London characters and the humorous side of London life ; with upwards of seventy illustrations

LONDON CHARACTERS

HUMOROUS SIDE OF LONDON LIFE.

THE 'VARIETIES OF " COUNSEL." — P. 15G.

u

LONDON CHARACTERS

HUMOROUS SIDE OF LONDON LIFE.

WITH UPWARDS OF SEVENTY ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE INTEBESTING WITNESS.

LONDON :
STANLEY EIVEES AND CO.

LONDON :

JUDD AMD GLASS, PHCENIX PRINTING WORKS,
DOCTORS' COMMONS, E.C.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

THUMBNAIL STUDIES IN THE LONDON STREETS . . 1

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME .... 42

SITTING AT A PLAY 57

THE THUMBNAIL SKETCHER IN A CAB . . 68

SCENES IN COURT 79

IN THE WITNESS Box 132

MORE ""WITNESSES" . . . .145

SKETCHES IN COURT . . . . . 156-
DOWN AT WESTMINSTER . . . . .166
THE OLD BAILEY . . . . . . 202

OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON . 217

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND . .-x . . 242

AFTERNOONS IN "THE PARK" ..... 254

LIFE IN LONDON ...... 277

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA ... . 294

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING . . 329

LONDON CHARACTERS

HUMOROUS SIDE OF LONDON LIFE.

THUMBNAIL STUDIES IN THE LONDON STREETS.

'HO are these people who
pass to and fro ? What
lives are theirs? "What are
their stories? Who are
their friends? What is
their business ? Each has
a story of his own — each
has a cluster of friends of
his own — each is the centre
of a domestic circle of
greater or less extent —
each is an object of para-
mount interest to some-
body ; there are few, very
few, who are so unhappy, so isolated, as not to be the
absolute centre around which some one's thoughts re-

B

2 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

volve. Of these men and women who pass and repass
me in the crowded street, one is an only son, on
whose progress in life his bereaved mother has staked
her happiness ; another is the ne'er-do-weel husband of
a spirit-broken, but still loving wife ; a third is a husband
that is to be; a fourth is the father of a big hungry
family — every one, from peer to beggar, is the living
centre of some social scheme. They are all so much
alike, and yet so widely different ; their stories are so
wonderfully similar in their broad outlines, and yet so
strangely unlike in their minute particulars. Just as one
man's face is like another's, so is the story of his life : no
two faces are exactly alike, yet all have many points in
common.

A large crowd of people always presents many curious-
subjects of speculation. The bare fact of their being
there is marvellous in itself, when we come to think of it,
without thinking too deeply. As a rule, it is better to^
think, but not to think too deeply. If we don't think at all,
our mind is but a blank ; if we just glance below the
surface, we may without difficulty conjure up a hos£ of
pleasant paradoxes, the contemplation of which is enough
to keep the mind amused, and to give play to a healthy
and fanciful reflection. But if we think too deeply, we
come to the reason of things — we destroy our visionary
castles — we brush away our quaint theories, and we re-
duce everything to the absolute dead-level from which
we started. Apply these remarks to a large crowd of
people — say a monster Reform gathering in Hyde Park.
Here are thirty thousand people vindicating their claim

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 3

to the franchise, some by talking- windily to a mob who
can't hear them, others by an interchange of gentle chaff,
others by going to sleep on their backs on the grass.
The man who don't trouble himself to think about them
[accepts their presence as a fact which is merely attribu-
: table to a popular demagogue and a few thousand hand-
mills. He who just dips below the surface, finds a train
lof thoughts of this nature prepared for him : " How
latterly baseless is the doctrine of chances ! Take any
[two of these people at random : one is (say) a bricklayer,
•born in Gloucestershire ; another is a tailor, who hails
pom Canterbury : well, what would have been the
•betting, thirty years ago, that the Gloucestershire brick-
layer would not be lolling on the grass in Hyde Park,
istening to the inflated nonsense of the Kentish tailor,
t eight o'clock on a given evening in August, eighteen
undred and sixty-seven ? Why, the odds would have
een incalculably great against such a concurrence. But
ere are not only the Gloucestershire bricklayer and the
[entish tailor, but also twenty-nine thousand nine hun.
red and ninety-eight others, the odds against any one
whom meeting any other in the same place, at the
ame time, and on the same day, would have been equally
acalculable ; and yet, here they all are ! " Here is a
-ast field of speculation opened out for the consideration
f him who only dips below the surface. It is enough,
a itself, to keep his mind in a condition of pleasant .
asy- going activity for months at a time. But the
niserable man who sees a fallacy in this chain of reason-
ug, and, so to speak, hauls up his intellectual cable to

B 2

4 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

see where the fault lies, discovers that it exists in the
fact that no one, thirty years ago, prophesied anything
of the kind concerning either the Gloucester bricklayer
or the Kentish tailor, or any other twain of the multitude
before him — that the odds against any one having pro-
phesied such a concurrence would be infinitely greater
than the odds anybody would have staked against such a
prophecy being verified ; that he has been troubling
himself about a mass of utter nonsense ; and that, in the
absence of any prophecy to that effect, there is nothing
more remarkable in the fact of the Gloucestershire brick-
layer meeting the Kentish tailor and the twenty-nine
thousand nine hundred and ninety- eight other noodles
who go to make up the crowd, than is to be found in the
fact that thirty thousand people can be brought together,
out of one city, who think that the cause of Reform is
susceptible of any material advancement by such a
means.

The London streets always afford pleasant fund of
reflection to a superficial thinker. Hardly a man passes
by who has not some more or less strongly marked
characteristic which may serve to distinguish him from
his fellows, and give a clue to his previous history. Of
course the clue may be an erroneous one ; but if ifc
should prove to be so, that is the fault of the sagacious-
soul who follows it up too closely. Here is an instance
taken at random. The easy-going speculator who is
content with such deductions as the light of nature may
enable him to make, sets him down as a thriving bill-
discounter. He is an old gentleman who has, at various-
epochs in his chequered career, been a wine-merchant, a

THE LONDON STREETS.

cigar- dealer, a Boulogne billiard player, a trafficker in
army commissions, a picture-dealer, a horse-dealer, a

theatrical manager, and a bill discounter. Each of these
occupations has left its mark, more or less emphasized,
upon his personal appearance. He finds bill-discounting
by far the most profitable of his employments, and he
sticks to it. He has a large army connection, and can
tell off the encumbrances on most of the large landed
estates of Great Britain and Ireland. He has a fine
cellar of old wines, and several -warehouses of cigars and
old masters — commodities which enter largely into all
his discounting transactions. He has a large house, and
gives liberal parties, and it is astonishing (considering
his antecedents) how many young men of family find it
worth their while to " show up " at them.

Here we have Mr. Sam Travers of the metropolitan
theatres. Mr. Sam Travers is a stock low comedian at
a favourite minor establishment, and Mr. Sam Travers's

THUMBNAIL STUDIES

pre- occupied demeanour and unreasonable galvanic smiles
suggest that his next new part is the most prominent
subject-matter of his reflections. Mr. Travers was a
music-hall singer and country clown until his developing

figure interfered with the latter line of business, and he
lias now subsided into the " comic countryman " of the
establishment to which he is attached. His notions of
" make up" are for the most part limited to a red wig
and a nose to match ; but he is a " safe " actor, and on
his appearance on the stage the gallery hail him by
name as one man. He can't pass a man with a red head
and red nose without exclaiming, " By Jove ! there's a
bit of character, eh ! " and he falls into the mistake, too
common among his class, of supposing that a man who
looks, in the streets, as if he had been " made up " for
the stage, is on that account characteristic and to be
carefully imitated.

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 7

A wicked old character is represented in the initial to
this paper. He is a gay old bachelor, of disgraceful
hahits and pursuits — a coarse old villain without a trace
of gentlemanly, or even manly, feeling about him. He
stands at his club-window by day, leering at every re-
spectable woman who passes him, in a manner that
would insure him a hearty kicking were he not the
enfeebled, palsied old thing he is. At dinner he drinks
himself into a condition of drivelling imbecility, from
which he only arouses himself in time to stagger round
to the nearest stage-door. His income is probably de-
rived from the contributions of disgusted connections who
pay him to keep out of their sight, and when he dies, he
will die, unattended, in a Duke Street lodging-house,
whose proprietor will resent the liberty as openly as he
dares.

Here is an amusing fellow — an artistic charlatan. He

S THUMBNAIL STUDIES

is by profession an artist ; his " get up " is astoundingly
professional, and his talk is studio slang. He never
paints anything, but haunts studios, and bothers hard-
working craftsmen by the hour together. He has been
all over the world, and knows every picture in every
gallery in Europe. To hear him talk, you would think
he was the acknowledged head of his profession. Cer-
tainly, as far as his exterior goes, there never was so
artistic an artist (out of a comedy) as he.

Bound, I should say, for rehearsal. Much more quiet
and ladylike than people who only know her from the !
stalls, as a popular burlesque prince, would expect her j
to be. A good quiet girl enough, with a bedridden
mother and three or four clean but seedy little children
dependent upon her weekly salary (eked out, perhaps, by
dancing and music lessons) for their daily bread. Very

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 9

little does she know about Ascot drags and Richmond
dinners : her life is a quiet round of regular unexciting
duties, only relieved at distant intervals by the flash and
flutter of a new part. She will marry, perhaps, the
leader of the band, or the stage-manager, or the low
comedian, grow fat, and eventually train pupils for the
stage.

Ah ! his story, past and to come, is easily told. Bank
clerk by day — casino reveller by night, eventually a
defaulter ; three years' penal servitude, ticket of leave,
then a billiard marker and betting man, and if success-
ful, perhaps a small cigar-shop keeper. Or, if he has
relations, his passage may be paid out to Australia,
where he will begin as an attorney's clerk and perhaps
end as a judge. Most of us have some great original
i whom we set up as a type of what a man should be,

10 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

and that selected by our friend is the "great Vance."
He frames his costume from the outsides of comic songs,
and his air and conversation are of the slap-bang order
of architecture. His clothes and those of his friends are
always new — offensively new — a phenomenon which is
not easily accounted for when the limited nature of their
finances is taken into consideration. I have a theory
that they are clothed gratuitously by "West- end tailors
who want to get up a fashionable reaction in the matter
of gentlemen's dress, and who think that this end may
be most readily attained by clothing such men as these
in exaggerations of existing fashions. But this is just
one of those speculations to which I have alluded at
some length, and which on closer investigation I feel I
should be tempted to reject. So I decline to pursue the
subject.

A London crowd is an awful thing, when you reflect '
upon the number of infamous characters of which it is
necessarily composed. I don't care what crowd it is —
whether it is an assemblage of " raff " at a suburban
fair, a body of Volunteers, Rotten Row in the season, or
an Exeter Hall May meeting. Some ingenious statis-
tician has calculated that one in every forty adults in
London is a professional thief; that is to say, a gentleman
who adopts, almost publicly, the profession of burglar,
pickpocket, or area sneak ; who lives by dishonesty alone,
and who, were dishonest courses to fail him, would have
no means whatever of gaining a livelihood. But of the
really disreputable people in London, I suppose that
acknowledged thieves do not form one twentieth portion.
Think of the number of men now living and doing well,

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 11

as respectable members of society, who are destined either
to be hanged for murder or to be reprieved, according
to the form which the humanitarianism of the Home
Secretary for the time being may take. Murderers are
not recruited, as a rule, from the criminal classes. It is
true that now and then a man or woman is murdered
for his or her wealth by a professed thief, but it is the
exception, and not the rule. Murder is often the crime
of one who has never brought himself under the notice
of the police before. It is the crime of the young girl
with an illegitimate baby : of the jealous husband, lover,
or wife ; of a man exposed suddenly to a temptation
which he cannot resist — the temptation of a good watch
or a well-filled purse, which, not being a professional
thief, he does not know how to get at by any means short
of murder. Well, all the scoundrels who are going to
commit these crimes, and to be hung or reprieved for
them accordingly, are now walking about among us, and
in every big crowd there must be at least one or two of
them. Then the forgers ; they are not ordinarily pro-
fessional thieves ; they are usually people holding
situations of greater or less responsibility, from bank
managers down to office boys : well, all the forgers who
are to be tried at all the sessions and assizes for the next
twenty years, are walking about among us as freely as
you or I. Then the embezzlers — these are always people
who stand well with their employers and their friends.
I remember hearing a judge say, in the course of the
trial of a savings-bank clerk for embezzlement, when the
prisoner's counsel offered to call witnesses to character

12 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

of the highest respectability, that he attached little or no
value to the witnesses called to speak to their knowledge
of the prisoner's character in an embezzlement case, as a
man must necessarily be of good repute among his fellows
before he could be placed in a position in which embezzle-
ment was possible to him. Then the committers of
assaults of all kinds. These are seldom drawn from the
purely criminal classes, though, of course, there are cases
in which professional thieves resort to violence when they
cannot obtain their booty by other means. All these
people — all the murderers, forgers, embezzlers, and
assaulters, who are to be tried for their crimes during
the next (say) twenty years, and moreover, all the
murderers, forgers, embezzlers, and assaulters whose
crimes escape detection altogether (here is a vast field for
speculation open to the ingenious statisticians — of whom
I am certainly one — who begin with conclusions, and
" try back" to find premisses !) — all are elbowing us
about in the streets of this and other towns every day of
our lives. How many of these go to make up a London
crowd of, say, thirty thousand people ? Add to this un-
savoury category all the fraudulent bankrupts, past and
to come, all the army of swindlers, all the betting thieves,
all the unconscientious liars, all the men who ill-treat
their wives, all the wives who ill-treat their husbands, all
the profligates of both sexes, all the scoundrels of every
shape and dye whose crimes do not come under the ken
of the British policeman, but who, for all that, are in-
finitely more harmful to the structure of London society
than the poor prig who gets six months for a "wipe," and

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 13

then reflect upon the nature of your associates whenever
you venture into a crowd of any magnitude !

Struck by these considerations (I am not a deep
thinker, as I hinted in a former page — if I thought more
deeply about them I might find reasons which would
induce me to throw these considerations to the winds), I
beg that it will be understood that all the remarks that I
may make in favour of the people who form the subject
of this chapter, are subject to many mental reservations
as to their probable infamy and possible detection.

Here is a gentleman who, as far as I know, is a
thoroughly good fellow. He is a soldier, and a suffi-

ciently fortunate one, and stands well up among the
captains and lieutenant-colonels of his regiment of Guards.
He has seen service in the Crimea, as his three undress

14 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

medals testify. He is, I suppose, on his way to the j
orderly-room at the Horse Guards, for, at this morte saison,
his seniors are away, and he is in command. Unlike
most Guardsmen, he knows his work thoroughly, for he
was the adjutant of his battalion for the six or seven years
of his captaincy. He is a strict soldier ; rather feared by
his subalterns when he is in command, but very much
liked notwithstanding. He has married a wealthy wife,
has a good house in Berkeley Square, and a place in
Inverness- shire, with grouse-moors, deer-forests, and
salmon-streams of the right sort. He is thinking of
standing for the county, at his wife's suggestion, but
beyond a genial interest in conservative successes, he does
not trouble himself much about politics. Everybody
likes him, but he may — I say, he may — be an awful
scoundrel at bottom.

Here are two young gentlemen (on your right), who-
appear to be annoying a quiet-looking and rather plain
young milliner. I am sorry to say that this is a group-
which presents itself much too often to the Thumbnail.
Sketcher. I do not mean to say that the two young men
are always disgraceful bullies of unprotected young;
women, or that the unprotected young women are always
the timid, shrinking girls that they are commonly repre--
sented to be in dramas of domestic interest, and in in-
dignant letters to the "Times" newspaper. I am afraid
that it only too often happens that the shrinking milliner-
is quite as glad of the society of the young men who
accost her as the young men are of hers, although I am
bound to admit that in the present case the girl seems a.

IN THE LONDON STREETS.

15

lecent girl, and her annoyers two "jolly dogs," of the most
objectionable type. One of them is so obliging as to offer
lier his arm, while the other condescends to the extent of
-offering to carry her bandbox, an employment with which
he is probably not altogether unfamiliar in the ordinary
routine of his avocations. She will bear with them for a
few minutes, in the hope that her continued silence will
induce them to cease their annoyance, and when she finds
that their admiration is rather increased than abated by
her modest demeanour, she will stop still and request
•them to go on without her. As this is quite out of the

•question, she will cross the road, and they will follow
her. At length their behaviour will perhaps be noticed
;by a plucky but injudicious passer-by, who will twist one

16

THUMBNAIL STUDIES

of them on to his back by the collar, and be knocked
down himself by the other. Upon this a fight will ensue,
the young milliner will escape, and the whole thing will
end unromantically enough in the station-house.

Here is an unfortunate soldier, a fit and proper con-
trast to the comfortable and contented Guardsman
(page 13). He is one of the Indian army of martyrs, who
has given up all hope of anything like promotion, and.

after a life of battles, has subsided into that refuge for
destitute officers, a volunteer adjutantcy. He is a
thoroughly disappointed man, but he is much too well
bred to trouble you with his disappointments, unless you
pump him on the subject, and then you will find that the-
amalgamation of the British and Indian forces has re-
sulted in complications that you cannot understand, and

IN THE LONDON STREETS. IT

that one of these complications is at the bottom of his-
retirement from active service. He has strong views
upon, and a certain interest in, the Banda and Kirwee
prize money, and he looks forward to buying an annuity
for his mother (who lets lodgings) with his share, if he-
should ever get it. He is poor — that is to say, his
income is small ; but he always manages to dress well,
and looks gentlemanly from a gentleman's — although,,
perhaps, not from a tailor's — point of view.

This rather heavy and very melancholy-looking gentle-
man with the thick black beard is a purveyor of touch-

and-go farces to the principal metropolitan theatres. He
also does amusing gossip for the provincial journals, light
frothy magazine articles, dramatic criticisms for a weekly
paper, and an occasional novel of an airy, not to say ex-

18

THUMBNAIL STUDIES

tremely trivial nature. His name is well known to the
readers of light literature, and also to enthusiastic play-
goers who go early and come away late. He is supposed
by them to pass a butterfly existence, flitting gaily from
screaming farce to rollicking " comic copy," and back
again from rollicking comic copy to screaming farce. But
this is not exactly true of his professional existence. He
is but a moody buffoon in private life, much addicted to
the smoking of .long clay pipes and the contemplation of
bad boots. He is, at bottom, a good-natured fellow, and
a -sufficiently industrious one. He is much chaffed for
his moody nature now, but he will die some day, and
then many solemn bumpers will be emptied by his club
fellows to the memory of the good heart that underlaid
that thin veneer of cynicism.

Here is a sketch from the window at White's. He is
=also a member of the Senior and the Carlton, but he is

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 19-

seldom seen at either. He prefers the view from
White's, and he prefers the men he meets there, and he
likes the chattiness of that famous club. He knows
everybody, does the old major, and has, in his time,
been everywhere. He has served in a dozen different
capacities, and in almost as many services ; indeed, his
range of military experience extends from a captaincy of
Bashi Bazouksto a majority of Yeomanry Cavalry. He
has been rather a sad dog in his time, but he is much
quieter now, and is extremely popular among dowagers
at fashionable watering-places.

This young gentleman is a Foreign Office clerk, and-

he is just now on his way to discharge his arduous duties
in that official paradise. "He is a rather weak-headed
young gentleman, of very good family and very poor

20 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

fortune, and in course of time he will churn up into a
very sound, serviceable ambassador. At present he does
not " go out " with the Government, though that dis-
tinction may be in reserve for him if he perseveres in his
present judicious course of gentlemanly sleepiness. He
is, in common with most of his Foreign Office fraternity,
a great deal too well dressed. It is really astonishing
that young men of birth and breeding, as most of
these Foreign Office clerks are, should be so blind to
the fact that there is nothing in this world so utterly
offensive to men of cultivated taste as a suit of bran new
clothes. His views, at present, are limited to his office,
the "Times," his club, and any shootings or fishings
that may be offered to him by friendly proprietors.

The streets are strange levellers. They form a com-
mon ground upon which all ranks meet on equal terms
— where no one, however lofty his station (so that it fall
short of royalty), or however distinguished his career, has
any right of precedence to the disadvantage of humbler
members of the community. The First Lord of the
Treasury, in whose presence small statesmen tremble,
will, if he happens to run against a costermonger, be asked,
with no ceremony whatever, where he is shoving to ; and
the Lord High Chancellor of England when he walks
abroad is nothing better than a "bloke" in the eyes of
him who keeps a potato-can. It is in the streets that
the private soldier stops the Commander-in- Chief to ask
him for a light, and over-dressed shopmen sneer at seedy
dukes. There the flunkey ogles the lady into whose
service he may be about to enter, and there the indis-

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 21

criminating 'busman invites countesses into his convey-
ance. In the streets the penniless Fenian finds his
" Fool's Paradise " half realized — rank is abolished, and
an equal distribution of property is all that remains for
him to accomplish.

The Thumbnail Sketcher will often find an amusing if
not a profitable occupation in attentively noticing the
peculiarities of almost any one person who happens to be
walking in his direction. It is astonishing how much of
a total stranger's tastes and habits may be learnt by
simply following him through half a mile of crowded
thoroughfare. You will find, perhaps, that he stops at
all print-shops ; if so, he has a taste, good or bad, for art
in certain of its branches, and you can form an idea as to
the quality of that taste by taking note of the pictures
that principally arrest his attention. Is that the " Phryne
Decouverte " that he is admiring ? Ah ! I fear his taste
for art is not so immaculate as it should be. He is stop-
ping now at a fashionable perfumer's, and he is reading
an account of the marvellous deceptive powers of the
" Indistinguishable scalp," — a fact that directs my atten-
tion to so much of his hair as I can see below his hat-
brim, and I notice that it stands out unnaturally from
the nape of his neck. His next pause is at the shop of
an eminent Italian warehouseman, and as his eyes glisten
over pots of caviare, Lyons sausages, and pates de foie
gras, I conclude that he is a Ion rivant. A pretty woman
passes him, and he makes a half-turn in her direction — a
sad dog, I'm afraid. Another and a prettier woman over-
takes him, and he hurries his pace that he may keep up

22 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

with her — a very sad dog, I'm sure. He passes the shop
of a flashy tailor, and gazes admiringly at a pair of trou-
sers that seem to scream aloud — so he must be a bit of a
" cad." Opticians' shops have no charms for him, so his-
tastes do not take a scientific form ; and as he passes a
window full of Aldines and Elzevirs, I suppose he is not
a ripe scholar. A glass case of grinning teeth pulls him
up, so I conclude that his powers of mastication are-
giving way, and as he takes off his hat to a gentleman
who only touches his own in reply, I see that his social
position is not eminent. Playbills seem to possess an
extraordinary fascination for him, and he dawdles for half
nn hour at a time over photographic Menkens and Abing-
dons — he is evidently a patron of the drama in its more-
objectionable forms. He crosses crowded thoroughfares
without hesitation, so he is a Londoner, and I see from,
the fact that he stops to buy a " Bradshaw," that he is
going out of town. Another provision shop arrests hi&
attention, and I feel confirmed in the conclusion I have
arrived at that he is an epicure, practical or theoretical ^
and as I eventually lose him in a cheap eating-house, I
conclude that circumstances over which he has no control
render the latter alternative the more probable of the two.
Altogether I have seen enough of him to justify me in
determining that a personal acquaintance with him is not
an advantage which I would go through fire and water
to obtain.

It frequently happens, however, that a pretty accurate
notion of a man's habits and character may be arrived
at without taking all this trouble. A glance is often.

IN THE LONDON STREETS.

23

•sufficient to enable an observant Thumbnail Sketcher to
•satisfy himself, at all events, on these points; and so
that he himself is satisfied, it matters little whether he
is right or wrong in his deductions. Here is a gentleman
;about whom there can be no mistake. He is a Promoter

of Public Companies. He will, at ten days' notice, get
you up an association for any legitimate purpose you
may think fit, and a good many illegitimate ones into
the bargain. He is a specious, showy, flashily- dressed,
knowing-looking gentleman, with a general knowledge of
most things, and an especial and particular acquaintance
with the manners and customs of fools in general. B e
has served an apprenticeship in a good many excellent
schools. He was an attorney once, but he was young
then, and blundered, so they struck him off the rolls.

24 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

He afterwards jobbed on the Stock Exchange, but (being
still young) he misappropriated funds, and although he
was not prosecuted, he found it convenient to steer clear
of that commercial Tattersall's for the future. He then
became clerk to a general agent, and afterwards touted
for a respectable discounter. He made a little money at
this, and determined to give legitimate commerce a turn,
so he opened a mock auction, and sold massive silver tea-
services and chronometers of extraordinary value, all day
long, to two faded females and three dissipated Jewish
lads of seedy aspect but unlimited resources. The dis-
trict magistrates, however, took it upon themselves to
post policemen at his door fo warn would-be customers
away, so he turned his hand to betting, and succeeded so
well that he soon found himself in a position to take a
higher stand He got up a Company, with six other
influential Betters, for the supply of street-lamps to
Central Africa, showing, in his prospectus, that where
street lamps were to be found, houses would soon be
gathered together, and houses, if gathered together in
sufficient numbers, formed important cities, a large pro-
portion of the revenues of which would, of course, flow
into the pockets of the public-spirited shareholders.
The " Central Africa Street Lamp Company (Limited)"
flourished for a short time only, but it enabled him to
form a connection by which he lives and flourishes. He
is very disinterested in all his undertakings : he never
cares to share in the profits of his Promotions — he is
good enough to leave them all to his shareholders. All
he wants is a sum down or a good bill at three months,

IN THE LONDON STREETS.

25

and the Company, once set a-going, will never be trou-
bled with him again. His varied experience has taught
him many useful lessons — and this among others, that
only fools take to illegitimate swindling.

Who is this dull and bilious man ? He is a high-
class journalist and essayist, whose pride and boast it is
that he has never written for a penny paper. Being a

heavy and a lifeless writer, he entertains a withering
contempt for amusing literature of every description.
He takes the historical plays of Shakspeare under his
wing, and extends his pompous patronage to Sheridan
Knowles and all other deceased dramatists who wrote in
five acts, only he never goes to see their productions
played. Upon modern dramas of all kinds he is ex-
tremely severe, and he lashes burlesque writers (when

26 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

he condescends to notice them) without mercy. He has-
never been known to amuse anybody in the whole course of"
his literary career, and would no more make a joke than
he would throw a summersault. In the earlier stages-
of his career he made a comfortable income by writing
sermons for idle clergymen, and his facility for arguing
in circles, combined with a natural aptitude for grouping
his remarks under three heads and a " Lastly," made
him popular with his more orthodox customers, so he
always had plenty to do. He used to sell his sermons ta
London clergymen as modern dramatic authors sell their
plays to London managers — reserving the " country
right " arid farming them through the provinces, with
important pecuniary results. He is generally to be found
in the bar-parlours of solemn taverns, where he presides
as Sir Oracle over a group of heavy-headed but believing
tradesmen. He is a contributor to all religious maga-
zines of every denomination, and is usually regarded by
his intimate friends as a ripe, but wholly incomprehensi-
ble scholar.

Our next is an artist's model. He is a shocking old
scamp with a highly virtuous beard, and a general air of
the patriarch Moses gone to the bad. He was once a
trooper in a regiment of Life Guards, but he drank to such
an extent that he was requested to resign. In the course of
a period of enforced leisure he grew his beard, and as it
happened to grow Mosaically, he became popular with
artists of the high art school, and he found it worth his
while to let himself out for hire at per hour. Artists
are men of liberal souls, who don't care how much their

IN THE LONDON STMEETS.

27

models may drink so that they don't come drunk into
the studio ; but they are extremely particular upon this
latter point, and the patriarch does not always respect

their prejudices. So it often happens that his time is at
liis disposal, and when this happens he engages himself
as a theatre supernumerary. He has been convicted of
dishonesty on two or three occasions, and was once sent
for trial and sentenced to penal servitude for three years.
He has a way of advertising himself by taking off his
hat and showing his forehead and hair (which are really
good) whenever he sees a gentleman in a velvet coat and
eccentric beard.

Then comes a gentleman whose source of income is a
standing wonder to all his friends. Nobody can tell how
lie gets his living. Sometimes he is very flush of ready

28

THUMBNAIL STUDIES

money and sometimes he is hard up for half-a-crown.
His mode of life is altogether contradictory and incon-
sistent. He lives in a small house in a fifth-rate square,
and his household consists of himself, a depressed wife,
five untidy children, and two maidservants. But, on the
other hand, he drives magnificent horses in irreproachable

phaetons, gives elaborate dinners, with all sorts of out-of-
season delicacies, has his stall at the Opera, and drives
to all races in a four-in-hand of his own hiring. Times
have been when the showy phaeton was returned to the
livery-stable keeper, and when Mr. Charles had orders to
send him no more salmon — when he and his family have
been known to feed on chops and rice pudding— when
his hall has entertained a succession of dunning trades-
men from nine in the morning till nine at night — and

IN THE LONDON STREETS,

29

when he himself had been seen outside omnibuses. But
these occasional periods of monetary depression have
passed away, and he has come out of them with renewed
splendour. A phaeton and pair (only not the same)
await his orders as before, and salmon at a guinea a
pound forms the least extravagant feature of his daily
meal. Now and then he disappears from his neighbour-
hood for six months at a time, and his tradesmen are left
to tell the stories of their wrongs to the maidservant over
the area railings. But he turns up again, in course of
time, pays them off, and so gets fresh credit. Altogether
he is a social mystery. The only hypothesis that appears
to account for these phenomena is that he keeps a
gaming house.

Here is poor young Aldershot. He is very young
and very foolish, but he will grow older and wiser, and

30 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

his faults may be pardoned. On the strength of his
commissionj and a singularly slender allowance, he is
able to get credit for almost any amount, and what
wonder that he avails himself of the opportunity ? The
great mistake of his life is that he does harmless things
to excess. He over eats, he over drinks, he over rides,
he over dances, he over smokes, and he over dresses.
He has no distinctive points beyond these — his other
qualifications are mostly negative. He is at present
simply a smoky donkey with a developing taste for mild
vice, a devoted faith in his autocratic tailor, and a con-
firmed objection to the wedding tie. He will grow out
of all this, if he has the good luck to spend ten or fifteen
years in India, and he will return a big, burly, bronzed
captain with hair on his hands, and a breast like a
watch-maker's shop. The nonsense will have been
knocked out of him by that time, and his views on the
subject of matrimony will change.

The following gentleman has seen better days. He was
once a prizefighter and kept a public house upon which
he promised to thrive, but the police and the licensing
magistrates interfered, and one fine morning he found
his occupation gone. In point of fact his public house
(which was in Lant Street, Borough) became known as
a rendezvous for thieves of the worst class, and his
licence was consequently suspended. His figure de-
veloped too rapidly to allow of his following his other
calling with credit, so he had nothing for it but to
turn his hand to card-sharping and patter-business on
race-courses and at street corners. He is gifted with a

IN THE LONDON STREETS.

31

loud voice, an ad captandum manner, and a fluent de-
livery, and in the assumed character of a gentleman who
has undertaken to dispose of a certain number of purses.

with sovereigns in them for one shilling, in accordance-
with the terms of a bet of ten thoiisand guineas made
between two sporting noblemen of acknowledged cele-
brity, he manages to net a very decent livelihood.

The Thumbnail Sketcher's partiality for the London
streets may be attributed, in a great measure, to the
fact that, being a person of no consideration whatever
elsewhere, he becomes, as soon as he places his foot upon
the pavement, an autocrat invested with powers and
privileges of the most despotic description. It is then in
his power to inconvenience his fellow-man to an extent

32 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

unknown in any other sphere of action, excepting perhaps
a theatre. A man who goes forth in the morning with
the determination of annoying as many people as possible
during the day, without bringing himself within the pale
of the law, has an exciting, and at the same time per-
fectly safe, career before him. It is then open to him to
annoy hurried people by asking them the way to obscure
or impossible addresses. He can call at and inspect all
the apartments to be let upon his road ; he may buy
oranges (if that luscious fruit is in season) and scatter
the peel broadcast on the pavement ; he may, by quietly
munching a strong onion, drive a crowd from a print-
seller's window ; and he can, at any time, reassemble one
by disputing with a cabman on the matter of his fare.
He may delay a street-full of busy people by stopping his
Hansom in (say) Threadneedle Street ; and he may, in
Lalf a dozen words, carefully selected, put the whole
mechanism of the London police into operation. He
may delay an omnibus-full of people by pretending to
Tiave dropped a sovereign in the straw, and, if it is a wet
•day, he can spoil any lady's dress with his muddy boot8
or his wet umbrella. He can at any time, on a narrow
pavement, drive well-dressed ladies into the roadway, a
pastime popular enough with the politest nation in the
world, but which has hardly yet acquired a recognised
footing among coarse and brutal Englishmen. In short,
he has it in his power to make himself an unmitigated
nuisance with perfect impunity ; and it is a creditable
feature in his character that he does not often take advan-
tage of his privilege. He is satisfied with the power

IN THE LONDON STItEETS. 33

vested in him, without caring to set its machinery in
motion without due provocation.

The prerogative which I have here claimed for the
Thumbnail Sketcher is not his alone ; it is shared in a
greater or less degree by all. Indeed the humbler and
more filthy the passenger, the more marked are his privi-
leges. The organ-grinder has it in his power to poison
the atmosphere with his hideous and distracting music
whenever ho pleases ; the costermonger and dustman
may make morn hideous with their professional yells ;
German bands may bray wherever they choose, and
Punch-and- Judy-men crow and chuckle in every street ;
while the wealthy and comparatively inoffensive bone-
crusher, soap-boiler, knacker, or tanner is liable at any
moment to be indicted as a nuisance if he happens to be
in evil odour with his neighbours. This state of things
is altogether an anomaly, but the humbler classes in
whose favour it operates might surely be disposed to take
the many benefits they derive from it as a set-off to the
manhood suffrage which is not yet accorded to them. It
may be taken indeed as a moral certainty that hardly a
man walks into a London street without causing an incon-
venience of greater or less magnitude to some of his fel-
low-passengers. But it is not the fashion to estimate
moral certainties as physical certainties are estimated,
and therefore people are allowed to walk abroad when-
ever they please without regard to the fearful annoy-
ance that may be caused to a refined and sensitive organ-
ization by an outrageous hat, a taste for bad cigars, or a
passion for peppermint drops. It is instructive, by the

34 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

way, to contrast the utter irresponsibility of a moral cer-
tainty with the absolute responsibility of a physical cer-
tainty. A certainty is a certainty, whether it be moral
or physical ; it is a moral certainty that in the course of
the erection of (say) the new Law Courts at least a dozen
people will be accidentally killed, yet nobody would dream
of stopping the works on that account, But if it were
possible to enter into an exceptional arrangement with
Fate, by which the deliberate slaughter of one man before
the first stone was laid would secure absolute immunity
for the hundreds of others whose lives would otherwise be
in daily peiil during the eight or ten years which must
elapse before the works are completed, society would pro-
test with one voice against the inhuman compact, and the
contractor who entered into it would be branded as a
cold-blooded murderer. But from a politico-economical
point of view he would be a conspicuous benefactor to his
species.

The Thumbnail Sketcher, having now let off his super-
fluous steam, proposes once more to take the reader by
the arm and direct his attention to half a dozen more of
the involuntary models who unwittingly provide him with
amusement and instruction whenever he takes his walks
abroad.

Here is an amusing example of that bland, gentlemanly,
useful humbug the fourth-rate family doctor. Although
undoubtedly a humbug, he is not a quack. His professional
acquirements are quite up to the average mark, although
they seldom go beyond it. He has satisfied the College
of Surgeons and he has passed the Hall with decency ; he

IN THE LONDON STREETS. 35

has even, perhaps, graduated as M.B. at London, and is
consequently styled Doctor by courtesy. But he is a
humbug for all that. He is not satisfied with the average
professional status to which his average professional ac-
quirements and average professional brain would, if
honestly worked, confine him ; he soars high above this,
on the strength of a bland, impressive manner, an im-

posing presence, and a certain quiet audacity in prescribing
eccentric but harmless remedies for fanciful complaints.
He is much too sensible a fellow to go beyond his depth,
but his depth is a tolerably deep one, and his plan of
elevating himself on moral tiptoes makes it appear con-

c 2

36 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

siderably deeper than it really is. As I said before, with
all his humbug and pretence he can, if he likes, be really
useful, and his waiting-room is daily thronged with real
or fanciful sufferers, who are quite justified in placing a
modest belief in him. Their mistake consists in believing
in him absolutely, on the mere strength of a bland, im-
pressive presence.

Who is this red-faced, white-haired, pompous old gen-
tleman who is holding forth in a window of the " Senior ?"
He is an old officer who retired on half- pay forty years

ago, a humble, blundering captain, and who, by dint of
long standing, has worked his way up into the dignified
list of generals. When in active service he knew abso-

7.V THE LONDON STREETS. 37

lutoly nothing of his duty ; he was the stock regimental
by- word whenever the subject of military incompetence
was broached. He was the scapegoat upon whose
shoulders the responsibility of all regimental blunders
was laid, and subalterns, six weeks old, would pose him
with impossible questions and record his oracular replies.
!N"ow, however, that he has been cut off for forty years or
so from anything in the shape of practical experience in
military matters, and so has attained the rank of major-
general, he is looked upon as an important authority on
the organization of armies, and advanced strategy. He
is a county magistrate and a member for an important
borough, and his orations on Horse-Guards mismanage-
ment and military innovations, though little regarded in
the House, are looked upon by the outside public with a
respect which is born rather of his military rank than of
his military knowledge.

On next page stands an anomalous gentleman, one of a
group of four seedy but flashy individuals who are loafing
about the doors of a theatrical public-house in Bow Street.
He is an ex-equestrian, and the proprietor of a travelling
circus. A few years ago he was known as that daring
and graceful rider Annibale Corinski, whose " Courier of
the Dardanelles" on fourteen horses was justly celebrated
as the most thrilling performance ever witnessed in this
or any other country. But Annibale grew too fat for the
business, so he married the widow of his late employer
and set up as a circus proprietor on his own account. His
present position, as master of the ring, is one of qualified
dignity. It is true that, by virtue of his office, he is

THUMBNAIL STUDIES

entitled to appear in a braided military frock, jack-boots,
and a gold-lace cap ; but he has, on the other hand, to
submit to nightly affronts from ill-conditioned jesters,

•whose mildest insults take the form of riddles with offen-
sive answers, calculated to cover him publicly with con-
fusion.

Here comes a tall, soldierly man in civilian clothes.
He is soldierly in his carriage, only he has no moustache,
and his little black eyes are quick and restless. He is
awake to most things, and his only delusion is that, being
u policeman in plain clothes, he looks like a prosperous
shopkeeper, a confidential clerk, a nobleman of easy man-
ners, or a country yokel in town for a " spree," according

Zy THE LONDON STREETS. 39

to the characters which the peculiarities of his several
cases require him to assume. But the disguises are a failure.

The more he disguises himself the more he looks like a
policeman in plain clothes, and as long as he continues
in the force his official identity will assert itself.

Now appears a curious old bachelor of eccentric habits.
Nobody knows much about him, except a confidential
man-servant who effectually defeats any attempt to pump
him on the subject of his master's eccentricities. All that
is known of him is that he lives in a lodging-house in
Duke-street, St. James's. His valet is the only person
who is ever allowed to enter his room ; his meals, care-
fully but not expensively organised, are served with ex-

40

THUMBNAIL KTUD1ES

traordinary punctuality ; he has a horror of children and
tobacco, and a nervous dread of Hansom cahs ; he takes
a walk, between two and three every afternoon, round
St. James's Square, along Pall Mall, up St. James's
Street, and so home, stopping regularly at Sams's to look

at the profile pictures of distinguished sporting and other
noblemen, and finishing up with a Bath bun and a glass
of cherry-brandy at the corner of Bond-street. He is
supposed by some to be a fraudulent banker, by others a
disgraced clergyman, by others an escaped convict of
desperate character, and by the more rational portion of
his observers as a harmless monomaniac. He never gives
his name, and his lodgings are taken for him by his valet.
There is a rumour afloat that he is a royal descendant of

IN THE LONDON STREETS.

41

Hannah Lightfoot, and that he is only waiting for an
opportunity to declare his rights and step at once into
the throne of England ; but I believe that this theory is
confined to an imaginative and romantic few.

Here is one of those miserable ghosts that start up from
time to time in the London streets, to sicken the rich man
of his wealth and to disgust the happy man with his
happiness. If the wretched object before us could put his
thoughts into intelligible English, what a story of misery,
want, filth, sickness, and crime he could unfold ! He is

VAN

of course a thief; who in his situation would not be ? He
is a liar ; but his lies are told for bread. He is a blas-
phemer ; God help him, what has he to be thankful for ?
He is filthy in his person ; but filth means warmth in

42 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

his vocabulary. He pushes his way insolently among
well-dressed women, who shrink from his infected rags ;
why should he respect those whose only regard for him is
a feeling of undisguised aversion? He can tell you of
open-air places where there is snug lying ; places where
you can sleep with tolerable comfort for nothing ; he can
tell you all about the different houses of detention,
criminal gaols, police-cells, and tramp-wards in the
neighbourhood of the metropolis ; and he can compare
their various merits and demerits, and strike a balance in
favour of this or that. He has been a thief since be
could walk, and he will be a thief till he dies — it is the
only trade that has ever been opened to him, and in his
case it has proved a poor one. Truly he is one of the
saddest sights in the London streets.

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME.

*' HARLEQUIN, Columbine, Pantaloon, and Clown ! "
There is an agreeable magic in these words, although
they carry us back to the most miserable period of our
existence — early childhood. They stand out in our recol-
lection vividly and distinctly, for they are associated with
one of the very few real enjoyments permitted- to us at
that grim stage of our development. It is a poetic fashion
to look back with sentimental regret upon the days of
early childhood, and to contrast the advantages of imma-
turity with the disadvantages of complete mental and

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME. 43

physical efflorescence; but like many other fashions —
especially many poetic fashions — it lacks a common sub-
stratum of common sense. The happiness of infancy lies
in its total irresponsibility, its incapacity to distinguish,
between right and wrong, its general helplessness, its
inability to argue rationally, and its having nothing what-
ever upon its half-born little mind, — privileges which are
equally the property of an idiot in a lunatic asylum. In
point of fact, a new-born baby is an absolute idiot ; and
as it reaches maturity by successive stages, so, by succes-
sive stages does its intelligence increase, until (some-
where about forty or fifty years after birth) it shakes off
the attributes of the idiot altogether. It is really much
more poetical, as well as much more accurate, to believe
that we advance in happiness as our intellectual powers
expand. It is true that maturity brings with it troubles
to which infancy is a stranger ; but, on the other hand,
infancy has pains of its own which are probably as hard
to bear as the ordinary disappointments of responsible
men.

" Harlequin, Columbine, Clown, and Pantaloon !" Yes,
they awaken, in my mind at all events, the only recollec-
tion of unmixed pleasure associated with early childhood.
Those night expeditions to a mystic building, where in-
comprehensible beings of all descriptions held astounding
revels, under circumstances which I never endeavoured
to account for, were to my infant mind absolutely realiza-
tions of a fairy mythology which I had almost incor-
porated with my religious faith. I had no idea, at that
early age, of a Harlequin who spent the day hours in a

44 THUMBNAIL HT

pair of trousers and a bad hat; I had not attempted to
realize a Clown with an ordinary complexion, and walk-
ing inoffensively down Bow Street in a cheap suit. I
had not tried to grasp the possibility of a Pantaloon
being actually a mild but slangy youth of two-and-
twenty ; nor had I a notion that a Columbine must pay
her rent like an ordinary lodger, or take the matter-of-
fact consequences of pecuniary unpunctuality. I be-
lieved in their existence, as I did in that of the Enchanter
Humgruffin, Prince Poppet, King Hurly Burly, and
Princess Prettitoes, and I looked upon the final metemp-
sychosis of these individuals as a proper and legitimate
reward for their several virtues and vices. To be a
Harlequin or Columbine was the summit of earthly
happiness to which a worthy man or woman could aspire;
while the condition of Clown or Pantaloon was a fitting
purgatory in which to expiate the guilty deeds of a life
misspent. But as I grew older, I am afraid that I
came to look upon the relative merits of these mystic
personages in a different light. I came to regard the
Clown as a good fellow, whom it would be an honour to
claim as an intimate companion ; while the Harlequin
degenerated into a rather tiresome muff, who delayed the
fun while he danced in a meaningless way with a plain,
stoutish person of mature age. As Christmases rolled
by, I came to know some Clowns personally, and it
interfered with my belief in them to find that they were
not the inaccessible personages I had formerly supposed
them to be. I was disgusted to find that they were, as
a body, a humble and deferential class of men, who

(!ETTIN<! UP A PANTOMIME. 45

called me " sir," and accepted eleemosynary brandy and
water with civil thanks : and when, at length, I was
taken to a rehearsal of some " Comic Scenes," and found
out how it was all done, my dim belief in the mystic
nature of Pantomimists vanished altogether, and the
recollection of what they had once been to me was the
only agreeable association that I retained in connection
with their professional existence.

But although familiarity with the inner life of a pan-
tomime may breed a certain contempt for the organized
orgies of the " Comic Scenes," it cannot have the effect
of rendering one indifferent to the curious people to
whose combined exertion the institution owes its existence.
They are, in many ways, a remarkable class of men and
women, utterly distinct from the outside public in ap-
pearance, ways of thought, and habits of life. A fourth-
or fifth-rate actor's conversation is perhaps more purely
" shoppy " than that of any other professional man ; his
manner is more artificial, his dialogue more inflated, his
metaphors more professional, and his appearance more
eccentric. At the same time he is not necessarily more
immoral or more improvident than his neighbours : and
in acts of genuine, unaffected charity, he often sets an
example that a bishop might imitate. There are good
and bad people in every condition of life ; and, if you
are in a position to strike an average, you will probably
find that the theatrical profession has its due share of
both classes. Now for our Thumbnail Sketches.

The two poor old gentlemen who appear on the next
page are " supers " of the legitimate school. They are

46 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

not of the class of " butterfly-supers," who take to the
business at pantomime time, as a species of remunerative
relaxation ; they are at it, and they have been at it all
the year round since their early boyhood. Their race is
dying out now, for the degenerate taste of modern
audiences insists on epicine crowds, and armies with back-
hair and ear-rings. There was a goodly show of fine*

old regulation "supers" at Astley's while " Mazeppa "
was being played some time ago; and I confess that
the sight of the curious old banner-bearers in that extra-
ordinary drama had more interest for me than the
developed charms of the "beauteous Menken." The
deportment of a legitimate "super," under circumstances
of thrilling excitement, is a rich, and, I am sorry to add,
a rare study. Nothing moves him : his bosom' is insen-
sate alike to the dying throes of a miscreant and the
agonized appeal of oppressed virtue ; and he accepts the
rather startling circumstance of a gentleman being bound
for life to a maddened steed, as an ordinary incident of

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME. 47

every-day occurrence — which, in point of fact, it is to
him. He is a man of few — very few — words, and he
gives unhesitating adherence to the most desperately
perilous schemes with a simple " We will !" — taking
upon himself to answer for his companions, probably
in consequence of a long familiarity with their acquiescent
disposition. He is, in his way, an artist ; he knows that
an actor, however insignificant, should be close-shaved,
and he has a poor opinion of any leading professional
who sports an impertinent moustache. Mr. Macready
was for years the god of 'his idolatry ; and now that he
is gone, Mr. Phelps reigns in his stead.

These two young ladies are to embody the hero and
heroine of the piece. The taller one is Prince Poppet ;
the shorter, Princess Prettitoes. The Prince will be
redundant in back-hair, and exuberant in figure (for a
prince) ; but he will realize many important advantages
on his transformation to Harlequin, and a modification
in the matters of figure and back-hair may count among
the most important. " Prince Poppet " is a bright

48 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

intelligent girl, and is always sure of a decent income.
She sings a little, and dances a great deal, and can give
a pun with proper point. Her manner is perhaps just a
trifle slangy, and her costume just a trifle showy, but
her character is irreproachable. She is a good-humoured,
hard-working, half educated, lively girl, who gives trouble
to no one. She is always " perfect " in her words and
" business," and being fond of her profession, she is not
above " acting at rehearsal," a peculiarity which makes
her an immense favourite with authors and stage-mana-
gers. The young lady, " Princess Prettitoes," who is
talking to her, is simply a showy fool, intensely self-
satisfied, extremely impertinent, and utterly incompetent.
However, as a set-off to these drawbacks, she must be an
admirable domestic economist, for she contrives to drive
her brougham, and live en princease, in a showy little
cottage ornee, on three pounds a week. These young
ladies are the curse of the stage. Their presence on it
does not much matter, so long as they confine their thea-
trical talents to pantomime princesses ; but they don't
always stop there. They have a way of ingratiating
themselves with managers and influential authors, and so
it happens that they are not unfrequently to be found in
prominent " business " at leading theatres. They are
the people who bring the actress's profession into con-
tempt ; who are quoted by virtuous but unwary outsiders
as fair specimens of the ladies who people the stage. If
these virtuous, but unwary outsiders, knew the bitter
feeling of contempt with which these flaunting butterflies
are regarded by the quiet, respectable girls who are forced

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME.

49

into association with them, they would learn how little
these people had in common with the average run of
London actresses.

