there, we walked a5» fast as wo eould 
to the store, which was about two miles dis- 
tant Having made our purchases, we 
returned, Vnit were soon unable to see the 
path. The light had faded into darkness, and 
the intricacy of so many paths as there were 
ivinding among the escavntion.s, puzzled us 
conipiindy. To make matters worse, we did 
not know how to de,*cribe the position of our 
cainji. The nearest known point wn-s the 
Coinmi.ssioner's station, and our hut was a 
niite distant from it. \V'y ccrtiiiily could lie 
down where we were, and wait until morning, 
but JUS we could not camp down profierly, for 
want of blankets, iixo and matches, we did 
not like the option. 

After spending some time over experimental 
ti ips, we spied a cnmp lire, and went up to it 
to ask of the inmales, at any rate, could they 
be so kind as to tell us the way to the Com- 
missioner's? On our approach two bull-dogs, 
chained to a stake, sprang forward and almost 
cholced themselves in their attempt to get at 
us. They were Lendigo watchmen. I Knew 
an unfortunate man out late at night, who, 
passing on liis way between two tents, wa.>4 
seized by the dogs belonging to them, and h:id 
his flesh nearl}' torn from his bones before he 
was rc3C\ied. Well, when we had told our 
Btory, a man very kindly said that he would 
go with us himsvlf, and show us the vviiy on ; 
just as he might have done in London. 
Setting out again at a sharp pace, he led us 
along a path, still winding betwetn deep pits 
liiat were dug on cither side. I was congra- 
tulating niy.self on our escape from a great 
risk of being lost among tlieui, when, stepping 
on wlint appeared to b« dry, level ground, 1 
sank down, in an instant, to my chest As I 
was altogether vanishing I shouted out, and 
our conductor, turning rountl, had time to 
catch my hand. Tliera was no time lost, and 
I was just straggling out, as my companion, 
who followed clo.seiy at my heels, went in 
behind me. We pulled him also out, and 
although it was but a dirty joke, we could 
not help laughing at our own condition. Wc 
were both enc&scd in a thick coating of wet 



clay, nearly up to our necks ; for we had sunk 
into a worked out hole, which had been filled 
up with the wet refuse of other pi(.s. Wc 
had become a |>oir of plaster images, and onlv 
wanted an Italian boy to put us on & board, 
and sell us as Greek slaves. 

In a few minutes more wc came to the 
Commissioner's, and our guido repenting his 
regret for our misfortune took his leave. Lefl 
to ourselves, wc again tried to find the way 
to our hut, crossing and rccrossing in diflerent 
directions. At last, when it was nearly mid- 
night, we gave up our search as hopeless. But 
what could we do? We could not lie down in 
night-dresses of wet clay, ond wc could light 
no fire. I propo.«ed that we should go to the 
police camp at the Commissioner's, and ask 
leave to lie down by the tire there until 
morning. The suggestion was approved, and, 
a.sccndin^ the hill on which their watch-tires 
blazed, we considerably surprised the police 
force by the extraordinary appearance of two 
plaster casts in scorch of a betl. Ix-ave to 
rest was of course readily granted, but there 
was no Bparo blanket or horsecloth with 
which we poor images might cover ourselves, 
We lay down by the fires, cold to the bones, 
or the wires, if wo were really costs. Then 
one of the sentinels (a good fellow), with an 
outh declaring that he could not seo men in 
such a state, took off his great-co&t and placed 
it at our disposal. We thanked him heartily, 
stripped off our wet clothes, and covered our- 
selves over with it. 

In spite of my fatigue I could not sleep : 
sometimes the wind would come rushing and 
eddying, now driving the flame almost over us, 
and the next minute taking all the warmth 
out of our marrow. The scene around, too, 
was verj- novel and exciting to the fancy. Out 
of the wall of gloom, beyond the glare of the 
fire, till military figures, well-armed, came 
ond went, frequently stopping to examine us 
— ad if they thought of buying us — with some 
degree of curiiwity. At half-hour intervals, 
a sentinel clos« to our cars called out in a 
loud voice, " Number one — all's welll" which 
was immediately answered from a distant spot, 
by " Number two — all's well I" Then Number 
three, RTid, lastly, Number four vouched fur 
the well-being of their respective posts. And 
so that long night pa.sscd. At the first dawn of 
morning I jumped up, and as the plaster on 
my clothes had set quite hard, I began hanging 
tliem upon a log close by. This knocked it 
off, and knocked up my companion, who soon 
followed my example. A fine cloud wo raised 
together, in which wc were both concealed, 
as though wc had been really heathen goils, 
Cupids or Apollos made of other stufT than 
plaster. Before leaving, wo each offered to 
the goo<l-naturcd sentinel some money as a 
return for his kindness, but he positively 
refused it, nor could wo prevail upon hira to 
accept anything more than a hearty shake of 
thi; hand, as we bade him a cordial good- 
bye. With the light came a release from our 



A 



138 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 






£ 



ditlic-ullies, and in a quarter of an hour wc 
n-gaincd our own abode. 

Uur hut then occupied the whole of our 
spare time. The framework was composed 
of the trunks of trees, which we felled, and 
lopped, and fixed in the earth, fitted with ridge 
poles and rafters, and across which we 
stretched a tarpaulin. The sides were filled 
in with turf sods, set in wet claj-. There 
only remained the two ends to complete. At 
this stage of our career mj coin]ianions be- 
cnme disheartened. Tlierc was no success 
in digging. The work was verj severe, 
tlic discomfort was excessive, and we had to 
support ourselves entirely with the money we 
had brought out with us : the prices of all 
kinds of food (and that none of the choicest) 
being enormous. At la.st one of our men de- 
clared his intention of abandoning titf diggings 
altogether. He should go back to Melbourne. 
Off he went A few days more of hard work, 
and no pa}', ate up the patience of the other 
two, and they also departed, urging me very 
much to go with them. I steadily refused, 
because I had determined to give my under- 
taking a fair three months' trial. 

Left alone with my own thoughts at the 
other side of tlic world, I was amu.ted, and 
perhaps now and then touched by the aspect 
of shiftlessness and incompleteness that 
belongs to a community, consisting almost 
wholly of men. I was standing one day in 
tlic forest talking to some men, whose beanls 
ot'iiiany month.s' growth, bronzed complexions, 
ami rough dress, gave them a savage ap- 
piarancc, when, suddenly, a lady on horsc- 
biick (probably the wife of the Conmiissioner), 
followed by a servant, appeared. All conver- 
sation instantly ceased, and we followed her 
with our eyes until the last flutter of her 
riding habit was lost amongst the trees. On 
her disappearance one of the men, with a 
deep gasp, as if he had not breathed for the 
last few minutes, exclaimed, " Ah, a sight like 
that does a man good." 

1 was left quite alone, but even that did 
not discourage me, as I considered that if the 
toil was greater, so also might be the reward. 
I continued at work as before ; but, although 
I found gold, it was in such small quantities, 
that, as an Irishman said, it would take a 
ton of it to weigh a pound. One evening, 
soon after my companions had left, I went to 
the store to buy a camp oven, which I brought 
home with me. It was very ru.sty, l)ut I 
thought it would bake none the worse for 
th.it After washing myself I went to bed. 
In about an hour the palm of my lift hand 
(which was covered with broken >)lister.s 
from the constant use of the axe) began to 
ache very much; the pain increased fast, 
anil in the morning mv hand was veiy much 
swollen. From bad, it rapidly increased to 
worse, and at the end of the week my hand 
and arm run together into one unsightly 
mass. The rust had acted on my blisterei^ 
fingers The pain was agonismg, it allowed 



mc no rest day or night Not only was I 
unable to work, but I could scarcely dress 
myself, or cook. The slightest movement 
gave mo increased pain. At the end of t 
fortnight the inflammation came to a head, 
and no less than five openings formed ; four 
in my arm, one in the palm of my hand. 
Tho.sc who hare never been in Australia can 
form no idea how rapidly under its hot sun 
inflammation advances. Since I had no one 
to bring me the least help, the fever became 
aggravated. Sometimes I was nervously at 
work for three quarters of an hour trying to 
get a fire, sitting on a log and blowing it 
with one hand, whilst the pain in the oUier 
was distracting me. Then perhaps, just as I 
thought that I had coaxed a few sparks into 
action, a great gust of wind rushed in from 
the unfinished end of my hut, killed them 
entirely, and dispersed their ashes. I knor 
what utter desolation is, since I hare tai>tcd 
illness thus alone in the backwoods. Scarcely 
able to dress myself (indeed I was obliged t\tr 
several nights to lie down in my clothes, 
being unable to get tt^i.'m off), and quite 
deprived of power to use ny axe, I could but 
make a fire with the small sticks blown dowa 
from the trees, which T gleaned from tl» 
ground, wandering about Mke an old iromii j 
for the purpose. Throi gh the open ends of I 
my hut, clouds of dust amc whirling. Ill 
commonest necess-ivy I had to fetch fbr my- 
self, however high the fcvei, from a distance; 
and the water, which it cost mc much traoUi 
to procure, was of the colour of pea-sonpi I 
was obliged to drink it, and also to ok it 
with my tea. All that I could do for mji^ 
as a physician, was to apply bread ponncei 
(requiring for the purpose one half-quaitai 
loaf three times a day, at a daily expos 
for the three loaves of scvcn-and-sixpcgctji 
together with warm fomentations. Oit 
night I lay down as usual, having batbi 
my wounds, applied fresh poultices, cka 
bandages, and finally wrapped a clean b^ 
chief over all. Next morning at daybniki 
took off the bandages, and who cannot natt 
stand my horror on perceiving that it 
wound in my palm was alive witn magpn 
Some one of the blowflies, of which there wn 
millions about, had during the night crnt' 
through the linen folds and done the misd^ 
I remnincd for a few moments stupifiei ' 
the sight — ahno.st cast down into com;]* 
despair. Oh for a familiar hand or voice i 
that moment ! However, the necessity t* 
exertion soon made itself felt, and hasten^ 
my fire to boil the water, I sat down oa> 
log, penknife in hand, and cut the mi{ti* 
out ; then I fomented the whole wound wii 
boiling water. Happily I succeeded in Ai 
work of extirpation. 1 was ai^id hcttk 
coiTuption might have penetrated to Ai 
bone, in w^hich case I shonid have attcnp' 
the amputation of my hand, for travw 
to Melbourne in any such condition wtfi* 
possible. 



eiMlMWnlWM.l 



TUE GIPSY SLAVES OF WALLACHIA. 



189 



For 6ix weeks I t«d this life, which would 
have tried Robinson Crusoe ; confined to my 
hut, except when I was obliged to go om to 
pui"chnae nocessaries, counting the Bight of 
time by the course of the sun by day, mid of 
the moon by night. I dared not leave to go 
do^vn to SLclbournc, as my wounds rctiuired 
incessant care, and water was not alwaj-s to 
be had upon the joumoy. I dreadi^i mortid- 
cation, but at lost the wounds closed. I 
resumed the spade, but found my hand un- 
able to sustain the shock of digging. I then 
determined to quit Bendigo. Disposing of all 
my tools for lialf the amount they co-st me, 1 
packed Up ray knapsack, sewed my money 
under my arms, tilled my havresack with 
bread and uieat, and so bode iitrcwcll lo the 
golden soil. 

It was most necessary that no time should 
be lost on the journey, as if I had any relapse 
upon the road I should bo worse off than 
ever. I was of course very much weakened 
and reduced. My face, which, two monlh.s 
before, had bccomo copper-coloured from the 
exposure to the sun and air, was almost 
white. Loaded with the impediments essen- 
tial to bush travel, I Kt:irU>d on Tuesday 
at noon, and camped outside Melbourne ou 
Fridiiy night, having walked in three days 
and a half one hundred and thirty miles, of 
whicli the greatest part lay through hilly 
and forest country. I completely wore down 
both my shoes and stockings lo the ground. 
Several times I was obliged to stop, when I 
found a stream, and wash my feet, which 
were very painful, and became encased with 
dirt and blood. A pair of socks, that I 
bought at a store in the way, were cut to 
pieces by the end of the day because my 
shoes attbrded them no shelter. At one 
time during my journey I had to rub on fyr 
twenty-four hours without tasting food. I 
had taken the wrong track in the Black 
Forest, and so missed the bush inn where I 
had hoped to replenish; and having finished 
my last biscuit on Thursday morning, it was 
not until two o'clock on Friday that I ate 
anything more. 

After getting into Melbourne, I spent 
nearly a whole day in hunting through the 
town to get a lodging. What I at last did get 
was a room containing nothing but a bare 
mattrass, a cane chair, and an empty hvx for 
table. For the use of all this, and food, I 
was to pay two pounds a-wcck. Money would 
scarcely purchase vegetables or fruit, of which 
I was in great need. My landlady sent all 
over the town to get me a cabbage for my 
dirmcr, but not one could be procured for any 
price. The governors of the hospital at that 
time were indeed advertising for some one to 
contribute a few cabbages for the poor 
patients. The diggers' diet prevailed very 
much, perforce, m Mellwumc : mutton, 
damper and tea. The miserable accommo- 
dation I have just described was in a few 
days taknn from me, the owner wanting 



the room for himself ; so I then camped in 
Canyas town until I finally returned to 
England. 

THE GIPSY SLAVES OP WALLACHIA. 

All travellers who have journeyed from 
Zcmlitza on the Danube to Bucharest, agree 
in painting the country they are obliged to 
traverse in the most sombre colours. Once 
out of sight of the lines of trees that border 
the Danube, you enter upon an interminable 
dismal plane, with a level horizon that sur- 
rounds you like a circle, of which you are 
ever the centre. There are no objects behind, 
to mark your progress by their gradual 
disappearance ; there is nothing ahead, to 
encourage you on ; no mountains of blue 
riuing higher and higher, becoming substantial 
as you advance, breaking up tbyir long lino 
into peaks and valleys bristling with cr.igs or 
clothed in forest. If you would know that 
you are in motion, you must look upon the 
ground beneath your feet and .see the pebbles 
and plants pass slowly backwards as j'our 
waggon moves sleepily on, or whirl dimly by 
as the knroutchor pursues its mad can-er. In 
winter time, an additional dreariness is given 
to this desert by the aVjsence of the sun, which 
is hidden from view by one vast cloud sta'tch- 
ing from horizon to horizon, low down, so 
as almost to resemble a mist just rLsen from 
the earth. Here and there, a few slight 
elevations, a foot or two high, indic:ite the 
presence of an underground village. At 
various distances, tall poles rise into the 
air, marking the positions of wells, around 
which the sky is speckled by flights of 
crows and vultures. Now and then you 
meet parties of pea-sants clothed in sheepskin, 
and wearing prodigious moustachios, wander- 
ing across the level. At night the only 
sound is the wind whistling through the low 
bushes, occasionally bringing to the car thd 
reports of a volley of musketry Qred by some 
party of travellers who amuse themselves in 
this martial way. 

It is not uncommon in crossing these gad 
plains to come upon groups of wild-looking 
individuals, black as Ethiopians, scantily 
covered by old rags, stepping jauntily out, 
waving their arms, noilding their heads, 
rattling fragments of songs, and clattering 
together as they go the blacksmith's tools 
which they bear upon their backs. Further 
on, perhaps^ when night ha.s fallen, an hour 
or two after these odd-looking people have 
gone ahead of your waggon (they take two 
strides for one of your oxon) ihc ground 
ahead will probably become spangled as with 
glovr-wornis ; and presently a sort of whirl- 
wind of strange .sounds, half song, halfsliout, 
will be borne by the night breeze, to mingle 
with the buzz of your own c.irsvan, and the 
creaking of llio wheels. You have come upon 
a village, an encampment, a burrow of pipty 
troglodytes (dwellers in caves), who are eitaor 



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140 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[Oia4ivM t} 



I 



h 



sitting around tho remains of the fires they 
linve liglitcd to Cfxtk their evening meal, or, 
with open floors or Imps, hy tlic light of n 
Cftndlc stuck in the groun'i, ari' engngcl in 
smoking red clay or cherry-v»-0Q<.l pipts, Bind 
drinking tho hsrsh wine of thu country. 

These people arc of the most humble and 
mo-st unfortunate section of the Wallaohiiin 
people, the Zigans, who of old formed » flour- 
ishing little state, paying; tribute to the Greek 
empire, hut who are now reduced to n condi- 
tion of nhjoft slaviTy. Their history is most 
obscure, and it is not with certainly known 
whence they came or by what stepu they 
descended to their present level. It seems 
certain, however, that they belong to the same 
family of wanderers who are known in Efcypt 
as Gayiiras, in Hungary an Zingiyi, in Ger- 
many a-s Zipeuner, in Spain a.s (Sitanos.-in 
FVancc ftfl Bohemians, and in England as 
Gipsies. Their own traditions derive them 
from Syria, whence they were transported 
in the eighth century, by one of the Greek 
emperors, to Thr«ce. C')n account of some 
pcculiaritie.iin their mnnners, perhaps of some 
Btrauge f<irms of doctrine, they seem to have 
become detested and despised by nci<i;hlK)ur- 
ing nations, and especially by the Moliamrac- 
dans. When the Turks penetrated into their 
territory, instead of merely requiriti'/ tribute 
from, them, they attacked them with fury, 
dispersed them, hunted them down like wild 
beasts, and condemned those to perpetual 
flcrvitudo whose lives they spared. In tliis 
persecution they were encouragvd hy (he 
Christiana : who shared, indeed, the greater 
part of the newly ma<1e serfs among them- 
selves. It i.< estimated that at ]iri'sonl there 
are more thnn twenty-thrre thfuisanfl Zif^n 
families in Moldo-Walhichia, comprisinp; about 
a hundred and fifty thousand .soul.";. A certain 
numlRT of these belong to the Stale, which 
employs them in mines and public works ; 
whilst tho others are divided nmonp; the 
monasteries and the Boyards. Some of these 
latter po'.'ie.ss as many as five or six thousand, 
engaged in part in too most laborious works 
connected with their estates, in part let out 
upon hire. They sell or exchange them at rer- 
tnin fixed periods of the year, bringing them 
like cattle to market ; until l.ilely, they treated 
them with such severity that they not urifre- 
quently drove them to suicide. Mimy Boy- 
ards of humane character now grjint a semi- 
liberty to their Zigans, allowing them fur 
80 much a year to go about aa they jilcsise, 
Bceking for work, and retaining the produce 
of it. Once every spring, tho half-eiifrawht^fd 
slave muft make his appearance and pay his 
tribute. Sometimes, also, he bring.-" an instal- 
ment of his own price, and thii.s manngea by 
degrees to free himself An itidiislrious m.in 
may cnrn his liberty in ten years; but this 
unforfuTiate race has been so bnitalised by 
long sulTering, and is so addicted to every 
kind of debauchery, that very few succeed tn 
rescuing themselves from bondage. Amongst 



the Bo^'ards of the present day there are 
a good many whose copper complexion, 
white teeth, and general ca.<it of countenance, 
cvi<lcntly prove them to b« descended from 
Zigans. 

Tho physical constitution of this unhappj 
pcnplc is strongly marked. The men arv 
generally of lofty stature, robust and 
sinewr. Their skin is black or copper-co- 
loured ; their h&ir, thick and woolly ; their 
lips are of negro heaviness, and their teeth 
as white as pearls ; the nose is considerablj 
flattened, and the whole countenance is ilia* 
mined, as it were, by lively rolling cyeft, 
All, without exception, wear beards. Their 
dress consists commonly of a piece of tAttcred 
cloth thrown carelessly around them : per- 
haps an old bed-curttin given by some nuuter, 
or a blanket that has gone through every 
degree of fortune, until it has been rejected 
by the scullion. 

As is the case in many savage tribes, the 
women are cither extremely ugly or extremely 
handsome. Most of the Zigana are beautiful 
up to the ago of twenty ; but, af\cr that time, 
they suddenly shrink and shrivel, change 
colour, bend, and lose the lightness of their 
step, as if an enchanter's wand had changed 
them from youth, admired and wooed, to dis- 
honoured old age. The dress of these women is 
peculiar, consisting generally of nothing but a 
tight tunic or bodice made of sheepskin, and 
scarcely reaching to the knees. It leftToa 
their legs, their arms, and their necks bare. 
Over their heads the most coquettish throw a 
white veil, and some few indulge in leather 
s.indals. As ornaments they wear earrings of 
brass filligree, necklnces of paras strtmir upon 
a slender thong, ami a variety of nii't:il brace- 
lets. The children go naked up to ihu Hgw of 
ten or twelve, and whole swarms of girls and 
boys may sometimes be seen rolling about to- 
gether in the dust or mud in summer, in the 
water or snow in winter — like so many block 
worms, .^s )'-ou pass by, a dozen heads of 
matted hair and a doKcn pairs of sharp eyes 
arc raised towards you, and you are greeted 
with a mocking shout, which alone tells yoii 
that the hideous things are your fellow- 
crcitures. 

In tine weather the Zigan is a very inde. 
pendent being. He sleeps in the open air, in 
the forests, in the flcld-s, in tho streets of tho 
towns — anywhere, in fact, where he can find a 
pl.T'c to lay his head. However, it is their 
custom, for tho summer season, to erect little 
sheds of canvas, of straw, of branches, or of 
mud ; whilst in winter they scratch deep holcii 
in the earth, which they roof with reeds and 
turf. Their Furniture is surprisingly simple, 
consisting of an old kettle, a few two-pronged 
fork.s, and perhaps a pair of .scissors, a 
poignard, and a gourd to hold brandy, or 
arakee — to the use of which this race is 
particularly addicted. When they havo 
stowed these articles in their holes, or 
under a shed, they call the place their home. 




142 



riorSEIlOLD WORDS. 



iOtrntm 



the youth goes to the bthcr of the ^rl 
he hos chosen, and, aftt-r witrn' tiilctnpts at 
politeness — -as olftrinp a pipe, or praising tht 
sir,e of the old ptiillirniBii's beard — comos 
straight to (he pdint, and pro|)osca hiniM'ir 
ns II Bon-in-kw. Few questions arc «i^ked, 
few conditions made. UnlcM there be sonkc 
iniportiint objection, tho voung lorcr re- 
ceives permission to call \\\s comrades to- 
gvthcr, and build a hut during the course of 
the night to receive his bride. The very next 
day he requests his mother to i>rej>are a full 
pot of porridge, and then repairs to the dwel- 
ling — a hole six feet square, or perliaps a 
tent of branches — where the maiden of his 
choice, drcsiMMl in her sheepskin tiuiic, with a 
veil borrowed from a neighbour, ii modestly 
crouching in a corner. He take« her by the 
hand and leads her to where hut family !» 
collected. The oldest man of the trilH! is 
th«re by appointment, encouraged by a fee 
of a few hnndfuls of poiri'lpe, and linKtily 
mutters a few words by wnv of blessing. 
This in the whole ceremony, if, indeed, the 
great feed that follows be not more worthy of 
Uiat name; and thus the Zignns continue 
fi'om genenition to poneration. We arc porry 
to be oliligtd to ad<l that both women and 
nwn arc, as a rule, exceedingly debauched. 



MR. GULLITEB'S ENTERTAINMENT. 

Jastes GrxuvEai respectfully submits to 
Uie attention of a discerning public the 
following detail of facts, upon which he pro- 
poses to found, during the approaching winti-r 
(iMson, a new public entertainment. It is 
James Gulliver's firm determination not to 
gidl the public, and he therefore frankly 
Stnti's that in obtaining from the conductor 
of Household AVords an intro<luction into the 
majestic presence of the English people, it is 
his hope that he may not only save himself 
a large outloy in posters, but receive money 
instead of paying it for the insertion, in that 
widely circulated journal, of the following 
advertisement 

For m-iny j'cars Jnmeg Gulliver has watched 
the growth of popular intelligence and taste 
in England and .VmericA, smi linj? endeavoured 
to keep pace with it. New York and Lon- 
don are no longer to bo amused with the 
inexhaustible bottles and loystcrioug cards 
of the professed conjuror. Mysteries must 
be real to satisfy the aRC. To fetch a guinea, 
the exhibitor must raise a ghost To fetch 
a cniwn, it is requisite at least that J. G. 
should in sober Bcriousncss jiroduee evidence 
of hnving discovered aa much as his distin- 
guir-hcd Pirefather I.omuel. The ground, 
however, being already occupied, so fxr as 
concerns the discovery of a new people en- 
titled Lilliputians, two of which are now 
being exhibited in London, and there being 
not much hope for a rival show of HroMig- 
nagians, James Gulliver has sought in new 



directions, and has happily sncoecded ta 
obtaining the distinguished aid of the latA 
Mr. Lucian, of Satnosata, near the Euphrates 
in die production of an exhibition which ho 
Halters himself will be more suq)risingly 
agreeatile than anything yet seen in London. 

Very recently a young man of business 
having bail oora.sion to consult the spirit of a 
deceased partner on tho subject of an error 
made by him while living, in the transfer of 
some entries from the waste l»ook, waa imr. 
prised by the statement of Miss Fraiidc, the 
medium, that an old school-friend desired to 
speak with him. It provixj to bo |h«« Greek 
satirist Lucian, who spoke by rap* as follows; 
" Get a room for me. My time i.s come again. 
I also have travelled." My friend adtcd, 
" What do you mean ?" — Answer : " Azice 
Lilliputians." 

Question. Did you ever sec thein f — Answer 
by one rap, meaning No, 

Q, What do you mean, then ? — A, I lunra 
seen stranger things. 

Q. You refer to your History of yoor 
Wonderful Travels ?—y1. Yes. 

Q. Thev have been often imitated, arc you 
envious of any imitator? — A. Yc8. 

Q. Of whom, of Munchausen? — A. Ko. 

Q. Of Lemuel Gulliver?— .1. No, 

Q. or Velasquez?— ./I. Yea. Get a room 
for me. 

Q. You want to exhibit and to tell jcrar 
storj'?— -<. Yes. 

(J. But you .said when living l! ' tale 

was DHse, and that it w«.s nieuni :i- 

turc of the ridiculous tales pah j-'n ibe 

world by Fesias, I think, in his History of 
the Indies, and by Sambutus in his account 
of the wonders of the ocean ; do you meui 
now to affirm that it was not invented T — 
A. It is true enough, I promise you. Qti 
a room for me, 

Q. But can you produce anything (or vlo 
stare at in corroboration of your story I— 
A. Get a nwrn for me. 

The young man of business, looking at the 
matter very properly in a business point of 
view, had a short convers.ition with Uba 
Fmude, and then applied to the abovc-naratd 
Jnmcs Gulliver, who lins since, in associattOQ 
with the expert medium, had various comniQ- 
nica lions with llie said sjiirit of Lucian, nndsr 
whose direction he has organised the follow- 
ing programme of an entertainment, which 
will include not only n constant series of the 
sounds, but also of the smelts proceeding from 
Spirits, together with a phantom panorama, 
and the production of a great number of 
umnr.ing thini^. 

