Sketches by Boz : illustrative of every-day life and every-day people

STANLEY KEMP-WELCH

No. I84--

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SKETCHES BY BOZ.

CHARLES DICKENS'S WORKS.

CROWN EDITION. Price 5s. each Volume.

1.— THE PICKWICK PAPERS. With 43 Illustrations by

SEYMOUB and PHIZ.

2.— NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.
3.— DOMBEY AND SON. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.
4.— DAVID COPPERF1ELD. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.
5.— SKETCHES BY " BOZ." With 40 Illustrations by GEO.

CBUIKSHANK.

6.— MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.

7.— THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. With 75 Illustrations by
GEOBGE CAITEBMOLE and H. K. BROWNE.

8.— BARNABY RUDGE : A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty. With
76 Illustrations by GEOBGE CATTERMOLE and II. K. BKOWNE.

9,— OLIVER TWIST and TALE OF TWO CITIES. With
24 Illustrations by CRUIKSHANK and 16 by PHIZ.

10.— BLEAK HOUSE. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.
11.— LITTLE DORRIT. With 40 Illustrations by PHIZ.

12.— OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. With 40 Illustrations by

MARCOS STONE.
13.— AMERICAN NOTES; PICTURES FROM ITALY; and

A CHILD'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. With 16 Illustrations

by MARCUS STONE.

14.— CHRISTMAS BOOKS and HARD TIMES. With Illus-
trations by LAUDSEEB, MACLISE, STANFIELD, LEECH, DOILE,
F. WALKER, &c.

Jo.— CHRISTMAS STORIES AND OTHER STORIES, in-
cluding HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. With Illustrations by CHAKLKS
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16.-GREAT EXPECTATIONS. UNCOMMERCIAL TRA-
VELLER. With 16 Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.

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Illustrations by LUKE FILDES and F. WALKER.

Uniform with above in size and binding.

THE LIFE OF CHARLES DICKENS. By JOHN FORSTEU.

With Portraits and Illustrations. Added at the request of numerous

Subscribers.
THE DICKENS DICTIONARY : a Key to the Characters and

Principal Incidents in the Tales of Charles Dickens.

THE LAZY TOUR OF TWO IDLE APPRENTICES ;
NO THOROUGHFARE; THE PERILS OF CERTAIN ENGLISH
PRISONERS. By CHARLES DICKENS and WILKIE COLLINS. With
Illustrations.

SKETCHES BY BOZ

ILLUSTRATIVE OF

EVERY-DAY LIFE AND EVERY-DAY
PEOPLE.

WITH FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS.

LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL; LD.

1895.

5RLF

URL

PREFACE.

THE whole of these Sketches were written and published, one by one,
when I was a very young man. They were collected and republished
while I was still a very young man ; and sent into the world with all
their imperfections (a good many) on their heads.

They comprise my first attempts at authorship — with the exception
of certain tragedies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and
represented with great applause to overflowing nurseries. I am con-
scious of their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, and
bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience; particularly in
that section of the present volume which is comprised under the
general head of Tales.

But as this collection is not originated now, and was very leniently
and favourably received when it was first made, I have not felt it
right either to remodel or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases
here and there.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

THE ELECTION FOK BEADLE Frontispiece

VIGNETTE TITLE

THE PARISH ENGINE ... .."'".' ' 1

TUB BROKER'S MAN 18

OCR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR 30

THE STREETS— MORNING . . ... 36

SCOTLAND YARD 47

SEVEN DIALS . 51

MONSIOUTH STREET 54

HACKNEY COACH STANDS 60

LONDON RECREATIONS 67

GREENWICH FAIR 86

PRIVATE THEATRES 88

VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY 93

EARLY COACHES 97

THE LAST CAB-DRIVER 104

PUBLIC DINNERS 120

THE FIRST OF MAY 125

THE GIN-SHOP • 134

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP 138

THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE .159

JEMIMA EVANS 170

A PICKPOCKET IN CUSTODY ..... ... 179

MR. JOHN DOUNCE 181

THE DANCING ACADEMY 190

viii List of Illustrations.

PAGE

MAKING A NIGHT OF IT 198

THE BOARDING HOUSE 205

THE BOARDING HOUSE.— II 233

ME. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN 234

SENTIMENT . .242

THE TUGGS'S AT KAMSGATE 251

HOBATIO SPABKINS 2G7

STEAM EXCURSION.— 1 288

STEAM EXCURSION. — II. . . 303

THE WlNGLEBUBY DlEL 305

MB. JOSEPH PORTER 319

WATKINS TOTTLE 320

THE LOCK-UP HOUSE 340

MB. WATKINS TOTTLE AND Miss LILLERTON ...... 350

BLOOMSBURY CHRISTENING . ...... 355

SKETCHES BY BOZ,

OUR PARISH.

CHAPTER I.

THE BEADLE. THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOLMASTER.

How much is conveyed in those two short words — " The Parish ! "
And with how many tales of distress and misery, of broken fortune
and ruined hopes, too often of unrelieved wretchedness and successful
knavery, are they associated ! A poor man, with small earnings, and
a largo family, just manages to live on from hand to mouth, and to
procure food from day to day ; he has barely sufficient to satisfy the
present cravings of nature, and can take no heed of the future. His
taxes are in arrear, quarter-day passes by, another quarter-day arrives :
ho can procure no more quarter for himself, and is summoned by — the
parish. His goods are distrained, his children are crying with cold
and hunger, and the very bed on which his sick wife is lying, is
dragged from beneath her. What cau he do? To whom is he to
apply for relief? To private charity? To benevolent individuals?
Certainly not — there is his parish. There are the parish vestry, tho
parish infirmary, tho parish surgeon, the parish officers, the parish
beadle. Excellent institutions, and gentle, kind-hearted men. Tho
woman dies — she is buried by the parish. The children have no pro-
tector— they are taken care of by the parish. The man first neglects,
and afterwards cannot obtain, work — he is relieved by tho parish ;
and when distress and drunkenness have done their work upon him,
he is maintained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum.

Tho parish beadle is one of tho most, perhaps the most, important
member of the local administration. He is not so well off as tho
churchwardens, certainly, nor is he so learned as the vestry-clerk,
nor does he order things quite so much his own way as either of them.
But his power is very great, notwithstanding ; and the dignity of his
office is never impaired by the absence of efforts on his part to main-

rn B

2 Sketches by Boz.

taiu it. Tlio beadle of our parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite
delightful to hear him, as he explains the state of the existing poor
laws to the deaf old women in the board-room passage on business
nights ; and to hear what he said to the senior churchwarden, and
what the senior churchwarden said to him; and what "we" (the
beadle and the other gentlemen) came to the determination of doing.
A miserable-looking woman is called into the board-room, and repre-
sents a case of extreme destitution, affecting herself — a widow, with
six small children. "Where do you live?" inquires one of the
overseers. "I rents a two-pair back, gentlemen, at Mrs. Brown's,
Number 3, Little King William's Alley, which has lived there this
fifteen year, and knows mo to be very hard-working and industrious,
and when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in the
hospital " — " Well, well," interrupts the overseer, taking a note of the
address, " I'll send Simmons, the beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascer-
tain whether your story is correct ; and if so, I suppose you must have
an order into the House — Simmons, go to this woman's the first thing
to-morrow morning, will you ? " Simmons bows assent, and ushers
the woman out. Her previous admiration of " the board " (who all
sit behind great books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing
before her respect for her lace-trimmed conductor ; and her account
of what has passed inside, increases — if that be possible — the marks of
respect, shown by the assembled crowd, to that solemn functionary.
As to taking out a summons, it's quite a hopeless case if Simmons
attends it, on behalf of the parish. He knows all the titles of the
Lord Mayor by heart ; states the case without a single stammer : and
it is even reported that on one occasion he ventured to make a joke,
which the Lord Mayor's head footman (who happened to be present)
afterwards told an intimate friend, confidentially, was almost equal to
one of Mr. Hobler's.

See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked-hat, with a
large-headed staff for show in his left hand, and a small cane for use
in his right. How pompously ho marshals the children into their
places I and how demurely the little urchins look at him askance as
he surveys them when they are all seated, with a glare of the eye
peculiar to beadles I The churchwardens and overseers being duly
installed in their curtained pews, he seats himself on a mahogany
bracket, erected expressly for him at the top of the aisle, and divides
his attention between his prayer-book and the boys. Suddenly, just
at the commencement of the communion service, when the whole
congregation is hushed into a profound silence, broken only by the
voice of the officiating clergyman, a penny is heard to ring on the
stone floor of the aisle with astounding clearness. Observe the general-
ship of the beadle. His involuntary look of horror is instantly changed
into one of perfect indifference, as if he were the only person present
who had not heard the noise. The artifice succeeds. After putting
forth his right leg now and then, as a feeler, the victim who dropped

The Beadle. 3

the money ventures to make one or two distinct dives after it ; and
the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little round head, when it
again appears above the seat, with divers double-knocks, administered
with the cane before noticed, to the intense delight of three young
men in an adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals until the
conclusion of the sermon.

Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity of a parish
beadle — a gravity which has never been disturbed in any case that
lias come under our observation, except when the services of that
particularly useful machine, a parish fire-engine, are required : then
indeed all is bustle. Two little boys run to the beadle as fast as their
legs will carry them, and report from their own personal observation
that some neighbouring chimney is on fire ; the engine is hastily got
out, and a plentiful supply of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it
with ropes, away they rattle over the pavement, the beadle, running —
we do not exaggerate — running at the side, until they arrive at some
house, smelling strongly of soot, at the door of which the beadle
knocks with considerable gravity for half-an-hour. No attention
being paid to these manual applications, and the turn-cock having
turned on the water, the engine turns oif amidst the shouts of the
boys ; it pulls up once more at the workhouse, and the beadle " pulls
up " the unfortunate householder next day, for the amount of his legal
reward. We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but once. It
came up in gallant style — three miles and a half an hour, at least ;
there was a capital supply of water, and it was first on the spot. Bang
went the pumps — the people cheered — the beadle perspired profusely ;
but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they were going to put the
fire out, that nobody understood the process by which the engine was
filled with water ; and that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted
themselves in pumping for twenty minutes without producing the
slightest effect !

The personages next in importance to the beadle, are the master of
the workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. The vestry-clerk, as
everybody knows, is a short, pudgy little man, in black, with a thick
gold watch-chain of considerable length, terminating in two large
seals and a key. Ho is an attorney, and generally in a bustle : at no
time more so, than when he is hurrying to some parochial meeting,
with his gloves crumpled up in one hand, and a large red book under
the other arm. As to the churchwardens and overseers, we exclude
them altogether, because all we know of them is, that they are usually
respectable tradesmen, who wear hats with brims inclined to flatness,
and who occasionally testify in gilt letters on a blue ground, in some
conspicuous part of the church, to the important fact of a gallery
having been enlarged and beautified, or an organ rebuilt.

The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish — nor is he usually
in any other — one of that class of men the better part of whose exist-
ence has passed away, and who drag out the remainder in some inferior

4 Sketches by

situation, with just enough thought of the past, to feel degraded by,
and discontented with, the present. We are unable to guess precisely
to our own satisfaction what station the man can have occupied before ;
we should think he had been an inferior sort of attorney's clerk, or
else the master of a national school — whatever he was, it is clear his
present position is a change for the better. His income is small
certainly, as the rusty black coat and threadbare velvet collar demon-
strate : but then he lives free of house-rent, has a limited allowance
of coals and candles, and an almost unlimited allowance of authority
in his petty kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man ; always wears
shoes and black cotton stockings with his surtout ; and eyes you, as
you pass his parlour-window, as if he wished you were a pauper, just
to give you a specimen of his power. He is an admirable specimen
of a small tyrant : morose, brutish, and ill-tempered ; bullying to his
inferiors, cringing to his superiors, and jealous of the influence and
authority of the beadle.

Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this amiable official.
He has been one of those men one occasionally hears of, on whom
misfortune seems to have set her mark ; nothing he ever did, or was
concerned in, appears to have prospered. A rich old relation who
had brought him up, and openly announced his intention of providing
for him, left him 10,000/. in his will, and revoked the bequest in a
codicil. Thus unexpectedly reduced to the necessity of providing for
himself, he procured a situation in a public office. The young clerks
below him, died off" as if there were a plague among them ; but the
old fellows over his head, for the reversion of whose places he was
anxiously waiting, lived on and on, as if they were immortal. He
speculated and lost. He speculated again and won — but never got
his money. His talents were great ; his disposition, easy, generous,
and liberal. His friends profited by the one, and abused the other.
Loss succeeded loss ; misfortune crowded on misfortune ; each suc-
cessive day brought him nearer the verge of hopeless penury, and the
quondam friends who had been warmest in their professions, grew
strangely cold and indifferent. He had children whom he loved, and
a wife on whom he doted. The former turned their backs on him ;
the latter died broken-hearted. He went with the stream — it had
ever been his failing, and he had not courage sufficient to bear up
against so many shocks — he had never cared for himself, and the only
being who had cared for him, in his poverty and distress, was spared
to him no longer. It was at this period that he applied for parochial
relief. Some kind-hearted man who had known him in happier times,
chanced to bo churchwarden that year, and through his interest ho
was appointed to his present situation.

He is an old man now. Of the many who once crowded round him
in all the hollow friendship of boon-companionship, some have died,
some have fallen like himself, some have prospered — all have for-
gotten him. Time and misfortune have mercifully been permitted to

The Curate. 5

impair his memory, and use has habituated him to his present con-
dition. Meek, uncomplaining, and zealous in the discharge of his
duties, he has been allowed to hold his situation long beyond the
usual period ; and he will no doubt continue to hold it, until infirmity
renders him incapable, or death releases him. As the grey-headed
old man feebly paces up and down the sunny side of the little court-
yard between school-hours, it would be difficult, indeed, for the most
intimate of his former friends to recognise their once gay and happy
associate, in the person of the Pauper Schoolmaster.

CHAPTER II.

THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAT CAPTAIN.

WE commenced our last chapter with the beadle of our parish, becauso
we are deeply sensible of the importance and dignity of his office.
We will begin the present with the clergyman. Our curate is a young
gentleman of such prepossessing appearance, and fascinating manners,
that within one month after his first appearance in the parish, half tho
young-lady inhabitants were melancholy with religion, and the other
half, desponding with love. Never were so many young ladies seen
in our parish-church on Sunday before ; and never had the little
round angels' faces on Mr. Tomkins's monument in the side aisle,
beheld such devotion on earth as they all exhibited. He was about
five-and-twenty when he first came to astonish the parishioners. He
parted his hair on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman
arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth finger of his left
hand (which he always applied to his left cheek when he read prayers),
and had a deep sepulchral voice of unusual solemnity. Innumerable
were the calls made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and in-
numerable the invitations with which he was assailed, and which, to
do him justice, he readily accepted. If his manner in the pulpit had
created an impression in his favour, the sensation was increased ten-
fold, by his appearance in private circles. Pews in the immediate
vicinity of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in value ; sittings in the
centre aisle were at a premium : an inch of room in the front row of
the gallery could not be procured for love or money ; and some people
even went so far as to assert, that the three Miss Browns, who had an
obscure family pew just behind the churchwardens', were detected,
one Sunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, actually lying
in wait for the curate as he passed to tho vestry ! He began to preach
extempore sermons, and even grave papas caught the infection. Ho
got out of bed at half-past twelve o'clock one winter's night, to half-
baptise a washerwoman's child in a slop-basin, and the gratitude of

6 Sketches by Bos.

the parishioners knew no bounds — the very churchwardens grew
generous, and insisted on the parish defraying the expense of the
watch-box on wheels, which the new curate had ordered for himself,
to perform the funeral service in, in wet weather. He sent three
pints of gruel and a quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman who
had been brought to bed of four small children, all at once — the
parish were charmed. He got up a subscription for her — the woman's
fortune was made. He spoke for one hour and twenty-five minutes, at
an anti-slavery meeting at the Goat and Boots — the enthusiasm was
at its height. A proposal was set on foot for presenting the curate
with a piece of plate, as a mark of esteem for his valuable services
rendered to the parish. The list of subscriptions was filled up in no
time ; the contest was, not who should escape the contribution, but
who should be the foremost to subscribe. A splendid silver inkstand
was made, and engraved with an appropriate inscription ; the curate
was invited to a public breakfast, at the before-mentioned Goat and
Boots ; the inkstand was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins,
the ex-churchwarden, and acknowledged by the curate in terms which
drew tears into the eyes of all present — the very waiters were melted.

One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme of universal
admiration was lifted to the very pinnacle of popularity. No such
thing. The curate began to cough ; four fits of coughing one morning
between the Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service.
Here was a discovery — the curate was consumptive. How interestingly
melancholy ! If the young ladies were energetic before, their sym-
pathy and solicitude now knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate
— such a dear — such a perfect love — to be consumptive ! It was too
much. Anonymous presents of black-currant jam, and lozenges,
elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and warm stockings, poured in upon
the curate until he was as completely fitted out, with winter clothing,
as if he were on the verge of an expedition to the North Pole : verbal
bulletins of the state of his health were circulated throughout the
parish half-a-dozen times a day ; and the curate was in the very zenith
of his popularity.

About this period, a change came over the spirit of the parish. A
very quiet, respectable, dozing old gentleman, who had officiated in
our chapel-of-ease for twelve years previouly, died one fine morning,
without having given any notice whatever of his intention. This cir-
cumstance gave rise to counter-sensation the first ; and the arrival of
his successor occasioned counter-sensation the second. He was a pale,
thin, cadaverous man, with large black eyes, and long straggling black
hair : his dress was slovenly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, his
doctrines startling ; in short, he was in every respect the antipodes of
the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners flocked to hear him ;
at first, because he was so odd-looking, then because his face was so
expressive, then because he preached so well ; and at last, because they
really thought that, after all, there was something about him which it

The Old Lady. '/

was quite impossible to describe. As to the curate, lie was all very
well; but certainly, after all, there was no denying that — that — in
short, the curate wasn't a novelty, and the other clergyman was. The
inconstancy of public opinion is proverbial : the congregation migrated
one by one. The curate coughed till he was black in the face — it was
iu vain. He respired with difficulty — it was equally ineffectual in
awakening sympathy. Seats are once again to be had in any part of
our parish church, and the chapel-of-ease is going to be enlarged, as it
is crowded to suffocation every Sunday !

The best known and most respected among our parishioners, is an
old lady, who resided in our parish long before our name was registered
in the list of baptisms. Our parish is a suburban one, and the old
lady lives in a neat row of houses in the most airy and pleasant part
of it. The house is her own ; and it, and everything about it, except
the old lady herself, who looks a little older than she did ten years
ago, is in just the same state as when the old gentleman was living.
The little front parlour, which is the old lady's ordinary sitting-room,
is a perfect picture of quiet neatness ; the carpet is covered with brown
Holland, the glass and picture-frames are carefully enveloped in
yellow nmslin ; the table-covers are never taken off, except when the
leaves are turpentined and bees'-waxed, an operation which is regularly
commenced every other morning at half-past nine o'clock — and the
little nicknacks are always arranged in precisely the same manner.
The greater part of these are presents from little girls whose parents
live in the same row ; but some of them, such as the two old-fashioned
watches (which never keep the same time, one being always a quarter
of an hour too slow, and the other a quarter of an hour too fast), the
little picture of the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold as they
appeared in the Royal Box at Drury Lane Theatre, and others of the
same class, have been in the old lady's possession for many years.
Here the old lady sits with her spectacles on, busily engaged in needle-
work— near the window in summer time ; and if she sees you coming
up the steps, and you happen to be a favourite, she trots out to open
the street-door for you before you knock, and as you must be fatigued
after that hot walk, insists on your swallowing two glasses of sherry
before you exert yourself by talking. If you call in the evening you
will find her cheerful, but rather more serious than usual, with an
open Bible on the table, before her, of which " Sarah," who is just as
neat and methodical as her mistress, regularly reads two or three
chapters in the parlour aloud.

The old lady sees scarcely any company, except the little girls
before noticed, each of whom has always a regular fixed day for a
periodical tea-drinking with her, to which the child looks forward as
the greatest treat of its existence. She seldom visits at a greater
distance than the next door but one on either side; and when she
drinks tea here, Sarah runs out first and knocks a double-knock, to
prevent the possibility of her " Missis's " catching cold by having to

8 Sketches by Bos.

wait at the door. She is very scrupulous in returning these little in-
vitations, and when she asks Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, to meet Mr. and
Mrs. Somebody-else, Sarah and she dust the urn, and the best china
tea-service, and the Pope Joan board ; and the visitors are received in
the drawing-room in great state. She has but few relations, and they
are scattered about in different parts of the country, and she seldom
sees them. She has a son in India, whom she always describes to you
as a fine, handsome fellow — so like the profile of his poor dear father
over the sideboard, but the old lady adds, with a mournful shake of
the head, that he has always been one of her greatest trials ; and that
indeed he once almost broke her heart ; but it pleased God to enable
her to get the better of it, and she would prefer your never mentioning
the subject to her again. She has a great number of pensioners : and
on Saturday, after she comes back from market, there is a regular
levee of old men and women in the passage, waiting for their weekly
gratuity. Her name always heads the list of any benevolent subscrip-
tions, and hers are always the most liberal donations to the Winter
Coal and Soup Distribution Society. She subscribed twenty pounds
towards the erection of an organ in our parish church, and was so
overcome the first Sunday the children sang to it, that she was obliged
to be carried out by the pew-opener. Her entrance into church on
Sunday is always the signal for a little bustle in- the side aisle,
occasioned by a general rise among the poor people, who bow and
curtsey until the pew-opener has ushered the old lady into her
accustomed seat, dropped a respectful curtsey, and shut the door : and
the same ceremony is repeated on her leaving church, when she walks
home with the family next door but one, and talks about the sermon
all the way, invariably opening the conversation by asking the youngest
boy where the text was.

Thus, with the annual variation of a trip to some quiet place on the
sea-coast, passes the old lady's life. It has rolled on in the same un-
varying and benevolent course for many years now, and must at no
distant period be brought to its final close. She looks forward to its
termination, with calmness and without apprehension. She has every-
thing to hope and nothing to fear.

A very different personage, but one who has rendered himself very
conspicuous in our parish, is one of the old lady's next-door neighbours.
He is an old naval officer on half-pay, and his bluff and unceremonious
behaviour disturbs the old lady's domestic economy, not a little. In
the first place, he will smoke cigars in the front court, and when he
wants something to drink with them — which is by no means an un-
common circumstance — he lifts up the old lady's knocker with his
walking-stick, and demands to have a glass of table ale, handed over
the rails. In addition to this cool proceeding, he is a bit of a Jack of
all trades, or to use his own words " a regular Robinson Crusoe ; " and
nothing delights him better than to experimentalise on the old lady's
property. One morning he got up early, and planted three or four

The Captain. 9

roots of full-grown marigolds in every bed of her front garden, to the
inconceivable astonishment of the old lady, who actually thought when
she got up and looked out of the window, that it was some strange
eruption which had come out in the night. Another time he took to
pieces the eight-day clock on the front landing, under pretence of
cleaning the works, which he put together again, by some undiscovered
process, in so wonderful a manner, that the large hand has done
nothing but trip up the little one ever since. Then he took to breed-
ing silkworms, which he would bring in two or three times a day, in
little paper boxes, to show the old lady, generally dropping a worm or
two at every visit. The consequence was, that one morning a very
stout silkworm was discovered in the act of walking up-stairs — prob-
ably with the view of inquiring after his friends, for, on further
inspection, it appeared that some of his companions had already found
their way to every room in the house. The old lady went to the sea-
side in despair, and during her absence he completely effaced the name
from her brass door-plate, in his attempts to polish it with aqua-fortis.
But all this is nothing to his seditious conduct in public life. He
attends every vestry meeting that is held ; always opposes the con-
stituted authorities of the parish, denounces the profligacy of the
churchwardens, contests legal points against the vestry-clerk, will
make the tax-gaf/herer call for his money till he won't call any longer,
and then he sends it : finds fault with the sermon every Sunday, says
that the organist ought to be ashamed of himself, offers to back himself
for any amount to sing the psalms better than all the children put to-
gether, male and female ; and, in short, conducts himself in the most
turbulent and uproarious manner. The worst of it is, that having a
high regard for the old lady, he wants to make her a convert to his
views, and therefore walks into her little parlour with his newspaper
in his hand, and talks violent politics by the hour. He is a charitable,
open-hearted old fellow at bottom, after all ; so, although he puts the
old lady a little out occasionally, they agree very well in the main,
and she laughs as much at each feat of his handiwork when it is all
over, as anybody else.

CHAPTEE III.

THE FOUR SISTERS.

THE row of houses in which the old lady and her troublesome neigh-
bour reside, comprises, beyond all doubt, a greater number of characters
within its circumscribed limits, than all the rest of the parish put
together. As wo cannot, consistently with our present plan, however,
extend the number of our parochial sketches beyond six, it will be

IO Sketches by Bos.

better perhaps, to select the most peculiar, and to introduce them at
once without further preface.

The four Miss Willises, then, settled in our parish thirteen years
ago. It is a melancholy reflection that the old adage, " time and tide
wait for no man," applies with equal force to the fairer portion of the
creation ; and willingly would we conceal the fact, that even thirteen
years ago the Miss Willises were far from juvenile. Our duty as
faithful parochial chroniclers, however, is paramount to every other
consideration, and we are bound to state, that thirteen years since, the
authorities in matrimonial cases, considered the youngest Miss Willis
in a very precarious state, while the eldest sister was positively given
over, as being far beyond all human hope. Well, the Miss Willises
took a lease of the house ; it was fresh painted and papered from top
to bottom : the paint inside was all wainscoted, the marble all cleaned,
the old grates taken down, and register-stoves, you could see to dress
by, put up ; four trees were planted in the back-garden, several small
baskets of gravel sprinkled over the front one, vans of elegant furniture
arrived, spring blinds were fitted to the windows, carpenters who had
been employed in the various preparations, alterations, and repairs, made
confidential statements to the different maid-servants in the row, relative
to the magnificent scale on which the Miss Willises were commencing ;
the maid-servants told their " Missises," the Missises told their friends,
and vague rumours were circulated throughout the parish, that No. 25,
in Gordon Place, had been taken by four maiden ladies of immense
property.

At last, the Miss Willises moved in ; and then the " calling " began.
The house was the perfection of neatness — so were the four Miss
Willises. Everything was formal, stiff, and cold — so were the four
Miss Willises. Not a single chair of the whole set was ever seen out
of its place — not a single Miss Willis of the whole four was ever seen
out of hers. There they always sat, in the same places, doing precisely
the same things at the same hour. The eldest Miss Willis used to
knit, the second to draw, the two others to play duets on the piano.
They seemed to have no separate existence, but to have made up their
minds just to winter through life together. They were three long
graces in drapery, with the addition, like a school-dinner, of another
long grace afterwards — the three fates with another sister — the Siamese
twins multiplied by two. The eldest Miss Willis grew bilious — the
four Miss Willises grew bilious immediately. The eldest Miss Willis
grew ill-tempered and religious — the four Miss Willises were ill-
tempered and religious directly. Whatever the eldest did, the others
did, and whatever anybody else did, they all disapproved of; and
thus they vegetated — living in Polar harmony among themselves, and,
as they sometimes went out, or saw company "in a quiet-way" at
home, occasionally iceing the neighbours. Three years passed over in
this way, when an unlooked-for and extraordinary phenomenon occurred.
The Miss Willises showed symptoms of summer, the frost gradually

A Quadrilateral Marriage. 1 1

broke up ; a complete thaw took place. Was it possible ? one of the
four Miss Willises was going to be married 1

Now, where on earth the husband came from, by what feelings the
poor man could have been actuated, or by what process of reasoning
the four Miss Willises succeeded in persuading themselves that it was
possible for a man to marry one of them, without marrying them all,
are questions too profound for us to resolve : certain it is, however,
that the visits of Mr. Eobinson (a gentleman in a public office, with a
good salary and a little property of his own, beside) were received —
that the four Miss Willises were courted in due form by the said Mr.
Robinson — that the neighbours were perfectly frantic in their anxiety
to discover which of the four Miss Willises was the fortunate fair, and
that the difficulty they experienced in solving the problem was not at
all lessened by the announcement of the eldest Miss Willis, — " We are
going to marry Mr. Robinson."

It was very extraordinary. They were so completely identified, the
one with the other, that the curiosity of the whole row — even of the
old lady herself — was roused almost beyond endurance. The subject
was discussed at every little card-table and tea-drinking. The old
gentleman of silkworm notoriety did not hesitate to express his decided
opinion that Mr. Robinson was of Eastern descent, and contemplated
marrying the whole family at once ; and the row, generally, shook
their heads with considerable gravity, and declared the business to be
very mysterious. They hoped it might all end well ; — it certainly
had a very singular appearance, but still it would be uncharitable to
express any opinion without good grounds to go upon, and certainly
the Miss Willises were quite old enough to judge for themselves,
and to be sure people ought to know their own business best, and
so forth.

At last, one fine morning, at a quarter before eight o'clock, a.m.,
two glass-coaches drove up to the Miss Willises' door, at which Mr.
Robinson had arrived in a cab ten minutes before, dressed in a light-
blue coat and double-milled kersey pantaloons, white neckerchief,
pumps, and dress-gloves, his manner denoting, as appeared from the
evidence of the housemaid at No. 23, who was sweeping the door-steps
at the time, a considerable degree of nervous excitement. It was also
hastily reported on the same testimony, that the cook who opened the
door, wore a large white bow of unusual dimensions, in a much smarter
headdress than the regulation cap to which the Miss Willises in-
variably restricted the somewhat excursive tastes of female servants
in general.

The intelligence spread rapidly from house to house. It was quite
clear that the eventful morning had at length arrived ; the whole row
stationed themselves behind their first and second-floor blinds, and
waited the result in breathless expectation.

At last the Miss Willises' door opened ; the door of the first glass-
coach did the same. Two gentlemen, and a pair of ladies to corre-

12 Sketches by Bos.

spond — friends of the family, no doubt ; up went the steps, bang went
the door, off went the first glass-coach, and up came the second.

The street door opened again ; the excitement of the whole row
increased — Mr. Robinson and the eldest Miss Willis. " I thought so,"
said the lady at No. 19 ; "I always said it was Miss Willis ! " — " Well,
I never!" ejaculated the young lady at No. 18 to the young lady at
No. 17. — "Did you ever, dear? " responded the young lady at No. 17
to the young lady at No. 18. — " It's too ridiculous ! " exclaimed a
spinster of an rmcertain age, at No. 16, joining in the conversation.
But who shall portray the astonishment of Gordon Place, when Mr.
Robinson handed in all the Miss Willises, one after the other, and
then squeezed himself into an acute angle of the glass-coach, which
forthwith proceeded at a brisk pace, after the other glass-coach, which
other glass-coach had itself proceeded, at a brisk pace, in the direction
of the parish church ? Who shall depict the perplexity of the clergy-
man, when all the Miss Willises knelt down at the communion table,
and repeated the responses incidental to the marriage service in an
audible voice — or who shall describe the confusion which prevailed,
when — even after the difficulties thus occasioned had been adjusted —
all the Miss Willises went into hysterics at the conclusion of the cere-
mony, until the sacred edifice resounded with their united wailings ?

As the four sisters and Mr. Robinson continued to occupy the same
house after this memorable occasion, and as the married sister, whoever
she was, never appeared in public without the other three, we are not
quite clear that the neighbours ever would have discovered the real
Mrs. Robinson, but for a circumstance of the most gratifying descrip-
tion, which icill happen occasionally in the best-regulated families.
Three quarter-days elapsed, and the row, on whom a new light appeared
to have been bursting for some time, began to speak with a sort of
implied confidence on the subject, and to wonder how Mrs. Robinson
— the youngest Miss Willis that was — got on ; and servants might
be seen running up the steps, about nine or ten o'clock every morning,
with " Missis's compliments, and wishes to know how Mrs. Robinson
finds herself this morning?" And the answer always was, "Mrs.
Robinson's compliments, and she's in very good spirits, and doesn't
find herself any worse." The piano was heard no longer, the knitting-
needles were laid aside, drawing was neglected, and mantua-making
and millinery, on the smallest scale imaginable, appeared to have
become the favourite amusement of the whole family. The parlour
wasn't quite as tidy as it used to be, and if you called in the morning,
you would see lying on a table, with an old newspaper carelessly
thrown over them, two or three particularly small caps, rather larger
than if they had been made for a moderate-sized doll, with a small
piece of lace, in the shape of a horse-shoe, let in behind : or perhaps
a white robe, not very large in circumference, but very much out of
proportion in point of length, with a little tucker round the top, and a
frill round the bottom ; and once when we called, we saw a long white

The Ehction for Beadle. 1 3

roller, with a kind of blue margin down each side, the probable use of
which, we were at a loss to conjecture. Then we fancied that Mr.
Dawson, the surgeon, &c., who displays a large lamp with a different
colour in every pane of glass, at the corner of the row, began to bo
knocked up at night oftener than he used to be ; and once we were
very much alarmed by hearing a hackney- coach stop at Mrs. Robinson's
door, at half-past two o'clock in the morning, out of which there
emerged a fat old woman, in a cloak and nightcap, with a bundle in
one hand, and a pair of pattens in the other, who looked as if she had
been suddenly knocked up out of bed for some very special purpose.

When we got up in the morning we saw that the knocker was tied
up in an old white kid glove ; and we, in our innocence (we were in a
state of bachelorship then), wondered what on earth it all meant, until
we heard the eldest Miss Willis, in proprid persona, say, with great
dignity, in answer to the next inquiry, "Hy compliments, and Mrs.
Robinson's doing as well as can be expected, and the little girl thrives
wonderfully." And then, in common with the rest of the row, our
curiosity was satisfied, and we began to wonder it had never occurred
to us what the matter was, before.

CHAPTER IV.

THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE.

A GREAT event has recently occurred in our parish. A contest of
paramount interest has just terminated ; a parochial convulsion has
taken place. It has been succeeded by a glorious triumph, which the
country — or at least the parish — it is all the same — will long remem-
ber. We have had an election ; an election for beadle. The sup-
porters of the old beadle system have been defeated in their stronghold,
and the advocates of the great new beadle principles have achieved a
proud victory.

Our parish, which, like all other parishes, is a little world of its
own, has long been divided into two parties, whose contentions, slum-
bering for a while, have never failed to burst forth with unabated
vigour, on any occasion on which they could by possibility be renewed.
Watching-rates, lighting-rates, paving-rates, sewer's-rates, church-
rates, poor's-rates — all sorts of rates, have been in their turns the
subjects of a grand struggle ; and as to questions of patronage, the
asperity and determination with which they have been contested is
scarcely credible.

The leader of the official party — the steady advocate of the church-
wardens, and the unflinching supporter of the overseers — is an old
gentleman who lives in our row. He owns some half-a-dozen houses

14 Sketches by Bos.

in it, and always walks on the opposite side of the way, so that he
may be able to take in a view of the whole of his property at onco.
He is a tall, thin, bony man, with an interrogative nose, and little
restless perking eyes, which appear to have been given him for the
sole purpose of peeping into other people's affairs with. He is deeply
impressed with the importance of our parish business, and prides him-
self, not a little, on his style of addressing the parishioners in vestry
assembled. His views are rather confined than extensive ; his prin-
ciples more narrow than liberal. He has been heard to declaim very
loudly in favour of the liberty of the press, and advocates the repeal
of the stamp duty on newspapers, because the daily journals who now
have a monopoly of the public, never give verbatim reports of vestry
meetings. He would not appear egotistical for the world, but at the
same time he must say, that there are speeches — that celebrated speech
of his own, on the emoluments of the sexton, and the duties of the
office, for instance — which might be communicated to the public, greatly
to their improvement and advantage.

His great opponent in public life is Captain Purday, the old naval
officer on half-pay, to whom we have already introduced our readers.
The captain being a determined opponent of the constituted authorities,
whoever they may chance to be, and our other friend being their steady
supporter, with an equal disregard of their individual merits, it will
readily be supposed, that occasions for their coming into direct collision
are neither few nor far between. They divided the vestry fourteen
times on a motion for heating the church Avith warm water instead
of coals : and made speeches about liberty and expenditure, and
prodigality and hot water, which threw the whole parish into a state
of excitement. Then the captain, when he was on the visiting com-
mittee, and his opponent overseer, brought forward certain distinct
and specific charges relative to the management of the workhouse,
boldly expressed his total want of confidence in the existing authori-
ties, and moved for " a copy of the recipe by which the paupers' soup
was prepared, together with any documents relating thereto." This
the overseer steadily resisted ; he fortified himself by precedent, ap-
pealed to the established usage, and declined to produce the papers,
on the ground of the injury that would be done to the public service,
if documents of a strictly private nature, passing between the master
of the workhouse and the cook, were to be thus dragged to light on
the motion of any individual member of the vestry. The motion was
lost by a majority of two ; and then the captain, who never allows
himself to be defeated, moved for a committee of inquiry into the
whole subject. The affair grew serious: the question was discussed
at meeting after meeting, and vestry after vestry ; speeches were made,
attacks repudiated, personal defiances exchanged, explanations received,
and the greatest excitement prevailed, until at last, just as the question
was going to be finally decided, the vestry found that somehow or
other, they had become entangled in a point of form, from which it

The Candidates. 15

was impossible to escape with propriety. So, the motion was dropped,
and everybody looked extremely important, and seemed quite satisfied
with the meritorious nature of the whole proceeding.

This was the state of affairs in our parish a week or two since, when
Simmons, the beadle, suddenly died. The lamented deceased had
over-exerted himself, a day or two previously, in conveying an aged
female, highly intoxicated, to the strong room of the workhouse. The
excitement thus occasioned, added to a severe cold, which this inde-
fatigable officer had caught in his capacity of director of the parish
engine, by inadvertently playing over himself instead of a fire, proved
too much for a constitution already enfeebled by age ; and the intelli-
gence was conveyed to the Board one evening that Simmons had died,
and left his respects.

The breath was scarcely out of the body of the deceased functionary,
when the field was filled with competitors for the vacant office, each
of whom rested his claims to public support, entirely on the number
and extent of his family, as if the office of beadle were originally
instituted as an encouragement for the propagation of the human
species. " Bung for Beadle. Five small children ! " — " Hopkins for
Beadle. Seven small children ! ! " — " Timkins for Beadle. Nino
small children ! ! ! " Such were the placards in large black letters
on a white ground, which wore plentifully pasted on the walls, and
posted in the windows of the principal shops. Timkins's success was
considered certain : several mothers of families half promised their
votes, and the nine small children would have run over the course, but
for the production of another placard, announcing the appearance of
a still more meritorious candidate. "Spruggins for Beadle. Ten
small children (two of them twins), and a wife ! ! ! " There was no
resisting this ; ten small children would have been almost irresistible
in themselves, without the twins, but the touching parenthesis about
that interesting production of nature, and the still more touching
allusion to Mrs. Spruggins, must ensure success. Spruggins was the
favourite at once, and the appearance of his lady, as she went about
to solicit votes (which encouraged confident hopes of a still further
addition to the house of Spruggins at no remote period), increased the
general prepossession in his favour. The other candidates, Bung
alone excepted, resigned in despair. The day of election was fixed ;
and the canvass proceeded with briskness and perseverance on both
sides.

The members of the vestry could not be supposed to escape the
contagious excitement inseparable from the occasion. The majority
of the lady inhabitants of the parish declared at once for Spruggins ;
and the quondam overseer took the same side, on the ground that men
with large families always had been elected to the office, and that
although he must admit, that, in other respects, Spruggins was the
least qualified candidate of the two, still it was an old practice, and
ho saw no reason why an ojd practice should be departed from. This

1 6 Sketches by Bos.

was enough for the captain. He immediately sided with Bung, can-
vassed for him personally in all directions, wrote squibs on Spruggins,
and got his butcher to skewer them up on conspicuous joints in his
shop-front ; frightened his neighbour, the old lady, into a palpitation of
the heart, by his awful denunciations of Spruggins's party ; and bounced
in and out, and up and down, and backwards and forwards, until all
the sober inhabitants of the parish thought it inevitable that he must
die of a brain fever, long before- the election began.

The day of election arrived. It was no longer an individual struggle,
>»ut a party contest between the ins and outs. The question was,
whether the withering influence of the overseers, the domination of
the churchwardens, and the blighting despotism of the vestry-clerk,
should be allowed to render the election of beadle a form — a nullity :
whether they should impose a vestry-elected beadle on the parish, to
do their bidding and forward their views, or whether the parishioners,
fearlessly asserting their undoubted rights, should elect an independent
beadle of their own.

The nomination was fixed to take place in the vestry, but so great
was the throng of anxious spectators, that it was found necessary to
adjourn to the church, where the ceremony commenced with due
solemnity. The appearance of the churchwardens and overseers, and
the ex-churchwardens and ex-overseers, with Spruggins in the rear,
excited general attention. Spruggins was a little thin man, in rusty
black, with a long pale face, and a countenance expressive of care and
fatigue, which might either be attributed to the extent of his family
or the anxiety of his feelings. His opponent appeared in a cast-on1
coat of the captain's — a blue coat with bright buttons : white trousers,
and that description of shoes familiarly known by the appellation of
" high-lows." There was a serenity in the open countenance of Bung
— a kind of moral dignity in his confident air — an " I wish you may
get it " sort of expression in his eye — which infused animation into
his supporters, and evidently dispirited his opponents.

The ex-churchwarden rose to propose Thomas Spruggins for beadle.
He had known him long. He had had his eye upon him closely for
years ; he had watched him with twofold vigilance for months. (A
parishioner here suggested that this might be termed " taking a double
sight," but the observation was drowned in loud cries of " Order ! ")
He would repeat that he had had his eye upon him for years, and
this he would say, that a more well-conducted, a more well-behaved,
a more sober, a more quiet man, with a more well-regulated mind,
he had never met with. A man with a larger family he had never
known (cheers). The parish required a man who could be depended
on ("Hear!" from the Spruggins side, answered by ironical cheers
from the Bung party). Such a man he now proposed (" No," " Yes ").
He would not allude to individuals (the ex-churchwarden continued,
iu the celebrated negative style adopted by great speakers). He
would not advert to a gentleman who had once held a high rank in

Nomination. 1 7

the service of his majesty ; he would not say, that that gentleman was
no gentleman ; he would not assert, that that man was no man ; he
would not say, that he was a turbulent parishioner ; he would not
say, that he had grossly misbehaved himself, not only on this, but
on all former occasions ; he would not say, that he was one of those
discontented and treasonable spirits, who carried confusion and dis-
order wherever they went ; he would not say that he harboured in his
heart envy, and hatred, and malice, and all tmcharitableness. No !
He wished to have everything comfortable and pleasant, and therefore,
lie would say — nothing about him (cheers).

The captain replied in a similar parliamentary style. He would
not say, he was astonished at the speech they had just heard ; he
would not say, he was disgusted (cheers). He would not retort the
epithets which had been hurled against him (renewed cheering) ; he
would not allude to men once in office, but now happily out of it, who
had mismanaged the workhouse, ground the paupers, diluted the beer,
slack-baked the bread, boned the meat, heightened the work, and
lowered the soup (tremendous cheers). He would not ask what such
men deserved (a voice, " Nothing a day, and find themselves ! "). He
would not say, that one burst of general indignation should drive
them from the parish they polluted with their presence (" Give it
him ! "). Ho would not allude to the unfortunate man who had been
proposed — he would not say, as the vestry's tool, but as Beadle. He
would not advert to that individual's family ; ho would not say, that
nine children, twins, and a wife, were very bad examples for pauper
imitation (loud cheers). He would not advert in detail to the qualifi-
cations of Bung. The man stood before him, and he would not say
in his presence, what he might be disposed to say of him, if he were
absent. (Hero Mr. Bung telegraphed to a friend near him, under
cover of Ids hat, by contracting his left eye, and applying his right
thumb to the tip of his nose.) It had been objected to Bung that he
had only five children (" Hear, hear ! " from the opposition). Well ;
he had yet to learn that the legislature had affixed any precise amount
of infantine qualification to the office of beadle ; but taking it for
granted that an extensive family were a great requisite, he entreated
them to look to facts, and compare data, about which there could be
no mistake. Bung was 35 years of age. Spruggins — of whom ho
wished to speak with all possible respect — was 50. Was it not more
than possible — was it not very probable — that by the time Bung
attained the latter age, he might see around him a family, even
exceeding in number and extent, that to which Spruggins at present
laid claim (deafening cheers and waving of handkerchiefs) ? The
captain concluded, amidst loud applause, by calling upon the
parishioners to sound the tocsin, rush to the poll, free themselves
from dictation, or be slaves for ever.

On the following day the polling began, and we never have had
such a bustle in our parish sine* we got up our famous anti-slavery

0

1 8 Sketches by JBoz.

petition, which was such an important one, that the House of Commons
ordered it to be printed, on the motion of the member for the district.
The captain engaged two hackney-coaches and a cab for Bung's people
— the cab for the drunken voters, and the two coaches for the old
ladies, the greater portion of whom, owing to the captain's impetuosity,
were driven up to the poll and home again, before they recovered
from their flurry sufficiently to know, with any degree of clearness,
what they had been doing. The opposite party wholly neglected
these precautions, and the consequence was, that a great many ladies
who were walking leisurely up to the church — for it was a very hot
day — to vote for Spruggins, were artfully decoyed into the coaches,
and voted for Bung. The captain's arguments, too, had produced
considerable effect : the attempted influence of the vestry produced a
greater. A threat of exclusive dealing was clearly established against
the vestry-clerk — a case of heartless and profligate atrocity. It
appeared that the delinquent had been in the habit of purchasing six-
penn'orth of muffins, weekly, from an old woman who rents a small
house in the parish, and resides among the original settlers ; on her
last weekly visit, a message was conveyed to her through the medium
of the cook, couched in mysterious terms, but indicating with sufficient
clearness, that the vestry-clerk's appetite for muffins, in future, de-
pended entirely on her vote on the beadleship. This was sufficient :
the stream had been turning previously, and the impulse thus ad-
ministered directed its final course. The Bung party ordered one
shilling's-worth of muffins weekly for the remainder of the old woman's
natural life ; the parishioners were loud in their exclamations ; and
the fate of Spruggins was sealed.

It was in vain that the twins were exhibited in dresses of the same
pattern, and night-caps to match, at the church-door : the boy in Mrs
Spruggins's right arm, and the girl in her left — even Mrs. Spruggins
herself failed to be an object of sympathy any longer. The majority
attained by Bung on the gross poll was four hundred and twenty-
eight, and the cause of the parishioners triumphed.

CHAPTEE V.

THE BROKER'S MAN.

THE excitement of the late election has subsided, and our parish being
once again restored to a state of comparative tranquillity, we are
enabled to devote our attention to those parishioners who take little
share in our party contests or in the turmoil and bustle of public life.
And we feel sincere pleasure in acknowledging here, that in collecting
materials for this task we have been greatly assisted by Mr. Bung

Mr. Bung. 19

himself, who has imposed on us a debt of obligation which we fear wo
can never repay. The life of this gentleman has been one of a very
chequered description : he has undergone transitions — not from grave
to gay, for he never was grave — not from lively to severe, for severity
forms no part of his disposition ; his fluctuations have been between
poverty in the extreme, and poverty modified, or, to use his own
emphatic language, " between nothing to eat and just half enough."
He is not, as he forcibly remarks, " one of those fortunate men who,
if they were to dive under one side of a barge stark-naked, would
come up on the other with a new suit of clothes on, and a ticket for
soup in the waistcoat-pocket : " neither is ho one of those, whose spirit
has been broken beyond redemption by misfortune and want. He is
just one of the careless, good-for-nothing, happy fellows, who float,
cork-like, on the surface, for the world to play at hockey with:
knocked here, and there, and everywhere : now to the right, then to
the left, again up in the air, and anon to the bottom, but always
reappearing and bounding with the stream buoyantly and merrily
along. Some few months before he was prevailed upon to stand a
contested election for the office of beadle, necessity attached him to
the service of a broker ; and on the opportunities he here acquired of
ascertaining the condition of most of the poorer inhabitants of the
parish, his patron, the captain, first grounded his claims to public
support. Chance threw the man in our way a short time since. We
were, in the first instance, attracted by his prepossessing impudence
at the election ; we were not surprised, on further acquaintance, to
find him a shrewd knowing fellow, with no inconsiderable power of
observation ; and, after conversing with him a little, were somewhat
struck (as wo dare say our readers have frequently been in other cases)
with the power some men seem to have, not only of sympathising
with, but to all appearance of understanding feelings to which they
themselves are entire strangers. We had been expressing to the new
functionary our surprise that ho should ever have served in the
capacity to which we have just adverted, when we gradually led him
into one or two professional anecdotes. As we are induced to think,
on reflection, that they will tell better in nearly his own words, than
with any attempted embellishments of ours, we will at once entitle
them

MR. BUNG'S NARRATIVE.

"It's very true, as you say, sir," Mr. Bung commenced, "that a
broker's man's is not a life to be envied ; and in course you know as
well as I do, though you don't say it, that people hate and scout 'em
because they're the ministers of wretchedness, like, to poor people.
But what could I do, sir ? The thing was no worse because I did it,
instead of somebody else ; and if putting me in possession of a house
would put me in possession of three and sixpence a day, and levying
a distress on another man's goods would relieve my distress and that

2O Sketches by Bos.

of my family, it can't be expected but what I'd take the job and go
through with it. I never liked it, God knows ; I always looked out
for something else, and the moment I got other work to do, I left it.
If there is anything wrong in being the agent in such matters — not
the principal, mind you — I'm sure the business, to a beginner like I
was, at all events, carries its own punishment along with it. I wished
again and again that the people would only blow me up, or pitch into
me — that I wouldn't have minded, it's all in my way ; but it's the
being shut up by yourself in one room for five days, without so much
as an old newspaper to look at, or anything to see out o' the winder
but the roofs and chimneys at the back of the house, or anything to
listen to, but the ticking, perhaps, of an old Dutch clock, the sobbing
of the missis, now and then, the low talking of friends in the next
room, who speak in whispers, lest ' the man ' should overhear them, or
perhaps the occasional opening of the door, as a child peeps in to look
at you, and then runs half-frightened away — It's all this, that makes
you feel sneaking somehow, and ashamed of yourself ; and then, if it's
winter time, they just give you fire enough to make you think you'd
like more, and bring in your grub as if they wished it 'ud choke you
— as I dare say they do, for the matter of that, most heartily. If
they're very civil, they make you up a bed in the room at night, and
if they don't, your master sends one in for you ; but there you are,
without being washed or shaved all the time, shunned by everybody,
and spoken to by no one, unless some one comes in at dinner-time,
and asks you whether you want any more, in a tone as much as to
say, ' I hope you don't,' or, in the evening, to inquire whether you
wouldn't rather have a candle, after you've been sitting in the dark
half the night. When I was left in this way, I used to sit, think,
think, thinking, till I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house
copper with the lid on ; but I believe the old brokers' men who are
regularly trained to it, never think at all. I have heard some on 'em
say, indeed, that they don't know how !

" I put in a good many distresses in my time (continued Mr. Bung),
and in course I wasn't long in finding, that some people are not as
much to be pitied as others are, and that people with good incomes
who get into difficulties, which they keep patching up day after day,
and week after week, get so used to these sort of things in time, that
at last they come scarcely to feel them at all. I remember the very
first place I was put in possession of, was a gentleman's house in this
parish here, that everybody would suppose couldn't help having money
if he tried. I went with old Fixem, my old master, 'bout half arter
eight in the morning; rang the area-bell; servant in livery opened
the door : ' Governor at home ? ' — ' Yes, he is,' says the man ; ' but
he's breakfasting just now.' — 'Never mind,' says Fixem, 'just you tell
him there's a gentleman here, as wants to speak to him partickler.' So
the servant he opens his eyes, and stares about him all ways — looking
for the gentleman, as it struck me, for I don't think anybody but a

Mr. Bung's best Job. 2 1

man as was stone-blind would mistake Fixem for one ; and as for me,
I was as seedy as a cheap cowcumber. Hows'ever, he turns round,
and goes to the breakfast-parlour, which was a little snug sort of room
at the end of the passage, and Fixem (as we always did in that pro-
fession), without waiting to be announced, walks in artcr him, and
before the servant could get out, ' Please, sir, here's a man as wants to
speak to you,' looks in at the door as familiar and pleasant as may be.
' Who the devil are you, and how dare you walk into a gentleman's
house without leave ? ' says the master, as fierce as a bull in fits.
' My name,' says Fixem, winking to the master to send the servant
away, and putting the warrant into his hands folded up like a note,
' My name's Smith,' says he, ' and I called from Johnson's about that
business of Thompson's.' — 'Oh,' says the other, quite down on him
directly, ' How is Thompson ? ' says he ; ' Pray sit down, Mr. Smith :
John, leave the room.' Out went the servant ; and the gentleman
and Fixem looked at one another till they couldn't look any longer,
and then they varied the amusements by looking at me, who had been
standing on the mat all this time. ' Hundred and fifty pounds, I see,'
said the gentleman at last. ' Hundred and fifty pound,' said Fixem,
' besides cost of levy, sheriff's poundage, and all other incidental
expenses.' — ' Um,' says the gentleman, ' I shan't be able to settle this
before to-morrow afternoon.' — ' Very sorry ; but I shall be obliged to
leave my man here till then,' replies Fixem, pretending to look very
miserable over it. * That's very unfort'nate,' says the gentleman, ' for
I have got a large party here to-night, and I'm ruined if these fellows
of mine get an inkling of the matter — just step here, Mr. Smith,' says
he, after a short pause. So Fixem walks with him up to the window,
and after a good deal of whispering, and a little chinking of suverins,
and looking at me, he comes back and says, ' Bung, you're a handy
fellow, and very honest, I know. This gentleman wants an assistant
to clean the plate and wait at table to-day, and if you're not particu-
larly engaged,' says old Fixem, grinning like mad, and shoving a
couple of suverins into my hand, ' he'll be very glad to avail himself
of your services.' Well, I laughed : and the gentleman laughed, and
we all laughed ; and I went home and cleaned myself, leaving Fixem
there, and when 1 went back, Fixem went away, and I polished up
the plate, and waited at table, and gammoned the servants, and nobody
had the least idea I was in possession, though it very nearly came out
after all ; for one of the last gentlemen who remained, came down-
stairs into the hall where I was sitting pretty late at night, and putting
half-a-crown into my hand, says, « Here, my man,' says he, ' run and
get me a coach, will you ? ' 1 thought it was a do, to get me out of
the house, and was just going to say so, sulkily enough, when the
gentleman (who was up to everything) came running down-stairs, as
if ho was in great anxiety. ' Bung,' says he, pretending to be in a
consuming passion. ' Sir,' says I. ' Why the devil an't you looking
after that plate ? ' — ' I was just going to send him for a coach for me,'

22 Sketches by Bos.

says the other gentleman. ' And I was just a going to say,' says I —
' Anybody else, my dear fellow,' interrupts the master of the house,
pushing me down the passage to get out of the way — ' anybody else ;
but I have put this man in possession of all the plate and valuables,
and I cannot allow him on any consideration whatever, to leave tho
house. Bung, you scoundrel, go and count those forks in the break-
fast-parlour instantly.' You may be sure I went laughing pretty
hearty when I found it was all right. The money was paid next day,
with the addition of something else for myself, and that was the best
job that I (and I suspect old Fixem too) ever got in that line.

" But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after all," resumed
Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look, and flash air, with which
he had repeated the previous anecdote — " and I'm sorry to say, it's
the side one sees very, very seldom, in comparison with the dark one.
The civility which money will purchase, is rarely extended to those
who have none ; and there's a consolation even in being able to patch
up one difficulty, to make way for another, to which very poor people
are strangers. I was once put into a house down George's Yard — that
little dirty court at the back of the »oas-works ; and I never shall
forget the misery of them people, dear me ! It was a distress for half-
a-year's rent — two pound ten I think. There was only two rooms in
the house, and as there was no passage, the lodgers up-stairs always
went through the room of the people of the house, as they passed in
and out ; and every time they did so — which, on the average, was
about four times every quarter of an hour — they blowed up quite
frightful : for their things had been seized too, and included in tho
inventory. There was a little piece of enclosed dust in front of the
house, with a cinder-path leading up to the door, and an open rain-
water butt on one side. A dirty striped curtain, on a very slack string,
hung in the window, and a little triangular bit of broken looking-glass
rested on the sill inside. I suppose it was meant for the people's use,
but their appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, that I'm
certain they never could have plucked up courage to look themselves
in the face a second time, if they survived the fright of doing so once.
There was two or three chairs, that might have been worth, in their
best days, from eightpence to a shilling a-piece ; a small deal table,
an old corner cupboard with nothing in it, and one of those bed-
steads which turn up half-way, and leave the bottom legs sticking
out for you to knock your head against, or hang your hat upon ; no
bed, no bedding. There was an old sack, by way of rug, before the
fire-place, and four or five children were grovelling about, among the
sand on the floor. The execution was only put in, to get 'em out of
the house, for there was nothing to take to pay the expenses; and
here I stopped for three days, though that was a mere form too : for,
in course, I knew, and we all knew, they could never pay the money.
In one of the chairs, by the side of the place where the fire ought to
have been, was an old 'ooman — the ugliest and dirtiest I ever see —

The Dark Side of t/ie Picture. 23

who sat rocking herself backwards and forwards, backwards and
forwards, without once stopping, except for an instant now and then,
to clasp together the withered hands which, with these exceptions, she
kept constantly rubbing upon her knees, just raising and depressing
her fingers convulsively, in time to the rocking of the chair. On the
other side sat the mother with an infant in her arms, which cried till
it cried itself to sleep, and when it 'woke, cried till it cried itself off
again. The old 'ooman's voice I never heard : she seemed completely
stupified ; and as to the mother's, it would have been better if she had
been so too, for misery had changed her to a devil. If you had heard
how she cursed the little naked children as was rolling on the floor,
and seen how savagely she struck the infant when it cried with
hunger, you'd have shuddered as much as I did. There they remained
all the time : the children ate a morsel of bread once or twice, and I
gave 'em best part of the dinners my missis brought me, but the
woman ate nothing ; they never even laid on the bedstead, nor was
the room swept or cleaned all the time. The neighbours were all too
poor themselves to take any notice of 'em, but from what I could
make out from the abuse of the woman up-stairs, it seemed the
husband had been transported a few weeks before. When the time
was up, the landlord and old Fixem too, got rather frightened about
the family, and so they made a stir about it, and had 'em taken to the
workhouse. They sent the sick couch for the old 'ooman, and Simmons
took the children away at night. The old 'ooman went into the
infirmary, and very soon died. The children are all in the house to
this day, and very comfortable they are in comparison. As to the
mother, there was no taming her at all. She had been a quiet, hard-
working woman, I believe, but her misery had actually drove her
wild ; so after she had been sent to the house of correction half-a-
dozen times, for throwing inkstands at the overseers, blaspheming the
churchwardens, and smashing everybody as come near her, she burst
a blood-vessel one mornin', and died too ; and a happy release it was,
both for herself and the old paupers, male and female, which she
used to tip over in all directions, as if they were so many skittles, and
she the ball.

" Now this was bad enough," resumed Mr. Bung, taking a half-step
towards the door, as if to intimate that he had nearly concluded.
" This was bad enough, but there was a sort of quiet misery — if you
understand what I mean by that, sir — about a lady at one house I was
put into, as touched me a good deal more. It doesn't matter where it
was exactly : indeed, I'd rather not say, but it was the same sort o'
job. I went with Fixem in the usual way — there was a year's rent in
arrear ; a very small servant-girl opened the door, and three or four
fine-looking little children was in the front parlour we were shown
into, which was very clean, but very scantily furnished, much like the
children themselves. ' Bung,' says Fixem to me, in a low voice, when
we were left alone for a minute, ' I know something about this here

24 Sketches by Boz.

family, and my opinion is, it's no go.' ' Do you think they can't
settle ? ' says I, quite anxiously ; for I liked the looks of them children.
Fixem shook his head, and was just about to reply, when the door
opened, and in came a lady, as white as ever I see anyone in my
days, except about the eyes, which were red with crying. She walked
in, as firm as I could have done ; shut the door carefully after her,
and sat herself down with a face as composed as if it was made of
stone. ' What is the matter, gentlemen ? ' says she, in a surprisin'
steady voice. ' Is this an execution ? ' 'It is, mum,' says Fixem.
The lady looked at him as steady as ever : she didn't seem to have
understood him. ' It is, mum,' says Fixem again ; ' this is my warrant
of distress, mum,' says he, handing it over as polite as if it was a
newspaper which had been bespoke arter the next gentleman.

" The lady's lip trembled as she took the printed paper. She cast
her eye over it, and old Fixem began to explain the form, but I saw
she wasn't reading it, plain enough, poor thing. ' Oh, my God ! ' says
she, suddenly a bursting out crying, letting the warrant fall, and
hiding her face in her hands. ' Oh, my God ! what will become ot
us ? ' The noise she made, brought in a young lady of about nineteen
or twenty, who, I suppose, had been a listening at the door, and who
had got a little boy in her arms : she sat him down in the lady's lap,
without speaking, and she hugged the poor little fellow to her bosom,
and cried over him, till even old Fixem put on his blue spectacles to
hide the two tears, that was a trickling down, one on each side of his
dirty face. 'Now, dear ma,' says the young lady, 'you know how
much you have borne. For all our sakes — for pa's sake,' says she,
' don't give way to this ! ' — ' No, no, I won't ! ' says the lady, gathering
herself up, hastily, and drying her eyes ; ' I am very foolish, but I'm
better now — much better.' And then she roused herself up, went
with us into every room while we took the inventory, opened all the
drawers of her own accord, sorted the children's little clothes to
make the work easier ; and, except doing everything in a strange sort
of hurry, seemed as calm and composed as if nothing had happened.
When we came down-stairs again, she hesitated a minute or two, and
at last says, ' Gentlemen,' says she, ' I am afraid I have done wrong,
and perhaps it may bring you into trouble. I secreted just now,' she
says, ' the only trinket I have left in the world — here it is.' So she
lays down on the table a little miniature mounted in gold. ' It's a
miniature,' she says, ' of my poor dear father ! I little thought once,
that I should ever thank God for depriving me of the original, but I
do, and have done for years back, most fervently. Take it away, sir,'
she says, ' it's a face that never turned from me in sickness or distress,
and I can hardly bear to turn from it now, when, God knows, I suffer
both in no ordinary degree.' I couldn't say nothing, but I raised my
head from the inventory which I was filling up, and looked at Fixem ;
the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so I ran my pen through the
' Mini ' I had just written, and left the miniature on the table.

The Ladies' Societies. 25

" Well, sir, to make short of a long story, I was left in possession,
and in possession I remained ; and though I was an ignorant man, and
tlio master of the house a clever one, I saw what ho never did, but
what ho would give worlds now (if ho had 'em) to have seen in time.
I saw, sir, that his wife was wasting away, beneath cares of which she
never complained, and griefs she never told. I saw that she was
dying before his eyes ; I knew that one exertion from him might have
saved her, but he never made it. I don't blame him : I don't think
ho could rouse himself. She had so long anticipated all his wishes, and
actod for him, that he was a lost man when left to himself. I used to
think when I caught sight of her, in the clothes she used to wear,
which looked shabby oven upon her, and would have been scarcely
decent on anyone else, that if I was a gentleman it would wring my
very heart to see the woman that was a smart and merry girl when I
courted her, so altered through her love for me. Bitter cold and
damp weather it was, yet, though her dress was thin, and her shoes
none of the best, during the whole three days, from morning to night,
she was out-of-doors running about to try and raise the money. The
money was raised and the execution was paid out. The whole family
crowded into the room where I was, when the money arrived. The
father was quite happy as the inconvenience was removed — I dare say
ho didn't know how ; the children looked merry and cheerful again ;
the eldest girl was bustling about, making preparations for the first
comfortable meal they had had since the distress was put in ; and the
mother looked pleased to see them all so. But if ever I saw death in
a woman's face, I saw it in hers that night.

" I was right, sir," continued Mr. Bung, hurriedly passing his coat-
sleeve over his face ; " the family grew more prosperous, and good
fortune arrived. But it was too late. Those children are motherless
now, and their father woiilct give up all he has since gained — house,
home, goods, money : all that he has, or ever can have, to restore the
wife he has lost."

CHAPTER VI.

THE LADIES' SOCIETIES.

OCR Parish is very prolific in ladies' charitable institutions. In
winter, when wet feet are common, and colds not scarce, we have the
ladies' soup distribution society, the ladies' coal distribution society,
and the ladies' blanket distribution society ; in summer, when stono
fruits flourish and stomach-aches prevail, we have the ladies' dis-
pensary, and the ladies' sick visitation committee ; and all the year
round we have the ladies' child's examination society, the ladies' bible

26 Sketches by Bos

and prayer-book circulation society, and the ladies' childbed-linen
monthly loan society. The two latter are decidedly the most im-
portant ; whether they are productive of more benefit than the rest, it
is not for us to say, but we can take upon ourselves to affirm, with the
utmost solemnity, that they create a greater stir and more bustle, than
all the others put together.

We should be disposed to affirm, on the first blush of the matter,
that the bible and prayer-book society is not so popular as the child-
bed-linen society; the bible and prayer-book society has, however,
considerably increased in importance within the last year or two,
having derived some adventitious aid from the factious opposition of
the child's examination society ; which factious opposition originated
in manner following : — When the young curate was popular, and all
the unmarried ladies in the parish took a serious turn, the charity
children all at once became objects of peculiar and especial interest.
The three Miss Browns (enthusiastic admirers of the curate) taught,
and exercised, and examined, and re-examined the unfortunate children,
until the boys grew pale, and the girls consumptive with study and
fatigue. The three Miss Browns stood it out very well, because they
relieved each other ; but the children, having no relief at all, ex-
hibited decided symptoms of weariness and care. The unthinking
part of the parishioners laughed at all this, but the more reflective
portion of the inhabitants abstained from expressing any opinion on
the subject until that of the curate had been clearly ascertained.

The opportunity was not long wanting. The curate preached a
charity sermon on behalf of the charity school, and in the charity
sermon aforesaid, expatiated in glowing terms on the praiseworthy
and indefatigable exertions of certain estimable individuals. Sobs
were heard to issue from the three Miss Browns' pew ; the pew-
opener of the division was seen to hurry down the centre aisle to the
vestry door, and to return immediately, bearing a glass of water in
her hand. A low moaning ensued ; two more pew-openers rushed to
the spot, and the three Miss Browns, each supported by a pew-opener,
were led out of the church, and led in again after the lapse of five
minutes with white pocket-handkerchiefs to their eyes, as if they had
been attending a funeral in the churchyard adjoining. If any doubt
had for a moment existed, as to whom the allusion was intended to
apply, it was at once removed. The wish to enlighten the charity
children became universal, and the three Miss Browns were unani-
mously besought to divide the school into classes, and to assign each
class to the superintendence of two young ladies.

A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little patronage is
more so ; the three Miss Browns appointed all the old maids, and
carjefully excluded the young ones. Maiden aunts triumphed,
mammas were reduced to the lowest depths of despair, and there is no
telling in what act of violence the general indignation against the
three Miss Browns might have vented itself, had not a perfectly

The three Miss Browns. 27

providential occurrence changed the tide of public feeling. Mrs.
Johnson Parker, the mother of seven extremely fine girls — all un-
married— hastily reported to several other mammas of several other
unmarried families, that five old men, six old women, and children
innumerable, in the free seats near her pew, were in the habit of
coming to church every Sunday, without either bible or prayer-book.
Was this to be borne in a civilised country ? Could such things bo
tolerated in a Christian land ? Never ! A ladies' bible and prayer-
book distribution society was instantly formed : president, Mrs. John-
son Parker ; treasurers, auditors, and secretary, the Misses Johnson
Parker : subscriptions were entered into, books were bought, all the
free-seat people provided therewith, and when the first lesson was
given out, on the first Sunday succeeding these events, there was such
a dropping of books, and rustling of leaves, that it was morally
impossible to hear one word of the service for five minutes afterwards.

The three Miss Browns, and their party, saw the approaching
danger, and endeavoured to avert it by ridicule and sarcasm. Neither
the old men nor the old women could read their books, now they had
got them, said the three Miss Browns. Never mind ; they could
learn, replied Mrs. Johnson Parker. The children couldn't read
either, suggested the throe Miss Browns. No matter ; they could bo
taught, retorted Mrs. Johnson Parker. A balance of parties took
place. The Miss Browns publicly examined — popular feeling inclined
to the child's examination society. The Miss Johnson Parkers
publicly distributed — a reaction took place in favour of the prayer-
book distribution. A feather would have turned the scale, and a
feather did turn it. A missionary returned from the West Indies ;
he was to be presented to the Dissenters' Missionary Society on his
marriage with a wealthy widow. Overtures were made to the Dis-
senters by the Johnson Parkers. Their object was the same, and why
not have a joint meeting of the two societies ? The proposition was
accepted. The meeting was duly heralded by public announcement,
and the room was crowded to suffocation. The Missionary appeared
on the platform; he was hailed with enthusiasm. He repeated a
dialogue he had heard between two negroes, behind a hedge, on the
subject of distribution societies; the approbation was tumultuous.
He gave an imitation of the two negroes in broken English ; the roof
was rent with applause. From that period wo date (with one trifling
exception) a daily increase in the popularity of the distribution society,
and an increase of popularity, which the feeble and impotent oppo-
sition of the examination party, has only tended to augment.

Now, the great points about the childbed-linen monthly loan society
are, that it is less dependent on the fluctuations of public opinion
than either the distribution or the child's examination ; and that,
come what may, there is never any lack of objects on which to
exercise its benevolence. Our parish is a very populous one, and, if
anything, contributes, we should be disposed to say, rather more than

28 S ketches by Boz.

its due share to the aggregate amount of births in the metropolis and
its environs. The consequence is, that the monthly loan society
flourishes, and invests its members with a most enviable amount of
bustling patronage. The society (whose only notion of dividing time,
would appear to bo its allotment into months) holds monthly tea-
drinkings, at which the monthly report is received, a secretary elected
for the month ensuing, and such of the monthly boxes as may not
happen to be out on loan for the month, carefully examined.

We were never present at one of these meetings, from all of which
it is scarcely necessary to say, gentlemen are carefully excluded ; but
Mr. Bung has been called before the board once or twice, and we have
his authority for stating, that its proceedings are conducted with great
order and regularity : not more than four members being allowed to
speak at one time on any pretence whatever. The regular committee
is composed exclusively of married ladies, but a vast number of young
unmarried ladies of from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, respec-
tively, are admitted as honorary members, partly because they are
very useful in replenishing the boxes, and visiting the confined ;
partly because it is highly desirable that they should be initiated at
an early period, into the more serious and matronly duties of after-
life ; and partly, because prudent mammas have not unfrequently been
known to turn this circumstance to wonderfully good account in
matrimonial speculations.

In addition to the loan of the monthly boxes (which are always
painted blue, with the name of the society in large white letters on
the lid), the society dispense occasional grants of beef-tea, and a com-
position of warm beer, spice, eggs, and sugar, commonly known by
the name of " caudle," to its patients. And here again the services of
the honorary members are called into requisition, and most cheerfully
conceded. Deputations of twos or threes are sent out to visit the
patients, and on these occasions there is such a tasting of caudle and
beef-tea, such a stirring about of little messes in tiny saucepans on
the hob, such a dressing and undressing of infants, such a tying, and
folding, and pinning ; such a nursing and warming of little legs and
feet before the fire, such a delightful confusion of talking and cooking,
bustle, importance, and ofiiciousness, as never can be enjoyed in its
full extent but on similar occasions.

In rivalry of these two institutions, and as a last expiring effort to
acquire parochial popularity, the child's examination people deter-
mined, the other day, on having a grand public examination of the
pupils ; and the large school-room of the national seminary was, by
and with the consent of the parish authorities, devoted to the purpose.
Invitation circulars were forwarded to all the principal parishioners,
including, of course, the heads of the other two societies, for whose
especial behoof and edification the display was intended ; and a large
audience was confidently anticipated on the occasion. The floor was
carefully scrubbed the day before, under the immediate superin~

Triumph of Mrs. Johnson Parker. 29

tendenco of the three Miss Browns ; forms were placed across the
room for the accommodation of the visitors, specimens in writing were
carefully selected, and as carefully patched and touched np, until they
astonished the children who had written them, rather more than the
company who read them ; sums in compouud addition were rehearsed
and re-rehearsed until all the children had the totals by heart ; and the
preparations altogether were on the most laborious and most compre-
hensive scale. The morning arrived : the children were yellow-soaped
and flannelled, and towelled, till their faces shone again ; every pupil's
hair was carefully combed into his or her eyes, as the case might be ;
the girls were adorned with snow-white tippets, and caps bound round
the head by a single purple ribbon : the necks of the elder boys were
fixed into collars of startling dimensions.

The doors were thown open, and the Misses Brown and Co. were
discovered in plain white muslin dresses, and caps of the same — the
child's examination uniform. The room filled : the greetings of the
company were loud and cordial. The distributionists trembled, for
their popularity was at stake. The eldest boy fell forward, and
delivered a propitiatory address from behind his collar. It was from
the pen of Mr. Henry Brown ; the applause was universal, and the
Johnson Parkers were aghast. The examination proceeded with
success, and terminated in triumph. The child's examination society
gained a momentary victory, and the Johnson Parkers retreated in
despair.

A secret council of the distributionists was held that night, with
Mrs. Johnson Parker in the chair, to consider of the best means of
recovering the ground they had lost in the favour of the parish.
What could be done ? Another meeting ! Alas ! who was to attend
it ? The Missionary would not do twice ; and the slaves wero
emancipated. A bold step must be taken. The parish must be
astonished in some way or other ; but no one was able to suggest
what the step should be. At length, a very old lady was heard to
mumble, in indistinct tones, " Exeter Hall." A sudden light broke in
upon the meeting. It was unanimously resolved, that a deputation of
old ladies should wait upon a celebrated orator, imploring his assist-
ance, and the favour of a speech ; and the deputation should also wait
on two or three other imbecile old women, not resident in the parish,
and entreat their attendance. The application was successful, the
meeting 'was held ; the orator (an Irishman) came. He talked of
green isles — other shores — vast Atlantic — bosom of the deep — Chris-
tian charity — blood and extermination — mercy in hearts — arms in
hands — altars and homes — household gods. He wiped his eyes, ho
blew his nose, and he quoted Latin. The effect was tremendous — the
Latin was a decided hit. Nobody knew exactly what it was about, but
everybody knew it must be affecting, because even the orator was
overcome. The popularity of the distribution society among the
ladies of our parish is unprecedented ; and the child's examination is
going fast to decay.

?O Sketches by Boz.

CHAPTER VII.

OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR.

WE are very fond of speculating as we walk through a street, on the
character and pursuits of the people who inhabit it ; and nothing so
materially assists us in these speculations as the appearance of the
house-doors. The various expressions of the human countenance
afford a beautiful and interesting study ; but there is something in the
physiognomy of street-door knockers, almost as characteristic, and
nearly as infallible. Whenever we visit a man for the first time, we
contemplate the features of his knocker with the greatest curiosity,
for we well know, that between the man and his knocker, there will
inevitably be a greater or less degree of resemblance and sympathy.

For instance, there is one description of knocker that used to bo
common enough, but which is fast passing away — a large round one,
with the jolly face of a convivial lion smiling blandly at you, as you
twist the sides of your hair into a curl, or pull up your shirt-collar
while you are waiting for the door to be opened ; we never saw that
knocker on the door of a churlish man — so far as our experience is
concerned, it invariably bespoke hospitality and another bottle.

No man ever saw this knocker on the door of a small attorney or
bill-broker ; they always patronise the other lion ; a heavy ferocious-
looking fellow, with a countenance expressive of savage stupidity — a
sort Jof grand master among the knockers, and a great favourite with
the selfish and brutal.

Then there is a little pert Egyptian knocker, with a long thin face,
a pinched-up nose, and a very sharp chin ; he is most in vogue with
your government-office people, in light drabs and starched cravats ;
little spare priggish men, who are perfectly satisfied with their own
opinions, and consider themselves of paramount importance.

We were greatly troubled a few years ago, by the innovation of a
new kind of knocker, without any face at all, composed of a wreath,
depending from a hand or small truncheon. A little trouble and
attention, however, enabled us to overcome this difficulty, and to recon-
cile the new system to our favourite theory. You will invariably find
this knocker on the doors of cold and formal people, who always ask
you why you don't come, and never say do.

Everybody knows the brass knocker is common to suburban villas,
and extensive boarding-schools ; and having noticed this genus we
have recapitulated all the most prominent and strongly-defined
species.

Some phrenologists affirm, that the agitation of a man's brain by
different passions, produces corresponding developments in the form
of his skull. Do not let us be understood as pushing our theory to

Knockers of the Past. 3 1

the full length of asserting, that any alteration in a man's disposition
would produce a visible effect on the feature of his knocker. Our
position merely is, that in such a case, the magnetism which must
exist between a man and his knocker, would induce the man to remove,
and seek some knocker more congenial to his altered feelings. If you
ever find a man changing his habitation without any reasonable pretext,
depend upon it, that, although he may not be aware of the fact himself,
it is because he and his knocker are at variance. This is a new
theory, but we venture to launch it, nevertheless, as being quite as
ingenious and infallible as many thousands of the learned speculations
which are daily broached for public good and private fortune-making.

Entertaining these feelings on the subject of knockers, it will be
readily imagined with what consternation we viewed the entire
removal of the knocker from the door of the next house to the one we
lived in, some time ago, and the substitution of a bell. This was a
calamity we had never anticipated. The bare idea of anybody being
able to exist without a knocker appeared so wild and visionary, that it
had never for one instant entered our imagination.

We sauntered moodily from the spot, and bent our steps towards
Eaton Square, then just building. What was our astonishment and
indignation to find that bells were fast becoming the rule, and knockers
the exception ! Our theory trembled beneath the shock. We hastened
home ; and fancying we foresaw in the swift progress of events, its
entire abolition, resolved from that day forward to vent our specula-
tions on our next-door neighbours in person. The house adjoining
ours on the left hand was uninhabited, and we had, therefore, plenty
of leisure to observe our next-door neighbours on the other side.

The house without the knocker was in the occupation of a City
clerk, and there was a neatly-written bill in the parlour window
intimating that lodgings for a single gentleman were to be let within.

It was a neat, dull little house, on the shady side of the way, with
new, narrow floorcloth in the passage, and new, narrow stair-carpets
up to the first floor. The paper was new, and the paint was new, and
the furniture was new; and all three, paper, paint, and furniture,
bespoke the limited means of the tenant. There was a little red and
black carpet in the drawing-room, with a border of flooring all the
way round ; a few stained chairs and a pembroke table. A pink shell
was displayed on each of the little sideboards, which, with the
addition of a tea-tray and caddy, a few more shells on the mantelpiece,
and three peacock's feathers tastefully arranged above them, completed
the decorative furniture of the apartment.

This was the room destined for the reception of the single gentle-
man during the day, and a little back-room on the same floor was
assigned as his sleeping apartment by night.

The bill had not been long in the window, when a stout, good-
humoured looking gentleman, of about five-and-thirty, appeared as a
candidate for the tenancy. Terms were soon arranged, for the bill

32 Sketches by Bos.

was taken down immediately after his first visit. In a day or two the
single gentleman came in, and shortly afterwards his real character
came out.

First of all, he displayed a most extraordinary partiality for sitting
up till three or four o'clock in the morning, drinking whiskey-and-
water, and smoking cigars ; then he invited friends home, who used
to come at ten o'clock, and begin to get happy about the small hours,
when they evinced their perfect contentment by singing songs with
half-a-dozen verses of two lines each, and a chorus of ten, which
chorus used to be shouted forth by the whole strength of the company,
in the most enthusiastic and vociferous manner, to the great annoyance
of the neighbours, and the special discomfort of another single gentle-
man overhead.

Now, this was bad enough, occurring as it did three times a week
on the average, but this was not all ; for when the company did go
away, instead of walking quietly down the street, as anybody else's
company would have done, they amused themselves by making alarm-
ing and frightful noises, and counterfeiting the shrieks of females in
distress , and one night, a red-faced gentleman in a white hat knocked
in the most urgent manner at the door of the powdered-headed old
gentleman at No 3, and when the powdered-headed old gentleman,
who thought one of his married daughters must have been taken ill
prematurely, had groped down-stairs, and after a great deal of unbolt-
ing and key-turning, opened the street door, the red-faced man in the
white hat said he hoped he'd excuse his giving him so much trouble, but
he'd feel obliged if he'd favour him with a glass of cold spring-water,
and the loan of shilling for a cab to take him home, on which the old
gentleman slammed the door and went up-stairs, and threw the con-
tents of his water-jug out of window — very straight, only it went over
the wrong man ; and the whole street was involved in confusion.

A joke's a joke ; and even practical jests are very capital in their
way, if you can only get the other party to see the fun of them ; but
the population of our street were so dull of apprehension, as to be
quite lost to a sense of the drollery of this proceeding : and the con-
sequence was, that our next-door neighbour was obliged to tell the
single gentleman, that unless he gave up entertaining his friends at
home, he really must be compelled to part with him. The single
gentleman received the remonstrance with great good-humour, and
promised from that time forward, to spend his evenings at a coffee-
house— a determination which afforded general and unmixed satis-
faction

The next night passed off very well, everybody being delighted with
the change ; but on the next, the noises were renewed with greater
spirit than ever. The single gentleman's friends being unable to see
him in his own house every alternate night, had come to the deter-
mination of seeing him homo every night ; and what with the dis-
cordant greetings of the friends at parting, and the noise created by

The Lodgers next door. 33

the single gentleman in his passage up-stairs, and his subsequent
struggles to get his boots off, the evil was not to be borne. So, our
next-door neighbour gave the single gentleman, who was a very good
lodger in other respects, notice to quit ; and the single gentleman went
away, and entertained his friends in other lodgings.

The next applicant for the vacant first-floor, was of a very different
character from the troublesome single gentleman who had just quitted
it. He was a tall, thin, young gentleman, with a profusion of brown
hair, reddish whiskers, and very slightly developed mustaches. He
wore a braided surtout, with frogs behind, light grey trousers, and
wash-leather gloves, and had altogether rather a military appearance.
So unlike the roystering single gentleman. Such insinuating manners,
and such a delightful address ! So seriously disposed, too ! When
he first came to look at the lodgings, he inquired most particularly
whether he was sure to be able to get a seat in the parish church ; and
when he had agreed to take them, he requested to have a list of the
different local charities, as he intended to subscribe his mite to the
most deserving among them.

Our next-door neighbour was now perfectly happy. He had got a
lodger at last, of just his own way of thinking — a serious, well-disposed
man, who abhorred gaiety, and loved retirement. He took down the
bill with a light heart, and pictured in imagination a long series of
quiet Sundays, on which he and his lodger would exchange mutual
civilities and Sunday papers.

The serious man arrived, and his luggage was to arrive from the
country next morning. He borrowed a clean shirt, and a prayer-book,
from our next-door neighbour, and retired to rest at an early hour, re-
questing that he might be called punctually at ten o'clock next morn-
ing— not before, as he was much fatigued.

He icas called, and did not answer : he was called again, but there
was no reply. Our next-door neighbour became alarmed, and burst
the door open. The serious man had left the house mysteriously;
carrying with him the shirt, the prayer-book, a teaspoon, and the bed-
clothes.

Whether this occurrence, coupled with the irregularities of his
former lodger, gave our next-door neighbour an aversion to single
gentlemen, we know not ; we only know that the next bill which made
its appearance in the parlour-window intimated generally, that there
were furnished apartments to let on the first-floor. The bill was soon
removed. The new lodgers at first attracted our curiosity, and after-
wards excited our interest.

They were a young lad of eighteen or nineteen, and his mother, a
lady of about fifty, or it might be less. The mother wore a widow's
weeds, and the boy was also clothed in deep mourning. They were
poor — very poor ; for their only means of support arose from the
pittance the boy earned, by copying writings, and translating for
booksellers.

34 Sketches by Bos.

They bad removed from some country place and settled in London ;
partly because it afforded better chances of employment for the boy, and
partly, perhaps, with the natural desire to leave a place where they
had been in better circumstances, and where their poverty was known.
They were proud under their reverses, and above revealing their wants
and privations to strangers. How bitter those privations were, and
how hard the boy worked to remove them, no one ever knew but them-
selves. Night after night, two, three, four hours after midnight, could
we hear the occasional raking up of the scanty fire, or the hollow and
half-stifled cough, which indicated his being still at work ; and day
after day, could we see more plainly that nature had set that un-
earthly light in his plaintive face, which is the beacon of her worst
disease.

Actuated, we hope, by a higher feeling than mere curiosity, we con-
trived to establish, first an acquaintance, and then a close intimacy,
with the poor strangers. Our worst fears were realised ; the boy was
sinking fast. Through a part of the winter, and the whole of the
following spring and summer, his labours were unceasingly prolonged :
and the mother attempted to procure needlework, embroidery — any-
thing for bread.

A few shillings now and then, were all she could earn. The boy
worked steadily on ; dying by minutes, but never once giving utter-
ance to complaint or murmur.

One beautiful autumn evening we went to pay our customary visit
to the invalid. His little remaining strength had been decreasing
rapidly for two or three days preceding, and he was lying on the sofa
at the open window, gazing at the setting sun. His mother had been
reading the Bible to him, for she closed the book as we entered, and
advanced to meet us.

" I was telling William," she said, " that we must manage to take
him into the country somewhere, so that he may get quite well. He
is not ill, you know, but he is not very strong, and has exerted himself
too much lately." Poor thing ! The tears that streamed through her
fingers, as she turned aside, as if to adjust her close widow's cap, too
plainly showed how fruitless was the attempt to deceive herself.

We sat down by the head of the sofa, but said nothing, for we saw
the breath of life was passing gently but rapidly from the young form
before us. At every respiration, his heart beat more slowly.

The boy placed one hand in ours, grasped his mother's arm with
the other, drew her hastily towards him, and fervently kissed her cheek.
There was a pause. He sunk back upon his pillow, and looked long
and earnestly in his mother's face.

" William, William ! " murmured the mother, after a long interval,
" don't look at me so — speak to me, dear ! "

The boy smiled languidly, but an instant afterwards his features
resolved into the same cold, solemn gaze.

" William, dear William ! rouse yourself; don't look at me so, love

T/te Dying Request. 35

—pray don't ! Oh, my God ! what shall I do ! " cried the widow,
clasping her hands in agony — " my dear boy ! he is dying ! "

The boy raised himself by a violent effort, and folded his hands
together — " Mother ! dear, dear mother, bury me in the open fields —
anywhere but in these dreadful streets. I should like to be where
you can see my grave, but not in these close crowded streets ; they
have killed me ; kiss me again, mother ; put your arm round my
neck '

Ho fell back, and a strange expression stole upon his features ; not
of pain or suffering, but an indescribable fixing of every line and
muscle.

The boy was dead.

36 Sketches by Boz.

SCENES.

CHAPTER I.

THE STREETS — MORNING.

THE appearance presented by the streets of London an hour before
sunrise, on a summer's morning, is most striking even to the few
whose unfortunate pursuits of pleasure, or scarcely less unfortunate
pursuits of business, cause them to be well acquainted with the scene.
There is an air of cold, solitary desolation about the noiseless streets
which we are accustomed to see thronged at other times by a busy,
eager crowd, and over the quiet, closely-shut buildings, which through-
out the day are swarming with life and bustle, that is very impressive.

The last drunken man, who shall find his way home before sunlight,
has just staggered heavily along, roaring out the burden of the drink-
ing song of the previous night : the last houseless vagrant whom
penury and police have left in the streets, has coiled up his chilly
limbs in some paved corner, to dream of food and warmth. The
drunken, the dissipated, and the wretched have disappeared ; the more
sober and orderly part of the population have not yet awakened to the
labours of the day, and the stillness of death is over the streets ; its
very hue seems to be imparted to them, cold and lifeless as they
look in the grey, sombre light of daybreak. The coach-stands in the
larger thoroughfares are deserted : the night-houses are closed ; and
the chosen promenades of profligate misery are empty.

An occasional policeman may alone be seen at the street-corners,
listlessly gazing on the deserted prospect before him ; and now and
then a rakish-looking cat runs stealthily across the road and descends
his own area with as much caution and slyness — bounding first on the
water-butt, then on the dust-dole, and then alighting on the flag-stones
— as if he were conscious that his character depended on his gallantry
of the preceding night escaping public observation. A partially
opened bedroom-window here and there, bespeaks the heat of the
weather, and the uneasy slumbers of its occupant ; and the dim scanty
flicker of the rushlight, through the window-blind, denotes the

An Hour after Daybreak. 37

chamber of watching or sickness. With these few exceptions, the
streets present no signs of life, nor the houses of habitation.

An hour wears away ; the spires of the churches and roofs of the
principal buildings are faintly tinged with the light of the rising sun ;
and the streets, by almost imperceptible degrees, begin to resume their
bustle and animation. Market-carts roll slowly along: the sleepy
waggoner impatiently urging on his tired horses or vainly endeavouring
to awaken the boy, who, luxuriously stretched on the top of the fruit-
baskets, forgets, in happy oblivion, his long-cherished curiosity to
behold the wonders of London.

Rough, sleepy-looking animals of strange appearance, something
between ostlers and hackney-coachmen, begin to take down the shutters
of early public-houses ; and little deal tables, with the ordinary pre-
parations for a street breakfast, make their appearance at the customary
stations. Numbers of men and women (principally the latter), carrying
upon their heads heavy baskets of fruit, toil down the park side of
Piccadilly, on their way to Covent Garden, and, following each other
in rapid succession, form a long straggling line from thence to the
turn of the road at Knightsbridge.

Hero and there, a bricklayer's labourer, Avith the day's dinner tied
up in a handkerchief, walks briskly to his work, and occasionally a
little knot of three or four schoolboys on a stolen bathing expedition
rattle merrily over the pavement, their boisterous mirth contrasting
forcibly with the demeanour of the little sweep, who, having knocked
and rung till his arm aches, and being interdicted by a merciful legis-
lature from endangering his lungs by calling out, sits patiently down
on the door-step, until the housemaid may happen to awake.

Covent Garden Market, and the avenues leading to it, are thronged
with carts of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions, from the heavy lumber-
ing waggon, with its four stout horses, to the jingling costermonger's
cart, with its consumptive donkey. The pavement is already strewed
with decayed cabbage-leaves, broken hay-bands, and all the inde-
scribable litter of a vegetable market ; men are shouting, carts backing,
horses neighing, boys fighting, basket-women talking, piemen ex-
patiating on the excellence of their pastry, and donkeys braying.
These and a hundred other sounds form a compound discordant enough
to a Londoner's ears, and remarkably disagreeable to those of country
gentlemen who are sleeping at the Hummums for the first time.

Another hour passes away, and the day begins in good earnest
The servant of all work, who, under the plea of sleeping very soundly,
has utterly disregarded " Missis's " ringing for half-an-hour pre-
viously, is warned by Master (whom Missis has sent up in his drapery
to the landing-place for that purpose), that it's half-past six, where-
upon she awakes all of a sudden, with well-feigned astonishment, and
goes down-stairs very sulkily, wishing, while she strikes a light, that the
principle of spontaneous combustion would extend itself to coals and
kitchen range. When the fire is lighted, she opens the street-door to

38 Sketches by Boz.

take in the milk, when, by the most singular coincidence in the world,
she discovers that the servant next door has just taken in her milk
too, and that Mr. Todd's young man over the way, is, by an equally
extraordinary chance, taking down his master's shutters. The in-
evitable consequence is, that she just steps, milk-jug in hand, as far as
next door, just to say " good morning " to Betsy Clark, and that Mr.
Todd's young man just steps over the way to say " good morning " to
both of 'em ; and as the aforesaid Mr. Todd's young man is almost
as good-looking and fascinating as the baker himself, the conversation
quickly becomes very interesting, and probably would become more
so, if Betsy Clark's Missis, who always will be a followin' her about,
didn't give an angry tap at her bedroom window, on which Mr. Todd's
young man tries to whistle coolly, as he goes back to his shop much
faster than he came from it; and the two girls run back to their
respective places, and shut their street-doors with surprising softness,
each of them poking their heads out of the front-parlour window, a
minute afterwards, however, ostensibly with the view of looking at
the mail which just then passes by, but really for the purpose of
catching another glimpse of Mr. Todd's young man, who being fond
of mails, but more of females, takes a short look at the mails, and a
long look at the girls, much to the satisfaction of all parties concerned.

The mail itself goes on to the coach-office in due course, and the
passengers who are going out by the early coach, stare with astonish-
ment at the passengers who are coming in by the early coach, who
look blue and dismal, and are evidently under the influence of that
odd feeling produced by travelling, which makes the events of yester-
day morning seem as if they had happened at least six months ago,
and induces people to wonder with considerable gravity whether the
friends and relations they took leave of a fortnight before, have altered
much since they have left them. The coach-office is all alive, and the
coaches which are just going out, are surrounded by the usual crowd
of Jews and nondescripts, who seem to consider, Heaven knows why,
that it is quite impossible any man can mount a coach without re-
quiring at least sixpennyworth of oranges, a penknife, a pocket-book,
a last year's annual, a pencil-case, a piece of sponge, and a small series
of caricatures.

Half an hour more, and the sun darts his bright rays cheerfully
down the still half-empty streets, and shines with sufficient force to
rouse the dismal laziness of the apprentice, who pauses every other
minute from his task of sweeping out the shop and watering the pave-
ment in front of it, to tell another apprentice similarly employed, how
hot it will be to-day, or to stand with his right hand shading his eyes,
and his left resting on the broom, gazing at the " Wonder," or the
" Tally-ho," or the " Nimrod," or some other fast coach, till it is out
of sight, when he re-enters the shop, envying the passengers on the
outside of the fast coach, and thinking of the old red-brick house
" down in the country," where he went to school : the miseries of the

Beginning Business. 39

milk and water, and thick bread-and-scrapings, fading into nothing
before the pleasant recollection of the green field the boys used to
play in, and the green pond he was caned for presuming to fall into,
and other schoolboy associations.

Cabs, with trunks and bandboxes between the drivers' legs and out-
side the apron, rattle briskly up and down the streets on their way to
the coach-offices or steam-packet wharfs; and the cab-drivers and
hackney-coachmen who are on the stand polish up the ornamental
part of their dingy vehicles — the former wondering how people can
prefer " them wild beast cariwans of homnibuses, to a riglar cab with
a fast trotter," and the latter admiring how people can trust their
necks into one of " them crazy cabs, when they can have a 'spectable
'ackney cotcho with a pair of 'orses as von't run away with no vnn ; "
a consolation unquestionably founded on fact, seeing that a hackney-
coach horse never was known to run at all, " except," as the smart
cabman in front of the rank observes, "except one, and lie run
back'ards."

The shops are now completely opened, and apprentices and shop-
men are busily engaged in cleaning and decking the windows for the
day. The bakers' shops in town are filled with servants and children
waiting for the drawing of the first batch of rolls — an operation which
was performed a full hour ago in the suburbs ; for the early clerk
population of Somers and Cainden Towns, Islington, and Pentonville,
are fast pouring into the City, or directing their steps towards
Chancery Lane and the Inns of Court. Middle-aged men, whose
salaries have by no means increased in the same proportion as their
families, plod steadily along, apparently with no object in view but
the counting-house ; knowing by sight almost everybody they meet or
overtake, for they have seen them every morning (Sundays excepted)
during the last twenty years, but speaking to no one. If they do
happen to overtake a personal acquaintance, they just exchange a
hurried salutation, and keep walking on, either by his side, or in front
of him, as his rate of walking may chance to be. As to stopping to
shake hands, or to take the friend's arm, they seem to think that as it is
not included in their salary, they have no right to do it. Small office
lads in large hats, who are made men before they are boys, hurry
along in pairs, with their first coat carefully brushed, and the white
trousers of last Sunday plentifully besmeared with dust and ink. It
evidently requires a considerable mental struggle to avoid investing
part of the day's dinner-money in the purchase of the stale tarts so
temptingly exposed in dusty tins at the pastry-cooks' doors ; but a
consciousness of their own importance and the receipt of seven
shillings a week, with the prospect of an early rise to eight, comes to
their aid, and they accordingly put their hats a little more on one
side, and look under the bonnets of all the milliners' and staymakers'
apprentices they meet — poor girls! — the hardest worked, the worst
paid, and too often, the worst used class of the community.

4O Sketches by Boz.

Eleven o'clock, and a new set of people fill the streets. The goods
in the shop-windows are invitingly arranged ; the shopmen in their
white neckerchiefs and spruce coats, look as if they couldn't clean a
window if their lives depended on it ; the carts have disappeared from
Covent Garden ; the waggoners have returned, and the costermongers
repaired to their ordinary " beats " in the suburbs ; clerks are at their
offices, and gigs, cabs, omnibuses, and saddle-horses, are conveying their
masters to the same destination. The streets are thronged with a
vast concourse of people, gay and shabby, rich and poor, idle and
industrious ; and we come to the heat, bustle, and activity of NOON.

CHAPTER II.

i'.j _ j-. .... > *

THE STREETS — NIGHT.

BUT the streets of London, to be beheld in the very height of their
glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, murky winter's night, when
there is just enough damp gently stealing down to make the pavement
greasy, without cleansing it of any of its impurities ; and when the
heavy lazy mist, which hangs over every object, makes the gas-lamps
look brighter, and the brilliantly-lighted shops more splendid, from
the contrast they present to the darkness around. All the people who
are at home on such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves
as snug and comfortable as possible ; and the passengers in the streets
have excellent reason to envy the fortunate individuals who are seated
by their own firesides.

In the larger and better kind of streets, dining-parlour curtains are
closely drawn, kitchen fires blaze brightly up, and savoury steams of
hot dinners salute the nostrils of the hungry wayfarer, as he plods
wearily by the area railings. In the suburbs, the muffin-boy rings his
way down the little street, much more slowly than he is wont to do ;
for Mrs. Macklin, of No. 4, has no sooner opened her little street-door,
and screamed out " Muffins ! " with all her might, than Mrs. Walker,
at No. 5, puts her head out of the parlour-window, and screams
" Muffins ! " too ; and Mrs. Walker has scarcely got the words out of
her lips, than Mrs. Peplow, over the way, lets loose Master Peplow,
who darts down the street, with a velocity which nothing but buttered
muffins in perspective could possibly inspire, and drags the boy back
by main force, whereupon Mrs. Macklin and Mrs. Walker, just to save
the boy trouble, and to say a few neighbourly words to Mrs. Peplow
at the same time, run over the way and buy their muffins at Mrs.
Peplow's door, when it appears from the voluntary statement of Mrs.
Walker, that her " kittle's jist a biling, and the cups and sarsers ready
laid," and that, as it was such a wretched night out o' doors, she'd.

A Winter Evening in London. 41

made up her mind to have a nice hot comfortable cup o' tea — a deter-
mination at which, by the most singular coincidence, the other two
ladies had simultaneously arrived.

After a little conversation about the wretchedness of the weather
and the merits of tea, with a digression relative to the viciousness of
boys as a rule, and the amiability of Master Peplow as an exception,
Mrs. Walker sees her husband coming down the street ; and as he
must want his tea, poor man, after his dirty walk from the Docks, she
instantly runs across, muffins in hand, and Mrs. Macklin does the same,
and after a few words to Mrs. Walker, they all pop into their little
houses, and slam their little street-doors, which are not opened again
for the remainder of the evening, except to the nine o'clock " beer,"
who comes round with a lantern in front of his tray, and says, as ho
lends Mrs. Walker " Yesterday's 'Tiser," that he's blessed if he can
hardly hold the pot, much less feel the paper, for it's one of the
bitterest nights he ever felt, 'cept the night when the man was frozen
to death in the Brickfield.

After a little prophetic conversation with the policeman at the
street-corner, touching a probable change in the weather, and the
sotting-in of a hard frost, the nine o'clock beer returns to his master's
house, and employs himself for the remainder of the evening, in
assiduously stirring the tap-room fire, and deferentially taking part in
the conversation of the worthies assembled round it.

The streets in the vicinity of the Marsh Gate and Victoria Theatre
present an appearance of dirt and discomfort on such a night, which
the groups who lounge about them in no degree tend to diminish.
Even the little block-tin temple sacred to baked potatoes, surmounted
by a splendid design in variegated lamps, looks less gay than usual ;
and as to the kidney-pie stand, its glory has quite departed. The
candle in the transparent lamp, manufactured of oil-paper, embellished
with " characters," has been blown out fifty times, so the kidney-pie
merchant, tired with running backwards and forwards to the next
wine-vaults, to get a light, has given up the idea of illumination in
despair, and the only signs of his " whereabout," are the bright sparks,
of which a long irregular train is whirled down the street every time
he opens his portable oven to hand a hot kidney-pie to a customer.

Flat fish, oyster, and fruit venders linger hopelessly in the kennel,
in vain endeavouring to attract customers ; and the ragged boys who
usually disport themselves about the streets, stand crouched in little
knots in some projecting doorway, or under the canvas blind of a
cheesemonger's, where great flaring gas-lights, unshaded by any glass,
display huge piles of bright red, and pale yellow cheeses, mingled
with little fivepenny dabs of dingy bacon, various tubs of weekly
Dorset, and cloudy rolls of " best fresh."

Here they amuse themselves with theatrical converse, arising out
of their last half-price visit to the Victoria gallery, admire the terrific
combat, which is nightly encored, and expatiate on the inimitabJe

42 Sketches by Boz.

manner in which Bill Thompson can " come the double monkey," or
go through the mysterious involutions of a sailor's hornpipe.

It is nearly eleven o'clock, and the cold thin rain which has been
drizzling so long, is beginning to pour down in good earnest; the
baked-potato man has departed — the kidney-pie man has just walked
away with his warehouse on his arm — the cheesemonger has drawn
in his blind, and the boys have dispersed. The constant clicking of
pattens on the slippy and uneven pavement, and the rustling of
umbrellas, as the wind blows against the shop-windows, bear testi-
mony to the inclemency of the night ; and the policeman, with his
oilskin cape buttoned closely round him, seems as he holds his hat
on his head, and turns round to avoid the gust of wind and rain which
tlrives against him at the street-corner, to be very far from con-
gratulating himself on the prospect before him.

The little chandler's shop with the cracked bell behind the door,
whose melancholy tinkling has been regulated by the demand for
quarterns of sugar and half-ounces of coifee, is shutting up. The
crowds which have been passing to and fro during the whole day, are
rapidly dwindling away ; and the noise of shouting and quarrelling
which issues from the public-houses, is almost the only sound that
breaks the melancholy stillness of the night.

There was another, but it has ceased. That wretched woman with
the infant in her arms, round whose meagre form the remnant of her
own scanty shawl is carefully wrapped, has been attempting to sing
some popular ballad, in the hope of wringing a few pence from the
compassionate passer-by. A brutal laugh at her weak voice is all she
has gained. The tears fall thick and fast down her own pale face ;
the child is cold and hungry, and its low half-stifled wailing adds to
the misery of its wretched mother, as she moans aloud, and sinks
despairingly down, on a cold damp door-step.

Singing ! How few of those who pass such a miserable creature as
this, think of the anguish of heart, the sinking of soul and spirit, which
the very effort of singing produces. Bitter mockery ! Disease, neg-
lect, and starvation, faintly articulating the words of the joyous ditty,
that has enlivened your hours of feasting and merriment, God knows
how often ! It is no subject of jeering. The weak tremulous voice
tells a fearful tale of want and famishing ; and the feeble singer of this
roaring song may turn away, only to die of cold and hunger.

One o'clock ! Parties returning from the different theatres foot it
through the muddy streets; cabs, hackney-coaches, carriages, and
theatre omnibuses, roll swiftly by ; watermen with dim dirty lanterns
in their hands, and large brass plates upon their breasts, who have
been shouting and rushing about for the last two hours, retire to their
watering-houses, to solace themselves with the creature comforts of
pipes and purl ; the half-price pit and box frequenters of the theatres
throng to the different houses of refreshment ; and chops, kidneys,
rabbits, oysters, stout, cigars, and " goes " innumerable, are served up

A Cave of Harmony. 43

amidst a noise and confusion of smoking, running, knife-clattering,
and waiter-chattering, perfectly indescribable.

The more musical portion of the play-going community betake
themselves to some harmonic meeting. As a matter of curiosity let
us follow them thither for a few moments.

In a lofty room of spacious dimensions, are seated some eighty or
a hundred guests knocking little pewter measures on the tables, and
hammering away, with the handles of their knives, as if they were so
many trunk-makers. They are applauding a glee, which has just been
executed by the three " professional gentlemen " at the top of the
centre table, one of whom is in the chair — the little pompous man with
the bald head just emerging from the collar of his green coat. The
others are seated on either side of him — the stout man with the small
voice, and the thin-faced dark man in black. The little man in the
chair is a most amusing personage, — such condescending grandeur, and
such a voice !

" Bass ! " as the young gentleman near us with the blue stock
forcibly remarks to his companion, " bass ! I b'lieve you ; he can go
down lower than any man : so low sometimes that you can't hear him."
And so he does. To hear him growling away, gradually lower and
lower down, till he can't get back again, is the most delightful thing
in the world, and it is quite impossible to witness unmoved the impres-
sive solemnity with which he pours forth his soul in " My 'art's in the
'ighlands," or " The brave old Hoak." The stout man is also addicted
to sentimentality, and warbles, " Fly, fly from the world, my Bessy,
with me," or some such song, with ladylike sweetness, and in the most
seductive tones imaginable.

" Pray give your orders, genl'm'n — pray give your orders," — says
the pate-faced man with the red head ; and demands foi " goes " of gin
and " goes " of brandy, and pints of stout, and cigars of peculiar mild-
ness, are vociferously made from all parts of the room. The " profes-
sional gentlemen " are in the very height of their glory, and bestow
condescending nods, or even a word or two of recognition, on the
better-known frequenters of the room, in the most bland and
patronising manner possible.

That little round-faced man, with the brown small surtout, white
stockings and shoes, is in the comic line ; the mixed air of self-denial,
and mental consciousness of his own powers, with which he acknowledges
the call of the chair, is particularly gratifying. " GenTmen," says the
little pompous man, accompanying the word with a knock of the pre-
sident's hammer on the table — " GenTmen, allow me to claim your
attention — our friend, Mr. Smuggins, will oblige." — " Bravo ! " shout
the company ; and Smuggins, after a considerable quantity of coughing
by way of symphony, and a most facetious sniff or two, which afford
general delight, sings a comic song, with a fal-de-ral — tol-de-rol
chorus at the end of every verse, much longer than the verse itself.
It is received with unbounded applause, and after some aspiring

44 Sketches by Boz.

genius has volunteered a recitation, and failed dismally therein, the
little pompous man gives another knock, and says " GenTmen, we will
attempt a glee, if you please." This announcement calls forth
tumultuous applause, and the more energetic spirits express the un-
qualified approbation it affords them, by knocking one or two stout
glasses off their legs — a humorous device ; but one which frequently
occasions some slight altercation when the form of paying the damage
is proposed to be gone through by the waiter.

Scenes like these are continued until three or four o'clock in the
morning ; and even when they close, fresh ones open to the inquisitive
novice. But as a description of all of them, however slight, would
require a volume, the contents of which, however instructive, would
be by no means pleasing, we make our bow, and drop the curtain.

CHAPTEE III.

SHOPS AND THEIK TENANTS.

WHAT inexhaustible food for speculation, do the streets of London
afford ! We never were able to agree with Sterne in pitying the man
who could travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say that all was barren ;
we have not the slightest commiseration for the man who can take up his
hat and stick, and walk from Covent Garden to St. Paul's Churchyard,
and back into the bargain, without deriving some amusement — we had
almost said instruction — from his perambulation. And yet there are
such beings : we meet them every day. Large black stocks and light
waistcoats, jet canes and discontented countenances, are the charac-
teristics of the race ; other people brush quickly by you, steadily
plodding on to business, or cheerfully running after pleasure. These
rnen linger listlessly past, looking as happy and animated as a police-
man on duty. Nothing seems to make an impression on their minds :
nothing short of being knocked down by a porter, or run over by a
cab, will disturb their equanimity. You will meet them on a fine day
in any of the leading thoroughfares : peep through the window of a
west-end cigar shop in the evening, if you can manage to get a glimpse
between the blue curtains which intercept the vulgar gaze, and you see
them in their only enjoyment of existence. There they are lounging
about, on round tubs and pipe boxes, in all the dignity of whiskers,
and gilt watch-guards ; whispering soft nothings to the young lady in
amber, with the large earrings, who, as she sits behind the counter in
a blaze of adoration and gas-light, is the admiration of all the female
servants in the neighbourhood, and the envy of every milliner's
apprentice within two miles round.

One of our principal amusements is to watch the gradual progress—

A Doomed Shop. 45

the rise or fall — of particular shops. We have formed an intimate
acquaintance with several, in different parts of town, and are perfectly
acquainted with their whole history. We could name off-hand, twenty
at least, which we are quite sure have paid no taxes for the last six
years. They are never inhabited for more than two months consecu-
tively, and, we verily believe, have witnessed every retail trade in the
Directory.

There is one, whose history is a sample of the rest, in whose fate
we have taken especial interest, having had the pleasure of knowing
it ever since it has been a shop. It is on the Surrey side of the water
— a little distance beyond the Marsh Gate. It was originally a sub-
stantial, good-looking private house enough ; the landlord got into
difficulties, the house got into Chancery, the tenant went away, and
the house went to ruin. At this period our acquaintance with it
commenced ; the paint was all worn off; the windows were broken,
the area was green with neglect and the overflowings of the water-
butt ; the butt itself was without a lid, and the street-door was the
very picture of misery. The chief pastime of the children in the
vicinity had been to assemble in a body on the steps, and to take it in
turn to knock loud double-knocks at the door, to the great satisfaction
of the neighbours generally, and especially of the nervous old lady next
door but one. Numerous complaints were made, and several small
basins of water discharged over the offenders, but without effect. In
this state of things, the marine-store dealer at the corner of the street,
in the most obliging manner took the knocker off, and sold it : and the
unfortunate house looked more wretched than ever.

We deserted our friend for a few weeks. What was our surprise,
on our return, to find no trace of its existence ! In its place was a
handsome shop, fast approaching to a state of completion, and on the
shutters were large bills, informing the public that it would shortly be
opened with " an extensive stock of linen drapery and haberdashery."
It opened in due course ; there was the name of the proprietor " and
Co," in gilt letters, almost too dazzling to look at. Such ribbons
and shawls ! and two such elegant young men behind the counter, each
in a clean collar and white neckcloth, like the lover in a farce. As to
the proprietor, he did nothing but walk up and down the shop, and
hand seats to the ladies, and hold important conversations with the
handsomest of the young men, who was shrewdly suspected by the
neighbours to be the " Co." We saw all this with sorrow ; we felt a
fatal presentiment that the shop was doomed — and so it was. Its
decay was slow, but sure. Tickets gradually appeared in the windo\vs ;
then rolls of flannel, with labels on them, were stuck outside the door ;
then a bill was pasted on the street-door, intimating that the first-floor
was to let unfurnished ; then one of the young men disappeared alto-
gether, and the other took to a black neckerchief, and the proprietor
took to drinking. The shop became dirty, broken panes of glass
remained unmended, and the stock disappeared piecemeal. At last

46 Sketches by Boz.

the company's man caine to cut off the water, and then the linen-
draper cut off himself, leaving the landlord his compliments and
the key.

The next occupant was a fancy stationer. The shop was more
modestly painted than before, still it was neat; but somehow we
always thought, as we passed, that it looked like a poor and struggling
concern. We wished the man well, but we trembled for his success.
He was a widower evidently, and had employment elsewhere, for he
passed us every morning on his road to the City. The business was
carried on by his eldest daughter. Poor girl ! she needed no assist-
ance. We occasionally caught a glimpse of two or three children, in
mourning like herself, as they sat in the little parlour behind the
shop ; and we never passed at night without seeing the eldest girl at
work, either for them, or in making some elegant little trifle for sale.
We often thought, as her pale face looked more sad and pensive in the
dim candle-light, that if those thoughtless females who interfere with
the miserable market of poor creatures such as these, knew but one-
half of the misery they suffer, and the bitter privations they endure,
in their honourable attempts to earn a scanty subsistence, they would,
perhaps, resign even opportunities for the gratification of vanity, and
an immodest love of self-display, rather than drive them to a last
dreadful resource, which it would shock the delicate feelings of these
charitable ladies to hear named.

But we are forgetting the shop. Well, we continued to watch it,
and every day showed too clearly the increasing poverty of its inmates.
The children were clean, it is true, but their clothes were- threadbare
and shabby ; no tenant had been procured for the upper part of the
house, from the letting of which, a portion of the means of paying the
rent was to have been derived, and a slow, wasting consumption pre-
vented the eldest girl from continuing her exertions. Quarter-day
arrived. The landlord had suffered from the extravagance of his last
tenant, and he had no compassion for the struggles of his successor ;
he put in an execution. As we passed one morning, the broker's
men were removing the little furniture there was in the house, and a
newly-posted bill informed us it was again " To Let." What became
of the last tenant we never could learn ; we believe the girl is past all
suffering, and beyond all sorrow. God help her ! We hope she is.

We were somewhat curious to ascertain what would be the next
stage — for that the place had no chance of succeeding now, was per-
fectly clear. The bill was soon taken down, and some alterations were
being made in the interior of the shop. We were in a fever of expecta-
tion ; we exhausted conjecture — we imagined all possible trades, none
of which were perfectly reconcilable with our idea of the gradual
decay of the tenement. It opened, and we wondered why we had not
guessed at the real state of the case before. The shop — not a large
one at the best of times — had been converted into two : one was a
bonnet-shape maker's, the other was opened by a tobacconist, who also

Scotland Yard. 47

dealt in walking-sticks and Sunday newspapers ; the two were separated
by a thin partition, covered with tawdry striped paper.

The tobacconist remained in possession longer than any tenant
within our recollection. He was a red-faced, impudent, good-for-
nothing dog, evidently accustomed to take things as they came, and to
make the best of a bad job. He sold as many cigars as he could, and
smoked the rest. He occupied the shop as long as he could make
peace with the landlord, and when he could no longer live in quiet, he
very coolly locked the door, and bolted himself. From this period,
the two little dens have undergone innumerable changes. The
tobacconist was succeeded by a theatrical hairdresser, who ornamented
the window with a great variety of " characters," and terrific combats.
The bonnet-shape maker gave place to a greengrocer, and tho
histrionic barber was succeeded, in his turn, by a tailor. So numerous
have been the changes, that we have of late xlone little more than
mark the peculiar but certain indications of a house being poorly
inhabited. It has been progressing by almost imperceptible degrees.
The occupiers of the shops have gradually given up room after room,
until they have only reserved the little parlour for themselves. First
there appeared a brass plate on the private door, with "Ladies'
School " legibly engraved thereon ; shortly afterwards we observed a
second brass plate, then a bell, and then another bell.

When we paused in front of our old friend, and observed these signs
of poverty, which are not to be mistaken, we thought as we turned
away, that the house had attained its lowest pitch of degradation. We
were wrong. When we last passed it, a " dairy " was established in
tho area, and a party of melancholy-looking fowls were amusing them-
selves by running in at the front door, and out at tho back one.

CHAPTER IV.

SCOTLAND YARD.