These two poor dismal, shivering women are " extra
ladies " — girls who are tagged on to the stock ballet of

the theatre during the run of a " heavy " piece. It is
their duty while on the stage to keep themselves as much
out of sight as they conveniently can, and generally ta
attract as little notice as possible until the " transforma-
tion," when they will hang from the " flies " in wires, or
rise from the " mazarin " through the stage, or be pushed
on from the wings, in such a flood of lime-light that
their physical deficiencies will pass unheeded in the
general blaze. I believe it has never been satisfactorily
determined how these poor girls earn their living during
the nine months of non-pantomime. Some of them, of

50 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

course, get engagements in the ballets of country theatres,
but the large majority of them appear to have no con-
nection with the stage except at pantomime time. An
immense crowd of these poor women spring up about a
month or six weeks before Christmas, and besiege the
managers of pantomime theatres with engagements that
will, at best, provide them with ten or twelve shillings a
week for two or three months ; and out of this slender
pay they have to find a variety of expensive stage neces-
saries. Many of them do needlework in the day-time,
and during the " waits " at night ; but they can follow no
other regular occupation, for their days are often required
for morning performances. They are, as a body, a heavy,
dull, civil, dirty set of girls, with plenty of good feeling
for each other, and an overwhelming respect for the ballet-
master.

The smart, confident, but discontented-looking man on
next page, with the air of a successful music-hall singer,
is no less a personage than the Clown. His position is not
altogether an enviable one, as pantomimes go, now-a-days.
It is true that he has the " comic scenes " under his entire
control ; but comic scenes are no longer the important
element in the evening's entertainment that they once
were ; and he is snubbed by the manager, ignored by the
author, and inconsiderately pooh-poohed by the stage-
manager. His scenes are pushed into a corner, and he
and they are regarded as annoying and unremunerative
impertinences, to be cut off altogether as soon as the
"business" wanes. He undergoes the nightly annoy-
ance of seeing the stalls rise and go out long before he

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME.

51

has got through his first scene. The attraction of a
pantomime ends with the "transformation," and the
scenes that follow are merely apologies for those that go
before. The modern Clown is a dull and uninventive
person : his attempts at innovation and improvement are
limited to the introduction of dancing dogs, or a musical

solo on an unlikely instrument. As far as the business
proper of a Clown is concerned, he treads feebly in the
footsteps of his predecessors ; and he fondly believes that
the old, old tricks, and the old, old catchwords, have a
perennial vitality of their own that can never fail. He
is a dancer, a violinist, a stilt- walker, a posturist, a happy
family exhibitor — anything but the rough-and-tumble
Clown he ought to be. There are one or two exceptions

52 THUMBNAIL STUDIED.

to this rule — Mr. Boleno is one— but, as a rule, Clown is /
but a talking Harlequin.

This eccentric person on the chair is the Harlequin
and ballet-master. He is superintending the developing
powers of his ballet, addressing them individually, as they
go wrong, with a curious combination of flowers of speech,

collecting terms of endearment and expressions of abuse
into an oratorical bouquet, which is quite unique in its
kind. He has the short, stubby moustache which seems
to be almost peculiar to harlequins, and his cheeks have
the hollo wness of unhealthy exertion. He wears a prac-
tising dress, in order that he may be in a position to
illustrate his instructions with greater precision, and also
because he has been rehearsing the "trips," leaps, and

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME. 53

tricks which he has to execute in the comic scenes. His
life is not an easy one, for all the carpenters in the esta-
blishment are united in a conspiracy to let him break his
neck in his leaps if he does not fee them liberally. He
earns his living during the off-season by arranging ballets,
teaching stage dancing, and, perhaps, by taking a music-
hall engagement.

We now introduce the Manager, who probably
looks upon the pantomime he is about to produce as

the only source of important profit that the year will
bring him. Its duty is to recoup him for the losses
attendant upon two or three trashy sensation plays, a
feeble comedy, and a heavy Shakspearian revival ; and if
he only spends money enough upon its production, and
particularly upon advertising it, he will probably find it

54 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

will do all this, and leave him with a comfortable balance
in hand on its withdrawal. He is a stern critic in his
way, and his criticisms are based upon a strictly practical
foundation — the question whether or not an actor or
actress draws. He has a belief that champagne is the
only wine that a gentleman may drink, and he drinks it
all day long. He smokes very excellent cigars, wears
heavy jewellery, drives a phaeton and pair, and is ex-
tremely popular with all the ladies on his establishment.
He generally " goes through the court" once a year, and
the approach of this event is generally shadowed forth by
an increased indulgence on his part in more than usually
expensive brands of his favourite wine. He has no diffi-
culty ^in getting credit ; and he is surrounded by a troop
of affable swells whom he generally addresses as dear old
boys.

GETTING UP A PANTOMIME. 55

The preceding sketch represents the "property man"
— an ingenious person whose duty it is to imitate every-
thing in nature with a roll of canvas, a bundle of osiers,
and half a dozen paint-pots. It is a peculiarity of most
property men that they themselves look more like ingeni-
ous " properties" than actual human beings ; they are a
silent, contemplative, pasty race, with so artificial an air
about them that you would be hardly surprised to find
that they admitted of being readily decapitated or bisected
without suffering any material injury. A property man
whose soul is in his business looks upon everything he
comes across from his professional point of view ; his
only idea is — how it can best be imitated. He is an
artist in his way; and if he has any genuine imitative
talent about him he has plenty of opportunities of making
it known.

Now comes the Author. I have kept him until the last,
as he is by far the most unimportant of all his collabora-
teurs. He writes simply to order, and his dialogue is
framed upon the principle of telling as much as possible
in the very fewest words. He is ready to bring in a
" front scene " wherever it may be wanted, and to find
an excuse at the last moment for the introduction of any
novelty in the shape of an " effect " which any ingenious
person may think fit to submit to the notice of the
manager. From a literary point of view his work is
hardly worth criticism, but he ought, nevertheless, to
possess many important qualifications if it is to be pro-
perly done. It is not at all necessary that he should be
familiar with the guiding rules of prosody or rhyme ; nor

56

THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

is it required of him that he shall be a punster, or even
a neat hand at a parody ; but he must be quick at
weaving a tale that shall involve a great many " breeches
parts." He must be intimately acquainted with the
details of stage mechanism, and of the general resources
of the theatre for which he is writing. He must know

all the catchy songs of the day, and he must exercise a
judicious discrimination in selecting them. He must set
aside anything in the shape of parental pride in his
work, and he must be prepared to see it cut up and
hacked about by the stage-manager without caring to
expostulate. He must " write up " this part and cut
down that part at a moment's notice ; and if one song
won't do, he must be able to extemporize another at the

SITTING AT A PLAY. 57

prompter's table ; in short, he must be prepared to give
himself up, body and soul, for the time being, to manager,
orchestra leader, ballet-master, stage-manager, scenic
artist, machinist, costumier, and property-master — to do
everything that he is told to do by all or any of these
functionaries, and, finally, to be prepared to find his
story characterized in the leading journals as of the
usual incomprehensible description, and his dialogue as
even inferior to the ordinary run of such productions.

SITTING AT A PLAY.

AMONG the multifarious duties which fall to the lot of
the Thumbnail Sketcher (who may be said to have sold
himself for life to a printer's devil) that of visiting thea-
tres on first nights for the purpose of supplying disin-
terested notices of new pieces for a ceitain critical journal,
is, perhaps, the least remunerative. He does not confine
the practice of speaking his mind, such as it is, to the
readers of these Thumbnail Studies : he is always in
the habit of indulging in that luxury whenever he is
called upon to express a printed opinion on matters of
public interest. But the consequences of recording an
unbiassed opinion on any theatrical question are of a
peculiarly unpleasant description, if that unbiassed opi-
nion happens to be of an unfavourable nature, for they
subject the audacious critic to the undisguised sneers of
ponderous tragedians, dismal comic men, and self-satisfied

o8 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

managers — in addition to the necessity of paying for his
stall whenever he has occasion to visit a theatre for
critical purposes. The siieers amuse him, but he is free to
confess that he is annoyed at having to pay for his ad-
mission ; and the consequence is that whenever he takes
his place in a theatre he does go under a sense of injury
which might possibly have the effect of unintentionally
warping his critical faculties, such as they are, were it
not that to speak the bare truth of a theatrical perform-
ance, is to avenge one's six shillings to the uttermost
farthing. But although the Thumbnail Sketcher feels
that he meets a manager on even terms, he can with
difficulty compose himself to regard an audience with
feelings of anything like equanimity. Their behaviour
during the progress of the representation of a new piece,
on its first night, irritates him beyond endurance. In
the first place, there is almost always a party who hiss,
without any reference to the merits or demerits of the
piece. It is a somewhat curious fact that in England
hisses are seldom heard save on "first nights;" and
of the fifty or sixty new pieces that have been recently
produced at West-end London theatres, hardly a dozen
have altogether escaped hissing on the occasion of
their first performance. " Caste " was not hissed, neither
was the " Doge of Venice," nor the Haymarket " Romeo
and Juliet," nor " A "Wife Well Won ;" but these pieces
form the principal exceptions to the rule. But it is not
so much of indiscriminate hissing, as of indiscriminate
applause, that the Thumbnail Sketcher complains. A
clap- trap sentiment, a burlesque " break-down," a music-

SITTING AT A PLAY. 5fJ

hall parody, a comic man coming down a chimney, an
indelicate joke, a black eye, a red nose, a pair of trousers
with a patch behind, a live baby, a real cab, a smash of
crocker}', a pun in a "comedy," an allusion, however
clumsy, to any topic of the day, a piece of costermonger's
slang, or any strongly-marked tailoring eccentricity, is
quite sure of a rapturous reception whenever it is pre-
sented to an audience. Then I take objection to people
who crack nuts — to people who eat oranges and pepper-
mint drops — to people who go out between all the
acts, without reference to the inconvenience they occa-
sion to their neighbours. I take objection to peo-
ple who know the plot, and tell it, aloud, to their
friends — to people who don't know the plot but guess
at the denouement — to people who borrow playbills
and opera- glasses — to donkeys who talk of actresses by
their Christian names — and, above all, to those unmiti-
; gated nuisances who explain all the jokes to friends of
slow understanding. The Thumbnail Sketcher, being
i about to treat of people he meets in theatres, thinks it is
I only fair to admit this prepossession against them, in
L order that it may be distinctly understood that as he can-
I not pledge himself to look at them in an unprejudiced
I light, everything that he may have to say of them may
I be taken cum grano.

There was a time when to go to a theatre was, in the
k Thumbnail Sketcher's mind, the very highest enjoyment
Ijto which a mortal could legitimately aspire in this world.
•There was nothing in any way comparable to it, and all
I other forms of amusement resolved themselves into mere

60 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

vexatious vanities when placed in juxtaposition with the
exquisite embodiment of human happiness. At that
period he was accustomed to regard the signs of weariness
exhibited during the last farce, by relations who had him
in charge, as a piece of affectation of the most transparent
description, assumed for the purpose of demonstrating
that their matured tastes could have nothing in common
with those of a little boy of six or seven years of age, and
further to overwhelm him with a sense of the martyrdom
which they were undergoing on his account. But a long
course of enforced theatre-going has modified his views
on this point ; and it is some years since he awoke to the
fact that the last farce is often a trying thing to sit out —
to say nothing of the five-act legitimate comedy, or the
three-act domestic drama that frequently precedes it.
He has learned that human happiness is finite, and that
even farces pall after the fifteenth time of seeing them.

The Mephistophelian gentleman on next page is a dis-
appointed dramatist, and an appointed critic to a very
small, but very thundering local journal published some-
where in the wilds of South London. He has a very poor
opinion of the modern drama, and is very severe indeed
upon every piece that is produced generally, for no better
reason than that the author is still alive. He has formed
certain canons of dramatic faith, derived from a careful
study of his own rejected dramas, and he is in the habit
of applying them to all new productions, and if they
stand the test (which they usually do not) they are
qualified to take their place as a portion of the dramatic
literature of the country. He has a withering contempt

npt

HITTING AT A PLAY.

for all adapters, and particularly for Mr. Tom Taylor,
who is, and has been for years, the butt of obscure and
illiterate critics. He is in the habit of alluding to him-
self in the third person as " the Press ; " and when you

hear him say that " the Press don't like this," or " the
Press won't stand that," and that you have only to wait
and see v/hat " the Press " have to say about it to-mor-
row, you are to understand that he is referring simply to
his own opinion, which, no doubt, from a characteristic
modesty and a laudable desire to avoid anything like an
appearance of egotism, he veils under that convenient
1 generality.

The lady who follows is intended as a representative of

j that extensive element in most dress-circles which finds

i its way into theatres by the means of free admissions.

It is a carious feature in theatrical management

C2

THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

— and a feature which doesn't seem to exist in any
other form of commercial enterprise — that if you can't
get people to pay for admission, you must admit them
for nothing. Nobody ever heard of a butcher scattering
steaks broadcast among the multitude because his cus-
tomers fall off, neither is there any instance on record of

a banker volunteering to oblige penniless strangers with
an agreeable balance. Railway companies do not send
free passes for general distribution to eel-pie shops, nor
does a baker place his friends on his free-list. But it is
a standing rule at most theatres that their managers
must get people to pay to come in, if possible, but at all
events they must get people to come in. A poorly-filled
house acts not only as a discouragement to the actors,

SITTING AT A PLAT. 63

but it depresses the audience, and sends them away with
evil accounts of the unpopularity of the entertainment.
The people who find their way into a theatre under the
" admit two to dress-circle " system, hail, usually, from

he suburbs, but not unfrequently from the lodging-letting
districts about Eussell Square. They usually walk to the

.heatres, and, consequently, represent an important source
of income to the stout shabby ladies who preside over the

>onnet and cloak departments. They may often be recog-
nized by the persistency with which, they devour acidu-

ated drops during the performance.
This heavy gentleman with the tawny beard is one of

,hat numerous class of profitable playgoers who do not

venture to exercise any critical faculties of their own, but
about endorsing popular opinions because they are

64 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

popular, without any reference to their abstract title to
popularity. A gentleman of this class will yawn through
" King John," and come away delighted : he will sleep
through " Mazeppa," and come away enraptured. No-
thing pleases him more than a burlesque " break-down,"
except, perhaps, the " Hunchback," and if there is one
thing that he prefers to the " Iron Chest " it is a ballet.
He is delighted in a sleepy general way with everything
that is applauded. Applause is his test of excellence,
and if a piece doesn't go well, it is " awful bosh ! " He
is enraptured with the Parisian stage (although his
knowledge of the language is fractional), because in
Paris all pieces go well ; and the sight of a compact mass
of enthusiasts in the centre of a Parisian pit is sufficient
to justify him in any amount of solemn eulogy. His
presence is much courted by managers, for if he never
applauds, he never hisses, and always pays.

The highly-respectable old gentleman on the right is an
unwavering patron of the old school of dramatic litera-
ture. A five-act piece, even by a modern author, will
always attract him, and every Shakespearian revival is
sure of his countenance and support. He reads his
Shakespeare as he reads his Bible — with a solemn rever-
ential belief in its infallibility. He won't hear of " new
readings," and even looks upon any departure from the
traditional "business" as a dangerous innovation, smack-
ing of dramatic heresy and literary schism. The
" Honeymoon " commands him — so do th'e works of tl
elder and younger Morton ; so does " She Stoops to Coi
quer." Sheridan is always sure of him, and Lord Lytt

SITTING AT A PLAY.

65

may generally reckon on his support. His taste in dra-
matic matters is irreproachable, as far as it goes, but
it is based upon tradition, and he pays little attention

|o pieces that are not old enough to have become
iditional.

The young gentleman on the next page is one of those
itolerable nuisances, who, having a reputation for wag-
?ry within a select circle of admirers, find, in the pro-
uction of every piece in which pathetic interest is an
)rtant feature, an opportunity for displaying a know-
of the hoilowness of the whole thing, and the
leral absurdity of allowing oneself to be led away by
stage clap-trap. He will remind you, as Juliet is

G6 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

weeping over her dead Romeo, that a petition for a
divorce, filed by the Romeo against the Juliet, and in
which the comfortable Friar is included as co-respondent,
is high up in the Judge Ordinary's list. He will some-
times affect to be bathed in tears, when there is no excuse
for any demonstration of the kind, and he will interrupt
a scene of deep pathos with a "Ha ! ha !" audible all

over the house. He is -very angry at anything in
shape of a vigorous denunciation, or a pathetic appes
any kind ; and he indulges in a musing exclamational
commentary of " Oh ! I say, you know ! " " Come,
come." " So ho ! gently there ! " " St-st-st," and
" Really, I say — by Jove ! " which meets with much

SITTING AT A PLAY.

07

admiration from his believing friends, and general indig-
nation from others in his immediate neighbourhood who
have not the advantage of his acquaintance.

FROM THE FRONT BOW OF THE PIT.

i) 2

68

THE THUMBNAIL SKETCHES, IN A CAB.

IT has often occurred to the Thumbnail Sketcher to in-
quire how it happens that a man first comes to drive a
cab ; but as he has consulted no one but himself on the
matter, he has not yet met with a satisfactory reply. He
presumes that a lad is seldom educated with a view to his
being a cab-driver — certainly a neophyte has no ap-
prenticeship to serve — yet the calling demands the
exercise of considerable practical talent if it is to be con-
scientiously followed. A wholly inexperienced man
cannot jump on the box of a Hansom and drive an irrit-
able fare at a reasonable pace down Cheapside at three
o'clock in the afternoon. Before he can do this with any
degree of safety he must have enjoyed a considerable
practical experience of his art. A cab- driver, moreover,
must possess some scientific acquaintance with the inner
structure of his horse, in order that he may know the
exact number of kicks in the stomach that that noble
animal can endure without suffering a lasting injury. He
must know the precise number of miles that his horse can
travel before it sinks exhausted, and he must know to a
grain the smallest amount of sustenance upon which the
animal can accomplish them. He must be a,' tolerably
expert physiognomist, and he must be able to tell at a
glance whether a fare is to be bullied or wheedled into an
over-payment. When he attempts to overcharge an
elderly lady, he must be able to determine at a moment's

THUMBNAIL STUDIES IN A CAB. 69

notice the truth or falsehood of the remark, "There is a
gentleman in the house who will settle with you," with-
out bringing the question to a practical issue. He must
be furnished with original readings of the more obscure
sections of the Cab Act, and he must be prepared to de-
fend his views before competent tribunals without the
assistance of counsel. He must learn to comport himself
with dignity under the trying circumstances of a summons
for abuse, extortion, and assault ; and he must be always
prepared with plausible reasons for evading undesirable
fares. He must be able to determine who will submit to
extortion and who will resent it ; and he must be inti-
mately acquainted with the nearest cut to the obscurest
streets ; and he must be prepared to look with an eye of
suspicion on all fares who require to be set down at the
Burlington Arcade, the Albany, Swan and Edgar's,
Waterloo House, and all other edifices which a person
may enter from one street and leave by another ; and he
must know exactly how long he is to wait at such
addresses before he is justified in coming to the conclusion
that his fare has bolted by the other exit. Altogether his
profession demands the exercise of various mental accom-
plishments, and the Thumbnail Sketcher cannot help
thinking that a thoroughly expert London cabman
deserves a -far higher intellectual position than that
which his envious fellowmen usually award him. These
considerations, which are the usual and only result of the
Thumbnail Sketcher's investigations as to the means
whereby a man becomes a cabman, tend rather to sur-
round the question with fresh difficulties, and to make

70 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

the problem more difficult of solution than ever. Under
these circumstances he has no alternative but to leave the
question where he found it.

The Thumbnail Sketcher would like to have an oppor-
tunity of noticing the demeanour of a cabman during his
first day on a cab, and of contrasting it with his behaviour
after six months' experience. The day upon which a
man first launches into his adopted calling is always a
trying occasion to himself and an interesting one to his
friends and acquaintances ; but this must be particularly
the case with a cabman who has not usually enjoyed that
preliminary technical familiarization with the details of
his craft with which most beginners are furnished. The
barrister who takes his first brief into court has had, or
is supposed to have had, the benefit of some years' theo-
retical experience in the art of conducting a simple case ;
the surgeon who undertakes an operation for the first time
on his own account has probably undertaken a good many
on other people's account during his state of pupilage ; a
young soldier is not placed in a position of responsibility
until he knows something of his work ; and a curate has
crammed himself with religious platitudes before he
attempts his first sermon. So with the followers of hum-
bler callings, who have usually served a seven years'
apprenticeship before they are allowed to exercise them
on their own account. But a cabman is launched into
the London streets with no better Mentor than his own
intelligence can afford him, and if this fails him he will
probably go headlong to destruction. His cab will be
smashed in no time ; or he will run over little children

IN A CAB.

71

and be tried for manslaughter ; or he will be summoned
for loitering, or for overcharge, or for furious driving ;
and, moreover, he will allow himself to be swindled in all
directions. And all this goes to prove the Thumbnail
Sketcher's proposition that an expert London cabman
deserves a higher intellectual position than that with
which he is usually credited.

This old gentleman is a specimen of a class who look
out principally for old ladies with little children. He

is very careful with old ladies — he helps them in and
out with much devotion; while to little children he is
fatherly — not to say motherly — in his attentions. The
fact that his pace never exceeds four miles an hour is a
: special recommendation to the class of customers for
which he caters. He has two or three regular customers,

72 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

who know where to find him ; and as he is a quiet, civil
old gentleman enough in his way, he never gets into
much trouble. He gets drunk perhaps twice a year, but
as he always does it at home, his professional reputation
does not suffer. His customers belong to a class which
most cabman avoid — old ladies without any luggage ; and
he customarily declines, as far as he is able, the very
fares which younger and more enterprising cabmen are
too glad to get. The busy City gentleman who is in a
harry to catch a train, the lawyer dashing down to "West-
minster, the " swell ' ' keeping a dinner appointment at
his club, these are not for him. Neither is he to be
found in the streets after the theatres are closed. He
neglects the opportunities that bring the best harvest to
the cabmen's garner, but he has a snug little practice of
his own, that brings him in a decent living in the course
of the year.

The preservation of a cheerful exterior under other
people's misfortunes is the special attribute and distin-
guishing characteristic of the light-comedy cabman.
His mission in life is probably to cheer the desponding,
to enliven the depressed, to reassure the hopeless, and
generally to persuade mankind to look at misfortune
from a humorous point of view. The breaking down of
a brougham, full of ladies, in Seven Dials, affords him
an opportunity of showing how exceedingly " amusing
such an accident always is, if the people principally
interested can only be brought to look at it in the right
light. If the accident is at night, and if the ladies are
in evening dress, the fun of the thing is materially

IN A CAB.

73

increased, and if it happens to be raining, his sense of
humour is gratified to the full. A gentleman who has
had his hat blown off, or a lady whose dress has been
ruined by a mud-splash, enables him to indulge his

cheerful disposition to make the best of things ; and his
behaviour at a house on fire vindicates his power of
rising superior to (other people's) misfortune in a sur-
prising degree. He is a master of the art of traditional
chaff, but he is not great at original remarks. His power
of rising superior to misfortune breaks down only when
it is applied to his own case.

The Thumbnail Sketcher's experience among cabmen
goes to show, that if they are not universally civil and
respectful in demeanour, and moderate in their demands

74 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

(and they certainly are not), the old conventional foul-
mouthed blackguard is far less frequently met with than
he was ten or twelve years ago. People are more ready
to take out summonses than they were ten years since,
and perhaps complainants meet with more consideration
in police-courts than they did formerly. The filthy,
foul-mouthed, howling vagabonds who used to be the

terror of old ladies, seem almost to have died out : per-
haps they have retired into private life on" their ill-
gotten savings. You meet with them now and then,
waiting outside suburban houses where evening parties
are ; but they generally prowl at night, and respectable
ladies are seldom exposed to their mercies. Cabmen

IN A CAB.

75

this class always make their horses suffer for any short-
comings on the part of their fares ; indeed, it may be
taken as a general rule that if a cabman drives furiously
away after having been discharged, he does not
consider that he has been liberally dealt with by his
customer.

The smartest class of cabman is the man who has
passed his previous existence as a helper in a livery-
stable, and who, being of a nomadic turn of mind, pre-
fers the free-and-easy condition of a Hansom cabman to
the more dependent, though perhaps more remunerative
condition of a domestic groom. He drives a smart cab, and

his horse is always up to the mark. He is particular with
his brass-work, and, in short, he is a good specimen of
what a cabman should be, but seldom is. He does some-

76 THUMBNAIL STUDIES

thing with races, and contrives, perhaps, to make a little
money, which he eventually invests in a small " livery
concern."

The next is the civil-spoken man, who " leaves it to
you, sir." He has an airy way with him, and an agree-
able method of implying that he doesn't drive you so
much for remuneration as for the sake of establishing

friendly social relations with you. He is almost hurt
when you ask him how much he claims ; and -he turns
the matter over in his mind, as if it had never occurred
to him to look at it from a pecuniary point of view before.
He ends by giving up the solution of the difficulty as a
bad job, and throws himself upon your consideration —

IN A CAB.

77

" leaves it to you, sir." This is an appeal to your libe-
rality which you are not always able to withstand, and
on the whole his confidence is not ill rewarded.

The character in the cape is an unfortunate man, who
doesn't get on in his profession, and is an apt illustration
of the evils which a want of some preliminary experience
in cab-driving is likely to bring upon an unintelligent

practitioner. He is always in trouble. He never knows
the way anywhere. The police are always down upon
him. He suffers from rheumatism. His fares are con-
vinced that " this is a man who should be made an
example of." The magistrates quite agree with the
fares. He parades his abusive language under the ears

73 THUMBNAIL STUDIES.

oi the policeman on duty, and heal ways selects deter-
mined men of independent fortune and a taste for petty
law as the intended victims of his powers of extortion.
His license is constantly suspended, and he has hecome
proverbial among his fellows as a man who never has got
on, and never, by any chance, will.

79

SCENES IN COURT

CHAPTER I.

I HAVE always had an affection for "Westminster Hall.
My earliest recollections are bound up with it, and I
cannot bring my memory to tell me of a time when it
was not to me an object of reverence and love.

I think of it as an old friend, and love it so much that
I glory in the knowledge that it is almost certain to sur-
vive me. The carved angels who adorn the supports to
the roof are all my intimates. They have been my
participes curarum " even from boyish days." They
knew when I was in trouble with my " construe,"
entangled in Greek roots, or posed in Euclid. They
smiled on me when my spirit failed me because of bullies.
They were my confidants when I, aged 13, was so
deeply enamoured of the pretty daughter, aged 25, of the
porter of our school. I used to discuss to them, with a
confidence unbounded, the propriety of declaring my
affection, and the probabilities of my lady's acceptance
of me. They never told me the plain rude things I
have been told and have myself told since. My weekly
shilling, with its threepence mortgage for eaten tarts,
was not pointed at as insufficient for the maintenance of

80 SCENES IN COURT.

us both. They knew — and why therefore tell them ? —
that Bessie had nothing to bring, save a good appe-
tite, towards our mutual support. I told them I should
work all day for her : I should write books, invent
engines, paint pictures, make great discoveries in che-
mistry, and fifty other things which were quite easy to
be done. There would be no doubt about a living.
They never sneered nor said unkind things, but always
smiled and beamed with kindness as I poured forth to
them the whole secrets of my heart. This begat a close
friendship which has not waned by increasing. I still
hold them as fast friends. "When I became old enough
to understand what they said, they told me long stories
of the things they had seen in their time. They in-
terested me with accounts of trials at which they had
been witnesses, and filled me with admiration by their
descriptions of my historical favourites.

They bore testimony to the correctness of Vandyke's
portrait of the unfortunate Earl of Strafford, and brought
the favour of the man so vividly to my mind, that I
fancied I could see the clear-cut face and dark complexion
of him, and hear his ringing, bell-like voice appealing to
the peers for mercy on his fault, on account of the inno-
cent " pledges which a saint, now in heaven, had left
him."

They seemed not to have known of the earl's execu-
tion ; for they said the trial broke down, and they con-
cluded the prisoner was acquitted. When I told them
of the Bill of Attainder, and of the king's consent to
his friend's death, they wept whole heaps of dust and

SCENES IN COURT. 81

cobweb, and gave solemn ratification to Strafford's
endorsement of the Psalmist's warning about putting
one's trust in princes.

This did not prevent them from speaking sorrowfully
about the trial of the king, and of his octogenarian
archbishop.

They had seen the man who is portrayed in undying
colours, in the noble picture now in Middle Temple Hall,
enter the place as a prisoner ; and they had listened
throughout the trial with mingled awe and indignation,
almost laughing outright, however, when they heard
Lady Fairfax say aloud, in answer to the call for her
husband, that he knew better than to be present, since
his wife was. They heard the whole thing, including
the sentence ; and somehow or other they were already
acquainted with the fact of the execution.

Then they had stories to tell of the Seven Bishops,
and Warren Hastings; they had overheard Burke's bon
mot about " the (vo)luminous pages of Gibbon." They
had seen and heard much more than I can remember or
write down ; and they pleased me immensely by the
ready confidence they gave me. "We passed many happy
hours together, and then came an interval of separation,
during which I listened to the stories of other roof-
supporting cherubim, and gathered scraps of information
from many an ancient place. Time, however, brought
me back again to my old friends, if it did not to my first
love. The latter made an excellent wife to the baker
who was patronized by the school ; but the former
remained as before, unchanged — unless, perhaps, a trifle

82 SCENES IN COURT.

dirtier. They had often inquired of me what went on
inside those doors which faced one half of them on the
floor beneath ; and when I came back again after the
separation before named, it became my business to in-
struct myself so that I might answer their questions.

On the right of the Great Hall, as you enter it, is a
flight of stone steps, on the top of which a vestibule —
guarded by a she Cerberus, who has acquired a prescriptive
right to war upon the digestion of her Majesty's lieges,
by means of strangely-compounded edibles which she
sells to them — leads to the two courts where the judges
of the Queen's Bench dispense justice. More of both of
these presently. Running between the two, or rather at
the back of one and by the side of the other, is a darksome
passage, dimly lighted, conducting, as a stranger might
legitimately think, to the dungeons and torture chambers
whither are consigned the delinquents condemned by the
Court to purge their offences, but leading, in fact, to
chambers destined to far other uses. The genial light of
day is excluded from this passage, and the insufficient
lamps which are supposed to illumine it, serve but to cast
a grim shade upon the assembled clerks and clients who
haunt the hard seats along its sides as though they found
in them a nature akin to their own. Out of it a side
door opens into the great Court of Queen's Bench ; and
through the door come and go counsellors and senators,
gowns, silk and stuff — the elite of the law, with the rank
and file thereof. There is not any inscription over the
door, as there is over the door in another place, bidding
those who enter leave hope behind them ; — yet there is

SCENES IN COURT. 83

something in the ordinary, unprofessional creature's breast
which makes him read in the faces of those he finds in
this grim abode, a certain indication that hope has small
place there. But the passage, whither does it lead ? To
subterranean regions certainly — perhaps to the very cellar
in which Guido Fawkes laid the train which was to have
carried King James and his Parliament, express, to heaven
or to hell. But a visit to the first chamber at the end of
the stone staircase, on which wigged and robed men
ascend and descend, as unlike as possible to the angels
whom the Patriarch Jacob saw from his stony pillow,

reveals no more formidable a person than Mr. , the

robing-master, and no more suspicious-looking a being
than the ancient man who is his servitor. The room,
however, in which they live, and move, and get their
fees, is more open to cavil than are its tenants. I incline
to the opinion that it is Guy's original cellar ; and so
firmly, that I decline to listen to any statement which
shall try to convince me to the contrary, by showing that
it is many yards away from where the old Parliament
House stood. Small, gloomy, with no daylight, really
underground, and damp and misty as cellars are wont —
the eyes require time to get accustomed to the gloom
which the garish gaslights create but are powerless to
lispeL Eows of hooks round a stout framework on one
nde of the room suggest the neighbourhood of Sachen-
^eges, racks, bilboes, and other " hateful and grim things "
:o which they must be appurtenant ; the framework itself,
with many mysterious joints and holes in it, looks in the
semi-darkness not unlike some foul instrument of torture ;

84 SCENES IN COURT.

and at first it is difficult to divest one's self of the notion
that he has got into a veritable chamber of horrors, of

which the prepossessing-looking Mr. is perhaps the

attendant surgeon, and of which his curiously-featured
assistant is the sworn tormentor. Instinctively one looks
about for the barrels of gunpowder, the coals which con--
ceal them, and a figure like that the boys drag about on
the 5th of November ; and I am far from being convinced
they are not actually there, though I have not been
able to discover them. That small mirror in the wall,
surely it must be used for ascertaining whether breath is
left in a tortured victim ; the wavy character of its sur-
face precludes the idea of its being employed as a means
to personal adornment, and the former use would be in»
keeping with the character of the room. Those ominous-
looking boxes of wood and tin, in shape not unlike the
human head, and labelled with names — what is their
office ? Is this the hangman's morgue, and is he allowed-
to keep the heads of decapitated felons to scare the
living from crime, or to allow of phrenologists studying
their science on the original busts ? Or is this a sort of
parliamentary terror akin to that which Domitian con-
trived for the Roman senators when he showed them into
a dimly-lighted funereal chamber, wherein they found
their coffins, "ready for immediate use," — as the adver-
tisements have it — and inscribed with their own names ?
Are wordy and hated members brought into this hall of
English Vehmgericht and frightened into agreements to
vote differently, and to shorten their speeches, by the
sight of their own head cases, labelled with their name

SCENES IN COURT 85

and of Greenacreish sort of bags yawning to receive their
skulless trunks ? I scrutinize the names on the cases,
sniffing the while — for I am not without a presentiment
that the Calcraft museum theory is the right one, — and
I look curiously for the names of certain hon. members
who would be sure to be represented if the second sup-
position were correct. My eyes do not deceive me when
[ actually read the names of some of these. I saw them
alive and well but a few days since ; — have all their
glories shrunk to this little space, so soon ? " Alas, poor
!" I exclaim, and turn away from the cases, con-
vinced that the British public cannot be aware of the
ecrets of these secret places, and resolved that I will lose
10 'time in making it acquainted with the discoveries I
lave made. Even judges under Charles I. refused to
ay that Felton might lawfully be tortured ; and shall my
Jord "Westbury be suffered to tweak the noses of his
'pponents with red-hot pincers, like another Dunstan,
nd to consign their " proud tops " to these infernal pre-
ed meat canisters ? No. The smart young men

nnectedwith an " Independent Press" shall hear of it ;
the decree of the second Lateran Council of Pompeii
assuredly be quoted against it.

I find I have been wrong. Though the question as to
ae powder and coal and Guy Fawkes remains an open
ne, there is, I fear, no ground for the anxiety which I
ad intended to exhibit through the medium of the press.

'urther inquiries have satisfied me that Mr. is not

le chirurgeon I had imagined him ; though it required
ie exhibition on his part of his power as a " leech," to

86 SCENES IN COURT.

'

bleed me to the extent of £1 5s. before I could be con-
vinced. His assistant — a silent and sad man — evidently
affected by long acquaintance with the place — is no sworn
tormentor. Mr. is " master of the robes," com-
mitted to his care ; and the silent man helps him to put
them on the backs of counsellors who patronize him.
The tin canisters, in shape not unlike the human head, i
are wig-boxes, labelled with the names of those who own '
them ; the butcher-like hooks, of which mention was
made, support the gowns which are fellows with the i
wigs ; and the Greenacreish bags are the vehicles in
which the gowns travel when going from one court to
another. The mirror is really meant to help in adorning
the person, and the framework alluded to is intended to
hold tbe property of those who frequent the room. In
point of fact, this is no other than a robing-room. The
plain deal table is not used for dissecting purposes, but as
a place for hats. This knowledge came only with the
lapse of time. The first occasion on which I entered the
room, I almost held my breath till I had got out of it
again, and felt, as I ascended the stone steps to the Court
above, something of the feeling which Dante had, when
he left the last circle of the Inferno, and came where he
could see the stars again.

On this same first occasion I distinctly remember how
shame and confusion were made to cover my face in this
passage, of which I spoke just now, though the " gloom-
ing," or " gloaming," which prevailed within it hid the
fact from the sight of all beholders. I had noticed two
men whispering together, looking towards me the while,

SCENES IN COURT. 87

as if they were speaking of me, and a cold shudder ran
through me as the thought flashed across my mind that

they might be there in the interests of Messrs. C

and D — , whose forbearance, in respect of sundry

" small claims," had been taxed somewhat fully ; and the
horrible idea occurred to me, that these men had been
sent to beard me in the very precincts of the Court, in
the hope of driving me to that which was next to im-
possible— a settlement. I was questioning to myself how
far the privilege of counsel attending the Courts of
Justice would cover me, and was doubting anxiously
whether that privilege was enjoyed only by those who
actually had business to transact, or whether it extended
over the whole class generally. I was doubting how far
i it would be wise to allow of this plea, which savoured of
adding insult to injury, being debated, and then roused
myself at the thought, what an occasion this would 'be
for showing the world the astonishing powers of speech
i and reasoning which I took it for granted reposed within
i me, and almost hoped myself right in the surmise which
i conscience, rather than judgment, had thrown out as to
•, the character of the men, when one of them advanced
towards me, holding a brief in his hand, and inquired in
a tone which relieved me greatly, notwithstanding my
>recent wishes for a contest, whether I were not Mr. Jones.
I readily acknowledged that ancient name to be mine,
land then bubbled up in my mind the thought that my
good genius had been playing me a good turn, and had
(sent this man to give me my first Court brief. How
kind of D , my attorney friend, who had promised

88 SCENES IN COURT.

me so often, while yet I was but a student, how greav
things he would do for me. There could be no doubt 1

had done D much wrong when I had mistrusted thi-

lavish promises he showered upon me. Yes ; my name
was Jones !

" Consultation at nine to-morrow morning, sir, in the

robing-rooin. Mr. D will feel much obliged if you

will attend particularly to this case, as Mr. (the

leader and Q.C.) will be very much engaged, and may
not read his brief."

Mr. D ! I did not know him. Had never heard

his name before. My friend's London agent, no doubt.

" Very well/' I answered, looking at the brief, where-
on were inscribed those cabalistic signs which so much
gladden the hearts of all counsel, whether leader or junior,
and which informed all whom it might concern that Mr.
Jones was concerned for the plaintiff, in an action against
the Great Western Railway, and that Mr. Jones was to
have ten guineas for his advocacy therein.

Holding the brief in my hand as though it were a
marshal's baton, I entered the Court of Queen's Bench
with the idea of making an impression upon my brethren
who should see me enter there, though for the first time,
with a brief in my hand. Upon L — - and B—
especially I desired to let fall the full weight of my im-
portance, because they had so many times hinted at the
absurdity of my ever expecting to hold a brief, unless, as
they were pleased to add, it might be one in my own
behalf as defendant in an action upon sundry accounts
delivered. I walked in and sideway'd to a place in the

SCENES IN COURT. 89

middle of the second row, where I saw L sitting

behind his morning paper, his wig pushed hack and dis-
closing a quantity of his brown curly hair, his gown just
clinging to his shoulders, and a look of nothing particular
to do showing itself upon his face.

" Hullo ! Jones, got a brief ! Your own, old chap ?
Deuced glad of it ; special jury of course. Want report-
ing ? " for D is reporter-in-chief of cases tried be-

:bre her Majesty's judges at Westminster and Guildhall,
:o the " Law Reformer's Gazette."

" Good firm, that ! " said L , looking at the name

)f my clients. " How did you get taken in tow ? I
;hought your namesake on the Southern Circuit did their
unior work. Want new blood, I suppose ; but like to
ceep the old name."

A cold shudder passed through me as L uttered

.hese words, for they conveyed to my mind the idea of
;here having possibly been a mistake. I strove to cast it
iff, but could not ; the suspicion was enough to unsteady
tny eyesight as I endeavoured to run cursorily through
j;he brief. The interesting nature of the action, and the
,nany points for argument which it opened up, gradually
absorbed me so much, that I did not notice the entrance
:>f the attorney's clerk who had given me the brief, and
«rho was now signalling to me by many signs and
gestures.

" There's another brief for you. Jones,' said L ,

udging me so as to draw my attention to the man, who,
,ble to reach me, evidently desired to have speech with
and who seemed to be in a very excited state of
d.

90 SCENES IN COURT.

Sidling out as I had come in, earning the curses which
all win who tread on tender feet, I arrived at the spot
where the man stood, and then — the horrid truth which

L 's words had caused me to suspect, dawned in its

fulness upon my mind, and desolation swept across me.

The man had made a mistake. He had confounded
my name — confound him ! — with that of my learned
friend of the same name on the Southern Circuit, the

very man of whom L had spoken. Not knowing

the gentleman he was told to instruct, he had asked a
colleague if each fresh comer from the robing hall bore
the style, in which I rejoice, and unluckily for me it
happened that I came up before my namesake, and the
colleague who made it his business to acquaint himself
with the name and abode of each member of the bar, old
or young, had told the wretch that my name was Jones.

Acting upon this meagre information, Messrs. D 's

clerk put the brief into my hands — and now, the real Simon
Pure having been discovered, it behoved me to surrender
my supposed gain — all the apologies of my misleader,
humble though they were even to abjectness, not serving
to compensate me for the loss of ten guineas, the dignity
of the thing, and the prospect which had been before me
of seeing my name in the newspapers in connection with
one of the most important cases that was tried that ternv
After such an event I could not go back to the Queen's
Bench, but turned a sadder and a poorer man into the
adjoining Court of Exchequer.

An old judge — I might say a very old judge — was sit-
ting on the bench, looking like the impersonation of law,

SCENES IN COURT. 91

arid of all that was dignified and venerable in man. He
was one who had been easily chief as a student at college,
and no less easily chief as a junior counsel at the bar.
His name was associated with many a famous case, of
which the memory even of the bills of costs had perished ;
he had survived the clients of his early days, and, while
yet a young man, had " gone lightly o'er low steps " in
the road to advancement ; now his name was considered
to be a synonym for justice, and those who sometimes
questioned the manner in which he laid down the law,
did not venture to question his law itself; and they
readily pardoned the privileges which old age assumed,
for sake of the time when these were not needed ; and
because of the comprehensive grasp of the old man's
mind, which enabled him to apprehend a thing in its
entirety, without Ibestowing upon it his whole attention.

A special jury case was on, and the jurymen's names
were being called over by the associate of the court. The
name of a most intimate friend, from whom I had parted
only that morning, was called out from the box, and
though surprised, for he had not told me of his having
been summoned, I quite expected to see him step forward
and answer. Imagine my dismay when a shabbily-
dressed man who had been standing near the " well" of
the Court, made the melancholy announcement that my
friend had been dead three months. A momentary

regret passed through my midriff as I thought of R 's

amiable wife and three young children ; but it was mo-
mentary only, for I knew quite well that R was

alive this very morning, and had left me not two hours

92 SCENES IN COURT.

ago for his office in Jute Street. There was some mis

take, but in the interests of R , who I knew hatet

jury summonses, I did not think it incumbent on me tc
right it. Several names were called to which no answer
were given, and there seemed to be but a poor chance o
making up the jury. Nine were in the box — three more
were wanted, and of two of those who remained to b<
called over, the shabbily-dressed man announced the
same doleful tidings that he had announced about
friend. Who was this that took such an interest in
special jurors that he knew to a nicety the dates of theii
decease, and came there to volunteer the informatioi
which he had himself acquired ? For he spoke evident!}
as amicits curies — he was not an official person, ye
because perhaps that his statements were made volun-
tarily, no one questioned the correctness of his speech
The judge made some remarks about the carelessness o
the sheriffs in keeping dead men's names upon the panel
the counsel for the plaintiff prayed a " tales," and th(
jury was completed by common jurors. The case went
on, but the shabby man interested me. He was evident!}
a frequenter of the Courts, and appeared to be known fa
the ushers and people in attendance ; and I thought he
was perhaps some retired attorney or barrister who made
it his hobby to get up the histories of jurors, and was
believed therefore, as a matter of course. It was ncft

until afterwards I learned from E , to whom I an-

nounced his own death, that he paid this man so much a
year to kill him when inconvenient summonses came, on
which occasions he sent them to the shabbily- dressed

SCENES IN COURT. 93

man, who instantly committed such homicide as would
be sufficient to excuse the victim from attendance at
Westminster.

The case was one for a special jury — a compensation
case for damages done through negligence of a servant —
and a great fight for the verdict was expected. The
counsel engaged for the defence were an eminent Queen's
Counsel and a junior — cetatis sues 45 — who was reckoned
one of the best of stuff gownsmen. Their battery was a
strong one, and they wore upon their faces an expression
of quiet satisfaction which betokened the comfortable
assurance they felt of being able to silence whatever
artillery might be brought against them.

" Who are for the plaintiffs ? " I inquired of the man
next me.

" Serjeant and P , a new junior, I believe.'*

" P of the Home Circuit ?"

"Yes."

" He'll have hard work against little S ," I re-
narked, " unless the serjeant helps him more than he is
vont to do. Is the serjeant here ?"

"I have not seen him," answered my friend, "and
ome one said just now he would not come."

" Poor fellow !" I exclaimed, for I knew P to be

he very quintessence of nervousness. " Surely he is
*iven over into the hands of the Philistines :" and so

ndeed it seemed. P 's leader was not in Court,

— could not learn anything about him, and it seemed

;o be pretty certain that if the case went on, P would

lave to conduct it himself.

94 SCENES IN COURT.

poor p J there he sat, looking unusually pale, and

suffering evidently from the suppressed excitement which
was born of the strange position in which he found him-
self. He sat there in his place behind the leader's bench,
with books and papers before him, in formidable array :
his brief, which he bound and loosed from its tape bonds
at least ten times in as many minutes, was in his left
hand, and the fingers of his right hand unconsciously
played the devil's tattoo with a quill pen on the red
baize desk : his eyes looked wistfully at the side door, at
he watched for the coming of him who came not. Little

S , his opponent, whispered words of soothing into

his leader's ear. The pair smiled benignly on each other,
and looked across at my poor nervous friend, who waf
unknown to them as well as to fame, with a glance
which pity mingled with some professional scorn.

The jury were sworn, and had settled themselves to
their duty with that expression of resigned unwillingness
on their faces which jurymen of all sorts are wont fr>
wear. The counsel for the defence untied their briefs
and opened them out leisurely on the slope. The Coutf
was all attention, reposing its chin on its hands ; there
remained nothing to be done but to open the case for the
plaintiff.

I looked across at P , no longer watching the sid.<;

door, but gazing curiously at the judge, who stared down
at him. The nervous, restless look was intensified to the
utmost, but to my surprise and relief there was no ap-
pearance of confusion. I knew P to have a strong

will and a stronger sense of duty, and rejoiced as I saw,

SCENES IN COURT. 95

or fancied I saw, these two coming to his assistance
against his own nervous system and the two skilled ver-
dict-getters who now threatened him.

A dead silence for about a minute was broken by the
judge uttering with some significance, as he still looked

hard at P , the monosyllables, " Well, sir ! "

P rose and said in a voice tremulous as that of

him who hears his own notes alone, for the first time in

a public place

" I hope your lordship will forgive me for keeping the
Court waiting. My leader is absent in the other Court,
nd will be here directly. I have sent for him."

" Oh, sir," said the judge — grinning a grim grin as he
aid it — " your leader intends to give you an opportunity
I distinguishing yourself. You'd better begin."
The jury laughed, the "learned friends" on the other
ide laughed, and all the "learned men" in Court
tiuckled at the facetious judge, who was unable to resist
le temptation of saying a smart thing even to a man so

vidently nervous as poor P . I trembled for P ,

ut he was no way dismayed. On the contrary, the
e's joke stood him in excellent stead; it lent him
bat slight touch of indignation, gave him that sufficient
rounding of his amour propre which enabled him to send
lis adversaries to the right about, and not only so, but to
lis own and his friend's surprise, to take part in the
.musement of which he himself was the occasion.
" Your lordship is aware that there are two ways of

listinguishing one's self," said P , anxious now to

time, and glad to use the means the Court had un-

96 SCENES IN COURT.

expectedly provided for him. " And I cannot but feel
that 1 shall he as distinguished as poor Denmark heside
the allies, if I am to be deprived of the assistance of my
learned leader."

" My brother will no doubt be here," said the leader
on the other side, "meantime you can go on." And
then followed some "chaff," as mild as that which had
gone before, about the absent " brother" being the learned

counsel's big brother (Serjeant was a very little one),

aod the probable consequences to him of pushing on the
case in the absence of the same, a disclaimer on the part
of the "other side" against being taken for the repre-
sentatives of those " distinguished foreigners," the allies
against Denmark, cum multis aim, which wasted a good

ten minutes, allowing Serjeant time to come up, and

would have lasted ten minutes more had not Mr. Baron

somewhat testily remarked that Mr. P could

at all events open the pleadings, which Mr. P said

" of course, he could do," and proceeded to do, with a
boldness which was the inspiration of the moment.

It is the duty of the junior counsel to begin under any
circumstances, so that there was as yet nothing falling

to the share of P which would not have fallen had

Serjeant been there. P told " my lord and the

jury" how that John Styles was the plaintiff and John
Giles was the defendant, and that the plaintiff sued the
defendant " for that ;" and then he read the interesting
document known as the declaration, from which it
appeared that John Giles was an exceedingly bad m
who hired servants known by him to be incompetent, an

SCENES IN COURT. 97

also to be very skilful in breaking other folk's legs ; that
he was habitually negligent as to the way in which ho
•conducted his business ; and so far as the matter now
before the Court was concerned, had " so negligently,
•carelessly, and improperly conducted himself in that
behalf," that by his appro vedly unskilful servant he had
" broken, wounded, crushed, bruised, and maimed " the
leg of John Styles, who being a carman, earning a pound
a-week, valued his injured limb at £1,000.

A thousand pounds seemed a moderate sum to ask for
injuries which required so many adjectives to describe
them ; but John Giles said on the pleadings, that he was
not guilty," and privately that Mr. Styles might go to
a warmer climate for the money he sought to recover.

•" Upon this plea," said P , " issue has been joined,

and that is the case for trial before you."

As a matter of fact, I believe the plaintiff was a carter,
who had gone with his master's cart to take some marble
slabs from defendant's yard. The defendant was fifty
miles away at the time, but his foreman and helpers
went to load the cart, and the plaintiff, though he did
not fetch the slabs out of the yard, nevertheless helped
to make them fast in the van, which he was bound to
protect. While they were making one of the slabs fast,
the foreman jumped out of the van and shook it, a slab
fell over and broke the carter's leg. The action was
.against the master for the negligence of his servant.