Tlie introduction of smells into the ento^ 
tainnieiit lins been suggested by Lucian him- 
self, to whom ;it a recent jtrnnre it was pointed 
out thnf, in a book published by the Chan- 
cellor of Killaloe a year or two before spirit 
rapping bec.'>mc popular, it was nfRrmed as a 
restdt of certain reasoning that the souls of 
men lie io the gasea which escape from th<^ 




HODSKHOLD WORD& 



Endjmion after thb offered to Locian 
letters of naturalisation tm a Lunatic, which 
he declined, but of which b copy was taken ; 
and a copy of the said letters of naturaliBation 
will be presented to eycrj' gentleman or lady 
who Ehall have paid ten shillings for ad- 
niLision to the front seats at ttio proposed 
entprtainment 

Quitting the Lunar Island, Lucian and his 
friends sailed for a long way, touching only 
at the nioniing star to take in water. At 
last they camo to the capital of the Land of 
Lamps, where they stopped for a night, 
baring lamps lighted ercrywhcre about 
them. On the next day they came down by 
a city in the clouds, and aflcr four days 
descended again gently to the sea, which 
they found calm. Unluckily, howerer, they 
soon got among big fishes, whereof one had 
(octh like steeples ami was tiftccn hundred 
leagues in length of body. Into the mouth 
of that whale the ship rushed as into a 
whirlpool, and was carried safely down the 
creature's throat At first it was all dark 
inside, but when the whale came to gape and 
let the light in there was visible a world of 
other fish, with carcases of men and bales of 
merohandiiic, anchors and masts of ships. 
Towards the middle also there was earth 
with mountains, made probably by the quan- 
tity of mad which tlic great monster h.id 
swallowed. On the land there was a forest, 
tliirty miles in compass, among the tre<'S 
of which herons and halcyons were flying. 
After some days, Lucian and six of the crew 
went inland and discovered a small temple 
built to Neptune, heard also the barking of a 
dog, and saw smoke at a dist.nnce. So tiny 
were led to an old man and his son, who said 
that Ihcy had lived there miserably for scven- 
and-twcnty years. There was no lack of 
food, but there was great trouble with the 
natives, more especially the pickled-men, who 
have the face of a lobster and the body of an 
eel. One of these picklcd-mcn will be in- 
cluded among the curiosities belonging to the 
entertainment As the natives of all kinds, 
although numerous, had no arms Unit fish- 
bone.o, it was determined by Lucian and his 
fellow sailors to make war upon tliem ; and 
80 Lucian was engaged in hi.s second war, of 
which also a graphic account will be given, 
illustrated oy a heavy rain of fish-bones, 
which will ny like hail acros.s the room, to 
represent the arrows of the picklcd-racn, the 
carcinoi'hicrs, the crab-tritons, and other 
wild monsters against whom that war was 
waged. 

Lucian and his companions having lived in 
this way for more than a year and a half, it 
happened, on the fifth day of the ninth month 



at about the second gaping of the monster — 
who gaped once every hour, and so enabled 
thcra to reckon time — that they heard a rast 
noise without, and creeping up to those parts 
of the fish which, lying near its mouth, wer« 
thinly inhabited, being made swampy by tha 
constant overflow of water, they saw (ho 
outer sky and water, and a great comixt of 
giants about the stealing by one party of ^ 
herd of dolphins. They were i' ' ^ 

however, unable to escape, and ti y 

afterwards dug a tunnel six huumi-ii p.-n-ra 
long through the creature's side, yet they 
could find no outlet Then it occurred to 
them to fire the forest on tlie ixUnd ; and so 
cause his death. It burnt for >.i.ven davs 
before it made the nioi\stcr cough and choice 
a little ; then, however, l>o In-gan to gapo 
more dully and grow sick and faint ()n the 
eleventh ciny they perceived by the smell of 
him that he was dying, and propped open his 
mouth with long beams, that they might not 
be shut in and lost entirely. Then after the 
three days' labour they launched their ship 
safely again into the oy- ■ ■- 

So saihng on they I irig unusnal 

until tlicy got into a .si..i ■ „ cU]i)i of ihB 

nn"lk will be handed round — whereon the 
Princess Tyro, daughter of Saltii"ii. us i.».i- 
vimcd an Island of Cheese. I'' 
cheese will be distributed. Conii: • ir 

way over the Atlantic, ihcy arrived llnallj 
at the Isle of the Blcsse<l, governed by Rha- 
(lamaothus. There the corn grows in littla 
loaves, needing neither to be ground, kneaded 
nor baked; the inhahitants sit (n ' ' " ir 
cil3* upon beds of flowei-s in the Iv ;, 

and have meal blown to them h\ luc windn, 
white crystal trees droop over them, prih 
ducing for truit glasses of all sorts, irudi 
arc no sooner plucked than they are ftill et 
wine. A tankard plucked fVnm one of th6M 
trees, full of spiced sack, will be sent round 
among the vi.silors as a loving cup, and it 
will at the same time be made to rain OTW 
the whole room slices of meat and drops of 
gravy. While the company assembled a 
enjoying thi.s a grand tableau of the Elyi" 
fields will be displayed in a bla/.e of l 
light, and so the entertainment will bebrou 
triurapliantly to a conclusion. 

James Gulliver respectfully submits thct 
the above programme promises an amount i 
novelty and excitement that has never 
been provideil, either in London or 
York, to the lovers of the marvellous. 
begs, therefore, to entreat that the 
favour may be shown to him that ha.s beeD 
slready lo liberally bestowed on other exhi 
biUons similar in their design. 



Buuii un Bamaiu, rriaian •■4 timttjr'n, SO Nartk WOUiib SliMt, Mm Toik. 



** Familiar in their Afoutfui a* HOUSEHOLD WOEDST- 



8n4KHraABai 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A U'KEKLY JOUllNAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. 



Vou VIII. 



ilcELUATH k BARKER, PUBLISHERS. 



Wm.i.« Na 186. 



AFRICAN ZEPHYRS. 



Tor think this article is to be sentimental 
— a pastoral, or a fairy t»Ie — i>ecautiti it treats 
of the Zephyrs of the south f You never 
made a gi'vater ini.stakc in your lift*. Xly 
Zephyr has no relationship with either Eoriis 
or Boreas. Though ho possibly is not wi.se 
enough in his generation to be able to say that 
he knows his own father, he still does not in 
the least pretend to be ono of the sons oi' 
.•Eolus. Like Figaro, he is perfectly imtilferent 
wlyether you take him for the ollspring of n 
{0<1 or a demigod — of nn emperor, a duke, a 
pope, or a cabman. It is sutficient for him fo 
be a Zephyr, llis native place, of course, is 
Paris ; or, if not born in itic incln>poli:» of 
Fmnce, a sojourn there ha.s lonf; since natu- 
ralised him. Me is quite a^j much at home in 
the army, with drums and trumpets, corporala 
and .Hcrgeantii, bayonets ti.\cJ, and cap cocktjd 
on one side. Tbese Zephyrs, therefore, are 
not in the least afraid of halls and yat- 
agans, want and hardship, long marches, 
heat, liunger, and bad quarters. It was thej 
who supplied the heroes of M:iz.igmn. They 
are beings whom you can neither hate nor 
prai.se ; creatures for whom you reserve in the 
corner of yom* conscience a grain of indul- 
gence and half-a-dozen excuses. 

To write in intelligible language, Zephyrs 
is a nickname given in Algeria to a corp^t 
which is recruitetl from the entire body of 
the French army. These select and admired 
individuals are all gay fellows, endowed with 
that free and independent spirit which docs 
not squ.'ire with vulgar ideas of discipline. 
Artists and geniuses of original talent scorn 
drill. liigh-Hyers, they sour above routine. 
VoUr is a verb in tlie French language, 
meaning both to fly and to steal. Gram- 
matically speaking, therefore, tliefl comes as 
naturally to Zephyrs as llight. Many of 
the.se ingenious gentlemen con count on their 
fingers as many d.iys of punishment ns of 
ju:tual service. And punishment, be it long 
or short — be it nn hour's imprisonment or 
ten year.* at the galleys — docs not reckon in 
the term of military duty wliich the State 
requires from every conscript Penitence I 
ended, the old st^inding debt has still to be 
paid The ranks of the Zephyrs are also 
tncrcascd by soldiers who are drafted from a | 

Vol. Vm.-So. IS« 



less pure source than ft reginiental ]>lace of 
arrest. With this miscellaneous and doubtful 
class, battalions have been formed, officially 
known as the light batulions of Africa. But 
the nickname of the canteen and the battle- 
field has prevailed, and ha^ spread the fa- 
vourable reputation of those whom every one 
now calls Zephyrs. The nickname, however, 
for those who bear it, i.s, in fact, no nick- 
name. It is a title of which the light gentry 
are exceedingly proud, and which they take 
every pains to meriu It is not a little that 
will daunt a fellow who wishes to bo thought 
a genuine Zejihyr. 

Descriptions in natural history are easy, 
because a duck is a duck, and a pig is a pig ; 
but Zcphyr:j arc not to be driven up in 
a corner, and dashed off in hnlf-a-dozen 
strokes. They all bear a general resemblance ; 
and yet there arc not two of them alike. 
Their uniform is at first the same as that of 
other soldiers, except that a little hunting- 
horn on their white buttons replaces the 
number of their regiment, which they are 
now thought unworthy to bear ; but they 
disguise their dres.s with remarkable success. 
Look closely, and you will soon sec some- 
thing to remind you of the rooted animosity 
which the Zephyr cherishes against discipline 
and rej^inicnLals. Ubsenre that cap moro 
rumpled thiiii worn with having been so 
often dashed passionately on the ground. 
There cannot be a shadow of doubt that 
some extra-regulation repairs have been 
made by its proprietor, and have given it a 
more coquettish and comfortable shape. 
Sometimes the peak, by means of a clever cut, 
sloi)es downwards towards the eyes to shade 
them from the sunhciims. Sometimes it stands 
up in pert dcliance, that the wearer may con- 
front the skies. In France the military stock 
is commonly called '' the pillory." Il is not 
so in Algeria ; for the Zephyr, when he 
has not k)st it, generally carries it in his 
knapsaclc "{he Zephyr has the art of wear- 
ing with grace even those ugly and vast 
grefit-co;its, for which, when the array tailor 
umde them, he took measure of the sentry- 
box. Draping it artistically to conceal a 
rent, and showing the lining by cross-button- 
ing, ho converts it into more than a civilised 
garment ; it is a dressing-gown of the newest 
style. The Zephyr's trowsers' fashion has 



-\\ 



148 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[OndMia^tr 



also Its peculiar sbtmp. In them he has 
the ekili to combine a maddcr-rcd cloth 
uniTorm with an article of clothing more in 
harmony with the exigencies of a tjx>pical 
climate. The hj-brid pant.iloons consist of 
cloth, as hi)^)i up as the skirts of the coat ; 
but, iifl'.T this externally visible zone, there 
commences a much more extensive region of 
linen, borrowed from omiy sacks, or from 
the reinnant.'i of some olil worn-out tent. 
When the coat is buttoned up nothing un- 
usual is even s\ispecte(!. But to .see the 
Zephyr battalion in action .storming a breach, 
they iook like wiry, cnergetii: beings disguised 
in (attiTS that never belong to them. 

However fallen the Zej;hyr nitiy be, you 
will always i5nd in him one nnfailing motive 
impelliTiK him low-irds pood and towards 
eviL Vanity, pride, tlie love of Rtofy, if you 
will (there being many dilTercnt sorts of 
glory) i.s his mainspring of action, and his 
guiding-sUir. The Zephyr, unequal to a con- 
Bit^tcnt lino of life, is still susceptible of the 
most generous transports, and capable of the 
roost heroic and brilliant actions. He would 
willingly sajTifice his life to obtiiin a tropliy 
from the enemy. He would risk his neck, 
ten times over, to fitenl a fowl from a native 
hut He is greatly influenced by surrounding 
circumstinee.s. Hanger elevates the most 
degraded soul. But the bright side of our 
aerial heroes, on whtrh they shine with un- 
disputed splendour, is Ihfir joyousness and 
hilarity. Their spirits llow on with inex- 
haustible wit, ]ins8ion, and sometimes even 
madness. Their indu.slrinl talents know no 
bound.s. Happy, j-e offlccrs, who cmunand 
8uch troops; if the lash bml not so'ollen to 
be used. Beware, even, of ton much of it 
In action a Zephyr has been known to piit a 
bullet into the back of his commander's head, 
coolly remarking to his next door m-ighhonr, 
" He made a little loo ft-ee with me ; it's my 
turn now to make free with him. Wlari lie 
feels the lead he"!l merely say, ' Those con- 
founded Arabs have done for me I' " But 
use your Zephyrs decently, and they will 
furnish you with every assistincc yuu can 
want ; — a valet-de-chiimbre for yourscif, a (\kI- 
rato head-dresser to curl your wife's hair, a 
watchmaker, a farce-writer, a painter, a nurse- 
Quid, and, thanks to the suck-bottle, even 
a nurse. These various talents arc displayed 
either in so many separate volumes, or 
all arc bound up in one single copy. Does 
there exist a cocoa-nut which a Zepiiyr cannot 
transform into a trinket 1 — a wisp of straw 
which will not, in his hands, become a useful 
piece of furniture? — a scrap of M|liile and pink 
paper which is not soon converted into a 
hand screen, a cocked hat, or a pin btiskct ? 
And you, celibmted iron wire, what is it 
that ft Zephyr cannot m.ikc with your 
metallic thread.«, from a gun-])ick to a sus- 
pen.sion bridge ? 

The Zephyrs were the gentlemen who sold 
the poiice-statiob. Shortly ader the capture 



cc at 

i 



of Bougie, a few of these happy rogues, in con- 
sequence of some extempore fantasia, bad 
been imprisonetl in a native house recently 
abandoned by its Arab owner. For want of 
better gymnastic exercise they counted to a 
ganet window, to enjoy the pure and intel- 
kctuul pleasure which the mere sense of c'ght 
affords. They soon perceived an honest com- 
[latriot who had followed in the train of the 
expedition, looking out for a place wherein to 
exercise the trade which flourishes wherever 
the European plants his foot — the profession 
St Crispin delighU to patronise. To ques- 
tion him about his plans, und to tell him to 
use a little strength against the outside of the 
door while they lent a helping hand within, waa 
the work of a vvty few seconds. " Yon want 
lo hire a shop, my friend? Take our advice at 
once, and buy one. Th.it is the only cerl 
nitthod of contriving to get off without p«_ 
rent Never fear; your countenance plcj 
lis. We are the conquerors and nmstexs hi 
Come, wc won't be too hard upon you. 
shall have all this freehold property for a 
mere nothing — twenty francs, say. The only 
trouble you will put us to is to more a little 
further up the street Here, you kooWj w» 
are quite at home." 

Two hours afterwards an officer going hk 
rounds, found the innocent purchaser in- 
stalled, and cobbling aw.iy with an casj 
conscience. The Zephyrs had made use 
their wings and were flown. But at that vi 
moment the sound of winc-impedcd to* 
fell upon his car. A group of men with t 
uniforms, and eyes veiled by bruised cyelidl^ 
made their appearance at the corner of th* 
street., The gentle Zephyrs, having spent the 
twenty francs, were returning homo undv 
arrest. 

Not long after, a horrilile sirocco was bloir- 
ing at the same ])lace. Who on earth couW 
help being thirsty? .At noon eight of the ia<d 
knowing sylphs presented themselves to i 
Bougie merctinnt. Their .serious, almost mi 
t.iry nttitude, their ropes and wiKMjen shoi 
der-yokes which arc used for carrying varioi 
burdens, all seemed to intimate that an actoil 
order had been given. One of them addre» 
ing the master of the house, said that tbi 
superior commandant requested n cask rf 
wine, the same as the last which he hi4 
received. The party took charge of Ih* 
precious load, and departed in the same d 
berate style. A few days afterwards 
wine-merchant .xsked the commandant h( 
he liked the last wine he had sent for. 
"^Vinc! what wine?" 
"The wine I gave the men of your 
talion, who said they were sent to fetch it 
you." 

" You delivered a cask of wine to 
fellows? Then you furnish me with ti>» 
solution of an enigma, which I hate 
vain been endeavouring to comprehend, 
has happened that for two days past 
man who goes up to the fountain just outsidii 



curia IMkaiH.| 



IFRICAN ZEPHYRS. 



ur 



the walls of Uie tovrn, either stops there 
entirely or comes back drunk. I could nut 
in the least make out how the Goura^ ii water 
had acquired such an unusual property. 
Follow me, we may perhapa be in liuiu ta 
save a remnant of your property." The two 
speakers, guided by a line of reeling Zephyi'S 
posiicd ttirc>ugh Uie gates of Bougie, and 
reached the ueighbourliood of the three 
fountains. Sevei-aJ drunken snorers, stretched 
at length on tlic battle-lield, like Curiutii 
whom wounds had betrayed to the ven- 
geance of the conqueror, indicated the path 
to a thicket of pomegranale^j and nlues 
interwoven with clcmaliii. In the midst 
stood the enormous wine-barrel ujiright, and 
with its head Ntared in. Four men lying 
close by, in attitiidei) that were more than 
pictureuqiie, kept sleeping guard round tlic 
empty tomb, in which, however, they liad 
buried their t^cnscs. 

A couple of Zephyrs, in a forward state, 
were strolling arm-in-arm through the low 
quarters of Algiers, thinking more about the 
privileges of Ifcauly than of (ho.sc of rank and 
tpaulelies. lu fact, they had completely for- 
gotten the latter. A .superior olhi.er Uip- 
pcned to pa&<). The youths were so inleiiily 
occupied in staring at a brown and bright- 
eyed face which peeped llirougli a little 
square upper window, tliat they each forgot 
to touch lii.i cap. The officer slopped, and 
asked the Arcadian nearest to him, in a tone 
which sounded roughly interrogative, " Don't 
you know politeness, sir?" 

The questioned Zephyr, without the least 
embarrassment, gravely turned to his com- 
panion, and said, "Gauthier, do vou know 
Politeness ?" 

" No," replied Gauthier innocently. Then 
turning again to the officer, he formally 
cittpprd his heels together, stretched bis left 
arm along the seam of his trousers, and de- 
liberately declared, with his open right hand 
to the peak of his cap, " Not known in the 
battalion. Commandant!" 

The Zephyr sometimes enters the service 
of science, and turns science to his own 
private profit. For instance, the Ornn Zephyr 
will procure you fossil fish which he tliids in 
the marl by industriously (searching and 
splitting the strata. But, if his liibour prove 
unfmilful Or the order given be too heavy to 
fulfil, he will neverthele.'^s furni.sli you with 
all the species by means of sardines, red her- 
ring skiti, and a little strong glue. It is said 
that a Zephyr was the only person who could 
supply an erudite and zealous naturalist with 
the iTitel of the Atlas, mentioned by Sallu.st 
and by the learned Doctor Shaw. This Atlas 
rate] bore a great resemblance to the com- 
mon rat, except that his nose tcituinatcd in 
a, little proboscis, and his tail was nearly a 
quarter of an inch shorter than it should have 
been. This excessively rare specimen of a 
race now ahnost e.viinct was at once the joy 
of the pun.'ha.scr and the tinder, who bad 



simply deprived one of his prison companions 
of u morsel that could be well spared, to graft 
the superabuitdant part, by means of a little 
incision, on the root of hi,-; nose, 

Anothei .scientific Zephyr, to avoid coming 
to a nonpliut in a difficult moment, contrived 
to take advantage of tlie mani.n wliich urges 
80 nuiny }ieopIe in Algeria to form large col- 
lections of insects. An officer at bivouack, 
perceiving, at the twilight hour, a hand which, 
after discreetly raising the curUun nf the 
tent, wa.s inquisitively taking a turn under 
the cloak that served him for .1 [tillow, 
jumped up, aud caught a Zephyr in tliu fact 
of a search which was somewhat more than 
suspicious. " What are you doing there, you 
villain!" he shouted, beside himself with 
rage. 

" I, captain i I was feeling for cohop/era." 
An extremely probable time and jjlace for 
beetle-hunting! 

If you have the slightest taste for eccentric 
dishc^ a Zephyr is the purveyor to stock your 
larder with an ever-varied supply of game. 
To-day you have a fillet of gazelle, to-morrow 
a quarter of porcupine. Uedgchog, hyumo, 
jnck.d, tortoi.sf, and lion, will all be sure to 
tlgurc on your bill of fare. There is no oe- 
ca.sion to trouble yourself about cnls, and 
dngR, and truiiklcss miels. You will get all 
those Ijy hundred* In a town where the 
Zi-]ihyr.s had lately arrived the public treasury 
was exhausted by the payuictit of a tritling 
bounty intended to encourage the disappcar- 
utice ul rats. Their skill was too much even 
for the rats of Algeria, the most knowing 
rodent.* iu the world. 

In more than one town, and in more than 
one 4-ainp, the Zephyrs have managed to 
organise theatres, which were in no respect 
inferior to tliose of the mother-country. The 
most remarkable fact is that the best sup- 
ported parts were those of interesting heroiaca 
and dashing coquettes, kindly underUiken by 
l>cardte.S8 members of the corps! It is incon- 
ceivable what industry and talent have been 
displayed on these exciting histrionic oc- 
casions. The Zephyrs devoted themselves, 
body and soul, to the accomplishment of the 
mighty work. Scenery, costumes, and pro- 
perties were produced by magic. Notljing 
stopped the ardent Zephyr, not even the 
humble office of prompter. One day, at 
Orleausville, a lieutenint-gcneral arrived to 
inspect the division. The fountains were to 
spout their best in honour of his presence, 
and the theatrical performance had not been 
forgotten. Nevertheless, previous to the 
hour of amu^mont, the inspcctiou of the 
troops demanded some attention. The roU- 
cill was first strictly read ; but to the i.sto- 
iiishment of the licutcnant-gcner.il inspecting, 
only a siqgle private of an entire Zephyr 
regiment niiKtcrod, and ho had to answer for 
all the rest " Gauthier V shouted the orderly. 

" Here." 

"Jobinel?" 



I 
I 




HOUSEHOLD WORDS, 



L 



" Not here. Hairdresser at the theatre." 

" Falempin ?" 

" Walkinnf ptrtleman in the comedy." 

" Gritn|>lin ?" 

" Heroine in the tragedy." 

" Sansharbc ?'' 

"Grisctte in the farce." 

" Potaurer ?" 

" Scene-painter." 

" Then is your theatre the Grand Opera ?" 
asked the guneral. 

" Very nearly, General," 

" Anti you mean to show me that?" 

" Certainly, ticncral, the theatre is a part of 
the arniy which you have to inspect." 

In the evening, by the light of a hriliiant 
chnudelier, the in.spector applauded the j^ccs 
of the ZephjTS, who, elegantly perfumed, 
curled and gloved, in the guise of charming 
Paruieiii.rn, played out their pijiys to the 
great entertainment of the divisional general 
inspecting. 

But after the vaudeville, comes the tra- 
gedy ; the great piece treads on the heels of 
the little one. The farce will then follow, to 
make IIS forget Melpomene's dagger and 
poison-bowl. 

The scene is clinnged ; the theatre ia for- 
gotten. The merry chorus is heard no more. 
We have pa.sscd beneath the cold and humid 
rauIUof oiiL- of tlic an<-ient Spanish huilding.s. 
There arc no external apertures; no day- 
light enters that sombre ma.ss of stone. The 
ceilings sweat an icy water, which falls drop 
by drop, like tears from the eye whose briny 
source is being exhausted by sorrow and 
long coiiiinucd want. Having passed through 
Bomo doors of incredible iveight and thick- 
ness which swing heavily on their nisly 
hinges, we enter a narrow dungeon cs("avated 
in a damp and chilly soil; although beneath 
a glorious sky, which i.s ever tinged with 
blue or gold. Through the veil of a grey and 
gloomy twilight which is never pierced by a 
ray of sunshine, wo perceive two men 
crouching oppo.s^ito to each other on the 
ground, and holding in their handn canls. 
Wliat are they saying? — "Hearts! clubs I" 

"Trumps! The game is mine!" 

"I have lost again!" the other replies. 
Then, stretching towards Ida adversary one 
of his three remaining fingers, "There, cut 
away!" he shouts. The door unexpectedly 
opens. 

We were then ia the fort of Mers-el Kchir, 
whither insubordination and crime had con- 
ducted a pair of Zephyrs. Isolation and the 
sting.4 of conscience, soon bccanie insupport- 
able to such excited spirits. The worst of the 
two had pocketed a pack of cards, his only 
missal. They first tried hard (o find ninusc- 
meni in contests which soon were found in- 
sipid. What could they play for, who po.ssc.»i.«ed 
nothing? — nothing which could give value 
to the victory? They had nothing there, 
except their own persons. But one's person is 
& sort of property ; and it ia possible, too, to ven- 



ture it The craving for excitement, and the 
dread of vacant hours, made them mutually 
chance the loss of a finger, to be cut off by 
the winner at live points of eC'irW. The loser 
was aliout to suffer mutilation, when the door 
opened to admit the Hcrjeant who acted aa 
tho turnkey of the pri.son. Shocked at such 
an atrocious bargain, he forbade the perform- 
ance of the sacrifice. But, as soon as the Ser- 
jeant's back was turned, the gamesters cbos« 
another stake. The loser vva.s to murder the 
interloper who had prevented the payment 
of a debt (if honour. The loser kept faia 
word, and they were both executed for tb« 
murder of the seijcant 

We will now have a peep at more cheeHu] 
scenes; for man)' a Zephyr h,as the art of 
employing, in merry mood, the hours whicli 
he is obliged to spend in a dungeon, or at the 
bottom of the iHm. Silos arc dull places of 
retirement. They are a sort of cnonaous 
cistei-ns in which the Arabs store their grain. 
When, during oppressive heat.'^ the first cul- 
prit descends to the bottom of the vast am- 
phora, a sensation of coolness refreshes him 
for a moment Tho change is Tather agree- 
able than otherwi.se, and the orriTal of • 
companion in misfortune gives bim an equl 
additional pleasure. ISut soon three, four, and 
five new prisoners are added ; and, before long, 
air, which can only enter at the upper orifice 
begins to run short Mutual asiiistance k 
necessary to mount each other's shoulden^ 
and they have to tRinsform themselves mtoi 
living laddLT to enable each to take in a stock 
of air at tho hole, to last until his turn to 
breathe comes round again. Meanwhile con- 
tinued jokes and laughter burst forth J 
the various human rounds of the ladder. 
is wonderful that such an amount of hi 
and trial does not suggest to them Franl 
idea ; to tnrn honest and rcspcctnble men, 
the most successful piece of roguery thej 
play. 

Tattooing is a grand pastime during 
tivity. The battaljon has its regular pi 
flors of engraving upon human skin, 
never stir without their instruments 
tliera, carefully trea.surcd in proper 
What delight is thcii-s to find A new 
a blank page of white paper, upon whose 
and virgin surface they can e.Ycrcise 
decorative talent In order that every 
tomer may be suited to his taste with 
emblem to fix upon his chest or his arm, thi 
convert themselves into vast pattern 
entirely covered with specimens. Many 
admiring amateur, excited by the beauty 
these [lictures on living vellum, has alloi 
suljjecLs to he punctured on his skin, 
would afterwards thankfully get oi 
by means of a red-hot iron. We wi 
acquainted willt n Zephyr-lad, whom 
knew by any other name than the 
had punctured upon his forehead. 
fortunate boy commenced his cai 
taking a spito against the namb«r 



CkviM DtaltMK] 



AFRICAN ZEPHYRS. 



149 



wftd drawn when, at twenty jtan of age, the 
day of conscription arrived for chance to 
decide whether he was to go for a soldier 
or not Fatal number One replied in the 
alBrmutire. The slight success he met with in 
his new career, his punishments, his transit 
to the Battalion of Zcjnhyrs, were all attri- 
buted to the malign inmienccs of that hated 
and cursed unit So, during a melancholy 
tit, believing it useless to struggle againiit 
fate, lie turned the evils that awaited 
liini into a i>ulij(.'ct of pride and boasting. 
As a tlnat nuxle of dcfj'ing destiny, he had 
Uttooed, from temple to temple, " Unlucky 
Number One." The ice once broken he 
did not stop ; and his whole body soon 
swarmed with choice engravings, like Punch 
and the lUui^trttted London News combined. 
It is impossible to describe the contents of 
this truly curiou.H museum ; for at least half 
the subjects are unmentionable. From the 
hands, covered with red and blue rings, you 
p:kS3ed to the wrists, decorated ivith cameos. 
On his arras were daggers threatening hearts 
that burnt with an evvr-equal Haute, and 
were encircled by Uie motto, " Death to faith- 
less woman !" Then came names entwined, 
and full-length portraits. On the shoulders 
were a pair of .spinacli-secd (officcr'.<) epau- 
lette's "''t^i the three stars of lieutciiant- 
gcncral ; a cross of the Legion of Honour 
on the heart ; an enormous crucifix on the 
middle of the chest ; and, lastly, the Order 
of the Garter, tattooed at exactly tlic si)Ot 
which it ought to occupy on a knight's leg. 
Meanwhile the day arrived when Unlucky 
Number One ceaseil to be a Zephyr. He was 
Kiialchedaway to the altar. It would be curious 
tg knrnv what soft-hearted woman took pity 
on this Hiisci'llaneous gallery. Perhaps she 
alForded another instance of severely punished 
female curiosity. 