SCOTLAND YARD is a small — a very small — tract of land, bounded on
one side by the river Thames, on the other by the gardens of
Northumberland House: abutting at one end on the bottom of
Northumberland Street, at the other on tho back of Whitehall Place.
When this territory was first accidentally discovered by a country
gentleman who lost his way in the Strand, some years ago, the
original settlers were found to be a tailor, a publican, two eating-
house keepers, and a fruit-pie maker ; and it was also found to con-
tain a race of strong and bulky men, who repaired to the wharfs in
Scotland Yard regularly every morning, about five or six o'clock, to
fill heavy waggons with coal, with which they proceeded to distant

48 Sketches by Bdz.

places up the country, and supplied the inhabitants with fuel. When
they had emptied their waggons, they again returned for a fresh
supply ; and this trade was continued throughout the year.

As the settlers derived their subsistence from ministering to the
wants of these primitive traders, the articles exposed for sale, and the
places where they were sold, bore strong outward marks of being ex-
pressly adapted to their tastes and wishes. The tailor displayed in his
window a Lilliputian pair of leather gaiters, and a diminutive round
frock, while each doorpost was appropriately garnished with a model
of a coal-sack. The two eating-house keepers exhibited joints of a
magnitude, and puddings of a solidity which coalheavers alone could
appreciate; and the fruit-pie maker displayed on his well-scrubbed
window-board large white compositions of flour and dripping, orna-
mented with pink stains, giving rich promise of the fruit within,
which made their huge mouths water, as they lingered past.

But the choicest spot in all Scotland Yard was the old public-house
in the corner. Here, in a dark wainscoted-room of ancient appearance,
cheered by the glow of a mighty fire, and decorated with an enormous
clock, whereof the face was white, and the figures black, sat the lusty
coalheavers, quaffing large draughts of Barclay's best, and puffing
forth volumes of smoke, which wreathed heavily above their heads,
and involved the room in a thick dark cloud. From this apartment
might their voices be heard on a winter's night, penetrating to the
very bank of the river, as they shouted out some sturdy chorus, or
roared forth the burden of a popular song; dwelling upon the last
few words with a strength and length of emphasis which made the
very roof tremble above them.

Here, too, would they tell old legends of what the Thames was in
ancient times, when the Patent Shot Manufactory wasn't built, and
Waterloo Bridge had never been thought of; and then they would
shake their heads with portentous looks, to the deep edification of the
rising generation of heavers, who crowded round them, and wondered
where all this would end; whereat the tailor would take his pipe
solemnly from his mouth, and say, how that he hoped it might end
well, but he very much doubted whether it would or not, and couldn't
rightly tell what to make of it — a mysterious expression of opinion,
delivered with a semi-prophetic air, which never failed to elicit the
fullest concurrence of the assembled company ; and so they would go
on drinking and wondering till ten o'clock came, and with it the
tailor's wife to fetch him home, when the little party broke up, to
meet again in the same room, and say and do precisely the same
things, on the following evening at the same hour.

About this time the barges that came up the river began to bring
vague rumours to Scotland Yard of somebodyin the City having been
heard to say, that the Lord Mayor had threatened in so many words
to pull down the old London Bridge, and build up a new one. At
first these rumours were disregarded as idle tales, wholly destitute of

The Spirit of Change. 49

foundation, for nobody in Scotland Yard doubted that if tho Lord
Mayor contemplated any such dark design, he would just be clapped
up in the Tower for a week or two, and then killed off for high
treason.

By degrees, however, the reports grew stronger, and more frequent,
and at last a barge, laden with numerous chaldrons of the best Wallsend,
brought up the positive intelligence that several of the arches of the
old bridge were stopped, and that preparations were actually in pro-
gress for constructing the new one. What an excitement was visible
in tho old tap-room on that memorable night ! Each man looked into
his neighbour's face, pale with alarm and astonishment, and read
therein an echo of the sentiments which filled his own breast. The
oldest heaver present proved to demonstration, that the moment the
piers were removed, all the water in the Thames would run clean off,
and leave a dry gully in its place. What was to become of the coal-
barges — of tho trade of Scotland Yard — of the very existence of its
population '? Tho tailor shook his head more sagely than iisual, and
grimly pointing to a knife on tho table, bid them wait and see what
happened. Ho said nothing — not he ; but if the Lord Mayor didn't
fall a victim to popular indignation, why he would be rather astonished ;
that was all.

They did wait ; barge after barge arrived, and still no tidings of
tho assassination of tho Lord Mayor. Tho first stone was laid : it was
done by a Duke — the King's brother. Years passed away, and the
bridge was opened by the King himself. In course of time, the piers
were removed ; and when the people in Scotland Yard got up next
morning in tho confident expectation of being able to step over to
Pedlar's Acre without wetting the soles of their shoes, they found to
their unspeakable astonishment that tho water was just where it used
to be.

A result so different from that which they had anticipated from
this first improvement, produced its full effect upon the inhabitants
of Scotland Yard. One of tho eating-house keepers began to court
public opinion, and to look for customers among a new class of people.
He covered his little dining-tables with white cloths, and got a
painter's apprentice to inscribe something about hot joints from
twelve to two, in one of the little panes of his shop-window. Improve-
ments began to march with rapid strides to the very threshold of
Scotland Yard. A new market sprung up at Hungerford, and the
Police Commissioners established their office in Whitehall Place,
The traffic in Scotland Yard increased ; fresh Members were added to
the House of Commons, the Metropolitan Representatives found it a
near cut, and many other foot-passengers followed their example.

We marked tho advance of civilisation, and beheld it with a sigh.
Tho eating-house keeper who manfully resisted the innovation of
table-cloths, was losing ground every day, as his opponent gained it,
and a deadly feud sprung up between them. The genteel one no

5O Sketches by Boz.

longer took his evening's pint in Scotland Yard, but drank gin-and-
water at a " parlour " in Parliament Street. The fruit-pie maker still
continued to visit the old room, but he took to smoking cigars, and
began to call himself a pastrycook, and to read the papers. The old
heavers still assembled round the ancient fireplace, but their talk was
mournful: and the loud song and the joyous shout were heard no
more.

And what is Scotland Yard now ? How have its old customs changed ;
and how has the ancient simplicity of its inhabitants faded away !
The old tottering public-house is converted into a spacious and lofty
" wine-vaults ; " gold leaf has been used in the construction of the
letters which emblazon its exterior, and the poet's art has been called
into requisition, to intimate that if you drink a certain description of
ale, you must hold fast by the rail. The tailor exhibits in his window
the pattern of a foreign-looking brown surtout, with silk buttons, a fur
collar, and fur cuffs. He wears a stripe down the outside of each leg of
his trousers : and we have detected his assistants (for he has assistants
now) in the act of sitting on the shop-board in the same uniform.

At the other end of the little row of houses a bootmaker has
established himself in a brick box, with the additional innovation of a
first-floor ; and here he exposes for sale, boots — real Wellington boots
— an article which a few years ago, none of the original inhabitants
had ever seen or heard of. It was but the other day, that a dress-
maker opened another little box in the middle of the row ; and, when
we thought that the spirit of change could produce no alteration
beyond that, a jeweller appeared, and not content with exposing gilt
rings and copper bracelets out of number, put up an announcement,
which still sticks in his window, that " ladies' ears may be pierced
within." The dressmaker employs a young lady who wears pockets
in her apron ; and the tailor informs the public that gentlemen may
have their own materials made up.

Amidst all this change, and restlessness, and innovation, there
remains but one old man, who seems to mourn the downfall of this
ancient place. He holds no converse with human kind, but, seated
on a wooden bench at the angle of the wall which fronts the crossing
from Whitehall Place, watches in silence the gambols of his sleek and
well-fed dogs. He is the presiding genius of Scotland Yard. Years
and years have rolled over his head ; but, in fine weather or in foul,
hot or cold, wet or dry, hail, rain, or snow, he is still in his accustomed
spot. Misery and want are depicted in his countenance ; his form is
bent by age, his head is grey with length of trial, but there he sits
from day to day, brooding over the past ; and thither he will continue
to drag his feeble limbs, until his eyes have closed upon Scotland
Yard, and upon the world together.

A few years hence, and the antiquary of another generation looking
into some mouldy record of the strife and passions that agitated the
world in these times, may glance his eye over the pages we have just

A London Maze. 51

filled : and not all his knowledge of the history of the past, not all his
black-letter lore, or his skill in book-collecting, not all the dry studies
of a long life, or the dusty volumes that have cost him a fortune, may
help him to the whereabouts, either of Scotland Yard, or of any one
of the landmarks we have mentioned in describing it.

CHAPTER V.

SEVEN DIALS.

WE have always been of opinion that if Tom King and the French-
man had not immortalised Seven Dials, Seven Dials would have im-
mortalised itself. Seven Dials ! the region of song and poetry — first
effusions, and last dying speeches : hallowed by the names of Catnach
and of Pitts — names that will entwine themselves with costermongers,
and barrel-organs, when penny magazines shall have superseded penny
yards of song, and capital punishment be unknown !

Look at the construction of the place. The Gordian knot was all
very well in its way : so was the maze of Hampton Court : so is the
maze at the Beulah Spa : so were the ties of stiff white neckcloths,
when the difficulty of getting one on, was only to be equalled by the
apparent impossibility of ever getting it off again. But what involu-
tions can compare with those of Seven Dials ? Where is there such
another maze of streets, courts, lanes, and alleys ? Where such a
pure mixture of Englishmen and Irishmen, as in this complicated
part of London ? We boldly aver that we doubt the veracity of the
legend to which we have adverted. We can suppose a man rash
enough to inquire at random — at a house with lodgers too — for a Mr.
Thompson, with all but the certainty before his eyes, of finding at
least two or three Thompsons in any house of moderate dimensions ;
but a Frenchman — a Frenchman in Seven Dials ! Pooh ! He was an
Irishman. Tom King's education had been neglected in his infancy,
and as he couldn't understand half the man said, he took it for granted
he was talking French.

The stranger who finds himself in " The Dials " for the first time,
and stands Belzoni-like, at the entrance of seven obscure passages,
uncertain which to take, will see enough around him to keep his
curiosity and attention awake for no inconsiderable time. From the
irregular square into which he has plunged, the streets and courts
dart in all directions, until they are lost in the unwholesome vapour
which hangs over the house-tops, and renders the dirty perspective
uncertain and confined ; and lounging at every corner, as if they came
there to take a few gasps of such fresh air as has found its way so far,
but is too much exhausted already, to be enabled to force itself into

52 Sketches by Boz.

the narrow alleys around, are groups of people, whose appearance
and dwellings would nil any mind but a regular Londoner's with
astonishment.

On one side, a little crowd has collected round a couple of ladies,
who having imbibed the contents of various " three-outs " of gin-and-
bitters in the course of the morning, have at length differed on some
point of domestic arrangement, and are on the eve of settling the
quarrel satisfactorily, by an appeal to blows, greatly to the interest of
other ladies who live in the same house, and tenements adjoining, and
who are all partisans on one side or other.

" Vy don't you pitch into her, Sarah ? " exclaims one half-dressed
matron, by way of encouragement. " Vy don't you ? if my 'usband
had treated her with a drain last night, unbeknown to me, I'd tear
her precious eyes out — a wixen ! "

"What's the matter, ma'am?" inquires another old woman, who
has just bustled up to the spot.

" Matter ! " replies the first speaker, talking at the obnoxious com-
batant, " matter ! Here's poor dear Mrs. Sulliwin, as has five blessed
children of her own, can't go out a charing for one arternoon, but
what hussies must be a comin', and 'ticing avay her oun' 'usband, as
she's been married to twelve year come next Easter Monday, for I see
the certificate ven I vas drinkin' a cup o' tea vith her, only the werry
last blessed Ven'sday as ever was sent. I 'appen'd to say pro-
miscuously, ' Mrs. Sulliwin,' says I "

" What do you mean by hussies ? " interrupts a champion of the
other party, who has evinced a strong inclination throughout to get
up a branch fight on her own account (" Hooroar," ejaculates a pot-
boy in parenthesis, " put the kye-bosk on her, Mary). " What do you
mean by hussies ? " reiterates the champion.

" Niver mind," replies the opposition expressively, " niver mind ;
you go home, and, ven you're quite sober, mend your stockings."

This somewhat personal allusion, not only to the lady's habits of
intemperance, but also to the state of her wardrobe, rouses her utmost
ire, and she accordingly complies with the urgent request of the
bystanders to " pitch in," with considerable alacrity. The scuffle
• became general, and terminates, in minor play-bill phraseology, with
" arrival of the policemen, interior of the station-house, and impressive
denouement."

In addition to the numerous groups who are idling about the gin-
shops and squabbling in the centre of the road, every post in the open
space has its occupant, who leans against it for hours, with listless per-
severance. It is odd enough that one class of men in London appear
to have no enjoyment beyond leaning against posts. We never saw a
regular bricklayer's labourer take any other recreation, fighting ex-
cepted. Pass through St. Giles's in the evening of a week-day, there
they are in their fustian dresses, spotted with brick-dust and white-
wash, leaning against posts. Walk through Seven Dials on Sunday

The Dials in general. 53

morning: there they are again, drab or light corduroy trousers,
Blucher boots, blue coats, and great yellow waistcoats, leaning against
posts. The idea of a man dressing himself in his best clothes, to
lean against a post all day !

The peculiar character of these streets, and the close resemblance
each one bears to its neighbour, by no means tends to decrease the
bewilderment in which the unexperienced wayfarer through " the
Dials " finds himself involved. He traverses streets of dirty straggling
houses, with now and then an unexpected court composed of buildings
as ill-proportioned and deformed as the half-naked children that wallow
in the kennels. Here and there, a little dark chandler's shop, with a
cracked bell hung up behind the door to announce the entrance of a
customer, or betray the presence of some young gentleman, in whom
a passion for shop-tills has developed itself at an early age : others,
as if for support, against some handsome lofty building, which usurps
the place of a low dingy public-house ; long rows of broken and
patched windows expose plants that may have flourished when " the
Dials " were built, in vessels as dirty as " the Dials " themselves ; and
shops for the purchase of rags, bones, old iron, and kitchen-stuff, vie
in cleanliness with the bird-fanciers and rabbit-dealers, which one
might fancy so many arks, but for the irresistible conviction that no
bird in its proper senses, who was permitted to leave one of them,
would ever come back again. Brokers' shops, which would seem to
have been established by humane individuals, as refuges for destitute
bugs, interspersed with announcements of day-schools, penny theatres,
petition-writers, mangles, and music for balls or routs, complete the
" still life " of the subject ; and dirty men, filthy women, squalid
children, fluttering shuttlecocks, noisy battledores, reeking pipes, bad
fruit, more than doubtful oysters, attenuated cats, depressed dogs, and
anatomical fowls, are its cheerful accompaniments.

If the external appearance of the houses, or a glance at their in-
habitants, present but few attractions, a closer acquaintance with either
is little calculated to alter one's first impression. Every room has
its separate tenant, and every tenant is, by the same mysterious dis-
pensation which causes a country curate to " increase and multiply "
most marvellously, generally the head of a numerous family.

The man in the shop, perhaps, is in the baked " jemmy " line, or
the firewood and hearthstone line, or any other line which requires
a floating capital of eighteenpence or thereabouts: and he and his
family live in the shop, and the small back-parlour behind it. Then
there is an Irish labourer and his family in the back-kitchen, and a
jobbing man — carpet-beater and so forth — with his family in the front
one. In the front one-pair, there's another man with another wife
and family, and in the back one-pair, there's " a young 'oman as takes
in tambour-work, and dresses quite genteel," who talks a good deal
about "my friend," and can't "a-bear anything low." The second-
floor front, and the rest of the lodgers, are just a second edition of the

54 Sketches by Bos.

people below, except a shabby-genteel man in the back-attic, who has
his half-pint of coffee every morning from the coffee-shop next door
but one, which boasts a little front den called a coffee-room, with a
fireplace, over which is an inscription, politely requesting that, " to
prevent mistakes," customers will " please to pay on delivery." The
shabby-genteel man is an object of some mystery, but as he leads a
life of seclusion, and never was known to buy anything beyond an
occasional pen, except half-pints of coffee, penny loaves, and ha'porths
of ink, his fellow-lodgers very naturally suppose him to be an author ;
and rumours are current in the Dials, that he writes poems for Mr.
Warren.

Now anybody who passed through the Dials on a hot summer's
evening, and saw the different women of the house gossiping on the
steps, would be apt to think that all was harmony among them, and
that a more primitive set of people than the native Diallers could not
be imagined. Alas ! the man in the shop ill-treats his family ; the
carpet-beater extends his professional pursuits to his wife ; the one-
pair front has an undying feud with the two-pair front, in consequence
of the two-pair front persisting in dancing over his (the one-pair
front's) head, when he and his family have retired for the night ; the
two-pair back will interfere with the front kitchen's children; the
Irishman comes home drunk every other night, and attacks everybody ;
and the one-pair back screams at everything. Animosities spring up
between floor and floor ; the very cellar asserts his equality. Mrs. A.
"smacks" Mrs. B.'s child, for "making faces." Mrs. B. forthwith
throws cold water over Mrs. B.'s child for "calling names." The
husbands are embroiled — the quarrel becomes general — an assault is
the consequence, and a police-officer the result.

CHAPTER VI.

MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET.

WE have always entertained a particular attachment towards Mon-
mouth Street, as the only true and real emporium for second-hand
wearing apparel. Monmouth Street is venerable from its antiquity,
and respectable from its usefulness. Holywell Street we despise ; the
red-headed and red-whiskered Jews who forcibly haul you into their
squalid houses, and thrust you into a suit of clothes, whether you will
or not, we detest.

The inhabitants of Monmouth Street are a distinct class ; a peace-
able and retiring race, who immure themselves for the most part in
deep cellars, or small back-parlours, and who seldom come forth into
the world, except in the dusk and coolness of the evening, when they

Old ClotJies. 55

may be seen seated, in chairs on the pavement, smoking their pipes,
or watching the gambols of their engaging children as they revel in
the gutter, a happy troop of infantine scavengers. Their countenances
bear a thoughtful and a dirty cast, certain indications of their love of
traffic; and their habitations are distinguished by that disregard of
outward appearance and neglect of personal comfort, so common
among people who are constantly immersed in profound speculations,
and deeply engaged in sedentary pursuits.

We have hinted at the antiquity of our favourite spot. " A Mon-
mouth Street laced coat " was a by-word a century ago ; and still we
find Monmouth Street the same. Pilot greatcoats with wooden buttons,
have usurped the place of the ponderous laced coats with full skirts ;
embroidered waistcoats with large flaps, have yielded to double-breasted
checks with roll-collars ; and three-cornered hats of quaint appearance,
have given place to the low crowns and broad brims of the coachman
school ; but it is the times that have changed, not Monmouth Street.
Through every alteration and every change, Monmouth Street has still
remained the burial-place of the fashions ; and such, to judge from all
present appearances, it will remain until there are no more fashions to
bury.

We love to walk among these extensive groves of the illustrious
dead, and to indulge in the speculations to which they give rise ; now
fitting a deceased coat, then a dead pair of trousers, and anon the
mortal remains of a gaudy waistcoat, upon some being of our own
conjuring up, and endeavouring, from the shape and fashion of the
garment itself, to bring its former owner before our mind's eye. We
have gone on speculating in this way, until whole rows of coats have
started from their pegs, and buttoned up, of their own accord, round
the waists of imaginary wearers ; lines of trousers have jumped down
to meet them ; waistcoats have almost burst with anxiety to put
themselves on ; and half an acre of shoes have suddenly found feet to
fit them, and gone stumping down the street with a noise which has
fairly awakened us from our pleasant reverie, and driven us slowly
away, with a bewildered stare, an object of astonishment to the good
people of Monmouth Street, and of no slight suspicion to the police-
man at the opposite street-corner.

We were occupied in this manner the other day, endeavouring to
fit a pair of lace-up half-boots on an ideal personage, for whom, to
say the truth, they were full a couple of sizes too small, when our eyes
happened to alight on a few suits of clothes ranged outside a shop-
window, which it immediately struck us, must at different periods have
all belonged to, and been worn by, the same individual, and had now,
by one of those strange conjunctions of circumstances which will occur
sometimes, come to be exposed together for sale in the same shop.
The idea seemed a fantastic one, and we looked at the clothes again
with a firm determination not to be easily led away. No, we were
right ; the more we looked, the more we were convinced of the accuracy

56 Sketches by Boz.

of our previous impression. There was the man's whole life written
as legibly on those clothes, as if we had his autobiography engrossed
on parchment before us.

The first was a patched and much-soiled skeleton suit ; one of those
straight blue cloth cases in which small boys used to be confined,
before belts and tunics had come in, and old notions had gone out :
an ingenious contrivance for displaying the full symmetry of a boy's
figure, by fastening him into a very tight jacket, with an ornamental
row of buttons over each shoulder, and then buttoning his trousers
over it, so as to give his legs the appearance of being hooked on, just
under the armpits. This was the boy's dress. It had belonged to a
town boy, we could see ; there was a shortness about the legs and
arms of the suit ; and a bagging at the knees, peculiar to the rising
youth of London streets. A small day-school he had been at, evidently.
If it had been a regular boys' school they wouldn't have let him play
on the floor so much, and rub his knees so white. He had an indulgent
mother too, and plenty of halfpence, as the numerous smears of some
sticky substance about the pockets, and just below the chin, which
even the salesman's skill could not succeed in disguising, sufficiently
betokened. They were decent people, but not overburdened with
riches, or he would not have so far outgrown the suit when he passed
into those corduroys with the round jacket ; in which he went to a
boys' school, however, and learnt to write — and in ink of pretty toler-
able blackness, too, if the place where he used to wipe his pen might
be taken as evidence.

A black suit and the jacket changed into a diminutive coat. His
father had died, and the mother had got the boy a message-lad's place
in some office. A long-worn suit that one ; rusty and threadbare
before it was laid aside, but clean and free from soil to the last. Poor
woman ! We could imagine her assumed cheerfulness over the scanty
meal, and the refusal of her own small portion, that her hungry boy
might have enough. Her constant anxiety for his welfare, her pride
in his growth mingled sometimes with the thought, almost too acute
to bear, that as he grew to be a man his old affection might cool, old
kindnesses fade from his mind, and old promises be forgotten — the
sharp pain that even then a careless word or a cold look would give
her — all crowded on our thoughts as vividly as if the very scene were
passing before us.

These things happen every hour, and we all know it ; and yet we
felt as much sorrow when we saw, or fancied we saw — it makes no
difference which — the change that began to take place now, as if wo
had just conceived the bare possibility of such a thing for the first
time. The next suit, smart but slovenly ; meant to be gay, and yet
not half so decent as the threadbare apparel ; redolent of the idle
lounge, and the blackguard companions, told us, we thought, that the
widow's comfort had rapidly faded away. We could imagine that coat
— imagine ! we could see it ; we had seen it a hundred times — saunter-

Day Dreaming. 57

ing in company with throe or four other coats of the same cut, about
some place of profligate resort at night.

We dressed, from the same shop- window in an instant, half-a-dozen
boys of from fifteen to twenty ; and putting cigars into their mouths,
and their hands into their pockets, watched them as they sauntered
down the street, and lingered at the corner, with the obscene jest, and
the oft-repeated oath. We never lost sight of them, till they had cocked
their hats a little more on one side, and swaggered into the public-
house ; and then we entered the desolate home, where the mother sat
late in the night, alone ; we watched her, as she paced the room in
feverish anxiety, and every now and then opened the door, looked
wistfully into the dark and empty street, and again returned, to be
again and again disappointed. We beheld the look of patience with
which she bore the brutish threat, nay, even the drunken blow ; and
we heard the agony of tears that gushed from her very heart, as she
sank upon her knees in her solitary and wretched apartment.

A long period had elapsed, and a greater change had taken place,
by the time of casting off the suit that hung above. It was that of a
stout, broad-shouldered, sturdy-chested man ; and we knew at once, as
anybody would, who glanced at that broad-skirted green coat, with the
largo metal buttons, that its wearer seldom walked forth without a
dog at his heels, and some idle ruffian, the very counterpart of himself,
at his side. The vices of the boy had grown Avith the man, and we
fancied his home then — if such a place deserve the name.

We saw the bare and miserable room, destitute of furniture, crowded
with his wife and children, pale, hungry, and emaciated ; the man
cursing their lamentations, staggering to the tap-room, from whence
he had just returned, followed by his wife and a sickly infant, clamour-
ing for bread ; and heard the street-wrangle and noisy recrimination
that his striking her occasioned. And then imagination led ns to
some metropolitan workhouse, situated in the midst of crowded streets
and alleys, filled with noxious vapours, and ringing with boisterous
cries, where an old and feeble woman, imploring pardon for her son,
lay dying in a close dark room, with no child to clasp her hand, and
no pure air from heaven to fan her brow. A stranger closed the eyes
that settled into a cold unmeaning glare, and strange ears received the
words that murmured from the white and half-closed lips.

A coarse round frock, with a worn cotton neckerchief, and other
articles of clothing of the commonest description, completed the history.
A prison, and the sentence — banishment or the gallows. What would
the man have given then, to be once again the contented humble drudge
of his boyish years ; to have restored to life, but for a week, a day,
an hour, a minute, only for so long a time as would enable him to say
one word of passionate regret to, and hear one sound of heartfelt for-
giveness from, the cold and ghastly form that lay rotting in the pauper's
grave ! The children wild iu the streets, the mother a destitute widow ;
both deeply tainted with the deep disgrace of the husband and father's

58 Sketches by Bos.

name, and impelled by sheer necessity, down the precipice that had
led him to a lingering death, possibly of many years' duration, thousands
of miles away. We had no clue to the end of the tale ; but it was
easy to guess its termination.

We took a step or two further on, and by way of restoring the
naturally cheerful tone of our thoughts, began fitting visionary feet
and legs into a cellar-board full of boots and shoes, with a speed and
accuracy that would have astonished the most expert artist in leather,
living. There was one pair of boots in particular — a jolly, good-
tempered, hearty-looking, pair of tops, that excited our warmest
regard ; and we had got a fine, red-faced, jovial fellow of a market-
gardener into them, before we had made their acquaintance half a
minute. They were just the very thing for him. There were his
huge fat legs bulging over the tops, and fitting them too tight to admit
of his tucking in ths loops he had pulled them on by ; and his knee-
cords with an interval of stocking ; and his blue apron tucked up
round his waist ; and his red neckerchief and blue coat, and a white
hat stuck on one side of his head ; and there he stood with a broad
grin on his great red face, whistling away, as if any other idea but
that of being happy and comfortable had never entered his brain.

This was the very man after our own heart ; we knew all about
him ; we had seen him coming up to Covent Garden in his green
chaise-cart, with the fat tubby little horse, half a thousand times ; and
even while we cast an affectionate look upon his boots, at that instant,
the form of a coquettish servant-maid suddenly sprung into a pair of
Denmark satin shoes that stood beside them, and we at once recognised
the very girl who accepted his offer of a ride, just on this side the
Hammersmith Suspension Bridge, the very last Tuesday morning we
rode into town from Richmond.

A very smart female, in a showy bonnet, stepped into a pair of grey
cloth boots, with black fringe and binding, that were studiously point-
ing out their toes on the other side of the top-boots, and seemed very
anxious to engage his attention, but we didn't observe that our friend
the market-gardener appeared at all captivated with these blandish-
ments ; for beyond giving a knowing wink when they first began, as if
to imply that he quite understood their end and object, he took no
further notice of them. His indifference, however, was amply recom-
pensed by the excessive gallantry of a very old gentleman with a
silver-headed stick, who tottered into a pair of large list shoes, that
were standing in one corner of the board, and indulged in a variety of
gestures expressive of his admiration of the lady in the cloth boots, to
the immeasurable amusement of a young fellow we put into a pair of
long-quartered pumps, who we thought would have split the coat that
slid down to meet him, with laughing.

We had been looking on at this little pantomime with great satis-
faction for some time, when, to our unspeakable astonishment, we

A rude Awakening. 59

perceived that the whole of the characters, including a numerous corps
de ballet of boots and shoes in the background, into which we had
been hastily thrusting as many feet as we could press into the service,
were arranging themselves in order for dancing; and some music
striking up at the moment, to it they went without delay. It was
perfectly delightful to witness the agility of the market-gardener.
Out went the boots, first on one side, then on the other, then cutting,
then shuffling, then setting to the Denmark satins, then advancing,
then retreating, then going round, and then repeating the whole of the
evolutions again, without appearing to suffer -in the least from the
violence of the exercise.

Nor were the Denmark satins a bit behindhand, for they jumped
and bounded about, in all directions ; and though they were neither so
regular, nor so true to the time as the cloth boots, still, as they seemed
to do it from the heart, and to enjoy it more, we candidly confess that
we preferred their style of dancing to the other. But the old gentle-
man in the list shoes was the most amusing object in the whole party ;
for, besides his grotesque attempts to appear youthful, and amorous,
which were sufficiently entertaining in themselves, the young fellow
in the pumps managed so artfully that every time the old gentleman
advanced to salute the lady in the cloth boots, he trod with his whole
weight on the old fellow's toes, which made him roar with anguish,
and rendered all the others like to die of laughing.

We were in the full enjoyment of these festivities when we heard a
shrill, and by no means musical voice, exclaim, " Hope you'll know me
agin, imperence ! " and on looking intently forward to see from whence
the sound came, we found that it proceeded, not from the young lady
in the cloth boots, as we had at first been inclined to suppose, but from
a bulky lady of elderly appearance who was seated in a chair at the
head of the cellar-steps, apparently for the purpose of superintending
the sale of the articles arranged there.

A barrel-organ, which had been in full force close behind us, ceased
playing ; the people we had been fitting into the shoes and boots took
to flight at the interruption ; and as we were conscious that in the
depth of our meditations we might have been rudely staring at the old
lady for half an hour without knowing it, wo took to flight too, and
were soon immersed in the deepest obscurity of the adjacent " Dials."

6o Sketches by Bos.

CHAPTER VII.

HACKNEY-COACH STANDS.

WE maintain that hackney-coaches, properly so called, belong solely
to the metropolis. We may be told, that there are hackney-coach
stands in Edinburgh ; and not to go quite so far for a contradiction to
our position, we may be reminded that Liverpool, Manchester, " and
other large towns" (as the Parliamentary phrase goes), have their
hackney-coach stands. We readily concede to these places, the
possession of certain vehicles, which may look almost as dirty, and even
go almost as slowly, as London hackney-coaches : but that they have
the slightest claim to compete with the metropolis, either in point of
stands, drivers, or cattle, we indignantly deny.

Take a regular, ponderous, rickety, London hackney-coach of the
old school, and let any man have the boldness to assert, if he can, that
he ever beheld any object on the face of the earth which at all
resembles it, unless, indeed, it were another hackney-coach of the same
date. We have recently observed on certain stands, and we say it
with deep regret, rather dapper green chariots, and coaches of polished
yellow, with four wheels of the same colour as the coach, whereas it
is perfectly notorious to every one who has studied the subject, that
every wheel ought to be of a different colour, and a different size.
These are innovations, and, like other miscalled improvements, awful
signs of the restlessness of the public mind, and the little respect paid
to our time-honoured institutions. Why should hackney-coaches be
clean? Our ancestors found them dirty, and left them so. Why
should we, with a feverish wish to " keep moving," desire to roll along
at the rate of six miles an hour, while they were content to rumble
over the stones at four ? These are solemn considerations. Hackney-
coaches are part and parcel of the law of the land ; they were settled
by the Legislature ; plated and numbered by the wisdom of Parlia-
ment.

Then why have they been swamped by cabs and omnibuses ? Or why
should people be allowed to ride quickly for eightpence a mile, after
Parliament had come to the solemn decision that they should pay a
shilling a mile for riding slowly ? We pause for a reply ; — and,
having no chance of getting one, begin a fresh paragraph.

Our acquaintance with hackney-coach stands is of long standing.
We are a walking book of fares, feeling ourselves, half-bound, as it
were, to be always in the right on contested points. We know all the
regular watermen within three miles of Covent Garden by sight, and
should be almost tempted to believe that all the hackney-coach horses
in that district knew us by sight too, if one-half of them were not
blind. We take great interest in hackney-coaches, but we seldom

Our Knowledge of our Subject. 6l

drive, having a knack of turning ourselves over when wo attempt to do
so. Wo are as great friends to horses, hackney-coach and otherwise,
as the renowned Mr. Martin, of costermonger notoriety, and yet we
never ride. Wo keep no horse, but a clothes-horse ; enjoy no saddle
so much as a saddle of mutton ; and, following our own inclinations,
have never followed the hounds. Leaving these fleeter means of
getting over the ground, or of depositing oue's-self upon it, to those
who like them, by hackney-coach stands we take our stand.

There is a hackney-coach stand under the very window at which we
are writing ; there is only one coach on it now, but it is a fair specimen
of the class of vehicles to which we have alluded — a great, lumbering,
square concern of a dingy yellow colour (like a bilious brunette), with
very small glasses, but very large frames ; the panels are ornamented
with a faded coat of arms, in shape something like a dissected bat, the
axletree is red, and the majority of the wheels are green. The box is
partially covered by an old great-coat, with a multiplicity of capes,
and some extraordinary-looking clothes ; and the straw, with which
the canvas cushion is stuffed, is sticking up in several places, as if in
rivalry of the hay, which is peeping through the chinks in the boot.
The horses, with drooping heads, and each with a mane and tail as
scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rocking-horse, are stand-
ing patiently on some damp straw, occasionally wincing, and rattling
the harness ; and now and then, one of them lifts his mouth to the ear
of his companion, as if he were saying, in a whisper, that ho should
like to assassinate the coachman. The coachman himself is in the
watering-house ; and the waterman, with his hands forced into his
pockets as far as they can possibly go, is dancing the " double shuffle,"
in front of the pump, to keep his feet warm.

The servant-girl, with the pink ribbons, at No. 5, opposite, suddenly
opens the street-door, and four small children forthwith rush out, and
scream " Coach ! " with all their might and main. The waterman
darts from the pump, seizes the horses by their respective bridles, and
drags them, and the coach too, round to the house, shouting all the
time for the coachman at the very top, or rather very bottom of his
voice, for it is a deep bass growl. A response is heard from the tap-
room ; the coachman, in his wooden-soled shoes, makes the street echo
again as he runs across it ; and then there is such a struggling, and
backing, and grating of the kennel, to get the coach-door opposite the
house-door, that the children are in perfect ecstasies of delight. What
a commotion ! The old lady, who has been stopping there for the last
month, is going back to the country. Out comes box after box, and
one side of the vehicle is filled with luggage in no time ; the children
get into everybody's way, and the youngest, who has upset himself in
his attempts to carry an umbrella, is borne off wounded and kicking.
The youngsters disappear, and a short pause ensues, during which the
old lady is, no doubt, kissing them all round in the back-parlour. She
appears at last, followed by her married daughter, all the children, and

62 Sketches by Boz.

both the servants, who, with the joint assistance of the coachman and
waterman, manage to get her safely into the coach. A cloak is handed
in, and a little basket, which we could almost swear contains a small
black bottle, and a paper of sandwiches. Up go the steps, bang goes
the door, " Golden Cross, Charing Cross, Tom," says the waterman ;
" Good-bye, grandma," cry the children, off jingles the coach at the
rate of three miles an hour, and the mamma and children retire into
the house, with the exception of one little villain, who runs up the
street at the top of his speed, pursued by the servant ; not ill-pleased
to have such an opportunity of displaying her attractions. She brings
him back, and, after casting two or three gracious glances across the
way, which are either intended for us or the pot-boy (we are not
quite certain which), shuts the door, and the hackney-coach stand is
again at a standstill.

We have been frequently amused with the intense delight with
which " a servant of all work," who is sent for a coach, deposits her-
self inside ; and the unspeakable gratification which boys, who have
been despatched on a similar errand, appear to derive from mounting
the box. But we never recollect to have been more amused with
a hackney-coach party, than one we saw early the other morning in
Tottenham-court Eoad. It was a wedding-party, and emerged from
one of the inferior streets near Fitzroy Square. There were the bride,
with a thin white dress, and a great red face ; and the bridesmaid, a
little, dumpy, good-humoured young woman, dressed, of course, in the
same appropriate costume ; and the bridegroom and his chosen friend,
in blue coats, yellow waistcoats, white trousers, and Berlin gloves to
match. They stopped at the corner of the street, and called a coach
with an air of indescribable dignity. The moment they were in, the
bridesmaid threw a red shawl, which she had, no doubt, brought on
purpose, negligently over the number on the door, evidently to delude
pedestrians into the belief that the hackney-coach was a private
carriage ; and away they went, perfectly satisfied that the imposition
was successful, and quite unconscious that there was a great staring
number stuck up behind, on a plate as large as a schoolboy's slate.
A shilling a mile ! — the ride was worth five, at least, to them.

What an interesting book a hackney-coach might produce, if it could
carry as much in its head as it does in its body ! The autobiography
of a broken-down hackney-coach, would surely be as amusing as the
autobiography of a broken-down hackneyed dramatist ; and it might tell
as much of its travels with the pole, as others have of their expeditions to
it. How many stories might be related of the different people it had
conveyed on matters of business or profit — pleasure or pain ! And how
many melancholy tales of the same people at different periods ! The
country-girl — the showy, over-dressed woman — the drunken prostitute !
The raw apprentice — the dissipated spendthrift — the thief!

Talk of cabs 1 Cabs are all very well in cases of expedition, when
it's a matter of neck or nothing, life or death, your temporary home or

Doctors' Commons. 63

your long one. But, besides a cab's lacking that gravity of deport-
ment which so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney-coach, let it never
be forgotten that a cab is a thing of yesterday, and that ho never was
anything better. A hackney-cab has always been a hackney-cab, from
his first entry into life ; whereas a hackney-coach is a remnant of past
gentility, a victim to fashion, a hanger-on of an old English family,
wearing their arms,'and, in days of yore, escorted by men wearing their
livery, stripped of his finery, and thrown upon the world, like a once-
smart footman when he is no longer sufficiently juvenile for his office,
progressing lower and lower in the scale of four-wheeled degradation,
until at last it comes to — a stand !

CHAPTER VIII.

DOCTORS' COMMONS.

WALKING, without any definite object through St. Paul's Churchyard,
a little while ago, we happened to turn down a street entitled " Paul's
Chain," and keeping straight forward for a few hundred yards, found
ourself, as a natural consequence, in Doctors' Commons. Now Doctors'
Commons being familiar by name to everybody, as the place whero
they grant marriage-licences to love-sick couples, and divorces to un-
faithful ones ; register the wills of people who have any property to
leave, and punish hasty gentlemen who call ladies by unpleasant
names, wo no sooner discovered that we were really within its precincts,
than we felt a laudable desire to become better acquainted therewith ;
and as the first object of our curiosity was the Court, whoso decrees
can even unloose the bonds of matrimony, we procured a direction to
it ; and bent or steps thither without delay.

Crossing a quiet and shady court-yard, paved with stone, and
frowned upon by old red-brick houses, on the doors of which were
painted the names of sundry learned civilians, we paused before a
small, green-baizcd, brass-headed-nailed door, which yielding to our
gentle push, at once admitted us into an old quaint-looking apartment,
with sunken windows, and black carved wainscoting, at the upper
end of which, seated on a raised platform, of semicircular shape, were
about a dozen solemn-looking gentlemen, in crimson gowns and wigs.

At a more elevated desk in the centre, sat a very fat and red-faced
gentleman, in tortoise-shell spectacles, whose dignified appearance
announced the judge; and round a long green-baized table below,
something like a billiard-table without the cushions and pockets, were
a number of very self-important-looking personages, in stiff neckcloths,
and black gowns with white fur collars, whom we at once set down as
proctors. At the lower end of the billiard-table was an individual in

64 Sketches by Boz.

an arm-chair, and a wig, whom we afterwards discovered to be the
registrar; and seated behind a little desk, near the door, were a
respectable-looking man in black, of about twenty stone weight or
thereabouts, and a fat-faced, smirking, civil-looking body, in a black
gown, black kid gloves, knee shorts, and silks, with a shirt-frill in his
bosom, curls on his head, and a silver staff in his hand, whom we had
no difficulty in recognising as the officer of the Court. The latter,
indeed, speedily set our mind at rest upon this point, for, advancing to
our elbow, and opening a conversation forthwith, he had communicated
to us, in less than five minutes, that he was the apparitor, and the
other the court-keeper ; that this was the Arches Court, and therefore
the counsel wore red gowns, and the proctors fur collars ; and that
when the other Courts sat there, they didn't wear red gowns or fur
collars either ; with many other scraps of intelligence equally interest-
ing. Besides these two officers, there was a little thin old man, with
long grizzly hair, crouched in a remote corner, whose duty, our com-
municative friend informed us, was to ring a large hand-bell when the
Court opened in the morning, and who, for aught his appearance
betokened to the contrary, might have been similarly employed for the
last two centuries at least.

The red-faced gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles had got all
the talk to himself just then, and very well he was doing it, too, only
he spoke very fast, but that was habit ; and rather thick, but that was
good living. So we had plenty of time to look about us. There was
one individual who amused us mightily. This was one of the bewigged
gentlemen in the red robes, who was straddling before the fire in the
centre of the Court, in the attitude of the brazen Colossus, to the
complete exclusion of everybody else. He had gathered up his robe
behind, in much the same manner as a slovenly woman would her
petticoats on a very dirty day, in order that he might feel the full
warmth of the fire. His wig was put on all awry, with the tail
straggling about his neck, his scanty grey trousers and short black
gaiters, made in the worst possible style, imparted an additional
inelegant .appearance to his uncouth person ; and his limp, badly-
starched shirt-collar almost obscured his eyes. We shall never be
able to claim any credit as a physiognomist again, for, after a careful
scrutiny of this gentleman's countenance, we had come to the con-
clusion that it bespoke nothing but conceit and silliness, when our
friend with the silver staff whispered in our ear that he was no other
than a doctor of civil law, and Heaven knows what besides. So of
course we were mistaken, and he must be a very talented man. He
conceals it so well 'though — perhaps with the merciful view of not
astonishing ordinary people too much — that you would suppose him
to be one of the stupidest dogs alive.

The gentleman in the spectacles having concluded his judgment,
and a few minutes having been allowed to elapse, to afford time for
the buzz in the Court to subside, the registrar called on the next

The Arches Court. 65

cause, which was " the office of the Judge promoted by Bumple against
Sludberry." A general movement was visible in the Court, at this
announcement, and the obliging functionary with silver staff whispered
us that " there would bo some fun now, for this was a brawling case."

We were not rendered much the wiser by this piece of information,
till we found by the opening speech of the counsel for the promoter,
that, under a half-obsolete statute of one of the Edwards, the Court was
empowered to visit with the penalty of excommunication, any person
who should be proved guilty of the crime of " brawling," or " smiting,"
in any church, or vestry adjoining thereto ; and it appeared, by some
eight-and-twenty affidavits, which were duly referred to, that on a
certain night, at a certain vestry-meeting, in a certain parish particu-
larly set forth, Thomas Sludberry, the party appeared against in that
suit, had made use of, and applied to Michael Bumple, the promoter,
the words " You be blowed ; " and that, on the said Michael Bumple
and others remonstrating with the said Thomas Sludberry, on the im-
propriety of his conduct, the said Thomas Sludberry repeated the
aforesaid expression, " You be blowed ; " and furthermore desired and
requested to know, whether the said Michael Bumple " wanted any-
thing for himself ; " adding, " that if the said Michael Bumple did
want anything for himself, he, the said Thomas Sludberry, was the
man to give it him ; " at the same time making use of other heinous
and sinful expressions, all of which, Bumple submitted, came within
the intent and meaning of the Act ; and therefore he, for the soul's
health and chastening of Sludberry, prayed for sentence of excom-
munication against him accordingly.

Upon these facts a long argument was entered into, on both sides,
to the great edification of a number of persons interested in the
parochial squabbles, who crowded the Court ; and when some very
long and grave speeches had been made pro and con, the red-faced
gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles took a review of the case,
which occupied half-an-hour more, and then pronounced upon Slud-
berry the awful sentence of excommunication for a fortnight, and pay-
ment of the costs of the suit. Upon this, Sludberry, who was a little,
red-faced, sly-looking, ginger-beer seller, addressed the court, and
said, if they'd bo good enough to take off the costs, and excommunicato
him for the term of his natural life instead, it would be much more
convenient to him, for he never went to church at all. To this appeal
the gentleman in the spectacles made no other reply than a look of
virtuous indignation ; and Sludberry and his friends retired. As the
man with the silver staff informed us that the Court was on the point
of rising, we retired too — pondering, as we walked away, upon the
beautiful spirit of these ancient ecclesiastical laws, the kind and
neighbourly feelings they are calculated to awaken, and the strong
attachment to religious institutions which they cannot fail to engender.

We were so lost in these meditations, that we had turned into the
street, and run up against a door-post, before we recollected where wo

F

66 Sketches by Boz.

were walking. On looking upwards to see what house we had stumbled
upon, the words " Prerogative Office," written in large characters, met
our eye ; and as we were in a sight-seeing humour and the place was
a public one, we walked in.

The room into which we walked, was a long, busy-looking place,
partitioned off, on either side, into a variety of little boxes, in which
a few clerks were engaged in copying or examining deeds. Down the
centre of the room were several desks nearly breast-high, at each of
which, three or four people were standing, poring over large volumes.
As we knew that they were searching for wills, they attracted our
attention at once.

It was curious to contrast the lazy indifference of the attorneys'
clerks who were making a search for some legal purpose, with the air
of earnestness and interest which distinguished the strangers to tho
place, who were looking up the will of some deceased relative ; the
former pausing every now and then with an impatient yawn, or raising
their heads to look at the people who passed up and down the room ;
the latter stooping over the book, and running down column after
column of names in the deepest abstraction.

There was one little dirty-faced man in a blue apron, who after a
whole morning's search, extending some fifty years back, had just
found the will to which he wished to refer, which one of the officials
was reading to him in a low hurried voice from a thick vellum book
with large clasps. It was perfectly evident that the more the clerk
read, the less the man with the blue apron understood about the
matter. When the volume was first brought down, he took off his hat,
smoothed down his hair, smiled with great self-satisfaction, and looked
up in the reader's face with the air of a man who had made up his
mind to recollect every word he heard. The first two or three lines
were intelligible enough ; but then the technicalities began, and the
little man began to look rather dubious. Then came a whole string
of complicated trusts, and he was regularly at sea. As the reader pro-
ceeded, it was quite apparent that it was a hopeless case, and the little
man, with his mouth open and his eyes fixed upon his face, looked
on with an expression of bewilderment and perplexity irresistibly
ludicrous.

A little further on, a hard-featured old man with a deeply-wrinkled
face, was intently perusing a lengthy will with the aid of a pair of
horn spectacles : occasionally pausing from his task, and slily noting
down some brief memorandum of the bequests contained in it. Every
wrinkle about his toothless mouth, and sharp keen eyes, told of avarice
and cunning. His clothes were nearly threadbare, but it was easy to
see that he wore them from choice and not from necessity ; all his
looks and gestures down to the very small pinches of snuff which ho
every now and then took from a little tin canister, told of wealth, and
penury, and avarice.

As he leisurely closed the register, put up his spectacles, and folded

Wills. 67

his scraps of paper in a large leather pocket-book, we thought what
a nice hard bargain he was driving with some poverty-stricken legatee,
who, tired of waiting year after year, until some life-interest should
fall in, was selling his chance, just as it began to grow most valuable,
for a twelfth part of its worth. It was a good speculation — a very
safe one. The old man stowed his pocket-book carefully in the breast
of his great-coat, and hobbled away with a leer of triumph. That will
had made him ten years younger at the lowest computation.

Having commenced our observations, we should certainly have ex-
tended them to another dozen of people at least, had not a sudden
shutting up and putting away of the worm-eaten old books, warned us
that the time for closing the office had arrived ; and thus deprived us
of a pleasure, and spared our readers an infliction.

We naturally fell into a train of reflection as we walked homewards,
upon the curious old records of likings and dislikings ; of jealousies
and revenges ; of affection defying the power of death, and hatred
pursued beyond the grave, which these depositories contain ; silent
but striking tokens, some of them, of excellence of heart, and nobleness
of soul ; melancholy examples, others, of the worst passions of human
nature. How many men as they lay speechless and helpless on the
bed of death, would have given worlds but for the strength and power
to blot out the silent evidence of animosity and bitterness, which now
stands registered against them in Doctors' Commons !

CHAPTEE IX.

LONDON RECREATIONS.

THE wish of persons in the humbler classes of life, to ape the manners
and customs of those whom fortune has placed above them, is often
the subject of remark, and not unfrequently of complaint. The in-
clination may, and no doubt does, exist to a great extent, among the
small gentility — the would-be aristocrats — of the middle classes.
Tradesmen and clerks, with fashionable novel-reading families, and
circulating-library-subscribing daughters, get up small assemblies in
humble imitation of Almack's, and promenade the dingy " large room "
of some second-rate hotel with as much complacency as the enviable
few who are privileged to exhibit their magnificence in that exclusive
haunt of fashion and foolery. Aspiring young ladies, who read
flaming accounts of some " fancy fair in high life," suddenly grow
desperately charitable ; visions of admiration and matrimony float
before their eyes ; some wonderfully meritorious institution, which, by
the strangest accident in the world, has never been heard of before, is
discovered to be in a languishing condition : Thomson's great room,

68 Sketches by Boz.

or Johnson's nursery-ground, is forthwith engaged, and the aforesaid
young ladies, from mere charity, exhibit themselves for three days,
from twelve to four, for the small charge of one shilling per head !
With the exception of these classes of society, however, and a few
weak and insignificant persons, we do not think the attempt at imitation
to which we have alluded, prevails in any great degree. The different
character of the recreations of different classes, has often afforded us
amusement ; and we have chosen it for the subject of our present
sketch, in the hope that it may possess some amusement for our
readers.

If the regular City man, who leaves Lloyd's at five o'clock, and
drives home to Hackney, Clapton, Stamford Hill, or elsewhere, can bo
said to have any daily recreation beyond his dinner, it is his garden.
He never does anything to it with his own hands ; but he takes great
pride in it notwithstanding ; and if you are desirous of paying your
addresses to the youngest daughter, be sure to be in raptures with
every flower and shrub it contains. If your poverty of expression
compel you to make any distinction between the two, we would
certainly recommend your bestowing more admiration on his garden
than his wine. He always takes a walk round it, before he starts for
town in the morning, and is particularly anxious that the fish-pond
should be kept specially neat. If you call on him on Sunday in
summer-time, about an hour before dinner, you will find him sitting
in an arm-chair, on the lawn behind the house, with a straw hat on,
reading a Sunday paper. A short distance from him you will most
likely observe a handsome paroquet in a large brass-wire cage ; ten to
one but the two eldest girls are loitering in one of the side-walks
accompanied by a couple of young gentlemen, who are holding parasols
over them — of course only to keep the sun off — while the younger
children, with the under nursery-maid, are strolling listlessly about, in
the shade. Beyond these occasions, his delight in his garden appears
to arise more from the consciousness of possession than actual enjoy-
ment of it. When he drives you down to dinner on a week-day, he is
rather fatigued with the occupations of the morning, and tolerably
cross into the bargain ; but when the cloth is removed, and he has
drank three or four glasses of his favourite port, he orders the French
windows of his dining-room (which of course look into the garden) to
be opened, and throwing a silk handkerchief over his head, and leaning
back in his arm-chair, descants at considerable length upon its beauty,
and the cost of maintaining it. This is to impress you — who are a
young friend of the family — with a due sense of the excellence of the
garden, and the wealth of its owner ; and when he has exhausted the
subject, he goes to sleep.

There is another and a very different class of men, whose recreation
is their garden. An individual of this class, resides some short
distance from town — say in the Hampstead Road, or the Kilburn
Road, or any other road where the houses are small and neat, and

The Light of Life. 69

have little slips of back-garden. He and his wife — who is as clean
and compact a little body as himself — have occupied the same house
ever since he retired from business twenty years ago. They have no
family. They once had a son, who died at about five years old. The
child's portrait hangs over the mantelpiece in the best sitting-room,
and a little cart he used to draw about, is carefully preserved as a
relic.

In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly in the
garden ; and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out of the
window at it, by the hour together. He has always something to do
there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and
planting, with manifest delight. In spring time, there is no end to
the sowing of seeds, and sticking little bits of wood over them, with
labels, which look like epitaphs to their memory ; and in the evening,
when the sun has gone down, the perseverance with which he lugs a
great watering-pot about is perfectly astonishing. The only other
recreation he has, is the newspaper, which he peruses every day, from
beginning to end, generally reading the most interesting pieces of
intelligence to his wife, during breakfast. The old lady is very fond
of flowers, as the hyacinth-glasses in the parlour- window, and geranium-
pots in the little front court, testify. She takes great pride in the
garden too: and when one of the four fruit-trees produces rather a
larger gooseberry than usual, it is carefully preserved under a wine-
glass on the sideboard, for the edification of visitors, who are duly
informed that Mr. So-and-so planted the tree which produced it, with
his own hands. On a summer's evening, when the large watering-pot
has been filled and emptied some fourteen times, and the old couple
have quite exhausted themselves by trotting about, you will see them
sitting happily together in the little summer-house, enjoying the calm
and peace of the twilight, and watching the shadows as they fall upon
the garden, and gradually growing thicker and more sombre, obscure
the tints of their gayest flowers — no bad emblem of the years that
have silently rolled over their heads, deadening in their course the
brightest hues of early hopes and feelings which have long since faded
away. These are their only recreations, and they require no more.
They have within themselves, the materials of comfort and content ;
and the only anxiety of each, is to die before the other.

This is no ideal sketch. There used to be many old people of this
description; their numbers may have diminished, and may decrease
still more. Whether the course female education has taken of late
days — whether the pursuit of giddy frivolities, and empty nothings,
has tended to unfit women for that quiet domestic life, in which they
show far more beautifully than in the most crowded assembly, is a
question we should feel little gratification in discussing : we hope not.

Let us turn now, to another portion of the London population, whose
recreations present about as strong a contrast as can well be conceived
— we mean the Sunday pleasurers; and let us beg our readers to

7<D Sketches by J3oz.

imagine themselves stationed by our side in some well-known rural
" Tea-gardens."

The heat is intense this afternoon, and the people, of whom there
are additional parties arriving every moment, look as warm as the
tables which have been recently painted, and have the appearance of
being red-hot. What a dust and noise ! Men and women — boys and
girls — sweethearts and married people — babies in arms, and children
in chaises — pipes and shrimps — cigars and periwinkles — tea and
tobacco. Gentlemen, in alarming waistcoats, and steel watch-guards,
promenading about, three abreast, with surprising dignity (or as the
gentleman in the next box facetiously observes, " cutting it uncommon
fat ! ") — ladies, with great, long, white pocket-handkerchiefs like small
table-cloths, in their hands, chasing one another on the grass in tho
most playful and interesting manner, with the view of attracting the
attention of the aforesaid gentlemen — husbands in perspective ordering
bottles of ginger-beer for the objects of their affections, with a lavish
disregard of expense ; and the said objects washing down huge
quantities of " shrimps " and " winkles," with an equal disregard of
their own bodily health and subsequent comfort- — boys, with great
silk hats just balanced on the top of their heads, smoking cigars, and
trying to look as if they liked them — gentlemen in pink shirts and
blue waistcoats, occasionally upsetting either themselves, or somebody
else, with their own canes.

Some of the finery of these people provokes a smile, but they are
all clean, and happy, and disposed to be good-natured and sociable.
Those two motherly-looking women in the smart pelisses, who are
chatting so confidentially, inserting a " ma'am " at every fourth word,
scraped an acquaintance about a quarter of an hour ago : it originated
in admiration of the little boy who belongs to one of them — that
diminutive specimen of mortality in the three-cornered pink satin hat
with black feathers. The two men in the blue coats and drab trousers,
who are walking up and down, smoking their pipes, are their husbands.
The party in the opposite box are a pretty fair specimen of the
generality of the visitors. These are the father and mother, and old
grandmother : a young man and woman, and an individual addressed
by the euphonious title of " Uncle Bill," who is evidently the wit of
the party. They have some half-dozen children with them, but it is
scarcely necessary to notice the fact, for that is a matter of course
here. Every woman in " the gardens," who has been married for any
length of time, must have had twins on two or three occasions ; it is
impossible to account for the extent of juvenile population in any
other way.

Observe the inexpressible delight of the old grandmother, at Uncle
Bill's splendid joke of " tea for four : bread-and-butter for forty ; "
and the loud explosion of mirth which follows his wafering a paper
" pigtail " on the waiter's collar. The young man is evidently " keep-
ing company " with Uncle Bill's niece : and Uncle Bill's hints — such

No successful Water-party possible. 71

as " Don't forget me at the dinner, you know," " I shall look out for
the cake, Sally," " I'll be godfather to your first — wager it's a boy,"
and so forth, are equally embarrassing to the young people, and
delightful to the elder ones. As to the old grandmother, she is in
perfect ecstasies, and does nothing but laugh herself into fits of cough-
ing, until they have finished the " gin-and-water warm with," of which
Uncle Bill ordered " glasses round " after tea, "just to keep the night
air out, and do it up comfortable and riglar arter sitch an as-tonishing
hot day!"

It is getting dark, and the people begin to move. The field leading
to town is quite full of them ; the little hand-chaises are dragged
wearily along, the children are tired, and amuse themselves and the
company generally by crying, or resort to the much more pleasant
expedient of going to sleep — the mothers begin to wish they were at
home again — sweethearts grow more sentimental than ever, as the
time for parting arrives — the gardens look mournful enough, by the
light of the two lanterns which hang against the trees for the con-
venience of smokers — and the waiters who have been running about
incessantly for the last six hours, think they feel a little tired, as they
count their glasses and their gains.

CHAPTEK X.

THE RIVER.

" ARE you fond of the water ? " is a question very frequently asked, in
hot summer weather, by amphibious-looking young men. " Very," is
the general reply, " An't you ? " — " Hardly ever off it," is the response,
accompanied by sundry adjectives, expressive of the speaker's heartfelt
admiration of that element. Now, with all respect for the opinion of
society in general, and cutter clubs in particular, we humbly suggest
that some of the most painful reminiscences in the mind of every
individual who has occasionally disported himself on the Thames,
must be connected with his aquatic recreations. Who ever heard of
a successful water-party ? — or to put the question in a still more
intelligible form, who ever saw one? We have been on water ex-
cursions out of number, but we solemnly declare that we cannot call
to mind one single occasion of the kind, which was not marked by
more miseries than any one would suppose could be reasonably crowded
into the space of some eight or nine hours. Something has always
gone wrong. Either the cork of the salad-dressing has come out, or
the most anxiously expected member of the party has not come out, or
the most disagreeable man in company would come out, or a child
or two have fallen into the water, or the gentleman who undertook

72 Sketches by Boz.

to steer Las endangered everybody's life all the way, or the gentlemen
who volunteered to row have been " out of practice," and performed
very alarming evolutions, putting their oars down into the water and
not being able to get them up again, or taking terrific pulls without
putting them in at all ; in either case, pitching over on the backs of
their heads with startling violence, and exhibiting the soles of their
pumps to the " sitters " in the boat, in a very humiliating manner.

We grant that the banks of the Thames are very beautiful at Rich-
mond and Twickenham, and other distant havens, often sought though
seldom reached ; but from the " Ked-us " back to Blackfriars Bridge,
the scene is wonderfully changed. The Penitentiary is a noble build-
ing, no doubt, and the sportive youths who " go in " at that particular
part of the river, on a summer's evening, may be all very well in per-
spective ; but when you are obliged to keep in shore coming home,
and the young ladies will colour up, and look perseveringly the other
way, while the married dittoes cough slightly, and stare very hard at
the water, you feel awkward — especially if you happen to have been
attempting the most distant approach to sentimentality, for an hour or
two previously.

Although experience and suffering have produced in our minds the
result we have just stated, we are by no means blind to a proper sense
of the fun which a looker-on may extract from the amateurs of boating.
What can be more amusing than Searle's yard on a fine Sunday morn-
ing ? It's a Richmond tide, and some dozen boats are preparing for
the reception of the parties who have engaged them. Two or three
fellows in great rough trousers and Guernsey shirts, are getting them
ready by easy stages ; now coming down the yard with a pair of sculls
and a cushion — then having a chat with the "jack," who, like all his
tribe, seems to be wholly incapable of doing anything but lounging
about — then going back again, and returning with a rudder-line and
a stretcher — then solacing themselves with another chat — and then
wondering, with their hands in their capacious pockets, " where them
gentlemen's got to as ordered the six." One of these, the head man,
with the legs of his trousers carefully tucked up at the bottom, to
admit the water, we presume — for it is an element in which he is
infinitely more at home than on land — is quite a character, and shares
with the defunct oyster-swallower the celebrated name of "Dando."
Watch him, as taking a few minutes' respite from his toils, he
negligently seats himself on the edge of a boat, and fans his broad
bushy chest with a cap scarcely half so furry. Look at his magnifi-
cent, though reddish whiskers, and mark the somewhat native humour
with which he " chaffs " the boys and 'prentices, or cunningly gammons
the gen'lm'n into the gift of a glass of gin, of which we verily believe
he swallows in one day as much as any six ordinary men, without ever
being one atom the worse for it.

But the party arrives, and Dando, relieved from his state of uncer^
tainty, starts up into activity. They approach in full aquatic coslume,

Amateur Watermen. 73

with round blue jackets, striped shirts, and caps of all sizes and
patterns, from the velvet skull-cap of French manufacture, to the easy
head-dress familiar to the students of the old spelling-books, as having,
on the authority of the portrait, formed part of the costume of the
Reverend Mr. Dil worth.

This is the most amusing time to observe a regular Sunday water-
party. There has evidently been up to this period no inconsiderable
degree of boasting on everybody's part relative to his knowledge of
navigation ; the sight of the water rapidly cools their courage, and the
air of self-denial with which each of them insists on somebody else's
taking an oar, is perfectly delightful. At length, after a great deal of
changing and fidgeting, consequent upon the election of a stroke-oar :
tho inability of one gentleman to pull on this side, of another to pull
on that, and of a third to pull at all, the boat's crew are seated. " Shove
her off ! " cries the cockswain, who looks as easy and comfortable as if
he were steering in the Bay of Biscay. The order is obeyed ; the
boat is immediately turned completely round, and proceeds towards
Westminster Bridge, amidst such a splashing and struggling as never
was seen before, except when the Royal George went down. " Back
wa'ater, sir," shouts Dando, " back wa'ater, you sir, aft ; " upon which
everybody thinking he must be the individual referred to, they all
back water, and back comes the boat, stern first, to the spot whence it
started. " Back water, you sir, aft ; pull round, you sir, for 'ad, can't
you ? " shouts Dando, in a frenzy of excitement. " Pull round, Tom,
can't you ? " re-echoes one of the party. " Tom an't for'ad," replies
another. " Yes, he is," cries a third ; and the unfortunate young man,
at the imminent risk of breaking a blood-vessel, pulls and pulls, until
the head of the boat fairly lies in the direction of Vauxhall Bridge.
" That's right — now pull all on you ! " shouts Dando again, adding, in
an undertone, to somebody by him, " Blowed if hever I see sich a set
of muffs ! " and away jogs the boat in a zigzag direction, every one of
tho six oars dipping into the water at a different time ; and the yard
is once more clear, until the arrival of the next party.

A well-contested rowing-match on the Thames, is a very lively and
interesting scene. The water is studded with boats of all sorts, kinds,
and descriptions ; places in the coal-barges at the different wharfs are
let to crowds of spectators, beer and tobacco flow freely about ; men,
women, and children wait for the start in breathless expectation ;
cutters of six and eight oars glide gently up and down, waiting to
accompany their proteges during the race ; bands of music add to the
animation, if not to the harmony of the scene ; groups of watermen are
assembled at the different stairs, discussing the merits of the respective
candidates ; and tho prize wherry, which is rowed slowly about by a
pair of sculls, is an object of general interest.

Two o'clock strikes, and everybody looks anxiously in the direction
of the bridge through which the candidates for the prize will come —
half-past two, and the general attention which has been preserved so

74 Sketches by Boz.

long begins to flag, when suddenly a gun is heard, and a noise of
distant hurra'ing along each bank of the river — every head is bent
forward — the noise draws nearer and nearer — the boats which have
been waiting at the bridge start briskly up the river, and a well-
manned galley shoots through the arch, the sitters cheering on the
boats behind them, which are not yet visible.

" Here they are," is the general cry — and through darts the first
boat, the men in her, stripped to the skin, and exerting every muscle
to preserve the advantage they have gained — four other boats follow
close astern; there are not two boats' length between them — the
shouting is tremendous, and the interest intense. " Go on, Pink " —
" Give it her, Eed " — " Sulliwin for ever " — " Bravo ! George " —
" Now, Tom, now — now — now — why don't your partner stretch out ? "
— " Two pots to a pint on Yellow," &c., &c. Every little public-house
fires its gun, and hoists its flag ; and the men who win the heat, come
in, amidst a splashing and shouting, and banging and confusion, which
no one can imagine who has not witnessed it, and of which any
description would convey a very faint idea.

One of the most amusing places we know, is the steam-wharf of
the London Bridge, or St. Katharine's Dock Company, on a Saturday
morning in summer, when the Gravesend and Margate steamers are
usually crowded to excess ; and as we have just taken a glance at the
river above bridge, we hope our readers will not object to accompany
us on board a Gravesend packet.

Coaches are every moment setting down at the entrance to the wharf,
and the stare of bewildered astonishment with which the "fares"
resign themselves and their luggage into the hands of the porters,
who seize all the packages at once as a matter of course, and run away
with them, Heaven knows where, is laughable in the extreme. A
Margate boat lies alongside the wharf, the Gravesend boat (which
starts first) lies alongside that again ; and as a temporary communica-
tion is formed between the two, by means of a plank and hand-rail,
the natural confusion of the scene is by no means diminished.

" Gravesend ? " inquires a stout father of a stout family, who follow
him, under the guidance of their mother, and a servant, at the no
small risk of two or three of them being left behind in the confusion.
" Gravesend ? "

" Pass on, if you please, sir," replies the attendant — " other boat,
sir."

Hereupon the stout father, being rather mystified, and the stout
mother rather distracted by maternal anxiety, the whole party deposit
themselves in the Margate boat, and after having congratulated him-
self on having secured very comfortable seats, the stout father sallies
to the chimney to look for his luggage, which ho has a faint recol-
lection of having given some man, something, to take somewhere.
No luggage, however, bearing the most remote resemblance to his own,
in shape or form, is to be discovered ; on which the stout father calls

The Stout FatJier. 75

very loudly for an officer, to whom he states the case, in the presence
of another father of another family — a little thin man — who entirely
concurs with him (the stout father) in thinking that it's high time
something was done with these steam companies, and that as the
Corporation Bill failed to do it, something else must ; for really
people's property is not to be sacrificed in this way ; and that if the
luggage isn't restored without delay, he will take care it shall be put
in the papers, for the public is not to be the victim of these great
monopolies. To this, the officer, in his turn, replies, that that com-
pany, ever sinco it has been St. Kat'rine's Dock Company, has pro-
tected life and property; that if it had been the London Bridge
Wharf Company, indeed, he shouldn't have wondered, seeing that the
morality of that company (they being the opposition) can't be answered
for, by no one ; but as it is, he's convinced there must be some mistake,
and he wouldn't mind making a solemn oath afore a magistrate that
the gentleman'll find his luggage afore he gets to Margate.

Here the stout father, thinking he is making a capital point, replies,
that as it happens, he is not going to Margate at all, and that
" Passenger to Gravesend " was on the luggage, in letters of full two
inches long ; on which the officer rapidly explains the mistake, and
the stout mother, and the stout children, and the servant, are hurried
with all possible despatch on board the Gravesend boat, which they
reached just in time to discover that their luggage is there, and that
their comfortable seats are not. Then the bell, which is the signal
for the Gravesend boat starting, begins to ring most furiously : and
people keep time to the bell, by running in and out of our boat at a
double-quick pace. The bell stops ; the boat starts : people who have
been taking leave of their friends on board, are carried away against
their will ; and people who have been taking leave of their friends on
shore, find that they have performed a very needless ceremony, in
consequence of their not being carried away at all. The regular
passengers, who have season tickets, go below to breakfast ; people
who have purchased morning papers, compose themselves to read
them ; and people who have not been down the river before, think
that both the shipping and the water, look a great deal better at a
distance.

When we get down about as far as Blackwall, and begin to move at
a quicker rate, the spirits of the passengers appear to rise in pro-
portion. Old women who have brought large wicker hand-baskets
with them, set seriously to work at the demolition of heavy sandwiches,
and pass round a wine-glass, which is frequently replenished from a
flat bottle like a stomach-warmer, with considerable glee : handing it
first to the gentleman in the forage-cap, who plays the harp — partly
as an expression of satisfaction with his previous exertions ; and partly
to induce him to play " Dumbledumb-deary," for " Alick " to dance
to ; which being done, Alick, who is a damp earthy child in red
worsted socks^ takes certain small jumps iipon the deck, to the

76 Sketches by Boz.

unspeakable satisfaction of his family circle. Girls who have brought
the first volume of some new novel in their reticule, become extremely
plaintive, and expatiate to Mr. Brown, or young Mr. O'Brien, who has
been looking over them, on the blueness of the sky. and brightness of
the water ; on which Mr. Brown or Mr. O'Brien, as the case may be,
remarks in a low voice that he has been quite insensible of late to the
beauties of nature — that his whole thoughts and wishes have centred
in one object alone — whereupon the young lady looks up, and failing
in her attempt to appear unconscious, looks down again ; and turns
over the next leaf with great difficulty, in order to afford opportunity
for a lengthened pressure of the hand.

Telescopes, sandwiches, and glasses of brandy-and-water cold with-
out, begin to be in great requisition ; and bashful men who have been
looking down the hatchway at the engine, find, to their great relief, a
subject on which they can converse with one another — and a copious
one too — Steam.

"Wonderful thing steam, sir." "Ah! (a deep-drawn sigh) it is
indeed, sir." " Great power, sir." " Immense — immense ! " " Great
deal done by steam, sir." " Ah ! (another sigh at the immensity of the
subject, and a knowing shake of the head) you may say that, sir."
" Still in its infancy, they say, sir." Novel remarks of this kind, are
generally the commencement of a conversation which is prolonged
until the conclusion of the trip, and, perhaps, lays the foundation of a
speaking acquaintance between half-a-dozen gentlemen, who, having
their families at Gravesend, take season-tickets for the boat, and dino
on board regularly every afternoon.

CHAPTEE XI.

ASTLET'S.

WE never see any very large, staring, black Roman capitals, in a
book, or shop-window, or placarded on a wall, without their immedi-
ately recalling to our mind an indistinct and confused recollection of
the time when we were first initiated in the mysteries of the alphabet.
We almost fancy we see the pin's point following the letter, to impress
its form more strongly on our bewildered imagination ; and wince
involuntarily, as we remember the hard knuckles with which the
reverend old lady who instilled into our mind the first principles of
education for ninepence per week, or ten and sixpence per quarter, was
wont to poke our juvenile head occasionally, by way of adjusting the
confusion of ideas in which we were generally involved. The same
kind of feeling pursues us in many other instances, but there is no
place which recalls so strongly our recollections of childhood as

Family Party at the Play. 77

Astley's. It was not a " Royal Amphitheatre " in those days, nor had
Ducrow arisen to shed the light of classic taste and portable gas over
the sawdust of the circus ; but the whole character of the place was
the same, the pieces were the same, the clown's jokes were the same,
the riding-masters were equally grand, the comic performers equally
witty, the tragedians equally hoarse, and the "highly-trained chargers"
equally spirited. Astley's has altered for the better — we have changed
for the worse. Our histrionic taste is gone, and with shame we con-
fess, that we are far more delighted and amused with the audience,
than with the pageantry we once so highly appreciated.

We like to watch a regular Astley's party in the Easter or Mid-
summer holidays — pa and ma, and nine or ten children, varying from
five foot six to two foot eleven : from fourteen years of age to four.
We had just taken our seat in one of the boxes, in the centre of the
house, the other night, when the next was occupied by just such a
party as we should have attempted to describe, had we depicted our
beau ideal of a group of Astley's visitors.

First of all, there came three little boys and a little girl, who, in
pursuance of pa's directions, issued in a very audible voice from the
box-door, occupied the front row; then two more little girls were
ushered in by a young lady, evidently the governess. Then came
three more little boys, dressed like the first, in blue jackets and
trousers, with lay-down shirt-collars : then a child in a braided frock
and high state of astonishment, with very large round eyes, opened to
their utmost width, was lifted over the seats — a process which occa-
sioned a considerable display of little pink legs — then came ma and
pa, and then the eldest son, a boy of fourteen years old, who was
evidently trying to look as if he did not belong to the family.

The first five minutes were occupied in taking the shawls off the
little girls, and adjusting the bows which ornamented their hair ; then
it was providentially discovered that one of the little boys was seated
behind a pillar and could not see, so the governess was stuck behind
the pillar, and the boy lifted into her place. Then pa drilled the
boys, and directed the stowing away of their pocket-handkerchiefs,
and ma having first nodded and winked to the governess to pull the
girls' frocks a little more off their shoulders, stood up to review the
little troop — an inspection which appeared to terminate much to her
own satisfaction, for she looked with a complacent air at pa, who was
standing up at the further end of the seat. Pa returned the glance,
and blew his nose very emphatically ; and the poor governess peeped
out from behind the pillar, and timidly tried to catch ma's eye, with a
look expressive of her high admiration of the whole family. Then
two of the little boys who had been discussing the point whether
Astley's was more than twice as large as Drury Lane, agreed to refer
it to "George" for his decision; at which "George," who was no
other than the young gentleman before noticed, waxed indignant, and
remonstrated in no very gentle terms on the gross impropriety of

78 Sketches "by Bos.

having his name repeated in BO loud a voice at a public place, on
which all the children laughed very heartily, and one of the little
boys wound up by expressing his opinion, that "George began to
think himself quite a man now," whereupon both pa and ma laughed
too ; and George (who carried a dress cane and was cultivating
whiskers) muttered that "William always was encouraged in his
impertinence ; " and assumed a look of profound contempt, which
lasted the whole evening.

The play began, and the interest of the little boys knew no bounds.
Pa was clearly interested too, although he very unsuccessfully
endeavoured to look as if he wasn't. As for ma, she was perfectly
overcome by the drollery of the principal comedian, and laughed till
every one of the immense bows on her ample cap trembled, at which
the governess peeped out from behind the pillar again, and whenever
she could catch ma's eye, put her handkerchief to her mouth, and
appeared, as in duty bound, to be in convulsions of laughter also.
Then when the man in the splendid armour vowed to rescue the lady
or perish in the attempt, the little boys applauded vehemently,
especially one little fellow who was apparently on a visit to the
family, and had been carrying on a child's flirtation, the whole
evening, with a small coquette of twelve years old, who looked like a
model of her mamma on a reduced scale ; and who, in common with
the other little girls (who generally speaking have even more coquet-
tishness about them than much older ones), looked very properly
shocked, when the knight's squire kissed the princess's confidential
chambermaid.

When the scenes in the circle commenced, the children were more
delighted than ever; and the wish to see what was going forward,
completely conquering pa's dignity, he stood up in the box, and
applauded as loudly as any of them. Between each feat of horseman-
ship, the governess leant across to ma, and retailed the clever remarks
of the children on that which had preceded : and ma, in the openness
of her heart, offered the governess an acidulated drop, and the
governess, gratified to be taken notice of, retired behind her pillar
again with a brighter countenance : and the whole party seemed quite
happy, except the exquisite in the back of the box, who, being too
grand to take any interest in the children, and too insignificant to be
taken notice of by anybody else, occupied himself, from time to time,
in rubbing the place where the whiskers ought to be, and was com-
pletely alone in his glory.

We defy anyone who has been to Astley's two or three times, and
is consequently capable of appreciating the perseverance with which
precisely the same jokes are repeated night after night, and season
after season, not to be amused with one part of the performances at
least — we mean the scenes in the circle. For ourself, we know that
when the hoop, composed of jets of gas, is let down, the curtain drawn
up for the convenience of the half-price on their ejectment from the

The Ring. 79

ring, the orange-peel cleared away, and the sawdust shaken, with
mathematical precision, into a complete circle, we feel as much en-
livened as the youngest child present ; aud actually join in the laugh
which follows the clown's shrill shout of " Here we are ! " just for old
acquaintance' sake. Nor can we quite divest ourself of our old feeling
of reverence for the riding-master, who follows the clown with a long
whip in his hand, and bows to the audience with graceful dignity.
He is none of your second-rate riding-masters in nankeen dressing-
gowns, with brown frogs, but the regular gentleman-attendant on the
principal riders, who always wears a military uniform with a table-
cloth inside the breast of the coat, in which costume he forcibly
reminds one of a fowl trussed for roasting. He is — but why should
we attempt to describe that of which no description can convey an
adequate idea ? Everybody knows the man, and everybody remembers
his polished boots, his graceful demeanour, stiff, as some misjudging
persons have in their jealousy considered it, and the splendid head of
black hair, parted high on the forehead, to impart to the countenance
an appearance of deep thought and poetic melancholy. His soft and
pleasing voice, too, is in perfect unison with his noble bearing, as ho
humours the clown by indulging in a little badinage ; and the striking
recollection of his own dignity, with which he exclaims, " Now, sir, if
you please, inquire for Miss Woolford, sir," can neve r be forgotten.
The graceful air, too, with which he introduces Miss Woolford into
the arena, and, after assisting her to the saddle, follows her fairy
courser round the circle, can never fail to create a deep impression in
the bosom of every female servant present.

When Miss Woolford, and the horse, and the orchestra, all stop
together to take breath, he urbanely takes part in some such dialogue
as the following (commenced by the clown) : " I say, sir ! " — " Well,
sir ? " (it's always conducted in the politest manner). — " Did you ever
happen to hear I was in the army, sir ? " — " No, sir." — " Oh, yes, sir

clown). Here the clown throws himself on the ground, and goes
through a variety of gymnastic convulsions, doubling himself up, and
untying himself again, and making himself look very like a man in
the most hopeless extreme of human agony, to the vociferous delight
of the gallery, until he is interrupted by a second cut from the long
whip, and a request to see " what Miss Woolford's stopping for ? "
On which, to the inexpressible mirth of the gallery, ho exclaims,
" Now, Miss Woolford, what can I come for to go, for to fetch, for to
bring, for to carry, for to do, for you, ma'am?" On the lady's
announcing with a sweet smile that she wants the two flags, they are
with sundry grimaces, procured and handed up ; the clown facetiously
observing after the performance of the latter ceremony — " He, he, oh !
I say, sir, Miss Woolford knows me ; she smiled at me." Another cut

8o Sketches by Boz.

from the whip, a burst from the orchestra, a start from the horse, and
round goes Miss Woolford again on her graceful performance, to the
delight of every member of the audience, young or old. The next
pause affords an opportunity for similar witticisms, the only additional
fun being that of the clown making ludicrous grimaces at the riding-
master every time his back is turned ; and finally quitting the circle
by jumping over his head, having previously directed his attention
another way.

Did any of our readers ever notice the class of people, who hang
about the stage-doors of our minor theatres in the daytime. You will
rarely pass one of these entrances without seeing a group of three or
four men conversing on the pavement, with an indescribable public-
house-parlour swagger, and a kind of conscious air, peculiar to people
of this description. They always seem to think they are exhibiting ;
the lamps are ever before them. That young fellow in the faded
brown coat, and very full light green trousers, pulls down the wrist-
bands of his check shirt, as ostentatiously as if it were of the finest
linen, and cocks the white hat of the summer-before-last as knowingly
over his right eye, as if it were a purchase of yesterday. Look at the
dirty white Berlin gloves, and the cheap silk-handkerchief stuck in the
bosom of his threadbare coat. Is it possible to see him for an instant,
and not come to the conclusion that he is the walking gentleman who
wears a blue surtout, clean collar, and white trousers, for half an hour,
and then shrinks into his worn-out scanty clothes : who has to boast
night after night of his splendid fortune, with the painful conscious-
ness of a pound a week and his boots to find ; to talk of his father's
mansion in the country, with a dreary recollection of his own two-pair
back, in the New Cut ; and to be envied and flattered as the favoured
lover of a rich heiress, remembering all the while that the ex-dancer
at home is in the family way, and out of an engagement ?

Next to him, perhaps, you will see a thin pale man, with a very
long face, in a suit of shining black, thoughtfully knocking that part
of his boot which once had a heel, with an ash stick. He is the man
who does the heavy business, such as prosy fathers, virtuous servants,
curates, landlords, and so forth.

By the way, talking of fathers, we should very much like to see
some piece in which all the dramatis personre were orphans. Fathers
are invariably great nuisances on the stage, and always have to give
the hero or heroine a long explanation of what was done before the
curtain rose, usually commencing with " It is now nineteen years, my
dear child, since your blessed mother (here the old villain's voice
falters) confided you to my charge. You were then an infant," &c.,
&c. Or else they have to discover, all of a sudden, that somebody
whom they have been in constant communication with, during three
long acts, without the slightest suspicion, is their own child : in which
case they exclaim, " Ah ! what do I see ? This bracelet ! That
smile ! These documents ! Those eyes ! Can I believe my senses ?

The Stage- door. 8 1

—It must be ! — Yes — it is, it is my child ! " — " My father ! " exclaims
the child ; and they fall into each other's arms, and look over each
other's shoulders, and the audience give three rounds of applause.

To return from this digression, we were about to say, that these are
the sort of people whom you see talking, and attitudinising, outside
the stage-doors of our minor theatres. At Astley's they are always
more numerous than at any other place. There is generally a groom
or two, sitting on the window-sill, and two or three dirty shabby-
genteel men in checked neckerchiefs, and sallow linen, lounging about,
and carrying, perhaps, under one arm, a pair of stage shoes badly
wrapped up in a piece of old newspaper. Some years ago we used to
stand looking, open-mouthed, at these men, with a feeling of mysterious
curiosity, the very recollection of which provokes a smile at the
moment we are writing. We could not believe that the beings of light
and elegance, in milk-white tunics, salmon-coloured legs, and blue
scarfs, who flitted on sleek cream-coloured horses before our eyes at
night, with all the aid of lights, music, and artificial flowers, could be
the pale, dissipated-looking creatures we beheld by day.

Wo can hardly believe it now. Of the lower class of actors we have
seen something, and it requires no great exercise of imagination to
identify the walking gentleman with the "dirty swell," the comic
singer with the public-house chairman, or the leading tragedian with
drunkenness and distress ; but these other men are mysterious beings,
never seen out of the ring, never beheld but in the costume of gods
and sylphs. With the exception of Ducrow, who can scarcely be
classed among them, who ever knew a rider at Astley's, or saw him
but on horseback ? Can our friend in the military uniform, ever
appear in threadbare attire, or descend to the comparatively tin-
wadded costume of everyday life ? Impossible ! We cannot — we
will not — believe it.

CHAPTER XII.

GREENWICH FAIR.

IF the Parks be " the lungs of London," wo wonder what Greenwich
Fair is — a periodical breaking out, we suppose, a sort of spring-
rash : a three days' fever, which cools the blood for six months after-
wards, and at the expiration of which London is restored to its old
habits of plodding industry, as suddenly and completely as if nothing
had ever happened to disturb them.

In our earlier days, we were a constant frequenter of Greenwich
Fair, for years. Wo have proceeded to, and returned from it, in
almost every description of vehicle. We cannot conscientiously deny

82 Sketches by Bos.

the charge of having once made the passage in a spring-van, accom-
panied by thirteen gentlemen, fourteen ladies, an unlimited number
of children, and a barrel of beer ; and we have a vague recollection of
having, in later days, found ourself the eighth outside, on the top of a
hackney-coach, at something past four o'clock in the morning, with a
rather confused idea of our own name, or place of residence. We
have grown older since then, and quiet, and steady : liking nothing
better than to spend our Easter, and all our other holidays, in some
quiet nook, with people of whom we shall never tire ; but we think we
still remember something of Greenwich Fair, and of those who resort
to it. At all events wo will try.

The road to Greenwich during the whole of Easter Monday, is in a
state of perpetual bustle and noise. Cabs, hackney-coaches, " shay "
carts, coal-waggons, stages, omnibuses, sociables, gigs, donkey-chaises
— all crammed with people (for the question never is, what the horse
can draw, but what the vehicle will hold), roll along at their utmost
speed ; the dust flies in clouds, ginger-beer corks go off in volleys, the
balcony of every public-house is crowded with people, smoking and
drinking, half the private houses are turned into tea-shops, fiddles aro
in great request, every little fruit-shop displays its stall of gilt ginger-
bread and penny toys ; turnpike men are in despair ; horses won't go
on, and wheels will come off; ladies in "carawans" scream with
fright at every fresh concussion, and their admirers find it necessary
to sit remarkably close to them, by way of encouragement ; servants
of all work, who are not allowed to have followers, and have got a
holiday for the day, make the most of their time with the faithful
admirer who waits for a stolen interview at the corner of the street
every night, when they go to fetch the beer — apprentices grow senti-
mental, and straw-bonnet makers kind. Everybody is anxious to get
on, and actuated by the common wish to be at the fair, or in the park,
as soon as possible.

Pedestrians linger in groups at the roadside, unable to resist the
allurements of the stout proprietress of the " Jack-in-the-box, three
shies a penny," or the more splendid offers of the man with three
thimbles and a pea on a little round board, who astonishes the
bewildered crowd with some such address as, " Here's the sort o' game
to make you laugh seven years arter you're dead, and turn ev'ry air
on your ed gray vith delight ! Three thimbles and vun little pea —
with a vun, two, three, and a two, three, vun : catch him who can, look
on, keep your eyes open, and niver say die ! niver mind the change,
and the expense : all fair and above board : them as don't play can't
vin, and luck attend the ryal sportsman ! Bet any gen'lm'n any sum
of money, from harf-a-crown up to a suverin, as he doesn't name the
thimble as kivers the pea ! " Here some greenhorn whispers his
friend that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle thimble —
an impression which is immediately confirmed by a gentleman in top-
boots, who is standing by, and who, in a low tone, regrets his own

Greenwich Park. 83

inability to bet, in consequence of having unfortunately left his purse
at home, but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such a golden
opportunity. The " plant " is successful, the bet is made, the stranger
of course loses : and the gentleman with the thimbles consoles him, as
he pockets the money, with an assurance that it's " all the fortin of
war ! this time I vin, next time you vin : niver mind the loss of two
bob and a bender! Do it up in a small parcel, and break out in a
fresh place. Here's the sort o' game," &c. — and the eloquent
harangue, with such variations as the speaker's exuberant fancy
suggests, is again repeated to the gaping crowd, reinforced by the
accession of several new comers.

The chief place of resort in the daytime, after the public-houses, is
the park, in which the principal amusement is to drag young ladies up
the steep hill which leads to the Observatory, and then drag them
down again, at the very top of their speed, greatly to the derange-
ment of their curls and bonnet-caps, and much to the edification of
lookers-on from below. "Kiss in the Ring," and "Threading my
Grandmother's Needle," too, are sports which receive their full share
of patronage. Love-sick swains, under the influence of gin-and-water,
and the tender passion, become violently affectionate : and the fair
objects of their regard enhance the value of stolen kisses, by a vast
deal of struggling, and holding down of heads, and cries of " Oh !
Ha' done, then, George — Oh, do tickle him for me, Mary — Well, I
never ! " and similar Lucre tian ejaculations. Little old men and
women, with a small basket under one arm, and a wine-glass,
without a foot, in the other hand, tender " a drop o' the right
sort " to the different groups ; and young ladies, who are persuaded
to indulge in a drop of the aforesaid right sort, display a pleasing
degree of reluctance to taste it, and cough afterwards with great
propriety.

Tho old pensioners, who, for the moderate charge of a penny,
exhibit the mast-house, the Thames and shipping, the place where the
men used to hang in chains, and other interesting sights, through a
telescope, are asked questions about objects within the range of the
glass, which it would puzzle a Solomon to answer ; and requested to
find out particular houses in particular streets, which it would have
been a task of some difficulty for Mr. Homer (not the young gentle-
man who ate mince-pies with his thumb, but the man of Colosseum
notoriety) to discover. Here and there, where some three or four
couple are sitting on the grass together, you will see a sunburnt
woman in a red cloak " telling fortunes " and prophesying husbands,
which it requires no extraordinary observation to describe, for the
originals are before her. Thereupon, the lady concerned laughs and
blushes, and ultimately buries her face in an imitation cambric hand-
kerchief, and the gentleman described looks extremely foolish, and
squeezes her hand, and fees the gipsy liberally ; and the gipsy goes
away, perfectly satisfied herself, and leaving those behind her per-

84 Sketches by Boz.

fectly satisfied also : and the prophecy, like many other prophecies of
greater importance, fulfils itself in time.

But it grows dark : the crowd has gradually dispersed, and only a
few stragglers are left behind. The light in the direction of the
church shows that the fair is illuminated ; and the distant noise proves
it to be filling fast. The spot, which half an hour ago was ringing
with the shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet as if nothing
could ever disturb its serenity ; the fine old trees, the majestic building
at their feet, with the noble river beyond, glistening in the moonlight,
appear in all their beauty, and under their most favourable aspect ;
the voices of the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne gently
on the air ; and the humblest mechanic who has been lingering on the
grass so pleasant to the feet that beat the same dull round from week
to week in the paved streets of London, feels proud to think as he
surveys the scene before him, that he belongs to the country which
has selected such a spot as a retreat for its oldest and best defenders
in the decline of their lives.

Five minutes' walking brings you to the fair ; a scene calculated to
awaken very different feelings. The entrance is occupied on either
side by the venders of gingerbread and toys : the stalls are gaily
lighted up, the most attractive goods profusely disposed, and un-
bonneted young ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their employers,
seize you by the coat, and use all the blandishments of " Do, dear " —
" There's a love " — " Don't be cross, now," &c., to induce you to
purchase half a pound of the real spice nuts, of which the majority of
the regular fair-goers carry a pound or two as a present supply, tied
up in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. Occasionally you pass a deal
table, on which are exposed pen'orths of pickled salmon (fennel
included), in little white saucers: oysters, with shells as large as
cheese-plates, and divers specimens of a species of snail (wilks, we
think they are called), floating in a somewhat bilious-looking green
liquid. Cigars, too, are in great demand ; gentlemen must smoke, of
course, and here they are, two a penny, in a regular authentic cigar-
box, with a lighted tallow candle in the centre.

Imagine yourself in an extremely dense crowd, which swings you
to and fro, and in and out, and every way but the right one ; add to
this the screams of women, the shouts of boys, the clanging of gongs,
the firing of pistols, the ringing of bells, the bellowings of speaking-
trumpets, the squeaking of penny dittoes, the noise of a dozen bands,
with three drums in each, all playing different tunes at the same time,
the hallooing of showmen, and an occasional roar from the wild-beast
shows ; and you are in the very centre and heart of the fair.

This immense booth, with the large stage in front, so brightly
illuminated with variegated lamps, and pots of burning fat, is " Richard-
son's," where you have a melodrama (with three murders and a ghost),
a pantomime, a comic song, an overture, and some incidental music,
all done in five-and-twenty minutes.

Richardson 's. 85

The company are now promenading outside in all the dignity of
wigs, spangles, red-ochre, and whitening. See with what a ferocious
air the gentleman who personates the Mexican chief, paces np and
down, and with what an eye of calm dignity the principal tragedian
gazes on the crowd below, or converses confidentially with the
harlequin ! The four clowns, who are engaged in a mock broad-
sword combat, may be all very well for the low-minded holiday-
makers; but these are the people for the reflective portion of the
community. They look so noble in those Roman dresses, with their
yellow legs and arms, long black curly heads, bushy eye-brows, and
scowl expressive of assassination, and vengeance, and everything else
that is grand and solemn. Then, the ladies — were there ever such
innocent and awful-looking beings ; as they walk up and down the
platform in twos and threes, with their arms round each other's waists,
or leaning for support on one of those majestic men ? Their spangled
muslin dresses and blue satin shoes and sandals (a leetle the worse for
wear) are the admiration of all beholders ; and the playful manner in
which they check the advances of the clown, is perfectly enchanting.

*: Just a going to begin ! Pray come for'erd, come for'erd," exclaims
the man in the countryman's dress, for the seventieth time : and
people force their way up the steps in crowds. The band suddenly
strikes up, the harlequin and columbine set the example, reels are
formed in less than no time, the Eoman heroes place their arms
akimbo, and dance with considerable agility ; and the leading tragic
actress, and the gentleman who enacts the " swell " in the pantomime,
foot it to perfection. " All in to begin," shouts the manager, when no
more people can be induced to "come for'erd," and away rush the
leading members of the company to do the dreadful in the first piece.

A change of performance takes place every day during the fair,
but the story of the tragedy is always pretty much the same. There
is a rightful heir, who loves a young lady, and is beloved by her ; and
a wrongful heir, who loves her too, and isn't beloved by her ; and the
wrongful heir gets hold of the rightful heir, and throws him into a
dungeon, just to kill him off when convenient, for which purpose he
hires a couple of assassins — a good one and a bad one — who, the
moment they are left alone, get up a little murder on their own account,
the good one killing the bad one, and the bad one wounding the good
one. Then the rightful heir is discovered in prison, carefully holding
a long chain in his hands, and seated despondingly in a large arm-
chair ; and the young lady comes in to two bars of soft music, and
embraces the rightful heir ; and then the wrongful heir comes in to
two bars of quick music (technically called " a hurry "), and goes on
in the most shocking manner, throwing the young lady about as if she
was nobody, and calling the rightful heir " Ar-recreant — ar-wretch ! "
in a very loud voice, which answers the double purpose of displaying
his passion, and preventing the sound being deadened by the sawdust.
The interest becomes intense; the wrongful heir draws his sword,

86 Sketches by Bos.

and rushes on the rightful heir ; a blue smoke is seen, a gong is
heard, and a tall white figure (who has been all this time, behind the
arm-chair, covered over with a table-cloth), slowly rises to the tune of
" Oft in the stilly night." This is no other than the ghost of the
rightful heir's father, who was killed by the wrongful heir's father, at
sight of which the wrongful heir becomes apoplectic, and is literally
" struck all of a heap," the stage not being large enough to admit of
his falling down at full length. Then the good assassin staggers in,
and says he was hired in conjunction with the bad assassin, by the
wrongful heir, to kill the rightful heir ; and he's killed a good many
people in his time, but he's very sorry for it, and won't do so any
more — a promise which he immediately redeems, by dying off-hand
without any nonsense about it. Then the rightful heir throws down
his chain; and then two men, a sailor, and a young woman (the
tenantry of the rightful heir) come in, and the ghost makes dumb
motions to them, which they, by supernatural interference understand
— for no one else can ; and the ghost (who can't do anything without
blue fire) blesses the rightful heir and the young lady, by half
suffocating them with smoke : and then a muffin-bell rings, and the
curtain drops.

The exhibitions next in popularity to these itinerant theatres are
the travelling menageries, or, to speak more intelligibly, tho " Wild-
beast shows," where a military band in beefeaters' costume, with
leopard-skin caps, play incessantly ; and where large highly-coloured
representations of tigers tearing men's heads open, and a lion being
burnt with red-hot irons to induce him to drop his victim, are hung
up outside, by way of attracting visitors.

The principal officer at these places is generally a very tall, hoarse
man, in a scarlet coat, with a cane in his hand, with which he occasion-
ally raps the pictures we have just noticed, by way of illustrating his
description — something in this way. " Here, here, here ; the lion, the
lion (tap), exactly as he is represented on the canvas outside (three
taps) : no waiting, remember ; no deception. The fe-ro-cious lion
(tap, tap) who bit off the gentleman's head last Cambervel vos a
twelvemonth, and has killed on the awerage three keepers a year ever
since he arrived at matoority. No extra charge on this account
recollect ; the price of admission is only sixpence." This address
never fails to produce a considerable sensation, and sixpences flow
into the treasury with wonderful rapidity.

The dwarfs are also objects of great curiosity, and as a dwarf, a
giantess, a living skeleton, a wild Indian, " a young lady of singular
beauty, with perfectly white hair and pink eyes," and two or three
other natural curiosities, are usually exhibited together for the small
charge of a penny, they attract very numerous audiences. The best
thing about a dwarf is, that he has always a little box, about two feet
six inches high, into which, by long practice, he can just manage to
get, by doubling himself up like a boot-jack ; this box is painted

The SJwws and the Ball-room. 87

outside like a six-roomed house, and as the crowd see him ring a bell,
or fire a pistol out of the first-floor window, they verily believe that it
is his ordinary town residence, divided like other mansions into draw-
ing-rooms, dining-parlour, and bed-chambers. Shut up in this case,
the unfortunate little object is brought out to delight the throng by
holding a facetioxis dialogue with the proprietor: in the course of
which, the dwai'f (who is always particularly drunk) pledges himself
to sing a comic song inside, and pays various compliments to the
ladies, which induce them to " come for'erd " with great alacrity. As
a giant is not so easily moved, a pair of iudescribables of most capacious
dimensions, and a huge shoe, are usually brought out, into which two
or three stout men get all at once, to the enthusiastic delight of the
crowd, who are quite satisfied with the solemn assurance that these
habiliments form part of the giant's everyday costume.

The grandest and most numerously-frequented booth in the whole
fair, however, is " the Crown and Anchor " — a temporary ball-room —
we forget how many hundred feet long, the price of admission to
which is one shilling. Immediately on your right hand as you enter,
after paying your money, is a refreshment place, at which cold beef,
roast and boiled, French rolls, stout, wine, tongue, ham, even fowls, if
we recollect right, are displayed in tempting array. There is a raised
orchestra, and the place is boarded all the way down, in patches, just
wide enough for a country dance.

There is no master of the ceremonies in this artificial Eden — all is
primitive, unreserved, and unstudied. The dust is blinding, the heat
insupportable, the company somewhat noisy, and in the highest spirits
possible : the ladies, in the height of their innocent animation, dancing
in the gentlemen's hats, and the gentlemen promenading the "gay
and festive scene " in the ladies' bonnets, or with the more expensive
ornaments of false noses, and low-crowned, tinder-box-looking hats :
playing children's drums, and accompanied by ladies on the penny
trumpet.

The noise of these various instruments, the orchestra, the shouting,
the " scratchers," and the dancing, is perfectly bewildering. The
dancing, itself, beggars description — every figure lasts about an hour,
and the ladies bounce up and down the middle, with a degree of spirit
which is quite indescribable. As to the gentlemen, they stamp their
feet against the ground, every time " hands four round " begins, go
down the middle and up again, with cigars in their mouths, and silk
handkerchiefs in their hands, and whirl their partners round, nothing
loth, scrambling and falling, and embracing, and knocking up against
the other couples, until they arc fairly tired out, and can move no
longer. The same scene is repeated again and again (slightly varied
by an occasional " row ") until a late hour at night : and a great many
clerks and 'prentices find themselves next morning with aching heads,
empty pockets, damaged hats, and a very imperfect recollection of
how it was they did not get home.

88 Sketches by Boz.

CHAPTER XIII.

PRIVATE THEATRES.

" RICHARD THE THIRD. — DUKE OF GLO'STER, 21. ; EARL OP RICHMOND,
11. ; DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, 15s.; CATESBY, 12s.; TRESSEL, 10s. 6d. ;
LORD STANLEY, 5s. ; LORD MAYOR OF LONDON, 2s. 6d."

Such are the written placards wafered up in the gentlemen's dress-
ing-room, in the green-room (where there is any), at a private theatre ;
and such are the sums extracted from the shop-till, or overcharged in
the office expenditure, by the donkeys who are prevailed upon to pay
for permission to exhibit their lamentable ignorance and boobyism on
the stage of a private theatre. This they do, in proportion to the
scope afforded by the character for the display of their imbecility.
For instance, the Duke of Glo'ster is well worth two pounds, because
he has it all to himself; he must wear a real sword, and what is
better still, he must draw it, several times in the course of the piece.
The soliloquies alone are well worth fifteen shillings ; then there is
the stabbing King Henry — decidedly cheap at three-and-sixpence,
that's eighteen-and-sixpence ; bullying the coffin-bearers — say eighteen-
pence, though it's worth much more — that's a pound. Then the love
scene with Lady Anne, and the bustle of the fourth act can't be dear at
ten shillings more — that's only one pound ten, including the " off with
his head ! " — which is sure to bring down the applause, and it is very
easy to do — " Orf with his ed " (very quick and loud ; — then slow and
sneeringly) — " So much for Bu-u-u-uckinghain ! " Lay the emphasis
on the " uck ; " get yourself gradually into a corner, and work with
your right hand, while you're saying it, as if you were feeling your
way, and it's sure to do. The tent scene is confessedly worth half-a-
sovereign, and so you have the fight in, gratis, and everybody knows
what an effect may be produced by a good combat. One — two — three
— four — over ; then, one — two — three — four — under ; then thrust ;
then dodge and slide about ; then fall down on one knee ; then fight
upon it, and then get up again and stagger. You may keep on doing
this, as long as it seems to take — say ten minutes — and then fall down
(backwards, if you can manage it without hurting yourself), and die
game : nothing like it for producing an effect. They always do it at
Astley's and Sadler's Wells, and if they don't know how to do this
sort of thing, who in the world does ? A small child, or a female in
white, increases the interest of a combat materially — indeed, we are
not aware that a regular legitimate terrific broadsword combat could
be done without ; but it would be rather difficult, and somewhat un-
usual, to introduce this effect in the last .scene of Ric!-a,rd the Third,
so the only thing to be done, is, just to make the best of a bad bargain,
and be as long as possible fighting it out.

Stage-struck. 89

The principal patrons of private theatres are dirty boys, low copying-
clerks in attorneys' offices, capacious-headed youths from City count-
ing-houses, Jews whose business, as lenders of fancy dresses, is a sure
passport to the amateur stage, shop-boys who now and then mistake
their masters' money for their own ; and a choice miscellany of idle
vagabonds. The proprietor of a private theatre may be an ex-scene-
painter, a low coftee-house-keeper, a disappointed eighth-rate actor, a
retired smuggler, or uncertificated bankrupt. The theatre itself may
bo in Catherine Street, Strand, the purlieus of the city, the neighbour-
hood of Gray's Inn Lane, or the vicinity of Sadler's Wells ; or it may,
perhaps, form the chief nuisance of some shabby street, on the Surrey
side of Waterloo Bridge.

The lady performers pay nothing for their characters, and, it is
needless to add, are usually selected from one class of society ; the
audiences are necessarily of much the same character as the performers,
who receive, in return for their contributions to the management,
tickets to the amount of the money they pay.

All the minor theatres in London, especially the lowest, constitute
the centre of a little stage-struck neighbourhood. Each of them has
an audience exclusively its own ; and at any you will see dropping
into the pit at half-price, or swaggering into the back of a box, if the
price of admission be a reduced one, divers boys of from fifteen to
twenty-one years of age, who throw back their coat and turn up their
wristbands, after the portraits of Count D'Orsay, hum tunes and
whistle when the curtain is down, by way of persuading the people
near them, that they are not at all anxious to have it up again, and
speak familiarly of the inferior performers as Bill Such-a-one, and
Ned So-and-so, or tell each other how a new piece called The Unknown
Bandit of the Invisible Cavern, is in rehearsal ; how Mister Palmer is
to play The Unknown Bandit ; how Charley Scarton is to take the
part of an English sailor, and fight a broadsword combat with six
unknown bandits, at one and the same time (one theatrical sailor is
always equal to half-a-dozen men at least) ; how Mister Palmer and
Charley Scarton are to go through a double hornpipe in fetters in the
second act ; how the interior of the invisible cavern is to occupy the
whole extent of the stage; and other town-surprising theatrical
announcements. These gentlemen are the amateurs — the Richards,
Shylocks, Beverleys, and Othcllos — the Young Dornlons, Rovers, Captain
Absolutes, and Charles Surfaces — of a private theatre.

See them at the neighbouring public-house or the theatrical coffee-
shop ! They are the kings of the place, supposing no real performers
to be present ; and roll about, hats on one side, and arms akimbo, as
if they had actually come into possession of eighteen shillings a week,
and a share of a ticket night. If one of them does but know an
Astley's supernumerary he is a happy fellow. The mingled air of
envy and admiration with which his companions will regard him, as
he converses familiarly with some mouldy-looking man in a fancy

po Sketches by Boz.

neckerchief, whose partially corked eyebrows, and half-rouged face,
testify to the fact of his having just left the stage or the circle, suffi-
ciently shows in what high admiration these public characters aro
held.

With the double view of guarding against the discovery of friends
or employers, and enhancing the interest of an assumed character, by
attaching a high-sounding name to its representative, these geniuses
assume fictitious names, which are not the least amusing part of the
play-bill of a private theatre. Belville, Melville, Treville, Berkeley,
Randolph. Byron, St. Clair, and so forth, are among the humblest ;
and the less imposing titles of Jenkins, Walker, Thomson, Barker,
Solomons, &c., are completely laid aside. There is something im-
posing in this, and it is an excellent apology for shabbiness into the
bargain. A shrunken, faded coat, a decayed hat, a patched and soiled
pair of trousers — nay, even a very dirty shirt (and none of these
appearances are very uncommon among the members of the corps
dramatique), may be worn for the purpose of disguise, and to prevent
the remotest chance of recognition. Then it prevents any troublesome
inquiries or explanations about employment and pursuits ; everybody
is a gentleman at large, for the occasion, and there are none of those
unpleasant and unnecessary distinctions to which even genius must
occasionally succumb elsewhere. As to the ladies (God bless them),
they are quite above any formal absurdities ; the mere circumstance
of your being behind the scenes is a sufficient introduction to their
society — for of course they know that none but strictly respectable
persons would be admitted into that close fellowship with them, which
acting engenders. They place implicit reliance on the manager, no
doubt ; and as to the manager, he is all affability when he knows you
well — or, in other words, when he has pocketed your money once, and
entertains confident hopes of doing so again.

A quarter before eight — there will be a full house to-night — six
parties in the boxes, already ; four little boys and a woman in the
pit ; and two fiddles and a flute in the orchestra, who have got through
five overtures since seven o'clock (the hour fixed for the commence-
ment of the performances), and have just begun the sixth. There
will be plenty of it, though, when it does begin, for there is enough in
the bill to last six hours at least.

That gentleman in the white hat and checked shirt, brown coat and
brass buttons, lounging behind the stage-box on the O. P. side, is Mr.
Horatio St. Julien, alias Jem Larkins. His line is genteel comedy —
his father's, coal and potato. He does Alfred Highflier in the last
piece, and very well he'll do it — at the price. The party of gentle-
men in the opposite box, to whom he has just nodded, are friends and
supporters of Mr. Beverley (otherwise Loggins), the Macbeth of the
night. Yon observe their attempts to appear easy and gentlemanly,
each member of the party, with his feet cocked upon the cushion in
front of the box ! They let them do these things here, upon the same

Behind the Scenes. 91

humane principle which permits poor people's children to knock
double-knocks at the door of an empty house — because they can't do
it anywhere else. The two stout men in the centre box, with an
opera-glass ostentatiously placed before them, are friends of the pro-
prietor— opulent country managers, as he confidentially informs every
individual among the crew behind the curtain — opulent country
managers looking out for recruits ; a representation which Mr. Nathan,
the dresser, who is in the manager's interest, and has just arrived with
the costumes, offers to confirm upon oath if required — corroborative
evidence, however, is quite unnecessary, for the gulls believe it at
once.

The stout Jewess who has just entered, is the mother of the pale
bony little girl, with the necklace of blue glass beads, sitting by her ;
she is being brought up to " the profession." Pantomime is to be her
line, and she is coming out to-night, in a hornpipe after the tragedy.
The short thin man beside Mr. St. Julien, whose white face is so
deeply seared with the small-pox, and whose dirty shirt-front is inlaid
with open-work, and embossed with coral studs like ladybirds, is the
low comedian and comic singer of the establishment. The remainder
of the audience — a tolerably numerous one by this time — are a motley
group of dupes and blackguards.

The foot-lights have just made their appearance : the wicks of the
six little oil lamps round the only tier of boxes, are being turned up,
and the additional light thus afforded serves to show the presence of
dirt, and absence of paint, which form a prominent feature in the
audience part of the house. As these preparations, however, announce
the speedy commencement of the play, let us take a peep " behind,"
previous to the ringing-up.

The little narrow passages beneath the stage are neither especially
clean nor too brilliantly lighted ; and the absence of any flooring,
together with the damp mildewy smell which pervades the place, does
not conduce in any great degree to their comfortable appearance.
Don't fall over this plate-basket — it's one of the " properties " — the
cauldron for the witches' cave ; and the three uncouth-looking figures,
with broken clothes-props in their hands, who are drinking gin-and-
water out of a pint pot, are the weird sisters. This miserable room,
lighted by candles in sconces placed at lengthened intervals round the
wall, is the dressing-room, common to the gentlemen performers, and
the square hole in the ceiling is the trap-door of the stage above.
You will observe that the ceiling is ornamented with the beams that
support the boards, and tastefully hung with cobwebs.

The characters in the tragedy are all dressed and their own clothes
are scattered in hurried confusion over the wooden dresser which
surrounds the room. That snuff-shop-looking figure, in front of the
glass, is Banquo : and the young lady with the liberal display of legs,
who is kindly painting his face with a hare's foot, is dressed for
Fleance. The large woman, who is consulting the stage directions in

92 Sketches by Boz.

Cumberland's edition of Macbeth, is the Lady Macbeth of the night ;
she is always selected to play the part, because she is tall and stout,
and looks a little like Mrs. Siddons — at a considerable distance. That
stupid-looking milksop, with light hair and bow legs — a kind of man
whom you can warrant town-made — is fresh caught ; he plays Malcolm
to-night, just to accustom himself to an audience. He will get on
better by degrees ; he will play Othello in a month, and in a month
more, will very probably be apprehended on a charge of embezzle-
ment. The black-eyed female with whom he is talking so earnestly,
is dressed for the " gentlewoman." It is her first appearance, too — in
that character. The boy of fourteen who is having his eyebrows
smeared with soap and whitening, is Duncan, King of Scotland ; and
the two dirty men with the corked countenances, in very old green
tunics, and dirty drab boots, are the " army."

" Look sharp below there, gents," exclaims the dresser, a red-headed
aud red-whiskered Jew, calling through the trap, " they're a going to
ring up. The flute says he'll be blowed if he plays any more, and
they're getting precious noisy in front." A general rush immediately
takes place to the half-dozen little steep steps leading to the stage,
and the heterogeneous group are soon assembled at the side scenes, in
breathless anxiety and motley confusion.

" Now," cries the manager, consulting the written list which hangs
behind the first P. 8. wing, " Scene 1, open country — lamps down —
thunder and lightning — all ready, White?" [This is addressed to
one of the army.] " All ready." — " Very well. Scene 2, front
chamber. Is the front chamber down ? " — " Yes." — " Very well." —
" Jones " [to the other army who is up in the flies]. " Hallo ! " —
" Wind up the open country when we ring up." — " I'll take care." —
"Scene 3, back perspective with practical bridge. Bridge ready,
White ? Got the tressels there ? "— " All right."

" Very well. Clear the stage," cries the manager, hastily packing
every member of the company into the little space there is between
the wings and the wall, and one wing and another. " Places, places.
Now then, Witches — Duncan — Malcolm — bleeding officer — whore's
the bleeding officer ? " — " Here ! " replies the officer, who has been
rose-pinking for the character. " Get ready, then ; now, White, ring
the second music-bell." The actors who are to be discovered, are
hastily arranged, and the actors who are not to be discovered place
themselves, in their anxiety to peep at the house, just where the
audience can see them. The bell rings, and the orchestra, in acknow-
ledgement of the call, play three distinct chords. The bell rings —
the tragedy (!) opens — and our description closes.

A Managerial Mistake. 93

CHAPTER XIV.

VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY.

THERE was a time when if a man ventured to wonder how Vauxhall
Gardens would look by day, he was hailed with a shout of derision at
the absurdity of the idea. Vauxhall by daylight ! A porter-pot with-
out porter, the House of Commons without the Speaker, a gas-lamp
without the gas — pooh, nonsense, the thing was not to be thought of.
It was rumoured, too, in those times, that Vauxhall Gardens by day,
were the scene of secret and hidden experiments ; that there, carvers
were exercised in the mystic art of cutting a moderate-sized ham into
slices thin enough to pave the whole of the grounds ; that beneath the
shade of the tall trees, studious men were constantly engaged in
chemical experiments, with the view of discovering how much water
a bowl of negus could possibly bear ; and that in some retired nooks,
appropriated to the study of ornithology, other sage and learned men
were, by a process known only to themselves, incessantly employed in
reducing fowls to a mere combination of skin and bone.

Vague rumours of this kind, together with many others of a similar
nature, cast over Vauxhall Gardens an air of deep mystery ; and as
there is a great deal in the mysterious, there is no doubt that to a
good many people, at all events, the pleasure they afforded was not
a little enhanced by this very circumstance.

Of this class of people we confess to having made one. We loved
to wander among these illuminated groves, thinking of the patient
and laborious researches which had been carried on there during the
day, and witnessing their results in the suppers which were served up
beneath the light of lamps and to the sound of music at night. The
temples and saloons and cosmoramas and fountains glittered and
sparkled before our eyes ; the beauty of the lady singers and the
elegant deportment of the gentlemen, captivated our hearts ; a few
hundred thousand of additional lamps dazzled our senses ; a bowl or
two of punch bewildered our brains ; and we were happy.

In an evil hour, the proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens took to opening
them by day. We regretted this, as rudely and harshly disturbing
that veil of mystery which had hung about the property for many
years, and which none but the noonday sun, and the late Mr. Simpson,
had ever penetrated. We shrunk from going; at this moment we
scarcely know why. Perhaps a morbid consciousness of approaching
disappointment — perhaps a fatal presentiment — perhaps the weather ;
whatever it was, we did not go until the second or third announcement
of a race between two balloons tempted us, and we went.

We paid our shilling at the gate, and then we saw for the first time,
that tho entrance, if there had been any magic about it at all, was now

94 Sketches by Bos.

decidedly disenchanted, being, in fact, nothing more nor less than
a combination of very roughly-painted boards and sawdust. We
glanced at the orchestra and supper-room as we hurried past — we just
recognised them, and that was all. We bent our steps to the firework-
ground ; there, at least, we should not be disappointed. We reached
it, and stood rooted to the spot with mortificatior and astonishment.
That the Moorish tower — that wooden shed with a door in the centre,
and daubs of crimson and yellow all round, like a gigantic watch-case !
That the place where night after night we had beheld the undaunted
Mr. Blackmore make his terrific ascent, surrounded by flames of fire,
and peals of artillery, and where the white garments of Madame
Somebody (we forget even her name now), who nobly devoted her life
to the manufacture of fireworks, had so often been seen fluttering
in the wind, as she called up a red, blue, or party-coloured light to

illumine her temple! That the but at this momment the bell

rung ; the people scampered away, pell-mell, to the spot from whence
the sound proceeded ; and we, from the mere force of habit, found our-
self running among the first, as if for very life.

It was for the concert in the orchestra. A small party of dismal
men in cocked hats were " executing " the overture to Tancredi, and a
numerous assemblage of ladies and gentlemen, with their families, had
rushed from their half-emptied stout mugs in the supper boxes, and
crowded to the spot. Intense was the low murmur of admiration
when a particularly small gentleman, in a dress coat, led on a par-
ticularly tall lady in a blue sarcenet pelisse and bonnet of the same,
ornamented with large white feathers, and forthwith commenced a
plaintive duet.