The point was a fine one, for if Styles could be made
out to have been acting as defendant's servant, or as a
voluntary helper, he must be nonsuited. Only if he

<)S SCENES IN COURT.

could be shown to have been independent of defendant's
orders, and to have been engaged upon the slabs in the
capacity of his own master's servant, had he a cause of
action. It was sailing rather close to the wind, as his
leader himself told him in consultation ; and indeed, but

for P 's showing him the principal case on which he

had relied, and which the learned serjeant, who had not
read his brief, had not, therefore, had occasion to look
up, that gentleman had declared there was no case.

Just as P was finishing his opening statement to

the jury, a slight commotion was heard at the entrance
to the Court, and to the manifest joy and delight of

P , Serjeant came in like a frigate in full sail.

Nodding good-humouredly to all around, the serjeant
seized the brief which his clerk held before him, and

without slipping the tape off, rose, as P sat down,

and proceeded to address the jury as though he had long
been master of the case, and had not — as in truth he
had — been put in possession of the facts only two hours
before in consultation.

You would have thought, to hear the serjeant, that
he had been engaged in loading slabs in vans all his life
long ; that until this particular moment he had never
done aught else, and had now come into Court for the
- sole purpose of telling the jury how his work was done.
Then he laboured to show that the defendant had admitted
the plaintiff's case ; said he should call witnesses to prove
it, as well as to depose to the serious nature of the in-
juries done to the plaintiff, as set forth in such harrowing
terms in the declaration. This done, he sat down, and

SCENES IN COURT. 99

P proceeded to call the first witness for the plaintiff

— the plaintiff himself.

A slight pause, after which the usher cried with a
loud voice — pitched as though he had a personal quarrel
with the witness — for John Styles to appear. A move-
ment at the end of the Court, and then a man as impo-
tent-looking as he who could not crawl into the Pool of
Bethesda, was brought forward by two supporters and
lifted into the witness-box. A chair was provided for
him, and, bound and becrutched, he showed like a victim
to all the woes contained in Pandora's box.

P elicited the details of the case, vainly trying to

make the witness declare himself other than he was evi-
dently desirous of representing himself to be, viz., a
willing helper to the men engaged in loading the van ; for

P felt the danger of the man proving himself a

volunteer, in the sense of an unremunerated and free
helper. "The other side" smiled as the examination
went on, and positively glowed with pleasure when his

lordship interrupted P by remarking that, as far as

he had heard, he could not understand what case there
•was.

Up sprang the Serjeant, snatching the book which

P had shown him only a few hours before, from

P 's hand, and with the air of a man who is suffering

intolerably from some sudden wrong, entreated his lord*
ship to refrain from any expression of opinion until the
•case had been fully gone into, adding, however, with
special reference to the remark about there being " no
•case," 'that he held in his hand a judgment on which he

K2

100 SCENES IN COURT.

very much relied, and to which he must beg his lordship's
attention.

" My learned friend knows something of the case, I
believe," said the Serjeant, as he handed the book to the
usher, and nodded good-humouredly at Mr. Q. C., who
had shown cause in this very case, and who now mut-
tered something about the two cases being distin-
guishable.

The judge took the book from the hand of the asso-
ciate, who had received it from his lordship's clerk, who
had received it from the usher, who had received it from
the Serjeant ; and after scanning the outside of it/and
looking at the fly-leaf to see the owner's name, proceeded
to read the judgment to which his attention had been
drawn. Whilst his lordship read there was much sig-
nalling and undertone talk between the members of the
bar and the attendants in Court. The words " non-
suit"— " point reserved" — " new trial," came from the
"other side," accompanied by much shaking of heads,
which meant great things, doubtless, to the initiated in
such signs, for they shook their heads in return, and both
sides seemed perfectly satisfied.

" Do you think, sir, the judge is with us ?" said a man
sitting behind me, and who I gathered from the use of
the pronoun " us," was interested in the case.

" I don't know," I answered ; " he seems to be in a
good humour."

"Has humour anything to do with his being for or
against us, sir ? " inquired the man. " I should not have
thought so."

SCENES IN COURT. 101

"Perhaps not," I replied; "but judges are only men,
and all men are subject to bouts of indigestion." The man
seemed to be lost in wonder on finding that even judges
were not impassible ; and was even more astonished at
the familiarity which existed between the opposed " coun-
sel " than Mr. Pickwick was when his leader shook hands
with the counsel for Mrs. Bardell. The judge finished
his earnest perusal of the volume, and laying the book
down on its face, said, " This is a very important case ; it
is nearly your case," looking towards P .

" It is our case, my lord," rejoined P-

'•' "Well," observed the judge, " I do not see how the
matter can rest here with a verdict. It must go into the
full Court, and possibly to the Court above. Is it not a
case for a settlement ? "

P beamed with satisfaction. He had raked out

the case' in question, and mainly on [the strength of
it he had advised the action being brought. He had
withstood his own leader with it in consultation, and now
it came in the face of the judge's expressed opinion.
" The other side " looked a little disconcerted, but was
glad " his lordship had thrown out this expression of
opinion." Then came a laying of heads together by the
counsel engaged, assisted by the attorneys on either side,
who leaned over the back of the " well " in which they
were confined, and deferred to the wisdom of those whom
they had entrusted with the case. His lordship read the
newspaper, the jury stood up and stretched their legs in
the jury-box, and Mr. C. D., the eminent (in that he was
six feet high) junior counsel, who drew portraits many,

102 SCENES IN COURT.

though pleadings few, sketched the scene before him, as
a whole and in parts, upsetting the gravity which resides
under the wig, arid moving every one to laughter by the
absurdity and justness of his caricature likenesses.

The conference was of no avail. Counsel could not

agree. The case must go on ; so P finished his

examination of the plaintiff, and Mr. Q. C. rose to cross-
examine.

Little was elicited by this means, beyond the fact that
the plaintiff had undoubtedly helped, but whether as a
volunteer, or as his own master's servant, was the some-
what fine question which was left for the jury. And now
a man, whose personal appearance had already attracted
considerable attention, was called. He had been sitting
by the side of the solicitor in charge of the case, and was
evidently much interested in the issue of the trial. He
had been present at an interview between plaintiff and
defendant, and was to bear witness to what had passed.
He was a fine-looking man, apparently a foreigner, with
an animated expression of countenance, and a costume
which, the place and occasion considered, was truly won-
derful. Whether it was the way in which he found
expression for the respect which his nature felt for the
tribunals of the kingdom, or whether it was the custom
in his country so to appear before the courts, did not
come out : but this gentleman was attired in full evening
dress, with an elaborately worked shirt, diamond studs,
and a coat which Mr. Poole's eye might have pronounced
faultless. No distinction had been made between him
and the other witnesses in the cause, as I cannot help

SCENES IN COURT. . 103

thinking there should have been. It was scarcely right
in the usher to allow so magnificently clad a man to
herd with the " seedy " crew who filled as of right that
abyss in the halls of justice known as " the well ;" un-
less, and perhaps he was correct after all, the usher
thought of him as Lafeu thought of Parolles, in " All's
Well that Ends Well," that " the scarfs and bannerets
about him did manifoldly dissuade him from believing
him a vessel of too great burden." Anyhow, there he
sat in the " well " till his name was called out by the
usher, in as indignant a voice as that in which the first
witness had been desired to stand forth. Then he started
to his feet as if the ground under them had suddenly
grown red hot, and made his way over blue bags, papers,
and the legs of attorneys' clerks, to the witness-box.

Serjeant introduced him to the judge, as Count

Dieudon, a Frenchman, while the associate explained, as
much by signs as by words, that the gentleman must re-
move the white kid glove from his right hand, in order
to hold the sacred book on which he was to swear to tell
the whole truth and nothing but that. There being
some difficulty in explaining this, his lordship thought
the delay was caused by the witness objecting to take
the oath, and thinking further, perhaps, that Count
Dieudon, who was as good a Christian as is to be found
throughout all Leicester Square, might possibly, from his
general appearance, be of the Hebrew faith, rather testily
told the associate to ask the witness if he were a Jew.
The bare suggestion caused a current of eloquence to flow
from the Frenchman, so strong and continuous, that it

104 SCENES IN COURT.

bid fair to supersede, in the attention of the Court, the
•caso which was actually before it. His lordship at length
succeeded in conveying to the speaker an assurance of his
want of intention to insult him ; M. Dieudon succeeded
in getting the white kid glove off his right hand ; and
the associate succeeded in swearing him in the words of
the oath.

" Did I understand you to say that the gentleman was
.a count ? " inquired the judge.

" He is so, my lord," answered P .

" Of the Roman Empire or the French ? " asked his
lordship, with a smile.

" One of the indebitatus counts, I believe, my lord,"
said Mr. Q. C., at which remark his lordship smiled
again, and Count Dieudon, who did not understand the
allusion, and thought they were but settling the exact
-degree of his rank, smiled also.

Count Dieudon had evidently made the English lan-
guage his study, and was, moreover, evidently well satis-
fied with the progress he had made in it. He had also
.given to the world three large volumes on the Science of
Agriculture, which he had with him in the witness-box,
in case, I suppose, any question should arise upon that
subject in the course of the trial of a complaint for broken
limbs. As this was far from likely, it seemed rather un-
necessary for him thus to burden himself; but these three
volumes were on the ledge before him, and served, at all
events, to show the judge how he should spell the witness's
and author's name, which was given to him by the learned
serjeant as Dewdong, and by the more learned (in French

SCENES IN COURT. 105

at least) friend on " the other side," as Doodoue. The
name and address of M. Dieudon having been written on
the judge's notes, and a further note having been made
as the only means of stopping iteration of the fact, that
M. Dieudon was author of the great work in question,.

Serjeant got the range, and began to fire into the

witness's stock of information.

M. Dieudon gesticulated a good deal, poured forth
volumes of Franco-English in copious answer to the
questions put to him, and gave to many English words a
pronunciation which reminded one of French spoken by
Dan Chaucer's prioress, who spoke French " full fayre-
and fetisly after the schole of Statford-atte-Bow." So-
with M. Dieudon and his English. He spoke " full fayre
and fetisly," but not after the school of Westminster
Hall. He might with propriety have gone home and told
his countrymen what the Irishman told his friends of the
French, that they were a very stupid people, who did not
even understand their own language ; for it was undoubt-
edly true that practice and use were both essential to a
right understanding of what M. Dieudon had to say.

Serjeant came to that part of his examination where

it behoved the witness to relate what had passed between
plaintiff and defendant during the interview at which he
had been present : and as M. Dieudon was both tenacious
of being thought able to speak the counsel's own tongue,
and also very voluble in his talk, the serjeant deemed it
advisable to beg the witness to relate the conversation, in-
stead of getting at it by means of questions. M. Dieudon
readily complied, and with the air of a Jullien and the

106 SCENES IN COURT.

voice of a Berryer, he told his simple tale ; but when he
came to the key of the whole conversation — the import-
ant part, where it was supposed the defendant had pro-
mised, as alleged in a second count, to pay the plaintiff a
sum of money — he failed altogether to convey an accurate
notion of what had taken place.

" Miszer Steel he come to defendant, an say, ' Your
man break my leg, and make me evil (me fit mal). You
recompense me. I live in hospital four, five month. Get
not work ; lose my living. What you give me ?' De-
fendant, he say nussing. Miszer Steel he press for
answer, but defendant shake his head. He stay a long
time to make answer, and zen he say nussing."

This evidence, which, more than all the arguments ,
based upon ethnological grounds, convinced me of the
affinity between French and Irish Celts, served also to
upset the gravity of the Court, which fairly laughed out,
and with every wish to do no uncivil thing, could not re-
frain from seizing this particular opportunity for mirth.
The count was not further interrogated, and with, I fear,
but hurt feelings, departed from the box with the great
work in three volumes, which was evidently the pride and
joy of his soul.

Michael Sullivan, the man who had done the mischief,
and upon whom his master had already thrown the blame
of the entire action, was next called, and, impressed by
the duty which lay upon him to observe reticence upon
the subject to be investigated, was more evasive in his
answers even than his countrymen are wont to be.

" Did you see the accident ?"

SCENES IN COURT. 107

" I did not, sir."

" Were you present at the time it occurred ?"

" I was, sir."

" Did you see a slab fall over in the van ?"

" I did, sir."

" Did it fall on plaintiff's leg?"

" I can't say."

"Do you believe it did?"

" I think it did, sir."

" Then you saw the accident?"

" I did not, sir."

" But you saw the slab fall, and think it went on to
plaintiff's leg?"

" I did, sir."

" Then you think you may say you saw the accident,
may you not?"

" I do not, sir."

And after much further bandying of words, it was
found out that the witness had seen everything except
the actual snapping of the bone in the leg. He had seen
the slab fall, he had seen the leg after it had been
crushed, he was certain the slab fell upon the leg, and
yet, for the reason above given, he declined to assert what
nevertheless the jury believed, that he had witnessed the
accident.

" Now, sir ! " said Serjeant , twitching his gown,

and pushing his wig the least bit back on his head, and
looking a little fiercely at Michael, "did you not jump out
of the van before the slabs were secured within it ? "

" I did, sir."

108 SCENES IN COURT.

" Did that shake the van?"

" It did, sir."

" Did not the slab fall over immediately afterwards ? "

" It did, sir."

" Did not the slab fall over because you shook the
van ?"

" I can't say, sir."

" What was there besides to make the slab fall
over ?"

" I can't say, sir."

" Did not you say, referring to the accident, that is a
bad piece of work I have done ; I was a fool to jump out •
like that?"

" I was not a fool!" retorted the witness, sharply;
" and I'll thank ye not to say so again."

" Answer my question, sir," replied the Serjeant. " Did
you say so or not ?"

" They're vary impertinent qhuestions ye'll be askin',"
said Michael.

" Will you be kind enough to answer them?" said
the serjeant.

" I don't rhemember."

" Try and recollect, now. You must know if you said
s o or not."

" I don't rhemember."

" Will you swear you did not say so ? "

" I will not."

" Did you say so?"

" I don't rhemember."

" Will you swear that ?"

SCENES IN COURT. 109

" I will ; I'll swear I don't rhemember, and I'll swear
if I do rhemember, I forget."

" Very well," said the Serjeant, joining in the laugh,
which was general at this utter discomfiture of his hopes.
*' Now, try to remember very distinctly this : Had you
not been drinking that morning before the accident
occurred?"

" Ah, no!" said Michael, with the earnestness of a
man tented on some point of special pride to himself.

" Are you sure of tb-at ?"

" Quite ? " sa>' Michael.

" Would you lorget, if you did remember this, too ? "
inquired the scrjeant.

" I can't tell," said Michael.

" Now, do you mean to tell me you had not been
drinking on this particular morning ?"

" I had some tay," answered Michael.

" No, no ! " retorted the Serjeant ; " I do not mean
' tay.' Had you not been into a public-house that
day?"

" I had not."

" Not to have a friendly glass with any one ? You
know there is nothing to blame you for if you had done
so."

" I had not," was the answer.

" Then you were not drunk on that morning, you will
swear ?" asked the Serjeant.

Michael did not answer directly, but looked somewhat
archly into the well of the court, as if to seek inspiration
from his master and the attorney, who were sitting there.

110 SCENES IN COURT.

The instructions in the Serjeant's brief were that the man
had been drinking, and there was other testimony to-
show that he was " all by the head " before he began
loading.

" I don't think I was drunk," answered Michael, after
an interval.

" You don't think you were drunk," repeated the ques-
tioner, somewhat curiously. " What do you mean ? You
told us just now you had not been drinking "

" I had a sup the night afore," added Michael, with
the air of a man who has absolved his conscience.

" Oh, indeed !" said the Serjeant, brightening up, for
even he, astute as he was, could not divine how a man
could get drunk on any given occasion without imbibing
anything stronger than "tay." "Now, do you think
you had sufficiently recovered from the effects of the sup
the night afore to be able to load the van properly on this
particular morning ?"

" I think it'd been better if I hadn't taken it," replied
Michael, now fairly unmasked.

" Oh ! you were not drunk, but you think it would
have been better you had not taken this sup the night
afore. Very well, I have nothing more to ask you.'r
And the witness stood down.

Application was now made to the judge that ladies
might be requested to leave the Court, it being_proposed
to call the medical evidence to prove the nature of some
injuries which were included in the " otherwise seriously
damaged and hurt" of the declaration. The request was
at once acceded to, and the Court, by the usher, its

SCENES IN COURT. Ill

mouthpiece, proclaimed aloud that all ladies were to leave
the Court. A flutter ensued among the petticoats, and
many went their way, with an expression of mingled sur-
prise and indignation upon the faces of the wearers of
them, as though they resented the notion of raising and
then disappointing their curiosity. I say many went their
way, but not all ; some there were who put a bold — their
expelled sisters called it a brazen — face upon the matter,
and stuck to their seats like women whose desire for
knowledge is greater than their sense of shame. His
lordship looked round upon these law-loving dames, and
remarked, in a significant tone, that he had directed all
ladies to quit the Court. It was at this particular
moment that the usher became immortal, not knowing,
however, the greatness of the fame. which he was laying
up for himself. Whether he really did not see the
bonnets, whose unshamefaced owners kept them obsti-
nately in the halls of justice, or whether it was in the
profundity of his scorn that he spake it, this deponent
ehoweth not, but in answer to the remark thrown out by
the learned judge, came from the usher the pride-killing
words, " All the ladies have left the Court, my lord."

A smile, and then a titter, which waxed speedily till it
became a laugh, was observable on the faces of judge,
jurors, and counsel. Even a blush flitted across the
countenances of the unshamefaced ones, and the usher
stood a satirist confessed in the middle of the Court. His
lordship adopted the meaning which all hearers attached
to the words of the censor, himself as much astonished at
his speech as the most amused one there, and, looking

112 SCENES IN COURT.

towards Serjeant , said that he might now proceed,

since the modest women had left the Court.

The trial proceeded, the terrible nature of the injuries-
received by the plaintiff was explained to the jury, and
medical testimony was heard in support of the case.

Now his lordship had a way of notifying counsel of
his having written down upon his notes the answers of
the witnesses, which many of those addressed disliked r
almost to resistance point. He did not raise his head
and nod, as judges are wont, but kept his face still fixed
in the direction of his paper, uttering in a sort of under-
growl, as a sign for counsel to proceed, the monosyllables-
"Go on ;" It was not so much the use of these two-
good words that vexed the hearts of the learned, it was
the manner of the user. Many had been the complaints-
made in robing-room and in hall, of the bearish (so they
termed it) method which his lordship adopted, and among;
the complainants was none so bitter as Mr. Q. C., who»
was for the defence in this action. He had fretted and
fumed visibly during the whole of the time he was cross-
examining, and all who knew him were well aware that
ere long an explosion must take place.

His lordship had taken down the evidence which Mr.
Q. C. elicted from the witness, and, being no respecter of
persons, had notified the fact in his usual way to the
great man before him. Mr. Q. C. could not endure it
longer ; he made no fresh attempt to question the witness,,
but stood stock still as in respectful attention, waiting
lordship's leisure to continue,

" Go on ! ;' repeated his lordship, but silence stil

SCENES IN COURT. 113-

reigned ; Mr. Q. C.'s head became a little more erect,,
his eyes dilated a trifle more, and the starch in the large
neckerchief which enwound his throat seemed " to bear
him stiffly up," as Hamlet desired his sinews might
tear him.

" I said, ' Go on ! ' " observed his lordship, somewhat
testily, raising his eyes rather than his head, to look at
the counsel.

The moment had arrived for the expected explosion ;
his lordship himself had fired the train. As men who-
•watch some curious and new experiment, the bar stood
agaze, while Mr. Q. C., with an expression of deep
astonishment and concern, stirred himself from his-
pointer- like attitude of attention, and exclaimed with
loud and seemingly contrite voice : — " I hcg your lord-
ship's pardon, I thought you were speaking to the-
usher."

Respect for the Bench kept down open mirth, and
Mr. Q. C., with the tact of a general who knows how to-
follow up a victory, without crushing the enemy it is his-
interest to keep in the field, proceeded with his exami-
nation as if nothing unusual had happened. His lordship
endured in silence, and bided his time for an answer.

P , to my surprise and delight, did gloriously, not

being disconcerted even when the judge, not knowing his
name, and wishing to call him by it, desired the inter-
mediates before mentioned as sitting between judge and
counsel, to acquire this information for him. The stage
whisper in which the inquiries were made one of the
other, telling all whom it might concern that P was-

114 SCENES IN COURT.

unknown to the frequenters of this Court, did not cover
him with confusion ; I fancied I detected even a sort of
satisfied look upon his face as, in answer to the last
inquirer, he showed his name on his brief, whereon was
marked a sum equal to that which potentially had beea
mine in the case of the Great Western Railway.

When Mr. Q. C. rose to cross-examine, some question
as to the admissibility of the evidence he thought to
elicit occurred to that learned gentleman's mind. He
wished to remove it ; and also, perhaps, by taking his
lordship into his confidence, to mollify through an appeal
to his amour-propre, the evil prejudice which the late
rasping had occasioned. It was, therefore, in a peculiarly
insinuating way that he announced his intention of ad-
ducing the questionable evidence, and in a still more
insinuating way, that he asked his lordship whether he
thought it would be admissible.

Now it was strangely forgetful, in a man so astute as
Mr. Q. C. undoubtedly was, so to act. He might have
put forward the evidence and waited for his appeal to
the judge until such time as the opposing counsel objected
formally ; or he might have announced his intention to
put it forward, and proceeded to execution without
inviting, as he did, the interference of a man he had
offended. As it was, he gave himself over into the
hands of Samson, and suffered accordingly.

His lordship failed to notice Mr. Q. C.'s first in-
quiry, maintaining the firm demeanour he had worn
since the learned gentleman's tongue had lashed his
indignation into a desire to find vent ; but when Mr. Q. C.

SCENES IN COURT, 11*

once more asked, as eager to be instructed, whether his

lordship thought this would be evidence, Baron

raised his head, looked straight into the lantern above
him, and said to the lantern, as though he were deliver-
ing himself of an abstract proposition for the special
edification of the lantern : — " Her Majesty and the
House of Lords are the only persons entitled to ask me-
any legal questions/' This, uttered in a monotone,
without passion, but with entire deliberateness, fell as
falls a killing frost upon the tender plant. Not that
Mr. Q. C. resembled a tender plant though, for he was-
among his brethren as the oak in a forest — yet, no less-
did he feel keenly the chilling blast of his lordship's
oracular breath. He feigned not to notice what every-
body else noticed; he stammered out something; he
looked confused, and at last said he should not press the
evidence if his lordship did not think it worth while.

His lordship expressed no opinion whatever, but being
wearied with the long day's sitting, and being desirous,
perhaps, not to risk losing the vantage ground he had
manifestly gained, once more proposed to his brother,

Serjeant , to consider whether the case was not one

for a compromise. Serjeant having freely admitted

that he thought the justice of the case required some such
solution, his lordship announced that he would adjourn
the Court to enable counsel to come to some arrangement.
His lordship had risen to go, and had stamped his way
over half the length of the platform, when a very junior
counsel, in a state of terrible trepidation, rose to make a
motion to the Court. Blue bags and red bags, books and

116 SCENES IN COURT.

papers, the owners of these, and the clerks of the owners,
were bundling out of the Court ; the registrar had already
stretched himself a weary stretch in token of the ending of
the day's work; the usher, hence forth immortal, had girded
up his loins to go — when the faint echo of the very junior
counsel's voice resounded through the Court. His lord-
ship stood in half attention for a second, looked hard at
the speaker, and then, resuming his walk towards the
door curtain, was understood to say " To-morrow ! To-
morrow !" and so went out. The very junior counsel
could not get a hearing, and before the solicitor who had
instructed him had finished the tale of his reproaches, I
fled forth into Westminster Hall, and told this tale to my
friends, the cherubim in the roof.

" Tell it not, save to the printer," said they, as I left
them to their darkness and the gloom in which they have
thriven so long.

" I will not," answered I ; and I have kept my word.

•

SCENES IN COURT. 117

CHAPTER II.

yet he semed besier than he was," wrote Dan
Chaucer five centuries ago, when describing the Man of
Laws in the "Canterbury Tales;" and such was the

reflection which crossed my mind as I saw P , of

whom we know somewhat already, rush in great haste
from his lodgings in the High Street to the court-house
at Brisk, one fine summer morning, a few circuits back.
He was armed for the fight — a fight more in the fashion
of Ulysses than of Ajax — and bore, besides the brief with
which he had been trusted, two massy books of authority
to back up his intended statements. He passed on, and
I finished my pipe ; for, though the advice of the great
Q. C. who had instructed me many times in the way
wherein I should walk, had been that, business or no
business, it behoved me to show in Court regularly at
nine o'clock every morning, when the Court sat — and
this advice was, beyond question, wholesome — yet had I
found it to be, like many other wholesome things, very
unpalatable. I gave the "no business" side of the
advice a fair trial, and small was the apparent advantage
derived from it ; the " business " side would have met
with equal justice, had it thought fit ever to present
itself. Six circuits were enough for the proof of half the
advice ; and as, at the tail of the seventh, " business "
did not surrender to take its trial, I thought it small
harm to do as I liked in the matter ; hence it was that,
on this particular morning, I stayed to finish my pipe

118 SCENES IX COURT.

instead of rushing eagerly, as P was doing, to the

dispensary for justice. I took my own time about bring-
ing into subjection to the brush the hair which stood out
after my morning's dip in the river " like quills upon the
fretful porcupine;" I donned my robes and wig at my

own pace ; and, as I thought of P with his brief,

and his books, and his haste (on my honour there was no

hint of envy, though P was but on his second

circuit), the words of old Chaucer occurred to me as

apposite, and — for I liked P greatly — by the time

my toilette was over, I had got as far as heartily to wish
that Chaucer's preceding line might be equally applicable,

" Xo wher so besy a man as he there n'as."
And then I, too, walked over to the court-house, down
the narrow street and down the hill.

A heap of folk were about the doorway — attorneys*
clerks, barristers' clerks, witnesses, and lookers-on. I
passed through ; and, all the world being my way, it
made no difference whether I went into the Crown Court
or the Civil Court, so I turned into the former, and made
my way to a place.

The dock was rather thickly tenanted ; and, as I
entered the court, a miserable-looking lad was standing
in front of this pen, awaiting the beginning of the prose-
cution, which charged him with " feloniously and un-
lawfully stealing," &c. He had, in truth, been guilty of
neglect rather than crime ; but had, unfortunately, been
brought before some stern moralists of magistrates, who
took the uglier view of his case and sent him for trial ;
he was undefended by counsel, and was called upon

SCENES IN COURT. 119

say if he was guilty or not guilty to the charges made
against him.

" I!sot guilty !" said the boy in a low voice ; and the
counsel for the prosecution began.

In cases where the prisoner is undefended, it is not
usual for the prosecution to make any speech, properly so
called. The case is stated to the jury ; the witnesses are
called and examined from the depositions ; and then the
whole is summed up and laid before the jury, the prisoner
being allowed to make his own defence after the case for
the prosecution is closed. Bat on this occasion the
counsel for the prosecution was about as new to his work
as the prisoner was to crime ; and, without intending to
injure the poor lad against whom he appeared, but in
pure ignorance of what was right, he commenced an
oration which was evidently not the inspiration of the
moment, but a studied speech, which had had more than
one rehearsal.

" The magnitude of the crime with which the prisoner
stands charged is such as to demand the promptest
attention, and the most summary repression. Our homes,
our property — I might add, our lives — are "

"Really, sir, this course is very unusual," said the
judge, interrupting the flow of the advocate's words.

The prosecutor did not see in what way the course was
unusual, and, in complete innocence, harked back upon
the initial words of the speech — " The magnitude of the
crime "

" Really, sir, I must interrupt you," said his lordship ;
" you would do better to proceed with a simple state-

120 SCENES IN COURT.

merit of facts." And, with much show of unwillingness
— for the learned counsel, who was from " the green
isle," was, like most of his countrymen, a really " good
fist " at a speech, and disliked missing an opportunity of
making one — the prosecutor continued on his way, stating
the facts simply and calling the witness.

The first witness was a labourer, who had seen the
prisoner with the " feloniously stolen " article in his
possession (the lad had been told to take a spade to

A , but had carried it only to his father's house,

where he had mislaid and forgotten it).

" Were you on the road leading to A on the

morning of the 3rd July ?"

" Yes."

" Did you meet anyone ?"

" Yes ; the prisoner."

" Had he anything with him ?"

" A spade."

" Was it this spade ?" (producing one).

"It was?"

" Did you know whose spade it was ?"

" I knew it belonged to Master Turner, up to Wurnley ?"

" Did you say anything to the prisoner about the
spade ?"

" I said, ' You young rascal, you've stolen that
spade !' "

" What made you say that ?"

" I knew he must ha' stolen it."

" No other reason ?"

" No."

SCENES IN COURT. 121

" Then if you knew he must ha' stolen it, why did you
not tell a policeman ?"

" Don't know."

" Did you not see any policeman ?"

" Yes."

" Why did you not tell him ?"

" Don't know."

But the counsel pressed the witness on this point, and
at length succeeded in getting an answer.

" Why did you not tell him, sir ? Answer the question."

" Well," said the man, " I certainly did see a police-
man, hut he was only a b hig fool of an Irishman,

and I knew it was no use to tell him."

Poor J looked a little discomfited at this reply ;

and in answer to his lordship's inquiry, said he had no
further questions to put to the witness, who was ordered
to stand down, and the case went on to an acquittal of the
prisoner.

Then came the trial of a man for forgery, a conviction,
and the sentence. The man was an old offender in the
same direction ; and his lordship thought fit to pass upon
him " a substantial sentence," as he called it, out of regard
' to the peculiar hatefulness of the crime, and to the fact
that the prisoner had been tried before. I mention this
case not merely because it followed that of which I have
just written, but because of the peculiarly sad effect which
the sentence had upon one quite other than the prisoner.
A nervous movement of the hands and a slight twitch-
ing of the mouth, alone had betrayed the keen interest
i the prisoner took in the proceedings which so intimately

122 W/WES IN COURT.

concerned him. "When the clerk of arraigns asked the
jury if they were agreed upon their verdict, a wistful
look, which seemed to indicate a desire to anticipate the
sentence, was turned upon them ; and when the clerk
further asked them if they found the prisoner " guilty "
or " not guilty," a painful anxiety showed in the forger's
face, and communicated itself to the bystanders : and
when the word " Guilty " dropped from the foreman's
lips, a sense of relief came upon all who heard it.

His lordship — than whom was no judge more ready to
make allowance for the infirmities of poor human nature
— considered of the sentence he should pronounce, and
felt it his duty to give, as he said, a substantial one.
Addressing a few remarks to the better feelings of the
prisoner, he told him how grieved he was to see him con-
tinue in his former evil way ; that as he had, however,
chosen to do so, it behoved the law to protect people from
his knavery ; and the sentence of the Court was that he
be kept in penal servitude for four years.

As soon as the words " penal servitude for four years"
closed the sentence which the judge pronounced, a shriek
was uttered in the far-end of the court, which pierced the
ears of everyone. A woman had fainted ; some poor
creature to whom even the wretched man in the dock was
dear, and upon whom the sentence, double-edged, fell
with the sharper side upon her. The man was removed
by the " dungeon villains " (two eminently mild and
kindly-looking men, by the way), and the friends of
poor soul, whose sobs seemed to strain her very hear
strings, gathered her up and bore her out.

SCENES IN COURT. 123

Now, it may be womanish, but bother me if " a scene
in court " like this is at all to my liking. I hate to be
agitated whether I like it or not ; to find the apple in my
throat swell and get inconvenient, as though it were the
"prime" apple which caused our first mother to err ; to
feel warm and glowing about the eyes, and, will I nill I,
to be obliged to smother my emotion by blowing tunefully
on my nose. And these things had to be endured on this
occasion, in spite of the philosophy of a youthful attorney
who stood by, and said, with a desire to be overheard,
" that such things must happen, and the police ought to
see that these women were kept out of court." To be
sure I knew nothing of the people ; and, for aught I did
know, they might be the wickedest and least deserving of
sympathy in the whole world. So far as the trial itself
went, there was nothing particular to set the feelings in
play : had the mere facts of the crime been proved as
stated, the prisoner found guilty, and sentenced in the
ordinary way, I do not suppose for an instant that any-
one would have been unusually struck by the sentence.
But the little something not usual — the extraordinary
addition of a woman's cry of sorrow ; that woman having
nothing visibly to connect her with the case before the
Court ; and the sign which that cry gave of links and
sympathies outraged, of which the Court could take no
cognizance- — these were the springs of an emotion which
none but the assize-hardened do not feel — "the one
touch of nature which makes the whole world kin."

Professing the stoic philosophy, I dislike occasions
which make me show my feelings as a man. The " one

124 SCENES IN COURT.

touch of nature" I admire in the abstract, and in Shake-
speare, from whom the expression is stolen, but do not
desire to be the subject of it in my own person. Lest
nature should touch me again, I left the Crown Court,

and walked over to the Civil side, where Justice

was trying the special jury cases, and where, amidst the
lookers-on, I saw my landlord, with eyes in which pity
mingled with contempt as he looked on me, robed, but
sans brief. A moment's reflection told me that he would
charge me no less for the numerous " extras " which were
certain to appear in my bill, pitiful though his glance
might now be ; so I placed my eye-glass (not that I am
shortsighted, you know, reader) firmly into my eye-socket,
assumed a haughty air, which was intended to hurl back
the landlord's pity with scorn, and addressed myself to
attending to the speeches that were being made.

It was evident from the experience just narrated, that,
though I might have the bad digestion, I did not possess
" the hard heart " which is said to be as necessary for
a good lawyer, as a gold latch-key has been held to be to i
an officer in the Horse Guards. I may improve, how-
ever, as time goes on.

P , of whom mention was made just now, was

about to open the pleadings in a case [that had been

called on, when 0 , breathless and anxious, rushed ;

in from the Crown Court, where he was engaged in a
case requiring fullest attention, having heard that this
cause, in which he was, also retained for the defendant,
had been called. His object was to get the case post- ]
poned till he could attend tc/it ; and had he been othei

SCENES IAT COURT. 125

than he was, or had he not placed temptation right in
his lordship's way, he might have got what he wanted.
But he was a great drawer of the longbow ; one who was
known to all the profession for the entirety in which he
adopted M. Talleyrand's saying, that speech was given
to man to conceal his thoughts : he was this ; and, heing
this, he tempted the Court beyond its power to bear.

Hurrying up to the counsel's table, he motioned to

P to refrain from opening, and begged his lordship

to put off the case, " for," said he, " I am at this moment
speaking in the Crown Court."

His lordship's eye twinkled ; the bar noticed the mess

poor 0 was in ; and O himself was aware of his

mistake as soon as he had made it. Time was not given
him to amend, for his lordship repeating the words, " this
moment speaking in the Crown Court," added with an
arch smile, which was well understood by all who saw it,
" No, no, Mr. 0 , I can't believe that."

0 knew what fame was his, and the bar knew,

and the judge knew; and if the public who looked on
knew not, I take this opportunity of hinting at it, for the
express purpose of showing them that if their vulgar and
calumnious riddle about lawyers being such restless
people, because they first lie on this side and then on
that, and lie even in their graves — a riddle feloniously
stolen, by the way, from a bon mot of Sir Christopher
Hatton's, when he was Lord Chancellor — be founded on
fact, the professional brethren of these restless men take
good care they shall not forget their characteristics. For
the riddle I ever thought the properest answer was, that

126 SCENES IN COURT.

lawyers are restless because they never lie at all ; but
•even if I could make my meaning clear upon this head,
as an able writer in a magazine some time ago did his, in
an article called " The Morality of Advocacy," there
•would be no end of people to join issue with me ; so I
give up the attempt to alter the riddle and its answer,
deeming the game not worth the candle.

0 's application was granted, as P and his

learned friends did not object, and 0 went back in

peace to his defence of " bigamus." The next cause was
called, and at the name of it, a young man of temperament
the most nervous in the world, a quality which made the
bar an almost insuperable bar to him, rose to his feet,
and announced that he appeared for the defendant.
Counsel for the plaintiff opened, called his witnesses, and
closed his case, which seemed to be a winning one.
Counsel for the defendant rose, blushed to the very roots
— I had almost written tops — of his wig, looked like the
incarnation of confusion, and thus delivered : —

" My lord, and gentlemen of the jury ; my client in
this case — my client, gentlemen — my client, my lord — •
my client ;" and at this stage the poor man seemed per-
fectly overcome by the natural enemy with which he was
combating, His mouth was as if paralysis had striken it ;
his lips were parched, his glance wandered about the
court, his tongue stammered, and then wagged no more.
The Court waited ; some men pitied the poor creature
tuck in the slough of words, unable to get free ; others
enjoyed the joke and grinned unkindly grins. The occa-
sion was too much also for his lordship, who leaned fo

SCENES IN COURT. 127

ward a little, and said, in a tone of voice which with
other words might have been taken for encouraging,
" Pray, sir, proceed ; thus far the Court is with you."

The nervous man was stung to the quick, and like a
stag pursued to a corner, turned round and stood fiercely
at bay. He floundered on in spite of himself, and was
getting fairly under way, to the relief of everyone who
heard him, when in an unfortunate moment he allowed
his eloquence to hurry him into a false quantity, and then
he was in the toils again. There is a writ called of "quare
impedit" the e whereof in "impedit," is short. By pure
misfortune — for the nervous man " was a scholar, and a
ripe and good one" — by pure misfortune, and the hurry
he was in, he gave this word as though the e were long,
and called the writ one of " quare impedit."

The sharp ear of the judge detected the false concord,
and before the speaker could correct for himself, was
down upon him like a Nasmyth's hammer. " Pray
shorten your speech, sir. Remember we have a good
deal to get through." The blow was a fair one, though

it fell heavily upon Mr. T , who continued to speak

like one grown desperate, reminding one of the bull in a
Spanish arena when the red flags and the darts have been
plied some time. He plunged on here and there through
the case, butting, but not bellowing at his antagonist,
who did for him the service of a matador, and gave him
the coup de grace, to the poor fellow's utter discomfiture.
The said antagonist rose to reply, and as a boa con-
strictor licks and fondles his prey before he devours it, so
the antagonist bespattered Mr. T with praise, and

128 SCENES IN COURT.

complimented him upon "his thrilling and powerful
.appeal." " The Lord hath delivered him into my hands,"
was the profane aside, however, with which the advocate
forecast, to those nearest him, the issue of the fight. The
speaker went on and proceeded to dissect the speech of
his opponent, and, metaphorically speaking, the speech-
maker himself. He exposed the fallacies, turned the
facts so as to show the reverse side of them, and drew a
deduction from his learned friend's own premises, so dia-
metrically opposite to that which had been drawn by him,
that Mr. T , though he did not interrupt by speak-
ing, could not refrain from showing his dissent by violent
.shaking of the head.

"My learned friend on the other side shakes his
head," said the speaker, raising his voice, and emphasiz-
ing the word " head." " I don't know that there's much
in that;" and at this neither pity nor decorum could
keep the bystanders within bounds ; a laugh, general and

Jiearty, was raised at the expense of poor Mr. T ,

who, painfully alive to the wound which had been inflicted,
gesticulated in vain endeavour to get a hearing for some-
thing which might have hurled his enemy to the ground ;
but the possibility got thrown away ; Mr. T re-
mained crushed, though exceedingly angry.

Now it happens that the court-house at the assize town
•of Brisk is inconveniently near to the market, which is
the resort of farmers for miles round. Thither come
-cattle, sheep, and beasts of burden ; and thither are taken
•grain, and hay, and all kinds of agricultural produce.
The place is so near to the courts of law, that the sounds

SCENES IN COURT. 129

of marketing, the grunts of pigs, and the noise of blatant
beasts, have many times been known to pierce the sanctum
of justice, and to interfere with the delivery of grave

human utterances. On this occasion, when Mr. T

came so grievously to grief, high market was going on
in the street and place outside. Animals of various kinds
had given audible proof of their presence, and just as the

vanquisher of Mr. T resumed his speech, a jackass,

desirous of showing his sense of the learned gentleman's
sharp wit, set up a bray sufficiently loud to be heard right
through the court.

It was his lordship's turn now, and he, thinking per-
haps that so keen a tonguesman as he who was speaking
could look well enough to himself, to be able to bear a
rub down, said, with a good-humoured smile, which was-
the salve to his blow, " One at a time, brother ; one at
a time."

The serjeant reddened slightly, and merely nodded
assent to his lordship's proposition. The laugh was
against the serjeant, but " nothing he reck'd," or seemed
to do, and went on to the close of his speech;

His lordship began to sum up the case to the jury,
sifting the facts, and laying down the law. He had not
proceeded very far, when the animal aforesaid, instigated,
no doubt, by a feeling of kindness for the serjeant, took
advantage of a slight pause in the summing up, to testify-
once more to its appreciation of English jurisprudence.
The loud hee-haw ! resounded through the court, at-
tracting the attention, if not the fears, of the judge.
Respect for the bench precluded any such notice by the

130 SCENES IN COURT.

bar, as the bench bad taken of tbe former bray ; but his
lordship had flung down his glove to the serjeant, and
the serjeant was not the man to refuse the gage. He
followed his own plan in taking it up. When the judge
continued his address to the jury, the impression created
by the jackass being yet fresh upon the audience, Serjeant

turned him around to the leader who sat next him,

and said in a stage whisper, heard distinctly by every one,
" I never noticed till now the remarkable echo in this
court."

" Not even with your long ears," said a junior in a
whisper as audible as the last remark, whereby the laugh
which began to rise at his lordship's expense was shifted
back again to the serjeant, who strove between his dignity
— which would not let him notice the junior so immea-
surably beneath him — and his anger, which made his
fingers itch to punch the junior's head. The serjeant was
a wrathful man, and had the reputation of even " swear-
ing his prayers." Forth from his mouth flowed a string
of muttered curses, like lava from a volcano that cannot
burst in open fury ; and to judge from appearances a
breach of the peace seemed not unlikely to occur at a
later hour in the day ; though, as far as I know, none
actually took place, the serjeant, a thoroughly good fellow,
having been observed to select his youthful adversary for
special attention at the mess on that very same day ; and
even after speaking highly of him as a foeman worthy of
his own steel. He recognised an equal, as Lord Thurlow
did when the usher of the court gave back his lordship's
" — damn you," after enduring meekly and in patiei

SCENES IN COURT. 131

for the space of five minutes a long string of invectives,
hurled at him because the Lord Chancellor's inkstand was
not filled.

P 's case came on in due course, and P fleshed

his maiden sword right valiantly. He bore up against
the excessive respect of his own witness, who insisted on
calling him "my lord," drawing upon him a flood of con-
gratulations from his brethren, and a remark from his

lordship that " the witness was only anticipating." 0

strove and did mightily; and the jury gave right between
them — at least I trust so, for I cannot speak out of my
own knowledge. The heat of the weather and the stuffi-
ness of the court combined, with the want of special in-
terest in any one of the causes, to make the assize court

of Brisk, in the county of , intolerable by four

o'clock in the afternoon. The only piece of paper I had
touched for the day in the way of business, was the mess-
man's dinner-list, whereon I had inscribed my name. It

was useless to wait, I thought, so nudging R , my

fellow in lodgings, and mine own peculiar friend, I left
the court for more refreshing haunts. I strode away, and

in company with R , who " rowed in the same boat "

with myself, sought upon the waters of the Cray an appe-
tite for the dinner we were to eat at half-past six.

"IN THE WITNESS-BOX,'

THE RESPECTABLE MARKIED WITNESS.

I HAVE a theory that a man's fate lies in his natural
disposition; not the disposition which he has control
over, but a certain secret and unsuspected bent of his
mind, which leads him right or wrong, against his will
and against his knowledge. Thus, I believe that the
man who never gets on in the world has within him a
certain bias towards the wrong side of the road of life.
He is like one of those balls used in playing bowls. He
is, to all appearance, perfectly round and equally balanced ;

IN THE WITNESS-BOX. 133

l)ut roll him as straight as you will, he invariably inclines
to one side. When we see men equal in all other respects
— in talent, education, physical strength, and personal ap-
pearance— it is, I suspect, this secret bias which makes
ihe difference in their fortunes. One goes straight along
ihe high road of life to the goal ; while the other struggles
onward for a while, inclining little by little towards the
side, until at last he rolls into the ditch. This bias is
placed variously, and disposes the ball to every variety of
accident. Thus one becomes rich, another po or;one
•catches all the diseases that flesh is heir to, another
•escapes them; one is drowned, another is hanged. I
have long entertained the belief that it is a certain and
-particular kind of person who catches the small-pox and
becomes pitted by it ; that it is a particular kind of per-
son who is destined to a wooden leg ; that it is a very
exceptionable and distinct kind of person who is destined
to be murdered : I further believe that, if we could only
make a diagnosis of the predisposition of these persons,
and ascertain the nature of the bias and its general indi-
cations, we should be able to look in a man's face and tell
him for a certainty that he will one day have a wooden
leg, or that he will be murdered, or that he will be
smashed in a railway accident. There are certain things
that I am not afraid of, because I feel that they will
never happen to me. I feel that I have the bias which
will, under certain circumstances, always keep me right
side up. There are other things, again, that I am afraid
of, because I am not sure how my bias lies with regard
to thorn.

134

IN THE WITNESS-BOX.

In pursuing this theory, I am disposed to believe that
there is a certain kind of men and women whose bias is-
always rolling them into the witness-box ; whose bias
first of all rolls them into situations where they see and
hear things bearing upon matters which will become the
subject of litigation or criminal process. Look at thfr
people whom Mr. Brunton has so happily sketched in
illustration of these remarks. There they are, born wit-
nesses ; types which we see in the box repeated over and
over again, with all the fatuity which leads them into the
position of witnesses, and all the attributes which so pe-
culiarly fit them for the operations of counsel plainly
stamped upon their features. They cannot help being
witnesses any more than Dr. "Watts' bears and lions-
could help growling and fighting. It is their nature to.
Mark the dull witness. Have you not seen him times out

THE DULL \VITNE88.

IN THE WITNESS-BOX. 135

of number ? At the police-court in a case of assault and
battery — he happened to be in the way at the time, of
course : at the inquest — he was passing just at the
moment the deceased threw himself from the first-floor
window : in the Court of Queen's Bench, in a case of
collision, where the defendant is sued for damages on the
score of having taken the wrong side of the road. Of
course he gets into the dock instead of the witness-box ;
of course he stumbles up the steps, and equally of course
stumbles down them again. He takes the book in the
wrong hand, and when he is told to take it in the other,
that hand is sure to be gloved ; the court is kept waiting
while he divests himself of this article of apparel ; and
the consciousness of the witness that all eyes are upon
him, concentrated in a focal glare of reproof and impa-
tience, only tends to increase and intensify his stupidity.
He drops the book ; he kisses his thumb — not evasively,
for he is incapable of any design whatever ; he looks at
the judge when he ought to be looking at the counsel,
and at the counsel when he ought to be looking at the
judge. There is such an utter want of method in the
stupidity of this witness that counsel can make nothing
•of him. He perjures himself a dozen times, and with
regard to that collision case, gets into such a fog about
the rule of the road, that at last he doesn't know his
right hand from his left. It is useless for counsel to
point with triumph to the inconsistencies of this witness's
•evidence ; for it is obvious to everybody that he is quite
incapable of throwing any light on the subject whatever,
•and that what he says one way or another is of no

136

IN THE WITNESS-BOX.

importance. The examining counsel is only too glad to
get rid of such a witness, and very soon tells him to stand
down — a command which he obeys by tumbling down
and staggering into the body of the court, with a dumb-
foundered expression quite pitiful to behold.

Now the confident witness steps into the box. He is,
in his own idea, prepared for everything. He is pre-
pared for the slips ; he is ready at all points for the-

THE CONFIDENT "WITNESS.

greasy New Testament. He looks the counsel steadily
in the face, as much as to say— " You will not shake my
evidence, I can tell you." The counsel meets this look
with a glance, of anticipated triumph. There is a defined
position here whose assumption of strength is its greatest
weakness. The confident witness has resolved to answer
yes and no, and not to be tempted into any amplifica-

IN THE WITNESS-BOX. 137

tions which will give the cross-examining counsel an
opportunity of badgering him. The counsel can make
nothing of him for a while ; hut at last he goads him.
into an expression of anger ; when, seeing that he is
losing his temper, he smiles a galling smile, and says —
4< No douht, sir, you think yourself a very clever fellow :
don't you, now ? Answer me, sir." The confident wit-
ness falling into this trap, and thinking " answer me,
sir," has reference to the question about his cleverness,
snaps the counsel up with a retort about being as clever
as he is ; and immediately the badgering commences.

" How dare you interrupt me, sir ? Prevarication
won't do here, sir. Remember you are on your oath,
sir ! " And the indignation of the witness being thus
aroused — by, it must be confessed, a most unwarrantable
and ungentlemanly course of proceeding — away goes the
main-sheet of his confidence, and he is left floundering
about without rudder or compass in the raging sea of his
anger. It is now the worthy object of the learned
counsel to make him contradict himself, and to exhibit
him in the eyes of the jury as a person utterly unworthy
of belief.

There is a nervous variety of this witness, who is
occasionally frightened into doubting his own hand-
writing. He is positive at first ; has no doubt on the
point whatever. It is, or it is not Then he is asked if
he made a point of putting a dot over the i in " Jenkins."
He always made a point of that.

" Do you ever omit the dot ?"

" Never."

138

IN THE WITNESS-SOX.

" Then be good enough to look at this signature "
(counsel gives him a letter, folded up so as to conceal
everything but the signature). "You perceive there is
no dot over the i there. Is that your signature ?"

" I should say not."