The Zephyrs have contrived to raise 
auxiliaries among quite a noble kind of 
recruits. At Bougie, the service of the place 
compelled that the ground should be recon- 
noitred every day, up to the edge of a certain 
ditch ; which ditch had been lioUowed out to 
prevent cavalry from advancing too near, and 
from retreating too abruptly slier a surprise. 
This reconoitring duty was seldom performed 
without several Arab shots being fired from 
ths opposite thicket, to the disturbance of 
the morning walk, and sometimes the 
sudden death of the walker. The Zephyrs 
dctennined to train some dogs to take part 
in the sport ; since it proved so dangerous 
to the sportsmen themsefve.q. They, there- 
fore, reared some fierce Arab puppies, of a 
species nearly related to the wolf and the 
jackal, with whose merits they became ac- 
quainted in tho course of thtir adventures. 
As the little Mus.sulman dogs grew up they 
were fed and caressed by tho red-legged 
Zephyrs. They imbibed a strong affection 
for their masters, who taught them, by a very 
■ample method, to entertain a profound 



aversion for the costume of the indigenous 
population. As the pupils' dinner-hour ap- 
proached, a Zephyr clad in a bunious, or Arab 
cloak, treated them alt with a hearty good 
beating ; after which his comradi'S, in their 
ordinary co.stumc, ovcrvvheliiied thinv with 
kindness and fed them liberally. Such a 
mode of education produced iU fruit 'Hie 
full-grown dogs entertained such an aversion 
to the Arabs, that any who ventured within 
their reach would instantly have been torn to 
pieces. These dogs were afterwards perfect 
wonders ; boating the woods and hunting 
the thicket*, marching ftfty paces in front of 
tho column ; and, not content with indi- 
cating the presence of danger by pointing 
at any hidden enemy, furiously joined in the 
attack whenever a skirmish or engagement 
took place. At a later period the organisa- 
tion of these brute allies was oflicially recog- 
nised. Every hlockaut (outpost) had three or 
four dogs, who were included in the effective 
forces of the garrison, and who were supplied 
with regular daily rations. One of them, whose 
thigh had been amputated iu consequence of 
a gunshot wound, enjoyed for several years the 
honours of superannuation. Her position, 
neverthclcs.s, was not purely honorary ; for 
she still, in spite of tier inOnuity, continued 
to supply tho state with valiant defenders, 

In the midat of the varied excitements of 
African life, the Zephyr's thoughts will occa- 
Btonally recur to the day when he is to return 
once more to the land of France. That day 
is not merely the moment of liberation ; it is 
the concentration of liberty itself. For a 
long time pa.st, he has lived in cojnplete igno- 
rance of furloughs, Sunday.s, and holfdaya. 
His dream, againijt the day of departure, is 
to purchase a uniform of his original cor])g, 
from which his praidis have bani-iihcd him ; 
to exchange the halL'd bugle button ft>r the 
button di'^playing the number of his original 
corps. If he belonged to the cavalry the ex- 
pense would be beyond his hopes ; but for in- 
fantry the thing is po.ssible. There is nothing, 
therefore, that ho will not do to amass the 
trifling sum which will enable him at least to 
change his buttons. For ho would not like 
to return home with the marks of disgrace 
upon his coat At this la.st epoch, at the ap- 
proach of the metamorphosis, the most waste- 
ful spendthrifts arc suddenly seized with tho 
love of economy and of gain. 

A monkey, the property of a friend of mine, 
once procured us the acquaintance of a Zephyr. 
The introduction took place thus : — One day, 
the Zephyr, melting with perspiration, and 
apparently quite out of breath, rushed into 
the middle of a caff, holding my mes.smate's 
monkey in his arms. " Lieutenant," ho 
gasped, " I've caught your monkey, who 
had got loose. He had already reached 
the blocl-aun, and was going to desert to the 
Arabs. Luckily, I seized him just in time. 
I had a devilish hard chase after him, 
though !" These words, uttered with clukrming 



I 



1 



160 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



' ICMliMlM tf 



simplicity, while the orator, cap in one 
hand, was wiping his dripping forehead with 
the other, could not fail to draw forth a 
thankful reply, partly expressed in words, 
partly in silver. 

Three days afterwards, Mustapha broke 
out of bounds again. The same recompense 
was gii'cn fOr his recovery, but not without 
some feeling of suspicion. But, when the 
fugitive's ransom was a third time claimed, 
and Zephyr after Zephyr took his turn in the 
monkey-hunt, my friend declared from the 
balcony of his window, that he would do 
nothing for the future in behalf of so expen- 
Bivc an animal, and begged the battalion 
to be informed that he would no longer con- 
sider hiiaseir answerable for any debts which 
Mustapha might henceforth contract. Mus- 
tapha's rope was broken no more. The 
cunning mine was countermined. 

The first author of this clever trick (which 
would have been perfect if plagiarists had 
not vulgarised it), was thinking about his 
return to France. He had escaped from the 
dangers of the lato assault of Constantino; 
anrl he did not forget the horrors of the 
Barriere <le la Villettc, and of the gate of St 
Deni.4. He thought, above all, about his 
lancer's uniform, which ho anxiously desired 
to sport once more. He commenced a search 
then, if not with the hope of finding the 
special articles of brilliant costume, at least 
of [)icking up the money to buy them with. 
After a two hours' absence, he returned to 
bis captain. "Captain, will you have the 
kindness to take care of some money till I 
leave, for fear I should spend it at the can- 
teen?" 

" What is all this ? Whence have you 
stolen it ?" said the captain, surprised at the 
amount. 

" I have not stolen it at all. Captain. It 
belong.s to me honcstlv. And I have earned 
it" 

"In what way?" 

" I am going to tell you. You know that 
on the other sitle of the breach, the rocks are 
precipitous. Some men and women tried to 
c.scai)C from the siege that way, by means of a 
cord. The cord broke, and the fugitives were 
killed upon a jutting point Said I to myself: 
People who try to make their escape gene- 
rally take money with them ; so I fastened a 
rope romid my waist, and persuaded my com- 
rades to 1ft me down. I hunted right and left 
in the pockets of the wretches, and found the 
money you sec here." It w.is enough to make 
one f-'i'lily, only to look up from below to the 
face of tlie rock down which the Zephyr had 
to s'ide. 

MianwhUe, the certainty of having a uni- 
fin'Mi did not cool his ardour for treasure- 
hunting. Believing that the hou.sc of the 
cajilain, whose servant he wa.^ contained 
hilik-n vnluables, he spent the whole day in 
tiiking olT the locks of the uninhabited cham- 
bers. They con.sequently found their way to 



a Jew, who purchased the produce of the 
locksmith's labours. A few days after finish- 
ing the bolts and bars, ho sold to tho same 
Israelite a heap of wheat, which ought by 
right to have gone to the State. For every 
sackful he carried by night he received from 
his friend a five-franc piece. "The State," 
he interpreted, meant " himself." It is easy, 
from this, to comprehend that in a town taken 
by storm, the Zephyr is not scrupulous on 
whose property he lays his hands. 

At last the Zephyr, in his much<oveted 
uniform, finds himself on the way to France. 
He bestows a passing smile of gratitude on 
the eafe ehantans at Marseille ; but his heart 
is fixed no longer there. If Mazagran, luckily, 
was included in his career, he will proudly 
wear the decoration of honour ; and this star 
of glory, while absolving him from the past, 
will probably guarantee his future prospects. 
Otherwise he may perhaps turn out tho most 
turbulent blackguard to be found in his 
quarter, or the most thorough rogue that 
infests his village. 

However, he will have his campaigns to 
relate, and three or four handsome scare to 
show. A pair of dark and ezpressira ejta, 
moved by his narrative, may perhaps snbdna 
his untameablo character. Will Hereuka 
spin at the feet of Omphale ? The case it 
just as likely as not Hymen will finish the 
conquest Our Zephyr, while dutifully rock- 
ing the cradle, will thank Heaven that aS hu 
ended so well, and pray that his babes may 
be like — their mamma. 

A SPLENDID MATCH. 

Mm. Ciiestertos won the day. She mi 
a good manager and a careful mother, and 
understood the tactics of society to a nicefy. 
The Crawfords and the Macclesflelds, & 
Thorntons and the Parkinsons were utterij 
beaten, and their colours lowered. Mr. Fto 
gerald, of Ormsby Green, had proposed ; and 
Mrs. Chesterton shed tears as she consentri 
that he should marry her dowerlcss Erel&it 
to his ten thousand a-ycar. 

" For you know, Mr. Fitzgerald — ^yon «!■* 
know by your own love — that I am making i 
most painful sacrifice for my darling's ba|ife j 
ncs.s. If it were not that she loves roa w I 
much— the fond, foolish child ! — I 3o aot ' 
think that I could part with her. But ^ (i 
has fixed her whole heart on you. WW J 
can I do but make the sacrifice of all that I 11 
have left me now on this earth to love,"— {« 
retrospective sob for General Chesterton, rli 
departed this life fifteen long years ago)— 
" and en.sure her happiness at tho expense rf 
my own ? No, Mr. Fitzgerald I I am not t 
selfish mother. Take her, since you love I* 
and she loves you, and God bless you both!* 

Mrs. Chesterton wept afWsh. As she sobbed, 
Eveline entered the room. Her rouod, 
dimpled, waxen checks were flushed. Sheta* 
her mother, with the lace pocket-handkei^tf 



^ 



{ 



GtariM DUtaM.] 



A SPLENDID MATCH. 



151 



to her fare, and slie nished to her, throwing 
herself on her knees beside the ehair ; and, 
caressing her gently glanced all the time, as 
if by steolth, at Mr. Fitzgeraldi then, lower- 
ing her eyes suddenly when they saw that his 
were hxeti broad and wide upon her. 

" Poor, dear child !" said Mrs. Chesterton, 
smoothing her hair, with a glance and a 
gesture that demanded Mr. Fitzgerald's 
adinirntion. It was very pretty hair, glossy 
bright and golden, and worthy of Uie time, 
labour and cxpen.sc bestowed on it; for 
Eveline's hair cost hor almost as much as her 
feet. 

"Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald!" continued the 
mother, sighing, " what a treasure I nm 
giving into your hands ! May you vahio it 
as you ought, and guard it us carefully as her 
mother h.is done.'' 

'■ Wlmt is the matter, mamma? What do 
you mean f" demanded Miss Eveline in an 
agitated voice. She raised her eyebrows and 
opcnod her large blue eyes with a look of 
wonder that wa.s perfect. 

" De.'ii i'. creature! She at Iea<;t 

has iR'V. i !cd on this monicnt! Oh 

Mr. FitZf;' i.ii'i — eharles, if I may call j'ou 
so," added the lady, with a sudden e.Tpan- 
sivcne.ss of manner, such as people have on 
the stage when, apropM of noljiing, they seize 
each other's hands and look into each other's 
litces sideway.s!, " what have you not escaped 
in those Crawford and MacclesQvld girls; and 
what have you gained in my sweet Kvcline I 
Do you think they would have been as 
innocent as this dear guileless child ?" 

"Agnes Crawford is a very good girl," 
Charles said, in a voice that was a strtmge 
mixture of timidity and boldness. " I don't 
think she was either a flirt or a schemer." 

" Pirlmps not," tlio lady replied hastily; 
" Ak'ics in;iy be an exception to her family." 

" UiU what docs all this mean, iniunnia ?" 
again inquired Eveline; seeing an angry spot 
beginning to bum on her lover's cheek, which 
she iv;i« hftlf afraid might burn through the 
marri.ige contract 

" It means, my love," answered Mrs. 
Chesterton, calling op her broad bland smile 
in a moment, " that I have interpreted ymir 
wishes and spoken from yonr heart. I have 
promised your h.and where you have given 
your love, naughty child ! ' — tapping her 
cheek — " to our dear Charles Fitzgerald — • 
your future hu.sband, and my beloved son," 

"'Charles — Mr. Fitzgerald !" said Eveline. 
" 0, m.ntniiia!" she added, hiding her face, 

Charles was intoxicated with joy; and, en- 
couraged by a .sign from Mrs. Chesterton, took 
the little hand which lay buried beneath the 
ringlets poure<l out on the mother's lap. 
lie pressed it nervously. With a strong 
grasp, it must he confessed, and awkwardly. 

''O! how he hurts me — the clumsy man I" 
muttered Eveline, disengaging the mangled 
member, ai! if from bashfulness, and pkmging 
it among her mother's interlaced fingers. 



Her ring.'; hn<l m.idc a deep indentation and 
B broad i i her tender little fingers, 

and Mrs ■ ii saw that she must have 

suffered a great deal However, she giivo 
her an expressive admonition with her knee, 
which said plainly, " Don't mind a little pain 
— it is well bought." And Eveline abandoned 
her small fair hand again to her maladroit 
lover, who squeezed it even more unmercifully 
whiln pouring forth a flood of love and happi- 
ness, and childlike .security in the bright 
promises of the future that made Eveline 
yawn behind her handkerchief; driving her 
at last to count verses on her lingers. 

"If this is love," she thought, "love is 
a horrid bore. 0, when will he have done! 
How tired I am! How I wish that Horace 
Graham would come in. This little man would 
be obliged to lie quiet, then, and go away." 

Charles nil the time was in tho seventh 
heaven; i' ' ■ ^c had carried up his^i/inc,"* 
with him, ii the .same golden garment 

of love with himself. As he did not suspect, 
he undert>too<l nothing of the ennui of sjited 
ambition, which a keener vi.sion would have 
read in every word and gesture of the girl, 
and tortured the heart which, he believed, he 
was enrapturing by the passionate babble of 
his unanswered love. It was very late before 
he gave the llrst threat of going away, and 
much later before he bad gained sulficient 
moral counige to fulfil it. And even then ho 
lingered till the girl was in despair; telling" 
her in a very doleful voice — half-solibing him- 
»cir — "Not to weep; ho would como very 
early to-morrow!" 

Eveline did almost cry from weariness. 
And, when Mrs. Chesterton said, in dressing- 
gown and curl-papers, with tlie air of a 
workn->an at supper or a cabinet minister 
after dinner, with the peculiar satisfiution 
inspired by repose after labour — " I give you 
joy, my de.ir ! Ten thou-sand a year, and 
only a mother with a mere jointure, chirged 
on the estate. And I have heard that old 
Mrs. Fitagerald has a heart-disease" — Eveline's 
only answer wa.s, " Ten thousand k year dearly 
paid for too, mammx As j-ou would say 
yourself if you were going to bo married to 
half an idiot!" Then, tearful and pouting 
she went (o bed to dream of waltr.es and 
polka,s with Horace Graham, and to act ima- 
ginary scenes of tempest and stonn with 
Charles. 

Charles Fitzgerald, good and amiable as ho 
was, did in truth almost justify Eveline's 
harsh expression from his excessive weakness 
of character and tenuity of intellect He was 
one of those credulous, generous, kind-hearted 
beings who are tho chartered dupes of the 
worhl. A man who thought it a sin to 
beUeve any kind of evil, no matter of whom 
or what ; who denied the plainest evidence if 
condemnatory, and who interpreted the most 
potent fact of guilt into so much conclusive 
proof of innocence : a man who could not 
receive truth, and who did not require it; but 




162 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



-(Olo4acM *T 




who was contented to slumber awaj hia days 
on optimist fallacies and rose-water possibi- 
lities ; a man without nerve or muscle, weak, 
unliable, and womanly. His temperament 
was nervous; his habits shy; his manners 
reserved. Ho had a dislike that was almost 
abhorrence for society, and a dewirc that was 
almost n mania for solitude and a rural life 
of love. 

Mrs. Fitzgerald was at breakfast at 
Onnsby Green, when she received a letter 
from her son, announcing his intended mar- 
riage with Miss Chesterton, "the only child 
of a deceasiid General OHiccr ; a Lady as re- 
markable for her Beauty as for her Virtue," 
he said, with a nervous flourish ainoTig the 
capitals. The letter was written very af- 
fectionately and respectfully ; but gave not 
the most distant hint of compliance with 
the mother's views, should they be opposed 
to the marriage. On the contrary, tlie 
energetic determination expa-ssed under dif- 
ferent forms throughout three pages and a 
half "of making his adored Eveline his own 
at the earliest pos.sible opportunity," showed 
no present intention of reference to Mrs. Fitz- 
gerald in any way. lie neither a.-ikcd her 
advice nor waited her concurrence; but in 
every line that passionate doggedness of a 
weak mind which admits no second opinion 
and requires no aiding counsel, Mrs. Fitz- 
gerald's heart sank within her. She had 
heard of the Chestertotis, and dreaded ihnn. 
However, as Ciiarles had asked her to the 
wedding, and as Eveline had enclosed a short 
note also — written on ])ink paper with violut- 
coloured ink — Mrs. Fitzgerald determined on 
seeing the bride herself before she allowed 
presentiments to degenerate into prejudices. 

" Ihit Charles is so very very weak !" she 
thought, "I have always dr<>ttded his falling 
into the snares of a family of schemers; and 
few, none indeed, except some rare nature 
like that of Agnes Crawford, which could 
Bcc and love his goodness in spite of his mental 
defects, would marry him except for his mo- 
ney. Itutfiuch women," she further thought, 
with a sigh, "do not write with violet ink on 
pink pa[ier scented with patchouli; and they 
d') not write such a hand as this." 

Mi-s. Fitzgerald determined to go to Lon- 
don, where the Chestertons lived in a pretty 
little cotuige at Hrompton, to judge for 
hiirsclf, by knowledge rather than by fear; 
anxious and willing to prove herself in the 
WTonjT, and hoping to be self-convicted of 
injustice. When she arrived, she was obliged 
to confess tliat everything in the house was 
arranged with consummate taste, and that 
Mrs. Chesterton was a well-bred woman, 
of the gay, worldly, party-giving kind; 
nf the well-fitting sick gown and family 
lace cap kind; of the kind that delights 
in veils; and revels in tlnjunces, and wears 
numerous ends of riblion floating in all 
directions; of a fashionable, talkative, and 
clear-headed kind; a very ditfercnt va- 



riety of English gentlewoman to the gnre 
matron who came from her country seat 
like some old chitelaine of romance, mod 
who looked on the modern world with her 
deeply fwt grey eyes — grave with the wisdom 
of nature — as a sage might watch m 
child's game beneath the trees. She was 
struck with Eveline's extreme beauty. Yet 
tlic shallow nature, vain, artiScial, and un- 
loving, was evident as well. A dark 
shadow spread out before her when she 
saw standing before her eyes the future wife 
of her beloved son. Long times of p»ain and 
disappointment were woven in with every 
breath and gesture of the girl. A <mralL, 
light, cliildish thing, with large blue eyes, 
ond long briglil hair; a figure perfect in its 
proportions and a complexion dazzling in 
its waxen bloom ; a damsel with false, fair 
words, and with caressing w.nys. She knew 
what the future must bring; she eaw the 
>\reck beating against the treacherous sands, 
and watched the precious freight of love and 
trust scattered to the waves of despair. She 
knew that Eveline would bring only anguish 
to her home, and she set herself to endeavour 
to avert it. 

But remonstnuiccs were useless. Charlei 
was bcwitchcJ, and his mother's warnings 
only in-itated him. lie oiikcd her coldly, | 
" What fiiult .she found with .Miss Chesterton, 
that she sliould thus endeavour to make kiu 
forfeit his plighted honour?" j 

" A want of stability of character," bcgii { 
Mrs. Fitzgerald. 1 

" How proved, Mother ?" ' 

"Too evident to require any proo£ If ii 
proved by every word and look." 

" Vou find it perhaps in her beauty I* 
continued Charles. " Does this evident injJ»- 
bility of character, which you have seen tti 
glance in your first short interview, lie in h« 
uyi's, because they are blue and bright ; orii 
her hair, because it is fine and g^lossy? Isil 
in her small hands or in her tiny feet? fori 
don't think you know her well enough yet II 
judge by anything but cxtemaK You h** 
not probed her mind very deeply." 

The young man's tone was hard and 4jJ 
his manner defiant, and his eyes angry Ul 
fixed. Mrs. Fitzgerald hail never heard aai 
an accent from her son before. She wH 
shocked and wounded ; but her tears 
deaert sand. 

She applied herself to Eveline. Sh«' 
of her son's virtues, but she spoke also 
his weakness; and asked the girl " if sdie " 
weighed well the consequences of her cl 
— if she had reflected on her life with 
iierrous and irritable man ; self-willed »«4! 
unable to accept argument or persuasioa 
Eveline to.ssed her head and said, it 
" very odd, that Mrs. Fitzgerald, his mi 
sliould be the only one to speak ill 
Charles ; that, indeed, be was not 
than other people; and as for being ii 
uothtng could be more amiable than he 



to her. She thought that if people only knew 
how to mfinage him, and caroU to givo way 
to his little peciilittritics — and we all have 
peculiarities — he would be quite a lamb to 
live with !" Sho added also, " that she saw 
through the motive of Mrs. Fitzgerald's advice, 
whii'U w."Ls to gft a rich wife for htr .son." 

The attempt wts hopeless. Between folly 
and knavery the sterling worth and honesty 
of the mothur fell dead, and all that she had 
done was simply to embroil herself with both 
her Bon and her daughter. Thing.s went on 
without her consent pretty much as they 
would have done with it, and of all the party 
she was the only one who fiuffcrc<L The 
wedding-day camo amidst smiles and lau);hter 
from all but her. Even Eveline merged her 
personal distaste for Charles in her gratified 
ambition, and Mrs. Chesterton was more 
pseudo-French, and dressy than ever. Eveline 
looked undeniably lovely. The church wa.s 
crowded with the Chestertons' friends, all 
saying among themselves, " How beautiful she 
is!" a few, such as Horace Graham of the 
Guard?, adding, " and what a fool she is 
marrying ;" or, "by Jove, what a life she 
will lead that mufln'" 

After the honeymoon — that prescribed 
season of legal bliss^Mr. and Mrs. Charles 
Fitzgerald came back to London. She, radiant 
with smiles and happiness, at escaping from 
the tedium of her country life ; where sh« 
had been bored to death ; where she had 
yawned all day, and where she had slept when 
ahe was not yawning. He, saddened to think 
that his green hines must be abandoned, his 
evening walks in the moonlight in the wood 
forvgonc, and his young dream of quiet hap- 
piness exchanged for the turmoil called plea- 
sure. Yet when in town he found another 
pleasure in the h»ppines.s of Eveline. For ho 
had been obliged to confess to himself that she 
was often aoti and melancholy in the country ; 
and now it was such a pleasure to see her 
dimpling smiles and hear her merry laugh 
again. He said she had got tircil of Dnnsby 
Green, liccause she was away from her mother 
— she wanted to see her motliLT; dear child! 
«hc had never left her before ; and it was a 
very sweet and natural feeling in her, and he 
loved her all the more for it. 

When they arrived home — Mrs. Chester- 
ton's cottage answering that purpose for the 
present — the iirst person they met was 
Horace Graham, looking more handsouie 
and impudent than ever. He had called in 
by chance, he said ; and hearing that " .Mrs. 
Charles" was expected, he had stayed jubt to 
shake hands with his old friend. Eveline 
thanked him very prettily, and then asked 
him tn spend the evening with them bo 
eng»!?ini;ly that Charles was fiiin to second 
the inviintion, which he did with an awk- 
WjtrJ attempt at cordiality that did his powers i 
of flissimulation no credit. But Horace ac- 
Ct'ptwl the invitation in his off-lianded way, 
ka J the erwmag passed merrily euough ; he 



singing to Eveline's playing, and Charles ap- 
plauding in the middle of bars, and saying, 
" but the next vei-se ?" when all was Hnished, 

A hou.<;c was bought in Belgravia. It 
was furnished with citrenie tlegance, and 
did honour to the decorative taste of 
Mrs. Chesterton, sho liaving been extra- 
ordinarily active among the upholsterers and 
decorators. With their new house began the 
young couple's new life. Charles bore hia 
part in the whirlpool that it became bravely; 
anil, for the first three months, was all that 
the most dissipated woman of the world 
could require in the most complaisant of 
husbands. A strange kind of peace rested 
between the married pair. Strange, because 
unnatural — the violent binding together of 
two opposing natures: the lurid stillness that 
glide.'j on before a storm : a peace that was 
not the peace of love, nor of sympathy, nor of 
respect ; that was the peace of indecision, the 
peace of ignorance, the peace of fear, and 
worst of all, the peace of slavery. 

Mrs. Fitzgerald was in the country, brood- 
ing mournfully ovtr the angry silence of her 
son ; for he bad not yet forgiven her inter- 
ference in his marriage. But she would not 
understand it thus, and wrote often tohim and 
to Eveline grave, kind, earnest letters ; speak- 
ing much to her of her son's goo<lnes.<i, and 
susceptibility of nature, and feeling sure that 
Eveline was all that a fond mother could wish 
in the wife of a son. Xt last Eveline no 
longer read the letters ; she tlirew them aside, 
crying, " The tiresome old woman ! as if I did 
not know every word of her sermon before- 
hand 1" And saying this before her husband 
too, from whom ,>;he did not care to hido her 
open contempt of his mother. Indeed, em- 
boldened by his timid compliance with all 
her wishes, and his weak ap])roval of all her 
actions, she cared to hide very little that was 
disagreeable ; and more than once startled 
him with exhibitions of temper and of 
coldness. Charles was fretted at hia wife's 
indifference, fretted at Horace Graham's 
constant presence, and at the undt.sguiscd 
good understanding that existed between him 
and Eveline ; fretted at Mrs. Chesterton's 
contcmptHDua manner of interfering in hij 
hou.sehnld urrangemenLs, and at her assertion 
of motherly rights superior and opposed to 
his own, over his wife ; fretted at the con- 
stant round of dissipation in which ttiey 
lived, and at the breaking up of all liia fairy- 
castles of bliss and quiet ; fretted at thi.n, and 
at that, and at everything, and in the fair 
way of falling .scriou.sly ill with some brain 
or nervou.s alfcetion. 

" You will not go to the ball tonight, Evy if" 
he said one day, in a timid but querulous 
voice, flinging himself wearily on a sofa. They 
had bven married aboiH four months, and 
were very unhappy in .secret; although no- 
thing had been said or don* openly. 

" Why not, Charles?" asked hia 'Kvfc^wJi'BSLf. 



• 




164 



HOUSEHOLD WORDa 



iea«MMdkf 



j) uikct; 
iL 



" I am too nervous, too ill and unotrung to 
go with TOO," he answered, " and I thought 
that perhaps you would stay at home wicti 
ino, and read. Will you, Evy ?" He took 
her lijind — still the same timid manner. 

" dear me, no ? Stay at home ? 0, no I 
You had better go to bed if you arc ill," 
Eveline said, leaving her hand cold and dead 
in his. " That will be much wiser than sitting 
up half the night reading stupid poetry that 
only makes one yawn and go to sleep. 
I will tell Justine to give you anything you 
want when I am away ; but really you had 
better go to bed at once." 

Charles let her hand fall. " Who is going 
with you, then, as I cannot ?" he said. 

Eveline walked away to the mirror, hum- 
minffa tune and arranging herbouquet "My 
mother — " she said. " And Horace Graham," 
she added, turning suddenly round, fixing her 
eyes on her husband with a peculiar look. 
A look that defied suspicion, and was before* 
hand with objection. A look that conquered, 
because it wounded, Charles, and made him 
humble and submissive. 

He rose from the sofa slowly, and passed 
into the libranr, there to fret like a sorrowing 
child ; scarcely knowing what ho thought or 
what he ought not to think; feeling only 
that his happiness was slipping from his 
grafip, and that he wh.s being left alone on a 
desolate shore without hope and without 
love. 

