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THE 


WORKS 


THOMAS     HOOD 


EDITED    BY    EPES    SARGENT. 


VOL.    VI. 


NEW    YORK: 
GEORGE  P.   PUTNAM,   BROADWAY. 

1862. 


e. 

from   *W    \'\bvav\^    a?    3oe\     Y^ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

EPES    S ARGEN  T, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


snoA 


University  Press,  Cambridge : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co 


I 


¥79-5 


POLISHERS'    ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  contents  of  this  volume  have  been  collected  chiefly  from 
the  later  volumes  of  the  Comic  Annual  and  from  Hood's  Maga- 
zine. From  the  latter  work  is  taken  the  admirable  novel  of  "  Our 
Family,"  which  was  left  unfinished  at  the  author's  death.  Under 
the  general  title  of  "  Autobiographical  Papers,"  the  editor  has 
brought  together  such  portions  of  Hood's  writings  as  seem  adapted 
to  illustrate  his  literary  life  and  character,  as  well  as  those  which 
were  especially  designed  for  that  purpose.  The  various  sources 
from  which  these  papers  are  derived  are  sufficiently  indicated 
in  the  text. 


CONTENTS. 


OUR  FAMILY.  page 

Chapter    I.     We  are  Born 1 

II.     Our  Horoscope 8 

III.  We  are  Named .13 

IV.  The  Night  Summons    ......  19 

V.    A  Dilemma 25 

VI.     Catechism  Jack 32 

VII.     A  Patient 35 

VIII.    The  Altercation            40 

IX.     Our  Carver 48 

X.     The  Visit ;  and  the  Visitation     ....  51 

XL     Our  Doctor's  Boy 61 

XII.     Our  Godfather 65 

XIII.  Our  other  Godfather,  and  the  Godmother       .        .  74 

XIV.  The  Christening 77 

XV.    The  Supper •        .  81 

XVI.     A  Mystery    ........  86 

XVII.     A  Clew ...  93 

XVIII.     The  Parish  Board 102 

XIX.    Breaking  the  Plate  .......  112 

XX.     Our  Luck 121 

XXI.     A  Demonstration      .                 129 

XXII.     An  Invalid 139 

XXIII.     Our  Vaccination .  147 

COMIC  MISCELLANY. 

The  Fancy  Fair 153 

The  Schoolmaster  Abroad 158 

The  Morning  Call 165 

The  Sorrows  of  an  Undertaker 168 

London  Fashions  for  November 172 

Summer.  —  A  Winter  Eclogue 174 

The  House  of  Mourning.  —  A  Farce 181 

The  Elland  Meeting 188 

New  Harmony 197 

A  Letter  from  a  Settler  for  Life  in  Van  Diemen's  Land         .        .  200 

An  Irish  Rebellion 204 

The  Carnaby  Correspondence 209 

Right  and  Wrong.  —  A  Sketch  at  Sea 237 

The  Great  Conflagration 244 

Private  Correspondence 259 

The  Jubb  Letters 263 

The  Parish  Revolution 278 

Animal  Magnetism • 288 

Hints  to  the  Horticultural 296 

An  Intercepted  Despatch 302 


VI  CONTENTS. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL   PAPERS. 

Prefaces  to  the  Whims  and  Oddities 309 

Prefaces  to  the  Comic  Annuals 316 

From  Hood's  Own. 

Preface 350 

The  Portrait 355 

Literary  Reminiscences 360 

My  Apology 368 

Literary  Reminiscences. — No.  1 370 

Literary  Reminiscences.  —  No.  II 377 

Literary  Reminiscences.  —  No.  Ill 381 

Literary  Reminiscences.  —  No.  IV 385 

A  Serio-Comic  Reminiscence 415 

From  Hood's  Magazine. 

Prospectus 420 

Life  in  the  Sick-Room 423 

A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age 433 

The  Echo 436 

The  Echo 438 

The  Echo 440 

The  Echo 442 

Domestic  Mesmerism 444 

The  Echo 459 

My  Tract 461 

Copyright  and  Copywrong.  —  To  the  Editor  of  the  Athenaeum      .  466 

APPENDIX. 
Editorial  Notes 

(A.)  John  Scott        .         .                 496 

(B.)  Janus  Weathercock       ........  501 

(C.)  John  Clare 503 

(D.)  Edward  Herbert 504 

(E.)  Charles  Lamb 505 


OUR    FAMILY: 


A     DOMESTIC     NOVEL 


OUR    FAMILY. 

A    DOMESTIC     XOYEL 


CHAPTER    I. 

WE    ARE    BORX. 

The  clock  struck  seven  — 

But  the  clock  was  a  story-teller ;  for  the  true  time  was  One, 
as  marked  by  the  short  hand  on  the  dial.  The  truth  was,  our 
family  clock  —  an  old-fashioned  machine,  in  a  tall  mahogany 
case,  and  surmounted  by  three  golden  balls,  as  if  it  had  be- 
longed to  the  Lombards  —  was  apt  to  chime  very  capri- 
ciously. 

However,  it  struck  seven  just  as  my  father  came  down 
stairs  from  the  bedroom,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  whistling  in 
a  whisper,  as  his  custom  was  when  he  was  well  pleased,  and 
walking  along  the  passage  somewhat  more  than  usual  on  his 
tiptoes,  with  a  jaunty  gait,  he  stepped  into  the  sitting-room  to 
communicate  the  good  news.  But  there  was  nobody  in  the 
parlor  except  the  little  fairy-like  gentleman,  who  walked 
jauntily  to  meet  him,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  silently  whis- 
tling, in  the  old  mirror,  —  a  large  circular  one,  presided  over 
by  some  bronze  bird,  sacred  perhaps  to  Esculapius,  and  there- 
fore carrying  a  gilt  bolus,  attached  by  a  chain  to  Ins  beak. 

From  the  parlor  my  father  went  to  the  surgery  :  but  there 
was  nobody  there  ;  so  he  repaired,  perforce,  for  sympathy 
into  the  kitchen,  where  he  found  the  maid,  Kezia,  sitting  on 
a  wooden  chair,  backed  close  agahist  the  whitewashed  wall, 
her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  and  her  apron  thrown  over  her 
head,  apparently  asleep  and  snoring,  but  in  reality  praying 
half  aloud. 

1*  A 


2  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Well,  Kizzy,  it 's  all  happily  over." 

Kezia  jumped  up  on  her  legs,  and  having  acknowledged, 
by  a  bob,  her  master's  presence,  inquired  eagerly  "  which 
sects?" 

"  Doublets,  Kizzy,  doublets.     A  brace  of  boys  !  " 

"  What,  twins  !  O,  gimini  !  "  exclaimed  the  overjoyed 
Kezia,  her  cheeks  for  a  while  glowing  both  of  the  same  color. 
"  And  all  doing  well,  missis  and  babes  ?  " 

"  Bravely  —  famously  —  mother  and  all !  " 

"  The  Lord  preserve  her  ! "  said  Kezia,  with  emphatic 
fervor  — "  the  Lord  preserve  her  and  her  progeny,"  pro- 
nouncing the  last  word  so  that  it  would  have  rhymed  with 
mahogany. 

"  Progeny  —  with  a  soft  g"  muttered  my  father,  who  had 
once  been  a  schoolmaster,  and  had  acquired  the  habit  of  cor- 
recting "  cake-ology." 

"  Well,  proclge,  then,"  murmured  Kezia,  her  cheeks  again 
looking,  but  only  for  a  moment,  both  of  a  color.  For,  by  a 
freak  of  nature,  one  side  of  her  face,  from  her  eye  to  the 
corner  of  her  mouth,  was  blotched  with  what  is  called  a 
claret-mark  —  a  large  irregular  patch  of  deep  crimson,  which 
my  father,  fond  of  odd  coincidences,  declared  was  of  the  exact 
shape  of  Florida  in  the  map.  Be  that  as  it  might,  her  face, 
except  when  she  blushed,  exhibited  a  diversity  of  color  quite 
allegorical,  one  side  as  sanguine  as  Hope,  and  the  other  as 
pallid  as  Fear. 

Now,  a  claret-mark  is  generally  supposed  to  be  "  born  with 
the  individual ;  "  whereas  Kezia  attributed  her  disfigurement 
to  a  juvenile  face-ache,  to  relieve  which  she  had  applied  to 
the  part  a  hot  cabbage-leaf,  but  gathered  unluckily  from  the 
red  pickling  brassica  instead  of  the  green  one,  and  so  by 
sleeping  all  night  on  it,  her  cheek  had  extracted  the  color. 
An  explanation,  offered  in  perfect  good  faith  ;  for  Kezia  had 
no  personal  vanity  to  propitiate.  She  had  no  more  charms, 
she  knew,  than  a  cat  —  not  any  cat,  but  our  own  old  shabby 
tabby,  with  her  scrubby  skin,  a  wall  eye,  and  a  docked  tail. 
But  in  moral  Beauty  —  if  ever  there  had  been  an  annual 
Book  of  it  —  Kezia  might  have  had  her  portrait  at  full 
length. 

Her  figure  and  face  were  of  the  commonest  human  clay, 
cast  in  the  plainest  mould.     Her  clumsy  feet  and  legs,  her 


OUR  FAMILY.  3 

coarse  red  arms  and  hands,  and  dumpy  fingers,  her  ungainly 
trunk,  and  hard  features,  were  admirably  adapted  for  that 
rough  drudgery  to  which  she  unsparingly  devoted  them,  as 
if  only  fit  to  be  scratched,  chapped,  burnt,  sodden,  sprained, 
frostbitten,  and  stuck  with  splinters.  And  if  sometimes  her 
joints  stiffened,  her  back  ached,  and  her  limbs  flagged  under 
the  severity  of  her  labors,  was  it  not  all  for  the  good  of  that 
family  to  which  she  sacrificed  herself  with  the  feudal  devotion 
of  a  Highlander  to  his  clan  ?  In  short,  she  combined  in  one 
ungainly  bundle  of  household  virtues,  all  the  best  qualities  of 
our  domestic  animals  and  beasts  of  burden  —  loving  and  faith- 
ful as  the  dog,  strong  as  a  horse,  patient  as  an  ass,  and  tem- 
perate as  a  camel.  At  nineteen  years  of  age  she  had  engaged 
herself  to  my  mother  as  Servant  of  All  Work ;  and  truly, 
from  that  hour,  no  kind  of  labor,  hot  or  cold,  wet  or  dry,  clean 
or  dirty,  had  she  shunned :  never  inquiring  whether  it  be- 
longed to  her  place,  but  toiling,  a  voluntary  Slave,  in  all 
departments  ;  nay,  as  if  her  daily  work  were  not  enough, 
sleep-walking  by  night  into  parlor  and  kitchen,  to  clean 
knives,  wash  up  crockery,  dust  chairs,  or  polish  tables  ! 

To  female  servants  in  general,  and  to  those  in  particular 
who  advertise  for  small  families,  where  a  footman  is  kept, 
the  advent  of  two  more  children  would  have  been  an  un- 
welcome event :  perhaps  equivalent  to  a  warning.  Not  so 
with  Kezia.  Could  one  have  looked  through  her  homely 
bosom  into  her  heart,  or  through  her  plain  forehead  into  her 
brain,  they  would  have  been  found  rejoicing  beforehand  in 
the  double,  double  toil  and  trouble  of  attending  on  the  twins. 
My  father's  thoughts  were  turned  in  the  same  direction,  but 
with  a  gravity  that  put  an  end  to  his  sub-whistling,  and  led 
him,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest,  to  moralize  aloud. 

"  Two  at  once,  Kizzy,  two  at  once  —  there  will  be  sharp 
work  for  us  all.  Two  to  nurse  —  two  to  suckle  —  two  to 
wean  —  two  to  vaccinate  (he  was  sure  not  to  forget  that !)  — 
two  to  put  to  their  feet  —  " 

"  Bless  them  !  "  ejaculated  Kezia. 

"  Two  to  cut  their  teeth  —  two  to  have  measles,  and  hooping- 
cough  —  " 

"  Poor  things  !  "  murmured  Kezia. 

"  Ay,  and  what 's  worse,  two  more  backs  to  clothe  ;  and  two 
more  bellies  to  fill  —  and  I  can't  ride  on  two  horses,  and  pay 
two  visits  at  once." 


4  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  You  must  double  your  fees,  master." 
"  No,  no,  Kizzy,  that  won't  do.     My  patients  grumble  at 
them  already." 

"  Then  I  'd  double  their  physicking,  and  order  two  draughts, 
and  two  powders,  and  two  boxes  of  pills,  instead  of  one." 

"  But  how  will  they  like  such  double  drugging,  Kizzy  — 
supposing  that  their  constitutions  are  strong  enough  to  stand 
it?" 

Kezia  was  silent.  She  had  thrown  out  her  suggestion  for 
the  benefit  of  the  family  ;  and  beyond  that  limited  circle  her 
mind  never  revolved.  Her  sympathies  began,  and,  like 
Domestic  Charity,  ended  at  home.  Society,  and  the  large 
family  of  human  kind  in  general,  she  left  to  shift  for  them- 
selves. 

The  conversation  having  thus  dropped,  my  father  crept  up 
stairs  again,  to  see  how  matters  were  going  on  overhead ; 
whilst  the  maid  proceeded  to  answer  a  muffled  knock  at  the 
front-door,  followed  by  an  attempt  to  ring  the  night-bell, 
but  which  had  been  completely  dumbfounded  by  Kezia 
with  paper  and  rag.  The  appellant  was  Mr.  Postle,  the 
medical  assistant. 

"  A  nice  night  for  a  ride  through  the  Fens,"  grumbled  the 
deputy-doctor,  shaking  himself  in  his  great  coat  like  a  wet 
water-dog,  before  he  followed  the  maid  into  the  kitchen,  where 
he  seated  himself  in  his  steaming  clothes  before  the  fire. 

"  Mr.  Postle  !  " 

Mr.  Postle  looked  up  at  the  speaker,  and  saw  her  hard  fea- 
tures convulsively  struggling  into  what  bore  some  distant 
resemblance  to  a  smile. 

"  Mr.  Postle  ! "  and  her  voice  broke  into  a  sort  of  hysteri- 
cal chuckle.     "  You  don't  ask  the  news  ?  " 

"  What  news  ?  " 

"  What !  Why,  there 's  an  increase  of  the  family  !  "  said 
Kezia,  her  face  crimson  on  both  sides  with  the  domestic  tri- 
umph.    "  We  've  got  twins  !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  grunted  Mr.  Postle.  "  Better  one  strong  one, 
than  two  weakly  ones." 

"Weakly!"  exclaimed  Kezia;  "why,  they're  little  Her- 
culuses  !     Our  babbies  always  are." 

A  suppressed  laugh  caused  the  assistant  and  Kezia  to  look 
round,  and  they  beheld,  close  beside  them,  the  nurse,  Mrs. 


OUR  FAMILY.  5 

Prideaux.  It  was  one  of  her  peculiarities  that  she  never 
shuffled  about  slipshod,  or  in  creaking  leather ;  but  crept  along 
noiselessly  as  a  ghost,  in  a  pair  of  list  moccasons  ;  and  thus 
taking  advantage  of  my  father's  visit  to  the  bedchamber,  she 
had  descended  for  a  little  change  to  the  kitchen. 

A  very  superior  woman  was  Mrs.  Prideaux :  quite  the  at- 
tendant for  an  aristocratic  invalid,  lying  in  down,  beneath  an 
embroidered  quilt,  and  on  a  laced  pillow.  She  was  never 
seen  in  that  slovenly  dishabille,  so  characteristic  of  females 
of  her  profession  ;  no,  you  never  saw  her  in  a  slatternly 
colored  cotton  gown  drawn  up  through  the  pocket-holes,  and 
disclosing  a  greasy  nankeen  petticoat  with  ticking  pockets  — 
nor  in  a  yellow  nightcap,  tied  over  the  head  and  under  the 
chin  with  a  blue  and  white  bird's-eye  handkerchief —  looking 
like  a  Hybrid,  between  a  washerwoman  and  a  watchman. 
A  pure  white  dimity  robe,  tied  with  pale-green  ribbons,  was 
her  undress.  Her  personal  advantages  were  very  great.  Her 
figure  was  tall  and  genteel;  her  features  were  small  and 
regular  —  so  different  to  those  dowdy  Dodo-like  creatures, 
bloated,  and  ugly  as  sin,  who  are  commonly  called  "  nusses." 
Then  she  did  not  take  snuff ;  nor  ever  drank  gin  or  rum,  neat 
or  diluted :  a  glass  of  foreign  wine  or  liqueur,  or  brandy,  if 
genuine  Cognac,  she  would  accept ;  but  beer,  never.  No  one 
ever  heard  her  sniff,  or  saw  her  spit,  or  trim  the  candle-snuff 
with  her  fingers.  And  if  ever  she  dozed  in  her  chair,  as 
nurses  sometimes  must,  she  never  snored  :  but  was  lady-like 
even  in  her  sleep.  Her  language  was  not  only  free  from  vul- 
garisms and  provincialisms,  but  so  choice  as  to  be  generally 
described  as  "  book  English."  You  never  heard  Mrs.  Pri- 
deaux blessing  her  stars,  or  invoking  Goody  Gracious,  or  ask- 
ing Lawk  to  have  mercy  on  her,  or  asseverating  by  Jingo. 
She  would  have  died  ere  she  would  have  complained  of  her 
lines,  her  rheumatiz,  her  lumbargo,  or  the  molligrubs.  Such 
broad,  coarse  words  could  never  pass  those  thin,  compressed 
lips.  But  perhaps  the  best  test  of  her  refined  phraseology 
was,  that  though  the  word  was  so  current  with  mothers, 
fathers,  sisters,  brothers,  gossips,  and  servants  of  both  sexes, 
that  it  rang  in  her  ears,  at  least  once  in  every  five  minutes, 
she  never  said  —  babby. 

In  nothing,  however,  was  Mrs.  Prideaux  more  distinguished 
from  the  sisterhood,  than  the  tone  of  her  manners :  so  affable, 


q  OUR  FAMILY. 

yet  so  dignified  —  and  above  all,  that  serene  self-possession 
under  any  circumstances,  supposed  to  accompany  high  breed- 
ing and  noble  birth.  Thus,  nobody  ever  saw  her  flustered,  or 
non-plushed,  or  at  her  wit's  ends,  or  all  in  a  twitter,  or  narvous, 
or  ready  to  jump  out  of  her  skin  ;  but  always  calm,  cool,  and 
correct.  She  hinted,  indeed,  that  she  was  a  reduced  gentle- 
woman, deterred  by  an  independent  spirit  from  accepting  the 
assistance  of  wealthy  and  titled  connections.  In  short,  she 
was  a  superior  woman,  so  superior,  that  many  a  calculating 
visiter  who  would  have  tipped  another  nurse  with  a  shilling, 
felt  compelled  to  present  a  half-crown,  if  not  a  whole  one,  to 
Mrs.  Prideaux,  and  even  then  with  some  anxiety  as  to  her 
reception  of  the  offering. 

Such  was  the  prepossessing  person,  whose  presence  not- 
withstanding was  so  unwelcome  to  the  medical  assistant,  that 
her  appearance  in  the  kitchen  seemed  the  signal  for  his  depart- 
ure. He  rose  up  instantly  from  his  chair,  but  halted  a 
moment  to  ask  Kezia  if  there  had  been  any  applications  at 
the  surgery  in  his  absence. 

"Yes,  the  boy  from  the  curate's,  for  some  more  of  the  para- 
doxical lozenges  :  he  says  he  can't  preach  without  'em." 

"  Paregorical.     Well  ?  " 

"  And  Widow  Wakeman  with  a  complaint  —  " 

"  Ah !  in  her  hip." 

"  No,  in  her  mouth,  that  she  have  tried  the  Scouring  Drops, 
and  they  won't  clean  marble." 

"  I  should  think  not  —  they  're  for  sheep.     Well  ?  " 

"  Only  a  prescription  to  make  up.  Pulv.  something —  aqua, 
something  —  summoned,  and  cockleary." 

"  Anything  else  ?  " 

"  O  yes,  a  message  from  the  great  house  about  the  Brazen 
monkey." 

"  Curse  the  Brazil  monkey  !  "  and  snatching  up  a  candle, 
Mr.  Postle  yawned  a  good-night  apiece  to  the  females,  and 
with  half-closed  eyes  stumbled  off  to  bed. 

"  A  quick-tempered  person,"  observed  Mrs.  Prideaux,  as 
soon  as  the  subject  of  her  comment  was  beyond  earshot. 

"Yes,  rather  caloric,"  she  meant  choleric.  As  an  excep- 
tion to  her  simple  habits  Kezia  was  fond  of  hard  words, 
perhaps  because  they  were  hard,  just  as  she  liked  hard  work. 

"  Well,  Kezia,  you  observed  the  clock  ?  " 


OUR  FAMILY.  7 

"  The  clock,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  precise  date  of  birth  is  of  vast  importance  to 
human  destiny." 

"  O,  for  their  fortune-telling  !  I  never  thought  of  it  — 
never  ! "  And  the  shocked  Kezia  began  to  heap  on  herself, 
and  her  sieve  of  a  head,  the  most  bitter  reproaches. 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  nurse.  "  I  did  mark  the  time  exactly." 
And  as  she  spoke  she  drew  from  her  bosom,  and  gazed  at  a 
handsome  enamelled  watch,  with  a  gold  dial,  and  a  hand  that 
marked  the  seconds. 

"  You  are  aware  that  one  of  the  twin  infants  was  born  be- 
fore, and  the  other  after,  the  hour  of  midnight  ?  " 

"  No,  really !  "  exclaimed  Kezia,  her  dull  eyes  brightening 
at  the  prospect  of  a  double  festival.  "  Why,  then,  there  will 
be  two  celebrated  birthdays  !  " 

"  The  natal  hour  involves  matters  of  much  deeper  impor- 
tance than  the  keeping  of  birthdays,"  replied  the  nurse,  with 
a  startling  solemnity  of  tone  and  manner.  "  Look  here, 
Kezia,"  and  returning  the  watch  to  her  bosom,  she  drew  forth 
a  little  blue  morocco  pocketbook,  from  which  she  extracted  a 
paper  inscribed  with  various  signs  and  a  diagram.  "  Do  you 
know  what  this  is  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Kezia,  turning  the  paper  upside  down, 
after  having  looked  at  it  in  every  other  direction,  "  it  is  some 
of  Harry  O'Griffis's  characters." 

"  Not  precisely  hieroglyphics,"  said  the  nurse.  "  It  is  a 
scheme  for  casting  nativities.  See,  here  are  the  Twelve 
Houses,  —  the  first,  the  House  of  Life  ;  the  second,  of  Riches  ; 
the  third,  of  Brethren ;  the  fourth,  of  Parents  ;  the  fifth,  of 
Children  ;  the  sixth,  of  Health  ;  the  seventh,  of  Marriage  ; 
the  eighth,  of  Death  ;  the  ninth,  of  Religion  ;  the  tenth,  of 
Dignities ;  the  eleventh,  of  Friends ;  and  the  twelfth,  of 
Enemies." 

"  And  in  which  of  those  houses  were  our  two  dear  babbies 
born  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Kezia. 

Mrs.  Prideaux  looked  grave,  sighed,  and  shook  her  head  so 
ominously,  that  Kezia  turned  as  pale  as  marble,  her  very 
claret-mark  fading  into  a  scarcely  perceptible  tinge  of  pink. 

"  Don't  say  it  —  don't  say  it !  "  she  stammered,  while  the 
big  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes :  "  What !  cut  off  precock- 
shiously  like  blighted  spring  buds  !  " 


8  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  I  did  not  say  death,"  replied  the  nurse.  But  there  are 
other  malignant  signs  and  sinister  aspects,  that  foretell  mis- 
fortunes of  another  kind  —  for  instance,  poverty.  But  hush  —  " 
and  she  held  up  a  warning  forefinger  whilst  her  voice  subsided 
into  a  whisper. 

"  I  hear  your  master.  Leave  your  door  ajar,  and  I  will 
come  to  you  presently  in  your  own  room."  So  saying,  she 
rose  and  glided  spectre-like  from  the  kitchen  —  where  she  left 
Kezia  staring  through  a  haze,  damp  as  a  Scotch  mist,  at  a 
vision  of  two  little  half-naked  and  half-famished  babes  turning 
away,  loathingly,  from  a  dose  of  parish  gruel,  administered 
by  a  pauper  nurse,  with  a  workhouse  spoon. 


CHAPTER    II 

OUR    HOROSCOPE. 


A  long-  hour  had  worn  away,  and  still  Kezia  sat  in  her 
attic  with  the  door  ajar,  anxiously  expecting  the  promised 
visit  from  the  mysterious  nurse.  Too  excited  to  sleep,  she  had 
not  undressed,  but  setting  up  a  rushlight,  seated  herself  on  the 
bed,  and  gave  full  scope  to  her  foreboding  fancies,  till  all  the 
round  bright  spots,  projected  from  the  night  shade  on  the 
walls  and  ceiling,  appeared  like  so  many  evil  planets  portend- 
ing misfortunes  to  the  new-born.  From  these  reveries  she 
was  roused  by  a  very  low,  but  very  audible  whisper,  every 
syllable  clear  and  distinct  as  the  sound  of  a  belL 

"  Whose  room  is  that  in  front  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Postle's." 

"  Can  he  overhear  us  through  the  partition  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  word." 

"  You  are  certain  of  if?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  tried  it." 

"  Very  good."  And  Mrs.  Prideaux  having  first  carefully 
closed  the  door,  seated  herself  beside  the  other  female  on  the 
bed.  "  I  have  left  the  mother  and  her  lovely  twins  in  a  sound 
sleep." 

"  The  little  cherubs ! "  exclaimed  Kezia.     "  And  must  they, 


OUR  FAMILY.  9 

will  they,  sink  so  low  in  the  world,  poor  things !  Are  they 
unrevocably  marked  out  for  such  unprosperous  fortunes  in 
life?" 

"  They  must  —  they  will  —  they  are.  Listen,  Kezia  !  I 
have  not  been  many  days,  not  many  hours  under  this  roof; 
but  my  art  tells  me  that  the  wolf  already  has  more  than 
looked  in  at  the  door  —  that  the  master  of  this  house  knows, 
by  experience,  the  bitter  trials  of  a  poor  professional  man  — 
the  difficulties,  the  cruel  difficulties,  of  one  who  has  to  keep 
up  a  respectable  appearance  with  very  limited  means." 

"  The  Lord  knows  we  have  !  "  exclaimed  Kezia,  quite  thrown 
off  her  guard.  "  The  struggles  we  have  had  to  keep  up  our 
genteelity  !  The  shifts  we  have  been  obligated  to  make  —  as 
well  as  our  neighbors,"  she  added  hastily,  and  not  without  a 
twinge  of  mortification  at  having  let  down  the  family  by  her 
disclosures. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Prideaux,  with  a  series  of 
significant  little  nods.  "  Harassed,  worried  to  death,  for  the 
means  to  meet  the  tradesmen's  bills,  or  to  take  up  overdue  ac- 
ceptances. I  know  it  all.  The  best  china,  and  linen  parted 
with  to  help  to  make  up  a  sum  (Kezia  uttered  a  low  inward 
groan),  the  plate  in  pledge  (another  moan  from  Kezia),  and 
the  head  of  the  family  even  obliged  to  absent  himself,  to  avoid 
personal  arrest." 

11  She  is  a  witch,  sure  enough,"  said  Kezia  to  herself.  "  She 
knows  about  the  baileys." 

"Yes  —  there  have  been  sheriff's  officers  in  this  very 
house,"  continued  the  nurse,  as  if  reading  the  secret  thought 
of  the  other.  "  Xor  are  the  circumstances  of  your  master 
much  mended  even  at  the  present  time,"  —  and  she  fixed  her 
dark  eyes  on  the  pale-blue  ones,  that  seemed  to  contract  under 
their  gaze  like  the  feline  organ  under  excess  of  light  —  "  at 
this  moment,  when  there  are  not  six  bottles  of  what,  by  cour- 
tesy, we  will  call  sherry,  in  his  cellar,  nor  as  many  guineas  in 
his  bureau." 

"  Why,  as  to  the  wine,"  stammered  Kezia,  "  we  have  had 
company  lately,  and  I  would  not  answer  for  a  whole  dozen ; 
but  as  regards  the  pecunery,  I  feel  sure  —  I  know  —  I  'm 
positive  there  's  nigh  a  score  of  golden  guineas  in  the  house,  at 
this  blessed  moment  —  let  alone  the  silver  and  the  copper." 

"  Your  own,  perhaps  ?  " 
1* 


10  OUR   FAMILY. 

Kezia's  face  seemed  suddenly  suffused  all  over  with  claret, 
and  felt  as  hot  too  as  if  the  wine  had  been  mulled,  at  being 
thus  caught  out  in  an  equivocation,  invented  purely  for  the 
credit  of  the  family. 

"  In  a  word,"  said  the  nurse,  "  your  master  is  a  needy  man  ; 
and  the  addition  of  two  children  to  his  burdens  will  hardly 
improve  his  finances." 

"  But  our  practice  may  increase,"  said  Kezia.  "  We  may 
have  money  left  to  us  in  a  legacy  —  or  win  a  grand  prize  in 
the  lottery." 

"I  wish  it  was  on  the  horoscope,"  said  Mrs.  Prideaux, 
looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  as  if  appealing  through  it  to  the 
planetary  bodies.  "  But  the  stars  say  otherwise.  Rash  spec- 
ulations —  heavy  losses  by  bad  debts  —  and  a  ruinous  Chan- 
cery suit,  as  indicated  by  the  presence  of  Saturn  in  the  twelfth 
house." 

"  Satan  ! "  ejaculated  Kezia,  with  a  visible  shudder.  "  If 
he 's  in  the  house,  there  11  be  chancery  suits  no  doubt,  for  he 
is  in  league  they  say  with  all  the  lawyers,  from  the  judges 
down  to  the  'turneys." 

"  And  with  litigation,"  said  the  nurse,  "  will  come  rags  and 
poverty,  ay,  down  to  the  second  and  third  generations." 

"  What,  common  begging  —  from  door  to  door  ?  " 

"  Alas,  yes  —  mendicity  and  pauperism." 

"  Never ! "  said  Kezia,  with  energy,  starting  up  from  the 
bed,  and  holding  forth  her  clumsy  coarse  hands,  with  their 
ruddy  digits,  like  two  bunches  of  radishes  to  tempt  a  pur- 
chaser, — "  never !  whilst  I  can  work  with  these  ten  fin- 
gers !  " 

"  Of  course  not,  my  worthy  creature,  only  don't  be  quite  so 
vehement  —  of  course  not.  And,  as  far  as  my  own  humble 
means  extend,  you  shall  not  want  my  poor  co-operation.  I 
have  already  devoted  my  nursing-fee  and  perquisites,  what- 
ever may  be  the  amount,  towards  a  scheme  that  will  help 
to  secure  the  little  innocents  from  absolute  want.  There  is  a 
society,  a  sort  of  masonic  society  of  benevolent  individuals, 
privately  established  for  the  endowment  of  such  unfortunate 
little  mortals.  For  a  small  sum  at  the  birth  of  a  child,  they 
undertake  to  pay  him,  after  a  certain  age,  a  yearly  annuity  in 
proportion  to  the  original  deposit  —  a  heavenly  plan,  devised 
by  a  few  real  practical  Christians,  who  delight  in  doing  good  by 


OUR   FAMILY.  H 

stealth  ;  and  especially  to  such  forlorn  beings  as  are  born  under 
the  influence  of  a  malignant  star.  Now  the  year  that  threatens 
our  dear  darling  twins  is  the  seventh ;  a  tender  age,  Kezia,  to 
be  left  to  the  charity  of  the  wide  world ! " 

Poor  Kezia  turned  as  white  as  ashes  ;  and  for  some  minutes 
sat  speechless,  writhing  her  body  and  wringing  her  hands,  as 
if  to  wring  tears  out  of  her  finger-ends.  At  last,  in  a  fal- 
tering voice,  she  inquired  how  much  seventeen  guineas  would 
grow  into,  per  annum,  in  seven  years. 

"  Why,  let  me  see  ; "  and  Mrs.  Prideaux  began  to  calculate 
by  the  help  of  a  massive  silver  pencil-case  and  her  tablets ; 
"  seventeen  guineas,  for  seven  years,  with  interest  —  and  in- 
terest upon  interest  —  simple  and  compound  —  with  the  bonus, 
added  by  the  society  —  why,  it  would  positively  be  a  little  for- 
tune—  a  good  twenty  pounds  a  year  —  enough  at  any  rate  to 
secure  one,  or  even  two  persons,  from  absolute  starvation." 

Kezia  made  no  reply,  but  darted  off  to  a  large  iron-bound 
trunk  which  she  unlocked,  and  then  drew  from  it  a  little  round 
wooden  box,  the  construction  of  which,  every  one  who  has 
swallowed  Ching's  worm  medicine,  so  celebrated  some  thirty 
or  forty  years  ago,  will  very  readily  remember.  Unscrewing 
one  half  of  this  box  with  a  shrill  screeching  sound,  that  jarred 
the  nerves  of  Mrs.  Prideaux,  and  set  all  her  small  white  teeth 
on  edge,  Kezia  poured  into  her  own  lap,  from  a  compartment 
formerly  occupied  by  oval  white  lozenges,  ten  full  weight 
guineas  of  the  coinage  of  King  George  the  Third ;  then  turn- 
ing the  box,  and  opening  the  opposite  half,  with  a  similar 
skreek,  and  a  fresh  shock  to  the  nerves  and  teeth  of  the  gen- 
teel nurse,  she  emptied  from  the  division,  once  filled  with  oval 
brown  lozenges,  eight  half-guineas,  and  nine  seven-shilling 
pieces  ;  in  all,  seventeen  guineas,  the  sum  total  of  her  hoarded 
savings  since  she  had  been  at  service. 

"  Then,  take  them,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  apron  by  the 
corners,  with  the  precious  glittering  contents  towards  the 
nurse. 

"  Bless  you  —  bless  you  for  a  true  Samaritan ! "  replied 
Mrs.  Prideaux,  passing  her  hand  lightly  across  her  eyelashes 
—  whilst  something  like  a  tear  glistened  upon  one  of  her  fin- 
gers, but  the  radiance  came  from  a  brilliant  ring.  "  I  will  add 
this  bauble  to  the  stock,"  said  the  nurse,  drawing  it  off,  and 
throwing  it  into  Kezia's  apron.     "  But,  my  good  girl,  I  am 


12  OUR  FAMILY. 

afraid  you  have  contributed  your  all.  You  ought  to  consider 
yourself  a  little  —  you  may  be  ill  —  or  out  of  place.  At  any 
rate,  reserve  a  trifle  against  a  rainy  day." 

"  No,  no  —  don't  consider  me  —  take  it  all  —  all,  every  pen- 
ny of  it,"  sobbed  Kezia.  "  The  poor  dear  innocents  !  they  are 
as  welcome  to  it  as  my  own  little  ones  —  at  least,  if  I  had 
any." 

"  To  be  sure  it  is  for  them,  —  one  two,  three,"  said  the 
nurse,  counting  the  pieces  separately  into  a  stout  green-silk 
purse  with  gilt  rings  :  "  seventeen  guineas  exactly.  With  my 
own  poor  mite,  and  the  ring,  say  twenty,  or  five-and-twenty, 
to  be  invested  for  the  dear  twins  in  the  Benevolent  Endow- 
ment Society,  for  children  born  under  Malignant  Planets." 

"  O,  I  do  wish,"  exclaimed  Kezia,  with  the  abruptness  of  a 
sudden  inspiration,  "  I  do  wish  I  knew  the  fortune-teller  that 
prophesies  for  Moore's  Almanac ! " 

The  nurse  turned  her  keen  dark  eyes  on  the  speaker, 
and  for  a  minute  regarded  her,  as  if,  in  the  popular  phrase,  she 
would  have  looked  her  through  and  through.  But  the  scru- 
tiny satisfied  her ;  for  she  said  in  a  calm  tone,  that  the  name 
hi  question  was  very  well  known,  as  Francis  Moore,  phy- 
sician. 

"  But  people  say,"  objected  Kezia,  "  that  Francis  Moore  is 
only  his  alibi,"  she  meant  alias. 

"  It  is  not  her  name,"  replied  Mrs.  Prideaux,  with  a  marked 
staccato  emphasis  on  the  negative  and  the  pronoun.  "  But 
that  is  a  secret.  And  now,  mark  me,  Kezia  —  not  a  syllable 
of  this  matter  to  any  one,  and  least  of  all  to  the  parents.  The 
troubles  we  know  are  burdensome  enough  to  bear,  without  an 
insight  into  futurity.  And  to  foresee  such  a  melancholy  pros- 
pect predestined  to  the  offspring  of  their  own  loins." 

"  O,  not  for  the  world ! "  exclaimed  Kezia,  clasping  her 
hands  together.  "It  would  kill  them  outright  —  it  would 
break  both  their  hearts !  As  for  me,  it  don't  signify.  I  'm 
used  to  fretting.  O,  if  you  knew  the  wretched  sleepless 
hours  I've  enjoyed,  night  after  night,  when  master  was  in  his 
commercial  crisuses,  with  unaccommodating  bills  —  he  'd  have 
had  that  money  long  and  long  ago,  if  I  had  had  the  courage  to 
offer  it  to  him,  but  he  's  as  proud  on  some  points  as  Lucifer. 
And,  to  be  sure,  we  've  not  been  reduced  more  than  our  bet- 
ters, perhaps,  at  a  chance  time,  when  they  could  not  get  in 


OUR  FAMILY.  13 

their  rents  —  or  the  steward  absconded  with  them  —  or  the 
stocks  fell  suddenly  —  or  the  bank  was  short  of  cash  for  the 
dividends,  or  the  key  of  the  bureau  —  " 

She  stopped  short,  for  Mrs.  Prideaux  had  vanished.  So  af- 
ter an  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  a  thoughtful  turn  or  two 
up  and  down  her  chamber,  the  devoted  Kezia  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  and  prayed  fervently  for  her 
master,  her  mistress,  and  the  dear  little  progeny,  till  in  that 
devout  posture  she  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    III. 

WE    ARE    NAMED. 

It  is  assuredly  a  mercy  for  humankind  that  we  are  born 
into  this  world  of  folly  as  we  are,  mere  purblind,  sprawling, 
oysterly  squabs,  with  no  more  nous  than  a  polypus,  instead  of 
coming  into  it  with  our  wits  ready  sharpened,  and  wide  awake 
as  young  weasels !  Above  all,  it  is  providential  that  we  are 
so  much  more  accessible  to  lachrymose  than  ludicrous  impres- 
sions ;  more  prone  to  tears,  squallings,  sobs,  sighs,  and  blub- 
berings,  than  to  broad  grins  or  crowing  like  chanticleer.  For, 
while  at  a  royal  or  imperial  establishment,  one  Fool  has  gen- 
erally been  deemed  sufficient;  at  the  court  of  a  Lilliputian 
Infant  or  Infanta,  it  seems  to  be  held  indispensable  that  every 
person  who  enters  the  presence  must  play  the  zany  or  buffoon, 
and  act,  talk,  sing,  cut,  and  pull,  such  antics,  gibberish,  non- 
sense, capers,  and  grimaces,  that  nine  tenths  of  the  breed  of 
babies,  if  their  fancies  were  at  all  ticklesome,  must  needs  die 
of  ruptured  spleen,  bursten  bloodvessels,  split  sides,  or  shat- 
tered diaphragms.  Yes,  nine  tenths  of  the  species  would  go 
off  in  a  guffaw,  like  the  ancient  who  lost  his  breath  in  a  cach- 
innation,  at  seeing  an  ass  eating  figs.  For  truly  that  donkey 
was  nothing  to  the  donkeys,  nor  his  freak  worth  one  of  his  figs, 
compared  to  the  farcicalities  exhibited  by  those  he  and  she 
animals  who  congregate  around  the  cots  and  cradles  of  the 
nursery. 

Thus,  had  our  own  little  vacant  goggle-eyes  at  all  appreci- 


14  OUR  FAMILY. 

ated,  or  our  ignorant  sealed  ears  at  all  comprehended,  the  ab- 
surdities that  were  perpetrated,  said  and  sung,  daily  and  hourly, 
before  and  around  us,  my  Twin-Brother  and  myself  must 
inevitably,  in  the  first  week,  have  choked  in  our  pap,  and  died, 
strangled  in  convulsion  fits  of  inextinguishable  laughter,  or 
perhaps  jaw-locked  by  a  collapse  of  the  overstrained  risible 
muscles. 

It  would  have  been  quite  enough  to  shatter  the  tender  lungs 
and  midriff  of  a  precocious  humorist,  to  have  only  seen  that 
ungainly  figure  which  so  constantly  hung  over  us,  with  that 
strange  variegated  face,  grotesquely  puckering,  twisting,  screw- 
ing its  refractory  features  to  produce  such  indescribable  cack- 
lings,  chucklings,  and  chirruppings  ;  —  to  have  heard  her  dril- 
ling that  impracticable  peacocky  voice,  with  its  rebellious 
falsetto,  and  all  its  mazy  wanderings,  from  nasal  to  guttural, 
from  guttural  to  pectoral,  and  even  to  ventral,  with  all  its 
involuntary  quaverings,  gugglings,  and  gratings,  —  into  a 
soothing  lullaby,  or  cradle-hymn.  It  must  have  asphyxi- 
ated an  infant,  with  any  turn  for  the  comic,  to  have  seen  and 
heard  that  Id-like  creature  with  her  pied  red  and  white  face, 
lowing  — 

"  There  's  no  ox  a-near  thy  bed;  " 

or  that  astounding  flourish  of  tune,  accompanied  by  an  appro- 
priate brandishing  of  the  mottled  upper  limbs,  with  which  she 
warbled  — 

"  'Tis  thy  Kizzy  sits  beside  thee, 
And  her  harms  shall  be  thy  guard." 

It  was  ten  thousand  mercies,  I  say,  that  the  stolid  gravity  of 
babyhood  was  proof  against  such  sounds  and  spectacles  :  not 
to  forget  that  domestic  conclave,  with  its  notable  debate  as 
to  the  names  to  be  given  to  us  in  our  baptism. 

"  For  my  own  part,"  said  my  mother,  enthroned  in  a  huge 
dimity  covered  easy-chair,  "I  should  like  some  sort  of  names 
we  are  accustomed  to  couple  together,  so  as  to  make  them  out 
for  a  pair  of  twins." 

"Nothing  more  easy,"  said  my  father.  "There's  Castor 
and  Pollux." 

"Was  Castor  the  inventor  of  castor-oil?"  inquired  my 
mother,  in  the  very  simplicity  of  her  heart. 


OUR  FAMILY.  15 

"  Why,  not  exactly,"  replied  my  father,  suddenly  rubbing 
his  nose  as  if  something  had  tickled  him.  "  He  was  invented 
himself."  An  answer,  by  the  way,  which  served  my  other 
parent  as  a  riddle  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"  And  what  was  their  persuasion  ?  " 

"  Heathen,  of  course." 

"Then  they  shall  never  stand  sponsors  for  children  of 
mine,"  said  my  mother,  whose  religious  sentiments  were  strict- 
ly orthodox.  "  But  are  there  no  other  twin  brothers  celebrated 
in  history  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  father.     "  Valentine  and  Orson." 

a  Why,  one — one — one  of  them,"  exclaimed  Kezia,  stut- 
tering in  her  eagerness  — "  one  of  them  was  a  savage,  like 
Peter  the  Wild  Boy,  and  sucked  a  she-bear  ! " 

"  Then  they  won't  do,"  said  my  mother,  in  a  tone  of  great 
decision. 

u  And  Romulus  and  Remus  are  equally  ineligible,"  said  my 
father,  "  for  they  were  suckled  by  a  she-wolf." 

"  Bless  me  ! "  exclaimed  my  mother,  lifting  up  her  hands, 
"the  ferocious  beasts  in  those  days  must  have  been  much 
tamer  and  gentler  thaji  in  ours.  I  should  be  sorry  to  trust 
flesh  and  blood  of  mine  to  such  succedaneums  for  wet- 
nurses." 

"  And  what  would  be  your  choice,  Kizzy  ? "  inquired  my 
father,  turning  towards  the  maid  of  all  work,  who,  by  way  of 
employing  both  hands  and  feet,  had  volunteered  to  rock  the 
cradle,  whilst  she  worked  at  the  duplicate  baby-linen,  so  un- 
expectedly required. 

"  Why  then,"  said  Kezia,  rising  up  to  give  more  weight  to 
the  recommendation,  "  if  that  precious  pair  of  infants  was  mine, 
I  'd  christen  them  Jachin  and  Boaz." 

"  The  pillars  of  the  temple  "  —  said  my  father.  "  But  sup- 
pose, Kizzy,  the  boys  chose  to  go  into  the  army  or  navy  ?  " 

u  They  would  fight  none  the  worse,"  said  Kezia,  reddening, 
"  for  having  Bible  names  !  " 

"  Nor  better,"  said  my  father,  sotto  voce.  "  And  now,  per- 
haps, Mrs.  Prideaux  will  favor  us  with  her  opinion  ?  " 

But  the  genteel  nurse,  with  a  sweet  smile,  and  in  her  sil- 
very voice,  declined  advising  in  such  a  delicate  matter  ;  only 
hinting,  as  regarded  her  private  taste,  that  she  preferred  the 


16  OUR  FAMILY. 

select  and  euphonious,  as  a  prefix.  Her  own  son  was  named 
Algernon  Marmaduke  Prideaux. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  my  father,  leaning  his  head  thoughtfully  on 
one  side,  and  scratching  his  ear,  —  "perhaps  Postle  could 
suggest  something.     His  head 's  like  an  Encyclopaedia." 

"He  have,"  said  Kezia,  suspending  for  a  moment  her 
needlework  and  the  rocking  of  the  cradle.  "  He 's  for  Demon 
and  Pithy." 

"  For  what !  !  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother. 

"  Demon  and  Pithy. ' 

"  Phoo,  phoo  —  Damon  and  Pythias,"  said  my  father, 
"  famous  for  their  friendship,  like  David  and  Jonathan,  in  the 
classical  times." 

"  Then  they  're  heathens,  too,"  said  my  mother,  "  and  won't 
do  for  godfathers  to  little  Christians." 

A  dead  pause  ensued  for  some  minutes,  during  which  noth- 
ing was  audible  but  my  father's  ghost  of  a  whistle,  and  the 
gentle  creak,  creak,  of  the  wicker  cradle.  The  expression 
of  my  mother's  face,  in  the  mean  time,  changed  every  moment 
for  the  worse ;  from  puzzled  to  anxious,  from  anxious  to 
fretful. 

"  Well,  I  do  wish,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  just  at  the  tail  of 
a  long  sigh,  —  "I  do  wish,  George,  that  you  would  think  of 
some  name  for  our  twins.  For,  of  course,  you  don't  wish  them 
to  grow  up  anonymous  like  Tobit's  dog  ! " 

"  Of  course  not,"  replied  my  father.  "  But  I  can  hit  on 
only  one  more  suggestion.  Supposing  the  infants  to  be  re- 
markably fine  ones  —  " 

"  And  so  they  are  !  "  put  in  Kezia. 

"And  of  an  uncommon  size  for  twins  —  " 

"  They  're  perfect  Herculuses,"  cried  Kezia. 

"  What  think  you  of  Gog  and  Magog  ?  " 

"  Fiddle  and  fiddlestick  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  in  great 
indignation.  "  But  I  believe  you  would  joke  on  your  death- 
bed." 

"Rabelais  did,"  said  my  father.  "  But  come,"  he  added,  in 
his  genuine  serious  voice,  for  he  had  two,  a  real  and  a  sham 
Abraham  one,  "  it  is  my  decided  opinion  that  we  could  not  do 
better  than  to  name  the  children  after  your  brother.  He  is 
wealthy,  and  a  bachelor ;  and  it  might  be  to  the  advantage  of 
the  boys  to  pay  him  the  compliment." 


OUR   FAMILY.  17 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  too,"  said  my  mother.  "  But  my 
brother  doesn't  shorten  well.  Jinkins  Rumbold  is  well 
enough  ;  but  you  would  n't  like  to  hear  me,  when  I  wanted 
the  children,  calling  for  Jin  and  Rum." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  said  my  father,  "  I  am  philosopher  enough  to 
bear  that  for  the  chance  of  a  thumping  legacy  to  our  sons." 

The  genteel  nurse,  Mrs.  Prideaux,  backing  this  worldly 
policy  of  my  father's  with  a  few  emphatic  words,  my  mother 
concurred  ;  and,  accordingly,  it  was  decided  that  we  should  be 
called  after  Jinkins  Rumbold  ;  the  Jinkins  being  assigned  to 
my  twin  brother,  the  first-born,  and  the  Rumbold  to  my  "  cry- 
ing self." 

It  is  usual,  however,  in  dedicating  works,  whether  of  Art  or 
Nature,  in  one  or  two  volumes,  to  ask  previously  the  permis- 
sion of  the  dedicatee.  To  obtain  this  consent,  it  was  necessary 
to  write  to  our  Godfather  Elect :  and  accordingly  my  father 
retired  to  the  parlor,  and  seated  himself,  on  epistolary  deeds 
intent,  at  the  old  escrutoire.  But  my  parent  was  an  indiffer- 
ent letter-writer  at  the  best ;  and  the  task  was  even  more 
perplexing  than  such  labors  usually  are.  His  brother-in-law 
was  a  formalist  of  the  old  school  ;  an  antiquarian  in  dress, 
speech,  manners,  sentiments,  and  prejudices,  whom  it  would 
not  be  prudent  to  address  in  the  current  and  familiar  style  of 
the  day.  The  request,  besides,  involved  delicate  considera- 
tions, as  difficult  to  touch  safely,  as  impossible  to  avoid.  In 
this  extremity,  after  spoiling  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper  and  as 
many  pens,  my  father  had  recourse,  as  usual,  to  Mr.  Postle, 
who  came,  characteristically  at  his  summons,  with  a  graduated 
glass  in  one  hand,  and  a  bottle  of  vitriolic  acid  in  the  other. 
It  was  indeed  one  of  his  merits,  that  he  identified  himself, 
soul  and  body,  with  his  business  :  so  much  so,  that  he  was  re- 
ported to  have  gone  to  an  evening  party  with  his  handkerchief 
scented  with  spirits  of  camphor. 

"  Mr.  Postle,"  said  my  father,  "  I  want  your  opinion  on  a 
new  case.  Suppose  a  rich  old  hunks  of  a  bachelor  uncle, 
whom  you  wished  to  stand  godfather  to  your  twins,  what 
would  be  your  mode  of  treatment,  by  way  of  application  to 
him  ! " 

The  assistant,  thus  called  in  to  consultation,  at  once  ad- 
dressed himself,  seriously,  to  the  consideration  of  the  case. 
But  in  vain  he  stared  at  the  Esculapian  bronze  bird  with  the 


18  OUR  FAMILY. 

gilt  bolus  suspended  from  its  beak,  and  from  the  bird,  at  the 
framed  sampler,  and  thence  to  the  water-color  view  of  some 
landscape  in  Wales,  and  then  at  the  stuffed  woodpecker, 
and  in  turn  at  each  of  the  black  profiles  that  flanked  the 
mirror.  There  was  no  inspiration  in  any  of  them.  At  last 
he  spoke. 

"If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  sir,  I  think  if  we  were  to  ad- 
journ to  the  surgery,  I  could  make  up  my  mind  on  the  sub- 
ject. Like  the  authors,  who  write  best,  as  I  have  heard,  in 
their  libraries,  with  their  books  about  them,  my  ideas  are 
always  most  confluent,  when,  in  looking  for  them,  my  eyes 
rest  on  the  drawers,  and  bottles,  and  gallipots.  It 's  an  idio- 
syncrasy, I  believe,  but  so  it  is." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  my  father,  gathering  up  his  rough  composing 
drafts,  and  hurrying,  with  Postle  at  his  heels,  into  the  surgery, 
where  he  established  himself  at  the  desk.  The  assistant  in  the 
mean  time  took  a  deliberate  survey  of  all  the  wooden  earthen- 
ware, and  glass  repositories  for  drugs,  acid,  salt,  bitter,  or 
saccharine  ;  liquid,  solid,  or  in  powder. 

"  Now  then,  Postle,"  said  my  father,  "  how  would  you  set  to 
work  to  ask  a  rich  old  curmudgeon  to  stand  sponsor  to  your 
children  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,  sir,"  replied  Postle,  "  in  the  first  place,  I  would 
disclaim  all  idea  of  drawing  upon  him  "  —  (and  he  glanced  at 
a  great  bottle  apparently  filled  with  green  tinsel,  but  marked 
"  cantharides  ")  —  "  or  of  bleeding  him.  Next  I  would  throw 
in  gentle  stimulants,  such  as  an  appeal  to  family  pride,  and 
reminding  him  of  your  matrimonial  mixture.  Then  I  would 
exhibit  the  babies  —  in  as  pleasant  a  vehicle  as  possible  — 
flavored,  as  it  were,  with  cinnamon  "  —  (he  looked  hard  at  a 
particular  drawer)  —  "  and  scented  with  rose-water.  As  sweet 
as  honey  "  —  (he  got  that  hint  from  a  large  white  jar)  —  "  and 
as  lively  as  leeches."  (He  owed  that  comparison  to  a  great 
fact  on  the  counter.) 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  father. 

"After  that,"  continued  Mr.  Postle,  "I  would  recommend 
change  of  air  and  exercise,  namely,  by  coming  down  to  the 
christening:  with  an  unrestricted  diet.  I  would  also  promise 
to  make  up  a  spare  bed  for  him,  according  to  the  best  pre- 
scriptions ;  with  a  draught  of  something  comforting  to  be 
taken  the  last  thing  at  night.     Say,   diluted  alcohol,  sweet- 


OUR   FAMILY.  19 

ened  with  sugar.     Add  a  little  essential  oil  of  flummery  ;  and 
in  case  of  refusal,  hint  at  a  mortification." 

"  Capital !  —  Excellent !  "  exclaimed  my  father.  And  on 
this  medical  model  he  actually  constructed  a  letter,  before 
dinner-time,  which  might  otherwise  have  puzzled  him  for  a 
week  ! 


CHAPTER    IV. 


The  bed  in  the  spare  bedroom  had  been  aired  for  my 
father :  who,  between  his  attendance  on  my  mother,  and 
another  lady  in  the  same  predicament,  had  never  been  out  of 
his  cloches  for  three  successive  nights.  But  the  time  for 
repose  had  arrived  at  last ;  he  undressed  hastily,  and  was 
standing  in  his  nightgown  and  nightcap,  his  hand,  with  the 
extinguisher  just  hovering  over  the  candle,  when  he  heard,  or 
thought  he  heard,  his  name  called  from  without.  He  stopped 
his  hand  and  listened  —  not  a  sound.  It  had  been  only  the 
moaning  of  the  wind,  or  the  creaking  of  the  great  poplar  at 
the  end  of  the  house  ;  and  the  hollow  cone  was  again  descend- 
ing over  the  flame  when  his  name  was  shouted  out  in  a  per- 
emptory tone  by  somebody  close  under  the  window.  There 
could  be  no  mistake.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  put  down  the  ex- 
tinguisher—  opened  the  casement,  and  put  forth  his  head. 
Through  the  gloom  he  could  just  perceive  the  dark  figure  of 
a  man  on  horseback. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

"  Why  the  devil,"  grumbled  the  fellow,  "  have  you  muffled 
the  night-bell  ?     I  've  rung  a  dozen  times." 

"Why?"  —  replied  my  father — "why,  because  my  mis- 
tress is  confined." 

"  I  wish  mine  was,"  growled  the  man,  "  in  a  madhouse. 
You  're  wanted." 

"  To-night  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  I  'm  sent  express  for  you.     You  're  to  come  direct- 

iy." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"At  the  great  house,  to  be  sure." 


20  OUR   FAMILY. 

"Well,  I'll  come  — or  at  any  rate  Mr.  Postle  —  " 

"  No  —  you  must  come  yourself." 

My  father  groaned  in  spirit,  and  shuddered  as  if  suddenly 
struck  to  the  lungs  by  the  night-air. 

"  Who  is  ill  ?  "    he  asked  ;  "  is  it  Prince  George  ?  " 

"  No  —  it 's  the  little  "  —  the  rest  was  lost  in  the  sound  of 
the  horse's  heels  as  the  messenger  turned  and  rode  off. 

My  father  closed  the  casement  with  a  slam  that  nearly  broke 
the  jingling  glass  ;  and  for  some  minutes  stood  ruefully  look- 
ing from  the  candle  to  the  bed,  and  from  the  bed  to  the  chair 
with  his  clothes.  But  there  was  no  remedy  ;  with  his  rapidly 
increasing  family  he  could  not  afford  to  slight  a  patient  at  the 
great  house.  So  he  plucked  off  his  nightcap,  threw  it  on  the 
floor,  and  with  both  hands  harrowed  and  raked  at  his  hair,  till 
every  drowsy  organ  under  it  was  thoroughly  wakened  up  ; 
then  he  dressed  hastily,  crept  down  stairs,  wisped  a  bandana 
round  his  throat,  struggled  into  his  great-coat,  thrust  on  his 
worst  hat,  and,  pocketing  the  door-key,  stepped  forth  into  the 
dark,  damp,  chill  air.  He  thought  he  never  felt  so  uncomfort- 
able a  night  in  his  life,  or  encountered  worse  weather ;  but  he 
thought  a  mistake.  He  had  met  with  inferior  qualities  by  fifty 
degrees.  However  there  were  disagreeables  enough,  wind 
and  fog,  and  his  road  lay  for  half  a  mile  on  the  border  of  a 
Lincolnshire  river,  and  through  a  dreary  neighborhood,  —  for 
out  of  Holland  or  Flanders,  there  was  not  such  another  village, 
so  low  and  flat,  with  so  much  water,  running  and  stagnant,  in 
canals  and  ditches,  amidst  swampy  fields  growing  the  plant 
cannabis,  or  hemp  —  or  with  so  many  windmills,  and  bulrushes, 
and  long  rows  of  stunted  willows,  relieved  here  and  there  by 
an  aspen  that  seemed  shivering  with  the  ague.  On  he  went, 
yawning  and  stumbling,  past  the  lock,  and  over  the  bridge, 
and  along  by  the  row  of  low  cottages,  all  as  dark  as  death  ex- 
cept one,  and  that  was  as  dark  as  death  too,  in  spite  of  its 
solitary  bright  window.  For  the  doctor  stopped  as  he  went 
by  to  peep  in  at  the  narrow  panes,  and  saw  one  of  those  sights 
of  misery,  that  the  eye  of  Providence,  a  parish  doctor,  a 
clergyman  occasionally,  and  a  parliamentary  commissioner  still 
more  rarely,  have  to  look  upon.  On  the  bed,  if  bed  it  might 
be  called,  for  it  was  a  mere  heap  of  straw,  matting,  rushes, 
and  rags,  covered  by  a  tattered  rug,  sat  the  mother,  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro,  over  the  dead  child,  wasted  to  a  skeleton, 


OUR   FAMILY.  21 

that  was  lying  stark  across  her  lap.  Beside  her  sat  her 
husband,  staring  steadfastly,  stupid  with  grief  at  the  flame  of 
the  rushlight,  his  hollow  cheeks  showing  yellow,  even  by  the 
caudle-light,  from  recent  jaundice.  Neither  moved  their  lips. 
On  the  floor  lay  an  empty  vial,  with  the  untasted  medicine 
beside  it  in  a  broken  teacup  ;  there  was  a  little  green  rush 
basket  near  the  mother's  feet,  with  a  few  faded  buttercups  — 
the  last  toys.  My  father  saw  no  more,  for  the  light  that  had 
been  flickering,  suddenly  went  out,  and  added  Darkness  to 
Sorrow  and  Silence. 

In  spite  of  his  medical  acquaintance  with  similar  scenes  of 
wretchedness,  he  was  shocked  at  this  startling  increase  of  des- 
olation ;  and  for  a  moment  was  tempted  to  step  in  and  offer  a 
few  words  of  consolation  to  the  afflicted  couple.  But  before 
his  hand  touched  the  latch,  reflection  reminded  him  from  his 
experience,  how  inefficacious  such  verbal  comfort  had  ever 
been  with  the  poor,  except  from  sympathizers  of  their  own 
condition.  In  the  emphatic  words  of  one  of  his  pauper 
patients,  "  When  a  poor  man  or  woman,  as  low  down  in  life 
as  myself,  talks  to  me  about  heaven  above,  it  sounds  as  sweet- 
like as  a  promise  of  going  back  some  day  to  my  birthplace, 
and  my  father's  house,  the  home  of  my  childhood  ;  but  when 
rich  people  speak  to  me  of  heaven,  it  sounds  like  saying,  now 
you  're  old  and  worn  out,  and  sick,  and  past  work,  and  come 
to  rags,  and  beggary,  and  starvation,  there  's  heaven  for  you  — 
just  as  they  say  to  one,  at  the  last  pinch  of  poverty  —  by  way 
of  comforting  —  there 's  the  parish." 

So  my  father  sighed  and  walked  on :  those  two  wretched, 
sickly,  sorrow-stricken  faces,  and  the  dead  one,  seeming  to 
flash  fitfully  upon  him  out  of  the  darkness,  as  they  had  ap- 
peared and  vanished  again  by  the  light  of  the  flickering 
candle.  And  with  this  picture  of  human  misery  in  his  mind's 
eye  he  arrived  at  the  Great  House:  and  still  carrying  the 
dolorous  images  on  his  retina,  across  the  marble  hall,  and  up 
the  painted  staircase,  and  through  the  handsome  antechamber, 
stepped  with  it,  still  vivid,  into  the  luxurious  drawing-room, 
that  presented  a  new  and  very  different  scene  of  distress. 

On  her  knees,  beside  the  superb  sofa,  was  the  weeping  lady 
of  the  mansion,  bending  over  the  little  creature  that  lay  shiv- 
ering on  the  chintz  cushion,  with  its  arms  hugging  its  own 
diminutive  body,  and  the  knees  drawn  up  to  the  chesL    Its  dark 


22  OUR  FAMILY. 

almond-shaped  eyes  rolled  restlessly  to  and  fro :  its  tiny  mouth 
seemed  puckered  up  by  suffering,  and  its  cheeks  and  forehead 
were  deeply  wrinkled,  as  if  by  premature  old  age.  The  nurse, 
a  young  woman,  was  in  attendance,  so  exhausted  by  watching 
that  she  was  dosing  on  her  feet. 

As  my  father  advanced  into  the  room,  he  could  distinguish 
the  low  moaning  of  the  afflicted  lady,  intermixed  with  all  those 
fond  doting  epithets  which  a  devoted  mother  lavishes  on  her 
sick  child.  The  moment  she  became  aware  of  his  presence 
she  sprang  up,  with  a  slight  hysterical  shriek,  and  running  to 
meet  him,  exclaimed, 

"  O  doctor,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come  !  I  have  been 
in  agonies  !  My  poor  dear  darling,  Florio,  is  ill  —  going  — 
dying !  "  and  she  sobbed  aloud,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief. 

My  father  hastily  stepped  past  her,  to  the  sofa,  to  look  at 
the  patient :  and  at  the  risk  of  bursting,  suppressed  an  oath 
that  tingled  at  the  very  tip  of  his  tongue.  A  single  glance 
had  filled  up  the  hiatus  in  the  groom's  communication  —  the 
sufferer  was  a  little  Brazilian  monkey. 

My  father's  surprise  was  equal  to  his  disgust,  aggravated  as 
it  was  by  a  vivid  remembrance  of  the  domestic  distress  he 
had  so  recently  witnessed  through  the  cottage-window.  His 
head  filled  with  that  human  bereavement,  he  had  totally  for- 
gotten the  circumstance  that  once  before  he  had  been  sum- 
moned to  the  Great  House  on  a  similar  errand  —  to  prescribe 
for  a  sick  lapdog,  named  after  an  illustrious  personage,  at  that 
time  very  popular,  as  Prince  George.  But  the  whispers  of 
Prudence  stifled  the  promptings  of  Indignation,  reminding 
him,  just  in  time,  that  he  was  a  poor  country  practitioner,  the 
father  within  the  last  eight  and  forty  hours  of  a  pair  of  twins. 
Accordingly  he  proceeded  with  all  gravity  to  feel  the  pulse 
and  examine  the  skin  of  the  dwarf  animal ;  laying  his  hand 
on  the  chest  to  estimate  the  action  of  the  heart ;  and  even 
ascertaining,  at  the  expense  of  a  small  bite,  the  state  of  the 
tongue. 

The  weeping  lady  in  the  mean  time  looked  on  with  intense 
anxiety,  uttering  incoherent  ejaculations,  and  putting  questions 
with  unanswerable  rapidity.  "O  the  darling!  —  my  pre- 
cious pet !  —  is  he  hot  —  is  he  feverish  ?  My  little  beauty  !  — 
Is  n't  he  very  ill  ?     He  don't  eat,  doctor  —  he  don't  drink  — 


OUR   FAMILY.  23 

he  don't  sleep  —  he  don't  do  anything  —  poor  dear  !  Look 
how  he  shivers  !     Can  you  —  can  you  —  do  anything  for  him 

—  my  little  love  of  loves  !     If  he  dies  I  shall  go  distracted 

I  know  I  shall  —  but  you  '11  save  him  —  you  will,  won't  you  ? 
O  do,  do,  do  prescribe  —  there  's  a  dear  good  doctor  !  What 
do  you  think  of  him  —  my  suffering  sweet  one  ?  —  tell  me,  tell 
me,  pray  tell  me  —  let  me  know  the  worst  —  but  don't  say 
he  '11  die  !  He'll  get  over  it,  won't  he  —  with  a  strong  consti- 
tution ?  —  say  it 's  a  strong  constitution.  O,  mercy  !  look 
how  he  twists  about !  —  my  own,  poor,  dear,  darlino-  little 
Flora ! " 

My  father,  during  this  farrago,  felt  horribly  vexed  and  an- 
noyed, and  even  looked  so  in  spite  of  himself:  but  the  contrast 
was  too  great  between  the  silent,  still,  deep  sorrow  —  still 
waters  are  deep  —  for  a  lost  child,  and  these  garrulous  lamen- 
tations over  a  sick  brute.  But  the  hard,  cold,  severe  ex- 
pression of  his  face  gradually  thawed  into  a  milder  one,  as 
the  idea  dawned  upon  him  of  a  mode  of  extracting  o-ood  out 
of  evil,  which  he  immediately  began  to  put  in  practice. 

';  This  little  animal,"  —  he  intended  to  have  said  my  little 
patient,  but  it  stuck  in  his  throat  —  "  this  little  animal  has  no 
disease  at  present,  whatever  affection  may  hereafter  be  estab- 
lished, unless  taken  in  time.  It  is  suffering  solely  from  cold 
and  change  of  climate.  The  habitat  of  the  species  is  the 
Brazils  ;  and  he  misses  the  heat  of  a  tropical  sun." 

"Of  course  he  does  —  poor  thing!"  exclaimed  the  lady. 
"But  it  is  not  my  fault  —  I  thought  the  Brazils  were  in 
France.     He  shall  have  a  fire  in  his  bedroom." 

"  It  will  do  no  harm,  madam,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  But  he 
would  derive  infinitely  more  benefit  from  animal  heat  —  the 
warmth  of  the  human  body." 

"  He  shall  sleep  with  Cradock ! "  exclaimed  the  lady,  look- 
ing towards  the  drowsy  young  woman,  who  bit  her  lips  and 
pouted  :  "  and  mind,  Cradock,  you  cuddle  him." 

"  I  should  rather  recommend,  madam,"  said  my  father,  "  a 
much  younger  bedfellow.  There  is  something  in  the  natural 
glow  of  a  young  child  peculiarly  restorative  to  the  elderly  or 
infirm  who  suffer  from  a  defect  of  the  animal  warmth  —  a  fact 
well-known  to  the  faculty :  and  some  aged  persons  even  are 
selfish  enough  to  sleep  with  their  grandchildren,  on  that  very 
account.     I  say  selfish,  for  the  benefit  they  derive  is  at  the 


24  OUR  FAMILY. 

expense  of  the  juvenile  constitution,  which  suffers  in  propor- 
tion." 

"  But  where  is  one  to  get  a  child  for  him  ?  "  inquired  the 
lady,  perfectly  willing  to  sacrifice  the  health  of  a  human  little 
one  to  that  of  her  pet  brute. 

"  I  think  I  can  manage  it,  madam,"  said  my  father,  "  amongst 
my  pauper  patients  with  large  families.  Indeed,  I  have  a  little 
girl  in  my  eye." 

"  Can  she  come  to-night  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  my  father.  "  But  to-morrow,  ma'am,  as 
early  as  you  please." 

"  Then  for  to-night,  poor  dear,  he  must  make  shift  with 
Cradock,"  said  the  lady,  "  with  a  good  tropical  fire  in  the  room, 
and  heaps  of  warm  blankets." 

(Poor  Cradock  looked  hot,  at  the  very  thought  of  it.) 

"  And  about  his  diet  ?  "  asked  the  lady  —  "  it 's  heart-breaking 
to  see  his  appetite  is  so  delicate.  He  don't  eat  for  days  to- 
gether." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  eat,"  said  my  father,  "  for  monkeys,  you 
know,  madam,  are  very  imitative,  when  the  child  sets  him  the 
example." 

"  I  '11  stuff  her  !  "  said  the  lady. 

"  It  can  do  her  no  harm,"  said  my  father  ;  "  on  the  contrary, 
good  living  will  tend  to  keep  up  her  temperature.  And  as 
her  animal  warmth  is  the  desideratum,  she  must  be  carefully 
guarded  against  any  chill." 

"  I  '11  clothe  her  with  warm  things,"  said  the  lady,  "  from 
head  to  foot." 

"  And  make  her  take  exercise,  madam,"  added  my  father  : 
"  exercise  in  the  open  air,  in  fine  weather,  to  promote  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood,  and  a  fine  glow  on  the  skin." 

"  Cradock  shall  play  with  her  in  the  garden,"  said  the  lady ; 
"  they  shall  both  have  skipping-ropes." 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else,"  said  my  father  ;  "  and  if  such 
careful  treatment  and  tender  nursing  will  not  cure  and  pre- 
serve her,  I  do  not  know  what  will." 

"  O,  it  must,  it  will,  it  shall  cure  her,  the  darling  precious  ! " 
exclaimed  the  delighted  lady,  clapping  her  jewelled  hands. 
"  What  a  nice  clever  doctor  you  are  !  A  hundred,  thousand, 
million  thanks !  I  can  never,  never,  never  repay  you  ;  but, 
in  the  mean  time,  accept  a  slight  token  of  my  gratitude,"  and 
she  thrust  her  purse  into  my  father's  hand. 


OUR  FAMILY.  25 

For  an  instant  he  hesitated ;  but,  on  second  thoughts,  he 
pocketed  her  bounty,  and  with  due  thanks  took  his  leave. 
"  After  all,"  he  thought,  as  he  stepped  through  the  antecham- 
ber, "  I  am  glad  I  was  called  in.  The  monkey  may  live  or 
die  ;  but,  at  any  rate,  poor  little  Betty  Hopkins  is  provided 
for  one  while  with  a  roof  over  her.  and  food,  and  raiment." 

The  night  was  finer  ;  the  weather,  as  he  stepped  into  it, 
was  wonderfully  improved  :  at  least  he  thought  so.  which  was 
the  same  thing.  With  a  light,  brisk  step  he  walked  home- 
wards, whistling  much  above  his  usual  pitch,  till  he  came 
abreast  of  the  cottage  of  mourning.  There  he  stopped,  and 
his  sibilation  sunk  into  silence,  as  the  three  melancholy  faces, 
the  yellow,  the  pale,  and  the  little  white  one,  again  flashed  on 
his  memory.  Then  came  the  faces  of  his  own  twin  children, 
but  fainter,  and  soon  vanishing.  His  hand  groped  wearily  for 
the  latch,  his  thumb  stealthily  pressed  it  down  ;  the  door  was 
softly  pushed  a  little  ajar,  and  the  next  instant,  something  fell 
inside  with  a  chinking  sound  on  the  cottage  floor.  The  door 
silently  closed  again,  the  latch  quietly  sunk  into  the  catch  ; 
and  my  father  set  off  again,  walking  twice  as  fast  and  whis- 
tling thrice  as  loud  as  before.  A  happy  man  was  he,  for  all  his 
poverty,  as  he  let  himself  in  with  the  house-key  to  his  own 
home,  and  remembered  that  he  had  under  its  roof  two  living 
children,  instead  of  one  dead  one.  Quickly,  quickly  he  un- 
dressed and  got  into  bed  :  and,  oh  !  how  soundly  lie  slept,  and 
how  richly  he  deserved  to  sleep  so,  with  that  delicious  dream 
that  visited  him  in  his  slumbers,  and  gave  him  a  foretaste  of 
the  joys  of  heaven  ! 


CHAPTER    V 

A    DILEMMA. 


The  sun  was  high  in  heaven  ere  my  father  awoke  the 
next  morning,  roused  from  his  Elysian  dreams  by  the  swal- 
lows which  first  twittered  at  the  eaves  above  the  window,  and 
then,  after  wheeling  round  the  gable,  went  skimming  along  the 
surface  of  the  glittering  river  in  front  of  the  house  :  contriving, 
2 


26  OUR   FAMILY. 

temperate  creatures  though  they  be,  to  moisten  their  clay  in 
the  passage.  The  good  Doctor  sprang  from  his  bed,  threw 
open  his  casement,  and  looking  cheerfully  out  in  the  fresh 
bright  air,  began  whistling,  in  his  old  quiet  way,  the  White 
Cockade.  In  the  language  of  the  professional  bulletins,  he  had 
passed  a  good  night :  whereas  my  mother's  had  been  a  bad 
one.  On  paying  his  morning  visit,  he  found  her  weak  and 
languid ;  her  face  faded  to  a  dull  white,  that,  with  its  solid, 
settled  gravity,  reminded  him  of  cold  suet  dumpling. 

"  Your  mistress  seems  poorly  this  morning,"  said  my 
father,  addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Prideaux,  who  had  just 
entered  the  bedroom,  dressed  in  a  morning  costume  of  peculiar 
neatness. 

"  I  have  certainly  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  lady  look 
better,"  answered  the  nurse,  "  but  she  has  been  watchful,  and 
giving  way  to  mental  solicitude." 

"  Solicitude  !  —  about  what  ?  " 

"  It 's  about  the  christening,"  said  my  mother,  with  a  sigh 
of  exhaustion.  "  I  have  hardly  slept  a  wink  all  night  for 
thinking  of  it  —  and  cannot  yet  make  up  my  mind." 

"  As  to  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  whether  we  should  have  two  godfathers  or  four." 

"  Four  godfathers  !  " 

"  Yes  —  four,"  said  my  mother.  "  Kezia  says,  as  there 
are  twins  to  baptize,  there  must  be  a  double  set  of  sponsors. 
And  certainly,  according  to  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer, 
she  is  right.  Here  it  is  —  "  and  she  pulled  the  authority 
from  under  her  pillow  —  "  The  Ministration  of  Public  Bap- 
tism of  Infants,  to  be  used  in  the  Church.  And  note,  that 
there  shall  be  for  every  male  child  to  be  baptized  two  godfathers 
and  one  godmother." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  my  father.  "  The  rule  seems  plain 
enough.  But  will  not  the  same  pair  of  sponsors  serve  over 
again  for  the  second  child  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  very  point,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  have  been 
turning  it  over  and  over,  all  night  long,  till  my  poor  head  is  in 
a  whirl  with  it ;  but  am  none  the  nearer.  What  is  your  own 
impression  about  it  ?  " 

"  The  duties  of  a  godfather  are  rather  serious,"  said  my 
father,  "  and  if  duly  fulfilled  would  be  somewhat  onerous. 
But  as  they  are  commonly  performed,  or  rather  compounded 
for,  by  some  trifling  gift,  a  spoon,  a  mug,  or  a  coral  —  " 


OUR   FAMILY.  27 

"  And  some  godfathers,"  exclaimed  my  mother,  "  neglect 
even  that !  There  was  old  Mackworth,  who  stood  for  little 
Tomkins,  and  rich  as  he  is,  never  gave  his  godson  so  much  as 
a  salt-spoon  !  " 

"  Such  being  the  case,"  said  my  father,  putting  on  his  gravest 
face,  "  I  really  think  that  a  couple  of  able-bodied  men  might 
stand  sponsors,  not  merely  for  two  babies,  but  for  a  whole  reg- 
iment of  infantry." 

"  It  depends  on  the  canons,"  said  my  mother,  unconsciously 
supplying  the  infantry  of  my  father's  equivoque  with  appro- 
priate artillery. 

"  On  the  what  ?  " 

"  On  the  canons  of  the  church,"  said  my  mother  ;  "  and  I  do 
wish  that  in  your  rounds  you  would  look  in  on  the  Curate  and 
obtain  his  dictum  on  the  subject." 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Prideaux  can  enlighten  us,"  said  my  father, 
turning  towards  that  lady-like  personage,  who  was  hushing  my 
brother  on  her  lap,  with  a  lullaby  refined  enough  to  have  been 
of  her  own  composition. 

"  No,  I  have  asked  Mrs.  Prideaux,"  interposed  my  mother ; 
"  but  she  has  never  nursed  twins  before,  she  says,  and  there- 
fore cannot  furnish  a  precedent." 

"  And  if  the  Curate  has  never  baptized  twins  before,"  said 
my  father,  "  he  will  be  in  the  same  predicament." 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  my  mother,  looking  as  blank  as 
if  the  clergyman  in  question  had  already  declared  himself  at 
the  supposed  nonplus.  "I'm  quite  troubled  about  it,  and 
have  been  sleepless  all  night.  It  would  break  my  heart  to 
find  hereafter  that  the  dear  infants  had  only  been  half  Chris- 
tianized through  any  departure  from  the  orthodox  rules." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said  my  father,  starting  up  from  a 
brief  reverie,  during  which  he  had  assumed  his  usual  air 
and  attitude,  at  the  consideration  of  an  intricate  case.  I  '11 
ask  Postle." 

"  Kezia  has  asked  him,"  said  my  mother. 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  said  that  two  godfathers  are  the  proper  dose  for 
a  male  child,  but  whether  it  ought  to  be  repeated  for  twins, 
was  more  than  he  could  say,  and  advised  a  consulting  clergy- 
man to  be  called  in." 

'•  Precisely  so  —  it  is  a  clerical  case." 


28  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  my  mother,  "  I  am  at  my  wit's 
ends  about  it ;  for  four  sponsors,  if  there  must  be  four,  are  not 
to  be  looked  up  in  a  hurry  —  " 

"  There  's  no  need  of  four,"  exclaimed  a  voice,  and  in  an- 
other moment  the  face  of  Kezia  became  visible  between  the 
foot-curtains  of  the  bed,  her  claret-mark  mulled  by  heat  and 
haste  to  a  rich  purple,  and  the  other  cheek  vying  with  it  in 
color  through  triumph  and  excitement.  "There's  no  need 
for  four  !  Two  godfathers  will  be  enough  for  both  twins  ; 
here  it  is  under  the  Church's  own  hand  ; "  and  she  held  out  an 
open  letter  to  her  mistress. 

That  invaluable  Kezia !  At  the  first  hint  of  the  dilemma, 
from  my  mother  —  having  previously  teased,  and  tried  to  un- 
pick the  difficulty,  in  her  own  mind,  she  had  carried  it  down 
stairs,  to  where  all  mysteries  and  doubts  were  taken  for  analy- 
sis and  solution  —  the  surgery.  But  Mr.  Postle,  as  already 
stated,  was  unable  to  decide  the  question.  In  this  extremity, 
it  occurred  to  her  that  there  was  a  certain  channel,  through 
which  she  might  obtain  the  requisite  information  :  one  Mrs. 
Yardly,  whose  husband,  the  parish  clerk,  would  be  as  compe- 
tent an  authority  as  to  the  baptismal  ceremonial  as  the  curate 
himself.  The  acquaintance,  it  was  true,  was  a  very  slight 
one  :  but  where  the  good  of  the  family  was  concerned,  the 
faithful  maid  of  all  work  was  accustomed  to  get  over  far  more 
formidable  fences.  Accordingly  she  at  once  composed  and 
despatched  a  missive,  of  which  the  following  is  a  correct  copy, 
to  the  Amen  Corner  of  our  village. 

"  Dear  Maddam,  — 
"  Hopping  you  will  xcuse  the  Libberty  from  allmost  a  purfect 
Strainger  havin  but  wunce  xchanged  speach  with  you  in  the 
Surgary,  about  a  Pot  of  Lennitive  Electricity.  But  our  hole 
Fammily  being  uncommon  anxous  respectin  the  Cristnin  of  Hin- 
fants.  About  witch  we  are  all  in  a  Parradox  thro  havin  Twinns. 
The  sweatest,  finest  thrivingest  littel  Cherrubs  you  ever  saw.  As 
lick  as  too  pees  And  a  purfect  plesure  to  nus  only  rayther  hoarse 
and  roopy  with  singin  dubblikit  lullabis  and  so  much  Cradle  Him. 
Not  to  menshun  a  xtra  sett  of  Babby  linnin  to  be  made  at  a  short 
notis  for  the  Supper  nummery  And  all  the  housold  wurk  besides. 
But  its  unpossible  to  help  slavin  wuns  self  to  Deth  for  such  a  pare 
of  dear  hivable  littel  hinnocents,  and  I  allmost  wish  I  was  ded  to  be 
a  Gardian  Angle  for  their  sacks  being  purfectly  misrable  wen  I 
think  wat  Croops  and  Convulshuns  and  Blites  beset  such  yung 


OUR   FAMILY.  29 

toothless  Buds.  And  half  crazy  besides  with  divided  oppinions 
between  Small  Poek  and  Cow  Pock  witch  by  report  runs  sum 
times  into  horns  and  Hoofs.  Lord  preserve  the  dear  littel  Soles 
from  such  a  trans  moggrificashun.  But  lettin  alone  Waxynation 
our  present  hobject  bein  to  make  them  Hares  of  Grace.  And  as 
such  how  menny  must  stand  Sponsers  for  them  at  the  Fount  ? 
The  Prayer  Book  says  two  god  fathers  for  evvery  Mail,  but  the 
Pint  is  wether  the  same  two  cannot  anser  or  not  for  boath.  As 
vet  only  two  have  been  providid,  namely  their  unkel  Mr.  Rumbold 
the  Dry  Salter  and  a  Mister  Sumboddy,  a  Proxy  in  Dorters  Com- 
mons. "  So  that  if  so  be  Fore  Fathers  is  necessery  for  Twinns  we 
shall  be  at  a  Xon  Plush.  The  nus  Mrs.  Priddo  never  bavin  mist 
Twinns  afore  cant  find  a  President.  And  Mister  Postle  say  it  is 
out  of  his  line  of  practis.  But  yure  Husbund  Mister  Y  bein  a 
clisiasticle  Caracter  of  course  knows  wat  is  propper  and  orther- 
doxical  and  an  erly  Line  from  ether  him  or  you  to  that  effect 
would  grately  obleege  and  releave  all  our  minds.  For  as  you  may 
supose  we  are  anxous  for  the  dear  Hinfants  to  have  a  reglar  Babe 
teasing.  And  shud  be  shockt  arterwards  to  find  they  had  been 
skrimpt  in  their  Spirritual  rites.  Witch  is  a  matter  in  witch  wun 
would  prefer  their  Babbies  to  be  rayther  over  then  under  dun. 
Bless,  bless,  their  preshus  littel  harts.  With  witch  I  remane  dear 
Maddam 

"  Yours  &c. 

"  Kezia  Jenks." 

The  .answer  to  this  epistle  had  just  arrived ;  and  after 
a  hasty  perusal  by  Kezia,  was  thrust  open  into  her  mistress's 
hand. 

"  Here,  take  it  George,"  said  my  mother,  "  and  read  it 
aloud." 

My  father  took  the  document,  and  began  to  read  —  the 
owner  of  the  letter  lending  her  ears  as  intently,  as  if  she 
learned  the  sense  of  the  writing  for  the  first  time. 

"  Madam,  — 

"  In  reply  to  your  epistolary  favor  to  my  Wife  beg  to  say  you 
are  quite  wellcome  gratis  to  any  experience  or  information  in  my 
Power,  parochial,  ecclesiastical,  or  scholastic  —  Copies  of  Births, 
Deaths,  or  Marriage  Certificates  excepted,  and  searching  the  Reg- 
ister, which  is  charged  for  according  to  time  and  trouble. 

"  As  regards  the  Sacrament  of  Baptism,  the  quotation  from  the 
Prayer  Book  is  ceremoniously  correct.  Whereby,  according  to 
Rule  of  Three,  if  one  Male  Infant  require  two  Godfathers  how 
many  will  two  require  ?     Answer,  Four.     But  in  Practise  two  are 


30  OUR  FAMILY. 

religiously  sufficient  for  twin  juveniles.  Our  fees  in  any  case  being 
the  same.  Not  that  the  Church  object  to  the  full  sponsorial  com- 
plement if  parental  parties  think  proper  to  indulge  in  the  same  ; 
whether  for  the  sake  of  a  greater  Shew,  or  with  a  view  to  the  mul- 
tiplication of  customary  Presents.  Exempli  Gratia,  Mrs.  Fordige 
with  the  extraordinary  number  of  Four  Twin  Sons  at  a  Birth,  who 
were  named  after  the  Holy  Evangelists,  videlicet,  Matthew,  Mark, 
Luke,  and  John,  when  it  was  thought  proper  to  have  the  full  num- 
ber of  Godfathers,  4  X  2  =  8,  and  which  I  well  remember  walk- 
ing up  the  aisle  two  and  two,  with  Nosegays,  like  the  team  of  a 
Stage  Waggon.  As  was  considered  an  interesting  spectacle,  es- 
pecially by  the  Female  part  of  the  congregation.  And  profitable, 
besides,  to  parents,  the  eight  Godfathers  having  agreed  amongst 
themselves,  and  the  four  Godmothers  likewise  —  Sum  Total,  twelve 
—  to  present  Plate  of  the  same  pattern. 

"  In  conclusion,  my  matrimonial  Partner  desires  her  compliments, 
and  trusts  to  be  excused  answering  the  domestic  details  in  your 
Letter  for  the  present,  hoping  shortly  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a 
Call,  and  to  enter  into  the  dear  little  innocents  in  person. 
"  I  am,  Madam, 

"  Your  very  humble  Servant, 
"  Reuben  Yardley,  P.  C." 

"There!"  said  my  father,  returning  the  letter  to  Kezia; 
and  then  gayly  addressing  mother,  "  our  perplexities  are  at 
an  end !  We  may  drive  our  christening  coach  with  a  pair  of 
godfathers,  or  four  in  hand,  at  our  own  option.  For  which  do 
you  vote  ?  " 

"  O,  for  only  a  pair,  of  course,"  replied  my  mother.  "  The 
four  would  be  so  hard  to  collect,"  she  added  in  a  tone  which 
showed  that  she  lamented  the  difficulty.  She  was  proud  of 
her  twins,  and  would  have  liked  to  have  seen  them  attended 
up  the  church  aisle  by  a  double  set  of  sponsors,  Avalking  two 
and  two,  with  nosegays,  and  forming,  as  the  learned  clerk 
said,  an  interesting  spectacle  to  the  female  spectators.  For  a 
minute  or  so,  closing  her  eyes,  she  had  even  enjoyed,  in  a 
day-dream,  a  sort  of  rehearsal  of  such  a  procession :  but 
there  were  too  many  obstacles  in  the  way  of  its  realization; 
and  she  reluctantly  gave  up  the  scheme. 

"  That 's  settled  then  !  "  exclaimed  my  father,  rubbing  his 
hands  together  in  a  most  high  and  palmy  state  of  satis- 
faction. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  my  other  parent ;  who  from  stewing  had 
only  subsided  into  a  simmering.     "There's  the  godmother.     I 


OUR  FAMILY.  31 

have  gone  through  every  female  name  in  the  place,  without 
hitting  on  anybody  likely  to  undertake  the  office." 

"  Phoo,  phoo,  it 's  a  mere  form." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  my  mother,  rather  ha-tily.  "  Some 
persons  think  it  a  very  responsible  office,  and  refuse  to  be  god- 
mothers at  all  on  that  account.  Others,  again,  profess  a  deep 
sense  of  its  duties,  and  insist  on  acting  up  to  the  character." 

"  And  is  there  any  harm  in  that  ?  "  asked  my  father. 

"  There  might  be  a  world  of  trouble  and  annoyance  in  it," 
said  my  mother.  "  There  's  Mrs.  Pritchard,  whom  I  sounded 
on  the  subject,  when  she  called  yesterday.  '  I  'm  agreeable  to 
stand,'  said  she,  '  if  I  'm  asked,  but,  mind,  I  shall  stand  on  con- 
scientious grounds.  I  'm  not  going  to  be  a  nominal  godmother, 
like  some  people  :  —  not  a  mere  automaton,  or  a  figure  in  wax- 
work. If  I  become  one  of  their  religious  sureties,  I  '11  act  up 
to  it,  and  do  my  duty  as  regards  their  spiritual  bringing  up ; ' 
which  is  all  very  well,  but  might  be  made  a  pretext,  you 
know,  for  interfering  in  the  children's  education,  and  every- 
thing." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  my  father.  "  And  from  the  perse- 
verance with  which  Mrs.  Pritchard  meddles  in  the  temporal 
concerns  of  her  neighbors,  she  would  unquestionably  be  a 
rank  nuisance  where  she  had  any  pretence  for  busying  herself 
with  their  spiritual  ones.     But  there  's  Mrs.  Hewley." 

"  She  's  in  favor  of  Adult  Baptism,"  replied  my  mother. 

"  Or  Mrs.  Trent  ?  " 

"  She  's  for  total  immersion,  or  dipping  in  running  streams." 

"  Mrs.  Cobley,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  's  a  Papist ! " 

Poor  Kezia !  Her  variegated  York  and  Lancaster  face 
nad  undergone,  during  the  discussion,  a  dozen  changes  —  from 
red  and  white  to  all  red,  and  then  back  again,  —  her  lips 
twitching,  her  brows  knitting,  her  eyes  twinkling  and  moisten- 
ing. What  would  she  not  have  give  to  have  been  in  a  station 
that  would  have  entitled  her  to  volunteer  the  godmothering  of 
those  evangelical  twin  babes  —  to  have  undertaken  the  care  of 
their  precious  little  souls,  as  well  as  of  their  dear  little  bodies ! 
—  to  have  stood  for  them  at  the  font,  as  well  as  at  the  fire, 
the  dresser,  the  tub,  and  the  ironing-board  —  slaving  for  their 
spiritual  welfare  as  well  as  their  temporal  comfort !  How 
heartily  she  would  have  pledged  herself  to  teach  them  the 


32  OUR   FAMILY. 

Creed  mid  the  Commandments,  and  the  Catechism,  in  the 
vulgar  tongue,  and  "all  that  a  Christian  ought  to  know,"  if 
she  learned  some  branches  of  education  herself  for  the  pur- 
pose !  But  she  had,  alas !  no  chance  of  enjoying  such 
drudgery. 

"  There  's  Mrs.  Spencer,"  suggested  my  father. 

"  She  's  confined,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  father,  smiling,  "  if  it  comes  to  the 
worst,  there  's  the  pew-opener." 

"  The  Lord  forbid  ! "  exclaimed  Kezia,  lifting  up  her  hands 
and  her  eyes  at  the  proposition.  "  What,  Mrs.  Pegge  !  Why, 
she  stands  for  all  the  naturalized  children  in  the  parish." 

"  As  mine  are,  I  hope,"  said  my  father,  with  due  gravity. 

Kezia  turned  indignantly  away ;  she  felt  sure  that  her  mas- 
ter must  be  joking,  but  the  subject  was  too  serious  for  such 
treatment.  What,  —  those  beautiful  twin  babes  —  both  in 
one  cradle  —  both  on  one  pillow  —  both  under  one  blanket ! 
"  Bless  them,"  she  ejaculated  aloud,  "  bless  them,  bless  them, 
the  dear  little  cherubims  —  I  've  boiled  their  tops  and  bot- 
toms ! " 

The  last  announcement  was  aimed  at  the  nurse,  but  it  evi- 
dently hit  my  father  also,  and  in  some  ticklesome  place,  for  he 
rubbed  his  nose  as  smartly  as  if  a  fly  had  settled  on  it,  and 
then  setting  up  his  whisper  of  a  whistle,  stepped  briskly  out 
of  the  bedchamber  and  down  the  stairs  into  the  surgery. 
Why  he  stopped  his  music,  to  laugh  out  at  about  the  middle  of 
the  flight,  was  known  only  to  himself. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

CATECHISM   JACK. 

My  father  was  the  parish  doctor ;  and  when  he  entered  the 
surgery,  Mr.  Postle  was  making  up  a  parish  prescription.  A 
poor,  shabbily-dressed  woman  was  waiting  for  the  medicine, 
and  a  tall,  foolish-looking  lad  was  waiting  for  the  poor  woman. 
She  was  a  widow,  as  it  is  called,  without  encumbrance,  and  had 
a  cottage  and  some  small  means  of  her  own,  which  she  eked 


OUR   FAMILY.  33 

out.  with  the  stipend  allowed  to  her  by  the  overseers  for  taking 
charge  of  some  infirm  or  imbecile  pauper.  The  half-witted 
boy  was  her  present  ward. 

"  It 's  for  Jacobs,"  said  the  woman,  as  my  father  glanced 
over  the  shoulder  of  his  assistant  at  the  prescription.  "  He 
gets  wus  and  wus." 

"  Of  course  he  does,"  said  my  father ;  "  and  will,  whilst  he 
takes  those  opium  pills." 

"  So  I  tell  him,"  said  the  woman ;  "  with  his  ague,  and  in 
a  flat,  marshy  country  like  this,  with  water  enough  about  to 
give  any  one  the  hydraulics." 

"  Hydroptics." 

"  Well  —  droptics.  You  want  stimulusses,  says  I,  and  not 
nar — nar — cis  —  " 

"  Narcotics." 

"  Well  —  cotics.  But  the  poor  people  all  take  it.  If  it 's 
their  last  penny,  it  goes  for  a  pennorth  of  opie,  as  they  call  it, 
at  Doctor  Shackle's." 

"  I  wonder  he  sells  it,"  said  my  father. 

"And  asking  your  pardon,  doctor,"  said  the  woman,  "I  won- 
der you  don't.     They  say  he  makes  a  mint  of  money  by  it." 

"  Never  !  "  said  my  father,  with  unusual  emphasis,  —  ''never, 
if  I  want  a  shilling." 

"  Talking  of  money,"  said  the  woman,  "  there  's  a  report 
about  goolden  guineas,  chucked  last  night  by  nobody  knows 
who  —  for  it  was  done  in  the  dark  —  into  the  Hobbes's  cot- 
tage.    They  have  just  lost  their  only  child,  you  know." 

The  assistant  suddenly  checked  the  pestle  with  which  he 
was  pounding,  and  looked  inquisitively  at  his  principal,  who 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  idiot  boy. 

"  Well,  my  lad,  and  who  are  you  ?  "  inquired  my  father. 
"  What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  M.  or  N.."  answered  the  boy,  slowly  dragging  the  wet  fore- 
finger, which  he  had  withdrawn  from  his  mouth,  with  a 
long  snail-like  trail  along  the  counter. 

"  Fiddlesticks,"  exclaimed  the  woman,  giving  her  charge  a 
good  shaking  by  the  shoulder.  "  You  've  got  another  name 
besides  that." 

"  Yes,"  drawled  the  boy,  "  some  call  me  Catechism  Jack." 

"  Ah  !  —  that 's  an  odd  name  ! "  said  my  father.  "  Who  gave 
it  you  ?  " 

2*  c 


34  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  My  godfathers  and  godmothers  in  my  baptism,"  said  Jack. 

"  No  such  thing,  sir,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  it  was  the  idle 
boys  of  the  village,  because  he  was  always  repeating  on  it ; 
and,  indeed,  poor  fellow,  he  can  repeat  nothing  else." 

"  Then  how  did  he  get  that  ?  " 

"  Why  you  see,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  between  ourselves 
it  was  all  along  of  his  godmother." 

"  All !  —  indeed !  "  exclaimed  my  father,  pricking  up  his 
ears  at  such  an  appendix  to  the  recent  discussion  in  the  bed- 
room.    "  His  godmother,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Tozer  as  was,  for  she 's  dead  now,  as  well  as 
his  own  mother;  and  that's  how  he  came  into  my  care. 
His  mother  went  first,  while  he  was  in  petticoats,  and  so  Mrs. 
Tozer  took  charge  of  him,  and  sent  him  to  the  infant 
day-school.  She  was  a  very  strict  woman  in  her  religious 
principles,  and  so  was  the  schoolmistress ;  and  both  made  it  a 
great  pint  for  the  children  to  be  taught  accordingly,  which 
they  was.  Well,  one  day  there  they  were,  all  in  the  school- 
room up  one  pair,  and  little  Jack  amongst  the  rest,  the  last 
of  the  row,  a-setting  on  the  very  end  of  a  long  form  close  to 
the  open  door.  Well,  by  and  by  the  children  were  all  called 
up  to  say  Catechism ;  so  up  they  all  got  at  once,  except  Jack, 
who  had  been  playing  instead  of  getting  his  task  by  rote, 
which  made  him  backwarder  to  rise  than  the  rest,  —  when,  lo ! 
and  behold  !  up  tilts  the  form,  like  a  rearing  horse,  and  pitches 
Jack,  heels  over  head,  through  the  door  and  down  the  whole 
stone  flight,  where  he  was  picked  up  at  the  bottom  perfectly 
unsensible." 

"  Ah  !  —  with  a  concussion  of  the  brain,"  said  my  father. 

"  A  contusion  of  the  occiput,"  added  Mr.  Postle ;  "  the 
spinal  vertebrae  excoriated,  of  course,  and  bruises  on  both 
patellae." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  woman,  "  but  he  had  a 
lump  on  the  back  of  his  head  as  big  as  an  egg ;  the  nubbles 
of  his  back  were  rubbed  raw,  and  his  two  kneepans  were  as 
black  as  a  coal.  It  was  thought,  too,  that  his  intellex  were 
shook  up  into  a  muddle." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  my  father. 

"  Well,  to  go  on  with  Jack.  At  long  and  at  last  he  came 
to,  sore  enough  and  smarting,  as  you  may  suppose,  for  he  had 
been  carried  home  to  his  godmother,  and  she  had  rubbed  his 


OUR  FAMILY.  35 

wounds  with  sperrits  and  salt,  which  had  got  into  the  cuts. 
And  now,  Jack,  says  she,  mark  my  words,  and  let  them  be  a 
warning.  It's  a  judgment  of  God  upon  you,  says  she,  for  not 
knowing  your  Catechism  ;  for  if  so  be  you  had  got  it  by  heart, 
you  would  have  riz  with  the  rest,  and  then  all  this  would 
never  have  happened.  But  it 's  a  judgment  upon  you,  says 
she,  and  the  schoolmistress  said  the  same  thing ;  till  between 
both  the  poor  thing  was  so  scared,  he  set  to  work,  he  did,  at 
his  Catechism,  and  never  rested,  day  or  night,  till  he  had  got 
it  by  heart,  as  he  has  now,  so  thoroughly,  you  may  dodge  him, 
any  how,  backward  or  forward,  and  he  Avon't  miss  a  syllable. 
And  that 's  how  he  come  by  it,  sir,  as  well  as  the  nickname  : 
for  except  Catechism,  which  his  head  is  too  full  of,  I  sup- 
pose, to  hold  anything  else,  he  don't  know  a  thing  in  the 
world." 

"  Poor  fellow  ! "  said  my  father,  opening  one  of  the  surgery 
drawers.     "  Here,  Jack,  will  you  have  a  lozenge  ?  " 

"  Yes,  verily,  and  by  God's  help,  so  I  will.  And  I  heartily 
thank  —  " 

"  There,  there,  hush  !  go  along  with  you,"  said  the  woman, 
giving  her  protege  a  push  towards  the  outer  door,  and  then, 
taking  up  the  medicine,  with  a  nod  of  acknowledgment  to  Mr. 
Postle,  and  a  courtsey  to  my  father,  she  departed,  her  forlorn 
charge  clinging  to  her  garments,  and  muttering  scraps  of  that 
formula  which  had  procured  for  him  the  sobriquet  of  Catechism 
Jack. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A    PATIENT. 

"  Poor  creature  ! "  muttered  my  father,  carefully  fishing  a 
drowning  fly  out  of  the  inkstand  with  the  feather  end  of  a 
pen,  and  then  laying  the  draggled  insect  to  dry  itself  on  the 
blotting-paper  ;  "  poor,  harmless,  helpless  creature  !  " 

The  assistant  stopped  his  pounding,  and  looked  inquisitively, 
first  at  the  speaker  and  then  at  the  supposed  object  of  his 
sympathy. 


36  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  I  wonder,"  continued  my  father,  still  talking  to  himself, 
"  if  he  would  like  to  carry  out  the  mediciue  ?  " 

Mr.  Postle  hastily  resumed  his  mortar-practice,  with  an  in- 
terjectional  "  Oh  !  " 

"  Job  is  gone,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Mr.  Postle  pounded  like  mad. 

"  Job  is  gone,  is  n't  he  ?  "  repeated  my  father. 

"  Yes,  with  the  best  livery." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  my  father,  heedless  of  the  best  blue 
and  drab,  "  we  shall  want  another  boy.  And  I  am  thinking, 
Postle,  that  yonder  half-witted  fellow  might,  perhaps,  carry  the 
basket  as  well  as  another." 

"  What,  the  Catechism  chap  ?     Why,  he 's  an  idiot ! " 

"  Or  nearly  so,"  said  my  father  ;  "  and,  as  such,  shut  out 
from  the  majority  of  the  occupations  by  which  lads  of  his 
rank  in  life  obtain  a  livelihood.  The  greater  the  obligation, 
therefore,  to  prefer  him  to  one  of  the  few  employments  adapted 
to  his  twilight  intelligence." 

"  What  —  to  carry  out  the  physic  ?  " 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  but  plying  the  pestle  as  if  he 
would  have  pounded  the  mortar  itself  into  a  powder,  "  nothing 
at  all.  Only  when  an  idiot  carries  out  the  physic,  it 's  time  to 
have  a  lunatic  to  make  it  up." 

"  Phoo  !  phoo  ! "  said  my  father,  "  the  boy  has  arms  and 
legs,  and  quite  headpiece  enough  for  such  simple  work.  At 
a  verbal  message,  no  doubt,  he  would  blunder." 

"  Yes  —  would  n't  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Postle.  "  Take  of  com- 
pliments and  Catechism,  each  a  dram,  mix  —  shake  well  up  — 
and  administer." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  my  father,  "  if  one  intrusted  any  ver- 
bal directions  to  his  memory.  But  he  goes  on  parish  errands, 
and  knows  every  house  in  the  place  ;  and  might  surely  de- 
liver a  written  label  at  the  right  door,  as  well  as  a  printed 
notice." 

"  I  Avish,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  gloomily,  "  there  may  be  any  to 
deliver.  Our  drugs  are  drugs  !  We  hardly  do  a  powder  a 
day.  The  business  is  in  a  rapid  decline,  and  in  another  month 
won't  be  worth  a  pinch  of  magnesia.  There 's  the  Great 
House  gone  already  —  and  next  we  shall  lose  the  parish." 

"  How  !  —  the  Great  House  !  "  exclaimed  my  father,  with 


OUR   FAMILY.  37 

more  anxiety  and  alarm  than  he  had  betrayed  before  about 
his  simious  patient.     "  Is  the  monkey  dead,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  of  bronchitis." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  ejaculated  my  father. 

"  I  should  like  to  open  him,"  said  Mr.  Postle. 

"I  hoped  she  was  provided  for,"  said  my  father,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  If  you  mean  little  Betty,"  said  the  assistant,  "  it  is  no  loss  to 
her,  —  at  least  to  judge  by  Mother  Hopkins's  language." 

"  Why,  what  does  she  say  ?  "  asked  my  father,  with  a  tone 
and  look  of  unmitigated  surprise. 

u  Only  all  that  is  bitter  and  acid.  The  ungrateful  old  hag  ! 
I  should  like  to  stop  her  mouth  with  a  pitch-plaster  ! " 

"  Hush,  hush  ! "  whispered  my  father  ;  and  Postle  did  hush, 
for,  continuing  an  old  proverb,  Mother  Hopkins  herself  hob- 
bled into  the  surgery,  with  foul  weather  on  her  face.  Her 
lips  were  compressed  —  there  was  a  red  angry  spot  in  the 
middle  of  each  sallow  cheek,  and  anger  glimmered  in  her  dark 
black  eye,  like  a  spark  in  a  tinder-box.  She  spoke  harshly, 
and  abruptly. 

"  I  'm  come  to  return  the  bottles." 

"  Very  good  ! "  said  my  father,  receiving  vial  after  vial 
from  the  cankered  woman,  with  as  much  courtesy  and  humili- 
ty as  if  he  had  been  honored  and  obliged  by  her  custom. 
"  I  hope  the  medicine  has  done  you  good.  How  is  your  lame- 
ness ?  " 

"  As  bad  as  ever." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  my  father ;  "  but  your  com- 
plaint is  chronic,  and  requires  time  for  its  treatment.  By  and 
by  we  shall  see  an  amendment." 

"  We  shall  see  no  such  thing,"  said  the  Shrew.  "  I  arn't 
goinsc  to  take  any  more  physic." 

"No!" 

"  No.  It 's  good  for  nothing,  or  you  would  n't  give  it  away 
gratis." 

My  father's  face  flushed  slightly  —  as  whose  would  not  ?  — 
with  so  much  physic  thrown  into  it,  though  but  metaphorically 
—  all  the  draughts  and  embrocations  he  had  supplied  her  with 
for  the  last  six  months  !  But  the  angry  hue  passed  away  long 
ere  one  could  have  washed  off  a  splash  of  rose-water.  It  was 
hard  for  him  to  be  long  angry  with  any  one,  —  impossible, 


38  OUR  FAMILY. 

with  a  decrepit  woman,  so  poor,  so  sickly,  and  so  ragged. 
One  glance  at  her  cooled  the  transient  heat  in  an  instant.  As 
to  speaking  harshly  to  so  much  wretchedness,  he  would  as 
soon  have  poured  vitriol  on  her  tatters.  His  words  were  still 
kind,  his  voice  cordial,  his  smile  genial. 

"  Well !  and  how  is  little  Betty  ?  " 

"  Little  Betty 's  at  home,"  replied  the  woman,  with  a  short, 
sharp  twang  in  her  tone  that  showed  the  very  chord  most  out 
of  tune  had  been  struck  upon.  "  She  might  have  been  at  the 
Great  House  ;  —  but,  thank  God,  she  is  n't.  She 's  not  an 
animal ! " 

"  You  mean  a  beast ! "  suggested  my  father. 

"  I  say  she 's  not  an  animal,  —  nor  shan't  sleep  with  one. 
And  a  monkey,  too  —  a  nasty,  filthy,  basilicon  monkey  !  " 

"  Brazilian,"  muttered  my  father  —  "  Brazilian." 

"  Well,  Brazilian  —  an  ugly,  foreign,  outlandish  varment !  " 

"  Ah,"  exclaimed  my  father,  "  there 's  the  prejudice  !  If 
the  creature  had  been  a  little  dog,  now,  or  a  kitten,  or  a  squir- 
rel, you  would  never  have  objected  to  it." 

"  Squirrels  and  kittens  be  hanged  ! "  cried  the  old  woman, 
waxing  in  wrath.  "  It  an't  the  sort  of  creature  —  it  an't  the 
species  ;  but  the  detriment  to  the  juvenile  constitution.  A 
doctor  might  know  better  the  vally  of  the  natural  warmth  of 
the  human  body  than  to  have  it  extracted  by  a  brute  beast." 

My  father  was  dumbfounded.  The  charge  was  so  plausi- 
ble, and  couched  in  such  set  phrase,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  to  think  of  it ;  but  appealed,  by  a  perplexed  look,  to  his 
assistant. 

"  Prompted  —  put  up  to  it,"  muttered  Mr.  Postle,  in  a  char- 
acteristic aside.  He  had  turned  his  back  to  the  counter,  and 
was  apparently  reading  aloud  the  label  on  one  of  the  drawers. 
The  woman,  in  the  mean  time,  thrust  the  last  vial  into  the 
Doctor's  hand  as  hastily  as  if  it  burnt  her  fingers. 

"  That 's  all  the  bottles,"  she  said  ;  "  and  there,"  throwing  a 
paper  bag  on  the  counter  —  "  there  ;s  the  corks." 

0  Ingratitude  !  —  marble-hearted  fiend  !  —  how  hadst  thou 
possessed  that  thankless  woman  with  a  demon,  fit  only,  like 
those  of  old,  to  inhabit  a  swine.  Weekly,  daily,  recalling  the 
better  times  she  had  known,  she  had  bemoaned  her  inability 
to  fee  a  physician,  or  pay  an  apothecary  ;  daily,  almost  hourly, 
she  had  lamented  the  delicate  constitution  of  her  little  Betty, 


OUR   FAMILY. 


39 


and  the  impossibility  of  furnishing  her  with  a  better  bed, 
more  generous  diet,  and  warmer  garments,  —  wants  for  which, 
by  will  and  deed,  her  benefactor  had  endeavored  to  provide  ; 
and  to  throw,  in  his  very  teeth,  all  his  charitable  unguents, 
lotions,  composing  draughts,  and  tonic  mixtures,  bottles  and 
corks  included,  and  then,  in  return,  to  pour  on  his  benevolent 
head  the  full  vials  of  her  wrath,  bitter  as  the  waters  of 
Marah,  and  corrosive  as  aqua  fortis  !  It  might  have  moved 
a  saint !  But  there  was  in  my  father's  nature  so  much  of 
the  milk  of  human  kindness,  and  in  that  milk  such  a  sweet 
butterish  principle,  that  stirring  his  temper  the  wrong  way 
seemed  merely  to  oil  it.  Thus,  when  he  responded  again 
to  the  querulous  ingrate,  it  was  as  the  music  of  an  iEolian 
harp  in  the  parlor-window  to  a  hurdy-gurdy  at  the  area 
rails. 

"  Well,  well,  —  we  need  not  quarrel,  Mrs.  Hopkins.  The 
monkey  is  dead,  and  so  there  is  no  harm  done.  I  meant  all 
for  the  best,  and  hoped  to  do  you  a  service.  Little  Betty 
would  have  been  comfortably  lodged,  and  well  fed,  and  was  to 
be  warmly  clothed  from  head  to  foot." 

"  Thank  ye  for  nothing  !  "  retorted  the  snappish  one.  "  I 
can  clothe  little  Betty  myself:  and  when  she  famishes  for 
victuals  and  drink,  and  not  afore,  she  shall  sleep  with  apes, 
baboons,  and  orange  outangs." 

"  Orang,"  said  my  father,  sotto  voce  —  "  o — rang." 

"Well  —  horang.  I  should  like  to  see  your  own  twins, 
I  should,  with  a  great  Wild  Man  of  the  Woods  in  their 
cradle  ! " 

My  father's  lips  moved  to  reply ;  but  before  he  could  utter  a 
syllable  he  was  forestalled  by  a  noise  like  the  groan  of  execra- 
tion which  is  sometimes  heard  at  a  public  meeting.  All  eyes 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound ;  and  lo  !  there  stood 
Kezia,  her  mouth  still  open  and  round  as  that  of  a  cannon,  her 
eyes  staring,  her  cheeks  both  of  a  crimson,  her  arms  uplifted, 
and  her  hands  clenched,  with  utter  indignation.  One  of  her 
many  errands  to  the  surgery  had  brought  her  just  in  time  to 
overhear  the  atrocious  wish  that  converted  her,  pro  tempore, 
into  a  she-dragon.  In  another  moment  she  confronted  the 
cantankerous  Mrs.  Hopkins,  who  assumed  an  attitude  of  defi- 
ance, and  plainly  showed  that  if  the  flesh  was  weak  the  spirit 
was  willing  enough  for  the  encounter.     My  father  would  fain 


40  OUR   FAMILY. 

have  interfered,  but  was  entreated,  by  signs  and  in  a  whisper, 
by  Postle,  not  to  "  check  the  effervescence." 

But  the  combatants  shall  have  a  chapter  to  themselves. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    ALTERCATION. 

Those  two  angry  females — just  imagine  them,  ripe  for 
their  verbal  duel !  —  Mrs.  Hopkins  fierce,  resolute,  and  pale  as 
the  mask  in  marble  of  an  ancient  Fury  ;  Kezia,  with  her 
homely  person,  coarse  limbs,  scrubby  head,  staring  eyes,  and 
that  violent  red  blotch  on  her  cheek,  not  unlike  the  ill-painted 
figure-head  of  the  Bellona,  or  some  such  termagant  ship  of 
war. 

"  O  you  wretch  !  "  began  Kezia,  panting  for  utterance. 

"  Wretch  yourself !  "  returned  the  woman.  "  Who  gave 
you  leave  to  meddle  ?  " 

"  Those  babes  —  those  blessed  babes  ! "  exclaimed  Kezia  ; 
"  to  want  them  devoured  in  their  innocent  cradle  by  a  wild 
man  of  the  woods  !  Babes  only  fit  to  devour  with  kisses  — 
and  such  as  would  soften  any  heart  but  a  stone  one,  that  noth- 
ing will  touch,  except  the  fizzling  stuff  as  cleans  marble  ! " 

"  Say,  muriatic  acid,"  suggested  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Twin  babes,  too  !  "  continued  Kezia,  "  the  very  pictures  of 
heavenly  innocence  —  and  might  sit  to  a  painter  for  a  pair  of 
Cherubims  !  —  and  to  abuse  them  so  —  it 's  almost  blasphemy 
—  it 's  next  to  irreligious  !  " 

"  Heyday  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hopkins  ;  "  here 's  a  fuss,  in- 
deed, about  babies  !  —  As  if  there  was  no  more  of  them  in 
the  world  !  Prize  ones,  no  doubt.  I  should  like  to  see 
them  soaped  and  scrambled  for  !  " 

"  You  would ! "  cried  Kezia,  almost  in  a  scream ;  "  you 
would  !     0  you  wicked,  wicked  monster  !  " 

"  Monsters  are  for  caravans,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  and  if  I 
was  you,  before  I  talked  of  monsters,  I  would  go  to  some 
quack  doctor,"  —  and  she  glanced  viciously  at  my  father — ■ 
"  for  a  cosmetical  wash,  to  make  both  my  cheeks  of  a  color." 


OUR  FAMILY.  41 

"  My  cheeks  are  as  God  made  them,"  said  Kezia  ;  "  so  it 's 
Providence's  face  that  you  're  flying  into,  and  not  mine.  But 
I  don't  mind  personals.  It 's  your  cruel  ill-wishing  to  those 
precious  infants ;  and  which  to  look  at  would  convert  a  she- 
ogress  into  a  maternal  character.  Do  you  call  yourself  a 
mother  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ?  "  asked  the  woman,  with  a  spiteful  significance. 

"  Xo  I  don't,"  answered  Kezia,  "  and  not  fit  I  should.  I  'm 
a  single  spinster,  I  know,  and  therefore  not  a  mothery  charac- 
ter ;  but  I  may  stand  up,  I  hope,  without  committing  matri- 
mony, for  two  helpless  innocent  babes.  Dear  little  infants, 
too,  as  I  've  washed  and  worked  for  and  fed  with  my  own 
hands ;  and  nussed  on  my  own  lap ;  and  lulled  on  my  own 
buzzum ;  and  as  such  I  don't  mind  saying,  whomever  attacks 
them,  I  'm  a  lioness  with  her  yelps." 

"  Whelps,  Kizzy,  whelps  ;  "  but  Kizzy  was  too  angry  to 
notice  the  correction. 

"  A  rampant  lioness,  sure  enough !  And  if  I  was  your 
keeper,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins,  with  a  malicious  glance  at  my 
father,  "  I  'd  keep  you  to  your  own  den.  The  business  has  n't 
improved  so  much,  I  believe,  as  to  require  another  assistant." 

The  wrath  of  Kezia  was  at  its  climax.  Next  to  an  attack 
on  the  family,  a  sneer  at  the  business  was  a  sure  provocative. 
"  I  know  my  place,"  she  said,  "  and  my  provinces.  It 's  the 
kitchen,  and  the  back-kitchen,  and  the  washus,  and  the  nus- 
sery ;  and  if  I  did  come  into  the  surgery,  it  was  to  beg  a  little 
lunatic  caustic  to  burn  otf  a  wart.  As  for  our  practice,  Mr. 
Postle  must  answer  for  himself.  All  I  know  is,  he  can  hardly 
get  his  meals  for  making  up  the  prescriptions  ;  what  with 
mixing  draughts,  and  rolling  pills  and  boluses,  and  spreading 
blisters  and  Bergamy  pitch  plasters,  and  pounding  up  drugs 
into  improbable  powders." 

"  Impalpable,"  said  my  father. 

"  Well,  impalpable.  Not  to  name  the  operations,  such  as 
cupping,  and  flea  botany,  and  distracting  decayed  teeth." 

"  detracting,"  said  my  father,  "  the  other  would  be  a  work 
of  supererogation." 

"  Well,  extracting  —  and  the  vaccinating  besides,  —  and  all 
the  visiting  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  —  private  and  parish- 
ional,  —  including  the  workus.  Then  there  's  Master  him- 
self," continued  Kezia,  dropping  a  sort  of  half  courtesy  to 


42  OUR  FAMILY. 

hirn,  as  an  apology  for  the  liberty  of  the  reference,  —  "  if  he 
gets  two  nights'  rest  in  a  week,  it 's  as  much  as  he  does,  what 
with  confinements,  and  nocturnal  attacks,  and  sudden  accidents, 
—  it 's  enough  to  wear  out  the  Night  Bell !  There  was  this 
very  morning,  between  one  and  two,  he  was  called  up  out 
of  his  warm  bed,  to  the  Wheel  of  Fortune,  to  sow  up  a 
juggler." 

"  Jugular,"  said  my  father. 

"  Well,  jugular.  And  the  night  before,  routed  out  of  his 
first  sleep  by  a  fractious  rib.  I  only  wonder  we  don't  adver- 
tise in  the  papers  for  a  partner,  for  there  's  work  enough  for  a 
firm.  First  there  's  a  put-out  shoulder  to  be  put  in  again,  — 
then  a  broken  limb  to  set,  —  and  next  a  cracked  penny  cra- 
nium to  be  japanned  —  " 

She  meant  trepanned,  and  the  correction  was  on  my 
father's  lips,  but  was  smothered  in  the  utterance  by  the  vehe- 
ment Mrs.  Hopkins.  "  Japan  a  fiddlestick ! "  she  cried, 
impatiently  rolling  her  head  from  side  to  side,  and  waving 
her  hands  about,  as  if  battling  with  a  swarm  of  imaginary 
gadflies.     "  What  do  I  care  for  all  this  medical  rigmarole  ?  " 

"  O,  of  course  not ! "  said  Kezia,  "  not  a  brass  button. 
Only  when  people  affront  our  practice,  and  insinuate  that  we 
have  a  failing  business,  it 's  time  to  prove  the  reverse.  But 
perhaps  you  're  incredible.  There  was  no  such  thing,  I  sup- 
pose, as  the  pisoned  charity-boy,  with  his  head  as  big  as  two, 
and  Iris  eyes  a  squeezing  out  of  it,  because  of  eating  a  large 
red  toadstool,  like  a  music-stool,  in  loo  of  a  mushroom." 

"  There  might,  and  there  might  not,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  I  thought  as  much  !  "  exclaimed  Kezia,  "  and  in  course 
you  never  heard  of  the  drowned  female  who  was  dragged  out 
of  the  canal,  a  perfect  sop  !  and  was  shocked  into  fife  again, 
by  our  galvanic  battering  ?  " 

"  I  never  did,"  replied  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  O  no  —  not  you  ! "  said  Kezia,  bitterly.  "  Nor  the  stab- 
bed Irishman,  as  was  carried  into  this  very  surgery,  all  in  a 
gore  of  blood,  and  pale,  and  fainting  away,  and  in  a  very 
doubtful  state  indeed,  till  Master  applied  a  skeptic." 

"  A  styptic,"  said  my  father,  "  a  styptic." 

"  Well,  a  styptic.  And  may  be  you  've  not  heard  neither  of 
the  scalded  child  —  from  pulling  a  kettle  of  boiling  water 
over  her  poor  face  and  neck,  —  and  which  was  basted  with 


OUR   FAMILY.  43 

sweet  oil,  and  drudged  with  flour,  and  was  so  lucky  as  to  heal 
up  without  leaving  a  cockatrice." 

"  If  I  was  you,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins,  "  I  would  say  a 
cicatrix." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  ought,"  said  Kezia.  "  Howsomever 
there  was  n't  a  scar  or  a  seam  on  her  skin,  —  so  that 's  a  cure 
at  any  rate.  Then  there  's  the  Squire.  —  But,  maybe,  nobody 
has  seen  his  groom  come  galloping,  like  life  or  death,  to  fetch 
Master  to  a  consulting  of  the  faculty  —  no,  nor  the  messenger 
from  the  Rectory  —  nor  the  Curate  himself  dropping  in  here 
for  medical  advice,  —  quite  out  of  sorts,  he  said,  and  as  hoarse 
as  a  raven  with  a  guitar." 

"  A  catarrh,"  said  my  father,  "  a  catarrh  !  " 

"  "Well,  catarrh  —  and  could  n't  swallow  for  an  enlarged  ton- 
sor  in  his  throat." 

It  is  uncertain  how  much  further  Kezia  might  have 
"  carried  on  the  business,"  and  improved  it,  but  for  an  im- 
portunate voice  which  began  calling  hi  a  stage  whisper  for 
Mrs.  H.  Mrs.  Hopkins  looked  towards  the  road,  where  a 
shadow  had  for  some  time  been  fluttering  on  the  threshold, 
whilst  part  of  the  skirt  of  a  female  garment  dodged  about  the 
door-post,  and  a  bobbing  head  now  and  then  intercepted  the 
sunshine,  and  uttered  its  subdued  summons.  But  as  Mrs.  H. 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  obey  the  call,  the  Unknown  stepped 
or  rather  stumbled,  into  the  surgery,  for  she  was  i)urblind 
from  a  complaint  in  her  eyes,  and  therefore  wore  a  green 
shade,  so  deep  that  it  shadowed  her  crimson  nose,  like  a  pent- 
house over  a  pet  carnation.  The  two  females  were  obviously 
confederates,  for  the  new-comer  took  up  a  position  beside  her 
predecessor,  with  a  determined  air  and  attitude  which  showed 
that  the  broadside  of  the  Tartar  would  be  supported  by  a 
volley  from  the  Vixen.  Kezia,  who  would  have  engaged  a 
fleet  of  shrews  in  the  same  cause,  maintained  as  bold  a  front, 
and  there  wanted  but  the  first  shot  to  bring  on  a  general  action, 
when  my  father  interposed,  and  suspended  hostilities  by  a 
friendly  salute. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Pegge." 

"  That 's  as  may  turn  out,"  replied  Mrs.  Pegge,  throwing 
back  her  head,  with  her  chin  up  in  the  air,  and  looking  alono; 
her  nose,  at  the  Doctor,  in  a  posture,  as  it  seemed,  of  the  most 
ineffable  disdain. 


44  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Your  sight  must  be  better  at  any  rate,"  said  my  father, 
"  to  let  you  come  out  so  far  without  a  guide." 

"  Well,  it  is  better,"  said  Mrs.  Pegge  ;  and  then  turning  as 
on  a  pivot  to  her  ally,  "  No  thanks  to  nobody,  eh,  Mrs. 
H.?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  I  did  n't  follow  the  Doctor's  directions,  —  did  I,  Mrs. 
H.?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  And  should  have  been  no  better  if  I  had  —  eh,  Mrs. 
H.?" 

"  Not  a  tittle,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins,  "  but  quite  the  reverse." 

"  It  is  n't  the  hopthalmy  at  all,  —  is  it,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  By  no  manner  of  means." 

"  Nor  gutty  sereny  —  it  don't  come  from  the  stomach  — 
doit,  Mrs.  H.?" 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  I  never  said  that  it  did,"  put  in  my  father,  more  tickled 
than  hurt  by  the  attack  on  his  medical  skill. 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Pegge ;  "  you  'd  have  been 
wrong  if  you  had,  —  for  it 's  Amor  Rosis  —  eh,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  Exactly  so  —  the  very  name,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  I  can  guess  where  they  got  that,"  muttered  Mr.  Postle, 
just  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  his  principal ;  but  my  father 
was  in  too  good  a  humor,  and  rubbing  his  nose  too  briskly  to 
be  accessible  to  sinister  suspicions. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  with  a  tone  and  smile  of  conciliation 
enough  to  have  smoothed  a  pair  of  ruffles  into  Quakerlv  wrist- 
bands. "  Amor,  in  the  eye,  is  a  very  common  affection  amongst 
females,  and  so  you  may  be  right.  And  in  spite  of  all  that 
has  passed,  should  you  or  Mrs.  Hopkins  wish  at  any  time  for 
medical  advice  or  medicaments  —  " 

"  O  no,  no,  no !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pegge,  tossing  her  head 
like  a  horse  at  the  hay-rack.  "  We  are  poor,  —  but  we  won't 
be  experimented  on  any  longer  —  eh,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  forbid  ! "  cried  Mrs.  H.  "  We  've  been  too 
much  experimented  upon  already  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  determined  to  test  his  secret 
suspicions,  "you  had  better  seek  other  advice." 

"  Eh,  what  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Pegg<s  wheeling  about  with  her 
green  verandah,   till   she    brought   her    red   ferret-like   eyes 


OUR  FAMILY.  45 

to  bear  on  the  assistant.  "  What  might  you  say,  young 
man  ?  " 

"  I  said,  that  perhaps  you  had  better  seek  other  advice." 

"  Perhaps  ive  have"  replied  Mrs.  Pegge,  with  a  suppressed 
chuckle,  and  the  usual  appeal  for  confirmation  to  Mrs.  H. 

"  We  certainly  did,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  And  whatever  was  advised,"  said  Mrs.  Pegge,  "  there  was 
one  thing  not  recommended,  namely,  for  a  young  child  to  sleep 
in  an  apiary  —  eh,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  with  a  monkey,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins,  "  most 
decidedly  not." 

"  O  no,"  said  Mrs.  Pegge,  "  Doctor  Shackle  knows  better 
than  that  —  eh,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  I  said  so ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Postle,  with  a  slap  of  his  hand 
on  the  desk  that  would  have  crushed  a  beetle  into  a  dead  flat. 

"  Hush,  hush,"  whispered  my  father.  "  Dear  me,  you  have 
killed  the  poor  inky  fly  !  " 

"  Curse  the  fly  !  "  cried  Mr.  Postle,  fairly  beside  himself 
with  vexation.  "  I  wish  they  had  both  been  in  its  skin,  —  a 
couple  of  ungrateful  old  Jezebels  !  " 

"  He  !  he  !  he  !  "  tittered  Mrs.  Pegge.  "  Some  people  will 
want  one  of  their  own  cooling  draughts  !  " 

"  Why  you  ungrateful  creature  !  "  cried  Kezia,  whose  face 
had  been  purpling  and  swelling  with  indignation,  till  it  seemed 
ready  to  burst  like  an  over-ripe  gooseberry.  "  I  wonder  you 
can  name  a  'fevervescing  draught,  for  fear  of  its  flying  in 
your  lace  !  " 

"  Hoity  toity ! "  said  Mrs.  Pegge,  turning  on  Kezia,  with 
her  green  shade  over  her  glistening  red  eyes,  like  an  angry 
Hooded  Snake.  "  What  have  we  here?  —  A  Hen  Doctor — 
a  'pothecary  in  petticoats  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  names,"  answered  Kezia,  "  so  you  may  be  as 
scrofulous  a?  you  please." 

"  Scurrilous,"  said  my  father. 

"  Well,  scurrilous.  I  don't  mind  that,"  continued  Kezia. 
"  It 's  your  base  return  for  our  pharmacy,  and  your  sneers  at 
our  practice.  Such  shocking  unthankfulness  !  And  to  think 
of  all  the  good  physic  you  have  enjoyed  gratia  !  " 

"  Physic  !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Pegge,  with  a  sneer  of  unutterable 
contempt.  "  Physic,  indeed  !  such  physic  !  If  it 's  so  good, 
why  don't  you  enjoy  it  yourself?     I  'm  sure  we  don't  want  to 


46  OUR  FAMILY. 

rob  you  of  it.  If  it  was  worth  anything  it  would  n't  be  given 
away  —  eh,  Mrs.  H.  ?  " 

"  My  own  words,"  replied  Mrs.  Hopkins,  "  to  a  syllable." 

"  It 's  not  physic  at  all ! "  said  Mrs.  Pegge. 

"  No  !  "  exclaimed  my  father  :  "  what  then  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  grouts  of  other  people's,"  said  Mrs.  Pegge,  "  and 
that 's  how  we  get  it  in  charity.  But  come,  Mrs.  H.,  we  have 
been  long  enough  here." 

"  Quite,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins. 

"  And  it  will  be  long  enough  before  we  come  here  again,  — 
eh,  Mrs.  H.?" 

"  Ages,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkins  ;  and  drawing  the  arm  of  her 
purblind  confederate  under  her  own,  she  led  her  towards  the 
door,  through  which  —  the  one  stumbling  and  the  other  limp- 
ma-  —  the  two  ingrates  groped  and  hobbled  away,  and  were 
seen  no  more. 

"  Say  I  told  you  so ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Postle,  desperately 
snatching  up  the  pestle,  but  grinding  nothing,  except  some  in- 
articulate execrations  between  his  teeth.  My  father  even 
looked  a  little  grave  ;  and  as  for  Kezia,  she  could  only  stare 
up  at  the  ceiling,  flap  her  hands  about,  and  ejaculate,  "  0,  I 
never ! " 

"Yes,  Shackle's  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,"  muttered  Mr. 
Postle,  shrewdly  adopting  my  father's  own  mode  of  thinking 
aloud  as  a  vehicle  for  administering  his  private  sentiments. 
"Those  two  beldams  have  been  prompted  by  him,  that's  certain 
—  and  he  has  been  called  in  at  the  Great  House." 

"  He  has  ?  "  said  my  father. 

Postle,  however,  took  no  notice  of  the  interrogation,  but 
shook  his  head  despondingly,  and  proceeded.  "  That  infernal 
little  monkey  has  done  for  us !  We  shall  never  be  sent  for 
again,  master  or  mate.  No,  no,  a  doctor  who  could  n't  save 
such  a  little  creature  would  never  preserve  so  great  a  lady ! 
So  there  is  our  best  patient  gone  —  gone  —  gone  !  And  the 
Parish  will  go  next,  for  Shackle  has  got  the  Board  by  the 
ear." 

"  Not  he,"  said  my  father. 

"  Then  he  sells  opium,  and  we  don't,  and  that  gives  him 
the  village.  The  more  fools  we ; "  and  Postle  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "  We  're  unpopular 
with  rich  and  poor.  I  should  not  wonder,  some  day,  if  we 
were  even  to  be  hung  or  burnt  in  effigy ! " 


OUR  FAMILY.  47 

My  father  smiled,  and  rubbed  his  nose,  and  none  the  less 
that  Kezia  clasped  her  hands  and  groaned  aloud  at  the  imagi- 
nary picture.  But  he  repented  of  his  mirth,  when  he  saw  her 
eyes  swimming  in  tears,  fixed  alternately  on  himself  and  the 
assistant,  as  if  they  were  already  swinging  like  Guys  over  the 
opprobrious  bonfire. 

"  Postle  —  Mr.  Postle,"  he  began  ;  but  the  assistant  con- 
tinued his  soliloquy. 

"  There  's  Widow  Warner's  child  in  one  of  her  old  convul- 
sions —  " 

"  Poor  thing ! "  cried  my  father,  "  I  will  go  and  look  to  her 
directly ! " 

u  But  there  has  been  no  message,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  suddenly 
waking  up  from  his  pretended  fit  of  abstraction.  "  We  're  not 
sent  for." 

a  Xo  matter,"  said  my  father  ;  and  snatching  up  his  hat,  and 
clapping  it  on  the  wrong  side  before,  was  about  to  hurry  out 
of  the  surgery,  when  he  was  choked  by  an  exclamation  from 
Kezia. 

"  Gracious  !     The  yellow  lamp  is  broke  again  ! " 

"  Yes  —  last  night  —  for  the  fifth  time,"  said  Mr.  Postle. 

*  It  is  very  strange,"  said  my  father,  looking  up  at  the  gap 
in  the  fanlight,  where  there  ought  to  have  been  a  glass  globe, 
filled  with  a  certain  yellow  fluid  ;  and  which  nightly,  by  the 
help  of  a  lamp  behind  it,  cast  a  flaring  advertisement  over  a 
post,  across  the  road,  and  partly  up  a  poplar-tree  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  way.  "  It  is  very  strange  —  there  must  be 
some  cause  for  it." 

"  Nobody  breaks  Shackle's  green  lamp,"  observed  Mr. 
Postle. 

My  father  made  no  reply ;  but,  stepping  hastily  out  of  the 
surgery,  set  off — at  what  Postle  called  his  acute  pace,  in 
opposition  to  his  slower,  or  chronic  one  —  towards  the  Widow 
Warner's  Cottage. 


48  OUR  FAMILY. 

CHAPTER    IX. 

OUR    CARVER. 

Amongst  my  father's  little  vanities  —  and  in  him  it  was 
partly  professional  —  he  rather  piqued  himself  on  his  dexterity 
in  dividing  a  fowl  or  cutting  up  a  joint  of  meat.  The  per- 
formance, nevertheless,  was  generally  a  slovenly  one,  —  not 
for  want  of  skill  in  the  operator,  but  through  the  fault  of  the 
carver,  which  was  as  blunt  as  any  messer  in  Germany. 

Every  family  has  some  standing  nuisance  of  the  kind,  —  a 
smoky  chimney,  a  creaking  door,  a  bad  lock,  a  stiff  hinge,  or 
a  wayward  clock,  which,  in  spite  of  a  thousand  threats  and 
promises,  never  gets  Rumfordized,  oiled,  mended,  eased,  recti- 
fied, or  regulated.  Our  stock  grievance  was  the  carver.  In 
vain  Kezia,  who  never  grudged  what  she  called  elbow-grease, 
rubbed  the  steel  to  and  fro,  and  round  and  round,  and  labored 
by  the  hour  to  sharpen  the  obstinate  instrument ;  wherever 
the  fault  lay,  in  her  manipulation,  the  metal,  the  knife-board, 
or  the  Flanders  brick,  the  thing  remained  as  dull  as  ever. 
My  father  daily  hacked  and  haggled,  looked  at  the  edge,  then 
at  the  back  of  the  blade,  and  passed  his  finger  along  both,  as 
if  in  doubt  which  was  which,  —  pshawed  —  blessed  his  soul  — 
wondered  who  could  cut  with  such  a  thing  —  and  swore,  for 
the  hundredth  time,  that  the  carver  must  and  should  go  to  the 
cutler's.  Perhaps,  as  he  said  this  so  positively,  it  was  expected 
that  the  carver  would  go  of  itself  to  the  grindstone  :  however, 
it  never  went ;  but  Kezia  and  the  knife  rubbed  on  till  the 
board  and  the  brick,  and  my  father's  patience  were  nearly 
worn  out  together.  The  dinner-tool  was  still  as  blunt  as  a 
spade  ;  and  might  have  remained  so  till  Doomsday,  but  for 
the  extraordinary  preparations  for  the  Christening,  when,  every 
other  household  article  having  undergone  a  furbishing,  the  eye 
of  our  maid-of-all-work  fell  on  the  refractory  knife,  which  she 
declared  —  please  the  pigs  —  should  go  forthwith  to  be  set 
and  ground  by  Mr.  Weldon  the  smith. 

Luckily  there  was  an  errand  due  in  the  same  direction ;  so 
huddling  herself  into  her  drab  shawl,  and  flinging  on  her  black 
bonnet,  without  tying  the  strings  —  for  there  was  no  time  for 


QUE   FAMILY.  49 

nicety  —  away  went  Kezia  through  the  village  at  her  best 
pace.  —  a  yellow  earthenware  basin  in  one  hand,  and  the 
naked  carving-knife  in  the  other;  a  combination,  be  it  said, 
ratherly  butcherly,  and  to  a  country-bred  mind  inevitably  sug- 
gestive of  pig-sticking,  and  catching  the  blood  for  black  pud- 
dings :  but  the  plain,  homely  Kezia,  who  seldom  studied 
appearances,  or  an  ideal  picture  of  her  own  person,  held 
sturdily  on  her  way,  with  striding  legs  and  swinging  arms,  the 
domestic  weapon  flashing  to  the  sunshine  in  her  red  right 
hand.  How  her  thoughts  were  occupied,  may  be  guessed,  — 
that  the  usual  speculations  of  menials  had  no  place  in  her 
brain.  Instead  of  thinking  of  sweethearts,  fairings,  ribbons, 
new  bonnets,  cast-off  gowns,  tea  and  sugar,  the  kitchen  stuff, 
vails,  perquisites,  windfalls,  petty  peculations,  warnings,  raised 
wages,  and  what  did  or  did  not  belong  to  her  place,  her  mind 
was  busy  with  the  Baptism,  the  dear  babes,  Mrs.  Prideaux,  her 
master,  mistress,  and  Mr.  Postle,  and  generally  all  those  house- 
hold interests  in  which  her  own  were  as  completely  merged 
and  lost  as  water  is  in  water.  Amongst  these  the  medical 
interest  of  course  held  a  prominent  place  and  induced  in  her, 
not  only  a  particular  attention  to  the  practice  and  the  patients, 
but  a  general  observance  —  which  became  habitual  —  of  looks 
and  symptoms,  with  a  strong  tendency,  moreover,  to  exhibit 
what  she  called  her  physical  knowledge.  This  propensity  she 
was  enabled  to  indulge  in  her  passage  along  "the  Street,"  a  long 
straggling  row  of  one-storied  cottages,  mud-built  and  thatched, 
and  only  separated  by  the  road  in  front  from  the  sluggish 
river,  which  added  its  unwholesome  damps  to  the  noxious 
effluvia  from  mouldy  furniture,  musty  garments,  and  perhaps 
rancid  provisions,  and  sluttish  accumulations  of  dust  and  dirt, 
in  dark,  ill-ventilated  rooms.  At  the  back,  dotted  with  stunt- 
ed willow-pollards,  and  windmills,  and  intersected  by  broad 
ditches,  lay  the  Fens,  a  dreary  expanse,  flat  as  a  map,  and  as 
diversely  colored  by  black  and  brown  bogs,  water,  purple  heath, 
green  moss,  and  various  crops,  blue,  red,  and  yellow,  including 
patches  of  hemp  and  flax,  which  at  certain  seasons  were  har- 
vested and  placed  to  steep  in  stagnant  ponds,  whence  the  rot- 
ting vegetable  matter  exhaled  a  pestilential  malaria  as  fetid 
in  its  stench  as  deadly  in  its  influence  on  the  springs  of  health 
and  life.  The  eyes  of  Kezia  rested,  therefore,  on  many  a 
sickly,  sallow  face  and  emaciated  frame  amongst  the  men  and 
3  D 


50  OUR  FAMILY. 

women  who  lounged  or  worked  beside  the  open  windows,  and 
even  in  some  of  the  children  that  played  round  the  thresholds, 
biting  monstrous  cantles  out  of  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  or 
nursing  baby  brothers  and  sisters  only  half  a  size  smaller  than 
themselves.  With  all  these  people,  big  and  little,  Kezia  ex- 
changed familiar  greetings,  and  nods  and  smiles  of  recognition, 
occasionally  halting  for  a  brief  conference,  —  for  example,  to 
recommend  "  scurvy  treatment "  for  little  Bratby,  to  prescribe 
a  close  of  "  globular  salts  "  for  the  younger  Modley,  or  to  hint 
to  Mrs.  Pincott,  whose  infant  was  suffering  from  dentition, 
that  its  gums  wanted  "  punctuation  "  with  the  lancet.  But  at 
one  house  she  paused  to  deliver  an  especial  salute ;  for  on  the 
door-step  sat  little  Sally  Warner,  cuddling  her  arms  in  her 
pinafore,  and  upturning  a  cheerful  chubby  face,  with  a  fair 
brow,  bright  blue  eyes,  and  rosy  cheeks,  but  sadly  disfigured 
between  the  snubby  nose  and  dimpled  chin,  and  all  round  the 
pretty  mouth,  by  an  eruption  which  might  have  been  averted 
by  a  timely  dose  of  brimstone  and  treacle,  —  a  spectacle  Kezia 
no  sooner  observed,  than,  abruptly  stopping  for  an  instant  with 
a  certain  gesture,  she  pronounced  certain  ambiguous  words,  so 
appalling,  in  one  sense,  that  the  scared  child  immediately  fled 
indoors  to  her  widowed  mother,  on  whose  lap,  after  a  parox- 
ysm of  grief  and  terror,  she  went  off  into  one  of  those  con- 
stitutional fits  to  which  she  had  been  subject  from  her  cradle. 

Poor  Kezia !  How  little  she  dreamt  that,  by  merely  point- 
ing at  a  child  with  a  carving-knife,  and  saying,  "  You  want 
opening !  "  she  was  seriously  endangering  a  young  life  !  How 
little  she  thought  that  she  was  preparing  for  her  dear  master 
another  of  those  mortifications  which  were  beginning  to  throng 
round  him  so  thickly  as  to  justify  the  old  proverb,  that  misfor- 
tunes never  come  single,  but  are  gregarious  in  mischief,  and 
hunt  in  packs  like  wolves. 

In  the  mean  time  my  lather,  good  easy  man  !  walked  on 
quite  unconscious  of  the  impending  annoyance  ;  for  the  inci- 
dent of  the  carving-knife,  which  furnished  this  little  episode, 
occurred  prior  to  the  scene  in  the  surgery  recorded  in  the  last 
chapter. 


OUR  FAMILY.  51 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE    VISIT  ;    AND    THE    VISITATION. 

A  good  man,  of  kindly  impulses,  and  contented  with  their 
gratification,  is  not  apt  to  resent  very  violently  the  ungracious 
reception  of  his  benefits ;  but,  however  indifferent  on  his  own 
account,  he  cannot  help  feeling  some  vexation,  partly  for  the 
sake  of  the  ingrate  himself,  and  partly  on  behalf  of  mankind 
in  general.  There  is  a  wrong  done  to  the  species ;  a  slur  cast 
on  human  nature ;  and  his  cheek  flushes,  if  not  with  personal 
indignation,  with  shame  for  his  race.  Thus,  there  are  men 
whom  a  series  of  injuries,  readily  forgiven,  have  failed  to  con- 
vert into  misanthropes ;  but  have  inspired,  nevertheless,  with 
a  profound  melancholy. 

Something  of  this  depression  probably  weighed  down  my 
father's  spirits,  seeing  that  he  walked  without  his  usual  music, 
the  whisper  of  a  whistle,  and  looking  earthwards  besides  — 
as  if  out  of  tune  for  sunshiny  thoughts  —  into  his  own  shadow 
—  heedless  alike  of  the  sparrow's  taking  a  dust-bath  in  the 
road,  and  the  wagtail  that  kept  just  ahead  of  him  by  a  series 
of  short,  swift  runs,  its  delicate  legs  almost  invisible  from  the 
rapidity  of  their  motion,  and  its  tail,  at  every  halt,  balancing 
with  that  peculiar  vibration  from  which  the  bird  derives  its 
name. 

And  yet  the  scene  was  much  brighter  than  when  he  had 
last  paced  the  same  road :  the  day  was  fine,  and  the  landscape 
as  lovely  and  cheerful  as  its  "  capabilities  "  allowed.  The  river 
glittered. in  the  sun;  the  bleak  rose  at  the  flies,  making  num- 
berless rings  and  dimples  in  the  surface  ;  and  myriads  of  min- 
nows and  stickle-backs  —  for  which  the  water  was  famous  — 
wheeled  and  manoeuvred  in  dark  shoals,  like  liquid  clouds, 
amidst  the  shallows  ;  while  larger  fish  skulked  in  the  eddies 
round  the  lock-gates,  or  glistened  silverly  through  the  intricate 
golden  arabesques  that  sparkled  in  the  rippled  water,  and 
thence  reflected,  danced  on  the  piles  of  the  dam,  and  the  sup- 
ports of  the  Dutch-looking  swing-bridge.  For  a  swarm  of  ex- 
patriated Flemings  had  settled  aforetime  in  the  neighborhood ; 
and  by  the  style  of  such  erections  had  made  the  country,  in  its 


52  OUR   FAMILY. 

artificial  features,  as  well  as  in  its  natural  aspect,  very  similar 
to  their  own. 

On  the  other  hand  lay  the  broad  ditch  ;  here  and  there 
widening  into  a  little  pool,  that  bristled  with  rushes  and  flags, 
amidst  patches  of  brown  water,  and  green  scum,  and  aquatic 
weeds,  enlivened  by  numerous  yellow  blossoms,  like  bathing 
buttercups,  over  which  the  red,  blue,  or  green  dragon-flies,  all 
head  and  tail  —  like  glorified  tadpoles —  darted  about  on  their 
gauzy  wings  ;  or  with  a  dipping  motion,  regular  as  a  pulsation, 
deposited  their  eggs  in  the  stagnant  fluid  ;  or  settled,  and  clung 
motionless  to  some  reedy  stem.  In  the  clear  spaces,  the  wa- 
ter-spider, skating  without  ice,  performed  its  eccentric  evolu- 
tions on  the  surface  ;  whilst  clouds  of  gnats  pertinaciously  hov- 
ered over  some  favorite  spot,  though  dissipated  again  and  again 
by  the  flutter  of  the  fly-bird,  hawking  at  insects,  and  returning 
after  each  short  flight  to  perch  on  the  same  dead  twig  of  the 
alder.  The  bank  was  gay  with  flowering  weed,  and  covered 
with  tangled  verdure  —  plants,  shrubby,  pyramidal,  and  pen- 
dulous, interlaced  and  festooned  by  straggling  creepers  and 
parasites,  out  of  which,  at  intervals,  struggled  the  trunk  of  the 
pollard  willow,  still  clasped  by  the  glossy  ivy,  and  embossed 
with  golden  or  emerald  moss  —  or  the  silvery  stem  of  the  as- 
pen, up-turning  at  every  breath  the  hoary  side  of  its  twinkling 
leaves,  and  changing  its  foliage  from  green  to  gray,  and  from 
gray  to  green,  with  the  variable  shades  of  the  summer  sea. 
The.  very  slime  oozing  round  the  muddy  margin  of  the  pool, 
and  filling  the  holes  poached  by  the  feet  of  horses  and  cattle, 
assumed  prismatic  tints  ;  whilst  the  fresh  plashes,  running  up 
into  the  road-ruts,  glanced  alternate  blue  and  white  with  the 
shifting  sky:  in  short,  there  was  all  the  beauty  that  color, 
change,  light  and  shade,  life  and  motion,  can  give  to  even  com- 
monplace objects ;  and  on  which,  generally,  my  father,  a  lover 
of  nature,  would  not  have  turned  a  careless  eye,  no  more  than 
he  would  have  let  the  sedge-bird  warble,  as  unheard  as  invisi- 
ble, among  the  waving  reeds. 

But  his  mind  was  preoccupied.  In  spite  of  himself  the 
harsh  voice  of  Mrs.  Hopkins  still  echoed  in  his  ear  ;  he  still 
saw  the  red  and  black  eyes  of  Mrs.  Pegge  glimmering,  like 
live  charcoal,  under  their  green  shade.  With  every  step,  how- 
ever, the  image  and  the  sounds  became  fainter,  and  the  cloud 
passed  away  from  his  soul. 


OUR   FAMILY.  53 

"  Pshaw,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  am  as  unreasonable  as  the 
old  women!     Poor  creatures,  that  have  hardly  daily  bread 
enough  to  justify  a  thanksgiving  —  and  to  expect  from  them  a 
grace  before  and  after  a  dose  of  physic !     To  be  sure  they 
might  have  been  more  civil  —  and  yet,  poor,  ragged,  infirm, 
disappointed  in  life,  and  diseased  —  the  one  half-blind  and  the 
other  a  cripple  —  what  worldly  sugar  have  they  in  their  cup 
to  sweeten  their  dispositions?     What  cream  of  comfort,  or 
soothing  syrup,  to  make  them  mild,  affable,  and  good-humored  ? 
And  besides,  what  do  they  meet  with  themselves  from  society 
at  large  but  practical  rudeness  ?    Scorned  and  shunned  because 
penniless  and  shabby ;  oppressed,  snubbed,  and  wronged,  be- 
cause weak  and  powerless ;  neglected  and  insulted,  because 
old  and  ugly ;  and  unceremoniously  packed  off  at  last,  as  no 
longer  ornamental,  useful,  or  profitable,  to  that  human  lumber- 
hole,  the  workhouse  !     Accustomed  to  endure  poverty  without 
pity,  age  without  reverence,  want  without  succor,  pain  without 
sympathy,  —  what   wonder  if  their  minds  get   warped  with 
their  frames,  and  as  sensitive  to  slights  and  affronts  as  their 
bodies  to  damp  and  cold  winds,  —  if  their  judgments  become 
as  harsh  as  their  voices,  or  if  their  tempers   sharpen  with 
their  features  ?     What  wonder  if  their  prejudices  stiffen  with 
their  limbs  —  their  whim-  increase  with  their  wrinkles  —  their 
repinings  with  their  infirmities  —  nay,  if  their  very  hearts 
harden  with  their  fates,  or  their  patience  fails  utterly  under 
the  tedious  suffering  of  some  chronic  disease,  which  Art  can 
only  palliate,  whilst  Hope  perhaps  promised  a  cure  ?     Xo,  no, 
we  must  not  expect  too  much  from  human  nature  under  such 
trials,  and  so  many  privations  !  —  And  so  let  them  enjoy  their 
discontents,"  said  my  father,  raising  his  voice :  "  the  worse  for 
them,  poor  souls,  that  they  are  past  other  pleasure !  —  and  if 
grumbling  be  a  comfort,  who  would  grudge  it,  any  more  than 
their  solitary  luxury  —  a  pinch  of  snuff  ?  " 

"  Or  a  drop  of  lodnum,"  grumbled  a  surly  voice. 
My  father  looked  up,  and  recognized  the  speaker  ;  but  the 
man,  gazing  straight  before  him,  as  if  suddenly  seized  with  a 
stiff  neck,  passed  hastily  by,  to  escape  the  words  which  [air- 
sued  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Roger  Heap,  or  a  dram  of  oxalic  acid,  which  I 
would  as  soon  sell  you  as  the  other.  It 's  the  curse  of  the 
county,  what  with  their  laudanum  drops — and  opie  pills  — 


54  OUR  FAMILY. 

and  syruping  the  infants  —  and  if  ever  I  saw  a  flower  like  a 
well-frilled  last  nightcap  it 's  the  White  Poppy  !  " 

My  father  stopped,  for  he  had  reached  the  widow's  pretty 
cottage,  and  stepping  through  the  open  front-door,  walked  into 
the  parlor.  It  was  a  small  room,  neatly  but  tastily  furnished ; 
for  Mrs.  Warner  had  been  left  in  easy  circumstances  by  her 
late  husband,  a  farmer,  in  those  prosperous  war  times  when 
farmers  reaped  golden  harvests  ;  and  long  before  the  distressed, 
agriculturist  learned  to  cry  "  Ichaboe  !  My  glory  is  departed 
from  me  !  and  I  am  dependent  for  profitable  crops  on  a  species 
of  foreign  Penguin,  of  dirty  habits ! "  His  competence,  in- 
deed, was  rapidly  growing  into  a  fortune,  when  he  perished 
suddenly  after  a  market-dinner  by  an  accident  which,  commu- 
nicated too  abruptly  to  the  widow,  made  her,  prematurely,  the 
mother  of  an  infant,  afflicted  from  its  ill-starred  birth  with  con- 
vulsions. A  black  profile  of  the  father  hung  over  the  mantel- 
piece, beside  the  old-fashioned  mirror ;  and  in  his  vacant  el- 
bow-chair, beside  the  fireplace,  reposed  his  favorite  terrier, 
blind  with  age,  and  asthmatic,  from  the  pampering  of  his  mis- 
tress, whose  whole  affections  were  divided,  though  in  unequal 
portions,  between  her  little  Sally  and  the  dog.  At  the  sound 
of  a  strange  foot  the  wheezy  animal  uttered  a  creaking  growl, 
but  quickly  began  to  thump  the  damask  seat  with  his  tail  on 
recognizing  my  father,  already  met,  or  rather  intercepted,  by 
the  widow,  who,  omitting  her  usual  courtesy,  placed  herself 
directly  before  him,  so  as  to  bar  his  passage  to  the  inner  room. 

"  Well,  and  how  is  Sally  ?  "  asked  my  father,  kindly  look- 
ing down  at  the  diminutive  widow,  for  she  was  the  smallest 
woman,  to  use  the  popular  description,  "  that  ever  stood  in 
shoe-leather,  not  to  be  an  absolute  dwarft."  Besides  which, 
since  Master  Warner's  death,  she  had  pined  and  wasted  away 
to  a  perfect  atomy,  and  looked  even  less  than  she  really  was 
in  that  pinched  cap  and  the  black  dress  which  reduced  her 
figure.  Not  that  she  fretted  visibly,  or  wept :  her  eyes  shed 
no  more  tears  than  those  of  the  peacock  plumes  over  the  old 
mirror  ;  but  if  grief  has  a  dry  rot  of  its  own,  by  that  decay  she 
had  crumbled  away  till  her  whole  widowed  body,  as  my  father 
said,  contained  but  just  clay  enough  to  make  one  little  lachry- 
matory urn.  In  truth,  she  was  singularly  withered  and  shriv- 
elled, and,  in  the  common  belief,  still  shrank  so  rapidly  as  to 
beget  a  notion  amongst  the  more  imaginative  of  the  village 


OUR  FAMILY.  55 

children,  that  she  would  eventually  dwindle  to  the  fairy  stand- 
ard, and  then  disappear. 

"  Well,  how  is  Sally  ?  "  asked  my  father  :  "  I  hear  she  has 
had  a  fit." 

"  She  lias,"  answered  the  tiny  widow.  Her  very  voice 
seemed  smaller  than  usual,  and  to  come,  a  mere  sibilant  mur- 
mur, through  her  thin,  compressed  lips  and  closed  teeth. 

"  Poor  thing !  I  '11  go  in  and  look  at  her,"  said  my  father, 
making  one  step  sideways,  and  then  another  forward. 

';  There  is  no  need,"  said  the  widow,  stepping  one  pace 
backward,  and  then  another  sideways,  so  as  to  still  keep  in  his 
front. 

"  Is  she  well,  then  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  had  better  see  her,  then,"  said  my  father. 

"  Doctor  Shackle  has  seen  her,"  said  the  widow. 

"  Quite  right  —  he  was  the  nearest,"  replied  my  father, 
who  was  as  free  from  the  professional  as  from  any  other  spe- 
cies of  jealousy.  "  Quite  right!  then  I  am  easy  about  her  — 
for  she  is  in  good  hands." 

Just  as  my  father  pronounced  this  eulogium  the  object  of  it 
issued  from  the  inner  room  ;  and  the  little  widow,  stepping 
apart,  left  the  rival  doctors  —  if  there  can  be  rivalry  all  on 
one  side  —  standing  face  to  face.  What  a  contrast  it  was  ! 
my  father,  plump,  rosy  as  a  redstreak,  and  bright-eyed  —  one 
of  those  men  of  the  old  school  who  looked  handsome  in  hair- 
powder  ;  the  other  a  tall,  bony  personage,  sandy  haired,  with 
large  yellow  whiskers,  stony  light  gray  eyes,  a  straight,  sharp 
nose,  high  cheekbones,  colorless  cheeks,  and  thin  lips,  parted 
in  a  perpetual  smile  that  resulted  less  from  good  temper  than 
good  teeth  —  a  proper  enough  personification  of  Lent,  remind- 
ing one  of  the  hard,  sordid  dryness  of  the  stockfish,  and  the 
complexion  of  the  parsnip.  Then  his  manners  were  cold  and 
reserved,  his  voice  uniform  in  its  tone  —  his  words  few  and 
sarcastic,  and  often  marked  in  italics,  by  a  sneering  curl  of  the 
lip  —  one  of  those  men  from  whose  veins,  if  pricked,  you  would 
expect  not  blood,  but  milk  —  not  milk  warm  and  sweet,  but 
acrid  like  that  of  the  dandelion  —  men  whose  livers,  you  feel 
sure,  are  white  ;  their  hearts  of  the  palest  flesh-color,  and  al- 
ways on  the  wrong  side  ;  their  brains  a  stinging  jelly,  like  the 
sea-nettle.     That  my  father,  one  of  the  warmest  of  the  warm- 


56  OUR  FAMILY. 

blooded  animals,  could  endure  such  a  polypus  —  that  they 
could  meet  without  his  instinctively  antipathizing  and  flying 
off,  was  proof  of  his  easy  disposition,  his  exquisite  temper,  his 
child-like  simplicity,  large  faith  in  human  goodness,  and  catho- 
lic attraction  towards  all  his  race. 

"Well,  Doctor,"  said  my  father,  "how  is  the  little  pa- 
tient ?  " 

"  All  safe  now,"  answered  Shackle.  "  But  a  terrible  shock 
to  the  system  —  tremendous  fit  —  brought  on  by  a  fright." 

"  A  fright  ?  " 

"  Yes  •  some  fool  or  other,  with  a  knife,  or  magical  instru- 
ment, or  something  —  threatened  to  rip  her  up." 

"The  brute  deserved  a  flogging!"  exclaimed  my  father. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Shackle,  with  a  glance  aside  at  the 
mother. 

"  Why,  the  brute,  as  you  call  her,"  began  the  widow,  but 
was  checked  by  Shackle,  who  placed  his  finger  on  his  lip,  and, 
stooping  down  to  her  ear,  whispered : 

"  Assumed  ignorance  !  " 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  my  father  ;  "  I  have  been  quite  anxious 
about  her." 

"  You  must  have  been,"  said  Shackle  ;  "  you  came  so  quick- 
ly !  "  —  a  sarcasm  my  father,  in  the  innocence  of  his  heart, 
mistook  for  a  civility. 

"  It  happened  hours  ago,"  remarked  the  little  widow. 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  cried  my  father.  "  But  I  knew  nothing 
of  it  —  not  a  syllable." 

Shackle  said  nothing,  but  looked  incredulously  at  the  widow, 
who  replied,  by  an  almost  imperceptible  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Postle  only  told  me,"  said  my  father,  "  about  ten  minutes 
since." 

"  O,  that  Postle  !  "  exclaimed  Shackle,  "  what  a  treasure 
he  must  be  !  " 

"  He  is,  indeed,"  said  my  father,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
intended  sneer. 

"  And  that  —  what 's  her  name  ?  —  Kezia  ?  "  cried  Shackle, 
"taking  such  a  family  interest  in  everything  —  even  to  the 
medical  practice  !  " 

At  the  mention  of  Kezia  and  medical  practice,  the  figure 
of  the  little  widow  appeared  to  dilate  ;  her  c\c>  flashed,  and 
her  tiny  tongue  began  rapidly  to  moisten  her  thin  lips  ;  but, 


OUR   FAMILY.  57 

before  she  could  speak,  Shackle  broke  in  with  some  directions 
about  the  sick  child  ;  and  then  seizing  my  father  by  the  arm, 
hurried  him  out  of  the  cottage.  "I  have  another  case  to 
attend,"  he  said,  "  and  a  very  urgent  one." 

"I  hope  the  present  one,"  said  my  father,  "is  going  on 
favorably." 

"  O,  quite  ;  she  is  all  right,"  answered  Shackle.  "  By 
the  by,  I  hope  I  am  excused. '  There  is  a  certain  etiquette 
between  medical  men,  —  and  I  ought  to  apologize  for  interfer- 
ing with  one  of  your  patients." 

••  N<  >t  at  all !  not  at  all !  "  cried  my  father.  "  TTe  are  both 
of  us  engaged  in  the  same  great  mission  —  co-operators  in  the 
good  work  of  alleviating  human  suffering." 

"  Exactly  so  —  of  the  same  order  of  charity"  said  Shackle, 
with  a  sneering  emphasis  on  the  last  word,  intended  secretly 
for  my  father's  gratuitous  practice.  "  Yes,  both  of  us  are  of 
one  fraternity,  or,  as  we  should  be  called  abroad.  Brothers  of 
Mercy,"  —  a  phrase  which  so  delighted  my  father,  that,  seizing 
Shackle's  hand  between  both  his  own,  he  warrnly  urged  a  re- 
quest conceived  some  minutes  before. 

"  With  the  utmost  pleasure,"  replied  Shackle,  bowing,  and 
returning  the  squeeze  with  apparent  cordiality  ;  and  then  the 
two  doctors  parted  —  one  with  an  ivory  smile  on  his  face,  that 
vanished  the  moment  he  turned  his  back ;  the  other  with  a 
kindly  glow  on  his  countenance  which  promised  to  endure  till 
the  next  meeting. 

My  father,  however,  instead  of  turning  homewards,  guided 
by  some  vague  impulse,  bent  his  steps  towards  the  dwelling  of 
the  Hobbeses.  —  To  see.  after  so  many  disappointments,  how 
his  kind  intentions  had  thriven  in  that  quarter  ?  Perhaps  so. 
Meanwhile  little  Sally  was  safe,  and  his  whistle  was  resumed. 
He  was  conscious  of  the  warmth  and  glory  of  the  sunshine  ; 
heard  and  enjoyed  the  carol  of  the  lark  ;  observed  the  gray 
goose  leading  her  callow  yellow  gulls  across  the  road  to  the 
river  ;  and  laughed  at  the  consequential  airs  of  the  hissing- 
gander,  as  he  sailed  on,  with  raised  stern,  and  one  broken 
wing  hanging  down  at  his  side,  like  the  weather-board  of  a 
Dutch  yacht.  But  a  stranger  spectacle  was  in  store  for  him 
—  a  low  mud  cottage,  rudely  thatched  with  brown  mossy  straw 
and  reeds  —  the  broken  panes  of  its  one  window  stopped  with 
dingy  rags  — and  two  men,  in  the  livery  of  the  magpie,  but  re- 
3* 


58  OUR  FAMILY. 

pudiating  its  loquacity,  in  short,  two  Mutes,  in  black  and 
white,  standing  one  on  each  side  of  the  humble  door !  My 
father  stopped  and  rubbed  his  eyes  like  a  man  "  drowned  in  a 
dream."  But  no,  there  they  were,  the  two  mummers,  with 
their  paraphernalia  in  their  hands,  surrounded  by  an  undress 
circle  of  the  village  children,  backed  by  an  outer  ring  of  men 
and  women,  who  stared  over  their  black,  white,  brown,  red, 
yellow,  cropped  or  curly  little  heads. 