" You should say not — why ? Because there is no
dot over the i ?"

" Yes ; because there is no dot over the i."

" Now, sir, look at the whole of that letter. Did you
write such a letter ?"

THB -WITNESS WHO IS FftlGHTENED INTO DOUBTING HIS OWN
HANDWRITING.

" Certainly ; I did write such a letter."
" Did you write that letter ?"

IN THE WITNESS-BOX. 139

" Remember, sir, you are on your oath. Is it like
your handwriting ?"

" It is."

" Is it like your signature ?"

" It is."

" Is it your signature ? "

" It might be."

" Gentlemen of the jury ; after most positively deny-
ing that this was his signature, the witness at length
admits that it might be. What reliance then can be
placed upon the doubts which he expresses with regard
to the document upon which this action is based?"

This witness has really no doubts about his hand-
writing at all, until he is artfully induced to commit
himself with regard to the dotting of i's and the crossing
oft's.

The deaf witness is not a hopeful subject for counsel
to deal with ; and when, on entering the box, he settles
himself into a leaning posture, with his hand to his ear,
the gentlemen in the horsehair wigs will be seen to ex-
change glances which imply mutual pity for each other.
Those glances say plainly enough, " Here is a deaf old
post, who will pretend to be much more deaf than he
really is, and will be sure to have the sympathies of the
public if we bully him." The deaf witness, when the
•counsel begins to ask awkward questions, says " eh ? " to
everything ; and if he be a knowing witness at the same
time, pretends not to understand, which justifies him in
giving stupid and irrelevant answers. As a rule, both
sides are not sorry to get rid of a deaf witness ; and he

140

IN THE WITNESS-SOX.

is told to stand down in tones of mingled pity and
contempt.

THE DEAF WITNESS.

The knowing witness, who is not deaf, is a too-clever-
by-half gentleman, who soon falls a prey to his over-
weening opinion of his own sharpness. They are not
going to frighten him by asking him to kiss the book.
He kisses it with a smack of the lips and a wag of the
head, by which he seems to indicate that he is prepared
to eat the book if required. Then, after a question or
two, when he thinks he is getting the best of it with the
lawyers, he winks at the general audience, and so fondly
believes he is taking everybody into his confidence,
against his cross-examiner. This is the gentleman who

IN THE WITNESS-BOX. 141

is credited with those sharp retorts upon lawyers which
we find in jest-books and collections of wit and humour ;
but I fear he has little real claim to distinction as a
dealer in repartee. Those smart things are " made up "
for him, as they are made for the wag, and generally for

THE KNOWING WITNESS.

Joseph Miller. The retorts of the knowing witness are
usually on the simplest principle of tu quoque, and as
their pith chiefly consists in their rudeness — only counsel
are allowed to be rude in court — they are certain to be
checked by the court. The court does not tolerate jokes
that are not made by itself.

The witness who introduces foreign matter into her
evidence is generally of the female gender, and is a
person whose appearance and manner warrant counsel in
addressing her as "my good woman." She will declare
that she is " not a good woman," and secure for that

142

IN THE WITNESS-BOX.

standard witticism the laugh, which it never fails to raise,
whether spoken innocently or with intent. She deals
very much in " he said," and " she said ;" and of course
the counsel doesn't want to know what he said or she
said, but what the good woman saw with her own eyes
and heard with her own ears. But nothing on earth will

THE WITNESS WHO INTRODUCES FOREIGN MATTER INTO HER EVIDENCE.

induce her to stick to the point ; and though she is
pulled up again and again, she still persists in giving all
collateral circumstances in minute detail. I should say
that when this witness goes to the play, she provides her-
self with a small bottle of rum and an egg-cup.

The interesting witness is also of the feminine gender-
slim, prim, modest, and demure. She is a young lady of
" prepossessing appearance," and notably interesting. The
moment she steps into the box and puts up her veil to

IN THE WITNESS-SOX.

143

kiss the book, the gentlemen in the horse-hair wigs fix
their eye-glasses and scrutinize her narrowly ; and, as
the gentlemen of the long robe are proverbially polite,
they will be seen, while staring the interesting young
lady out of countenance, to nudge each other and pass
round pleasant jokes. The interesting young-lady wit-
ness is rarely to be met with in the Queen's Bench, the
Common Pleas, or the Exchequer. The place to look for

1KB INTEBE8TING AVITNBoS.

her is the Court of Divorce and Matrimonial Causes,
where it is generally the object of the cross-examining
counsel to prove that the interesting witness, who has
prepossessed every one by her modest demeanour, is no
better than she should be. There is possibly no warranty
for this course of proceeding ; but then the noble practice
of the law requires that a barrister should do the best he

44 IF THE WITNESS-SOX.

can for his client, and that he must not scruple to blacken
the character of the innocent, in order to protect from the
consequences of his crime one whom he well knows to be
guilty.

The interesting female witness is of two kinds. One is
what she seems ; the other is not what she seems. The
mock-modest lady usually gives her cross-examiner a good
deal of trouble. She is wary ; brief in her answers, de-
cisive in her replies ; and her habit of dropping her eyes
enables her to conceal her emotions. This witness holds
out to the last. The other, who is really the interesting,
modest, demure, timid creature that she appears, soon
betrays herself under a severe cross-examination. Her
only weapon of defence rises unbidden from the depths of
her wounded feelings, in the shape of a flood of tears.

MORE "WITNESSES.'

THE WITNESS AVHO CAUSED "CONSIDERABLE AMUSEMENT " IN COURT.

IN discoursing concerning witnesses only a few days back,
I took the opportunity of broaching the theory that the
givers of evidence in the courts of justice were so far
like true poets in that they are born, not made. Test is
nascitur, non fit.

The first person who steps into the box on the present
occasion is a remarkable example in point. He is " the
witness who causes considerable amusement in court."

146 MORE " WITNESSES."

Some persons may be disposed to find fault with, the re-
porter for his uniform adherence to the use of the word
•' considerable." Why not " much," or " great ?" No ;
the reporter is right. Other persons might cause " much,"
or "great," or "little " amusement; but "considerable""
is the exact measure of this person's power of exciting
risibility combined with perplexity and wonder. He-
does not do it intentionally ; he does not know that he is
doing it, and his fun is of a very dubious kind. There-
fore the amazement which it causes is "considerable."
Some laugh at him, others think him a fool ; and the
counsel who is cross-examining him is probably a little
out of temper. This witness is not a complete success
one way or another. He is neither a triumph to his
own party, nor a defeat to the opposite side. All that he
does in a definite way is to " cause considerable amuse-
ment in court."

The odd, unique, and almost paradoxical thing about
this witness is that he never causes amusement in any
degree, considerable or otherwise, anywhere else. At-
home he is simply lumpy and stupid ; abroad in the
world, he is a heavy impediment in everybody's way.
He is a very unlikely flint indeed, and no one thinks of
attempting to strike fire out of him. He is about as
likely a medium for that purpose as a slice of Dutch
cheese. It is only when you pen him in a witness-box,
and strike him stupid with your legal eye, in presence of
judge and jury, that you can make him yield anything
that is at all calculated to afford either amusement or in-
struction.

MORE " WITNESSES," 147

He produces his considerable amusement (not with
any design on his part, however,) by means well known
to the two end men in a band of nigger serenaders.

Counsel screwing his glass in his eye, and putting on
his most searching expression, says : —

" Now, sir ; on your oath, did you not know that the
deceased had made a will ?" The witness hesitates and
looks idiotic.

" Answer me, sir," roars the counsel, " and remember
you are on your oath. Did you not know that the de-
ceased had made a will ?"

The witness answers at last, " Well, sir, I was ;"
which "causes considerable amusement in court," and
greatly provokes the examining counsel.

" Now, sir, since I have been able to screw so much
out of you, perhaps you will answer me this question :
" What did the deceased die of ? "

The witness does not appear to understand.

" What did the deceased die of? " the counsel repeats.

" He died of a Tuesday, sir," says the witness with
the utmost gravity. And of course the audience go into
convulsions and the crier has to restore order in court.

This witness is never of the slightest service in eluci-
dating a case, and counsel are generally glad to get rid of
him, except when the proceedings are getting flat, and
want enlivening. Some counsel like a butt of this kind
to shoot the arrows of their wit at ; just as wanton street-
boys like to tease and make sport of an idiot.

The next witness who steps into the box is a charge-
sheet in himself, so expressive is he in every feature, and

148

MORE " WITNESSES:'

in his whole style, of a tipsy row in the Haymarket, with
beating of the police, and attempts to rescue from custody,
It is quite unnecessary for the active and intelligent offi-
cer to enter into details. "We see the case at a glance.
Mr. Slapbang has been making free. He has visited a
music hall or two, where he has joined in the chorus ; he
has danced at a casino ; he has partaken of devilled kid-
neys at a night supper-room ; and visiting all these places

THE YOXJNG GENTLEMAN DESCRIB*D IN THE CHARGE SHEET A8
• MEDICAL STUDENT," WHO PAID THE FINE, AND IMMEDIATELY
LEFT THE COURT "WITH HIS FRIENDS.

in a jovial and reckless humour, he has disregarded the
wholesome convivial maxim which says that you shoi
never mix your liquors. Mr. Slapbang has mixed
liquors, the consequence being a disposition to beat

MORE " WITNESSES." 149-

stick against lamp-posts, to wake the midnight echoes
with " lul-li-e-ty," and to show his independence by
resisting the authority of the police, and perhaps offering
them that most unpardonable of all insults, known to the
force — " vo/lence."

When Mr. Slapbang appears in the dock he makes a
great effort, conscious of the presence of his friends, to
keep his " pecker" up. The gloss and glory of his attire
have been somewhat dimmed by a night's durance in the
cells ; but what he has lost in this respect he endeavours
to make up for by a jaunty devil-may-care manner. He-
says he was " fresh," or " sprung," and " didn't know
what he was doing," with quite a grand air, as if it were-
a high privilege of his order to get drunk and resist the
police. His manner almost implies that it is quite a
condescension on his part to come there and allow the
magistrate to have anything to say in the matter. There
is not such a very great difference between the conduct
of this gentlemanly offender and that of the hardened
criminal who throws, his shoe at the judge, or declares,,
when sentence is pronounced, that he "could do that
little lot on his head." Mr. Slapbang throws insolent
glances at the bench, and when he is fined, instantly
brings out a handful of money with an air that says
plainly — " Fine away ; make it double if you like : it's
nothing to me." When Mr. Slapbang " leaves the court
with his friends," he is the centre of a sort of triumphal
procession : you would not think that he had been sub-
jugated to the authority of the law, but rather that he-
had triumphed over it. His " friends " are very like-

150

MORE " WITNESSES."

himself. In most cases they are the companions of his
revelry, who have been more fortunate than Mr. Slap-
bang in eluding the clutches of the police. When Mr.
Slapbang leaves the court with his friends, he usually
proceeds direct to the first public-house, where the com-
pany sarcastically drink to the jolly good health of the
''beak."

1 HE WITNESS WHO 8WEABB THAT BLACK IS WHITE !

The witness who insists that black is white is one of
ihose self-conceited persons, who, when they once say a
thing, stick to it at all hazards. He has no intention of
being dishonest, or of saying that which is not true, but
he has a great idea of his own infallibility, and a nervous
dread of being thought the weak-minded person that
really is. He is the sort of person who likes to be
authority in a public-house parlour ; who cannot bear

MORE "WITNESSES." 151

he contradicted, and who will not allow any authority to
overweigh his own. I have heard him in the pride of
his knowledge — for he pretends to know everything — and
in the fulness of his conceit, make a bet that " between
you and I " is correct, and refuse to be convinced of his
error, even when the decision has been given against nim-
by a referee of his own choosing.

" Sir," he said, rising and addressing the chairman one-
evening when a new comer in the parlour ventured to
disagree with his view of a certain matter — " Sir, I have
used this room now for five- and- twenty years. Is that
so, sir ? "

The chairman admitted that it was so — with much
respect for the fact.

" And in all that time, have you ever heard me con-
tradicted before ? "

" No," says the chairman, " never."

" Very well, then," says our friend. And with that
sits down, satisfied that the bare mention of the fact will
be sufficient to deter any one from a repetition of the-
ofFence which has just roused his indignation.

This witness always enters the box with the fond idea
that he will prove " too much " for the counsel, but in
the end it generally happens that counsel prove too-
much for him. Conceit is like pride — liable to have a,
fall ; but, unlike pride, it does not always feel the smart.
It has a thick skin.

The witness who expresses astonishment and indig-
nation at the doubts which counsel throw upon his accu-
racy and veracity is a variety of the same type. He is-

152 MORE " WITNESSES."

ttlso conceited, but he has, at the same time, an inordinate
idea of his own importance. He is a man who studies
appearances, and " makes up " for the character which
.he delights to enact through life. He loves to be grumpy
and testy, and in his own sphere he is a sort of Scotch

S

THE A6TONl6HiD AND INDIGNANT "WITNESS.

thistle who allows no one to meddle with him with im-
punity. Naturally when an audacious hand, gloved with
the protection of the law, rudely seizes hold of him, and
blunts the point of his bristles, he doesn't like it. He is
an easy prey to counsel, as every witness is who stands
upon his dignity or importance, and gets upset from that
high pedestal.

The young lady whose affections the defendant has
trifled with and blighted is generally of the order of
female known as " interesting." And when she is in-
teresting she always gains the day. A judge recentlj

MORE " WITNESSES." 15$

stated — almost complained — that there is no getting
juries to find a young and interesting female guilty of
anything — even when guilt is brought home to her
without the possibility of a doubt. Counsel know this

THE YOUNG LADY WHOSE AFFECTIONS HATE BEEN TBIFLED WITH.

well, and, I am told, always instruct a young and in-
teresting female how to comport herself so as to make an
impression upon the jury.

The stage directions, I believe, are something like this.
" Enter the box (or the dock, as the case may be) with
your veil down. This gives me occasion to tell you to
raise your veil, and show your face to the jury. When
you do this burst into tears and use your white cambric
pocket handkerchief. Then let the jury see your pretty
eyes red with weeping, and your damask cheek blanched
with anguish and coursed with bitter tears. When you
are hard pressed by the opposing counsel, begin to sob,

154

MORE " WITNESSES."

and grasp the rail as if for support. You will then be
accommodated with a scent-bottle and a chair ; and the
jury will think the cross-examining counsel a brute, and
you an injured angel."

Observance of these directions by a young and in-
ieresting female never fails. She will get clear off, even
if she has murdered her grandmother.

In a simple case of blighted affection, there is no need
to take so much trouble. Only let the lady be well
•dressed, and look pretty, and it is obvious at once (to the

THE GPNTIEMAN WHO TRIPLED WUH THE YOUNG LADl's AFFECTIONS.

jury) that the defendant is not only heartless and crue
in the last degree, but utterly insensible to the charms of
youth and innocence. Yet in nine cases out of ten tl
interesting female who weeps and sobs, and uses h<

MORE « WITNESSES:' is*

smelling bottle, is an artful schemer. Look at the
gentleman who trifled with her affections. Is that the-
sort of person to kindle in any female breast the devour-
ing flame of love ? Is he the sort of person to love any
one but himself, or to cherish anything but his whiskers ?
He is a trifler, it is true, but he has not trifled with that
interesting and artful female's heart, because she has no-
heart to trifle with. She might sue him for wasting her
time, but not for breaking her heart.

156

SKETCHES IN COURT.

THE VARIETIES OF COUNSEL.

class or order in nature has its species or varieties,
and there is no large class of men which has not at once
its common character and its numerous varieties — its
general type and its special variations. This is eminently
so of the order of the Bar, which includes perhaps a
igreater number of varieties than any other. Every in-
dividual of eminence has distinguishing traits and cha-
racteristics, which would require individual portraiture —
and perhaps we may some day essay a series of such
portraitures of eminent men at the Bar. But at present
•our idea is a description of certain varieties of the class —
the individuals of which may not be of sufficient impor-
tance to require a more particular portraiture. In this
-attempt we have been aided by the pencil as well as by
the pen.

The first is a rather rare and very obscure variety —
very little seen or known, as the individuals who belong to
it lurk in chambers, and seldom show in court. "When
they do come down — perhaps, like old Preston, to argue
«, nice point of real property law, or revel in the technical
.subtleties of conveyancing — they have the aspect

SKETCHES IN COURT.

157

pundits, and evince an unbounded contempt for the court,
whose ignorance they condescend to enlighten. They
will consume a whole day in a dull, dry, dreary
argument, stuffed full of citations from " Coke upon
Littleton," and "Fearne on Contingent Remainders,"
and " Saunders on Uses," all of which they read out in
a calm unceasing drawl, without once changing their

THE CONSULTING COUNSEL.

tone, or ever being betrayed into a spark of energy or
show of earnestness. They generally send one or two of
the judges to sleep, and inflict upon the others the cruel
torture of trying for hours to keep awake. When they
have done, the judges thank Heaven that they have
ended, and depart with beclouded minds but grateful
hearts ; knowing, perhaps, rather less of the matter than
they did before, but feeling like men who have been sorely

158

SKETCHES IN COURT.

misused. The whole air of this manner of men while
arguing is that of a professor or tutor reading a lecture to
a " class " of pupils or students. They believe themselves-
the keepers of the species of recondite knowledge they
profess, and which without them would be lost to man-
kind. They are a kind of legal Brahmins, who despise
all the other orders of their brethren, and think that all
law is wrapped up in conveyancing and titles. They are
never happier than when engaged in picking holes in a
title, except when they have found one.

This, also, is a rare and almost extinct variety. Thej
nourished in the Ecclesiastical Courts under ihe olc
system ; but when the Probate Court and Divorce Coui
were established and their " doctors " were made counse
of, they fell under the lash of Cresswell, who nearly ex-
tinguished them as a class. The brethren used to crowc

SKETCHES IN COURT. 159

into the Probate Court to hear Sir Cresswell scoff and
joke at " the doctors." They were a dull, scholastic
olass, crammed full of recondite learning, gleaned from
the books of the jurists of the middle ages, and the dark
records of Doctors' Commons. When called out into the
general practice of the new system, they were like owls
brought suddenly into open day. They were so bedevilled
by Sir Cresswell, that some of them fell into despair.
And the worst of it was, it was all done so politely that
they could not complain. He flouted them so calmly,
and with such a refined sarcasm, that often they did not
perceive it; and while all around were smiling, they
thought they were doing it well. By degrees it dawned
upon them that they were just a little too slow ; some of
them brightened up and did better, others simply died
out : they disappeared. A new race arose by degrees
fitted for the new system; but still the old variety
lingers, and can sometimes be seen. The rare specimen
we may now and then see will straggle into a court of
common law to argue on a church-rate question, or a
matter of a tithe " modus," or a " faculty to have a pew,
or to build upon a graveyard," and the like. And then
they revel in "Gibson's Codex," and " Burn's Eccle-
siastical Law," and the like, and read whole pages of
Latin with infinite relish. They are exceedingly clerical
in look and style, are pedantic, and sometimes priggish.

There is a species of barrister whose forte is argument,
and whose style is the plausible. They " put things " so
cleverly, as to put the case quite in the right light — for
their clients. They are calm and dispassionate in their

160

SKETCHES IN COURT.

manner, and are great in banco — before the judges.
They profess a contempt for juries, except, perhaps, in
heavy and important special jury cases, when sometimes
they condescend to convince them. They are often chan-
cery men, and so in the habit of addressing judges, that,

THE ARGUMENTATIVE COUNSEL.

though they may be sophistical, they are never rhetorical.
They would be ashamed of it, even if they could do it —
which most of them could not. They are eminently
argumentative, or affect to be so, which is the same thing
as to style.

This is a species of the class of which there are several
varieties ; but they have all common characteristics.
There is the Nisi Prius variety, and the Criminal Court
variety ; and these, again, are sub- divided ; there is the
special jury variety and the common jury variety ;

SKETCHES IN COURT.

161

then, again, there is the Old Bailey variety, and the
Sessions variety, end the Assize Court variety ; and these

THE JURY COUNSEL.

differ greatly in style, as may be conceived. Still they
all have a common character which abundantly distin-
guishes them from the preceding classes. They have all
this in common, that they are in the habit of addressing
twelve men at least to say nothing of the audience^ of
which several varieties always think more than of the
jury. The twelve men may be small traders or farmers,
or they may be gentlemen-merchants, hawkers, and the
like ; but still they are twelve men, and twelve laymen
who know nothing of law, and have seldom much logical
acumen, or very severe taste. Hence the style of the
Jury Counsel is always more or less popular and ad cap-

G

162 SKETCHES IN COURT.

tandum. The main distinction between the different
varieties is in the amount of noise they make. The com-
mon jury variety are always more noisy than the spe-
cial jury ; and the sessions variety more so still. The
criminal counsel, who has so often to defend men who
have had the misfortune to get into mischief, as the facts
are generally against him, has of course to appeal a good
deal to the feelings. He denounces policemen in tones of
thunder, and tries to make out that the real rogue is the
prosecutor. All this requires exertion, and the less he is
in earnest the more anxious is he to appear to he. Hence
he is always noisy, and sometimes stentorian. One of
the class was lately complimented at sessions, by one of

THE COXCOMBICAL COUNSEL.

his facetious brethren, upon his having reduced most of
the magistrates to entire deafness. He is pathetic

SKETCHES IN COURT. 163

times, and then generally quotes some lines from
Shakspeare (which he has carefully got up) ; but his usual
characteristic is noise. The specimen delineated on the
preceding page appears to belong to this variety ; he is
evidently " going to the jury."

This species — not generally much encumbered with
business — affect the gentlemanly, and are, above all,
anxious to look the character. They are usually hand
some, are carefully well dressed, and their whiskers are
almost always luxurious, cultivated and curled. The
wig is always in fine order ; it is never put on in a hurry;
the linen collar, "choker," and "bands" are always
pure and spotless, and without a crumple : they are
always put on carefully and slowly. In short, every-
thing about the man is nice ; his whole air, aspect, and
appearance are studiously proper and becoming. And
there is the quiet consciousness of this, which completes
the character. There is the complacent smirk of self-
satisfied success in appearance. It is confined to ap-
pearance, for he is never — or hardly ever — heard ; and
when he is, he usually makes an ass of himself — for
there is nothing in him ; and he has so long been in the
habit of devoting unlimited leisure to his outward guise
and appearance, that his mind is poor. Nevertheless, it
often happens that he has good " connections " and a
patron ; and thus there is a chance that he will get a
place ; a post in some department, or perhaps even a seat
upon the bench at a police-court, where he will make an
ass of himself in public, unless he has sense enough to
be as silent as possible, and let his chief clerk do the

c2

1*34

SKETCHES IN COURT.

work, and direct him (in a whisper) what to say. Per-
haps he gets an appointment in the colonies ; or perhaps
he succeeds to an estate, and disappears ; or perhaps,
upon the faith of his being at the bar, and the credit of
his gentlemanly appearance, he marries a wealthy widow,
and then also disappears.

This variety betrays and portrays itself. To use a
legal phrase, "It is bad on the face of it." You

THE JOVIAL COUNSEL.

•observe the eyeglass — an unfailing trait of the class —
which is noted for its great powers of observation, exer-
oised continually upon everything and every one in
court ; but with a constant eye to the facetious. Any-
thing— in judge or jury, witness or audience, but above
all in a brother barrister — on which a joke can be hung,
is sure to be noted by that acute ear, and that unfailing
eye. He is always a man without business : and his

SKETCHES IN COURT. 165

great delight is to be sarcastic on his brethren who have
it. He conies into court very late, and he goes very
early, for he sits up at nights — not studying, but playing ;
and the probability is that he had much more wine than
was good for him ; for which reason he has a craving for
•soda water and other cooling drinks ; and has no mind
for work, or for anything but fun. He is generally verj
full of spirits, and when men have nothing to do he helps
to beguile the tedium of the day ; but when they are
busy, he is a bore. He has no mind but for the comical
side of things ; and if there is a comical side to a case,
he is sure to see it. He has often a taste for drawing,
.and if so, it always tends to caricature ; and his ample
leisure is spent chiefly in noting and portraying the
little peculiarities of his brethren. He is a contributor
sometimes to the lighter order of literature ; and one of
the species has obliged us with the foregoing sketches of
" the brethren."

166

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER,

PEOPLE talk about the World of London. London has
a dozen worlds at least. For all that some of these
know or care of others they might as well be shining in
different planets. But there is one world with which
most other worlds cannot avoid making occasional ac-
quaintance— that is the world of Westminster HalL
Apart from the legislative chambers, in whose proceed-
ings everybody is concerned, it must be strange indeed for
any member of the general community not to be in-

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 167

terested, directly or indirectly, at one time or another, in
a transaction connected with a Parliamentary Committee
or a Court of Law. Certain it is that you will meet on
most days down at Westminster — and more especially in
the height of the season and the session, during the last
two terms before the long vacation — representative men
and women of all classes, drawn together by business or
•curiosity as the case may be.

The way down to Westminster — that is to say, the
way of those who go from the Temple — has been made
more easy than it was by the Thames Embankment,
which will be a right royal road some of these days when
it has intelligible approaches, and the trees have grown,
and the small boys have been driven away, and carriages
•can be driven along it — when, in fact, it has dropped its
present dissipated character of a show and a playground,
.and has settled down into a respectable thoroughfare. At
present the swiftest mode of making the journey is by a
penny steamer. But penny steamers are of course avail-
able only if you do not happen to be proud. The penny
public whom you see on board are not pretty to look
at, and seem principally possessed by a keen sense of
•economy, extended not only to travelling expenses, but to
the article of soap. Some philosophic barristers patro-
nise the boats ; indeed there is a plentiful sprinkling of
these early in the morning; but being residents in
chambers they are principally juniors, and do not include
the great dignitaries of the profession. The latter are
represented, however, by their clerks — barristers' clerks
are wonderfully partial to penny steamers— who may be

68 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

seen at all hours of the day going backwards and forwards
with briefs and bags ; and among them, with Melancholy
marking him for her own and remaining in undisputed
possession, you may surely note the clerk of some un-
happy Mr. Briefless, who " brings his master's grey wief
down in sorrow to the court," with a constancy worthy
of a more successful cause. They are horrible means-
of progression — those penny steamers — but there is no-
reason why they should be so. With a supply of boats
such as should be employed, the river might be RS-
crowded as the streets, for the mode of travelling might
be made far pleasanter than the mode of travelling by
land, and in point of speed a steamer has an advantage-
over any carriage except a railway carriage. There are
thousands upon thousands of the public who would be
glad to make use of a better class of boats, say such as the
Saloon Steamers that now ply above bridge, only of suit-
able size. With conveyances of this kind the journey
between London and Westminster might be made a
festive progress, and passengers would cheerfully pay,
say, the prices charged on the Metropolitan Railway,
first, second, and third class. I throw out the hint to
speculators, who, I am certain, would never repent a little
enterprise in this. direction.

The way down to Westminster by road is broad amd
pleasant enough after you get out of the Strand ; and
scarcely have you passed Charing Cross than you come
upon Westminster Hall, as represented by the people
about you. It is, say, between eleven and twelve o'clock
in the day. A few barristers, solicitors, and witnesses

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 169

are still going down to the courts ; also " parties" in
actions, their witnesses, and their friends. But a great
many more of all these classes are bound for the com-
mittees, which sit for the most part at twelve. Head-
long Hansoms are dashing along, conveying gentlemen
with that kind of cheerfulness in their faces which comes
•of being engaged, under profitable conditions, upon other
people's business rather than their own. A large number
of the same class are on foot, walking three or four
abreast, and engaged in pleasant discussion. The
happiest of all are the witnesses, for they have not the
same cares upon them as the parliamentary agents and
solicitors. All they have to do is to stay in London and
wait day after day until they are wanted, receive their
liberal diurnal allowances for their trouble, and in the
<md permit the counsel on their own side to extract from
them such information as they may have to supply, and
prevent, if possible, the counsel on the other side from
demolishing their assertions. There are some members
of Parliament among the crowd, riding, driving, or walk-
ing, as the case may be. They are the members of the
committees, and, if the day be a Wednesday, their
number is increased by those going down to attend the
morning sitting, or rather the afternoon sitting of the
House.

As you get lower down, into Parliament Street proper,
Westminster is still more largely represented ; for here,
on the left, is the Whitehall Club, a handsome stone
building of a few years' standing, which accommodates a
large number of persons whose avocations call them to

170 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

the neighbourhood. The members include M.P.s, par-
liamentary agents, barristers, solicitors, engineers, con-
tractors, and business men of many kinds ; and the
institution, I believe, is found to be a useful success.
For tbe public generally the popular resort appears to be-
a restaurant, still lower down, where even now, to judge
by appearances as you pass the window, lunch seems to-
be going on. The lunches, however, at this hour, are
not very numerous, and are confined, it may be presumed,,
to people who have risen late and gone out in a hurry,
and have not had time to breakfast. A couple of hours-
hence, besides the occupants of the tables, you will see a
luncher on every high stool before the counter, forming
together a serried line of determined refreshers, escaped
for a brief but pleasant period from their serious duties
on the other side of Palace Yard.

Palace Yard, which you now approach, has become a
noble expanse, and it will be nobler when certain old
houses are removed. But turning your back upon these,
there is no such fine spectacle in London as that pre-
sented by the Houses of Parliament and Westminster
Hall, with the adjacent objects, including the handsomest
bridge in the metropolis. If you are not a person of
importance, which you probably are, you will at least
fancy you are ; for the policeman at the crossing, struck,
no doubt, by your imposing presence, rushes forward and
behaves with despotic tyranny towards a waggon, a light
cart, and a four-wheeled " grinder," which he compel*
to draw up in order not to interfere with your progress.
He would certainly exercise the same arbitrary authority

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 171

towards a Hansom which is also amongst the vehicles
emerging from the bridge ; but the Hansom cabby is too
much for the minion of the law, and nearly drives over
you while you are availing yourself of the facility afforded
by judicious regulations.

Inside the Hall of Rufus there are a great number of
the same kind of persons as those who have accompanied
you down Parliament Street, with the difference that
the barristers, pacing up and down, or staying to talk in
groups, are all wigged and gowned, and produce the
inevitable impression which Mr. Dickens has made im-
mortal, having reference to " that variety of nose and
whisker for which the bar of England is so justly cele-
brated." There are a great many idlers among these —
idlers in spite of themselves — and some of them seem to
find it difficult to keep up an appearance of pre-occupa-
tion. It would be a very valuable addition to a legal
education if its recipient could manage to throw into
his face an expression wrhich should inevitably convey
the idea to the public mind that he would be particularly
wanted in court in a quarter of an hour. But I have
never known perfect success attend an attempt of the
kind : and the impression usually conveyed by a more or
less unknown junior wandering about "Westminster Hall
is, that it does not particularly matter where he may be.
To-day one of this unhappy class has the temerity to
take two ladies about, with an evident mission to show
them the lions of the locality. You can see at once that
they are not " parties " or witnesses. Parties and wit-
nesses may be as young, as blooming, and as fashionably

172 DO WN A T WESTMINS TEL'.

dressed ; but they would never be so smiling and so»
easy, wear that pretty fluttering manner, and talk with
such charmingly volatile rapidity as the fair creatures in
question. I should mention by the way, for the sake of
the proprieties, that, besides the barrister, they are ac-
companied by a young gentleman who is evidently their
brother, from the entire contempt with which he regards
them and their proceedings. He gives them entirely up
to their friend in the wig, who may be heard to say in
the course of conversation —

" I think we might hear some fun in the House of
Lords. They are engaged with appeals, and I think

Miss is still addressing the court. This is her

tenth day."

The idea of hearing a lady conducting her own case
finds immediate favour, and the party soon make their
way to the bar of the House. As we also are idling and1
looking about us, we may as well follow them.

They are very inhospitable to strangers in the House-
of Lords, that is to say, when the House is sitting in its
legal capacity. The court occupies a very small part of
the legislative chamber, and the impression produced is
that the members huddle together in order that they
may not have to speak too loud. There is no accommo-
dation even for counsel who are not engaged in the pro-
ceedings, and very little allowance is made for -curiosity
on the part of any class of persons ; but you are free to-
push in at the bar and see and hear what you can.

Upon the present occasion there are only two lords
besides the Lord Chancellor, and only one of these — an

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 173

ex-Lord Chancellor himself — appears to take any interest
in the proceedings. The central object is the suitor.
This, as we have already heard, is a lady. She is
addressing the Court when we enter, seems to have been
addressing it for some time past, and evidently intends
to address it for some time in the future. As she stands
behind a table, upon which her papers are placed, she is
in advance of us, and we can catch a glimpse of her face
only at intervals, when she turns aside to place her hand
upon a document which she wishes to consult. But we
can observe at first glance that she is a little lady rather
than otherwise, that she has a neat, slender figure, care-
fully and compactly clad in black, and that upon her head
she wears a little hat, "of the period" as to size, and
to some extent in the manner in which it is worn, but
by no means exaggerated in any respect. Upon further
observation you see that she has what is called a clever
face, with an expression indicative of culture and refine-
ment ; and the latter conclusion is justified by the voice,
which is clear and ringing, and remarkable for its nice
intonation. The lady, too, enjoys the advantage of an
easy flow of language, which never halts for a point or
an expression, and she has apparently a thorough mastery
of her case. If the Lord Chancellor ventures to ques-
tion a statement or criticise a conclusion, the fair pleader
at once puts her little black-gloved hand upon the docu-
ment containing her authority, and the great legal func-
tionary is at once confuted. The next time he ventures
an objection the same process is repeated, until his lord-
ship at last seems to arrive at the belief that it is safest

174 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

not to open his mouth. The other lords, when equally
rash, meet with a similar fate ; so, by degrees, the lady
has everything her own way, and continues her address
unmolested. The composure with which she goes over
her ground is something wonderful. There is no flurry,
no undue excitement, and only a certain serious emphasis
which her arguments receive distinguish her manner
from that of an ordinary advocate, and indicate that she
is pleading her own cause and has a strong interest in
the case. She has near her a legal adviser in the person
of a Queen's Counsel, but she seldom consults him, and
seems indeed to know her own business remarkably well.
This is the tenth day of her address, and it threatens to
last for many days more : it would be rash indeed to cal-
culate when it is likely to conclude. The case, it may
be here mentioned, is a very complicated one, involving
a question of legitimacy ; the documents connected with
it are of a voluminous character, and the lady has a
great tendency to read these at length, to refresh herself,
through their agency, in the intervals of original argu-
ment. How the case will end I will not venture to sur-
mise, but the reflection certainly strikes one that if ladies
get called to the bar and advocate other people's cases
with the persistency that they do their own, the proceed-
ings of the courts will be considerably lengthened, and
far greater demands than under present conditions will
be made upon the endurance of the judges.

Happily we are doing no more than amuse ourselves ;
so, after half an hour's acquaintance with the great legi-
timacy case, we are content to follow the example — set a

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 175

quarter of an hour before — of the young barrister and his
interesting friends, and betake ourselves elsewhere.

There are several committees sitting up- stairs, and see-
ing a throng of persons proceeding thither we follow them,
as in curiosity bound. The Commons' gallery is crowded
with counsel, solicitors, agents, witnesses, and all the rest
of the people of whom we have seen so many specimens
in Parliament Street; for one of the rooms has just been
cleared for the deliberation of the committee. Some are
walking up and down ; others are standing about in
groups ; everybody is talking ; there is general excitement
and some little hilarity on the part of those belonging to
the apparently winning side. The witnesses are, as usual,
more lively than anybody else. It is all holiday with
them, far away as they are from their provincial homes ;
and their feet not being upon their native heaths, their
names are all the more Macgregor. They begin already
to take refreshment at the adjacent buffet, to compare
notes as to who stayed latest, or did something most
remarkable somewhere last night, and to make arrange-
ments for dining together this evening and going to some
entertainment afterwards — the words "Gaiety" and
" Alhambra " being not unfrequently heard in such dis-
cussions. Mingled with this kind of talk you hear a great
deal about corporations, town councils, water supplies, pre-
ambles, clauses, traffic, trade, shipping, curves, gradients,
and engineering in general to any extent. An Irish Bill
which is under investigation in one- of the rooms is a fre-
quent subject of conversation. It is connected with the
supply of water to a large city, and a certain corporation

176 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

is more anxious, somehow, to confer the boon than the
ratepayers are to receive it. We enter the room in ex-
pectation of some amusement, and are not disappointed.

It is a spacious and imposing apartment, conceived when
the architect was in a massive mood, but with compen-
sating tendencies towards lightness. The oak panelling
and the window-frames are in antique style, but designed
with a modern eye to business. The fashion is bold,
with no gratuitous ornament. It is mediaevalism made
easy ; medievalism made light and cheerful, and receiv-
ing a modern character from green baize, blotting-paper,
and wafers. At the upper end of the room, within the
bar which excludes the profane public, is a table of horse-
shoe shape, at the upper end of which, on the convex
side, sit the committee. On the right — looking from the
lower end of the room — is an exclusive table occupied by
the clerk of the committee, who makes minutes of the
proceedings. In the centre of the horseshoe is another
exclusive table, occupied by a shorthand writer, engaged,
I suppose, by the promoters, whose business it is to take
a full note — that is to say, take every word— of what
passes. There are reporters for the press also, at another
table, in a corner ; but their office can scarcely be an
arduous one, judging from the little you ever see in the
newspapers of proceedings before Parliamentary Commit-
tees. At a long table in front are the counsel, agents,
attorneys, &c.

One of the counsel — a silk gown — is addressing the
committee ; but the members thereof do not seem to be
listening with much attention. Their attitude is one of

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 177

keen and appreciative indifference ; and but for an occa-
sional question in reference to a doubtful point you would
think that they were not listening at all. The fact is
that they are following the statement with much attention
— with more, indeed, than they would bestow upon the
speeches of counsel in general ; for the committee are for
the most part men of business — in a parliamentary way,
but still men of business — and regard counsel prim a facie
as impostors. But the counsel in question is a great
man. He is one of the leaders of the parliamentary bar.
He is allied to noble families, and makes fabulous sums
of money. So the committee pay him some kind of de-
ference when they make any sign at all ; and when they
speak to him it is always with social respect. They
address him by his full name — a double surname — and
always with a certain graciousness, even upon a point of
difference. It is always — " Excuse me, Mr. Verbose
Jawkins, but I do not quite understand;" or, " I think,
Mr. Verbose Jawkins, that the committee have some dif-
ficulty"— and so forth. Mr. Verbose Jawkins, in the
meantime — (he is a big, bland, handsome man, with a
grand society manner) — is gliding through his brief in
the pleasantest possible style, patronizing his facts, and
setting forth his conclusions as if they were so many
friends of his, who must make their way upon his intro-
duction. He has to refer a great deal to his papers, and
is occasionally coached by the keen gentleman at his
elbow. But he talks all the time that he is reading ; and
when he pauses for verbal suggestions, always does so with
the air of being unnecessarily interrupted, and, after re-

178 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

ceiving enlightenment in this manner, corrects previous
statements of his own with a severe air, as if they had
been made hy somebody else. In this manner he goes on
for forty minutes ; and then, after a peroration which
shows that he at least is quite convinced, runs away and
leaves the rest of the business to his juniors. He has
during the forty minutes been opening the case for the pro-
moters, and his fee for this little attention is five hundred
guineas, to say nothing for refreshers and consultations.

Mr. Verbose Jawkins being wanted in another com-
mittee, the examination of witnesses is proceeded with
under the conduct of juniors, as I have intimated. But
all goes well. Never were witnesses more willing ; never
were counsel more alive to the importance of their com-
munications. One of the witnesses is an elderly gentle-
man, and the counsel who examines him is a very young
gentleman. The former, in fact, is the father of the
latter ; but the coincidence of names is apparently not
noticed, and the examination goes on as glibly as
may be.

The counsel looks as if he had never seen the witness
before. Referring to his brief, apparently for informa-
tion, he says —

"Your name, I think, sir, is Mulligan?"

" It is, replies Mr. Mulligan, with an evident desire
for frankness and fair play.

" You are an alderman, I think, of the city of —
rejoins the counsel, determined, in the interests of his
clients, that their witnesses shall speak with the authority
of the offices they hold.

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER, 179

"I am," says the witness, taking upon himself, with
Homan fortitude, the responsibility involved.

" Then, Mr. Mulligan," pursues the counsel, " I shall
be obliged if you will tell the honourable committee " —
and so forth. Junior counsel, I notice, are generally par-
ticular in referring to the committee as the honourable

<-»

committee, which is a deferential concession not strictly
enjoined by etiquette. I suppose they think that it looks
parliamentary ; and perhaps it does.

While the examination of the witness is being thus
agreeably conducted, lunch-time arrives. There is no
adjournment for this refreshment, and, indeed, the com-
mittee alone seemed to be influenced by the event. At
about two o'clock stealthy waiters creep in and bring to
the members small plates of sandwiches and little cruets
of what appears to be sherry, the latter being imbibed
from tumblers with the addition of water. As a general
rule, members take in their lunch with an air of reserve,
as if it were statistics which might be outbid, or argu-
ments to be subsequently refuted. But one of the num-
ber I notice receives his with relish, as if he believed in
it, and intended to give an opinion in its favour. Coun-
sel are evidently not supposed to require extraneous sup-
port in common with the other assistants at the' proceed-
ings. Some, I suppose, are too busy ; others too idle.
Among the latter the clerk, I think, must be held to bear
the palm. He is a young man — always a young man —
scrupulously dressed, with an eye to dignity rather than
display ; and like all officials with too much leisure, he
seems to hold work in supreme contempt. He does a

180 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

great deal in the fresh disposition, from time to time, of
his papers, but has little employment for his pen. I sus-
pect that he considers the actors in the scene as so many
harmless lunatics, who have a raison d'etre for his espe-
cial benefit, which benefit is rather a bore than otherwise.
The most occupied person is one who has no formal recog-
nition. He is the shorthand writer at the centre table,
close by which is the chair assigned for the accommoda-
tion of the witnesses. His pen never ceases so long as
anything is being said. He gets a little holiday if the
counsel read something already on record, have to wait a
minute or two for a document, or pause while refreshing
themselves with facts ; but these are but brief oases in
the desert of his labours. He has one advantage, how-
ever, which those otherwise engaged do not enjoy. I
suspect that he knows nothing of what is passing, and,
while pursuing an almost mechanical task, is able to think
about anything he pleases. He certainly never seems to
take the smallest interest in the proceedings. The re-
porters for the press, who are digesting them into narra-
tive form, evince something like an opinion, as you may
hear in remarks from time to time, or see in the expres-
sion of their faces. But the official stenographer is un-
moved as the Sphynx, and takes no account of the mean-
ing of the words — his business is only with the words
themselves. He does not even feel bound to see ; and I
believe that if the chairman were to take his seat with
his head under his arm, this imperturbable functionary
would not consider himself called upon to record the fact.
I have heard of a gentleman of this class, on the staff of

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 181

a daily journal, being sent at Easter or Christmas time,,
when critics are in great request, to write a review of a
theatrical performance. He attended with note-book and
pencils as soon as the doors opened, was a little puzzled
at the overture, but brightened up when the play began,,
and then proceeded cheerfully to take a full note of
" Romeo and Juliet " from beginning to end. He was
rather surprised, on arriving afterwards at the office, to
find that he would not be required to " write out " th&
result of his labour?. Upon another occasion, it is added,
he was deputed to furnish an account of an eclipse of the
sun which was exciting unusual attention. He attended
with characteristic punctuality, note-book in hand, and
waited with great patience during the progress of the
event. But as nobody connected with the business in
hand was heard to make any remark, he conceived that
he had nothing to do, so contented himself with sending
in a report that " the proceedings were devoid of interest."
Such men as these are fortunate if they have much to do-
with parliamentary committees ; for they escape from a
great deal that is boring to other people.

There is nothing remarkable in the cross-examination
of the witnesses, as far as the opposing counsel are con-
cerned. But there is a gentleman representing a par-
ticular body of ratepayers, whose interests are affected by
the Bill in a particular manner, who is not a barrister,,
but an attorney, and he imports into the proceedings any
amount of liveliness that may be missed by his brethren
of the law. He is a North -of -Ireland man, and does not
care who knows it. His accent, indeed, proclaims the-

182 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

fact in unmistakeable tones. The question involved has
nothing to do with politics ; hut the importation of tho
Orange element seems inevitable in his case. Before he
begins to speak, you can see " No surrender " visibly
depicted on his countenance ; and were he to volunteer to
sing "Boyne "Water," in illustration of his case, you
would consider the song as a matter of course. He
bullies the witnesses with forty-barrister power, and in
the intervals of his questions persists, in defiance of all
rule, upon addressing the committee in a similar strain.
He is told that he must not do anything of the kind, so
he does it more and more ; and when he has abused
•everybody else he takes to abusing the committee itself
Like the gentleman of debating tendencies, who applied
for the situation at the Bank, and was asked to state his
qualifications, he " combines the most powerful invective
with the wildest humour," and he treats his audience to
.an unlimited supply of both. The committee at first da
not exactly know how to meet this kind of attack. They
are protected in the House by the Sergeant- at- Arms, but
here there is no functionary responsible for the preserva-
tion of order. A judge in court can invest an usher
with terrible powers upon an occasion of the kind ; but
the committee have no usher, nor any analogous official.
So, after enduring this belligerent advocate considerably
beyond the limits of endurance, they order -him to sit
down 'and be silent. As well might they order a hur-
ricane to take a calm view of affairs. The belligerent
advocate only goes harder to work, and in connection, |
.somehow, with a water supply and the rights of rate-

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 18$

payers, we have again a furious tirade, in which the siege
of Derry figures in a prominent manner, and "Boyne
Water " becomes imminent. So in this dilemma the
committee speak to somebody. I believe the somebody
is the clerk, who has a great deal in common with the
stenographer, and is sitting patiently during the scene,
considering it no business of his, as he cannot see his-
way to including it in the minutes of the proceedings.
That functionary seems, however, aroused at last to the
consciousness that something is the matter ; and I fancy
that it is through his agency that a messenger is foundr
and a policeman appears upon the scene. But one
policeman is nothing to a belligerent advocate, with his
head full of 'prentice- boys at Derry. No surrender,
the victory of the Boyne, the glorious, pious, and im-
mortal memory of King William, and the rights of
wronged ratepayers, all at the same time ; and he makes
a sturdy resistance to authority. So more policemen
are called ; and when four of those functionaries have-
arrived it is found that constitutional rights are con-
trollable, and that even resistance to the water supply
may be kept within proper bounds. By this I mean
that it is possible to eject the belligerent advocate — not
merely push him out by the neck and shoulders, but
carry him out by the arms and legs — which extreme
process is duly performed, despite protests which, I am
sorry to say, besides the action of the tongue, are inti-
mately associated with the hands and feet. The belli-
gerent advocate, in fact, fights like a kangaroo, which is
said to stand upon its tail, and use its four extremities at

184 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

•once as aggressive agents. The efforts of the police,
however, are in the end successful, and the belligerent
advocate is carried to the gallery outside, where he is
left to finish his speech as he best may to a crowd of
•clerks and idlers. The business of the committee is then
resumed.

The consideration of the Bill is likely to occupy a
great many days. Meanwhile let us look into another
•committee-room. Here the scene is very similar to that
presented in the adjacent apartment. At first sight you
would say that there were the same walls and windows,
ihe same horseshoe table, the same committee, the same
•clerk, and the same shorthand writer. I cannot say
the same counsel, for there are no counsel at all. The
•subject of investigation is connected with the registration
of voters, and the witnesses are examined by the mem-
bers of the committee themselves. Glancing again at
ihe latter, you observe that they consist of prominent
political men, including several Cabinet Ministers, the
latter of whom are remarkably reticent, and seem bent
upon acquiring information for their own purposes, as
they doubtless are. The proceedings are very dull, and
-do not repay the uninterested listener, who is unlikely to
make a long stay. In another room a railway Bill ia
undergoing investigation. It is an auxiliary to the
Metropolitan line, and a great map of the route is affixed
to the wall. We come next to an apartment where
several little bottles of water are engaging the attention
of the committee, and several scientific gentlemen are
•explaining the results of their investigation into tho

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 185-

quality of the more or less pure liquid. But there is
nothing very interesting in all this, and a proposal
to descend once more into Westminster Hall will pro-
bably meet with approbation.

All the Courts are sitting, and the proceedings in each
must concern a great number of persons. But there is
one court —the one whose entrance is the farthest from
Palace Yard, and the nearest, therefore, to the steps we
are now descending — which seems to have a peculiar-
interest for the public. There is a large crowd outside,
the members of which are evidently incredulous of the-
policeman's assurance that there is no room for them
within. But they can scarcely fail to concede the fact
when they see the concourse which pours forth when the-
doors are presently opened ; for it is now the middle
of the day, and the Court has adjourned for refresh-
ment.

In either body the idlers are predominant. Scores
upon scores of these seem to spend their days down at
Westminster, with no apparent object but to obtain gra-
tuitous entertainment of a dramatic character. In this
object, however, they must be frequently disappointed ;.
for, although many cases in court may be "as good as a
play," a great deal depends upon what play they are as-
good as. They may be a great deal better than some-
plays, and yet not be amusing. But I suspect that many
of these mysterious people, who patiently sit out the-
long hours when everybody else wishes to get away, have
a stronger inducement than mere amusement. Some-
are so mouldy in appearance, and so abject in their man-

186 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

ners, that they must surely come for shelter and some-
thing like society. It is a distraction, I suppose, for
these unhappy men to concern themselves about other
people's business rather than their own. I say men, but
there are some women among them, and their case is still
more anomalous. They come in couples, never alone, as
the men always do, and instead of being abject in their
manners, take up a tone of smart cynicism when com-
menting upon the proceedings to one another. To judge
from their remarks, which I have overheard from time
to time, I suspect these ladies to be under the fixed and
unchangeable belief that her Majesty's judges are a set
of old villains who have themselves been guilty of most
of the delinquencies upon which they sit in judgment,
and that the counsel — less wicked than the judges only I
because they are younger — are all habitual liars, and
hate truth as another person, to whom their fair critics
frequently compare them, is said to hate holy water..
Further, I believe the said fair critics to entertain the
impression that no poor man or woman can possibly
obtain justice in a court of law.