This was the first rising of the mask — the 
first confessed declaration of indifference — a 
declaration repeated subsequently every day 
and every hour. Eveline was never at home. 
Morning and evening alike saw her drowned 
in the world's great sea of pleasures ; every 
home affection cast aside, ond every wifely 
duty unfulfilled. Gaiety was her life ; and, 
without this gaiety, she would die, she would 
say. Charles grew ill, and certainly exces- 
sively strange and disagreeable in his beha- 
viour. For hours together he would sit 
without speaking, his lips pressed against 
each other, and his dull eyes fixed on tho 
ground. Then came fits of passion, which 
were like the throes of madness — fits that 
terrifit'd Eveline, and made her fear for her- 
self. To these a violent reaction succeeded ; 
a period, generally very brief, of frantic 
gaiety and restless pleasure-seeking, such as 
incoTiimoded Eveline greatly, binding him to 
her side without release ; and under the ap- 
pi-nrance of complaisance, giving her a gaoler 
and a spy. Often at such times, struck to the 
heart with something he had seen, chilled 
by something he had heard, Fitzgerald would 
fall back again into his mournful stupor, and 
drag out his weary life with the listless, 
ho[)pIes3 expression in his face and in his 
whole manner of a condemned criminal. 

The world began to talk. It talked, 
although gently, of Eveline's open flirtation 
with Horace Graham ; gently, becau.se it j 
talked also of Charles Fitzgerald's jealousy | 



and strange irritability ; of his violence and 
his fearful temper. On the other hand, it 
spoke of his evident unhappiness, and of the 
contempt showered on him by his wife and 
his adopted lamily ; it darkly adumbrated a 
lunacy commission on one side, and Doctors' 
Commons on the other. At last the whisper 
grew so long and loud that it spread down 
to Ormsby Green, and penetrated to VLn. 
Fitzgerald. The echo of this dread whisper 
had sounded long ago in her own heart ; she 
had looked for its coming ; and when it found 
her, she started without an hour's delay for 
London ; and, not caring for the cold reception 
she would probably meet with, she presented 
herself at once at tho house of her son. 
Eveline was from home. She was riding in 
the park with Horace, to try a horse he bad 
that day bought for her. Charles was in 
the library, sitting in one of those dumb, dull 
sorrows that are far more painful to witncH 
than the most turbulent passion. 

He looked up with his glazed fiery eyes aa 
his mother entered ; and started and stared 
wildly, rising and retreating as if he did not 
know her, but trying with 4II his might to 
recognise her. She came forward, speikinf 
cheerily and kindly. 

" Well, Charles, my love, I have taken yon 
by surprise I" she said. But her voice failed; 
he was so wild and altered. He kept his 
eyes tipon her for some time, and then with 
a cry that came straight from tho sad hcai^ 
almost breaking it, with sobs wild and UA, 
and tears which fell like blighting rain, Fiti- 1 
gerald exclaimed, " Mother, mother, you hare ' 
come to see me die I" i 

The line of ice was thawed, the band ft ' 
iron was broken, the stifled heart cried oit ' 
aloud, and the love that had been thniit ' 
back into the darkness came forth again. He ' 
was no longer alone with nothing but ia- 
difference or enmity to bear him companj. j 
He had now his own best friend, the guardiia |! 
of his youth, his friend and guide : he migU j 
count now on one heart at least, and belien j 
that it loved him. He poured out his grief f 
ances to her. They were all very vague and [' 
indefinite; simply wounded feelings, or af&^ - 
tions misunderstood ; no startling facta, a* ' 
glaring wii^kedncss, no patent actions. M I 
she understoo<l, and sympathised with Ui 
sufferings ; impalpable as they were. Sta 
soothed and comforted him, calming Iiil 
irritated nerves and weaving bright dream 
of hope for the future. Dreams, in which «!«• 
believed nothing herself, and which smoii 
her conscience as falsehoods when she taU 
them. 

Next morning she spoke to Eveline, ii 
her grave, blaml, gracious manner, and gin 
her serious counsel, sweetening her cenm* 
with assurances of her trust in the pSAf 
wife's good intentions — " but then too in 
young, my child, and youth is often c'urion^ 
heedless!" But Eveline gave herself oa- 
numbered airs, and was very iU-U8bd, andw' 



T 



tlWtM t)Vl[«fl*.) 



A SPLENDTD MATCH. 



155 



" that indeed she was a better wife than most 
eirls would have been to any one so cross and 
disagreeable as Charles ; and that Airs. Fitx- 
gcrnlil had better speak to him about his 
temjier than to her about hers." 

IJoweviT, Mrs. Fitzgerald's mere presence 
was a comfort to her son ; and ho gf)t calmor 
and milder now that he could sjieak of 
his sutTerings, and that some one cared to 
soiithe th.'ni away. .41 first Eveline, being 
awed in spite of herself by Mrs. Fitzgerald, 
behaved with some small attention to appear- 
ances, so that the young household sat in the 
Buashine again. Horace Graham, t*M>, hap- 
pened to go away just at this moment; con- 
sequently a conjunction of faTourablc stars 
seemed to shed rays of domestic happiness 
over the gaudy, meretricious household. 

But riorace came back one Thursday after- 
noon, and Eveline invited him to dinner. 
She pressed him to come when, as usual, 
he refused for the childish plea-'ure of bcinj; 
entreated. Charles had s nervous attack 
when he heard this, aoH (hen gave way to so 
terrible a (it of pa.^.^ion in Eveline's dressing- 
room, that he shoivod at last how obnoxious 
(ho young guard.smnn was to him. Eveline 
ctrery now and then looked at him with 
flashes of scorn and contempt which may be 
called deatlly. .\t last turning from him with 
a spurning action, she .=aid, " Charles, if I had 
known you as I do now, not twice ten 
thousand a-yc.ar would have tempted me to 
r marry you : you are not like a man. You 
I are worse than a chiM or a woman I" Then 
she went on arranfcing the most becoming 
trtilette her busy fanc}' could devise. 

Charles conquered him'jclf at last, and 
managed to appear nt dinner with some show 
of calmness. Eveline was so extremely gay 
th.1t she became quite overpowering. She 
armed herself with all the little graceful 
coquetries she kni'w so well how to employ, 
each in their right time and place, and 
heightened them in revenge for her late en- 
forced cessation from all excitement while 
grudgingly going through the dull ta-k of 
ple.osinga .sick husb.ind and a rigid matron. 
Even Mrs. Fitzgerald, who bad expected much, 
Arrts Kiirpri.'sed at the open manner in wliii-h her 
flirtation with Graham went on ; and, although 
lii-Iicving It to be nothing more ro.il than the 
folly of B vain girl, yet she could not deny 
its grave appearance, nor the compromise 
that it made of her son's honour. She deler- 
inincd to speak to Rvcline seriously, and to 
endeavour — by arguments, if affection were 
of no use; by threats, if arguments fell dfad 
— to open her eyes to the true knowlt'dge of 
hcn^lf and her conduct, and to force her to 
aljfindon a farce that might end in tragedy. 
Eveline seemed to foresee this lecture ; for 
tiotliing could induce her to meet Sfrs. Fit/,- 
^c-rald's cye-S, She shrank from her words 
%nd drowned them in thick showers of hatitcr 
.With Horace ; in her behaviour (o whom there 
Was a kind of deflanco and bravado, that 



betrayed as much fear of the ftjlure as in- 
difference of the present. 

In the evening they strolled out into the 
little garden ; for they boasted a plot of 
blackened ground dignified by that sweet 
name of fruits and flowers — Eveline and 
Horace wandering away together, and Charles 
and his mother returning .soon to the house. 
Speaking to his mother of Eveline, a flash of 
his old tenderness returned, and with it his 
old h!itre<l to believe in evil. After all, 
Eveline was young and giddy. She meant 
no harm, and did not know the full signi- 
ficance of what she did. She was his wife too 
— she must be gently dealt with. He could 
not bear to henr her condemned. When 
his mother replied to him, he shrank ner- 
vously from every subject which threatened 
to lead to a discussion on her conduct. Mrs. 
Fitzgerald read his heart, niid kept sQent 
But while he was thus careful, he was also 
haunted, restless and tormented ; and at last, 
unable to contain himself, he went into the 
garden, where the sh.idows had deepened into 
darkness, walking nlowly and .silenlly towards 
the quiet trees planted to hide the upper 
w*ll. Horace and F^veline were there, seated 
on a bench togutluT. They w<'re talking low, 
but talking love — if such frothy vanity could 
be called love — and "dearest Horace," and 
" beloved Eveline," were often mingled with 
their t.ilk. They sat, like two silly children, 
h:in<l in band. 

Chiirles .<tole back to the house, and entered 
— a creature from whom life and soul bad 
departed. Eveline had seen liim : and ho 
knew that she had seen him. There was 
no more disguise ; and, as she said, " dis- 
covery- had at least spared her the necessity 
of deception." She threw otf the Him.sy veil 
she had hitherto worn, and boasted openly of 
her love fnr Horuce ; still coupling it with 
perfect in noeency. Which was true. For 
indeed she was too shallow and too in- 
trinsic.'dly selfish to conmiit herself, eren 
where she loved. 

After this discover}', and the distressine 
scone between the husband and wife whien 
followed it, Eveline went out more than 
ever, and was with Horace more than ever 
also ; ninny pifj'ing her for being married 
to a jealiius irrit.iblc fool, ntid lamenting 
that such H lovely young creature should 
have been so .sacrificed by an ambitious 
mother, against her ovm expres.scd inclina- 
tions; many more deploring her wayward, 
sy.-itelnatic neglect of Imt husband. 

Charles Fitzgerald's eccentricities of temper 
— his bursis of pa.s.sion and of violence, 
niirvgled with fits of silence and of gloom — 
became every djy more marked. Even his 
mother was no longer a .soothing or a restmiiv- 
ing influi'nco ; but, capricious, violent, irritable 
and uncerliiin, he ina<lc his home a Hades for 
others, as his wife had made his life a torment 
for him. At last his language became, oc- 
casionally, so bitter and \nivma,V>tA, -., ica^ 



1 



I 



I 



L 



more than onco, his arm had been niscd to 
strike, and more than once hU linnd, tnristrd 
in the nieshcs of her Lair, h«d threatened her 
with death — that EveHnc was justified in 
dcmandini; a legal sepanition. She -was 
adrised that tho law could not grant it, 
unless both parties consented ; and Charles 
vehemently refused. But what the law 
denied, Nature gave. A thousand airy no- 
things of speech and conduct, each inno- 
cent apart, all maddening together, had 
worked on the hushanU'fi weak brain until 
they produced an unsettlement of intellect, 
which a few days of wifely tenderness might 
have prevented. The world only said that 
Eveline wast right in consenting that her 
husband should be placed in rejttraint — poor, 
young, beautil\il thing, married to euch a 
terrible per.son 1 Charles was placed in 
proper hand-;. The blow was struck beneath 
the ap[ilaudings of Eveline's wide circle 
of adniiring accjuaintances. She took refuge 
among her crowd of simpering sympathiscm, 
and was received with ail honour and pity, 
like some martyred saint There were some, 
however, who made her feel the just meed of 
her bad, selfish career, and would not notice 
her. 

After a time Charles gradually grew better, 
and ho and hi:! mother wandered away to 
Brussels ; but there bis " eccentricities of 
temper" became more and more violent ; so 
that at last even his mother was forced to arm 
herself with legal power to protect him from 
himself. For at length he became mad — 
mad for life ; mad with a lingering madness, 
that left no hope and that gave no rest; wan, 
wild, raving — haunted ever by a false fair 
face, that glided from his chusping hands, and 
denied his fevered tips. 

Eveline's pensive air, and eyes veiled 
beneath their drooping lids (which she knew 
to be extremely effective in society), gained 
more syrapntliy than the niadman's ravings 
and the madman's sorrows. Ptople only shook 
tJieir heads, and said, '■ IVliat that young 
creature must have sulfercd in her married 
life I — and how heroically she concealed it 
firom the world !" and " Let us be kind to the 
pretty little woman, for her lot has been a 
■ad one, and her anguish meekly borne I" 



A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER. 

MoAK, oh ye Antnmn Winds ! 

Summer has fled, 
The flowers hnvc doned llieir tender leaves and die ; 

The LilyV g^raoious hoad 
All low niiMt lie. 

Because the gentle Summer now is dead. 

Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds! 

Sommcr licii low, 
The ro<te'H trembling leAvea will soon be shed j 

For Hhe that loved her no, 
Alas, is dead : 

And oao by one her loving ohildrea go. 



Wail, oh 30 Autumn Winds! 

Slio livci no Dioro, 
The eentlo Summer, with her bnlmy hrcfltb, 

Still iwcclcr than before 
When nearitr death, 

And briglitcr every day tlio smile ilis wore I 



Monm, mourn, oh Autumn Winds, 

I I inooni; 

Uo'v. Mown bodx muKt close and die; 

II , ': the summer born 
AU fiulAa lie, 

And leave us dceolate and earth furioro t 



MORE PLACES WANTED. 

I S LADY'S-MAIP.a yoiinf nf.n.on wlio hn* lived 
-■1 In the flr»t f•^llM<-^ trKl r»n li»vi> ft>iir yvan* f««4 
oharwipr. Fully uniler^Undi ilrnMnalilnK. bslritrrasinc 
snd getting iip Ano linen. Address MIm T^ llunty't U- 
i/my, Cttt* TtTTM*, nmlloo. 

Mi.ss Fanny Tariatan, the yoimg lady in 
quest of a situntion, doos notrtrside atBuntr's 
library, ^fr. Runty and .Mr. Runty'ii wifewv 
only friends of hers. Mr. Bunly is t.ill and 
stout, with a white neckcloth, and i.-i very like 
a clergyman, with a daah of tho Sfhoolniaslcr 
and a .•sma^'k of the butler. Mrs. Bnnty la an 
acrid hidy in ribbons, with a periietual umilo 
for lady customers ; which would be a little 
more agreeable if it did not twist her neck, 
and screw her mouth up, and tortuate her 
body over tho counter. At Runty 's library 
are three-volume novels bound in dashine 
cloth ; and Bunty's library is carpeted ; and 
in the centre thereof is a great round table 
groaning beneath the weight of ladies' albums, 
and tvorks of genteel jiicty, and trctUiaes 
written with a view to induce a state 
of contentment among the rural popul^. 
tion (l*t-pressod and with gilt edges,) to- 
getlier with neatly stitched pamphlets upon 
genteelly religious and political snHji-c-tg^ 
and haiultiomely clasped church servic<«, 
with great red crosses on their backs and 
sides. 

No ; Miss Tarlatan docs not live at 
Runty'a ; but she is an old colleague of Mr& 
Bunty's (onco Miss Thorneytwig, my Lady 
Crocus's waiting woman, ) and calls her Ma- 
tilda, and is by her called " Fanny, and a deal 
giri ;" and therefore she gives Bunty's library 
as an addres.i : it being considered more aris- 
tocratic than Tidlers' Gardens; where, in the 
house of Mrs. Silkey, that respectable milliner 
and drcf^stnakcr, Miss Tarlatan is at present 
staying. 

She can drcis hair, make drMsea, and per* 
fectly understands gelling up fine linen. The 
French coiffeur is still a great personage; 
but his BervicoH are now-a-days often supplied 
by the lady's-maid ; and there are many hit 
and noble ladies who are not too superb to 
employ MIrs Tarlatan, and go resplendent 
from her skill, into the presence of their 
Bovcrcign, or into the melodious vicinity of 
the aingers of the Italian opera. Also to 



\ 



CWvUt D cWnl.] 



MORE PLACES WANTED, 



167 



wear ball and court dresses made, not by the 
pallid workwomen and "first hands" of the 
p-cat millintry establishments of the NV'cst- 
Eod, but by the nimble fingers of Fanny 
Tarlatan. Also to conlide to her sundry price- 
less treasiirvs of Malines &nd UrusiM:ls, Honi- 
ton and old point, or " Beggar's lace," sprigged 
shawls and veils, and such marrels of fine 
things, to bo by her got up. All of which 
proceedings are characteriaed by the great 
millinery establishments, by the fashionable 
hlanehiMevtet d^jin, and by M. Anatole, eoi/- 
Jhir, of Regent Street, as atrocioms, mean, 
Stingy, avaricious, and unjustifiable on the 
part of miUdi ; but which, if they suit her 
to order and Miss Tarlatan to undcrtAkc, arc 
in my mind, on the broad-gauge of free tmde, 
perfectly reasonable and justittable. Sijiae 
ladies make a merit of their Tarlatanism, 
stating, with pride, that their maids "do 
everything for them;" others endeavour 
uneasily to defend their economy by referent-e 
to the hardness of the times, to their lar^ro 
families, to the fiiiluro of revenue from my 
lord's Irish estates, to the extravagance of 
such and such a son or heir, or xo Sir John 
having lost enormously in railways or by 
electioneering. One lady I have heard of 
who piilliated all domestic retrenchments on 
the ground of having to pay so much income- 
tax. Unhappy woman 1 

HairdrcssiT, dressmaker, gctter-up of fine 
linen; skilled in cosmetics and perfumes; 
tasteful arranger of bouquets ; dexterous 
cleaner of gloves (for my lady must have two 
pairs of clean gloves a day, and, Iwuntiful 
as may be her pin-money, you will rarely 
find her spending one tbou.sand and thirty 
times three shillings per annual in gloves) ; 
artful trimmer of bonnets; clever linguist; 
of great conversational powers in her own 
Lingnage; of untiring industry, cheerful nes?, 
and good temper — all these is Fanny Tarlatan, 
aged twenty-eight I have a great respect 
for Fanny Tarlatan, and for the Indy's-nmid, 
gencrically, and wish to vindicate her from 
the slur of being a gossiping, tAwdry, in- 
triguing, venal waiting-maid, as which she is 
generally represented in novels and plays, and 
eiinilar performances. 

Fanny iit not without personal charms. She 
has ringlets that her lady migh#cnvy, and 
the comely good-humoured look which eight- 
aod-twcnty is often gilded with. She ha.^ been 
resolute enough to steel her heart against the 
advances of many a dashing courier, of many 
an accomplished valet, of many a staid and 
portly butler. She does not look for matri- 
mony in the World of Service. Mr. Wh.it- 
ntxt^ at the firmt Ilaberda.'^hery Pal.ice, 
Froppery Ilnuse, head man there, indeed 
(though Mr. Bigg'?, my lord's gcrtleuwn, Im.s 
iinetrinKir alluded to him as a "low cnuiitiT- 
jumpcr'*), has spoken her fair. JcUyttn, tiie 
rising pastryeOf>k at Gunti-rV, has openly 
avowed his ma Idcning passion, ami showed 
ber his saTings' bank book. But thnt did 



I not daule her ; for she too has a " little bit 
of money of her own." Her revenues chiefly 
lie, not m her wages — they are not tooam^e 
— but in her perquisites. Lawyers womd 
starve (figuratively, of course, for 'tis im- 
poiwiblc for a lawyer to starve under any cii^ 
cumstanccs) on the bare six and cightpences 
— it i.-i the extra costs that flitten. Perqui- 
sites are Fanny Tarlatan's costs. To her fall 
all my lady's cast-off clothes. Their amount 
and value depend upon my lady's constitu- 
tional liberality or parsimony. A dress may 
be worn once, a week, a month, or a year be- 
fore it reverts to the lady's-maid. So with 
gloves, shoes, ribbons, and all the other 
weapons in the female armoury, of which I 
know no more than Saint Anthony did of the 
sex — or that Levantine monk Mr. Curzon 
made us acquainted with, who had never 
tfen a woman. Old Lady McAtlielj're, with 
whom Fanny lived before slic went to the 
Coimtess of Coeurdesart's (Lady Mc.V. was 
a terrible old lady, not unsuspected of a 
penchant for shopliAing and drinking eau de 
cohgne grog), u.scd to cut up all her old 
dresses for aprons, and the fingers off her 
gloves for mittens, and was the sort of old 
lady altogether who might reasonably b« 
expected to skin a (lea for the hide and tallow 
thereof. Mrs. Colonel Scraw, Fanny's mis- 
tress after L.idy C'oeurdesart, made her old 
clothes her own peculiar perquisites, and sold 
thcHi herself. Hut such exceptions arc nire, 
and Fanny h(i.s had, on the whole, no great 
reason to complain. Perhaps you will, there- 
fore, at some future time, meet with her 
under the name of Whatnext, or Jellytin, or 
Figgles, or Scaknle, in a snug, well-to-do 
West-End bu.sines.«, grown into a portly 
matron {with ringluts yet; for they are vital 
to the lady's-maid through life) wnth two 
little girls tripping home from Miss Wcazel'a 
dancing academy. I hope so, witli all my 
heart. 

There is a custom common among the 
English nobility, and yet peculiar to that 
privileged class, to get the best of everything. 
Consequently, whenever they find foreign 
cooks and foreign nutsicians more skilful than 
native talent, it is matter of noble u.sancc to 
refect upon foreign di.shes ; to prefer tlie per- 
formances of foreign minstrels and players ; 
to cover the head, or hands, or feet, with 
coverings made by foreign hands; and, even 
in the ordinary conversation of life, to pepper 
its discourse with foreign words, as you would 
a sheep's kidney with cayenne. So my lord 
duke entertains in his great mansion a French 
cook, a Swiss confectioner, an Italian house 
steward, a French valet, German and French 
governesses, a German under-nurse or honitt 
(that his children may imbibe fragments o( 
foreign language with their pap), besides 
a host of non-resident foreign artists and 
professors gathered from almost every nati<m 
under the sun. It is, therefore, but reason- 
able that her grace tlio duchess shoi^ld 



\ 



15S 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



[eWJ.t to < >y 



liarc a foreign attendant — a French, or 
,! Sniss, or German lady's-maid. I will take 
ij Mademoiselle Batiste, warranted from Paris, 
li as a sample. 

i; When I saj warranted from Paris, I mean 
i| what the word "warranted" is generally 
j found to mean — not at all like what it pro- 
j: ffssos to be. Mademoiselle Batiste says she 
'I is from Paris; but she does not bear the 
I, riightost resemblance to the pert, sprightly, 
coquettish, tasteful, merry creation in a 
i' cunning cap, a dress closed to the neck, a 
plaited silk apron and fhiny shoes, tliat a 
Parisian lady's-maid generally is. My 
private impression is that she is a native of 
! some distressingly luguljrious provincial town 
in the midi of France — Aigues Mortes, per- 
chance — whence she has been sent, for our 
sins, to England, to make us mournful. She 
is a most dolorous Abigail; a ]achryma<H>, 
grumbling, doleant, miserable waiting woman. 
When she is old (she is in the thirties, now,) she 
will take anufT and keep a poodle on some fifth 
floor in the Marais, I am sure. Whether she 
has been disappointed in love, or her relations 
were guillotined during the great revolution ; 
whether she was bom on the eve of SL 
Swiiliin, or like ApoUodorus, she nourishes 
scorpions in her breast, I know not, but she 
is a very grievous woman — a female knight 
of the n^eful countenance. If you fail to 
please her,' she grumbles; if you remonstrate 
with her, she cries. What are you to do 
with a woman, whose clouds always end 
in rain, unless you have Patience for an 
unil>n.-lla? In person, M.idoinoisulle B.-iti.sto 
is tall ; in conipa.ss wofully lean and at- 
tenuated ; her face is of the liatchct cast, and 
she lias protruding teeth, long dark eyebrows, 
stony eyes, and heavy eye-lashc.s. A sick 
monkey is not a very enlivening sight; 
a black man with chilblains and a fit of the 
ague is not calculated to provoke cheerful- 
nesis and there are spectacles more cheerful 
than a workhouse funeral on a wet day; 
but all these arc positively jocose and 
Moinus-like compared to Mademoiselle Batiste 
wailing over her lady's wardrobe, her own 
wrongs, and her unhappy destin}' generally. 
The climate, the fooid, the lodging, the 
raiment, the tyranny of superiors, and the 
insolence of inferiors : all these find a place in 
the category of this melancholy lady's wn- 
h:i]i|>iness. She prophesies the decadence 
of Knpiland with far more fervour than 
M. Lctiru RoUin. She will impress herself to 
leave this detestable land ; without sun, with- 
out manners, without knowledge of living. 
Somehow she does not quit the detestable 
land. She is like (without disrespect) that 
animal of delusive promise, the conjurer's 
donkey, which is always going for to go, 
but seldom does really' go, up the ladder. 
Mademoiselle Batiste weeps and moans, and 
gnuuliles, and change« her situation in- 
numeral>le limes, ami packs up her "effects" 
for tho continent once a week or so ; but stays 



in England after all. When she has raved 
enough money, she may perhaps revisit the 
land of the Gaul, and relate to her com- 
patriots the a£Qiction sore which long time she 
bore among ee» harharet. 

In reality. Mademoiselle Batiste is an 
excellent servant; she is not only apt but 
erudite in all the cunning of tier craft 
M. Anatole, of Regent Street, might take 
lessons in hair-dressing from her. She far 
surpasses )Iis8 Tarlatan in dress-making; 
although she disdains to include that accom- 
plishment in the curriculum of her duties 
But her principal skill lies in putting on 
a drew, in imparting to her mistress when 
dressed an air, a grace, a tournure^ which any 
but a French hand must ever despair of ac- 
complishing. Yet she grumbles meanwhile ; 
and when she has made a peri of a pcereaa^ 
sighs dolefully and maintains that an Englisb- 
woman does not know how to wear a robe. 
This skill it is that makes her frctfulness and 
melancholia! distemper borne with by rank 
and fashion. She has, besides, a pedigree of 
former engagements of such magnitude and 
grandeur, that rank and fashion arc fain to 
bow to her caprices. The beauteous Dudtcese 
dc Faribole in Paris, and tho Marqaiae de 
Lysbrisie (very poor, very Legitimiiit, but 
intense!}' fashionable); the famous Princesi 
Ciibbagioso at Florence, Countess Moskamu- 
jikofT at St. Petersburgli, the Duchess of 
Champignon, the Marchioness of Truffletoo 
and Lady Frances Frongus in England— aO 
these high-born ladies has she delighted witii 
her skill, awed with her ari.stocratic antece- 
dents, and grieved with her melancholia 
Although so highly skilled in dress-maldif 
she pays but little regard to costume hcndC 
Ilcr figure is straiglit al! the way don-n, OQ 
all sides. She wears a long pendent shawl, i 
dreary bonnet with trailing ribbons; aw 
carries, when abroad, a long, melancboiy, 
attenuated umbrella, like a parasol that hM 
outgrown itself, and was wasting away in ] 
despair. These, with the long dull goU 
di^>ps to her ear-rings ; two flat thin smooth 
bands of hair flattened upon her forehead; 
long listless fingers, and long feet encaM' 
in French boots of lustreless kid, gin 
her an u^eakably mournful, trailing ap- 
pearance. llShc sceins to have fallen ■!(»■ 
gcthcr into the "portion of weeds asd 
outgrown facc.o." Her voice is melancho^ 
and tristfuUy surgant, like an .£oIian huyi 
her delivery is reminLscent of the Daii 
March in ^i il ; — a few wailing, lingerie 
notes, claimed with a melancholy boom at ttl 
end of the strophe. Adieu, MademMsA 
Batiste. 

There arc plenty more ladj's-maida wki 
want places; and, taking into considcratioB 
the increased facilities offered by the abolitioi 
ofthedutyon advertisements, I sincerely hop* 
they may all l>e suited satisfactorily. Bat I 
cannot tarry to discu.s3 all their sevtnl 
qualifications. Although I can conscicntioM^ 



recommend " Wilkins " (Christian name un- 
known'), the Isdj-'fi-maid of middle age, and 
domesticated habits, who was with Mrs. 
Colonel Stodgcr during the whole of the Sutlej 
campaign ; who is not too proud to tt-ach 
the cook how to make curries; is reported 
to have ridden (with her mifitrcss) in man's 
saddle fire hundred niilca on camel's back in 
India, and to have done something consider- 
able towards shooting a plundering native dis- 
covered in Mrs. Stodgcr'a tent. Nor would f 
have yon overlook the claims of Martha Stir- 
penny, who is n "young ladies'-miiid," and is 
not above plain needlework ; or of Miss Catcli- 
pole, the maid, nurse, companion, amanuensis, 
cTcrj'tliing, for no many years to the late 
Mi&s Plough, of Monday Terrace, Bayswater, 
who ungratefully left all her vast wealth in 
Bank and India St.xk to the " ToUl Absti- 
nence from Suttee Hindoo Widows' Society," 
offices Great SL Helens, secretary. G. F. F.. IJ. 
Stonevbntter, Esq. •, and be<3ueathcd her faith- 
ful Catchpole, after twenty years' service, only 
a silver teapot and a neatly-bound *et of the 
Revereti'' !> ■ ' ■ l>"i*''i'ioxe'» sermon.s. All 
these d. es, and all letters to 

them uiii.„ w. ,^-.-: ^.1 

AS COOK rprnfr»»cd) a Pcrwn who fully undor- 
•unda h«r bnslueaa. Aildrts L., r*ttyi>«i TUce, 
Oral Bnulcr Utntt. 