In  another  minute  there  was  a  stir  and  murmur  of  expecta- 
tion amongst  the  crowd,  —  and  first  a  black  and  white  hat, 
and  then  a  man  in  black  with  a  white  scarf,  came  stooping 
through  the  low  door ;  followed  by  two  other  men  in  sables, 
carrying  a  little  coffin,  covered  with  French  gray  cloth,  and 
studded  with  silvered  nails.  After  a  pause,  as  if  to  afford 
time  for  the  spectators  to  gaze  and  comment  on  the  handsome 
coffin  and  its  ornaments,  another  attendant  threw  over  it  a 
black  velvet  pall  with  a  white  border ;  and  then  came  forth 
the  mourners,  stumbling  over  the  threshold,  the  Mother  with  a 
white  handkerchief  at  her  eyes  ;  but  the  Father  with  his  grief, 
all  unveiled,  writhing  in  his  hard-featured,  yellow  face.  The 
silk  hood  and  scarf  but  partially  concealed  the  shabby,  ragged 
clothing  of  the  poor  woman  ;  and  the  funeral-mantle  was  far 
too  short  for  the  tall  man,  whose  mud-stained  corduroys  were 
visible  a  foot  below  its  skirt ;  whilst  one  half  of  his  best  and 
worst  beaver,  brown  in  color  and  of  no  particular  shape, 
bulged  out  roughly  above  the  sleek  hatband  which  encircled 
it,  and  thence  flowed  down  his  nape,  and  with  a  full  convex 
curve  over  his  high  round  shoulders.  There  was  a  moan  from 
the  crowd  as  the  mourners  appeared,  and  then  a  hush,  only 
broken  by  the  sobs  of  the  bereaved  parents,  whereat  the 
tender-hearted  of  the  circle  looked  tearfully  at  each  other,  and 
clasped  their  hands.  At  last  the  man  in  black  with  the  white 
scarf — composing  his  face,  as  it  were,  to  some  inaudible 
Dead  March  —  solemnly  took  three  steps  forward,  and  then 
suddenly  wheeling  about,  walked  six  steps  backwards,  with  his 
eyes  steadfastly  fixed  on  the  moving  pall  which  followed  him 
—  and  then  three  more  steps  backwards,  but  on  his  tiptoes,  to 
look  over  the  pall  at  the  mourners  —  when  all  being  right,  he 
turned  round  again,  and  walked  on,  as  slowly  as  he  could  pace, 
to  eke  out  the  very  short  distance  between  the  hut  of  mourn- 
ing and  the  church.     The  crowd,  which  had  opened  to  the 


OUR  FAMILY.  59 

procession,  closed  again,  and  followed  in  its  wake  —  men, 
women,  boys,  and  girls,  all  seriously  or  curiously  interested  in 
Death,  except  the  vacant  baby  faces,  which  leaning  chubbily 
on  the  mothers'  shoulders,  looked  quite  the  other  way. 

"  A  foolish  job,  bean't  it  ?  "  said  an  old  woman,  leaning  on  a 
crutch  —  quite  too  lame  to  follow  the  funeral.  "  To  chuck  away 
money  that  way  !  Quite  a  waste,  bean't  it  ?  "  —  and  she  put 
up  a  tin  ear-trumpet,  and  turned  its  broad  end  towards  my 
father. 

"  It  is,  indeed  !  "  cried  my  father,  surprised  by  such  an  echo 
of  his  own  reflections. 

"Ay,  bean't  it  ? "  repeated  the  old  deaf  woman.  "  And 
such  poor  paupers  as  them  too  —  as  might  have  had  a  bury- 
ing by  the  parish  ! " 

My  father  hesitated  to  answer.  He  knew  the  poor  well ; 
their  intense  abhorrence  of  a  parish  funeral ;  and  the  extreme 
sacrifices  they  would  make  to  subscribe  to  a  burial  society, 
and  secure  a  decent  interment.  But  he  thought  it  best  to 
chime  in  with  the  old  woman's  humor. 

"  Of  course  they  might,"  he  said.  "  The  Hobbeses  are  on 
the  parish  books  already,  and  the  overseer  would,  no  doubt, 
have  given  them  an  order  on  the  parish  undertaker." 

"  Who  will  take  her  ?  "  asked  the  deaf  woman. 

My  father  loudly  repeated  his  words. 

"  Ay  —  an  order  for  a  common  deal-box,"  screamed  the  old 
woman,  in  a  voice  so  different  to  her  former  one,  that  my 
father  looked  round  for  another  speaker.  "  A  rough  wooden 
thing,  only  fit  for  soap  and  candles  !  Look  there  !  "  and  she 
pointed  with  her  crutch  —  "  I  'd  sooner  bury  a  child  o'  mine, 
wi'  a  brickbat  in  yonder  pool !  But  anything  is  good  enow 
for  the  like  of  us  to  be  packed  into.  Ay,  an  old  tea-chest,  or 
a  forrin  fruit  chest,  with  our  pauper  corpses  a  bulgin  out  the 
sides,  and  showin,  like  the  orangers,  thro  the  cracks  !  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  shouted  my  father. 

"  But  I  say  yes,  yes,"  cried  the  old  woman.  "  Screwed 
down  in  a  common  box,  and  jolted  off,  full  trot,  to  be  chucked 
into  the  parish  pit-hole  —  and  a  good  riddance  of  old  rub- 
bidge  !  And  "better  that  than  to  be  made  a  gift  of,  privily,  to 
the  parish  doctor  !  Ay,  you  !  you !  you  ! "  she  screamed, 
shaking  her  crutch  in  my  father's  face  —  "  with  your  surgical 
cuttings,  and  carvings,  and  'natomizings  !  And  can  hardly 
have  patience  to  wait  till  people  are  dead ! " 


GO  OUE  FAMILY. 

"  If  I  know  what  you  mean,"  bawled  my  father,  "  I  '11  be 
'natomized  myself ! " 

"  O,  not  you,  forsooth ! "  answered  the  old  woman,  who  had 
imperfectly  heard  the  anecdote  of  Kezia  and  the  carving- 
knife,  and,  like  other  deaf  people,  had  made  her  own  blunder- 
ing version  of  the  story.  "  But  you  long,  you  know  you  do, 
to  cut  open  little  Sally  Warner,  and  to  look  in  her  inside  for 
the  cause  of  her  fits  ! " 

My  father  winced  —  it  would  have  vexed  Job  himself. 

"  Plague  take  it !  "  he  said,  as  much  rumpled  as  it  was  pos- 
sible for  him  to  be  in  his  temper.  "  I  do  believe  some  dog 
has  run  mad,  and  bitten  all  the  old  women  in  the  village ! " 

"  Ay,  that  comes  home  to  you,"  cried  the  crabbed  cripple. 
"  And  mind  Death  don't  come  home  too  —  to  your  own  twin 
babies.  To  begrudge  poor  Sukey  Hobbes  her  funeral ! 
Suppose  it  was  even  a  hearse  and  six,  with  ostrich  plumage 
—  and  why  not  ?  An  only  child,  quite  a  doting-piece,  and 
begrudged  nothing  in  life,  by  fond  parents,  if  it  cost  the  last 
penny,  and  why  should  she  be  begrudged  by  them  in  death  — 
and  gold  and  silver  in  the  house  ?  And  which  some  say  was 
flung  in,  by  night  through  the  window  by  Doctor  Shackle,  and 
that  he  owns  to  it,  or  leastways  don't  deny  it  —  but  I  say, 
chucked  down  the  chimbly  by  a  Guardian  Angel,  in  the  shape 
of  a  white  pigeon,  as  was  seen  sitting  on  the  roof." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  shouted  my  father,  rubbing  his  nose,  and 
quite  restored  to  good-humor  by  his  new  metamorphosis. 
"  There  was  a  guardian  angel  seen  lately  sitting  on  a  rock  in 
America  —  only"  —  and  he  dropped  his  voice  —  "it  turned 
out  to  be  an  exciseman  tarred  and  feathered." 

"  That 's  true,  then,"  said  the  old  woman.  "  But  the  funeral 
will  be  coming  back,  and  I  must  speak  a  condoling  word  to 
the  Hobbeses.  Poor  souls  !  I  know  myself  what  it  is  to  be 
childless  —  but  it  will  be  an  everlasting  blessed  comfort  and 
consoling  to  them  to  reflect  they  have  given  her  such  a  genteel 
burying  as  was  never  seen  afore  in  their  spheres  of  life." 
And  the  old  crone  hobbled  off  on  her  crutch,  leaving  my 
father  to  whistle  or  talk  to  himself  as  he  pleased.  He  did  the 
last. 

"  Yes,  the  old  deaf  body  is  right.  The  money  was  intended 
for  the  comfort  and  consolation  of  the  bereaved  couple  ;  and 
they  were  justified  in  seeking  for  them  in  the  mode  most  con- 


OUR   FAMILY. 


61 


genial  to  their  own  feelings.  An  odd  mode,  to  be  sure, 
considering  their  usual  habits  and  rank  in  life  !  And  yet,  why 
should  not  the  poor  have  their  whims  and  prejudices  as  well 
as  the  rich  ?  Grief  is  grief,  in  high  or  low,  and,  like  other 
morbid  conditions,  is  apt  to  indulge  in  strange  fancies.  So 
let  the  guineas  go  —  there  are  worse  lavishings  in  this  world 
than  on  the  obsequies  of  an  only  child  !  And  after  all,  if  the 
money  went  foolishly,  it  came  quite  as  absurdly  —  for  medical 
attendance  on  a  sick  monkey  ! " 


CHAPTER    XI. 

our  doctor's  boy. 

The  surgery  was  quiet  —  the  assistant  leisurely  maKing  up 
some  sort  of  medical  swan-shot  —  when  my  father  entered, 
and  hung  up  his  hat. 

"Well,  I  have  met  Doctor  Shackle  at  last:  —  he  was  at 
Mrs.  Warner's  —  and  the  child  is  better." 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  him  too,"  observed  Mr.  Postle,  very 
calmly  in  tone,  but  squeezing  his  finger  and  thumb  together 
so  energetically,  that  the  bolus  which  was  between  them  —  in- 
stead of  a  nose  —  was  flattened  into  a  lozenge. 

"  Then  you  will  soon  have  that  pleasure,"  said  my  father, 
"  for  I  have  asked  him  to  the  christening." 

Mr.  Postle  turned  faint,  sick,  red,  and  then  white,  with  dis- 
gust :  symptoms  the  Doctor  must  have  observed,  but  that  his 
attention  was  absorded  by  a  phenomenon  elsewhere. 

It  was  Catechism  Jack,  —  who  after  a  preliminary  peep  or 
two  from  behind  the  door-post,  at  last  crept,  with  a  sidling 
gait  and  a  sheepish  air,  into  the  surgery,  where  by  eccentric  ap- 
proaches, like  those  of  a  shy  bird,  he  gradually  placed  himself 
at  the  counter. 

"  Well,  Jack,"  said  my  father,  "  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

Jack  made  no  reply  ;  but  dropping  his  head  on  his  right 
shoulder,  with  a  leer  askance  at  my  father,  plucked  his  sod- 
den finger  out  of  his  mouth,  and  pointed  with  it  to  one  of  the 
drawers. 


62  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  You  see,"  said  my  father,  in  an  aside  to  Postle,  "  the  fel- 
low is  not  quite  a  fool.  He  remembers  where  the  lozenge 
came  from." 

"  Mere  animal  instinct,"  answered  Postle,  in  the  same  un- 
der tone :  "  a  monkey  would  do  as  much,  and  remember  the 
canister  where  he  got  a  lump  of  sugar." 

"  I  will  try  him  further,"  said  my  father,  putting  his  hand 
in  the  drawer  for  a  lozenge,  which  he  held  out  between  his 
finger  and  thumb.  "  Well,  Jack,  what  will  you  do  if  I  give 
you  this  ?  "  Jack  eyed  the  lozenge  —  grinned  —  looked  at  my 
father  ;  and  then  drawled  out  his  answer. 

"  I  '11  say  my  Catechism." 

"No,  no,  Jack,"  cried  my  father,  "we  don't  want  that. 
But  will  you  be  a  good  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jack,  his  head  suddenly  drooping  again,  while 
a  cloud  passed  over  his  face.  "  Yes,  I  will,  —  and  not  tum- 
ble down  stairs." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  said  my  father.  "  They  made  a  fault  of 
his  misfortune.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  him.  Should 
you  like,  Jack,  to  get  your  own  living  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack  with  alacrity,  for  my  father  had  un- 
consciously given  him  a  familiar  cue  —  "  to  learn  and  labor 
truly  to  get  my  own  living,  and  to  do  my  duty  in  that  state  of 
life  to  which  it  may  please  God  to  call  me." 

"  Catechism  again  ! "  whispered  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Yes,  but  aptly  quoted  and  applied,"  answered  my  father. 
"  Do  you  know,  Jack,  what  physic  is  ?  " 

Jack  nodded,  and  pantomimically  expressed  his  acquaint- 
ance with  medicine  by  making  a  horrible  grimaee. 

"  Well,  but  speak  out,  Jack,"  said  my  father.  "  Use  your 
tongue.  Let  us  hear  what  you  know  about  it.  What's 
physic  ?  " 

"  Nasty  stuff,"  said  Jack,  "  in  a  spoon." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father,  "  or  in  a  wine-glass,  Jack,  or  in  a 
cup.  Very  good.  And  do  you  remember  my  foot-boy,  Job, 
who  used  to  carry  out  the  physic  in  a  basket  ? " 

Jack  nodded  again. 

"  Should  you  like  to  take  his  place,  and  carry  out  the  medi- 
cine in  the  same  way  ?  " 

"I  —  don  't  —  know,"  drawled  Jack,  sympathetically  suck- 
ing his  finger,  while  he  ogled  the  little  oval  confection,  which 
my  father  still  retained  in  its  old  position. 


OUR   FAMILY.  63 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  do  it  ?  " 

Jack  was  silent. 

"  Would  you  try  to  learn  ?  " 

"  I  learn  two  things,"  mumbled  Jack,  "  my  duty  towards 
God.  and  my  duty  towards  my  neighbor." 

"  Xot  very  apposite  that,"  muttered  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Not  much  either  way,"  answered  my  father ;  and  he  re- 
sumed the  examination. 

••  Well,  Jack,  suppose  I  were  to  take  you  into  my  service, 
and  feed  and  clothe  you  —  should  you  like  a  smart  new 
liverv  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  a  new  hat  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  if  I  were  to  give  you  a  pair  of  new  shoes,  would  you 
take  care  of  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Jack,  "  and  walk  in  the  same  all  the  days 
of  my  life." 

"  There  ! "  said  my  father,  giving  Postle  a  nudge  with  his 
elbow  ;  "  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  A  mere  random-shot,"  answered  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  my  father,  turning  again  to  his  protege. 
"  Well,  Jack,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  you  a  trial.  If  I 
take  you  into  the  house,  and  find  you  in  a  good  bed,  and  com- 
fortable meals,  and  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  provide  for  you  alto- 
gether, would  you  promise  to  behave  yourself  ?  " 

"  They  did  promise  and  vow  three  things  in  my  name,"  an- 
swered Jack ;  "  first,  that  I  should  renounce  the  devil  and  all 
his  works  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  my  father  rather  hastily,  for  Postle  was 
grinning.  "  We  know  all  that.  But  would  you  take  care  of 
the  basket,  Jack,  and  leave  the  medicine  for  the  neighbors  at 
the  right  houses,  and  attend  to  your  duty  ?  " 

"  My  duty  towards  my  neighbor,"  answered  Jack,  "  is  to 
love  him  as  myself;  and  to  do  to  all  men  as  I  would  they 
should  do  unto  me.  —  Give  us  the  lozenge." 

My  father  gave  him  the  lozenge,  which  the  lad  eagerly  pop- 
ped into  his  mouth,  occasionally  taking  it  out  again,  to  look 
edgeways  at  its  thinness,  till  all  was  gone  ;  and  then  deliber- 
ately licked  his  sweetened  hand,  beginning  at  the  thumb,  and 
ending  with  the  little  finger.     My  father,  who  had  watched 


64  OUR  FAMILY. 

every  motion  with  intense  interest,  mechanically  turned  round 
to  the  drawer  for  another  "  Tolu  ; "  but  falling  into  a  fit  of 
musing  at  the  same  time,  forgot  the  destination  of  the  lozenge, 
and  eventually  clapped  it  into  his  own  mouth,  to  the  infinite 
discomfiture  of  Jack,  who  by  a  sudden  depression  of  his  fea- 
tures, while  his  head  dropped  on  his  bosom,  and  his  arms  fell 
straight  by  his  sides,  typified  very  vividly  the  common  catas- 
trophe of  the  Hope  going  down  with  all  hands. 

"Yes,  my  mind  is  made  up,"  said  my  father,  awakening 
from  his  reverie.  "  At  any  rate  the  unfortunate  creature  shall 
have  a  chance.  With  a  little  looking  after  at  first,  he  will  do 
very  well." 

Mr.  Postle  looked  earnestly  at  my  father,  with  an  expres- 
sion which  might  be  translated  "  What  next  ?  "  —  then  up  at 
the  ceiling  with  a  shrug  which  signified  "  Lord,  help  us  !  "  — 
and  then  performed  "  Confound  it !  "  by  a  frantic  worrying  of 
his  hair,  as  if  it  had  been  wool  or  flock  that  required  teazing. 
To  remonstrate,  he  knew  was  in  vain.  My  father,  in  ordinary 
cases,  was  not  what  is  called  pig-headed ;  but  in  matters  of 
feeling,  his  heart,  as  Postle  said,  was  "  as  obstinate  as  the  in- 
fluenza, which  will  run  its  own  course."  In  fact,  from  that 
hour  "  the  Idiot  "  was  virtually  engaged  vice  Job,  —  for  the 
parish  of  course  made  no  objection  to  the  arrangement ;  and 
as  to  the  old  dame,  his  guardian,  my  father  found  means, 
never  exactly  known,  to  reconcile  her  to  the  loss  of  her  charge 
and  the  stipend.  So  the  thing  being  settled,  Mr.  Postle  made 
the  best  of  it,  and  endeavored  to  initiate  his  subordinate  in  his 
duties  :  but  it  was  hard  work,  and  accordingly  Kezia  volun- 
teered her  help  to  convert  Jack  into  our  Doctor's  Boy. 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said,  "  his  faculties  were  not  over  bright, 
and  he  would  protrude  his  catechiz  at  unseasoned  times ;  but 
he  was  very  willing,  and  well-disposed,  and  an  orphan  besides, 
and,  as  such,  every  woman  ought  to  be  his  mother."  And 
truly,  however  she  found  time  for  the  labor,  she  turned  him 
out  daily  so  trim  and  clean,  that  could  she  have  scoured  up 
his  dull  mind  to  the  same  polish,  Jack  would  have  been  one 
of  the  smartest  boys  in  the  parish. 


OUR  FAMILY.  (35 

CHAPTER    XII. 

OUR  GODFATHER. 

A  month  and  two  days  of  our  little  lives  had  passed  away, 
and  another  evening  was  in  the  wane,  without  any  appearance 
of  our  worthy  Uncle  and  Godfather  elect,  the  rich  and  re- 
spectable Mr.  Jinkins  Rumbold. 

He  had  written,  briefly  indeed,  to  accept  the  sponsorship, 
and  to  beg  that  the  spare  bed  might  be  regularly  slept  in,  see- 
ing that  he  was  subject  to  the  rheumatism  :  but,  although  the 
morrow  was  appointed  for  the  Christening,  still  he  came  not. 
No  —  although  his  mattress,  thanks  to  the  indefatigable  Kezia, 
was  well  shaken,  his  blankets  thoroughly  aired,  his  sheets 
sweetly  lavendered  —  a  fire  laid  ready  for  lighting  in  the 
grate — a  bowpot,  daily  renewed,  on  the  mantel-shelf — and 
the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  with  the  leaf  turned  down  at 
the  Public  Baptism  of  Infants,  deposited  on  the  walnut-wood 
table. 

My  mother  was  in  despair ;  for  she  was  a  devotee  of  a  very 
ancient  and  numerous  sect,  renowned  for  self-torture  and  volun- 
tary martyrdom.  Not  that  she  ever  scourged  or  flagellated 
her  own  body  with  cords  or  rods,  or  gashed  her  flesh  with 
knives,  or  scored  it  with  uncut  talons,  or  wore  sackcloth  next 
her  skin,  or  emaciated  her  frame  by  long  fast  or  frequent  vigils  ; 
but  for  such  painful  exercises  as  lying  on  metaphorical  thorns, 
sitting  on  figurative  pins  and  needles,  or  hanging  on  colloquial 
tenter-hooks,  she  was  a  first-class  saint  of  the  self-tormenting 
order  of  the  Fidgets. 

"  It  don't  signify ! "  she  said,  in  a  crying  tone,  and  floun- 
cing down  in  the  great  white  dimity-covered  chair  in  the  bed- 
room, as  if  her  legs  had  suddenly  struck  work.  "  I  'm  quite 
worn  out !  If  my  brother  means  to  stand  for  his  nephews,  he 
ought  to  be  here  by  this  time.  Here  we  are,  as  I  may  say, 
on  the  very  brink  of  the  font,  and  no  godfather !  —  at  least 
not  certain.     It  is  running  it  cruelly  fine  ;  it  is,  indeed  !  " 

As  my  mother  during  these  observations  had  first  looked 
down  at  the  floor,  as  if  addressing  the  spirits  under  the  earth, 
and  then  up  at  the  ceiling,  as  though  appealing  to  all  the 

E 


66  OUR  FAMILY. 

angels  in  heaven,  Mrs.  Pricleaux,  in  her  intermediate  sphere, 
did  not  feel  called  upon  to  reply,  but  continued  quietly  to  rock 
the  cradle. 

"  A  stranger,"  continued  my  mother,  "  might  be  excused  for 
indifference  ;  but  when  a  brother  and  an  uncle  exhibits  such 
apathy,  what  is  one  to  think  ?  " 

Still  the  nurse  remained  silent ;  for  the  speaker,  during  her 
apostrophe,  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  neglected  twins.  But 
my  mother  was  yearning  for  sympathy,  and,  therefore,  aimed 
her  next  appeal  point  blank  at  the  mark. 

"  I  confess  it  does  fret  and  worry  me  ;  but  it  is  too  bad,  Mrs. 
P. ;  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Not  having  the  pleasure  to  know  the  gentleman,"  replied 
Mrs.  P.,  "  I  must  beg  to  decline  hazarding  an  opinion.  The 
delay  may  have  proceeded  from  procrastination,  or  it  may 
have  arisen  from  some  accident." 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  clasping  her 
hands,  as  if  wrung  by  some  positive  calamity.  "  Yes,  you 
are  right !  There  must  have  been  an  accident !  You  only 
echo  my  own  misgivings.  There  have  been  heavy  rains 
lately,  and  the  waters  are  out  of  course.  0  my  poor,  dear, 
drowned  brother  !  To  think  that,  perhaps,  whilst  I  am  blam- 
ing and  reproaching  you  —  " 

She  stopped,  for  at  that  very  instant  the  door  opened  ;  and, 
ushered  in  by  my  father,  and  closely  followed  by  Kezia,  the 
dear  undrowned  brother  walked  into  the  chamber,  perfectly 
safe  and  dry,  and  not  a  little  astonished  at  the  hysterical 
scream  and  vehement  caress  with  which  he  was  welcomed. 

At  last  my  mother  untwined  her  arms  from  his  neck,  and 
sank  again  into  the  easy-chair. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  safe  !  But  oh  ! 
how  changed  !  "  an  observation  she  prudently  whispered  to 
herself;  but  which,  nevertheless,  was  plainly  telegraphed  by 
the  workings  of  her  features.  And  truly  the  alteration  she 
beheld  would  have  justified  a  louder  exclamation.  From  top 
to  toe,  the  former  Jenkins  Rumbold  had  undergone  a  complete 
metamorphosis.  Instead  of  his  old-fashioned  wig  —  formal, 
as  if  cut  in  yew,  by  some  Dutch  topiarian  —  he  wore  his  own 
hair,  or  rather  a  fringe  of  it,  to  his  bald  head  ;  —  the  quaint 
pigtail,  which  used  to  dangle  at  his  nape,  was  also  retrenched  ; 
but  his  chin,  by  way  of  compensation,  displayed  a  beard  like 


OUR  FAMILY.  67 

a  French  sapper's.  And  where  was  his  precise  white  cravat, 
with  its  huge  bow  ?  Discarded  for  a  black  silk  kerchief, 
carelessly  tied  round  his  neck  in  the  sailor  style,  with  a  lax 
double-knot.  His  silver  knee  and  foot -buckles  were  likewise 
gone  ;  for  his  square-toed  shoes  were  replaced  by  a  kind  of 
easy  buskins,  and  his  kerseymere  shorts  had  become  longs,  as 
wide  and  loose  as  the  trousers  of  a  marine.  His  waistcoat 
was  unique  ;  and  his  coat  —  cut  after  some  original  pattern  of 
his  own  —  was  remarkable  for  the  number  and  amplitude  of 
its  pockets  :  fit,  there  was  none.  He  seemed  to  have  won  a 
suit  of  clothes  in  a  raffle,  and  to  have  adopted  them  for  his 
own  wear  from  the  sole  merit  of  being  so  easy  and  roomy  that 
he  could  roll  about  in  them  —  like  a  great  oracle  of  those 
day-.  Dr.  Johnson. 

What  an  Uncle  !  —  what  a  Godfather  ! 

Well  might  Kezia  gape  and  gasp  like  a  hooked  gudgeon  at 
such  a  phenomenon  !  Nay,  the  genteel  nurse  herself  opened 
her  eyes  to  a  most  vulgar  width,  and  stared  at  the  strange 
gentleman  with  a  pertinacity  quite  inconsistent  with  her  usual 
good  manners. 

My  father  alone  was  unmoved.  Accustomed  to  the  extra- 
ordinary whims  and  crotchets  of  sick  and  insane  humanity, 
he  was  not  surprised  by  the  oddities  of  his  kinsman,  which  he 
ascribed  to  their  true  source.  The  truth  is,  whilst  the  worthy 
drysalter  remained  in  trade  the  monotonous  routine  of  business 
induced  and  required  a  corresponding  precision  and  formality 
of  conduct  and  character.  He  had  neither  leisure  nor  leave  to 
be  eccentric.  To  caper  and  curvet  on  the  commercial  railroad 
is  as  dangerous  as  inconvenient  and  inconsistent.  But  once 
released  from  business,  and  its  habits,  like  the  retired  trades- 
man who  sets  up  his  fancy  carriage,  or  builds  his  "  Folly," 
he  started  his  hobby.  Its  nature  chance  helped  to  determine, 
by  throwing  into  his  way  a  certain  treatise,  by  some  cosmogony 
man  of  the  Monboddo  school,  if  not  actually  an  unacknowl- 
edged work  from  the  pen  of  the  speculative  philosopher, 
who  maintained  that  Man,  at  the  creation,  had  a  tail  like  the 
Monkey.  However,  the  original  uncle  Rumbold  had  so 
translated  himself  as  to  be  hardly  recognizable  by  his  next 
of  kin. 

"  Ah !  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said.  "  You  miss  my  wig 
and  tail,  and  are  boggling  at  my  beard.     A  manly  ornament, 


68  OUR  FAMILY. 

is  n't  it  —  as  intended  by  the  Creator  ?  For  eighteen  months, 
sister  —  for  a  year  and  a  half,  brother-in-law  —  no  razor  has 
touched  my  chin,  and  please  God,  never  shall  again  —  never  ! 
—  at  least  while  I  preserve  my  reason.  As  for  shaving,  it 's 
a  piece  of  effeminacy,  the  invention  of  modern  foppery  ;  to 
say  nothing  of  the  degradation  of  having  your  nose,  that  very 
sensitive  feature,  and  one  of  the  seats  of  honor,  pulled  here 
and  there,  right  and  left,  up  and  down,  at  the  will  of  a  con- 
temptible penny  barber." 

«  Very  degrading,  indeed,"  said  my  father,  stroking  his  own 
chin  with  his  hand,  as  if  coaxing  a  beard  to  grow  from  it. 

"  If  there  's  a  ridiculous  spectacle  in  the  world,"  continued 
Uncle  Rumbold,  "  it 's  a  full-grown  man,  a  son  of  Adam  the 
Great,  with  his  human  face  divine  lathered  like  a  dead  wall  at 
its  whitewashing  —  now  crying  with  the  suds  in  his  eye,  and 
then  spitting  with  the  soap  in  his  mouth  —  and  undergoing  all 
this  painful,  and  absurd,  and  disgusting  penance  for  what  ? 
Why,  to  get  rid  of  the  very  token  that  gives  the  world  assur- 
ance of  a  man." 

"  Ridiculous  enough  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  My  wig,  on  the  contrary,  was  an  artificial  appendage, 
and  accordingly  I  have  abandoned  it.  If,  as  a  sign  of  mature 
age,  nature  ordains  me  to  be  as  bald  as  a  coot,  so  be  it  —  I 
will  go  to  my  grave  with  an  unsophisticated  bare  sconce. 
The  same  with  my  queue.  If  she  had  intended  me  to  wear 
a  pig's  tail  bound  in  black  ribbon,  at  my  nape,  she  would 
have  furnished  me  with  one,  or  at  least  the  germ  of  one,  at 
my  birth  —  but  she  did  not,  and  therefore  I  have  docked  off 
the  substitute." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  said  my  father. 

"  Yes,  sir,  as  a  foreign  anomaly.  But  a  beard,"  resumed 
Uncle  Rumbold,  "  is  quite  another  thing  —  a  hair-loom,  as  I 
may  say,  from  our  first  ancestor.  Its  roots  were  implanted  in 
Paradise  —  and  its  shoots  grew  and  flourished  on  the  chins  of 
the  patriarchs.  And  what  can  we  conceive  more  awful  and 
majestic  than  the  beards,  white  as  the  driven  snow,  and  reach- 
ing down  to  the  girdle  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  or  Jacob,  in  their 
old  age  ?  But  would  they  have  been  looked  up  to  and  im- 
plicitly obeyed  by  the  people,  as  God's  own  vicegerents  if 
they  had  shaved  ?  Not  they  !  —  And  what  I  should  like  to 
know,  intimidated  the  barbarian  Gauls  when  they  invaded  the 
Roman  Capitol  ?  " 


OUR  FAMILY.  69 

"  A  flock  of  cackling  geese,"  replied  my  mother,  who  had 
some  random  recollections  of  ancient  history. 

"  A  flock  of  cackling  fiddlesticks  !  "  cried  Uncle  Rumbold. 
"It  was  the  beards,  the  venerable  beards,  of  the  Roman 
Senators.  And  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  if  our  Members 
of  Parliament  adopted  that  classic  fashion,  and  no  men  ap- 
peal oftener  to  the  classics,  they  would  not  only  deliberate  with 
far  more  gravity  and  decorum,  but  frame  laws  much  more 
wise,  and  profound,  and  just,  than  they  do  at  present.  In 
fact,  all  the  great  lawgivers  wore  beards.  Look  at  Moses  !  — 
look  at  Solon  !  — look  at  Lycurgus  !  —  look  at  our  Alfred." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Kezia  —  her  patience  worn  out 
to  the  last  thread  —  "  won't  you  look  at  our  twins  ?  " 

"  Eh  ?  what  ? "  snapped  Uncle  Rumbold,  annoyed  in  his 
turn,  and  waving  off  the  maid  of  all  work  with  an  impatient 
sweep  of  his  oratorical  right  arm.  "  By  and  by,  my  good 
woman,  by  and  by.  The  twins,  I  suppose,  are  pretty  much 
the  same  as  other  infants  —  little  fat  human  squabs." 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  replied  Kezia,  with  a  courtesy,  but 
heightening  in  color  and  expression  towards  a  Red  Lioness. 
"  All  I  know  is,  they  are  such  a  pair  of  twin  nevies  as  any 
uncle  might  be  proud  of —  if  he  was  the  Grand  Turk  him- 
self!" 

"Well,  well,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  rather  pleased  than 
piqued  by  the  allusion  to  his  Oriental  apj:>endage.  "  Where 
are  they  ?    O,  yonder  !  —  Poor  little  wretches  !  " 

"  Poor  little  wretches  ! "  exclaimed  an  echo,  very  like  the 
voice  of  Kezia ;  but  attributed  by  Uncle  Rumbold  to  Mrs. 
Prideaux. 

"  Yes,  poor  little  wretches ! "  he  repeated,  addressing 
himself  to  the  nurse.  "  I  do  pity  them  —  for  of  course  they 
are  to  be  bound  up  and  bandaged  like  young  mummies  of  the 
Nile." 

"  I  presume  you  mean  swaddled,  sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Pri- 
deaux. 

"  I  do,  ma'am,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  that  is  to  say,  im- 
prisoning their  young,  tender,  free-born  limbs  with  linen 
rollers,  and  flannel  fetters,  and  other  diabolical  contrivances 
for  cramping  the  liberty  of  nature.  But  perhaps,  ma'am, 
you  wear  garters  ?  " 

The  genteel  nurse  assented,  with  a  slight  bend  of  acqui- 
escence. 


70  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Because  I  never  do,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  I  detest  all 
ligatures  ;  they  check  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  conse- 
quently the  flow  of  ideas.  I  once  got  upon  my  legs,  with  gar- 
ters on,  to  speak  in  public,  and  I  broke  down  at  the  very  first 
sentence  —  I  did,  indeed  !  No,  no  —  no  ligatures  for  me  ! 
Look  here,  ma'am  —  and  he  threw  open  the  bosom  of  his 
waistcoat  —  "  no  braces,  you  see  !  —  but  one  garment  buttoned 
on  the  other,  like  a  schoolboy's." 

"  I  am  no  judge,  sir,  of  masculine  habiliments,"  replied 
the  genteel  nurse ;  "  but  of  the  infantine  costume  I  can 
speak,  which  is  the  same  as  custom  prescribes  in  the  highest 
families." 

rt  Custom ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  Confound  cus- 
tom !  Why  not  be  guided  by  the  light  of  nature  ?  "  And  he 
gave  such  a  rhetorical  blow  on  the  head  of  the  cradle,  that  the 
twins  started  broad  awake  in  a  fright,  and  began  to  pipe  in 
concert  like  a  double  flageolet.  In  another  moment  they  were 
sending  their  smothered  cries  through  stuff  and  linen,  into 
the  bosom  and  very  heart  of  the  maid  of  all  work,  who,  with 
an  infant  on  each  arm,  hurried  to  the  door,  which  she  never- 
theless contrived  to  unfasten,  and  then  pushed  wide  open,  with 
one  leg  and  foot. 

But  Uncle  Rumbold  either  overlooked  or  withstood  the 
hints,  and  continued  his  harangue  to  the  nurse. 

"  In  the  savage  state,  ma'am,  the  human  animal  has  no 
swaddling.     Look  at  the  wild  American  pappoose." 

"  But  ours  an't  pappooses,"  cried  Kezia,  —  "  they  're  bab- 
bies." 

"  Pshaw  !  —  nonsense,  woman  !  "  said  Uncle  Rumbold. 
"  Go  to  your  kitchen.  I  say,  ma'am,  the  human  annual,  in  a 
state  of  nature,  is  never  swaddled  !  —  never  !  For  example, 
the  American  Indians.  Let  us  suppose  that  those  two  in- 
fants there,  in  the  housemaid's  arms,  were  young  Crows,  or 
Dog-Ribs  —  " 

"  I  won't  suppose  any  such  falsities  !  "  cried  the  indignant 
housemaid. 

"  Hush  !  hush,  pray  hush  !  "  whined  my  mother.  "  Kezia, 
do  hold  your  tongue,  or  I  shall  go  distracted  !  "  As  in  fact 
she  was,  poor  woman,  between  her  dread  of  offending  our 
wealthy  Godfather,  and  her  horror  of  his  doctrines.  But  my 
father  enjoyed  the  discussion,  and  was  sawing  away  with  his 


OUR  FAMILY.  71 

forefinger  across  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  as  if  it  had  been  that 
of  a  fiddle. 

In  the  mean  time  my  mother's  interruption  had  drawn 
Uncle  Rumbold's  discourse  upon  herself.  "  I  don't  know, 
sister,"  he  said,  "  if  my  spiritual  capacity  of  Godfather  in- 
vests me  with  any  control  over  their  physical  education ;  but 
if  those  two  boys  were  mine,  every  blessed  day  of  their 
lives,  wet  or  dry,  shade  or  shine,  hot  or  cold,  they  should 
enjoy  for  an  hour  or  two  the  native  liberty  of  their  limbs, 
and  sprawl  and  crawl  as  naked  as  they  were  born,  on  the 
grass-plot." 

"  Gracious  goodness  !  —  On  the  damp  lawn  !  " 

"  Ay,  or  soaking  wet,  if  it  so  happened  ;  and  what 's  more, 
the  youngsters  should  have  to  climb  some  tree  or  other  for 
their  suspended  victuals." 

"  Why,  the  poor  things  would  starve  ! "  exclaimed  my 
mother. 

"  Not  they,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  Trust  to  the  light 
of  nature !  Hunger  and  instinct  would  soon  teach  them  to 
scramble  up  the  stem,  like  young  monkeys  —  ay,  as  nimble  as 
marmosets ! " 

My  mother  shook  her  head.  "  But  they  would  sprawl  and 
crawl  into  the  fish-pond." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  for  then  they 
might  have  a  swim." 

"  But  does  that  come  by  nature,  too  ?  "  inquired  my  mother. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  as  it  does  to  a 
fish.  Look  at  the  savage  islanders  —  I  forget  what  author 
relates  it  —  but  when  one  of  the  native  canoes  or  proas  was 
upset,  a  little  Carib,  of  a  week  old,  who  had  never  been  in  the 
water  before,  kept  swimming  about  in  the  sea,  till  the  vessel 
was  righted,  as  spontaneously  as  a  dog." 

My  mother  again  shook  her  head. 

"  Fact,  and  in  print,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold ;  "  he  was 
paddling  about  like  a  water-spaniel ;  and  why  not  ?  The  art 
of  swimming  is  innate.  Take  your  own  twins,  there,  and  chuck 
them  into  the  river  opposite  —  " 

"  The  Lord  forbid  !  "  ejaculated  my  mother,  to  which  Kezia 
responded  with  as  fervent  an  "  Amen." 

"  I  say,  chuck  them  into  the  river,"  repeated  Uncle  Rum- 
bold, "  and  you  will  see  them  strike  out  with  their  arms  and 


72  OUR   FAMILY. 

legs  as  naturally  as  frogs.  In  fact,  it  is  my  decided  opinion 
that  man  in  his  pristine  state  was  intended  by  the  Creator  to 
be  amphibious." 

"  Did  you  ever  make,  personally,  any  experiments  in  nata- 
tion ?  "  inquired  my  father,  in  his  most  serious  voice. 

"  Why,  I  can't  say  that  I  ever  did,  exactly,"  replied  Uncle 
Rumbold.  "  But  what  does  that  signify,  when  I  'm  convinced 
of  my  theory?  However,  as  I  said  before  to  my  sister,  if  I 
am  to  have  any  share  in  the  physical  education  of  my  godsons, 
those  are  the  principles  upon  which,  guided  by  the  light  of 
nature,  I  mean  to  act." 

My  father  made  a  low  bow,  so  low,  that  it  would  have 
seemed  farcical,  but  for  the  air  of  profound  gratitude  which  he 
contrived  to  throw  into  his  countenance ;  but  my  mother  in- 
voluntarily uplifted  her  hands  and  eyes,  while  Kezia,  forbid- 
den to  speak,  gave  a  low  groan  or  rather  grunt. 

"  In  the  mean  time,"  resumed  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  I  have 
not  forgotten  a  sponsorial  offering,"  and  diving  his  hand  into 
one  of  the  many  huge  cloth  closets  or  pockets  in  his  coat,  he 
extricated  with  some  difficulty  a  brown  paper  parcel,  which  he 
presented  rather  ostentatiously  to  my  mother. 

"  No  trumpery  spoons,  sister,  or  jingling  corals,"  he  said,  as 
her  fingers  nervously  fumbled  at  the  string  —  "  but  something 
that,  rightly  employed,  will  increase  in  interest  and  be  a  bene- 
fit to  the  boys  through  life." 

My  mother's  fingers  trembled  more  than  ever  at  these 
words,  and  twitched  convulsively  at  the  double-knot,  whilst  a 
score  of  vague  images,  including  a  pile  of  bank-notes,  to  be 
invested  in  twin  annuities,  passed  through  her  agitated  mind. 
Kezia,  with  held  breath,  and  broad,  undisguised  anxiety  in 
her  party-colored  face,  intently  watched  the  unfolding  of  the 
successive  coverings  ;  and  even  in  the  well-bred  Mrs.  Pri- 
deaux  curiosity  triumphed  so  completely  over  courtesy,  that 
she  jostled  and  incommoded  our  Godfather  in  her  eagerness 
to  partake  of  the  revelation.  At  last  the  inmost  veil  of  lawn- 
paper  was  removed. 

"  A  book  !  "  murmured  my  mother. 

Kezia  fetching  her  breath  again  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh, 
deposited  the  dear  twins  in  the  cradle  and  hastily  left  the 
room ;  while  the  genteel  nurse,  giving  her  head  the  slightest 
resumed  her  seat  and  her  needlework. 


OUR  FAMILY.  73 

"  A  book !  "  repeated  my  mother. 

"  Ay,  the  Book  of  books,  as  I  call  it,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold, 
—  "  the  Bible,  of  course  excepted." 

"  And  a  presentation  copy,"  remarked  my  father,  adroitly 
catching  the  volume  as  it  slid  off  my  mother's  knees,  "  with 
the  writer's  autograph  on  the  fly-leaf! " 

"  Yes  —  and  a  tall  copy  and  unique,  and  privately  printed," 
said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  A  work  as  original  as  scarce  —  as 
logical  as  learned  —  as  correct  as  copious  —  as  sensible  as 
sublime  —  as  captivating  as  convincing  —  as  playful  as  power- 
ful —  as  elegant  as  elevating  —  the  life-long  study  of  a  pro- 
found philosopher  —  in  short,  a  work  worthy  of  its  title  — 
<  The  Light  of  Nature  ! ' " 

"  It  is  all  very  fine,  no  doubt,"  said  my  mother. 

"  A  perfect  treasury  —  a  mine  of  riches  !  "  exclaimed  Uncle 
Rumbold.  "  The  Holy  Testament  excepted,  the  world  has  never 
received  such  a  legacy.  And  this,  as  I  believe,  the  only  copy 
extant !  A  gift,  let  me  tell  you,  sister,  that  nothing  but  our 
near  relationship,  and  my  anxiety  for  the  future  welfare  of 
two  —  I  say  two  nephews  —  could  have  extorted  from  me." 

"  A  mine  —  a  treasury  —  and  a  legacy,"  repeated  my  moth- 
er, with  a  tear,  that  might  or  might  not  be  a  pledge  of  sin- 
cerity, gushing  from  either  eye.  "  You  are  very  kind,  I  'm 
sure  —  very  kind  and  considerate,  indeed.  —  Who  's  there  ?  " 

It  was  Catechism  Jack,  come  to  announce  that  supper  was 
on  the  table,  in  the  parlor.  So  the  conference  in  the  bed- 
chamber broke  up.  Uncle  Rumbold  offered  his  arm  to  my 
mother  to  lead  her  down  stairs ;  and  my  father,  whistling  a 
march,  in  a  whisper,  brought  up  the  rear.  Nothing  worthy 
of  record  passed  during  the  meal,  except  that  the  guest  re- 
ceived and  relished  the  mixture  which  had  been  promised 
to  him  by  letter  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Postle,  namely,  "  a 
draught  of  something  comforting  to  be  taken  the  last  thing  at 
night  —  say,  diluted  alcohol  sweetened  with  sugar."  The 
dose  was  even  repeated  —  and  then  the  parties  separated,  and 
retired  to  their  respective  chambers. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  asked  my  father,  as  he  stepped  into  bed, 
"  how  do  you  like  the  '  Light  of  Nature  '  ?  " 

"  I  wish,"  said  my  mother  —  but  stopping  short  in  the  mid- 
dle of  her  wish  to  give  a  vehement  puff  at  the  candle  —  "I 
wish  I  could  blow  it  out !  " 
4 


74  OUR  FAMILY. 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

our  other  godfather,  and  the  godmother. 

" George  ! " 

"Well?" 

"  How  is  the  morning  ? "  asked  my  mother,  entering  full- 
dressed,  and  accosting  my  father,  as  he  looked  over  the  Vene- 
tian half-blind  of  the  parlor-window. 

"  Why,  I  think,"  replied  my  father,  considering  those  low 
dirty-looking  clouds,  with  tattered  dripping  skirts,  lounging 
about  the  horizon,  like  ragged  reprobates  who  have  slept  all 
night  in  the  open  air  and  the  gutter,  that  we  shall  have  a 
general  sprinkling  to-day,  as  well  as  the  particular  one  in  the 
church." 

"  I  am  always  unlucky  in  my  weather,"  grumbled  my 
mother,  "  especially  when  it  is  wanted  to  be  fine.  We  shall  be 
nicely  soaked  and  draggled,  of  course ;  for  the  glass-coach 
must  draw  up  at  the  turnstile-gate ;  and  we  shall  have  to 
paddle  up  the  wet,  sloppy  churchyard,  and  the  path  has  been 
new-gravelled,  and  the  dripping  yew-trees  will  green-spot  all 
our  things." 

"  You  must  take  umbrellas  and  clogs,"  said  my  father. 

"  To  go  clattering  up  the  avenue,  and  cluttering  with  into 
the  porch !  And  the  poor  children  will  catch  colds,  and  have 
the  snuffles,"  added  my  mother,  taking  a  desponding  look  at 
the  dull  sky  over  my  father's  shoulder.  "  Yes,  it  will  rain 
cats  and  dogs,  sure  enough  ! " 

"  There  will  be  the  less  mobbing,"  suggested  my  father. 

"  That 's  no  comfort ! "  retorted  my  mother.  "  I  don't 
mind  a  crowd,  or  being  a  spectacle,  or  I  should  certainly  object 
to  walk  in  public  with  my  brother;  for,  unless  I  'm  mistaken, 
we  shall  have  all  the  tag-rag  and  bobtail  boys  in  the  parish 
running  after  him  like  a  Guy  Fox.  And  Kezia  too  —  as  if  it 
was  necessary  at  a  christening  to  dress  up  like  a  she-Harle- 
quin, with  cherry  ribbons  on  a  Mazarine  blue  bonnet,  and  a 
scarlet  shawl  over  a  bright  green  gown  ! " 

"  And  our  twins  ?  " 

"  O,  Mrs.  Prideaux  has  kept  them  genteel  —  though  it  was 


OUR  FAMILY.  75 

a  struggle  too  —  what  with  the  rosettes  and  lace  quiltings  that 
Kezia  wanted  to  stitch  on  their  caps  and  robes.  And  then 
Jack  —  " 

"  What  of  him  ?  "  asked  my  father,  with  some  alarm. 

"  I  have  only  had  one  glimpse  of  him,"  replied  my  mother, 
"  in  his  new  livery  ;  and  clean  washed  and  combed,  and  smart- 
ened up  respectable  enough,  if  he  hadn't  ornamented  his 
jacket  with  a  parcel  of  strips  of  French  gray  cloth,  as  well  as 
a  great  bow  stuck  in  his  hat,  with  a  white-headed  nail.  But 
Mr.  Postle  has  stripped  off  his  finery,  and  sent  him  out  with 
the  basket." 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  father ;  "  and  my  bearded  brother- 
in-law,  has  he  been  called?  He  ought  to  be  dressed  and 
down  by  this  time,  for  he  has  n't  to  shave." 

"O,  pray  don't  joke  about  him,"  exclaimed  my  mother; 
"  as  it  is,  I  'm  sadly  afraid  he  '11  be  affronted  before  he  goes.  Do 
all  I  can,  I  can  hardly  keep  myself  from  flying  out  at  his  daring 
doctrines  about  the  poor  children  —  and,  as  to  Kizzy,  I  verily 
believe  she  suspects  he  is  an  ogre  in  disguise.  She  can't  bear 
him  even  to  come  near  the  infants,  though  he  has  only  kissed 
them  once  since  he  came,  and  then  she  wiped  their  dear  little 
faces  directly,  as  if  she  thought  they  would  catch  his  beard." 

"  And  if  they  had,"  roared  the  gruff  voice  of  Uncle  Rum- 
bold,  as  he  pushed  open  the  parlor-door  which  had  been  ajar ; 
"  if  they  had  caught  my  beard,  it 's  better  than  catching  the 
chin  cough.  But  come,  come,  no  apologies ;  I  'm  not  easily 
offended,  or  I  should  have  been  huffy  just  now  with  your 
housemaid,  who  told  me  to  the  hairy  thing  itself,  that  it  ought 
to  have  been  blue." 

"  Poor  Kizzy,"  said  my  father,  "  she  is  plain  and  plain- 
spoken,  but  as  honest  and  faithful  as  unrefined." 

"  Ah !  a  child  of  Nature,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold  ;  "  well,  I 
like  her  all  the  better  ;  and,  if  she  has  a  sister  disengaged  in 
the  same  capacity,  I  '11  hire  her  on  the  spot.  The  true  old 
breed  of  domestic  servants  is  almost  worn  out,  nearly  extinct 
in  England,  like  the  bustard  and  the  cock-of-the-wood  —  partly 
their  fault  and  partly  our  own,  by  always  setting  them  too  high 
or  too  low  —  over  our  heads  or  under  our  heels  —  either  pam- 
pered like  pet  monkeys,  or  snubbed  like  born  slaves  —  never 
treated  according  to  the  light  of  nature.  For  instance,  there 's 
the  tender  passion.     It 's  notorious  that  nine  tenths  of  the  poor 


76  OUR  FAMILY. 

girls  in  Bedlam  went  crazy  from  suppressed  sweefhearts,  and 
yet,  forsooth,  no  followers  are  to  be  allowed ;  so  that  unless 
Molly  falls  in  love  with  my  lord,  and  John  nourishes  a  flame 
for  my  lady,  as  he  often  does,  by  the  way,  they  might  as  well 
have  no  human  hearts  in  their  bosoms.  Whereas,  servants 
have  passions  and  feelings  as  well  as  ourselves  —  the  same 
natural  capacities  for  liking  and  loving  —  ay,  and  perhaps 
stronger  at  it  too,  as  they  are  at  scouring  floors  and  scrubbing 
tables ! " 

How  long  this  harangue  might  have  proceeded  is  uncertain, 
probably  till  church  time,  but  for  a  new  arrival,  our  second 
godfather,  the  proctor  from  Doctors'  Commons.  In  all  out- 
ward and  visible  signs  he  was  the  direct  antagonist  of  his  co- 
sponsor.  His  beard  and  whiskers  were  cleanly  shaved  off; 
and  although  he  was  not  bald,  his  hair  was  cropped  as  close  as 
a  pugilist's.  Then  his  cravat  was  starched  so  stiffly,  and  tied 
so  tightly,  that  he  seemed  in  constant  peril  of  strangulation  : 
his  coat  fitted  him  like  a  skin,  exhibiting  a  wasp-like  figure 
suspiciously  suggestive  of  stays  ;  and  his  tight  pantaloons  were 
as  tight  as  those  famous  ones,  into  which  the  then  Prince  of 
Wales  could  not  get,  it  was  said,  without  supernatural  assist- 
ance. In  his  manners  besides,  he  was  as  prim  and  reserved 
as  our  uncle  was  free  and  easy,  —  so  that  while  introducing 
Mr.  Titus  Lacy  to  Mr.  Jenkins  Rumbold,  my  father  could  not 
help  adding  to  himself,  "  alias  Lord  Chesterfield  and  Lord 
Rokeby." 

Another  tap  at  the  parlor-door,  and  in  stalked  our  god- 
mother, Miss,  or,  as  she  was  generally  called,  Mrs.  Pritchard, 
a  spinster  as  virtuous  in  reputation  as  Cato's  daughter,  and  as 
towering  above  her  sex,  for  she  stood  nearly  six  feet  high 
without  her  cap.  In  features  she  rather  countenanced  the 
Rumbold  practice,  for  though  her  upper  lip  was  decidedly 
hairy  she  never  shaved ;  but  in  her  figure  she  inclined  to  the 
Titus  Lacy  persuasion,  her  waist  was  so  very  slender  —  whilst 
in  her  notions  of  the  powers  and  duties  of  a  sponsor,  she  dif- 
fered from  both ;  mysteriously  hinting  that  by  some  mystical 
spiritual  connection  with  the  twins,  she  became  more  their 
mother  than  their  mother,  who  was  simply  their  parent  in  the 
flesh,  and  as  such  only  entitled  to  wash,  feed,  and  clothe  their 
bodies,  or  to  whip  them  if  naughtiness  required.  My  mother, 
it  may  be  supposed,  did  not  greatly  relish  or  approve  of  this 


OUR  FAMILY.  77 

doctrine  :  but  the  truth  is,  the  unexpected  refusal  of  a  female 
friend,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  had  compelled  her  to  accept  the 
proffered  sponsorship  of  Mrs.  Pritchard,  in  spite  of  that  lady's 
former  declaration,  that  if  she  did  become  a  religious  surety, 
she  would  not  be  a  nominal  one,  but  fulfil  her  vows  and  act  up 
to  the  character  :  the  nature  of  which  character  she  painted 
during  breakfast  in  such  colors,  that,  as  Uncle  Rurnbold  whis- 
pered to  my  father,  "  she  promised  to  make  a  devil  of  a  god- 
mother ! " 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    CHRISTENING. 

My  mother  was  out  in  her  forebodings.  By  the  time  that 
breakfast  was  over,  the  ragged,  dirty-looking  clouds  had  skulked 
off,  and  the  tall  poplar  over  the  way  shot  up  into  a  clear  blue 
sky.  The  narrow  strip  of  river  that  was  visible  above  the 
grassy  bank  glittered  Hke  a  stream  of  molten  gold ;  and  the 
miller's  pigeons,  a  sure  sign  of  settled  weather,  were  flying  in 
lofty  circles  in  the  sunny  air,  casting  happy  glances,  no  doubt, 
at  the  earth  beneath  and  the  heaven  above,  instead  of  a  steak 
under  and  a  crust  over  them. 

Even  the  little  shabby  boys  who  kept  jumping  over  the 
post  on  the  near  side  of  the  road,  evidently  reckoned  on  "  Set 
Fair,"  for  while  many  of  them  were  without  hat  or  cap,  and 
some  had  no  coat,  great  or  small,  none  had  brought  umbrellas, 
—  few  had  even  water-proof  shoes  on  their  feet,  much  less 
clogs.  A  great  comfort  and  relief  it  was,  the  said  solitary  post, 
to  the  young  expectants,  most  of  whom  had  to  wait  a  couple 
of  hours,  more  or  less,  before  the  glass-coach,  driven  by  one 
man  and  a  nosegay,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  horses  and  two 
peonies,  pulled  up  at  the  Doctor's  door. 

The  mob  in  the  mean  time  greatly  increased,  for  a  rumor 
of  the  bearded  godfather,  exaggerated,  as  the  tale  travelled, 
into  the  Grand  Turk  and  the  Great  Mogul,  had  flown  through- 
out  the  parish,  so  that  when  the  gentlemen  —  who  preferred 
to  walk  to  the  church  —  issued  from  the  house,  it  was  through 


78  OUR   FAMILY. 

an  avenue  planted  with  men,  women,  and  children,  six  deep, 
and  amidst  a  cheer  which  only  the  united  Charity  Schools,  of 
both  sexes,  could  have  composed. 

"  Huzza  !  "  they  shouted,  —  "  Moses  forever  !  —  Huzza  ! 
for  the  Great  Mogul ! "  with  other  cries  which  our  eccentric 
uncle  would  fain  have  loitered  to  enjoy  and  retort,  but  for  the 
hauling  at  one  arm  of  Mr.  Titus  Lacy,  who  was  disgusted 
with  the  familiarity  of  the  lower  orders,  and  the  dragging  on 
the  other  side  of  my  father,  anxious  to  be  in  good  time.  But 
the  mob  was  not  to  be  shaken  off  or  left  behind  any  more 
than  the  swarming  flies  that  encircle  a  horse's  head.  Even  so, 
a  buzzing  cluster  of  satellites,  male  and  female,  old,  middle- 
aged,  and  young,  kept  running,  shuffling,  trotting,  behind,  be- 
side, and  before  the  persecuted  trio,  whom,  with  a  suffocating 
cloud  of  dust,  they  accompanied  along  the  road,  through  the 
churchyard,  and  up  the  yew-tree  avenue  to  the  ancient  porch, 
where  an  offcast  of  the  curious  but  less  active  inhabitants,  the 
lame,  the  infirm,  and  the  indolent,  awaited  their  arrival. 

Thanks  to  this  diversion,  the  glass-coach  followed  with  a 
smaller  escort,  yet  not  so  few  but  that  there  was  constantly  at 
each  window  the  bobbing  head  of  some  long-legged  lad  or  lass 
snatching  peeps,  by  running  jumps,  at  my  mother  and  god- 
mother, in  full  dress,  sitting  bolt  upright  on  the  back-seat,  and 
on  the  front  one  Mrs.  Prideaux  and  Kezia,  both  in  their  best, 
and  each  holding  a  remarkably  fine  twin  in  her  arms  or  on 
her  lap.  But  it  was  otherwise  when  the  females  alighted  at 
the  churchyard-gate  and  walked  up  the  avenue,  where  the 
minority  joined  the  majority  of  the  mob.  Then  all  the  clamor 
was  renewed.  "  Huzza  !  Old  Close  !  Longbeard  forever  ! 
Huzza  for  the  Great  Mogul !  Who 's  lost  his  Billy  Goat  ?  " 
with  other  cries  more  or  less  jocose,  and  some  hostile  ones,  in- 
dicative, alas  !  of  my  poor  father's  declining  popularity. 

"  Who  frightened  Sally  Warner  into  fits  ? "  screamed  a 
gawky  girl,  pointing  with  her  coarse  red  finger  at  Kezia. 

"  And  who  wanted  to  'natomize  her  ?  "  bawled  an  old  lame 
woman,  shaking  her  crutch  at  the  Doctor. 

"  And  won't  sell  opie  !  "  grumbled  a  surly-looking  laborer. 

"  And  prescribed  a  child  to  sleep  with  a  sick  monkey/'  cried 
a  woman  with  a  green  shade  over  her  eyes. 

"  And  a  parish-burying  for  our  poor  Sukey,"  muttered  a 
tall  man  with  a  black  hatband  on  his  brown  hat. 


OUR  FAMILY.  79 

"  And  beariidsrecl  113  our  Godsend  ! "  murmured  a  woman  in 
rusty  mourning. 

"  That  is  untrue  at  any  rate,"  said  my  father  to  himself ;  and 
with  the  serenity  of  a  good  man  conscious  of  the  rectitude  of 
his  intention-,  lie  stepped  smilingly  into  the  church,  where  the 
curate  was  waiting,  and  the  whole  party  being  assembled  the 
baptismal  ceremony  immediately  began.  And  for  a  time  the 
service  proceeded  with  due  decorum,  till  about  the  middle  of 
it,  when  the  clergyman  had  to  demand,  "  Dost  thou  in  the 
name  of  this  child  renounce  the  Devil  and  all  his  works  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  shouted  a  voice  from  one  of  the  pews,  "  and  all  the 
sinful  lusts  of  the  flesh." 

Every  eye  instantly  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
and  at  once  recognized  a  well-known  face,  with  its  mouth  suck- 
ing at  a  forefinger  just  clapped  into  it. 

It  wa?  Catechism  Jack,  —  who  had  been  betrayed,  by  a 
familiar  phra>e  in  the  service,  into  one  of  his  old  responses. 

The  curate  paused,  and  made  a  signal  to  the  beadle,  who 
proceeded  to  eject  the  unlucky  respondent  from  the  church,  — 
not  without  an  altercation  and  a  struggle,  for  Jack  pleaded 
piteously  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  christening,  and  even  clung 
to  the  pew-door,  from  which  at  length  he  was  wrenched,  with 
a  crash  and  a  jingle  of  broken  glass,  whilst  a  powerful  and 
disagreeable  odor  quickly  diffused  itself  throughout  the  build- 
ing. 

"  There  goes  a  whole  basketful  of  physic,"  said  my  father 
sotto  voce  to  himself. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  in  the  same 
suppressed  tone.     "  Trust  to  nature." 

k*  0,  I  shall  die  !  I  shall  swoon  away  ! "  murmured  my 
mother,  showing  a  strong  inclination  to  go  into  a  fit  on  the 
spot,  but  the  hysterical  passion  was  scared  away  by  a  stern, 
emphatic  whisper  from  Mrs.  Pritchard. 

"  Don't  flint  here  ! "  and  then  turning  to  the  curate  and 
pointing  with  her  long  bony  forefinger  to  the  font,  she  added 
aloud:  "I  object,  sir,  to  that  consecrated  element  being  used 
for  reviving  !  " 

The  protest,  however,  was  unnecessary,  for  my  mother  re- 
covered without  any  relief  from  water,  save  what  stood  in  her 
own  eyes  ;  and  order  being  restored,  the  ceremony  proceeded 
to  the  end  without  interruption,  or  anything  extraordinary  — 


80  OUR  FAMILY. 

except  that  at  the  final  exhortation,  when  every  one  else  was 
standing  up  according  to  the  printed  direction,  Kezia  was  ob- 
served on  her  knees,  evidently  offering  up  a  private  extempore 
prayer,  —  a  departure  from  the  orthodox  rite,  which  incurred  a 
severe  rebuke  from  Mrs.  Pritchard  the  moment  the  curate 
had  pronounced  the  last  syllable  of  the  service. 

"  Well,"  said  Kezia,  mistaking  the  drift  of  a  lecture  that  in- 
sisted on  a  strict  observance  of  the  ceremonials,  "  and  if  I  did 
kneel  down  without  a  cassock  —  "  she  meant  a  hassock. 

"  But  you  were  putting  up  a  heterodox  petition  of  your  own 
framing/'  interrupted  the  angry  spinster. 

"  Well,  I  own  I  was,"  answered  Kezia ;  "  for  the  two  dear 
little  lively  members  just  admitted  into  the  church.  And 
where  's  the  harm  if  it  did  proceed  from  my  own  heart  and 
soul,  instead  of  the  Common  Prayer  Book  ?  —  It  was  religiously 
composed,  and  I  do  hope,"  she  added,  unconsciously  adopting 
the  language  of  her  bakery,  "  I  do  hope  and  trust  it  won't  rise 
the  worse  for  being  home-made." 

Here  the  controversy  dropped ;  and  the  usual  entries  and 
signatures  having  been  made  in  the  vestry,  the  family  party 
reissued  from  the  porch,  saluted  by  the  same  cries  as  before, 
along  the  yew-tree  avenue,  and  through  the  churchyard-gate, 
where  the  majority  of  the  mob  dispersed  in  different  directions, 
so  that  the  Great  Mogul  and  the  glass-coach  were  followed  by 
only  the  idlest  of  the  boys  and  girls,  and  of  those  one  or  two 
dropped  off  in  every  dozen  yards. 

The  moment  my  father  reached  home  he  hurried  into  the 
surgery,  and  related  to  Mr.  Postle  what  had  occurred  in  the 
church  with  the  medicine  and  Catechism  Jack. 

"  I  knew  it !  Say  I  told  you  so  ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Postle. 
"  What  else  could  come  of  intrusting  the  basket  practice  to 
an  idiot  !  But  of  course,  sir,  you  will  discharge  him  di- 
rectly." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  my  father,  his  good  sense  immediately 
recognizing  the  policy  of  the  measure,  but  his  humanity  as 
promptly  suggesting  a  loophole  for  evasion.  "Yes,  he  shall 
be  discharged  on  the  spot,  —  that  is  to  say,  should  the  beadle 
be  dismissed,  for  from  what  I  saw  of  the  scuffle,  he  had  quite 
as  much  to  do  with  the  downfall  of  the  basket   as  poor  Jack." 

By  a  curious  coincidence,  whilst  Mr.  Postle  in  the  surgery 
was  thus  advising  my  father  to  send  away  the  footboy,  Mrs. 


OUR  FAMILY.  81 

Pritchard,  in  the  parlor,  was  recommending  to  my  mother  a 
month's  warning  for  Kezia,  and  with  a  similar  result. 

"  Why,  she  does  forget  her  own  sphere,  dreadfully,"  said 
my  mother ;  "  and  puts  herself  very  forward  in  the  parlor, 
and  in  the  nursery,  and  even  in  the  surgery,  besides  behaving 
very  improperly  and  independently,  as  you  say,  ma'am,  in  the 
church.  —  Yes,  I  must  and  will  part  with  her  —  at  least  as 
soon  as  I  can  find  another  like  her,  to  do  the  work  of  three 
servants  —  and  which  I  never  shall." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE    SUPPEK. 

The  clock  struck  nine. 

As  settled  in  domestic  conclave,  the  dinner  had  been  only  a 
plain  early  meal,  at  which  the  two  godfathers  and  the  god- 
mother were  treated  as  three  of  the  family,  the  grand  festival 
in  honor  of  the  christening  being  reserved  for  the  evening ; 
and  my  mother,  attended  by  Mrs.  Pritchard,  had  just  slipped 
from  the  drawing-room  to  inspect  the  preparations. 

"  Beautiful,  is  n't  it  ?  "  she  said,  looking  along  the  supper- 
table,  gay  with  flowers  and  lights,  and  brilliant  with  plate,  of 
which  there  was  an  imposing  display. 

"  Very  genteel,  indeed  I  might  say  elegant,"  replied  Mrs. 
Pritchard,  fixing  her  gaze  especially  on  her  own  epergne. 
"  And  those  silver  branches,  too,  they  are  almost  as  handsome 
and  massive  as  the  Cobleys',  and  of  the  same  pattern." 

"  Between  you  and  me,"  said  my  mother,  "  they  are  the 
Cobleys' ;  and  the  tankard,  you  know,  is  Mr.  Ruffy's,  a  present 
from  one  of  his  rich  clients." 

l'  And  those  silver-gilt  salts  are  the  curate's,  I  believe,"  said 
Mrs.  Pritchard,  "  a  parting  gift  from  his  late  flock  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  was,"  said  my  mother. 

"And  the  dessert-spoons,"  inquired  the  tall  spinster  who 
had  made  the  tour  of  the  table  ;  "  all  with  different  crests  and 
initials  —  pray  is  that  a  new  fashion  ?  " 


32  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  They  are  the  school  spoons  from  Mrs.  Trent's,"  said  my 
mother,  reddening.     "  But  the  knife-rests  are  our  own." 

"  And  if  I  may  ask,"  said  Mrs.  Prit chard,  "  how  many 
friends  do  you  expect  ? " 

"  Why,  all  those  who  have  lent  plate,  of  course,"  replied 
my  mother  —  namely,  "  the  curate,  the  Cobleys,  the  Ruffys, 
Mrs.  Trent,  and  Mrs.  Spinks." 

"  Who  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pritchard,  in  a  tone  like  the  pitch- 
note  of  an  Indian  war-whoop. 

"  Why,  she  is  rather  unpleasant,  to  be  sure,"  said  my  moth- 
er ;  "  but  that  is  her  salver  on  the  sideboard.  Then  there  's 
Colonel  Cropper  of  the  Yeomanry,  who  is  to  come  in  his  uni- 
form, and  the  Squire  has  half  promised  to  drop  in  —  and  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  that  nasty  little  Brazilian  Marmot  —  I  ought 
to  have  said  Marmoset  —  we  might  have  hoped  for  the  lady 
at  the  great  house.  Then  there  's  Doctor  Shackle,  and  the 
Biddies  —  and  the  Farrows  —  and  young  Fitch,  altogether 
about  fourteen  or  fifteen,  besides  ourselves." 

"  Just  a  nice  number  for  a  party,"  said  Mrs.  Pritchard,  "  if 
they  all  come." 

"  They  are  late,  certainly,  very  late,"  replied  my  mother, 
her  heart  sinking  like  the  barometer  before  a  storm,  at  the 
mere  suggestion  of  disappointments.  "  But  hark  !  there  is  an 
arrival !  "  and  with  the  tall  spinster,  she  hurried  into  the  draw- 
ing-room to  receive  her  guest.  It  was  the  unpleasant  Mrs. 
Spinks.  Next  came  Doctor  Shackle  ;  and  then,  after  a  long 
interval,  the  wit  of  the  neighborhood,  young  Mr.  Fitch,  a  per- 
sonage against  whom  Uncle  Rumbold  instantly  felt  that  vio- 
lent antipathy  which  he  invariably  entertained  towards  a  dandy, 
or,  in  the  language  of  those  days,  a  buck. 

"  I  'm  early,  I  'm  afraid,"  said  the  wit,  looking  round  at  the 
circle  of  unoccupied  chairs. 

"  Or  like  myself,  a  little  behind  the  mode,"  said  Doctor 
Shackle.  "  I  forgot  that  nine  o'clock  with  fashionable  people 
means  ten." 

"Then  we  are  to  have  a  fashionable  squeeze,  I  suppose," 
said  young  Fitch,  "  a  rout  as  they  call  it  —  a  regular 
cram  ?  " 

"  O  no ! "  cried  my  mother,  eagerly,  "  only  a  few,  a  very 
few  friends,  quite  in  a  quiet  way/' 

"  About  twenty,"  said  Mrs.  Pritchard. 


OUR   FAMILY. 


83 


"  And  there  are  only  six  come  ! "  observed  the  unpleasant 
Mrs.  Spinks,  deliberately  counting  heads. 

"  Are  you  sure,  my  dear,"  inquired  Mrs.  Pritchard,  "  that 
your  invitations  were  correctly  dated  ?  " 

"  O,  quite  !  "  replied  my  mother,  "  for  I  wrote  all  the  notes 
myself,  and  to  make  sure  had  them  delivered  —  " 

"  By  Catechism  Jack,"  said  Doctor  Shackle. 

"  No,  indeed  ! "  cried  my  mother,  "  but  by  a  special  messen- 
ger." 

"  Yes,  a  charity  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Spinks.  "  And  I  know 
personally  that  Mrs.  Trent  had  her  note ;  and  so  had  the  cu- 
rate, and  the  Biddies." 

"  It 's  very  odd,"  muttered  my  mother ;  "  the  Biddies  were 
always  early,  and  I  made  sure  of  Mrs.  Trent.  She  ought 
indeed  to  have  come  to  tea.  It  is  very  strange  —  very  strange, 
indeed ! " 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  "  said  my  father.  "  By  and  by  they  will  all 
come  in  a  lump ;  and  if  they  don't  we  shall  only  be  the 
snugger." 

"  And  in  the  mean  time,"  said  young  Fitch,  "  the  great 
Bashaw  there  with  the  black  beard  will  perhaps  amuse  us 
with  one  of  his  three  tails  I " 

"I  am  sorry,  young  man,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  in  his 
gruffest  voice,  "  that  I  am  not  a  naval  Bashaw,  or  I  would 
amuse  you  with  nine." 

At  this  retort,  delivered  with  the  look  and  growl  of  an  en- 
raged lion,  the  abashed  wit  hastily  retreated  to  a  chair ;  and 
the  little  buzz  of  conversation  which  had  sprung  up,  was 
hushed  as  by  a  clap  of  thunder.  There  was  a  pause  —  a  long, 
dead  pause  —  and  to  make  it  more  dreary,  the  family  clock  — 
an  old-fashioned  machine  with  stout  works  and  a  strong  pulse 
—  stood  in  the  hall,  so  near  the  drawing-room  door,  that  its 
tick !  tack !  was  distinctly  audible,  like  the  distant  hammering 
of  endless  nails  into  an  eternal  coffin.  Tick  !  tack  !  —  tick  ! 
tack !  O,  that  monotonous  beat,  —  only  broken  by  a  sudden 
"  click  !  "  like  the  cocking  of  a  gigantic  pistol,  and  which  made 
every  one  start,  as  if  Death  had  actually  given  warning  in- 
stead of  Time  !  And  then,  tick  !  tack  !  again,  —  till  with  an 
alarming  preliminary  buzz  the  clock  struck  ten.  The  odious 
Mrs.  Spinks  was  the  first  to  speak. 

4i  Quite  a  quakers'  meeting  ! " 


84  OUR  FAMILY. 

But  nobody  replied  to  the  remark.  The  wit  continued 
mute  —  the  tall  spinster  merely  looked  wonderingly  at  my 
mother,  who  looked  inquiringly  at  my  father,  who  slightly 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling.  Mr. 
Titus  Lacy  was  habitually  taciturn,  and  Doctor  Shackle  only 
opened  his  lips  in  a  sardonic  smile. 

At  last,  at  a  private  signal  from  my  mother,  my  father  came 
and  placed  his  ear  to  her  mouth. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  George,  do  talk !  —  and  get  young 
Fitch  to  rattle  —  why  don't  he  rattle  ?  " 

"  The  Bashaw  killed  him,"  whispered  my  father.  "  But  I 
will  do  what  I  can."  And  by  a  desperate  rally,  he  contrived 
to  get  up  a  brief  conversation ;  but  the  fates  were  against  him. 
Doctor  Shackle  seemed  determined  to  answer  in  monosylla- 
bles ;  and  Uncle  Rumbold's  hobby,  in  spite  of  a  dozen  allu- 
sions to  the  light  of  nature,  refused  to  be  trotted  out.  At  last 
my  father's  own  spirit  began  to  share  in  the  general  depres- 
sion —  the  discourse,  such  as  it  was,  again  dropped,  and  then 
—  tick  !  tack  !  tick  !  tack  !  —  Oh  !  it  was  horrible  !  —  the 
only  sound,  it  seemed,  in  the  wide  world.  Not  a  knock  — 
not  a  ring !  No  one  came  —  nobody  sent  an  apology.  — 
"What  on  earth  could  be  the  matter !  The  clock  struck 
eleven ! 

"  I  believe,"  said  my  mother  in  a  faint  voice,  "  we  need  not 
wait  any  longer." 

"  We  have  waited  too  long  already,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold ; 
"  at  least  I  have  —  and  long  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  nature." 

"  Give  your  arm,  then,  to  Mrs.  Pritchard,"  said  my  father. 
"  Mr.  Lacy  will  escort  Mrs.  Spinks  ;  the  Doctor  will  convey 
my  wife,  and  I  will  take  care  of  Fitch  ; "  and  in  this  order 
the  company,  if  company  it  might  be  called,  marched,  melan- 
choly as  a  walking  funeral,  into  the  supper-room — joined,  in 
their  progress  through  the  hall,  by  Mr.  Postle. 

My  poor  mother  !  A  demon  might  have  pitied  her,  as  she 
took  her  place,  and  cast  a  rueful  look  at  my  father  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  table,  flanked  on  each  side  by  six  empty  chairs. 
A  fiend  would  have  felt  for  Kezia,  as  she  stood,  death-pale, 
behind  the  back  of  Doctor  Shackle,  not  from  any  partiality  to 
that  sneering  personage,  but  that  she  might  exchange  looks 
and  signs  of  wonder  and  grief  with  Mr.  Postle,  who  sat  op- 
posite. 


OUR   FAMILY.  85 

"  A  pity,  is  n't  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Spinks  across  the  table  to 
Mrs.  Pritchard ;  "  such  a  beautiful  supper  !  —  enough  for 
thirtv  —  and  only  nine  to  sit  down  to  it !  " 

"  We  must  make  up  in  mirth,"  said  my  father,  "  for  our 
lack  of  numbers,"  and  again  he  made  a  gallant  but  vain  at- 
tempt to  revive  the  spirits  of  his  guests.  Besides  the  com- 
mon gloom,  he  had  to  contend  with  the  animosity  of  Mr.  Pos- 
tle  against  Doctor  Shackle,  and  the  antipathy  of  Uncle  Rum- 
bold  to  Mr.  Fitch.  An  unlucky  joke  hastened  the  catastro- 
phe. The  wit,  emboldened  by  wine,  had  the  temerity  again 
to  attack  the  Bashaw. 

"  Allow  me,"  he  said,  "  to  recommeud  a  little  of  this,"  at 
the  same  time  thrusting  a  frothy  spoonful  of  trifle  as  near  as 
he  dared  to  the  redoubtable  beard. 

"  Sir,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  snatching  up  a  full  glass  of  ale, 
"  if  I  consulted  the  law  of  retaliation  —  which  is  one  of  the 
laws  of  nature  —  in  return  for  your  lather,  I  should  present 
you  with  this  wash  for  the  face.  I  say,  I  should  be  justified 
in  so  doing ;  but  from  respect  to  the  present  company  I  shall 
only  drink  to  your  better  manners." 

A  momentary  silence  followed  this  rebuke  ;  and  then  came 
a  sound  which  startled  all  the  company,  but  one,  to  their  feet. 
As  in  pile-driving,  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  the  weight, 
called  the  monkey,  cannot  be  screwed  up  ;  so  there  is  a  cer- 
tain pitch  at  which  human  fortitude  gives  way,  —  and  my 
mother's  had  reached  that  limit.  The  agitation,  the  mortifica- 
tion, the  mental  agony  she  had  so  long  suppressed,  had  at  last 
overstrained  her  nerves,  and  with  an  involuntary  scream, 
such  as  is  said  to  come  from  persons  who  have  swallowed 
prussic  acid,  she  went  into  strong  hysterics.  My  father  and 
Kezia  instantly  hastened  to  her  assistance,  but  to  little  effect ; 
either  the  fit  was  so  obstinate,  or  the  patient. 

"  Nothing  serious,"  said  Dr.  Shackle,  "  she  will  soon  re- 
cover, and  in  the  mean  time  her  best  place  is  bed." 

The  hint  was  taken  ;  the  company  immediately  broke  up  ; 
and  whilst  my  mother  was  carried  up  stairs  to  her  chamber, 
her  grand  christening  party  —  of  two  gentlemen  and  two  ladies 
—  unceremoniously  departed. 

"  Only  four  out  of  twenty  !  "  gasped  Kezia  to  Mrs.  Prideaux, 
whom  she  had  dragged  apart  into  a  corner  of  the  bedroom ; 
"  only  four  out  of  twenty  !  —  What,  in  mercy's  name,  can  it 
all  mean ! " 


8G  OUR  FAMILY. 

"The  meaning  is  plain  enough,"  answered  the  genteel 
nurse,  in  her  calm,  sweet  voice,  —  "  your  master  is  a  ruined 
man." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

A    MYSTERY. 

Our  family  was  in  bed.  My  mother  had  sobbed  herself  to 
sleep ;  my  father  lay  dreaming  by  her  side  ;  the  twin  infants 
were  in  their  cradle  ;  the  whole  house  was  quiet,  except  only 
the  ticking  of  the  old  clock  in  the  hall,  the  chirping  of  the 
cricket  in  the  kitchen,  and  a  dull,  intermitting  sound  from  one 
of  the  upper  bedrooms,  as  if  from  somebody  imitating  through 
his  nose  the  croaking  of  a  frog  in  the  fens. 

The  clock  had  struck  one,  and  was  about  to  strike  again, 
when  the  door  of  the  back  attic  opened,  and  Kezia,  stepping 
forth  in  her  night-clothes,  and  without  any  candle,  walked  de- 
liberately down  the  stairs  to  the  door  of  the  room  in  the  first 
floor  appropriated  to  the  nursery.  Here  for  a  moment  she 
paused,  the  attraction  within  having  overcome  or  diverted  her 
original  impulse ;  but  her  true  errand  speedily  recurred  to 
her,  and  descending  the  other  flight,  she  crossed  the  hall,  and 
entered  the  surgery,  to  the  extreme  alarm  and  astonishment 
of  the  two  persons  who  were  conversing  therein. 

The  one  was  a  female  in  a  flannel  wrapper,  tied  with  green 
ribbon,  and  occupying  the  wooden  arm-chair  devoted  to  the 
accommodation  of  patients  or  impatients  awaiting  the  making 
up  of  their  prescriptions ;  the  other,  a  strange  man,  with  his 
hat  on,  was  seated  on  the  counter,  whence,  with  his  elbows 
resting  on  his  knees,  he  stooped  down  towards  his  companion, 
his  face  close  to  hers,  in  earnest  communion.  At  a  glance,  he 
was  what  was  called  in  the  slang  of  those  days  a  Blood  or 
Buck  ;  in  the  cant  of  our  own  times,  a  Swell.  Cigars  were 
not  yet  in  vogue  ;  or,  to  a  certainty,  he  would  have  had  one 
between  his  lips :  but  he  wore  his  beaver  with  the  rakish, 
jaunty  air  still  affected  by  gentlemen  and  journeymen  who  con- 
ceive themselves  superior  in  acuteness,  spirit,  and  an  exten- 


OUR   FAMILY.  g? 

sive  knowledge  of  life,  to  the  rest  of  the  world.  His  clothes 
were  expensive  and  fashionable.  Round  his  throat  he  wore 
a  very  fine  white  cravat,  so  ample  that  his  neck  seemed 
poulticed,  the  ends  being  tied  in  a  large  ostentatious  bow. 
His  coat  was  blue,  with  fancy  gilt  buttons,  a  deep  turned- 
down  collar,  and  lappels,  that  for  size  might  have  served  for 
ears  to  a  Newfoundland  dog.  His  waistcoat,  of  buff  or  prim- 
rose color,  was  double-breasted,  long  in  the  waist,  and  flapped, 
with  a  black  ribbon  crossing  it  from  the  left  shoulder  to  the 
gold-mounted  quizzing-glass  in  the  left-hand  pocket.  His 
lower  limbs  were  clad  in  gray  stocking-pantaloons,  tight  as 
skin,  and  cased  up  to  the  well-made  calf  in  Hessian  boots,  but 
somewhat  deficient  in  polish,  and  minus  one  tassel.  His  coat, 
too,  had  the  fluffy  tumbled  appearance  of  having  occasionally 
taken  its  own  nap  with  its  master's  on  a  feather-bed,  or  one  of 
flock ;  his  waistcoat  was  ill-washed ;  his  pantaloons  were 
soiled  in  sundry  parts,  and  especially  at  the  knees ;  and  his 
cravat,  besides  its  dingy  hue,  was  wrinkled  and  flaccid.  Alto- 
gether, there  was  as  much  of  the  sloven  as  of  the  beau  in  his 
costume  —  in  his  physiognomy,  a  corresponding  mixture  of 
the  gentleman  and  the  reprobate.  His  face  was  handsome  ; 
but  had  the  faded,  jaded  look  consequent  on  habitual  de- 
bauchery. His  large  dark  eyes  were  dry  and  bloodshot,  with 
crowfoot  wrinkles  at  the  corners ;  and  under  each  organ  a 
flabby  bag,  as  if  for  secreting  the  tears  to  be  shed  in  the 
maudlin  stage  of  intoxication.  His  cheeks  were  of  a  dull 
white,  blotched  with  yellow  and  red,  that  deepened  in  his 
prominent  nose  to  a  crimson.  His  lips  were  parched  and 
cracked ;  his  chin  was  neutral-tinted  by  a  bluish  beard  of  two 
days'  growth ;  and  his  long  black  hair  and  whiskers  were  foul 
and  matted.  Smart  and  slovenly ;  well  featured,  but  with  a 
sinister  expression  ;  dashing,  but  dirty ;  unbrushed,  unwashed, 
uncombed,  unshorn,  he  looked  the  rake,  with  a  strong  spice  of 
the  ruffian,  whose  attribute,  a  thick  knotted  bludgeon,  lay 
handy  beside  him  on  the  counter.  On  the  other  side,  stood 
something  of  indefinite  shape  tied  up  in  a  cotton  shawl ;  and 
near  the  bundle,  the  nursery  rushlight,  and  an  empty  rummer, 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  it.  There  could  hardly  be  a  greater 
contrast  than  between  the  female  in  the  arm-chair  and  her 
nocturnal  visitor ;  and  yet  the  time,  the  scene,  and  the  manner 
of  their  tete-a-tete,  inferred  the  most  confidential  and  familiar 


88  OUR  FAMILY. 

intercourse.  Was  it  possible  that  the  repulsive,  dissolute, 
villanous-looking  man  on  the  counter  was  anything  near  or 
dear  to  the  genteel,  sweet-spoken,  well-bred,  lady-like  Mrs. 
Prideaux  ? 

To  confirm  and  justify  an  affirmative  answer,  certain  chron- 
ological characteristics  must  be  taken  into  consideration.  In 
these,  our  own  times,  so  remarkable  for  a  refined  taste  in  art 
and  literature,  in  manners  and  morals,  the  Court  Callendar 
possesses  more  attractions  for  females  than  the  Newgate 
one.  There  is  no  longer  a  rage  for  genteel  highwaymen  or 
eminent  housebreakers.  As  pets,  Brazilian  monkeys  are  pre- 
ferred to  malefactors,  and  parrots  to  jail  birds.  Our  mothers, 
wives,  sisters,  and  daughters  no  longer  admire  the  chivalrous 
courage  of  a  horse-pad,  whose  utmost  deed  of  daring  —  the 
presentment  of  a  loaded  pistol  at  an  unarmed  man  —  has 
been  outdone  by  every  light  or  heavy  dragoon  who  has  seen 
service.  They  no  longer  fall  in  love  with  a  Knight  of  Roads 
for  robbing  them  like  a  gentleman,  and  paying  compliments  to 
their  beauty,  and  calming  their  feminine  fears,  at  the  cost  of 
their  purses,  watches,  brooches,  bracelets,  and  finger-rings 
and  earrings.  A  vulgar  burglar,  renowned  for  breaking  into 
houses  and  out  of  prisons,  is  hardly  reckoned  on  a  par  with  the 
hero  of  successful  sieges  and  sorties  ;  or  an  obdurate  ruffian 
who  goes  to  the  gallows  with  a  bold  face  as  a  rival  of  the 
gallant  veteran  who  leads  a  forlorn  hope.  A  common  mur- 
derer is  no  longer  a  lady-killer  to  boot ;  nor  does  a  dashing 
pickpocket  triumph  in  female  preference  over  a  plain  honest 
man  "  innocent  of  stealing  silver  spoons."  But  it  was  other- 
wise formerly  ;  when,  in  the  current  phrase,  a  daring  felon  be- 
came a  darling  fellow,  and  a  precious  rascal  a  charming  rogue. 
It  was  then  quite  usual  for  ladies  of  rank  and  breeding,  of 
family  and  fortune,  to  visit  condemned  criminals  in  Newgate 
—  entwining  with  fair  and  noble  arms  the  neck  destined  to  an 
ignominious  rope,  — beseeching  keepsake  locks  from  the  head 
soon  to  be  shrouded  in  an  infamous  nightcap  ;  and  hanging 
with  aristocratical  fondness  on  a  plebeian  body  about  to  swing 
shamefully  from  Tyburn  Tree. 

Thus,  as  worn-out  fashions  descend,  like  cast-off  clothes, 
from  mistress  to  maid,  the  example  set  by  a  lady  of  quality 
in  the  time  of  the  First  George,  might  very  well  be  followed 
by  a  nurse  in  the  reign  of  George   the  Third.     However, 


OUR  FAMILY.  89 

robber  or  rake,  there  was  the  strange  man,  admitted,  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  to  a  mysterious  interview  in  the  surgery, 
the  door  of  which  opened,  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  into 
a  lane. 

At  the  entrance  of  Kezia  the  parties  both  started,  and  the 
man  would  have  sprung  up  and  spoken  but  for  the  warning  of 
the  nurse,  who  raised  one  hand  with  its  forefinger  on  her 
lips,  whilst  she  held  him  down  with  the  other.  In  truth,  the 
figure  of  the  housemaid  in  its  white  garments,  obscurely  seen 
by  the  dim  gleam  of  the  rushlight,  was  quite  spectral  enough 
to  shake  the  courage  of  a  dissolute  man,  with  nerves  un- 
settled by  drink.  His  frame  trembled,  his  face  turned  ashen 
pale,  and  his  teeth  chattered  as  he  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  — 

"  A  sthT-un  walking  —  by  G— d  !  " 

The  nurse,  with  a  dissenting  shake  of  the  head  and  her 
lips  indicating  a  silent  "  No  !  "  repeated  her  warning  gesture 
to  her  companion,  who,  open-mouthed  but  breathless,  watched 
with  straining  eyes  every  movement  of  the  apparition.  In 
the  mean  time  Kezia,  walking  behind  the  counter,  took  her 
usual  station  beside  the  desk,  but  in  silence,  a>  if  awaiting 
the  leisure  of  her  confidential  adviser  in  all  diificulties,  Mr. 
Postle. 

"  All  safe  !  "  said  the  nurse  in  a  very  low  but  distinct  whis- 
per :  "  she  's  sleep-walking  !  " 

The  man,  as  if  suddenly  relieved  of  a  pectoral  spasm,  im- 
mediately drew  his  breath  in  a  long  deep  sigh,  and  set  himself 
intensely  to  watch  and  listen  to  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the 
somnambulist,  who  at  length  spoke. 

"  This  is  a  dreadful  mysterious  business,  Mr.  Postle. 
Twenty  invited,  and  only  four  to  come  !  What  can  it  all 
mean  ?  "  and  she  paused  for  a  reply,  which  having  dreamed, 
she  resumed :  — 

"  No,  the  night  was  not  bad  enough  for  that.  Besides,  the 
Cobleys  have  their  own  carriage,  and  so  has  the  Colonel  and 
the  Squire,  who  would  have  brought  the  Curate  along  with 
him.  Then  the  Biddies  have  the  mule  cart,  and  the  Ruffys 
always  hire  a  po-shay.  As  for  Mrs.  Trent  and  the  rest,  they 
don't  mind  wind  and  rain,  but  lap  up  and  visit  in  all  weathers. 
No,  —  it  could  n't  be  that !  And  such  a  beautiful  supper,  too  I 
And  such  a  splendid  turkey  —  with  a  giver  under  one  wing 


90  OUR  FAMILY. 

and  a  lizard  under  the  other  —  I  should  say  quite  the  re- 
verse. And  then  the  sweets !  I  could  have  cried  into  hyster- 
ics myself,  to  see  all  the  nice  jellies,  and  creams,  and  custards, 
and  nobody  to  eat  them,  for  they  was  nice  —  if  they  did  taste 
a  little  of  the  shop,  as  that  odious  Doctor  Shackle  said,  mean- 
ing, I  suppose,  the  almond  flavor  you  was  so  kind  as  to  oblige 
me  with  out  of  the  surgery." 

The  imaginary  Mr.  Postle  here  probably  vented  an  oath, 
for  which  she  checked  him. 

"  Yes,  he  certainly  is  malicious  —  but  don't  imprecate.  It 's 
profane,  and  forbid  in  Scripture.  Swear  not  at  all  —  no,  not 
even  at  an  enemy  or  a  buzzum  friend.  To  be  sure,  the 
Doctor  was  very  sneering  and  provoking,  and  especially 
about  the  wine  being  good  enough  to  need  no  bush  except  out 
of  our  own  garden.  I  could  have  found  in  my  heart  to  drop 
a  blank  mange  on  his  medical  head  !  And  that  foolish  young 
Fitch,  to  affront  Mr.  Uncle  Eumbold  to  his  very  beard,  instead 
of  having  a  perfect  haw  of  it,  as  any  one  would  in  their  senses, 
it  makes  him  look  so  like  a  conjurer.  And  then  that  abom- 
inable Mrs.  Spinks  as  would  n't  let  the  thing  drop,  but  kept 
counting  the  empty  chairs,  and  saying  that  every  one  had  a 
banker's  ghost  in  it  —  Banko's  I  should  say  —  I  declare  she 
made  the  hair  stand  upright  on  my  very  head.  Though  for 
that  matter,  I  would  almost  as  soon  have  seen  a  ghost  in 
every  seat,  and  Scratching  Fanny  among  them,  rather  than 
nobody  at  all !  I  never  knew  such  a  case  afore  —  never,  ex- 
cept once,  —  and  that  was  at  my  first  place." 

The  ideal  assistant  asked,  of  course,  for  the  story. 

"  Why,  the  way  was  this.  Master  had  come  home  with  a 
prodigious  wealth  of  money  from  foreign  parts,  and  on  setting 
up  his  establishment  in  London,  determined  to  give  a  very 
grand  party,  by  way  of  house  wanning,  to  his  neighbors.  Well, 
the  night  came,  with  the  rooms  chalked  for  dancing,  and  all 
lighted  up  with  wax-cnndles  and  cut-glass  chandeliers,  and  the 
most  elegant  supper  set  out,  only  for  seventy  people  instead 
of  twenty,  —  but  nobody  came.  Nine  o'clock,  ten,  eleven, — 
the  same  as  at  our  own  unfortunate  regalia,  but  not  a  soul  — 
not  a  knock  or  a  ring,  except  the  cook's  cousin,  the  footman's 
sister,  and  the  housemaid's  brother  and  uncle  —  at  least  not 
till  about  twelve,  when  a  single  gentleman  asked  to  speak  with 
master  in  private,  and  then  out  it  all  came,  for  we  listened  at 


OUR  FAMILY.  gj 

the  study-door.  Some  spiteful  person,  in  revenge  for  not 
being  invited,  had  ferreted  out  master's  secret  history,  and 
had  whispered  about  in  unanimous  letters  that  he  were  a  re- 
turned convert  — I  should  have  said  a  convict  —  from  Botany 
Bay.  He  had  been  sent  there  for  some  errors  in  youth,  but 
had  reformed  himself,  and  got  rich  by  opulence,  like  Dick 
"Whittington,  and  so  got  leave  to  come  home  again.  But 
of  course  that  don't  apply  to  us,  whom  have  never  been 
arranged  in  court  or  transported,  though  fought  as  shy  of 
by  society  as  if  we  had.  What  is  your  own  notion  of  it,  Mr. 
Postle  ?  " 

A  long  silence  ensued,  of  which  the  nurse  took  advantage 
to  whisper  to  her  companion,  whom  she  beckoned  with  her 
finger,  and  then  pointed  to  the  door.  "  She  must  not  wake 
and  see  you.  Come ;  but  move  cautiously  —  as  quiet  as 
death." 

"  Is  this  all  ?  "  asked  the  man  in  a  low  grumble,  and  with  a 
motion  of  his  head  towards  the  bundle. 

"  It  must  serve  for  this  turn,"  whispered  the  nurse.  "  Quick  ! 
and  away !  " 

The  fellow  instantly  slid  gently  down  from  the  counter  and 
clutched  the  bundle,  whilst  the  nurse  turned  down  the  rush- 
light in  the  socket.  Then  there  was  a  slight  rustle,  with  the 
sound  of  two  or  three  hasty  kisses.  The  next  moment  the  outer 
door  was  partially  opened  —  a  cool  gust  of  air  came  inwards, 
as  the  dark  figure  of  the  man  passed  outwards  —  the  door 
slowly  closed  again,  and  the  fastenings  were  replaced  with  less 
noise  than  is  made  by  a  mouse.  The  nurse  then  groped  to 
the  counter,  where  she  found  her  candlestick  and  the  empty 
rummer,  but  not  the  spoon,  a  loss  she  instantly  compre- 
hended —  the  bundle  had  not  quite  served  for  the  turn  —  but 
her  equanimity  was  undisturbed ;  and  cautiously  feeling  her 
way  out  of  the  surgery,  she  crept,  silent  as  a  spirit,  up  the 
stairs  to  the  nursery,  leaving  Kezia  to  her  dreaming  confer- 
ence with  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  there  is  some  dreadful  misfortune  hanging 
over  us,  no  doubt.  My  poor  dear  master  !  Mrs.  Prideaux 
foretells  he  is  a  ruinated  man.  But  oh  !  Mr.  Postle  !  —  and 
the  tears  oozed  from  her  eyelids  while  she  clasped  her  hands 
in  earnest  appeal  to  him  —  "  whatever  comes  of  it,  don't  let 
nothing  tempt  us  two  to  leave  and  better  ourselves,  and  for- 


92  OUR  FAMILY. 

sake  them,  whose  bread  we  eat,  in  their  adversity.  For  my 
part,  I  'm  ready  and  willing  to  take  a  solemn  religious  oath 
on  my  bended  knees "  —  and  she  suited  the  action  to  the 
word  —  "  and  trust  you  will  do  the  same  ;  never,  never,  never 
to  give  warning,  nor  take  it  neither,  but  to  stand  by  the  family 
and  do  for  it  to  my  last  grasp,  —  namely,  my  poor  dear 
master  and  missis,  and  them  two  lovely,  helpless,  innocent 
twin  babes  ! " 

AVI iat  promise  the  imaginary  Mr.  Postle  made,  and  whether 
with  the  prescribed  ceremony,  is  unknown  ;  but  it  gave  the 
liveliest  satisfaction  to  the  devoted  maid  of  all  work.  The 
expression  of  her  features  was  indeed  invisible  in  the  dark  to 
human  ken ;  but  heaven,  with  its  starry  eyes,  beheld  her  face 
shining  with  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  dear,  dear  Mr.  Postle,  for  that  com- 
fort," she  said,  rising  from  her  knees,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with 
the  sleeve  of  her  only  garment.  "  It 's  exactly  my  own  feel- 
ing and  sentiments.  Yes,  if  I  was  courted  at  this  very  moment 
by  twenty  prostrated  lovers  at  my  feet,  with  bags  of  gould  in 
one  hand,  and  wows  of  constancy  in  the  other,  I  wouldn't 
change  my  state,  but  refuse  them  all,  and  live  single  for  the 
sake  of  the  family  —  and  which  reminds  me  it 's  eight  o'clock, 
and  the  breakfast  to  make." 

So  saying,  led  by  that  mysterious  guidance  which  directs 
the  somnambulist  —  whether  gome  supernatural  clairvoyance, 
or  more  probably  an  internal  geographical  scheme,  corre- 
sponding with  the  external  locality,  and  producing  an  exquisite 
consciousness  by  touch,  independent  of  sight,  of  long  familiar 
distances  and  habitual  turns  and  windings  —  however,  without 
blunder  or  collision,  the  sleeping  Kezia  passed  hastily  from 
the  surgery,  through  the  hall,  into  her  kitchen,  to  prepare  the 
morning  meal  to  which  she  had  referred.  But  here  the 
guiding  faculty  was  at  fault.  Besides  the  old  furniture  and 
utensils,  on  every  article  of  which  she  could,  blindfolded, 
have  laid  her  hand,  the  floor  was  occupied  by  sundry  novel 
and  strange  contrivances  for  holding  the  superabundant  relics 
of  the  festival  overnight.  Against  one  of  these  extempore 
dressers  she  walked,  with  a  force  and  a  clatter  that  startled 
her  wide  awake,  with  one  hand  in  a  jelly,  and  her  nose  seem- 
ingly testing  the  SAveetness  of  a  boiled  ham.  The  darkness, 
the  cold,  her  undress,  and  the  remembrance  of  former  noc- 


OUR  FAMILY.  93 

turnal  excursions,  instantly  suggested  the  truth  ;  her  mind 
however  retaining  no  trace  of  her  recent  dream  ;  so,  after  a 
single  exclamation  of  surprise,  she  quietly  groped  for  the 
tinder-box,  lighted  a  spare  candle,  and  yawning  and  shivering, 
crept  up  stairs  to  the  back  garret,  to  get  a  brief  rest,  before 
the  very  early  hour  at  which  she  regularly  resumed  the  multi- 
farious labors  of  her  industrious  days. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A    CLEW. 

In  the  surgery  —  so  lately  the  scene  o.  a  double  mystery, 
of  a  clandestine  midnight  meeting  and  unconscious  somnam- 
bulism —  of  treacherous,  heartless  vigilance  and  honest  devo- 
tion faithful  even  in  sleep  —  at  his  old  desk  stood  Mr.  Postle, 
apparently  studying  some  medical  work,  but  in  reality  think- 
ing over  the  supper  of  the  night  before  and  puzzling  himself 
to  account  for  the  absence  of  the  guests.  But  his  meditations 
were  in  vain  :  to  use  one  of  his  own  favorite  illustrations,  he 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  make  a  nosegay  with  Flowers  of 
Sulphur. 

Meanwhile,  in  looking  at  his  old  prompters,  along  the  wall 
from  shelf  to  shelf,  with  all  the  parade  of  nice-looking  nasti- 
ne>s  arranged  thereon  in  rows  of  glass  bottles  and  white  jars, 
marked  with  cabalistical  signs,  —  his  eye  detected  one  recep- 
tacle breaking  the  uniformity  of  the  series  by  being  turned 
with  its  label  to  the  wall.  But  he  did  not  need  to  see  the  gilt 
scroll  to  know  its  inscription  —  "  Tinct.  Opii." 

"  Confound  that  idiot ! "  he  muttered.  "  He  will  poison 
himself  yet  with  his  sweet  tooth  and  his  tastings.  I  can 
trace  the  mark  of  his  wet  finger  on  the  bottles  and  drawers 
like  the  track  of  a  snail.  Only  yesterday  I  had  to  teach  him 
that  Ferrum  Tart,  does  not  stand  for  pastry,  nor  Cerat.  Plumb, 
for  almonds  and  raisins,  —  and  now  he  has  been  at  the  lauda- 
num ?  " 

For  once,  however,  Catechism  Jack  was  mistakenly  ac- 
cused.    No  finger  of  his,  wet  or  dry,  had  approached  the 


94  OUR  FAMILY. 

dangerous  narcotic.  Another  meddler,  rather  sharp  than 
dull  of  intellect,  had  removed  the  stopper  for  a  less  innocent 
] nu-pose  than  to  test  the  flavor  of  the  tincture.  The  dear 
Twins  owed  their  very  sound  sleep  in  the  night  to  a  minute 
dose  from  that  displaced  bottle. 

The  assistant  carefully  rectified  its  position,  and  returning 
to  his  desk  began,  with  pen  and  ink,  to  sketch  —  another  of 
his  habits  —  on  the  quire  of  blotting-paper  before  him,  his 
designs  being  generally  of  the  anatomical  class,  outlines  of 
bones,  muscles,  and  organs,  rarely  deviating  into  landscape, 
or  rather  scraps  of  foliage,  and  even  then  what  was  meant 
for  a  tree  resembled  rather  a  drawing  of  the  Vena  Porta  or 
Vena  Cava,  with  its  branching  veins.  This  time,  however, 
his  subject  was  the  human  face,  not  dissected,  but  in  its 
natural  state  ;  and  as  very  commonly  happens  to  artists,  fine 
or  unfine,  the  features  took  the  form  and  expression  of  a 
countenance  remotely  present  to  his  thoughts,  so  that  without 
any  premeditated  portraiture,  he  had  just  achieved  a  rather 
striking  but  ugly  likeness  of  Doctor  Shackle,  when  a  shadow 
fell  across  the  paper,  and  looking  up,  he  beheld  the  original 
of  the  picture  standing  right  before  him. 

The  Doctor  was  accompanied  by  a  Mr.  Hix,  a  parish 
official,  and  a  very  active  one  —  but  especially  notable  for 
a  double  propensity  to  turn  private  business  into  public, 
and  public  business  into  private  —  at  once  an  indefatigable 
meddler  in,  and  advertiser  of,  the  personal  concerns  of  his 
neighbors,  and  the  uniform  advocate  of  select  vestries,  secret 
committees,  private  reports,  sealed  books,  suppressed  accounts, 
the  exclusion  of  reporters,  and  closed  doors.  Indeed,  so  far 
did  he  carry  this  love  of  mystery  that,  when  certain  parochial 
notices  were  to  be  posted,  according  to  law,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  community  at  large,  he  was  said  to  have  seriously 
recommended  their  being  pasted  up  with  their  printed  sides 
to  the  wall. 

The  ostensible  errand  of  Doctor  Shackle  was  merely  to  ask, 
in  a  friendly  way,  after  the  heads  of  the  family,  and  how  they 
had  passed  the  night  after  the  trying  disappointments  they 
had  endured  ;  an  inquiry  urged  with  such  seeming  interest, 
that  in  the  absence  of  any  authentic  bulletin,  Mr.  Postle 
deemed  it  expedient  to  fetch  my  father  himself  to  reply  per 
sonally  to  the  application. 


OUR   FAMILY.  95 

His  back  was  no  sooner  turned,  than  Shackle,  reaching  his 
long  arm  over  the  low  rail  in  front  of  the  desk,  snatched  up 
something  which  he  exhibited  to  his  companion  —  namely, 
a  fragment  of  French  gray  cloth  in  one  hand,  and  iu  the  open 
palm  of  the  other  two  silver-washed  nails.  The  pantomime 
that  followed  was  silent,  but  expressive. 

uDo  you  see  these,  and  understand  what  they  mea?i?"  asked 
the  fixed,  significant  look  of  the  Doctor,  as  plainly  as  in  words. 

"  I do"  replied  the  intelligent  nod  of  Mr.  Hix. 

The  Doctor  raised  his  eyebrows  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Could  there  be  a  clearer  case  f  " 

The  Churchwarden  shook  his  head,  and  made  a  grimace. 

—  " Nor  a  more  ugly  business" 

u  I  'm  sorry  for  it  —  very  !  "  said  Shackle,  hastily  replacing 
the  cloth  and  nails  on  the  desk,  and  then  suddenly  turning  his 
back  on  them,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  a  large  glass  jar  full  of 
snow-white  magnesian  brick-,  as  if  projecting  how  to  build 
with  them  some  castle  in  the  air.  So  intensely,  indeed,  was 
he  occupied  with  this  ideal  fabric,  as  not  to  be  aware  of  the 
entrance  of  my  father,  till  the  latter  came  close  up  to  him, 
and  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand.  Then  he  awoke,  and 
how  delighted  he  was,  or  said  he  was,  to  find  my  father  not 
merely  as  well,  but  better  than  could  have  been  expected, 
after  the  late  untoward  events  —  a  series  of  disappointments 
borne,  he  must  say,  with  an  equanimity  worthy  of  the  palmy 
days  of  the  Stoic  Philosophy. 

"  Had  it  been  my  own  case,  "  said  Shackle,  "  to  say  nothing 
of  the  dead  convivial  failure,  yet  to  meet  with  such  a  slight 
from  the  whole  neighborhood,  as  it  were  —  the  cut  wholesale 
as  well  as  direct  —  I  really  think,  with  my  own  more  sensi- 
tive, irritable  temperament,  I  should  either  have  gone  there," 

—  and  he  pointed  to  the  laudanum  bottle  —  "  for  oblivion,  or 
there  "  —  and  he  indicated  another  drug  — ki  for  annihilation." 

••  No,  no,"  said  my  father,  "  you  know  better.  And  besides, 
there  was  no  great  stoicism  needed  in  the  matter.  A  medical 
man,  and  a  Christian,  who  had  walked  the  hospitals  and  the 
poor-house,  and  seen  human  misery  and  anguish  in  all  their 
complicated  shapes,  and  who  could  not  bear  such  a  petty  mis- 
hap —  provoking  as  I  confess  it  was  —  would  be  a  disgrace 
to  his  profession  and  his  religion.  As  to  the  absence  of  our 
friends,  no  doubt  it  will  be  accounted  for." 


96  OUE  FAMILY. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Dr.  Shackle. 

"  For  the  rest,"  continued  my  father,  "  the  worst  we  are 
threatened  with  is  to  be  cloyed  with  sweets  for  a  few  days  to 
come,  or  surfeited  with  cold  victuals  ;  evils  for  which  between 
young  folks  and  poor  ones,  we  may  easily  find  a  remedy." 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  well  armed  against  trouble,"  said 
Dr.  Shackle  ;  "  and  wish  I  had  a  little  of  your  philosophy.  I 
have  equal  need  of  it  —  for  we  are  likely  to  be  mutually  in- 
volved in  a  very  disagreeable  business." 

"  A  parochial,  and  perhaps  a  public  business,"  said  Mr. 
Hix.  My  father  looked  inquiringly  from  one  speaker  to 
another. 

"  The  short  of  the  matter  is  this,"  said  Dr.  Shackle.  "  You 
have  heard,  of  course,  of  the  pauper  family,  who  gave  their 
dead  child  that  ridiculous  funeral  ?  —  " 

"The  Hobbeses,"  said  Mr.  Hix.  "Indulged  themselves 
with  a  genteel  burial  —  and  on  our  books  for  three  shillings  a 
week  ! " 

"  Yes,  inconsistent  enough,"  said  my  father.  "  I  was  acci- 
dentally an  eyewitness  of  the  procession." 

"Well,"  said  Shackle,  "the  grave  was  robbed  the  other 
night,  and  the  child's  body  stolen.  The  whole  village  is  in  a 
ferment  about  it  —  the  poor  especially  —  the  paupers  out- 
rageous, and  the  Hobbeses  rampant." 

"  Poor  things,"  said  my  father. 

"  Yes,  poor  enough,"  said  Shackle  ;  wilfully  wresting  my 
father's  phrase  of  commiseration  into  another  sense. 

"  And  idle  enough,  and  troublesome  enough,  and  more  than 
enough,"  added  Mr.  Hix. 

"And  scandalous  enough,"  said  Shackle,  "to  say  that  their 
beggarly  corpses  are  less  cared  for  than  the  carcasses  of  brute 
beasts." 

"  The  coarse  expression,"  said  my  father,  "  of  a  strong  but 
natural  prejudice." 

"  O,  quite  natural,"  sneered  Dr.  Shackle  ;  "  and  quite  harm- 
less, if  their  prejudices  went  no  further.  But,  as  human 
corpses  are  not  eaten,  except  by  ghouls,  hyaenas,  and  beasts 
of  prey,  of  which  there  are  none  in  this  blessed  Lincolnshire, 
the  natural  inference  is  that  graves  are  robbed,  and  bodies 
snatched  for  other  than  pantry  purposes.  In  short,  in  their 
own  low  language,  that  the  poor  are  only  poked  into  pit-holes, 


OUR   FAMILY.  97 

to  be  hoked  up  agin,  and  cut  and  hacked  about  like  dog's 
meat,  by  raw  'prentices  and  Sawboneses,  —  and  heaven  knows 
what  vulgar  libels  besides." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  "  asked  my  father.  "  As  a  surgeon, 
you  are  not  going,  I  presume,  to  deny  the  practices  of  the 
resurrectionists,  or  the  uses  to  which  the  articles  they  deal  in 
are  applied  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  Shackle.  "  The  thing  is  too  notorious  ;  and, 
as  you  say,  too  surgical ;  though  I  never  had,  directly,  a 
finger  in  any  cold  meat-pie  of  the  kind.  Probably,  you  have. 
However,  the  popular  suspicion  necessarily  falls  on  the  medi- 
cal men  of  the  place ;  under  which  category  we  share  the 
odium  between  us :  at  least,  pro  tempore ;  for,  as  regards 
myself,  as  we  doctors  say,  I  shall  very  soon  remove  all  that ; 
and  hope  you  are  in  as  good  case." 

"  Most  decidedly,"  said  my  father. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Shackle.  "  Your  official  con- 
nection with  the  poor,  as  parish  doctor,  makes  your  exculpa- 
tion of  even  more  importance  than  my  own." 

"  There  must  be  a  parochial  inquiry  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hix. 

"  Of  course,  with  closed  doors,"  said  Shackle  ;  unable  to 
resist  a  sarcasm,  even  on  a  friend  and  ally  —  a  propensity 
that  explained  his  otherwise  unaccountable  influence  in  a 
place  where  so  few  persons  liked,  but  so  many  feared  him. 

"  In  fact,"  he  continued,  "  the  wretches  do  not  scruple  to 
say  that  the  anatomizing  of  their  remains  is  winked  at  by  the 
workhouse  authorities." 

"  And  if  we  did,"  cried  Mr.  Hix,  "  every  ounce  of  flesh  on 
their  bones  was  composed  of  parish  victuals.  There  is  n't  a 
pauper  dies,  man,  woman,  or  child,  but  in  equity  we  have  a 
mortgage,  -as  I  may  say,  on  their  bodies." 

"  That 's  undeniable,"  said  Shackle.  "  However,  the  pau- 
pers are  all  up  in  arms,  and  declare  openly  that  they  won't 
work ;  and  even  that  they  won't  die,  unless  assured  of  decent 
and  safe  interment." 

"  Won't  die  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Hix. 

"  So  they  say,"  answered  Shackle. 

"  Won't  die  !  "  repeated  the  churchwarden.  "  That  must 
be  looked  to." 

My  father,  who  had  been  lost  in  thought,  here  awoke  from 
his  reverb  and  addressed  himself  to  Shackle. 

5  G 


98  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Yes,  Doctor,  you  are  right.  This  is  a  very  disagreeable 
business,  and  a  very  serious  one,  at  least  for  me." 

"  And  for  the  parish  too,"  said  Mr.  Hix,  "  to  have  such  a 
slur  on  it." 

"  Especially,"  said  Shackle,  "  as  it  is  not  a  matter  that  can 
be  shelved,  or  cushioned,  or  hushed  up." 

"  And  ought  not  to  be,"  said  my  father,  "  must  not !  Last 
night's  mystery  is  now  solved.  I  am  socially  excommunicated. 
How  or  why,  I  know  not,  —  but  a  suspicion  has  fallen  upon 
me,  which  I  must  remove,  or  give  up  my  practice,  and  quit 
the  neighborhood.  A  public  inquiry  will  be  necessary,  for 
my  own  sake." 

"  And  for  mine  too,"  said  Shackle. 

"  For  all  our  sakes  !  "  cried  Mr.  Hix.  "  The  excitement  of 
the  lower  orders  will  be  sure  to  fall  first  on  the  authorities  — 
the  churchwardens  and  overseers.  The  least  I  expect  is,  to  be 
hung  or  burnt  in  effigy,  or  to  have  my  windows  smashed ! " 

My  father  mechanically  looked  up  over  the  surgery-door  at 
the  yellow  glass  globe,  so  often  broken  ;  and  true  to  his  mis- 
givings, if  not  actually  smashed,  it  was  starred  in  all  directions 
by  some  missile  that  had  struck  it  in  the  centre.  He  pointed 
it  out  to  his  visitors. 

"  There  is  a  token  of  the  popular  feeling  —  the  local  cur- 
rent that  has  set  in  against  me.  For  some  time  past  I  have 
fancied  myself  treated  with  coldness  and  aversion  by  the 
humbler  class  of  the  inhabitants  ;  but  a  clear  conscience  and 
my  good-will  towards  them  repelled  the  supposition.  Now, 
however,  there  is  a  direct  imputation  on  me  which  I  must  at 
once  rebut,  or  be  a  ruined  man." 

"  The  Board  sits  this  morning,"  suggested  Mr.  Hix. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  my  father,  "  I  will  at  once  go  before  it, 
and  clear  my  character.  I  need  not  say,  I  hope,  that  I  am 
altogether  innocent  in  the  matter  —  as  innocent  as  those 
leeches  "  —  and  he  pointed  to  the  bottle  —  "  of  the  blood  of 
Julius  Caesar." 

"I  am  truly  happy  to  hear  you  say  so,"  cried  Shackle, 
seizing  and  squeezing  my  father's  hand  ;  "  and  shall  be  still 
more  happy  to  hear  you  prove  it." 

The  churchwarden  expressed  a  similar  wish,  but  instead  of 
shaking  hands,  contented  himself  with  a  stiff  bow,  externally 
taking  a  simple  leave  of  my  father,  but  internally  bidding 


OUR   FAMILY.  99 

good  by  to  him,  though  somewhat  precociously,  as  the  parish 
doctor.  The  real  functionary,  in  his  eyes,  was  the  medical 
gentleman  with  whom  he  walked  off  arm  in  arm. 

"  A  clew  at  last ! "  cried  my  father  to  Mr.  Postle,  whose  en- 
trance into  the  surgery  was  synchronous  with  the  exit  of  Dr. 
Shackle  —  a  hint  that  Animal  Magnetism  ought  properly  to 
have  two  poles,  —  of  repulsive  Antipathy  as  well  as  of  sym- 
pathetic Attraction.  "  A  clew  at  last !  TTe  have  found  out 
the  disease  ! "  And  my  father  imparted  to  his  assistant  the 
substance  of  the  information  he  had  just  obtained. 

"  Say  I  told  you  so  !  "  cried  the  assistant ;  an  exclamation  he 
would  have  made,  however,  if  just  informed  of  a  shower  of  ad- 
dled brains  from  the  moon.  "  And  that,  then,  is  why  we  were 
sent  last  night  to  Coventry  —  to  sup  by  ourselves  !  Not  that 
they  would  have  touched  the  supper  if  they  had  come  —  they 
would  have  fancied  human  brains  in  the  blanc-mange,  and  co- 
agulated blood  in  the  currant  jelly.  Yes  —  for  the  future  we 
are  ghouls,  vampires,  carrion  vultures  —  and  nobody  will  come 
near  us.  There  is  nothing  that  unscientific  people  are  so 
squeamish  about  as  violating  graves  and  desecrating  their  re- 
mains—  though  why  the  suspicion  should  fall  on  us,  more 
than  on  Doctor  Shackle,  he  knows  best.  If  any  one  wants  a 
refresher  in  anatomv,  he  does.  And  what,  sir,  do  you  mean 
to  do  ?  " 

"  Confront  the  report,"  said  my  father.  "  Go  before  the 
Board  and  demand  an  inquiry.  Is  not  that  always  the  best 
course  —  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  so  —  except  you  're  run  at  by  a  polled  cow." 
answered  Mr.  Postle.  "  For  my  part  I  'd  as  soon  go  at  once 
at  Farmer  Nokes's  bull  with  a  board  over  his  eyes,  with  '  be- 
ware '  upon  it.  It 's  the  Board,  or  a  parcel  of  it,  that  wants 
to  get  you  out,  and  have  Shackle  in  your  place." 

u  I  don't  —  I  can't  —  I  won't  believe  it !  "  cried  my  father. 

"As  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Postle.  "If  they  don't,  the 
paupers  will,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing.  I  know  them 
well :  when  the  poor  once  catch  a  prejudice  in  their  heads, 
it 's  as  obstinate  as  ringworm.  I  lost  my  own  practice  by  it 
when  I  was  a  doctor  on  my  own  account.  My  patients  were 
mostly  provincials  of  the  lower  and  middle  class,  but  all 
brutally  ignorant,  and  of  course  superstitious,  and  devout 
believers  in  witchcraft.     And  how  do  you  think  I  lost  them  ? 


100  0UR  FAMILY. 

By  a  joke,  —  sir,  a  mere  joke  —  through  telling  a  credulous 
old  woman,  —  ass  as  I  was  !  —  that  I  could  show  her  Minde- 
rerus's  Spirit,  dancing  with  Saint  Vitus,  round  Saint  Antho- 
ny's Fire  !  " 

"  But  surely  a  jest,"  said  my  father,  "  might  have  been  ex- 
plained." 

"  Not  it,"  said  Mr.  Postle.  "  To  the  vulgar,  a  doctor  with 
his  hieroglyphics  on  his  bottles,  and  his  Latin,  is  already  half 
a  conjurer,  and  I  had  made  myself  a  necromancer  outright. 
There  was  no  revoking  it.  You  may  make  an  ignorant  stom- 
ach give  up  its  poison,  but  an  ignorant  faith  never  gives  up  a 
legend  it  has  once  swallowed." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  your  definition  of  an  ignorant  stom- 
ach," said  my  father,  straying,  as  he  was  too  apt,  from  serious 
matters  after  a  whim. 

"  We  are  likely  to  know  practically,"  answered  the  assist- 
ant, in  a  gloomy  tone,  "  if  ignorance  and  emptiness  be  synony- 
mous, as  they  are  in  the  head  ;  for  I  don't  suppose,  as  the 
practice  goes,  that  the  Board  will  board  us." 

"  That 's  true,"  said  my  father.  "  I  must  go  to  the  work- 
house." And  with  a  smile  at  the  unintentional  equivoque,  he 
put  on  his  hat,  and  set  out  for  the  parochial  meeting. 

Had  he  delayed  a  minute  longer,  he  would  have  been 
startled  and  stopped  by  a  sound  ringing  in  his  own  house  from 
hall  to  attic,  —  that  sudden,  shrill  cry  which  only  comes  from 
a  female  in  distress,  anguish,  or  alarm,  —  and  electrifies  the 
hearer  like  a  flash  of  lightning  turned  from  visible  into  audible. 
As  it  flew  first  from  the  kitchen  to  the  surgery  close  at  hand, 
Mr.  Postle  was  soonest  at  the  spot,  where,  close  to  the  ironing- 
board,  the  movable  supports  of  which  she  had  knocked  away 
in  her  Ml,  lay  Kezia  in  a  strong  hysterical  fit,  in  the  middle 
of  a  chaos  of  crockery,  glasses,  decanters,  knives,  forks, 
tongue,  cold  fowls,  tarts,  salad,  cakes,  and  jellies,  —  amidst 
which  she  kicked  and  struggled  like  a  passenger  desperately 
swimming,  or  trying  to  swim,  from  the  wreck  of  some  well- 
provisioned  steamer. 

Having  dashed  into  her  face  the  first  water  at  hand,  the  as- 
sistant stepped  back  into  the  surgery  for  the  Sal.  Vol.  or  Liq. 
Vol.  C.  C,  but  with  so  much  professional  deliberation  —  know- 
ing such  fits  may  be  safely  left  to  run  their  course  —  that  when 
he  returned  to  the  kitchen,  he  found  the  patient  propped  up 


OUR   FAMILY 


101 


against  the  wall,  in  a  sitting  posture,  between  Mrs.  Prideaux 
and  Uncle  Rumbold,  the  first  loosening  the  sufferer's  dress, 
and  the  last,  having  lent  a  hand  in  her  removal,  gazing  calmly 
on,  very  like  a  bearded  Turk  confiding  in  Predestination,  and 
still  more  like  himself  "  trusting  to  Nature."  Mr.  Postle 
nevertheless  plied  the  stimulants. 

"  One  more  application  of  the  restoratives,"  said  Mrs.  Pri- 
deaux, "  and  she  will  revive.  There  !  —  she  is  resuming  her 
senses." 

As  she  spoke,  the  color  began  to  return  to  the  claret-bald 
cheeks  of  Kezia,  who,  after  a  gasp  or  two,  opened  her  eyes 
—  sneezed  —  stared  at  each  person  in  turn,  —  then  suddenly 
turned  pale  again  —  closed  her  eyes  —  clasped  her  hands 
wildly  together  —  and  shrieking  "  the  plate  !  the  plate  !  "  re- 
lapsed into  insensibility. 

The  restorative  process  was  again  applied,  and  with  success. 
The  maid-of-all-work,  after  a  short  struggle,  sprang  up,  as  if 
galvanized,  on  her  feet ;  and  amidst  gulps,  sobs,  broken  ejacu- 
lations, and  distracted  gestures,  informed  her  audience  by  bits 
and  snatches  that  "  there  had  been  thieves  in  the  house,  — 
and  Mr.  Ruffy's  silver  tankard  —  and  the  Reverend  Curate's 
silver-gilt  salts  —  and  all  Mrs.  Trent's  school  spoons  —  were 
missing ! " 

Poor  faithful,  devoted  Kezia  !  No  hand  had  she  in  that 
felonious  abstraction  ;  and  yet,  for  all  her  innocence,  how 
fearfully  within  the  range  of  suspicion,  whilst  Guilt  stood  by 
in  comparative  safety,  without  a  tremor  in  her  silvery  voice, 
or  a  faltering  in  her  correct  carriage  !  Had  some  wakeful  ear, 
startled  by  the  unseasonable  issuing  of  the  housemaid  from  her 
bedroom,  heard  her  descending  the  stairs,  marked  her  passage 
from  hall  to  surgery,  from  surgery  to  kitchen,  and  recognized, 
by  listening,  her  voice  in  conversation  though  but  with  a 
shadow,  and  then  her  stealthy  retreat  before  dawn  to  her  own 
attic,  she  was  in  all  human  probability  a  lost,  undone,  ruined 
creature.  Like  other  Somnambulists,  who,  in  their  nocturnal, 
unconscious  wanderings,  step,  dream-led,  on  the  narrow  win- 
dow-sill or  perilous  parapet,  she  had  walked  to  the  very  verge 
of  a  moral  precipice  —  would  she  keep  her  footing  or  fall  ? 


102  OUR  FAMILY. 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    PARISH    BOARD. 

It  was  a  sad  journey,  though  a  short  one,  for  my  father, 
from  his  home  to  the  Workhouse.  At  every  step  he  was 
painfully'  reminded  of  his  position.  In  return  for  the  ready 
smile  and  friendly  greeting  for  everybody  he  met,  he  received 
only  cold  looks,  and  sullen  or  fierce  replies.  The  very  chil- 
dren, with  whom  he  had  been  so  popular,  shrank  from  him  in- 
spired by  the  common  prejudice  :  little  heads,  that  used  to  nod 
to  him,  were  immovable  on  their  shoulders  ;  little  faces,  that 
used  to  brighten  at  his  approach,  were  frowning  their  aversion  ; 
not  a  few  of  the  youngsters  ran  indoors  as  from  the  minister 
of  a  new  Herod.  And  yet  so  innocent  was  he  of  the  revolt- 
ing act  attributed  to  him,  that  he  had  yet  to  learn  particulars 
which  were  known  to  almost  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in 
the  place  —  that  the  grave  of  the  little  Hobbes  had  been  re- 
opened ;  the  removed  earth  being  placed,  as  the  practice  was 
in  such  operations,  in  a  sheet,  so  that  the  mould  might  all  be 
returned  to  its  place  without  leaving  a  vestige  to  tell  the  tale 
of  disturbance ;  but  the  resurrectionists  had  been  alarmed  at 
their  work,  and  had  decamped  with  the  corpse,  leaving  the 
clay  in  the  sheet,  at  one  side  of  the  yawning  void,  and  the 
shattered  coffin  on  the  other. 

To  add  to  his  discomfort,  when  my  father  arrived  at  the 
Workhouse,  a  number  of  applicants  for  out-door  relief  were  in 
waiting  at  the  gate  ;  a  squalid  group,  including  the  ungrateful 
Mrs.  Hopkins,  the  bitter  Mrs.  Pegge,  with  her  green  shade, 
and  the  old  deaf  cripple,  with  her  crutch  and  her  ear-trumpet. 
As  several  of  these  persons  were  his  patients,  he  inquired  as 
usual  after  their  complaints  ;  but  his  questions  were  met  by  a 
dogged  silence,  or  rude  answers ;  whilst  the  three  shrews  were 
loud  in  their  revilings,  the  deaf  woman  screaming  high  above 
the  rest. 

"  Yes,  ax  'em,  do,  poor  things !  when  they  mean  to  go  to 
the  pit-hole.  And  much  rest  they'll  get  in  it, — just  earthed 
over  at  night,  and  dug  out  again  afore  morning  ;  that's  all  we 
enjoy  of  our  narrow  homes  !     Well,  you  've  snatched  one  at 


OUR  FAMILY.  103 

any  rate  —  poor  Sukey  Hobbes  !  Ay,  you  may  shake  your 
head  —  you  did  n't  do  it,  —  not  you,  —  nor  she  is  n't  you  know- 
where,  with  her  bones  surgically  picked  into  a  skeleton,  to 
stand  behind  a  green  curtain  in  a  glass  case.  But,  mark  my 
words,  —  she  '11  harnt  ye  some  day  !  She  '11  harn't  ye  in  her 
little  shrowd  ! " 

My  father  rang  the  bell:  the  sliding  panel  in  the  gate 
moved  aside  ;  and  a  hard  red  face  looked  through  the  grating  ; 
but  the  porter  still  delayed  to  withdraw  the  bolt.  He  was  an 
officer  whose  duty  it  was  to  admit  rags  and  tatters,  and  as  a 
character  was  being  torn  to  shreds  outside,  he  resolved  to  af- 
ford time  for  the  operation.     So  the  vituperation  went  on. 

k-  Yes,  go  in  to  the  Board,  and  hush  and  huddle  it  up  among 
ye  !  It  was  not  body-snatching  —  O  no  —  poor  paupers  have 
not  bodies,  but  only  carcasses  like  brute  beasts,  so  it  was  n't 
body-snatching  at  all  !  And  if  it  was,  who  cares  for  the  re- 
mains of  the  like  of  us  ?  If  wTe  make  away  with  ourselves,  we 
're  mangled  and  mammoked  writh  stakes  through  our  corpses  ; 
and  if  wre  die  nateral,  we  're  cut  up  like  Haggerty  and  Hol- 
lo way  !  Who  did  poor  Sukey  kill  that  she  's  to  be  made  a 
'natomy  ?  —  But  murderers  is  dissected,  and  so  is  paupers  ! " 

The  gate  here  opened ;  and  my  father  entered,  bestowing 
on  the  porter  a  gentle  rebuke,  that  was  received  with  a  sneer, 
and  revenged  by  leaving  the  panel  open,  so  that  as  the 
Doctor  crossed  the  yard  he  received  through  the  grating  a 
parting  salute. 

"  Take  care  of  John  Hobbes,  that 's  all.  If  he  comes  nigh 
your  body,  he  '11  snatch  it  alive  !  " 

With  these  sounds  ringing  in  his  ears,  my  father  entered 
the  AVorkhouse  ;  not  unmarked  by  sundry  dingy  paupers,  who 
were  in  waiting  as  messengers,  and  nodded  and  winked  to  each 
other,  but  omitted  the  customary  tokens  of  respect  as  he  passed 
them  in  the  passage.  Not  a  creature  seemed  to  recognize  him 
but  the  master's  dog. 

My  father,  for  all  his  virtues,  was  not  a  favorite  with  the 
Board.  In  those  days  of  general  prosperity,  and  under  the 
Old  Poor  Law,  the  expenditure  for  the  maintenance  of  pau- 
pers was  in  many  parishes  very  liberal,  in  some  lavish ;  yet 
there  were  examples  even  then  of  a  harsher  spirit  and  sterner 
system ;  and  in  certain  localities,  the  sole  aim  of  the  parochial 
authorities  was  to  reduce  the  poor  and  their  rates  to  the  low- 


104  OUR  FAMILY. 

est  possible  pitch.  In  our  own  district  especially,  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Workhouse  had  gradually  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
rigid  utilitarians  and  strict  economists,  who  were  continually 
seeking  to  discover  that  minimum  of  support  on  which  human 
life  can  subsist ;  and  their  rules,  by  augmenting  labor  and  di- 
minishing food,  had  already  brought  their  Work  Tables  and 
Dining  Tables  to  proportions  that  would  have  astonished  an 
upholsterer. 

My  father,  from  natural  disposition,  was  ill-adapted  to  sec- 
ond such  views  ;  and  was,  in  the  opinion  of  the  authorities,  an 
expensive  doctor:  he  was  too  apt  to  prescribe  wine  and  a 
generous  diet  for  very  reduced  patients  ;  and  to  recommend 
extra  comforts  in  clothing,  and  improvements  in  lodging  the 
poor.  Moreover,  his  evidence  at  inquests  on  defunct  paupers 
was  not  always  exactly  what  could  have  been  wished  ;  and  in 
one  case  had  tended  directly  to  induce  a  verdict  of  "  Died 
from  Neglect."  He  was  therefore  no  favorite  with  the  Board, 
who,  as  Postle  suspected,  had  secretly  encouraged  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  rival  doctor,  in  whose  private  opinion  the  milk 
of  human  kindness,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cream  of  it,  was  a 
luxury  to  be  reserved  for  the  wealthy  classes.  With  the  poor, 
on  the  other  hand,  my  father  ought  to  have  been  popular : 
but  his  good  intentions  towards  them  were  nullified  by  orders 
that  were  disobeyed,  and  recommendations  that  were  disre- 
garded ;  he  was  supposed,  by  some,  to  drink  the  wine  that  did 
not  follow  his  prescription,  and  when  it  did,  that  he  changed 
the  Port  into  Elder,  and  the  Sherry  into  Raisin.  Thus  he 
was  associated  with  all  sins  of  omission  and  commission  ;  and 
as  one  of  the  Parochial  Body,  shared  in  the  general  odium 
that  attached  to  it.  His  kind  manners  indeed,  his  prompt  at- 
tendance, tender  treatment,  and  private  charity,  as  far  as  his 
very  limited  means  allowed,  might  have  procured  an  exemp- 
tion in  his  favor  ;  but  his  decided  opposition  to  the  local  and 
growing  habit  of  opium  taking,  by  the  lower  classes,  had  ex- 
cited a  discontent,  sedulously  fostered  by  the  opposite  practice 
and  secret  machinations  of  Shackle,  into  a  dislike,  which  the 
imputed  outrage  in  the  churchyard  had  aggravated  to  abhor- 
rence. And  so  —  a  Martyr  Elect  —  my  father  entered  the 
Boardroom,  and  placed  himself  in  one  of  the  vacant  seats  at 
its  long  table. 

The  senior  churchwarden,  Mr.  Peckover,  was  in  the  chair ; 


OUR  FAMILY.  105 

supported  on  his  right  by  Mr.  Hix,  who  had  lost  no  time  in 
circulating  the  story  of  his  visit  to  the  Doctor's  surgery,  with 
the  discovery  of  the  scraps  of  French-gray  cloth  and  the  sil- 
ver-washed nails  —  but  ending  with  a  recommendation  to  bury 
the  matter  in  their  own  bosoms.  There  were  present,  besides, 
Mr.  Bearcroft  the  overseer,  Mr.  Poplitt  the  assistant-overseer, 
Mr.  Tally  the  vestry  clerk,  and  a  few  more  official  gentlemen. 
The  greater  part  of  the  business  of  the  meeting  had  been  al- 
ready disposed  of:  several  tenders  had  been  accepted  ;  a  com- 
plaint against  the  Master  and  Matron,  and  another  against  the 
Porter,  had  been  heard  and  dismissed  ;  a  retrenchment  in  the 
Dietary  had  been  agreed  to ;  and  the  last  question,  the  better 
punishment  of  the  refractory  paupers,  was  under  discussion. 
Bread-and-water  and  solitary  confinement  were  soon  decided 
on ;  and  then  came  a  pause.  The  Boardmen  looked  at  each 
other,  and  at  the  Doctor,  and  then  with  one  accord  at  the 
chairman  ;  who  rose,  coughed,  stammered,  and  proceeded  to 
lay  before  them  a  very  disagreeable  business  —  the  desecra- 
tion of  the  churchyard,  the  violation  of  a  grave,  and  the  ab- 
straction of  a  corpse  —  according  to  popular  rumor  —  by  their 
own  medical  officer.  The  gentlemen  would  no  doubt  recollect 
the  remarkable  funeral  bestowed  by  one  John  Hobbes,  a  pau- 
per on  the  parish  books,  on  his  deceased  child,  who  was  in- 
terred in  an  elegant  coffin,  covered  with  French-gray  cloth, 
and  richly  ornamented  with  silvered  nails  ?  It  was  her  grave 
that  had  been  disturbed ;  and  her  body  which  had  been  stolen 
for  anatomical  purposes.  He  thought,  with  his  friend  on  his 
right,  such  a  slur  ought  not  to  rest  on  the  parish  and  its  offi- 
cers. The  Doctor  himself,  he  understood,  wished  for  an  im- 
mediate inquiry.  It  would  have  been  more  regular,  no  doubt, 
to  have  given  notice,  but  as  he  was  present  for  the  purpose, 
the  Board  would  perhaps  dispense  with  the  form,  and  hear 
what  he  had  to  say  on  the  subject." 

This  course  being  assented  to,  my  father  rose,  promptly 
yet  embarrassed,  for  the  old  difficulty  of  proving  a  negative 
reduced  his  eloquence  to  little  more  than  an  assertion. 

"  All  I  can  say  is,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  an  innocent  man. 
As  for  any  guilty  knowledge  of  this  matter,  it  was  only  this 
very  morning  —  within  an  hour  ago  —  that  I  knew  of  any 
grave  being  robbed,  or  any  body  stolen  •  my  informants  being 
Mr.  Hix,  there,  and  Doctor  Shackle." 
5* 


106  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Yet  it  was  pretty  widely  known  last  night,  before  your 
christening  supper,"  observed  Mr.  Poplitt,  who  had  been  one 
of  the  uninvited. 

"  The  surer  proof  of  my  having  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  re- 
plied my  father,  "  that  I  was  behind  the  whole  parish  in  the 
information.  That  I  was  suspected,  nay,  condemned,  was  in- 
deed signified  to  me,  at  the  family  festival  just  alluded  to,  in 
a  very  marked  and  painful  matter  —  but  it  is  only  recently 
that  I  have  become  aware  of  the  cause  of  that  general 
desertion.  On  what  grounds  the  charge  is  grounded  it  is  im- 
possible to  divine  ;  my  long  practical  acquaintance  with  anato- 
my, in  the  schools  and  hospitals,  and  my  professional  knowl- 
edge, vouched  for  by  the  most  eminent  surgeons  of  the  day, 
place  me  beyond  the  need  of  such  studies  of  the  human  sub- 
ject ;  and  if  I  did  require  any  aid  from  dissection,  my  princi- 
ples publicly  avowed,  deprecate  the  exclusive  application  of 
the  remains  of  the  poor  to  purposes  equally  beneficial  to  the 
rich." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  Vestry  Clerk.  "  I  have  heard  the 
Doctor  express  that  sentiment  on  various  occasions." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Poplitt ;  "  but  people's  practice 
don't  always  square  with  their  professions." 

"Well,  let  me  be  judged  by  my  practice  then,"  said  my  fa- 
ther. "  What  have  I  ever  done,  as  a  medical  man,  that  such 
a  suspicion  should  fall  on  me  rather  than  on  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  to  glance  at  Doctor  Shackle,"  said  the 
Chairman,  "  I  myself  can  speak  to  his  alibi ;  for  he  was  in 
close  attendance  on  my  wife,  who  was  confined  on  the  night  in 
question." 

"  I  glanced  at  nobody,  Mr.  Chairman,"  replied  my  father, 
"nor  have  an  aim  beyond  my  own  exculpation.  I  repeat, 
that  I  knew  nothing  of  the  affair  till  this  morning ;  and  if  you 
will  send  for  my  assistant,  Mr.  Postle,  he  will  confirm  my 
statement." 

"  Mr.  Postle  !  "  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Phoo !  phoo  !  Doctor,"  said  the  Chairman,  "  you  know 
better  than  that !  In  a  little  quiet  bit  of  body-snatching  for 
the  surgery,  assistant  and  accomplice  are  synonymous." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  my  father.  "  Postle  had  certainly  quite 
as  much  to  do  with  the  matter  as  myself;  and  I  was  sound 
asleep  in  my  own  bed.  But  that  rests,  too,  on  domestic,  and 
therefore,  I  presume,  on  questionable  evidence." 


OUR  FAMILY.  107 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Poplitt,  appealing  to  Mr.  Hix,  "  you 
told  us  something  about  some  French-gray  cloth  and  silver- 
headed  nails  that  were  seen  in  the  Doctor's  surgery  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  replied  Mr.  Hix,  looking  rather  confused ;  "  but  on 
the  understanding  that  the  communication  was  to  be  suppressed 
as  strictly  confidential." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  suppression,"  cried  my  father  ;  "  the 
articles  were  taken  from  my  basket-boy,  Catechism  Jack,  who 
is  weak  of  intellect,  and  had  childishly  adorned  himself  with 
them  on  the  morning  of  the  christening." 

"  A  likely  story  !  "  mumbled  Mr.  Hix,  in  a  tone  between 
publishing  and  smothering  the  remark. 

"  And  pray,  Doctor,  how  did  your  boy  Decome  possessed  of 
the  cloth  and  nails  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Poplitt. 

My  father  was  silent:  he  could  not  form  the  remotest 
guess  ;  for  he  was  still  ignorant  that  the  coffin  had  been  left 
above  ground  by  the  marauders. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  suggested  the  Vestry  Clerk,  "  the  boy 
picked  up  the  things  in  the  churchyard  —  " 

"  Yes,  when  he  were  there  delivering  their  sleeping  draughts 
to  the  dead  folks,"  said  Mr.  Bearcroft,  the  Overseer,  with  a 
grim  smile.  Mr.  Hix  bestowed  an  approving  nod  on  the  Over- 
seer, and  Mr.  Poplitt  cast  a  sneer  at  the  Vestry  Clerk. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  a  little  withered  man  with  a  pigtail,  an 
Auditor  and  Trustee,  "  we  had  better  send  for  the  lad  and  ex- 
amine him  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  to  no  purpose  !  "  exclaimed  my  father.  "  The 
poor  creature  is  so  timorous,  that,  if  seriously  interrogated,  he 
would  recur  to  his  old  laps,  and  nothing  would  be  got  out  of 
him,  except  that  he  would  be  a  good  boy,  and  say  his  Cate- 
chism, and  not  tumble  down  stairs.  However,  gentlemen,  the 
suspicion  attached  to  that  cloth  and  those  nails  extorts  from 
me  a  confession  which  nothing  else  should  have  induced  me  to 
make  "  —  and  my  father  blushed,  as  if  about  to  plead  guilty 
to  the  charge  against  him. 

Now,  then,  it  was  coming  !  Mr.  Hix  nudged  his  neighbor, 
and  the  Overseer  winked  across  the  table  at  Mr.  Poplitt. 

"It  was  I,  gentlemen,  resumed  my  father,  in  a  faltering 
tone,  "  who  supplied  the  Hobbeses  with  the  means  for  that 
preposterous  funeral."  The  Boardmen  looked  at  each  other, 
and  interchanged  signals  of  various  import :  brow-raisings  of 
wonder,  head-shakings  of  disbelief,  and  shrugs  of  doubt. 


108  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  If  you  mean  the  money  chucked  in  at  the  Hohbes's  door, 
or  window,"  said  Mr.  Poplitt,  "  that  gift  has  generally  been 
attributed  to  Dr.  Shackle." 

"  Universally  so,"  said  Mr.  Hix. 

"  And  might  be  still,"  replied  my  father,  "  if  nothing  but 
common  humanity  were  in  question.  I  trust  the  Doctor  is  as 
capable  as  I  am  of  feeling  for  a  bereaved  father  and  mother. 
The  deed  is  only  claimed  because  it  tends  directly  to  contra- 
dict the  charge  that  has  fallen  upon  me.  Were  I  capable," 
and  the  speaker's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  recalled  the  poor 
dead  child,  with  her  flowers  and  toys  about  her,  as  he  had  seen 
through  the  cottage-window  —  "  were  I  capable  of  robbing  a 
churchyard,  that  little  grave  would  have  been  the  very  last  on 
earth  I  should  have  dreamed  of  violating !  " 

This  speech,  emphatically  delivered,  with  the  air  and  tone 
of  the  deepest  feeling,  caused  a  visible  sensation  amongst  the 
auditors :  several  seemed  affected,  and  one  or  two  looked  fool- 
ish, the  only  softness  of  which  they  were  capable  ;  but  the  im- 
pression was  transient. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  the  burly  overseer,  "  if  the  trick  had 
been  clearly  done,  the  father  and  mother  would  have  been 
never  the  wiser,  while  the  purse  may  be,  you  considered  in 
the  light  of  purchase-money,  like,  for  the  body." 

My  father's  face  flushed,  his  eyes  glistened,  his  lips  quiv- 
ered, and  he  was  about  to  start  up  for  some  angry  explosion, 
when  the  vestry  clerk  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm,  held  him 
down,  and  rose  in  his  stead. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  allow  me  to  propose  that  this  business  be 
dropped.  There  is  much  more  mystery  about  it  than  we  can 
hope  to  unravel  except  by  course  of  time.  As  yet,  we  are  all 
in  the  dark,  and  where  there  is  a  doubt  we  are  bound  to  give 
the  benefit  of  it  to  the  accused,  and  to  suppose  him  innocent, 
as  in  this  case  I  honestly  believe  he  is." 

Mr.  Hix,  Mr.  Poplitt,  and  Mr.  Bearcroft,  rose  together ; 
but  the  loud  voice  of  the  big  overseer  soon  found  itself  in 
possession  of  the  air. 

"  The  benefit  of  the  doubt !  Ay,  that 's  very  well  for  a 
legal  friction,  I  should  say  fiction  —  but  what 's  to  benefit  us, 
tin'  parochial  authorities,  if  we  connive  at  such  doings  to  dead 
paupers,  surrounded  as  we  are  by  such  a  vast  proportion  ot 
live  ones,  and  uncommon  audacious  and  refractory  ?  Their 
excitement  is  awful." 


OUR   FAMILY.  109 

"  They  will  easily  be  pacified,"  said  the  vestry  clerk. 
"  Post  a  few  handbills  with  a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  the 
offender  —  " 

"  When  we  have  discovered  him  gratis  ! "  growled  Mr. 
Bearcroft.  "  Not  a  shilling,  sir,  not  a  shilling  !  The  parish 
funds  are  not  to  be  rewarded  away  in  any  such  manner.  The 
offender  is  before  us,  and  his  guilt  or  innocence  ought  to  be 
established  at  once." 

"  By  all  means !  "  exclaimed  my  father ;  "  it  is  for  that 
purpose  that  I  am  here,  —  that  every  equivocal  circumstance 
may  be  explained  away  or  contradicted,  before  I  visit  another 
parish  patient,  or  set  my  foot  again  in  the  Infirmary." 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  general  feeling  of  the  Board,"  said 
the  Chairman,  stooping  sideways  to  receive  the  communication 
which  Mr.  Hix  was  whispering  into  his  ear.  "  We  will  come, 
therefore,  to  the  point.  Perhaps,  Doctor,  you  can  tell  us  the 
mark  or  marks  on  your  family  linen  ?  " 

My  father  started,  and  stared  at  what  seemed  so  strangely 
irrelevant  a  question  ;  but  to  a  repetition  of  it,  replied  that  he 
presumed  the  marks  would  be  the  initials  of  himself  and 
wife,  or  G.  E.  B.  with  the  number. 

"  And  in  what  color  ?  " 

"  Either  red  or  blue  —  red  to  the  best  of  my  recollection." 

The  Chairman  made  a  signal  to  a  subordinate  official  who 
was  in  attendance,  and  delivered  his  order. 

"  Budge,  produce  the  sheet  to  the  Board." 

Budge  immediately  proceeded  to  a  cupboard  in  one  corner 
of  the  room,  and  unlocking  it,  drew  forth  a  large,  strong  sheet, 
soiled  with  clay,  which  he  laid  on  the  table,  when  it  was 
eagerly  inspected  by  the  Boardmen,  —  and  alas  !  there  were 
the  fatal  signs,  G.  E.  B.,  No.  4,  worked  with  red  marking-cot- 
ton in  one  corner  ! 

The  Vestry  Clerk  having  satisfied  himself  of  the  fact  by 
occular  inspection,  sank  back  into  his  chair,  violently  striking 
the  Minute  Book  before  him  with  his  open  hand. 

My  father  was  petrified  ! 

"  In  that  cloth,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Chairman,  "  the  earth 
was  deposited,  which  had  been  taken  out  of  the  grave,  with  a 
view  to  its  being  all  returned  to  its  place.  The  discovery  of 
the  robbery  was  made  by  the  sexton,  who  reported  it  to  me, 
and  by  my  orders  brought  away  the  sheet,  which  has  remained 
in  the  possession  of  Budge,  under  lock  and  key,  ever  since." 


HO  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  A  clear  case !  palpable  !  undeniable !  a  clencher !  a  set- 
tler ! "  resounded  from  different  quarters  of  the  room. 

"  Doctor,"  asked  the  Vestry  Clerk,  in  an  aside  tone,  "  do 
you  employ  a  laundress  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  my  father,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the 
head,  for  he  understood  the  drift  of  the  question.  "The 
washing  is  all  done  at  home." 

The  Chairman,  Mr.  Hix,  Mr.  Bearcroft,  and  Mr.  Poplitt 
were  busily  writing  on  strips  of  paper,  which  they  passed 
across  the  table  to  each  other.  To  judge  by  their  looks  and 
signals,  the  communications  were  generally  approved ;  and 
some  secret  resolution  having  been  passed  by  a  succession  of 
affirmative  nods,  they  bent  their  eyes  on  the  Doctor.  He  was 
gazing  on  vacancy,  as  a  man  gazes  who  seeks  at  once  to  com- 
prehend the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  speaking  half  aloud  to  himself,  "  that  sheet 
is  certainly  mine,  though  how  it  was  obtained  for  such  a  pur- 
pose is  an  impenetrable  mystery.  I  cannot  pretend  to  fathom 
it.  Time  and  Providence  some  day  may  clear  it  up  —  but 
now,  and  from  me,  an  explanation  is  impossible.  Gentlemen  ! " 
here  he  raised  his  voice  ;  "  you  must  think  me  guilty.  The 
presumption  is  too  strong  against  me,  —  the  current  of  cir- 
cumstances too  violent  to  be  stemmed  by  a  simple  though  sol- 
emn denial.  Hereafter  the  dark  cloud  that  is  hanging  over 
me  may  disperse  ;  and  its  shadow  that  now  blackens  me  so 
deeply  may  pass  away.  In  the  mean  time  there  is  but  one 
course  for  me  to  pursue.  I  cannot  —  I  feel  that  I  cannot  — 
remain  your  medical  officer  any  longer.  The  place  is  vacant. 
I  will  send  my  formal  resignation  as  soon  as  I  get  home." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  of  assent :  nobody  said,  "  Stop  !  — 
consider  —  take  time  !  " 

My  father  rose,  and  bowed  to  the  Chairman,  and  the  Board, 
and  made  a  movement  to  shake  hands  with  the  Vestry  Clerk, 
but  observing  no  sign  of  encouragement,  bowed  to  him  too, 
and  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

The  pauper  messengers,  who  had  learned  the  whole  business 
by  relays  of  listeners,  made  jeering  comments  as  he  passed 
through  their  lounging  place  —  the  Matron,  whom  he  en- 
countered in  the  passage,  read  in  his  face  ere  she  arose  from 
her  courtesy,  that  he  was  disgraced,  skipped  aside  into  her  par- 
lor, and  shut  the  door.     Only  the  Master's  dog  still  recognized 


OUR   FAMILY. 


Ill 


him  with  his  old  salutes,  and  trotting  across  the  forecourt  with 
him,  licked  his  hand  for  the  last  time.  The  hard  red-faced 
porter,  the  moment  the  Doctor  emerged  from  the  Workhouse, 
had  set  the  gate  as  wide  open  as  it  would  swing ;  my  father 
passed  through  it,  and  it  closed  with  a  loud  slam. 

Perhaps  in  the  whole  course  of  his  days  his  heart  had  never 
felt  so  heavy  as  it  weighed  on  his  way  home.  In  his  progress 
to  the  Workhouse,  he  had  been  shocked  and  grieved  by  the 
frequent  manifestations  of  dislike,  and  the  sad  change  he  had 
suffered  in  the  golden  opinions  of  all  sorts  of  people  ;  but  on 
his  return,  the  same  tokens  were  embittered  by  tormenting 
reflections  of  more  domestic  interest.  His  prospect  in  life, 
within  the  last  hour,  had  altered  materially  for  the  worse  ;  and 
particularly  resembled  a  natural  one  that  was  often  before  him 
—  the  Fens  on  a  bad  day.  The  situation  of  Parish  Doctor 
was  attended,  indeed,  with  little  direct  emolument.  The  fees 
were  calculated  on  a  scale  that  only  allowed  for  moderate  mor- 
buses,  reasonable  rheumatisms,  cheap  agues,  and  very  low 
fevers  ;  and  afforded  little  profit  to  a  conscientious  practitioner, 
who  was  not  content,  in  treating  a  sick  pauper,  to  do  it  very 
well  for  the  price.  But  the  parochial  connection  was  valuable  : 
and  by  his  secession  from  the  Board,  he  would  lose  as  patients 
the  churchwardens  and  overseers,  their  spouses  and  children. 
In  short,  he  saw  before  him,  very  distinctly,  a  Wife,  two  dear 
Twins,  and  a  household  to  support,  but  no  clear  prospect  of 
that  indispensable  requisite, 


A    LIVELY-HOOD. 


112  OUR  FAMILY. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Amongst  the  minor  difficulties  of  our  perplexing  family 
affairs,  none  was  more  puzzling  than  the  communication  of 
the  robbery,  or  breaking  the  plate  as  Kezia  called  it,  to  my 
mother.  She  had  slept  all  through  the  alarm  of  the  discovery, 
and  had  risen,  and  was  about  to  come  down,  quite  unconscious 
that  Fate,  which  had  mixed  up  such  a  black  dose  for  her  over 
night,  had  prepared  another  bitter  draught  for  her  in  the 
morning.  That  the  revelation  would  kill  her  poor  mistress 
stone-dead  on  the  spot  like  a  thunderbolt  was  broadly  pre- 
dicted by  the  weeping  maid-of-all-work.  Mrs.  Prideaux  an- 
ticipated that  a  very  hysterical  tendency  might  bring  on  a 
succession  of  fainting  fits,  and  Mr.  Postle  compared  the  dis- 
closure to  imparting  a  blow  to  a  packet  of  fulminating  mer- 
cury. 

At  last  Uncle  Rumbold,  in  virtue  perhaps  of  his  likeness 
to  a  philosopher,  undertook  to  deliver  the  evil  tidings,  and 
after  some  reflection  determined  to  do  it  at  the  late  breakfast 
which  in  my  father's  absence  he  was  to  enjoy  tete-a-tete  with 
my  mother. 

The  task,  nevertheless,  was  a  nervous  one  for  an  inexperi- 
enced bachelor.  A  dozen  times  he  stopped  short  in  his  meal, 
and  clutching  his  beard  in  his  hand  —  a  trick  he  had  in  any 
case  of  perplexity  —  fixed  his  large  speculative  eyes  on  the 
face  before  him,  asking  himself  will  she  scream  ?  or  go  off  in 
a  fit  ?  will  her  tea  go  the  wrong  way  ?  will  she  choke  with  her 
muffin  ?  or  jump  up  and  knock  over  the  tea-urn  ?  If  she  did 
not  wear  ligatures,  thought  he,  I  would  not  mind  ;  but  a  wo- 
man wears  so  many  bands  and  ties  and  laces,  that  when 
nature  attempts  a  gallop  in  her  veins  she  bursts  a  blood- 
vessel. 

All  this  while  he  was  eating  an  egg,  out  of  which,  all  at 
once  plucking  the  spoon  he  held  it  up,  in  a  line  with  my 
mother's  nose,  and  very  solemnly  exclaimed : 

"  Egad !  my  little  fellow,  it  is  well  you  did  not  go  too !  " 

This  opening,  however,  was  a  failure ;  my  mother  thought 
that  the  spoon  had  merely  escaped  being  swallowed  with  one 
of  those  very  large  mouthfuls  of  food  which  her  brother  was 


OUR   FAMILY.  H3 

in  the  habit  of  bolting.  He  therefore  tried  another  tack  ; 
and  began,  in  his  oratorical  tone,  as  follows  :  — 

"  In  former  times,  sister,  there  was  a  certain  sect  of  philos- 
ophers who  professed  to  endure  the  severest  pain  with  the 
most  perfect  indifference." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  mother,  "  they  swallowed  melted  lead,  and 
washed  their  hands  in  boiling  oil,  and  carried  about  red-hot 
pokers  by  the  red  ends,  and  allowed  any  of  the  company  to 
satisfy  themselves  that  the  things  were  actually  burning  and 
scalding  hot." 

"  I  alluded  to  the  Stoics,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold. 

"  And  so  did  I,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  However,  that  was 
the  Stoic  doctrine  ;  and  the  young  Spartans  were  brought  up 
in  its  principles.  You  remember  the  story  of  the  Spartan 
boy  who  had  a  stolen  fox  under  his  cloak,  and  allowed  the 
animal  to  gnaw  away  his  bowels,  rather  than  betray  himself 
by  crying  out  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  see,"  said  my  mother,  closing  her  eyes,  and  shud- 
dering. "  You  want  your  two  nevies  to  be  brought  up  like 
young  Stoics  and  Spartans  —  but  what  I  call  hardened  little 
wretches." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  nephews  at  all,"  replied  Uncle 
Rumbold.  "In  referring  to  the  Stoic  philosophy,  what  I 
wanted,  sister,  was  to  incite  you  to  summon  up  your  own  for- 
titude." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  say  so  at  once  ?  "  said  my  mother. 
"  Is  there  anything  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  replied  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  or  what 
occasion  would  there  be  for  the  Spartan  virtue  ?  But  before 
you  hear  it,  let  me  recommend  to  you  to  finish  your  breakfast." 

"  Good  gracious  ! "  exclaimed  my  mother,  pushing  away 
the  tea,  and  toast,  and  egg,  to  which  she  had  helped  herself, 
"  as  if  I  could  eat,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth  !  I  do  wish 
you  had  kept  it  till  George's  return.  He  has  ten  times  more 
fortitude  than  I  have,  —  indeed  it  sometimes  amounts  to  apathy. 
With  his  example  before  me,  I  might  bear  up  against  what 
might  tempt  me  to  stick  myself  with  a  breakfast-knife,  or  to 
run  out  and  fling  myself  in  the  river." 

"  Well,  I  will  wait,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  for  my  brother- 
in-law's  return." 


114  0UR   FAMILY. 

"  O  no,  no,  no,"  cried  my  mother ;  "  I  must  hear  it  now.  If 
there  is  one  thing  I  cannot  bear,  it  is  suspense.  Dear  me  ! 
What  can  it  be  ?  Is  it  anything  more  about  my  poor  supper 
party  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  Though  the  origin  of  that 
cut  by  the  neighborhood,  as  I  have  just  learned  from  Mr. 
Pestle  —  or  Postle  —  is  an  awkward  affair  too.  In  short, 
sister  —  but  you  must  first  solemnly  promise  me  not  to  shriek, 
or  faint  away,  or  do  yourself  any  mischief,  or  tip  over  the 
urn  —  " 

"  I  won't !     I  won't !  "  reiterated  my  mother. 

"  Well,  then,  the  silver  plate  —  " 

"  The  plate  !  I  knew  it  was  the  plate !  "  exclaimed  my 
mother,  with  difficulty  suppressing  the  forbidden  scream.  But 
she  had  not  promised  anything  about  the  bell,  so  she  jumped 
up,  and  tugged  at  it  till  one  bell-rope  gave  way  with  its  blue 
and  yellow  rosette,  and  then  she  began  jerking  at  the  other. 

Kezia  answered  the  summons,  —  pale  as  a  ghost. 

"  The  plate  —  where  's  the  plate  ?  " 

The  maid-of-all-work  wrung  her  hands,  and  looked  piteously 
at  Uncle  Rumbold. 
*  "  Where 's  the  plate,  I  say !  " 

Poor  Kezia  dropped  on  her  knees  with  a  plump  that  would 
have  split  any  pans  but  those  common  brown  ones,  so  hardened 
by  frequent  scrubbing,  and  with  uncouth  gesticulations  referred 
her  mistress  to  the  gentleman  with  the  beard. 

"  The  truth  is,  sister,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  the  plate  — 
which  was  all  borrowed  I  believe  —  has  been  fetched  away  in 
the  night ;  but  whether  by  the  right  parties  is  very  doubtful." 

"  Thieves  !  —  robbers  !  "  gasped  Kezia,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

My  mother  had  heard  enough.  Without  speaking,  she 
went  and  threw  herself  at  full  length  on  the  horsehair  sofa  ; 
whither  Kezia,  by  a  mode  of  progression  familiar  to  house- 
maids that  scour,  shuffled  after  her  on  her  knees.  Uncle 
Rumbold,  in  the  mean  time,  deliberately  drew  out  his  gold 
watch  and  gravely  laid  it  on  the  breakfast  cloth  before  him, 
determined  to  allow  sorrow  exactly  five  minutes  of  uninter- 
rupted indulgence  before  he  and  comfort  interposed. 

Such  was  precisely  the  position  of  the  parties  in  the  parlor 
—  the  door  of  which  Kezia  had  left  open  —  when  my  father 
quietly  entered ! 


OUR   FAMILY.  H5 

If  a  domestic  man  is  especially  to  be  pitied,  it  is  when  after 
the  rebuffs,  conflicts,  defeats,  disappointments,  affronts,  losses, 
and  crosses  he  has  encountered  abroad  in  his  business,  he  re- 
turns baffled,  tired,  disgusted,  dejected,  to  be  indemnified  by 
the  comforts  of  home  —  and  finds  it  desolate  —  that  whilst 
the  reptiles  of  that  foul  hag  Adversity  had  been  stinging,  bit- 
ing, hissing,  and  spitting  at  him  in  his  path  out  of  doors,  others 
of  the  same  malignant  brood  had  been  spawning  and  hatching 
on  the  household  hearth.  That  was  precisely  my  father's 
case.  He  stood  wonder  and  thunderstruck  —  looking  from 
Uncle  Rumbold  to  Kezia,  and  from  her  to  my  mother,  on  the 
sofa,  trying  vainly  to  catch  the  purport  of  her  broken  ex- 
clamations. 

"  Brother-in-law  —  Kezia  —  Wife  —  what  is  the  meaning 
of  this?" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  my  mother  exchanged  her 
recumbent  for  a  sitting  position,  and  began  incoherently  to 
inform  him  of  the  catastrophe. 

"  O  George,  George  —  we  are  ruined  at  last !  We  can 
never  hold  up  our  heads  again  in  the  place  —  never,  never, 
never !  What  the  curate  will  say  —  and  what  Mr.  Euffy 
may  do,  for  he 's  a  lawyer  —  and  then  that  horrid  Mrs. 
Spinks  —  " 

"  She  had  hem,  ma'am  !  —  she  had  hern  ! "  cried  Kezia  — 
"  for  she  carried  it  away  under  her  shawl !  " 

"  Thank  Heaven  for  that ! "  exclaimed  my  mother,  with 
extraordinary  fervor.      "  She  can't  ride,  then,  on  our  necks  ! " 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,"  said  my  father,  appeal- 
ing to  his  brother-in-law,  "  what  is  all  this  about  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  house  has  been  robbed,"  answered  Uncle  Eum- 
bold,  "  and  the  plate  carried  off." 