We knew the small gentleman well ; we had seen a lithographed
semblance of him, on many a piece of music, with his mouth wide
open as if in the act of singing ; a wine-glass in his hand ; and a table
with two decanters and four pine-apples on it in the background.
The tall lady, too, we had gazed on, lost in raptures of admiration,
many and many a time — how different people do look by daylight, and
without punch, to be sure ! It was a beautiful duet : first the small
gentleman asked a question, and then the tall lady answered it ; then
the small gentleman and the tall lady sang together most melodiously ;
then the small gentleman went though a little piece of vehemence oy
himself, and got very tenor indeed, in the excitement of his feelings,
to which the tall lady responded in a similar manner ; then the small
gentleman had a shake or two, after which the tall lady had the same,
and then they both merged imperceptibly into the original air : and
the band wound themselves up to a pitch of fury, and the small gentle-
man handed the tall lady out, and the applause was rapturous.

The comic singer, however, was the especial favourite ; we really
thought that a gentleman, with his dinner in a pocket-handkerchief,
who stood near us, would have fainted with excess of joy. A
marvellously facetious gentleman that comic singer is ; his dis-

Disenchantment. 95

tinguishing characteristics are, a wig approaching to the flaxen, and
an aged countenance, and he bears the name of one of the English
counties, if we recollect right. He sang a very good song about the
seven ages, the first half-hour of which afforded the assembly the
purest delight ; of the rest we can make no report, as we did not stay
to hear any more.

We walked about, and met with a disappointment at every turn ;
our favourite views were mere patches of paint ; the fountain that had
sparkled so showily by lamp-light, presented very much the appear-
ance of a water-pipe that had burst ; all the ornaments were dingy,
and all the walks gloomy. There was a spectral attempt at rope-
dancing in the little open theatre. The sun shone upon the spangled
dresses of the performers, and their evolutions were about as inspirit-
ing and appropriate as a country-dance in a family vault. So wo
retraced our steps to the firework-ground, and mingled with the little
crowd of people who were contemplating Mr. Green.

Some half-dozen men were restraining the impetuosity of one of the
balloons, which was completely filled, and had the car already attached ;
and as rumours had gone abroad that a Lord was " going up," tho
crowd were more than usually anxious and talkative. There was one
little man in faded black, with a dirty face and a rusty black necker-
chief, with a red border, tied in a narrow wisp round his neck, who
entered into conversation with everybody, and had something to say
upon every remark that was made within his hearing. He was stand-
ing with his arms folded, staring up at the balloon, and every now and
then Vented his feelings of reverence for the aeronaut, by saying, as
he looked round to catch somebody's eye, " He's a rum 'un is Green ;
think o' this here being up'ards of his two hundredth ascent ; ecod tho
man as is ekal to Green never had the toothache yet, nor won't havo
within this hundred year, and that's all about it. When you meets
with real talent, and native, too, encourage it, that's what I say ; " and
when he had delivered himself to this effect, he would fold his arms
with more determination than ever, and stare at the balloon with a
sort of admiring defiance of any other man alive, beyond himself and
Green, that impressed the crowd with the opinion that ho was an
oracle.

" Ah, you're very right, sir," said another gentleman, with his wife,
and children, and mother, and wife's sister, and a host of female
friends, in all the gentility of white pocket-handkerchiefs, frills, and
spencers, " Mr. Green is a steady hand, sir, and there's no fear about
him."

" Fear ! " said the little man : " isn't it a lovely thing to see him
and his wife a going up in one balloon, and his own son and his wife
a jostling up against them in another, and all of them going twenty or
thirty mile in three hours or so, and then coming back in pochayses ?
I don't know where this here science is to stop, mind you ; that's what
bothers me."

96 Sketches by Box.

Here there was a considerable talking among the females in the
spencers.

"What's the ladies a laughing at, sir?" inquired the little man,
condescendingly.

" It's only my sister Mary," said one of the girls, " as says she hopes
his lordship won't be frightened when he's in the car, and want to
come out again."

" Make yourself easy about that there, my dear," replied the little
man. " If he was so much as to move a inch without leave, Green
would jist fetch him a crack over the head with the telescope, as would
send him into the bottom of the basket in no time, and stun him till
they come down again."

" Would he, though ? " inquired the other man.

" Yes, would he," replied the little one, " and think nothing of it,
neither, if he was the king himself. Green's presence of mind is
wonderful."

Just at this moment all eyes were directed to the preparations which
were being made for starting. The car was attached to the second
balloon, the two were brought pretty close together, and a military
band commenced playing, with a zeal and fervour which would render
the most timid man in existence but too happy to accept any means of
quitting that particular spot of earth on which they were stationed.
Then Mr. Green, sen., and his noble companion entered one car, and
Mr. Green, jun., and his companion the other ; and then the balloons
went up, and the aerial travellers stood up, and the crowd outside
roared with delight, and the two gentlemen who had never ascended
before, tried to wave their flags, as if they were not nervous, but held
on very fast all the while ; and the balloons were wafted gently away,
our little friend solemnly protesting, long after they were reduced to
mere specks in the air, that he could still distinguish the white hat of
Mr. Green. The gardens disgorged their multitudes, boys ran up and
down screaming " bal-loon ; " and in all the crowded thoroughfares
people rushed out of their shops into the middle of the road, and
having stared up in the air at two little black objects till they almost
dislocated their necks, walked slowly in again, perfectly satisfied.

The next day there was a grand account of the ascent in the morn-
ing papers, and the public were informed how it was the finest day
but four in Mr. Green's remembrance ; how they retained sight of the
earth till they lost it behind the clouds ^ and how the reflection of
the balloon on the undulating masses of vapour was gorgeously
picturesque ; together with a little science about the refraction of the
sun's rays, and some mysterious hints respecting atmospheric heat and
eddying currents of air.

There was also an interesting account how a man in a boat was
distinct heard by Mr. Green, jun., to exclaim, " My eye ! " which Mr.
Green, jun., attributed to his voice, rising to the balloon, and the sound
being thrown back from its surface into the car ; and the whole con-

New Torture of the Wheel. 97

eluded with a slight allusion to another ascent next Wednesday, all of
which was very instructive and very amusing, as our readers will see
if they look to the papers. If we have forgotten to mention the date,
they have only to wait till next summer, and take the account of the
first ascent, and it will answer the purpose equally well.

CHAPTEE XV.

EARLY COACHES.

WE have often wondered how many months' incessant travelling in. a
post-chaise it would take to kill a man ; and wondering by analogy, we
should very much like to know how many months of travelling in a
succession of early coaches, an unfortunate mortal could endure.
Breaking a man alive upon the wheel, would be nothing to breaking
his rest, his peace, his heart — everything but his fast — upon four ; and
the punishment of Ixion (the only practical person, by the bye, who
has discovered the secret of the perpetual motion) would sink into
utter insignificance before the one we have suggested. If we had been
a powerful churchman in those good times when blood was shed as
freely as water, and men were mowed down like grass, in the sacred
cause of religion, we would have lain by very quietly till we got hold
of some especially obstinate miscreant, who positively refused to be
converted to our faith, and then we would have booked him for an
inside place in a small coach, which travelled day and night: and
securing the remainder of the places for stout men with a slight
tendency to coughing and spitting, we would have started him forth
on his last travels : leaving him mercilessly to all the tortures which
the waiters, landlords, coachmen, guards, boots, chambermaids, and
other familiars on his line of road, might think proper to inflict.

Who has not experienced the miseries inevitably consequent upon a
summons to undertake a hasty journey ? You receive an intimation
from your place of business — wherever that may be, or whatever you
may be — that it will be necessary to leave town without delay. You
and your family are forthwith thrown into a state of tremendous ex-
citement ; an express is immediately despatched to the washerwoman's ;
everybody is in a bustle ; and you, yourself, with a feeling of dignity
which you cannot altogether conceal, sally forth to the booking-office
to secure your place. Here a painful consciousness of your own un-
importance first rushes on your mind — the people are as cool and
collected as if nobody were going out of town, or as if a journey of a
hundred odd miles were a mere nothing. You enter a mouldy-looking
room, ornamented with large posting-bills ; the greater part of the
place enclosed behind a huge lumbering rough counter, and fitted up

H

98 Sketches by Boz.

with recesses that look like the dens of the smaller animals in a
travelling menagerie, without the bars. Some half-dozen people are
" booking " brown-paper parcels, which one of the clerks flings into
the aforesaid recesses with an air of recklessness which you, remember-
ing the new carpet-bag you bought in the morning, feel considerably
annoyed at ; porters, looking like so many Atlases, keep rushing in
and out, with large packages on their shoulders ; and while you are
waiting to make the necessary inquiries, you wonder what on earth the
booking-clerks can have been before they were booking-oifice clerks ;
one of them with his pen behind his ear, and his hands behind him, is
standing in front of the fire, like a full-length portrait of Napoleon ;
the other with his hat half off his head, enters the passengers' names
in the books with a coolness which is inexpressibly provoking ; and
the villain whistles — actually whistles — while a man asks him what
the fare is outside, all the way to Holyhead ! — in frosty weather, too !
They are clearly an isolated race, evidently possessing no sympathies
or feelings in common with the rest of mankind. Your turn comes at
last, and having paid the fare, you tremblingly inquire — " What time
will it be necessary for me to be here in the morning ? " — " Six
o'clock," replies the whistler, carelessly pitching the sovereign you
have just parted with, into a wooden bowl on the desk. "Bather
before than arter," adds the man with the semi-roasted unmention-
ables, with just as much ease and complacency as if the whole world
got out of bed at five. You turn into the street, ruminating as you
bend your steps homewards on the extent to which men become
hardened in cruelty, by custom.

If there be one thing in existence more miserable than another, it
most unquestionably is the being compelled to rise by candle-light.
If you ever doubted the fact, you are painfully convinced of your error,
on the morning of your departure. You left strict orders, overnight,
to be called at half-past four, and you have done nothing all night
but doze for five minutes at a time, and start up suddenly from a
terrific dream of a large church-clock with the small hand running
round, with astonishing rapidity, to every figure on the dial-plate.
At last, completely exhausted, you fall gradually into a refreshing
sleep — your thoughts grow confused — the stage-coaches, which have
been " going off " before your eyes all night, become less and less
distinct, until they go off altogether ; one moment you are driving
with all the skill and smartness of an experienced whip — the next yon
are exhibiting a la Ducrow, on the off-leader ; anon you are closely
muffled up, inside, and have just recognised in the person of the guard
an old schoolfellow, whose funeral, even in your dream, you remember
to have attended eighteen years ago. At last you fall into a state of
complete oblivion, from which you are aroused, as if into a new state
of existence, by a singular illusion. You are apprenticed to a trunk-
maker ; how, or why, or when, or wherefore, you don't take the
trouble to inquire ; but there you are, pasting the lining in the lid of

Discomforts of Early Rising. 99

ft portmanteau. Confound that other apprentice in the back-shop,
how he is hammering ! — rap, rap, rap — what an industrious fellow he
must be ! you have heard him at work for half-an-hour past, and he
has been hammering incessantly the whole time. Eap, rap, rap, again
— he's talking now — what's that he said ? Five o'clock ! You make
a violent exertion, and start up in bed. The vision is at once dis-
pelled ; the trunk-maker's shop is your own bedroom, and the other
apprentice your shivering servant, who has been vainly endeavouring
to wake you for the last quarter of an hour, at the imminent risk of
breaking either his own knuckles or the panels of the door.

You proceed to dress yourself, with all possible despatch. Tho
flaring flat candle with the long snuff, gives light enough to show that
the things you want are not where they ought to be, and you undergo
a trifling delay in consequence of having carefully packed up one of
your boots in your over-anxiety of the preceding night. You soon
complete your toilet, however, for you are not particular on such an
occasion, and you shaved yesterday evening; so mounting your
Petersham great-coat, and green travelling shawl, and grasping your
carpet-bag in your right hand, you walk lightly down-stairs, l^st you
should awaken any of the family, and after pausing in the common
sitting-room for one moment, just to have a cup of coffee (the said
common sitting-room looking remarkably comfortable, with everything
out of its place, and strewed with the crumbs of last night's supper),
you undo the chain and bolts of the street-door, and find yourself
fairly in the street.

A thaw, by all that is miserable ! The frost is completely broken
up. You look down the long perspective of Oxford-street, the gas-
lights mournfully reflected on the wet pavement, and can discern no
speck in the road to encourage the belief that there is a cab or a coach
to be had — the very coachmen have gone home in despair. The cold
sleet is drizzling down with that gentle regularity, which betokens a
duration of four-and-twenty hours at least ; the damp hangs upon tho
house-tops and lamp-posts, and clings to you like an invisible cloak.
The water is " coming in " in every area, the pipes have burst, tho
water-butts are running over ; the kennels seem to be doing matches
against time, pump-handles descend of their own accord, horses in
market-carts fall down, and there's no one to help them up again,
policemen look as if they had been carefully sprinkled with powdered
glass ; here and there a milkwoman trudges slowly along, with a bit
of list round each foot to keep her from slipping ; boys who " don't
sleep in the house," and are not allowed much sleep out of it, can't
wake their masters by thundering at the shop-door, and ciy with tho
cold — the compound of ice, snow, and water on the pavement, is a
couple of inches thick — nobody ventures to walk fast to keep himself
warm, and nobody could succeed in keeping himself warm if he did.

It strikes a quarter past five as you trudge down Waterloo Place on
your way to the Golden Cross, and you discover, for the first time,

loo Sketches by Boz.

that you were called about an hour too early. You have not time to
go back ; there is no place open to go into, and you have, therefore,
no resource but to go forward, which you do, feeling remarkably
satisfied with yourself, and everything about you. You arrive at the
office, and look wistfully up the yard for the Birmingham High-flier,
which, for aught you can see, may have flown away altogether, for no
preparations appear to be on foot for the departure of any vehicle in
the shape of a coach. You wander into the booking-office, which with
the gas-lights and blazing fire, looks quite comfortable by contrast —
that is to say, if any place can look comfortable at half-past five on a
winter's morning. There stands the identical book-keeper in the
same position as if he had not moved since you saw him yesterday.
As he informs you, that the coach is up the yard, and will be brought
round in about a quarter of an hour, you leave your bag, and repair
to " The Tap " — not with any absurd idea of warming yourself,
because you feel such a result to be utterly hopeless, but for the
purpose of procuring some hot brandy-and-water, which you do, —
when the kettle boils ! an event which occurs exactly two minutes and
a half before the time fixed for the starting of the coach.

The first stroke of six peals from St. Martin's church steeple, just
as you take the first sip of the boiling liquid. You find yourself
at the booking-office in two seconds, and the tap-waiter finds himself
much comforted by your brandy-and-water, in about the same period.
The coach is out ; the horses are in, and the guard and two or three
porters, are stowing the luggage away, and running up the steps of
the booking-office, and down the steps of the booking-office, with
breathless rapidity. The place, which a few minutes ago was so still
and quiet, is now all bustle ; the early vendors of the morning papers
have arrived, and you are assailed on all sides with shouts of " Times,
gen'lm'n, Times," " Here's Chron — Chron — Chron," " Herald, ma'am,"
" Highly interesting murder, gen'lm'n," " Curious case o' breach o'
promise, ladies." The inside passengers are already in their dens,
and the outsides, with the exception of yourself, are pacing up and
down the pavement to keep themselves warm ; they consist of two
young men with very long hair, to which the sleet has communicated
the appearance of crystallised rats' tails ; one thin young woman cold
and peevish, one old gentleman ditto ditto, and something in a cloak
and cap, intended, to represent a military officer ; every member of
the party, with a large stiff shawl over his chin, looking exactly as if
he were playing a set of Pan's pipes.

" Take off the cloths, Bob," says the coachman, who now appears
for the first time, in a rough blue great-coat, of which the buttons
behind are so far apart, that you can't see them both at the same time.
" Now, gen'lm'n," cries the guard, with the waybill in his hand.
" Five minutes behind time already ! " Up jump the passengers — the
two young men smoking like lime-kilns, and the old gentleman
grumbling audibly. The thin young woman is got upon the roof, by

TJte Start. 101

dint of a great deal of pulling, and pushing, and helping and trouble,
and she repays it by expressing her solemn conviction that she will
never be able to get down again.

" All right," sings out the guard at last, jumping up as the coach
starts, and blowing his horn directly afterwards, in proof of the
soundness of his wind. " Let 'em go, Harry, give 'em their heads,"
cries the coachman — and off we start as briskly as if the morning
were " all right," as well as the coach : and looking forward as
anxiously to the termination of our journey, as we fear our readers
will have done, long since, to the conclusion of our paper.

CHAPTER XVI.

OMNIBUSES.

IT is very generally allowed that public conveyances afford an extensive
field for amusement and observation. Of all the public conveyances
that have been constructed since the days of the Ark — wo think that
is the earliest on record — to the present time, commend us to an
omnibus. A long stage is not to be despised, but there you have only
six insides, and the chances are, that the same people go all the way
with you — there is no change, no variety. Besides, after the first
twelve hours or so, people get cross and sleepy, and when you have
seen a man in his nightcap, you lose all respect for him ; at least, that
is the case with us. Then on smooth roads people frequently get
prosy, and tell long stories, and even those who don't talk, may have
very unpleasant predilections. We once travelled four hundred miles,
inside a stage-coach, with a stout man, who had a glass of rum-and-
water, warm, handed in at the window at every place where we changed
horses. This was decidedly unpleasant. We have also travelled
occasionally, with a small boy of a pale aspect, with light hair, and
no perceptible neck, coming up to town from school under the pro-
tection of the guard, and directed to be left at the Cross Keys till
called for. This is, perhaps, even worse than rum-and-water in a
close atmosphere. Then there is the whole train of evils consequent
on a change of the coachman; and the misery of the discovery —
which the guard is sure to make the moment you begin to doze — that
he wants a brown-paper parcel, which ho distinctly remembers to
have deposited under the seat on which you are reposing. A great
deal of buetle and groping takes place, and when you are thoroughly
awakened, and severely cramped, by holding your legs up by an
almost supernatural exertion, while he is looking behind them, it
suddenly occurs to him that he put it in the fore-boot. Bang goes
the door ; the parcel is immediately found j off starts the coach again ;

IO2 Sketches by Bos.

and the guard plays the key-bugle as loud as he can play it, as if in
mockery of your wretchedness.

Now, you meet with none of these afflictions in an omnibus ; same-
ness there can never be. The passengers change as often in the
course of one journey as the figures in a kaleidoscope, and though not
so glittering, are far more amusing. We believe there is no instance
on record, of a man's having gone to sleep in one of these vehicles.
As to long stories, would any man venture to tell a long story in an
omnibus? and even if he did, where would be the harm? nobody
could possibly hear what he was talking about. Again; children,
though occasionally, are not often to be found in an omnibus ; and
even when they are, if the vehicle be full, as is generally the case,
somebody sits upon them, and we are unconscious of their presence.
Yes, after mature reflection, and considerable experience, we are
decidedly of opinion, that of all known vehicles, from the glass-coach
in which we were taken to be christened, to that sombre caravan in
which we must one day make our last earthly journey, there is nothing
like an omnibus.

We will back the machine in which we make our daily peregrination
from the top of Oxford Street to the City, against any " buss " on the
road, whether it be for the gaudiness of its exterior, the perfect
simplicity of its interior, or the native coolness of its cad. This
young gentleman is a singular instance of self-devotion ; his somewhat
intemperate zeal on behalf of his employers, is constantly getting him
into trouble, and occasionally into the House of Correction. He is no
sooner emancipated, however, than he resumes the duties of his pro-
fession with unabated ardour. His principal distinction is his activity.
His great boast is, " that he can chuck an old gen'lm'n into the buss,
shut him in, and rattle off, afore he knows where it's a going to " — a
feat which he frequently performs, to the infinite amusement of every
one but the old gentleman concerned, who, somehow or other, never
can see the joke of the thing.

We are not aware that it has ever been precisely ascertained, how
many passengers our omnibus will contain. The impression on the
cad's mind, evidently is, that it is amply sufficient for the accommoda-
tion of any number of persons that can be enticed into it. "Any
room ? " cries a very hot pedestrian. " Plenty o' room, sir," replies
the conductor, gradually opening the door, and not disclosing the real
state of the case, until the wretched man is on the steps. " Where ? "
inquires the entrapped individual, with an attempt to back out again.
" Either side, sir," rejoins the cad, shoving him in, and slamming the
door. " All right, Bill." Eetreat is impossible ; the new-comer rolls
about, till he falls down somewhere, and there he stops.

As we get into the City a little before ten, four or five of our party
are regular passengers. We always take them up at the same places,
and they generally occupy the same seats ; they are always dressed
in the same manner, and invariably discuss the same topics — the

Cads and Regulars. 103

increasing rapidity of cabs, and the disregard of moral obligations
evinced by omnibus men. There is a little testy old man, with a
powdered head, who always sits on the right-hand side of the door as
you enter, with his hands folded on the top of his umbrella. He is
extremely impatient, and sits there for the purpose of keeping a sharp
eye on the cad, with whom he generally holds a running dialogue.
He is very officious in helping people in and out, and always volunteers
to give the cad a poke with his umbrella, when anyone wants to
alight. He usually recommends ladies to have sixpence ready, to
prevent delay ; and if anybody puts a window down, that he can reach,
he immediately puts it up again.

" Now, what are you stopping for ? " says the little man every
morning, the moment there is the slightest indication of " pulling up "
at the corner of Regent Street, when some such dialogue as the follow-
ing takes place between him and the cad —

" What are you stopping for ? "

Here the cad whistles, and affects not to hear the question.

" I say [a poke], what are you stopping for? "

" For passengers, sir. Ba — nk. — Ty."

" I know you're stopping for passengers ; but you've no business to
do so. Why are you stopping ? "

" Vy, sir, that's a difficult question. I think it is because we perfer
stopping here to going on."

" Now mind," exclaims the little old man, with great vehemence,
" I'll pull you up to-morrow ; I've often threatened to do it ; now I
will."

"Thank'ee, sir," replies the cad, touching his hat with a mock
expression of gratitude ; — " werry much obliged to you indeed,
sir." Here the young men in the omnibus laugh very heartily,
and the old gentleman gets very red in the face, and seems highly
exasperated.

The stout gentleman in the white neckcloth, at the other end of the
vehicle, looks very prophetic, and says that something must shortly
be done with these fellows, or there's no saying where all this will
end ; and the shabby-genteel man with the green bag, expresses his
entire concurrence in the opinion, as he has done regularly every
morning for the last six months.

A second omnibus now comes up, and stops immediately behind us.
Another old gentleman elevates his cane in the air, and runs with all
his might towards our omnibus ; we watch his progress with great
interest ; the door is opened to receive him, he suddenly disappears —
he has been spirited away by the opposition. Hereupon the driver of
the opposition taunts our people with his having " regularly done 'em
out of that old swell," and the voice of the " old swell " is heard,
vainly protesting against this unlawful detention. We rattle off, the
other omnibus rattles after us, and every time we stop to take up a
passenger, they stop to take him too ; sometimes we get him ; some-

IO4 Sketches by Boz.

times they get him ; but whoever don't get him, say they ought to
have had him, and the cads of the respective vehicles abuse one
another accordingly.

As we arrive in the vicinity of Lincoln's Inn Fields, Bedford Row,
and other legal haunts, we drop a great many of our original passengers,
and take up fresh ones, who meet with a very sulky reception. It is
rather remarkable, that the people already in an omnibus, always look
at new-comers, as if they entertained some undefined idea that they
have no business to come in at all. We are quite persuaded the little
old man has some notion of this kind, and that he considers their
entry as a sort of negative impertinence.

Conversation is now entirely dropped ; each person gazes vacantly
through the window in front of him, and everybody thinks that his
opposite neighbour is staring at him. If one man gets out at Shoe
Lane, and another at the corner of Farringdon Street, the little old
gentleman grumbles, and suggests to the latter, that if he had got out
at Shoe Lane too, he would have saved them the delay of another
stoppage ; whereupon the young men laugh again, and the old gentle-
man looks very solemn, and says nothing more till he gets to the
Bank, when he trots off as fast as he can, leaving us to do the same,
and to wish, at; we walk away, that we could impart to others any
portion of the amusement we have gained for ourselves.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LAST CAB-DRIVER, AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD.

OF all the cabriolet-drivers whom we have ever had the honour and
gratification of knowing by sight — and our acquaintance in this way
has been most extensive — there is one who made an impression on our
mind which can never be effaced, and who awakened in our bosom a
feeling of admiration and respect, which we entertain a fatal pre-
sentiment will never be called forth again by any human being. He
was a man of most simple and prepossessing appearance. He was
a brown-whiskered, white-hatted, no-coated cabman ; his nose was
generally red, and his bright blue eye not unfrequently stood out in
bold relief against a black border of artificial workmanship ; his boots
were of the Wellington form, pulled up to meet his corduroy knee-
smalls, or at least to approach as near them as their dimensions would
admit of; and his neck was usually garnished with a bright yellow
handkerchief. In summer he carried in his mouth a flower ; in
winter, a straw — slight, but to a contemplative mind, certain indications
of a love of nature, and a taste for botany.

His cabriolet was gorgeously painted — a bright red ; and wherever

The Red Cab. 105

we went, City or West End, Paddington or Holloway, North, East,
West, or South, there was the red cab, bumping up against the posts
at the street-corners, and turning in and out, among hackney-coaches,
and drays, and carts, and waggons, and omnibuses, and contriving by
some strange means or other, to get out of places which no other
vehicle but the red cab could ever by any possibility have contrived
to get into at all. Our fondness for that red cab was unbounded.
How we should have liked to have seen it in the circle at Astley's !
Our life upon it, that it should have performed such evolutions as
would have put the whole company to shame — Indian chiefs, knights,
Swiss peasants, and all.

Some people object to the exertion of getting into cabs, and others
object to the difficulty of getting out of them ; we think both these
are objections which take their rise in perverse and ill-conditioned
minds. The getting into a cab is a very pretty and graceful process,
which, when well performed, is essentially melodramatic. First, there
is the expressive pantomine of every one of the eighteen cabmen on
the stand, the moment you raise your eyes from the ground. Then
there is your own pantomime in reply — quite a little ballet. Four
cabs immediately leave the stand, for your especial accommodation ;
and the evolutions of the animals who draw them, are beautiful in the
extreme, as they grate the wheels of the cabs against the curb-stones,
and sport playfully in the kennel. You single out a particular cab,
and dart swiftly towards it. One bound, and you are on the first step ;
turn your body lightly round to the right, and you are on the second ;
bend gracefully beneath the reins, working round to the left at the
same time, and you are in the cab. There is no difficulty in finding
a seat: the apron knocks you comfortably into it at once, and oft'
you go.

The getting out of a cab, is, perhaps, rather more complicated in its
theory, and a shade more difficult in its execution. We have studied
the subject a great deal, and we think the best way is, to throw your-
self out, and trust to chance for alighting on your feet. If you make
the driver alight first, and then throw yourself upon him, you will find
that he breaks your fall materially. In the event of your contemplating
an offer of eightpence, on no account make the tender, or show the
money, until you are safely on the pavement. It is very bad policy
attempting to save the fourpeuce. You are very much in the power
of a cabman, and he considers it a kind of fee not to do you any wilful
damage. Any instruction, however, in the art of getting out of a cab,
is wholly unnecessary if you are going any distance, because the prob-
ability is, that you will be shot lightly out before you have completed
the third mile.

We are not aware of any instance on record in which a cab-horse
has performed three consecutive miles •without going down once.
What of that ? It is all excitement. And in these days of derange-
ment of the nervous system and universal lassitude, people are content

io6 Sketches by Bos.

to pay handsomely for excitement; where can it be procured at a
cheaper rate ?

But to return to the red cab ; it was omnipresent. You had but to
walk down Holborn, or Fleet Street, or any of the principal thorough-
fares in which there is a great deal of traffic, and judge for yourself.
You had hardly turned into the street, when you saw a trunk or two,
lying on the ground : an uprooted post, a hat-box, a portmanteau, and
a carpet-bag, strewed about in a very picturesque manner : a horse in
a cab standing by, looking about him with great unconcern ; and a
crowd, shouting and screaming with delight, cooling their flushed faces
against the glass windows of a chemist's shop. — " What's the matter
here, can you tell me ? " — " On'y a cab, sir." — " Anybody hurt, do you
know-? " — " On'y the fare, sir. I see him a turnin' the corner, and I
ses to another gen'lm'n ' that's a reg'lar little oss that, and he's a
comin' along rayther sweet, an't he ? ' — ' He just is,' ses the other
gen'lm'n, ven bump they cums agin the post, and out flies the fare like
bricks." Need we say it was the red cab ; or that the gentleman with
the straw in his mouth, who emerged so coolly from the chemist's
shop and philosophically climbing into the little dickey, started off at
full gallop, was the red cab's licensed driver ?

The ubiquity of this red cab, and the influence it exercised over the
risible muscles of justice itself, was perfectly astonishing. You
walked into the justice-room of the Mansion House ; the whole court
resounded with merriment. The Lord Mayor threw himself back in
his chair, in a state of frantic delight at his own joke ; every vein in
Mr. Hobler's countenance was swollen with laughter, partly at the
Lord Mayor's facetiousness, but more at his own ; the constables and
police-officers were (as in duty bound) in ecstasies at Mr. Hobler and
the Lord Mayor combined ; and the very paupers, glancing respectfully
at the beadle's countenance, tried to smile, as even he relaxed. A tall,
weazen-faced man, with an impediment in his speech, would be endea-
vouring to state a case of imposition against the red cab's driver, and
the red cab's driver, and the Lord Mayor, and Mr. Hobler, would be
having a little fun among themselves, to the inordinate delight of
everybody but the complainant. In the end, justice would be so tickled
with the red cab driver's native humour, that the fine would be
mitigated, and he would go away full gallop, in the red cab, to impose
on somebody else without loss of time.

The driver of the red cab, confident in the strength of his moral
principles, like many other philosophers, was wont to set the feelings
and opinions of society at complete defiance. Generally speaking,
perhaps, he would as soon carry a fare safely to his destination, as he
would upset him — sooner, rperhaps, because in that case he not only
got the money, but had the additional amusement of running a longer
heat against some smart rival. But society made war upon him in the
shape of penalties, and he must make war upon society in his own
way. This was the reasoning of the red cab driver. So he bestowed

The Red Cab Driver in Trouble. 107

a searching look upon the fare, as he put his hand in his waistcoat-
pocket, when he had gone half the mile, to get the money ready ; and
if he brought forth eightpence, out he went.

The last time we saw our friend was one wet evening in Tottenham
Court Eoad, when he was engaged in a very warm and somewhat
personal altercation with a loquacious little gentleman in a green coat.
Poor fellow ! there were great excuses to be made for him : he had not
received above eighteenpence more than his fare, and consequently
laboured under a great deal of very natural indignation. The dispute
had attained a pretty considerable height, when at last the loquacious
little gentleman, making a mental calculation of the distance, and
finding that he had already paid more than he ought, avowed his un-
alterable determination to " pull up " the cabman in the morning.

" Now, just mark this, young man," said the little gentleman, " I'll
pull you up to-morrow morning."

" No ; will you though ? " said our friend, with a sneer.

" I will," replied the little gentleman, " mark my words, that's all.
If I live till to-morrow morning, you shall repent this."

There was a steadiness of purpose, and indignation of speech, about
the little gentleman, as he took an angry pinch of snuff, after this last
declaration, which made a visible impression on the mind of the red
cab driver. He appeared to hestitate for an instant. It was only for
an instant ; his resolve was soon taken.

" You'll pull me up, will you ? " said our friend.

" I will," rejoined the little gentleman, with even greater vehemence
than before.

" Very well," said our friend, tucking up his shirt-sleeves very
calmly. " There'll be three veeks for that. Wery good ; that'll
bring me up to the middle o' next month. Three veeks more would
carry me on to my birthday, and then I've got ten pound to draw. I
may as well get board, lodgin', and washin', till then, out of the county,
as pay for it myself; consequently here goes ! "

So, without more ado, the red cab driver knocked the little gentle-
man down, and then called the police to take himself into custody,
with all the civility in the world.

A story is nothing without the sequel ; and therefore, we may state,
that to our certain knowledge, the board, lodging, and washing, were
all provided in due course. Wa happen to know the fact, for it came
to our knowledge thus : We went over the House of Correction for
the county of Middlesex shortly after, to witness the operation of the
silent system ; and looked on all the " wheels " with the greatest
anxiety, in search of our long-lost friend. Ho was nowhere to be
seen, however, and we began to think that the little gentleman in the
green coat must have relented, when, as we were traversing the
kitchen-garden, which lies in a sequestered part of the prison, we
were startled by hearing a voice, which apparently proceeded from
the wall, pouring forth its soul in the plaintive air of " All round my

io8 Sketches by Boz.

hat," which was then just beginning to form a recognised portion of
our national mnsic.

We started. — " What voice is that ? " said we.

The Governor shook his head.

" Sad fellow," he replied, " very sad. He positively refused to
work on the wheel ; so, after many trials, I was compelled to order
him into solitary confinement. He says he likes it very much though,
and I am afraid he does, for he lies on his back on the floor, and
sings comic songs all day ! "

Shall we add, that our heart had not deceived us ; and that the
comic singer was no other than our eagerly-sought friend, the red
cab driver ?

We have never seen him since, but we have strong reason to suspect
that this noble individual was a distant relative of a waterman of our
acquaintance, who, on one occasion, when we were passing the coach-
stand over which he presides, after standing very quietly to see a tall
man struggle into a cab, ran up very briskly when it was all over (as
his brethren invai-iably do), and, touching his hat, asked, as a matter
of course, for " a copper for the waterman." Now, the fare was by no
means a handsome man ; and, waxing very indignant at the demand,
he replied — " Money ! What for ? Coming up and looking at me, I
suppose ? " — " Veil, sir," rejoined the waterman, with a smile of
immovable complacency, " That's worth twopence."

This identical waterman afterwards attained a very prominent
station in society ; and as we know something of his life, and have
often thought of telling what we do know, perhaps we shall never
have a better opportunity than the present.

Mr. William Barker, then, for that was the gentleman's name, Mr.

William Barker was born but why need we relate where Mr.

William Barker wag born, or when ? Why scrutinise the entries in
parochial ledgers, or seek to penetrate the Lucinian mysteries of
lying-in hospitals ? Mr. William Barker was born, or he had never
been. There is a son — there was a father. There is an effect — there
was a cause. Surely this is sufficient information for the most Fatima-
like curiosity ; and, if it be not, we regret our inability to supply any
further evidence on the point. Can there be a more satisfactory, or
more strictly parliamentary course ? Impossible.

We t£t once avow a similar inability to record at what precise
period, or by what particular process, this gentleman's patronymic, of
William Barker, became corrupted into " Bill Boorker." Mr. Barker
acquired a high standing, and no inconsiderable reputation, among the
members of that profession to which he more peculiarly devoted his
energies ; and to them he was generally known, either by the familiar
appellation of " Bill Boorker," or the flattering designation of " Ag-
gerawatin' Bill," the latter being a playful and expressive sobriquet,
illustrative of Mr. Barker's great talent in " aggerawatin' " and render-
ing wild such subjects of her Majesty as are conveyed from place to

Mr. William Barker. 109

place, through the instrumentality of omnibuses. Of the early life of
Mr. Barker little is known, and even that little is involved in con-
siderable doubt and obscurity. A want of application, a restlessness
of purpose, a thirsting after porter, a love of all that is roving and
cadger-like in nature, shared in common with many other great
geniuses, appear to have been his leading characteristics. The busy
hum of a parochial free-school, and the shady repose of a county jail,
were alike inefficacious in producing the slightest alteration in Mr.
Barker's disposition. His feverish attachment to change and variety
nothing could repress ; his native daring no punishment could subdue.

If Mr. Barker can be fairly said to have had any weakness in his
earlier years, it was an amiable one — love ; love in its most compre-
hensive form — a love of ladies, liquids, and pocket-handkerchiefs. It
was no selfish feeling ; it was not confined to his own possessions,
which but too many men regard with exclusive complacency. No ; it
was a nobler love — a general principle. It extended itself with equal
force to the property of other people.

There is something very affecting in this. It is still more affecting
to know, that such philanthropy is but imperfectly rewarded. Bow-
street, Newgate, and Millbank, are a poor return for general bene-
volence, evincing itself in an irrepressible love for all created objects.
Mr. Barker felt it so. After a lengthened interview with the highest
legal authorities, he quitted his ungrateful country, with the consent,
and at the expense, of its Government ; proceeded to a distant shore ;
and there employed himself, like another Cincinnatus, in clearing and
cultivating the soil — a peaceful pursuit, in which a term of seven
years glided almost imperceptibly away.

Whether, at the expiration of the period we have just mentioned,
the British Government required Mr. Barker's presence here, or did
not require his residence abroad, we have no distinct means of ascer-
taining. We should be inclined, however, to favour the latter
position, inasmuch as we do not find that he was advanced to any
other public post on his return, than the post at the corner of the
Haymarket, where he officiated as assistant-waterman to the hackney-
coach-stand. Seated, in this capacity, on a couple of tubs near the
curb-stone, with a brass plate and number suspended round his neck
by a massive chain, and his ankles curiously enveloped in haybands,
he is supposed to have made those observations on human nature
which exercised so material an influence over all his proceedings in
later life.

Mr. Barker had not officiated for many months in this capacity,
when the appearance of the first omnibus caused the public mind to
go in a new direction, and prevented a great many hackney-coaches
from going in any direction at all. The genius of Mr. Barker at once
perceived the whole extent of the injury that would be eventually
inflicted on cab and coach stands, and, by consequence, on watermen
also, by the progress of the system of which the first omnibus was a

no Sketches by

part. He saw, too, the necessity of adopting some more profitable
profession ; and his active mind at once perceived how much might be
done in the way of enticing the youthful and unwary, and shoving the
old and helpless, into the wrong buss, and carrying them off, until,
reduced to despair, they ransomed themselves by the payment of
sixpence a-head, or, to adopt his own figurative expression in all its
native beauty, " till they was rig'larly done over, and forked out the
stumpy."

An opportunity for realising his fondest anticipations, soon pre-
sented itself. Eumours were rife on the hackney-coach-stands, that a
buss was building, to run from Lisson Grove to the Bank, down
Oxford Street and Holborn ; and the rapid increase of busses on the
Paddington Road, encouraged the idea. Mr. Barker secretly and
cautiously inquired in the proper quarters. The report was correct ;
the " Royal William " was to make its first journey on the following
Monday. It was a crack affair altogether. An enterprising young
cabman, of established reputation as a dashing whip — for he had
compromised with the parents of three scrunched children, and just
" worked out " his fine, for knocking down an old lady — was the
driver; and the spirited proprietor, knowing Mr. Barker's qualifica-
tions, appointed him to the vacant office of cad on the very first
application. The buss began to run, and Mr. Barker entered into a .
new suit of clothes, and on a new sphere of action.

To recapitulate all the improvements introduced by this extra-
ordinary man, into the omnibus system — gradually, indeed, but surely
— would occupy a far greater space than we are enabled to devote to
this imperfect memoir. To him is universally assigned the original
suggestion of the practice which afterwards became so general — of the
driver of a second buss keeping constantly behind the first one, and
driving the pole of hie vehicle either into the door of the other, every
time it was opened, or through the body of any lady or gentleman
who might make an attempt to get into it ; a humorous and pleasant
invention, exhibiting all that originality of idea, and fine bold flow of
spirits, so conspicuous in every action of this great man.

Mr. Barker had opponents of course ; what man in public life has
not ? But even his worst enemies cannot deny that he has taken more
old ladies and gentlemen to Paddington who wanted to go to the
Bank, and more old ladies and gentlemen to the Bank who wanted to
go to Paddington, than any six men on the road ; and however much
malevolent spirits may pretend to doubt the accuracy of the statement,
they well know it to be an established fact, that he has forcibly con-
veyed a variety of ancient persons of either sex, to both places, who
had not the slightest or most distant intention of going anywhere at all.

Mr. Barker was the identical cad who nobly distinguished himself,
some time since, by keeping a tradesman on the step — the omnibus
going at full speed all the time — till he had thrashed him to his
entire satisfaction, and finally throwing him away, when he had quite

A Rival Genius. Ill

clone with him. Mr. Barker it ought to have been, who honestly
indignant at being ignominiously ejected from a house of public enter-
tainment, kicked the landlord in the knee, and thereby caused his
death. We say it ought to have been Mr. Barker, because the action
\vas not a common one, and could have emanated from no ordinary
mind.

It has now become matter of history ; it is recorded in the New-
gate Calendar ; and we wish we could attribute this piece of daring
heroism to Mr. Barker. We regret being compelled to state that it
was not performed by him. Would, for the family credit we could
add, that it was achieved by his brother !

It was in the- exercise of the nicer details of his profession, that Mr.
Barker's knowledge of human nature was beautifully displayed. He
could tell at a glance where a passenger wanted to go to, and would
shout the name of the place accordingly, without the slightest reference
to the real destination of the vehicle. He know exactly the kind of
old lady that would be too much flurried by the process of pushing in
and pulling out of the caravan, to discover where she had been put
down, until too late ; had an intuitive perception of what was passing
in a passenger's mind when he inwardly resolved to " pull that cad up
to-morrow morning ; " and never failed to make himself agreeable to
female servants, whom he would place next the door, and talk to all
the way.

Human judgment is never infallible, and it would occasionally
happen that Mr. Barker experimentalised with the timidity or for-
bearance of the wrong person, in which case a summons to a Police-
office, was, on more than one occasion, followed by a committal to
prison. It was not in the power of trifles such as these, however, to
subdue the freedom of his spirit. As soon as they passed away, ho
resumed the duties of his profession with unabated ardour.

We have spoken of Mr. Barker and of the red cab driver, in the
past tense. Alas ! Mr. Barker has again become an absentee ; and
the class of men to which they both belonged are fast disappearing.
Improvement has peered beneath the aprons of our cabs, and penetrated
to the very innermost recesses of our omnibuses. Dirt and fustian
will vanish before cleanliness and livery. Slang will be forgotten
when civility becomes general : and that enlightened, eloquent, sage,
and profound body, the Magistracy of London, will bo deprived of
half their amusement, and half their occupation.

112 Sketches by Bos.

CHAPTEE XVIII.

A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH.

WE hope our readers will not be alarmed at this rather ominous title.
We assure them that we are not about to become political, neither
have we the slightest intention of being more prosy than usual — if we
can help it. It has occurred to us that a slight sketch of the general
aspect of " the House," and the crowds that resort to it on the night
of an important debate, would be productive of some amusement : and
as we have made some few calls at the aforesaid house in our time —
have visited it quite often enough for our purpose, and a great deal
too often for our own personal peace and comfort — we have determined
to attempt the description. Dismissing from our minds, therefore, all
that feeling of awe, which vague ideas of breaches of privilege,
Serjeant-at-Arms, heavy denunciations, and still heavier fees, are
calculated to awaken, we enter at once into the building, and upon our
subject.

Half-past four o'clock — and at five the mover of the Address will
be " on his legs," as the newspapers announce sometimes by way of
novelty, as if speakers were occasionally in the habit of standing on
their heads. The members are pouring in, one after the other, in
shoals. The few spectators who can obtain standing-room in the
passages, scrutinise them as they pass, with the utmost interest, and
the man who can identify a member occasionally, becomes a person of
great importance. Every now and then you hear earnest whispers of
"That's Sir John Thomson." "Which? him with the gilt order
round his neck ? " " No, no ; that's one of the messengers — that
other with the yellow gloves, is Sir John Thomson." " Here's Mr.
Smith." " Lor ! " " Yes, how d'ye do, sir ? — (He is our new member)
— How do you do, sir ? " Mr. Smith stops : turns round with an air
of enchanting urbanity (for the rumour of an intended dissolution has
been very extensively circulated this morning) ; seizes both the hands
of his gratified constituent, and, after greeting him with the most
enthusiastic warmth, darts into the lobby with an extraordinary
display of ardour in the public cause, leaving an immense impression
in his favour on the mind of his fellow-townsman.

The arrivals increase in number, and the heat and noise increase in
very unpleasant proportion. The livery servants form a complete
lane on either side of the passage, and you reduce yourself into the
smallest possible space to avoid being turned out. You see that stout
man with the hoarse voice, in the blue coat, queer crowned, broad-
brimmed hat, white corduroy breeches, and great boots, who has been
talking incessantly for half-an-hour past, and whose importance has
occasioned no small quantity of mirth among the strangers. That is

A Parliamentary Cerberus. 113

the great conservator of the peace of Westminster. You cannot fail
to have remarked the grace with which he saluted the noble Lord
who passed just now, or the excessive dignity of his air, as he ex-
postulates with the crowd. Ho is rather out of temper now, in
consequence of the very irreverent behaviour of those two young
fellows behind him, who have done nothing but laugh all the time
they have been here.

" Will they divide to-night, do you think, Mr. ? " timidly

inquires a little thin man in the crowd, hoping to conciliate the man
of office.

" How can you ask such questions, sir ? " replies the functionary,
in an incredibly loud key, and pettishly grasping the thick stick he
carries in his right hand. " Pray do not, sir. I beg of you ; pray
do not, sir." The little man looks remarkably out of his element,
and the uninitiated part of the throng are in positive convulsions of
laughter.

Just at this moment some unfortunate individual appears, with a
very smirking air, at the bottom of the long passage. He has managed
to elude the vigilance of the special constable down-stairs, and is
evidently congratulating himself on having made his way so far.

"Go back, sir — you must not come here," shouts the hoarse. one,
with tremendous emphasis of voice and gesture, the moment the offender
catches his eye.

The stranger pauses.

"Do you hear, sir — will you go back?" continues the official
dignitary, gently pushing the intruder some half-dozen yards.

" Come, don't push me," replies the stranger, turning angrily round.

" I will, sir."

" You won't, sir."

' Go out, sir."

' Take your hands off me, sir."

' Go out of the passage, sir."

4 You're a Jack-in-office, sir."

' A what ? " ejaculates he of the boots.

'A Jack-in-office, sir, and a very insolent fellow," reiterates the
stranger, now completely in a passion.

"Pray do not force me to put you out, sir," retorts the other —
" pray do not — my instructions are to keep this passage clear — it's the
Speaker's orders, sir."

" D — n the Speaker, sir ! " shouts the intruder.

" Here, Wilson ! — Collins ! " gasps the officer, actually paralysed at
this insulting expression, which in his mind is all but high treason ;
" take this man out — take him out, I say ! How dare you, sir ? " and
down goes the unfortunate man five stairs at a time, turning round at
every stoppage, to come back again, and denouncing bitter vengeance
against the commander-in-chief, and all his supernumeraries.

" Make way, gentlemen, — pray make way for the Members, I beg

114 Sketches by Bos.

of you ! " shouts the zealous officer, turning back, and preceding a
whole string of the liberal and independent.

You see this ferocious-looking gentleman, with a complexion almost
as sallow as his linen, and whose large black moustache would give
him the appearance of a figure in a hairdresser's window, if his counte-
nance possessed the thought which is communicated to those waxen
caricatures of the human face divine. He is a militia officer, and the
most amusing person in the House. Can anything be more exquisitely
absurd than the burlesque grandeur of his air, as he strides up to the
lobby, his eyes rolling like those of a Turk's head in a cheap Dutch
clock ? He never appears without that bundle of dirty papers which
he carries under his left arm, and which are generally supposed to be
the miscellaneous estimates for 1804, or some equally important docu-
ments. He is very punctual in his attendance at the House, and his
self-satisfied " He-ar-He-ar," is not unfrequently the signal for a
general titter.

This is the gentleman who once actually sent a messenger up to the
Strangers' Gallery in the old House of Commons, to inquire the name
of an individual who was using an eye-glass, in order that he might
complain to the Speaker that the person in question was quizzing him !
On another occasion, he is reported to have repaired to Bellamy's
kitch'en — a refreshment-room, where persons who are not Members
are admitted on sufferance, as it were — and perceiving two or three
gentlemen at supper, who he was aware were not Members, and could
not, in that place, very well resent his behaviour, he indulged in the
pleasantry of sitting with his booted leg on the table at which they
were supping I He is generally harmless, though, and always amusing.

By dint of patience, and some little interest with our friend the
constable, we have contrived to make our way to the Lobby, and you
can just manage to catch an occasional glimpse of the House, as the
door is opened for the admission of Members. It is tolerably full
already, and little groups of Members are congregated together here,
discussing the interesting topics of the day.

That smart-looking fellow in the black coat with velvet facings and
cuffs, who wears his D' Or say hat so rakishly, is " Honest Tom," n
metropolitan representative ; and the large man in the cloak with the
white lining — not the man by the pillar ; the other with the light
hair hanging over his coat-collar behind — is his colleague. The
quiet gentlemanly-looking man in the blue surtout, grey trousers,
white neckerchief, and gloves, whose closely-buttoned coat displays
his manly figure and broad chest to great advantage, is a very well-
known character. He has fought a great many battles in his time,
and conquered like the heroes of old, with no other arms than those
the gods gave him. The old hard-featured man who is standing near
him, is really a good specimen of a class of men, now nearly extinct.
He is a county Member, and has been from time whereof the memory
of man is not to the contrary. Look at his loose, wide, brown coat,

M.P. i i 5

with capacious pockets on each side; the knee-breeches and boots,
the immensely long waistcoat, and silver watch-chain dangling below
it, the wide-brimmed brown hat, and the white handkerchief tied in
a great bow, with straggling ends sticking out beyond his shirt-frill.
It is a costume one seldom sees nowadays, and when the few who wear
it have died off, it will be quite extinct. He can tell you long stories
of Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and Canning, and how much better the House
was managed in those times, when they used to get up at eight or nine
o'clock, except on regular field-days, of which everybody was apprised
beforehand. He has a great contempt for all young Members of
Parliament, and thinks it quite impossible that a man can say any-
thing worth hearing, unless he has sat in the House for fifteen years
at least, without saying anything at all. He is of opinion that " that
young Macaulay " was a regular impostor ; he allows, that Lord
Stanley may do something one of these days, but " he's too young, sir
— too young." He is an excellent authority on points of precedent,
and when he grows talkative, after his wine, will tell you how Sir
Somebody Something, when he was whipper-in for the Government,
brought four men out of their beds to vote in the majority, three of
whom died on their way home again ; how the House once divided on
the question, that fresh candles be now brought in ; how the Speaker
was once upon a time left in the chair by accident, at the conclusion
of business, and was obliged to sit in the House by himself for three
hours, till some Member could be knocked up and brought back again,
to move the adjournment ; and a great many other anecdotes of a
similar description.

There he stands, leaning on his stick ; looking at the throng of
Exquisites around him with most profound contempt ; and conjuring
up, before his mind's eye, the scenes he beheld in the old House, in
days gone by, when his own feelings were fresher and brighter, and
when, as he imagines, wit, talent, and patriotism flourished more
brightly too.

You are curious to know who that young man in the rough great-
coat is, who has accosted every Member who has entered the House
since we have been standing here. He is not a Member ; he is only
an " hereditary bondsman," or, in other words, an Irish correspondent
of an Irish newspaper, who has just procured his forty-second frank
from a Member whom ho never saw in his life before. There he goes
again — another ! Bless the man, he has his hat and pockets full already.

We will try our fortune at the Strangers' Gallery, though the nature
of the debate encourages very little hope of success. What on earth
are you about ? Holding up your order as if it were a talisman at
whose command the wicket would fly open ! Nonsense. Just preserve
the order for an autograph, if it be worth keeping at all, and make your
appearance at the door with your thumb and fore-finger expressively
inserted in your waistcoat-pocket. This tall stout man in black is the
doorkeeper. "Any room?" "Not an inch — two or three dozen

Ii6 Sketches by Boz.

gentlemen waiting down-stairs on the chance of somebody's going out."
Pull out your purse — " Are you quite sure there's no room ? " — " I'll
go and look," replies the doorkeeper, with a wistful glance at your purse,
" but I'm afraid there's not." He returns, and with real feeling assures
you that it is morally impossible to get near the gallery. It is of no
use waiting. When you are refused admission into the Strangers'
Gallery at the House of Commons, under such circumstances, you may
return home thoroughly satisfied that the place must be remarkably
full indeed.*

Eetracing our steps through the long passage, descending the stairs,
and crossing Palace Yard, we halt at a small temporary doorway
adjoining the King's entrance to the House of Lords. The order of
the serjeant-at-arms will admit you into the Eeporters' Gallery, from
whence you can obtain a tolerably good view of the House. Take
care of the stairs, they are none of the best ; through this little
wicket — there. As soon as your eyes become a little used to the mist
of the place, and the glare of the chandeliers below you, you will see
that some unimportant personage on the Ministerial side of the House
(to your right hand) is speaking, amidst a hum of voices and con-
fusion which would rival Babel, but for the circumstance of its being
all in one language.

The " hear, hear," which occasioned that laugh, proceeded from our
warlike friend with the moustache ; he is sitting on the back-seat
against the wall, behind the Member who is speaking, looking as
ferocious and intellectual as usual. Take one look around you, and
retire! The body of the House and the side galleries are full of
Members ; some, with their legs on the back of the opposite seat ;
some, with theirs stretched out to their utmost length on the floor ;
some going out, others coming in ; all talking, laughing, lounging,
coughing, o-ing, questioning, or groaning ; presenting a conglomeration
of noise and confusion, to be met with in no other place in existence,
not even excepting Smithfield on a market-day, or a cock-pit in its
glory.

But let us not omit to notice Bellamy's kitchen, or, in other words,
the refreshment-room, common to both Houses of Parliament, where
Ministerialists and Oppositionists, Whigs and Tories, Radicals, Peers,
and Destructives, strangers from the gallery, and the more favoured
strangers from below the bar, are alike at liberty to resort ; where
divers honourable members prove their perfect independence by
remaining during the whole of a heavy debate, solacing themselves
with the creature comforts ; and whence they are summoned by
whippers-in, when the House is on the point of dividing ; either to
give their " conscientious votes " on questions of which they are con-
scientiously innocent of knowing anything whatever, or to find a vent
for the playful exuberance of their wine-inspired fancies, in boisterous

* This paper was written before the practice of exhibiting Members of Parliament,
like other curiosities, for the small charge of half-a-crown, was abolished.

Nicholas. \ \ 7

shouts of " Divide," occasionally varied with a little howling, barking,
crowing, or other ebullitions of senatorial pleasantry.

When you have ascended the narrow staircase which, in the present
temporary House of Commons, leads to the place we are describing,
you will probably observe a couple of rooms on your right hand, with
tables spread for dining. Neither of these is the kitchen, although
they are both devoted to the same purpose ; the kitchen is further on
to our loft, up these half-dozen stairs. Before we ascend the staircase,
however, we must request you to pause in front of this little bar-place
with the sash-windows ; and beg your particular attention to the
steady honest-looking old fellow in black, who is its sole occupant.
Nicholas (we do not mind mentioning the old fellow's name, for if
Nicholas be not a public man, who is ? — and public men's names are
public property) — Nicholas is the butler of Bellamy's, and has held
the same place, dressed exactly in the same manner, and said precisely
the same things, ever since the oldest of its present visitors can
remember. An excellent servant Nicholas is — an unrivalled com-
pounder of salad-dressing — an admirable preparer of soda-water and
lemon — a special mixer of cold grog and punch — and, above all, an
unequalled judge of cheese. If the old man have such a thing as
vanity in his composition, this is certainly his pride ; and if it be
possible to imagine that anything in this world could disturb his
impenetrable calmness, we should say it would be the doubting his
judgment on this important point.

We needn't tell you all this, however, for if you have an atom of
observation, one glance at his sleek, knowing-looking head and face —
his prim white neckerchief, with the wooden tie into which it has
been regularly folded for twenty years past, merging by imperceptible
degrees into a small-plaited shirt-frill — and his comfortable-looking
form encased in a well-brushed suit of black — would give you a better
idea of his real character than a column of our poor description could
convey.

Nicholas is rather out of his element now ; he cannot see the kitchen
as he used to in the old House ; there, one window of his glass-case
opened into the room, and then, for the edification and behoof of more
juvenile questioners, he would stand for an hour together, answering
deferential questions about Sheridan, and Percival, and Castlereagh,
and Heaven knows who beside, with manifest delight, always inserting
a " Mister " before every commoner's name.

Nicholas, like all men of his age and standing, has a great idea of
the degeneracy of the times. He seldom expresses any political
opinions, but wo managed to ascertain, just before the passing of the
Reform Bill, that Nicholas was a thorough Reformer. What was our
astonishment to discover shortly after the meeting of the first reformed
Parliament, that he was a most inveterate- and decided Tory ! It was
very odd : some men change their opinions from necessity, others from
expediency, others from inspiration ; but that Nicholas should undergo

1 1 8 Sketches by Boz.

any change in any respect, was an event we had never contemplated,
and should have considered impossible. His strong opinion against
the clause which empowered the metropolitan districts to return
Members to Parliament, too, was perfectly unaccountable.

We discovered the secret at last ; the metropolitan Members always
dined at home. The rascals ! As for giving additional Members to
Ireland, it was even worse — decidedly unconstitutional. Why, sir, an
Irish Member would go up there, and eat more dinner than three
English Members put together. He took no wine ; drank table-beer
by the half-gallon ; and went home to Manchester Buildings, or Mill-
bank Street, for his whiskey-and-water. And what was the con-
sequence ? Why the concern lost — actually lost, sir — by his patronage.
A queer old fellow is Nicholas, and as completely a part of the
building as the house itself. We wonder he ever left the old place,
and fully expected to see in the papers, the morning after the fire, a
pathetic account of an old gentleman in black, of decent appearance,
who was seen at one of the upper windows when the flames were at
their height, and declared his resolute intention of falling with the
floor. He must have been got out by force. However, he was got
out — here he is again, looking as he always does, as if he had been in
a bandbox ever since the last session. There he is, at his old post
every night, just as we have described him : and, as characters are
scarce, and faithful servants scarcer, long may he be there, say we !

Now, when you have taken your seat in the kitchen, and duly
noticed the large fire and roasting-jack at one end of the room — the
little table for washing glasses and draining jugs at the other — the
clock over the window opposite St. Margaret's Church — the deal tables
and wax-candles — the damask table-cloths and bare floor — the plate
and china on the tables, and the gridiron on the fire ; and a few other
anomalies peculiar to the place — we will point out to your notice two
or three of the people present, whose station or absurdities render
them the most worthy of remark.

It is half-past twelve o'clock, and as the division is not expected for
an hour or two, a few Members are lounging away the time here in
preference to standing at the bar of the House, or sleeping in one of
the side galleries. That singularly awkward and ungainly-looking
man, in the brownish-white hat, with the straggling black trousers
which reach about half-way down the leg of his boots, who is leaning
against the meat-screen, apparently deluding himself into the belief
that he is thinking about something, is a splendid sample of a Member
of the House of Commons concentrating in his own person the wisdom
of a constituency. Observe the wig, of a dark hue but indescribable
colour, for if it be naturally brown, it has acquired a black tint by
long service, and if it be naturally black, the same cause has imparted to
it a tinge of rusty brown ; and remark how very materially the great
blinker-like spectacles assist the expression of that most intelligent
face. Seriously speaking, did you ever see a countenance so expres-

Jane. 1 19

sive of the most hopeless extreme of heavy dulness, or behold a form
so strangely put together ? He is no great speaker ; but when he
does address the House, the effect is absolutely irresistible.

The small gentleman with the sharp nose, who has just saluted
him, is a Member of Parliament, an ex-Alderman, and a sort of
amateur fireman. He, and the celebrated fireman's dog, were observed
to be remarkably active at the conflagration of the two Houses of
Parliament — they both ran up and down, and in and out, getting under
people's feet, and into everybody's way, fully impressed with the
belief that they were doing a great deal of good, and barking
tremendously. The dog went quietly back to his kennel with the
engine, but the gentleman kept up such an incessant noise for some
weeks after the occurrence, that he became a positive nuisance. As
no more parliamentary fires have occurred, however, and as he has
consequently had no more opportunities of writing to the newspapers
to relate how, by way of preserving pictures he cut them out of their
frames, and performed other great national services, he has gradually
relapsed into his old state of calmness.

That female in black — not the one whom the Lord's-Day-Bill
Baronet has just chucked under the chin ; the shorter of the two — is
"Jane:" the Hebe of Bellamy's. Jane is as great a character as
Nicholas, in her way. Her leading features are a thorough contempt
for the great majority of her visitors ; her predominant quality, love
of admiration, as you cannot fail to observe, if you mark the glee with
which she listens to something the young Member near her mutters
somewhat unintelligibly in her ear (for his speech is rather thick from
some cause or other), and how playfully she digs the handle of a fork
into the arm with which he detains her, by way of reply.

Jane is no bad hand at repartees, and showers them about, with a
degree of liberality and total absence of reserve or constraint, which
occasionally excites no small amazement in the minds of strangers.
She cuts jokes with Nicholas, too, but looks up to him with a great
deal of respect ; the immoveable stolidity with which Nicholas receives
the aforesaid jokes, and looks on, at certain pastoral friskings and
rompings (Jane's only recreations, and they are very innocent too)
which occasionally take place in the passage, is not the least amusing
part of his character.

The two persons who are seated at the table in the corner, at the
farther end of the room, have been constant guests here, for many
years past ; and one of them has feasted within these walls, many a
time, with the most brilliant characters of a brilliant period. He has
gone up to the other House since then ; the greater part of his boon
companions have shared Yorick's fate, and his visits to Bellamy's are
comparatively few.

If he really be eating his supper now, at what hour can he possibly
have dined ? A second solid mass of rump-steak has disappeared, and
he eat the first in four minutes and three-quarters, by the clock over

I2O Sketches by Bos.

the window. Was there ever such a personification of Falstaff ? Mark
the air with which he gloats over that Stilton, as he removes the
napkin which has been placed beneath his chin to catch the superfluous
graVjr of the steak, and with what gusto he imbibes the porter which
has been fetched, expressly for him, in the pewter pot. Listen to the
hoarse sound of that voice, kept down as it is by layers of solids, and
deep draughts of rich wine, and tell us if you ever saw such a perfect
picture of a regular gourmand ; and whether he is not exactly the man
whom you would pitch upon as having been the partner of Sheridan's
parliamentary carouses, the volunteer driver of the hackney-coach
that took him home, and the involuntary upsetter of the whole party ?

What an amusing contrast between his voice and appearance, and
that of the spare, squeaking old man, who sits at the same table, and
who, elevating a little cracked bantam sort of voice to its highest pitch,
invokes damnation upon his own eyes or somebody else's at the com-
mencement of every sentence he utters. " The Captain," as they call
him, is a very old frequenter of Bellamy's , much addicted to stopping
" after the House is up " (an inexpiable crime in Jane's eyes), and a
complete walking reservoir of spirits and water.

The old peer — or rather, the old man — for his peerage is of com-
paratively recent date — has a huge tumbler of hot punch brought him ;
and the other damns and drinks, and drinks and damns, and smokes.
Members arrive every moment in a great bustle to report that " The
Chancellor of the Exchequer's up," and to get glasses of brandy-and-
water to sustain them during the division ; people who have ordered
supper, countermand it, and prepare to go down-stairs, when suddenly
a bell is heard to ring with tremendous violence, and a cry of
" Di-vi-sion ! " is heard in the passage. This is enough ; away rush
the members pell-mell. The room is cleared in an instant ; the noise
rapidly dies away ; you hear the creaking of the last boot on the last
stair, and are left alone with the leviathan of rump-steaks.

CHAPTEE XIX.

PUBLIC DINNERS.

ALL public dinners in London, from the Lord Mayor's annual banquet
at Guildhall, to the Chimney-sweepers' anniversary at White Conduit
House ; from the Goldsmiths' to the Butchers', from the Sheriffs' to
the Licensed Victuallers' ; are amusing scenes. Of all entertainments
of this description, however, we think the annual dinner of some
public charity is the most amusing. At a Company's dinner, the
people are nearly all alike — regular old stagers, who make it a matter
of business, and a thing not to be laughed at. At a political dinner,

The Indigent Orphans. 121

everybody is disagreeable, and inclined to speechify — much the same
thing, by the bye ; but at a charity dinner you see people of all sorts,
kinds, and descriptions. The wine may not be remarkably special, to
be sure, and we have heard some hard-hearted monsters grumble at
the collection ; but we really think the amusement to be derived from
the occasion, sufficient to counterbalance, even these disadvantages.

Let us suppose you are induced to attend a dinner of this description
— " Indigent Orphans' Friends' Benevolent Institution," we think it
is. The name of the charity is a line or two longer, but never mind
the rest. You have a distinct recollection, however, that you pur-
chased a ticket at the solicitation of some charitable friend : and you
deposit yourself in a hackney-coach, the driver of which — no doubt
that you may do the thing in style — turns a deaf ear to your earnest
entreaties to be set down at the corner of Great Queen Street, and
persists in carrying you to the very door of the Freemasons', round
which a crowd of people are assembled to witness the entrance of the
indigent orphans' friends. You hear great speculations as you pay
the fare, on the possibility of your being the noble Lord who is
announced to fill the chair on the occasion, and are highly gratified to
hear it eventually decided that you are only a " wocalist."

The first tiling that strikes you, on your entrance, is the astonishing
importance of the committee. You observe a door on the first landing,
carefully guarded by two waiters, in and out of which stout gentlemen
with very red faces keep running, with a degree of speed highly
unbecoming the gravity of persons of their years and corpulency.
You pause, quite alarmed at the bustle, and thinking, in your innocence,
that two or three people must have been carried out of the dining-
room in fits, at least. You are immediately undeceived by the waiter
— "Up-stairs, if you please, sir ; this is the committee-room." Up-stairs
you go, accordingly ; wondering, as you mount, what the duties of the
committee can be, and whether they ever do anything beyond con-
fusing each other, and running over the waiters.

Having deposited your hat and cloak, and received a remarkably
small scrap of pasteboard in exchange (which, as a matter of course,
you lose, before you require it again), you enter the hall, down which
there are three long tables for the less distinguished guests, with a
cross-table on a raised platform at the upper end for the reception of
the very particular friends of the indigent orphans. Being fortunate
enough to find a plate without anybody's card in it, you wisely seat
yourself at once, and have a little leisure to look about you. Waiters,
with wine-baskets in their hands, are placing decanters of sherry
down the tables, at very respectable distances ; melancholy-looking
salt-cellars, and decayed vinegar-cruets, which might have belonged
to the parents of the indigent orphans in their time, are scattered at
distant intervals on the cloth ; and the knives and forks look as if
they had done duty at every public dinner in London since the
accession of George the First. The musicians are scraping and

122 Sketches by Boz.

grating and screwing tremendously — playing no notes but notes of
preparation ; and several gentlemen are gliding along the sides of the
tables, looking into plate after plate with frantic eagerness, the ex-
pression of their countenances growing more and more dismal as they
meet with everybody's card but their own.

You turn round to take a look at the table behind you, and — not
being in the habit of attending public dinners — are somewhat struck
by the appearance of the party on which your eyes rest. One of its
principal members appears to be a little man, with a long and rather
inflamed face, and grey hair brushed bolt upright in front ; he wears
a wisp of black silk round his neck, without any stiffener, as an
apology for a neckerchief, and is addressed by his companions by the
familiar appellation of "Fitz," or some such monosyllable. Near
him is a stout man in a white neckerchief and buff waistcoat, with
shining dark hair, cut very short in front, and a great round healthy-
looking face, on which he studiously preserves a half-sentimental
simper. Next him, again, is a large-headed man, with black hair and
bushy whiskers ; and opposite them are two or three others, one of
whom is a little round-faced person, in a dress-stock and blue under-
waistcoat. There is something peculiar in their air and manner,
though you could hardly describe what it is ; you cannot divest your-
self of the idea that they have come for some other purpose than mere
eating and drinking. You have no time to debate the matter, however,
for the waiters (who have been arranged in lines down the room,
placing the dishes on table) retire to the lower end ; the dark man in
the blue coat and bright buttons, who has the direction of the music,
looks up to the gallery, and calls out " band " in a very loud voice ;
out burst the orchestra, up rise the visitors, in march fourteen stewards,
each with a long wand in his hand, like the evil genius in a pantomime ;
then the chairman, then the titled visitors ; they all make their way
up the room, as fast as they can, bowing, and smiling, and smirking,
and looking remarkably amiable. The applause ceases, grace is said,
the clatter of plates and dishes begins ; and every one appears highly
gratified, either with the presence of the distinguished visitors, or the
commencement of the anxiously-expected dinner.

As to the dinner itself — the mere dinner — it goes off much the
same everywhere. Tureens of soup are emptied with awful rapidity
— waiters take plates of turbot away, to get lobster-sauce, and bring
back plates of lobster-sauce without turbot; people who can carve
poultry, are great fools if they own it, and people who can't have no
wish to learn. The knives and forks form a pleasing accompaniment
to Auber's music, and Auber's music would form a pleasing accom-
paniment to the dinner, if yon could hear anything besides the
cymbals. The substantial disappear — moulds of jelly vanish like
lightning — hearty eaters wipe their foreheads, and appear rather
overcome by their recent exertions — people who have looked very
cross hitherto, become remarkably bland, and ask you to take wine in

Silence for the Chair! 123

the most friendly manner possible — old gentlemen direct your attention
to the ladies' gallery, and take great pains to impress you with the
fact that the charity is always peculiarly favoured in this respect —
everyone appears disposed to become talkative — and the hum of con-
versation is loud and general.

" Pray, silence, gentlemen, if you please, for Non nobis I " shouts
the toastmaster with stentorian lungs — a toastmaster's shirt-front,
waistcoat, and neckerchief, by the bye, always exhibit three distinct
shades of cloudy-white. — " Pray, silence, gentlemen, for Non nobis ! "
The singers, whom you discover to be no other than the very party
that excited your curiosity at first, after "pitching" their voices
immediately begin too-tooing most dismally, on which the regular
old stagers burst into occasional cries of — " Sh — Sh — waiters ! —
Silence, waiters — stand still, waiters — keep back, waiters," and other
exorcisms, delivered in a tone of indignant remonstrance. The grace
is soon concluded, and the company resume their seats. The uninitiated
portion of the guests applaud Non nobis as vehemently as if it were a
capital comic song, greatly to the scandal and indignation of the
regular diners, who immediately attempt to quell this sacrilegious
approbation, by cries of " Hush, hush ! " whereupon the others, mis-
taking these sounds for hisses, applaud more tumultuously than before,
and, by way of placing their approval beyond the possibility of doubt,
shout " Encore ! " most vociferously.

The moment the noise ceases, up starts the toastmaster : — " Gentle-
men, charge your glasses, if you please ! " Decanters having been
handed about, and glasses filled, the toastmaster proceeds, in a regular
ascending scale; — "Gentlemen — air — you — all charged? Pray —
silence — gentlemen — for — the cha — i — r ! " The chairman rises, and,
after stating that he feels it quite unnecessary to preface the toast he
is about to propose, with any observations whatever, wanders into a
maze of sentences, and flounders about in the most extraordinary
manner, presenting a lamentable spectacle of mystified humanity,
until he arrives at the words, " constitutional sovereign of these
realms," at which elderly gentlemen exclaim " Bravo ! " and hammer
the table tremendously with their knife-handles. " Under any circum-
stances, it would give him the greatest pride, it would give him the
greatest pleasure — he might almost say, it would afford him satisfaction
[cheers] to propose that toast. What must be his feelings, then,
when he has the gratification of announcing, that he has received her
Majesty's commands to apply to the Treasurer of her Majesty's House-
hold, for her Majesty's annual donation of 25Z. in aid of the funds of
this charity ! " This announcement (which has been regularly made
by every chairman, since the first foundation of the charity, forty-two
years ago) calls forth the most vociferous applause ; the toast is drunk
with a great deal of cheering and knocking ; and " God save the
Queen " is sung by the " professional gentlemen ; " the unprofessional
gentlemen joining in the chorus, and giving the national anthem an

124 Sketches by Bos.

effect which the newspapers, with great justice, describe as " perfectly
electrical."

The other " loyal and patriotic " toasts having been drunk with all
due enthusiasm, a comic song having been well sung by the gentleman
with the small neckerchief, and a sentimental one by the second of
the party, we come to the most important toast of the evening —
" Prosperity to the charity." Here again we are compelled to adopt
newspaper phraseology, and to express our regret at being " precluded
from giving even the substance of the noble lord's observations."
Suffice it to say, that the speech, which is somewhat of the longest, is
rapturously received ; and the toast having been drunk, the stewards
(looking more important than ever) leave the room, and presently
return, heading a procession of indigent orphans, boys and girls, who
walk round the room, curtseying, and bowing, and treading on each
other's heels, and looking very much as if they would like a glass of
wine a-piece, to the high gratification of the company generally, and
especially of the lady patronesses in the gallery. Exeunt children,
and re-enter stewards, each with a blue plate in his hand. The band
plays a lively air ; the majority of the company put their hands in
their pockets and look rather serious; and the noise of sovereigns,
rattling on crockery, is heard from all parts of the room.

After a short interval, occupied in singing and toasting, the secretary
puts on his spectacles, and proceeds to read the report and list of
subscriptions, the latter being listened to with great attention. " Mr.
Smith, one guinea — Mr. Tompkins, one guinea — Mr. Wilson, one
guinea — Mr. Hickson, one guinea — Mr. Nixon, one guinea — Mr.
Charles Nixon, one guinea — [hear, hear !] — Mr. James Nixon, one
guinea — Mr. Thomas Nixon, one pound one [tremendous applause].
Lord Fitz Binkle, the chairman of the day, in addition to an annual
donation of fifteen pounds — thirty guineas [prolonged knocking:
several gentlemen knock the stems off their wine-glasses, in the
vehemence of their approbation]. Lady Fitz Binkle, in addition to
an annual donation of ten pound — twenty pound " [protracted knock-
ing and shouts of " Bravo ! "] The list being at length concluded,
the chairman rises, and proposes the health of the secretary, than
whom he knows no more zealous or estimable individual. The
secretary, in returning thanks, observes that he knows no more ex-
cellent individual than the chairman — except the senior officer of the
charity, whose health tie begs to propose. The senior officer, in
returning thanks, observes that he knows no more worthy man than
the secretary — except Mr. Walker, the auditor, whose health he begs
to propose. Mr. Walker, in returning thanks, discovers some other
estimable individual, to whom alone the senior officer is inferior — and
so they go on toasting and lauding and thanking : the only other toast
of importance being " The Lady Patronesses now present ! " on which
all the gentlemen turn their faces towards th& ladies' gallery, shout-
ing tremendously ; and little priggish men, who have imbibed more

Spring Recollections. 125

wine than usual, kiss their hands and exhibit distressing contortions
of visage.

We have protracted our dinner to so great a length, that wo have
hardly time to add one word by way of grace. We can only entreat
our readers not to imagine, because we have attempted to extract some
amusement from a charity dinner, that we are at all disposed to under-
rate, either the excellence of the benevolent institutions with which
London abounds, or the estimable motives of those who support them.

CHAPTEE XX.

THE FIRST OF MAY.

" Now ladies, up in the sky-parlour : only once a year, if you please ! "

YOUNG LADY WITH BRASS LADLE.

" Sweep — sweep — sw-e-ep ! "

ILLEGAL WATCHWORD.

THE first of May ! There is a merry freshness in the sound, calling
to our minds a thousand thoughts of all that is pleasant in nature
and beautiful in her most delightful form. What man is there, over
whose mind a bright spring morning does not exercise a magic influence
— carrying him back to the days of his childish sports, and conjuring
up before him the old green field with its gently-waving trees, whero
the birds sang as he has never heard them since — where the butterfly
fluttered far more gaily than he ever sees him now, in all his ramblings
— where the sky seemed bluer, and the sun shone more brightly —
where the air blew more freshly over greener grass, and sweeter-
smelling flowers — where everything wore a richer and more brilliant
hue than it is ever dressed in now ! Such are the deep feelings of
childhood, and such are the impressions which every lovely object
stamps upon its heart ! The hardy traveller wanders through the
maze of thick and pathless woods, whore the sun's rays never shone,
and heaven's pure air never played ; he stands on the brink of the
roaring waterfall, and, giddy and bewildered, watches the foaming
mass as it leaps from stono to stone, and from crag to crag ; he lingers
in the fertile plains of a land of perpetual sunshine, and revels in the
luxury of their balmy breath. But what are the deep forests, or the
thundering waters, or the richest landscapes that bounteous nature ever
spread, to charm the eyes, and captivate the senses of man, compared
with the recollection of the old scenes of his early youth ? Magic
scenes indeed ; for the fancies of childhood dressed them in colours
brighter than the rainbow, and almost as fleeting !

In former times, spring brought with it not only such associations
as these, connected with the past, but sports and games for the present

126 Sketches by Bos.

— merry dances round rustic pillars, adorned with emblems of the
season, and reared in honour of its coming. Where are they now ?
Pillars we have, but they are no longer rustic ones ; and as to dancers,
they are used to rooms, and lights, and would not show well in the
open air. Think of the immorality, too ! What would your sabbath
enthusiasts say, to an aristocratic ring encircling the Duke of York's
Column in Carlton Terrace — a grand poussette of the middle classes,
round Alderman Waithman's monument in Fleet Street, — or a general
hands-four-round of ten-pound householders, at the foot of the Obelisk
in St. George's Fields ? Alas ! romance can make no head against the
Eiot Act ; and pastoral simplicity is not understood by the police.

Well ; many years ago we began to be a steady and matter-of-fact
sort of people, and dancing in spring being beneath our dignity, we
gave it up, and in course of time it descended to the sweeps — a fall
certainly, because, though sweeps are very good fellows in their way,
and moreover very useful in a civilised community, they are not
exactly the sort of people to give the tone to the little elegances of
society. The sweeps, however, got the dancing to themselves, and
they kept it up, and handed it down. This was a severe blow to the
romance of spring-time, but, it did not entirely destroy it, either ; for
a portion of it descended to the sweeps with the dancing, and rendered
them objects of great interest. A mystery hung over the sweeps in
those days. Legends were in existence of wealthy gentlemen who
had lost children, and who, after many years of sorrow and suffering,
had found them in the character of sweeps. Stories were related of a
young boy who, having been stolen from his parents in his infancy,
and devoted to the occupation of chimney-sweeping, was sent, in the
course of his professional career, to sweep the chimney of his mother's
bedroom ; and how, being hot and tired when he came out of the
chimney, he got into the bed he had so often slept in as an infant, and
was discovered and recognised therein by his mother, who once every
year of her life, thereafter, requested the pleasure of the company ot
every London sweep, at half-past one o'clock, to roast beef, plum-
pudding, porter, and sixpence.

Such stories as these, and there were many such, threw an air of
mystery round the sweeps, and produced for them some of those good
effects which animals derive from the doctrine of the transmigration
of souls. No one (except the masters) thought of ill-treating a sweep,
because no one knew who he might be, or what nobleman's or gentle-
man's son he might turn out. Chimney-sweeping was, by many
believers in the marvellous, considered as a sort of probationary term,
at an earlier or later period of which, divers young noblemen were to
come into possession of their rank and titles : and the profession was
held by them in great respect accordingly.

We remember, in our young days, a little sweep about our own age,
with curly hair and white teeth, whom we devoutly and sincerely
believed to bo the lost son and heir of some illustrious personage— an

The Romance of Chimney-sweeping 127

impression which was resolved into an unchangeable conviction on our
infant mind, by the subject of our speculations informing us, one day,
in reply to our question, propounded a few moments before his ascent
to the summit of the kitchen chimney, " that he believed he'd been
born in the vurkis, but he'd never know'd his father." We felt
certain, from that time forth, that he would one day be owned by a
lord ; and we never heard the church-bells ring, or saw a flag hoisted
in the neighourhood, without thinking that the happy event had at
last occurred, and that his long-lost parent had arrived in a coach and
six, to take him home to Grosvenor Square. He never came, however ;
and, -at the present moment, the young gentleman in question is settled
down as a master sweep in the neighbourhood of Battle Bridge, his
distinguishing characteristics being a decided antipathy to washing
himself, and the possession of a pair of legs very inadequate to the
support of his unwieldy and corpulent body.

The romance of spring having gone out before our time, we were
fain to console ourselves as we best could with the uncertainty that
enveloped the birth and parentage of its attendant dancers, the
sweeps ; and we did console ourselves with it, for many years. But,
even this wretched source of comfort received a shock from which it
has never recovered — a shock which has been in reality its death-blow.
We could not disguise from ourselves the fact that whole families of
sweeps were regularly born of sweeps, in the rural districts of Somers
Town and Camden Town — that the eldest son succeeded to the father's
business, that the other branches assisted him therein, and commenced
on their own account ; that their children again, were educated to the
profession ; and that about their identity there could be no mistake
whatever. We could not be blind, we say, to this melancholy truth,
but we could not bring ourselves to admit it, nevertheless, and we
lived on for some years in a state of voluntary ignorance. We were
roused from our pleasant slumber by certain dark insinuations thrown
out by a friend of ours, to the effect that children in the lower ranks
of life were beginning to choose chimney-sweeping as their particular
walk ; that applications had been made by various boys to the con-
stituted authorities, to allow them to pursue the object of their
ambition with the full concurrence and sanction of the law ; that the
affair, in short, was becoming one of mere legal contract. We turned
a deaf ear to these rumours at first, but slowly and surely they stole
upon us. Month after month, week after week, nay, day after day, at
last, did we meet with accounts of similar applications. The veil was
removed, all mystery was at an end, and chimney-sweeping had
become a favourite and chosen pursuit. There is no longer any
occasion to steal boys ; for boys flock in crowds to bind themselves.
The romance of the trade has fled, and the chimney-sweeper of the
present day, is no more like unto him of thirty years ago, than is a
Fleet Street pickpocket to a Spanish brigand, or Paul Pry to Caleb
Williams.

128 Sketches by Boz.

This gradual decay and disuse of the practice of leading noble1
youths into captivity, and compelling them to ascend chimneys, was a
severe blow, if we may so speak, to the romance of chimney-sweeping,
and to the romance of spring at the same time. But even this was
not all, for some few years ago the dancing on May Day began to
decline ; small sweeps were observed to congregate in twos or threes,
unsupported by a " green," with no " My Lord " to act as master of
the ceremonies, and no " My Lady " to preside over the exchequer.
Even in companies where there was a "green" it was an absolute
nothing — a mere sprout — and the instrumental accompaniments rarely
extended beyond the shovels and a set of Pan's pipes, better known to
the many, as a " mouth-organ."

These were signs of the times, portentous omens of a coming
change ; and what was the result which they shadowed forth ? Why,
the master sweeps, influenced by a restless spirit of innovation, actually
interposed their authority, in opposition to the dancing, and substituted
a dinner — an anniversary dinner at White Conduit House — where
clean faces appeared in lieu of black ones smeared with rose pink;
and knee cords and tops superseded nankeen drawers and resetted
shoes.

Gentlemen who were in the habit of riding shy horses ; and steady-
going people who have no vagrancy in their souls, lauded this
alteration to the skies, and the conduct of the master sweeps was
described as beyond the reach of praise. But how stands the real
fact ? Let any man deny, if he can, that when the cloth had been
removed, fresh pots and pipes laid upon the table, and the customary
loyal and patriotic toasts proposed, the celebrated Mr. Sluffen, of
Adam and Eve Court, whose authority not the most malignant of our
opponents can call in question, expressed himself in a manner follow-
ing : " That now he'd cotcht the cheerman's hi, he vished he might be
jolly veil blessed, if he worn't a goin' to have his innings, vich ho
vould say these here obserwashuns — that how some mischeevus coves
as know'd nuffin about the consarn, had tried to sit people agin the
mas'r swips, and take the shine out o' their bis'nes, and the bread out
o' the traps o' their preshus kids, by a makin' o' this here remark, as
chimblies could be as veil svept by 'sheenery as by boys ; and that
the makin' use o' boys for that there purpuss vos barbareous ; vereas,
he 'ad been a chummy — he begged the cheerman's parding for usin'
such a wulgar hexpression — more nor thirty year — he might say he'd
been born in a chimbley — and he know'd uncommon veil as 'sheenery
vos vus nor o' no use : and as to kerhewelty to the boys, everybody in
the chimbley line know'd as veil as he did, that they liked the climbin'
better nor nuffin as vos." From this day, we date the total fall of the
last lingering remnant of May Day dancing, among the elite of the
profession: and from this period we commence a new era in that
portion of our spring associations which relates to the 1st of May.

We are aware that the unthinking part of the population will meet

Quasi Chimney-sweeps. 129

us here, with the assertion, that dancing on May Day still continues —
that " greens " are annually seen to roll along the streets — that youths
in the garb of clowns, precede them, giving vent to the ebullitions of
their sportive fancies ; and that lords and ladies follow in their wake.

Granted. We are ready to acknowledge that in outward show,
these processions have greatly improved : we do not deny the intro-
duction of solos on the drum ; we will even go so far as to admit an
occasional fantasia on the triangle, but here our admissions end. We
positively deny that the sweeps have art or part in these proceedings.
We distinctly charge the dustmen with throwing what they ought to
clear away, into the eyes of the public. We accuse scavengers, brick-
makers, and gentlemen who devote their energies to the costermonger-
ing lino, with obtaining money once a year, under false pretences. We
cling with peculiar fondness to the custom of days gone by, and have
shut out conviction as long as wo could, but it has forced itself upon
us; and we now proclaim to a deluded public, that the May Day
dancers are not sweeps. The size of them, alone, is sufficient to
repudiate the idea. It is a notorious fact that the widely-spread taste
for register-stoves has materially increased the demand for small
boys ; whereas the men, who, under a fictitious character, dance about
the streets on the first of May nowadays, would be a tight fit in a
kitchen flue, to say nothing of the parlour. This is strong presump-
tive evidence, but we have positive proof — the evidence of our own
senses. And here is our testimony.

Upon the morning of the second of the merry month of May, in the
year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-six, we wont
out for a stroll, with a kind of forlorn hope of seeing something or
other which might induce us to believe that it was really spring, and
not Christmas. After wandering as far as Copenhagen House, without
meeting anything calculated to dispel our impression that there was a
mistake in the almanacks, we turned back down Maiden Lane, with the
intention of passing through the extensive colony lying between it and
Battle Bridge, which is inhabited by proprietors of donkey-carts,
boilers of horse-flesh, makers of tiles, and sifters of cinders ; through
which colony we should have passed, without stoppage or interruption,
if a little crowd gathered round a shed had not attracted our attention,
and induced us to pause.

When we say a " shed," we do not mean the conservatory sort of
building, which, according to the old song, Love tenanted when ho
was a young man, but a wooden house with windows stuffed with rags
and paper, and a small yard at the side with one dust-cart, two
baskets, a few shovels, and little heaps of cinders, and fragments of
china and tiles, scattered about it. Before this inviting spot we
paused ; and the longer we looked, the more wo wondered what
exciting circumstance it could be, that induced the foremost members
of the crowd to flatten their noses against the parlour window, in the
vain hope of catching a glimpse of what was going on inside. After

K

130 Sketches by Bos.

staring vacantly about us for some minutes, we appealed, touching the
cause of this assemblage, to a gentleman in a suit of tarpauling, who
was smoking his pipe on our right hand ; but as the only answer we
obtained was a playful inquiry whether our mother had disposed of
her mangle, we determined to await the issue in silence.

Judge of our virtuous indignation, when the street-door of the shed
opened, and a party emerged therefrom, clad in the costume and
emulating the appearance, of May Day sweeps 1

The first person who appeared was "my lord," habited in a blue
coat and bright buttons, with gilt paper tacked over the seams, yellow
knee-breeches, pink cotton stockings, and shoes; a cocked hat,
ornamented with shreds of various-coloured paper, on his head, a
bouquet, the size of a prize cauliflower in his button-hole, a long
Belcher handkerchief in his right hand, and a thin cane in his left.
A murmur of applause ran through the crowd (which was chiefly
composed of his lordship's personal friends), when this graceful figure
made his appearance, which swelled into a burst of applause as his
fair partner in the dance bounded forth to join him. Her ladyship
was attired in pink crape over bed-furniture, with a low body and
short sleeves. The symmetry of her ankles was partially concealed
by a very perceptible pair of frilled trousers ; and the inconvenience
which might have resulted from the circumstance of her white satin
shoes being a few sizes too large, was obviated by their being firmly
attached to her legs with strong tape sandals.

Her head was ornamented with a profusion of artificial flowers ;
and in her hand she bore a large brass ladle, wherein to receive what
she figuratively denominated " the tin." The other characters were a
young gentleman in girl's clothes and a widow's cap ; two clowns who
walked upon their hands in the mud, to the immeasurable delight of
all the spectators ; a man with a drum ; another man with a flageolet ;
a dirty woman in a large shawl, with a box under her arm for the
money, — and last, though not least, the " green," animated by no less
a personage than our identical friend in the tarpauling suit.

The man hammered away at the drum, the flageolet squeaked, the
shovels rattled, the " green " rolled about, pitching first on one side
and then on the other ; my lady threw her right foot over her left
ankle, and her left foot over her right ankle, alternately ; my lord ran
a few paces forward, and butted at the " green,' ' and then a few paces
backward upon the toes of the crowd, and then went to the right, and
then to the left, and then dodged my lady round the " green ; " and
finally drew her arm through his, and called upon the boys to shout,
which they did lustily — for this was the dancing.

We passed the same group, accidentally, in the evening. We never
saw a " green " so drunk, a lord so quarrelsome (no : not even in the
House of Peers after dinner), a pair of clowns BO melancholy, a lady
BO muddy, or a party so miserable.

How has May Day decayed !

Odds and Ends. 131

CHAPTEE XXI.

BROKERS' AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS.

WHEN we affirm that brokers' shops are strange places, and that if an
authentic history of their contents could be procured, it would furnish
many a page of amusement, and many a melancholy tale, it is necessary
to explain the class of shops to which we allude. Perhaps when wo
make use of the term " Brokers' Shop," the minds of our readers will
at once picture large, handsome warehouses, exhibiting a long per-
spective of French-polished dining-tables, rosewood chiffoniers, and
mahogany wash-hand-stands, with an occasional vista of a four-post
bedstead and hangings, and an appropriate foreground of dining-room
chairs. Perhaps they will imagine that we mean a humble class of
second-hand furniture repositories. Their imagination will then
naturally lead them to that street at the back of Long Acre, which is
composed almost entirely of brokers' shops ; where you walk through
groves of deceitful, showy-looking furniture, and where the prospect
is occasionally enlivened by a bright red, blue, and yellow hearth-rug,
embellished with the pleasing device of a mail-coach at full speed, or
a strange animal, supposed to have been originally intended for a dog,
with a mass of worsted-work in his mouth, which conjecture has
likened to a basket of flowers.

This, by the bye, is a tempting article to young wives in the
humbler ranks of life, who have a first-floor front to furnish — they
are lost in admiration, and hardly know which to admire most. The
dog is very beautiful, but they have a dog already on the best tea-tray,
and two more on the mantelpiece. Then, there is something so
genteel about that mail-coach ; and the passengers outside (who are
all hat) give it such an air of reality !

The goods here are adapted to the taste, or rather to the means, of
cheap purchasers. There are some of the most beautiful looking
Pembroke tables that were ever beheld : the wood as green as the
trees in the Park, and the leaves almost as certain to fall off in the
course of a year. There is also a most extensive assortment of tent
and turn-up bedsteads, made of stained wood, and innumerable
specimens of that base imposition on society — a sofa bedstead.

A turn-up bedstead is a blunt, honest piece of furniture ; it may be
slightly disguised with a sham drawer ; and sometimes a mad attempt
is even made to pass it off for a bookcase ; ornament it as you will,
however, the turn-up bedstead seems to defy disguise, and to insist on
having it distinctly understood that he is a turn-up bedstead, and
nothing else — that he is indispensably necessary, and that being so
useful, he disdains to be ornamental.

How different is the demeanour of a sofa bedstead ! Ashamed of its

132 Sketches by Boz.

real use, it strives to appear an article of luxury and gentility — an
attempt in which it miserably fails. It has neither the respectability
of a sofa, nor the virtues of a bed ; every man who keeps a sofa bed-
stead in his house, becomes a party to a wilful and designing fraud —
we question whether you could insult him more, than by insinuating
that you entertain the least suspicion of its real use.

To return from this digression, we beg to say, that neither of these
classes of brokers' shops, forms the subject of this sketch. The shops
to which we advert, are immeasurably inferior to those on whose out-
ward appearance we have slightly touched. Our readers must often
have observed in some by-street, in a poor neighbourhood, a small
dirty shop, exposing for sale the most extraordinary and confused
jumble of old, worn-out, wretched articles, that can well be imagined.
Our wonder at their ever having been bought, is only to be equalled
by our astonishment at the idea of their ever being sold again. On
a board, at the side of the door, are placed about twenty books — all
odd volumes ; and as many wine-glasses — all different patterns ;
several locks, an old earthenware pan, full of rusty keys ; two or three
gaudy chimney-ornaments — cracked, of course ; the remains of a
lustre, without any drops ; a round frame like a capital O, which has
once held a mirror ; a flute, complete with the exception of the middle
joint ; a pair of curling-irons ; and a tinder-box. In front of the
shop-window, are ranged some half-dozen high -backed chairs, with
spinal complaints and wasted legs ; a corner cupboard ; two or three
very dark mahogany tables with flaps like mathematical problems ;
some pickle-jars, some surgeons' ditto, with gilt labels and without
stoppers ; an unframed portrait of some lady who flourished about the
beginning of the thirteenth century, by an artist who never flourished
at all ; an incalculable host of miscellanies of every description, in-
cluding bottles and cabinets, rags and bones, fenders and street-door
knockers, fire-irons, wearing apparel and bedding, a hall-lamp, and a
room-door. Imagine, in addition to this incongruous mass, a black
doll in a white frock, with two faces — one looking up the street, and
the other looking down, swinging over the door ; a board with the
squeezed-up inscription "Dealer in marine stores," in lanky white
letters, whose height is strangely out of proportion to their width ;
and you have before you precisely the kind of shop to which we wish
to direct your attention.

Although the same heterogeneous mixture of things will be found at
all these places, it is curious to observe how truly and accurately some
of the minor articles which are exposed for sale — articles of wearing
apparel, for instance — mark the character of the neighbourhood.
Take Drury Lane and Covent Garden for example.

This is essentially a theatrical neighbourhood. There is not a pot-
boy in the vicinity who is not, to a greater or less extent, a dramatic
character. The errand boys and chandler's-shop-keepers' sons, are all
stage-struck : they ""gets up " plays in back-kitchens hired for the

Ratcliff Highway. \ 3 3

purpose, and will stand before a shop-window for hours, contemplating
a great staring portrait of Mr. Somebody or other, of the Royal Coburg
Theatre, " as he appeared in the character of Tongo the Denounced."
The consequence is, that there is not a marine-store shop in the neigh-
bourhood, which does not exhibit for sale some faded articles of
dramatic finery, such as three or four pairs of soiled buff boots with
turn-over red tops, heretofore worn by a " fourth robber," or " fifth
mob;" a pair of rusty broadswords, a few gauntlets, and certain
resplendent ornaments, which, if they were yellow instead of white,
might be taken for insurance plates of the Sun Fire Office. There
are several of these shops in the narrow streets and dirty courts, of
which there are so many near the national theatres, and they all have
tempting goods of this description, with the addition, perhaps, of a
lady's pink dress covered with spangles ; white wreaths, stage shoes,
and a tiara like a tin lamp-reflector. They have been purchased of
some wretched supernumeraries, or sixth-rate actors, and are now
offered for the benefit of the rising generation, who, on condition of
making certain weekly payments, amounting in the whole to about ten
times their value, may avail themselves of such desirable bargains.

Let us take a very different quarter, and apply it to the same test.
Look at a marine-store dealer's in that reservoir of dirt, drunkenness,
and drabs : thieves, oysters, baked potatoes, and pickled salmon —
Ratcliff Highway. Here, the wearing apparel is all nautical. Rough
blue jackets, with mother-of-pearl buttons, oil-skin hats, coarse checked
shirts, and large canvas trousers that look as if they were made for a
pair of bodies instead of a pair of legs, are the staple commodities.
Then, there are large bunches of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, in colour
and pattern unlike any, one ever saw before, with the exception of
those on the backs of the three young ladies without bonnets who
passed just now. The furniture is much the same as elsewhere, with
the addition of one or two models of ships, and some old prints of naval
engagements in still older frames. In the window, are a few com-
passes, a small tray containing silver watches in clumsy thick cases ;
and tobacco-boxes, the lid of each ornamented with a ship, or an
anchor, or some such trophy. A sailor generally pawns or sells all
he has before he has been long ashore, and if he does not, some
favoured companion kindly saves him the trouble. In either case, it
is an even chance that he afterwards unconsciously repurchases the
same things at a higher price than he gave for them at first.

Again : pay a visit with a similar object, to a part of London, as
unlike both of these as they are to each other. Cross over to the
Surrey side, and look at such shops of this description as are to be
found near the King's Bench Prison, and in " the Rules." How dif-
ferent, and how strikingly illustrative of the decay of some of the
unfortunate residents in this part of the metropolis! Imprisonment
and neglect have done their work. There is contamination in the
profligate denizens of a debtors' prison ; old friends have fallen off ;

134 Sketches by Bos.

the recollection of former prosperity has passed away ; and with it
all thoughts for the past, all care for the future. First, watches and
rings, then cloaks, coats, and all the more expensive articles of dress,
have found their way to the pawnbroker's. That miserable resource
has failed at last, and the sale of some trifling article at one of these
shops, has been the only mode left of raising a shilling or two, to
meet the urgent demands of the moment. Dressing-cases and writing-
desks, too old to pawn but too good to keep ; guns, fishing-rods, musical
instruments, all in the same condition ; have first been sold, and the
sacrifice has been but slightly felt. But hunger must be allayed,
and what has already become a habit, is easily resorted to, when an
emergency arises. Light articles of clothing, first of the ruined man,
then of his wife, at last of their children, even of 'the youngest, have
been parted with, piecemeal. There they are, thrown carelessly
together until a purchaser presents himself, old, and patched and
repaired, it is true ; but the make and materials tell of better days ;
and the older they are, the greater the misery and destitution of those
whom they once adorned.

CHAPTEE XXII.

GIN-SHOPS.

IT is a remarkable circumstance, that different trades appear to partake
of the disease to which elephants and dogs are especially liable, and
to run stark, staring, raving mad, periodically. The great distinction
between the animals and the trades, is, that the former run mad with
a certain degree of propriety — they are very regular in their irregu-
larities. We know the period at which the emergency will arise, and
provide against it accordingly. If an elephant run mad, we are all
ready for him — kill or cure — pills or bullets, calomel in conserve of
roses, or lead in a musket-barrel. If a dog happen to look unpleasantly
warm in the summer months, and to trot about the shady side of the
streets with a quarter of a yard of tongue hanging out of his mouth, a
thick leather muzzle, which has been previously prepared in compliance
with the thoughtful injunctions of the Legislature, is instantly clapped
oyer his head, by way of making him cooler, and he either looks re-
markably unhappy for the next six weeks, or becomes legally insane,
and goes mad, as it were, by Act of Parliament. But these trades are
as eccentric as comets ; nay, worse, for no one can calculate on the
recurrence of the strange appearances which betoken the disease.
Moreover, the contagion is general, and the quickness with which it
diffuses itself, almost incredible.

We will cite two or three cases in illustration of our meaning. Six

^:

Gin Palaces. 135

or eight years ago, the epidemic began to display itself among the
linendrapers and haberdashers. The primary symptoms were an
inordinate love of plate-glass, and a passion for gas-lights and gild-
ing. The disease gradually progressed, and at last attained a fearful
height. Quiet dusty old shops in different parts of town, were pulled
down ; spacious premises with stuccoed fronts and gold letters, were
erected instead ; floors, were covered with Turkey carpets ; roofs, sup-
ported by massive pillars ; doors, knocked into windows ; a dozen
squares of glass into one ; one shopman into a dozen ; and there is
no knowing what would have been done, if it had not been fortunately
discovered, just in time, that the Commissioners of Bankruptcy were
as competent to decide such cases as the Commissioners of Lunacy,
and that a little confinement and gentle examination did wonders.
The disease abated. It died away. A year or two of comparative
tranquillity ensued. Suddenly it burst out again amongst the chemists ;
the symptoms were the same, with the addition of a strong desire to
stick the royal arms over the shop-door, and a great rage for mahogany,
varnish, and expensive floor-cloth. Then, the hosiers were infected,
and began to pull down their shop-fronts with frantic recklessness.
The mania again died away, and the public began to congratulate
themselves on its entire disappearance, when it burst forth with ten-
fold violence among the publicans, and keepers of "wine vaults."
From that moment it has spread among them with unprecedented
rapidity, exhibiting a concatenation of all the previous symptoms;
onward it has rushed to every part of town, knocking down all the
old public-houses, and depositing splendid mansions, stone balustrades,
rosewood fittings, immense lamps, and illuminated clocks, at the
corner of every street.

The extensive scale on which these places are established, and the
ostentatious manner in which the business of even the smallest among
them is divided into branches, is amusing. A handsome plate of
ground glass in one door directs you " To the Counting-house ; "
another to the "Bottle Department;" a third to the "Wholesale
Department ; " a fourth, to " The Wine Promenade ; " and so forth,
until wo are in daily expectation of meeting with a " Brandy Bell,"
or a " Whiskey Entrance." Then, ingenuity is exhausted in devising
attractive titles for the different descriptions of gin ; and the dram-
drinking portion of the community as they gaze upon the gigantic
black and white announcements, which are only to be equalled in size
by the figures beneath them, are left in a state of pleasing hesitation
between " The Cream of the Valley," " The Out and Out," " The No
Mistake," " The Good for Mixing," " The real Knock-rae-down," " The
celebrated Butter Gin," " The regular Flare-up," and a dozen other,
equally inviting and wholesome liqueurs. Although places of this
description are to be met with in every second street, they are in-
variably numerous and splendid in precise proportion to the dirt and
poverty of the surrounding neighbourhood. The gin-shops in and

136 Sketches by Bos.

near Drury Lane, Holborn, St. Giles's, Covent Garden, and Clare
Market, are the handsomest in London. There is more of filth and
squalid misery near those great thoroughfares than in any part of this
mighty city.

We will endeavour to sketch the bar of a large gin-shop, and its
ordinary customers, for the edification of such of our readers as may
not have had opportunities of observing such scenes ; and on the
chance of finding one well suited to our purpose, we will make for
Drury Lane, through the narrow streets and dirty courts which divide
it from Oxford Street, and that classical spot adjoining the brewery
at the bottom of Tottenham-court Eoad, best known to the initiated as
the " Eookery."

The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of London can
hardly be imagined by those (and there are many such) who have not
witnessed it. Wretched houses with broken windows patched with
rags and paper : every room let out to a different family, and in many
instances to two or even three — fruit and " sweet-stuff " manufacturers
in the cellars, barbers and red-herring venders in the front-parlours,
cobblers in the back ; a bird-fancier in the first-floor, three families
on the second, starvation in the attics, Irishmen in the passage, a
" musician " in the front-kitchen, and a charwoman and five hungry
children in the back one — filth everywhere — a gutter before the houses
and a drain behind — clothes drying and slops emptying, from the
windows ; girls of fourteen or fifteen, with matted hair, walking about
barefoot, and in white great-coats, almost their only covering ; boys of
all ages, in coats of all sizes and no coats at all ; men and women, in
every variety of scanty and dirty apparel, lounging, scolding, drinking,
smoking, squabbling, fighting, and swearing.

You turn the corner. What a change ! All is light and brilliancy.
The hum of many voices issues from that splendid gin-shop which
forms the commencement of the two streets opposite ; and the gay
building with the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated
clock, the plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco rosettes, and its
profusion of gas-lights in richly-gilt burners, is perfectly dazzling
when contrasted with the darkness and dirt we have just left. The
interior is even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished
mahogany, elegantly carved, extends the whole width of the place ;
and there are two side-aisles of great casks, painted green and gold,
enclosed within a light brass rail, and bearing such inscriptions, as
" Old Tom, 549 ; " " Young Tom, 360 ; " " Samson, 1421 "—the figures
agreeing, we presume, with " gallons," understand. Beyond the bar
is a lofty and spacious saloon, full of the same enticing vessels, with
a gallery running round it, equally well furnished. On the counter,
in addition to the usual spirit apparatus, are two or three little baskets
of cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured at top with wicker-
work, to prevent their contents being unlawfully abstracted. Behind
it, are two showily-dressed damsels with large necklaces, dispensing

Company at the Bar. 137

the spirits and " compounds." They are assisted by the ostensible
proprietor of the concern, a stout coarse fellow in a fur cap, pnt on
very much on one side to give him a knowing air, and to display his
sandy whiskers to the best advantage.

The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little bench to the
left of the bar, are rather overcome by the headdresses and haughty
demeanour of the young ladies who officiate. They receive their half-
quartern of gin and peppermint, with considerable deference, prefacing
a request for " one of them soft biscuits," with a " Jist be good enough,
ma'am." They are quite astonished at the impudent air of the young
fellow in a brown coat and bright buttons, who, ushering in his two
companions, and walking up to the bar in as careless a manner as if
he had been used to green and gold ornaments all his life, winks at
one of the young ladies with singular coolness, and calls for a " ker-
vorten and a three-out-glasn," just as if the place were his own. " Gin
for you, sir ? " says the young lady when she has drawn it : carefully
looking every way but the right one, to show that the wink had no
effect upon her. " For me, Mary, my dear," replies the gentleman in
brown. " My name an't Mary as it happens," says the young girl,
rather relaxing as she delivers the change. " Well, if it an't, it ought
to be," responds the irresistible one ; "all the Marys as ever I see, was
handsome gals." Here the young lady, not precisely remembering
how blushes are managed in such cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by
addressing the female in the faded feathers who has just entered, and
who, after stating explicitly, to prevent any subsequent misunderstand-
ing, that " this gentleman pays," calls for "a glass of port wine and
a bit of sugar."

Those two old men who came in "just to have a drain," finished
their third quartern a few seconds ago ; they have made themselves
crying drunk ; and the fat comfortable-looking elderly women, who
had " a glass of rum-srub " each, having chimed in with their com-
plaints on the hardness of the times, one of the women has agreed to
stand a glass round, jocularly observing that " grief never mended no
broken bones, and as good people's wory scarce, what I says is, make
the most on 'em, and that's all about it ! " a sentiment which appears
to afford unlimited satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay.

It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and children,
who have been constantly going in and out, dwindles down to two or
three occasional stragglers— cold, wretched-looking creatures, in the
last stage of emaciation and disease. The knot of Irish labourers at
the lower end of the place, who have been alternately shaking hands
with, and threatening the life of each other, for the last hour, become
furious in their disputes, and finding it impossible to silence one man,
who is particularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resort to the
expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him afterwards. The
man in the fur cap, and the potboy rush out; a scene of riot and
confusion ensues ; half the Irishmen get shut out, and the other half

138 Sketches by Bos.

get shut in ; the potboy is knocked among the tubs in no time ; the
landlord hits everybody, and everybody hits the landlord ; the bar-
maids scream ; the police come in ; the rest is a confused mixture of
arms, legs, staves, torn coats, shouting, and struggling. Some of the
party are borne off to the station-house, and the remainder slink home
to beat their wives for complaining, and kick the children for daring
to be hungry.

We have sketched this subject very slightly, not only because our
limits compel us to do so, but because, if it were pursued farther,
it would be painful and repulsive. Well-disposed gentlemen, and
charitable ladies, would alike turn with coldness and disgust from a
description of the drunken besotted men, and wretched broken-down
miserable women, who form no inconsiderable portion of the fre-
quenters of these haunts ; forgetting, in the pleasant consciousness of
their own rectitude, the poverty of the one, and the temptation of the
other. Gin-drinking is a great vice in England, but wretchedness and
dirt are a greater ; and until you improve the homes of the poor, or
persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek relief in the temporary
oblivion of his own misery, with the pittance which, divided among
his family, would furnish a morsel of bread for each, gin-shops will
increase in number and splendour. If Temperance Societies would
suggest an antidote against hunger, filth, and foul air, or could
establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution of bottles of
Lethe-water, gin-palaces would be numbered among the things that
were.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP.

OP the numerous receptacles for misery and distress with which the
streets of London unhappily abound, there are, perhaps, none which
present such striking scenes as the pawnbrokers' shops. The very
nature and description of these places occasion their being but little
known, except to the unfortunate beings whose profligacy or misfor-
tune drives them to seek the temporary relief they offer. The subject
may appear, at first sight, to be anything but an inviting one, but we
venture on it nevertheless, in the hope that, as far as the limits of our
present papers are concerned, it will present nothing to disgust even
the most fastidious reader.

There are some pawnbrokers' shops of a very superior description.
There are grades in pawning as in everything else, and distinctions
must bo observed even in poverty. The aristocratic Spanish cloak
and the plebeian calico shirt, the silver fork and the flat-iron, the

From Without. 1 39

muslin cravat and the Belcher neckerchief, would but ill assort
together ; so, the better sort of pawnbroker calls himself a silver-
smith, and decorates his shop with handsome trinkets and expensive
jewellery, while the more humble money-lender boldly advertises his
calling, and invites observation. It is with pawnbrokers' shops of the
latter class, that we have to do. We have selected one for our purpose,
and will endeavour to describe it.

The pawnbroker's shop is situated near Drury Lane, at the corner
of a court, which affords a side entrance for the accommodation of such
customers as may be desirous of avoiding the observation of the
passers-by, or the chance of recognition in the public street. It is a
low, dirty-looking, dusty shop, the door of which stands always doubt-
fully, a little way open : half inviting, half repelling the hesitating
visitor, who, if he be as yet uninitiated, examines one of the old garnet
brooches in the window for a minute or two with affected eagerness,
as if he contemplated making a purchase ; and then looking cautiously
round to ascertain that no one watches him, hastily slinks in : the
door closing of itself after him, to just its former width. The shop-
front and the window-frames bear evident marks of having been once
painted ; but, what the colour was originally, or at what date it was
probably laid on, are at this remote period questions which may be
asked, but cannot be answered. Tradition states that the transparency
in the front door, which displays at night three red balls on a blue
ground, once bore also, inscribed in graceful waves, the words " Money
advanced on plate, jewels, wearing apparel, and every description ot
property," but a few illegible hieroglyphics are all that now remain to
attest the fact. The plate and jewels would seem to have disappeared,
together with the announcement, for the articles of stock, which are
displayed in some profusion in the window, do not include any very
valuable luxuries of either kind. A few old china cups ; some modern
vases, adorned with paltry paintings of three Spanish cavaliers playing
three Spanish guitars ; or a party of boors carousing : each boor with
one leg painfully elevated in the air, by way of expressing his perfect
freedom and gaiety ; several sets of chessmen, two or three flutes, a
few fiddles, a round-eyed portrait staling in astonishment from a very
dark ground ; some gaudily-bound prayer-books and testaments, two
rows of silver watches quite as clumsy and almost as large as Fer-
guson's first ; numerous old-fashioned table and tea spoons, displayed,
fan-like, in half-dozens ; strings of coral with great broad gilt snaps ;
cards of rings and brooches, fastened and labelled separately, like the
insects in the British Museum ; cheap silver penholders and snuff-
boxes, with a masonic star, complete the jewellery department ; while
five or six beds in smeary clouded ticks, strings of blankets and sheets,
silk and cotton handkerchiefs, and wearing apparel of every descrip-
tion, form the more useful, though even less ornamental, part, of the
articles exposed for sale. An extensive collection of planes, chisels,
saws, and other carpenters' tools, which have been pledged, and never

140 Sketches by 13 02.

redeemed, form the foreground of the picture ; while the large frames
full of ticketed bundles, which are dimly seen through the dirty case-
ment up-stairs — the squalid neighbourhood — the adjoining houses,
straggling, shrunken, and rotten, with one or two filthy, unwholesome-
looking heads, thrust out of every window, and old red pans and
stunted plants exposed on the tottering parapets, to the manifest
hazard of the heads of the passers-by — the noisy men loitering under
the archway at the corner of the court, or about the gin-shop next
door — and their wives patiently standing on the curb-stone, with large
baskets of cheap vegetables slung round them for sale, are its imme-
diate auxiliaries.

If the outside of the pawnbroker's shop be calculated to attract the
attention, or excite the interest, of the speculative pedestrian, its
interior cannot fail to produce the same effect in an increased degree.
The front door, which we have before noticed, opens into the common
shop, which is the resort of all those customers whose habitual
acquaintance with such scenes renders them indifferent to the observa-
tion of their companions in poverty. The side door opens into a
small passage from which some half-dozen doors (which may be
secured on the inside by bolts) open into a corresponding number of
little dens, or closets, which face the counter. Here, the more timid
or respectable portion of the crowd shroud themselves from the notice
of the remainder, and patiently wait until the gentleman behind the
counter, with the curly black hair, diamond ring, and double silver
watch-guard, shall feel disposed to favour them with his notice — a
consummation which depends considerably on the temper of the afore-
said gentleman for the time being.

At the present moment, this elegantly-attired individual is in the
act of entering the duplicate he has just made out, in a thick book : a
process from which he is diverted occasionally, by a conversation he
is carrying on with another young man similarly employed at a little
distance from him, whose allusions to " that last bottle of soda-water
last night," and " how regularly round my hat he felt himself when
the young 'ooman gave 'em in charge," would appear to refer to the
consequences of some stolen joviality of the preceding evening. The
customers generally, however, seem unable to participate in the
amusement derivable from this source, for an old sallow-looking
woman, who has been leaning with both arms on the counter with a
small bundle before her, for half-an-hour previously, suddenly inter-
rupts the conversation by addressing the jewelled shopman — " Now,
Mr. Henry, do make haste, there's a good soul, for my two grand-
children's locked up at home, and I'm afeer'd of the fire." The shop-
man slightly raises his head, with an air of deep abstraction, and
resumes his entry with as much deliberation as if he were engraving.
" You're in a hurry, Mrs. Tatham, this ev'nin', an't you ? " is the only
notice he deigns to take, after the lapse of five minutes or so. " Yes,
I am indeed, Mr. Henry ; now, do serve me next, there's a good creetur.

A Lord of Creation. 141

I wouldn't worry you, only it's all along o' them botherin' children."
" What have you got here ? " inquires the shopman, unpinning the
bundle — " old concern, I suppose — pair o' stays and a petticut. You
must look up somethin' else, old 'ooman ; I can't lend you anything
more upon them ; they're completely worn out by this time, if it's only
by putting in, and taking out again, three times a week." " Oh !
you're a rum 'un, you are," replies the old woman, laughing extremely,
as in duty bound ; " I wish I'd got the gift of the gab like you ; see if
I'd be up the spout so often then ! No, no ; it an't the petticut ; it's
a child's frock and a beautiful silk-ankecher, as belongs to my husband.
He gave four shillin' for it, the worry same blessed day as he broke
his arm." — " What do you want upon these ? " inquires Mr. Henry,
slightly glancing at the articles, which in all probability are old
acquaintances. " What do you want upon these ? " — " Eighteen-
pence." — " Lend you ninepence." — " Oh, make it a shillin' ; there's a
dear — do now ? " — " Not another farden."- — " Well, I suppose I must
take it." The duplicate is made out, one ticket pinned on the parcel,
the other given to the old woman ; the parcel is flung carelessly down
into a corner, and some other customer prefers his claim to be served
without further delay.

The choice falls on an unshaven, dirty, sottish-looking fellow, whose
tarnished paper-cap, stuck negligently over one eye, communicates
an additionally repulsive expression to his very uninviting countenance.
He was enjoying a little relaxation from his sedentary pursuits a
quarter of an hour ago, in kicking his wife up the court. He has
come to redeem some tools : — probably to complete a job with, on
account of which he has already received some money, if his inflamed
countenance and drunken stagger, may be taken as evidence of the
fact. Having waited some little time, he makes his presence known
by venting his ill-huciour on a ragged urchin, who, being unable to
bring his face on a level with the counter by any other process,
has employed himself in climbing up, and then hooking himself on
with his elbows — an uneasy perch, from which he has fallen at
intervals, generally alighting on the toes of the person in his immediate
vicinity. In the present case, the unfortunate little wretch has
received a cuff which sends him reeling to the door ; and the donor of
the blow is immediately the object of general indignation.