There is something honest, outspoken, fear- 
less, in this brief advertisement, L. does not 
condescend to hint about the length and 
quality of her character, or the distinguished 
nature of the family she wishes to enter. 
" Here I am," she seems to say ; " a profe.ssedl 
cook. If you are the sort of person knowing 
what a professed cook is, and how to use 
l>cr, trj' me. Good cooks are not so plen- 
tiful that they need bhout for custom. 
Good wine nceda no bush. I staml u|ictn 
my cooking, and if you suit me as I suit 
you, nought but a spoilt dinner shall part us 
two." L., whom we will incarnate for tiie tuince 
itrt. I^nibswool, widow, is fat and forty, 

_ . not fair. The fires of innumerable kitclien 
mngfS- have swartbed her ruddy cottnlenance 
to an almi'ist salainandrine hue. And .she is 
jt palamaniler in temper too, is Mrs. Lamb^- 
^ool, for all her innocent name. Un»bswool, 
deceased tformerly clerk of the kitchen to the 
Dnwdle club), knew it to his cost, poor man ; 
And tor many a kept back dinner and 
tinfirni.sed made dish did he sutfer in his 
tiiiic -^ 

If Fate could V ' ■ ' ' how 

celdom Fate iftien ' •• nnd 

Mil* suited for 1)11" , UP It rpr J, mi.-, i^iimbs- 

>l and Sir Ohyle Turrener, how excellently 

■"-they would agree. Sir Chyle — who dwells 
in i{an;itiiHrry Grtaccnt, Uonlover Sfjunre, 
and whoso house as you pass it Btnells all 
day like a cook-shop — made his handi^ome 

' competence in the war time by contracts for 
tnestt-bvof as execrable, and mess-biacuit as 



weevily, as ever her Majesty's service, by sea 
and land, spoilt their digestion and their 
teeth with. He is, in these piping times of 
peace, renowned as the most accomplished 
epicure in the dining world. He doe* not 
dine often at his cJnb, the Gigot (though that 
establishment boa.<»ts of great gastronomic 
fume, and entertains a head man cook at a 
salary of two hundred and ilfty pounds a 
year) : he accuses M. Relevay, the chef in 
question, of paying more attention to the 
greasing and adornment of his hair, and the 
writing out of bis bills of fare in ornamental 
penmanship, than to the culinary wants of 
the members ; he will not have a man cook 
him.self : " the fellows," he says, " are as con- 
ceited as peacocks and as extravagant an 
Cleopatra." Give him a woman cook — a 
professed cook, who knows her business, 
and does it ; and tho best of wages and the 
best of places are kera, at 85, Bangmarry 
Crescent, 

Let us figure him and Mrs. Lambswool 
together. Sir Chyle — a little applc-fttced old 
gentleman with a white hearl, and as fiery 
in temper as his cook— looks on Mrs. Lambs- 
wool as, nest to tho dinners she eooka 
and the government annuity in which (with 
a sagacious view towards cheeking the ]irodi- 
gality of his nephew and e.\pectjirit heir) he 
has gunk his savings, tlto most important 
element in his existence. He places her in 
importance nnd consideration far beyond the 
meek elderly female attached to his bouselinld 
in the c.Tpaeity of wife — used by him chiefly 
ill forming a hand at whist and in helping 
fioup (ealrh Sir Chyle trusting her with ft.sh!) 
and by him abused at every convenient 0[ipor- 
tiinity. lie absolutely forbids any interfer- 
ence on her part with the culinary economy 
and discipline. " Blow up the maids as much 
a.s you like. Ma'am," he considerately says, 
" hut don't meddle with my cook." Mrs, L. 
crows over her misti'ess accordingly, and if 
she were to tell her that pea-soup was beat 
made with bilberries, the poor lady would, 
I dare say, take the dictum for granted. 
Sir Chyle Turrener is exceedingly liberal in 
all matters of his own housekeeping — although 
he once wrote a letter to tho Times virulently 
denouncing Roup-kitchens. When a dinner 
of a superlative nature has issued from his 
kitchen, he not unfrequently, in the warmth 
of bis admiration, presents Mrs. Lambswool 
with gratuities in money ; candidly admitting 
that he gives them now, because he does not 
iptcnd to leave his cook a penny when he 
dies, seeing that she can dress no more din- 
ners for hi m, after his decease. On grand orea- 
sioiis she is summoned to the dining room, at 
the conclusion of the repast, and he roinpli- 
mcnt.-i her formally on tliis or that cvdinary 
triumph, lie lauds her to hia friends Tom 
Aitchbone, of tho Beefsteak club, Common 
Councillor Podge, Sergeant Buffalo, of the 
Southdown circuit, and old Sir Thomoa 
Mtrrowfat, who was a pronothotax^ V.<k 



4 



\ 



160 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



40 t t»W 



■ometbing, sonicwbere, some timo under a 
handred ycani ago, and can nose a dinner ii\ 
the \ohhy (the poor old fellow can hardly hold 
his knife and fork for palsy, and ihc nnpkin 
tucked under his wagging old chin luoks like 
a grave-cloth) with as much facility as Handot 
Stated the ri-cnain!3 of King Claudius's cham- 
berlain mi^ht have been discovered. It is n 
strong point in the Tum-ncr and Lambswool 
creed and practice to hold all cookcry-bookfi 
—for any practical purpose beyond casual 
reference — in great indifference, not to say 
contempt Sir Chyle has Glosse and Kit- 
chener, Austin and Udr, Francatelli and 
Soycr, beside the Almanack des Gounnandt, 
a<id the Cuisinier Royal in his library, gor- 
geously bound. Ho glances at them occa- 
sionally, as Dcntlty might have done St a 
dictionary or a lexicon ; but ho does not tie 
himself nor doos he bind his cook to blind 
adherence to tliuir rules. True cookery, in 
his opinion, should rest mainly on tradition, 
on experience, and, pre-eminently, in the 
inborn genius of the cook. Mrs. Lauibswool 
holds the same opinion, although she may 
express it in different language. She may 
sever hare heard of the axiom : " One becomes 
a cook, but one is born a roa.ster ;" but she 
will tell you in her own homely language 
that " roasting and biling comes nateral, and 
■ome is good »l it and some i.sn'L" Her 
master ha.*; lold her the story of Vatel and 
his iish martyrdom, but she holds his suicide 
to have been rank cowardice. " If there 
Wasirt no fish," she remarks, " and it wasn't 
his fault, why couldn't he have served up 
something neat in the made-di.sh way, with a 
bit of a speech al>out being drove up into a 
oomeT?" But she bints darkly as to what 
she would have done to the fishmonger. 
Translixure on a spit would have been too 
good for him., a wretch. 

Through long years of choice feeding 
night this pair roll on, till the great epicure, 
Death, pounces on Sir Chyle Turrcner to 
garnish hia sideboard. If dainty pa.<sturc can 
improve meat, ho will be a succulent morsel. 
He has fed on many things animate and 
ioaninmte : Nature will return the com- 
pliment then. For all here below is vanity, 
and even good dinners and r)rofqs.sed cooks 
cannot last for ever. The fishes linvc had 
their shnro of LucuUus, anil Apiciua has 
helped to grow mustard and ore.ss these 
thousand years. So mi^ht the knight and the 
cook roll on, I .say; but a hundred to one 
if they ever come in contact The world 
is very wide ; and, although the heiress with 
twenty thousand ))Ouncls, who has fallen in 
love with us, lives over the way, we marry 
the iiouscmaid, and our heads grow grey, and 
we die, and never reck of the heiress. Sir 
Chylo Tun'cner may, at this moment, be 
grooning in exasperation ntan unskilful cook, 
who puts too much pepper in liis soup ond 
boils his fish to flakes; and Mrs. Lambs- 
wool's next place may be with a north 




country Squire with no more palate tl 
a boa-constrictor, who delights in noth 
half so much as a half raw bcefxteak, 
a pic with a crust as thick as the walls 
the model prison, and calls made dial 
" kickshaws. 

" As Good Cook in a private fanu"!y," 
4c., Ac, — the usual formula, with a hint as 
irreproachable choiacter, and a published want 
of objection to the country. The QixkI C« 
does not pretend to the higher mysteries 
the 'professed.' I doubt if she knows wb 
bain-mani pan is, or what Mdi/dunaiaei, 
niit, S'tvU't, Fricandiaux, (ira(in*or Sv _ 
are. Her French is not even of the school 
' Stratford-atte-Bow,' and she does not ua 
stand what a met is. Her stock made di 
are veal cutlets, harico mutton, stewed _^ 
and Irish stew. She makes all these well; 
and very good things they are in their way. 
She is capital at a hand of pork and 
soup ; at pigeon pics ; at roasting, boiling, 

inp, stewing, and baking. She is , ' 

pie.« and puddings, and has a non-trai 
recei[>t for plum pudding, which she 
not part with for a year's w;i;jtK She 
cook as succulent, wholesi)m<\ 1 Ii .'uitv 
Bs any Christian man need i t 

to ; but i^he is not an artist 
not in the " first style." Shu may 
Uloom."jbury, but not for Belgravia. 

HOVSEMATD (wher* a rootmnn fi krpa, 
rrtpMlablD jroon* worniin, Willi Ihn-r yrarV gat 
cbancivr. Adklrc«sL.U.,Uamini Otiurl, LjuiiO* Cub4i 

aireel. 

Letitia Brownjohn, who wishes to Tie K 
housemaid, who has three years' go<^d cha* 
racter (bj- her pronounced' "kniktcr") 
two-and-lwenty years of age. Her father is 
smith, or a pianoforte moker, or a Uath« 
dresser, stifling with a lorge family 

Gamms Court. Her mother has been 1 ., 

at service in her lime, and Letitia is in tb« 
transition state now — in the chrysalis fonaa- 
tion of domestic drudgery ; which she ho 
to exchange some day' for the fulUblc 
butterflyhood of a home, a husband, 
family, and domestic drudgery of her 01 
All, Letitin, for all that you are worret 
now by captious mistresses, the time mar 
come wl^n, in some stifling Gamms Court 
of your own, sweltering over a wa«htu 
with a (Ininkcn husband nnd a brood 
ragged children, you may sigh for your t 
kitclitn, the cat, the ticking clock, the 
box in the nrea window, and your cou 
the Guftrd.^) softly whispering and wi 
outside the area railings. 

Letitia Itrownjohn, like most other 
ladies of the housemaid calling, has had 
university education. Not, I need f<c»rci. 
tell, at theological Oxford or logarithmic 
Cani'iridgc; nor at the Silent Sisters, wl( 
woiiM not suit Letitia by any meons ; nor 
Durham, famous for its mustard and i 
mines ; nor at any one of those nanght 




MORE PLAOBS WANTED. 



Colleges in Ireland which the Pope is so 
angry with ; nor even at any one of the col- 
leges nwvnlly inslitut«sd in this country " for 
Indies only," as the railwny carriagc-s have 
it — yt't in an university. Lctitift, aa most of 
the university-tducaled do, went in the first 
instance to a public school ; that founded by 
Lady Honoria VVoggs (wife of King William 
Ihe Tliird's Archbahop Woggs), where intel- 
lectual training was an object of less solici- 
tude by the couimittee of management than 
the attainment of a strong nasal stylo of 
vocal elocution, as applied to the sacred 
lyrics of Messrs. Stemhold and Hopkins, and 
the wearing a peculiarly hidcou.s costume, 
accurately copied and followed from the 
painted wooden statuette of one of Lady 
Woggs's girls, in Lady Woggs's own time, 
placed in a niche over Iho porch of the dinpv 
brick building containing Ijidy Woggas 
school, and flanked in another niche by 
another statuette of a young gentleman in a 
muffin cap and leathers, representing one of 
Lady Woggs's Iwys. 

From this establishment our Letitia passed, 
bcinj some nine or ten years of age, to the 
univLTirfty, and there she matriculated, and 
there she graduated. Do you know that 
university to which three-fourths — nay, 
Dinctoen-twentieths — of our London-bred 
children " go up ?" Its halls and colleges aro 
the pavement and the gutter ; it.'* Lccture- 
Ihcnlrc the doorstep and the poi^t at the 
comer; its f^chools of philosophy arc the 
chandler's shop, the cobbler's stall, and the 
public-house; of which the landlord is the 
chancellor; its proctor and bull-dogs .ire the 
, police-sergeant and his men ; its public ora- 
tors, the ballad-singers and last dying- speech 
cryers; its lecturers arc scolding women. The 
weekly wages of its occupants form its univer- 
sity che.st Commemoration takes place every 
Saturday night, with grand musical perform- 
ances frotn the harp, guit.nr, and violin, 
Opposite the Admiral Keppoll. The graduates 
Are mechanics and small tradesmen and their 
■wives. The undergraduates are Letitias and 
Tommies, The university is the sti'ect. 

Right in its centre stands the Tree of 
Knowledge of good and evil. And all day 
long children come and pluck the fruit and 
«.-at it ; and some choose ripe and whcile- 
some fruit, the pleasant savour of which shall 
not depart out of their mouths readily; 
l>ut nomo choose bad and rotten apples, which 
they fall upon and devour gluttonou.sly, so 
that the fruit disagrees with them vcrj- much 
indeed, anil causes them to break all out in 
Ruch L-riiption.'i of vicious humourt, a« their 
Very chridren's children's blood shall be ein- 
poisotied with years hence. And some, being 
young and foolish and ignorant, take and eat 

Iindiitriminatcly of the good and of the bad 
fruit, and are sick and sorry or healthful ami 
j^lad alternately ; but might (are badly and be 
lost in the long run did not AVisdoni and 
Lovr (come from making of rainbows anJ 



quelling of stormff, perhaps a million miles 
away, to consider til •- and take slock 

of the flics in the ' university) ap- 

pear betimes among iih-:l' joung undergra- 
duates gathered round the tree, and teach 
their hearts how to direct their hands to 
pluck good su.'stcnance from that tree. I never 
go down a back street and look on the multi- 
tude of children (I don't mean ragged, Bedouin 
children, but decently attired young people, of 
poor but honest parcnt.s, living hard by, who 
have no better playing-ground for them), and 
hear them singing their street songs, and see 
them playing street games, and making street 
friendships, and caballing on doorsti^ps or con- 
spiring by posts, or newsmongering on kerb 
stones, or trotting along with jugs and half- 
pence for the beer, or listening open-mouthed 
to the street orators and musicians, or watch- 
ing Punch and the acrobats, or forming a ring 
at a street fight, or gathered round a drunken 
iii.in, or running to a fire, or running from a 
bull, or pressing round about an accident, bon- 
netlc8.< and capless, but evidently native to 
this place — without these thoughts of the 
university and the tree coming into my head. 
You who may have been expensively edu- 
cated and cared for, and have had a gymna- 
sium for exercise, covered playing courts, 
class-room.s, cricket-tleld.s, ushers to attend 
you in the hours of recreation; who have gone 
from school and college into the world, well re- 
commended and with a golden piu-wport, should 
think more, and considerately too, of what a 
hazardous, critical, dangerous nature this 
street culture is. AVitli what stnall book- 
loaming these poor young undorgraduatea 
get, or that their parent'? can atTord to pro- 
vide them with, is mixed simultaneously the 
strangest course of tuition in the ethics of 
the pawnbroker's sliop^ the philosophy of 
the pubtic-hoaso, the rhetoric of drunken 
men and shrewi.sh women, the logic of bad 
associations, nnd bad examples, and bad 
language. 

Our Letitia graduated in duo course of 
girlhood, becoming a mistress of such house- 
hold arts as a London -bred girl can hope to 
acquire at the age of fourteen or fiflocn. 
\Vell, you know what sort of a creature the 
lodging-hou.<H5 maid of all work is, and what 
sort of a life she leadi You have soon her; 
her pattens and disheveled cap, her black 
stockings and battered tin candlestick. Wo 
have all known Letitia Brownjohns — oft-tiraea 
comely, neat-handetl Philliscs enough — oft- 
times desp<>ratcly slatternly and untidy 
— in nlmo.st every case wofuUy over-worked 
nnJ a.? wretchedly underpaid. She must be 
up early and late. AVith the exception of 
the short intermission of sleep doled forth 
to her, her work is ceaseless. She ascends 
and descends every step of every flight 
of stairs in the house hundreds of times in 
tlic course of the day ; .she is the slave of tho 
rineing both of the door bell and the lodgers' 
tititinnabulo. She must be little more Ih&n a.'o 



161 ■ 

nilcs ^ 



I 



\ 



163 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



IPHiMW« tt 



L.. 



animated appendage to the knocker — a jack 
in the box, to be produced bya double rap. She 
is cook, housemaid, lady's-maid, scullery maid, 
housekeeper, all in one ; and for what ? For 
some hundred and fifly shillings every year, 
and some — few and far between — coppers and 
sixpences, doled out to her in gratuities by 
(he lodgers in consideration of her Briarean 
handiwork. Her holidaj's arc very, very few. 
Almo.vt her only intercourse with the outer 
world takes place when she runs to the public- 
housi.- at the comer for the dinner or supper 
beer, or to a neighbouring fishmonger for 
oviitcrs. A rigid supervision is kept over her 
conduct. She is expected to have neither 
friend.^, acquaintances, rclationji, nor sweet- 
hearts. " No followers," is the Median and 
Persian law continually paraded before her ; 
a law unchangeable, and broken only under 
the most hideous penalties. AVhcn you and I 
grumble at our lot, repine at some petty re- 
verse, fret and fiune over the curtailment 
of some indulgence, the deprivation of some 
luxury, we Uttle know what infinite gra- 
dations of privation and suffering exist ; and 
what admirable and exemplary contentment 
and cheerfulness are often to be found among 
those whose standing is on the lowest rounds 
of the ladder. 

But Letitia is emancipated from the maid- 
of-all-work thraldom now, and aspires to be 
a "Housemaid where a footman is kept," 
y't not without considerable difficulty, and 
nlUT years of arduous apprenticeship and 
si-rvitude. "With the maid-of-all-work, as she 
b'.'fiins, so 'tis ten to one that as such she 
ends. I have known grey-headed maidi)-of-all- 
work ; and of such — ^with a sprinkling of 
insolvent laundresses and widows who have 
had their mangles seized for rent — i.^ re- 
cruited, and indeed, organised, the numerous 
and influential class of "charwomen" who 
work household work for eighteen pence a 
day and a glass of spirits. 

But Letitia Brownjohn has been more for- 
tunate. Some lady lodger, perchance in some 
house in which she has been a servitor, has 
taken a fancy to her; and such lodger, 
taking in due course of human eventuality a 
house for herself^ has taken Letitia to be hei 
own private housemaid. And she has lived 
with City families, and tradesmen's families, 
and in boarding-schools, and she has grown 
frum the untidy " gal" in the black stock- 
inpi and the mob cap to be a natty 
youiit; ]ierson in a smart cap and ribbons, 
:is)iiring to a situation where a footman 
is kept. That she may speedily obtain such 
an ap|iointmemt; that the footman maybe 
worthy of his companion in service ; that | 
they may please each other (in due course of i 
lime), even to the extent of the asking of ] 
banns and the solemnisation of a certain 
service, I very cheerfully and sinccrclv wish. \ 

I 

For the present, my catalogue of " Want ' 
nacea" is at an end. By and by, possibly I | 



may tell you jocund tales of stalwart foot- 
men, and portly butlers, and valets-de-cham- 
bre, to whom their masters were no herocfl. 

A BRAZmLVN IN BLOOMSBURY. 

WHttE we write — it may not be so when 
this is read — many of the naturalistsof London 
are getting up and going to bed, talking by 
day, for want of better matter, of the weather 
and the Turkish " diflScuIty," and sleeping of 
nights, perfectly unconscioui; of a mine of ex- 
citement that may at any hour be sprung in 
the midst of them — of the fact, in short, 
that there is an Ant-bear in the town. 
Should it live and get its rights ^e shall 
have Ant-bear Quadrilles, Ant-bear Butter- 
dishes, Ant-bear Paper-weights, Ant-bear pic- 
tures of all sorts, and perhaps a dash of Ant- 
bear in the Christmas Pantomimes. For the 
Ant-bear, or Great Anteater, is a zoological 
wonder ; a thing never before seen in Europe ; 
an animal more eccentric and surprising 
than the Hippopotamus, and for whose ap- 
pearance among us we are less prepuvd by 
any widely sprnd acquaintance of a general 
kind with its form and halnts. Should 
the Ant-bear lodging now in a poor home 
at number seventeen. Broad Street, Blooms- 
bury, find its way, as wo believe it will, 
to the more fashionable precincts of Regent's 
Park, and should it live through the next 
London sea.son, no war of Turk or Rusran 
—should there then be any — will stud 
against it 

We may state generally that the Grest 
Anteater is at home in certain parts of Sootli 
.\merica ; that it is found there only, and thit 
it lives on insects — chiefly on ants; that itii 
(though very different in form) as lai^ u ■ 
small bear ; that it has a copious coat of coane 
hair, a pair of immensely powerful forelep 
with which to tear open the hard nests of t£i 
white ant, a nosa half as long as its body, 
with a small mouth at the end to be thratt 
into the nest, and a long tongue like tbe 
tongue of a serpent that can be darted oat 
surprisingly more than a hundred times in i 
minute. The long nose in front of the AD^ 
bear is more than balanced by the huge td 
behind — a very complete brush and a rej 
complete hair-roofing when its owner thinb 
proper to be snug. In lying down he tuds 
the long nose under one arm, like an umlvelK j| 
and then turns the tail over his l>odr, eroj 'j 
part of which it covers so completely, tW 
the animal a.'^leep looks like a grey mat, or * 
heap of hair ; and not in the leakt like tit 
living thing. All the ants in the wodil 
might >vage a useless war against thdr 
enemy, oniv coiled under the shelter of tW 
tail. It is to the Ant-bear as his vine u' 
fig-tree under which he is accustomed t* 
repose. 

The name ".\nteatcr" suggests a jjorf 
many vague notions. When we first bevi 
of the Anteater, there were recalled (> 




CtMtoDh*m.1 



A BRAZILIAN IN BLOOMSBURY. 



oor mincU sercrnl varieties of the animal :— 
the African Antcatcr, the Aanivark, found 
round about the Cape colony; the scaly -Ant- 
catt-TS or Pangijlins, of which there is one 
species found in Senegal and Guinea, and 
two other? in the Dcccan, Bcn<^l, Nepaul, 
Southern China, and Formosa. Furthermore, 
wc wero reminded of the Australian or 
Porcupine Anteater, called a Hedgehog by 
the colonistn of Sydney. In Araeric* two 
kinds of Anteater exist, the Great and the 
Little, differing not only in sir.c but also in 
form ar\d structure. These two kinds of Ant- 
eater belong exclusively to Central and SouUi 
America. The animal wc found in Eilooms- 
l)ury wfljfi the Orenl Anteater from Brar.il; 
or, to give him his full Bcientitic honours, the 
Myniiecnphaga jubata. Many attempts have 
lieen made to bring a specimen alive to Europe, 
hut it has never yet been able to survive the 
sea passage. The Ant-bear now in Broad 
Street, Bloomsbury, ia therefore tlic first that 
has been seen alive in Europe, It has been 
brou!»ht over by somo poor Germans, who 
had found their way bo for from Vaterland 
as the interior of Braril, four hundred miles 
from Rio Janeiro. In Bnizil the Ant-bear 
is at homo, and is occasionally reare<l in 
houses :\s a domestic pet The idea of carrying 
lionic with them some specimens to Europe 
as a .^speculation having been broached among 
tHese (Jermans, one party determined upon 
carrying if possible two young .■\nt-boars to 
Paris, and anotlier party undertook to convey 
two In Ijondon. Thoy were brought away 
from home in the first month of infancy. The 
two destined for Paris both died on the way. 
Of the two destined for London, one died on 
the w;iy to Rio Janeiro, and was tiierc slufTed 
■vvry badly. The other ha.s survived the long 
sca-pns*igc, though he ha* grown very lean 
over it, and has while we now write been 
a week in London. 

The poor proprietors appear to have 

fcrrived in town with no higher ambition 

't.han the establishment of nn obscure show. 

"VS'ith little cash and le.s.s F.iiglish they 

«;ng«^ed a lodging for themselves and their 

infnnt, then five months old, at a hou-^e In 

It hat perverted and degenerate thoroughfare, 

"^riKul Street, Bloom.sbury. There they put 

. bill into the window of a small shop — their 

liow-room — inviting the public to come in 

n<l «ee that very wonderful animal, never 

iLitfore brouglit ti) Europe, the Antita (so 

■!t Anteater in their largest letters) 

i/.il. The charge for admi8.sion was 

lied at sLxpence, with the usual ten- 

e>^ in the allowance of half-price lo 

n. At this hour, it is only here and 

% Btray member of tlie London public 

has heard of the existence of tliis animal 

Ong 08. It was by one of those few early 

•scnvurie* that we were ourselves directed 

it,s ilwelling-placc. 

On opening the shop door we found our* 
ytn, in proper showman fashion, shut from 



a sight of the inner mystery by a check cur 
lain. Passing that wc came into the shop, 
which was divided by a little wooden barrier 
into a small space for spectators, and a 
small space for the proprietors of the 
animal and for the animal himself, whose 
den w.*s a deal box standing on its side, 
with a smalt lair of straw inside, and the 
stuffed Anteater on the top of it. On the 
straw was a rough grey hair mat, of a cir- 
cular fortn, or a heap of hair, which pre- 
sently unrolled itself into the form of a mag- 
nificent tail, from under which the long noso 
of the living Ant-bear was aimed at us like a 
musket. Then the whole curiosity came out 
to cat an egg, which it heard cracked against 
the wall. In accordance with the fate com- 
mon to exiles, this Ant-bear is very thin. 
Being now five months old, he stands about 
as high as a Newfoundland dog. As there 
were no other visitors present wc had an 
opportunity of becoming pretty aociiible with 
him and with his owners, and could feel his 
long nose and his shaggy coat with the same 
hand that had been c;dled upon to feel the 
small hcjids of the Aztecs. Ilere, however, 
was a tit object upon which to .spend our 
wonder — not a deformed fellow-being, but a 
work of creation hitherto nnsoeiv among us, 
an example not of defect, but of perfection in 
the ailaptation of me.an.s (o an end — from 
mouth to tail an .Anteater. 