In  making  this  abrupt  communication,  the  Philosopher  had 
reckoned  on  the  cheerful,  manly,  and  generally  sanguine  dis- 
position of  my  father,  whom  he  was  surprised  therefore  to 
see  turn  pale  and  stagger  into  a  seat.  But  the  Doctor's  spirits 
were  unusually  jaded  and  depressed  by  the  trial  they  had  so 
recently  undergone,  and  made  him  keenly  sensible  of  a  loss, 
which  he  felt  bound  to  make  good  ;  but  yet  knew  to  be  an 
impracticable  obligation,  in  the  present  hopeless  posture  of 
his  affairs. 

"  Yes,  it  really  is  a  heavy  trouble,  is  n't  it,  George  ?  "  said 


116  OUR  FAMILY. 

my  mother.     "  No  wonder  I  felt  it  deeply,  when  you  take  it 
to  heart  so  seriously.     But  what  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Ought  n't  we  to  raise  the  hue  and  cry,  and  print  handbills, 
and  offer  a  reward  for  the  stolen  plate  ?  " 

"  Turned  into  white  soup  by  this  time  !  "  said  Uncle  Rum- 
bold.  "  Melted  down  almost  into  a  state  of  nature.  All  we 
can  do  is  to  report  the  robbery  to  the  next  magistrate,  and 
leave  him  and  Ins  myrmidons  to  find  the  thieves,  if  they  can. 
As  the  Doctor  is  tired,  and  may  be  wanted,  I  will  step  down 
myself  to  his  Worship :  but  before  I  go,  I  should  like  to 
know,  brother-in-law,  the  upshot  of  the  body-snatching  story 
of  which  Mr.  Pestle  or  Postle  has  given  me  the  heads  — 
and  the  result  of  your  visit  to  the  Board." 

"  The  result  is  simply,"  said  my  father,  "  that  I  am  no 
longer  the  Parish  Doctor." 

At  this  announcement  there  was  a  general  expression  of 
surprise,  the  exclamatory  "  We  an't !  "  of  Kezia  ringing  high 
above  all. 

"  But  how,  George  ?  " 

"  On  what  grounds,  brother-in-law  !  " 

"  To  be  candid,"  said  my  father,  "  though  some  of  the 
members  of  the  Board  were  less  friendly  than  I  expected,  they 
had  sufficient  grounds,  founded  on  circumstantial  evidence,  to 
go  upon  —  that  the  mould  cast  out  of  the  poor  child's  grave 
was  deposited  in  one  of  my  own  sheets." 

"  One  of  our  own  sheets  ! "  screamed  my  mother. 

"  Our  sheets  !  "  echoed  Kezia. 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  it  produced,"  said  my  father.  "  It  was 
marked  G.  E.  B.  No.  4,  with  red  cotton." 

The  description  was  no  sooner  complete,  than,  after  a  col- 
lision that  made  our  bearded  uncle  reel  like  a  classic  Bac- 
chanalian, Kezia  dashed  out  of  the  parlor,  and  was  heard  racing 
up  the  stairs  at  a  horse-gallop. 

"  We  shall  soon  know  if  any  of  the  linen  is  deficient,"  said 
my  mother.  "  For  Kizzy  is  very  careful  of  it,  and  that  it  is 
worn  fairly,  turn  and  turn  about." 

"  I  wish  she  had  been  more  careful  of  the  plate,"  growled 
Uncle  Rumbold,  "  instead  of  trusting  to  country  fastenings  — 
a  thin  deal  shutter,  and  a  strong  oaken  bar. 

"  Did  the  thieves  break  in,  then,  at  the  kitchen  window  ?  " 
asked  my  father. 


OUR   FAMILY.  117 

"If  they  broke  in  anywhere,"  muttered  Uncle  Rumbold, 
"which  his  Worship's  two-legged  ferrets  must  deteimine;" 
and  our  godfather  was  setting  out  on  that  errand,  when  he 
was  delayed  by  the  return  of  Kezia,  with  the  result  of  her 
search  on  her  lips  and  in  her  face.  The  household  linen  was 
all  correct,  with  the  exception  of  the  identical  sheet  in  ques- 
tion, which  was  missing,  though  she  remembered  marking  it, 
as  described,  with  her  own  hands.  Our  godfather  immediately 
left  the  room,  and  the  next  minute  his  bearded  profile,  sur- 
mounted by  a  very  broad-brimmed  hat,  was  seen  to  pass  above 
the  blind  of  the  parlor-window. 

My  father  and  mother,  released  from  the  restraint  which  all 
persons  felt  more  or  less  in  the  presence  of  our  strange  uncle, 
immediately  became  confidential  ;  the  first  relating  what  had 
taken  place  at  the  Workhouse,  and  the  last  commenting 
bitterly  on  a  mass  of  trouble,  not  spreading  itself  fairly  like  a 
flood  on  the  Flats,  but  discharging  itself,  like  a  terrific  water- 
spout she  had  lately  read  of  in  the  county  paper,  on  one 
devoted  house  and  family. 

Kezia,  meanwhile,  repaired  to  her  old  post  beside  the  desk 
in  the  surgery,  to  derive  comfort  and  counsel  from  Mr. 
Postle  ;  and  was  about  to  reveal  to  him  the  mysterious  dis- 
appearance of  the  fatal  sheet,  when  she  perceived  that  a  very 
little  woman,  with  a  straw-colored  face,  was  shivering  in  the 
patient's  chair.  The  influence  of  old  habits  instantly  took 
possession  of  her. 

"  Ah  !  a  case  for  chinchony.  My  good  woman,  you  've  got 
the  ha-gue,  and  I  should  say  the  stertian.  You  must  take 
bark  ;  and  the  best  form  is  in  canine  pills." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  I  'm  weary  of  that  old  dose. 
I  've  took  bark  enough  to  turn  me  into  a  holler  tree.  But  I  'm 
not  come  about  myself,  but  my  sister,  who  is  troubled  about 
her  legs  —  she  has  such  very  coarse  veins." 

"  Has  she  any  occasion  to  be  showing  her  legs  ?  "  inquired 
Kezia,  not  a  little  puzzled  by  the  novelty  of  the  complaint. 

"  Pshaw  !  she  means  varicose  veins,"  said  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Yes,  so  I  suppose,"  said  Kezia.  "  It 's  very  kind  of  her, 
I  'm  sure,  to  come  to  us,  instead  of  Doctor  Shackle,  after  all 
the  falsities  that  has  been  spread  about  us,  and  has  gone  thro' 
the  parish  like  an  infection  of  a  malignant  nature  —  " 

"  She  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Uncle  Rumbold, 


118  OUR  FAMILY. 

who  swept  through  the  surgery  like  a  bearded  meteor,  with 
the  parish  constable  in  his  vortex,  in  which,  by  an  imperative 
beckon,  he  involved  the  maid-of-all-work,  who  was  hurried 
along  with  them  into  the  parlor. 

'•  Dear  me  ! "  exclaimed  my  mother,  "  what  is  all  this, 
brother  ?  Who  is  that  strange  gentleman  with  the  paper  ?  " 
"I  am  the  Constable,  ma'am,  at  your  service,"  said  the 
stranger,  referring  to  the  document  in  his  hand  ;  "  and  this 
here  is  a  sarch  warrant,  for  sarching  the  box  or  boxes  of  one 
Kezia  Jenks." 

"  Mine  ! "  faltered  Kezia,  —  who,  like  many  very  innocent 
persons,  had  nevertheless  a  most  intense  dread  and  awe  of  the 
law,  and  all  that  belonged  to  it.     "  Mine  ! " 

"  I  do  wish,  brother-in-law,"  said  my  father,  in  a  tone  of  the 
deepest  vexation,  "  I  do  wish  you  had  been  less  precipitate  ! 
What  has  this  faithful,  devoted,  hardworking,  and  affectionate 
creature  done,  that  she  should  be  affronted  by  suspicion,  and 
have  her  character  tarnished  by  such  a  proceeding  ?  I  would 
pledge  my  life  for  her  honesty." 

"  I  know  you  would  !  "  replied  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  and  there- 
fore acted  without  consulting  you,  on  my  own  judgment  and  re- 
sponsibility. But  I  do  nothing  without  grave  deliberation  ;  no 
man  does,  who  wears  this  —  and  he  touched  his  beard.  "  Lis- 
ten. In  the  dead  of  the  night,  with  my  own  ears  I  heard  your 
paragon  of  fidelity  open  her  chamber-door,  and  proceed  stealth- 
ily down  stairs,  where,  by  listening  over  the  banisters,  I  heard 
her  voice,  which  I  can  swear  to,  in  conversation  with  some 
person  or  persons  unknown.  The  words  I  could  not  distin- 
guish. —  Silence,  woman,  and  let  me  proceed  —  " 

But  Kezia  was  not  to  be  silenced ;  but  dropping  on  her 
knees,  appealed  to  Heaven,  and  her  master  and  mistress,  to 
testify  to  her  innocence. 

"  I  was  only  sleep-walking,  — which  I  have  done  afore,  in 
this  house,  and  other  places  besides,  —  being  my  misfortune, 
and  such  as  will  kill  me,  some  day,  off  a  parapet,  or  out  of  a 
window  —  as  there  is  a  judge  in  Heaven,  it  was  only  sleep- 
walking !  And  I  waked  up  in  the  kitchen,  by  stumbling  over 
the  cold  supper  things,  with  my  face  on  an  'am." 

"  A  pretty  story  ! "  said  Uncle  Rumbold  —  echoed  by  his 
satellite,  the  constable. 

u  But  a  true  one,"  said  my  father.  "  The  poor  girl  is,  to 
my  knowledge,  a  somnambulist." 


OUR  FAMILY.  H9 

"  A  bamboozleist ! "  exclaimed  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  If  you 
believe  in  such  fables,  brother-in-law,  I  do  not  —  and  never 
will.  They  're  contrary  to  nature.  And  the  spoons  walked 
off  too  in  their  sleep  !  Bah  !  Then  you  will  not  allow  her 
box  to  be  searched  ?  " 

"  I  will  NOT,"  said  my  father. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold,  "  I  shall  remove  my 
own  person  and  property  from  the  premises." 

My  mother  looked  horror-struck  ;  yet  not  more  so  than  her 
housemaid,  as  deeply  interested  in  the  hopes,  for  the  dear 
twins,  that  hung  on  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  Godfather  Rum- 
bold. 

"  O  pray,  pray,"  she  sobbed,  "  don't  quarrel  and  differ  about 
me.     I  'm  not  worth  it,  whatever  becomes  of  me.     O  Master 

—  consider  those  dear,  precious,  innocent  twins.  Let  my  box 
be  searched  —  I  want  to  have  it  searched  —  it  will  do  the 
things  good  to  give  them  a  fresh  airing  ! " 

"  You  had  better,  George,"  whispered  my  mother,  with  a 
twitch  at  my  father's  sleeve,  —  "  there  will  be  nothing  found 
in  it." 

"  Well  —  I  wash  my  hands  of  it !  "  cried  my  father,  —  and 
the  company  in  a  body  proceeded  up  stairs  to  the  attic  land- 
ing, whither  Kezia's  box,  that  she  kept  in  her  bedroom,  was 
lugged  and  ransacked.  And  never  did  searcher,  legal  or  fiscal, 
expose  such  a  heterogeneous  medley  of  articles,  of  so  little 
intrinsic  value  !  A  few  clothes  —  scraps  of  ribbon,  and  frag- 
ments of  patchwork  —  bits  of  dried  orange  and  lemon-peel, 
various  ha'penny  ballads,  and  last  dying  speeches,  with  one 
solitary  play-bill  —  a  Moore's  Almanack,  and  a  Dream-Book 

—  keepsakes  innumerable  —  locks  of  hair,  of  all  colors,  folded 
up  in  papers  inscribed  with  female  names,  and  one  long  silver 
tress,  labelled  "My  deer  Muther's,"  —  with  a  date,  —  a  red 
leather  heart  pin-cushion  —  several  double  nuts  —  a  reel-in-a- 
bottle  —  and  a  little  bone  needle-case,  in  the  shape  of  a  closed 
umbrella,  with  a  paper  tied  to  the  handle,  "  Presented  me  by 
Mister  Postle"  —  an  old-fashioned  wooden  spice-box,  and  last, 
not  least,  a  yellow  canvas  sampler,  with  its  worked  alphabets 
and  numerals,  and  Adam  and  Eve  and  the  Apple  Tree,  and 
Kezia's  own  name,  and  the  date  at  the  bottom.  On  the 
whole,  the  impression  produced  by  the  exhibition  was  decided- 
ly in  favor  of  the  honesty  of  the  proprietor  —  that  she  was 


120 


OUR  FAMILY. 


disinterested,  and  affectionate,  somewhat  superstitious,  and 
had  one  more  grain  of  romance  than  was  suspected  in  her 
homely  composition. 

"  Well,  I  've  sarched  many  a  sarvant's  box  in  my  time,"  said 
the  constable,  "  and  I  never  come  across  a  more  innocenter 
one  than  that !  " 

As  the  party  returned  down  stairs,  they  were  met  at  the 
door  of  the  nursery  by  Mrs.  Prideaux,  who,  dropping  a  very 
lady-like  courtesy  to  Uncle  Rumbold,  tendered  a  bunch  of 
keys  on  a  steel  ring.  She  was  in  that  house,  she  said,  a  hired 
nurse,  and  so  far  in  the  capacity  of  a  servant,  and  therefore 
begged  to  submit  her  boxes  to  inspection.  But  Uncle  Rum- 
bold  as  politely  declined  the  offer :  he  had  had  quite  enough 
of  searching,  and  had  become  irksomely  indebted  in  an  apol- 
ogy to  the  maid-of-all-work  ;  for  he  was  a  proud  man  in  his 
way,  and  of  all  the  things  that  disagreed  with  his  stomach, 
none  was  more  indigestible  than  the  proverbial  Pasty  of  Hu- 
mility, 


HUMBLE   PIE. 


OUR  FAMILY.  121 

CHAPTER    XX. 

OUR    LUCK. 

Our  Uncle  Rumbold,  though  fierce  of  aspect  and  manner, 
was  not  absolutely  hard-hearted  ;  and  his  pride  relented  con- 
siderably when  he  saw  the  maid-of-all-work  come  down  stairs, 
with  her  eyes  red  and  swollen  with  weeping.  But  his  apolo- 
gies were  disclaimed.  "  It  was  n't  the  searching  her  box,"  she 
said,  "she  didn't  mind  that,  nor  the  being  suspected,  that 
made  her  cry,  but  the  sight  of  her  dear  mother's  hair,  who 
died,  poor  soul !  of  a  bilious  calculation." 

"  Calculus,"  said  my  father,  "  calculus.  But  come,  brother- 
in-law,  let  us  inspect  the  premises,  and  have  the  constable's 
opinion  of  the  burglary." 

The  trio  accordingly  repaired  to  the  kitchen,  where  they 
minutely  inspected  the  window  and  its  fastenings,  from  which 
it  appeared  that  a  piece  had  been  cut  out  of  the  shutter,  so  as 
to  allow  of  the  removal  of  the  bolt,  the  sill  was  scratched  and 
soiled  with  clay,  and  the  ground,  on  the  outside,  bore  in  several 
places  the  imprint  of  a  man's  shoe  or  boot,  thickly  studded 
with  hobnails.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  manner  in  which 
the  entrance  had  been  effected ;  and  the  parties  having  come 
to  an  unanimous  conclusion  on  the  subject,  the  constable  was 
despatched  to  take  the  necessary  steps  for  the  discovery  and 
apprehension  of  the  offender  or  offenders.  Uncle  Rumbold 
undertook  to  order  the  printing  and  issue  of  the  handbills, 
whilst  my  father,  with  a  heavy  heart,  proceeded  to  his  escri- 
toire in  the  parlor,  with  a  task  before  him  which,  to  a  man 
who  disliked  letter-writing  in  general,  was  a  heavy  infliction 
—  seeing  that  he  had  to  indite  three  several  epistles,  all  on 
subjects  of  the  most  painful  and  disagreeable  nature,  namely, 
to  the  Board,  with  his  resignation  of  office  ;  to  Mr.  Ruffy, 
communicating  the  fate  of  his  presentation  tankard  :  and  to 
the  curate,  conveying  the  loss  of  the  silver-gilt  salts.  It  would 
have  moved  a  heart  of  nether  millstone  to  have  seen  how  he 
spoiled  pen  after  pen,  and  sheet  after  sheet  of  paper,  vainly 
turning  his  eyes  for  inspiration  from  the  mirror,  with  its  bird 
and  ball,  to  the  ceiling  or  the  floor,  the  wall  or  the  window, 
6 


122  OUR  FAMILY. 

the  poplar-tree,  and  the  blue  sky.  O,  if  my  father  ever  envied 
a  rich  or  great  man,  it  was  then,  just  then,  for  the  sake  of  his 
private  secretary  ! 

To  add  to  his  distress,  his  usual  resource  in  such  emergen- 
cies was  unavailable.  In  reply  to  his  application  for  help, 
Mr.  Postle  had  excused  himself,  under  the  pretence  of  urgent 
business  in  the  surgery  ;  but,  in  reality,  the  assistant  was  in- 
disposed with  a  fit  of  spleen.  He  had  heard  of  the  affair  of 
the  search-warrant ;  and  after  indignantly  asking  of  the  jar 
of  conserve  of  roses  why  Mrs.  Prideaux  had  not  been  sus- 
pected instead  of  Kezia,  had  solemnly  promised  the  pestle 
and  mortar  to  pluck  old  Rumbold,  at  the  very  first  opportunity, 
by  the  beard  —  a  threat  he  would  probably  have  put  into  exe- 
cution but  for  a  positive  injunction  from  the  injured  maid, 
who  overheard  him  pledging  himself  to  the  same  effect  to  the 
bottle  of  leeches. 

"  No,  Mr.  Postle,"  she  said,  "  you  will  do  no  such  thing. 
It 's  a  heathen  fashion,  to  be  sure,  and  makes  him  look  more 
like  a  satire  of  the  woods  than  a  Christian  :  but  when  you 
consider  what  hangs  on  it,  namely,  the  future  prospects  in  life 
of  our  poor,  helpless,  innocent  twins,  you  '11  respect  his  beard  as 
if  it  belonged  to  Moses  or  Aaron.  As  for  my  being  suspected,  it 
comes  natural  to  a  servant,  and,  like  a  part  of  her  work,  to 
clear  up  her  character  sometimes,  as  well  as  her  kitchen :  and 
as  regards  the  searching  of  my  box,  it 's  nothing  to  the  rum- 
maging of  one's  thoughts  and  feelings,  which  I  have  had  to 
undergo  in  other  places.  But  so  long  as  master,  and  missis, 
and  you  don't  suspect  me,  I  can  bear  it  from  any  one  else. 
So,  for  the  sake  of  the  dear  twins,  you  must  let  the  matter 
drop,  and  not  offend  Mr.  Rumbold  by  look,  or  word,  or  deed, 
and  especially  by  touching  his  beard,  which  would  be  cutting 
off  young  heirs  with  a  shilling." 

Having  extorted  a  promise  to  this  pacific  effect,  Kezia  re- 
paired to  the  nursery,  where  she  relieved  her  full  heart  and 
excited  feelings  by  a  good  cry  and  a  hearty  fondling  of  the 
precious  babes.  But,  beyond  this  solace,  she  had  a  secret 
project  of  her  own,  in  accordance  with  which  she  addressed 
herself  to  the  genteel  nurse. 

"  O,  Mrs.  Prideaux,  is  n't  it  a  shocking  thing  to  see  a  family 
like  ours,  for  no  fault  of  their  own,  coming  step  by  step, 
deeper  and  deeper  into  misfortune  and  misery  !     First,  that 


OUR  FAMILY.  123 

dreadful  supper,  and  then  the  robbery,  and  then  the  loss  of 
the  parish  —  it  reminds  me  of  one  of  my  own  runs  of  bad 
luck,  when  first  I  was  knocked  down  by  a  runaway  horse,  and 
then  picked  up  by  a  pickpocket,  and  then  sent  home  in  a  hack- 
ney-coach that  had  just  carried  a  patient  to  the  hospital  with 
a  putrid  fever." 

"  The  planets,"  said  the  nurse,  "  are  decidedly  sinister." 

"  Then  you  think,"  said  Kezia,  delighted  with  the  astro- 
logical turn  of  the  conversation,  "  that  it  is  our  ill  stars  are  in 
fault  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  nurse.  "  The  aspects  of  the  planets, 
at  this  juncture,  and  as  affects  this  house,  are  particularly 
malignant." 

"  They  must  be,  indeed  !  "  said  Kezia,  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  her  head.  "  According  to  the  Almanac,  their  bad 
influences  affect  sometimes  one  part  and  sometimes  another, 
and  at  different  times  ;  but  here  they  are,  as  I  may  say,  smit- 
ing us  back  and  belly,  hip  and  thigh,  all  at  once  ! " 

k'  The  natural  effect,"  said  the  nurse,  "  of  the  planetary  con- 
figurations, and  especially  of  the  position  of  Saturn." 

"  Ah  !  with  his  ring  !  "  exclaimed  Kezia.  "  Mr.  Postle  once 
showed  him  to  me  through  his  refractory  telescope." 

"  A  refracting  one,  I  presume,"  said  the  nurse. 

"  I  believe  it  was,"  said  Kezia ;  "  and  it  brought  down  the 
moon  till  it  looked  as  big  as  a  silver  waiter.  Talking  of  which 
reminds  me  of  the  stolen  plate  ;  and  which  it  is  my  private 
notion  that  you  know  as  much  or  more  about  than  any  one 
else." 

"  That  /  do  !  "  exclaimed  the  nurse,  with  a  slight  start,  and 
fixing  her  keen  eyes  on  the  face  of  the  maid-of-all-work  as 
if  she  would  read  her  very  soul.  "  That  I  know  who  stole 
the  plate  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Kezia,  "  by  means  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  I 
have  heard  of  many  persons  recovering  their  lost  things 
through  star-gazers  and  fortune-tellers  ;  and  of  course,  as  you 
can  cast  nativities,  you  can  do  the  other" 

This  was  the  very  point  at  which  she  had  been  aiming  ;  but 
the  answer  of  the  nurse  put  an  extinguisher  on  her  hopes. 

"  Between  ourselves,"  she  said,  "  I  have  cast  some  figures 
on  purpose ;  but  there  is  a  mystery  in  the  matter  that  defies 
my  art." 


124  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  The  more 's  the  pity,"  said  Kezia  ;  "  for  I  made  sure  that 
you  could  discover  the  thief.  And  then  that  lost  sheet,  as  was 
found  in  the  churchyard,  —  how  it  was  abstracted  from  a  press 
to  which  nobody  but  ourselves  had  access  :  I  own  to  thoughts, 
and  suspicions,  and  misgivings  about  it,  that  make  me  shud- 
der ! " 

"  Then  do  you  really  suppose,"  asked  the  nurse,  "  that  your 
master  was  guilty  of  stealing  the  dead  child  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  forbid  !  "  exclaimed  Kezia.  "  I  would  as  soon 
suspect  him  of  kidnapping  live  ones  for  the  Plantations  !  No, 
I  was  not  thinking  of  him,  but  of  a  treacherous,  deceitful  be- 
ing, whom  to  think  of  under  the  same  roof,  and  in  the  same 
room  with  one,  makes  my  very  blood  in  a  curdle." 

The  nurse  again  fixed  one  of  her  scrutinizing  looks  on 
Kezia ;  but  the  latter  was  thinking  of  quite  another  person- 
age, as  implied  by  her  next  question. 

"  What  is  your  real  opinion,  Mrs.  Prideaux,  of  supernatural 
agency  ? " 

"  The  same  as  your  own,"  was  the  prompt  answer  of  the 
nurse. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Kezia,  "  I  don't  mind  saying  it 's  my 
belief  that  our  sheet  was  purloined  away  by  Satan  himself, 
whose  delight  is  in  casting  down  the  good  and  the  godly,  and 
for  the  express  purpose  of  ruining  my  poor  master." 

"  It  is  quite  possible,"  said  the  nurse,  who  seemed  to  take 
delight  in  pampering  the  credulity  of  her  simple-minded  and 
single-hearted  companion.  "  Such  an  act  would  be  perfectly 
in  unison  with  the  diabolical  character.  My  belief  coincides 
with  your  own.  But  remember,  Kezia,  the  age  is  a  sceptical 
age,  and  its  infidels  especially  repudiate  astrology  and  demon- 
ology ;  so  that  the  less  we  say  of  our  own  convictions  the 
better.  Indeed,  it  would  cost  me  my  bread  were  it  known 
that  I  had  cast  the  nativity  of  these  dear  twins." 

"  But  it  never  shall  be,"  cried  Kezia,  —  "  never  !  Do  you 
think  I  would  break  the  solemn  oath  you  made  me  take  on  the 
Testament  ?  " 

"No  —  I  know  that  you  would  not,"  said  the  nurse,  in  her 
sweetest  tone  ;  "  for  if  you  did,  there  are  lightnings  to  burn 
your  body,  and  other  fires  to  scorch  your  soul  for  the  perjury." 
And  so  the  conference  ended. 

My  father,  meanwhile,  had  toiled  on  at  his  irksome  task  in 


OUR  FAMILY.  125 

the  parlor  —  blotting,  blundering,  erasing,  correcting,  tearing 
up,  and  beginning  de  novo,  in  a  way  that  a  corresponding  clerk 
would  have  gone  crazy  to  witness  ;  for  if  my  parent's  suste- 
nance had  depended  on  the  exercise  of  his  pen,  he  must  have 
died  of  starvation.  At  last,  after  infinite  trouble,  he  had  com- 
pleted the  whole  of  the  missives,  and  was  just  in  the  act  of 
drawing  that  long  sigh  of  satisfaction  with  which  a  weary 
man  is  apt  to  hail  the  accomplishment  of  his  labor,  when  my 
mother  entered  the  room,  drew  a  chair  beside  him,  seated  her- 
self, and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  There  was  nothing  in  her 
face  to  indicate  any  interruption  of  the  mental  repose  and 
relief  which  my  father  had  promised  himself ;  her  looks  were 
as  cheerful  as  the  tone  with  which  she  uttered  her  preluding 
monosyllable. 

«  George  !  " 

"  My  decVr  !  " 

"  Can  you  forgive  me  for  keeping  from  you  a  little  secret  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  can,"  replied  my  father,  with  his  old  smile. 
"  But  will  your  own  sex  for  being  so  unwomanly  ?  " 

"  No  matter  for  them,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  meant  to  have 
hoarded  it  up  for  an  agreeable  surprise  ;  but  with  such  troubles 
as  have  come  upon  us,  it  seems  only  fair  that  you  should  share 
in  any  comfort  which  I  am  enjoying  myself.  You  remember 
the  20  /.  note  that  you  gave  me  last  week  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  for  Mr.  Lobb." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Lobb  must  wait  a  bit,"  said  my  mother.  "  That 
note  went  quite  a  different  way,  and  for  another  purpose.  Up 
to  London,  George,  and  for  a  purchase.     "  Can  you  guess  ?  " 

"  For  winter  clothing,  perhaps,"  said  my  father,  "  or  a  fresh 
stock  of  household  linen." 

"  For  winter  wealth,  George,"  said  my  mother,  "  and  a  stock 
of  good  luck.     What  do  you  think  of  a  lottery  ticket  ?  " 

My  father  made  no  reply  —  he  was  confounded  by  this  new 
blow. 

"  Do  you  hear,  George  ?  "  cried  my  mother,  —  "a  lottery 
ticket ! " 

"  Yes,  twenty  pounds  gone,"  murmured  my  father. 

"  But  they  are  not  gone  ! "  said  my  mother. 

"  As  completely,"  said  my  father,  "  as  if  the  note  had  light- 
ed a  candle.  The  last  money  in  the  house,  too,  and  which 
ought  to  have  paid  the  butcher.  That  accounts,  then,  for 
Lobb's  insolence  about  the  tainted  mutton." 


126  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  mother,  "  we  shall  soon  get  rid  of 
Lobb  after  the  drawing.  The  ticket  is  sure  to  come  up  a 
prize." 

"  I  wish  it  may  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  It  is  sure  to  come  up  a  prize,"  repeated  my  mother,  "  for 
I  dreamt  three  times  running  of  the  number." 

My  father  jumped  up  from  his  seat,  and  after  pacing  a  few 
turns  up  and  down  the  room,  suddenly  stopped  short  and  ad- 
dressed himself  to  himself  in  the  mirror. 

"  If  ever  there  was  a  minister  deserved  impeachment  —  if 
ever  a  chancellor  of  the  exchequer  who  ought  to  have  lost  his 
head  on  the  block  —  it  was  the  man  who  first  invented  a  mode 
of  raising  money  by  the  encouragement  of  public  gambling  !  " 
He  then  turned  abruptly  to  my  mother,  and  inquired  whether 
the  ticket  was  registered. 

"  Yes,  and  the  lottery  was  to  be  drawn  on  the  1 6th." 

"  And  this  is  the  18th,"  said  my  father. 

My  mother  instantly  started  from  her  seat,  and  rang  the  bell, 
to  know  if  the  post  had  come  in,  and  whether  there  were  any 
letters. 

"  Yes,  one,"  which  Kezia  had  laid  on  the  kitchen  shelf, 
where,  in  the  unusual  bustle  of  the  morning,  it  had  been  forgot- 
ten. It  was  addressed  to  my  mother,  who  seized  the  letter, 
broke  the  seal,  glanced  over  the  contents,  and  dropping  the 
paper  from  her  hand,  sank,  gasping,  on  the  sofa  —  the  blank- 
ness  of  her  face  sufficiently  indicating  the  nature  of  the  intelli- 
gence. 

"  Then  the  money  is  gone  ! "  exclaimed  my  father. 

My  mother  sobbed,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  ; 
Kezia  wrung  her's  in  mute  despair.  Our  evil  stars  were 
verily  shooting  ones,  and  were  practising  on  our  devoted  fami- 
ly as  at  a  target ! 

"  Well,  what  is  this  new  disaster  ?  "  inquired  the  voice  of 
Uncle  Rumbold,  who  had  just  entered  the  parlor,  but  stopped 
short  at  two  paces  from  the  door,  clutching  his  beard  hi  his 
right  hand. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  replied  my  father,  forgetting  his  own 
vexation  in  the  affliction  of  my  mother —  "  only  a  lost  bank- 
note." 

"  What,  another  robbery  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  my  father,  "  thrown  into  the  fire  —  blown  out 
of  window  —  washed  down  the  sink  —  a  mere  trifle." 


OUR   FAMILY.  127 

"  A  trifle  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother,  unwilling  to  forego  any 
benefit  to  be  derived  from  her  brother's  sympathy  —  "  our  last 
twenty  pounds  in  the  world  —  intended  to  pay  the  butcher." 

But  her  indirect  appeal  had  no  effect.  Liberal  of  advice 
and  personal  exertion,  Uncle  Rumbold,  from  habit  and  incli- 
nation, was  slow  in  drawing  his  purse-strings.  The  amount, 
he  admitted,  was  no  trifle  ;  but  sometimes  a  loss  became  a  gain 
in  the  end,  by  teaching  those  who  had  neglected  their  twenties 
to  take  care  of  their  fifties.  This  new  misfortune,  however, 
seemed  gradually  to  touch  him,  for  shortly  afterwards,  having 
deliberately  seated  himself,  he  addressed  his  unlucky  relatives 
as  follows  :  "  Sister,  I  have  been  thinking  over  your  various 
troubles,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion,  brother-in-law,  that, 
what  with  your  loss  of  the  parish  appointment  and  other  draw- 
backs, your  affairs  are,  or  soon  will  be,  in  anything  but  a  pros- 
perous condition.  Such  being  the  case,  I  feel  called  upon,  as  a 
near  relative,  to  step  a  little  beyond  my  original  intentions  for 
the  family  benefit,  and  especially  as  regards  my  twin  nephews, 
though  I  trust  I  have  sufficiently  testified  my  regard  for  them 
already  by  that  invaluable  present,  the  Light  of  Nature. 
However,  as  I  said  before,  I  have  determined  to  stretch  a  point, 
but  on  the  condition  that  what  I  do  shall  be  done  in  my  own 
way." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  my  mother,  "  we  shall  be  truly  grateful 
for  your  kindness  in  any  way." 

"  I  am  not  so  certain  of  that,"  replied  Uncle  Rumbold  : 
"  however,  what  I  propose  is  this,  —  to  relieve  you  altogether 
of  the  care  and  maintenance  of  one  of  those  two  boys.  As 
soon,  therefore,  as  my  godson  can  run  alone,  I  am  ready  to 
adopt  him  ;  to  board,  lodge,  and  educate  —  in  short,  to  provide 
for  him  through  life  at  my  own  cost  and  charge,  and  of  course 
according  to  my  own  system  and  views." 

Here  he  paused,  expecting  an  answer,  whereas  his  propo- 
sition was  met  by  a  dead  silence.  My  father,  taken  by  sur- 
prise, was  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  and  my  mother  looked  abso- 
lutely aghast.  She  had  not  forgotten  certain  features  of  the 
system  alluded  to,  and  in  her  mind's-eye  saw  her  poor  off- 
spring, now  climbing  a  tree  for  his  food,  at  the  risk  of  his 
neck,  and  now  thrown  dog-like  into  a  river,  to  sink  or  swim  as 
might  happen  —  in  short,  undergoing  all  the  hard  discipline 
associated  with  a  young  Indian  savage,  or  child  of  nature. 


128  0UR   FAMILY. 

"  Humph !  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Uncle  Rumbold  ;  "  but  I 
do  not  press  an  immediate  answer.  Perhaps  you  will  make 
up  your  minds  before  my  departure.  I  have  ordered  a  chaise 
at  five  o'clock,  which  will  carry  me  to  Wisbeach,  where  I  shall 
meet  the  coach ;  —  no  words  ;  my  arrangements  once  made 
are  never  altered,  and,  let  me  add,  my  offers  once  refused  are 
never  repeated." 

So  saying,  he  rose  and  walked  off  to  make  his  preparations 
for  his  departure  ;  whilst  my  mother  took  the  opportunity  of 
expressing  her  sentiments  to  her  helpmate  on  the  godfatherly 
offer. 

"  No,  I  never  will  consent  to  it,"  she  said,  —  "  never,  never ! 
To  have  a  child  of  mine  climbing  trees,  and  swimming  ponds, 
and  sleeping  in  the  open  air,  like  a  gypsy,  or  Peter  the  Wild 
Boy  !  And  taught  bird's-nesting  and  tomahawking  and  all 
sorts  of  savage  tricks,  instead  of  the  accomplishments  of  a 
young  gentleman  —  and,  at  any  rate,  dressed  up  more  like  a 
Guy  Fawkes  than  a  Christian  —  and  with  a  beard,  when  he  's 
old  enough,  like  a  Jewish  rabbi,  —  O,  it  would  break  my 
heart,  it  would  indeed,  George !  to  have  a  boy  of  mine  begin 
the  world  with  such  a  prospect  before  him ! " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  father,  "  so  be  it.  I  am  as  loath  as 
you  are  to  have  a  son  of  mine  bred  up  into  a  bearded  oddity, 
like  his  uncle,  or  old  Martin  Van  Butchell.  So  go  and  see  to 
the  dinner,  and  in  the  interim  I  will  invent  the  best  excuse  I 
can  to  offer  to  my  redoubtable  kinsman." 

Thus  comforted,  my  mother  applied  herself  to  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  dinner,  which,  thanks  to  what  Kezia  called  the 
"  supperfluities "  of  the  night  before,  presented  an  unusual 
variety  and  profusion  of  the  delicacies  of  the  season.  The 
meal,  nevertheless,  passed  off  very  drearily.  The  spirits  of  the 
presiding  pair  were  weighed  down  by  the  communication  they 
had  to  make,  and  the  certain  resentment  that  awaited  their  de- 
cision ;  whilst  the  temper  of  Uncle  Rumbold  himself  was  still 
ruffled  by  a  short  but  sharp  argument  on  somnambulism  with 
Mr.  Postle  in  the  surgery.  The  conversation,  such  as  it  was, 
had  flagged  into  silence,  when  the  post-chaise  drew  up  at  the 
door. 

"  Now  then,  sister,"  cried  Uncle  Rumbold,  rising  from  his 
seat,  "  now  then,  brother-in-law,  for  your  ultimatum.  Am  I 
to  have  the  boy  or  not  ?  " 


OUR   FAMILY.  229 

"  "Why  then,  brother,"  began  my  mother,  but  her  voice 
failed  and  died  away  in  an  articulate  croak. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  my  father,  "  we  are  deeply  sensible  of 
your  kindness,  and  sorry  to  decline  it.  If  the  children  had 
not  been  twins,  we  might  have  felt  and  decided  otherwise  ; 
but  we  really  cannot  find  in  our  hearts  to  separate,  so  early 
in  life,  a  pair  of  brothers,  that  nature  herself  has  so  closely 
united." 

"  That 's  enough  !  "  said  Uncle  Rumbold.  "  A  plain  offer 
has  met  a  plain  refusal  —  no  offence  on  either  side  ;  but,  by 
my  beard,  if  ever  I  offer  to  adopt  a  child  again  — "  What 
followed  was  inaudible  or  suppressed :  he  hastily  shook  hands 
with  his  relatives,  and  hurried  into  the  gaping  vehicle,  where- 
in he  threw  himself  back,  as  if  determined  on  sulks  and 
silence.  In  another  moment,  however,  his  face  and  beard 
appeared  at  the  open  window. 

"  God  bless  you,  sister,"  he  said ;  "  brother-in-law,  God 
bless  you,  —  though  how  you  are  to  be  blessed,  is  more 
than  I  know,  for  you  will  never  be  guided  by  the  light  of 
nature  !" 

Every  word  of  this  leave-taking  was  overheard  by  Kezia, 
who  with  outstretched  neck  and  straining  ears  listened  eagerly 
for  his  least  syllable.  But  those  words  were  his  last,  —  not  a 
breath  about  the  dear  twins,  his  own  nephews.  The  whip 
cracked,  the  horse-shoes  clattered,  the  wheels  rattled,  and  the 
few  boys  who  had  assembled  set  up  a  cheer  for  the  Grand 
Mogul.  The  last  chance  was  gone.  In  another  minute,  the 
black  and  yellow  body,  which  contained  Uncle  Rumbold,  was 
out  of  sight ;  and  with  it  vanished,  alas  !  all  the  hopes  that  he 
had  engendered ! 


CHAPTER    XXI 

A    DEMONSTRATION. 


"  So  much  for  relatives  ! "  said  my  mother,  as  she  poured 
out  the  tea,  and  handed  a  cup  of  the  beverage  to  my  father. 
"  My  precious  brother,  who  would  not  shave  off  a  hair  of  his 


J30  OUR  FAMILY. 

beard  for  love  or  money,  will  now  cut  off  his  own  nephews 
without  a  scruple  !  " 

"  Nothing  more  likely,"  said  my  father. 

"  Do  you  really  think  then,"  inquired  my  mother,  "  that  he 
will  leave  them  quite  out  of  his  will  ?  " 

She  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer ;  and  at  last  obtained,  in 
lieu  of  it,  another  query,  far  wide  of  her  mark.  Throughout 
his  troubles  and  vexations,  my  father's  mind  had  been  haunted 
by  a  vague  sense  of  a  something  amiss ;  but  his  thoughts  had 
always  been  diverted  elsewhere  before  his  fears  could  assume 
a  definite  shape ;  now,  however,  his  misgivings,  after  many 
gleamings  and  vanishings,  suddenly  recurred  to  him,  and 
taking  a  distinct  character  prompted  the  abrupt  question  — 
"  Where  is  Catechism  Jack  ?  " 

Nobody  knew.  In  the  crowding  events  of  the  day  he  had 
not  been  missed ;  there  had  been  no  medicine  to  deliver,  so 
that  his  services  were  not  in  requisition,  and  even  Mr.  Postle 
could  not  tell  what  had  become  of  him.  On  comparing  notes, 
he  had  not  been  seen  by  any  one  since  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  when  he  had  slipped  out  at  the  surgery  door. 

Here  was  a  new  cause  of  anxiety  for  my  father ;  if  any 
mischance  happened  to  the  idiot,  the  blame  in  the  present 
temper  of  the  parish  was  certain  to  be  visited  on  the  master, 
who  had  taken  the  half-witted  boy  from  the  care  of  the  old 
dame,  and  become  responsible  for  his  safety  and  welfare. 
Many  were  the  conjectures  that  were  hazarded  on  the  cause 
of  his  absence.  In  my  father's  opinion,  Jack  had  gone  on  a 
visit  to  his  former  guardian,  and  was  spending  the  day  with 
her :  my  mother,  prone  to  dream  of  disasters,  at  once  pro- 
nounced him  drowned  in  the  river  ;  Kezia's  fancy  sent  him 
tramping  after  a  recruiting  party  which  had  passed  through 
the  village ;  and  the  assistant  supposed  that  he  was  playing 
truant  and  chuck-farthing  with  other  young  dogs  as  idle  as 
himself.  The  last  guess  was  most  probably  the  true  one; 
however,  in  the  midst  of  their  speculations,  his  voice  was 
clearly  recognized,  and  in  another  moment  Jack,  in  an  unusual 
state  of  excitement,  burst  into  the  parlor,  round  which  he 
pranced  with  a  sort  of  chimney-sweep's  caper,  exclaiming  with 
ecstasy,  "  The  tongs  and  bones  !     The  tongs  and  bones  !  " 

"  Why,  Jack,"  asked  my  father,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 

you?" 


OUR   FAMILY.  131 

"  The  tongs  and  bones,"  said  Jack,  standing  still  for  a 
moment  and  then  resuming  his  dance  and  his  song. 

"  Speak,  idiot !  "  cried  Mr.  Postle,  seizing  the  boy  by  the 
shoulder  and  shaking  him.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this 
mummery  ?  " 

"O  don't,  pray  don't  beat  me,"  whined  Jack.  "  I  will  say 
my  catechism." 

"  Poor  fellow  ! "  said  my  father.     "  Be  gentle  with  him." 

"  Huzza  !  The  tongs  and  bones  !  "  shouted  Jack,  extricat- 
ing himself  by  a  sudden  twist  from  the  grasp  of  the  assistant ; 
and  darting  through  the  parlor-door,  and  across  the  hall,  into 
the  kitchen,  to  the  infinite  horror  of  Kezia,  who  really  be- 
lieved, as  she  declared  afterwards,  that  the  boy  had  been  bit- 
ten by  "  a  rapid  dog."  Here  he  continued  his  capering  and 
his  cry ;  till  observing  the  table  with  food  on  it,  by  one  of 
those  abrupt  transitions  common  to  weak  intellects,  his 
thoughts  fastened  on  a  new  object ;  and  at  once  subsiding  into 
his  usual  demeanor,  and  seating  himself  at  the  board,  he 
asked  Kezia  to  give  him  his  supper.  The  maid-of-all-work 
immediately  complied ;  and  as  after  some  minutes  he  con- 
tinued to  eat  and  drink  very  quietly,  Mr.  Postle  returned  to 
the  surgery  and  my  parents  to  the  parlor. 

"  The  tongs  and  bones,"  muttered  my  mother  as  fhe  re- 
sumed her  seat  at  the  tea-table,  "  what  on  earth  can  it  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  suspect  it  means,"  said  my  father,  "  that  the  tag- 
rag  and  bobtail  of  the  village  have  been  treating  some  quarrel- 
some couple  with  what  is  called  rough  music ;  and  Jack  has 
been  present,  and  perhaps  performing  at  the  concert." 

This  explanation  was  so  satisfactory  to  both  parties,  that 
Jack  and  his  chorus  were  speedily  forgotten  ;  and  the  pair  had 
resumed  their  quiet,  confidential  intercourse,  when  Mr.  Postle 
entered,  with  an  ominous  face,  and  placed  in  my  father's  hands 
something  which  he  said  he  had  just  found  upon  the  counter. 
It  was  a  scrap  of  dirty,  coarse  paper,  folded  note-fashion,  and 
containing  only  the  following  words :  "  Let  the  Dockter  and 
Fammily  keep  in  Dores  to  nite  And  look  to  yure  Fastnings. 
A  Frend." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  make  of  this  document?"  asked 
my  father. 

"  That  it  is  what  it  professes  to  be,"  answered  the  assistant, 
looking  uneasily  at  my  mother,  as  if  embarrassed  by  her  pres- 


132  OUR   FAMILY. 

ence.  —  "I  wiH  pUt  the  thing  technically.  There  is,  you 
know,  sir,  a  certain  local  epidemic  in  the  parish,  of  a  very 
malignant  type,  and  attended  with  extensive  irritation.  Now 
this  party  intends  to  say  that  probably  there  will  be  an  erup- 
tion." 

"  I  understand,"  said  my  father,  with  a  nod  of  intelligence 

—  "  but  doubt  very  much  if  the  disease  will  take  that  active 
turn." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Postle.  "  I  know  a 
party  who  has  been  round  amongst  the  infected,  on  purpose 
to  feel  their  pulse  ;  and  the  symptoms  are  of  a  most  unfavora- 
ble character.  For  instance,  tongue  hot  —  breath  acrimoni- 
ous and  offensive  —  voice  loud  and  harsh  —  with  the  use  of 
expressions  bordering  on  furious  mania/' 

"  A  mere  temporary  fever,"  said  my  father,  "  that  will  pass 
off  without  any  dangerous  paroxysm." 

"  I  wish  it  may,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  "  and  without  a  nocturnal 
crisis." 

My  mother's  head  during  this  mysterious  discussion  had 
turned  mechanically  from  speaker  to  speaker,  as  if  moved  by 
internal  clock-work  ;  but  she  could  gather  no  more  informa- 
tion from  their  faces  than  from  their  words ;  and  as  the  con- 
sultation might  be  a  long  one,  and  she  hated  medical  matters, 
she  briefly  intimated  to  my  father  that  she  should  go  up-stairs 
to  the  children,  and  left  the  room. 

"  And  do  you  really  suppose,"  asked  my  father,  "  that 
there  is  going  to  be  any  disturbance  or  outrage  ?     Phoo,  phoo 

—  I  can't  and  won't  believe  it." 

"  So  you  said  of  the  hostility  of  the  parish  Board,"  retorted 
the  assistant. 

"  Well,  well,  do  as  you  please,"  said  my  father.  "  I  leave 
the  matter  entirely  in  your  own  hands." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  "  I  shall  at  once  lock  all 
the  doors,  and  secure  the  lower  windows,  and  this  one  to  begin 
with;"  —  and  accordingly  he  pulled  up  the  sliding  parlor- 
shutter,  and  inserted  the  screws.  "  Now  then  for  the 
others." 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  father,  "  and  then  come  to  supper 
with  us  in  the  parlor.  Poor  Postle,"  he  continued,  as  the  as- 
sistant departed  to  look  to  the  household  defences,  "  he  was 
always  an  alarmist,  and  I  '11  be  bound  expects  the  premises  to 


OUR   FAMILY.  133 

be  stormed  and  sacked,  on  the  strength  of  an  anonymous  let- 
ter, intended,  most  probably,  to  play  upon  his  fears." 

True  to  his  plan,  the  alarmist,  meanwhile,  proceeded  from 
window  to  window,  and  from  door  to  door,  locking,  bolting, 
barring,  screwing ;  the  surgery  door  alone,  for  convenience, 
being  left  but  partially  fastened  by  a  single  latch,  which,  how- 
ever, could  only  be  raised  on  the  inside.  The  fanlight  above 
he  barricaded  with  a  stout  board ;  and  ascertained,  shutter  bv 
shutter,  that  the  defences  of  the  window  were  all  sound  and 
secure.  He  then  took  a  final  peep  at  Jack,  who  was  still 
quietly  making  an  interminable  meal  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  find- 
ing all  safe,  repaired  to  the  parlor,  and  took  his  usual  place  at 
the  supper-table  ;  not  without  some  bantering  from  my  father 
as  to  the  preparations  in  a  certain  fortress  for  a  state  of  siege, 
and  the  strength  of  its  garrison.     But  the  joke  was  mistimed. 

The  meal  was  about  half  finished,  when,  attracted  by  the 
attitude  of  my  mother,  whose  sense  of  hearing  was  remarkably 
acute,  my  father  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  began  lis- 
tening ;  in  which  he  was  soon  imitated  by  Mr.  Postle  ;  and  for 
a  while  the  three,  silent  and  motionless,  seemed  stiffened  into 
as  many  statues.  There  was  certainly  some  unusual  hum- 
ming in  the  air. 

"  It  sounds,"  said  my  father,  "  like  the  distant  murmer  of 
the  sea." 

"  More  like  the  getting  up  of  a  gale,"  said  Mr.  Postle. 

"  It 's  the  noise  of  a  mob  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother  ;  "  I  hear 
voices  and  the  tramping  of  feet !  " 

41  Say  I  told  you  so  !  "  cried  Mr.  Postle,  jumping  up  from 
his  chair,  and  resuming  the  knife  with  which  he  had  been  cut- 
ting his  cold  meat. 

"  And  if  it  be  a  mob,"  said  my  father,  "  it  may  not  be 
coming  to  us." 

"  Hark !    it  comes  nearer    and  nearer,"    said  my  mother, 

turning  pale.     "  In  the  name  of  wonder,  George "  she 

stopped,  startled  by  a  loud  noise  and  a  sudden  outcry  close  at 
hand. 

The  distant  sounds,  which  excited  so  intense  an  interest  in 
the  parlor,  had  reached  the  kitchen ;  where  they  no  sooner 
struck  on  the  tympanum  of  Jack,  than,  like  a  young  savage 
who  recognizes  the  warwhoop  of  his  tribe,  he  started  up,  over- 
turning his  heavy  wooden  chair,  and  shouting  his  old  cry,  the 


134  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  Tongs  and  bones  —  the  tongs  and  bones  !  "  rushed  through 
the  hall,  and  the  surgery,  and  out  of  the  door,  which  he  left 
wide  open.  Kezia,  in  hot  pursuit,  with  my  father  and  Mr. 
Postle,  were  soon  on  the  spot ;  but  only  just  in  time  to  dis- 
tinguish the  flying  figure  of  the  idiot,  before  he  disappeared 
in  the  gloom  of  the  lane  ;  his  cry  being  still  audible,  but  get- 
ting fainter  and  fainter  till  it  was  lost  in  the  general  murmur 
of  the  mob. 

"  They  are  coming  up  the  lane  —  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  pushing  Kezia,  and  then  drawing  my 
father  by  the  arm  into  the  surgery;  the  door  of  which  he 
bolted  and  locked.  They  then  hurried  to  the  parlor  ;  but  my 
mother,  with  hen-like  instinct,  had  flown  up  to  her  young  ones, 
and  was  sitting  in  the  nursery  to  meet  whatever  might  hap- 
pen, with  her  twin  babes  at  her  bosom.  Kezia,  by  a  kindred 
impulse,  was  soon  in  the  same  chamber  ;  while  my  father  and 
his  assistant  posted  themselves  at  a  staircase-window  which 
overlooked  the  lane.  It  was  quite  dusk ;  but  at  the  turn  of 
the  road  the  crowd  was  just  visible,  a  darker  mass  amid  the 
gloom,  and  a  moving  one,  which,  as  it  approached,  occasion- 
ally threw  out  a  detatched  figure  or  two  in  front,  barely  dis- 
tinguishable as  of  human  shape.  Now  and  then  there  was  a 
shout ;  and  more  rarely  a  peal  of  hoarse  laughter.  As  the 
mob  neared  the  house,  its  pace  quickened. 

"  There  's  Jack  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Postle,  whose  eyesight 
was  much  keener  than  my  father's  ;  "  he  's  winding  in  and  out 
among  them  like  an  eel ! " 

"  And,  if  I  mistake  not,"  said  my  father,  "  they  have  some- 
thing like  a  black  flag." 

"  Yes,  —  borne  by  a  tall,  big  fellow,"  answered  the  assist- 
ant.    "  As  I  live,  it 's  John  Hobbes  !  " 

"  Poor  man,"  sighed  my  father. 

"  As  yet  I  can  make  out  no  firearms,"  said  Mr.  Postle ; 
"  but  they  have  pitchforks  and  sticks.  And  yonder 's  a  stuffed 
figure  like  a  Guy  —  they  are  going  to  burn  us  in  effigy.  Yes, 
they  've  got  fagots  and  a  truss  of  straw.  Here  they  come  at 
a  run  !  But  ah,  ah  !  my  fine  fellows,  you  are  too  late.  Look ! 
—  they  are  trying  the  surgery  door  !  " 

The  foremost  of  the  mob,  in  fact,  were  endeavoring  to  ef- 
fect an  entrance  as  described  ;  but,  being  foiled,  commenced  a 
smart  rattling  with  their  sticks  on  the  doors  and  shutters,  ac- 


OUR  FAMILY.  135 

companied  by  frequent  and  urgent  invitations  to  the  doctor 
and  his  assistant  to  come  out  and  receive  their  fees.  Tired  at 
last  of  this  pastime,  they  set  up  a  cry  "  to  the  front !  —  to  the 
front ! " 

Anticipating  this  movement,  my  father  and  Ins  companion 
hurried  into  the  nursery,  the  abode  of  Terror  and  Despair. 
My  mother,  with  an  infant  in  each  arm,  was  seated  in  the  easy- 
chair,  her  eyes  closed,  and  her  face  of  a  ghastly  white  ;  so  that 
she  might  have  been  taken  for  dead,  or  in  a  fit,  but  for  occa- 
sional ejaculations.  Kezia,  with  her  apron  thrown  over  her 
head,  knelt  beside  her  mistress  ;  whilst  the  nurse,  with  folded 
arms,  leaned  her  back  against  the  wall  between  the  windows 
—  a  position  secure  from  any  missile  from  without.  The  two 
babes  alone  were  unconscious  of  danger  —  the  one  smiling  and 
crowing  ;  the  other  fast  asleep. 

Taking  the  hint  from  Mrs.  Prideaux,  my  father  removed 
his  partner  and  her  progeny  into  a  safe  nook  beyond  the  an- 
gle of  projectiles,  and  only  in  good  time  ;  for  the  arrange- 
ment was  hardly  completed  when  a  large  stone  came  crashing 
through  the  window,  and  rebounded  on  the  floor. 

"  Put  out  the  lights  !  "  cried  Mr.  Postle  ;  "  they  only  serve 
for  marks  to  aim  at,"  —  and,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of 
the  females,  the  candles  were  extinguished. 

The  whole  mob  by  this  time  had  weathered  the  corner  of 
the  house  ;  and  having  vainly  tried  the  front-door,  and  thor- 
oughly battered  it,  as  well  as  the  parlor-shutter  with  their 
bludgeons,  proceeded  to  organize  that  frightful  concert  of 
rough  music  with  which  the  lower  orders  in  the  provinces 
were  accustomed  to  serenade  an  obnoxious  character — a 
hideous  medley  of  noises  extracted  from  cow-horns,  cat-calls, 
whistles,  old  kettles,  metal  pans,  rattles,  and  other  discordant 
instruments,  described  by  Jack  as  the  tongs  and  bones.  The 
din  was  dreadful ;  and  yet  far  less  so  than  the  profane  impre- 
cations and  savage  threats  that  were  shouted  out  at  every 
pause  of  the  wild  band.  There  were  women  too  in  the  crowd  ; 
and  the  cry  of  "  Where 's  Sukey  Hobbes  ?  —  Come  out,  you 
body-snatcher !  "  were  frequently  repeated  by  voices  much 
shriller  than  the  rest. 

"  I  must  —  I  will  speak  to  them,"  said  my  father ;  and  be- 
fore Mr.  Postle  could  remonstrate  or  interpose,  he  had  thrown 
up  the  sash,  and  uttered  the  first  three  words  of  his  address. 


136  OUK  FAMILY. 

But  he  was  heard  no  further.  His  appearance  was  the  signal 
for  one  of  those  yells  of  execration  so  awful  to  hear  from  a 
multitude  of  human  throats  :  a  ferocious  howl  fit  only  to  sa- 
lute an  incarnate  fiend,  and  from  which  my  father  recoiled  in 
soul,  more  than  he  shrank  in  body  from  the  ensuing  volley  of 
stones.  His  place,  however,  was  immediately  occupied  by 
another  orator,  in  the  person  of  Kezia,  who,  regardless  of  the 
pelting,  presented  herself  to  the  assembly,  screaming  at  the 
highest  pitch  of  her  voice  :  — 

"  You  sanguine  monsters  !  do  you  want  to  kill  us  with 
fright,  and  our  poor  innocent  babbies  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  and  to  make  skeletons  of  you,"  replied  a  hoarse 
voice  from  the  crowd ;  a  retort  applauded  by  so  vociferous  a 
cheer,  and  such  atrocious  expressions,  that  Kezia,  with  an 
exclamation  of  horror,  precipitately  withdrew  to  her  old  po- 
sition. 

Her  retreat  was  hailed  with  a  loud  huzza,  mingled  with  de- 
ri>ive  laughter,  and  as  it  ceased  ringing,  the  dark  room  was 
suddenly  illuminated  by  a  red  glare  that  projected  the  shadow 
of  the  window-frames,  inwards,  upon  the  ceiling.  The  mob 
had  ignited  a  quantity  of  straw  and  wood,  forming  an  enor- 
mous bonfire,  by  the  light  of  which  the  persons  and  features 
of  the  ringleaders  were  easily  recognized. 

"  There  is  Jack  again  !  "  said  Mr.  Postle,  "  flitting  amidst 
the  smoke  like  an  imp  of  mischief.  And  John  Hobbes  is 
waving  his  black  flag  about  like  a  madman  —  and  yonder  is 
Roger  Heap,  with  a  child's  bonnet  on  a  pitchfork  !" 

"  And  there  am  I,  burning  by  proxy,"  said  my  father, 
pointing  to  the  dark  stuffed  figure  that  was  dangling  from  a 
triangle  of  poles  in  the  midst  of  the  blaze.  "  I  shall  soon  be 
done  to  a  cinder,  and  then  the  cooks  will  disperse." 

"  I  wish  they  may,"  said  Mr.  Postle,  "  but  the  faces  they 
turn  up  to  us  are  desperately  fierce  and  vicious,  as  well  as 
their  words.  I  hardly  think  that  their  excitement  will  be 
satisfied  without  an  attack  on  the  premises,  and  perhaps  taking 
a  few  ounces  of  blood.     But  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  there  was  an  uncertain  stir  and  movement 
among  the  crowd,  with  a  confused  outcry,  amidst  which  the 
words  "justice"  and  "  constables  "  were  prominently  audible. 
But  it  was  a  false  alarm  :  his  worship  and  his  myrmidons 
either  did  not  or  would  not  know  of  the  tumult,  and  were 


QUE  FAMILY.  J  37 

snugly  and  safely  housed  at  home,  or  in  their  usual  haunts. 
The  report,  however,  served  the  same  purpose  that  their  pres- 
ence would  have  done ;  for  after  some  hesitation  and  waver- 
ing of  the  mass  to  and  fro,  Roger  Heap  thrusting  his  pitch- 
fork into  the  burning  effigy,  ran  with  it  up  the  river  bank,  and 
pitched  the  half-consumed  figure,  still  blazing,  into  the  stream. 
The  mob  then  dispersed  in  different  directions,  the  last  of 
them  being  Catechism  Jack,  who,  after  tossing  about  the  glow- 
ing sparkling  embers,  squib-fashion,  for  a  minute  or  two,  ran 
after  the  main  body. 

The  smouldering  figure  meanwhile  slowly  floated  along  on 
the  surface  of  the  sluggish  river,  silently  watched  by  my 
father  and  his  assistant ;  till  after  a  few  turns  and  windings,  it 
vanished  like  the  last  twinkle  of  a  burnt  paper,  in  the  black, 
blank,  distance. 

"  So  ends  the  auto-da-fe"  exclaimed  Mr.  Postle.  "  Now, 
then,  for  candles  to  inspect  and  repair  our  damage.'' 

It  was  less  than  might  have  been  expected.  Thanks  to  the 
precaution  of  extinguishing  the  lights,  the  majority  of  the 
stones  had  missed  the  windows :  only  a  few  panes  were 
broken ;  and  the  holes  were  soon  stopped  with  paper  and 
rag-. 

"  Are  the  wretches  all  gone,  George  ?  "  asked  my  mother, 
before  she  ventured  to  unclose  her  eves. 

"  All,"  answered  my  father  —  "  man.  woman,  and  boy  !  " 

Thus  reassured,  my  mother,  with  many  broken  phrases  of 
thanksgiving,  came  out  of  her  corner,  and  willingly  resigned 
the  dear  twins  to  Kezia,  who  covered  them  with  her  kisses. 
The  nurse  also  quitted  her  position,  and  in  her  usual  calm, 
sweet  voice  suggested  that  her  mistress,  after  her  fright  and 
exhaustion,  would  be  the  better  for  some  restorative  ;  to  which 
the  assistant  added  that  nobody,  the  infants  excepted,  would 
be  the  worse  for  some  sort  of  stimulant. 

Accordingly  the  brandy,  the  kettle,  the  sugar,  tumblers,  and 
spoons,  were  fetched  from  below  ;  and  cheered  by  a  cordial 
mixture,  the  nerves  of  the  company,  manly  and  womanly, 
soon  recovered  their  tone,  and  enabled  the  parties  to  discuss 
the  circumstances  of  the  recent  riot.  It  was  generally  agreed 
that,  for  that  night  at  least,  there  would  be  no  futher  distur- 
bance ;  theyj  nevertheless,  continued  to  sit  up,  keeping  a 
vigilant  Avatch,  back  and  front,  till  two  hours  having  elapsed 


138 


OUR   FAMILY. 


without  any  fresh  alarm,  they  retired  to  their  respective 
chambers. 

"  And  how  is  all  this  dreadful  work  to  end,  George  ?  "  in- 
quired my  mother,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself,  with  her 
husband,  in  their  bedroom. 

"  Heaven  knows  !  "  replied  my  father.  "  Only  one  thing  is 
certain  —  that  the  practice  must  be  given  up,  and  we  must 
quit  the  neighborhood." 

"  What,  sell  the  business  !  "  exclaimed  my  mother. 

"  Yes,  if  anybody  will  buy  it,"  said  my  father.  "  He  must 
be  a  liberal  man,  indeed,  who,  after  this  night's  demonstration, 
will  bid  me  anything  for  the  good-will." 

"  Why  then  we  are  ruined  ! "  cried  my  mother. 

"  Or  something  very  like  it,"  responded  my  father  —  as 
indeed  appeared  but  too  probable  when  my  unlucky  parents 
came  to  talk  over  their  future  prospects;  the  only  comfort 
before  them  being  that  very  forlorn  hope  held  out  by  the  old 
proverb  — 


WHEN  THINGS    ARE   AT   THE   WORST,   THEY    WILL   MEND. 


OUR   FAMILY.  139 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

AN    INVALID. 

The  moment  my  father  opened  his  eyes  in  the  morning, 
they  rested  on  the  shattered  window-panes,  with  their  holes 
patched  with  paper  or  stuffed  with  rags,  the  transparent  and 
the  opake,  as  they  admitted  or  excluded  the  early  sunshine, 
forming  strong  diversities  of  light  and  shadow.  Still,  the 
events  of  the  overnight  seemed  so  dream-like,  that  he  mechan- 
ically stepped  out  of  bed,  and  went  to  look  abroad  for  con- 
firmation. And,  alas !  there  it  was,  in  the  road ;  that  great 
dark  mark,  indicating  the  site  of  the  opprobrious  bonfire  —  a 
round  black  spot,  a  blot  as  it  were,  on  the  parish.  The  leaves 
on  one  side  of  the  poplar-tree  were  visibly  scorched ;  and  he 
could  even  trace  where  Roger  Heap  had  run  up  the  bank  to 
heave  the  burning  effigy  in  the  river.  On  these  tokens  he 
looked,  however,  with  more  pain  than  resentment.  Accus- 
tomed, as  a  medical  man,  to  witness  the  infirmities,  frailties, 
frenzies,  and  morbid  irritability  of  human  nature,  he  made  large 
allowance  for  its  violence  and  its  weakness ;  and  felt  little 
more  anger  at  the  outrage  of  the  mob,  than  if  he  had  been 
struck  by  a  crazy  patient,  or  abused  by  a  delirious  one. 

My  mother,  on  the  contrary,  was  no  sooner  awake  to  the 
dilapidations  in  the  casement,  with  all  their  suggestions  of 
glaziers,  and  new  panes,  and  putty,  than  she  burst  out  into 
the  most  bitter  reproaches  on  the  whole  parish ;  and  especially 
the  authorities,  who  ought  to  have  preserved  the  peace,  from 
the  justice  down  to  the  beadle.  They  were  a  set,  she  said,  of 
hapless,  cowardly  sots,  and  deserved  to  be  locked  in  their  own 
cage  and  set  in  their  own  stocks  for  neglecting  their  duties. 

"  "Well,  well,"  said  my  father,  "  thank  Heaven,  we  are  all 
safe  and  unhurt ;  for  nobody  has  even  received  a  scratch ; 
which,  considering  such  missiles  as  those  "  —  and  he  pointed 
to  a  large  stone  on  the  floor  —  "must  be  regarded  as  prov- 
idential." 

"  It 's  that,"  replied  my  mother,  "  that  makes  me  so  mad  ! 
One  had  better  be  murdered  at  once,  than  subjected  to  such 
dreadful  alarms,  and  scared  out  of  one's  senses ; "  and  asain 


140  OUR  FAMILY. 

she  launched  out  in  vituperation  of  the  village  wretches.  The 
truth  is,  there  is  nothing  that  people  resent  more  strongly,  or 
forgive  less  easily,  than  a  thorough  frightening ;  the  absence 
of  personal  injury  serving  to  aggravate  the  offence.  Thus 
my  mother,  finding  herself  safe  and  sound,  as  well  as  all  who 
belonged  to  her,  begrudged,  miser-like,  the  needless  expenditure 
of  terror,  or  so  little  real  damage  ;  just  as  a  certain  traveller 
reproached  the  highwayman,  who  pleaded  in  extenuation  of 
having  shot  at  him,  that  there  was  no  bullet  in  the  pistol. 
"  So  much  the  worse,"  exclaimed  the  indignant  old  gentleman  ; 
"  so  much  the  worse,  you  villain  ;  for  then  you  frightened  me 
for  nothing  ! " 

My  mother's  denunciations,  however,  did  not  confine  them- 
selves to  the  inhabitants  of  the  neighborhood  ;  but  gradually 
took  a  wider  range ;  and  finally  involved  so  large  a  portion 
of  mankind  in  general,  as  to  compel  my  father  to  remind  her, 
that,  with  such  sentiments,  one  ought  to  renounce  society,  and 
retire  into  solitude. 

"  And  why  should  n't  we  renounce  society  ? "  cried  my 
mother.  "  Did  n't  society  renounce  us  on  the  night  of  the 
christening  ?  For  my  part,  I  could  begin  to-morrow  —  and 
go  into  a  desert !  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  replied  my  father,  very  gravely.  "  The 
only  difficulty  is  to  dwell  there.  It  may  do  very  well  for 
a  lone  man  or  woman,  disgusted  wTith  society,  to  become  a 
recluse,  and  live  in  a  cave,  a  cell,  or  a  grotto  ;  but  I  fear 
it  would  be  extremely  inconvenient,  if  not  impraticable,  for 
married  people,  with  a  young  family,  to  turn  hermits." 

"  No  matter,"  said  my  mother.  "  I  know  what  I  mean.  I 
hate  the  world,  and  I  wish  I  could  fly  from  it." 

"  Phoo,  phoo  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  then,"  whined  my  mother,  "  if  I  am 
not  to  complain  ?  " 

"  Why,  come  here,"  said  my  father,  "  and  look  at  the  flight 
of  the  miller's  pigeons  ;  how  pretty  and  playful  and  harmless 
they  look,  after  the  burning  flakes  that  were  fluttering  in  the 
air  last  night." 

My  mother  immediately  slid  out  of  bed,  and  slipped  on  her 
dressing-gown  ;  but,  instead  of  looking  at  the  miller's  pigeons, 
went  off  to  her  own  dove-cote,  the  nursery,  to  assure  herself  of 
the  welfare  of  her  twin-babes.     They  were  fast  asleep  ;  and 


OUR  FAMILY.  141 

their  calm,  chubby,  innocent  faces  soon  put  to  flight  whatever 
remained  of  her  misanthropy.  An  effect  they  had  previously 
produced  on  Kezia,  who,  like  her  mistress,  had  waked  up  in 
such  a  virulent  humor  against  the  whole  county,  that,  as  she 
delared,  "  Provided  the  family  had  an  Ark,  she  should  n't  care 
if  all  Lincolnshire  was  under  water." 

My  father,  meanwhile,  dressed  himself  with  professional 
celerity,  and  went  down  to  the  surgery  ;  which  he  no  sooner 
entered,  than  to  his  astonishment  he  found  himself  in  utter 
darkness.  The  shutters  had  not  been  taken  down  ;  and  the 
fanlight  over  the  door  was  still  blocked  up  by  its  temporary 
barricade.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the  assistant  had  failed 
to  begin  business  at  the  usual  hour,  and  my  father  hastened 
into  the  kitchen,  and  anxiously  inquired  if  anything  was  the 
matter  with  Mr.  Postle. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is,  sir,"  said  Kezia,  "  for  I  overheard 
him  very  restless  in  the  night.  He  got  up  several  times,  and 
walked  about  his  room,  a  talking  to  himself.  Afterwards, 
towards  morning,  he  was  quiet ;  so  thinking  he  was  asleep,  in- 
stead of  calling  him,  I  thought  best  to  let  him  indulge  a 
little." 

"  Quite  right,  Kizzy,"  replied  my  father.  "  The  poor  fellow's 
zeal  and  excitement  last  night  have  been  too  much  for  him." 

"  I  believe  they  have,  indeed,"  said  Kezia,  with  great  ani- 
mation ;  "  for  to  be  sure  Mr.  Postle  takes  as  much  excitement 
and  interest  in  us  as  if  he  had  been  born  and  bred  in  the 
family  ;  and  its  good  or  bad  luck  comes  home  to  him  like  a 
blood  relation." 

"  Yes,"  said  my  father,  "  and  more  than  to  some  blood  rela- 
tions with  long  beards  : "  an  allusion  that  Kezia  understood 
and  intensely  relished.  "  But  I  must  go  and  open  shop  ;  "  and, 
rejecting  the  housemaid's  assistance,  he  took  down  the  surgery 
shutters,  and  locking  the  outer  door,  repaired  to  the  breakfast- 
parlor,  where  he  found  my  mother  and  two  unopened  letters 
awaiting  his  presence.  The  first,  from  the  curate,  was  kind 
and  considerate.  He  did  not  deny  some  temporary  vexation 
at  the  loss  of  the  plate,  as  the  gift  of  his  late  congregation  ; 
but  fortunately  their  regard  and  good-will  were  not  removable 
with  the  salt-cellars  ;  the  intrinsic  value  of  which  was  so  im- 
material to  him,  that  he  begged  my  father  would  think  no 
more  of  the  matter.     The  lawyer's  letter  from  Mr.  Ruffey 


142  OUR  FAMILY. 

was  more  rigid :  clients,  he  said,  were  not  so  grateful  a  class 
in  general,  as  to  make  presentation  tankards  to  attorneys  of 
common  occurrence.  He  did  therefore  set  a  very  high  value 
on  the  testimonial  to  his  professional  zeal  and  ability,  inde- 
pendent of  its  worth  as  solid  silver.  The  exact  value  he 
could  not  state  ;  but  it  was  considerable.  To  bring  home 
such  a  robbery  to  the  perpetrators  was  a  duty  to  society  He 
relied  accordingly  that  for  the  public  interest  my  father  would 
leave  no  stone  unturned,  and  spare  no  expense,  to  trace  the 
stolen  property,  and  thereby  bring  the  offender,  or  offenders, 
to  justice.  In  this  hope  he  would  say  nothing  about  compen- 
sation, or  an  equivalent  —  at  least  for  the  present. 

"  Humph  !  "  said  my  father,  "  the  lawyer,  at  any  rate,  must 
be  indemnified." 

"  And  here,"  said  my  mother,  holding  out  a  three-cornered 
epistle,  "  is  the  answer  to  a  note  which  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Trent." 
My  father  took  the  billet  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"Madam, — 

"  In  answer  to  your  distressing  communication,  what  can  I 
say,  or,  indeed,  what  can  be  said,  where  necessity  extorts  sub- 
mission ?  My  plate  is  gone  —  and  by  this  time  melted  down 
—  and  consequently  irretrievable. 

"  My  poor  silver  souvenirs  !  Every  spoon  represented  a 
young  lady  !  I  have  others  left ;  but  those  were  my  favor- 
ites. All  massy  and  solid,  and  stamped  with  the  Goldsmiths' 
mark,  and  each  recalling  some  interesting  young  female,  now 
a  highly  polished  and  well-educated  woman.  One  of  the 
spoons,  with  a  ducal  crest,  was  left  me  by  a  charming,  accom- 
plished creature,  just  finished,  and  now  moving  in  the  first 
circles  of  rank  and  fashion.  Another,  with  a  plain  cipher, 
belonged  to  the  present  Lady  Mawbey,  and  retained  the 
marks  of  her  little  aristocratic  teeth.  To  a  preceptress,  such 
memorials  of  the  juvenile  objects  of  her  affectionate  solicitude 
have  a  preciousness  beyond  Potosi  and  Peru.  Of  course,  as 
regards  mere  metallic  value,  they  may  be  replaced  by  an 
equal  number  of  spoons  of  equal  weight,  or  coalesced  into  a 
silver  teapot ;  but,  alas  !  all  the  endearing  associations  are 
obliterated  forever ! 

"  I  am,  Madam, 

"  Your  very  obedient,  humble  servant, 

"Amelia  Trench." 


OUR  FAMILY.  143 

"  She  must  have  a  silver  teapot ! "  exclaimed  my  father. 
"  Though  where  it  is  to  come  from,  in  the  present  state  of 
our  finances,  is  beyond  my  guess.  And  talking  of  teapots, 
Postle  is  poorly  this  morning,  my  dear,  and  must  have  his 
breakfast  in  bed  —  Kezia  will  take  it  up  to  him."  Had  my 
father  looked  at  the  maid-of-all-work  as  he  spoke,  he  would 
have  perceived  a  sign  of  prudency  that  would  have  greatly 
diverted  him,  for  both  her  cheeks  seemed  flushed  with  a 
claret-mark  ;  but  his  attention  was  attracted  towards  his  own 
meal,  and  the  blush  evaporated  without  a  comment.  Kezia 
quietly  placed  a  great  cup  of  tea  and  a  small  plate  of  toast  on 
her  waiter,  and  proceeded  up  stairs,  to  introduce  his  breakfast, 
with  all  proper  discretion,  into  the  bedchamber  of  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Well  I  must  and  will  say,"  cried  my  mother,  "  we  are  a 
persecuted  family.  Our  misfortunes  never  come  single  — 
they  never  rain  but  they  pour.  After  all  our  other  troubles, 
here  is  Mr.  Postle  taken  ill  —  breeding  an  infectious  fever 
perhaps  —  and  with  those  dear  children  in  the  house  —  I  de- 
clare I  shall  go  distracted  ! " 

"  Make  yourself  easy,"  replied  my  father ;  "  Postle  is  only  a 
little  out  of  sorts,  and  rest  and  quiet  will  soon  set  him  to 
rights.  And  in  the  mean  time  the  burden  of  his  illness  will 
fall  chiefly  on  myself;  for  I  shall  not  only  have  to  make  up 
the  prescriptions,  but,  as  that  Catechism  Jack  has  absconded, 
I  must  carry  out  my  own  physic." 

"  I  wish  it  may  be  so,"  said  my  mother,  shaking  her  head. 
"  But  I  am  far  from  satisfied  in  my  mind.  Mr.  Postle  is  a 
very  feverish  subject,  and  when  he  shakes  hands  with  one  his 
palm  is  always  burning  hot.  If  he  breaks  out  with  anything 
catching,  I  shall  go  wild  !  " 

"  At  any  rate,  ma'am,"  said  Kezia,  who  had  returned  in 
time  to  hear  the  latter  part  of  the  discussion,  i%  fever  or  no  fever, 
we  '11  use  all  the  preventives.  The  dear  infants  shall  have 
camphor  bags  directly,  and  Mr.  Postle's  landing  shall  be  well 
fumigated  with  hot  vinegar,  and  we  '11  burn  bastilles  all  over 
the  house." 

"  Pastils,"  said  my  father,  "  pastils." 

"  Well,  pastils.  And,  perhaps,  if  somebody  was  to  smoke 
about  the  house,"  added  Kezia,  with  a  look  that  applied  the 
"  somebody  "  to  her  master,  "  for  they  do  say  that  in  the  Great 
Plague,  the  tobacconists  were  the  only  unaffected  people  in 
London." 


144  OUR  FAMILY. 

"  You  are  quite  correct,"  said  my  father ;  "  and  if  needful, 
the  house  shall  stink  like  a  tap-room.  Only  in  that  case,  as  I 
never  could  stomach  even  a  cigar,  and  your  mistress  does  not 
smoke,  and  I  will  venture  to  answer  for  Mrs.  Prideaux,  you 
must  take  to  the  pipe  yourself,  Kezia,  and  do  the  fumiga- 
tions." 

"  And  I  would,  too  ! "  cried  Kezia,  with  energy,  "  if  it 
made  me  as  sick  as  a  dog ! " 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  what  you  undertake,"  said  my  moth- 
er. "  The  truth  is,  I  did  once  try  to  smoke  my  favorite  gera- 
niums, to  destroy  the  insects." 

"  And  did  n't  it  kill  'em,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Kezia. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  my  mother.  "  Quite  the  contrary  ; 
for  your  master  found  me  insensible  in  the  greenhouse,  and 
the  vermin  as  lively  as  ever." 

My  mother's  anecdote  put  an  end  to  the  discussion  ;  and 
my  father  having  finished  his  breakfast,  repaired  to  the  sur- 
gery, and  posted  himself  at  the  desk  usually  occupied  by  Mr. 
Postle.  A  glance  at  the  blotting-book  showed  how  the 
assistant's  thoughts  had  been  lately  occupied,  for  the  paper 
was  covered  with  rough  pen  and  ink  illuminations,  in  the  style 
called  the  Grotesque.  Amongst  the  figures,  two  were  particu- 
larly prominent,  and  plainly  recognizable  by  their  features, 
however  otherwise  transformed.  Thus  the  bearded  profile  of 
a  certain  goat  was  obviously  that  of  Uncle  Rumbold  —  he 
was,  of  course,  the  rampant  Bear  with  the  turbaned  head  of 
the  Great  Mogul ;  and  as  unmistakably  he  was  the  hideous 
Ogre,  elsewhere  striding  along,  and  clutching  a  fat  naked 
child  in  each  hand  by  the  hair  of  its  head.  The  Demon  with 
horns  and  a  tail  was  a  strong  likeness  of  Doctor  Shackle  ;  and 
the  bottle-bellied  Spider,  with  a  human  face,  was  evidently  the 
same  obnoxious  personage.  In  a  third  design,  he  was  dang- 
ling from  a  gibbet ;  and  in  a  fourth,  he  lent  his  marked  phys- 
iognomy to  a  huge  Serpent,  which,  after  a  natural  coil  or  two, 
twisted  off  into  a  corkscrew  that  went  wandering  half  over 
the  paper,  as  if  in  search  of  something  to  draw.  Other  em- 
blems were  equally  significant  of  the  assistant's  despondency 
and  the  decay  of  the  practice.  The  mortar,  turned  into  a 
garden-pot,  had  a  rose  growing  in  it ;  and  from  the  physic- 
basket,  converted  to  domestic  uses,  protruded  a  bunch  of 
carrots. 


OUR  FAMILY.  145 

And,  in  truth,  the  gloomy  prospect  entertained  by  the  artist 
seemed  likely  to  be  realized :  hour  after  hour  passed  away, 
and  still  the  doctor  found  himself  in  the  surgery  without  a 
patient  or  a  prescription.  At  last  the  confinement  became  so 
irksome,  that  he  ran  up-stairs  to  the  assistant's  bedroom,  to 
ascertain  the  true  state  of  his  case.  The  invalid  was  still 
asleep,  but  restless,  grinding  Ins  teeth,  turning  from  side  to 
side,  muttering,  and  occasionally  tossing  his  arms  and  clenched 
hands,  as  if  laboring  under  the  influence  of  some  horrible 
dream.  Nevertheless  he  did  not  awake,  when  the  doctor  felt 
his  forehead  and  examined  his  pulse  ;  for,  conscious  of  an  im- 
pending illness,  and  to  counteract  his  nervous  excitement,  he 
had  taken  a  narcotic. 

"  This  is  more  serious  than  I  thought,"  muttered  my  father. 
"  He  is  really  ill,  and  must  be  looked  to  when  he  wakes." 
And  with  a  heavy  heart  and  step  the  doctor  slowly  descended 
the  stairs  ;  at  the  foot  of  which  he  was  intercepted  by  Kezia, 
with  an  inquiry  after  poor  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Worse  than  I  could  wish,"  replied  my  father  ;  and,  with  a 
deep  sigh,  he  passed  into  the  surgery,  paralyzed,  so  to  speak, 
in  his  professional  right  arm. 

Still  there  came  no  customer ;  a  dearth  of  business  less 
annoying,  however,  to  the  proprietor  than  to  another  party 
who  looked  on.  Led  by  the  impulse  of  old  habit,  Kezia 
every  now  and  then  made  a  move  towards  the  surgery,  but  on 
looking  through  the  glass  door,  and  seeing  my  father  at  the 
desk  instead  of  Mr.  Postle,  immediately  retreated.  Yet  these 
brief  glimpses  sufficed  to  fret  her  with  the  tact  that,  come 
when  she  would,  there  never  was  a  living  creature  with  the 
doctor,  except  the  leeches.  "  It 's  well,"  she  said,  "  that  our 
cordials  and  compounds  are  so  nasty  ;  for  many  a  publican  in 
such  a  case  would  take  to  drinking  and  swallow  up  his  own 
stock  in  trade." 

At  last,  on  one  of  her  visits  to  the  surgery,  there  was  act- 
ually a  strange  man  in  it ;  no  patie.  t,  however,  but  the  car- 
rier, who,  having  delivered  a  small  parcel,  and  received  the 
carriage  money,  immediately  departed.  My  father  opened 
the  packet,  briefly  inspected  the  contents,  and  then  with  an 
audible  remark  deposited  it  in  a  drawer.  The  remark  was 
meant  for  himself;  but  the  glass  door  being  ajar,  the  observa- 
tion reached  another,  and  not  indifferent  ear. 

7  j 


146  OUR  FAMILY. 

Adl  this  time  my  mother  was  in  the  nursery  discussing  with 
Mrs.  Prideaux  the  topics  appropriate  to  the  locality,  and,  in 
particular,  the  merits  of  various  kinds  of  food  for  babes  ;  not 
forgetting  her  favorite  story  of  the  man-servant  who  was  sent 
to  the  biscuit-baker's  for  the  infant  victual,  and  forgetting  the 
name  of  tops  and  bottoms,  clapped  his  shilling  on  the  counter, 
and  said,  "  Head  or  tail."  This  anecdote  she  had  told,  and 
was  just  beginning  another,  when  Kezia  entered  the  room, 
with  a  melancholy  face,  of  faded  red  and  white,  like  an  ill- 
dyed  handkerchief  with  the  color  partly  washed  out.  She 
was  evidently  the  bearer  of  evil  tidings,  which  my  mother  im- 
mediately guessed  referred  to  Mr.  Postle. 

"  Yes,  poor  Mr.  Postle  is  very  poorly,"  replied  Kezia.  "  The 
doctor  does  not  say  so,  implicitly,  but  he  shakes  his  head, 
which  stands,  medically,  for  the  same  thing." 

"  Why,  then,  we  may  have  a  fever  in  the  house  after  all ! " 
exclaimed  my  mother. 

"  And  I  have  bad  news  besides,"  said  Kezia,  her  looks  be-, 
coming  still  more  gloomy,  and  her  voice  more  dismal.  "  Mas- 
ter has  got  his  nymph  down  from  London." 

"  His  what ! "  cried  my  mother. 

"  His  nymph,"  repeated  Kezia. 

"  I  conceive  she  means  lymph,"  suggested  Mrs.  Prideaux. 

"  Yes,  lymph,  or  nymph,"  said  Kezia,  "  it 's  a  pleasanter 
word  than  vaccinating  matter.  However,  it 's  come  down  from 
town,  —  and  I  wish  Doctor  Jenner  had  been  hung,  I  do, 
before  he  invented  it." 

"  But  are  you  certain  ot  it  ?  "  inquired  my  mother. 

"  Quite,"  answered  Kezia ;  "  I  saw  the  parcel.  And  as 
soon  as  Mr.  Postle  goes  down,  you  will  have  master  up  here, 
at  those  dear  babes  to  scarify  their  poor  arms,  and  introduce 
the  beastly  virus  into  their  little  systems." 

Her  prophecy  wTas  correct.  In  about  half  an  hour  my  father 
made  his  appearance  in  the  nursery,  packet  in  hand,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  impart  to  my  mother  a  piece  of  intelligence,  of 
which  to  his  surprise  he  found  her  already  in  possession. 


OUR  FAMILY.  147 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

OUR   VACCINATION. 

The  practice  of  Vaccination,  which  has  since  proved  such 
a  blessing  to  mankind,  was  received  at  its  first  introduction 
into  England  with  anything  but  a  gracious  welcome.  Like 
other  great  public  benefits,  it  had  of  course  to  encounter  the 
opposition  of  that  large  class  of  persons  who  set  their  stereo- 
type faces  against  all  innovations  ;  but  besides  this  resistance, 
active  or  passive,  it  involved,  in  its  most  material  feature,  a 
peculiarity  adverse  to  its  popularity.  The  mere  notion  of 
deriving  a  disease  from  a  brute  beast  was  sufficient  to  excite  a 
prejudice  against  it  in  the  minds  of  the  million  ;  and  the  most 
absurd  stories  of  the  deplorable  effects  of  the  cow-pock  were 
currently  circulated  and  believed  by  the  ignorant  and  the 
credulous,  especially  in  the  provinces.  Narratives  were  gravely 
repeated,  and  swallowed,  of  horns  that  sprouted  from  human 
heads ;  —  of  human  feet  that  hardened  into  parted  hoofs  ;  — 
of  human  bodies  that  became  pied  or  brindled  with  dappled 
hair; — in  short,  the  ancient  metamorphosis  of  Io  seemed  to 
have  been  only  an  extreme  case  of  Vaccination. 

My  mother,  prone  to  misgiving,  and  easily  coiced,  readily 
entertained  the  common  fears  and  doubts  on  the  subject ;  an 
impression  in  which  she  was  strongly  backed  by  Kezia,  who 
adopted  the  vulgar  opinions  to  their  utmost  extent,  and  de- 
voutly put  faith  in  all  the  extravagant  tales  that  were  told  of 
the  victims  of  the  operation.  It  may  be  supposed,  therefore, 
that  the  two  females  looked  with  no  favorable  eye  on  my 
father's  preparations  ;  indeed,  as  far  as  wishing  could  effect  it, 
the  "  nymph  "  and  the  lancet  were  more  than  once  thrown  out 
of  the  window. 

"  And  are  you  really  going,  George,  to  vaccinate  the  chil- 
dren ?  "  asked  my  mother,  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"  I  really  am,"  replied  my  father,  and  then  resumed  his 
quiet  whistle,  whilst  he  carefully  charged  a  sharp  lancet  with 
the  vaccine  matter. 

"  Well,  if  you  must  you  must,"  said  my  mother.  "  But  for 
my  part  I  cannot  reconcile  my  mind  to  it ;  and  I  'm  afraid  I 


!48  OUR   FAMILY. 

never  shall.  There  seems  something  so  unnatural  and  revolt- 
in  g  in  transferring  the  humor  of  a  diseased  brute  beast  into 
the  human  frame ! " 

"  Ah  !  the  old  story,"  said  my  father.  "  That  we  may  ex- 
pect to  see  the  bovine  humor  break  out  again  in  horns  and  a 
tail.  And  do  you  really  believe,  my  dear,  that  there  is  any 
foundation  for  such  popular  romances  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows  !  "  said  my  mother.  "  But  very  strange 
things  are  said  to  have  happened  from  it.     Ask  Kezia." 

"  And  pray  what  is  your  legend  ?  "  said  my  father,  turning 
towards  the  maid-of-all-work. 

"  It 's  about  a  little  girl,  sir,"  replied  Kezia,  "  as  was  vac- 
cinated down  in  our  part  of  the  country,  namely,  Suffolk." 

"  And  was  turned  into  a  heifer,  eh  ?  "  said  my  father. 

"  Why  no,  at  least  not  in  corporal  shape,"  said  Kezia. 
And  I  won't  speak  positive,  though  some  do,  to  a  pair  of 
little  knobs  of  horns,  that  one  could  just  feel  under  the  skin 
on  her  forehead.  But  this  I  know,  it  was  moral  impossible 
to  keep  her  out  of  the  fields,  and  from  running  about  the  com- 
mon, and  wading  up  to  her  knees  in  pools  of  water." 

"  Pshaw  !  a  mere  country  hoyden,"  said  my  father. 

"  Perhaps  she  were,"  said  Kezia,  reddening.  "  Only  in  that 
case  she  need  n't  have  moo'd  whenever  a  cow  did ;  and  what 's 
more,  in  summer-time  she  always  had  a  swarm  of  flies  about 
her  nose  and  ears." 

"  I  think  I  could  account  for  that,"  said  my  father. 

"  Well,  then,"  cried  Kezia,  "  there  was  one  thing  that  was 
cow-like  at  any  rate.  She  could  n't  abide  scarlet ;  and  when 
they  wanted  to  put  her  into  a  red  frock,  she  tore,  and  butted 
so  with  her  head,  that  they  were  forced  to  give  it  up." 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  father,  again  turning  towards  my 
mother.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I  have  heard  Kezia's  story,  and  in 
spite  of  it,  I  think  we  may  safely  vaccinate  the  children,  and 
run  the  risk  of  being  tossed  by  them  afterwards." 

"  It 's  no  joke,"  said  my  mother,  in  a  crying  tone,  "  though 
you  make  one  of  it.  It's  introducing  an  animal  change  into 
the  constitution,  and  who  knows,  if  such  a  thing  as  a  murrain 
was  to  break  out  among  the  cattle,  but  the  children  might 
have  it  too  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  would  only  be  according  to  the  old  doctrine  of 
sympathy,"  said  my  father. 


OUR  FAMILY.  149 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  my  mother.  "  It  is  well  known  that 
if  a  man  is  bit  by  a  dog,  and  the  dog  afterwards  runs  mad, 
the  man  will  go  crazy  too  !  " 

"  A  vulgar  error,  my  dear,"  said  my  father.  "  An  exploded 
fallacy.  But  come  ;  make  your  mind  easy.  There  is  no  more 
danger  of  the  children's  having  the  murrain  than  of  their 
bursting  themselves,  as  a  cow  sometimes  does,  in  a  clover-field. 
As  to  the  operation  itself,  it  is  a  mere  flea-bite,  and  I  will  be 
responsible  for  the  consequences.  —  Mrs.  Prideaux,  may  I 
trouble  you  to  hold  this  little  one  on  your  lap,"  —  and  the 
wilful  doctor  took  one  of  the  twins  from  the  cradle  and  placed 
it  in  the  arms  of  the  genteel  nurse. 

"  I  can't  —  I  won't  see  it  done  !  "  screamed  Kezia,  turning 
her  face  to  the  wall,  and  throwing  her  apron  over  her  head. 

"  Nor  I  neither,"  exclaimed  my  mother,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands.  And  they  were  sincere  in  their  horror.  We, 
of  this  year  of  grace,  1845,  convinced  by  experience  of  the 
beneficial  effects  of  the  discovery  of  Jenner,  and  consequently 
wiser  in  our  Jenneration,  cannot  sympathize  with  the  ludi- 
crous terrors  that  prevailed  when  Vaccination  was  a  new  thing. 
They  were  nevertheless  both  strong  and  general,  and  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  females  would  have  had  the  same  dread  of 
the  operation  as  my  mother  and  her  maid. 

My  father,  meanwhile,  grasping  a  little  plump  arm  so  firmly 
as  to  tighten  the  skin,  thrice  plunged  his  lancet  obliquely  into 
the  flesh  ;  the  infant  expressing  its  sense  of  the  proceeding  by 
as  many  squalls.  Had  it  belloiced,  there  were  two  persons  in 
the  room  who  would  not  have  been  surprised  in  the  least.  My 
father  then  charged  his  lancet  with  fresh  lymph,  which  he  in- 
troduced into  the  wounds  ;  and  then,  having  repeated  the 
whole  process  on  the  other  little  fat  arm,  the  babe  was  ex- 
changed for  his  twin-brother,  who  underwent  seriatim  the 
same  operations. 

"  There  !  "  said  my  father,  as  he  finished  the  work,  —  "  there, 
they  are  insured  for  life  against  the  small-pox  and  its  disfigura- 
tions." 

"  I  wish  they  may  be,  and  from  all  disfigurations  besides," 
said  my  mother,  taking  her  hands  from  her  eyes  ;  while  Kezia 
removed  her  apron,  and  turning  round  from  the  wall,  gazed 
mournfully  on  each  little  arm,  scarred  with  what  she  called 
mentally,  "  the  mark  of  the  beast." 


COMIC    MISCELLANY 


THE    FANCY    FAIR 


"  It  beareth  the  name  of  Vanity  Fair,  because  the  town  where  it  is  kept 
is  'lighter  than  vanity;'  and  also  because  all  that  is  there  sold,  or  that 
cometh  thither,  is  vanity."  —  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

"  I  named  this  place  Boothia."  —  Captain  Ross. 


"  A  Fancy  Fair,"  said  my  friend  L.,  in  his  usual  quaint 
style,  "  is  a  fair  subject  for  fancy ;  take  up  your  pen  and  try. 
For  instance,  there  was  one  held  at  the  Mansion  House.  Con- 
ceive a  shambling,  shock-headed  clodpole,  familiar  with  the 
wakes  of  Bow,  Barnet,  and  Bartlemy,  elbowing  his  awkward 
way  into  the  Egyptian  Hall,  his  round  eyes  and  mouth  all- 
agape  in  the  ludicrous  expectation  of  seeing  the  Lord 
Mayor  standing  on  his  very  Worshipful  head,  the  Lady 
Mayoress  lifting  a  hundred  weight  by  her  Right  Honorable 
hair,  the  Sword-Bearer  swallowing  his  blade  of  state,  the 
Recorder  conjuring  ribbons  from  his  learned  and  eloquent 
mouth,  and  the  Senior  Alderman  with  a  painted  York-and- 
Lancaster-face,  dancing  a  saraband  a  la  Pierrot !  Or  fancy 
Jolterhead  at  the  fair  of  the  Surrey  Zoological,  forcing  his 
clumsy,  destructive  course  through  groups  of  female  fashion- 
ables, like  a  hog  in  a  tulip-bed,  with  the  equally  laughable 
intention  of  inspecting  long  horns  and  short  horns,  prime 
beasts  and  lean  stock  ;  of  handling  the  porkers  and  coughing 
the  colts.  Nay,  imagine  our  bumpkin  at  the  great  Fancy 
Fair  of  all,  blundering  up  to  a  stall  kept  by  a  Royal  Duchess, 
and  inquiring  perseveringly  for  a  gilt  gingerbread  King  and 
Queen,  —  a  long-promised  fairing  to  Brother  Bill  at  Leighton 
Buzzard !  " 

Little  did  L.  dream  during  this  flourish  of  fancy  that  his 
whimsical  fiction  had  been  forestalled  by  fact ;  and  a  deep 
7* 


154 


THE   FANCY  FAIR. 


shade  of  vexation  passed  over  bis  features  while  he  perused 
the  following  hints  from  Hants,  as  conveyed  in  a  bond  fide 
letter  to  the  Editor  of  the  Comic  Annual. 


_— -[cattle  show 


A  ROUND   OF   BEEF. 


HONNORD    StJR, 

Dont  no  if  you  Be  a  Hamshire  man,  or  a  man  atacht  to 
the  fancy,  but  as  Both  such  myself,  have  took  the  libberty  to 
write  about  what  is  no  joke.  Of  coarse  allude  to  being  Hoaxt 
up  to  Lonnon,  to  see  a  fair  no  fair  at  all  and  About  as  much 
fancy  as  you  mite  fancy  on  the  pint  of  a  pin.  — 

Have  follerd  the  Fancy,  ever  since  cumming  of  Age,  and 
bean  to  every  Puglistical  fite,  from  the  Gaim  Chicking  down 
to  the  fite  last  weak.  Have  bated  Buls  drawd  Baggers,  and 
Kild  rats  myself  meening  to  say  with  my  hone  Dogs.  Ought 
to  no  wot  Fancy  his.  Self  prays  is  no  re-comendation  But 
have  bean  at  every  Fair  Waik  or  Revvle  in  England.  Ought 
to  no  then  wot  a  Fare  is. 

Has  for  the  Lonnon  job  —  could  Sea  nothin  like  Fancy 


THE   FANCY  FAIR. 


155 


and  nothing  like  fare.  Only  a  Toy  shop  out  of  Town  with  a 
gals  skool  looking  after  it,  without  a  Guvverness  and  all  oglein 
like  Winkin.  Lots  of  the  fare  sects  but  no  thimbel  rig,  no 
priking  in  the  garter  no  nothing.  Am  blest  if  our  hone  little 
Fare  down  at  Goos  Grean  dont  lick  it  all  to  Styx.  Bulbeat- 
ing,  Baggerdrawing,  Coggleplaying,  Rastlin,  a  Sopped  pigtale, 
a  Mane  of  Cox  Jackasreacing  jumpin  in  Sax  and  a  Grand 
Sire  Peal  of  Trouble  Bobs  puld  by  the  Collige  youths  by 
way  of  givin  a  Bells  Life  to  the  hole.  Call  that  Fancy. 
Too  Wild  Best  Shoes,  fore  theaters  besides  a  Horseplay  a 
Dwarft  a  She  Giant  a  fat  Child  a  prize  ox  five  carriboo 
savidges  a  lnrned  Pigg  an  Albany  with  wite  Hares  a  real  See 
Murmad  a  Fir  Eater  and  lots  of  Punshes  and  Juddis.  Call 
that  a  Fare. 


FAIR   PLAY  'S   A   JEW- 


Now   for   Lonnon.     No    Sanderses  —  no   Richardsens   no 
wum wills  menageris  no  backy  boxis  to  shy  for  —  no  lucky 


156  THE  FANCY   FAIR. 

Boxis.  No  poster  makin  no  jugling  or  Dancing.  Prest  one 
yung  laidy  in  ruge  cheaks  and  trowsers  verry  civelly  For  a 
bit  of  a  caper  on  the  tite  rop  —  But  miss  got  on  the  hi  rop, 
and  calld  for  a  conestubble.  Askt  annother  in  a  ridding  bab- 
bit for  the  faver  of  a  little  horsemunship  and  got  kicked  out 
of  her  Booth.  Goos  Grean  for  my  munny  !  Saw  a  yung 
laidy  there  that  swallerd  a  Sord  and  wasnt  too  Partickier  to 
jump  threw  a  hoop.  Dutchesses  look  dull  after  that  at  a  Fare. 
Verry  dignified,  but  Prefer  the  Wax  Wurk,  as  a  Show.  Dont 
sea  anny  think  in  Watch  Pappers  cut  out  by  Gountisses  that 
have  been  born  with  all  their  harms  and  legs  —  not  Miss 
Biffins. 

Must  say  one  thing  for  Goos  Grean.  Never  got  my  pockit 
pict  xcept  at  Lonnon  —  am  sorry  to  say  lost  my  Reader 
and  Ticker  and  every  Dump  I  had  let  alone  a  single  sovran. 
And  lost  the  best  part  of  that  besides  to  a  Yung  Laidy  that 
newer  gave  change.  Greenish  enuf  says  you  for  my  Tim  of 
Day  but  I  was  gammund  by  the  baggidge  to  bye  five  shillin 
Pin  Cushins.  Wish  Charrity  had  stayd  at  Hoam  !  The 
ould  Mare  got  a  coald  by  waiting  outside.  And  the  five 
Charrity  pincushins  hadn't  Bran  enuf  in  their  hole  boddys 
to  make  her  a  Mash. 

Am  told  the  Hospittle  don't  clear  anny  grate  proffits  after 
all  is  dun  and  Like  enuff.  A  Fare  should  be  a  Fare  and 
fokes  at  Room  oght  to  do  as  Room  does.  Have  a  notion 
Peeressis  that  keep  Booths  wood  take  moor  Munny  if  they 
wasn't  abuv  having  the  dubble  drums  and  speakin  trumpets 
and  gongs.     Theres  nothin  like  goin  the  hole  Hog ! 

Shall  be  happy,  sur,  to  sea  You  at  Goos  Green  next  Fare 
and  pint  out  the  Difference.  Maybe  in  Flurtashun,  and 
Match-macking  and  getting  off  Dorters  along  with  the  dolls 
we  ar  a  littel  cut  out,  but  for  Ginuen  Fancy  and  Fun  and 
Fair  Play  its  a  mear  Green  Goos  to  Goos  Green. 
Remain  Sur, 

Your  humbel  tu  command, 

Jacob  Giles. 

P.  S.  Think  Vallintins  day  wood  be  a  Good  fixter  for  next 
Fancy  Fare.  Shant  say  why.  Sniff  sumthing  of  the  kind 
going  on  amung  our  hone  Gals —  Polly  as  just  begd  a  sak  of 
bran  and  she  dont  keap  rabits.     Pincushins  and  nothin  else. 


THE   FANCY   FAIR. 


157 


Tother  day  cum  across  a  large  Watchpokit  and  suspect  Mrs. 
G.  is  at  the  Bottom  of  it.  No  churnin  butter  no  packin  egs 
no  setten  Hens  and  crammin  Turkis  —  All  sniping  ribbins 
folding  papper  sowin  up  satten  and  splitting  hole  trusses  of 
straw.  Am  blest  if  its  for  litterin  down  Horsis.  Dont  no 
how  its  all  to  be  got  to  markit  at  Lonnon,  the  nine  Gals  and 
all  'xcept  its  by  a  Pickfurd  Van. 


FANXY-FAIKINGS. 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD. 


T  once,  for  a  very  short  time  indeed,  had  the  honor  of 
being  a  schoolmaster,  and  was  invested  with  the  important 
office  of  "  rearing  the  tender  thought,"  and  "  teaching  the 
young  idea  how  to  shoot ; "  of  educating  in  the  principles  of 
the  Established  Church,  and  bestowing  the  strictest  attention 

to  morals.     The  case  was  this  :  my  young  friend   G ,  a 

graduate  of  Oxford,  and  an  ingenious  and  worthy  man,  thought 
proper,  some  months  back,  to  establish,  or  endeavor  to  estab- 
lish, an  academy  for  young  gentlemen,  in  my  immediate  vicin- 
ity. He  had  already  procured  nine  day-pupils  to  begin  with, 
whom  he  himself  taught,  —  prudence  as  yet  prohibiting  the 
employment  of  ushers,  —  when  he  was  summoned  hastily  to 
attend  upon  a  dying  relative  in  Hampshire,  from  whom  he  had 

some  expectations.     This  was  a  dilemma  to  poor  G ,  who 

had  no  one  to  leave  in  charge  of  his  three  classes  ;  and  he  could 
not  bear  the  idea  of  playing  truant  himself  so  soon  after  com- 
mencing business.  In  his  extremity  he  applied  to  me  as  his 
forlorn  hope,  and  one  forlorn  enough  ;  for  it  is  well  known 
among  my  friends,  that  I  have  little  Latin,  and  less  Greek, 
and  am,  on  every  account,  a  worse  accountant.     I  urged  these 

objections  to  G ,  but  in  vain,  for  he  had  no  "  friend  in 

need,"  learned  or  unlearned,  within  any  reasonable  distance, 
and,  as  he  said  to  comfort  me,  "  in  three  or  four  days  merely 
the  boys  could  not  unlearn  much  of  anything." 

At  last  I  gave  way  to  his  importunity.  On  Thursday  night, 
he  started  from  the  tree  of  knowledge  by  a  branch  coach  ;  and 
at  nine  on  Friday  morning  I  found  myself  sitting  at  his  desk 
in  the  novel  character  of  pedagogue.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  not 
one  of  the  boys  played  truant,  or  was  confined  at  home  with  a 
violent  illness.  There  they  were,  nine  little  mischievous 
wretches  goggling,  tittering,  pointing,  winking,  grimacing,  and 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER   ABROAD. 


159 


mocking  at  authority,  in  a  way  enough  to  invoke  two  Elisha 
bears  out  of  Southgate  Wood.  To  put  a  stop  to  this  indeco- 
rum, I  put  on  my  spectacles,  stuck  my  cane  upright  in  the 


A    BKA>XH    COACH. 


desk,  with  the  fool's-cap  atop  —  but  they  inspired  little  terror ; 
worn  out  at  last.  I  seized  the  cane,  and  rushing  from  my  dais, 
well  flogged  —  I  believe  it  is  called  flogging  —  the  boy,  a 
Creole,  nearest  me  ;  who.  though  far  from  the  biggest,  was 
much  more  daring  and  impertinent  than  the  rest.  So  far  my 
random  selection  was  judicious  ;  but  it  appeared  afterwards 
that  I  had  chastised  an  only  son,  whose  mother  had  expressly 
stipulated  for  him  an  exemption  from  all  punishment.  I  sus- 
pect, with  the  moral  prudence  of  fond  mothers,  she  had  in- 
formed the  little  imp  of  the  circumstance,  for  this  Indian-Pickle 
fought  and  kicked  his  preceptor  as  unceremoniously  as  he 
would  have  scuffled  with  Black  Diana  or  Agamemnon.  My 
first  move,  however,  had  a  salutary  effect ;  the  urchins  settled, 


160  THE   SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD. 

or  made  believe  to  settle,  to  their  tasks  ;  but  I  soon  perceived 
that  the  genuine  industry  and  application  belonged  to  one,  a 
clever-looking  boy,  who,  with  pen  and  paper  before  him,  was 
sitting  at  the  further  end  of  a  long  desk,  as  great  a  contrast  to 
the  others  as  the  Good  to  the  Bad  Apprentice  in  Hogarth.  I 
could  see  his  tongue  even  at  work  at  one  corner  of  his  mouth, 
—  a  very  common  sign  of  boyish  assiduity,  —  and  his  eyes 
never  left  his  task  but  occasionally  to  glance  towards  his 
master,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  the  approving  smile,  to  which 
he  looked  forward  as  the  prize  of  industry.  I  had  already 
selected  him  inwardly  for  a  favorite,  and  resolved  to  devote 
my  best  abilities  to  his  instruction,  when  I  saw  him  hand  the 
paper,  with  a  sly  glance,  to  his  neighbor,  from  whom  it  passed 
rapidly  down  the  desk,  accompanied  by  a  running  titter,  and 
sidelong  looks,  that  convinced  me  the  supposed  copy  was,  in- 
deed, a  copy,  not  of  "  Obey  your  superiors,"  or  "  Age  com- 
mands respect,"  but  of  the  head  of  the  college,  and,  as  a 
glimpse  showed,  a  head  with  very  ludicrous  features.  Being 
somewhat  fatigued  with  my  last  execution,  I  suffered  the 
cane  of  justice  to  sleep,  and  inflicted  the  fool's-cap  —  literally 
the  fool's  —  for  no  clown  in  pantomime,  the  great  Grimaldi 
not  excepted,  could  have  made  a  more  laughter-stirring  use  of 
the  costume.  The  little  enormities,  who  only  tittered  before, 
now  shouted  outright,  and  nothing  but  the  enchanted  wand  of 
bamboo  could  flap  them  into  solemnity.  Order  was  restored, 
for  they  saw  I  was,  like  Earl  Grey,  resolved  to  "  stand  by  my 
order ; "  and  while  I  was  deliberating,  in  some  perplexity,  how 
to  begin  business,  the  two  biggest  boys  came  forward  volunta- 
rily, and  standing  as  much  as  they  could  in  a  circle,  presented 
themselves,  and  began  to  read  as  the  first  Greek  class.  Mr. 
Irving  may  boast  of  his  prophets  as  much  as  he  will ;  but  in 
proportion  to  the  numbers  of  our  congregations,  I  had  far 
more  reason  to  be  proud  of  my  gabblers  in  an  unknown 
tongue.  I,  of  course,  discovered  no  lapsus  lingui  in  the  per- 
formance, and  alter  a  due  course  of  gibberish,  the  first  class 
dismissed  itself,  with  a  brace  of  bows  and  an  evident  degree 
of  self-satisfaction  at  being  so  perfect  in  the  present,  after  be- 
ing so  imperfect  in  the  past.  I  own  this  first  act  of  our  sol- 
emn farce  made  me  rather  nervous  against  the  next,  which 
proved  to  be  the  Latin  class,  and  I  have  no  doubt  to  an  adept 
would  have  seemed  as  much  a  Latin  comedy   as  those  per- 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER    ABROAD. 


161 


formed  at  the  Westminster  school.  We  got  through  the 
second  course  quite  correct,  as  before,  and  I  found  with  some 
satisfaction,   that  the  third  was   a  dish  of  English   Syntax, 


A    SKCOND    COURSE. 


where  I  was  able  to  detect  flaws,  and  the  heaps  of  errors  that 
I  had  to  arrest  made  me  thoroughly  sensible  of  the  bliss  of 
ignorance  in  the  Greek  and  Latin.  A  general  lesson  in  Eng- 
lish reading  ensued,  through  which  we  glided  smoothly  enough, 
till  we  came  to  a  sand-bank  in  the  shape  of  a  Latin  quotation, 
which  I  was  requested  to  English.  It  was  something  like 
this,  "Nemo  mortalius  omnibus  hora  sapit,"  which  I  ren- 
dered, "  No  mortal  knows  at  what  hour  the  omnibus  starts  ; r' 
and  with  this  translation  the  whole  school  was  perfectly  satis- 
fied.    Nine  more  bows. 

My  horror  now  approached :  I  saw  the  little  wretches  lug 
out  their  slates,  and  begin  to  cuff  out  the  old  sums,  a  sight  that 
made  me  wish  all  the  slates  at  the  roof  of  the  house.   I  knew 


]62  THE  SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD. 

very  well  that  when  the  army  of  nine  attacked  my  Bonny- 
castle,  it  would  not  long  hold  out.  Unluckily,  from  inexpe- 
rience, I  gave  them  all  the  same  question  to  work,  and  the 
consequence  was,  each  brought  up  a  different  result  —  nor 
would  my  practical  knowledge  of  Practice  allow  me  to  judge 
of  their  merits.  I  had  no  resource  but,  Lavater-like,  to  go  by 
Physiognomy,  and  accordingly  selected  the  solution  of  the 
most  mathematical-looking  boy.  But  Lavater  betrayed  me. 
Master  White,  a  chowder-headed  lout  of  a  lad,  as  dull  as  a 
pig  of  lead,  and  as  mulishly  obstinate  as  Muley  Abdallah, 
persisted  that  his  answer  was  correct,  and  at  last  appealed  to 
the  superior  authority  of  a  Tutor's  Key,  that  he  had  kept  by 
stealth  in  his  desk.  From  this  instance  my  importance  de- 
clined, and  the  urchins  evidently  began  to  question,  with  some 
justice,  what  right  I  had  to  rule  nine,  who  was  not  competent 
to  the  Rule  of  Three.  By  way  of  a  diversion,  I  invited  my 
pupils  to  a  walk  ;  but  I  wish  G had  been  more  circumstan- 
tial in  his  instructions  before  he  left.  Two  of  the  boys  pleaded 
sick  headaches  to  remain  behind  ;  and  I  led  the  rest,  through 
my  arithmetical  failure,  under  very  slender  government,  by 
the  most  unfortunate  route  I  could  have  chosen,  —  in  fact, 
past  the  very  windows  of  their  parents,  who  complained  after- 
wards that  they  walked  more  like  bears  than  boys,  and  that 

if  Mr.  G had  drawn  lots  for  one  at  a  raffle,  he  could  not 

have  been  more  unfortunate  in  his  new  usher. 

To  avoid  observation,  which  I  did  not  court,  I  led  them 
aside  into  a  meadow,  and  pulling  out  a  volume  of  Paradise 
Lost,  left  the  boys  to  amuse  themselves  as  they  pleased.  They 
pleased,  accordingly,  to  get  up  a  little  boxing  match,  a  la  Crib 
and  Molineux  —  between  Master  White  and  the  little  Creole, 
of  which  I  was  informed  only  by  a  final  shout  and  a  stream 
of  blood  that  trickled,  or  treacled,  from  the  flat  nose  of  the 
child  of  color.  Luckily,  as  I  thought,  he  was  near  home, 
whither  I  sent  him  for  washing  and  consolation,  and  in  return 
for  which,  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  still 
in  the  field,  a  black  footman,  in  powder  blue  turned  up  with 
yellow,  brought  me  the  following  note  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Col.  Christopher  informs  Mr.  G 's  Usher,  that  as  the 

vulgar  practice  of  pugilism  is  allowed  at  Spring  Grove  Academy, 
Master  Adolphus  Ferdinand  Christopher  will  in  future  be  educated 
at  home  ;  particularly  as  she  understands  Master  C.  was  punished 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD.         163 

in  the  morning,  in  a  way  that  only  becomes  blacks  and  slaves.  — 
To  the  new  CJsher  at  Mr.  G 's." 

Irritated  at  this  event  and  its  commentary,  I  resolved  to 
punish  Master  White,  but  Master  White  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  having  expelled  himself  and  run  away  home,  where  he 
complained  to  his  parents  of  the  new  usher's  deficiencies,  and 
told  the  whole  story  of  the  sum  in  Practice,  begging  earnestly 
to  be  removed  from  a  school  where,  as  he  said,  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  improve  himself.  The  prayer  of  the  petition 
was  heard,  and  on  the  morrow,  Mr.  White's  son  was  minus  at 
Spring  Grove  Academy.  Calling  in  the  remainder,  I  ordered 
a  march  homeward-,  where  I  arrived  just  in  time  to  hear  the 
sham  headaches  of  the  two  invalids  go  off  with  an  alarming 
explosion  —  for  they  had  thus  concerted  an  opportunity  for 
playing  with  gunpowder  and  prohibited  arms.  Here  was  an- 
other discharge  from  the  school,  for  no  parents  think  that 
their  children  look  the  better  without  eyebrows,  and  accord- 
ingly, when  they  went  home  for  the  night,  the  fathers  and 
mothers  resolved  to  send  them  to  some  other  school,  where 
no  powder  was  allowed,  except  upon  the  head  of  the  master. 
I  was  too  much  hurt  to  resume  schooling  after  the  boys'  bad 
behavior,  and  so  gave  them  a  half-holiday;  and  never,  O 
never  did  I  so  estimate  the  blessing  of  sleep,  as  on  that  night 
when  I  closed  my  eyelids  on  all  my  pupils  !  But,  alas  !  sleep 
brought  its  sorrows  :  I  saw  boys  fighting,  flourishing  slates, 
and  brandishing  squibs  and  crackers  in  my  visions ;  and 
through  all  —  such  is  the  transparency  of  dreams  —  I  beheld 
the  stern  shadow  of  G looking  unutterable  reproaches. 

The  next  morning,  with  many  painful  recollections,  brought 
one  of  pleasure  ;  I  remembered  that  it  was  the  King's  Birth- 
day, and,  in  a  fit  of  very  sincere  loyalty,  gave  the  whole 
school,  alas !  reduced  by  one  half,  a  whole  holiday.  Thus  I 
got  over  the  end  of  the  week,  and  Sunday,  literally  a  day  of 
rest,  was  spent  by  the  urchins  at  their  own  homes.  It  may 
seem  sinful  to  wish  for  the  death  of  a  fellow-creature,  but  I 

could  not  help  thinking  of  G 's   relative  along  with  what 

is  called  a  happy  release  ;  and  he  really  was  so  kind,  as  we 

learned  by  an  express  from   G ,  as  to  break  up  just  after 

his  arrival,  and  that  G ■  consequently  would  return  in  time 

to  resume  his  scholastic  duties  on  the  Monday  morning.  With 
infinite  pleasure  I  heard  this  good  bad  news  from  Mrs.  G , 


164 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER  ABROAD. 


who  never  interfered  in  the  classical  part  of  the  house,  and 
was  consequently  all  unconscious  of  the  reduction  in  the  Spring 
Grove  Establishment.  I  forged  an  excuse  for  immediately 
leaving  off  school ;  "  resigned,  I  kissed  the  rod "  that  I  re- 
signed, and  as  I  departed,  no  master  but  my  own,  was  over- 
whelmed  by  a  torrent  of  grateful   acknowledgments  of  the 

service  I  had  done  the  school,  which,  as  Mrs.  G protested, 

could  never  have  got  on  without  me.  How  it  got  on  I  left  G 

to  discover,  and  I  am  told  he  behaved  rather  like  Macduff  at 
the  loss  of  his  "  little  ones ;  "  but,  luckily,  I  had  given  myself 
warning  before  his  arrival,  and  escaped  from  one  porch  of  the 
Academy  at  that  nick  of  time  when  the  Archodidasculus  was 
entering  by  another,  perfectly  convinced  that,  however  adapted 
to  "live  and  learn,"  I  should  never  be  able  to  live  and 
teach. 


COMING  EVENTS  CAST  THEIR  SHADOWS  BEFORE. 


THE    MORNING    CALL 


I  cannot  conceive  any  prospect  more  agreeable  to  a  weary 
traveller  than  the  approach  to  Bedfordshire.  Each  valley 
reminds  him  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  the  fleecy  clouds  seem  like 
blankets,  the  lakes  and  ponds  are  clean  sheets  ;  the  setting 
sun  looks  like  a  warming-pan.  He  dreams  of  dreams  to  come. 
His  travelling-cap  transforms  to  a  nightcap,  the  coach  lining 
feels  softlier  squabbed ;  the  guard's  horn  plays  "  Lullaby." 
Every  flower  by  the  road-side  is  a  poppy.  Each  jolt  of  the 
coach  is  but  a  drowsy  stumble  up-stairs.  The  lady  opposite 
is  the  chamber-maid ;  the  gentleman  beside  her  is  Boots.  He 
slides  into  imaginary  slippers ;  he  winks  and  nods  flirtingly  at 
Sleep,  so  soon  to  be  his  own.  Although  the  wheels  may  be 
rattling  into  vigilant  Wakefield,  it  appears  to  him  to  be  sleepy 
Ware,  with  its  great  Bed,  a  whole  County  of  Down,  spread 
"  all  before  him  where  to  choose  his  place  of  rest." 

It  was  in  a  similar  mood,  after  a  long  dusty  droughty  dog- 
day's  journey,  that  I  entered  the  Dolphin  at  Bedhampton.  I 
nodded  in  at  the  door,  winked  at  the  lights,  blinked  at  the 
company  in  the  coffee-room,  yawned  for  a  glass  of  negus, 
swallowed  it  with  my  eyes  shut,  as  though  it  had  been  "  a  pint 
of  nappy,"  surrendered  my  boots,  clutched  a  candlestick,  and 
blundered,  slipshod,  up  the  stairs  to  number  nine. 

Blessed  be  the  man,  says  Sancho  Panza,  who  first  invented 
sleep  :  and  blessed  be  heaven  that  he  did  not  take  out  a  patent, 
and  keep  his  discovery  to  himself.  My  clothes  dropped  off 
me :  I  saw  through  a  drowsy  haze  the  likeness  of  a  four-pos- 
ter :  "  Great  Nature's  second  course  "  was  spread  before  me  ; 
and  I  fell  to  without  a  long  grace  ! 

Here  's  a  body  —  there  's  a  bed  ! 
There 's  a  pillow  —  here  's  a  head  ! 
There  's  a  curtain  —  here 's  a  light  ! 
There's  a  puff —  and  so  Good  Night ! 


IQQ  THE  MORNING   CALL. 

It  would  have  been  gross  improvidence  to  waste  more  words 
on  the  occasion ;  for  I  was  to  be  roused  up  again  at  four 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  to  proceed  by  the  early  coach.  I 
determined,  therefore,  to  do  as  much  sleep  within  the  interval 
as  I  could  ;  and  in  a  minute,  short  measure,  I  was  with  that 
mandarin,  Morpheus,  in  his  Land  of  Nod. 

How  intensely  we  sleep  when  we  are  fatigued  !  Some  as 
sound  as  tops,  others  as  fast  as  churches.  For  my  own  part 
I  must  have  slept  as  fast  as  a  Cathedral,  —  as  fast  as  Young 
Rapid  wished  his  father  to  slumber ;  —  nay,  as  fast  as  the 
French  veteran  who  dreams  over  again  the  whole  Russian 
campaign  while  dozing  in  his  sentry-box.  I  must  have  slept 
as  fast  as  a  fast  post-coach  in  my  four-poster  —  or  rather  T 
must  have  slept  "  like  winkin,"  for  I  seemed  hardly  to  have 
closed  my  eyes,  when  a  voice  cried,  "  Sleep  no  more  !  " 

It  was  that  of  Boots,  calling  and  knocking  at  the  door,  whilst 
through  the  keyhole  a  ray  of  candlelight  darted  into  my 
chamber. 

"  Who  's  there  ?  " 

"  It 's  me,  your  honor,  I  humbly  ax  pardon  —  but  somehow 
I  've  oversleeped  myself,  and  the  coach  be  gone  by  ! " 

"  The  devil  it  is  !  —  then  I  have  lost  my  place  ! " 

"  No,  not  exactly,  your  honor.  She  stops  a  bit  at  the 
Dragon,  t'  other  end  o'  the  town  ;  and  if  your  honor  would  n't 
object  to  a  bit  of  a  run  —  " 

"  That 's  enough  —  come  in.  Put  down  the  light  —  and 
take  up  that  bag  —  my  coat  over  your  arm  —  and  waistcoat 
with  it  —  and  that  cravat." 

Boots  acted  according  to  orders.  I  jumped  out  of  bed  — 
pocketed  my  nightcap  —  screwed  on  my  stockings  —  plunged 
into  my  trousers  —  rammed  my  feet  into  wrong  right  and  left 
boots  —  tumbled  down  the  back-stairs  —  burst  through  a  door, 
found  myself  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  stable-yard,  holding  a 
lantern,  which,  in  sheer  haste,  or  spleen,  I  pitched  into  the 
horse-pond.  Then  began  the  race,  during  which  I  completed 
my  toilet,  running  and  firing  a  verbal  volley  at  Boots,  as  often 
as  I  could  spare  breath  for  one. 

"  And  you  call  this  waking  me  up  —  for  the  coach.  My 
waistcoat !  —  Why  I  could  wake  myself —  too  late  —  without 
being  called.  Now  my  cravat  —  and  be  hanged  to  you  !  — 
Confound  that  stone  !  —  and  give  me  my  coat.     A  nice  road 


THE   MORNING   CALL.  K37 

—  for  a  run  .  —  I  suppose  you  keep  it  —  on  purpose.  How 
many  gentlemen  —  may  you  do  a  week  ?  —  I  '11  tell  you  what. 
If  I  —  run  —  a  foot  —  farther  —  " 

I  paused  for  wind ;  while  Boots  had  stopped  of  his  own 
accord.  We  had  turned  a  corner  into  a  small  square ;  and 
on  the  opposite  side,  certainly  stood  an  inn  with  the  sign  of 
the  Dragon,  but  without  any  sign  of  a  coach  at  the  door. 
Boots  stood  beside  me,  aghast,  and  surveying  the  house  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom  ;  not  a  wreath  of  smoke  came  from  a 
chimney  ;  the  curtains  were  closed  over  every  window,  and 
the  door  was  closed  and  shuttered.  I  could  hardly  contain  my 
indignation  when  I  looked  at  the  infernal  somnolent  visage  of 
the  fellow,  hardly  yet  broad  awake  —  he  kept  rubbing  his 
black-lead  eyes  with  his  hands,  as  if  he  would  have  rubbed 
them  out. 

"  Yes,  you  may  well  look  —  you  have  overslept  yourself 
with  a  vengeance.     The  coach  must  have  passed  an  hour  ago 

—  and  they  have  all  gone  to  bed  again  !  " 

"  No,  there  be  no  coach,  sure  enough,"  soliloquized  Boots, 
slowly  raising  his  eyes  from  the  road,  where  he  had  been 
searching  for  the  track  of  recent  wheels,  and  fixing  them  with 
a  deprecating  expression  on  my  face.     "  No,  there  's  no  coach 

—  I  ax  a  thousand  pardons,  your  honor  —  but  you  see,  sir, 
what  with  waiting  on  her,  and  talking  on  her,  and  expecting 
on  her,  and  giving  notice  on  her,  every  night  of  my  life,  your 
honor  —  why  I  sometimes  dreams  on  her  —  and  that 's  the 
case  as  is  now  !  " 


O,    NOTHING    IN    LIFE    CAN    SADDEN    US. 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER. 


To  mention  only  by  name  the  sorrows  of  an  Undertaker, 
will  be  likely  to  raise  a  smile  on  most  faces,  —  the  mere  words 
suggest  a  solemn  stalking  parody  of  grief  to  the  satiric  fancy ; 
—  but  give  a  fair  hearing  to  my  woes,  and  even  the  veriest 
mocker  may  learn  to  pity  an  Undertaker  who  has  been  unfor- 
tunate in  all  his  undertakings. 

My  father,  a  Furnisher  and  Performer  in  the  funeral  line, 
used  to  say  of  me  —  noticing  some  boyish  levities  —  that  "  I 
should  never  do  for  an  Undertaker."  But  the  prediction  was 
wrong  —  my  parent  lied,  and  I  did  for  him  in  the  way  of 
business.  Having  no  other  alternative,  I  took  possession  of  a 
very  fair  stock  and  business.  I  felt  at  first  as  if  plunged  in 
the  Black  Sea  —  and  when  I  read  my  name  upon  the  shop 
door,  it  threw  a  crape  over  my  spirits,  that  I  did  not  get  rid 
of  for  some  months. 

Then  came  the  cares  of  business.  The  scandalous  insinu- 
ated that  the  funerals  were  not  so  decorously  performed  as  in 
the  time  of  the   Late.     I  discharged  my  mutes,  who  were 


THE   SORROWS    OF   AX   UNDERTAKER.  igo, 

grown  fiit  and  jocular,  and  sought  about  for  the  lean  and  lank 
visaged  kind.  But  these  demure  rogues  cheated  and  robbed 
me  —  plucked  my  feathers  and  primed  my  scarfs,  and  I  was 
driven  back  again  to  my  "  merrie  men,"  —  whose  only  fault 
was  making  a  pleasure  of  their  business. 

Soon  after  this,  I  made  myself  prominent  in  the  parish,  and 
obtained  a  contract  for  Parochial  Conchology  —  or  shells  for 
the  paupers.  But  this  even,  as  I  may  say,  broke  down  on  its 
first  tressels.  Having  as  my  first  job  to  inter  a  workhouse 
female  —  iEtat.  96  —  and  wishing  to  gain  the  good  opinion 
of  the  parish,  I  had  made  the  arrangements  with  more  than 
usual  decency.  The  company  were  at  the  door.  Placing 
myself  at  the  heal,  with  my  best  burial  face,  and  my  slowest 
solemnity  of  step,  I  set  forward,  and  thanks  to  my  profession- 
al deafness  —  incurred  by  the  constant  hammering  —  I  never 
perceived,  till  at  the  church  gate,  that  the  procession  had  not 
stirred  from  the  door  of  the  house.  So  good  a  joke  was  not 
lost  upon  my  two  Mutes,  avIio  made  it  an  excuse  for  chuckling 
on  after  occasions.  But  to  me  the  consequence  was  serious. 
A  notion  arose  amongst  the  poor  that  I  was  too  proud  to 
walk  along  with  their  remains,  and  the  ferment  ran  so  high, 
that  I  was  finally  compelled  to  give  up  my  contract. 

So  much  for  foot  funerals.  Xow  for  coach  work.  The  ex- 
travagant charges  of  the  jobbers  at  last  induced  me  to  set  up 
a  Hearse  and  Mourning  Coaches  of  my  own,  with  sleek  ebony 
long-tailed  horses  to  match.  One  of  these  —  the  finest  of  the 
set  —  had  been  sold  to  me  under  warranty  of  being  sound  and 
free  from  vice  ;  and  so  he  was,  but  the  dealer  never  told  me 
that  he  had  been  a  charger  at  Astley's.  Accordingly  on  his 
very  first  performance  in  passing  through  Bow,  —  at  that  time 
a  kind  of  Fairy  Land,  —  he  thought  proper,  on  hearing  a 
showman's  trumpet,  to  dance  a  cotillon  in  his  feathers !  There 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  travel  on  with  three  to  the  next 
stage,  where  I  sold  the  caperer  at  a  heavy  loss,  and  to  the  in- 
finite regret  of  my  merry  mourners,  with  whom  this  exhibition 
had  made  him  a  great  favorite.  From  this  period  my  business 
rapidly  declined,  till  instead  of  five  or  six  demises,  on  an  av- 
erage, I  put  in  only  two  defuncts  and  a  half  per  week. 

In  this  extremity  a  "  black  job "  was  brought  to  me  that 
promised  to  make  amends  for  the  rest.  One  fine  morning  a 
brace  of  executors  walked  into  the  shop,  and  handing  to  me 
8 


170 


THE  SORROWS  OF  AN  UNDERTAKER. 


the  following  extract  of  a  will,  politely  requested  that  I  would 
perform  accordingly  —  and  with  the  pleasing  addition  that  I 
was  to  be  regardless  of  the  exnense.    The  document  ran  thus  : 


FAIRY    LAND. 

"  Item,  I  will  and  desire  that  after  death,  my  body  be  placed 
in  a  strong  leaden  coffin,  the  same  to  be  afterwards  enclosed 
in  one  of  oak,  and  therein  my  remains  to  be  conveyed  hand- 
somely to  the  village  of  ***  in  Norfolk,  my  birthplace  ;  there 
to  lie,  being  duly  watched,  during  one  night,  in  the  Family 
mansion  now  unoccupied,  and  on  the  morrow  to  be  carried 
thence  to  the  church,  the  coffin  being  borne  by  the  six  oldest 
resident  and  decayed  parishioners,  male  or  female,  and  for  the 
same  they  shall  receive  severally  the  sum  of  five  pounds,  to 
be  paid  on  or  before  the  day  of  interment." 

It  will  be  believed  that  I  lost  no  time  in  preparing  the  last 
solid  and  costly  receptacles  for  the  late  Lady  Lambert  ;  and 
the  unusual  bulk  of  the  deceased  seemed  in  prospective  to 
justify  a  bill  of  proportionate  magnitude.     I  was  prodigal  of 


THE   SORROWS   OF  AN  UNDERTAKER.  171 

plumes  and  scutcheons,  of  staves  and  scarfs,  and  mourning 
coaches  ;  and  finally,  raising  a  whole  company  of  black  cavalry, 
we  set  out  by  stages,  short  and  sweet,  for  our  destination.  I 
had  been  prudent  enough  to  send  a  letter  before  me  to  prepare 
the  bearers,  and  imprudent  enough  to  remit  their  fees  in 
advance.  But  I  had  no  misgivings.  My  men  enjoyed  the 
excursion,  and  so  did  I.  We  ate  well,  drank  well,  slept  well, 
and  expected  to  be  well  paid  for  what  was  so  well  done.  At 
the  last  stage  it  happened  I  had  rather  an  intricate  reckoning 
to  arrange,  by  which  means  being  detained  a  full  hour  behind 
the  cavalcade,  I  did  not  reach  the  desired  village  till  the  whole 
party  had  established  themselves  at  the  Dying  Dolphin ;  a 
fact  I  first  ascertained  from  hearing  the  merriment  of  my  two 
mutes  in  the  parlor.  Highly  indignant  at  this  breach  of 
decorum,  I  rushed  in  on  the  offending  couple ;  and  let  the 
Undertaking  Reader  conceive  my  feelings,  when  the  following 
letter  was  put  into  my  hands,  explaining  at  once  the  good  joke 
of  the  two  fellows,  or  rather  that  of  the  whole  village. 

"  Sir,  —  We  have  sought  out  the  six  oldest  of  the  pauper 
parishioners  of  this  place,  namely  as  follows  :  — 

Margaret  Squires,  aged  101,  blind  and  bed-rid. 

Timothy  Topping,  aged  98,  paralytic  and  bed-rid. 

Darius  Watts,  aged  95,  with  loss  of  both  legs. 

Barbara  Copp,  94  years,  born  without  arms. 

Philip  Gill,  about  81,  an  Idiot. 

Mary  Ridges,  79,  afflicted  with  St.  Vitus. 
Among  whom  we  have  distributed  your  Thirty  Pounds  ac- 
cording to  desire,  and  for  which  they  are  very  grateful. 

John  Gills,  )  ~  „ 

ri         t>  r  Overseers. 

Sam.  Rackstrow,  ) 

Such  were  the  six  bearers  who  were  to  carry  Lady  Lam- 
bert to  the  church,  and  who  could  as  soon  have  carried  the 
church  to  Lady  Lambert.  To  crown  all,  I  rashly  listened  to 
the  advice  of  my  thoughtless  mutes,  and  in  an  evil  hour 
deposited  the  body  without  troubling  any  parishioner,  old  or 
young,  on  the  subject.  The  consequence  is,  the  Executors 
demur  to  my  bill,  because  I  have  not  acted  up  to  the  letter 
of  my  instructions.  I  have  had  to  stand  treat  for  a  large 
party  on  the  road,  to  sustain  all  the  charges  of  the  black 
cavalry,  and  am  besides  minus  thirty  pounds  in  charity,  with- 
out even  the  merit  of  a  charitable  intention  ! 


LONDON  FASHIONS  FOR  NOVEMBER. 


REMARKS. 


No  season  has  offered  such  varietes  in  costume  as  the  early- 
part  of  the  present  month.  Fancy  dresses  of  the  most  outre 
description  have  appeared,  even  in  the  streets.  Short  waists 
and  long,  full  sleeves  and  empty,  broad  skirts  and  narrow,  whole 
skirts,  half  skirts,  and  none  at  all,  have  been  indifferently  worn. 
For  the  Promenade,  rags  and  tatters  of  all  kinds  have  been 
in  much  favor ;  very  few  buttons  are  worn  ;  and  the  coats, 
waistcoats,  and  pantaloons  have  been  invariably  padded,  and 
stuffed  with  hay  or  straw.  We  observed  several  exquisites 
making  morning  calls  in  scarecrow  great-coats  ;  the  skirts, 
lappels,  collars,  and  cuffs  picturesquely,  but  not  too  formally 
jagged,  a  la  Vandyke.  The  prevailing  colors  —  all  colors  at 
once.  Wigs  have  been  very  general  —  both  en  buzz  and 
frizze  ;  these  have  been  commonly  composed  of  deal  shav- 
ings ;  but  in  some  cases  of  tow,  and  sometimes  horsehair. 
For  the  evening  party,  a  few  squibs  and  crackers  are  stuck  in 
the  perruque  or  hat,  and  the  boots  and  shoes  are  polished  up 
with  a  little  pitch  or  tar ;  sometimes  a  Catherine  wheel  has 


LONDON  FASHIONS   FOR   NOVEMBER.  173 

been  added  en  coquarde.  Frills,  collars,  and  ruffles,  of  papier 
coupe,  have  entirely  superseded  those  of  cambric  or  lace,  and 
shirts  of  every  description  are  quite  discarded.  Paint  has 
been  in  much  request,  and  ruddle  seems  to  have  been  prefer- 
red to  rouge  ;  patches  are  also  much  worn,  not  on  the  coun- 
tenance, but  on  the  clothes  ;  for  these  the  favorite  materiel 
is  tartan,  plush  of  any  color,  or  corduroy.  Several  dandies 
appeared  on  the  oth  with  gloves,  but  they  are  not  essential 
requisites  to  be  in  the  ton  :  canes  are  discarded  ;  even  a  rid- 
ing-whip would  be  reckoned  to  evince  mauvais  gout,  but  a 
half-penny  bunch  of  matches  "  a  la  main  "  is  indispensable 
to  a  fashionable  aspirant.  The  old  practice  of  being  carried 
abroad  in  chairs  has  been  universally  revived ;  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that  it  exhibits  the  Figure  to  much  advantage. 

Amongst  the  Nouveautes,  we  observed  the  following  Car- 
actere,  as  making  a  felicitous  debut.  The  coat  was  a  la  militaire, 
of  the  color  formerly  so  much  in  vogue  under  the  name  of 
fumee  de  Londres,  turned  up  with  jlamme  d'enfer.  It  was 
garni  with  very  dead  gold  ;  and  slashed  a  V '  Espagnole,  back 
and  front.  The  pantaloons  were  equally  bizarre  ;  one  leg 
being  composed  of  Scotch  tartan,  and  the  other  of  blue  striped 
bed-ticking,  made  very  full,  en  matelot,  in  compliance  with  the 
prevailing  taste  for  navals.  The  wig  was  made  of  green  and 
white  willow  shavings,  with  a  large  link  for  a  queue,  tied  on 
with  a  nceud  of  red  tape.  The  hat,  brown,  somewhat  darker 
than  the  Devonshire  beaver,  but  disinclining  to  black.  It  had 
no  brim,  and  was  without  a  crown.  A  tarnished  badge  of  the 
Phoenix  Fire  Office,  on  the  bust,  gave  a  distingue  air  to  the 
whole  Figure,  which  was  going  down  Bond  Street,  and  excited 
a  sensation  quite  a  Venvie  by  its  appearance  in  the  World  of 
Fashion. 

N.  B.  —  We  are  requested  to  state  that  the  above  described 
figure  was  entirely  invented  and  manufactured  by  little  Sol- 
omon Levy,  of  Hollywell  Street,  Strand,  who  has  a  variety 
always  on  show,  about  the  metropolis. 


SUMMER. -A   WINTER  ECLOGUE. 


Scene.  —  A  bach-parlor  at  Cimbencell.     Sylvanus  is  seated  at  the  break- 
fast-table, and  greeteth  his  friend  Civis. 

Syl.  A  good  morrow  to  you,  Friend  Civis,  and  a  hearty- 
welcome  !  How  hath  sleep  dealt  with  you  through  the 
night  ? 

Civ.  Purely  indeed,  and  with  rare  pastoral  dreams.  I 
have  done  nothing  but  walk  through  pleasant  groves,  or  sit 
me  down  under  shady  boughs,  the  whole  livelong  night.  A 
foretaste,  my  friend,  of  the  rural  delights  yet  to  come,  in 
strolling  with  you,  amongst  the  dainty  shades  of  this  your 
verdant  retreat.  How  have  I  yearned  all  through  the  month 
of  June,  to  be  a  Jaek-i'-the-Green  again  amidst  your  leaves 
here  !     You  know  my  prospect  in  town. 

Syl.  Ay,  truly ;  I  did  once  spend,  or  rather  misspend,  a 
whole  week  there  in  the  dog-days.  You  looked  out  opposite 
on  a  scorching  brick  front  of  six  stories,  with  a  south  aspect 
—  studded  with  I  know  not  how  many  badges  of  Assurance 
from  fire,  and  not  without  need  —  for  the  shop  windows 
below  seemed  all  ablaze  with  geranium-colored  silks,  at  that 
time  the  mode,  and  jiamme  d'enfer.  The  left-hand  shop, 
next  door,  was  all  red,  likewise,  with  regiments  of  lobsters,  in 
their  new  uniforms  ;  beyond  that,  a  terrible  flaring  Red  Lion, 
newly  done  up  with  paint.  At  the  next  door,  a  vender  of  red 
morocco  pocketbooks  —  my  eyes  were  in  a  scarlet-fever,  the 
whole  time  of  my  sojourning. 

Civ.  A  true  picture,  I  confess.  We  are,  indeed,  a  little 
strong  in  the  warm  tints ;  but  they  give  the  more  zest  to  your 
suburban  verdure.  All  the  way  down  overnight,  I  thought 
only  of  the  two  tall  elm-trees  beside  your  gate,  and  which 
have  always  been  to  my  city  optics  as  refreshing  as  a  pair  of 
green  spectacles.     Surely  of  all  spots  I  have  seen,  Camber- 


SUMMER. 


175 


well  is  the  greenest,  as  the  poet  says,  that  ever  laid  hold  of 
Memory's  waist. 

Syl.  It  hath  been  greener  aforetime.  But  I  pray  you  sit 
down  and  fall  to.  Shall  I  help  you  to  some  of  this  relishing 
salted  fish  ? 

Civ.  By  your  good  leave,  Sylvanus,  I  will  first  draw  up 
these  blinds.  My  bedroom,  you  know,  looks  out  only  to  the 
road,  and  I  am  longing  to  help  my  eyes  to  a  little  of  what,  as 
a  citizen,  I  may  truly  call  the  green  fat  of  nature. 

Syl.  Nay,  Civis  —  I  pray  you  let  the  blinds  alone.  The 
rolls  are  getting  cold.  This  ham  is  excellently  well  cured, 
and  the  eggs  are  new  laid.      Come,  take  a  seat. 

Civ.  I  beseech  your  patience  for  one  moment.  There  ! 
—  the  blind  is  up.  What  a  brave  flood  of  sunshine  —  and 
what  a  glorious  blue  sky !  What  a  rare  dainty  day  to  roam 
abroad  in,  dallying  with  the  Dryads !  —  But  what  do  I  be- 
hold !  O  my  Sylvanus,  the  Dryads  are  stripped  of  their 
green  kirtles  —  stark  naked  !  The  trees  are  all  bare,  God 
help  me !  as  bare  as  the  "  otamies  in  Surgeons'  Hall  !  " 

Syl.     You  would   take  no  forewarning  —  I  bade  you  not 


BABES   IN    THE   WOOD. 


pull  up  the  blind.  It  was  my  intent  to  have  broken  the  truth 
to  you,  after  you  had  made  a  full  meal ;  but  now  you  must  to 
breakfast  with  what  appetite  you  may  ! 


176 


SUMMER. 


Civ.  As  I  hope  to  see  Paradise  —  tnere  is  not  a  green 
bough  between  this  and  Peckham ! 

Syl.  No,  truly,  not  a  twig !  I  would  not  advise  any  for- 
lorn Babes  to  die  in  our  woods,  for  Cock  Robin  would  be 
painfully  perplexed  to  provide  them  with  a  pall.  Alas  !  were 
a  Butterfly  to  be  born  in  our  bowers,  there  is  not  a  leaf  to 
swaddle  it  in. 

Civ.  Miserable  man  that  I  am,  to  have  come  down  so 
late,  or  rather  that  winter  should  have  arrived  thus  early ! 
Ungenial  climate  !  untimely  Boreas. 


BRITISH 
LEAF 


A   NEW    LOCUST. 


Syl.  Blame  not  Boreas,  nor  winter  neither.  Boiling  heat 
had  more  part  than  freezing  point  in  this  havoc.  To  think 
that  summer  now-a-days  should  go  by  steam  ! 

Civ.  You  speak  in  Sphynxian  riddles  !  O  my  Sylvanus, 
tell  me  in  plain  English  prose  what  has  become  of  the  green 
emeralds  of  the  forest  ? 


SUMMER. 


177 


Syl.  Destroyed  in  one  day  by  a  swarm  of  locusts.  Not 
the  locusts  of  Scripture,  such  as  were  eaten  by  St.  John  in  the 
wilderness,  but  a  new  species.  I  caught  one  in  the  fact,  on 
the  very  elm-tree  you  wot  of,  and  which  it  had  stripped  to  the 
bone,  saving  one  bough. 

Civ.  I  am  glad,  with  all  my  heart,  that  you  have  him 
secure,  for  I  delight  to  gaze  on  the  wonders  of  nature,  even 
of  the  destructive  kinds.  You  shall  show  me  your  new 
locust.  Of  course  you  thrusted  a  pin  through  the  body, 
and  fixed  it  down  to  a  cork  after  the  manner  of  the  ento- 
mologist <. 

Syl.  No,  truly  ;  for  it  knocked  me  down  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  pugilists,  and  so  made  its  escape. 

Civ.  How  !  be  they  so  huge,  then  ?  To  my  fancy,  they 
seem  more  like  flying  dragons  than  locusts. 

Syl.  It  is  true,  notwithstanding.  Some  of  them  which  I 
have  seen  measured  nearly  six  feet  in  length;  others  that 
were  younger,  from  three  to  five.  One  of  these  last,  the 
Minimi,  or  small  fry,  I  likewise  took  captive,  though  not  with- 
out some  shrewd  kicking  and  biting,  and  striking  with  its 
fore-paws. 

Civ.  The  smallest  of  animals  will  do  so  to  escape  from 
bondage.  I  take  for  granted  you  knocked  him  on  the  head, 
for  the  sake  of  peace. 

Syl.  No,  indeed.  I  had  not  the  heart ;  the  visage  was 
so  strangely  human,  —  ape  or  monkey  could  not  look  more 
like  a  man  in  the  face.  And  then  it  cried  and  whined  for  all 
the  world  like  a  mere  boy. 

Civ.  It  would  have  been  a  kind  of  petty  murder  to  slay 
him.  I  do  not  think  I  could  commit  Monkeycide  myself. 
They  look,  as  Lady  Macbeth  says,  so  like  our  Fathers.  To 
kill  an  ape  would  plant  the  whole  stings  of  an  apiary  in  my 
conscience.     I  pray  you  go  on  with  the  description. 

Syl.  Willingly,  and  according  to  the  system  of  the  great 
Linnreus.  Antennae  or  horns  he  had  none,  thus  differing  from 
the  common  locust,  but  in  lieu  thereof,  sundry  bunches  and 
tufts  of  coarse  red  hair  ;  eyes  brown,  and  tending  inwards 
towards  the  proboscis  or  snout.  Two  fore-legs  or  arms  ter- 
minating in  ten  palpi  or  feelers,  and  the  same  number  of  toes 
or  claws  on  the  hinder  feet.  On  grasping  truncus,  or  the 
trunk,  it  was  cased  in  a  loose  skin  resembling  corduroy,  the 
8*  l 


178  SUMMER. 

same  being  most  curiously  furnished  with  sundry  bags  or 
pouches,  into  which,  like  the  provident  pelican,  it  stuffed  the 
forage  it  had  collected  from  the  trees. 

Civ.  With  submission,  Sylvanus,  to  your  better  judgment, 
I  should  have  taken  this  same  Locust,  from  your  description, 
to  have  been  actually  a  mere  human  boy. 

Syl.  Between  ourselves,  he  was  —  though  of  what  nation 
or  parentage  I  know  not.  To  use  his  own  heathenish  jargon, 
he  was  doing  "  a  morning  fake  on  the  picking  lay  for  a  cove 
wot  add  a  tea-crib  in  the  monkery." 

Civ.  A  strange  gibberish,  but  I  do  remember  that  Peter 
the  Wild  Boy  was  wont  to  discourse  in  the  same  uncouth 
fashion.  Poor  savage  of  the  woods  !  I  do  feel  for  his  pitiful 
estate  ;  but  what  could  move  him  to  pluck  off  all  the  green 
emeralds  of  the  Forest  ? 

Syl.  To  make  sham  Hyson  and  mock  Souchong.  Even 
in  June  you  would  have  deemed  it  was  November,  there  were 
so  many  ragged  Guys  collecting  gunpowder.  O  Civis,  thou 
hast  no  notion  of  the  tea-trade  that  hath  been  carried  on  in 
these  parts.  Many  times  I  have  believed  myself  to  be  dwell- 
ing in  Canton,  and  that  my  name  was  Hum.  Thrice  I  have, 
caught  myself  marvelling  at  the  huge  feet  of  Mrs.  S.,  and 
have  groped  behind  my  nape  for  the  national  pigtail. 

Civ.  Sylvanus,  spare  me.  I  have  but  one  green  week 
in  the  year,  and  here  it  is  all  blotted  out  of  the  calendar.  I 
pray  you  do  not  jest  with  me.  What  hath  become  of  the 
leaves  of  yon  sycamore  ? 

Syl.  Plucked  by  a  Blackamoor,  who  preferred  it  to  the 
climbing  of  chimneys. 

Civ.  And  yonder  Ashes,  which  I  could  mourn  for  in  ap- 
propriate sackcloth  ? 

Syl.  Stripped  by  the  select  young  gentlemen  of  Seneca- 
house,  who  left  the  politer  branches  of  education  for  the  pur- 
pose. Scholars,  you  know,  will  play  truant  gratis,  and  these 
had  the  opportunity  of  performing  it  at  twopence  the  hour, 
One  Saturday  they  did  turn  their  half-holiday  into  a  whole  one. 
and  were  found  by  the  geographical  master  picking  Chinese 
Pekoe  and  Padre  on  the  sloe-bushes  and  willows  of  Peckham 
Rye. 

Civ.  0  my  Sylvanus,  such  then  is  the  cause  of  the  des- 
olation I  survey.     To  think  that  I  may  have  myself  helped 


SUMMER. 


179 


to  swallow  the  verdure  that  I  should  now  be  sitting  under. 
That  the  green  Drudical  leaves,  instead  of  clothing  the 
Dryads,  should  be  assisting  in  the  sweeping  of  my  own  Kid- 
derminster carpets  ! 

Syl.  Verily  so  it  is.  The  great  god  Pan  is  dead,  and 
Pot  will  reign  in  his  stead. 

Civ.  Such  a  misfortune  was  never  before  read  in  a  tea- 
cup !  O  my  Sylvanus,  what  is  to  become  of  patriotism  or 
love  of  the  country,  when  the  best  part  of  the  country  is  turned 
to  grouts  ? 

Syl.  I  have  heard  by  way  of  rumor  that  Mistress  Sha- 
kerly  of  our  village  attributes  her  palsy  to  a  dash  of  aspen 
in  her  British  Congo ;  indeed  there  be  shrewd  doubts  abroad 
whether  the  great  Projector  hath  been  at  all  reforming  by 


A    GREAT    PROJECTOR. 


turning  over  a  new  leaf.  Mr.  Fairday,  the  notable  chemist, 
hath  sworn  solemnly  on  his  affidavit,  that  the  tea  is  stronglv 
emetical,  having  always  acted  upon  his  stomach  as  tea  and 
turn  out. 

Civ.      Of  a  verity  it  ought  to  be  tested  by  the  doctors. 

Syl.  They  have  tested  it,  and  tasted  it  to  boot.  Dr. 
Budd,  the  Pennyroyal      rofessor  of  Botany    hath  ranked  it 


180 


SUMMER. 


with  the  rankest  of  poisons,  after  experimenting  its  destructive 
virtues  on  select  tea-parties  of  his  relations  and  friends. 

Civ.  And  I  doubt  not  Dr.  Rudd,  of  the  same  Royal  Col- 
lege, hath  added  a  confirmation  to  this  christening. 

Syl.  You  know  the  proverb.  Doctors'  opinions  do  not  keep 
step,  or  match  together,  better  than  their  horses.  Dr.  Rudd 
hath  given  this  beverage  with  cream  of  tartar  and  sugar  of 
lead  to  consumptives,  and  hath  satisfied  himself  morally  and 
physically  that  phthisic  does  not  begin  with  tea. 


SLOE  POISON. 


Civ.  Dr.  Rudd  is  an  ass !  O  my  Sylvanus,  I  am  sick 
at  heart !  Only  two  days  since  I  did  purchase  a  delectable 
book  of  poems,  called  "Foliage,"  purposely  to  read  under 
your  trees,  but  how  can  I  enjoy  it,  when  the  very  foliage  of 
nature  is,  as  the  booksellers  say,  out  of  print !  "  Bare  ruined 
quires  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sung." 

Syl.     My  friend,  take   comfort.     This  tea-tray  will  not  be 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MOURNING.  181 

brought  up  another  year,  for  the  counterfeit  herb  hath  all 
been  seized,  and  condemned  to  be  burnt  in  the  yard  of 
the  Excise. 

Civ.  I  am  glad  on 't,  for  it  will  be,  as  the  French  say,  "  a 
feu  dejoie  ;"  and  verily  all  the  little  singing-birds  ought  to 
collect  on  the  chimney-pots  to  chant  a  Tea  Deum.  In  the 
mean  time  I  must  borrow  Job's  patience  under  my  boils,  though 
they  be  of  the  size  of  kettles,  and  have  boiled  away  my  sum- 
mer at  a  gallop.  Possibly  you  may  have  fewer  locusts  an- 
other season ;  but  by  way  of  precaution,  the  next  time  I  come 
down  by  the  stage  I  shall  attend  to  an  old  stage  direction  in 
Macbeth,  namely,  "  Enter  the  army  with  their  green  boughs 
in  their  hands." 


THE   HOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

A   FARCE. 


Scene.  —  A  street  at  the  west  end  of  London.  Enter  Squire  Hamper  and 
his  Lady,  personages  rather  of  the  rustic  order,  recently  come  up  from 
the  family  seat  in  Hampshire. 

Squire.  Well,  ma'am,  I  hope  you  nave  had  shopping 
enough. 

Lady.  Almost.  Only  one  more  —  0,  there  it  is,  over  the 
way! 

Squire.  What,  the  one  yonder  ?  Why,  it 's  all  raven 
gray,  picked  out  with  black ;  and  a  hatchment  over  the  door. 
What  can  you  want  at  an  undertaker's  ? 

Lady.  An  undertaker's  !  —  no  such  thing.  Look  at  the 
goods  in  the  window. 

Squire.  O,  shawls  and  gowns  !  A  foreign  haberdasher's, 
I  suppose,  and  that 's  the  French  for  it.     Mason  de  Dool  ? 

Lady.  Hush  !  Don't  expose  your  ignorance  in  the  street  ; 
everybody  knows  French  at  the  West  End.  It  means  the 
House  of  Mourning. 

Squire.    What,  the  one  mentioned  in  the  Bible  ? 


182  THE  HOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

Lady.  No —  no  —  dear  me  ! — no.  I  tell  you  it 's  a  mourn- 
ing establishment. 

Squire.  O,  I  understand.  The  master's  dead,  and  the 
shop  's  put  into  black  for  him.  The  last  new-fangled  mode,  I 
suppose,  instead  of  the  old-fashioned  one  of  putting  up  the 
shutters. 

Lady.    Nonsense  !     It 's  a  shop  to  buy  black  things  at. 

Squire.  Humph  !  And  pray,  ma'am,  what  do  you  want 
with  black  things  !  There 's  nobody  dead  belonging  to  us,  as 
I  know  of,  nor  like  to  be. 

Lady.  Well,  and  what  then  ?  Is  there  any  harm  in  just 
looking  at  their  things  —  for  I  'm  not  going  to  buy.  What  did 
we  come  up  to  town  for  ? 

Squire.  Why,  for  a  bit  of  a  holiday,  and  to  see  the  sights, 
to  be  sure. 

Lady.  Well,  and  that  black  shop  is  one  of  them,  at  least 
for  a  female.  It 's  quite  a  new  thing,  they  say,  just  come  over 
from  Paris  ;  and  I  want  to  go  in  and  pretend  to  cheapen  some- 
thing, just  out  of  curiosity. 

Squire.  Yes,  and  pay  for  peeping.  For  in  course  you 
must  buy  after  tumbling  over  their  whole  stock. 

Lady.  By  no  means  —  or  only  some  trifle  —  a  penn'orth 
of  black  pins  —  or  the  like.  If  I  did  purchase  a  black  gown, 
it  is  always  useful  to  have  by  one. 

Squire.  Yes  —  or  a  widow's  cap.  Perhaps,  ma'am,  you  're 
in  hopes  ? 

Lady.  La,  Jacob,  don't  be  foolish !  Many  ladies  wear 
black  for  economy,  as  well  as  for  relations.  But  I  only  want 
to  inspect  —  for  they  do  say,1  what  with  foreign  tastiness,  and 
our  own  modern  refinements,  there 's  great  improvements  in 
mourning. 

Squire.  Humph  —  and  I  suppose  a  new-fashioned  way  of 
crying. 

Lady.  New  fiddlesticks  !  It 's  very  well  known  the  Paris- 
ians always  did  outdo  us  in  dress ;  and  in  course  go  into 
black  more  elegantly  than  we  do. 

Squire.  No  doubt,  ma'am  —  and  fret  in  a  vastly  superior 
manner. 

Lady.  No,  no.  I  don't  say  that.  Grief's  grief  all  the 
world  over.  But  as  regards  costume,  the  French  certainly 
do  have  a  style  that  entitles  them  to  set  the  iashion  to  us  in 
such  matters. 


THE  HOUSE   OF   MOURXDsG.  183 

Squire.    Can't  say.     I  'm  no  judge. 

Lady.  In  course  not.  They  're  women's  matters,  and 
should  be  left  to  our  sex. 

Squire.  Well,  well,  come  along  then !  But  stop.  Ask 
your  pardon,  sir  (to  a  passenger),  would  you  oblige  me  with 
the  English  of  that  Greek  or  Latin,  yonder,  under  the  hatch- 
ment ? 

Stranger.  O,  certainly  —  "  Mors  Janua  Yitae  "  —  let  me 
see  —  it  means,  Jane,  between  life  and  death. 

Squire.  Thankee,  sir,  thankee.  I  '11  do  as  much  for  you 
when  you  come  into  our  parts.  Poor  Jane  !  So  it  may  come, 
mayhap,  to  be  a  real  house  of  mourning  after  all ! 

The  Squire  and  his  lady  cross  over  the  road  and  enter  the  shop,  where  ebony 
chairs  are  placed  for  them  by  a  person  in  a  full  suit  of  sables,  very  like 
Hamlet,  minus  the  cloak  and  the  hat  and  feathers.  A  young  man,  also 
in  black,  speaks  across  the  counter  with  the  solemn  air  and  tone  of  a  cler- 
gyman at  a  funeral. 

May  I  have  the  melancholy  pleasure  of  serving  you,  mad- 
am ? 

Lady.    I  wish,  sir,  to  look  at  some  mourning. 

Shoprn.     Certainly,  by  all  means.     A  relict,  I  presume  ? 

Lady.  Yes  ;  a  widow,  sir.  A  poor  friend  of  mine,  who 
has  lost  her  husband. 

Shopm.  Exactly  so  —  for  a  deceased  partner.  How  deep 
would  you  choose  to  go,  ma'am  ?  Do  you  wish  to  be  very 
poignant  ? 

Lady.  Why,  I  suppose  crape  and  bombazine,  unless  they  're 
gone  out  of  fashion.  But  you  had  better  show  me  some  dif- 
ferent sorts. 

Shopm.  Certainly,  by  all  means.  We  have  a  very  exten- 
sive assortment,  whether  for  family,  Court,  or  complimentary 
mourning,  including  the  last  novelties  from  the  Continent. 

Lady.    Yes,  I  should  like  to  see  them. 

Shopm.  Certainly.  Here  is  one,  ma'am,  just  imported  — 
a  Widow's  Silk  —  watered,  as  you  perceive,  to  match  the  sen- 
timent. It  is  called  the  "  Inconsolable  ; "  and  is  very  much  in 
vogue  in  Paris  for  matrimonial  bereavements. 

Squire.  Looks  rather  flimsy,  though.  Not  likely  to  last 
long  —  eh,  sir  ? 

Shopm.  A  little  slight,  sir  —  rather  a  delicate  texture. 
But  mourning  ought  not  to  last  forever,  sir. 


284  THE  HOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

Squire.    No,  it  seldom  does  ;  especially  the  violent  sorts. 

Lady,  La !  Jacob,  do  hold  your  tongue ;  what  do  you 
know  about  fashionable  affliction  ?  But  never  mind  him,  sir  ; 
it's  only  his  way. 

Shopm.  Certainly  —  by  all  means.  As  to  mourning, 
ma'am,  there  has  been  a  great  deal,  a  very  great  deal  indeed, 
this  season,  and  several  new  fabrics  have  been  introduced,  to 
meet  the  demand  for  fashionable  tribulation. 

Lady.    And  all  in  the  French  style  ? 

Shopm.  Certainly  —  of  course,  ma'am.  They  excel  in  the 
funebre.  Here,  for  instance,  is  an  article  for  the  deeply  af- 
flicted. A  black  crape,  expressly  adapted  to  the  profound 
style  of  mourning,  —  makes  up  very  sombre  and  interesting. 

Lady.    I  dare  say  it  does,  sir. 

Shopm.    Would  you  allow  me,  ma'am,  to  cut  off  a  dress  ? 

Squire.    You  had  better  cut  me  off  first. 

Shopm.  Certainly,  sir  -r-  by  all  means.  Or,  if  you  would 
prefer  a  velvet  —  ma'am  — 

Lady.    Is  it  proper,  sir,  to  mourn  in  velvet  ? 

Shop?n.  O,  quite  !  —  certainly.  Just  coming  in.  Now, 
here  is  a  very  rich  one  —  real  Genoa  —  and  a  splendid  black. 
We  call  it  the  Luxury  of  Woe. 

Lady.    Very  expensive,  of  course  ? 

Shopm.  Only  eighteen  shillings  a  yard,  and  a  superb  qual- 
ity ;  in  short,  fit  for  the  handsomest  style  of  domestic  calam- 
ity. 

Squire.  Whereby,  I  suppose,  sorrow  gets  more  superfine 
as  it  goes  upwards  in  life  ? 

Shopm.  Certainly  —  yes,  sir  —  by  all  means  —  at  least,  a 
finer  texture.  The  mourning  of  poor  people  is  very  coarse  — 
very  —  quite  different  from  that  of  persons  of  quality.  Can- 
vas to  Crape,  sir ! 

Lady.  To  be  sure  it  is !  And  as  to  the  change  of  dress,  sir, 
I  suppose  you  have  a  great  variety  of  half-mourning  ? 

Shopm.  O,  infinite,  —  the  largest  stock  in  town  !  Full, 
and  half,  and  quarter,  and  half-quarter  mourning,  shaded  off, 
if  I  may  say  so,  like  an  India-ink  drawing,  from  a  grief  pro- 
nonce  to  the  slightest  nuance  of  regret. 

Lady.  Then,  sir,  please  to  let  me  see  some  Half  Mourn- 
ing. 

Shopm.  Certainly.  But  the  gentleman  opposite  superin- 
tends the  Intermediate  Sorrow  Department. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   MOURNING.  185 

Squire.  "What,  the  young  fellow  yonder  in  pepper-and- 
salt? 

Shopm.  Yes,  sir ;  in  the  suit  of  gray.  (Calls  across.)  Mr. 
Da  we,  show  the  Neutral  Tints  ! 

[The  Squire  and  his  Lady  cross  the  shop  and  take  seats  vis-a-vis;  Mr.  Datce, 
who  affects  the  pensive  rather  than  the  solemn, 

Shopm.    You  wish  to  inspect  some  Half  Mourning,  madam  ? 

Lady.    Yes  —  the  newest  patterns. 