" What do you strike the boy for, you brute ? " exclaims a slipshod
woman, with two flat-irons in a little basket. "Do you think he's
your wife, you willin ? " " Go and hang yourself ! " replies the
gentleman addressed, with a drunken look of savage stupidity, aiming
at the same time a blow at the woman which fortunately misses its
object. "Go and hang yourself; and wait till I come and cut you
down." — " Cut you down," rejoins the woman, " I wish I had the
cutting of you up, you wagabond ! (loud.) Oh ! you precious wagabond !
(rather louder.) Where's your wife, you willin ? (louder still ; women
of this class are always sympathetic, and work themselves into a

142 Sketches by Boz,

tremendous passion on the shortest notice.) Your poor dear wife as
you uses worser nor a dog — strike a woman — you a man ! (very shrill,)
I wish I had you — I'd murder you, I would, if I died for it ! " — " Now
be civil," retorts the man fiercely. " Be civil, you wiper ! " ejaculates
the woman contemptuously. " An't it shocking ? " she continues,
turning round, and appealing to an old woman who is peeping out of
one of the little closets we have before described, and who has not the
slightest objection to join in the attack, possessing, as she does, the
comfortable conviction that she is bolted in. " An't it shocking,
ma'am ? (Dreadful ! says the old woman in a parenthesis, not exactly
knowing what the question refers to.) He's got a wife, ma'am, as
takes in mangling, and is as 'dustrious and hard-working a young
'ooman as can be, (very fast) as lives in the back-parlour of our 'ous,
which my husband and me lives in the front one (with great rapidity)
— and we hears him a beaten' on her sometimes when he comes home
drunk, the whole night through, and not only a beaten' her, but beaten'
his own child too, to make her more miserable — ugh, you beast ! and
she, poor creater, won't swear the peace agin him, nor do nothin',
because she likes the wretch arter all — worse luck!" Here, as the
woman has completely run herself out of breath, the pawnbroker him-
self, who has just appeared behind the counter in a grey dressing-gown,
embraces the favourable opportunity of putting in a word : — " Now I
won't have none of this sort of thing on my premises ! " he interposes
with an air of authority. " Mrs. Mackin, keep yourself to yourself, or
you don't get fourpence for a flat-iron here ; and Jinkins, you leave
your ticket here till you're sober, and send your wife for them two
planes, for I won't have you in my shop at no price ; so make yourself
scarce, before I make you scarcer."

This eloquent address produces anything but the effect desired ; the
women rail in concert ; the man hits about him in all directions, and
is in the act of establishing an indisputable claim to gratuitous lodgings
for the night, when the entrance of his wife, a wretched worn-out
woman, apparently in the last stage of consumption, whose face bears
evident marks of recent ill-usage, and whose strength seems hardly
equal to the burden — light enough, God knows ! — of the thin, sickly
child she carries in her arms, turns his cowardly rage in a safer
direction. " Come home, dear," cries the miserable creature, in an
imploring tone ; " do come home, there's a good fellow, and go to bed."
— " Go home yourself," rejoins the furious ruffian. " Do come home
quietly," repeats the wife, bursting into tears. " Go home yourself,"
retorts the husband again, enforcing his argument by a blow which
sends the poor creature flying out of the shop. Her " natural pro-
tector" follows her up the court, alternately venting his rage in
accelerating her progress, and in knocking the little scanty blue
bonnet of the unfortunate child over its still more scanty and faded-
looking face.

In the last box, which is situated in the darkest and most obscure

Sympathy. 143

corner of the shop, considerably removed from cither of the gas-lights,
are a young delicate girl of about twenty, and an elderly female,
evidently her mother from the resemblance between them, who stand
at some distance back, as if to avoid the observation even of the shop-
man. It is not their first visit to a pawnbroker's shop, for they answer
without a moment's hesitation the usual questions, put in a rather
respectful manner and in a much lower tone than usual, of " What
name shall I say ? — Your own property, of course ? — Where do you
live ? — Housekeeper or lodger ? " They bargain, too, for a higher
loan than the shopman is at first inclined to offer, which a perfect
stranger would be little disposed to do; and the elder female urges
her daughter on, in scarcely audible whispers, to exert her utmost
powers of persuasion to obtain an advance of the sum, and expatiate
on the value of the articles they have brought to raise a present
supply upon. They are a small gold chain and a " Forget-me-not "
ring : the girl's property, for they are both too small for the mother ;
given her in better times ; prized, perhaps, once, for the giver's sake,
but parted with now without a struggle ; for want has hardened the
mother, and her example has hardened the girl, and the prospect of
receiving money, coupled with a recollection of the misery they have
both endured from the want of it — the coldness of old friends — the
stern refusal of some, and the still more galling compassion of others
— appears to have obliterated the consciousness of self-humiliation,
which the idea of their present situation would once have aroused.

In the next box, is a young female, whose attire, miserably poor,
but extremely gaudy, wretchedly cold but extravagantly fine, too
plainly bespeaks her station. The rich satin gown with its faded
trimmings, the worn-out thin shoes, and pink silk stockings, the
summer bonnet in winter, and the sunken face, where a daub of rouge
only serves as an index to the ravages of squandered health never to
be regained, and lost happiness never to bo restored, and where the
practised smile is a wretched mockery of the misery of the heart,
cannot be mistaken. There is something in the glimpse she has just
caught of her young neighbour, and in the sight of the little trinkets
she has offered in pawn, that seems to have awakened in this woman's
mind some slumbering recollection, and to have changed, for an
instant, her whole demeanour. Her first hasty impulse was to bend
forward as if to scan more minutely the appearance of her half-con-
cealed companions; her next, on seeing them involuntarily shrink
from her, to retreat to the back of the box, cover her face with her
hands, and burst into tears.

There are strange chords in the human heart, which will lie dormant
through years of depravity and wickedness, but which will vibrate at
last to some slight circumstance apparently trivial in itself, but con-
nected by some undefined and indistinct association, with past days
that can never be recalled, and with bitter recollections from which
the most degraded creature in existence cannot escape.

144 Sketches by Bos.

There has been another spectator, in the person of a woman in the
common shop ; the lowest of the low ; dirty, unbonneted, flaunting,
and slovenly. Her curiosity was at first attracted by the little she
could see of the group ; then her attention. The half-intoxicated leer
changed to an expression of something like interest, and a feeling
similar to that we have described, appeared for a moment, and only a
moment, to extend itself even to her bosom.

Who shall say how soon these women may change places ? The
last has but two more stages — the hospital and the grave. How
many females situated as her two companions are, and as she may
have been once, have terminated the same wretched course, in the
same wretched manner ? One is already tracing her footsteps with
frightful rapidity. How soon may the other follow her example?
How many have done the same ?

CHAPTEE XXIV.

CRIMINAL COURTS.

WE shall never forget the mingled feelings of awe and respect with
which we used to gaze on the exterior of Newgate in our schoolboy
days. How dreadful its rough heavy walls, and low massive doors,
appeared to us — the latter looking as if they were made for the
express purpose of letting people in, and never letting them out again.
Then the fetters over the debtors' door, which we used to think were
a bona fide set of irons, just hung up there, for convenience sake,
ready to be taken down at a moment's notice, and riveted on the limbs
of some refractory felon! We were never tired of wondering how
the hackney-coachmen on the opposite stand could cut jokes in the
presence of such horrors, and drink pots of half-and-half so near the
last drop.

Often have we strayed here, in sessions time, to catch a glimpse of
the whipping-place, and that dark building on one side of the yard, in
which is kept the gibbet with all its dreadful apparatus, and on the
door of which we half expected to see a brass plate, with the inscription
" Mr. Ketch ; " for we never imagined that the distinguished functionary
could by possibility live anywhere else ! The days of these childish
dreams have passed away, and with them many other boyish ideas of
a gayer nature. But we still retain so much of our original feeling,
that to this hour we never pass the building without something like a
shudder.

What London pedestrian is there who has not, at some time or
other, cast a hurried glance through the wicket at which prisoners are
admitted into this gloomy mansion, and surveyed the few objects he

Just let out. 145

Could discern, with an indescribable feeling of curiosity ? The thick
door, plated with iron and mounted with spikes, just low enough to
enable you to see, leaning over them, an ill-looking fellow, in a broad-
brimmed hat, belcher handkerchief and top-boots : with a brown coat,
something between a great-coat and a " sporting " jacket, on his back,
and an immense key in his left hand. Perhaps you are lucky enough
to pass, just as the gate is being opened ; then, you see on the other
side of the lodge, another gate, the image of its predecessor, and two
or three more turnkeys, who look like multiplications of the first one,
seated round a fire which just lights up the whitewashed apartment
sufficiently to enable you to catch a hasty glimpse of these different
objects. We have a great respect for Mrs. Fry, but she certainly
ought to have written more romances than Mrs. Radcliffe.

We were walking leisurely down the Old Bailey, some time ago,
when, as we passed this identical gate, it was opened by the officiating
turnkey. We turned quickly round, as a matter of course, and saw
two persons descending the steps. We could not help stopping and
observing them.

They were an elderly woman, of decent appearance, though evidently
poor, and a boy of fourteen or fifteen. The woman was crying bitterly ;
she carried a small bundle in her hand, and the boy followed at a
short distance behind her. Their little history was obvious. The
boy was her son, to whoso early comfort she had perhaps sacrificed
her own — for whose sake she had borne misery without repining, and
poverty without a murmur — looking steadily forward to the time,
when ho who had so long witnessed her struggles for himself, might
be enabled to make some exertions for their joint support. He had
formed dissolute connections ; idleness had led to crime ; and he had
been committed to take his trial for some petty theft. He had been
long in prison, and, after receiving some trifling additional punishment,
had been ordered to bo discharged that morning. It was his first
offence, and his poor old mother, still hoping to reclaim him, had been
waiting at the gate to implore him to return home.

Wo cannot forget the boy ; he descended the steps with a dogged
look, shaking his head with an air of bravado and obstinate determina-
tion. They walked a few paces, and paused. Tho woman put her
hand upon his shoulder in an agony of entreaty, and the boy sullenly
raised his head as if in refusal. It was a brilliant morning, and every
object looked fresh and happy in the broad, gay sunlight ; he gazed
round him for a few moments, bewildered with the brightness of the
scene, for it was long since he had beheld anything save the gloomy
walls of a prison. Perhaps the wretchedness of his mother made some
impression on the boy's heart ; perhaps some undefined recollection of
the time when he was a happy child, and she his only friend, and best
companion, crowded on him — he burst into tears ; and covering his
face with one hand, and hurriedly placing the other in his mother's,
walked away with her.

L

146 Sketches by Boz.

Curiosity has occasionally led us into both Courts at the Old Bailey.
Nothing is so likely to strike the person who enters them for the first
time, as the calm indifference with which the proceedings are conducted ;
every trial seems a mere matter of business. There is a great deal of
form, but no compassion ; considerable interest, but no sympathy.
Take the Old Court for example. There sit the Judges, with whose
great dignity everybody is acquainted, and of whom therefore we need
say no more. Then, there is the Lord Mayor in the centre, looking
as cool as a Lord Mayor can look, with an immense bouquet before
him, and habited in all the splendour of his office. Then, there are
the Sheriffs, who are almost as dignified as the Lord Mayor himself;
and the Barristers, who are quite dignified enough in their own
opinion ; and the spectators, who having paid for their admission,
look upon the whole scene as if it were got up especially for their
amusement. Look upon the whole group in the body of the Court —
some wholly engrossed in the morning papers, others carelessly con-
versing in low whispers, and othexs, again, quietly dozing away an
hour — and you can scarcely believe that the result of the trial is a
matter of life or death to one wretched being present. But turn your
eyes to the dock ; watch the prisoner attentively for a few moments ;
and the fact is before you, in all its painful reality. Mark how rest-
lessly he has been engaged for the last ten minutes, in forming all
sorts of fantastic figures with the herbs which are strewed upon the
ledge before him ; observe the ashy paleness of his face when a par-
ticular witness appears, and how he changes his position and wipes
his clammy forehead, and feverish hands, when the case for the
prosecution is closed, as if it were a relief to him to feel that the jury
knew the worst.

The defence is concluded ; the judge proceeds to sum up the
evidence ; and the prisoner watches the countenances of the jury, as a
dying man, clinging to life to the very last, vainly looks in the face
of his physician for a slight ray of hope. They turn round to consult ;
you can almost hear the man's heart beat, as he bites the stalk of
rosemary, with a desperate effort to appear composed. They resume
their places — a dead silence prevails as the foreman delivers in the
verdict — " Guilty ! " A shriek bursts from a female in the gallery ;
the prisoner casts one look at the quarter from whence the noise
proceeded ; and is immediately hurried from the dock by the jailer.
The clerk directs one of the officers of the court to " take the woman
out," and fresh business is proceeded with, as if nothing had occurred.

No imaginary contrast to a case like this, could be as complete as
that which is constantly presented in the New Court, the gravity of
which is frequently disturbed in no small degree, by the cunning and
pertinacity of juvenile offenders. A boy of thirteen is tried, say for
picking the pocket of some subject of her Majesty, and the offence is
about as clearly proved as an offence can be. He is called upon for
his defence, and contents himself with a little declamation about the

Juvenile Offenders^ 147

jurymen and his country — asserts that all the witnesses have com-
mitted perjury, and hints that the police force generally have entered
into a conspiracy "again" him. However probable this statement
may be, it fails to convince the Court, and some such scene as the
following then takes place : —

Court : Have you any witnesses to speak to your character, boy ?

Boy : Yes, my Lord ; fifteen gen'lm'n is a vaten outside, and vos a
vaten all day yesterday, vich they told me the night afore my trial
vos a coinin' on.

Court : Inquire for these witnesses.

Here, a stout beadle runs out, and vociferates for the witnesses at
the very top of his voice ; for you hear his cry grow fainter and fainter
as he descends the steps into the court-yard below. After an absence
of five minutes, he returns, very warm and hoarse, and informs the
Court of what it knew perfectly well before — namely, that there are
no such witnesses in attendance. Hereupon, the boy sets up a most
awful howling ; screws the lower part of the palms of his hands into
the corners of his eyes ; and endeavours to look the picture of injured
innocence. The jury at once find him " guilty," and his endeavours
to squeeze out a tear or two are redoubled. The governor of the jail
then states, in reply to an inquiry from the Bench, that the prisoner
has been under his care twice before. This the urchin resolutely
denies in some such terms as — " S'elp me, gen'lm'n, I never vos in
trouble afore — indeed, my Lord, I never vos. It's all a howen to my
having a twin brother, vich has wrongfully got into trouble, and vich
is so exactly like me, that no vun ever knows the difference atween us."

This representation, like the defence, fails in producing the desired
effect, and the boy is sentenced, perhaps, to seven years' transportation.
Finding it impossible to excite compassion, he gives vent to his
feelings in an imprecation bearing reference to the eyes of " old big
vig!" and as he declines to take the trouble of walking from the
dock, is forthwith carried out, congratulating himself on having
succeeded in giving everybody as much trouble as possible.

CHAPTER XXV.

A VISIT TO NEWGATE.

" THE force of habit " is a trite phrase in everybody's mouth ; and it
is not a little remarkable that those who use it most as applied to
others, unconsciously afford in their own persons singular examples of
the power which habit and custom exercise over the minds of men,
and of the little reflection they are apt to bestow on subjects with
which every day's experience has rendered them familiar. If Bedlam

148 Sketches by Boz.

could be suddenly removed like another Aladdin's palace, and set
down on the space now occupied by Newgate, scarcely one man out of
a hundred, whose road to business every morning lies through New-
gate Street, or the Old Bailey, would pass the building without
bestowing a hasty glance on its small, grated windows, and a transient
thought upon the condition of the unhappy beings immured in its
dismal cells ; and yet these same men, day by day, and hour by hour,
pass and repass this gloomy depository of the guilt and misery of
London, in one perpetual stream of life and bustle, utterly unmindful
of the throng of wretched creatures pent up within it — nay, not even
knowing, or if they do, not heeding, the fact, that as they pass one
particular angle of the massive wall with a light laugh or a merry
whistle, they stand within one yard of a fellow-creature, bound and
helpless, whose hours are numbered, from whom the last feeble ray
of hope has fled for ever, and whose miserable career will shortly
terminate in a violent and shameful death. Contact with death even
in its least terrible shape, is solemn and appalling. How much more
awful is it to reflect on this near vicinity to the dying — to men in full
health and vigour, in the flower of youth or the prime of life, with all
their faculties and perceptions as acute and perfect as your own ; but
dying, nevertheless — dying as surely — with the hand of death im-
printed upon them as indelibly — as if mortal disease had wasted their
frames to shadows, and corruption had already begun !

It was with some such thoughts as these that we determined, not many
weeks since, to visit the interior of Newgate — in an amateur capacity,
of course ; and, having carried our intention into eifect, we proceed to
lay its results before our readers, in the hope — founded more upon
the nature of the subject, than on any presumptuous confidence in our
own descriptive powers — that this paper may not be found wholly
devoid of interest. We have only to premise, that we do not intend
to fatigue the reader with any statistical accounts of the prison ; they
will be found at length in numerous reports of numerous committees,
and a variety of authorities of equal weight. We took no notes, made
no memoranda, measured none of the yards, ascertained the exact
number of inches in no particular room : are unable even to report of
how many apartments the jail is composed.

We saw the prison, and saw the prisoners ; and what we did see,
and what we thought, we will tell at once in our own way.

Having delivered our credentials to the servant who answered our
knock at the door of the governor's house, we were ushered into the
" office ; " a little room, on the right-hand side as you enter, with two
windows looking into the Old Bailey : fitted up like an ordinary
attorney's office, or merchant's counting-house, with the usual fixtures
— a wainscoted partition, a shelf or two, a desk, a couple of stools, a
pair of clerks, an almanack, a clock, and a few maps. After a little
delay, occasioned by sending into the interior of the prison for the
officer whose duty it was to conduct us, that functionary arrived ; a

Inside Newgate. 149

respectable-looking man of about two or three and fifty, in a broad-
brimmed hat, and full suit of black, who, but for his keys, would have
looked quite as much like a clergyman as a turnkey. We were
disappointed ; he had not even top-boots on. Following our conductor
by a door opposite to that at which we had entered, wo arrived at a
small room, without any other furniture than a little desk, with a
book for visitors' autographs, and a shelf, on which were a few boxes
for papers, and casts of the heads and faces of the two notorious
murderers, Bishop and Williams ; the former, in particular, exhibiting
a style of head and set of features, which might have afforded sufficient
moral grounds for his instant execution at any time, even had there
been no other evidence against him. Leaving this room also, by an
opposite door, we found ourself in the lodge which opens on the Old
Bailey ; one side of which is plentifully garnished with a choice col-
lection of heavy sets of irons, including those worn by the redoubtable
Jack Sheppard — genuine ; and those said to have been graced by the
sturdy limbs of the no less celebrated Dick Turpin — doubtful. From
this lodge, a heavy oaken gate, bound with iron, studded with nails of
the same material, and guarded by another turnkey, opens on a few
steps, if we remember right, which terminate in a narrow and dismal
stone passage, running parallel with the Old Bailey, and leading to
the different yards, through a number of tortuous and intricate
windings, guarded in their turn by huge gates and gratings, whose
appearance is sufficient to dispel at once the slightest hope of escape
that any new-comer may have entertained ; and the very recollection
of which, on eventually traversing the place again, involves one in a
maze of confusion.

It is necessary to explain here, that the buildings in the prison, or
in other words the different wards — form a square, of which the four
sides abut respectively on the Old Bailey, the old College of Physicians
(now forming a part of Newgate Market), the Sessions House, and
Newgate Street. The intermediate space is divided into several paved
yards, in which the prisoners take such air and exercise as can be had
in such a place. These yards, with the exception of that in which
prisoners under sentence of death are confined (of which we shall
presently give a more detailed description), run parallel with Newgate
Street, and consequently from the Old Bailey, as it were, to Newgate
Market. The women's side is in the right wing of the prison nearest
the Sessions House. As we were introduced into this part of the
building first, we will adopt the same order, and introduce our readers
to it also.

Turning to the right, then, down the passage to which we just now
adverted, omitting any mention of intervening gates — for if we noticed
every gate that was unlocked for us to pass through, and locked again
as soon as we had passed, we should require a gate at every comma —
we came to a door composed of thick bars of wood, through which
were discernible, passing to and fro in a narrow yard, some twenty

150 Sketches by Boz.

women : the majority of whom, however, as soon as they were aware
of the presence of strangers, retreated to their wards. One side of
this yard is railed off at a considerable distance, and formed into a
kind of iron cage, about five feet ten inches in height, roofed at the
top, and defended in front by iron bars, from which the friends of the
female prisoners communicate with them. In one corner of this
singular-looking den, was a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman, in a
tattered gown that had once been black, and the remains of an old
straw bonnet, with faded ribbon of the same hue, in earnest conversa-
tion with a young girl — a prisoner, of course — of about two-and-
twenty. It is impossible to imagine a more poverty-stricken object,
or a creature so borne down in soul and body, by excess of misery and
destitution as the old woman. The girl was a good-looking robust
female, with a profusion of hair streaming about in the wind — for she
had no bonnet on — and a man's silk pocket-handkerchief loosely
thrown over a most ample pair of shoulders. The old woman was
talking in that low, stifled tone of voice which tells so forcibly of
mental anguish ; and every now and then burst into an irrepressible
sharp, abrupt cry of grief, the most distressing sound that ears can
hear. The girl was perfectly unmoved. Hardened beyond all hope
of redemption, she listened doggedly to her mother's entreaties, what-
ever they were: and, beyond inquiring after "Jem," and eagerly
catching at the few halfpence her miserable parent had brought her,
took no more apparent interest in the conversation than the most un-
concerned spectators. Heaven knows there were enough of them, in
the persons of the other prisoners in the yard, who were no more
concerned by what was passing before their eyes, and within their
hearing, than if they were blind and deaf. Why should they be ?
Inside the prison, and out, such scenes were too familiar to them, to
excite even a passing thought, unless of ridicule or contempt for
feelings which they had long since forgotten.

A little farther on, a squalid-looking woman in a slovenly, thick-
bordered cap, with her arms muffled in a large red shawl, the fringed
ends of which straggled nearly to the bottom of a dirty white apron,
was communicating some instructions to Jier visitor — her daughter
evidently. The girl was thinly clad, and shaking with the cold. Some
ordinary word of recognition passed between her and her mother when
she appeared at the grating, but neither hope, condolence, regret, nor
affection was expressed on either side. The mother whispered her in-
structions, and the girl received them with her pinched-up half-starved
features twisted into an expression of careful cunning. It was some
scheme for the woman's defence that she was disclosing, perhaps ; and
a sullen smile came over the girl's face for an instant, as if she were
pleased : not so much at the probability of her mother's liberation, as
at the chance of her "getting off" in spite of her prosecutors. The
dialogue was soon concluded ; and with the same careless indifference
•with which they had approached each other, the mother turned

Its Women. 151

towards the inner end of the yard, and the girl to the gate at which
she had entered.

The girl belonged to a class — unhappily but too extensive — the very
existence of which should make men's hearts bleed. Barely past her
childhood, it required but a glance to discover that she was one of
those children, born and bred in neglect and vice, who have never
known what childhood is : who have never been taught to love and
court a parent's smile, or to dread a parent's frown. The thousand
nameless endearments of childhood, its gaiety and its innocence, are
alike unknown to them. They have entered at once upon the stern
realities and miseries of life, and to their better nature it is almost
hopeless to appeal in aftertimes, by any of the references which will
awaken, if it be only for a moment, some good feeling in ordinary
bosoms, however corrupt they may have become. Talk to them of
parental solicitude, the happy days of childhood, and the merry games
of infancy ! Tell them of hunger and the streets, beggary and stripes,
the gin-shop, the station-house, and the pawnbroker's, and they will
understand you.

Two or three women were standing at different parts of the grating,
conversing with their friends, but a very large proportion of the
prisoners appeared to have no friends at all, beyond such of their old
companions as might happen to be within the walls. So, passing
hastily down the yard, and pausing only for an instant to notice the
little incidents we have just recorded, we were conducted up a clean
and well-lighted flight of stone stairs to one of the wards. There are
several in this part of the building, but a description of one is a
description of the whole.

It was a spacious, bare, whitewashed apartment, lighted of course,
by windows looking into the interior of the prison, but far more light
and airy than one could reasonably expect to find in such a situation.
There was a large fire with a deal table before it, round which ten or
a dozen women were seated on wooden forms at dinner. Along both
sides of the room ran a shelf ; below it, at regular intervals, a row of
largo hooks were fixed in the wall, on each of which was hung the
sleeping mat of a prisoner : her rug and blanket being folded up, and
placed on the shelf above. At night, these mats are placed on the
floor, each beneath the hook on which it hangs during the day ; and the
ward is thus made to answer the purposes both of a day-room and
sleeping apartment. Over the fireplace, was a large sheet of paste-
board, on which were displayed a variety of texts from Scripture,
which were also scattered about the room in scraps about the size and
shape of the copy-slips which are used in schools. On the table was
a sufficient provision of a kind of stewed beef and brown bread, in
pewter dishes, which are kept perfectly bright, and displayed on
shelves in great order and regularity when they are not in use.

The women rose hastily, on our entrance, and retired in a hurried
manner to either side of the fire-place. They were all cleanly — many

152 Sketches by Boz.

of them decently— attired, and there was nothing peculiar, either in
their appearance or demeanour. One or two resumed the needlework
which they had probably laid aside at the commencement of their
meal ; others gazed at the visitors with listless curiosity ; and a few
retired behind their companions to the very end of the room, as if
desirous to avoid even the casual observation of the strangers. Some
old Irishwomen, both in this and other wards, to whom the thing was
no novelty, appeared perfectly indifferent to our presence, and remained
standing close to the seats from which they had just risen ; but the
general feeling among the females seemed to be one of uneasiness
during the period of our stay among them : which was very brief. Not
a word was uttered during the time of our remaining, unless, indeed,
by the wardswoman in reply to some question which we put to the
turnkey who accompanied us. In every ward on the female side, a
wardswoman is appointed to preserve order, and a similar regulation
is adopted among the males. The wardsmen and wardswomen are all
prisoners, selected for good conduct. They alone are allowed the
privilege of sleeping on bedsteads ; a small stump bedstead being
placed in every ward for that purpose. On both sides of the jail, is
a small receiving-room, to which prisoners are conducted on their first
reception, and whence they cannot be removed until they have been
examined by the surgeon of the prison.*

Eetracing our steps to the dismal passage in which we found our-
selves at first (and which, by the bye, contains three or four dark cells
for the accommodation of refractory prisoners), we were led through
a narrow yard to the " school " — a portion of the prison set apart for
boys under fourteen years of age. In a tolerable-sized room, in which
were writing-materials and some copy-books, was the schoolmaster,
with a couple of his pupils ; the remainder having been fetched from
an adjoining apartment, the whole were drawn up in line for our
inspection. There were fourteen of them in all, some with shoes,
some without ; some in pinafores without jackets, others in jackets
without pinafores, and one in scarce anything at all. The whole
number, without an exception wo believe, had been committed for trial
on charges of pocket-picking ; and fourteen such terrible little faces
we never beheld. There was not one redeeming feature among them
— not a glance of honesty — not a wink expressive of anything but the
gallows and the hulks, in the whole collection. As to anything like
shame or contrition, that was entirely out of the question. They were
evidently quite gratified at being thought worth the trouble of looking
at ; their idea appeared to be, that we had come to see Newgate as a
grand affair, and that they were an indispensable part of the show ;
and every boy as he " fell in " to the line, actually seemed as pleased

* The regulations of the prison relative to the confinement of prisoners during the
day, their sleeping at night, their taking their meals, and other matters of jail
economy, have been all altered — greatly for the better — since this sketch was first
published. Even the construction of the prison itself has been changed.

Its Men. 153

aud important as if he had done something excessively meritorious in
getting there at all. We never looked upon a more disagreeable sight,
because \ve never saw fourteen such hopeless creatures of neglect,
before.

On either side of the school-yard is a yard for men, in one of which
— that towards Newgate Street — prisoners of the more respectable
class are confined. Of the other, we have little description to offer, as
the different wards necessarily partake of the same character. They
are provided, like the wards on the women's side, with mats and ruge,
which are disposed of in the same manner during the day ; the only
very striking difference between their appearance and that of the
wards inhabited by the females, is the utter absence of any employ-
ment. Huddled together on two opposite forms, by the fireside, sit
twenty men perhaps ; hero, a boy in livery ; there, a man in a rough
great-coat and top-boots ; farther on, a desperate-looking fellow in his
shirt-sleeves, with an old Scotch cap upon his shaggy head ; near him
again, a tall ruffian, in a smock-frock ; next to him, a miserable being
of distressed appearance, with his head resting on his hand ; — all alike
in one respect, all idle and listless. When they do leave the fire,
sauntering moodily about, lounging in the window, or leaning against
the wall, vacantly swinging their bodies to and fro. With the excep-
tion of a man reading an old newspaper, in two or three instances, this
was the case in every ward we entered.

• The only communication these men have with their friends, is
through two close iron gratings, with an intermediate space of about
a yard in width between the two, so that nothing can be handed across,
nor can the prisoner have any communication by touch with the person
who visits him. The married men have a separate grating, at which
to see their wives, but its construction is the same.

The prison chapel is situated at the back of the governor's house :
the latter having no windows looking into the interior of the prison.
Whether the associations connected with the place — the knowledge
that here a portion of the burial service is, on some dreadful occasions,
performed over the quick aud not upon the dead — cast over it a still
more gloomy and sombre air than art has imparted to it, we know not,
but its appearance is very striking. There is something in a silent
and deserted place of worship, solemn and impressive at any time ;
and the very dissimilarity of this one from any we have been accus-
tomed to, only enhances the impression. The meanness of its appoint-
ments— the bare and scanty pulpit, with the paltry painted pillars on
either side — the women's gallery with its great heavy curtain — the
men's with its unpainted benches and dingy front — the tottering little
table at the altar, with the commandments on the wall above it,
scarcely legible through lack of paint, and dust and damp — so unlike
the velvet and gilding, the marble and wood, of a modern church —
are strange and striking. There is one object, too, which rivets the
attention and fascinates the gaze, and from which we may turn horror-

154 Sketches by Bos.

stricken in vaiu, for the recollection of it will haunt us, waking and
sleeping, for a long time afterwards. Immediately below the reading-
desk, on the floor of the chapel, and forming the most conspicuous
object in its little area, is the condemned pew ; a huge black pen, in
which the wretched people, who are singled out for death, are placed
on the Sunday preceding their execution, in sight of all their fellow-
prisoners, from many of whom they may have been separated but a
week before, to hear prayers for their own souls, to join in the
responses of their own burial service, and to listen to an address,
warning their recent companions to take example by their fate, and
urging themselves, while there is yet time — nearly four-and-twenty
hours — to " turn, and flee from the wrath to come ! " Imagine what
have been the feelings of the men whom that fearful pew has enclosed,
and of whom, between the gallows and the knife, no mortal remnant
may now remain ! Think of the hopeless clinging to life to the last,
and the wild despair, far exceeding in anguish the felon's death itself,
by which they have heard the certainty of their speedy transmission
to another world, with all their crimes upon their heads, rung into
their ears by the officiating clergyman !

At one time — and at no distant period either — the coffins of the
men about to be executed, were placed in that pew, upon the seat by
their side, during the whole service. It may seem incredible, but it
is true. Let us hope that the increased spirit of civilisation and
humanity which abolished this frightful and degrading custom, may
extend itself to other usages equally barbarous ; usages which have
not even the plea of utility in their defence, as every year's experience
has shown them to be more and more inefficacious.

Leaving the chapel, descending to the passage so frequently alluded
to, and crossing the yard before noticed as being allotted to prisoners
of a more respectable description than the generality of men confined
here, the visitor arrives at a thick iron gate of great size and strength.
Having been admitted through it by the turnkey on duty, he turns
sharp round to the left, and pauses before another gate ; and, having
passed this last barrier, he stands in the most terrible part of this
gloomy building — the condemned ward.

The press-yard, well known by name to newspaper readers, from
its frequent mention in accounts of executions, is at the corner of the
building, and next to the ordinary's house, in Newgate Street : running
from Newgate Street, towards the centre of the prison, parallel with
Newgate Market. It is a long, narrow court, of which a portion of
the wall in Newgate Street forms one end, and the gate the other.
At the upper end, on the left-hand — that is, adjoining the wall in
Newgate Street — is a cistern of water, and at the bottom a double
grating (of which the gate itself forms a part) similar to that before
described. Through these grates the prisoners are allowed to see
their friends ; a turnkey always remaining in the vacant space between,
during the whole interview, Immediately on the right as you enter,

Its Press-room. 155

is a building containing the press-room, day-room, and cells ; the yard
is on every side surrounded by lofty walls guarded by chevaux de
frise ; and the whole is under the constant inspection of vigilant and
experienced turnkeys.

In the first apartment into which we were conducted — which was
at the top of a staircase, and immediately over the press-room — were
five-and-twenty or thirty prisoners, all under sentence of death, await-
ing the result of the recorder's report — men of all ages and appear-
ances, from a hardened old offender with swarthy face and grizzly
beard of three days' growth, to a handsome boy, not fourteen years
old, and of singularly youthful appearance even for that age, who had
been condemned for burglary. There was nothing remarkable in the
appearance of these prisoners. One or two decently-dressed men were
brooding with a dejected air over the fire ; several little groups of two
or three had been engaged in conversation at the upper end of the
room, or in the windows ; and the remainder were crowded round a
young man seated at a table, who appeared to be engaged in teaching
the younger ones to write. The room was large, airy, and clean.
There was very little anxiety or mental suffering depicted in the
countenance of any of the men ; — they had all been sentenced to death,
it is true, and the recorder's report had not yet been made ; but, we
question whether there was a man among them, notwithstanding, who
did not know that although he had undergone the ceremony, it never
was intended that his life should be sacrificed. On the table lay a
testament, but there were no tokens of its having been in recent use.

In the press-room below, were three men, the nature of whose offence
rendered it necessary to separate them, even from their companions in
guilt. It is a long, sombre room, with two windows sunk into the
stone wall, and here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning
of their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The fate of
one of these prisoners was uncertain ; some mitigatory circumstances
having come to light since his trial, which had been humanely repre-
sented in the proper quarter. The other two had nothing to expect
from the mercy of the Crown ; their doom was sealed ; no plea could
be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for
them there was no hope in this world. " The two short ones," the
turnkey whispered, " were dead men."

The man to whom we have alluded as entertaining some hopes of
escape, was lounging, at the greatest distance he could place between
himself and his companions, in the window nearest to the door. He
was probably aware of our approach, and had assumed an air of
courageous indifference ; his face was purposely averted towards the
window, and he stirred not an inch while we were present. The other
two men were at the upper end of the room. One of them, who was
imperfectly seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was
stooping over the fire, with his right arm on the mantelpiece, and his
head sunk upon it. The other, was leaning on the sill of the farthest

156 Sketches by Boz.

window. The light fell fall upon him, and communicated to his pale,
haggard face, and disordered hair, an appearance which, at that
distance, was ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand ; and, with
his face a little raised, and his eyes wildly staring before him, he
seemed to be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the
opposite wall. We passed this room again afterwards. The first man
was pacing up and down the court with a firm military step — he had
been a soldier in the Foot Guards — and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on
one side of his head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, and
the salute was returned. The other two still remained in the positions
we have described, and were as motionless as statues.*

A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation of the building,
in which are the two rooms we have just quitted, lie the condemned
cells. The entrance is by a narrow and obscure staircase leading to
a dark passage, in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the
objects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like warmth
around. From the left-hand side of this passage, the massive door
of every cell on the story opens ; and from it alone can they be
approached. There are three of these passages, and three of these
ranges of cells, one above the other ; but in size, furniture and appear-
ance, they are all precisely alike. Prior to the recorder's report being
made, all the prisoners under sentence of death are removed from the
day-room at five o'clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these cells,
where they are allowed a candle until ten o'clock ; and here they
remain until seven next morning. When the warrant for a prisoner's
execution arrives, he is removed to the cells and confined in one of
them until he leaves it for the scaffold. He is at liberty to walk in
the yard; but, both in his walks and in his cell, he is constantly
attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on any pretence.

We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, eight feet long
by six wide, with a bench at the upper end, under which were a
common rug, a bible, and prayer-book. An iron candlestick was fixed
into the wall at the side ; and a small high window in the back
admitted as much air and light as could struggle in between a double
row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no other furniture of
any description.

Conceive the situation of a man, spending his last night on earth in
this cell. Buoyed up with some vague and undefined hope of reprieve,
he knew not why — indulging in some wild and visionary idea of
escaping, he knew not how — hour after hour of the three preceding
days allowed him for preparation, has fled with a speed which no man
living would deem possible, for none but this dying man can know.
He has wearied his friends with entreaties, exhausted the attendants
with importunities, neglected in his feverish restlessness the timely
warnings of his spiritual consoler ; and, now that the illusion is at last

* These two men were executed shortly afterwards. The other was respited during
his Majesty's pleasure.

Its condemned Prisoner. 157

dispelled, now that eternity is before him and guilt behind, now that
his fears of death amount almost to madness, and an overwhelming
sense of his helpless, hopeless state rushes upon him, he is lost and
stupefied, and has neither thoughts to turn to, nor power to call upon,
the Almighty Being, from whom alone he can seek mercy and forgive-
ness, and before whom his repentance can alone avail.

Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same stone bench
with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast decreasing time before
him, and the urgent entreaties of the good man at his side. The
feeble light is wasting gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the
street without, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle
which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns him that
the night is waning fast away. The deep bell of St. Paul's strikes —
one ! He heard it ; it has roused him. Seven hours left 1 He paces
the narrow limits of his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of terror
starting on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering with
agony. Seven hours ! He suffers himself io be led to his seat,
mechanically takes the bible which is placed in his hand, and tries to
read and listen. No : his thoughts will wander. The book is torn
and soiled by use— and like the book he read his lessons in, at school,
just forty years ago ! He has never bestowed a thought upon it,
perhaps, since he left it as a child : and yet the place, the time, the
room — nay, the very boys he played with, crowd as vividly before
him as if they were scenes of yesterday ; and some forgotten phrase,
some childish word, rings in his ears like the echo of one uttered but
a minute since. The voice of the clergyman recalls him to himself.
He is reading from the sacred book its solemn promises of pardon for
repentance, and its awful denunciation of obdurate men. He falls
upon his knees and clasps his hands to pray. Hush ! what sound was
that ? He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark ! Two
quarters have struck ; the third — the fourth. It is ! Six hours left.
Tell him not of repentance ! Six hours' repentance for eight times six
years of guilt and sin ! He buries his face in his hands, and throws
himself on the bench.

Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and the same un-
settled state of mind pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable
load is taken from his breast ; he is walking with his wife in a pleasant
field, with the bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless
prospect on every side — how different from the stone walls of New-
gate ! She is looking — not as she did when he saw her for the last
time in that dreadful place, but as she used when he loved her — long,
long ago, before misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and
vice had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, and
looking up into his face with tenderness and affection — and he does
not strike her now, nor rudely shake her from him. And oh ! how
glad he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that last hurried interview,
and to fall on his knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon

158 Sketches by Boz.

for all the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her
heart ! The scene suddenly changes. He is on his trial again : there
are the judge and jury, and prosecutors, and witnesses, just as they
were before. How full the Court is — with a sea of heads — with a
gallows, too, and a scaffold — and how all those people stare at him !
Verdict, " Guilty." No matter ; he will escape.

The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left open, and in an
instant he is in the street, flying from the scene of this imprisonment
like the wind. The streets are cleared, the open fields are gained and
the broad wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes in the
midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool, bound-
ing from spot to spot with a speed and lightness, astonishing even to
himself. At length he pauses ; he must be safe from pursuit now ; he
will stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise.

A period of unconsciousness succeeds. He wakes, cold and wretched.
The dull grey light of morning is stealing into the cell, and falls upon
the form of the attendant turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts
from his uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is but momentary.
Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully real to admit of
doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon again, guilty and
despairing ; and in two hours more will be dead.

( 159 )

CHARACTERS.

CHAPTER I.

THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE.

IT is strange with how little notice, good, bad, or indifferent, a man
may live and die in London. He awakens no sympathy in the breast
of any single person ; his existence is a matter of interest to no one
save himself; he cannot be said to be forgotten when he dies, for no
one remembered him when he was alive. There is a numerous class
of people in this great metropolis who seem not to possess a single
friend, and whom nobody appears to care for. Urged by imperative
necessity in the first instance, they have resorted to London in search
of employment, and the means of subsistence. It is hai'd, we know, to
break the ties which bind us to our homes and friends, and harder still
to efface the thousand recollections of happy days and old times, which
have been slumbering in our bosoms for years, and only rush upon
the mind, to bring before it associations connected with the friends we
have left, the scenes we have beheld too probably for the last time, and
the hopes we once cherished, but may entertain no more. These men,
however, happily for themselves, have long forgotten such thoughts.
Old country friends have died or emigrated ; former correspondents
have become lost, like themselves, in the crowd and turmoil of some
busy city ; and they have gradually settled down into mere passive
creatures of habit and endurance.

Wo were seated in the enclosure of St. James's Park the other day,
when our attention was attracted by a man whom we immediately put
down in our own mind as one of this class. He was a tall, thin, pale
person, in a bleck coat, scanty grey trousers, little pinched-up gaiters,
and brown beaver gloves. He had an umbrella in his hand— not for
use, for the day was fine — but, evidently, because he always carried
one to the office in the morning. He walked up and down before the
little patch of grass on which the chairs are placed for hire, not as if
ho were doing it for pleasure or recreation, but as if it were a matter
of compulsion, just as he would walk to the office every morning from

160 Sketches by Boz.

the back settlements of Islington. It was Monday ; he had escaped
for four-and-twenty hours from the thraldom of the desk ; and was
walking here for exercise and amusement — perhaps for the first time
in his life. We were inclined to think he had never had a holiday
before, and that he did not know what to do with himself. Children
were playing on the grass ; groups of people were loitering about,
chatting and laughing ; but the man walked steadily up and down,
unheeding and unheeded, his spare pale face looking as if it were
incapable of bearing the expression of curiosity or interest.

There was something in the man's manner and appearance which
told us, we fancied, his whole life, or rather his whole day, for a man
of this sort has no variety of days. We thought we almost saw the
dingy little back-office into which he walks every morning, hanging
his hat on the same peg, and placing his legs beneath the same desk :
first, taking off that black coat which lasts the year through, and
putting on the one which did duty last year, and which he keeps in
his desk to save the other. There he sits till five o'clock, working on,
all day, as regularly as did the dial over the mantelpiece, whose loud
ticking is as monotonous as his whole existence : only raising his head
when some one enters the counting-house, or when, in the midst of
some difficult calculation, he looks up to the ceiling as if there were
inspiration in the dusty skylight with a green knot in the centre of
every pane of glass. About five, or half-past, he slowly dismounts
from his accustomed stool, and again changing his coat, proceeds to
his usual dining-place, somewhere near Bucklersbury. The waiter
recites the bill of fare in a rather confidential manner — for he is a
regular customer — and after inquiring " What's in the best cut ? " and
"What was up last?" he orders a small plate of roast beef, with
greens, and half-a-pint of porter. He has a small plate to-day,
because greens are a penny more than potatoes, and he had "two
breads " yesterday, with the additional enormity of " a cheese " the
day before. This important point settled, he hangs up his hat — he
took it off the moment he sat down — and bespeaks the paper after the
next gentleman. If he can get it while he is at dinner, he eats with
much greater zest ; balancing it against the water-bottle, and eating a
bit of beef, and reading a line or two, alternately. Exactly at five
minutes before the hour is up, he produces a shilling, pays the
reckoning, carefully deposits the change in his waistcoat-pocket (first
deducting a penny for the waiter), and returns to the office, from
which, if it is not foreign post night, he again sallies forth, in about
half-an-hour. He then walks home, at his usual pace, to his little
back-room at Islington, where he has his tea ; perhaps solacing himself
during the meal with the conversation of his landlady's little boy,
whom he occasionally rewards with a penny, for solving problems in
simple addition. Sometimes, there is a letter or two to take up to his
employer's, in Russell Square ; and then, the wealthy man of business,
hearing his voice, calls out from the dining-parlour, — " Come in, Mr.

A Misanthrope. l6l

Smith : " and Mr. Smith, putting his hat at the foet of one of the hall
chairs, walks timidly in, and being condescendingly desired to sit
down, carefully tucks his legs under his chair, and sits at a con-
siderable distance from the table while he drinks the glass of sherry
which is poured out for him by the eldest boy, and after drinking
which, he backs and slides out of the room, in a state of nervous
agitation from which ho does not perfectly recover, until he finds
himself once more in the Islington Road. Poor, harmless creatures
such men are ; contented but not happy ; broken-spirited and humbled,
they may feel no pain, but they never know pleasure.

Compare these men with another class of beings who, like them,
have neither friend nor companion, but whose position in society is
the result of their own choice. These are generally old fellows with
white heads and red faces, addicted to port wine and Hessian boots,
who from some cause, real or imaginary — generally the former, the
excellent reason being that they are rich, and their relations poor —
grow suspicious of everybody, and do the misanthropical in chambers,
taking great delight in thinking themselves unhappy, and making
everybody they come near, miserable. You may see such men as
these, anywhere ; you will know them at coffee-houses by their dis-
contented exclamations and the luxury of their dinners ; at theatres,
by their always sitting in the same place and looking with a jaundiced
eye on all the young people near them ; at church, by the pomposity
with which they enter, and the loud tone in which they repeat the
responses ; at parties, by their getting cross at whist and hating music.
An old fellow of this kind will have his chambers splendidly furnished,
and collect books, plate, and pictures about him in profusion ; not so
much for his own gratification, as to be superior to those who have the
desire, but not the means, to compete with him. He belongs to two
or three clubs, and is envied, and flattered, and hated by the members
of them all. Sometimes he will be appealed to by a poor relation — a
married nephew perhaps — for some little assistance : and then he will
declaim with honest indignation on the improvidence of young married
people, the worthlessness of a wife, the insolence of having a family,
the atrocity of getting into debt with a hundred and twenty-five
pounds a year, and other unpardonable crimes ; winding up his
exhortations with a complacent review of his own conduct, and a
delicate allusion to parochial relief. He dies, some day after dinner,
of apoplexy, having bequeathed his property to a Public Society, and
the Institution erects a tablet to his memory, expressive of their
admiration of his Christian conduct in this world, and their comfort-
able conviction of his happiness in the next.

But, next to our very particular friends, hackney-coachmen, cabmen
and cads, whom we admire in proportion to the extent of their cool
impudence and perfect self-possession, there is no class of people who
amuse us more than London apprentices. They are no longer an
organised body, bound down by solemn compact to terrify his Majesty's

1 62 Sketches by Bos.

subjects whenever it pleases them to take offence in their heads and
staves in their hands. They are only bound, now, by indentures;
and, as to their valour, it is easily restrained by the wholesome dread
of the New Police, and a perspective view of a damp station-house,
terminating in a police-office and a reprimand. They are still, how-
ever, a peculiar class, and not the less pleasant for being inoffensive.
Can anyone fail to have noticed them in the streets on Sunday?
And were there ever such harmless efforts at the grand and magnificent
as the young fellows display ? We walked down the Strand, a Sunday
or two ago, behind a little group ; and they furnished food for our
amusement the whole way. They had come out of some part of the
City ; it was between three and four o'clock in the afternoon ; and
they were on their way to the Park. There were four of them, all
arm-in-arm, with white kid gloves like so many bridegrooms, light
trousers of unprecedented patterns, and coats for which the English
language has yet no name — a kind of cross between a great-coat and
a surtout, with the collar of the one, the skirts of the other, and
pockets peculiar to themselves.

Each of the gentlemen carried a thick stick, with a large tassel at
the top, which he occasionally twirled gracefully round ; and the
whole four, by way of looking easy and unconcerned, were walking
with a paralytic swagger irresistibly ludicrous. One of the party had
a watch about the size and shape of a reasonable Ribstone pippin,
jammed into his waistcoat-pocket, which he carefully compared with
the clocks at St. Clement's and the New Church, the illuminated clock
at Exeter 'Change, the clock of St. Martin's Church, and the clock of
the Horse Guards. When they at last arrived in Saint James's Park,
the member of the party who had the best-made boots on, hired a
second chair expressly for his feet, and flung himself on this two-
pennyworth of sylvan luxury with an air which levelled all distinctions
between Brookes's and Snooks's, Crockford's and Bagnigge Wells.

We may smile at such people, bnt they can never excite our anger.
They are usually on the best terms with themselves, and it follows
almost as a matter of course, in good-humour with everyone about
them. Besides, they are always the faint reflection of higher lights ;
and, if they do display a little occasional foolery in their own proper
persons, it is surely more tolerable than precocious puppyism in the
Quadrant, whiskered dandyism in Regent Street and Pall Mall, or
gallantry in its dotage anywhere.

Christmas Time. 163

CHAPTEE II.

A CHEI8TMA8 DINNER.

CHRISTMAS time ! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose
breast something like a jovial feeling is not roused — in whose mind
some pleasant associations are not awakened — by the recurrence of
Christmas. There are people who will tell yon that Christmas is not
to them what it nsed to be ; that each succeeding Christmas has found
some cherished hope, or happy prospect, of the year before, dimmed
or passed away ; that the present only serves to remind them of
reduced circumstances and straitened incomes — of the feasts they once
bestowed on hollow friends, and of the cold looks that meet them now,
in adversity and misfortune. Never heed such dismal reminiscences.
There are few men who have lived long enough in the world, who
cannot call up such thoughts any day in the year. Then do not select
the merriest of the three hundred and sixty-five, for your doleful
recollections, but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire — fill the
glass and send round the song — and if your room be smaller than it
was a dozen years ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch,
instead of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter, and empty it
off-hand, and fill another, and troll off the old ditty you used to sing,
and thank God it's no worse. Look on the merry faces of your
children (if you have any) as they sit round the fire. One little seat
may be empty ; one slight form that gladdened the father's heart, and
roused the mother's pride to look upon, may not be there. Dwell not
upon the past ; think not that one short year ago, the fair child now
resolving into dust, sat before you, with the bloom of health upon its
cheek, and the gaiety of infancy in its joyous eye. Reflect upon your
present blessings — of which every man has many — not on your past
misfortunes, of which all men have some. Fill your glass again, with
a merry face and contented heart. Our life on it, but your Christmas
shall be merry, and your new year a happy one !

Who can be insensible to the outpourings of good feeling, and the
honest interchange of affectionate attachment, which abound at this
season of the year ? A Christmas family-party ! We know nothing
in nature more delightful ! There seems a magic in the very name of
Christmas. Petty jealousies and discords are forgotten ; social feelings
are awakened, in bosoms to which they have long been strangers;
father and son, or brother and sister, who have met and passed with
averted gaze, or a look of cold recognition, for months before, proffer
and return the cordial embrace, and bury their past animosities in
their present happiness. Kindly hearts that have yearned towards
each other, but have been withheld by false notions of pride and self-
dignity, ai-e again reunited, and all is kindness and benevolence!

164 Sketches by Bos.

Would that Christmas lasted the whole year through (as it ought),
and that the prejudices and passions which deform our better nature,
were never called into action among those to whom they should ever
be strangers !

The Christmas family-party that we mean, is not a mere assemblage
of relations, got up at a week or two's notice, originating this year,
having no family precedent in the last, and not likely to be repeated
in the next. No. It is an annual gathering of all the accessible
members of the family, young or old, rich or poor ; and all the children
look forward to it, for two months beforehand, in a fever of anticipa-
tion. Formerly, it was held at grandpapa's ; but grandpapa getting
old, and grandmamma getting old too, and rather infirm, they have
given up housekeeping, and domesticated themselves with uncle
George ; so, the party always takes place at uncle George's hoiise, but
grandmamma sends in most of the good things, and grandpapa always
will toddle down, all the way to Newgate Market, to buy the turkey,
which he engages a porter to bring home behind him in triumph,
always insisting on the man's being rewarded with a glass of spirits,
over and above his hire, to drink " a merry Christmas and a happy
new year " to aunt George. As to grandmamma, she is very secret
and mysterious for two or three days beforehand, but not sufficiently
so, to prevent rumours getting afloat that she has purchased a beautiful
new cap with pink ribbons for each of the servants, together with
sundry books, and pen-knives, and pencil-cases, for the younger
branches ; to say nothing of divers secret additions to the order
originally given by aunt George at the pastry-cook's, such as another
dozen of mince-pies for the dinner, and a large plum-cake for the
children.

On Christmas Eve, grandmamma is always in excellent spirits, and
after employing all the children, during the day, in stoning the plums,
and all that, insists, regularly every year, on uncle George coming
down into the kitchen, taking off his coat, and stirring the pudding
for half-an-hour or so, which uncle George good-humouredly does, to
the vociferous delight of the children and servants. The evening
concludes with a glorious game of blind-man's-buff, in an early stage
of which grandpapa takes great care to be caught, in order that he
may have an opportunity of displaying his dexterity.

On the following morning, the old couple, with as many of the
children as the pew will hold, go to church in great state : leaving
aunt George at home dusting decanters and filling castors, and uncle
George carrying bottles into the dining-parlour, and calling for cork-
screws, and getting into everybody's way.

When the church-party return to lunch, grandpapa produces a
small sprig of mistletoe from his pocket, and tempts the boys to kiss
their little cousins under it — a proceeding which affords both the boys
and the old gentleman unlimited satisfaction, but which rather outrages
grandmamma's ideas of decorum, until grandpapa says, that when he

Under the Mistletoe. 165

was just thirteen years and three months old, he kissed grandmamma
under a mistletoe too, on which the children clap their hands, and
laugh very heartily, as do aunt George and uncle George ; and grand-
mamma looks pleased, and says, with a benevolent smile, that grand-
papa was an impudent young dog, on which the children laugh very
heartily again, and grandpapa more heartily than any of them.

But all theso diversions are nothing to the subsequent excitement
when grandmamma in a high cap, and slate-coloured silk gown ; and
grandpapa with a beautifully plaited shirt-frill and white neckerchief ;
seat themselves on one side of the drawing-room fire, with uncle
George's children and little cousins innumerable, seated in the front,
waiting the arrival of the expected visitors. Suddenly a hackney-
coach is heard to stop, and uncle George, who has been looking out
of the window, exclaims " Here's Jane ! " on which the children rush
to the door, and helter-skelter down-stairs ; and uncle Robert and
aunt Jane, and the dear little baby, and the nurse, and the whole
party, are ushered up-stairs amidst tumultuous shouts of " Oh, my ! "
from the children, and frequently repeated warnings not to hurt baby
from the nurse. And grandpapa takes the child, and grandmamma
kisses her daughter, and the confusion of this first entry has scarcely
subsided, when some other aunts and uncles with more cousins arrive,
and the grown-up cousins flirt with each other, and so do the little
cousins too, for that matter, and nothing is to bo heard but a confused
din of talking, laughing, and merriment.

A hesitating double-knock at the street-door, heard during a
momentary pause in the conversation, excites a general inquiry of
'; Who's that ? " and two or three children, who have been standing at
the window, announce in a low voice, that it's " poor aunt Margaret."
Upon which, aunt George leaves the room to welcome the new-comer ;
and grandmamma draws herself up, rather stiff and stately ; for Mar-
garet married a poor man without her consent, and poverty npt being
a sufncently weighty punishment for her offence, has been discarded
by her friends, and debarred the society of her dearest relatives. But
Christmas has come round, and the unkind feelings that have struggled
against better dispositions during the year, have melted away before
its genial influence, like half-formed ice beneath the morning sun. It
is not difficult in a moment of angry feeling for a parent to denounce
a disobedient child ; but, to banish her at a period of general good-will
and hilarity, from the hearth, round which she has sat on so many
anniversaries of the same day, expanding by slow degrees from infancy
to girlhood, and then bursting, almost imperceptibly, into a woman, is
widely different. The air of conscious rectitude, and cold forgiveness,
which the old lady has assumed, sits ill upon her ; and when the poor
girl is lod in by her sister, pale in looks and broken in hope — not
from poverty, for that she could bear, but from the consciousness of
undeserved neglect, and unmerited unkindness — it is easy to see how
much of it is assumed. A momentary pause succeeds ; the girl breaks

1 66 Sketches by Boz.

suddenly frum her sister and throws herself, sobbing, on her mother's
neck. The father steps hastily forward, and takes her husband's
hand. Friends crowd round to offer their hearty congratulations, and
happiness and harmony again prevail.

As to the dinner, it's perfectly delightful — nothing goes wrong, and
everybody is in the very best of spirits, and disposed to please and be
pleased. Grandpapa relates a circumstantial account of the purchase
of the turkey, with a slight digression relative to the purchase of
previous turkeys, on former Christmas Days, which grandmamma
corroborates in the minutest particular. Uncle George tells stories,
and carves poultry, and takes wine, and jokes with the children at the
side-table, and winks at the cousins that are making love, or being
made love to, and exhilarates everybody with his good-humour and
hospitality; and when, at last, a stout servant staggers in with a
gigantic pudding, with a sprig of holly in the top, there is such a
laughing, and shouting, and clapping of little chubby hands, and kick-
ing up of fat dumpy legs, as can only be equalled by the applause
with which the astonishing feat of pouring lighted brandy into mince-
pies, is received by the younger visitors. Then the dessert ! — and the
wine ! — and the fun ! Such beautiful speeches, and such songs, from
aunt Margaret's husband, who turns out to be such a nice man, and so
attentive to grandmamma ! Even grandpapa not only sings his annual
song with unprecedented vigour, but on being honoured with a
unanimous encore, according to annual custom, actually comes out
with a new one which nobody but grandmamma ever heard before ;
and a young scapegrace of a cousin, who has been in some disgrace
with the old people, for certain heinous sins of omission and com-
mission— neglecting to call, and persisting in drinking Burton ale —
astonishes everybody into convulsions of laughter by volunteering the
most extraordinary comic songs that ever were heard. And thus the
evening passes, in a strain of rational good-will and cheerfulness, doing
more to awaken the sympathies of every member of the party in
behalf of his neighbour, and to perpetuate their good-feeling during
the ensuing year, than half the homilies that have ever been written,
by half the Divines that have ever lived.

CHAPTEE IIL

THE NEW YEAR.

NEXT to Christmas Day, the most pleasant annual epoch in existence
is the advent of the New Year. There are a lachrymose set of people
who usher in the New Year with watching and fasting, as if they
were bound to attend us chief mourners at the obsequies of the old

The House with the Green Blinds. 167

one. Now, wo cannot but think it a great deal more complimentary,
both to the old year that has rolled away, and to the New Year that
is just beginning to dawn upon us, to see the old fellow out> and the
new one in, with gaiety and glee.

There must have been some few occurrences in the past year to
which we can look back, with a smile of cheerful recollection, if not
with a feeling of heartfelt thankfulness. And we are bound by every
rule of justice and equity to give the New Year credit for being a
good one, until he proves himself unworthy the confidence we repose
in him.

This is our view of the matter ; and entertaining it, notwithstanding
our respect for the old year, one of the few remaining moments of
whose existence passes away with every word we write, here we are,
seated by our fireside on this last night of the old year, one thousand
eight hundred and thirty-six, penning this article with as jovial a face
as if nothing extraordinary had happened, or was about to happen, to
disturb our good-humour.

Hackney-coaches and carriages keep rattling up the street and down
the street in rapid succession, conveying, doubtless, smartly-dressed
coachfuls to crowded parties ; loud and repeated double-knocks at the
house with green blinds, opposite, announce to the whole neighbour-
hood that there s one large party in the street at all events ; and wo
saw through the window, and through the fog too, till it grew so thick
that we rung for candles, and drew our curtains, pastrycooks' men
with green boxes on their heads, and rout-furniture-warehouse-carts,
with cane seats and French lamps, hurrying to the numerous houses
where an annual festival is held in honour of the occasion.

We can fancy one of these parties, we think, as well as if we were
duly dress-coated and pumped, and had just been announced at the
drawing-room door.

Take the house with the green blinds for instance. We know it is
a quadrille party, because we saw some men taking up the front
drawing-room carpet while we sat at breakfast this morning, and if
further evidence be required, and we must tell the truth, we just now
saw one of the young ladies " doing " another of the young ladies' hair,
near one of the bedroom windows, in an unusual style of splendour,
which nothing else but a quadrille party could possibly justify.

The master of the house with the green blinds is in a public office ;
wo know the fact by the cut of his coat, the tie of his neckcloth, and
the self-satisfaction of his gait — the very green blinds themselves have
a Somerset House air about them.

Hark ! — a cab ! That's a junior clerk in the same office ; a tidy
sort of young man, with a tendency to cold and corns, who comes in a
pair of boots with black cloth fronts, and brings his shoes in his coat-
pocket, which shoes he is at this very moment putting on in the hall.
Now ho is announced by the man in the passage to another man in a
blue coat, who is a disguised messenger from the office.

1 68 Sketches by Boz.

The man on the first landing precedes him to the drawing-room
door. " Mr. Tttpple ! " shonts the messenger. " How are you,
Tupple?" says the master of the house, advancing from the fire,
before which he has been talking politics and airing himself. " My
dear, this is Mr. Tupple (a courteous salute from the lady of the
house) ; Tupple, my eldest daughter ; Julia, my dear, Mr. Tupple ;
Tupple, my other daughters ; my son, sir ; " Tupple rubs his hands
very hard, and smiles as if it were all capital fun, and keeps constantly
bowing and turning himself round, till the whole family have been
introduced, when he glides into a chair at the corner of the sofa, and
opens a miscellaneous conversation with the young ladies upon the
weather, and the theatres, and the old year, and the last new murder,
and the balloon, and the ladies' sleeves, and the festivities of the
season, and a great many other topics of small talk.

More double-knocks! what an extensive party! what an incessant
hum of conversation and general sipping of coffee ! We see Tupple
now, in our mind's eye, in the height of his glory. He has just
handed that stout old lady's cup to the servant ; and now, he dives
among the crowd of young men by the door, to intercept the other
servant, and secure the muffin-plate for the old lady's daughter, before
he leaves the room ; and now, as he passes the sofa on his way back,
he bestows a glance of recognition and patronage upon the young
ladies, as condescending and familiar as if he had known them from
infancy.

Charming person Mr. Tupple — perfect ladies' man — such a delight-
ful companion, too ! Laugh ! — nobody ever understood papa's jokes
half so well as Mr. Tupple, who laughs himself into convulsions at
every fresh burst of facetiousness. Most delightful partner ! talks
through the whole set ! and although he does seem at first rather gay
and frivolous, so romantic and with so much feeling ! Quite a love.
No great favourite with the young men, certainly, who sneer at, and
affect to despise him ; but everybody knows that's only envy, and they
needn't give themselves the trouble to depreciate his merits at any
rate, for Ma says he shall be asked to every future dinner-party, if
it's only to talk to people between the courses, and distract their
attention when there's any unexpected delay in the kitchen.

At supper, Mr. Tupple shows to still greater advantage than he has
done throughout the evening, and when Pa requests everyone to fill
their glasses for the purpose of drinking happiness throughout the
year, Mr. Tupple is so droll : insisting on all the young ladies having
their glasses filled, notwithstanding their repeated assurances that
they never can, by any possibility, think of emptying them: and
subsequently begging permission to say a few words on the sentiment
which has just been uttered by Pa — when he makes one of the most
brilliant and poetical speeches that can possibly be imagined, about
the old year and the new one. After the toast has been drunk, and
when the ladies have retired, Mr. Tupple requests that every gentle-

Speech of Mr. Tupple. 169

man will do him the favour of filling his glass, for he has a toast to
propose: on which all the gentlemen cry "Hear! hear!" and pass
the decanters accordingly: and Mr. Tupple being informed by the
master of the house that they are all charged, and waiting for his
toast, rises, and begs to remind the gentlemen present, how much
they have been delighted by the dazzling array of elegance and
beauty which the drawing-room has exhibited that night, and how
their senses have been charmed, and their hearts captivated, by the
bewitching concentration of female loveliness which that very room
has so recently displayed. (Loud cries of "Hear!") Much as he
(Tupple) would ba disposed to deplore the absence of the ladies, on
other grounds, he cannot but derive some consolation from the reflec-
tion that the very circumstance of their not being present, enables
him to propose a toast, which he would have otherwise been prevented
from giving — that toast he begs to say is — " The Ladies ! " (Great
applause.) The Ladies ! among whom the fascinating daughters of
their excellent host, are alike conspicuous for their beauty, their
accomplishments, and their elegance. He begs them to drain a
bumper to " The Ladies, and a happy new year to them ! " (Prolonged
approbation ; above which the noise of the ladies dancing the Spanish
dance among themselves, overhead, is distinctly audible.)

The applause consequent on this toast, has scarcely subsided, when
a young gentleman in a pink under-waistcoat, sitting towards the
bottom of the table, is observed to grow very restless and fidgety, and
to evince strong indications of some latent desire to give vent to his
feelings in a speech, which the wary Tupple at once perceiving, deter-
mines to forestall by speaking himself. He, therefore, rises again,
with an air of solemn importance, and trusts he may be permitted to
propose another toast (unqualified approbation, and Mr. Tupple pro-
ceeds). He is sure they must all be deeply impressed with the hospi-
tality— he may say the splendour — with which they have been that
night received by their worthy host and hostess. (Unbounded applause.)
Although this is the first occasion on which ho has had the pleasure
and delight of sitting at that board, he has known his friend Dobble
long and intimately ; he has been connected with him in business —
he wishes everybody present knew Dobble as well as ho does. (A
cough from the host.) He (Tupple) can lay his hand upon his
(Tupple's) heart, and declare his confident belief that a better man,
a better husband, a better father, a better brother, a better son, a better
relation in any relation of life, than Dobble, never existed. (Loud
cries of " Hear ! ") They have seen him to-night in the peaceful
bosom of his family ; they should see him in the morning, in the
trying duties of his office. Calm in the perusal of the morning papers,
uncompromising in the signature of his name, dignified in his replies
to the inquiries of stranger applicants, deferential in his behaviour to
his superiors, majestic in his deportment to the messengers. (Cheers.)
"When ho bears this merited testimony to the excellent qualities of his

170 Sketches by Boz.

friend Dobble, what can he say in approaching such a subject as Mrs.
Dobble ? Is it requisite for him to expatiate on the qualities of that
amiable woman ? No ; he will spare his friend Dobble's feelings ; he
will spare the feelings of his friend — if he will allow him to have the
honour of calling him so — Mr. Dobble, junior. (Here Mr. Dobble,
junior, who has been previously distending his mouth to a considerable
width, by thrusting a particularly fine orange into that feature, sus-
pends operations, and assumes a proper appearance of intense melan-
choly.) He will simply say — and he is quite certain it is a sentiment
in which all who hear him will readily concur — that his friend Dobble
is as superior to any man he ever knew, as Mrs. Dobble is far beyond
any woman he ever saw (except her daughters) ; and he will conclude
by proposing their worthy " Host and Hostess, and may they live to
enjoy many more new years ! "

The toast is drunk with acclamation ; Dobble returns thanks, and
the whole party rejoin the ladies in the drawing-room. Young men
who were too bashful to dance before supper, find tongues and partners ;
the musicians exhibit unequivocal symptoms of having drunk the new
year in, while the company were out ; and dancing is kept up, until
far in the first morning of the new year.

We have scarcely written the last word of the previous sentence,
when the first stroke of twelve, peals from the neighbouring churches.
There certainly — we must confess it now — is something awful in the
sound. Strictly speaking, it may not be more impressive now, than
at any other time ; for the hours steal as swiftly on, at other periods,
and their flight is little heeded. But, we measure man's life by years,
and it is a solemn knell that warns us we have passed another of the
landmarks which stand between us and the grave. Disguise it as we
may, the reflection will force itself on our minds, that when the next
bell announces the arrival of a new year, we may be insensible alike
of the timely warning we have so often neglected, and of all the warm
feelings that glow within us now.

CHAPTER IV.

MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE.

ME. SAMUEL WILKINS was a carpenter, a journeyman carpenter of small
dimensions, decidedly below the middle size — bordering, perhaps,
upon the dwarfish. His face was round and shining, and his hair
carefully twisted into the outer corner of each eye, till it formed a
variety of that description of semi-curls, usually known as " aggera-
wators." His earnings were all-sufficient for his wants, varying from
eighteen shillings to one pound five, weekly — his manner undeniable

Miss Jemina Evans. 171

— his sabbath waistcoats dazzling. No wonder that, with these quali-
fications, Samuel Wilkins found favour in the eyes of the other sex :
many women have been captivated by far less substantial qualifica-
tions. But, Samuel was proof against their blandishments, until at
length his eyes rested on those of a Being for whom, from that time
forth, he felt fate had destined him. He came, and conquered — pro-
posed, and was accepted — loved, and was beloved. ftlr. Wilkins
" kept company " with Jemima Evans.

Miss Evans (or Ivins, to adopt the pronunciation most in vogue
with her circle of acquaintance) had adopted iii early life the useful
pursuit of shoe-binding, to which she had afterwards superadded the
occupation of a straw-bonnet maker. Herself, her maternal parent,
and two sisters, formed an harmonious quartette in the most secluded
portion of Camden Town ; and here it was that Mr. Wilkins presented
himself, one Monday afternoon, in his best attire, with his face more
shining and his waistcoat more bright than either had ever appeared
before. The family were just going to tea, and were so glad to see
him. It was quite a little feast ; two ounces of seven-and-sixpenny
green, and a quarter of a pound of the best fresh ; and Mr. Wilkins
had brought a pint of shrimps, neatly folded up in a clean Belcher, to
give a zest to the meal, and propitiate Mrs. Ivins. Jemima was
" cleaning herself " up-stairs ; so Mr. Samuel Wilkins sat down and
talked domestic economy with Mrs. Ivins, whilst the two youngest
Miss Ivinses poked bits of lighted brown paper between the bars
under the kettle, to make the water boil for tea.

" I wos a thinking," said Mr. Samuel Wilkins, during a pause in
the conversation — " I wos a thinking of taking J'miina to the Eagle
to-night." — " 0 my ! " exclaimed Mrs. Ivins. " Lor ! how nice ! " said
the youngest Miss Ivins. " Well, I declare ! " added the youngest
Miss Ivins but one. "Tell J'mima to put on her white muslin,
Tilly," screamed Mrs. Ivins, with motherly anxiety ; and down came
J'mima herself soon afterwards in a white muslin gown carefully
hooked and eyed, a little red shawl, plentifully pinned, a white straw
bonnet trimmed with red ribbons, a small necklace, a large pair of
bracelets, Denmark satin shoes, and open-worked stockings; white
cotton gloves on her fingers, and a cambric pocket-handkerchief, care-
fully folded up, in her hand — all quite genteel and ladylike. And
away went Miss J'mima Ivins and Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and a dress
cane, with a gilt knob at the top, to the admiration and envy of the
street in general, and to the high gratification of Mrs. Ivins, and the
two youngest Miss Ivinses in particular. They had no sooner turned
into the Pancras Eoad, than who should Miss J'mima Ivins stumble
upon, by the most fortunate accident in the world, but a young lady
as she knew, with Jier young man ! — And it is so strange how things
do turn out sometimes — they were actually going to the Eagle too.
So Mr. Samuel Wilkins was introduced to Miss J'mima Ivins's friend's
young man, and they all walked on together, talking, and laughing,

172 Sketches by Boz.

and joking away like anything ; and when they got as far as Penton-
ville, Miss Ivins's friend's young man would have the ladies go into
the Crown, to taste some shrub, which, after a great blushing and
giggling, and hiding of faces in elaborate pocket-handkerchiefs, they
consented to do. Having tasted it once, they were easily prevailed
upon to taste it again ; and they sat out in the garden tasting shrub,
and looking at the busses alternately, till it was just the proper time
to go to the Eagle ; and then they resumed their journey, and walked
very fast, for fear they should lose the beginning of the concert in the
Kotunda.

" How ev'nly ! " said Miss J'mima Ivins, and Miss J'mima Ivins's
friend, both at once, when they had passed the gate and were fairly
inside the gardens. There were the walks, beautifully gravelled and
planted — and the refreshment-boxes, painted and ornamented like so
many snuff-boxes — and the variegated lamps shedding their rich light
upon the company's heads — and the place for dancing ready chalked
for the company's feet — and a Moorish band playing at one end of
the gardens — and an opposition military band playing away at the
other. Then, the waiters were rushing to and fro with glasses of
negus, and glasses of brandy-and-water, and bottles of ale, and
bottles of stout; and ginger-beer was going off in one place, and
practical jokes were going on in another ; and people were crowd-
ing to the door of the Eotunda; and in short the whole scene
was, as Miss J'mima Ivins, inspired by the novelty, or the shrub,
or both, observed — " one of dazzling excitement." As to the concert-
room, never was anything half so splendid. There was an orchestra
for the singers, all paint, gilding, and plate-glass ; and such an organ !
Miss J'mima Ivins's friend's young man whispered it had cost " four
hundred pound," which Mr. Samuel Wilkins said was "not dear
neither ; " an opinion in which the ladies perfectly coincided. The
audience were seated on elevated benches round the room, and crowded
into every part of it ; and everybody was eating and drinking as com-
fortably as possible. Just before the concert commenced, Mr. Samuel
Wilkins ordered two glasses of rum-and-water " warm with — " and
two slices of lemon, for himself and the other young man, together
with " a pint o' sherry wine for the ladies, and some sweet carraway-
seod biscuits ; " and they would have been quite comfortable and happy,
only a strange gentleman with large whiskers would stare at Miss
J'mima Ivins, and another gentleman in a plaid waistcoat would wink
at Miss J'mima Ivins's friend ; on which Miss J'mima Ivins's friend's
young man exhibited symptoms of boiling over, and began to mutter
about " people's imperence," and " swells out o' luck ; " and to intimate,
in oblique terms, a vague intention of knocking somebody's head off;
which he was only prevented from announcing more emphatically, by
both Miss J'mima Ivins and her friend threatening to faint away on
the spot if he said another word.

The concert commenced — overture on the organ. " How solemn ! "

Dazzling Excitement. 173

exclaimed Miss J'mima Ivins, glancing, perhaps unconsciously, at the
gentleman with the whiskers. Mr. Samuel Wilkins, who had been
muttering apart for some time past, as if he were holding a confidential
conversation with the gilt knob of tho dress cane, breathed hard —
breathing vengeance, perhaps, — but said nothing. " The soldier
tired," Miss Somebody in white satin. " Ancore ! " cried Miss J'mima
Ivins's friend. " Ancore ! " shouted the gentleman in the plaid waist-
coat immediately, hammering the table with a stout-bottle. Miss
J'mima Ivins's friend's young man eyed the man behind the waistcoat
from head to foot, and cast a look of interrogative contempt towards
Mr. Samuel Wilkins. Comic song, accompanied on the organ. Miss
J'mima Ivins was convulsed with laughter — so was the man with the
whiskers. Everything the ladies did, the plaid waistcoat and whiskers
did, by way of expressing unity of sentiment and congeniality of soul ;
and Miss J'mima Ivins, and Miss J'mima Ivins's friend, grew lively
and talkative, as Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and Miss J'mima Ivins's friend's
young man, grew morose and surly in inverse proportion.

Now, if the matter had ended here, the little party might soon have
recovered their former equanimity ; but Mr. Samuel Wilkins and his
friend began to throw looks of defiance upon the waistcoat and
whiskers. And the waistcoat and whiskers, by way of intimating the
slight degree in which they were affected by the looks aforesaid,
bestowed glances of increased admiration upon Miss J'mima Ivins and
friend. The concert and vaudeville concluded, they promenaded the
gardens. The waistcoat and whiskers did the same ; and made divers
remarks complimentary to the ankles of Miss J'mima Ivins and friend,
in an audible tone. At length, not satisfied with these numerous
atrocities, they actually came up and asked Miss J'mima Ivins, and
Miss J'mima Ivins's friend, to dance, without taking no more notice of
Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and Miss J'mima Ivins's friend's young man.
than if they was nobody !

" What do you mean by that, scoundrel ? " exclaimed Mr. Samuel
Wilkins, grasping the gilt-knobbed dress-cane firmly in his right
hand. " What's the matter with you, you little humbug ? " replied the
whiskers. " How dare you insult me and my friend ? " inquired the
friend's young man. " You and your friend be hanged ! " responded
tho waistcoat. "Take that," exclaimed Mr. Samuel Wilkins. The
ferrule of the gilt-knobbed dress-cane was visible for an instant, and
then the light of the variegated lamps shono brightly upon it as it
whirled into the air, cane and all. " Give it him," said the waistcoat.
" Horficer ! " screamed the ladies. Miss J'mima Ivins's beau, and the
friend's young man, lay gasping on the gravel, and the waistcoat and
whiskers were seen no more.

Miss J'mima Ivins and friend being conscious that the affray was
in no slight degree attributable to themselves, of course went into
hysterics forthwith ; declared themselves the most injured of women ;
exclaimed, in incoherent ravings, that they had been suspected —

174 Sketches by Boz,

wrongfully suspected — oh! that they should ever have lived to see
the day — and so forth ; suffered a relapse every time they opened their
eyes and saw their unfortunate little admirers ; and were carried to
their respective abodes in a hackney-coach, and a state of insensibility,
compounded of shrub, sherry, and excitement.

CHAPTEE V.

THE PAKLOTJR OEATOR.

WE had been lounging one evening, down Oxford Street, Holborn,
Cheapside, Coleman Street, Finsbury Square, and so on, with the in-
tention of returning westward, by Pentonville and the New Eoad,
when we began to feel rather thirsty, and disposed to rest for five or
ten minutes. So, we turned back towards an old, quiet, decent public-
house, which we remembered to have passed but a moment before (it
was not far from the City Eoad), for the purpose of solacing ourself
with a glass of ale. The house was none of your stuccoed, French-
polished, illuminated palaces, but a modest public-house of the old
school, with a little old bar, and a little old landlord, who, with a wife
and daughter of the same pattern, was comfortably seated in the bar
aforesaid — a snug little room with a cheerful fire, protected by a large
screen : from behind which the young lady emerged on our represent-
ing our inclination for a glass of ale.

"Won't yon walk into the parlour, sir," said the young lady, in
seductive tones.

" You had better walk into the parlour, sir," said the little old land-
lord, throwing his chair back, and looking round one side of the
screen, to survey our appearance.

" You had much better step into the parlour, sir," said the little old
lady, popping out her head, on the other side of the screen.

We cast a slight glance around, as if to express our ignorance of
the locality so much recommended. The little old landlord observed
it ; bustled out of the small door of the small bar ; and forthwith
ushered us into the parlour itself.

It was an ancient, dark-looking room, with oaken wainscoting, a
sanded floor, and a high mantelpiece. The walls were ornamented
with three or four old coloured prints in black frames, each print
representing a naval engagement, with a couple of men-of-war banging
away at each other most vigorously, while another vessel or two were
blowing up in the distance, and the foreground presented a mis-
cellaneous collection of broken masts and blue legs sticking up out of
the water. Depending from the ceiling in the centre of the room,
were a gas-light and bell-pull ; on each side were three or four long

The Parlour itself. 175

narrow tables, behind which was a thickly-planted row of those
slippery, shiny-looking wooden chairs, peculiar to hostelries of this
description. The monotonous appearance of the sanded boards was
relieved by an occasional spittoon ; and a triangular pile of those
useful articles adorned the two upper corners of the apartment.

At the furthest table, nearest the fire, with his face towards the
door at the bottom of the room, sat a stoutish man of about forty,
whose short, stiff, black hair curled closely round a broad high fore-
head, and a face to which something besides water and exercise had
communicated a rather inflamed appearance. He was smoking a
cigar, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and had that confident
oracular air which marked him as the leading politician, general
authority, and universal anecdote-relater, of the place. He had
evidently just delivered himself of something very weighty ; for the
remainder of the company were puffing at their respective pipes and
cigars in a kind of solemn abstraction, as if quite overwhelmed with
the magnitude of the subject recently under discussion.

On his right hand sat an elderly gentleman with a white head, and
broad-brimmed brown hat; on his left, a sharp-nosed, light-haired
man in a brown surtout reaching nearly to his heels, who took a whiff
at his pipe, and an admiring glance at the red-faced man, alternately.

" Very extraordinary ! " said the light-haired man after a pause of
five minutes. A murmur of assent ran through the company.

"Not at all extraordinary — not at all," said the red-faced man,
awakening suddenly from his reverie, and turning upon the light-
haired man, the moment he had spoken.

"Why should it be extraordinary? — why is it extraordinary? —
prove it to be extraordinary ! "

" Oh, if you come to that " said the light-haired man, meekly.

" Come to that ! " ejaculated the man with the red face ; " but we must
come to that. We stand, in these times, upon a calm elevation of
intellectual attainment, and not in the dark recess of mental deprivation.
Proof, is what I require — proof, and not assertions, in these stirring
times. Every gen'lem'n that knows me, knows what was the nature
and effect of my observations, when it was in the contemplation of the
Old Street Suburban Eepresentative Discovery Society, to recommend
a candidate for that place in Cornwall there — I forget the name of it.
' Mr. Snobee,' said Mr. Wilson, ' is a fit and proper person to represent
the borough in Parliament.' ' Prove it,' says I. ' He is a friend to
Keform,' says Mr. Wilson. ' Prove it,' says I. ' The abolitionist of
the national debt, the unflinching opponent of pensions, the uncom-
promising advocate of the negro, the reducer of sinecures and the
duration of Parliaments ; the extender of nothing but the suffrages of
the people,' says Mr. Wilson. ' Prove it,' says I. ' His acts prove
it,' says he. ' Prove them,' says I.

"And he could not prove them," said the red-faced man, looking
round triumphantly ; " and the borough didn't have him ; and if you

176 Sketches by Boz.

carried this principle to the full extent, you'd have no debt, no
pensions, no sinecures, no negroes, no nothing. And then, standing
upon an elevation of intellectual attainment, and having reached the
summit of popular prosperity, you might bid defiance to the nations
of the earth, and erect yourselves in the proud confidence of wisdom
and superiority. This is my argument— this always has been my
argument — and if I was a Member of the House of Commons to-morrow,
I'd make 'em shake in their shoes with it." And the red-faced man,
having struck the table very hard with his clenched fist, to add weight
to the declaration, smoked away like a brewery.

" Well ! " said the sharp-nosed man, in a very slow and soft voice,
addressing the company in general, " I always do say, that of all the
gentlemen I have the pleasure of meeting in this room, there is not
one whose conversation I like to hear so much as Mr. Rogers's, or
who is such improving company."

" Improving company ! " said Mr. Eogers, for that, it seemed, was
the name of the red-faced man. " You may say I am improving
company, for I've improved you all to some purpose ; though as to
my conversation being as my friend Mr. Ellis here describes it, that
is not for me to say anything about. You, gentlemen, are the best
judges on that point ; but this I will say, when I came into this
parish, and first used this room, ten years ago, I don't believe there
was one man in it, who knew he was a slave — and now you all know
it, and writhe under it. Inscribe that upon my tomb, and I am
satisfied."

" Why, as to inscribing it on your tomb," said a little greengrocer
with a chubby face, " of course you can have anything chalked up, as
you likes to pay for, so far as it relates to yourself and your affairs ;
but, when you come to talk about slaves, aud that there abuse, you'd
better keep it in the family, 'cos I for one don't like to be called them
names, night after night."

" You are a slave," said the red-faced man, " and the most pitiable
of all slaves."

" Werry hard if I am," interrupted the greengrocer, " for I got no
good out of the twenty million that was paid for 'mancipation, any-
how."

" A willing slave," ejaculated the red-faced man, getting more red
with eloquence, and contradiction — " resigning the dearest birthright
of your children — neglecting the sacred call of Liberty — who, standing
imploringly before you, appeals to the warmest feelings of your heart,
and points to your helpless infants, but in vain."

" Prove it," said the greengrocer.

" Prove it ! " sneered the man with the red face. " What ! bending
beneath the yoke of an insolent and factious oligarchy ; bowed down
by the domination of cruel laws; groaning beneath tyranny and
oppression on every hand, at every side, and in every corner. Prove
it!- The red-faced man abruptly broke off, sneered melo-

The Red-faced Man waxes warm. 177

dramatically, and buried his countenance and his indignation together,
in a quart pot.

" Ah, to be sure, Mr. Kogers," said a stout broker in a large waist-
coat, who had kept his eyes fixed on this luminary all the time he was
speaking. " Ah, to be sure," said the broker with a sigh, " that's the
point."

" Of course, of course," said divers members of the company, who
understood almost as much about the matter as the broker himself.

" You had better let him alone, Tommy," said the broker, by way
of advice to the little greengrocer, " ho can tell what's o'clock by an
eight-day, without looking at the minute hand, he can. Try it on, on
some other suit ; it won't do with him, Tommy."

" What is a man ? " continued the red-faced specimen of the species,
jerking his hat indignantly from its peg on the wall. " What is an
Englishman? Is he to be trampled upon by every oppressor? Is
lie to be knocked down at everybody's bidding ? What's freedom ?
Not a standing army. What's a standing army? Not freedom.
What's general happiness ? Not universal misery. Liberty ain't the
window-tax, is it ? The Lords ain't the Commons, are they ? " And
the rod-faced man, gradually bursting into a radiating sentence, in
which such adjectives as " dastardly," " oppressive," " violent," and
" sanguinary," formed the most conspicuous words, knocked his hat in-
dignantly over his eyes, left the room, and slammed the door after him.
" Wonderful man ! " said he of the sharp nose.
" Splendid speaker ! " added the broker.

" Great power ! " said everybody but the greengrocer. And as they
said it, the whole party shook their heads mysteriously, and one by
one retired, leaving us alone in the old parlour.

If we had followed the established precedent in all such instances,
we should have fallen into a fit of musing, without delay. The ancient
appearance of the room — the old panelling of the wall — the chimney
blackened with smoke and age — would have carried us back a hundred
years at least, and we should have gone dreaming on, until the pewter-
pot on the table, or the little beer-chiller on the fire, had started into
life, and addressed to us a long story of days gone by. But, by some
means or other, we were not in a romantic humour ; and although we
tried very hard to invest the furniture with vitality, it remained
perfectly unmoved, obstinate, and sullen. Being thus reduced to the
unpleasant necessity of musing about ordinary matters, our thoughts
reverted to the red-faced man, and his oratorical display.

A numerous race are these red-faced men ; there is not a parlour,
or club-room, or benefit society, or humble party of any kind, without
its red-faced man. Weak-pated dolts they are, and a great deal of
mischief they do to their cause, however good. So, just to hold a
pattern one up, to know the others by, we took his likeness at once,
and put him in here. And that is the reason why we have written
this paper.

N

178 Sketches by Boz.

CHAPTER VI.

THE HOSPITAL PATIENT.

IN our rambles through the streets of London after evening has set
in, we often pause beneath the windows of some public hospital, and
picture to ourself the gloomy and mournful scenes that are passing
within. The sudden moving of a taper as its feeble ray shoots from
window to window, until its light gradually disappears, as if it were
carried farther back into the room to the bedside of some suffering
patient, is enough to awaken a whole crowd of reflections ; the mere
glimmering of the low-burning lamps, which, when all other habitations
are wrapped in darkness and slumber, denote the chamber where so
many forms are writhing in pain, or wasting with disease, is sufficient
to check the most boisterous merriment.

Who can tell the anguish of those weary hours, when the only sound
the sick man hears, is the disjointed wanderings of some feverish
slumberer near him, the low moan of pain, or perhaps the muttered,
long-forgotten prayer of the dying man ? Who, but they who have
felt it, can imagine the sense of loneliness and desolation which must
be the portion of those who in the hour of dangerous illness are left
to be tended by strangers ; for what hands, be they ever so gentle, can
wipe the clammy brow, or smooth the restless bed, like those of
mother, wife, or child ?

Impressed with these thoughts, we have turned away, through the
nearly-deserted streets ; and the sight of the few miserable creatures
still hovering about them, has not tended to lessen the pain which
such meditations awaken. The hospital is a refuge and resting-place
for hundreds, who but for such institutions must die in the streets
and doorways ; but what can be the feelings of some outcasts when
they are stretched on the bed of sickness with scarcely a hope of
recovery? The wretched woman who lingers about the pavement,
hours after midnight, and the miserable shadow of a man — the ghastly
remnant that want and drunkenness have left — which crouches beneath
a window-ledge, to sleep where there is some shelter from the rain
have little to bind them to life, but what have they to look back upon,
in death? What are the unwonted comforts of a roof and a bed,
to them, when the recollections of a whole life of debasement stalk
before them ; when repentance seems a mockery, and sorrow comes
too late ?

About a twelvemonth ago, as we were strolling through Covent
Garden (we had been thinking about these things overnight), we were
attracted by the very prepossessing appearance of a pickpocket, who
having declined to take the trouble of walking to the Police-office, on
the ground that he hadn't the slightest wish to go there at all, was

' fl

In the Casualty Ward. 179

being conveyed thither in a wheelbarrow, to the huge delight of a
crowd.

Somehow, we never can resist joining a crowd, so we turned back
with the mob, and entered the office, in company with our friend the
pickpocket, a couple of policemen, and as many dirty-faced spectators
as could squeeze their way in.

There was a powerful, ill-looking young fellow at the bar, who was
undergoing an examination, on the very common charge of having, on
the previous night, ill-treated a woman, with whom he lived in some
court hard by. Several witnesses bore testimony to acts of the grossest
brutality ; and a certificate was read from the house-surgeon of a
neighbouring hospital, describing the nature of the injuries the
woman had received, and intimating that her recovery was extremely
doubtful.

Some question appeared to have been raised about the identity of
the prisoner ; for when it was agreed that the two magistrates should
visit the hospital at eight o'clock that evening, to take her deposition,
it was settled that the man should be taken there also. He turned
pale at this, and we saw him clench the bar very hard when the order
was given. He was removed directly afterwards, and he spoke not a
word.

We felt an irrepressible curiosity to witness this interview, although
it is hard to tell why, at this instant, for we knew it must be a painful
one. It was no very difficult matter for us to gain permission, and
we obtained it.

The prisoner, and the officer who had him in custody, were already
at the hospital when we reached it, and waiting the arrival of the
magistrates in a small room below-stairs. The man was handcuffed,
and his hat was pulled forward over his eyes. It was easy to see,
though, by the whiteness of his countenance, and the constant twitching
of the muscles of his face, that he dreaded what was to come. After
a short interval, the magistrates and clerk were bowed in by the house-
surgeon and a couple of young men who smelt very strong of tobacco-
smoke — they were introduced as " dressers " — and after one magistrate
had complained bitterly of the cold, and the other of the absence of
any news in the evening paper, it was announced that the patient was
prepared ; and we were conducted to the " casualty ward " in which
she was lying.

The dim light which burnt in the spacious room, increased rather
than diminished the ghastly appearance of the hapless creatures in
the beds, which were ranged in two long rows on either side. In one
bed, lay a child enveloped in bandages, with its body half consumed
by fire ; in another, a female, rendered hideous by some dreadful
accident, was wildly beating her clenched fists on the coverlet, in
pain ; on a third, there lay stretched a young girl, apparently in the
heavy stupor often the immediate precursor of death : her face was
stained with blood, and her breast and arms were bound up in folds

i8o Sketches by Bos.

of linen. Two or three of the beds were empty, and their recent
occupants were sitting beside them, but with faces so wan, and eyes so
bright and glassy, that it was fearful to meet their gaze. On every
face was stamped the expression of anguish and suffering.

The object of the visit was lying at the upper end of the room.
She was a fine young woman of about two or three and twenty. Her
long black hair, which had been hastily cut from near the wounds on
her head, streamed over the pillow in jagged and matted locks. Her
face bore deep marks of the ill-usage she had received : her hand was
pressed upon her side, as if her chief pain were there ; her breathing
was short and heavy ; and it was plain to see that she was dying fast.
She murmured a few words in reply to the magistrate's inquiry
whether she was in great pain ; and, having been raised on the pillow
by the nurse, looked vacantly upon the strange countenances that
surrounded her bed. The magistrate nodded to the officer, to bring
the man forward. He did so, and stationed him at the bedside. The
girl looked on with a wild and troubled expression of face ; but her
sight was dim, and she did not know him.

" Take off his hat," said the magistrate. The officer did as he was
desired, and the man's features were disclosed.

The girl started up, with an energy quite preternatural ; the fire
gleamed in her heavy eyes, and the blood rushed to her pale and
sunken cheeks. It was a convulsive effort. She fell back upon her
pillow, and covering her scarred and bruised face with her hands,
burst into tears. The man cast an anxious look towards her, but
otherwise appeared wholly unmoved. After a brief pause the nature
of the errand was explained, and the oath tendered.

" Oh, no, gentlemen," said the girl, raising herself once more, and
folding her hands together ; " no, gentlemen, for God's sake ! I did
it myself — it was nobody's fault — it was an accident. He didn't hurt
me ; he wouldn't for all the world. Jack, dear Jack, you know you
wouldn't!"

Her sight was fast failing her, and her hand groped over the bed-
clothes in search of his. Brute as the man was, he was not prepared
for this. He turned his face from the bed, and sobbed. The girl's
colour changed, and her breathing grew more difficult. She was
evidently dying.

"We respect the feelings which prompt you to this," said the
gentleman who had spoken first, " but let me warn you, not to persist
in what you know to be untrue, until it is too late. It cannot save
him."

" Jack," murmured the girl, laying her hand upon his arm, " they
shall not persuade me to swear your life away. He didn't do it,
gentlemen. He never hurt me." She grasped his arm tightly, and
added, in a broken whisper, " I hope God Almighty will forgive mo
all the wrong I have done, and the life I have led. God bless you,
Jack. Some kind gentleman take my love to my poor old father.

Concerning Old Boys. 181

Five years ago, he said he wished I had died a child. Oh, I wish I
had ! I wish I had ! "

The nurse bent over the girl for a few seconds, and then drew the
sheet over her face. It covered a corpse.

CHAPTER VII.

THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OP MB. JOHN DOTTNCE.

IF we had to make a classification of society, there are a particular
kind of men whom we should immediately set down under the head
of " Old Boys ; " and a column of most extensive dimensions the old
boys would require. To what precise causes the rapid advance of old
boy population is to be traced, we are unable to determine. It would
be an interesting and curious speculation, but, as we have not sufficient
space to devote to it here, we simply state the fact that the numbers
of the old boys have been gradually augmenting within the last few
years, and that they are at this moment alarmingly on the increase.

Upon a general review of the subject, and without considering it
minutely in detail, we should be disposed to subdivide the old boys
into two distinct classes — the gay old boys, and the steady old boys.
The gay old boys, are paunchy old men in the disguise of young ones,
who frequent tho Quadrant and Regent Street in the day-time : the
theatres (especially theatres under lady management) at night ; and
who assume all the foppishness and levity of boys, without the excuse
of youth or inexperience. The steady old boys are certain stout old
gentlemen of clean appearance, who are always to be seen in the same
taverns, at the same hours every evening, smoking and drinking in
the same company.

There was once a fine collection of old boys to bo seen round the
circular table at Offley's every night, between the hours of half-past
eight and half-past eleven. We have lost sight of them for some
time. There were, and may bo still, for aught we know, two splendid
specimens in full blossom at the Rainbow Tavern in Fleet Street,'>ho
always used to sit in the box nearest the fire-place, and smoked long
cherry-stick pipes which went under the table, with the bowls resting
on the floor. Grand old boys they were — fat, red-faced, white-headed
old fellows — always there — one on one side the table, and the other
opposite — puffing and drinking away in great state. Everybody knew
them, and it was supposed by some people that they were both
immortal.

Mr. John Bounce was an old boy of the latter class (we don't mean
immortal, but steady), a retired glove and braces maker, a widower,
resident with three daughters — all grown up and all unmarried — in

1 82 Sketches by Boz.

Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane. He was a short, round, large-faced,
tubbish sort of man, with a broad-brimmed hat, and a square coat ;
and had that grave, but confident, kind of roll, peculiar to old boys in
general. Regular as clockwork — breakfast at nine — dress and tittivate
a little — down to the Sir Somebody's Head — a glass of ale and the
paper — come back again, and take daughters out for a walk— dinner
at three — glass of grog and pipe — nap — tea — little walk — Sir Some-
body's Head again — capital house — delightful evenings. There were
Mr. Harris, the law-stationer, and Mr. Jennings, the robe-maker (two
jolly young fellows like himself), and Jones, the barrister's clerk —
rum fellow that Jones — capital company — full of anecdote ! — and
there they sat every night till just ten minutes before twelve, drinking
their brandy-and-water, and smoking their pipes, and telling stories,
and enjoying themselves with a kind of solemn joviality particularly
edifying.

Sometimes Jones would propose a half-price visit to Drury Lane or
Covent Garden, to see two acts of a five-act play, and a new farce, per-
haps, or a ballet, on which occasions the whole four of them went
together; none of your hurrying and nonsense, but having their
brandy-and-water first, comfortably, and ordering a steak and some
oysters for their supper against they came back, and then walking
coolly into the pit, when the "rush" had gone in, as all sensible
people do, and did when Mr. Bounce was a young man, except when
the celebrated Master Betty was at the height of his popularity, and
then, sir, — then — Mr. Dounce perfectly well remembered getting a
holiday from business ; and going to the pit doors at eleven o'clock in
the forenoon, and waiting there, till six in the afternoon, with some
sandwiches in a pocket-handkerchief and some wine in a phial ; and
fainting after all, with the heat and fatigue before the play began ; in
which situation he was lifted out of the pit, into one of the dress
boxes, sir, by five of the finest women of that day, sir, who com-
passionated his situation and administered restoratives, and sent a
black servant, six foot high, in blue and silver livery, next morning
with their compliments, and to know how he found himself, sir — by

G ! Between the acts Mr. Dounce and Mr. Harris, and Mr.

Jennings, used to stand up, and look round the house, and Jones —
knowing fellow that Jones — knew everybody — pointed out the
fashionable and celebrated Lady So-and-So in the boxes, at the men-
tion of whose name Mr. Dounce, after brushing up his hair, and
adjusting his neckerchief, would inspect the aforesaid Lady So-and-So
through an immense glass, and remark, either, that she was a " fine
woman — very fine woman, indeed," or that " there might be a little
more of her, — eh, Jones?" just as the case might happen to be.
When the dancing began, John Dounce and the other old boys were
particularly anxious to see what was going forward on the stage, and
Jones — wicked dog that Jones — whispered little critical remarks into
the ears of John Dounce, which John Dortnce retailed to Mr. Harris

Mr. John D ounce. 183

and Mr. Harris to Mr. Jennings ; and then they all four laughed, until
the tears ran down, out of their eyes.

When the curtain fell, they walked back together, two and two, to
the steaks and oysters ; and when they came to the second glass of
brandy-and-water, Jones — hoaxing scamp, that Jones — used to recount
how he had observed a lady in white feathers, in one of the pit boxes,
gazing intently on Mr. Bounce all the evening, and how he had
caught Mr. Bounce, whenever he thought no one was looking at him,
bestowing ardent looks of intense devotion on the lady in return ; on
which Mr. Harris and Mr. Jennings used to laugh very heartily, and
John Dounce more heartily than either of them, acknowledging, how-
ever, that the time had been when he might have done such things ;
upon which Mr. Jones used to poke him in the ribs, and tell him he
had been a sad dog in his time, which John Dounce, with chuckles
confessed. And after Mr. Harris and Mr. Jennings had preferred
their claims to the character of having been sad dogs too, they
separated harmoniously, and trotted home.

The decrees of Fate, and the means by which they are brought
about, are mysterious and inscrutable. John Dounce had led this life
for twenty years and upwards, without wish for change, or care for
variety, when his whole social system was suddenly upset, and turned
completely topsy-turvy — not by an earthquake, or some other dreadful
convulsion of nature, as the reader would be inclined to suppose, but
by the simple agency of an oyster ; and thus it happened.

Mr. John Dounce was returning one night from the Sir Somebody's
Head, to his residence in Cursitor Street — not tipsy, but rather
excited, for it was Mr. Jennings's birthday, and they had had a brace
of partridges for supper, and a brace of extra glasses afterwards, and
Jones had been more than ordinarily amusing — when his eyes rested
on a newly-opened oyster-shop, on a magnificent scale, with natives
laid, one deep, in circular marble basins in the windows, together
with little round barrels of oysters directed to Lords and Baronets,
and Colonels and Captains, in every part of the habitable globe.

Behind the natives were the barrels, and behind the barrels was a
young lady of about five-and-twenty, all in blue, and all alone —
splendid creature, charming face and lovely figure ! It is difficult to
say whether Mr. John Dounce's red countenance, illuminated as it
was by the flickering gas-light in the window before which he paused,
excited the lady's risibility, or whether a natural exuberance of animal
spirits proved too much for that staidness of demeanour which the
forms of society rather dictatorially prescribe. But certain it is, that
the lady smiled ; then put her finger upon her lip, with a striking
recollection of what was due to herself ; and finally retired, in oyster-
like bashfulness, to the very back of the counter. The sad-dog sort
of feeling came strongly upon John Dounce : he lingered — the lady
in blue made no sign. He coughed — still she came not. He entered
the shop.

184 Sketches by Boz.

" Can you open me an oyster, my dear ? " said Mr. John Bounce.

" Dare say I can, sir," replied the lady in blue, with playfulness.
And Mr. John Dounce eat one oyster, and then looked at the young
lady, and then eat another, and then squeezed the young lady's hand
as she was opening the third, and so forth, until he had devoured a
dozen of those at eightpence in less than no time.

" Can you open me half-a-dozen more, my dear ? " inquired Mr.
John Dounce.

" I'll see what I can do for you, sir," replied the young lady in
blue, even more bewitchingly than before ; and Mr. John Dounce eat
half-a-dozen more of those at eightpence.

" You couldn't manage to get me a glass of brandy-and-water, my
dear, I suppose ? " said Mr. John Dounce, when he had finished the
oysters : in a tone which clearly implied his supposition that she
could.

" I'll see, sir," said the young lady : and away she ran out of the
shop, and down the street, her long auburn ringlets shaking in the
wind in the most enchanting manner ; and back she came again,
tripping over the coal-cellar lids like a whipping-top, with a tumbler
of brandy-and-water, which Mr. John Dounce insisted on her taking a
share of, as it was regular ladies' grog — hot, strong, sweet, and plenty
of it.

So, the young lady sat down with Mr. John Dounce, in a little red
box with a green curtain, and took a small sip of the brandy-and-water,
and a small look at Mr. John Dounce, and then turned her head away,
and went through various other serio-pantomimic fascinations, which
forcibly reminded Mr. John Dounce of the first time lie courted his
first wife, and which made him feel more affectionate than ever ; in
pursuance of which affection, and actuated by which feeling, Mr. John
Dounce sounded the young lady on her matrimonial engagements,
when the young lady denied having formed any such engagements at
all — she couldn't abear the men, they were such deceivers ; thereupon
Mr. John Dounce inquired whether this sweeping condemnation was
meant to include other than very young men ; on which the young
lady blushed deeply — at least she turned away her head, and said
Mr. John Dounce had made her blush, so of course she did blush —
and Mr. John Dounce was a long time drinking the brandy-and-water ;
and, at last, John Dounce went home to bed, and dreamed of his first
wife, and his second wife, and the young lady, and partridges, and
oysters, and brandy-and-water, and disinterested attachments.

The next morning, John. Dounce was rather feverish with the extra
brandy-and-water of the previous night ; and, partly in the hope of
cooling himself with an oyster, and partly with the view of ascer-
taining whether he owed the young lady anything, or not, went back
to the oyster-shop. If the young lady had appeared beautiful by
night, she was perfectly irresistible by day; and, from this time
forward, a change came over the spirit of John Dounce's dream. Ho

Miss Amelia Martin. 18$

bought shirt-pins; wore a ring on his third finger; read poetry;
bribed a cheap miniature-painter to perpetrate a faint resemblance to
a youthful face, with a curtain over his head, six large books in the
background, and an open country in the distance (this he called his
portrait) ; " went on " altogether in such an uproarious manner, that
the three Miss Dounoes went off on small pensions, he having made
the tenement in Cursitor Street too warm to contain them ; and in
short, comported and demeaned himself in every respect like an
unmitigated old Saracen, as he was.

As to his ancient friends, the other old boys, at the Sir Somebody's
Head, he dropped off from them by gradual degrees ; for, even when
he did go there, Jones — vulgar fellow that Jones — persisted in asking
" when it was to be ? " and " whether he was to have any gloves ? "
together with other inquiries of an equally offensive nature : at which
not only Harris laughed, but Jennings also ; so, he cut the two, alto-
gether, and attached himself solely to the blue young lady at the
smart oyster-shop.

Now conies the moral of the story — for it has a moral after all. The
last-mentioned young lady, having derived sufficient profit and emolu-
ment from John Bounce's attachment, not only refused, when matters
came to a crisis, to take him for better for worse, but expressly de-
clared, to use her own forcible words, that she " wouldn't have him at
no price ; " and John Bounce, having lost his old friends, alienated
his relations, and rendered himself ridiculous to everybody, made offers
successively to a schoolmistress, a landlady, a feminine tobacconist,
and a housekeeper ; and, being directly rejected by each and every of
them, was accepted by his cook, with whom he now lives, a henpecked
husband, a melancholy monument of antiquated misery, and a living
warning to all uxorious old boys.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. A TALE OP AMBITION.

Miss AMELIA MARTIN was pale, tallish, thin, and two-and-thirty — what
ill-natured people would call plain, and police reports interesting.
She was a milliner and dressmaker, living on her business and not
above it. If you had been a young lady in service, and had wanted
Miss Martin, as a great many young ladies in service did, you would
just have stepped up, in the evening, to number forty-seven, Brummond
Street, George Street, Euston Square, and after casting your eye on a
brass door-plate, one foot ten by one and a half, ornamented with a
great brass knob at each of the four corners, and bearing the inscription
"Miss Martin; millinery and dressmaking, in all its branches;"

1 86 Sketches by Bos.

you'd just have knocked two loud knocks at the street-door ; and down
would have come Miss Martin herself, in a merino gown of the newest
fashion, black velvet bracelets on the genteelest principle, and other
little elegancies of the most approved description.

If Miss Martin knew the young lady who called, or if the young
lady who called had been recommended by any other young lady
whom Miss Martin knew, Miss Martin would forthwith show her up-
stairs into the two-pair front, and chat she would — so kind, and so
comfortable — it really wasn't like a matter of business, she was so
friendly ; and, then Miss Martin, after contemplating the figure and
general appearance of the young lady in service with great apparent
admiration, would say how well she would look, to be sure, in a low
dress with short sleeves ; made very full in the skirts, with four tucks
in the bottom ; to which the young lady in service would reply in
terms expressive of her entire concurrence in the notion, and of the
virtuous indignation with which she reflected on the tyranny of
" Missis," who wouldn't allow a young girl to wear a short sleeve of
an arternoon — no, nor nothing smart, not even a pair of ear-rings ; let
alone hiding people's heads of hair under them frightful caps. At
the termination of this complaint, Miss Amelia Martin would distantly
suggest certain dark suspicions that some people were jealous on
account of their own daughters, and were obliged to keep their ser-
vants' charms under, for fear they should get married first, which was
no uncommon circumstance — leastways she had known two or three
young ladies in service, who had married a great deal better than
their missises, and they were not very good-looking either ; and then
the young lady would inform Miss Martin, in confidence, that how one
of their young ladies was engaged to a young man and was a going to
be married, and Missis was so proud about it there was no bearing of
her; but how she needn't hold her head quite so high neither, for,
after all, he was only a clerk. And, after expressing due contempt for
clerks in general, and the engaged clerk in particular, and the highest
opinion possible of themselves and each other, Miss Martin and the
young lady in service would bid each other good-night, in a friendly
but perfectly genteel manner : and the one went back to her " place "
and the other, to her room on the second-floor front.

There is no saying how long Miss Amelia Martin might have con-
tinued this course of life ; how extensive a connection she might have
established among young ladies in service ; or what amount her
demands upon their quarterly receipts might have ultimately attained,
had not an unforeseen train of circumstances directed her thoughts to a
sphere of action very different from dressmaking or millinery.

A friend of Miss Martin's who had long been keeping company with
an ornamental painter and decorator's journeyman, at last consented
(on being at last asked to do so) to name the day which would make
the aforesaid journeyman a happy husband. It was a Monday that
was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials, and Miss Amelia

The Wedding Dinner. 187

Martin was invited, among others, to honour the wedding-dinner with
her presence. It was a charming party ; Somers Town the locality,
and a front-parlour the apartment. The ornamental painter and
decorator's journeyman had taken a house — no lodgings nor vulgarity
of that kind, but a house — four beautiful rooms, and a delightful little
washhonse at the end of the passage — which was the most convenient
thing in the world, for the bridesmaids could sit in the front-parlour
and receive the company, and then run into the little washhouse and
see how the pudding and boiled pork were getting on in the copper,
and then pop back into the parlour again, as snug and comfortable as
possible. And such a parlour as it was ! Beautiful Kidderminster
carpet — six bran-new cane-bottomed stained chairs — three wine-glasses
and a tumbler on each sideboard — farmer's girl and farmer's boy on the
mantelpiece : girl tumbling over a stile, and boy spitting himself, on
the handle of a pitchfork — long white dimity curtains in the window
— and, in short, everything on the most genteel scale imaginable.

Then, the dinner. There was baked leg of mutton at the top,
boiled leg of mutton at the bottom, pair of fowls and leg of pork in
the middle ; porter-pots at the corners ; pepper, mustard, and vinegar
in the centre ; vegetables on the floor ; and plum-pudding and apple-
pie and tartlets without number : to say nothing of cheese, and celery,
and water-cresses, and all that sort of thing. As to the company!
Miss Amelia Martin herself declared, on a subsequent occasion, that,
much as she had heard of the ornamental painter's journeyman's con-
nection, she never could have supposed it was half so genteel. There
was his father, such a funny old gentleman — and his mother, such a
dear old lady — and his sister, such a charming girl — and his brother,
such a manly-looking young man — with such a eye ! But even all
these were as nothing when compared with his musical friends, Mr.
and Mrs. Jennings Kodolph, from White Conduit, with whom the
ornamental painter's journeyman had been fortunate enough to con-
tract an intimacy while engaged in decorating the concert-room of that
noble institution. To hear them sing separately was divine, but when
they went through the tragic duet of " Eed Ruffian, retire ! " it was, as
Miss Martin afterwards remarked, "thrilling." And why (as Mr.
Jennings Rodolph observed) why were they not engaged at one of the
patent theatres? If he was to be told that their voices were not
powerful enough to fill the House, his only reply was, that he would
back himself for any amount to fill Russell Square — a statement in
which the company, after hearing the duet, expressed their full belief ;
so they all said it was shameful treatment ; and both Mr. and Mrs.
Jennings Rodolph said it was shameful too ; and Mr. Jennings Rodolph
looked very serious, and said he knew who his malignant opponents
were, but they had better take care how far they went, for if they
irritated him too much he had not quite made up his mind whether he
wouldn't bring the subject before Parliament ; and they all agreed
that it " 'ud serve 'em quite right, and it was very proper that such

1 88 Sketches by Boz.

people should be made an example of." So Mr. Jennings Eodolph
said he'd think of it.

When the conversation resumed its former tone, Mr. Jennings
Eodolph claimed his right to call upon a lady, and the right being
conceded, trusted Miss Martin would favour the company — a proposal
which met with unanimous approbation, whereupon Miss Martin, after
sundry hesitatings and coughings, with a preparatory choke or two,
and an introductory declaration that she was frightened to death to
attempt it before such great judges of the art, commenced a species of
treble chirruping containing frequent allusions to some young gentle-
man of the name of Hen-e-ry, with an occasional reference to madness
and broken hearts. Mr. Jennings Eodolph, frequently interrupted the
progress of the song, by ejaculating " Beautiful ! " — " Charming ! " —
" Brilliant ! " — " Oh ! splendid," &c. ; and at its close the admiration
of himself, and his lady, knew no bounds.

" Did you ever hear so sweet a voice, my dear ? " inquired Mr.
Jennings Eodolph of Mrs. Jennings Eodolph.

" Never ; indeed I never did, love ; " replied Mrs. Jennings
Eodolph.

" Don't you think Miss Martin, with a little cultivation, would bo
very like Signora Marra Boni, my dear?" asked Mr. Jennings
Eodolph.

" Just exactly the very thing that strack me, my love," answered
Mrs. Jennings Eodolph.

And thus the time passed away, Mr. Jennings Eodolph played
tunes on a walking-stick, and then went behind the parlour-door and
gave his celebrated imitations of actors, edge-tools, and animals ; Miss
Martin sang several other songs with increased admiration every
time ; and even the funny old gentleman began singing. His song
had properly seven verses, but as he couldn't recollect more than the first
one he sang that over, seven times, apparently very much to his own
personal gratification. And then all the company sang the national
anthem with national independence — each for himself, without refer-
ence to the other — and finally separated : all declaring that they never
had spent so pleasant an evening : and Miss Martin inwardly resolving
to adopt the advice of Mr. Jennings Eodolph, and to " come out "
without delay.

Now, "coming out," either in acting, or singing, or society, or
facetiousness, or anything else, is all very well, and remarkably
pleasant to the individual principally concerned, if he or she can but
manage to come out with a burst, and being out, to keep out, and not
go in again ; but, it does unfortunately happen that both consumma-
tions are extremely diificult to accomplish, and that the difficulties, of
getting out at all in the first instance, and if you surmount them, of
keeping out in the second, are pretty much on a par, and no slight ones
either — and so Miss Amelia Martin shortly discovered. It is a singular
fact (there being ladies in the case) that Miss Amelia Martin's principal

Miss Amelia Martin's D6but. 189

foible was vanity, and the leading characteristic of Mrs. Jennings
Rodolph an attachment to dress. Dismal wailings were heard to issue
from the second-floor front of number forty-seven, Drummond Street,
George Street, Euston Square ; it was Miss Martin practising. Half-
suppressed murmurs disturbed the calm dignity of the White Conduit
orchestra at the commencement of the season. It was the appearance
of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph in full dress, that occasioned them. Miss
Martin studied incessantly — the practising was the consequence. Mrs.
Jennings Rodolph taught gratuitously now and then — the dresses were
the result.

Weeks passed away ; the White Conduit season had begun, and
progressed, and was more than half over. The dressmaking business
had fallen off, from neglect ; and its profits had dwindled away almost
imperceptibly. A benefit-night approached ; Mr. Jennings Eodolph
yielded1 to the earnest solicitations of Miss Amelia Martin, and intro-
duced her personally to the " comic gentleman " whose benefit it was.
The comic gentleman was all smiles and blandness — he had composed
a duet, expressly for the occasion, and Miss Martin should sing it with
him. The night arrived ; there was an immense room — ninety-seven
sixpenn'orths of gin-and- water, thirty-two small glasses of brandy-and-
water, five-and-twenty bottled ales, and forty-one neguses ; and the
ornamental painter's journeyman, with his wife and a select circle of
acquaintance, were seated at one of the side-tables near the orchestra.
The concert began. Song — sentimental — by a light-haired young
gentleman in a blue coat, and bright basket buttons — [applause].
Another song, doubtful, by another gentleman in another blue coat
and more bright basket buttons — [increased applause]. Duet, Mr.
Jennings Rodolph, and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph, " Red Ruffian, retire ! "
— [great applause]. Solo, Miss Julia Montague (positively on this
occasion only) — •" I am a Friar " — [enthusiasm]. Original duet, comic
— Mr. H. Taplin (the comic gentleman) and Miss Martin — " The Time
of Day." " Brayvo ! — Brayvo ! " cried the ornamental painter's journey-
man's party, as Miss Martin was gracefully led in by the comic
gentleman. " Go to work, Harry," cried the comic gentleman's per-
sonal friends. " Tap — tap — tap," went the leader's bow on the
music-desk. The symphony began, and was soon afterwards followed
by a faint kind of ventriloquial chirping, proceeding apparently from
the deepest recesses of the interior of Miss Amelia Martin. " Sing
out " — shouted one gentleman in a white great-coat. " Don't be afraid to
put the steam on, old gal," exclaimed another. "S — s — s — s — s — s — s"
— went the five-and-twenty bottled ales. " Shame, shame ! " remon-
strated the ornamental painter's journeyman's party — "S — s — s — s"
went the bottled ales again, accompanied by all the gins, and a majority
of the brandies.