We have already, in some pages of this 
journal, had occasion to remark, th.nt the 
feeding of one animal upon another is not in 
principle a savage or a cruel thing, but the 
direct rcver.se. E.iccefit where man has inter- 
fered to make the life nf any creature pain- 
ful, there can be no doubt that every brute 
existence ends with a large balance on the 
side of happiness enjoyed. All healthy animal 
life — except perhaps in the least organised 
animals that scarcely po-tsess any conscious- 
ness — is pleasure, and lo multiply creatures 
is to multijily the sum af bap[>incss enjoyed 
upon this globe of ours ; therefore the earth 
is full of animated heiiigs. The vegetable 
world fi-cds myriiuls of individuals, and there 
is scnrceSy an hiTb that does not feed at 
least one cln,ss of animal,-;; a race exprently 
created to eiijuy it; bom to cat nothing else. 
But if all aninKds iite fruits there would be a 
limit set to the multiplication of kinds, and 
to the aggregate incre.ise of numbers thiil is 
now far ovcrpiwsed. Ufton one animal another 
lives, nnnthcr ujion that; so there ia nowni;te 
in the great system of creation, and ten 
liappy beings live in vigour where, had all 
animals been vegetable feeders, there would 
have been but five, and at loa-st two of tlinsu 
endurinp the (listrt.s.se« of a slow decay. Man 
is subject to diseases that arise almost cn- 
tirelj' from his social errors, yet they tend 
to develop all his higher faculties — they give 
play to his Kyrai>atlues and atfcction.s, elevate 
liira as a moral being; at the same timo 
they serve as admonitions to b\& \v\\.Oi\tc\., 



1 



lU 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



which is by them led to trace bad effects 
to their cause in conditions of existence 
that require amendment ; as for example we 
are taught bj cholera that we must not so 
misuse our power of free action as to pen one 
another up in filthy heaps, neglccUng to use 
the fresh air, the pure light and the clear 
water that lie ready to our mouth and eyes 
and hands. Brutes, however, are created not 
for progressive development, but for the 
simple enjoyment of the life and power that 
they haT& Sickness has not for them its 
uses, instinct commonly teaches them to 
avoid causes of disease, and those which 
become a prey to animals that feed upon 
them die suddenly a quick and easy death, 
after a life that has been wholly free from 
aches and pains, and all the toils that old age 
and debility bring with them. Tliey go to 
make fresh life and vigour, and there is in 
this way a great wealth of strong and happy 
life established in the worid, and a great deal 
of fatigue and suffering kept out of it A 
further use of this method of maintaining 
one set of uiimals on the waste of another, is 
to increase very much the variety of form 
and structure which give to our universe so 
much beauty and interest, and to the thinking 
man so many clues by which he may lead his 
thoughts upward and increase his own small 
stock of wisdom by the study of a wisdom that 
is infinite and perfect While the varieties 
of furm arc increased there is a due check put 
on the undue reproduction of any single 
species. — We might follow these reflections 
out a great deal &rthcr, but we have said 
enough for our purpose, which was to suggest 
the reflection that a largo animal created 
with direct and obvious reference to his 
assigned business of destroying ant's nests 
and subsisting upon their inhabitants, illus- 
trates a great principle in the government of 
tlio world that springs wholly from benefi- 
cence, and can be thought strange only be- 
cause it is unfamiliar and striking. Equally 
or even more surprising would be the net 
spread by the spider, if one, with the animal 
at work upon it, could be exhibited to a 
people among whom spiders never hare been 
scon. Yet we sweep such things down from 
the comer of our houses and regard them 
but as common dust 

There is some reason to doubt whether the 
Ant-bear in Bloomsbury will live through an 
English winter. It is now healthy, but thin 
and languid, as most exotic animals become 
when they are brought among us. Mrs. 
Meredith, in her account of her Home in 
Tasmania, gave ui the other day quite start- 
ling accounts of the briskness of a tame opos- 
nim under its own skies, in opposition to the 
common itatument made here, even br some 
Mtundista, that they are sluggish aiiimaK i 
Th* Ao^bear that crawled lazily out of its 
box under the shadow of St Giles's steeple, 
vrould at this time have been fishing and 
laipiiig with flcroo vigour if left to the belter 



of the forests of Brazil. At home, .when 
rendered fierce by hunger, it will make a 
bound of ten feet to spring on the back of 
a horse, tear open the horse's shoulder with 
its huge daws, and then suck the blood out 
of the wound. Here it comes, lean as it i^ 
very laxily out of its box at the crackling of 
an eggshdl to follow its master about, licking 
the yolk out of an egg with its long tongue. 
It does that very cleverly. Like most of 
the tame Ant-bears in Brazil, this one in 
Bloomsbury, though but an infant, cAts B&f 
in a day, with a little milk, and meat chopped 
finely or in soup. 

It needs not only food but air. It would 
do best, said the German, if it had soma 
green to run upon. The air of a small room 
in Holborn or in Oxford Street, to which last 
thoroughfare the show entertained a notion 
of removing, adds one more peril to the 
chance of maintaining alive this little 
stranger. The peril, however, is not very 
likely to be of long duration. Such a priie 
as UI Antrbear could not hide itself a day in 
London from the eye of the ever active sec- 
retary of the gardens in Regent's Pkrk. He 
was already in treaty with the Germaiu, and 
had ofl*ered them, if they wenttwith their 
animal to the Zoological Garden, the weeklj 
payment of quite a royal pension during its 
life. They were to have every week certainly 
as much as they could make of profit out or 
their show during six months in Bnod 
Street They had refused that offer, ud 
desired to sell their treasure outright at s 
price that was but ten weeks' purchase of 
the pension offered, with a condition thit 
they would return one-third of the monay if 
the Ant-bear died within ten weeks. TUi 
suggestion proves that the owners themadM 
consider the Ant-bear's life a very bftd one ti 
ensure themselves a salary upon. So lb 
ncgociation stands at present, that is to ^J 
while we write. When this is read, the oMt' 
ter will be settled. The strange animal Mlf 
have become famous among us, and i 
in a fair way to get through the wiokr 
under able watching and with the belt 
artificial aid, or it may be still pinin>> 
an obscure show-room, or it may be ow 
and stuffed and filmed and ^azed, or dad 
and dissected. 

If dead and stuffed, let no man put ftittk 
its appearance. We have seen no En|^ 
picture of the Ant-bear at all equal to Ai 
truth, and if we may take as a saaple fk 
stuffed specimen brought from Rio Jsmi* 
with this living animal, the stuflfer 1^ ]^ 
more completely than the painter. The hit 
smooth, hard nose, like a stiiT, straight, k^T 
proboscis, only by no means a proboeoi. i 
it has no mouth under it but carries a ttA* 
toothless mouth at the end of itself^ ai * 
pair of small, keen eyes at its root; Arf 
wonderful long bend which we call ntK 
which is made to dive into the innenMl' 
recesses of the ant's nes^ and whkk ■■ 



^^ 



ClMflH Ukkaaio] 



CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 



165 



u Btrikin;; a characteristic of the boast as 
the Rtork's bill is of the bird, that essential 
feature shrivels and wrinklca and grows 
limp under the stufR'r's hand, and conveys no 
notion of the original clear and even elegant 
outline of the Ant-bear's head, and of the firm- 
ness of its bone and bristle. Then the fore- 
legs and the tremendous daws are marred 
inevitably. The forclcn:s even in the young 
living specimen of which wc speak arc 
models of animal strenjrth that would dcliii;ht 
the eye of any artist There is a size of bono, 
a manifest firmness and tension of muscle in 
thciit, that recal to the mind many an old ideal 
sculpture. They end in huge claws retracted in- 
wards, a.s wc should .oay of fingers bent towards 
the palm, and the animal, walking in a strange 
way, treailsupon them so; he docs not spread 
the foreclaws out, but walks, as it were, upon 
bis knuckles. In the stuffed specimen the 
claws are spread out carefully as they ar* 
never to be seen in nature. The outer crust 
of the ant-hills bcrfinn'; .irtm hnnl .is .<lfirii>, 

and the use of thi ' 
huge power in til n 

Ant-bear to rend tlieoi asunder, as the u:tk 
was rent by Milo. The hind legs of the 
Ant-bear although strong are altogether 
weaker, and they end in feet like human 
feet, which arc of great use in supporting 
him while he is at work with his fore- 
daws. In the stuffed specimen again the 
marvellous tail is turned in the wrong direc- 
tion. In the living creature it resembles 
nothing BO much in form as a peacock's 
tail, with the sweep reversed A peacock's 
tail without the gaiety, made of grey hwrs 
instisad of gaudy feathers. 

We remained for some time wnth the young 
Brazilian, during which there arriveii only one 
visitor, a gentleman to whose ears the report 
of it had corac. lie saw the Ant-bear eat an 
egg and scratch itself, then went awny. It 
scratchesand pulls its bair about with \is hard 
forc-ch»ws prcdsely as it would if they were 
homy fingers, and turning its head round 
always when it does so to bring one bright 
eye to bear upon its work, its mouth is 
brought at the same time into the neighbour- 
hood of its bind feet or of its tail. We heard 
two little sons of St Giles, asking outside 
whether that was where the show was and 
what was the charge for seeing it but they de- 
murred at threepence and retired. .\n object 
of attraction that in proper hands would draw 
half London was of no account in Bloomsbury. 
Few seemed to care for " the Antita." When 
that young Brazilian had in a leisurely way 
refreshed himself with eggs and milk, pro- 
perly scratched himself with each of his four 
legs, and mi.de inspection of our trousers, he 
determined to lie down. Not however, itntil 
he hail mado his bed. When he had arranged 
the straw to his satisfaction, ho lay down on 
one side, and holding out an arm for his long 
bead, took it to his brea.st and cuddled it as 
though it were a baby that he had to hod 



with him. Then he drew over all bis long 
tail in the fashion of a counterpane, and re- 
mained thereunder as quiet as death. 



A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

CHaPTXB XL. 

Bbfokb sunset on the memorable day on 
which King Charles the First was executed, 
the House of Commons passed an act de- 
claring it treason in any one to prodaim the 
Prince of Wales— or anybody else — King of 
England. Soon afterwards, it declared that 
the House of Lords was useless and dangerous, 
and ought to be abolished, and directed that 
the late King's statue should bo taken down 
from the Royal P'xchange in the city and 
other public places. Having laid hold of 
some famous Royalists who had escaped 
from prison, and having beheaded the Ddkb 
OP Hamilton, Loan Uollaxd, and Lord 
Capel, in Pala^ Yard (all of whom died 
very courageouiiy), they then appointed a 
Council of State to govern the country. It 
consisted of forty-one members, of whom five 
wore peers. Brodshaw was made president 
The IIouso of Coratnons also re-adinitted 
members who had opposed the King's death, 
and made up its numbers to about a hundred 
and fitly. 

But, it still had an army of more than forty 
thousand men to deal with, and a very hard 
task it was to manage them. Befbro the 
King's execution, the army had appointed 
soma of its officers to remonstrate between 
them and the Parliament ; and now the 
common soldiers began to take that office 
upon themselves. Tho regiments un<lcr 
orders for Ireland mutinied: one troop of 
horse in the city of London seized their 
o»vn flag, and rcfiised to obey orders. For 
this, tho ringleader was shot : which did not 
mend the ranttur, for, both his comrades and 
tho people made a public funeral for hira, and 
accompanied the body to tho grave with 
sound of trumpets and with a gloomy pro- 
ce8,sion of persons carrying bundles of rose- 
mary steeped in bloocl. Oliver was the only 
man to deal with such difficulties as these, 
and hij soon cut them short by bursting 
nt midnight into the town of Burford, near 
Salisbury,whcrc the mutineers wcru sheltered, 
taking four hmidred of them prisoners, 
and shooting a number of them by sentence 
of court-marfial. The soldiers soon found, as 
all men did, that Oliver was not a man to be 
trilled with. And there was an end of the 
mutiny. 

The Scottish Parliament did not know 
Oliver yet; so, nn hearing of tho King's 
execution, it proclaimed the Pnnce of Wales 
King Charles the Second, on condition of his 
re-specting the Solemn I/cngin.* and Covenant 
Charles was abroiul at that time, and so was 
Montrose, from whose help he had hopes 
cn'->iitli to keep him holding on and oGTwith 



1S6 



HOUSEHOLD "WORDS. 



commissioners from Scotland, just as his 
father might hare done. ThcRo hopes, how- 
ever, were soon at an end, for Montrose, 
having raised .a few hundred exiles in 
Gormany, and landed with them in Scotland, 
found that the people there, instead of joining 
him, deserted the country at his approach. lie 
W.1S soon taken prisoner and carried to Edin- 
burgh. There he was received with erery 
possible insult, and carried to prison in a cart, 
his officers going two and two before him. 
Ho was sentenced by the Parliament to be 
hanged on a gallows thirty feet high, to have 
his head set on a spike in Edinburgh, and his 
limbs distributed in other places, according 
to the old barbarous manner. He said he 
had always actctl under the Royal orders, 
and only wished he ha*l limbs enough to be 
distributed through Christendom, that it 
might bo the more widely known how loyal 
he had boen, Hu went to the scalTold in a 
bright and brilliant dress, and made a bold 
end at thirty-eight years of age. Tho breath 
was scarcely out of his body when Charles 
abandoned his memory, and denied that he 
had ever given him orders to rise in his be- 
halt Oh, the family failing was strong in 
that Charles then ! 

Oliver had been appointed by the Parlia- 
ment to command the army in Ireland, where 
hu took a terrible vengeance fur the san- 
guinary rebellion, and made tremendous 
havoc, particularly in the siege of Drogheda, 
where no quarter wa-i? given, and where he 
found at least a thousand of the inhabitants 
shut up together in the great church : every 
one of whom was killed by his soldiers, 
usually known as Oliver's Iko.ssiubs. There 
were numbers of friars and priests among 
t'lcm, and Oliver grultty wrote home in his 
despatch that tliese were " knocked on the 
head" like the rust 

Hut, Charles having got over to Scotland 
where the men of the Solemn League and 
Covenant led him a prodigiously dull life, 
and made him very weary with long sennons 
and grim Sundays, the Parliament called 
the redoubtable Oliver home to knock the 
Scottish men on the head for setting up 
that Prince. Oliver left his son-in-law, 
Ireton, as general in Ireland in his stead (he 
died there aftenvards), and he imitated the 
e.\!»mi)le of his father-in-law with such good- 
will tiiat he brought tho country to subjec- 
tion, and laid it at the feet of the Parliament. 
In the end, they pa.sscd an act for the settle- 
ment of Ireland, generally pardoning all the 
common people, but exempting from this 
gneo auch of the wealthier sorts as had been 
eonoennd in the rebellion, or in any killing of 
tntuits, or who refused to lay "down their 
a. Great numbers of Irish were got out 
Ihe country to serve under Catholic 
•ni abroad, and a qu.antity of land was 
a«ed to have been forfeited by past 
riiieoa, and was given to people who had 
A money to Uie Parliament early in tho 



war. These were sweeping measures ; but, if 
Oliver Cromwell had had his own way fully, 
and had stayed in Ireland, he would have 
done more yet 

However, as I have said, the Parliament 
wanted Oliver for Scotland ; so, home Oliver 
came, and was made Commander of all the 
Forces of the Commonwealth of England, and 
ill three days away he went with sixteen 
thousand soldiers to fight the Scottish men. 
Now, the Scottish men, being then — as yon 
will generally find them now — ^mighty 
cautious, reflected that the troops they bid 
were not used to war like the Ironsides, and 
would be beaten in an open fighc Therefore 
they said, " If we lie quiet in our trenches in 
Edinburgh here, and if all the farmers come 
into the town and desert the country, the 
Ironsides will be driven out by iron hunger 
and be forced to g^> away." This was, no 
doubt, the wisest plan ; but as the Scottish 
clergy would interfere with what they knew 
nettling about, and would perpetually preach 
long sermons, exhorting the soldiers to come 
out and fight, tha soldiers got it in their 
heads that they absolutely must come ont 
and fight Accordingly, in an evil hour ftr 
themselves, they came out of their aife po- 
sition. Oliver fell upon them instantly, and 
killed three thousand, and took ten thoustod 
prisoners. 

To gratify the Scottish Parliament, and 
preserve their favour, Charles had signed 
a declaration they laid before him, re- 
proaching the memory of his father aad 
mother, and representing himself as a moit 
religious Prince, to whom the Solemn League 
and Covenant was as dear as life. He meant 
no sort of truth in this, and soon aftcnnnb 
galloped away on horseback to join som 
tiresome Highland friends, who were aliraTi 
flourishing dirks and broadswords. He wM 
overtaken and induced to return ; but tbit { 
attempt, which was called " The start," did i 
him just so much service that they did not [ 
preach quite such long sermons at him aii(^ ' 
wards as they had dene before. 

On the first of January, one thousand lix 
hundred and fifty- one, the Scottish pcofib 
crowned him at Scone. He immediately tm 
the chief command of an army of tveotf 
thousand men, and marched to Stirling: ffi> 
hopes were heightened, I daresay, by the R- 
doubtable Oliver being ill of an agne; bet 
Oliver scrambled out of bed in no time^ ui 
went to work with such energy that be pt 
behind the Royalist army and cat it off f^ 
all communication with Scotland. There n> 
nothing for it then, but to go on to England; 
so it went on as far as Worcester, where tbe 
mayor and some of the gentry proclained 
Ring Charles the Second otnightvay. S> 
proclamation, however, was of little use t» 
him, for very few Royalists appeared, and M 
the very same day two people were public^ 
beheaded on Tower Hill for e?poiiung !■■■ 
cause. Up came Oliver to Wcnxxstsr tiA 




CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 



16T 



at (loublo quick Kpocci, And he ha4 hiH Iron- 
sides so laid iibout Ihem in the great battle 
wbicli wae fought there, that they COlu- 
pletfly bvat the Scottish men, and di-stroyed 
the Royalist army, though the Scottish men 
fought so gallarktly that it took five hours 
to do. 

The L-»^!«|ie of Charles after this battle of 
Worcoster did him g-oo<l service long after- 
words for it induced many of the generous 
English |>eople to take a, romantic interest in 
him, and think much better of him than 
he ever deserved. He fled in the night with 
noU more than sixty followers to the house of 
& Csttiolic lady in St&tfordshire, There, for 
his grtater safety, the whole sixty lift him. 
He cropped his hair, stained his face and 
hands brown as if they were .sunburnt, put 
on the clothes of a labouring countryman, 
and Went out in the morning with his axe in 
his hand, accompanied by four wood-cuttera 
who were brothers, and another man who 
was their brother-in-law. Tiiese good fellovvs 
made a bed for him under a tree, as the 
weather was very had ; and the wife of one 
of th'MD brought him food to eal ; and the old 
mother of the four brothers came and fell 
down on her knees before him in i:ho wood, 
and thanked God that her sons were en- 
gaged in saving W\s life. At night, he came 
out of the forest and went on lo atiother 
hoane which w.i,s near the river Severn, with 
the intention of passing into Wales; but the 
phkce Bwanncd with soliliers, and the bridges 
were guarded, and all the boats were made 
fiiBt. So, afier lying in a hayloft covered 
over with hay, for some time, he came out 
of thi* place, attended by Coloxel Careless, 
a Catholic gentleman who h.nd mei him 
there, and nHth whom he lay hid all next 
day, up in the shady branches of a fine old 
oak. It WAS lucky for the King that it was 
September-time, and that the leaves had not 
begun tn fall, as he and the Colonel, perched 
up in this tree, could catch glimpses of 
the soldiers riding about below, and could 
hear the crasli in the wood as they went about 
beating the lioughii. 

After thiH, he walked and walked until his 
fcet were all bli.slered, and, having been 
eonuealvd all one day in a house which wa.s 
searched by the troopers while he was there, 
went with Lord Wilmot, another of his good 
friends, to a place called Beutly, where one 
Mis« L.tHE, a Protestant lady, bad obtained 
a pms to be allowed to ride through the 
guards to see a relation of hers near lirisLol. 
DisguJseil as a servant, he nxle on the saddle 
before this young lady to the house of Sib 
JdH5 W'intek, while LonI Wilmot rode 
there boldly, like a plain country gentleman, 
with dog« at hi* heels. It happened thnt 
Sir John Winter's butler had been a servant 
in lUehmond Palace, and knew Charles 
the moment ho set eyes upon him • but, 
the butler was faithful, and kept the secret. 
As no ship could be found there to cany 



him abroad, it was planned that he should 
go — still travelling with Mi.ss I«ane as her 
servant — to another house, at Trent, near 
Sherborne in Dorsetshire ; and then Miss 
Lane and her cousin, Mr. Lascellks, who 
had gone on horseback beiiide her all the 
way, went home. I hope Mi.ss Lane was 
going to marrj' that cousin, for I am siure «he 
mu8t have been a brave, kind girl. If F bad 
been that cou.sin, I should certainly have 
loved her. 

When Charles, lonely for tho loss of Miss 
Lane, was safe at Trent, a ship wa.s hired 
at Lyme, the master of which engaged to 
take two gentlemen to France. in the 
evening of tho same day, the King — now 
riding ns servant before another young Indy 
— set off for a public-hou.'^e at a place called 
Charraouth, where the captain of tho vessel 
was to t4ikc him on board. But the captain's 
wife, being afraid of her husband's getting" 
into trouble, locked liim up, and would not 
let him sail. Then they went away to Brid- 
port, and coming to the inn there, found tho 
slable-yani full of soldiers who were on the 
look-out for Charles, and who talked about 
him while they drank. Ho liad such presence 
of mini], however, that he led the horses of 
his [larty through the yard as any other ser- 
vant might have done, and said, " Come out 
of the waj-, you soldiers; let us have room 
to pa.s.s here !" As he went along, ho met a 
halftip.sy ostler, who rubbed his eyes and 
said to him, " Why, I w.is furmerly nervant 
to Mr. Potter at Esetur, and surely I have 
sometime.s seen you there, j-oung man ?" Ho 
certainly had, for Charles had lodged there. 
His rea<ly answer was, " Ah, I did live with 
him once ; but I have no time to talk now. 
We'll have a pot of beer together when 1 
come back." 

From this dangerous place he returned to 
Trent, and lay there concealed several daj'a 
Then, he escaped to Heale, near Salisbury, 
where, in the house of a widow lady, he 
was hidden tivo days, until the lii.i.stcr of 
a collier lying off .Shoreham in Sussex, un- 
dertook to convey "a gcntleuiau" to France. 
On tho night of the fifteenth of C)ctober, 
accompanied by two colcnels and a mer- 
chant, the King rode to Brighton, then a 
little fishing village, to give tho captain 
of tlic ship a supper before going on board; 
but, so many jieopic knew him, that this 
captain knew him too, and not only he, but 
the landlord and landlady also. Before he 
went away, the landlord cnme behind his 
chair, kinsed his hand, and said ho hoped to 
live to be a lord and to see 1\\a wife .a My; 
at which Charles laughed. They had hail a 
good supper by this time, and plenty of smok- 
ing and drinking, at which the King was a 
ftrat-rate hand; so, the captain assured him 
that he would stand by him, and he did. It 
was agreed that the cnfitain .«)iould pretend 
to sail to Deal, and that Charles tihould 
address the sailors und nay he was a gen- 



I 



L 



!0S 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



'\'iii.in in debt, who was running away from 
liiri creditors, and that he hoped they would 
join him in persuading the captain to put 
Itini ashore in France. Aa the King acted 
his part Tery well indeed, and gave the 
sailors twenty shillings to drink, they begged 
the captain to do what Ruch a worthy gen- 
tleman asked. Ho pretended to yield to 
their entreaties, and the King got safe to 
Normandy. 

Ireland being now subdued, and Scotland 
kept quiet by plenty of forts and soldiers 
put there by Oliver, the Parliament would 
have gone on quietly enough as far as fighting 
with any foreign enemy went, but for getting 
into trouble with the Dutch, who in the 
spring of the year one thousand six hundred 
and fifty-one, sent a fleet into the Downs 
under their Admiral Vax Troxp, to call 
upon the bold English Admiral Blake (who 
was there with half as many ships as the 
Dutch) to strike his flag. Blako fired a 
raging broaddde instead, and beat off Van 
Tramp, who, in the autumn, came back again 
with seventy ships, and challenged the bold 
Blake — who still was only half as strong — 
to ri;!ht him. Blake fought him all day, but 
finding that the Dutch were too many for him, 
got quietly olF at night What docs Van 
Tromp upon thifi, but goes cruising and boast- 
ing about the Channel, between the North 
Foreland and the Isle of Wight, with a great 
Dutch broom tied to his masthead, as a sign 
Uint he could and would sweep the English 
otr the sea! Within three months, Blake 
lowered his tone though, and his braom too; 
for, he and two other bold commanders. Dean 
and Monk, fought him three whole days, took 
twenty-three of his ships, shivered his broom 
to pieces, and settled his buKincss. 

Things were no sooner quiet again than the 
army began to complain to the Parliament 
that Ihcy were not governing the nation pro- 
perly, and to hint that they thought Uicy 
could do it better themselves. Oliver, who 
had now mode up his mind to be the head 
of the state, or nothing at all, supported them 
in this, and called a meeting of officers and his 
own Parliamentary friends, at his lodgings in 
Whitehall, to consider the best way of getr 
ting rid of the Parliament It had now 
lasted just as many years as the King's un- 
bridled power had lasted, before it came into 
existence. The end of the deliberation was 
that Oliver went down to the House in his 
usual plain black dress, with his usual grey 
wofj^tcd stockings, but with an unusual party 
of soldiers behind him. These last he left in 
tic lobby, and then went in and sat down. 
Presently he got up, made the Parliament a 
speech, told them that the Lord had done 
with them, stamped his foot and said, " You 



are no Pferiiament Bring them in I Bring 
them inl" At this signal the door flew 
open, and the soldiers appeared. "This is 
not honest," said Sir Harry Vane, one of the 
members. "Sir Harry Vane!" cried Crom- 
well ; " 0, Sir Harry Vane! The Lord deliver 
me iirom Sir Harry Vane .'" Then he pointed 
out members one by one, and said this man 
was a drunkard, and that man a dissipated 
fellow, and that man a liar, and so on. Then 
he caused the Speaker to be walked oat 
of his chair, told the guard to clear the 
House, called the mace upon the table— 
which is a sign that the House is sitting — "a 
fool's bauble," and said, "Here, cany it 
away 1" Being obeyed in all these orders, he 
quietly locked the door, put the key in his 
pocket, walked back to Whitehall again, and , 
told his friends, who were still asscmbkd 
there, what he had done. , 

They formed a new Council of State after 
this extraordinary proceeding, and got a new j 
Parliament together in their own way : which > 
Oliver himself opened in a sort of sermon, and 
which he said was the beginning qf a peiiect 
heaven upon earth. In this parliaaicnt there 
sat a well-known leather-aeUer, vho had takaa 
the singular name of Pruae God BarebMiei^ 
and from whom it was called, for a jokc^ 
Barebones's Parliament, though its genenl 
name was the Little Parliament As it soon 
appeared that it was not going to put Oliver 
in the first place, it turned out to be not atiD 
like the beginning of heaven upon earth, and 
Oliver said it really was not to be borne with. 
So he cleared off that Parliament in much tht 
same way as he had disposed of the other; 
and then the council of officers decided that 
he must be made the supreme authority of 
the kingdom, under the title of the Lori 
Protector of the Commonwealth. 

So, on the sixteenth of December, one tho» 
sand six hundred and fifty-three, a great pM- 
ccs.sion was formed at Oliver's door, an'd bt 
came out in a black velvet suit and a hjg 
pair of boots, and got into his coach and went 
down to Westminster, attended by the judgMt 
and the lord mayor, and the aldermen, ui 
all the other great and wonderful pervomga 
of the country. There, in the Court of Clwt' 
eery, he publicly accepted the oGBce of Lori j; 
Protector. Then ho was sworn, and the CStf 
sword Was handed to him, and the seal «ai 
handed to him, and all the other things wot j 
handed to him which are usually handed I* | 
Rings and Queens on state occasions, and 
handed back again. When Oliver had bandel ^ 
them all back, he was quite made and oqb' | 
pictcly finished off as Lord Protector ; aid ' 
several of the Ironsides preached about il 
at great length, all the evening. 



Biu.n AiiD Biotmju, rriaton m4 SuraMjpMi, S) North WiillMi Slm^ N<w T«k. 



" Familiar in their Mouths aa UOUSEIIOLD WORDS:' 



--«•€« 4 AarBAiB. 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 

A WEEKLY JOURXAL 

CONDUCTED BY CHARL.ES DICKENS. 



Vol. VIII. 



McELRATH 4 BARKER. PUBLISHERS. 



WuQL* iVo. 187. 



I 



THE MODERN PRACTICE OF PHYSIC. 