Shopm.  Precisely  —  in  the  second  stage  of  distress.  As 
such,  ma'am,  allow  me  to  recommend  this  satin  —  intended 
for  grief  when  it  has  subsided,  —  alleviated  you  see,  ma'am, 
from  a  dead  black  to  a  dull  lead  color ! 

Squire.  As  a  black  horse  alleviates  into  a  gray  one,  after 
he  's  clipped ! 

Shopm.  Exactly  so,  sir.  A  Parisian  novelty,  ma'am.  It 's 
called  "  Settled  Grief,"  and  is  very  much  worn  by  ladies  of 
a  certain  age,  who  do  not  intend  to  embrace  Hymen  a  second 
time. 

Squire.    Old  women,  mayhap,  about  seventy. 

Shopm.  Exactly  so,  sir,  —  or  thereabouts.  Not  but  what 
some  ladies,  ma'am,  set  in  for  sorrow  much  earlier  ;  —  indeed, 
in  the  prime  of  life :  and  for  such  cases,  it 's  very  durable 
wear. 

Lady.    Yes  ;  it  feels  very  stout. 

Shopm.  But  perhaps,  madam,  that  is  too  lugubre.  Now 
here  is  another  —  not  exactly  black,  but  shot  with  a  warmish 
tint,  to  suit  a  woe  moderated  by  time.  We  have  sold  several 
pieces  of  it.  That  little  nuance  de  rose  in  it  —  the  French 
call  it,  a  Gleam  of  Comfort  —  is  very  attractive. 

Squire.  No  doubt ;  and  would  be  still  more  taking,  if  so 
be  it  was  violet  color  at  once,  like  the  mourning  of  the  Chi- 
nese. 

Shopm.  Yes,  sir.  I  believe  that  is  the  fashionable  color 
at  Pekin.  Now  here,  ma'am,  is  a  sweet  pretty  article,  quite 
new.  A  morning  dress  for  the  Funereal  Promenade.  The 
French  ladies  go  in  them  to  Pere  la  Chaise. 

Squire.    What 's  that  —  a  chaise  and  pair  ? 

Shopm.  Excuse  me  ;  no,  sir.  By  your  leave  it 's  a  scene 
of  rural  interment,  near  Paris.  A  black  cypress  sprig,  you 
see,  ma'am,  on  a  stone-color  ground,  harmonizes  beautifully 


186  THE  HOUSE   OF  MOURNING. 

with  the  monuments  and  epitaphs.  We  sold  two  this  very 
morning  —  one  to  Norwood,  and  one  to  Kensal  Green.  We 
consider  it  the  happiest  pattern  of  the  season. 

Squire.    Yes  ;  some  people  are  very  happy  in  it,  no  doubt. 

Shopm.  No  doubt,  sir.  There 's  a  charm  in  melancholy, 
sir.  I  'm  fond  of  the  pensive  myself.  But  possibly,  madam, 
you  would  prefer  something  still  more  in  the  transition  state, 
as  we  call  it,  from  grave  to  gay.  In  that  ease,  I  would  rec- 
ommend this  lavender  Ducape,  with  only  just  a  souvenir  of 
sorrow  in  it  —  the  slightest  tinge  of  mourning,  to  distinguish 
it  from  the  garb  of  pleasure.  Permit  me  to  put  aside  a  dress 
for  you. 

Lady.  Why,  no  —  not  at  present.  I  am  not  going  into 
mourning  myself ;  but  a  friend,  who  has  just  been  left  with  a 
large  family  — 

Shopm.  O,  I  understand  ;  and  you  desire  to  see  an  appro- 
priate style  of  costume  for  the  juvenile  branches,  when  sorrow 
their  young  days  has  shaded.  Of  course,  a  milder  degree  of 
mourning  than  for  adults.  Black  would  be  precocious. 
This,  ma'am,  for  instance  —  a  dark  pattern  on  gray  ;  an  inter- 
esting dress,  ma'am,  for  a  little  girl,  just  initiated  in  the  vale 
of  tears. 

Squire.    Poor  thing  ! 

Shopm.  Precisely  so,  sir,  —  only  eighteen  pence  a  yard, 
ma'am  —  and  warranted  to  wash.  Possibly  you  would  require 
the  whole  piece  ? 

Lady.  Why  no  —  I  must  first  consult  the  mamma.  And 
that  reminds  me  to  look  at  some  widow's  caps. 

Shopm.  Very  good,  ma'am.  The  Coiffure  department  is 
backwards  —  if  you  would  have  the  goodness  to  step  that 
way. 

The  lady,  followed  by  the  squire,  walks  into  a  room  at  the  bach  of  the  shop ; 
the  walls  are  hung  with  black,  and  on  each  of  the  three  sides  is  a  look- 
ing-glass, in  a  black  frame,  multiplying  infinitely  the  refections  of  the 
widows'  caps,  displayed  on  stands  on  the  central  table.  A  show-woman  in 
deep  mourning  is  in  attendance. 

Show.    Your  melancholy  pleasure,  ma'am  ? 
Lady.    Widow's  caps. 
Squire.  Humph  !  —  that 's  plump  anyhow  ! 
Show.    This  is  the  newest  style,  ma'am  — 
Lady.    Bless  me  !   for  a  widow  !  —  Is  n't  it  rather  —  you 
know,  rather  a  little  — 


THE   HOUSE   OF   MOURNING.  137 

Squire.  Rather  frisky  in  its  frilligigs  ! 
Shoiu.  Not  for  the  mode,  ma'am.  Affliction  is  very  much 
modernized,  and  admits  more  gout  than  formerly.  Some 
ladies  indeed  for  then*  morning  grief  wear  rather  a  plainer 
cap,  —  but  for  evening  sorrow,  this  is  not  at  all  too  ornee. 
French  taste  has  introduced  very  considerable  alleviations  — 
for  example,  the  sympathizer  — 

Squire.    Where  is  he  ? 

Show.  This  muslin  ruche,  ma'am,  instead  of  the  plain 
band. 

Lady.    Yes  ;  a  very  great  improvement,  certainly. 

Show.    Would  you  like  to  try  it,  ma'am  ? 

Lady.  No,  not  at  present.  I  am  only  inquiring  for  a 
friend  —     Pray,  what  are  those  ? 

Show.  Worked  handkerchiefs,  ma'am.  Here  is  a  lovely 
pattern  —  all  done  by  hand,  —  an  exquisite  piece  of  work  — 

Squire.    Better  than  a  noisy  one  ! 

Show.  Here  is  another,  ma'am,  —  the  last  novelty.  The 
Larmoyante  —  with  a  fringe  of  artificial  tears,  you  perceive, 
in  mock  pearl.     A  sweet  pretty  idea,  ma'am. 

Squire.    But  rather  scrubby,  I  should  think,  for  the  eyes. 

Shoiv.  O  dear,  no,  sir  !  —  if  you  mean  wiping.  The  wet 
style  of  grief  is  quite  gone  out  —  quite  ! 

Squire.  O,  and  a  dry  cry  is  the  genteel  thing.  But  come, 
ma'am,  come,  or  we  shall  be  too  late  for  the  other  Exhibitions. 

The  Squire  and  his  Lady  leave  the  shop ;  on  getting  into  the  street,  he  turns 
round,  and  takes  a  long,  last  look  at  the  premises. 

Squire.  Humph !  And  so  that 's  a  Mason  de  Dool !  Well, 
if  it 's  all  the  same  to  you,  ma'am,  I  'd  rather  die  in  the  coun- 
try, and  be  universally  lamented,  after  the  old  fashion  —  for, 
as  to  London,  what  with  the  new  French  modes  of  mourning, 
and  the  "  Try  Warren  "  style  of  blacking  the  premises,  it  do 
seem  to  me  that  before  long,  all  sorrow  will  be  sham  Abram, 
and  the  House  of  Mourning  a  regular  Farce  ! 


BID    ME    DISCOURSE. 


THE    ELLAND    MEETING 


Benedict.  "  Here 's  a  dish  I  love  not:  I  cannot  endure  my  lady  Tongue." 

Much  ado  about  Nothing. 

"  Do  you  hear  the  rumor  ?     They  say  the  women  are  in  insurrection,  and 
mean  to  make  a ."  —  The  Woman's  Prize. 

"  Enter  Kumor  painted  full  of  tongues."  —  K.  Henry  IV. 

"  In  a  word,  the  Tartars  came  on."  —  Robinson  Crusoe. 


In  my  M.  S.  days,  —  and  like  many  bookish  bachelors  of 
the  same  standing,  I  was  a  member  of  a  private  literary  soci- 
ety, with  a  name  whereof  I  only  remember  that  it  began  in 
Greek  and  ended  in  English.  This  reunion  was  framed  on 
the  usual  plan  of  such  institutions  ;  except  that  the  gallantry 


THE   ELL  AND   MEETING.  159 

of  the  founders  had  ruled  that  half  the  members  might  be  of 
the  female  sex,  and  accordingly  amongst  our  "  intellectual 
legs,"  we  numbered  a  fair  proportion  of  the  hose  that  are 
metaphorically  blue.  We  assembled  weekly  at  the  house  of 
some  Fellow  that  had  a  house,  where  an  original  essay  was 
first  read  by  the  author,  and  then  submitted  to  discussion, 
much  as  a  school-boy  first  spins  his  top  and  then  lays  it  down 
to  be  pegged  at  by  the  rest  of  the  company.  The  subjects, 
like  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's  picture,  generally  left  a  great  deal 
to  be  said  on  both  sides,  nor  were  there  wanting  choppers,  not 
to  say  hackers  of  logic,  to  avail  themselves  of  the  circum- 
stance ;  and  as  we  possessed,  amongst  others,  a  brace  of  Irish 
barristers,  a  Quaker,  a  dissenter  to  everything,  an  author  who 
spoke  volumes,  a  geologist  who  could  find  sermons  in  stones, 
and  one  old  man  eloquent,  surnamed  for  his  discursiveness  the 
rambler,  we  had  usually  what  Bubb  Doddington  has  called  "  a 
multiplicity  of  talk." 

It  is  worthy  of  record,  however,  and  especially  as  running 
counter  to  the  received  opinion  of  the  loquacity  of  the  sex, 
that  no  female  member  was  ever  known  to  deliver  or  attempt 
to  deliver  a  sentence  on  the  subject  in  debate.  Now  and  then, 
perchance,  a  short  clearing  cough  would  flatter  us  that  we 
were  going  to  benefit  by  feminine  taste  and  delicacy  of  senti- 
ment ;  but  the  expectation  invariably  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
we  might  as  well  have  expected  an  opinion  to  transpire  from 
the  wax-work  of  Mrs.  Salmon  or  Madame  Tussaud.  I  have 
since  learned,  it  is  true,  from  one  of  the  maturest  of  the  she 
fellows,  that  she  did  once  actually  contemplate  a  few  words  to 
the  matter  in  hand,  but  that  at  the  very  first  stitch  she  lost 
her  needle,  by  which  she  meant  her  tongue,  and  then  in  seek- 
ing for  her  needle  she  lost  the  thread  of  her  ideas,  and  so  gave 
up  the  task,  she  said,  as  not  being  "  woman's  work." 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  a  set  discourse  in  company  is 
altogether  incompatible  with  the  innate  diffidence  and  shrink- 
ing timidity  of  the  sex.  Milton,  indeed,  makes  this  silent 
modesty  a  peculiar  characteristic  of  perfect  womanhood,  as 
evinced  in  the  demeanor  of  "  accomplished  Eve."  To  mark 
it  the  more  strongly,  he  liberally  endows  our  general  mother 
with  fluency  of  speech  in  her  colloquies  with  Adam,  so  as 
even  to  "  forget  all  time  "  hi  conversing  with  him  ;  whereas  in 
the  presence  of  a  third  party,  —  the  Angel  Visitor  for  in- 


190 


THE  ELLAND  MEETING. 


stance,  whom  she  less  bids  than  makes  welcome  to  her  dessert, 
—  she  seldom  opens  her  lips.  Nor  is  this  an  overstrained 
picture  :  the  same  matronly,  or  spinsterly  reserve  having  sur- 
vived the  Fall,  and  the  confusion  of  Babel,  and  the  more 
womanly  of  her  daughters,  however  good  at  what  the  Scotch 
call  "  a  two-handed  crack,"  in  a  comer  or  behind  a  curtain  will 
still  evince  a  paradisaical  hesitation,  amounting  to  an  impedi- 
ment, in  addressing  the  most  limited  audience.  In  fact  up  to 
a  comparatively  recent  period,  the  Miltonic  theory  was  practi- 
cally acknowledged  and  acted  upon,  at  the  theatre,  the  female 
characters  of  the  Drama  being  always  represented  by  proxies 
of  men  or  boys. 

Even  in  the  present  age,  the  debut  of  an  actress,  having  so 
many  "  lengths  "  to  deliver  in  public,  is  reckoned  one  of  the 
severest  ordeals  that  womanly  modesty  can  undergo.  The 
celebrated  Mrs.  Siddons  described  it  as  a  "fiery  trial,"  —  a 


A    FIRST    APPEARANCE   ON    ANY    STAGE. 


"terrible  moment,"  —  and  any  play-goer  who  lias  witnessed 
the  first  appearance  of  a  young  lady  on  any  stage  will  easily 
give  credit  for  its  agonies,    The  late  Mrs. once  described 


THE   ELL  AND   MEETING.  191 

to  me  very  vividly  her  sufferings  on  a  like  awful  occasion  :  — 
"  the  voice  that  would  not  come,  and  the  tremor  that  would 
not  go  —  the  frame  inclining  to  sink,  and  the  head  determined 
to  swim,  —  the  distinct  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  the 
body,  with  the  indistinct  impression  of  the  absence  of  the 
mind.  Thank  Heaven,"  she  concluded,  "that  I  had  not  to 
'  extort '  the  people,  as  Mawworm  calls  it,  out  of  my  own 
head  —  that  I  had  not  to  furnish  the  speech,  as  well  as  the 
courage  to  utter  it ;  for  I  protest  that  I  could  not  have  put 
together  a  sentence  of  my  own,  for  the  saving  of  my  life  ! " 

With  such  experience  and  impressions  of  the  inaptitude  of 
the  sex  for  popular  orators,  my  profound  amazement  may  be 
conceived  when  on  lately  glancing  over  the  columns  of  a 
morning  journal,  my  eye  was  arrested  by  the  extraordinary 
heading  of  a 

public  Ulleetfnfl  of  Women  against  tlje  13oor  3Latos. 

In  the  first  tumult  of  my  agitation,  I  pitched  my  Morning 
Herald,  where  Parson  Adams  threw  his  ^Eschylus,  namely, 
behind  the  fire  ;  but  the  very  next  instant,  with  a  vague  notion 
that  it  would  Now  up,  I  snatched  it  out  again.  I  am  not  cer- 
tain, —  being  in  weak  health  and  spirits,  and  more  than  com- 
monly nervous,  — that  I  did  not  cry  murder  !  —  My  first  sen- 
sation, indeed  was  a  physical  one,  a  complication  of  acute- 
ness  of  earache,  with  the  numbness  of  lockjaw:  —  and  then 
came  the  moral  consciousness  of  some  stunning  domestic  ca- 
lamity, that  seemed  dilating  every  instant  from  a  family  into  a 
national  visitation.  In  fact,  I  recollect  nothing  at  all  approach- 
ing the  first  bodily  shock,  except  once,  on  the  explosion  of 
some  neighboring  powder-mills,  when  a  few  highly  condensed 
moments  of  intense  silence  were  followed  by  the  sudden  burst 
of  an  imaginary  peal,  from  a  bell  assembly  of  all  the  steeples 
in  England  ;  nor  can  I  recall  any  experience  equal  to  my 
mental  horror  afterwards,  unless  a  certain  delirious  dream  of 
being  run  away  with  by  four  gray  mares,  in  the  York  mail ! 

It  was  a  considerable  time  before  I  could  muster  resolution 
to  peruse  the  speeches,  the  tone  of  which  my  prophetic  soul 
forestalled  as  less  resembling  the  notes  of  the  feminine  dulci- 
mer, or  piano,  or  hurdy-gurdy,  than  those  of  the  masculine 
brazen  trumpet.  And  should  this  seem  a  harsh  anticipation, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  I  had  been  prepared  by  no  pre- 


192  THE   ELLAND   MEETING. 

vious  rehearsals  for  such  a  burst  of  female  oratory.  If  I  had 
met  with  a  paragraph  hinting  that  certain  females  had  been 
observed  in  rough  weather,  mysteriously  haunting  the  sea- 
beach,  say  of  Scarborough  for  instance,  and  gesticulating,  as 
if  on  speaking  terms  with  the  billows,  my  classical  reminiscen- 
ces might  have  recalled  the  system  by  which  Demosthenes 
braced  himself  against  the  murmurs  and  roarings  of  a  popular 
assembly  —  and  I  might  have  comprehended  that  the  hoarse 
waves  were  resorted  to  as  oratorical  breakers-in.  But  there 
was  no  such  warning  ;  and  consequently  the  report  came  upon 
me  with  all  the  startling  suddenness  and  crash  of  a  seam- 
stress's splitting  a  piece  of  stout  calico.  There  was  something 
astounding  in  the  bare  idea  of  a  female  voice,  so  commonly 
requiring  a  high  pressure  to  induce  it  to  sing  in  private  cir- 
cles, volunteering  in  public  assembly  to  spout !  A  maiden 
speech  even  in  a  man  is  apt  to  excite  a  maidenly  fever  of  ner- 
vousness ;  and  many  a  rough  and  tough  old  sea-commander, 
who  would  have  returned  a  broadside  without  flinching,  has 
been  converted  physiognomically  into  an  admiral  of  the  blue, 
white,  and  red,  and  has  found  a  bung  in  his  speaking-trumpet, 
on  having  to  reply  to  a  volley  of  thanks.  The  very  subject, 
so  steeped  in  party  spirit,  —  for  alas  !  it  is  undeniable  that  the 
woes  and  wants  of  the  poor  have  become  a  party  question  — 
the  very  subject  so  steeped  in  party  spirit,  always  a  raw  un- 
rectified  article,  and  at  the  present  time  distilled  particularly 
above  proof,  seemed  peculiarly  unfit  for  womanly  lips.  In 
short  I  concluded  prima  facie,  that  a  female  who  could  come 
forward,  without  a  rehearsal  all  along  shore,  or  practise  on  pro- 
vincial boards,  as  a  public  orator,  and  on  political  topics,  must 
needs  be  what  some  old.  writer  calls  "  a  mankind  woman,"  — 
and  akin  to  the  Hannah  Snells  and  Mary  Ann  Talbots,  that 
have  heretofore  enlisted  in  our  army  and  navy.  How  far  I 
was  justified  in  these  forebodings  a  few  extracts  will  serve  to 
show. 

"Mrs.  Susan  Fearnley  having  been  voted  into  the  chair, 
opened  the  business  of  the  meeting  by  exhorting  the  females 
present  to  take  the  question  of  a  repeal  of  this  bill  into  their 
own  hands,  and  not  to  rely  on  the  exertions  of  others,  least  of 
all  on  the  House  of  Commons,  but  at  once  to  assert  the  dignity 
and  equality  of  the  sex,  and  as  the  chief  magistrate  of  the 
realm  was  now  a  femal     to  approach  her  respectfully,  and  lay 


THE  ELL  AND   MEETING.  193 

their  grievances  before  her ;  and  should  their  application  be 
unsuccessful,  she  would  then  call  upon  them  to  resist  the  en- 
forcement of  this  cruel  law,  even  unto  the  death  —  (loud 
cheers).  Mrs.  Grasby  said,  the  new  poor  law  was  not  con- 
cocted by  men,  but  by  fiends  in  the  shape  of  men  ;  it  had 
been  hatched  and  bred  in  the  bottomless  pit  —  (cheers).  She 
could  wish  the  authors  of  this  law  to 'be  sent  to  St.  Helena, 
where  Napoleon  was  sent  to,  and  remain  till  their  bodies  were 
wet  with  the  dew  of  heaven,  and  their  hair  as  long  as  eagles' 
feathers.  She  would  oppose  that  law,  and  she  called  upon 
her  sisters  now  before  her  to  follow  her  example  —  (tremen- 
dous cheering).  Mrs.  Hanson  alluded  to  the  personal  disfig- 
uration of  the  hair  cutting  off,  which  excited  much  disappro- 
bation ;  this  was  followed  by  a  description  of  the  grogram 
gowns  of  sholdy  and  paste  in  which  the  inmates  of  the  bastiles 
are  attired."  The  address  said,  "  We  approach  your  Majesty, 
and  pray  that  you  will  exercise  your  prerogative,  and  remove 
from  your  councils  those  heartless  men  who  are  attempting  to 
place  us  under  this  horrible  law.  We  beg  leave  to  remind 
your  Majesty  that  allegiance  is  due  only  ichen  protection  is 
extended  to  the  subject. 

"  Signed  on  behalf  of  the  meeting. 

"  Susan   Fearnley,  Chairwoman" 

And  the  report  said,  "  Thanks  were  then  voted  with  loud 
cheering  to  Earl  Stanhope,  Mr.  J.  Fielden,  to  the  Chair- 
woman, Mrs.  Grasby,  and  Mrs.  Hanson,  for  their  eloquent 
speeches,  and  to  the  other  females  who  had  got  up  and  man- 
aged the  meeting.  Three  groans  were  then  given  for  the 
Whigs  and  all  who  support  the  poor-law  bill." 

I  have  purposely  omitted  an  astounding  declaration  of  the 
wives  and  mothers  in  the  address,  about  their  daughters, 
hoping  that  it  is  only  founded  on  local  scandal ;  —  and  now,  if 
such  another  merry  meeting  may  be  wished,  what  right- 
thinking  Benedict  or  Bachelor  but  will  join  with  me  and  Dog- 
berry in  a  "  God  prohibit  it  ?  "  When  the  Steam  Washing 
Company  was  first  established,  there  was  a  loud  and  shrill 
outcry  against  what  were  facetiously  called  the  cock  Laun- 
dresses, who  were  roundly  accused  of  a  shameful  invasion  of 
woman's  provinces,  and  favored  with  many  sneering  recom- 
mendations to  wear  mob  caps,  and  go  in  stuff  petticoats  and 
9  M 


194  THE  ELLAND   MEETING. 

pattens.  But  if  Hercules  with  the  distaff  be  hut  a  sorry 
spectacle,  surely  Omphale  with  the  club  cuts  scarcely  a  better 
figure.  The  he-creatures  may  now  fairly  retort,  that  it  is 
as  consistent  with  manhood  to  go  out  washing,  as  for  woman- 
hood to  do  chairing  at  a  public  meeting.  If  it  be  out  of  char- 
acter for  a  fellow  in  a  coat  and  continuations  to  be  hrsting  and 
seconding  linen,  it  is  equally  anomalous  for  a  creature  in  pet- 
ticoats to  be  firsting  and  seconding  political  resolutions  ;  and 
for  my  own  part,  as  a  matter  of  taste,  I  would  rather  see  a 
Gentleman  blowing  up  a  copper  flue,  than  a  Lady  blowing  up 
the  foulness  of  the  Poor  Law. 

In  the  mean  time,  there  is  reason  to  apprehend  that  the  in- 
fection is  gaining  ground  ;  the  last  post  having  brought  me  the 
following  letter  on  the  subject  from  a  country  correspondent. 

To  the  Editor  of  Hood's  Own,  fyc,  fyc. 

Honored  Sir, 

I  don't  know  whether  you  be  married,  or  likely  to  be  in 
the  way  of  courting,  but  whether  or  not,  most  likely  you  have 
a  mother,  or  sister,  or  aunt,  or  she-cousin,  or  some  such  con- 
nection of  the  female  sex.  As  such  will  be  interested  in  the 
following,  as  a  matter  that  concerns  us  all,  and  particularly 
men  like  myself  of  a  quiet  turn  and  domestic  habits. 

By  station  I  am  only  a  plain  family  man  in  the  farming  line, 
but  to  my  misfortune,  as  turns  out,  I  am  locally  situated  in  the 
county  of  York,  and  what's  worse,  a  great  deal  too  nigh 
Elland,  and  where  the  women  got  up  the  spouting  meeting 
again  the  poor  laws  that  made  such  a  noise  in  the  country. 
I  'm  not  a  political  character  myself,  and  as  such  have  nothing 
to  object  for  or  against  public  meetings  and  speechifyings  so 
long  as  it 's  confined  to  the  male  kind,  but  with  as  good 
nerves  as  most  men  that  can  ride  to  hounds,  nothing  since  in- 
cendiarism has  given  them  such  a  shock  as  the  breaking  out 
of  female  elocution,  for  in  course  like  the  rick  burnings  and 
the  influenzy  or  any  other  new  kick,  it  will  go  through  the 
whole  country.  My  own  house  has  catched  for  one,  and  I 
will  inform  you  the  symptoms  it  begins  with.  The  Elland 
Meeting,  you  see,  was  on  a  Tuesday,  and  between  you  and  me 
and  the  post,  it's  my  belief  that  my  mistress  was  present, 
though  she  do  say  it  were  a  visit  to  her  mother.  Otherwise 
I  cannot  think  what  could  put  her  teeth  into  her  head  on  the 


THE   ELL  AND   MEETING.  195 

Wednesday  for  the  first  time,  by  which  I  mean  to  say  her 
spelling  for  a  new  set,  if  it  was  not  to  assist  her  parts  of 
speech.  Agricultural  distress  has  made  gold  much  more 
scarce  among  farmers  than  formerly,  and  I  don't  mind  saying 
it 's  more  than  I  could  afford  comfortably  at  most  times  to  lay 
out  twenty  guineas  in  ivory  for  the  sake  of  a  correct  pronoun- 
cing. However,  I  made  no  remark,  except  to  myself,  namely, 
that  they  was  n't  wanted  to  keep  her  tongue  between.  For 
my  own  part  I  have  always  found  she  could  speak  plain 
enough,  and  particularly  when  I  could  n't — by  reason  of  dining 
at  the  ordinary  on  market-days  and  the  like.  Anyway  she 
always  contrived  to  speak  her  mind,  but  ever  since  the  meet- 
ing she  seems  to  have  had  more  mind  to  speak ;  for  instance. 
a  long  confabbing  with  every  beggar  at  the  gate,  instead  of 
sending  off  as  formerly  with  nothing  but  a  flea  in  their  ear,  as 
the  saying  is.  In  short,  many  more  things  struck  me  as  sus- 
picious, and  amongst  the  rest,  her  making  an  errand  again  to 
Elland  for  a  piece  of  stuff  and  a  little  fustian  —  in  pint  of  fact, 
that  visit  seemed  to  set  her  more  agog  than  before,  so  a-  to 
start  a  new  notion  of  going  up  to  London  about  Betsy's  im- 
pediment, and  says  she,  I  can  kill  two  bird-,  and  get  my  new 
teeth  at  the  same  time.  If  that  don't  look  oratorical,  thinks  I 
to  myself,  then  I  don't  know  what  does.  However,  last  Sun- 
day was  a  week  lets  the  whole  cat  out  of  the  bag,  as  the  say- 
ing is,  as  near  as  may  be  as  follows.  It  was  just  after  dinner, 
and  only  our  two  selves  quite  domestically,  Betsy  being  gone 
to  grandmother's,  and  me  going  to  take  my  first  glass  of  wine, 
and  so  as  usual,  I  nodded  to  my  good  woman,  with  a  '  here  's 
to  ye  Kate  ! '  according  to  custom  —  when  lo  !  and  behold,  up 
jumps  madam  regularly  on  her  legs,  opening  like  a  hound 
that  has  just  hit  the  scent,  and  begins  a  return  thanks,  and  de- 
livery of  sentiments  and  so  forth,  before  I  knew  where  I  was. 
Where  she  got  the  knack  of  it  without  practice,  Lord  knows, 
for  it 's  more  than  ever  I  was  competent  to,  as  for  instance, 
when  I've  been  publicly  drunk  at  our  Coursing  Club,  and 
the  like.  However,  she  was  five  good  minutes  long  afore  she 
broke  down,  or  recollected  herself,  I  don't  know  which,  and 
I  'm  free  to  say,  left  me  so  dumbfounded  in  a  mizmaze  that  I 
hadn't  presence  of  mind  to  argue  the  point.  However, 'be- 
fore going  to  bed,  I  thought  best  to  open  gently  on  the  subject, 
but,  as  might  be  expected,  the  more  we  differed,  the  more  we 


196 


THE   ELLAND   MEETING. 


debated,  which  in  course  was  just  what  madam  wanted, 
till  at  long  and  at  last,  seeing  that  I  was  only  being  prac- 
tised upon,  like  Betsy's  piano,  I  thought  proper  to  adjourn 
myself  off  to  roost,  but  from  the  nature  of  my  dreams, 
have  reason  to  think  she  continued  the  argument  in  her 
sleep. 

And  now,  honored  sir,  what  is  to  be  done  to  stop  such  a  na- 
tional calamity  as  hangs  over  us  like  a  thunder-cloud,  unless  it 's 
put  down  by  the  powerful  voice  of  the  public  press  ?  Not  wish- 
ing to  connect  myself  with  politics,  which  all  newspapers  are 
more  or  less  inclined  to,  and  your  periodical  being  mentioned 
to  me  by  our  doctor  as  an  impartial  vehicle,  am  induced  to  the 
liberty  of  this  communication,  to  be  made  use  of  at  your  dis- 
cretion. My  own  sentiments  are  very  strong  on  the  subject, 
but  more  than  I  can  express  by  penmanship.  We  have  a 
saying  here  in  the  north  about  a  crowing  hen,  that  seems  quite 
pat  to  the  case.     And  if  you  keep  live-stock,  what  can  cut  a 


AUDIENCE    FIT,    THOUGH    FEW. 


foolisher  figure  than  a  great  gawksome  hen,  leaving  her  eggs 
to  addle  in  the  nest,  or  her  chicks,  if  so  be,  to  the  care  of 
the  kite,  to  go  a  spurring  and  sparring  about  the  yard  with  her 
hackle  up,  and  trying  to  crow  like  a  cock  of  the  walk  ?     So 


NEW   HARMONY.  !97 

it  is  with  the  mistress  of  a  house  leaving  her  helpless  babes, 
or,  what  is  worse,  her  grown-up  girls,  to  their  own  cares  and 
looking  after,  to  go  ranting  and  itineranting  all  over  the  coun- 
try, henpecking  at  the  heads  of  the  nation,  and  cackling  up  on 
tables,  or  in  wagons,  or  on  the  hustings.  It's  my  opinion 
nature  intended  the  whole  sex  to  be  more  backward  in  com- 
ing forward,  let  alone  tattle  at  tea-drinkings,  or  gossiping  at 
christenings,  or  laying-in,  but  to  be  totally  unaccustomed  to 
public  speaking.  As  to  state  affairs,  some  do  think  there  's 
more  talking  than  doing  already,  and  hi  course  it  will  be  no 
cure  for  it,  to  match  the  House  of  Lords  with  a  House  of 
Ladies.  In  the  mean  time,  I  don't  mean  to  come  down  the 
money  for  the  new  teeth  or  the  impediment,  and  hoping  that 
the  speeches  at  Elland  may  prove  the  last  dying  speeches  of 
female  elocution, 

I  remain.  Honored  Sir, 

Your  very  humble  Servant  to  command, 

Richard  Payne  Pilgrim. 


i\E¥   HARMONY. 


'  I  '11  have  five  hundred  voices  of  that  sound." 

Cokiolaxus. 


A  few  days  since,  while  passing  along  the  Strand,  near 
Exeter  Hall,  my  ear  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  burst  of 
sound  from  the  interior  of  that  building,  — a  noise  which,  ac- 
cording to  a  bystander,  proceeded  from  the  "  calling  out  of  the 
vocal  Militia." 

This  explanation  rather  exciting  than  allaying  my  curiositv, 
induced  me  to  make  further  inquiries  into  the  matter ;  when 
it  appeared  that  the  Educational  Committee  had  built  a  plan, 
on  a  German  foundation,  for  the  instruction  of  the  middle  and 
lower  orders  in  Music,  and  that  a  Mr.  Hullah  was  then  en- 
gaged in  drilling  one  of  the  classes  in  singing. 

As  an  advocate  for  the  innocent  amusement  of  the  lower 


198 


NEW  HARMONY 


classes,  and  the  people  in  general,  the  news  gave  me  no  small 
pleasure;  and  even  the  distant  chorus  gratified  my  ear  more 
than  a  critical  organ  ought  to  have  been  pleased  by  the  im- 


HULI.AH-BALOO. 


perfect  blending  of  a  number  of  unpractised  voices  of  very 
various  qualities,  and  as  yet  not  quite  so  tunable  as  the 
hounds  of  Theseus  in  giving  tongue.  Indeed,  one  or  two 
voices  seemed  also  to  be  "  out  of  their  time  "  in  the  very  be- 
ginning of  their  apprenticeship.  But  to  a  patriotic  mind, 
there  was  a  moral  sweetness  in  the  music  that  fully  atoned  for 
any  vocal  irregularities,  and  would  have  reconciled  me  even  to 
an  orchestra  of  Dutch  Nightingales.  To  explain  this  feeling, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  no  Administration  but  one  which 
intended  to  be  popular  and  paternal  would  ever  think  of  thus 
encouraging  the  exercise  of  the  Vox  Populi ;  and  especially 
of  teaching  the  million  to  lift  up  their  voices  in  concert,  for 
want  of  which,  and  through  discordances  amongst  themselves, 


NEW   HAKMOXY. 


109 


their  political  choruses  have  hitherto  been  so  ineffective.  It 
was  evident,  therefore,  that  our  Rulers  seriously  intended,  not 
merely  to  imbue  the  people  with  musical  knowledge,  but  also 
to  give  them  good  cause  to  sing,  —  and  of  course  hoped  to 
lend  their  own  ministerial  ears  to  songs  and  ballads  very  differ- 
ent from  the  satirical  chansons  that  are  chanted  on  the  other 
side  of  the  English  Channel.  In  short,  we  are  all  to  be  as 
merry  and  as  tuneful  as  Larks,  and  to  enjoy  a  Political  and 
Musical  Millennium ! 

This  idea  so  transported  me,  that,  like  a  grateful  canary,  I 
incontinently  burst  into  a  full-throated  song,  and  with  such 
thrills  and  flourishes  as  recurred  to  me,  commenced  a  Bravura, 
which  in  a  few  minutes  might  have  attracted  an  audience  more 
numerous  than  select,  if  my  performance  had  not  been  checked 
in  its  very  preludium  by  an  occurrence  peculiarly  character- 
istic of  a  London  street.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  abrupt  putting 
to  me  of  a  question,  which  some  pert  cockney  of  the  Poultry 
first  addressed  to  the  unfledged,  — 


'"DOES   YOUR  MOTHER  KXOW   YOU  '  RE   OUT?" 


200 


A  LETTER   FROM  A   SETTLER. 


VAN   DEMON'S   LAND. 


A  LETTEE  FEOM  A  SETTLES  FOE  LIFE 


IN    VAN    DIE  MEN'S    LAND 


To  Mary,  at  No.  45  Mount  Street,  Grosvenor  Square. 
Dear  Mart,  — 

Littel  did  I  Think  wen  I  advertisd  in  the  Tims  for  annother 
Plaice  of  taking  wan  in  Vandemin's  land.  But  so  it  his  and 
hear  I  am  aiming  Kangerooses  and  Savidges  and  other  For- 
riners.  But  government  offering  to  Yung  vVimmin  to  Find 
them  in  Vittles  and  Drink  and  Close  and  Husbands  was  turms 
not  to  be  sneazed  at,  so  I  rit  to  the  Outlandish  Seckertary  and 
he  was  so  Kind  as  Grant. 

Wen  this  cums  to  Hand  go  to  Number  22  Pimpernel 
Plaice  And  mind  and  go  betwixt  Six  and  sevin  For  your  own 


A   LETTER   FROM  A   SETTLER.  201 

Sake  cos  then  the  fammilys  Having  Diner  give  my  kind  love 
to  betty  Housmad  and  Say  I  am  safe  of  my  Jurney  to  Forrin 
parts  And  I  hope  master  as  never  Mist  the  wine  and  brought 
Them  into  trubble  on  My  accounts.  But  I  did  not  Like  to 
leav  for  Ever  And  Ever  without  treeting  my  Frends  and 
feller  servents  and  Drinking  to  all  their  fairwells.  In  my 
Flury  wen  the  Bell  rung  I  forgot  to  take  My  own  Key  out  of 
missis  Tekaddy  but  I  hope  sum  wan  had  the  thought  And  it 
is  in  Good  hands  but  shall  Be  obleeged  to  no.  Lickwise  thro 
my  Loness  of  Sperrits  my  lox  of  Hares  quite  went  out  of  My 
Hed  as  was  prommist  to  Be  giv  to  Gorge  and  Willum  and  the 
too  Futmen  at  the  too  Next  dores  But  I  hop  and  Trust  betty 
pacifid  them  with  lox  of  Her  hone  as  I  begd  to  Be  dun  wen  I 
rit  Her  from  dover.  O  Mary  wen  I  furst  see  the  dover  Wite 
clifts  out  of  site  wat  with  squemishnes  and  Felings  I  all  most 
repentid  givin  Ingland  warning  And  had  douts  if  I  was  goin 
to  better  my  self.  But  the  stewerd  was  verrv  kind  tho  I 
could  make  Him  no  returns  xcept  by  Dustin  the  ship  for  Him 
And  helpin  to  wash  up  his  dishes.  Their  was  50  moor  Young 
Wimmin  of  us  and  By  way  of  passing  tim  We  agread  to  tell 
our  Histris  of  our  selves  taken  by  Turns  But  they  all  turned 
out  Alick  we  had  All  left  on  account  of  Testacious  masters 
And  crustacious  Mississis  and  becos  the  Wurks  was  to  much 
For  our  Strenths  but  betwixt  yew  and  Me  the  reel  truths  was 
beeing  Flirted  with  and  unprommist  by  Perfidus  yung  men. 
With  sich  exampils  befour  there  Minds  I  wunder  sum  of 
them  was  imprudent  enuff  to  Lissen  to  the  Salers  whom  are 
coverd  with  Pitch  but  minus  for  Not  stiking  to  there  Wurds. 
has  for  Me  the  Mate  chose  to  be  verrv  Partickler  wan  nite 
Setting  on  a  Skane  of  Rops  but  I  giv  Him  is  Anser  and  lucky 
I  did  for  Am  infourmd  he  as  Got  too  more  Marred  Wives  in 
a  state  of  Biggamy  thank  Goodness  wan  can  marry  in  new 
Wurlds  without  mates.  Since  I  have  bean  in  My  pressent 
Sitiation  I  have  had  between  too  aud  three  offers  for  My 
Hands  and  expex  them  Evry  day  to  go  to  fistcufs  about  Me 
this  is  sum  thing  lick  treeting  Wimmin  as  Wimmin  ought  to 
be  treetid  Nub  of  your  sarsy  Buchers  and  Backers  as  brakes 
there  Prommissis  the  sam  as  Pi  Crust  wen  its  maid  Lite  and 
shivvry  And  then  laffs  in  Your  face  and  say  they  can  hav 
anny  Gal  they  lick  round  the  Square.  I  dont  menshun  nams 
but  Eddard  as  drives  the  Fancy  bred  will  no  Wat  I  mean. 
9* 


202  A  LETTER  FROM  A  SETTLER. 

As  soon  as  ever  the  Botes  rode  to  Land  I  dont  agrivate  the 
Truth  to  say  their  was  haf  a  duzzin  Bows  apeace  to  Hand  us 
out  to  shoar  and  sum  go  so  Far  as  say  they  was  offered  to  thro 
Specking  Trumpits  afore  they  left  the  Shipside.  Be  that  as 
it  May  or  may  Not  I  am  tould  We  maid  a  Yerry  pritty 
site  all  Wauking  too  and  too  in  our  bridle  wite  Gownds  with 
the  Union  Jacks  afore  Us  to  pay  humbel  Respex  to  kernel 
Arther  who  hchaived  verry  Gentlemanny  and  Complementid 
us  on  our  Hansom  apcarances  and  Purlitely  sed  he  Wisht  us 
All  in  the  United  States.  The  Salers  was  so  gallaunt  as  giv 
three  chears  we  1  We  left  there  Ship  and  sed  if  so  be  they 
had  not  Bean  without  Canons  they  Wood  have  salutid  us  all 
round.  Servents  mite  live  Long  enuff  in  Lonnon  without 
Being  sich  persons  of  Distinkshun.  For  my  hone  Part,  cum- 
ming  amung  strangers  and  Pig  in  Pokes,  prudence  Dicktatid 
not  to  be  askt  out  At  the  verry  furst  cumming  in  howsumever 
All  is  setteld  And  the  match  is  aproved  off  by  Kernel  Arther 
and  the  Brightish  government,  who  as  agread  to  giv  me  away, 
thems  wat  I  call  Honners  as  we  used  to  Say  at  wist.  Wan 
thing  in  My  favers  was  my  voice  and  my  noing  the  song  of 
the  Plane  Gould  Ring  witch  the  Van  Demons  had  never  Herd 
afore  I  wood  recummend  all  as  meens  cumming  to  Bring  as 
menny  of  the  fashingable  Songs  and  Ballets  as  they  Can  — 
and  to  get  sum  nolliges  of  music  as  fortnately  for  me  I  was 
Abel  to  by  meens  of  praxtising  on  Missis  Piney  Forty  wen 
the  fammily  Was  at  ramsgit.  of  Coarse  you  and  betty  Will 
xpect  me  to  indulge  in  Pearsonallitis  about  my  intendid  to  tell 
Yew  wat  he  is  lick  he  is  Not  at  All  lick  Eddard  as  driv  the 
Fancy  bred  and  Noboddy  else  yew  No.  I  wood  send  yew 
His  picter  Dun  by  himself  only  its  no  more  lick  Him  then 
Chork  is  to  Cheas.  In  spit  of  the  Short  Tim  for  Luv  to  take 
Roots  I  am  convinst  he  is  verry  Passionet  of  coarse  As  to  his 
temper  I  cant  Speek  As  yet  as  I  hav  not  Tride  it.  O  mary 
littel  did  I  think  too  Munth  ago  of  sending  yew  Brid  Cake 
and  Weddin  favers  wen  I  say  this  I  am  only  Figgering  in 
speach  for  Yew  must  Not  look  for  sich  Tilings  from  this  Part 
of  the  Wurld  I  dont  mean  this  by  Way  of  discurridgement 
Wat  I  lneen  to  say  is  this  If  so  be  Yung  Wimmin  prefers  a 
state  of  Silly  Bessy  they  Had  better  remane  ware  they  was 
Born  but  as  far  as  Reel  down  rite  Coarting  and  no  nonsens  is 
concarnd  This  is  the  Plaice  for  my  Munny  a  Gal  has  only  to 


A  LETTER  FROM   A   SETTLER.  203 

cum  out  hear  And  theirs  duzzens  will  jump  at  her  like  Cox  at 
Gusberris.  it  will  Be  a  reel  kindnes  to  say  as  Much  to  Hannah 
at  48  and  Hester  Brown  and  Peggy  Oldfield  and  partickler  poor 
Charlotte  they  needent  Fear  about  being  Plane  for  Yew  may 
tell  Them  in  this  land  Faces  dont  make  stumblin  Blox  and  if 
the  Hole  cargo  was  as  uggly  As  sin  Lots  wood  git  marrid. 
Deer  Mary  if  so  Be  you  feel  disposd  to  cum  Out  of  Your 
self  I  will  aford  evry  Falicity  towards  your  hapiness.  I  dont 
want  to  hurt  your  Felines  but  since  the  Cotchman  as  giv  yew 
up  I  dont  think  Yew  have  annother  String  to  your  Bo  to  say 
nothink  of  Not  being  so  young  As  yew  was  Ten  yeer  ago  and 


KING-DOVES. 


faces  "Will  ware  ou  as  well  as  scrubbin  crushes,  theirs  a  verry 
nice  yung  man  is  quit  a  Willin  to  offer  to  Yew  providid  you 
cum  the  verry  Next  vessle  for  He  has  Maid  up  his  mind  not  to 
Wait  beyond  the  Kupid  and  Sikey.  as  the  ship  is  on  the  Pint  of 
Saling  I  cant  rite  Moor  at  pressent  xcept  for  them  has  as  shily 
shalying  sweat  harts  to  Thretten  with  cumming  to  Vandemins 
And  witch  will  soon  sho  wether  its  Cubbard  love  or  true  Love 
I  hav  seen  Enuff  of  Bows  droping  in  at  supertime  and  falling 
out  the  next  morning  after  borrowin  Wans  wags.  Wen  yew 
see  anny  Frends  giv  my  Distant  love  to  Them  and  say  My 
being  Gone  to  annother  wurld  dont  impear  my  Memmeiy  but 
I  often  Thinks  of  Number  22  and  the  two  Next  Dores.  yew 
may  Disclose  my  matterymonial  Prospex  to  betty  as  we  hav 
always  had  a  Deal  of  Confidens.  And  I  remane  with  the 
Gratest  asurance  Your  affexionat  Frend 

Susan  Gale  —  as  his  to  be  Simco. 


204  AN  IRISH  REBELLION. 

P.  S.  Deer  mary  my  Furst  Match  beeing  broke  off  short 
hope  Yew  will  not  take  it  111  but  I  have  Marrid  the  yung 
Man  as  was  to  Hav  waited  for  Yew  but  As  yew  hav  never 
seen  one  Annother  trusts  yew  will  Not  take  Him  to  hart  or 
abrade  by  Return  of  Postesses  he  has  behaved  Perfickly 
honnerable  And  has  got  a  verry  United  frend  of  his  Hone  to 
be  attacht  to  Yew  in  lew  of  Him.     adew. 


AN   IRISH   REBELLION. 

It  is  impossible  to  divine  for  what  reason  all  mention  of  the 
outbreak  alluded  to  in  the  following  letter  has  been  suppressed 
in  the  daily  papers  of  either  kingdom  ;  but  whatever  may 
have  been  the  purpose  of  the  journalists,  the  Rebellion  de- 
scribed is.  in  the  phrase  of  the  Times,  "  A  Great  Fact."  —  Ed. 

"  To  Miss  ******   Shrewsbury,  Shropshire. 

"  My  dear  Jane,  — 

"  This  cums  hopin  your  well  and  cumfortable,  which  is 
more  then  I  am  or  ever  hope  to  be  in  this  distracted  country. 
Lord  forgive  me  for  repinin.  But  I  wish  I  had  married  any 
wheres  except  to  the  Emerald  Jem.  My  nerves  is  literally 
shook  to  peaces,  for  won  mite  as  well  xpect  to  sleep  in  Sow 
Ameriky  without  Rockin  by  erthquakes,  as  to  live  in  Ireland 
without  Agitashuns.  Its  always  in  Convulshuns  like  a  teething 
Babby ! 

"  Sich  mobbins  &  publick  meetins,  &  violent  spcechifyins 
witch  encourages  murderin  English,  &  marehins  &  counter 
marchins,  &  bonfires  without  Guys  to  them  —  &  blowiri 
Horns,  &  Irish  thretnin  letters  from  men  as  cant  rite  to  men 
as  cant  read.  Sich  squablings  between  Repeelers  &  No  Re- 
peelers,  &  Romans  &  Protestants,  and  exclusiv  dealin,  not 
like  Mrs.  Mullins  at  wist  as  used  to  deal  all  the  Honners  to 
herself,  but  not  byin  nuthin  from  noboddy  except  your  own 
perswashun.  Sich  searchin  for  Harms  &  many  factering  Pikes 
and  Repeel  Wardins  &  callin,  hard  names,  big  Bcggers,  & 


AN  IRISH  REBELLION.  205 

niity  big  Hers,  and  a  surplus  of  rough  uns,  and  a  lion  in  blood 
Langwage  &  religun,  —  and  as  they  've  bilt  a  grate  Hall  for 
Irish  Coneilliashun  there  will  be  tighten  of  course.  In  witch 
case  Lord  help  us,  for  when  it  comes  to  Battle  royal,  an  Irish 
Justis  always  throws  up  his  commission  &  his  Hat  along 
with  it  rayther  then  keep  the  peace  !  O  Jane  never  never 
never  marry  into  Ireland.     Singleness  is  better  than  Dublin. 

"  Thank  goodness  I  'me  not  a  Saxon  but  from  Shropsheer, 
or  my  days  would  n't  be  long  in  the  Land.  Wat  the  Saxons 
has  dun  to  displease  the  Irish  xcept  desertin  from  Boney  at 
the  Battle  of  Lipsick  is  more  then  I  know,  but  they  are  as 
bitter  as  Bark  agin  the  hole  race.  This  very  blessid  mornin 
there  was  poor  Patrick  Maguire  the  tailor  was  shillallid  amost 
into  nine  parts  of  a  man  for  only  havin  a  peace  of  cloth  in  his 
winder  marked  Saxony  superfine.  Its  shockin  to  stir  up  sich 
nashunal  anvmositties  between  cristians.  For  my  own  part 
altho  I  am  a  English  woman  I  dont  hate  Ireland  and  indeed 
was  once  quite  attached  to  the  country  being  stuck  fast  up  to 
my  middle  in  a  Bog. 

"  Then  theres  party  cullers.  Sum  of  them  runnin  as  mad 
at  Orange  as  a  bull  at  scarlet,  because  King  William  of 
Orange  was  a  Dutchman  and  wanted  to  introdeuce  Hollands 
instid  of  Wisk^.  And  so  they  must  upset  poor  Widder  Grady 
&  her  baskit  into  the  gutter  for  sellin  Oranges  instied  of 
Greens  &  others  agin  cant  abide  Green  —  so  you  cant  even 
suit  your  complexion  xcept  by  goin  in  Newtral  Tint  like  a 
Quaker.  But  that  cums  of  leaving  my  own  country  for  an 
Island  surrounded  as  I  may  say  with  hot  Warter  and  witch 
sum  mornin  I  may  get  up  and  find  repeeled  off  to  the  Conti- 
nent and  anext  to  France.  Or  wats  wus  simpathisin  off  to 
Ameriky.  But  before  sich  a  repeel  I  hope  I  shall  be  Repeeld 
to  my  grave  !  As  may  be  I  may  be  eithir  pitch  forkt  to  deth 
by  a  Protistant  rebel  or  shot  by  a  Poppish  one  with  a  barrel- 
ful  of  slugs.  But  who  can  expect  behaving  as  armless  as 
Doves  as  Doctor  Watts  says  in  a  country  where  a  Pigeon  House 
means  a  place  full  of  sogers. 

"  As  to  my  Husband  insted  of  bein  a  cumfit  in  my  allarms 
lies  quite  the  Reverse,  wat  with  his  repeel  pollytics  &  his 
Irish  blud  which  is  so  easy  set  up  he  never  goes  out  to  spend 
an  evenin  &  meet  his  trends  but  I  look  to  see  him  cum  home 
with  a  black  eye  or  a  pugnashus  Nose,  —  if  he  ant  sent  sud- 


206  AN  IRISH  REBELLION. 

den  to  heaven  with  a  holy  Head.  Witch  is  rather  alarmin 
for  if  thats  his  Friendship  wat  will  his  love  be  if  it  ever  cums 
to  Blows.  Praps  its  sumthing  in  the  soil  for  they  do  say  you 
may  no  a  real  Irish  later  by  its  havin  black  eyes.  How 
sumever  tighten  &  shillallyin  is  meat  &  drink  to  the  Natives. 
But  its  his  pollyticks  as  scars  me  out  of  my  sensis.  O  if  you 
you  could  only  hear  him  talk  of  goin  to  the  Skaffold  as  he  will 
sum  day  Avithout  his  Hod  —  &  crackin  every  Crown  in  the 
Wurld  for  the  cause  of  Irish  poverty  he  says  is  soverins  rain- 
ing over  it,  in  short  sich  speeches  as  must  be  Ketchd  up,  for 
State  Persecutions,  if  luckly  there  wasnt  so  menny  all  talk- 
ing in  the  same  stile,  for  Strong  languige  is  one  of  their  "Weak- 
nesses. And  witch  is  why  tney  praps  want  to  have  a  Parli- 
ment  of  their  own,  for  as  to  the  Hous  of  Communs  they  say 
theres  nothin  Irish  about  it  xcept  a  Speaker  as  dont  speak. 
And  so  I  supose  they  will  have  a  Parliment  in  Collige  Green, 
or  else  the  Fifteen  Akers  witch  is  a  better  Place  to  pair  off 
in.  For  you  know  theyre  dredful  Duelists  &  always  so  reddy 
for  challengin,  if  you  only  look  hard  at  a  deaf  Irishman  he 
considders  it  a  callin  out.  Not  but  wat  theyre  a  generus 
Pepel  otherways  as  well  as  in  fighting  and  would  give  away 
their  last  Rap  in  the  wurld  wether  in  munny  or  a  stick,  & 
whether  a  stick  with  a  stick  or  with  a  pike.  And  I  must  say 
very  gallant  to  the  sects,  even  poor  Thady  when  he 's  over- 
cum  by  his  Licker  and  sees  dubble,  Oh  Nelly,  says  he,  its  a 
trate  entirely  it  is  to  see  two  of  your  swate  purty  Faces  insted 
of  one.  Witch  is  all  very  well  in  the  way  of  complementin 
but  whats  it  all  Wuth  when  it  cums  to  Pollyticks  if  he  wants 
to  repuddiate  me  like  an  Amerikan  Det,  and  repeel  all  Unions 
between  the  English  &  the  Irish.  But  a  Marrige  is  a  Mar- 
rige,  &  nayther  him  nor  Mister  O  Daniel  O  Connel  with  Mr. 
Ray  and  Mr.  Steel  into  the  Bargin  can  get  quit  of  three  Axes 
&  the  Halter.  Witch  reminds  me  of  the  prejudis  agin  Eng- 
lish males,  I  mean  to  say  the  Crole  Coaches.  Wat  I  suspects 
they  wants  is  busses  to  jine  on  to  their  Blunders.  For  theres 
shockin  reports  about  a  Genral  risin  with  the  lark  some  mornin 
in  the  disturbed  distrix.  I  supose  the  Peep  o'day  Boys,  & 
sum  plot  gettin  up.  There  certainly  has  been  seizers  of  arms, 
&  sum  talk  of  Rebecca  cummin  over  to  giv  lessons  in  levellin 
Pikes,  &  they  do  say  theres  an  unkommun  stickin  of  Pigs  by 
way  of  practisin  for  civil  War.     Likewise  Rock  letters,  &  as 


AN  IRISH  REBELLION.  207 

to  land  you  mite  a-5  well  take  Leasis  of  the  Goodwin  Sands. 
There  is  poor  Patrick  Dolan,  but  I  must  call  him  Pat  in  futer 
for  they  've  burnt  his  rick.  Well  he 's  as  good  as  killd,  for 
he  's  a  prescribed  man.  And  all  for  wat  ?  Why  for  havin  a 
cow  as  would  n't  toss  up  with  the  Procter  for  the  Tithes.  To 
be  shure  as  Thady  says  there's  a  Commisshun  appinted  to 
enquire  how  Irishmen  hold  their  own,  But  wat 's  the  use  of 
a  Commisshun  to  inquire  out  wat  we  all  know  beforehand 
namely  that  if  so  be  every  farmer  in  Ireland  gives  up  his 
farm,  the  only  Tennant  left  will  be  the  Lord  Left-tenant. 

"  What  a  friteful  state  of  Things  !  Propperty  not  safe  nor 
life  nayther  for  if  your  killd  the  murderer  always  gets  an  Irish 
allibi  witch  is  being  in  two  other  Places  at  the  time.  No  law 
—  no  justis  —  no  nothing.  And  in  such  an  age  as  ours  for 
all  sorts  of  laming.  Looking  from  England  at  Ireland,  who 
would  believe  he  sees  the  Eighteenth  sentry  enlitened  by 
Gas  !     But  sumboddy's  cum  —  Sergent  Flanigan. 

"  O  Jane,  wat  news  for  the  poor  He  of  Hearin !  I  ort  to 
say  hes  a  Sergent  in  the  Cunstabulabulary  Force  and  as  sich 
knows  everything  —  &  he  says  there 's  a  breaking  out  at  sum 
place  that  begins  with  Killin  ;  its  only  a  small  Yillige,  but 
you  know  very  bad  erupshuns  begins  with  little  spots.  I  was 
too  flurrid  to  ketch  the  particlers,  but  theres  a  reglar  rebel- 
lion, &  Lord  nose  how  many  thowsand  Irish  all  harmed  with 
sithes  a-going  to  take  the  field.  And  theyre  to  take  Dublin 
&  to  plow  up  the  Fenix  Park  &  repeal  King  Williams  statute, 
&  raise  the  Pigeon  House  down  to  the  ground.  In  short  he 
says  the  Police  apprehends  everything  thats  bad.  Theres 
news  and  Thady  not  come  yet !  If  he  jines  the  disinfected  I 
shall  be  misrable.     I  must  go  and  look  up  Thady,  so  Adeu  in 

"  Your  hiving  Sister, 

"Ellinor     *     *     *     *." 

"  P.  S.  Thady  is  just  come  in  dredfully  up  in  his  spirrits, 
witch  confirms  the  truth.  He  is  as  close  as  wax  tho  about  it, 
&  only  says  its  a  grate  Day  for  Ireland,  but  theres  rebelling  in 
his  very  looks  &  the  way  he  wistles  &  snaps  his  fingers,  and 
walks  up  &  down  the  room  like  Marchin  &  keeping  step.  He 
longs  &  means  he  does  to  jine  in  the  skrimmage,  &  lord  help 
him  if  he  does  wether  he  gets  shot  or  slashed  or  took  Prison- 
ner  for  the  Law  never  spares  Inn  Serjeants.  If  he  does  jine 
them  I  shall  go  mad.     But  wat  am  I  to  do  for  hes  as  willful  & 


208  A^  IRISH  REBELLION. 

hobstinate  as  an  Irish  Pig,  witch  wont  be  driv  in  the  right  road 
&  witch  makes  their  Pork  so  dangerus  to  eat  its  so  apt  to  go 
the  wrong  way. 

"  P.  S.  S.  More  allarms !  Sich  drummins  &  fifing,  and 
trumpiting,  and  prancing  of  horses,  &  rumblin  of  cannons, 
And  Thady  rubbing  his  hands  &  grinning  &  looking  happy 
enuff  to  drive  one  delirius  !  O  Jane,  never  many  into  a  civil 
warring  Fammily  !  And  wats  wus,  he  wont  listen  to  a  jant- 
ing  Car  to  go  off  with  tho  we  're  sitting  as  I  may  say  on  Bar- 
rils  of  Gunpowder  &  red  hot  Pokers  !  " 

No.  II. 
From  the  same  to  the  same. 

"Dear  Jane, — 
"This  is  to  say  I  am  safe  &  well.  No  thenks  to  the 
Rebeling  for  the  very  day  after  I  rit  my  last  it  broke  out. 
But  Guvernment  having  had  timely  notis  the  Millitary 
was  all  Mustard,  and  very  strong.  And  no  dout  would 
have  committed  dredful  slorter  of  the  pore  miss  guided 
cretures,  if  they  had  n't  been  misgided  themselves  by  a  trate- 
rus  wretch  as  undertook  to  lead  them  the  rite  road.  Insted 
of  witch  he  led  them  clean  contrary  into  a  peacable  common 
full  of  geese  &  asses  so  that  nothin  actionable  took  place  xcept 
givin  the  guide  a  sound  noggin.  If  the  sogers  had  quartered 
him  on  the  spot  it  would  have  served  him  rite,  But  thenk 
Provedins  wat  was  ment  for  our  ruin  was  our  preservin  !  It 
seems  wen  the  rebbels  cum  to  Donny  Brook  they  halted  & 
drew  up  in  order  of  Battel  for  a  fite  with  the  troops  witch  in 
course  did  not  arive.  You  may  gudge  how  that  tride  their 
Irish  tempers  &  in  partickler  in  such  a  famus  spot  for  fiting 
and  connected  with  Shillallyin  Associations  ever  since  the 
creation.  So  after  waitin  as  long  as  they  could  &  no  signs  of 
a  skrimmage  till  their  patience  was  wore  out  entirely  with  the 
disapintment,  the  Rebbels  fell  a  fiting  among  themselves,  the 
rite  wing  agin  the  left,  &  then  both  jining  together  attackt  the 
center  boddy  &  gave  each  other  sich  routs  &  got  so  dissipated 
that  they  quite  defeated  themselves,  &  so  there  's  an  end  of 
the  Irish  Rebellion.  Praise  goodness  Thady  wasn't  there, 
having  a  Job  on  a  house  top,  and  I  took  away  the  ladder. 
"  I  am,  dear  Susan,  your  loving  Sister, 

"Ellinor     *     *     *     *" 


A   LEADING   ARTICLE. 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


There  is  no  estimate  more  ludicrous  than  that  which  is 
formed  by  unthinking  persons  of  the  powers  of  Authors. 
Thus,  when  a  gentleman  has  once  written  a  Book,  say,  on 
Domestic  Medicine,  it  is  popularly  supposed  that  he  is  compe- 
tent to  compose  a  work  on  any  subject  whatever,  from  Trans- 
cendental Philosophy  down  to  Five  Minutes'  Advice  on  the 
Teeth.  Something  of  the  kind  is  observable  in  the  Autobi- 
ography of  Brasbridge,  the  Silversmith,  of  Fleet  Street,  who 
tells  us  that  after  the  publication  of  his  Memoirs,  he  was 

N 


210        THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 

hailed  by  a  fellow-citizen  with,  "  So  you  have  written  a  Book  ! 
—  why,  for  the  future  I  shall  call  you  Shakespeare ! "  as  if 
the  recorder  of  a  set  of  "  fiddle-headed "  anecdotes  became, 
ipso  facto,  on  a  par  with  the  creator  of  Othello.  For  another 
instance  I  can  refer  to  my  own  humble  experience.  The  anti- 
antiquarian  nature  of  my  literary  researches  is  sufficiently  well- 
known  ;  yet  it  did  not  prevent  a  grave,  retrospective-looking 
gentleman  from  one  day  concluding  an  account  of  some  in- 
edited  architectural  remains  near  Whitehall,  with  "I  wonder 
now  that  you,  as  a  writer,  have  never  taken  up  the  subject ! " 
The  worthy  F.  A.  S.  might  as  well  have  suggested  a  plot  for  a 
Farce  to  Sylvanus  Urban ;  but  such  is  the  general  opinion 
of  the  universality  of  a  genius  that  prints.  Bearing  this 
tendency  in  mind,  it  will  not  seem  so  extraordinary  that  the 
following  correspondence  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
Editor  of  the  Comic  Annual  by  a  respectable  tradesman,  who 
affirmed,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  "  it  was  a  grave  subject, 
worthy  of  the  serious  consideration  of  the  Public." 


No.  I. 

To  Mister  Benjamin  Carnaby,  7  Brigantine  JRoiv,  Deptford, 
London.     {With  Spead.) 

Deer  Bruther, — 
I  am  trully  sory  to  arrow  up  yure  relativ  felings  But  it  do 
seam  to  Me  as  my  deer  Bob  is  beeing  shamfully  Utretid  at 
his  Skull.  Inclose!  is  the  pore  fellars  too  letters  the  last  jist 
cum  to  hand,  And  were  sich  a  bio  to  fathurly  felings  I  have 
newer  bean  my  hone  Man  ewer  sins.  It  appeer  he  hav  wel 
ni  bin  Starvd.  Prays  God  his  pore  Muther  is  coald  under 
the  Hearth,  it  wud  spile  the  rest  of  hir  hashes  if  so  be  she 
cood  read  his  tail  of  pewtered  meet.  If  she  ad  a  delite  hear 
abuv  it  were  childrins  legs  strate  And  there  Bellis  well  fild 
partickly  groin  up  Yuths  —  and  She  wood  av  run  creazy  to 
think  of  the  Constitushun  bein  rewind  for  ewer  and  ever 
with  turnd  tabil  Bear.  And  you  too  I  no  you  will  blead  at 
Art  for  the  mizriz  of  yure  pore  Nevy  But  I  hop  you  will  old 
up  under  it  tho  it  be  as  it  war  a  thunderboult  on  us  boath.  In 
respex  of  Laming  it  seam  his  mind  hav  bin  neglectid  to  be 
nurrisht  up  as  well  as  is  bodely  Fram  even  to  cumnare  the 


THE   CARXABY   CORRESPOXDEXCE. 


211 


Leters  my  Bob  rite  a  site  better  gud  Inglisli  nor  his  Master 
witch  to  my  mind  He  mite  hav  dun  grates  at  Home  in  loo  of 
paing  sich  mints  of  Munny  for  Skulling  But  wat  disapints  me 
Most  next  to  his  fammishin  is  the  Greek  and  Lattin  as  I  did 
sit  my  Art  upon  to  hav  won  clasicle  Skollard  bransh  in  the 
famely.  Them  too  hushers  desarves  a  wiping  at  a  carts  tale, 
and  so  do  that  mawks  with  hir  luv  gammux  in  juvenal  pres- 
ents Much  gud  it  wur  my  sendin  him  abuv  a  duzzin  mile  off 
from  Lunnun  to  uncorrup  his  morrils.     Has  for  the  Dockter 


THERE    S   A    DEFICIENCY    ON   THE    QUARTER. 


I  cud  find  in  my  hart  to  strip  his  dipplomer  over  his  years 
with  my  hone  ands  wen  i  think  that  in  loo  of  techin  the  yung 
idear  how  to  shut  he  has  mayhap  stunted  the  Pore  boys  groth 
for  his  lif  to  cum.  But  overpourin  felings  forebids  my 
drawin  moor  picters  of  Bobs  suffrin.  I  hav  had  no  stummuck 
ever  sins  the  Post  nockt  me  down  with  the  Nus.  But  it  wood 
not  be  becummin  a  parent  and  a  Farther  to  be  revealing  in 
lucksriz  wile  the  Sun  of  his  hone  lines  ware  revealing  in  fli- 
blod  beaf  and  vargis.     To  be  shure  these  is  felings  that  you 


212  THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 

as  an  unmarred  man  cant  enter  into  a  full  lenth,  but  as  hone 
Unkil  by  fleasli  and  blud  you  will  enter  into  the  hard  boord 
partickly  as  yure  hone  coarse  of  lif  as  had  its  scrimps  and 
cum  shorts  and  tort  you  wot  it  is  to  be  pincht  in  yure  Fud. 
"VVi  i  mite  as  well  hav  sent  him  to  a  short  communing  York- 
sheer  Skull  at  twenty  pound  per  anum  a  yeer  and  had  his 
close  chuckt  in  to  his  Bed  and  bord.  In  the  interium  I  hav 
forewardid  him  a  cumfitting  letter  with  a  Won  Pun  Not  to 
treet  himself  to  sumat  moor  stayin  and  suportin  nor  stal  pastery, 
But  I  do  hop  and  beg  Deer  Bruther  to  hav  your  sentimints  on 
the  cas  as  you  be  moor  caperble  to  advize  me  then  I  am,  and 
not  to  delay  riting  if  so  be  yure  officious  dutis  purvent  pear- 
sonally  quiting  the  yard.  I  wud  hav  tuck  a  place  on  the 
Rumfud  Stag  and  sit  off  at  wons  but  Gowt  forebid  my  cotch- 
ing  and  so  do  Missis  Rumsey  for  as  yusial  wen  my  felings  is 
Frustratid  all  my  Nervs  is  flone  to  my  Fut.  Pore  Missis 
Rumsey  simperthizes  at  evvery  thing  and  is  quit  as  upsit  in 
her  sperrits  for  as  she  say  altho  but  Houskeper  her  Bowls  yarns 
to  Bob  all  as  one  with  an  hone  hoffspring.  She  do  say  as 
Bobs  a  littel  piggin  brested  and  shoes  simtoms  of  pullmary 
afection  she  trembil  for  fear  pourness  of  blud  sows  seeds  of 
sumthink  fatle  in  his  lunges.  Indeed  her  mutherly  hangsity 
offen  remind  a  lass  of  her  as  lies  volting  in  All  allows  bark- 
ing. With  witch  I  conclud  with  all  brutherly  luv,  hopping  to 
here  by  return  of  Poast.  I  no  you  seldim  or  newer  anser 
peples  favers  partickly  mine  but  I  do  hop  as  this  hear  is  a 
matter  of  vittle  importins  you  devot  a  few  minuets  to 
Yure  luving  but  aflicted  Bruther 

John  Carnaby. 

P.  S.  If  so  be  you  thort  best  to  poshay  off  xpressivly  to 
Bob,  watever  is  disburstid  out  of  pockit  my  Puss  shall  kiver 
the  hole.  Praps  you  may  lick  him  to  be  tuck  away  at  wons 
for  it  wud  be  a  thowsend  pitis  to  brake  his  sperrit  and  he  is 
rayther  tender  artid  as  you  may  gudge  by  wat  he  rite  of  his 
pore  late  muther.  Well,  hevin  nose  I  war  never  in  faver  of 
turning  Cots  but  if  so  be  they  wood  reform  the  Skulls  I  wood 
jine  the  Wigs. 


THE  CARXABY  CORRESPOXDEXCE.        213 


Exclosere  No.  1. 

To  John  Carnaby  Esquire.      Number  49  Polyanthus  Place, 
Mile  End  Road,  London. 

Honored  Parent, — 

As  the  sight  of  his  native  Terra  Furma  to  the  hardy  Mari- 
ner on  the  pathless  waste  of  the  vast  expanse  of  Ocean,  so 
are  the  filial  affections  of  a  Son  and  School  boy  to  inform  we 
break  up  on  Friday  the  21st  Instant;  when  I  hope  to  find 
Yourself,  comprising  all  my  Relations  and  Friends,  enjoying 
that  greatest  of  Blessings,  a  state  of  salubrity. 

When  we  add  to  this  the  pleasing  Sensation  of  scholastic 
Duties  fulfilled  with  Attention,  Industry,  and  Diligence,  ac- 
companied by  a  preponderating  Progress  in  all  juvenile 
Studies,  Objects,  and  Pursuits  a  sanguine  expectation  is  in- 
dulged that  the  parental  Sentiments  of  Satisfaction  will  be 
spontaneously  conferred  on  the  present  half  Year,  participat- 
ing however  with  a  due  regard  to  health,  comfort,  and  morals. 
Indeed  it  would  be  precocious  to  anticipate  otherwise  by  the 
unrelenting  Vigilance  and  Inculcation  evinced  by  our  Guide, 
Philosopher,  and  Friend,  Doctor  Darby  and  Assistants,  as 
likewise  the  more  than  maternal  Solicitude  betrayed  by  Mrs. 
Doctor  D.  who  begs  Leave  to  cordially  unite  with  the  Same 
in  Respectful  Compliments. 

I  am  happy  to  say  the  improvement  I  have  made  in  the 
Latin  and  Greek  Tongues,  including  French  and  Italian,  has 
been  very  great  and  such  as  I  trust  to  deserve  and  obtain  his 
Parent's,  Master's,  Friend's,  and  Wellwisher's  warmest  appro- 
bation and  Esteem.  And  this  Reflection  will  be  enhanced  to 
reflect,  that  by  being  impressed  upon  by  pious,  virtuous,  and 
loyal  Principles,  every  juvenile  Member  of  the  Establishment 
is  a  firm  and  uncompromising  Supporter  and  Defender  of 
King.  Church,  and  State. 

I  will  now  conclude  by  giving  my  best  Love  to  all  Relations 
and  Friends,  and  accept  the  Same  from 
Honored  Parent, 
Your  Dutiful  and  Affectionate  Son. 

Robert  Carnaby. 


214 


THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 


Enclosure  No.  2. 

From  the  same  to  the  same. 

Dear  Father,  — 
I  hope  you  wont  be  angry  at  writing  of  my  own  A  cord  and 
if  you  like  you  may  stop  the  postage  out  of  what  you  mean  to 
give  me  next  time,  but  the  other  letter  was  all  a  flam  and 
didnt  speak  my  real  mind.  The  Doctor  frumpt  it  all  up  out 
of  his  own  head,  and  we  all  copied  it  out  for  all  our  fathers. 
What  I  want  to  tell  you  is  as  the  holidays  are  so  nigh,  I  do 
wish  you  would  make  up  your  mind  for  me  to  be  took  away 


DRAWING    UP   ARTICLES   OF    SEPARATION. 


for  good  and  all.  I  dont  like  the  victuals  for  one  thing,  and 
besides  I  am  allmost  sure  we  are  not  well  teached.  The  table 
beer  always  gives  me  the  stomach  ake  if  I  dont  tie  a  string 


THE   CARXABY   CORRESPOXDEXCE.  215 

tight  round  it  and  I  only  wish  you  see  some  of  ZNIr.  Murphy's 
ruling  when  he  smells  so  of  rum.  Another  thing  is  the  batter 
puddings  which  the  fellows  call  it  putty,  because  it  sticks  pains 
in  our  insides,  and  sometimes  we  have  stinking  beef.  Tom 
Spooner  has  saved  a  bit  on  the  sly  to  show  parents,  but  it 's  so 
strong  we  are  afeard  it  wont  keep  over  the  three  weeks  to  the 
holidays,  and  we  are  treated  like  galley  slaves,  and  hare  and 
hounds  is  forbid  because  last  time  the  hare  got  up  behind  the 
Chelmsford  Coach  and  went  home  to  his  friends  in  Leadenhall 
Market.  As  for  sums  we  know  the  ciphering  Master  has  got 
a  Tutors  Key  because  theres  a  board  at  the  bottom  of  his  desk 
comes  out  with  a  little  coaxing,  and  more  than  that  lies  a 
cruel  savage  and  makes  love  to  Masters  daughter,  and  shes 
often  courted  in  the  school  room  because  its  where  her  father 
dont  come  so  much  as  anywheres  else.  The  new  Footman  is 
another  complaint.  The  Doctor  dont  allow  him  nothing  a 
year  for  his  wages  except  his  profits  out  of  the  boys  with 
fruit  and  pastery,  and  besides  being  rotten  and  stale  hes  riz 
burnt  almonds  twice  since  Micklemas.  Then  we  are  almost 
quite  sure  Monseur  Le  Smith  dont  know  Italian  at  least  we 
have  always  observed  he  never  talks  to  the  image  boys,  and 
the  old  Cook  never  favors  no  one  now  except  Carter  with  sop 
in  pans  ever  since  his  Mother  come  to  see  him.  And  thats 
why  I  do  hope  at  my  next  school  you  will  raise  my  pocket 
money,  its  impossible  to  tip  handsome  out  of  sixpence  a  week. 
Jackson  saved  enough  to  buy  a  Donkey  and  then  divided  him 
into  shares  and  I  had  a  shilling  share  but  the  Doctor  were 
so  unjust  as  seize  on  him  altho  there  was  no  law  agin  bringing 
asses  to  the  school.  It  was  the  same  on  Guy  Fox  day  with 
our  squibs  and  rockets  which  we  was  more  mortified  to  hear 
them  going  off  after  we  were  in  bed.  I  am  certain  sure  we 
should  have  had  a  barring  out  in  our  school  room  long  and 
long  ago  only  the  Doctor  hardly  ever  wants  to  come  in. 
Thats  the  way  the  ushers  do  just  as  they  like  in  school  hours 
and  Mr.  Huckings  does  a  leather  sellers  bookkeeping  and  Mr. 
Snitch  makes  poetry  for  the  newspapers.  Its  not  my  fault 
then  if  I  am  backwards  in  my  Greek  and  Latin  though  I 
have  got  a  Prize  for  Spelling  and  Grammer  but  we  all  have 
prizes  for  something  to  please  our  parents  when  we  go  home. 
The  only  treat  we  have  is  reddishes  out  of  the  garden  when 
they  are  got  old  and  burning  hot  and  popgunny  and  them 


216 


THE   CARNABY   COERESPONDENCE. 


wont  last  long  as  masters  going  to  keep  pigs.  I  suppose  then 
we  shall  have  measely  pork  to  match  the  stinking  beef.  The 
fellows  say  its  because  the  Doctor  swops  Stokes's  schooling 
agin  butchers  meat  and  as  the  edication  is  so  very  bad  old 
Stokes  on  his  part  wont  send  in  any  better  quality.  Thats 
whats  called  mutual  accommodation  in  the  newspapers.  Give 
my  love  to  Mrs.  Rumsey  with  thanks  for  the  plum  cake  only 


HK    S   A-GOLN     TO   TAKE   A    TuWtii. 


next  time  more  sweetmeat,  and  say  I  am  almost  sure  I  some- 
times sleep  in  a  damp  bed.  I  am  certain  sure  Mrs.  Rumsey 
would  advise  you  the  same  as  I  do,  namely  for  me  to  be  took 
away,  without  running  more  risks,  if  it  was  only  for  fear  of 
Mac  Kenzie,  for  lies  a  regular  tyrant  and  hectors  over  us  all. 
lies  three  parts  a  nigger  and  you  cant  punch  his  head  so  as  to 
do  any  good,  and  only  last  Monday  he  was  horsed  for  wanting 
to  googe  little  Jones's  eyes  out  and  for  nothing  at  all  but  just 
looking  at  his  towel  to  see  if  the  black  come  off.     I  am  ready 


THE    CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


217 


to  take  my  drop  down  dead  if  it  is  not  all  faithfully  true,  Mac 
Kenzie  and  the  beef  and  the  Footman  and  all.  and  I  do  hope 
you  will  trust  to  my  word  and  be  agreeable  to  my  offer  to  be 
took  away  and  I  do  hope  it  will  be  before  next  Saturday  for 
thats  Mr.  Paynes  visiting  day,  the  Drawing  Master  as  I  call 
him,  but  some  of  the  fellows  have  nick  named  him  Sinbad  be- 
cause he  hunted  the  elephants  so  for  their  teeth.    Philip  Frank 


THE   OLD    ORIGINAL    RAILWAY. 


says  theres  a  capital  school  at  Richmond  where  the  Master 
permits  fishing  and  boating  and  cigars  and  gunpowder  and 
poney  chaises  for  only  sixty  guineas  a  year.  I  often  think  if 
my  poor  dear  late  Mother  was  alive  it  is  just  the  genteel  sort 
of  School  she  would  like  me  to  be  finished  off  at.  But  thats 
as  you  prefer,  and  if  you  will  only  promise  upon  your  honor 
to  remove  me  I  wont  run  away.  I  forgot  to  say  I  have  very 
bad  head  akes  sometimes  besides  the  stomach  akes  and  last 
week  I  was  up  in  the  nussery  for  being  feverish  and  spotty, 
10 


218  THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 

and  I  had  to  take  antimonious  wine  but  nothing  made  me  sick 
except  the  gruel.  Precious  stuff  it  is  and  tastes  like  slate 
pencil  dust  and  salt.  I  was  in  great  hopes  it  was  scarlet  fever 
or  something  catching  that  I  might  be  sent  home  to  you,  but 
the  fisician  said  my  rash  was  only  chickings  or  stinging  net- 
tles. Altogether  I  was  so  unhappy  at  not  getting  on  in  my 
learning  that  I  do  beg  and  pray  to  be  took  away,  and  I  will 
be  very  dutiful  and  grateful  all  the  rest  of  my  days.  Do, 
pray,  do,  and  consider  me  down  on  my  bended  knees.  And  I 
will  wish  you  every  comfort  in  life  if  you  will  only  provide 
for  mine  and  I  will  pray  for  your  gout  to  go  away  lor  ever 
and  ever  and  then  I  will  nurse  your  last  days  and  be  such  a 
good  son  to  you  as  never  was  except  me.  And  in  that  case  I 
owe  three  shillings  to  the  footman  and  should  n't  like  to  leave 
the  school  in  debt.  I  shall  expect  to  see  you  come  in  all  the 
coaches  that  go  the  road  or  at  least  that  you  will  fetch  me  in 
a  letter,  and  if  I  am  disapointed  I  really  do  believe  I  shall 
go  off  my  head  or  something.     With  which  I  remain 

Dear  Father, 
Your  dutiful  and  affectionate  Son, 

Robert  Carnaby. 


No.  2. 

To  Mister  John  Carnaby,  Number  49  Polyanthus  Place,  Mile 
End,  London. 

Dear  Brother, — 
This  is  to  acknowledge  the  favor  of  your  family  letter  with 
enclosures,  which  came  to  hand  as  pleasant  and  welcome  as  a 
4-inch  shell,  that  is  no  great  treat  of  itself,  and  discharges  a 
worse  lot  of  botheration  from  its  inside.  Between  both  I  got 
as  Port  Royal  a  headach  as  a  man  need  desire  from  a  bottle 
of  new  rum,  for  which,  as  it 's  not  unbrotherly  to  swear  at  a 
nevy,  "  dear  Bob "  and  his  school  be  d — d.  As  to  my  not 
answering  letters,  I  always  do,  provided  they  're  either  saucy 
or  challenging  ;  in  which  case,  like  answering  a  broadside,  it 's 
a  point  of  duty  and  honor  to  return  as  good  as  you  get ;  —  but 
for  swopping  sweet  civil  lollipop  letters,  lick  for  lick,  it 's  more 
than  I  would  do  with  any  female  alive,  let  alone  a  man.  And 
when  yours  are  not  lollipopping,  they  're  snivelling,  or  else 


THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE.        219 

both  together,  as  the  case  is  now.  However  blood  's  blood  : 
and  so  lor  once  I  will  commit  what  you  want,  rather  than  ac- 
cept jour  invite,  and  go  up  to  help  you  and  that  old  dry  red 
cow,  Mother  Rumsey,  to  chew  the  cud  of  the  matter  all  over 
again  by  word  of  mouth.  As  for  harrowing  up  my  feelings, 
or  ploughing  them  up  either,  thank  my  stars  it 's  a  sthTer  soil 
than  that  comes  to.  Why,  my  feelings  are  as  tough  —  and 
not  without  need  —  as  a  bull-beef  steak  fresh  killed,  and  take 
quite  as  much  pitching  into  before  they  're  as  tender  as  you 
suppose.  Likely  it  is,  that  a  man  who  has  rammed  his  head, 
as  I  have  in  Africa,  into  a  stuck  camel  for  a  secondhand  swig 
at  his  cistern,  would  come  within  sixty  degrees  of  the  notion  of 
pitying  a  lubberly  schoolboy  for  having  as  much  as  ever  he  could 
swill  of  sour  swipes  !  Then  for  bad  food,  the  stinkingest  beef 
I  ever  met  with  was  none  to  be  had,  good  or  bad,  except  the 
smell  of  the  empty  barrel.  That 's  something  like  what  you 
call  being  pincht  in  my  fud ;  and  so  it  was  I  reckon  when  I 
gave  my  watch,  and  a  good  seven-shilling  piece  besides,  for 
about  a  pound  of  pork  cartridges.  So  I  'm  not  going  to  pipe 
my  eye  at  dear  Bob's  short  commons  neither.  It 's  all  very 
well  for  papboating  mothers  to  admire  fat  babbies  while  they 
're  on  the  lap ;  but  the  whole  human  breed  would  be  spoiled, 
if  Mother  Nature  did  not  unspoil  it  again  by  sending  us  now 
and  then  to  the  School  of  Adversity,  without  a  knife  and  fork 
and  a  spoon.  I  came  in  for  a  quarter's  learning  there  myself, 
in  the  Desart  as  aforesaid,  and  one  of  the  lessons  I  learnt  was 
from  the  ostriches  ;  namely,  when  you  can't  get  a  regular  cargo 
of  food,  you  must  go  in  ballast  with  old  shoes,  leather  caps,  or 
any  other  odd  matters  you  can  pick  up.  There  's  nothing  in 
life  like  bringing  chaps  up  hardy,  if  they  're  to  stand  the  ham- 
mering we  're  all  born  to,  provided  we  are  born  alive.  I  once 
heard  a  clever  Yankee  arguing  to  the  same  point.  "  Rear  up 
your  lads,"  says  he,  "  like  nails  ;  and  then  they  '11  not  only  go 
through  the  world,  but  you  may  clench  'em  on  t'other  side." 
And  for  my  part,  if  I  was  a  lather,  which  thank  God  I  am 
not,  to  my  knowledge,  I  would  mark  down  a  week  of  Banyan 
days  to  every  month  in  the  Almanac,  just  to  accustom  the 
youngsters  to  take  in  and  let  out  their  bread  bags,  till  it  came 
natural ;  like  the  Laps  and  Esquimaux,  who  spend  their  lives 
in  a  feast  and  a  fast,  turn  and  turn  about,  whereby  their  in- 
sides  get  as  elastic  as  India  rubber,  and  accommodate  them- 


220        THE  CAKNABY  CORKESPONDENCE. 

selves  to  their  loading,  chock  full  or  clean,  as  falls  out.  I  've 
known  the  time  I  would  have  given  all  my  prize-money  for  a 
set  of  linings  of  the  same  conveniency,  as  when  it  was  coming 
to  the  toss-up  of  a  cowry  whether  I  was  to  eat  Tom  Pike,  or 
Tom  Pike  was  to  eat  me.  Just  read  the  North  Pole  Voyages, 
and  you  will  see  that  pampering  bellies  is  not  the  exact  course 
to  make  Captain  Backs.  So  for  all  that 's  been  made  on  that 
tack,  hitherto,  you  owe  nothing  but  a  higher  rating  to  Doctor 
Darby  provided  there 's  any  step  above  Doctor  in  his  service  ; 
I  '11  even  go  so  far  as  stand  my  share  towards  a  bit  of  plate 
to  him,  for  not  making  my  nevy  a  loblolly  milksop.  That 's 
my  notion  about  hard  fare.  To  be  sure  there  was  Mother 
Brownrigg  was  hung  for  going  a  little  too  near  the  wind  in 
her  'prentice's  insides  ;  but  if  the  balance  was  squared,  a  few 
of  the  other  old  women  would  be  run  up  to  the  yard-arm,  for 
slow  poisoning  the  rising  generation  with  sugar-plum  cakes 
and  kickshaw  tarts.  And  that  your  dear  Bob  has  got  a  rare 
sweet  tooth  of  his  own  is  as  plain  as  the  Pike  of  Teneriffe,  for 
it  sticks  out  like  a  Barbary  wild  boar's  tusks  all  through  his 
precious  complaints.  Whereby  you  had  better  clap  a  stopper 
on  in  time,  unless  mayhap  you  want  him  to  grow  up  in  the 
fashion,  which  seems  now-a-days  for  our  young  men  to  know, 
and  think,  and  talk,  ay  and  write  too,  about  kitchen  craft,  — 
with  their  putty  olays  and  volley  vongs,  —  as  if  they  was  so 
many  cook's  mates  at  a  French  Hotel.  There  's  no  disputing 
likings,  but  rather  than  be  such  a  macaroni  dishclout  dandy, 
as  delicate  as  a  lap-dog,  I  'd  be  a  turnspit's  whelp  at  once,  and 
sit  up  on  my  hind  legs  a-begging  for  the  sop  in  the  pan.  Now 
if  you  're  for  his  being  one  of  those  unable-bodied  objects  of 
creation,  I  've  no  more  to  say ;  for  you  have  got  the  right 
bearings,  and  have  only  to  stand  on  till  you  bring  dear  Bob 
and  Molly  Coddle  into  one.  But  if  so  be  on  the  contrary  you 
have  gumption  enough  to  want  to  claw  off  that  point,  then 
down  helm  at  once,  and  cut  Mother  Rumsey  adrift,  plum 
cakes  and  all.  I  've  long  had  on  my  mind  to  drop  you  a  word 
of  advice,  against  that  old  catamaran,  who  knows  fast  enough 
that  two  bears'  heads  are  never  so  likely  to  rub  together  as 
when  they  're  a-licking  the  same  cub.  By  the  cub  I  mean 
my  nevy,  and  the  two  old  ones  are  you  and  Mother  R.  Be- 
sides it 's  been  my  observation  through  life.  Many  's  the 
young  man  and  woman  will  live  tor  years  together  in  the 


THE   CARXABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


221 


same  house,  or  make  the  India  voyage  together  in  the  same 
ship,  without  hooking  on,  or  even  coming  in  sight  of  such  a 
notion  ;  but  neither  I,  nor  anybody  else,  ever  saw  two  old 
ones,  he  and  she,  in  the  like  case,  without  their  coming  at 


LAYING    DOWN    THE    LAW. 


long  and  at  last  to  a  splice  in  church.  So  it  is  with  an  old 
cat  and  dog,  that  while  they  had  a  tooth  in  their  heads  could 
hardly  abide  in  the  same  parish,  whereas  when  they  get  on 
the  superannuated  list,  you  will  see  them  as  thick  as  thieves, 
and  messing  together  in  the  same  dish.  The  philosophy  of  it 
is  more  than  I  pretend  to  know,  unless  it  be  they  're  pa  t 
fighting,  and  fit  for  no  active  sort  of  work  ;  —  but  so  it  is,  as 
sure  as  the  sea  is  salt.  You  had  best  then  part  company  at 
once,  if  you  don't  want  to  see  dear  Bob  mast-headed  up  to 
the  back  garret,  or  cooped  down  in  the  coal-cellar,  on  mon- 
key's allowance  ;  such  being  the  first  steps  a  stepmother  always 
takes  in  any  story-book  ~  ever  read.    I  'm  for  my  nevy  having 


222        THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 

fair  play  after  all.  So  as  I  've  subscribed  to  the  bit  of  plate 
to  Dr.  Darby  for  case-hardening  the  fellow's  carcase,  you  may 
set  me  down  towards  the  spitefullest  boatswain's  cat  that  ever 
was  handled,  in  case  it  turns  out  he  has  neglected  the  boy's 
mind.  I  've  seen  a  man  seized  up  for  a  much  smaller  offence 
than  crimping  and  inveigling  a  long  hundred  of  lads  at  a  time 
to  a  Sham  Abram  school,  and  swindling  them  out  of  the  best 
part  of  the  property  about  them,  namely  their  juvenile  time. 
It  is  only  a  streak  above  kidnapping,  seeing  that  for  any  profit 
in  learning  the  youngsters  might  as  well  spend  their  best  years 
in  the  Plantations.  Not  but  that  Parents  deserve  a  cobbing 
themselves  for  putting  a  boy  under  a  master  without  asking 
to  look  at  his  certificates.  As  for  the  Latin  and  Greek,  may- 
hap they  're  no  loss  to  take  on  about.  The  dead  and  gone 
tongues  for  a  tradesman's  son,  that 's  going  behind  a  counter, 
is  much  of  a  muchness  with  fitting  up  a  Newcastle  collier's 
cabin  after  the  pattern  of  a  Leith  smack's  ;  only  that  the  gild- 
ing and  polishing  may  be  grimed  and  grubbed  off  again  in  the 
course  of  trade.  Still,  considering  they  were  paid  for  as  work 
done,  in  common  honesty  my  nevy  ought  to  have  had  them 
put  in  his  head ;  or  at  least  something  in  lieu,  such  as  Navi- 
gation or  the  like.  His  own  mother  tongue  is  quite  a  different 
matter ;  and  thereupon  I  '11  give  you  my  mind,  upright  and 
downright,  of  the  two  School-letters.  To  be  sure  the  Doctor 
likes  wreight  of  metal,  and  fires  away  with  the  high-soundingest 
wwds  he  can  get,  whereby  his  meaning  is  apt  to  loom  bigger 
than  it  is,  like  a  fishing-boat  in  a  fog ;  and  where  there  's  such 
a  ground  swell  of  language,  a  seaman  is  apt  to  think  there  's 
no  great  depth  of  ideas  ;  but  bating  that,  there  's  nothing  to 
shake  a  rope's  end  at,  but  quite  the  reverse,  especially  as  to 
teaching  the  youngsters  to  give  three  cheers  for  their  king 
and  country.  Now,  Dear  Bob's  letter-work  on  the  other  hand, 
with  its  complaints  of  hard  fare,  is  only  fit  to  be  sung  by  a 
snivelling  Swiss  beggar  boy  to  his  hurdy  gurdy  ;  besides  many 
a  chafe  in  the  grammar  and  orthography,  and  being  writ  in 
such  a  scrambling  up  and  down  fist  as  a  drunken  purser  might 
scrawl  in  a  gale  of  wind.  Now  it's  my  opinion  a  landsman 
that  has  n't  his  hands  made  as  hard  as  horn  with  hauling  home 
sheets  nor  his  fingers  as  stiff  and  sticky  as  pitch  can  make  'em, 
has  it  in  his  power  to  write  as  fine  penmanship  as  copperplate 
except  for  the  want  of  good  will.     So  that  the  fault  may  be 


THE  CARXABY  CORRESPOXDEXCE.        223 

set  down  to  my  nevy's  own  account,  and  mayhap  many  of  the 
rest,  for  no  doubt  there  are  skulkers  at  school  as  well  as  on 
board  ship.  My  advice  then  is  this,  namely,  just  throw  a  shot 
across  Dr.  Darby's  forefoot,  to  let  him  know  you  mean  to 
overhaul  him,  and  demand  a  sight  of  the  school  log,  and  so 
forth  ;  by  which  you  will  have  satisfaction  one  way  or  another ; 
and  putting  the  case  he  has  gone  to  leeward  of  his  duty,  why, 
then  come  hammer  and  tongs,  and  blaze  away  at  him  to  your 
heart's  content.  The  next  step  in  course  will  be  to  take  my 
nevy  from  under  his  orders,  and  find  him  a  berth  in  a  well 
officered  ship ;  and  I  am  ready  so  far  to  do  an  uncle's  part  by 
the  lad,  as  help  to  look  out  for  a  proper  well  appointed  craft. 
That 's  my  advice  whether  you  steer  by  it  or  not,  —  and  so  no 
more  at  present,  raid  not  sorry  to  belay  —  from 

Dear  John,  Your  loving  Brother, 

Bex  Cakxaby. 


No.  3. 

To  Mr.  Benjamin  Carnaby,  Brigantine  Row,  Deptford, 
London. 

Deer  Brfther, — 
This  is  to  acnolidge  the  faver  of  your  verry  hash  letter  as 
I  am  complld  to  call  it,  both  as  regard  deer  Bob  and  that 
verry  wurthy  sole,  pore  Mrs.  Rumsey.  I  am  sory  to  find 
you  can  bare  a  grug  so  long,  for  I  am  shure  she  is  too  obleegin 
and  civil  spokin  to  hav  disagred  to  your  smokin  in  the  parler 
if  so  be  she  had  none  you  maid  it  sich  a  pint.  As  for  her  in- 
wigglin  me  into  becummin  a  step  farther  to  my  one  child  wat- 
ever  old  brut  bares  and  cats  and  dogs  may  do,  I  hop  my  Virtu 
will  purtect  me  from  infiddlety  to  a  former  ti.  As  for  pore 
Bob,  he  hav  no  more  sweat  tuth  then  all  boys  is  born  with, 
and  if  he  do  rite  with  a  bad  hand,  i  newer  cud  rite  any  grate 
shacks  miself  on  an  emti  stummach.  But  that 's  what  you 
can't  or  wont  inter  into,  no  moor  than  I  can  inter  into  cam- 
mil's  insids  or  hostridges  eating  their  old  shues  and  lether 
caps.  In  regard  to  yure  advis  thanking  you  all  the  sam,  but 
meen  to  foller  my  hone,  not  but  wat  it  ware  nateral  for  you  to 
recumend  acording  to  yure  one  line  of  lif,  to  worn  fiting 
and  dueling  is  sekondand  nater.    As  such  hammer  and  tonges 


224 


THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 


and  blazin  away  pistles  wood  be  quit  in  yure  spear,  but  as  for 
in)-  wantin  satisfaction  of  Doctor  Darby,  and  shuting  his  fore 
feet,  or  his  hind  feet  ether,  or  inded  any  wares  els,  is  moor 
then  I  coud  promis  tho  no  clout  ment  kindly,  but  I  am  nun  of 


BUTT    AND    BEN. 


yure  wingin  amers.  Besids  being  agin  the  Bibil  and  Gospil 
and  only  fit  for  gentilmen  born.  Still  I  tak  as  frendly  ment, 
as  well  as  yure.  offir  to  git  yure  nevy  a  siteation  on  bord  ship 
witch  wood  be  a  shure  way  to  hurry  my  dissent  to  the  Tom. 
The  see  always  was  a  haw  to  my  mind,  and  if  it  litind  or  a 
grate  bevvy  gal  came,  I  shud  transpire  with  frite  ;  or  be  think  in 
on  fogie  nites  of  the  ship  lossing  her  way  and  gittin  out  of  her 
depth.  Iiowsumever  I  feal  grateful  for  the  horible  idear,  tho 
I  cant  xcept,  and  in  meen  time  have  rit  to  Dr.  D.  to  remon- 
sterit  and  ask  him  to  say  candiddle  wether  lie  hav  starvd 
deer  Bob  and  ruind  his  mind  or  no.     I  faver  with  a  coppy  of 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE.  225 

mine  and  -will  foreward  hisn  wen  it  cum,  and  as  my  gowt  is 
mendin,  mayhap  I  may  go  down  to  rumfud  sum  of  thes  days, 
and  luck  into  everythink  with  my  one  ize. 

I  am  Deer  Benjamin 

Yure  luving  Bruther, 

John  Carnaby. 


(Copt.) 

To  Dr.  Darby  Socratis  Nous  School  Establismint,  Rumfud 
Essex. 

Docter  Darby  Sur,  — 
If  so  be  a  farther  and  a  Parrint  may  tak  so  grate  a  lib- 
berty,  its  my  wish  to  rite  about  my  Sun.  Not  bein  a  skollard, 
oing  to  neglected  genus  in  yuth,  I  am  uncompitent  to  be  a 
Gudge  and  war  indust  to  sho  the  skull  letter  to  my  Bruther 
Benjamin,  of  the  late  Rial  Navy  who  had  moor  buck  laming 
for  his  Sheers,  besids  seein  forrin  parts  and  he  do  say  wot 
give  grate  concern  to  All  as  is  concamed,  namely  my  Suns 
edication  is  fur  from  a  thurro  nollige  of  evvery  thing,  and  par- 
tickly  his  hostifografy  or  summat  to  that  effect.  As  such  is 
hily  blammabil  to  yureself  or  tooters  whos  provins  war  to 
propergit  wot  they  had  in  their  hone  beds  into  them  under 
them,  insted  of  witch  his  unkel  say  he  hav  bin  teecht  moor 
ignorans  then  anny  think  else.  Witch  is  verry  ard  considrino- 
mints  of  munny  lad  out,  and  hevin  nose  I  have  not  bin  spar- 
ring with  him,  but  pade  away  at  a  grate  rat,  ever  sins  he  war 
britchd.  Hunderds  cant  kiver  him  from  fust  to  last  And 
nothin  but  blited  hops  arter  all.  Cirkimstancis  purvented 
my  having  moor  nor  one  acomplishment  and  that  war  my  far- 
thers bisness,  but  tho  brort  up  hill  miself  I  no  the  Vallev  of 
edicashun.  Warefor  if  it  be  no  offens  I  wish  to  no  candiddle 
from  your  hone  Mouth  wether  you  hav  so  unedicatted  him 
as  his  Unkil  suspex.  At  sam  tim  will  esteam  a  faver  to  no 
if  he  continny  in  gud  helth  witch  ware  always  a  littel  dellicat 
and  pecking,  but  I  trust  as  how  Rumfud  hare  and  gud  beaf 
and  muttin  and  holesum  wit  bred  and  milk  hav  made  him 
quit  fat.  His  pore  late  muther  lickwise  made  a  pint  of  gud 
unturnd  tabel  bear,  as  all  assiduities  is  injurus  to  yuth.  As 
she  used  to  say,  pore  sole,  fud  and  flanning  saves  fisick.  All- 
10*  o 


226        THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 

so  I  hop  and  trust  you  disalow  the  boys  of  advanst  years  tiren- 
izing  over  the  weekly  wons,  or  savedge  tooters  as  is  apt  to 
sho  lickings  and  dislickings.  The  tooters  morrils  in  coarse  is 
a  car  not  overluckd,  but  sweetharting  demand  constant  vigi- 
lings  to  gard  agin  its  dimming  in  clan  destiny  where  it  ort  not. 
Mrs.  Rumsey  also  begs  to  apollogiz  for  naming  damp  beds, 
but  in  coarse  Misses  Doctor  Darby  have  a  muther's  felings 
about  damp  lining  for  boys  boddis.  All  witch  will  give  grate 
sattisfaxun  to  here,  as  in  case  of  the  revers  parrintel  duty  will 
feal  hobbligatted  to  remov  afore  the  mischief  go  to  fur.  I 
shall  luck  eggerly  for  your  anser  and  trust  you  will  embrace 
all  the  queerys.  I  ashore  it  will  giv  grate  pleshure  not  to 
hav  to  remove  my  custom,  with  witch  and  respective  compli- 
ments, 

I  remane  Dr.  Darby  Sur 

Your  verry  humbel  Servant 

John  Carnaby. 


No.  4. 

To  Mister  Benjamin  Carnaby,  Brigantine  Row,  Deptford. 

Deer  Benjamin, — 
Tnclosd  is  Dr.  Darbys  explainative  Not,  witch  for  anny 
thing  I  no  to  the  contrairy  is  evvry  thing  as  we  cud  luck  for, 
without  going  into  the  retales.  He  apear  to  hav  no  douts  of 
a  misscomprehenshun  on  our  parts,  witch  prove  us  to  be  boath 
in  the  rong  as  will  be  a  grate  comfit  to  you  and  deer  Benjamin 

Yure  luving  Bruther 

John  Carnaby. 


(The  Enclosure.) 

To  John  Carnaby,  Esquire. 

Dear  Sir,  — 
In  ancient  Greece  and  Rome,  so  celebrated  for  their  classi- 
cal Attainments,  it  would  have  been  considered  derogatory  to 
the  Academical  Dignity,  for  Scholastic  Discipline  to  be  subject 
to  Animadversion  from  a  Civic  Character,  professedly  uncon- 
versant  with  Polite  Literature  in  all  its  Branches.     As  the 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


227 


Principal  of  a  Pedagogical  Establishment,  I  might,  therefore, 
objurgate  with  Propriety  any  irrevelent  Discussion  to  be  dep- 
recated from  such  a  superfluous  source.  Conscious,  however, 
of  standing  on  the  Basis  of  an  undeniable  Prospectus,  which 
professes  to  embrace  Universal  Knowledge,  throughout  the 
Circle  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences,  I  am  prepared  to  assert  that 


THERE  'S   A   RIGHT    WAY   AMD   A    WRUKG   FOR   EVERYTHING."' 


a  more  Comprehensive  System  of  Education  could  not  be  de- 
vised than  that  which  is  ascribed  to  the  Establishment  at  Soc- 
rates House.  If  further  Testimonials  were  necessary,  I  might 
triumphantly  appeal  to  the  Mental  Cultivation  of  nourishing 
Members  of  Society,  evinced  in  the  successful  Pursuit  of 
Affluence,  in  the  Eastern  and  Western  Hemispheres,  so  ad- 
vantageous to  the  Commerce,  Wealth,  and  Power  of  the 
United  Kingdom.     Such  Testimonies,  it  is  presumed,  are  suf- 


228 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


ficiently  obvious  to  the  most  Unprejudiced  Mind,  to  demand 
those  unerring  Principles  of  fostering  Talent,  inviting  Emula- 
tion, and  stimulating  Enquiry,  combined  with  Moral  Intel- 
lectual and  Dietetical  qualities,  such  as  to  command  the 
unreserved  Approbation  and  Confidence  of  all  parties  engaged 
in  the  important  Task  of  Juvenile  Tuition.     Trusting  that 


'■  BLESS   ME,    HOW    BALD    YOU   ARE !  " 
"YES— I   WAS   PLUCKED   AT    COLLEGE.' 


the  Prolixity  of  this  explanatory  Statement  will  propitiate  the 
most  Paternal  Solicitude,  with  sentiments  in  accordance  with 
the  rapid  Progress  of  Human  Civilization,  permit  me  to  sub- 
scribe myself,  with  every  feeling  of  respect, 

Dear  Sir, 
Your  most  obedient  faithful  humble  servant, 

Simon  Darby.  LL.  D. 


THE   CAENABY  CORRESPONDENCE.  229 


No.  5. 

To  Mr.  John  Camaby,  49  Polyanthus  Place,  Mile  End  Road, 
London. 

Dear  Brother, — 
If  I  was  to  write  what  comes  uppermost,  I  shornd  stand  a 
chance  of  a  place  I  won't  name.  But  you  always  was  a  you- 
know-what,  and  as  the  proverb  says,  there 's  never  a  one  like 
you  now  you  are  old.  As  for  the  school,  it 's  the  nest  of  a 
land  pirate  ;  and  for  any  good  to  his  mind,  dear  Bob  might  as 
well  be  in  the  Hulks.  However  it  won't  do  to  let  you  go  and 
make  a  so-and-so  of  yourself  all  over  the  country  —  whereby, 
luckily  for  you,  there  's  an  old  shipmate  of  mine  laid  up  at 
Rumford,  and  so  I  can  kill  him  and  my  Nevy  with  the  same 
stone.  So  let  Mister  doctor  Darby  look  out  for  squall*,  and 
that's  all  from 

Your  loving  Brother, 

Ben  Carxaby. 


No.  6. 

{From  the  same  to  the  same.) 

Dear  Brother, — 

This  is  to  say  I  made  this  place,  namely  Rumford,  yester- 
day morning  about  10  a.  m.,  and  immediately  bore  away  to 
Socrates  House,  and  asked  for  my  nevy,  —  but  you  shall  have 
it  logged  down  all  fair  and  square. 

Well,  after  a  haul  at  the  bell  and  so  forth,  I  was  piloted  in- 
to a  room,  on  the  ground  tier,  by  the  footman,  and  a  pastry- 
faced  son  of  a  land  cook  he  looked  sure  enough.  Where,  as 
soon  as  may  be,  Mrs.  Doctor  Darby  joins  company,  a  tight 
little  body  enough,  all  bobbing  up  and  down  with  curtseys  like 
the  buoy  at  the  Nore,  and  as  oily  tongued  as  any  rat  in  the 
Greenland  Docks.  By  her  own  account,  she  rated  a  step 
above  Mother  to  six  score  of  boys,  big  and  little,  and  every 
man  jack  of  them  more  made  of,  and  set  store  by,  than  if 
they  had  been  parts  of  her  own  live  stock.  All  which  flum- 
mery would  go  down  with  you,  and  the  marines,  mayhap,  but 
not  with  old  sailors  like  me.     As  for  dear  Bob,  she  buttered 


230 


THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE. 


him  of  both  sides,  thick  and  threefold,  as  the  best,  sweetest, 
darlingest,  and  what  not  young  gentleman  of  the  whole  kit, 
besides  finding  out  a  family  likeness  between  him  and  his 
uncle,  which  if  it 's  any  feature  at  all,  is  all  my  eye.  Next 
she  enquired  after  you,  the  worthiest  parent  she  ever  knew, 


"  IN   FOR    A    PENNY  —  IN   FOR  A   POUND." 


not  excepting  her  own  father,  whereby  I  blest  my  stars  you 
were  not  within  hail ;  or  you  would  have  been  flabbergasted 
in  no  time,  with  your  eyes  running  like  scuppers,  and  your 
common  senses  on  their  beam  ends.  At  long  and  last  in 
comes  my  Nevy  himself,  as  smooth  and  shining  as  a  new  cop- 
per ;  whereby  says  she,  "  I  hope  you  will  excuse  untidiness, 
and  so  forth,  because  of  sending  for  him  just  as  he  stood." 
That 's  how  he  came  no  doubt  in  his  Sunday's  breeches  ;  be- 
sides twigging  the  wet  soap-suds  in  his  ears.  "  Here  my 
sweet  love,"  she  sings  out,  "here's  your  dear  kind  uncle  so 


THE  CARNABY  CORRESPONDENCE.        231 

good  as  to  come  to  enquire  after  your  welfare."  So  dear  Bob 
heaves  ahead,  and  gets  a  kiss,  not  from  me  tho,  and  a  liquor- 
ish lozenge  for  what  she  called  his  nasty  hack.  Nothing 
however  but  a  cholic  with  parched  peas,  as  he  owned  to  after- 
ward-. "  Now,  then,  Nevy,"  says  I,  "  what  cheer  —  how  do 
you  like  your  berth  ?  "  when  up  jumps  madam  like  a  scalded 
cat ;  and  no  or  yes,  I  must  drink  the  favor  of  a  glass  of 
Sherry.  Rank  Cape,  John,  as  ever  was  shipped.  Then 
Master  Robert,  bless  him,  must  have  a  leetle  glass  too,  but 
provided  I  approve,  and  a  ration  of  sweet  cake.  Whereby 
says  she,  "  Now  I  will  leave  you  to  your  mutual  confidences  " 
—  as  looked  all  fair  and  above  board  enough,  if  I  had  not 
made  out  a  foot  near  the  door.  And  in  the  twinkling  of  a 
handspike  in  sails  Dr.  Darby  himself,  with  as  many  scrapes  to 
me  as  if  I  was  Port  Admiral ;  and  as  anxious  about  my  old 
gout  —  for  I've  got  an  easy  shoe  for  a  bunion  —  as  if  he'd 
been  intimate  with  it  in  my  great-grandfather's  time.  Well 
we  palavered  a  bit  about  the  French  news,  and  the  weather, 
and  the  crops,  whatever  you  like  let  alone  book  learning  ;  but 
that  was  not  my  course,  and  impatient  to  see  Tom  Pike,  be- 
sides, so  I  ran  slap  aboard  him  at  once  with  an  ask  to  see  the 
school.  As  I  looked  for,  he  was  took  all  aback  ;  however 
Madam  was  n't  thrown  so  dead  in  the  wind,  but  jumped  up  to 
the  bell  tackle,  and  after  a  bit  of  a  whisper  with  the  servant, 
we  got  under  way  for  the  school ;  but  contrived  to  land  some- 
how in  the  kitchen,  with  a  long  row  of  quatern  loaves  drawn 
up  on  a  dresser  to  receive  us,  like  a  file  of  marines.  Then 
Madam  begins  to  spin  a  long  yarn  about  plain  food,  but  plenty 
of  it.  for  growing  youths  —  dear  Bob 's  very  lathy,  John,  for 
all  that,  —  and  then  comes  the  Doctor's  turn  to  open  with  a 
preachment  on  animal  foods,  and  what  will  digest,  and  what 
won't  ;  tho'  for  my  own  part,  I  never  met  with  any  meat  but 
would  do  it  in  time,  more  or  less.  So  by  way  of  clapping  a 
stopper  I  made  bold  to  remind  that  time  is  short  tho  life  is 
long,  and  thereby  luffing  slap  up  to  my  Nevy,  "  Bob,"  says  I, 
"  what 's  the  variation  of  the  compass  ?  "  So  Master  Bob  turns 
it  about  abit,  and  then  says  he,  "  Why,  it 's  one  leg  shorter 
than  t'other."  Which  is  about  as  nigh  it,  Brother,  as  you  are 
to  Table  Bay  !  Any  how  it  gave  the  Doctor  a  bad  fit  of 
coughing,  which  his  wife  caught  of  him  as  natural  as  if  it  had 
been  the  hooping  sort  —  at  last  says  she,  "Maybe  Master 


232  THE   CARNABY    CORRESPONDENCE. 

Robert  has  not  progressed  yet  into  navigation."  "  Maybe  not, 
ma'am,"  says  I,  "  and  so  we  '11  try  on  another  tack  —  Nevy, 
what 's  metaphysics  ?  "  '*  Brimstone  and  Treacle,"  says  Bob, 
as  ready  as  gunpowder,  and  the  lady  looked  as  satisfied  as 
Bob  did  —  but  the  Doctor  had  another  bad  fit,  and  good  rea- 
son why,  for  there's  no  more  physic  in  metaphysics  than  a 
baby  might  take  in  its  pap.  By  this  time  we  were  going  up 
stairs,  but  lay  to  awhile  alongside  a  garden  pump  on  the  land- 
ing, to  have  a  yarn  about  dowsing  glims,  and  fire  guards,  and 
going  the  rounds  at  night ;  and  as  dear  Bob  hung  astarn,  I 
yawed,  and  let  fly  at  him  again  with  "  What 's  religion  ?  " 
"  The  colic  on  Sundays,"  says  he,  as  smart  as  you  like  ;  tho' 
what  he  meant  by  colic  the  Old  Gentleman  knows.  However 
both  the  Doctor  and  madam  pulled  a  pleasant  face  at  him, 
and  looked  as  pleased  as  if  he  had  found  out  the  longitude  ; 
but  that  was  too  fine  weather  to  last,  for  thinks  I,  in  course  he 
can  carry  on  a  little  further  on  that  board,  so  says  I,  "  Bob, 
what 's  the  main-top-gallant  rule  of  Christianity  ? "  "  Six 
weeks  at  Christmas,"  says  he,  as  bold  as  brass  from  getting 
encouraged  before.  So  you  see,  John,  he  don't  know  his  own 
persuasion.  In  course  we  were  all  at  wry  faces  again ;  but 
the  Doctor  had  the  gumption  to  shove  his  out  of  a  win- 
dow, and  sing  out  an  order  to  nobody  in  the  back  yard.  As 
for  Madam,  she  shot  ahead  into  the  sleeping  rooms,  where  I 
saw  half  a  hundred  of  white  dimity  cots,  two  warming-pans, 
and  nine  clothes  baskets  —  Master  Robert's  berth  among  the 
rest.  Next  we  bore  away  by  a  long  passage  to  the  kitchen 
again,  where  two  rounds  of  boiled  beef  had  been  put  to  officer 
the  quartern  loaves,  and  so  through  the  washery  and  pot-and- 
pannery  into  the  garden  ground,  where  I  came  in  for  as  long 
a  yarn  about  the  wholesomeness  of  fresh  vegetables  and  sal- 
ads, as  if  the  whole  crew  of  youngsters  had  been  on  the  books 
witli  the  scurvy.  From  the  cabbages  we  got  to  the  flower- 
beds ;  and  says  the  Doctor,  "  I  don't  circumscribe,  or  circum- 
vent, one  or  t'other  ;  I  don't  circumvent  my  pupils  to  scholas- 
tical  works,  but  encourage  perusing  the  book  of  Nature."  — 
"That's  very  correct,  then,  Doctor,"  said  I,  "and  my  own 
sentiment  exactly.  Nevy,  what's  Natural  Philosophy?"  — 
"  Keeping  rabbits,"  says  Bob  ;  which  sounds  likely  enough, 
but  it 's  not  the  thing  by  sixty  degrees.  I  can't  say  but  I  felt 
the  cats'-paws  coming  over  my  temper ;  but  I  kept  it  under 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


233 


till  we  fetched  the  paddock,  to  look  at  the  cows  ;  and  that 
brought  up  another  yarn  about  milk-dieting  ;  and  says  Madam, 
"  when  summer  comes,  our  Doctor  is  so  good  as  to  permit  the 
young  gentlemen  to  make  his  hay."  — "  No  doubt  alive, 
ma'am,"  says  I ;  "  saves  hands,  and  good  fun  too,  eh  nevy  ?  — 
What 's  Agriculture  ?  "  However  this  time  dear  Bob  chose  to 
play  sulky,  and  would  n't  answer  good  or  bad  ;  whereby  the 
Doctor  crowds  up  with  a  fresh  question.     "  Now  then,  Master 


CKAMMED   FOR  AN   EXAMINATION. 


Robert,"  says  he  pretty  sharp,  "  I  will  ask  you  something  you 
do  know.  What  is  Algebra,  —  Al — gebra  ?  "  —  "  Please,  sir," 
says  Bob,  "  its  a  wild  donkey  all  over  stripes."  —  "  There  's  a 
dear  boy  !  "  cries  madam,  the  more  fool  she  ;  but  old  Darby 
looked  as  black  as  thunder  at  midnight.  "  I  'm  afraid,"  says 
he,  letting  go  the  top-lifts,  as  one  may  say,  of  his  eyebrows ; 
"  I  'm  afraid  there  has  been  a  little  slackness  here  with  the 
cat ;  but,  by  your  leave,  sir,  and  so  forth,  I  will  investigate  a 


234  THE  CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 

little  into  it  myself.  Now  Master  Robert  take  a  pull  at  your 
mental  tackle,  for  I  'm  going  to  overhaul  your  Mathematics  :  — 
How  do  you  describe  a  triangle  ?  "  —  "  Please,  sir,"  says  Bob, 
"  it 's  the  thing  that  tingle-tangles  to  the  big  drum."  Well, 
there  was  the  devil  to  pay  again,  and  no  pitch  hot !  Old 
Darby  looked  as  if  he  meant  either  to  drop  down  dead  on  the 
spot  of  apoplexy,  or  to  murder  dear  Bob  ;  he  swelled  and  red- 
dened up  so  about  the  wattles  without  hoisting  out  a  word.  For 
my  own  part,  nevy  as  he  was,  I  could  n't  help  serving  him  out  a 
back-handed  slap  of  the  head,  and  then  I  turned  to  at  the 
schoolmaster.  "  So,  Mister  Doctor,"  says  I,  "  this  is  what  you 
call  a  liberal  education  in  your  manifest  ?  "  —  "  Sir,"  says  he, 
looking  as  stiff  as  a  corporal  just  made,  "  whatever  your, 
some  cursed  long  hard  word  may  be,  I  cannot  consider  my- 
self liable  for  the  lagging  astern  of,  I  must  say,  the  dullest 
sailor  in  my  whole  convoy."  —  "  Why,  blood  and  thunder  ! " 
said  I,  for  old  Nick  could  not  have  helped  it  —  "you  told  me 
that  Bob,  my  nevy  there,  was  the  handiest  and  smartest  of 
the  whole  kit !  "  —  "  That  was  me,  sir,"  says  the  lady,  hauling 
in  between  us  —  "and  then  I  only  spoke  as  to  temper,  as 
Greek  and  Latin  are  beyond  a  female's  provinces  "  —  which 
was  true  enough ;  so  I  felt  bound  to  beg  her  pardon,  which 
was  granted ;  and  we  had  smooth  water  again  till  we  neared 
the  school-room.  Now  then,  thought  I,  look  out  for  squalls, 
for  my  mind  was  made  up  to  stand  no  nonsense  from  the  petty 
officers,  that's  to  say,  gentlemen  ushers.  So  I  ranged  up 
alongside  the  most  mathematical-looking  one  I  could  pick  out, 
by  way  of  having  a  bout  with  him  at  trigonometry  ;  but  he 
chose  to  be  as  shy,  and  deaf  and  dumb,  as  a  Gibraltar  monkey 
just  grabbed.  "With  submission,  my  good  sir,"  says  the 
Doctor,  putting  in  his  oar,  "  Mr.  Huckin  may  consider  it  a 
work  of  supereror-something,  and  a  going  beyond  ourselves, 
to  re-examine  him  after  the  very  satisfactory  certificates 
that  satisfied  me  myself."  —  "  That 's  to  say,"  says  I,  "  in  plain 
English,  that  I  'm  to  get  nothing  but  what  I  can  screw  out  of 
my  nevy  ?  "  —  "  My  dear  sir,"  says  the  Doctor,  "  you  miscon- 
struct  me  entirely  —  the  whole  of  the  juvenile  pupils  are  open 
to  candid  scrutiny.  Suppose  we  begin  with  the  classics. 
Master  Bush,  sir,  you  will  English  me  hie,  hac,  hoc"  — 
"  This,  that,  and  t'other,"  says  Master  Bush  ;  no  great  shakes 
of  an  answer,  I  guess,  but  it  seemed  to  serve  for  a  come-off. 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


235 


Then  came  my  turn,  so  I  asked  who  was  the  discoverer  of 
America  ?  and  may  I  never  break  biscuit  again,  if  he  did  n't 
say  "  Yankee  Doodle  ! "  Well,  to  cut  oif  the  end  of  a  lono- 
yarn,  this  was  as  good  as  there  was  to  be  got  out  of  the  best 
of  them.  One  told  me  that  Guy  Fox  found  out  gunpowder ; 
and  another  that  a  solar  eclipse  was  along  of  the  sun's  stand- 
ing in  its  own  light.  What  else  I  might  have  learned,  that 
I  never  knew  before,  must  be  left  over  for  a  guess  ;  for  in  the 
middle  of  the  next  ask,  it  was  all  hats  aloft !  and  three  cheers 
for  a  half  holiday  ;  but  if  I  had  any  hand  in  begging  it,  may 
I  die  ashore  in  a  dry  ditch  !  However  that  was  too  much  of  a 
dog's  trick  to  be  took  quietly,  so  I  prepared  a  broadside,  with 
a  volley  of  oaths  to  it,  by  way  of  small  arms  ;  but  before  I 
could  well  bring  it  to  bear,  the  Doctor  hauls  out  his  watch, 
and  says  he,  "it 's  extremely  bad  luck,  but  there 's  a  voting  this 
morning  fbr  a  parish  beadle,  and  I  make  a  point  not  to  let  my 
private  duties  get  to  windward  of  my  public  ones."     So  say- 


KECP.I3IIXATIOX. 


ing  with  a  half-and-half  sort  of  a  bow,  to  me,  he  cut  and  run ; 
madam  getting  athwart  hawse  so  as  to  cover  his  getting  off. 
In  course  it  was  no  use  to  waste  speech  upon  her ;  but  I  made 
bold  to  d — n  the  whole  covey  of  under-masters,  in  the  lump, 
as  a  set  of  the  sharkingest,  logger-headed,  flute-playing,  skulk- 


236 


THE   CARNABY   CORRESPONDENCE. 


ing,  lubberly  sons  of  grinning  weavers  and  tailors  that  ever 
broke  bread.  So  the  finish  over  all  is,  that  I  took  my  nevy 
away,  traps  and  all ;  and  not  an  hour  too  soon ;  and  with  Bob 
in  tow  I  made  Tom  Pike's,  who  was  as  glad  to  see  his  old 
messmate  as  I  was  to  see  him  ;  and  what 's  more,  when  he 
heard  the  bit  of  a  brush  I  had  enjoyed,  he  informed  me  that 
Doctor  Darby,  LL.  D.,  and  what  not,  was  all  one  and  the 
same  with  Darby  the  ship-chandler,  that  went  to  pieces  down 
at  Wapping.  You  see  then,  as  the  chaplain  says,  that  all 's 
for  the  best  either  here  or  hereafter  ;  and  so  no  more  till  Mon- 
day, when  I  shall  bring  my  nevy  Bob  to  you,  to  make  what 
you  will  of  him,  which  I  hope  will  be  as  like  a  man  as  possi- 
ble. If  otherwise,  I  won't  promise  not  to  change  my  name  by 
act  of  parliament,  and  so  be  no  relation  to  dear  Bob,  nor  to 
you  neither  ;  and  that 's  the  real  mind  of 

Your  loving  Brother, 

Ben  Carnaby. 


BETWEEN    YOU   AND    ME   AND   THE   l'OST. 


RIGHT    AND    WRONG 


A    SKETCH    AT    SEA, 


The  Rights  of  Man,  —  whether  abstract  or  real,  divine  or 
vulgar,  vested  or  contested,  civil  or  uncivil,  common  or  un- 
common —  have  been  so  fully  and  so  frequently  discussed, 
that  one  v  ould  suppose  there  was  nothing  new  to  be  felt  or 
expressed  on  the  subject.  I  was  agreeably  surprised,  there- 
fore, during  a  late  passage  from  Ireland,  to  hear  the  rights  of 
an  individual  asserted  in  so  very  novel  a  manner  as  to  seem 
worthy  of  record.  The  injured  party  was  an  involuntary  fel- 
low-passenger ;  and  the  first  glance  at  him,  as  he  leisurely 
ascended  the  cabin-stairs,  bespoke  him  an  original.  His  face, 
figure,  dress,  gait,  and  gestures,  were  all  more  or  less  eccentric  ; 
yet  without  any  apparent  affectation  of  singularity.  His 
manner  was  perfectly  earnest  and  business-like,  though  quaint. 
On  reaching  the  deck,  his  first  movement  was  towards  the 
gangway,  but  a  moment  sufficed  to  acquaint  him  with  the  state 
of  the  case.  The  letter-bags  having  been  detained  an  hour 
beyond  the  usual  time  of  departure,  the  steam  had  been  put 
on  at  a  gallop,  and  Her  Majesty's  mail  packet,  the  Guebre, 
had  already  accomplished  some  hundred  fathoms  of  her  course. 
This  untoward  event,  however,  seemed  rather  to  surprise 
than  annoy  our  Original,  who  quietly  stepped  up  to  the  Cap- 
tain, with  the  air  of  demanding  what  was  merely  a  matter  of 
course : — 

"  Hollo,  Skipper  !  Off  she  goes,  eh  ?  But  you  must  turn 
about,  my  boy,  and  let  me  get  out." 

"  Let  you  get  out !  "  echoed  the  Skipper,  and  again  repeat- 
ing it,  with  what  the  musicians  call  a  staccato  —  "  Let — you 
— get — out !  " 

"  Exactly  so.     I  'm  going  ashore." 


238 


RIGHT   AND  WRONG. 


"  I  'm  rather  afraid  you  are  not,  Sir,"  said  the  Skipper, 
looking  decidedly  serious,  "  unless  you  allude  to  the  other 
side ! " 

"  The  other  side !  "  exclaimed  the  Oddity,  involuntarily 
turning  towards  England.  "  Poo  !  poo  !  nonsense,  man,  —  I 
only  came  to  look  at  your  accommodations.  I'm  not  going 
across  with  you  —  I  'm  not,  upon  my  word  ! " 

"  I  must  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  Captain,  quite 
solemnly.  "  But  it  is  my  firm  opinion  that  you  are  '  going 
across.' " 

"  Poo,  poo !  all  gammon.  —  I  tell  you  I  am  going  back  to 
Dublin." 


AN   AQUATIC   TRIP. 


"  Upon  my  soul,  then,"  said  the  Skipper,  rather  briskly, 
"  you  must  swim  back  like  a  grampus,  or  borrow  a  pair  of 
wings  from  the  gulls."  The  man  at  the  helm  grinned  his 
broadest  at  what  he  thought  a  good  joke  of  his  officer's  — 


RIGHT  AND    WRONG.  239 

while  the  Original  turned  sharply  round,  parodied  a  hyena's 
laugh  at  the  fellow,  and  then  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  Come,  come,  Skipper  —  it 's  quite  as  far  out  as  I  care  for 

—  if  you  want  to  treat  me  to  a  sail !  " 

"  Treat  you  to  a  sail ! "  roared  the  indignant  officer. 
"  Zounds  !  Sir,  I  'm  in  earnest  —  as  much  in  earnest  as  ever  I 
was  in  my  life." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  answered  the  Original.  "  I'm  not 
joking  myself,  and  I  have  no  right  to  be  joked  upon." 

"  Joke  or  no  joke,"  said  the  Captain  —  "  all  I  know  is  this. 
The  mail-bags  are  on  board  —  and  it 's  more  than  my  post  is 
worth  to  put  back." 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  How  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Oddity,  with  a  sort 
of  nervous  dance.  "  You  astonish  me  !  Do — you — really 
— mean  to  say  —  I  'm  obligated  to  go  —  whether  I  've  a 
right  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  indeed,  Sir  —  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  but  it  can't  be  helped. 
My  orders  are  positive.  The  moment  the  mail  is  on  board  I 
must  ca-t  off." 

"  Indeed  !  —  well  —  but  you  know  —  why,  that 's  your 
duty,  not  mine,  /have  no  right  to  be  cast  otf!  I've  no 
right  to  be  here  at  all.  I  've  no  right  to  be  anywhere  —  ex- 
cept in  Merrion  Square  !  " 

The  Captain  was  bothered.  He  shrugged  up  his  shoulders, 
then  gave  a  low  whistle,  then  plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets 

—  then  gave  a  loud  order  to  somebody,  to  do  something,  some- 
where or  other  ;  and  then  began  to  walk  short  turns  on  the 
deck.  His  captive,  in  the  mean  time,  made  hasty  strides 
towards  the  stern,  as  if  intending  to  leap  overboard ;  but  he 
suddenly  stopped  short,  and  took  a  bewildered  look  at  the  re- 
ceding coast.  The  original  wrong  was  visibly  increasing  in 
length,  breadth,  and  depth,  every  minute ;  and  he  again  con- 
fronted the  Captain. 

"Well,  Skipper  —  you've  thought  better  of  it  —  I've  no 

right  in  the  world,  have  I  ?  —  You  will  turn  her  round  ?  " 

"  Totally  impossible,  Sir  —  quite  out  of  my  power." 

"  Very  well,  very  well,  very  well  indeed  !  "  the  Original's 

temper  was  getting  up  as  well  as  the  sea.     "  But  mind,  Sir  — 

I  protest.     I  protest  against  you,  Sir  —  and  against  the  ship 

—  and  the  ocean,  Sir  —  and  everything  !  I  'm  getting  far- 
ther and  farther  out  —  but,  remember,  I've  no  right/     You 


240  RIGHT   AND   WRONG. 

will  take  the  consequences.  I  have  no  right  to  be  kidnapped 
—  ask  the  Crown  lawyers,  if  you  think  fit !  " 

After  this  denouncement,  the  speaker  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  like  the  Captain,  but  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  deck. 
He  was  on  the  boil,  however,  as  well  as  the  engine,  —  and 
every  time  that  he  passed  near  the  man  whom  he  considered 
as  his  Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  he  gave  vent  to  the  inward  feeling 
in  a  jerk  of  the  head,  accompanied  by  a  short  pig-like  grunt. 
Now  and  then  it  broke  out  in  words,  but  always  the  same 
four  monosyllables,  "  This — is — too — bad  "  —  with  a  most 
emphatic  fall  of  the  foot  to  each.  At  last  it  occurred  to  a 
stout,  pompous-looking  personage  to  interpose  as  a  mediator. 
He  began  by  diliating  on  the  immense  commercial  importance 
of  a  punctual  delivery  of  letters  —  thence  he  insisted  on  the 
heavy  responsibility  of  the  Captain  ;  with  a  promise  of  an 
early  return  packet  from  Holyhead  —  and  he  was  entering 
into  a  congratulation  on  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  when  the 
Original  thought  it  was  time  to  cut  him  short. 

"  My  good  sir  —  you  '11  excuse  me.  The  case  is  nobody's 
but  my  own.  You  are  a  regular  passenger.  You  have  a 
right  to  be  in  this  packet.  You  have  a  right  to  go  to  Holy- 
head —  or  to  Liverpool  —  or  to  Gibraltar,  —  or  to  the  world's 
end — if — you — like.  But /choose  to  be  in  Dublin.  What 
right  have  I  to  be  here  then  ?  Not — one — atom  !  I  've 
no  right  to  be  in  this  vessel  —  and  the  Captain  there  knows 
it.  I  've  no  right  (stamping)  to  be  on  this  deck  !  I  have  no 
more  right  to  be  tossing  at  sea  (waving  his  arms  up  and  down) 
than  the  Pigeon  House  !  " 

"  It  is  a  very  unpleasant  situation,  I  allow,  Sir,"  said  the 
Captain  to  the  stout  Passenger.  "  But,  as  I  have  told  the 
gentleman,  my  hands  are  tied.  I  can  do  nothing  ■ —  though 
nobody  is  more  sorry  for  his  inconvenience." 

"  Inconvenience  be  hanged ! "  exclaimed  the  Oddity,  in  a 
passion  at  last.  "It  is  no  inconvenience,  Sir!  Not — the 
— smallest.  But  that  makes  no  difference  as  to  my  being 
here.     It 's  that  —  and  that  alone,  —  I  dispute  all  right  to  S " 

"  Well,  but  my  dear,  good  Sir,"  expostulated  the  pompous 
man ;  "  admitting  the  justice  of  your  premises,  the  hardship 
is  confessedly  without  remedy." 

"  To  be  sure  it  is,"  said  the  Captain,  "  every  inch  of  it. 
"  All  I  can  say  is,  that  the  gentleman's  passage  shall  be  no 
expense  to  him  ! " 


RIGHT   AND   WRONG. 


241 


"  Thankee  —  of  course  not,"  said  the  Original  with  a  sneer. 
"  I  've  no  right  to  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  !  Not  that  I 
mind  expense.  But  it 's  my  right  I  stand  up  for,  and  I  defy 
you  both  to  prove  that  I  have  any  right  —  or  any  shadow  of 
a  right  —  to  be  in  your  company  !  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Skip- 
per "  —  but  before  he  could  finish  the  sentence,  he  turned 
suddenly  pale,  made  a  most  grotesque  wry  face,  and  rushed 
forward  to  the  bow  of  the  vessel.     The  Captain  exchanged  a 


SEA    RIDDLE.      "  DO    YOU    GIVE    IT    UP? 


significant  smile  with  the  stout  gentleman  ;  but  before  they 
had  quite  spoken  their  minds  of  the  absent  character,  he  came 
scrambling  back  to  the  binnacle,  upon  which  he  rested  witli 
both  hands,  while  he  thrust  his  working  visage  within  a  foot 
of  the  skipper's  face. 

"  There,  Skipper  !  —  now  Mr.  What  d'  ye  call !  —  What  do 
you  both  say  to  that  ?     What  right  have  I  to  be  sick,  —  as 
11  p 


242 


RIGHT   AND   WRONG. 


sick  as  a  clog  ?  I  've  no  right  to  be  squeamish  !  I  'm  not  a 
passenger.  I  've  no  right  to  go  tumbling  over  ropes  and 
pails  and  what  not  —  to  the  ship's  head  !  " 

"  But  my  good  Sir,"  —  began  the  pompous  man. 

"  Don't  Sir  me,  Sir  !  You  took  your  own  passage.  You 
have  a  right  to  be  sick  —  You  've  a  right  to  go  to  the  side 
every  five  minutes  —  you  've  a  right  to  die  of  it !  But  it  's 
the  reverse  with  me  —  I  have  no  right  of  the  sort !  " 

"  O  certainly  not,  Sir,"  said  the  pomposity,  offended  in  his 
turn.  "  You  are  indubitably  the  best  judge  of  your  own  priv- 
ileges.    I  only  beg  to  be  allowed  to  remark,  that  where  I  felt 


CHARMING    SPOTS    ABOUT   THIS   PART   OF   THE    RIVER! 


I  had  so  little  right,  I  should  hesitate  to  intrude  myself."  So 
saying,  he  bowed  very  formally,  and  commenced  his  retreat 
to  the  cabin,  while  the  Skipper  pretended  to  examine  the  com- 
pass very  minutely.      In  fact  our  Original  had  met  with  a 


EIGHT   AND    WRONG. 


243 


choke-pear.  The  fat  man's  answer  was  too  much  for  him, 
being  framed  on  a  principle  clean  contrary  to  his  own  peculiar 
system  of  logic.  The  more  he  tried  to  unravel  its  meaning, 
the  more  it  got  entangled.  He  did  n't  like  it,  without  know- 
ing why ;  and  he  quite  disagreed  with  it,  though  ignorant  of 
its  purport.  He  looked  up  at  the  funnel,  —  and  at  the  flag,  — 
and  at  the  deck,  —  and  down  the  companion-stairs,  —  and 
then  he  wound  up  all  by  a  long  shake  of  his  head,  as  myste- 
rious as  Lord  Burghleigh's,  at  the  astonished  man  at  the 
wheel.  His  mind  seemed  made  up.  He  buttoned  his  coat 
up  to  the  very  chin,  as  if  to  secure  himself  to  himself,  and 
never  opened  his  lips  again  till  the  vessel  touched  the  quay  at 
Holyhead.  The  Captain  then  attempted  a  final  apology,  but 
it  was  interrupted  in  the  middle  :  — 

"  Enough  said,  Sir,  —  quite  enough.  If  you  've  only  done 
your  duty,  you  've  no  right  to  beg  pardon  —  and  I  've  no 
right  to  ask  it.  All  I  mean  to  say  is,  here  am  I  in  Holyhead 
instead  of  Dublin.  I  don't  care  what  that  fat  fellow  says  — 
who  don't  understand  his  own  rights.  I  stick  to  all  I  said 
before.  I  have  no  right  to  be  up  in  the  Moon,  have  I  ?  Of 
course  not  —  and  I  've  no  more  right  to  stand  on  this  present 
quay,  than  I  have  to  be  up  in  the  Moon  !  " 


WHAT    RIGHT   HAVE    YOU   IN   MY    STEEL   TRAP?" 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 


Dreadful  Fire.  —  Destruction  of  both  Houses  of  Parliament.  — ■ 
The  Speaker's  House  gutted.  —  Reports  of  Incendiarism. 

It  is  our  unexpected  lot  to  announce  that  the  Houses  of 
Lords  and  Commons,  so  often  threatened  with  combustion,  are 
in  a  state  of  actual  ignition.  At  this  moment,  both  fabrics 
are  furiously  burning.  We  are  writing  this  paragraph  with- 
out the  aid  of  lamp  or  candles  ;  by  the  mere  reflection  of  the 
flames.  Nothing  is  known  of  the  origin  of  the  fire,  although 
it  is  throwing  a  light  upon  everything  else.  —  Evening  Star. 

The  devouring  element  which  destroyed  Co  vent  Garden 
and  Drury  Lane,  the  Royalty  and  the  Pantheon,  has  made 
its  appearance  on  a  new  stage,  equally  devoted  to  declamatory 
elocution.  St.  Stephen's  Chapel  is  in  flames  !  The  floor 
which  was  trodden  by  the  eloquent  legs  of  a  Fox,  a  Burke, 
a  Pitt,  and  a  Sheridan  is  reduced  to  a  heap  of  ashes  ;  and 
the  benches  which  sustained  the  Demosthenic  weight  of  a 
Wyndham,  a  Whitbread,  and  a  Wilberforce  are  a  mere  mass 
of  charcoal.  The  very  roof  that  re-echoed  the  classicalities  of 
Canning  is  nodding  to  its  fall.  In  Parliamentary  language, 
Fire  is  in  possession  of  the  House  :  the  Destructive  spirit  is 
on  its  legs,  and  the  Conservative  principle  can  offer  but  a 
feeble  opposition.  —  Daily  Post. 

The  blow  is  struck.  What  we  have  long  foreseen  has 
come  to  pass.  Incendiarism  triumphs  !  The  whole  British 
Empire,  as  represented  by  the  three  estates,  is  in  a  blaze  ! 
The  Throne,  the  Lords,  and  the  Commons  are  now  burning. 
The  cycle  is  complete.  The  spirit  of  Guy  Fawkes  revives 
in  1834! 

England  seems  to  have  changed  places  with  Italy  ;  London 
with  Naples.     We  stand  hourly  on  the  brink  of  a  crater; 


THE  GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  245 

every  step  we  take  is  on  a  solfaterra  —  not  a  land  of  Sol  Fa, 
as  some  musical  people  would  translate  it ;  but  a  frail  crust, 
with  a  treacherous  subsoil  of  ardent  brimstone  !  At  length 
the  eyes  of  our  rulers  are  opened  ;  but,  we  must  ask,  could 
nothing  short  of  such  an  eruption  awaken  them  to  a  sense  of 
the  perilous  state  of  the  country  ?  For  weeks,  nay,  months 
past,  at  the  risk  of  being  considered  alarmists,  we  have  called 
the  attention  of  the  legislature  and  magistracy  to  a  variety  of 
suspicious  symptoms  and  signs  of  the  times,  and  in  particular 
to  the  multiplied  chemical  inventions,  for  the  purpose  of  ob- 
taining instantaneous  lights.  Well  are  certain  matches  or 
fire-boxes  called  Lucifers,  for  they  may  be  applied  to  the  most 
diabolical  purposes  !  The  origin  of  the  fire  cannot  raise  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  in  any  reasonable  mind.  Accident  is  out 
of  the  question.  Tell  us  not  of  tallies.  We  have  just  tried 
our  milk-woman's,  and  it  contained  so  much  water,  that  noth- 
ing could  make  it  ignite.  - —  Britannic  Guardian. 

The  Houses  of  Parliament  are  in  flames.  We  shall  stop 
the  press  to  give  full  particulars.     Our  reporters  are  at  the 

spot,  and  Mons.  C ,  the  celebrated  Salamander,  is  engaged 

to  give  a  description  of  the  blazing  interiors,  exclusively  for 
this  journal.  —  Daily  Times. 

From  a    Correspondent. 

On  Thursday  evening,  towards  seven  o'clock,  I  was  struck 
by  the  singular  appearance  of  the  moon  silvering  the  opposite 
chimneys  with  a  blood-red  light,  a  lunar  phenomenon  which  I 
conceived  belonged  only  to  our  theatres.  It  speedily  occurred 
to  me  that  there  must  be  a  conflagration  in  my  vicinity,  and 
after  a  little  hunting  by  scent  as  well  as  sight,  I  found  myself 
in  front  of  the  Houses  of  Lords  and  Commons,  which  were 
burning  with  a  rapidity  and  brilliancy  that  I  make  bold  to  say 
did  not  always  characterize  their  proceedings.  By  favor  of 
my  natural  assurance,  which  seemed  to  identify  me  with  the 
firemen,  I  was  allowed  to  pass  through  the  lines  of  guards  and 
policemen,  who  surrounded  the  blazing  pile,  and  was  thus  en- 
abled to  select  a  favorable  position  for  overlooking  the  whole 
scene.  It  was  an  imposing  sight.  The  flames  rose  from  the 
Peers'  in  a  volume  as  red  as  the  Extraordinary  Red  Book, 
and  the  House  of  Commons  was  not  at  all  behindhand  in  vot- 


246 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 


ing  supplies  of  timber  and  other  combustibles.  Westminster 
Hall  reminded  me  vividly  of  a  London  cry,  "  Hall  hot !  Hall 
hot ! "  that  was  familiar  in  our  childhood  —  and  the  Gothic 
architecture  of  the  Abbey  seemed  unusually  florid.  Instead 
of  dingy  stone,  the  venerable  pile  appeared  to  be  built  of  the 
well-baked  brick  of  the  Elizabethan  age.     Indeed,  so  red-hot 


PLAYING   AT   HAZARD. 


was  its  aspect,  that  it  led  to  a  ludicrous  misapprehension  on 
the  part  of  the  populace.  A  procession,  bearing  several  male 
and  female  figures  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  naturally  gave 
rise  to  the  most  painful  conjectures,  inferring  loss  of  human 
life  by  the  devouring  element,  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  it 
was  only  the  Dean  and  Chapter  saving  the  Wax-Work.  As 
far  as  my  own  observation  went,  the  first  object  carried  out 
certainly  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  General  Monk. 

In  the  mean  time  a  select  party  had  effected  an  entrance 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  247 

into  the  Hall,  but  not  without  some  serious  delay,  occasioned, 
I  believe,  by  somebody  within  bringing  the  wrong  key,  that 
belonged  to  a  tea-caddy.  However,  at  last  they  entered,  and 
I  followed  their  example.  The  first  person  I  beheld  was  the 
veteran  Higginbottom,  so  unfairly,  but  facetiously  put  to  death 
by  the  authors  of  the  Rejected  Addresses ;  for  no  man  is 
more  alive  to  his  duty.  But  he  was  sadly  hampered.  First 
came  one  Hon.  Gent,  said  to  be  Mr.  Morrison,  and  insisted 
on  directing  the  Hose  department ;  and  next  arrived  a  noble 
Lord  from  Crockford's,  who  would  n't  sit  out,  but  persisted  in 
taking  a  hand,  and  playing,  though  everybody  agreed  that  he 
played  too  high.  I  mention  this,  because  some  of  the  journals 
have  imputed  mismanagement  to  the  engines,  and  have  insin- 
uated that  the  pipes  wanted  organizing ;  indeed,  I  myself 
overheard  a  noble  director  of  the  Academy  of  Music  lament- 
ing that  the  firemen  did  not  "  play  in  concert." 

The  same  remark  applies  with  greater  force  to  the  House 
of  Commons.  Here  all  was  confusion  worse  confounded,  and 
Higginbottom's  station  was  enviable,  compared  with  that  of 
some  of  the  poor  fellows  in  St.  Stephen's  Chapel.  A  consid- 
erable number  of  members  had  arrived,  and  without  any  at- 
tention to  their  usual  parliamentary  rules,  were  all  making 
motions  at  once,  which  nobody  seconded.  The  most  promi- 
nent, I  was  informed,  were  Mr.  Hume,  Mr.  O'Connell,  Mr. 
Attwood,  Mr.  Buckingham,  Mr.  Pease,  Sir  Andrew,  and  Mr. 
Buxton,  —  the  latter  almost  covered  with  blacks.  The  clamor 
was  terrific,  and  I  really  expected  that  the  poor  foremen  who 
held  the  pipes  would  be  torn  in  pieces.  Everybody  wanted 
to  command  the  Coldstream.  Nothing  but  shouts  of  "  Here  ! 
here  !  here  !  "  answered  like  an  Irish  echo  by  cries  of  "  There  ! 
there  !  there  !  "  u  Oh,  save  my  savings  ! "  —  "  My  poor,  Poor 
Bill !  "  ';  More  water  —  more  water  for  my  Drunkenness  ! " 
"  Work  awa,  lads,  work  awa  —  it 's  no  the  Sabbath,  and  ye 
may  just  play  at  what  ye  like  ! " 

In  pleasing  contrast  to  this  tumult  was  the  unusual  and  cor- 
dial unanimity  of  the  members  of  both  Houses,  in  rescuing 
whatever  was  portable  from  the  flames.  It  was  a  delightful 
novelty  to  see  the  Lords  helping  the  Commons  in  whatever 
they  moved  or  carried.  Xo  party  spirit  —  no  Whig,  pulling 
at  one  leg  of  the  table,  whilst  a  Tory  tugged  at  another  in  the 
opposite  direction.     They  seemed  to  belong  to  the  Hand-in- 


248  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

Hand.  Peers  and  Commoners  were  alike  seen  burdened 
with  loads  of  papers  or  furniture.  Mr.  Calvert,  in  particular, 
worked  liked  any  porter.  Of  course,  in  rescuing  the  papers 
and  parchments  there  was  no  time  for  inspecting  their  contents, 
and  some  curious  results  were  the  consequence.  Everybody 
remembers  the  pathetic  story  in  the  Tatler,  of  the  lover  who 
saved  a  strange  lady  from  a  burning  theatre,  under  the  idea 
that  he  was  preserving  the  mistress  of  his  affections,  and  some 
similar  mistakes  are  currently  reported  to  have  occurred  at 
the  late  conflagration  —  and  equally  to  the  chagrin  of  the 
parties.  I  go  by  hearsay,  and  cannot  vouch  for  the  facts,  but 
it  is  said  that  the  unpopular  Six  Acts,  including  what  I  believe 
is  called  the  Gagging  Act,  were  actually  preserved  by  Mr. 
Cobbett.  Mr.  O'Connell  saved  the  Irish  Coercion  Bill,  whilst 
the  Reform  Bill  was  snatched  like  "  a  brand  out  of  the  fire  " 
by  a  certain  noble  Duke,  who  resolutely  set  his  face  against  it 
in  all  its  stages  !  Amongst  others,  Mr.  Ricardo  saved  an  old 
tattered  flag,  which  he  thought  was  "  the  standard  of  value." 

However  deficient  in  general  combination  and  concentra- 
tion of  energies,  individual  efforts  were  beyond  all  praise. 
The  instances  of  personal  exertion  and  daring  were  numerous. 
Mr.  Rice  worked  amidst  the  flames  till  he  was  nearly  baked ; 
and  everybody  expected  that  Mr.  Pease  would  be  parched. 
The  greatest  danger  was  from  the  melted  metal  pouring 
down  from  the  windows  and  roof.  The  heads  of  some  of  the 
Hon.  Gentlemen  were  literally  nothing  but  lead.  Great  ap- 
prehensions were  entertained  of  the  falling  in  of  one  of  the 
walls,  which  eventually  gave  way ;  but  fortunately  everybody 
had  retreated  on  the  timely  warning  of  a  gentleman,  Mr. 
O'Connell,  I  believe,  who  declared  that  he  saw  a  Rent  in  it. 

I  did  not  enter  the  House  of  Lords,  which  Avas  now  one 
mass  of  glowing  fire,  but  directed  my  attention  towards  the 
Speaker's  mansion,  which  was  partially  burning.  The  garden 
behind  was  nearly  filled  with  miscellaneous  property  —  and 
numbers  of  well-dressed  gentlemen  were  every  moment  rush- 
ing into  the  house,  from  which  they  issued  again,  laden  with 
spits,  saucepans,  and  other  culinary  implements.  I  myself 
saw  one  zealous  individual  thus  encumbered  —  with  a  stew- 
pan  on  his  head,  the  meat-screen  under  one  arm,  the  dripping- 
pan  under  the  other,  the  frying-pan  in  his  right  hand,  the  grid- 
iron in  his  left,  and  the  rolling-pin  in  his  mouth.     Indeed,  it 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  249 

is  said  that  every  article  in  the  kitchen  was  saved  down  to  the 
salt-box ;  and  the  cook  declares  that  such  was  the  anxiety  to 
save  her  she  was  "  cotched  up  in  twelve  gentlemen's  arms, 
and  never  felt  her  feet  till  the  corner  of  Abingdon  Street." 

The  whole  of  the  Foot  Guards  were  in  attendance,  as  well 
as  a  great  number  of  police,  but  the  thieves  had  mustered  in 
great  force,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  plundering,  which 
was  however  checked  temporarily  by  a  gentleman  said  to  be 
one  of  the  members  and  magistrates  for  Essex,  who  jumped 
up  on  a  railing  and  addressed  the  populace  to  the  following 
effect,  "  How  do  you  hall  dare  !  " 

The  origin  of  the  fire  is  involved  in  much  mystery ;  nor  is 
it  correctly  ascertained  by  whom  it  was  first  discovered.  Some 
say  that  one  of  the  sergeants,  in  taking  up  the  insignia,  was 
astonished  to  find  the  mace  as  hot  as  ginger.  Others  relate 
that  a  Mr.  Spell,  or  Shell,  or  Snell,  whilst  viewing  the  House, 
although  no  dancer,  began  suddenly,  and  in  his  boots,  to  the 
utter  amazement  of  his  companions  and  Mrs.  Wright,  the 
housekeeper,  to  jump  and  caper  like  a  bear  upon  a  hotted 
floor.  This  story  certainly  seems  to  countenance  a  report 
that  the  mischief  originated  in  the  warming  apparatus,  —  an 
opinion  that  is  very  current ;  but,  for  my  own  part,  I  cannot 
conceive  that  the  Collective  Wisdom,  which  knows  how  to  lay 
down  laws  for  us  all,  should  not  know  how  to  lay  down  flues. 
Rumors  of  incendiarism  are  also  very  generally  prevalent,  and 
stories  are  in  circulation  of  the  finding  of  half-burnt  matches 
and  other  combustibles.  But  these  facts  rest  on  very  frail 
foundations.  The  links  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  Speak- 
er's garden  have  turned  out  to  be  nothing  but  German  sau- 
sages ;  and  another  cock-and-a-bull  that  has  got  abroad  will 
probably  come  to  no  better  end.  A  Mr.  Dudley  affirms  that 
he  smelt  the  fire  before  it  broke  out,  at  Cooper's  Hill ;  but 
such  olfactories  are  too  much  like  manufactories  to  be  be- 
lieved. I  am,  Sir,  your  most  obedient  servant. 

X.  Y.  Z. 

Another  Account. 

The  writer  of  these  lines,  who  resides  in   Lambeth,  was 
first  awakened  to  a  sense  of  conflagration  by  a  cry  of  "  Fire  ! " 
from  a  number  of  persons  who  were  running  in  the  direction 
11* 


250  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

of  Westminster  Bridge.  Owning  myself  a  warm  enthusiast 
on  the  subject  of  ignition,  and  indeed  not  having  missed  a  fire 
for  the  last  fifty  years,  except  one,  and  that  was  only  a  chim- 
ney, it  may  be  supposed  the  exclamation  in  question  had  an 
electric  effect.  We  are  all  the  slaves  of  some  physical  bias, 
strange  as  it  may  appear  to  others  with  opposite  tendencies. 
It  is  recorded  of  some  great  marshal  that  he  disliked  music, 
but  testified  the  liveliest  pleasure  at  a  salvo  of  artillery  or  a 
roll  of  thunder,  and  the  rumble  of  an  engine  has  the  same 
effect  on  the  author  of  these  lines.  To  say  I  am  a  guebre,  or 
fire-worshipper,  is  only  to  confess  the  truth.  I  have  a  sort  of 
observatory  erected  on  the  roof  of  my  house,  from  which,  if 
there  be  a  break-out  within  the  circuit  of  the  metropolis,  it 
may  be  discovered,  and  before  going  to  bed  I  invariably  visit 
this  look-out. 

Every  man  has  his  hobby-horse,  and,  figuratively  speaking, 
mine  was  always  kept  harnessed  and  ready  to  run  to  a  fire 
with  the  first  engine.  Many  a  time  I  have  arrived  before  the 
turncocks,  though  I  perhaps  had  to  traverse  half  London,  and 
I  scarcely  remember  an  instance  that  I  did  not  appear  long 
before  the  water.  Habit  is  second  nature  —  I  verily  believe 
I  could  sniff  a  conflagration  by  instinct ;  and  if  I  was  not,  ought 
to  have  been,  the  trainer  of  the  firemen's  dog,  which  at  present 
attracts  so  much  of  the  public  attention,  by  his  eager  running 
along  with  the  Sun,  the  Globe,  the  British,  and  the  Hand-in- 
Hand. 

Of  course  I  have  seen  a  great  many  fires  in  my  time,  — 
Rotherliithe,  the  theatres,  the  Custom-house,  &c,  &c.  I  re- 
member in  the  days  of  Thistle  wood  and  Co.,  when  the  me- 
tropolis was  expected  to  be  set  on  fire,  I  slept  for  three  weeks 
in  my  clothes  in  order  to  be  ready  for  the  first  alarm ;  for  I 
had  the  good  fortune  to  witness  the  great  riots  of  1780,  when 
no  less  than  eight  fires  were  blazing  at  once,  and  a  lamentable 
sight  it  was.  I  say  lamentable,  because  it  was  impossible  to 
be  present  at  them  all  at  the  same  time ;  but  my  good  genius 
directed  me  to  Langdale's  the  Distiller,  which  made  (excuse 
the  vulgar  popular  phrase)  a  very  satisfactory  flare-up. 

The  Rotherliithe  fire,  not  the  recent  little  job,  but  some 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  wras  also  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
very  lasting.  The  engine-pipes  were  wilfully  cut ;  and  I  re- 
member some  of  my  friends,  rallying  me  on  my  well-known 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION. 


251 


propensity,  jocularly  accusing  me  of  lending  my  knife  and  my 
assistance.  The  Custom-house  was  a  disappointment ;  it  cer- 
tainly cleared  itself  effectually,  but  it  was  done  by  daylight, 
and  consequently  the  long-room  fell  short  of  my  anticipations. 


'T  is  distance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view. 


Drury-lane  and  Covent-garden  were  better;  but  I  have  ob- 
served generally  that  theatres  burn  with  more  attention  to 
stage  effect.  They  avoid  the  noon  :  a  dark  night  to  a  fire  is 
like  the  black  letters  in  a  benefit-bill,  setting  off  the  red  ones. 
The  destruction  of  the  Kent  Indiaman  I  should  like  to  have 
witnessed,  but,  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  many  experienced 
amateurs,  I  conceive  the  Dartford  Mills  must  have  been  a  fail- 
ure. Powder-magazines  make  very  indifferent  conflagrations  ; 
they  are  no  sooner  on  fire  than  they  are  off,  —  all  is  over  be- 
fore you  know  where  you  are,  and  there  is  no  getting  under, 
which  quite  puts  you  out.  But  fires,  generally,  are  not  what 
they  used  to  be.  What  with  gas,  and  new  police,  steam,  and 
one  cause  or  other,  they  have  become  what  one  might  call 


252  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

slow  explosion?.  A  body  of  flame  bursts  from  all  the  win- 
dows at  once,  and  before  B.  25  can  call  fi-er  in  two  syllables, 
the  roof  falls  in,  and  all  is  over.  It  was  not  so  in  my  time. 
First  a  little  smoke  would  issue  from  a  window-shutter,  like 
the  puff  of  a  cigar,  and  after  a  long  spring  of  his  rattle,  the 
rheumatic  watchman  had  time  to  knock  double  and  treble 
knocks,  from  No.  9  to  No.  35,  before  a  spark  made  its  appear- 
ance out  of  the  chimney-pot.  The  Volunteers  had  time  to 
assemble  under  arms,  and  muffle  their  drums,  and  the  bell- 
ringers  to  collect  in  the  belfry,  and  pull  an  alarm  peal  back- 
wards. The  parish  engines,  even,  although  pulled  along  by 
the  pursy  churchwardens,  and  the  paralytic  paupers,  contrived 
to  arrive  before  the  fire  fairly  broke  out  in  the  shape  of  a  little 
squib-like  eruption  from  the  garret-window.  The  affrighted 
family,  fourteen  in  number,  all  elaborately  dressed  in  their  best 
Sunday  clothes,  saved  themselves  by  the  street-door,  according 
to  seniority,  the  furniture  was  carefully  removed,  and  after  an 
hour's  pumping,  the  fire  was  extinguished  without  extending 
beyond  the  room  where  it  originated,  namely,  a  bedroom  on 
the  second  floor.  Such  was  the  progress  in  my  time  of  a  fire, 
but  it  is  the  fashion  now  to  sacrifice  everything  to  -pace.  Look 
at  our  race-horses,  and  look  at  our  fox-hounds,  —  and  I  will 
add,  look  at  our  conflagrations.  All  that  is  cared  for  is  a  burst, 
—  no  matter  how  short,  if  it  be  but  rapid.  The  devouring 
element  never  sits  down  now  to  a  regular  meal  —  it  pitches 
on  a  house  and  bolts  it. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  the  point.  The  announcement 
of  both  Houses  of  Parliament  being  in  flames  thrilled  through 
every  fibre.  It  seemed  to  promise  what  I  may  call  a  crown- 
ing event  to  the  Conflagrationary  Reminiscences  of  an  Octo- 
genarian. I  snatched  up  my  hat,  and  rushed  into  the  street, 
at  eighty  years  of  age,  with  the  alacrity  of  eighteen,  when  I 
ran  from  Highgate  to  Horselydown,  to  be  present  at  the  gut- 
ting of  a  ship-chandler's.     As  the  bard  says,  — 

"  Ev'n  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  Jlres" 

and  I  could  almost  have  supposed  myself  a  fireman  belonging 
to  the  Phoenix.  My  first  step  into  the  street  discouraged  me, 
the  moonlight  was  so  brilliant,  and  in  such  cases  the  most 
splendid  blaze  is  somewhat  "  shorn  of  its  beams."  But  a  few 
steps  reassured  me.      Even  at  the  Surrey  side  of  the  river 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION.  253 

the  sparks  and  burning  particles  were  falling  like  flakes  of 
snow  —  I  mean  of  course  the  red  snow  formerly  discovered 
by  Captain  Ross,  and  the  light  was  so  great  that  I  could  have 
read  the  small  print  of  the  Police  Gazette  with  the  greatest 
ease,  only  I  don't  take  it  in.  I  of  course  made  the  best  of  my 
way  towards  the  scene,  but  the  crowd  was  already  so  dense 
that  I  could  only  attain  a  situation  on  the  strand  opposite 
Cotton  Gardens,  up  to  my  knees  in  mud.  Both  Houses  of 
Parliament  were  at  this  time  in  a  blaze,  and  no  doubt  pre- 
sented as  striking  objects  of  conflagration  as  the  metropolis 
could  offer.  I  say,  "  no  doubt,"  —  for  getting  jammed  against 
a  barge  with  my  back  towards  the  fire,  I  am  unable  to  state 
anything  on  my  own  authority  as  an  eyewitness,  excepting 
that  the  buildings  on  the  Surrey  side  exhibited  a  glowing  re- 
flection for  some  hours.  At  last  the  flowing  of  the  tide  caused 
the  multitude  to  retreat,  and  releasing  me  from  my  retrospec- 
tive position  allowed  me  to  gaze  upon  the  ruins.  By  what  I 
hear,  it  was  a  most  imposing  sight ;  but,  in  spite  of  my  Lord 
Althorp,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  Westminster  Hall,  with 
its  long  range,  would  have  made  up  an  admirable  fire. 
Neither  can  I  agree  with  the  many  that  it  was  an  Incen- 
diary Act,  that  passed  through  both  houses  so  rapidly.  To 
enjoy  the  thing,  a  later  hour  and  a  darker  night  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  chosen.  Fire-light  and  moon-light  do  not 
mix  well :  —  they  are  best  neat. 

I  am,  Sir,  Yours,  &c. 

Senex. 

Various  Accounts. 

We  are  concerned  to  state  that  Sir  Jacob  Jubb,  the  new 
member  for  Shrops,  was  severely  burnt,  by  taking  his  seat  in 
the  House  on  a  bench  that  was  burning  under  him.  The 
danger  of  his  situation  was  several  times  pointed  out  to  him ; 
but  he  replied  that  his  seat  had  cost  him  ten  thousand  pound-, 
and  he  would  n't  quit.  He  was  at  length  removed  by  force. 
—  Morning  Ledger. 

A  great  many  foolish  anecdotes  of  the  fire  are  in  circula- 
tion. One  of  our  contemporaries  gravely  asserts  that  the 
Marquis  of  Culpepper  was  the  last  person  who  left  the  South 
Turret,  a  fact  we  beg  leave  to  question,  for  the  exquisite 


254 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 


reason  that  the   noble  Lord  alluded  to  is  at  present  at  Con- 
stantinople. —  The  Real  Sun. 

We  are  enabled  to  state  that  the  individual  who  displayed 
so  much  coolness  in  the  South  Turret  was  Captain  Back.  — 
The  Public  Journal. 


TrrrrrrnriTTTTmyi* 

FANCY   PORTRAIT:—  CAPTAIN   BACK. 


It  is  said  that  considerable  interest  was  evinced  by  the 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons  who  were  present  at  the 
fire,  as  to  the  fate  of  their  respective  Bills.  One  honorable 
gentleman,  in  particular,  was  observed  anxiously  watching 
the  last  scintillations  of  some  burnt  paper.  "  Oh,  my  Sab- 
bath Observance  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There  's  an  end  of  relig- 
ion !     There  go  the  Parson  and  Clerk  !  "  —  Public  Diary. 

The  Earl  of  M.  had  a  very  narrow  escape.  His  Lordship 
was  on  the  point  of  kicking  a  bucket,  when  a  laborer  rushed 
forward  and  snatched  it  out  of  the  way.  The  individual's 
name  is  M'Farrcl.  We  understand  he  is  a  sober,  honest, 
nard-working  man,  and  has  two  wives,  and  a  numerous  fam- 
ily ;  the  eldest  not  above  a  year  old.  —  Daily  Chronicle. 