" Turn them geese out," cried the ornamental painter's journeyman's
party, with great indignation.

" Sing out," whispered Mr. Jennings Rodolph.

190 Sketches by Boz.

' So I do," responded Miss Amelia Martin.

' Sing louder," said Mrs. Jennings Kodolph.

' I can't," replied Miss Amelia Martin.

' OS, off, off," cried the rest of the audience.

' Bray-vo ! " shouted the painter's party. It wouldn't do — Miss
Amelia Martin left the orchestra, with much less ceremony than she
had entered it ; and, as she couldn't sing out, never came out. The
general good-humour was not restored until Mr. Jennings Eodolph
had become purple in the face, by imitating divers quadrupeds for
half-an-hour, without being able to render himself audible ; and, to
this day, neither has Miss Amelia Martin's good-humour been restored,
nor the dresses made for and presented to Mrs. Jennings Eodolph, nor
the vocal abilities which Mr. Jennings Eodolph once staked his pro-
fessional reputation that Miss Martin possessed.

CHAPTEE IX.

THE DANCING ACADEMY.

OF all the dancing academies that ever were established, there never
was one more popular in its immediate vicinity than Signer Bill-
smethi's, of the " King's Theatre." It was not in Spring Gardens,
or Newman Street, or Berners Street, or Gower Street, or Charlotte
Street, or Percy Street, or any other of the numerous streets which
have been devoted time out of mind to professional people, dispensaries,
and boarding-houses ; it was not in the West End at all — it rather
approximated to the eastern portion of London, being situated in the
populous and improving neighbourhood of Gray's Inn Lane. It was
not a dear dancing academy — four-and-sixpence a quarter is decidedly
cheap upon the whole. It was very select, the number of pupils being
strictly limited to seventy-five, and a quarter's payment in advance
being rigidly exacted. There was public tuition and private tuition —
an assembly-room and a parlour. Signor Billsmethi's family were
always thrown in with the parlour, and included in parlour price;
that is to say, a private pupil had Signor Billsmethi's parlour to
dance in, and Signor Billsmethi's family to dance with ; and when ho
had been sufficiently broken in in the parlour, he began to run in
couples in the assembly-room.

Such was the dancing academy of Signor Billsmethi, when Mr.
Augustus Cooper, of Fetter Lane, first saw an unstamped advertisement
walking leisurely down Holborn Hill, announcing to the world that
Signor Billsmethi, of the King's Theatre, intended opening for the
season with a Grand Ball.

A Pupil attracted. 191

Now, Mr. Augustus Cooper was in the oil and colour line — just of
age, with a little money, a little business, and a little mother, who,
having managed her husband and his business in his lifetime, took to
managing her son and his business after his decease ; and so, somehow
or other, he had been cooped up in the little back-parlour behind the
shop on week-days, and in a little deal box without a lid (called by
courtesy a pew) at Bethel Chapel, on Sundays, and had seen no more
of the world than if he had been an infant all his days ; whereas
Young White, at the gas-fitter's over the way, three years younger
than him, had been flaring away like winkin' — going to the theatre —
supping at harmonic meetings — eating oysters by the barrel — drinking
stout by the gallon — even stopping out all night, and coming home as
cool in the morning as if nothing had happened. So Mr. Augustus
Cooper made up his mind that he would not stand it any longer, and
had that very morning expressed to his mother a firm determination
to be " blowed," in the event of his not being instantly provided with
a street-door key. And he was walking down Holborn Hill, thinking
about all these things, and wondering how he could manage to get
introduced into genteel society for the first time, when his eyes rested
on Signor Billsmethi's announcement, which it immediately struck
him was just the very thing he wanted ; for he should not only be
able to select a genteel circle of acquaintance at once, out of the five-
and-seventy pupils at four-and-sixpence a quarter, but should qualify
himself at the same time to go through a hornpipe in private society,
with perfect ease to himself and great delight to his friends. So, he
stopped the unstamped advertisement — an animated sandwich, com-
posed of a boy between two boards — and having procured a very small
card with the Signer's address indented thereon, walked straight at
once to the Signor's house — and very fast he walked too, for fear the
list should be filled up, and the five-and-seventy completed, before he
got there. The Signor was at home, and, what was still more gratify-
ing, he was an Englishman ! Such a nice man — and so polite ! The
list was not full, but it was a most extraordinary circumstance that
there was only just one vacancy, and even that one would have been
filled up, that very morning, only Signor Billsmethi was dissatisfied
with the reference, and, being very much afraid that the lady wasn't
select, wouldn't take her.

" And very much delighted I am, Mr. Cooper," said Signor Bill-
smethi, " that I did not take her. I assure you, Mr. Cooper — I don't
say it to flatter you, for I know you're above it — that I consider myself
extremely fortunate in having a gentleman of your manners and
appearance, sir."

" I am very glad of it too, sir," said Augustus Cooper.

"And I hope we shall be better acquainted, sir," said Signor
Billsmethi.

"And I'm sure I hope we shall too, sir," responded Augustus
Cooper. Just then, the door opened, and in came a young lady, with

192 Sketches by £02.

her hair curled in a crop all over her head, and her shoes tied in
sandals all over her ankles.

" Don't run away, my dear," said Signor Billsmethi ; for the young
lady didn't know Mr. Cooper was there when she ran in, and was
going to run out again in her modesty, all in confusion-like. " Don't
run away, my dear," said Signor Billsmethi, "this is Mr. Cooper —
Mr. Cooper, of Fetter Lane. Mr. Cooper, my daughter, sir — Miss
Billsmethi, sir, who I hope will have the pleasure of dancing many a
quadrille, minuet, gavotte, country-dance, fandango, double-hornpipe,
and farinagholkajingo with you, sir. She dances them all, sir; and
so shall you, sir, before you're a quarter older, sir."

And Signor Billsmethi slapped Mr. Augustus Cooper on the back,
as if he had known him a dozen years, — so friendly ; — and Mr. Cooper
bowed to the young lady, and the young lady curtsied to him, and
Signor Billsmethi said they were as handsome, a pair as ever he'd
wish to see ; upon which the young lady exclaimed, " Lor, pa ! " and
blushed as red as Mr. Cooper himself — you might have thought they
were both standing under a red lamp at a chemist's shop ; and before
Mr. Cooper went away it was settled that he should join the family
circle that very night — taking them just as they were — no ceremony
nor nonsense of that kind — and learn his positions in order that he
might lose no time, and be able to come out at the forthcoming ball.

Well ; Mr. Augustus Cooper went away to one of the cheap shoe-
makers' shops in Holborn, where gentlemen's dress-pumps are seven
and sixpence, and men's strong walking just nothing at all, and bought
a pair of the regular seven-and-sixpenny, long-quartered, town mades,
in which he astonished himself quite as much as his mother, and
sallied forth to Signor Billsmethi's. There were four other private
pupils in the parlour : two ladies and two gentlemen. Such nice
people ! Not a bit of pride about them. One of the ladies in par-
ticular, who was in training for a Columbine, was remarkably affable ;
and she and Mies Billsmethi took such an interest in Mr. Augustus
Cooper, and joked, and smiled, and looked so bewitching, that he got
quite at home, and learnt his steps in no time. After the practising
was over, Signor Billsmethi, and Miss Billsmethi, and Master Bill-
smethi, and a young lady, and the two ladies, and the two gentlemen,
danced a quadrille — none of your slipping and sliding about, but
regular warm work, flying into corners, and diving among chairs, and
shooting out at the door, — something like dancing ! Signor Billsmethi
in particular, notwithstanding his having a little fiddle to play all the
time, was out on the landing every figure, and Master Billsmethi,
when everybody else was breathless, danced a hornpipe, with a cane
in his hand, and a cheese-plate on his head, to the unqualified admira-
tion of the whole company. Then, Signor Billsmethi insisted as they
were so happy, that they should all stay to supper, and proposed send-
ing Master Billsmethi for the beer and spirits, whereupon the two
gentlemen swore, " strike 'em wulgar if they'd stand that ; " and were

Augustus Cooper gets on. 193

just going to quarrel who should pay for it, when Mr. Augustus
Cooper said he would, if they'd have the kindness to allow him — and
they had the kindness to allow him ; and Master Billsmethi brought
the beer in a can, and the rum in a quart-pot. They had a regular
night of it ; and Miss Billsmethi squeezed Mr. Augustus Cooper's
hand under the table ; and Mr. Augustus Cooper returned the squeeze,
and returned home too, at something to six o'clock in the morning,
when he was put to bed by main force by the apprentice, after repeatedly
expressing an uncontrollable desire to pitch his revered parent out of
the second-floor window, and to throttle the apprentice with his own
neck-handkerchief.

Weeks had worn on, and the seven-and-sixpenny town-mades had
nearly -worn out, when the night arrived for the grand dress-ball at
which the whole of the five-and-seventy pupils were to meet together,
for the first time that season, and to take out some portion of their
respective four-and-sixpences in lamp-oil and fiddlers. Mr. Augustus
Cooper had ordered a new coat for the occasion — a two-pound-tenner
from Turnstile. It was his first appearance in public ; and, after a
grand Sicilian shawl-dance by fourteen young ladies in character, he
was to open the quadrille department with Miss Billsmethi herself,
with whom he had become quite intimate since his first introduction.
It teas a night ! Everything was admirably arranged. The sandwich-
boy took the hats and bonnets at the street-door ; there was a turn-up
bedstead in the back parlour, on which Miss Billsmethi made tea and
coffee for such of the gentlemen as chose to pay for it, and such of the
ladies as the gentlemen treated ; red port-wine negus and lemonade
were handed round at eighteenpence a head ; and in pursuance of a
previous engagement with the public-house at the corner of the street,
an extra potboy was laid on for the occasion. In short, nothing could
exceed the arrangements, except the company. Such ladies! Such
pink silk stockings ! Such artificial flowers ! Such a number of
cabs! No sooner had one cab set down a couple of ladies, than
another cab drove up and set down another couple of ladies, and they
all knew : not only one another, but the majority of the gentlemen into
the bargain, which made it all as pleasant and lively as could be. Signor
Billsmethi, in black tights, with a large blue bow in his button-hole,
introduced the ladies to such of the gentlemen as were strangers: and the
ladies talked away — and laughed they did — it was delightful to see them.

As to the shawl-dance, it was the most exciting thing that ever was
beheld; there was such a whisking, and rustling, and fanning, and
getting ladies into a tangle with artificial flowers, and then dis-
entangling them again ! And as to Mr. Aiigustus Cooper's share in
the quadrille, he got through it admirably. He was missing from his
partner, now and then, certainly, and discovered on such occasions to
DO either dancing with laudable perseverance in another set, or sliding
about in perspective, without any definite object ; but, generally speak-
ing, they managed to shove him through the figure., until he turned

o

194 Sketches by Boz.

up in the right place. Be this as it may, when he had finished, a
great many ladies and gentlemen came up and complimented him very
much, and said they had never seen a beginner do anything like it
before ; and Mr. Augustus Cooper was perfectly satisfied with himself,
and everybody else into the bargain ; and " stood " considerable
quantities of spirits-and-water, negus, and compounds, for the use
and behoof of two or three dozen very particular friends, selected from
the select circle of five-and-seventy pupils.

Now, whether it was the strength of the compounds, or the beauty
of the ladies, or what not, it did so happen that Mr. Augustus Cooper
encouraged, rather than repelled, the very flattering attentions of a
young lady in brown gauze over white calico who had appeared par-
ticularly struck with him from the first ; and when the encouragements
had been prolonged for some time, Miss Billsmethi betrayed her spite
and jealousy thereat by calling the young lady in brown gauze a
" creeter," which induced the young lady in brown gauze to retort, in
certain sentences containing a taunt founded on the payment of four-
and-sixpence a quarter, which reference Mr. Augustus Cooper, being
then and there in a state of considerable bewilderment, expressed his
entire concurrence in. Miss Billsmethi, thus renounced, forthwith
began screaming in the loudest key of her voice, at the rate of fourteen
screams a minute ; and being unsuccessful, in an onslaught on the
eyes and face, first of the lady in gauze and then of Mr. Augustus
Cooper, called distractedly on the other three-and-seventy pupils to
furnish her with oxalic acid for her own private drinking ; and, the
call not being honoured, made another rush at Mr. Cooper, and then
had her stay-lace cut, and was carried off to bed. Mr. Augustus
Cooper, not being remarkable for quickness of apprehension, was at a
loss to understand what all this meant, until Signer Billsmethi ex-
plained it in a most satisfactory manner, by stating to the pupils, that
Mr. Augustus Cooper had made and confirmed divers promises of
marriage to his daughter on divers occasions, and had now basely
deserted her ; on which, the indignation of the pupils became universal ;
and as several chivalrous gentlemen inquired rather pressingly of Mr.
Augustus Cooper, whether he required anything for his own use, or,
in other words, whether he " wanted anything for himself," he deemed
it prudent to make a precipitate retreat. And the upshot of the
matter was, that a lawyer's letter came next day, and an action was
commenced next week ; and that Mr. Augustus Cooper, after walking
twice to the Serpentine for the purpose of drowning himself, and
coming twice back without doing it, made a confidante of his mother,
who compromised the matter with twenty pounds from the till : which
made twenty pounds four shillings and sixpence paid to Signor Bill-
smethi, exclusive of treats and pumps. And Mr. Augustus Cooper went
back and lived with his mother, and there he lives to this day ; and as he
has lost his ambition for society, and never goes into the world, he will
never see this account of himself, and will never be any the wiser.

A Shabby-genteel Man. 195

CHAPTER X.

SHABBY-GENTEEL PEOPLE.

THEKE are certain descriptions of people who, oddly enough, appear
to appertain exclusively to the metropolis. You meet them, every
day, in the streets of London, but no one ever encounters them else-
where ; they seem indigenous to the soil, and to belong as exclusively
to London as its own smoke, or the dingy bricks and mortar. We
could illustrate the remark by a variety of examples, but, in our
present sketch, we will only advert to one class as a specimen— that
class which is so aptly and expressively designated as "shabby-
genteel."

Now, shabby people, God knows, may be found anywhere, and
genteel people are not articles of greater scarcity out of London than
in it; but this compound of the two — this shabby-gentility — is as
purely local as the statue at Charing Cross, or the pump at Aldgate.
It is worthy of remark, too, that only men are shabby-genteel; a
woman is always either dirty and slovenly in the extreme, or neat and
respectable, however poverty-stricken in appearance. A very poor
man, " who has seen better days," as the phrase goes, is a strange
compound of dirty-slovenliness and wretched attempts at faded
smartness.

We will endeavour to explain our conception of the term which
forms the title of this paper. If you meet a man, lounging up Drury
Lane, or leaning with his back against a post in Long Acre, with his
hands in the pockets of a pair of drab trousers plentifully besprinkled
with grease-spots: the trousers made very full over the boots, and
ornamented with two cords down the outside of each leg — wearing,
also, what has been a brown coat with bright buttons, and a hat very
much pinched up at the sides, cocked over his right eye — don't pity
him. He is not shabby-genteel. The " harmonic meetings " at some
fourth-rate public-house, or the purlieus of a private theatre, are his
chosen haunts ; he entertains a rooted antipathy to any kind of work,
and is on familiar terms with several pantomime men at the large
houses. But, if you see hurrying along a by-street, keeping as close
as he can to the area-railings, a man of about forty or fifty, clad in an
old rusty suit of threadbare black cloth which shines with constant
wear as if it had been bees'-waxed — the trousers tightly strapped
down, partly for the look of the thing and partly to keep his old shoes
from slipping off at the heels, — if you observe, too, that his yellowish-
white neckerchief is carefully pinned up, to conceal the tattered
garment underneath, and that his hands are encased in the remains of
an old pair of beaver gloves, you may set him down as a shabby-
genteel man. A glance at that depressed face, and timorous air of

196 Sketches by Boz.

conscious poverty, will make your heart ache — always supposing that
you are neither a philosopher nor a political economist.

We were once haunted by a shabby-genteel man ; he was bodily
present to our senses all day, and he was in our mind's eye all night.
The man of whom Sir Walter Scott speaks in his Demonology, did
not suffer half the persecution from his imaginary gentleman-usher in
black velvet, that we sustained from our friend in quondam black
cloth. He first attracted our notice, by sitting opposite to us in the
reading-room at the British Museum ; and what made the man more
remarkable was, that he always had before him a couple of shabby-
genteel books — two old dog's-eared folios, in mouldy worm-eaten
covers, which had once been smart. He was in his chair, every
morning, just as the clock struck ten ; he was always the last to leave
the room in the afternoon ; and when he did, he quitted it with the
air of a man who knew not where else to go, for warmth and quiet.
There he used to sit all day, as close to the table as possible, in order
to conceal the lack of buttons on his coat : with his old hat carefully
deposited at his feet, where he evidently flattered himself it escaped
observation.

About two o'clock, you would see him munching a French roll or a
penny loaf ; not taking it boldly out of his pocket at once, like a man
who knew he was only making a lunch ; but breaking off little bits in
his pocket, and eating them by stealth. He knew too well it was his
dinner.

When we first saw this poor object, we thought it quite impossible
that his attire could ever become worse. We even went so far, as to
speculate on the possibility of his shortly appearing in a decent
second-hand suit. We knew nothing about the matter ; he grew more
and more shabby-genteel every day. The buttons dropped off his
waistcoat, one by one ; then, he buttoned his coat ; and when one side
of the coat was reduced to the same condition as the waistcoast, he
buttoned it over on the other side. He looked somewhat better at the
beginning of the week than at the conclusion, because the neckerchief,
though yellow, was not quite so dingy ; and, in the midst of all this
wretchedness, he never appeared without gloves and straps. He
remained in this state for a week or two. At length, one of the
buttons on the back of the coat fell off, and then the man himself
disappeared, and we thought he was dead.

We were sitting at the same table about a week after his disappear-
ance, and as our eyes rested on his vacant chair, we insensibly fell
into a train of meditation on the subject of his retirement from public
life. We were wondering whether he had hung himself, or thrown
himself off a bridge — whether he really was dead or had only been
arrested— when our conjectures were suddenly set at rest by the entry
of the man himself. He had undergone some strange metamorphosis,
and walked up the centre of the room with an air which showed he
was fully conscious of the improvement in his appearance. It was

Haunted by a Shabby-genteel Man. 197

very odd. His clothes were a fine, deep, glossy black ; and yet they
looked like tho same suit ; nay, there were the very darns with which
old acquaintance had made us familiar. The hat, too — nobody could
mistake the shape of that hat, with its high crown gradually increasing
in circumference towards the top. Long service had imparted to it a
reddish-brown tint ; but, now, it was as black as the coat. The truth
flashed suddenly upon us — they had been " revived." It is a deceitful
liquid that black and blue reviver; we have watched its effects on
many a shabby-genteel man. It betrays its victims into a temporary
assumption of importance : possibly into the purchase of a new pair
of gloves, or a cheap stock, or some other trifling article of dress. It
elevates their spirits for a week, only to depress them, if possible, below
their original level. It was so in this case ; the transient dignity of
the unhappy man decreased, in exact proportion as the "reviver"
wore off. The knees of the unmentionables, and the elbows of the
coat, and the seams generally, soon began to get alarmingly white.
The hat was once more deposited under the table, and its owner crept
into his seat as quietly as ever.

There was a week of incessant small rain and mist. At its expira-
tion the " reviver " had entirely vanished, and the shabby-genteel mau
never afterwards attempted to effect any improvement in his outward
appearance.

It would be difficult to name any particular part of town as the
principal resort of shabby-genteel men. We have met a great many
persons of this description in the neighbourhood of the inns of court.
They may be met with, in Holborn, between eight and ten any morn-
ing ; and whoever has the curiosity to enter the Insolvent Debtors'
Court will observe, both among spectators and practitioners, a great
variety of them. We never went on 'Change, by any chance, without
seeing some shabby-genteel men, and we have often wondered what
earthly business they can have there. They will sit there, for hours,
leaning on great, dropsical, mildewed umbrellas, or eating Abernethy
biscuits. Nobody speaks to them, nor they to anyone. On con-
sideration, we remember to have occasionally seen two shabby-genteel
men conversing together on 'Change, but our experience assures us
that this is an uncommon circumstance, occasioned by the offer of a
pinch of snuff, or some such civility.

It would be a task of equal difficulty, either to assign any particular
spot for the residence of these beings, or to endeavour to enumerate
their general occupations. We were never engaged in business with
more than one shabby-genteel man ; and he was a drunken engraver,
and lived in a damp back-parlour in a new row of houses at Camden
Town, half street, half brick-field, somewhere near the canal. A
shabby-genteel man may have no occupation, or he may be a corn
agent, or a coal agent, or a wine-merchant, or a collector of debts, or
a broker's assistant, or a broken-down attorney. He may be a clerk
of the lowest description, or a contributor to the press of the same

igS Sketches by Boz.

grade. Whether our readers have noticed these men, in their walks,
as often as we have, we know not ; this we know — that the miserably
poor man (no matter whether he owes his distresses to his own conduct,
or that of others) who feels his poverty and vainly strives to conceal
it, is one of the most pitiable objects in human nature. Such objects,
with few exceptions, are shabby-genteel people.

CHAPTEK XI.

MAKING A NIGHT OF IT.

DAMON and Pythias were undoubtedly very good fellows in their way :
the former for his extreme readiness to put in special bail for a friend :
and the latter for a certain trump-like punctuality in turning up just
in the very nick of time, scarcely less remarkable. Many points in
their character have, however, grown obsolete. Damons are rather
hard to find, in these days of imprisonment for debt (except the sham
ones, and they cost half-a-crown) ; and, as to the Pythiases, the few
that have existed in these degenerate times, have had an unfortunate
knack of making themselves scarce, at the very moment when their
appearance would have been strictly classical. If the actions of these
heroes, however, can find no parallel in modern times, their friendship
can. We have Damon and Pythias on the one hand. We have Potter
and Smithers on the other; and, lest the two last-mentioned names
should never have reached the ears of our unenlightened readers, we
can do no better than make them acquainted with the owners thereof.

Mr. Thomas Potter, then, was a clerk in the City, and Mr. Eobert
Smithers was a ditto in the same ; their incomes were limited, but
their friendship was unbounded. They lived in the same street,
walked into town every morning at the same hour, dined at the same
slap-bang every day, and revelled in each other's company every night.
They were knit together by the closest ties of intimacy and friendship,
or, as Mr. Thomas Potter touchingly observed, they were " thick-and-
thin pals, and nothing but it." There was a spice of romance in Mr.
Smithers's disposition, a ray of poetry, a gleam of misery, a sort of con-
sciousness of he didn't exactly know what, coming across him he didn't
precisely know why — which stood out in fine relief against the off-
hand, dashing, amateur-pickpocket-sort-of-manner, which distinguished
Mr. Potter in an eminent degree.

The peculiarity of their respective dispositions, extended itself to
their individual costume. Mr. Smithers generally appeared in public
in a surtout and shoes, with a narrow black neckerchief and a brown
hat, very much turned up at the sides — peculiarities which Mr. Potter
wholly eschewed, for it was his ambition to do something in the cele-

i^Haw

Messrs. Potter a'nd Smithers. 199

brated " kiddy " or stage-coach way, and lie had even gone so far as
to invest capital in the purchase of a rough blue coat with wooden
buttons, made upon the fireman's principle, in which, with the addition
of a low-crowned, flower-pot-saucer-shaped hat, he had created no in-
considerable sensation at the Albion in Little Eussell Street, and
divers other places of public and fashionable resort.

Mr. Potter and Mr. Smithers had mutually agreed that, on the
receipt of their quarter's salary, they would jointly and in company
" spend the evening " — an evident misnomer — the spending applying,
as everybody knows, not to the evening itself but to all the money the
individual may chance to be possessed of, on the occasion to which
reference is made ; and they had likewise agreed that, on the evening
aforesaid, they would " make a night of it " — an expressive term, im-
plying the borrowing of several hours from to-morrow morning, adding
them to the night before, and manufacturing a compound night of the
whole.

The quarter-day arrived at last — we say at last, because quarter-
days are as eccentric as comets : moving wonderfully quick when you
have a good deal to pay, and marvellously slow when you have a little
to receive. Mr. Thomas Potter and Mr. Kobert Smithers met by
appointment to begin the evening with a dinner ; and a nice, snug, com-
fortable dinner they had, consisting of a little procession of four chops
and four kidneys, following each other, supported on either side by a
pot of the real draught stout, and attended by divers cushions of bread,
and wedges of cheese.

When the cloth was removed, Mr. Thomas Potter ordered the
waiter to bring in, two goes of his best Scotch whiskey, with warm
water and sugar, and a couple of his " very mildest " Havannahs,
which the waiter did. Mr. Thomas Potter mixed his grog, and lighted
his cigar ; Mr. Eobert Smithers did the same ; and then, Mr. Thomas
Potter jocularly proposed as the first toast, " the abolition of all offices
whatever " (not sinecures, but counting-houses), which was immediately
drunk by Mr. Robert Smithers, with enthusiastic applause. So they
went on, talking politics, puffing cigars, and sipping whiskey-and-
water, until the " goes " — most appropriately so called — were both
gone, which Mr. Robert Smithers perceiving, immediately ordered in
two more goes of the best Scotch whiskey, and two more of the very
mildest Havaunahs ; and the goes kept coming in, an'd the mild
Havannahs kept going out, until, what with the drinking, and lighting,
and puffing, and the stale ashes on the table, and the tallow-grease on
the cigars, Mr. Robert Smithers began to doubt the mildness of the
Havanuahs, and to feel very much as if he had been sitting in a
hackney-coach with his back to the horses.

As to Mr. Thomas Potter, he would keep laughing out loud, and
volunteering inarticulate declarations that he was " all right ; " in
proof of which, he feebly bespoke the evening paper after the next
gentleman, but finding it a matter of some difficulty to discover any

2OO Sketches by Box.

news in its columns, or to ascertain distinctly whether it had any
columns at all, walked slowly out to look for the moon, and, after
coming back quite pale with looking up at the sky so long, and
attempting to express mirth at Mr. Eobert Smithers having fallen
asleep, by various galvanic chuckles, laid his head on his arm, and
went to sleep also. When he awoke again, Mr. Robert Smithers
awoke too, and they both very gravely agreed that it was extremely
unwise to eat so many pickled walnuts with the chops, as it was a
notorious fact that they always made people queer and sleepy ; indeed,
if it had not been for the whiskey and cigars, there was no knowing
what harm they mightn't have done 'em. So they took some coffee,
and after paying the bill, — twelve and twopence the dinner, and the
odd tenpence for the waiter — thirteen shillings in all — started out on
their expedition to manufacture a night.

It was just half-past eight, so they thought they couldn't do better
than go at half-price to the slips at the City Theatre, which they did
accordingly. Mr. Eobert Smithers, who had become extremely poetical
after the settlement of the bill, enlivening the walk by informing Mr.
Thomas Potter in confidence that he felt an inward presentiment of
approaching dissolution, and subsequently embellishing the theatre,
by falling asleep, with his head and both arms gracefully drooping
over the front of the boxes.

Such was the quiet demeanour of the unassuming Smithers, and
such were the happy effects of Scotch whiskey and Havannahs on that
interesting person ! But Mr. Thomas Potter, whose great aim it was
to be considered as a " knowing card," a " fast goer," and so forth,
conducted himself in a very different manner, and commenced going
very fast indeed — rather too fast at last, for the patience of the audience
to keep pace with him. On his first entry, he contented himself by
earnestly calling upon the gentlemen in the gallery to " flare up,"
accompanying the demand with another request, expressive of his wish
that they would instantaneously " form a union," both which requisitions
were responded to, in the manner most in vogue on such occasions.

" Give that dog a bone ! " cried one gentleman in his shirt-sleeves.

" Where have you been a having half-a-pint of intermediate beer ? "
cried a second. " Tailor ! " screamed a third. " Barber's clerk ! "
shouted a fourth. " Throw him o — VEB ! " roared a fifth ; while
numerous voices concurred in desiring Mr. Thomas Potter to "go
home to his mother ! " All these taunts Mr. Thomas Potter received
with supreme contempt, cocking the low-crowned hat a little more on
one side, whenever any reference was made to his personal appearance,
and, standing up with his arms akimbo, expressing defiance melo-
dramatically.

The overture — to which these various sounds had been an ad libitum
accompaniment — concluded, the second piece began, and Mr. Thomas
Potter, emboldened by impunity, proceeded to behave in a most un-
precedented and outrageous manner. First of all, he imitated the

A Disastrous End. 20 1

shake of the principal female singer ; then, groaned at the blue fire,
then, affected to be frightened into convulsions of terror at the appear-
ance of the ghost ; and, lastly, not only made a running commentary,
in an audible voice, upon the dialogue on the stage, but actually awoke
Mr. Robert Smithers, who, hearing his companion making a noise, and
having a very indistinct notion where ho was, or what was required of
him, immediately, by way of imitating a good example, set up the most
unearthly, unremitting, and appalling howling that ever audience
heard. It was too much. " Turn them out ! " was the general cry.
A noise as of shuffling of feet, and men being knocked up with violence
against wainscoting, was heard : a hurried dialogue of " Come out ? "
— " I won't ! "— " You shall ! "— " I shan't ! "— " Give me your card,
sir ? " — " You're a scoundrel, sir ! " and so forth, succeeded. A round
of applause betokened the approbation of the audience, and Mr. Robei-t
Smithers and Mr. Thomas Potter found themselves shot with astonish-
ing swiftness into the road, without having had the trouble of once
putting foot to ground during the whole progress of their rapid
descent.

Mr. Robert Smithers, being constitutionally one of the slow-goers,
and having had quite enough of fast-going, in the course of his recent
expulsion, to last until the quarter-day then next ensuing at the very
least, had no sooner emerged with his companion from the precincts
of Milton Street, than he proceeded to indulge in circuitous references
to the beauties of sleep, mingled with distant allusions to the propriety
of returning to Islington, and testing the influence of their patent
Bramahs over the street-door locks to which they respectively
belonged. Mr. Thomas Potter, however, was valorous and peremptory.
They had come out to make a night of it : and a night must be made.
So Mr. Robert Smithers, who was three parts dull, and the other
dismal, despairingly assented; and they went into a wine-vaults, to
get materials for assisting them in making a night ; where they found
a good many young ladies, and various old gentlemen, and a plentiful
sprinkling of hackney-coachmen and cab-drivers, all drinking and
talking together ; and Mr. Thomas Potter and Mr. Robert Smithers
drank small glasses of brandy, and large glasses of soda, until they
began to have a very confused idea, either of things in general, or of
anything in particular ; and, when they had done treating themselves
they began to treat everybody else ; and the rest of the entertainment
was a confused mixture of heads and heels, black eyes and blue
uniforms, mud and gas-lights, thick doors, and stone paving.

Then, as standard novelists expressively inform us — " all was a
blank ! " and in the morning the blank was filled up with the words
" STATION-HOUSE," and the station-house was filled up with Mr. Thomas
Potter, Mr. Robert Smithers, and the major part of their wine-vault
companions of the preceding night, with a comparatively small portion
of clothing of any kind. And it was disclosed at the Police-office, to
the indignation of the Bench, and the astonishment of the spectators,

2O2 Sketches by Bos.

how one Robert Smithers, aided and abetted by one Thomas Potter,
had knocked down and beaten, in divers streets, at different times, five
men, four boys, and three women ; how the said Thomas Potter had
feloniously obtained possession of five door-knockers, two bell-handles,
and a bonnet ; how Robert Smithers, his friend, had sworn, at least
forty pounds' worth of oaths, at the rate of five shillings a-piece;
terrified whole streets full of her Majesty's subjects with awful shrieks
and alarms of fire ; destroyed the uniforms of five policemen ; and
committed various other atrocities, too numerous to recapitulate. And
the magistrate, after an appropriate reprimand, fined Mr. Thomas
Potter and Mr. Robert Smithers five shillings each, for being, what the
law vulgarly terms, drunk; and thirty-four pounds for seventeen
assaults at forty shillings a head, with liberty to speak to the
prosecutors.

The prosecutors were spoken to, and Messrs. Potter and Smithers
lived on credit, for a quarter, as best they might ; and, although the
prosecutors expressed their readiness to be assaulted twice a week, on
the same terms, they have never since been detected in " making a
night of it."

CHAPTER XII.

THE PRISONERS' VAN.

WE were passing the corner of Bow Street, on our return from a
lounging excursion the other afternoon, when a crowd, assembled
round the door of the Police-office, attracted our attention. We turned
up the street accordingly. There were thirty or forty people, stand-
ing on the pavement and half across the road ; and a few stragglers
were patiently stationed on the opposite side of the way — all evidently
waiting in expectation of some arrival. We waited too, a few minutes,
but nothing occurred ; so, we turned round to an unshorn, sallow-
looking cobbler, who was standing next us with his hands under the
bib of his apron, and put the usual question of " What's the matter ? "
The cobbler eyed us from head to foot, with superlative contempt, and
laconically replied, " Nnffin."

Now, we were perfectly aware that if two men stop in the street to
look at any given object, or even to gaze in the air, two hundred men
will be assembled in no time ; but, as we knew very well that no crowd
of people could by possibility remain in a street for five minutes with-
out getting up a little amusement among themselves, unless they had
some absorbing object in view, the natural inquiry next in order was,
"What are all these people waiting here for?" — "Her Majesty's
carriage," replied the cobbler. This was still more extraordinary.

A Contrast. 203

We could not imagine what earthly business her Majesty's carriage
could have at the Public Office, Bow Street. We were beginning to
ruminate on the possible causes of such an uncommon appearance,
when a general exclamation from all the boys in the crowd of " Here's
the wan ! " caused us to raise our heads, and look up the street.

The covered vehicle, in which prisoners are conveyed from the
police-offices to the different prisons, was coming along at full speed.
It then occurred to us, for the first time, that her Majesty's carriage
was merely another name for the prisoners' van, conferred upon it, riot
only by reason of the superior gentility of the term, but because the
aforesaid van is maintained at her Majesty's expense : having been
originally started for the exclusive accommodation of ladies and
gentlemen under the necessity of visiting the various houses of call
known by the general denomination of " her Majesty's jails."

The van drew up at the office-door, and the people thronged round
the steps, just leaving a little alley for the prisoners to pass through.
Our friend the cobbler, and the other stragglers, crossed over, and we
followed their example. The driver, and another man who had been
seated by his side in front of the vehicle, dismounted, and were
admitted into the office. The office-door was closed after them, and
the crowd were on the tiptoe of expectation.

After a few minutes' delay, the door again opened, and the two first
prisoners appeared. They were a couple of girls, of whom the elder
could not be more than sixteen, and the younger of whom had certainly
not attained her fourteenth year. That they were sisters, was evident,
from the resemblance which still subsisted between them, though two
additional years of depravity had fixed their brand upon the elder
girl's features, as legibly as if a red-hot iron had seared them. They
were both gaudily dressed, the younger one especially ; and, although
there was a strong similarity between them in both respects, which
was rendered the more obvious by their being handcuffed together, it
is impossible to conceive a greater contrast than the demeanour of the
two presented. The younger girl was weeping bitterly — not for
display, or in the hope of producing effect, but for very shame ; her
face was buried in her handkerchief ; and her whole manner was but
too expressive of bitter and unavailing sorrow.

" How long are you for, Emily ? " screamed a red-faced woman in
the crowd. " Six weeks and labour," replied the elder girl with a
flaunting laugh ; " and that's better than the stone jug anyhow ; the
mill's a deal better than the Sessions, and here's Bella a going too for
the first time. Hold up your head, you chicken," she continued,
boisterously tearing the other girl's handkerchief away ; " Hold up
your head, and show 'em your face. I an't jealous, but I'm blessed if
I an't game ! " — " That's right, old gal," exclaimed a man in a paper
cap, who, in common with the greater part of the crowd, had been
inexpressibly delighted with this little incident. — " Right ! " replied
the girl ; " ah, to be sure ; what's the odds, eh ? " — " Come ! In with

2O4 Sketches by Boz.

you," interrupted the driver. " Don't you be in a hurry, coachman,"
replied the girl, "and recollect I want to be set down in Coldbath
Fields — large house with a high garden- wall in front ; you can't mis-
take it. Hallo. Bella, where are you going to — you'll pull my
precious arm off?" This was addressed to the younger girl, who, in
her anxiety to hide herself in the caravan, had ascended the steps first,
and forgotten the strain upon the handcuff. " Come down, and let's
show you the way." And after jerking the miserable girl down with
a force which made her stagger on the pavement, she got into the
vehicle, and was followed by her wretched companion.

These two girls had been thrown upon London streets, their vices and
debaitchery, by a sordid and rapacious mother. What the younger girl
was, then, the elder had been once ; and what the elder then was, the
younger must soon become. A melancholy prospect, but how surely to
be realised ; a tragic drama, but how often acted ! Turn to the prisons
and police-offices of London — nay, look into the very streets them-
selves. These things pass before our eyes, day after day, and hour
after hour — they have become such matters of course, that they are
utterly disregarded. The progress of these girls in crime will be as
rapid as the flight of a pestilence, resembling it too in its baneful
influence and wide-spreading infection. Step by step, how many
wretched females, within the sphere of every man's observation, have
become involved in a career of vice, frightful to contemplate ; hopeless
at its commencement, loathsome and repulsive in its course ; friend-
less, forlorn, and unpitied, at its miserable conclusion !

There were other prisoners — boys of ten, as hardened in vice as
men of fifty — a houseless vagrant, going joyfully to prison as a place
of food and shelter, handcuffed to a man whose prospects were ruined,
character lost, and family rendered destitute, by his first offence. Our
curiosity, however, was satisfied. The first group had left an impres-
sion on our mind we would gladly have avoided, and would willingly
have effaced.

The crowd dispersed ; the vehicle rolled away with its load of guilt
and misfortune ; and we saw no more of the Prisoners' Van.

205 )

TALES.

CHAPTER I.

THE BOARDING-HOUSE. CHAPTER I.

MRS. TIBBS was, beyond all dispute, the most tidy, fidgety, thrifty
little personage that ever inhaled the smoke of London ; and the
house of Mrs. Tibbs was, decidedly, the neatest in all Great Coram
Street. The area and the area-steps, and the street-door and the
street-door steps, and the brass handle, and the door-plate, and the
knocker, and the fan-light, were all as clean and bright, as inde-
fatigable whitewashing, and hearthstoning, and scrubbing and rub-
bing, could make them. The wonder was, that the brass door-plate,
with the interesting inscription " MRS. TIBBS," had never caught fire
from constant friction, so perseveringly was it polished. There
were meat-safe-looking blinds in the parlour-windows, blue and gold
curtains in the drawing-room, and spring-roller blinds, as Mrs. Tibbs
was wont in the pride of her heart to boast, " all the way up." The
bell-lamp in the passage looked as clear as a soap-bubble ; you could
see yourself in all the tables, and French-polish yourself on any one
of the chairs. The banisters were bees'-waxed ; and the very stair-
wires made your eyes wink, they were so glittering.

Mrs. Tibbs was somewhat short of stature, and Mr. Tibbs was by
no means a large man. He had, moreover, very short legs, but, by
way of indemnification, his face was peculiarly long. He was to his
wife what the 0 is in 90 — he was of some importance icith her — he
was nothing without her. Mrs. Tibbs was always talking. Mr. Tibbs
rarely spoko ; but, if it were at any time possible to put in a word,
when he should have said nothing at all, he had that talent. Mrs.
Tibbs detested long stories, and Mr. Tibbs had one, the conclusion of
which had never been heard by his most intimate friends. It always
began, " I recollect when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen
hundred and six," — but, as he spoke very slowly and softly, and his
better-half very quickly and loudly, he rarely got beyond the intro-
ductory sentence. He was a melancholy specimen of the story-teller.
He was the wandering Jew of Joe Millerism.

206 Sketches by Bos.

Mr. Tibbs enjoyed a small independence from the pension-list —
abont 43Z. 15s. lOd. a year. His father, mother, and five interesting
scions from the same stock, drew a like sum from the revenue of a
grateful country, though for what particular service was never known.
But, as this said independence was not quite sufficient to furnish two
people with all the luxuries of this life, it had occurred to the busy
little spouse of Tibbs, that the best thing she could do with a legacy
of 700?., would be to take and furnish a tolerable house — somewhere
in that partially-explored tract of country which lies between the
British Museum, and a remote village called Somers Town — for the
reception of boarders. Great Coram Street was the spot pitched
upon. The house had been furnished accordingly ; two female ser-
vants and a boy engaged ; and an advertisement inserted in the
morning papers, informing the public that " Six individuals would
meet with all the comforts of a cheerful musical home in a select
private family, residing within ten minutes' walk of" — everywhere.
Answers out of number were received, with all sorts of initials ; all
the letters of the alphabet seemed to be seized with a sudden wish to
go out boarding and lodging ; voluminous was the correspondence
between Mrs. Tibbs and the applicants ; and most profound was the
secrecy observed. " E." didn't like this ; " I." couldn't think of
putting up with that ; " I. O. U." didn't think the terms would suit
him; and "G. E." had never slept in a French bed. The result,
however, was, that three gentlemen became inmates of Mrs. Tibbs's
house, on terms which were " agreeable to all parties." In went the
advertisement again, and a lady with her two daughters, proposed to
increase — not their families, but Mrs. Tibbs's.

" Charming woman, that Mrs. Maplesone ! " said Mrs. Tibbs, as she
and her spouse were sitting by the fire after breakfast ; the gentlemen
having gone out on their several avocations. " Charming woman,
indeed ! " repeated little Mrs. Tibbs, more by way of soliloquy than
anything else, for she never thought of consulting her husband.
"And the two daughters are delightful. We must have some fish
to-day ; they'll join us at dinner for the first time."

Mr. Tibbs placed the poker at right angles with the fire-shovel, and
essayed to speak, but recollected he had nothing to say.

" The young ladies," continued Mrs. T., " have kindly volunteered
to bring their own piano."

Tibbs thought of the volunteer story, but did not venture it. A
bright thought struck him —

" It's very likely " said he.

"Pray don't lean your head against the paper," interrupted
Mrs. Tibbs; "and don't put your feet on the steel fender; that's
worse."

Tibbs took his head from the paper, and his feet from the fender,
and proceeded. " It's very likely one of the young ladies may set her
cap at young Mr. Simpson, and you know a marriage "

The Boarders. 207

" A what ! " shrieked Mrs. Tibbs. Tibbs modestly repeated his
former suggestion.

" I beg you won't mention such a thing," said Mrs. T. " A mar-
riage, indeed ! — to rob me of my boarders — no, not for the world."

Tibbs thought in his own mind that the event was by no means
unlikely, but, as he never argued with his wife, he put a stop to the
dialogue, by observing it was " time to go to business." He always
went out at ten o'clock in the morning, and returned at five in the
afternoon, with an exceedingly dirty face, and smelling mouldy.
Nobody knew what he was, or where he went ; but Mrs. Tibbs used to
say with an air of great importance, that he was engaged in the City.

The Miss Maplesones and their accomplished parent arrived in the
course of the afternoon in a hackney-coach, and accompanied by a
most astonishing number of packages. Trunks, bonnet-boxes, muff-
boxes and parasols, guitar-cases, and parcels of all imaginable shapes,
done up in brown paper, and fastened with pins, filled the passage.
Then, there was such a running up and down with the luggage, such
scampering for warm water for the ladies to wash in, and such a
bustle, and confusion, and heating of servants, and curling-irons, as
had never been known in Great Coram Street before. Little Mrs.
Tibbs was quite in her element, bustling about, talking incessantly,
and distributing towels and soap, like a head nurse in a hospital.
The house was not restored to its usual state of quiet repose, until the
ladies were safely shut up in their respective bedrooms, engaged in
the important occupation of dressing for dinner.

" Are these gals 'andsome ? " inquired Mr. Simpson of Mr. Septimus
Hicks, another of the boarders, as they were amusing themselves in
the drawing-room, before dinner, by lolling on sofas, and contem-
plating their pumps.

" Don't know," replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who was a tallish,
white-faced young man, with spectacles, and a black ribbon round his
neck instead of a neckerchief — a most interesting person ; a poetical
walker of the hospitals, and a " very talented young man." He was
fond of " lugging " into conversation all sorts of quotations from Don
Juan, without fettering himself by the propriety of their application ;
in which particular he was remarkably independent. The other, Mr.
Simpson, was one of those young men, who are in society what walk-
ing gentlemen are on the stage, only infinitely worse skilled in his
vocation than the most indifferent artist. He was as empty-headed as
the great bell of St. Paul's ; always dressed according to the caricatures
published in the monthly fashions ; and spelt Character with a K.

" I saw a devilish number of parcels in the passage when I came
home," simpered Mr. Simpson.

" Materials for the toilet, no doubt," rejoined the Don Juan reader.

" ' Much linen, lace, and several pair

Of stockings, slippers, brushes, combs, complete ;

With other articles of ladies' fair,

To keep them beautiful, or leave them neat.' "

208 Sketches by Boz.

" Is that from Milton ? " inquired Mr Simpson.

" No — from Byron," returned Mr. Hicks, with a look of contempt.
He was quite sure of his author, because he had never read any other.
" Hush ! Here come the gals," and they both commenced talking in
a very loud key.

" Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones, Mr. Hicks. Mr. Hicks
• — Mrs. Maplesone and the Miss Maplesones," said Mrs. Tibbs, with a
very red face, for she had been superintending the cooking operations
below-stairs, and looked like a wax doll on a sunny day. " Mr.
Simpson, I beg your pardon — Mr. Simpson — Mrs. Maplesone and the
Miss Maplesones " — and vice versa. The gentlemen immediately began
to slide about with much politeness, and to look as if they wished
their arms had been legs, so little did they know what to do with
them. The ladies smiled, curtsied, and glided into chairs, and dived
for dropped pocket-handkerchiefs : the gentlemen leant against two
of the curtain-pegs; Mrs. Tibbs went through an admirable bit of
serious pantomime with a servant who had come up to ask some
question about the fish-sauce ; and then the two young ladies looked at
each other ; and everybody else appeared to discover something very
attractive in the pattern of the fender.

" Julia my love," said Mrs. Maplesone to her youngest daughter,
in a tone loud enough for the remainder of the company to hear —
" Julia."

" Yes, ma."

" Don't stoop." — This was said for the purpose of directing general
attention to Miss Julia's figure, which was undeniable. Everybody
looked at her, accordingly, and there was another pause.

"We had the most uncivil hackney-coachman to-day, you can
imagine," said Mrs. Maplesone to Mrs. Tibbs, in a confidential
tone.

" Dear me ! " replied the hostess, with an air of great commiseration.
She couldn't say more, for the servant again appeared at the door, and
commenced telegraphing most earnestly to her " Missis."

" I think hackney-coachmen generally are uncivil," said Mr. Hicks
in his most insinuating tone.

"Positively I think they are," replied Mrs. Maplesone, as if the
idea had never struck her before.

" And cabmen, too," said Mr. Simpson. This remark was a failure,
for no one intimated, by word or sign, the slightest knowledge of the
manners and customs of cabmen.

" Eobinson, what do you want ? " said Mrs. Tibbs to the servant,
who, by way of making her presence known to her mistress, had been
giving sundry hems and sniffs outside the door during the preceding
five minutes.

" Please, ma'am, master wants his clean things," replied the servant,
taken off her guard. The two young men turned their faces to the
window, and " went off " like a couple of bottles of ginger-beer ; the

A superannuated Beau. 209

ladies put their handkerchiefs to their mouths ; and little Mrs. Tibbs
bustled out of the room to give Tibbs his clean linen, — and the
servant warning.

Mr. Calton, the remaining boarder, shortly afterwards made his
appearance, and proved a surprising promoter of the conversation.
Mr. Calton was a superannuated beau — an old boy. He used to say
of himself that although his features were not regularly handsome,
they were striking. They certainly were. It was impossible to look
at his face without being reminded of a chubby street-door knocker,
half-lion half-monkey ; and the comparison might be extended to his
whole character and conversation. He had stood still, while every-
thing else had been moving. He never originated a conversation, or
started an idea ; but if any commonplace topic were broached, or, to
pursue the comparison, if anybody lifted him up, he would hammer
away with surprising rapidity. He had the tic-doloureux occasionally,
and then he might be said to be muffled, because he did not make
quite as much noise as at other times, when he would go on prosing,
rat-tat-tat the same thing over and over again. He had never been
married ; but he was still on the look-out for a wife with money. He
had a life interest worth about 300Z. a year — he was exceedingly vain,
and inordinately selfish. He had acquired the reputation of being
the very pink of politeness, and he walked round the Park, and up
Regent Street, every day.

This respectable personage had made up his mind to render himself
exceedingly agreeable to Mrs. Maplesone — indeed, the desire of being
as amiable as possible extended itself to the whole party ; Mrs. Tibbs
having considered it an admirable little bit of management to represent
to the gentlemen that she had some reason to believe the ladies were
fortunes, and to hint to the ladies, that all the gentlemen were
" eligible." A little flirtation, she thought, might keep her Bouse
full, without leading to any other result.

Mrs. Maplesone was an enterprising widow of about fifty : shrewd,
scheming, and good-looking. She was amiably anxious on behalf of
her daughters ; in proof whereof she used to remark, that she would
have no objection to marry again, if it would benefit her dear girls —
she could have no other motive. The " dear girls " themselves were
not at all insensible to the merits of " a good establishment." One of
them was twenty-five ; the other, three years younger. They had
been at different watering-places, for four seasons ; they had gambled
at libraries, read books in balconies, sold at fancy fairs, danced at
assemblies, talked sentiment — in short, they had done all that
industrious girls could do — but, as yet, to no purpose.

" What a magnificent dresser Mr. Simpson is ! " whispered Matilda
Maplesone to her sister Julia.

" Splendid ! " returned the youngest. The magnificent individual
alluded to wore a maroon-coloured dress-coat, with a velvet collar and
cuffs of the same tint — very like that which usually invests the form

2io Sketches by Bos.

of the distinguished unknown who condescends to play the "swell"
in the pantomime at " Eichardson's Show."

" What whiskers ! " said Miss Julia.

" Charming ! " responded her sister ; " and what hair ! " His hair
was like a wig, and distinguished by that insinuating wave which
graces the shining locks of those chefs-d'oeuvre of art surmounting the
waxen images in Bartellot's window in Regent Street ; his whiskers
meeting beneath his chin, seemed strings wherewith to tie it on, ere
science had rendered them unnecessary by her patent invisible springe.

"Dinner's on the table, ma'am, if you please," said the boy, who
now appeared for the first time, in a revived black coat "of his
master's.

" Oh ! Mr. Calton, will you lead Mrs. Maplesone ? — Thank you."
Mr. Simpson offered his arm to Miss Julia; Mr. Septimus Hicks
escorted the lovely Matilda ; and the procession proceeded to the
dining-room. Mr. Tibbs was introduced, and Mr. Tibbs bobbed up
and down to the three ladies like a figure in a Dutch clock, with a
powerful spring in the middle of his body, and then dived rapidly
into his seat at the bottom of the table, delighted to screen himself
behind a soup-tureen, which he could just see over, and that was all.
The boarders were seated, a lady and gentleman alternately, like the
layers of bread and meat in a plate of sandwiches ; and then Mrs.
Tibbs directed James to take off the covers. Salmon, lobster-sauce,
giblet-soup, and the usual accompaniments were dzs-covered : potatoes
like petrifactions, and bits of toasted bread, the shape and size of
blank dice.

" Soup for Mrs. Maplesone, my dear," said the bustling Mrs. Tibbs.
She always called her husband " my dear " before company. Tibbs,
who had been eating his bread, and calculating how long it would be
before ho should get any fish, helped the soup in a hurry, made a
small island on the table-cloth, and put his glass upon it, to hide it
from his wife.

" Miss Julia, shall I assist you to some -fish ? "

" If you please — very little — oh ! plenty, thank you " (a bit about
the size of a walnut put upon the plate).

" Julia is a very little eater," said Mrs. Maplesone to Mr. Calton.

The knocker gave a single rap. He was busy eating the fish with
his eyes : so he only ejaculated, " Ah ! "

" My dear," said Mrs. Tibbs to her spouse after everyone else had
been helped, "what do you take?" The inquiry was accompanied
with a look intimating that he mustn't say fish, because there was not
much left. Tibbs thought the frown referred to the island on the
table-cloth ; he therefore coolly replied, " Why — I'll take a little —
fish, I think."

" Did you say fish, my dear ? " (another frown).

" Yes, dear," replied the villain, with an expression of acute hunger

Dinner and Dinner Talk. 211

depicted in his countenance. The tears almost started to Mrs. Tibbs's
eyes, as she helped her " wretch of a husband," as she inwardly called
him, to the last eatable bit of salmon on the dish.

" James, take this to your master, and take away your master's
knife." This was deliberate revenge, as Tibbs never could eat fish
without one. He was, however, constrained to chase small particles
of salmon round and round his plate with a piece of bread and a fork,
the number of successful attempts being about one in seventeen.

"Take away, James," said Mrs. Tibbs, as Tibbs swallowed the
fourth mouthful — and away went the plates like lightning.

" I'll take a bit of bread, James," said the poor " master of the
house," more hungry than ever.

" Never mind your master now, James," said Mrs. Tibbs, " see about
the meat." This was conveyed in the tone in which ladies usually
give admonitions to servants in company, that is to say, a low one ;
but which, like a stage whisper, from its peculiar emphasis, is most
distinctly heard by everybody present.

A pause ensued, before the table was replenished — a sort of
parenthesis in which Mr. Simpson, Mr. Calton, and Mr. Hicks, pro-
duced respectively a bottle of sauterne, bucellas, and sherry, and took
wine with everybody — except Tibbs. No one ever thought of him.

Between the fish and an intimated sirloin, there was a prolonged
interval.

Here was an opportunity for Mr. Hicks. He could not resist the
singularly appropriate quotation —

" But beef is rare within these oxless isles ;
Goats' flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton,
And when a holiday upon them smiles,
A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on."

<; Very ungentlemanly behaviour," thought little Mrs. Tibbs, " to
talk in that way."

" Ah," said Mr. Calton, filling his glass. " Tom Moore is my poet."

" And mine," said Mrs. Maplesone.

" And mine," said Miss Julia.

" And mine," added Mr. Simpson.

" Look at his compositions," resumed the knocker.

" To be sure," said Simpson, with confidence.

" Look at Don Juan," replied Mr. Septimus Hicks.

" Julia's letter," suggested Miss Matilda.

" Can anything be grander than the Fire Worshippers ? " inquired
Miss Julia.

" To be sure," said Simpson.

" Or Paradise and the Peri," said the old beau.

" Yes ; or Paradise and the Peer," repeated Simpson, who thought
he was getting through it capitally.

" It's all very well," replied Mr. Septimus Hicks, who, as we have
before hinted, never had read anything but Don Juan. " Where will

212 Sketches by Boz.

you find anything finer than the description of the siege, at the com-
mencement of the seventh canto ? "

" Talking of a siege," said Tibbs, with a mouthful of bread — " when
I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen hundred and six, our com-
manding officer was Sir Charles Eampart; and one day when we
were exercising on the gi'ound on which the London University now
stands, he says, says he, Tibbs (calling me from the ranks) Tibbs "

" Tell your master, James," interrupted Mrs. Tibbs, in an awfully
distinct tone, " tell your master if he won't carve those fowls, to send
them to me." The discomfited volunteer instantly set to work, and
carved the fowls almost as expeditiously as his wife operated on the
haunch of mutton. Whether he ever finished the story is not known ;
but, if he did, nobody heard it.

As the ice was now broken, and the new inmates more at home,
every member of the company felt more at ease. Tibbs himself most
certainly did, because he went to sleep immediately after dinner. Mr.
Hicks and the ladies discoursed most eloquently about poetry, and
the theatres, and Lord Chesterfield's Letters ; and Mr. Calton followed
up what everybody said, with continuous double-knocks. Mrs. Tibbs
highly approved of every observation that fell from Mrs. Maplesone ;
and as Mr. Simpson sat with a smile upon his face and said " Yes," or
" Certainly," at intervals of about four minutes each, he received full
credit for understanding what was going forward. The gentlemen
rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room very shortly after they had left
the dining-parlour. Mrs. Maplesone and Mr. Calton played cribbage,
and the " young people " amused themselves with music and conversa-
tion. The Miss Maplesones sang the most fascinating duets, and
accompanied themselves on guitars, ornamented with bits of ethereal
blue ribbon. Mr. Simpson put on a pink waistcoat, and said he was
in raptures ; and Mr. Hicks felt in the seventh heaven of poetry or
the seventh canto of Don Juan — it was the same thing to him. Mrs.
Tibbs was quite charmed with the new-comers ; and Mr. Tibbs spent
the evening in his usual way — he went to sleep, and woke up, and
went to sleep again, and woke at supper-time.

*******

Wo are not about to adopt the licence of novel writers, and to let
" years roll on ; " but we will take the liberty of requesting the reader
to suppose that six months have elapsed, since the dinner we have
described, and that Mrs. Tibbs's boarders have, during that period,
sang, and danced, and gone to theatres and exhibitions, together, as
ladies and gentlemen, wherever they board, often do. And we will
beg them, the period we have mentioned having elapsed, to imagine
farther, that Mr. Septimus Hicks received, in his own bedroom (a
front attic), at an early hour one morning, a note from Mr. Calton,
requesting the favour of seeing him, as soon as convenient to himself,
in his (Calton's) dressing-room on the second-floor back.

" Tell Mr. Calton I'll come down directly," said Mr. Septimus to

Six- Months after. 213

N

the boy. "Stop — is Mr. Calton unwell?" inquired this excited
walker of hospitals, as he put on a bod-furniture-looking dressing-
gown.

" Not as I knows on, sir," replied the boy. " Please, sir, he looked
rather rum, as it might be."

"Ah, that's no proof of his being ill," returned Hicks, uncon-
sciously. " Very well : I'll be down directly." Down-stairs ran the
boy with the message, and down went the excited Hicks himself,
almost as soon as the message was delivered. " Tap, tap." " Come
in." — Door opens, and discovers Mr. Calton sitting in an easy-chair.
Mutual shakes of the hand exchanged, and Mr. Septimus Hicks
motioned to a seat. A short pause. Mr. Hicks coughed, and Mr.
Calton took a pinch of snuff. It was one of those interviews where
neither party knows what to say. Mr. Septimus Hicks broke silence.

" I received a note — " he said, very tremulously, in a voice like
a Punch with a cold.

" Yes," returned the other, " you did."

« Exactly."

« Yes." '

Now, although this dialogue must have been satisfactory, both
gentlemen felt there was something more important to be said;
therefore they did as most men in such a situation would have done —
they looked at the table with a determined aspect. The conversation
had been opened, however, and Mr. Calton had made up his mind
to continue it with a regular double-knock. He always spoke very
pompously.

" Hicks," said he, " I have sent for you, in consequence of certain
arrangements which are pending in this house, connected with a
marriage."

" With a marriage ! " gasped Hicks, compared with whose expression
of countenance, Hamlet's, when he sees his father's ghost, is pleasing
and composed.

" With a marriage," returned the knocker. " I have sent for you to
prove the great confidence I can repose in you."

" And will you betray me ? " eagerly inquired Hicks, who in his
alarm had even forgotten to quote.

" / betray you ! Won't you betray me ? "

" Never : no one shall know, to my dying day, that you had a hand
in the business," responded the agitated Hicks, with an inflamed
countenance, and his hair standing on end as if he were on the stool
of an electrifying-machine in full operation.

"People must know that, some time or other — within a year, I
imagine," said Mr. Calton, with an air of great self-complacency.
" We may have a family."

" We /—That won't affect you, surely ? "

" The devil it won't ! "

"No! how can it?" said the bewildered Hicks. Calton was too

214 Sketches by Boz.

much inwrapped in the contemplation of his happiness to see the
equivoque between Hicks and himself ; and threw himself back in his
chair. " Oh, Matilda ! " sighed the antique beau, in a lack-a-daisical
voice, and applying his right hand a little to the left of the fourth
button of his waistcoat, counting from the bottom. " Oh, Matilda ! "

' What Matilda ? " inquired Hicks, starting up.

' Matilda Maplesone," responded the other, doing the same.

' I marry her to-morrow morning," said Hicks.

' It's false," rejoined his companion : " I marry her ! "

' You marry her ? "

' I marry her ! "

' You marry Matilda Maplesone ? "

' Matilda Maplesone."

' Miss Maplesone marry you ? "

1 Miss Maplesone ! No : Mrs. Maplesone."

' Good Heaven ! " said Hicks, falling into his chair : " You marry
the mother, and I the daughter ! "

" Most extraordinary circumstance ! " replied Mr. Calton, " and
rather inconvenient too ; for the fact is, that owing to Matilda's wish-
ing to keep her intention secret from her daughters until the ceremony
had taken place, she doesn't like applying to any of her friends to give
her away. I entertain an objection to making the affair known to my
acquaintance just now ; and the consequence is, that I sent to you to
know whether you'd oblige me by acting as father."

" I should have been most happy, I assure you," said Hicks, in a
tone of condolence ; " but, you see, I shall be acting as bridegroom.
One character is frequently a consequence of the other ; but it is not
usual to act in both at the same time. There's Simpson — I have no
doubt he will do it for you."

" I don't like to ask him," replied Calton, " he's such a donkey."

Mr. Septimus Hicks looked up at the ceiling, and down at the floor ;
at last an idea struck him. " Let the man of the house, Tibbs, be the
father," he suggested ; and then he quoted, as peculiarly applicable to
Tibbs and the pair —

" Oh Powers of Heaven ! what dark ej'es meets she there ?
"Tis — 'tis her father's — fixed upon the pair."

"The idea has struck me already," said Mr. Calton: "but, you
see, Matilda, for what reason I know not, is very anxious that Mrs.
Tibbs should know nothing about it, till it's all over. It's a natural
delicacy, after all, you know."

" He's the best-natured little man in existence, if you manage him
properly," said Mr. Septimus Hicks. " Tell him not to mention it to
his wife, and assure him she won't mind it, and he'll do it directly.
My marriage is to be a secret one, on account of the mother and my
father ; therefore he must be enjoined to secrecy."

A small double-knock, like a presumptuous single one, was that

Mr. Calton in an unpleasant Situation, 215

instant heard at the street-door. It was Tibbs ; it could he no one
else ; for no one else occupied five minutes in rubbing his shoes. He
had been out to pay the baker's bill.

" Mr. Tibbs," called Mr. Calton in a very bland tone, looking over
'the banisters.

" Sir ! " replied he of the dirty face.

" Will you have the kindness to step up-stairs for a moment ? "

" Certainly, sir," said Tibbs, delighted to be taken notice of. The
bedroom-door was carefully closed, and Tibbs, having put his hat on
the floor (as most timid men do), and been accommodated with a seat,
looked as astounded as if he were suddenly summoned before the
familiars of the Inquisition.

" A rather unpleasant occurrence, Mr. Tibbs," said Calton, in a very
portentous manner, " obliges me to consult you, and to beg you will
not communicate what I am about to say, to your wife."

Tibbs acquiesced, wondering in his own mind what the deuce the
other could have done, and imagining that at least he must have broken
the best decanters.

Mr. Calton resumed ; " I am placed, Mr. Tibbs, in rather an un-
pleasant situation."

Tibbs looked at Mr. Septimus Hicks, as if he thought Mr. H.'s
being in the immediate vicinity of his fellow-boarder might constitute
the unpleasantness of his situation ; but as he did not exactly know
what to say, he merely ejaculated the monosyllable " Lor ! "

" Now," continued the knocker, " let me beg you will exhibit no
manifestations of surprise, which may be overheard by the domestics,
when I tell you — command your feelings of astonishment — that two
inmates of this house intend to be married to-morrow morning." And
he drew back his chair, several feet, to perceive the effect of the
unlooked-for announcement.

If Tibbs had rushed from the room, staggered down-stairs, and
fainted in the passage — if he had instantaneously jumped out of tho
window into the mews behind the house, in an agony of surprise — his
behaviour would have been much less inexplicable to Mr. Calton than
it was, when he put his hands into his inexpressible-pockets, and said
with a half-chuckle, " Just so."

" You are not surprised, Mr. Tibbs ? " inquired Mr. Calton.

" Bless you, no, sir," returned Tibbs ; " after all, it's very natural.
When two young people get together, you know —

" Certainly, certainly," said Calton, with an indescribable air of
self-satisfaction.

" You don't think it's at all an out-of-the-way affair then ? " asked
Mr. Septimus Hicks, who had watched the countenance of Tibbs in
mute astonishment.

" No, sir," replied Tibbs ; " I was just the same at his age." He
actually smiled when he said this.

" How devilish well I must carry my years ! " thought the delighted

216 Sketches by Bos.

old beau, knowing he was at least ten years older than Tibbs at that
moment.

" Well, then, to come to the point at once," he continued, " I. havo
to ask you whether you will object to act as father on the occasion ? "

" Certainly not," replied Tibbs ; still without evincing an atom of
surprise.

" You will not ? "

" Decidedly not," reiterated Tibbs, still as calm as a pot of porter
with the head off.

Mr. Calton seized the hand of the petticoat-governed little man, and
vowed eternal friendship from that hour. Hicks, who was all admira-
tion and surprise, did the same.

" Now, confess," asked Mr. Calton of Tibbs, as he picked up his
hat, " were you not a little surprised ? "

" I b'lieve you ! " replied that illustrious person, holding up one
hand ; " I b'lieve you ! When I first heard of it."

" So sudden," said Septimus Hicks.

" So strange to ask me, you know," said Tibbs.

" So odd altogether ! " said the superannuated love-maker ; and then
all three laughed.

" I say," said Tibbs, shutting the door which he had previously
opened, and giving full vent to a hitherto corked-up giggle, " what
bothers me is, what ivill his father say ? "

Mr. Septimus Hicks looked at Mr. Calton.

" Yes ; but the best of it is," said the latter, giggling in his turn,
" I haven't got a father — he ! he ! he ! "

You haven't got a father. No ; but lie has," said Tibbs.
Who has ? " inquired Septimus Hicks.
' Why him."

• Him, who ? Do you know my secret ? Do you mean me ? "
; You ! No ; you know who 1 mean," returned Tibbs' with a
knowing wink.

" For Heaven's sake, whom do you mean ? " inquired Mr. Calton,
who, like Septimus Hicks, was all but out of his senses at the strange
confusion.

" Why Mr. Simpson, of course," replied Tibbs ; " who else could I
mean ? "

"I see it all," said the Byron-quoter ; "Simpson marries Julia
Maplesone to-morrow morning ! "

" Undoubtedly," replied Tibbs, thoroughly satisfied, " of course he
does."

It would require the pencil of Hogarth to illustrate — our feeble pen
is inadequate to describe — the expression which the countenances ot
Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks respectively assumed, at this un-
expected announcement. Equally impossible is it to describe, although
perhaps it is easier for our lady readers to imagine, what arts the
three ladies could have used, so completely to entangle their separate

Tivo Weddings and a Breach of Promise. 217

partners. Whatever they were, however, they were successful. The
mother was perfectly aware of the intended marriage of both daughters ;
and the young ladies were equally acquainted with the intention of
their estimable parent. They agreed, however, that it would have a
much better appearance if each feigned ignorance of the other's
engagement ; and it was equally desirable that all the marriages
should take place on the same day, to prevent the discovery of one
clandestine alliance, operating prejudicially on the others. Hence, the
mystification of Mr. Calton and Mr. Septimus Hicks, and the pre-
engagement of the unwary Tibbs.

On the following morning, Mr. Septimus Hicks was united to Miss
Matilda Maplesone. Mr. Simpson also entered into a " holy alliance "
with Miss Julia ; Tibbs acting as father, " his first appearance in that
character." Mr. Calton, not being quite so eager as the two young
men, was rather struck by the double discovery ; and as he had found
some difficulty in getting anyone to give the lady away, it occurred
to him that the best mode of obviating the inconvenience would be not
to take her at all. The lady, however, " appealed," as her counsel
said on the trial of the cause, Maplesone v. Calton. for a breach of
promise, " with a broken heart, to the outraged laws of her country."
She recovered damages to the amount of 1,OOOZ. which the unfortunate
knocker was compelled to pay. Mr. Septimus Hicks having walked
the hospitals, took it into his head to walk off altogether. His injured
wife is at present residing with her mother at Boulogne. Mr. Simp-
son, having the misfortune to lose his wife six weeks after marriage
(by her eloping with an officer during his temporary sojourn in the
Fleet Prison, in consequence of his inability to discharge her little
mantua-maker's bill), and being disinherited by his father, who died
soon afterwards, was fortunate enough to obtain a permanent engage-
ment at a fashionable haircutter's ; hairdressing being a science to
which he had frequently directed his attention. In this situation ho
had necessarily many opportunities of making himself acquainted with
the habits, and style of thinking, of the exclusive portion of the nobility
of this kingdom. To this fortunate circumstance are we indebted for
the production of those brilliant efforts of genius, his fashionable
novels, which so long as good taste, unsullied by exaggeration, cant,
and quackery, continues to exist, cannot fail to instruct and amuse the
thinking portion of the community.

It only remains to add, that this complication of disorders com-
pletely deprived poor Mrs. Tibbs of all her inmates, except the one
whom she could have best spared — her husband. That wretched little
man returned home, on the day of the wedding, in a state of partial
intoxication ; and, under the influence of wine, excitement, and despair,
actually dared to brave the anger of his wife. Since that ill-fated
hour he has constantly taken his meals in the kitchen, to which apart-
ment, it is understood, his witticisms will bo in future confined : a
turn-up bedstead having been conveyed there by Mrs. Tibbs's order

21 8 Sketches by Boz.

for his exclusive accommodation. It is possible that he will be enabled
to finish, in that seclusion, his story of the volunteers.

The advertisement has again appeared in the morning papers.
Results must be reserved for another chapter.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

" WELL ! " said little Mrs. Tibbs to herself, as she sat in the front-
parlour of the Coram Street mansion one morning, mending a piece of
stair-carpet off the first landing; — "Things have not turned out so
badly, either, and if I only get a favourable answer to the advertise-
ment, we shall be full again."

Mrs. Tibbs resumed her occupation of making worsted lattice-work
in the carpet, anxiously listening to the twopenny postman, who was
hammering his way down the street, at the rate of a penny a knock.
The house was as quiet as possible. There was only one low sound
to be heard — it was the unhappy Tibbs cleaning the gentlemen's boots
in the back-kitchen, and accompanying himself with a buzzing noise,
in wretched mockery of humming a tune.

The postman drew near the house. He paused — so did Mrs. Tibbs.
A knock — a bustle — a letter — post-paid.

" T. I. presents compt. to I. T. and T. I. begs To say that i see the
advertisement And she will Do Herself the pleasure of calling On you
at 12 o'clock to-morrow morning.

" T. I. as To apologise to I. T. for the shortness Of the notice But i
hope it will not unconvenience you.

" I remain yours Truly

" Wednesday evening."

Little Mrs. Tibbs perused the document, over and over again ; and
the more she read it, the more was she confused by the mixture of the
first and third persons ; the substitution of the " I" for the " T. I. ; "
and the transition from the " I. T." to the " you." The writing
looked like a skein of thread in a tangle, and the note was ingeniously
folded into a perfect square, with the direction squeezed up into the
right-hand corner, as if it were ashamed of itself. The back of the
epistle was pleasingly ornamented with a large red wafer, which, with
the addition of divers ink-stains, bore a marvellous resemblance to a
black beetle trodden upon. One thing, however, was perfectly clear
to the perplexed Mrs. Tibbs. Somebody was to call at twelve. The
drawing-room was forthwith dusted for the third time that morning ;
three or four chairs were pulled out of their places, and a correspond-
ing number of books carefully upset, in order that there might be a
due absence of formality. Down went the piece of stair-carpet before
noticed, and up ran Mrs. Tibbs " to make herself tidy."

The clock of New Saint Pancras Church struck twelve, and the

Mrs. Bloss. 219

Foundling, with laudable politeness, did the same ten minutes after-
wards. Saint something else struck the quarter, and then there
arrived a single lady with a double-knock, in a pelisse the colour of
the interior of a damson-pie ; a bonnet of the same, with a regular
conservatory of artificial flowers ; a white veil, and a green parasol,
with a cobweb border.

The visitor (who was very fat and red-faced) was shown into the
drawing-room ; Mrs. Tibbs presented herself, and the negotiation
commenced.

" I called in consequence of an advertisement," said the stranger, in
a voice as if she had been playing a set of Pan's pipes for a fortnight
without leaving off.

" Yes ! " said Mrs. Tibbs, rubbing her hands very slowly, and
looking the applicant full in the face — two things she always did on
such occasions.

" Money isn't no object whatever to me," said the lady, " so much
as living in a state of retirement and obtrusion."

Mrs. Tibbs, as a matter of course, acquiesced in such an exceedingly
natural desire

" I am constantly attended by a medical man," resumed the pelisse-
wearer ; " I have been a shocking Unitarian for some time — I, indeed,
have had very little peace since the death of Mr. Bloss."

Mrs. Tibbs looked at the relict of the departed Bloss, and thought
he must have had very little peace in his time. Of course she could
not say so ; so she looked very sympathising.

" I shall be a good deal of trouble to you," said Mrs. Bloss ; " but,
for that trouble I am willing to pay. I am going through a course of
treatment which renders attention necessary. I have one mutton-
chop in bed at half-past eight, and another at ten, every morning."

Mrs. Tibbs, as in duty bound, expressed the pity she felt for any-
body placed in such a distressing situation ; and the carnivorous Mrs.
Bloss proceeded to arrange the various preliminaries with wonderful
despatch. "Now mind," said that lady, after terms were arranged;
" I am to have the second-floor front, for my bedroom ? "

" Yes, ma'am."

" And you'll find room for my little servant Agnes ? "

"Oh! certainly."

" And I can have one of the cellars in the area for my bottled
porter."

" With the greatest pleasure ; — James shall get it ready for you by
Saturday."

" And I'll join the company at the breakfast-table on Sunday morn-
ing," said Mrs. Bloss. " I shall get up on purpose."

" Very well," returned Mrs. Tibbs, in her most amiable tone ; for
satisfactory references had " been given and required," and it was quite
certain that the new-comer had plenty of money. " It's rather
singular," continued Mrs. Tibbs, with what was meant for a most

22O Sketches by Boz.

bewitching smile, " that we have a gentleman now with us, who is in
a very delicate state of health — a Mr. Gobler. His apartment is the
back drawing-room."

" The next room ? " inquired Mrs. Bloss.

" The next room," repeated the hostess.

" How very promiscuous ! " ejaculated the widow.

" He hardly ever gets up," said Mrs. Tibbs in a whisper.

" Lor ! " cried Mrs. Bloss, in an equally low tone.

" And when he is up," said Mrs. Tibbs, " we never can persuade
him to go to bed again."

" Dear me ! " said the astonished Mrs. Blosg, drawing her chair
nearer Mrs. Tibbs. " What is his complaint ? "

" Why, the fact is," replied Mrs. Tibbs, with a most communicative
air, " he has no stomach whatever."

" No what ? " inquired Mrs. Bloss, with a look of the most indescrib-
able alarm.

" No stomach," repeated Mrs. Tibbs, with a shake of the head.

" Lord bless us ! what an extraordinary case ! " gasped Mrs. Bloss,
as if she understood the communication in its literal sense, and was
astonished at a gentleman without a stomach finding it necessary to
board anywhere.

" When I say he has no stomach," explained the chatty little Mrs.
Tibbs, " I mean that his digestion is so much impaired, and his
interior so deranged, that his stomach is not of the least use to him ; —
in fact, it's an inconvenience."

" Never heard such a case in my life ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bloss.
" Why, he's worse than I am."

" Oh, yes ! " replied Mrs. Tibbs ; — " certainly." She said this with
great confidence, for the damson pelisse suggested that Mrs. Bloss, at
all events, was not suffering under Mr. Gobler's complaint.

" You have quite incited my curiosity," said Mrs. Bloss, as she rose
to depart. " How I long to see him ! "

" He generally comes down, once a week," replied Mrs. Tibbs ; " I
dare say you'll see him on Sunday." With this consolatory promise
Mrs. Bloss was obliged to be contented. She accordingly walked
slowly down the stairs, detailing her complaints all the way; and
Mrs. Tibbs followed her, uttering an exclamation of compassion at
every step. James (who looked very gritty, for he was cleaning the
knives) fell up the kitchen-stairs, and opened the street-door; and,
after mutual farewells, Mrs. Bloss slowly departed, down the shady
side of the street.

It is almost superfluous to say, that the lady whom we have just
shown out at the street-door (and whom the two female servants are
now inspecting from the second-floor windows) was exceedingly vulgar,
ignorant, and selfish. Her deceased better-half had been an eminent
cork-cutter, in which capacity he had amassed a decent fortune. He
had no relative but his nephew, and no friend but his cook. The

Arrival of Mrs. Bloss. 221

former bad the insolence one morning to ask for the loan of fifteen
pounds ; and, by way of retaliation, he married the latter next day ;
ho made a will immediately afterwards, containing a burst of honest
indignation against his nephew (who supported himself and two sisters
on 100Z. a year), and a bequest of his whole property to his wife. He
felt ill after breakfast, and died after dinner. There is a mantelpiece-
looking tablet in a civic parish church, setting forth his virtues, and
deploring his loss. He never dishonoured a bill, or gave away a half-
penny.

The relict and sole executrix of this noble-minded man was an odd
mixture of shrewdness and simplicity, liberality and meanness. Bred
up as she had been, she knew no mode of living so agreeable as a
boarding-house ; and having nothing to do, and nothing to wish for,
she naturally imagined she must be very ill — an impression which
was most assiduously promoted by her medical attendant, Dr. Wosky,
and her handmaid Agues : both of whom, doubtless for good reasons,
encouraged all her extravagant notions.

Since the catastrophe recorded in the last chapter, Mrs. Tibbs had
been very shy of young-lady boarders. Her present inmates were all
lords of the creation, and she availed herself of the opportunity of
their assemblage at the dinner-table, to announce the expected arrival
of Mrs. Bloss. The gentlemen received the communication with
stoical indifference, and Mrs. Tibbs devoted all her energies to prepare
for the reception of tho valetudinarian. The second-floor front was
scrubbed, and washed, and flannelled, till the wet went through to the
drawing-room ceiling. Clean white counterpanes, and curtains, and
napkins, water-bottles as clear as crystal, blue jugs, and mahogany
furniture, added to the splendour, and increased the comfort, of tho
apartment. The warming-pan was in constant requisition, and a fire
lighted in the room every day. The chattels of Mrs. Bloss were for-
warded by instalments. First, there came a large hamper of Guinness's
stout, and an umbrella ; then, a train of trunks ; then, a pair of clogs
and a bandbox ; then, an easy-chair with an air-cushion ; then, a
variety of suspicious-looking packages ; and — " though last not least "
— Mrs. Bloss and Agnes : tho latter in a cherry-coloured merino dress,
open-work stockings, and shoes with sandals : like a disguised
Columbine.

The installation of the Duke of Wellington, as Chancellor of the
University of Oxford, was nothing, in point of bustle and turmoil, to
the installation of Mrs. Bloss in her new quarters. True, there was
no bright doctor of civil law to deliver a classical address on the
occasion ; but there were several other old women present, who spoke
quite as much to the purpose, and understood themselves equally well.
The chop-eater was so fatigued with the process of removal that she
declined leaving her room until the following morning ; so a mutton-
chop, pickle, a pill, a pint bottle of stout, and other medicines, were
carried up-stairs for her consumption.

222 Sketches by Bos.

" Why, what do you think, ma'am ? " inquired the inquisitive Agnes
of her mistress, after they had been in the house some three hours ;
" what do you think, ma'am ? the lady of the house is married."

" Married ! " said Mrs. Bloss, taking the pill and a draught of
Guinness — " married ! Unpossible ! "

" She is indeed, ma'am," returned the Columbine ; " and her hus-
band, ma'am, lives — he — he — he — lives in the kitchen, ma'am."

" In the kitchen ! "

" Yes, ma'am : and he — he — he — the housemaid says, he never goes
into the parlour except on Sundays ; and that Mrs. Tibbs makes him
clean the gentlemen's boots; and that he cleans the windows, too,
sometimes ; and that one morning early, when he was in the front
balcony cleaning the drawing-room windows, he called out to a gentle-
man on the opposite side of the way, who used to live here — ' Ah !
Mr. Calton, sir, how are you ? ' ': Here the attendant laughed till
Mrs. Bloss was in serious apprehension of her chuckling herself into
a fit.

" Well, I never ! " said Mrs. Bloss.

" Yes. And please, ma'am, the servants gives him gin-and-water
sometimes ; and then he cries, and says he hates his wife and the
boarders, and wants to tickle them."

" Tickle the boarders ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, seriously alarmed.

" No, ma'am, not the boarders, the servants."

" Oh, is that all ! " said Mrs. Bloss, quite satisfied.

" He wanted to kiss me as I came up the kitchen-stairs, just now,"
said Agnes, indignantly ; " but I gave it him — a little wretch ! "

This intelligence was but too true. A long course of snubbing and
neglect ; his days spent in the kitchen, and his nights in the turn-up
bedstead, had completely broken the little spirit that the unfortunate
volunteer had ever possessed. He had no one to whom he could
detail his injuries but the servants, and they were almost of necessity
his chosen confidants. It is no less strange than true, however, that
the little weaknesses which he had incurred, most probably during
his military career, seemed to increase as his comforts diminished.
He was actually a sort of journeyman Giovanni of the basement
story.

The next morning, being Sunday, breakfast was laid in the front-
parlour at ten o'clock. Nine was the usual time, but the family always
breakfasted an hour later on sabbath. Tibbs enrobed himself in his
Sunday costume — a black coat, and exceedingly short, thin trousers ;
with a very large white waistcoat, white stockings and cravat, and
Blucher boots — and mounted to the parlour aforesaid. Nobody had
come down, and he amused himself by drinking the contents of the
milk-pot with a tea-spoon.

A pair of slippers were heard descending the stairs. Tibbs flew to
a chair ; and a stern-looking man, of about fifty, with very little hair
on his head, and a Sunday paper in his hand, entered the room.

Neiv Set of Boarders. 223

"Good morning, Mr. Evenson," said Tibbs, very humbly, with
something between a nod and a bow.

" How do you do, Mr. Tibbs? " replied he of the slippers, as he sat him-
self down, and began to read his paper without saying another word.

"Is Mr. Wisbottle in town to-day, do you know, sir?" inquired
Tibbs, just for the sake of saying something.

" I should think he was," replied the stern gentleman. " He was
whistling ' The Light Guitar,' in the next room to mine, at five o'clock
this morning."

" He's very fond of whistling," said Tibbs, with a slight smirk.

" Yes — I ain't," was the laconic reply.

Mr. John Evenson was in the receipt of an independent income,
arising chiefly from various houses he owned in the different suburbs.
He was very morose and discontented. Ho was a thorough Radical,
and used to attend a great variety of public meetings, for the express
purpose of finding fault with everything that was proposed. Mr.
Wisbottle, on the other hand, was a high Tory. He was a clerk in
the Woods and Forests Office, which he considered rather an aristo-
cratic employment ; he knew the peerage by heart, and could tell you,
off-hand, where any illustrious personage lived. He had a good set
of teeth, and a capital tailor. Mr. Evenson looked on all these
qualifications with profound contempt ; and the consequence was that
the two were always disputing, much to the edification of the rest of
the house. It should be added, that, in addition to his partiality for
whistling, Mr. Wisbottle had a great idea of his singing powers.
There were two other boarders, besides the gentleman in the back
drawing-room — Mr. Alfred Tomkins and Mr. Frederick O'Bleary.
Mr. Tomkins was a clerk in a wine-house ; he was a connoisseur in
paintings, and had a wonderful eye for the picturesque. Mr. O'Bleary
was an Irishman, recently imported ; he was in a perfectly wild state ;
and had come over to England to be an apothecary, a clerk in a
government office, an actor, a reporter, or anything else that turned
up — he was not particular. He was on familiar terms with two small
Irish members, and got franks for everybody in the house. He felt
convinced that his intrinsic merits must procure him a high destiny.
He wore shepherd's-plaid inexpressibles, and used to look under all
the ladies' bonnets as he walked along the streets. His manners and
appearance reminded one of Orson.

" Here comes Mr. Wisbottle," said Tibbs ; and Mr. Wisbottle forth-
with appeared in blue slippers, and a shawl dressing-gown, whistling
" Di piacer"

" Good morning, sir," said Tibbs again. It was almost the only
thing he ever said to anybody.

" How are you, Tibbs ? '' condescendingly replied the amateur ; and
he walked to the window, and whistled louder than ever.

"Pretty air, that! " said Evenson, with a snarl, and without taking
his eyes off the paper.

224 Sketches by Boz.

'•' Glad you like it," replied Wisbottle, highly gratified.
" Don't you think it would sound better, if you whistled it a little
louder ? " inquired the mastiff.

" No ; I don't think it would," rejoined the unconscious Wisbottle.

" I'll tell you what, Wisbottle," said Evenson, who had been bottling

up his anger for some hours — " the next time you feel disposed to

whistle ' The Light Guitar ' at five o'clock in the morning, I'll trouble

you to whistle it with your head out o' window. If you don't, I'll

learn the triangle — I will, by "

The entrance of Mrs. Tibbs (with the keys in a little basket)
interrupted the threat, and prevented its conclusion.

Mrs. Tibbs apologized for being down rather late; the bell was
rung ; James brought up the urn, and received an unlimited order for
dry toast and bacon. Tibbs sat down at the bottom of the table, and
began eating water-cresses like a Nebuchadnezzar. Mr. O'Bleary
appeared, and Mr. Alfred Tomkins. The compliments of the morning
were exchanged, and the tea was made.

" God bless me ! " exclaimed Tomkins, who had been looking out at
the window. " Here — Wisbottle — pray come here — make haste."
Mr. Wisbottle started from the table, and every one looked up.
" Do you see," said the connoisseur, placing Wisbottle in the right
position — " a little more this way : there — do you see how splendidly the
light falls upon the left side of that broken chimney-pot at No. 48 ? "
" Dear me ! I see," replied Wisbottle, in a tone of admiration.
" I never saw an object stand out so beautifully against the clear
sky in my life," ejaculated Alfred. Everybody (except John Evenson)
echoed the sentiment ; for Mr. Tomkins had a great character for
finding out beauties which no one else could discover — he certainly
deserved it.

"I have frequently observed a chimney-pot in College Green,
Dublin, which has a much better effect," said the patriotic O'Bleary,
who never allowed Ireland to be outdone on any point.

The assertion was received with obvious incredulity, for Mr. Tom-
kins declared that no other chimney-pot in the United Kingdom,
broken or unbroken, could be so beautiful as the one at No. 48.

The room-door was suddenly thrown open, and Agnes appeared
leading in Mrs. Bloss, who was dressed in a geranium-coloured muslin
gown, and displayed a gold watch of huge dimensions ; a chain to
match ; and a splendid assortment of rings, with enormous stones.
A general rush was made for a chair, and a regular introduction took
place. Mr. John Evenson made a slight inclination of the head ; Mr.
Frederick O'Bleary, Mr. Alfred Tomkins, and Mr. Wisbottle, bowed
like the mandarins in a grocer's shop ; Tibbs rubbed hands, and went
round in circles. He was observed, to close one eye, and to assume a
clock-work sort of expression with the other ; this has been considered
as a wink, and it has been reported that Agnes was its object. We
repel the calumny, and challenge contradiction.

General Conversation. 225

Mrs. Tibbs inquired after Mrs. Bloss's health in a low tone. Mrs.
Bless, with a supreme contempt for the memory of Lindley Murray,
answered the various questions in a most satisfactory manner ; and a
pause ensued, during which the eatables disappeared with awful
rapidity.

" You must have been very much pleased with the appearance of
the ladies going to the Drawing-room the other day, Mr. O'Bleary ? "
said Mrs. Tibbs, hoping to start a topic.

" Yes," replied Orson, with a mouthful of toast.

" Never saw anything like it before, I suppose ? " suggested Wis-
bottle.

" No — except the Lord-Lieutenant's levees," replied O'Bleary.

" Are they at all equal to our Drawing-rooms ? "

" Oh, infinitely superior ! "

" Gad ! I don't know," said the aristocratic Wisbottle, " the
Dowager Marchioness of Publiccash was most magnificently dressed,
and so was the Baron Slappeubaohenhausen."

" What was he presented on ? " inquired Evenson.

" On his arrival in England."

" I thought so," growled the Radical ; " you never hear of these
fellows being presented on their going away again. They know
better than that."

" Unless somebody pervades them with an apintment," said Mrs.
Bloss, joining in the conversation in a faint voice.

"Well," said Wisbottle, evading the point, "it's a splendid
sight."

" And did it never occur to you," inquired the Eadical, who never
would be quiet ; " did it never occur to you, that you pay for these
precious ornaments of society ? "

" It certainly has occurred to me," said Wisbottle, who thought this
answer was a poser ; " it lias occurred to me, and I am willing to pay
for them."

" Well, and it has occurred to me too," replied John Evenson, " and
I ain't willing to pay for 'em. Then why should I? — I say, why
should I ? " continued the politician, laying down the paper, and
knocking his knuckles on the table. " There are two great principles
— demand "

" A cup of tea if you please, dear," interrupted Tibbs.

" And supply

"May I trouble you to hand this tea to Mr. Tibbs?" said Mrs.
Tibbs, interrupting the argument, and unconsciously illustrating it.

The thread of the orator's discourse was broken. He drank his tea
and resumed the paper.

" If it's very fine," said Mr. Alfred Tomkius, addressing the company
in general, " I shall ride down to Richmond {o-day, and come back by
the steamer. There are some splendid effects of light and shade on
the Thames ; the contrast between the blueness of the sky and tho

Q

226 Sketches by Bos.

yellow water is frequently exceedingly beautiful." Mr. Wisbottle
hummed, " Flow on, thou shining river."

" We have some splendid steam-vessels in Ireland," said O'Bleary.

" Certainly," said Mrs. Bloss, delighted to find a subject broached
in which she could take part.

" The accommodations are extraordinary," said O'Bleary.

" Extraordinary indeed," returned Mrs. Bloss. " When Mr. Bloss
was alive, he was promiscuously obligated to go to Ireland on business.
I went with him, and raly the manner in which the ladies and gentle-
men were accommodated with berths, is not creditable."

Tibbs, who had been listening to the dialogue, looked aghast, and
evinced a strong inclination to ask a question, but was checked by a
look from his wife. Mr. Wisbottle laughed, and said Tomkins had
made a pun ; and Tomkins laughed too, and said he had not.

The remainder of the meal passed off as breakfasts usually do.
Conversation flagged, and people played with their tea-spoons. The
gentlemen looked out at the window; walked about the room; and,
when they got near the door, dropped off one by one. Tibbs retired
to the back-parlour by his wife's orders, to check the greengrocer's
weekly account ; and ultimately Mrs. Tibbs and Mrs. Bloss were left
alone together.

" Oh dear ! " said the latter, " I feel alarmingly faint ; it's very
singular." (It certainly was, for she had eaten four pounds of solids
that morning.) " By the bye," said Mrs. Bloss, " I have not seen Mr.
What's-his-name yet."

" Mr. Gobler ? " suggested Mrs. Tibbs.

"Yes."

" Oh ! " said Mrs. Tibbs, " he is a most mysterious person. He
has his meals regularly sent up-stairs, and sometimes don't leave his
room for weeks together."

" I haven't seen or heard nothing of him," repeated Mrs. Bloss.

"I dare say you'll hear him to-night," replied Mrs. Tibbs; "he
generally groans a good deal on Sunday evenings."

"I never felt such an interest in anyone in my life," ejaculated
Mrs. Bloss. A little double-knock interrupted the conversation ; Dr.
Wosky was announced, and duly shown in. He was a little man with
a red face, — dressed of course in black, with a stiff white neckerchief.
He had a very good practice, and plenty of money, which he had
amassed by invariably humouring the worst fancies of all the females
of all the families he had ever been introduced into. Mrs. Tibbs
offered to retire, but was entreated to stay.

" Well, my dear ma'am, and how are we ? " inquired Wosky, in a
soothing tone.

" Very ill, doctor — very ill," said Mrs. Bloss, in a whisper.

" Ah ! we must take cafe of ourselves ; — we must, indeed," said the
obsequious Wosky, as he felt the pulse of his interesting patient.

" How is our appetite ? "

Mr. Evenson has made a Discovery. 227

Mrs. Bloss shook her head.

" Our friend requires great caro," said Wosky, appealing to Mrs.
Tibbs, who of course assented. " I hope, however, with the blessing
of Providence, that we shall be enabled to make her quite stout again."
Mrs. Tibbs wondered in her own mind what the patient would bo
when she was made quite stout.

" We must take stimulants," said the cunning Wosky — " plenty of
nourishment, and, above all, wo must keep our nerves quiet ; we
positively must not give way to our sensibilities. We must take all
we can get," concluded the doctor, as he pocketed his fee, " and we
must keep quiet."

" Dear man 1 " exclaimed Mrs. Bloss, as the doctor stepped into his
carriage.

" Charming creature indeed — quite a lady's man ! " said Mrs. Tibbs,
and Dr. Wosky rattled away to make fresh gulls of delicate females,
and pocket fresh fees.

As we had occasion, in a former paper, to describe a dinner at Mrs.
Tibbs's ; and as one meal went off very like another on all ordinary
occasions ; we will not fatigue our readers by entering into any other
detailed account of the domestic economy of the establishment. We
will therefore proceed to events, merely premising that the mysterious
tenant of the back drawing-room was a lazy, selfish hypochondriac ;
always complaining and never ill. As his character in many respects
closely assimilated to that of Mrs. Bloss, a very warm friendship soon
sprung up between them. He was tall, thin, and pale; he always
fancied he had a severe pain somewhere or other, and his face invariably
wore a pinched, screwed-up expression; he looked, indeed, like a
man who had got his feet in a tub of exceedingly hot water, against
his will.

For two or three months after Mrs. Bloss's first appearance in
Coram Street, John Evenson was observed to become, every day, more
sarcastic and more ill-natured ; and there was a degree of additional
importance in his manner, which clearly showed that he fancied he
had discovered something, which he only wanted a proper opportunity
of divulging. He found it at last.

One evening, the different inmates of the house were assembled in
the drawing-room engaged in their ordinary occupations. Mr. Goblcr
and Mrs. Bloss were sitting at a small card-table near the centre
window, playing cribbage ; Mr. Wisbottle was describing semicircles
on the music-stool, turning over the leaves of a book on the piano, and
humming most melodiously ; Alfred Tomkins was sitting at the round
table, with his elbows duly squared, making a pencil sketch of a head
considerably larger than his own ; O'Bleary was reading Horace, and
trying to look as if he understood it ; and John Evenson had drawn
his chair close to Mrs. Tibbs's work-table, and was talking to her
very earnestly in a low tone.

" I can assure you, Mrs. Tibbs," said the Radical, laying his fore-

228 Sketches by Bos.

finger on the muslin she was at work on ; "I can assure you, Mrs.
Tibbs, that nothing but the interest I take in your welfare would
induce me to make this communication. I repeat, I fear Wisbottle is
endeavouring to gain the affections of that young woman, Agnes, and
that he is in the habit of meeting her in the store-room on the first
floor, over the leads. From my bedroom I distinctly heard voices
there, last night. I opened my door immediately, and crept very
softly on to the landing ; there I saw Mr. Tibbs, who, it seems, had
been disturbed also. — Bless me, Mrs. Tibbs, you change colour ! "

" No, no — it's nothing," returned Mrs. T. in a hurried manner ;
" it's only the heat of the room."

" A flush ! " ejaculated Mrs. Bloss from the card-table ; " that's
good for four."

" If I thought it was Mr. Wisbottle," said Mrs. Tibbs, after a pause,
" he should leave this house instantly."

" Go ! " said Mrs. Bloss again.

" And if I thought," continued the hostess with a most threatening
air, " if I thought he was assisted by Mr. Tibbs "

" One for his nob ! " said Gobler.

"Oh," said Evenson, in a most soothing tone — he liked to make
mischief — " I should hope Mr. Tibbs was not in any way implicated.
He always appeared to me very harmless."

" I have generally found him so," sobbed poor little Mrs. Tibbs ;
crying like a watering-pot.

" Hush ! hush ! pray — Mrs. Tibbs — consider — we shall be observed
— pray, don't ! " said John Evenson, fearing his whole plan would be
interrupted. " We will set the matter at rest with the utmost care,
and I shall be most happy to assist you in doing so."

Mrs. Tibbs murmured her thanks.

" When you think everyone has retired to rest to-night," said
Evenson very pompously, "if you'll meet me without a light, just
outside my bedroom-door, by the staircase-window, I think we can
ascertain who the parties really are, and you will afterwards be
enabled to proceed as you think proper."

Mrs. Tibbs was easily persuaded; her curiosity was excited, her
jealousy was roused, and the arrangement was forthwith made. She
resumed her work, and John Evenson walked up and down the room
with his hands in his pockets, looking as if nothing had happened.
The game of cribbage was over, and conversation began again.

" Well, Mr. O'Bleary," said the humming-top, turning round on
his pivot, and facing the company, " what did you think of Va'uxhall
the other night ? "

" Oh, it's very fair," replied Orson, who had been enthusiastically
delighted with the whole exhibition.

" Never saw anything like that Captain Ross's set-out — eh ? "

" No," returned the patriot, with his usual reservation — " except in
Dublin."

Diversity of Opinion. 229

"I saw tho Count de Canky and Captain Fitzthompson in the
Gardens," said Wisbottle : " they appeared much delighted."

" Then it must be beautiful," snarled Evenson.

" I think the white boars is partickerlerly well done," suggested
Mrs. Bloss. " In their shaggy white coats, they look just like Polar
bears — don't you think they do, Mr. Evenson ? "

"I think they look a great deal more like omnibus cads on all
fours," replied the discontented one.

" Upon tho whole, I should have liked our evening very well,"
gasped Gobler ; " only I caught a desperate cold which increased my
pain dreadfully ! I was obliged to have several shower-baths, before
I could leave my room."

" Capital things those shower-baths ! " ejaculated Wisbottle.

" Excellent ! " said Tomkins.

" Delightful ! " chimed in O'Bleary. (He had once seen one, outside
a tinman's.)

" Disgusting machines ! " rejoined Evenson, who extended his dis-
like to almost every created object, masculine, feminine, or neuter.

" Disgusting, Mr. Evenson ! " said Gobler, in a tone of strong
indignation. — " Disgusting ! Look at their utility — consider how
many lives they have saved by promoting perspiration."

" Promoting perspiration, indeed," growled John Evenson, stopping
short in his walk across the large squares in the pattern of the carpet
— "I was ass enough to be persuaded some time ago to have one in
my bedroom. 'Gad, I was in it once, and it effectually cured me, for
the mere sight of it threw me into a profuse perspiration for six
months afterwards."

A titter followed this announcement, and before it had subsided
James brought up " the tray," containing the remains of a leg of lamb
which had made its debut at dinner ; bread ; cheese ; an atom of butter
in a forest of parsley ; one pickled walnut and the third of another ;
and so forth. The boy disappeared, and returned again with another
tray, containing glasses and jugs of hot and cold water. The gentle-
men brought in their spirit-bottles; the housemaid placed divers
plated bedroom candlesticks under the card-table; and the servants
retired for the night.

Chairs were drawn round the table, and the conversation proceeded
in the customary manner. John Evenson, who never ate supper,
lolled on the sofa, and amused himself by contradicting everybody.
O'Bleary ate" as much as he could conveniently carry, and Mrs. Tibbs
felt a due degree of indignation thereat ; Mr. Gobler and Mrs. Bloss
conversed most affectionately on the subject of pill-taking, and other
innocent amusements ; and Tomkins and Wisbottle " got into an
argument ; " that is to say, they both talked very loudly and vehe-
mently, each flattering himself that he had got some advantage about
something, and neither of them having more than a very indistinct
idea, of what they were talking about. An hour or two passed away j

230 Sketches by Box.

and the boarders and the brass candlesticks retired in pairs to their
respective bedrooms. John Evenson pulled off his boots, locked his
door, and determined to sit up until Mr. Gobler had retired. He
always sat in the drawing-room an hour after everybody else had left
it, taking medicine, and groaning.

Great Coram Street was hushed into a state of profound repose : it
was nearly two o'clock. A hackney-coach now and then rumbled
slowly by ; and occasionally some stray lawyer's clerk, on his way
home to Somers Town, struck his iron heel on the top of the coal-
cellar with a noise resembling the click of a smoke-jack. A low,
monotonous, gushing sound was heard, which added considerably to
the romantic dreariness of the scene, it was the water " coming in "
at number eleven.

" He must be asleep by this time," said John Evenson to himself,
after waiting with exemplary patience for nearly an hour after Mr.
Gobler had left the drawing-room. He listened for a few moments ;
the house was perfectly quiet; he extinguished his rushlight, and
opened his bedroom-door The staircase was so dark that it was
impossible to see anything.

"S — s — s!" whispered the mischief-maker, making a noise like
the first indication a Catherine-wheel gives of the probability of it&
going off.

" Hush ! " whispered somebody else.

" Is that you, Mrs. Tibbs ? "

" Yes, sir."

" Where ? "

"Here ; " and the misty outline of Mrs. Tibbs appeared at the staircase-
window, like the ghost of Queen Anne in the tent-scene in Eichard.

" This way, Mrs. Tibbs," whispered the delighted busybody : " give
me your hand — there! Whoever these people are, they are in the
storeroom now, for I have been looking down from my window, and
I could see that they accidentally upset their candlestick, and are now
in darkness. You have no shoes on, have you ? "

" No," said little Mrs. Tibbs, who could hardly speak for trembling.

" Well ; I have taken my boots off, so we can go down, close to the
storeroom-door, and listen over the banisters ; " and down-stairs they
both crept accordingly, every board creaking like a patent mangle on
a Saturday afternoon.

"It's Wisbottle and somebody, I'll swear," exclaimed the Eadical
in an energetic whisper, when they had listened for a few moments.

" Hush — pray let's hear what they say ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs, the
gratification of whose curiosity was now paramount to every other
consideration.

" Ah ! if I could but believe you," said a female voice coquettishly,
" I'd be bound to settle my missis for life."

" What does she say ? " inquired Mr. Evenson, who was not quite
so well situated as his companion,

General Bewilderment. 231

" She says she'll settle her missis's life," replied Mrs. Tibbs. " The
wretch ! they're plotting murder."

" I know you want money," continued the voice, which belonged to
Agnes ; " and if you'd secure me the five hundred pound, I warrant
she should take fire soon enough."

"What's that?" inquired Evenson again. He could just hear
enough to want to hear more.

" I think she says she'll set the house on fire," replied the affrighted
Mrs. Tibbs. " But thank God I'm insured in the Phoenix ! "

" The moment I have secured your mistress, my dear," said a man's
voice in a strong Irish brogue, "you may depend on having the
money."

" Bless my soul, it's Mr. O'Bleary ! '' exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs, in a
parenthesis.

" The villain ! " said the indignant Mr. Evenson.

" The first thing to be done," continued the Hibernian, " is to poison
Mr. Gobler's mind."

" Oh, certainly," returned Agnes.

"What's that?" inquired Evensou again, in an agony of curiosity
and a whisper.

" He says she's to mind and poison Mr. Gobler," replied Mrs. Tibbs,
aghast at this sacrifice of human life.

" And in regard of Mrs. Tibbs," continued O'Bleary. — Mrs. Tibbs
shuddered.

" Hush ! " exclaimed Agnes, in a tone of the greatest alarm, just as
Mrs. Tibbs was on the extreme verge of a fainting fit. " Hush ! "

" Hush ! " exclaimed Evenson, at the same moment to Mrs. Tibbs.

" There's somebody coming ttp-stairs," said Agnes to O'Bleary.

"There's somebody coming dowm-stairs," whispered Evenson to
Mrs. Tibbs.

" Go into the parlour, sir," said Agnes to her companion. " You will
get there, before whoever it is, gets to the top of the kitchen-stairs."

" The drawing-room, Mrs. Tibbs ! " whispered the astonished
Evenson to his equally astonished companion ; and for the drawing-
room they both made, plainly hearing the rustling of two persons, one
coming down-stairs, and one coming up.

" What can it be ? " exclaimed Mrs. Tibbs. " It's like a dream. I
wouldn't be found in this situation for the world ! "

" Nor I," returned Evenson, who could never bear a joke at his own
expense. " Hush ! here they are at the door."

" What fun ! " whispered one of the new-comers. — It was Wisbottle.

" Glorious ! " replied his companion, in an equally low tone. — This
was Alfred Tomkins. " Who would have thought it ? "

"I told you so," said Wisbottle, in a most knowing whisper.
" Lord bless you, he has paid her most extraordinary attention for
the last two months. I saw 'em when I was sitting at the piano
to-night,"

232 Sketches by Boz.

" Well, do you know I didn't notice it ? " interrupted Tomkins.

" Not notice it ! " continued Wisbottle. " Bless you ; I saw him
whispering to her, and she crying ; and then I'll swear I heard him
say something about to-night when we were all in bed."

" They're talking of us ! " exclaimed the agonised Mrs. Tibbs, as
the painful suspicion, and a sense of their situation, flashed upon her
mind.

" I know it — I know it," replied Evenson, with a melancholy con-
sciousness that there was no mode of escape.

" What's to be done ? we cannot both stop here ! " ejaculated Mrs.
Tibbs, in a state of partial derangement.

" I'll get up the chimney," replied Evenson, who really meant what
he said.

"You can't," said Mrs. Tibbs, in despair. "You can't— it's a
register stove."

" Hush ! " repeated John Evenson.

" Hush — hush ! " cried somebody down-stairs.

" What a d — d hushing ! " said Alfred Tomkins, who began to get
rather bewildered.

" There they are ! " exclaimed the sapient Wisbottle, as a rustling
noise was heard in the storeroom.

" Hark ! " whispered both the young men.

" Hark ! " repeated Mrs. Tibbs and Evenson.

" Let me alone, sir," said a female voice in the storeroom.

" Oh, Hagnes ! " cried another voice, which clearly belonged to
Tibbs, for nobody else ever owned one like it. " Oh, Hagnes — lovely
creature ! "

" Be quiet, sir ! " (A bounce.)

"Hag-

" Be quiet, sir — I am ashamed of you. Think of your wife, Mr.
Tibbs. Be quiet, sir ! "

" My wife ! " exclaimed the valorous Tibbs, who was clearly under
the influence of gin-and-water, and a misplaced attachment ; " I ate
her ! Oh, Hagnes ! when I was in the volunteer corps, in eighteen
hundred and "

" I declare I'll scream. Be quiet, sir, will you ? " (Another bounce
and a scuffle.)

" What's that ? " exclaimed Tibbs, with a start.

" What's what ? " said Agnes, stopping short.

" Why, that ! "

"Ah! you have done it nicely now, sir," sobbed the frightened
Agnes, as a tapping was hoard at Mrs. Tibbs's bedroom door, which
would have beaten any dozen woodpeckers hollow.

" Mrs. Tibbs ! Mrs. Tibbs ! " called out Mrs. Bloss. " Mrs. Tibbs,
pray get up." (Here the imitation of a woodpecker was resumed with
tenfold violence.)

" Oh, dear — dear ! " exclaimed the wretched partner of the depraved

Denouement. 233

Tibbs. "She's knocking at my door. We must be discovered!
What will they think ? "

" Mrs. Tibbs ! Mrs. Tibbs ! " screamed the woodpecker again.

" What's the matter ? " shouted Gobler, bursting out of the back
drawing-room, like the dragon at Astley's.

" Oh, Mr. Gobler ! " cried Mrs. Bloss, with a proper approximation
to hysterics ; " I think the house is on fire, or else there's thieves in
it. I have heard the most dreadful noises ! "

" The devil you have ! " shouted Gobler again, bouncing back into
his den, in happy imitation of the aforesaid dragon, and returning
immediately with a lighted candle. " Why, what's this ? Wisbottle !
Tomkins ! O'Bleary ! Agnes ! What the deuce ! all up and
dressed ? "

" Astonishing ! " said Mrs. Bloss, who had run down-stairs, and
taken Mr. Gobler's arm.

" Call Mrs. Tibbs directly, somebody," said Gobler, turning into the
front drawing-room. — " What ? Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson ! ! "

" Mrs. Tibbs and Mr. Evenson ! " repeated everybody, as that un-
happy pair were discovered : Mrs. Tibbs seated in an arm-chair by
the fireplace, and Mr. Evenson standing by her side.

We must leave the scene that ensued to the reader's imagination.
We could tell, how Mrs. Tibbs forthwith fainted away, and how it
required the united strength of Mr. Wisbottle and Mr. Alfred Tomkins
to hold her in her chair ; how Mr. Evenson explained, and how his
explanation was evidently disbelieved ; how Agnes repelled the accu-
sations of Mrs. Tibbs by proving that she was negotiating with Mr.
O'Bleary to influence her mistress's affections in his behalf ; and how
Mr. Gobler threw a damp counterpane on the hopes of Mr. O'Bleary
by avowing that he (Gobler) had already proposed to, and been
accepted by, Mrs. Bloss ; how Agnes was discharged from that lady's
service ; how Mr. O'Bleary discharged himself from Mrs. Tibbs's
house, without going through the form of previously discharging his
bill ; and how that disappointed young gentleman rails against
England and the English, and vows there is no virtue or fine feeling
extant, " except in Ireland." We repeat that we could tell all this,
but we love to exercise our self-denial, and we therefore prefer leaving
it to be imagined.

The lady whom we have hitherto described as Mrs. Bloss, is no
more. Mrs. Gobler exists : Mrs. Bloss has left us for ever. In a
secluded retreat in Newington Butts, far, far removed from the noisy
strife of that great boarding-house, the world, the enviable Gobler and
his pleasing wife revel in retirement: happy in their complaints,
their table, and their medicine ; wafted through life by the grateful
prayers of all the purveyors of animal food within three miles round.

We would willingly stop here, but we have a painful duty imposed
upon us, which we must discharge. Mr. and Mi's. Tibbs have
separated by mutual consent, Mrp. Tibbs receiving one moiety of

234 Sketches by Bos.

43Z. 15s. lOd., which we before stated to be the amount of her husband's
annual income, and Mr. Tibbs the other. He is spending the evening
of his days in retirement; and he is spending also, annually, that
small but honourable independence. He resides among the original
settlers at Walworth; and it has been stated, on unquestionable
authority, that the conclusion of the volunteer story has been heard in
a small tavern in that respectable neighbourhood.

The unfortunate Mrs. Tibbs has determined to dispose of the whole
of her furniture by public auction, and to retire from a residence in
which she has suffered so much. Mr. Eobins has been applied to, to
conduct the sale, and the transcendent abilities of the literary gentle-
men connected with his establishment are now devoted to the task of
drawing up the preliminary advertisement. It is to contain, among a
variety of brilliant matter, seventy-eight words in large capitals, and
six original quotations in inverted commas.

CHAPTEE II.

MR. MINNS AND HIS COUSIN.

MR. AUGUSTUS MINNS was a bachelor, of about forty as he said — of
about eight-and-forty as his friends said. He was always exceedingly
clean, precise, and tidy ; perhaps somewhat priggish, and the most
retiring man in the world. He usually wore a brown frock-coat with-
out a wrinkle, light inexplicables without a spot, a neat neckerchief
with a remarkably neat tie, and boots without a fault ; moreover, he
always carried a brown silk umbrella with an ivory handle. He was
a clerk in Somerset House, or, as he said himself, he held " a respon-
sible situation under Government." He had a good and increasing
salary, in addition to some 10,OOOZ. of his own (invested in the funds),
and he occupied a first floor in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, where
he had resided for twenty years, having been in the habit of quarrelling
with his landlord the whole time : regularly giving notice of his inten-
tion to quit on the first day of every quarter, and as regularly counter-
manding it on the second. There were two classes of created objects
which he held in the deepest and most unmingled horror ; these were
dogs, and children. He was not unamiable, but he could, at any time,
have viewed the execution of a dog, or the assassination of an infant,
with the liveliest satisfaction. Their habits were at variance with his
love of order ; and his love of order was as powerful as his love of
life. Mr. Augustus Minns had no relations, in or near London, with
the exception of his cousin, Mr. Octavius Budden, to whose son, whom
he had never seen (for he disliked the father) he had consented to
become godfather by proxy. Mr. Budden having realised a moderate

Mr. Budden. 235

fortune by exercising the trade or calling of a corn-chandler, and
having a great predilection for the country, had purchased a cottage
in the vicinity of Stamford Hill, whither he retired with the wife of
his bosom, and his only son, Master Alexander Augustus Budden.
One evening, as Mr. and Mrs. B. were admiring their son, discussing
his various merits, talking over his education, and disputing whether
the classics should be made an essential part thereof, the lady pressed
so strongly upon her husband the propriety of cultivating the friend-
ship of Mr. Minns in behalf of their son, that Mr. Budden at last made
up his mind, that it should not be his fault if he and his cousin were
not in future more intimate.

" I'll break the ice, my love," said Mr. Budden, stirring up the sugar
at the bottom of his glass of brandy-and-water, and casting a sidelong
look at his spouse to see the effect of the announcement of his deter-
mination, " by asking Minns down to dine with us, on Sunday."

" Then, pray Budden write to your cousin at once," replied Mrs.
Budden. " Who knows, if we could only get him down here, but he
might take a fancy to our Alexander, and leave him his property ? —
Alick, my dear, take your legs off the rail of the chair ! "

" Very true," said Mr. Budden, musing, " very true, indeed, my love! "

On the following morning, as Mr. Minns was sitting at his breakfast-
table, alternately biting his dry toast and casting a look upon the
columns of his morning paper, which he always read from the title to
the printer's name, he heard a loud knock at the street-door ; which
was shortly afterwards followed by the entrance of his servant, who put
into his hand a particularly small card, on which was engraved in
immense letters, " Mr. Octavius Budden, Amelia Cottage (Mrs. B.'s
name was Amelia), Poplar Walk, Stamford Hill."

" Budden ! " ejaculated Mir ns, " what can bring that vulgar man
here ! — say I'm asleep — say I'm out, and shall never be home again —
anything to keep him down-stairs."

" But please, sir, the gentleman's coming up," replied the servant,
and the fact was made evident, by an appalling creaking of boots on
the staircase accompanied by a pattering noise ; the cause of which,
Minns could not, for the life of him divine.

" Hem — show the gentleman in," said the unfortunate bachelor.
Exit servant, and enter Octavius preceded by a large white dog,
dressed in a suit of fleecy hosiery, with pink eyes, large ears, and no
perceptible tail.

The cause of the pattering on the stairs was but too plain. Mr.
Augustus Minns staggered beneath the shock of the dog's appearance.