KinEKOfs introductory lectures were <lc- 
liTcrcd in the vnriouii ho.tpitals of London 
on the first and third days of October, at the 
comniciicvine-nt of thu winter session. I h.nve 
bv«n reading them, and desire leave, as an 
apothecary of the norLd, to add one more 
lecture to the number. Prelections to the 
student let there ahvaja l>c Fill his mind 
with a sense of the duties he will tnko upon 
hiuiM'lf when he becomes pnictitioni-r of 
physic. But I am very strongly of opinion 
th»t there is an oration due also to the 
patients upon whom he i.s hereafter to prac- 
tise, and I ask penuifision fortlnvith lo ilia- 
chfirgc the debt 

Lndies and gentlemen, the Iccfttrc-rooms 
of the medical Kchuols in thLs metropolis are 
now HUed wilh younp men well or ill pre- 
p.ared for study ; hoficful or careless, sensible 
or Rilly; who will by very different paths 
ttJTivc at the privilege of bleeding, blistering 
or bandaging your persons, Rcsptctuble in- 
dividuals who are hereafter to select for 
themselves doctors from among these young 
men, will make their choice. Every one of 
them will, I have no doubt, take caro to 
place himself or herself in the hands of a 
respectable pructitioncr. ^Vhat does that 
mean ? Am / respectable, for instance ? 

My own secret opinion is that I am not. 
I attend a great many families who keep my 

Fnrsc in health while I keep them in physic, 
dress in black, wear itpertaclc.s, am rather 
baM, and keep a brougham ; but I am a 
humbug, if my conscience is not very much 
deceived. I could not help it, and I cannot 
alter it To make such a confession in my 
own name would be/elo de se, ami I have no 
right to do it Anonymously, however, I can 
venture to be candid. 

The truth is that I Icnow very little indeed 
A)>out my profession. As a student, at the 
opening of three successive sessions, I wai9 
warmed n little by my teachers into good 
designs of study ; but I was so foud of pleasure 
that I could accomplish very little indeed I 
hiid a youth's relish for fun, and a youth's 
disrelish for labour. Not that I was ab.so- 
lutely idle. I attended a very fair number of 
lectures, slurred over a good many "parts" 
in the dissecting room, went round with the 

Voi-VIIL-No. 18T 



physicians and the surgeons to the bedsides ; 
but I did not fix attention properly on any- 
thing or anybody that meant work. I was 
not by any means the idlest fellow at St 
Poultice's, and I do not think that there was 
any active harm in nic. I was quiet enough 
to be thought well of by the lecturei'h, and 
to be considered quite respectable, and better 
than an average St. Poultice roan, even in those 
days of initiation. It was often thought that 
I could cisily have taken honours in some 
classes had I tried for them. When the time 
carao for passing my c.vaminations at the 
Moll and College, I grew rather nervous; for 
I knew myself so well, as to be quite sure 
that my attainments would not bear a closo 
investigation. My ners'ousness was tempered 
bv a spring of hope arising from two sources : 
One was the knowledge that at the Col- 
lege of Surgeons the examination (which 
was only on two subjects) would last but for 
an hour ; during M'hicb I should be cut into 
four quarters and divided among four sets of 
exaniincrs, each of whom would have little 
civilities to say at starting, and might spend 
even as much, I trusted, as tivo minutes 
B-piece over them, in consideration of the 
fact that they all knew, and would think it 
polite to ask after, my father, 

At the Uall, my hope lay in the fact con- 
cerning (he examining apothecaries, that 
each of them was supposed to keep seta of 
cxatuination.s, got up by him as an actor gets 
up parts. Every such lino of business was 
known, and taught publicly to mo and to my 
fellow pupils during our hospital walking 
time l:>y certain gentlemen called grinders; 
who also kept duplicates of all the drug bottles 
exhibited in trays on the examination tables. 
They also in those days — I do not know how it 
may be now- — even contrived to get from 
Chelsea gardens, on the morning of examina- 
tion, duplicates of all the plants that had been 
sent down to Blackfriars on the previous eve- 
ning, to be named by candidates for the apo- 
thecaries' license. The Hall, therefore, could 
be passed after grinding for a few months 
without any prcviou.<} study. I ground at 
second-hand ; borrowing the notes and infor- 
mation gathered by a friend who was himself 
in attendance on u grinder. Yet I passed ; I 
went through the .Surgeons' with a flourish. 
In justice to the Apotbocaries X ohould ai^ 



170 



HOUSEHOLD -WORDS. 



that Uicy almost njcctcd me ; but tho scale 
tiii'iivd linally in my favour when T was asked 
the quantities of opium put into the several 
c<>ni])Ounds of tlic pharmacopcEia that con- 
(aiiu'd that drug. It was one of tho stock 
questions of the place, of which my friend 
hail written down the answer for me on the 
liiu'k of his visiting card. I ha(l nothing like 
an idea on the subject ; but I knew tho list 
by heart, and had it at that moment near my 
heart, for it was in my waistcoat pocket. So 
1 paKsed, and became licensed to practise. 

Immeiliately afterwards, I took charge of a 
l.'krge pauper Union. There was no time fur 
Itudy, and there never has been any since ; for 
I have prospered, and I should have had no 
heart fur study had I foiled. I look solid and 
oracular, deal to a judicious extent in jokes; 
which arc I find accepted best and repeated 
oftcncst as mine, when they arc not my 
own. I understand my patiocts' characters 
and humoura; althongh I do not understand 
their maladies so well as I could wish. Of 
course I take care not to let that ftct be sus- 
pected. Profound in tact, I give to no one 
reason for supposing that there can be any- 
thing l>etwcen consumption and nail-cutting, 
that I do not scientifically understand. I am 
considered to be especially able in respect to 
chest diseases ; and I use the stethoscope — by 
which I am supposed to hear the sounds that 
bi-tray physical order or disorder — with much 
(Ti-aoe and prnvity. I never yet hcani any- 
thing more than a general bumping, which I 
take to be produced by the patient's heart, 
and a crepitation which I believe to be 
causwl by the hairs of my wliiskers rubbing 
against the woovl. Nobo«iy knows that, how- 
oviT. .Ml that is known about ine is that I 
am, as before confesseil, a re.<pectable practi- 
tioner in the world's esteem, grave and a little 
laid, and that I keep a brougham. Ladies 
and gi>ntlemen, I may this very day have 
written out my fiat for six draughts for one 
of yon. Nevertheless, let no one tremble; 
for if it .<sho\ild be so, the clwnces are nine- 
tvvn to one that I have ordered vou a little 
h.innless elferx-csocnt, or a drauglit coloured 
with T. (."aril. (.\\, which is somethii\g inno- 
ci-nt and annnatio. I do not prescribe sa- 
vag»>ly. I live in fear of my own ignorance 
and do no active harm. 

Permit me now, ladies and gentlemen of 
the world, as an aj^othecary of the world, 
gravely to call your attention to the very 
larg* nuniWr of young men who have re- 
it-ntly be*n exhoiivtl on the subject of the 
studies upon which they enter, and the duties 
tlwy will l»ve to undemke. lietween thirty 
and seventy fK'sh youths enter every OoioKt 
at each hospital a"s recruits to the" rsr.ks of 
the MiHlieal annv. They believe thonisi'lvts 
to Ik' tfvminiitted to an honest cal'inc— as 
iiuievtl llicr* is none in the world honestcr or 
wiwthier of gvneral n-sivet— ;v» embark 0:1 a 
wide ocean of knowtetlg*. If ihey are :hem- 
■•Itm honest attd high-minded, they will do 



80 ; but, if they look at me and think much 
of my brougham, it may possibly come into 
their heads that it is not worth their while 
to venture very far to sea. The studies con- 
nected with the practice of medicine have so 
much in them of truth and vitality, of real 
and deep philosophy, that it is impossible for 
them not more or less to entai^, strengthen, 
and at the same time refine the mind. They 
produce, therefore, a body of men, even at 
this day, second to no other class in its col- 
lective dignity; but the profession is not 
what it ought to be. The dim shadow of thdr 
future careers — felt alike by the students and 
by their teachers, when introductoiy oratioDS 
open the campaign of study with allusions to 
the work that is before them — sends a touch 
of sadness to the mind of a pound, shilling; and 
pence surgeon like me. I am a sham mTsel( 
but I can respect what is genuine in othen; 
and I have very good reason to know that 
the profession would shine more than it does, 
if public ignorance did not eat into it like a 
rusL 

Is thit right, for example? An old lady 
came under my care who would have none a 
my physic. She had a prescription from Ike 
great Dr. Podgy, which she wished ae tt 
make up. She was absolutely in lore viik 
Dr. Podgy, and told me so much aboothil 
ways and manners, that I, in my compin- 
tivc humility and innocence, administered fix 
humbug he prescribed in stronger doM 
than gm>d tact would prompL Kcverthdea 
Dr. Podgy seemed not to have erred in Ibt 
low estimate he put upon the public under 
standing. He was the king of a provnod 
town; and, although he had written nothisf 
and had done nothing to obtain the sbadov 
of a name among his brethren who were q* 
lified to understand his meritn, he had eat 
of the most profitable medical practice! ii 
Europe. I doubt whether there was its t^ 
out of London. Very well. The invahakh 
prescription of Dr. Podgy (which consisted ii 
Epsom salts diffused in an infusion of naei^I 
made up several times. Some sudden mitiN 
of weakness caused the old lady to travel ■ 
one day to see the great man and ctarf 
with him once more. He told her he vo)" 
' add something strengthening to her Mdcrip 
I tii>n. He did so, and the learned recipe easi 
\ hack to me to be made up. Dr. Po<^i*' 
: solved to strengthen the old lady w:lli > 
little steel, and had accordingly added if 
sulphate of iron to the salts and the rs^ 
By so doing, in ignorance of a chemical t^ 
known even among druggist's boys, he ff* 
his pretty roses altogether, and caused V I 
mixture to look li'tce a bottle of bad int *: ! 
cannot t.^ke that filthy mess,** said ™.*fl!' 
lady. " You have made some mistake^* ^ I 
Podgy Cv-'uld rot be wrong and die la^ ' 1 
moT« to do with me : I was summarilj 'j I 
misseiL Now. dvvs it speak well for the Pj* I 
sense ef the pubHo. when it is stated^! 
, to this Dr. Podgy there hare been dccx^ | 



Ckart* IlHkaM.1 



THE MODERN PRACTICE OP PHYSIO. 



171 



in hia own ton-n, the honours of a public 
statue? At the same time I know a dozen, 
und the world could reckon up more than 
a hundred physicians who are niun of 
Bcience, who are incorporating thtir names 
with the history of their art, and who, for 
want of a duo practical recognition of their 
merits by the doctor-needing public, are 
doomed for the term of their natural liii'es 
to cat cold mutton and wear rusty clothes. 

Ladies and gentlemen, you certainly will 
benefit yourselves if, when 3'ou select yoiir 
own attendants froui the coming race of 
medical practitioners, you look less than your 
forefathers have looked to tact and exterior 
manner, and institute a strict search after 
skill and merit Attend, I entreat you, less to 
the recommendatioas of your nurses and your 
neighbours, and prefer rather physicians 
who have obtained honour among men really 
quaJifted to pass a verdict upon their attain- 
ments. Now, if a man labours much in his 
profession with his head at homo when he 
ought to bo dining out and winning good 
opinion.-; '■•• '■'- ""-''"lity and by the geni- 
ality ol' •' deportment, ho is 

couiinutilj. - ^ .i theorist, and left to 

eat the covers of bis hooks, or to nibble his 
pen. Most of the really first-rate medical 
practitioners indeed who have obtained large 
pracliceti, had manner as well as matter in 
them, tact as well as talent. 

There may be some justice in this disposi- 
tion of things •, but, that the use of a httle wise 
dianiiitination by the public in the choice of 
medical uticndanLs, would stimulate the 
students more than all the introductory ora- 
tions that were ever spoken, and, in due time, 
e.\alt the whole profession — strengthening 
very much its power to do good — 1 think 1 
can make evident 

When I hinted at alittlc sadness that accom- 
panied the thought of the respective futures 
of tho students now at work in all our 
hospitals, a retrospect lay at the bottom of 
my mind. I can go back to my own student 
times ""'^ rccal the groups that sat about 
mo in the lecture-room. Enough lime hns 
elapsed to let me see, in very many cases, 
how they have been dealt with by the world. 
I do not know whether it is everywhere so, 
but at St Poultice's there is, or used to be, a 
spirit of fellowship abroad. There is a band 
of us alive, Drmly believing that St Poultice's 
never had so good a set of men studying 
together as there were in our titnc. So wc, 
who were "respectable" there, think of each 
other, ignoring the tag-rag which belongs to 
every other and all other ti:uc. I supjiose 
that students of each year grow up in tho 
satisfaction of the same persuasion. Never 
mind that One consequence of this fellow 
feeling is, that we who are at work (or 
playj together look and inquire much after 
one another. If I meet Brown he knows 
where Thompson i.-s, and must tell nie how 
Thompson is getting on. I, having seen 



Jenkins lately, tell all I know of hint Every 
one of US « a repertory of the histories of 
nearly all his old companions at St Poultice's. 
So complete is our feeling in this way, that 
I was stopped in the road by a gentleman 
the other day. " Your name," he said, " ia 
Point" 

" Yes," I replied ; " and yours, I think, is 
Comma." 1 didn't know him at all, but 
guessed at hazard that he must be some 
SL Poultice man. 

" No," he said, " I'm Colon. What are you 
doing'/ How are you getting on?" Wo 
exchanged questions and cards and shall 
vi.sit ; but I am confident that when we were 
at hospital together we never exchanged two 
words. Wo were not acquaintancis nt all ; 
merely in fact seeing each other tlicrc occa- 
sionally. 

Now, I will relate fairly and truly a few 
cases of the after careers of Bomc of the stu- 
dents I knew best There was Pump.son to 
begin with, a fine manly broad-che.«ted fellow, 
who worked like a steam-engine ; but kept 
his work oiled so pleasantly that there was 
no creak, puff, pant, or sign of labour to be 
detected in hira. To see him with his tails 
up before the library fire, chattering plea- 
santly, you would suppose that he was a 
man who scorned to fag. lie liked a game 
«t billiiirds; he was a leading nicniber of 
our bojit club ; ho was a leading man in 
half a dozen odd things that smelt mther 
of tho flower.^ than tho fruits of student 
life ; but there was not one among us really 
working so earnestly as Pumpsoii. He was 
quick in acquisition of all kinds of know- 
ledge, and ho had a taste fur everything hitel- 
lectual and pleasant ; but lie toiled so tho- 
roughly in his own quiet way — burning 1 do 
not know how many pints of oil per month in 
his own room — that he carried away the cream 
of all the honours for which we were ex- 
pected to compete. Finally, ho attracted 
the attention of our great authorities so much, 
that a good foreign appointment was offered to 
him at the close of his student career. lie 
declined it as l>eneath tlie aim of his ambition, 
and went off, a highly trained physician, to 
create a practice in a large provincial town. 

I spent a week lately in Pumpson's town, 
and found our old friend prosperous enough. 
lie has a wife and children about him, and he 
lives in a good house in bis old pleasant way; 
for he has private means. Moreover, there is 
nobody in the said town of Feverlon more 
widely known. Pumpson is every public 
body's secretary ; tho foremost man in every 
scientific coterie ; great at the chess club ; great 
as a lecturer at the local medical school ; great 
in private circles. Nevertheless, if Pumpson 
had no private means ho wotild bo thread- 
bare. His revelations, in reply to Ihe " How 
are you getting on V question, gave me to 
iinderstatid that his professional gains would 
not make hira liable for income lax. Smith 
and Jone^ members of the Fcvcrtoa public^ 



I 



I 



HOUSEHOLD WOROa 



I 



I 



BCTerflliy oflercd to tell me in confldcntial 
chat ovi-r their tables, who was the rising roan 
of the locality. 

" Whoisit?" laskfd. 

" Why," tbcy said, " Putnpson. Wonder- 
fully able tnnn." 

"" Docs he attend your fomily t" I asked of 
Mr. Smith. 

" Why no," he replied, " when T want a 
physician I always call in Dr. Droney. I 
am rattiiT nfraid, to t*;!! you the truth, of 
Puinpson's clcTemcss. lie might be wishing 
to trv some new remedies upon me. I mther 
dread a 6<.-icntitlc man, because he is bo liable 
to make experiments." 

Pumpson begnn life with money and talent : 
Bilchcr had neither. In ponre respects 
Pump.ion and Bilcher at St. Poultice's con- 
tra.<itod greatly with each other. Pumpson 
was ahvays well and neatly dres.wd : Bilcher 
\n» always shabby and awkward. Pumpson 
had a remarkably wide ranpe of ideas : Bilchcr 
a peculiarly narrow one. Pumpson leflmcd n 
gre.'tt de.ll with no show of working: Bilcher 
picked up very little, althoug;h he was always 
to be .seen grubbing lor knowledge. All his 
spare time Bilchcr spent in the disj;erllnp 
room ; and, as he was not fond of soup and 
water, it was not the pleasantest accident 
that could befal one of us in the day to hare 
to shake hnndu with Bilcher. He was an 
amiable fellow, rery much liked ; but you 
would have fyiid that he was allopether too 
slow to pel forward in a busy world. tViit of 
his profe8.«ion he had no ideas ; and in it, 
although he worked for them very hard, he 
never could pet any students' honours. 
Bilcher in doe time passed ; and eleclritleii us 
all immediately afterwards by marryinp; a 
flishionable widow with a thousand a ye&r. 
She was twenty years his senior, and made 
him father to a young lady of his own age. 
After that Bilcher cleaned himself and clothed 
his neck in a white napkin very thick with 
starch. Bilcher then grravcly contemplated 
the world from the top of his collar, and the 
world looked up tn htm. Bilcher has now an 
extensive practice. He keeps two carringcs, 
and l>oasts to ua of ducheeses whom he 
attends. 

In the conntdcrable town of Shrcdby, Porson 
IB established as physician : a man of filrict 
religious principle whom, ns a medical student, 
I respected preally, and whom I Ktill no less 
respect. We were not very intimate, V'tause 
he wa."! not fond of amusement, and I was. 
Porson studied seriously, and learned his 
profession in a fjuiet conscientious way. He 
showed no abilities. The reward of all his 
industry as a student was one Third Cer- 
tificate of merit, which ho obtained in a 
class when there happened to be only three 
men who competed for its honours. Being 
in Shrcdby recently I met Porson, who 
invited me to tea, and gave me muffins. I 
found bim living on his profession very com- 
fortably ; then in mature life and about to 



marry. lie told mc solemnly (T never saw 
him laugh, a.^ youth or man) that ho waa 
doing very wlIL His Third Certificate hung, 
framed and glaxed, over the chairs in his 
consulting-room. I found by inquiries in the 
town that he was a very thriving man ; for, 
being conscientionsly diligent in his attend- 
ance on the Independent Chapel — he wa* an 
Independent — the whole Independent body 
looked upon him as the fittest man to give 
advice to them upon their (leshly ailments. 

Partleby is another of our old set at St 
Poultice's. He was, and still is, not ten 
deeply imbued than Porson with relieioua 
principle and feeling; but he was at leftst 
ten times more clever. Partleby had a taste 
for literature ; read EngliHh, FVench, and 
German authors ; wrote verses that were 
almost poedcal ; but he was not less atten- 
tive to his studies. He was a conscien- 
tious working student, distinpuishe*! himself 
in two or three cla-sscs, and liked his pro- 
fession. He was a perfect gentleman in miod 
and manners when he went into the world, • 
well trained surgeon and an ncroniplisfaKKl 
man. But he stands only tlvc fuct 
.shoes; looks small in a ro<"" •• 
thoughts of his own; says •- 
for which people arc not pat'j , . ., .,.i.au86 
they do not understand tlicm, and are there- 
fore annoyed with him. He is thence con- 
sidered odd ; and having bought a practice 
worked at it with the mo.«t unremitting 
application ; married on it, and at last found 
that it would not keep his children. Par- 
tleby then bought a partnership with a man 
whose religious feeling pleased him. The 
man pro^-ed to be a rnguo in saint's clothing. 
Partleby was cheated of the iiri>llts due to 
him ; and at the end of the tcnn of yoaiv 
for which the partnership had been made, 
the false saint — an incompetent practitioner 
— carried off all the patients, Partleby WM 
thus left, after twenty years of work, rerj 
much where he was when he began the 
world. His practice now consists of fire 
small fiimilies, who cannot be at all timet 
ailing. The energies of Partleby arc broken 
down. If ho had not belonged to a famdy 
able to keep his bark afloat for him, he 
would have sunk years ago, and would by this 
time have died. If ho had not a n-ligious 
mind and a clear con.science, he would have 
been throuphout his career very wretched. 

Hurdle, another of our set, prospers and 
deserves prosperity ; but what prico has ho 
paid for it ? Possessed of n fine intellect ho 
vowed it all to his profession ; worked in- 
tensely, r.nd had not been half-a-<lozen years 
in the world before he had achieved, by 
original research, an European reputa- 
tion. Some 3-enr8 ago I congratulated him 
on his prosperity. " You have got on well, 
Biirrlle," I .said ; " and if ever a man earned 
Ilia prosperity ynn hsve." 

" No," he replied, *• I have not got on. It 
is s question between science and pudding. 









1 



I 




I' great-minded enough to remain 
0ie lovo of my profesHion ; eo I 
ifi up my mind to leave oS* cuiti- 
|| and cullJratc ihc public." Burdle 
^ Ittreatened, nfid is growing rich. 
I true in lii.s cnae ttutt tlie patients 
^ne to htm, Lare gone to a most 
i &nd ftble man, wliose knowleflge 
Ubair floafldenco. It is not, bon-- 
piat rM80D that be prospers; ho 
t restraint on himself and thrown 
jOver the light that was in him. 
f in foot, to be rich in spito of all 
rand attaimDcnlSk 

I not the whole case that I, as an 
^of the world, wish ti:) lay before 
land gentlemen, but there is here 
iough of iL Some men there are, 
In them a spark of that high cner^ 
Uiey are enabled not only to ment 
ii to secure also the attainment of 
I deserts. That energy belongs to 

rl have no fkillt at all in obscure 
But the great masa of a profu^- 
I not cotisiiit of men gifted with 
Iry povTcrs; and, in the discrimi- 
ireen ita rcspeclivo member.^ — 
Sf medical men certainly — 
' CB are madu by the public 
my intention to be roctaphy- 
rn my wit to be too shallow 
,$ny one to dive at all deeply 
kuues of these fiicts that I have 
|l I only state tticm and affirm 
i I think I can affirm also that a 
{ of these tilings is acquired very 
pT Btudcntf^ of Medicine, if they do 
[▼ery out*iet bring it with them to 
lla. I believe, also, that the errors 
blic, when the students arc trans- 
b pracUtioniTn, tend in the highest 
loduce young and struggling men 
tone of fueling or a line of conduct 
r much at odds with the spirit of 
kical and liberal profession. I think 

Could be more study among pu|)ilK, 
t deal less that is disreput:tltlu 
practices of surgeons and physi- 
all knew that the public look 
\ 10 judge us on our own respective 

I gentlemen and ladies must not 
eirca the whole art of healing 
iphlet or a handbill, and then 
' attended by that person among 
ock of knowledge seems to be 
level to the contents of such a 
I Neither must wc bo chosen for 
fed merit in our coats, our carriages, 
k If Smith has a greyer head, and 
flicker skull than mine, let not his 
|m a start in the race with me for 
Jencc. I cannot underttkke to tell 
/ people ought to nsc, in regard 
ludgment they possess; ncverthc- 
, that, on the whole, they could da 
tliey now do, if they tried. 1 



may be lecturing to the winda, or I may not 
Should, however, any amendment take place 
in the public understanding of the respective 
merits of practitioners, I shall not fail to 
become aware of iL For I am afraid that it 
will cause me to put down my brougham. 

THE EVE OP A JOURNEY. 

A RESPECTABLY drciwed middle-aged woman 
sat in the window-seat in the fine old hall 
of Chedbury Castle. There was nothing 
remarkable in her appearance, except a look 
of settled yet patient anxiety, which deepened, 
as the short October's day drtw near to its 
close and broad slanting sunset gleams and 
shadows stole acro.s.s the quiet little shrubbery 
and grass plot, upon vrhich she looked out 
fixedly. The servants, after having made her 
the offer of refreshment — whi<'h she declined 
— came and went upon their variou.s errands, 
witlioiit auy apparent consciousness of her 
pn'8<nce. And this was an occasion upon 
whioh a personage of higher note might very 
e.'Lsily have been overlooked: one of those 
times of general bustle, preparation, and de- 
lightful confui^ion, when everybody seems to 
be busy helping somebody else ; ond the 
bonds of discipline undergo a not unpleasing 
relaxation. The family were going abroad. 

Two or three men servants, under tho 
direction of an elderly duonna — with respecta- 
bility imprinted on every wrinkle of her 
counfennnce and rustling out of every fold 
of her black silk drcsiS — were busily cording, 
trunks and portmanteau.'!. She stood over 
thwn proud, pleased, and important; for she 
veui une of the travelling jiarty ; my young 
lady's own wan3."»n, who had waited upon her 
from her childhood. She looked upon her 
own trunk coiuiilacently ; for it can-ied her 
fortune ; and, had she ever heard of Ctt^»ar, 
she could have made a very apt quotation. 
As it was, she unbent in a Utile stately chat 
with a man who wore, like herself, the aspect 
of an old, privileged retainer. 

" Well, Mi's. Jenkyn," he remarked, " T can- 
not hut .'uiy that I wish you were well across 
the seas und back again, to tell us all that you 
have met with among the .Nfounsccrs — for I 
reckon you will come back to Chedbury, and 
BO perhaps will my lord, and so will Mrs. 
Moreton; but as to our young lady, we 
shall have seen the last of her when she leaves 
the Park gates behind her to-morrow. There 
are not so many like her, from all I've heard 
of foreign parta ; so good and so pretty ; with 
so many acres at her back, that they'll let 
her away from among them so ciusily. Take 
my word for it, some prince of the blood, or 
duke at the very least — for where jouVo 
going they're as thick a,s blackberries at .Mar- 
tinmas — will take and marry her, whether 
she likes it or not Besides," he added, 
sinking his voice into a confidential whisper, 
" old storics'll bo left on this side of the salt 
water. They won't cross it after her." 



f= 



I 



I 



« 



17+ 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



I 



\k 



The stranger in the w»nilow-8e»t started 
with « quick, ancflsy movciiK-nt 

" This niflc or the other side," returned 
Sirs. Jenkjn. " It's not for them that eat the 
Fninil^'s bread to be raking up what's pa^t 
and gone and out of people's minds. And 
iifforc strangers too," siie addt-d with a side 
glance in tlic direction of the window-.scat 

" You're aiw^ays so touchy, Mrs. Jcnkj'n," 
rtlurned fbe old man, speaking, however, in 
a subtuissivc tone, "just as if nobody cared 
about the family but yourself. And what's 
tlie use of minding the woman who's sat there 
four mortal hours, and never stirred or 
spokfn ? She's either deaf or stupid." 

" I'm not 80 sure of that," replied the 
di.<creet Mrs. JenWyn ; and, at this moment 
the woman as if to justify the old lady's 
ohnervation, roused herself from her deep 
pre-occupHtion, aiid Kaid abruptly : " Will 
any one tnk«.' a second message from me to 
SIr.s. More ton ? I have come many miles 
to speak with her. It is now pettrnt; late, 
and 1 want to be upon iny way home. 

Mr.t Jenkyn answered her very civilly : 
" I will pi and carry your message. It is 
very netdnrn that Mrs. Moreton keeps any 
one waitiug; but I suppose," she added, 
smilinj, "nothing goes quite straight at a 
lime like this," 

At that moment a bell rang. It was Mrs. 
Xloretnn's bcdl — she wished to see the person 
who h.vl been waiting so long. 

" Here, William," said Mrs. Jenkyn, " show 
this pood woman into the stone parlour. 
Mrs. Moreton will speak to her there ; and, 
Ma'am," she added, good-naturedly, " you 
c.in t'lkc a look at the pictures on the grand 
staircase as you pa.ss the foot of it." 

The gossiping old man, as thoy wont 
along, had many things to point out to iiis 
silent, sti'adffcji-looking companion. lie left 
her, however, at the turning of one of the 
long passages to run back to the servants' 
hall with a hound which had stealthily 
strayed into forbidden precincts. Bciweon 
this spot and the stone parlour there were 
several intricate windings, and he expected 
to find the woman standing exactly where he 
left her. Without his guidance, however, 
she had preceded him to tlie door of the 
stone parlour; and waited for him, with 
a look of abstraction as fixed as if her feet 
had brought her to that threshold of their 
own accord. 