The  exclamation  of  a  noble  Lord,  high  in  office,  who  was 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION.  255 

very  active  at  the  fire,  has  been  very  incorrectly  given.  The 
words  were  as  follows  :  "  Blow  the  Commons  !  let  'em  flare 
up  —  but  oh  —  for  a  save-all !  a  save-all !  "  —  Morning  JVeios. 

The  public  attention  has  been  greatly  excited  by  the  extraor- 
dinary statement  of  a  commercial  gentleman,  that  he  smelt 
the  fire  at  the  Cock  and  Bottle,  in  Coventry.  He  asserts  that 
he  mentioned  the  fact  in  the  commercial  room  to  a  deaf  gen- 
tleman, and  likewise  to  a  dumb  waiter,  but  neither  have  any 
recollection  of  the  circumstance.  He  has  been  examined 
before  the  Common  Council,  who  have  elicited  that  he  actu- 
ally arrived  at  Coventry  on  the  night  in  question,  by  the 
Tally-ho  !  and  the  near  leader  of  that  coach  has  been  sent 
for  by  express.  —  Neiv  Monitor. 

VTq  were  in  error  in  stating  that  the  Atlas  was  the  first 
engine  at  the  scene  of  action.  So  early  as  five  o'clock  Mr. 
Alderman  A.  arrived  with  his  own  garden-engine,  and  began 
immediately  to  play  upon  the  Thames.  —  British  Guardian. 

It  must  have  struck  every  one  who  witnessed  the  opera- 
tions in  the  House  of  Commons,  that  there  was  a  lamentable 
want  of  "  order  !  order  !  order  !  "  A  great  many  gentlemen 
succeeded  in  making  pumps  of  themselves,  without  producing 
any  check  on  the  flames.  The  conduct  of  the  military  also 
was  far  from  unexceptionable.  On  the  arrival  of  the  Cold- 
stream at  the  fire  they  actually  refused  to  fall  in.  Many  de- 
clined to  stand  at  ease  on  the  burning  rafters  —  but  what  is 
the  public  interest  to  a  private  ?  —  Public  Advertiser. 

Monsieur   C.'s  Account.     {Exclusive.) 

TVlien  I  am  come  first  to  the  fire  it  wa^  not  long  burnt  up ; 
and  I  was  oblige  to  walk  up  and  down  the  floor  to  keep  ray- 
self  warm.  At  last,  I  take  my  seat  on  the  stove,  quite  con- 
venient to  look  about.  In  the  House  of  Commons  there  was 
nobody,  and  I  am  all  alone.  The  first  thing  I  observe  was  a 
great  many  rats,  ratting  about  —  but  they  did  not  know  which 
way  to  turn.  So  they  were  all  burnt  dead.  The  flames  grew 
very  fast ;  and  I  am  interested  very  much  with  the  seats,  how 
they  burned,  quite  different  from  one  another.  Some  seats 
made  what  you  call  a  great  splutter,  and  popped,  and  bounced, 
and  some  other  seats  made  no  noise  at  all.  Mr.  Bulwer's 
place  burned  off  a  blue  color ;  Mr.  Buckstone's  turned  quite 


256  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

black  ;  and  there  was  one  made  a  flame  the  color  of  a  drab. 
I  observe  one  green  flame  and  one  orange,  side  by  side,  and 
they  hiss  and  roar  at  one  another  very  furious.  The  gallery 
cleared  itself  quite  quickly,  and  the  seat  of  Messieurs  the  re- 
porters exploded  itself  like  a  cannon  of  forty-eight  pounds. 
The  speaking  chair  burnt  without  any  sound  at  all. 

When  everything  is  quite  done  in  the  Commons  I  leave 
them  off,  and  go  to  the  House  of  Lords,  where  the  fire  was  all 
in  one  sheet,  and  almost  the  whole  of  its  inside  burnt  out.  I 
was  able  in  this  room  to  take  off  my  great-coat.  I  could  find 
nothing  to  be  saved  except  one  great  inkstand,  that  was  red- 
hot,  and  which  I  carry  away  in  my  two  hands.  Likewise 
here,  as  well  as  in  the  Commons,  I  bottled  up  several  bottles 
of  smoke,  to  distribute  afterwards,  at  five  guineas  apiece,  and 
may  be  more  ;  for  I  know  the  English  people  admire  such 
things,  and  are  fond  after  relics,  like  a  madness  almost.  I 
did  not  make  a  long  stop,  for  whenever  I  was  visible,  the 
pompiers  was  so  foolish  as  play  water  upon  me,  and  I  was 
afraid  of  a  catch-cold.  In  fact,  when  I  arrive  at  home,  I  find 
myself  stuffed  in  my  head,  and  fast  in  my  chest,  and  my 
throat  was  a  little  horse.  I  am  going  for  it  into  a  bath  of 
boiling  water,  and  cannot  write  any  more  at  full  length." 

A  Letter  to  a  Laboring  Man. 

BUSHELL,  

When  you  made  a  holiday  last  Whitsuntide  to  see  the 
Sights  of  London,  in  your  way  to  the  Wax- Work  and  West- 
minster Abbey,  you  probably  noticed  a  vast  pile  of  buildings 
in  Palace  Yard,  and  you  stood  and  scratched  that  shock  head 
of  yours,  and  wondered  whose  fine  houses  they  were.  Seeing 
you  to  be  a  country  clodpole,  no  doubt  some  well-dressed  vag- 
abond, by  way  of  putting  a  hoax  upon  the  hawbuck,  told  you 
that  in  those  buildings  congregated  all  the  talent,  all  the  integ- 
rity and  public  spirit  of  the  country  —  that  beneath  those 
roofs  the  best  and  wisest,  and  the  most  honest  men  to  be  found 
in  three  kingdoms,  met  to  deliberate  and  enact  the  most 
wholesome  and  just  and  judicious  laws  for  the  good  of  the 
nation.  He  called  them  the  oracles  of  our  constitution,  the 
guardians  of  our  rights,  and  the  assertors  of  our  liberties.  Of 
course,  Bushcll,  you  were  told  all  this ;  but  nobody  told  you, 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 


257 


I  dare  say,  that  within  those  walls  your  master  had  lifted  up 
his  voice,  and  delivered  the  only  sound,  rational,  and  whole- 
some, upright,  and  able  speeches  that  were  ever  uttered  in  St. 
Stephen's  Chapel.  No,  nobody  told  you  that.  But  when  I 
come  home,  Bushell,  I  will  lend  you  all  my  printed  speeches, 
and  when  you  have  spelt  them,  and  read  them,  and  studied 
them,  and  got  them  by  heart,  bumpkin  as  you  are,  Bushell, 
you  will  know  as  much  of  legislation  as  all  our  precious  mem- 
bers together. 


"OUR    CONSTITUTION    S    GONE, 


Well,  Bushell,  the  fine  houses  you  stood  gaping  at  are 
burnt  down,  gutted,  as  the  vulgar  call  it,  and  nothing  is  left 
but  the  bare  walls.  You  saw  Farmer  Gubbins's  house,  or,  at 
least,  the  shell  of  it,  after  the  fire  there ;  well,  the  Parliament 
Houses  are  exactly  in  the  same  state.  There  is  news  for 
you !  and  now,  Bushell,  how  do  you  feel?  Why,  if  the  well- 
dressed  vagabond  told  you  the  truth,  you  feel  as  if  you  had 
had  a  stroke  —  for  all  the  British  Constitution  is  affected,  and 
you  are  a  fraction  of  it,  that  is  to  say,  a  British  subject. 
Your  bacon  grows  rusty  in  your  mouth,  and  your  table-beer 

Q 


258  THE  GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

turns  to  vinegar  on  your  palate.  You  cannot  sleep  at  night, 
or  work  by  day.  You  have  no  heart  for  anything.  You  can 
hardly  drag  one  clouted  shoe  after  another.  And  how  do  you 
look  ?  Why,  as  pale  as  a  parsnep,  and  as  thin  as  a  hurdle, 
and  your  carrotty  locks  stand  bolt  upright  as  if  you  had  just 
met  old  Lawson's  ghost  with  his  head  under  his  arm.  I  say 
thus  you  must  feel  and  look,  Bushell,  if  what  the  well-dressed 
vagabond  told  you  is  the  truth.  But  is  that  the  case  ?  No. 
You  drink  your  small-beer  with  a  sigh  and  smack  of  delight ; 
and  you  bolt  your  bacon  with  a  relish,  as  if,  as  the  virtuous 
Americans  say,  you  could  "  go  the  whole  hog."  Your  clouted 
shoes  clatter  about  as  if  you  were  counting  hob-nails  with  the 
Lord  Mayor,  and  you  work  like  a  young  horse,  or  an  old  ass, 
and  at  night  you  snore  like  an  oratorio  of  jews'-harps.  Your 
face  is  as  bold  and  ruddy  as  the  Red  Lion's.  Your  carrotty 
locks  lie  sleek  upon  your  poll,  and  as  for  poor  old  Lawson's 
ghost,  you  could  lend  him  flesh  and  blood  enough  to  set  him 
up  again  in  life.  But  what,  say  you,  does  all  this  tend  to  ?  I 
will  tell  you,  Bushell.  There  are  a  great  many  well-dressed 
vagabonds,  besides  the  one  you  met  in  Palace  Yard,  who 
would  persuade  a  poor  man  that  a  House  of  Lords  or  Com- 
mons is  as  good  to  him  as  his  bread,  beer,  beef,  bacon,  bed, 
and  breeches ;  and  therefore  I  address  this  to  you,  Bushell,  to 
set  such  notions  to  rights  by  an  appeal  to  your  own  back  and 
belly.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  what  you  shall  do.  You 
shall  go  three  nights  a  week  to  the  Red  Lion  (when  your 
work  is  done),  and  you  may  score  up  a  pint  of  beer,  at  my 
cost,  each  time.  And  when  the  parson,  or  the  exciseman,  or 
the  tax-gatherer,  or  any  such  gentry,  begin  to  talk  of  the  de- 
plorable great  burning,  and  the  national  calamity,  and  such- 
like trash,  you  shall  pull  out  my  letter  and  read  to  them  —  I 
say,  Bushell,  you  shall  read  this  letter  to  them,  twice  over, 
loudly  and  distinctly,  and  tell  them  from  me  that  the  burning 
of  twenty  Parliament  Houses  wound  n't  be  such  a  national 
calamity  as  a  fire  at  No.  1  Bolt  Court. 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  259 


PRIVATE    CORRESPONDENCE. 

To  Mary  Price,  Fenny  Hall,  Lincolnshire. 

O  Mary,  — 

I  am  writing  in  such  a  quiver,  with  my  art  in  my  mouth, 
and  my  tung  sticking  to  it.  For  too  hole  hours  I  've  bean 
Doin  nothink  but  taking  on  and  going  off,  I  mean  into 
fits,  or  crying  and  blessing  goodness  for  my  miraclus  es- 
cape. This  day  week  I  wear  inwallopped  in  flams,  and 
thinkin  of  roth  to  cum,  and  fire  evverlasting.  But  thenks 
to  Diving  Providings,  hear  I  am,  althowgh  with  loss  of  wan 
high  brew  scotched  off,  a  noo  cap  and  my  rite  shew.  But  I 
hav  bean  terrifid  to  deth.  Wen  I  was  ate,  or  it  mite  be  nine, 
I  fell  on  the  stow,  and  hav  had  a  grate  dred  of  fire  ewer  since. 
Gudge  then  how  low  I  felt  at  the  idear  of  burning  along  with 
the  Lords  and  Communer's.  It  as  bean  a  Warnin,  and  never, 
no,  never  never  never  agin  will  I  go  to  Clandestiny  parties 
behind  Mississis  backs.  I  now  see  my  errer,  but  temtashun 
prevaled,  tho  the  cloven  fut  of  the  Wicked  Wan  had  a  hand 
in  it  all :  O  Mary,  down  on  yure  marrybones,  and  bless  yure 
stars  for  sitiating  you  in  a  loanly  stooped  poky  place,  wear 
you  cant  be  lead  into  liteness  and  gayty,  if  you  was  ewer  so 
inclind.  Fore  wipping  willies  and  a  windmill  is  a  dullish 
luck  out,  shure  enuff,  but  its  better  then  moor  ambishus  pros- 
pex,  and  stairing  at  a  grate  fire,  like  a  suckin  pig,  till  yure 
eyes  is  reddy  to  drop  out  of  yure  hed ! 

You  no  wen  Lady  Manners  is  absent,  a  certin  person  all- 
ways  givs  a  good  rowt :  —  and  I  had  a  card  in  Coarse.  I 
went  verry  ginteel,  my  Cloke  cost  I  wont  say  Wot,  and  a 
hat  and  fethers  to  match.  But  it  warnt  to  be.  After  takin 
off  my  things,  I  had  barely  set  down,  wen  at  the  front  dore 
there  cums  a  dubble  nock  without  any  end  to  it,  and  a  ring  of 
the  bell  at  the  saim  time,  like  a  triangle  keepin  cumpany  with 
a  big  drum.  As  soon  as  the  door  were  opened  a  man  with  a 
pail  face  asked  for  the  buckits,  and  that  was  the  fust  news  we 
had  of  the  fire.  O  Mary,  never  trust  to  the  mail  sects  ! 
They  are  all  Alick  from  the  Botcher  and  Backer  that  flurts 
at  the  front  dore,  down  to  the  deer  dissevers  you  throw  away 
yure  arts  upon.     For  all  their  fine  purfessions,  they  are  ony 


2  GO 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 


filling  jure  ears  with  picrust,  they  make  trifles  of  yure  afec- 
tions,  and  destroy  yure  comfits  for  life.  They  think  no  moore 
of  parjuring  themselvs  then  I  do  of  sweeping  the  earth.  If 
yure  wise  you  will  sit  yure  face  agin  all  menkind  and  luv 
nonsense,  as  I  meen  to  in  futer,  or  may  be,  wen  you  are 
dreeming  of  brid  cake  and  wife  fevers,  you  may  find  yureself 
left  with  nothink  but  breeches  of  prommis.     John  Futman  is 


WHY    DON  T   THE    MEN   PKOPOSE 


a  proof  in  pint.  Menny  tims  Ive  giv  him  a  hiding  at  number 
fore,  and  he  allways  had  the  best  of  the  lardur  at  our  stolin 
meatings,  and  God  nose  Ive  offun  alloud  him  to  idelize  me 
wen  I  ort  to  hav  bean  at  my  wurks,  besides  larning  to  rite 
for  his  sack.  Twenty  housis  afire  ort  not  to  hav  abaited  his 
warmth,  insted  of  witch  to  jump  up  at  the  fust  allurm  and  run 
away,  leaving  me  to  make  my  hone  shifts.  A  treu  luver 
wood  have  staid  to  shear  my  fat.  O  Mary,  if  ever  there  was 
a  terryfickle  spectikle  that  was  won  !  Flams  before  and 
flams  behind,  and  flams  overhead.  Sich  axing  and  hollowing 
out,  and  mobbing  and  pumpin,  and  cussing  and  swaring,  and 
the  peple's  rushes  into  the  Hous  purvented  all  gitting  out. 
For  my  hone  parts,  I  climed  up  the  dresser,  and  skreeked, 
but  nobbody  was  man  enuff  to  purtect.     Men  ant  what  they 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION.  261 

was.  I  am  sick  of  the  retches  !  It  used  to  be  femails  fust, 
but  now  its  furniter.  I  fully  thort  one  gintleman  was  comin 
to  cotch  me  up  in  arms,  but  he  prefered  the  fish  kettle.  As 
for  the  sogers  they  marcht  off  to  the  wind  seller,  and  the 
pantry,  ware  they  maid  beleave  to  preserve  the  gusberry  gam. 
How  I  was  reskewd  at  last  Lord  nose,  for  my  hed  was  unsen- 
sible tell  I  found  meself  setten  on  the  pickid  pinted  ralings  of 
St.  Margret's  Church,  with  my  fethers  all  frizzild,  and  a  shew 
off.  But  of  all  lossis,  my  ridicule  was  most  serius,  for  it  had 
my  puss  in  it. 

How  and  ware  it  broke  out  is  a  mistery.  Sum  say  both 
Howses  was  under  minded.  Sum  say  the  Common  members 
got  over  heatid  in  there  fluency.  A  grate  deal  of  property 
was  burned,  in  spit  of  Lord  Allthorp,  who  ingaged  every 
cotch,  cab,  and  gobbing  porter  as  conveyancers.  Westmun- 
ster  may  thenk  his  Lordship  it  did  not  lose  its  All.  They 
say  the  Lords  and  Communs  was  connectid  with  a  grate  menny 
historicle  associashuns,  wich  of  coarse  will  hav  to  make  good 
all  dammage. 

Fortnately,  the  Speker's  mornin,  noon,  and  evning  services 
of  plait  was  not  at  home,  or  it  mite  hav  sufferd,  for  they  say 
goold  and  silver  as  stud  the  fire  verry  well,  melted  down  when 
it  got  furthur  off.  Tauking  of  plait  a  gentilman,  who  giv  his 
card,  Mr.  William  Soames,  were  verry  kind  and  partickler  in 
his  inquerries  efter  Mr.  Speker's  vallybles.  I  hope  he  will 
hav  a  place  givn  him  for  his  hide v vers. 

Ware  the  poor  burnt-out  creturs  will  go  noboddy  nose. 
Sum  say  Exter  Hall,  sum  say  the  Refudge  for  the  Destitut, 
and  sum  say  the  King  will  lend  them  his  Bensh  to  set  upon ! 
All  I  no  is,  I  've  had  a  frite  that  will  go  with  me  to  my  grave. 
I  am  allways  suiting  fire  by  day  and  dreeming  on  it  by  nite. 
Ony  last  Fryday  I  allarmd  the  hole  naberhood  by  screaching 
out  of  winder  for  the  warter  to  be  plugged  up.  Liting  fires,  or 
striking  lite,  or  making  tindur,  throes  me  into  fits. 

I  shall  newer  be  the  womman  I  was ;  but  that  is  no  excus 
for  John's  unconstancy.  I  don't  dare  to  take  my  close  off  to 
go  to  bed,  and  I  practice  clambering  up  and  down  by  a  rop  in 
case,  and  I  giv  police  M  25  a  shillin  now  and  than  to  keep  a 
specious  eye  to  number  fore,  and  be  reddy  to  ketch  anny  won 
in  his  harms.  But  it  cums  to  munny,  and  particlv  givin  the 
ingin  keeper  a  pint  of  bear  from  time  to  time,  and  drams  to 


2G2  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

the  turncox  :  where  there  's  nabers  fires  will  happen,  howevver 
cerefull  and  precocius  you  may  be  youreself.  I  dred  our  too 
nex  dores  ;  number  three  is  a  Gurmin  fammily,  and  them  orrid 
forriners  think  nothink  of  smocking  siggars  in  bed,  witch  will 
ketch  sum  day  to  a  curtainty.  Number  fiv  is  wua ;  since  his 
wif  's  deth  Mr.  Sanders  has  betuck  himself  to  cornicle  studis, 
and  offin  has  a  littel  bio  up  amung  his  pistles  and  morters. 
0  !  Mary,  how  happy  is  them  as  livs  lick  you,  as  the  song  says, 
"  Fur  from  the  buzzy  aunts  of  men."  If  yu  're  inflamd  its 
nobbody's  folt  but  yure  hone.  Pray  take  the  gratest  car. 
Have  yure  eyes  $bout  you,  and  luck  out  for  sparks  ;  watever 
the  men  may  say,  don't  allow  backer  pips  or  long  snufs,  and 
let  evvery  boddy  be  thurrowly  put  out.  Don't  neglect  to  rake 
out  evvery  nite,  see  that  evvery  sole  in  the  hows  is  turnd 
down  or  xtinguished,  and  allways  bio  yureself  out  befour  you 
go  to  yure  piller.  Thenk  gudness  you  newer  larnd  to  reed, 
and  therefor  will  not  take  anny  bucks  to  bed  with  you.  All- 
ways  ware  stuff  or  woollin,  insted  of  lite  cottons  and  gingums, 
in  case  of  the  coles  throwin  out  coffens  or  pusses,  by  witch 
menny  persons  gains  their  ends.  In  case  of  yure  pettycots 
catchin  don't  forgit  standin  on  yure  hed,  as  recommended  by 
the  Human  Society,  beeoz  fire  burns  uppards,  but  its  a  posi- 
slnm  as  requiers  practis.  Have  yure  chimbly  swept  reglar 
wonce  a  munth,  and  wen  visiters  cum  neveer  put  hot  coles  in 
the  warmin  pan,  for  fear  you  forgit  and  leave  it  in  the  spair 
bed.  Remember  fire  is  a  good  sarvent  but  a  bad  master,  and 
sure  enuff  wen  it  is  master  it  never  gives  a  sarvent  a  munth's 
notis.  To  be  shure  we  have  won  marsy  in  town  that  is  unbe- 
none  in  the  country,  and  that  is  Swingeing ;  there  is  no  corn- 
stax  or  heyrix  in  St.  Jims's  Square.  That  is  yure  week  pint, 
and  I  trembil  for  the  barns  ;  a  rockite  or  a  roaming  candel 
mite  set  you  in  a  blaze.  But  I  hop  and  trust  wat  I  say  will 
never  pruve  the  truth.  Oppydildock  is  good  for  burns,  and  I 
am,  dear  Mary, 

Yure  old  and  afexionate  feller  sarvent, 

Ann  Gale. 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION.  263 


THE   JUBB    LETTERS. 

From  Lady  Jubb  to  Mrs.  Phipps,  Housekeeper  at  the  Shrub- 
bery, Shrewsbury,  Shrops. 

Mrs.   Phipps, — 

You  will  prepare  the  house  directly  for  the  family's  return, 
not  that  our  coming  back  is  absolutely  certain,  but  events 
have  happened  to  render  our  stay  in  Portland-Place  very 
precarious.  All  depends  upon  Sir  Jacob.  In  Parliament  or 
out  of  Parliament  his  motions  must  guide  ours.  By  this  time 
what  has  happened  will  be  known  in  Shropshire,  but  I  forbid 
your  talking.  Politics  belong  to  people  of  property,  and  those 
who  have  no  voice  in  the  country  ought  not  to  speak.  In 
your  inferior  situations  it 's  a  duty  to  be  ignorant  of  what  you 
know.  The  nation  is  out  of  your  sphere,  and  besides,  people 
out  of  town  cannot  know  the  state  of  the  country.  I  want  to 
put  you  on  your  guard  ;  thanks  to  the  press,  as  Sir  Jacob  says, 
public  affairs  cannot  be  kept  private,  and  the  consequence  is, 
the  ignorant  are  as  well  informed  as  their  betters.  The  burn- 
ing of  both  Houses  of  Parliament  I  am  afraid  cannot  be  hushed 
up — but  it  is  not  a  subject  for  servants,  that  have  neither 
upper  nor  lower  members  amongst  them,  and  represent  no- 
body, I  trust  to  you,  Mrs.  Phipps,  to  discourage  all  discussions 
in  the  kitchen,  which  isn't  the  place  for  parliamentary  can- 
vassing. The  most  ridiculous  notions  are  abroad.  I  should 
not  be  surprised  even  to  hear  that  Sir  Jacob  had  lost  his  seat, 
because  the  benches  were  burnt,  but  we  have  been  deprived 
of  none  of  our  dignities  or  privileges.  You  will  observe  this 
letter  is  franked  ;  the  fire  made  no  difference  to  your  master, 
he  is  not  dissolved,  whatever  the  Blues  may  wish  —  he  is  still 
Sir  Jacob  Jubb,  Baronet,  M.  P. 

The  election  of  Sir  Jacob  at  such  a  crisis  was  an  act  of 
Providence.  His  firmness  at  the  fire  affords  an  example  to 
posterity  ;  although  the  bench  was  burning  under  him  he  re- 
fused to  retreat,  replying  emphatically,  "  I  will  sit  by  my 
order."  As  far  as  this  goes  you  may  mention,  and  no  more. 
I  enjoin  upon  all  else  a  diplomatic  silence.  Sir  Jacob  himself 
will  write  to  the  bailiff,  and  whatever  may  be  the  nature  of 
his  directions,  I  desire  that  no  curiosity  may  be  indulged  in, 


264        .  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

and  above  all,  that  you  entertain  no  opinions  of  your  own. 
You  cannot  square  with  the  upper  circles.  I  would  write 
more,  but  I  am  going  to  a  meeting,  I  need  not  say  where,  or 
upon  what  subject.  I  rely,  Mrs.  Phipps,  on  your  discretion, 
and  am,  &c, 

Arabella  Anastasia  Jubb. 

To  T.  Crawfard,  junior,  Esquire,  the  Beeches,  near  Shrews- 
bury, Shrops. 

Dear  Tom, — 

Throw  up  your  cap  and  huzza.  There 's  glorious  news, 
and  so  you  '11  say  when  I  tell  you.  I  could  almost  jump  out 
of  my  skin  for  joy  !  Father 's  dismembered  !  The  House  of 
Commons  caught  fire,  and  he  was  dissolved  along  with  the 
rest. 

I  've  never  been  happy  since  we  came  up  to  London,  and 
all  through  Parliament.  The  election  was  good  sport  enough. 
I  liked  the  riding  up  and  down,  and  carrying  a  flag  ;  and  the 
battle,  with  sticks,  between  the  Blues  and  the  Yellows,  was 
famous  fun ;  and  I  huzzaed  myself  hoarse  at  our  getting  the 
day  at  last.  But  after  that  came  the  jollup,  as  we  used  to  say 
at  Old  Busby's.  Theme  writing  was  a  fool  to  it.  If  father 
composed  one  maiden  speech  he  composed  a  hundred,  and  he 
made  me  knuckle  down  and  copy  them  all  out,  and  precious 
stupid  stuff  it  was.  A  regular  physicker,  says  you,  and  I  'd 
worse  to  take  after  it.  He  made  us  all  sit  down  and  hear 
him  spout  them,  and  a  poor  stick  he  made.  Dick  Willis, 
that  we  used  to  call  Handpost,  was  a  dab  at  it  compared  to 
him.  He 's  no  better  hand  at  figures,  so  much  the  worse  for 
me.  Did  you  ever  have  a  fag,  Tom,  at  the  national  debt  ?  I 
don't  know  who  owes  it,  but  I  wish  he  'd  pay  it,  or  be  made 
bankrupt  at  once.  I  've  worked  more  sums  last  month  than 
ever  I  did  at  school  in  the  half  year,  —  geography  the  same. 
I  had  to  hunt  out  Don  Carlos  and  Don  Pedro,  all  over  the 
maps.  I  came  in  for  a  regular  wigging  one  day,  for  wish- 
ing both  the  Dons  were  well  peppered,  as  Tom  Tough 
says.  I've  seen  none  of  the  sights  I  wanted  to  see.  He 
would  n't  let  me  go  to  the  play,  because  he  says  the  theatres 
are  bad  schools,  and  would  give  me  a  vicious  style  of  elocu- 
tion.    The  only  pleasure  he  promised  me  was  to  sit  in  the 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  265 

gallery  at  the  Commons  and  see  him  present  his  petitions. 
Short-hand  would  have  come  next,  that  I  might  take  down  his 
speechifying  —  for  he  says  the  reporters  all  garble.  An't  I 
well  out  of  it  all  —  and  a  place  he  was  to  get  for  me  besides, 
from  the  Prime  Minister  ?  I  suppose  the  Navy  Pay,  to  sit 
on  a  high  stool  and  give  Jack  Junk  one  pound  tw©  and  nine- 
pence  twice  a  year.  I  'd  rather  be  Jack  Junk  himself, 
would  n't  you,  Tom  ?  But  father 's  lost  his  wicket,  and  huzza 
for  Shropshire  !  In  hopes  of  our  soon  meeting,  I  remain,  my 
dear  Tom, 

Your  old  chum  and  schoolfellow, 

Frederick  Jubb. 

P.  S.  —  A  court  gentleman  has  just  come  in,  with  a  knock - 
me-down-again.  He  says  there  's  to  be  a  new  election.  I 
wish  you  'd  do  something ;  it  would  be  a  real  favor,  and  I  will 
do  as  much  for  you  another  time.  What  I  want  of  you  is, 
to  get  your  father  to  set  up  against  mine.  Do  try,  Tom  — 
there  's  a  good  fellow.  I  will  ask  everybody  I  know  to  give 
your  side  a  plumper. 

To  Mr.  Roger  Davis,  Bailiff,  the  Shrubbery,  near  Shrewsbury. 

Davis, 

I  hope  to  God  this  will  find  you  at  home  —  I  am  writing  in 
a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  madness.  I  can't  collect  myself 
to  give  particulars  —  you  will  have  a  newspaper  along  with 
this  —  read  that,  and  your  hair  will  stand  on  end.  Incendia- 
rism has  reached  its  height  like  the  flaming  thing  on  the  top  of 
the  Monument.  Our  crisis  is  come.  To  my  mind  —  political 
suicide  —  is  as  bad  asfelo  de  se.  O  Whigs.  Whigs,  Whigs  — 
what  have  you  brought  us  to  !  As  the  Britannic  Guardian 
well  says  —  England  is  gone  to  Italy  —  London  is  at  Naples 
—  and  we  are  all  standing  on  the  top  of  Vesuvius.  I  have 
heard  and  I  believe  it  —  that  an  attempt  has  been  made  to 
choke  Aldgate  Pump.  A  Waltham  Abbey  paper  says  posi- 
tively that  the  mills  were  recently  robbed  of  513  barrels  of 
powder,  the  exact  number  of  the  members  for  England  and 
Wales.  What  a  diabolical  refinement  —  to  blow  up  a  govern- 
ment with  its  own  powder  !  I  can  hardly  persuade  myself  I 
am  in  England.  God  knows  where  it  will  spread  to  —  I  mean 
12 


2G6  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

the  incendiary  spirit.  The  dry  season  is  frightful  —  I  suppose 
the  springs  are  all  dry.  Keep  the  engine  locked  in  the  stable, 
for  fear  of  a  cut  at  the  pipes.  I  '11  send  you  down  two  more. 
Let  all  the  laborers  take  a  turn  at  them,  by  way  of  practice. 
I  'm  persuaded  the  Parliament  houses  were  burnt  on  purpose. 
The  flue  story  is  ridiculous.  Mr.  Cooj)er's  is  a  great  deal 
more  to  the  point.  I  believe  everything  I  hear.  A  bunch  of 
matches  was  found  in  the  Speaker's  kitchen.  I  saw  some- 
thing suspicious  myself — some  said  treacle,  but  I  say  tar. 
Have  your  eyes  about  you  —  lock  all  the  gates,  day  as  well 
as  night  —  and  above  all,  watch  the  stacks.  One  Tiger  is  not 
enough  —  get  three  or  four  more,  I  should  have  said  Caesar, 
but  you  know  I  mean  the  house-dog.  Good  mastiffs,  —  the 
biggest  and  savagest  you  can  get.  The  gentry  will  be  at- 
tempted first  —  beginning  with  the  M.P.'s.  You  and  Barnes 
and  Sam  must  sit  up  by  turns  —  and  let  the  maids  sit  up  too 
—  women  have  .sharp  ears,  and  sharp  tongues.  —  If  a  mouse 
stirs  I  would  have  them  squall  —  danger  or  no  danger.  It 's 
the  only  way  to  sleep  in  security  —  and  comfort.  I  have  read 
that  the  common  goose  is  a  vigilant  creature  —  and  saved 
Rome.  Get  a  score  of  them  —  at  the  next  market  —  don't 
stand  about  price  —  but  choose  them  with  good  cackles. 
Alarm  them  now  and  then  to  keep  them  watchful.  Fire  the 
blunderbuss  off  every  night,  and  both  fowling-pieces  and  all 
the  pistols.  If  all  the  Gentry  did  as  much,  it  might  keep  the 
country  quiet.  If  you  were  to  ring  the  alarm-bell  once  or 
twice  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  it  would  be  as  well  —  you 
would  know  then  what  help  to  depend  upon.  Search  the 
house  often  from  the  garret  to  the  cellar,  for  combustibles  — 
if  you  could  manage  to  go  without  candles,  or  any  sort  of 
light,  it  would  be  better. 

You  'd  find  your  way  about  in  the  dark  after  a  little  prac- 
tice. Pray  don't  allow  any  sweethearts ;  they  may  be  Swings 
and  Captain  Rocks  in  disguise,  and  their  pretended  flames 
turn  out  real.  I  've  misgivings  about  the  maids.  Tie  them 
up,  and  taste  their  liver,  before  they  eat  it  themselves  —  I 
mean  the  house-dogs  ;  but  my  agitation  makes  me  unconnected. 
The  scoundrels  often  poison  them,  before  they  attempt  robbery 
and  arson.  Keep  the  cattle  in  the  cow-house  for  fear  of  their 
being  houghed  and  hamstrung.  Surely  there  were  great  de- 
fects somewhere.     The  Houses  could  not  have  been  properly 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION.  267 

protected  —  if  they  had  been  watched  as  well  as  they  were 
lighted  —  but  it  is  too  late  to  cast  any  blame  on  individuals. 
A  paltry  spirit  of  economy  has  been  our  bane.  A  few  shil- 
lings would  have  purchased  a  watch-dog  ;  and  one  or  two 
geese  in  each  house  might  have  saved  the  capitol  of  the  con- 
stitution !  But  the  incendiary  knew  how  to  choose  his  time 
—  an  adjournment  when  there  were  none  sitting.  I  say,  in- 
cendiary, because  no  doubt  can  exist  in  any  cool  mind,  that 
enters  into  the  conflagration.  I  transcribe  conclusive  extracts 
from  several  papers,  the  editors  of  which  I  know  to  be  upright 
men,  and  they  all  write  on  one  side. 

*•  We  are  confidently  informed,"  says  the  Beacon,  "  that  a 
quantity  of  tar-barrels  was  purchased  at  Xo.  2  High  Street, 
Shad  well,  about  ten  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  fire.  There 
was  abundant  time  before  six  A.  M.  for  removing  the  combus- 
tibles to  Westminster.  The  purchaser  was  a  short,  squat, 
down-looking  man,  and  the  name  on  his  cart  was  I.  Burns." 

"  Trifling  circumstances,"  says  the  Sentinel,  "  sometimes 
point  to  great  results.  Oar  own  opinion  is  formed.  We 
have  made  it  our  business  to  examine  the  Guys  in  preparation 
for  the  impending  anniversary  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  and 
we  affirm,  that  every  one  of  the  effigies  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  some  member  or  other  of  assemblies  we  need  not 
name.     These  are  signs  of  the  times." 

••  We  should  be  loath,"  says  the  Detector,  "  to  impute  the 
late  calamity  to  any  particular  party  ;  but  we  may  reasonably 
inquire  what  relative  stake  in  the  country  is  possessed  by  the 
Whigs  and  the  Tories.  The  English  language  may  be  taken 
as  a  fair  standard.  The  first  may  lay  claim  to  perri-uv^, 
scratch-«vy.  tie-vrig,  hoh-ivig,  in  short,  the  whole  family  of 
perruques,  with  whigmaXeery.  The  latter,  not  to  mention  other 
good  things,  have  a  vested  right  in  oratory,  history,  territory, 
and  victory.  Can  a  man  of  common  patriotism  have  a  doubt 
which  side  it  is  his  interest  to  adhere  to  ?  " 

That  last  paragraph,  Davis,  is  what  I  call  sound  argument. 
Indeed  I  don't  see  Iioav  it  is  to  be  answered.  You  see  they 
are  all  nem.  con.  as  to  our  danger,  and  decidedly  reckon  fire 
an  inflammatory  agent.  Take  care  what  you  read.  Very 
pernicious  doctrines  are  abroad,  and  especially  across  the 
Western  Channel.  The  Irish  are  really  frightful.  I  'm  told 
they  tie  the  cows'  tails  together,  and  then  saw  off  their  horns 


268  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

for  insurrectionary  bugle?.     The  foundations  of  society  are 
shaken  all  over  the  world  —  the  Whiteboys  in  Ireland,  and 
the  Blacks  in  the  West  Indies,  all  seem  to  fight  under  the 
same  colors.     It 's  time  for  honest  men  to  rally  round  them- 
selves —  but  I  'm  sorry  to  say  public  spirit  and  love  of  one's 
country  are  at  a  low  ebb.     There 's  too  much  Americanism. 
One  writer  wants  us  to  turn  all  our  English  wheat  to  Indian 
corn,  and  to  grow  no  sort  of  apples  but  Franklin  pippins.    We 
want  strong  measures  against  associations  and  unions.  There  's 
demagogues  abroad  —  and  they  wear  white  hats.    By  the  by,  I 
more  than  half  suspect  that  fellow  Johnson  is   a   delegate. 
Take  him  to  the  ale-house,  and  treat  him  freely  —  it  may 
warm  him  to  blab  something.     Besides,  you  will  see  what  sort 
of  papers  the  public-houses  take  in.     You  may  drop  a  hint 
about  their  licenses.     Give  my  compliments  to  Dr.  Garratt, 
and  tell  Inm  I  hope  he  will  preach  to  the  times  and  take 
strong  texts.     I  wish  I  could  be  down  amongst  you,  but  I  can- 
not desert  my  post.     You  may  tell  the  tenantry,  and  electors 
—  I  'm  burnt  out  and  gutted  —  but  my  heart 's  in  the  right 
place  —  and  devoted  to  constituents.     Come  what  may,  I  will 
be   an    unshaken  pillar  on  the  basis  of  my   circular  letter, 
don't   forget  any  of  my  precautions.     I  am  sorry  I  did  not 
bring  all  the  plate  up  to  town  —  but  at  the  first  alarm  bury  it. 
Take  in  no  letters  or  notices  ;  for  what  you  know  they  may 
be  threatenings.     If  any  Irishman  applies  for  work,  discharge 
him  instantly.    All  the  old  spring-guns  had  better  be  set  again, 
they  are  not  now  legal,  but  I  am  ministerial,  and  if  they  did 
go  off,  the  higher  powers  would  perhaps  wink  at  them.     But 
it 's  fire  that  I  am  afraid  of,  fire  that  destroyed  my  political 
roof,  and  may  now  assail  my  paternal  one.     Walk,  as  I  may 
Bay,  bucket  in  hand,  and  be  ready  every  moment  for  a  break- 
out.    You  may  set  fire  to  the  small  fagot-stack,  and  try  your 
hands  at  getting  it  under  —  there's  nothing  worse  than  being 
taken  by  surprise.     Read  this  letter  frequently,  and  impress 
these  charges  on  your  mind.     It  is  a  sad  change  for  England 
to  have  become,  I  may  say,  this  fiery  furnace.     I  have  not 
the  least  doubt,  if  properly  traced,  the  burning  cliff  at  Wey- 
mouth would  be  found  to  be  connected  with  incendiarism,  and 
the  earthquakes  at  Chichester  with  our  political  convulsions. 
Thank    Providence   in  your  prayers,   Davis,  that   your  own 
station  forbids  your  being  an  M.  P.,  for  a  place  in  Parliament 


THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION.  269 

is  little  better  than  sitting  on  a  barrel  of  gunpowder.  Honor 
forbids  to  resign,  or  I  should  wish  I  was  nothing  but  a  simple 
country  gentleman.  Remember,  and  be  vigilant.  Once  more 
I  cry  Watch,  Watch,  Watch  !  By  adopting  the  motions  I  pro- 
pose, a  conflagration  may  be  adjourned  sine  die,  which  is  a 
petition  perpetually  presented  by 

Your  anxious  but  uncompromising  Master, 

Jacob  Jubb,  M.  P. 

To  Lady  Jubb,  at  45  Portland  Place. 

Respected  Madam,  — 
I  received  your  Ladyship's  obliging  commands,  and  have 
used  my  best  endeavors  to  conform  to  the  wishes  condescend- 
ed therein.  In  respect  to  political  controversy,  I  beg  to  say  I 
have  imposed  a  tacit  silence  on  the  domestic  capacities  as  far 
as  within  the  sphere  of  my  control,  but  lament  to  say  the 
Bailiff,  Mr.  Davis,  is  a  party  unamenable  to  my  authority,  and 
as  such  has  taken  liberties  with  decorum  quite  unconsistent 
with  propriety  and  the  decency  due.  However  reluctant  to 
censoriousness,  duty  compels  to  communicate  subversive  con- 
duct quite  unconformable  to  decency's  rules  and  order  in  a 
well-regulated  establishment.  I  allude  to  Mr.  Davis's  terrifi- 
cally jumping  out  from  behind  doors  and  in  obscure  dark  cor- 
ners, on  the  female  domestics,  for  no  reasonable  purpose  I  can 
discover,  except  to  make  them  exert  their  voices  in  a  very 
alarming  manner.  The  housemaid,  indeed,  confirms  me  by 
saying  in  her  own  words  "  he  considered  her  skreek  the  best 
skreek  in  the  family."  If  impropriety  had  proceeded  no 
further,  I  should  have  hesitated  to  trouble  your  Ladyship 
with  particulars  ;  but  Mr.  Davis,  not  satisfied  with  thus  work- 
ing on  the  unsophisticated  terrors  of  ignorant  females,  thought 
proper  to  horrify  with  inflammatory  reports.  One  night,  as  a 
prominent  instance,  about  twelve  o'clock,  he  rang  the  alarm- 
bell  so  violently,  at  the  same  time  proclaiming  conflagration, 
that  the  law  of  preservation  became  our  paramount  duty,  and, 
as  a  consequence,  we  all  escaped  in  a  state  of  dishabille  only 
to  be  ambiguously  hinted  at,  by  saying  that  time  did  not  allow 
to  put  on  my  best  lutestring  to  meet  the  neighboring  gentry  — 
and  must  add,  with  indignation,  in  the  full  blaze  of  a  heap  of 
straw,  thought  proper  to  be  set  on  fire  by  Mr.  Davis  in  the 


270  THE  GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

fore-court.  I  trust  your  Ladyship  will  excuse  a  little  warmth 
of  language,  in  saying  it  was  highly  reprehensible  ;  but  I  have 
not  depictured  the  worst.  I,  one  evening,  lighted  up  what  I 
conceived  to  be  a  mould  candle,  and  your  Ladyship  will  imag- 
ine my  undescribable  fright  when  it  exploded  itself  like  a  mis- 
sile of  the  squib  description,  an  unwarrantable  mode,  I  must 
say,  of  convincing  me,  as  Mr.  Davis  had  the  audaciousness  to 
own  to,  that  we  may  be  made  to  be  actors  in  our  own  combus- 
tion. To  suppose  at  my  years  and  experience,  I  can  be 
unsensible  of  the  danger  of  fire,  must  be  a  preposterous  no- 
tion ;  but  all  his  subsequent  acts  partake  an  agreeable  charac- 
ter. For  fear  of  being  consumed  in  our  beds,  as  he  insidiously 
professed,  he  exerted  all  his  influential  arguments  to  persuade 
the  females  to  set  up  nocturnally  all  night,  a  precaution  of 
course  declined,  as  well  as  his  following  scheme,  being  almost 
too  much  broached  with  absurdity  to  enumerate.  I  mean 
every  retiring  female  reposing  her  confidence  on  a  live  goose 
in  her  chamber,  as  were  purchased  for  the  express  purpose, 
but  need  not  add  were  dispensed  with  by  rational  beings.  I 
trust  your  Ladyship  will  acquit  of  uncharitableness  if  I  sus- 
pect it  was  out  of  vindictive  feelings  at  their  opposition  to  the 
geese,  that  Mr.  Davis  insinuated  a  strict  inquiry  into  every  in- 
dividual that  came  into  the  house,  as  far  even  as  requiring  to 
be  personally  present  at  all  that  passed  between  the  dairymaid 
and  her  cousin.  It  escaped  memory  to  say  that  when  the 
feminine  department  refused  to  be  deprived  of  rest,  the  male 
servants  were  equally  adverse  to  go  to  bed,  being  spirited  up 
by  Mr.  Davis  to  spend  the  night  together,  and  likewise  being 
furnished  with  the  best  strong  ale  in  the  cellar,  by  his  imperi- 
ous directions,  which,  by  way  of  climax  to  assurance,  was 
alleged  to  be  by  order  of  Sir  Jacob  himself.  I  say  nothing 
reflectively  on  his  repeatedly  discharging  his  artillery  at  un- 
seasonable hours,  the  shock  principally  concerning  my  own 
nervous  constitution,  which  was  so  vibrated  as  to  require  call- 
ing in  physical  powers  ;  and  Doctor  Tudor,  considering  ad- 
vanced age  and  infirmity,  is  of  opinion  I  may  require  to  be 
under  his  professional  hands  for  an  ensuing  twelvemonth.  Of 
startling  effects  upon  other  parties  I  may  make  comments 
more  unreserved,  and  without  harsh  extenuation  must  say, 
his  letting  off  reports  without  due  notice,  frequently  when  the 
females  had  valuable  cut  glass  and  china  in  their  hands,  or  on 


THE   GREAT  CONFLAGRATION.  271 

their  trays,  was  blamable  in  the  extreme,  to  express  the  least 
of  it.  Another  feature  which  caused  much  unpleasantness, 
was  Mr.  Davis  persisting  to  scrutinize  and  rummage  the  entire 
premises  from  top  to  bottom,  but  on  this  characteristic  tedious- 
ness  forbids  to  dwell,  and  more  particularly  as  mainly  affect- 
ing himself,  such  as  the  flow  of  blood  from  his  nose,  and  two 
coagulated  eyes,  from  the  cellar-door,  through  a  peculiar  whim 
of  looking  for  everything  in  a  state  of  absolute  obscurity.  I 
may  add,  by  way  of  incident,  that  Mr.  Davis  walks  lame  from 
a  canine  injury  in  the  calf  of  his  leg,  which  I  hope  will  not 
prove  rabid  in  the  end,  —  but  the  animals  he  has  on  his  own 
responsibility  introduced  on  the  premises,  really  resemble, 
begging  your  Ladyship's  pardon  for  the  expression,  what  are 
denominated  D.'s  incarnate. 

Such,  your  Ladyship,  is  the  unpropitious  posture  of  domes- 
tic affairs  at  the  Shrubbery,  originating,  I  must  say,  exclusive- 
ly from  the  unprecedented  deviations  of  Mr.  Davis.  A  mild 
construction  would  infer,  from  such  extraordinary  extravagance 
of  conduct,  a  flightiness,  or  aberration  of  mind  in  the  individ- 
ual, but  I  deeply  lament  to  say  a  more  obvious  cause  exists  to 
put  a  negative  on  such  a  surmise.  For  the  last  week  Mr. 
Davis  has  betrayed  an  unusual  propensity  to  pass  his  evenings 
at  the  George  Tavern,  and  in  consequence  has  several  times 
exhibited  himself  in  a  Bacchanalian  character  to  our  extreme 
discomforture,  and  on  one  occasion  actually  trespassed  so  far 
beyond  the  bounds  of  modesty,  as  to  offer  me  the  rudeness  of 
a  salute.  I  blush  to  impart  such  details  to  your  Ladyship  ; 
but  justice  demands  an  explicit  statement,  however  repulsive 
to  violated  reserve  and  the  rules  of  virtue.  Amongst  less  im- 
moral actions,  I  must  advert  to  the  arrival  of  two  new  engines 
with  a  vast  number  of  leathern  buckets,  I  fear  ordered  by  Mr. 
Davis  at  my  honored  master's  expense,  and  which  are  period- 
ically exercised  in  pumping  every  day,  by  the  gardeners  and 
the  hinds,  being  induced  thereto  by  extra  beverages  of  strong 
beer.  By  such  means  the  aquatic  supply  of  the  well  is  fre- 
quently exhausted  by  playing  upon  nothing,  —  and  at  this 
present  moment  I  am  justified  in  stating  we  have  not  suf- 
ficient water  to  fulfil  culinary  purposes,  or  the  demands  of 
cleanliness.  I  feel  ashamed  to  say  there  is  not  a  strictly 
clean  cap  in  the  whole  household. 

In  short,  madam,  we  labor  under  an  aggravated  complica- 


272  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

tion  of  insubordination,  deprivation,  discomfort,  and  alarm, 
daily  and  nightly,  such  as  to  shock  my  eyes  whilst  it  grieves 
my  heart,  and  I  may  almost  say  turns  my  head  to  be  present 
at,  without  sufficient  authority  to  dictate  or  power  to  enforce  a 
course  more  consistent  with  the  line  of  rectitude.  As  my 
sway  does  not  extend  to  Mr.  Davis,  I  humbly  beseech  your 
Ladyship's  interference  and  influence  in  the  proper  quarter,  in 
behalf,  I  may  say,  of  a  body  of  persecuted  females,  some  of 
whom  possess  cultivated  minds  and  sensitive  feelings  beyond 
their  sphere. 

I  remain,  respected  Madam, 
Your  Ladyship's  most  obliged  and  very  humble  servant, 

Amelia  Phipps. 

P.  S.  —  One  of  Mr.  Davis's  savage,  bull-baiting  dogs  has 
just  rushed  with  a  frightful  crash  into  the  china-closet,  in  pur- 
suit of  the  poor  cat. 

To  Sir  Jacob  Jubb,  Baronet,  M.  P. 

HONNERD  SUR, 

Yure  faver  enclosin  the  Ruings  of  the  Parlimint  houses 
cam  dully  to  hand,  and  did  indeed  put  up  all  the  hares  on  my 
hed.  It  cam  like  the  bust  of  a  thunder  bolt.  You  mite  hav 
nockt  me  down  with  the  fether  of  a  ginny  ren.  My  bran 
swum.  I  seamed  rooted  to  the  hearth  —  and  did  not  no  wea- 
ther I  was  a  slip  or  a  wack,  on  my  hed  or  my  heals.  I  was 
perfecly  unconshunable,  and  could  no  more  kollect  meself 
then  the  Hirish  tiths.  I  was  a  long  Tim  befor  I  cud  per- 
swade  meself  that  the  trooth  was  trew.  But  sich  a  dredful 
fire  is  enuff  to  unsettil  wons  resin.  A  thowsend  ears  mite 
role  over  our  heds,  and  not  prodeuce  sich  a  bio  to  the  constitu- 
shun.  I  was  barley  sensible.  The  Currier  dropt  from  my 
hands  wen  I  cam  to  the  perrygraft  witch  says  "  Our  hops  are 
at  an  end.  The  Hous  of  Communs  is  a  boddy  of  Flams,  and 
so  is  the  Hous  of  Pears  !     The  Lords  will  be  dun  !  " 

Honnerd  Sur,  I  beg  to  kondole  as  becums  on  yure  missin 
yure  seat.  It  must  hav  bean  the  suddinest  of  shox,  &  jest 
wen  goin  to  sit  after  standin  for  the  hole  county,  on  yure  hone 
futting,  at  your'  sole  expens.  But  I  do  hop  and  trust  it  will 
not  be  yure  dissolushun,  as  sum  report ;  I  do  hop  it  is  onely  an 


THE    GREAT    CONFLAGRATION. 


273 


emty  rummer  pict  up  at  sum  publick  Hous.  At  such  an 
encindery  crisus  our  wust  frend  wood  be  General  Elixion,  by 
stirrin  up  inflametory  peple,  particly  if  there  was  a  long  pole. 
You  see,  Sir  Jacob,  I  konker  in  evvery  sentashus  sentemint  in 


GENERAL    ELECTION. 


yure  respected  Letter.  The  Volkano  you  menshun  I  can 
enter  into.  Theres  a  great  deal  of  combustibul  sperits  in 
the  country  that  onely  wants  a  spark  to  convart  them  into 
catarax :  —  and  I  greave  to  say  evvery  inflammetory  little 
demy  Gog  is  nust,  and  has  the  caudle  support  of  certin  pap- 
pers.  Im  alludin  to  the  Press.  From  this  sort  of  countenins 
the  nashunal  aspec  gits  moor  friteful  evvery  day.  I  see  no 
prospex  for  the  next  gennerashun  but  rocking  and  swinging. 
I  hav  had  a  grate  menny  low  thorts,  for  wat  can  be  moor 
dispiritin  then  the  loss  of  our  two  gratest  Publick  Housis  ! 
There  is  nothin  cumfortable.  There  is  a  Vesuvus  under  our 
feat,  and  evvery  step  brings  us  nearer  to  its  brinks.  Evvery 
reflective  man  must  say  we  are  a  virgin  on  a  precipus. 

Honnerd  Sur !  In  the  mean  tim  I  hav  pade  atenshuns  to 
12*  R 


274  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

yure  letter,  and  studid  its  epistlery  derecshuns,  witch  I  hav 
made  meself  very  particler  in  fulfiling  to  the  utmost  xtent.  If 
the  most  zellus  effuts  have  not  sueksedid  to  wish  I  humbly 
beg  to  blame  but  wat  is  dew  may  fall  on  me,  and  hope  other 
peples  shears  will  visit  their  hone  heds.  The  axident  with  the 
spring  gun  was  no  neglex  of  mine.  After  Barnes  settin  it 
himself,  his  tumblin  over  the  wier  must  be  lade  to  his  hone 
dore  along  with  his  shot  legs.  I  sent  for  two  surgings  to  sea 
to  him,  and  they  cauld  in  too  moor,  so  that  he  is  certin  of  a 
good  dressin,  but  he  was  very  down-harted  about  gitting  a 
livin,  till  I  tolled  him  yure  honner  wood  settle  on  him  for  the 
rest  of  his  days.  I  may  say  the  lik  of  the  other  axident  to 
Sanders  and  Sam,  who  got  badly  woundid  wile  wotchin  the 
stax,  by  apprehendin  won  another  after  a  sanguine  conflic  by 
mistake  for  incinderies.  I  have  promist  in  yure  honners  nam 
to  reword  them  boath  hansumly  for  their  vigilings,  but  they 
stedfistly  refus  to  padrol  anny  moor  after  dusk,  tho  they  ar 
agreble  by  daylit,  which  leavs  me  at  my  whits  ends  for  Fire- 
gards,  as  strange  men  wood  not  be  trusswurthy. 

Honnerd  Sur  —  I  am  sorry  I  cood  not  git  the  mad  servents 
to  set  up  for  theaves,  even  for  wun  nite  runnin.  I  tried  the 
Currier  on  them,  but  it  did  n't  wurk  on  there  minds  ;  they  tuck 
lites  in  their  hands  and  waukd  to  there  pillers  as  if  they 
had  n't  a  car  on  there  heds,  and  wen  I  insistid  on  their  allarmin 
me  they  all  give  me  warnin.  As  for  the  swetharts  there 's 
a  duzzen  domesticatted  luvers  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  'm  sorry 
to  say  I  can't  give  them  all  a  rowt.  I  ketchd  the  cook's  bo 
gettin  in  at  a  winder,  and  sercht  his  pockets  for  feer  of  fosfrus, 
but  he  contaned  nothin  xcept  a  cruckid  sixpens,  a  taler's 
thimbel,  and  a  tin  backy-box,  with  a  lock  of  hare  witch  did 
not  match  with  cook's.  It  is  dangerus  wurk.  Becos  I  luck 
after  the  mades  candels  they  tie  strings  to  the  banesters  to 
ketch  my  fut,  and  I  have  twice  pitcht  from  the  lied  to  the  fut 
of  the  stars.  I  am  riting  with  my  forrid  brandid  and  brown 
pepperd,  and  my  rite  hand  in  a  poltus  from  gropping  in  the 
dark  for  cumbustibils  in  the  cole  seller,  and  diskivering  nothin 
but  the  torturous  kat  and  her  kittings. 

Honnerd  Sur  —  I  got  six  capitol  gees  a  bargin,  but  am 
verry  dubbius  weather  they  possess  the  propperty  that  ort  to 
make  them  wakful  and  weary  of  nites.  The  old  specious 
may  be  lost.     The  Roman  gees  you  menshun  wood  certinly 


THE    GREAT    CONFLAGRATION. 


27o 


hav  newer  sufferd  themselvs  to  be  stolen  without  a  cakeling, 
as  our  hone  did  too  nites  ago.  As  for  the  wotch  dogs,  to  be 
candied,  they  were  all  errers  in  gudgment.  There  was  to 
much  Bui  in  the  bread.  The  Terry  fust  nite  they  were  let 
lose  they  flew  in  a  rag,  and  began  to  vent  their  caning  pro- 
pensites  on  each  other's  curcases.  I  regret  to  say  too  was 
wurrid  to  deth  before  the  next  mourning,  and  the  rest  were  so 


"  TWO  HEADS  ARE  BETTEK  THAN  OXE.M 


full  of  bad  bits  and  ingeries  in  there  vittles  they  were  obligated 
to  be  kild.  In  shutting  Seazer  with  the  blunderbush,  I  lament 
to  ad  it  hung  fire,  and  in  liftin  it  up  it  went  off  of  its  hone  hed 
and  shot  the  bucher's  horse  at  the  gait,  and  he  has  thretind  to 
tak  the  law  if  he  is  n't  made  good,  as  he  was  verry  yallyble. 

Honnerd  Sur  —  Accordin  to  orders  I  tuck  Johnson  the 
suspishus  man  evvery  nite  to  the  Gorge,  and  told  him  to  caul 
for  wat  he  likt,  witch  was  allways  an  ot  suppir  and  Punch. 
As  yet  he  as  diskivered  nothin  but  sum  lov  nonsins  about  a 
deary-made,  so  that  its  uncertin  weather  he  is  a  dillygate  or 
not ;  but  I  shood  say  a  desinin  won,  for  by  sum  artful  meens 
he  allways  manniged  to  make  me  drunk  fust,  and  gennerally 
lent  a  hand  to  carry  me  home.  I  told  the  landlord  to  let  him 
have  aney  thing  he   wantid  and  yure  Honner  wood  pay  the 


27G  THE   GREAT   CONFLAGRATION. 

skore,  but  I  think  it  was  imprudent  of  Mr.  Tapper  to  let  him 
run  up  to  ten  pound.  But  it  is  n't  all  drink,  but  eating  as  well 
—  Johnson  has  a  very  glutinous  appetit,  and  always  stix  to  the 
tabel  as  long  as  there  is  meet. 

Honnerd  Sur  —  Last  fridy  morning  there  was  grate  riotism 
and  sines  of  the  populus  risin,  and  accordin  I  lost  no  time  in 
berryin  the  plait  as  derected  by  yure  ordirs.  I  am  gratifid  to 
say  the  disturbans  turned  out  onely  a  puggleistical  lit ;  but 
owen  to  our  hurry  and  allarm,  the  spot  ware  the  plait  was  berrid 
went  out  of  our  heads.  We  have  sinse  dug  up  the  hole  srub- 
bery,  but  without  turnin  up  anny  thing  in  its  shape.  But 
it  cant  be  lost,  tho'  it  isnt  to  be  found.  The  gardner  swares 
the  srubs  will  all  di  from  being  transplanted  at  unpropper 
sesin  —  but  I  trust  it  is  onely  his  old  grumblin  stile  witch  he 
cannot  git  over. 

Honnerd  Sur  —  The  wust  is  to  cum.  In  casis  of  Fire  the 
trooth  is  shure  to  brake  out  suner  or  latter,  so  I  may  as  well 
cum  to  the  catstrophy  without  any  varnish  on  my  tail.  This 
morning,  according  to  yure  order,  I  hignitted  the  littel  faggit 
stak,  fust  takin  the  precawshuny  meshure  of  drawin  up  a  line 
of  men  with  buckits,  from  the  dux-pond  to  the  sene  of  com- 
busting. Nothin  can  lay  therefor  on  my  sholders :  it  all  riz 
from  the  men  striking  for  bear,  wen  they  ort  to  hav  bean 
handin  warter  to  won  another.  I  felt  my  deuty  to  argy  the 
pint,  which  I  trust  will  be  apruved,  and  wile  we  were  cussin 
and  discussin  the  fire  got  a  hed  that  defide  all  our  unitted 
pours  to  subdo.  To  confess  the  fax,  the  fire  inguns  ware  all 
lokt  up  in  a  stabble  with  a  shy  key  that  had  lost  itself  the  day 
before,  and  was  not  to  be  had  wen  we  wantid  to  lay  hands  on  it. 
Not  that  we  could  have  wurkd  the  inguns  if  they  had  faverd 
witli  their  presens,  for  want  of  hands.  Evvery  boddy  had  run 
so  ofFen  at  the  allarm  bell  that  they  got  noboddy  to  go  in  there 
steed.  It  was  an  hawful  site  ;  the  devowring  ellemint  swallerd 
won  thing  after  another  as  sune  as  cotched,  and  rushed  along 
roring  with  friteful  violins.  Were  the  finger  of  Providins  is 
the  hand  as  does  we  must  not  arrange  it,  but  as  the  him  says, 
"  we  must  submit  and  humbel  Bee."  Heavin  direx  the  winds, 
and  not  us.  As  it  blue  towards  the  sow  the  piggry  sune 
cotchd,  and  that  cotchd  the  foul  housis,  and  then  the  barn 
cotchd  with  all  the  straw,  and  the  granery  cotched  next,  witch 
it  wood  not  have  dun  if  we  had  puld  down  the  Cow  Hous 


THE   GREAT    CONFLAGRATION. 


277 


that  stud  between.  That  was  all  the  cotching,  excep  the 
hay-stax,  from  Jenkins  runnin  about  with  a  flaimin  tale  to 
his  smoak-frock.  At  last,  by  a  blessin,  when  there  was  no 
moor  to  burn  it  was  got  under  and  squentched  itself,  prays  be 
given  without  loss  of  lif  or  lim.  Another  comfit  is  all  bein 
inshured  in  the  Sun,  enuff  to  kiver  it ;  and  I  shud  hop  they 
will  not  refus  to  make  gud  on  the  ground  that  it  was  dun 
wilful  by  our  hone  ax  and  deeds.  But  fire  officis  are  sumtimes 
verry  unlibberal,  and  will  ketch  hold  of  a  burning  straw,  and 
if  fax  were  put  on  their  oths  I  could  n't  deni  a  bundil  of  rags, 
matchis,  candel  ends,  and  other  combustibils  pokt  into  the 
faggits,  and  then  litin  up  with  my  hone  hand.  Tim  will  sho. 
In  the  meenwile  I  am  consienshusly  eazy,  it  was  dun  for  the 
best,  though  turnd  out  for  the  wust,  and  am  gratifid  to  reflect 
that  I  hav  omitted  nothin,  but  have  scruppleusly  fulfild 
evvery  particler  of  yure  honner's  instruxions,  and  in  hap  of 
approval  of  the  saim,  await  the  faver  of  furthir  commands, 
and  am, 

Honnerd  Sur  Jacob, 
Your  humbel,  faithful,  and  obedient  Servint, 

Roger  Davis. 


LIGHT-FINGERED. 


THE    SUBLIME   AMD   THE    RIDICULOUS. 


THE  PARISH   REVOLUTION. 


From  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  is  but  a  step.' 


Alarming  News  from  the  Country.  —  Awful  Insurrection  at 
Stoke  Pogis.  —  The  Military  called  out.  —  Flight  of  the 
Mayor. 

We  are  concerned  to  state  that  accounts  were  received  in 
town  at  a  late  hour  last  night,  of  an  alarming  state  of  things  at 
Stoke  Pogis.  Nothing  private  is  yet  made  public  ;  but  re- 
port speaks  of  very  serious  occurrences.  The  number  of 
killed  is  not  known,  as  no  despatches  have  been  received. 


THE   PARISH  REVOLUTION.  279 


Further  Particulars. 

Nothing  is  known  yet ;  papers  have  been  received  down  to 
the  4th  of  November,  but  they  are  not  up  to  anything. 

Further  further  Particulars.     (Private  Letter.) 

It  is  scarcely  possible  for  you,  my  dear  Charles,  to  conceive 
the  difficulties  and  anarchical  manifestations  of  turbulence, 
which  threaten  and  disturb  your  old  birthplace,  poor  Stoke 
Pogis.  To  the  reflecting  mind,  the  circumstances  which 
hourly  transpire  afford  ample  food  for  speculation  and  moral 
reasoning.  To  see  the  constituted  authorities  of  a  place,  how- 
ever mistaken  or  misguided  by  erring  benevolence,  plunging 
into  a  fearful  struggle  with  an  irritated,  infuriated,  and  I  may 
say,  armed  populace,  is  a  sight  which  opens  a  field  for  terrified 
conjecture.  I  look  around  me  with  doubt,  agitation,  and  dis- 
may ;  because,  whilst  I  venerate  those  to  whom  the  sway  of  a 
part  of  a  state  may  be  said  to  be  intrusted,  I  cannot  but  yield 
to  the  conviction  that  the  abuse  of  power  must  be  felt  to  be 
an  overstep  of  authority  in  the  best  intentioned  of  the  Magis- 
tracy. This  even  you  will  allow.  Being  on  the  spot,  my  dear 
Charles,  an  eyewitness  of  these  fearful  scenes,  I  feel  how  im- 
possible it  is  for  me  to  give  you  any  idea  of  the  prospects 
which  surround  me.  To  say  that  I  think  all  will  end  well,  is 
to  trespass  beyond  the  confines  of  hopes ;  but  whilst  I  admit 
that  there  is  strong  ground  for  apprehending  the  worst,  I  can- 
not shut  my  eyes  to  the  conviction  that  if  firm  measures,  tem- 
pered with  concession,  be  resorted  to,  it  is  far  from  being  out 
of  the  pale  of  probability  that  serenity  may  be  re-established. 
In  hazarding  this  conclusion,  however,  you  must  not  consider 
me  as  at  all  forgetting  the  responsibilities  which  attach  to  a 
decidedly  formed  opinion.  O  Charles  !  you  who  are  in  the 
quiet  of  London,  can  little  dream  of  the  conflicting  elements 
which  form  the  storm  of  this  devoted  village.  I  fear  you  will 
be  wearied  with  all  these  details  ;  but  I  thought  at  this  dis- 
tance, at  which  you  are  from  me,  you  would  wish  me  to  run 
the  risk  of  wearying  you  rather  than  omit  any  of  the  interest- 
ing circumstances.  Let  Edward  read  this ;  his  heart,  winch 
I  know  beats  for  the  Parish,  will  bleed  for  us. 

I  am.  &c. 

H.  J.  P. 


280  THE   PARISH   REVOLUTION. 

P.  S.  —  Nothing  further  has  yet  occurred,  but  you  shall 
hear  from  me  again  to-morrow. 

Another  Account. 

Symptoms  of  disunion  have  for  some  time  past  prevailed 
between  the  authorities  of  Stoke  Pogis,  and  a  part  of  the  in- 
habitants. The  primum  mobile,  or  first  mobbing,  originated 
in  an  order  of  the  Mayor's,  that  all  tavern  doors  should  shut 
at  eleven.  Many  complied,  and  shut,  but  the  door  of  the 
Rampant  Lion  openly  resisted  the  order.  A  more  recent 
notice  has  produced  a  new  and  more  dangerous  irritation  on 
our  too  combustible  population.  A  proclamation  against  Guy 
Fauxes  and  Fireworks  was  understood  to  be  in  preparation 
by  command  of  the  chief  Magistrate.  If  his  Worship  had 
listened  to  the  earnest  and  prudential  advice  of  the  rest  of  the 
bench,  the  obnoxious  placard  would  not  have  been  issued  till 
the  6th,  but  he  had  it  posted  up  on  the  4th,  and  by  his  pre- 
cipitation has  plunged  Stokes  Pogis  into  a  convulsion,  that 
nothing  but  Time's  soothing  syrup  can  alleviate. 

From  another  Quarter. 

We  are  all  here  in  the  greatest  alarm  !  a  general  rising  of 
the  inhabitants  took  place  this  morning,  and  they  have  con- 
tinued in  a  disturbed  state  ever  since.  Everybody  is  in  a 
bustle,  and  indicating  some  popular  movement.  Seditious 
cries  are  heard  !  the  bell-man  is  going  his  rounds,  and  on  re- 
peating "  God  save  the  King ! "  is  saluted  with  "  Hang  the 
crier !  "  Organized  bands  of  boys  are  going  i  bout  collecting 
sticks,  &c,  whether  for  barricades  or  bonfires  is  not  known ; 
many  of  them  singing  the  famous  Gunpowder  Hymn,  "  Pray 
remember,"  &c.  These  are  features  that  remind  us  of  the 
most  inflammable  times.  Several  strangers  of  suspicious  gen- 
tility arrived  here  last  night,  and  privately  engaged  a  barn ; 
they  are  now  busily  distributing  handbills  amongst  the  crowd  : 
surely  some  horrible  tragedy  is  in  preparation  ! 

A  later  Account. 
The  alarm,  increases.     Several  families  have  taken  flight 


THE  PAKISH  REVOLUTION.  281 

by  the  wagon,  and  the  office  of  Mr.  Stewart,  the  overseer, 
is  besieged  by  persons  desirous  of  being  passed  to  their  own 
parish.  He  seems  embarrassed  and  irresolute,  and  returns 
evasive  answers.     The  worst  fears  are  entertaining. 

Fresh  Intelligence. 

The  cause  of  the  overseer's  hesitation  has  transpired. 
The  pass-cart  and  horse  have  been  lent  to  a  tradesman,  for  a 
day's  pleasure,  and  are  not  returned.  Nothing  can  exceed 
the  indignation  of  the  paupers  !  they  are  all  pouring  towards 
the  poor-house,  headed  by  Timothy  Gubbins,  a  desperate 
drunken  character,  but  the  idol  of  the  Workhouse.  The 
constables  are  retiring  before  this  formidable  body.  The 
following  notice  is  said  to  be  posted  up  at  the  Town-Hall : 
"  Stick  no  Bills." 

Eleven  o'clock. 

The  mob  have  proceeded  to  outrage  —  the  poor  poor-house 
has  not  a  whole  pane  of  glass  in  its  whole  frame  !  The  Mag- 
istrates, with  Mr.  Higginbottom  at  their  head,  have  agreed  to 
call  out  the  military ;  and  he  has  sent  word  that  he  will  come 
as  soon  as  he  has  put  on  his  uniform. 

A  terrific  column  of  little  boys  has  just  run  down  the  High 
street,  it  is  said  to  see  a  fight  at  the  Green  Dragon.  There  is 
an  immense  crowd  in  the  Market-Place.  Some  of  the  leading 
shopkeepers  have  had  a  conference  with  the  Mayor,  and  the 
people  are  now  being  informed  by  a  placard  of  the  result. 
Gracious  heaven !  how  opposite  is  it  to  the  hopes  of  all  mod- 
erate men  —  "  The  Mare  is  Hobstinate  —  He  is  at  the  Roes 
and  Crown  —  But  refuses  to  treat." 

Twelve  o'clock. 
The  military  has  arrived,  and  is  placed  under  his  own  com- 
mand. He  has  marched  himself  in  a  body  to  the  market- 
place, and  is  now  drawn  up  one  deep  in  front  of  the  Pound. 
The  mob  are  in  possession  of  the  walls,  and  have  chalked 
upon  them  the  following  proclamation  :  "  Stokian  Pogians  be 
firm  !  stick  up  for  bonfires  !  stand  to  your  squibs  !  " 

Quarter  past  Twelve. 
Mr.  Wigsby,  the  Master  of  the  Free  School,  has  declared 
on  the  side  of  liberty,  and  has  obtained  an  audience  of  the 


282  THE  PARISH  REVOLUTION. 

Mayor.     He  is  to  return  in  fifteen  minutes  for  his  Worship's 
decision. 

Half  past  Twelve. 
During  the  interval,  the  Mayor  has  sworn  in  two  special 
constables,  and  will  concede  nothing.  When  the  excitement 
of  the  mob  was  represented  to  him  by  Mr.  Wigsby,  he  pointed 
to  a  truncheon  on  a  table,  and  answered,  "  They  may  do  their 
worsest."  The  exasperation  is  awful  —  the  most  frightful 
cries  are  uttered,  "  Huzza  for  Guys  !  Gubbins  forever  !  and 
no  Higginbottom  !  "  The  military  has  been  ordered  to  clear 
the  streets,  but  his  lock  is  not  flinty  enough,  and  his  gun 
refuses  to  fire  on  the  people. 


The  Constables  have  just  obtained  a  slight  advantage  ;  they 
made  a  charge  altogether,  and  almost  upset  a  Guy.  On  the 
left-hand  side  of  the  way  they  have  been  less  successful ;  Mr. 
Huggins  the  beadle  attended  to  take  possession  of  an  impor- 
tant street  post,  but  was  repulsed  by  a  boy  with  a  cracker. 
At  the  same  moment  Mr.  Blogg  the  churchwarden,  was  de- 
feated in  a  desperate  attempt  to  force  a  passage  up  a  court. 

One  o'clock. 

The  military  always  dines  at  one,  and  has  retreated  to  the 
Pig  and  Puncheon.  There  is  a  report  that  the  head  constable 
is  taken  with  all  his  staff. 

Two  o'clock. 

A  flying  watchman  has  just  informed  us  that  the  police  are 
victorious  on  all  points,  and  the  same  has  been  confirmed  by  a 
retreating  constable.  He  states  that  the  Pound  is  full  — 
Gubbins  in  the  stocks,  and  Dobbs  in  the  cage.  That  the 
whole  mob  would  have  been  routed,  but  for  a  very  corpulent 
man,  who  rallied  them  on  running  away. 

Half  past  Three. 
The  check  sustained  by  the  mob  proves  to  have  been  a  re- 
verse ;  the  constables  are  the  sufferers.  The  cage  is  chopped 
to  fagots,  we  have  n't  a  pound,  and  the  stocks  are  rapidly  fall- 
ing. Mr.  Wigsby  has  gone  again  to  the  Mayor  with  over- 
tures, the  people  demand  the  release  of  Dobbs  and  Gubbins, 
and  the  demolition  of  the   stocks,  the  pound,  and  the  cage. 


THE   PARISH  REVOLUTION. 


283 


As  these  are  already  destroyed,  and  Gubbins  and  Dobbs  are 
at  large,  it  is  confidently  hoped  by  all  moderate  men  that  his 
Worship  will  accede  to  the  terms. 


GOOD  ENTERTAINMENT  FOR  MAX  AND  HORSE. 


Four  o'clock. 

The  Mayor  has  rejected  the  terms.  It  is  confidently  affirmed 
that,  after  this  decision,  he  secretly  ordered  a  post-chaise,  and 
has  set  off  with  a  pair  of  post-horses  as  fast  as  they  can't 
gallop.  A  meeting  of  the  principal  tradesmen  has  taken  place, 
and  the  butcher,  the  baker,  the  grocer,  the  cheesemonger,  and 
the  publican,  have  agreed  to  compose  a  Provisional  Govern- 
ment. In  the  mean  time  the  mob  are  loud  in  their  joy,  — 
they  are  letting  off  squibs  and  crackers,  and  rockets,  and 
devils  in  all  directions,  and  quiet  is  completely  restored. 

We  subjoin  two  documents,  —  one  containing  the  articles 
drawn  up  by  the  Provisional  Government  and  Mr.  Wigsby ; 
the  other,  the  genuine  narrative  of  a  spectator. 


284  THE  PARISH  REVOLUTION. 

Dear  Charles, — 
The  events  of  the  last  few  hours,  since  I  closed  my  minute 
narration,  are  pregnant  with  fate  ;  and  no  words  that  I  can 
utter  on  paper  will  give  you  an  idea  of  their  interest.  Up  to 
the  hour  at  which  I  closed  my  sheet,  anxiety  regulated  the 
movement  of  every  watchful  bosom  ;  but  since  then,  the  ap- 
proaches to  tranquillity  have  met  with  barriers  and  interrup- 
tions. To  the  meditative  mind,  these  popular  paroxysms  have 
their  desolating  deductions.  0  my  Charles,  I  myself  am 
almost  sunk  into  an  Agitator  —  so  much  do  we  take  the  color 
from  the  dye  in  which  our  reasoning  faculties  are  steeped.  I 
stop  the  press  —  yes,  Charles  —  I  stop  the  press  of  circum- 
stances to  say,  that  a  dawn  of  the  Pacific  is  gleaming  over  the 
Atlantic  of  our  disturbances  ;  and  I  am  enabled,  by  the  kind- 
ness of  Constable  Adams,  to  send  you  a  Copy  of  the  Prelimi- 
naries, which  are  pretty  well  agreed  upon,  and  only  wait  to 
be  ratified.  I  close  my  letter  in  haste.  That  peace  may  de- 
scend on  the  Olive  Tree  of  Stoke  Pogis,  is  the  earnest  prayer 

of'  &c'  H.  J.  P. 

P.  S.  —  Show  the  Articles  to  Edward.  He  will,  with  his 
benevolence,  at  once  see  that  they  are  indeed  precious  articles 
for  Stoke  Pogis. 

CONDITIONS. 

1.  That  for  the  future,  widows  in  Stoke  Pogis  shall  be 
allowed  their  thirds,  and  Novembers  their  fifths. 

2.  That  the  property  of  Guys  shall  be  held  inviolable,  and 
their  persons  respected. 

3.  That  no  arson  be  allowed,  but  all  bonfires  shall  be  burnt 
by  the  common  hangman. 

4.  That  every  rocket  shall  be  allowed  an  hour  to  leave  the 
place. 

5.  That  the  freedom  of  Stoke  Pogis  be  presented  to  Madame 
Ilengler,  in  a  cartridge-box. 

6.  That  the  military  shall  not  be  called  out  uncalled  for. 

7.  That  the  parish  beadle,  for  the  time  being,  be  authorized 
to  stand  no  nonsense. 

8.  That  his  Majesty's  mail  be  permitted  to  pass  on  the  night 
in  question. 


THE  PARISH   REVOLUTION.  285 

9.  That  all  animosities  be  buried  in  oblivion,  at  the  Parish 
expense. 

10.  That  the  ashes  of  old  bonfires  be  never  raked  up. 

{Signed)  j  WAasr^,  High  Constable. 

The  Narrowtiv  of  a  High  Whitness  who  seed  every  T hi ?ik  pro- 
ceed out  of  a  Back-winder  up  Fore  Pears  to  Jlrs.  Humphris. 

0  Mrs.  Humphris !  Littel  did  I  Dram,  at  my  Tim  of  Life, 
to  see  Wat  is  before  me.  The  hole  Parrish  is  Throne  into  a 
pannikin  !  The  Revelations  has  reeched  Stock  Poggis  —  and 
the  people  is  riz  agin  the  Kings  rain,  and  all  the  Pours  that 
be.  All  this  Blessed  Mourning  Mrs.  Griggs  and  Me  as  bean 
siting  abscondingly  at  the  tiptop  of  the  Hows  crying  for  low- 
ness.  We  have  lockd  our  too  selves  in  the  back  Attical  Rome, 
and  nothing  can  come  up  to  our  Hanksiety.  Some  say  it  is 
like  the  Frentch  Plot  —  sum  say  sum  thing  moor  arter  the 
Dutch  Patten  is  on  the  car-pit,  and  if  so  we  shall  be  flored  like 
Brussels.  Well,  I  never  did  like  them  Brown  holland  brum 
gals ! 

Our  Winder  overlooks  all  the  High  Street,  xcept  jest  ware 
Mister  Higgins  jutts  out  Behind.  What  a  prospectus  !  —  All 
riotism  and  hubbub.  —  There  is  a  lowd  speechifying  round 
the  Gabble  end  of  the  Hows.  The  Mare  is  arranging  the 
Populous  from  one  of  his  own  long  winders.  —  Poor  Man  !  — 
for  all  his  fine  goold  Cheer,  who  wood  Sit  in  his  shews  ! 

1  hobserve  Mr.  Tuder's  bauld  Hed  uncommon  hactiv  in 
the  Mobb,  and  so  i-  Mister  WaggstafF  the  Constable,  con- 
siddering  his  rummatiz  has  only  left  one  Harm  disaffected  to 
shew  his  loyalness  with.  He  and  his  men  air  staving  the 
mobbs  Heds  to  make  them  Suppurate.  They  are  trying  to 
Custardise  the  Ringleders  But  as  yet  hav  Captivated  Xoboddy. 
There  is  no  end  to  accidence.  Three  unsensible  boddis  are 
Carrion  over  the  way  on  Three  Cheers,  but  weather  Naybers 
or  Gyes,  is  dubbious.  Master  Gollop  too,  is  jest  gon  By  on 
one  of  his  Ants  Shuters,  with  a  Bunch  of  exploded  Squibs 
gone  off  in  his  Trowsirs.  It  makes  Mrs.  G.  and  Me  tremble 
like  Axle  trees,  for  our  Hone  nevvies.  Wile  we  ware  at  the 
open  Winder  they  sliped  out.  With  sich  Broils  in  the  Street 
who  nose  what  Scraps  they  may  git  into.     Mister  J.  is  gon 


286  THE  PARISH  REVOLUTION. 

off  with  his  muskitry  to  militate  agin  the  mobb ;  and  I  fear 
without  anny  Sand" Witches  in  his  Cartrich  Box.  Mrs.  Griggs 
is  in  the  Sam  state  of  Singularity  as  meself.  Onely  think, 
Mrs.  H.  of  two  Loan  Wiming  looken  Down  on  such  a  Iieifer- 
vescence,  and  as  Hignorant  as  the  unbiggotted  Babe  of  the 
state  of  our  Husbandry  !  to  had  to  our  Convexity,  the  Botcher 
has  not  Bean.  No  moor  as  the  Backer  and  We  shold  here 
Nothing  if  Mister  Higgins  hand  n't  hollowed  up  Fore  Storys. 
What  news  he  brakes  !  That  wicked  Wigsby  as  reffused  to 
Reed  the  Riot  Ax,  and  the  Town  Clark  is  no  Schollard  ! 
Is  n't  that  a  bad  Herring ! 

O  Mrs.  Humphris  !  It  is  unpossible  to  throe  ones  hies 
from  one  End  of  Stock  Poggis  to  the  other,  without  grate 
Pane.  Nothing  is  seed  but  Wivs  asking  for  Huzbinds  — 
nothing  is  heard  but  childerin  looking  for  Farthers.  Mr. 
Hatband  the  Undertacker  as  jist  bean  squibed  and  obligated 
for  safeness  to  inter  his  own  Hows.  Mrs.  Higgins  blames  the 
unflexable  Stubbleness  of  the  Mare  and  says  a  littel  timely 
Concussion  wood  have  been  of  Preventive  Servis.  Haven 
nose !  For  my  Part  I  dont  believe  all  the  Concussion  on 
Hearth  wood  hav  prevented  the  Regolater  bein  scarified  by  a 
Squib  and  runnin  agin  the  Rockit  —  or  that  it  could  unshatter 
Pore  Master  Gollop,  or  squentch  Wider  Welshis  rix  of  Haze 
witch  is  now  Flamming  and  smocking  in  two  volumes.  The 
ingins  as  been,  but  could  not  Play  for  want  of  Pips  witch  is 
too  often  the  Case  with  Parrish  inginuity.  Wile  affares  are 
in  this  friteful  Posturs,  thank  Haven  I  have  one  grate  comfit. 
Mr.  J.  is  cum  back  on  his  legs  from  Twelve  to  won  tired  in  the 
extreams  with  Being  a  Standing  Army,  and  his  Uniformity 
spatterdashed  all  over.  He  says  his  hone  saving  Avas  onely 
thro  leaving  His  retrenchments. 

Pore  Mr.  Griggs  has  cum  In  after  his  Wif  in  a  state  of 
grate  exaggeration.  He  says  the  Boys  hav  maid  a  Bone  Fire 
of  his  garden  fence  and  Pales  upon  Pales  cant  put  it  out. 
Severil  Shells  of  a  bombastic  nater  as  been  picked  up  in  his 
Back  Yard  and  the  old  Cro's  nest  as  bean  Perpetrated  rite 
thro  by  a  Rockit.  We  hav  sent  out  the  Def  Shopmun  to 
here  wat  he  can  and  he  says  their  is  so  Manny  Crackers 
going  he  dont  no  witch  report  to  Belive,  but  the  Fish- 
mongercrs  has  Cotchd  and  with  all  his  Stock  compleatly 
Guttid.     The  Brazers  next  Dore  is  lickwise  in  Hashes,  — 


THE   PARISH   REVOLUTION.  287 

but  it  is  hopped  he  has  assurance  enuf  to  cover  him  All  over. 
They  say  nothing  can  save  the  Dwellins  adjourning.  0  Mrs.  H. 
how  greatful  ought  J  and  I  to  bee  that  our  hone  Premiss  and 
propperty  is  next  to  nothing  !  The  effex  of  the  lit  on  Bild- 
ings  is  marvulous.  The  Turrit  of  St.  Magnum  Bonum  is 
quit  clear  and  you  can  tell  wat  Time  it  is  by  the  Clock  verry 
planely  only  it  stands ! 

The  noise  is  enuf  to  Drive  won  deleterious  !  Too  Specious 
Conestabbles  is  persewing  littel  Tidmash  down  the  Hi  Street 
and  Sho  grate  fermness,  but  I  trembel  for  the  Pelisse.  Peple 
drops  in  with  New  News  every  Momentum.  Sum  say  All  is 
Lost  —  and  the  town  Criar  is  missin.  Mrs.  Griggs  is  quite 
retched  at  herein  five  littel  Boys  is  throwd  off  a  spirituous 
Cob  among  the  Catherend  Weals.  But  I  hope  it  wants  cob- 
bobboration.  Another  Yuth  its  sed  has  had  his  hies  Blasted 
by  sum  blowd  Gun  Powder.  You  Mrs.  H.  are  Patrimonial, 
and  may  supose  how  these  flying  rummers  Upsetts  a  Mothers 
Sperrits. 

O  Mrs.  Humphris  how  I  envy  you  that  is  not  tossing  on 
the  ragging  bellows  of  these  Flatulent  Times,  but  living  under 
a  Mild  Dispotic  Govinment  in  such  Sequestrated  spots  as 
Lonnon  and  Padington.  May  you  never  go  thro  such  Tran- 
substantiation  as  I  have  bean  riting  in  !  Things  that  stood 
for  Sentries  as  bean  removed  in  a  Minuet  —  and  the  verry 
effigis  of  wat  was  venerablest  is  now  burning  in  Bone  Fires. 
The  Worshipfull  chaar  is  emty.  The  Mare  as  gon  off  clan- 
desting  with  a  pare  of  Hossis,  and  without  his  diner.  They 
say  he  complanes  that  his  Corporation  did  not  stik  to  him  as 
it  shold  have  dun  But  went  over  to  the  other  Side.  Pore  Sole 
—  in  sich  a  case  I  dont  wunder  he  lost  his  stommich.  Yister- 
day  he  was  at  the  summut  of  Pour.  Them  that  hours  ago 
ware  enjoying  parrish  officiousness  as  been  turnd  out  of  there 
Dignittis !  Mr.  Barbey  says  in  filter  all  the  Perakial  Au- 
thoritis  will  be  Wigs. 

Pray  let  me  no  wat  his  Magisty  and  the  Prim  Minestir  think 
of  Stock  Poggis's  Constitution,  and  believe  me  conclusively 
my  deer  Mrs.  Humphris  most  frendly  and  trully. 

Bridget  Joxes. 


ANIMAL   MAGNETISM 


"  Charlatan  is  rising  in  public  favor,  and  has  many  backers  who  book  him 
to  win."  —  Sporting  Intelligence. 


Of  all  the  signs  of  the  times  —  considering  them  literally 
as  signs,  and  the  public  literally  as  "  a  public  "  —  there  are 
none  more  remarkable  than  the  Hahnemann's  Head,  —  the 
Crown  and  Compasses,  devoted  to  Gall  and  Spurzheim's 
entire,  —  and  the  Cock  and  Bull,  that  hangs  out  at  the  House 
of  Call  for  Animal  Magnetizers.  The  last  concern,  especially 
—  a  daring,  glaring,  flaring,  gin-palace-likc  establishment  —  is 
a  moral  phenomenon.  That  a  tap  dispensing  a  raw,  heady, 
very  unrectified  article,  should  obtain  any  custom  whatever, 
in  reputed  genteel  and  well-lighted  neighborhood,  seems  quite 


ANIMAL   MAGNETISM.  289 

impossible  ;  jet  such  is  the  incomprehensible  fact ;  —  respect- 
able parties,  scientific  men,  and  even  physicians,  in  good  prac- 
tice in  all  other  respects,  have  notoriously  frequented  the  bar, 
from  which  they  have  issued  again,  walking  all  sorts  of  ways 
at  once,  or  more  frequently  falling  asleep  on   the   steps,  but 
still  talking  such  "rambling  skimble-skamble  stuff"  as  would 
naturally  be  suggested  by  incoherent    visions  of  a  drunken 
man.      Such  exhibitions,  however,  are  comparatively  rare  in 
London,  to  their  occurrence  in  Paris,  which  city  has  always 
taken  the  lead  of  our  own  capital  in  matters  of  novelty.     It 
is  asserted  by  a  good  authority  that  at  a  French  concern,  in 
the  same  line,  no  less  than  seventy-eight  "  medical  men,  and 
sixty-three  other  very  intelligent    individuals,"  became  thor- 
oughly muzzy  and  mistified,  and  so  completely  lost  all  "  clair- 
voyance "  of  their  own  that  they  applied  to  an  individual  to 
read  a  book  and  a  letter  to  them  ;  to  tell  them  the   hour  on 
their  own  watches ;  to  mention  the  pips  on  the   cards  ;  and, 
by  way  of  putting  the    state  of  their  "  intuitive    foresight " 
beyond  question,  they  actually  appealed  to  the  backsight  of  a 
man  who  was  sound  asleep  !     A  bout  on  so  large  a  scale  has 
not  been  attempted,  hitherto,  in  the  English  metropolis  ;  but 
as  all  fashions  transplanted  from  Paris  flourish  vigorously  in 
our  soil,  it  is  not  improbable  that  we  may  yet  see  a  meeting 
of  the  College  of  Physicians  rendered  very  how-come-you-so 
indeed   by  an   excess  of  Mesmer's   "particular."       The  in- 
fluence of  such  an  example  could  not  fail  to  have  a  powerful 
influence  on  all  classes  ;  and  a  pernicious  narcotic  would  come 
into  general  use  ;  the  notorious  effect  of  which  is  to  under- 
mine the  reason  of  its  votaries,  and  rob  them  of  their  common 
senses.     To  avert  such  a  national  evil,  surely  demands  the 
timely  efforts  of  our  philanthropists  ;  and,  above  all,  of  those 
persons  who  have  set  their  faces  against  the  Old  Tom  —  not 
of  Lincoln,  but  of  London  —  and  in  their  zeal  for  the  public 
sobriety,  aim  at  even  converting  the  brewers'  kilderkins  into 
pumpkins.  —  Seriously,  might  not  the  Temperance   Societies 
extend  the  sphere  of  their  operations,  by  a  whole  hemisphere, 
and  perhaps  with  equal  advantage  to  mankind,  by  attacking 
mental  dram-drinking,  as  well  as  the  bodily  tippling  of  ardent 
spirits  ?     The  bewildered  rollings,  reelings,  and  idiotic  effu- 
sions of  mere  animal  drunkenness  can  hardly  be  more  degrad- 
ing to  rational  human  beings,  than  the  crazy  toddlings  and 
13  s 


290  ANIMAL  MAGNETISM. 

twaddlings  of  a  bemused  mind,  whether  only  maudlin  with 
infinitesimal  doses  of  quackery,  or  rampant  to  mad  staggers 
with  the  lushious  compounds  and  Devil's  Elixirs  of  the  Mes- 
merian  Distillery.  Take  the  wildest  freaks  of  the  most 
fuddled,  muddled,  bepuddled  soaker,  —  such  as  "  trying  to 
light  his  pipe  at  a  pump,"  — :  attempting  to  wind  up  a  plug 
with  his  watch-key,  —  or  requesting,  from  a  damp  bed  in  the 
gutter,  to  be  tucked  in,  —  and  are  they  a  bit,  or  a  whit,  or  a 
jot,  or  a  what-not,  more  absurd,  more  extravagant,  or  more 
indicative  of  imbecility  of  reason,  than  the  vagary  of  a  som- 
nambulist, gravely  going  through  the  back-gammon  of  reading 
Back's  Journal,  or  a  back-number  of  the  Retrospective  Re- 
view, through  the  back  of  his  head  ? 

In  case  the  great  Water  Companies  alluded  to  should 
think  proper  to  adopt  the  foregoing  suggestions,  the  follow- 
ing genuine  letters  are  placed  very  much  at  their  service, 
as  materials  to  be  worked  up  into  tracts :  — 


(Copy.) 

To  Mr.  Robert  Holland,  Linen-Draper,  No.  194   Tottenham 
Court  Road,  London. 

Dear  Bob, — 

Hoping  you  are  well,  and  well-doing,  we  have  heard  such 
wonderful  accounts  in  our  parts  lately  about  animal  magnetiz- 
ing, without  any  clear  notion  what  it  is. 

My  own  notion  is,  it  must  be  something  new  of  my  Lord 
Spenser's  —  Althorp  as  was  —  who  was  always  very  curious 
about  his  beasts. 

Others  do  say  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  with  a  fresh  cattle- 
show  —  nobody  knows. 

Now  you  are  just  at  the  fountain-head  to  learn,  and  as  most 
of  us  down  here  is  more  or  less  engaged  in  breeding  stock,  it 
would  be  a  main  thing  to  be  put  up  to  the  secret  at  its  first 
start. 

Also  whether  it  is  expensive  to  buy  —  and  who  found  it 
out  —  and  if  likely  to  do  away  with  oil-cake  and  mangel- 
wurzel,  and  such  like  particulars. 

Praise  be  blest,  we  are  all  stout  and  hearty,  except  your 


ANIMAL   MAGNETISM.  291 

poor  aunt,  who  died  three  year  ago.     Which  is  all  the  news 
at  present  form, 

Dear  Bob, 

Your  loving  Uncle, 

Reuben  Oxenham. 


(Copt.) 

To  Mr.  Reuben  Oxenham,  Grazier,  Grasslands,  near  Lincoln- 
shire. 

Dear  Uncle, — 

I  was  agreeably  surprised  by  your  breaking  silence  ;  for  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  you  was  a  distrest  farmer  gone  off 
swan  hopping  (excuse  the  joke)  to  Swan  River,  or  to  get 
settled  among  the  Dutch  boars  and  lions  at  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope.  Thank  heaven  such  is  not  the  case  ;  though  damped 
with  my  dear  aunt's  going  off.  I  little  thought,  poor  soul! 
the  why  and  wherefore  my  goose  three  Christmases  ago  was 
the  last !  But  we  must  all  be  cut  off  some  day  or  other, 
which  is  a  religious  consolation  for  the  remnants  that  are  left 
behind. 

I  have  examined,  as  you  desired,  a  sample  of  animal  mag- 
netism ;  which  turns  out  to  be  the  reverse  of  everything  you 
expect.  Indeed  such  might  have  been  anticipated  by  a  little 
forethought  on  the  subject.  There  is  nothing  to  describe 
about  animals  to  such  as  you,  that  deal  in  them  of  all  qual- 
ities ;  but  it  is  quite  likely  that  you  have  forgot  all  about 
magnets,  since  the  days  of  your  youth.  But  perhaps,  when 
they  are  named  to  you,  your  memory  may  serve  to  recollect 
little  bone  boxes,  at  sixpence  apiece,  with  a  blackamoor's 
head  atop,  and  a  little  bar  of  philosopher's  steel  inside,  that 
points  out  the  north,  and  sets  a  needle  dancing  like  mad.  It 
likewise  picks  up  emery,  and  sticks  fast  to  the  blade  of  a 
knife.  But  that  is  all  its  powers  are  competent  to  —  and  of 
course  on  too  small  a  scale  to  have  any  dancing,  or  lifting,  or 
sticking  effect  on  objects  so  big  as  bullocks,  or  even  a  pig,  or  a 
sheep.  Accordingly  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear  that 
animal  magnetism  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  beasts  or  load- 
stones either ;  but  is  all  of  a  piece  with  juggling,  quack- 
salving,  and  mountebanking,  such  as  universal  physic,  spitting 


292  ANIMAL   MAGNETISM. 

Coventry  ribbons,  tumbling,  and  posturing,  thimble-rig,  and 
the  like  fabrics.  One  of  the  principal  tricks  is  sending  peo- 
ple off  to  sleep  against  their  wills  ;  not  so  new  a  trick  though, 
but  it  has  been  heard  of  years  and  years  ago  at  Bow  Street  ; 
and  easy  enough  to  perform,  any  clay,  with  a  pint  of  porter, 
—  provided  one  was  rogue  enough  to  want  to  hocus-pocus  the 
money  out  of  other  people's  pockets  into  one's  own.  To  come 
to  the  point,  there 's  an  outlandish  Count  set  up  in  it  at  the 
west  end ;  and  no  doubt  will  realize  a  fortune.  He  has  his 
carriage-people  for  customers,  as  well  as  Howel  and  James ; 
indeed,  I  have  heard  of  the  Somebodies  as  well  as  Nobodies 
running  after  common  fortune-tellers'  tales,  and  not  too  high 
to  be  above  going  up  into  their  back-garrets.  Some  say 
he  is  a  Frenchman,  others  say  a  German  ;  but  the  last  for 
choice,  for  he  smokes  enough  to  drive  all  the  rats  out  of  the 
neighborhood.  Besides,  the  Germans,  I  'm  told,  will  believe 
anything,  provided  it 's  impossible  ;  which  is  some  excuse  for 
their  wanting  other  people  to  give  the  same  long  credits  ;  and 
besides,  Germans  as  well  as  French,  and  indeed  all  other  for- 
eigners, for  that  matter,  though  ever  such  honest  people  in  the 
main  ;  yet  when  they  do  turn  rogues  at  English  expense,  they 
invariably  go  more  than  the  whole  hog,  namely,  boar,  sow, 
sucking-pigs  and  all.  So  I  determined  to  go  wide-awake, 
and  to  keep  my  eyes  open,  too,  by  not  taking  bit  or  sup  in  the 
house,  if  offered  ever  so  politely.  It  is  surely  not  showing  dis- 
respect to  hospitality,  to  object  to  hocussed  victuals  and  drinks. 
I  might  have  spared  my  fears,  however  ;  for  there  was  nothing 
provided  but  the  ledgerdemain,  &c,  and  that  was  charged  a 
guinea  for,  which  you  can  repay  at  convenience.  I  preferred 
to  see  somebody  else  conjured  before  me  ;  so  another  patient 
was  taken  first.  She  was  a  fine  strapping  young  woman 
enough,  dressed  half  and  half  between  a  fine  lady  and  a  ser- 
vant-maid ;  but  as  sly-looking  a  baggage  as  you  could  select 
from  an  assortment  of  gypseys  ;  and  unless  her  face  belied 
her,  quite  capable  of  scratching  a  Cock  Lane  ghost.  Indeed 
something  came  across  me  that  I  had  seen  her  before  ;  and  if 
memory  don't  deceive,  it  was  at  some  private  theatricals  con- 
trary to  law.  For  certain  she  could  keep  her  countenance  ; 
for  if  the  outlandish  figure  of  a  doctor,  with  his  queer  faces, 
had  postured,  and  pawed,  and  poked  towards  me,  with  his 
fingers,  for  all  the  world  like  the  old  game  of  "My  grand- 


ANIMAL   MAGNETISM.  993 

mother  sends  you  a  staff,  and  you  're  neither  to  smile  nor  to 
laugh."  as  he  did  to  her,  I  should  have  bursted,  to  a  dead  cer- 
tainty ;  instead  of  going  off,  as  she  did,  into  an  easy  sleep. 
As  soon  as  she  was  sound,  the  Count  turned  round  to  me  and 
the  company  with  his  broken  English  —  "  Ladies  and  gentle- 
mens,"  says  he,  u  look  here  at  dis  yoong  maidens,  Mizz  Char- 
lot  Ann  Elizabet  Martin  "  —  for  that  is  his  way  of  talking. 
"  Wld  my  magnetismuses  I  tro  her  into  von  state  of  som- 
bamboozleisni  "  —  or  something  to  that  effect.  "  Mizz  Chariot 
Ann.  dou  art  a  slip."  "  As  fast  as  a  church,  Mister  Count." 
says  she.  talking  and  hearing  as  ea?y  as  broad  awake.  "  Fer- 
ry goot."  says  he.  "  Xow  I  take  dis  boke,  —  Missis  Glasse 
Cokery.  —  and  I  shall  make  de  maidens  read  sorn  little  of  him 
wid  her  back.  Dere  he  is  bytween  her  sholders.  Mizz 
Chariot  Ann  what  you  see  now  mit  your  eyes  turned  de 
wrong  way  for  to  look  ? "  "  Why,  then."  says  she.  "  Mr. 
Count,  I  see  quite  plain  a  T  and  an  0.  Then  comes  R,  and 
O,  and  S,  and  T  —  and  the  next  word  is  H,  and  A.  and  I,  and 
R."  "  Ferry  goot,"  cries  the  Count  over  again.  "  Dat  is  to 
rost  de  hare.  Ladies  and  gentlemens,  you  all  here  ?  As 
Gott  is  my  shudge,  so  is  here  in  de  boke.  Xow  den,  Mizz 
Chariot  Ann,  vons  more.  Vot  you  test  in  your  mouse  ? " 
"  Why  then,  Master,"  says  Charlotte  Ann,  "  as  sure  as  fate,  I 
taste  sweet  herbs  chopped  up  small !  "  "  Ferry  goot  indeed  ! 
—  bot  what  mor  by  sides  de  sweet  herrubs  ?  "  "Why,"  says 
she,  "it's  a  relish  of  salt,  and  pepper,  and  mace,  — and,  let  me 
see  —  there  's  a  flaivour  of  currant  jelly."  "  Besser  and  bes- 
ser  ! "  cries  the  Count.  "  Ladies  and  gentlemens,  arc  not  dese 
voonderfools  ?  You  shall  see  every  wart  of  it  in  de  print. 
Mizz  Chariot  Ann,  vot  you  feel  now?"  "Lawk  a  mercy. 
Mister  Count,"  says  she,  "  there  's  a  sort  of  stuffy  feel,  so  there 
is,  in  my  inside  ! "  "  Yaw  !  like  van  fool  belly  !  Ferry  goot ! 
Xow  you  feel  vot  ?  "  "  Feel !  Mister  Count  ?  "  says  she  — 
"  why  I  don't  feel  nothing  at  all  —  the  stuffiness  is  gone  clean 
away  !  "  "  Yaw,  my  shild  !  "  says  he.  "  Dat  is  by  cause  I  take 
avay  de  cokery  boke  from  your  two  sholders.  Ladies  and 
gentlemens,  dese  is  grand  powers  of  magnetismus !  Ach 
himmel !  As  Hamlet  say,  dere  is  more  in  our  philosofies  dan 
dere  is  in  de  heaven  or  de  earth  !  Our  mutter  Xature  is  so 
fond  to  hide  her  face  !  Bot  von  adept,  so  as  me,  can  lift  up 
a  whale!" 


294  ANIMAL  MAGNETISM. 

To  shorten  a  long  story,  the  sombamboozleism  lasted  for 
two  hours ;  while  Miss  Chariot  Ann  told  fortunes  in  her  sleep, 
and  named  people's  inward  complaints,  and  prescribed  for 
them  with  her  eyes  shut.  Mine  wTas  dropsy  ;  and  I  was  to 
take  antimonious  wine  three  times  a  day,  to  throw  the  water 
off  my  stomach.  So,  if  you  like  to  ask  your  apothecary,  or 
the  parish  doctor,  they  will  be  able  to  tell  you  whether  it  looks 
like  proper  practice  or  the  reverse.  For  my  own  part,  I  mean 
to  suspend  myself  till  I  feel  more  symptoms  ;  and  in  the  mean 
time  I  have  experimented  on  myself  so  far  as  to  try  behind 
my  back  with  the  Ready  Reckoner.  But  I  could  not  even 
see  the  book,  much  less  make  out  a  figure.  To  be  sure  I  was 
broad  awake,  but  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  circumstance  only 
gave  the  better  chance  in  its  favor  —  at  least  it  has  always 
been  reckoned  so  with  a  book  held  the  proper  natural  way.  I 
was  the  more  particular  with  the  book-work,  because  it  looked 
like  the  master-key  to  let  you  into  the  whole  house  :  —  for  no 
doubt,  if  you  can  do  that  trick,  you  can  do  all  the  rest,  and 
have  a  hare  dressed  between  your  shoulders  as  easily  as  a 
blister.  But  to  my  mind  it  is  all  sham  Abraham  ;  or  the  little 
boys  that  go  every  day  with  whole  satchels  full  of  books  at 
their  backs  would  know  rather  more  about  them  than  they  do 
generally  at  leaving  off  school. 

And  now,  Uncle,  I  have  explained  to  you  all  about  Animal 
Magnetism  ;  and,  says  you,  there  are  many  things  that  come 
by  names  they  have  no  right  to,  without  going  to  Scotland, 
where  you  know  they  call  a  pitcher  a  pig.  So  it  is  very  lucky, 
on  the  whole,  that  you  wrote  to  me,  instead  of  posting  up  to 
London  on  a  fool's  errand,  —  as  did  a  respectable  Lancashire 
grazing  gentleman,  the  other  day,  in  the  newspapers,  who  was 
hoaxed  all  the  way  up  to  town,  by  a  false  notion  that  Animal 
Magnifying,  as  he  called  it,  was  some  new,  cheap,  and  quick 
way  of  fatting  cattle.  It  will  maybe  turn  out  quite  as  deceit- 
ful an  article  as  to  its  other  qualities ;  and  in  that  case,  if  I 
had  the  luck  to  be  a  magistrate,  I  would  cold-pig  the  sleeping 
partners  with  Cold  Bath  Fields,  and  send  off  the  active  ones, 
to  take  a  walk  at  a  cart's  tail,  with  something  they  could  feel, 
if  they  could  not  read  it,  on  their  backs  and  shoulders.  That 's 
how  I  would  measure  out  the  law,  if  I  was  Lord  Chief  Justice. 
In  which  sentiments  I  conclude,  with  love  to  yourself,  and  all 
my  cousins,  if  I  have  any  living  —  with  my  best  condolences 


ANIMAL   MAGNETISM. 


295 


for  my  poor  late  Aunt.  As  to  business,  I  have  only  broken 
twice  as  yet;  which  is  doing  pretty  well,  considering  the 
hard  times  and  the  state  of  trade.  Wishing  you  the  like 
prosperity,  with  health  and  every  other  blessing,  I  remain, 
dear  Uncle, 

Your  affectionate  nephew, 

Robert  Holland. 

P.  S.  Since  the  foregoing,  I  have  discussed  the  subject 
with  a  neighbor,  a  Veterany  Surgeon  ;  and  he  says  it  is  all 
very  well  for  the  old  men  and  women  Physicians,  but  won't  go 
down  with  the  Horse  Doctors.  "  However,"  says  he,  "  if  you 
are  bent  on  trying  it,  I  will  give  you  a  receipt.  Take  a  two- 
year  old  full  blood  colt,  half  broke,  or  not  broke  at  all  —  if 
vicious,  so  much  the  better.  Shoe  him  behind  with  a  couple 
of  stout  horseshoe-loadstones,  and  then  stand  convenient,  and 
take  a  tug  or  two  at  his  tail,  till  you  feel  him  begin  to  operate. 
That 's  Animal  Magnetism,  and  will  do  you  quite  as  much 
good  or  harm  as  the  other  new  kick,  and  save  you  all  the  fees 
besides." 


SOMNAMBULISM. 


HINTS  TO   THE   HORTICULTURAL. 


It  is  always  dangerous  —  as  landsmen  experience  when 
they  advise  seamen  —  for  a  mere  theorist  to  offer  suggestions 
to  practical  men.  It  is  quite  as  perilous  —  as  bachelors  dis- 
cover in  counselling  mothers  —  for  the  simple  speculator  to 
volunteer  advice  to  practical  women  ;  and,  therefore,  it  must 
be  doubly  hazardous  for  one  not  even  a  tyro  to  throw  out 
hints  to  practical  persons  of  both  sexes,  as  in  the  present  case. 
Indeed,  I  almost  blush  like  a  "  scarlet  likeness "  of  myself, 
while  recollecting  my  very  slender  claims  on  their  attention. 
If  the  usual  qualification  of  a  horticulturist  —  a  plant  bearing 
his  patronymic  —  were  to  be  called  for,  I  could  not  produce  a 
sprout  or  a  sprig  indebted  to  my  sponsorship.  To  say  nothing 
of  such  "  lofty  growths  "  as  my  Queen  Margaret,  my  Princess 
of  Orange,  or  my  Duke  of  Nassau,  the  British  Flora  never 
heard  of  so  much  as  my  Chickweed,  my  Grundsel,  or  my 
Dandelion.  I  never  cultivated  a  common  Daisy  ;  and  for 
any  budding  or  blossoming  desert  on  my  part,  a  black  "  ball 
of  earth"  would  justly  exclude  me  from  even  a  Candy-Tuft 
Club. 

It  is  venturing,  then,  on  a  soil  to  which  I  am  neither  in- 
digenous nor  adapted ;  nevertheless,  at  the  risk  of  being  called 
a  "  straggler,"  I  will  venture  to  bring  forward  a  few  plain 
rules,  founded  on  personal  observation  and  study,  and  directed 
to  points  hitherto  not  touched  upon,  from  the  voluminous 
encyclopaedias  down  to  the  dwarf  works  on  Botany.  They 
are  addressed  especially  to  those  humble  practitioners  who 
garden  without  gardens,  and  play  at  the  Floral  Games  with- 
out the  costly  appendages  of  greenhouses ;  the  Conservatives, 
so  to  speak,  without  conservatories.  Many  hundreds  of  such 
amateurs  exist  in  London  and  the  suburbs  ;  particularly  fe- 
males, who,  disdaining  the  resource  of  Covent  Garden,  as 
well  as  the  supply  of  the  itinerant  posy-people,  indulge  in  the 
innocent  ambition  of  growing  their  own  geraniums,  stocks, 
and  mignonette.      Hitherto,    however,  they  have  proceeded 


HINTS   TO   THE   HORTICULTURAL. 


297 


on  desultory  principles  ;  and  it  is  with  a  view  of  inducing 
them  to  adopt  a  more  scientific  method,  and  proceed  by  fixed 


BOTANIZING  —  A   BOG   PLANT. 


rules,  that  I  present  to  their  notice  a  few  hints  derived  from 
my  ambulatory  Note-Book. 

The  technical  terms,  as  well  as  the  phrases  marked  as 
quotations,  are  borrowed  from  the  only  herbaceous  volume  in 
my  library,  — 4'  Paxton's  Magazine  of  Botany." 

Rule  the  First. 

To  produce   a  "  Blow "  from  Plants  at  any  Season  of  the 
Year. 

Select  a  lofty  house,  in  the  most  airy  situation  you  can  find 
—  the  corner  of  a  street  to  be  preferred.  Any  month  in  the 
calendar  will  do ;  but  the  best  time  is  towards  Lady  Day  or 
Michaelmas  ;  that  is  to  say,  about  the  Equinox.  The  higher 
the  windows  are  from  the  earth  the  better :  your  plants  can- 
not have  too  much  air.  Avoid,  however,  all  iron  bars,  wooden 
13* 


298  HINTS   TO   THE   HORTICULTURAL. 

rails,  strings,  or  other  contrivances,  which  only  tend  to  cramp 
and  confine  the  pots,  and  impede  the  blowing.  As  to  plants, 
the  "  hard  woody  sorts "  are  reckoned  to  "  strike  best  and 
strongest ; "  —  they  must  be  potted,  in  large-sized  pots,  and 
particularly  well  sticked.  Keep  them  in  the  room,  but  not 
too  near  the  fire,  and  water  occasionally,  till  a  favorable  op- 
portunity offers  for  their  exposure  to  the  fresh  air,  which 
cannot  be  too  fresh.  In  winter,  a  wind  from  the  north,  or 
northeast,  and  in  summer,  from  the  south,  or  southwest,  is 
generally  found  to  answer  the  purpose  ;  but  the  quarter  is 
indifferent,  provided  the  current  of  air  is  brisk  enough. 

Now  put  out  your  plants,  so  as  to  receive  the  full  benefit 
of  the  breeze ;  and  in  a  short  time  you  may  expect  a  blow 
which  will  sometimes  come  to  such  a  pitch  that  your  plants 
will  excite  the  attention  and  astonishment  of  the  passengers 
in  the  street.  Some  persons,  of  course,  will  be  more  struck 
than  others  by  the  beauty  or  size  of  your  plants  ;  and  in  such 
cases  it  is  usual  to  make  a  distribution  of  offsets  and  speci- 
mens to  the  public.  A  liberal  amateur,  indeed,  will  not 
grudge  to  see  a  few  ladies  and  gentlemen  making  off  with 
pipings,  and  cuttings.  N.  B.  "  The  plants  need  not  be  taken 
in  at  night." 

Rule  the  Second. 
To  destroy  Vermin  in  the  most  effectual  Manner. 

One  of  the  great  objects  of  the  Florist  ought  to  be  to 
cleanse  his  plants  thoroughly  from  blights,  animalculae,  &c,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  avoid  all  chance  of  re-infection.  For 
this  purpose,  the  best  situation  is  a  first-floor  in  a  well-fre- 
quented street ;  —  a  balcony  will  be  of  the  utmost  advantage, 
as  not  only  affording  a  stage  for  the  exhibition  of  the  more 
beautiful  plants,  but  also  every  possible  convenience  for  the 
object  in  view. 

Now  take  an  infected  plant,  and  carefully  pick  off  all  slugs, 
May-bugs,  snails,  caterpillars,  grubs,  wood-lice,  spiders,  cen- 
tipedes, cuckoo-spits,  earwigs,  or  other  vermin,  preparatory  to 
casting  them  into  the  street.  In  this  latter  particular  consists 
the  difficulty,  as  well  as  advantage,  of  the  mode  proposed. 
There  are  two  points  to  observe :  firstly,  to  seize  the  proper 
moment  when  some  Dassenger,  or  passengers,  shall  be  passing 


HINTS   TO   THE  HORTICULTURAL.  299 

below;  and,  secondly,  to  cast  your  slugs,  May-bugs,  snails, 
caterpillars,  grubs,  wood-lice,  spiders,  centipedes,  cuckoo-spits, 
earwigs,  and  other  nasty  insects,  with  such  a  nicety,  that  they 
shall  alight  upon  the  hats,  bonnets,  tippets,  shawls,  capes, 
cloaks,  pelisses,  great-coats,  gowns,  muffs,  &c,  &c,  of  the 
party,  or  parties,  beneath.  Above  all,  the  opportunities  af- 
forded by  milk -pails,  porter-pots,  beer-cans,  bakers'  baskets, 
butchers'  trays,  &c,  must  not  be  neglected  —  as  insuring  the 
effectual  destruction  or  absorption  of  the  obnoxious  animalculje. 
A  little  daily  practice  will  give  the  dexterity  required.  Some 
persons  advise  the  operation  to  be  performed  in  wet  weather, 
as  thereby  the  slugs,  May-bugs,  snails,  caterpillars,  grubs, 
wood-lice,  spiders,  centipedes,  cuckoo-spits,  and  other  nasty 
insects,  will  be  more  likely  to  adhere  to  the  hats,  bonnets,  tip- 
pets, shawls,  capes,  cloaks,  pelisses,  great-coats,  gowns,  muffs, 
&c,  &c,  of  the  persons  on  whom  they  are  conferred.  Either 
way,  the  beneficial  tendency  of  the  plan  will  be  obvious,  on 
reflecting  that  the  troublesome  aniinalcuke,  &c,  are  thus  most 
probably  carried  off  to  distant  private  houses,  lodging-houses, 
counting-houses,  receiving-houses,  wholesale  houses,  public- 
houses,  eating-hou-es  green-houses,  or  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, so  as  to  provide  against  the  insects  returning  to  the  place 
from  whence  they  came.  The  mode  will  be  found  peculiarly 
grateful  to  those  persons  whose  extreme  sensibility  revolts  at  the 
deprivation  of  life,  even  amongst  the  minute  tribes  in  question. 

Rule  the  Third. 

To  water  Plants  so  that  none  of  the  Moisture  may  he  ivasted 
or  lost. 

The  same  situations  as  above  recommended  will  be  proper 
in  this  case  ;  except  that  where  there  is  no  balcony,  an  area 
must  be  dispensed  with.  A  plentiful  supply  of  water  is  the 
grand  desideratum :  if  not  laid  on  in  the  house,  it  will  be  ad- 
visable to  remove  to  the  neighborhood  of  a  public  pump.  For 
plants  —  prefer  Hydrangeas.  "  Persons  who  have  plants  in 
rooms,  most  generally  injure  them  with  too  much  water,  in 
which  respect  the  Hydrangea  is  very  accommodating,  it 
requiring  a  good  supply."  Choose  a  fine  day.  The  best  im- 
plement is  a  watering-pot,  with  the  rose  off,  but  you  may  use 
anv  Jug>  mugj  or  pitcher,  with  a  good  pour,  provided  it  is 


300 


HINTS   TO   THE    HORTICULTURAL. 


large  enough  to  hold  at  least  two  quarts  of  fluid.  The  most 
careful  hand,  however,  with  the  best  implement,  is  apt  to  spill 
in  watering,  by  overshooting  or  undershooting  the  mark  ;  or 
in  cases  of  mental  abstraction,  by  aiming  at  quite  a  different 
object.     Shortsighted  persons  have  even  been  known  to  mis- 


" POUR   MARY   ANNE 


take  artificial  flowers  for  the  real.  In  all  such  instances, 
particularly  in  dry  seasons,  or  neighborhoods  ill  supplied,  it 
becomes  a  public  duty  to  provide  that  all  such  extra  spirts, 
squirts,  spouts,  gushes,  splashes,  jets,  souses,  and  even  the 
very  drippings  and  dribbles,  shall  be  received  in  quarters  that 
will  be  duly  sensible  of  the  benefit.  "  Nothing  adds  more  to 
the  charms  of  Horticulture,  than  that  amenity,  or  kindly  feel- 
ing which  inculcates  the  importance  of  a  liberal  participation 
of  one  another's  superfluities."  Such  superfluities  will  par- 
ticularly be  apt  to  arise  when  plants  are  troubled  with  insects, 


HINTS   TO   THE   HORTICULTURAL. 


301 


to  remove  which  a  certain  dashing  style  of  watering  is  neces- 
sary, approaching  to  what  is  vulgarly  termed  "  slushing,"  or 
"  sloshing,"  or  "  slowsing  "  or  "  squashing,"  and  from  which  a 
very  considerable  superabundance  will  always  accrue.  A 
liberal  economy  will  dictate,  therefore,  to  perform  the  act  only 
at  such  moments,  and  in  such  directions,  as  will  be  sure  to 
bestow  the  excess  of  fluid  on  proper  objects.  Thus,  suppos- 
ing the  plant  under  treatment  to  be  a  large  Hydrangea,  it  may 
be  quite  possible,  while  directing  a  sufficient  stream  on  its 
head,  to  perform  the  same  office,  with  the  over-abundant  fluid, 
on  "  Taylor's  Glory "  or  "  London  Pride."  The  following 
varieties,  all  common  to  the  metropolis,  may  also  be  expected 
to  participate,  viz.  Runners,  Creepers,  and  "  Stove-Climbers," 
of  different  kinds  —  Cockscombs,  Narcissus,  Adonis,  Maidens' 
Hair,  Painted  Ladies,  Columbines,  Turk's  Caps,  "  Natives  of 
the  North  of  Europe,"  Sun-Flowers,  Old  Man,  Pinks,  Honesty, 
Thrift,  the  Sensitives,  the  Fly-Catchers,  Major  Convolvulus, 
and  Virginia  Stock. 

N.  B.  Hot- Water,  Tar- Water,  Lime-Water,  Infusions  of 
Tobacco,  and  other  medicated  waters,  may  be  used  with  equal, 
or  even  greater  advantage  to  the  health  of  the  plants.  The 
Syringe  may  be  used  occasionally  for  a  change. 


POT-LUCK. 


AN   INTERCEPTED   DESPATCH. 


There  is  no  subject  more  deplored  in  polite  circles  than 
the  notorious  rudeness  of  what  is  called  Civil  war.  Suavity, 
it  must  be  confessed,  has  little  to  do  with  its  sharp  practice  ; 
but  of  course  the  adjective  was  prefixed  ironically ;  or  in- 
tended only  to  refer  to  that  spurious  kind  of  civility  which  is 
professed  in  domestic  feuds,  when  "  my  dear  "  is  equivalent  to 
"my  devil." 

It  is  a  question,  however,  worthy  of  an  enlightened  age, 
whether  Civil  War  might  not  be  literally  civilized,  and  carried 
on  with  a  characteristic  courtesy.  Lumps,  thanks  to  the  sugar- 
bakers,  have  been  refined  —  and  why  not  blows  ? 

Intestinal  strife,  as  at  present  waged,  is  a  frightful  anomaly. 
It  runs  counter  to  every  association  —  moral  or  anatomical. 
A  well-regulated  mind  must  be  unable  to  connect  the  idea  of 
polite  hostilities,  with  an  unmannerly  soldiery.  It  is  difficult, 
for  instance,  to  conceive  an  Urban  Guard  devoid  of  urbanity. 

A  civil  war,  to  deserve  the  name  and  satisfy  the  Fancy, 
must  have  for  Commander  in  Chief,  on  either  side,  a  finished 
Gentleman  —  if  of  the  Old  School,  the  better  —  as  devoted  to 
the  suaviter  in  modo,  as  to  the  fortiter  in  re.  With  a  punctili- 
ous sense  of  the  bland  nature  of  the  strife  he  is  engaged  in, 
he  will  make  politeness  the  order  of  the  day.  The  password 
will  be  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ;  "  and  should  he  feel  com- 
pelled to  publicly  deliver  his  sentiments,  he  will  make  a  gen- 
teel address  do  duty  for  an  offensive  manifesto.  Every  officer 
under  him  will  rank  for  complaisance  and  amenity  with  a 
Master  of  the  Ceremonies.  His  dragoons,  with  their  best  be- 
haviors, will  be  mounted  on  well-bred  horses :  his  cuirassiers 
as  polished  as  their  corslets,  and  as  finely  tempered  as  their 
swords.  His  infantry,  all  regulars,  will  adhere  to  the  stand- 
ards of  propriety,  as  well  as  to  the  regimental   colors :  the 


AN  INTERCEPTED   DESPATCH. 


303 


artillery  will  adopt  the  tone  of  good  society,  —  and  the  band 
will  play  the  agreeable. 


THE    SEAT   OF    WAR. 

To  prove  that  such  a  prospect  is  not  altogether  Utopian,  I 
am  happily  enabled  to  make  public  the  following  letter,  which 
develops  at  least  the  germ  of  a  new  system,  that  may  here- 
after make  Civil  War  no  more  a  misnomer  than  Polite  Litera- 
ture. It  is  dated  from  Castille  Senior,  and  addressed  to  a 
public  Functionary  at  Madrid. 

(Copy.) 

"Your  Excellency, — 

"I  had  the  honor  of  describing  in  my  last  despatch,  a  little 
personal  rencontre  with  the  gallant  general  on  the  other  side ; 
and  I  have  now  the  pleasure  of  laying  before  you  the  agree- 
able result  of  another  affair,  of  the  same  nature. 

"Early  on  the  19th  instant,  our  picquets,  with  a  becoming 
deference  to  their  superiors,  retired  from  the  presence  of  a 


304  AN  INTERCEPTED   DESPATCH. 

large  body  Oi  cavalry,  and  intimated  that  I  might  snortly  ex- 
pect the  favor  of  a  visit.  I  immediately  sent  the  light  dragoons 
and  lancers  to  the  front,  with  instructions  to  give  the  gentle- 
men on  horseback  a  hearty  welcome,  and  provide  as  they  best 
could  for  their  entertainment,  till  It  should  be  prepared  for 
their  reception,  as  well  as  of  any  friends  they  might  bring  with 
them.  I  flattered  myself,  indeed,  that  I  should  enjoy  the  com- 
pany of  their  whole  army,  and  they  were  so  good  as  not  to 
disappoint  me.  A  lively  cannonade  quickly  announced  their 
approach  by  a  salute  which  was  cordially  returned  from  the 
whole  of  our  batteries  ;  and  then  a  cloud  of  skirmishers  pushed 
forward  to  our  front,  and  commenced  a  liberal  exchange  of  com- 
pliments with  our  tirailleurs.  Our  cavalry  in  the  mean  time 
had  sought  an  introduction  to  their  horse,  which  was  met  in  the 
handsomest  manner,  and  many  intimacies  were  formed  that  only 
ended  with  life.  The  cavalry  at  length  retired,  but  evidently 
with  regret,  and  many  reiterated  promises  of  soon  coming 
again. 

"  Their  main  body  now  appeared  moving  in  the  best  dispo- 
sition towards  us ;  whilst  the  rifles  on  the  flanks  paid  the  most 
marked  attention  to  our  officers,  who  received  many  substan- 
tial tokens  of  their  regard.  A  closer  acquaintance  was  now 
sought  with  an  empressment  quite  flattering ;  indeed,  it  was 
difficult  to  reply  in  adequate  terms  to  the  warmth  and  impor- 
tunity of  their  offers.  Perceiving  that  we  had  some  very 
heavy  guns  on  our  right,  they  obligingly  undertook  to  carry 
them ;  professing  at  the  same  time  a  very  sincere  inclination 
to  serve  our  light  artillery.  They  also  wished  to  take  charge 
of  a  hill  on  the  left  that  might  annoy  us  ;  but  had  the  courtesy 
to  resign  it  to  Colonel  Bower,  on  a  representation  that  the 
eminence  was  indispensable  to  his  views.  Their  cavalry  also 
•  mlravored  gallantly  to  make  a  favorable  impression  on  us  ; 
and  in  particular  evinced  a  lively  desire  to  visit  some  of  our 
squares ;  but  which,  on  the  plea  of  inconvenience,  we  found 
means  to  decline.  There  had  manifestly  been  a  design  of 
dropping  in  upon  us  unprepared,  but  fortunately  I  was  enabled 
to  foil  the  pleasantry,  and  even  to  turn  the  tables  upon  them- 
selves. The  enemy  finally  gave  up  every  point,  and  hand- 
somely offered  to  accommodate  us  with  the  field  of  battle  ;  but 
feeling  bound  in  politeness  to  return  the  visit,  I  ordered  an 
advance  of  the  whole  line;  and  we  were  at  once  hospitably 
permitted  to  enter  their  lines  without  ceremony,  and  make 


AN  INTERCEPTED   DESPATCH. 


305 


ourselves  at  home  in  their  camp.  In  justice  to  their  gener- 
osity I  must  not  omit  to  state  that  we  found  it  abundantly 
provisioned  —  the  artillery  entirely  placed  at  our  command  — 
the  whole  baggage  devoted  to  our  use,  and  even  the  military 
chest  left  very  much  at  our  service. 

"  The  list  of  casualties  is  not  yet  made  up  —  but  I  am  in 
possession  of  some  of  the  details.  The  19th  was  politely 
invited  to  a  masked  battery,  and  a  succession  of  balls,  kept  up 
with  a  spirit  that  the  regiment,  and  Major  Smith  in  particular, 
will  long  remember.  Cornet  Bower  is  deeply  indebted  to  a 
lancer,  who  helped  him  off  his  horse  ;  and  Captain  Curtis  is 
lying  under  a  similar  obligation  in  the  hospital.  Captain 
Flint  owes  the  cure  of  his  asthma  to  the  skill  of  a  carbineer  ; 
and  Lieutenant  Power  was  favored  with  as  specific  a  remedy 
for  determination  of  blood  to  the  head.  Colonel  Boult  was 
handsomely  presented  with  the  freedom  of  the  field,  enclosed 
in  a  shell ;  and  Major  Brooke  is  absent,  having  received  a 
pressing  invitation  that  he  could  not  well  resist  —  to  visit  the 
enemy's  quarters. 


(Signed) 
(Countersigned) 


Manners. 

Chesterfield." 


'''^liililillillH 

THE   ARMY,    WITH   THREE   TIMES   THREE. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL  PAPERS. 


"  MIRTH,   ADMIT   ME   OF   THY    CREW." 
fFRONTISPlECE,  BY  HARVEY,   TO   COMIC  ANNUAL  OF  1833.] 


AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL  PAPERS 


PKEFACES  TO  THE    WHIMS   AND  ODDITIES, 


FIRST    SERIES. 


"  Cicero !  Cicero !   if  to  pun  be  a  crime,  't  is  a  crime  I  have  leamed  of 
thee.     Bias !  Bias !  if  to  pun  be  a  crime,  by  thy  example  I  was  biassed." 

Scriblerus. 


DEDICATION,  TO  THE  REVIEWERS. 


What  is  a  modern  Poet's  fate  ? 
To  write  his  thoughts  upon  a  slate ;  — 
The  Critic  spits  on  what  is  done,  — 
Gives  it  a  wipe,  —  and  all  is  gone. 


310  PREFACES   TO  THE 


In  presenting  his  Whims  and  Oddities  to  the  Public,  the 
Author  desires  to  say  a  few  words,  which  he  hopes  will  not 
swell  into  a  Memoir. 

It  happens  to  most  persons,  in  occasional  lively  moments,  to 
have  their  little  chirping  fancies  and  brain-crotchets,  that  skip 
out  of  the  ordinary  meadow-land  of  the  mind.  The  Author 
has  caught  his,  and  clapped  them  up  in  paper  and  print,  like 
grasshoppers  in  a  cage.  The  judicious  reader  will  look  upon 
the  trifling  creatures  accordingly,  and  not  expect  from  them 
the  flights  of  poetical  winged  horses. 

At  a  future  time,  the  Press  may  be  troubled  with  some 
things  of  a  more  serious  tone  and  purpose,  —  which  the 
Author  has  resolved  upon  publishing,  in  despite  of  the  advice 
of  certain  critical  friends.  His  forte,  they  are  pleased  to  say, 
is  decidedly  humorous ;  but  a  gentleman  cannot  always  be 
breathing  his  comic  vein. 

It  will  be  seen,  from  the  illustrations  of  the  present  work, 
that  the  Inventor  is  no  artist ;  —  in  fact,  he  was  never  "  meant 
to  draw  "  —  any  more  than  the  tape-tied  curtains  mentioned 
by  Mr.  Pope.  Those  who  look  at  his  designs,  with  Ovid's 
Love  of  Art,  will  therefore  be  disappointed ;  —  his  sketches 
are  as  rude  and  artless  to  other  sketches,  as  Ingram's  rustic 
manufacture  to  the  polished  chair.  The  designer  is  quite 
aware  of  their  defects ;  but  when  Raphael  has  bestowed 
seven  odd  legs  upon  four  Apostles,  and  Fuseli  has  stuck  in  a 
great  goggle-head  without  an  owner  ;  —  when  Michael  Angelo 
has  set  on  a  foot  the  wrong  way,  and  Hogarth  has  painted  in 


WHIMS   AND    ODDITIES.  31 1 

defiance  of  all  the  laws  of  nature  and  perspective,  he  does 
hope  that  his  own  little  enormities  may  be  forgiven  —  that 
his  sketches  may  look  interesting,  like  Lord  Byron's  Sleeper, 
—  "  with  all  their  errors." 

Such  as  they  are,  the  Author  resigns  his  pen-and-ink 
fancies  to  the  public  eye.  He  has  more  designs  in  the  wood ; 
and  if  the  present  sample  should  be  relished,  he  will  cut 
more,  and  come  again,  according  to  the  proverb,  with  a  New 
Series.* 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

The  first  edition  of  Whims  and  Oddities  being  exhausted, 
I  am  called  forward  by  an  importunate  publisher  to  make  my 
best  bow,  and  a  new  address  to  a  discerning  and  indulgent 
public.  Unaffectedly  flattered  by  those  who  have  bought  this 
little  work,  and  still  more  bound  to  those  who  have  bound  it,  I 
adopt  the  usual  attitude  of  a  Thanksgiver,  but  with  more  than 
the  usual  sincerity.  Though  my  head  is  in  Cornhill,  my  hand 
is  not  on  my  Cheapside  in  making  these  professions.  There 
is  a  lasting  impression  on  my  heart,  though  there  is  none  on 
the  shelves  of  the  publisher. 

To  the  Reviewers  in  general,  my  gratitude  is  eminently 
due  for  their  very  impartial  friendliness.  It  would  have  suf- 
ficed to  reconcile  me  to  a  far  greater  portion  than  I  have  met 
with,  of   critical    viper-tuperation.       The   candid  journalists, 

*  The  first  series  of  Whims  and  Oddities  was  published  in  the  vear  1827. 

Contents.  Moral  Reflections  on  the  Cross  of  St.  Paul's.  —  The  Prayse  of 
Ignorance.  —  A  Valentine.  —  "  Please  to  Ring  the  Belle."  —  Love.  —  A 
Recipe  —  for  Civilization.  —  On  the  Popular  Cupid.  — "The  Last  Man." 

—  Backing  the  Favorite !  -^  The  Ballad  of  "  Sally  Brown  and  Ben  the  Car- 
penter." —  A  Complaint  against  Greatness.  —  The  Mermaid  of  Margate.  — 
My  Son,  Sir.  —  As  it  Fell  upon  a  Day.  —  A  Fairv  Tale.  —  The  Spoiled 
Child.  —  The  Fall  of  the  Deer,  from  an  old  MS.  —  December  and  May.  — 
A  Winter  Nosegav.  —  Equestrian  Courtship.  —  "  She  is  far  from  the  Land." 

—  Fancies  on  a  Tea-Cup. —  The  Stag-Eyed  Lady.  A  Moorish  Tale. — 
Walton  Redivivus.     A  New  River  Eclogue.  —  "  Love  Me,  Love  my  Dog." 

—  Remonstratory  Ode.  —  A  New  Life-Preserver.  —  A  Dream.  —  The  Irish 
Schoolmaster.  —  Faithless  Nelly  Gray.  A  Pathetic  Ballad.  —  The  Sea- 
Spell.  —  Fancy  Portraits. 


312  '  PREFACES  TO  THE 

who  have  condescended  to  point  out  my  little  errors,  deserve 
my  particular  thanks.  It  is  comely  to  submit  to  the  hand  of 
taste  and  the  arm  of  discrimination,  and  with  the  head  of 
deference  I  shall  endeavor  to  amend  (with  one  exception)  in  a 
New  Series. 

I  am  informed  that  certain  monthly,  weekly,  and  very 
every -day  critics,  have  taken  great  offence  at  my  puns  :  —  and 
I  cannot  conceive  how  some  Gentlemen  with  one  idea  must  be 
perplexed  by  a  double  meaning.  To  my  own  notion  a  pun  is 
an  accommodating  word,  like  a  farmer's  horse,  —  with  a 
pillion  for  an  extra  sense  to  ride  behind ;  —  it  will  carry 
single,  however,  if  required.  The  Dennises  are  merely  a 
sect,  and  I  had  no  design  to  please,  exclusively,  those  verbal 
Unitarians. 

Having  made  this  brief  explanation  and  acknowledgment,  I 
beg  leave,  like  the  ghost  of  the  royal  Dane,  to  say  "  Farewell 
at  once,"  and  commend  my  remembrance  and  my  book  to- 
gether, to  the  kindness  of  the  courteous  reader. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    THIRD    EDITION. 

It  is  not  usual  to  have  more  than  one  grace  before  meat, 
one  prologue  before  a  play  —  one  address  before  a  work,  — 
Cerberus  and  myself  are  perhaps  the  only  persons  who  have 
had  three  prefaces.  I  thought,  indeed,  that  I  had  said  my 
last  in  the  last  impression,  but  a  new  Edition  being  called  for, 
I  came  forward  for  a  new  exit,  after  the  fashion  of  Mr. 
Romeo  Coates,  —  a  Gentleman,  notorious,  like  Autumn,  for 
taking  a  great  many  leaves  at  his  departure. 

As  a  literary  parent,  I  am  highly  gratified  to  find  that  the 
elder  volume  of  Whims  and  Oddities  does  not  get  snubbed,  as 
happens  with  a  first  child,  at  tne  birth  of  a  second ;  but  that 
the  Old  and  New  Series  obtain  fresh  favor  and  friends  for 
each  other,  and  are  likely  to  walk  hand  in  hand  like  smiling 
brothers,  towards  posterity. 

Whether  a  third  volume  will  transpire  is  a  secret  still 


WHIMS   AND   ODDITIES.  313 

"  warranted  undrawn  "  even  to  myself ;  —  there  is,  I  am 
aware,  a  kind  of  nonsense  indispensable,  —  or  sine  qua  non- 
sense —  that  always  comes  in  welcomely  to  relieve  the  serious 
discussions  of  graver  authors,  and  I  flatter  myself  that  my 
performances  may  be  of  this  nature  ;  but  having  parted  with 
so  many  of  my  vagaries,  I  am  doubtful  whether  the  next 
November  may  not  find  me  sobered  down  into  a  political 
economist. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  SERIES 


In  the  absence  of  better  fiddles,  I  have  ventured  to  come 
forward  again  with  my  little  kit  of  fancies.  I  trust  it  will  not 
be  found  an  unworthy  sequel  to  my  first  performance ;  indeed, 
I  have  done  my  best,  in  the  New  Series,  innocently  to  imitate 
a  practice  that  prevails  abroad  in  duelling  —  I  mean,  that  of 
the  Seconds  giving  Satisfaction. 

The  kind  indulgence  that  welcomed  my  Volume  heretofore, 
prevents  me  from  reiterating  the  same  aj)ologies.  The  Public 
have  learned,  by  this  time,  from  my  rude  designs,  that  I  am 
no  great  artist,  and  from  my  text,  that  I  am  no  great  author, 
but  humbly  equivocating,  bat-like,  between  the  two  kinds  ;  — 
14 


314  PREFACES   TO   THE 

though  proud  to  partake  in  any  characteristic  of  either.  As 
for  the  first  particular,  my  hope  persuades  me  that  my  illus- 
trations cannot  have  degenerated,  so  ably  as  I  have  been 
seconded  by  Mr.  Edward  Willis,  who,  like  the  humane  Walter, 
has  befriended  my  offspring  in  the  Wood. 

In  the  literary  part  I  have  to  plead  guilty,  as  usual,  to  some 
verbal  misdemeanors  ;  for  which,  I  must  leave  my  defence  to 
Dean  Swift,  and  the  other  great  European  and  Oriental  Pun- 
dits. Let  me  suggest,  however,  that  a  pun  is  somewhat  like  a 
cherry  :  though  there  may  be  a  slight  outward  indication  of 
partition  —  of  duplicity  of  meaning  —  yet  no  gentleman  need 
make  two  bites  at  it  against  his  own  pleasure.  To  accom- 
modate certain  readers,  notwithstanding,  I  have  refrained 
from  putting  the  majority  in  italics.  It  is  not  every  one,  I 
am  aware,  that  can  Toler-ate  a  pun  like  my  Lord  Norbury.* 


PREFACE. t 


When  I  last  made  my  best  bow  in  this  book,  I  imagined 
that  the  public,  to  use  a  nautical  phrase,  had  "  parted  from 
their  best  bower;"  but  it  was  an  agreeable  mistake.  The 
First  and  Second  Series,  being  now,  like  Colman's  "  Two 
Single  Gentlemen  rolled  into  one,"  a  request  is  made  to  me,  to 
furnish  the  two-act  piece  with  a  new  prologue.  Possibly,  as  I 
have  declared  the  near  relationship  of  this  work  to  the  Comic 
Annual,  the  publisher  wishes,  by  this  unusual  number  of 
Prefaces,  to  connect  it  also  with  the  Odes  and  Addresses.     At 


*  Contents  of  the  Second  Series.  Bianca's  Dream.  A  Venetian  Story.  — 
A  Ballad-Singer.  —  Mary's  Ghost.  —  The  Progress  of  Art.  —  A  School  for 
Adults.  —  A  Legend  of  Navarre.  —  The  Demon-Ship.  —  Sally  Holt,  and  the 
Death  of  John  Hayloft.  —  A  True  Story.  —  The  Decline  of  Mrs.  Shakerly. 
—  Tim  Turpin.  A  Pathetic  Ballad. —  The  Monkey-Martyr.  A  Fable. — 
Banditti,  —  Death's  Kamble.  —  Craniology.  —  An  Affair  of  Honor.  —  A 
Parthian  Glance.  —  A  Sailor's  Apology  for  Bow-Legs.  —  "Nothing  but 
Hearts !  "  — Jack  Hall.  —  The  Wee  Man.  —  Pythagorean  Fancies.  —  "  Don't 
you  smell  Fire  ?  "  —  The  Volunteer.  —  A  "  Marriage  Procession.  —  The 
'Widow.  —  A  Mad  Dog.  —  John  Trot.  —  An  Absentee.  —  Ode  to  the  Cam- 
eleopard.  —  A  May-Day. 

t  To  the  two  series  in  one  volume. 


WHIMS   AND   ODDITIES.  315 

all  events,  I  accede  to  his  humor,  in  spite  of  a  reasonable  fear 
that,  at  this  rate,  my  Sayings  will  soon  exceed  my  Doings. 

To  tell  the  truth,  an  Author  does  not  much  disrelish  the 
call  for  these  "  more  last  words  ;  "  and  I  confess  at  once  that  I 
affix  this  preliminary  postscript,  with  some  pride  and  pleas- 
ure. A  modern  book,  like  a  modern  race-horse,  is  apt  to  be 
reckoned  aged  at  six  years  old ;  and  an  Olympiad  and  half 
have  nearly  elapsed  since  the  birth  of  my  first  editions.  It 
is  pleasant,  therefore,  to  find,  that  what  was  done  in  black  and 
white  has  not  become  quite  gray  in  the  interval ;  to  say 
nothing  of  the  comfort,  at  such  an  advanced  age,  of  still  find- 
ing friends  in  public,  as  well  as  in  private,  to  put  up  with 
one's  Whims  and  Oddities. 

Seriously,  I  feel  very  grateful  for  the  kindness  which  has 
exhausted  three  impressions  of  this  work,  and  now  invites 
another.  Come  what  may,  this  little  book  will  now  leave 
four  imprints  behind  it,  —  and  a  horse  could  do  no  more. 

Winchmore  Hill,  January,  1832. 


WHY    DON'T   YOU   GET   UP   BEHIND? 


PREFACES  TO  THE  COMIC  ANNUALS. 


1830. 

In  the  Christmas  Holidays  —  or  rather  Holly  Days,  ac- 
cording to  one  of  the  emblems  of  the  season  —  we  naturally 
look  for  mirth.  Christmas  is  strictly  a  Comic  Annual,  and  its 
specific  gayety  is  even  implied  in  the  specific  gravity  of  its 
oxen.  There  is  an  English  proverb  of  "Laugh  and  grow 
Fat,"  —  a  saying  which  our  graziers  interpret  —  on  the  au- 
thority of  some  prize  Oxonian  —  by  growing  the  fattest  of 
fat  for  the  merriest  of  months.  The  Proverb,  however,  has 
another  sense,  implying  a  connection  between  cachinnation  and 
corpulence  in  the  human  body  —  and  truly,  having  seen  gen- 
tlemen of  twenty  stone  in  their  seats,  I  am  ready  to  allow  ihat 
a  fat  man  is  always  a  cheerful. 

Taking  the  adage  in  the  latter  sense,  it  is  my  humble  hope 
and  aim  to  contribute  towards  the  laughter  and  lustiness  of 
my  fellow-creatures,  by  the  production  of  The  Comic  An- 
nual, —  a  work  not  equivocating  between  Mirth  and  Melan- 
choly, but  exclusively  devoted  to  the  Humorous  —  in  plain 
French,  not  an  "Ambigu,"  but  an  "Opera  Comique."  Christ- 
mas, indeed,  seems  a  Tide  more  adapted  for  rowing  in  the 
Gig  or  the  Jolly,  than  tugging  in  the  Barge  or  the  Galley, 
and  accordingly  I  have  built  my  craft.  The  kind  friends 
who  may  patronize  the  present  launch,  are  assured  that  it  will 
be  acknowledged  by  renewed  exertion,  and  that  I  seriously  in- 
tend to  come  before  them  next  year,  with 

"  A  braver  bark,  and  an  increasing  sail." 

The  materials  which  were  in  preparation  for  a  Third  Series 
of  "  Whims  and  Oddities  "  have  been  thrown  into  the  present 
volume  —  that  work  may,   therefore,  be  still  considered   as 


COMIC   ANNUALS.  317 

going  on,  though  its  particular  name  is  not  exhibited  —  but  it 
is  a  partner  in  the  Comic  Firm.  Each  future  Series  will  in 
the  same  manner  be  associated  with  the  whims  and  oddities 
of  other  authors  ;  —  and  it  will  be  my  endeavor  to  feed  every 
succeeding  volume  with  the  choicest  morsels  that  can  be  pro- 
cured. In  short,  the  work  will  be  pampered  —  like  Captain 
Head.  In  the  mean  time  many  little  defects,  incidental  to  a 
first  attempt,  will  be  observed  and  pointed  out  by  the  judicious 
critics  ;  to  whom,  consciously  and  respectfully,  I  bow,  like 
Kbrval,  — "  with  bended  bow  and  quiver  full  of  errors  ; " 
merely  hoping,  timidly,  that  as  second  thoughts  are  allowed  to 
be  best,  —  they  will  deal  mildly  with  my  first  ones. 

In  my  illustrations,  as  usual,  preferring  Wood  to  Copper  or 
Steel,  I  have  taken  to  Box  as  the  medium  for  making  hits. 
For  some  of  the  designs,  I  am  indebted  to  private  Friends, 
and  in  particular  to  one  highly  talented  young  Lady,  who  has 
liberally  allowed  me  to  draw  upon  her  drawings,  and  with  an 
unusual  zeal  for  my  wood-cuts,  has,  I  may  say,  devoted  her  head 
to  the  block.  It  is  difficult  to  return  thanks  for  such  deeds, 
but  I  feel  deeply  indebted  to  the  kindness  by  which  her  pencil 
was  led.  I  am  under  a  similar  obligation  to  several  Pens,  — 
justly  deserving  the  title  of  "  Good  Office  Pens  "  —  from  the 
friendly  nature  of  their  service. 

Of  The  President  of  the  Royal  Academy,  his  Fellows  and 
Associates,  I  humbly  beg  pardon  for  any  offences  against  the 
rules  of  their  Art.  My  pretensions  are  modest  —  I  only  pro- 
fess to  black  lead  a  little,  and  not  to  black  lead  the  Great  —  I 
presume  merely  to  handle  a  small  slip  of  pencil,  and  not  to 
wield,  like  them,  the  Cedars  of  Lebanon.  The  Literary  Crit- 
ics are  requested  to  look  upon  the  letter-press  in  the  same 
spirit,  and  to  remember,  before  killing  "  The  Comic,"  that  it 
is  as  the  late  Giraffe,  "  the  only  one  of  its  kind  in  England." 
The  work,  indeed,  at  present,  is  like  the  celebrated  Elephant 
that  had  no  rival  but  himself.  If,  however,  others  of  the  kind 
should  spring  up,  all  the  Editor  wishes  for  is  an  open  field  and 
fair  play. 


31^  PREFACES  TO  THE 


1831. 

A  fine  spring  —  a  fine  country  —  a  fine  illness  and  the 
o-etting  over  it  —  an  action  of  fine  and  recovery,  —  all  togeth- 
er running  me  very  fine  indeed,  have  retarded  the  appear- 
ance of  this  Annual  beyond  the  usual  period.  It  will,  however, 
enhance  the  best,  and  repay  the  worst  of  these  circumstances, 
if  a  public,  proverbially  kind,  should  pronounce  it  "  Better 
Late  than  Never." 

I  shall  not,  I  hope,  lose  my  seat  in  the  House  of  Uncom- 
mons,  by  this  delay  in  standing  a  second  time  for  the  county 
of  Comic,  the  figure  —  no  figure  of  fun  —  that  preceded  me 
ha  vino-  been  chaired  in  November  only,  as  what  Sir  Walter 
Scott  calls  "  The  County  Guy." 

Now,  I  do  not  intend,  like  some  votaries  of  freedom,  to  cast 
mud  on  the  muddy,  or  dirt  on  the  dirty,  — but,  while  I  am  on 
the  hustings,  I  will  ask  the  Committee  of  that  Uncandid  Can- 
didate, "  The  New  Comic,"  whether  it  was  quite  honest  to 
canvass  against  me  under  my  own  colors,  and  to  pass  off  the 
enemy's  poll-book  as  mine  ?  The  Code  of  Honor  should  be  a 
kind  of  Coade's  Cement  between  man  and  man,  —  but,  to 
speak  technically,  some  seemed  bound  by  it  and  some  unbound. 
Mr.  Hurst  gave  me  his  word,  and  shook  hands  thereon,  that 
the  delusive  title  should  be  altered ;  and  yet  that  bad  title  to 
a  good  name,  "  The  New  Comic,"  is  still  retained.  Surely 
he  feels  both  the  brand  and  the  blush  in  what  Byron  calls 
"  that  red  right  hand." 

Were  there  no  other  and  fitter  labels  extant  than  such  close 
parodies  of  mine  ?  For  example,  The  Laughing  Hyama  — 
or  the  Merry  Unwise  ;  —  or  The  Main-Chance  ?  The  Old 
Brown  Bear  in  Piccadilly  is  bearish  perhaps — but  he  is 
Original. 

The  coupling,  in  advertisement,  "  The  New  Comic,"  with  a 
volume  really  mine,  is  a  trick  that  smacks  of  the  neighborhood. 
There  is  as  little  difference  as  distance  between  the  plying  of 
65,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  and  the  plying  of  the  Fulhams 
and  Brentforda  close  at  hand. 

The  Editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Literary  Journal  was  actually 
induced  to  swallow  what  Izaak  Walton  would  call  the  Cad-bait, 


COMIC   ANNUALS.  319 

—  and  after  a  jolt  in  the  "  New  "  concern,  was  induced  to  criti- 
cise it  as  a  ride  in  the  old. 

Fain  would  I  drop  here  the  Steel  Pen  for  a  softer  quill,  to 
speak  of  an  Editress  who  —  distinguishing  fair  from  unfair  — 
has  acted  the  perfect  brunette  towards  me,  and  has  brought 
a  heavy  charge  against  me  "  for  work  done."  In  the  An- 
nouncement of  "  The  Comic  Offering  "  —  a  little  book  chiefly 
remarkable  for  a  coat  of  damson  cheese,  seeming  equally  fit, 
like  Sheridan's  poor  Peruvians,  for  "  covering  and  devour- 
ing," —  it  is  insinuated  that  I  am  an  author  unfit  for  female 
perusal :  —  I,  who  have  never  that  respect  infringed  which, 
with  me,  dwells  "  like  fringe  upon  a  petticoat."  Miss  Sheri- 
dan and  modesty  compel  me  to  declare,  that,  many  Ladies 
have  deigned  to  request  for  their  albums,  some  little  proof  of 
"  the  versatility  "  or  prosatility  of  my  pen  :  —  yet  what  says 
the  Announcement,  or  Denouncement :  "  But  shall  we  permit 
a  Clown  or  Pantaloon  to  enter  the  Drawing-room  or  Boudoir 

—  no,  not  even  under  a  Hood!" 

Putting  Pantomimic  people  on  a  par,  —  was  Clown  Gri- 
maldi  so  very  unfit  for  the  drawing-room  of  Mrs.  Serle,  —  or 
Pantaloon  Barnes  for  the  Boudoir  of  Miss  Barnet  ?  Is  it 
vulgar  to  go  to  Margate  by  the  Harlequin,  but  genteel  by  the 
Columbine  —  to  read  "  The  Comic,"  instead  of  the  "  Offering 
to  be  Comic  ?  "  To  put  the  Screw  of  Comparison  into  my 
Cork  Model,  have  I  made  any  drawing  less  worthy  of  the 
drawing-room,  than  "  Going  it  in  High  Style  "  ?  —  any  verse 
more  perverse  to  gentility  than,  — 

Old  Bet  crying  "  Mac-ca-rel !  "  happened  to  meet  — 

Gad  a  mercy !  Did  Miss  Sheridan  never  read  or  see  a 
Comedy  called  the  School  for  Scandal  ?  If  she  has  heard  of 
my  indelicacy  or  vulgarity,  it  must  have  been  from  Sir  Ben- 
jamin Backbite.  Mrs.  Candor  compels  me  to  confess  that  I 
am  not  guilty  of  either.  Joseph  Surface  would  give  me 
credit  for  morality ;  and  even  those  Crabtrees,  the  reviewers, 
have  awarded  me  the  praise  of  propriety,  —  confessing  that 
though  I  am  merry,  my  spirits  are  rectified.  Like  Sir  Peter 
Teazle,  I  would  willingly  resign  my  character  to  their  discus- 
sion, —  but  little  Moses  has  a  post  obit  on  my  reputation,  and 
forbids  my  silence.  I  confess,  besides,  that  on  being  so  at- 
tacked by  a  perfect  stranger,  I  did  at  first  think  it  rather  hard 


320 


PEEFACES   TO   THE 


of  her  ;  but  having  now  seen  her  book,  I  think  it  rather  soft 
of  her,  and  shall  say  no  more. 

To  pass  from  this  mood  to  the  potential,  let  me  record  my 
thanks  to  Mr.  G.  W.  Bonner,  for  doing  all  that  Wood  could, 
or  should,  for  my  designs  ;  he  has  acted,  in  fact,  a  practical 
paradox,  by  being  most  friendly  in  cutting  me,  and  has 
thereby  rendered  me  his  debtor,  both  in  impression  and  ex- 
pression. 

To  divide  myself  amongst  those  to  whom  I  owe  questions, 
suggestions,  and  good  wishes,  I  should  be  like  a  hashed  Hare 
with  many  Friends.  The  major  part  of  my  Book,  however, 
is  miner  than  mine  of  last  year,  and  as  such,  I  commend  it 
to  its  course,  sincerely  hoping,  that  what  is  my  Work,  may  be 
the  amusement  and  relaxation  of  others,  in  Town,  in  Country, 
and  in  the  Suburbs. 


THE    OUTSKIRTS. 


1832. 


It  is  with  sincere  gratification  that  I  proclaim,  for  the  third 
time,  the  banns  between  this  Annual  and  the  Public ;  for 
when  a  work  has  been  thus  regularly  "  asked  out,"  there  seems 
a  likelihood  that  the  reader  intends  to  cleave  unto  it  for  the 
future.     I  am  duly  sensible  of  the  distinction      The  late  Dr. 


COMIC  ANNUALS. 


321 


Gregory,  in  his  Legacy,  has  said,  that  a  female  ought  to  be 
ready  to  bestow  her  affection  on  an  admirer,  out  of  mere 
gratitude  for  his  preference  ;  and  on  the  same  principle  the 
Comic  feels,  and  begs  to  acknowledge,  quite  a  passion  for  the 
Nobility,  Gentry,  and  the  public  in  general. 

It  would  be  a  vanity  —  for  persons  may  be  as  vain  of  their 
modesty  as  of  any  other  quality  —  to  affect  much  diffidence  or 
timidity  on  a  third  appearance.  As  recommended  by  the  Board 
of  Health,  I  discard  anxiety  and  keep  up  my  spirits,  trusting  san- 
guinely  to  the  favorableness  of  the  present  season  for  the  present 
volume.  Between  the  reform  Bill  and  the  Cholera,  the  public 
has  been  so  drugged  by  the  House  of  Commons  and  Doctors' 


doctors'  commoxs. 


Commons,  that  figures  of  speech,  neither  political  nor  medical, 
must  come  as  figures  in  high  relief.  Accordingly,  by  the  advice 
of  Sir  Henry  Halford  and  my  Publisher,  I  have  added  five  hun- 
dred copies  to  my  impression ;  and  if  these  should  hereafter  be 
left  on  the  shelf,  I  shall  be  consoled  for  the  private  loss  by  the 
public  gain  —  supposing,  of  course,  that  the  one  hundred  and 
U*  u 


322 


PREFACES   TO   THE 


ninety-nine  Lords  will  have  taken  the  warning  of  "  BILL- 
STICKERS  BEWARE  ! "  and  that  the  Indian  pest  shall 
be  obliterated  by  that  Indian  rubber,  Mahomed  of  Brighton. 

I  am  happy  to  say,  that  this  year  I  have  no  occasion  to 
complain  of  my  contemporaries.  The  Falstaff  that  attempted 
to  "  Burke  "  me  last  year,  is  himself  a  subject  for  the  Coro- 
ner ;  and  the  Offering  seems  remorsefully  to  have  swallowed 
its  own  laudanum.  The  Humorist,  it  is  true,  is  out  of  humor  ; 
but  not  with  me  ;  so  that  there  are  hopes,  for  the  future,  that 
between  the  Comics  there  will  be  no  serious  misunderstanding. 

To  prevent  any  other  misapprehensions,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  state,  that  the  article  called  "  Domestic  Didactics,"  is  by  no 
means  intended  as  a  quiz  on  the  Attempts  at  Rhyme  by  an 
Old  Servant  of  Dr.  Southey ;  but  only  as  a  wholesome  warn- 
ing, after  the  manner  of  Dean  Swift,  to  footmen  in  general 
against  their  courtship  of  the  Nine,  when  they  may  be  wanted 
by  ten  ;  and  of  the  absurdity  of  their  setting  out  for  Parnas- 
sus, when  they  are  required  to  attend  at  Almack's  or  the 
Italian  Opera.  In  the  same  manner,  the  author  of  "  An 
Assent  to  the  Summut  of  Mount  Blank  "  might  be  supposed 
to  have  been  a  servant  of  E.  B.  Wilbraham,  Esq. ;  whereas, 
not  to  mention  the  internal  evidence  of  the  blue  and  silver 
livery,  the  reader  of  that  gentleman's  account,  in  the  Keep- 
sake, will  remember  that  no  followers  are  mentioned  —  ex- 
cept the  guides. 

Having  thus  explained,  I  respectfully  make  my  bow,  and 
tender  my  Christmas  Present  for  the  present  Christmas. 


TU   UK   CONTINUED. 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


123 


1833. 

For  the  fourth  time  I  come  forth  with  my  volume,  which, 
thanks  to  mild  Critical  weather,  has  now  stood  through  three 
winters  ;  and  may  therefore  lay  claim,  by  Mr.  Loudon's  per- 
mission, to  the  designation  of  a  "  Hardy  Annual." 

Those  only  who  have  been  pressed  to  death  by  a  News- 
paper, and  made  to  walk  through  a  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death,  haunted  by  printers'  devils,  can  estimate  the  ghost-like 
pleasure  I  feel  in  thus  appearing  again  in  sheets.  Owing  to 
an  obscure  sentence  in  the   Comic   Offering,  partaking  rather 


JACK    S    A  LI  VI-: 


of  Burke  than  Sheridan,  my  literary,  if  not  bodily  departure, 
was  prematurely  announced  in  the  Herald,  the  Atlas,  and  the 
Metropolitan. 

••  Thrice  the  Benshee  cried.*' 


324  PREFACES  TO  THE 

But  I  have  no  inclination  to  be  passively  tied  neck  and  heels, 
and  thrown  into  the  Lake  of  Darkness,  like  the  Gauger  at 
the  command  of  the  rantipole  wife  of  Rob  Roy.  I  have  seen 
but  thirty-five  summers,  and  with  regard  to  my  Constitution 
am  strictly  a  Conservative.  As  Wordsworth  says  of  a  little 
child,  I  feel  my  life  in  every  limb,  and  indeed  I  know  on  high 
authority,  that  I  am  as  nearly  related  to  the  Undying  One,  as 
Miss  Sheridan  herself.  That  Lady  must,  therefore,  be  con- 
tent to  "  live  and  let  live,"  a  little  longer ;  and  if  other  parties 
have  wilfully  perristed  in  throwing  the  pall  over  me,  they  will 
find  by  this  volume,  that  they  have  neither  gained  their  end 
nor  mine. 

To  pass  to  a  death  which  I  heartily  wish  could  be  contra- 
dicted, as  easily  as  my  own,  —  the  reader  will  find  some 
verses*  which  allude  to  One,  who  has  now  left  both  Mortality 
and  Immortality  behind  him.  I  feel  it  necessary  to  state 
that  the  Poem  was  composed  some  months  before  that  event,  — 
and  in  a  tone  of  pleasantry,  which  would  not  now  accord  with 
my  feeling  in  writing  of  the  Master  Genius  of  the  age. 

Farewell,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  secured 
From  Time,  —  our  greatest  of  Incliters! 
No  Author's  fame  's  so  well  assured. 
For  all  who  wrote  were  Under-writ  ers. 

Amongst  other  favors,  I  have  to  thank  S.  Gibbons,  Esq., 
to  whose  kindness  and  connection  with  the  East  India  trade, 
I  am  indebted  for  the  specimen  of  Chinese  humor  which  is 
figured  at  page  4G.f  It  was  drawn  by  an  artist  of  the  name 
of  Hum,  —  a  native  of  the  Celestial  Empire. 

The  beautiful  frontispiece  I  owe  to  the  kindness  and  pencil 
of  Harvey,  —  a  name  to  which  my  blood  and  my  book  owe 
equal  acknowledgment.  One  Harvey  discovered  my  circula- 
tion, and  the  other  will  assuredly  increase  it. 

I  feel  bound  in  extra  boards  and  common  justice  to  state 
that  a  Gentleman  who  has  perused  the  papers  relative  to  the 
Farm  of  the  Zoological  Society,  assures  me,  on  the  honor  of 
a  Fellow,  there  is  no  such  person  as  Stephen  Humphreys  on 
that  establishment. 

Perhaps  it  is  also  due  to  Sir  Francis  Freeling  to  declare 
that,  however  kindly  he  regards  this  work  in  general,  I  am 
not  indebted  to  any  official  connivance  on  his  part,  for  the 

*  The  Compass,  with  Variations. 

t  The  Tea  Garden,  in  the  sketch  entitled  "  The  Abstraction." 


COMIC    ANNUALS.  325 

unusual  number  of  "  strictly  private  "  letters,  both   Foreign 
and  Domestic,  which  transpire  in  the  following  pages. 

With  these  necessary  explanations  I  make  my  annual  bow, 
and  commend  to  Lord  Brougham  and  the  other  "  Great 
Lights  of  the  age,"  my  little  Volume  of  light  reading. 


1834. 

For  the  fifth  time,  like  the  annual  Woodcock,  I  make  my 
autumnal  appearance  ;  and,  according  to  his  habit,  am  to  be 
found  in  the  same  haunt  as  the  year  before,  frequenting 
leaves,  and  wood,  and  covers. 