" My dear fellow, how are you ? " said Budden, as he entered.

He always spoke at the top of his voice, and always said the same
thing half-a-dozen times.

" How are you, my hearty '? "

" How do you do, Mr. Budden ? — pray take a chair ! " politely
stammered the discomfited Minns.

236 Sketches by Boz.

" Thank you — thank you — well — how are you, eh ? "

" Uncommonly well, thank you," said Minns, casting a diabolical
look at the dog, who, with, his hind-legs on the floor, and his fore-paws
resting on the table, was dragging a bit of bread-and-butter out of a
plate, preparatory to devouring it, with the buttered side next the
carpet.

" Ah, you rogue ! " said Budden to his dog ; " you see, Minns, he's
like me, always at home, eh, my boy? — Egad, I'm precious hot
and hungry! I've walked all the way from Stamford Hill this
morning."

" Have you breakfasted ? " inquired Minns.

" Oh, no ! — came to breakfast with you ; so ring the bell, my dear
fellow, will you ? and let's have another cup and saucer, and the cold
ham. — Make myself at home, you see ! " continued Budden, dusting
his boots with a table-napkin. " Ha ! — ha! — ha ! — 'pon my life, I'm
hungry."

Minns rang the bell, and tried to smile.

" I decidedly never was so hot in my life," continued Octavius,
wiping his forehead ; "well, but how are you, Minns? Ton my soul,
you wear capitally ! "

" D'ye think so ? " said Minns ; and he tried another smile.

" Ton my life, I do ! "

" Mrs. B. and — what's his name — quite well ? "

" Alick — my son, you mean ; never better — never better. But at
such a place as we've got at Poplar Walk, you know, he couldn't be ill
if he tried. When I first saw it, by Jove ! it looked so knowing, with
the front garden, and the green railings, and the brass knocker, and all
that — I really thought it was a cut above me."

"Don't you think you'd like the ham better," interrupted Minns.
" if you cut it the other way ? " He saw, with feelings which it is
impossible to describe that his visitor was cutting or rather maiming
the ham, in utter violation of all established rules.

" No, thank ye," returned Budden, with the most barbarous indif-
ference to crime, " I prefer it this way, it eats short But I say, Minns,
when will you come down and see us? You will be delighted with
the place ; I know you will. Amelia and I were talking about you
the other night, and Amelia said — another lump of sugar, please ;
thank ye — she said, don't you think you could contrive, my dear, to
say to Mr. Minns, in a friendly way — come down, sir — damn the dog !
he's spoiling your curtains, Minns — ha ! — ha ! — ha ! " Minns leaped
from his seat as though he had received the discharge from a galvanic
battery.

" Come out, sir ! — go out, hoo ! " cried poor Augustus, keeping
nevertheless, at a very respectful distance from the dog ; having read of
a case of hydrophobia in the paper of that morning. By dint of great
exertion, much shouting, and a marvellous deal of poking under the
tables with a stick and umbrella, the dog was at last dislodged, and

Mr. Minns invited to Mr. Sudden's. 237

placed on the landing outside the door, where he immediately com-
menced a most appalling howling; at the same time vehemently
scratching the paint off the two nicely-varnished bottom panels, until
they resembled the interior of a backgammon-board.

" A good dog for the country that ! " coolly observed Budden to the
distracted Minns, " but he's not much used to confinement. But now,
Minns, when will you come down ? I'll take no denial, positively.
Let's see, to-day's Thursday. — Will you come on Sunday ? We dine
at five, don't say no — do."

After a great deal of pressing, Mr. Augustus Minns, driven to
despair, accepted the invitation, and promised to be at Poplar Walk on
the ensuing Sunday, at a quarter before five to the minute.

" Now mind the direction," said Budden : the coach goes from the
Flower-pot, in Bishopsgate Street, every half-hour. When the coach
stops at the Swan, you'll see, immediately opposite you, a white
house."

"Which is your house — I understand," said Minns, wishing to cut
ishort the visit, and the story, at the same time.

" No, no, that's not mine ; that's Grogus's, the great ironmonger's.
I was going to say — you turn down by the side of the white house till
you can't go another step further — mind that ! — and then you turn to
your right, by some stables — well ; close to you, you'll see a wall with
' Beware of the Dog ' written on it in large letters — (Minns shuddered)
— go along by the side of that wall for about a quarter of a mile — and
anybody will show you which is my place."

' Very well — thank ye — good-bye."

' Be punctual."

' Certainly : good morning."

' I say, Minns, you've got a card."

' Yes, I have ; thank ye." And Mr. Octavius Budden departed
leaving his cousin looking forward to his visit on the following Sunday,
with the feelings of a penniless poet to the weekly visit of his Scotch
landlady.

Sunday arrived ; the sky was bright and clear ; crowds of people
were hurrying along the streets, intent on their different schemes of
pleasure for the day ; everything and everybody looked cheerful and
happy except Mr. Augustus Minns.

The day was fine, but the heat was considerable ; when Mr. Minns
had fagged up the shady side of Fleet Street, Cheapside, and Thread-
needle Street, he had become pretty warm, tolerably dusty, and it was
getting late into the bargain. By the most extraordinary good fortune,
however, a coach was waiting at the Flower-pot, into which Mr.
Augustus Minns got, on the solemn assurance of the cad that the
vehicle would start in three minutes — that being the very utmost ex-
tremity of time it was allowed to wait by Act of Parliament. A quarter
of an hour elapsed, and there were no signs of moving. Minns looked
at his watch for the sixth time.

238 Sketches by Boz.

" Coachman, are you going or not ? " bawled Mr. Minns, with his
head and half his body out of the coach- window.

" Di — rectly, sir," said the coachman, with his hands in his pockets,
looking as much unlike a man in a hurry as possible.

" Bill, take them cloths off." Five minutes more elapsed : at the
end of which time the coachman mounted the box, from whence he
looked down the street, and up the street, and hailed all the pedestrians
for another five minutes.

" Coachman ! if you don't go this moment, I shall get out." said Mr.
Minns, rendered desperate by the lateness of the hour, and the impos-
sibility of being in Poplar Walk at the appointed time.

" Going this minute, sir," was the reply ; — and, accordingly, the
machine trundled on for a couple of hundred yards, and then stopped
again. Minns doubled himself up in a corner of the coach, and
abandoned himself to his fate, as a child, a mother, a bandbox and a
parasol, became his fellow-passengers.

The child was an affectionate and an amiable infant ; the little dear
mistook Minns for his other parent, and screamed to embrace him.

" Be quiet, dear," said the mamma, restraining the impetuosity of the
darling, whose little fat legs were kicking, and stamping, and twining
themselves into the most complicated forms, in an ecstasy of impatience.
" Be quiet, dear, that's not your papa."

" Thank Heaven I am not ! " thought Minns, as the first gleam of
pleasure he had experienced that morning shone like a meteor through
his wretchedness.

Playfulness was agreeably mingled with affection in the disposition
of the boy. When satisfied that Mr. Minns was not his parent, he
endeavoured to attract his notice by scraping his drab trousers with
his dirty shoes, poking his chest with his mamma's parasol, and other
nameless endearments peculiar to infancy, with which he beguiled the
tediousness of the ride, apparently very much to his own satisfaction.

When the unfortunate gentleman arrived at the Swan, he found to
his great dismay, that it was a quarter-past five. The white house,
the stables, the " Beware of the Dog," — every landmark was passed,
with a rapidity not unusual to a gentleman of a certain age when too
late for dinner. After the lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Minns found
himself opposite a yellow-brick house with a green door, brass knocker,
and door-plate, green window-frames and ditto railings, with " a
garden " in front, that is to say, a small loose bit of gravelled ground,
with one round and two scalene triangular beds, containing a fir-tree,
twenty or thirty bulbs, and an unlimited number of marigolds. The
taste of Mr. and Mrs. Budden was further displayed by the appearance
of a Cupid on each side of the door, perched upon a heap of large
chalk flints, variegated with pink conch-shells. His knock at the
door was answered by a stumpy boy, in drab livery, cotton stockings
and high-lows, who, after hanging his hat on one of the dozen brass
pegs which ornamented the passage, denominated by courtesy " The

Mr. Budded s Guests. 239

Hall," ushered him into a front drawing-room commanding a very
extensive view of the backs of the neighbouring houses. The usual
ceremony of introduction, and so forth, over, Mr. Minns took his
seat : not a little agitated at finding that he was the last comer, and,
somehow or other, the Lion of about a dozen people, sitting together
in a small drawing-room, getting rid of that most tedious of all time,
the time preceding dinner.

" Well, Brogson," said Budden, addressing an elderly gentleman in
a black coat, drab knee-breeches, and long gaiters, who, under pretence
of inspecting the prints in an Annual, had been engaged in satisfying
himself on the subject of Mr. Minns's general appearance, by looking
at him over the tops of the leaves — " Well, Brogson, what do Ministers
mean to do ? Will they go out, or what ? "

" Oh — why — really, you know, I'm the last person in the world to
ask for news. Your cousin, from his situation, is the most likely
person to answer the question."

Mr. Minns assured the last speaker, that although he was in
Somerset House, he possessed no official communication relative to the
projects of his Majesty's Ministers. But his remark was evidently
received incredulously ; and no further conjectures being hazarded on
the subject, a long pause ensued, during which the company occupied
themselves in coughing and blowing their noses, until the entrance of
Mrs. Budden caused a general rise.

The ceremony of introduction being over, dinner was announced,
and down-stairs the party proceeded accordingly — Mr. Minns escorting
Mrs. Budden as far as the drawing-room door, but being prevented,
by the narrowness of the staircase, from extending his gallantry any
farther. The dinner passed off as such dinners usually do. Ever and
anon, amidst the clatter of knives and forks, and the hum of conversa-
tion, Mr. B.'s voice might be heard, asking a friend to take wine, and
assuring him he was glad to see him ; and a great deal of by-play took
place between Mrs. B. and the servants, respecting the removal of the
dishes, during which her countenance assumed all the variations of a
weather-glass, from " stormy " to " set fair."

Upon the dessert and wine being placed on the table, the servant, in
compliance with a significant look from Mrs. B., brought down
" Master Alexander," habited in a sky-blue suit with silver buttons ;
and possessing hair of nearly the same colour as the metal. After
sundry praises from his mother, and various admonitions as to his
behaviour from his father, he was introduced to his godfather.

" Well, my little fellow — you are a fine boy, ain't you ? " said Mr.
Minns, as happy as a tomtit on birdlime.

" Yes."

" How old are you ? "

" Eight, next We'nsday. How old are you ? "

" Alexander," interrupted his mother, " how dare you ask Mr.
Minns how old he is ! "

240 Sketches by Boz.

" He asked me how old I was," said the precocious child, to whom
Minns had from that moment internally resolved that he never would
bequeath one shilling. As soon as the titter occasioned by the observa-
tion, had subsided, a little smirking man with red whiskers, sitting at
the bottom of the table, who during the whole of dinner had been
endeavouring to obtain a listener to some stories about Sheridan,
called out, with a very patronising air, " Alick, what part of speech
is be."

« A verb."

" That's a good boy," said Mrs. Budden, with all a mother's pride.
" Now, you know what a verb is ? "

" A verb is a word which signifies to be, to do, or to suffer ; as, I
am — I rule — I am ruled. Give me an apple, Ma."

" I'll give you an apple," replied the man with the red whiskers,
who was an established friend of the family, or in other words was
always invited by Mrs. Budden, whether Mr. Budden liked it or not,
" if you'll tell me what is the meaning of be"

" Be ? " said the prodigy, after a little hesitation — " an insect that
gathers honey."

" No, dear," frowned Mrs. Budden ; " B double E is the substantive."

" I don't think he knows much yet about common substantives," said
the smirking gentleman, who thought this an admirable opportunity
for letting off a joke. " It's clear he's not very well acquainted with
proper names. He ! he ! he ! "

" Gentlemen," called out Mr. Budden, from the end of the table, in
a stentorian voice, and with a very important air, " will you have the
goodness to charge your glasses ? I have a toast to propose."

" Hear ! hear ! " cried the gentlemen, passing the decanters. After
they had made the round of the table, Mr. Budden proceeded —
" Gentlemen ; there is an individual present "

" Hear ! hear ! " said the little man with red whiskers.

" Pray be quiet, Jones," remonstrated Budden.

"I say, gentlemen, there is an individual present," resumed the
host, " in whose society, I am sure we must take great delight — and —
and — the conversation of that individual must have afforded to every
one present, the utmost pleasure." [" Thank Heaven, he does not
mean me ! " thought Minns, conscious that his diffidence and ex-
clusiveness had prevented his saying above a dozen words since he
entered the house.] " Gentlemen, I am but a humble individual myself,
and I perhaps ought to apologise for allowing any individual feelings
of friendship and affection for the person I allude to, to induce mo to
venture to rise, to propose the health of that person — a person that, I
am sure — that is to say, a person whose virtues must endear him to
those who know him — and those who have not the pleasure of know-
ing him, cannot dislike him."

" Hear ! hear ! " said the company, in a tone of encouragement and
approval.

Toasts. 241

"Gentlemen," continued Budden, "my cousin is a man who — who
as a relation of my own." (Hear! hear!) Minns groaned audibly.
" Who I am most happy to see here, and who, if he were not here,
would certainly have deprived us of the great pleasure we all feel in
seeing him. (Loud cries of hear!) Gentlemen, I feel that I have
already trespassed on your attention for too long a time. With every
feeling — of — with every sentiment of — of "

" Gratification " — suggested the friend of the family.

" —Of gratification, I beg to propose the health of Mr. Minns."

" Standing, gentlemen ! " shouted the indefatigable little man with
the whiskers — " and with the honours. Take your time from me, if
you please. Hip! hip! hip! — Za! — Hip! hip! hip! — Za! — Hip!
hip !— Za— a— a ! "

All eyes were now fixed on the subject of the toast, who by gulping
down port wine at the imminent hazard of suffocation, endeavoured to
conceal his confusion. After as long a pause as decency would admit,
he rose, but, as the newspapers sometimes say in their reports, " we
regret that we are quite unable to give even the substance of the
honourable gentleman's observations." The words " present company
— honour — present occasion," and " great happiness " — heard occa-
sionally, and repeated at intervals, with a countenance expressive of
the utmost confusion and misery, convinced the company that he was
making an excellent speech ; and, accordingly, on his resuming his
seat, they cried " Bravo ! " and manifested tumultuous applause. Jones,
who had been long watching his opportunity, then darted up.

" Budden," said he, " will you allovr me to propose a toast ? "

"Certainly," replied Budden, adding in an undertone to Minus
right across the table. " Devilish sharp fellow that : you'll be very
much pleased with his speech. He talks equally well on any subject."
Minns bowed, and Mr. Jones proceeded —

" It has on several occasions, in various instances, under many
circumstances, and in different companies, fallen to my lot to propose
a toast to those by whom, at the time, I have had the honour to be
surrounded. I have sometimes, I will cheerfully own — for why
should I deny it ? — felt the overwhelming nature of the task I have
undertaken, and my own utter incapability to do justice to the subject.
If such have been my feelings, however, on former occasions, what
must they be now — now — under the extraordinary circumstances in
which I am placed. (Hear! hear!) To describe my feelings
accurately, would be impossible ; but I cannot give you a better idea
of them, gentlemen, than by referring to a circumstance which happens,
oddly enough, to occur to my mind at the moment. On one occasion,
when that truly great and illustrious man, Sheridan, was

Now, there is no knowing what new villainy in the form of a joke
would have been heaped on the grave of that very ill-used man, Mr.
Sheridan, if the boy in drab had not at that moment entered the room
in a breathless state, to report that, as it was a very wet night, the

B

242 Sketches by Bos.

nine o'clock stage had come round, to know whether there was anybody
going to town, as, in that case, he (the nine o'clock) had room for one
inside.

Mr. Minns started up ; and, despite countless exclamations of sur-
prise, and entreaties to stay, persisted in his determination to accept
the vacant place. But, the brown silk umbrella was nowhere to be
found ; and as the coachman couldn't wait, he drove back to the Swan,
leaving word for Mr. Minns to " run round " and catch him. How-
ever, as it did not occur to Mr. Minns for some ten minutes or so, that
he had left the brown silk umbrella with the ivory handle in the other
coach, coming down ; and, moreover, as he was by no means remark-
able for speed, it is no matter of surprise that when he accomplished
the feat of " running round " to the Swan, the coach — the last coach —
had gone without him.

It was somewhere about three o'clock in the morning, when Mr.
Augustus Minns knocked feebly at the street-door of his lodgings in
Tavistock Street, cold, wet, cross, and miserable. He made his will
next morning, and his professional man informs us, in that strict
confidence in which we inform the public, that neither the name of
Mr. Octavius Budden, nor of Mrs. Amelia Budden, nor of Master
Alexander Augustus Budden, appears therein.

CHAPTER III.

SENTIMENT.

THE Miss Crumptons, or to quote the authority of the inscription on
the garden-gate of Minerva House, Hammersmith, " The Misses
Crumpton," were two unusually tall, particularly thin, and exceedingly
skinny personages : very upright, and very yellow. Miss Amelia
Crumpton owned to thirty-eight, and Miss Maria Crumpton admitted
she was forty ; an admission which was rendered perfectly unnecessary
by the self-evident fact of her being at least fifty. They dressed in
the most interesting manner — like twins ! and looked as happy and
comfortable as a couple of marigolds run to seed. They were very
precise, had the strictest possible ideas of propriety, wore false hair,
and always smelt very strongly of lavender.

Minerva House, conducted under the auspices of the two sisters, was
a " finishing establishment for young ladies," where some twenty girls
of the ages of from thirteen to nineteen inclusive, acquired a smattering
of everything, and a knowledge of nothing ; instruction in French and
Italian, dancing lessons twice a week ; and other necessaries of life.
The house was a white one, a little removed from the roadside, with
close palings in front. The bedroom windows were always left partly

Mr. Cornelius Brook Dingwall. 243

open, to afford a bird's-eye view of numerous little bedsteads with very
white dimity furniture, and thereby impress the passer-by with a due
sense of the luxuries of the establishment ; and there was a front-
parlour hung round with highly varnished maps which nobody ever
looked at, and filled with books which no one ever read, appropriated
exclusively to the reception of parents, who, whenever they called,
could not fail to be struck with the very deep appearance of the place.

"Amelia, my dear," said Miss Maria Crumpton, entering the
schoolroom one morning, with her false hair in papers: as she
occasionally did, in order to impress the young ladies with a convic-
tion of its reality. " Amelia, my dear, here is a most gratifying note
I have just received. You needn't mind reading it aloud."

Miss Amelia, thus advised, proceeded to read the following note
with an air of great triumph —

" Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., presents his compliments
to Miss Crumpton, and will feel much obliged by Miss Crumpton's
calling on him, if she conveniently can, to-morrow morning at one
o'clock, as Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., is anxious to see
Miss Crumpton on the subject of placing Miss Brook Ding, vail under
her charge.

" Adelphi.

" Monday morning."

" A Member of Parliament's daughter ! " ejaculated Amelia, in an
ecstatic tone.

" A Member of Parliament's daughter ! " repeated Miss Maria, with
a smile of delight, which, of course, elicited a concurrent titter of
pleasure from all the young ladies.

" It's exceedingly delightful ! " said Miss Amelia ; whereupon all
the young ladies murmured their admiration again. Courtiers are but
school-boys, and court-ladies school-girls.

So important an announcement, at once superseded the business of
the day. A holiday was declared, in commemoration of the great
event ; the Miss Crumptons retired to their private apartment to talk
it over ; the smaller girls discussed the probable manners and customs
of the daughter of a Member of Parliament ; and the young ladies
verging on eighteen wondered whether she was engaged, whether she
was pretty, whether she wore much bustle, and many other whether*
of equal importance.

The two Miss Crumptons proceeded to the Adelphi at the appointed
time next day, dressed, of course, in their best style, and looking as
amiable as they possibly could — which, by the bye, is not saying
much for them. Having sent in their cards, through the medium of
a red-hot looking footman in bright livery, they were ushered into
the august presence of the profound Dingwall.

Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was very haughty, solemn,

244 Sketches by Boz.

and portentous. He Lad, naturally, a somewhat spasmodic expression
of countenance, which was not rendered the less remarkable by his
wearing an extremely stiff cravat. He was wonderfully proud of the
M.P. attached to his name, and never lost an opportunity of reminding
people of his dignity. He had a great idea of his own abilities, which
must have been a great comfort to him, as no one else had ; and in
diplomacy, on a small scale, in his own family arrangements, he
considered himself unrivalled. He was a county magistrate, and
discharged the duties of his station with all due justice and im-
partiality; frequently committing poachers, and occasionally com-
mitting himself. Miss Brook Dingwall was one of that numerous
class of young ladies, who, like adverbs, may be known by their
answering to a commonplace question, and doing nothing else.

On the present occasion, this talented individual was seated in a
small library at a table covered with papers, doing nothing, but trying
to look busy — playing at shop. Acts of Parliament, and letters
directed to " Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P.," were ostenta-
tiously scattered over the table ; at a little distance from which, Mrs.
Brook Dingwall was seated at work. One of those public nuisances,
a spoiled child, was playing about the room, dressed after the most
approved fashion — in a blue tunic with a black belt a quarter of a
yard wide, fastened with an immense buckle — looking like a robber
in a melodrama, seen through a diminishing glass.

After a little pleasantry from the sweet child, who amused himself
by running away with Miss Maria Crumpton's chair as fast as it was
placed for her, the visitors were seated, and Cornelius Brook Ding-
wall, Esq., opened the conversation.

He had sent for Miss Crumpton, he said, in consequence of the
high character he had received of her establishment from his friend,
Sir Alfred Muggs.

Miss Crumpton murmured her acknowledgments to him (Muggs),
and Cornelius proceeded.

" One of my principal reasons, Miss Crumpton, for parting with my
daughter, is, that she has lately acquired some sentimental ideas,
which it is most desirable to eradicate from her young mind. (Here
the little innocent before noticed, fell out of an arm-chair with an
awful crash.)

" Naughty boy ! " said his mamma, who appeared more surprised at
his taking the liberty of falling down, than at anything else ; " I'll
ring the bell for James to take him away."

" Pray don't check him, my love," said the diplomatist, as soon as
he could make himself heard amidst the unearthly howling consequent
upon the threat and the tumble. " It all arises from his great flow of
spirits." This last explanation was addressed to Miss Crumpton.

" Certainly, sir," replied the antique Maria : not exactly seeing,
however, the connection between a flow of animal spirits, and a fall
from an arm-chair.

Diplomatic Arrangements. . 245

Silence was restored, and the M.P. resumed : " Now, I know
nothing so likely to effect this object, Miss Crumpton, as her mixing
constantly in the society of girls of her own age ; and, as I know that
in your establishment she will meet such as are not likely to con-
taminate her young mind, I propose to send her to you."

The youngest Miss Crumpton expressed the acknowledgments of
the establishment generally. Maria was rendered speechless by bodily
pain. The dear little fellow, having recovered his animal spirits, was
standing upon her most tender foot, by way of getting his face (which
looked like a capital 0 in a red lettered play-bill) on a level with the
wi'i ting- table.

"Of course, Lavinia will be a parlour boarder," continued the
enviable father ; " and on one point I wish my directions to be strictly
observed. The fact is, that some ridiculous love affair, with a person
much her inferior in life, has been the cause of her present state of
mind. Knowing that of course, under your care, she can have no
opportunity of meeting this person, I do not object to — indeed, I
should rather prefer — her mixing with snch society as you see your-
self."

This important statement was again interrupted by the high-spirited
little creature, in the excess of his joyousness breaking a pane of
glass, and nearly precipitating himself into an adjacent area. James
was rung for ; considerable confusion and screaming succeeded ; two
little blue legs were seen to kick violently in the air as the man left
the room, and the child was gone.

"Mr. Brook Dingwall would like Miss Brook Dingwall to learn
everything," said Mrs. Brook Dingwall, who hardly ever said any-
thing at all.

" Certainly," said both the Miss Crumptons together.

" And as I trust the plan I have devised will be effectual in weaning
my daughter from this absurd idea, Miss Crumpton," continued the
legislator, " I hope you will have the goodness to comply, in all
respects, with any request I may forward to you."

The promise was of course made ; and after a lengthened dis-
cussion, conducted on behalf of the Dingwalls with. the most becoming
diplomatic gravity, and on that of the Crumptons with profound
respect, it was finally arranged that Miss Lavinia should be forwarded
to Hammersmith on the next day but one, on which occasion the half-
yearly ball given at the establishment was to take place. It might
divert the dear girl's mind. This, by the way, was another bit oi
diplomacy.

Miss Lavinia was introduced to her future governess, and both the
Miss Crumptons pronounced her " a most charming girl ; " an opinion
which, by a singular coincidence, they always entertained of any new
pupil.

Courtesies were exchanged, acknowledgments expressed, condescen-
sion exhibited, and the interview terminated.

246 . Sketches by Boz.

Preparations, to make use of theatrical phraseology, " on a scale of
magnitude never before attempted," were incessantly made at Minerva
House to give every effect to the forthcoming ball. The largest room
in the house was pleasingly ornamented with blue calico roses, plaid
tulips, and other equally natural-looking artificial flowers, the work of
the young ladies themselves. The carpet was taken up, the folding-
doors were taken down, the furniture was taken out, and rout-seats
were taken in. The linendrapers of Hammersmith were astounded
at the sudden demand for blue sarsenet ribbon, and long white gloves.
Dozens of geraniums were purchased for bouquets, and a harp and
two violins were bespoke from town, in addition to the grand piano
already on the premises. The young ladies who were selected to
show off on the occasion, and do credit to the establishment, practised
incessantly, much to their own satisfaction, and greatly to the annoy-
ance of the lame old gentleman over the way; and a constant corre-
spondence was kept up between the Misses Crumpton and the Ham-
mersmith pastrycook.

The evening came ; and then there was such a lacing of stays, and
tying of sandals, and dressing of hair, as never can take place with a
proper degree of bustle out of a boarding-school. The smaller girls
managed to be in everybody's way, and were pushed about accordingly ;
and the elder ones dressed, and tied, and flattered, and envied, one
another, as earnestly and sincerely as if they had actually come out.

" How do I look, dear ? " inquired Miss Emily Smithers, the belle
of the house, of Miss Caroline Wilson, who was her bosom-friend,
because she was the ugliest girl in Hammersmith, or out of it.

" Oh ! charming, dear. How do I ? "

" Delightful ! you never looked so handsome," returned the belle,
adjusting her own dress, and not bestowing a glance on her poor
companion.

" I hope young Hilton will come early," said another young lady to
Miss somebody else, in a fever of expectation.

"I'm sure he'd be highly flattered if he knew it," returned the
other, who was practising I'ete.

" Oh ! he's so handsome," said the first.

" Such a charming person ! " added a second.

" Such a distingue air ! " said a third.

"Oh, what do you think?" said another girl, running into the
room ; " Miss Crumpton says her cousin's coming."

" What ! Theodosius Butler ? " said everybody in raptures.

" Is Tie handsome ? " inquired a novice.

" No, not particularly handsome," was the general reply ; " but, oh,
so clever 1 "

Mr. Theodosius Butler was one of those immortal geniuses who are
to be met with in almost every circle. They have, usually, very deep,
monotonous voices. They always persuade themselves that they are
wonderful persons, and that they ought to be very miserable, though

The Ball. • 247

they don't precisely know why. They are very conceited, and usually
possess half an idea ; but, with enthusiastic young ladies, and silly
young gentlemen, they are very wonderful persons. The individual
in question, Mr. Theodosius, had written a pamphlet containing some
very weighty considerations on the expediency of doing something or
other ; and as every sentence contained a good many words of four
syllables, his admirers took it for granted that he meant a good deal.

" Perhaps that's he," exclaimed several young ladies, as the first
pull of the evening threatened destruction to the bell of the gate.

An awful pause ensued. Some boxes arrived and a young lady —
Miss Brook Dingwall, in full ball costume, with an immense gold
chain round her neck, and her dress looped up with a single rose ; an
ivory fan in her hand, and a most interesting expression of despair in
her face.

The Miss Crumptons inquired after the family, with the most
excruciating anxiety, and Miss Brook Dingwall was formally intro-
duced to her future companions. The Miss Crumptons conversed with
the young ladies in the most mellifluous tones, in order that Miss
Brook Dingwall might be properly impressed with their amiable
treatment.

Another pull at the bell. Mr. Dadson the writing-master, and his
wife. The wife in green silk, with shoes and cap-trimmings to corre-
spond : the writing-master in a white waistcoat, black knee-shorts, and
ditto silk stockings, displaying a leg large enough for two writing-
masters. The young ladies whispered one another, and the writing-
master and his wife flattered the Miss Crumptons, who were dressed
in amber, with long sashes, like dolls.

Repeated pulls at the bell, and arrivals too numerous to par-
ticularise : papas and mammas, and aunts and uncles, the owners and
guardians of the different pupils ; the singing-master, Signer Lobskini,
in a black wig ; the pianoforte player and the violins ; the harp, in a
state of intoxication ; and some twenty young men, who stood near
the door, and talked to one another, occasionally bursting into a giggle.
A general hum of conversation. Coffee handed round, and plentifully
partaken of by fat mammas, who looked like the stout people who
come on in pantomimes for the sole purpose of being knocked down.

The popular Mr. Hilton was the next arrival ; and ho having, at the
request of the Miss Crumptons, undertaken the office of Master of the
Ceremonies, the quadrilles commenced with considerable spirit. The
young men by the door gradually advanced into the middle of the
room, and in time became sufficiently at ease to consent to be intro-
duced to partners. The writing-master danced every set, springing
about with the most fearful agility, and his wife played a rubber in
the back-parlour — a little room with five book-shelves dignified by
the name of the study. Setting her down to whist was a half-yearly
piece of generalship on the part of the Miss Crumptons ; it was neces-
sary to hide her somewhere on account of her being a fright.

248 Sketches by Boz.

The interesting Lavinia Brook Dingwall was the only girl present,
who appeared to take no interest in the proceedings of the evening.
In vain was she solicited to dance ; in vain was the universal homage
paid to her as the daughter of a Member of Parliament. She was
equally unmoved by the splendid tenor of the inimitable LobsHni,
and the brilliant execution of Miss Laetitia Parsons, whose performance
of " The Recollections of Ireland " was universally declared to be
almost equal to that of Moscheles himself. Not even the announce-
ment of the arrival of Mr. Theodosius Butler could induce her to
leave the corner of the back drawing-room in which she was seated.

" Now, Theodosius," said Miss Maria Crumpton, after that en-
lightened pamphleteer had nearly run the gauntlet of the whole
company, " I must introduce you to our new pupil."

Theodosius looked as if he cared for nothing earthly.

"She's the daughter of a Member of Parliament," said Maria. —
Theodosius started.

" And her name is ? " he inquired.

" Miss Brook Dingwall."

" Great Heaven ! " poetically exclaimed Theodosius, in a low tone.

Miss Crumpton commenced the introduction in due form. Miss
Brook Dingwall languidly raised her head.

" Edward ! " she exclaimed, with a half-shriek, on seeing the well-
known nankeen legs.

Fortunately, as Miss Maria Crumpton possessed no remarkable
share of penetration, and as it was one of the diplomatic arrangements
that no attention was to be paid to Miss Lavinia's incoherent exclama-
tions, she was perfectly unconscious of the mutual agitation of the
parties ; and therefore, seeing that the offer of his hand for the next
quadrille was accepted, she left him by the side of Miss Brook
Dingwall.

" Oh, Edward ! " exclaimed that most romantic of all romantic
young ladies, as the light of science seated himself beside her, " Oh,
Edward, is it you ? "

Mr. Theodosius assured the dear creature, in the most impassioned
manner, that he was not conscious of being anybody but himself.

" Then why— why — this disguise ? Oh ! Edward M'Neville Walter,
what have I not suffered on your account ? "

"Lavinia, hear me," replied the hero, in his most poetic strain.
" Do not condemn me unheard. If anything that emanates from the
soul of such a wretch as I, can occupy a place in your recollection — if
any being, so vile, deserve your notice — you may remember that I
once published a pamphlet (and paid for its publication) entitled
' Considerations on the Policy of Removing the Duty on Bees'-wax.' "

" I do — I do ! " sobbed Lavinia.

" That," continued the lover, " was a subject to which your father
was devoted, heart and soul."

M He was — he was ! " reiterated the sentimentalist.

Theodosius Butler. 249

" I knew it," continued Theodosius, tragically ; " I knew it — I
forwarded him a copy. He wished to know me. Could I disclose my
real name ? Never ! No, I assumed that name which you have BO
often pronounced in tones of endearment. As M'Neville Walter, I
devoted myself to the stirring cause ; as M'Nevillo Walter, I gained
your heart ; in the same character I was ejected from your house by
your father's domestics ; and in no character at all have 1 since been
enabled to see you. We now meet again, and I proudly own that I
am — Theodosius Butler."

The young lady appeared perfectly satisfied with this argumentative
address, and bestowed a look of the most ardent affection on the
immortal advocate of bees'-wax.

" May I hope," said he, " that the promise your father's violent
behaviour interrupted, may be renewed V "

"Let us join this set," replied Lavinia, coquettishly — for girls of
nineteen can coquette.

" No," ejaculated he of the nankeens ; ': I stir not from this spot,
writhing under this torture of suspense. May I — may I — hope? "

" You may."

1 The promise is renewed '? "

' It is."

' I have your permission ? "

' You have."

' To the fullest extent ? "

' You know it," returned the blushing Laviuia. The contortions
of the interesting Butler's visage expressed his raptures.

We could dilate upon the occurrences that ensued. How Mr.
Theodosius and Miss Lavinia danced, and talked, and sighed for the
remainder of the evening — how the Miss Crumptons were delighted
thereat. How the writing-master continued to frisk about with one-
horse power, and how his wife, from some unacccountable freak, left
the whist-table in the little back-parlour, and persisted in displaying
her green headdress in the most conspicuous part of the drawing-
room. How the supper consisted of small triangular sandwiches in
trays, and a tart here and there by way of variety ; and how the visitors
consumed warm water disguised with lemon, and dotted with nutmeg,
under the denomination of negus. These, and other matters of as
much interest, however, we pass over, for the purpose of describing a
scene of even more importance.

A fortnight after the date of the ball, Cornelius Brook Dingwall,
Esq., M.P., was seated at the same library-table, and in the same room,
as we have before described. He was alone, and his face bore an
expression of deep thought and solemn gravity — he was drawing up
" A Bill for the better observance of Easter Monday."

The footman tapped at the door — the legislator started from his
reverie, and " Miss Crumpton " was announced. Permission was given
for Miss Crurnpton to enter the sanctum ; Maria came sliding in, and

250 Sketches by Bos.

having taken her seat with a due portion of affectation, the footman
retired, and the governess was left alone with the M.P. Oh ! how she
longed for the presence of a third party ! Even the facetious young
gentleman would have been a relief.

Miss Crumpton began the duet. She hoped Mrs. Brook Dingwall
and the handsome little boy were in good health.

They were. Mrs. Brook Dingwall and little Frederick were at
Brighton.

" Much obliged to you, Miss Crumpton," said Cornelius, in his most
dignified manner, " for your attention in calling this morning. I
should have driven down to Hammersmith, to see Lavinia, but your
account was so very satisfactory, and my duties in the House occupy
me so much, that I determined to postpone it for a week. How has
she gone on ? "

" Very well indeed, sir," returned Maria, dreading to inform the
father that she had gone off.

" Ah, I thought the plan on which I proceeded would be a match
for her."

Here was a favourable opportunity to say that somebody else had
been a match for her. But the unfortunate governess was unequal to
the task.

" You have persevered strictly in the line of conduct I prescribed,
Miss Crumpton ? "

" Strictly, sir."

" You tell me in your note that her spirits gradually improved."

" Very much indeed, sir."

" To be sure. I was convinced they would."

" But I fear, sir," said Miss Crumpton, with visible emotion, " I fear
the plan has not succeeded, quite so well as we could have wished."

" No ! " exclaimed the prophet. " Bless me ! Miss Crumpton, you
look alarmed. What has happened ? "

" Miss Brook Dingwall, sir "

" Yes, ma'am ? "

" Has gone, sir " — said Maria, exhibiting a strong inclination to faint.

" Gone ! "

" Eloped, sir."

" Eloped ! — Who with — when — where — how ? " almost shrieked the
agitated diplomatist.

The natural yellow of the unfortunate Maria's face changed to all
the hues of the rainbow, as she laid a small packet on the member's
table.

He hurriedly opened it. A letter from his daughter, and another
from Theodosius. He glanced over their contents — " Ere this reaches
you, far distant — appeal to feelings — love to distraction — bees'-wax —
slavery," &c., &c. He dashed his hand to his forehead, and paced
the room with fearfully long strides, to the great alarm of the precise
Maria.

Result of the Diplomatic Arrangements. 251

" Now mind ; from this time forward," said Mr. Brook Dingwall,
suddenly stopping at the table, and beating time upon it with his
hand ; " from this time forward, I never will, under any circumstances
whatever, permit a man who writes pamphlets to enter any other room
of this house but the kitchen. — I'll allow my daughter and her husband
one hundred and fifty pounds a year, and never see their faces again ;
and, damme ! ma'am, I'll bring in a bill for the abolition of finishing-
schools."

Some time has elapsed since this passionate declaration. Mr. and
Mrs. Butler are at present rusticating in a small cottage at Ball's
Pond, pleasantly situated in the immediate vicinity of a brick-field.
They have no family. Mr. Theodosius looks very important, and
writes incessantly ; but, in consequence of a gross combination on the
part of publishers, none of his productions appear in print. His
young wife begins to think that ideal misery is preferable to real
unhappiness ; and that a marriage, contracted in haste, and repented
at leisure, is the cause of more substantial wretchedness than she ever
anticipated.

On cool reflection, Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., was
reluctantly compelled to admit that the untoward result of his
admirable arrangements was attributable, not to the Miss Crumptons,
but his own diplomacy. He however consoles himself, like some other
small diplomatists, by satisfactorily proving that if his plans did not
succeed, they ought to have done so. Minerva House is in siatu quo,
and " The Misses Crumpton " remain in the peaceable and undisturbed
enjoyment of all the advantages resulting from their Finishing-School.

CHAPTER IV.

THE TUGOS'S AT BAMSGATE.

ONCE upon a time, there dwelt, in a narrow street on the Surrey side
of the water, within three minutes' walk of old London Bridge, Mr.
Joseph Tuggs — a little dark-faced man, with shiny hair, twinkling
eyes, short legs, and a body of very considerable thickness, measuring
from the centre button of his waistcoat in front, to the ornamental
buttons of his coat behind. The figure of the amiable Mrs. Tuggs, if
not perfectly symmetrical, was decidedly comfortable ; and the form
of her only daughter, the accomplished Miss Charlotte Tuggs, was
fast ripening into that state of luxuriant plumpness which had en-
chanted the eyes, and captivated the heart, of Mr. Joseph Tuggs in
his earlier days. Mr. Simon Tuggs, his only son, and Miss Charlotte
Tnggs's only brother, was as differently formed in body, as he was
differently constituted in mind, from the remainder of his family.

252 Sketches by Bos.

There was that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency to
weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a great mind
and romantic disposition. The slightest traits of character in such a
being, possess no mean interest to speculative minds. He usually
appeared in public, in capacious shoes with black cotton stockings ;
and was observed to be particularly attached to a black glazed stock,
without tie or ornament of any description.

There is perhaps no profession, however useful ; no pursuit, how-
ever meritorious ; which can escape the petty attacks of vulgar minds.
Mr. Joseph Tuggs was a grocer. It might be supposed that a grocer
was beyond the breath of calumny ; but no — the neighbours stigmatised
him as a chandler ; and the poisonous voice of envy distinctly asserted
that he dispensed tea and coffee by the quartern, retailed sugar by the
ounce, cheese by the slice, tobacco by the screw, and butter by the pat.
These taunts, however, were lost upon the Tuggs's. Mr. Tuggs
attended to the grocery department ; Mrs. Tuggs to the cheese-
mongcry ; and Miss Tuggs to her education. Mr. Simon Tuggs kept
his father's books, and his own counsel.

One fine spring afternoon, the latter gentleman was seated on a tub
of weekly Dorset, behind the little red desk Avith a wooden rail, which
ornamented a corner of the counter ; when a stranger dismounted
from a cab, and hastily entered the shop. He was habited in black
cloth, and bore with him, a green umbrella, and a blue bag.

" Mr. Tuggs ? " said the stranger, inquiringly.

" My name is Tuggs," replied Mr. Simon.

" It's the other Mr. Tuggs," said the stranger, looking towards the
glass door which led into the parlour behind the shop, and on the
inside of which, the round face of Mr. Tuggs, senior, was distinctly
visible, peeping over the curtain.

Mr. Simon gracefully waved his pen, as if in intimation of his wish
that his father would advance. Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with considerable
celerity, removed his face from the curtain and placed it before the
stranger.

" I come from the Temple," said the man with the bag.

" From the Temple ! " said Mrs. Tuggs, flinging open the door of
the little parlour and disclosing Miss Tuggs in perspective.

" From the Temple ! " said Miss Tuggs and Mr. Simon Tuggs at
the same moment.

" From the Temple ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, turning as pale as a
Dutch cheese.

" From the Temple," repeated the man with the bag ; " from Mr.
Cower's, the solicitor's. Mr. Tuggs, I congratulate you, sir. Ladies,
I wish you joy of your prosperity ! We have been successful." And
the man with the bag leisurely divested himself of his umbrella and
glove, as a preliminary to shaking hands with Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

Now the words " we have been successful," had no sooner issued
from the mouth of the man with the bag, than Mr. Simon Tuggs rose

Tidings from the Temple. 253

from the tub of weekly Dorset, opened his eyes very wide, gasped for
breath, made figures of eight in the air with his pen, and finally fell
into the arms of his anxious mother, and fainted away without the
slightest ostensible cause or pretence.

" Water ! " screamed Mrs, Tuggs.

" Look up, my son," exclaimed Mr. Tuggs.

" Simon ! dear Simon ! " shrieked Miss Tuggs.

" I'm better now," said Mr. Simon Tuggs. " What ? successful ! "
And then, as corroborative evidence of his being better, he fainted
away again, and was borne into the little parlour by the united efforts
of the remainder of the family, and the man with the bag.

To a casual spectator, or to anyone unacquainted with the position
of the family, this fainting would have been unaccountable. To those
who understood the mission of the man with the bag, and were more-
over acquainted with the excitability of the nerves of Mr. Simon
Tuggs, it was quite comprehensible. A long-pending lawsuit re-
specting the validity of a will, had been unexpectedly decided ; and
Mr. Joseph Tuggs was the possessor of twenty thousand pounds.

A prolonged consultation took place, that night, in the little parlour
— a consultation that was to settle the future destinies of the Tuggs's.
The shop was shut up, at an unusually early hour ; and many were
the unavailing kicks bestowed upon the closed door by applicants for
quarterns of sugar, or half-quarterns of bread, or penn'orths of pepper,
which were to have been " left till Saturday," but which fortune had
decreed were to be left alone altogether.

' We must certainly give up business," said Miss Tuggs.

' Oh, decidedly," said Mrs. Tuggs.

' Simon shall go to the bar," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

' And I shall always sign myself ' Cymon ' in future," said his son.

' And I shall call myself Charlotta," said Miss Tuggs.

' And you must always call me ' Ma,' and father ' Pa,' " said Mrs.
Tuggs.

" Yes, and Pa must leave off all his vulgar habits," interposed Miss
Tuggs.

"I'll take care of all that," responded Mr. Joseph Tuggs, com-
placently. Ho was, at that very moment, eating pickled salmon with
a pocket-knife.

" We must leave town immediately," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs.

Everybody concurred that this was an indispensable preliminary to
being genteel. The question then arose, Where should they go ?

" Gravesend ? " mildly suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs. The idea was
unanimously scouted. Gravesend was low.

" Margate ? " insinuated Mrs. Tuggs. Worse and worse — nobody
there, but tradespeople.

" Brighton ? " Mr. Cymon Tuggs opposed an insurmountable
objection. All the coaches had been upset, in turn, within the last
three weeks ; each coach had averaged two passengers killed, and six

254 Sketches by Bos.

wounded ; and, in every case, the newspapers had distinctly under-
stood that " no blame whatever was attributable to the coachman."

"Eamsgate?" ejaculated Mr. Cymon, thoughtfully. To be sure;
how stupid they must have been, not to have thought of that before !
Eamsgate was just the place of all others. .

Two months after this conversation, the City of London Eamsgate
steamer was running gaily down the river. Her flag was flying, her
band was playing, her passengers were conversing ; everything about
her seemed gay and lively. — No wonder — the Tuggs's were on board.

" Charming, ain't it ? " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs, in a bottle-green
great-coat, with a velvet collar of the same, and a blue travelling-cap
with a gold band.

" Soul-inspiring," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs — he was entered at the
bar. " Soul-inspiring ! "

" Delightful morning, sir ! " said a stoutish, military-looking gentle-
man in a blue surtout buttoned up to his chin, and white trousers
chained down to the soles of his boots.

Mr. Cymon Tuggs took upon himself the responsibility of answering
the observation. " Heavenly ! " he replied.

" You are an enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of Nature, sir '? "
said the military gentleman.

" I am, sir," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.

" Travelled much, sir ? " inquired the military gentleman.

" Not much," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs.

" You've been on the Continent, of course ? " inquired the military
gentleman.

" Not exactly," replied Mr. Cymon Tuggs — in a qualified tone, as if
he wished it to be implied that he had gone half-way and come back
again.

" You of course intend your son to make the grand tour, sir ? " said
the military gentleman, addressing Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

As Mr. Joseph Tuggs did not precisely understand what the grand
tour was, or how such an article was manufactured, he replied, " Of
course." Just as he said the word, there came tripping up, from her
seat at the stern of the vessel, a young lady in a puce-coloured silk
cloak, and boots of the same ; with long black ringlets, large black
eyes, brief petticoats, and unexceptionable ankles.

" Walter, my dear," said the young lady to the military gentleman.

" Yes, Belinda, my love," responded the military gentleman to the
black-eyed young lady.

" What have you left me alone so long for ? " said the young lady.
" I have been stared out of coimtenance by those rude young men."

" What ? stared at ? " exclaimed the military gentleman, with an
emphasis which made Mr. Cymon Tuggs withdraw his eyes from the
young lady's face with inconceivable rapidity. " Which young men — •
where ? " and the military gentleman clenched his fist, and glared
fearfully on the cigar-smokers around.

Captain (and Mrs. Captain) Waters. 255

" Be calm, Walter, I entreat," said the young lady.

" I won't," said the military gentleman.

" Do, sir," interposed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " They ain't worth your
notice."

" No — no — they are not, indeed," urged the young lady.

" I will be calm," said the military gentleman. " You speak truly,
sir. I thank you for a timely remonstrance, which may have spared
me the guilt of manslaughter." Calming his wrath, the military
gentleman wrung Mr. Cymon Tuggs by the hand.

" My sister, sir ! " said Mr. Cymon Tuggs ; seeing that the military
gentleman was casting an admiring look towards Miss Charlotta.

" My wife, ma'am — Mrs. Captain Waters," said the military gentle-
man, presenting the black-eyed young lady.

"My mother, ma'am — Mrs. Tuggs" said Mr. Cymon. The military
gentleman and his wife murmured enchanting courtesies ; and the
Tuggs's looked as unembarrassed as they could.

" Walter, my dear," said the black-eyed young lady, after they had
sat chatting with the Tuggs's some half-hour.

" Yes, my love," said the military gentleman.

" Don't you think this gentleman (with an inclination of the head
towards Mr. Cymon Tuggs) is very much like the Marquis Carri-
wini ? "

" Lord bless me, very ! " said the military gentleman.

" It struck me, the moment I saw him," said the young lady, gazing
intently, and with a melancholy air, on the scarlet countenance of Mr.
Cymon Tuggs. Mr. Cymon Tuggs looked at everybody ; and finding
that everybody was looking at him, appeared to feel some temporary
difficulty in disposing of his eyesight.

" So exactly the air of the marquis," said the military gentleman.

" Quite extraordinary ! " sighed the military gentleman's lady.

" You don't know the marquis, sir ? " inquired the military gentle-
man.

Mr. Cymon Tuggs stammered a negative.

" If you did," continued Captain Walter Waters, " you would feel
how much reason you have to be proud of the resemblance — a most
elegant man, with a most prepossessing appearance."

" He is — he is indeed ! " exclaimed Belinda Waters energetically.
As her eye caught that of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, she withdrew it from his
features in bashful confusion.

All this was highly gratifying to the feelings of the Tuggs's ; and
when, in the course of farther conversation, it was discovered that
Miss Charlotta Tuggs was the facsimile of a titled relative of Mrs.
Belinda Waters, and that Mrs. Tuggs herself was the very picture of
the Dowager Duchess of Dobbleton, their delight in the acquisition of
so genteel and friendly an acquaintance, knew no bounds. Even the
dignity of Captain Walter Waters relaxed, to that degree, that he
suffered himself to be prevailed upon by Mr. Joseph Tuggs, to partake

256 Sketches by Boz.

of cold pigeon-pie and sherry, on deck ; and a most delightful conver-
sation, aided by these agreeable stimulants, was prolonged, until they
ran alongside Eamsgate Pier.

" Good by'e, dear ! " said Mrs. Captain Waters to Miss Charlotta
Tuggs, just before the bustle of landing commenced ; " we shall seo
you on the sands in the morning ; and, as we are sure to have found
lodgings before then, I hope we shall be inseparables for many weeks
to come."

" Oh ! I hope so," said Miss Charlotta Tuggs, emphatically.

" Tickets, ladies and gen'lm'n," said the man on the paddle-box.

" Want a porter, sir ? " inquired a dozen men in smock-frocks.

" Now, my dear ! " said Captain Waters.

" Good by'e ! " said Mrs. Captain Waters—" good by'e, Mr. Cymon ! "
and with a pressure of the hand which threw the amiable young man's
nerves into a state of considerable derangement, Mrs. Captain Waters
disappeared among the crowd. A pair of puce-coloured boots were
seen ascending the steps, a white handkerchief fluttered, a black eye
gleamed. The Waters's were gone, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs was alone
in a heartless world.

Silently and abstractedly, did that too-sensitive youth follow his
revered parents, and a train of smock- frocks and wheelbarrows, along
the pier, until the bustle of the scene around, recalled him to himself.
The sun was shining brightly ; the sea, dancing to its own music,
rolled merrily in ; crowds of people promenaded to and fro ; young
ladies tittered ; old ladies talked ; nursemaids displayed their charms
to the greatest possible advantage ; and their little charges ran up and
down, and to and fro, and in and out, under the feet, and between the
legs, of the assembled concourse, in the most playful and exhilarating
manner. There were old gentlemen, trying to make out objects
through long telescopes ; and young ones, making objects of them-
selves in open shirt-collars ; ladies, carrying about portable chairs, and
portable chairs carrying about invalids ; parties, waiting on the pier for
parties who had come by the steam-boat ; and nothing was to be heard
but talking, laughing, welcoming, and merriment.

" Fly, sir ? " exclaimed a chorus of fourteen men and six boys, the
moment Mr. Joseph Tuggs, at the head of his little party, set foot in
the street.

" Here's the gen'lm'n at last ! " said one, touching his hat with mock
politeness. " Werry glad to see you, sir, — been a waitin' for you
these six weeks. Jump in, if you please, sir ! "

"Nice light fly and a fast trotter, sir," said another: "fourteen
mile a hour, and surroundin' objects rendered inwisible by ex-treme
welocity ! "

" Large fly for your luggage, sir ! " cried a third. " Werry large fly
here, sir — reg'lar bluebottle ! "

" Here's your fly, sir ! " shouted another aspiring charioteer, mount-
ing the box, and inducing an old grey horse to indulge in some im-

Seaside Lodgings. 257

perfect reminiscences of a canter. " Look at him, sir ! — temper of a
lamb and haction of a steam-ingein ! "

Resisting even the temptation of securing the services of so valuable
a quadruped as the last-named, Mr. Joseph Tuggs beckoned to the
proprietor of a dingy conveyance of a greenish hue, lined with faded
striped calico ; and, the luggage and the family having been deposited
therein, the animal in the shafts, after describing circles in the road
for a quarter of an hour, at last consented to depart in quest ot
lodgings.

" How many beds have you got ? " screamed Mrs. Tuggs out of the
fly, to the woman who opened the door of the first house which dis-
played a bill intimating that apartments were to be let within.

" How many did yon want, ma'am ? " was, of course, the reply.

" Three."

" Will you step in, ma'am ? " Down got Mrs. Tuggs. The family
were delighted. Splendid view of the sea from the front windows —
charming! A short pause. Back came Mrs. Tuggs again. — One
parlour and a mattress.

" Why the devil didn't they say so at first ? " inquired Mr. Joseph
Tuggs, rather pettishly.

" Don't know," said Mrs. Tuggs.

" Wretches ! " exclaimed the nervous Cymon. Another bill —
another stoppage. Same question — same answer — similar result.

" What do they mean by this ? " inquired Mr. Joseph Tuggs,
thoroughly out of temper.

" Don't know," said the placid Mrs. Tuggs.

" Orvis the vay here, sir," said the driver, by way of accounting for
the circumstance in a satisfactory manner ; and off they went again, to
make fresh inquiries, and encounter fresh disappointments.

It had grown dusk when the " fly " — the rate of whose progress
greatly belied its name — after climbing up four or five perpendicular
hills, stopped before the door of a dusty house, with a bay window,
from which you could obtain a beautiful glimpse of the sea — if you
thrust half of your body out of it, at the imminent peril of falling into
the area. Mrs. Tuggs alighted. One ground-floor sitting-room, and
three cells with beds in them \ip-stairs. A double house. Family on
the opposite side. Five children milk-and-watering in the parlour,
and one little boy, expelled for bad behaviour, screaming on his back
in the passage.

" What's the terms ? " said Mrs. Tuggs. The mistress of the house
was considering the expediency of putting on an extra guinea ; so, she
coughed slightly, and affected not to hear the question.

" What's the terms ? " said Mrs. Tuggs, in a louder key.

" Five guineas a week, ma'am, with attendance," replied the lodging-
house keeper. (Attendance means the privilege of ringing the bell as
often as you like, for your own amusement.)

" Rather dear," said Mrs. Tuggs.

8

258 Sketches by Boz.

" Oli dear, no, ma'am ! " replied the mistress of tlie house, with a
benign smile of pity at the ignorance of manners and customs, which
the observation betrayed. " Very cheap ! "

Such an authority was indisputable. Mrs. Tuggs paid a week's rent
in advance, and took the lodgings for a month. In an hour's time, the
family were seated at tea in their new abode.

" Capital srimps ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

Mr. Cymon eyed his father with a rebellious scowl, as he emphati-
cally said " Shrimps."

" Well then, shrimps," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. " Srimps or
shrimps, don't much matter."

There was pity, blended with malignity, in Mr. Cymon's eye, as he
replied, " Don't matter, father ! What would Captain Waters say,
if he heard such vulgarity ? "

" Or what would dear Mrs. Captain WTaters say," added Charlotta,
"if she saw mother — ma, I mean — eating them whole, heads and
all?"

" It won't bear thinking of! " ejaculated Mr. Cymon, with a shudder.
"How different," he thought, "from the Dowager Duchess of Dob-
bleton ! "

" Very pretty woman, Mrs. Captain Waters, is she not, Cymon ? "
inquired Miss Charlotta.

A glow of nervous excitement passed over the countenance of Mr.
Cymon Tuggs, as he replied, " An angel of beauty ! "

" Hallo ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. " Hallo, Cymon, my boy, take
care. Married lady, you know ; " and he winked one of his twinkling
eyes knowingly.

" Why," exclaimed Cymon, starting up with an ebullition of fury,
as unexpected as alarming, " Why am I to be reminded of that blight
of my happiness, and ruin of my hopes ? Why am I to be taunted
with the miseries which are heaped upon my head ? Is it not enough
to — to — to " and the orator paused ; but whether for want of words, or
lack of breath, was never distinctly ascertained.

There was an impressive solemnity in the tone of this address, and
in the air with which the romantic Cymon, at its conclusion, rang the
bell, and demanded a flat candlestick, which effectually forbade a reply.
He stalked dramatically to bed, and the Tuggs's went to bed too,
half-an-hour afterwards, in a state of considerable mystification and
perplexity.

If the pier had presented a scene of life and bustle to the Tuggs's
on their first landing at Eamsgate, it was far surpassed by the appear-
ance of the sands on the morning after their arrival. It was a fine,
bright, clear day, with a light breeze from the sea. There were the
same ladies and gentlemen, the same children, the same nursemaids,
the same telescopes, the same portable chairs. The ladies were
employed in needlework, or watch-guard making, or knitting, or
reading novels ; the gentlemen were reading newspapers and maga-

Wonders of the Sea-shore. 259

zincs ; the children were digging holes in the sand with wooden
spades, and collecting water therein ; the nursemaids, with their
youngest charges in their arms, were running in after the waves, and
then running back with the waves after them ; and, now and then, a
little sailing-boat either departed with a gay and talkative cargo of
passengers, or returned with a very silent, and particularly uncom-
fortable-looking one.

" Well, I never ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tuggs, as she and Mr. Joseph
Tnggs, and Miss Charlotta Tuggs, and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, with their
eight feet in a corresponding number of yellow shoes, seated them-
selves on four rush-bottomed chairs, which, being placed in a soft part
of the sand, forthwith sunk down some two feet and a half — " Well, I
never ! "

Mr. Cymon, by an exertion of great personal strength, uprooted the
chairs, and removed them further back.

" Why, I'm blessed if there ain't some ladies a going in ! " exclaimed
Mr. Joseph Tuggs, with intense astonishment.

" Lor, pa ! " exclaimed Miss Charlotta.

"There is, my dear," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs. And, sure enough,
four young ladies, each furnished with a towel, tripped up the steps of
a bathing-machine. In went the horse, floundering about in the water ;
round turned the machine ; down sat the driver ; and presently out
burst the young ladies aforesaid, with four distinct splashes.

" Well, that's sing'ler, too ! " ejaculated Mr. Joseph Tuggs, after an
awkward pause. Mr. Cymon coughed slightly.

" Why, here's some gentlemen a going in on this side," exclaimed
Mrs. Tuggs, in a tone of horror.

Three machines — three horses — three flounderings — three turnings
round — three splashes — three gentlemen, disporting themselves in the
water like so many dolphins.

" Well, that's sing'ler ! " said Mr. Joseph Tuggs again. Miss
Charlotta coughed this time, and another pause ensued. It was
agreeably broken.

" How d'ye do, dear ? We have been looking for you, all the
morning," said a voice to Miss Charlotta Tuggs. Mrs. Captain Waters
was the owner of it.

" How d'ye do ? " said Captain Walter Waters, all suavity ; and a
most cordial interchange of greetings ensued.

" Belinda, my love," said Captain Walter Waters, applying his glass
to his eye, and looking in the direction of the sea.

" Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Captain Waters.

" There's Harry Thompson ! "

" Where ? " said Belinda, applying her glass to her eye.

" Bathing."

" Lor, so it is ! He don't see us, does he ? "

" No, I don't think he does," replied the captain. " Bless my soul,
how very singular ! "

260 Sketches by Boz.

" What ? " inquired Belinda.

" There's Mary Golding, too."

" Lor ! — where ? " (Up went the glass again.)

" There ! " said the captain, pointing to one of the young ladies
before noticed, who, in her bathing costume, looked as if she was
enveloped in a patent Mackintosh, of scanty dimensions.

" So it is, I declare ! " exclaimed Mrs. Captain Waters. " How
very curious we should see them both ! "

" Very," said the captain, with perfect coolness.

" It's the reg'lar thing here, you see," whispered Mr. Cymon Tuggs
to his father.

" I see it is," whispered Mr. Joseph Tuggs in reply. " Queer,
though — ain't it?" Mr. Cymon Tuggs nodded assent.

" What do you think of doing with yourself this morning ? " inquired
the captain. " Shall we lunch at Pegwell ? "

" I should like that very much indeed," interposed Mrs. Tuggs.
She had never heard of Pegwell ; but the word " lunch " had reached
her 'ears, and it sounded very agreeably.

"How shall we go?" inquired the captain; "it's too warm to
walk."

" A shay ? " suggested Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

" Chaise," whispered Mr. Cymon.

"I should think one would be enough," said Mr. Joseph Tuggs
aloud, quite unconscious of the meaning of the correction. " However,
two shays if you like."

" I should like a donkey so much," said Belinda.

" Oh, so should I ! " echoed Charlotta Tuggs.

" Well, we can have a fly," suggested the captain, " and you can
have a couple of donkeys."

A fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Captain Waters declared it would bo
decidedly improper for two ladies to ride alone. The remedy was
obvious. Perhaps young Mr. Tuggs would be gallant enough to
accompany them.

Mr. Cymon Tuggs blushed, smiled, looked vacant, and faintly
protested that he was no horseman. The objection was at once over-
ruled. A fly was speedily found ; and three donkeys — which the
proprietor declared on his solemn asseveration to be " three parts
blood, and the other corn " — were engaged in the service.

" Kim up ! " shouted one of the two boys who followed behind, to
propel the donkeys, when Belinda Waters and Charlotta Tuggs had
been hoisted, and pushed, and pulled, into their respective saddles.

" Hi— hi — hi ! " groaned the other boy behind Mr. Cymon Tuggs.
Away went the donkey, with the stirrups jingling against the heels of
Cymon's boots, and Cymon's boots nearly scraping the ground.

" Way — way ! Wo — o — o — o — ! " cried Mr. Cymon Tuggs as well
as he could, in the midst of the jolting.

" Don't make it gallop ! " screamed Mrs. Captain Waters, behind.

Towards Parnassus on a Donkey. 261

" My donkey will go into the public-honse ! " shrieked Miss Tuggs
in the rear.

" Hi — hi — hi ! " groaned both the boys together ; and on went the
donkeys as if nothing would ever stop them.

Everything has au end, however ; even the galloping of donkeys
will cease in time. The animal which Mr. Cymon Tuggs bestrode,
feeling sundry uncomfortable tugs at the bit, the intent of which he
could by no means divine, abruptly sidled against a brick-wall, and
expressed his uneasiness by grinding Mr. Cymon Tuggs's legs on the
rough surface. Mrs. Captain Waters's donkey, apparently under the
influence of some playfulness of spirit, rushed suddenly, head first,
into a hedge, and declined to come out again: and the quadruped
on which Miss Tuggs was mounted, expressed his delight at this
humorous proceeding by firmly planting his fore-feet against the
ground, and kicking up his hind-legs in a very agile, but somewhat
alarming manner.

This abrupt termination to the rapidity of the ride, naturally occa-
sioned some confusion. Both the ladies indulged in vehement
screaming for several minutes ; and Mr. Cymon Tuggs, besides sus-
taining intense bodily pain, had the additional mental anguish of
witnessing their distressing situation, without having the power to
rescue them, by reason of his leg being firmly screwed in between the
animal and the wall. The efforts of the boys, however, assisted by
the ingenious expedient of twisting the tail of the most rebellious
donkey, restored order in a imich shorter time than could have reason-
ably been expected, and the little party jogged slowly on together.

" Now let 'em walk," said Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " It's cruel to over-
drive 'em."

" Werry well, sir," replied the boy, with a grin at his companion, as
if he understood Mr. Cymon to mean that the cruelty applied less to
the animals than to their riders.

" What a lovely day, dear ! " said Charlotta.

"Charming; enchanting, dear!" responded Mrs. Captain Waters.
" What a beautiful prospect, Mr. Tuggs ! "

Cymon looked full in Belinda's face, as he responded — " Beautiful,
indeed ! " The lady cast down her eyes, and suffered the animal she was
riding to fall a little back. Cymon Tuggs instinctively did the same.

There was a brief silence, broken only by a sigh from Mr. Cymon
Tuggs.

" Mr. Cymon," said the lady suddenly, in a low tone, " Mr. Cymon
— I am another's."

Mr. Cymon expressed his perfect concurrence in a statement which
it was impossible to controvert.

" If I had not been — " resumed Belinda ; and there she stopped.

" What — what ? " said Mr. Cymon earnestly. " Do not torture me.
What would you say ? "

"If I had not been" — continued Mrs. Captain Waters — "if, in

262 Sketches by Boz.

earlier life, it had been my fate to have known, and been beloved by a
noble youth — a kindred soul — a congenial spirit — one capable of feel-
ing and appreciating the sentiments which "

" Heavens ! what do I hear ? " exclaimed Mr. Cymon Tuggs. " Is
it possible ! can I believe my — Come up ! " (This last unsentimental
parenthesis was addressed to the donkey, who with his head between
his fore-legs, appeared to be examining the state of his shoes with
great anxiety.)

" Hi — hi — hi," said the boys behind. " Come up," expostulated
Cymon Tuggs again. " Hi — hi — hi," repeated the boys. And whether
it was that the animal felt indignant at the tone of Mr. Tuggs's com-
mand, or felt alarmed by the noise of the deputy proprietor's boots
running behind him ; or whether he burned with a noble emulation to
outstrip the other donkeys ; certain it is that he no sooner heard the
second series of " hi — hi's," then he started away, with a celerity of
pace which jerked Mr. Cymon's hat off, instantaneously, and carried
him to the Pegwell Bay hotel in no time, where he deposited his rider
without giving him the trouble of dismounting, by sagaciously pitching
him over his head, into the very doorway of the tavern.

Great was the confusion of Mr. Cymon Tuggs, when he was put,
right end uppermost, by two waiters ; considerable was the alarm of
Mrs. Tuggs in behalf of her son ; agonizing were the apprehensions
of Mrs. Captain Waters on his account. It was speedily discovered,
however, that he had not sustained much more injury than the donkey
— he was grazed, and the animal was grazing — and then it icas a
delightful party to be sure ! Mr. and Mrs. Tuggs, and the captain,
had ordered lunch in the little garden behind : — small saucers of large
shrimps, dabs of butter, crusty loaves, and bottled ale. The sky was
without a cloud ; there were flower-pots and turf before them ; the
sea, from the foot of the cliff, stretching away as far as the eye could
discern anything at all ; vessels in the distance with sails as white,
and as small, as nicely-got-up cambric handkerchiefs. The shrimps
were delightful, the ale better, and the captain even more pleasant
than either. Mrs. Captain Waters was in such spirits after lunch ! —
chasing, first the captain across the turf, and among the flower-pots ;
and then Mr. Cymon Tuggs ; and then Miss Tuggs ; and laughing,
too, quite boisterously. But as the captain said, it didn't matter ; who
knew what they were, there ? For all the people of the house knew,
they might be common people. To which Mr. Joseph Tuggs re-
sponded, " To be sure." And then they went down the steep wooden
steps a little further on, which led to the bottom of the cliff; and
looked at the crabs, and the seaweed, and the eels, till it was more
than fully time to go back to Eamsgate again. Finally, Mr. Cymon
Tuggs ascended the steps last, and Mrs. Captain Waters last but one ;
and Mr. Cymon Tuggs discovered that the foot and ankle of Mrs.
Captain Waters, were even more unexceptionable than he had at first
supposed.

At the Library. 263

Taking a donnoy towards his ordinary place of residence, is a very
different thing, and a feat much more easily to be accomplished, than
taking him from it. It requires a great deal of foresight and presence
of mind in the one case, to anticipate the numerous flights of his
discursive imagination ; whereas, in the other, all you havo to do is,
to hold on, and place a blind confidence in the animal. Mr. Cymon
Tuggs adopted the latter expedient on his return ; and his nerves were
so little discomposed by the journey, that he distinctly understood
they were all to meet again at the library in the evening.

The library was crowded. There were the same ladies, and the
same gentlemen, who had been on the sands in the morning, and on
the pier the day before. There were young ladies, in maroon-coloured
gowns and black velvet bracelets, dispensing fancy articles in the
shop, and presiding over games of chance in the concert-room. There
were marriageable daughters, and marriage-making mammas, gaming
and promenading, and turning over music, and flirting. There were
some male beaux doing the sentimental in whispers, and others doing
the ferocious in moustache. There were Mrs. Tuggs in amber, Miss
Tuggs in sky-blue, Mrs. Captain Waters in pink. There was Captain
Waters in a braided surtout ; there was Mr. Cymon Tuggs in pumps
and a gilt waistcoat ; there was Mr. Joseph Tuggs in a blue coat, and
a shirt-frill.

" Numbers three, eight, and eleven ! " cried one of the young ladies
in the maroon-coloured gowns.

" Numbers three, eight, and eleven ! " echoed another young lady in
the same uniform.

" Number three's gone," said the first young lady. " Numbers eight
and eleven ! "

" Numbers eight and eleven ! " echoed the second young lady.

" Number eight's gone, Mary Ann," said the first young lady.

" Number eleven ! " screamed the second.

" The numbers are all taken now, ladies, if you please," said the
first. The representatives of numbers three, eight, and eleven, and
the rest of the numbers, crowded round the table.

" Will you throw, ma'am ? " said the presiding goddess, handing the
dice-box to the eldest daughter of a stout lady, with four girls.

There was a profound silence among the lookers-on.

" Throw, Jane, my dear," said the stout lady. An interesting dis-
play of bashfulness — a little blushing in a cambric handkerchief — a
whispering to a younger sister.

" Amelia, my dear, throw for your sister," said the stout lady ; and
then she turned to a walking advertisement of Rowlands' Macassar
Oil, who stood next her, and said, " Jane is so very modest and retiring ;
but I can't be angry with her for it. An artless and unsophisticated
girl is so truly amiable, that I often wish Amelia was more like her
sister."

The gentleman with the whiskers whispered his admiring approval.

264 . Sketches by Boz.

" Now, my dear ! " said the stout lady. Miss Amelia threw — eight
for her sister, ten for herself.

"Nice figure, Amelia," whispered the stout lady to a thin youth
beside her.

"Beautiful!"

" And such a spirit ! I am like you in that respect. I can not help
admiring that life and vivacity. Ah ! (a sigh) I wish I could make
poor Jane a little more like my dear Amelia ! "

The young gentleman cordially acquiesced in the sentiment ; both
he, and the individual first addressed, were perfectly contented.

" Who's this ? " inquired Mr. Cymon Tuggs of Mrs. Captain Waters,
as a short female, in a blue velvet hat and feathers, was led into the
orchestra, by a fat man in black tights and cloudy Berlins.

" Mrs. Tippin, of the London theatres," replied Belinda, referring
to the programme of the concert.

The talented Tippin having condescendingly acknowledged the
clapping of hands, and shouts of " bravo ! " which greeted her appear-
ance, proceeded to sing the popular cavatina of " Bid me discourse,"
accompanied on the piano by Mr. Tippin ; after which, Mr. Tippin
sang a comic song, accompanied on the piano by Mrs. Tippin : the
applause consequent upon which, was only to be exceeded by the
enthusiastic approbation bestowed upon an air with variations on
the guitar, by Miss Tippin, accompanied on the chin by Master
Tippin.

Thus passed the evening ; thus passed the days and evenings of the
Tuggs's, and the Waters's, for six weeks. Sands in the morning-
donkeys at noon — pier in the afternoon — library at night — and the
same people everywhere.

On that very night six weeks, the moon was shining brightly over
the calm sea, which dashed against the feet of the tall gaunt cliffs,
with just enough noise to lull the old fish to sleep, without disturbing
the young ones, when two figures were discernible — or would have
been, if anybody had looked for them — seated on one of the wooden
benches which are stationed near the verge of the western cliff. The
moon had climbed higher into the heavens, by two hours' journeying,
since those figures first sat down — and yet they had moved not. The
crowd of loungers had thinned and dispersed ; the noise of itinerant
musicians had died away; light after light had appeared in the
windows of the different houses in the distance ; blockade-man after
blockade-man had passed the spot, wending his way towards his
solitary post ; and yet those figures had remained stationary. Some
portions of the two forms were in deep shadow, but the light of the
moon fell strongly on a puce-coloured boot and a glazed stock. Mr.
Cymon Tuggs and Mrs. Captain Waters were seated on that bench.
They spoke not, but were silently gazing on the sea.

" Walter will return to-morrow," said Mrs. Captain Waters, mourn-
fully breaking silence.

Platonic Love. 265

Mr. Cymon Tuggs sighed like a gust of wind through a forest of
gooseberry bushes, as he replied, " Alas ! he will."

" Oh, Cymon ! " resumed Belinda, " the chaste delight, the calm
happiness, of this one week of Platonic love, is too much for me ! "

Cymon was about to suggest that it was too little for him, but he
stopped himself, and murmured unintelligibly.

" And to think that even this gleam of happiness, innocent as it is,"
exclaimed Belinda, " is now to be lost for ever ! "

" Oh, do not say for ever, Belinda," exclaimed the excitable Cymon,
as two strongly-defined tears chased each other down his pale face — it
was so long that there was plenty of room for a chase — " Do not say
for ever ! "

" I must," replied Belinda.

" Why ? " urged Cymon, " oh why ? Such Platonic acquaintance as
ours is so harmless, that even your husband can never object to it."

" My husband ! " exclaimed Belinda. " You little know him.
Jealous and revengeful ; ferocious in his revenge — a maniac in his
jealousy ! Would you be assassinated before my eyes ? " Mr. Cymou
Tuggs, in a voice broken by emotion, expressed his disinclination to
undergo the process of assassination before the eyes of anybody.

" Then leave me," said Mrs. Captain Waters. " Leave me, this night,
for ever. It is late : let us return."

Mr. Cymon Tnggs sadly offered the lady his arm, and escorted her
to her lodgings. He paused at the door— he felt a Platonic pressure
of his hand. " Good-night," he said, hesitating.

" Good-night," sobbed the lady. Mr. Cymon Tuggs paused again.

" Won't you walk in, sir ? " said the servant. Mr. Tuggs hesitated.
Oh, that hesitation ! He did walk in.

" Good-night ! " said Mr. Cymon Tuggs again, when he had reached
the drawing-room.

" Good-night ! " replied Belinda ; " and, if at any period of my life,
I — Hush ! " The lady paused and stared with a steady gaze of horror,
on the ashy countenance of Mi1. Cymon Tuggs. There was a double-
knock at the street-door.

" It is my husband ! " said Belinda, as the captain's voice was heard
below.

" And my family ! " added Cymon Tuggs, as the voices of his
relatives floated up the staircase.

" The curtain ! The curtain ! " gasped Mrs. Captain Waters, point-
ing to the window, before which some chintz hangings were closely
drawn.

" But I have done nothing wrong," said the hesitating Cymon.

" The curtain 1 " reiterated the frantic lady : " you will be murdered."
This last appeal to his feelings was irresistible. The dismayed
Cymon concealed himself behind the curtain with pantomimic
suddenness.

Enter the captain, Joseph Tuggs, Mrs. Tuggs, and Charlotta.

266 Sketches by Boz.

" My dear," said the captain, " Lieutenant Slaughter." Two iron-
shod boots and one gruff voice were heard by Mr. Cymon to advance,
and acknowledge the honour of the introduction. The sabre of the
lieutenant rattled heavily upon the floor, as he seated himself at the
table. Mr. Cymon's fears almost overcame his reason.

" The brandy, my dear ! " said the captain. Here was a situation !
They were going to make a night of it ! And Mr. Cymon Tuggs was
pent up behind the curtain and afraid to breathe !

" Slaughter," said the captain, " a cigar ? "

Now, Mr. Cymon Tuggs never could smoke without feeling it indis-
pensably necessary to retire, immediately, and never could smell smoke
without a strong disposition to cough. The cigars were introduced ;
the captain was a professed smoker; so was the lieutenant; so was
Joseph Tuggs. The apartment was small, the door \vas closed, the
smoke powerful: it hung in heavy wreaths over the room, and at
length found its way behind the curtain. Cymon Tuggs held his
nose, his mouth, his breath. It was all of no use — out came the
cough.

"Bless my soul!" said the captain, "I beg your pardon, Miss
Tuggs. You dislike smoking ? "

' Oh, no ; I don't indeed," said Charlotta.

' It makes you cough."

' Oh dear no."

' You coughed just now."

' Me, Captain Waters ! Lor ! how can you say so ? "

' Somebody coughed," said the captain.

' I certainly thought so," said Slaughter. No ; everybody denied it.

' Fancy," said the captain.

' Must be," echoed Slaughter.

Cigars resumed — more smoke — another cough — smothered, but
violent.

" Damned odd ! " said the captain, staring about him.

" Sing'ler ! " ejaculated the unconscious Mr. Joseph Tuggs.

Lieutenant Slaughter looked first at one person mysteriously, then
at another : then, laid down his cigar, then approached the window on
tiptoe, and pointed with his right thumb over his shoulder, in the
direction of the curtain.

" Slaughter ! " ejaculated the captain, rising from table, " what do
you mean ? "

The lieutenant, in reply, drew back the curtain and discovered Mr.
Cymon Tuggs behind it : pallid with apprehension, and blue with
wanting to cough.

" Aha ! " exclaimed the captain, furiously, " What do I see ?
Slaughter, your sabre ! "

" Cymon ! " screamed the Tuggs's.

" Mercy ! " said Belinda.

" Platonic ! " gasped Cymon.

A Frightful Tableau. 267

" Your sabre ! " roared the captain : " Slaughter— unhand me — the
villain's life ! "

" Murder ! " screamed the Tuggs's.

" Hold him fast, sir ! " faintly articulated Cyraon.

" Water ! " exclaimed Joseph Tuggs — and Mr. Cymon Tuggs and
all the ladies forthwith fainted away, and formed a tableau.

Most willingly would we conceal the disastrous termination of the
six weeks' acquaintance. A troublesome form, and an arbitrary
custom, however, prescribe that a story should have a conclusion, in
addition to a commencement ; we have therefore no alternative.
Lieutenant Slaughter brought a message — the captain brought an
action. Mr. Joseph Tuggs interposed — the lieutenant negotiated.
When Mr. Cymon Tuggs recovered from the nervous disorder into
which misplaced affection, and exciting circumstances, had plunged
him, he found that his family had lost their pleasant acquaintance ;
that his father was minus fifteen hundred pounds ; and the captain
plus the precise sum. The money was paid to hush the matter up,
but it got abroad notwithstanding ; and there are not wanting some
who affirm that three designing impostors never found more easy
dupes, than did Captain Waters, Mrs. Waters, and Lieutenant
Slaughter, in the Tuggs's at Kamsgate.

CHAPTER V.

HORATIO SPARKINS.

" INDEED, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention on the last
assembly night," said Mrs. Malderton, addressing her spouse, who
after the fatigues of the day in the City, was sitting with a silk hand-
kerchief over his head, and his feet on the fender, drinking his port ; —
" very great attention ; and I say again, every possible encouragement
ought to be given him. He positively must be asked down here to dine."

" Who must ? " inquired Mr. Malderton.

" Why, you know whom I mean, my dear — the young man with the
black whiskers and the white cravat, who has just come out at our
assembly, and whom all the girls are talking about. Young —
dear me ! what's his name ? — Marianne, what is his name ? " continued
Mrs. Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was engaged
in netting a purse, and looking sentimental.

" Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma," replied Miss Marianne, with a sigh.

"Oh! yes, to be sure — Horatio Sparkins," said Mrs. Maldertou.
"Decidedly the most gentleman-like young man I ever saw. I am
sure in the beautifully-made coat he wore the other night, he looked
like-like "

268 Sketches by Boz.

" Like Prince Leopold, ma — so noble, so full of sentiment ! " sug-
gested Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic admiration.

" You should recollect, my dear," resumed Mrs. Malderton, " that
Teresa is now eight-and-twenty ; and that it really is very important
that something should be done."

Miss Teresa Malderton was a very little girl, rather fat, with
vermilion cheeks, but good-humoured, and still disengaged, although,
to do her justice, the misfortune arose from no lack of perseverance
on her part. In vain had she flirted for ten years ; in vain had Mr.
and Mrs. Malderton assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance
among the young eligible bachelors of Camberwell, and even of
Wandsworth and Brixton ; to say nothing of those who " dropped in "
from town. Miss Malderton was as well known as the lion on the top
of Northumberland House, and had an equal chance of " going off."

" I am quite sure you'd like him," continued Mrs. Malderton, " he
is so gentlemanly ! "

" So clever ! " said Miss Marianne.

" And has such a flow of language ! " added Miss Teresa.

" He has a great respect for you, my dear," said Mrs. 'Malderton to
her husband. Mr. Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire.

" Yes, I'm sure he's very much attached to pa's society," said Miss
Marianne.

" No doubt of it," echoed Miss Teresa.

" Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence," observed Mrs.
Malderton.

" Well, well," returned Mr. Malderton, somewhat flattered ; " if I
see him at the assembly to-morrow, perhaps I'll ask him down. I
hope he knows we live at Oak Lodge, Camberwell, my dear ? "

" Of course — and that you keep a one-horse carriage."

" I'll see about it," said Mr. Malderton, composing himself for a
nap ; " I'll see about it."

Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas was limited
to Lloyd's, the Exchange, the India House, and the Bank. A few
successful speculations had raised him from a situation of obscurity
and comparative poverty, to a state of affluence. As frequently happens
in such cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated to
an extraordinary pitch as their means increased ; they affected fashion,
taste, and many other fooleries, in imitation of their betters, and had
a very decided and becoming horror of anything which could, by
possibility, be considered low. He was hospitable from ostentation,
illiberal from ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. Egotism and
the love of display induced him to keep an excellent table : convenience,
and a love of good things of this life, ensured him plenty of guests.
He liked to have clever men, or what he considered such, at his table,
because it was a great thing to talk about ; but he never could endure
what ho called " sharp fellows." Probably, he cherished this feeling
out of compliment to his two sons, who gave their respected parent no

The Conquering Hero. 269

uneasiness in that particular. The family were ambitious of forming
acquaintances and connections in some sphere of society superior to
that in which they themselves moved ; and one of the necessary con-
sequences of this desire, added to their utter ignorance of the world
beyond their own small circle, was, that any one who could lay claim
to an acquaintance with people of rank and title, had a sure passport
to the table at Oak Lodge, Camberwell.

The appearance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins at the assembly, had
excited no small degree of surprise and curiosity among its regular
frequenters. Who could he be? He was evidently reserved, and
apparently melancholy. Was he a clergyman ? — He danced too well.
A barrister ? — he said he was not called. He used very fine words,
and talked a great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner, come
to England for the purpose of describing the country, its manners and
customs ; and frequenting public balls and public dinners, with the
view of becoming acquainted with high life, polished etiquette, and
English refinement? — No, he had not a foreign accent. Was he a
surgeon, a contributor to the magazines, a writer of fashionable novels,
or an artist ? — No ; to each and all of these surmises, there existed
some valid objection. — " Then," said everybody, " he must be some-
body"— " I should think he must be," reasoned Mr. Malderton, within
himself, " because he perceives our superiority, and pays us so much
attention."

The night succeeding the conversation we have just recorded, was
" assembly night." The double-fly was ordered to be at the door of
Oak Lodge at nine o'clock precisely. The Miss Maldertons were
dressed in sky-blue satin trimmed with artificial flowers ; and Mrs.
M. (who was a little fat woman), in ditto ditto, looked like her eldest
daughter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Malderton, the eldest
son, in full-dress costume, was the very beau ideal of a smart waiter ;
and Mr. Thomas Malderton, the youngest, with his white dress-stock,
blue coat, bright buttons, and red watch-ribbon, strongly resembled
the portrait of that interesting, but rash young gentleman, George
Barnwell. Every member of the party had made up his or her mind
to cultivate the acquaintance of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Miss Teresa,
of course, was to be as amiable and interesting as ladies of eight-and-
twenty on the look-out for a husband, usually are. Mrs. Malderton
would be all smiles and graces. Miss Marianne would request the
favour of some verses for her album. Mr. Malderton would patronise
the great unknown by asking him to dinner. Tom intended to ascer-
tain the extent of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and
cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, the family authority
on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement ; who had
lodgings of his own in town; who had a free admission to Covent
Garden Theatre ; who always dressed according to the fashions of the
months ; who went up the water twice a week in the season ; and who
actually had an intimate friend who once knew a gentleman who

270 Sketches by Boz,

formerly lived in the Albany, — even lie had determined that Mr.
Horatio Sparkins must be a devilish good fellow, and that he would
do him the honour of challenging him to a game at billiards.

The first object that met the anxious eyes of the expectant family
on their entrance into the ball-room, was the interesting Horatio, with
his hair brushed off his forehead, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling,
reclining in a contemplative attitude on one of the seats.

" There he is, my dear," whispered Mrs. Malderton to Mr. Malderton.

" How like Lord Byron ! " murmured Miss Teresa.

" Or Montgomery ! " whispered Miss Marianne.

" Or the portraits of Captain Cook ! " suggested Tom.

" Tom — don't be an ass ! " said his father, who checked him on all
occasions, probably with a view to prevent his becoming " sharp " —
which was very unnecessary.

The elegant Sparkins attitudinised with admirable effect, until the
family had crossed the room. He then started up, with the most
natural apppearance of surprise and delight ; accosted Mrs. Malderton
with the utmost cordiality ; saluted the young ladies in the most
enchanting manner ; bowed to, and shook hands with, Mr. Malderton,
with a degree of respect amounting almost to veneration ; and returned
the greetings of the two young men in a half-gratified, half-patronising
manner, which fully convinced them that he must be an important,
and, at the same time, condescending personage.

" Miss Malderton," said Horatio, after the ordinary salutations, and
bowing very low, " may I be permitted to presume to hope that you
will allow me to have the pleasure "

" I don't think I am engaged," said Miss Teresa, with a dreadful
affectation of indifference — " but, really — so many "

Horatio looked handsomely miserable.

" I shall be most happy," simpered the interesting Teresa, at last.
Horatio's countenance brightened up, like an old hat in a shower of
rain.

" A very genteel young man, certainly ! " said the gratified Mr.
Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his partner joined the
quadrille which was just forming.

" He has a remarkably good address," said Mr. Frederick.

" Yes, he is a prime fellow," interposed Tom, who always managed
to put his foot in it — " he talks just like an auctioneer."

" Tom ! " said his father solemnly, " I think I desired you, before,
not to be a fool." Tom looked as happy as a cock on a drizzly
morning.

" How delightful ! " said the interesting Horatio to his partner, as
they promenaded the room at the conclusion of the set — " how delight-
ful, how refreshing it is, to retire from the cloudy storms, the vicis-
situdes, and the troubles, of life, even if it be but for a few short
fleeting moments : and to spend those moments, fading and evanescent
though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society of one individual

An Invitation. 271

— whoso frowns would be death, whose coldness would be madness,
whose falsehood would be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss ; the
possession of whose affection would be the brightest and best reward
that Heaven could bestow on man ? "

" What feeling ! what sentiment ! " thought Miss Teresa, as she
leaned more heavily on her companion's arm.

" But enough — enough ! " resumed the elegant Sparkius, with a
theatrical air. " What have I said ? what have I — I — to do with
sentiments like these! Miss Maldorton" — here ho stopped short—
" may I hope to be permitted to offer the humble tribute of "

" Keally, Mr. Sparkins," returned the enraptured Teresa, blushing
in the sweetest confusion, " I must refer you to papa. I never can,
without his consent, venture to

" Surely he cannot object "

" Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not ! " interrupted Miss
Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to fear, but wishing to make
the interview resemble a scene in some romantic novel.

" He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus," returned
the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise.

" Is that all ? " thought the disappointed Teresa. " What a fuss
about nothing ! "

" It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you to dinner at
Oak Lodge, Camberwell, on Sunday next at five o'clock, if you have
no better engagement," said Mr. Malderton, at the conclusion of the
evening, as he and his sons were standing in conversation with Mr.
Horatio Sparkins.

Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the flattering
invitation.

" I must confess," continued the father, offering his snuff-box to his
new acquaintance, " that I don't enjoy these assemblies half so much
as the comfort — I had almost said the luxury — of Oak Lodge. They
have no great charms for an elderly man."

" And after all, sir, what is man ? " said the metaphysical Sparkins.
" I say, what is man ? "

" Ah ! very true," said Mr Malderton ; " very true."

" We know that we live and breathe," continued Horatio ; " that
we have wants and wishes, desires and appetites "

" Certainly," said Mr. Frederick Malderton, looking profound.

" I say, we know that we exist," repeated Horatio, raising his voice,
" but there we stop ; there, is an end to our knowledge ; there, is the
summit of our attainments ; there, is the termination of our ends.
What more do we know ? "

"Nothing," replied Mr. Frederick — than whom no one was more
capable of answering for himself in that particular. Tom was about
to hazard something, but, fortunately for his reputation, he caught
his father's angry eye, and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty
larceny.

272 Sketches by Boz.

"Upon my word," said Mr. Malderton the elder, as they were
returning home in the fly, " that Mr. Sparkins is a wonderful young
man. Such surprising knowledge! such extraordinary information!
and such a splendid mode of expressing himself! "

" I think he must be somebody in disguise," said Miss Marianne.
" How charmingly romantic ! "

" He talks very loud and nicely," timidly observed Tom, " but I
don't exactly understand what he means."

" I almost begin to despair of your understanding anything, Tom,"
said his father, who, of course, had been much enlightened by Mr.
Horatio Sparkins's conversation.

"It strikes me, Tom," said Miss Teresa, "that you have made
yourself very ridiculous this evening."

"No doubt of it," cried everybody — and the unfortunate Tom
reduced himself into the least possible space. That night, Mr. and
Mrs. Malderton had a long conversation respecting their daughter's
prospects and future arrangements. Miss Teresa went to bed, con-
sidering whether, in the event of her marrying a title, she could
conscientiously encourage the visits of her present associates; and
dreamed, all night, of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes,
bridal favours, and Horatio Sparkins.

Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning, as to the
mode of conveyance which the anxiously-expected Horatio would
adopt. Did he keep a gig ? — was it possible ho could come on horse-
back ? — or would he patronize the stage ? These, and other various
conjectures of equal importance, engrossed the attention of Mrs.
Malderton and her daughters during the whole morning after church.

" Upon my word, my dear, it's a most annoying thing that that
vulgar brother of yours should have invited himself to dine here
to-day," said Mr. Malderton to his wife. " On account of Mr.
Sparkins's coming down, I purposely abstained from asking any one
but Flamwell. And then to think of your brother — a tradesman — it's
insufferable ! I declare I wouldn't have him mention his shop, before
our new guest — no, not for a thousand pounds ! I wouldn't care if he
had the good sense to conceal the disgrace he is to the family ; but
he's so fond of his horrible business, that he will let people know
what he is."

Mr. Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer ; so
vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never
scrupled to avow that he wasn't above his business : " he'd made his
money by it, and he didn't care who know'd it."

" Ah ! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d'ye do ? " said Mr. Malder-
ton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered the room.
" You got my note ? "

" Yes, I did ; and here I am in consequence."

" You don't happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name ? You
know everybody ? "

Mr. Flamwell is appealed to. 273

Mr. Flamwefl. was one of those gentlemen of remarkably extensive
information whom one occasionally meets in society, who pretend to
know everybody, but in reality know nobody. At Malderton's, where
any stories about great people were received with a greedy ear, ho
was an especial favourite ; and, knowing the kind of people he had
to deal with, ho carried his passion of claiming acquaintance with
everybody, to the most immoderate length. He had rather a singular
way of telling his greatest lies in a parenthesis, and with an air of
self-denial, as if he feared being thought egotistical.

" Why, no, I don't know him by that name," returned Flamwell, in
a low tone, and with an air of immense importance. " I have no
doubt I know him, though. Is he tall ? "

" Middle-sized," said Miss Teresa.

" With black hair ? " inquired Flamwell, hazarding a bold guess.

" Yes," returned Miss Teresa, eagerly.

" Rather a snub nose ? "

" No," said the disappointed Teresa, " he has a Roman nose."

" I said a Roman nose, didn't I ? " inquired Flamwell. " He's an
elegant young man ? "

" Oh, certainly."

" With remarkably prepossessing manners ? "

" Oh, yes ! " said all the family together. " You must know him."

" Yes, I thought yon knew him, if he was anybody," triumphantly
exclaimed Mr. Malderton. " Who d'ye think he is ? "

" Why, from your description," said Flamwell, ruminating, and
sinking his voice, almost to a whisper, " he bears a strong resemblance
to the Honourable Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne.
He's a very talented young man, and rather eccentric. It's extremely
probable he may have changed his name for some temporary purpose."

Teresa's heart beat high. Could ho be the Honourable Augustus
Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne ! What a came to be elegantly
engraved upon two glazed cards, tied together with a piece of white
satin ribbon ! " The Honourable Mrs. Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-
John Fitz-Osborne ! " The thought was transport.

" It's five minutes to five," said Mr. Maldcrtou, looking at his watch :
" I hope he's not going to disappoint us."

" There he is ! " exclaimed Miss Teresa, as a loud double-knock was
heard at the door. Everybody endeavoured to look — as people when
they particularly expect a visitor always do — as if they were perfectly
unsuspicious of the approach of anybody.

The room-door opened — " Mr. Barton ! " said the servant.

" Confound the man ! " murmured Malderton. " Ah ! my dear sir,
how d'ye do ! Any news ? "

" Why no," returned the grocer, in his usual bluff manner. " No,
none partickler. None that I am much aware of. How d'ye do, gals
and boys ? Mr. Flamwell, sir — glad to see you."

" Here's Mr. Sparkins ! " said Tom, who had been looking out at

T

274 Sketches by Boz.

the wiudow, " on such a black horse ! " There was Horatio, sure
enough, on a large black horse, curvetting and prancing along, like an
Astley's supernumerary. After a great deal of reining in, and pulling
up, with the accompaniments of snorting, rearing, and kicking, the
animal consented to stop at about a hundred yards from the gate,
where Mr. Sparkins dismounted, and confided him to the care of Mr.
Malderton's groom. The ceremony of introduction was gone through,
in all due form. Mr. Flam well looked from behind his green spectacles
at Horatio with an air of mysterious importance ; and the gallant
Horatio looked unutterable things at Teresa.

" Is he the Honourable Mr. Augustus what's his name ? " whispered
Mrs. Malderton to Flamwell, as he was escorting her to the dining-
room.

" Why, no — at least not exactly," returned that great authority —
" not exactly."

" Who is he then ? "

" Hush ! " said Flamwell, nodding his head with a grave air, importing
that he knew very well ; but was prevented, by some grave reasons of
state, from disclosing the important secret. It might be one of the
ministers making himself acquainted with the views of the people.

" Mr. Sparkins," said the delighted Mrs. Malderton, " pray divide
the ladies. John, put a chair for the gentleman between Miss Teresa
and Miss Marianne." This was addressed to a man who, on ordinary
occasions, acted as half-groom, half-gardener ; but who, as it was
important to make an impression on Mr. Sparkins, had been forced
into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up, and brushed, to
look like a second footman.

The dinner was excellent ; Horatio was most attentive to Miss
Teresa, and everyone felt in high spirits, except Mr. Malderton, who,
knowing the propensity of his brother-in-law, Mr. Barton, endured
that sort of agony which the newspapers inform us is experienced by
the surrounding neighbourhood when a potboy hangs himself in a
hay-loft, and which is " much easier to be imagined than described."

" Have you seen your friend, Sir Thomas Noland, lately, Flam-
well ? " inquired Mr. Malderton, casting a sidelong look at Horatio, to
see what effect the mention of so great a man had upon him.

" Why, no — not very lately. I saw Lord Gubbleton the day before
yesterday."

" Ah ! I hope his lordship is very well ? " said Malderton, in a tone
of the greatest interest. It is scarcely necessary to say that, until that
moment, he had been quite innocent of the existence of such a person.

" Why, yes ; he was very well — very well indeed. He's a devilish
good fellow. I met him in the City, and had a long chat with him.
Indeed, I'm rather intimate with him. I couldn't stop to talk to him
as long as I could wish, though, because I was on my way to a banker's,
a very rich man, and a Member of Parliament, with whom I am also
rather, indeed I may say very, intimate."

The Dinner Party. 275

" I know whom you mean," returned tbe host, consequentially — in
reality knowing as much about the matter as Flamwell himself. " Ho
has a capital business."

This was touching on a dangerous topic.

" Talking of business," interposed Mr. Barton, from the centre of
the table. " A gentleman whom you knew very well, Malderton,
before you made that first lucky spec of yours, called at our shop the
other day, and

" Barton, may I trouble you for a potato," interrupted the wretched
master of the house, hoping to nip the story in the bud.

" Certainly," returned the grocer, quite insensible of his brother-in-
law's object — " and he said in a very plain manner "

" Floury, if you please," interrupted Malderton again ; dreading the
termination of the anecdote, and fearing a repetition of the word " shop."

"He said, says he," continued the culprit, after despatching the
potato ; " says he, how goes on your business ? So I said, jokingly —
you know my way — says I, I'm never above my business, and I hope
my business will never be above me. Ha, ha ! "

" Mr. Sparkins," said the host, vainly endeavouring to conceal his
dismay, " a glass of wine ? "

" With the utmost pleasure, sir."

" Happy to see you."

" Thank you."

" We were talking the other evening," resumed the host, addressing
Horatio, partly with the view of displaying the conversational powers
of his new acquaintance, and partly in the hope of drowning the
grocer's stories — " we were talking the other night about the nature
of man. Your argument struck me very forcibly."

" And me," said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a graceful inclina-
tion of the head.

" Pray, what is your opinion of woman, Mr. Sparkins ? " inquired
Mrs. Malderton. The young ladies simpered.

" Man," replied Horatio, " man, whether he ranged the bright, gay,
flowery, plains of a second Eden, or the more sterile, barren, and I
may say, commonplace regions, to which we are compelled to accustom
ourselves, in times such as these, man, under any circumstances, or in
any place — whether he were bending beneath the withering blasts of
the frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of a vertical sun — man,
without woman, would be — alone."

" I am very happy to find you entertain such honourable opinions,
Mr. Sparkins," said Mrs. Malderton.

" And I," added Miss Teresa. Horatio looked his delight, and the
young lady blushed.

" Now, it's my opinion," said Mr. Barton

" I know what you're going to say," interposed Malderton, deter-
mined not to give his relation another opportunity, " and I don't agree
with you."

276 Sketches by Boz.

•

" What ? " inquired the astonished grocer.

" I am sorry to differ from you, Barton," said the host, in as positive
a manner as if he really were contradicting a position which the other
had laid down, " but I cannot give my assent to what I consider a
very monstrous proposition."

" But I meant to say "

"You never can convince me," said Malderton, with an air of
obstinate determination. " Never."

"And I," said Mr. Frederick, following up his father's attack,
" cannot entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins's argument."

" What ? " said Horatio, who became more metaphysical, and more
argumentative, as he saw the female part of the family listening in
wondering delight — " what ? Is effect the consequence of cause ? Is
cause the precursor of effect ? "

" That's the point," said Flamwell.

" To be sure," said Mr. Malderton.

" Because, if effect is the consequence of cause, and if cause does
precede effect, I apprehend you are wrong," added Horatio.

" Decidedly," said the toad-eating Flamwell.

" At least, I apprehend that to be the just and logical deduction ? "
said Sparkins, in a tone of interrogation.

"No doubt of it," chimed in Flamwell again. "It settles the
point."

"Well, perhaps it does," said Mr. Frederick; "I didn't see it
before."

" I don't exactly see it now," thought the grocer ; " but I suppose
it's all right."

" How wonderfully clever he is 1 " whispered Mrs. Malderton to her
daughters, as they retired to the drawing-room.

" Oh, he's quite a love ! " said both the young ladies together ; " he
talks like an oracle. He must have seen a great deal of life."

The gentlemen being left to themselves, a pause ensued, during
which everybody looked very grave, as if they were quite overcome by
the profound nature of the previous discussion. Flamwell, who had
made up his mind to find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins
really was, first broke silence.

"Excuse me, sir," said that distinguished personage, "I presume
you have studied for the bar ? I thought of entering once, myself —
indeed, I'm rather intimate with some of the highest ornaments of that
distinguished profession.

" N — no ! " said Horatio, with a little hesitation ; " not exactly."

" But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake ? "
inquired Flamwell, deferentially.

" Nearly all my life," returned Sparkins.

The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flam-
well. He was a young gentleman " about to bo called."

" I shouldn't like to be a barrister," said Tom, speaking for the first

" The Point" gained. 277

time, and looking round the table to find somebody who would notice
the remark.

No one made any reply.

"I shouldn't like to wear a wig," said Tom, hazarding another
observation.

" Tom, I beg you will not make yourself ridiculous," said his father.
" Pray listen, and improve yourself by the conversation you hear, and
don't be constantly making these absurd remarks."

" Very well, father," replied the unfortunate Tom, who had not
spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at a quarter-
past five o'clock, P.M., and it was then eight.

"Well, Tom," observed his good-natured uncle, "never mind! I
think with you. I shouldn't like to wear a wig. I'd rather wear an
apron."

Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed — " For if
a man's above his business —

The cough returned with tenfold violence, and did not cease until
the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had quite forgotten what he
intended to say.

" Mr. Sparkins," said Flamwell, returning to the charge, " do you
happen to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford Square ? "

" I have exhanged cards with him ; since which, indeed, I have had
an opportunity of serving him considerably," replied Horatio, slightly
colouring ; no doubt, at having been betrayed into making the acknow-
ledgment.

" You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity of obliging
that great man," observed Flamwell, with an air of profound respect.

" I don't know who he is," he whispered to Mr. Malderton, con-
fidentially, as they followed Horatio up to the drawing-room. " It's
quite clear, however, that he belongs to the law, and that he is some-
body of great importance, and very highly connected."

" No doubt, no doubt," returned his companion.

The remainder of the evening passed away most delightfully. Mr.
Malderton, relieved from his apprehensions by the circumstance of
Mr. Barton's falling into a profound sleep, was as aftable and gracious
as possible. Miss Teresa played the " Fall of Paris," as Mr. Sparkins
declared, in a most masterly manner, and both of them, assisted by
Mr. Frederick, tried over glees and trios without number; they
having made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonised
beautifully. To be sure, they all sang the first part ; and Horatio, in
addition to the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly
innocent of knowing a note of music ; still, they passed the time very
agreeably, and it was past twelve o'clock before Mr. Sparkins ordered
the mourning-coach-looking steed to be brought out — an order which
was only complied with, on the distinct understanding that ho was to
repeat his visit on the following Sunday.

" But, perhaps, Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party to-morrow

278 Sketches by Boz.

evening ? " suggested Mrs. M. " Mr. Malderton intends taking the
girls to see the pantomime." Mr. Sparkins bowed, and promised to
join, the party in box 48, in the course of the evening.

" We will not tax you for the morning," said Miss Teresa, bewitch-
ingly ; " for ma is going to take us to all sorts of places, shopping. I
know that gentlemen have a great horror of that employment." Mr.
Sparkins bowed again, and declared that he should be delighted, but
business of importance occupied him in the morning. Flamwell
looked at Malderton significantly. — " It's term time ! " he whispered.

At twelve o'clock on the following morning, the " fly " was at the
door of Oak Lodge, to convey Mrs. Malderton and her daughters on
their expedition for the day. They were to dine and dress for the play
at a friend's house. First, driving thither with their band-boxes, they
departed on their first errand to make some purchases at Messrs. Jones,
Spruggins, and Smith's, of Tottenham Court Eoad ; after which, they
were to go to Redmayne's in Bond Street ; thence, to innumerable
places that no one ever heard of. The young ladies beguiled tho
tediousness of the ride by eulogising Mr. Horatio Sparkins, scolding
their mamma for taking them so far to save a shilling, and wondering
whether they should ever reach their destination. At length, the
vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking ticketed linendraper's shop,
with goods of all kinds, and labels of all sorts and sizes, in the
window. There were dropsical figures of seven with a little three-
farthings in the corner ; " perfectly invisible to the naked eye ; " three
hundred and fifty thousand ladies' boas, from one shilling and a penny
halfpenny ; real French kid shoes, at two and ninepence per pair ;
green parasols, at an equally cheap rate ; and " every description of
goods," as the proprietors said — and they must know best — " fifty per
cent, under cost price."

" Lor ! ma, what a place you have brought us to ! " said Miss Teresa ;
" what would Mr. Sparkins say if he could see us ! "

" Ah ! what, indeed ! " said Miss Marianne, horrified at the idea.

" Pray be seated, ladies. What is the first article ? " inquired the
obsequious master of the ceremonies of the establishment, who, in his
large white neckcloth and formal tie, looked like a bad " portrait of a
gentleman " in the Somerset House exhibition.

" I want to see some silks," answered Mrs. Malderton.

" Directly, ma'am. — Mr. Smith ! Where is Mr. Smith ? "

" Here, sir," cried a voice at the back of the shop."

" Pray make haste, Mr. Smith," said the M.C. " You never are to
be found when you're wanted, sir."

Mr. Smith, thus enjoined to use all possible despatch, leaped over
the counter with great agility, and placed himself before the newly-
arrived customers. Mrs. Malderton uttered a faint scream ; Miss
Teresa, who had been stooping down to talk to her sister, raised her
head, and beheld — Horatio Sparkins !

"We will draw a veil," as novel-writers say, over the scene

A Young Doctor at Home. 279

that ensued. The mysterious, philosophical, romantic, metaphysical
Sparkins — ho who, to the interesting Teresa, seemed like the embodied
idea of the young dukes aud poetical exquisites in blue silk dressing-
gowns, and ditto ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamed,
but had never expected to behold, was suddenly converted into Mr.
Samuel Smith, the assistant at a " cheap shop ; " the junior partner in
a slippery firm of some three weeks' existence. The dignified evanish-
ment of the hero of Oak Lodge, on this unexpected recognition, could
only bo equalled by that of a furtive dog with a considerable kettle at
his tail. All tho hopes of the Maldortons wore destined at once to
molt away, like the lemon ices at a Company's dinner ; Almack's was
still to them as distant as the North Pole ; and Miss Teresa had as
much chance of a husband as Captain Ross had of the north-west
passage.

Years have elapsed since tho occurrence of this dreadful morning.
The daises have thrice bloomed on Camberwell Green ; the sparrows
have thrico repeated their vernal chirps in Camberwell Grove ; but
the Miss Maldertons are still unmated. Miss Teresa's case is more
desperate than ever ; but Flamwell is yet in the zenith of his reputa-
tion ; and the family have tho same predilection for aristocratic
personages, with an increased aversion to anything low.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BLACK VEIL.

ONE winter's evening, towards the close of the "year 1800, or within
a year or two of that time, a young medical practitioner, recently
established in business, was seated by a cheerful fire in his little
parlour, listening to the wind which was beating tho rain in pattering
drops against the window, or rambling dismally in the chimney. The
night was wet and cold ; he had been walking through mud and water
the whole day, and was now comfortably reposing in his dressing-
gown and slippers, more than half asleep and less than half awake,
revolving a thousand matters in his wandering imagination. First,
he thought how hard the wind was blowing, and how the cold, sharp
rain would be at that moment beating in his face, if he were not com-
fortably housed at home. Then, his mind reverted to his annual
Christmas visit to his native place and dearest friends ; he thought
how glad they would all be to see him, and how happy it would make
Hose if he could only tell her that he had found a patient at last, and
hoped to have more, and to come down again, in a few months' time,
and marry her, and take her home to gladden his lonely fireside, and
stimulate him to fresh exertions. Then, he began to wonder when

280 Sketches by Bos.

his first patient would appear, or whether he was destined, by a special
dispensation of Providence, never to have any patients at all; and
then, he thought about Eose again, and dropped to sleep and dreamed
about her, till the tones of her sweet merry voice sounded in his ears,
and her soft tiny hand rested on his shoulder.

There was a hand upon his shoulder, but it was neither soft nor
tiny ; its owner being a corpulent round-headed boy, who, in con-
sideration of the sum of one shilling per week and his food, was let
out by the parish to carry medicine and messages. As there was no
demand for the medicine, however, and no necessity for the messages,
he usually occupied his unemployed hours — averaging fourteen a day
— in abstracting peppermint drops, taking animal nourishment, and
going to sleep.

" A lady, sir — a lady ! " whispered the boy, rousing his master with
a shake.

" What lady ? " cried our friend, starting up, not quite certain that
his dream was an illusion, and half expecting that it might be Rose
herself.—" What lady ? Where ? "

" There, sir ! " replied the boy, pointing to the glass door leading
into the surgery, with an expression of alarm which the very unusual
apparition of a customer might have tended to excite.

The surgeon looked towards the door, and started himself, for an
instant, on beholding the appearance of his unlooked-for visitor.

It was a singularly tall woman, dressed in deep mourning, and
standing so close to the door that her face almost touched the glass.
The upper part of her figure was carefully muffled in a black shawl,
as if for the purpose of concealment ; and her face was shrouded by a
thick black veil. She stood perfectly erect, her figure was drawn up
to its full height, and though the surgeon felt that the eyes beneath
the veil were fixed on him, she stood perfectly motionless, and evinced,
by no gesture whatever, the slightest consciousness of his having
turned towards her.

"Do you wish to consult me?" he inquired, with some hesitation,
holding open the door. It opened inwards, and therefore the action
did not alter the position of the figure, which still remained motionless
on the same spot.

She slightly inclined her head, in token of acquiescence.

" Pray walk in," said the surgeon.

The figure moved a step forward ; and then, turning its head in the
direction of the boy — to his infinite horror — appeared to hesitate.

" Leave the room, Tom," said the young man, addressing the boy,
whose large round eyes had been extended to their utmost width during
this brief interview. " Draw the curtain, and shut the door."

The boy drew a green curtain across the glass part of the door,
retired into the surgery, closed the door after him, and immediately
applied one of his large eyes to the keyhole on the other

A Patient for the Young Doctor. 281

The surgeon drew a chair to the fire, and motioned the visitor to a
Beat. The mysterious figure slowly moved towards it. As the blaze
shone upon the black dress, the surgeon observed that the bottom of
it was saturated with mud and ruin.

" You are very wet," he said.

" I am,"said the stranger, in a low deep voice.

"And you are ill?" added the surgeon, compassionately, for the
tone was that of a person in pain.

" I am," was the reply — " very ill : not bodily, but mentally. It is
not for myself, or on my own behalf," continued the stranger, " that I
come to you. If I laboured under bodily disease, I should not be out,
alone, at such an hour, or on such a night as this ; and if I were
afflicted with it, twenty-four hours hence, God knows how gladly I
would lie down and pray to die. It is for another that I beseech your
aid, sir. I may be mad to ask it for him — I think I am ; but, night
after night, through the long dreary hours of watching and weeping,
the thought has been ever present to my mind ; and though even /
see the hopelessness of human assistance availing him, the bare thought
of laying him in his grave without it makes my blood run cold ! "
And a shudder, such as the surgeon well knew art could not produce,
trembled through the speaker's frame.

There was a desperate earnestness in this woman's manner, that
went to the young man's heart. He was young in his profession, and
had not yet witnessed enough of the miseries which are daily presented
before the eyes of its members, to have grown comparatively callous
to human suffering.

" If," he said, rising hastily, " the person of whom you speak, be in
so hopeless a condition as you describe, not a moment is to bo lost.
I will go with you instantly. Why did you not obtain medical advice
before?"

" Because it would have been useless before — because it is useless
even now," replied the woman, clasping her hands passionately.

The surgeon gazed, for a moment, on the black veil, as if to ascertain
the expression of the features beneath it; its thickness, however,
rendered such a result impossible.

" You are ill," he said, gently, " although you do not know it. The
fever which has enabled you to bear, without feeling it, the fatigue
you have evidently undergone, is burning within you now. Put that
to your lips," he continued, pouring out a glass of water — " compose
yourself for a few moments, and then tell me, as calmly as you can,
what the disease of the patient is, and how long he has been ill.
When I know what it is necessary I should know, to render my visit
serviceable to him, I am ready to accompany you."

The stranger lifted the glass of water to her mouth, without raising
the veil ; put it down again untasted ; and burst into tears.

" I know," she said, sobbing aloud, " that what I say to you now,
seems like the ravings of fever. I have been told so before, less

282 Sketches by Boz.

kindly than by you. I am not a youug woman ; and they do say, that
as life steals on towards its final close, the last short remnant, worth-
less as it may seem to all beside, is dearer to its possessor than all the
years that have gone before, connected though they be with the recol-
lection of old friends long since dead, and young ones — children
perhaps — who have fallen off from, and forgotten one as completely as
if they had died too. My natural term of life cannot be many years
longer, and should be dear on that account ; but I would lay it down
without a sigh — with cheerfulness — with joy — if what I tell you now,
were only false, or imaginary. To-morrow morning he of whom I
speak will be, I know, though I would fain think otherwise, beyond
the reach of human aid ; and yet, to-night, though he is in deadly
peril, you must not see, and could not serve, him."

" I am unwilling to increase your distress," said the surgeon, after
a short pause, " by making any comment on what you have just said,
or appearing desirous to investigate a subject you arc so anxious to
conceal ; but there is an inconsistency in your statement which I
cannot reconcile with probability. This person is dying to-night, and
I cannot see him when my assistance might possibly avail ; you appre-
hend it will be useless to-morrow, and yet yon would have me see him
then ! If he be, indeed, as dear to you, as your words and manner
would imply, why not try to save his life before delay and the progress
of his disease render it impracticable ? " ^

" God help me ! " exclaimed the woman, weeping bitterly, " how
can I hope strangers will believe what appears incredible, even to
myself ? You will not see him then, sir ? " she added, rising suddenly.

" I did not say that I declined to see him," replied the surgeon ;
" but I warn you, that if you persist in this extraordinary procrastina-
tion, and the individual dies, a fearful responsibility rests with you."

" The responsibility will rest heavily somewhere," replied the
stranger bitterly. " Whatever responsibility rests with me, I am
content to bear, and ready to answer."

" As I incur none," continued the surgeon, " by acceding to your
request, I will see him in the morning, if you leave me the address.
At what hour can he be seen ? "

" Nine" replied the stranger.

" You must excuse my pressing these inquiries," said the surgeon.
u But is he in your charge now ? "

" He is not," was the rejoinder.

" Then, if I gave you instructions for his treatment through the night,
you could not assist him ? "

The woman wept bitterly, as she replied, " I could not."

Finding that there was but little prospect of obtaining more infor-
mation by prolonging the interview ; and anxious to spare the woman's
feelings, which, subdued at first by a violent effort, were now irre-
pressible and most painful to witness ; the surgeon repeated his promise
of calling in the morning at the appointed hour. His visitor, after

Mystification of the Young Doctor. 283

giving him a direction to an obscure part of Walworth, left the house
in the same mysterious manner in which she had entered it.

It will be readily believed that so extraordinary a visit produced a
considerable impression on the mind of tho young surgeon ; and that
he speculated a great deal and to very little purpose on the possible
circumstances of tho case. In common with the generality of people,
he had often heard and read of singular instances, in which a pre-
sentiment of death, at a particular day, or even minute, had been
entertained and realised. At one moment ho was inclined to think
that the present might be such a case ; but, then, it occurred to him
that all the anecdotes of the kind ho had ever heard, were of persons
who had been troubled with a foreboding of their own death. This
woman, however, spoke of another person — a man ; and it was impos-
sible to suppose that a mere dream or delusion of fancy would induce
her to speak of his approaching dissolution with such terrible certainty
as she had spoken. It could not bo that the man was to be murdered
in tho morning, and that tho woman, originally a consenting party,
and bound to secrecy by an oath, had relented, and, though unable to
prevent the commission of some outrage on the victim, had determined
to prevent his death if possible, by the timely interposition of medical
aid ? The idea of such things happening within two miles of the
metropolis appeared too wild and preposterous to be entertained beyond
the instant. Then, his original impression that the woman's intellects
were disordered, recurred ; and, as it was the only mode of solving the
difficulty with any degree of satisfaction, he obstinately made up his
mind to believe that she was mad. Certain misgivings upon this
point, however, stole upon his thoughts at the time, and presented
themselves again and again through the long dull course of a sleepless
night ; during which, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary, he was
unable to banish the black veil from his disturbed imagination.