This class of persons — men and women — form,
have said, the majority of those who emerge from
court, which court, it may be here mentioned, is no other
than the Court for the trial of Matrimonial Causes,
otherwise known as the Divorce Court. But many of
those concerned in the proceedings also come forth, and
either go off to lunch or distribute themselves in groups
about the Hall. A case of unusual interest is to be taken
presently, and the parties appear to be all present. Tl

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 1ST

' well-built gentleman with the objectionably curled
whiskers and the somewhat simpering smile, who is-

f dressed with such scrupulous care and regard for conven-
tional authenticity, I take at once to he the co-respondent.
What nonsense it is to judge people by appearances.
The only co-respondent present (and he belongs ta

. another case), I afterwards find to be that ugly, brutal-

; looking man with a black beard, whose countenance,
.sufficient to convict him elsewhere, ought to be his best
defence in the Divorce Court — and would be, probably,
were the Court a less experienced tribunal. The gentle-
man with the curled whiskers walks off with a lady, and
promenades with her up and down the Hall. The fact I
find to be that he is the lady's solicitor, who is giving her

| some parting words of advice previous to her appearance
in the box ; for the lady, it seems, is the petitioner, not

I the respondent, and will be the first witness called. She
is a charming creature, the petitioner : gushing to a fault ;
with fair, fluffy, and fashionable hair, and no bonnet to
>peak of, as regards its size, though the accessory is cal-

! culated in every other respect to inspire admiring re-
mark. Her costume — well, it is one of those complete
Iresses which are especially called " costumes" by
milliners. Altogether her array is admirably calculated
o encourage her natural gifts and graces ; and it would
be difficult to conceive a more perfect object of sympathy
— except that she shows no sign of having been ill-
:reated. Her husband, I am informed, is not to be seen
n the Hall. He is probably in court. But some of his
.vitnesses are there ; for the monster, it seems, intends to

188 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

•defend the case. The witnesses pointed out to me are a
couple of women — one said to be a cook, while the face of
the other says " charwoman" as plainly as countenance
can speak. These two worthies are sitting together upon
the steps of the court discussing some sandwiches which
they had brought with them in a basket, and enlivening
their collation by frequent appeals to a flat bottle contain-
ing a white liquid which, other things being equal, might
be mistaken for water. The naked eye, indeed, might
make the mistake, but the naked nose never ; besides,
they take it in measured doses from a wine-glass, which
is a mark of attention that people seldom pay to liquid in
its virgin condition. The fair creatures seem to be
greatly entertained by their conversation, which has
partly reference to the particulars of the case just con-
cluded, and partly to their expectations of the case about
to commence. They are not long in anxiety concerning
the latter ; for the judge is now found to have taken his
seat, and there is a general rush into the court. We get
foremost places — never mind how — and are able both to
hear and see.

The petitioner's counsel, like her solicitor, is a " ladies*
lawyer" — a Q.C., and a highly successful man in his
profession. He tempers firmness with the utmost suavity,
and his appearance generally is greatly in his favour.
He is none of your slovenly barristers who. wear slat-
ternly robes, crumpled bauds, and wigs that have not
been dressed for years. His appointments are all neat
and compact, like himself generally, and he even carries
his regard for the Graces so far as to wear gloves, unlike

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 189^

most men at the bar, who fancy, I suppose, that clients
and attorneys think them unbusiness-iike. He states
the petitioner's case with all the eloquence of which he is
master; and such a course of insult and injury as he
narrates one could scarcely suppose to be exercised to-
wards so fair a victim except by a monster in human
form. Not, however, that such is the appearance of the
respondent, who is now pointed out to us, sitting at the
solicitor's table. He looks a mere boy; a little dissi-
pated, perhaps, in appearance, but more foolish than any-
thing else. I believe his mental condition to be induced,
not by insanity, as some of his friends have tried to make
out, but a strong determination of blackguardism to the
head. Looking at the petitioner, one cannot help hoping
that he will prove the M. in H. F. which he is repre-
sented to be.

The petitioner is called upon in due course for her
evidence. There are some ladylike delays, as there
always are in such cases. First, the usher tells her that
she must remove her right glove, as preliminary to hold-
ng " the book." "What a pity that she was not apprised
of this necessity a quarter of an hour before ! Gloves,
that fit like gloves are not got off in a hurry ; so there is
a little delay, not made less by the confusion of the
wearer, who is evidently conscious that the eyes of
Europe are upon her. Then the judge tells her that she
must lift her veil. He has a notion that the short
spotted piece of net which the lady wears stretched across
her face can be thrown over her head on the shortest

190 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

notice. Nothing of the kind. She has to unpin it, and
take it bodily off. " So very provoking," as she after-
wards remarks ; " before the whole Court, too !" I am
bound to say that she looks far more injured without her
veil than with it ; for a pretty little spotted thing which
throws up the delicacy of the complexion is not so well
calculated to inspire pity as it ought to be. The good
impression which she has already created is confirmed by
the manner in which she gives her evidence — somewhat
reluctantly, and with the sympathizing assistance of the
junior counsel, but consistently and to the purpose. She
is not unagitated, as you may suppose, and at one point
in her statement drops the glove which has been with-
drawn. This is picked up at once by the taxing-master
of the court, who retains it during the remainder of her
examination, and then hands it back with a chivalrous
air, such as would not have been expected from so prosaic
an official.

At last, after having been thoroughly stared out of
countenance by everybody in court for twenty minutes or
so, and made the subject of sotto wee commentary of an
improving kind on every side, the petitioner resumes her
place in front of her counsel, her first care being to re-
attach the spotted veil, which she does with the aid of a
young person of most exemplary appearance, looking like
a governess with a grievance, by whom she is accom-
panied. The glove she resumes at her leisure.

Some evidence follows in support of her case, whi
seems as strong a one as could well be. But the

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 191

spondent has a case also, and his, too, is not without
support. The cook and the charwoman, inspired by
their lunch, compromise themselves so completel}' that
they are told one after the other to stand down ; hut the
evidence of a gentleman who follows them is decidedly
damaging to the petitioner. He makes some unexpected
statements, indeed, which the other side shows no signs
of meeting. When the time comes, however, when he is
open to cross-examination, the junior counsel for the
petitioner, who has never held a brief before, makes,
from the freshness of his inexperience, a suggestion to his
senior, to which the senior, after some hesitation, accedes.
The witness, it should be here stated, bears a name not
unknown as a novelist, but the fact has not yet appeared
before the Court.

Ignoring loftily the allegations made by the witness,
the junior proceeds in this fashion with his cross-exami-
nation :

Counsel. " I believe, sir, that among your other avoca-
tions you are a writer for the press ? "

Witness. " I am."

C. " You are a writer of fiction, I believe ? "

W. " Yes, I write novels."

C. " You write from your imagination, I think ; you
invent what you put into your books ?"

W. " I certainly do not take my writings from other
people."

C. " And what you write is not true ?"

W. " I do not pretend it to be so."

C. " Oh ! you do not pretend it to be so. So every-

192 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER

thing you write is simply lies ; there is not a word of

truth in any of your works ?"

W. " They are written from the imagination."

C. "Do not prevaricate, sir ; remember, you are upon.

your oath. Have you been writing truth, or have you

been writing lies ? "

W. " Well, lies, since you will have it so."

C. " Very well, sir. And for how long have you been

writing nothing but lies ?"

W. "I must really appeal to his lordship, whether I

am to be subjected "

Judge, " You had better answer the counsel, sir."
C. "I repeat, for how many years have you been

writing nothing but lies ?"

W. "Well, since you will have it so — about twel

years."

C. " Very well, sir ; it would have been much better

to have told us so candidly at first. And you have a

mother, I think, who also writes lies ?"

W. " I have a mother who used to write novels."
C. " This is very sad— that I cannot induce you to

definite in your terms. For how many years did y

mother write lies ?"

W. " She wrote for about twenty years."

C. " And during that time never wrote a word

truth ?"

W. " I suppose not, in the sense you mean."

C. " That will do, sir. You have been writing nothi

but lies for the last twelve years, and your mother wr

nothing but lies for twenty years before. I need n<

Cll

.

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

question you as to your statements concerning my clients,
as the court and the jury must have formed their own
opinion upon that subject. You may now stand down,
sir."

The witness's testimony is thus triumphantly shaken —
a fact of which the leader does not fail to make use in his
reply. The judge tells the jury that they need not trouble
themselves about the facts elicited in cross-examination ;
but the jury are evidently impressed with the lying pro-
pensities of the witness, and return a verdict for the peti-
tioner without leaving the box.

A friend tells me that my memory is misleading me,
and that the case to which I refer was not tried in the
Divorce Court. It may be so ; but it is nevertheless true
that, even in such a well-conducted tribunal as that of
Lord Penzance, a pretty petitioner excites more interest
than an ugly one, and a bold line of cross-examination
will sometimes materially assist a case.

We turn next into another court, where nothing less
interesting than a breach of promise of marriage case is
being tried.

The experience of most persons, I fancy, would tend to
the conclusion that the offences which lead to actions of
this nature are continually being committed in all classes
of society, and that the occasional cases which we hear of
in the courts are but a small proportion of the number.
Et is seldom, indeed, that we find an instance in which
both of the parties belong to the upper ranks ; for it is
mly under very exceptional circumstances that persons
)f high social status would voluntarily submit to the expo-

H

194 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

sure involved. As a general rule, the plaintiff or the
defendant, or, it may be, both the one and the other, are
of eccentric character, whose courtship has been removed
from the ordinary conditions which precede matrimony.
There are usually discrepancies as to age, or station, or
money, or good sense, or good looks ; and the revelations
to which the proceedings lead frequently bring before us
the strangest pictures of life. Here, for instance, is one
as developed in evidence to-day. The plaintiff and de-
fendant stand in the same relation to one another as
the plaintiff and defendant in the case of "Bardellfl.
Pickwick " — that is to say, Mrs. Brown let lodgings, and
Mr. Jones lived in them — otherwise there is not much
resemblance between the two cases. Mrs. Brown was a
widow with two children. She enjoyed a combination of
personal characteristics which, as her counsel reminded
the court, might, upon Royal authority, be considered
attractions ; that is to say, she was " fair, fat, and forty,"
though it seems that she did not, in the opinion of those
who saw her in court, look anything like the age which
was considered so charming by his late Majesty George the
Fourth. Mr. Jones, described by the plaintiff's counsel
to be about fifty-five, but " guessed " by one of the wit-
nesses to be nearly twenty years older, is evidently, from
his appearance an aged man, is paralysed besides, and
has been so for some years, though one of the witnesses
says that " he sometimes got better." He is, however,
capable of enjoying life in his own way, which way seems
to be by no means disassociated with amusements out ol
doors. Thus it appears that he has been in the habit o:

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 195

accompanying Mrs. Jones, her two children, and his par-
ticular friend Mr. Robinson, a retired builder, to music-
halls and similar places of recreation ; and not only Mr.
Robinson, but the cabman who drove them about, is
stated to have been aware of the understanding between
him and the fair — not to say fat and forty — widow. Mr.
Robinson's view of the matter was that Mr. Brown, by
proposing such an alliance, was " going to make an old
fool of himself; " but it is to be feared that Mr. Robin-
son's opinion was not quite disinterested, for he admitted
that he lived not only with, but " upon " the defendant,
in whose premises he must have been rather at home than
otherwise; for, according to his own comprehensive ac-
count, he slept there, he breakfasted there, he dined there,
he supped there, and he "grogged" there. The force of
living with a man, one would think, could no farther go.
In return for this slight accommodation he was in the
habit of giving defendant such little assistance as his infir-
mities might require ; and the idea of being displaced by
such an intrusion as a wife, seems to have been peculiarly
listasteful to him. For the defendant, it should be
observed, was a rich man for his station in life, and
lid not care who knew it," for he had cards announcing
;hat he was " a widower and gentleman," and was so
' described in the books of the Bank of England," and
urther, that he had an office where he lent money. He
old his friends that he had nearly five thousand pounds in
he Bank, and that he would settle four thousand of it upon
he plaintiff. The cabman, who, in consequence of being
irly employed to drive the party about on their plea-

H2

196 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

sures, seems to have been quite on intimate terms, deposed
that the defendant spoke about the lady " in a jocular
way," the jocularity consisting, as he explained, some-
what to the surprise of the judge, in saying that she was
a very nice woman, and that he intended to marry her.
The cabman, too, was able to tell that he had driven Mr.
Jones to Doctors' Commons, and saw him get a marriage-
licence, and present it to Mrs. Brown. Nay, more, he
certified that the defendant had given a material guaran-
tee of his honourable intentions in a manner, I fancy,
hitherto unknown to courtship, having ordered a brass
plate with his own name to be placed upon her door, and
adorned the portal with a touching mark of his affection
in the form of a new knocker. It might be said that
"he who adored her had left but the name," and that,
notwithstanding the knocker, he did not care a rap about
her. But such things are difficult to conceive ; and th
evidence discloses every appearance of the fact, that i
ever man meant seriously towards a lady, that man was
Mr. Jones.

But he failed in his troth after all. "We are prover
bially told that one power proposes, and another dis
poses ; but Mr. Jones did both. He had proposed to
Mrs. Brown, and then he felt disposed not to have her
Hence the present action. The defence, as frequentlj
happens in breach- of-promise cases, is that the defendan
was not worth having ; and he certainly presents a help
less and generally abject appearance in court. But ap
pearances of the kind are not always implicitly rclie<
upon by judges and experienced juries. A wealth}

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 197

farmer, under similar circumstances, has been known to
present himself before the tribunal in the guise of a farm
labourer, in a smockfrock, with haybands round his legs,
a pitchfork in his hand, and presenting generally, in his
language and deportment, a picture of Cymon before he
fell in love with Iphigenia. Such stooping to conquer
is usually appreciated by spectators, and there is evidently
a suspicion in the present case that Mr. Jones's miserable
make-up has been overdone. Both Mr. Robinson and
the cabman distinctly state that he was a very different
person during his courtship — looked well fed, was well
dressed, wore jewellery, and took care of himself gene-
rally. So his counsel's appeal cannot, evidently, be sus-
tained upon the grounds urged ; and the judge directing
that the question is simply one of damages, the jury
assess them at a good round sum — evidently beyond the
expectations of the lady's counsel, who, in the absence of
any allegation of damaged affections, had not anticipated
that a business-like view of her loss of position would
have produced so much. But the element of hazard
enters considerably into the finding of juries, as we all
know.

The next case is of a commonplace character, and
there is nothing to note except a couple of stories then
and there told to me, of a similar number of counsel
present. One is a tall man, who looks principally keen,
but has a great turn for humour, and will make any case
in which he is engaged amusing. He has a large practice
now, but a very few years ago he had none at all, and
was glad to hold any brief with which his more fortunate

198 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

friends might entrust him. One of these was a very
eminent member of the bar, who happened one day to
have a particularly bad case, which, scandal has it, he
felt particularly inclined to shirk. It was a bill case of a
very disgraceful kind, and his client was on the wrong
side ; so, under the plea of business elsewhere, he handed
over his brief to the faithful junior, and sought refuge in
another court. Half an hour afterwards he was in West-
minster Hall, taking his ease in legal meditation fancy
free, when the faithful junior was seen rushing out of
court with his gown torn nearly off his shoulders, his
hands rather more behind than before, and his wig
scarcely asserting a connection with the wearer's head.

" "Well, how have you got on ? " asked the great man,
smiling, and declining to notice the other's confusion.

" Got on ! " was the agitated answer ; " the bill is
impounded, the witnesses are ordered not to leave the
court, the attorney is to be struck off the rolls, and I —
I have with difficulty escaped ! "

What a charming thing it is to be a great man at the
bar — so that you can leave embarrassing cases of the kind
to faithful juniors !

The other member of the bar to whom I have alluded
is a very severe-looking person, who enjoys a great deal
of what is said to have been Lord Thurlow's privilege —
that of looking a great deal wiser than any man ever
was. Did I say that I heard only one story connected
with him? I should have said two. One is to this
effect. When a young man — he has learned a great
deal since then, I have no doubt— he held the office of

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 199

judge in a small colony. He was the sole occupant of
the bench, so he carried everything his own way. One
day a member of the local bar disputed his ruling upon
a certain point, and appealed to printed authority in
support of his position. The judge's account of the
incident, as given by himself, is said to be this : ""Would
you believe it — one of my own bar had the impertinence
to tell me that he was right and that I was wrong, and
he appealed to a law book to support him — his own
book, and the only one in the colony."

" And what did you do ?" was the natural question.

" What did I do ? " was the indignant answer ; " there
was only one thing to do ; I borrowed the book from
him, and lost it, so that we shall hear no more scandal of
that kind."

A prisoner brought before him on a charge of theft
pleaded " guilty/' The judge explained to him that
he was not obliged to take this course, but might have
the benefit of a trial ; so the prisoner pleaded " not
guilty." The jury acquitted him ; upon which the
judge, addressing the accused, said, in his most severe
manner —

"Prisoner at the bar, you have confessed yourself a
thief, and the jury have found you a liar — begone from
my sight."

"We are now in another court, where an unusual scene
is presented to a stranger. He has surely come into a
•convent ! There are nuns on all sides of him, varied by
a few priests ! At a second glance, however, he is
assured of the fact. He has not come into a convent,
but a convent has come into court. There is a nun in.

200 DOWN AT WESTMINSTER.

the witness-box — a mother or a sister, which is it?
Some of the mothers are as young as some of the
sisters. She is certainly younger than most of the nuns
present, has a comely face and figure, and the clearest of
complexions. She gives her evidence — which has refer-
ence to a late member of the community who has been
expelled, and the legality of whose expulsion is being
tried by the court — with an artless innocence which inte-
rests all present. She is the best witness that the
defendants have had on their behalf — for some members
of the order were not more engaging in appearance than
nuns need be, and cannot be considered to have given
their evidence without a strong feeling against the
plaintiff. This same plaintiff, who sits in front of the
counsel, with her face towards the bench, has been the
main object of public attention for a fortnight past, and
her case promises to engage the court for days still to
come. She is closely veiled, and the curious public have
not been able to see her face since she gave her evidence
in the box. She talks sometimes to an old gentleman
and a young lady who sit on either side of her — the
latter understood to be her sister — but otherwise shows
little signs of animation. The sister, by the way, is of
the period, periody, and her elaborate coiffure, bonnet,
and robes, contrast strangely with the muffled figure, in
deep black, of the ex-nun. The latter made out a strong
case in the beginning, but it has been weakened consi-
derably by the character of the defence ; and the revela-
tions of convent life, made on the one side or the other,
have at least not been so alarming as they were expected
to be by the public. Still the impression upon the minds

DOWN AT WESTMINSTER. 201

of those who have watched the proceedings is that the
girl has been harshly treated, and it is generally expected
that she will get a verdict, with tolerably substantial
damages. And here it may be mentioned — as I am not
adhering to unity as to time, and have not confined
myself to any one day " down at Westminster/' that
the end justified the anticipations, as far as the court was
concerned. How far the case can be considered con-
cluded remains to be seen.

At four o'clock the committees close their proceedings,
the Speaker of the House of Commons being announced
in the different rooms as " at prayers ;" and the Hall is
once more full of the moving life from upstairs. Some
of the courts, too, have risen, and are pouring forth their
quota to the crowd. There is a large assembly of the
public, moreover, in the Hall, waiting to see the members
go into the House ; and there is a great deal of cheering
and counter- demonstration as certain statesmen are re-
cognised. For a great question, of a constitutional cha-
racter, is before the legislature, and popular feeling runs
strongly on both sides. In a short time the last court
will have closed, and all engaged therein will have disap-
peared, except those of the lawyers who are members of
the House. These have a laborious time of it, and must
perhaps attend in their places for two or three hours
before they can get away to dine, either in the House or
elsewhere. So those of the public who choose to remain,
must transfer their interest to anew direction.

THE OLD BAILEY.

THE JUDGE.

THE Old Bailey ! Ugly words — associated (in a Lon-
doner's mind, at all events) with greasy squalor," crime of
every description, a cold, bleak-looking prison, with an
awful little iron door, three feet or so from the ground,
trial by jury, black caps, bullying counsel, a " visibly
affected" judge, prevaricating witnesses, and a miserable,
trembling, damp prisoner in a dock. The Old Bailey —

THE OLD BAILEY. 203

or rather the Central Criminal Court, held at the Old
Bailey — is, par excellence, the criminal court of the
country. In it all the excellences and all the disadvan-
tages of our criminal procedure are developed to an extra-
ordinary degree. The Old Bailey juries are at once more
clearsighted and more pig-headed than any country jury.
The local judges — that is to say, the Recorder and the
Common-Serjeant — are more logical, and more inflexible,
and better lawyers than the corresponding dignitaries in
any of our session towns. The counsel are keener in
their conduct of defences than are the majority of circuit
and sessions counsel ; and at the same time the tone of
their cross-examinations is not so gentlemanly, and alto-
gether they are less scrupulous in their method of con
ducting the cases entrusted to them. The witnesses are
more intelligent and less trustworthy than country wit-
nesses. The officers of the court keep silence more effi-
ciently, and at the same time are more offensive in their
general deportment than the officers of any other court in
the kingdom. And lastly, the degree of the prisoners'
guilt seems to take a wider scope than it does in cases
tried on circuit. More innocent men are charged with
crime and more guilty men escape at the Old Bailey
than at any other court in the kingdom; because the
juries, being Londoners, are more accustomed to look
upon niceties of evidence from a legal point of view, and
in many cases come into the jury-box with exaggerated
views of what constitutes a " reasonable doubt," and so
are disposed to give a verdict for the prisoner, when a
country jury would convict.

204

THE OLD BAILEY.

The Old Bailey, although extremely inconvenient, is
"beautifully compact. You can be detained there between
the time of your committal and your trial — you can be
tried there, sentenced there, condemned-celled there, and
comfortably hanged and buried there, without having to
leave the building, except for the purpose of going on to
the scaffold. Indeed, recent legislation has removed even
this exception, and now there is no occasion to go outside
the four walls of the building at all — the thing is done in
the paved yard that separates the court-house from the pri-

THE ALDEKMAN ON THE BENCH.

•son. It is as though you were tried in the drawing-room,
confined in the scullery, and hanged in the back garden.

THE OLD BAILEY. 205

The court-house contains, besides ample accommoda-
tion for the judges, aldermen, common-councilmen,
sheriffs, and under-sheriffs, two large courts, called the
Old Court and New Court, and two or three secondary
courts, which are only used when the pressure of business
is rather heavy. The gravest offences are usually tried
in the Old Court on the Wednesday or Thursday after
the commencement of the session, on which days one or
two of the judges from. Westminster sit at the Old Bailey.
The arrangement of the Old Court may be taken as a
tolerably fair sample of a criminal court. The bench
occupies one side of the court, and the dock faces it. On
the right of the bench are the jury-box and witness-box ;
on the left are the seats for privileged witnesses and
visitors, and also for the reporters and jurymen in wait-
ing. The space bounded by the bench on one side, the
dock on another, the jury-box on a third, and the re-
porters' box on the fourth, is occupied by counsel and
attorneys, the larger half being assigned to the counsel.
Over the dock is the public gallery, to which admission
was formerly obtained by payment of a fee to the warder.
It is now free to about thirty of the public at large at one
time, who can see nothing of the prisoner except his
scalp, and hear very little of what is going on.

The form in which a criminal trial is conducted is
briefly as follows : The case is submitted to the grand
jury, and if, on examination of one or more of the wit-
nesses for the prosecution, they find a prima facie case
against the prisoner, a " true bill " is found, and handed
to the clerk of arraigns in open court. The prisoner is

206 .THE OLD SAILS Y.

hen called upon to plead: and, in the event of his
pleading " guilty," the facts of the case are briefly stated
by counsel, together with a statement of a previous con-
viction, if the prisoner is an old offender, and the judge
passes sentence. If the prisoner pleads "not guilty,"
the trial proceeds in the following form. The indictment
and plea are both read over to the jury by the clerk of
arraigns, and they are charged by him to try whether
the prisoner is " guilty " or " not guilty." The counsel
for the prosecution then opens the case briefly or at
length, as its nature may suggest, and then proceeds to
call witnesses for the prosecution. At the close of the
" examination in chief " of each witness, the counsel for
the defence (or, in the absence of counsel for the defence,
the prisoner himself), cross-examines. At the conclusion
of the examination and cross-examination of the wit-
nesses for the prosecution, the counsel for the prosecution
has the privilege of summing up the arguments that
support his case. If witnesses are called for the defence,
the defending counsel has, also, a right to sum up ; and
in that case the counsel for the prosecution has a right of
reply. The matter is then left in the hands of the judge,
who "sums up," placing the facts of the case clearly and
impartially before the jury, pointing out discrepancies in
the evidence, clearing the case of all superfluous matter,
and directing them in all the points of law that arise in
the case. The jury then consider their verdict, and,
when they are agreed, give it in open court, and the pri-
soner at the bar is asked whether he has anything to say
why the sentence of law shall not be passed upon him

THE OLD BAILEY. 207

This question is little more than a matter of form, and
the judge rarely waits for an answer, hut proceeds im-
mediately to pass sentence on the prisoner.

A visitor at the Old Bailey, to whom the courts of
Westminster or Guildhall are familiar, will prohahly be
very much struck with the difference between the manner
in which the Nisi Prius and the criminal barristers are
treated by the officials of their respective Courts. At
Westminster the ushers, who are most unpleasant in
their demeanour towards the public at large, are. as
deferential in their tone to the bar as so many club ser-
vants. Like Kathleen's cow, though vicious to others,
they are gentle to them. Indeed, at Westminster the
bar are treated by all the officials as gentlemen of posi-
tion have a right to expect to be. But at the Old Bailey
it is otherwise. They appear to be on familiar terms
with criers, ushers, thieves' attorneys, clerks, and police
Serjeants. Attorneys' clerks, of Israelitish aspect, but-
tonhole them ; bumptious criers elbow them right and
left, and the policeman on duty at the bar-entrance chaffs
them with haughty condescension. Of course there are
many gentlemen at the criminal bar whose professional
position overawes even this overbearing functionary ; but
it unfortunately happens that there are a great many
needy and unscrupulous practitioners at the Old Bailey,
who find it to their advantage to adopt a conciliatory
policy towards everybody in office ; for it is an unfortu-
nate fact, that almost everybody in office has it in his
power, directly or indirectly, to do an Old Bailey barrister
a good turn. " Dockers," or briefs handed directly from

208 THE OLD BAILEY.

the prisoner in the dock to counsel, without the expen-
sive intervention of an attorney, are distributed pretty
well at the discretion of the warder in the dock, or of the
gaoler to whose custody the prisoner has been entrusted
since his committal ; and there are a few needy barristers
who are not ashamed to allow their clerks to tout among
prisoners' friends for briefs at half fees. It is only fair
to state, that the counsel who resort to these ungentle-
manly dodges form but a small proportion of the bar-
risters who practise at the Old Bailey ; but still they are
sufficiently numerous to affect most seriously the tone
that is adopted by Old Bailey officials towards the bar as
a body.

The conventional Old Bailey barrister, however, is a
type that is gradually dying out. The rising men at the
criminal bar are certainly far from being all that could
be desired ; but their tone, in cross-examination, is more
gentlemanly than that commonly in vogue among Old
Bailey barristers of twenty years since. There are a few
among them who occasionally attempt to bully, not only
the witnesses, but even the judge and jury ; but they
always get the worst of it. As a rule, cross-examina-
tions are conducted more fairly than they were, and a
determination to convict at any price is rarer on the part
of a prosecuting counsel than of yore. If some means
could be adopted to clear the court of the touting counsel,
or, at all events, to render their discreditable tactics in-
operative, a great change for the better would be effected
in the tone adopted towards the bar by the officials about
e court. As it is, it is almost impossible for a young

THE OLD BAILEY.

209

counsel to retain his self-respect in the face of the annoy-
ing familiarities of the underlings with whom he is brought
into contact. On the occasion of our last visit to the Old
Bailey, during the trial of Jeffrey for the murder of his
son, we happened to witness a dispute between an inso-
lent policeman, stationed at the bar-entrance, and a young

THE CHIEB.

barrister in robes, who was evidently not an habitud ot
that court. The barrister had a friend with him, and he
wanted to get a place for his friend, either in the bar
seats, or in the seats set aside for the friends of the
bench and baf. The policeman in question placed his

210 THE OLD BAILEY.

arm across the door, and absolutely refused to allow either
the barrister or his friend to enter, on the ground that
the court was quite full. The barrister sent his card to
the under-sheriff, who immediately gave directions that
both were to be admitted to the bar-seats, which were
occupied by about a fourth of the number which they
would conveniently accommodate, about half the people
occupying them being friends of counsel who, we suppose,
were on more intimate terms with the discourteous func-
tionary than was the barrister in question. On another
occasion it came to our knowledge that a barrister, who
did not habitually practise at the Old Bailey, was refused
admission at the bar entrance to the court-house by the
police-sergeant stationed there. He showed his card, but
without avail, and eventually he -expressed his intention
of forcing his way past the policeman, and told that offi-
cial that if he stopped him he would do so at his peril.
The policeman allowed him to pass, but actually told
another constable to follow him to the robing-room, to
see whether he had any right there or not. The barris-
ter, naturally annoyed at being thus conveyed in custody
through the building, complained to one of the under-
sheriffs for the time being, but without obtaining the
slightest redress. Of course this system of impertinence
has the effect of confining Old Bailey practice to a thick-
skinned few ; but it does not tend to elevate the tone of
the bar (of which the Old Bailey barrister is unfortu-
nately generally taken as a type) ; and those who are
jealous for the honour of the profession should take steps
to do away with it.

THE OLD BAILEY.

211

To a stranger, a criminal trial is always an interesting
sight If the prisoner happens to be charged with a
crime of magnitude, he has become quite a public cha-
racter by the time he enters the dock to take his trial ;
and it is always interesting to see how far a public cha-
racter corresponds with the ideal which we have formed

THE OLD BAILEY BA11RISTEK.

of him. Then his demeanour in the dock, influenced, as
it often is, by the fluctuating character of the evidence
for and against him, possesses a grim interest for the
unaccustomed spectator. He is witnessing a real sensa-
tion drama, and as the case draws to a close, if the

212

THE OLD BAILEY.

evidence has been very conflicting, he feels an interest in
the issue akin to that with which a sporting man would
take in the running of a great race. Then the delibera-
tions of the jury on their verdict, the sharp, anxious look
which the prisoner casts ever and anon towards them,
the deep breath that he draws as the jury resume their

THE OLD BAILEY ATTORNEY.

places, the trembling anxiety, or, more affecting still, the
preternaturally compressed lips and contracted brow, with
which he awaits the publication of their verdict, and his
great, deep sigh of relief when he knows the worst, must
possess a painful interest for all but those whom familia-

THE OLD BAILEY. 213-

rity with such scenes has hardened. Then comes the
sentence, followed, perhaps, by a woman's shriek from
the gallery, and all is over, as far as the spectator is con-
cerned. The next case is called on, and new facts and
new faces soon obliterate any painful effect which the-
trial may have had upon his mind.

Probably the first impression on the mind of a man
who visits the Old Bailey for the first time is that he
never saw so many ugly people collected in any one place-
before. The judges are not handsome men, as a rule,
the aldermen on the bench never are ; barristers, espe-
cially Old Bailey barristers, are the ugliest of professional
men, excepting always solicitors ; the jury have a bull-
headed look about them that suggests that they have
been designedly selected from the most stupid of their
class ; the reporters are usually dirty, and of evil savour ;.
the understrappers have a bloated, overfed, Bumble-like
look about them, which is always a particularly annoying
thing to a sensitive mind ; and the prisoner, of course,
looks (whether guilty or innocent) the most ruffianly of
mankind, for he stands in the dock. "We remember
seeing a man tried for burglary some time since, and we-
came to the conclusion that he had the most villanous-
face with which a man could be cursed. The case against
him rested on the testimony of as nice-looking and in-
genuous a lad as ever stepped into a witness-box. But,.
unfortunately for the ingenuous lad, a clear alibi was-
established, the prisoner was immediately acquitted, and
the nice boy, his accuser, was trotted into the dock on a
charge of perjury. The principal witness against him

214

THE OLD BAILEY.

was the former prisoner, and we were perfectly astounded
at the false estimate we had formed of their respective
physiognomies. The former prisoner's face was, we
found, homely enough ; but it absolutely beamed with
honest enthusiasm in the cause of justice, while the nice
lad's countenance turned out to be the very type of sly,

THE PRISONER AT THE BAR.

insidious rascality. It is astonishing how the atmosphere
of the dock inverts the countenance of any one who may
happen to be in it. And this leads us to the considera-
tion how surpassingly beautiful must that ballet-girl have
been, who, even in the dock, exercised so extraordinary
a fascination over a learned deputy-judge at the Middle-
sex sessions not long ago. We remember once to have

THE OLD BAILEY. 215-

heard a well-known counsel, who was defending a singu-
lary ill-favoured prisoner, say to the jury, " Gentlemen,,
you must not allow yourselves to be carried away by any
effect which the prisoner's appearance may have upon
you. Remember, he is in the dock ; and I will under-
take to say, that if my lord were to be taken from the
bench upon which he is sitting, and placed where the
prisoner is now standing, you, who are unaccustomed to-
criminal trials, would find, even in his lordship's face,,
indications of crime which you would look for in vain in
any other situation ! " In fairness we withhold the
learned judge's name.

Perhaps the most ill-favoured among this ill-favoured
gathering are to be found among the thieves' attorneys.
There are some Old Bailey attorneys who are respectable
men, and it often happens that a highly-respectable soli-
citor has occasion to pay an exceptional visit to this
establishment, just as queen's counsel of standing at Nisi
Prius are often employed in cases of grave importance ;
but these solicitors of standing are the exception, and
the dirty, cunning-looking, hook-nosed, unsavoury little-
Jews, with thick gold rings on their stubby fingers, and
crisp black hair curling down their backs, the rule. They
are the embodiment of meat, drink, washing, and pro-
fessional reputation to the needy barristers whom they
employ, and, as such, their intimacy is, of course, much
courted and in great request. Of course many Old
Bailey barristers are utterly independent of this ill-
favoured race ; but there are, unfortunately, too many
men to be found whose only road to professional success-

216 THE OLD BAILEY.

lies in the good- will of these gentry. There are, among
the thieves' lawyers, men of acute intelligence and
honourable repute, and who do their work extremely
well; but the majority of them are sneaking, underhand,
grovelling practitioners, who are utterly unrecognised by
men of good standing.

217

OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY AND THEIR
HOMES IN LONDON.

WHENEVER I looked up from my newspaper I met the
eye of a middle-aged gentleman who was sitting in the
same box — a box, I should mention, in the coffee-room of
an old-fashioned hotel in London, which is partitioned off
in primitive style. I say gentleman advisedly, for the
stranger had every apparent claim to be so called. For
the rest there was little to distinguish him from the crowd
of well-dressed and well-mannered persons whom one
meets about in public places. He might be a clergyman,
or a lawyer, or a doctor, though I should doubt his being
an active member of either profession. He gave you the
idea of a man retired from any pursuit in which he might
have been engaged, and to be occupied rather in killing
time than in inviting time to kill him. He had a healthy,
happy-looking face, bearing no traces of hard work or
deep thought, and his hair was only partially grey. He
had a mild eye, and a mild voice, and a mild manner — I
noticed the two latter qualities through his intercourse
with the waiter — and was so suave in his ways as to be
polite even to the port that he was drinking after an early

1218 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

dinner. He handled his decanter in a caressing manner
such as he might adopt towards a favourite niece, and
took up his wine-glass as gently as if it were a
child.

Whenever I met his eye, I noticed that it gave me a
kind of recognising look, which, however, was not sus-
tained ; for, before he had thoroughly attracted my atten-
tion he always returned to the illustrated journal before
him, as if suddenly determined to master some abstruse
subject with a great deal of solution in the way of wood-
cuts. His communicative appearance made me think
that I had met him before, but it did not occur to me
where, so I took no further notice. Presently he spoke,
but he only said —

" I beg your pardon, sir."

There was nothing to beg my pardon about, so I begged
his, not to be outdone in gratuitous courtesy. Then he
begged mine again, adding —

" I thought you made a remark— I did not quite
hear."

No, I said, I had not made any remark. Then we
both bowed and smiled, and resumed our reading — the
stranger with some little confusion, I thought.

After a time he made a remark himself.

" I should not have intruded," said he, " but I thoug
I had met you before."

I am not one of those persons who think that eve
stranger who addresses them in a public room means
pick their pockets, but I have a proper prejudice against
being bored, and in any case I had no resource but t

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 219-

answer as I did, to the effect that I could not recall the
when and the where.

" "Were you ever in Vancouver's Island ?" the stranger
asked.

In the cause of truth, I was obliged to declare a ne-
gative.

" Then it could not have been there," said he, musingly;
' but," he added, " you might have known Colonel Jacko
— a relation of mine — who was governor of the Island.
You remind me of him — that is why I ask."

I did not quite see the connection between knowing a
man and bearing a personal resemblance to him, but in
disavowing any acquaintance with Colonel Jacko, I did
so with all courtesy.

" You have been probably in New Zealand ? " pur-
sued the stranger, warming apparently into considerable
interest in the question involved ; if so, you must have
known Major-General Mango, who commanded there in
18—."

I was obliged to confess my ignorance of the unfortu-
nate colony in question, and of the distinguished officer
alluded to.

" I merely asked," continued the stranger with a de-
sponding air, " as he was a relation of mine."

I had nothing to do with his relatives any more than
I himself, but his manner was so gentle that I could not
! think it intentionally obtrusive, so I acknowledged the
r, receipt of the information as pleasantly as possible.

" If you had been in India," he pursued, taking it for
i ; granted apparently that I was no traveller, " you would

•220 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

probably have met one of my sons. One is in the civil,
the other in the military, service. Both fine fellows.
The elder was political agent at Tulwarpatam at the time
•when the Rajah was so aggressive, and it was through
his influence that his highness was induced to remit the
Abkaree duties, and give up his claim to the contested
Jaghires. The other was through the mutinies, and was
wounded both at Delhi and Lucknow — curious coinci-
dence, was it not ? "

I admitted that his sons seemed to have done the State
some service, and remarked upon the coincidence as on
of those mysterious dispensations of Providence for whic
it is impossible to account. And that was all I could d
towards the conversation, which dropped at this point.

Presently the stranger took his hat, with an undecide
ultimately effectual movement. Then he called the waiter
and had a little conversation with that functionary abou
the port, which he said was not quite the same that h
used to have in the year 1835. (I strongly suspect, b
the way, that he was right in this supposition ; as th
wine he had been drinking belonged probably to the cele-
brated vintage of 1869.) At last he made a movemen
to depart, and ultimately did depart, but only after
great deal of delay; and even when in actual motion
across the room, he looked back more than once, as i
expecting somebody to ask him to remain.

When the waiter came to clear away the abandonet
decanter and glass, I asked him if he knew the gentlemai
who had just gone out.

"Yes, sir," was the reply; "we have known th

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 221

gentleman for some years, though he does not come very
often. He lives by himself somewhere in town, and has
no relations except some who are abroad. He says he
has no friends, too, as he has lost a great deal of money,
and cannot keep the society he did. He doesn't seem to
know anybody who comes here, though he talks to some
now and then, as he has to you."

I was sorry not to have heard this before, that I might
have treated the stranger with a little more attention.
For this glimpse I had of him, and the few hints given
me by the waiter, were sufficient to assure me that he
belonged to a class who are more perhaps to be pitied
than the merely poor ; that he is in the world but is not
of it, and has a residence but is without a home ; that he
is, in fact — an Outsider of Society.

People engaged in active pursuits — whether in spend-
ing or making money — are not likely to be troubled by
deprivations of the kind referred to. They live among
their peers, with whom they have interests in common.
They are as important to others as others are important
to them. They are in the stream of pleasure or business
as the case may be. There is no danger that they will
be forgotten. Their doors are besieged by visitors, drawn
by diverse attractions ; so that it is necessary to make a
vigorous classification of the latter, not only of the usual
social character, but distinguishing those who come to
oblige the master of the house from those who come to
oblige themselves. Their tables are covered with cards
and letters, prospectuses, tradesmen's circulars, begging
petitions, newspapers they have never ordered, and books

222 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

that it is thought they may possibly want. Their vote
and interest is always being requested for deserving indi-
viduals, and their subscriptions for equally deserving
institutions. Chance of being forgotten indeed ! So long
as they can be made useful there is as much chance of the
Bank of England being forgotten. Such men may be
alone, sometimes, in one sense of the term. That is to
say, their relations may be scattered or dead. But that is
of very little practical moment in their case. They can
always find people prepared to be second fathers or
brothers to them, and even second mothers and sisters, it
may be. They can always marry, too, and then a home
establishes itself as a matter of course.

But there are — who shall say how many? — people
living in London who live almost alone ; who have no
society except of a casual, and what may be called an
anonymous kind ; and whose homes are merely places
where they may obtain shelter and rest. I am not here
alluding to the class who are social and domestic outlaws
because they are positively poor. There is no anomaly
in this condition of life ; it is a natural consequence of
having no money. The people I mean have mostly
money enough for themselves, but not sufficient to make
them important to others, and obtain for them considera-
tion in the world. Sometimes their positions have
changed ; sometimes things have changed around them
and left their positions as they were, the result being
much the same. It may be that they are seeking to
make a little more money by such employments as agen-
cies, secretaryships, and so forth — employments the most

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 223

difficult of all to get, as any man of moderate education
and abilities can do the duties — but most frequently
they are content to vegetate upon what they have, and to
concentrate themselves upon the attainment of companion-
ship and home. When one of the active men whom I
have mentioned goes away from home, the Post Office
establishment is ruthlessly disturbed by mandates for the
re-addressing and forwarding of letters. The migration
of one of our passive friends makes no difference to any-
body. Except it be an occasional communication from a
relation in a distant colony, sent to the care of an agent,
he has no letters to trouble him, and if he did not occa-
sionally make a show of existence by asserting himself in
pen and ink, he might perish out of the memory of man.
To such people the advertising columns of the newspapers
must possess peculiar interest ; for a large number of the
announcements seem expressly intended to meet their
requirements, while, on the other hand, an equal number
of the specified " Wants'' seem to come from their class.
Homes for special purposes appear to be plentiful
enough. You cannot take up a newspaper without having
your attention called to a dozen or two. Apart from the
"Home for Lost and Starving Dogs," — which is an
establishment not applying, except by sympathy, to any
class of my readers — we have such charities as the
" Convalescent Home," established by the wife of the
Premier. In the next column we are sure to be re-
minded of the " Home for Little Boys," in addition to
which has just been appropriately projected a " Home
for Little Girls,"— not the least desirable object cf the

224 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

two. An individual speculator has also established what
he rather invidiously calls an " Epileptic Home for the
Sons of Gentlemen," — there being, it is to be presumed,
genteel as well as vulgar forms of the malady in question.
" Educational "Homes " for youth of both sexes abound in
newspaper announcements. They may afford very good
opportunities for the intended purpose, but I should
prefer placing my trust in establishments which are can-
didly called schools. Not long since I saw an advertise-
ment in a morning paper which ran, as nearly as I can
remember, in these terms :- —

"A clergyman in a popular parish by the sea-side,
offers an Educational Home to a few little boys of good
principles, the sons of gentlemen. Apply," &c.

Now, without desiring to be harsh to the advertiser, I
must take leave to say that the above contains several
important' errors in taste. It would have been just as
well, and a great deal better perhaps, had the clergyman
refrained from mentioning the popularity of his parish,
however much the description might be deserved. His
specification of little boys " of good principles" suggests
a slur upon little boys in general which does not come
well from an educator of youth ; and one would think
that he would be more usefully engaged in taking in hand
little boys of bad principles, if any such exist. But the
inference next suggested is even less creditable to the
reverend advertiser. It is of no use, it seems, for little
boys to have good principles, as far as he is concerned,
unless they be the sons of gentlemen. This is sad.
t But the mention of homes of a special character — of

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 225

which there| are many more in London than have been
enumerated — is only incidental to my present purpose.
I especially allude to lonely people who seek society, and
to which society, in a certain limited degree, seems con-
tinually offering to sell itself. And among lonely people,
as far as homes are concerned, must be included " per-
sons engaged in the City," or " engaged during the day,"
who are frequently appealed to by advertisers. The num-
ber of persons — idle or occupied — who want homes seem
to be equalled only by the number of persons who are
prepared to offer them, with very small pecuniary
temptation. I have always thought that a great deal of
self-sacrifice must be necessary in the case of the family
of a dancing-master who for years past has been adver-
tising his lessons with the addition that "the Misses

X will officiate as partners." The Misses X

must surely be tired by this time of dancing with people
who drop them directly they are able to dance. But it
must be still more sad to take into your family any
chance stranger who may seem sufficiently respectable,
board him, and lodge him, and promise to be " cheerful "
and "musical" for his amusement But offers of this
kind are plentiful enough, and they would not be made
were there not a fair supply of people to embrace them.

Looking back at only one daily paper for only a week
or ten days may be found a host of advertisements of
both classes ; and I will first allude to a few of these
among the "Wants."

Here is a specimen : —

" Home wanted by a respectable elderly lady — rather

226 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

invalid, not helpless — in a sociable family; meals with
it understood. Children objectionable. Large bedroom
(not top) facing east or south indispensable. Aspect
important. Forty guineas. Must be west of Holborn :
other localities useless. Letters/' &c.

It would be difficult to determine the exact state of
this respectable elderly lady's health from the above
description, there being a rather long range between the
affirmative and the suggestions offered by the negative
statement ; but even though she be in a high state of
agility the conditions are surely rather complex : and
there must be families in which forty guineas a year go a
great way if she has- any chance of gratifying her wishes. ,
Another elderly lady is more explicit, if not quite
grammatical. She describes herself as " an invalid from
rheumatism," and her desire is " to board with a genteel,
•cheerful family." Here again there must be " no chil-
dren." She prefers "the neighbourhood of St. John's
Wood, near the Park, or an equal distance from the
West-End." Letters must be prepaid.

The following looks like a case in which society is an
object : —

" Board and residence wanted, by a widow lady and a
young lady, and partial board for a young gentleman,
within three miles north of London, near a station.
Children objected to. [Poor children !] Three bedrooms
indispensable. Preference given to a musical family,
where there is a daughter who would be companionable."
Terms, it is added, " must be moderate."
The following has not a pleasant sound : —

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 227

"Wanted, a comfortable home for a female aged
seventy years, where there are no children [children
again !]. She must he treated with great firmness.
Twelve shillings will be paid weekly for board, lodging,
and washing. Surrey side preferred," &c.

It is evident that the above offer has not been made
by the person for whom the accommodation is sought.
But such requirements, including even the " great firm-
ness," doubtless get supplied. One of the numerous
advertisers who provide homes for invalid ladies offers, I
observe, to give "reference to the relatives of a lady
lately deceased," who lived in the house for seven
years.

Here is a " home" of remarkable character ; it is
described as situated in a favourite suburb on the Metro-
politan Railway, replete with every beauty and conveni-
ence, the details being specially enumerated ; and besides
the railway, omnibuses pass the door to all parts of
town. " The advertiser," it is added, f: would prefer one
or two City gentlemen of convivial disposition, and to
such, liberal terms would be offered."

The advertiser has evidently an abstract love for City
gentlemen of convivial disposition, since he is prepared to
share his home with any one or two of them. And if a
City gentleman of convivial disposition could make a vast
wilderness dear — which it is very possible he could do —
one can fancy what a paradise he would make of this
Cashmere at Shepherd's Bush. It is not quite clear,
indeed, that the advertiser is not prepared to pay instead
of being paid by the charming society he seeks, since he

228 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

says that " to such liberal terms will be offered." It
must be a very delightful thing to be a City gentleman of
•convivial disposition, with the feeling of having unknown
friends, which has been said to resemble our ideas of the
•existence of angels.

Another proffered " home" is described as having, in
addition to all domestic comforts, "two pianos, with
young and musical society." This may be very pleasant ;
but I should feel some misgivings at the prospect of
making .one of a " young and musical society " let loose
upon two pianos at the same time. There are different
opinions, too, even about the best music, under different
•conditions. The Irish soldier who was singing the
" Last Rose of Summer," perhaps from the bottom of his
heart, but certainly at the top of his voice, was told by
his English comrade to hold his noise. " And he calls
Moore's Melodies a noise," said the musical enthusiast,
•disgusted at the want of taste exhibited by the cold-
blooded Saxon.

A cheerful state of existence is suggested by another
•advertisement of a " home" : —

" Partial board is offered to a gentleman by a cheerful,
musical, private family. Early breakfast ; meat tea.
Dinner on Sundays. Gas, piano, croquet. Terms
£1 Is. per week. Write," &c.

The board must be partial indeed if that melancholy
meal known as a " meat tea" enters into the arrange-
ment. A " meat tea" would in any case mean that you
were expected to go without your dinner, since, if you
had dined you would not want meat with your bohea.

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 229

But there is no disguise about the matter here, for you
are frankly told that there will be dinner, as distinguished
from a meat tea, on Sundays. It is a monstrous, un-
natural idea, and the family must be very cheerful, very
musical, and very private, I should think, to reconcile
most men to such a state of things. Perhaps the piano
and the croquet are intended as a set-off, by suggesting
female society of an accomplished kind ; and of course
there are some girls for whom some men will submit to
meat teas ; but I have my own opinion as to the chances
of either one or the other.