Since  the  last  season  I  have  taken  many  flights,  far  and 
near,  and  with  all  my  little  power  of  suction  have  plied  my 
bill  around  the  springs  of  the  Humorous  and  the  Comic,  which 
are,  in  the  words  of  Bewick,  "  oozing  rills  that  are  rarely 
frozen."  In  such  plashy  nooks  the  woodcock  is  said  to  plump 
himself  up  in  a  single  night,  —  and  the  sportsman  who  beats 
these  pages  in  pursuit  of  mirth,  must  judge  whether  I  have 
employed  my  time  in  laughing  and  growing  fat,  according  to 
the  proverb.  Should  I  be  received  with  the  same  relish  and 
welcome  as  that  estimable  bird  of  passage,  I  shall  indeed  con- 
sider myself  as  "flushed  with  success." 

To  descend  from  metaphor,  and  stoop,  as  Pope  says,  to 
truth,  I  feel  a  sincere  Captain  Ross-like  pleasure  in  re-appear- 
ing before  my  friends ;  although  I  cannot  expect  quite  so 
pointed  and  fervent  a  welcome  as  a  gentleman  whose  absence 
has  kept  all  his  well-wishers  sitting  on  magnetic  pins  and 
needles.  It  is  likely,  therefore,  that  the  Lord  Mayor  will  not 
ask  me  to  feast  with  him ;  but  I  am  given  to  understand  that 
eleven  copies  of  my  volume  will  certainly  be  invited  to  Sta- 
tioners'-Hall.  This,  to  an  author,  is  more  than  enough  of  civic 
distinction. 

As  usual,  I  have  endeavored  to  conciliate  the  utilitarians, 
by  mingling  a  little  instruction  with  amusement,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  Library  of  Entertaining  Knowledge.  Thus  the 
Reformer  of  our  Legal  Institutions  will  meet  with  a  few  sub- 
missive hints;  and  so  will  the  religious  Formalist,  on  the 
exuberant  exercise  of  the  holy-stone  on  the  upper  deck  ;  while 
an  improvement  is  suggested  in  naval  poetry ;  and  a  protest 


320 


PREFACES   TO   THE 


is  entered  against  the  British  Leaf,  even  as  King  James 
Counter-blasted  the  Virginian.  I  would  fain  be  of  use  to  my 
countrymen;  and  only  regret  that  I  have  not  the  power 
ascribed  to  me  by  a  very  respectable  householder  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, who  has  called  repeatedly  when  I  have  been  at  home, 
to  inquire  "  when  I  should  be  out  "  !  After  reminding  me 
that  last  year  I  had  made  game  of  the  Zoological  Farm,  and 
satirized  the  Fasting,  and  taken  off  the  Water-drinking, — 
"  Why,"  said  he  "  can't  you  take  off  the  Assessed  Taxes  ?  " 

It  will  of  course  be  objected  as  heretofore,  by  certain  re- 
viewers, that  my  pages  swarm  with  puns ;  but  having  taken 
out  a  certificate  to  "shoot  folly  as  it  flies,"  I  shall  persist  in 


BUYER    AND    CELLAR —  LIGHT    WINE. 


using  the  double  barrel  as  long  as  meanings  will  rise  in  coveys. 
As  a  Cambridge  coachman,  who  had  acquired  the  habit  from 
the  Collegians,  once  remarked  to  me,  "I  do  not  see  why  words 
should  not  now  and  then  be  put  into  double-harness  as  well  as 
horses."  The  late  Admiral  Burney,  of  all  the  adventures  in 
his  voyages,  used  to  look  back  with  the  utmost  pleasure  on  the 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


327 


fact  of  his  having  planted  the  Paranomasia  in  the  Society 
Islands,  by  making  the  first  pun  ever  uttered  in  the  Otaheitan 
language.  The  natives  received  the  novelty  with  a  shout  of 
approbation,  and  patronized  it  so  warmly,  that,  according  to 
recent  voyagers,  they  are  now  become  as  expert  at  double- 
ton  cueing  as  Nicholson  or  Drouet. 

It  is  usual,  in  the  preface  of  an  Annual,  for  the  Editor  to 
offer  his  acknowledgments  to  his  Contributors ;  but  as  I  have 
nobody  to  thank  but  myself,  —  for,  as  Coriolanus  says,  "  Alone 
I  did  it,"  —  the  acknowledgment  will  be  better  made  in  private, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  eccentric  Doctor  Monsey,  who,  when 
he  had  taken  his  own  advice  for  his  own  indisposition,  used  to 
transfer  the  usual  Physician's  fee  from  his  right-hand  pocket 
to  the  left.  I  must  not  omit,  however,  to  express  here  how 
much  I  feel  indebted  to  Miss  Kelly  for  a  copy  of  "  Sally 
Simpkin's  Lament,"  and  still  more  so  for  the  original  of  Sally 
herself,  in  the  Entertainment  at  the  Strand  Theatre  ;  —  a  per- 
sonation of  such  admirable  truth  and  nature,  that  even  an 
incredulous  public  will  be  apt  to  take  my  Ballad  Narratives 
for  Facts,  not  Fictions. 

With  this  introduction,  I  commend  my  fifth  volume  to  its 
Buyers  and  Sellers  ;  and  looking  forward  to  "  fresh  fields  and 
pastures  new,"  I  throw  up  my  literary  heels,  and  exclaim  with 
the  Peri,  in  Lalla  Rookh,  — 


"  Joy,  joy,  forever  —  my  task  is  done, 
Tlie  gate  is  passed,  and  heaven  is  won !  " 


32S  PREFACES  TO  THE 


1835. 


A    STITCH   IN   TIME. 


"  Well,  men  alive  ! "  —  as  Walking  Stewart  used  to  ad- 
dress the  Cashier  and  Clerks  of  a  Life  Assurance  Office,  where 
he  held  an  annuity,  —  "  well,  men  alive,  here  I  am  again  ! " 
Although  somewhat  later  than  usual,  I  am  still  in  good  time. 
The  winter  is  not  far  advanced  —  its  first  snow  is  now  lying 
on  the  ground.  At  all  events  January  is  not  out,  and  the 
Comic  is. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  compete  with  the  fast  ones  among  my 
Contemporaries,  whom  "  Time  gallops  withal,"  till  the  Old 
Mower  is  blown  and  distressed  by  the  rattling  pace  he  must 
go  at  to  keep  up  with  them,  to  say  nothing  of  the  desperate 
leaps  he  must  take  that  Christmas  may  fall  about  Michael- 
mas, and  the  New  Year  begin  in  October.  "  There  is  a  time," 
it  is  written,  "for  everything,"  —  but  the  saying  does  not 
seem  to  be  applied  to  Annuals  :  —  the  "  quarter  of  an  hour 
too  soon,"  recommended  by  Lord  Nelson,  is  stretched  into  a 
quarter  of  a  year.  To  judge  by  the  distance  at  which  certain 
Editors  lay  hold  of  it,  Time's  forelock  must  be  a  thousand 


COMIC   ANNUALS.  329 

times  longer  than  a  Chinese  pigtail !  —  but  is  there  not  some- 
thing approaching  to  cruelty  to  animals,  in  hauling  him  alone 
by  it  till  he  breaks  his  shins  over  his  own  calendar,  or  knocks 
his  head  against  one  of  his  own  date-trees  ?  He  is,  we 
know,  a  notable  Edax  Rerum  —  but  it  is  therefore  necessary 
to  give  him  his  dinner  at  breakfast  time  ?  Must  he  always 
have  his  victuals  in  advance  —  his  Good-Friday  buns  on  the 
Thursday,  and  his  Shrove-Tuesday  pancakes  on  the  Monday 
before  ?  Time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man,  and  in  return  the 
Editors  of  the  Annuals  seem  determined  not  to  wait  for 
time  or  tide.  Literary  gentlemen  who  have  no  doubt  read 
and  relished  Thomson,  ought  to  know  better  than  to  shuffle 
the  four  seasons  together  like  the  four  suits  at  cards.  It  is 
not  decent  with  their  antedated  volumes,  whilst  the  Old 
Year  is  ^till  vigorous,  to  show  us  the  New  Year  standing 
barefooted,  and  waiting  to  slip  into  his  shoes.  What  would 
be  thought  of  a  sportsman  who  set  before  his  friends  a  leash 
of  partridges  with  a  boat  of  bread-sauce  on  the  Glorious 
First  of  June  ?  What  would  be  said  if  the  Waits  would  n't 
wait,  but,  beating  time  by  two  months,  began  their  Christmas 
serenades  upon  the  Festival  of  St.  Simon  and  St.  Jude  ? 
What  would  be  done  if  the  boxing  Beadle  of  St.  Bride's 
took  it  into  his  head  to  go  about  carolling  his  "  glad  tidings  of 
great  joy  "  on  the  Eve  of  Gunpowder  Plot  ?  But  what  could, 
would,  and  should  be  thought,  said,  and  done  if  one  of  these 
very  forward  Editors  thought  proper  to  prematurely  salute 
his  Lady  Contributors  all  round,  by  warrant  of  a  sprig  of 
misletoe,  on  Lord  Mayor's  Day  ?  To  be  consistent,  are  the 
gentlemen  in  question  as  precocious  in  their  private  as  their 
public  habits  ?  Do  they  put  on  their  winter  woollen  and 
great -coats  at  the  first  hint  from  Sirius,  and  slip  into  nankeens 
and  washing  waistcoats  at  sight  of  the  first  snow-drop  ?  Do 
they  unfurl  their  umbrellas  on  Midsummer  Day  against  St. 
S within,  and  lay  in  salt  cod  and  fresh  eggs,  in  January, 
against  Lent  in  March  ?  In  short,  do  not  they  anticipate  in 
everything  —  even  to  keeping  the  birthday  of  "  the  babe 
that  is  unborn  "  and  breakfasting  over  night,  and  knocking  at 
number  nine  to  leave  a  card  at  number  twelve  ? 

The  "  Oriental,"  with  its  sultry  associations,  and  those 
naked  natives,  might  properly  appear  in  the  dog-days,  if  duly 
dated,  but  what  has  the  k*  Winter's  Wreath  "  to  do  with  May- 


330 


PREFACES   TO  THE 


day.  Is  it  really  the  nick  to  produce  the  Stanfields,  when  the 
sickle  is  in  the  cornfields  ?  Ought  Heaths  to  appear  in  Lon- 
don, just  when  grouse-shooting  begins  on  the  Moors  ?  Is  it 
wise  to  present  a  Friendship's  Offering  so  long  before  its 
ostensible  date,  that  a  moderately  everlasting  friendship  might 
be  born,  bred,  and  buried  in  the  interval  —  above  all,  ought 
the  Juveniles  intended  for  Christmas  and  New  Year's  gifts, 
to  come  out  coeval  with  "  Bartlemy  Fairings,"  in  the  very 
teeth  of  the  opinion  of  Donna  Inaz  about  juveniles, — 

"  To  be  precocious 
She  reckoned  of  all  things  the  most  atrocious  ?  " 

For  my  own  part,  I  affect  none  of  these  unseasonable  fore- 
stallings :  I  never  in  my  life  gave  five  guineas  for  a  quart  of 
very  early  peas,  or  a  crown  a  pound  for  very  new  potatoes.  I 
am  content  with  things  as  they  naturally  ripen,  without  forcing  ; 
and  my  gardener,  who  inclines  to  otium  cum  dig  —  is  of  the 


OTIUM    CUM    DIG- 


same  opinion ;  forcing  time  is  quite  of  the  question.  "What 
rational  man  would  give  a  dump  for  a  chronometer  "  warranted 
fast  ? "     I  never  like  Scott's  stern  Covenanter,  give  the  long 


COMIC   ANNUALS.  331 

hand  a  push  forwards,  in  its  course  round  the  dial ;  feelino- 
that  Sol,  who  drives  the  Old  Regulator,  knows  his  daily  pace 
too  well  to  be  deceived ;  still  less  should  I  dream  of  juggling 
my  Royal  Almanac  by  having  plumb-pudding,  mince-pie,  and 
snap-dragon  before  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  Thus  it  is  that  my 
Annual  for  1835  did  not  come  out  in  1834,  like  certain  other 
volumes,  which  doubtless  plume  themselves,  and  chuckle 
over  their  being  so  early,  as  the  "  bonnie  gray  cock "  did, 
after  misleading  the  Scottish  Juliet  in  the  ballad,  by  "  crowing 
an  hour  too  soon."  I  should  be  loath  to  suggest  such  treat- 
ment of  my  precocious  brethren,  —  but  did  n't  she  twist  Chan- 
ticleer's neck  for  it,  till  he  could  no  more  cry  cock-a-doodle 
than  a  cork-screw  ? 

If  it  be  "  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love,  before  you  are 
on  with  the  new,"  it  is  particularly  a  prudent  principle  with 
regard  to  old  and  new  years.  For  example,  had  this  work 
been  published  precipitately  in  September,  its  pages  would 
have  been  closed  against  such  a  subject  as  the  burning  of  the 
Parliament  Houses,  instead  of  my  having  the  gratification  of 
contributing  my  quota  of  facts  and  materials,  for  the  use  of  the 
future  Humes  and  Smolletts  of  the  British  Empire.  Let  the 
extra  early  reflect  well  on  this  point,  and  they  may  come  to  the 
conclusion,  that  a  day  before  the  fair  is  as  bad  as  a  day  after 
it.  Surely  it  can  be  of  no  earthly  use  to  hurry  your  beasts 
into  Smithfield  on  Wednesday,  because  Friday  is  cattle-day  ! 

As  I  have  alluded  above  to  the  Great  Conflagration,  I  am 
anxious  to  say  a  few  words,  lest  some  exception  should  be 
taken  to  the  choice  of  such  a  subject,  by  some  of  those 
decidedly  serious  characters  who  are  fun-proof  all  over,  and 
may  therefore  feel  disposed  to  exclaim,  "  Fire  is  no  joke, 
burning  houses  are  not  things  to  play  upon."  They  have  no 
notion  of  what  Scrub  calls  "  laughing  consumedly."  Properly 
impressed  with  every  grave  feeling  that  belongs  to  such  a  catas- 
trophe, I  have  nevertheless  made  it  my  business  to  collect, 
arrange,  and  record,  all  the  whimsicalities  that  arose  out  of 
the  calamity,  for  in  this  motley  world  the  most  solemn  events 
sometimes  give  birth  to  very  comical  issues.  As  many  jour- 
nalists have  described  the  most  tragic  parts  of  the  narrative, 
I  felt  the  more  called  upon  to  present  the  ludicrous  passages 
that  occurred,  and  thus  supply  the  lights  to  the  shades  of  a 
picture  that  is  destined  to  occupy  a  prominent  place  in  the  Na- 
tional   Gallery.      The   accuracy   of  the   statements   may   be 


332  PREFACES  TO   THE 

implicitly  relied  upon.  The  Jubb  letters  are  from  real  origi- 
nals, and  any  gentleman  who  may  be  sceptical  upon  the 
epistle  of  Ann  Gale,  shall  be  welcomed  to  her  hand.  I  con- 
fess I  had  doubts  myself  of  the  genuineness  of  M.  Chabert's 
account,  till  it  was  corroborated  by  a  policeman  (N.  75),  who 
assured  me  that  he  was  severely  burnt  in  both  hands  by  a 
large  hot  inkstand  that  was  delivered  to  him  by  a  gentleman 
in  a  great-coat.  For  the  rest  of  the  particulars  I  confidently 
appeal  to  the  Ode  to  Mr.  Buckingham,  with  its  ex-tracts  from 
the  Temperance  Report  itself,  in  proof  of  my  anxiety  to  ad- 
duce nothing  that  cannot  be  strictly  verified.  The  descrip- 
tive reports  of  the  fire  I  had  from  the  highest  authorities, 
persons  for  instance  on  the  steeple  of  St.  Margaret's  Church, 
or  in  the  iron  galleries  of  the  monument  and  St.  Paul's. 
Besides,  I  was  at  the  scene  myself.  Through  my  not  being 
personally  intimate  with  all  the  Peers,  and  indeed  with  many 
of  the  Commoners,  I  may  have  made  some  confusion  as  to  in- 
dividuals ;  such  as  mistaking  Sir  John  Hobhouse  for  Lord 
Althorp,  or  Mr.  Cobbett  for  Sir  Andrew  Agnew,  or  Mr. 
O' Gorman  Mahon  for  Mr.  Pease.  I  can  only  say,  that  all 
such  errors  will  be  cheerfully  amended,  on  application,  in  a 
new  edition ;  and  that  if  any  nobleman,  or  gentleman,  who 
was  present,  feels  himself  hurt  by  being  out  of  the  fire,  a 
warm  place  shall  be  booked  for  him,  in  either  House,  or  the  Hall, 
at  his  own  option,  or  he  may  go  over  them  all  in  three  heats. 
With  this  liberal  promise,  I  bow,  and  take  my  leave,  sin- 
cerely hoping  that  I  have  committed  no  breach  of  privilege  in 
publishing  such  Parliamentary  Proceedings,  and  that  through- 
out the  narrative  there  is  no  call  for  any  cry  like 


chaih,  ciiaik:  okdek,  ordeii! 


COMIC  ANNUALS.  333 


1836. 

Once  more  —  from  a  crest  overlooking  Kaltererberger  in 
the  Eifel  —  I  make  my  annual  bow.  To  be  sure,  I  am  more 
than  two  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  on  a  Teu- 
tonic mountain,  in  the  midst  of  a  palpable  fog,  to  which  it  is 
accustomed  eight  days  out  of  seven,  —  but  neither  difference 
nor  distance  make  any  difference  to  us  Germans  in  our  salutes ; 
—  we  can  bow  round  a  corner,  or  down  a  crooked  lane.  To 
see  us  bow  retrospectively  sometimes  would  remind  you  of  that 
polite  Author,  who,  submitting  to  a  classical  authority,  said 
with  an  appropriate  bend,  "  I  bow  to  the  Ancients." 

And  truly,  of  all  bowers  that  ever  bowed,  including  Lord 
Chesterfield,  the  royal  inventor  of  the  "  Prince's  bow,"  the 
booing  Sir  Archy  Macsycophant,  Tom  Moore,  and  his  Bowers 
of  Bendermeer,  all  the  admirals  of  blue,  white,  and  red,  with 
their  larboard  bows,  and  starboard  bows,  all  the  bow-loving 
schoolmasters  with  their  "  Where's  your  bow  ?  "  and  finally, 
Macduff  and  his  whole  army,  who  boughed  out  Macbeth  —  of 
all  these,  no  man  ever  scraped  his  foot  without  a  scraper,  or 
bent  so  agreeably  to  his  own  bent,  as  your  very  humble  obe- 
dient servant.  To  be  candid,  I  am  in  the  humor  to  bow  —  age 
commands  respect  —  to  an  old  post.  'Tis  better  than  bowing 
to  a  post  obit. 

"  O  my  masters !  "  as  the  laborer  said  to  the  bricklayers, 
after  falling  through  the  roof  and  rafters  of  an  unfinished 
house,  "  I  have  gone  through  a  great  deal  since  you  saw  me 
last." 

First,  there  was  my  narrow  escape  in  the  Hoffnung  off  Cux- 
haven,  so  narrow  indeed,  that  I  felt  upon  what  is  called  "  the 
edge  of  doom,"  newly  ground.  I  only  wonder,  that  terrible 
storm,  instead  of  letting  me  bow  to  you  smilingly  like  Sir 
Robert  Smirke,  did  not  shake,  terrify,  and  bully  me  into  a 
serious  writer  ;  solemnly  bending  as  we  might  suppose  Blair 
to  have  done  with  a  presentation  copy  of  his  "  Grave."  Sec- 
ondly, there  was  my  dangerous  consultation  of  complaints,  in 
the  Spring,  with  its  complication  of  High  German  physicians ; 
namely,  two  Animal-Magnetizers  :  three  Homoeopathies,  four 
"  Bad  "  advisers,  and  the  famous  Doctor  Farbe.    The  practice, 


334  PREFACES   TO  THE 

which  does  not  make  perfect,  of  the  first  set  of  sme-c?ire-ists 
is  well  known, — The  unit  doses  of  the  Hahnemannites  have 
been  tried  as  well  as  all  the  orts  you  have  to  eat  after  them  ; 
and  the  "bad"  recommendations,  have  been  well  tested  by 
thousands  of  Accums.  I  need  not  describe  how,  combining 
exercise  with  mineral  waters,  I  walked  by  uneasy  stages  from 
Mayence  to  Coblentz  and  back  again,  with  a  bottle  in  one 
hand  and  a  glass  in  the  other ;  drinking  my  own  health,  at 
every  hundred  yards,  in  a  tumbler  of  one  part  pickle,  one 
part  soda-water,  one  part  soapsuds,  one  part  ink,  one  part 
sour  milk,  one  part  musty  egg,  one  part  gall,  and  one  part 
pump-water.  I  need  not  describe,  how  I  bathed  at  Ems  and 
Schlangenbad,  but  I  will  describe  how  I  bathed  at  Schwal- 
bach,  as  the  Author  of  Bubbles  from  the  Brunnens  advises  ; 
namely,  in  the  strong  Stahl,  or  Steel,  Brunnen,  and  dipping 
my  head  as  Head  persuades  heads  to  be  dipped,  I  soon  found 
out  the  reason  why  "  the  cunning  Jews  "  all  go  to  the  Stahl 
Brunnen,  —  I  had  steeled  my  face  so  that  no  razor  would 
touch  it ! 

Of  Doctor  Farbe  I  must  make  more  mention,  as  he  may 
not  yet  have  quacked  loud  enough  to  be  heard  in  England. 
He  has  read  somewhere,  in  St.  Pierre  if  I  recollect  rightly, 
that  insects  take  the  color  of  that  which  they  feed  upon  ;  and 
acting  upon  this  hint,  he  proposes,  by  proper  tints  in  diet,  to 
paint  one  up  to  "  a  perfect  picture  of  Health."  First,  he 
proceeds  by  negatives  :  for  example,  in  yellow  jaundice,  you 
are  not  to  take  mustard,  yolk  of  egg,  oranges,  pease-pudding, 
saffron  cakes,  apricots,  or  yellowhammers.  In  hypochondria 
or  blue  devils,  he  forbids  plums  with  the  bloom  on,  peas,  if 
blue  Prussians,  blue  rocks,  sky-blue,  and  blue  ruin.  In  scar- 
let fever,  love-apples,  red  streaks,  red  currants,  Cayenne  pep- 
per, red  cabbage,  and  scarlet  runners.  In  black  jaundice, 
black  currants,  blackcocks,  blackbirds,  liquorice,  blackheart 
cherries,  black  puddings,  and  black-strap.  And  so  forth,  ac- 
cording to  the  hue.  Then  he  prepares  for  the  positive  treat- 
ment, by  endeavoring,  like  a  dyer,  to  take  all  color  out  of  you 
before  he  gives  you  a  new  tint.  To  this  end  he  plies  you 
with  water  ices,  creams,  white  meats  with  white  sauce,  cauli- 
flowers, turnips,  blanc-mange,  and  lily-white  mussels;  gives 
you  besides  a  ton  of  chalk  to  lick,  like  a  country  calf,  to  whiten 
your  veal.     Should  he  succeed  in  bleaching  you  to  a  plaster 


COMIC  ANNUALS.  335 

cast  of  yourself,  your  cure  is  certain ;  he  has  then  only  to 
give  you  the  true  Hebe  complexion,  by  commending  you, 
when  the  season  suits,  to  plenty  of  "  strawberries  smothered 
in  cream."  But  on  the  contrary,  should  the  case  prove  ob- 
stinate, he  attempts  to  divert  it ;  for  instance,  he  tries  to  turn 
yellow  jaundice  into  green,  by  a  blue  diet ;  or  the  frightful 
blue  stage  of  cholera  into  a  green  one,  by  a  yellow  diet ;  or, 
what  is  preferable,  into  a  purple  stage,  by  the  exhibition  of 
pink  Noyeau.  As  for  black  jaundice  he  has  a  method 
of  making  it  piebald  by  the  white  diet,  or  in  mild  cases  of  re- 
ducing it  to  the  spotted  state,  or  Dalmatian.  Finally,  in 
extremity,  he  has  recourse  to  his  neutral  tint,  which  is  in- 
tended to  make  you  neither  one  thing  nor  another :  to  this 
end,  he  mixes  up  all  his  dietetical  pigments  together,  and  it 
was  at  this  point,  when  he  had  prescribed  for  me  a  compound 
of  blue  ruin,  black-strap,  scarlet  runners,  green  cheese,  brown 
stout,  mustard,  flour,  and  a  few  trifles  besides,  without  con- 
sulting my  palate,  that  I  begged  him  to  "  give  me  over."  He 
took  his  fee,  and  retired  in  dudgeon  :  and  I  never  saw  his 
white  beaver,  turned  up  with  green,  his  plumb-colored  coat 
with  a  brown  collar,  his  velvet  waistcoat  with  tulips  in  their 
natural  colors  on  a  purple  ground,  his  sky-blue  pantaloons 
with  a  pink  stripe  up  the  seams,  his  gray  stockings,  and  his 
yellow  handkerchief  with  a  rainbow  border,  any  more  !  It 
was  just  in  time.  If  I  had  not  struck  his  colors  he  would 
have  struck  mine. 

O  my  Friends  !  Foes  !  and  Indifferents !  was  not  that  an 
escape,  narrower  by  nine  hairbreadths  than  the  Hoffnung's  ? 
But,  methinks,  you  ask,  how  came  I,  with  my  delicate  health, 
for  change  of  air  on  the  top  of  this  ever-foggy  mountain? 
My  well-wishers,  the  answer  is  easy.  I  was  smoked  out  down 
below.  As  you  all  know,  it  is  a  time  of  profound  peace  ;  and 
the  Germans  all  profoundly  celebrate  it  like  the  American 
Indians,  each  with  his  calumet,  or  Pipe  of  Peace  in  his 
mouth.  Such  an  atmosphere  as  you  would  find  anywhere 
beneath  has  made  me  far  from  particular :  I  do  not  despise 
mists,  and  even  on  this  elevated  ridge  am  not  above  fogs. 
But,  farewell  !  I  smell  a  snow-storm  coming,  for  I  cannot 
see  it ;  I  hear  a  wind  blowing-up,  and  I  feel  the  clouds  at- 
tempting to  seduce  this  steadfast  pinnacle  into  a  waltz.  Fare- 
well!    My  next  last  words  will   perhaps  be  wafted  to  you 


33G 


PREFACES   TO   THE 


from  the  top  of  Caucasus ;  but  still  depend  on  my  warm  af- 
fections. Like  Goldsmith's  Traveller,  or  Land  Surveyor,  "  I 
drag  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain,"  or  as  his  absentee 
countryman  attempted  the  sentiment  in  prose  to  his  wife,  "  the 
further  I  get  from  you  the  more  I  like  you." 
And,  finally, 


EGGS   ARE   VERY   NOURISHING. 


1837. 


Courteous  and  Gentle  Reader !  —  for  the  eighth  time 
greeting  ;  —  for  as  "  the  short-fingered  little  progeny  "  exclaims 
at  her  grand  piano,  "  Thank  Goodness !  I  have  reached  an 
octave  at  last !  "  The  Comic  has  lived  to  see  a  second  Olym- 
piad ;  and  as  no  Competitor  appears  in  the  Arena,  it  may 
modestly  assume  that  it  is  crowned  with  success. 

And  now  for  a  few  words  under  the  rose  :  if,  indeed,  it  be 
not  too  late  for  even  the  Last  Rose  of  Summer.  I  am  afraid, 
if  you  have  read  my  Announcement,  that  the  present  Volume 
will  seem  not  to  quite  square  with  that  Circular  :  you  will  ex- 
pect a  little  more  political  pepper  and  spice  than  will  be  found 
in  the  seasoning.  The  truth  is,  I  am  all  abroad,  not  figuratively 
but  geographically ;  in  a  remote  land,  where  before  The  Times 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


337 


arrives,  it  is  like  "  the  good  old  times,"  rather  out  of  date  ;  and 
consequently  I  get  my  news,  as  some  persons  receive  their 
game,  too  far  gone  to  be  of  use.  This  accident  of  distance 
escaped  my  memory  whilst  penning  the  promises  contained  in 
my  Prospectus.  I  forgot  the  difficulty  of  estimating  the  pros- 
pects of  England,  and  giving  my  own  views  of  them,  when 
England  itself  was  out  of  sight.  Moreover,  not  having 
recently  read  Elia's  Essay  on  Distant  Correspondents,  I  over- 
looked the  possibility  of  the  true  becoming  false,  and  the  false 
true,  —  of  the  undone  being  done,  and  the  done  undone,  —  in 
the  interval  between  my  speculations  and  their  publication. 
Thus,  whilst  I  was  sitting,  unshaved,  in  my  old  clothes,  arguing 


5^ 


A   DISSENTER'S    MARRIAGE. 


on  paper  for  Hebrew  Emancipation  —  the  act  was,  perhaps, 
actually  passed;  and  the  Jews  engaged  in  an  appropriate 
Jew-hi\ee.  At  the  very  time  I  was  contending,  with  all  the  stiff- 
ness of  a  steel  pen,  for  the  rights  of  Dissenters  to  marry  ac- 
15  v 


338  PREFACES  TO  THE 

cording  to  their  own  forms  —  the  Dissenters  —  marry  come 
up  !  might  be  standing  in  an  altar ed  position,  and  in  possession 
of  all  their  rites.  I  might  have  been  getting  up  an  urgent  call 
for  the  Repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws  —  when  the  Corn  Laws  had 
been  regularly  outlawed,  at  the  poetical  petition  of  Ebenezer 
Elliott  and  Corney  Webbe.  At  the  same  hour,  whilst  I  was 
writing  in  deprecation  of  Sabbath-Bills,  and  Parliamentary 
Piety  —  Sir  Andrew  had,  perchance,  embraced  Judaism,  and 
exchanged  Sunday  for  Saturday.  My  Strictures  reprobating 
Bull-baiting  in  Exeter  Hall,  might  have  been  anticipated  by 
the  nuisance  abating  itself  into  a  display  of  Calves.  A  Series 
of  Nine  Tales,  with  Cuts,  illustrative  of  the  cruelty  of  Mili- 
tary Flogging  might  have  become  superfluous  by  Law  having 
tied  up  the  Drummers ;  or  the  Army  itself  having  reversed 
the  practice  by  cutting  the  cat.  I  might  have  been  insisting 
on  a  fairer  mode  of  Registration  —  when  the  whole  system 
had  been  Rumfordized  and  the  Books  ordered  to  be  kept  on 
the  principle  of  Cobbett's  Register.  A  scheme  for  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Agitated  Irish  Church  —  might  have  found  the 
Agitated  Irish  Church  turned  into  an  English  Chapel  of  Ease. 
A  project  for  the  gradual  Extinction  of  Tithes  might  have 
been  rendered  useless  —  by  the  clergy  throwing  up  Tithes, 
and  adapting  the  Voluntary  Principle  as  a  Voluntary  for  the 
Church  Organ.  A  Friendly  Warning  to  Conservatives  and 
Destructives  on  the  Danger  of  Division  with  an  offer  of  Medi- 
ation might  have  addressed  itself  to  Parties  already  bound  by 
an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive ;  hand  and  glove  with  each 
other,  and  foot  and  shoe  to  everybody  else..  I  might  have  put 
forth  a  Lament  for  the  defunct  Close  Corporations,  when  the 
Corporations  had  jumped  into  their  skins  again  and  were 
stuffing  out  their  old  Bodies.  The  Abolition  of  Sinecures 
Enforced  —  might  have  found  the  Gentleman-with-nothing-to- 
do,  placed  on  a  reduced  Scale  of  Duties.  My  Call  for  a 
Change  in  Currency  might  have  proved  quite  uncalled  for  — 
the  Circulating  Medium  being  allowed  to  get  change  (far- 
things excepted)  whenever  required.  The  "  Policy  of  Free 
Trade  Asserted  and  Assured"  might  have  been  anticipated,  by 
Trade  having  been  presented  with  the  Freedom  of  the  World 
in  a  pill-box.  A  Modest  Plea  for  the  better  Protection  of 
Copyright  might  have  been  forestalled  by  the  appointment  of 
Captains  Glascock,  Marryatt,  and  Chamier,  as   literary  cruis- 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


339 


ers  to  carry  new  Piracy  Laws  into  effect.  A  Work  on  the 
Working  of  the  New  Poor  Laws  might  have  turned  out  a 
work  of  supererogation  —  there  being  no  Poor  for  Laws  to 
work  upon,  the  Philanthropic  Party  having  transformed  all  the 
paupers,  at  their  own  expense,  into  Poor  Gentlemen.     And, 


CLOSE    CORPORATIONS. 


finally,  how  foolish  I  should  have  looked  with  my  "  Remarks 
on  the  Franchise,"  or  the  "  Complaint  of  a  Ten  Pound  Voter, 
a  shilling  short "  —  if  in  the  mean  time  voters  were  admitted 
by  avoirdupois,  as  a  test  of  their  weight  in  the  Country ! 

Thus  you  see,  dear  Courteous  Reader,  how  much  excellent 
Politics  I  might  have  thrown  away  upon  shadows :  to  say 
nothing  of  the  disagreeable  danger  of  writing  for  the  Party 
which  was  out.  instead  of  the  Party  that  was  in.  For  if 
Knowledge  be  Power,  then  Power  should  be  Knowledge  ; 
and  they  ought  always  to  be  found  on  the  same  side.     I  have 


340 


PREFACES   TO   THE 


therefore  reluctantly  circumscribed  the  sphere  of  my  utility ; 
contenting  myself  with  furnishing  a  Report  on  Agricultural 
Distress,  which,  like  the  report  of  a  gun,  will  serve  to  startle 
the  deep  silence  that  has  brooded  over  the  Parliamentary  En- 
quiry on  the  same  subject. 


HAVE   I   A   WOTE   FOR   GRINNAGE  ? 


The  Ode  to  Dr.  Hahnemann  is  recommended,  with  infini- 
tesimal respect,  to  the  consideration  of  those  Members  of  the 
Faculty  who,  adopting  the  doctrine  of  minute  doses,  prescribe 
for  their  patients  on  Temperance  Principles  ;  and  have  estab- 
lished their  Dispensary  in  Pump  Court.  I  have  only  further 
to  declare,  that  the  Anecdote  of  Simon  Paap  is  true  ;  and  that 
the  incidents  of  the  Fatal  Bath  stand  equally  on  the  solid  legs 
of  fact. 

And  now,  Courteous  Reader,  farewell  —  for  another  twelve- 
month, farewell !  Whether  you  will  ever  year  from  me 
again  is  a  periodical  problem  only  to  be  solved  by  Time. 
Perchance,  you  would  not  already  have  seen  so  many  of 
these  my  Annuals,  but  for  a  severe  visitation  I  suffer  under, 
and  which  nothing  but  the  Comic  can  relieve.  You  will 
remember  —  for  who  has  not  read  the  Arabian  Nights  En- 


COMIC    ANNUALS.  341 

tertainments  ?  —  the  adventure  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor  with 
that  horrid  Old  Man  of  the  Sea.  Alas  !  during  nine  months 
of  the  twelve  I  have  such  another  Day-Mare  on  my  own 
shoulders.  For  three  quarters  of  every  year  he  is  on  my 
back,  trying  to  break  me  in  to  his  own  humor,  the  "  decidedly 
serious."  Week  after  week,  I  am  beset  by  his  letters,  the 
whole  drift  of  which  is  to  make  me  like  Peter  Bell,  a  "  sadder 
and  a  wiser  man."  Page  after  page  —  and  they  are  like  the 
pages  of  a  hearse  —  he  doles  out  his  doleful  advice  to  me,  to 
subdue  what  he  is  pleased  to  call  my  levity.  And  truly,  if 
anything  could  turn  my  animal  spirits,  "  white  spirits  and 
black,  red  spirits  and  gray,"  into  blue  devils,  it  would  be  the 
perusal  of  his  lugubrious  epistles.  They  read  like  ';  Letters 
from  the  Dead  to  the  Living."  He  has  a  40-L"ndertaker- 
power  of  depression,  and  if  he  talk  as  he  writes,  must  have  a 
toll  in  Ins  tone  that  would  cast  a  damp  on  a  Burial  Society. 
Who  can  he  be  ?  But  that  Lewis  (see  "  Tayler's  Records  of 
my  Life  ")  is  dead  and  buried,  I  should  take  him  to  be  that 
King  of  Grief.  Perhaps  he  is  a  resurrection  of  Heraclitus. 
He  never  writes  down  the  word  laughter  without  "  idiotic  for 
a  prefix ;  smiles  are  apish  grimaces,  and  he  seriously  assures 
me,  what  I  as  seriously  believe,  that  he  is  insensible  to  jests, 
a  detester  of  clenches,"  and  one  who  could  never  see  the  fun 
in  what  is  called  fun.  "Miserrimus"  should  be  his  motto.  He 
dates  from  Slough  —  but  it  must  be  the  Slough  of  Despond : 
his  very  seals  seem  to  bear  the  impression  of  dumps.  "  Man 
is  made  to  mourn "  is  his  favorite  quotation ;  but  he  culls 
funereal  flowers  besides  from  Young's  Night  Thoughts,  Blair's 
Grave,  and  Hervey's  Meditations  among  the  Tombs.  His 
letters  accordingly  are  mere  Dirges  in  Prose.  He  describes 
life  as  a  long  wet  walk  thro'  a  vale  of  tears  by  land ;  —  and  a 
Wailing  voyage  by  water.  Now,  like  Milton,  and  all  other 
men,  I  have,  when  unwell,  my  fits  of  III  Penseroso ;  but  let 
me  be  ever  so  hypped  and  low,  the  receipt  of  one  of  his  epis- 
tles finds  "  in  my  lowest  depth  a  lower  still."  For  a  week 
afterwards,  I  am  as  grave  and  saturnine  as  if  I  had  been 
visiting  the  Cave  of  Trophonius  ;  I  dream  even  of  my  Gloomy 
Unknown  in  the  likeness  of  Giant  Despair  cut  in  Cypress  ; 
and  wake,  though  it  be  a  May  morning,  with  the  yellow  fog- 
damps  of  November  hanging  over  my  spirits.  If  he  would 
but  let  me  alone  !  but 't  is  not  in  the  nature  of  his  sect.    Mel- 


342  PREFACES  TO  THE 

ancholy  has  "  marked  him  for  her  own,"  and  he  wants  every- 
body to  be  tarred  with  the  same  stick.  I  have  tried  to  evade 
his  correspondence  :  but  by  means  of  feigned  hands,  change 
of  seals  and  other  artifices,  he  contrives  to  poke  his  dismals  at 
me,  with  the  sombre  pertinacity  of  a  carrion  crow  boring  a 
dead  horse.  The  only  thing  which  stops  his  croak  is  the 
Comic.  For  some  three  months  from  its  publication  —  as  if 
he  had  given  me  over  as  incorrigible  or  incurable  —  I  am  free 
from  the  persecution  of  his  favors :  but  after  that  bright  period 
has  elapsed,  he  sets  in  again  with  his  accustomed  severity : 
generally  with  a  letter  of  condolence  on  the  levity  of  my 
spirits.  Then  he  mounts  his  hobby  again  !  —  he  vaults  on  my 
back,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  year  rides  me  —  woe  worth  him  !  — 
like  a  Black  Brunswicker,  with  a  Death's  head  and  Marrow- 
bones for  his  cognizance. 

Judge  then,  Courteous  Reader,  with  what  gladness  of  heart 
I  am  now  penning  the  last  sentences  of  a  book,  which,  if  it 
will  not  knock  my  Tormentor  on  the  head  quite  so  effectually 
as  Sinbad  brained  his  Back-fare  with  a  great  stone,  will  at 
least  stun  and  dumbfound  him  for  three  moons  to  come.  May 
it  do  as  much  for  you,  dear  Reader,  —  though  but  for  a  few 
hours,  —  if  you  have  Dull  Care  upon  your  Shoulders ! 


1838. 

There  are  nine  Muses  to  a  Poet ;  nine  Tailors  to  a  Man  ; 
nine  points  of  the  law  to  "  one  possessed  ;  "  nine  lives  to  a 
cat ;  nine  tails  to  a  flogging  ;  nine  points  to  an  agony  of  whist ; 
nine  diamonds  to  Pope  Joan  ;  nine  ninepins  to  a  bowl;  nine 
cheers  to  a  toast ;  and  now  there  are  nine  Comic  Annuals  to 
the  set. 

Whatever  may  be  the  mystic  influence  of  the  witching  num- 
ber— 

"  Thrice  to  thine,  _ 
And  thrice  to  mine, 
And  thrice  again  to  make  up  Nine  !  " 

My  little  work  is  now  within  its  sphere.  The  cycle  is  com- 
plete ;  the  tything  time  is  come ;  and,  like  Rudolph's  Seventh 


COMIC  ANNUALS.  343 

Bullet,  my  Ninth  Volume  is  now  at  evil  behest.  In  what 
manner  the  Weird  Sisters  will  choose  to  do  their  wicked  will 
with  it,  is  past  sounding ;  but  of  course  they  will  try  their 
best  or  worst  to  turn  it  into  a  Work  of  Darkness.  They  are 
notorious  jugglers,  practising  on  the  senses  with  shows  and 
unreal  mockeries  ;  and  I  feel  as  if  the  coldest  wind  of  the 
Brocken  were  blowing  over  me,  to  think  what  diabolical  ap- 
pearances they  may  cause  my  book  to  assume. 

I  remember  reading,  in  some  Romance,  of  an  unfortunate 
man  thrown  by  "  some  devilish  cantrip  sleight,"  as  Burns 
calls  it,  into  such  an  optical  delusion,  that,  whilst  he  thought 
he  was  only  carving  up  a  fowl,  he  was  committing  a  foul 
murder.  That  is  an  awful  power  of  garbling  !  and  the  Fatal 
Three  will  chuckle  at  such  a  piece  of  literal  Printer's  Dev- 
ilry as  fobbing  off  their  own  matter  for  mine  on  a  cheated 
public. 

Thus  I  have  tried,  as  usual,  to  furnish  forth  a  little  harm- 
less amusement  for  the  Christmas  fireside ;  but,  thanks  to 
Hecate  and  her  imps  !  the  most  innocent  play  upon  words  will 
perhaps  be  transformed,  to  shock  the  decidedly  pious  reader, 
into  a  play  upon  the  Scriptures.  I  have  imagined  a  factitious 
correspondence,  by  way  of  shadowing  out  the  inefficiency  of 
certain  establishments  where  Young  Gentlemen  are  "  boarded, 
lodged,  and  done  for ;  "  but  it  will  be  as  good  a  joke  as  laming 
cattle,  for  the  spiteful  Hags  to  show  some  indignant  School- 
master his  own  name,  and  that  of  his  Academy,  at  full  length, 
in  capitals,  and  as  plain  to  all  the  Public  as  the  show-board 
at  his  front  gate. 

In  the  same  desire  of  being  useful,  I  have  tried  to  show  up 
the  imposture  of  Animal  Magnetism ;  but  what  can  be  ex- 
pected from  juggling  Witches,  patronesses  of  every  cheat  on 
the  human  body  or  soul,  except  that  they  will  turn  the  whole 
article  to  an  atrocious  libel  on  some  living  Practitioner  ?  The 
little  instance  of  Mistaken  Patronage  I  have  adduced  will 
infallibly  be  cooked  up  into  an  attack  on  the  Aristocracy ; 
and,  by  working  the  faces  in  the  drawings  into  likenesses,  the 
whole  Volume,  text  and  cuts,  may  be  thus  bewitched  into  a 
collection  of  personalities  and  political  squibs  and  caricatures. 
Finally,  the  Critics  will,  no  doubt,  be  hounded  on  to  worry 
the  devoted  pages  !  for,  alas !  what  grammar  can  withstand 
such  gramarye,  —  what  spelling  be  proof  against  such  spells  ? 


344  PREFACES   TO  THE 

The  most  charming  style  might  be  charmed  out  of  its  propriety, 
and  the  droppings  of  a  comic  vein  be  transmuted,  so  as  to 
show  to  the  eyes  of  the  Reviewer  as  mere  "  baboon's  blood." 

It  is  with  some  misgivings,  then,  that  I  put  forth  the  New 
Volume  under  such  awful  auspices.  Those  who  have  not 
lived  under  the  gloomy  shadow  of  the  Brocken,  —  who  have 
not  heard  a  Weird  Trio  from  the  Witches'  Orchestra,  or  made 
their  own  reflections  on  the  Witches'  Lake,  or  tasted  the 
Witches'  Spring,  or  essayed  in  vain  to  dry  the  chilly  oozings 
of  the  Witches'  Dog- Stone,  —  will  be  apt  to  deride  a  faith  in 
such  Teutonic  theories  ;  indeed,  in  hunting,  racing  England,  the 
mere  notion  of  "  witching  the  world  with  noble  horseman- 
ship "  on  the  back  of  such  an  un-clever  hack  as  a  birch  besom, 
would  suffice  to  bring  the  whole  creed  into  disrepute.  It  is 
difficult,  however,  to  reside  long  in  Germany  without  believ- 
ing, more  or  less,  in  those  Old  Original  Broom  Girls.  Anti- 
quated, ugly,  and  revolting  as  they  appear  in  more  sylvan 
scenery,  in  the  neighborhood  of  their  own  thick  and  slab 
Mountain,  amid  the  wild,  savage  features  of  the  Black  Forest, 
the  withered  Beldames,  "formed  to  engage  all  Bartz,  and 
charm  all  eyes,"  are  absolutely  enchanting.  The  locality 
must,  then,  excuse  terrors,  which  are  apt  to  haunt  wanderers 
in  those  wild  regions.  A  little  month  may  serve  to  dissipate 
all  such  fears ;  for  should  nothing  happen  out  of  the  common 
—  Macbeth  called  it  a  "blasted  heath"  —  to  the  present 
Volume,  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  suppose  that  the  Weird 
Women  have  bought  new  brooms,  and  swept  themselves  clean 
away  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

And  now,  with  three  times  three  in  bows,  and  all  season- 
able benisons  —  may  they  not  be  Sycoraxed  into  malisons  !  — 
I  take  my  leave  for  the  ninth  time.  We  may  meet  again  — 
and  we  may  not  meet  again.  Who  but  a  Witch  knows 
which  ? 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


345 


1839 


"CIRCUMSTANCES   OVER    WHICH    I   HAVE    NO    CONTROL." 


The  Tenth  Comic  Annual  is  now  in  the  field ;  and,  luckily, 
it  is  a  field  of  which  no  tithe  can  be  demanded  in  kind  or  in 
unkind. 

To  account  for  the  unusual  lateness  of  the  present  crop  in 
coming  to  market,  it  must  be  told  how,  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
when  all  that  ought  to  be  cut  was  cut,  and  only  a  small  por- 
tion wanted  carrying,  the  laborers,  one  and  all,  master  and 
man,  were  suddenly  disabled  by  the  same  complaint,  and 
confined  to  the  same  bed.  Marry,  it  was  a  shrewd  attack 
too !  But  that  is  over  and  gone,  as  the  broken-ribbed  man 
said  of  the  cartwheel. 
15* 


346  PEEFACES   TO   THE 

And  now  having  made  this  necessary  explanation,  it  would, 
perhaps,  be  the  most  prudent  course  to  make  my  bow  without 
further  prefacing.  Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  address 
the  Public  perennially  on  the  same  subject :  a  fact  well  un- 
derstood by  the  Beadle  of  my  old  precinct  of  St.  M*****, 
B*****,  who,  as  usual,  presented  me  at  Christmas  tide  with  a 
copy  of  verses.  Instead  of  the  Scriptural  doggerel,  however, 
which  used  to  fill  up  his  broadside,  and  which  indeed  had  become 
sufficiently  stale  and  irksome,  the  sheet  exhibited  a  selection 
of  Elegant  Extracts  from  our  Standard  Authors  ;  and  by  no 
means  a  bad  assortment,  if  our  Scaraba3us  Parochialis  had 
not  most  whimsically  garbled  the  pieces  to  suit  a  purpose  of 
his  own.  Finding,  perhaps,  that  original  composition  was 
beyond  his  bounds,  that  Parnassus,  in  fact,  was  not  in  his  Parish, 
he  had  contrived,  by  here  and  there  interpolating  a  line  or 
two  of  his  own,  to  adapt  the  lays  of  our  British  Bards  to  his 
Carol.  For  instance,  Gray's  celebrated  Elegy  in  a  Country 
Churchyard  was  thus  made  to  do  duty,  after  this  fashion. 

The  Curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way  — 

And  this  is  Christmas  Eve,  and  here  I  be  ! 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 

Save  Queen  Victoria,  who  the  sceptre  holds  ! 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain  — 

Save  all  the  ministers  that  be  in  power, 
Save  all  the  Royal  Sovereigns  that  reign  ! 


Let  not  ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  Parish  Beadle  calling  at  the  door! 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life, 
They  kept  the  apple-woman" s  stalls  away  ! 


Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh ; 


COMIC  ANNUALS.  347 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked, 
He  never  lets  the  children  play  thereby. 


Haply  some  hoary -headed  swain  may  say, 

Oft  have  Ave  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away, 

To  meet  the  Reverend  Vicar  all  in  lawn! 

One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favorite  tree ; 

Another  came,  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  at  the  Magpie  and  the  Stump  was  he  ! 

The  next  with  hat  and  staff,  and  new  array, 

Along  all  sorts  of  streets  we  saw  him  borne; 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 

lie  always  brings  upon  a  Christmas  mom! 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere, 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send ; 
He  gave  to  misery  (all  he  had)  a  tear, 

And  never  failed  on  Sundays  to  attend! 

No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode ; 

Where  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose, 
John  Bugsby,  Number  Thirteen,  Tibbald's  Road. 

Was  not  that,  my  "Worthy  Masters  and  Mistresses,  a 
desperate  shift  to  be  put  to  for  an  Annual  Address  ? 

And  now,  Gentle  Reader,  farewell!  Should  we  two  be 
left  alive  at  the  end  of  the  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-nine 
Articles,  we  shall,  probably,  meet  again.  But  the  oddities,  as 
the  old  lady  said,  are  sadly  against  one.  Menaced  by  all 
the  torches  in  England,  all  the  rushes  in  Russia,  the  Great 
Petersburg  Yellow  Candle,  and  the  Links  at  Edinbro',  't  will 
be  a  mercy  should  Britain  escape  Unspontaneous  Combus- 
tion. However,  should  she  prove  fireproof  for  so  long,  you 
may  look  Westward  Ho !  for  my  return  by  the  Flying 
Dutchman. 


348  PREFACES  TO  THE 


1842. 

It  is  with  unusual  gratification  that  the  present  Volume  is 
offered  to  the  Public :  indeed,  with  a  pleasure  more  like  that 
of  a  young  budding  Author,  who  finds  himself  for  the  first 
time  sprouting  into  leaves,  than  the  soberer  enjoyment  of  a 
veteran  Writer  whose  immortality  has  at  least  outlived  two 
Monarchs  and  twice  as  many  Ministries. 

The  truth  is,  that  I  seemed  to  have  said  "  Amen  "  to  the 
"  Amenities  of  Literature,"  —  to  have  deposited  my  last  work 
on  the  library-shelf.  For  a  dozen  successive  years,  some 
annual  volume  had  given  token  of  my  literary  existence.  I 
had  appeared  with  my  prose  and  verse  as  regularly  as  the 
Parish-Beadle  —  once  a  year,  as  certainly  as  the  parochial 
plum-pudding  —  at  the  end  of  every  twelve  months,  like  the 
Stationers'  Almanac.  My  show  was  perennial,  like  that  of 
the  Lord  Mayor.  But,  alas  !  Anno  Domini  1840  was  un- 
marked by  any  such  publication !  A  tie  seemed  snapped  — 
a  spell  appeared  to  be  broken  —  my  engine  had  gone  off 
the  rail !  Indeed,  so  unusual  a  silence  gave  rise  to  the  most 
sinister  surmises.  It  was  rumored  in  Northamptonshire  that 
I  was  in  a  public  prison  —  in  Brussels,  that  I  was  in  a  private 
madhouse  —  and  in  Cornhill,  that  I  was  annihilated.  It  was 
whispered  in  one  quarter  that  I  had  quitted  literature  in  dis- 
gust, and  turned  fishmonger  —  in  another,  that  I  had  enlisted, 
like  Coleridge,  in  the  Dragoons  —  in  a  third,  that  I  had 
choked  myself,  like  Otway,  with  a  penny  roll  —  in  a  fourth,  that 
I  had  poisoned  myself,  like  Chatterton  ;  or  plunged  into  the 
Thames,  like  Budgell.  I  had  gone,  like  Ambrogetti,  into 
La  Trappe  —  or  to  unsettle  myself  in  New  Zealand.  But 
the  majority  of  the  reporters  were  in  favor  of  my  demise  ;  and 
a  Miss  Hoki,  or  Poki,  even  declared  that  she  had  seen  the 
Angel  of  Death,  whom  she  rather  irreverently  called  "  Great 
Jacky,"  standing  beside  my  pillow.  It  must  be  confessed 
that  my  own  character  and  conduct  tended  to  countenance 
these  rumors.  Naturally  of  domestic  and  retired  habits,  my 
taste  more  inclined  me  to  the  joys  of  a  Country  Mouse  than 
to  those  of  a  Town  Lion.      There  are  persons   who  seem, 


COMIC   ANNUALS. 


349 


like  Miss  Blenkinsop's  curls,  to  be  never  "  out  of  the  papers ; " 
but  it  was  no  ambition  of  mine  to  be  constantly  buzzing  like  a 
chafer  in  the  public  ear,  or  flying  like  a  gnat  into  the  public 
eye.  The  reporters  never  echoed  my  name  like  that  of  the 
Boy  Jones.  I  had  never  aimed  at  Royalty  and  Notoriety 
with  the  same  bullet.  I  had  neither  gone  up  with  Mr.  Green, 
nor  down  with  Corporal  Davy  Jones,  —  nor  blown  up  great 
guns  like  Colonel  Pasley,  —  nor  tried  my  shell  or  my  rocket 
at  Woolwich  like  the  Due  de  Normandie,  —  nor  made  myself 
a  Joint-Stock  Company,  —  nor  taken  a  single  rod,  pole,  or 
perch  in  Egypt,  much  less  an  Acre.  I  had  not  made  a  row 
in  Newman  Street,  Oxford  Street,  at  Number  Ninety.  I  had 
not  even  exhibited  those  signs  of  Life  in  London,  which  are 
fatal  to  knockers  and  street-lamps.  In  short,  for  any  noise 
or  stir  about  town,  I  might  as  well  have  been  buried  at  Holy- 
rood.  Nevertheless,  the  surmise  was  as  premature  as  the  re- 
port that  killed  Mr.  Davidge.  Instead  of  leaving  this  world, 
or  the  world  of  letters,  I  was  really  bargaining  —  by  the  help 
of  Father  Mathew  and  Bernard  Kavanagh,  alias  Temperance 
and  Abstinence,  —  for  a  Renewed  Lease  of  Life  and  Litera- 
ture, the  first-fruits  of  which  are  collected  in  this  little  volume. 
And  may  it  contribute  to  that  Diffusion  of  Mirth  to  which  it 
has  always  been  my  aim  to  lend  a  Hand ! 


DUKE    OF   WELL- 


AND    PKINCE   OF    WATER- 


HOOD'S    OWN. 

1838. 


THE   MERRY    THOUGHT. 


PREFACE: 

BEING  AN  INAUGURAL  DISCOURSE  ON  A   CERTAIN   SYSTEM  OF   PRACTICAL 
PHILOSOPHY. 

Courteous  Reader,  — 
Presuming  that  you  have  known  something  of  the  Comic 
Annual  from  its  Child-Hood,  when  it  was  first  put  into  half 
binding  and  began  to  run  alone,  I  make  bold  to  consider  you 
as  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  and  shall  accordingly  treat  you 
with  all  the  freedom  and  confidence  that  pertain  to  such  ripe 
connections. 


PREFACE.  351 

How  many  years  is  it,  think  you,  "  since  we  were  first 
acquent  ?  " 

"  By  the  deep  nine  !  "  sings  out  the  old  bald  Count  Fathom 
with  the  lead-line  :  no  great  lapse  in  the  world's  chronology, 
but  a  space  of  infinite  importance  in  individual  history.  For 
instance,  it  has  wrought  a  serious  change  on  the  body,  if  not 
on  the  mind,  of  your  very  humble  servant ;  —  it  is  not,  how- 
ever, to  bespeak  your  sympathy,  or  to  indulge  in  what  Lord 
Byron  calls  "  the  gloomy  vanity  of  drawing  from  self,"  that  I 
allude  to  my  personal  experience.  The  Scot  and  lot  charac- 
ter of  the  dispensation,  forbids  me  to  think  that  the  world 
in  general  can  be  particularly  interested  in  the  state  of  my 
Household  Suffrage,  or  that  the  public  ear  will  be  as  open  to 
my  Maladies  as  to  my  Melodies.  The  simple  truth  is,  that, 
being  a  wfeer  but  not  sadder  man,  I  propose  to  admit  you  to 
my  Private  View  of  a  system  of  Practical  Cheerful  Philoso- 
phy, thanks  to  which,  perchance,  the  cranium  of  your  Humor- 
ist is  still  secure  from  such  a  lecture  as  was  delivered  over 
the  skull  of  Poor  Yorick. 

In  the  absence  of  a  certain  thin  "  blue-and-yellow  "  visage, 
and  attenuated  figure,  —  whose  effigies  may  one  day  be  affixed 
to  the  present  work,  —  you  will  not  be  prepared  to  learn  that 
some  of  the  merriest  effusions  in  the  forthcoming  numbers 
have  been  the  relaxations  of  a  gentleman  literally  enjoying 
bad  health  —  the  carnival,  so  to  speak,  of  a  personified  Jour 
Maigre.  The  very  fingers  so  aristocratically  slender,  that  now 
hold  the  pen,  hint  plainly  of  the  "  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to  :  "  — 
my  coats  have  become  great-coats,  my  pantaloons  are  turned 
into  trousers,  and,  by  a  worse  bargain  than  Peter  Schlemilil's, 
I  seem  to  have  retained  my  shadow  and  sold  my  substance. 
In  short,  as  happens  to  prematurely  old  port  wine,  I  am  of  a 
bad  color  with  very  little  body.  But  what  then  ?  That  ema- 
ciated hand  still  lends  a  hand  to  embody  in  words  and  sketches 
the  creations  or  recreations  of  a  Merry  Fancy :  those  gaunt 
sides  yet  shake  heartily  as  ever  at  the  Grotesques  and  Ara- 
besques and  droll  Picturesques  that  my  Good  Genius  (a  Pan- 
tagruelian  Familiar)  charitably  conjures  up  to  divert  me  from 
more  sombre  realities.  It  was  the  whim  of  a  late  pleasant 
Comedian,  to  suppose  a  set  of  spiteful  imps  sitting  up  aloft,  to 
aggravate  all  his  petty  mundane  annoyances  ;  whereas  I  pre- 
fer to  believe  in  the  ministry  of  kindlier  Elves  that  "  nod  to 


352  HOOD'S   OWN. 

me  and  do  me  courtesies."  Instead  of  scaring  away  these 
motes  in  the  sunbeam,  I  earnestly  invoke  them,  and  bid  them 
welcome  ;  for  the  tricksy  spirits  make  friends  with  the  animal 
spirits,  and  do  not  I,  like  a  father  romping  with  his  own  ur- 
chins, —  do  not  I  forget  half  my  cares  whilst  partaking  in  their 
airy  gambols  ?  Such  sports  are  as  wholesome  for  the  mind 
as  the  other  frolics  for  the  body.  For  on  our  own  treatment 
of  that  excellent  Friend  or  terrible  Enemy,  the  Imagination, 
it  depends  whether  we  are  to  be  scared  and  haunted  by  a 
Scratching  Fanny,  or  tended  by  an  affectionate  Invisible  Girl 
—  like  an  unknown  Love,  blessing  us  with  "favors  secret, 
sweet,  and  precious,"  and  fondly  stealing  us  from  this  worky- 
day  world  to  a  sunny  sphere  of  her  own. 

This  is  a  novel  version,  Reader,  of  "  Paradise  and  the  Peri," 
but  it  is  as  true  as  it  is  new.  How  else  could  I  have  convert- 
ed a  serious  illness  into  a  comic  wellness  —  by  what  other 
agency  could  I  have  transported  myself,  as  a  Cockney  would 
say,  from  Dullage  to  Grinnage  ?  It  was  far  from  a  practical 
joke  to  be  laid  up  in  ordinary  in  a  foreign  land,  under  the  care 
of  Physicians  quite  as  much  abroad  as  myself  with  the  case  ; 
indeed  the  shades  of  the  gloaming  were  stealing  over  my  pros- 
pect ;  but  I  resolved,  that,  like  the  sun,  so  long  as  my  day 
lasted,  I  would  look  on  the  bright  side  of  everything.  The 
raven  croaked,  but  I  persuaded  myself  that  it  was  the  nightin- 
gale :  there  was  the  smell  of  the  mould,  but  I  remembered 
that  it  nourished  the  violets.  However  my  body  might  cry 
craven,  my  mind  luckily  had  no  mind  to  give  in.  So,  instead 
of  mounting  on  the  black  long-tailed  coach  horse,  she  vaulted 
on  her  old  Hobby  that  had  capered  in  the  Morris-Dance,  and 
began  to  exhort  from  its  back.  To  be  sure,  said  she,  matters 
look  darkly  enough  ;  but  the  more  need  for  the  lights.  Allons  ! 
Courage  !  Things  may  take  a  turn,  as  the  pig  said  on  the 
spit.  Never  throw  down  your  cards,  but  play  out  the  game. 
The  more  certain  to  lose,  the  wiser  to  get  all  the  play  you  can 
for  your  money.  Come  —  give  us  a  song  !  chirp  away  like 
that  best  of  cricket-players,  the  cricket  himself.  Be  bowled 
out  or  caught  out,  but  never  throw  down  the  bat.  As  to 
Health,  it  's  the  weather  of  the  body  —  it  hails,  it  rains,  it 
blows,  it  snows,  at  present,  but  it  may  clear  up  by  and  by. 
You  cannot  eat,  you  say,  and  you  must  not  drink  ;  but  laugh 
and  make  believe,  like  the  Barber's  wise  brother  at  the  Bar- 


PREFACE.  353 

mecide's  feast.  Then,  as  to  thinness,  not  to  flatter,  you  look 
like  a  lath  that  has  had  a  split  with  the  carpenter  and  a  fall 
out  with  the  plaster ;  but  so  much  the  better  :  remember  how 
the  smugglers  trim  the  sails  of  the  lugger  to  escape  the  notice 
of  the  cutter.  Turn  your  edge  to  the  old  enemy,  and  mayhap 
he  won't  see  you  !  Come  —  be  alive  !  You  have  no  more 
right  to  slight  your  life  than  to  neglect  your  wife  —  they  are 
the  two  better  halves  that  make  a  man  of  you  !  Is  not  life 
your  means  of  living  ?  so  stick  to  thy  business  and  thy  busi- 
ness will  stick  to  thee.  Of  course,  continued  my  mind,  I  am 
quite  disinterested  in  this  advice  —  fori  am  aware  of  my  own 
immortality  —  but  for  that  very  reason,  take  care  of  the  mortal 
body,  poor  body,  and  give  it  as  long  a  day  as  you  can ! 

Now,  my  mind  seeming  to  treat  the  matter  very  pleasantly 
as  well  as  profitably,  I  followed  her  counsel,  and  instead  of 
calling  out  for  relief  according  to  the  fable,  I  kept  along  on 
my  journey,  with  my  bundle  of  sticks,  —  i.  e.  my  arms  and 
legs.  Between  ourselves,  it  would  have  been  "  extremely  in- 
convenient," as  I  once  heard  the  opium-eater  declare,  to  pay 
the  debt  of  nature  at  that  particular  juncture ;  nor  do  I  quite 
know,  to  be  candid,  when  it  would  altogether  suit  me  to  settle 
it,  so,  like  other  parties  in  narrow  circumstances,  I  laughed, 
and  gossiped,  and  played  the  agreeable  with  all  my  might, 
and  as  such  pleasant  behavior  sometimes  obtains  a  respite 
from  a  human  creditor,  who  knows  but  that  it  may  prove  suc- 
cessful with  the  Universal  Mortgagee  ?  At  all  events,  here  I 
am,  humming  "  Jack's  Alive ! "  and  my  own  dear  skilful  na- 
tive physician  gives  me  hopes  of  a  longer  lease  than  appeared 
from  the  foreign  reading  of  the  covenants.  He  declares  in- 
deed, that,  anatomically,  my  heart  is  lower  hung  than  usual  — 
but  what  of  that  ?  The  more  need  to  keep  it  up  !  So  huzza ! 
my  boys !  Coinus  and  Momus  forever !  No  Heraclitus ! 
Nine  times  nine  for  Democritus  !  And  here  goes  my  last  bot- 
tle of  Elixir  at  the  heads  of  the  Blue  Devils  —  be  they  Prus- 
sian blue  or  indigo,  powder-blue  or  ultramarine  ! 

Gentle  reader,  how  do  you  like  this  Laughing  Philosophy  ? 
The  joyous  cheers  you  have  just  heard  come  from  a  crazy 
vessel  that  has  clawed,  by  miracle,  off  a  lee-shore,  and  I,  the 
skipper,  am  sitting  down  to  my  grog,  and  recounting  to  you 
the  tale  of  the  past  danger,  with  the  manoeuvres  that  were 
used  to  escape  the  perilous  Point.     Or  rather,  consider  me  as 


354  HOOD'S   OWN. 

the  Director  of  a  Life  Assurance,  pointing  out  to  you  a  most 
beneficial  policy,  whereby  you  may  eke  out  your  natural  term. 
And,  firstly,  take  precious  care  of  your  precious  health,  —  but 
how,  as  the  housewives  say,  to  make  it  keep  ?  Why  then, 
don't  cure  and  smoke-dry  it  —  or  pickle  it  in  everlasting  acids 
—  like  the  Germans.  Don't  bury  it  in  a  potato-pit,  like  the 
Irish.  Don't  preserve  it  in  spirits,  like  the  Barbadians.  Don't 
salt  it  down,  like  the  Newfoundlanders.  Don't  pack  it  in  ice, 
like  Captain  Back.  Don't  parboil  it,  in  Hot  Baths.  Don't 
bottle  it,  like  gooseberries.  Don't  pot  it  —  and  don't  hang  it. 
A  rope  is  a  bad  Cordon  Sanitaire.  Above  all,  don't  despond 
about  it.  Let  not  anxiety  "  have  thee  on  the  hyp."  Consider 
your  health  as  your  best  friend,  and  think  as  well  of  it,  in 
spite  of  all  its  foibles,  as  you  can.  For  instance,  never  dream, 
though  you  may  have  a  "  clever  hack,"  of  galloping  consump- 
tion, or  indulge  in  the  Meltonian  belief,  that  you  are  going  the 
pace.  Never  fancy,  every  time  you  cough,  that  you  are  going 
to  coughy-pot.  Hold  up,  as  the  shooter  says,  over  the  heav- 
iest ground.  Despondency  in  a  nice  case  is  the  over-weight 
that  may  make  you  kick  the  beam  and  the  bucket  both  at 
once.  In  short,  as  with  other  cases,  never  meet  trouble  half- 
way, but  let  him  have  the  whole  walk  for  his  pains  ;  though 
it  should  be  a  Scotch  mile  and  a  bittock.  I  have  even  known 
him  to  give  up  his  visit  in  sight  of  the  house.  Besides,  the 
best  fence  against  care  is  a  ha  !  ha !  —  wherefore  take  care  to 
have  one  all  round  you  wherever  you  can.  Let  your  "  lungs 
crow  like  Chanticleer,"  and  as  like  a  Game  cock  as  possible. 
It  expands  the  chest,  enlarges  the  heart,  quickens  the  circula- 
tion, and  "  like  a  trumpet  makes  the  spirits  dance." 

A  fico  then  for  the  Chesterfieldian  canon,  that  laughter  is 
an  ungenteel  emotion.  Smiles  are  tolerated  by  the  very  pinks 
of  politeness  ;  and  a  laugh  is  but  the  full-blown  flower  of  which 
a  smile  is  the  bud.  It  is  a  sort  of  vocal  music  —  a  glee  in 
which  everybody  can  take  a  part :  —  and  "  he  who  hath  not 
laughter  in  his  soul,  let  no  such  man  be  trusted."'  Indeed, 
there  are  two  classes  of  Querists  particularly  to  be  shunned  ; 
thus  when  you  hear  a  Cui  Bono  ?  be  sure  to  leave  the  room  ; 
but  if  it  be  Quid  Rides  ?  make  a  point  to  quit  the  house,  and 
forget  to  take  its  number.  None  but  your  dull  dogs  would 
give  tongue  in  such  a  style  ;  —  for,  as  Nimrod  says  in  his 
"  Hunt  after  Happiness,"  "  A  single  burst  with  Mirth  is  worth 
a  whole  season  of  full  cries  with  Melancholy." 


THE   PORTRAIT.  355 

Such,  dear  reader,  is  the  cheerful  Philosophy  which  I  prac- 
tise as  well  as  preach.  It  teaches  to  "  make  a  sunshine  in  a 
shady  place,"  to  render  the  mind  independent  of  external  foul 
weather,  by  compelling  it,  as  old  Absolute  says,  to  get  a  sun 
and  moon  of  its  own.  As  the  system  has  worked  so  well  in 
my  own  case,  it  is  a  duty  to  recommend  it  to  others  :  and  like 
certain  practitioners,  who  not  only  prescribe  but  dispense  their 
own  medicines,  I  have  prepared  a  regular  course  of  light  read- 
ing, whereof  I  now  present  the  first  packet,  in  the  humble 
hope  that  your  dull  hours  may  be  amused,  and  your  cares  di- 
verted, by  the  laughing  lucubrations  which  have  enlivened 
Hood's  Own. 


THE     PORTRAIT: 

BEING   AX   APOLOGY   FOR   NOT   MAKING  AN  ATTEMPT   ON   MY  OWN   LIFE. 

The  late  inimitable  Charles  Mathews,  in  one  of  his  amus- 
ing entertainments,  used  to  tell  a  story  of  a  certain  innkeeper, 
who  made  it  a  rule  of  his  house  to  allow  a  candle  to  a  guest, 
only  on  condition  of  his  ordering  a  pint  of  wine.  Whereupon 
the  guest  contends,  on  the  reciprocity  system,  for  a  light  for 
every  half-bottle,  and  finally  drinks  himself  into  a  general 
illumination. 

Something  of  the  above  principle  seems  to  have  obtained 
in  the  case  of  a  Portrait  and  a  Memoir,  which  in  literary 
practice  have  been  usually  dependent  on  each  other,  —  a  like- 
ness and  a  life,  —  a  candle  and  a  pint  of  wine.  The  mere 
act  of  sitting  probably  suggests  the  idea  of  hatching ;  at  least 
an  author  has  seldom  nested  in  a  painter's  chair,  without  com- 
ing out  afterwards  with  a  brood  of  Reminiscences  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, no  sooner  was  my  effigy  about  to  be  presented  to 
the  Public,  than  I  found  myself  called  upon  by  my  Publisher, 
with  a  finished  proof  of  the  engraving  in  one  hand,  and  a 
request  for  an  account  of  myself  in  the  other.  He  evidently 
supposed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  I  had  my  auto-biography 
in  the  bottle,  and  that  the  time  was  to  come  to  un-cork  and 
pour  it  out  with  a  Head. 


356  HOOD'S   OWN. 

To  be  candid,  no  portrait,  perhaps,  ever  stood  more  in  need 
of  such  an  accompaniment.  The  figure  opposite  has  cer- 
tainly the  look  of  one  of  those  practical  jokes  whereof  the 
original  is  oftener  suspected  than  really  culpable.  It  might 
pass  for  the  sign  of  "  The  Grave  Maurice."  The  author  of 
Elia  has  declared  that  he  once  sat  as  substitute  for  a  whole 
series  of  British  Admirals,*  and  a  physiognomist  might 
reasonably  suspect  that,  in  wantonness  or  weariness,  instead 
of  giving  my  head  I  had  procured  myself  to  be  painted  by 
proxy.  For  who,  that  calls  himself  stranger,  could  ever  sup- 
}30se  that  such  a  pale,  pensive,  peaking,  sentimental,  sonneteer- 
ing countenance  —  with  a  wry  mouth  as  if  it  always  laughed 
on  its  wrong  side — belonged  bona  jide  to  the  Editor  of  the 
Comic,  —  a  Professor  of  the  Pantagruelian  Philosophy,  hinted 
at  in  the  preface  to  the  present  work  ?  What  unknown,  who 
reckons  himself  decidedly  serious,  would  recognize  the  head 
and  front  of  my  "  offending,"  in  a  visage  not  at  all  too  hilari- 
ous for  a  frontispiece  to  the  Evangelical  Magazine !  In  point 
of  fact  the  owner  has  been  taken  sundry  times,  ere  now,  for 
a  Methodist  Minister,  and  a  pious  turn  has  been  attributed  to 
his  hair  —  lucus  a  non  lucendo —  from  its  having  no  turn  in 
it  at  all.f  In  like  manner  my  literary  contemporaries,  who 
have  cared  to  remark  on  my  personals,  have  agreed  in  ascrib- 
ing to  me  a  melancholy  bias  ;  thus  an  authority  in  the  New 
Monthly  Magazine  has  described  me  as  "  a  grave,  anti-pun-like 
looking  person,"  whilst  another  —  in  the  Book  of  Gems  — 
declares  that  "  my  countenance  is  more  grave  than  merry," 
and  insists,  therefore,  that  I  am  of  a  pensive  habit,  and  "  have 
never  laughed  heartily  in  company  or  in  rhyme."  Against 
such  an  inference,  however,  I  solemnly  protest,  and  if  it  be 
the  fault  of  my  features,  I  do  not  mind  telling  my  face  to  its 
face  that  it  insinuates  a  false  Hood,  and  grossly  misrepresents 
a  person  notorious  amongst  friends  for  laughing  at  strange 
times  and  odd  places,  and  in  particular  when  he  has  the  worst 
of  the  rubber.  For  it  is  no  comfort  for  the  loss  of  points,  by 
his  theory,  to  be  upon  thorns.  And  truly  what  can  be  more 
unphilosophical,  than  to  sit  ruefully  as  well  as  whistfully,  with 

*  He  perhaps  took  the  hint  from  Dibdin,  who  lays  down  the  rule  in  his 
Sea  Songs,  that  a  Naval  Hero  ought  to  be  a  Lion  in  battle,  but  afterwards  a 
Lamb. 

t  On  a  march  to  Berlin,  with  the  19th  Prussian  Infantry,  I  could  never 
succeed  in  passing  myself  off  as  anything  but  the  Regimental  Chaplain. 


THE  PORTEAIT.  357 

your  face  inconsistently  playing  at  longs  and  your  hand  at 
shorts,  —  getting  hypped  as  well  as  pipped,  —  "  talking  of 
Hoyle,"  as  the  city  lady  said,  "but  looking  like  winegar," 
and  betraying  as  keen  a  sense  of  the  profit  and  loss,  as  if  the 
pack  had  turned  you  into  a  jjedler. 


O.N    THE    CARD-RACK 


But  I  am  digressing  ;  and  turning  my  back,  as  Lord  Castle- 
reagh  would  have  said,  on  my  nice.  The  portrait,  then,  is 
genuine  —  "an  ill-favored  thing,  Sir,"  as  Touchstone  says, 
"  but  mine  own."  For  its  quarrel  with  the  rules  of  Lavater 
there  is  precedent.  I  remember  seeing  on  Sir  Thomas  Law- 
rence's easel,  an  unfinished  head  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  so  very 
merry,  so  rosy,  so  good-fellowish,  that  nothing  less  than  the 
Life  and  Correspondence  recently  published  could  have  per- 
suaded me  that  he  was  really  a  serious  character.  A  memoir, 
therefore,  would  be  the  likeliest  thing  to  convince  the  world 
that  the  physiognomy  prefixed  to  this  number  is  actually 
Hood's  Own;  —  indeed,  a  few  of  the  earlier  chapters  would 
suffice  to  clear  up  the  mystery,  by  proving  that  my  face  is 
only  answering  in  the  affirmative  the  friendly  inquiry  of  the 
Poet  of  all  circles  —  "  Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded  ?  " 
—  and  telling  the  honest  truth  of  one  of  those  rickety  con- 
stitutions which,  according  to  Hudibras,  seem 

"  as  if  intended 
For  nothing  else  but  to  be  mended." 

To  confess  the  truth,  my  vanity  pricked  up  its  ears  a  little 
at  the  proposition  of  my  Publisher.  There  is  something 
vastly  flattering  in  the  idea  of  appropriating  the  half  or  quar- 
ter of  a  century,  mixing  it  up  with  your  personal  experience, 
and  then  serving  it  out  as  your  own  Life  and  Times.  On  cast- 


358  HOOD'S   OWN. 

ing  a  retrospective  glance,  however,  across  Memory's  waste, 
it  appeared  so  literally  a  waste  that  vanity  herself  shrank 
from  the  enclosure  act,  as  an  unpromising  speculation.  Had 
I  foreseen,  indeed,  some  five-and-thirty  years  ago,  that  such  a 
demand  would  be  made  upon  me,  I  might  have  laid  myself 
out  on  purpose,  as  Dr.  Watts  recommends,  so  as  "  to  give  of 
every  day  some  good  account  at  last."  I  would  have  lived 
like  a  Frenchman,  for  effect,  and  made  my  life  a  long  dress 
rehearsal  of  the  future  biography.  I  would  have  cultivated 
incidents  " pour  servir"  laid  traps  for  adventures,  and  illustrated 
my  memory  like  Rogers's,  by  a  brilliant  series  of  Tableaux. 
The  earlier  of  my  Seven  Stages  should  have  been  more 
Wonder-Phenomenon  Comet  and  Balloon-like,  and  have  been 
timed  to  a  more  Quicksilver  pace  than  they  have  travelled ; 
in  short,  my  Life,  according  to  the  tradesman's  promise,  should 
have  been  "  fully  equal  to  bespoke."  But,  alas  !  in  the  ab- 
sence of  such  a  Scottish  second-sight,  my  whole  course  of 
existence  up  to  the  present  moment  would  hardly  furnish 
materials  for  one  of  those  "  bald  biographies "  that  content 
the  old  gentlemanly  pages  of  Sylvanus  Urban.  Lamb,  on 
being  applied  to  for  a  Memoir  of  himself,  made  answer  that  it 
would  go  into  an  epigram  ;  and  I  really  believe  that  I  could 
compress  my  own  into  that  baker's  dozen  of  lines  called  a  sonnet. 
Montgomery,  indeed,  has  forestalled  the  greater  part  of  it,  in 
his  striking  poem  on  the  "  Common  Lot,"  but  in  prose,  nobody 
could  ever  make  anything  of  it,  except  Mr.  George  Robins. 
The  lives  of  literary  men  are  proverbially  barren  of  interest, 
and  mine,  instead  of  forming  an  exception  to  the  general  rule, 
would  bear  the  application  of  the  following  words  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  much  better  than  the  career  of  their  illustrious 
author.  "  There  is  no  man  known  at  all  in  literature,  who 
may  not  have  more  to  tell  of  his  private  life  than  I  have.  I 
have  surmounted  no  difficulties  either  of  birth  or  education, 
nor  have  I  been  favored  by  any  particular  advantages,  and 
my  life  has  been  as  void  of  incidents  of  importance  as  that 
of  the  weary  knife-grinder  —  '  Story  !  God  bless  you,  I  have 
none  to  tell,  sir.' " 

Thus  my  birth  was  neither  so  humble  that,  like  John  Jones, 
I  have  been  obliged  amongst  my  lays  to  lay  the  cloth,  and  to 
court  the  cook  and  the  muses  at  the  same  time  ;  nor  yet  so 
lofty,  that,  with  a  certain  lady  of  title,  I  could  not  write  with- 
out letting  myself  down.     Then,  for  education,  though  on  the 


THE  PORTRAIT.  359 

one  hand  I  have  not  taken  my  degree,  with  Blucher ;  yet,  on 
the  other,  I  have  not  been  rusticated,  at  the  Open  Air  School, 
like  the  Poet  of  Helpstone.  As  for  incidents  of  importance, 
I  remember  none,  except  being  drawn  for  a  soldier,  which 
was  a  hoax,  and  having  the  opportunity  of  giving  a  casting 
vote  on  a  great  parochial  question,  only  I  did  n't  attend.  I 
have  never  been  even  third  in  a  duel,  or  crossed  in  love.  The 
stream  of  time  has  flowed  on  with  me  very  like  that  of  the 
New  River,  which  everybody  knows  has  so  little  romance 
about  it,  that  its  Head  has  never  troubled  us  with  a  Tale. 
My  own  story,  then,  to  possess  any  interest,  must  be  a  fib. 

Truly  given,  with  its  egotism  and  its  barrenness,  it  would 
look  too  like  the  chalked  advertisements  on  a  dead  wall. 
Moreover,  Pope  has  read  a  lesson  to  self-importance  in  the 
Memoirs  of  P.  P.,  the  Parish  Clerk,  who  was  only  notable 
after  all  amongst  his  neighbors  as  a  swallower  of  loaches. 
Even  in  such  practical  whims  and  oddities  I  am  deficient,  — 
for  instance,  eschewing  razors,  or  bolting  clasp-knives,  riding 
on  painted  ponies,  sleeping  for  weeks,  fasting  for  months,  de- 
vouring raw  tripe,  and  similar  eccentricities,  which  have  en- 
titled sundry  knaves,  quacks,  boobies,  and  brutes  to  a  brief 
biography  in  the  Wonderful  Magazine.  And,  in  the  absence 
of  these  distinctions,  I  am  equally  deficient  in  any  spiritual 
pretensions.  I  have  had  none  of  those  experiences  which 
render  the  lives  of  saintlings,  not  yet  in  their  teens,  worth 
their  own  weight  in  paper  and  print,  and  consequently  my 
personal  history,  as  a  Tract,  would  read  as  flat  as  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress  without  the  Giants,  the  Lions,  and  the  grand  single 
combat  with  the  Devil. 

To  conclude  my  life,  —  "  upon  my  life,"  —  is  not  worth 
giving,  or  taking.  The  principal  just  suffices  for  me  to  live 
upon ;  and  of  course,  would  afford  little  interest  to  any  one 
else.  Besides,  I  have  a  bad  memory  ;  and  a  personal  history 
would  assuredly  be  but  a  middling  one,  of  which  I  have  for- 
gotten the  beginning  and  cannot  foresee  the  end.  I  must, 
therefore,  respectfully  decline  giving  my  life  to  the  world  — 
at  least  till  I  have  done  with  it — but  to  soften  the  refusal,  I 
am  willing,  instead  of  a  written  character  of  myself,  to  set 
down  all  that  I  can  recall  of  other  authors,  and,  accordingly, 
the  next  number  will  contain  the  first  instalment  of 

MY    LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 


3G0  HOOD'S   OWN. 


LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

"  Commencons  par  le  commencement." 

The  very  earliest  of  one's  literary  recollections  must  be 
the  acquisition  of  the  alphabet ;  and  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
first  rudiments  I  was  placed  on  a  par  with  the  Learned  Pig, 
by  two  maiden  ladies  that  were  called  Hogsflesh.  The  cir- 
cumstance would  be  scarcely  worth  mentioning,  but  that,  being 
a  day  boarder,  and  taking  my  dinner  with  the  family,  I  be- 
came aware  of  a  Baconian  brother,  who  was  never  mentioned 
except  by  his  Initial,  and  was  probably  the  prototype  of  the 
sensitive  "  Mr.  H."  in  Lamb's  unfortunate  farce.  The  school 
in  question  was  situated  in  Token-house  Yard,  a  convenient 
distance  for  a  native  of  the  Poultry,  or  Birchin-lane,  I  forget 
which,  and  in  truth  am  not  particularly  anxious  to  be  more 
certainly  acquainted  with  my  parish.  It  was  a  metropolitan 
one,  however,  which  is  recorded  without  the  slightest  repug- 
nance ;  firstly,  for  that,  practically,  I  had  no  choice  in  the 
matter ;  and,  secondly,  because,  theoretically,  I  would  as  lief 
have  been  a  native  of  London  as  of  Stoke  Pogis  or  Little  Ped- 
lington.  If  such  local  prejudices  be  of  any  worth,  the  balance 
ought  to  be  in  favor  of  the  capital.  The  Dragon  of  Bow 
Church,  or  Gresham's  Grasshopper,  is  as  good  a  terrestrial 
sign  to  be  born  under  as  the  dung-hill  cock  on  a  village  steeple. 
Next  to  being  a  citizen  of  the  world,  it  must  be  the  best  thing 
to  be  born  a  citizen  of  the  world's  greatest  city.  To  a  lover 
of  his  kind,  it  should  be  a  welcome  dispensation  that  cast  his 
nativity  amidst  the  greatest  congregation  of  the  species ;  but 
a  literary  man  should  exult  rather  than  otherwise  that  he  first 
saw  the  light  —  or  perhaps  the  fog  —  in  the  same  metropolis 
as  Milton,  Gray,  De  Foe,  Pope,  Byron,  Lamb,  and  other  town- 
born  authors,  whose  fame  has  nevertheless  triumphed  over  the 
Bills  of  Mortality.  In  such  a  goodly  company  I  cheerfully 
take  up  my  livery  ;  and  especially  as  Cockneyism,  properly  so 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  361 

called,  appears  to  be  confined  to  no  particular  locality  or  station 
in  life.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  given  a  splendid  instance  of  it 
in  an  Orcadian,  who  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  bless  his  own  tiny 
ait,  "  not  forgetting  the  neighboring  island  of  Great  Britain ; " 
and  the  most  recent  example  of  the  style  I  have  met  with,  was 
in  the  Memoirs  of  Sir  William  Knighton,  being  an  account  of 
sea  perils  and  sufferings  during  a  passage  across  the  Irish 
Channel  by  "  the  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 

Having  alluded  to  my  first  steps  on  the  ladder  of  learning, 
it  may  not  be  amiss  in  this  place  to  correct  an  assertion  of  my 
biographer  in  the  Book  of  Gems,  who  states,  that  my  educa- 
tion was  finished  at  a  certain  suburban  academy.  In  this 
ignorant  world,  where  we  proverbially  live  and  leam,  we  may 
indeed  leave  off  school,  but  our  education  only  terminates 
with  life  itself.  But  even  in  a  more  limited  sense,  instead  of 
my  education  being  finished,  my  own  impression  is,  that  it 
never  so  much  as  progressed  towards  so  desirable  a  consum- 
mation at  any  such  establishment,  although  much  invaluable 
time  was  spent  at  some  of  those  institutions  where  young 
gentlemen  are  literally  boarded,  lodged,  and  done  for.  My 
very  first  essay  was  at  one  of  those  places  improperly  called 
seminaries,  because  they  do  not  half  teach  anything ;  the 
principals  being  probably  aware  that  the  little  boys  are  as 
often  consigned  to  them  to  be  "  out  of  a  mother's  way,"  as  for 
anything  else.  Accordingly,  my  memory  presents  but  a  very 
dim  image  of  a  pedagogical  powdered  head,  amidst  a  more 
vivid  group  of  females  of  a  composite  character,  —  part  dry- 
nurse,  part  housemaid,  and  part  governess,  —  with  a  matronly 
figure  in  the  background,  very  like  Mrs.  S.,  allegorically  repre- 
senting, as  Milton  says,  "  our  universal  mother."  But  there  is 
no  glimpse  of  Minerva.  Of  those  pleasant  associations  with 
early  school-days,  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  and  sung, 
there  is  little  amongst  my  retrospections,  excepting,  perhaps, 
some  sports  which,  like  charity,  might  have  been  enjoyed  at 
home,  without  the  drawbacks  of  sundry  strokes,  neither  apo- 
plectic nor  paralytic,  periodical  physic,  and  other  unwelcome 
extras.  I  am  not  sure  whether  an  invincible  repugnance  to 
early  rising  may  not  be  attributable  to  our  precocious  wintry 
summonses,  from  a  warm  bed  into  a  dim,  damp  school-room,  to 
play  at  filling  our  heads  on  an  empty  stomach ;  and  perhaps  I 
owe  my  decided  sedentary  habits  to  the  disgust  at  our  monoto- 
16 


3G2  HOOD'S   OWN. 

nous  walks,  or  rather  processions,  or  maybe  to  the  sufferings 
of  those  longer  excursions  of  big  and  little,  where  a  pair  of 
compasses  had  to  pace  as  far  and  as  fast  as  a  pair  of  tongs. 
Nevertheless,  I  yet  recall,  with  wonder,  the  occasional  visits 
of  grown-up  ex-scholars  to  their  old  school,  all  in  a  flutter  of 
gratitude  and  sensibility  at  recognizing  the  spot  where  they 
had  been  caned,  and  horsed,  and  flogged,  and  fagged,  and 
brimstone-and-treacled,  and  blackdosed,  and  stickjawed,  and 
kibed,  and  fined,  —  where  they  had  caught  the  measles  and 
the  mumps,  and  been  overtasked,  and  undertaught  —  and  then, 
by  way  of  climax,  sentimentally  offering  a  presentation  snuff- 
box to  their  revered  preceptor,  with  an  inscription,  ten  to  one, 
in  dog  Latin  on  the  lid  ! 

For  my  own  part,  were  I  to  revisit  such  a  haunt  of  my 
youth,  it  would  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  out  of  mere  re- 
gard to  the  rising  generation,  to  find  Prospect  House  turned 
into  a  Floor  Cloth  Manufactory,  and  the  playground  converted 
to  a  bleachfield.  The  tabatiere  is  out  of  the  question.  In  the 
way  of  learning,  I  carried  off  nothing  in  exchange  for  my  knife 
and  fork  and  spoon,  but  a  prize  for  Latin  without  knowing 
the  Latin  for  prize,  and  a  belief  which  I  had  afterwards  to  un- 
believe  again,  that  a  block  of  marble  could  be  cut  in  two  with 
a  razor. 

To  be  classical,  as  Ducrow  would  say,  the  Athenians,  the 
day  before  the  Festival  of  Theseus,  their  Founder,  gratefully 
sacrificed  a  ram,  in  memory  of  Corridas  the  schoolmaster,  who 
had  been  his  instructor ;  but  in  the  present  day,  were  such 
offerings  in  fashion,  how  frequently  would  the  appropriate 
animal  be  a  donkey,  and  especially  too  big  a  donkey  to  get 
over  the  Pons  Asinorum  ! 

From  the  preparatory  school,  I  was  transplanted  in  due 
time  to  what  is  called,  by  courtesy,  a  finishing  one,  where  I  was 
immediately  set  to  begin  everything  again  at  the  beginning. 
As  this  was  but  a  backward  way  of  coming  forward,  there 
seemed  little  chance  of  my  ever  becoming  what  Mrs.  Mala- 
prop  calls  "  a  progeny  of  learning ; "  indeed  my  education 
was  pursued  very  much  after  the  plan  laid  down  by  that 
feminine  authority.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  Hebrew,  or 
Algebra,  or  Simony,  or  Fluxions,  or  Paradoxes,  or  such  in- 
flammatory branches  ;  but  I  obtained  a  supercilious  knowl- 
edge of  accounts,    with    enough  of  geometry    to   make   me 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  363 

acquainted  with  the  contagious  countries.  Moreover,  T  became 
fluent  enough  in  some  unknown  tongue  to  protect  me  from  the 
French  Mark;  and  I  was  sufficiently  at  home  (during  the 
vacations)  in  the  quibbles  of  English  grammar,  to  bore  all  my 
parents,  relations,  friends,  and  acquaintance  by  a  pedantical 
mending  of  their  "  cakeology."  Such  was  the  sum  total  of  my 
acquirements  ;  being  probably  quite  as  much  as  I  should  have 
learned  at  a  Charity  School,  with  the  exception  of  the  paro- 
chial accomplishment  of  hallooing  and  singing  of  anthems. 

I  have  entered  into  these  personal  details,  though  pertain- 
ing rather  to'  illiterate  than  to  literary  reminiscences,  partly 
because  the  important  subject  of  Education  has  become  of 
prominent  interest,  and  partly  to  hint  that  a  writer  may  often 
mean  in  earnest  what  he  says  in  jest.  One  of  my  readers  at 
least  has  given  me  credit  for  a  serious  purpose.  A  school- 
master called  during  the  vacation,  on  the  father  of  one  of  his 
pupils,  and  in  answer  to  his  announcement  of  the  re-opening 
of  his  establishment,  was  informed  that  the  young  gentleman 
was  not  to  return  to  the  academy.  The  worthy  parent  de- 
clared that  he  had  read  the  "  Carnaby  Correspondence  "  *  in 
the  Comic  Annual,  and  had  made  up  his  mind.  "  But,  my 
dear  Sir,"  expostulated  the  pedagogue,  "  you  cannot  be  serious  ; 
why,  the  Comic  Annual  is  nothing  but  a  book  full  of  jokes  !  " 
"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  the  father ;  "  but  it  has  let  me  into  a  few 
of  your  tricks.  I  believe  Mr.  Hood.  James  is  not  coming 
again  ! " 

And  now,  it  may  be  reasonably  asked,  where  I  did  learn 
anything  if  not  at  these  establishments,  which  promise  Uni- 
versal Knowledge  —  extras  included  —  and  yet  unaccountably 
produce  so  very  few  Admiral  Crichtons  ?  |  It  may  plausibly 
be  objected,  that  I  did  not  duly  avail  myself  of  such  over- 
flowing opportunities  to  dabble,  dip,  duck  in,  and  drink  deeply 
of  the  Pierian  spring  ;  that  I  was  an  Idler,  Lounger,  Tattler, 
Rambler,  Spectator,  —  anything  rather  than  a  student.  To 
which  my  reply  must  be,  first,  that  the  severest  punishment 
ever  inflicted  on  my  shoulders  was  for  a  scholar-like  offence, 
the  being  "  fond  of  my  book,"  only  it  happened  to  be  Rob- 

*  Ante,  page  209. 

f  In  spite  of  hundreds  of  associates,  it  has  never  happened  to  me,  amongst 
the  very  many  distinguished  names  connected  with  science  or  literature,  to 
recognize  one  as  belon°;hitr  to  a  schoolfellow. 


364  HOOD'S   OWN. 

inson  Crusoe ;  and,  secondly,  that  I  did  go  ahead  at  another 
guess  sort  of  academy,  a  reference  to  which  will  be  little 
flattering  to  those  Houses  which  claim  Socrates,  Aristotle,  Al- 
fred, and  other  Learnedissimi  Worthii,  as  their  Sponsors  and 
Patron  Saints.  The  school  that  really  schooled  me  being 
comparatively  of  a  very  humble  order  —  without  sign  —  with- 
out prospectus,  —  without  ushers  —  without  ample  and  com- 
modious premises  —  in  short,  without  pretension,  and  conse- 
quently, almost  without  custom. 

The  autumn  of  the  year  1811,  along  with  a  most  portentous 
comet,  "  with  fear  of  change  perplexing  monarchs,"  brought, 
alas !  a  melancholy  revolution  in  my  own  position  and  pros- 
pects, by  the  untimely  death  of  my  father ;  and  my  elder 
brother  shortly  following  him  to  the  grave,  my  bereaved  mother 
naturally  drew  the  fragments  of  the  family  more  closely  around 
her,  so  that  thenceforward  her  dearest  care  was  to  keep  her 
"  only  son,  myself,  at  home."  She  did  not,  however,  neglect 
my  future  interest,  or  persuade  herself  by  any  maternal  vanity 
that  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old  could  have  precociously  finished 
his  education ;  and  accordingly,  the  next  spring  found  me  at 
what  might  have  been  literally  called  a  High  School,  in  refer- 
ence to  its  distance  from  the  ground. 

In  a  house,  formerly  a  suburban  seat  of  the  unfortunate 
Earl  of  Essex  —  over  a  grocer's  shop  —  up  two  pair  of  stairs, 
there  was  a  very  select  day-school,  kept  by  a  decayed  Dominie, 
as  he  would  have  been  called  in  his  native  land.  In  his  bet- 
ter days,  when  my  brother  was  his  pupil,  he  had  been  master 
of  one  of  those  wholesome  concerns  in  which  so  many  igno- 
rant men  have  made  fortunes,  by  favor  of  high  terms,  low 
ushers,  gullible  parents,  and  victimized  little  boys.  As  our 
worthy  Dominie,  on  the  contrary,  had  failed  to  realize  even  a 
competence,  it  may  be  inferred,  logically,  that  he  had  done 
better  by  his  pupils  than  by  himself;  and  my  own  experience 
certainly  went  to  prove  that  he  attended  to  the  interests  of  his 
scholars,  however  he  might  have  neglected  his  own.  Indeed, 
he  less  resembled,  even  in  externals,  the  modern  worldly 
trading  Schoolmaster  than  the  good,  honest,  earnest,  olden 
Pedagogue,  —  a  pedant,  perchance,  but  a  learned  one,  with 
whom  teaching  was  "a  labor  of  love,"  who  had  a  proper 
sense  of  the  dignity  and  importance  of  his  calling,  and  was 
content  to  find  a  main  portion  of  his  reward  in  the  honorable 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  3(35 

proficiency  of  his  disciples.  Small  as  was  our  College,  its  Prin- 
cipal maintained  his  state,  and  walked  gowned  and  covered. 
His  cap  was  of  faded  velvet,  of  black,  or  blue,  or  purple,  or  sad 
green,  or,  as  it  seemed,  of  all  together,  with  a  nuance  of  brown. 
His  robe,  of  crimson  damask,  lined  with  the  national  tartan.  A 
quaint,  carved,  highbacked,  elbowed  article,  looking  like  an 
emigre  from  a  set  that  had  been  at  home  in  an  aristocratical 
drawing-room,  under  the  ancien  regime,  was  his  Professional 
Chair,  which  with  his  desk  was  appropriately  elevated  on  a 
dais,  some  inches  above  the  common  floor.  From  this  moral 
and  material  eminence  he  cast  a  vigilant  yet  kindly  eye  over 
some  dozen  of  youngsters  ;  for  adversity,  sharpened  by  habits 
of  authority,  had  not  soured  him,  or  mingled  a  single  tinge  of 
bile  with  the  peculiar  redstreak  complexion,  so  common  to  the 
healthier  natives  of  the  North.  On  one  solitary  occasion, 
within  my  memory,  was  he  seriously  yet  characteristically  dis- 
composed, and  that  was  by  his  own  daughter,  whom  he  ac- 
cused of  forgetting  all  regard  for  common  decorum  ; "  because, 
forgetting  that  he  was  a  Dominie  as  well  as  a  Parent,  she  had 
heedlessly  addressed  liim  in  public  as  "  Father,"  instead  of 
"  Papa."  The  mere  provoking  contrariety  of  a  dunce  never 
stirred  his  spleen,  but  rather  spurred  his  endeavor,  in  spite  of 
the  axiom,  to  make  Nihil  fit  for  anything.  He  loved  teaching 
for  teaching's  sake ;  his  kill-horse  happened  to  be  his  hobby : 
and  doubtless,  if  he  had  met  with  a  penniless  boy  on  the  road  to 
learning,  he  would  have  given  him  a  lift,  like  the  charitable 
"Wagoner  to  Dick  Whittington  —  for  love.  I  recall,  there- 
fore, wTith  pleasure,  the  cheerful  alacrity  with  which  I  used  to 
step  up  to  recite  my  lesson,  constantly  forewarned  —  for  every 
true  schoolmaster  has  his  stock  joke  —  not  to  "  stand  in  my 
own  light."  It  was  impossible  not  to  take  an  interest  in  learn- 
ing what  he  seemed  so  interested  in  teaching ;  and  in  a  few 
months  my  education  progressed  infinitely  farther  than  it 
had  done  in  as  many  years  under  the  listless  superintendence 
of  B.  A.,  and  L.  L.  D.  and  Assistants.  I  picked  up  some 
Latin,  was  a  tolerable  English  Grammarian,  and  so  good  a 
French  scholar,  that  I  earned  a  few  guineas  —  my  first  literary 
fee  —  by  revising  a  new  edition  of  "  Paul  et  Virginie  "  for  the 
press.  Moreover,  as  an  accountant,  I  could  wrork  a  summum 
bomim  —  i.  e.  a  good  sum. 

In  the  mean  time,  —  so  generally  unfortunate  is  the  court- 


366  HOOD'S  OWN. 

ship  of  that  bashful  undertoned  wooer,  Modest  Merit,  to  that  loud, 
brazen,  masculine,  worldly  heiress,  Success  —  the  school  did 
not  prosper.  The  number  of  scholars  diminished  rather  than 
increased.  At  least  no  new  boys  came  —  but  one  fine  morn- 
ing, about  nine  o'clock,  a  great  "  she  gal,"  of  fifteen  or  sixteen, 
but  so  remarkably  well  grown  that  she  might  have  been  "  any 
of  our  mothers,"  made  her  unexpected  appearance  with  bag 
and  books.  The  sensation  that  she  excited  is  not  to  be  de- 
scribed !  The  apparition  of  a  Governess,  with  a  Proclama- 
tion of  Gynecocracy  could  not  have  been  more  astounding ! 
Of  course  SHE  instantly  formed  a  class ;  and  had  any  form 
SHE  might  prefer  to  herself:  —  the  most  of  us  being  just  old 
enough  to  resent  what  was  considered  as  an  affront  on  the 
corduroy  sex,  and  just  young  enough  to  be  beneath  any 
gallantry  to  the  silken  one.  The  truth  was,  sub  rosa,  that 
there  was  a  plan  for  translating  us,  and  turning  the  unsuccess- 
ful Boy's  School,  into  a  Ladies'  Academy  ;  to  be  conducted 
by  the  Dominie's  eldest  daughter  —  but  it  had  been  thought 
prudent  to  be  well  on  with  the  new  set  before  being  off  with 
the  old.  A  brief  period  only  had  elapsed  when,  lo !  a  leash 
of  female  school  Felloivs  —  three  sisters,  like  the  Degrees  of 
Comparison  personified,  Big,  Bigger,  and  Biggest  —  made 
their  unwelcome  appearance,  and  threatened  to  push  us  from 
our  stools.  They  were  greeted,  accordingly,  with  all  the 
annoyances  that  juvenile  malice  could  suggest.  It  is  amusing, 
yet  humiliating,  to  remember  the  nuisances  the  sex  endured 
at  the  hands  of  those  who  were  thereafter  to  honor  the  shad- 
ow of  its  shoe-tie  —  to  groan,  moan,  sigh,  and  sicken  for  its 
smiles,  —  to  become  poetical,  prosaical,  nonsensical,  lack-a- 
daisical,  and  perhaps  even  melodramatical  for  its  sake. 
Numberless  were  the  desk-quakes,  the  ink-spouts,  the  book- 
bolts,  the  pea-showers,  and  other  unregistered  phenomena, 
which  likened  the  studies  of  those  four  unlucky  maidens  to 
the  "  Pursuit  of  Knowledge  under  Difficulties,"  —  so  that  it 
glads  me  to  reflect,  that  I  was  in  a  very  small  minority  against 
the  persecution  ;  having  already  begun  to  read  poetry,  and 
even  to  write  something  which  was  egregiously  mistaken  for 
something  of  the  same  nature.  The  final  result  of  the  strug- 
gle in  the  academic  nest  —  whether  the  hen-cuckoos  succeeded 
in  ousting  the  cock-sparrows,  or  vice  versa  —  is  beyond  my 
record ;  seeing  that  I  was  just  then  removed  from  the  scene 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES. 


3G7 


of  contest,  to  be  introduced  into  that  Universal  School  where, 
as  in  the  preparatory  ones,  we  have  very  unequal  shares  in 
the  flogging,  the  fagging,  the  task-work,  and  the  pocket- 
money  ;  but  the  same  breaking-up  to  expect,  and  the  same 
eternity  of  happy  holidays  to  hope  for  in  the  Grand  Recess. 

In  brief,  a  friend  of  the  family  having  taken  a  fancy  to  me, 
proposed  to  initiate  me  in  those  profitable  mercantile  mysteries 
which  enabled  Sir  Thomas  Gresham  to  gild  his  grasshopper ; 
and  like  another  Frank  Osbaldestone,  I  found  myself  planted 
on  a  counting-house  stool,  which  nevertheless  served  occasion- 
ally for  a  Pegasus,  on  three  legs,  every  foot,  of  course,  being 
a  dactyl  or  a  spondee.  In  commercial  matters,  the  only 
lesson  imprinted  on  my  memory  is  the  rule  that  when  a  ship's 
crew  from  Archangel,  come  to  receive  their  L.  S.  D.,  you 
must  lock  up  your  P.  Y.  C. 


THE  WINNER  OF  THE  LEDGER. 


3G8  HOOD'S   OWN. 


MY    APOLOGY. 


Gentle  Readers, — 

For  the  present  month,  there  must  be  what  Dr.  Johnson 
called  a  solution  of  continuity  in  my  "  Literary  Reminiscen- 
ces." Confined  to  my  chamber  by  what  ought  to  be  termed 
roomatism  —  then  attacked  by  my  old  livery  complaint  —  and 
finally,  by  a  minor,  but  troublesome  malady,  the  Present  has 
too  much  prevailed  over  the  Past,  to  let  me  indulge  in  any  re- 
trospective reviews.  In  such  cases,  on  the  stage,  when  a 
Performer  is  unable  to  support  his  character,  a  substitute  is 
usually  found  to  read  the  part ;  but  unfortunately,  in  the 
present  case  there  is  no  part  written,  and  consequently  it  can- 
not be  read.  But  apropos  of  theatricals  —  there  is  an  anecdote 
on  point. 

In  the  Olympic  days  of  the  great  Elliston,  there  was  one 
evening  a  tremendous  tumult  at  his  Theatre,  in  consequence 
of  the  absence  of  a  favorite  performer.  One  man  in  the  pit 
—  a  Butcher  —  was  especially  vociferous  in  his  cry  for  "  Carl ! 
Carl  !  Carl !  "  Others  called  for  the  Manager,  who  duly 
made  his  appearance,  and,  black  as  the  weather  looked,  he  was 
the  very  sort  of  pilot  to  weather  the  storm.  With  one  of  his 
princely  bows  he  proceeded  to  address  the  House.  "  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen  —  but  by  your  leave  I  will  address  myself  to 
a  single  individual.  I  will  ask  that  gentleman  (pointing  to 
the  vociferous  Butcher)  what  right  he  has  to  demand  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Carl  ?  "  "  'Cos,"  said  the  Butcher,  —  "  'cos 
he 's  down  in  the  Bill."  Such  an  undeniable  answer  would 
have  staggered  any  other  Manager  than  Elliston,  but  he  was 
not  easily  to  be  disconcerted.  "  Because  he  is  down  in  the 
bill ! "  he  echoed,  in  a  tone  of  the  loftiest  indignation  :  "  Ladies 
and  Gentlemen,  the  Mr.  Carl,  so  unseasonably,  so  vociferously 
and  so  unfeelingly  called  for,  is  at  this  very  moment  laboring 
under  severe  illness  —  he  is  in  bed.  And  let  me  ask,  is  a  man, 
a  fellow-creature,  a  human  being,  to  be  torn  from  his  couch, 
from  his  home,  on  a  cold  night,  from  the  affectionate  attentions 


MY  APOLOGY.  369 

of  his  wife  and  family,  at  the  risk  of  his  valuable  life  perhaps, 
to  go  through  a  fatiguing  part  because  he  happens  to  be 
DOWN  IN  THE  BILL  ?  "  [Cries  of  "  Shame  !  shame  ! " 
from  all  parts  of  the  house.]  "  And  yet,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, there  stands  a  man  —  if  I  may  call  him  so  —  a  Butcher, 
that  for  his  own  selfish  gratification  —  the  amusement  of  a 
few  short  hours  —  would  risk  the  very  existence  of  a  deserv- 
ing member  of  society,  a  good  husband,  father,  friend,  and 
one  of  your  favorite  actors,  and  all,  forsooth,  because  he  is 
DOWN  IN  THE  BILL  ! "  [Universal  hooting,  with  cries 
of  "  Turn  him  out."]  "  By  all  means,"  acquiesced  the 
Manager,  with  one  of  his  best  bows  —  and  the  indignant 
pittites  actually  hooted  and  kicked  their  own  champion  out 
of  the  theatre,  as  something  more  than  a  Butcher,  and  less 
than  a  Christian. 

Now  I  am  myself,  gentle  readers,  in  the  same  predicament 
with  Mr.  Carl.  Like  him  I  am  an  invalid  —  and  like  him  I 
am  unfortunately  down  in  the  Bill.  It  would  not  become  me 
to  set  forth  my  own  domestic  or  social  virtues,  or  to  hint  what 
sort  of  gap  my  loss  would  make  in  Society  —  still  less  would 
it  consist  with  modesty  to  compare  myself  with  a  favorite 
actor  —  but  as  a  mere  human  being  I  throw  myself  on  your 
mercy,  and  ask,  in  common  charity,  would  you  have  had  me 
leave  my  warm  bed,  to  shiver  in  a  printer's  damp  sheets,  at 
the  risk  of  my  reputation  perhaps,  and  for  the  mere  amuse- 
ment of  some  half-hour  or  more,  or  more  probably  for  no 
amusement  at  all  —  simply  because  I  was  "  down  in  the  Bill "  ? 

But  there  is  no  such  Butcher,  or  Butcheress,  or  little  Butch- 
erling,  amongst  you  ;  and  by  your  good  leave  and  patience, 
the  instalment  of  my  Reminiscences  that  is  overdue  shall  be 
paid  with  interest  in  the 

NEXT   NUMBER. 


16* 


370  HOOD'S   OWN. 


LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

No.  I. 


Time  was,  I  sat  upon  a  lofty  stocl, 

At  lofty  desk,  and  with  a  clerkly  pen 

Began  "each  morning,  at  the  stroke  of  ten, 

To  write  in  Bell  and  Co.'s  commercial  school; 

In  Warnford  Court,  a  shady  nook  and  cool, 

The  favorite  retreat  of  merchant  men ; 

Yet  would  my  qi;ill  turn  vagrant  even  then, 

And  take  stray  dips  in  the  Castalian  pool. 

Now  double  entry  —  now  a  flowery  trope  — 

Mingling  poetic  honey  with  trade  wax  — 

Blogg,  Brothers  —  Milton  —  Grote  and  Prescott  —  Pope  ■ 

Bristles  —  and  Hogg  —  Glyn  Mills  and  Halifax  — 

Rogers  —  and  Towgood  —  Hemp  —  the  Bard  of  Hope  — 

Barilla  —  Byron  — Tallow  —  Burns  —  and  Flax ! 


My  commercial  career  was  a  brief  one,  and  deserved  only 
a  sonnet  in  commemoration.  The  fault,  however,  lay  not  with 
the  muses.  To  commit  poetry  indeed  is  a  crime  ranking  next 
to  forgery  in  the  counting-house  code,  and  an  Ode  or  a  song 
dated  Copthall  Court  would  be  as  certainly  noted  and  protest- 
ed as  a  dishonored  bill.  I  have  even  heard  of  an  unfortunate 
clerk,  who  lost  his  situation  through  being  tempted  by  the 
jingle  to  subscribe  under  an  account  current 

"  Excepted  all  errors 
Made  by  John  Ferrers," 

his  employer  emphatically  declaring  that  Poetry  and  Logwood 
could  never  coexist  in  the  same  head.  The  principal  of  our 
firm,  on  the  contrary,  had  a  turn  for  the  Belles  Lettres,  and 
would  have  winked  with  both  eyes  at  verses  which  did  not 
intrude  into  an  invoice  or  confuse  their  figures  with  those  of 
the  Ledger.  The  true  cause  of  my  retirement  from  Commer- 
cial affairs  was  more  prosaic.  My  constitution,  though  far 
from  venerable,  had  begun  to  show  symptoms  of  decay :  my 
appetite  failed,  and  its  principal  creditor,  the  stomach,  received 
only  an  ounce  in  the  pound.    My  spirits  daily  became  a  shade 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  371 

lower  —  raj  flesh  was  held  less  and  less  firmly  —  in  short,  in 
the  language  of  the  price  current,  it  was  expected  that  I  must 
"  submit  to  a  decline."  The  Doctors  who  were  called  in  de- 
clared imperatively  that  a  mercantile  life  would  be  the  death 
of  me  —  that  by  so  much  sitting,  I  was  hatching  a  whole  brood 
of  complaints,  and  that  no  Physician  would  insure  me  as  a 
merchantman  from  the  Port  of  London  to  the  next  Spring. 
The  Exchange,  they  said,  was  against  me,  and  as  the  Exchange 
itself  used  to  ring  with  "  Life  let  us  Cherish,"  there  was  no 
resisting  the  advice.  I  was  ordered  to  abstain  from  Ashes, 
Bristles,  and  Petersburg  yellow  candle,  and  to  indulge  in  a 
more  generous  diet  —  to  take  regular  country  exercise  instead 
of  the  Russia  Walk,  and  to  go  to  bed  early  even  on  Foreign 
Post  nights.  Above  all,  I  was  recommended  change  of  air, 
and  in  particular  the  bracing  breezes  of  the  North.  Accord- 
ingly I  was  soon  shipped,  as  per  advice,  in  a  Scotch  Smack, 
which  "  smacked  through  the  breeze,"  as  Dibdin  sings  so  mer- 
rily, that  on  the  fourth  morning  we  were  in  sight  of  the  prom- 
inent old  Steeple  of  "  Bonny  Dundee." 

My  Biographer,  in  the  Book  of  Gems,  alludes  to  this  voyage, 
and  infers  from  some  verses  — "  Gadzooks !  must  one  swear 
to  the  truth  of  a  song?"  —  that  it  sickened  me  of  the  sea. 
Nothing  can  be  more  unfounded.  The  marine  terrors  and 
disagreeables  enumerated  in  the  poem  belong  to  a  Miss  Oliver, 
and  not  to  me,  who  regard  the  ocean  with  a  natural  and  na- 
tional partiality.  Constitutionally  proof  against  that  nausea 
which  extorts  so  many  wave-offerings  from  the  afflicted,  I  am 
as  constant  as  Captain  Basil  Hall  himself,  in  my  regard  "  for 
the  element  that  never  tires."  Some  washy  fellows,  it  is  true, 
Fresh-men  from  Cambridge  and  the  like,  affect  to  prefer  river 
or  even  pond  water  for  their  aquatics  —  the  tame  ripple  to 
the  wild  wave,  the  prose  to  "the  poetry  of  motion."  But  o-ive 
me  "  the  multitudinous  sea,"  resting  or  rampant,  with  all  its 
variable  moods  and  changeable  coloring.  Methou"-ht,  when 
pining  under  the  maladie  du  pays,  on  a  hopeless  sick-bed, 
inland,  in  Germany,  it  would  have  relieved  those  yearnings 
but  to  look  across  an  element  so  instinct  with  English  associa- 
tions, that  it  would  seem  rather  to  unite  me  to  than  sever 
me  from  my  native  island.  And,  truly,  when  I  did  at  last 
stand  on  the  brink  of  the  dark  blue  sea,  my  home-sick  wishes 
seemed  already  half  fulfilled,  and  it  was  not  till  many  months 


372  HOOD'S   OWN. 

afterwards  that  I  actually  crossed  the  Channel.  But  I  am, 
besides,  personally  under  deep  obligations  to  the  great  deep. 
Twice,  indeed,  in  a  calm  and  in  a  storm,  has  my  life  been 
threatened  with  a  salt-water  catastrophe  ;  but  that  quarrel  has 
long  been  made  up,  and  forgiven,  in  gratitude  for  the  blessing 
and  bracing  influence  of  the  breezes  that  smack  of  the  ocean 
brine.  Dislike  the  sea  !  —  With  what  delight  aforetime  used 
I  to  swim  in  it,  to  dive  in  it,  to  sail  on  it !  Ask  honest  Tom 
Woodgate,  of  Hastings,  who  made  of  me,  for  a  landsman,  a 
tolerable  boatsman.  Even  now,  when  do  I  feel  so  easy  in  body, 
and  so  cheerful  in  spirit,  as  when  walking  hard  by  the  surge, 
listening,  as  if  expecting  some  whisperings  of  friendly  but  dis- 
tant voices,  in  its  eternal  murmuring.  Sick  of  the  sea !  If 
ever  I  have  a  water-drinking  fancy,  it  is  a  wish  that  the  ocean 
brine  had  been  sweet,  or  sour  instead  of  salt,  so  as  to  be  pota- 
ble ;  for  what  can  be  more  tempting  to  the  eye  as  a  draught, 
than  the  jnire  fluid,  almost  invisible  with  clearness,  as  it  lies 
in  some  sandy  scoop,  or  rocky  hollow,  a  true  "  Diamond  of 
the  Desert,"  to  say  nothing  of  the  same  living  liquid  in  its 
effervescing  state,  when  it  sparkles  up,  hissing  and  bubbling 
in  the  ship's  wake  —  the  very  Champagne  of  water  !  Above 
all,  what  intellectual  solar  and  soothing  syrup  have  I  not  de- 
rived from  the  mere  contemplation  of  the  boundless  main,  — 
the  most  effectual  and  innocent  of  mental  sedatives,  and  often 
called  in  aid  of  that  practical  philosophy  it  has  been  my  wont 
to  recommend  in  the  present  work.  For  whenever,  owing  to 
physical  depression,  or  a  discordant  state  of  the  nerves,  my 
personal  vexations  and  cares,  real  or  imaginary,  become  im- 
portunate in  my  thoughts,  and  acquire,  by  morbid  exaggera- 
tion, an  undue  prominence  and  importance,  what  remedy  then 
so  infallible  as  to  mount  to  my  solitary  seat  in  the  lookout, 
and  thence  gaze  awhile  across  the  broad  expanse,  till  in  the 
presence  of  that  vast  horizon,  my  proper  troubles  shrink  to 
their  true  proportions,  and  I  look  on  the  whole  race  of  men, 
with  their  insignificant  pursuits,  as  so  many  shrimpers  !  But 
this  is  a  digression  —  We  have  made  the  harbor  of  Dundee, 
and  it  is  time  to  step  ashore  in  "  stout  and  original  Scotland," 
as  it  is  called  by  Doctor  Adolphus  Wagner,  in  his  German 
edition  of  Burns.* 

*  The  Baron  Dupotet  de  Sennevoy  and  Doctor  Elliotson  will  doubtless 
be  glad  to  be  informed,  that  the  inspired  Scottish  Poet  was  a  believer  in 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  373 

Like  other  shipments,  I  had  been  regularly  addressed  to  the 
care  of  a  consignee  ;  —  but  the  latter,  not  anxious,  probably, 
to  take  charge  of  a  hobbledehoy,  yet  at  the  same  time  unwill- 
ing to  incur  the  reproach  of  having  a  relative  in  the  same 
town  and  not  under  the  same  roof,  peremptorily  declined  the 
office.  Nay,  more,  she  pronounced  against  me  a  capital  sen- 
tence, so  far  as  returning  to  the  place  from  whence  I  came, 
and  even  proceeded  to  bespeak  my  passage  and  reship  my 
luggage.  Judging  from  such  vigorous  measures  the  temper  of 
my  customer,  instead  of  remonstrating,  I  affected  resignation, 
and  went  with  a  grave  face  through  the  farce  of  a  formal 
leave-taking  ;  I  even  went  on  board,  but  it  was  in  company 
with  a  stout  fellow  who  relanded  my  baggage ;  and  thus, 
whilst  my  transporter  imagined,  good  easy  soul !  that  the  re- 
jected article  was  sailing  round  St.  Abb's  Head,  or  rolling  off 
the  Bass,  he  was  actually  safe  and  snug  in  Dundee,  quietly 
laughing  in  Ins  sleeve  with  the  Law  at  his  back.  I  have  a 
confused  recollection  of  meeting,  some  three  or  four  days  after- 
wards, a  female  cousin  on  her  road  to  school,  who  at  sight  of 
me  turned  suddenly  round,  and  galloped  off  towards  home 
with  the  speed  of  a  scared  heifer. 

My  first  concern  was  now  to  look  out  for  some  comfortable 
roof,  under  which  "  for  a  consideration  "  one  would  be  treated 
as  one  of  the  family.  I  entered  accordingly  into  a  treaty  with 
a  respectable  widower,  who  had  no  sons  of  his  own,  but  in 
spite  of  the  most  undeniable  references,  and  a  general  accord- 

their  magnetismal  mysteries  —  at  least  in  the  article  of  reading  a  book  be- 
hind the  back.  In  a'letter  to  Mr.  Robert  Ainslie  is  the  following  passage 
in  proof.  "  I  have  no  doubt  but  scholarcraft  may  be  caught,  as  a  Scotch- 
man catches  the  itch  —  by  friction.  How  else  can  you  account  for  it  that 
born  blockheads,  by  mere  dint  of  handling  books,  grow  so  wise  that  even 
they  themselves  are  equally  convinced  of  and  surprised  at  their  own  parts? 
I  once  carried  that  philosophy  to  that  degree,  that  in  a  knot  of  country 
folks,  who  had  a  library  amongst  them,  and  who,  to  the  honor  of  their  good 
sense,  made  me  factotum  in  the  business;  one  of  our  members,  a  little  wise- 
look,  squat,  upright,  jabbering  body  of  a  tailor,  1  advised  him  instead  of 
turning  over  the  leaves,  to  bind  the  book  on  his  back.  Johnnie  took  the  hint, 
and  as  our  meetings  were  every  fourth  Saturday,  and  Pricklouse  having  a 
good  Scots  mile  to  walk  in  coming,  and  of  course  another  in  returning, 
Bodkin  was  sure  to  lay  his  hand  on  some  heavy  quarto  or  ponderous  folio; 
with  and  under  which,  wrapt  up  in  his  gray  plaid,  he  grew  wise  as  he  grew 
weary  all  the  way  home.  He  earned  this  so  far,  that  an  old  musty  Hebrew 
Concordance,  which  we  had  in  a  present  from  a  neighboring  priest,  by  mere 
dint  of  applying  it  as  doctors  do  a  blistering  plaster,  between  his  shoulders, 
Stitch,  in  a  dozen  pilgrimages,  acquired  as  much  rational  theology  as  the 
said  priest  had  done  by  forty  years'  perusal  of  its  pages." 


374  HOOD'S    OWN. 

ance  as  to  terms,  there  occurred  a  mysterious  hitch  in  the 
arrangement,  arising  from  a  whimsical  prepossession  which 
only  came  afterwards  to  my  knowledge  —  namely,  that  an 
English  laddie,  instead  of  supping  parritch,  would  inevitably 
require  a  rump-steak  to  his  breakfast !  My  next  essay  was 
more  successful ;  and  ended  in  my  being  regularly  installed 
in  a  boarding-house,  kept  by  a  Scotchwoman,  who  was  not 
so  sure  of  my  being  a  beefeater.  She  was  a  sort  of  widow, 
with  a  seafaring  husband  "  as  good  as  dead,"  and  in  her  ap- 
pearance not  unlike  a  personification  of  rouge  et  noir,  with  her 
red  eyes,  her  red  face,  her  yellow  teeth,  and  her  black  velvet 
cap.  The  first  clay  of  my  term  happened  to  be  also  the  first 
day  of  the  new  year,  and  on  stepping  from  my  bed-room,  I 
encountered  our  Hostess  —  like  a  witch  and  her  familiar  spirit 
—  with  a  huge  bottle  of  whiskey  in  one  hand,  and  a  glass  in 
the  other.  It  was  impossible  to  decline  the  dram  she  pressed 
upon  me,  and  very  good  it  proved,  and  undoubtedly  strong, 
seeing  that  for  some  time  I  could  only  muse  its  praise  in  ex- 
pressive silence,  and  indeed,  I  was  only  able  to  speak  with  "a 
small  still  voice  "  for  several  minutes  afterwards.  Such  was 
my  characteristic  introduction  to  the  Land  of  Cakes,  where  I 
was  destined  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  two  years,  under  cir- 
cumstances likely  to  materially  influence  the  coloring  and  fill- 
ing up  of  my  future  life. 

To  properly  estimate  the  dangers  of  my  position,  imagine  a 
boy  of  fifteen,  at  the  Nore,  as  it  were,  of  life,  thus  left  depend- 
ent on  his  own  pilotage  for  a  safe  voyage  to  the  Isle  of  Man ; 
or  conceive  a  juvenile  Telemachus,  without  a  Mentor,  brought 
suddenly  into  the  perilous  neighborhood  of  Calypso  and  her 
enchantments.  It  will  hardly  be  expected,  that  from  some 
half-dozen  of  young  bachelors,  there  came  forth  any  solemn 
voice  didactically  warning  me  in  the  strain  of  the  sage  Imlac 
to  the  Prince  of  Abyssinia.  In  fact,  I  recollect  receiving  but 
one  solitary  serious  admonition,  and  that  was  from  a  she-cousin 
of  ten  years  old,  that  the  Spectator  I  was  reading  on  a  Sunday 
morning,  "  was  no  the  Bible."  For  there  was  still  much  of 
tliis  pious  rigor  extant  in  Scotland,  though  a  gentleman  was 
no  longer  committed  to  Tolboothia  Infelix,  for  an  unseasona- 
ble promenade  during  church-time.  It  was  once,  however, 
my  fortune  to  witness  a  sample  of  the  ancien  regime  at  an 
evening  party  composed  chiefly  of  young  and  rather  fashiona- 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  375 

ble  persons,  when  lo  !  like  an  Anachronism  confounding  times 
past  with  times  present,  there  came  out  of  some  corner  an 
antique  figure,  with  quaintly-cut  blue  suit  and  three-cornered 
hat,  not  unlike  a  very  old  Greenwich  Pensioner,  who  taking 
his  stand  in  front  of  the  circle,  deliberately  asked  a  blessing  of 
formidable  length  on  the  thin  bread  and  butter,  the  short-cake, 
the  marmalade,  and  the  Pekoe  tea.  And  here,  en  passant,  it 
may  be  worth  while  to  remark,  for  the  benefit  of  our  Agnews 
and  Plumtres,  as  illustrating  the  intrinsic  value  of  such  sanc- 
timonious pretension,  that  the  elder  Scotland,  so  renowned  for 
armlong  graces,  and  redundant  preachments,  and  abundant 
psalm-singing,  has  yet  bequeathed  to  posterity  a  singularly 
liberal  collection  of  songs,  the  reverie  of  Divine  and  Moral, 
such  as  "  can  only  be  sung  when  the  punch-bowl  has  done  its 
work  and  the  wild  wit  is  set  free."  * 

To  return  to  my  boarding-house,  which,  with  all  its  chairs, 
had  none  appropriated  to  a  Professor  of  Moral  Philosophy. 
In  the  absence  of  such  a  monitor,  nature,  fortunately  for  my- 
self, had  gifted  me  with  a  taste  for  reading,  which  the  languor 
of  ill-health,  inclining  me  to  sedentary  habits,  helped  materi- 
ally to  encourage.  Whatever  books,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent, 
happened  to  come  within  my  reach,  were  perused  with  the 
greatest  avidity,  and  however  indiscriminate  the  course,  the 
balance  of  the  impressions  thence  derived  was  decidedly  in 
favor  of  the  allegorical  lady,  so  wisely  preferred  by  Hercules 
when  he  had  to  make  his  election  between  Virtue  and  Vice. 
Of  the  material  that  ministered  to  this  appetite,  I  shaft  always 
regret  that  I  did  not  secure,  as  a  literary  curiosity  —  a  collec- 
tion of  halfpenny  Ballads,  the  property  of  a  Grocer's  appren- 
tice, and  which  contained,  amongst  other  matters,  a  new  ver- 
sion of  Chevy  Chase,  wherein  the  victory  was  transferred  to 
the  Scots.  In  the  mean  time,  this  bookishness  acquired  for 
me  a  sort  of  reputation  for  scholarship  amongst  my  comrades, 
and  in  consequence  my  pen  was  sometimes  called  into  requi- 
sition, in  divers  and  sometimes  delicate  cases.  Thus  for  one 
party,  whom  the  Gods  had  not  made  poetical,  I  composed  a 
love-letter  in  verse  ;  for  another,  whose  education  had  been 
neglected,  I  carried  on  a  correspondence  with  reference  to  a 
tobacco  manufactory  in  which  he  was  a  sleeping  partner ; 
whilst,  on  a  graver  occasion,  the  hand  now  peacefully  setting 

*  A.  Cunningham. 


376  HOOD'S    OWN. 

down  these  reminiscences  was  employed  in  penning  a  mo?t 
horrible  peremptory  invitation  to  pistols  and  twelve  paces,  till 
one  was  nicked.  The  facts  were  briefly  these.  A  spicy- 
tempered  captain  of  Artillery,  in  a  dispute  with  a  superior 
officer,  had  rashly  cashiered  himself  by  either  throwing  up 
or  tearing  up  his  commission.  In  this  dilemma  he  arrived 
at  Dundee,  to  assume  a  post  in  the  Customs,  which  had  been 
procured  for  him  by  the  interest  of  his  friends.  To  his  infi- 
nite indignation,  however,  he  found  that,  instead  of  a  lucrative 
surveyorship,  he  had  been  appointed  a  simple  tide-waiter  !  and 
magnificent  was  the  rage  with  which  he  tore,  trampled,  and 
danced  on  the  little  official  paper-book  wherein  he  had  been 
set  to  tick  off,  bale  by  bale,  a  cargo  of  'k  infernal  hemp." 
Unluckily,  on  the  very  day  of  this  revelation,  a  forgery  was 
perpetrated  on  the  local  Bank,  and  those  sapient  Dogberries, 
the  town  officers,  saw  fit  to  take  up  our  persecuted  ex-captain, 
on  the  simple  ground  that  he  was  the  last  stranger  who  had 
entered  the  town.  Rendered  almost  frantic  by  this  second  in- 
sult, nothing  would  serve  him  in  his  paroxysm  but  calling 
somebody  out,  and  he  pitched  at  once  on  the  cashier  of  the 
defrauded  Bank.  As  the  state  of  his  nerves  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  write,  he  entreated  me  earnestly  to  draw  up  a 
defiance,  which  I  performed,  at  the  expense  of  an  agony  of 
suppressed  laughter,  merely  to  imagine  the  effect  of  such  a 
missive  on  the  man  of  business  —  a  respectable  powdered, 
bald,  pudgy,  pacific  little  body,  with  no  more  idea  of  "  going 
out"  pthan  a  cow  in  a  field  of  clover.  I  forget  the  precise 
result  —  but  certainly  there  was  no  duel. 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  377 


LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

No.  II. 

To  do  justice  to  the  climate  of  "  stout  and  original  Scot- 
land," it  promised  to  act  kindly  by  the  constitution  committed 
to  its  care.  The  air  evidently  agreed  with  the  natives  ;  and 
auld  Robin  Grays  and  John  Andersons  were  plenty  as  black- 
berries, and  auld  Lang  Syne  himself  seemed  to  walk,  bonneted 
amongst  these  patriarchal  figures  in  the  likeness  of  an  old 
man  covered  with  a  mantle.  The  effect  on  myself  was  rather 
curious  —  for  I  seemed  to  have  come  amongst  a  generation 
that  scarcely  belonged  to  my  era ;  mature  spinsters,  waning 
bachelors,  very  motherly  matrons,  and  experienced  fathers, 
that  I  should  set  down  as  uncles  and  aunts,  called  themselves 
my  cousins ;  reverend  personages,  apparently  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers,  were  simply  great -uncles  and  aunts  :  and 
finally  I  enjoyed  an  interview  with  a  relative  oftener  heard  of 
traditionally,  than  encountered  in  the  body  —  a  great-great- 
grandmother —  still  a  tall  woman  and  a  tolerable  pedestrian, 
going  indeed  down  the  hill,  but  with  the  wheel  well  locked. 
It  was  like  coming  amongst  the  Struldbrugs  ;  and  truly,  for 
any  knowledge  to  the  contrary,  many  of  these  Old  Mortalities 
are  still  living,  enjoying  their  sneeshing,  their  toddy,  their 
cracks,  and  particular  reminiscences.  The  very  phrase  of 
being  "  Scotched,  but  not  killed,"  seems  to  refer  to  this  Cale- 
donian tenacity  of  life,  of  which  the  well-known  Walking 
Stewart  was  an  example  :  he  was  an  annuitant  in  the  County- 
office,  and,  as  the  actuaries  would  say,  died  very  hard.  It 
must  be  difficult  for  the  teatotallers  to  reconcile  this  longevity 
with  the  imputed  enormous  consumption  of  ardent  spirits  be- 
yond the  Tweed.  Scotia,  according  to  the  evidence  of  Mr. 
Buckingham's  committee,  is  an  especially  drouthie  bodie,  who 
drinks  whiskey  at  christenings,  and  at  buryings,  and  on  all 
possible  occasions  besides.  Her  sons  drink  not  by  the  hour 
or  by  the  day,  but  by  the  week,  —  witness  Souter  Johnny  :  — 

"  Tarn  lo'ed  him  like  a  vera  brither, 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither." 


378  HOOD'S   OWN. 

Swallowing  no  thin  washy  potation,  but  a  strong  overproof 
spirit,  with  a  smack  of  smoke  —  and  "  where  there  is  smoke 
there  is  fire,"  yet  without  flashing  off,  according  to  temperance 
theories,  by  spontaneous  combustion.  On  the  contrary,  the 
canny  northerns  are  noted  for  soundness  of  constitution  and 
clearness  of  head,  with  such  a  strong  principle  of  vitality  as 
to  justify  the  poetical  prediction  of  C***,  that  the  world's 
longest  liver,  or  Last  Man,  will  be  a  Scotchman. 

All  these  favorable  signs  I  duly  noted  ;  and  prophetically 
refrained  from  delivering  the  letter  of  introduction  to  Doctor 

C ,  which  was  to  place  me  under  his  medical  care.     As 

the  sick  man  said,  when  he  went  into  the  gin-shop  instead  of 
the  hospital,  I  "  trusted  to  natur."  Whenever  the  weather 
permitted,  therefore,  which  was  generally  when  there  were  no 
new  books  to  the  fore,  I  haunted  the  banks  and  braes,  or  paid 
flying  visits  to  the  burns,  with  a  rod  intended  to  punish  that 
rising  generation  amongst  fishes  called  trout.  But  I  whipped 
in  vain.  Trout  there  were  in  plenty,  but  like  obstinate  double 
teeth,  with  a  bad  operator,  they  would  neither  be  pulled  out 
nor  come  out  of  themselves.  Still  the  sport,  if  so  it  might  be 
called,  had  its  own  attractions,  as,  the  catching  excepted,  the 
whole  of  the  Waltonish  enjoyments  were  at  my  command,  the 
contemplative  quiet,  the  sweet  wholesome  country  air,  and  the 
picturesque  scenery  —  not  to  forget  the  relishing  the  homely 
repast  at  the  shealing  or  the  mill ;  sometimes  I  went  alone, 
but  often  we  were  a  company,  and  then  we  had  for  our  attend- 
ant a  journeyman  tobacco-spinner,  an  original,  and  literary 
withal,  for  he  had  a  reel  in  his  head,  whence  ever  and  anon  he 
unwound  a  line  of  Allan  Ramsay,  or  Beattie,  or  Burns.  Me- 
thinks  I  still  listen,  trudging  homewards  in  the  gloaming,  to  the 
recitation  of  that  appropriate  stanza,  beginning  — 

"  At  the  close  of  the  day  when  the  hamlet  was  still," 

delivered  with  a  gusto  perhaps  only  to  be  felt  by  a  day-labor- 
ing mechanic,  who  had  "  nothing  but  his  evenings  to  himself." 
Methinka  I  still  sympathize  with  the  zest  with  which  he  dwelt 
on  the  pastoral  images  and  dreams  so  rarely  realized,  when  a 
chance  holiday  gave  him  the  fresh-breathing  fragrance  of  the 
living  flower  in  lieu  of  the  stale  odor  of  the  Indian  weed :  and 
philosophically  I  can  now  understand  why  poetry,  with  its 
lofty  aspirations  and   sublimed    feelings,  seemed  to  sound  so 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  379 

gratefully  to  the  ear  from  the  lips  of  a  "  squire  of  low  degree." 
There  is  something  painful  and  humiliating  to  humanity  in  the 
abjectness  of  mind,  that  too  often  accompanies  the  sordid  con- 
dition of  the  working-classes  ;  whereas  it  is  soothing  and  con- 
solatory to  find  the  mind  of  the  poor  man  rising  superior  to 
his  estate,  and  compensating  by  intellectual  enjoyment  for  the 
physical  pains  and  privation  that  belong  to  his  humble  lot. 
Whatever  raises  him  above  the  level  of  the  ox  in  the  garner, 
or  the  horse  in  the  mill,  ought  to  be  acceptable  to  the  pride,  if 
not  to  the  charity,  of  the  fellow-creature  that  calls  him  broth- 
er ;  for  instance,  music  and  dancing,  but  against  which  inno- 
cent unbendings  some  of  our  magistracy  persist  in  setting  their 
face-,  as  if  resolved  that  a  low  neighborhood  should  enjoy  no 
dance  but  St.  Titus's,  and  no  fiddle  but  the  Scotch. 

To  the-e  open-air  pursuits,  sailing  was  afterwards  added, 
bringing  me  acquainted  with  the  boatmen  and  fishermen  of 
The  Craig,  a  hardy  race,  rough  and  ready-witted,  from  whom 
perchance  was  first  derived  my  partiality  for  all  marine  bipeds 
and  sea-craft,  from  Flag  Admirals  down  to  Jack  Junk,  the 
proud  first-rate  to  the  humble  boatie  that  "  wins  the  bairns' 
bread."  The  Tay  at  Dundee  is  a  broad,  noble  river,  with  a 
racing  tide,  which,  when  it  differs  with  a  contrary  wind,  will 
got  up  "jars  "  (Anglice  waves)  quite  equal  to  those  of  a  fam- 
ily manufacture.  It  was  at  least  a  good  preparatory  school 
for  learning  the  rudiments  of  boat  craft ;  whereof  I  acquired 
enough  to  be  able  at  need  to  take  the  helm  without  either 
going  too  near  the  wind  or  too  distant  from  the  port.  Not 
without  some  boyish  pride  I  occasionally  found  myself  intrust- 
ed with  the  guidance  of  the  Coach-Boat  —  so  called  from  its 
carrying  the  passengers  by  the  Edinburgh  Mail  —  particularly 
in  a  calm,  when  the  utmost  exertions  of  the  crew,  four  old 
man-of-war's-men,  were  required  at  the  oars.  It  not  unfre- 
quently  happened,  however,  that  "  the  laddie  "  was  unceremo- 
niously ousted  by  the  unanimous  vote,  and  sometimes  by  the 
united  strength,  of  the  ladies,  who  invariably  pitched  upon 
the  oldest  old  gentleman  in  the  vessel  to 

"  Steer  her  up  and  haud  her  gaun." 

The  consequence  being  the  landing  with  all  the  baggage,  some 
half-mile  above  or  below  the  town  —  and  a  too  late  convic- 
tion, that  the  Elder  Brethren  of  our  Trinity  House  were  not 
the  best  Pilots. 


380  HOOD'S   OWN. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  brief  voyages,  that  I  witnessed 
a  serio-comic  accident,  at  which  the  reader  will  smile  or  sigh 
according  to  his  connection  with  the  Corporation  of  London. 
I  forget  on  what  unconscious  pilgrimage  it  was  bound,  but 
amongst  the  other  passengers  one  day,  there  was  that  stock- 
dove of  a  gourmand's  affection,  a  fine  lively  turtle.  Rich  and 
rare  as  it  was,  it  did  not  travel  unprotected  like  Moore's 
heroine,  but  was  under  the  care  of  a  vigilant  guardian,  who 
seemed  as  jealous  of  the  eyes  that  looked  amorously  at  his 
charge,  as  if  the  latter  had  been  a  ward  in  Chancery.  So 
far  —  namely,  as  far  as  the  middle  of  the  Tay  —  so  good  ; 
when  the  spirit  of  mischief,  or  curiosity,  or  humanity,  sug- 
gested the  convenience  of  a  sea-bath,  and  the  refreshment  the 
creature  might  derive  from  a  taste  of  its  native  element. 
Accordingly,  Testudo  was  lifted  over  the  side,  and  indulged 
with  a  dip  and  a  wallop  in  the  wave,  which  actually  revived 
it  so  powerfully,  that  from  a  playful  flapping  with  its  fore-fins 
it  soon  began  to  struggle  most  vigorously,  like  a  giant  refreshed 
with  brine.  In  fact,  it  paddled  with  a  power  which,  added  to 
its  weight,  left  no  alternative  to  its  guardian  but  to  go  with  it, 
or  without  it.  The  event  soon  came  oflf.  The  man  tumbled 
backward  into  the  boat,  and  the  turtle  plunged  forward  into 
the  deep.  There  was  a  splash  —  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the 
broad  back-shell  —  the  waters  closed,  and  all  was  over — or 
at  least  under !  In  vain  one  of  the  boatmen  aimed  a  lunge 
with  his  boat-hook,  at  the  fatal  spot  in  particular — in  vain 
another  made  a  blow  with  his  oar  at  the  Tay  in  general  — 
whilst  a  third,  in  his  confusion,  heaved  a  coil  of  rope,  as  he 
would,  could,  should,  might,  or  ought  to  have  done  to  a  drown- 
ing Christian.  The  Amphibious  was  beyond  their  reach,  and 
no  doubt,  making  westward  and  homeward  with  all  its  might, 
with  an  instinctive  feeling  that 

"  The  world  was  all  before  it  where  to  choose 
Its  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  its  guide." 

Never  shall  I  forget,  whilst  capable  of  reminiscences,  the 
face  of  that  mourning  mate  thus  suddenly  bereaved  of  his 
turtle  !  The  unfortunate  shepherd,  Ding-dong,  in  Rabelais, 
could  hardly  have  looked  more  utterly  and  unutterly  dozed, 
crazed,  mizmazed,  and  flabbergasted,  when  his  whole  flock 
and   stock  of  golden-fleeced  sheep  suicidically   sheepwashed 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  381 

themselves  to  death,  by  wilfully  leaping  overboard !  He  said 
little  in  words,  but  more  eloquently  clapped  his  hands  to  his 
waistcoat,  as  if  the  loss,  as  the  nurses  say,  had  literally  "  flown 
to  his  stomach."  And  truly,  after  promising  it  both  callipash 
and  callipee,  with  the  delicious  green  fat  to  boot,  what  cold 
comfort  could  well  be  colder  than  the  miserable  chilling  re- 
flection that  there  was 

••  Cauld  kail  in  Aberdeen?  " 


LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

No.  III. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  the  press  —  a  memorable  event 
in  an  author's  experience  —  took  place  in  Scotland.  Amongst 
the  temporary  sojourners  at  our  boarding-house,  there  came  a 
legal  antiquarian  who  had  been  sent  for  from  Edinburgh,  ex- 
pressly to  make  some  unprofitable  researches  amongst  the 
mustiest  of  the  civic  records.  It  was  my  humor  to  think, 
that,  in  Political  as  well  as  Domestic  Economy,  it  must  be 
better  to  sweep  the  Present  than  to  dust  the  Past ;  and  cer- 
tain new  brooms  were  recommended  to  the  Town  Council  in 
a  quizzing  letter,  which  the  then  editor  of  the  Dundee  Adver- 
tiser or  Chronicle  thought  fit  to  favor  with  a  prominent  place 
in  his  columns.  "  'T  is  pleasant  sure,"  sings  Lord  Byron, 
"  to  see  one's  self  in  print,"  and  according  to  the  popular 
notion  I  ought  to  have  been  quite  up  in  my  stirrups,  if  not 
standing  on  the  saddle,  at  thus  seeing  myself,  for  the  first 
strange  time,  set  up  in  type.  Memory  recalls,  however,  but  a 
very  moderate  share  of  exaltation,  which  was  totally  eclipsed, 
moreover,  by  the  exuberant  transports  of  an  accessory  before 
the  fact,  whom,  methinks,  I  still  see  in  my  mind's  eye  rushing 
out  of  the  printing-office  with  the  wet  sheet  steaming  in  his 
hand,  and  fluttering  all  along  the  High  Street,  to  announce 
breathlessly  that  "  we  were  in."  But  G.  was  an  indifferent 
scholar,  even  in  English,  and  therefore  thought  the  more 
highly  of  this  literary  feat.     It  was  this  defective  education, 


382  HOOD'S  OWN. 

and  the  want  of  a  proper  vent  for  his  abundant  love  nonsense 
in  prose  or  verse,  that  probably  led  to  the  wound  he  subse- 
quently inflicted  on  his  own  throat,  but  which  was  luckily 
remedied  by  u  a  stitch  in  time."  The  failure  of  a  tragedy  is 
very  apt  to  produce  something  like  a  comedy,  and  few  after- 
pieces have  amused  me  more  than  the  behavior  of  this 
Amicus  Redivivus,  when,  thus  dramatizing  the  saying  of  "  cut 
and  come  again,"  he  made  what  ought  to  have  been  a  post- 
humous appearance  amongst  his  friends.  In  fact,  and  he  was 
ludicrously  alive  to  it,  he  had  placed  himself  for  all  his  supple- 
mentary days  in  a  false  position.  Like  the  old  man  in  the 
fable,  after  formally  calling  upon  Death  to  execute  a  general 
release,  he  had  quietly  resumed  his  fardel,  which  he  bore 
about,  with  exactly  the  uneasy,  ridiculous  air  of  a  would-be 
fine  gentleman,  who  is  sensitively  conscious  that  he  is  carrying 
a  bundle.  For  the  sake  of  our  native  sentimentalists  who 
profess  dying  for  love,  as  well  as  the  foreign  romanticists  who 
affect  a  love  for  dying,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  give  a  slight 
sketch  of  the  bearing  of  a  traveller  who  had  gone  through 
half  the  journey.  I  had  been  absent  some  months,  and  was 
consequently  ignorant  of  the  affair,  when  lo !  on  my  return  to 
the  town,  the  very  first  person  who  accosted  me  in  the  market- 
place was  our  felo-de-se ;  and  truly,  no  Bashful  Man,  "  with 
all  his  blushing  honors  thick  upon  him,"  in  the  presence  of  a 
damp  stranger,. could  have  been  more  divertingly  sheepish,  and 
awkwardly  backward  in  coming  forward  as  to  manner  and 
address.  Indeed,  something  of  the  embarrassment  of  a  fresh 
introduction  might  naturally  be  felt  by  an  individual,  thus  be- 
ginning again,  as  the  lawyers  say,  de  novo,  and  renewing 
ties  he  had  virtually  cast  off.  The  guilty  hand  was  as  dubi- 
ously extended  to  me  as  if  it  had  been  a  dyer's,  —  its  fellow 
meanwhile  performing  sundry  involuntary  motions  and  ma- 
nipulations about  his  cravat,  as  if  nervously  mistrusting  the 
correctness  of  the  ties  or  the  stability  of  a  buckle.  As  for 
his  face,  there  was  a  foolish,  deprecatory  smile  upon  it  that 
would  have  puzzled  the  pencil  of  Wilkie  ;  and  even  Liston 
himself  could  scarcely  have  parodied  the  indescribable  croak 
with  which,  conscious  of  an  unlucky  notoriety,  he  inquired 
"  if  I  had  heard  "  —  here,  a  short  husky  cough  —  u  of  any 
thing  particular. 

"  Not  a  word,"  was  the  answer. 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  333 

"  Then  you  don't  know  " —  (more  fidgeting  about  the  neck, 
the  smile  rather  sillier,  the  voice  more  guttural,  and  the  cough 
worse  than  ever)  —  "  then  you  don't  know  "  —  but,  like  Mac- 
beth's  amen,  the  confession  literally  stuck  in  the  culprit's 
throat ;  and  I  was  left  to  learn  an  hour  afterwards,  and  from 
another  source,  that  "  Jemmy  G  *  *  *  had  fought  a  duel 
with  himself,  and  cut  his  own  weazand,  about  a  lady." 

For  my  own  part,  with  the  above  figure,  and  all  its  foolish 
features  vividly  imprinted  on  my  memory,  I  do  not  think  that 
I  could  ever  seriously  attempt  "  what  Cato  did,  and  Addison 
approved,"  in  my  own  person.  On  the  contrary,  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  English  moralist  gave  but  an  Irish  illustration  of 
"  a  brave  man  struggling  with  the  storms  of  fate,"  by  repre- 
senting him  as  wilfully  scuttling  his  own  hold,  and  going  at 
once  to  the  bottom.  As  for  the  Censor,  he  plainly  laid  himself 
open  to  censure,  when  he  used  a  naked  sword  as  a  stomachic 
—  a  very  sorry  way,  by  the  way,  when  weary  of  conjectures, 
of  enjoying  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  for  which,  were 
I  tasked  to  select  an  inscription  for  his  cenotaph,  it  should 
be  the  exclamation  of  Thisby,  in  the  Midsummer  ^sight's 
Dream, — 

"  This  is  old  Ninny's  tomb." 

Mais  revenons  a  nos  moutons,  as  the  wolf  said  to  her  cubs. 
The  reception  of  my  letter  in  the  Dublin  Newspaper  en- 
couraged me  to  forward  a  contribution  to  the  Dundee  Maga- 
zine, the  Editor  of  which  was  kind  enough,  as  Winifred 
Jenkins  says,  to  "  wrap  my  bit  of  nonsense  under  his  Honor's 
Kiver."  without  charging  anything  for  its  insertion.  Here  was 
success  sufficient  to  turn  a  young  author  at  once  into  "  a  scrib- 
bling miller,"  and  make  him  sell  himself,  body  and  soul,  after 
the  German  fashion,  to  that  minor  Mephistophiles,  the  Printer's 
Devil !  Nevertheless,  it  was  not  till  years  afterwards,  and 
the  lapse  of  term  equal  to  an  ordinary  apprenticeship,  that 
the  Imp  in  question  became  really  my  Familiar.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  continued  to  compose  occasionally,  and,  like  the 
literary  performances  of  Mr.  TTeller,  Senior,  my  lucubrations 
were  generally  committed  to  paper,  not  in  what  is  commonly 
called  written  hand,  but  an  imitation  of  print.  Such  a  course 
hints  suspiciously  of  type  and  antetype,  and  a  longing  eye  to 
the  Row,  whereas,  it  was  adopted  simply  to'make  the  reading 


384  HOOD'S   OWN. 

more  easy,  and  thus  enable  me  the  more  readily  to  form  a 
judgment  of  the  effect  of  my  little  efforts.  It  is  more  diffi- 
cult than  may  be  supposed  to  decide  on  the  value  of  a  work 
in  MS.,  and  especially  when  the  handwriting  presents  only  a 
swell  mob  of  bad  characters,  that  must  be  severally  examined 
and  re-examined  to  arrive  at  the  merits  or  demerits  of  the 
case.  Print  settles  it,  as  Coleridge  used  to  say ;  and  to  be 
candid,  I  have  more  than  once  reversed,  or  greatly  modified  a 
previous  verdict,  on  seeing  a  rough  proof  from  the  press. 
But,  as  Editors  too  well  know,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  re- 
tain the  tune  of  a  stanza,  or  the  drift  of  an  argument,  whilst 
the  mind  has  to  scramble  through  a  patch  of  scribble-scrabble, 
as  stiff  as  a  gorse  cover.  The  beauties  of  the  piece  will 
as  naturally  appear  to  disadvantage  through  such  a  medium, 
as  the  features  of  a  pretty  woman  through  a  bad  pane  of 
glass ;  and  without  doubt,  many  a  tolerable  article  has  been 
consigned  hand  over  head  to  the  Balaam  Box  for  want  of  a 
fair  copy.  Wherefore,  O  ye  Poets  and  Prosers,  who  aspire 
to  write  in  Miscellanies,  and  above  all,  0  ye  palpitating  Un- 
tried, who  meditate  the  offer  of  your  maiden  essays,  to  estab- 
lished periodicals,  take  care,  pray  ye  take  care,  to  cultivate  a 
good,  plain,  bold,  round  text.  Set  up  Tompkins  as  well  as 
Pope  and  Dryden  for  a  model,  and  have  an  eye  to  your  pot- 
hooks. Some  persons  hold  that  the  best  writers  are  those  who 
write  the  best  hands,  and  I  have  known  the  conductor  of  a 
magazine  to  be  converted  by  a  crabbed  MS.  to  the  same 
opinion.  Of  all  things,  therefore,  be  legible ;  and  to  that 
end,  practice  in  penmanship.  If  you  have  never  learned, 
take  six  lessons  of  Mr.  Carstairs.  Be  sure  to  buy  the  best 
paper,  the  best  ink,  the  best  pens,  and  then  sit  down  and  do 
the  best  you  can  ;  as  the  schoolboys  do  —  put  out  your  tongue, 
and  take  pains.  So  shall  ye  haply  escape  the  rash  rejection 
of  a  jaded  editor ;  so,  having  got  in  your  hand,  it  is  possible 
that  your  head  may  follow;  and  so,  last  not  least,  ye  may 
fortunately  avert  those  awful  mistakes  of  the  press  which 
sometimes  ruin  a  poet's  sublimest  effusion,  by  pantomimically 
transforming  his  roses  into  noses,  his  angels  into  angles,  and 
all  his  happiness  into  pappiness. 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  385 

LITERARY    REMINISCENCES. 

No.  IV. 


'And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true? 
And  are  ye  sure  he  's  weel?  "  —  Old  Scotch  Soxg. 


The  great  Doctor  Johnson  —  himself  a  sufferer  —  has  pa- 
thetically described,  in  an  essay  on  the  miseries  of  an  intirm 
constitution,  the  melancholy  case  of  an  Invalid,  with  a  willing 
mind  in  a  weak  body.  "  The  time  of  such  a  man,"  he  says, 
"  is  spent  in  forming  schemes  which  a  change  of  wind  pre- 
vents him  from  executing ;  his  powers  fume  away  in  projects 
and  in  hope,  and  the  day  of  action  never  arrives.  He  lies 
down  delighted  with  the  thoughts  of  to-morrow ;  but  in  the 
night  the  skies  are  overcast ;  the  temper  of  the  air  is  changed  ; 
he  wakes  in  languor,  impatience,  and  distraction ;  and  has  no 
longer  any  wish  but  for  ease,  nor  any  attention  but  for  mis- 
ery." In  short,  the  Rambler  describes  the  whole  race  of  Val- 
etudinarians as  a  sort  of  great  Bitumen  Company,  paving  a 
certain  nameless  place,  as  some  of  the  Asphalticals  have 
paved  Oxford  Street,  with  not  very  durable  good  intentions. 
In  a  word,  your  Invalid  promises  like  a  Hogmy,  and  performs 
like  a  Pigmy. 

To  a  hale,  hearty  man,  a  perfect  picture  of  health  in  an 
oaken  frame,  such  abortions  seem  sufficiently  unaccountable. 
A  great  hulking  fellow,  revelling  as  De  Quincey  used  emphat- 
ically to  say,  "  in  rude  bovine  health,"  —  a  voracious  human 
animal,  camel-stomached  and  iron-built,  who  could  all  but 
devour  and  digest  himself  like  a  Kilkenny  cat,  —  can  neither 
sympathize  with  nor  understand  those  frequent  failures  and 
down-breakings  which  happen  to  beings  not  so  fortunately 
gifted  with  indelicate  constitutions.  Such  a  half-horse,  half- 
alligator  monster  cannot  judge,  like  a  Puny  Judge,  of  a  case 
of  feebleness.  The  broad-chested  cannot  allow  for  the  nar- 
row-breasted ;  the  robust  for  the  no-bust.  Nevertheless,  even 
the  stalwart  may  sometimes  fall  egregiously  short  of  their 
own  designs  —  as  witness  a  case  in  point. 

17  y 


386  HOOD'S   OWN. 

Amongst  my  fellow-passengers,  on  a  late  sea-voyage,  there 
was  one  who  attracted  my  especial  attention.  A  glance  at 
his  face,  another  at  his  figure,  a  third  at  his  costume,  and  a 
fourth  at  his  paraphernalia,  sufficed  to  detect  his  country :  by 
his  light  hair,  nubbly  features,  heavy  frame,  odd-colored 
dressing-gown,  and  the  national  meerschaum  and  gaudy  to- 
bacco-bag, he  was  undeniably  a  German.  But,  besides  the 
everlasting  pipe,  he  was  provided  with  a  sketching  apparatus, 
an  ample  note-book,  a  gun,  and  a  telescope ;  the  whole  being 
placed  ready  for  immediate  use.  He  had  predetermined,  no 
doubt,  to  record  his  German  sentiments  on  first  making  ac- 
quaintance with  the  German  Ocean ;  to  sketch  the  picturesque 
craft  he  might  encounter  on  its  surface ;  to  shoot  his  first 
sea-gull ;  and  to  catch  a  first  glimpse  of  the  shores  of  Albion, 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  naked  eye.  But  alas !  all  these 
intentions  fell  —  if  one  may  correctly  say  so  with  only  sky 
and  water  —  to  the  ground.  He  ate  nothing  —  drank  noth- 
ing —  smoked  nothing  —  drew  nothing  —  wrote  nothing  — 
shot  nothing  —  spied  nothing  —  nay,  he  merely  stared,  but 
replied  nothing  to  my  friendly  inquiry  (I  am  ill  at  the  Ger- 
man tongue  and  its  pronunciation),  "  Wie  befinden  sea-sick?" 

Now,  my  own  case,  gentle  reader,  has  been  precisely  akin 
to  that  of  our  unfortunate  Cousin  German.  Like  him  I  have 
promised  much,  projected  still  more,  and  done  little.  Like 
him,  too,  I  have  been  a  sick  man,  though  not  at  sea,  but  on 
shore  —  and  in  excuse  of  all  that  has  been  left  undone,  or 
delayed,  with  other  Performers,  when  they  do  not  perform,  I 
must  proffer  the  old  theatrical  plea  of  indisposition.  As  the 
Rambler  describes,  I  have  erected  schemes  which  have  been 
blown  down  by  an  ill  wind ;  I  have  formed  plans,  and  been 
weather-beaten,  like  another  Murphy,  by  a  change  in  the 
weather.  For  instance,  the  Comic  Annual  for  1839  ought 
properly  to  have  been  published  some  forty  days  earlier ;  but 
was  obliged,  as  it  wrere,  to  perform  quarantine,  for  want  of  a 
clean  Bill  of  Health.  Thus,  too,  the  patron  of  the  present 
Work  who  lias  taken  the  trouble  to  peruse  certain  chapters 
under  the  title  of  Literary  Reminiscences,  will  doubtless  have 
compared  the  tone  of  them  with  an  Apology  in  Number  Six, 
wherein,  declining  any  attempt  at  an  Auto-biography,  a  prom- 
ise was  made  of  giving  such  anecdotes  as  a  bad  memory 
and  a  bad  hearing  might  have  retained  of  my  literary  friends 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  337 

and  acquaintance.  Hitherto,  however,  the  fragments  in  ques- 
tion have  only  presented  desultory  glimpses  of  a  goose-quill 
still  in  its  green-gosling-hood,  instead  of  any  recollections  of 
"  celebrated  pens."  The  truth  is  that  my  malady  forced  me 
to  temporize:  —  wherefore  the  kind  reader  will  be  pleased  to 
consider  the  aforesaid  chapters  but  as  so  many  "  false  starts," 
and  that  Memory  has  only  now  got  away,  to  make  play  as 
well  as  she  can. 

Whilst  I  am  thus  closeted  in  the  Confessional,  it  may  be  as 
well,  as  the  Pelican  said,  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  at 
once  plead  guilty  to  all  those  counts  —  and  some  from  long- 
standing have  become  very  Old  Baily  counts  —  that  haunt 
my  conscience.  The  most  numerous  of  these  crimes  relate  to 
letters  that  would  not,  could  not,  or  at  least  did  not  answer. 
Others  refer  to  the  receipt  of  books,  and  as  an  example  of 
their  heinousness  it  misgives  me  that  I  was  favored  with  a 
little  volume  by  W.  and  M.  Howitt,  without  ever  telling  them 
how-it  pleased  me.  A  few  offences  concern  engagements 
which  it  was  impossible  to  fulfil,  although  doubly  bound  by 
principle  and  interest.  Seriously  I  have  perforce  been  guilty 
of  many,  many,  and  still  many  sins  of  omission :  but  Hope, 
reviving  with  my  strength,  promises,  granting  me  life,  to 
redeem  all  such  pledges.  In  the  mean  time,  in  extenuation,  I 
can  only  plead  particularly  that  deprecation  which  is  offered 
up,  in  behalf  of  all  Christian  defaulters  every  Sunday,  — 
"  We  have  left  undone  those  things  which  we  ought  to  have 
done,  —  And  there  is  no  Health  in  us" 

It  is  pleasant  after  a  match  at  Chess,  particularly  if  we 
have  won,  to  try  back,  and  reconsider  those  important  moves 
which  have  had  a  decisive  influence  on  the  result.  It  is  still 
more  interesting,  in  the  game  of  Life,  to  recall  the  critical 
positions  which  have  occurred  during  its  progress,  and  review 
the  false  or  judicious  steps  that  have  led  to  our  subsequent 
good  or  ill  fortune.  There  is,  however,  this  difference,  that 
chess  is  a  matter  of  pure  skill  and  calculation,  whereas,  the 
checkered  board  of  human  life  is  subject  to  the  caprice  of 
Chance  —  the  event  being  sometimes  determined  by  combina- 
tions which  never  entered  into  the  mind  of  the  player.*     To 

*  To  borrow  an  example  from  fiction,  there  is  that  slave  of  circum- 
stances, Oliver  Twist.  There  are  few  authors  whom  one  would  care  to  see 
running  two  heats  with  the  same  horse.    It  is  intended  therefore  as  a  com- 


388  HOOD'S   OWN. 

such  an  accident  it  is  perhaps  attributable  that  the  hand  now 
tracing  these  reminiscences  is  holding  a  pen  instead  of  an 
etching-point ;  jotting  down  these  prose  pleasures  of  memory, 
in  lieu  of  furnishing  articles  "  plated-on-steel,"  for  the  pictorial 
periodicals. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  my  mental  constitution,  how- 
ever weak  my  physical  one,  was  proof  against  that  type-us 
fever  which  parches  most  scribblers  till  they  are  set  up,  done 
up,  and  maybe,  cut  up,  in  print  and  boards.  Perhaps  I  had 
read,  and  trembled  at  the  melancholy  annals  of  those  unfortu- 
nates who,  rashly  undertaking  to  write  for  bread,  had  poisoned 
themselves,  like  Chatterton,  for  want  of  it,  or  choked  them- 
selves, like  Otway,  on  obtaining  it.  Possibly,  having  learned 
to  think  humbly  of  myself —  there  is  nothing  like  early  sick- 
ness and  sorrow  for  "taking  the  conceit"  out  of  one  —  my 
vanity  did  not  presume  to  think,  with  certain  juvenile  Tracti- 
cians,  that  I  "  had  a  call "  to  hold  forth  in  print  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  mankind.  Perchance,  the  very  deep  reverence  my 
reading  had  led  me  to  entertain  for  our  Bards  and  Sages, 
deterred  me  from  thrusting  myself  into  the  fellowship  of 
Beings  that  seemed  only  a  little  lower  than  the  angels. 
However,  in  spite  of  that  very  common  excuse  for  publica- 
tion, "  the  advice  of  a  friend,"  who  seriously  recommended  the 
submitting  of  my  MSS.  to  a  literary  authority,  with  a  view 
to  his  imprimatur,  my  slight  acquaintance  with  the  press  was 
pushed  no  farther.  On  the  contrary,  I  had  selected  a  branch 
of  the  Fine  Arts  for  my  serious  pursuit.  Prudence,  the 
daughter  of  Wisdom,  whispering  perhaps,  that  the  engraver, 
Pye,  had  a  better  chance  of  a  beefsteak  inside,  than  Pye  the 
Laureate ;  not  that  the  verse-spinning  was  quite  given  up. 
Though  working  in  aqua  fortis,  I  still  played  with  Castaly, 
now  writing  —  all  monkeys  are  imitators,  and  all  young 
authors  are  monkeys  —  now  writing  a  Bandit,  to  match  the 
Corsair,  and  anon,  hatching  a  Lalla  Crow,  by  way  of  com- 
panion to  Lalla  Rookh.  Moreover,  about  this  time,  I  became 
a  member  of  a  private  select  Literary  Society,*  (alluded  to 
at  page  97  of  the  present  work,)  that  "waited  on  Ladies  and 

pliment,  that  T  wish  Boz  would  re-write  the  history  in  question  from  pnge 
122,  supposing  liis  hero  not  to  have  met  with  the  Artful  Dodger  on  his 
road  to  seek  his  fortune. 