The back part of Walworth, at its greatest distance from town, is a
straggling miserable place enough, even in these days ; but, five-and-
thirty years ago, the greater portion of it was little better than a dreary
waste, inhabited by a few scattered people of questionable character,
whose poverty prevented their living in any better neighbourhood, or
whoso pursuits and mode of life rendered its solitude desirable. Very
many of the houses which have since sprung up on all sides, were not
built until some years afterwards; and the great majority even of
those which were sprinkled about, at irregular intervals, were of the
rudest and most miserable description.

The appearance of the place through which he walked in the morn-
ing, was not calculated to raise the spirits of the young surgeon, or to
dispel any feeling of anxiety or depression which the singular kind of
visit he was about to make, had awakened. Striking off from the high
road, his way lay across a marshy common, through irregular lanes,
with here and there a ruinous and dismantled cottage fast falling to
pieces with decay and neglect. A stunted tree, or pool of stagnant

284 Sketches by Boz.

water, roused into a sluggish action by the heavy rain of the preceding
night, skirted the path occasionally ; and, now and then, a miserable
patch of garden-ground, with a few old boards knocked together for a
summer-house, and old palings imperfectly mended with stakes pilfered
from the neighbouring hedges, bore testimony, at once to the poverty
of the inhabitants, and the little scruple they entertained in appro-
priating the property of other people to their own use. Occasionally,
a filthy-looking woman would make her appearance from the door of
a dirty house, to empty the contents of some cooking utensil into the
gutter in front, or to scream after a little slipshod girl, who had
contrived to stagger a few yards from the door under the weight of a
sallow infant almost as big as herself; but, scarcely anything was
stirring around : and so much of the prospect as could be faintly traced
through the cold damp mist which hung heavily over it, presented a
lonely and dreary appearance perfectly in keeping with the objects we
have described.

After plodding wearily through the mud and mire ; making many
inquiries for the place to which he had been directed ; and receiving
as many contradictory and unsatisfactory replies in return ; the young
man at length arrived before the house which had been pointed out to
him as the object of his destination. It was a small low building, one
story above the ground, with even a more desolate and unpromising
exterior than any he had yet passed. An old yellow curtain was
closely drawn across the window up-stairs, and the parlour shutters
were closed, but not fastened. The house was detached from any
other, and, as it stood at an angle of a narrow lane, there was no other
habitation in sight.

When we say that the surgeon hesitated, and walked a few paces
beyond the house, before he could prevail upon himself to lift the
knocker, we say nothing that need raise a smile upon the face of the
boldest reader. The police of London were a very different body in
that day ; the isolated position of the suburbs, when the rage for build-
ing and the progress of improvement had not yet begun to connect
them with the main body of the city and its environs, rendered many
of them (and this in particular) a place of resort for the worst and
most depraved characters. Even the streets in the gayest parts of
London were imperfectly lighted, at that time ; and such places as
these, were left entirely to the mercy of the moon and stars. The
chances of detecting desperate characters, or of tracing them to their
haunts, were thus rendered very few, and their offences naturally
increased in boldness, as the consciousness of comparative security
became the more impressed upon them by daily experience. Added
to these considerations, it must be remembered that the young man
had spent some time in the public hospitals of the metropolis ; and,
although neither Burke nor Bishop had then gained a horrible
notoriety, his own observation might have suggested to him how easily
the atrocities to which the former has since given his name, might

In a Strange Position. 285

be committed. Be this as it may, whatever reflection made him hesi-
tate, he did hesitate : but, being a young man of strong mind and
great personal courage, it was only for an instant ; — he stepped briskly
back and knocked gently at the door.

A low whispering was audible, immediately afterwards, as if some
person at the end of the passage were conversing stealthily with
another on the landing above. It was succeeded by the noise of a
pair of heavy boots upon the bare floor. The door-chain was softly
unfastened ; the door opened ; and a tall, ill-favoured man, with black
hair, and a face, as the surgeon often declared afterwards, as pale and
haggard, as the countenance of any dead man he ever saw, presented
himself.

" Walk in, sir," he said in a low tone.

The surgeon did so, and the man having secured the door again, by
the chain, led the way to a small back-parlour at the extremity of the
passage.

" Am I in time ? "

" Too soon ! " replied the man. The surgeon turned hastily round,
with a gesture of astonishment not unmixed with alarm, which he
found it impossible to repress.

" If you'll step in here, sir," said the man, who had evidently noticed
the action — " if you'll step in here, sir, you won't be detained five
minutes, I assure you."

The surgeon at once walked into the room. The man closed the
door, and left him alone.

It was a little cold room, with no other furniture than two deal
chairs, and a table of the same material. A handful of fire, unguarded
by any fender, was burning in the grate, which brought out the damp
if it served no more comfortable purpose, for the unwholesome moisture
was stealing down the walls, in long slug-like tracks. The window,
which was broken and patched in many places, looked into a small
enclosed piece of ground, almost covered with water. Not a sound
was to be heard, either within the house, or without. The young
surgeon sat down by the fire-place, to await the result of his first
professional visit.

He had not remained in this position, many minutes, when the noise
of some approaching vehicle struck his ear. It stopped ; the street-
door was opened ; a low talking succeeded, accompanied with a shuffling
noise of footsteps, along the passage and on the stairs, as if two or
three men were engaged in carrying some heavy body to the room
above. The creaking of the stairs, a few seconds afterwards, announced
that the new-comers having completed their task, whatever it was,
were leaving the house. The door was again closed, and the former
silence was restored.

Another five minutes had elapsed, and the surgeon had resolved to
explore the house, in search of some one to whom he might make his
errand known, when the room-door opened, and his last night's visitor,

286 Sketches by Bos.

dressed in exactly the same manner, with the veil lowered as before,
motioned him to advance. The singular height of her form, coupled
with the circumstance of her not speaking, caused the idea to pass
across his brain for an instant, that it might be a man disguised in
woman's attire. The hysteric sobs which issued from beneath the
veil, and the convulsive attitude of grief of the whole figure, how-
ever, at once exposed the absurdity of the suspicion ; and he hastily
followed.

The woman led the way up-stairs to the front-room, and paused at
the door, to let him enter first. It was scantily furnished with an old
deal box, a few chairs, and a tent bedstead, without hangings or cross-
rails, which was covered with a patchwork counterpane. The dim
light admitted through the curtain which he had noticed from the
outside, rendered the objects in the room so indistinct, and com-
municated to all of them so uniform a hue, that he did not, at first,
perceive the object on which his eye at once rested when the woman
rushed frantically past him, and flung herself on her knees by the
bedside.

Stretched upon the bed, closely enveloped in a linen wrapper, and
covered with blankets, lay a human form, stiff and motionless. The
head and face, which were those of a man, were uncovered, save by a
bandage which passed over the head and under the chin. The eyes
were closed. The left arm lay heavily across the bed, and the woman
held the passive hand.

The surgeon gently pushed the woman aside, and took the hand in
his.

" My God ! " he exclaimed, letting it fall involuntarily — " the man
is dead!"

The woman started to her feet and beat her hands together. " Oh 1
don't say so, sir," she exclaimed, with a burst of passion, amounting
almost to frenzy. " Oh ! don't say so, sir I I can't bear it ! Men
have been brought to life, before, when unskilful people have given
them up for lost ; and men have died, who might have been restored,
if proper means had been resorted to. Don't let him lie here, sir,
without one effort to save him ! This very moment life may be passing
away. Do try, sir — do, for Heaven's sake ! " And while speaking,
she hurriedly chafed, first the forehead, and then the breast, of the
senseless form before her; and then, wildly beat the cold hands,
which, when she ceased to hold them, fell listlessly and heavily back
on the coverlet.

" It is of no use, my good woman," said the surgeon, soothingly, as
ho withdrew his hand from the man's breast. " Stay — undraw that
curtain ! "

" Why ? " said the woman, starting up.

" Undraw that curtain ! " repeated the surgeon in an agitated tone.

" I darkened the room on purpose," said the woman, throwing her-
self before him as he rose to undraw it. " Oh 1 sir, have pity on me !

Past Recovery. 287

If it can be of no use, and ho is really dead, do not expose that form
to other eyes than mine ! "

<; This man died no natural or easy death," said the surgeon, " I
must see the body ! " With a motion so sudden, that the woman hardly
knew that he had slipped from beside her, he tore open the curtain,
admitted the full light of day, and returned to the bedside.

" There has been violence here," he said, pointing towards the body,
and gazing intently on the face, from which the black veil was now, for
the first time, removed. In the excitement of a minute before, the
female had thrown off the bonnet and veil, and now stood with her
eyes fixed upon him. Her features were those of a woman about fifty,
who had once been handsome. Sorrow and weeping had left traces
upon them which not time itself would ever have produced without
their aid ; her face was deadly pale ; and there was a nervous contor-
tion of the lip, and an unnatural fire in her eye, which showed too
plainly that her bodily and mental powers had nearly sunk, beneath
an accumulation of misery.

" There has been violence here," said the surgeon, preserving his
searching glance.

" There has ! " replied the woman.

" This man has been murdered."

" That I call God to witness "he has," said the woman, passionately ;
" pitilessly, inhumanly murdered I "

" By whom ? " said the surgeon, seizing the woman by the arm.

" Look at the butchers' marks, and then ask me ! " she replied.

The surgeon turned his face towards the bed, and bent over the
body which now lay full in the light of the window. The throat was
swollen, and a livid mark encircled it. The truth flashed suddenly
upon him.

" This is one of the men who were hanged this morning ! " he ex-
claimed, turning away with a shudder.

" It is," replied the woman, with a cold, unmeaning stare.

" Who was he ? " inquired the surgeon.

" My son," rejoined the woman ; and fell senseless at his feet.

It was true. A companion, equally guilty with himself, had been
acquitted for want of evidence ; and this man had been left for death,
and executed. To recount the circumstances of the case, at this distant
period, must be unnecessary, and might give pain to some persons still
alive. The history was an everyday one. The mother was a widow
without friends or money, and had denied herself necessaries to bestow
them on her orphan boy. That boy, unmindful of her prayers, and
forgetful of the sufferings she had endured for him — incessant anxiety
of mind, and voluntary starvation of body — had plunged into a career
of dissipation and crime. And this was the result; his own death
by the hangman's hands, and his mother's shame, and incurable
insanity.

For many years after this occurrence, and when profitable and

288 Sketches by Boz.

arduous avocations would have led many men to forget that such a
miserable being existed, the young surgeon was a daily visitor at the
side of the harmless mad woman ; not only soothing her by his
presence and kindness, but alleviating the rigour of her condition by
pecuniary donations for her comfort and support, bestowed with no
sparing hand. In the transient gleam of recollection and conscious-
ness which preceded her death, a prayer for his welfare and protection,
as fervent as mortal ever breathed, rose from the lips of this poor
friendless creature. That prayer flew to Heaven, and was heard. The
blessings he was instrumental in conferring, have been repaid to him
a thousand-fold ; but, amid all the honours of rank and station which
have since been heaped upon him, and which he has so well earned,
he can have no reminiscence more gratifying to his heart than that
connected with The Black Veil.

CHAPTER VII.

THE STEAM EXCURSION.

ME. PEROT NOAKES was a law student, inhabiting a set of chambers on
the fourth floor, in one of those houses in Gray's Inn Square which
command an extensive view of the gardens, and their usual adjuncts —
flaunting nursery-maids, and town-made children, with parenthetical
legs. Mr. Percy Noakes was what is generally termed — " a devilish
good fellow." He had a large circle of acquaintance, and seldom
dined at his own expense. He used to talk politics to papas, flatter
the vanity of mammas, do the amiable to their daughters, make pleasure
engagements with their sons, and romp with the younger branches.
Like those paragons of perfection, advertising footmen out of place, he
was always " willing to make himself generally useful." If any old
lady, whose son was in India, gave a ball, Mr. Percy Noakes was
master of the ceremonies ; if any young lady made a stolen match, Mr.
Percy Noakes gave her away ; if a juvenile wife presented her husband
with a blooming cherub, Mr. Percy Noakes was either godfather, or
deputy- godfather ; and if any member of a friend's family died, Mr.
Percy Noakes was invariably to be seen in the second mourning-coach,
with a white handkerchief to his eyes, sobbing — to use his own appro-
priate and expressive description — " like winkin' ! "

It may readily be imagined that these numerous avocations were
rather calculated to interfere with Mr. Percy Noakes's professional
studies. Mr. Percy Noakes was perfectly aware of the fact, and had,
therefore, after mature reflection, made up his mind not to study at all
— a laudable determination, to which he adhered in the most praise-
worthy manner. His sitting-room presented a strange chaos of dress-

Mr. Percy Noakes. 289

gloves, boxing-gloves, caricatures, albums, invitation-cards, foils,
cricket-bats, cardboard drawings, paste, gum, and fifty other mis-
cellaneous articles, heaped together in the strangest confusion. He
was always making something for somebody, or planning some party
of pleasure, which was his great forte. He invariably spoke with
astonishing rapidity ; was smart, spoffish, and eight-and-twenty.

" Splendid idea, 'pon my life ! " soliloquised Mr. Percy Noakes, over
his morning's coffee, as his mind reverted to a suggestion which had
been thrown out on the previous night, by a lady at whose house he
had spent the evening. " Glorious idea ! — Mrs. Stubbs."

" Yes, sir," replied a dirty old woman with an inflamed countenance,
emerging from the bedroom, with a barrel of dirt and cinders. — This
was the laundress. " Did you call, sir ? "

" Oh ! Mrs. Stubbs, I'm going out. If that tailor should call again,
you'd better say — you'd better say I'm out of town, and shan't be back
for a fortnight ; and if that bootmaker should come, tell him I've lost
his address, or I'd have sent him that little amount. Mind he writes
it down ; and if Mr. Hardy should call — you know Mr. Hardy ? "

" The funny gentleman, sir ? "

" Ah ! the funny gentleman. If Mr. Hardy should call, say I've
gone to Mrs. Taunton's about that water-party."

" Yes, sir."

" And if any fellow calls, and Bays he's come about a steamer, tell
him to be here at five o'clock this afternoon, Mrs. Stubbs."

" Very well, sir."

Mr. Percy Noakes brushed his hat, whisked the crumbs off his in-
explicables with a silk handkerchief, gave the ends of his hair a
persuasive roll round his forefinger, and sallied forth for Mrs. Tannton's
domicile in Great Maryborough Street, where she and her daughters
occupied the upper part of a house. She was a good-looking widow
of fifty, with the form of a giantess and the mind of a child. The
pursuit of pleasure, and some means of killing time, were the solo end
of her existence. She doted on her daughters, who were as frivolous
as herself.

A general exclamation of satisfaction hailed the arrival of Mr.
Percy Noakes, who went through the ordinary salutations, and threw
himself into an easy-chair near the ladies' work-table, with the ease of
a regularly established friend of the family. Mrs. Taunton was busily
engaged in planting immense bright bows on every part of a smart
cap on which it was possible to stick one ; Miss Emily Taunton was
making a watch-guard ; Miss Sophia was at the piano, practising a
now song — poetry by the young officer, or the police officer, or the
Custom House officer, or some other interesting amateur.

" You good creature ! " said Mrs. Taunton, addressing the gallant
Percy. " You really are a good soul ! You've come about the water-
party, I know."

" I should rather suspect I had," replied Mr. Noakes, triumphantly.

v

290 Sketches by Boz.

" Now, come here, girls, and I'll tell you all about it." Miss Emily
and Miss Sophia advanced to the table.

" Now," continued Mr. Percy Noakes, " it seems to me that the best
way will be, to have a committee of ten, to make all the arrangements,
and manage the whole set-out. Then, I propose that the expenses
shall be paid by these ten fellows jointly."

" Excellent, indeed ! " said Mrs. Taunton, who highly approved of
this part of the arrangements.

" Then, my plan is, that each of these ten fellows shall have the
power of asking five people. There must be a meeting of the com-
mittee, at my chambers, to make all the arrangements, and these
people shall be then named ; every member of the committee shall
have the power of black-balling anyone who is proposed ; and one
black ball shall exclude that person. This will ensure our having a
pleasant party, you know."

" What a manager you are 1 " interrupted Mrs. Taunton again.

" Charming ! " said the lovely Emily.

" I never did ! " ejaculated Sophia.

" Yes, I think it'll do," replied Mr. Percy Noakes, who was now
quite in his element. " I think it'll do. Then you know we shall go
down to the Nore, and back, and have a regular capital cold dinner
laid out in the cabin before we start, so that everything may be ready
without any confusion ; and we shall have the lunch laid out, on deck,
in those little tea-garden-looking concerns by the paddle-boxes — I
don't know what you call 'em. Then, we shall hire a steamer ex-
pressly for our party, and a band, and have the deck chalked, and we
shall be able to dance quadrilles all day; and then, whoever we know
that's musical, you know, why they'll make themselves useful and
agreeable ; and — and — upon the whole, I really hope we shall have a
glorious day, you know ! "

The announcement of these arrangements was received with the
utmost enthusiasm. Mrs. Taunton, Emily, and Sophia, were loud in
their praises.

" Well, but tell me, Percy," said Mrs. Taunton, " who are the ten
gentlemen to be ? "

" Oh ! I know plenty of fellows who'll be delighted with the
scheme," replied Mr. Percy Noakes ; " of course we shall have —

" Mr. Hardy ! " interrupted the servant, announcing a visitor. Miss
Sophia and Miss Emily hastily assumed the most interesting attitudes
that could be adopted on so short a notice.

u How are you V " said a stout gentleman of about forty, pausing at
the door in the attitude of an awkward harlequin. This was Mr.
Hardy, whom we have before described, on the authority of Mrs.
Stubbs, as " the funny gentleman." He was an Astley-Cooperish Joe
Miller — a practical joker, immensely popular with married ladies, and
a general favourite with young men. He was always engaged in
some pleasure excursion or other, and delighted in getting somebody

Modern Council of Ten. 291

into a scrape on such occasions. He could sing comic songs, imitate
hackney-coachmen and fowls, play airs on his chin, and execute
concertos on the Jew's-harp. He always eat and drank most im-
moderately, and was the bosom-friend of Mr. Percy Noakes. He had
a red face, a somewhat husky voice, and a tremendous laugh.

" How arc you ? " said this worthy, laughing, as if it were the finest
joke in the world to make a morning call, and shaking hands with the
ladies with as much vehemence as if their arms had been so many
pump-handles.

" You're just the very man I wanted," said Mr. Percy Noakes, who
proceeded to explain the cause of his being in requisition.

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " shouted Hardy, after hearing the statement, and
receiving a detailed account of the proposed excursion. " Oh, capital !
glorious ! What a day it will be ! what fun ! — But, I say, when are
you going to begin making the arrangements ? "

" No time like the present — at once, if you please."

" Oh, charming ! " cried the ladies. " Pray, do ! "

Writing materials were laid before Mr. Percy Noakes, and the
names of the different members of the committee were agreed on, after
as much discussion between him and Mr. Hardy as if the fate of
nations had depended on their appointment. It was then agreed
that a meeting should take place at Mr. Percy Noakes's chambers on
the ensuing Wednesday evening at eight o'clock, and the visitors
departed.

Wednesday evening arrived ; eight o'clock came, and eight members
of the committee were punctual in their attendance. Mr. Loggins,
the solicitor, of Boswell Court, sent an excuse, and Mr. Samuel Briggs,
the ditto of Furnival's Inn, sent his brother : much to his (the
brother's) satisfaction, and greatly to the discomfiture of Mr. Percy
Noakes. Between the Briggses and the Tauntons there existed a
degree of implacable hatred, quite unprecedented. The animosity
between the Montagues and Capulets, was nothing to that which
prevailed between these two illustrious houses. Mrs. Briggs was a
widow, with three daughters and two sons ; Mr. Samuel, the eldest,
was an attorney, and Mr. Alexander, the youngest, was under articles
to his brother. They resided in Portland Street, Oxford Street, and
moved in the same orbit as the Tauntons — hence their mutual dislike.
If the Miss Briggses appeared in smart bonnets, the Miss Tauntons
eclipsed them with smarter. If Mrs. Taunton appeared in a cap of
all the hues of the rainbow, Mrs. Briggs forthwith mounted a toque,
with all the patterns of the kaleidoscope. If Miss Sophia Taunton
learnt a new song, two of the Miss Briggses came out with a new
duet. The Tauntons had once gained a temporary triumph with the
assistance of a harp, but the Briggses brought three guitars into
the field, and effectually routed the enemy. There was no end to the
rivalry between them.

Now, as Mr. Samuel Briggs was a mere machine, a sort of self-

202 Sketches by £02.

acting legal walking-stick ; and as the party was known to have
originated, however remotely, with Mrs. Taunton, the female branches
of the Briggs family had arranged that Mr. Alexander should attend,
instead of his brother ; and as the said Mr. Alexander was deservedly
celebrated for possessing all the pertinacity of a bankruptcy-court
attorney, combined with the obstinacy of that useful animal which
browses on the thistle, he required but little tuition. He was
especially enjoined to make himself as disagreeable as possible ; and,
above all, to black-ball the Tauntons at every hazard.

The proceedings of the evening were opened by Mr. Percy Noakes.
After successfully urging on the gentlemen present the propriety of
their mixing some brandy-and-water, he briefly stated the object of
the meeting, and concluded by observing that the first step must be
the selection of a chairman, necessarily possessing some arbitrary — he
trusted not unconstitutional — powers, to whom the personal direction
of the whole of the arrangements (subject to the approval of the com-
mittee) should be confided. A pale young gentleman, in a green stock
and spectacles of the same, a member of the Honourable Society of the
Inner Temple, immediately rose for the purpose of proposing Mr.
Percy Noakes. He had known him long, and this he would say, that
a more honourable, a more excellent, or a better-hearted fellow, never
existed. — (Hear, hear !) The young gentleman, who was a member of
a debating society, took this opportunity of entering into an examina-
tion of the state of the English law, from the days of William the
Conqueror down to the present period ; he briefly adverted to the code
established by the ancient Druids ; slightly glanced at the principles
laid down by the Athenian law-givers ; and concluded with a most
glowing eulogium on picnics and constitutional rights.

Mr. Alexander Briggs opposed the motion. He had the highest
esteem for Mr. Percy Noakes as an individual, but he did consider
that he ought not to be intrusted with these immense powers — (oh, oh !)
— He believed that in the proposed capacity Mr. Percy Noakes would
not act fairly, impartially, or honourably; but he begged it to be
distinctly understood, that he said this, without the slightest personal
disrespect. Mr. Hardy defended his honourable friend, in a voice
rendered partially unintelligible by emotion and brandy-and-water.
The proposition was put to the vote, and there appearing to be only
one dissentient voice, Mr. Percy Noakes was declared duly elected,
and took the chair accordingly.

The business of the meeting now proceeded with rapidity. The
chairman delivered in his estimate of the probable expense of the
excursion, and every one present subscribed his portion thereof. The
question was put that " The Endeavour " be hired for the occasion ;
Mr. Alexander Briggs moved as an amendment, that the word " Fly "
be substituted for the word "Endeavour;" but after some debate
consented to withdraw his opposition. The important ceremony of
balloting then commenced. A tea-caddy was placed on a table in

Vote by Ballot. 293

a dark corner of the apartment, and every one was provided with two
backgammon men, one black and one white.

The chairman with great solemnity then read the following list of
the guests whom he proposed to introduce : — Mrs. Taunton and two
daughters, Mr. Wizzle, Mr. Simson. The names were respectively
balloted for, and Mrs. Taunton and her daughters were declared to be
black-balled. Mr. Percy Noakes and Mr. Hardy exchanged glances.

'; Is your list prepared, Mr. Briggs ? " inquired the chairman.

" It is," replied Alexander, delivering in the following : — " Mrs.
Briggs and three daughters, Mr. Samuel Briggs." The previous
ceremony was repeated, and Mrs. Briggs and three daughters were
declared to be black-balled. Mr. Alexander Briggs looked rather
foolish, and the remainder of the company appeared somewhat over-
awed by the mysterious nature of the proceedings.

The balloting proceeded; but, one little circumstance which Mr.
Percy Noakes had not originally foreseen, prevented the system from
working quite as well as he had anticipated. Everybody was black-
balled. Mr. Alexander Briggs, by way of retaliation, exercised his
power of exclusion in every instance, and tb.6 result was, that after
three hours had been consumed in hard balloting, the names of only
throe gentlemen were found to have been agreed to. In this dilemma
what was to be done ? either the whole plan must fall to the ground,
or a compromise must be effected. The latter alternative was prefer-
able; and Mr. Percy Noakes therefore proposed that the form of
balloting should be dispensed with, and that every gentleman should
merely be required to state whom he intended to bring. The proposal
was acceded to ; the Tauntons and the Briggses were reinstated ; and
the party was formed.

The next Wednesday was fixed for the eventful day, and it was
unanimously resolved that every member of the committee should
wear a piece of blue sarsenet ribbon round his left arm. It appeared
from the statement of Mr. Percy Noakes, that the boat belonged to
the General Steam Navigation Company, and was then lying off the
Custom House ; and, as he proposed that the dinner and wines should
be provided by an eminent City purveyor, it was arranged that Mr.
Percy Noakes should be on board by seven o'clock to superintend the
arrangements, and that the remaining members of the committee,
together with the company generally, should be expected to join her
by nine o'clock. More brandy-and-water was despatched ; several
speeches were made by the different law-students present; thanks
were voted to the chairman ; and the meeting separated.

The weather had been beautiful up to this period, and beautiful it
continued to be. Sunday passed over, and Mr. Percy Noakes became
unusually fidgety — rushing, constantly, to and from the Steam Packet
Wharf, to the astonishment of the clerks, and the great emolument of
the Holborn cabmen. Tuesday arrived, and the anxiety of Mr. Percy
Noakes knew no bounds. He was every instant running to the window,

294 Sketches by Boz.

to look out for clouds; and Mr. Hardy astonished the whole square
by practising a new comic song for the occasion, in the chairman's
chambers.

Uneasy were the slumbers of Mr. Percy Noakes that night ; ho
tossed and tumbled about, and had confused dreams of steamers start-
ing off, and gigantic clocks with the hands pointing to a quarter-past
nine, and the ugly face of Mr. Alexander Briggs looking over the
boat's side, and grinning, as if in derision of his fruitless attempts to
move. He made a violent effort to get on board, and awoke. The
bright sun was shining cheerfully into the bedroom, and Mr. Percy
Noakes started up for his watch, in the dreadful expectation of finding
his worst dreams realised.

It was just five o'clock. He calculated the time — ho should be a
good half-hour dressing himself ; and as it was a lovely morning, and
the tide would be then running down, he would walk leisurely to
Strand Lane, and have a boat to the Custom House.

He dressed himself, took a hasty apology for a breakfast, and sallied
forth. The streets looked as lonely and deserted as if they had been
crowded, overnight, for the last time. Here and there, an early
apprentice, with quenched-looking, sleepy eyes, was taking down the
shutters of a shop ; and a policeman or milkwoman might occasion-
ally be seen pacing slowly along ; but the servants had not yet begun
to clean the doors, or light the kitchen fires, and London looked the
picture of desolation. At the corner of a by-street, near Temple Bar,
was stationed a "street-breakfast." The coffee was boiling over a
charcoal fire, and large slices of bread-and-butter were piled one upon
the other, like deals in a timber-yard. The company were seated on
a form, which, with a view both to security and comfort, was placed
against a neighbouring wall. Two young men, whose uproarious
mirth and disordered dress bespoke the conviviality of the preceding
evening, were treating three " ladies " and an Irish labourer. A little
sweep was standing at a short distance, casting a longing eye at the
tempting delicacies; and a policeman was watching the group from
the opposite side of the street. The wan looks, and gaudy finery of
the thinly-clad women contrasted as strangely with the gay sunlight,
as did their forced merriment with the boisterous hilarity of the two
young men, who, now and then, varied their amusements by " bonnet-
ing " the proprietor of this itinerant coffee-house.

Mr. Percy Noakes walked briskly by, and when lie turned down
Strand Lane, and caught a glimpse of the glistening water, he thought
he had never felt so important or so happy in his life.

" Boat, sir ? " cried one of the three watermen who were mopping
out their boats, and all whistling. " Boat, sir ? "

" No," replied Mr. Percy Noakes, rather sharply ; for the inquiry
was not made in a manner at all suitable to his dignity.

"Would you prefer a wessel, sir?" inquired another, to the infinite
delight of the " Jack-in-the-water,"

On Board. 295

Mr. Percy Noakes replied with a look of supremo contempt.

" Did you want to bo put on board a steamer, sir '? " inquired an old
fireman-waterman, very confidentially. He was dressed in a faded red
suit, just the colour of the cover of a very old Court-guide.

" Yes, make haste — the Endeavour — off the Custom House."

" Endeavour ! " cried the man who had convulsed the " Jack " before.
" Vy, I see the Endeavour go up half-an-hour ago."

" So did I," said another ; " and I should think she'd gone down by
this time, for she's a precious sight too full of ladies and gen'lemen."

Mr. Percy Noakes affected to disregard these representations, and
stepped into the boat, which the old man, by dint of scrambling, and
shoving, and grating, had brought up to the causeway. " Shove her
off!" cried Mr. Percy Noakes, and away the boat glided down the
river ; Mr. Percy Noakes seated on the recently mopped seat, and the
watermen at the stairs offering to bet him any reasonable sum that
he'd never reach the " Custom-us."

" Here she is, by Jove ! " said the delighted Percy, as they ran
alongside the Endeavour.

" Hold hard ! " cried the steward over the side, and Mr. Percy
Noakes jumped on board.

" Hope you will find everything as you wished, sir. She looks
uncommon well this morning."

•" She does, indeed," replied the manager, in a state of ecstasy which
it is impossible to describe. The deck was scrubbed, and the seats
were scrubbed, and there was a bench for the band, and a place for
dancing, and a pile of camp-stools, and an awning ; and then, Mr.
Percy Noakes bustled down below, and there were the pastrycook's
men, and the steward's wife, laying out the dinner on two tables the
whole length of the cabin ; and then Mr. Percy Noakes took off his
coat and rushed backwards and forwards, doing nothing, but quite
convinced he was assisting everybody ; and the steward's wife laughed
till she cried, and Mr. Percy Noakes panted with the violence of his
exertions. And then the bell at London Bridge Wharf rang ; and a
Margate boat was just starting ; and a Gravesend boat was just start-
ing, and people shouted, and porters ran down the steps with luggage
that would crush any men but porters ; and sloping boards, with bits
of wood nailed on them were placed between the outside boat and the
inside boat ; and the passengers ran along them, and looked like so
many fowls coming out of an area ; and then, the bell ceased, and the
boards were taken away, and the boats started, and the whole scene
was one of the most delightful bustle and confusion.

The time wore on ; half-past eight o'clock arrived ; the pastrycook's
men went ashore ; the dinner was completely laid out ; and Mr. Percy
Noakes locked the principal cabin, and put the key in his pocket, in
order that it might be suddenly disclosed, in all its magnificence, to
the eyes of the astonished company. The baud came on board, and so
did the wine.

296 Sketches by Boz.

Ten minutes to nine, and the committee embarked in a body. There
was Mr. Hardy, in a blue jacket and waistcoat, white trousers, silk
stockings, and pumps — in full aquatic costume, with a straw hat on
his head, and an immense telescope under his arm ; and there was the
young gentleman with the green spectacles, in nankeen inexplicables,
with a ditto waistcoat and bright buttons, like the pictures of Paul —
not the saint, but he of Virginia notoriety. The remainder of the
committee, dressed in white hats, light jackets, waistcoats, and trousers,
looked something between waiters and West India planters.

Nine o'clock struck, and the company arrived in shoals. Mr. Samuel
Briggs, Mrs. Briggs, and the Misses Briggs, made their appearance in
a smart private wherry. The three guitars, in their respective dark
green cases, were carefully stowed away in the bottom of the boat,
accompanied by two immense portfolios of music, which it would
take at least a week's incessant playing to get through. The Tauntons
arrived at the same moment with more music, and a lion — a gentleman
with a bass voice and an incipient red moustache. The colours of the
Taunton party were pink ; those of the Briggses a light blue. The
Tauntons had artificial flowers in their bonnets ; here the Briggses
gained a decided advantage — they wore feathers.

" How d'ye do, dear V " said the Misses Briggs to the Misses Taunton.
(The word " dear " among girls is frequently synonymous with
" wretch.")

" Quite well, thank you, dear," replied the Misses Taunton to the
Misses Briggs ; and then, there was such a kissing, and congratulating,
and shaking of hands, as might have induced one to suppose that the
two families were the best friends in the world, instead of each wish-
ing the other overboard, as they most sincerely did.

Mr. Percy Noakes received the visitors, and bowed to the strange
gentleman, as if he should like to know who he was. This was just
what Mrs. Taunton wanted. Here was an opportunity to astonish the
Briggses.

" Oh ! I beg your pardon," said the general of the Taunton party,
with a careless air. — " Captain Helves — Mr. Percy Noakes — Mrs.
Briggs — Captain Helves."

Mr. Percy Noakes bowed very low: the gallant captain did the
same with all due ferocity, and the Briggses were clearly overcome.

" Our friend, Mr. Wizzle, being unfortunately prevented from
coming," resumed Mrs. Taunton, " I did myself the pleasure of bring-
ing the captain, whose musical talents I knew would be a great
acquisition."

" In the name of the committee I have to thank you for doing so,
and to offer you welcome, sir," replied Percy. (Here the scraping
was renewed.) " But pray be seated — won't you walk aft ? Captain,
will you conduct Miss Taunton ? — Miss Briggs, will you allow me ? "

" Where could they have picked up that military man ? " inquired
Mrs. Briggs of Miss Kate Briggs, as they followed the little party.

Off! 297

" I can't imagine," replied Miss Kate, bursting with vexation ; for
the very fierce air with which the gallant captain regarded the com-
pany, had impressed her with a high sense of his importance.

Boat after boat came alongside, and guest after guest arrived. The
invites had been excellently arranged : Mr. Percy Noakes having con-
sidered it as important that the number of young men should exactly
tally with that of the young ladies, as that the quantity of knives on
board should bo in precise proportion to the forks.

"Now, is every one on board? " inquired Mr. Percy Noakes. The
committee (who, with their bits of blue ribbon, looked as if they were
all going to be bled) bustled about to ascertain the fact, and reported
that they might safely start.

<; Go on ! " cried the master of the boat from the top of one of the
paddle-boxes.

" Go on ! " echoed the boy, who was stationed over the hatchway to
pass the directions down to the engineer ; and away went the vessel
with that agreeable noise which is peculiar to steamers, and which is
composed of a mixture of creaking, gushing, clanging, and snorting.

" Hoi — oi — oi — oi — oi — oi — o — i — i — i ! " shouted half-a-dozen
voices from a boat, a quarter of a mile astern.

" Ease her ! " cried the captain : " do these people belong to us,
sir ? "

" Noakes," exclaimed Hardy, who had been looking at every object,
far and near, through the large telescope, " it's the Fleetwoods and
the Wakefields — and two children with them, by Jove ! "

" What a shame to bring children ! " said everybody ; " how very
inconsiderate ! "

" I say, it would be a good joke to pretend not to see 'em, wouldn't
it ? " suggested Hardy, to the immense delight of the company
generally. A council of war was hastily held, and it was resolved
that the new-comers should bo taken on board, on Mr. Hardy's
solemnly pledging himself to tease the children during the whole of
the day.

" Stop her ! " cried the captain.

" Stop her ! " repeated the boy ; whiz/ went the steam, and all the
young ladies, as in duty bound, screamed in concert. They were only
appeased by the assurance of the martial Helves, that the escape of
steam consequent on stopping a vessel was seldom attended with any
great loss of human life.

Two men ran to the side ; and after some shouting, and swearing,
and angling for the wherry with a boat-hook, Mr. Fleetwood, and
Mrs. Fleetwood, and Master Fleetwood, and Mr. Wakefield, and Mrs.
Wakefield, and Miss Wakefield, were safely deposited on the deck.
The girl was about six years old, the boy about four ; the former was
dressed in a white frock with a pink sash and dog's-eared-looking
little spencer : a straw bonnet and green veil, six inches by three and
a half; the latter was attired for the occasion in a nankeen frock,

298 Sketches by

between the bottom of which, and the top of his plaid socks, a con-
siderable portion of two small mottled legs was discernible. He had
a light blue cap with a gold band and tassel on his head, and a damp
piece of gingerbread in his hand, with which he had slightly embossed
his countenance.

The boat once more started off; the band played " Off she goes;"
the major part of the company conversed cheerfully in groups ; and
the old gentlemen walked up and down the deck in pairs, as per-
severingly and gravely as if they were doing a match against time for
an immense stake. They ran briskly down the Pool ; the gentlemen
pointed out the Docks, the Thames Police Office, and other elegant
public edifices ; and the young ladies exhibited a proper display of
horror at the appearance of the coal-whippers and ballast-heavers.
Mr. Hardy told stories to the married ladies, at which they laughed
very much in their pocket-handkerchiefs, and hit him on the knuckles
with their fans, declaring him to be "a naughty man — a shocking
creature " — and so forth ; and Captain Helves gave slight descriptions
of battles and duels, with a most bloodthirsty air, which made him the
admiration of the women, and the envy of the men. Quadrilling com-
menced ; Captain Helves danced one set with Miss Emily Taunton,
and another set with Miss Sophia Taunton. Mrs. Taunton was in
ecstasies. The victory appeared to be complete ; but alas ! the
inconstancy of man ! Having performed this necessary duty, he
attached himself solely to Miss Julia Briggs, with whom he danced no
less than three sets consecutively, and from whose side he evinced no
intention of stirring for the remainder of the day.

Mr. Hardy, having played one or two very brilliant fantasias on the
Jew's-harp, and having frequently repeated the exquisitely amusing
joke of slily chalking a large cross on the back of some member of
the committee, Mr. Percy Noakes expressed his hope that some of
their musical friends would oblige the company by a display of their
abilities.

" Perhaps," he said in a very insinuating manner, " Captain Helves
will oblige us?" Mrs. Taunton's countenance lighted up, for the
captain only sang duets, and couldn't sing them with anybody but one
of her daughters.

" Eeally," said that warlike individual, " I should be very happy,
but "

" Oh ! pray do," cried all the young ladies.

" Miss Sophia, have you any objection to join in a duet.

" Oh ! not the slightest," returned the young lady, in a tone which
clearly showed she had the greatest possible objection.

" Shall I accompany you, dear ? " inquired one of the Miss Briggses,
with the bland intention of spoiling the effect.

" Very much obliged to you, Miss Briggs," sharply retorted Mrs.
Taunton, who saw through the manoeuvre ; " my daughters always
sing without accompaniments."

The Briggses and Tauntons. 299

" And without voices," tittered Mrs. Briggs, iu a low tone.

" Perhaps," said Mrs. Taunton, reddening, for she guessed the tenor
of the observation, though she had not heard it clearly — " Perhaps it
would be as well for some people, if their voices were not quite so
audible as they are to other people."

" And, perhaps, if gentlemen who are kidnapped to pay attention
to some persons' daughters, had not sufficient discernment to pay
attention to other persons' daughters," returned Mrs. Briggs, " some
persons would not be so ready to display that ill-temper which, thank
God, distinguishes them from other persons."

' Persons ! " ejaculated Mrs. Taunton.

' Persons," replied Mrs. Briggs.

' Insolence ! "

' Creature !

' Hush ! hush ! " interrupted Mr. Percy Noakes, who was one of the
very few by whom this dialogue had been overheard. " Hush ! — pray,
silence for the duet."

After a great deal of preparatory crowing and humming, the captain
began the following duet from the opera of " Paul and Virginia," in
that grunting tone in which a man gets down, Heaven knows where,
without the remotest chance of ever getting up again. This, in
private circles, is frequently designated "a bass voice."

" See (sung the captain) from o — ce— an ri— sing
Bright flames the or — b of d — ay.
From yon gro — ve, the varied so — ongs — '

Here, the singer was interrupted by varied cries of the most dread-
ful description, proceeding from some grove in the immediate vicinity
of the starboard paddle-box.

" My child ! " screamed Mrs. Fleetwood. " My child ! it is his
voice — I know it."

Mr. Fleetwood, accompanied by several gentlemen, hero rushed to
the quarter from whence the noise proceeded, and an exclamation of
horror burst from the company; the general impression being, that
the little innocent had either got his head in the water, or his legs in
the machinery.

" What is the matter ? " shouted the agonised father, as he returned
with the child in his arms.

" Oh ! oh ! oh ! " screamed the small sufferer again.

"What is the matter, dear ? " inquired the father once more —
hastily striping off the nankeen frock, for the purpose of ascertaining
whether the child had one bone which was not smashed to pieces.

" Oh ! oh I— I'm so frightened ! "

" What at, dear ? — what at ? " said the mother, soothing the sweet
infant.

" Oh ! he's been making such dreadful faces at me," cried the boy,
relapsing into convulsions at the bare recollection.

3OO Sketches by Boz.

" He! — who ?" cried everybody, crowding round him,

" Oh ! — him ! " replied the child, pointing at Hardy, who affected to
be the most concerned of the whole group.

The real state of the case at once flashed upon the minds of all
present, with the exception of the Fleetwoods and the Wakefields.
The facetious Hardy, in fulfilment of his promise, had watched the
child to a remote part of the vessel, and, suddenly appearing before
him with the most awful contortions of visage, had produced his
paroxysm of terror. Of course, he now observed that it was hardly
necessary for him to deny the accusation ; and the unfortunate little
victim was accordingly led below, after receiving sundry thumps on the
head from both his parents, for having the wickedness to tell a story.

This little interruption having been adjusted, the captain resumed,
and Miss Emily chimed in, in due course. The duet was loudly
applauded, and, certainly, the perfect independence of the parties
deserved great commendation. Miss Emily sung her part, without
the slightest reference to the captain ; and the captain sang so loud,
that he had not the slightest idea what was being done by his partner.
After having gone through the last few eighteen or nineteen bars by
himself, therefore, he acknowledged the plaudits of the circle with
that air of self-denial which men usually assume when they think
they have done something to astonish the company.

" Now," said Mr. Percy Noakes, who had just ascended from the
fore-cabin, where he had been busily engaged in decanting the wine,
" if the Misses Briggs will oblige us with something before dinner, I
am sure we shall be very much delighted."

One of those hums of admiration followed the suggestion, which one
freqently hears in society, when nobody has the most distant notion
what he is expressing his approval of. The three Misses Briggs
looked modestly at their mamma, and the mamma looked approvingly
at her daughters, and Mrs. Taunton looked scornfully at all of them.
The Misses Briggs asked for their guitars, and several gentlemen
seriously damaged the cases in their anxiety to present them. Then,
there was a very interesting production of three little keys for the
aforesaid cases, and a melodramatic expression of horror at finding a
string broken ; and a vast deal of screwing and tightening, and wind-
ing, and tuning, during which Mrs. Briggs expatiated to those near
her on the immense difficulty of playing a guitar, and hinted at the
wondrous proficiency of her daughters in that mystic art. Mrs.
Taunton whispered to a neighbour that it was " quite sickening ! "
and the Misses Taunton looked as if they knew how to play, but
disdained to do it.

At length, the Misses Briggs began in real earnest. It was a new
Spanish composition, for three voices and three guitars. The effect
was electrical. All eyes were turned upon the captain, who was
reported to have once passed through Spain with his regiment, and
who must be well acquainted with the national music. He was in

The Captains Stoiy. 301

raptures. This was sufficient ; the trio was encored ; the applause
was universal ; and never had the Tauntons suffered such a complete
defeat.

" Bravo ! bravo ! " ejaculated the captain ; — " Bravo 1 "

" Pretty I isn't it, sir ? " inquired Mr. Samuel Briggs, with the air
of a self-satisfied showman. By the bye, these were the first words
ho had been heard to utter since he left Boswell Court the evening
before.

" De — lightful ! " returned the captain, with a flourish, and a
military cough ; — " do— lightful ! "

" Sweet instrument ! " said an old gentleman with a bald head, who
had been trying all the morning to look through a telescope, inside
the glass of which Mr. Hardy had fixed a large black wafer.

" Did you ever hear a Portuguese tambourine ? " inquired that
jocular individual.

" Did you ever hear a tom-tom, sir ? " sternly inquired the captain,
who lost no opportunity of showing off his travels, real or pretended.

" A what ? " asked Hardy, rather taken aback.

" A tom-tom."

" Never ! "

" Nor a gum-gum ? "

" Never ! "

" What is a gum-gum ? " eagerly inquired several young ladies.

" When I was in the East Indies," replied the captain. (Here was
a discovery — he had been in the East Indies !) — " When I was in the
East Indies, I was once stopping a few thousand miles up the country,
on a visit at the house of a very particular friend of mine, Earn
Chowdar Doss Azuph Al Bowlar — a devilish pleasant fellow. As wo
were enjoying our hookahs, one evening, in the cool verandah in front
of his villa, we were rather surprised by the sudden appearance of
thirty-four of his Kit-ma-gars (for he had rather a large establishment
there), accompanied by an equal number of Con-su-mars, approaching
tho house with a threatening aspect, and beating a tom-tom. The
Ram started up —

" Who ? " inquired the bald gentleman, intensely interested.

" The Ram— Ram Chowdar—

" Oh ! " said the old gentleman, " I beg your pardon ; pray go on."

" — Started up and drew a pistol. ' Helves/ said he, { my boy,' — ho
always called me, my boy — ' Helves,' said he, ' do you hear that tom-
tom ? ' 'I do,' said I. His countenance, which before was pale,
assumed a most frightful appearance ; his whole visage was distorted,
and his frame shaken by violent emotions. ' Do you see that gum-
gum ? ' said he. ' No,' said I, staring about me. ' You don't ? ' said
he. ' No, I'll be damned if I do,' said I ; ' and what's more, I don't
know what a gum-gum is,' said I. I really thought the Ram would
have dropped. He drew me aside, and with an expression of agony I
shall never forget, said in a low whisper "

3O2 • Sketches by Bos.

" Dinner's on the table, ladies," interrupted the steward's wife.

" Will you allow me ? " said the captain, immediately suiting the
action to the word, and escorting Miss Julia Briggs to the cabin, with
as 'much ease as if he had finished the story.

" What an extraordinary circumstance ! " ejaculated the same old
gentleman, preserving his listening attitude.

" What a traveller ! " said the young ladies.

" What a singular name ! " exclaimed the gentlemen, rather confused
by the coolness of the whole aifair.

" I wish he had finished the story," said an old lady. " I wonder
what a gum-gum really is ? "

" By Jove ! " exclaimed Hardy, who nntil now had been lost in
utter amazement, "I don't know what it may be in India, but in
England I think a gum-guru has very much the same meaning as a
hum-bug."

" How illiberal ! how envious ! " cried everybody, as they made for
the cabin, fully impressed with a belief in the captain's amazing
adventures. Helves was the sole lion for the remainder of the day —
impudence and the marvellous are pretty sure passports to any
society.

The party had by this time reached their destination, and put about
on their return home. The wind, which had been with them the
whole day, was now directly in their teeth ; the weather had become
gradually more and more overcast ; and the sky, water, and shore,
were all of that dull, heavy, uniform lead-colour, which house-painters
daub in the first instance over a street-door which is gradually
approaching a state of convalescence. It had been " spitting " with
rain for the last half-hour, and now began to pour in good earnest.
The wind was freshening very fast, and the waterman at the wheel
had unequivocally expressed his opinion that there would shortly be
a squall. A slight emotion on the part of the vessel, now and then,
seemed to suggest the possibility of its pitching to a very uncomfortable
extent in the event of its blowing harder ; and every timber began to
creak, as if the boat were an overladen clothes-basket. Sea-sickness,
however, is like a belief in ghosts — everyone entertains some misgiv-
ings on the subject, but few will acknowledge any. The majority of
the company, therefore, endeavoured to look peculiarly happy, feeling
all the while especially miserable.

" Don't it rain ? " inquired the old gentleman before noticed, when,
by dint of squeezing and jamming, they were all seated at table.

" I think it does — a little," replied Mr. Percy Noakos, who could
hardly hear himself speak, in consequence of the pattering on the
deck.

" Don't it blow ? " inquired someone else.

" No — I don't think it does," responded Hardy, sincerely wishing
that ho could persuade himself that it did not ; for he sat near the
door, and was almost blown off his seat.

JP1.2.

The Wind gets up. 303

" It'll soon clear up," said Mr. Percy Noakes, in a cheerful tone.

" Oh, certainly ! " ejaculated the committee generally.

" No doubt of it ! " said the remainder of the company, whose atten-
tion was now pretty well engrossed by the serious business of eating,
carving, taking wine, and so forth.

Tho throbbing motion of the engine was but too perceptible. There
was a large, substantial, cold boiled leg of mutton, at the bottom of the
table, shaking like blanc-mange ; a previously hearty sirloin of beef
looked as if it had been suddenly seized with the palsy ; and some
tongues, which were placed on dishes rather too large for them, went
through the most surprising evolutions; darting from side to side,
and from end to end, like a fly in an inverted wine-glass. Then, the
sweets shook and trembled, till it was quite impossible to help them,
and people gave up the attempt in despair ; and the pigeon-pies
looked as if the birds, whose legs were stuck outside, were trying to
get them in. The table vibrated and started like a feverish pulse,
and the very legs were convulsed — everything was shaking and jarring.
The beams in the roof of the cabin seemed as if they were put there
for the sole purpose of giving people headaches, and several elderly
gentlemen became ill-tempered in consequence. As fast as the
steward put the fire-irons up, they would fall down again ; and the
more the ladies and gentlemen tried to sit comfortably on their seats,
the more the seats seemed to slide away from the ladies and gentle-
men. Several ominous demands were made for small glasses of
brandy ; the countenances of the company gradually underwent most
extraordinary changes ; one gentleman was observed suddenly to rush
from table without the slightest ostensible reason, and dart up the steps
with incredible swiftness : thereby greatly damaging both himself, and
the steward, who happened to be coming down at the same moment.

The cloth was removed ; the dessert was laid on the table ; and the
glasses were filled. Tho motion of the boat increased ; several members
of the party began to feel rather vague and misty, and looked as if
they had only just got up. The young gentleman with the spectacles,
who had been in a fluctuating state for some time — at one moment
bright, and at another dismal, like a revolving light on the sea-coast
— rashly announced his wish to propose a toast. After several
ineffectual attempts to preserve his perpendicular, the young gentle-
man, having managed to hook himself to the centre leg of the table
with his left hand, proceeded as follows : —

" Ladies and gentlemen. A gentleman is among us — I may say a
stranger — (here some painful thought seemed to strike the orator ; ho
paused, and looked extremely odd) — whose talents, whoso travels,
whose cheerfulness —

" I beg your pardon, Edkins," hastily interrupted Mr. Percy Noakes,
— " Hardy, what's the matter ? "

" Nothing," replied the " funny gentleman," who had just life
enough left to utter two consecutive syllables.

3C>4 Sketches by Boz.

" Will you have some brandy ? "

" No ! " replied Hardy in a tone of great indignation, and looking as
comfortable as Temple Bar in a Scotch mist ; " what should I want
brandy for ? "

" Will you go on deck ? "

" No, I will not." This was said with a most determined air, and
in a voice which might have been taken for an imitation of anything ;
it was quite as much like a guinea-pig as a bassoon.

" I beg your pardon, Edkins," said the courteous Percy ; " I thought
our friend was ill. Pray go on."

A pause.

" Pray go on."

" Mr. Edkins is gone," cried somebody.

" I beg your pardon, sir," said the steward, running up to Mr. Percy
Noakes, " I beg your pardon, sir, but the gentleman as just went on
deck — him with the green spectacles — is uncommon bad, to be sure ;
and the young man as played the wiolin says, that unless he has some
brandy he can't answer for the consequences. He says he has a wife
and two children, whose werry subsistence depends on his breaking a
wessel, and he expects to do so every moment. The flageolet's been
werry ill, but he's better, only he's in a dreadful prusperation."

All disguise was now useless ; the company staggered on deck ; the
gentlemen tried to see nothing but the clouds ; and the ladies, muffled
up in such shawls and cloaks as they had brought with them, lay
about on the seats, and under the seats, in the most wretched con-
dition. Never was such a blowing, and raining, and pitching, and
tossing, endured by any pleasure-party before. Several remonstrances
were sent down below, on the subject of Master Fleetwood, but they
were totally unheeded in consequence of the indisposition of his
natural protectors. That interesting child screamed at the top of
his voice, until he had no voice left to scream with ; and then
Miss Wakefield began, and screamed for the remainder of the
passage.

Mr. Hardy was observed, some hours afterwards, in an attitude
which induced his friends to suppose that he was busily engaged in
contemplating the beauties of the deep ; they only regretted that his
taste for the picturesque should lead him to remain so long in a
position, very injurious at all times, but especially so, to an individual
labouring under a tendency of blood to the head.

The party arrived off the Custom House at about two o'clock on the
Thursday morning dispirited and worn out. The Tauntons were too
ill to quarrel with the Briggses, and the Briggses were too wretched
to annoy the Tauntons. One of the guitar-cases was lost on its
passage to a hackney-coach, and Mrs. Briggs has not scrupled to state
that the Tauntons bribed a porter to throw it down an area. Mr.
Alexander Briggs opposes vote by ballot — he says from personal
experience of its inefficacy ; and Mr. Samuel Briggs, whenever he is

Tlu Captain a Failure. 305

asked to express his sentiments on the point, says he has no opinion
on that or any other subject.

Mr. Edkins — the young gentleman in the green spectacles — makes
a speech on every occasion on which a speech can possibly be made :
the eloquence of which can only be equalled by its length. In the
event of his not being previously appointed to a judgeship, it is
probable that he will practise as a barrister in the New Central
Criminal Court.

Captain Helves continued his attention to Miss Julia Briggs, whom
ho might possibly have espoused, if it had not unfortunately happened
that Mr. Samuel arrested him, in the way of business, pursuant to
instructions received from Messrs. Scroggins and Payne, whose town-
debts the gallant captain had condescended to collect, but whoso
accounts, with the indiscretion sometimes peculiar to military minds,
he had omitted to keep with that dull accuracy which custom has
rendered necessary. Mrs. Taunton complains that she has been much
deceived in him. Ho introduced himself to the family on board a
Gravesend steam-packet, and certainly, therefore, ought to have proved
respectable.

Mr. Percy Noakes is as light-hearted and careless as ever.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE GEEAT WINGLEBUKY DUEL.

THE little town of Great Winglebury is exactly forty-two miles and
three-quarters from Hyde Park Corner. It has a long, straggling,
quiet High Street, with a great black and white clock at a small red
Town-hall, half-way up— a market-place — a cage — an assembly-room
— a church— a bridge — a chapel — a theatre — a library — an inn — a
pump — and a Post-office. Tradition tells of a " Little Winglebury,"
down some cross-road about two miles off ; and, as a square mass of
dirty paper, supposed to have been originally intended for a letter,
with certain tremulous characters inscribed thereon, in which a lively
imagination might trace a remote resemblance to the word " Little,"
was once stuck up to bo owned in the sunny window of the Great
Winglebury Post-office, from which it only disappeared when it fell
to pieces with dust and extreme old age, there would appear to be
some foundation for the legend. Common belief is inclined to bestow
the name upon a little hole at the end of a muddy lane about a couple
of miles long, colonised by one wheelwright, four paupers, and a beer-
shop ; but, even this authority, slight as it is, must be regarded with
extreme suspicion, inasmuch as the inhabitants of the hole aforesaid,

x

306 Sketches by Boz.

concur in opining that it never had any name at all, from the earliest
ages down to the present day.

The Winglebury Arms, in the centre of the High Street, opposite
the small building with the big clock, is the principal inn of Great
Winglebury — the commercial-inn, posting-house, and excise-office ;
the " Blue " house at every election, and the Judges' house at every
assizes. It is the head-quarters of the Gentlemen's Whist Club of
Winglebury Blues (so called in opposition to the Gentlemen's Whist
Club of Winglebury Buffs, held at the other house, a little further
down) : and whenever a juggler, or wax-work man, or concert-giver,
takes Great Winglebury in his circuit, it is immediately placarded all
over the town that Mr. So-and-so, " trusting to that liberal support
which the inhabitants of Great Winglebury have long been so liberal
in bestowing, has at a great expense engaged the elegant and com-
modious assembly-rooms, attached to the Winglebury Arms." The
house is a large one, with a red brick and stone front ; a pretty
spacious hall, ornamented with evergreen plants, terminates in a
perspective view of the bar, and a glass case, in which are displayed
a choice variety of delicacies ready for dressing, to catch the eye of a
new-comer the moment he enters, and excite his appetite to the highest
possible pitch. Opposite doors lead to the " coffee " and " commercial "
rooms ; and a great wide, rambling staircase, — three stairs and a
landing — four stairs and another landing — one step and another
landing — half-a-dozen stairs and another landing — and so on — con-
ducts to galleries of bedrooms, and labyrinths of sitting-rooms,
denominated " private," where you may enjoy yourself, as privately as
you can in any place where some bewildered being walks into your
room every five minutes, by mistake, and then walks out again, to
open all the doors along the gallery until he finds his own.

Such is the Winglebury Arms, at this day, and such was the
Winglebury Arms some time since — no matter when — two or three
minutes before the arrival of the London stage. Four horses with
cloths on — change for a coach — were standing quietly at the corner of
the yard surrounded by a listless group of postboys in shiny hats
and smock-frocks, engaged in discussing the merits of the cattle;
half-a-dozen ragged boys were standing a little apart, listening with
evident interest to the conversation of these worthies; and a few
loungers were collected round the horse-trough, awaiting the arrival
of the coach.

The day was hot and sunny, the town in the zenith of its dulness,
and with the exception of these few idlers, not a living creature was
to be seen. Suddenly, the loud notes of a key-bugle broke the
monotonous stillness of the street ; in came the coach, rattling over
the uneven paving with a noise startling enough to stop even the
large-faced clock itself. Down got the outsides, up went the windows
in all directions, out came the waiters, up started the ostlers, and the
loungers, and the postboys, and the ragged boys, as if they were

Alarming Missive. 307

electrified — unstrapping, and unchaining, and unbuckling, and drag-
ging willing horses out, and forcing reluctant horses in, and making
a most exhilarating bustle. " Lady inside, hero ! " said the guard.
" Please to alight, ma'am," said the waiter. " Private sitting-room ? "
interrogated the lady. " Certainly, ma'am," responded the chamber-
maid. " Nothing but these 'ere trunks, ma'am ? " inquired the guard.
" Nothing more," replied the lady. Up got the outsides again, and
the guard, and the coachman ; off came the cloths, with a jerk ; " All
right," was the cry ; and away they went. The loungers lingered a
minute or two in the road, watching the coach until it turned the
corner, and then loitered away one by one. The street was clear
again, and the town, by contrast, quieter than ever.

" Lady in number twenty-five," screamed the landlady. — " Thomas ! "

"Yes, ma'am." ...

" Letter just been left for the gentleman in number nineteen. Boots
at the Lion left it. No answer."

" Letter for you, sir," said Thomas, depositing the letter on number
nineteen's table.

" For me ? " said number nineteen, turning from the window, out of
which he had been surveying the scene just described.

" Yes, sir," — (waiters always speak in hints, and never utter com-
plete sentences,) — "yes, sir — Boots at the Lion, sir, — Bar, sir, — Missis
said number nineteen, sir — Alexander Trott, Esq., sir ? — Your card at
the bar, sir, I think, sir ? "

" My name is Trott," replied number nineteen, breaking the seal.
" You may go, waiter." The waiter pulled down the window-blind,
and then pulled it up again — for a regular waiter must do something
before he leaves the room — adjusted the glasses on the sideboard,
brushed a place that was not dusty, rubbed his hands very hard,
walked stealthily to the door, and evaporated.

There was, evidently, something in the contents of the letter, of a
nature, if not wholly unexpected, certainly extremely disagreeable. Mr.
Alexander Trott laid it down, and took it up again, and walked about
the room on particular squares of the carpet, and even attempted,
though unsuccessfully, to whistle an air. It wouldn't do. He threw
himself into a chair, and read the following epistle aloud : —

"Bine Lion and Stomach-warmer,
Great AYinglebury.
Wednesday Morning.

" Sir. Immediately on discovering your intentions, I left our count-
ing-house, and followed you. I know the purport of your journey ; —
that journey shall never be completed.

"I have no friend here, just now, on whose secrecy I can rely.
This shall be no obstacle to my revenge. Neither shall Emily Brown
be exposed to the mercenary solicitations of a scoundrel, odious in her
eyes, and contemptible in everybody else's : nor will I tamely submit
to the clandestine attacks of a base umbrella-maker.

308 Sketches by Bos.

" Sir. From Great Winglebury church, a footpath leads through
four meadows to a retired spot known to the townspeople as Stiffun's
Acre." [Mr. Trott shuddered.] " I shall be waiting there alone, at
twenty minutes before six o'clock to-morrow morning. Should I be
disappointed in seeing you there, I will do myself the pleasure of
calling with a horsewhip.

" HORACE HUNTER.

" PS. There is a gunsmith's in the High Street ; and they won't
sell gunpowder after dark — you understand me.

" PPS. You had better not order your breakfast in the morning
until you have met me. It may be an unnecessary expense."

" Desperate-minded villain ! I knew how it would be ! " ejaculated
the terrified Trott. " I always told father, that once start me on this
expedition, and Hunter would pursue me like the Wandering Jew.
It's bad enough as it is, to marry with the old people's commands, and
without the girl's consent ; but what will Emily think of me, if I go
down there breathless with running away from this infernal sala-
mander ? What shall I do ? What can I do ? If I go back to the
City, I'm disgraced for ever — lose the girl — and, what's more, lose the
money too. Even if I did go on to the Browns' by the coach, Hunter
would be after me in a post-chaise ; and if I go to this place, this
Stiffun's Acre (another shudder), I'm as good as dead. I've seen him
hit the man at the Pall Mall shooting-gallery, in the second button-
hole of the waistcoat, five times' out of every six, and when he didn't
hit him there, he hit him in the head." With this consolatory
reminiscence Mr. Alexander Trott again ejaculated, "What shall
I do?"

Long and weary were his reflections, as, burying his face in his hand,
he sat, ruminating on the best course to be pursued. His mental
direction-post pointed to London. He thought of the " governor's "
anger, and the loss of the fortune which the paternal Brown had
promised the paternal Trott his daughter should contribute to the
coffers of his son. Then the words "To Brown's" were legibly
inscribed on the said direction-post, but Horace Hunter's denunciation
rung in his ears ; — last of all it bore, in red letters, the words, " To
Stiffun's Acre ; " and then Mr. Alexander Trott decided on adopting a
plan which he presently matured.

First and foremost, he despatched the under-boots to the Blue Lion
and Stomach-warmer, with a gentlemanly note to Mr. Horace Hunter,
intimating that he thirsted for his destruction and would do himself
the pleasure of slaughtering him next morning, without fail. He then
wrote another letter, and requested the attendance of the other boots
— for they kept a pair. A modest knock at the room door was heard.
" Come in," said Mr. Trott. A man thrust in a red head with one eye
in it, and being again desired to " come in," brought in the body and

Mr. Trott bribes the Boots. 309

the legs to which the head belonged, and a fur cap which belonged to
the head.

" You are the upper-boots, I think ? " inquired Mr. Trott.

" Yes, I am the upper-boots," replied a voice from inside a velveteen
case, with mother-of-pearl buttons — " that is, I'm the boots as b'longs
to the house ; the other man's my man, as goes errands and does odd
jobs. Top-boots and half-boots, I calls us."

" You're from London ? " inquired Mr. Trott.

" Driv a cab once," was the laconic reply.

" Why don't you drive it now ? " asked Mr. Trott.

" Over-driv the cab, and driv over a "ooman," replied the top-boots,
with brevity.

" Do you know the mayor's house ? " inquired Mr. Trott.

" Bather," replied the boots, significantly, as if he had some good
reason to remember it.

" Do you think you could manage to leave a letter there ? " inter-
rogated Trott.

" Shouldn't wonder," responded boots.

" But this letter," said Trott, holding a deformed note with a
paralytic direction in one hand, and five shillings in the other — " this
letter is anonymous."

" A — what ? " interrupted the boots.

" Anonymous — he's not to know who it comes from."

" Oh ! I see," responded the reg'lar, with a knowing wink, but with-
out evincing the slightest disinclination to undertake the charge — " I
see — bit o' Sving, eh? " and his one eye wandered round the room, as
if in quest of a dark lantern and phosphorus-box. " But, I say ! " he
continued, recalling the eye from its search, and bringing it to bear
on Mr. Trott. " I say, he's a lawyer, our mayor, and insured in the
County. If you've a spite agen him, you'd better not burn his house
down — blessed if I don't think it would be the greatest favour you
could do him." And he chuckled inwardly.

If Mr. Alexander Trott had been in any other situation, his first act
would have been to kick the man down-stairs by deputy ; or, in other
words, to ring the bell, and desire the landlord to take his boots off.
He contented himself, however, with doubling the fee and explaining
that the letter merely related to a breach of the peace. The top-boots
retired, solemnly pledged to secrecy ; and Mr. Alexander Trott sat
down to a fried sole, Maintenon cutlet, Madeira, and sundries, with
greater composure than he had experienced since the receipt of Horace
Hunter's letter of defiance.

The lady who alighted from the London coach had no sooner been
installed in number twenty-five, and made some alteration in her
travelling-dress, than she indited a note to Joseph Overton, Esquire,
solicitor, and mayor of Great Winglebury, requesting his immediate
attendance on private business of paramount importance — a summons
which that worthy functionary lost no time in obeying ; for after

3io Sketches by Boz.

sundry openings of his eyes, divers ejaculations of " Bless me ! " and
other manifestations of surprise, he took his broad-brimmed hat from
its accustomed peg in his little front-office, and walked briskly down
the High Street to the Winglebury Arms ; through the hall and up
the staircase of which establishment he was ushered by the landlady,
and a crowd of officious waiters, to the door of number twenty-five.

" Show the gentleman in," said the stranger lady, in reply to the
foremost waiter's announcement. The gentleman was shown in
accordingly.

The lady rose from the sofa ; the mayor advanced a step from the
door ; and there they both paused, for a minute or two, looking at one
another as if by mutual consent. The mayor saw before him a buxom
richly-dressed female of about forty ; the lady looked upon a sleek
man, about ten years older, in drab shorts and continuations, black
coat, neckcloth, and gloves.

" Miss Julia Manners ! " exclaimed the mayor at length, " you
astonish me."

" That's very unfair of you, Overton," replied Miss Julia, " for I
have known you, long enough, not to be surprised at anything you do,
and you might extend equal courtesy to me."

" But to run away — actually run away — with a young man ! " re-
monstrated the mayor.

"You wouldn't have me actually run away with an old one, I
presume ? " was the cool rejoinder.

"And then to ask me — me — of all people in the world — a man
of my age and appearance — mayor of the town — to promote such a
scheme 1 " pettishly ejaculated Joseph Overton ; throwing himself into
an arm-chair, and producing Miss Julia's letter from his pocket, as if
to corroborate the assertion that he had been asked.

" Now, Overton," replied the lady, " I want your assistance in this
matter, and I must have it. In the lifetime of that poor old dear,
Mr. Cornberry, who — who "

"Who was to have married you, and didn't, because he died first;
and who left you his property unencumbered with the addition of
himself," suggested the mayor.

" Well," replied Miss Julia, reddening slightly, " in the lifetime of
the poor old dear, the property had the incumbrance of your manage-
ment ; and all I will say of that, is, that I only wonder it didn't die
of consumption instead of its master. You helped yourself then : —
help me now."

Mr. Joseph Overton was a man of the world, and an attorney ; and
as certain indistinct recollections of an odd thousand pounds or two,
appropriated by mistake, passed across his mind, he hemmed depre-
catingly, smiled blandly, remained silent for a few seconds ; and
finally inquired, " What do you wish me to do ? "

" I'll tell you," replied Miss Julia — " I'll tell you in three words.
Dear Lord Peter "

Miss Julia Manners and the Mayor. 311

" That's the young man, I suppose " interrupted the mayor.

" That's the young Nobleman," replied the lady, with a great stress
on the last word. "Dear Lord Peter is considerably afraid of the
resentment of his family ; and we have therefore thought it better to
make the match a stolen one. He left town, to avoid suspicion, on
a visit to his friend, the Honourable Augustus Flair, whose seat, as
you know, is about thirty miles from this, accompanied only by his
favourite tiger. We arranged that I should come here alone in the
London coach ; and that he, leaving his tiger and cab behind him,
should come on, and arrive here as soon as possible this afternoon."

" Very well," observed Joseph Overton, " and then he can order
the chaise, and you can go on to Gretna Green together, without re-
quiring the presence or interference of a third party, can't you ? "

" No," replied Miss Julia. " We have every reason to believe —
dear Lord Peter not being considered very prudent or sagacious by
his friends, and they having discovered his attachment to me — that,
immediately on his absence being observed, pursuit will be made in
this direction : — to elude which, and to prevent our being traced, I
wish it to be understood in this house, that dear Lord Peter is slightly
deranged, though perfectly harmless ; and that I am, unknown to him,
awaiting his arrival to convey him in a post-chaise to a private asylum
— at Berwick, say. If I don't show myself much, I dare say I can
manage to pass for his mother."

The thought occurred to the mayor's mind that the lady might show
herself a good deal without fear of detection; seeing that she was
about double the age of her intended husband. He said nothing,
however, and the lady proceeded.

" With the whole of this arrangement dear Lord Peter is acquainted ;
and all I want you to do, is, to make the delusion more complete by
giving it the sanction of your influence in this place, and assigning
this as a reason to the people of the house for my taking the young
gentleman away. As it would not be consistent with the story that
I should see him until after he has entered the chaise, I also wish you
to communicate with him, and inform him that it is all going on well."

" Has he arrived ? " inquired Overton.

" I don't know," replied the lady.

" Then how am I to know ? " inquired the mayor. " Of course he
will not give his own name at the bar."

" I begged him, immediately on his arrival, to write you a note,"
replied Miss Manners ; " and to prevent the possibility of our project
being discovered through its means, I desired him to write anony-
mously, and in mysterious terms, to acquaint you with the number of
his room."

" Bless me ! " exclaimed the mayor, rising from his seat, and search-
ing his pockets — " most extraordinary circumstance — he has arrived —
mysterious note left at my house in a most mysterious manner, just
before yours — didn't know what to make of it before, and certainly

312 Sketches by

shouldn't have attended to it. — Oh ! here it is." And Joseph Overton
pulled out of an inner coat-pocket the identical letter penned by
Alexander Trott. " Is this his lordship's hand ? "

" Oh yes," replied Julia ; " good, punctual creature ! I have not
seen it more than once or twice, but I know he writes very badly and
very large. These dear, wild young noblemen, you know, Overton "

" Ay, ay, I see," replied the mayor. — " Horses and dogs, play and
wine — grooms, actresses, and cigars — the stable, the green-room, the
saloon, and the tavern ; and the legislative assembly at last."

" Here's what he says," pursued the mayor ; " ' Sir, — A young
gentleman in number nineteen at the Winglebury Arms, is bent on
committing a rash act to-morrow morning at an early hour.' (That's
good — he means marrying.) 'If you have any regard for the peace
of this town, or the preservation of one — it may be two — human lives.'
— What the deuce does he mean by that ? "

" That he's so anxious for the ceremony, he will expire if it's put
off, and that I may possibly do the same," replied the lady with great
complacency.

" Oh ! I see — not much fear of that ; — well — ' two human lives, you
will cause him to be removed to-night.' (He wants to start at once.)
c Fear not to do this on your responsibility : for to-morrow the absolute
necessity of the proceeding will be but too apparent. Remember:
number nineteen. The name is Trott. No delay ; for life and death
depend upon your promptitude.' Passionate language, certainly.
Shall I see him ? "

" Do," replied Miss Julia ; " and entreat him to act his part well.
I am half afraid of him. Tell him to be cautious."

" I will," said the mayor.

" Settle all the arrangements."

" I will," said the mayor again.

" And say I think the chaise had better be ordered for one o'clock."

" Very well," said the mayor once more ; and, ruminating on the
absurdity of the situation in which fate and old acquaintance had
placed him, he desired a waiter to herald his approach to the
temporary representative of number nineteen.

The announcement, " Gentleman to speak with you, sir," induced
Mr. Trott to pause half-way in the glass of port, the contents of which
he was in the act of imbibing at the moment ; to rise from his chair ;
and retreat a few paces towards the window, as if to secure a retreat,
in the event of the visitor assuming the form and appearance of
Horace Hunter. One glance at Joseph Overton, however, quieted his
apprehensions. He courteously motioned the stranger to a seat. The
waiter, after a little jingling with the decanter and glasses, consented
to leave the room ; and Joseph Overton, placing the broad-brimmed
nat on the chair next him, and bending his body gently forward,
opened the business by saying in a very low and cautious tone —

" My lord "

Mr. Trott acknowledges it. 313

" Eli ? " said Mr. Alexander Trott, in a loud key, with the vacant
and mystified stare of a chilly somnambulist.

" Hush — hush ! " said the cautious attorney : " to be sure — quite
right — no titles here — my name is Overton, sir."

" Overton ? "

" Yes : the mayor of this place — you sent me a letter with
anonymous information, this afternoon."

" I, sir ? " exclaimed Trott with ill-dissembled surprise ; for, coward
as ho was, he would willingly have repudiated the authorship of the
letter in question. " I, sir ? "

" Yes, you, sir ; did you not ? " responded Overton, annoyed with
what he supposed to be an extreme degree of unnecessary suspicion.
" Either this letter is yours, or it is not. If it be, we can converse
securely upon the subject at once. If it be not, of course I have no
more to say."

" Stay, stay," said Trott, " it is mine ; I did write it. What could
I do, sir ? I had no friend here."

" To be sure, to be sure," said the mayor, encouragingly, " you
could not have managed it better. Well, sir ; it will be necessary for
you to leave hero to-night in a post-chaise and four. And the harder
the boys drive, the better. You are not safe from pursuit."

" Bless me ! " exclaimed Trott, in an agony of apprehension, " can
such things happen in a country like this ? Such unrelenting and
cold-blooded hostility ! " He wiped off the concentrated essence of
cowardice that was oozing fast down his forehead, and looked aghast at
Joseph Overton.

" It certainly is a very hard case," replied the mayor with a smile,
" that, in a free country, people can't marry whom they like, without
being hunted down as if they were criminals. However, in the present
instance the lady is willing, you know, and that's the main point,
after all."

" Lady willing," repeated Trott, mechanically. " How do you
know the lady's willing ? "

" Come, that's a good one," said the mayor, benevolently tapping
Mr. Trott on tho arm with his broad-brimmed hat ; " I have known
her, well, for a long time ; and if anybody could entertain tho re-
motest doubt on the subject, I assure you I have none, nor need you
have."

" Dear me ! " said Mr. Trott, ruminating. " This is very extra-
ordinary ! "

" Well, Lord Peter," said the mayor, rising.

" Lord Peter ? " repeated Mr. Trott.

" Oh— ah, I forgot. Mr. Trott, then— Trott— very good, ha ! ha !
— Well, sir, the chaise shall bo ready at half-past twelve."

" And what is to become of mo until then ? " inquired Mr. Trott,
anxiously. " Wouldn't it save appearances, if I were placed under
some restraint ? "

314 Sketches by Boz.

"Ah ! " replied Overton, " very good thought — capital idea indeed.
I'll send somebody up directly. And if you make a little resistance
when we put you in the chaise it wouldn't be amiss — look as if you
didn't want to be taken away, you know."

" To be sure," said Trott— " to be sure."

" Well, my lord," said Overton, in a low tone, " until then, I wish
your lordship a good evening."

" Lord — lordship ? " ejaculated Trott again, falling back a step or
two, and gazing, in unutterable wonder, on the countenance of the
mayor.

" Ha-ha ! I see, my lord — practising the madman ? — very good
indeed — very vacant look — capital, my lord, — capital — good evening,
Mr.— Trott— ha ! ha! ha!"

" That mayor's decidedly drunk," soliloquised Mr. Trott, throwing
himself back in his chair, in an attitude of reflection.

" He is a much cleverer fellow than I thought him, that young
nobleman — he carries it off uncommonly well," thought Overton, as he
went his way to the bar, there to complete his arrangements. This
was soon done. Every word of the story was implicitly believed, and
the one-eyed boots was immediately instructed to repair to number
nineteen, to act as custodian of the person of the supposed lunatic
until half-past twelve o'clock. In pursuance of this direction, that
somewhat eccentric gentleman armed himself with a walking-stick of
gigantic dimensions, and repaired, with his usual equanimity of manner,
to Mr. Trott's apartment, which he entered without any ceremony, and
mounted guard in, by quietly depositing himself on a chair near the
door, where he proceeded to beguile the time by whistling a popular
air with great apparent satisfaction.

" What do you want here, you scoundrel ? " exclaimed Mr. Alexander
Trott, with a proper appearance of indignation at his detention.

The boots beat time with his head, as he looked gently round at
Mr. Trott with a smile of pity, and whistled an adagio movement.

" Do you attend in this room by Mr. Overton's desire ? " inquired
Trott, rather astonished at the man's demeanour.

" Keep yourself to yourself, young feller," calmly responded the
boots, " and don't say nothin' to nobody." And he whistled again.

" Now, mind ! " ejaculated Mr. Trott, anxious to keep up the farce
of wishing with great earnestness to fight a duel if they'd let him.
" I protest against being kept here. I deny that I have any intention
of fighting with anybody. But as it's useless contending with superior
numbers, I shall sit quietly down."

" You'd better," observed the placid boots, shaking the large stick
expressively.

" Under protest, however," added Alexander Trott, seating himself
with indignation in his face, but great content in his heart. " Under
protest."

" Oh, certainly ! " responded the boots ; " anything you please. If

A Madman in the House. 315

you're happy, I'm transported ; only don't talk too much — it'll make
you worse."

" Make me worse ? " exclaimed Trott, in unfeigned astonishment :
" the man's drunk ! "

" You'd better be quiet, young feller," remarked the boots, going
through a threatening piece of pantomime with the stick.

" Or mad ! " said Mr. Trott, rather alarmed. " Leave the room, sir,
and tell them to send somebody else."

" Won't do ! " replied the boots.

" Leave the room ! " shouted Trott, ringing the bell violently : for
he began to be alarmed on a new score.

" Leave that 'ere bell alone, you wretched loo-nattic ! " said the
boots, suddenly forcing the unfortunate Trott back into his chair, and
brandishing the stick aloft. " Be quiet, you miserable object, and
don't let everybody know there's a madman in the house."

" He is a madman ! He is a madman ! " exclaimed the terrified Mr.
Trott, gazing on the one eye of the red-headed boots with a look of
abject horror.

" Madman I " replied the boots, " dam'me, I think he is a madman
with a vengeance ! Listen to me, you unfort'nate. Ah ! would you ? "
[a slight tap on the head with the large stick, as Mr. Trott made
another move towards the bell-handle] " I caught you there I did I? "

" Spare my life ! " exclaimed Trott, raising his hands imploringly.

" I don't want your life," replied the boots, disdainfully, " though I
think it 'ud be a charity if somebody took it."

" No, no, it wouldn't," interrupted poor Mr. Trott, hurriedly ; " no,
no, it wouldn't ! I — I — 'd rather keep it ! "

" 0 werry well," said the boots : " that's a mere matter of taste —
ev'ry one to his liking. Hows'ever, all I've got to say is this here :
You sit quietly down in that chair, and I'll sit hoppersite you here,
and if you keep quiet and don't stir, I won't damage you ; but, if you
move hand or foot till half-past twelve o'clock, I shall alter the
expression of your countenance so completely, that the next time you
look in the glass you'll ask vether you're gone out of town, and ven
you're likely to come back again. So sit down."

" I will — I will," responded the victim of mistakes ; and down sat
Mr. Trott and down sat the boots too, exactly opposite him, with the
stick ready for immediate action in case of emergency.

Long and dreary were the hours that followed. The bell of Great
Winglebury church had just struck ten, and two hours and a half
would probably elapse before succour arrived.

For half-an-hour, the noise occasioned by shutting up the shops in
the street beneath, betokened something like life in the town, and
rendered Mr. Trott's situation a little less insupportable ; but, when
even these ceased, and nothing was heard beyond the occasional
rattling of a post-chaise as it drove up the yard to change horses, and
then drove away again, or the clattering of horses' hoofs in the stables

316 Sketches by Boz.

behind, it became almost unbearable. The boots occasionally moved
an inch or two, to knock superfluous bits of wax off the candles, which
were burning low, but instantaneously resumed his former position ;
and as he remembered to have heard, somewhere or other, that the
human eye had an unfailing effect in controlling mad people, he kept
his solitary organ of vision constantly fixed on Mr. Alexander Trott.
That unfortunate individual stared at his companion in his turn, until
his features grew more and more indistinct — his hair gradually less
red — and the room more misty and obscure. Mr. Alexander Trott
fell into a sound sleep, from which he was awakened by a rumbling
in the street, and a cry of " Chaise-and-four for number twenty-
five ! " A bustle on the stairs succeeded ; the room door was hastily
thrown open ; and Mr. Joseph Overton entered, followed by four stout
waiters and Mrs. Williamson, the stout landlady of the Winglebury
Arms.

" Mr. Overton ! " exclaimed Mr. Alexander Trott, jumping up in a
frenzy. " Look at this man, sir ; consider the situation in which I have
been placed for three hours past — the person you sent to guard me,
sir, was a madman — a madman — a raging, ravaging, furious madman."

" Bravo ! " whispered Overton.

" Poor dear ! " said the compassionate Mrs. Williamson, " mad
people always thinks other people's mad."

" Poor dear ! " ejaculated Mr. Alexander Trott. " What the devil
do you mean by poor dear ? Are you the landlady of this house ? "

" Yes, yes," replied the stout old lady, " don't exert yourself, there's
a dear ! Consider your health, now ; do."

"Exert myself!" shouted Mr. Alexander Trott, "it's a mercy,
ma'am, that I have any breath to exert myself with ! I might have
been assassinated three hours ago by that one-eyed monster with the
oakum head. How dare you have a madman, ma'am — how dare you
have a madman, to assault and terrify the visitors to your house ? "

" I'll never have another," said Mrs. Williamson, casting a look of
reproach at the mayor.

" Capital, capital," whispered Overton again, as he enveloped Mr.
Alexander Trott in a thick travelling-cloak.

" Capital, sir ! " exclaimed Trott, aloud, " it's horrible. The very
recollection makes me shudder. I'd rather fight four duels in three
hours, if I survived the first three, than I'd sit for that time face to
face with a madman."

" Keep it up, my lord, as you go down-stairs," whispered Overton,
" your bill is paid, and your portmanteau in the chaise." And then
he added aloud, " Now, waiters, the gentleman's ready."

At this signal, the waiters crowded round Mr. Alexander Trott.
One took one arm ; another, the other ; a third, walked before with a
candle ; the fourth, behind with another candle ; the boots and Mrs.
Williamson brought up the rear; and down-stairs they went: Mr.
Alexander Trott expressing alternately at the very top of his voice

Off to Gretna Green. 317

either his feigned reluctance to go, or his unfeigned indignation at
being shut up with a madman.

Mr. Overton was waiting at the chaise-door, the boys were ready
mounted, and a few ostlers and stable nondescripts were standing
round to witness the departure of " the mad gentleman." Mr.
Alexander Trott's foot was on the step, when he observed (which the
dim light had prevented his doing before) a figure seated in the
chaise, closely muffled up in a cloak like his own.

" Who's that? " he inquired of Overton, in a whisper.

" Hush, hush," replied the mayor : " the other party of course."

*' The other party 1 " exclaimed Trott, with an effort to retreat.

" Yes, yes ; you'll soon find that out, before you go far, I should
think — but make a noise, you'll excite suspicion if you whisper to me
so much."

" I won't go in this chaise ! " shouted Mr. Alexander Trott, all his
original fears recurring with tenfold violence. " I shall be assassinated
— I shall be "

" Bravo, bravo," whispered Overton. " I'll push you in."

"But I won't go," exclaimed Mr. Trott. "Help here, help!
They're carrying me away against my will. This is a plot to
murder me."

" Poor dear ! " said Mrs. Williamson again.

" Now, boys, put 'em along," cried the mayor, pushing Trott in and
slamming the door. " Off with you, as quick as you can, and stop for
nothing till you come to the next stage — all right ! "

" Horses are paid, Tom," screamed Mrs. Williamson ; and away
went the chaise, at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, with Mr.
Alexander Trott and Miss Julia Manners carefully shut up in tho
inside.

Mr. Alexander Trott remained coiled up in one corner of the
chaise, and his mysterious companion in the other, for the first two or
throe miles ; Mr. Trott edging more and more into his corner, as h«
felt his companion gradually edging more and more from hers ; and
vainly endeavouring in the darkness to catch a glimpse of the furious
face of the supposed Horace Hunter.

"We may speak now," said his fellow-traveller, at length; "the
postboys can neither see nor hear us."

" That's not Hunter's voice ! " — thought Alexander, astonished.

" Dear Lord Peter ! " said Miss Julia, most winningly : putting her
arm on Mr. Trott's shoulder. " Dear Lord Peter. Not a word ? "

" Why, it's a woman ! " exclaimed Mr. Trott, in a low tone of
excessive wonder.

" Ah ! Whose voice is that ? " said Julia ; " 'tis not Lord Peter's."

" No, — it's mine," replied Mr. Trott.

" Yours ! " ejaculated Miss Julia Manners ; " a strange man !
Gracious heaven ! How came you here ? "

" Whoever you are, you might have known that I came against my

318 Sketches by Bos.

will, ma'am," replied Alexander, "for I made noise enough when 1
got in."

" Do you come from Lord Peter ? " inquired Miss Manners.

"Confound Lord Peter," replied Trott pettishly. "I don't know
any Lord Peter. I never heard of him before to-night, when I've
been Lord Peter'd by one and Lord Peter'd by another, till I verily
believe I'm mad, or dreaming "

" Whither are we going ? " inquired the lady tragically.

" How should Jknow, ma'am ? " replied Trott with singular coolness ;
for the events of the evening had completely hardened him.

" Stop ! stop ! " cried the lady, letting down the front glasses of the
chaise.

" Stay, my dear ma'am ! " said Mr. Trott, pulling the glasses up
again with one hand, and gently squeezing Miss Julia's waist with
the other. " There is some mistake here ; give me till the end of this
stage to explain my share of it. We must go so far ; you cannot be
set down here alone, at this hour of the night."

The lady consented ; the mistake was mutually explained. Mr.
Trott was a young man, had highly promising whiskers, an undeniable
tailor, and an insinuating address — he wanted nothing but valour, and
who wants that with three thousand a year ? The lady had this, and
more ; she wanted a young husband, and the only course open to Mr.
Trott to retrieve his disgrace was a rich wife. So, they came to the
conclusion that it would be a pity to have all this trouble and expense
for nothing ; and that as they were so far on the road already, they
had better go to Gretna Green, and marry each other ; and they did
so. And the very next preceding entry in the Blacksmith's book, was
an entry of the marriage of Emily Brown with Horace Hunter. Mr.
Hunter took his wife home, and begged pardon, and was pardoned ;
and Mr. Trott took his wife home, begged pardon too, and was pardoned
also. And Lord Peter, who had been detained beyond his time by
drinking champagne and riding a steeple-chase, went back to the
Honourable Augustus Flair's, and drank more champagne, and rode
another steeple-chase, and was thrown and killed. And Horace
Hunter took great credit to himself for practising on the cowardice
of Alexander Trott; and all these circumstances were discovered in
time, and carefully noted down ; and if you ever stop a week at the
Winglebury Arms, they will give you just this account of The Great
Winglebury Duel.

Private Theatricals. 319

CHAPTER IX.

MRS. JOSEPH PORTER.

MOST extensive were the preparations at Hose Villa, Claphara Rise, in
the occupation of Mr. Gattleton (a stock-broker in especially com-
fortable circumstances), and great was the anxiety of Mr. Gattleton's
interesting family, as the day fixed for the representation of the Private
Play which had been "many months in preparation," approached.
The whole family was infected with the mania for Private Theatricals ;
the house, usually so clean and tidy, was, to use Mr. Gattleton's ex-
pressive description, " regularly turned out o' windows ; " the large
dining-room, dismantled of its furniture and ornaments, presented a
strange jumble of flats, flies, wings, lamps, bridges, clouds, thunder
and lightning, festoons and flowers, daggers and foil, and various
other messes in theatrical slang included under the comprehensive
name of " properties." The bedrooms were crowded with scenery, the
kitchen was occupied by carpenters. Rehearsals took place every
other night in the drawing-room, and every sofa in the house was
more or less damaged by the perseverance and spirit with which Mr.
Sempronius Gattleton, and Miss Lucina, rehearsed the smothering
scene in "Othello" — it having been determined that that tragedy
should form the first portion of the evening's entertainments.

" When we're a leetle more perfect, I think it will go admirably,"
said Mr. Sempronius, addressing his corps dramatique, at the conclusion
of the hundred and fiftieth rehearsal. In consideration of his sustain-
ing the trifling inconvenience of bearing all the expenses of the play,
Mr. Sempronius had been, in the most handsome manner, unanimously
elected stage-manager. " Evans," continued Mr. Gattleton, the younger,
addressing a tall, thin, pale young gentleman, with extensive whiskers,
" Evans, you play Roderigo beautifully."

"Beautifully," echoed the three Miss Gattletons; for Mr. Evans
was pronounced by all his lady friends to be "quite a dear." He
looked so interesting, and had such lovely whiskers : to say nothing
of his talent for writing verses in albums and playing the flute!
Roderigo simpered and bowed.

" But I think," added the manager, " you are hardly perfect in the
— fall — in the fencing-scene, where you are — you understand ? "

" It's very difficult," said Mr. Evans, thoughtfully ; " I've fallen
about, a good deal, in our counting-house lately, for practice, only I
find it hurts one so. Being obliged to fall backward you see, it bruises
one's head a good deal."

" But you must take care you don't knock a wing down," said Mr.
Gattleton, the elder, who had been appointed prompter, and who took

32O Sketches by Boz.

as much interest in the play as the youngest of the company. " Tho
stage is very narrow, you know."

" Oh ! don't be afraid," said Mr. Evans, with a very self-satisfied
air : " I shall fall with my head ' off,' and then I can't do any harm."

" But, egad," said the manager, rubbing his hands, " we shall make
a decided hit in ' Masaniello.' Harleigh sings that music admirably."

Everybody echoed the sentiment. Mr. Harleigh smiled, and looked
foolish — not an unusual thing with him — hummed " Behold how
brightly breaks the morning," and blushed as red as the fisherman's
night-cap he was trying on.

" Let's see," resumed the manager, telling the number on his fingers,
" we shall have three dancing female peasants, besides Fenella, and
four fishermen. Then, there's our man Tom ; he can have a pair of
ducks ?of mine, and a check shirt of Bob's, and a rod night-cap, and
he'll do for another — that's five. In the choruses, of course, we can
sing at the sides ; and in the market-scene we can walk about in
cloaks and things. When the revolt takes place, Tom must keep
rushing in on one side and out on the other, with a pickaxe, as fast as
ho can. The eifect will be electrical ; it will look exactly as if there
were an immense number of 'em. And in the eruption scene we must
burn the red fire, and upset the tea-trays, and make all sorts of noises
— and it's sure to do."

" Sure ! sure ! " cried all the performers und wee — and away hurried
Mr. Sempronius Gattleton to wash the burnt cork off his face, and
superintend the " setting up " of some of the amateur-painted, but
never-sufficiently-to-be-admired, scenery:

Mrs. Gattleton was a kind, good-tempered, vulgar soul, exceedingly
fond of her husband and children, and entertaining only three dislikes.
In the first place, she had a natural antipathy to anybody else's un-
married daughters ; in the second, she was in bodily fear of anything
in the shape of ridicule ; lastly — almost a necessary consequence of
this feeling — she regarded, with feelings of the utmost horror, one Mrs.
Joseph Porter over the way. However, the good folks of Clapham
and its vicinity stood very much in awe of scandal and sarcasm ; and
thus Mrs. Joseph Porter was courted, and flattered, and caressed, and
invited, for much the same reason that induces a poor author, without
a farthing in his pocket, to behave with extraordinary civility to a
twopenny postman.

" Never mind, ma," said Miss Emma Porter, in colloquy with her
respected relative, and trying to look unconcerned; "if they had
invited me, you know that neither you nor pa would have allowed me
to take part in such an exhibition."

" Just what I should have thought from your high sense of pro-
priety," returned the mother. " I am glad to see, Emma, you know
how to designate the proceeding." Miss P., by the bye, had only the
week before made " an exhibition " of herself for four days, behind
a counter at a fancy fair, to all and every of her Majesty's liege

Uncle Tom. 321

subjects who wero disposed to pay a shilling each for the privilege of
seeing some four dozen girls flirting with strangers, and playing at
shop.

" There ! " said Mrs. Porter, looking out of window ; " there are two
rounds of beef and a ham going in — clearly for sandwiches ; and
Thomas, the pastrycook, says, there have been twelve dozen tarts
ordered, besides blanc-mange and jellies. Upon my word ! think of
the Miss Gattletons in fancy dresses, too ! "

" Oh, it's too ridiculous ! " said Miss Porter, hysterically.

" I'll manage to put them a little out of conceit with the business,
however," said Mrs. Porter ; and out she went on her charitable errand.

"Well, my dear Mrs. Gattleton," said Mrs. Joseph Porter, after
they had been closeted for some time, and when, by dint of indefatigable
pumping, she had managed to extract all the news about the play,
" well, my dear, people may say what they please ; indeed we know
they will, for some folks are so ill-natured. Ah, my dear Miss Lucina,
how d'ye do ? I was just telling your mamma that I have heard it
said, that —

"What?"

" Mrs. Porter is alluding to the play, my dear," said Mrs. Gattleton ;
" she was, I am sorry to say, just informing mo that —

" Oh, now pray don't mention it," interrupted Mrs. Porter ; " it's
most absurd — quite as absurd as young What's-his-name saying he
wondered how Miss Caroline, with such a foot and ankle, could have
the vanity to play Fenella."

" Highly impertinent, whoever said it," said Mrs. Gattleton,
bridling up.

" Certainly, my dear," chimed in the delighted Mrs. Porter ; " most
undoubtedly ! Because, as I said, if Miss Caroline does play Fenella,
it doesn't follow, as a matter of course, that she should think she has
a pretty foot ; — and then — such puppies as these young men are — he
had the impudence to say, that —

How far the amiable Mrs. Porter might have succeeded in her
pleasant purpose, it is impossible to say, had not the entrance of Mr.
Thomas Balderstone, Mrs. Gattleton's brother, familiarly called in the
family " Uncle Tom," changed the course of conversation, and suggested
to her mind an excellent plan of operation on the evening of the
play.

Uncle Tom was very rich, and exceedingly fond of his nephews and
nieces : as a matter of course, therefore, ho was an object of great
importance in his own family. He was one of the best-hearted men
in existence: always in a good temper, and always talking. It was
his boast that he wore top-boots on all occasions, and had never worn
a black silk neckerchief; and it was his pride that he remembered all
the principal plays of Shakspcare from beginning to end — and so ho
did. The result of this parrot-like accomplishment was, that he was
not only perpetually quoting himself, but that he could never sit by,

T

322 Sketches by Boz.

and hear a misquotation from the " Swan of Avon " without setting
the unfortunate delinquent right. He was also something of a wag ;
never missed an opportunity of saying what he considered a good
thing, and invariably laughed until he cried at anything that appeared
to him mirth-moving or ridiculous.

" Well, girls ! " said Uncle Tom, after the preparatory ceremony of
kissing and how-d'ye-do-ing had been gone through — " how d'ye get
on? Know your parts, eh? — Lucina, my dear, act ii., scene 1 —
place, left — cue — ' Unknown fate,' — What's next, eh ? — Go on — ' The
heavens ' '

" Oh yes," said Miss Lucina, " I recollect —

" ' The heavens forbid

But that our loves and comforts should increase
Even as our days do grow ! "

" Make a pause here and there," said the old gentleman, who was a
great critic. " ' But that our loves and comforts should increase ' —
emphasis on the last syllable, ' crease,' — loud ' even,' — one, two, three,
four ; then loud again, ' as our days do grow ; ' emphasis on days.
That's the way, my dear ; trust to your uncle for emphasis. Ah !
Sem, my boy, how are you ? "

"Very well, thank'ee, uncle," returned Mr. Sempronius, who had
just appeared, looking something like a ringdove, with a small circle
round each eye : the result of his constant corking. " Of course we
see you on Thursday."

" Of course, of course, my dear boy."

" What a pity it is your nephew didn't think of making you prompter,
Mr. Balderstone ! " whispered Mrs. Joseph Porter ; " you would have
been invaluable."

"Well, I flatter myself, I should have been tolerably up to the
thing," responded Uncle Tom.

"I must bespeak sitting next you on the night," resumed Mrs.
Porter ; " and then, if our dear young friends here, should be at all
wrong, you will be able to enlighten me. I shall be so interested."

" I am sure I shall be most happy to give you any assistance in my
power."

" Mind, it's a bargain."

" Certainly."

" I don't know how it is," said Mrs. Gattleton to her daughters, as
they were sitting round the fire in the evening, looking over their
parts, " but I really very much wish Mrs. Joseph Porter wasn't coming
on Thursday. I am sure she's scheming something."

" She can't make us ridiculous, however," observed Mr. Sempronius
Gattleton, haughtily.

The long-looked-for Thursday arrived in due course, and brought
with it, as Mr. Gattleton, senior, philosophically, observed, " no dis-
appointments, to speak of." True, it was yet a matter of doubt whether
Cassio would be enabled to get into the dress which had been sent for

The Audience. 323

him from the masquerade warehouse. It was equally uncertain whether
the principal female singer would be sufficiently recovered from the
influenza to make her appearance; Mr. Harleigh, the Masaniello of
the night, was hoarse, and rather unwell, in consequence of the great
quantity of lemon and sugar-candy he had eaten to improve his voice ;
and two flutes and a violoncello had pleaded severe colds. What of
that ? the audience were all coming. Everybody knew his part : the
dresses were covered with tinsel and spangles ; the white plumes
looked beautiful ; Mr. Evans had practised falling until he was bruised
from head to foot and quite perfect ; lago was sure that, in the stabbing-
scene, he should make " a decided hit." A self-taught deaf gentleman,
who had kindly offered to bring his flute, would be a most valuable
addition to the orchestra ; Miss Jenkins's talent for the piano was too
well known to be doubted for an instant ; Mr. Cape had practised the
violin accompaniment with her frequently ; and Mr. Brown, who had
kindly undertaken, at a few hours' notice, to bring his violoncello,
would, no doubt, manage extremely well.

Seven o'clock came, and so did the audience; all the rank and
fashion of Clapham and its vicinity was fast filling the theatre. There
were the Smiths, the Gubbinses, the Nixons, the Dixons, the Hicksons,
people with all sorts of names, two aldermen, a sheriff in perspective,
Sir Thomas Glumper (who had been knighted in the last reign for
carrying up an address on somebody's escaping from nothing) ; and
last, not least, there were Mrs. Joseph Porter and Uncle Tom, seated
in the centre of the third row from the stage ; Mrs. P. amusing Uncle
Tom with all sorts of stories, and Uncle Tom amusing every one else
by laughing most immoderately.

Ting, ting, ting ! went the prompter's bell at eight o'clock precisely,
and dash went the orchestra into the overture to " The Men of
Prometheus." The pianoforte player hammered away with laudable
perseverance ; and the violoncello, which struck in at intervals,
" sounded very well, considering." The unfortunate individual, how-
ever, who had undertaken to play the flute accompaniment " at sight,"
found, from fatal experience, the perfect truth of the old adage, " out
of sight, out of mind ; " for being very near-sighted, and being placed
at a considerable distance from his music-book, all he had an oppor-
tunity of doing was to play a bar now and then in the wrong place,
and put the other performers out. It is, however, but justice to Mr.
Brown to say that he did this to admiration. The overture, in fact,
was not unlike a race between the different instruments; the piano
came in first by several bars, and the violoncello next, quite distancing
the poor flute; for the deaf gentleman too-too'd away, quite uncon-
scious that he was at all wrong, until apprised, by the applause of the
audience, that the overture was concluded. A considerable bustle
and shuffling of feet was then heard upon the stage, accompanied by
whispers of " Here's a pretty go ! — what's to be done ? " &c. The
audience applauded again, by way of raising the spirits of the per-

324 Sketches by Boz.

formers ; and then Mr. Sempronius desired the prompter, in a very
audible voice, to " clear the stage, and ring up."

Ting, ting, ting ! went the bell again. Everybody sat down ; the
curtain shook ; rose sufficiently high to display several pair of yellow
boots paddling about ; and there remained.

Ting, ting, ting ! went the bell again. The curtain was violently
convulsed, but rose no higher ; the audience tittered ; Mrs. Porter
looked at Uncle Tom ; Uncle Tom looked at everybody, rubbing his
hands, and laughing with perfect rapture. After as much ringing
with the little bell as a muffin-boy would make in going down a
tolerably long street, and a vast deal of whispering, hammering, and
calling for nails and cord, the curtain at length rose, and discovered
Mr. Sempronius Gattleton solus, and decked for Othello. After three
distinct rounds of applause, during which Mr. Sempronius applied his
right hand to his left breast, and bowed in the most approved manner,
the manager advanced and said —

"Ladies and Gentlemen — I assure you it is with sincere regret,
that I regret to be compelled to inform you, that logo who was to
have played Mr. Wilson — I beg your pardon, Ladies and Gentlemen,
but I am naturally somewhat agitated (applause) — I mean, Mr. Wilson,
who was to have played logo, is — that is, has been — or, in other words,
Ladies and Gentlemen, the fact is, that I have just received a note, in
which I am informed that lago is unavoidably detained at the Post-
office this evening. Under these circumstances, I trust — a — a —
amateur performance — a — another gentleman undertaken to read the
part — request indulgence for a short time— courtesy and kindness of
a British audience." Overwhelming applause. Exit Mr. Sempronius
Gattleton, and curtain falls.

The audience were, of course, exceedingly good-humoured ; the
whole business was a joke ; and accordingly they waited for an hour
with the utmost patience, being enlivened by an interlude of rout-
cakes and lemonade. It appeared by Mr. Sempronius's subsequent
explanation, that the delay would not have been so great, had it not
so happened that when the substitute lago had finished dressing, and
just as the play was on the point of commencing, the original lago
unexpectedly arrived. The former was therefore compelled to undress,
and the latter to dress for his part ; which, as he found some difficulty
in getting into his clothes, occupied no inconsiderable time. At last,
the tragedy began in real earnest. It went off well enough, until the
third scene of the first act, in which Othello addresses the Senate : the
only remarkable circumstance being, that as lago could not get on any
of the stage boots, in consequence of his feet being violently swelled
with the heat and excitement, he was under the necessity of playing
the part in a pair of Wellingtons, which contrasted rather oddly
with his richly embroidered pantaloons. When Othello started with
his address to the Senate (whose dignity was represented by, the
Duke, a carpenter, two men engaged on the recommendation of the

Uncle Tom obligingly prompts. 325

gardener, and a boy), Mrs. Porter found the opportunity she so anxiously
sought.

Mr. Sempronius proceeded —

" 'Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approv'd good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter.
It is most true ; — rude am I in my speech

" Is that right ? " whispered Mrs. Porter to Uncle Tom.

"No."

" Tell him so, then."

" I will. Sem ! " called out Uncle Tom, " that's wrong, my boy."

" What's wrong, Uncle ? " demanded Othello, quite forgetting the
dignity of his situation.

" You've left out something. ' True I have married ' "

" Oh, ah ! " said Mr. Sempronius, endeavouring to hide his confusion
as much and as ineffectually as the audience attempted to conceal their
half-suppressed tittering, by coughing with extraordinary violence—

-" ' true I have married her; —

The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more.1

( Aside) Why don't you prompt, father ? "

"Because I've mislaid my spectacles," said poor Mr. Gattletou,
almost dead with the heat and bustle.

" There, now it's ' rude am I,' " said Uncle Tom.

" Yes, I know it is," returned the unfortunate manager, proceeding
with his part.

It would be useless and tiresome to quote the number of instances
in which Uncle Tom, now completely in his element, and instigated
by the mischievous Mrs. Porter, corrected the mistakes of the per-
formers ; suffice it to say, that having mounted his hobby, nothing
could induce him to dismount ; so, during the whole remainder of the
play, he performed a kind of running accompaniment, by muttering
everybody's part as it was being delivered, in an undertone. The
audience were highly amused, Mrs. Porter delighted, the performers
embarrassed ; Uncle Tom never was better pleased in all his life ;
and Uncle Tom's nephews and nieces had never, although the declared
heirs to his large property, so heartily wished him gathered to his
fathers as on that memorable occasion.

Several other minor causes, too, united to damp the ardour of the
dramatis personse. None of the performers could walk in their tights,
or move their arms in their jackets ; the pantaloons were too small,
the boots too large, and the swords of all shapes and sizes. Mr.
Evans, naturally too tall for the scenery, wore a black velvet hat with
immense white plumes, the glory of which was lost in " the flies ; "
and the only other inconvenience of which was, that when it was off
his head he could not put it on, and when it was on he could not take

326 Sketches by Boz.

it off. Notwithstanding all his practice, too, he fell with his head and
shoulders as neatly through one of the side-scenes, as a harlequin
would jump through a panel in a Christmas pantomime. The piano-
forte player, overpowered by the extreme heat of the room, fainted
away at the commencement of the entertainments, leaving the music
of " Masaniello " to the flute and violoncello. The orchestra com-
plained that Mr. Harleigh put them out, and Mr. Harleigh declared
that the orchestra prevented his singing a note. The fishermen, who
were hired for the occasion, revolted to the very life, positively re-
fusing to play without an increased allowance of spirits ; and, their
demand being complied with, getting drunk in the eruption scene as
naturally as possible. The red fire, which was burnt at the conclusion
of the second act, not only nearly suffocated the audience, but nearly
set the house on fire into the bargain ; and, as it was, the remainder
of the piece was acted in a thick fog.

In short, the whole affair was, as Mrs. Joseph Porter triumphantly
told everybody, "a complete failure." The audience went home at
four o'clock in the morning, exhausted with laughter, suffering from
severe headaches, and smelling terribly of brimstone and gunpowder.
The Messrs. Gattleton, senior and junior, retired to rest, with the
vague idea of emigrating to Swan Eiver early in the ensuing week.

Rose Villa has once again resumed its wonted appearance ; the
dining-room furniture has been replaced ; the tables are as nicely
polished as formerly ; the horsehair chairs are ranged against the
wall, as regularly as ever ; Venetian blinds have been fitted to every
window in the house to intercept the prying gaze of Mrs. Joseph
Porter. The subject of theatricals is never mentioned in the Gattleton
family, unless, indeed, by Uncle Tom, who cannot refrain from some-
times expressing his surprise and regret at finding that his nephews
and nieces appear to have lost the relish they once possessed for the
beauties of Shakspeare, and quotations from the works of that im-
mortal bard.

CHAPTEE X.

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OP ME. WATKINS TOTTLE.
CHAPTEE THE FIEST.

MATBIMONY is proverbially a serious undertaking. Like an over-
weening predilection for brandy-and-water, it is a misfortune into
which a man easily falls, and from which he finds it remarkably
difficult to extricate himself. It is of no use telling a man who is
timorous on these points, that it is but one plunge, and all is over.
They say the same thing at the Old Bailey, and the unfortunate

Mr. Watkins Tottle. 327

victims derive as much comfort from the assurance in the one case as
in the other.

Mr. Watkins Tottle was a rather uncommon compound of strong
uxorious inclinations, and an unparalleled degree of anti-connubial
timidity. He was about fifty years of age ; stood four feet six inches
and three-quarters in his socks — for he never stood in stockings at all
— plump, clean, and rosy. He looked something like a vignette to
one of Kichardson's novels, and had a clean-cravatish formality of
manner, and kitchen-pokerness of carriage, which Sir Charles Grandi-
son himself might have envied. He lived on an annuity which was
well adapted to the individual who received it, in one respect — it was
rather small. He received it in periodical payments on every alternate
Monday ; but he ran himself out, about a day after the expiration of
the first week, as regularly as an eight-day clock ; and then, to make
the comparison complete, his landlady wound him up, and he went on
with a regular tick.

Mr. Watkins Tottle had long lived in a state of single blessedness,
as bachelors say, or single cursedness, as spinsters think ; but the idea
of matrimony had never ceased to haunt him. Wrapt in profound
reveries on this never-failing theme, fancy transformed his small
parlour in Cecil Street, Strand, into a neat house in the suburbs ; the
half-hundredweight of coals under the kitchen-stairs suddenly sprang
up into three tons of the best Wallsend ; his small French bedstead
was converted into a regular matrimonial four-poster; and in the
empty chair on the opposite side of the fire-place, imagination seated a
beautiful young lady, with a very little independence or will of her
own, and a very large independence under u will of her father's.

" Who's there ? " inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle, as a gentle tap at
his room-door disturbed these meditations one evening.

" Tottle, my dear fellow, how do you do ? " said a short elderly
gentleman with a grufiish voice, bursting into the room, and replying
to the question by asking another.

" Told you I should drop in some evening," said the short gentle-
man, as he delivered his hat into Tottle's hand, after a little struggling
and dodging."

" Delighted to see you, I'm sure," said Mr. Watkins Tottle, wishing
internally that his visitor had " dropped in " to the Thames at the
bottom of the street, instead of dropping into his parlour. The fort-
night was nearly up, and Watkins was hard up.

" How is Mrs. Gabriel Parsons ? " inquired Tottle.

" Quite well, thank you," replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons, for that was
the name the short gentleman revelled in. Here there was a pause ;
the short gentleman looked at the left hob of the fireplace; Mr.
Watkins Tottle stared vacancy out of countenance.

" Quite well," repeated the short gentleman, when five minutes had
expired. "I may say remarkably well." And ho rubbed the palms
of his hands ns hard as if he were going to strike a light by friction.

328 Sketches by Boz.

" What will you take ? " inquired Tottle, with the desperate sudden-
ness of a man who knew that unless the visitor took his leave, he stood
very little chance of taking anything else.

" Oh, I don't know — have you any whiskey ? "

" Why," replied Tottle, very slowly, for all this was gaining time,
" I Jiad some capital, and remarkably strong whiskey last week ; but
it's all gone — and therefore its strength "

"Is much beyond proof; or, in other words, impossible to .be
proved," said the short gentleman ; and he laughed very heartily, and
Beemed quite glad the whiskey had been drunk. Mr. Tottle smiled —
but it was the smile of despair. When Mr. Gabriel Parsons had done
laughing, he delicately insinuated that, in the absence of whiskey, he
would not be averse to brandy. And Mr. Watkins Tottle, lighting a
flat candle very ostentatiously ; and displaying an immense key, which
belonged to the street-door, but which, for the sake of appearances,
occasionally did duty in an imaginary wine-cellar ; left the room to
entreat his landlady to charge their glasses, and charge them in the
bill. The application was successful ; the spirits were speedily called
— not from the vasty deep, but the adjacent wine-vaults The two
short gentlemen mixed their grog ; and then sat cosily down before
the fire — a pair of shorts, airing themselves.

" Tottle," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, " you know my way — off-hand,
open, say what I mean, mean what I say, hate reserve, and can't bear
affectation. One, is a bad domino which only hides what good people
have about 'em, without making the bad look better ; and the other is
much about the same thing as pinking a white cotton stocking to make
it look like a silk one. Now listen to what I'm going to say."

Here, the little gentleman paused, and took a long pull at his
brandy-and- water. Mr. Watkins Tottle took a sip of his, stirred the
fire, and assumed an air of profound attention.

" It's of no use humming and ha'ing about the matter," resumed the
short gentleman. — " You want to get married ? "

" Why," replied Mr. Watkins Tottle evasively ; for he trembled
violently, and felt a sudden tingling throughout his whole frame;
" why — I should certainly — at least, I think I should like "

" Won't do," said the short gentleman. — " Plain and free — or there's
an end of the matter. Do you want money ? "

"You know I do."

" You admire the sex ? "

"I do."

" And you'd like to be married ? "

" Certainly."

" Then you shall be. There's an end of that." Thus saying, Mr.
Gabriel Parsons took a pinch of snuff, and mixed another glass.

" Let me entreat you to be more explanatory," said Tottle. " Eeally,
as the party principally interested, I cannot consent to be disposed of,
in this way."

Mr. Gabriel Parsons. 329

"I'll tell you," replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons, warming with the
subject, and the brandy-and-water — " I know a lady — she's stopping
with my wife now — who is just the thing for you. Well educated ;
talks French ; plays the piano ; knows a good deal about flowers, and
sheik, and all that sort of thing ; and has five hundred a year, with
an uncontrolled power of disposing of it, by her last will and
testament."

" I'll pay my addresses to her," said Mr. Watkins Tottle. " Sho
isn't very young — is she ? "

" Not very ; just the thing for you. I've said that already."

" What coloured hair has the lady ? " inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle.

" Egad, I hardly recollect," replied Gabriel, with coolness. " Per-
haps I ought to have observed, at first, she wears a front."

" A what ? " ejaculated Tottle.

" One of those things with curls, along here," said Parsons, drawing
a straight line across his forehead, just over his eyes, in illustration of
his meaning. " I know the front's black ; I can't speak quite positively
about her own hair ; because, unless one walks behind her, and catches
a glimpse of it under her bonnet, one seldom sees it ; but I should
say that it was rather lighter than the front — a shade of a greyish tinge,
perhaps."

Mr. Watkins Tottle looked as if he had certain misgivings of mind.
Mr. Gabriel Parsons perceived it, and thought it would be safe to
begin the next attack without delay.

" Now, were you ever in love, Tottle ? " he inquired.

Mr. Watkins Tottle blushed up to the eyes, and down to the chin,
and exhibited a most extensive combination of colours as he confessed
the soft impeachment.

" I suppose you popped the question, more than once, when you
were a young — I beg your pardon — a younger — man," said Parsons.

" Never in my life ! " replied his friend, apparently indignant at
being suspected of such an act. " Never ! The fact is, that I enter-
tain, as you know, peculiar opinions on those subjects. I am not
afraid of ladies, young or old — far from it; but, I think, that in
compliance with the custom of the present day, they allow too much
freedom of speech and manner to marriageable men. Now, the fact
is, that anything like this easy freedom I never could acquire ; and as
I am always afraid of going too far, I am generally, I dare say, con-
sidered formal and cold."

" I shouldn't wonder if you were," replied Parsons, gravely ; " I
shouldn't wonder. However, you'll be all right in this case ; for the
strictness and delicacy of this lady's ideas greatly exceed your own.
Lord bless you, why when she came to our house, there was an old
portrait of some man or other, with two large black staring eyes,
hanging up in her bedroom ; she positively refused to go to bed there,
till it was taken down, considering it decidedly wrong."

" I think so, too," said Mr. Watkins Tottle ; " certainly."

330 Sketches by Bos.

" And then, the other night — I never laughed so much in my life "
— resumed Mr. Gabriel Parsons ; " I had driven home in an easterly
wind, and caught a devil of a face-ache. Well; as Fanny — that's
Mrs. Parsons, you know — and this friend of hers, and I, and Frank
Eoss, were playing a rubber, I said, jokingly, that when I went to bed
I should wrap my head in Fanny's flannel petticoat. She instantly
threw up her cards, and left the room."