Here is an advertisement of a " home " couched in
popular terms. It would be a pity to interfere with the
writer's style, so I give it in full, with the omission, of
-course, of the address : —

" A lady having a larger house than she requires, is
desirous of increasing her circle by receiving a few gentle-
men (who are engaged during the day) as boarders.
The society is cheerful and musical. To foreigners
anxious to acquire elegant English, this is a good oppor-
tunity."

As for the lady having a larger house than she re-
quires, one can fancy that to be the case if she has room
for several gentlemen, but how is it that so many persons
get into larger houses than they require, and are thereby
impelled to offer similar accommodation? R must be
•confessed, too, that the opportunity for foreigners to ac-
quire elegant English is not very apparent. Are the
candidates for residence examined in elegant English
before they are admitted into the family ? As for the

230 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

cheerfulness and the music, those are of course matters of
taste.

Among other " homes" which we find offered in the
same paper is one with a curious recommendation at-
tached. It has " just been vacated," we are told, " by a
young gentleman who has successfully passed his exami-
nation." If the same advantage can be secured to the
incoming tenant the accommodation would be decidedly
cheap, for the modest sum of thirteen shillings a- week,
which is all that is asked. But we are not told what is
the nature of the examination — for the army, the Civil
Service, a degree, or what ? Perhaps it is only in the
" elegant English " intended to qualify the tenant for the
higher social sphere of the lady with the partially super-
fluous house.

Invalid or " mentally afflicted " persons are always in
great request among advertisers. Several applications-
are before me now. One of these comes from " A medi-
cal man, residing in a large and well- furnished house in
one of the healthiest and most convenient out-districts of
London," who " wishes to receive any patient mentally
or otherwise afflicted, as a resident ; boarding or separate
arrangement as desired ; a married couple, or two
sisters, or friends, not objected to." The contingency of
companions in misfortune is a good idea ; our jmedical
friend is evidently a far-sighted man. Then we find the
wife of a medical man, who is willing to take charge of
*' an afflicted (not insane) lady, gentleman, or child, to
whom she offers a comfortable home with experienced
care." A similar offer is made by the occupants of a

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 231

farmhouse, but these do not draw the line at insanity,
but declare that they have had the care of an insane
patient for many years, and can be highly recommended
in consequence. Some people, indeed, are so fond of
taking care of insane patients that they would not have
a sane one if you made them a present of him. An
illustration of this curious taste came under my notice
not long since. A very deserving man called to see a
patron of his who had procured him a post of the kind,
which he had held for several months. " I am very glad
to see you, John," was the greeting, " and hope you are
getting on in your employment." " Ah, that indeed I
am, sir," was the answer : " thanks to you, I am most
comfortably provided for — in fact, I was never so happy
in my life. How did I get these two black eyes, sir ?
Oh, he gave them to me yesterday morning. Oh, yes, I
shall always be grateful — I never was so happy in my
life."

It must be admitted that the majority of the " homes "
which people offer one another through the medium of
the papers are not exposed to contingencies of this kind ;
but the said people must surely run the risk of finding
themselves ill-assorted in no ordinary degree.

It is not to be supposed indeed that utter strangers
would go and live together without some strong induce-
ments ; and these inducements are generally money on
the one side and society on the other. The people who
want the money — through having "larger houses than
they require," or other causes, of which any number
may be found with great facility — are less to be pitied

232 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

than the people who want the society, for the latter must
be dismally reduced in this respect before they can be
brought to take it on chance. In a " cheerful family ,
musically inclined," part of the compact of course is that
the incomer shall be .cheerful, if not musical and com-
panionable, at any rate. The requisition sounds awfulr
but it is one to which hundreds of harmless persons
in this metropolis submit rather than be left alone.
Many, of course, are induced by considerations of eco-
nomy ; and of those still more unfortunate than the
ordinary class, are those of the more helpless, who do-
not accept a " home," upon independent terms, but
obtain it either gratuitously or for some very small pay-
ment upon condition of being useful or helping to make
things pleasant. Of these there are large numbers, to
judge by the advertisements ; and I suspect that they
are rather worse off than those who " go out " regularly
as governesses and companions, for the latter have at
least a chance of lighting upon rich and generous patrons.
And here I may mention that a great deal of nonsense is
written about governesses — more perhaps than about
most other things. Their trade is a bad one, no doubt,
because the market is overstocked. But that is no fault
of the employers, who cannot be expected to fill their
houses with young ladies of varying tastes and'tempers,
on account of their presumably "superior" education
and intelligence. Nor is it to be taken for granted that
overy governess is of the " superior " kind, and all the
people who engage their services, vulgar wretches who
delight in inflicting mortification upon their betters.

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 233

"Who has not heard of families of the best breeding and
refinement being tortured beyond all endurance by
governesses of conspicuous inability to teach, who have
let their pupils run wild, and concentrated their atten-
tion upon the men of the house, and whose insolent and
overbearing ways have made the work of getting rid of
them one of no common difficulty ? Our novelists havo
not given us many illustrations of this side of the picture ;
but you may depend upon it that Becky Sharpes are at
least as plentiful as Jane Eyres in real life.

A favourite resort of the homeless are boarding-houses.
Of these establishments there are hundreds in London —
from those devoted to the entertainment of minor City
clerks, rigorously " engaged during the day," to those
which — one is almost led to suppose — nobody under the
rank of a baronet is received, and even then not without a
reference as to respectability on the part of a peer. But
most of these houses have one or two features in common.
There is always a large admixture of people who go there
for the sake of society ; and of this number a consider-
able proportion is sure to consist of widows or spinsters
of extremely marriageable tendencies. The result is
that, unless the residents be very numerous, individual
freedom is lost, and, instead of living an independent life
as at an hotel, the members of a " circle " find themselves
surrounded by such amenities as may be supposed to
belong to a rather large and singularly disunited family.

A great many marriages, however, are made in these
establishments, and it is not on record that they turn out
otherwise then well. It must be admitted, too, that men

234 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

go there to find wives as well as women to find husbands,
so that the arrangement thus far is fair on both sides.
But I have been informed by men who are not among
the latter number, that it is found difficult sometimes to
get the fact generally understood. The consequent mis-
takes of course lead to confusion, and the result is the
occasional retirement of determined bachelors into more
private life.

There are " homes " in London where there is not
much mention of marriage, except as a reminiscence, and
few of their members have the chance even of this melan-
choly enjoyment. I allude to houses in which, through
the exertions principally of benevolent ladies, other ladies,
who would probably be equally benevolent were they not
less fortunate, have a residence assigned to them upon
advantageous terms. That is to say, they live in an
establishment where all their wants are supplied upon
the payment, by themselves or their friends, of a small
contribution towards the necessary outlay, the remainder
being covered by subscriptions of a strictly private cha-
racter. The recipients of this assistance are all gentle-
women— as is necessary to the state of social equality in
which they live — and their admittance is obtained by
favour of the benevolent ladies in question. These ladies
are influenced, I suppose, by the introductions brought
by the candidates, and considerations of their previous
position — which has in every case been a great deal
superior to their present position, as may be supposed.
The said " homes " are very few in number ; so far as I
know, they have no connection with one another, and

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 235

they are entirely private in their arrangements. The
neighbours may happen to know that a certain house in
which they find so many ladies living together is not a
boarding house in the ordinary acceptation of the term ;
but there is nothing to proclaim the fact, and the in-
mates live in an apparent state of independence equal to
that of anybody about them. And they live as contented,
I believe, as can be in the case of persons who are not of
such social importance as they were, and who have plenty
of leisure to talk over the fact. They are all gentle-
women, as I have said, and upon terms of social equality;
but it may be supposed that there are differences between,
them, as there are between people generally in society.
You may depend upon it, that the lady who is related to
an earl is of opinion, that she is a preferable object of
consideration to the lady who is related only to a baronet,
while the claims of the other ladies to their several
degrees of precedence are not unadjusted for want of
accurate investigation. A few very likely " give them-
selves airs " upon this score, while some pride themselves
upon their beauty when young — (none of the ladies are
quite young now) — and others establish a superiority
upon account of their mental gifts. All this imparts a
pleasant variety to the conversation which would other-
wise be in danger of falling into monotony. Such at
least, I suppose, to be the case, for I am dealing in gene-
ralities, and cannot claim to a knowledge of any one in
particular of these ladies' homes. For the rest, the occu-
pants are said to pass an easy, agreeable life, more espe-
cially those who are not without friends whom they can

236 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

go to visit — in which case they are free to have as much
amusement as if they lived in houses of their own.

I said something about hoarding-houses just now. A
great many of the homeless who have not tried these es-
tablishments— or having tried them are unwilling to
renew the experiment — live in furnished lodgings. On
the Continent they would probably put up at hotels : but
hotels in this country are not adapted for modest require-
ments, and furnished lodgings take a place which they
have not yet learned to occupy. The mode of life is
anomalous. It is neither public nor private. You may
be independent in an hotel ; you may be independent in
your own house ; in lodgings you can be independent by
no possibility. If you spend rather more money than
you would either in an hotel or your own house, you
obtain comfort and attention ; but the object of most
persons who take lodgings is to be rather economical
than otherwise, so that the reservation is of very little
avail. Lodgings are of two classes — those that profess
to be so, and those that solemnly declare they are not.
The former are decidedly preferable, apart from the im-
morality of encouraging a sham. In the former case, if
you occupy — say as a bachelor — only a couple of rooms
in town, and the rest of the house is let to other people,
you will obtain but precarious attendance from Ihe soli-
tary servant, and the chances are that you will never be
able to get a decently-cooked meal. The food that they
waste in such places by their barbarous mode of dealing
with it is sad to think upon. Your only resource is to
live out of doors as much as possible, and consider your

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 23T

rooms only as a refuge — the logical consequence of which,
is that it is best to abandon them altogether.

But you are better placed even under these conditions-
than if you go to a house in one of the suburbs — a pretty
villa-looking place — knowing nothing about it beyond the
information offered by the bill in the window. A not
very clean servant opens the door, and does not impress
you favourably at first glance. You are hesitating, under
some discouragement, when the mistress of the house —
presenting in her decorated exterior a considerable con-
trast to the servant — appears upon the scene and reproves
the domestic sternly for her neglected appearance, sends
her away to restore it, and meantime proceeds to transact
business upon her own account. You ask her if she lets
apartments. She gives a reproving look, and says " No/*
ignoring the announcement made by the bill. You men-
tion that you knocked in consequence of seeing that inti-
mation in the window ; upon which the lady says —

" Oh, is it up ? I was not aware. The fact is, I wish
to receive a gentleman to occupy part of the house, as it
is too large for us " — the old story — " and my husband
being a great deal out, I find it rather lonely. But my
husband is very proud and objects to having strange-
company."

You remark that you need not have applied in that

3, and will go elsewhere. This brings the lady to the
)int.

" Oh, I did not mean to say that you could not have
ly apartments here. I intend to have my own way in
xat matter "—this is said in a playful, fiuttery manner,

238 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

with a running laugh. " If you will step in I will show
you the accommodation we have. All I meant to say
was, that we are not accustomed to let lodgings."

Rather amused than annoyed, you submit to be shown
the rooms. They are pretty rooms — light and cheerful,
and ornamental to a fault — and the garden at the back
is alone a relief from the pent-up place you have been
occupying in town. So, after a few preliminary negotia-
tions— conducted on the lady's side in the same playful
manner — you agree to take the place, say for three
months. The lady is evidently pleased at your decision,
and avails herself of the opportunity for renewing her
assurance that the house is not a lodging-house, and that
you may expect all the comforts of a domestic life.

" There are no other lodgers," she added ; then, as if
suddenly recollecting, she corrects herself : " That is to
say, there is a commercial gentleman who is a great deal
away, sleeping here for a night or . two — a friend of my
husband's — and yes, let me see, a medical gentleman to
whom we have allowed the partial use of a bedroom to
oblige a neighbour just for the present, but I do not
count either of them as lodgers."

A commercial gentleman sleeping for a night or two,
while he is a great deal away, does not seem an ordinary
lodger at any rate ; and from the distinction drawn in the
case of the medical gentleman who is only allowed the
partial use of a bedroom, you are inclined to think that
he is permitted to lie down but not to go to sleep. How-
ever, you make no objection to these anomalies, and take
possession of your new abode.

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 239

There never was such, an imposture, as you find out
only next day. The bagman and the medical student —
as those gentlemen must be described, if the naked truth
bo respected — turn out to be regular lodgers, and as
thorough nuisances as a couple of noisy men addicted to
late hours and exaggerated conviviality can well be. And
the woman never mentioned a discharged policeman —
her father, I believe — to whom she affords a temporary
asylum in the kitchen, in return for intermittent atten-
tions in the way of blacking boots and cleaning knives —
when he happens to be sober. For the rest, there is no-
body in the house who can cook even such a simple matter
as a mutton chop without spoiling it ; and there seems
to be everybody in the house who is determined that
your private stores shall not be allowed to spoil for want
of eating and drinking. Nothing is safe from the enemy,
who combine their forces against you, and they take care
that you shall have no protection, for not a lock which
can give shelter to any portable article will act after you
have been two days in the house. As for your personal
effects, they are in equal danger. The average amount
of loss in wearing apparel is one shirt and two handker-
chiefs a week ; and miscellaneous articles are sure to go
if they are in the least degree pretty or curious. And
the coolest part of the proceeding is, that the mildest
complaint on your part brings down a storm upon your
devoted head, such as you could not have expected from
the playful and fluttering person who had given you such
pleasant assurances when you took the rooms. She
claims to be a Csesar's wife in point of immunity from

240 OUTSIDERS OF SOCIETY

suspicion, and asserts the same privilege for everybody in
the house. " JSTo gentleman was ever robbed there," she
says ; and she plainly hints that no gentleman would say
he was, even though he said the fact.

This is no exaggerated picture of many suburban lodg-
. ings to which outsiders of society are led to resort for
want of better accommodation ; and a large number of
persons who are not outsiders in the sense in which I
have employed the term, but who are simply not settled
in the metropolis, are exposed to a similar fate. For
those who are prepared for an ordeal of another nature,
the "cheerful family, musically inclined," offers, one would
think, a far preferable alternative. But it is not every-
body who is prepared to have society thrust upon him,
cither in this quiet domestic way or in a large boarding-
house, and there ought to be better provision than there
is for the floating mass of casual residents in London. In
Paris not only are there hotels suited to the requirements
•of all classes of persons, but the maisons meubles are
places where they may live almost as independently as in
their own houses. In London, the only realization of
the luxury short of an entire house is in what we call
" chambers ; " and a man's chambers are most certainly
his castle, whatever his house may be. That the want
is being appreciated, is evident from the rapid extension
of the " chambers " system, in the way of the indepen-
dent suites of rooms known as " flats." But the flats, as
now provided in Victoria Street, and elsewhere, cost as
much as entire houses, while the latest additions, the
Uelgrave andj Grosvenor mansions, are even more costly,

AND THEIR HOMES IN LONDON. 241

and beyond the reach of the classes to whom I have been
referring. The latter would be deeply grateful for
accommodation of the kind on a more moderate scale,
and the investment of capital in such an object could not
fail to be profitable. Besides the desolate people into
whose sorrows I have entered, there are in London, it
must be remembered, many hundreds of outsiders of
society of a different kind, who are outsiders only from
that conventional society in which it takes so much
money to " move," and who ought to command greater
comfort than they do while they are working their way
in professional pursuits. For those actually in want of
companionship, I suppose they will always incline to the
hotel, or the boarding-house, or the " cheerful family,
musically inclined."

242

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

' •!

FOR some little time I have been confined to the house.
Instead of going abroad after breakfast, I stay in the
dining-room, and I generally manage to limp to the
dining-room windows. Now just opposite these windows
is a cabstand. I used to think that cabstand a nui-
sance, but the truth now dawns upon me that there is a
compensation in most things. It is only some weeks ago
that I was awoke from a slumber, tranquil, but perhaps
too deep, through a late supper and potations, with a
burning pain in the ball of my great toe, and consider-
able constitutional disturbance. It so happened that the
worthy and rubicund vicar called on me that next morn-
ing, accompanied by his churchwarden, hardly less worthy,
and a shade more rubicund, on the subject of the parish
charities. When I mentioned to them my dolorous state
by various gestures and lively expression, they testified
their sympathy and even their gratification. The reve-
rend and the approximately -reverend gentlemen ex-
plained to me that I was indubitably suffering from my
first attack of gout. They had suffered from it them-
selves, and welcomed me warmly into their honourable

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND. 243

fraternity. The spectacle of an additional sufferer seemed
to afford them a deep-seated satisfaction. The family
doctor confirmed their unwelcome augury. He knocked
off hot suppers and hotter potations, and put me on a
light beverage of lithia water and cognac. He also
ordered me to take abundant rest, which I do on the
arm-chair, unless I hobble to the window. I am not, I
candidly confess, a man of intellectual resources. I rarely
look into any books beyond my business book, and, a
very little, into a betting-book. The " Daily Telegraph "
kindly manufactures all my opinions for me, and a game
of cards is my best enjoyment of an evening. But the
D. T. exhausts itself, and I can't very well play at cards
in the daylight. So I fall back upon my resources, which
frequently resolve themselves into the cabstand.

When I go and look at them after breakfast, it appears
to me that the cabman's lot in life is not an unhappy
one. His work is not hard ; he lives out in the open air ;
and though he says he has hardly enough to eat, I am
quite sure that he gets a little more than is quite good
for him to drink. He can go to sleep comfortably on his
box, and if it rains he can get inside the carriage. Some-
times the floor of the cab is extemporized into an alfresco
dining-table. There is a great deal of horse-play among
these fellows. I observe one old man who is in the habit
of going contentedly asleep on his box. It is a favourite
device for some one to lift up the' body of the cab from
the ground, shake it, and let it dash upon the earth.
One's first notion is that the somnolent driver will have
his neck dislocated, or get concussion of the brain, but

244 OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

somehow he seems to hold on. Now this is not at all an
uncommon type of cabman — a man of extreme animal
nature, whose only notion of enjoyment is to drink and
sleep in the sunshine. But there are some sharp fellows
among them. There is one man who has often a hook
with him, who has a very sharp pair of spectacles and a
distinctive nose of his own, and an expression of counte-
nance which shows him to be as acute and cynical as any
of his betters. I have no doubt but that man has formed
opinions of his own on most subjects of human interest,
and could maintain them well in an argument. As a
rule, the cabmen are content with their newspaper-
many of them, indeed, cannot, or do not care to read —
and very rarely you see any of them with a book. On
the shady side of the street they often seem to enjoy
themselves very much, engaging in chaff or talk, reading
the newspaper, and every now and then disappearing
into a public, to get a penny glass of the vile stuff which-
they know as London beer. Still business is business,
and however grateful may be the charm of leisure, the
cabman has a certain sum of money to make up, and he
has a quick, alert eye to detect a possible fare in the
least roving glance or indecisive movement of a pedes-
trian.

Standing much, as podagra permits, at my window,
I know some of these cabmen very well by sight. Some
of them I know personally. If I want a message sent,
or a cab for any inmate of the house, I merely beckon or
tap at the window, and there is a brisk competition. If
you want to send a telegraphic message, you had better

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND. 245-

u*e a cab, as it is much quicker and no dearer than a
messenger. I always take first cab, unless the horse is
bad or the cab dirty. In an astonishing number of in-
stances the horses are bad and the cabs dirty. Every now
and then we have paragraphs, and even leaders, in the
papers, and I have even seen some prospectuses of limited
companies. But the cab mind is slow to move. Only
now and then do I see a really superior carriage on the
stand. I prefer the carriages that don't ply on Sunday,
and I do so because I prefer the man who practically
says, " I myself am something better than my trade ; I
don't mean to be used up as if I were an animal, but
claim rest for mind and body, even though I have to
make a sacrifice for it." That is a sort of manliness to-
be encouraged. They change the cab-horse very often,
but not the cabman. Without doubt there is in the-
world a prevalent feeling in favour of the muscles and
bones of horses which does not extend to the muscles and
bones of human beings. Now, among these cabmen there
are some exceedingly pleasant and civil fellows, and a few
who are very much the reverse. There is never any close-
inquiry into the character of these men, and the result
undoubtedly is that they number a greater amount of
blackguards than any business in London. I remember
having to convey a very pretty girl, at a time when my
frame -svas lighter and my heart more susceptible than at
present, across one of the parks, and a mile or two in the-
suburbs. I asked him the fare, which was a weak-minded
thing, as I ought to have known it and have had the money
in hand. " The fare is six shillings," he answered, with

-246 OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

intense emphasis on the word fare, as indicating a wic
margin of personal dues and expectations. I am ashamc
to say that at that verdant time I gave him the six shil-
lings and something over for himself, whereas eighteen j
pence would have covered his legitimate demand. One
of these fellows in the last Exhibition year, while making
an overcharge, caught a Tartar. The fare announced!
himself as Sir Richard Mayne, and requested to he driven
to Scotland Yard. There is one fellow on this stand
whom I never employ. "When I took him to the Great
Western Station he made a great overcharge, and then
maintained stoutly, until he was nearly black in the face, :
that I had expressly stipulated with him to drive fast.
•Such a stipulation would have been abhorrent to all my !
habits, for I pride myself on always being a quarter of an
hour before the time. I acquired this useful habit through.
a remark of the late Viscount Nelson, who said that being
a quarter of an hour beforehand had given all the success
which he had obtained in life. I thought this a very i
easy way of obtaining success in life, and have always
made the rule of being a quarter of an hour beforehand,
in the remote hope that somehow or other the practice
would conduce towards making me a viscount. Up to
the present point, however, the desired result has not!
accrued. With regard to this particular evilly disposed
•cabman, I have a theory that he is a ticket- of-leave man.
If not so already, he is sure eventually to descend into
that order of society.

Cabmen bully ladies dreadfully. A large part of their
undue gains is made out of timid women, especially

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND. 247

women who have children with them. A lady I know
gave a cabman his fare and an extra sixpence. " Well,
mum," said the ungracious cabman, " I'll take the money,
but I don't thank you for it." " You have not got it
yet," said my friend, alertly withdrawing the money,
Impransus Jones did a neat thing the other day. He got
into a cab, when, after a bit, he recollected that he had
no money, or chance of borrowing any. He suddenly
checked the driver in a great hurry, and said he had
dropped a sovereign in the straw. He told the cabman
that he would go to a friend's a few doors off and get a
light. As he was pretending to do so, the cabman, as-
Jones had expected, drove rapidly off. Thus the biter is
sometimes bit. According to the old Latin saying, not
always is the traveller killed by the robber, but sometimes
the robber is killed by the traveller. When Jones-
arrived at Waterloo Bridge the other day, he immediately
hailed a cab, albeit in a chronic state of impecuniosity.
The cabman munificently paid the toll, and then Jones
drove about for many hours to try and borrow a sove-
reign, the major part of which, when obtained, was trans-
ferred to the cabman. There is a clergyman in London
who tells a story of a cabman driving him home, and to-
whom he was about to pay two shillings. He took the
coins out of his waistcoat pocket, and then suddenly
(recollecting the peculiar glitter, he called out, "Stop,
cabman, I've given you two sovereigns by mistake.""
I'* Then your honour's seen the last of them," said the
cabman, flogging into his horse as fast as he could. Then
'• my friend felt again, and found that he had given to the-

248 OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

cabman two bright new farthings which he had that day
received, and was keeping as a curiosity for his 'children.
There is something very irresistible in a cabman's cajolery.
*' What's your fare ?'' I asked a cabman one day.
4< Anything your honour pleases," he answered. "You
rascal ; that means, I suppose, your legal fare, and any-
thing over that you can get." "No, your honour, I just
leave it to you." " Very well, then ; there's a sixpence
for you." " Ah, but your honour's a gentleman," pleaded
Paddy, and carried off double his proper fare.

A certain amount of adventure and incident happens
to cabmen, some glimpses of which I witness from my
window, On the stand. Occasionally a cabman is exposed
to a good deal of temptation, and the cabman who hesi-
tates is lost. For instance, if a cabman is hired in the
small hours of the morning by disreputable roughs, and
told to be in waiting for a time, and these men subse-
quently make their appearance again, with a heavy sack
which obviously contains something valuable, and which
might be plate, I think that cabman ought to give infor-
mation in the proper quarter unless he wishes to make
himself an accomplice. There is a distinct branch of the
thieving business which is known as lifting portmanteaus
from the roofs of cabs and carriages, sometimes certainly
not without a measure of suspicion against ihe drivers.
A cabman, however, has frequently strict ideas of profes-
sional honour, and would as soon think of betraying his
hirer, who in dubious cases of course hires at a very
handsome rate, as a priest of betraying the security of the
confessional or the doctor of the sick chamber. Even

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND. 24£

cabmen must have severe shocks to their nerves at times.
For instance, that cabman who found that he had a car-
riage full of murdered children ; or suppose two gentle-
manly-looking men having taken a cab, and the driver
finds that one is gone and that the other is plundered
and stupified with chloroform. Very puzzled, too, is the
cabman when he stops at an address and finds that his
fare, perhaps the impecunious Jones, has bolted in
transitn, or, if he goes into a city court, has declined to
emerge by the way of his original entrance. " A queer
thing happened this afternoon to me sir," said a cabman.
" A gentleman told me to follow him along the High
Street, Marylebone, and to stop when he stopped. Pre-
sently I heard a scream : he had seized hold of a lovely
young creature, and was calling out, ' So I have found
you at last, madam. Come away with me.' She went
down on her knees to him, and said, * Have mercy on
me, Robert. I can't go home to you.' 'Stuff and
nonsense/ he says, and lifts her up in his arms, as if she
had been a baby, and bundles her into the cab. ' And
what d'ye want with the young woman, I makes bold to

k?' says I. 'What's that to you?' he said. ' I'm
her husband, drive sharp.' I took 'em to a big house in
a square, when he gives me half a sovereign, and slams
the door in my face." "I suppose, cabman," I said,

you sometimes get queer jobs, following people, and
things of that kind?" "Sometimes, sir, and I know
men who have seen much queerer things than I have ever
seen, though I've seen a few. When a man's following
some one, perhaps a young fellow following a pretty girl,

•250 OPPOSITE A CABSTAND,

and he doesn't like to be seen. I don't mind the h
being after the girls, that's natural enough, but there
worse doings than that in the way of dodgings."
told me several things that might have figured in a volume
of detective experiences. There were some gentlemen
he said, turning to lighter matters, who could make
themselves very comfortable for the night in a four
wheeler. There was a gent that was locked out of his owi
house in the race week, and found several hotels closed
"who took his cab for a night, and made himself as comfort
able as if he were in his own bed (which I rather doubted)
from two in the morning till seven. He charged him tw<
shillings an hour all the same. One night he took
gentleman and lady to a dinner-party in Russell Square
They forgot to pay him. He waited till they came ou
at twelve o'clock, and charged them ten shillings. He
could carry a powerful lot of luggage on his cab. Had i
full inside, and so much luggage that it might hav;
toppled over, Asked him what was the largest numbei
of people he ever carried. He said he had carried seven-
teen at a go once. He was the last cab at Cremornc
once, but the fellow really did it for a lark. He had five
or six inside, and a lot of them on the roof, one or two on
the box. and one or two on the horse. He might have
lost his license, but he made nearly thirty shillings by it,
The longest journey he ever took was when he drove '
gentleman down to Brighton in a hansom. He had
repeatedly taken them to Epsom and also to "Windsor.
He did the distance to Brighton in six hours, changing
the horse half-way. There was a little bit of romance

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND. 251

belonging to the stand, I found out. Did I see the
handsome girl who came every now and then to the
stand to the good-looking old fellow in the white hat. He
was the proprietor of four cabs, and was always driving
one. She stayed at home and took the orders. I found
afterwards that shg was a very good girl, with a well-
known character for her quick tongue and her pretty face.
I was assured by an officer that the fair cabbess was at a
Masonic ball, and a certain young duke picked her out
as the nicest girl in the room, and insisted on dancing
with her, to the great disgust of his people who were with
him. I heard another story of the cabstand which was
serio-comic enough, and indicated some curious vagaries
3f human nature. There was one cabman who had a
handsome daughter who had gone wrong, or, at all events,
»ot the credit of it. She used continually to come down
KO the stand, and give her old father a job. He used to
Irive her about, dressed as splendidly as he was shabbily,
md he would take her money as from any other fare,
[ and expect his tip over and above.

If cabmen were satisfied with their legal fares many
people would take cabs who do not now care to be
imposed on or annoyed. I generally give twopence or
threepence on the shilling additional, which I think is
'airly their due, but I sometimes get mutterings for not
making it more. The cab trade is more and more
getting into the hands of a few large proprietors, some of
whom have seventy or eighty cabs. The tendency of
this must be to improve the cabs. When the cabs make
their average profit of ten or twelve shillings a day, this-

252 OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

must be a lucrative business. The driver does well who
makes a profit of thirty shillings a week or a little over.
All the responsibility is with the cab proprietor, and he
generally keeps a sharp look-out after the men, and will
give them uncommonly scanty credit. As a rule, though
the rule is often relaxed, they must pay down a stated
sum before they are allowed to take out the cab. Th
sum varies with the season, as also does the number
cabs. There are some hundred cabs less in Novembe
than in the height of the season. The hansom busines
of course forms the aristocracy of the trade. With
good horse, a clean carriage, and a sharp, civil driver
there is nothing more pleasant than bowling along on
good road, with a pleasant breeze coursing around. Th
night-trade is the worst in horses, carriages, men, an
remuneration to those concerned. Some of these ca
horses were once famous horses in their day, which hoc
their pictures or photographs taken, and won cups a
races. There are also decayed drivers, who harmoniz
sadly and truly with the decayed animals. They sa
there are one or two men of title in the ranks, an
several who have run through good fortunes —men wh
have come to utter smash in the army or the universities
the number of whom is probably larger than is general!
supposed, and come to cab-driving as their ultima!
resource, and only more congenial than quill-drivi%
There is a good deal of interest felt in cabmen by man
religious and philanthropic people. Their experienc
and strong mother wit, their habits of keen observation
and consequently of marvellous acuteness, mike then

OPPOSITE A CABSTAND.

253

»reat favourites with those who study the humours of the
jtreet. Archbishop Tait, when he was in London, used
it times, we believe, to collect as many as he could in
.some stables at Islington and preach to them. It is
easier, however, to get at cabby than to make a durable
impression on him. It would help, however, to humanize
him if some of us were more humane and considerate
towards his " order."

254

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK.'

THERE is a passage in old Pepys's Diary, written two
centuries and odd ago, which, thanks to the permanence

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 255

of our English institutions, would do very well for the
present day : " Walked into St. James's Park and there
found great and very noble alterations . . . 1662,
July 27, I went to walk in the Park, which is now every
day more and more pleasant by the new works upon it."
Such eulogistic language is justly due to Mr. Layard and
his immediate predecessor at the Board of Works. Sup-
pose that I live at Bayswater, and my business takes me
down to Westminster every day, it is certainly best for
me that, instead of taking 'bus, or cab, or underground
railway, I should, like honest Pepys, saunter in the Park
and admire the many " noble alterations." I venture to
call poor Pepys honest because he is so truthful ; but
never thinking that his cipher would be discovered he has
mentioned in his Diary so many unprintable things, that
I am afraid we must use that qualifying phrase " indiffe-
rently honest." Several gentlemen who live at Bays-
water and practise at Westminster may find that the
phrase suits well, and a man's moral being may be all
the better, as through lawns and alleys and copses, where
each separate step almost brings out a separate vignette
of beauty, he traverses in a north-westerly direction the
whole length of our Parks. He turns aside into St.
James's Park, and then goes through the Green Park
and crosses Piccadilly to lounge through Hyde Park, and
so home through Kensington Gardens. The alterations
this season in Hyde Park are very noticeable. All the
Park spaces recently laid out have been planned in a
style of beauty in harmony with what previously existed ;
a beauty, I think, unapproachable by the many gardens

256 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

of Paris, or the Prado of Madrid, the Corso of Rome, the
Strado di Toledo of Naples, the Glacis of Vienna. The
most striking alterations are those of the Park side near
the Brompton road, where the low, hare, .uneven ground,
as if hy the magic touch of a transformation, is become
exquisite garden spaces with soft undulations, set with
starry gems of the most exquisite flowers, hordered by
freshest turf. The palings which the mob threw down
have been all nobly replaced, and more and more restora-
tion is promised by a Government eager to be popula-
with all classes. Most of all, the mimic ocean of the
Serpentine is to be renewed ; and when its bottom is
levelled, its depth diminished, and the purity of the,
water secured, we shall arrive at an almost ideal perfec-
tion.

As we take our lounge in the afternoon it is necessary
to put on quite a different mental mood as we pass from
one Park to another. "We pass at once from turmoil
into comparative repose as we enter the guarded enclo-
sure encircled on all sides by a wilderness of brick and
mortar. You feel quite at ease in that vast palatial
garden of St. James. Your office coat may serve in St.
James's, but you adorn yourself with all adornments for
Hyde Park. You go leisurely along, having adjusted
your watch by the Horse Guards, looking at the soldiers,
and the nurses, and the children, glancing at the island,
and looking at the ducks — the dainty, overfed ducks —
suggesting all sorts of ornithological lore, not to mention
low materialistic associations of green peas or sage and
onions. Those dissipated London ducks lay their heads

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 257

under their wings and go to roost at quite fashionable
hours, that would astonish their primitive country
brethren. I hope you like to feed ducks, my friends.
All great, good-natured people have a " sneaking kind-
ness" for feeding ducks. There is a most learned and
sagacious bishop who won't often show himself to human
bipeds, but he may be observed by them in his grounds
feeding ducks while philosophising on things in general,
and the University Tests in particular. Then what
crowded reminiscences we might have of St. James's
Park and of the Mall — of sovereigns and ministers,
courtiers and fops, lords and ladies, philosophers and
thinkers ! By this sheet of water, or rather by the pond
that then was a favourite resort for intending suicides,
Charles II. would play with his dogs or dawdle with his
mistresses ; feeding the ducks here one memorable morn-
ing when the stupendous revelation of a Popish plot was
made to his incredulous ears ; or looking grimly towards
the Banqueting Hall where his father perished, when the
debate on the Exclusion Bill was running fiercely high.
But the reminiscences are endless which belong to St.
James's Park. Only a few years ago there was the
private entrance which Judge Jeffreys used to have by
special licence into the Park, but now it has been done
away. There were all kinds of superstitions floating
about in the uninformed Westminster mind about Judge
Jeffreys. What Sydney Smith said in joke to the poach-
ing lad, " that he had a private gallows," was believed by
the Westmonasterians to be real earnest about Jeffreys—
that he used after dinner to seize hold of any individual

K

258 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

to whom lie might take a fancy and hang him up in froi
of his house for his own personal delectation. I am no^
reconciled to the bridge that is thrown midway across,
although it certainly limits the expanse of the ornamental
water. But standing on the ornamental bridge, and
looking both westward and eastward, I know of hardly
anything comparable to that view. That green neat
lawn and noble timber, and beyond the dense foliage the
grey towers of the Abbey, and the gold of those Houses
of Parliament, which, despite captious criticism, will
always be regarded as the most splendid examples of the
architecture of the great Victorian era, and close at hand
the paths and the parterres, cause the majesty and great-
ness of England to blend with this beautiful oasis islanded
between the deserts of "Westminster and Pimlico. Look-
ing westward, too, towards Buckingham Palace — the
palace, despite exaggerated hostile criticism, is at least
exquisitely proportioned ; but then one is sorry to hear
about the Palace that the soldiers are so ill stowed away
there ; and the Queen does not like it ; and the Hano-
verian animal peculiarly abounds. We recollect that
once when her Majesty was ill, a servant ran out of the
palace to charter a cab and go for the doctor, because
those responsible for the household had not made bette)
arrangements. In enumerating the Parks of London,
we ought not to forget the Queen's private garden o:
Buckingham Palace, hardly less than the Green Park in
extent, and so belonging to the system of the lungs o
London.

But we now enter the great Hyde Park itself, assuredh

AFTERNOONS IN "THE PARK." 259

the most brilliant spectacle of the kind which the world
can show. It is a scene which may well tax all your
powers of reasoning and of philosophy. And you must
know the Park very well, this large open drawing-room
which in the season London daily holds, before you can
sufficiently temper your senses to be critical and analytical
— before you can eliminate the lower world, the would-be
fashionable element, from the most affluent and highest
kind of metropolitan life — before you can judge of the
splendid mounts and the splendid comparisons, between
fine carriages and fine horses — fine carriages where per-
haps the cattle are lean and poor, or fine horses where
the carriages are old and worn ; the carriages and horses
absolutely gorgeous, but with too great a display ; and,
again, where the perfection is absolute, but with as much
Iquietude as possible, the style that chiefly invites ad-
miration by the apparent desire to elude it. In St.
(James's Park you may lounge and be listless if you like ;
but in Hyde Park, though you may lounge, you must
tstill be alert. Very pleasant is the lounge to the outer
: nan, but in the inner mind you must be observant, pre-
pared to enjoy either the solitude of the crowd, or to
hatch the quick glance, the silvery music of momentary
[ uerriment, then have a few seconds of rapid, acute dia-
gue, or perhaps be beckoned into a carriage by a friend
dth space to spare. As you lean over the railings you
erhaps catch a sight of a most exquisite face — a face
lat is photographed on the memory for its features and
xpression. If you have really noticed such a face the
ay is a whiter day to you ; somehow or other you have

K3

260 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK:''

made an advance. But it is mortifying, when you con
template this beautiful image, to see some gilded yout
advance, soulless, brainless, to touch the fingers dear
yourself and look into eyes which he cannot fathom 01
comprehend. Still more annoying to think that a game
is going on in the matrimonial money market. I some-
times think that the Ladies' Mile is a veritable female
Tattersall's, where feminine charms are on view and the
price may be appraised — the infinite gambols and curvet-
tings of high-spirited maidenhood. But I declare on my
conscience that I believe the Girl of the Period has a
heart, and that the Girl of the Period is not so much to
blame as her mamma or her chaperone.

But, speaking of alterations, I cannot say that all the
alterations are exactly to my mind. It is not at all
pleasing that the habit of smoking has crept into Rotten
Row. The excuse is that the Prince smokes. But be-
cause one person of an exceptional and unique position,
doubtless under exceptional circumstances, smokes, that
is no reason why the mass should follow the example.
Things have indeed changed within the last few years ;
the race is degenerating into politeness. In the best of
his stories, " My Novel," Lord Lytton makes Harley, his
hero, jeer at English liberty ; and he says : " I no more
dare smoke this cigar in the Park at half-past six, when
all the world is abroad, than I dare pick my Lord Chan-
cellor's pocket, or hit the Archbishop of Canterbury a
thump on the nose." Lord Hatherley's pocket is still
safe, and we are not yet come to days, though we seem
to be nearing them, when a man in a crowd may send a

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 261

blow into a prelate's fac3. We have had such days
before, and we may have them again. But smoking is
now common enough, and ought to be abated as a
nuisance. Some ladies like it, and really like it ; and
that is all very well, but other ladies are exceedingly
annoyed. A lady takes her chair to watch the moving
panorama, intending perhaps to make a call presently,
and men are smoking within a few paces to her infinite
annoyance and the spoiling of her pleasure. Her dress
is really spoilt, and there is the trouble of another toilet.
Talking of toilets, I heard a calculation the other day of
how many the Princess of Wales had made in a single
day. She had gone to the laying of the foundation stone
of Earlswood asylum, and then to the great State break-
fast at Buckingham Palace, and then a dinner and a ball,
and one or two other things. The Princess truly works
very hard, harder indeed than people really know. I
went the other day to a concert, where many a one was
asked to go, and the Princess was there, in her desire to
oblige worthy people, and sat it all through to the very
last with the pleasantest smiles and the most intelligent
attention. Let me also, since I am criticizing, say that
the new restaurant in the Park is a decided innovation,
and that to complete the new ride, to carry Rotten Row
all round the Park, is certainly to interfere with the en-
joyment of pedestrians. It is, however, to be said, in
justice, that the pedestrians have the other parks pretty
much to themselves. There is, however, a worse error
still, in the rapid increase of the demi-monde in the Park.
A man hardly feels easy in conducting a lady into the

262 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK:'

Park and answering all the questions that may be put to
him respecting the inmates of gorgeous carriages that
sweep by. These demireps make peremptory conditions
that they shall have broughams for the Park and tickets
for the Horticultural, and even for the fetes at the Bo-
tanical Gardens. This is a nuisance that requires to be
abated as much as any in Regent Street or the Hay-
market. The police ought to have peremptory orders to
exclude such carriages and their occupants. Twenty
years ago there was a dead set made in Cheshire, against
the aspirants of Liverpool and Manchester, by the gentry
of that county most famous for the pedigrees of the
gentry, who wished to maintain the splendour of family
pride. For instance, the steward of a county ball went
up to a manufacturer who was making his eighty thou-
sand a year, and told him that no tradesman was ad-
mitted. That was of course absurd; but still, if that
was actually done, an inspector should step up to the
most fashionable Mabel or Lais, and turn her horses'
heads, if obstreperous, in the direction of Bridewell or
Bow Street. Anonyma has ruled the Park too much.
The favourite drive used to be round the Serpentine ; but
when the prettiest equipage in London drew all gazers to
the Ladies' Mile, the Serpentine became comparatively
unused, and the Ladies' Mile, ground infinitely inferior,
became the favourite until the renovated Serpentine or
change of whim shall mould anew the fickle, volatile
shape of fashionable vagary.

At this present time Mr. Alfred Austin's clever satire
<( The Season" — a third edition of which is published —

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 263,

occurs to me. The poem is a very clever one, and it is
even better appreciated on the other side of the Channel
than on this, as is evidenced by M. Forques' article on
the subject in the " Revue des Deux Mondes." We
will group together a few passages from Mr. Austin's
vigorous poem, belonging to the Parks.

" I sing the Season, Muse! •whose sway extends
Where Hyde begins, beyond where Tyburn ends ;
Gone the broad glare, save where with borrowed bays
Some female Phaeton sets the drive ablaze.
Dear pretty fledglings ! come from country nest,
To nibble, chirp, and flutter in. the west;
Whose clear, fresh faces, with their fickle frown
And favour, start like Spring upon the town ;
Lass dear, for damaged damsels, doomed to wait ;
Whose third — fourth ? season makes half desperate.
Waking with warmth, less potent hour by hour
(As magnets heated lose attractive power).
Or you, nor dear nor damsels, tough and tart,
Unmarketable maidens of the mart,
Who, plumpness gone, fine delicacy feint,
And hide your sins in piety and paint.

" Incongruous group, they come; the judge's hack,
With knees as broken as its rider's back :
The counsel's courser, stumbling through the throng,
With wind e'en shorter than its lord's is long :
The foreign marquis's accomplished colt
Sharing its owner's tendency to bolt.

" Come let us back, and whilst the Park's alive,
Lean o'er the railings, and inspect the Drive.
Still sweeps the long procession, whose array
Gives to the lounger's gaze, as wanes the day,
Its rich reclining and reposeful forms,
Still as bright sunsets after mists or storms ;

264 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

Who sit and smile (their morning wranglings o'er,

Or dragged and dawdled through one dull day more),

As though the life of widow, wife and girl,

Were one long lapsing and voluptuous whirl.

O, poor pretence ! what eyes so blind but see

The sad, however elegant ennui ?

Think you that blazoned panel, prancing pair,

Befool our vision to the weight they bear ?

The softest ribbon, pink-lined parasol,

Screen not the woman, though they deck the doll.

The padded corsage and the well-matched hair,

Judicious jupon spreading out the spare,

Sleeves well designed false plumpness to impart,

Leave vacant still the hollows of the heart.

Is not our Lesbia lovely ? In her soul

Lesbia is troubled : Lesbia hath a mole ;

And all the splendours of that matchless neck

Console not Lesbia for its single speck.

Kate comes from Paris, and a wardrobe brings,

To which poor Edith's are " such common things ;"

Her pet lace shawl has grown not fit to wear,

And ruined Edith dresses in despair."

Mr. Austin is sufficiently severe upon the ladies, esj
cially those whose afternoons in the Park have some
respondence with their " afternoon of life." I think that
the elderly men who affect youthful airs are every whit
as numerous and as open to sarcasm. Your ancient bud;
is always a fair butt. And who does not know these
would-be juveniles, their thin, wasp -like waists, theii
elongated necks and suspensory eye-glasses, their elabo-
rate and manufactured hair ? They like the dissipation!
of youth so well that they can conceive of nothing mon
glorious, entirely ignoring that autumnal fruit is, afte:
all, better than the blossom or foliage of spring or earb

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 265

autumn. All they know indeed of autumn is the variega-
tion and motley of colour. The antiquated juvenile is
certainly one of the veriest subjects for satire ; and anti-
quated juveniles do abound of an afternoon in Rotten
Row. Nothing we can say about a woman's padding can
! be worse than the padding which is theirs. All their
idiotic grinning cannot hide the hated crows'-feet about
i their goggle, idiotic eyes. They try, indeed, the power
; of dress to the utmost ; but in a day when all classes are
alike extravagant in dress, even the falsity of the first
impression will not save them from minute criticism.
', Talk to them and they will draw largely on the reminis-
i cences of their youth, perhaps still more largely on their
faculty of invention. What a happy dispensation it is
in the case of men intensely wicked and worldly, that in
j, youth, when they might do infinite evil, they have not
the necessary knowledge of the world and of human na-
ture to enable them to do so ; and when they have a
store of wicked experience, the powers have fled which
would have enabled them to turn it to full account ! At
this moment I remember a hoary old villain talking
ribaldry with his middle-aged son, both of them dressed
to an inch of their lives, and believing that the fashion of
this world necessarily endures for ever. Granting the
tyranny and perpetuity of fashion — for in the worst times
of the French revolution fashion still maintained its sway,
and the operas and theatres were never closed — still each
individual tyrant of fashion has only his day, and often
the day is a very brief one. Nothing is more becoming
han gray hairs worn gallantly and well, and when accom-

266 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

panied with sense and worth they have often borne away
a lovely bride, rich and accomplished, too, from, some
silly, gilded youth. I have known marriages between
January and May, where May has been really very fond
of January. After all, the aged Adonis generally pairs
off with some antiquated Venus ; the juvenilities on each
side are eliminated as being common to both and of
no real import, and the settlement is arranged by the
lawyers and by family friends on a sound commercial
basis.

It is very easy for those who devote themselves to the
study of satirical composition, and cultivate a sneer for
things in general, to be witty on the frivolities of the
Park. And this is the worst of satire, that it is bound
to be pungent, and cannot pause to be discriminating and
just. Even the most sombre religionist begins to under-
stand that he may use the world, without trying to drain
its sparkling cup to the dregs. Hyde Park is certainly
not abandoned to idlesse. The most practical men recog-
nise its importance and utility to them. There are good
wives who go down to the clubs or the Houses in their
•carriages to insist that their lords shall take a drive
before they dine and go back to the House. And when
you see saddle-horses led up and down in Palace Yard,
the rider will most probably take a gallop before he
«omes back to be squeezed and heated by the House of
Commons, or be blown away by the over-ventilation of
the House of Lords. A man begins to understand that
it is part of his regular vocation in life to move about in
the Park. And all men do so, especially when the sun's

i in
m'sl

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 267

beams are tempered and when the cooling evening breeze
is springing up. The merchant from the City, the lawyer
from his office, the clergyman from his parish, the gover-
ness in her spare hours, the artist in his love of nature
and human nature, all feel that the fresh air and the fresh
faces will do them good. There was a literary man who
took a Brompton apartment with the back windows front-
ing the Park. Hither he used to resort, giving way to-
the fascination which led him, hour after hour, to study
the appearances presented to him. The subject is, in-
deed, very interesting and attractive, including especially
the very popular study of flirtation in all its forms and
branches. If you really want to see the Row you must
go very early in the afternoon. Early in the afternoon
the equestrians ride for exercise ; later they ride much
in the same way as they promenade. The Prince, for a
long time, used to ride early in the afternoon, if only to-
save himself the trouble of that incessant salutation which
must be a serious drawback on H. R. H.'s enjoyment of
his leisure. Or, again, late in the evening, it is inte-
resting to note the gradual thinning of the Park and its
new occupants come upon the scene. The habitue of
Rotten Row is able, with nice gradations, to point out
how the cold winds and rains of the early summer have,
night after night, emptied the Park at an earlier hour,
or how a fete at the Horticultural, or a gala at the Crys-
tal Palace, has sensibly thinned the attendance. As the
affluent go home to dress and dine, the sons and daugh-
ters of penury who have shunned the broad sunlight creep
out into the vacant spaces. The last carriages of those

268 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

who are going home from the promenade meet the first
carriages of those who are going out to dine. Only two
nights ago I met the carriage of Mr. Disraeli and his
wife. I promise you the Viscountess Beaconsfield looked
magnificent. Curiously enough, they were dining at the
same house where, not many years ago, Mr. Disraeli
dined with poor George Hudson. "When Mr. Hudson
had a dinner given to him lately, it is said that he was
much affected, and told his hosts that its cost would have
kept him and his for a month.

The overwhelming importance of the Parks in London
is well brought out by that shrewd observer, Crabb
Robinson, in his Diary. Under February 15, 1818,
he writes : " At two I took a ride into the Regent's
Park, which I had never seen before. When the trees
are grown this will be really an ornament to the capital ;
and not a mere ornament, but a healthful appendage.
The Highgate and Hampstead Hill is a beautiful object ;
and within the Park the artificial water, the circular
belt or coppice, the few scattered bridges, &c., are objects
of taste. I really think this enclosure, with the new
street leading to it from Carlton House [Regent Street]
will give a sort of glory to the Regent's government,
greater than the victories of Trafalgar and Waterloo,
glorious as these are." Here again, almost at haphazard,
is a quotation from an American writer : " So vast is the
extent of these successive ranges, and so much of Eng-
land can one find, as it were, in the midst of London.
Oh, wise and prudent John Bull, to ennoble . thy metro-
polis with such spacious country walks, and to sweeten it

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 269

so much with country air ! Truly these lungs of London
are vital to such a Babylon, and there is no beauty to be
compared to them in any city I have ever seen. I do
not think the English are half proud enough of their
capital, conceited as they are about so many things be-
sides. Here you see the best of horse-flesh, laden with
the " porcelain clay" of human flesh. Ah ! how dar-
lingly the ladies go by, and how ambitiously their favoured
companions display their good fortune in attending them.
Here a gay creature rides independently enough with her
footman at a respectful distance. She is an heiress, and
the young gallants she scarce deigns to notice are dying
for love of her and her guineas."