*  The  Elland  Meeting,  ante,  page  188. 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  3g9 

Gentlemen  at  their  own  houses."  Our  Minerva,  allegorically 
speaking,  was  a  motley  personage,  in  blue  stockings,  a  flounced 
gown,  quaker  cap,  and  kerchief,  French  flowers,  and  a  man's 
hat.  She  held  a  fan  in  one  hand,  and  a  blowpipe  in  the  other. 
Her  votaries  were  of  "both  sexes,  old  and  young,  married  and 
single,  assenters,  dissenters,  High  Church,  Low  Church,  Xo 
Church ;  Doctors  in  Physics,  and  Apothecaries  in  Metaphys- 
ics ;  dabblers  in  Logic,  Chemistry,  Casuistry,  Sophistry, 
natural  and  unnatural  History,  Phrenology.  Geology,  Con- 
chology,  Demonology ;  in  short,  all  kinds  of  Colledgy-Knowl- 
edgy-Ology,  including  "  Cakeology,"  and  tea  and  coffee.  Like 
other  Societies,  we  had  our  President  —  a  sort  of  Speaker 
who  never  spoke ;  at  least  within  my  experience  he  never 
unbosomed  himself  of  anything  but  a  portentous  shirt  frill. 
According  to  the  usual  order  of  the  entertainment,  there  was 
—  first,  Tea  and  Small  Talk ;  secondly,  an  original  Essay, 
which  should  have  been  followed,  thirdly,  by  a  Discussion,  or 
Great  Talk ;  but  nine  times  in  ten,  it  chanced,  or  rather 
mumchanced,  that,  between  those  who  did  not  know  what  to 
think,  and  others,  who  did  not  know  how  to  deliver  what  they 
thought,  there  ensued  a  dead  silence,  so  "  very  dead  indeed," 
as  Apollo  Belvi  says,  that  it  seemed  buried  into  the  bargain. 
To  make  this  awkward  pause  more  awkward,  some  misgiving 
voice,  between  a  whisper  and  a  croak,  would  stammer  out 
some  allusion  to  a  Quaker's  Meeting,  answered  from  right  to 
left  by  a  running  titter,  the  speaker  having  innocently,  or 
perhaps  wilfully  forgotten,  that  one  or  two  friends  in  drab 
coats,  and  as  many  in  slate-colored  gowns,  were  sitting,  thumb- 
twiddling,  in  the  circle.  Not  that  the  Friends  contented 
themselves  with  playing  dumby  at  our  discussions.  They 
often  spoke,  and  very  characteristically,  to  the  matter  in  hand. 
For  instance,  their  favorite  doctrine  of  non-resistance  was 
once  pushed  —  if  Quakers  ever  push  —  a  little  "  beyond 
beyond."  By  way  of  clencher,  one  fair,  meek,  sleek  Quak- 
eress, in  dove-color,  gravely  told  a  melodramatical  story  of  a 
conscientious  Friend,  who,  rather  than  lift  even  his  little  finger 
against  a  Foe,  passively,  yea,  lamb-like,  suffered  himself  to  be 
butchered  in  bed  by  an  assassin,  and  died  consistently,  as  he 
thought,  with  Fox  principles,  very  like  a  Goose.  As  regards 
my  own  share  in  the  Essays  and  Arguments,  it  misgives  me 
that  they  no  more  satisfied  our  decidedly  serious  members, 


390  HOOD'S    OWN. 

than  they  now  propitiate  Mr.  Rae  Wilson.  At  least,  one  So- 
ciety night,  in  escorting  a  female  Fellow  towards  her  home, 
she  suddenly  stopped  me,  taking  advantage  perhaps  of  the 
awful  locality,  and  its  associations,  just  in  front  of  our  chief 
criminal  prison,  and  looking  earnestly  in  my  face,  by  the  light 
of  a  Newgate  lamp,  inquired  somewhat  abruptly,  "  Mr.  Hood  ! 
are  you  not  an  Infidel  ?  "  * 

In  the  mean  time,  whilst  thus  playing  at  Literature,  an 
event  was  ripening  which  was  to  introduce  me  to  Authorship 
in  earnest,  and  make  the  Muse,  with  whom  I  had  only  flirted, 
my  companion  for  life.  It  had  often  occurred  to  me  that  a 
striking,  romantical,  necromantical,  metaphysical,  melodramat- 
ical,  Germanish  story,  might  be  composed,  the  interest  of  which 
should  turn  on  the  mysterious  influence  of  the  fate  of  A  over 
the  destiny  of  B,  the  said  parties  having  no  more  natural  or 
apparent  connection  with  each  other  than  Tenterden  Steeple 
and  the  Goodwin  Sands.  An  instance  of  this  occult  contin- 
gency occurred  in  my  own  case ;  for  I  did  not  even  know  by 
sight  the  unfortunate  gentleman  on  whose  untimely  exit 
depended  my  entrance  on  the  literary  stage.  In  the  begin- 
ning of  the  year  1821,  a  memorable  duel,  originating  in  a 
pen-and-ink  quarrel,  took  place  at  Chalk  Farm,  and  termi- 
nated in  the  death  of  Mr.  John  Scott,  the  able  Editor  of  the 
London  Magazine.f  The  melancholy  result  excited  great 
interest,  in  which  I  fully  participated,  little  dreaming  that  his 
catastrophe  involved  any  consequences  of  importance  to  my- 
self. But  on  the  loss  of  its  conductor,  the  Periodical  passed 
into  other  hands.  The  new  Proprietors  were  my  friends  ; 
they  sent  for  me,  and  after  some  preliminaries,  I  was  duly 
installed  as  a  sort  of  sub-Editor  of  the  London  Magazine. 

It  would  be  affectation  to  say  that  engraving  was  resigned 
with  regret.  There  is  always  something  mechanical  about  the 
art  —  moreover,  it  is  as  unwholesome  as  wearisome  to  sit 
copper-fastened  to  a  board,  with  a  cantle  scooped  out  to  ac- 
commodate your  stomach,  if  you  have  one,  painfully  ruling, 
ruling,  and  still  ruling  lines  straight  or  crooked,  by  the  long 
hundred    to   the    sauare    inch,  at    the   doubly-hazardous  risk 

*  In  justice  to  the  Society,  it  ought  to  he  recorded,  that  two  of  its  mem- 
bers have  since  distinguished  themselves  in  print:  the  authoress  of  "  London 
in  the  Olden  Time,''  and  the  author  of  a  "  History  of  Moral  Science." 

I  Sec  Appendix,  (A.) 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  391 

which  Wordsworth  so  deprecates,  of  "  growing  double."  So 
farewell  Woollett !  Strange  !  Bartolozzi !  I  have  said,  my 
vanity  did  not  rashly  plunge  me  into  authorship  ;  but  no 
sooner  was  there  a  legitimate  opening  than  I  jumped  at  it, 
a  la  Grimaldi,  headforemost,  and  was  speedily  behind  the 
scenes. 

To  judge  by  my  zeal  and  delight  in  my  new  pursuit,  the 
bowl  had  at  last  found  its  natural  bias.*  Xot  content  with 
taking  articles,  like  candidates  for  holy  orders  —  with  reject- 
ing articles  like  the  Belgians  —  I  dreamt  articles,  thought 
articles,  wrote  articles,  which  were  all  inserted  by  the  editor, 
of  course  with  the  concurrence  of  his  deputy.  The  more  irk- 
some parts  of  authorship,  such  as  the  correction  of  the  press, 
were  to  me  labors  of  love.  I  received  a  revise  from  Mr. 
Baldwin's  Mr.  Parker,  as  if  it  had  been  a  proof  of  his  regard  ; 
forgave  liim  all  his  slips,  and  really  thought  that  printers' 
devils  were  not  so  black  as  they  are  painted.  But  my  top- 
gallant glory  was  in  "  our  Contributors ! "  How  I  used  to 
look  forward  to  Elia !  and  backward  for  Hazlitt,  and  all 
round  for  Edward  Herbert,  and  how  I  used  to  look  up  to 
Allan  Cunningham !  for  at  that  time  the  London  had  a  goodly 
list  of  writers  —  a  rare  company.  It  is  now  defunct,  and 
perhaps  no  ex-periodical  might  so  appropriately  be  apostro- 
phized with  the  Irish  funereal  question  — "  Arrah,  honey, 
why  did  you  die  ?  "  Had  you  not  an  editor,  and  elegant  prose 
writers,  and  beautiful  poets,  and  broths  of  boys  for  criticism 
and  classics,  and  wits  and  humorists,  —  Elia,  Cary,  Procter, 
Cunningham.  Bowring,  Barton,  Hazlitt,  Elton,  Hartley  Cole- 
ridge, Talfourd,  Soane,  Horace  Smith,  Reynolds,  Poole,  Clare, 
and  Thomas  Benyon,  with  a  power  besides  ?  f  Had  n't  you 
Lions'  Heads  with  Traditional  Tales  ?  Had  n't  you  an  Opium 
Eater,  and  a  Dwarf',  and  a  Giant,  and  a  Learned  Lamb,  and 

*  There  was  a  dash  of  ink  in  my  blood.  My  father  wrote  two  novels, 
and  my  brother  was  decidedly  of  a  'literary  turn,  to  the  great  disquietude 
for  a  time  of  an  anxious  parent.  She  suspected  him,  on  the  strength  of 
several  amatory  poems  of  a  very  desponding  cast,  of  being  the  victim  of  a 
hopeless  attachment;  so  he  was  caught,  closeted,  and  catechised,  and  after 
a  deal  of  delicate  and  tender  sounding,  he  confessed,  not  with  the  anticipated 
sighs  and  tears,  but  a  very  unexpected  biirst  of  laughter,  that  he  had  been 
guilty  of  translating  some  fragments  of  Petrarch. 

t  In  this  list,  the  name  of  one  of  the  most  frequent  and  vivacious  con- 
tributors to  the  London  is  omitted.  For  the  story  of  this  writer,  which 
explains  the  omission,  see  Appendix,  (B). 


392  HOOD'S   OWN. 

a  Green  Man  ?  Had  you  not  a  regular  Drama,  and  a  Musi- 
cal Report,  and  a  Report  of  Agriculture,  and  an  Obituary 
and  a  Price  Current,  and  a  current  price  of  only  half-a-crown  ? 
Arrah,  why  did  you  die  ?  Why,  somehow  the  contributors 
fell  away  —  the  concern  went  into  other  hands  —  worst  of  all, 
a  new  editor  tried  to  put  the  Belles  Lettres  in  Utilitarian 
envelopes  ;  whereupon,  the  circulation  of  the  Miscellany,  like 
that  of  poor  Le  Fevre,  got  slower,  slower,  slower,  —  and 
slower  still  —  and  then  stopped  forever  !  It  was  a  sorry 
scattering  of  those  old  Londoners !  Some  went  out  of  the 
country :  one  (Clare)  went  into  it.  Lamb  retreated  to  Cole- 
brooke.  Mr.  Cary  presented  himself  to  the  British  Museum. 
Reynolds  and  Barry  took  to  engrossing  when  they  should  pen 
a  stanza,  and  Thomas  Benyon  gave  up  literature. 

It  is  with  mingled  feelings  of  pride,  pleasure,  and  pain, 
that  I  revert  to  those  old  times,  when  the  writers  I  had  long 
known  and  admired  in  spirit  were  present  to  me  in  the  flesh 
—  when  I  had  the  delight  of  listening  to  their  wit  and  wisdom 
from  their  own  lips,  of  gazing  on  their  faces,  and  grasping 
their  right  hands.  Familiar  figures  rise  before  me,  familiar 
voices  ring  in  my  ears,  and  alas  !  amongst  them  are  shapes 
that  I  must  never  see,  sounds  that  I  can  never  hear,  again. 
Before  my  departure  from  England,  I  was  one  of  the  few 
who  saw  the  grave  close  over  the  remains  of  one  whom  to 
know  as  a  friend  was  to  love  as  a  relation.  Never  did  a  bet- 
ter soul  go  to  a  better  world !  Never  perhaps  (giving  the  lie 
direct  to  the  common  imputation  of  envy,  malice,  and  hatred, 
amongst  the  brotherhood),  never  did  an  author  descend  —  to 
quote  his  favorite  Sir  T.  Browne  —  into  "  the  land  of  the 
mole  and  the  pismire  "  so  hung  with  golden  opinions,  and 
honored  and  regretted  with  such  sincere  eulogies  and  elegies, 
by  his  contemporaries.  To  him,  the  first  of  these,  my  reminis- 
cences, is  eminently  due,  for  I  lost  in  him  not  only  a  dear 
and  kind  friend,  but  an  invaluable  critic;  one  whom,  were 
such  literary  adoptions  in  modern  use,  I  might  well  name,  as 
Cotton  called  AValton,  my  "  father."  To  borrow  the  earnest 
language  of  old  Jean  Bertaut,  as  Englished  by  Mr.  Cary  — 

"  Thou,  chiefly,  noble  spirit,  for  whose  loss 
Just  grief  and  mourning  all  our  hearts  engross, 
Who  seeing  me  devoted  to  the  Nine, 
Didst  hope  some  fruitage  from  those  buds  of  mine; 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  393 

Thou  didst  excite  me  after  thee  t'  ascend 
The  Muses'  sacred  hill;  nor  only  lend 
Example,  but  inspirit  me  to  reach 
The  far-off  summit  by  thy  friendly  speech. 

May  gracious  Heaven,  0  honor  of  our  age ! 
Make  the  conclusion  answer  thy  presage, 
Nor  let  it  only  for  vain  fortune  stand. 
That  I  have  seen  thy  visage —  touched  thy  hand!  " 

I  was  sitting  one  morning  beside  our  Editor,  busily  correct- 
ing proofs,  when  a  visitor  was  announced,  whose  name,  grum- 
bled by  a  low  ventriloquial  voice,  like  Tom  Pipes  calling  from 
the  hold  through  the  hatchway,  did  not  resound  distinctly  on 
my  tympanum.  However,  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  a 
stranger,  —  a  figure  remarkable  at  a  glance,  with  a  fine  head, 
on  a  small  spare  body,  supported  by  two  almost  immaterial 
legs.  Tie  was  clothed  in  sables,  of  a  by-gone  fashion,  but 
there  was  something  wanting,  or  something  present  about  him, 
that  certified  he  was  neither  a  divine,  nor  a  physician,  nor 
a  schoolma-ter :  from  a  certain  neatness  and  sobriety  in  his 
dre>s,  coupled  with  his  sedate  bearing,  he  might  have  been 
taken,  but  that  such  a  costume  would  be  anomalous,  for  a  Quaker 
in  black.  He  looked  still  more  like  (what  he  really  was)  a 
literary  Modern  Antique,  a  New  Old  Author,  a  living  Anach- 
ronism, contemporary  at  once  with  Burton  the  Elder  and 
Colman  the  Younger.  Meanwhile  he  advanced  with  rather 
a  peculiar  gait,  his  walk  was  plantigrade,  and  with  a  cheerful 
u  How  d'ye,"  and  one  of  the  blandest,  sweetest  smiles  that 
ever  brightened  a  manly  countenance,  held  out  two  fingers  to 
the  Editor.  The  two  gentlemen  in  black  soon  fell  into  dis- 
course ;  and  whilst  they  conferred,  the  Lavater  principle 
within  me  set  to  work  upon  the  interesting  specimen  thus 
presented  to  its  speculations.  It  was  a  striking  intellectual 
face,  full  of  wiry  lines,  physiognomical  quips  and  cranks,  that 
gave  it  great  character.  There  was  much  earnestness  about 
the  brows,  and  a  deal  of  speculation  in  the  eyes,  which  were 
brown  and  bright,  and  "  quick  in  turning  ; "  the  nose,  a  decided 
one,  though  of  no  established  order  -,  and  there  was  a  hand- 
some smartness  about  the  mouth.  Altogether  it  was  no  com- 
mon face  —  none  of  those  willow-pattern  ones,  which  Nature 
turns  out  by  thousands  at  her  potteries ;  —  but  more  like  a 
chance  specimen  of  the  Chinese  ware,  one  to  the  set  —  unique, 


394  HOOD'S  OWN. 

antique,  quaint.  No  one  who  had  once  seen  it  could  pretend 
not  to  know  it  again.  It  was  no  face  to  lend  its  countenance 
to  any  confusion  of  persons  in  a  Comedy  of  Errors.  You 
might  have  sworn  to  it  piecemeal,  —  a  separate  affidavit  for 
every  feature.  In  short,  his  face  was  as  original  as  his  figure  ; 
his  figure  as  his  character ;  his  character  as  his  writings ;  his 
writings  the  most  original  of  the  age.  After  the  literary 
business  had  been  settled,  the  Editor  invited  his  contributor  to 
dinner,  adding  "  we  shall  have  a  hare  —  " 

"  And  —  and  —  and  —  and  many  Friends !  " 

The  hesitation  in  the  speech,  and  the  readiness  of  the  illu- 
sion, were  alike  characteristic  of  the  individual,  whom  his 
familiars  will  perchance  have  recognized  already  as  the  de- 
lightful Essayist,  the  capital  Critic,  the  pleasant  Wit  and 
Humorist,  the  delicate-minded  and  large-hearted  Charles 
Lamb  !  He  was  shy  like  myself  with  strangers,  so  that  despite 
my  yearnings,  our  first  meeting  scarcely  amounted  to  an  in- 
troduction. We  were  both  at  dinner,  amongst  the  hare's 
many  friends,  but  our  acquaintance  got  no  farther,  in  spite  of 
a  desperate  attempt  on  my  part  to  attract  his  notice.  His 
complaint  of  the  Decay  of  Beggars  presented  another  chance  : 
I  wrote  on  coarse  paper,  and  in  ragged  English,  a  letter  of 
thanks  to  him  as  if  from  one  of  his  mendicant  clients,  but  it 
produced  no  effect.  I  had  given  up  all  hopes,  when  one  night, 
sitting  sick  and  sad,  in  my  bed-room,  racked  with  the  rheuma- 
tism, the  door  was  suddenly  opened,  the  well-known  quaint 
figure  in  black  walked  in  without  any  formality,  and  with  a 
cheerful  "  Well,  boy,  how  are  you  ?  "  and  the  bland,  sweet 
smile,  extended  the  two  fingers.  They  were  eagerly  clutched 
of  course,  and  from  that  hour  we  were  firm  friends. 

Thus  characteristically  commenced  my  intimacy  writh  C. 
Lamb.  He  had  recently  become  my  neighbor,  and  in  a  few 
days  called  again,  to  ask  me  to  tea,  "  to  meet  Wordsworth." 
In  spite  of  any  idle  jests  to  the  contrary,  the  name  had  a  spell 
in  it  that  drew  me  to  Colebrooke  Cottage*  with  more  alacri- 

*  A  cottage  of  Ungentility,  for  it  had  neither  double  coach-house  nor 
wings.  Like  its  tenant,  it  stood  alone.  He  said,  glancing  at  the  Pater- 
noster one,  that  he  did  not  like  "  the  Row."  There  was  a  bit  of  a  garden, 
in  which,  being  as  he  professed,  "  more  fond  of  Men  Sects  than  of  Insects." 
he  made  probably  his  first  and  last  observation  in  Entomology.  He  had 
been  watching  a*spider  on  a  gooseberry -bush,  entrapping  a  fly.     ''Good 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  395 

ty*  than  consisted  with  prudence,  stiff  joints,  and  a  North  wind. 
But  I  was  willing  to  run,  at  least  hobble,  some  risk,  to  be  of  a 
party  in  a  parlor  with  the  Author  of  Laodamia  and  Hartleap 
Well.  As  for  his  Betty  Foy-bles,  he  is  not  the  first  man  by 
many  who  has  met  with  a  simple  fracture  through  riding  his 
theory -hack  so  far  and  so  fast,  that  it  broke  down  with  him. 
If  he  has  now  and  then  put  on  a  nightcap,  so  have  his  own 
next-door  mountains.  If  he  has  babbled,  sometimes,  like  an 
infant  of  two  years  old  ;  he  has  also  thought,  and  felt,  and 
spoken,  the  beautiful  fancies,  and  tender  affections,  and  artless 
language,  of  the  children  who  can  say  "  We  are  seven."  Along 
with  food  for  babes,  he  has  furnished  strong  meat  for  men. 
So  I  put  on  my  great-coat,  and  in  a  few  minutes  found  myself, 
for  the  first  time,  at  a  door,  that  opened  to  me  as  frankly  as  its 
master's  heart;  for,  without  any  preliminaries  of  hall,  pas- 
sage, or  parlor,  one  single  step  across  the  threshold  brought 
me  into  the  sitting-room,  and  in  sight  of  the  domestic  hearth. 
The  room  looked  brown  with  "  old  bokes,"  and  beside  the  fire 
sat  Wordsworth,  and  his  sister,  the  hospitable  Elia,  and  the 
excellent  Bridget.  As  for  the  bard  of  Rvdal,  his  outward 
man  did  not,  perhaps,  disappoint  one  ;  but  the  palaver,  as  the 
Indians  say,  fell  short  of  my  anticipations.  Perhaps  my 
memory  is  in  fault ;  't  was  many  years  ago,  and,  unlike  the 
biographer  of  Johnson,  I  have  never  made  Bozziness  my 
business.  However,  excepting  a  discussion  on  the  value  of 
the  promissory-notes  issued  by  our  younger  poets,  wherein 
Wordsworth  named  Shelley,  and  Lamb  took  John  Keats  for 
choice,  there  was  nothing  of  literary  interest  brought  upon 
the  carpet.  But  a  book  man  cannot  always  be  bookish.  A 
poet,  even  a  Rvdal  one,  must  be  glad  at  times  to  descend  from 
Saddleback,  and  feel  his  legs.  He  cannot,  like  a  Girl  in  the 
Fairy  Tale,  be  always  talking  diamonds  and  pearls.  It  is  a 
"  Vulgar  Error "  to  suppose  that  an  author  must  be  always 

God,"  he  said,  "  I  never  ?f\^v  such  a  thing!  Directly  he  was  caught  in  her 
fatal  spinning,  she  darted  down  upon  him,  and  in  a  minute  turned  him  out, 
completely  lapped  in  a  shroud!  It  reminded  me  of  the  Fatal  Sisters  in 
Gray." 

*  A  sort  of  rheumatic  celerity,  of  which  Sir  W.  Scott's  favorite  drama- 
tizer  seemed  to  have  a  very  accurate  notion.  Those  who  remember  ';  poor 
Terry's "  deliberate  delivery  will  be  able  to  account  for  the  shout  of 
laughter  which  once  rang  throughout  the  Adelphi  green-room,  at  his  em- 
phatic manner  of  giving,  from  a  manuscript  play,  the  stage  direction  of 
"  Enter ,  with— a— iack— ri— ty !  " 


396  HOOD'S   OWN. 

authoring,  even  with  his  feet  on  the  fender.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  not  an  uncommon  impression,  that  a  Writer  sonnetizes 
his  wife,  sings  odes  to  his  children,  talks  essays  and  epigrams 
to  his  friends,  and  reviews  his  servants.  It  was  in  something 
of  this  spirit  that  an  official  gentleman  to  whom  I  mentioned 
the  pleasant  literary  meetings  at  Lamb's,  associated  them  in- 
stantly with  his  parochial  mutual  instruction  evening  schools, 
and  remarked,  "  Yes,  yes,  all  very  proper  and  praiseworthy  — 
of  course,  you  go  there  to  improve  your  minds." 

And  very  pleasant  and  improving,  though  not  of  set  pur- 
pose, to  both  mind  and  heart,  were  those  extempore  assemblies 
at  Colebrooke  Cottage.  It  was  wholesome  for  the  soul  but 
to  breathe  its  atmosphere.  It  was  a  House  of  Call  for  All 
Denominations.  Sides  were  lost  in  that  circle,  Men  of  all 
parties  postponed  their  partisanship,  and  met  as  on  a  neutral 
ground.  There  were  but  two  persons,  whom  L.  avowedly  did 
not  wish  to  encounter  beneath  his  roof,  and  those  two,  merely 
on  account  of  private  and  family  differences.  For  the  rest, 
they  left  all  their  hostilities  at  the  door,  with  their  sticks. 
This  forbearance  was  due  to  the  truly  tolerant  spirit  of  the 
Host,  which  influenced  all  within  its  sphere.  Lamb,  whilst 
he  willingly  lent  a  crutch  to  halting  Humility,  took  delight  in 
tripping  up  the  stilts  of  Pretension.  Anybody  might  trot 
out  his  Hobby;  but  he  allowed  nobody  to  ride  the  High 
Horse.  If  it  was  a  High  German  one  like  those  ridden  by 
the  Devil  and  Doctor  Faustus,  he  would  chant 

"  Geuty  Geuty 
Is  a  great  Beauty," 

till  the  rider  moderated  his  gallop.  He  hated  anything  like 
Cock-of-the-Walk-ism  ;  and  set  his  face  and  his  wit  against  all 
Ultraism,  Transcendentalism,  Sentimentalism,  Conventional 
Mannerism,  and  above  all,  Separatism.  In  opposition  to  the 
Exclusives,  he  was  emphatically  an  Inclusive. 

As  he  once  owned  to  me,  he  was  fond  of  antagonizing. 
Indeed  in  the  sketch  of  himself,  prefacing  the  Last  Essays  of 
Elia  —  a  sketch  for  its  truth  to  have  delighted  Mason  the 
Self-Knowledge  man  —  he  says,  "with  the  Religionist  I  pass 
for  a  Free-thinker,  while  the  other  faction  set  me  down  for  a 
Bigot."  In  fact,  no  politician  ever  labored  more  to  preserve 
the  Balance  of  Power  in  Europe,  than  he  did  to  correct  any 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  397 

temporary  preponderances.  He  was  always  trimming  in  the 
nautical,  not  in  the  political,  sense.  Thus  in  his  "  magnani- 
mous letter,"  as  Hazlitt  called  it,  to  High  Church  Southey, 
he  professed  himself  a  Unitarian.*  With  a  Catholic  he  would 
probably  have  called  himself  a  Jew ;  as  amongst  Quakers,  by 
way  of  a  set-off  against  their  own  formality,  he  would  indulge 
in  a  little  extra  levity.  I  well  remember  his  chuckling  at 
having  spirited  on  his  correspondent  Bernard  Barton,  to  com- 
mit some  little  enormities,  such  as  addressing  him  as  C.  Lamb, 
Esquire. 

My  visits  at  Lamb's  were  shortly  interrupted  by  a  sojourn 
to  unrheumatize  myself  at  Hastings  ;  but  in  default  of  other 
intercourse  I  received  a  letter  in  a  well-known  hand,  quaint  as 
the  sentences  it  conveyed. 

"  And  what  dost  thou  at  the  Priory  ?  Cucullus  non  facit  Mo- 
nachum.  English  me  that,  and  challenge  old  Lignum  Janua  to 
make  it  better. 

My  old  Xew  River  has  presented  no  extraordinary  novelties 
lately.  But  there  Hope  sits  day  after  day  speculating  upon  tradi- 
tionary gudgeons.  I  think  she  has  taken  the  fisheries.  I  now 
know  the  reason  why  our  forefathers  were  denominated  East  and 
West  Angles.  Yet  is  there  no  lack  of  spawn,  for  I  wash  my  hands 
in  fishets  that  come  through  the  pump  every  morning,  thick  as  mote- 
lings —  little  things  that  perish  untimely,  and  never  taste  the 
brook.  You  do  not  tell  me  of  those  romantic  Land  Bays  that  be 
as  thou  goest  to  Lover's  Seat,  neither  of  that  little  Churehling  in 
the  midst  of  a  wood,  (in  the  opposite  direction  nine  furlongs  from 
the  town,)  that  seems  dropped  by  the  Angel  that  was  tired  of  car- 
rying two  packages ;  marry,  with  the  other  he  made  shift  to  pick 
his  flight  to  Loretto.  Inquire  out  and  see  my  little  Protestant  Lo- 
retto.  It  stands  apart  from  trace  of  human  habitation,  vet  hath  it 
pulpit,  reading-desk,  and  trim  font  of  massiest  marble,  as  if  Robin- 
son Crusoe  had  reared  it  to  soothe  himself  with  old  church-going 
images.  I  forget  its  Xtian  name,  and  what  She  Saint  was  its  gos- 
sip. 

You  should  also  go  to  Xo.  13  Standgate  Street,  a  Baker,  who 
has  the  finest  collection  of  marine  monsters  in  ten  sea  counties; 
sea-dragons,  polypi,  mer-people,  most  fantastic.  You  have  only  to 
name  the  old  Gentleman  in  black  (not  the  Devil),  that  lodged  with 

*  As  regards  his  Unitarianism,  it  strikes  me  as  more  probable  that  he 
was  Avhat  the  unco  guid  people  call  "Nothing  at  all."'  which  means  that 
he  was  everything  but  a  Bigot.  As  he  was  in  spirit  an  Old  Author,  so  was 
he  in  faith  an  Ancient  Christian,  too  ancient  to  belong  to  any  of  the  modem 
sub-hubbub-divisions  of — Ists,  —  Arians,  and  —  Inians. 


398  HOOD'S   OWN. 

him  a  week  (he  '11  remember)  last  July,  and  he  will  show  courtesy. 
He  is  by  far  the  foremost  of  the  Savans.  His  wife  is  the  funniest 
thwarting  little  animal !  They  are  decidedly  the  Lions  of  green 
Hastings.  Well,  I  have  made  an  end  of  my  say  ;  —  my  epistolary 
time  is  gone  by  when  I  could  have  scribbled  as  long  (I  will  not  say 
as  agreeable)  as  thine  was  to  both  of  us.  I  am  dwindled  to  notes 
and  letterets.  But  in  good  earnest  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  hail 
thy  return  to  the  waters  of  old  Sir  Hugh.  There  is  nothing  like 
inland  murmurs,  fresh  ripples,  and  our  native  minnows. 

He  sang  in  meads  how  sweet  the  brooklets  ran, 
To  the  rough  ocean  and  red  restless  sands. 

I  design  to  give  up  smoking ;  but  I  have  not  yet  fixed  upon  the 
equivalent  vice.  I  must  have  quid  pro  quo,  or  quo  pro  quid,  as 
Tom  Woodgate  would  correct  me.     My  service  to  him. 

"C.  L." 

The  letter  came  to  hand  too  late  for  me  to  hunt  the 
"  Lions  ; "  but  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  the  same  Cinque 
Port  with  my  wife,  though  we  verified  the  little  Loretto,  we 
could  not  find  the  Baker,  or  even  his  man,  howbeit  we  tried 
at  every  shop  that  had  the  least  sign  of  bakery  or  cakery  in 
its  window.  The  whole  was  a  batch  of  fancy  bread  ;  one 
of  those  fictions  which  the  writer  was  apt  to  pass  off  upon  his 
friends. 

The  evening  meetings  at  Colebrooke  Cottage  —  where 
somebody,  who  was  somebody,  or  a  literary  friend,  was  sure  to 
drop  in  —  were  the  more  grateful  to  me,  as  the  London  Mag- 
azine was  now  in  a  rapid  decline  ;  some  of  its  crack  contribu- 
tors had  left  it  off,  and  the  gatherings  of  the  clan  to  eat,  drink, 
and  be  merry  were  few  and  far  between.  There  was  indeed 
one  Venison  Feast  whereat,  I  have  heard,  the  scent  lay  more 
than  breast  high,  and  the  sport  was  of  as  rich  a  quality  ;  but 
it  was  my  chance  to  be  absent  from  the  pack.  At  former 
dinners,  however,  I  had  been  a  guest,  and  a  sketch  of  one  of 
them  may  serve  to  introduce  some  of  the  principal  characters 
of  our  "  London  in  the  Olden  Time." 

On  the  right  hand  then  of  the  Editor  sits  Elia,  of  the 
pleasant  smile,  and  the  quick  eyes  —  Procter  said  of  them 
that  "  they  looked  as  if  they  could  pick  up  pins  and  needles  " 
—  and  a  wit  as  quick  as  his  eyes,  and  sure,  as  Hazlitt  de- 
scribed, to  stammer  out  the  best  pun  and  the  best  remark  in 
the  course  of  the  evening.  Next  to  him,  shining  verdantly 
out  from  the  grave-colored  suits  of  the  literati,  like  a  patch  of 


LITEKARY   REMINISCENCES.  399 

turnips  amidst  stubble  and  fallow,  behold  our  Jack  i'  the 
Green  —  John  Clare  !  In  his  bright,  grass-colored  coat,  and 
yellow  waistcoat  (there  are  greenish  stalks  too,  under  the 
table),  he  looks  a  very  Cowslip,  and  blooms  amongst  us  as 
Goldsmith  must  have  done  in  his  peach-blossom.  Xo  wonder 
the  doorkeeper  of  the  Soho  Bazaar,  seeing  that  very  countri- 
fied suit,  linked  arm-in-arm  with  the  Editorial  sables,  made  a 
boggle  at  admitting  them  into  his  repository,  having  seen  per- 
chance, such  a  made-up  Peasant  "  playing  at  playing "  at 
thimble-rig  about  the  Square.  No  wonder  the  gentleman's  gen- 
tleman, in  the  drab-coat  and  sealing-wax  smalls,  at  TV 's, 

was  for  cutting  off  our  Green  Man,  who  was  modestly  the 
last  in  ascending  the  stairs  as  an  interloper,  though  he  made 
amends  afterwards  by  waiting  almost  exclusively  on  the  Peas- 
ant, perfectly  convinced  that  he  was  some  eccentric  Notable 
of  the  Corinthian  order,  disguised  in  Rustic.  Little  wonder 
either,  that  in  wending  homewards  on  the  same  occasion 
through  the  Strand,  the  Peasant  and  Elia,  Sylvanus  et  Urban, 
linked  comfortably  together ;  there  arose  the  frequent  cry  of 
"  Look  at  Tom  and  Jerry  —  there  goes  Tom  and  Jerry  !  "  for 
truly,  Clare  in  his  square-cut  green  coat,  and  Lamb  in  his 
black,  were  not  a  little  suggestive  of  Hawthorn  and  Logic,  in 
the  plates  to  "  Life  in  London." 

But  to  return  to  the  table.  Elia  —  much  more  of  House 
Lamb  than  of  Grass  Lamb  —  avowedly  caring  little  or  nothing 
for  Pastoral ;  cottons,  nevertheless,  very  kindly  to  the  North- 
amptonshire Poet,  and  still  more  to  his  ale,  pledging  him  again 
and  again  as  "  Clarissimus."  and  "  Princely  Clare,"  and  some- 
times so  lustily,  as  to  make  the  latter  cast  an  anxious  glance 
into  his  tankard.  By  his  bright  happy  look,  the  Helpstone 
Visitor  is  inwardly  contrasting  the  unlettered  country  company 
of  Clod,  and  Hodge  and  Podge,  with  the  delights  of  "  Lon- 
don "  society  —  Elia,  and  Barry,  and  Herbert,  and  Mr.  Table 
Talk,  cum  multis  aliis  —  i.  e.  a  multiplicity  of  all.  But 
besides  the  tankard,  the  two  "  drouthie  neebors "  discuss 
Poetry  in  general,*  and  Montgomery's  "  Common  Lot "  in 
particular,  Lamb   insisting  on   the  beauty  of   the   tangental 

*  Talking  of  Poetry,  Lamb  told  me  one  day  that  he  had  just  met  with 
the  most  vigorous  line'he  had  ever  read.  il  Where?  "  "  Out  of  the  Cam- 
den's Head,  all  in  one  line  — 

To  One  Hundred  Pots  of  Porter    .  .        .         .£2     18." 


400  HOOD'S   OWN. 

sharp  turn  at  "  0  !  she  was  fair  !  "  thinking,  mayhap,  of  his  own 

Alice  W ,  and  Clara  swearing  "  Dal !  "  (a  clarified  d — n) 

"  Dal !  if  it  is  n't  like  a  Dead  Man  preaching  out  of  his 
coffin ! "  Anon,  the  Humorist  begins  to  banter  the  Peasant 
on  certain  "  Clare-obscurities  "  in  his  own  verses,  originating 
in  a  contempt  for  the  rules  of  Prisician,  whereupon  the  ac- 
cused, thinking  with  Burns, 

"  What  ser'es  their  grammars  ? 
They  'd  better  ta'en  up  spades  and  shools, 
Or  knappin  hammers," 

vehemently  denounces  all  Philology  as  nothing  but  a  sort  of 
man-trap  for  authors,  and  heartily  dais  Lindley  Murray  for 
"  inventing  it !  " 

It  must  have  been  at  such  a  time,  that  Hilton  conceived  his 

clever  portrait  of  C ,  when  he  was  "  C  in  alt."     He  was 

hardy,  rough,  and  clumsy  enough  to  look  truly  rustic  —  like 
an  Ingram's  rustic  chair.  There  was  a  slightness  about  his 
frame,  with  a  delicacy  of  features  and  complexion,  that  asso- 
ciated him  more  with  the  Garden  than  with  the  Field,  and 
made  him  look  the  Peasant  of  a  Ferme  Ornee.  In  this  re- 
spect he  was  as  much  beneath  the  genuine  stalwart  bronzed 
Plough-Poet,  Burns,  as  above  the  Farmer's  Boy,  whom  I 
remember  to  have  seen  in  my  childhood,  when  he  lived  in  a 
miniature  house,  near  the  Shepherd  and  Shepherdess,  now 
the  Eagle  tavern,  in  the  City  Road,  and  manufactured  JEolian 
harps,  and  kept  ducks.  The  Suffolk  Giles  had  very  little  of  the 
agricultural  in  his  appearance  ;  he  looked  infinitely  more  like 
a  handicraftsman,  town-made. 

Poor  Clare  !  —  It  would  greatly  please  me  to  hear  that  he 
was  happy  and  well,  and  thriving  ;  but  the  transplanting  of 
Peasants  and  Farmers'  Boys  from  the  natural  into  an  artifi- 
cial soil  does  not  always  conduce  to  their  happiness,  or  health, 
or  ultimate  well  doing.*  I  trust  the  true  Friends,  who,  with 
a  natural  hankering  after  poetry,  because  it  is  forbidden  them, 
have  ventured  to  pluck  and  eat  of  the  pastoral  sorts,  as  most  dal- 
lying with  the  innocence  of  nature,  —  and  who  on  that  account 
patronized  Capel  Lofft's  protege  —  I  do  trust  and  hope  they 
took  off  whole  editions  of  the  Northamptonshire  Bard.  There 
was  much  about  Clare  for  a  Quaker  to  like  ;  he  was  tender- 

*  Hood's  intimations  that  all  might  not  be  well  with  the  rural  poet  will 
be  understood  by  the  sequel  of  his  story.     See  Appendix,  (C). 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  401 

hearted,  and  averse  to  violence.  How  he  recoiled  once,  bodily 
taking  his  chair  along  with  him,  from  a  young  surgeon,  or 
surgeon's  friend,  who  let  drop,  somewhat  abruptly,  that  he 
was  just  come  "  from  seeing  a  child  skinned  !  "  —  Clare,  from 
his  look  of  horror,  evidently  thought  that  the  poor  infant,  like 
Marsyas,  had  been  flayed  alive!  He  was  both  gentle  and 
simple.  I  have  heard  that  on  his  first  visit  to  London,  his 
publishers  considerately  sent  their  porter  to  meet  him  at  the 
inn  ;  but  when  Thomas  necessarily  inquired  of  the  gentleman 
in  green,  "  Are  you  Mr.  Clare  ?  "  the  latter,  willing  to  foil  the 
traditionary  tricks  of  London  sharpers,  replied  to  the  suspicious 
query  with  "  a  positive  negative."  * 

The  Brobdignagdian  next  to  Clare,  overtopping  him  by  the 
whole  head  and  shoulders  —  a  physical  "  Colossus  of  Litera- 
ture," the  granadier  of  our  corps  —  is  Allan,  not  Allan  Ram- 
say, "  no,  nor  Barbara  Allan  neither,"  but  Allan  Cunningham, 
—  "a  credit,"  quoth  Sir  Walter  Scott  (he  might  have  said  a 
long  credit)  "  to  Caledonia."  He  is  often  called  "  honest  Al- 
lan," to  distinguish  him,  perhaps,  from  one  Allan-a-Dale,  who 
was  apt  to  mistake  his  neighbors'  goods  for  his  own  —  some- 
times, between  ourselves,  yclept  the  "  C.  of  Solway,"  in  allu- 
sion to  that  favorite  "  Allan  Water,"  the  Solway  Sea.  There 
is  something  of  the  true  moody  poetical  weather  observable  in 
the  barometer  of  his  face,  alternating  from  Variable  to  Show- 
ery, from  Stormy  to  Set  Fair.  At  times  he  looks  gloomy  and 
earnest  and  traditional  —  a  little  like  a  Covenanter  —  but  he 
suddenly  clears  up  and  laughs  a  hearty  laugh  that  lifts  him  an 
inch  or  two  from  his  chair,  for  he  rises  at  a  joke  when  he  sees 
one,  like  a  trout  at  a  fly,  and  finishes  with  a  smart  rubbing  of 
his  ample  palms.  He  has  store,  too,  of  broad  Scotch  stories, 
and  shrewd  sayings ;  and  he  writes  —  no,  he  wrote  rare  old- 
new  or  new-old  ballads.  Why  not  now  ?  Has  his  Pegasus, 
as  he  once  related  of  his  pony,  run  from  under  him  ?  Has 
the  Mermaid  of  Galloway  left  no  little  ones  ?  Is  Bonnie  Lady 
Ann  married,  or  May  Morison  dead  ?  Thou  wast  formed  for 
a  poet,  Allan,  by  nature,  and  by  stature  too,  according  to 
Pope  — 

"  To  snatch  a  grace  beyond  the  reach  of  Art." 

*  Somebody  happened  to  say  that  the  Peasant  ought  to  figure  in  the 
Percy  Anecdotes,  as  an  example  of  uncultivated  genius.  "  And  where  will 
they  stick  me,"  asked  Clare;  "  will  they  stick  me  in  the  instinct?  " 

Z 


402  HOOD'S   OWN. 

And  are  there  not  Longman,  or  Tallboys,  for  thy  Publishers  ? 
But  alas  !  we  are  fallen  on  evil  days  for  Bards  and  Barding, 
and  nine  tailors  do  more  for  a  man  than  the  Nine  Muses. 
The  only  Lay  likely  to  answer  now-a-days  would  be  an  Ode 
(with  the  proper  testimonials )  to  the  Literary  Fund  ! 

The  Reverend  personage  on  the  Editor's  right,  with  the 
studious  brow,  deep-set  eyes,  and  bald  crown,  is  the  mild  and 
modest  Cary  —  the  same  who  turned  Dante  into  Miltonic 
English  blank  verse.  He  is  sending  his  plate  towards  the 
partridges,  which  he  will  relish  and  digest  as  though  they  were 
the  Birds  of  Aristophanes.  He  has  his  eye,  too,  on  the 
French  made-dishes.*  Pity,  shame  and  pity,  such  a  Trans- 
lator found  no  better  translation  in  the  Church  !  Is  it  possi- 
ble that,  in  some  no-popery  panic,  it  was  thought  by  merely 
beino;  Dragoman  to  Purgatory  he  had  Homed  from  the  true 
faith? 

A  very  pleasant  day  we  "  Londoners  "  once  spent  at  a  Chis- 
wick  parsonage,  formerly  tenanted  by  Hogarth,  along  with 
the  hospitable  Cary,  and,  as  Elia  called  them,  his  Caryatides  !  f 
The  last  time  my  eyes  rested  on  the  Interpreter  (of  the  House 
Beautiful  as  well  as  of  the  Inferno),  he  was  on  the  Library 
steps  of  the  British  Museum.  Ere  this,  I  trust  he  hath 
reached  the  tiptop  —  nay,  hath  perhaps  attained  being  a  Lit- 
erary Worthy,  even  unto  a  Trusteeship,  and  had  to  buy,  at 
Ellis's,  a  few  yards  of  the  Blue  Ribbon  of  Literature  ! 

Proctor,  —  alias  Barry  Cornwall,  formerly  of  the  Marcian 
Colonnade,  now  of  some  prosaical  Inn  of  Court  —  the  kindly 
Proctor,  one  of  the  foremost  to  welcome  me  into  the  Brother- 
hood, with  a  too-nattering  Dedication  (another  instance  against 
the  jealousy  of  authors),  is  my  own  left-hand  file.  But  what 
he  says  shall  be  kept  as  strictly  confidential;  for  he  is  whis- 
pering it  into  my  Martineau  ear.  On  my  other  side,  when  I 
turn  that  way,  I  see  a  profile,  a  shadow  of  which  ever  con- 
fronts me  on  opening  my  writing-desk,  —  a  sketch  taken  from 
memory,  the  day  after  seeing  the  original. %     In  opposition  to 

*  I  once  cut  out  from  a  country  newspaper  what  seemed  to  me  a  very 
good  old  English  poem.  It  proved  to  be  a  naturalization,  by  Cary,  of  a 
French  Soul:  to  April,  by  Remy  Belleau. 

t  The  father  expressing  an  uncertainty  to  what  profession  he  should  de- 
vote a  younger  Cary,  Lamb  said,  "Make  him  an  Apothe-Cary." 

|  Unable  to  make  anything  "  like  a  likeness  "  of  a  sitter  for  the  purpose, 
I  have  a  sort  of  Irish  faculty  for  taking  faces  behind  their  backs.     But  my 


LITEBARY  REMINISCENCES.  403 

the  "  extra  man's  size  "  of  Cunningham,  the  party  in  question 
looks  almost  boyish,  partly  from  being  in  bulk  somewhat  be- 
neath Monsieur  Quetelet's  "  Average  Man,"  but  still  more  so 
from  a  peculiar  delicacy  of  complexion  and  smallness  of  fea- 
tures, which  look  all  the  smaller  from  his  wearing,  in  compli- 
ment, probably,  to  the  Sampsons  of  Teutonic  Literature,  his 
locks  unshorn.     Nevertheless  whoever  looks  again, 

Sees  more  than  marks  the  crowd  of  common  men. 

There  is  speculation  in  the  eyes,  a  curl  of  the  lip,  and  a  gen- 
eral character  in  the  outline,  that  reminds  one  of  some  por- 
traits of  Voltaire.  And  a  Philosopher  he  is  every  inch.  He 
looks,  thinks,  writes,  talks  and  walks,  eats  and  drinks,  and  no 
doubt  sleeps  philosophically  —  i.  e.  deliberately.  There  is 
nothing  abrupt  about  his  motions,  —  he  goes  and  comes  calmly 
and  quietly  —  like  the  phantom  in  Hamlet,  he  is  here  —  he  is 
there  —  he  is  gone  !  So  it  is  with  his  discourse.  He  speaks 
slowly,  clearly,  and  with  very  marked  emphasis,  —  the  tide  of 
talk  flows  like  Denham's  river,  "  strong  without  rage,  without 
o'erflowing,  full."  When  it  was  my  frequent  and  agreeable 
duty  to  call  on  Mr.  De  Quincey  (being  an  uncommon  name  to 
remember,  the  servant  associated  it,  on  the  Memoria  Technica 
principle,  with  a  sore  throat,  and  always  pronounced  it  Quinsy), 
and  I  have  found  him  at  home,  quite  at  home,  in  the  midst  of 
a  German  Ocean  of  Literature,  in  a  storm,  —  flooding  all  the 
floor,  the  table  and  the  chairs,  —  billows  of  books  tossing, 
tumbling,  surging  open,  —  on  such  occasions  I  have  willingly 
listened  by  the  hour  whilst  the  Philosopher,  standing,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  one  side  of  the  room,  seemed  to  be  less  speaking 
than  reading  from  a  "handwriting  on  the  wall."  Xow  and 
then  he  would  diverge,  for  a  Scotch  mile  or  two,  to  the  right 
or  left,  till  I  was  tempted  to  inquire  with  Peregrine  in  John 
Bull  (Colman's,  not  Hook's),  "  Do  you  never  deviate  ?  "  —  but 
he  always  came  safely  back  to  the  point  where  he  had  left,  not 
lost  the  scent,  and  thence  hunted  his  topic  to  the  end.  But 
look !  —  we  are  in  the  small  hours,  and  a  change  comes  o'er 
the  spirit  of  that  "old  familiar  face."     A  faint  hectic   tint 

pencil  has  not  been  guilty  of  half  the  personalities  attributed  to  it;  amongst 
others,  "  a  formidable  likeness  of  a  Lombard-Street  Banker."  Besides  that 
one  would  rather  draw  on  a  Banker  than  at  him,  I  have  never  seen  the  Gen- 
tleman alluded  to,  or  even  a  portrait  of  him  in  my  life. 


404  HOOD'S  OWN. 

leaves  the  cheek,  the  eyes  are  a  degree  dimmer,  and  each  is 
surrounded  by  a  growing  shadow  —  signs  of  the  waning  in- 
fluence of  that  Potent  Drug  whose  stupendous  Pleasures  and 
enormous  Pains  have  been  so  eloquently  described  by  the 
English  Opium-Eater.  Marry,  I  have  one  of  his  Confessions 
with  his  own  name  and  mark  to  it  -:  —  an  apology  for  a  certain 
stain  on  his  MS.,  the  said  stain  being  a  large  purplish  ring. 
"  Within  that  circle  none  durst  drink  but  he,"  —  in  fact  the 
impression,  colored,  of  "  a  tumbler  of  laudanum  negus,  warm, 
without  sugar."  * 

That  smart,  active  person  opposite  with  a  game-cock  looking 
head,  and  the  hair  combed  smooth,  fighter-fashion,  over  his 
forehead  —  with  one  finger  hooked  round  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne, not  that  he  requires  it  to  inspirit  him,  for  his  wit  bub- 
bles up  of  itself — is  our  Edward  Herbert,  the  Author  of  that 
true  piece  of  Biography,  the  Life  of  Peter  Corcoran.  He  is 
"good  with  both  hands,"  like  that  Nonpareil  Randall,  at  a 
comic  verse  or  a  serious  stanza  —  smart  at  a  repartee  —  sharp 
at  a  retort,  —  and  not  averse  to  a  bit  of  mischief.  'T  was  he 
who  gave  the  runaway  ring  at  Wordsworth's  Peter  Bell.f 
Generally,  his  jests,  set  off  by  a  happy  manner,  are  only  tickle- 
some,  but  now  and  then  they  are  sharp-flavored,  —  like  the 
sharpness  of  the  pine-apple.  Would  I  could  give  a  sample. 
Alas  !  what  a  pity  it  is  that  so  many  good  things  uttered  by 
Poets,  and  Wits,  and  Humorists,  at  chance  times  —  and  they 
are  always  the  best  and  brightest,  like  sparks  struck  out  by 
Pegasus's  own  hoof,  in  a  curvet  amongst  the  flints  —  should  be 
daily  and  hourly  lost  to  the  world  for  want  of  a  recorder  ! 
But  in  this  Century  of  Inventions,  when  a  self-acting  drawing- 
paper  has  been  discovered  for  copying  visible  objects,  who 
knows  but  that  a  future  Niepce,  or  Daguerre,  or  Herschel,  or 
Fox  Talbot,  may  find  out  some  sort  of  Boswellish  writing- 
paper  to  repeat  whatever  it  hears  ! 

*  On  a  visit  to  Norfolk,  I  was  much  surprised  to  find  that  Opium,  or 
Opie,  as  it  was  vulgarly  called,  was  quite  in  common  use  in  the  form  of 
pills  amongst  the  lower  classes,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Fens.  It  is  not  probable 
that  persons  in  such  a  rank  of  life  had  read  the  Confessions,  —  or,  might  not 
one  suspect  that,  as  Dennis  Brulgruddery  was  driven  to  drink  by  the  stale, 
flat,  and  unprofitable  prospects  of  Muckslush  Heath,  so  the  Fen-People  in 
the  dreary,  foggy,  cloggy,  boggy  wastes  of  Cambridge  and  Lincolnshire  had 
flown  to  the  Drug  for  the  sake  of  the  magnificent  scenery  that  filled  the 
splendid  visions  of  its  Historian? 

t  See  Talfourd's  Final  Memorials  of  Lamb,  and  Appendix,  (D). 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  495 

There  are  other  Contributors  —  poor  Hazlitt,  for  instance  — 
whose  shades  rise  up  before  me  :  but  I  never  met  with  them 
at  the  Entertainments  just  described.  Shall  we  ever  meet 
anywhere  again  ?  Alas,  some  are  dead  ;  and  the  rest  dis- 
persed ;  and  the  days  of  Social  Clubs  are  over  and  gone, 
when  the  Professors  and  Patrons  of  Literature  assembled 
round  the  same  steaming  bowl,  and  Johnson,  always  best  out 
of  print,  exclaimed,  "  Lads  !  who  's  for  Poonch  !  " 


Amongst  other  notable  men  who  came  to  Colebrooke  Cot- 
tage, I  had  twice  the  good  fortune  of  meeting  with  S.  T. 
Coleridge.  The  first  time  he  came  from  Highgate  with  Mrs. 
Oilman,  to  dine  with  "  Charles  and  Mary."  What  a  contrast 
to  Lamb  was  the  full-bodied  Poet,  with  his  waving  white  hair, 
and  his  face  round,  ruddy,  and  unfurrowed  as  a  holy  Friar's ! 
Apropos  to  which  face  he  gave  us  a  humorous  description  of 
an  unfinished  portrait,  that  served  him  for  a  sort  of  barometer, 
to  indicate  the  state  of  his  popularity.  So  sure  as  his  name 
made  any  temporary  stir,  out  came  the  canvas  on  the  easel, 
and  a  request  from  the  artist  for  another  sitting  :  down  sank 
the  Original  in  the  public  notice,  and  back  went  the  copy  into 
a  corner,  till  some  fresh  publication  or  accident  again  brought 
forward  the  Poet;  and  then  forth  came  the  picture  for  a  few 
more  touches.  I  sincerely  hope  it  has  been  finished  !  What 
a  benign,  smiling  face  it  was  !  What  a  comfortable,  respecta- 
ble figure  !  What  a  model,  methought,  as  I  watched  and 
admired  the  "  Old  Man  eloquent,"  for  a  Christian  bishop  i 
But  he  was,  perhaps,  scarcely  orthodox  enough  to  be  trusted 
with  a  mitre.  At  least,  some  of  his  voluntaries  would  have 
frightened  a  common  every-day  congregation  from  their  pro- 
priety. Amongst  other  matters  of  discourse,  he  came  to  speak 
of  the  strange  notions  some  literal-minded  persons  form  of  the 
joys  of  Heaven ;  joys  they  associated  with  mere  temporal 
things,  in  which,  for  his  own  part,  finding  no  delight  in  this 
world,  he  could  find  no  bliss  hereafter,  without  a  change  in  his 
nature,  tantamount  to  the  loss  of  his  personal  identity.  For 
instance,  he  said,  there  are  persons  who  place  the  whole  an- 
gelical beatitude  in  the  possession  of  a  pair  of  wings  to  flap 
about  with,  like  "  a  sort  of  celestial  poultry."  After  dinner  he 
got  up,  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro,  with  his  hands  behind  his 


406  HOOD'S    OWN. 

back,  talking  and  walking,  as  Lamb  laughingly  hinted,  as  if 
qualifying  for  an  itinerant  preacher ;  now  fetching  a  simile 
from  Loddiges's  garden,  at  Hackney  ;  and  then  flying  off  for  an 
illustration  to  the  sugar-making  in  Jamaica.  With  his  fine, 
flowing  voice,  it  was  glorious  music,  of  the  "  never-ending, 
still-beginning "  kind  ;  and  you  did  not  wish  it  to  end.  It 
was  rare  flying,  as  in  the  Nassau  Balloon;  you  knew  not 
whither,  nor  did  you  care.  Like  his  own  bright-eyed  Mari- 
nere,  he  had  a  spell  in  his  voice  that  would  not  let  you  go.  To 
attempt  to  describe  my  own  feeling  afterward,  I  had  been 
carried,  spiralling,  up  to  heaven  by  a  whirlwind  intertwisted 
with  sunbeams,  giddy  and  dazzled,  but  not  displeased,  and  had 
then  been  rained  down  again  with  a  shower  of  mundane  stocks 
and  stones  that  battered  out  of  me  all  recollection  of  what  I 
had  heard,  and  what  I  had  seen  ! 

On  the  second  occasion,  the  author  of  Christabel  was  ac- 
companied by  one  of  his  sons.  The  Poet,  talking  and  walk- 
ing as  usual,  chanced  to  pursue  some  argument,  which  drew 
from  the  son,  who  had  not  been  introduced  to  me,  the  remark, 
"  Ah,  that 's  just  like  your  crying  up  those  foolish  Odes  and 
Addresses  ! "  Coleridge  was  highly  amused  with  this  mal- 
apropos, and,  without  explaining,  looked  slyly  round  at  me, 
with  the  sort  of  suppressed  laugh,  one  may  suppose  to  belong 
to  the  Bey  of  Tittery.  The  truth  was,  he  felt  naturally  partial 
to  a  book  he  had  attributed  in  the  first  instance  to  the  dearest 
of  his  friends. 

"My  dear  Charles, — 

"  This  afternoon,  a  little,  thin,  mean-looking  sort  of  a  foolscap,  sub- 
octavo  of  poems,  printed  on  very  dingy  outsides,  lay  on  the  table, 
which  the  cover  informed  me  was  circulating  in  our  book-club,  so 
very  Grub  Streetish  in  all  its  appearance,  internal  as  well  as  exter- 
nal, that  I  cannot  explain  by  what  accident  of  impulse  (assuredly 
there  was  no  motive  in  play)  I  came  to  look  into  it.  Least  of  all, 
the  title,  Odes  and  Addresses  to  Great  Men,  which  connected  itself 
in  my  head  with  Rejected  Addresses,  and  all  the  Smith  and  Theo- 
dore* Hook  squad.  But,  my  dear  Charles,  it  was  certainly  written 
by  you,  or  under  you,  or  una  cum  you.  I  know  none  of  your  fre- 
quent visitors  capacious  and  assimilative  enough  of  your  converse 
to  have  reproduced  you  so  honestly,  supposing  you  had  left  your- 
self in  pledge  in  his  "lock-up  house.  Gillman,  to  whom  I  read  the 
spirited  parody  on  the  introduction  to  Peter  Bell,  the  Ode  to  the 
Great  Unknown,  and  to  Mrs.  Fry;  he  speaks  doubtfully  of  Rey- 
nolds and  Hood.     But  here  conielrving  and  Basil  Montagu. 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  497 

"  Thursday  night,  10  o'clock. 

"  No !  Charles,  it  is  you.  I  have  read  them  over  again,  and  I 
tnderstand  why  you  have  anon'd  the  book.  The  puns  are  nine  in 
ten  good  —  many  excellent  —  the  Newgatory  transcendent.  And 
then  the  exemplum  sine  exemplo  of  a  volume  of  personalities  and 
contemporaneities,  without  a  single  line  that  could  inflict  the  infin- 
itesimal of  an  unpleasance  on  any  man  in  his  senses ;  saving  and 
except  perhaps  in  the  envy-addled  brain  of  the  despiser  of  your 
Lay*.  If  not  a  triumph  over  him,  it  is  at  least  an  ovation.  Then, 
moreover,  and  besides,  to  speak  with  becoming  modesty,  excepting 
my  own  self,  who  is  there  but  you  who  could  write  the  musical 
lines  and  stanzas  that  are  intermixed  ? 

"  Here  Gillman,  come  up  to  my  garret,  and  driven  back  by  the 
guardian  spirits  of  four  huge  flower-holders  of  omnigenous  roses 
and  honeysuckles  —  (Lord  have  mercy  on  his  hysterical  olfacto- 
ries !  what  will  he  do  in  Paradise  ?  I  must  have  a  pair  or  two  of 
nostril-plugs,  or  nose-goggles,  laid  in  his  coffin)  —  stands  at  the 
door,  reading  that  to  M'Adam,  and  the  washerwoman's  letter,  and 
he  admits  the  facts.  You  are  found  in  the  manner,  as  the  lawyers 
say !  so,  Mr.  Charles !  hang  yourself  up,  and  send  me  a  line,  by 
way  of  token  and  acknowledgment.  My  dear  love  to  Mary.  God 
bless  you  and  your  Unshamabramizer, 

"  S.  T.  Coleridge." 


It  may  oe  mentioned  here,  that  instead  of  feeling  "  the  in- 
finitesimal of  an  unpleasance  "  at  being  Addressed  in  the  Odes, 
the  once  celebrated  Mr.  Hunt  presented  to  the  Authors,  a  bot- 
tle of  his  best  "  Permanent  Ink,"  and  the  eccentric  Doctor 
Kitchiner  sent  an  invitation  to  dinner. 

From  Colebrooke,  Lamb  removed  to  Enfield  Chase,  —  a 
painful  operation  at  all  times,  for  as  he  feelingly  misapplied 
AVords worth,  "  the  moving  accident  was  not  his  trade."  As 
soon  as  he  was  settled,  I  called  upon  him,  and  found  him  in  a 
bald-looking  yellowish  house,  with  a  bit  of  a  garden,  and  a 
wasp's  nest  convanient,  as  the  Irish  say,  for  one  stung  my 
pony  as  he  stood  at  the  door.  Lamb  laughed  at  the  fun  ;  but, 
as  the  clown  says,  the  whirligig  of  time  brought  round  its 
revenges.  He  was  one  day  bantering  my  wife  on  her  dread 
of  wasps,  when  all  at  once  he  uttered  a  horrible  shout,  —  a 
wounded  specimen  of  the  species  had  slyly  crawled  up  the  leg 
of  the  table,  and  stung  him  in  the  thumb.  I  told  him  it  was 
a  refutation  well  put  in,  like  Smollett's  timely  snowball. 
"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  a  stinging  commentary  on  Macbeth  — 


408  HOOD'S   OWN. 

"  By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked this  way  comes." 

There  were  no  pastoral  yearnings  concerned  in  this  Enfield 
removal.  There  is  no  doubt  which  of  Captain  Morris's  Town 
and  Country  Songs  would  have  been  most  to  Lamb's  taste. 
"  The  sweet  shady  side  of  Pali-Mall "  would  have  carried  it 
hollow.  In  courtesy  to  a  friend,  he  would  select  a  green  lane 
for  a  ramble,  but,  left  to  himself,  he  took  the  turnpike  road  as 
often  as  otherwise.  "  Scott,"  says  Cunningham,  "  was  a  stout 
walker."  Lamb  was  a  porter  one.  He  calculated  Distances, 
not  by  Long  Measure,  but  by  Ale  and  Beer  Measure.  "  Now 
I  have  walked  a  pint."  Many  a  time  I  have  accompanied  him 
in  these  matches  against  Meux,  not  without  sharing  in  the 
stake,  and  then,  what  cheerful  and  profitable  talk  !  For  in- 
stance, he  once  delivered  to  me  orally  the  substance  of  the 
Essay  on  the  Defect  of  Imagination  in  Modern  Artists,  subse- 
quently printed  in  the  Athenaeum.  But  besides  the  criticism, 
there  were  snatches  of  old  poems,  golden  lines  and  sentences 
culled  from  rare  books,  and  anecdotes  of  men  of  note.  Mar- 
ry, it  was  like  going  a  ramble  with  gentle  Izaak  Walton,  minus 
the  fishing. 

To  make  these  excursions  more  delightful  to  one  of  my 
temperament,  Lamb  never  affected  any  spurious  gravity. 
Neither  did  he  ever  act  the  Grand  Senior.  He  did  not  exact 
that  common  copy-book  respect,  which  some  asinine  persons 
would  fain  command  on  account  of  the  mere  length  of  their 
years.  As  if,  forsooth,  what  is  bad  in  itself,  could  be  the  better 
for  keeping ;  as  if  intellects  already  mothery,  got  anything  but 
grandmothery  by  lapse  of  time  !  In  this  particular  he  was 
opposed  to  Southey,  or  rather  (for  Southey  has  been  opposed 
to  himself),  to  his  Poem  on  the  Holly  Tree. 

"  So  serious  should  my  youth  appear  among 
The  thoughtless  throng; 
So  would  I  seem  among  the  young  and  gay 
More  grave  than  they." 

There  was  nothing  of  Sir  Oracle  about  Lamb.  On  the 
contrary,  at  sight  of  a  solemn  visage  that  "  creamed  and  man- 
tled like  the  standing  pool,"  he  was  the  first  to  pitch  a  mis- 
chievous stone  to  disturb  the  duck-weed.  "  He  was  a  boy- 
man,"  as  he  truly  said  of  Elia ;  "  and  his  manners  lagged 
behind  his  years."     He  liked  to  herd  with  people  younger 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  409 

than  himself.  Perhaps,  in  his  fine  generalizing  way,  he 
thought  that,  in  relation  to  Eternity,  we  are  all  contempora- 
ries. However,  without  reckoning  birthdays,  it  was  always 
"  Hail  fellow,  well  met ; "  and  although  he  was  my  elder  by  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  he  never  made  me  feel,  in  our  excur- 
sions, that  I  was  "  taking  a  walk  with  the  schoolmaster."  I 
remember,  in  one  of  our  strolls,  being  called  to  account,  very 
pompously,  by  the  proprietor  of  an  Enfield  Villa,  who  as- 
serted that  my  dog  Dash,  who  never  hunted  anything  in  his 
dog-days,  had  chased  the  sheej)  ;  whereupon,  Elia,  taking  the 
dog's  part,  said  very  emphatically,  "  Hunt  Lambs,  sir  ?  Why, 
he  has  never  hunted  me  /"  But  he  was  always*  ready  for  fun, 
intellectual  or  practical  —  now  helping  to  pelt  D  *****,  a 
modern  Dennis,  with  puns  ;  and  then  to  persuade  his  sister, 
God  bless  her  !  by  a  vox  et  preterea  nihil,  that  she  was  as  deaf 
as  an  adder.  In  the  same  spirit,  being  requested  by  a  young 
Schoolmaster  to  take  charge  of  his  flock  for  a  day,  "  during 
the  unavoidable  absence  of  the  Principal,"  he  willingly  under- 
took the  charge,  but  made  no  other  use  of  his  "  brief  authori- 
ty "  than  to  give  the  boys  a  whole  holiday. 

As  Elia  supplied  the  place  of  the  Pedagogue,  so  once  I  was 
substitute  for  Lamb  himself.  A  prose  article,  in  the  Gem, 
was  not  from  his  hand,  though  it  bore  his  name.  He  had 
promised  a  contribution,  but  being  unwell,  his  sister  suggested 
that  I  should  write  something  for  him,  and  the  result  was  the 
"  Widow,"  in  imitation  of  his  manner.  It  will  be  seen  that 
the  forgery  was  taken  in  good  part. 

"  Dear  Lamb,  — 
"  You  are  an  impudent  varlet,  but  I  will  keep  your  secret.     We 
dine  at  Ayrton's  on  Thursday,  and  shall  try  to  find  Sarah  and  her 
two  spare  beds  for  that  night  only.     Miss  M.  and  her  Tragedy  may 
be  d — d,  so  may  not  you  and  your  rib.     Health  attend  you. 

"  Yours, 
"  Enfield.  "  T.  Hood,  Esq. 

"  Miss  Bridget  Hood  sends  love." 

How  many  of  such  pleasant  reminiscences  revive  in  my 
memory,  whilst  thinking  of  him,  like  secret  writing  brought 
out  by  the  kindly  warmth  of  the  fire  !  But  they  must  be 
deferred  to  leave  me  time  and  space  for  other  attributes  — 
for  example,  his  charity,  in  its  widest  sense,  the  moderation  in 
18 


410  HOOD'S   OWN. 

judgment  which,  as  Miller  says,  is  "the  Silken  String  running 
through  the  Pearl  Chain  of  all  Virtues."  If  he  was  intoler- 
ant of  anything,  it  was  of  Intolerance.  He  would  have  been 
(if  the  foundation  had  existed,  save  in  the  fiction  of  Rabelais), 
of  the  Utopian  order  of  Theleinites,  where  each  man  under 
scriptural  warrant  did  what  seemed  good  in  his  own  eyes.  He 
hated  evil-speaking,  carping,  and  petty  scandal.  On  one  oc- 
casion having  slipped  out  an  anecdote,  to  the  discredit  of  a 
literary  man,  during  a  very  confidential  conversation,  the  next 
moment,  with  an  expression  of  remorse  for  having  impaired 
even  my  opinion  of  the  party,  he  bound  me  solemnly  to  bury 
the  story  in  my  own  bosom.  In  another  case  he  characteris- 
tically rebuked  the  backbiting  spirit  of  a  censorious  neighbor. 
Some  Mrs.  Candor  telling  him,  in  expectation  of  an  ill-natured 
comment,  that  Miss  *  *  *,  the  teacher  at  the  Ladies'  School, 
had  married  a  publican.  "  Has  she  so  ?  "  said  Lamb,  "  then 
I  '11  have  my  beer  there  !  " 

As  to  his  liberality,  in  a  pecuniary  sense,  he  passed  (says 
Lamb  of  Elia)  with  some  people,  through  having  a  settled  but 
moderate  income,  for  a  great  miser.  And  in  truth  he  knew 
the  value  of  money,  its  power,  its  usefulness.  One  January 
night  he  told  me  with  great  glee  that  at  the  end  of  the  late 
year  he  had  been  able  to  lay  by  —  and  thence  proceeded  to 
read  me  a  serio-comic  lecture  on  the  text,  of  "  Keep  your 
hand  out  of  your  Pocket."  The  truth  is,  Lamb,  like  Shake- 
speare, in  the  universality  of  his  sympathies,  could  feel,  pro 
tempore,  what  belonged  to  the  character  of  a  Gripe-all.  The 
reader  will  remember  his  capital  note  in  the  "  Dramatic  Speci- 
mens," on  "  the  decline  of  Misers,  in  consequence  of  the  Pla- 
tonic nature  of  an  affection  for  Money,"  since  Money  was 
represented  by  "flimsies  "  instead  of  substantial  coin,  the  good 
old  solid  sonorous  dollars  and  doubloons,  and  pieces  of  eight, 
that  might  be  handled,  and  hugged,  and  rattled  and  perhaps 
kissed.  But  to  this  passion  for  hoarding  he  one  day  attrib- 
uted a  new  origin.  "  A  Miser,"  he  said,  "  is  sometimes  a 
grand  personification  of  Fear.  He  has  a  fine  horror  of  Pov- 
erty. And  he  is  not  content  to  keep  want  from  the  door,  or 
at  arm's-length,  —  but  he  places  it,  by  heaping  wealth  ujon 
wealth,  at  a  sublime  distance  !  "  Such  was  his  theory  :  now 
for  his  practice.  Amongst  his  other  guests,  you  occasionally 
saw  an  elderly  lady,  formal,  fair,  and  flaxen-wigged,  looking 


LITERARY   REMINISCENCES.  41 1 

remarkably  like  an  animated  wax  doll,  —  and  she  did  visit 
some  friends,  or  relations,  at  a  toyshop  near  St.  Dunstan's. 
When  she  spoke,  it  was  as  if  by  an  artificial  apparatus, 
through  some  defect  in  her  palate,  and  she  had  a  slight  limp 
and  a  twist  in  her  figure,  occasioned  —  what  would  Hannah 
More  have  said  !  —  by  running  down  Greenwich  Hill !  This 
antiquated  personage  had  been  Lamb's  Schoolmistress  —  and 
on  this  retrospective  consideration,  though  she  could  hardly 
have  taught  him  more  than  to  read  his  native  tongue  —  he 
allowed  her  in  her  decline,  a  yearly  sum,  equal  to  —  what 
shall  I  say  ?  —  to  the  stipend  which  some  persons  of  fortune 
deem  sufficient  for  the  active  services  of  an  all-accomplished 
gentlewoman  in  the  education  of  their  children.  Say,  thirty 
pounds  per  annum  ! 

Such  was  Charles  Lamb.  To  sum  up  his  character,  on  his 
own  principle  of  antagonizing,  he  was,  in  his  views  of  human 
nature,  the  opposite  of  Crabbe ;  in  Criticism,  of  Gilford ;  in 
Poetry,  of  Lord  Byron ;  in  Prose,  of  the  last  new  Novelist ; 
in  Philosophy,  of  Kant;  and  in  Religion,  of  Sir  Andrew 
Agnew.  Of  his  wit  I  have  endeavored  to  give  such  samples 
as  occurred  to  me ;  but  the  spirit  of  his  sayings  was  too  subtle 
and  too  much  married  to  the  circumstances  of  the  time  to 
survive  the  occasion.  They  had  the  brevity  without  the 
levity  of  wit  —  some  of  his  puns  contained  the  germs  of 
whole  essays.  Moreover,  like  Falstaff,  he  seemed  not  only 
witty  himself,  but  the  occasion  of  it  by  example  in  others. 
"  There  isM******"  said  he,  "  who  goes  about  dropping 
his  good  things  as  an  Ostrich  lays  her  eggs,  without  caring 
what  becomes  of  them."  It  was  once  my  good  fortune  to 
pick  up  one  of  Mr.  M.'s  foundlings,  and  it  struck  me  as  par- 
ticularly in  Lamb's  own  style,  containing  at  once  a  pun  and  a 
criticism.  "  What  do  you  think,"  asked  somebody,  "  of  the 
book  called  '  A  Day  in  Stowe  Gardens  ?  ' "  Answer :  —  "A 
Day  ill  be-stowed." 

It  is  now  some  five  years  ago,  since  I  stood  with  other 
mourners  in  Edmonton  Church  Yard,  beside  a  grave  in  which 
all  that  was  mortal  of  Elia  was  deposited.  It  may  be  a  dan- 
gerous confession  to  make,  but  I  shed  no  tear ;  and  scarcely 
did  a  sigh  escape  from  my  bosom.  There  were  many  sources 
of  comfort.  He  had  not  died  young.  He  had  happily  gone 
before  that  noble  sister,  who  not  in  selfishness,  but  the  devo- 


412  HOOD'S  OWN. 

tion  of  a  unique  affection,  would  have  prayed  to  survive  him 
but  for  a  day,  lest  he  should  miss  that  tender  care  which  had 
watched  over  him  upwards  from  a  little  child.  Finally  he 
had  left  behind  him  his  works,  a  rare  legacy !  —  and  above 
all,  however  much  of  him  had  departed,  there  was  still  more 
of  him  that  could  not  die  —  for  as  long  as  Humanity  endures 
and  man  owns  fellowship  with  man,  the  spirit  of  Charles 
Lamb  will  still  be  extant ! 


On  the  publication  of  the  Odes  and  Addresses,  presentation 
copies  were  sent,  at  the  suggestion  of  a  friend,  to  Mr.  Canning 
and  Sir  Walter  Scott.  The  minister  took  no  notice  of  the 
little  volume ;  but  the  novelist  did,  in  his  usual  kind  manner. 
An  eccentric  friend  in  writing  to  me,  once  made  a  number  of 
colons,  semicolons,  &c,  at  the  bottom  of  the  paper,  adding 

"  And  these  are  my  points  that  I  place  at  the  foot, 
That  you  may  put  stops  that  I  can't  stop  to  put." 

It  will  surprise  no  one,  to  observe  that  the  author  of  Wa- 
verley  had  as  little  leisure  for  punctuation. 

"  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  to  make  thankful  acknowledgments 
for  the  copy  of  the  Odes  to  Great  People  with  which  he  was  fa- 
vored and  more  particularly  for  the  amusement  he  has  received 
from  the  perusal.  He  wishes  the  unknown  author  good  health 
good  fortune  and  whatever  other  good  things  can  best  support  and 
encourage  his  lively  vein  of  inoffensive  and  humorous  satire. 

"  Abbotsford,  Melrose,  4th  May" 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  the  Great  Unknown,  was  at  the 
private  view  of  Martin's  Picture  of  "  Nineveh,"  —  when,  by 
a  striking  coincidence,  one  of  our  most  celebrated  women,  and 
one  of  our  greatest  men,  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
walked  simultaneously  up  opposite  sides  of  the  room,  and  met 
and  shook  hands  in  front  of  the  painting.  As  Editor  of  the 
Gem,  I  had  afterwards  occasion  to  write  to  Sir  Walter,  from 
whom  I  received  the  following  letter,  which  contains  an  allu- 
sion to  some  of  his  characteristic  partialities  :  — 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Hood,  — 
"  It  was  very  ungracious  in  me  to  leave  you  in  a  day's  doubt 
whether  I  was  gratified  or  otherwise  with  the  honor  you  did  me  to 


LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.  413 

inscribe  your  whims  and  oddities  to  me  I  received  with  great 
pleasure  this  new  mark  of  your  kindness  and  it  was  only  my  leav- 
ing your  volume  and  letter  in  the  country  which  delayed  my  an- 
swer as  I  forgot  the  address 

"  I  was  favored  with  Mr.  Cooper's  beautiful  sketch  of  the  heart- 
piercing  incident  of  the  dead  greyhound  which  is  executed  with  a 
force  and  fancy  which  I  flatter  myself  that  I  who  was  in  my  younger 
days  and  in  part  still  am  a  great  lover  of  dogs  and  horses  and  an 
accurate  observer  of  their  habits  can  appreciate.  I  intend  the  in- 
stant our  term  ends  to  send  a  few  verses  if  I  can  make  any  at  my 
years  in  acknowledgment.  I  will  get  a  day's  leisure  for  this  pur- 
pose next  week  when  I  expect  to  be  in  the  country  Pray  inform 
Mr.  Cooper  of  my  intention  though  I  fear  I  will  be  unable  to  do 
anything  deserving  of  the  subject 

••  I  am  very  truly  your  obliged  humble  servant 

"  AYalter  Scott. 

"  Edinburgh  4  March." 

At  last,  during  one  of  his  visits  to  London,  I  had  the  honor 
of  a  personal  interview  with  Sir  Walter  Scott  at  Mr.  Lock- 
hart's,  in  Sussex  Place.  The  number  of  the  house  had  es- 
caped my  memory ;  but  seeing  a  fine  dog  down  an  area,  I 
knocked  without  hesitation  at  the  door.  It  happened,  how- 
ever, to  be  the  wrong  one.  I  afterwards  mentioned  the  cir- 
cumstance to  Sir  Walter.  It  was  not  a  bad  point,  he  said, 
for  he  was  very  fond  of  dogs;  but  he  did  not  care  to  have  his 
own  animals  with  him,  about  London,  "  for  fear  he  should  be 
taken  for  Bill  Gibbons."  I  then  told  him  I  had  lately  been 
reading  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  which  had  reminded  me  of 
a  very  pleasant  day  spent  many  years  before,  beside  the  Linn 
of  Campsie,  the  scene  of  Conachar's  catastrophe.  Perhaps 
he  divined  what  had  really  occurred  to  me,  —  that  the  Linn, 
as  a  cataract,  had  greatly  disappointed  me ;  for  he  smiled,  and 
shook  his  head  archly,  and  said  he  had  since  seen  it  himself, 
and  was  rather  ashamed  of  it.  "  But  I  fear,  Mr.  Hood,  I 
have  done  worse  than  that  before  now,  in  finding  a  Monastery 
where  there  was  none  to  be  found  ;  though  there  was  plenty 
(here  he  smiled  again)  of  Carduus  Benedictus,  or  Holy 
Thistle." 

In  the  mean  time  he  was  finishing  his  toilet,  in  order  to 
dine  at  the  Duchess  of  Kent's  ;  and  before  he  put  on  his 
cravat  I  had  an  opportunity  of  noticing  the  fine  massive  pro- 
portions of  his  bust.     It  served  to  confirm  me  in  my  theory 


4U  HOOD'S   OWN. 

that  such  mighty  men  are,  and  must  be,  physical!)',  as  well  as 
intellectually,  gifted  beyond  ordinary  mortals ;  that  their 
strong  minds  must  be  backed  by  strong  bodies.  Remember- 
ing all  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  done,  and  all  that  he  had 
suffered,  methought  he  had  been  in  more  than  one  sense  "  a 
Giant  in  the  Land."  After  some  more  conversation,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  asked  me  if  I  ever  came  to  Scotland,  and 
kindly  said  he  should  be  glad  to  see  me  at  Abbotsford,  I  took 
my  leave,  with  flattering  dreams  in  my  head  that  never  were, 
and  now,  alas  !  never  can  be,  realized ! 


And  now,  not  to  conclude  in  too  melancholy  a  tone,  allow 
me,  gentle  reader,  to  present  to  you  the  following  genuine 
letter,  the  names,  merely,  for  obvious  reasons,  being  disguised. 

To  T.  Hood,  Esq. 

"  Thou  'rt  a  comical  chap  —  so  am  I ;  but  thou  possessest  brains 
competent  to  write  what  I  mean  ;  —  I  don't  —  therefore  Brother 
Comic  wilt  thou  oblige  me  (if  't  was  in  my  power  I  would  you)  — 
I  '11  tell  you  just  what  I  want,  and  no  more.  Of  late,  Lord  *  *  * 
has  been  endeavoring  to  raise  a  body  of  yeomanry  in  this  county. 
Now  there  's  a  man  at  Bedfont  —  a  compounder  of  nauseous  drugs 
—  and  against  whom  I  owe  a  grudge,  who  wishes  to  enter,  but 
who  's  no  more  fit  for  a  fighter  than  I  for  a  punster.  Now  if  you 
will  just  give  him  a  palpable  hit  or  two  in  verse,  and  transmit 
them  to  me  by  post,  directed  to  A.  B.,  Post  Office,  Bedfont,  your 
kindness  shall  ever  be  remembered  with  feelings  of  the  deepest 
sincerity  and  gratitude.  His  name  is  '  James  Booker,  Chemist,' 
Bedfont  of  course.  If  you  disapprove  of  the  above,  I  trust  you  will 
not  abuse  the  confidence  placed  in  you,  by  '  splitting.'  You  '11 
say,  how  can  I  ?  —  by  showing  this  letter  to  him.  He  knows  the 
handwriting  full  well  —  but  you  '11  not  do  so,  I  hope.  Perhaps,  if 
you  feel  a  disposition  to  oblige  me,  you  will  do  so  at  your  first  con- 
venience, ere  the  matter  will  be  getting  stale. 

"  Yours  truly, 

«  A.  B." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  let  me  have  an  answer  from 
you,  even  if  you  will  not  condescend  to  accede  to  my  wish. 

"  Perhaps  you  've  not  sufficient  particulars.  He  's  a  little  fellow, 
flushed  face,  long  nose,  precious  ugly,  housekeeper  as  ugly,  lives 
between  the  two  Peacock  Inns,  is  a  single  man,  very  anxious  to  get 
possession  of  Miss  Boltbec,  a  ward  in  Chancery  with  something  like 


A   SERIO-COMIC   REMINISCENCE. 


415 


£  9.000  (wrsii  he  may  get  it),  is  famous  for  his  Gout  Medicine,  sells 
jalap  (should  like  to  make  him  swallow  an  ounce),  always  knows 
other  people's  business  better  than  his  own,  used  to  go  to  church, 
now  goes  to  chapel,  and  in  the  whole,  is  a  great  rascal. 
"  Bedfont  is  thirteen  miles  from  London." 


PRESERVED    IK    SPIRITS. 


A   SERIO-COMIC    REMINISCENCE. 


It  seems  but  the  other  clay  —  instead  of  nearly  ten  years 
ago  —  that  my  drawing-room  door  opened,  and  the  female 
servant,  with  a  very  peculiar  expression  of  countenance, 
announced  a  memorable  visitor.  Shakespeare  has  inquired 
"  What  is  there  in  a  name  ?  "  But  most  assuredly  he  would 
have  withdrawn  the  question  could  he  have  seen  the 
effect  of  a  patronymic  on  our  Sarah's  risible  muscles.  To 
render  the  phenomenon  more  striking,  she  was  a  maiden 
little  addicted  to  the  merry  mood :  on  the  contrary,  she  was 
rather  more  sedate  than  her  age  warranted.  Her  face  was 
of  a  cast  decidedly  serious  —  quiet  brow  —  steady  eyes  — 
sober   nose  —  precise   mouth,  and   solemn   chin,  which   she 


41G 


HOOD'S   OWN. 


doubled  by  drawing  it  in  demurely  against  her  neck.  The 
habitual  expression  of  her  physiognomy  was  as  grave,  short 
of  actual  sadness,  as  human  face  could  assume,  reminding  you 
of  those  set,  solid,  composed,  very  decorous  visages,  that  in- 
different persons  put  on  for  the  day  at  a  funeral :  her  very 
complexion  was  uniformly  colorless  —  pale  yet  not  clear  — 
that  slack-baked  look  which  forbids  the  idea  of  levity.  When 
she  smiled,  which  was  rarely,  and  in  cases  where  most  females 


PLEASE,    Sin!     HERE'S   MR.    CRIMALDI I  I  !  2 


of  her  years  would  have  indulged  in  a  titter,  or  excusable 
laugh,  it  was  the  faintest  possible  approach  to  hilarity  —  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  curving,  if  anything,  a  little  downwards. 
Nothing,  in  fact,  less  than  galvanism,  which  "  sets  corpses  a 
grinning,"  seemed  likely  to  shock  her  features  into  any  broad 
demonstration  of  jocularity,  and  yet,  lo !  there  she  was,  her 
face  shortened  by  half  its  length  —  her  mouth  stretching  from 


A  SERIO-COMIC   REMINISCENCE.  417 

ear  to  ear,  and  hardly  able,  for  a  suppressed  giggle,  to  articu- 
late its  brief  announcement. 

I  have  always  considered  the  above  physiognomical  miracle 

—  the  lighting  up  of  that  seemingly  impracticable  counte- 
nance —  as  the  best  criticism  I  have  ever  seen  of  the  perform- 
ances of  the  great  Pan  of  Pantomime  :  —  a  most  eloquent 
retrospective  review  of  the  triumphs  of  his  genius.  It  was  a 
glorious  illustration  of  the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  to  behold 
that  face  so  like  the  sea  in  a  dead  calm  on  a  dull  day  burst 
suddenly  into  ripples  and  radiance,  like  the  brook  that  laughs 
in  the  sun.  What  recollections  of  exquisite  fooling  must  have 
rushed  into  her  fancy  to  convert  that  Quakerly  maiden,  as  by 
a  stage  metamorphosis,  into  a  perfect  figure  of  fun  !  What 
grotesque  fantastic  shapes  must  have  come  tumbling,  rolling, 
crawling,  dangling,  dancing,  prancing,  floundering,  flopping, 
striding,  sliding,  ambling,  shambling,  scrambling,  stumbling, 
bundling,  and  trundling  into  her  mind's-eye,  to  so  startle  her 
features  from  their  propriety  !  What  face-making  faces,  with 
telegraphic  brows  —  rolling,  reeling,  goggling,  ogling,  hard- 
winking,  and  soft-blinking  eyes  —  and  grinning,  gaping,  pinch- 
ing, puckering  mouths  must  have  grimaced  at  her  to  put  her 
steady  countenance  so  out  of  countenance  !  What  is  there  in  a 
name  ?  Why,  magic !  A  serious,  quiet,  decrepid  man  had  but 
to  announce  himself,  and  Presto  !  Prestissimo  !  before  an  engi- 
neer could  cry  "  Ease  her  !  stop  her !  back  her  !  "  our  Sarah  had 
retraced  her  course  up  the  stream  of  time  to  the  bright  wintry 
gallery  nights  at  the  Lane,  or  the  Garden,  or  the  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  at  the  Wells.  Talk  of  magnetizers  !  when 
did  Baron  Dupotet,  or  any  of  his  sect,  without  pass  or  manip- 
ulation, thus  throw  a  sedate,  orderly  maiden  into  an  ecstasy, 
and  set  her  looking  through  the  back  of  her  head  at  the  pan- 
tomimical  experiences  of  the  past  ?  Talk  of  Laughing  Gas  ! 
when  was  there  a  facetious  fluid  so  potent  that  the  mere  sight  of 
the  empty  bottle  — (for  such,  alas  !  the  ex-clown  was  become) 

—  could  throw  the  ticklesome  muscles  into  merry  convulsions  ? 
I  have  often  speculated  since  on  Sarah's  deportment,  when, 

having  ushered  "  Mr.  Grimaldi,  alias  Joe,"  into  the  drawing- 
room,  she  returned  to  her  kitchen.  Of  course,  in  the  first 
flutter  and  frisk  of  her  animal  spirits,  she  postponed  all 
domestic  duties  ;  or,  at  best,  obliviously  broke  the  eggs  into  the 
flower-tub,  popped  the    lump   of  butter  into  the  oven,  and 

18*  AA 


418  HOOD'S    OWN. 

secured  the  rolling-pin  in  the  safe.  More  probably  she  dropped 
herself  into  the  first  chair  that  offered ;  and  throwing  her 
apron  over  her  head  to  shut  out  the  daylight,  indulged  in  a 
lamplight  vision  of  the  drolleries  of  Mother  Goose,'  or  the 
Sleeping  Beauty ;  when  the  frolics  of  funny  Joe  had  cheated 
her  for  a  while  of  the  sorrows  of  servitude,  low  wages,  a  crus- 
taceous  mistress,  a  perfidus  young  man,  and  a  hard  place,  with 
perhaps  the  bodily  pains  of  a  recent  scald,  a  bad  bruise,  and 
tight  shoes.  No  doubt  it  had  been  one  of  her  wishes,  born  of 
wonder  and  curiosity,  to  see  the  popular  Motley  off  the  stage 
"  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  ; "  and  lo  !  beyond  her  hope,  she  had 
met  him  face  to  face  without  his  paint,  and  been  on  speaking 
terms  with  that  marvellous  voice,  so  sparingly  heard,  even  on 
the  stage. 

For  my  own  part,  I  confess  to  have  been  somewhat  un- 
settled as  well  as  the  bewildered  maid  by  pantomimical  asso- 
ciations. Slowly  and  seriously  as  my  visitor  advanced,  and 
with  a  decided  stoop,  I  could  not  forget  that  I  had  seen  the 
same  personage  come  in  with  two  odd  eyebrows,  a  pair  of 
right-and-left  eyes,  a  wry  nose,  a  crooked  mouth,  two  wrong 
arms,  two  left  legs,  and  a  free  and  easy  body  without  a  bone 
in  it,  or  apparently  any  centre  of  gravity.  I  was  half  pre- 
pared to  hear  that  rare  voice  break  forth  smart  as  the  smack  of 
a  wagoner's  whip,  or  richly  thick  and  chuckling,  like  the  utter- 
ance of  a  boy  laughing,  talking,  and  eating  custard,  all  at  once, 
but  a  short  interval  sufficed  to  dispel  the  pleasant  illusion,  and 
convinced  me  that  the  Grimaldi  was  a  total  wreck. 

"  Alas !  how  changed  from  him, 
The  life  of  humor,  and  the  soul  of  whim." 

The  lustre  of  his  bright  eye  was  gone  —  his  eloquent  face 
was  passive  and  looked  thrown  out  of  work  —  and  his  frame 
was  bowed  down  by  no  feigned  decrepitude.  His  melancholy 
errand  to  me  related  to  a  Farewell  Address,  which  at  the  in- 
vitation of  his  stanch  friend  Miss  Kelly  —  for  it  did  not 
require  a  request  —  I  had  undertaken  to  indite.*     He  pleaded 

*  That  Hood  did  not  limit  his  kindness  to  the  preparation  of  the  address, 
the  following  paragraph  from  the  London  Literary  Gazette  hears  witness:  — 

"Our  immense  favorite,  Grimaldi,  — under  the  severe  pressure  of  years 
and  infirmities,  —  is  enabled,  through  the  good  feeling  and  prompt  liberality 
of  Mr.  Price,  to  take  a  benefit  at  Drury  Lane  on  Friday  next ;  —  the  last  of 


A   SERIO-COMIC   REMINISCENCE.  419 

earnestly  that  it  might  be  brief,  being,  he  said,  "  a  bad  study," 
as  well  as  distrustful  of  his  bodily  strength.  Of  his  suffer- 
ings he  spoke  with  a  sad  but  resigned  tone,  expressed  deep 
regret  at  quitting  a  profession  he  delighted  in,  and  partly  at- 
tributed the  sudden  breaking  down  of  his  health  to  the  supe- 
rior size  of  one  particular  stage  which  required  of  him  a  jump 
extra  in  getting  off.  That  additional  bound,  like  the  bittock 
at  the  end  of  a  Scotch  mile,  had,  he  thought,  overtasked  his 
strength.  His  whole  deportment  and  conversation  impressed 
me  with  the  opinion  that  he  was  a  simple,  sensible,  warm- 
hearted being,  such  indeed  as  he  appears  in  his  Memoirs  —  a 
Joseph  after  Parson  Adams's  own  heart.  We  shook  hands 
heartily,  parted,  and  I  never  saw  him  again.  He  was  a  rare 
practical  humorist,  and  I  never  look  into  Rabelais  with  its 
huge-mouthed  Gargantua  and  his  enormous  appetite  for 
"  plenty  of  links,  chitterlings,  and  puddings,  in  their  season," 
without  thinking  that  in  Grimaldi  and  his  pantomime  I  have 
lost  my  best  set  of  illustrations  of  that  literary  extravaganza. 

Joseph  Grimaldi!  —  Drury's,  Covent  Garden's,  Sadler's,  —  everybody's  Joe. 
The  friend  of  Harlequin  and  Farley-kin  —  the  town-clown  —  greatest  of 
fools  —  daintiest  of  motleys  —  the  true  ami  des  enfans  !  The  tricks  and 
changes  of  life  —  sadder,  alas!  than  those  of  pantomime  —  have  made  a 
dismal  difference  between  the  former  flapping,  filching,  laughing,  bound- 
ing antic,  and  the  present  Grimaldi.  He  has  no  spring  in  his  foot — no 
mirth  in  his  eye;  the  corners  of  his  mouth  droop  mournfully  earthwards; 
and  he  stoops' in  the  back  like  the  weariest  of  Time's  porters.  V  Allegro 
has  done  with  him,  and  II  Penseroso  claims  him  for  its  own !  It  is  said, 
besides,  that  his  pockets  are  neither  so  large,  nor  so  well  stuffed  as  they 
used  to  be  on  the  stage :  and  it  is  hard  to  suppose  fun  without  funds,  or 
broad  grins  in  narrow  circumstances. 

"  Our  recommendation  of  this  benefit  has  also  been  pressed  upon  our  will- 
ing mind  by  the  following  characteristic  note :  — 

" '  Pray  publish  in  your  Gazette,  that  on  Friday,  the  27th  instant,  this 
inimitable  clown  will  take  his  leave  of  the  boards,  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
in  character.  After  that  night,  the  red  and  white  features  of  Joe  Grimaldi 
will  belong  only  to  tradition !  Thenceforth  he  will  be  dead  to  his  vocation, 
—  but  the  pleasant  recollection  of  his  admirable  fooling  will  still  live  with 
childhood,  and  manhood,  and  with 

"  '  T.  Hood.'  » 


PROSPECTUS   TO   HOOD'S   MAGAZINE 


HOOD'S    MAGAZINE. 


ON   THE   FIRST   OF   JANUARY,   1844,  PRICE   2s.  6rf. 

HOOD'S    MONTHLY    MAGAZINE 

AND 

COMIC    MISCELLANY. 


"Whatever  may  be  thought  of  Dr.  Dickson's  theory,  that 
the  type  of  disease  in  general  is  periodical,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  its  applicability  to  Modern  Literature,  which  is  essen- 
tially Periodical,  whether  the  type  be  long  primer,  brevier,  or 
bourgeois.  It  appears,  moreover,  by  the  rapid  consumption 
of  Monthlies,  compared  with  the  decline  of  the  Annuals,  that 
frequent  fits  of  publication  are  more  prevalent  and  popular 
than  yearly  paroxysms. 

Under  these  circumstances,  no  apology  is  necessary  for  the 
present  undertaking;  but  Custom,  which  exacts  an  Over- 
ture to  a  new  Opera,  and  a  Prologue  to  a  new  Play,  requires 
a  few  words  of  Introduction  to  a  new  Monthly  Magazine. 

One  prominent  object,  then,  of  the  projected  Publication,  as 
implied  by  the  sub-title  of  "  Comic  Miscellany,''  will  be  the 
supply  of  harmless  "  Mirth  for  the  Million,"  and  light  thoughts, 
to  a  Public  sorely  oppressed  —  if  its  word  be  worth  a  rush,  or 
its  complaints  of  an  ounce  weight  —  by  hard  times,  heavy 
taxes,  and  those  "  eating  cares  "  which  attend  on  the  securing 
of  food  for  the  day,  as  well  as  a  provision  for  the  future.  For 
the  relief  of  such  afflicted  classes,  the  Editor,  assisted  by  able 


PROSPECTUS.  421 

Humorists,  will  dispense  a  series  of  papers  and  woodcuts. 
which  it  is  hoped  will  cheer  the  gloom  of  Willow  Walk,  and 
the  loneliness  of  Wilderness  Bow  —  sweeten  the  bitterness  of 
Camomile  Street,  and  Wormwood  Street  —  smooth  the  ruffled 
temper  of  Cross  Street,  and  enable  even  Crooked  Lane  to 
unbend  itself!  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  promise  that  this 
end  will  be  pursued  without  raising  a  Maiden  Blush,  much 
less  a  Damask,  in  the  nursery  grounds  of  modesty  —  or  tres- 
passing, by  wanton  personalities,  on  the  parks  and  lawns  of 
Private  Life.  In  a  word,  it  will  aim  at  being  merry  and 
wise,  instead  of  merry  and  otherwise. 

For  the  Sedate,  there  will  be  papers  of  a  becoming  gravity  ; 
and  the  lover  of  Poetry  will  be  supplied  with  numbers  in  each 
Number. 

As  to  Politics,  the  Reader  of  Hood's  Magazine  will 
vainly  search  in  its  pages  for  a  Panacea  for  Agricultural  Bis- 
tros, or  a  Grand  Catholicon  for  Irish  Agitation ;  he  will  use- 
lessly seek  to  know  whether  we  ought  to  depend  for  our 
bread  on  foreign  farmers,  or  merely  on  foreign  sea-fowl ;  or  if 
the  Repeal  of  the  Union  would  produce  low  rents,  and  only 
three  quarter  days.  Neither  mifit  fie  hope  to  learn  the  proper 
Terminus  of  Reform,  nor  even  whether  a  Finality  Man  means 
Campbell's  Last  Man,  or  an  L^ndertaker. 

A  total  abstinence  from  such  stimulating  topics  and  fer- 
mented questions  is,  indeed,  insured  by  the  established  char- 
acter of  the  Editor,  and  his  notorious  aversion  to  party 
spirit.  To  borrow  his  own  words,  from  a  letter  to  the  Pro- 
prietors —  "I  am  no  Politician,  and  far  from  instructed  on 
those  topics  which,  to  parody  a  common  phrase,  no  gentleman's 
newspaper  should  be  without.  Thus,  for  any  knowledge  of 
mine,  the  Irish  Prosecutions  may  be  for  pirating  the  Irish 
Melodies  ;  the  Pennsylvanians  may  have  rejDudiated  their 
wives ;  Duff  Green  may  be  a  place,  like  Goose  Green ; 
Prince  Polignac  a  dahlia  or  a  carnation,  and  the  Due  de 
Bordeaux  a  tulip.  The  Spanish  affairs  I  could  never  master, 
even  with  a  Pronouncing  Dictionary  at  my  elbow ;  it  would 
puzzle  me  to  say  whether  Queen  Isabella's  majority  is  or  is 
not  equal  to  Sir  Robert  Peel's  ;  or  if  the  shelling  the  Barce- 
lonese  was  done  with  bombs  and  mortars,  or  the  nutcrackers. 
Prim  may  be  a  quaker,  and  the  whole  Civil  War  about  the 
Seville   Oranges.      Nay,  even    on   domestic   matters    nearer 


422  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

home,  my  profound  political  ignorance  leaves  me  in  doubt  on 
questions  concerning  which  the  newsmen's  boys  and  printers' 
devils  have  formed  very  decided  opinions ;  for  example, 
whether  the  Corn-Law  League  ought  to  extend  beyond  three 
miles  from  Mark  Lane  —  or  the  Sliding  Scale  should  regulate 
the  charges  at  the  Glaciarium  ;  what  share  the  Welch  Whigs 
have  had  in  the  Welch  Riots,  and  how  far  the  Ryots  in  India 
were  excited  by  the  slaughter  of  the  Brahmin  Bull.  On  all 
such  public  subjects  I  am  less  au  fait  than  that  Publicist  the 
Potboy,  at  the  public-house,  with  the  insolvent  sign,  The  Hog 
in  the  Pound." 

Polemics  will  be  excluded  with  the  same  rigor ;  and  espe- 
cially the  Tractarian  Schism.  The  reader  of  Hood's  Maga- 
zine must  not  hope,  therefore,  to  be  told  whether  an  old 
Protestant  Church  ought  to  be  plastered  with  Roman  Cement ; 
or,  if  a  design  for  a  new  one  should  be  washed  in  with  New- 
man's colors.  And  most  egregiously  will  he  be  disappointed, 
should  he  look  for  Controversial  Theology  in  our  Poet's  Cor- 
ner. He  might  as  well  expect  to  see  Queens  of  Sheba,  and 
divided  babies,  from  wearing  Solomon's  Spectacles  ! 

For  the  rest,  a  critical  eye  will  be  kept  on  our  current 
Literature,  —  a  regretful  one  on  the  Drama,  and  a  kind  one 
for  the  Fine  Arts,  from  whose  Artesian  Well  there  will  be  an 
occasional  drawing. 

With  this  brief,  explanatory  Announcement,  Hood's  Maga- 
zine and  Comic  Miscellany  is  left  to  recommend  itself 
by  its  own  merits  to  those  enlightened  judges,  the  Reviewers ; 
and  to  that  impartial  jury  —  too  vast  to  pack  in  any  case  — 
the  British  Public. 


Office,  No.  1,  Adam  Street,  Adelphi,  where  all  Orders, 
Advertisements,  and  Communications  for  the  Editor,  are  re- 
quested to  be  addressed. 


LIFE  IN  THE   SICK-ROOM.  423 

LIFE   IN   THE    SICK-ROOM.* 

[January,  1844.] 

Of  all  the  know-nothing  persons  in  this  world,  commend 
us  to  the  man  who  has  "  never  known  a  day's  illness."  He  is 
a  moral  dunce :  one  who  has  lost  the  greatest  lesson  in  life  ; 
who  has  skipped  the  finest  lecture  in  that  great  school  of  hu- 
manity, the  Sick  Chamber.  Let  him  be  versed  in  mathematics, 
profound  in  metaphysics,  a  ripe  scholar  in  the  classics,  a  bach- 
elor of  arts,  or  even  a  doctor  in  divinity,  yet  is  he  as  one  of 
those  gentlemen  whose  education  has  been  neglected.  For  all 
his  college  acquirements,  how  inferior  is  he  in  wholesome  knowl- 
edge to  the  mortal  who  has  had  but  a  quarter's  gout,  or  a  half- 
year  of  ague  —  how  infinitely  below  the  fellow-creature  who 
has  been  soundly  taught  his  tic  douloureux,  thoroughly  ground- 
ed in  the  rheumatics,  and  deeply  red  in  the  scarlet  fever  !  And 
yet  what  is  more  common  than  to  hear  a  great  hulking,  florid 
fellow,  bragging  of  an  ignorance,  a  brutal  ignorance,  that  he 
shares  in  common  with  the  pig  and  the  bullock,  the  generality 
of  which  die,  probably  without  ever  having  experienced  a  day's 
indisposition. 

To  such  a  monster  of  health  the  volume  before  us  will  be  a 
sealed  book ;  for  how  can  he  appreciate  its  allusions  to  phys- 
ical suffering,  whose  bodily  annoyance  has  never  reached  be- 
yond a  slight  tickling  of  the  epidermis,  or  the  tingling  of  a  foot 
gone  to  sleep  ?  How  should  he,  who  has  sailed  through  life 
with  a  clean  bill  of  health,  be  able  to  sympathize  with  the  feel- 
ings, or  the  quiet  sayings  and  doings,  of  an  Invalid  condemned 
to  a  life-long  quarantine  in  his  chamber  ?  What  should  he 
know  of  Life  in  the  Sick-Room  ?  As  little  as  our  poor  para- 
lytic grandmother  knows  of  Life  in  London. 

With  ourselves  it  is  otherwise.  Afflicted  for  twenty  years  with 
a  complication  of  disorders  —  the  least  of  which  is  elephantiasis 
—  bedridden  on  the  broad  of  our  back  till  it  became  narrow  — 
and  then  confined  to  our  chamber  as  rigidly  as  if  it  had  been 
a  cell  in  the  Pentonville  Penitentiary,  we  are  in  a  fit  state, 

*  Life  in  the  Sick-Room.     By  an  Invalid.     Moxon. 


424  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

body  and  mind,  to  appreciate  such  a  production  as  Mr.  Mox- 
on  —  not  the  Effervescing  Magnesian,  but  the  worthy  publisher 
—  has  forwarded  with  so  much  sagacity,  or  instinct,  to  our  own 
sick  ward.  The  very  book  for  us !  if,  indeed,  we  are  not  act- 
ually the  very  Anonymous  of  its  dedication  —  the  very  fellow- 
sufferer  on  whose  sympathy  —  "  confidently  reckoned  on, 
though  unasked,"  the  Invalid  Author  so  implicitly  relies.  AVe 
certainly  do  sympathize  most  profoundly  ;  and  as  certainly  we 
are  a  great  sufferer  —  the  greatest,  perhaps,  in  England,  except 
the  poor  incurable  man  who  is  always  being  cured  by  Hollo- 
way's  Ointment. 

Enough  of  ourselves  :  —  and  now  for  the  book.  The  first 
thing  that  struck  us,  on  the  perusal,  was  a  very  judicious  omis- 
sion. Most  writers  on  such  a  topic  as  the  sick-room  would 
have  begun  by  recommending  some  pet  doctor,  or  favorite 
remedy  for  all  diseases  ;  whereas  the  author  has  preferred  to 
advise  on  the  selection  of  an  eligible  retreat  for  laying  up  for 
life,  and  especially  of  a  window  towards  that  good  aspect,  the 
face  of  Nature.  And  truly  a  long  term  of  infirm  health  is  such  a 
very  bad  lookout,  as  to  require  some  better  prospect  elsewhere. 
For,  not  to  mention  a  churchyard,  or  a  dead-wall,  what  can 
be  worse  for  a  sick  prisoner,  than  to  pass  year  after  year  in 
some  dull  street,  contemplating  some  dull  house,  never  new- 
fronted,  or  even  insured  in  a  new  fire-office,  to  add  a  new  plate 
to  the  two  old  ones  under  the  middle-window.  What  more 
dreadful  than  to  be  driven  by  the  monotony  outside  to  the  same- 
ness within,  till  the  very  figures  of  the  chintz  curtain  are  daguer- 
reotyped  on  the  brain,  or  the  head  seems  lined  with  a  paper  of 
the  same  pattern  as  the  one  on  the  wall  ?  How  much  better, 
for  soul  and  body,  for  the  Invalid  to  gaze  on  such  a  picture  as 
this  :  — 

"  Between  my  window  and  the  sea  is  a  green  down,  as  green 
as  any  field  in  Ireland  ;  and  on  the  nearest  half  of  this  down,  hay- 
making goes  forward  in  its  season.  It  slopes  down  to  a  hollow, 
where  the  Prior  of  old  preserved  his  fish,  there  being  sluices  formerly 
at  either  end.  the  one  opening  upon  the  river,  and  the  other  upon  the 
little  haven  below  the  Priory,  whose  ruins  still  crown  the  rock. 
From  the  Prior's  fish-pond,  the  green  down  slopes  upwards  again 
to  a  ridge ;  and  on  the  slope  are  cows  grazing  all  summer,  and 
half  way  into  the  winter.  Over  the  ridge,  I  survey  the  harbor  and 
all  its  traffic,  the  view  extending  from  the  lighthouses  far  to  the 
right,  to  a  horizon  of  sea  to  the  left.     Beyond  the  harbor  lies 


LIFE  IN  THE   SICK-ROOM.  425 

another  county,  with,  first,  its  sandy  beach,  where  there  are  fre- 
quent wrecks  —  too  interesting  to  an  invalid,  —  and  a  fine  stretch 
of  rocky  shore  to  the  left ;  and  above  the  rocks,  a  spreading  heath, 
where  I  watch  troops  of  boys  flying  their  kites ;  lovers  and  friends 
taking  their  breezy  walk  on  Sundays ;  the  sportsman  with  his  gun 
and  dog ;  and  the  washerwomen  converging  from  the  farm-houses 
on  Saturday  evenings,  to  carry  their  loads,  in  company,  to  the  vil- 
lage on  the  yet  further  height.  I  see  them,  now  talking  in  a 
cluster,  as  they  walk  each  with  her  white  burden  on  her  head,  and 
now  in  file,  as  they  pass  through  the  narrow  lane  ;  and  finally  they 
part  off  on  the  village  green,  each  to  some  neighboring  house  of  the 
gentry.  Behind  the  village  and  the  heath  stretches  the  railroad  ; 
and  I  watch  the  train  triumphantly  careering  along  the  level  road, 
and  puffing  forth  its  steam  above  hedges  and  groups  of  trees,  and 
then  laboring  and  panting  up  the  ascent,  till  it  is  lost  between  two 
heights,  which  at  last  bound  my  view.  But  on  these  heights  are 
more  objects  ;  a  windmill  now  in  motion  and  now  at  rest;  a  lime- 
kiln, in  a  picturesque  rocky  field  ;  an  ancient  church-tower,  barely 
visible  in  the  morning,  but  conspicuous  when  the  setting  sun  shines 
upon  it ;  a  colliery,  with  its  lofty  wagon-Avay,  and  the  self-moving 
wagons  running  hither  and  thither,  as  if  in  pure  wilfulness ;  and 
three  or  four  farms,  at  various  degrees  of  ascent,  whose  yards,  pad- 
docks, and  dairies  I  am  better  acquainted  with  than  their  inhabi- 
tants would  believe  possible.  I  know  every  stack  of  the  one  on  the 
heights.  Against  the  sky  I  see  the  stacking  of  corn  and  hay  in 
the  season,  and  can  detect  the  slicing  away  of  the  provender,  with 
an  accurate  eye,  at  the  distance  of  several  miles.  I  can  follow  the 
sociable  farmer  in  his  summer-evening  ride,  pricking  on  in  the  lanes 
where  he  is  alone,  in  order  to  have  more  time  for  the  unconscion- 
able gossip  at  the  gate  of  the  next  farm-house,  and  for  the  second 
talk  over  the  paddock-fence  of  the  next,  or  for  the  third  or  fourth 
before  the  porch,  or  over  the  wall,  when  the  resident  farmer  comes 
out,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  puffs  away  amidst  his  chat  till  the  wife  ap- 
pears, with  a  shawl  over  her  cap,  to  see  what  can  detain  him  so 
long ;  and  the  daughter  follows,  with  her  gown  turned  over  head 
(for  it  is  now  chill  evening)  and  at  last  the  sociable  horseman  finds 
he  must  be  going,  looks  at  his  watch,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  sur- 
prise, turns  his  steed  down  a  steep  broken  way  to  the  beach,  and. 
canters  home  over  the  sands,  left  hard  and  wet  by  the  ebbing  tide, 
the  white  horse  making  his  progress  visible  to  me  through  the  dusk. 
Then,  if  the  question  arises  which  has  most  of  the  gossip  spirit,  he 
or  I,  there  is  no  shame  in  the  answer.  Any  such  small  amusement 
is  better  than  harmless  —  is  salutary  —  which  carries  the  spirit  of 
the  sick  prisoner  abroad  into  the  open  air,  and  among  country 
people.  When  I  shut  down  my  window,  I  feel  that  my  mind  has 
had  an  airing." 


426  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

Here  is  another  :  — 

"  The  sun,  resting  on  the  edge  of  the  sea,  was  hidden  from  me 
by  the  walls  of  the  old  Priory  ;  but  a  flood  of  rays  poured  through 
the  windows  of  the  ruin,  gushed  over  the  waters,  strewing  them 
with  diamonds,  and  then  across  the  green  down  before  my  windows, 
gilding  its  furrows,  and  then  lighting  up  the  yellow  sands  on  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  harbor,  while  the  market-garden  below  was 
glittering  with  dew  and  busy  with  early  bees  and  butterflies.  Be- 
sides these  bees  and  butterflies,  nothing  seemed  stirring,  except  the 
earliest  riser  of  the  neighborhood,  to  whom  the  garden  belongs. 
At  the  moment,  she  was  passing  down  to  feed  her  pigs,  and  let  out 
her  cows ;  and  her  easy  pace,  arms  akimbo,  and  complacent  sur- 
vey of  her  early  greens,  presented  me  with  a  picture  of  ease  so 
opposite  to  my  own  state,  as  to  impress  me  ineifaceably.  I  was 
suffering  too  much  to  enjoy  this  picture  at  the  moment ;  but  how 
was  it  at  the  end  of  the  year  ?  The  pains  of  all  those  hours  were 
annihilated  —  as  completely  vanished  as  if  they  had  never  been  ; 
while  the  momentary  peep  behind  the  window-curtain  made  me 
possessor  of  this  radiant  picture  forevermore." 

The  mention  of  pictures  reminds  us  of  certain  ones,  and  a 
commentary  whence  the  reader  may  derive  either  a  recipe,  or 
a  warning,  as  he  desires  to  be,  or  not  to  be,  an  invalid  for  the 
remainder  of  his  life.  0,  those  beautiful  pictures  by  our  fa- 
vorite Cuyp,  with  their  rich  atmosphere  as  of  golden  sherry 
and  water !  That  gorgeous  light  flooding  the  wide  level  pas- 
ture,—  clinging  to  tree  and  stone,  and  trickling  over  into  their 
shadows  —  a  liquid  radiance,  we  used  to  fancy  we  could  wring 
out  of  the  glowing  herbage,  and  catch  dripping  from  the  sleek 
side  of  the  dappled  cow  !  Sad  experience  has  made  us  person- 
ally acquainted  with  the  original  soil  and  climate  of  those  scenes, 
and  has  painfully  taught  us  that  the  rich  glowing  atmosphere 
was  no  such  wholesome  aerial  negus  as  we  supposed,  but  a 
mixture  of  sunshine  and  humid  exhalations,  lovely  but  noxious 

—  a  gilded  ague,  an  illuminated  fever,  a  glorified  pestilence, 

—  which  poisons  the  springs  of  life  at  their  source.  Breathe 
it,  in  bad  health,  and  your  fugitive  complaints  will  become 
chronic, —  regular  standards,  entwined  in  all  their  branches  by 
the  parasitic  long  slow  fever  of  the  swamp.  In  short,  you  will 
probably  be  set  in  for  a  long  season  of  foul  bodily  weather,  and 
may  at  once  consult  our  Invalid  how  to  play  the  part  in  a  be- 
coming manner,  and  "  enjoy  bad  health  "  with  something  of  the 
cheerful,  philosophic  spirit  of  the  family  man,  who,  on  being 


LIFE  IN  THE   SICK-ROOM.  427 

asked  if  he  had  not  a  "  sick-house,"  replied  "  Yes  —  but  I  Ye 
a  well  staircase." 

The  first  grand  step  towards  laying  up  in  ordinary  is  to  get 
rid  of  the  superb  egotism  and  splendid  selfishness  of  the  con- 
dition. Lamb,  in  one  of  his  Essays,  has  vividly  described  the 
gloomy  absolutism  of  the  sick  man,  obsequiously  waited  on  by 
his  household  slaves,  eager  to  anticipate  his  every  want  and 
wish,  and  to  administer  to  his  merest  whims  and  caprices. 
And,  for  a  short  reign,  such  a  tyranny  may  pass,  but  the  con- 
firmed invalid  must  prepare  for  a  more  moderate  rule  ;  a  lim- 
ited monarchy  instead  of  a  despotism.  It  requires  some  self- 
sacrifice  to  renounce  such  autocratical  power,  and  will  need 
much  vigilance  to  prevent  a  relapse.  But  who,  save  a  domes- 
tic Nero,  would  wish  to  indulge  in  such  ill  behavior  as  the 
following,  for  a  permanence  ? 

"  I  have  known  the  most  devoted  and  benevolent  of  women  call 
up  her  young  nurse  from  a  snatch  of  sleep  at  two  in  the  morning 
to  read  aloud,  when  she  had  been  reading  aloud  for  six  or  seven 
hours  of  the  preceding  day.  I  have  known  a  kind-hearted  and 
self-denying  man  require  of  two  or  three  members  of  his  family  to 
sit  and  talk  and  be  merry  in  his  chamber,  two  or  three  hours  after 
midnight :  and  both  for  wrant  of  a  mere  intimation  that  it  was 
night,  and  time  for  the  nurse's  rest.  How  it  makes  one  shudder 
to  think  of  this  being  one's  own  case  !  " 

It  is  rather  difficult  to  believe  in  the  habitual  benevolence  or 
considerateness  of  the  parties  who  needed  a  broad  hint  on 
such  matters  ;  and  yet  real  illness  may  make  even  a  self- 
denying  nature  somewhat  exigeant,  when  mere  fanciful  ail- 
ments render  selfishness  so  intensely  selfish.  Ask  the  Physi- 
cian, Surgeon,  and  Apothecary,  and  they  will  tell  you,  that 
for  every  hard-hearted  medical  man,  who  refuses  or  delays  to 
attend  on  the  urgent  seizures  and  accidents  of  the  poor,  there 
are  thousands  of  practitioners  dragged  from  their  warm  beds 
at  night,  through  wind,  rain,  snow,  sleet,  hail,  and  thunder  and 
lightning  —  over  heaths  and  through  marshes,  and  along 
country  cross-roads  —  at  the  risk  of  catarrh,  rheumatism, 
ague,  bronchitis,  and  inflammation  —  of  falls,  fractures,  and 
footpads  —  on  the  most  frivolous  pretences  that  wealth  and 
the  vapors  can  invent.  There  is  even  a  perversity  in  some 
natures  that  would  find  a  dirty  comfort  in  the  muddy  discom- 
fort of  an  Esculapius  soused  in  provincial  muck,  like  Doctor 


428  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

Slop,  by  an  encounter  with  a  coach-horse  —  for,  what  right 
has  the  physician  to  enjoy  more  bodily  ease  than  his  patient  ? 
For  such  a  spirit  we  imperatively  prescribe  a  chapter  of  "  Life 
in  the  Sick-room,"  night  and  morning,  until  he  learns  that  the 
very  worst  excuse  a  man  can  offer  for  selfishness  is,  that  he  is 
"  not  quite  himself." 

There  is,  however,  another  peril  of  invalidism,  akin  to  the 
"  damning  of  sins  we  have  no  mind  to  "  described  in  Hudi- 
bras : — 

"  We  are  in  ever-growing  danger  of  becoming  too  abstract,  — of 
losing  our  sympathy  with  passing  emotions,  —  and  particularly 
with  those  shared  by  numbers.  There  was  a  time  when  we  went 
to  public  worship  with  others,  —  to  the  theatre,  —  to  public  meet- 
ings ;  when  we  were  present  at  picnic  parties  and  other  festivals, 
and  heard  general  conversation  every  day  of  our  lives.  Now,  we 
are  too  apt  to  forget  those  times.  The  danger  is,  lest  we  should 
get  to  despise  them,  and  to  fancy  ourselves  superior  to  our  former 
selves,  because  now  we  feel  no  social  transports." 

True.  We  have  ourselves  felt  a  touch  of  that  peril  in  our 
weaker  moments  —  on  some  dull,  cold,  wet  day,  when  our 
pores,  acting  inversely,  instead  of  throwing  off  moisture,  take 
in  as  much  as  they  can  collect  from  the  damp  atmosphere, 
well  chilled  by  an  easterly  wind.  At  such  times  a  sort  of 
Zimmermannishness  has  crept  over  us,  like  a  moral  gooseskin, 
inducing  a  low  estimate  of  all  gregarious  enjoyments,  public 
meetings,  and  public  dinners ;  and  above  all,  those  public 
choruses  on  Wilhelm's  method,  at  Exeter  Hall.  What  sym- 
pathy can  We-by-ourselves-We  have  with  Music  for  a  Mil- 
lion ?  But  the  fit  soon  evaporates,  when,  looking  into  the 
garden,  we  see  Theophilus  Junior,  that  second  edition  of  our 
own  boyhood,  in  default  of  brothers  or  playmates,  making  a 
whole  mob  of  himself,  or  at  the  least  a  troop  of  cavalry,  com- 
manding for  the  captain,  huzzaing  for  the  soldiers,  blowing 
flourishes  for  the  trumpeter,  and  even  prancing,  neighing,  and 
snorting  for  all  the  horses  !  One  dose  of  that  joyous  Socialism 
is  a  cure  for  our  worst  attack  of  the  mopes.  The  truth  is,  an 
invalid's  misanthropy  is  no  more  in  earnest  than  the  piety  of 
the  sick  demon  who  wanted  to  be  a  monk,  or  the  sentence 
about  being  weary  of  existence,  to  which  Hypochondriasis 
puts  a  period  with  a  Parr's  Life  Pill ! 

A  more  serious  peril,  from  illness,  concerns  the  temper. 


LIFE  IN  THE   SICK-ROOM.  429 

When  the  neves  are  irritable,  and  the  skin  is  irritable,  and  the 
stomach  is  irritable,  —  not  to  be  irritable  altogether  is  a  moral 
miracle  ;  and  especially  in  England,  where,  by  one  of  the  anoma- 
lies of  the  constitution,  whilst  a  man  cannot  be  tried  twice  for 
the  same  offence,  his  temper  may  be  tried  over  and  over  again 
for  no  offence  at  all.  Indeed,  as  our  author  says,  "  there  are 
cases,  and  not  a  few,  where  an  invalid's  freedom  from  irrita- 
bility is  a  merit  of  the  highest  order."  For  example,  after 
soot  in  your  gruel,  tallow-grease  in  your  barley-water,  and 
snuff  over  your  light  pudding,  to  have  "  the  draught  as  before  " 
poured  into  your  wakeful  eyes,  instead  of  your  open  mouth, 
by  a  drunken  Mrs.  Gamp,  or  one  of  her  stamp.  To  check  at 
such  a  moment  the  explosive  speech,  is  at  least  equal  to  spik- 
ing a  cannon  in  the  heat  of  battle.  There  is  beyond  denial 
an  ease  to  the  chest,  or  somewhere,  in  a  passionate  objurgation 
—  ("  Swear,  my  dear,"  said  Fuseli  to  his  wife,  "it  will  relieve 
you  ")  —  so  much  so,  that  a  certain  invalid  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, doubly  afflicted  with  a  painful  complaint,  and  an  un- 
manageable, hard-mouthed  temper,  regularly  retains,  as  helper 
to  the  sick  nurse,  a  stone-deaf  old  woman,  whom  he  can  abuse 
without  violence  to  her  feelings. 

How  much  better  to  have  emulated  the  heavenly  patience 
in  sickness  of  which  Woman  —  in  spite  of  Job  —  has  given 
the  brightest  examples  —  Woman,  who  endures  the  severest 
trials  with  a  meekness  and  submission  unheard  of  amongst 
men,  the  quaker  excepted,  who  merely  said,  when  his  throat 
was  being  cut  rather  roughly  —  "  Friend,  thee  dost  haggle." 

It  must  not  be  concealed,  however,  as  regards  irritability 
of  temper  in  the  sick-room  —  there  are  faults  on  both  sides  — 
captious  nurses  as  well  as  querulous  nurselings.  Cross-patches 
themselves,  they  willingly  mistake  the  tones  and  accents  of  in- 
tolerable anguish,  naturally  sharp  and  hurried,  for  those  of 
anger  and  impatience  —  and  even  accuse  pain,  in  its  contor- 
tions, of  making  faces,  and  set  up  their  backs  at  the  random 
speeches  of  poor  delirium !  Then  there  are  your  lecturers, 
who  preach  patience  in  the  very  climax  of  a  paroxysm,  when 
the  sermon  can  scarcely  be  heard,  certainly  not  understood  — 
as  if  a  martyr,  leaping  mad  with  the  toothache,  could  be 
calmed  by  reading  to  him  the  advertisement  of  the  American 
Soothing  Syrup !  And  then  there  is  the  she-dragon,  who 
bullies  the    sufferer  into  comparative  quiet !     Not   that  the 


430  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

best  of  attendants  is  the  smoothed-tongued.  Our  invalid  ob- 
jects wisely  to  the  sick  being  flattered,  in  season  or  out,  with 
false  hopes  and  views.  As  much  panada,  sago,  or  arrowroot 
as  you  please,  but  no  flummery. 

"  Let  the  nurse  avow  that  the  medicine  is  nauseous.  Let  the 
physician  declare  that  the  treatment  will  be  painful.  Let  sister,  or 
brother,  or  friend,  tell  me  that  I  must  never  look  to  be  well.  When 
the  time  approaches  that  I  am  to  die,  let  me  be  told  that  I  am  to 
die,  and  when.  If  I  encroach  thoughtlessly  on  the  time  or  strength 
of  those  about  me,  let  me  be  reminded ;  if  selfishly,  let  me  be  re- 
monstrated with.  Thus  to  speak  the  truth  with  love  is  in  the 
power  of  us  all." 

And  so  say  we.  There  is  nothing  worse  for  soul  or  body 
than  the  feverish  agitation  kept  up  by  the  struggle  between 
external  assurances  and  the  internal  conviction ;  for  the  mind 
will  cling  with  forlorn  pertinacity  to  the  most  desperate  chance, 
like  the  sailor,  who,  when  the  ship  was  in  danger  of  sinking, 
lashed  himself  to  the  sheet-anchor  because  it  was  the  emblem 
of  Hope.  Till  the  truth  is  known  there  can  be  no  calm  of 
mind.  It  is  only  after  he  has  abandoned  all  prospects  of 
pardon  or  reprieve,  that  the  capital  convict  sleeps  soundly  and 
dreams  of  green  fields.  So  with  ourselves  ;  once  satisfied  that 
our  case  was  beyond  remedy,  we  gave  up  without  reserve  all 
dreams  of  future  health  and  strength,  and  prepared,  instead, 
to  compete  with  that  very  able  invalid  who  was  able  to  be 
knocked  down  with  a  feather.  Thenceforward,  free  of  those 
jarring  vibrations  between  hope  and  fear,  relieved  from  all 
tantalizing  speculations  on  the  weather's  clearing  up,  our  state 
has  been  one  of  comparative  peace  and  ease.  We  would  not 
give  one  of  our  Pectoral  Lozenges  to  be  told,  we  are  looking 
better  than  a  month  ago  —  not  a  splinter  of  our  broken  crutch 
to  be  promised  a  new  lease  of  life  —  a  renewal  of  our  youth 
like  the  eagle's  !  Such  flatteries  go  in  at  one  ear,  the  deaf  one, 
and  out  at  the  other.  We  never  shall  be  well  again,  till 
broken  bones  are  mended  with  "  soft  sawder." 

Are  we,  therefore,  miserable,  hypped,  disconsolate?  An- 
swer, ye  book-shelves,  whence  we  draw  the  consolations  of 
Philosophy,  the  dreams  of  Poetry  and  Romance,  —  the  retro- 
spections of  History,  —  and  glimpses  of  society  from  the  bet- 
ter novels  ;  mirth,  comfort,  and  entertainment  even  for  those 
small  hours  become    so  long  from  an   unhealthy  vigilance. 


LIFE  IN   THE   SICK-ROOM.  431 

Answer,  ye  pictures  and  prints,  a  Portrait  Gallery  of  Nature  ! 

—  and  reply  in  your  own  tones,  dear  old  fiddle,  so  often  tuned 
to  one  favorite  sadly-sweet  air,  and  the  words  of  Curran :  — 

"  But  since  in  wailing 
There  's  naught  availing, 
But  Death  unfailing 
Must  strike  the  blow, 
Then  for  this  reason, 
And  for  a  season, 
Let  us  be  merry  before  we  go !  " 

It  is  melancholy,  doubtless,  to  retire  in  the  prime  of  life, 
from  the  whole  wide  world,  into  the  narrow  prison  of  a  sick- 
room. How  much  worse  if  that  room  be  a  wretched  garret, 
with  the  naked  tiles  above  and  the  bare  boards  below  —  no 
swinging  bookshelf — not  a  penny  colored  print  on  the  blank 
wall !  And  yet  that  forlorn  attic  is  but  the  type  of  a  more 
dreadful  destitution,  an  unfurnished  mind  !  The  mother  of 
Bloomfield  used  to  say,  that  to  encounter  Old  Age,  Winter, 
and  Poverty,  was  like  meeting  three  Giants ;  she  might  have 
added  two  more,  as  huge  and  terrible,  Sickness  and  Ignorance 

—  the  last,  not  the  least,  of  the  Monster  Evils ;  for  it  is  he 
who  affects  pauperism  with  a  deeper  poverty  —  the  beggary 
of  the  mind  and  soul. 

"  I  have  said  how  unavailing  is  luxury  when  the  body  is  distressed 
and  the  spirit  faint.  At  such  times,  and  at  all  times,  we  cannot 
but  be  deeply  grieved  at  the  conception  of  the  converse  of  our  own 
state,  at  the  thought  of  the  multitude  of  poor  suffering  under  pri- 
vation, without  the  support  and  solace  of  great  ideas.  It  is  sad 
enough  to  think  of  them  on  a  winter's  night,  aching  with  cold  in 
every  limb,  and  sunk  as  low  as  we  in  nerve  and  spirits,  from  their 
want  of  sufficient  food.  But  this  thought  is  supportable  in  cases 
where  we  may  fairly  hope  that  the  greatest  ideas  are  cheering 
them  as  we  are  cheered :  that  there  is  a  mere  set-off  of  their  cold 
and  hunger  against  our  disease  ;  and  that  we  are  alike  inspired  by 
spiritual  vigor  in  the  belief  that  our  Father  is  with  us,  —  that  we 
are  only  encountering  the  probations  of  our  pilgrimage,  —  that  we 
have  a  divine  work  given  us  to  carry  out,  now  in  pain  and  now  in 
joy.  There  is  comfort  in  the  midst  of  the  sadness  and  shame  when 
we  are  thinking  of  the  poor  who  can  reflect  and  pray,  —  of  the 
old  woman  who  was  once  a  punctual  and  eager  attendant  at  church, 

—  of  the  wasting  child  who  was  formerly  a  Sunday-scholar,  —  of 
the  reduced  gentleman  or  destitue  student  who  retain  the  privilege 
of  their  humanity,  —  of  '  looking  before  and  after.'  But  there  is 
no  mitigation  of  the  horror  when  we  think  of  the  savage  poor,  who 


432  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

form  so  large  a  proportion  of  the  hungerers,  —  when  we  conceive 
of  them  suffering  the  privation  of  all  good  things  at  once,  —  suffer- 
ing under  the  aching  cold,  the  sinking  hunger,  the  shivering  naked- 
ness, —  without  the  respite  or  solace  afforded  by  one  inspiring  or 
beguiling  idea. 

"  I  will  not  dwell  on  the  reflection.  A  glimpse  into  this  hell 
ought  to  suffice  (though  we  to  whom  imagery  comes  unbidden,  and 
cannot  be  banished  at  will,  have  to  bear  much  more  than  occasional 
glimpses  ;)  a  glimpse  ought  to  suffice  to  set  all  to  work  to  procure 
for  every  one  of  these  sufferers,  bread  and  warmth,  if  possible,  and 
as  soon  as  possible  ;  but  above  everything,  and  without  the  loss  of 
an  hour,  an  entrance  upon  their  spiritual  birthright.  Every  man, 
and  every  woman,  however  wise  and  tender,  appearing  and  de- 
signing to  be,  who  for  an  hour  helps  to  keep  closed  the  entrance 
to  the  region  of  ideas,  —  who  stands  between  sufferers  and  great 
thoughts,  (which  are  the  angels  of  consolation  sent  by  God  to  all 
to  whom  he  has  given  souls,)  are,  in  so  far,  ministers  of  hell,  not 
themselves  inflicting  torment,  but  intercepting  the  influences  which 
would  assuage  or  overpower  it.  Let  the  plea  be  heard  of  us  suf- 
ferers who  know  well  the  power  of  ideas,  —  our  plea  for  the  poor, 
that,  while  we  are  contriving  for  all  to  be  fed  and  cherished  by 
food  and  fire,  we  may  meanwhile  kindle  the  immortal  vitality 
within  them,  and  give  them  that  ethereal  solace  and  sustenance 
which  was  meant  to  be  shared  by  all,  '  without  money  and  without 
price.' " 

Never,  then,  tell  a  man,  permanently  sick,  that  he  will  again 
be  a  perfect  picture  of  health  when  he  has  not  the  frame  for 
it  —  nor  hint  to  a  sick  woman,  incurably  smitten,  that  the 
seeds  of  her  disease  will  flourish  and  flower  into  lilies  and 
roses.  Why  deter  them  from  providing  suitable  pleasures 
and  enjoyments  to  replace  those  delights  of  health  and  strength 
of  which  they  must  take  leave  forever  ?  Why  not  rather 
forewarn  them  of  the  Lapland  Winter  to  which  they  are 
destined,  and  to  trim  their  lamps  spiritual,  for  the  darkness  of 
a  long  seclusion  ?  Tell  them  their  doom  ;  and  let  them  pre- 
pare themselves  for  it,  according  to  the  Essays  before  us,  so 
healthy  in  tone,  though  from  a  confirmed  Invalid  —  so  whole- 
some and  salutary,  though  furnished  from  a  Sick-Room. 


A  NEW  SPIRIT   OF   THE  AGE.  433 


A  NEW   SPIRIT   OF   THE   AGE.* 

It  was  our  intention  to  Have  reviewed  tins  work  seriously, 
in  the  present  number  of  the  Magazine ;  but  an  unlucky  curi- 
osity prompting  us  to  turn,  first,  to  the  chapter  at  page  51, 
Vol.  II.,  we  stumbled  on  so  bewildering  a  passage  that  we 
have  done  nothing  but  grope  about  in  it  ever  since  —  even  as 
the  old  woman  who  had  her  identity  "  cut  all  round  about," 
and  tried,  in  vain,  to  recognize  herself  by  the  help  of  her 
little  dog. 

"  Mr.  Hood  was  a  wit  about  town,  and  a  philosopher  while 
recovering  from  '  the  effects  of  last  night.'  His  writings 
tended  to  give  an  unfavorable  view  of  human  nature,  to  make 
one  suspicious  and  scornful.  On  the  whole,  though  you  had 
been  amused  and  interested  as  you  went  on,  you  were  left 
uncomfortable  and  wished  you  could  forget  what  you  had 
read." 

A  wit  about  town  !  What  town  ?  Certainly  not  London. 
Not,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted,  the  Great  Metropolis.  The 
Country  knows  better.  We  are  hardly  reckoned  a  wit,  even 
at  Whitsuntide,  about  Ponder's  End  —  a  mere  village.  About 
town,  as  unknown  for  jeux  $  esprit  as  the  Townley  marbles. 
Had  the  phrase  referred,  indeed,  to  Horace  or  James  Smith,  it 
might  have  had  some  consonance  ;  or  likelier  still,  if  it  had 
been  applied  to  our  all  but  namesake,  the  author  of  "  Sayings 
and  Doings,"  who  was  notoriously  a  wit  about  town,  and  es- 
pecially about  midnight.  Hook,  as  Mr.  R.  H.  Home  truly 
says,  possessed  both  wit  and  humor.  It  was  he  who,  when 
C,  the  publisher,  wished  to  re-christen  his  unprofitable  "  Fac- 
tory Boy,"  replied,  "O,  nothing  more  easy  —  call  him  the 
Unsatisfactory  Boy  ! "  —  a  repartee  far  beyond  the  wickedness 
of  our  wit,  if  it  had  been  had  up  at  Marlborough  Street  on 
purpose. 

Such  a  convivialist,  famous  for  lighting  up  certain  of  the 
club-houses  with  laughing-gas,  had  occasionally,  no  doubt,  to 

*  A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age.     Edited  bv  E.  H.  Home.     Smith  and  Elder. 
19  BB 


434  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

philosophize  at  a  serious  breakfast,  after  a  gay  supper.  As 
much  has  been  hinted  by  his  biographers.  But  who  ever 
heard  of  our  recovering  from  "  the  effects  of  over  night  ? " 
Why,  last  night  we  drank  nothing  but  gruel  —  not  elevated  by 
rum,  and  sugar,  and  spice,  into  a  caudle,  —  but  plain  temper- 
ance gruel  —  a  cup  of  Scotch  porridge  drowned  in  a  basin  of 
water.  Who  could  recover  from  that  ?  The  early  Edinburgh 
Reviewers,  indeed,  professed,  according  to  Sidney  Smith,  to 
"  philosophize  on  a  little  oat-meal,"  but  experience  soon 
showed  that  it  was  impossible  to  be  Transcendental  on  Horse- 
Parliament- Cakes. 

A  worse  count  in  the  indictment  now  demands  a  plea  — 
that  "  our  writing  tends  to  give  an  unfavorable  view  of  human 
nature  ;  to  make  one  suspicious  and  scornful !  "  Not  Guilty  ! 
It  is  no  fault  of  ours  if  some  noses  have  a  pugnacious  turn-up 
with  all  mankind  ;  if  some  faces,  with  what  ought  to  be  a  pair 
of  right-and-left  eyes,  cast  only  a  sinister  glance  at  the  human 
race.  It  was  never  our  peculiar  pleasure  to  represent  our 
fellow-creatures  as  no  better  than  they  should  be  —  on  the 
contrary,  like  the  good  mother  when  somebody  described  her 
children  as  little  angels,  we  "  wish  they  was."  If,  therefore, 
those  who  have  been  amused  and  interested  by  our  poor  lucu- 
brations, have  been  left  uncomfortable  on  the  whole,  and 
wished  to  forget  what  they  had  read,  it  must  have  been  from 
some  other  cause  than  our  misanthropy  —  the  presence,  per- 
haps, as  objected  to  in  the  majority  of  our  "  Whims  and 
Oddities,"  of  some  "  painful  physicality  ;  "  for  example,  an  old 
man  with  his  nightcap  alight ;  an  unpleasant  incident  enough, 
as  a  bare  fact,  but  at  least  serio-comic  when  he  goes  sniffing 
down  stairs  to  ask  John  and  Mary  if  they  do  not  smell  fire  ? 
But  it  is  as  impossible  to  please  all  tastes  as  to  suit  some 
notions  of  coziness.  Even  in  the  first  number  of  this  maga- 
zine, there  were  readers  of  the  "  Haunted  House,"  to  whom  a 
ghost  or  goblin  of  any  kind  would  have  been  a  real  comfort. 
A  desirable  spectre  is  certainly  "  A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age," 
and  ought  to  figure  conspicuously  in  Mr.  George  Robins's 
next  advertisement  of  an  old  Family  Mansion. 

And  now  to  come  to  a  palpable  personality,  who  will  believe 
that  we,  a  wit  about  Town,  and  a  philosopher  on  sermons  and 
soda-water,  resemble  "  a  gentleman  of  a  serious  turn  of  mind, 
who  is  out  of  health  "  —  or,  in  plain  English,  a  consumptive 


A  NEW   SPIRIT   OF   THE   AGE. 


435 


Methodist  parson  ?  Grave  we  certainly  are,  and  an  invalid  ; 
but  who  can  credit  that  with  "  this  unpromising  outside  and 
melancholic  atmosphere,"  we  are  the  wit  of  the  Athenaeum  — 
the  wag  of  the  Carlton  —  the  practical  joker  of  the  Garrick 
—  the  life  of  the  Green  Room  ?  Who  will  swallow  —  ?  but 
stop.  An  ingenious  friend  suggests  that  we  are,  possibly,  the 
victim  of  a  mistake  of  the  press  —  the  substitution  of  a  D  for 
a  K  —  that  we  have  had  our  name,  as  Byron  says,  blundered 
in  the  Gazette. 

"  Thrice  happy  he  whose  name  has  been  well  spelt 
In  the  despatch:  I  knew  a  man  whose  loss 
Was  printed  Grove,  although  his  name  was  Grose." 

An  explanation  the  more  plausible,  seeing  that  Mr.  Home 
has  hung  us  elsewhere  with  compliments  much  too  flattering 
to  quote.  So  for  the  present  we  gratefully  make  our  best  bow 
to  him,  only  requesting  that  in  his  second,  or  at  any  rate  his 
third  edition  of  "  A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  he  will  have  the 
kindness  to  insert  the  following  erratum  :  — 

Vol.  II.  page  57,  6th  line  from  the  top,  for  Hood  read  Hook. 


IS  THIS   ROGERS'S  LAST,   OR  YOUR  OWN  ? 


436  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


THE   ECHO. 

[March,  1844.] 

The  writer  of  the  following  Letter  guesses  so  truly  at  the 
main  cause  of  the  delay  in  the  publication  of  the  present  num- 
ber, that  our  best  .explanation  to  our  subscribers  will  be,  to 
give  the  epistle  entire,  verbatim  et  literatim,  —  as  addressed  to 
the  Editor. 

"Sir,— 

"  By  your  not  dimming  out  on  the  Furst,  I  conclude  you 
are  lade  up  —  being  notorus  for  enjoyin  bad  helth.  Pulhnery, 
of  course.  Like  my  poor  Robert  —  for  I've  had  a  littery 
branch  in  my  own  fammily  —  a  periodical  one  like  yourself, 
only  every  Sunday,  insted  of  once  a  munth  ;  and  as  such,  well 
knew  what  it  was  to  write  long-winded  articles  with  Weekly 
lungs.  Poor  fellow  !  As  I  often  said,  so  much  head  work,  and 
nothin  but  Head  work,  will  make  a  Cherubbim  of  you :  and, 
so  it  did.  Nothing  but  write —  write  —  write,  and  read  —  read 
—  read  ;  and,  as  our  Doctor  says,  it 's  as  bad  to  studdy  till  all  is 
brown,  as  to  drink  till  all  is  blew.  Mix  your  cullers.  And  wery 
good  advice  it  is  —  when  it  can  be  follerd,  witch  is  not  al- 
ways the  case :  for  if  necessity  has  no  Law,  it  has  a  good  deal 
of  Litterature,  and  Authers  must  rite  what  they  must. 

"  As  poor  Robert  used  to  say  about  seddontary  habits,  it  "s 
very  well,  says  he,  to  tell  me  about  —  like  Mr.  Wordsworth's 
single  man  as  grew  dubble  —  sticking  to  my  chair  ;  but  if 
there  's  no  sitting,  says  he,  ther  '11  be  no  hatching ;  and  if  I  do 
brood  too  much  at  my  desk  it 's  because  there  's  a  brood  expect- 
ed from  me  once  a  week.  Oh  !  it 's  very  well,  says  he,  to  cry 
Up,  up  with  you ;  and  go  and  fetch  a  walk,  and  take  a  look  at 
the  daisies,  when  you  've  sold  your  mind  to  MifFy  Stofilis  ;  and 
there  's  a  Divil  waiting  for  your  last  proofs,  as  he  did  for  Doc- 
tor Forster's.  I  know  it 's  killin  me,  says  he ;  but  if  I  die 
of  overwork  it 's  in  the  way  of  my  vacation.  Poor  boy  !  I  did 
all  I  could  to  nurridge  him :    Mock  Turkey  soop  and  strong 


THE  ECHO.  437 

slops,  and  "Wormy  Jelly  and  Island  Moss  ;  but  he  could  n't  eat. 
And  no  wunder ;  for  mental  laber,  as  the  Doctor  said,  wares 
out  the  stummack  as  well  as  the  Branes,  and  so  he  'd  been 
spinning  out  his  inside  like  a  spider.  And  a  spider  he  did  look 
at  last,  sure  enuff  —  one  of  that  sort,  with  long  spindle  legs, 
and  only  a  dot  of  a  Boddy  in  the  middle. 

"  Another  bad  thing  is  settin  up  all  nite  as  my  Sun  did,  but 
it 's  all  agin  Natur.  Not  but  what  sum  must,  and  partickly  the 
writers  of  Polliticks  for  the  Papers ;  but  they  ruin  the  Con- 
stitushun.  And,  besides,  even  Poetry  is  apt  to  get  prosy  after 
twelve  or  one ;  and  some  late  authors  read  very  sleepy.  But 
as  poor  Robert  said,  what  is  one  to  do  when  no  day  is  long 
enuff  for  one's  work,  nor  no  munth  either.  And  to  be  sure, 
April,  June,  November,  and  September  are  all  short  munths, 
but  Febber-m;y  /  However,  one  grate  thing  is,  relaxing  — 
if  you  can.  As  the  Doctor  used  to  say,  what  made  Jack  a  dull 
boy  —  why  being  always  in  the  workhouse  and  never  at  the 
playhouse.  So  get  out  of  your  gownd  and  slippers,  says  he, 
and  put  on  your  Best  Things  and  unbend  yourself  like  a  Beau. 
If  you  've  been  at  your  poeticle  flights,  go  and  look  at  the 
Terns  Tunnel ;  and  if  you  're  tired  of  being  Witty,  go  and 
spend  a  hour  with  the  Wax  Wurk.  The  mind  requires  a 
Change  as  well  as  the  merchants. 

"  So  take  my  advice,  Sir  —  a  mother's  advice  —  and  relax 
a  littel.  I  know  what  it  is  :  You  want  brassing,  a  change  of 
Hair,  and  more  stummuck.  And  you  ought  to  ware  flannin, 
and  take  tonicks.  Do  you  ever  drink  Basses  Pail  ?  It 's  as 
good  as  cammomile  Tea.  But  above  all,  there 's  one  thing  I  'd 
recummend  to  you  :  Steal  Wine.  It 's  been  a  savin  to  sum 
invallids. 

"  Hoping  you  will  excuse  this  libberty  from  a  Stranger, 
but  a  well-meening  one, 

"I  am,  Sir, 

"A  SUBSCRIBBEK." 


438  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


THE    ECHO. 

[June,  1844.] 

It  is  with  feelings  of  the  deepest  concern  that  we  acquaint 
our  subscribers  and  the  public  with  the  circumstances  that 
have,  during  the  past  month,  deprived  this  Magazine  of  the 
invaluable  services  of  its  Editor.  A  severe  attack  of  the 
disorder  to  which  he  has  long  been  subject  —  hemorrhage 
from  the  lungs,  occasioned  by  enlargement  of  the  heart  (itself 
brought  on  by  the  wearing  excitement  of  ceaseless  and  exces- 
sive literary  toil)  —  has,  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  reduced 
Mr.  Hood  to  a  state  of  such  extreme  debility  and  exhaustion, 
that  during  several  days  fears  were  entertained  for  his  life. 
Nevertheless,  up  to  Thursday,  the  23d,  he  did  not  relinquish 
the  hope  that  he  should  have  strength  to  continue,  in  the  pres- 
ent number,  the  Novel  which  he  began  in  the  last ;  and  he 
even  directed  his  intention  to  be  announced  in  the  advertise- 
ments which  were  sent  out,  on  that  day,  to  the  Saturday  jour- 
nals. On  the  same  evening  sitting  up  in  bed,  he  tried  to 
invent  and  sketch  a  few  comic  designs  ;  but  even  this  effort 
exceeded  his  strength,  and  was  followed  by  the  wandering  de- 
lirium of  utter  nervous  exhaustion.  Next  morning  his  medi- 
cal attendants  declared  that  the  repetition  of  any  such  attempt, 
at  that  critical  period  of  his  illness,  might  cost  him  his  life. 
"We  trust  that  this  brief  explanation  will  obtain  for  Mr.  Hood 
the  sympathy  and  kind  indulgence  of  our  subscribers ;  and, 
especially,  that  it  will  satisfy  them  of  the  perfect  bona  fides 
with  which  the  promise  of  a  contribution  from  his  pen  was 
advertised  in  the  Saturday  papers.  Mr.  Hood,  we  are  happy 
to  say,  is  now  gradually  recovering  strength  ;  and  there  is 
every  reason  to  expect  that  he  will  be  able,  in  the  next  num- 
ber, to  give  the  promised  new  chapter  and  illustrations,  at 
present  of  necessity  deferred. 

Conscious  of  his  enfeebled  powers  and  uncertain  hand,  Mr. 
Hood  threw  aside  the  above-mentioned  sketches,  as  too  insig- 
nificant for  publication.  But  it  has  been  thought  that  the  con- 
trast of  their  sprightly  humor  with  the  pain  and  prostration  in 


THE  ECHO. 


430 


the  midst  of  which  they  were  produced,  might  give  them  a 
peculiar  interest,  independent  of  any  merit  of  their  own  : 
suggesting,  perhaps,  the  reflection  (never  too  trite  to  be  re- 
peated, so  long  as  it  is  too  true  to  be  denied)  by  what  harass- 
ing efforts  the  food  of  careless  mirth  is  furnished ;  and  how 
often  the  pleasure  of  the  Many  costs  bitter  endurance  to  One. 
Disobeying,  therefore,  for  once,  the  direction  of  our  chief, 
we  have  preserved  two  of  these  "  sick-room  fancies,"  which 
will  enable  us  to  convey,  in  his  own  quaint  picture-language, 
to  the  readers  of 


hood's  mag, 


THE   EDITOR'S   APOLOGIES. 


440  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


THE    ECHO. 

[July,  1844.] 


It  is  with  unfeigned  pleasure  that,  after  a  silence  of  a 
month,  I  renew  my  intercourse  with  my  readers,  through  the 
"  still  small  voice  of  print." 

During  the  interval  it  has  been  my  lot  to  undergo  a  fearful 
wrestling  with  Death ;  and  although  I  have,  for  the  present, 
escaped  that  fatal  back  fall  by  which  he  has  thrown  so  many 
of  his  mortal  antagonists,  enough  remains  in  my  shattered 
frame  to  remind  me  of  the  physical  pangs  and  wrenches  of  so 
protracted  a  contest.  Indeed,  for  the  future,  as  at  present,  the 
serious  and  incurable  nature  of  my  complaints  will  require 
my  whole  stock  of  that  cheerful  philosophy  which  it  has  been 
my  aim  to  recommend,  heretofore,  by  my  pen  and  personal 
practice.  And,  after  all  (and  be  this  my  answer  to  the  cor- 
respondent who  signs  himself  "Verity"),  it  is  better  to  have 
an  enlarged  heart  than  a  contracted  one ;  and  even  such  a 
hemorrhage  as  mine  than  a  spitting  of  spite. 

It  will  doubtless  surprise  some  persons  who  have  read  the 
"  Echo,"  in  the  last  number,  to  find  me  so  soon  resuming  the 
pen  and  the  pencil.  The  truth  is,  such  exercises  are  some- 
what against  the  triple  injunction  of  my  medical  advisers,  who 
strenuously  ordered  me  "  to  do  nothing,"  but  which,  on  trial, 
was  so  hard  to  do,  that  a  head  and  hand,  unaccustomed  to 
sheer  idleness,  flew  to  any  work  in  preference.  To  the  kind, 
but  unknown  friends,  who  have  afforded  me  their  sympathy  — 
some,  by  letter  —  a  few  designs  and  a  chapter  will  be  welcome 
evidences  of  my  recovery,  or  rather  amendment ;  for  I  have 
not  even  yet  taken  a  final  leave  of  my  physicians,  nor  made, 
without  reserve,  the  present,  recommended  by  Macbeth,  to  the 
canine  race. 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  ECHO. 


441 


19 


442  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


THE    ECHO. 

[January,  1845.] 

Some  months  since,  Mr.  Edward  Davis,  the  well-known 
sculptor,  applied  to  me  to  sit  to  him  for  a  Bust.  My  vanity 
readily  complied  with  the  request ;  and  in  due  time  I  found 
myself  in  his  studio,  installed  in  a  crimson-covered  elbow- 
chair,  amidst  an  assemblage  of  Heads,  hard  and  soft,  white, 
drab,  and  stone-color.  Here,  a  young  Nobleman  —  one  of 
the  handsomest  of  the  day  —  in  painted  plaster ;  there,  a 
benevolent-looking  Bishop  in  clear  white  sparkling  marble, 
next  to  a  brown  clay  head,  like  Refined  and  Moist.  A  num- 
ber of  unfinished  models,  of  what  Beau  Brummel  would  have 
called  "  damp  strangers,"  were  tied  up  in  wet  cloths,  from 
which  every  moment  you  expected  to  hear  a  sneeze  :  the 
veiled  ones  comprising  a  lady  or  two,  a  barrister,  and  a  judge. 
All  these  were  on  pedestals  :  but  in  the  background,  on  the 
boards,  stood  numerous  other  busts,  dwarfish  or  gigantic, 
heads  and  shoulders,  like  Oriental  Genii  coming  up  through 
the  floor  —  some  white  and  clean,  as  if  fresh  from  the  waters 
under  the  earth ;  others  dingy  and  smoky,  as  if  from  its  sub- 
terranean fireplaces  —  some  young,  some  old,  some  smiling, 
and  others  grave,  or  even  frowning  severely ;  with  one  alarm- 
ing face,  reminding  me  of  those  hard,  brutal  countenances 
that  are  seen  on  street-doors. 

On  the  mantel-shelf  silently  roared  the  Caput  of  the 
Laocoon,  with  deeply  indented  eyeballs,  instead  of  the  regu- 
lation blanks ;  and  what  the  play  people  call  a  practicable 
mouth,  i.  e.  into  which  you  might  poke  your  finger  down  to 
the  gullet ;  and,  lastly,  on  the  walls  were  sundry  mystical 
sketches  in  black  and  white  chalk,  which  you  might  turn,  as 
fancy  prompted,  like  Hamlet's  cloud,  into  any  figure  you 
pleased,  from  a  weasel  to  a  whale. 

To  return  to  self.  The  artist,  after  setting  up  before  me 
what  seemed  a  small  mountain  of  putty,  with  a  bold  scoop  of 
his  thumbs  marked  out  my  eyes ;  next  taking  a  good  pinch 


THE  ECHO. 


443 


of  clay  —  an  operation  I  seemed  to  feel  by  sympathy  —  from 
between  my  shoulders,  clapped  me  on  a  rough  nose,  and  then 
stuck  the  surplus  material  in  a  large  wart  on  my  chest.  In 
short,  by  similar   proceedings,  scraping,   smoothing,  dabbing 


A   KXOCKER-DOWX. 


on  and  taking  off,  at  the  end  of  the  first  sitting,  Sculptor  had 
made  the  upper  half  of  a  mud  doll,  the  size  of  life,  looking 
very  like  "  the  idol  of  his  own  circle  "  in  the  Cannibal  Islands. 

At  subsequent  sittings,  this  heathen  figure  gradually  be- 
came not  only  more  Christian-like,  but  more  and  more  like 
the  original ;  till  finally  it  put  on  that  striking  resemblance 
which  is  so  satisfactory  to  one's  wife  and  family,  and,  as  it 
were,  introduces  a  man  to  himself. 

An  Engraving  by  Mr.  Heath  from  this  Bust  is  intended  to 
form  the  frontispiece  to  the  Second  Volume  of  this  Magazine, 
and  will  be  given  with  the  next  Number,  should  the  interval 
be  sufficient  for  the  careful  execution  and  finish  of  the  plate. 
The  Address  that  should  have  been  offered,  the  present 
month,  will  accompany  the  engraving ;  the  same  cause  that 
postpones  it  —  a  severe  indisposition  —  will  be  accepted  per- 


444  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

haps  as  a  sufficient  apology  for  the  absence  of  the  usual  An- 
swers to  Correspondents.  In  the  mean  time  all  good  wishes 
are  briefly  tendered  to  the  vast  ring  of  friends  and  the  increas- 
ing circle  of  subscribers,  to  whose  entertainment,  at  the  pres- 
ent season,  I  have  tried  to  contribute. 

T.  H. 


DOMESTIC    MESMERISM. 

[January,  1845.] 


Gape,  sinner  and  swallow."  —  Meg  Merrilies. 


It  is  now  just  a  year  since  we  reviewed  Miss  Martineau's 
"  Life  in  the  Sick-Room,"  and  left  the  authoress  set  in  for  a 
house-ridden  invalid,  alemating  between  her  bed  and  the 
sofa ;  unable  to  walk  out  of  doors,  but  enjoying  through  her 
window  and  a  telescope  the  prospect  of  green  downs  and 
heath,  an  old  priory,  a  limekiln,  a  colliery  railway,  an  ancient 
church,  a  windmill,  a  farm,  with  hay  and  corn  stacks,  a  mar- 
ket garden,  gossiping  farmers,  sportsmen,  boys  flying  kites, 
washerwomen,  a  dairymaid  feeding  pigs,  the  lighthouses,  har- 
bor, and  shipping  of  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  and  a  large  assort- 
ment of  objects,  pastoral,  marine,  and  picturesque.  There 
we  left  the  "  sick  prisoner,"  as  we  supposed,  quite  aware  of 
a  condition  beyond  remedy,  and  cheerfully  made  up  for  her 
fate  by  the  help  of  philosophy,  laudanum,  and  Christian 
resignation. 

There  never  was  a  greater  mistake.  Instead  of  the  pre- 
sumed calm  submission  in  a  hopeless  case,  the  invalid  was  in- 
tently watching  the  progress  of  a  new  curative  legerdemain, 
sympathizing  with  its  repudiated  professors,  and  secretly 
intending  to  try  whether  her  own  chronic  complaint  could  not 
be  conjured  away  with  a  "  Hey,  presto  !  pass  and  repass  ! " 
like  a  pea  from  under  the  thimble      The  experiment  it  seems 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM.  445 

has  been  made,  and  lo !  like  one  of  the  patients  of  the  old 
quacksalvers,  forth  comes  Miss  Martineau  on  the  public  stage, 
proclaiming  to  the  gaping  crowd  how  her  long-standing,  in- 
veterate complaint,  that  baffled  all  the  doctors,  has  been 
charmed  away  like  a  wart,  and  that,  from  being  a  helpless 
cripple,  she  has  thrown  away  her  crutches,  literal  or  meta- 
phorical, and  can  walk  a  mile  as  well  as  any  Milesian.  And 
this  miraculous  cure,  not  due  to  Holloway,  Pan-,  Morison,  or 
any  of  the  rest  of  the  faculty,  nor  to  any  marvellous  ointment, 
infallible  pills,  or  new  discovery  in  medicine,  but  solely  to 
certain  magical  gesticulations,  as  safe,  pleasant,  and  easy  as 
playing  at  cat's  cradle  —  in  short,  by  Mesmerism  ! 

Now  we  are,  as  we  have  said  before,  the  greatest  Invalid  in 
England ;  with  a  complication  of  complaints  requiring  quite 
a  staff  of  physicians,  each  to  watch  and  treat  the  particular 
disease  which  he  has  made  his  peculiar  study  :  as,  one  for  the 
heart,  another  for  the  lungs,  a  third  for  the  stomach,  a  fourth 
for  the  liver,  and  so  on.  Above  all,  we  are  incapable  of 
pedestrian  locomotion ;  lamer  than  Crutched  Friars,  and,  be- 
tween gout  in  our  ankles  and  rheumatism  in  our  knees,  could 
as  easily  walk  on  our  head,  like  Quilp's  boy,  as  on  our  legs. 
It  would  delight  us,  therefore,  to  believe  that  by  no  painful 
operation,  but  only  a  little  posture-making  behind  our  back  or 
to  our  face,  we  could  be  restored  to  the  use  of  our  precious 
limbs,  to  walk  like  a  Leaguer,  and  run  again  like  a  renewed 
bill.  But  alas  !  an  anxious  examination  of  Miss  Martineau's 
statements  has  satisfied  us  that  there  is  no  chance  of  such  a 
desirable  consummation  ;  that,  to  use  a  common  phrase,  "  the 
news  is  too  good  to  be  true."  We  have  carefully  waded 
through  the  Newcastle  letters,  occupying  some  two  dozen 
mortal  columns  of  the  "  Athenagurn,"  and  with  something  of 
the  mystified  feeling  of  having  been  reading  by  turns  and 
snatches  in  Moore's  Almanac,  Zadkiel's  Astrology,  a  dream- 
book,  and  a  treatise  on  metaphysics,  have  come  to  the  sor- 
rowful conclusion  that  we  have  as  much  chance  of  a  cure  by 
Mesmerism,  as  of  walking  a  thousand  miles  in  a  thousand 
hours  through  merely  reading  the  constant  advertisements  of 
the  Patent  Pedometer.  A  conviction  not  at  all  removed  by  an 
actual  encounter  with  a  professor,  who,  after  experimenting 
on  the  palms  of  our  hands  without  exciting  any  peculiar  sen- 
sation, except  that  quivering  of  the  diaphragm  which  results 


446  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

from  suppressed  laughter,  gravely  informed  us  —  slipping 
through  a  pleasant  loophole  of  retreat  from  all  difficulties  — 
that  "  we  were  not  in  a  fit  state." 