" Quite right ! " said Mr. Watkins Tottle ; " she could not possibly
have behaved in a more dignified manner. What did you do ? "

" Do ? — Frank took dummy ; and I won sixpence."

" But, didn't you apologise for hurting her feelings ? "

" Devil a bit. Next morning at breakfast, we talked it over. She
contended that any reference to a flannel petticoat was improper ; —
men ought not to be supposed to know that such things were. I
pleaded my coverture ; being a married man."

"And what did the lady say to that?" inquired Tottle, deeply
interested.

" Changed her ground, and said that Frank being a single man, its
impropriety was obvious."

" Noble-minded creature ! " exclaimed the enraptured Tottle.

" Oh ! both Fanny and I said, at once, that she was regularly cut
out for you."

A gleam of placid satisfaction shone on the circular face of Mr.
Watkins Tottle, as he heard the prophecy.

" There's one thing I can't understand," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons,
as he rose to depart ; " I cannot, for the life and soul of me imagine,
how the deuce you'll ever contrive to come together. The lady would
certainly go into convulsions if the subject were mentioned." Mr.
Gabriel Parsons sat down again, and laughed until he was weak.
Tottle owed him money, so he had a perfect right to laugh at Tottle's
expense.

Mr. Watkins Tottle feared, in his own mind, that this was another
characteristic which he had in common with this modern Lucretia.
He, however, accepted the invitation to dine with the Parsonses on the
next day but one, with great firmness; and looked forward to the
introduction, when again left alone, with tolerable composure.

The sun that rose on the next day but one, had never beheld a
sprucer personage on the outside of the Norwood stage, than Mr.
Watkins Tottle; and when the coach drew up before a cardboard-
looking house with disguised chimneys, and a lawn like a large sheet
of green letter-paper, he certainly had never lighted to his place of
destination a gentleman who felt more uncomfortable.

The coach stopped, and Mr. Watkins Tottle jumped — we beg his
pardon — alighted, with great dignity. " All right ! " said he, and
away went the coach up the hill with that beautiful equanimity of
pace for which " short " stages are generally remarkable.

Mr. Watkins Tottle gave a faltering jerk to the handle of the

Timson and Tot tie arrive. 331

gardeu-gate bell. He essayed a more energetic tug, and his previous
nervousness was not at all diminished by hearing the bell ringing like
a fire alarum.

" Is Mr. Parsons at home ? " inquired Tottle of the man who opened
the gate. He could hardly hear himself speak, for the bell had not
yet done tolling.

"Here I am," shouted a voice on the lawn, — and there was Mr.
Gabriel Parsons in a flannel jacket, running backwards and forwards,
from a wicket to two hats piled on each other, and from the two hats
to the wicket, in the most violent manner, while another gentleman
with his coat off was getting down the area of the house, after a ball.
When the gentleman without the coat had found it — which be did in
less than ten minutes — he ran back to the hats, and Gabriel Parsons
pulled up. Then, the gentleman without the coat called out " play,"
very loudly, and bowled. Then Mr. Gabriel Parsons knocked the
ball several yards, and took another run. Then, the other gentleman
aimed at the wicket, and didn't hit it ; and Mr. Gabriel Parsons,
having finished running on his own account, laid down the bat and
ran after the ball, which went into a neighbouring field. They called
this cricket.

" Tottlo, will you 'go in ' ? " inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he
approached him, wiping the perspiration off his face.

Mr. Watkins Tottle declined the offer ; the bare idea of accepting
which made him even warmer than his friend.

" Then we'll go into the house, as it's past four, and I shall have
to wash my hands before dinner," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons. " Here,
I hate ceremony, you know ! Timson, that's Tottle — Tottle, that's
Timson ; bred for the church, which I fear will never be bread for
him ; " and he chuckled at the old joke. Mr. Timson bowed care-
lessly. Mr. Watkins Tottle bowed stiffly. Mr. Gabriel Parsons led
the way to the house. He was a rich sugar-baker, who mistook rude-
ness for honesty, and abrupt bluntness for an open and candid manner ;
many besides Gabriel mistake bluntness for sincerity.

Mrs. Gabriel Parsons received the visitors most graciously on the
steps, and preceded them to the drawing-room. On the sofa, was
seated a lady of very prim appearance, and remarkably inanimate.
She was one of those persons at whose age it is impossible to make
any reasonable guess ; her features might have been remarkably pretty
when she was younger, and they might always have presented the
same appearance. Her complexion — with a slight trace of powder
here and there — was as clear as that of a well-made wax-doll, and her
face as expressive. She was handsomely dressed, and was winding up
a gold watch.

" Miss Lillerton, my dear, this is our friend Mr. Watkins Tottle ;
a very old acquaintance I assure you," said Mrs. Parsons, presenting
the Strephon of Cecil Street, Strand. The lady rose, and made a
deep curtsey ; Mr. Watkins Tottle made a bow.

332 Sketches by Boz.

" Splendid, majestic creature ! " thought Tottle.

Mr. Timson advanced, and Mr. Watkins Tottle began to hate him,
Men generally discover a rival, instinctively, and Mr. Watkins Tottle
felt that his hate was deserved.

"May I beg," said the reverend gentleman, — "may I beg to call
upon you, Miss Lillerton, for some trifling donation to my soup, coals,
and blanket distribution society ? "

" Put my name down, for two sovereigns, if you please," responded
Miss Lillerton.

" You are truly charitable, madam," said the Eeverend Mr. Timson,
" and we know that charity will cover a multitude of sins. Let me
beg you to understand that I do not say this from the supposition that
you have many sins which require palliation ; believe me when I say
that I never yet met anyone who had fewer to atone for, than Miss
Lillerton."

Something like a bad imitation of animation lighted up the lady's
face, as she acknowledged the compliment. Watkins Tottle incurred
the sin of wishing that the ashes of the Eeverend Charles Timson
were quietly deposited in the churchyard of his curacy, wherever it
might be.

" I'll tell you what," interrupted Parsons, who had just appeared
with clean hands, and a black coat, " it's my private opinion, Timson,
that your ' distribution society ' is rather a humbug."

" You are so severe," replied Timson, with a Christian smile : he
disliked Parsons, but liked his dinners.

" So positively unjust ! " said Miss Lillerton.

" Certainly," observed Tottle. The lady looked up ; her eyes met
those of Mr. Watkins Tottle. She withdrew them in a sweet con-
fusion, and Watkins Tottle did the same — the confusion was mutual.

" Why," urged Mr. Parsons, pursuing his objections, " what on
earth is the use of giving a man coals who has nothing to cook, or
giving him blankets when he hasn't a bed, or giving him soup when
he requires substantial food ? — ' like sending them ruffles when wanting
a shirt.' Why not give 'em a trifle of money, as I do, when 1 think
they deserve it, and let them purchase what they think best ? Why ?
— because your subscribers wouldn't see their names flourishing in
print on the church-door — that's the reason."

" Really, Mr. Parsons, I hope you don't mean to insinuate that I
wish to see my name in print, on the church-door," interrupted Miss
Lillerton.

" I hope not," said Mr. Watkins Tottle, putting in another word,
and getting another glance.

" Certainly not," replied Parsons. " I dare say you wouldn't mind
seeing it in writing, though, in the church register — eh ? "

" Register ! What register ? " inquired the lady gravely.

"Why, the register of marriages, to be sure," replied Parsons,
chuckling at the sally, and glancing at Tottle. Mr. Watkins Tottle

Miss Liller ton. 333

thought he should have fainted for shame, and it is quite impossible
to imagine what effect the joke would have had upon the lady, if
dinner had not been, at that moment, announced. Mr. Watkins Tottle,
with an unprecedented effort of gallantry, offered the tip of his little
finger ; Miss Lillerton accepted it gracefully, with maiden modesty ;
and they proceeded in due state to the dinner-table, where they were
soon deposited side by side. The room was very snug, the dinner
very good, and the little party in spirits. The conversation became
pretty general, and when Mr. Watkins Tottle had extracted one or
two cold observations from his neighbour, and had taken wine with
her, he began to acquire confidence rapidly. The cloth was removed ;
Mrs. Gabriel Parsons drank four glasses of port on the plea of being
a nurse just then ; and Miss Lillerton took about the same number
of sips, on the plea of not wanting any at all. At length, the ladies
retired, to the great gratification of Mr. Gabriel Parsons, who had
been coughing and frowning at his wife, for half-an-hour previously —
signals which Mrs. Parsons never happened to observe, until she had
been pressed to take her ordinary quantum, which, to avoid giving
trouble, she generally did at once.

" What do you think of her ? " inquired Mr. Gabriel Parsons of Mr.
Watkins Tottle, in an undertone.

" I dote on her with enthusiasm already ! " replied Mr. Watkins
Tottle.

" Gentlemen, pray let us drink the ladies,' " said the Keverend Mr.
Timson.

" The ladies ! " said Mr. Watkins Tottle, emptying his glass. In
the fulness of his confidence, he felt as if he could make love to a
dozen ladies, off-hand.

" Ah ! " said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, " I remember when I was a young
man — fill your glass, Timson."
" I have this moment emptied it."
" Then fill again."

" I will," said Timson, suiting the action to the word.
" I remember," resumed Mr. Gabriel Parsons, " when I was a
younger man, with what a strange compound of feelings I used to drink
that toast, and how I used to think every woman was an angel."

" Was that before you were married ? " mildly inquired Mr. Watkins
Tottle.

" Oh ! certainly," replied Mr. Gabriel Parsons, " I have never
thought so since ; and a precious milksop I must have been, ever to
have thought so at all. But, you know, I married Fanny under the
oddest, and most ridiculous circumstances possible."

" What were they, if one may inquire ? " asked Timson, who had
heard the story, on an average, twice a week for the last six months.
Mr. Watkins Tottle listened attentively, in the hope of picking up
some suggestion that might be useful to him in his new under-
taking.

334 SketcJies by Boz.

"I spent my wedding-night in a back-kitchen chimney," said
Parsons, by way of a beginning.

" In a back-kitchen chimney ! " ejaculated Watkins Tottle. " How
dreadful ! "

" Yes, it wasn't very pleasant," replied the small host. " The fact
is, Fanny's father and mother liked me well enough as an individual,
but had a decided objection to my becoming a husband. You see, I
hadn't any money in those days, and they had ; and so they wanted
Fanny to pick up somebody else. However, we managed to discover
the state of each other's affections somehow. I used to meet her, at
some mutual friends' parties ; at first we danced together, and talked,
and flirted, and all that sort of thing ; then, I used to like nothing so
well as sitting by her side — we didn't talk so much then, but I
remember I used to have a great notion of looking at her out of the
extreme corner of my left eye— and then I got very miserable and
sentimental, and began to write verses, and use Macassar oil. At last
I couldn't bear it any longer, and after I had walked up and down the
sunny side of Oxford Street in tight boots for a week — and a devilish
hot summer it was too — in the hope of meeting her, I sat down and
wrote a letter, and begged her to manage to see me clandestinely, for
I wanted to hear her decision from her own mouth. I said I had
discovered, to my perfect satisfaction, that I couldn't live without her,
and that if she didn't have me, I had made up my mind to take prussic
acid, or take to drinking, or emigrate, so as to take myself off" in some
way or other. Well, I borrowed a pound, and bribed the housemaid
to give her the note, which she did."

"And what was the reply?" inquired Timson, who had found,
before, that to encourage the repetition of old stories is to get a general
invitation.

" Oh, the usual one ! Fanny expressed herself very miserable ;
hinted at the possibility of an early grave ; said that nothing should
induce her to swerve from the duty she owed her parents ; implored
me to forget her, and find out somebody more deserving, and all that
sort of thing. She said she could, on no account, think of meeting me
unknown to her pa and ma ; and entreated me, as she should be in a
particular part of Kensington Gardens at eleven o'clock next morning,
not to attempt to meet her there."

" You didn't go, of course ? " said Watkins Tottle.

" Didn't I ? — Of course I did. There she was, with the identical
housemaid in perspective, in order that there might be no interruption.
We walked about, for a couple of hours ; made ourselves delightfully
miserable ; and were regularly engaged. Then, we began to ' corre-
spond ' — that is to say, we used to exchange about four letters a day ;
what we used to say in 'em I can't imagine. And I used to have an
interview, in the kitchen, or the cellar, or some such place, every
evening. Well, things went on in this way for some time ; and we got
londer ot each other every day. At last, as our love was raised to

Mr. Parsons describes his Courtship. 335

such a pitch, and as my salary had been raised too, shortly before, we
determined on a secret marriage. Fanny arranged to sleep at a
friend's, on the previous night ; we were to be married early in the morn-
ing ; and then we were to return to her home and be pathetic. She was
to fall at the old gentleman's feet, and bathe his boots with her tears ;
and I was to hug the old lady and call her ' mother,' and use my pocket-
handkerchief as much as possible. Married we were, the next morn-
ing; two girls — friends of Fanny's — acting as bridesmaids; and a
man, who was hired for five shillings and a pint of porter, officiating
as father. Now, the old lady unfortunately put off her return from
Eamsgate, where she had been paying a visit, until the next morning ;
and as we placed great reliance on her, we agreed to postpone our
confession for four-and-twenty hours. My newly-made wife returned
home, and I spent my wedding-day in strolling about Hampstead
Heath, and execrating my father-in-law. Of course, I went to comfort
my dear little wife at night, as much as I could, with the assurance
that oui' troubles would soon be over. I opened the garden-gate, of
which I had a key, and was shown by the servant to our old place of
meeting — a back-kitchen, with a stone floor and a dresser : upon
which, in the absence of chairs, we used to sit and make love."

" Make love upon a kitchen -dresser ! " interrupted Mr. Watkins
Tottle, whose ideas of decorum were greatly outraged.

" Ah ! On a kitchen-dresser ! " replied Parsons. " And lot me
tell you, old fellow, that, if you were really over head-and-ears in
love, and had no other place to make love in, you'd be devilish glad
to avail yourself of such an opportunity. However, let me see ; —
where was I ? "

" On the dresser," suggested Timson.

" Oh — ah ! Well, here I found poor Fanny, quite disconsolate and
uncomfortable. The old boy had been very cross all day, which
made her feel still more lonely ; and she was quite out of spirits. So,
I put a good face on the matter, and laughed it off, and said we should
enjoy the pleasures of a matrimonial life more by contrast ; and, at
length, poor Fanny brightened up a little. I stopped there, till about
eleven o'clock, and, just as I was taking my leave for the fourteenth time,
the girl came running down the stairs, without her shoes, in a great
fright, to tell us that the old villain — Heaven forgive me for calling
him so, for he" is dead and gone now ! — prompted I suppose by the
prince of darkness, was coming down, to draw his own beer for supper
— a thing he had not done before, for six months, to my certain know-
ledge ; for the cask stood in that very back-kitchen. If he discovered
me there, explanation would have been out of the question ; for ho
was so outrageously violent, when at all excited, that he never would
have listened to me. There was only one thing to be done. The
chimney was a very wide one ; it had been originally built for an
oven ; went tip perpendicularly for a few feet, and then shot backward
and formed a sort of small cavern. My hopes and fortune — the means

336 Sketches by Boz.

of our joint existence almost — were at stake. I scrambled in like a
squirrel ; coiled myself up in this recess ; and, as Fanny and the girl
replaced the deal chimney-board, I could see the light of the candle
which my unconscious father-in-law carried in his hand. I heard
him draw the beer ; and I never heard beer run so slowly. He was
just leaving the kitchen, and I was preparing to descend, when down
came the infernal chimney-board with a tremendous crash. He
stopped and put down the candle and the jug of beer on the dresser ;
he was a nervous old fellow, and any unexpected noise annoyed him.
He coolly observed that the fire-place was never used, and sending the
frightened servant into the next kitchen for a hammer and nails,
actually nailed up the board, and locked the door on the outside. So,
there was I, on my wedding-night, in the light kerseymere trousers,
fancy waistcoat, and blue coat, that I had been married in in the
morning, in a back-kitchen chimney, the bottom of which was nailed
up, and the top of which had been formerly raised some fifteen feet, to
prevent the smoke from annoying the neighbours. And there," added
Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as he passed the bottle, " there I remained till
half-past seven the next morning, when the housemaid's sweetheart,
who was a carpenter, unshelled me. The old dog had nailed me up
so securely, that, to this very hour, I firmly believe that no one but a
carpenter could ever have got me out."

" And what did Mrs. Parsons's father say, when he found you were
married?" inquired Watkins Tottle, who, although he never saw a
joke, was not satisfied until he heard a story to the very end.

" Why, the affair of the chimney so tickled his fancy, that he
pardoned us off-hand, and allowed us something to live on till he went
the way of all flesh. I spent the next night in his second-floor front,
much more comfortable than I had spent the preceding one ; for, as
you will probably guess "

" Please, sir, missis has made tea," said a middle-aged female servant,
bobbing into the room.

"That's the very housemaid that figures in my story," said Mr.
Gabriel Parsons. " She went into Fanny's service when we were first
married, and has been with us ever since ; but I don't think she has
felt one atom of respect for me since the morning she saw me released,
when she went into violent hysterics, to which she has been subject
ever since. Now, shall we join the ladies ? "

" If you please," said Mr. Watkins Tottle.

" By all means," added the obsequious Mr. Timson ; and the trio
made for the drawing-room accordingly.

Tea being concluded, and the toast and cups having been duly
handed, and occasionally upset, by Mr. Watkins Tottle, a rubber was
proposed. They cut for partners — Mr. and Mrs. Parsons; and Mr.
Watkins Tottle and Miss Lillerton. Mr. Timson having conscientious
scruples on the subject of card-playing, drank brandy-and-water, and
kept up a running spar with Mr. Watkins Tottle. The evening went

An Unexpected Visitor. 337

off well ; Mr. Watkins Tottle was in high spirits, having some reason
to be gratified with his reception by Miss Lillerton ; and before ho
left, a small party was made up to visit the Beulah Spa on the follow-
ing Saturday.

" It's all right, I think," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons to Mr. Watkins
Tottle as lie opened the garden gate for him."

" I hope so," he replied, squeezing his friend's hand.

"Yon' 11 be down by the first coach on Saturday," said Mr. Gabriel
Parsons.

" Certainly," replied Mr. Watkins Tottle. " Undoubtedly."

But fortune had decreed that Mr. Watkins Tottle should not be
down by the first coach on Saturday. His adventures on that day,
however, and the succcess of his wooing, are subjects for another
chapter.

CHAPTER THE SECOND.

" THE first coach has not come in yet, has it, Tom ? " inquired Mr.
Gabriel Parsons, as he very complacently paced up and down tho
fourteen feet of gravel which bordered the " lawn," on the Saturday
morning which had been fixed upon for the Beulah Spa jaunt.

" No, sir ; I haven't seen it," replied a gardener in a blue apron,
who let himself out to do the ornamental for half-a-crown a day and
his " keep."

" Time Tottle was down," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, ruminating —
" Oh, here he is, no doubt," added Gabriel, as a cab drove rapidly up
the hill ; and he buttoned his dressing-gown, and opened the gate to
receive the expected visitor. The cab stopped, and out jumped a man
in a coarse Petersham great-coat, whity-brown neckerchief, faded black
suit, gamboge-coloured top-boots, and one of those large-crowned hats,
formerly seldom met with, but now very generally patronised by
gentlemen and costermongers.

" Mr. Parsons ? " said the man, looking at the superscription of a
note he held in his hand, and addressing Gabriel with an inquiring air.

" My name is Parsons," responded the sugar-baker.

" I've brought this here note," replied the individual in the painted
tops, in a hoarse whisper : " I've brought this here note from a gen'lm'n
as come to our house this mornin'."

" I expected the gentleman at my house," said Parsons, as he broke
the seal, which bore the impression of her Majesty's profile as it is
seen on a sixpence.

"I've no doubt tho gen'lm'n would ha' been here," replied the
stranger, " if he hadn't happened to call at our house first ; but we
never trusts no gen'lm'n furder nor wo can see him — no mistake about
that there " — added the unknown, with a facetious grin ; " beg your
pardon, sir, no offence meant, only — once in, and I wish you may —
catch the idea, sir ? "

Mr. Gabriel Parsons was not remarkable for catching anything

z

338 Sketches by Bos.

suddenly, but a cold. He therefore only bestowed a glance of pro-
found astonishment on his mysterious companion, and proceeded to
unfold the note of which he had been the bearer. Once opened and
the idea was caught with very little difficulty. Mr. Watkins Tottle
had been suddenly arrested for 33Z. 10s. 4d., and dated his communica-
tion from a lock-up house in the vicinity of Chancery Lane.

" Unfortunate affair this ! " said Parsons, refolding the note.

" Oh ! nothin' ven you're used to it," coolly observed the man in the
Petersham.

" Tom ! " exclaimed Parsons, after a few minutes' consideration, "just
put the horse in, will you ? — Tell the gentleman that I shall be there
almost as soon as you are," he continued, addressing the sheriff-officer's
Mercury.

"Werry well," replied that important functionary; adding, in a
confidential manner, " I'd adwise the gen'lm'n's friends to settle. You
see it's a mere trifle ; and, unless the gen'lm'n means to go up afore
the court, it's hardly worth while waiting for detainers you know.
Our governor's wide-awake, he is. I'll never say nothin' agin him,
nor no man; but he knows what's o'clock, he does, uncommon."
Having delivered this eloquent, and, to Parsons, particularly in-
telligible harangue, the meaning of which was eked out by divers
nods and winks, the gentleman in the boots reseated himself in the
cab, which went rapidly off, and was soon out of sight. Mr. Gabriel
Parsons continued to pace up and down the pathway for some minutes,
apparently absorbed in deep meditation. The result of his cogitations
seemed to be perfectly satisfactory to himself, for he ran briskly into
the house ; said that business had suddenly summoned him to town ;
that he had desired the messenger to inform Mr. Watkins Tottle of
the fact; and that they would return together to dinner. He then
hastily equipped himself for a drive, and mounting his gig, was soon
on his way to the establishment of Mr. Solomon Jacobs, situate (as
Mr. Watkins Tottle had informed him) in Cursitor Street, Chancery
Lane.

When a man is in a violent hurry to get on, and has a specific
object in view, the attainment of which depends on the completion of
his journey, the difficulties which interpose themselves in his way
appear not only to be innumerable, but to have been called into
existence especially for the occasion. The remark is by no means a
new one, and Mr. Gabriel Parsons had practical and painful experience
of its justice in the course of his drive. There are three classes of
animated objects which prevent your driving with any degree of comfort
or celerity through streets which are but little frequented — they are
pigs, children, and old women. On the occasion we are describing,
the pigs were luxuriating on cabbage-stalks, and the shuttlecocks
fluttered from the little deal battledores, and the children played
in the road ; and women, with a basket in one hand, and the street-
door key in the other, would cross just before the horse's head, until

Mr. Solomon Jacobs s. 339

Mr. Gabriel Parsons was perfectly savage with vexation, and qnite
hoarse with hoi-ing and imprecating. Then, when he got into Fleet
Street, there was " a stoppage," in which people in vehicles have the
satisfaction of remaining stationary for half-an-hour, and envying
the slowest pedestrians ; and where policemen rush about, and seize
hold of horses' bridles, and back them into shop-windows, by way of
clearing the road and preventing confusion. At length Mr. Gabriel
Parsons turned into Chancery Lane, and having inquired for, and been
directed to Cursitor Street (for it was a locality of which he was quite
ignorant), he soon found himself opposite the house of Mr. Solomon
Jacobs. Confiding his horse and gig to the care of one of the fourteen
boys who had followed him from the other side of Blackfriars Bridge
on the chance of his requiring their services, Mr. Gabriel Parsons
crossed the road and knocked at an inner door, the upper part of
which was of glass, grated like the windows of this inviting mansion
with iron bars — painted white to look comfortable.

The knock was answered by a sallow-faced red-haired sulky boy,
who, after surveying Mr. Gabriel Parsons through the glass, applied a
large key to an immense wooden excrescence, which was in reality a
lock, but which, taken in conjunction with the iron nails with which
the panels were studded, gave the door the appearance of being subject
to warts.

" I want to see Mr. Watkins Tottle," said Parsons.

" It's the gentleman that come in this morning, Jem," screamed a
voice from the top of the kitchen-stairs, which belonged to a dirty
woman who had just brought her chin to a level with the passage-floor.
" The gentleman's in the coffee-room."

" Up-stairs, sir," said the boy, just opening the door wide enough
to let Parsons in without squeezing him, and double-locking it the
moment he had made his way through the aperture — " First floor —
door on the left."

Mr. Gabriel Parsons thus instructed, ascended the uncarpeted and
ill-lighted staircase, and after giving several subdued taps at the
before-mentioned "door on the left," which were rendered inaudible
by the hum of voices within the room, and the hissing noise attendant
on some frying operations which were carrying on below-stairs, turned
the handle, and entered the apartment. Being informed that the
\infortunate object of his visit had just gone up-stairs to write a letter,
he had leisure to sit down and observe the scene before him.

The room — which was a small, confined den — was partitioned oft'
into boxes, like the common-room of some inferior eating-house. The
dirty floor had evidently been as long a stranger to the scrubbing-
brush as to carpet or floor-cloth : and the ceiling was completely
blackened by the flare of the oil-lamp by which the room was lighted
at night. The grey ashes on the edges of the tables, and the cigar
ends which were plentifully scattered about the dusty grate, fully
accounted for the intolerable smell of tobacco which pervaded tho

34<5 Sketches by Bos.

place ; and the empty glasses and half-saturated slices of lemon on
the tables, together with the porter pots beneath them, bore testimony
to the frequent libations in which the individuals who honoured Mr.
Solomon Jacobs by a temporary residence in his house indulged.
Over the mantelshelf was a paltry looking-glass, extending about half
the width of the chimney-piece ; but by way of counterpoise, the asheg
were confined by a rusty fender about twice as long as the hearth.

From this cheerful room itself, the attention of Mr. Gabriel Parsons
was naturally directed to its inmates. In one of the boxes two men
were playing at cribbage with a very dirty pack of cards, some with
blue, some with green, and some with red backs — selections from
decayed packs. The cribbage-board had been long ago formed on the
table by some ingenious visitor with the assistance of a pocket-knife
and a two-pronged fork, with which the necessary number of holes
had been made in the table at proper distances for the reception of the
wooden pegs. In another box a stout, hearty-looking man, of about
forty, was eating some dinner which his wife— an equally comfortable-
looking personage — had brought him in a basket : and in a third, a
genteel-looking young man was talking earnestly, and in a low tone,
to a young female, whose face was concealed by a thick veil, but
whom Mr. Gabriel Parsons immediately set down in his own mind as
the debtor's wife. A young fellow of vulgar manners, dressed in the
very extreme of the prevailing fashion, was pacing up and down the
room, with a lighted cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets,
ever and anon puffing forth volumes of smoke, and occasionally apply-
ing, with much apparent relish, to a pint pot, the contents of which
were " chilling " on the hob.

" Fourpence more, by gum ! " exclaimed one of the cribbage-players,
lighting a pipe, and addressing his adversary at the close of the game ;
"one 'ud think you'd got luck in a pepper-cruet, and shook it out
when you wanted it."

" Well, that a'n't a bad 'un," replied the other, who was a horse-
dealer from Islington.

" No ; I'm blessed if it is," interposed the jolly-looking fellow, who,
having finished his dinner, was drinking out of the same glass as his
wife, in truly conjugal harmony, some hot gin-and-water. The faith-
ful partner of his cares had brought a plentiful supply of the anti-
temperance fluid in a large flat stone bottle, which looked like a half-
gallon jar that had been successfully tapped for the dropsy. " You're
a rum chap, you are, Mr. Walker — will you dip your beak into this,
sir?"

" Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Walker, leaving his box, and advancing
to the other to accept the proffered glass. " Here's your health, sir,
and your good 'ooman's here. Gentlemen all — yours, and better luck
still. Well, Mr. Willis," continued the facetious prisoner, addressing
the young man with the cigar, " you seem rather down to-day — floored,
ivs one may say. What's the matter, sir ? Never say die, you know."

A Liberally-educated Yoitng Gentleman. 341

" Oh ! I'm all right," replied the smoker. " I shall be bailed out
to-morrow."

" Shall you, though ? " inquired the other. " Damme, I wish I
could say the same. I am as regularly over head-and-ears as the
Royal George, and stand about as much chance of being bailed out.
Ha! ha! ha!"

"Why," said the young man, stopping short, and speaking in a
very loud key, " look at me. What d'ye think I've stopped here two
days for ? "

" 'Cause you couldn't get out, I suppose," interrupted Mr. Walker,
winking to the company. " Not that you're exactly obliged to stop
here, only you can't help it. No compulsion, you know, only you
must— eh ? "

" A'n't he a rum un ? " inquired the delighted individual, who had
offered the gin-and-water, of his wife.

" Oh, he just is ! " replied the lady, who was quite, overcome by
these flashes of imagination.

" Why, my case," frowned the victim, throwing the end of his cigar
into the fire, and illustrating his argument by knocking the bottom of
the pot on the table, at intervals, — " my case is a very singular one.
My father's a man of large property, and I am his son."

" That's a very strange circumstance ! " interrupted the jocose Mr.
Walker, en passant.

" — I am his son, and have received a liberal education. I don't
owe no man nothing — not the value of a farthing, but I was induced,
you see, to put my name to some bills for a friend — bills to a largo
amount, I may say a very large amount, for which I didn't receive no
consideration. What's the consequence ? "

' ' Why, I suppose the bills went out, and you came in. The accep-
tances weren't taken up, and you were, eh ? " inquired Walker.

" To be sure," replied the liberally-educated young gentleman.
" To be sure ; and so here I am, locked up for a matter of twelve
hundred pound."

" Why don't you ask your old governor to stump up ? " inquired
Walker, with a somewhat sceptical uir.

" Oh ! bless you, he'd never do it," replied the other, in a tone of
expostulation — " Never ! "

" Well, it is very odd to — be — sure," interposed the owner of the
flat bottle, mixing another glass, " but I've been in difficulties, as one
may say, now for thirty year. I went to pieces when I was in a
milk- walk, thirty year ago ; arterwards, when I was a fruiterer, and
kept a spring wan ; and arter that again in the coal and 'tatur line —
but all that time I never see a youngish chap come into a place of
this kind, who wasn't going out again directly, and who hadn't been
arrested on bills which he'd given a friend and for which he'd received
nothing whatsomever — not a fraction."

"Oh, it's always the cry," said Walker. "I can't see the use on

342 Sketches by Boz.

it ; that's what makes me so wild. Why, I should have a much better
opinion of an individual, if he'd say at once in an honourable and
gentlemanly manner as he'd done everybody he possible could."

" Ay, to be sure," interposed the horse-dealer, with whose notions
of bargain and sale the axiom perfectly coincided, " so should I."

The young gentleman, who had given rise to these observations,
was on the point of offering a rather angry reply to these sneers, but
the rising of the young man before noticed, and of the female who
had been sitting by him, to leave the room, interrupted the conversa-
tion. She had been weeping bitterly, and the noxious atmosphere of
the room acting upon her excited feelings and delicate frame, rendered
the support of her companion necessary as they quitted it together.

There was an air of superiority about them both, and something in
their appearance so unusual in such a place, that a respectful silence
was observed until the whirr — r — bang of the spring door announced
that they were out of hearing. It was broken by the wife of the
ex-fruiterer.

" Poor creetur ! " said she, quenching a sigh in a rivulet of gin-and-
water. " She's very young."

" She's a nice-looking 'ooman too," added the horse-dealer.

" What's he in for, Ikey ? " inquired Walker, of an individual who
was spreading a cloth with numerous blotches of mustard upon it, on
one of the tables, and whom Mr. Gabriel Parsons had no difficulty in
recognising as the man who had called upon him in the morning.

" Vj>" responded the factotum, " it's one of the rummiest rigs you
ever heard on. He come in here last Vensday, which by the bye he's
a going over the water to-night — hows'ever that's neither here nor
there. You see I've been a going back'ards and for'ards about his
business, and ha' managed to pick up some of his story from the
servants and them ; and so far as I can make it out, it seems to be
summat to this here effect "

" Cut it short, old fellow," interrupted Walker, who knew from
former experience that he of the top-boots was neither very concise
nor intelligible in his narratives.

" Let me alone," replied Ikey, " and I'll ha' vonnd up, and made
my lucky in five seconds. This here young gen'lm'n's father—so I'm
told, mind ye — and the father o' the young voman, have always been
on very bad, out-and-out, rig'lar knock-me-down sort o' terms ; but
somehow or another, when he was a wisitin' at some gentlefolk's
house, as he knowed at college, he came into contract with the young
lady. He seed her several times, and then he up and said he'd keep
company with her, if so be as she vos agreeable. Veil, she vos as
sweet upon him as he vos upon her, and so I s'pose they made it all
right ; for they got married 'bout six months arterwards, unbeknown,
mind ye, to the two fathers — leastways so I'm told. When they
heard on it — my eyes, there was such a combustion ! Starvation vos
the very least that vos to be done to 'em. The young gen'lm'n's

I key. 343

father cut him off vith a bob, 'cos he'd cut himself off vith a wife ;
and the young lady's father he behaved even worser and more
nnnat'ral, for he not only blowed her up dreadful, and swore he'd
never see her again, but ho employed a chap as I knows — and as you
knows, Mr. Valker, a precious sight too well — to go about and buy up
the bills and them things on which the young husband, thinking his
governor 'ud come round agin, had raised the vind just to blow him-
self on vith for a time ; besides vich, he made all the interest he could
to set other people agin him. Consequence vos, that he paid as long
as he could ; but things he never expected to have to meet till he'd
had time to turn himself round, come fast upon him, and he vos
nabbed. He vos brought here, as I said afore, last Vensday, and I
think there's about — ah, half-a-dozen detainers agin him down-stairs
now. I have been," added Ikey, " in the purfession these fifteen year,
and I never met vith such windictiveness afore ! "

" Poor creeturs ! " exclaimed the coal-dealer's wife once more :
again resorting to the same excellent prescription for nipping a
sigh in the bud. " Ah ! when they've seen as much trouble as I
and my old man here have, they'll bo as comfortable under it as
wo are."

" The young lady's a pretty creature," said Walker, only she's a
little too delicate for my taste — there ain't enough of her. As to the
young cove, he may be very respectable and what not, but he's too
down in the mouth for me — he ain't game."

" Game ! " exclaimed Ikey, who had been altering the position of a
green-handled knife and fork at least a dozen times, in order that he
might remain in the room under the pretext of having something to
do. " He's game enough ven there's anything to be fierce about ; but
who could be game as you call it, Mr. Walker, with a pale young
creotur like that, hanging about him ? — It's enough to drive any man's
heart into his boots to see 'em together— and no mistake at all about
it. I never shall forget her first comin' here ; he wrote to her on the
Thursday to come — I know he did, 'cos I took the letter. Uncommon
fidgety he was all day to be sure, and in the evening he goes down
into tho office, and ho says to Jacobs, says he, ' Sir, can I have the
loan of a private room for a few minutes this evening, without in-
curring any additional expense — just to see my wife in ? ' says he.
Jacobs looked as much as to say — ' Strike me bountiful if you ain't
one of the modest sort ! ' but as the gen'lm'n who had been in tho
back-parlour had just gone out, and had paid for it for that day, he
says — worry grave — ' Sir,' says he, ' it's agin our rules to let private
rooms to our lodgers on gratis terms, but,' says ho, ' for a gentleman,
I don't mind breaking through them for once.' So then he turns
round to me, and says, ' Ikey, put two mould candles in the back-
parlour, and charge 'em to this gen'lm'n's account, vich I did. Veil,
by-and-by a hackney-coach comes up to the door, and there, sure
enough, was the young lady wrapped up in a hopera-cloak, as it might

344 Sketches by Boz.

be, and all alone. I opened the gate that night, so I went up when
the coach come, and he vos a waitin' at the parlour-door — and wasn't
he a trembling, neither ? The poor creetur see him, and could hardly
walk to meet him. ' Oh, Harry ! ' she says, ' that it should have come
to this ; and all for niy sake,' says she, putting her hand upon his
shoulder. So he puts his arm round her pretty little waist, and
leading her gently a little way into the room, so that he might be able
to shut the door, he says, so kind and soft-like — ' Why, Kate,' says
he "

" Here's the gentleman you want," said Ikey, abruptly breaking off
in his story, and introducing Mr. Gabriel Parsons to the crestfallen
Watkins Tottle, who at that moment entered the room. Watkins
advanced with a wooden expression of passive endurance, and accepted
the hand which Mr. Gabriel Parsons held out.

" I want to speak to you," said Gabriel, with a look strongly ex-
pressive of his dislike of the company.

" This way," replied the imprisoned one, leading the way to the
front drawing-room, where rich debtors did the luxurious at the rate
of a couple of guineas a day.

" Well, here I am," said Mr. Watkins, as he sat down on the sofa ;
and placing the palms of his hands on his knees, anxiously glanced at
his friend's countenance.

"Yes; and here you're likely to be," said Gabriel, coolly, as he
rattled the money in his unmentionable pockets, and looked out of the
window.

" What's the amount with the costs ? " inquired Parsons, after an
awkward pause.

" 371. 3s. lOd."

" Have you any money ? "

" Nine and sixpence halfpenny."

Mr. Gabriel Parsons walked up and down the room for a few
seconds, before he could make up his mind to disclose the plan he
had formed; he was accustomed to drive hard bargains, but was
always most anxious to conceal his avarice. At length he stopped
short, and said — " Tottle, you owe me fifty pounds."
« I do."
' And from all I see, I infer that you are likely to owe it to me.

' I fear I am."

' Though you have every disposition to pay me if you could ? "
' Certainly."

' Then," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, " listen : here's my proposition.
You know my way of old. Accept it — yes or no — I will or I won't.
I'll pay the debt and costs, and I'll lend you 10Z. more (which, added
to your annuity, will enable you to carry on the war well) if you'll
give me your note of hand to pay me one hundred and fifty pounds
within six months after you are married to Miss Lillerton."

" My dear—

Liberation of Mr. Watkins Tot tie. 345

"Stop a minute — on one condition; and that is, that yon propose
to Miss Lillerton at once."

" At once ! My dear Parsons, consider."

"It's for you to consider, not me. She knows you well from
reputation, though she did not know you personally until lately.
Notwithstanding all her maiden modesty, I think she'd be devilish
glad to get married out of hand with as little delay as possible. My
wife has sounded her on the subject, and she has confessed."

" What — what ? " eagerly interrupted the enamoured Watkins.

" Why," replied Parsons, " to say exactly what she has confessed,
would be rather difficult, because they only spoke in hints, and so
forth ; but my wife, who is no bad judge in these cases, declared to
me that what she had confessed was as good as to say that she was not
insensible of your merits — in fact, that no other man should have
her."

Mr. Watkins Tottle rose hastily from his seat, and rang the bell.

" What's that for ? " inquired Parsons.

" I want to send the man for the bill-stamp," replied Mr. Watkins
Tottle.

" Then you've made up your mind ? "

"I have," — and they shook hands most cordially. The note of
hand was given — the debt and costs were paid — Ikey was satisfied for
his trouble, and the two friends soon found themselves on that side of
Mr. Solomon Jacobs's establishment, on which most of his visitors
were very happy when they found themselves once again — to wit, the
on/side.

"Now," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, as they drove to Norwood
together — " you shall have an opportunity to make the disclosure to-
night, and mind you speak out, Tottle."

"I will — I will ! " replied Watkins, valorously.

" How I should like to see you together," ejaculated Mr. Gabriel
Parsons. — " What fun ! " and he laughed so long and so loudly, that
he disconcerted Mr. Watkins Tottle, and frightened the horse.

" There's Fanny and your intended walking about on the lawn,"
said Gabriel, as they approached the house — " Mind your eye, Tottle."

" Never fear," replied Watkins, resolutely, as he made his way to
the spot where the ladies were walking.

" Here's Mr. Tottle, my dear," said Mrs. Parsons, addressing Miss
Lillorton. The lady turned quickly round, and acknowledged his
courteous salute with the same sort of confusion that Watkins had
noticed on their first interview, but with something like a slight
expression of disappointment or carelessness.

" Did you see how glad she was to see you ? " whispered Parsons to
his friend.

" Why I really thought she looked as if she would rather have seen
somebody else," replied Tottle.

" Pooh, nonsense ! " whispered Parsons again — " it's always the way

346 Sketches by Boz,

with the women, young or old. They never show how delighted
they are to see those whose presence makes their hearts beat. It's
the way with the whole sex, and no man should have lived to your
time of life without knowing it. Fanny confessed it to me, when we
were first married over and over again — see what it is to have a wife."

" Certainly," whispered Tottle, whose courage was vanishing fast.

" Well, now, you'd better begin to pave the way," said Parsons,
who, having invested some money in the speculation, assumed the
office of director.

" Yes, yes, I will — presently," replied Tottle, greatly flurried.

'; Say something to her, man," urged Parsons again. " Confound
it ! pay her a compliment, can't you ? "

" No ! not till after dinner," replied the bashful Tottle, anxious to
postpone the evil moment.

" Well, gentlemen," said Mrs. Parsons, " you are really very polite ;
you stay away the whole morning, after promising to take us out, and
when you do come home, you stand whispering together and take no
notice of us."

" We were talking of the business, my dear, which detained us this
morning," replied Parsons, looking significantly at Tottle.

" Dear me ! how very quickly the morning has gone," said Miss
Lillerton, referring to the gold watch, which was wound up on state
occasions, whether it required it or not.

" I think it has passed very slowly," mildly suggested Tottle.

(" That's right — bravo ! ") whispered Parsons.

" Indeed ! " said Miss Lillerton, with an air of majestic surprise.

" I can only impute it to my unavoidable absence from your society,
madam," said Watkins, " and that of Mrs. Parsons."

During this short dialogue, the ladies had been leading the way to
the house.

" What the deuce did you stick Fanny into that last compliment
for ? " inquired Parsons, as they followed together ; " it quite spoilt
the effect."

"Oh! it really would have been too broad without," replied
Watkins Tottle, " much too broad ! "

" He's mad ! " Parsons whispered his wife, as they entered the
drawing-room, " mad from modesty."

" Dear me ! " ejaculated the lady, " I never heard of such a thing."

" You'll find we have quite a family dinner, Mr. Tottle," said Mrs.
Parsons, when they sat down to table : " Miss Lillerton is one of us,
and, of course, we make no stranger of you."

Mr. Watkins Tottle expressed a hope that the Parsons family never
would make a stranger of him ; and wished internally that his bash-
fulness would allow him to feel a little less like a stranger himself.

" Take off the covers, Martha," said Mrs. Parsons, directing the
shifting of the scenery with great anxiety. The order was obeyed,
and a pair of boiled fowls, with tongue and et ceteras, were displayed

Mr. Tottle makes a bold Start. 347

at the top, and a fillet of veal at the bottom. On one side of the table
two green sauce-tureens, with ladles of the same, were setting to each
other in a green dish ; and on the other was a curried rabbit, in a
brown suit, turned up with lemon.

" Miss Lillerton, my dear," said Mrs. Parsons, " shall I assist
you ? "

" Thank you, no ; I think I'll trouble Mr. Tottle."

Watkins started — trembled — helped the rabbit — and broke a
tumbler. The countenance of the lady of the house, which had been
all smiles previously, underwent an awful change.

" Extremely sorry;*' stammered Watkins, assisting himself to curry
and parsley and butter, in the extremity of his confusion.

" Not the least consequence," replied Mrs. Parsons, in a tone which
implied that it was of the greatest consequence possible — directing
aside the researches of the boy, who was groping under the table for
the bits of broken glass.

" I presume," said Miss Lillerton, " that Mr. Tottle is aware of the
interest which bachelors usually pay in such cases ; a dozen glasses
for one is the lowest penalty."

Mr. Gabriel Parsons gave his friend an admonitory tread on the toe.
Here was a clear hint that the sooner he ceased to be a bachelor and
emancipated himself from such penalties, the better. Mr. Watkins
Tottle viewed the observation in the same light, and challenged Mrs.
Parsons to take wine, with a degree of presence of mind, which, under
all the circumstances, was really extraordinary.

" Miss Lillerton," said Gabriel, " may I have the pleasure ? "

" I shall be most happy."

" Tottle, will you assist Miss Lillerton, and pass the decanter.
Thank you." (The usual pantomimic ceremony of nodding and
sipping gone through) —

" Tottle, were you ever in Suffolk ? " inquired the master of the
house, who was burning to tell one of his seven stock stories.

" No," responded Watkins, adding, by way of a saving clause, " but
I've been in Devonshire."

" Ah ! " replied Gabriel, " it was in Suffolk that a rather singular
circumstance happened to me many years ago. Did you] ever happen
to hear me mention it ? "

Mr. Watkins Tottle had happened to hear his friend mention it
some four hundred times. Of course he expressed great curiosity, and
evinced the utmost impatience to hear the story again. Mr. Gabriel
Parsons forthwith attempted to proceed, in spite of the interruptions
to which, as our readers must frequently have observed, the master of
the house is often exposed in such cases. We will attempt to give
them an idea of our meaning.

" When I was in Suffolk," said Mr. Gabriel Parsons

"Take off the fowls first, Martha," said Mrs. Parsons. "I beg
your pardon, my dear."

348 Sketches by Bos.

" When I was in Suffolk," resumed Mr. Parsons, with an impatient
glance at his wife, who pretended not to observe it, " which is now
some years ago, business led me to the town of Bury St. Edmund's.
I had to stop at the principal places in my way, and therefore, for the
sake of convenience, I travelled in a gig. I left Sudbury one dark
night — it was winter time — about nine o'clock ; the rain poured in
torrents, the wind howled among the trees that skirted the roadside,
and I was obliged to proceed at a foot-pace, for I could hardly see my
hand before me, it was so dark "

" John," interrrnpted Mrs. Parsons, in a low, hollow voice, " don't
spill that gravy."

" Fanny," said Parsons impatiently, " I wish you'd defer these
domestic reproofs to some more suitable time. Really, my dear, these
constant interruptions are very annoying."

" My dear, I didn't interrupt yon," said Mrs. Parsons.

" But, my dear, you did interrupt me," remonstrated Mr. Parsons.

" How very absurd you are, my love ! I must give directions to the
servants ; I am quite sure that if I sat here and allowed John to spill
the gravy over the new carpet, you'd be the first to find fault when
you saw the stain to-morrow morning."

" Well," continued Gabriel with a resigned air, as if he knew there
was no getting over the point about the carpet, " I was just saying,
it was so dark that I could hardly see my hand before me. The road
was very lonely, and I assure you, Tottle (this was a device to arrest
the wandering attention of that individual, which was distracted by a
confidential communication between Mrs. Parsons and Martha, accom-
panied by the delivery of a large bunch of keys), I assure you, Tottle,
I became somehow impressed with a sense of the loneliness of my
situation "

" Pie to your master," interrupted Mrs. Parsons, again directing the
servant.

"Now, pray, my dear," remonstrated Parsons once more, very
pettishly. Mrs. P. turned up her hands and eye-brows, and appealed
in dumb-show to Miss Lillerton. " As I turned a corner of the road,"
resumed Gabriel, " the horse stopped short, and reared tremendously.
I pulled up, jumped out, ran to his head, and found a man lying on
his back in the middle of the road, with his eyes fixed on the sky. I
thought he was dead ; but no, he was alive, and there appeared to be
nothing the matter with him. He jumped up, and putting his hand
to his chest, and fixing upon me the most earnest gaze you can
imagine, exclaimed

" Pudding here," said Mrs. Parsons.

" Oh ! it's no use," exclaimed the host, now rendered desperate.
"Here, Tottle; a glass of wine. It's useless to attempt relating
anything when Mrs. Parsons is present."

This attack was received in the usual way. Mrs. Parsons talked to
Miss Lillerton and at her better-half; expatiated on the impatience of

Clearing the Way. 349

men generally ; hinted that her hushand was peculiarly vicious in this
respect, and wound up by insinuating that she must be one of the best
tempers that ever existed, or she never could put up with it. Eeally
what she had to endure sometimes, was more than anyone who saw
her in everyday life could by possibility suppose. — The story was
now a painful subject, and therefore Mr. Parsons declined to enter
into any details, and contented himself by stating that the man was a
maniac, who had escaped from a neighbouring mad-house.

The cloth was removed ; the ladies soon afterwards retired, and
Miss Lillerton played the piano in the drawing-room overhead, very
loudly, for the edification of the visitor. Mr. Watkins Tottle and Mr.
Gabriel Parsons sat chatting comfortably enough, until the conclusion
of the second bottle, when the latter, in proposing an adjournment to
the drawing-room, informed Watkins that he had concerted a plan
with his wife, for leaving him and Miss Lillerton alone, soon after tea.

" I say," said Tottle, as they went up-stairs, " don't you think it
would be better if wo put it off till — till — to-morrow 'f "

" Don't you think it would have been much better if I had left you
in that wretched hole I found you in this morning ? " retorted Parsons
bluntly.

" Well — well — I only made a suggestion," said poor Watkins Tottle,
with a deep sigh.

Tea was soon concluded, and Miss Lillerton, drawing a small work-
table on one side of the fire, and placing a little wooden frame upon
it, something like a miniature clay-mill without the horse, was soon
busily engaged in making a watch-guard with brown silk.

" God bless me ! " exclaimed Parsons, starting up with well-feigned
surprise, "I've forgotten those confounded letters. Tottle, I know
you'll excuse me."

If Tottle had been a free agent, he would have allowed no one to
leave the room on any pretence, except himself. As it was, however,
ho was obliged to look cheerful when Parsons quitted the apartment.

He had scarcely left, when Martha put her head into the room, with
— " Please, ma'am, you're wanted."

Mrs. Parsons left the room, shut the door carefully after her, and
Mr. Watkins Tottle was left alone with Miss Lillerton.

For the first five minutes there was a dead silence. — Mr. Watkins
Tottle was thinking how he should begin, and Miss Lillerton appeared
to be thinking of nothing. The fire was burning low ; Mr. Watkins
Tottle stirred it, and put some coals on.

" Hem ! " coughed Miss Lillerton ; Mr. Watkins Tottle thought
fair creature had spoken. " I beg your pardon," said he.
'Eh?"

' I thought you spoke."
'No."
« Oh ! "
' There are some books on the sofa, Mr. Tottle, if you would like to

Sketches by Boz.

look at them," said Miss Lillerton, after the lapse of another five
minutes.

" No, thank you," returned Watkins ; and then he added, with a
courage which was perfectly astonishing, even to himself, "Madam,
that is Miss Lillerton, I wish to speak to you."

" To me ! " said Miss Lillerton, letting the silk drop from her hands,
and sliding her chair back a few paces. — " Speak — to me ! "

" To you, madam — and on the subject of the state of your affections."
The lady hastily rose and would have left the room ; but Mr. Watkins
Tottle gently detained her by the hand, and holding it as far from
him as the joint length of their arms would permit, he thus proceeded,
" Pray do not misunderstand me, or suppose that I am led to address
you, after so short an acquaintance, by any feeling of my own merits —
tor merits I have none which could give me a claim to your hand. I
hope you will acquit me of any presumption when I explain that I
have been acquainted through Mrs. Parsons, with the state — that is,

that Mrs. Parsons has told me — at least, not Mrs. Parsons, but "

Here Watkins began to wander, but Miss Lillerton relieved him.

" Am I to understand, Mr. Tottle, that Mrs. Parsons has acquainted
you with my feeling — my affection — I mean my respect, for an
individual of the opposite sex ? "

" She has."

" Then, what ? " inquired Miss Lillerton, averting her face, with a
girlish air, " what could induce you to seek such an interview as this ?
What can your object be ? How can I promote your happiness, Mr.
Tottle?"

Here was the time for a flourish — " By allowing me," replied
Watkins, falling bump on his knees, and breaking two brace-buttons
and a waistcoat-string, in the act — " By allowing me to be your slave,
your servant — in short, by unreservedly making me the confidant of
your heart's feelings — may I say for the promotion of your own
happiness — may I say, in order that you may become the wife of a
kind and affectionate husband ? "

" Disinterested creature ! " exclaimed Miss Lillerton, hiding her
face in a white pocket-handkerchief with an eyelet-hole border.

Mr. Watkins Tottle thought that if the lady knew all, she might
possibly alter her opinion on this last point. He raised the tip of her
middle finger ceremoniously to his lips, and got off his knees, as
gracefully as he could. " My information was correct ? " he tremulously
inquired, when he was once more on his feet.

" It was." Watkins elevated his hands, and looked up to the orna-
ment in the centre of the ceiling, which had been made for a lamp, by
way of expressing his rapture.

"Our situation, Mr. Tottle," resumed the lady, glancing at him
through one of the eyelet-holes, " is a most peculiar and delicate
one."

" It is," said Mr. Tottle.

Enchanting Avowal. 351

"Oar acquaintance has been of so short duration," said Miss
Lillerton.

: Only a week," assented Watkins Tottlo.

' Oh ! more than that," exclaimed the lady, in a tone of surprise.

: Indeed ! " said Tottle.

' More than a month — more than two months ! " said Miss Lillerton.

' Rather odd, this," thought Watkins.

' Oh ! " he said, recollecting Parsons's assurance that she had known
him from report, "I understand. But, my dear madam, pray, con-
sider. The longer this acquaintance has existed, the less reason is
there for delay now. Why not at once fix a period for gratifying the
hopes of your devotod admirer ? "

" It has been represented to me again and again that this is the
course I ought to pursue," replied Miss Lillerton, " but pardon my
feelings of delicacy, Mr. Tottle — pray excuse this embarrassment — I
have peculiar ideas on such subjects, and I am quite sure that I never
could summon up fortitude enough to name the day to my future
husband."

" Then allow me to name it," said Tottle eagerly.

" I should like to fix it myself," replied Miss Lillerton, bashfully,
" but I cannot do so without at once resorting to a third party."

" A third party ! " thought Watkins Tottle ; " who the deuce is that
to be, I wonder ! "

" Mr. Tottle," continued Miss Lillerton, " you have made me a most
disinterested and kind offer — that offer I accept. Will you at once be
the bearer of a note from me to — to Mr. Timson ? "

" Mr. Timson ! " said Watkins.

" After what has passed between us," responded Miss Lillerton, still
averting her head, " you must understand whom I mean ; Mr. Timson,
the — the — clergyman."

" Mr. Timsou, the clergyman ! " ejaculated Watkins Tottle, in a
state of inexpressible beatitude, and positive wonder at his own success.
" Angel ! Certainly — this moment ! "

" I'll prepare it immediately," said Miss Lillerton, making for the
door ; " the events of this day have flurried me so much, Mr. Tottle,
that I shall not leave my room again this evening ; I will send you
the note by the servant."

" Stay — stay," cried Watkins Tottle, still keeping a most respectful
distance from the lady ; " w' "n shall we meet again ? "

" Oh ! Mr. Tottle," replied Miss Lillerton, coquettishly, " when toe
are married, I can never see you too often, nor thank you too much ; "
and she left the room.

Mr. Watkins Tottle flung himself into an arm-chair, and indulged
in the most delicious reveries of future bliss, in which the idea of
" Five hundred pounds per annum, with an uncontrolled power of dis-
posing of it by her last will and testament," was somehow or other the
foremost. He had gone through the interview so well, and it had

352 Sketches by Boz.

terminated so admirably, that lie almost began to wish he had ex-
pressly stipulated for the settlement of the annual five hundred on
himself.

" May I come in ? " said Mr. Gabriel Parsons, peeping in at the door.

" You may," replied Watkins.

" Well, have you done it ? " anxiously inquired Gabriel.

" Have I done it ! " said Watkins Tottle. " Hush — I'm going to the
clergyman."

" No ! " said Parsons. " How well you have managed it ! "

'''• Where does Timson live ? " inquired Watkins.

" At his uncle's," replied Gabriel, "just round the lane. He's wait-
ing for a living, and has been assisting his uncle here for the last two
or three months. But how well you have done it — I didn't think you
could have carried it off so ! "

Mr. Watkins Tottle was proceeding to demonstrate that the Richard-
sonian principle was the best on which love could possibly be made,
when he was interrupted by the entrance of Martha, with a little pink
note folded like a fancy cocked-hat.

" Miss Lillerton's compliments," said Martha, as she delivered it
into Tottle' s hands, and vanished.

"Do you observe the delicacy?" said Tottle, appealing to Mr.
Gabriel Parsons. " Compliments not love, by the servant, eh ? "

Mr. Gabriel Parsons didn't exactly know what reply to make, so he
poked the forefinger of his right hand between the third and fourth
ribs of Mr. Watlrins Tottle.

" Come," said Watkins, when the explosion of mirth, consequent on
this practical jest, had subsided, " we'll be off at once — let's lose no
time."

" Capital ! " echoed Gabriel Parsons ; and in five minutes they were
at the garden-gate of the villa tenanted by the uncle of Mr. Timson.

" Is Mr. Charles Timson at home ? " inquired Mr. Watkins Tottle
of Mr. Charles Timson's uncle's man.

" Mr. Charles is at home," replied the man, stammering ; " but he
desired me to say he couldn't bo interrupted, sir, by any of the
parishioners."

" I am not a parishioner," replied Watkins.

" Is Mr. Charles writing a sermon, Tom ? " inquired Parsons,
thrusting himself forward.

" No, Mr. Parsons, sir ; he's not exactly writing a sermon, but he is
practising the violoncello in his own bedroom, and gave strict orders
not to be disturbed."

" Say I'm here," replied Gabriel, leading the way across the garden ;
" Mr. Parsons and Mr. Tottle, on private and particular business."

They were shown into tho parlour, and the servant departed to
deliver his message. The distant groaning of the violoncello ceased ;
footsteps were heard on tho stairs ; and Mr. Timson presented himself,
and shook hands with Parsons with tho utmost cordiality.

Slightly Mistaken. 353

" How flo you do, sir ? " said Watkins Tottle, with great solemnity.

" How do you do, sir ? " replied Timson, with as much coldness as
if it were a matter of perfect indifference to him how he did, as it very
likely was.

" I beg to deliver this note to you," said Watkins Tottle, producing
the cocked-hat.

" From Miss Lillerton ! " said Timson, suddenly changing colour.
" Pray sit down."

Mr. Watkins Tottle sat down ; and while Timson perused the note,
fixed his eyes on an oystor-sauce-coloured portrait of the Archbishop
of Canterbury, which hung over the fire-place.

Mr. Timson rose from his seat when he had concluded the note, and
looked dubiously at Parsons — "May I ask," he inquired, appealing to
Watkins Tottle, " whether our friend here is acquainted with the
object of your visit ? "

" Our friend is in my confidence," replied Watkins, with considerable
importance.

" Then, sir," said Timson, seizing both Tottle's hands, " allow me
in his presence to thank you most unfeignedly and cordially, for the
noble part you have acted in this affair."

" He thinks I recommended him," thought Tottle. " Confound
these fellows ! they never think of anything but their fees."

" I deeply regret having misunderstood your intentions, my dear
sir," continued Timson. " Disinterested and manly, indeed ! There
are very few men who would have acted as you have done."

Mr. Watkins Tottle could not help thinking that this last remark
was anything but complimentary. He therefore inquired, rather
hastily, " When is it to be ? "

" On Thursday," replied Timson, — " on Thursday morning at half-
past eight."

"Uncommonly early," observed Watkins Tottle, with an air of
triumphant self-denial. " I shall hardly be able to get down here by
that hour." (This was intended for a joke.)

" Never mind, my dear fellow," replied Timson, all suavity, shaking
hands with Tottle again most heartily, "so long as we see you to
breakfast, you know —

" Eh ! " said Parsons, with one of the most extraordinary expressions
of countenance that ever appeared in a human face.

" What ! " ejaculated Watkins Tottle at the same moment.

" I say that so long as we see you to breakfast," replied Timsoi>,
" we will excuse your being absent from the ceremony, though of
course your presence at it would give us the utmost pleasure."

Mr. Watkins Tottle staggered against the wall, and fixed his eyes
on Timson with appalling perseverance.

" Timson," said Parsons, hurriedly brushing his hat with his left
arm, " when you say ' us,' whom do you mean '? "

Mr. Timson looked foolish in his turn, when he replied, " Why

o .

- A

354 Sketches by Boz.

• — Mrs. Timson that will be this day week: Miss Lillerton that
is — • — "

"Now don't stare at that idiot in the corner," angrily exclaimed
Parsons, as the extraordinary convulsions of Watkins Tottle's counte-
nance excited the wondering gaze of Timson, — " but have the goodness
to tell me in three words the contents of that note."

" This note," replied Timson, " is from Miss Lillerton, to whom I
have been for the last five weeks regularly engaged. Her singular
scruples and strange feeling on some points have hitherto prevented
my bringing the engagement to that termination which I so anxiously
desire. She informs me here, that she sounded Mrs. Parsons with the
view of making her her confidante and go-between, that Mrs. Parsons
informed this elderly gentleman, Mr. Tottle, of the circumstance, and
that he, in the most kind and delicate terms, offered to assist us in
any way, and even undertook to convey this note, which contains the
promise I have long sought in vain — an act of kindness for which I
can never be sufficiently grateful."

" Good-night, Timson," said Parsons, hurrying off, and carrying the
bewildered Tottle with him.

" Won't you stay — and have something ? " said Timson.

" No, thank ye," replied Parsons ; " I've have quite enough ; " and
away he went, followed oy Watkins Tottle in a state of stupefaction.

Mr. Gabriel Parsons whistled until they had walked some quarter
of a mile past his own gate, when he suddenly stopped, and said —

" You are a clever fellow, Tottle, ain't you ? "

" I don't know," said the unfortunate Watkins.

" I suppose you'll say this is Fanny's fault, won't you ? " inquired
Gabriel.

" I don't know anything about it," replied the bewildered Tottle.

"Well," said Parsons, turning on his heel to go home, "the next
time you make an offer, you had better speak plainly, and don't throw
a chance away. And the next time you're locked up in a spunging-
house, just wait there till I come and take you out, there's a good
fellow."

How, or at what hour, Mr. Watkins Tottle returned to Cecil
Street is unknown. His boots were seen outside his bedroom-door
next morning ; but we have the authority of his landlady for stating
that he neither emerged therefrom nor accepted sustenance for
four-and-twenty hours. At the expiration of that period, and when
a council of war was being held in the kitchen on the propriety of
summoning the parochial beadle to break his door open, he rang his
bell, and demanded a cup of milk-and-water. The next morning he
went through the formalities of eating and drinking as usual, but a
week afterwards he was seized with a relapse, while perusing the list
of marriages in a morning paper, from which he never perfectly
recovered.

A few weeks after the last-named occurence, the body of a gentle-

Mr. Nicodemus Dumps. 355

man unknown, was found in the Regent's Canal. In the trousers-
pockets were four shillings and threepence halfpenny ; a matrimonial
advertisement from a lady, which appeared to have been cut out of a
Sunday paper : a toothpick, and a card-case, which it is confidently
believed would have led to the identification of the unfortunate
gentleman, but for the circumstance of there being none but blank
cards in it. Mr. Watkins Tottle absented himself from his lodgings
shortly before. A bill, which has not been taken up, was presented
next morning ; and a bill, which has not been taken down, was soon
afterwards affixed in his parlour-window.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BLOOM8BUBY CHRISTENING.

MB. NICODEMUS DUMPS, or, as his acquaintance called him, " long
Dumps," was a bachelor, six feet high, and fifty years old: cross,
cadaverous, odd, and ill-natured. He was never happy but when he
was miserable ; and always miserable when he had the best reason to
be happy. The only real comfort of his existence was to make every-
body about him wretched — then he might be truly said to enjoy life.
He was afflicted with a situation in the Bank worth five hundred
a year, and he rented a " first-floor furnished," at Pentonville, which
he originally took because it commanded a dismal prospect of an
adjacent churchyard. He was familiar with the face of every tomb-
stone, and the burial service seemed to excite his strongest sympathy.
His friends said he was surly — he insisted he was nervous ; they
thought him a lucky dog, but he protested that he was " the most un-
fortunate man in the world." Cold as he was, and wretched as he
declared himself to be, he was not wholly susceptible of attachments.
He revered the memory of Hoyle, as he was himself an admirable and
imperturbable whist-player, and he chuckled with delight at a fretful
and impatient adversary. He adored King Herod for his massacre of
the innocents ; and if he hated one thing more than another, it was a
child. However, he could hardly be said to hate anything in particular,
because he disliked everything in general ; but perhaps his greatest
antipathies were cabs, old women, doors that would not shut, musical
amateurs, and omnibus cads. He subscribed to the " Society for the
Suppression of Vice " for the pleasure of putting a stop to any harm-
less amusements ; and he contributed largely towards the support of
two itinerant Methodist parsons, in the amiable hope that if circum-
stances rendered any people happy in this world, they might perchance
be rendered miserable by fears for the next.

Mr. Dumps had a nephew who had been married about a year, and

356 Sketches by Boz.

who was somewhat of a favourite with his uncle, because he was an
admirable subject to exercise his misery-creating powers upon. Mr.
Charles Kitterbell was a small, sharp, spare man, with a very large
head, and a broad, good-humoured countenance. He looked like a
faded giant, with the head and face partially restored ; and he had
a cast in his eye which rendered it quite impossible for anyone with
whom he conversed to know where he was looking. His eyes appeared
fixed on the wall, and he was staring you out of countenance ; in short,
there was no catching his eye, and perhaps it is a merciful dispensation
of Providence that such eyes are not catching. In addition to these
characteristics, it may be added that Mr. Charles Kitterbell was one of
the most credulous and matter-of-fact little personages that ever took
to himself a wife, and for himself a house in Great Russell Street,
Bedford Square. (Uncle Dumps always dropped the "Bedford
Square," and inserted in lieu thereof the dreadful words " Tottenham-
court Eoad.")

"No, but uncle, 'pon my life you must — you must promise to be
godfather," said Mr. Kitterbell, as he sat in conversation with his
respected relative one morning.

" I cannot, indeed I cannot," returned Dumps.

" Well, but why not ? Jemima will think it very unkind. It's
very little trouble."

" As to the trouble," rejoined the most unhappy man in existence,
" I don't mind that ; but my nerves are in that state — I cannot go
through the ceremony. You know I don't like going out. — For God's
sake, Charles, don't fidget with that stool so ; you'll drive me mad."
Mr. Kitterbell, quite regardless of his uncle's nerves, had occupied
himself for some ten minutes in describing a circle on the floor with
one leg of the office-stool on which he was seated, keeping the other
three up in the air, and holding fast on by the desk.

" I beg your pardon, uncle," said Kitterbell, quite abashed, suddenly
releasing his hold of the desk, and bringing the three wandering legs
back to the floor, with a force sufficient to drive them through it.

"' But come, don't refuse. If it's* a boy, you know, we must have
two godfathers."

" If it's a boy ! " said Dumps ; " why can't you say at once whether
it ia a boy or not ? "

"I should be very happy to tell you, but it's impossible I can
undertake to say whether it's a girl or a boy, if the child isn't born
yet."

" Not born yet ! " echoed Dumps, with a gleam of hope lighting up
his lugubrious visage. "Oh, well, it may be a girl, and then you
won't want me ; or if it is a boy, it may die before it is christened."

" I hope not," said the father that expected to be, looking very
grave.

" I hope not," acquiesced Dumps, evidently pleased with the subject.
He was beginning to get happy. " I hope not, but distressing cases

Dumps and Nep/tew, 357

frequently occur during the first two or three days of a child's life ;
fits, I am told, are exceedingly common, and alarming convulsions are
almost matters of course."

" Lord, uncle ! " ejaculated little Kitterbell, gasping for breath.

" Yes ; my landlady was confined — let me see — last Tuesday : an
uncommonly fine boy. On the Thursday night the nurse was sitting
with him upon her knee before the fire, and he was as well as possible.
Suddenly he became black in the face, and alarmingly spasmodic.
The medical man was instantly sent for, and every remedy was tried,
but—

" How frightful ! " interrupted the horror-stricken Kitterbell.

" The child died, of course. However, your child may not die ; and
if it should be a boy, and should live to be christened, why I suppose
I must be one of the sponsors." Dumps was evidently good-natured
on the faith of his anticipations.

" Thank you, uncle," said his agitated nephew, grasping his hand
as warmly as if he had done him some essential service. " Perhaps I
had better not tell Mrs. K. what you have mentioned."

" Why, if she's low-spirited, perhaps you had better not mention
the melancholy case to her," returned Dumps, who of course had
invented the whole story; "though perhaps it would be but doing
your duty as a husband to prepare her for the worst"

A day or two afterwards, as Dumps was pernsing a morning paper
at the chop-house which he regularly frequented, the following para-
graph met his eyes —

"Births.— On Saturday, the 18th inst., in Great Russell Street, the lady of Charles
Kitterbell, Esq., of a son."

"It is a boy!" he exclaimed, dashing down the paper, to the
astonishment of the waiters. " It is a boy ! " But he speedily re-
gained his composure as his eye rested on a paragraph quoting the
number of infant deaths from the bills of mortality.

Six weeks passed away, and as no communication had been received
from the Kitterbells, Dumps was beginning to flatter himself that
the child was dead, when the following note painfully resolved his
doubts —

Great Russell Street,

Monday Morning.

" DEAR UNOLE, — You will be delighted to hear that my dear Jemima
has left her room, and that your future godson is getting on capitally.
He was very thin at first, but he is getting much larger, and nurse
says he is filling out every day. He cries a good deal, and is a very
singular colour, which made Jemima and me rather uncomfortable ;
but as nurse says it's natural, and as of course we know nothing about
these things yet, we are quite satisfied with what nurse says. Wo
think he will be a sharp child ; and nurse says she's sure he will,
because he never goes to sleep. You will readily believe that we are

358 Sketches by Boz.

all very happy, only we're a little worn out for want of rest, as he
keeps us awake all night ; but this we must expect, nurse says, for the
first six or eight months. He has been vaccinated, but in consequence
of the operation being rather awkwardly performed, some small
particles of glass were introduced into the arm with the matter. Per-
haps this may in some degree account for his being rather fractious ;
at least, so nurse says. We propose to have him christened at twelve
o'clock on Friday, at Saint George's Church, in Hart Street, by the
name of Frederick Charles William. Pray don't be later than a
quarter before twelve. We shall have a very few friends in the
evening, when of course we shall see you. I am sorry to say that the
dear boy appears rather restless and uneasy to-day : the cause, I fear,
is fever.

" Believe me, dear Uncle,
" Yours affectionately,

" CHARLES KITTEBBELL.

" P.S. — I open this note to say that we have just discovered the
cause of little Frederick's restlessness. It is not fever, as I appre-
hended, but a small pin, which nurse accidentally stuck in his leg
yesterday evening. We have taken it out, and he appears more com-
posed, though he still sobs a good deal."

It is almost unnecessary to say that the perusal of the above in-
teresting statement was no great relief to the mind of the hypochon-
driacal Dumps. It was impossible to recede, however, and so he put
the best face — that is to say, an uncommonly miserable one — upon the
matter ; and purchased a handsome silver mug for the infant Kitter-
bell, upon which he ordered the initials "F. C. W. K.," with the
customary untrained grape-vine-looking flourishes, and a large full
stop, to be engraved forthwith.

Monday was a fine day, Tuesday was delightful, Wednesday was
equal to either, and Thursday was finer than ever ; four successive
fine days in London ! Hackney-coachmen became revolutionary, and
crossing-sweepers began to doubt the existence of a First Cause.
The Morning Herald informed its readers that an old woman in
Camden Town had been heard to say that the fineness of the season
was " unprecedented in the memory of the oldest inhabitant ; " and
Islington clerks, with large families and small salaries, left off their
black gaiters, disdained to carry their once green cotton umbrellas,
and walked to town in the conscious pride of white stockings and
cleanly brushed Bluchers. Dumps beheld all this with an eye of
supreme contempt — his triumph was at hand. He knew that if it
had been fine for four weeks instead of four days, it would rain when
he went out ; he was lugubriously happy in the conviction that Friday
would be a wretched day — and so it was. " I knew how it would be,"
said Dumps, as he turned round opposite the Mansion House at half-

On the Way to the Christening. 359

past eleven o'clock on the Friday morning. " I knew how it would
be. / am concerned, and that's enough ; " — and certainly the appear-
ance of the day was sufficient to depress the spirits of a much more
buoyant-hearted individual than himself. It had rained, without a
moment's cessation, since eight o'clock ; everybody that passed up
Cheapside, and down Cheapside, looked wet, cold, and dirty. All
sorts of forgotten and long-concealed umbrellas had been put into
requisition. Cabs whisked about, with the " fare " as carefully boxed
up behind two glazed calico curtains as any mysterious picture in any
one of Mrs. Kadcliffe's castles ; omnibus horses smoked liked steam-
engines ; nobody thought of " standing up " under doorways or arches ;
they were painfully convinced it was a hopeless case ; and so every-
body went hastily along, jumbling and jostling, and swearing and
perspiring, and slipping about, like amateur skaters behind wooden
chairs on the Serpentine on a frosty Sunday.

Dumps paused ; he could not think of walking, being rather smart
for the christening. If he took a cab he was sure to be spilt, and
a hackney-coach was too expensive for his economical ideas. An
omnibus was waiting at the opposite corner — it was a desperate case
— he had never heard of an omnibus upsetting or running away, and
if the cad did knock him down, he could " pull him up " in return.

" Now, sir ! " cried the young gentleman who officiated as " cad " to
the " Lads of the Village," which was the name of the machine just
noticed. Dumps crossed.

" This vay, sir ! " shouted the driver of the " Hark-away," pulling
up his vehicle immediately across the door of the opposition — " This
vay, sir — he's full." Dumps hesitated, whereupon the " Lads of the
Village" commenced pouring out a torrent of abuse against the
" Hark-away ; " but the conductor of the " Admiral Napier " settled
the contest in a most satisfactory manner, for all parties, by seizing
Dumps round the waist, and thrusting him into the middle of his
vehicle which had just come up and only wanted the sixteenth inside.

" All right," said the " Admiral," and off the thing thundered, like
a fire-engine at full gallop, with the kidnapped customer inside,
standing in the position of a half doubled-up bootjack, and falling
about with every jerk of the machine, first on the one side, and then
on the other, like a " Jack-in-the-green," on May Day, setting to the
lady with a brass ladle.

" For Heaven's sake, where am I to sit ? " inquired the miserable
man of an old gentleman, into whose stomach he had just fallen for
the fourth time.

" Anywhere but on my chest, sir," replied the old gentleman in a
surly tone.

" Perhaps the box would suit the gentleman better," suggested a
very damp lawyer's clerk, in a pink shirt, and a smirking countenance.

After a great deal of struggling and falling about, Dumps at last
managed to squeeze himself into a seat, which, in addition to the

360 Sketches by Boz.

slight disadvantage of being between a window that would not shut,
and a door that must be open, placed him in close contact with a
passenger, who had been walking about all the morning without an
umbrella, and who looked as if he had spent the day in a full water-
butt — only wetter.

" Don't bang the door so," said Dumps to the conductor, as he shut
it after letting out four of the passengers ; " I am very nervous— it
destroys me."

"Did any gen'lm'n say anythink?" replied the cad, thrusting in
his head, and trying to look as if he didn't understand the request.

" I told you not to bang the door so ! " repeated Dumps, with an
expression of countenance like the knave of clubs, in convulsions.

" Oh ! vy, it's rather a sing'ler circumstance about this here door,
sir, that it von't shut without banging," replied the conductor ; and
he opened the door very wide, and shut it again with a terrific bang,
in proof of the assertion.

" I beg your pardon, sir," said a little prim, wheezing old gentle-
man, sitting opposite Dumps, " I beg your pardon ; but have you ever
observed, when you have been in an omnibus on a wet day, that four
people out of five always come in with large cotton umbrellas, without
a handle at the top, or the brass spike at the bottom ? "

" Why, sir," returned Dumps, as he heard the clock strike twelve,

" it never struck me before ; but now you mention it, I Hollo !

hollo ! " shouted the persecuted individual, as the omnibus dashed
past Drury Lane, where he had directed to be set down. — " Where is
the cad ? "

" I think he's on the box, sir," said the young gentleman before
noticed in the pink shirt, which looked like a white one ruled with
red ink.

" I want to be set down ! " said Dumps in a faint voice, overcome
by his previous efforts.

" I think these cads want to be set down," returned the attorney's
clerk, chuckling at his sally.

" Hollo ! " cried Dumps again.

" Hollo ! " echoed the passengers. The omnibus passed Saint Giles's
Church.

" Hold hard ! " said the conductor ; " I'm blowed if we ha'n't forgot
the gen'lm'n as vas to be set down at Doory Lane. — Now, sir, make
haste, if you please," he added, opening the door, and assisting Dumps
out with as much coolness as if it was " all right." Dumps's indig-
nation was for once getting the better of his cynical equanimity.
" Drury Lane ! " he gasped, with the voice of a boy in a cold bath for
the first time.

" Doory Lane, sir ? — yes, sir, — third turning on the right-hand side,
sir."

Dumps's passion was paramount : he clutched his umbrella, and
was striding off with the firm determination of not paying the fare.

A Liberal Offer. 361

Tlie cad, by a remarkable coincidence, happened to entertain a directly
contrary opinion, and Heaven knows how far the altercation would
have proceeded, if it had not been most ably and satisfactorily brought
to a close by the driver.

" Hollo ! " said that respectable person, standing up on the box, and
leaning with one hand on the roof of the omnibus. " Hollo, Tom !
tell the gentleman if so be as he feels aggrieved, wo will take him up
to the Edge-er (Edgware) Road for nothing, and set him down at
Doory Lane when we comes back. He can't reject that, anyhow."

The argument was irresistible : Dumps paid the disputed sixpence,
and in a quarter of an hour was on the staircase of No. 14, Great
Russell Street.

Everything indicated that preparations were making for the recep-
tion of " a few friends " in the evening. Two dozen extra tumblers,
and four ditto wine-glasses — looking anything but transparent, with
little bits of straw in them — were on the slab in the passage, just
arrived. There was a great smell of nutmeg, port wine, and almonds,
on the staircase ; the covers were taken off the stair-carpet, and the
figure of Venus on the first landing looked as if she were ashamed of
the composition-candle in her right hand, which contrasted beautifully
with the lamp-blacked drapery of the goddess of love. The female
servant (who looked very warm and bustling) ushered Dumps into a
front drawing-room, very prettily furnished, with a plentiful sprinkling
of little baskets, paper table-mats, china watchmen, pink and gold
albums, and rainbow-bound little books on the different tables.

" Ah, uncle ! " said Mr. Kitterbell, " how d'ye do ? Allow me —
Jemima, my dear — my uncle. I think you've seen Jemima before,
sir ? "

" Have had the pleasure," returned big Dumps, his tone and look
making it doubtful whether in his life he had ever experienced the
sensation.

" I'm sure," said Mrs. Kitterbell, with a languid smile, and a slight
cough. " I'm sure— hem — any friend — of Charles's — hem — much less
a relation, is —

" I knew you'd say so, my love," said little Kitterbell, who, while
he appeared to be gazing on the opposite houses, was looking at his
wife with a most affectionate air : " Bless you ! " The last two words
were accompanied with a simper, and a squeeze of the hand, which
stirred up all Uncle Dumps's bile.

" Jane, tell nurse to bring down baby," said Mrs. Kitterbell, ad-
dressing the servant. Mrs. Kitterbell was a tall, thin young lady,
with very light hair, and a particularly white face — one of those
young women who almost invariably, though one hardly knows why,
recall to one's mind the idea of a cold fillet of veal. Out went the
servant, and in came the nurse, with a remarkably small parcel in her
arms, packed up in a blue mantle trimmed with white fur. — This was
the baby.

362 Sketches by Boz.

" Now, uncle," said Mr. Kitterbell, lifting up that part of the mantle
which covered the infant's face, with an air of great triumph, " Who
do you think he's like ? "

" He ! he ! Yes, who ? " said Mrs. K., putting her arm through her
husband's, and looking up into Dumps's face with an expression of as
much interest as she was capable of displaying.

" Good God, how small he is ! " cried the amiable uncle, starting
back with well-feigned surprise ; " remarkably small indeed."

" Do you think so ? " inquired poor little Kitterbell, rather alarmed.
" He's a monster to what he was — ain't he, nurse ? "

" He's a dear," said the nurse, squeezing the child, and evading
the question — not because she scrupled to disguise the fact, but
because she couldn't afford to throw away the chance of Dumps's
half-crown.

" Well, but who is he like ? " inquired little Kitterbell.

Dumps looked at the little pink heap before him, and only thought
at the moment of the best mode of mortifying the youthful parents.

" I really don't know who he's like," he answered, very well knowing
the reply expected of him.

" Don't you think he's like me ? " inquired his nephew with a
knowing air.

" Oh, decidedly not ! " returned Dumps, with an emphasis not to be
misunderstood. " Decidedly not like you. — Oh, certainly not."

" Like Jemima ? " asked Kitterbell, faintly.

" Oh, dear no ; not in the least. I'm no judge, of course, in such
cases ; but I really think he's more like one of those little carved
representations that one sometimes sees blowing a trumpet on a tomb-
stone ! " The nurse stooped down over the child, and with great
difficulty prevented an explosion of mirth. Pa and ma looked almost
as miserable as their amiable uncle.

" Well ! " said the disappointed little father, " you'll be better able
to tell what he's like by-and-by. You shall see him this evening with
his mantle off."

" Thank you," said Dumps, feeling particularly grateful.

" Now, my love," said Kitterbell to his wife, " it's time we were off.
We're to meet the other godfather and the godmother at the church,
uncle, — Mr. and Mrs. Wilson from over the way — uncommonly nice
people. My love, are you well wrapped up ? "

" Yes, dear."

" Are you sure you won't have another shawl ? " inquired the
anxious husband.

"No, sweet," returned the charming mother, accepting Dumps's
proffered arm ; and the little party entered the hackney-coach that
was to take them to the church ; Dumps amusing Mrs. Kitterbell by
expatiating largely on the danger of measles, thrush, teeth-cutting,
and other interesting diseases to which children are subject.

The ceremony (which occupied about five minutes) passed off with-

The Christening Party. 363

out auy thing particular occurring. The clergyman bad to dine some
distance from town, and had two churchings, three christenings, and a
funeral to perform in something less than an hour. The godfathers
and godmother, therefore, promised to renounce the devil and all his
works — " and all that sort of thing " — as little Kitterbell said — " in
less than no time ; " and with the exception of Dumps nearly letting
the child fall into the font when he handed it to the clergyman, the
whole affair went off in the usual business-like and matter-of-course
manner, and Dumps re-entered the Bank-gates at two o'clock with a
heavy heart, and the painful conviction that he was regularly booked
for an evening party.

Evening came — and so did Dumps's pumps, black silk stockings,
and white cravat which he had ordered to be forwarded, per boy, from
Pentonville. The depressed godfather dressed himself at a friend's
counting-house, from whence, with his spirits fifty degrees below
proof, he sallied forth — as the weather had cleared up, and the even-
ing was tolerably fine — to walk to Great Russell Street. Slowly he
paced up Cheapside, Newgate Street, down Snow Hill, and up Holborn
ditto, looking as grim as the figure-head of a man-of-war, and finding
out fresh causes of misery at every step. As he was crossing the
corner of Hatton Garden, a man apparently intoxicated, rushed against
him, and would have knocked him down, had he not been provi-
dentially caught by a very genteel young man, who happened to be
close to him at the time. The shock so disarranged Dumps's nerves,
as well as his dress, that he could hardly stand. The gentleman took
his arm, and in the kindest manner walked with him as far as
Furnival's Inn. Dumps, for about the first time in his life, felt
grateful and polite ; and he and the gentlemanly-looking young man
parted with mutual expressions of good-will.

" There are at least some well-disposed men in the world," ruminated
the misanthropical Dumps, as he proceeed towards his destination.

Rat — tat — ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-rat — knocked a hackney-coachman at Kit-
terbell's door, in imitation of a gentleman's servant, just as Dumps
reached it ; and out came an old lady in a large toque, and an old
gentleman in a blue coat, and three female copies of the old lady in
pink dresses, and shoes to match.

" It's a large party," sighed the unhappy godfather, wiping the
perspiration from his forehead, and leaning against the area-railings.
It was some time before the miserable man could muster up courage
to knock at the door, and when he did, the smart appearance of a
neighbouring greengrocer (who had been hired to wait for seven and
sixpence, and whose calves alone were worth double the money), the
lamp in the passage, and the Venus on the landing, added to the hum
of many voices, and the sound of a harp and two violins, painfully
convinced him that his surmises were but too well founded.

" How are you ? " said little Kitterbell, in a greater bustle than
ever, bolting out of the little back-parlour with a corkscrew in his

364 Sketches by Bos.

hand, and various particles of sawdust, looking like so many inverted
commas, on his inexpressibles.

" Good God ! " said Dumps, turning into the aforesaid parlour to
put his shoes on, which he had brought in his coat-pocket, and still
more appalled by the sight of seven fresh-drawn corks, and a corre-
sponding number of decanters. " How many people are there up-
stairs ? "

" Oh, not above thirty-five. We've had the carpet taken up in the
back drawing-room, and the piano and the card-tables are in the front.
Jemima thought we'd better have a regular sit-down supper in the
front-parlour, because of the speechifying, and all that. But, Lord !
uncle, what's the matter ? " continued the excited little man, as Dumps
stood with one shoe on, rummaging his pockets with the most fright-
ful distortion of visage. " What have you lost ? Your pocket-book ? "

" No" returned Dumps, diving first into one pocket and then into
the other, and speaking in a voice like Desdemona with the pillow
over her mouth.

" Your card-case ? snuff-box ? the key of your lodgings ? " continued
Kitterbell, pouring question on question with the rapidity of lightning.

" No ! no ! " ejaculated Dumps, still diving eagerly into his empty
pockets.

" Not — not — the mug you spoke of this morning ? "

" Yes, the mug ! " replied Dumps, sinking into a chair.

" How could you have done it ? " inquired Kitterbell. " Are you
sure you brought it out ? "

" Yes ! yes ! I see it all ! " said Dumps, starting up as the idea
flashed across his mind ; " miserable dog that I am — I was born to
suffer. I see it all : it was the gentlemanly-looking young man ! "

" Mr. Dumps ! " shouted the greengrocer in a stentorian voice, as
he ushered the somewhat recovered godfather into the drawing-room
half-an-hour after the above declaration. " Mr. Dumps ! " — everybody
looked at the door, and in came Dumps, feeling about as much out of
place as a salmon might be supposed to be on a gravel-walk.

" Happy to see you again," said Mrs. Kitterbell, quite unconscious
of the unfortunate man's confusion and misery ; " you must allow mo
to introduce you to a few of our friends : — my mamma, Mr. Dumps —
my papa and sisters." Dumps seized the hand of the mother as
warmly as if she was his own parent, bowed to the young ladies, and
against a gentleman behind him, and took no notice whatever of the
father, who had been bowing incessantly for three minutes and a
quarter.

" Uncle," said little Kitterbell, after Dumps had been introduced to
a select dozen or two, " you must let me lead you to the other end of
the room, to introduce you to my friend Danton. Such a splendid
fellow ! — I'm sure you'll like him — this way," — Dumps followed as
tractably as a tame bear.

Mr. Danton was a young man of about five-and-twenty, with a

The Baby. 365

considerable stock of impudence, and a very small share of ideas : he
was a great favourite, especially with young ladies of from sixteen to
twenty- six years of age, both inclusive. He could imitate the French-
horn to admiration, sang comic songs most inimitably, and had the
most insinuating way 01 saying impertinent nothings to his doting
female admirers. He had acquired, somehow or other, the reputation
of being a great wit, and, accordingly, whenever he opened his mouth,
everybody who knew him laughed very heartily.

The introduction took place in due form. Mr. Danton bowed, and
twirled a lady's handkerchief, which he held in his hand, in a most
comic way. Everybody smiled.

" Very warm," said Dumps, feeling it necessary to say something.

" Yes. It was warmer yesterday," returned the brilliant Mr.
Danton. — A general laugh.

" I have great pleasure in congratulating you on your first appear-
ance in the character of a father, sir," he continued, addressing Dumps
— " godfather, I mean." — The young ladies were convulsed, and the
gentlemen in ecstasies.

A general hum of admiration interrupted the conversation, and
announced the entrance of nurse with the baby. A universal rush
of the young ladies immediately took place. (Girls are always so fond
of babies in company.)

" Oh, you dear ! " said one.

" How sweet ! " cried another, in a low tone of the most enthusiastic
admiration.

" Heavenly ! " added a third.

" Oh ! what dear little arms ! " said a fourth, holding up an arm and
fist about the size and shape of the leg of a fowl cleanly picked.

"Did you ever?" — said a little coquette with a large bustle, who
looked like a French lithograph, appealing to a gentleman in three
waistcoats — " Did you ever ? "

" Never in my life," returned her admirer, pulling up his collar.

" Oh ! do let me take it, nurse," cried another young lady. " The
love ! "

" Can it open its eyes, nurse ? " inquired another, affecting the
utmost innocence. — Suffice it to say, that the single ladies unanimously
voted him an angel, and that the married ones, nem. con., agreed that
he was decidedly the finest baby they had ever beheld — except their
own.

The quadrilles were resumed with great spirit. Mr. Danton was
universally admitted to be beyond himself; several young ladies
enchanted the company and gained admirers by singing " We met "-
" I saw her at the Fancy Fair "— and other equally sentimental and
interesting ballads. " The young men," as Mrs. Kitterbell said,
" made themselves very agreeable ; " the girls did not lose their
opportunity ; and the evening promised to go off excellently. Dumps
didn't mind it : he had devised a plan for himself — a little bit of fun

366 Sketches by Boss.

in his own way — and he was almost happy ! Ho played a rubber and
lost every point. Mr. Danton said he could not have lost every point,
because he made a point of losing : everybody laughed tremendously.
Dumps retorted with a better joke, and nobody smiled, with the
exception of the host, who seemed to consider it his duty to laugh till
he was black in the face, at everything. There was only one drawback
— the musicians did not play with quite as much spirit as could have
been wished. The cause, however, was satisfactorily explained ; for
it appeared, on the testimony of a gentleman who had come up from
Gravesend in the afternoon, that they had been engaged on board a
steamer all day, and had played almost without cessation all the way
to Gravesend, and all the way back again.

The " sit-down supper " was excellent ; there were four barley-
sugar temples on the table, which would have looked beautiful if they
had not melted away when the supper began ; and a water-mill, whose
only fault was that instead of going round, it ran over the table-cloth.
Then there were fowls, and tongue, and trifle, and sweets, and lobster
salad, and potted beef — and everything. And little Kitterbell kept
calling out for clean plates, and the clean plates did not come : and
then the gentlemen who wanted the plates said they didn't mind,
they'd take a lady's ; and then Mrs. Kitterbell applauded their
gallantry, and the greengrocer ran about till he thought his seven and
sixpence was very hardly earned; and the young ladies didn't eat
much for fear it shouldn't look romantic, and the married ladies eat as
much as possible, for fear they shouldn't have enough ; and a great
deal of wine was drunk, and everybody talked and laughed con-
siderably.

" Hush ! hush ! " said Mr. Kitterbell, rising and looking very
important. " My love (this was addressed to his wife at the other end
of the table), take care of Mrs. Maxwell, and your mamma, and the
rest of the married ladies; the gentlemen will persuade the young
ladies to fill their glasses, I am sure."

"Ladies and gentlemen," said long Dumps, in a very sepulchral
voice and rueful accent, rising from his chair like the ghost in Don
Juan, "will you have the kindness to charge your glasses? I am
desirous of proposing a toast."

A dead silence ensued, and the glasses were filled — everybody
looked serious.

" Ladies and gentlemen," slowly continued the ominous Dumps,
" I " — (here Mr. Danton imitated two notes from the French-horn, in
a very loud key, which electrified the nervous toast-proposer, and con-
vulsed his audience).

" Order 1 order ! " said little Kitterbell, endeavouring to suppress
his laughter.

" Order ! " said the gentlemen.

" Danton, be quiet," said a particular friend on the opposite side of
the table.

Uncle Dumps does his Duty. 367

" Ladies and gentlemen," resumed Dumps, somewhat recovered,
and not much disconcerted, for he was always a pretty good hand at
a speech — "In accordance with what is, I believe, the established
usage on these occasions, I, as one of the godfathers of Master
Frederick Charles William Kitterbell — (here the speaker's voice
faltered, for he remembered the mug) — venture to rise to propose
a toast. I need hardly say that it is the health and prosperity of that
young gentleman, the particular event of whoso early life we are here
met to celebrate — (applause). Ladies and gentlemen, it is impossible
to suppose that our friends here, whose sincere well-wishers we all are,
can pass through life without some trials, considerable suffering,
severe affliction, and heavy losses ! " — Here the arch-traitor paused,
and slowly drew forth a long, white pocket-handkerchief — his example
was followed by several ladies. " That these trials may be long
spared them is my most earnest prayer, my most fervent wish (a
distinct sob from the grandmother). I hope and trust, ladies and
gentlemen, that the infant whose christening we have this evening
met to celebrate, may not be removed from the arms of his parents by
premature decay (several cambrics were in requisition) : that his
young and now apparently healthy form, may not be wasted by linger-
ing disease. (Here Dumps cast a sardonic glance around, for a great
sensation was manifest among the married ladies.) You, I am sure,
will concur with me in wishing that he may live to be a comfort and
a blessing to his parents. (" Hear, hear ! " and an audible sob from
Mr. Kitterbell.) But should he not be what we could wish — should
he forget in after-times the duty which he owes to them — should
they unhappily experience that distracting truth, ' how sharper than
a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child ' ' — Here Mrs. Kitter-
bell, with her handkerchief to her eyes, and accompanied by several
ladies, rushed from the room, and went into violent hysterics in the
passage, leaving her better-half in almost as bad a condition, and a
general impression in Dumps's favour; for people like sentiment,
after all.

It need hardly be added, that this occurrence quite put a stop to the
harmony of the evening. Vinegar, hartshorn, and cold water, were
now as much in request as negus, rout-cakes, and bon-bons had been
a short time before. Mrs. Kitterbell was immediately conveyed to
her apartment, the musicians were silenced, flirting ceased, and the
company slowly departed. Dumps left the house at the commence-
ment of the bustle, and walked homo with a light step, and (for him)
a cheerful heart. His landlady, who slept in the next room, has
offered to make oath that she heard him laugh, in his peculiar manner,
after he had locked his door. The assertion, however, is so improb-
able, and bears on the face of it such strong evidence of untruth, that
it has never obtained credence to this hour.

The family of Mr. Kitterbell has considerably increased since the
period to which we have referred ; he has now two sons and a daughter ;

368 Sketches by Bos.

and as he expects, at no distant period, to have another addition to his
blooming progeny, he is anxious to secure an eligible godfather for
the occasion. He is determined, however, to impose upon him two
conditions. He must bind himself, by a solemn obligation, not to
make any speech after supper ; and it is indispensable that he should
be in no way connected with " the most miserable man in the world."

CHAPTER XII.

THE DRUNKARD'S DEATH.

WE will be bold to say, that there is scarcely a man in the constant
habit of walking, day after day, through any of the crowded thorough-
fares of London, who cannot recollect among the people whom he
" knows by sight," to use a familiar phrase, some being of abject and
wretched appearance whom he remembers to have seen in a very
different condition, whom he has observed sinking lower and lower,
by almost imperceptible degrees, and the shabbiness and utter destitu-
tion ot whose appearance, at last, strike forcibly and painfully upon
him, as he passes by. Is there any man who has mixed much with
society, or whose avocations have caused him to mingle, at one time
or other, with a great number of people, who cannot call to mind the
time when some shabby, miserable wretch, in rags and filth, who
shuffles past him now in all the squalor of disease and poverty, was
a respectable tradesman, or clerk, or a man following some thriving
pursuit, with good prospects, and decent means ? — or cannot any of
our readers call to mind from among the list of their quondam
acquaintance, some fallen and degraded man, who lingers about the
pavement in hungry misery — from whom every one turns coldly away,
and who preserves himself from sheer starvation, nobody knows how ?
Alas ! such cases are of too frequent occurrence to be rare items in
any man's experience; and but too often arise from one cause —
drunkenness — that fierce rage for the slow, sure poison, that oversteps
every other consideration; that casts aside wife, children, friends,
happiness, and station ; and hurries its victims madly on to degrada-
tion and death.

Some of these men have been impelled, by misfortune and misery,
to the vice that has degraded them. The ruin of worldly expectations,
the death of those they loved, the sorrow that slowly consumes, but
will not break the heart, has driven them wild ; and they present the
hideous spectacle of madmen, slowly dying by their own hands. But
by far the greater part have wilfully, and with open eyes, plunged into
the gulf from which the man who once enters it never rises more, but
into which he sinks deeper and deeper down, until recovery is hopeless.

The last Link broken. 369

Such a man as this once stood by the bedside of his dying wife,
while his children knelt around, and mingled low bursts of grief
with their innocent prayers. The room was scantily and meanly
furnished ; and it needed but a glance at the pale form from which
the light of life was fast passing away, to know that grief, and want,
and anxious care, had been busy at the heart for many a weary year.
An elderly woman, with her face bathed in tears, was supporting the
head of the dying woman — her daughter — on her arm. But it was
not towards her that the wan face turned ; it was not her hand that
the cold and trembling fingers clasped ; they pressed the husband's
arm ; the eyes so soon to be closed in death rested on his face, and the
man shook beneath their gaze. His dress was slovenly and disordered,
his face inflamed, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. He had been sum-
moned from some wild debauch to the bed of sorrow and death.

A shaded lamp by the bedside cast a dim light on the figures
around, and left the remainder of the room in thick, deep shadow.
The silence of night prevailed without the house, and the stillness of
death was in the chamber. A watch Imng over the mantelshelf ; its
low ticking was the only sound that broke the profound quiet, but it
was a solemn one, for well they knew, who heard it, that before it had
recorded the passing of another hour, it would beat the knell of a
departed spirit.

It is a dreadful thing to wait and watch for the approach of death ;
to know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible ; and to sit and
count the dreary hours through long, long nights — such nights as only
watchers by the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the
dearest secrets of the heart — the pent-up, hidden secrets of many years
— poured forth by the unconscious helpless being before you ; and to
think how little the reserve and cunning of a whole life will avail,
when fever and delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have
been told in the wanderings of dying men ; tales so full of guilt and
crime, that those who stood by the sick person's couch have fled in
horror and affright, lest they should be scared to madness by what
they heard and saw ; and many a wretch has died alone, raving of
deeds the very name of which has driven the boldest man away.

But no such ravings were to be heard at the bedside by which the
children knelt. Their half-stifled sobs and moanings alone broke the
silence of the lonely chamber. And when at last the mother's grasp
relaxed, and, turning one look from the children to the father, she
vainly strove to speak, and fell backward on the pillow, all was so
calm and tranquil that she seemed to sink to sleep. They leant over
her ; they called upon her name, softly at first, and then in the loud
and piercing tones of desperation. But there was no reply. They
listened for her breath, but no sound came. They felt for the palpita-
tion of the heart, but no faint throb responded to the touch. That
heart was broken, and she was dead !

The husband sunk into a chair by the bedside, and clasped his

2 B

Sketches by Boz.

hands upon his burning forehead. He gazed from child to child, but
when a weeping eye met his, he quailed beneath its look. No word of
comfort was whispered in his ear, no look of kindness lighted on his
face. All shrunk from and avoided him ; and when at last he staggered
from the room, no one sought to follow or console the widower.

The time had been when many a friend would have crowded round
him in his affliction, and many a heartfelt condolence would have met
him in his grief. Where were they now ? One by one, friends, relations,
the commonest acquaintance even, had fallen off from and deserted the
drunkard. His wife alone had clung to him in good and evil, in sick-
ness and poverty, and how had he rewarded her? He had reeled
from the tavern to her bedside in time to see her die.

He rushed from the house, and walked swiftly through the streets.
Remorse, fear, shame, all crowded on his mind. Stupefied with drink,
and bewildered with the scene he had just witnessed, he re-entered
the tavern he had quitted shortly before. Glass succeeded glass. His
blood mounted, and his brain whirled round. Death ! Everyone
must die, and why not she. She was too good for him ; her relations
had often told him so. Curses on them ! Had they not deserted her,
and left her to whine away the time at home ? Well — she was dead,
and happy perhaps. It was better as it was. Another glass — one
more ! Hurrah ! It was a merry life while it lasted ; and he would
make the most of it.

Time went on ; the three children who were left to him, grew up,
and were children no longer. The father remained the same — poorer,
shabbier, and more dissolute-looking, but the same confirmed and
irreclaimable drunkard. The boys had, long ago, run wild in the
streets, and left him ; the girl alone remained, but she worked hard,
and words or blows could always procure him something for the tavern.
So he went on in the old course, and a merry life he led.

One night, as early as ten o'clock — for the girl had been sick for
many days, and there was, consequently, little to spend at the public-
house — he bent his steps homeward, bethinking himself that if he
would have her able to earn money, it would be as well to apply to
the parish surgeon, or, at all events, to take the trouble of inquiring
what ailed her, which he had not yet thought it worth while to do.
It was a wet December night ; the wind blew piercing cold, and the
rain poured heavily down. He begged a few halfpence from a passer-
by, and having bought a small loaf (for it was his interest to keep the
girl alive, if he could), he shuffled onwards as fast as the wind and
rain would let him.

At the back of Fleet Street, and lying between it and the waterside,
are several mean and narrow courts, which form a portion of White-
friars : it was to one of these that he directed his steps.

The alley into which he turned, might, for filth and misery, have
competed with the darkest corner of this ancient sanctuary in its
dirtiest and most lawless time. The houses, varying from two stories

His Daughter. 371

in height to four, were stained with every indescribable hue that long
exposure to the weather, damp, and rottenness can impart to tenements
composed originally of the roughest and coarsest materials. The
windows were patched with paper, and stuffed with the foulest rags ;
the doors were falling from their hinges ; poles with lines on which
to dry clothes, projected from every casement, and sounds of quarrelling
or drunkenness issued from every room.

The solitary oil-lamp in the centre of the court had been blown out,
either by the violence of the wind or the act of some inhabitant who
had excellent reasons for objecting to his residence being rendered too
conspicuous ; and the only light which fell upon the broken and uneven
pavement, was derived from the miserable candles that here and there
twinkled in the rooms of such of the more fortunate residents as could
afford to indulge in so expensive a luxury. A gutter ran down the
centre of the alley — all the sluggish odours of which had been called
forth by the rain ; and as the wind whistled through the old houses,
the doors and shutters creaked upon their hinges, and the windows
shook in their frames, with a violence which every moment seemed to
threaten the destruction of the whole place.

The man whom we have followed into this den, walked on in the
darkness, sometimes stumbling into the main gutter, and at others into
some branch repositories of garbage which had been formed by the
rain, until he reached the last house in the court. The door, or rather
what was left of it, stood ajar, for the convenience of the numerous
lodgers ; and he proceeded to grope his way up the old and broken
stair, to the attic story.

He was within a step or two of his room-door, when it opened, and
a girl, whose miserable and emaciated appearance was only to be
equalled by that of the candle which she shaded with her hand, peeped
anxiously out.

" Is that you, father ? " said the girl.

" Who else should it be ? " replied the man gruffly. " What are
you trembling at? It's little enough that I've had to drink to-day,
for there's no drink without money, and no money without work.
What the devil's the matter with the girl ? "

" I am not well, father — not at all well," said the girl, bursting into
tears.

" Ah ! " replied the man, in the tone of a person who is compelled
to admit a very unpleasant fact, to which he would rather remain
blind, if he could. " You must get better somehow, for we must have
money. You must go to the parish doctor, and make him give you
some medicine. They're paid for it, damn 'em. What are you
standing before the door for ? Let me come in, can't you ? "

" Father," whispered the girl, shutting the door behind her, and
placing herself before it, " William has come back."

" Who ! " said the man with a start.

" Hush," replied the girl, " William ; brother William."

372 Sketches by Boz.

" And what does he want ? " Baid the man, with an effort at com-
posure— " money ? meat ? drink ? He's come to the wrong shop for
that, if he does. Give me the candle — give me the candle, fool — I
ain't going to hurt him." He snatched the candle from her hand, and
walked into the room.

Sitting on an old box, with his head resting on his hand, and his
eyes fixed on a wretched cinder-fire that was smouldering on the
hearth, was a young man of about two-and-twenty, miserably clad in
an old coarse jacket and trousers. He started up when his father
entered.

" Fasten the door, Mary," said the young man hastily — " Fasten
the door. You look as if you didn't know me, father. It's long
enough, since you drove me from home ; you may well forget me."

•' And what do you want here, now ? " said the father, seating him-
self on a stool, on the other side of the fire-place. " What do you want
here, now ? "

" Shelter," replied the son, " I'm in trouble : that's enough. If I'm
caught I shall swing ; that's certain. Caught I shall be, unless I stop
here ; that's as certain. And there's an end of it."

" You mean to say, you've been robbing, or murdering, then ? " said
the father.

" Yes, I do," replied the son. " Does it surprise you, father ? " He
looked steadily in the man's face, but he withdrew his eyes, and bent
them on the ground.

" Where's your brothers ? " he said, after a long pause.

" Where they'll never trouble you," replied the son : " John's gone
to America, and Henry's dead."

" Dead ! " said the father, with a shudder, which even he could not
repress.

" Dead," replied the young man. " He died in my arm — shot like
a dog, by a gamekeeper. He staggered back, I caught him, and his
blood trickled down my hands. It poured out from his side like water.
He was weak, and it blinded him, but he threw himself down on his
knees, on the grass, and prayed to God, that if his mother was in
heaven, He would hear her prayers for pardon for her youngest son.
' I was her favourite boy, Will,' he said, ' and I am glad to think, now,
that when she was dying, though I was a very young child then, and
my little heart was almost bursting, I knelt down at the foot of the
bed, and thanked God for having made me so fond of her as to have
never once done anything to bring the tears into her eyes. 0 Will,
why was she taken away, and father left ? ' There's his dying words,
father," said the young man ; " make the best you can of 'em. You
struck him across the face, in a drunken fit, the morning we ran away ;
and here's the end of it."

The girl wept aloud; and the father, sinking his head upon his
knees, rocked himself to and fro.

" If I am taken," said the young man, " I shall be carried back into

He becomes his Son's Executioner. 373

the country, and hung for that man's murder. They cannot trace me
here, without your assistance, father. For aught I know, you may
give me up to justice; but unless you do, hero I stop, until I can
venture to escape abroad."

For two whole days, all three remained in the wretched room, with-
out stirring out. On the third evening, however, the girl was worse
than she had been yet, and the few scraps of food they had were gone.
It was indispensably necessary that somebody should go out ; and as
the girl was too weak and ill, the father went, just at nightfall.

Ho got some medicine for the girl, and a trifle in the way of pecuniary
assistance. On his way back, he earned sixpence by holding a horse ;
and he turned homewards with enough money to supply their most
pressing wants for two or three days to come. He had to pass the
public-house. He lingered for an instant, walked past it, turned back
again, lingered once more, and finally slunk in. Two men whom he
had not observed, were on the watch. They were on the point of
giving up their search in despair, when his loitering attracted their
attention ; and when he entered the public-house, they followed him.

" You'll drink with me, master," said one of them, proffering him a
glass of liquor.

" And me too," said the other, replenishing the glass as soon as it
was drained of its contents.

The man thought of his hungry children, and his son's danger.
But they were nothing to the drunkard. Ho did drink; and his
reason left him.

" A wet night, Warden," whispered one of the men in his ear, as he
at length turned to go away, after spending in liquor one-half of the
money on which, perhaps, his daughter's life depended.

" The right sort of night for our friends in hiding, Master Warden,"
whispered the other.

" Sit down here," said the one who had spoken first, drawing him
into a corner. "We have been looking arter the young un. We
came to tell him, it's all right now, but we couldn't find him 'cause we
hadn't got the precise direction. But that ain't strange, for I don't
think he know'd it himself, when he come to London, did he ? "

" No, he didn't," replied the father.

The two men exchanged glances.

" There's a vessel down at the docks, to sail at midnight, when it's
high water," resumed the first speaker, " and we'll put him on board.
His passage is taken in another name, and what's better than that, it's
paid for. It's lucky we mot you."

" Very," said the second.

" Capital luck," said the first, with a wink to his companion.

" Great," replied the second, with a slight nod of intelligence.

" Another glass here ; quick " — said the first speaker. And in five
minutes more, the father had unconsciously yielded up his own son
into the hangman's hands.

374 Sketches by Bos.

Slowly and heavily the time dragged along, as the brother and
sister, in their miserable hiding-place, listened in anxious suspense to
the slightest sound. At length, a heavy footstep was heard upon the
stair ; it approached nearer ; it reached the landing ; and the father
staggered into the room.

The girl saw that he was intoxicated, and advanced with the candle
in her hand to meet him ; she stopped short, gave a loud scream, and
fell senseless on the ground. She had caught sight of the shadow of a
man reflected on the floor. They both rushed in, and in another instant
the young man was a prisoner, and handcuffed.

" Very quietly done," said one of the men to his companion, " thanks
to the old man. Lift up the girl, Tom — come, come, it's no use crying,
young woman. It's all over now, and can't be helped."

The young man stooped for an instant over the girl, and then turned
fiercely round upon his father, who had reeled against the wall, and
was gazing on the group with drunken stupidity.

" Listen to me, father," he said, in a tone that made the drunkard's
flesh creep. " My brother's blood, and mine, is on your head : I never
had kind look, or word, or care, from you, and alive or dead, I never
will forgive you. Die when you will, or how, I will be with you. I
speak as a dead man now, and I warn you, father, that as surely as
you must one day stand before your Maker, so surely shall your
children be there, hand in hand, to cry for judgment against you."
He raised his manacled hands in a threatening attitude, fixed his eyes
on his shrinking parent, and slowly left the room ; and neither father
nor sister ever beheld him more, on this side of the grave.

When the dim and misty light of a winter's morning penetrated
into the narrow court, and struggled through the begrimed window
of the wretched room, Warden awoke from his heavy sleep, and found
himself alone. He rose, and looked round him ; the old flock mattress
on the floor was undisturbed ; everything was just as he remembered
to have seen it last : and there were no signs of anyone, save himself,
having occupied the room during the night. He inquired of the other
lodgers, and of the neighbours ; but his daughter had not been seen
or heard of. He rambled through the streets, and scrutinised each
wretched face among the crowds that thronged them, with anxious
eyes. But his search was fruitless, and he returned to his garret
when night came on, desolate and weary.

For many days he occupied himself in the same manner, but no
trace of his daughter did he meet with, and no word of her reached
his ears. At length he gave up the pursuit as hopeless. He had
long thought of the probability of her leaving him, and endeavouring
to gain her bread in quiet, elsewhere. She had left him at last to
starve alone. He ground his teeth, and cursed her !

He begged his bread from door to door. Every halfpenny he could
wring from the pity or credulity of those to whom he addressed him-
self, was spent in the old way. A year passed over his head ; the

The Memory of the Past. 375

roof of a jail was the only one that had sheltered him for many months.
He slept under archways, and in brickfields — anywhere, where there
was some warmth or shelter from the cold and rain. But in the last
stage of poverty, disease, and houseless want, he was a drunkard still.

At last, one bitter night, he sunk down on a door-step faint and ill.
The premature decay of vice and profligacy had worn him to the bone.
His cheeks were hollow and livid ; his eyes were sunken, and their
sight was dim. His legs trembled beneath his weight, and a cold
shiver ran through every limb.

And now the long-forgotten scenes of a misspent life crowded thick
and fast upon him. He thought of the time when he had a home — a
happy, cheerful homo — and of those who peopled it, and flocked about
him then, until the forms of his elder children seemed to rise from the
grave, and stand about him — so plain, so clear, and so distinct they
were that he could touch and feel them. Looks that he had long for-
gotten were fixed upon him once more ; voices long since hushed in
death sounded in his ears like the music of village bells. But it was
only for an instant. The rain beat heavily upon him ; and cold and
hunger were gnawing at his heart again.

He rose, and dragged his feeble limbs a few paces further. The
street was silent and empty ; the few passengers who passed by, at
that late hour, hurried quickly on, and his tremulous voice was lost
in the violence of the storm. Again that heavy chill struck through
his frame, and his blood seemed to stagnate beneath it. He coiled
himself up in a projecting doorway, and tried to sleep.

But sleep had fled from his dull and glazed eyes. His mind
wandered strangely, but he was awake, and conscious. The well-
known shout of drunken mirth sounded in his ear, the glass was at
his lips, the board was covered with choice rich food — they were
before him : he could see them all, he had but to reach out his hand,
and take them — and, though the illusion was reality itself, he knew
that he was sitting alone in the deserted street, watching tho rain-
drops as they pattered on the stones ; that death was coming upon
him by inches — and that there were none to care for or help him.

Suddenly he started up, in the extremity of terror. He had heard
his own voice shouting in the night air, he knew not what, or why.
Hark! A groan !— another ! His senses were leaving him: half-
formed and incoherent words burst from his lips ; and his hands
nought to tear and lacerate his flesh. He was going mad, and he
shrieked for help till his voice failed him.

He raised his head, and looked up the long dismal street. He
recollected that outcasts like himself, condemned to wander day and
night in those dreadful streets, had sometimes gone distracted with
their own loneliness. He remembered to have heard many years
before that a homeless wretch had once been found in a solitary corner,
sharpening a rusty knife to plunge into his own heart, preferring
death to that endless, weary, wandering to and fro. In an instant his

376 Sketches by Boz.

resolve was taken, his limbs received new life ; he ran quickly from
the spot, and paused not for breath until he reached the river-side.

He crept softly down the steep stone stairs that lead from the com-
mencement of Waterloo Bridge, down to the water's level. Ho
crouched into a corner, and held his breath, as the patrol passed.
Never did prisoner's heart throb with the hope of liberty and life half
so eagerly as did that of the wretched man at the prospect of death.
The watch passed close to him, but he remained unobserved ; and
after waiting till the sound of footsteps had died away in the distance,
he cautiously descended, and stood beneath the gloomy arch that forms
the landing-place from the river.

The tide was in, and the water flowed at his feet. The rain had
ceased, the wind was lulled, and all was, for the moment, still and
quiet — so quiet, that the slightest sound on the opposite bank, even
the rippling of the water against the barges that were moored there,
was distinctly audible to his ear. The stream stole languidly and
sluggishly on. Strange and fantastic forms rose to the surface., and
beckoned him to approach ; dark gleaming eyes peered from the
water, and seemed to mock his hesitation, while hollow murmurs from
behind, urged him onwards. He retreated a few paces, took a short
run, desperate leap, and plunged into the river.

Not five seconds had passed when he rose to the water's surface —
but what a change had taken place in that short time, in all his
thoughts and feelings ! Life — life in any form, poverty, misery, star-
vation— anything but death. He fought and struggled with the water
that closed over his head, and screamed in agonies of terror. The
curse of his own son rang in his ears. The shore — but one foot of
dry ground — he could almost touch the step. One hand's breadth
nearer, and he was saved — but the tide bore him onward, under the
dark arches of the bridge, and he sank to the bottom.

Again he rose, and struggled for life. For one instant — for one
brief instant — the buildings on the river's banks, the lights on the
bridge through which the current had borne him, the black water,
and the fast-flying clouds, were distinctly visible — once more he sunk,
and once again he rose. Bright flames of fire shot up from earth to
heaven, and reeled before his eyes, while the water thundered in his
oars, and stunned him with its furious roar.

A week afterwards the body was washed ashore, some miles down
the river, a swollen and disfigured mass. Unrecognised and unpitied,
it was borne to the grave ; and there it has long since mouldered
away!

THE END.

I'KINTKIJ BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

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