But, after all, is there anything more enjoyable in its
way than Kensington Gardens ? You are not so neglige
as in St. James's, but it is comparative undress compared
with Hyde Park. Truly there are days — and even in the
height of the season too — when you may lie down oa the
grass and gaze into the depth of sky, listening to the
murmurous breeze, and that far-off hum which might be
a sound of distant waves, and fancy yourself in Eavenna's
immemorial wood. Ah, what thrilling scenes have come
off beneath these horse-chestnuts with their thick leaves
and pyramidal blossoms ! And if only those whispers
were audible, if only those tell-tale leaves might murmur
their confessions, what narratives might these supply of
the idyllic side of London life, sufficient to content a
legion of romancists ! It is a fine thing for Orlando to
have a gallop by the side of his pretty ladylove down the
Row, but Orlando knows very well that if he could only

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

draw her arm through his and lead her down some
in those gardens, it would be well for him. Oh, yielding
hands and eyes ! oh, mantling blushes and eloquent
tears ! oh, soft glances and all fine tremor of speech, in
those gardens more than in Armina's own are ye abound-
ing. There is an intense human interest about Kensing-
ton Gardens which grows more and more, as one takes
one's walks abroad and the scene becomes intelligible.
See that slim maid demurely reading beneath yonder
trees, those old trees which artists love in the morning to
come and sketch. She glances more than once at her
watch, and then suddenly with surprise she greets a
lounger. I thought at the very first that her surprise
was an affectation; and as I see how she disappears
with him through that overarching leafy arcade my sur-
mise becomes conviction. As for the nursery maids who
let their little charges loiter or riot about, or even sedater
governesses with their more serious aims, who will let
gentlemanly little boys and girls grow very conversa-
tional, while they are very conversational themselves ]
with tall whiskered cousins or casual acquaintance, why,
I can only say, that for the sake of the most maternal
hearts beating in this great metropolis, I am truly rejoiced
to think that there are no carriage roads through the
Gardens, and the little ones can hardly come to" any very
serious mischief.

Are you now inclined, my friends, for a little — and I
promise you it shall really be a little— discourse concern-
ing those Parks, that shall have a slight dash of litera-
ture and history about it ? First of all, let me tell yo u

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PABK." 271

that in a park you ought always to feel loyal, since for
our Parks we are indebted to our kings. The very defini-
tion of a park is — I assure you I am quoting the great
Blackstone himself—" an enclosed chase, extending only
over a man's own grounds," and the Parks have been the
grounds of the sovereign's own self. It is true of more
than one British Cassar : —

" Moreover he hath left you all his walks,
His private arbours and new-planted orchards,
On this side Tibur ; he hath left them you
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures
To walk abroad and recreate yourselves."

Once in the far distant time they were genuine parks with
beasts of chase. We. are told that the City corporation
hunted the hare at the head of the conduit, where Con-
duit Street now stands, and killed the fox at the end of
St. Giles's. St. James's Park was especially the courtier's
park, a very drawing-room of parks. How splendidly
over the gorgeous scene floats the royal banner of Eng-
land, at the foot of Constitution Hill, which has been truly
called the most chastely-gorgeous banner in the world !
If you look at the dramatists of the Restoration you find
frequent notices of the Park, which are totally wanting
in the Elizabethan dramatists, when it was only a nursery
for deer. Cromwell had shut up Spring Gardens, but
Charles II. gave us St. James's Park. In the next
century the Duke of Buckingham, describing his house,
says : " The avenues to this house are along St. James's
Park, through rows of goodly elms on one hand and
flourishing limes on the other ; that for coaches, this for

272 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

walking, with the Mall lying between them." It was in
the Park that the grave Evelyn saw and heard his gra-
cious sovereign " hold a very familiar discourse with Mrs.
Nellie, as they called an impudent comedian, she looking
out of her garden on a terrace at the top of the wall."
Here Pepys saw " above all Mrs. Stuart in this dress,
with her hat cocked and a red plume, with her sweet eye,
little Roman nose, and excellent taille, the greatest
beauty I ever saw, I think, in my life." Or take a play
from Etheridge : —

" Enter SIR FOPLING FLUTTER and his equipage.

11 Sir Fop. Hey ! bid the coachman send home four of
his horses and bring the coach to Whitehall ; I'll walk
over the Park. Madam, the honour of kissing your fair
hands is a happiness I missed this afternoon at my lady
Townly's.

" Leo. You were very obliging, Sir Fopling, the last
time I saw you there.

" Sir Fop. The preference was due to your wit and
beauty. Madam, your servant. There never was so
sweet an evening.

" Bellinda. It has drawn all the rabble of the town
hither.

" Sir Fop. ' Tis pity there is not an order made that
none but the beau monde should walk here."

In Swift's " Journal to Stella " we have much men-
tion of the Park : " to bring himself down," he says, that
being the Banting system of that day, he used to start on
his walk about sunset. Horace "VValpole says : " My
lady Coventry and niece Waldegrave have been mobbed

AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK." 273

in the Park. I am sorry the people of England take all
their liberty out in insulting pretty women." He else-
where tells us with what state he and the ladies went.
"We sailed up the Mall with all our colours flying."
We do not hear much of the Green Park. It was for a
long time most likely a village green, where the citizens
would enjoy rough games, and in the early morning
duellists would resort hither to heal their wounded
honour.

Originally, Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park were
all one. Addison speaks of it in the " Spectator," and
it is only since the time of George II. that a severance
has been made. Hyde Park has its own place in litera-
ture and in history. There was a certain first of May
when both Pepys and Evelyn were interested in Hyde
Park. Pepys says : " I went to Hide Park to take the air,
where was his Majesty and an innumerable appearance of
gallants and rich coaches, being now a time of universal
festivity and joy." It was always a great place for
reviews. They are held there still, and the Volunteers
have often given great liveliness to the Park on Saturday.
Here Cromwell used to review his terrible Ironsides. It
was Queen Caroline who threw a set of ponds into one
sheet of water, and as the water-line was not a direct one,
it was called the Serpentine. The fosse and low wall was
then a new invention ; " an attempt deemed so astonish-
ing that the common people called them ha-has to express
their surprise at finding a sudden and unperceived check
to their walk." It is said that a nobleman who had a
house abutting on the Park engraved the words —

274 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

" 'Tis my delight to be
In the town and the countree."

Antiquaries may find out countless points of interest,
and may be able to identify special localities. Once there
were chalybeate springs in a sweet glen, now spoilt by
the canker of ugly barracks. It was on the cards that
the Park might have been adorned with a rotunda instead.
Most of the literary associations cluster around Kensing-
ton Gardens, concerning which Leigh Hunt has written
much pleasant gossip in his " Old Court Suburb." A
considerable amount of history and an infinite amount of
gossip belong to Kensington Palace, now assigned to the
Duchess of Inverness, the morganatic wife of the Duke
of Sussex ; gossip about George II. and his wife, about
Lord Hervey, the queen and her maids of honour, the
bad beautiful Duchess of Kingston, the charming Sarah
Lennox, Selwyn, March, Bubb Doddington, and that
crew, whom Mr. Thackeray delighted to reproduce.
There is at least one pure scene dear to memory serene,
that the Princess Victoria was born and bred here, and at
five o'clock one morning was aroused from her slumbers, to
come down with dishevelled hair to hear from great nobles
that she was now the Queen of the broad empire on
which the morning and the evening star ever shines.

I am very fond of lounging through the Park at an
hour when it is well-nigh all deserted. I am not, indeed,
altogether solitary in my ways and modes. There are
certain carriages which roll into the Park almost at the
time when all other carriages have left or are leaving.
In my solitariness I feel a sympathy with those who

AFTERNOONS IN "THE PARK." 275

desire the coolness and freshness when they are most
perfect. I have an interest, too, in the very roughs that
lounge about the parks. I think them far superior to
the roughs that lounge about the streets. Here is an
athletic scamp. I admire his easy litheness and excel-
lent proportion of limb. He is a scamp and a tramp,
but then he is such, on an intelligible ajsthetical principle.
He has flung himself down, in the pure physical enjoy-
ment of life, just as a Neapolitan will bask in the sun-
shine, to enjoy the turf and the atmosphere. In his
splendid animal life he will sleep for hours, unfearing
draught or miasma, untroubled with ache or pain, ob-
taining something of a compensation for his negative
troubles and privations. If you como to talk to the
vagrant sons and daughters of poverty loitering till the
Park is cleared, or even sleeping here the livelong night,
you would obtain a clear view of that night side which is
never far from the bright side of London. I am not sure
that I might not commend such a beat as this to some
philanthropist for his special attention. The handsome,
wilful boy who has run away from home or school ; the
thoughtless clerk or shopman out of work ; the poor
usher, whose little store has been spent in illness ; the
servant-girl who has been so long without a place, and is
now hovering on the borders of penury and the extreme
limit of temptation ; they are by no means rare, with their
easily-yielded secrets, doubtless with some amount of im-
posture, and always, when the truth comes to be known,
with large blame attachable to their faults or weakness,
but still with a very large percentage where some sym-

276 AFTERNOONS IN " THE PARK."

pathy or substantial help will be of the greatest possible
assistance. As one knocks about London, one accumu-
lates soucenirs of all kinds — some, perhaps, that will not
very well bear much inspection ; and it may be a pleasing
reflection that you went to some little expenditure of time
or coin to save some lad from the hulks or some girl from
ruin.

277

LIFE IN LONDON.

A MAN'S first residence in London is a revolution in his
life and feelings. He loses at once no small part of his
individuality. He was a man before, now he is a
" party." No longer known as Mr. Brown, but as (say)
No. XXL, he feels as one of many cogs in one of the
many wheels of an incessantly wearing, tearing, grinding,
system of machinery. His country notions must be
modified, and all his life-long ways and takings-for-
granted prove crude and questionable. He is hourly
reminded "This is not the way in London; that this
wont work here," or, " people always expect," and
" you'll soon find the difference." Custom rules every-
thing, and custom never before seemed to him half as
strange, strong, or inexorable. The butcher always cuts
one way and the greengrocer serves him with equal
rigour. His orders never before seemed of so little
importance. The independence and the take-it-or-leave-
it indifference of the tradesmen contrast strongly with the
obsequiousness of the country shop. However great a
customer before he feels a small customer now. The
tradesman is shorter and more saving of his words. He

278 LIFE IN LONDON.

serves, takes your money, and turns away to some one
else, whereas in the country they indulge you with a
little talk into the bargain.

Competition in London is very rife. The cheap five-
shilling hatter was soon surprised by a four-and-nine-
penny shop opposite. Few London men could live but
by a degree of energy which the country dealer little knows.
The wear and tear of nerve-power and the discharge of
brain-power in London are enormous. The London man
lives fast. In London, man rubs out, elsewhere he rusts
out. No doubt the mental stimulus of London staves
off much disease, for idle men eat themselves to death
and worry themselves to death ; but in city life neither
gluttony nor worry has a chance, but men give bail for
their good behaviour from ten o'clock to five, and are
kept out of much mischief's way by force of circum-
stances.

Many other things contribute to make our new Lon-
doner feel smaller in his own eyes. The living stream
flows by him in the streets ; he never saw so many utter
strangers to him and to each other before ; their very
pace and destination are different ; there is a walk and
business determination distinctly London. In other
towns men saunter they know not whither, but nearly
every passer-by in London has his point, and is making
so resolutely towards it that it seems not more his way
than his destination as he is carried on with the current ;
and of street currents there are two, to the City and from
the City, so distinct and persistent, that our friend can't
get out of one without being jostled by the other. This

LIFE IN LONDON. 279

street stream lie may analyze, and, according to the hour
of the day or the season of the year, the number, trades,
and characters obey an average. In the country Dr.
Jones drives in one day, Mr. and Mrs. Robinson and
family walk in the next. Sometimes fifty people may be
counted, sometimes ten, but in London there is an ebb
and flow in the Strand as regular and uniform as in the
Thames. The City noise begins gradually about six with
the sweeps and the milk-pails amongst the earliest calls,
though ponderous market-carts and night cabs are late
and early both. This fitful rumble deepens to a steady
roar about nine, and there is no approach to silence till
night, and after a very short night of repose the same
roar awakes again ; so City people live as in a mill, till
constant wearing sound becomes to them the normal state
of nature.

There is a deal of education in all this. The mind is
ever on the stretch with rapid succession of new images,
new people, and new sensations. All business is done
with an increased pace. The buying and the selling, the
counting and the weighing, and even the talk over the
counter, is all done with a degree of rapidity and bharp
practice which brightens up the wits of this country cousin
more than any books or schooling he ever enjoyed. All
this tends greatly to habits of abstraction and to the bump
of concentrativeness. The slow and prosy soon find they
have not a chance ; but after a while, like a dull horse in
a fast coach, they develop a pace unknown before.

Self-dependence is another habit peculiarly of London
growth. Men soon discover they have no longer the

230 LIFE IN LONDON.

friend, the relative or the neighbour of their own small
town to fall back upon. To sink or swim is their own
affair, and they had better make up their minds to
depend wholly upon themselves ; for London is like a
wilderness, not as elsewhere because there are no people
at all, but because there are so many people, that one is
equally far from helping another save on rare occasions.
This inexorable self-dependence, which is essential to the
life of a colonist in Australia, stamps to a great extent
the character of the Londoner. Thousands of young
doctors, lawyers, and apprentices find themselves there
for the first time without a home or family fireside, not
only with no one to check them, but none to interfere.
They begin to wish they had ; for it is quite a new sen-
sation to feel for the first time that nobody knows and
nobody cares ; only there is the dread of destitution as a
master, and whether they shall be penniless the next
month, the next week, or perhaps even the very next
day, depends on their own self-denial and self-control
alone. Yes, necessity is the one great master that ties
ior twelve or tourteen hours a day the driver to his lofty
box and the cad to his narrow footboard. Indeed the
thousands of young men, and young women too, who, far
from the parental home, find the way to take care of
themselves better than fond fathers and mothers ever
dreamed of, says much for the sense and conscience of the
present generation.

Family people find London life as peculiar as single
people. An omnibus man said no one trod this earth
so little ; in bed by night, high in air all day, and with

LIFE IN LONDON, 281

only a few steps from one to the other. The wife of a
clerk said that from November to February she never
saw her husband by daylight but on Sundays. It was
barely light when he left and it was quite dark when he
came home ; and the husband replied he as rarely saw
his children except they were in bed. The same man
complained that after exhaustion for six days in a close
office a service of two hours in a close church was ill
suited to his day of rest. " My wife finds," he continued,
"there is no ill-nature in London life. From envy,
hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness, so rife in a small
neighbourhood, she finds herself delightfully free, and I
enjoy liberty and independence unknown before, simply
because people know too little of each other to interfere ;
but, on the other side, old friendship and neighbourly
interests are wanting too." No doubt there are warm
friendships and intimacies in London as well as in the
country, but few and far between. People associate
more at arm's length, and give their hand more readily
than their heart, and hug themselves within their own
domestic circles. You know too little of people to be
deeply interested either in them or their fortunes, so you
expect nothing and are surprised at nothing. An
acquaintance may depart London life, and even this life,
or be sold up and disappear, without the same surprise
or making the same gap as in a village circle.

The natural incidents of London life render changes
far more frequent ; very different from places where the
same family is born, bred, and dies in the same house.
No one calls on new-comers, and not only is society slowly

282 LIFE IN LONDON.

formed, but after two or three years the old set have dis-
appeared, and you find yourself alone in your own street ;
and as to other acquaintances, the distances are too great
to keep them up.

Year after year, men who have planted themselves out
of town find that town follows them. The old people of
Hammersmith are wellnigh overtaken and made one with
London, and so are those of Hampstead ; and the Swiss
Cottage, like the Thatched Tavern, are simple records of
holiday retreats, now so lost in the mazes of new streets
that another generation will be at a loss to guess the
origin of so rural a sign. To command the City from
parts so distant, the railway, like the omnibus, has now
become quite a part of a man's rent, reckoned thus : '
" rent, rail, and taxes, £60 a year ; " and builders and
tenants both must calculate alike, while a town as big
as Bath is added every fourteen months.

The rapid extension of London suburbs affects the rich
and pleasure-seeking too. The carriage-people cannot now
even drive into the country. Seven miles in every direc-
tion the road-side is cut up ; half-finished rows spoil the
view, and " To let for building," or " No admittance but
on business," " Goding's Entire," and omnibuses, all tend
to mar the rural vision and to disenchant the lover of the
picturesque. The carriage-people are therefore reduced
to the Parks ; the streets are so crowded in the season
that many ladies find them too great a trial of the nerves ;
and, when in the Park, to see and to be seen, and the
interest we take in our fellow-creatures, gradually draws
even the most philosophical to join the throng in the
fashionable Itov.

LIFE IX LONDON. 283

This makes London life more peculiar still. We live
and move in masses ; retirement is nowhere ; life is all
public : the streets are in winter so wet, in summer so
hot, and always so noisy, so crowded, and so dirty, that
the wear and tear of nerves and clothes are indeed a
serious consideration. New residents find they must
live better or at least more expensively. Wine to many
becomes no longer a luxury but a necessity. They miss
the fresh air and quiet of the country and crave a stimu-
lus to make amends. The non-carriage people therefore
seek houses near the Parks, and rents run up enormously.
Still, do what you will, the roar of London is ever in
your ears, and the fret and irritation for ever tries your
system ; so much so that the season, that is, the only part
of London life supposed enjoyable, no sooner begins than
people begin to lay their plans for its end and out-of-
towning. In August you go because others go, because
all the world seems breaking up and off for the holidays,
and you feel in disgrace and punishment if you don't go
too. To say the truth, the houses get hotter and hotter,
till the very walls feel warmed through ; the blaze of sun-
shine makes the walls look more dingy, the chimneys
smell, the papered grates and tinselled shavings look
shabby, and everybody feels tired of everybody else and
everything about them. If any one stays behind it is so
well known to be no matter of preference when all Lon-
don is painting, white-washing, and doing up, that it
seems positively against your respectability ; so much so,
that some who find it convenient to go rather late or to
! return rather earlv are weak enough to keep their front

284 LIFE IN LONDON.

blinds down or shutters shut, and live and look out on
the mews' side ! In short, out-of-towning is a point in
which you are hardly a free agent. Your servants look
for your going out of town, and some bargain for it at
hiring, part because Tea-kettle Thomas and Susan want
the change, and others for the range and riot of your

house when you are gone. A friend in Gardens,

where there is a fine common garden behind the house,
says that all August and September there is a perfect
saturnalia of cooks and charwomen and their friends
aping their mistresses — rather a loud imitation — playing
croquet, giving tea and gin parties, dancing, screaming,
shouting, laughing, and making summer life hideous.
Very hard ! Harder lines than ever, because you pay so
much for this garden, boast of this garden as an oasis in
the London desert, and after all your leafy retreat proves
(and oftentimes and that not at this season alone) a bear-
garden and a nuisance.

This imperative out-of-towning at one and the same
prescribed season is a heavy tax on London life. Taking
your year's holiday perhaps when you don't want one,
you cannot afford the time or money when you do want
one. Worse still, you must take your year's holiday all
at once. Though seven or eight weeks or more, away
from your friends, your books, pursuits, and all the little
pivots on which the morning turns, is too long for one
change — your establishment is disorganized and your
home affairs want a stitch-in-time — still, London life is

London life oiice in the groove you had better conform,

or you will find the exception on the balance more

LIFE IN LONDON. 285

troublesome than the rule ; and so much a year for this
enforced ruralising, like railway fares to the suburbans, is
a regular charge on London life.

London visiting is as little a matter of free choice as
our ruralising. The season for parties is most unseason-
able. "We have melted at dinner-parties when all the
efforts of Gunter or of Bridgeman were well exchanged
for a little cool air, and when the wines and even the
peaches were at eummer heat ; and we have seen ladies
leave at eleven for balls at twelve, with more stewing and
suffocation to follow — some, perhaps, having left cool
groves, and flowers and fruits to scent and blush unseen
in the country, for indoor and (what should be) wintry
hospitalities in town.

Such hospitalities are much more expensive than in
the country — partly because London attracts chiefly the
richer families. London business is more lucrative, at
least to those who stand their ground. It is also well
understood that the social advantages of London life are
for those only who can live at a certain rate. Entertain-
ments are in proportion to income ; and since you have
none of the garden fetes and tea and fruit on the lawn —
nothing, in short, to offer your guests but the dinner or
the ball alone, and since there is no little cost of dress
and time in meeting, the meal is, all in all, quite a serious
and formidable matter; and the rivalry in dishes and
courses enough to sicken us, as also in plate and table
decorations, is rife indeed.

No doubt with young people these things pass disre-
garded. The young can breathe any atmosphere, and,

286 LIFE IN LONDON.

till a certain age, " comfort " is a term but little known.
No. The very adventure and roughing it has its charm
— provided the craving for excitement, so easily excited
and so hard to allay, is only gratified ; and to the young
the London season is exciting enough. The style and
equipages of the Parks amidst more beautiful garden
scenery than you can elsewhere behold, with all the
gorgeous pageantry that meets the eye and the giddy
whirl that turns the brain — this, while* all is fresh and
new and the spirits equal to the zest for so intense a
strain — this is hallucinating indeed, almost like the first
pantomime to a child. So we freely sympathise with
the young, and say, " My dears, be happy while you can. ,
This will serve for once or twice ; have your turn and
then make way for others as fresh and keen as you were
when you first began." 'Tis well all this is called " the
season." For a few weeks the delusion may last, and
just before the charm is wholly broken, before the tinsel
drops off, and the broad day-light of common life brings
down the kings and queens of society more nearly to the
level of their admiring fellow-creatures ,the morning
stream, with cabs and drags and loaded carriages heaped
up with boxes, baths, and luggage various, sets in steadily
to the railway stations, and little but the dust upon the
faded flowers by Rotten Row, and piles of chairs, remain
to show where the ebbing tide of fashion has so freely
flowed.

So much for the society fashionable for the season
visitors ; but as to the society of residents in London it is
ndeed peculiar. London is for the most part a city of

LIFE IN LONDON. 287

business ; at least, nearly all the houses occupied all the
year round are those of busy men. Such men pass the
day in City offices and live in the suburbs ; so much so
that on Sundays the City churches are found so out of
place that some are pulled down and their sites and
materials sold to build others ; so, the City churches seem
to follow the worshippers out of town, where the wor-
shippers alone are found. The consequence is, that
scarcely any man worth visiting is found at home save
on Sundays. Sunday is the day not only for devotion
but for friendship and home affections. The poulterer and
the fishmonger say they send out more on Sunday than
on other mornings. "Would that this always represented
only friendly hospitalities! for business dinners are
another thing, and virtually carry on the money-making
into the Sunday. Men eat and drink in the West to
make things pleasant in the East. Such hospitalities to
oil the wheels of business are supposed to pay themselves
by your " connection : " but good men grieve over such
a profanation of the rites of hospitality. But as regards
friendly society, the City man has the Sunday alone.
Let us hope it is thankfully and healthily employed. As
to the intellectual society, the possible advantages of
London are somewhat qualified in practice. Men of talent
are too busy : you can rarely meet one till he is half tired
by his day's work, at a seven o'clock dinner, and rather
the animal than the intellectual predominates then.
We heard a country doctor complain that when he
came to London his witty friend the Coroner was
always sitting upon bodies, and other men of mark he

288 LIFE IN LONDON.

found so engrossed with the affairs of the nation in gene-
ral, that on himself in particular they had not a minute
to bestow.

And this leads to the reflection that London life tends
to improve rather the head than the heart. Every man
is kept at his wits' ends; for London life is rather a
hardening life : certainly there is much to civilize and to
discipline and to control, but the affections and charities
of our nature are rather out of their proper sphere. Com-
petition is so keen, there is a hard struggle for life.
Prudence, forethought, and the industrial part of the
character are forced into growth ; but there is too much
of the reflex feeling : the City man has too little to
balance those feelings or to draw out others beyond the
sphere of self. The City man from ten to four, and the
same man at Bayswater from seven to ten, are two
different characters. The man who has haggled at his
office for three- and- sixpence will regale you at his house
as if money were a jest. But still in the City or at the
"West there is a vigilance, a reserve, and a self-defence —
a certain guarded habit unknown in rural circles. Every
man for himself seems the law.

In the country much contributes to draw forth the
more genial qualities. The hospital or infirmary com-
mittee, the board of guardians or other society for the
good of the neighbourhood, as well as local charities and
the claims of the many John Hobsons and Susan Smalls
that have grown with our growth, and formed part of the
little world and common family around us — all these
objects of kindly interest tend to keep our feelings in

LIFE IN LONDON. 289

exercise and remind us" of the wants and duties of our
common nature.

But in London we soon learn not to give in the streets,
and do not so soon learn to follow the needy to his garret.
The result is that the rich and charitable feel positively
the want of objects ; and what heart- exercise is there in
dropping shillings into a Sunday plate or in entering your
name in cold blood for one pound one ? No doubt the
lady in Belgrave Square duly caudles her coachman's
wife, in the Mews behind her mansion ; but what is that
compared to the daily bounties with the country lady's
own hand, when she goes her round to relieve the sick,
to school the children, and to comfort the aged about her
own estate ?

Nowhere as in large cities like London, as in Jerusalem
of old, do we find Dives and Lazarus, profusion and
poverty, luxury and starvation so near together, and yet
with so deep a gulf between. Who would imagine, said
a traveller in Madrid, that some gay street was simply
the fair front and disguise of an unsuspected gaol- wall,
with groans inaudible and misery untold at a few yards'
distance on the other side ? Who would imagine that
Hyde Park Gardens at six hundred a year reared high
its imposing and columned front to conceal the worn-out
sempstress' garret at half-a-crown a week, a stone's throw
behind ? So true is it that a man may be lost in a crowd
las in a desert, and starve near Leadenhall-market as well
as in the wilds of Arabia, unless he can pay his way, or
'some one happens to see the poor impotent folk and lend
a helping hand.

290 LIFE IN LONDON.

To revert to the intellectual opportunities of London,
let not our clever country cousins be envious without a
cause. We doubt if London life favours the greater
efforts of genius. There is too much excitement and too
little repose, and the mind is perplexed, as Southey felt
in the Reading Room of the British Museum, by the very
affluence of its resources and the distraction of its supplies.
Sydney Smith's friends complained that he should be
doomed to waste his talents in the wilds of Yorkshire,
with only an occasional visit to London. Why, this was
the very making of such a mind as Sydney Smith's. Its
powers would else have been frittered away in dinner-
table talk, fruitless of his shrewd suggestions and of that
hard common-sense which, circulating through the "Edin-
burgh Review," in due time found expression in the
amended laws of the land.

It is remarked that London society is less aristocratic
than in the days of the Regency. Without insisting
that the friends of the Regent might not look very aris-
tocratic now, we would observe that the aristocracy,
though not inferior in refinement and bearing, are no
longer distinguished from, cotton lords in wealth. That
is true of society which is true of the bar — we have few
leaders because we have so many leaders — so many who
would well have compared with those whom it is tradi-
tional to admire. Add to this, the aristocracy proper, now
quite small in number, keep very much to themselves.
You cannot mob and stare at dukes and duchesses by a
five-shilling admittance to the Horticultural or the Bota-
nical Gardens. For the aristocracy know the snobocracy

LIFE IN LONDON. 291

too well, and receive a private view of fruits and flowers,
and as to the company, them they leave to look at each
other.

But man, after all, seems rural by nature, and city
only perforce : so, even in London, we see the rural
element break forth in sundry forms. True the old Duke
of Queensberry, at his club through August, argued that,
after all, town was a deal fuller than the country ; and
Shakspearian Collier, at his pretty cottage at Maidenhead,
said how he longed for a cabstand to add interest to his
view — yet both these men loved Nature still, though they
were too active-minded to " babble of green fields " alone.
All Londoners feel the same. Who has not seen flower
culture under difficulties, and geraniums planted even in
crockery the most ridiculous as the train passes level with
the garrets of Limehouse or Blackfriars ? Happily our
squares are planted with fine trees, ay, and where shall
we see such gardens ? Country people would be surprised
to hear that, in London, foliage is seen almost everywhere.
It has been remarked that there is hardly a street in the
City that cannot refresh the eye with green leaves in the
summer. Even in St. Paul's churchyard, and from the
back windows of the Cheapside offices, it is hard to find a
house which cannot afford a sight of green leaves. "Who
knows not, that what with Hyde Park and Regent's
Park, Battersea, Victoria, and Alexandra Parks, with the
Gardens, Botanical, Horticultural, Kew, Eichmond, and
.Hampton Court, Windsor and Virginia Water, you must
actually come from the country to London and its vicinity
to see flowers, parks, and gardens in perfection ! How

L 2

292 LIFE IN LONDON.

pleasant to see — not the fops ogling the women in Rotten
Row, that is not rural, but — the thousands who rent the
penny chairs by the Serpentine or Kensington Gardens,
and the mechanics with their wives and children, who
perhaps pay a twopenny omnibus to enjoy their share of
those groves and lawns to which all alike contribute !

The river and its boats are another rural outlet, whether
up to Kew, Richmond, and Hampton Court, or down to
Greenwich, Gravesend, and " Rosherville, the place to
spend a happy day." Happy shall we be when the
Thames is pure enough to suit the finny tribes. The
cockney is a fishing animal. How refreshing to the
eyes — like an oasis in the desert — is Farlow's tackle,
baits, and pictured trout and salmon in the Strand, and
other fishing-tackle shops in the busiest courts from Fet-
ter Lane to London Bridge, even a glance at which trans-
ports us in imagination to the trolling or punt-fishing of
the Thames, to the sea- fishing of the South Coast, or sets
us wading in the salmon rivers of Scotland.

A friend who lodged by Holborn Turnstile said, no
one could believe the numbers of men with fishing-rods,
bottles, and baskets (insuring bites at least) that passed
every fine Sunday morning, whether for the sticklebacks
at Highgate, or the gudgeons of the New River — lovers
of the country all. The success of the Volunteering de-
pends partly on the same country-loving instinct. Messrs.
Shoolbred alone could turn out a small corps, regimental
band and all complete, to defend their silks and calicoes ;
and these, and many another firm, have their days for a
rural outing, for Hampton vans are now quite a Cockney

LIFE IN LONDON. 293

institution. There are, every year, treats for Eagged and
other schools, for deaf mutes from asylums, and aged
paupers from the unions ; hesides van clubs, which, like
goose clubs and plum-pudding clubs at Christmas, take
sixpences all the year for a jollification and a spree occa-
sional. You may count forty vans in one stream on a
fine May morning.

Who has not read, "Nine hours by the sea for two
and sixpence," advertised as freely as " nine mackerel for
a shilling ? " and as to the Crystal Palace, it enters into
the very customs if not the contracts of all London ser-
vice. Even the maid-of-all-work toils for so much a-year
expressed, and sundry days to the Crystal Palace under-
stood. The famous Easter Hunt is, perhaps, a thing of
the past — Epping now being known less for dogs than for
dairies, though some thirty years ago, in Old Matthew's
" At Home," every one entered into the joke of the Cock-
ney, in the hackney-coach, calling out for a one-and-six-
penny fare after the stag. The Derby, and of late the
Oxford and Cambridge boat-race, are great London days ;
and, as to Lord's and the Oval, with the Middlesex
Cricket Grounds, they serve as out-of-door summer clubs,
and many a man would hardly endure the heat and dust
of a London season without those providential retreats
for fresh air and country sports.

All this testifies to that yearning for green fields and
rural sports which a life amidst bricks, pavements and
pitching- stones, with difficulty holds under high pressure,
and which is ever yearning to find expression in its own
congenial sphere.

294

HOUSEKEEPINGS IN BELGRAVIA.

ABOUT six or seven years ago, a gentleman of considerable
fortune, a merchant of Liverpool, paid a visit to London
after an absence of many years. He took an open carriage
one fine afternoon, and drove with a friend to those quarters
which he remembered once fields or gardens, and where
magnificent streets and princely squares and terraces are
now standing. After exploring the apparently interminable
region about Bayswater, they drove to the more fashion-
able and still newer quarter called South Kensington.
Here this gentleman's astonishment was excited, not only
by the vast changes in this locality, but by the style and
importance of the dwellings, which proclaimed them to
be prepared for the wealthy only.

" The rents of these houses, you tell me," said he,
turning to his friend, " range from three to seven hun-
dred a year. Wow in the north we reckon that a man's
rent should not exceed the tenth of his income. If you
Londoners are guided by the same rule, what a vast
number of people there must be amongst you with good
comfortable incomes of from three to five thousand a
year!"

His friend smiled, and half shook his head, was about
to speak, when his companion resumed —

" People with ten thousand a year are, after all, not
numerous: one might almost count them. But where
do all the occupiers of these houses come from ?
Tyburnia alone could swallow up the "West End that I

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA, 295

remember twenty years ago. But how is this quarter
peopled ? "

" Perhaps," rejoined his friend, " from, your part of
the world — from Liverpool and Manchester. But don't
run away with false ideas of our London wealth. House-
rent here is no criterion of a man's means. With you it
is comparatively moderate, with us inordinately dear.
And people of small or moderate incomes would get no
home in London at all if they limited their rent to a
tenth of their income. And yet," continued the Lon-
doner, with something of a sigh, as the rent and cost of
his own expensive abode in Tyburnia presented them-
selves to his thoughts, " there is no item of our expendi-
ture that we ought to study more, or more determinately
keep down than this very one of house-rent, for one's
expenses in this luxurious capital are very much regulated
by the style of home and quarter one lives in. For
instance, the class of servants that present themselves to
you are more exorbitant in their demands, more luxurious
in their habits, if you live in a fashionable neighbourhood,
than if you occupy an equally large house elsewhere.
Rather than lose a footman who had been with me some
years I was obliged to turn him into an under-butler the
other day, as he told me " the society he was in ren-
dered it impossible for him to remain any longer in
livery."

This anecdote brought the conversation to the subject
of household expenditure in London as compared with
that of the great northern towns ; and the picture drawn
by the Londoner of the habits and customs of the great
and wealthy in the metropolis caused his friend to exclaim,

233 HO USEKEEPING IN BEL Gil A I 'I A .

•with thankfulness, " It was well for him that he had to
fight the battle of life elsewhere."

" Perhaps so," rejoined his friend ; " but you, too,
have your weak points. Whilst you are content with
waitresses, you spend double on your table. I have seen
an alderman's feast prepared for a party of eight, and a
lady's request for a few oranges answered by a whole case
arriving, &c., &c. And then, again, your wives and
daughters are more costly in their dress than "

" True ! True ! But we would rather spend our
money upon them than upon flunkies."

Six or seven years have done little to alter the habits
of living amongst the upper classes : something, certainly,
towards increasing their expense, and a great deal towards-
improving and embellishing their abodes in town. The
ugly, plain brick house, ill-lighted by windows few and
small, yet, nevertheless, well-built, and with much sub-
stantial comfort about it, is now superseded by a bright,
cheerful-looking dwelling, where, if there is less space,
there is more light and air; where, though the area it
covers be smaller, there is more accommodation ; where,
if the walls are made thinner and neighbours ignored, the
convenience and comfort of all the inmates are more cared
for; where, if the rent is higher, the rates are less —
•where, in short, the attractions and advantages are so-
obvious that those who are able to consider and follow
their inclinations (that class of people usually so preju-
diced against the very new) have thrown aside this feeling,
lorsworn old associations, and adopted the new quarters
of the town as their own.

Shade of King James ! arise and view the scene

HOUSEKEEPING IN DELGRAVIA. 297

realized that filled thy acute and far-seeing eye with dis-
may. Acres and acres of brick and plaster compass us
around ; the pleasant country homes of England are
<lespised; their occupants, great and small, brought by
our iron roads into contact with the outer world, have
had new impressions given, new desires inspired ; the
<3alm and quiet, the leisure of country life becomes un-
endurable, they exclaim, " Let us away ! it is not good
ibr man to live alone" — content to resign their promi-
nence, even their individuality, if they may, though but
as a drop to the ocean, swell the ranks of the world not
inaptly named after their chief resort, Belgmvia. Oh
railroads ! much have ye to answer for. Twenty years
hence we may look in vain for the social, kindly, hospi-
table country life now only to be met with in remote
counties, in Cornwall, in Scotland. Already have you
made the " Great Houses" independent of their neigh-
bours. Their fish and their friends come down from
town together. And the squire, the small proprietor
despairing of husbands for his girls or his rubber for him-
self, where the doors around are closed nine months in
the year, leaves his acres to the care of his bailiff and
takes refuge in the nearest watering-place, or yields to
his wife's solicitations, and launches also into the cares
and troubles of

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

How much these three words combine ! And yet,
have we anything to say about the homes and habits of
Belgravia or the upper classes of London society, that
people fancy they do not know already ? We will leave

298 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

our reader to settle that question by-and-by, when he
has visited their abodes and inspected their menage in our
company.

Formerly, when one spoke of oneself as living in the
West End, one gave by that single word a general idea of
one's locality. In the present day it is necessary to specify
the particular quarter — whether Westbournia, Tyburnia,
Belgravia, &c., for people now doubt whether the
Regent's Park district may be classed under that general
head; and the inhabitants of the regions round about
Cavendish and Portman Squares speak modestly of them-
selves as inhabiting an " old-fashioned part of the town."
We therefore discard a term which we do not care to
define, or run the risk of offending by so doing, and adopt
one now generally understood to apply to all who move
in a certain sphere of society, whether living on cne
side of Oxford Street or the other, and derived from
that quarter that contains fewer of the workers of life,
and offers, perhaps, more gradations of fortune, rank,
or fashion than any other. There may be found the
wealthy titled, and the wealthy untitled family ; the
fashionable without fortune, and the fashionable because
of fortune ; those who give a prestige to the quarter they
live in, and those who derive a prestige from living there.
And yet little more than thirty- five years ago Belgrave
Square was not. It owes its existence to a builder's specula-
tion, who perceived the want of well-built first-class houses,
and probably foresaw the increased demand that would
2, rise from the centralizing influence of railroads. His
speculation answered, in spite of the unhealthy reputa-
tion of the ground, and a new suburb rapidly arose, fro-

HO USEKEEPING IN BELGRA VIA. 299

yoking the emulation of other builders, who have now
nearly succeeded in their intentions of enclosing Hyde
Park and Kensington Gardens in a labyrinth of streets
and terraces. Small as Paris comparatively is, every one
knows that she has distinct quarters, and that each
quarter had a character and society of its own. The
barriers that divide them are fast being infringed in this
imperial reign. And we, who twenty or thirty years ago
had less cliqueism than any other capital, are gradually
merging into it, simply because the vast growth of the
town has scattered one's friends so far and wide, that for
sociable and friendly visiting people are thrown upon,
those nearest to them, and take their tone naturally from
that which they are in most frequent communication.
Already there is a sort of esprit de locale (if we may so
express it) amongst the inhabitants of the new quarters
that the old "West Ender never dreamed of. He lived in
London. He never thought of fighting a battle over the
respective merits of Portman or Berkeley Square. Gros-
venor Square, in his eyes, was ne plus ultra. And if he
did not live there himself, it was because he could not
afford it; so he took the best house nearest the Park
that he could get for his money, and visited around, from
a judge in Russell Square to a peer in Piccadilly. " How
do you like your house ?" was a question often addressed.
" How do you like this part of the town ?" was needless
to him. In the present day it is the prelude to warm
discussions ; and so sensitive are people now to remarks
upon their district, so bitter in their objections upon
other parts, that it has been proposed more than once
that Tyburnia and Belgravia should settle the vexed

300 HO USEKEEPING IN BELGEA VIA .

question of superiority by an appeal to arms — or, in com-
mon language, " Meet and have it out in Hyde Park."
If this feeling increases, in ten years' time each of these
vast suburbs will become, as it were, distinct towns, with
a character and society of their own.

Those who remain faithful to the dingy-looking streets
around Portman and Cavendish Squares, pique themselves
on their central position, which enables them to enjoy the
advantages of every, without identifying themselves with
any, neighbourhood ; and it is in these quarters still that
some of the best resident London society may be found
— society that lays its claims to this position upon higher
grounds than mere rank or fortune, yet not deficient iu
either, the elements that form it being varied, and
brought together from all points. The remark made by
a lady lately dining in Princes Gate would never have
been uttered there, or in Mayfair. After listening to the
conversation that was pretty general for some time, she
said to her neighbour —

" I could fancy I was dining in the country, you are so*
very local in your conversation, I hear of nothing but
the state of the roads, of meetings about them, who has
taken this house, and who has bought that."

" Well," replied her neighbour, " I suppose we are. I
myself hardly visit any one not living in this immediate
neighbourhood."

The question arises, In what does the superiority of
one district over another consist ? "Without entering
into the reasons that induce people to prefer one to the
other, we may briefly describe them as follows : — Gros-
venor Square and its immediate environs as the most

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGBAVIA. 301

aristocratic, Belgravia the most fashionable, Tyburnia the
most healthy, Regent's Park the quietest, Marylebone
and Mayfair the most central, and Bayswater and Eccle-
ston Square quarters as the most moderate. People's
views and means may be guided, in a general manner, by
these leading features. The man of small income finds
he must locate himself in a region verging upon what in
former years one would have called Shepherd's Bush, or
in a quarter uncomfortably near Yauxhall and the river ;
if a family man, solicitous for the health of his children,
he decides in favour of the former, where he finds a
choice of houses, from £60 a year and upwards to £200,
and the rates moderate.

But, if either he or his wife are linked by ever so small
a chain to the world of fashion, he chooses the latter,
where, for much the same rent and rates and taxes, he
finds an abode with all the modern improvements ; extra
story, light offices, plate glass windows, portico, white-
papered drawing-rooms, &c., and deludes himself into
the notion of his being in Belgravia. The man of an
ample, though not large fortune, has a wider range : he
may choose from all parts, for there are houses to suit
his purse and his style of living in every quarter ; but
when his home is London — when he leaves the metro-
polis only, perhaps, for a three-months' tour abroad, or
some sea air at Brighton — he carefully eschews the "out
of the way" quarters, as he terms them; he will go no
farther west than Connaught Place, scarcely to Hyde
Park Square, and no farther south than Grosvenor Place,
and so settles finally in Mayfair or Marylebone, choosing
the latter for health, the former for fashion, and finding

302 HO USEKEEPING IN BELORA VIA .

everything else too far from his club " and the busy
haunts of men." In Great Cumberland Street, one of
the pleasantest and most central streets, a good small
house may be had for £200 a year, a larger one from
£300 to £400 ; in Connaught Place, where the advan-
tages of light, air, and an open space in front (Hyde
Park), are combined with a central situation, and quiet
at the back, from their being no thoroughfare, the small-
est house, including rates and taxes, will cost the owner
£500 a year, and the larger considerably more. These
houses may perhaps be considered dear, for those near
the corner of the Edgware Road suffer from the noise
and dust of that great line of traffic, and many of the
others are ill built. In Seymour, Wimpole, Harley, and
Lower Berkeley Street, the average rent of a good- sized
well-built house, with stabling, is £200 a year. In
the Regent's Park, in the terraces that so delight the
foreigner, there is a choice of charming moderate-sized
abodes at rents from £150 to £300 a year. These
houses, however, in spite of the advantages they offer of
greater light and cleanliness, and the attractions of gar-
dens to look upon, and cheat oneself in summer time into
the idea of being in the country, must be considered ex-
pensive, as the accommodation they afford is limited, and
the terms from which they are held from the Crown in-
volve more frequent painting and restoration than is else-
where insisted upon.

Within the last few years a new suburb has arisen,
enclosing the once countrified Primrose Hill, and throw-
ing out arms that almost touch Hampstead and Highgate.
We will not attempt to decide whether it constitutes part

HOUSEKEEPINGS IN BELGRAVIA. 303

of the West End ; it holds much the same position, in
that respect as St. John's "Wood; but as the class of
people living there hardly come under the head Bel-
gravia as we define that term, we shall make a long step
to the more fashionable neighbourhoods of Mayfair and
Park Lane, where a greater choice of houses in respect
to rent and size is to be met with than in any other part
of London, and where a man of good, although not large
fortune, may locate himself very desirably ; he must, of
course, confine himself to the streets, the squares in the
older parts of the "West End, like Hyde Park Gardens,
and the larger houses in Park Lane, Rutland or Princes
Gate, facing the Park, being attainable to the wealthy
only, ranging from £500 to £1,000 a year. There are,
it is true, a few smaller and less expensive houses in
Berkeley Square ; but, as a rule, if a house in a square
is desired, and the rent not to exceed £300 per annum,
it must be looked for in Hyde Park or Gloucester Squares,
and the region beyond Portman and Belgrade Squares.
Grosvenor Square and one side of Eaton Square contain
first-class houses, family mansions, seldom in the market,
and then chiefly for purchase, not hire. There are no
two more agreeable or convenient streets in London than
Upper Brook and Grosvenor Streets ; and although there
has been an invasion into them of brass plates, supposed
to be fatal to the fashion of a street, the character of the
neighbourhood is not likely to fall but rather to rise again ;
for the improvements projected and being carried out by
the Marquis of Westminster will place Grosvenor Square
so far beyqud its modern rivals, that the streets in its

304 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGEAVIA.

•

vicinity will add to their present advantages the prestige
of appertaining to it. Not only are extra stories and
handsome frontages being added to these princely dwel-
lings, but as the leases fall in, the noble owner sacrifices
some of the houses in Lower Grosvenor and Lower Brook
Street, to build stabling for the houses in the square. It
cannot be doubted, therefore, than when a nobleman can
lodge his servants and his horses as well in Grosvenor
as in Belgrave Square, he will not hesitate between the
two.

A great proportion of London residents, however, do
not hire but buy their houses, or rather the leases, paying
a ground-rent, which varies, of course, according to situa-
tion ; and as land becomes more valuable every day, is
higher in the new than in the old quarters of London,
except of course in business quarters, and in such cases
as, for instance, the Portland estate, where many leases
having lately fallen in, the duke has doubled, and in some
instances trebled, the ground-rent on renewing or grant-
ing a new lease, so that a small house on his property
aras paying £60 a year ground-rent, and one of the same
dimensions in Upper Grosvenor Street only £20. Gene-
rally speaking, the ground-rents of Tyburnia are higher
than those of Belgravia ; whilst the new houses in South
Kensington are higher still. Houses looking into Hyde
Park, whether north, south, east or west, are in much the
same ratio, from £70 to £150 yearly ; those on a large
scale even higher : one, for instance, in Princes Gate was
lately to be sold at a ground-rent of £200 per annum ;
and fast as squares and terraces and gardens spring up

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 305

(for street is now an old-fashioned word) in this magnifi-
cent quarter they are inhabited, furnished, and fitted up
handsomely and luxuriously, proving that the owners
who have the money to buy, have also the money to live
in them ; and causing even the old London resident, a
being who is never astonished at anything, to inquire with
a Lord Dundreary air of surprise, " Where all these rich
fellahs come from ? " More than one-half are supplied
by the legal profession and the mercantile community.
There has been quite a flight of judges and well-to-do
barristers to South Kensington — long-sighted men, who
saw that it would be a rising neighbourhood, and bought
their houses before Fashion had given the approving nod,
which instantly ran up the rents to a premium. To this
class of men the drawbacks to this neighbourhood are un-
important, the distance from those parts of the town that
we may term the heart of West End life, the clubs, the
lounges, the libraries, the shops, &c., signify nothing to
those engaged in chambers or the counting-house all day.
The denizen of South Kensington has no other wish, when
his day's work is over, than to get home, and to stay
there. The light, the cleanliness, the airiness, and
modern comforts of his house are doubly grateful to him
when contrasted with his close business quarters : once in
his cab or his carnage, what is a mile more or less to
him? He has not the smallest intention of going to his
club in the evening ; and the theatre he forswore years
ago. The ladies of his family find no fault with the
situation ; but, on the contrary, will not allow a quarter
so near Hyde Park, and the fashionable morning walk by

306 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELQRAVIA.

Rotten Row, to be termed out of the way. As they drive
out every afternoon, they do not care to be in the way of
visitors ; and as the female mind is not strong upon the
matter of distance, they are not troubled by the reflection
of how many miles their unfortunate horses are daily
doomed to perform. But then, perhaps, their horses are
jobbed, and the best plan too ; they are therefore often
changed and rested. No single pair of horses could stand
the amount of work required by a fashionable lady, living
in one of the new outlying quarters of the town.

The Belgravian, of course, keeps a carriage of some
kind : if rich, more than one, a close one for winter and an
open one for summer, and a brougham, perhaps, for din-
ners and night work. If moderately well off, he is con-
tent with a brougham only ; or allows his wife horses to
her barouche in the season ; and, although he rides his
own horses, he almost always jobs his carriage horses ; if
a little more expensive, that plan is so much more conve-
nient, as a man is then never without the use of his car-
riage, that even those who have time and inclination to
look after their own stables generally adopt it ; and where
the head of the house is too much occupied to look after
horses, it is unquestionably the best plan. For ladies
living alone, the best course is to job the whole concern,
horses, carriage, and coachman : there are liverymen who
undertake this, and provide a handsome carriage, of the
colour desired, with the crest and arms of the hirer, with
the proper livery for the coachman, for about £300 a year.
The horses stand at livery ; and a lady is thus sure that
they are well cared for, that she will have a sober and

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 307

civil driver, without any of the trouble and anxiety of
looking after him herself.