"So, Mistress," exclaimed the old man, 
" you are not quite so much of a stranger in 
tliis lirm«c as I thought." 

lie hint on her a look of keen scrutiny. 
She was too little con.scious to be embarraRj?cd 
by it, and replied quietly, "I have been here 
before." 

While this little scene was being acted 
below stairs, Mrs. Moreton — half governes.s, 
half friend to llie heiress — wna seated with 
her young pupil in the p'cat drawing-room. 



They ton had beon very busy. This splendid 
apartment .showed marks of disarrangement 
The elder lady was immcr.sed in accniints ; 
(he younger one had placed a ' 
within the embrasure of the deep ohl i 

window, so as to give her drawing — upon 
which she was very intent — the full benefit 
of the already declining daylight She was 
about fifteen ; fair, and ingenuous-looking ; 
of slender figure, with mild, almost melancholy 
brown eyes, 

" I think I shall have time to finish this," 
shi? said musingly ; " it will please jvapa 
when he comes home this evening, will it not, 
dear Mrs. Moreton ?" 

"My lord will think that you have made 
great progress," replied that lady, witlioui 
lifting her eyes from a very long lino of 
figures. 

" I do think it is like old Chedhuiy— like 
enough, at any rate, to reminil us of th« 
place when we itre away. Although, aflw 
alt, then ; ' _■ hero' that 1 shall much 

miss. Y j.aand good old Jvnkrn 

are all gcinR «uri me; and uho flsc i.-. tlun* 
in the world whom I ran- al.dut ! ^ -t," 
she went on, thinking aloud, " if 1 ha'l s<mii«'t 
one to leave behind; some young com panioris^ 
who would miss me and talk about me wlK-n 
I am far away, I think I should be happivr. 
I sometimes think it very strangv" — she 
looked up at Mrs. Moreton — "Hint tny father 
has never allowetl me to make «ny friends 
of my own age. But, of course," she added, 
after a pause, ''he cannot be expected to 
enter into all that a girl feels. IIow ditfercnt 
everything would have been if mv mother 
had "lived:" 

Without making her i)Upit any wunrcr, 
Mrs. Moreton startc<l up with a Buddcn 
exclamation, and ran to the bell. " U it 
possible," she said, self-reproachfully, '• Uul 
nil this time I have forgotten the poor woman 
who asked to speak to mc four hours agoT' 

Mrs. Moretoii entered the stono parloor 
with some kind words of apolocy; and seated 
herself in her accustomed chair, prepared 
to lend her best atti'ntion to the visitor. 
But the woman — is she the same who sat 
out those four hours so patiently in the 
window-scat ; who followed the old servant 
through the long passage with such a face 
of blank unqucstioriing apathy ? Her look 
of settled prc-occupation had dropped from 
her face like a mn.sk; yet her real features, 
now revealed, wore a scarcely less fixed ex- 
pression. Every lino quivered with agita- 
tion ; yet her eyes, through it all, were never 
removed from Mrs. Moreton's face. She 
held to the table for support She trembled 
in every limb; not from timidity: but from 
anxiety ; eafrcrness. Her soul w.is pithercd 
up into her face. 

Mr.s. Moreton did not parttculsrly obgcrve 
her. Her thoughts were still at work with 
the business of to-day and to-morrow. *' Well, 




THE EVE OP A JOURNEY. 



176 



I 



inj good woman," she said mechanically, by 
way or opcniitg tlie case, ns slie opened all 
CASi'd that came before her in thnt stone 
|urloiir, HA tlie delegated Lady Bountiful of 
Cliedhiiry. " What can I do for you !" 

Tbci'c was no njoinder. 

" My titiiu, to-day," she went on, in the same 
gentle yet rather magisterial tone, " happens 
to be rather valuable." 

" I am sorry," replied the stranger, " to 
have to trespa«H upon it" Mrs, Moreton, 
.struck by something peculiar in the woman'.s 
tone, looked up; for the first time became 
conscious of those eye* — earnest, imploring, 
.sad with an unxpokcn history — that wtre 
faiitened upon her oivn, and said, with much 
less of state and more of gentleness than she 
had yet uliown, " You seem to be in some 
trouble. Can I do anything to help you?" 

" You can — you, and no one else in this 
world can." 

"T? — surely we have never met before," 
replied Mrs. i[orcton, feeling by the woman's 
Ijinncr that here was no case of evcrj'-day 
Appeal for charity. " Pray tell me your 
name." 

Tlie womaa was E^ilent, and her lips seemed 
, to b« sliphily convulst-d. At length, with a 
violent effort to conceal a strong emotion, she 
answered, " It is one that you have heard — 
it is, or NvsR, for I now bear it no longer, 
E irjvlH'th Garton." 

Mrs. Moreton's face had been lighted up 
with a kindly interest ; but a shade, like the 
sijilden fulling of a curtain, now dropped 
ncruss it, and shut out the sympathy she ha<i 
begun to manifest She rose, and said coldly, 
"In that ca.so I am not aware of any matter 
in which I am likely to be able to wrve you. 
I must refer you to Mr, Andrewi», my lord's 
Agent ; ho being the person with whom it 
will probably be most fitting for you to 
communicate," She then moved towards the 
door ; but her cflfort to leave the room was 
vain. The visitor, like the old mariner in 
the weini story, held her with her eye. 
Ucforo she could reach the door she tried 
to pass t. lis strange, sac! woman, and couM not. 
"Listen to me, madam, " cxcluimed the 
visitor, " and then you will not mistake my 
errand. It is not Lord Chedhurv ; not his 
agent ; not anything either of them could 
give roe, if it were this gre.-^t house itself, 
that I want. It is you — )'ou onlj', that can 
help mc, and you will help mo — 3-oii mimt." 
She spoke these words almost authorita- 
tively ; yet, checking herself, went on in a 
tone of deep and touching submission. " You 
are a go<>d larly, Mrs. Moreton ; you have 
ever)- one's go<id word. You will not make 
yourself hard against the supplicalinn of a 
Tiroken heart — God himself has promised to 
listen to it." 

Mrs. Moreton trembled. She was indeed 
a woman of this workl, but with much 
tenderne«a and large sympathie-s. " I do not 
feci harshly to«-ard8 you — forgive me if I 



appeared harsh — but your coming here look 
me by surpri.'^e. Lord Chedbury's orders are 
exceedingly strict respecting you ; and I 
understood that you were .settled comfortably 
in your own station in life, far above any 
kind of want." 

" I atn settled comfortably," returned the 
woman ; " above wint — above my hopes. I 
have a kind husband, a home, and children. 
Evury one is good to mc. No one casts up 
my fault to me. No one, I think, re- 
members it now, cxcqit myself, when, upon 
my knees, T ask God to forgive me that, and 
nil" my other sins. That I hail ever known 
Chedbtiry, or seen Lord Robert — he was 
Lord Robert then — would have sunk into the 
past long before this, like n dream — ex- 
cept for one thing — O ! Mrs. Moreton, my 
daughter! Her, too, I had put from mc, as 
much as a mother can. forget her child ; but 
since T heard you were nil going beyond 
seas — perhaps forever — I know not what it 
\is that has conio over me ; something that 
will not let me rest, day nor night — it is a 
fire in my heart. Have pity upon mc. I do 
not ask to speak to her — not to say nor to 
hear one word. She need not know that it 
is her mother — need not know that there is 
such a person in the whole world. All I a.sk 
is to sec her — only to see her — my daughter, 
only to sec my daughter." 

Mrs. Moreton was deeply agitated. " It is 
impo.ssible, and it Ls cruel in you," she said, 
"to n.«k it— cruel to yourself, cruel to mc, 
trusted as I am by Lord t'hedbury ; cruel, 
most of all, to her. You know under what 
strict conditions his lordship brought home 
his daughter, so soon as the death of the old 
lord, his father, made this house his own. 
You know, too, that these conditions, hard 
ns thry might <eem, were dictated by no per- 
son.'d unkiiidness towards yourself; but grew 
out of your daughter's altered position, and 
a sense of what is due to the station she 
will one day occupy. She has been trained 
carefully in all the ideas that beflt a young 
gentlewoman of rank. She has as yet seen 
link' of the world, and knows nothing of 
its evil. She left you at three years old 
not more innocent than she still is. now." 
Mrs. Moreton pnused a moment and wont 
on with emotion, "That opening life — tha* 
youn? unsullied mind, what should I — what 
would you — liave to answer for if wc darkened 
it bv a shadow of bygone misery and evil in 
which she had no share ? She has been 
taught to believe her mother dead. My poor 
woman," she went on solemnly, " you must be 
dead to her. .•\ day will come, not in this world, 
when you may claim her for your own." 

"I must see my child now, that I may 
know her in Heaven," exclaimed the woman 
wildlv. "T must see her, that she nuiy 
comfort me in my thouglits. and be near 
mo in my dreams. Ho you," she exclaimed, 
."jucldcnly, " who talk to me co wisely, 
know what I. the mother of a first-bom child. 



i 



I 



i 



^1 



176 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



am talking about! Did jon ever feel a 
child's anns dinging round your neck, and 
find the littlo being growing to jou day 
b}' day as nothing else can grow ; loving you 
—whether yoD are the best woman in the 
world or the worst — as nothing el.sc will 
ever lore you ; not even itself when it 
p-ows older, and other tMogs come between 
its little heart and yours!" 

Mrs. Morcton returned to her chur, sank 
into it, and wept The stranger saw her ad- 
vantage. She flung herself on her knees 
before Mrs. Moreton. She kissed the hands 
in which she believed the balance of her 
fate to be trembling. She kissed her very 
gown, and covered it with tears. 

Mrs. Moreton, withdrawn within in severe 
colloquy with herself, was scarcely conscious 
of these passionate demonstrations. It was 
her heart she communed with ; bearing on it, 
although a little dimmed by constant attri- 
tion with the world, a higher image than that 
with which ■ somewhat rigid thnJdom to con- 
vention had impressed her outward aspect 

There was a pause of a few moments. 

" Even if I am doing right in this" — so she 
reasoned with herself— "the world will blame 
mc. Yet, if I am doing wrong, God will 
fiir<rive me." She rose from her chair. " Get 
np," she snid, " my poor woman. You shall 
see j-our daughter. But you must first make 
me one solemn promise. I am trusting you 
very deeply ; can you trust yourself?" 

The woman made a gesture of passionate 
asseveration ; for at that moment she could 
not speak. 

" Swp.ir then," said Mrs. Moreton, " swear 
that you will be tnie to yourself and to me ; 
tlunt you will pass throngh the room in which 
she is sitting without either word or look that 
can betray you." 

She rang'the bell. " Send Mrs. Jenkyn to 
me." 

" Jenkyn," she said, when the confidential 
servant appeared, " this good woman's busi- 
ness with me is over ; but, as she comes 
from a di.-^tancc, I should like her to sec 
something of the house before she leaves. 
You can show her over the principal rooms ; 
as much as there is time for before dark." 

".\nd the great drawing-room, Ma'am?" 
insinuated Mrs. Jenkyn. 

" Certainly ; it will not disturb your young 
lailv in tho Ic.ist." 

It was rather an extensive orbit that the 
two had to traverse ; and the old house- 
keeper, who had revolved in it so many 
years, movc<1 so slowly — at least, so it seemed 
to her companion — ^from point to point, from 
picture to picture, that, by the time they 
reached the great drawing-room, the sun- 
light had almost faded from it 

Almost ; for there was still a strong slanting 
golden beam, that played and flickerctl about 
the picture-franies, and glanced to and fro 
upon the white and gold of the heavy, carved 
inn-ehairs — a few moments, and it would be 



gone. The girl — who, sitting in the window, 
rejoiced in this after-thought of the san, 
which gave her a little more time to finish 
her drawing — did not know how lovelr it 
made her; kissing her innocent young (ore- 
head, and resting, like a benediction, upon 
her smooth, shining hair. She went on 
quietly with her sketch : Mrs. Moreton (who 
had returned to see that faith was kept) per- 
severed with her accounts. Mrs. Jenkyn and 
the woman walked round the room very 
slowly. 'When they reached the door that 
led into an inner apartment, Mrs. Jenkyn, 
with her hand upon the lock, said, " And toil 
used to be the favourite sitting-room of mj 
lady, my lord's mother." 

She held the door open ; bat her com- 
panion still lingered. 

Mrs. Morcton looked np fVom her accounts 
and said impressively, " I think you have now 
seen all in this room, and Mrs. Jenkyn hu 
more to show vou in the others." 

" But why,'' said the young lady, speaking 
for the first time, but without loolung op 
from her occupation, " should the good 
woman be hurried away until she has seen 
as much as she wishes t Pray ifaty," she aril, 
with a sort of careless swectnew, stU iridi- 
out looking up, " as long as you can ibid anf- 
thing to amuse you. You do not fstmk 
us in the least." 

Almost while she spoke, she suddenly km 
and flitted about the room from table ts 
table, in senreh of something needed fbr bcr 
drawing. She soon found it ; but once, befoit 
she returned to her .seat, she passed close to the 
woman ; so close that her silk dress milM 
against the homely duffle cloak : mother tai 
daughter really so near— conventionally M 
distant — ^with a world between them ! 

ifrs. Jenkyn's fingers were again apos tti 
door handle ; and the concluding part of ker 
often-told narrative was upon her up& TitJ 
had still the state bedroom to see, and (kef 
passed into the boudoir. 

" And this," she went on, " was my Wfi 
favourite aftartment It used in her day to 
bo called the blue drawing-room, because — 
But you are tired," she said, remarUng tW 
her companion's attention wandered. 

" Yes — no," said the visitor incoherniflT; 
" I must go Ittck. I have forgotten soinetlnif 
in the next room." 

She did go back. She turned the hsndkif 
the great folding door ; but, before she eorii 
pu.<ih it open, she was met by a hesiy Tcirt- 
ance from within. In the Kslf-opened sfto 
stood Mrs. Moreton, confivnting her with I 
stem admonitory whisper — "Woman! «• 
yon mad or wicked ?" 

The mother stood arrested — guilty. &> 
turned to follow the housekeeper ; but tbo* 
was an anguish at her heart that could B>t 
be controlled." 

"Hark:" exclaimed the young lady, b» 
pencil falling from her flngvni, and she bttf 
ing pale as death, " what is that!*' 



>a.k«SU«M.] 



CAUGHT IN A TYPHOON. 



m 



Mrs. Morcton Bhuddrred A cry, piercing 
ind innrticuUte like that of a dumb creature 
hi ngony, burst from the inner room. 

Thvy rushed togi'thcr into tlie baiicloir. 
*' It was the poor woman, Indic^" said t)ic 
housekeeper, anxiously. " I foar hUl- U very 
sU : it has come upon hiT quite ofn suddon." 

She was standing up in the raiddlu of the 
room, rigid iis if her feet had grown info the 
inlaid boanJs. Her eyes were glassy, and iicr 
mouth WA8 draten a little to one side. 

" Run, JenkjTi," exclaiincd the young Indy, 
"for wine, or whatever is most necessary. 
We will attend to her." 

She took the poor woman by (he arm ; she 
Irew her into a chair; she bent over her; 
she ruWx'd her cold hands in her own. When 
the wine was brought, she raised the glois to 
the patient's lips; and, while she did bo, the 
suffcri'r's brealli came and went thickly, with 
i hard stifling effort She felt that kind 
younn; heart beating against her own. Who 
can tell — who but the Gircr of all conso- 
lation — whflt balm there was in that one 
moment; what deep, unspoken coramnnion ; 
wh:it healing for a life-long wound? Hut the 
tDolher k«pt silence eren from goo<I word.s. 
Only, while the young lady was so tenderly 
busying herself about her, she took hold, tm 
it were unconsciously, of one of the fold.s of 
'ler dress — she stroked it with her hand — she 
SBnoothwl it down, as if pleased with ils soft- 
ness ; and, so long as she dared to bold it she 
did not let it go. 

It was almost dark. The young lady stood 
at the window of the great drawing-room, 
looking after a solitary slowly-retreating 
figure, still ilistinctly visible, in spite of the 
grey dusk spreading like a veil over lawn and 
lake and ganlen; through which the distant 
mausMJeuin loomed dimly aboTP the woo'is. 

" The poor woman !"' she said, softly ; " she 
19 not fit to travel home alone ; yet she would 
neither consent to stay all night, as I wished, 
nor let oM William drive her — strange, was 
it not, .Mrs. Morcton?" 

But Mrs. Moreton had left the room. The 
young heiress still looked out upon the 
sccnirs she was so soon to leave, as her 
<lc*tiny had decreed, for ever. She mused 
on »ho knew not what Her heart was 
stirr»<I^-an invisible touch had been upon 
it. She l«aned her head pensive!}' against 
the window, while many thoughts, as vague 
OS the dhadows that were so thickly full- 
ing round her, chased each other rapidly 
thmij^h her fancy. Many visions gathered 
round her ; but among them there was no 

Ert'wge of the coronet that afterwards spanned 
er brow — the coronet of the princely yet 
pwMBnt-desccnded house of Sforzj*. Still she 
watched the retreating figure, until it was 
lo-st in the deepening darkness; and v.'hen 
jihc did turn from the window, she heaved a 
deoji and pitying sigh. 

f jer sadness suited the hour of twilight, and 



it passed with it She knew not, nor did sho 
ever know, who bad that day been so near to 
her. 

CAUGHT IX A TYPHOON. 

Tire ship Futt^Iomban-ac was a beautiful 
vessel of elevcfl|undie>l and seventy-four 
tons register. After loading with Chinese 
light goods, we .'iailed frotn Macao for Bom- 
bay by way of Singapore on the twentieth 
of September, with a fine fair wind, and 
every prospect of an easy voyage. 

When night came on the ship had made con 
sidcrabte progress. The night was lovely, and 
the stars appeared so near that, altiiough 
fantastic, it seemed natural to fiincy that 
a sweep of the tall masts might bring 
some of them down. I paced the deck ; 
and, noticing the ship's increasing speed — as > 
she ilew under the pressure of studding- 
sails at the rate of twelve knots an hour— 
miide up my mind that we should have to 
boast of a remarkably quick passage. Tho 
wind continued gradually to increase until it 
became re<iuisitc to shorten sail. The stud- 
ding-sails were taken in, one after tho other ; 
and, by two in the morning, all the small 
sails were furled. The vessel was then run- 
ning under tops^iils and foresail, the sky still 
being clear and cIouiIIm-;, At four" in the 
morning it became necessary to reef the top- 
sails, and all hand-; were called. Two reefs 
were taken in after much exertion on the part 
of the Lascar crew, and the men were about to 
come down from aloft, when the captain's voice 
resounded tlirough the speaking trumpet, 
" Take in the third reef! Bear a hand, bro- 
thers!" His onlers were addressed to the 
crew not in English but in Hindostanee. 

The wind had increased to a gale. Tho 
sea also was rising; but tho ship went easily 
and gallantly along. While tho men were 
slili on the forelopsail yard and .strenuously 
labouring to reef the sail, a sudden gust 
blew it completely from the yard and out of 
the men's hands. There was then daylight, 
and we could see the sail hurried away like 
a wrecked balloon for half a mile before it 
fell into the water. Tho remnants were then' 
picked up and made snug to the yard. The 
luaintopsail was close reefed and set for a 
short time ; hut tho wind, which during the 
whole morning liad continued to blow from 
the north eastward, began presently to veer 
to the northward, and the st-a became a con- 
fused mass of white foam, boiling up fearfully. 
The vessel rolling gunwales under,, we were 
again compelled to reduce sail, and, at 
noon on tho twenty-first she scudded under 
ban} poles ; not a stitoh of canvas could be 
shown. For twenty-four hours, she con- 
tinued thus to run before the \vind at tho 
rate of from thirteen in foi.rtcen knf»Ls an 
hour. The wind by degrees got mor& round 
to the northward. ' It was almost north bjr 
e.ost, when it had forced tiio ship to withio 



I 




I 



178 



HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 



iboat eighty miles of • group of island* &nd 
gitoflb c«lk'd the Faract-ltL Tlu-n it became 
evident Itmt if we held on tlic satno counie 
for five or six hours more, tlie vwia?! must 
bo lost ; it, therofure, becuiuu necessary to 
heave to. 

Th« crew staunch at ^|cir stations, our 
commander stood o% It^M-cather iside of 
the poop, irith his eyc;^ &^'ned on the sea, 
watching intently for the precise monient 
wb«n Uie waros, suliKJdiug forn few- ruinutra, 
would (five the best brief opportunity I'w 
bringing tho ship to tlio wind. After n 
ahnrt -iii^iii-nse ho gave the order; and 
tlh kfhich had been going at the 

rat ruen miles an hour, gradually 

brou^iit the wind to bear on hi« port beam. 
Tho evolution having been slow, she had not 
msfl') iiulllcienl way ; and a tremendous sea 
striking her at the critical time, she plunged 
right into it. When m length she rose to the 
surface, shaking and trcrabling violently like 
a llvine thing congciou.s of peril, all tbo in ' 
aootned to be topplins as if they pres 
would go over the side. As she cmtiv;^'< 
men Mhoulcd through the gale, " The boh- 
ctavK arc gi>no | The bowsprit has sprung I" 
and the loud, rapid voice of the rommandcr 
tnimpcted orders out in quick succession: 
" Hard up with tho helm ! Run up the forii- 
topnia.st sta3'sail ! Loose the goose wings of 
the foresail ! Get tho stream chain out 
through the hawse holes ! Stay the forvmnst 
witli the fish tackles !" and many more, all 
of whieh orders were obeyed with equal 
promptitude. The staysail was but half 
hoi.sted when the wind rent it into shreds ; 
still, however, the fine vessel, true to her 
helm, paid off slowly. As she rolled her 
gunwales undi<r, washing away tho greater 
portion, stniining every mast and ropo, the 
topmast backstays proved unable to bear the 
fliiddcn jerk — they parted. The ship was 
then in a most perilous position. Having lost 
her velocity in coming up in the wind slin 
waa again obliged to run before the •^li', of 
which tho terrors were then heightened by 
dnrk heavy clouds, by ince.<%sant thunder burst- 
ing directly on our heads, and by lightning 
that made every man on board exclaim as lie 
felt its (lash, in fear that he was blinded. 

Proper repairs wore at length made, and 
all again was in readiness for heaving tho ship 
to. The heavy rolling of the vessel again 
broke the backstays; but, as running was he- 
eo«ne far too dangerous, it was determined to 
hoave to. In that moment of our peril we found 
the foresail a great hindrance to our efforts — 
the ship would not come to the wind— and 
it became necessary to get rid of the sail at 
onoe. Tho crew being called, every man but 
one rofu.scd to go aloft; for the service required 
was perilous in the cstreme. Tho man who 
preferred his own risk to the wreck of all was 
the second mate; a manly fellow, who, without 
the slightest hesitation, hastennd iiloft, .indsiio- 
cccdcd in cutting the head of the sail adritt ; 



the wind then made short work of it, and 
blew away the canvas, Wc did not, at the 
time, think much of the deed, but of its doer. 
All on board had been watching tho etTorts of 
the brave fellow to pain the yard, for we 
imagined the mast to be going over the side 
almost instant'y. The captain after nervously 
watching his progrcae — although ho knew 
hot\: much the safety of tho vessel must de- 
pend on the completion of tbo enterprise — 
could not refrain from shouting at the utinotit 
stretch of his voice, " Come down — for (io<i's 
sake — come dow-n, or you will be lust!" 
While nil our hearts were beating with anxiety, 
a fearful cm.sh was heard — an ominous sou ml 
that terror increased tciUbld. Tho nhip gave 
a tr«mendou8 roll to port Anotlicr auful 
cr.vth. She slowly recovered lier upright 
position — a wreck — all her masts g<>ne except 
the foremast. Theti still on the fore yani, 
waiting only for an opportunity to reach tbo 
deck, was our .second offiocr ntirnculously 
"■'t'd. In a tew moments he sttMxi again 
imied among us. The maiiini.ist had 
^. '■..'} by the board, tho roizenmast head 
broken short ofl^ and the fore topmost went 
at the cap. The main yard fill across the 
port gangw.iy; and, when tlie ship rullfd 
(still going tlirough the water at a ironion. 
dous rate) tho sea took the outer varil-arm, 
which, acting a-s a lever, wrenched otF the 
staunch and covering board along the wai«t 
for the distance of about twenty foet. Thus 
there w.os laid open a dear space for the Water 
to |H>ur down into the hold. 

Obedient to their chief, tho whole crew 
were then at work in broken groups with 
axes, tutnahawks and knives, in all parts of 
the ship, cutting at the rigging, in onl'.r that 
wc might get the vessel clear of the siirmund- 
ing wreck. That, however, was not work to 
bo done rapidly : the men had to secure 
thcmselrra with ropes to tho ring-bolU; for 
there was great risk of being washed awaj, 
and they could only make a cut now and then 
at the rigging. In the mean time the mmsta 
were buttl'tting about under tho counter of 
the vessel, and at times giving trcmtnitous 
blows agsinst the stern. Then the great 
power of the sea tried us with a new disaster. 
The heavy nia.«is of masts and rigging towing 
astern, had very much lessoned the vessel's 
speed, and tho terriQc seas overwhelmed tbo 
vessel, or as the seamen phrase it, poopwi her. 
In an instant every cabin, with the whole of 
its furniture was gone; not a chair, not a table, 
not a panel, was to Ixs seen. There remained 
nothing but a hollow sp.ice ht-tween tho docks. 
The shock was fearful ; the man at the 
helm, carried away by its violence, dung for 
safi.Hy to the miron rigging, but it gave way 
to his hand. At the Nime moment, the 
stump of the mizcn nia.st broke short off 
l)elow the deck, and, falling tint along ths 
poop, cut through tho wheel at tho V«fT 
spot from which the man had just beao 
swept Owing to tho height of tho ixilwark^ 




Oai^H IMMI4.1 



^RAS. 



179 



the confused mass of cabins, furniture, and 
clothing, hail not been washed overboard. 

The wreck wil«, aflor grcAt exertion, cut 
adrift ; but we were at the mercy of the 
waves, which rolled over us from side to side, 
Utshing in upon ua furiously, carrying away 
all our boats, hencoops, and sky-lights. The 
ship iM appeared to be settling down. The 
well vras sounded, and eleven feet of water 
reported. Tlie order wai? then given to send 
a gang of hands to the pumps, and another 
to lighten the ship by throwing overboard 
some of the cargo. It was found impracti- 
cable to obey either cointnand. The upper- 
most part of the cargo consisted of Chinei^c 
umbrellas, packed in cases that containud 
one hundred each. They were very light ; 
and, when thrown overboard, were always 
■gain washed on deck. The ship tossed like 
a log on tho water; and, finding that we 
coul'i not get rid of the cargo while the sea 
was continually pouring down the hatch- 
ways, the order wa.'i given to desist. Men 
Were not more successful at the pumps. 

I have before said that the bulivarks were 
wai^hod partially in board, and that the cabin 
furniture was strewn over the lieck. The 
boxes of umbrelliLS added bulk to the confused 
mifs ; which formed a wild heap, shifting and 
rolling constantly from side to side ; sweep- 
ing the deck, and preventing any one from 
stnnding on it. Nor couUl wo, with all our 
effortK, get rid of the loal. The weight of 
it vvas so enormous, that it was doalied to 
and fro against the sides of the ship with the 
force of a batlcring-rcvn ; opening the ship 
out so much, that several articles fell through 
the deck, together with much ivater. There 
were by this Um« seventeen feet of water in 
the hold, and the tcsscI was quite un- 
manageable. The crew were powerless ; night 
gathered about us, and the deck mn level 
with the sea. The chief officer told the cap- 
tain that ho thought we must be going down. 
The crew had for the Vi.<t thirty-six hours 
been served only wiUt the allowance of a 
coufde of cabin biscuits and a gla.ss of ruin. 
As no fire could be kept alight, we wore now 
a^ain served with tho same quantity; but 
what wc nooded most was water. A very small 
supply had been on deck, rmd we dared not 
op»«ei the iMtchcs to get more. 

In this condition night overtook us. The 
wind howled, and (he sea ma