The usual plan with regard to the carriage in London
is to have it built for you, for a term of years, generally
five, at a certain annual sum ; for which it is kept in
repair, furnished with new wheels, relined, varnished, &c.
At the end of the term the carriage remains to the
builder, unless it is in such a condition as to be done up
and used again, when of course a fresh arrangement is
entered upon. It is scarcely possible to keep a handsome
well-appointed carriage and pair under £300 a year.
Before the introduction of broughams, therefore, many
people, in easy circumstances even, did not attempt to do
so, but contented themselves with hiring one occasionally.
Now, the one-horse carriage predominates ; so much less
costly, so light and convenient are the broughams, that
not only those who hesitated to have a carriage have
adopted them, but many who had already a chariot or
coach were glad to drop one horse, and come down to a
brougham, when they found it was a reduction that they
could effect without loss of that prestige in society so
dear to the heart of the Belgravian. And, as these
horses are not generally jobbed, the reduction could be
effected by those who understood looking after a horse at
rather less than half the cost of the pair, the job-master
having had, of course, his profit to make. Another
advantage of the brougham is that a groom can drive it.
It does not necessarily entail that important personage —
a middle-aged, sedate-looking coachman — whose dignity
would never condescend to drive one horse, and who

308 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

requires twice the help in the stable for his carriage
horses, that the lighter, younger, more active groom does
for his master's riding horse and the brougham horse also.
Truly the introduction of the brougham has been a
blessing to many whose means forbade a carriage other-
wise, and whose habits of life and ideas made them con-
sider one a necessary, not a luxury. The sacrifices some
people make to enable them to " keep their carriage,"
savour sometimes of the ridiculous to those who are in the
secret of their menage. Plain, substantial Mrs. Blunt, of
Devonshire Street, Portland Place, was surprised when
Lady Mary Fauxanfier called on her for the character
of Jane Bell, her under-housemaid, the girl having in-
formed her she was going to be her " la' ship's" own
maid.

"I assure you, Lady Mary," she exclaimed, as she
looked at the elegant dress of the earl's daughter, and
observed the smart, well-appointed brougham that
brought her to the house, " I assure you the girl is not
fit for a maid ; she has never even dressed me ; as to hair-
dressing, I should think her incapable of even brushing
mine."

Lady Mary smiled, and said, " The girl is teachable, I
suppose, and, you say, honest and respectable ; such
important points the latter, I think I shall take her.
We are only in town three months of the year, and then
— well, good morning."

And so Jane Bell went to Lady Mary, who had a fur-
nished house for the season in a small street not a
hundred miles from Belgrave Square, where her hus-

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELORAVIA. 30£

band's father, Lord Belmontine, had a splendid mansion,
and her own papa another ; and Mrs. Blunt often won-
dered, -when she saw Lady Mary's name at the great
parties of the season, how poor Jane Bell managed to
attire her elegant form, arrange her ladyship's head, and
so forth. She was not surprised when the said Jane
made her appearance one day in August, and said she
was looking for a place again.

Ah, Jane ! I thought it would be so ; I thought you
could not play lady's-maid very long. How could you
take a place for which you were so unfitted ?"

" Unfitted, indeed, ma'am ; but not as you suppose.
Why, I was nothing but a general servant. I and the
groom — and he was out all day with the horse and car-
riage— were the only servants they kept. I did all the
work of the house, except what an old charwoman did
for an hour or two in the morning. I fastened her
la'ship's gownds, to be sure ; in short, ma'm, I was maid,
and housemaid, and cook, too, sometimes."

"I was just going to ask," said Mrs. Blunt, "what
they did for a cook."

" Well, ma'am, they seldom or ever dined at home ;.
always going to some grand place or t'other, and if by
chance they had no dinner party, master, he went down
to. his club, and I cooked a chop for her la'ship with her
tea."

Such was the town establishment and town life of this-
well-born pair, who lived the rest of the nine months of
the year with their relations and their friends, spending
more than half their income on the small furnished

-310 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

house, at ten or fifteen guineas a week, and on their
brougham ; sacrificing for the three months' London sea-
son the independence of the rest of their year, being in
the position of always receiving and never giving. Few
of their London acquaintance suspected that the neat-
looking girl who opened the door when the MAN was out,
was Lady Mary's sole female attendant ; and those who
•did know it, doubtless thought it strange that, with the
limited means such an arrangement bespoke, they could
•contrive to keep up the appearance they did. For our
part, we are not sure, if the choice lay between spending
one's money upon half a dozen servants, or upon one's
self, we should not prefer the latter too ; but then it must
not be at the sacrifice of one's independence. There
are certain people to whom a carriage in London is as
much a matter of necessity as their dinner. The younger
children, perhaps, of wealthy or noble families, they have
been accustomed to the use of one all their lives ; and,
whilst it would be no hardship to dine upon one course
only, and that of the plainest, it would be so to have to
pay their visits or do their shopping on foot. These peo-
ple are really not so inconsistent as they would seem ;
still, it must be allowed, that it is a mistake to adopt any
habit of life that implies means above the actual state of
the case. You lay yourself open by so doing to have
things expected from you that you have no means of
meeting ; and often, therefore, incur the charge of being
mean and stingy, when unable to comply with such
claims. You place yourself also in a false position to
your own servants, who, naturally associating ce-liiii

HO USEKEEPING IN BELGRA VIA. 311

luxuries with the idea of wealth, misunderstand the
economy of the other household arrangements, think ill
— and very likely speak ill — of you ; for, if servants and
masters are to go on well together, there should he a
certain degree of confidence between hoth parties. If a
servant is worth having and keeping, he should not be
treated as a mere paid machine, but should have a
general idea at least of his master's position, when he
will feel an interest in, and in time will associate himself
with the family he serves, and work with his heart as
'Well as with his head.

But to return 10 our Belgravians. There are those
struggling to keep up an appearance to which birth, &c.,
j entitles them; and those struggling to attain an appear-
ance to which nothing entitles them, if the adequate
means are not theirs. "With some of these the possession
of a carriage is the great thing ; with others a man
servant is the acme of respectability, and (indeed they
are to be pardoned for this last idea; for many highly
estimable, worthy, substantial, good sort of people, do not
deem you respectable, if you do not keep a man servant)
others limit their views to a page, or " buttons ;" few
have the moral courage to keep to the good, clean, useful,
waiting-maid, who waits without noise, and does not
break a tumbler a day, as most "buttons" must do,
since no family who keeps one ever has tumblers enough,
although their number is constantly made up.

Some of these strugglers live nine months of the year
in London, by letting their house well for the other
three. Ten and fifteen guineas a week are easily got for

.312 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

small but well-furnished houses in the immediate neigh
bourhood of Belgrave Square.

House letting has of late years become so common, tht
peer even condescending to receive his thousand o
twelve hundred guioeas for the season, that people no^
-don't take the trouble that the Honourable Mrs. A. I
.always does of telling you, in answer to your inquirie
about her movements, when she leaves town, &c.

" Oh, soon, I hope ; I am longing to be off. I always
•do, you know, the moment the sun begins to shine. I
•can't stay in London in hot weather."

The truth being that she remains on until the house is
let for the season ; when she takes her six children off to
.some cheap sea- side lodgings, whilst the Honourable A.
B., her husband, wanders about from one friend to
.another, preferring anything to the early dinner and
cooking of the lodging-house. His exemplary wife does
not murmur at this ; she is rather relieved at his absence,
and better endures the three months' discomfort without
him than with him. She is glad, in spite of the hot
weather, however, to return to London at the end of
August ; but it is quite unnecessary to tell everybody, as
she does, that " she always prefers London at this season,
when everybody is away." This assertion is needless:
because every one knows that her house is empty again,
and that that is the reason London sees her again.

Numbers of families, like the A.B.'s, cover their rent
by letting in the season. Many reduce their rent, when
they have a country house also, by letting the London
house through the winter. Houses that let from three

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 31$

X) five hundred guineas for the season, maybe had during
;he winter at from eight to twelve guineas a week.

Many families coming up to London for the season hire
lot only their house, but their whole establishment,
I lorses, carriages, coachman and all. Many, even among
|;he residents, take an additional servant for the season.
Some so contrive it that they manage always to quar-
j:el with their footman, and discharge him at the end of
;he season — a shabby plan, which brings its own punish-
ment, as these people never have a good servant, and,
;*rhen their practice becomes known, have no chance of
jver procuring one. " Alas ! " exclaims our reader per-
laps, " a good servant ! where is such a thing to be found
!.n the present day by any one ? "

"Ah, indeed ! " rejoins Mrs. Old view ; " railroads and
penny posts have ruined one's servants, In my young
days, if Betty behaved ill, I told her my mind, and she
took a good cry, and mended her ways. She knew well
.enough then, if the Squire discharged her, she might
sing for a place : but now Miss Betty writes to her mother
lor sister, who tell her not to mind ; that there are plenty
of places in town, and off she goes, as pert as may be."

Mrs. Oldview is right ; this easy communication, passive
lor active, has the effect of unsettling many a household.
You have a treasure of a cook, perhaps, and, enchanted,,
•fill your house at Christmas, easy about your entrees,
humbly proud of your sweets. Well ; your intimate
| friend's lady's-maid tells her " her talents are wasted on
Ithe desert hair," and mentions a situation that is exactly
;jsuited to her, in the metropolis, and she leaves you with-

314 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

out a pang, by the parliamentary train. But we are nol
now about to bewail the housekeeping troubles of Bell
gravia out of town; they are in most respects greateij
than in London ; but as far as men servants are concerned
people are better off in the country than in London. The
men there, as a class, are far more respectable and bettei
behaved. If steadily disposed, too, they have more chance
of remaining so, as they are not exposed to the great temp-
tations that beset the man servant in town. The clubs,
the betting men, the bad example, sometimes, of their
young masters, the bad society and temptations to drink
they are constantly exposed to, when waiting by the
hour for their mistress at some fashionable party; alj
these evil influences surround the young man, without
perhaps a single good one to counteract them — without a
friend or mother near, to warn, at a time of life when the
passions are strongest, and principles weakest, and when
from every necessary creature comfort being provided,
means are given for indulgences, and habits are acquired,
which the same man in any other position, toiling for
daily bread, would not dream of.

"We do not know how it is that even the best masters
and mistresses, those who do take an individual interest
in their servants, seem to maintain a strict reserve towards
their footmen : the very servant that most needs a special
surveillance and interest has none of it. They know the
family history, perhaps, of every maid in the house.
They can talk to the butler, and be interested in his
private affairs ; but the unfortunate footmen may come
and go, and as long as they are honest and clean, and do

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 315-

heir work well, no questions are asked, no information
is wanted ; and John or William leaves at the end of his-
wo years (and we think really he is right to do so), and
10 one is surprised : he was not expected to become
i.ttached to the family, and the family have not become
littached to him. He signs a receipt for his wages, and
ays good-bye, without a shade of feeling being aroused
ipstairs, whatever there may be below. The departure
>f a kitchen-maid would cause more excitement, whilst
tat of a nurse or lady's-maid creates a disturbance, and
nakes a blank in the family almost as great as the absence
>f a relative.

And, indeed, good servants in these capacities are often
is much and deservedly cherished as if really part of the
amily ; and there are many good ones to be met with, in
rpite of the outcry of the day. If a lady is worth any-
hing as a mistress at all, she does not change her nurse or
naid often. These two servants will stay for years in a
)lace where the cooks and housemaids are perpetually
)eing changed, proving how great is the personal influ-
ence, the constant communication with a superior educated
mind. The nurse, perhaps, maybe retained by the tie of
strong affection to the children, but the maid will not stay
inless the mistress she serves has those qualities that
make her respected and loved. When we see a lady perpe-
tually changing her own maid, we are convinced the fault
is all her own. With her other servants, other influ-
ences work; with her personal attendants, her own is
paramount. Women-servants in London — if we except
the cooks, of whom we are afraid we cannot speak so

316 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

highly — are as respectable and hard-working a class
people as can be met with. For every worthless, uc
grateful one, we feel satisfied we could produce tm
capable of acts of devotion to their employers that the
superiors in station would not dream of. Early isolate:
from their own families, the loving heart of woman ofter
finds a vent for those affections which her own kindreu
should claim, in the family of her master and mistress.
Their sorrows become her sorrows ; their prosperity ot
adversity is hers also. She will excuse when the world
condemns, and ofttimes becomes the best comforter in the
hour of trial, and she will rejoice, without a shade of
envy or jealousy, when fortune smiles on those whom
might deem already blessed enough. We have known!
the hard-earned savings of a female servant tendered,
without thought of self, to her master's young son in j
his first trouble, or to her perhaps ill-treated mistress.
Then what shall we say of the nurse ? Who can con-
template the unselfish devotion of these women to their
duties ; their renunciation of all liberty and pleasure for
themselves; their watchfulness, their self-denial, that
their shillings and sixpences may buy a toy for this one,
a ribbon for the other, and not be struck with admi-
ration.

We have in our mind one, whose dying hours were
embittered by the dread that the loved children might
not be well cared for when she was gone. Her mistress,
thinking she might like to see their young faces once
more, offered to bring them. " Oh ! no," she exclaimed ;
" I could not part again. Let me not see them. Let me

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 317

not hear their voices." Oh ! deep, pure love ! How can
we, how ought we, to run down, as a body, those amongst
whom such characters are found? No, we will not.
The material is good, and, as far as women- servants in
London are concerned, we are certain a good mistress
will make a good servant. The cooks we have excepted.
We are sorry to say that their habits are bad after a cer-
;ain age. Most of them drink, and few stand the tempta-
;ion of making out of their place. They have much in
;heir power — much they can legitimately dispose of. If
;hey would but stop there, how delightful it would be !
Their wages are high, too ; so they have no excuse ; but
;he fact is, that servants' code of morals, with regard to
what they think they may honestly do, wants a complete
revision, or, rather, a remaking. They have chosen to
down for themselves rules for the disposal of certain
portions of their master's property, without ever consult-
ing the lawful owner, and choose to consider any departure
Prom those rules as a breach of privilege. " There," said
a gentleman one day to his father's butler — " there is a
pair of boots for you."

" Thank you, sir," replied the man ; " but they belong
to the footman."

" Do they?" returned the gentleman. " I thought
they belonged to me. Put them down again." And
neither footman nor butler ever got boots from that
gentleman again.

People of late years have very properly made a stand
against the cook's "perquisites." Ladies have deter-
mined to dispose of their left-off clothes as they pleased,

318 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELQRAVIA.

and gentlemen to pay their own bills ; and servants will
be better and happier when they consider as gifts what
they have before looked upon as "rights." The scale of
wages in the present day is high enough to place them
above these considerations, in Belgravia at any rate.

To begin with female servants. Kitchenmaids and
under-housemaids begin at £10 a year, and get on to
£12 and £14. Upper housemaids have £16 a year, and
in great houses are found, as the expression is, in tea and
sugar, besides beer and washing, which are given to all
servants. A plain cook in a small family, who does some
housework, gets from £18 to £25 a year ; whilst a cook
and housekeeper, or cook, with one or two kitchenmaids
under her, receives from £30 to £40 yearly. This high
rate of payment places what is called a good cook out of
many people's reach ; consequently those who can only
afford what is called a plain cook, and think the dinner
they eat themselves every day, not good enough to invite
their friends to, resort to the expedient of having one sent
in by a Gunter or a Bridgeman, if they can manage it, or
an inferior purveyor if not. The present fashion of a
dinner " a la Russe " has been a great relief to some
other housekeepers. Their peace of mind is not disturbed
if the jelly does fall, because it will not appear on the
table; and if the capon is not well larded, who, they
think, will detect the failure in the delicate slice doled out
to them. They regret, it is true, the corner-dishes and
epergne it cost so much to obtain, ill replaced by a few
cut-glass dishes and pots of flowers ; but then the saving
of being able to employ their own cook is a consolation
to them, although often none to their friends.

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA. 319

The wages of ladies' maids and nurses are much the
same, from £18 to £25 a year ; whilst a young lady's
attendant has £16 a year, and nursemaids from £8 to
£14. »

The page, or " buttons," begins with a wage of £8 and

lis clothes ; a footman from £20 to £28, with two suits,
and sometimes three suits of livery in the year, and so
many hats, and so many pairs of white silk hose in " my

ord's " house, and so many pairs of black in Sir John's,
and so much for powder, and so much for gloves, and
everything else, these high, important, and now difficult

;o-be-got servants, can bargain for. The 19th century
considers livery a badge of servitude, or " Punch," with

lis " Jeames of Buckley Square," has made it ridiculous,
or — but it matters little for what reasons — certain it is
a man for livery is scarcer than he was, and one of

leight and figure may command his price, and be almost
as impertinent as he pleases.

" Pray, sir," inquired one of these individuals when he
was being hired — " pray, who is to carry coals up to the

Irawing-room ? "
" "Well," replied the gentleman, " I hardly know ; but

[ don't think I do it myself."
These servants hardly ever stay more than two years

n their places. It seems to be an understood thing
amongst them that they are to go at the end of the time,
even if they cannot get the same advantages elsewhere ;
and many people are so accustomed to this biennial
movement of their footmen, that they look with sus-
picion on the man that prolongs his stay, and imagine

320 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELORAVIA.

there must be some, not good, but bad reason for his not
going.

In what are called single-handed places it is still more
difficult to get the man to wear livery, and many families
are obliged to put up with a short, ill-looking man when,
from having a carriage, it becomes necessary that the
man should be in livery. A man's height is not a mere
matter of fancy. It is an inconvenience if the man can-
not hasp the windows without a stool, and if his arms
are too short to carry the tray, or put it properly on the
sideboard ; but, as the strong, well-made men are now
off to the railroads, there is no help for it. The single-
handed man likes to be out of livery, and to consider
himself on the level of a butler; but he is, generally
speaking, a much more humble-minded and useful indi-
vidual than he whom he aspires to compete with. We
can easily believe the lady of rank who declared to a
friend one day that she had been better served when she
had only one man and a boy than she was then, with
five men in the house. She knocked at her own door
one Sunday morning, unexpectedly, when they all
thought she was gone to church, and had to wait more
than half an hour before she was finally let in by the
under housemaid ! The Lut]f r was at home, but far too
grand to open the door. John, who was also at home,
left it to James, who was out, and so on. So, out of the
five, not one was at hand. The strictness practised in
some great houses, where the establishment is large,
seems justified by such instances as this. No order
could probably be kept if any fault was passed over.

HOUSEKEEPING IN BELQEAVIA. 321

A lady, hiring a housemaid, asked her why she left
her last place. " I was discharged," she replied, " be-
cause the fire went out." This was found to be true.
She had lighted the fire, but not attended to it well ; it
went out. The lady complained, and the housekeeper
gave her warning, as it had happened once before. No
doubt the lesson was not lost on the other housemaids.

If the footman leaves his place every two years, the
butler's aim, when once comfortably installed, is to stay.
The longer he remains in a family, the more important he
becomes, or fancies he becomes, and the less, generally
speaking, he contrives to do. How often have we seen
this high and mighty functionary at a dinner-party
limiting his duties to the handing round the champagne,
or putting the claret on the table ! Dickens has drawn an
amusing picture of the man overawed by his awful butler;
and really it is astonishing how these individuals impose
upon themselves, if they do not upon others, fhe idea of
their vast importance, and of what, as they consider, is
due to themselves.

A gentleman who was in want of a butler stopped to

speak to one who came after the place on his way out to

his carriage. " Sir," said the man, with an air of great

dignity, after a few questions had been asked, "save

yourself needless discussion ; your situation will not suit

me, for I. am not accustomed to be spoke to in the 'all"

The London butler endeavours to impress upon his

master that it is inconsistent with the position of a butler

i (to ask leave to go out. Their morning walk and their

evening visit to a friend, or the club, are sources of

M

3J2 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

quarrel between many a master and man. Few masters
would deny a man reasonable air and exercise, but all
who study their own comfort should fight against any
special hour being appropriated by the servant for his
outing. His time belongs to his master, and ought to be-
subservient to his, to say nothing of the danger of a
butler, who has so much in his charge, making a practice-
of being absent at a stated time, and thus giving the
opportunity, so soon taken, for many a serious plate-
robbery.

A very well-known nobleman, it is said, was told the-
other day by a servant who was leaving him, that the-
reason was, " His lordship's hours did not suit with his ;
they were so very uncertain that he found he could not
get any regular time to himself!"

Butlers' wages are inordinately high, and their habits-
self-indulgent. The rich parvenus, the cotton lords, and
great contractors, who do not mind what they pay to-
secure a man whom they think will, by his savoir faire,
make their table outvie my lord's, have to answer for the-
preposterous demands of some of these men.

A gentleman (and we think he ought to be ashamed of
himself), who gave his butler £100 a year, was rather
astonished when a man he had decided to engage stepped
back and said there was one question he had forgotten to-
ask, which was, " "What wine, besides port and sherry,
he allowed."

In quiet and regular families, where a butler and foot-r
men are kept for instance, we need not say that no wine
of any description is allowed ; but in the homes of

HO USEKEEPING IN BELGRA VIA . 32$

noblemen, where the upper servants are very responsible,
and have many under them, they have the habits and
indulgences of their masters. In a certain earl's house,
who died a few years ago, and was one of England's
wealthiest noblemen, the table of the upper servants — the
house-steward, housekeeper, butler, countess's maid, &c.,
was as luxurious as their master's. Four corner dishes
and four sweets were put down every day before these
fortunate individuals, whilst they were waited upon by a
man out of livery.

In many a nobleman's home, it is true that there is
greater simplicity and economy in the household arrange-
ments than in many a commoner's ; but still the habits
and dress of great people's servants, on the whole, are
very much out of keeping with their position, and unfor-
tunate for themselves, as they acquire extravagant ideas,
that prevent many saving for the rainy day. "We must
also deprecate the system of two tables ; servants are but
servants ; and this separation at meals does not promote
good fellowship, and makes them troublesome visitors,
where there is but one.

When the Cornish squire, with a pedigree four times
as old as his noble guest, was asked by the latter, " What
his valet could do, as he found that the squire had no
second table for his servants ? " he replied, " He reaLy
did not know, unless his lordship preferred that the man
should dine with them," an alternative which settled the
question.

The days are gone by when servants were looked upon
as paid machines, and their food and lodging indifferently

M2

324 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

cared for; but from one extreme we are running into
another ; and when the enthusiastic nursemaid described
her master and mistress, a wealthy stockbroker at Black-
heath, as the "best people she had ever known," she
founded that opinion on the fact " that their servants'
comfort was their constant care." She, like many others
of her class, did not stop to consider anything else, or
whether Mr. and Mrs. Scrip were wise or kind to pro-
vide a table and mode of living for servants which they
could not find in many other places. No ; if she had
been questioned, she would tell you she never meant to
take a place where she could not have what she had at
the Scrips'. She wouldn't go to mean people like the
Hon. Mrs. Bragg, who only allowed her servants a pud-
ding on Sundays, " not for all the gold of the Ingies,"
&c., &c. In this way a class of servants soon spring up
of extravagant pretensions ; and a class of people like the
Scrips, who, with more money than wit, pique themselves
on the peculiar advantages their servants enjoy, foster in
them habits of self-indulgence and idleness, to which
those in whom the intellect is little cultivated are ever
prone. Servants are, after all, very like children : over-
indulgence spoils them; and if we would make them good
and useful members of our household, we musttrain them
with all kindness, but in wholesome fear. We want
them to think of us, to study our comfort ; and not as we
now perpetually see, to become in reality the first people
in the house : their hours so important, their work so de-
fined, that a master or mistress dare not venture to dis-
arrange one of their meals, or to ask any servant to do

HO USEKEEPING IN BELQRA VIA. 325

anything not precisely stipulated for, without encounter-
ing black looks, or, " If you please ma'am, to suit yourself
this day month."

. But, as we have said before, the materiel is good, as far
as women servants are concerned, and therefore the re-
medy is in the hands of the masters. Men servants are,
doubtless, more difficult to manage ; but we think here
something may be done too. People are too apt to expect
from their "men" what is impossible in the nineteenth cen-
tury— the life of a hermit in the midst of society. He is to
have no friends, no family, no failings of any kind ; music
is discouraged, conversation in the kitchen strictly forbid-
den, his newspaper is half objected to, and his bird, or his
.two or three plants outside the pantry window, sometimes
considered a liberty. No ; plate-cleaning should be his
relaxation, folding his napkins his sole delight. Can one
wonder that the devilled kidney for breakfast is a treat,
and the buttered toast at tea a consolation to these forlorn
creatures, who naturally become selfish and self-indulgent
from having nobody to think about but themselves ?

"Why should people object so much to their men-
servants being married ? Most of them are ; and half of
them go into their places with a lie on their lips, vowing
they are single. They can't help themselves ; they might
starve, if they spoke the truth, and those dear to them
also.

Mrs. L. S. D. is so glad her son is going to be married,
because marriage always steadies a man, and " dear
Augustus has perhaps been just a little wild ; " but she
won't have a married man-servant on any account,

'326 HOUSEKEEPING IN BELGRAVIA.

dly

IK

41 because, then, you know, I should have his family
living out of this house too."

Not if the man is honest, dear Mrs. L. S. D. ; and
he is not honest he will pilfer or purloin all the same,
whether he has a wife or no ; for if he has not, perhaps
there is something worse, for men-servants, dear lady, are
no better than their betters in les affaires de cceur. If
dear Augustus is steadier and better for being married, so
I assure you is honest John, and more content to stay at
home and save his money, and do his duty, if he is a
man at all, for having ties and claims upon him that he
is not ashamed to own, than when he was a single man
tempted out to the servants' club at the public-house round
the corner, where he lost his money at cards, and made a
book for the Derby, and sometimes got himself into such
straits for money that he just borrowed a few spoons and
forks for a time, only a very short time, to help him on
until he could get clear again, — which time sometimes
never came at all, but ended in ruin to himself and serious
loss to his master. Let masters and mistresses weigh
well this truth, that their servants have the same passions,
affections, and feelings as themselves ; let them keep them
well in their places, strict to their duties, and endeavour
to influence them by the same motives they would employ
for the guidance of their own flesh and blood, and they
may then perhaps find the key to many a domestic diffi-
culty.

Next to the troubles with one's servants come the
troubles of one's tradespeople ; but these are more easily
overcome, for London is so large, so well supplied, and

HO USEKEEPING IN BELORA VIA. 327

competition so great, that if discontented with A. you
have only to go to B., and from B. to C., until you are
satisfied. All this, provided you are master of your own.
house : if your cook or housekeeper reigns, you may find
that, spite of all you say and do, you return to A., or that
difficulties insurmountable prevent your dealing with M.
if your servant has settled to employ N. The fact is,
your custom is large, and the tradesman makes it worth
the while of your cook to have him retained. Of course
in the end, it is you who pay the Christmas gratuity, or
the odd pence which the butler, who pays your bills,
always gets, and which amount to a pretty handsome
sum at the end of the year. It is only the credit, or
first-class tradesmen, as they call themselves, who can
afford these retaining fees, and they do it by putting a
higher price on their goods, which are often not so good
as those of the man who sells cheaper next door, and
who, having a ready-money custom and quick sale, has
seldom a stale or depreciated article on hand.

All this, however, is well understood by Belgravians ;
and those who care to study economy pay their own bills,
and choose their own tradespeople. It is no longer
received as an axiom, that the dearer you pay the better
you are served.

The best fishmonger in the neighbourhood of Belgrave
and Eaton Squares was Charles, who has made a for-
tune, left the business to his son, and become a landed
proprietor, by selling good fish at moderate prices. To
many families he supplied fish every day, or two or three
times a week, at sixpence a head; a family of eight,

323 HO USEKEEPING IN BELGRA VIA .

therefore, had an ample dish of fish for 4s., whilst two
people were supplied for one shilling. At the close of the
day his surplus stock was sold off at reduced prices to
anybody who chose to fetch it away. His customers,
therefore, were sure of always having fresh fish. We
wish the greengrocers would adopt a similar plan, and
sell off their stale greens, &c., at the end of the day.
Still, how much less have we to complain of here than
in former years : railroads and steam bring to this mighty
mart of men all that is fit for food, and " good and
pleasant to the eyes " also. Our grapes and plums come
to us with the bloom on, spring vegetables arrive steeped
in the morning dew, countries vie with each other in
sending us their best products ; in short, let a man travel
where he will — to the east for his ease, or the south for
his pleasure — if he have but Fortunatus' purse he will
find there is no place in the wide world where he can
make life more truly comfortable and enjoyable than
•when he is keeping house in Belgravia.

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

SUMMER or winter, light or dark, rain or shine, it matters
not ; as the clock strikes five, the bell rings and the mar-
ket opens. The Clerk of the Market, the representative
of the Corporation, is there, to act the part of major-domo ;

330 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

the vessels are there, hauled up in tiers in the river, laden
with their silvery cargoes ; the porters are there, running
to and fro between the ships and the market ; the rail-
way vans and carts are there, with fish brought from the
several railway stations ; the salesmen are there at their
stands or benches ; and the buyers are there, ready to buy
and pay. As yet all is tolerably clean. There is, of
course, that " fish-like smell " which Trinculo speaks of;
but Billingsgate dirt and Billingsgate vilification have
not yet commenced. The street dealers, the costermon-
gers or " costers," have not yet made their appearance ;
they wait till their " betters," the regular fishmongers,
Jiave paid good prices for choice fish, and then they rush
in to purchase everything that is left. It is a wonderful
scene, even at this early ^hour. How Thames Street can
contain all the railway vans that throng it is a marvel.
From Paddington, from Camden, from King's Cross, from
Shoreditch, from Fenchurch Street, from the depots over
the water, these vehicles arrive in numbers perfectly be-
wildering. Every one wants to get the prime of the mar-
ket ; every salesman tells his clients that good prices
depend almost as much on early arrival as on fine quality ;
and thus every cargo of fish is pushed on to market with
as little delay as need be. Pickford objurgates Chaplin
and Home, Macnamara is wrathful at Parker, every
van is in every other van's way. Fish Street Hill and
Thames Street, Pudding Lane and Botolph Lane, Love
Lane and Darkhouse Lane, all are one jam and muddle,
horses entangled in shafts, and shafts in wheels. A civi-
lian, a non-fishman, has no business there at such a time;

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 331

woe to his black coat or black hat, if he stands in the
path of the porters ; he will have a finny sprinkling be-
fore he can well look about him ; or perhaps the tail of a
big fish will flap in his face, or lobsters' claws will threaten
to grapple him.

It was always thus at Billingsgate, even before the
days of railways, and before Mr. Bunriing built the pre-
sent market — a structure not without elegance on the
river front ; but the street arrangements are becoming
more crowded and difficult to manage every year. In
the old days, when trains and locomotives were unthought
of, nearly all the fish reached Billingsgate by water. The
broad-wheeled waggons were too slow to bring up the
perishable commodity in good time ; while the mail and
passenger coaches, even if the passengers had been willing
(which they would not) to submit to the odour, could not
have brought up any large amount of fish. At an inter-
mediate period, say about 1830 or 1835, certain bold
traders, at some of our seaport towns, put on four-horse
fast vans, which brought up cargoes of fish during the
night, and deposited them at Billingsgate before five in
the morning ; but this was a costly mode of conveyance,
which could not safely be incurred except for the best and
high-priced fish. When it became an established fact that
railways could bring up fish in any quantity, and in a few
hours, from almost any port in England, the effect was
striking ; the supply at Billingsgate became regular in-
stead of intermitting ; and the midland towns, such as
Birmingham and Wolverhampton, were placed within
reach of supplies that were literally unattainable under

332 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

the old system. It used to be a very exciting scene at
the river-side at Billingsgate. As the West-end fish-
mongers are always willing to pay well for the earliest
and choicest fish, the owners of the smacks and other
boats had a strong incentive to arrive early at " the
Gate ;" those who came first were absolutely certain of
obtaining the best prices for their fish ; the laggards had
to content themselves with what they could get. If
there happened to be a very heavy haul of any one kind
of fish on any one day, the disproportion of price was still
more marked ; for as there were no electric telegraphs to
transmit the news, the salesmen had no certain means of
knowing that a large supply was forthcoming ; they sold,
and the crack fishmongers bought, the first cargo at good
prices ; and when the bulk of the supply arrived, there
was no adequate demand at the market. In such a state
of things there is no such process as holding back, no
warehousing till next day ; the fish must all be sold — if
not for pounds, for shillings ; if not for shillings, for pence.
Any delay in this matter would lead to the production of
such attacks upon the olfactory nerves as would speedily
call for the interference of the officers of health. In
what way a glut in the market is disposed of we shall
explain presently.

It is really wonderful to see by how many routes, and
from what varied sources, fish now reach Billingsgate.
The smack owners, sharpening their wits at the rivalry
of railways, do not "let the grass grow under their
feet ; " they call steam to their aid, and get the fish up to
market with a celerity which their forefathers would not

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 333

have dreamed of. Take the Yarmouth region, for in-
stance. The fishermen along the Norfolk and Suffolk
coast congregate towards the fishing-banks in the North
Sea in such number that their vessels form quite a fleet.
They remain out two, three, four, or even so much as six
weeks, never once coming to land in the interval. A fast-
sailing cutter or a steamer visits the bank or station
every day, carrying out provisions and stores to the
fishermen, and bringing back the fish that have been
caught. Thus laden, the cutter or steamer puts on all
her speed, and brings the fish to land, to Yarmouth, to
Harwich, or even right up to Billingsgate, according as
distance, wind and tide, may show to be best. If to Yar-
mouth or Harwich, a "fish train" is made up every
night, which brings the catch to Shoreditch station,
whence vans carry it to Billingsgate. There used, in
the olden days, to be fish vans from those eastern parts,
which, on account of the peculiar nature of the service,
were specially exempted from post-horse duty. As mat-
ters now are, the fishermen, when the richness of the
shoal is diminished, return to shore after several weeks,
to mend their nets, repair their vessels, and refresh them-
selves after their arduous labours. At all the fishing
towns round the coast, the telegraphic wire has furnished
a wonderful aid to the dealers ; for it announces to the
salesmen at Billingsgate the quantity and description of
fish en route, and thereby enables them to decide whether
to sell it all at Billingsgate, or to send some of it at once
to an inland town. This celerity in railway conveyance
and in telegraphic communication gives rise to many

334 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

curious features in the fish-trade. Tourists and pleasure-
seekers at Brighton, Hastings, and other coast towns, are
often puzzled to understand the fact that fish, although
caught and landed near at hand, is not cheaper there than
in London : nay, it sometimes happens that good fish is
not obtainahle either at a high price or low. The expla-
nation is to be sought in the fact that a market is certain
at Billingsgate, uncertain elsewhere. A good catch of
mackerel off Hastings might be too large to command a
sale on the spot ; whereas, if sent up to the great centre
the salesmen would soon find purchasers for it. It is, in
a similar way, a subject of vexation in the salmon dis-
tricts that the best salmon are so uniformly sent to Lon-
don as to leave only the secondary specimens for local
consumption. The dealers will go to the best market
that is open to them ; and it is of no avail to be angry
thereat. It is said that few families are more insuffi-
ciently supplied with vegetables than those living near
market-gardens; the cause being similar to that here
under notice. Perhaps the most remarkable fact, how-
ever, in connection with this subject is, that the fish often
make a double journey, say from Brighton to Billings-
gate and back again. The Brighton fishermen and the
Brighton fishmonger do not deal one with another so-
much as might be supposed ; the one sends to Billings-
gate to sell, the other to buy; and each is willing to
incur a little expense for carriage to insure a certain
market.

Of course the marketing peculiarities depend in some
degree on the different kinds of fish, obtainable as they

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING, 335-

are in different parts of the sea, and under very varying
circumstances. Yarmouth sends up chiefly herrings —
caught by the drift-net in deep water, or the seine-net in
shallow — sometimes a hundred tons in a night. The
north of England, and a large part of Scotland, consign
more largely salmon to the Billingsgate market. These-
salmon mostly come packed in ice, in boxes, of which
the London and North-Western and the Great Northern
Railway Companies are intrusted with large numbers ;
or else in welled steamers. The South-Western is more
extensively the line for the mackerel trade ; while pil-
chards find their way upon the Great "Western. But
this classification is growing less and less definite every
year ; most of the kinds of fish are now landed at many
different ports which have railway communication with
the metropolis ; and the railway companies compete with
each other too keenly to allow much diversity in carriage-
charges. The up-river fish, such as plaice, roach, dacer
&c., come down to Billingsgate by boat, and are, it is-
said, bought more largely by the Jews than by other
classes of the community. The rare, the epicurean
white-bait, so much prized by cabinet ministers, alder-
men, and others, who know the mysteries of the taverns
at Blackwall and Greenwich, are certainly a piscatorial
puzzle; for they are caught in the dirty part of the
Thames between Blackwall and Woolwich, in the night-
time, at certain seasons of the year, and are yet so deli-
cate although the water is so dirty.

With regard to the oyster trade, suffice it here to say
that the smacks and other vessels, when they arrive, are

.336 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

moored in front of the wharf, to form what is called
" Oyster Street." The 4th of August is still " oyster
-day," as it used to be, and is still a wonderful day of
bustle and excitement at Billingsgate ; but oysters now
manage to reach London in other ways before that date,
and the traditional formality is not quite so decided as it,
once was. Lobsters come in vast numbers even from so
-distant a locality as the shores of Norway, the fiords or
firths of which are very rich in that kind of fish. They
are brought by swift vessels across the North Sea to
'Grimsby, and thence by the Great Northern Railway to
London. Other portions of the supply are obtained from
the Orkney and Shetland coasts, and others from the
Channel Islands. It has been known, on rare occasions,
that thirty thousand lobsters have reached Billingsgate in
one day ; but, however large the number may be, ail find
a market, the three million mouths in the metropolis, and
the many additional millions in the provinces, having
capacity enough to devour them all. There are some
queer-looking places in Darkhouse Lane and Love Lane,
near Billingsgate, where the lobsters and crabs undergo
that boiling process which changes their colour from
Hack to red. A basketful of lobsters is plunged into a
boiling cauldron and kept there twenty minutes. As to
the poor crabs, they are first killed by a prick with
needle, for else they would dash off their claws in the
convulsive agony occasioned by the hot water ! Spra
" come in," as it is called, about the 9th of Novembe:
and there is an ineradicable belief that the chief magi
trate of the City of London always has a dish of sprats

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 337

the table at Guildhall banquet on Lord Mayor's Day.
The shoals of this fish being very uncertain, and the fish
being largely bought by the working classes of London,
the sprat excitement at Billingsgate, when there has been
a good haul, is something marvellous. Soles are brought
mostly by trawling-boats belonging to Barking, which
fish in the North Sea, and which are owned by several
companies ; or rather, the trawlers catch the fish, and
then smart, fast-sailing cutters bring the fish up to
Billingsgate. Eels, of the larger and coarser kind,
patronized by eel-pie makers and cheap soup-makers,
mostly come in heavy Dutch boats, where they writhe
and dabble about in wells or tanks full of water ; but the
more delicate eels are caught nearer home. Cod are
literally " knocked on the head " just before being sent to
Billingsgate. A "dainty live cod" is of course not seen
in the London fishmongers' shops, and still less in the
barrow of the costermonger ; but, nevertheless, there is
an attempt made to approach as near to this liveliness as
may be practicable. The fish, brought alive in welled
vessels, are dexterously killed by a blow on the head, and
sent up directly to Billingsgate by rail, when the high-
class fishmongers buy them at once, before attending to
other fish. We may be sure that there is some adequate
reason for this, known to and admitted by the initiated.
Che fish caught by the trawl-net, such as turbot, brill, soles,
plaice, haddock, skate, halibut, and dabs, are very largely
caught in the sandbanks which lie off Holland and Den-
mark. The trawl net is in the form of a large bag open at
me end ; this is suspended from the stern of the fishing-

338 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

lugger, which, drags it at a slow pace over the fishing-
banks. Two or three hundred vessels are out at once on
this trade, remaining sometimes three or four months, and
sending their produce to market in the rapid vessels
already mentioned. The best kinds of trawl-fish, such as
turbot, brill, and soles, are kept apart, separate from the
plaice, haddock, skate, &c., which are regarded as inferior.
The " costers " buy the haddock largely, and clean and
cure them ; they (or other persons) also buy the plaice,
clean them, cut them up, fry them in oil, and sell them
for poor people's suppers. The best trawl- fish are gutted
before being packed, or the fishmongers will have nothing
to do with them. Concerning mackerel, a curious change
has taken place within a year or two. Fine large mackerel
are now sent all the way from Norway, packed in ice in
boxes, like salmon, lauded at Grimsby or some other
eastern port, and then sent onward by rail. The mackerel
on our own coast seem to have become smaller than of
yore, and thus this new Norwegian supply is very
welcome.

All these varieties of fish alike, then, and others not
here named, are forwarded to the mighty metropolitan
market for sale. And here the reader must bear in
mind that the real seller does not come into personal
communication with the real buyer. As at Mark Lane,
where the cornfactor comes between the farmer and the
miller; as at the Coal Exchange, where the coalfactor
acts as an intermedium between the pit- owner and the
coal- merchant; as at the Cattle Market, where the Smith-
field (so called) salesman conducts the sales, from the

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 339

grazier to the butcher — so at Billingsgate does the fish-
salesman make the best bargain he can for the fisherman,
and takes the money from the fishmonger. More than
t\vo thousand years ago, according to the Rev. Mr.
Badham, there were middlemen of this class, and men,
too, of no little account in their own estimation and in the
estimation of the world. The Billingsgate salesman must
be at business by five in the morning, and his work is ended
by eleven or twelve o'clock. They all assemble, many scores
of them, in time for the ringing of the market-bell at five
o'clock. Each has his stand, for which a rental is paid
to the Corporation ; and as there are always more appli-
cants for stands than stands to give them, the privilege is
a valued one. Some of these salesmen have shops in
Thames Street, or in the neighbouring lanes and alleys ;
but the majority have only stands in Billingsgate. Some
deal mostly in one kind of fish only, some take all indis-
criminately. In most cases (as we have said) each, when
he comes to business in the morning, has the means of
knowing what kind and quantity of fish will be consigned
to him for sale. The electric telegraph does all this work,
while we laggards are fast asleep. Of the seven hundred
regular fishmongers in the metropolis, how many attend
Billingsgate we do not know ; but it is probable most of
them do so, as by no other means can proper purchases
be made. At any rate, the number of fishmongers' carts
within a furlong or so of the market is something enor-
mous. The crack fishmongers go to the stalls of the
salesmen who habitually receive consignments of the best
fish ; and as there is not much haggling about price, a

340 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

vast amount of trade is conducted within the first hour
or two. Porters bring in the hampers and boxes of fine
fish, the fishmongers examine them rapidly, and the thing
is soon done. Of course, anything like a regular price for
fish is out of the question ; the supply varies greatly, and
the price varies with the supply. The salesman does the
best he can for his client, and the fishmonger does the
best he can for himself.

But the liveliest scene at Billingsgate, the fun of the
affair, is when the costermongers come. This may be at
seven o'clock or so, after the " dons " have taken off the
fish that command a high price. How many there are
of these costermongers it would be impossible to say, be-
cause the same men (and women) deal in fruit and vege-
tables from Covent Garden, or in fish from Billingsgate,
according to the abundance or scarcity of different com-
modities. Somehow or other, by some kind of free-
masonry among themselves, they contrive to learn, in a
wonderfully short space of time, whether there is a good
supply of herrings, sprats, mackerel, &c., at the " Gate,"
and they will flock down thither literally by thousands.
The men and boys all wear caps — leather, hairy, felt,
cloth, anything will do ; but a cap it must be, a hat
would not be orthodox. The intensity displayed by these
dealers is very marked and characteristic ; they have
only a few shillings each with which to speculate, and
they must so manage these shillings as to get a day's
profit out of their transactions. They do not buy of the
principal salesmen. There is a class called by the extra-
ordinary name of bommarecs or bummarces (for what

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 341

reason even the " oldest inhabitant " could not tell), who
buy largely from the leaders in the trade, and then sell
again to the peripatetics — the street dealers. They are
not fishmongers ; they buy and sell again during the same
day, and in the market itself. The bommaree, perched
on his rostrum (which may be a salmon-box or a herring-
barrel), summons a group of costermongers around him,
and puts up lot after lot for sale. There is a peculiar
lingo adopted, only in part intelligible to the outer world
— a shouting and vociferating that seems to be part of the
system. The owners of the hairy caps are eagerly
grouped into a mass, inspecting the fish ; and every man
or boy makes a wonderfully rapid calculation of the pro-
bable price that it would be worth his while to go to. The
salesman, or bommareo, has no auctioneer's hammer; he
brings the right palm down with a clap upon the left to
denote that a lot has been sold ; and the fishy money goes
from the costermonger's fishy hand into the bommaree's
fishy hand with the utmost promptness. Most of the
dried-fish salesmen congregate under the arcade in front
of the market ; most of the dealers in periwinkles, cockles,
and mussels (which are bought chiefly by women), in the
basement story, where there are tubs of these shell-fish
almost as large as brewers' vats ; but the other kinds of
fish are sold in the great market — a quadrangular area
covered with a roof supported by pillars, and lighted by
skylights. The world knows no such fishy pillars else-
where as these ; for every pillar is a leaning-post for
salesmen, bommarees, porters, costermongers, baskets,
hampers, and fish-boxes.

342 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

And now the reader may fairly ask, what is the quan-
tity of fish which in a day, or in a year, or any other
definite period, is thus sold at Billingsgate ? Echo an-
swers the question; but the Clerk of the Market does
not, will not, cannot. "We are assured by the experienced
and observant Mr. Deering, who has filled this post for
many years, that all statements on this particular subject
must necessarily be mere guesses. No person whatever
is in possession of the data. There are many reasons for
this. In the first place, there are no duties on fish, no
customs on the imported fish, nor excise on that caught
on our own coasts; and therefore there are no official
books of quantities and numbers. In the second place,
there is no regularity in the supply ; no fisherman or
fishmonger, salesman or bommaree, can tell whether to-
morrow night's catch will be a rich or a poor one. In
the third place, the Corpora Lion of the City of London do
not charge market-dues according to the quantity of fish
sold or brought in for sale ; so much per van or waggon,
so much per smack or cutter, so much per stand in the
market — these are the items charged for. In the fourth
place, each salesman, knowing his own amount of busi-
ness, is not at all likely to mention that amount to other
folks. Out of (say) a hundred of them, each may form a
guess of the extent of business transacted by the other
ninety-nine ; but we should have to compare a hundred
different guesses, to test the validity of each. Nor could
the carriers assist us much ; for if every railway company,
and every boat or steamer owner, were even so communi-
cative as to tell how many loads of fish had been conveyed

BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. 343

to Billingsgate in a year, we should still be far from
knowing the quantities of each kind that made up the
aggregate. On these various grounds it is believed that
the annual trade of Billingsgate cannot be accurately
stated. Some years ago Mr. Henry Mayhew, in a series
of remarkable articles in the " Morning Chronicle," gave
a tabulated statement of the probable amount of this
trade ; and about five or six years later, Dr. Wynter, in
the " Quarterly Review," quoted the opinion of some
Billingsgate authority, that the statement was probably
not in excess of the truth. "We will therefore give the
figures, the reader being quite at liberty to marvel at
them as much as he likes : —

Salmon . . . 29,000 boxes, 7 in a box.

Cod, livo . . 400,000, averaging 10 Ib. each.

,, barrelled 15,000 barrels, 50 to a barrel.

,, salt . . 1,600,000, averaging 5lb. each.

Haddocks . . 2,470,000, at 21b. each.

Do., smoked . 65,000 barrels, 300 to a barrel.

Soles . . . 97,520,000, at ilb. each.

Mackerel . . 23,620,000, at lib. each.

Hen-ings . . 250,000 barrels, at 150 each.

Do., red . . 100,000 barrels, at 500 each.

Do. bloaters . 265,000 baskets, at 150 each.

Eels .... 9,000,000, at 6 to 1 Ib.

Whiting . . 17,920,000, at 6 oz. each.

Plaice . . . 36,600,000, at 1 Ib. each.

Turbot . . . 800,000, at 7 Ib. each.

' ! 1,220,000, at 3 Ib. each.

r *

Mullet .

Oysters
Crabs .
Lobsters
Prawns
Shrimps

500,000,000, at 400 to a peck.

600,000,
1,200,000.

12 tons, at 120 to 1 Ib.
192,295 gallons, at 320 to a pint.

344 BILLINGSGATE AT FIVE IN THE MORNING.

These figures nearly take one's breath away. What
on earth becomes of the shells of the five hundred million
oysters, and the hard red coats of the eighteen hundred
thousand lobsters and crabs, besides the shells of the
mussels, cockles, and winkles, which are not here enume-
rated ? Another learned authority, Mr. Braithwaite
Poole, when he was goods manager of the London and
North-Western Railway Company, brought the shell- fisk
as well as the other fish into his calculations, and startled,
us with such quantities as fifty million mussels, seventx
million cockles, three hundred million periwinkles, five
hundred million shrimps, and twelve hundred million
herrings. In short, putting this and that together, he
told us that about four thousand million fish, weighing a
quarter of a million tons, and bringing two million ster-
ling, were sold annually at Billingsgate ! Generally
speaking, Mr. Poole's figures make a tolerably near
approach to those of Mr. Mayhew ; and therefore
it may possibly be that we Londoners — men and women,
boys, girls, and babies — after supplying country folks —
eat about two fish each every average day, taking
our fair share between turbot, salmon, and cod at one
end of the series, and sprats, periwinkles and shrimps
at the other. Not a little curious is this ichthyophagous
estimate. If Mr. Frank Buckland, Mr. Francis, and the
other useful men who are endeavouring to improve and
increase the artificial rearing of fish, should succeed in
their endeavours, we shall, as a matter of course, make
au advance as a fish- eating people.

JVDD AND GLASS, FHffiNIX PBiMTING WORKS, DOCTOBS' COMMONS, B.C.

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