The  precise  nature  of  Miss  Martineau's  complaint  is  not 
stated ;  nor  is  it  material  to  be  known  except  to  the  profes- 
sional man :  the  great  fact,  that  after  five  year's  confinement  to 
the  house  she  can  walk  as  many  miles  without  fatigue,  thanks 
to  the  mysterious  Ism,  "  that  sadly  wants  a  new  name,"  is  a 
sufficient  subject  for  wonder,  curiosity,  and  common  sense  to 
discuss.  A  result  obtained,  it  appears,  after  two  months  passed 
under  the  hands  of  three  several  persons  —  a  performance 
that  must  be  reckoned  rather  slow  for  a  miracle,  seeing  that  if 
we  read  certain  passages  aright,  a  mesmerizer  "  with  a  white 
hat  and  an  illuminated  profile,  like  a  saint  or  an  angel,"  is  gift- 
ed with  powers  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to  those  of  the  old  Apos- 
tles. The  delay,  moreover,  throws  a  doubt  on  the  source  of 
the  relief,  for  there  are  many  diseases  to  which  such  an  inter- 
val would  allow  of  a  natural  remission. 

In  the  curative  process,  the  two  most  remarkable  phenome- 
na were  —  1st,  That  the  patient,  with  a  weasel-like  vigilance, 
did  not  go  as  usual  into  the  magnetic  sleep  or  trance  :  and,  2dly, 
That  every  glorified  object  before  her  was  invested  with  a  pe- 
culiar light,  so  that  a  bust  of  Isis  burnt  with  a  phosphoric 
splendor,  and  a  black,  dirty,  Newcastle  steam-tug  shone  with 
heavenly  radiance.  Appearances,  for  which  we  at  once  take 
the  lady's  word,  but  must  decline  her  inference,  that  they  had 
any  influence  in  setting  her  on  her  legs  again.  The  nerves, 
and  the  optic  ones  especially,  were,  no  doubt,  in  a  highly  excited 
state :  but  that  a  five  year  old  lameness  derived  any  relaxation 
from  that  effulgence  we  will  believe,  when  the  broken  heart  of 
a  soldier's  widow  is  bound  up  by  a  general  illumination.  In- 
deed, we  remember  once  to  have  been  personally  visited  with 
such  lights,  that  we  saw  two  candles  instead  of  one  —  but  we 
decidedly  walked  the  worse  for  it. 

On  the  subject  of  other  visionary  appearances  Miss  Marti- 
neau  is  less  explicit,  or  rather  tantalizingly  obscure  ;  for  after 
hinting  that  she  has  seen  wonders  above  wonders,  instead  of 
favoring  us  with  her  Revelations  or  Mysteries,  like  Ainsworth 
or  Eugene  Sue,  she  pluinply  says  that  she  means  to  keep  them 
to  herself. 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM.  447 

"  Between  this  condition  and  the  mesmeric  sleep  there  is  a  state, 
transient  and  rare,  of  which  I  have  had  experience,  but  of  which  I 
intend  to  give  no  account.  A  somnambule  calls  it  a  glimmering  of 
the  lights  of  somnambulism  and  clairvoyance.  To  me  there  ap- 
pears nothing  like  glimmering  in  it.  The  ideas  that  I  have 
snatched  from  it,  and  now  retain,  are,  of  all  ideas  which  ever 
visited  me,  the  most  lucid  and  impressive.  It  may  be  well  that 
they  are  incommunicable  —  partly  from  their  nature"  and  relations, 
and  partly  from  their  unfitness  for  translation  into  mere  words.  I 
will  only  say  that  the  condition  is  one  of  no  "  nervous  excitement," 
as  far  as  experience  and  outward  indications  can  be  taken  as  a  test. 
Such  a  state  of  repose,  of  calm,  translucent  intellectuality,  I  had 
never  conceived  of;  and  no  reaction  followed,  no  excitement  but 
that  which  is  natural  to  every  one  who  finds  himself  in  possession 
of  a  great  new  idea." 

So  that  whether  she  obtained  a  glimpse  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem, or  a  peep  into  the  World  of  Spirits,  or  saw  the  Old  Gen- 
tleman himself,  is  left  to  wide  conjecture.  Our  own  guess,  in 
the  absence  of  all  direction,  is,  that  she  enjoyed  a  mesmeric 
translation  into  another  planet,  and  derived  her  great  idea  from 
the  Man  in  the  Moon. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  only  suppression.  For  instance, 
it  is  said  that  one  of  the  strongest  powers  of  the  girl  J.,  the 
somnambulist,  was  the  discernment  of  disease,  its  conditions 
and  remedies  ;  that  she  cleared  up  her  own  case  first,  prescrib- 
ing for  herself  very  fluently,  and  then  medically  advised  Miss 
Martineau,  and  that  the  treatment  in  both  cases  succeeded. 
Surely,  in  common  charity  to  the  afflicted,  these  infallible  rem- 
edies ought  to  have  been  published  ;  their  nature  ought  to  have 
been  indicated,  if  only  to  enable  one  to  judge  of  supernatural  pre- 
scribing compared  with  professional  practice  ;  but  so  profound 
a  silence  is  preserved  on  these  points  as  to  lead  to  the  inevita- 
ble conclusion,  that  the  mesmeric  remedies,  like  the  quack  med- 
icines, are  to  be  secured  by  patent,  and  to  be  sold  at  so  much 
a  family-bottle,  stamp  included.  One  recipe  only  transpires, 
of  so  commonplace  and  popular  a  character,  and  so  little  re- 
quiring inspiration  for  its  invention,  —  so  ludicrously  familiar 
to  wide-awake  advisers,  that  our  sides  shake  to  record  how 
Miss  Martineau,  restless  and  sleepless  for  want  of  her  aban- 
doned opiates,  was  ordered  ale  at  dinner  and  brandy  and  water 
for  a  nightcap.  Oh,  J. !  J. !  well  does  thy  initial  stand  also 
for  Joker  ! 


448  HOOD'S   MAGAZINE. 

In  addition  to  these  suppressions,  one  unaccountable  omis- 
sion lias  certainly  staggered  us,  as  much  as  if  we  had  consid- 
ered it  through  a  couple  of  bottles  of  wine.  In  common  with 
ourselves  our  clever  friend  T.  L.,  and  many  other  persons  — 
who  all  hear  the  music  of  the  spheres,  dumb-bells,  and  other 
mute  melodies,  as  distinctly  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  of 
gross  mundane  sounds  and  noises  are  unconscious  as  the  ad- 
der —  Miss  Martineau  is  very  deaf,  indeed.  Here  then  was 
an  obvious  subject  for  experiment,  and  having  been  so  easily 
cured  of  one  infirmity,  it  seems  only  natural  that  it  should  have 
occurred  to  the  patient  to  apply  instanter  to  the  same  agency 
for  relief  from  another  disability  —  that  she  should  have  re- 
quested her  mesmerizer  to  quicken  her  hearing  as  well  as  her 
pace.  But  on  the  contrary,  her  ears  seem  quite  to  have  slipped 
out  of  her  head ;  and  at  an  advanced  stage  of  the  proceed- 
ings we  find  her  awaiting  J.'s  revelations,  "  with  an  American 
friend  repeating  to  her  on  the  instant,  on  account  of  her  deaf- 
ness, every  word  as  it  fell."  And  to  make  the  omission  more 
glaring,  it  is  in  the  midst  of  speculations  on  the  mesmeric 
sharpening  of  another  sense,  till  it  can  see  through  deal-boards, 
mill-stones,  and  "  barricadoes  as  lustrous  as  ebony,"  that  she 
neglects  to  ascertain  whether  her  hearing  might  not  be  so  im- 
proved as  to  perceive  sounds  through  no  denser  medium  than 
the  common  air  !  Such  an  interesting  experiment  in  her  own 
person  ought  surely  to  have  preceded  the  trials  whether  "  J." 
could  see,  and  draw  ships  and  churches,  with  her  eyes  shut ; 
and  the  still  more  remote  inquiry  whether,  at  the  day  of  judg- 
ment, we  are  to  rise  with  or  without  our  bodies,  including  the 
auricular  organs.  If  dull  people  can  be  cured  of  stone-deaf- 
ness by  a  few  magnetic  passes,  so  pleasant  a  fact  ought  not  to 
be  concealed ;  whatever  the  consequence  to  the  proprietors  of 
registered  Voice  Conductors  and  Cornets. 

Along  with  this  experiment,  we  should  have  been  glad  of 
more  circumstantial  references  to  many  successful  ones  merely 
assumed  and  asserted.  There  is,  indeed,  nothing  throughout 
the  Letters  more  singular  than  the  complacency  with  which  we 
are  expected  to  lake  disputed  matters  for  granted  ;  as  if  all  her 
readers  were  in  magnetic  rapport  with  the  authoress,  think- 
ing as  she  thinks,  seeing  as  she  sees,  and  believing  as  she  be- 
lieves. Thus  the  theory,  that  the  mind  of  the  somnambulist 
mirrors  that  of  the  mesmerizer,  is  declared  to  be  pretty  clearly 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM.  449 

proved,  *  when  an  ignorant  child,  ignorant  especially  of  the  Bi- 
ble, discourses  of  the  Scriptures  and  divinity  with  a  clergy- 
man, and  of  the  nebula?  with  an  astronomer ; "  and  when  per- 
fectly satisfactory  to  the  writer,  but  which  sticks  in  our  throat 
like  its  namesake,  the  English  for  goitre.  "We  should  be  de- 
lighted to  know  the  whereabouts  of  that  Wonderful  Child  and 
its  caravan.     And  here  are  more  whens  :  — 

What  becomes  of  really  divine  inspiration  when  the  commonest 
people  find  they  can  elicit  marvels  of  provision  and  insight  ?  What 
becomes  of  the  veneration  for  religious  contemplation  when  ecsta- 
sies are  found  to  be  at  the  command  of  very  unhallowed  —  wholly 
unauthorized  hands  ?  What  becomes  of  the  respect  in  which  the 
medical  profession  ought  to  be  held,  ichen  the  friends  of  the  sick 
and  suffering,  with  their  feelings  all  alive,  see  the  doctor's  skill  and 
science  overborne  and  set  aside  by  means  at  the  command  of  an 
ignorant  neighbor,  —  means  which  are  all  ease  and  pleasantness  ? 
How  can  the  profession  hold  its  dominion  over  minds,  however 
backed  by  law  and  the  opinion  of  the  educated,  when  the  vulgar 
see  and  know  that  limbs  are  removed  without  pain,  in  opposition 
to  the  will  of  doctors,  and  in  spite  of  their  denial  of  the  facts  ? 
What  avails  the  decision  of  a  whole  College  of  Surgeons  that  such 
a  thing  could  not  be,  when  a  whole  town  full  of  people  know  that 
it  was  ?  What  becomes  of  the  transmission  of  fluid  when  the  mes- 
merist acts,  without  concert,  on  a  patient  a  hundred  miles  off? 

To  all  of  which  Echo  answers  "  When  ?  "  —  whilst  another 
memorable  one  adds  "  Where  ?  "  In  fact,  had  the  letters  been 
delivered  as  speeches,  the  orator  would  continually  have  been 
interrupted  with  such  cries,  and  for  "  name  !  name  !  " 

In  the  same  style  we  are  told  that  we  need  not  quarrel 
about  the  name  to  be  given  to  a  power  "  that  can  make  the 
deaf  and  dumb  hear  and  speak  ;  disperse  dropsies,  banish  fe- 
vers, asthma,  and  paralysis,  absorb  tumors,  and  cause  the  sever- 
ance of  nerve,  bone,  and  muscle  to  be  unfelt.  Certainly  not, 
—  nor  about  the  name  to  be  bestowed  on  certain  newly-invent- 
ed magnetic  rings  that  have  appeared  simultaneously  with  the 
Newcastle  letters,  and  are  said  to  cure  a  great  variety  of  dis- 
eases. We  only  object  —  as  we  should  in  passing  a  trades- 
man's accounts  —  to  take  mere  items  for  facts  that  are  unsup- 
ported by  vouchers.  But  it  is  obvious  throughout  that  Miss 
Martineau  forgets  she  is  not  addressing  magnetizers  ;  instead 
of  considering  herself  as  telling  a  ghost -story  to  people  who 
did  not  believe  in  apparitions,  and  consequently  fortifying  her 

cc 


450  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

narrative  with  all  possible  evidence  corroborative  and  circum- 
stantial. This  is  evident  from  the  trusting  simplicity  with 
which  she  relates  all  the  freaks  and  fancies  of  the  somnambu- 
list J.,  in  spite  of  their  glaring  absurdities  and  inconsistencies. 
For  instance,  her  vocabulary  is  complained  of,  with  its  odd 
and  vulgar  phrases,  so  inferior  to  the  high  tone  of  her  ideas, 
and  the  subjects  of  her  discourse :  whereas,  like  the  child  that 
talked  of  nebulas  and  was  put  up  to  astronomical  technicals,  she 
ought  to  have  used  as  refined  language  as  her  mesmerizer,  the 
well-educated  widow  of  a  clergyman.  So  when  a  glass  of 
proper  magnetic- water  was  willed  to  be  porter  on  her  palate, 
she  called  it  obliquely  "  a  nasty  sort  of  beer,"  when,  reflecting 
the  knowledge  of  her  mesmerizer,  she  should  have  recognized 
it  by  name  as  well  as  by  taste  :  and  again,  in  the  fellow  experi- 
ment, when  the  water  was  willed  to  be  sherry,  she  described 
it  as  "  wine,  white  wine  ;  "  and  moreover,  on  drinking  half  a 
tumbler,  became  so  tipsy  that  she  was  afraid  to  rise  from  the 
chair  or  walk,  or  go  down  stairs,  "  for  fear  of  falling  and  spoil- 
ing her  face."  The  thing,  however,  was  not  original.  Miss 
Martineau  insinuates  that  mesmerism  is  much  older  than  Mes- 
mer ;  and  in  reality  the  reader  will  remember  a  sham  Abram 
feast  of  the  same  kind  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  where  the  Bar- 
mecide willed  ideal  mutton,  barley-broth,  and  a  fat  goose  with 
sweet  sauce,  —  and  how  Shacabac,  to  humor  his  entertainer, 
got  drunk  on  imaginary  wine. 

The  whole  interlude,  indeed,  in  which  J.  figures,  if  not  very 
satisfactory  to  the  sceptical,  is  rather  amusing.  She  is  evi- 
dently an  acute,  brisk  girl  of  nineteen,  with  a  turn  for  fun,  — 
"  very  fond  of  imitating  the  bagpipes  "  in  her  merry  moods  — 
and  ready  to  go  the  whole  Magnetic  Animal,  even  to  the  "  mes- 
merizing herself,"  —  an  operation  as  difficult,  one  would  imag- 
ine, as  self-tickling.  She  exhibits,  in  fact,  a  will  of  her  own, 
and  an  independence,  quite  at  variance  with  the  usual  subjec- 
tion to  a  superior  influence.  She  wakes  at  her  own  pleasure 
from  her  trances  —  is  not  so  abstracted  in  them  as  to  forget  her 
household  errands,  that  she  has  to  go  to  the  shop  over  the 
way — and  without  any  mesmeric  introduction  gets  into  rap- 
•port  with  the  music  next  door,  which  sets  her  mocking  all  the 
instruments  of  an  orchestra,  dancing,  and  describing  the  com- 
pany in  a  ball-room.  Another  day,  when  one  of  the  phreno- 
logical organs  was  affected,  she  was  thrown  into  a  paroxysm 


DOMESTIC  MESMERISM.  451 

of  order,  and  was  "almost  in  a  frenzy  of  trouble  because 
she  could  not  make  two  pocket-handkerchiefs  lay  flat  and 
measure  the  same  size  —  all  very  good  fun,  and  better  than 
stitching  or  darning.  But  she  preferred  higher  game.  "  I  like 
to  look  up  and  see  spiritual  things.  I  can  see  diseases,  and  I 
like  to  see  visions  !  "  And  accordingly  she  did  see  a  vision  — 
by  what  must  be  called  Clairvoyance's  long  range  —  of  a  ship- 
wreck, with  all  its  details  between  Gottenburg  and  Elsinore. 

This  "  inexplicable  anecdote  "  Miss  Martineau  gives  with 
the  usual  amiable  reliance  on  the  reader's  implicit  credence, 
declaring  that  she  cannot  discover  any  chink  by  which  decep- 
tion could  creep  in  ;  whereas  there  is  a  gaping  gap  as  practi- 
cable as  any  breach  ever  made  by  battery.  To  give  any 
weight  whatever  to  such  a  tale,  two  conditions  are  absolutely 
essential :  that  the  intelligence  should  not  have  been  received 
in  the  town  ;  and  that,  if  it  had,  the  girl  should  have  had  no 
opportunity  of  hearing  the  news.  And  was  this  the  case  ?  By  no 
means.  On  the  contrary,  J.  had  been  out  on  an  errand,  and 
immediately  on  her  return  she  was  mesmerized,  and  related 
her  vision  ;  the  news  arriving  by  natural  means,  so  simul- 
taneously with  the  revelation,  that  she  presently  observed,  "  My 
aunt  is  below  telling  them  all  about  it,  and  I  shall  hear  all 
about  it  when  I  go  down."  To  be  expected  to  look  on  a  maid 
of  Newcastle  as  a  she-Ezekiel,  on  such  terms,  really  con- 
firms us  in  an  opinion  we  have  gradually  been  forming,  that 
Miss  Martineau  never  in  her  life  looked  at  a  human  gullet  by 
the  help  of  a  table-spoon. 

In  justice,  however,  it  must  be  said,  that  the  latter  writer 
gives  credit  as  freely  as  she  requires  it ;  witness  the  vision 
just  referred  to,  which  it  is  confidently  said  was  impossible  to 
be  known  by  ordinary  means,  coupled  with  an  equally  rash 
assertion  that  the  girl  had  not  seen  her  aunt,  "  the  only  person 
(in  all  Newcastle  !)  from  whom  tidings  of  the  shipwreck  could 
be  obtained."  The  truth  is,  with  a  too  easy  faith,  Miss  Mar- 
tineau greatly  underrates  the  mischievous  propensities  and 
wicked  capabilities  of  human  nature.     She  says  : 

"  I  am  certain  that  it  is  not  in  human  nature  to  keep  up  for  seven 
weeks,  without  slip  or  trip,  a  series  of  deceptions  so  multifarious ; 
and  I  should  say  so  of  a  perfect  stranger,  as  confidently  as  I  say  it 
of  this  girl,  whom  I  know  to  be  incapable  of  deception,  as  much 
from  the  character  of  her  intellect  as  of  her  morale." 


452 


HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


It  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  Mary  Tofts,  the  Rabbit  - 
breeder,  Ann  Moore,  the  Fasting  Woman  of  Tutbury,  Scratch- 
ing Fanny,  and  other  impostors,  young  and  old,  exhibited  ex- 
traordinary patience  and  painful  perseverance  in  their  decep- 
tions combined  with  an  art  and  cunning  that  deluded  doctors 
medical,  spiritual,  and  lexicographical,  with  many  people  of 
quality  of  both  sexes.  These,  it  is  true,  were  all  suj)erstitious 
or  credulous  persons,  who  believed  all  they  could  get  to  be- 
lieve ;  and  what  else  are  those  individuals  now-a-days,  who 
hold  that  Mesmerism  is  as  ancient  as  the  Delphian  Oracle, 
and  that  Witchcraft  was  one  of  its  forms  ?  In  common  con- 
sistency such  a  faith  ought  to  go  all  lengths  with  the  American 
Sea  Serpent,  the  whole  breath  of  the  Kraken,  and  not  believe 
by  halves  in  the  Merman  and  the  Mermaid. 


^^ 


^S^^ 


^* 


MY   BETTER   HALF." 


In  one  thing  we  cordially  agree  with  Miss  Martineau, 
namely,  in  repudiating  the  cant  about  prying  into  the  mys- 
teries of  Providence,  perfectly  convinced  that  what  is  intended 
to  be  hidden  from  us  will  remain  as  hermetically  sealed  as  the 
secrets  of  the  grave.  The  Creator  himself  has  implanted  in 
man  an  inquisitive  spirit,  with  faculties  for  research,  which 
He  obviously  intended  to  be  exercised,  by  leaving  for  its  dis- 
covery so  many  important  powers  —  for  instance,  the  proper- 
ties of  the  loadstone  —  essential  to  human  comfort  and 
progress,  instead  of  making  them  subjects  of  special  revela- 
tion.    Let  man  then,  divinely  supplied  with  intellectual  deep 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM.  453 

sea-lines,  industriously  fathom  all  mysteries  within  their  reach. 
What  we  object  to  is,  that  so  many  charts  are  empirically 
laid  down  without  his  taking  proper  soundings,  and  to  his 
pronouncing  off-hand,  without  examination  by  the  plummet, 
that  the  bottom  of  a  strange  coast  is  rock,  mud,  stone,  sand,  or 
shells.  Thus  it  is  that  in  Mesmerism  we  have  so  much  rash 
assertion  on  one  hand,  and  point  blank  contradiction  on  the 
other.  To  pass  over  such  subtleties  as  the  existence  of  an 
invisible  magnetic  fluid,  and  the  mode  of  magnetic  action, 
there  is  the  broad  problem,  whether  a  man's  leg  can  be  lopped 
off  as  unconsciously  as  the  limb  of  a  tree?  That  such  a 
question  should  remain  in  dispute  or  doubt,  in  spite  of  our 
numerous  hospitals  and  their  frequent  operations,  is  disgrace- 
ful to  all  parties.  But  speculation  seems  to  be  preferred  to 
proof.  Thus  Miss  Martineau  talks  confidently  of  such  pain- 
less amputations ;  yet,  with  a  somnambulist  at  her  fingers'- 
ends,  never  assures  herself  by  the  prick  of  a  pin,  of  the  prob- 
ability of  the  fact.  Nay,  she  is  very  angry  with  an  Experi- 
mentalist who  tried  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  reality  of  J.'s 
insensibility  by  a  sudden  alarm,  without  giving  notice  that  he 
was  going  to  surprise  her  ;  a  violation,  it  seems,  of  the  first  rule 
of  mesmeric  practice,  but  certainly  according  to  the  rules  of 
common  sense. 

"  Another  incident  is  noteworthy  in  this  connection.  A  gentle- 
man was  here  one  evening,  who  was  invited  in  all  good  faith,  on 
his  declaration  that  he  had  read  all  that  had  been  written  on  Mes- 
merism, knew  all  about  it,  and  was  philosophically  curious  to  wit- 
ness the  phenomena.  He  is  the  only  witness  we  have  had  who 
abused  the  privilege.  I  was  rather  surprised  to  see  how,  being  put 
in  communication  with  J.,  he  wrenched  her  arm,  and  employed 
usage  which  would  have  been  cruelly  rough  in  her  ordinary  state  ; 
but  I  supposed  it  was  because  he  '  knew  all  about  it,'  and  found 
that  she  was  insensible  to  his  rudeness ;  and  her  insensibility  was 
so  obvious,  that  I  hardly  regretted  it.  At  length,  however,  it  be- 
came clear  that  his  sole  idea  was  (that  which  is  the  sole  idea  of  so 
many  who  cannot  conceive  of  what  they  cannot  explain.)  of  detect- 
ing shamming ;  and,  in  pursuance  of  this  aim,  this  gentleman,  who 
(  knew  all  about  it,'  violated  the  first  rule  of  mesmeric  practice,  by 
suddenly  and  violently  seizing  the  sleeper's  arm,  without  the  inter- 
vention of  the  Mesmerist.  J.  was  convulsed,  and  writhed  in  her 
chair.  At  that  moment,  and  while  supposing  himself  en  rapport 
with  her,  he  shouted  out  to  me  that  the  house  was  on  fire.  Hap- 
pily, this  brutal  assault  on  her  nerves  failed  entirely.     There  was 


454  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

certainly  nothing  congenial  in  the  rapport.  She  made  no  attempt 
to  rise  from  her  seat,  and  said  nothing,  —  clearly  heard  nothing  ; 
and  when  asked  what  had  frightened  her,  said  something  cold  had 
got  hold  of  her.     Cold  indeed  !  and  very  hard  too  !  " 

In  the  mean  time  how  many  sufferers  there  are,  probably, 
male  and  female,  afflicted  with  cancers  and  diseased  limbs,  who 
are  looking  towards  mesmerism  for  relief,  and  anxiously  ask- 
ing, is  it  true  that  a  breast  can  be  removed  as  painlessly  as  its 
boddice ;  or  a  leg  cut  off,  and  perhaps  put  on  again  —  why 
not,  by  such  a  miraculous  agency  ?  —  without  the  knowledge 
of  its  great  or  little  toe?  Such  inquirers  ought  at  once  to 
have  their  doubts  resolved,  for,  as  we  all  know,  there  is 
nothing  more  cruel,  when  such  issues  are  at  stake,  than  to  be 
kept  dangling  in  a  state  of  uncertainty. 


On  the  subject  of  itinerant  mesmerists  Miss  Martineau  is 
very  earnest,  and  roundly  denounces  the  profane  fellows,  who 
make  no  scruple  of  "  playing  upon  the  nerves  and  brains  of 
human  beings,  exhibiting  for  money,  on  a  stage,  states  of 
mind  and  soul  held  too  sacred  in  olden  times  to  be  elicited 
elsewhere  than  in  temples  by  the  hands  of  the  priests  of  the 
gods ! " 

"  While  the  wise,  in  whose  hands  this  power  should  be,  as  the 
priesthood  to  whom  scientific  mysteries  are  consigned  by  Provi- 
dence, scornfully  decline  their  high  function,  who  are  they  that 
snatch  at  it,  in  sport  or  mischief,  —  and  always  in  ignorance  ? 


DOMESTIC  MESMERISM.  455 

School  children,  apprentices,  thoughtless  women  who  mean  no 
harm,  and  base  men  who  do  mean  harm.  Wherever  itinerant 
Mesmerists  have  been  are  there  such  as  these,  throwing  each  other 
into  trances,  trying  funny  experiments,  getting  fortunes  told,  or 
rashlv  treating  diseases. 


"  Thus  are  human  passions  and  human  destinies  committed  to 
reckless  hauds,  for  sport  or  abuse.  No  wonder  if  somnambules 
are  made  into  fortune-tellers,  —  no  wonder  if  they  are  made  into 
prophets  of  fear,  malice,  and  revenge,  by  reflecting  in  their  som- 
nambulism the  fear,  malice,  and  revenge  of  their  questioners  ;  — 
no  wonder  if  they  are  made  even  ministers  of  death,  by  being  led 
from  sick-bed  to  sick-bed  in  the  dim  and  dreary  alleys  of  our  towns, 
to  declare  which  of  the  sick  will  recover,  and  which  will  die  ! 


"  If  I  were  to  speak  as  a  moralist  on  the  responsibility  of  the 
savans  of  society  to  the  multitude  —  if  I  were  to  unveil  the  scenes 
which  are  going  forward  in  every  town  in  England,  from  the  wan- 
ton, sportive,  curious,  or  mischievous  use  of  this  awful  agency  by 
the  ignorant,  we  should  hear  no  more  levity  in  high  places  about 
Mesmerism." 

A  statement  strangely  at  variance  with  the  following  dictum, 
which  as  strangely  makes  Morality  still  moral,  whatever  her 
thoughts  or  her  postures  —  and  whether  controlled  by  the 
volition  of  "  thoughtless  women  who  mean  no  harm,"  or  "  base 
men  who  do  mean  harm." 

'k  The  volitions  of  the  Mesmerist  may  actuate  the  movements  of 
the  patient's  limbs,  and  suggest  the  material  of  his  ideas  ;  but  they 
seem  unable  to  touch  his  morale.  In  this  state  the  morale  appears 
supreme,  as  it  is  rarely  found  in  the  ordinary  condition." 

We  can  well  understand  the  "  social  calamity  "  apprehended 
from  a  promiscuous  use  of  the  ulterior  powers  of  mesmerism. 
But  what  class,  we  must  ask,  is  to  arrogate  to  itself  and  mo- 
nopolize the  exercise  of  miraculous  powers,  alien  to,  if  not 
identical  with,  those  bestowed  aforetime  on  certain  itinerant 
apostles  ?  An  inspired  fisherman  will  prescribe  as  safely, 
prophesy  as  correctly,  and  see  visions  as  clearly,  as  an  inspired 
doctor  of  medicine  or  divinity.  There  seems  to  be.  in  the 
dispensation  of  the  marvellous  gift,  no  distinction  of  persons. 
Miss  Martineau's  maid  mesmerizes  her  as  effectually  as  Mr. 


456 


HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 


Hall ;  and  J.  owes  her  first  magnetic  sleep,  and  all  its  bene- 
cial  results  on  her  health  and  inflamed  eyes,  to  the  passes  of 
the  maid  of  the  clergyman's  widow.  A  domestic  concatena- 
tion that  suggests  to  us  a  curious  kitchen  picture  —  and  an 
illustrative  letter. 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM. 


To  Mary  Smash,  at  No  1,  Chaney  Walk,  Chelsea. 

Dear  Mary, — 
This  cums  hoping  yure  well,  and  to  advize  you  to  larn 
Mismerising.  Its  dun  with  yure  Hands,  and  is  as  easy  as 
taking  sites  at  Pepel,  or  talking  on  yure  fingers.  If  I  was 
nigh  you,  I  'd  larn  you  in  no  time  to  make  Passes,  witch  is 
only  pawing,  like,  without  touchin,  at  sumboddys  face  or 
back,  witch  gives  them  a  tittevating  feeling  on  the  galvanic 
nerves,  And  then  off  they  go  into  a  Trance  in  a  giffy,  and  talk 
in  their  sleep  like  Orators,  I  should  say  Oracles,  and  anser 
watever  you  ax.  Whereby  you  may  get  yure  Fortin  told, 
and  find  out  other  fokes  sweatharts  &  luve  secrets,  And  dis- 


DOMESTIC   MESMERISM.  457 

kiver  Theaves  better  than  by  Bible  &  Key,  And  have  yure 
inward  Disorders  told,  &  wats  good  for  them.  Sukey's  was 
the  indigestibles,  and  to  take  as  much  rubbub  as  would  hide  a 
shillin.  All  witch  is  done  by  means  of  the  sombulist,  thats 
the  sleeper,  seeing  through  every  think  quite  transparent,  in 
their  Trance,  as  is  called  Clare  Voying,  so  that  they  can  pint 
out  munny  hid  under  the  Erth,  &  burried  bones,  &  springs  of 
water,  and  vanes  of  mettle,  &  menny  things  besides. 

Yesterdy  I  was  mismerized  meself  into  a  Trance,  &  clare 
voyed  the  chork  Gout  in  John's  stomack  as  plane  as  Margit 
Gifts.  So  I  prescribed  him  to  take  Collyflower,  witch  by  rites 
should  have  been  Collycinth,  but  I  forgot  the  propper  word. 
Howsumever  he  did  eat  two  large  ones,  and  promises  to  cum 
round. 

It  would  make  you  split  your  sides  with  laffing  to  see  me 
mismerize  our  Thomas  &  make  him  go  into  all  sorts  of  odd 
postures  &  anticks  &  capers  Like  a  Dotterel,  for  watever  I 
do  he  must  coppy  to  the  snapping  of  a  finger,  and  cant  object 
to  nuthing  for  as  the  song  says  I  've  got  his  Will  and  his  Pow- 
er. Likewise  you  can  make  the  Sombulist  taste  watever  you 
think  propper,  so  I  give  him  mesmerized  Warter  witch  at  my 
Command  is  transmoggrified  on  his  pallet  to  Shampain  & 
makes  him  as  drunk  as  Old  Gooseberry  and  then  he  will 
jump  Jim  Crow,  or  go  down  on  his  bended  knees  and  confess 
all  his  peckaddillos  Witch  is  as  diverten  as  reading  the  Miste- 
ries  of  Parris. 

The  wust  to  mismerize  is  Reuben  the  Cotchman,  not  that 
hes  too  wakeful,  for  hes  generally  beery,  And  goes  off  like  a 
shot,  but  he  wont  talk  in  his  sleep,  only  snores. 

The  Page  is  more  passable  and  very  clarevoying.  He  have 
twice  seed  a  pot  of  goold  in  the  middle  flower-bed.  But  the 
gardner  wont  have  it  dug  up.  And  he  says  theres  a  skelliton 
bricked  into  the  staircase  wall,  so  that  we  never  dares  at  nite 
to  go  up  alone.  Also  he  sees  Visions  and  can  profesy  and 
have  foretold  two  Earthquacks  and  a  grate  Pleg. 

Cook  wants  to  mismerize  too  but  wat  with  her  being  so 
much  at  the  fire  and  her  full  babbit  she  always  goes  off  to 
sleep  afore  the  Sombulist.  But  Sukey  can  do  it  very  well. 
Tho  in  great  distress  about  Mrs.  Hardin's  babby  witch  Sukey 
offered  to  mismerize  in  loo  of  surrup  of  Poppies  or  Godfrey's 
Cordial,  but  the  pore  Innocent  wont  wake  up  agin,  nor  havent 
20 


458  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

for  two  hole  days.  As  would  be  a  real  blessin  to  Muthers 
and  Nusses  in  a  moderate  way,  but  mite  be  carried  too  far, 
and  require  a  Crowners  Quest.  As  yet  thats  the  only  Trial 
we  have  made  out  of  the  House,  But  we  mean  to  mismerize 
the  Baker,  and  get  out  of  him  who  he  really  does  mean  to 
offer  to,  for  he  is  quite  a  General  Lover. 

Sum  pepel  is  very  dubbius  about  Mismerizing,  and  sum 
wont  have  it  at  any  price ;  but  Missis  is  for  it,  very  strong, 
and  says  she  means  to  believe  every  attorn  about  it  till  sum- 
boddy  proves  quite  the  reverse.  She  practises  making  passes 
every  day,  and  is  studdyin  Frenology  besides,  for  she  says  be- 
tween the  two  you  may  play  on  pepel's  pennycraniums  like  a 
Piany,  and  put  them  into  any  Key  you  like.  And  of  course 
her  fust  performance  will  be  a  Master  piece  on  the  Head  of 
the  Fammily. 

To  be  shure  it  seems  a  wonderful  power  to  be  give  to  one 
over  ones  Fellow  Creturs,  and  as  mite  be  turned  to  Divilish 
purposes  But  witch  I  cant  stop  to  pint  out,  for  makin  the  beds. 
To  tell  the  truth,  with  so  much  Mismerizing  going  on,  our 
Wurks  has  got  terrible  behind  hand  And  the  carpits  has  not 
been  swep  for  a  week.     So  no  more  at  present  in  haste  from 

Your  luving  Friend 

Eliza  Passmore. 

P.  S.  A  most  remarkable  Profesy !  The  Page  have  fore- 
told that  the  Monkey  some  day  would  bite  Missis,  &  lo  !  and 
behold  he  have  flone  at  her,  and  made  his  teeth  meet  in  her 
left  ear.     If  that  ant  profesying  I  clont  know  what  is. 


A   JACKO-BITE. 


THE  ECHO.  459 

THE    ECHO. 

[March,  1845.] 

We  can  hardly  congratulate  our  readers  on  presenting 
them,  this  month,  with  an  efiigy  of  Thomas  Hood's  outward 
features,  instead  of  that  portraiture  of  his  mind,  and  those 
traces  of  his  kindly  heart,  which  he  has  been  wont,  with  his 
own  pen,  to  draw  in  these  pages.  And  we  lament  still  more 
that  we  must  add  a  regret  to  the  disappointment  of  our  read- 
ers, by  communicating  to  them  the  sad  tidings  that  the  aching 
original  of  that  pictured  brow  is  again  laid  low  by  dangerous 
illness  —  again  scarred  (to  borrow  an  expression  of  his  own) 
"  by  the  crooked  autograph  of  pain."  Through  many  a  pre- 
vious paroxysm  of  his  malady,  when  life  and  death  hung 
trembling  in  the  balance,  Mr.  Hood  has  worked  on  steadily 
for  our  instruction  and  amusement ;  throwing,  often,  into  a 
humorous  chapter,  or  impassioned  poem,  the  power  which  was 
needed  to  restore  exhausted  nature.  During  the  last  month, 
however,  his  physical  strength  has  completely  given  way : 
and,  almost  as  much  through  incapacity  of  his  hand  to  hold 
the  pen,  as  of  his  brain  for  any  length  of  time  to  guide  it,  he 
has  at  last  been  compelled  to  desist  from  composition.  Those 
in  whom  admiration  of  the  writer  has  induced  also  a  friendly 
feeling  towards  the  man,  will  have  some  consolation  in  learn- 
ing that  amidst  his  sufferings,  which  have  been  severe,  his 
cheerful  philosophy  has  never  failed  him  ;  but  that  around  his 
sick-bed,  as  in  his  writings,  and  in  his  life,  he  has  known  how 
to  lighten  the  melancholy  of  those  around  him,  and  to  mingle 
laughter  with  their  tears.  We  have  thought  it  due  to  our 
readers  and  to  the  public  thus  briefly  to  make  known  that  Mr. 
Hood  is  more  seriously  ill  than  even  he  has  ever  been  before ; 
avoiding  to  express  any  hopes  or  forebodings  of  our  own,  or  to 
prejudge  the  uncertain  issues  of  life  and  death. 

With  respect  to  the  portrait,  it  is  due  to  Mr.  Davis  to  state 
that  the  bust  from  which  it  is  taken  is  a  faithful  and  striking 
likeness,  not  merely  of  the  form,  but  what  is  far  more  rare 


460  HOOD'S  MAGAZINE. 

and  difficult  to  be  attained,  of  the  character  and  expression  of 
the  features.  The  execution  of  the  engraving  exemplifies 
strikingly  the  advantages  of  Mr.  Talbot's  invention  of  the  cal- 
otype,  in  the  skilful  hands  of  Mr.  Collins,  as  a  means  of  ob- 
taining at  small  cost  perfectly  accurate  copies  of  works  of  art, 
especially  of  sculpture.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  anything 
more  faithful  to  the  original,  or  more  agreeable,  as  well  in  tone 
and  color,  as  for  its  accuracy  of  form  and  shadowing,  than  the 
calotype  from  which  our  engraving  was  made.  The  engrav- 
ing itself  is  finely  executed ;  but  no  fac-simile  made  by  the 
burin  can  ever  equal  the  delicate  handwriting  of  the  Sun. 
We  can  hardly  conceive  a  more  desirable,  or,  for  its  intrinsic 
value,  a  cheaper  acquisition  in  the  way  of  art,  than  a  collection 
of  copies  of  the  finest  ancient  and  modern  sculpture,  thus 
taken  by  the  infallible  "  Pencil  of  Nature." 

w. 


MY    TEACT.* 


Madam,  — 

I  have  received  your  pious  billet-doux,  but  have  little  leis- 
ure, and  less  inclination  for  a  religious  flirtation,  and  what  (ac- 
cording to  our  Law  and  Police  Reports)  is  its  usual  issue  —  a 
decidedly  serious  intrigue.  How  else,  indeed,  am  I  to  inter- 
pret the  mysterious  "  object "  of  your  late  visit,  which  you 
significantly  tell  me,  was  defeated  by  your  being  unintention- 
ally accompanied  by  a  friend  ?  —  how  answer  for  her  designs 
on  a  man's  person,  who  can  take  such  liberties  with  his  soul  ? 
The  presence  of  a  companion  could  not  of  course  stand  in  the 
way  of  your  giving  me  a  tract  or  a  letter  or  anything  proper 
for  a  modest  woman  to  offer  ;  but  where  can  be  the  womanly 
modesty,  or  delicacy,  or  decency  of  a  female,  who  intrudes  on 
a  man's  private  house,  and  private  correspondence,  and  his 
most  private  affairs,  those  of  his  heart  and  soul,  with  as  much 
masculine  assurance  as  if  she  wore  Paul  Pry's  inexpressibles 
under  her  petticoats  ?  Perhaps  I  have  to  congratulate  my- 
self, as  Joseph  Andrews  did  on  the  preservation  of  his  virtue 
from  that  amorous  widow,  Lady  Booby  !  But  whatever  im- 
propriety you  intended  to  commit  has  been  providentially  frus- 
trated, it  appears,  by  the  intrusion  of  the  young  lady  in  ques- 
tion, to  whom,  therefore,  I  beg  you  will  present  my  most  grate- 
ful and  special  thanks.  I  am  as  you  know,  a  married  man, 
and  do  not  care  to  forget  that  character,  only  that  I  may  be 
able  to  say  afterwards,  as  you  suggest,  "  I  have  gone  astray, 
but  now  I  have  learned  thy  righteous  law." 

The  cool  calculations  you  have  indulged  in  on  my  desperate 
health,  probable  decease,  and  death-bed  perturbations  must 
have  afforded  you  much  Christian  amusemeni,  as  your  igno- 
rance must  have  derived   infinite  comfort  from  your  convic- 

*  Addressed  to  a  lady  who  had  addressed  to  him  an  attack  on  his  writings 
and  religious  opinions,  and  who  had  inquired  what  good  his  "  Whims  and 
Oddities  would  do  his  soul?  and  how  he  would  recall  his  levities  in  litera- 
ture upon  his  death-bed?  " 


462  MY  TRACT. 

tion  of  the  inutility  of  literature,  and  all  intellectual  pursuits. 
And  even  your  regrets  over  the  "Whims  and  Oddities,  that 
have  made  thousands  laugh  "  may  be  alleviated,  if  you  will 
only  reflect  that  Fanatacism  has  caused  millions  to  shed 
blood  as  well  as  tears  ;  a  tolerable  set-off  against  my  levities. 
For  my  own  part,  I  thank  God,  I  have  used  the  talents  He 
has  bestowed  on  me  in  so  cheerful  a  spirit,  and  not  abused  them 
by  writing  the  profane  stuff  called  pious  poetry,  nor  spiritual- 
ized my  prose  by  stringing  together  Scriptural  phrases,  which 
have  become  the  mere  slang  of  a  religious  swell  mob.  Such 
impieties  and  blasphemies  I  leave  to  the  Evangelical  and 
Elect ;  to  the  sacrilegious  quacks,  who  pound  up  equal  parts 
of  Bible  and  Babble,  and  convert  wholesome  food,  by  their 
nauseous  handling,  into  filthiest  physic ;  to  the  Canters,  who 
profane  all  holy  names  and  tilings  by  their  application  to 
common  and  vulgar  uses  ;  and  to  the  presumptuous  women, 
who,  I  verily  believe  with  the  Turks,  have  no  souls  of  their 
own  to  mend,  and  therefore  set  themselves  to  patch  and  cob- 
ble the  souls  of  the  other  gender. 

It  is,  I  know,  the  policy  of  your  faction  to  decry  literature, 
which  they  abhor  as  the  Devil  hates  Gospel.  And  for  a  simi- 
lar reason.  For  all  the  most  celebrated  authors,  the  wisest, 
and  most  learned  in  the  ways  of  mankind,  Scott,  Fielding, 
Smollett,  Sterne,  Crabbe,  Addison,  Butler,  Pope,  Moore, 
Burns,  Byron,  Moliere,  Voltaire,  Boileau,  and  a  host  of  others, 
have  concurred  in  denouncing  and  exposing  Tartuffes,  Maw- 
worms,  Cantwells,  Puritans,  in  short  sanctimonious  folly  and 
knavery  of  every  description.  Such  writers  I  know  would  be 
called  scoffers  and  infidels  ;  but  a  Divine  Hand,  incapable  of 
injustice,  has  drawn  a  full-length  picture  of  a  self-righteous 
Pharisee  ;  and  Holy  Lips,  prone  to  all  gentleness  and  charity, 
have  addressed  their  sharpest  rebukes  to  Spiritual  Pride  and 
Religious  Hypocrisy.  Are  the  sacrilegious  animals  aware 
that  in  their  retaliations,  they  are  kicking  even  at  Him  ? 

In  behalf  of  our  literature  I  will  boldly  say  that  to  our  lay 
authors  it  is  mainly  owing,  that  the  country  is  not  at  this  hour 
enthralled  by  Priestcraft,  Superstition,  and  if  you  please. 
Popery,  which  by  the  by,  has  met  with  more  efficient  oppo- 
nents in  Dante,  Boccaccio,  and  Rabelais  (profane  writers, 
madam),  than  in  all  the  M'Neiles,  M' Ghees,  and  Macaws, 
that  have  screamed  within  Exeter  Hall. 


MY  TRACT.  463 

As  for  literature  "  palling  on  my  soul  in  my  dying  hour,"  — 
on  the  contrary  it  has  been  my  solace  and  comfort  through  the 
extremes  of  worldly  trouble  and  sickness,  and  has  maintained 
me  in  a  cheerfulness,  a  perfect  sunshine  of  the  mind,  seldom 
seen  on  the  faces  of  the  most  prosperous  and  healthy  of  your 
sect,  who,  considering  that  they  are  as  sure  of  going  to  Heaven 
as  the  "  poor  Indian's  dog,"  are  certainly  more  melancholy 
dogs  than  they  ought  to  be  !  But  what  else  can  come  of 
chanting  "  pious  chansons,"  with  hell-fire  burdens,  that  to  my 
taste,  fit  them  particularly  for  contributions  to  the  Devil's 
Album  ?  Some  such  verses  you  have  sent  me,  and  I  could 
return  you  others  quite  as  religious  — but  unfortunately  writ- 
ten by  a  minister,  who,  after  being  expelled  in  disgrace  from  a 
public  foundation  in  London,  went  and  robbed  a  Poor  Savings 
Bank  in  the  country. 

Such  literature  may  indeed  appal  the  soul  at  the  hour  of 
death,  and  such  an  author  may  justly  dread  an  Eternal  Re- 
view. Again,  therefore,  I  thank  God  that  my  pen  has  not 
been  devoted  to  such  serious  compositions,  that  I  have  never 
profaned  his  holy  name  with  commonplace  jingles,  or  passed 
off  the  inspirations  of  presumption,  vanity,  or  hypocrisy,  for 
devout  effusions.  My  humble  works  have  flowed  from  my 
heart,  as  well  as  my  head,  and,  whatever  their  errors,  are 
such  as  I  have  been  able  to  contemplate  with  composure, 
when,  more  than  once,  the  Destroyer  assumed  almost  a  visible 
presence.  For  I  have  stood  several  times  in  that  serious  ex- 
tremity both  by  land  and  sea  —  yet,  for  all  my  near  approaches 
to  the  other  world,  I  have  never  pretended  to  catch  glimpses 
of  its  heaven,  or  of  its  hell,  or  to  have  had  intimations  of  who 
among  my  neighbors  were  on  the  road  to  one  place  or  the 
other.  Such  special  revelations  are  reserved,  it  seems,  by  a 
Wisdom,  certainly  inscrutable,  for  the  worst  or  weakest  of  the 
weaker  sex,  such  cackling  hen-prophetesses  as  its  Southcotes, 
its  G s,  and  its  L s. 

And  verily  if  they  be  the  Righteous,  I  am  content  to  be  the 
Lefteous  of  the  species. 

It  has  pleased  you  to  picture  me  occasionally  in  such  ex- 
tremities as  those  just  alluded  to,  —  and,  no  doubt,  with  regret 
that  you  could  not,  Saint-like,  beset  my  couch,  to  try  spiritual 
experiments  on  my  soul,  and  enjoy  its  excruciations,  as  certain 
brutal  anatomists  have  gloated  on  the  last  agonies  of  mutilated 


464  MY  TRACT. 

dogs  and  rabbits.  But  we  will  now  turn,  if  you  please,  from 
my  death-bed  to  your  own  —  supposing  you  to  be  lying  there 
at  that  awful  crisis,  which  reveals  the  depravity  of  the  human 
heart  as  distinctly  as  the  mortality  of  the  human  frame  !  And 
now,  on  that  terrible,  narrow  isthmus  between  the  past  and 
the  future,  just  imagine  yourself  appealing  to  your  conscience 
for  answers  to  such  solemn  questions  as  follow.  And  first, 
whether  your  extreme  devotion  has  been  affected  or  sincere,  — 
unobtrusive  or  ostentatious,  —  humble  to  your  Creator,  but 
arrogant  to  His  creatures  —  in  short,  Piety  or  Mag-piety  ? 
Whether  your  professed  love  for  your  species  has  been  active 
and  fruitful,  or  only  that  flatulent  charity,  which  evaporates 
upwards  in  wind,  and  catechises  the  hungry,  and  preaches  to 
the  naked  ?  And  finally,  how  far,  in  meddling  with  the  spir- 
itual concerns  of  your  neighbors,  you  have  neglected  your 
own  ;  and,  consequently,  what  you  may  have  to  dread  from 
that  Hell  and  its  fires,  which  you  have  so  often  amused  your- 
self with  letting  off  at  a  poor  Sinner,  — just  as  a  boy  would 
squib  a  Guy  ?  These  are  queries  important  to  your  "  eternal 
destiny,"  which  ought  to  be  considered  in  time  ;  whereas,  from 
the  tenor  of  your  letter,  it  appears  to  me  that  you  have  never 
entertained  them  for  a  moment,  and  I  am  sorry  to  add  that, 
judging  from  the  same  evidence,  whatever  may  be  your  ac- 
quaintance with  the  letter  of  the  New  Testament,  of  its  spirit 
you  are  as  deplorably  ignorant  as  the  blindest  heathen  Hot- 
tentot, for  whose  enlightenment  you  perhaps  subscribe  a  few 
Missionary  pence. 

I  implore  you  to  spend  a  few  years,  say  twenty,  in  this  self- 
scrutiny,  which  may  be  wholesomely  varied  by  the  exercise  of 
a  little  active  benevolence ;  not,  however,  in  sending  tracts, 
instead  of  baby -linen  to  poor  lying-in  sisters,  or  in  volunteer- 
ing pork-chops  for  distressed  Jews,  or  in  recommending  a  Sol- 
emn Fast  to  the  Spitalfields  weavers,  or  in  coddling  and  pam- 
pering a  pulpit  favorite,  but  in  converting  rags  to  raiment, 
and  empty  stomachs  to  full  ones,  and  in  helping  the  wretched 
and  indigent  to  "  keep  their  souls  and  bodies  together  ! " 

And,  should  you  ever  relapse  and  feel  tempted  to  write 
religious  Swing  letters,  such  as  you  have  sent  to  me,  let  me 
recommend  to  you  a  quotation  from  a  great  and  wise  writer, 
and  moreover  a  namesake  of  your  pious  mother.  It  runs 
thus,  —  "  /  find  you  are  perfectly  qualified  to  make  converts, 
and  so,  go,  help  your  mother  make  the  gooseberry  pie." 


MY   TRACT. 


465 


Still  if  you  will  and  must  indite  such  epistles,  pray  address 
them  elsewhere.  There  are  plenty  of  young  single  "  men 
about  town "  ( and  of  the  very  sort  such  saints  are  partial 
to  —  namely,  "precious"  sinners)  who  no  doubt  would  be 
willing  to  discuss  with  you  their  "  experiences,"  and  to  em- 
brace you  and  your  persuasion  together.  But  on  me  your 
pains  would  be  wasted.  I  am  not  to  be  converted,  except 
from  Christianity,  by  arrogance,  insolence,  and  ignorance 
enough,  as  Mrs.  Jarley  says,  "  to  make  one  turn  atheist."  In- 
deed, the  only  effect  of  your  letter  has  been  to  inspire  me, 
like  old  Tony  Weller,  with  a  profound  horror  of  widows, 
whether  amorous  or  pious,  for  both  seem  equally  resolute  that 
a  man  shall  not  "  call  his  soul  his  own." 

And  now,  Madam,  farewell.  Your  mode  of  recalling  your- 
self to  my  memory  reminds  me  that  your  fanatical  mother 
insulted  mine  in  the  last  days  of  her  life  (which  was  marked 
by  every  Christian  virtue),  by  the  presentation  of  a  Tract 
addressed  to  Infidels.  I  remember  also  that  the  same  heart- 
less woman  intruded  herself,  with  less  reverence  than  a  Mo- 
hawk Squaw  would  have  exhibited,  on  the  chamber  of  death ; 
and  interrupted  with  her  jargon  almost  my  very  last  interview 
with  my  dying  parent.  Such  reminiscences  warrant  some 
severity  ;  but,  if  more  be  wanting,  know  that  my  poor  sister 
has  been  excited  by  a  circle  of  Canters  like  yourself,  into  a 
religious  frenzy,  and  is  at  this  moment  in  a  private  mad-house. 
I  am,  Madam, 

Yours  with  disgust, 

Thos.  Hood. 


dd 


COPYRIGHT    AND    COPYWRONG, 

TO   THE  EDITOR   OF   THE  ATHENAEUM. 


LETTER    I 


My  dear  Sir, — 

I  have  read  with  much  satisfaction  the  occasional  exposures 
in  jour  journal  of  the  glorious  uncertainty  of  the  Law  of 
Copyright,  and  your  repeated  calls  for  its  revision.  It  is  high 
time,  indeed,  that  some  better  system  should  be  established ; 
and  I  cannot  but  regret  that  the  legislature  of  our  own  coun- 
try which  patronizes  the  great  cause  of  liberty  all  over  the 
world,  has  not  taken  the  lead  in  protecting  the  common  rights 
of  literature.  We  have  a  national  interest  in  each  ;  and 
their  lots  ought  not  to  be  cast  asunder. 

The  French,  Prussian,  and  American  governments,  how- 
ever, have  already  got  the  start  of  us,  and  are  concerting 
measures  for  suppressing  these  piracies,  which  have  become 
like  the  influenza,  so  alarmingly  prevalent  ? 

It  would  appear  from  the  facts  established,  that  an  English 
book  merely  transpires  in  London  ;  but  is  published  in  Paris, 
Brussels,  or  New  York. 

"  'T  is  but  to  sail,  and  with  to-morrow's  sun, 
The  pirates  will  be  bound.'''' 

Mr.  Bulwer  tells  us  of  a  literary  gentleman,  who  felt  him- 
self under  the  necessity  of  occasionally  going  abroad  to  pre- 
serve his  self-respect  \  and  with  some  change,  an  author  will 
be  equally  obliged  to  repair  to  another  country  to  enjoy  his 
circulation. 

As  to  the  American  reprints,  I  can  personally  corroborate 
your  assertion  that  heretofore  a  trans-atlantic  bookseller  "  has 
taken  500  copies  of  a  single  work,"  whereas  he  now  orders 


COPYRIGHT  AND   COPY  WRONG.  4(37 

none,  or  merely  a  solitary  one  to  set  up  from.  This,  I  hope,  is 
a  matter  as  important  as  the  little  question  of  etiquette,  which, 
according  to  Mr.  Cooper,  the  fifty  millions  will  have  to  adjust. 
Before,  however,  any  international  arrangements  be  entered 
into,  it  seems  only  consistent  with  common  sense  that  we 
should  begin  at  home,  and  first  establish  what  copyright  is  in 
Britain,  and  provide  for  its  protection  from  native  pirates  or 
book-aneers.  I  have  learned  therefore  with  pleasure  that 
the  state  of  the  law  is  to  be  brought  under  the  notice  of  Par- 
liament by  Mr.  Sergeant  Talfourd,  who  from  his  legal  expe- 
rience and  literary  tastes  is  so  well  qualified  for  the  task. 
The  grievances  of  authors  have  neither  been  loudly  nor  often 
urged  on  Lords  and  Commons ;  but  their  claims  have  long 
been  lying  on  the  library  table,  if  not  on  the  table  of  the 
House,  and  methinks  their  wrongs  have  only  to  be  properly 
stated  to  obtain  redress.  I  augur  for  them,  at  least,  a  good 
hearing,  for  such  seldom  and  low-toned  appeals  ought  to  find 
their  way  to  organs  "  as  deaf  to  clamor  "  as  the  old  citizen  of 
Cheapside,  who  said  that  "  the  more  noise  there  was  in  the 
street,  the  more  he  did  n't  hear  it."  In  the  mean  time  as  an 
author  myself,  as  well  as  a  proprietor  of  copyrights  in  "  a 
small  way,"  I  make  bold  to  offer  my  own  feelings  and  opinions 
on  the  subject,  with  some  illustrations  from  what,  although 
not  a  decidedly  serious  writer,  I  will  call  "  my  experiences." 
And  here  I  may  appropriately  plead  an  apology  for  taking  on 
myself  the  cause  of  a  fraternity  of  which  I  am  so  humble  a 
member  ;  but  in  truth,  this  very  position,  which  forbids  vanity 
on  my  account,  favors  my  pride  on  that  of  others,  and  thus 
enables  me  to  speak  more  becomingly  of  the  deserts  of  my 
brethren  and  the  dignity  of  the  craft.  Like  P.  P.  the  clerk 
of  the  Parish,  who,  with  a  proper  reverence  for  his  calling, 
confessed  an  elevation  of  mind  in  only  considering  himself  as 
a  shred  of  the  linen  vestment  of  Aaron,  I  own  to  an  inward 
exultation  at  being  but  a  Precentor,  as  it  were,  in  that  wor- 
ship which  numbers  Shakespeare  and  Milton  among  its  priests. 
Moreover  now  that  the  rank  of  authors,  and  the  nature,  and 
value,  of  literary  property  are  about  to  be  discussed,  and  I 
hope  established  forever,  it  becomes  the  duty  of  every  Liter- 
ary Man,  as  much  as  of  a  Peer,  when  his  order  is  in  question, 
to  assert  his  station,  and  to  stand  up  manfully  for  the  rights, 
honors,  and  privileges  of  the  profession  to  which  he  belongs. 


468  COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWRONG. 

The  question  is  not  a  mere  sordid  one,  it  is  not  a  simple  in- 
quiry, in  what  way  the  emoluments  of  literature  may  be  best 
secured  to  the  author  or  proprietor  of  a  work ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  involves  a  principle  of  grave  importance,  not  only  to 
literary  men,  but  to  those  who  love  letters,  and  I  will  presume 
to  say  to  society  at  large. 

It  has  a  moral  as  well  as  a  commercial  bearing ;  for  the 
legislature  will  not  only  have  to  decide  directly  by  a  formal 
act,  whether  the  Literary  Interest  is  worthy  of  a  place  beside 
the  Shipping  Interest,  the  Funded  Interest,  the  Manufactur- 
ing and  other  public  Interests,  but  also  it  will  have  indirectly 
to  determine  whether  literary  men  belong  to  the  privileged 
class  ;  the  higher,  lower,  or  middle  class,  —  the  working-class, 
—  productive  or  unproductive  class,  or  in  short,  to  any  class 
at  all.*  "  Literary  men,"  says  Mr.  Bulwer,  "  have  not,  with 
us,  any  fixed  and  settled  position  as  men  of  letters."  "We 
have,  like  Mr.  Cooper's  American  lady,  no  precedence. 

We  are,  in  fact,  nobodies.  Our  place,  in  turf  language,  is 
"nowhere."  Like  certain  birds  and  beasts  of  difficult  clas- 
sification, —  we  go  without  any  at  all.  We  have  no  more 
Caste  than  the  Pariahs.  We  are  on  a  par,  according  as  we 
are  scientific,  theologic,  imaginative,  dramatic,  poetic,  historic, 
instructive,  or  amusing,  —  with  quack-doctors,  street-preachers, 
strollers,  ballad-singers,  hawkers  of  last  dying  speeches, 
Punch  and  Judies,  conjurers,  tumblers,  and  other  "  diverting 
vagabonds."  We  are  as  the  Jews  in  the  east,  the  Africans 
in  the  west,  or  the  Gypsies  anywhere.  We  belong  to  those, 
to  whom  nothing  can  belong.  I  have  even  misgivings,  — 
Heaven  help  us  !  —  if  an  author  have  a  Parish  ! 

I  have  serious  doubts  if  a  work  be  a  qualification  for  the 
workhouse  !  The  law,  apparently,  cannot  forget  or  forgive, 
that  Homer  was  a  vagrant,  Shakespeare  a  deer-stealer,  and 
Milton  a  rebel.  Our  very  "cracks"  tell  against  us  in  the 
statute, — Poor  Stoneblind,  Bill  the  Poacher,  and  Radical 
Jack  have  been  the  ruin  of  our  gang.  We  have  neither 
character  to  lose  nor  property  to  protect.  We  are,  by  law, 
outlaw-,  —  undeserving  of  civil  rights.  We  may  be  robbed, 
libelled,  outraged  with  impunity :  being  at  the  same  time 
liable  for  such  offences,  to  all  the  rigor  of  the  code. 

*  At  a  iruess,  I  should  say  we  were  classed,  in  opposition  to  a  certain 
political  Beet,  as  Inutilitarians. 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWEOXG.  459 

I  will  not  adduce,  as  I  could  do,  a  long  catalogue  of  the 
victims  of  this  system,  which  seems  to  have  been  drawn  up 
by  the  "  Lord  of  Misrule,"  and  sanctioned  by  the  "  Abbot  of 
Unreason."  I  will  select,  as  Sterne  took  his  captive,  a  single 
author.  To  add  to  the  parallel,  behold  him  in  a  prison  !  He 
is  sentenced  to  remain  there  during  the  monarch's  pleasure, 
to  stand  three  times  in  the  pillory,  and  to  be  amerced  besides 
in  the  heavy  sum  of  two  hundred  marks.  The  sufferer  of 
this  threefold  punishment  is  one  rather  deserving  of  a  triple 
crown,  as  a  man,  as  an  author,  and  as  an  example  of  that  rare 
commercial  integrity  which  does  not  feel  discharged  of  its 
debts,  though  creditors  have  accepted  a  composition,  till  it  has 
paid  them  in  full.  It  is  a  literary  offence,  —  a  libel  or  pre- 
sumed libel,  which  has  incurred  the  severity  of  the  law ;  but 
the  same  power  that  oppresses  him  refuses  or  neglects  to  sup- 
port him  in  the  protection  of  his  literary  character  and  his 
literary  rights.  His  just  fame  is  depreciated  by  public 
slanderers,  and  his  honest,  honorable  earnings  are  forestalled 
by  pirates. 

Of  one  of  his  performances  no  less  than  twelve  surrepti- 
tious editions  are  printed,  and  80,000  copies  are  disposed  of 
at  a  cheap  rate  in  the  streets  of  London.  I  am  writing  no 
fiction,  though  of  one  of  Fiction's  greatest  masters.  That  cap- 
tive is,  —  for  he  can  never  die,  —  that  captive  author  is  Scott's, 
Johnson's,  Blair's,  Marmontel's,  Lamb's,  Chalmers's,  Beattie's, 
—  good  witnesses  to  character  these!  —  every  Englishman's, 
Britain's,  America's,  Germany's,  France's,  Spain's,  Italy's, 
Arabia's,  all  the  world's  Daniel  De  Foe  !  Since  the  age  of  the 
author  of  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  the  law  has  doubtless  altered  in 
complexion,  but  not  in  character,  towards  his  race.  It  no 
longer  pillories  an  author  who  writes  to  the  distaste  —  or,  like 
poor  Daniel,  above  the  comprehension  —  of  the  powers  that  be, 
because  it  no  longer  pillories  any  one,  —  but  the  imprison- 
ment and  the  fines  remain  in  force.  The  title  of  a  book  is, 
in  legal  phrase,  the  worst  title  there  is. 

Literary  property  is  the  lowest  in  the  market.  It  is  de- 
clared by  the  law  only  so  many  years'  purchase,  after  which 
the  private  right  becomes  common ;  and  in  the  mean  time  the 
estate,  being  notoriously  infested  with  poachers,  is  as  remark- 
ably unprotected  by  game  laws.  An  author's  winged  thoughts, 
though  laid,  hatched,  bred,  and  fed  within  his   own  domain, 


470  COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWRONG. 

are  less  liis  j>roperty,  than  is  the  bird  of  passage  that  of  the 
lord  of  the  manor,  on  whose  soil  it  may  happen  to  alight.  An 
author  cannot  employ  an  armed  keeper  to  protect  his  pre- 
serves ;  he  cannot  apply  to  a  pinder  to  arrest  the  animals  that 
trespass  on  his  grounds  ;  nay,  he  cannot  even  call  in  a  com- 
mon constable  to  protect  his  purse  on  the  king's  highway  !  I 
have  had  thoughts  myself  of  seeking  the  aid  of  a  policeman, 
but  counsel,  learned  in  the  law,  have  dissuaded  me  from  such 
a  course ;  there  was  no  way  of  defending  myself  from  the 
petty  thief  but  by  picking  my  own  pocket !  Thus  I  have 
been  compelled  to  see  my  own  name  attached  to  catch-penny 
works,  none  of  mine,  hawked  about  by  placard-men  in  the 
street  —  I,  who  detest  the  puffing  system,  have  apparently 
been  guilty  of  the  gross  forwardness  of  walking  the  pave- 
ment by  proxy  for  admirers,  like  the  dog  Bashaw !  I  have 
been  made,  nominally,  to  ply  at  stage-coach  windows  with  my 
wares,  like  Isaac  Jacobs  with  his  cheap  pencils,  and  Jacob 
Isaacs,  with  his  cheap  penknives  to  cut  them  with  :  —  and 
without  redress.  For  whether  I  had  placed  myself  in  the 
hands  of  the  law,  or  taken  the  law  in  mine  own  hands  —  as 
any  bumpkin  in  a  barn  knows  —  there  is  nothing  to  be  thrashed 
out  of  a  man  of  straw.  Now,  with  all  humility,  if  my  poor 
name  be  any  recommendation  of  a  book,  I  conceive  I  am  en- 
titled to  reserve  it  for  my  own  benefit.  What  says  the  j:>rov- 
erb  ?  "  When  your  name  is  up  you  may  lie  abed."  But 
what  says  the  law  ?  —  at  least  if  the  owner  of  the  name  be 
an  author.  Why,  that  any  one  may  steal  his  bed  from  under 
him,  and  sell  it ;  that  is  to  say,  his  reputation,  and  the  revenue 
which  it  may  bring. 

In  the  mean  time,  for  any  street  frauds  there  is  a  summary 
process  :  the  vendor  of  a  flash  watch,  or  a  razor  made  to  sell, 
though  he  appropriates  no  maker's  name,  is  seized  without 
any  ceremony  by  A  1,  carried  before  B  2,  and  committed  to 
C  3,  as  regularly  as  a  child  goes  through  its  alphabet  and 
numeration.  They  have  defrauded  the  public,  forsooth,  and 
the  public  has  its  prompt  remedy ;  but  for  the  literary  man, 
thus  doubly  robbed,  of  his  money  and  his  reputation,  what  is 
his  redress  but  by  injunction,  or  action,  against  walking  shad- 
ows?—  a  truly  homoeopathic  remedy,  which  pretends  to  cure 
by  aggravating  the  disease. 

I  have  thus  shown  how  an  author  may  be  robbed ;  for  if 


COPYRIGHT  AXD   COPYWROXG.  471 

the  works  thus  offered  at  an  unusually  low  price  be  genuine, 
they  must  have  been  dishonestly  obtained,  —  the  brooms  were 
stolen  ready-made  ;  if,  on  the  contrary,  they  be  counterfeit,  I 
apprehend  there  will  be  little  difficulty  in  showing  how  an 
author  may  be  practically  libelled  with  impunity.  For  any- 
thing I  know,  the  peripatetic  philosophy,  ascribed  to  me  by 
the  above  itinerants,  might  be  heretical,  damnable,  libellous, 
vicious,  or  obscene  ;  whilst  for  anything  they  know  to  the 
contrary,  the  purchasers  must  have  held  me  responsible  for 
the  contents  of  the  volumes,  which  went  abroad  so  very  pub- 
licly under  my  name.  I  know,  indeed,  that  parties,  thus  de- 
ceived, have  expressed  their  regret  and  astonishment  that  I 
could  be  guilty  of  such  prose,  verse,  and  worse,  as  they  have 
met  with  under  my  signature.  I  believe  I  may  cite  the  well- 
known  Mr.  George  Robins,  as  a  purchaser  of  one  of  the  coun- 
terfeits ;  and  if  he,  perhaps,  eventually  knocked  me  down  as 
a  street-preacher  of  infidelity,  sedition,  or  immorality,  it  was 
neither  his  fault  nor  mine. 

I  may  here  refer,  en  passant,  —  for  illustrations  are  plenty 
as  blackberries,  —  to  a  former  correspondence  in  the  "  Athe- 
nseum,"  in  which  I  had,  in  common  with  Mr.  Poole  and  the 
late  Mr.  Colman,  to  disclaim  any  connection  with  a  periodi- 
cal in  which  I  was  advertised  as  a  contributor.  There  was 
more  recently,  and  probably  still  is,  one  Marshall,  of  Holborn- 
bars,  who  publicly  claims  me  as  a  writer  in  his  pay,  with  as 
much  right  to  the  imprint  of  my  name,  as  a  print-collector  has 
to  the  engravings  in  another  man's  portfolio  :  but  against  this 
man  I  have  taken  no  rash  steps,  otherwise  called  legal,  know- 
ing that  I  might  as  well  appeal  to  Martial  law,  versus  Mar- 
shall, as  to  any  other. 

As  a  somewhat  whimsical  case,  I  may  add  the  following. 
Mr.  Chappell,  the  music-seller,  agreed  to  give  me  a  liberal 
sum  for  the  use  of  any  ballad  I  may  publish :  and  another 
party,  well  known  in  the  same  line,  applied  to  me  for  a  formal 
permission  to  publish  a  little  song  of  mine  which  a  lady  had 
done  me  the  honor  of  setting  to  an  original  melody.  Here 
seemed  to  be  a  natural  recognition  of  copyright,  and  the  mor- 
al sense  of  justice  standing  instead  of  law.  But  in  the  mean 
time,  a  foreign  composer  —  I  forget  his  name,  but  it  was  set 

in  G ,  took  a  fancy  to  some  of  my  verses,  and  without  the 

semiquaver  of  a  right,  or  the  demi-semiquaver  of  an  apology, 


472  COPYRIGHT  AXD   COPYWROXG. 

converted  them  to  his  own  use.  I  remonstrated  of  course  ; 
and  the  reply,  based  on  the  assurance  of  impunity,  not  only 
admitted  the  fact,  but  informed  me  that  Monsieur,  not  finding 
my  lines  agree  with  his  score,  had  taken  the  liberty  of  alter- 
ing them  at  any  risk.  Now  I  would  confidently  appeal  to  the 
highest  poets  in  the  land,  whether  they  do  not  feel  it  quite  re- 
sponsibility enough  to  be  accountable  for  their  own  lays  in 
the  mother  tongue  ;  but  to  be  answerable  also  for  the  attempts 
in  English  verse  by  a  foreigner  —  and,  above  all,  a  French- 
man —  is  really  too  much  of  a  bad  thing  ! 

Would  it  not  be  too  much  to  request  of  the  learned  Ser- 
geant, who  has  undertaken  our  cause,  that  he  would  lay  these 
cases  before  Parliament  ?  Noble  Lords  and  Honorable  Gen- 
tlemen come  down  to  their  respective  Houses,  in  a  fever  of 
nervous  excitement,  and  shout  of  "  Privilege  !  privilege  ! 
Breach  of  privilege  ! "  because  their  speeches  have  been 
erroneously  reported  or  their  meaning  garbled  in  perhaps  a 
single  sentence ;  but  how  would  they  relish  to  see  whole 
speeches  —  nay,  pamphlets  —  they  had  never  uttered  or  writ- 
ten, paraded,  with  their  names,  styles,  and  titles  at  full  length, 
by  those  placarding  walkers,  who  like  fathers  of  lies,  or  rather 
mothers  of  them,  carry  one  staring  falsehood  pick-a-back,  and 
another  at  the  bosom  ?  How  would  those  gentlemen  like  to 
see  extempore  versions  of  their  orations  done  in  English  by  a 
native  of  Paris,  and  published,  as  the  pig  ran,  "  down  all 
sorts  of  streets  "  ?  Yet  to  similar  nuisances  are  authors  ex- 
posed without  adequate  means  of  abating  them.  It  is  often 
better,  I  am  told,  to  abandon  one's  rights  than  to  defend  them 
at  law  —  a  sentence  that  will  bear  particular  application  to 
literary  grievances.  For  instance,  the  law  would  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  a  man  who  claimed  his  neighbor's  umbrella  as 
his  own  parasol,  because  he  had  cut  a  bit  off  round  the  rim  ; 
yet  by  something  of  a  similar  process,  the  better  part  of  a 
book  may  be  appropriated  :  and  this  is  so  civil  an  offence,  that 
any  satisfaction  at  the  law  is  only  to  be  obtained  by  a  very 
costly  and  doubtful  course.  There  was  even  a  piratical  work 
which  —  to  adopt  Burke's  paradoxical  style  —  disingenuously 
ingenuous  and  dishonestly  honest,  assumed  the  plain  title  of 
"  The  Thief,"  professing  with  the  connivance  of  the  law,  to 
steal  all  its  materials.  How  this  thief  died,  I  know  not ;  but 
as  it  was  a  literary  thief,  I  would  lay  long  odds  that  the  law 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWEOXG.  473 

was  not  the  finisher.  These  piracies  are  naturally  most  inju- 
rious to  those  authors  whose  works  are  of  a  fugitive  nature,  or 
on  topics  of  temporary  interest ;  but  there  are  writers  of  a 
more  solid  stamp,  of  a  higher  order  of  mind,  or  nobler  ambi- 
tion, who  devote  themselves  to  the  production  of  works  of 
permanent  value  and  utility.  Such  works  often  creep  but 
slowly  into  circulation  and  repute,  and  then  become  classics 
forever.  And  what  encouragement  and  reward  does  the  law 
hold  forth  to  such  contributors  to  our  standard  national  litera- 
ture ?  "Why  that  after  a  certain  lapse  of  years,  coinciding 
probably  with  the  term  requisite  to  establish  the  sterling  char- 
acter of  the  work,  or  at  least  to  establish  its  general  recogni- 
tion ;  then  —  aye,  just  then,  when  the  literary  property  is 
realized,  when  it  becomes  exchangeable  against  the  precious 
metals,  which  are  considered  by  some  political,  and  more 
practical,  economists  as  the  standard  of  value  —  the  law  de- 
crees that  then  all  right  or  interest  in  the  book  shall  expire  in 
the  author,  and  by  some  strange  process,  akin  to  the  Hindoo 
transmigrations,  revive  in  the  great  body  of  the  booksellers. 
And  here  arises  a  curious  question.  After  the  copyright  has 
so  lapsed,  suppose  that  some  speculative  publisher,  himself 
an  amateur  writer,  extenuate  or  aggravate  his  arguments  — 
French-polish  his  style — Johnsonize  his  phraseology — or  even 
like  Winifred  Jenkins,  wrap  his  own  "  bit  of  nonsense  under 
his  honor's  kiver ; "  is  there  any  legal  provision  extant  to 
which  the  injured  party  could  appeal  for  redress  of  such  an 
outrage  on  all  that  is  left  to  him,  his  reputation  ?  I  suspect 
there  is  none  whatever.  There  is  yet  another  singular  result 
from  this  state  of  the  law,  which  I  beg  leave  to  illustrate  by 
my  own  case. 

If  I  may  modestly  appropriate  a  merit,  it  is  that,  whatever 
faults  I  have,  at  least  I  have  been  a  decent  writer.  In  a  spe- 
cies of  composition,  where,  like  the  ignis  fatuus  that  guides 
into  a  bog,  a  glimmer  of  the  ludicrous  is  ajDt  to  lead  the  fancy 
into  an  indelicacy,  I  feel  some  honest  pride  in  remembering 
that  the  reproach  of  impurity  has  never  been  cast  upon  me  by 
my  judges.  It  has  not  been  my  delight  to  exhibit  the  Muse, 
as  it  has  been  tenderly  called  "  high  kilted  "  —  I  have  had  my 
gratification  therefore  in  seeing  my  little  volumes  placed  in  the 
hands  of  boys  and  girls,  and  as  I  have  children  of  my  own  to, 
I  hope,  survive  me,  I  have  the  inexpressible  comfort  of  think- 


474  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWROXG. 

ing  that  hereafter  they  will  be  able  to  cast  their  eyes  over  the 
pages  inscribed  with  my  name,  without  a  burning  blush  on 
their  young  cheeks  to  reflect  that  the  author  was  their  father. 
So  whispers  Hope,  with  the  dulcet  voice  and  the  golden  hair ; 
but  what  thunders  Law,  of  the  iron  tone  and  the  frizzled  wig  ? 
"  Decent  as  thy  Muse  may  now  be  —  a  delicate  Ariel  —  she 
shall  be  indecent  and  indelicate  hereafter  !  She  shall  class 
with  the  bats  and  the  fowls  obscene  !  The  slow  reward  of  thy 
virtue  shall  be  the  same  as  the  prompt  punishment  of  vice  — 
Thy  copyright  shall  depart  from  thee,  it  shall  be  everybody's, 
and  anybody's,  and  no  man  shall  call  it  his  own  ! " 

Verily,  if  such  be  the  proper  rule  of  copyright,  for  the 
sake  of  consistency  two  very  old  copywriters  should  be 
altered  to  match,  and  run  thus :  — 

"  Virtue  is  its  own  punishment." 
"  Age  commands  disrespect." 

To  return  to  the  author  whose  fame  is  slow  and  sure  to 
be  —  its  own  reward ;  should  he  be  dependent,  as  is  often  the 
case,  on  the  black  and  white  bread  of  literature?  should  it 
be  the  profession  by  which  he  lives,  it  is  evident  that  under 
such  a  system  he  must  beg,  run  in  debt,  or  starve.  And 
many  have  been  beggars  —  many  have  got  into  debt;  it  is 
hardly  possible  to  call  up  the  ghost  of  a  literary  hero  without 
the  apparition  of  a  catchpole  at  his  elbow,  for,  like  Jack  the 
Giant-killer,  our  elder  worthies,  who  had  the  Cap  of  Knowl- 
edge, found  it  equally  convenient  to  be  occasionally  invisible, 
as  well  as  to  possess  the  Shoes  of  Swiftness,  —  and  some 
have  starved !  Could  the  "  Illustrious  Dead "  arise,  after 
some  Anniversary  Dinner  of  the  Literary  Fund,  and  walk  in 
procession  round  the  table,  like  the  resuscitated  objects  of  the 
Royal  Humane  Society,  what  a  melancholy  exhibition  they 
would  make !  I  will  not  marshal  them  forth  in  order,  but 
leave  the  show  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader.  I  doubt 
whether  the  Illustrious  Living  would  make  a  much  brighter 
muster.  Supposing  a  general  summons,  how  many  day-rules 
—  how  many  incognitos  from  abroad  —  how  many  visits  to 
Monmouth  Street  would  be  necessary  to  enable  the  Members 
to  put  in  an  appearance  !  I  fear,  Heaven  forgive  me  !  some 
of  our  nobles  even  would  show  only  Three  Golden  Balls  in 
their  coronets  !     If  they  do  not  actually  starve  or  die  by 


COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWROXG.  475 

poison  in  this  century,  it  is,  perhaps,  owing  partly  to  the 
foundation  of  the  Literary  Fund,  and  partly  to  the  invention 
of  the  stomach-pump.  But  the  true  abject  state  of  literature 
may  be  gathered  from  the  fact,  that  with  a  more  accurate 
sense  of  the  destitution  of  the  Professors  than  of  the  dignity 
of  the  Profession,  a  proposal  has  lately  been  brought  forward 
for  the  erection  of  almshouses  for  paupers  of  "  learning  and 
genius  "  who  have  fallen  into  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  under 
the  specious  name  of  Literary  Retreats  ;  or  as  a  military  man 
would  technically  and  justly  read  such  a  record  of  our  failures, 
Literary  Defeats.  Nor  is  this  the  climax :  the  proposal 
names  half  a  dozen  of  these  humble  abodes  to  "  make  a  be- 
ginning "  with  —  a  mere  brick  of  the  building  —  as  if  the 
projector,  in  his  mind's-eye,  saw  a  whole  Mile-End  Road  of 
one-storied  tenements  in  the  shell,  stretching  from  number 
six,  and  w  to  be  continued." 

Visions  of  paupers,  spare  my  aching  sight, 
Ye  unbuilt  houses,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 

I  do  hope,  before  we  are  put  into  yellow  leather,  very 
"  small  clothes,"  muffin  caps,  green-baize  coats,  and  badges, 
and  made  St.  Minerva  charity  boys  at  once  —  for  that  must 
be  the  first  step  —  that  the  legislature  will  interfere  and  en- 
deavor to  provide  better  for  our  sere  and  yellow  leaves,  by 
protecting  our  black  and  white  ones.  Let  the  law  secure  to 
us  a  fair  chance  of  getting  our  own,  and  perhaps,  with  proper 
industry,  we  may  be  able  —  who  knows  ?  —  to  build  little 
snuggeries  for  ourselves.  Under  the  present  system  the 
chances  are  decidedly  against  a  literary  man's  even  laying  a 
good  foundation  of  French  bricks. 

To  further  illustrate  the  nature  of  a  copyright,  we  will 
suppose  that  an  author  retains  it,  or  publishes,  as  it  is  called, 
on  his  own  account.  He  will  then  have  to  divide  amongst  the 
trade,  in  the  shape  of  commission  allowances,  from  40  to  45 
per  cent  of  the  gross  proceeds,  leaving  the  stationer,  printer, 
binder,  advertising,  and  all  other  expenses  to  be  paid  out  of 
the  remainder.  And  here  arises  two  important  contingen- 
cies:  1.  In  order  that  the  author  may  know  the  true  num- 
ber of  the  impressions,  and  consequently  the  correct  amount 
of  the  sale,  it  is  necessary  the  publisher  should  be  honest. 
2.   For  the  author  to  duly  receive  his  profits,  his  publisher  must 


476  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

be  solvent.  I  intend  no  disrespect  to  the  trade  in  general  by 
naming  these  conditions ;  but  I  am  bound  to  mention  them, 
as  risks  adding  to  the  insecurity  of  the  property  —  as  two 
hurdles  which  the  rider  of  Pegasus  may  have  to  clear  in  his 
course  to  be  a  winner. 

If  I  felt  inclined  to  reflect  on  the  trade,  it  would  be  to  cen- 
sure those  dishonest  members  of  it,  who  set  aside  a  principle, 
in  which  the  interests  of  authors  and  booksellers  are  identical 
—  the  inviolability  of  copyright.  I  need  not  point  out  the 
notorious  examples  of  direct  piracy  at  home,  which  have 
made  the  foreign  offences  comparatively  venial ;  nor  yet  those 
more  oblique  plagiarisms,  and  close  parodies,  which  are  alike 
hurtful  in  their  degree.  Of  the  evil  of  these  latter  practices 
I  fear  our  bibliopoles  are  not  sufficiently  aware  ;  but  that  man 
deserves  to  have  his  head  published  in  foolscap,  who  does  not 
see  that,  whatever  temporary  advantages  a  system  of  piracy 
may  hold  out,  the  consequent  swamping  of  literature  will  be 
ruinous  to  the  trade,  till  eventually  it  may  dwindle  down  to 
Four-and-Twenty  Booksellers  all  in  a  Row,  and  all  in  "  the 
old  book  line,"  pushing  off  back  stock  and  bartering  re- 
mainders. 

But  my  letter  is  exceeding  all  reasonable  length,  and  I  will 
reserve  what  else  I  have  to  say  till  next  post. 

Tho^ias  Hood. 


LETTER    II. 

My  dear  Sir,  — 
I  have  perhaps  sufficiently  illustrated  the  state  of  copyright, 
bad  as  it  is,  without  the  help  of  foreign  intervention  :  not, 
however,  without  misgivings  that  I  shall  be  suspected  of  quot- 
ing from  some  burlesque  code,  drawn  up  by  a  Rabelais  in 
ridicule  of  the  legislative  efforts  of  a  community  of  ouran- 
outangs  —  or  a  sample  by  Swift,  of  the  constitution  of  the 
sages  of  Laputa  —  I  have  proved  that  literary  property  might 
almost  be  defined,  reversing  the  common  advertisement,  as 
something  "  of  use  to  everybody  but  the  owner."  To  guard 
this  precarious  possession  I  have  shown  how  the  law  pro- 
vides :  1st.  That  if  a  work  be  of  temporary  interest  it  shall 
virtually  be  free  for  any  bookaneev  to  avail  himself  of  its 


COPYRIGHT   AND    COPYWROXG.  477 

pages  and  its  popularity  with  impunity.  2d.  That  when 
time  has  stamped  a  work  as  of  permanent  value,  the  copy- 
right shall  belong  to  anybody  or  nobody.  I  may  now  add  — 
as  if  to  "  huddle  jest  upon  jest,"  — that  the  mere  registry  of  a 
work,  to  entitle  it  to  this  precious  protection,  incurs  a  fee  of 
eleven  copies  —  in  value,  it  might  happen,  some  hundreds  of 
pounds  !  Then  to  protect  the  author  —  "  ay,  such  protec- 
tion vultures  give  to  the  lambs  " — I  have  instanced  how  he 
is  responsible  for  all  he  writes  —  and  subject  to  libel  and  so 
forth,  to  fines  and  imprisonment  —  how  he  may  libel  by 
proxy,  and  how  he  may  practically  be  libelled  himself  without 
redress.  I  have  evidenced  how  the  law,  that  protects  his 
brass-plate  on  the  door,  will  wink  at  the  stealing  of  his  name 
by  a  brazen  pirate  —  howbeil  the  author,  for  only  accommo- 
dating himself  by  a  forgery,  might  be  transported  beyond 
seas.  I  have  set  forth  how,  though  he  may  not  commit  any 
breach  of  privilege,  he  may  have  his  own  words  garbled, 
Frenchified,  transmogrified,  garnished,  taken  in  or  let  out, 
like  old  clothes,  turned,  dyed,  and  altered.  I  have  proved  in 
short,  according  to  my  first  position,  that  in  the  evil  eye  of  the 
law,  "  we  have  neither  character  to  lose  nor  property  to  pro- 
tect ; "  that  there  is  "  one  law  for  the  rich  and  another  for  the 
poor  "  {alias  authors)  ;  and  that  the  weights  and  scales  which 
Justice  uses  in  literary  matters  ought  to  be  broken  before  her 
face  by  the  petty  jury.  And  now  let  me  ask,  is  this  forlorn 
state  —  its  professors  thus  degradingly  appreciated,  its  pro- 
ducts thus  shabbily  appraised  —  the  proper  condition  of 
literature  ?  The  liberty  of  the  press  is  boasted  of  as  a  part 
of  the  British  Constitution  ;  but  might  it  not  be  supposed, 
that  in  default  of  a  Censorship,  some  cunning  Machiavel  had 
devised  a  sly  underplot  for  the  discouragement  of  letters  — 
an  occult  conspiracy  to  present  "  men  of  learning  and  genius  " 
to  the  world's  eye,  in  the  pitiful  plight  of  poor  devils,  starvel- 
ings, mumpers,  paupers,  vagrants,  loose-fish,  jobbers,  needy 
and  seedy  ones,  nobodies,  ne'er-do-weels,  shy  coves,  strollers, 
creatures,  wretches,  abjects,  small  debtors,  borrowers,  depend- 
ents, lackpennies,  half-sirs,  clapper-dudgeons,  scamps,  insol- 
vents, maunderers,  blue-gowns  bedes-men,  scarecrows,  fellows 
about  town,  sneaks,  scrubs,  shabbies,  rascal  deer  of  the  herd, 
animals  "  wi'  lettered  braw  brass  collars,"  but  poor  dogs  for 
all  that  ?     Our  family  tree  is  ancient  enough,  for  it  is  coeval 


478  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

with  knowledge  ;  and  mythology,  the  old  original  Herald's 
College,  has  assigned  us  a  glorious  blazonry.  But  would 
not  one  believe  that  some  sneering  Mephistophcles  willing  to 
pull  down  "  God  Almighty's  gentlemen,"  had  sought  to  sup- 
ply the  images  of  their  heraldry  with  a  scurvier  gloss,  e.  g. 
a  lady  patroness  with  an  aegis,  that  gives  more  stones  than 
bread  —  a  patron  who  dispenses  sunshine  in  lieu  of  coal  and 
candle  —  nine  elderly  spinsters,  who  have  never  married  for 
want  of  fortune  —  a  horse  with  wings,  that  foiling  oats,  he 
may  fly  after  the  chaff  that  is  driven  before  the  wind  —  a 
forked  mount,  and  no  knife  to  it  —  a  lot  of  bay-trees,  and  no 
custards  —  a  spring  of  Adam's  ale!  In  fact  all  the  standing 
jests  and  taunts  at  authors  and  authorship  have  their  point  at 
poverty  :  such  as  Grub  Street  first-floors  clown  the  chimney 
—  sixpenny  ordinaries  —  second-hand  suits  —  shabby  blacks, 
holes  at  the  elbow  —  and  true  as  epaulette  to  the  shoulder  the 
hand  of  the  bum-bailiff! 

Unfortunately,  as  if  to  countenance  such  a  plot  as  I  have 
hypothetically  assumed  above,  there  is  a  marked  dispropor- 
tion, as  compared  with  other  professions,  in  the  number  of  the 
literary  men,  who  are  selected  for  public  honors  and  em- 
ployments. 

So  far  indeed  from  their  having,  as  a  body,  any  voice  in 
the  senate,  they  have  scarcely  a  vote  at  the  hustings  ;  for  the 
system  under  which  they  suffer  is  hardly  adapted  to  make 
them  forty  shilling  freeholders,  much  less  to  enable  them  to 
qualify  for  seats  in  the  House.  A  jealous-minded  person 
might  take  occasion  to  say,  that  this  was  but  a  covert  mode  of 
affecting  the  exclusion  of  men  whom  the  gods  have  made 
poetical,  and  whose  voices  might  sound  more  melodious  and 
quite  as  pregnant  with  meaning  as  many  a  vox  et  prceterea 
nihil,  that  is  lifted  up  to  Mr.  Speaker.  A  literary  man,  in- 
deed,—  Sheridan  —  is  affirmed  by  Lord  Byron  to  have  deliv- 
ered the  best  speech  that  was  ever  listened  to  in  Parliament, 
and  it  would  even  add  force  to  the  insinuation,  that  the  rotten 
boroughs,  averred  to  be  the  only  gaps  by  which  men  merely 
rich  in  learning  and  genius  could  creep  into  the  Commons, 
have  been  recently  stopped  up.  Of  course  such  a  plot  cannot 
be  entertained  ;  but  in  the  mean  time  the  effect  is  the  same, 
and  whilst  an  apparent  slight  is  cast  upon  literature,  the 
senate  has  probably  been  deprived  of  the  musical  wisdom  of 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWROXG.  479 

many  wonderful  Talking  Birds  through  the  want  of  the 
Golden  Waters.  For  instance,  it  might  not  only  be  profitable 
to  hear  such  a  man  as  Southey,  who  has  both  read  history 
and  written  history,  speak  to  the  matter  in  hand,  when  the 
affairs  of  nations  are  discussed,  and  the  beacon-lights  of  the 
past  may  be  made  to  reflect  a  guiding  ray  into  the  London- 
like fogs  of  the  future.  I  am  quite  aware  that  literary  genius 
•per  se  is  not  reckoned  a  sufficient  qualification  for  a  legislator, 
—  perhaps  not  —  but  why  is  not  a  poet  as  competent  to  dis- 
cuss questions  concerning  the  public  welfare,  the  national 
honor,  the  maintenance  of  morals  and  religion,  or  the  educa- 
tion of  the  people,  as  a  gentleman,  without  a  touch  of  poetry 
about  him,  who  had  been  schooling  his  intellects  for  the  even- 
ing's debate  by  a  course  of  morning  whist?  Into  some  of 
these  honorary  memberships,  so  to  speak,  a  few  distinguished 
men  of  letters  might  be  safely  franked,  and  if  they  did  not 
exactly  turn  up  trumps  —  I  mean  as  statesmen  —  they  would 
serve  to  do  away  with  an  awkward  impression  that  literature, 
which  as  a  sort  of  natural  religion  is  the  best  ally  of  a  revealed 
one,  has  been  unkindly  denied  any  share  in  that  affection- 
ate relationship  which  obtains  between  church  and  state.  As 
for  the  Upper  House,  I  will  not  presume  to  say,  whether  the 
dignity  of  that  illustrious  assembly  would  have  been  impaired 
or  otherwise  by  the  presence  of  a  baron  with  the  motto, 
Poeta  nascitur,  non  Jit ;  supposing  literature  to  have  taken  a 
seat  in  the  person  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  beside  the  lords  of  law 
and  war.  It  is  not  for  me  to  decide  whether  the  brain-be- 
witching art  be  worthy  of  such  high  distinction  as  the  brain- 
bewildering  art,  or  that  other  one  described  by  a  bard,  himself 
a  peer,  as  the  "  brain-spattering  art ; "  but  in  the  absence  of 
such  creations  it  seems  a  peculiar  hardship  that  men  of  letters 
should  not  have  been  selected  for  distinctions  ;  the  "  Blue 
Ribbon  of  Literature,"  for  instance,  most  legitimately  their 
due.  Finally,  as  if  to  aggravate  these  neglects,  literary  men 
have  not  been  consoled  as  is  usual,  for  the  loss  of  more  airy 
gratifications  by  a  share  in  what  Justice  Greedy  would  call 
"the  substantials,  Sir  Giles,  the  substantials."  They  have 
been  treated  as  if  they  were  unworthy  of  public  employments, 
at  least  with  two  exceptions.  Burns,  who  held  a  post  very 
much  under  government,  and  Wordsworth,  who  shares  the 
reproach  of  "  the  loaves  and  fishes "   for  penny  rolls   and 


480  COPYRIGHT  AXD   COPYWKOXG. 

sprats.  The  want  of  business-like  habits,  it  is  true,  has  been 
alleged  against  the  fraternity ;  but  even  granting  such  a 
deficiency,  might  not  the  most  practical  idlers,  loungers,  and 
ramblers  of  them  all  fill  their  posts  quite  as  efficiently  as 
those  personages,  who  are  paid  for  having  nothing  to  do,  and 
never  neglect  his  duty  ?  Not  that  I  am  an  admirer  of  sine- 
cures except  in  the  Irishman's  acceptation  of  the  word ;  *  but 
may  not  such  bonuses  to  gentlemen,  who  write  as  little  as 
they  well  can,  viz.  their  names  to  the  receipts,  appear  a  little 
like  a  wish  to  discountenance  those  other  gentlemen,  who 
write  as  much  as  they  well  can,  and  are  at  the  expense  of 
printing  it  besides. 

I  had  better  here  enter  a  little  protest  against  these  remarks 
being  mistaken  for  the  splenetic  and  wrathful  ebullitions  of  a 
morbid  and  addled  egotism.  I  have  not  "  deviated  into  the 
gloomy  vanity  of  drawing  from  self."  I  charge  the  state,  it 
is  true,  with  backing  literature  as  the  Champion  backed  Cato 
—  that  is  to  say  tail  foremost  —  but  I  am  far  from  consider- 
ing myself  as  an  over-looked,  under-kept,  wet-blanketed,  hid- 
under-a-bushel,  or  lapped-in-a-napkin  individual.  I  have 
never,  to  my  knowledge,  displayed  any  remarkable  aptitude 
for  business,  any  decided  predilection  for  politics,  or  unusual 
mastery  in  political  economy  —  any  striking  talent  at  "  a 
multiplicity  of  talk "  —  and  withal  I  am  a  very  indifferent 
hand  at  a  rubber.  I  have  never  like  Bubb  Doddington,  ex- 
pressed a  determined  ambition  "  to  make  a  public  figure,  I 
had  not  decided  what,  but  a  public  figure  I  was  resolved  to 
make." 

Nay,  more,  in  a  general  view,  I  am  not  anxious  to  see 
literary  men  "  giving  up  to  a  party  what  was  meant  for  man- 
kind," or  hanging  like  sloths  on  the  "  branches  of  the 
revenue,"  or  even  engrossing  working-situations,  such  as 
gauger-ships,  to  the  exclusion  of  humbler  individuals,  who 
like°Dogberry,  have  the  natural  gifts  of  reading  and  writing, 
and  nothing  else,  neither  am  I  eager  to  claim  for  them  those 
other  distinctions,  titles,  and  decorations,  the  dignity  of  which 

*  One  Patrick  Maguire.  He  had  been  appointed  to  a  situation  the  re- 
verse of  a  place  of  all  work,  and  his  friends  who  called  to  congratulate  him, 
were  very  much  astonished  to  see  his  face  lengthen  on  the  receipt  of  the 
news.  "A  sinecure  is  it!"  exclaimed  Pat.  "  The  devil  thank  them  for 
that  same.  Sure  I  know  what  a  sinecure  is:  it's  a  place  where  there's 
nothing  to  do,  and  they  pay  you  by  the  piece." 


COPYEIGHT   AND   COPYWEOXG.  451 

requires  a  certain  affluence  of  income  for  its  support.  A  few 
orders  indeed,  domestic  or  foreign,  conferred  through  a  book- 
seller hang  not  ungracefully  on  an  author,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  help  to  support  his  slender  income  ;  but  there  would 
be  something  too  ludicrous  even  for  my  humor  in  a  star  and 
no  coat,  a  garter  and  no  stockings,  a  coronet  and  no  nightcap, 
a  collar  and  no  shirt!  Besides  the  creatures  have  like  the 
glowworm  and  the  firefly  (but  at  the  head  instead  of  the 
tail)  a  sort  of  splendor  of  their  own,  which  makes  them  less 
in  need  of  any  adventitious  lustre.  If  I  have  dwelt  on  the 
dearth  of  State  Patronage,  public  employments,  honors  and 
emoluments,  it  was  principally  to  correct  a  vulgar  error,  not 
noticed  by  Sir  Thomas  Browne  ;  namely,  that  poets  and  their 
kind  are  "  marygolds  in  the  sun's  eye,"  the  world's  favorite 
and  pet  children  ;  whereas  they  are  in  reality  its  snubbed 
ones.  It  was  to  show  that  Literature,  neglected  by  the  gov- 
ernment, and  unprotected  by  the  law,  was  placed  in  a  false 
position  ;  whereby  its  professors  present  such  anomalous 
phenomena  as  high  priests  of  knowledge  without  a  surplus ; 
enlarged  minds  in  the  King's  Bench,  schoolmasters  obliged 
to  be  abroad,  great  scholars  without  a  knife  and  fork  and 
spoon,  master  minds  at  journey-work,  moral  magistrates 
greatly  under-paid ;  immortals  without  a  living,  menders  of 
the  human  heart  breaking  their  own,  mighty  intellects  be- 
grudged their  mite,  great  wits  jumping  into  nothing  good, 
ornaments  to  their  country  put  on  the  shelf ;  constellations  of 
genius  under  a  cloud,  eminent  pens  quite  stumped  up,  great 
lights  of  the  age  with  a  thief  in  them,  prophets  to  book- 
sellers ;  my  ink  almost  blushes  from  black  to  red  whilst  mark- 
ing such  associations  of  the  divine  ore  with  the  earthly  —  but 
methinks  't  is  the  metal  of  one  of  their  scales  in  which  we 
are  weighed  and  found  wanting.  Poverty  is  the  badge  of  all 
our  tribe,  and  its  reproach. 

There  is,  for  instance,  a  well-known  taunt  against  a  humble 
class  of  men,  who  live  by  their  pens,  which  girding  not  at  the 
quality  of  their  work,  but  the  rate  of  its  remuneration,  twits 
them  as  penny-a-liners !  Can  the  world  be  aware  of  the 
range  of  the  shaft  ?  What,  pray,  was  glorious  John  Milton, 
upon  whom  rested  an  after-glow  of  the  Holy  Inspiration  of 
the  sacred  writers,  like  the  twilight  bequeathed  by  a  mid- 
summer sun  ?  Why,  he  was,  as  you  may  reckon  any  time  in 
21  EE 


482  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

his  divine  "  Paradise  Lost,"  not  even  a  ha'penny-a-liner  ;  we 
have  no  proof  that  Shakespeare,  the  high  priest  of  humanity, 
was  even  a  farthing-a-liner ;  and  we  know  that  Homer  not 
only  sold  Ins  lines  "  gratis  for  nothing,"  but  gave  credit  to  all 
eternity  !  If  I  wrong  the  world,  I  beg  pardon  ;  but  I  really 
believe  it  invented  the  phrase  of  the  republic  of  letters  to  in- 
sinuate that,  taking  the  whole  lot  of  authors  together,  they 
have  not  got  a  sovereign  amongst  them  ! 

I  have  now  reduced  Literature,  as  an  arithmetician  would 
say,  to  its  lowest  terms.     I  have  shown  her  like  misery,  — 

For  misery  is  trodden  on  by  many, 
And,  being  low,  never  relieved  by  any, 

fairly  ragged,  beggared,  and  down  in  the  dust,  having  been 
robbed  of  her  last  farthing  by  a  pickpocket  (that's  a  pirate). 
There  she  sits,  like  Diggon  Davie,  —  "  Her  was  her  while  it 
was  daylight,  but  now  her  is  a  most  wretched  wight,"  —  or 
rather  like  crazy  Kate  ;  a  laughing-stock  for  the  mob  (that 's 
the  world),  unprotected  by  the  constable  (that's  the  law), 
threatened  by  the  beadle  (that 's  the  law,  too),  repulsed  from 
the  workhouse  by  the  overseer  (that's  the  government),  and 
denied  any  claim  on  the  parish  funds.  Agricultural  distress 
is  a  fool  to  it !  one  of  those  counterfeit  cranks,"  to  quote  from 
"  The  English  Rogue,"  —  "  Such  as  pretend  to  have  the  fall- 
ing sickness,  and  by  putting  a  piece  of  white  soap  into  the 
corner  of  their  mouths  will  make  the  froth  come  boiling  forth, 
to  cause  pity  to  the  beholders."  If  we  inquire  into  the  causes 
of  this  depression,  some  must  undoubtedly  be  laid  at  the 
doors  of  literary  men  themselves;  but  perhaps  the  greater 
proportion  may  be  traced  to  the  want  of  any  definite  ideas, 
amongst  people  in  general,  on  the  following  particulars  :  — 
1st.  How  an  author  writes  ;  2d.  Why  an  author  writes ;  3d. 
What  an  author  writes.  And  1st,  as  to  how  he  writes,  upon 
which  there  is  a  wonderful  diversity  of  opinions  ;  one  thinks 
that  writing  is  "  as  easy  as  lying,"  and  pictures  the  author 
sitting  carefully  at  his  desk  "with  his  glove  on,"  like  Sir 
Roger  De  Coverley's  poetical  ancestor.     A  second  holds  that 

"  the  easiest  reading  is  d d    hard  writing,"  and    imagines 

Time  himself  heating  his  brains  over  an  extempore.  A  third 
believes  in  inspirations,  i.  e.  that  metaphors,  quotations,  clas- 
sical allusions,  historical  illustrations,  and  even  dramatic  plots, 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWROXG.  483 

—  all  come  to  the  coming  author  by  intuition  ;  whilst  ready- 
made  poems,  like  Coleridge's  "  Kubla  Khan,"  are  dictated  to 
him  in  his  sleep.  Of  course  the  estimate  of  his  desert  will 
rise  or  fall  according  to  the  degree  of  learned  labor  attributed 
to  the  composition ;  he  who  sees  in  his  mind's-eye,  a  genius 
of  the  lamp,  consuming  gallons  on  gallons  of  midnight  oil, 
will  assign  a  rate  of  reward,  regulated  probably  by  the 
success  of  the  Hull  whalers,  whilst  the  believer  in  inspiration 
will  doubtless  conceive  that  the  author  ought  to  be  fed,  as 
well  as  prompted,  by  miracle,  —  and  accordingly  bid  him  look 
up,  like  the  Apostle  on  the  old  Dutch  tiles,  for  a  bullock  com- 
ing down  from  heaven  in  a  bundle.  2d.  Why  an  author 
writes ;  and  there  is  as  wide  a  patchwork  of  opinions  on  this 
head  as  on  the  former.  Some  think  that  he  writes  for  the 
present,  —  others,  that  he  writes  for  posterity,  and  a  few  that 
he  writes  for  antiquity.  One  believes  that  he  writes  for  the 
benefit  of  the  world  in  general,  his  own  excepted,  —  which  is 
the  opinion  of  the  law.  A  second  conceives  that  he  writes 
for  the  benefit  of  booksellers  in  particular,  and  this  is  the 
trade's  opinion.  A  third  takes  it  for  granted  that  he  writes 
for  nobody's  benefit  but  his  own,  which  is  the  opinion  of  the 
green-room.  He  is  supposed  to  write  for  fame,  for  money, 
for  amusement,  for  political  ends,  and,  by  certain  schoolmas- 
ters, "  to  improve  his  mind." 

Need  it  be  wondered  at,  that,  in  this  uncertainty  as  to  his 
motives,  the  world  sometimes  perversely  gives  him  anything 
but  the  thing  he  wants.  Thus  the  rich  author,  who  yearns 
for  fame,  gets  a  pension,  —  the  poor  one,  who  hungers  for 
bread,  receives  a  diploma  from  Aberdeen,  —  the  writer  for 
amusement  has  the  pleasure  of  a  Mohawking  review  in  a 
periodical;  and  the  gentleman  in  search  of  a  place  has  an 
offer  from  a  sentimental  milliner !  3d.  What  an  author 
writes.  The  world  is  so  much  of  a  Champollion  that  it  can 
understand  hieroglyphics,  if  nothing  else  ;  it  can  comprehend 
outward  visible  signs,  and  grapple  with  a  tangible  emblem. 
It  knows  that  a  man  on  a  table  stands  for  patriotism,  a  man 
in  a  pulpit  for  religion,  and  so  on,  but  it  is  a  little  obtuse  as  to 
what  it  reads  in  King  Cadmus's  types.  A  book  hangs  out  no 
sign.  Thus  persons  will  go  through  a  chapter,  enforcing 
some  principal  duty  of  man  towards  his  Maker,  or  his  neigh- 
bor, without  discovering  that  in  all  but  the  name  they  have 


484  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

been  reading  a  sermon.  A  solid  mahogany  pulpit  is  wanting 
to  such  a  perception.  They  will  con  over  an  essay,  glowing 
with  the  most  ardent  love  of  liberty,  instinct  with  the  noblest 
patriotism,  and  replete  with  the  soundest  maxims  of  polity 
without  the  remotest  notion  that,  except  its  being  delivered 
upon  paper,  instead  of  viva  voce,  they  have  been  attending  to 
a  speech,  —  as  for  dreaming  of  the  author  as  a  being,  who 
could  sit  in  Parliament,  and  uphold  the  same  sentiments,  they 
would  as  soon  think  of  chairing  an  abstract  idea.  They  must 
see  a  bond  fide  wagon  with  its  true  blue,  orange,  or  green 
flag  to  arrive  at  such  a  conclusion. 

The  material  keeps  the  upper-hand.  Hence  the  sight  of  a 
substantial  Vicar  may  suggest  the  necessity  of  a  parsonage 
and  glebe,  but  the  author  is,  according  to  the  proverb,  "  out  of 
sight,  out  of  mind ; "  a  spirituality  not  to  be  associated  with 
such  tangible  temporalities  as  bread  and  cheese.  He  is  con- 
demned par  contumace  to  dine  tete-a-tete  with  the  Barmecide 
or  Duke  Humphrey,  whilst  for  want  of  a  visible  hustings  or 
velvet  cushion,  the  small  still  voice  of  his  pages  is  never  con- 
ceived of,  as  coming  from  a  patriot,  a  statesman,  a  priest,  or  a 
prophet :  as  a  case  in  point  —  there  is  a  short  poem  by  South ey 
called  the  "  Battle  of  Blenheim  "  which,  from  the  text  of 
some  poor  fellow's  skull,  who  fell  in  the  great  victory, 

For  many  a  thousand  bodies  there 
Lay  rotting  in  the  sun, 

takes  occasion  to  ask  what  they  killed  each  other  for  ?  and 
what  good  came  of  it  in  the  end  ?  These  few  quaint  verses 
contain  the  very  essence  of  a  primary  Quaker  doctrine,  yet 
lacking  the  tangible  sign  —  a  drab  coat  or  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  —  no  member  of  the  sect  ever  yet  discovered  that,  in  all 
but  the  garb,  the  peace-loving  author  was  a  Friend,  moved  by 
the  spirit,  and  holding  forth  in  verse  in  a  strain  worthy  of  the 
great  Fox  himself!  Is  such  poetry,  then,  a  vanity,  or  some- 
thing worthy  of  all  Quakerly  patronage  ?  Verily  if  the 
copyright  had  been  valued  at  a  thousand  pounds  the  Society 
ought  to  have  purchased  it,  —  printed  the  poem  as  a  tract  — 
and  distributed  it  by  tens  of  thousands,  yea,  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands, till  every  fighting  man  in  the  army  and  navy  had  a 
copy,  including  the  marines.  The  Society,  however,  has  done 
nothing  of  the   kind ;  and  it  has  only  acted  like  Society  in 


COPYBIGHT   AND    COPYWEOXG.  485 

general  towards  literature,  by  regarding  it  as  a  vanity  or  a 
luxury,  rather  than  a  grand  moral  engine,  capable  of  advan- 
cing the  spiritual,  as  well  as  the  temporal  interests  of  mankind. 
It  has  looked  upon  poets  and  their  kind  as  common  men,  and 
not  as  spirits  that,  like  the  ascending  and  descending  angels 
in  Jacob's  vision,  hold  commerce  with  the  sky  itself,  and  help 
lo  maintain  the  intercourse  between  earth  and  Heaven. 

I  have  yet  a  few  comments  to  offer  on  the  charges  usually 
preferred  against  literary  men,  but  shall  reserve  them  for  an- 
other and  concluding  letter. 

T11031AS   Hood. 


LETTER   III. 

My  dear  Sir, — 

Now  to  the  sins  which  have  been  laid  at  the  doors,  or  tied 
to  the  knockers,  of  literary  men :  those  offences  which  are  to 
palliate  or  excuse  such  public  slights  and  neglects  as  I  have 
set  forth ;  or,  maybe,  such  private  ones,  as  selling  a  presen- 
tation copy,  perhaps  a  dedicatory  one,  as  a  bookseller  would 
call  the  "  Keepsake "  with  the  author's  autograph  letters  — 
waiving  the  delicacy  of  waiting  for  his  death,  or  the  policy,  for, 
as  Crabbe  says,  one's  writings  fetch  then  a  better  price,  because 
there  can  be  no  more  of  them  —  at  a  sale  of  Evans's.  Liter- 
ary men,  then,  have  been  charged  with  being  eccentric  — 
and  so  are  comets.  They  were  not  created  to  belong  to  that 
mob  of  undistinguishable  —  call  them  not  stars,  but  sparks, 
constituting  the  Milky  Way. 

It  is  a  taunt  as  old  as  Chesterfield's  Letters,  that  they  are 
not  polished :  no  more  was  that  Chesterfield's  son. 

They  do  not  dress  fashionably ;  for  if  they  could  afford  it, 
they  know  better,  in  a  race  for  immortal  fame,  than  to  be  out- 
siders. Some,  it  has  been  alleged,  have  run  through  their  estates, 
which  might  have  been  easily  traversed  at  a  walk  ;  and  one 
and  all  have  neglected  to  save  half-a-crown  out  of  sixpence  a 
day. 

Their  disinterestedness  has  been  called  imprudence,  and 
their  generosity  extravagance,  by  parties,  who  bestoAv  their 
charity  like  the  miser  would.* 

*  An  illiterate  personage,  who  always  volunteered  to  go  round  with  the 


486  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

The  only  charge  not  a  blank  charge  —  that  has  been  dis- 
charged against  them  —  their  poverty,  has  been  made  a  crime, 
and,  what  is  worse,  a  crime  of  their  own  seeking. 

They  have  not,  it  is  true,  been  notorious  for  hoarding  or 
funding  ;  the  last  would,  in  fact,  require  the  creation  of  a  stock 
on  purpose  for  them  —  the  Short  Annuities.  They  have 
never  any  weight  in  the  city,  or  anywhere  else  ;  in  cash  tem- 
perature their  pockets  are  always  at  zero.  They  are  not "  the 
warm  with,"  but  "  the  cold  without  :  "  but  it  is  to  their  credit  — 
if  they  had  any  credit  —  that  they  have  not  worshipped  Plutus. 

The  Muse  and  Mammon  never  were  in  partnership ;  and  it 
would  be  a  desperate  speculation  indeed  to  take  to  literature 
as  the  means  of  amassing  money.  He  would  be  a  simple 
Dick  Whittington,  indeed,  who  expected  to  find  its  ways 
paved  with  philosophers'  stones  :  he  must  have  Dantzic  water, 
with  'ts  gold  leaf  in  his  head,  who  thinks  to  find  Castaly  a 
Pactolus ;  ass,  indeed,  he  must  be,  who  dreams  of  browsing 
on  Parnassus,  like  those  asses  who  feed  on  a  herb  (a  sort  of 
mint  ?)  that  turns  their  very  teeth  to  gold.  A  line-maker, 
gifted  with  brains  the  gods  have  made  poetical,  has  no  chance 
of  making  an  independence  —  like  Cogia  Hassan  Alhabbal, 
the  rope-maker,  gifted  only  with  a  lump  of  lead.  Look  into 
my  palm,  and  if  it  contain  the  lines  of  poetry,  the  owner's 
fortune  may  be  obtained  at  once  —  viz.  a  hill  very  hard  to 
climb,  and  no  prospect  in  life  from  the  top.  It  is  not  always 
a  Mutton  Hill,  Garlic  Hill,  or  Cornhill  (remember  Otway), 
for  meat,  vegetable,  or  bread.  Let  the  would-be  Croesus, 
then,  take  up  a  bank-pen  and  address  himself  to  the  Old  Lady 
in  Threadneedle  Street,  but  not  to  the  Muse  ;  she  may  give 
him  some  "  pinch-back,"  and  pinch-front  too,  but  little  of  the 
precious  metals. 

Authorship  has  been  pronounced,  by  a  judge  on  the  bench, 
as  but  a  hand-to-mouth  business;  and  I  believe  few  have 
ever  set  up  in  it  as  anything  else;  in  fact,  did  not  Crabbe, 
though  a  reverend,  throw  a  series  of  summersets,  at  least  men- 
tally^ on  the  receipt  of  a  liberal  sum  from  a  liberal  publisher,  as 
if  he  had  just  won  the  capital  prize  in  the  grand  lottery  ?    Need 

hat,  but  was  suspected  of  saving  his  own  pocket.     Overhearing  one  day  a 
hint  to  that  effect,  lie  made  the  following  speech:  — 

"  Other  gentlemen  puts  down  what  they  thinks  proper,  and  so  do  I.  Char- 
ity 's  a  private  concern,  and  what  I  gives  is  nothing  to  nobody." 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWROXG.  487 

it  be  wonderecl  at,  then,  if  men  who  embraced  literature  more 
for  love  than  lucre,  should  grasp  the  adventitious  coins  some- 
what loosely  ;  nay,  purposely  scatter  abroad,  like  Boaz,  a  lib- 
eral portion  of  their  harvest  for  those  gleaners  with  whom  they 
have,  perhaps,  had  a  hand-in-glove  acquaintance  —  Poverty 
and  Want  ?  If  there  be  the  lively  sympathy  of  the  brain  with 
the  stomach  that  physiologists  have  averred,  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  there  is  a  similar  responsive  sensibility  between  the 
head  and  the  heart ;  it  would  be  inconsistent,  therefore,  —  it 
would  be  unnatural,  if  the  same  fingers  that  helped  to  trace 
the  woes  of  human  life  were  but  as  so  many  feelers  of  the 
Polypus  Avarice,  grasping  everything  within  reach,  and 
retaining  it  when  got.  We  know,  on  the  contrary,  that  the 
hand  of  the  author  of  the  "  Village  Poor  House  "  was  "  open 
as  day  to  melting  charity ; "  so  was  the  house  of  Johnson 
munificent  in  proportion  to  his  means ;  and  as  for  Goldsmith, 
he  gave  more  like  a  rich  Citizen  of  the  "World  than  one  who 
had  not  always  his  own  freehold. 

But  graver  charges  than  improvidence  have  been  brought 
against  the  literary  character  —  want  of  principle,  and  offences 
against  morality  and  religion. 

It  might  be  answered,  pleading  guilty,  that  in  that  case 
authors  have  only  topped  the  parts  allotted  to  them  in  the 
great  drama  of  life  —  that  they  have  simply  acted  like  vaga- 
bonds by  law  and  scamps  by  repute,  "  who  have  no  character 
to  lose  or  property  to  protect ; "  but  I  prefer  asserting,  which 
I  do  fearlessly,  that  literary  men,  as  a  body,  will  bear  com- 
parison in  point  of  conduct  with  any  other  class.  It  must  not 
be  forgotten  that  they  are  subjected  to  an  ordeal  quite  peculiar, 
and  scarcely  milder  than  the  Inquisition.  The  lives  of  literary 
men  are  proverbially  barren  of  incident,  and  consequently  the 
most  trivial  particulars,  the  most  private  affairs,  are  uncere- 
moniously worked  up  to  furnish  matter  for  their  bald  biogra- 
phers. Accordingly,  as  soon  as  an  author  is  defunct,  his  char- 
acter is  submitted  to  a  sort  of  Egyptian  post-mortem  trial ;  or 
rather,  a  moral  inquest,  with  Paul  Pry  for  the  coroner,  and  a 
judge  of  assize,  a  commissioner  of  bankrupts,  a  Jew  brother,  a 
Methodist  parson,  a  dramatic  licenser,  a  dancing  master,  a 
master  of  the  ceremonies,  a  rat-catcher,  a  bone  collector,  a 
parish  clerk,. a  schoolmaster,  and  a  reviewer,  for  a  jury. 

It  is  the  province  of  these  personages  to  rummage,  ransack, 


488  COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWRONG. 

scrape  together,  rake  up,  ferret  out,  sniff,  detect,  analyse, 
and  appraise,  all  the  particulars  of  the  birth,  parentage,  and 
education,  life,  character,  and  behavior,  breeding,  accomplish- 
ments, opinions,  and  literary  performances  of  the  departed. 

Secret  drawers  are  searched,  private  and  confidential  letters 
are  published,  manuscripts  intended  for  the  fire  are  set  in  type, 
tavern  bills  and  washing  bills  are  compared  with  their  re- 
ceipts, copies  of  writs  re-copied,  inventories  taken  of  effects, 
wardrobe  ticked  off  by  the  tailor 's  accounts  ;  by-gone  toys 
of  youth,  billet-doux,  snuff-boxes,  canes,  exhibited  —  discarded 
hobby-horses  are  trotted  out  —  perhaps  even  a  dissecting  sur- 
geon is  called  in  to  draw  up  a  minute  state  of  the  corpse  and 
its  viscera,  —  in  short,  nothing  is  spared  that  can  make  an 
item  for  the  clerk  to  insert  in  his  memoir. 

Outrageous  as  it  may  seem,  this  is  scarcely  an  exaggera- 
tion; for  example,  who  will  dare  to  say  that  we  do  not  know, 
at  this  very  hour,  more  of  Goldsmith's  affairs  than  he  ever  did 
himself? 

It  is  rather  wonderful,  than  otherwise,  that  the  literary  char- 
acter should  shine  out  as  it  does  after  such  a  severe  scrutiny. 
Moreover,  it  remains  to  be  proved  that  the  follies  and  failings 
attributed  to  men  of  learning  and  genius  are  any  more  their 
private  property  than  their  copyrights  after  they  have  expired. 

There  are  certainly  well-educated  ignorant  people,  who  con- 
tend that  a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  —  for  the  poor. 
And  as  authors  are  poor,  as  a  class,  those  horn-book  monopo- 
lists may  feel  bound,  in  consistency,  to  see  that  the  common 
errors  of  humanity  are  set  down  in  the  bill  to  letters.  It  is, 
of  course,  these  black  and  white  schoolmasters'  dogs  in  a 
manger  that  bark  and  growl  at  the  slips  and  backslidings  of 
literary  men ;  but  to  decant  such  cant,  and  to  see  through  it 
clearly,  it  is  only  necessary  to  remember  that  a  fellow  will 
commit  half  the  sins  in  the  Decalogue,  and  all  the  crimes  in 
the  calendar  —  forgery  excepted  —  without  ever  having  com- 
posed even  a  valentine  in  verse,  or  the  description  of  a  lost 
gelding  in  prose.  Finally,  if  the  misdeeds  of  authors  are  to 
be  pleaded  in  excuse  of  the  neglect  of  literature  and  literary 
men,  it  would  be  natural  to  expect  to  see  these  practical 
slights  and  snubbings  fall  heaviest  on  those  who  have  made 
themselves  most  obnoxious  to  rebuke.  But  the  contrary  is 
the  case.     I  will  not  invidiously  point  out  examples,  but  let 


COPYRIGHT   AND    COPYWROXG.  489 

the  reader  search  the  record,  and  he  will  find  that  the  lines 
which  have  fallen  in  pleasant  places  have  belonged  to  men  dis- 
tinguished for  anything  rather  than  morality  or  piety.  The 
idea,  then,  of  merit  having  anything  to  do  with  the  medals, 
must  be  abandoned,  or  we  shall  be  prepared  to  admit  a  very 
extraordinary  result.  •  It  is  notorious  that  a  foreign  bird,  for  a 
night's  warbling,  will  obtain  as  much  as  a  native  bard  —  not 
a  second-rate  one  either  —  can  realize  in  a  whole  year ;  an 
actor  will  be  paid  a  sum  per  night  equal  to  the  annual  stipend 
of  many  a  curate  ;  and  the  month's  income  of  an  opera 
dancer  will  exceed  the  revenue  of  a  dignitary  of  the  church. 

But  will  any  be  bold  enough  to  say,  except  satirically,  that 
these  disproportionate  emoluments  are  due  to  the  superior 
morality  and  piety  of  the  concert-room,  the  opera,  and  the  the- 
atre? They  are  in  a  great  measure,  the  acknowledgments 
of  physical  gifts  —  a  well-tuned  larynx  —  a  well-turned  fig- 
ure, or  light  fantastic  toes,  not  at  all  discountenanced  in 
their  vocation  for  being  associated  with  light  fantastic  be- 
havior. 

Saving,  then,  an  imputed  infirmity  of  temper,  —  and  has 
it  not  peculiar  trials  ?  —  the  only  well-grounded  failing  the 
world  has  to  resent,  as  a  characteristic  of  literary  men,  is  their 
poverty,  whether  the  necessary  result  of  their  position  or  of  a 
wilful  neglect  of  their  present  interests,  and  improvidence  for 
the  future.  But  what  is  an  author's  future,  as  regards  his 
worldly  prosperity  ?  The  law,  as  if  judging  him  incapable 
of  having  heirs,  absolutely  prevents  his  creating  a  property  in 
copyrights,  that  might  be  valuable  to  his  descendants.  It  de- 
clares that  the  interest  of  the  literary  man  and  literature  are 
not  identical,  and  commends  him  to  the  composition  of  catch- 
penny works,  things  of  the  day  and  hour  ;  or,  so  to  speak,  en- 
courages him  to  discount  his  fame.  Should  he,  letting  the 
present  shift  for  itself,  and  contemning  personal  privations, 
devote  himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  some  work  or  series  of 
works,  he  may  live  to  see  his  right  and  temporal  interest  in 
his  books  pass  away  from  himself  to  strangers,  and  his  chil- 
dren deprived  of  what,  as  well  as  his  fame,  is  their  just  inheri- 
tance. 

At  the  best,  he  must  forego  the  superintendence  of  the  pub- 
lication, and  any  foretaste  of  his  success,  and,  like  Cumber- 
land when  he  contemplated  a  legacy  "for  the  eventual  use 


490  COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWRONG. 

and  advantage  of  a  beloved  daughter,"  defer  the  printing  of 
his  MSS.  till  after  his  death. 

As  for  the  present  tense  of  his  prosperity,  I  have  shown 
that  his  possession  is  as  open  to  inroad  as  any  estate  on  the 
Border  Lands  in  days  of  yore ;  such  is  the  legal  providence 
that  watches  over  his  imputed  improvidence  !  The  law  which 
takes  upon  itself  to  guard  the  interests  of  lunatics,  idiots,  mi- 
nors, and  other  parties  incapable  of  managing  their  own  affairs, 
not  merely  neglects  to  commonly  protect,  but  connives  at  the 
dilapidation  of  the  property  of  a  class,  popularly  supposed  to 
have  a  touch  of  that  same  incompetence. 

It  is,  perhaps,  rather  the  indifference  of  a  generous  spirit, 
which  remembers  to  forget  its  own  profit :  but  even  in  that 
case,  if  the  author,  like  the  girl  in  the  fairy  tale,  drops  dia- 
monds and  pearls  from  his  lips,  without  stooping  to  pick 
up  any  for  himself,  the  world  he  enriches  is  bound  to  see 
that  he  does  not  suffer  from  such  a  noble  disinterestedness. 
Suppose,  even,  that  he  be  a  man  wide  awake  to  the  value  of 
money,  the  power  it  confers,  the  luxuries  it  may  purchase,  the 
consideration  it  commands  —  that  he  is  anxious  to  make  the 
utmost  of  his  literary  industry  —  and  literary  labor  is  as 
worthy  of  its  hire  as  any  other —  there  is  no  just  principle  on 
which  he  can  be  denied  the  same  protection  as  any  other 
trader. 

It  may  happen  also  that  his  "  poverty,  and  not  his  will,  con- 
sents "  to  such  a  course. 

In  this  imperfect  world  there  is  nothing  without  its  earthly 
alloy  ;  and  whilst  the  mind  of  a  poet  is  married  to  a  body,  he 
must  perform  the  divine  service  of  the  Muses,  without  banish- 
ing his  dinner  service  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  as  in  that  Bra- 
zilian Cathedral  which,  for  want  of  lead,  is  tiled  with  plates 
and  dishes  from  the  Staffordshire  potteries.  He  cannot  dwell 
even  in  the  temple  of  Parnassus,  but  must  lodge  sometimes  in 
a  humbler  abode,  like  the  old  Scotch  songsters,  with  bread  and 
cheese  for  its  door-cheeks,  and  pancakes  the  rigging  o't.  More- 
over as  authors,  Protestant  ones  at  least,  are  not  vowed  to  cel- 
ibacy, however  devoted  to  poverty,  fasting,  and  mortification, 
there  may  chance  to  exist  other  little  corporealities,  sprouts, 
offsets,  or  suckers,  which  the  nature  of  the  law,  as  well  as  the 
law  of  nature,  refers  for  sustenance  to  the  parent  trunk. 
Should  our  bards,  jealous  of  these  evidences  of  their  mortality, 


COPYRIGHT  AXD   COPY  WRONG.  491 

offer  to  make  a  present  of  them  to  the  parish,  under  the  plea 
of  mens  divinior,  would  not  the  overseer,  or  maybe  the  Poor 
Law  Commissioner,  shut  the  workhouse  wicket  in  their  faces, 
and  tell  them  that  the  "  mens  divinior  must  provide  for 
the  men's  wives  and  children "  ?  Pure  fame  is  a  glorious 
draught  enough,  and  the  striving  for  it  is  a  noble  ambition ; 
but  alas  !  few  can  afford  to  drink  it  neat.  Across  the  loftiest 
visions  of  the  poet  earthly  faces  will  flit ;  and  even  while 
he  is  gazing  on  Castaly,  little  familiar  voices  will  murmur 
in  his  ear,  inquiring  if  there  are  no  fishes,  that  can  be  eaten, 
to  be  caught  in  its  waters  ! 

It  has  happened,  according  to  some  inscrutable  dispensation, 
that  the  mantle  of  inspiration  has  commonly  descended  on 
shoulders  clad  in  cloth  of  the  humblest  textures.  Our  poets 
have  been  Scotch  ploughmen,  farmers'  boys,  Northampton- 
shire peasants,  shoemakers,  old  servants,  milk-women,  basket- 
makers,  steel-workers,  charity-boys,  and  the  like.  Pope's 
protege,  Dodsley,  was  a  footman,  and  wrote  "  The  Muse  in 
Livery."  You  may  trace  a  hint  of  the  double  vocation  in 
his  u  Economy  of  Human  Life."  * 

Our  men  of  learning  and  genius  have  generally  been  born, 
not  with  silver  spoons  in  their  mouths,  but  wooden  ladles. 
Poetry,  Goldsmith  says,  not  "only  found  him  poor,  but  kept 
him  so ;  but  has  not  the  law  been  hitherto  lending  a  hand  in 
the  same  uncharitable  task  ?  Has  it  not  favored  the  a  Cor- 
morant by  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,"  the  native  Bookaneer  ? 
and  "a  plague  the  Devil  hath  added,"  as  Sir  J.  Overbury 
calls  the  foreign  pirate. 

To  give  a  final  illustration  of  the  working  of  the  law  of 
copyright.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  besides  being  a  mighty  master  of 
fiction,  resembled  Defoe  in  holding  himself  bound  to  pay  in 
full  all  the  liabilities  he  had  incurred.  But  the  amount  was 
immense,  and  he  died  no  doubt  prematurely,  from  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  effort. 

A  genius  so  illustrious,  united  with  so  noble  a  spirit  of  in- 
tegrity, doubly  deserved  a  national  monument,  and  a  subscrip- 
tion was  opened,  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  Abbotsford  to 
his  posterity,  instead  of  a  public  grant  to  make  it  a  literary 

*  "  The  man  of  emulation  who  panteth  after  fame.  The  ex- 
amples of  eminent  men  are  in  his  visions  by  night  —  and  his  delight  is  to 
follow  them  (query,  with  a  gold-headed  cane)  all  the  day  long." 


492  COPYEIGHT   AND   COPYWRONG. 

Blenheim.  I  will  not  stop  to  inquire  whether  there  was 
more  joy  in  France  when  Malbrook  was  dead  than  sorrow  in 
Britain,  or  rather  throughout  the  world,  when  Scott  was  no 
more  ;  but  I  must  point  out  the  striking  contrast  between  the 
two  advertisements  in  a  periodical  paper,  which  courted  my 
notice  on  the  same  page.  One  was  a  statement  of  the  amount 
of  the  Abbotsford  subscription,  the  other  an  announcement  of 
a  rival  edition  of  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  works,  the  copy- 
right of  which  had  expired.  Every  one  may  not  feel  with 
me  the  force  of  this  juxtaposition,  but  I  could  not  help  think- 
ing that  the  interest  of  any  of  his  immortal  productions  ought 
to  have  belonged  either  to  his  creditors  or  to  his  heritage. 

Can  there  be  heir-looms,  I  ask  myself,  and  not  head-looms  ? 
and  looms  too,  that  have  woven  such  rich  tissues  of  Romance  ? 
Why  is  a  mental  estate,  any  more  than  a  landed  one,  made 
subject  to  such  an  Agrarian  law  ?  In  spite  of  all  my  knowl- 
edge of  ethics,  and  all  my  ignorance  of  law,  I  have  never  yet 
been  able  to  answer  these  questions  to  my  own  satisfaction. 
Perchance  Mr.  Sergeant  Talfourd  will  be  prepared  with  a 
solution,  but  if  not,  I  trust  he  will  give  us  "  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt,"  and  make  an  author's  copyright  heritable  property, 
only  subject  to  alienation  by  his  own  act,  or  in  satisfaction  of 
the  claims  of  creditors.  Such  a"  measure  will  tend  to  relieve 
our  worldly  respectability  ;  instead  of  being  nobodies  with 
nothing,  we  shall  be,  if  not  freeholders,  a  sort  of  copy-holders, 
with  something  between  the  sky  and  the  centre,  that  we  can 
call  our  own.  It  may  be  but  a  nominal  possession,  but  if  it 
were  of  any  value,  why  should  it  be  made  common  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Company  of  Stationers.  They  drink  enough 
out  of  our  living  heads,  without  quaffing  out  of  our  skulls, 
like  the  kings  of  Dahomey.  As  to  the  probability  of  their 
revivals  of  authors,  who  were  adored,  but  have  fallen  into 
neglect  and  oblivion  —  remembering  how  the  trade  boggled 
at  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  and  the  "  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  there 
would  be  as  much  chance  of  a  speculative  lawyer  reviving 
such  dormant  titles !  For  my  own  part,  I  am  far  from  ex- 
pecting, personally,  any  pecuniary  advantage  from  such  an 
arrangement ;  but  I  have  some  regard  for  the  abstract  right. 
There  is  always  a  certain  sense  of  humiliation  attendant  on 
finding  that  Ave  are  made  exceptions,  as  if  incapable  or  un- 
deserving of  the  enjoyment  of  equal  justice.     And  can  there 


COPYRIGHT  AND   COPYWEOXG.  493 

be  a  more  glaring  anomaly  than  that,  whilst  our  private  prop- 
erty is  thrown  open  and  made  common,  we  daily  see  other 
commons  enclosed,  and  made  private  property  ?  One  thing 
is  certain,  that,  by  taking  this  high  ground  at  once,  and  mak- 
ing copyright  analogous  to  tenure  of  the  soil  itself —  and  it 
pays  its  land  tax  in  the  shape  of  a  tax  upon  paper  —  its 
defence  may  be  undertaken  with  a  better  grace  against 
trespass  at  home  or  invasion  from  abroad.  For,  after  all, 
what  does  the  pirate  or  Bookaneer  commit  at  present  but  a 
sort  of  piratical  anachronism,  by  anticipating  a  period  when  the 
right  of  printing  will  belong  to  everybody  in  the  world, 
including  the  man  in  the  moon  ! 

Such  it  appears  to  me  is  the  grand  principle  upon  which 
the  future  law  of  copyright  ought  to  be  based.  I  am  aware 
that  I  have  treated  the  matter  somewhat  commercially  ;  but  I 
have  done  so,  partly  because  in  that  light  principally  the 
legislature  will  have  to  deal  with  it ;  and  still  more  because  it 
is  desirable,  for  the  sake  of  literature  and  literary  men,  that 
they  should  have  every  chance  of  independence,  rather  than 
be  compelled  to  look  to  extraneous  sources  for  their  sup- 
port. 

Learning  and  genius,  worthily  directed,  and  united  to  com- 
mon industry,  surely  deserve,  at  least,  a  competence  ;  and  that 
their  possessor  should  be  something  better  than  a  Jarkman ; 
that  is  to  say,  "  one  who  can  read  and  write,  yea  some  of  them 
have  a  smattering  in  the  Latin  tongue,  which  learning  of  theirs 
advances  them  in  office  among  the  beggars."  The  more  mod- 
erate in  proportion  the  rate  of  the  usual  reward,  the  more 
scrupulously  ought  every  particle  of  their  interests  to  be  pro- 
moted so  as  to  spare,  if  possible,  the  necessity  of  private  ben- 
efactions or  public  collections  for  the  present  distress,  and 
"  Literary  Retreats "  for  the  future.  Let  the  weight  and 
worth  of  literature  in  the  state  be  formally  recognized  by  the 
legislature  ;  let  the  property  of  authors  be  protected,  and  the 
upholding  of  the  literary  character  will  rest  on  their  own 
heads.  They  will,  perhaps,  recollect  that  their  highest  office 
is  to  make  the  world  wiser  and  better ;  their  lowest,  to  enter- 
tain and  amuse  it,  without  making  it  worse. 

For  the  rest,  bestow  on  literary  men  their  full  share  of  pub- 
lic honors  and  employments ;  concede  to  them,  as  they  de- 
serve, a  distinguished  rank  in  the  social  system,  and  they  will 


494  COPYRIGHT   AND  COPYWROXG. 

set  about  effacing  such  blots  as  now  tarnish  their  scutcheons. 
The  surest  way  to  make  a  class  indifferent  to  reputation  is  to 
give  it  a  bad  name.  Hence  literature  having  been  publicly 
underrated,  and  its  professors  having  been  treated  as  vaga- 
bonds, scamps,  fellows  "  without  character  to  lose  or  property 
to  protect,"  we  have  seen  conduct  to  match :  reviewers,  for- 
getful of  common  courtesy,  common  honesty,  and  common 
charity,  misquoting,  misrepresenting,  and  indulging  in  the 
grossest  personalities,  even  to  the  extent  of  ridiculing  bodily 
defects  and  infirmities  —  political  partisans  bandying  scur- 
rilous names,  and  scolding  like  Billingsgate  mermaids  —  and 
authors  so  far  trampling  on  the  laws  of  morals,  and  the  rights 
of  private  life,  as  to  write  works  capable  of  being  puffed  off 
as  club  books  got  up  among  the  Snakes,  Sneerwells,  Candors, 
and  Backbites,  of  the  School  for  Scandal. 

And  now,  before  I  close,  I  will  here  place  on  record  my  own 
obligations  to  literature  :  a  debt  so  immense  as  not  to  be  can- 
celled, like  that  of  nature,  by  death  itself.  I  owe  to  it  some- 
thing more  than  earthly  welfare.  Adrift  early  in  life  upon 
the  great  waters  —  as  pilotless  as  Wordsworth's  blind  boy 
afloat  in  the  turtle-shell  —  if  I  did  not  come  to  shipwreck,  it 
was,  that  in  default  of  paternal  or  fraternal  guidance,  I  was 
rescued  like  the  Ancient  Mariner,  by  guardian  spirits,  "  each 
one  a  lovely  light,"  who  stood  as  beacons  to  my  course.  In- 
firm health,  and  a  natural  love  of  reading,  happily  threw  me, 
instead  of  worse  society,  into  the  company  of  poets,  philoso- 
phers, and  sages  —  to  me  good  angels  and  ministers  of  grace. 
From  these  silent  instructors  —  who  often  do  more  than  fa- 
thers, and  always  more  than  god-fathers,  for  our  temporal  and 
spiritual  interests  —  from  these  mild  monitors,  no  importunate 
tutors,  teasing  mentors,  moral  taskmasters,  obtrusive  advisers, 
harsh  censors,  or  wearisome  lecturers,  but  delightful  associates, 
I  learned  something  of  the  divine,  and  more  of  the  human 
religion.  They  were  my  interpreters  in  the  House  Beautiful 
of  God,  and  my  guides  among  the  Delectable  Mountains  of 
Nature.  They  reformed  my  prejudices,  chastened  my  pas- 
sions, tempered  my  heart,  purified  my  tastes,  elevated  my 
mind,  and  directed  my  aspirations.  I  was  lost  in  a  chaos  of 
undigested  problems,  false  theories,  crude  fancies,  obscure 
impulses,  and  bewildering  doubts,  when  these  bright  intelli- 
gences called  my  mental  world  out  of  darkness  like  a  new 


COPYRIGHT   AND   COPYWEOXG. 


495 


Creation,  and  gave  it  "  two  great  lights,"  Hope  and  Memory, 
the  past  for  a  moon,  and  the  future  for  a  sun. 

Hence  have  I  genial  seasons  —  hence  have  I 

Smooth  passions,  smooth  discourse  and  joyous  thoughts, 

And  thus  from  day  to  day  my  little  boat 

Rocks  in  its  harbor  —  lodging  peaceably. 

Blessings  be  with  them,  and  eternal  praise, 

Who  gave  us  nobler  loves  and  nobler  cares ;  — 

The  poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 

Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays  ! 

0  might  my  name  be  numbered  among  theirs, 

How  gladly  would  I  end  my  mortal  days. 

Thomas  Hood. 


WHAT   WILL   THE   WIGS  DO   NEXT? 


APPENDIX 


EDITORIAL    NOTES. 

(A.)    JOHN    SCOTT. 

The  event  mentioned  in  the  text  as  the  immediate  cause  of  Hood's  in- 
troduction to  a  literary  life  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  most  un- 
fortunate of  the  quarrels  of  authors.  The  death  of  one  of  the  parties,  and 
the  high  position  in  the  world  of  letters  since  occupied  by  the  others,  now  nil 
passed  away,  have  hitherto  suppressed  allusion  to  the  circumstances  which 
provoked  it,  and  have  pi'evented  any  one  from  telling  the  whole  truth  in 
vindication  of  the  memory  of  John  Scott.  Even  Talfourd,  in  his  interest- 
ing chapter  on  the  London  Magazine,  in  his  Final  Memorials  of  Lamb,  fails 
to  render  him  entire  justice ;  but,  while  he  pays  a  well-deserved  tribute  to 
his  candor,  eloquence,  and  discrimination  as  a  critic,  and  his  authority  and 
ability  as  an  editor,  he  ascribes  his  attacks  upon  the  conductors  of  Black- 
wood's Magazine  to  a  "  spurious  chivalry,"  rather  than  to  a  manly  and  just 
indignation,  and  a  strong  conviction  of  "duty. 

As  early  as  May,  1820,  an  article  in  the  London  reflected  with  great 
severity  on  Blackwood,  more  than  hinting  at  all  the  objectionable  features 
which  were  made  the  subject  of  subsequent  more  elaborate  comment. 
In  the  November  number  of  the  London  there  was  an  article  of  more  than 
a  dozen  pages,  entitled  Blackivood's  Magazine,  with  the  motto,  "  They  do  but 
jest  —  poison  in  jest  —  no  offence  i>  the  world!"  This  paper  was  de- 
voted to  a  serious  examination  of  the  course  pursued  by  its  principal 
writers,  and  to  the  fearless  exhibition  of  their  alleged  coarseness  and  profli- 
gacy. It  exposed  the  mystifications,  the  hoaxes,  the  forgeries,  the  frauds, 
perpetrated  under  the  guise  of  juvenile  indiscretions,  and  the  irregularities 
of  excessive  animal  spirits.  It  showed  that  nefarious  assaults  upon  Cole- 
ridge and  Wordsworth,  and  zealous  defences  of  those  eminent  men,  were 
made  by  the  same  individual ;  that  when  Z.  made  his  virulent  attack  on 
character  and  feeling,  and  Mr.  Wastle  was  of  opinion  that  Z.  went  too  far, 
and  Peter's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk  expressed  the  regret  and  contrition  of 
Blackwood's  editors  for  having  been  betrayed  into  unguarded  personalities, 
Z.  and  Wastle  and  Peter  and  the  contrite  'editors  were  often  the  selfsame 
man,  and  always  one  of  the  same  gang.  These  mock  penitences  and  com- 
miserations the  article  likened  to  the  common  trick  of  pickpockets,  when 
the  same  rascals  who  have  struck  a  gefetl  a  U'liind  and  filched  his 

watch  from  his  fob  will  come  round  to  his  face  to  pity  and'to  pat  him,  with 
their  mouth  full  of  asseverations  against  the  roguery  and  cruelty  of  the 
outrage  of  which  he  lias  been  the  victim.  "  Blackwood's  men,"  it  continues, 
"cannot  be  complimented  with  the  invention  of  this  manoeuvre.  Peter 
Morris,  the  hypocrite,  in  front,  and  Christopher  North,  the  ruffian,  behind,  are 


APPENDIX.  497 

hut  varieties  of  the  same  personage,  copied  from  the  practice  of  a  profes- 
sion which  is  certainly  more  respectable  than  that  of  calumniator,  though 
not  quite  so  safe.  Then  honest  Reekie  [Blackwood]  comes  in  as  the  smooth 
receiver,  who  is  very  sorry  for  the  gentleman's  loss;  vows  to  Heaven  that  he 
desires  no  dealings' but  such  as  are  in  the  way  of  fair  trade,  and  is  ready 
with  all  his  heart  to  give  up  the  article,  or  pay  its  value,  if  the  aggrieved 
individual  should  demand  it  roughly,  or  talk  about  consequences." 

This  article  calls  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  account  for  having  contributed  to 
the  magazine,  and  having  exerted  himself  with  might  and  main  to  elevate 
the  co-editor  of  a  slanderous  periodical  [Wilson]  to  a  professorship  in  the 
metropolitan  university  of  Scotland,  and  for  having  thus  borne  his  testi- 
mony in  favor  of  a  work  so  infamous  that  it  could  be  regarded  only  as  a 
nuisance  that  must  be  abated.  It  claims  the  right  to  call  upon  Sir  Walter, 
to  know  if  he  is  to  be  considered  as  aiding  the  magazine  in  question,  and 
to  persist  in  holding  the  voluntary  contributor  and  zealous  recommender 
responsible  for  the  work.  It  rebuts,  in  conclusion,  the  claim  that  the  at- 
tack- of  the  magazine  on  Hunt,  Haydon,  Keats,  and  others  were  restrained 
within  the  limits  of  fair  criticism,  and  that  the  writers  had  only  "  expressed 
simple,  undisguised,  and  impartial  opinions  concerning  the  merits  and  de- 
merits of  men  they  never  saw ;  nor  thought  of  for  one  moment  otherwise 
than  as  in  their  capacity  of  authors."  This  averment  it  pronounces  grossly 
false,  and  promises  proof  that  they  had  never  uttered  a  word  of  genuine 
criticism  on  the  productions  of  these  persons,  and  had  done  nothing  but 
abuse  their  faces,  dress,  profession,  and  conduct,  under  the  influence  of  no 
better  feeling  than  personal  rancor  or  sordid  greed. 

Such  an  article  was  well  described  by  the  writer  of  it  as  a  branding  one, 
and  it  was  followed  up  in  the  December  number  of  the  London  by  a  still  more 
severe  paper,  entitled,  Tlie  Mohock  Magazine.  This  article  uses  with  great 
freedom  epithets  that  would  seem  harsh  and  vituperative,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  specific  facts  by  which  they  are  shown  to  have  been  well  deserved.  It  de- 
nounces the  magazine  as  the  infamous  Scotch  hoax.  It  avers,  that  in  two 
years'  time  it  had  been  called  upon  to  pay  £  1,000  in  forfeiture  to  individuals 
it  had  libelled,  and  that  in  no  instance  had  it  attempted  to  defend,  justify, 
or  even  explain  its  assertions.  Dr.  Morris  had  paid  £400  to  an  injured 
tradesman.  The  publisher,  Murray,  had  torn  his  name  from  the  title-page 
of  the  magazine,  and  the  magazine  announced  that  it  had  discharged  Mur- 
ray. Specifications  were  given  of  abuse  of  Coleridge,  so  gross  that  we  will 
not  soil  our  page  with  them.  Wilson's  attacks  on  Wordsworth  were  cited 
under  one  signature,  and  his  defences  under  another.  The  forgery  of  sig- 
natures, and  the  dishonest  use  of  real  names,  were  illustrated  by  the  case  of 
James  Hogg,  whom  the  magazine  had  treated  as  its  fool's  capped  and  bell- 
coated  Zany,  and  whom  it  had  endeavored  to  inculpate  as  the  author  of  its 
most  offensive  articles;  among  others,  of  a  coarse  insult  to  Mr.  Xapier  and 
an  attack  on  Professor  Playiair.  After  these  and  other  specifications  in 
support  of  its  charges,  the  paper  concludes  with  the  averment  that  three 
fourths  of  the  items  on  the  writer's  memoranda  were  unnoticed,  and  that 
otherwise  he  might  have  had  the  offenders  as  fast  as  a  felon  who  is  double- 
ironed  in  Xewgate. 

We  know  not  where  to  look,  in  the  annals  of  periodical  literature,  for  any- 
thing more  severe  and  well  sustained  than  this  attack  of  John  Scott  upon 
these  literary  oi^^-  II  >vas  evident  that  Wilson  and  Lockhart  had 
found  their  match  at  least,  if  not  their  master.  A  paragraph  in  the  Decem- 
ber number  of  Blackwood,  in  the  words  that  follow,  was  tantamount  to  a 
cognovit:  — 

"  It  is  with  sincere  pain  that  we  find  the  writers  in  a  paltry  publication, 
which  is  hardly  known  beyond  the  limits  of  Cockaigne,  are  in  the  greatest 

FF 


498  APPENDIX. 

consternation  and  alarm  lest  we  should  foil  upon  them.  We  beg  to  assure 
them  that  we  have  no  such  intention;  and  if  they  Avill  only  have  the  conde- 
scension to  send  us  their  names,  —  for,  celebrated  as  they"  are  among  them- 
selves, they  are  quite  unknown  here,  —  we  shall  take  care  not  to  admit  any- 
thing into  our  pages  that  might  lessen  their  insignificance." 

This  paragraph  was  reprinted  in  the  London  for  January,  1821,  with 
comments  in  the  old  vein,  and  the  Blackwood  men  found  the  matter  was 
becoming  too  serious  to  be  treated  with  silent  contempt.  On  the  10th  of 
that  month  Mr.  Scott  was  waited  upon  by  a  gentleman  who  said  he  was 
commissioned  by  Mr.  John  Gibson  Lockhart  to  inquire  whether  Mr.  Scott 
considered  himself  responsible  for  a  series  of  three  articles  which  had  ap- 
peared in  the  London  Magazine,  discussing  the  conduct  and  management  of 
Blackwood's  Magazine,  and  regarded  by  Mr.  Lockhart  as  offensive  to  his 
feelings  and  injurious  to  his  honor.  In  reply,  Mr.  Scott  addressed  a  note  to 
the  gentleman  who  waited  on  him,  informing  him  that  if  Mr.  Lockhart's 
motives  in  making  the  inquiry  were  such  as  gentlemen  usually  respect, 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  giving  it  a  direct  answer.  At  a  second  inter- 
view Mr.  Lockhart's  friend  stated  that  no  legal  proceedings  were  contem- 
plated, and  that  Mr.  Lockhart's  object  was  to  receive  an  apology,  or  "  such 
other  satisfaction  as  a  gentleman  was  entitled  to."  Mr.  Scott  said  that 
it  only  remained  for  him  to  ask  if  Mr.  Lockhart  was  on  the  spot ;  and 
whether,  in  the  event  of  Mr.  Scott's  being  prepared  to  avow  the  relation  in 
which  he  stood  towards  the  London  Magazine,  Mr.  Lockhart  might  be  con- 
sidered equally  prepared  to  declare  distinctly  the  nature  of  his  connection 
with  Blackwood's  Magazine. 

Learning  that  Mr.  Lockhart  was  not  in  London,  but  in  Edinburgh,  and 
that  his  friend  was  expressly  instructed  that  no  preliminary  explanation 
whatever  was  to  be  expected,  Mr.  Scott  declined  to  make  any  further 
allusion  to  the  London  Magazine  on  Mr.  Lockhart's  call. 

A  few  days  afterwards  Lockhart's  friend,  Mr.  Christie,  again  called  on 
Mr.  Scott,  and  delivered  him  a  letter  from  Mr.  Lockhart,  dated  in  Lon- 
don. This  letter  demanded  of  Mr.  Scott,  in  the  event  of  his  not  disavowing 
any  connection  with  the  offending  articles  in  the  London  Magazine,  such  an 
apology  as  might  seem  proper  and  fitting,  or  to  arrange  with  Mr.  Christie 
the  particulars  of  the  only  alternative  that  could  be  offered  or  accepted. 
Mr.  Scott  immediately  decfared  that,  since  Mr.  Lockhart  was  now  in  London, 
he  distinctly  avowed  himself  to  be  the  responsible  editor  of  the  London  Mag- 
azine, and  expected  from  Mr.  Lockhart  an  equally  frank  statement  as  to 
his  concern  with  the  management  of  Blackwood's  Magazine,  more  partic- 
ularly as  his  pretension  to  having  been  unfairly  treated  by  Mr.  Scott 
depended  on  the  real  state  of  his  connection  with  that  work.  Mr.  Christie 
declared,  in  reply,  that  Mr.  Lockhart  would  make  no  preliminary  statement 
whatever,  and  demanded  of  Mr.  Scott  to  name  his  friend.  This  Mr.  Scott 
declined  to  do,  until  Mr.  Lockhart  should  have  made  the  necessary  previous 
explanation.  In  the  course  of  the  same  evening  Mr.  Scott  drew  up  in 
writing  a  memorandum  designed  to  prevent  any  misconception  of  his  senti- 
ments,  which  was  delivered  to  Mr.  Lockhart  very  early  the  next  morning. 
In  this  paper  he  insisted  upon  his  right  to  a  disavowal  by  Mr.  Lockhart  of 
his  having  been  concerned  under  fabricated  names,  or  anonymously,  with 
that  very  infamous  publication,  Blackwood's  Magazine,  before  it  could  be 
conceded  that  Ins  motives  in  applying  to  Mr.  Scott  were  "  of  a  nature  such 
as  gentlemen  usually  respect."  If  Mr.  Lockhart  would,  even  at  that  time, 
make  a  disavowal  of  having  been  in  any  way  concerned  in  the  system  of 
imposition  and  scandal  adopted  in  that  magazine,  Mr.  Scott  would  consent 
to  recognize  his  demand  made  through  Mr.  Christie,  and  in  that  event  only 
Mr.  Christie  was  referred  to  Mr.  Horatio  Smith  as  Mr.  Scott's  friend  to  make 


APPENDIX.  499 

the  necessary  arrangements  under  the  circumstances.  Mr.  Christie  called 
upon  Mr.  Smith  that  evening,  but  was  not  prepared  to  comply  with  Mr. 
Scott's  condition ;  and  a  long  interview  terminated  with  the  repeated  assur- 
ance to  Mr.  Christie  that  Mr.  Scott  was  prepared  to  give  Mr.  Lockhart 
satisfaction,  if  he  could  make  the  required  avowal,  and  Mr.  Smith  ex- 
pressed his  entire  concurrence  in  the  sentiments  of  Mr.  Scott's  last  com- 
munication. 

Mr.  Lockhart  on  the  19th  addressed  a  note  to  Mr.  Scott,  in  which  he 
offered  Mr.  Scott  any  explanation  on  any  subject  in  which  Mr.  Scott's  per- 
sonal feelings  and  honor  could  be  concerned,  "  in  the  hope,  and  on  the  un- 
derstanding, that  Mr.  Scott  will  then  no  longer  delay  giving  Mr.  Lockhart 
the  explanation  and  satisfaction  alluded  to  in  Mr.  Scott's  communication." 

On  the  day  following,  Mr.  Scott  addressed  another  communication  to  Mr. 
Lockhart,  in  which  he  limited  his  demand  for  explanation  to  a  requirement 
that  Mr.  Lockhart  should  declare  upon  his  honor,  in  explicit  terms,  that  he 
had  never  derived  money  from  any  connection  direct,  or  indirect,  with  the 
management  of  that  work,  and  that  he  had  never  stood  in  a  situation  giving 
him  directly,  or  indirectly,  a  pecuniary  interest  in  its  sale.  Mr.  Lockhart 
sent  a  reply  in  writing  by  Mr.  Christie,  which  Mr.  Scott  refused  to  hear, 
when  Mr.  Lockhart  "  found  himself  compelled  "  to  address  the  following 
final  note  to  Mr.  Scott:  — 

"Mr.  Lockhart,  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Scott's  having  refused  to  act 
towards  him  according  to  the  rules  by  which  gentlemen  are  accustomed  to 
regulate  their  conduct,  thinks  it  necessary  to  inform  Mr.  Scott  that  he, 
Mr.  Lockhart,  considers  him  as  a  liar  and  a  scoundrel.  Mr.  Lockhart  also 
thinks  proper  to  inform  Mr.  Scott  that  it  is  his  intention  to  set  off  for  Scot- 
land on  Tuesday  morning,  bearing  with  him  no  other  feelings  in  regard  to 
Mr.  Scott,  except  the  supreme  contempt  with  which  every  gentleman  must 
contemplate  the  utmost  united  baseness  of  falsehood  and  poltroonery." 

In  about  two  hours,  Mr.  Scott  replied  in  these  terms:— 

"  Mr.  Scott  has  just  received  and  opened  (not  knowing  the  seal)  the  last 
note  addressed  to  him  by  Mr.  Lockhart,  and  thinks  it  only  necessary  to  say, 
that  he  considers  it  as  coming  from  the  Editor  of  Blackwood's  Magazine!" 

The  February  number  of  the  London  Magazine  contained  a  statement  of 
what  had  taken  place  between  the  parties  up  to  the  time  of  publication. 
A  second  statement  was  printed  by  Mr.  Scott,  and  a  narrative  was  also 
published  by  Mr.  Lockhart,  with  abatement  prefixed  which  he  had  denied 
to  Mr.  -Scott,  to  the  effect  that  he  had  occasionally  contributed  articles  to 
Blackwood's  Magazine,  but  was  in  no  sense  of  the  word  editor  or  conductor 
of  it,  and  was  not  deriving,  and  never  had  derived,  any  emolument  what- 
ever from  any  management  of  it. 

Mr.  Scott's*  second  statement  called  forth  a  counter  statement  from  Mr. 
Christie.  On  its  appearance  Mr.  Scott,  with  his  friend  Mr.  P.  G.  Patmore, 
proceeded  to  Mr.  Christie's  lodgings,  and  demanded  an  apology  or  instant 
satisfaction.  Mr.  Christie  refused  the  former,  and  expressed  his  readiness 
without  loss  of  time  to  accept  the  alternative.  They  met  at  9  o'clock  the 
same  evening,  the  16th  of  February,  on  a  field  between  Chalk  Farm  tavern 
and  Primrose  Hill.  Mr.  Scott  was  attended  by  his  friend  Mr.  Patmore  and 
Mr.  Pettigrew,  a  medical  gentleman.  The  night  was  foggy,  but  the  moon 
shone  with  sufficient  brightness  to  give  the  parties  a  full  view  of  each 
other.  Mr.  Scott  fell  on  the  second  fire.  He  was  removed  to  Chalk  Farm 
tavern,  where  the  ball  was  extracted,  and  for  some  days  hopes  were  enter- 
tained of  his  recovery.  A  fever  set  in,  however,  and  on  the  27th  of  Febru- 
ary he  died. 

At  the  coroner's  inquest,  Dr.  Darling,  his  attending  physician,  testifies 
that,  in  conversation  with  him,  Mr.  Scott,  referring  to  his  wound,  said:  "  This 


500  APPENDIX. 

ought  not  to  have  taken  place ;  there  was  no  occasion  for  a  second  fire." 
After  a  short  pause,  he  proceeded:  "  All  that  I  required  from  Mr.  Christie 
was  a  declaration  that  he  meant  no  reflection  on  my  character;  this  he 
refused,  and  the  meeting  became  inevitable.  On  the  field  Mr.  Christie 
behaved  well,  and  when  all  was  ready  for  the  first  fire,  he  called  out,  '  Mr. 
Scott,  you  must  not  stand  there ;  I  see  your  head  above  the  horizon ;  you  give 
me  an  advantage.'  I  believe  he  could  have  hit  me  then  if  he  liked.  After 
the  pistols  were  reloaded,  and  everything  ready  for  a  second  fire,  Mr.  Trail 
called  out,  '  Now,  Mr.  Christie,  take  your  aim,  and  do  not  throw  away 
your  advantage  as  you  did  last  time.'  I  called  out  immediately,  '  What! 
did  not  Mr.  Christie  fire  at  me  ?  '  1  was  answered  by  Mr.  Patmore,  '  You 
must  not  speak;  it  is  of  no  use  now  to  talk;  you  have  nothing  now  for  it  but 
firing.'     The  signal  was  immediately  given;  Ve  fired,  and  I  fell." 

The  jury  returned  a  verdict  of  wilful  murder  against  Mr.  Christie,  Mr. 
Trail,  and' Mr.  Patmore.  Their  trial  took  place  on  the  13th  of  April,  at  the 
Old  Bailey,  before  Chief  Justice  Abbott  and  Mr.  Justice  Park.  The  court 
was  crowded.  As  soon  as  the  judges  had  taken  their  seats,  Mr.  Christie 
and  Mr.  Trail,  who  appeared  to  be  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  were 
dressed  in  deep  mourning,  surrendered  in  form  to  the  clerk  of  assizes,  and 
were  immediately  placed  at  the  bar.  Mr.  Patmore  did  not  make  his  ap- 
pearance. The  first  witness  examined  was  Mr.  Pettigrew,  the  surgeon  on 
the  field,  who  stated  the  particulars  of  the  duel,  and  the  declaration  of  Mr. 
Scott,  after  being  wounded,  that  all  had  been  fair  and  honorable.  He 
described  the  anxiety  and  agony  of  Mr.  Christie  on  hearing  Mr.  Scott's 
situation,  and  his  exclamation,  "  Good  God!  why  was  I  permitted  to  fire  a 
second  time  ?  I  fired  first  down  the  field."  The  facts  were  proved  as  on 
the  inquest,  without  any  additional  particulars. 

The  Lord  Chief  Justice  then  informed  Mr.  Christie,  that  the  time  for  his 
defence  had  arrived.  Mr.  Christie,  in  a  voice  almost  inaudible  from  emo- 
tion, said  that  he  should  merely  call  witnesses  to  his  general  character  and 
habits  of  life.  Mr.  Trail  replied  to  a  similar  suggestion  in  the  same  terms. 
A  great  number  of  very  respectable  persons  were  then  examined  as  to  the 
character  of  the  prisoners. 

At  the  close  of  the  case,  the  Chief  Justice  instructed  the  jury  as  to  the 
law.  In  the  case  of  duels,  he  said,  if  parties  in  heat  of  blood  went  out 
and  fought  with  deadly  weapons,  then  the  law,  allowing  for  the  frailty  of 
human  nature,  deemed  the  party  killing  guilty  of  manslaughter  only;  but 
if,  yielding  to  a  false  notion  of  honor,  they  went  out  upon  deliberation  and 
in  cool  blood  to  fight,  then  the  death  of  one  man  fixed  the  crime  of  murder 
upon  all  concerned,  —  upon  seconds  (frequently  the  more  culpable  parties) 
as  well  as  upon  principals.  The  judge  suggested  that  a  question  might 
arise  as  to  whether  or  not  the  prisoners  at  the  bar  were  the  real  perpetrators 
of  the  crime,  and  alluded  to  the  declaration  of  Mr.  Scott  that  all  was  fair, 
and  to  Mr.  Christie's  exclamation  that  he  was  compelled  to  fire  in  self- 
defence,  not  as  ideas  that  the  law  recognized,  but  as  circumstances  entitled 
to  the  attention  of  the  jury.  The  parties  might  have  met  deliberately 
and  in  cool  blood,  and  under  those  circumstances  the  first  fire  might  have 
taken  place  Had  death  followed  that  fire,  such  death  would  have  been 
murder  ;  but  it  was  possible  that  Mr.  Christie,  having  forborne  to  take  aim 
the  first  time,  might  have  fired  his  second  shot  under  an  impulse  of  imme- 
diate anger,  produced  by  the  failure  of  his  pacific  proceeding:  and,  in  that 
case,  although  his  adversary  fell,  the  crime  amounted  only  to  manslaughter. 
The  Lord  Chief  Justice  concluded  by  recommending  to  the  jury,  in  a  case 
of  doubt,  to  take  the  side  of  mercy,  and  by  observing  (upon  the  excellent 
characters  which  the  prisoners  had'  received)  that  unfortunately  men  of  the 
most  exemplary  humanity  and  benevolent   feeling  were  too  often  led  to 


APPENDIX.  501 

take  part  in  transactions  which  led  to  the  loss  of  life  on  one  side,  and  to 
remorse  and  repentance  during  life  on  the  other. 

The  jury,  after  a  deliberation  of  twenty-five  minutes,  returned  a  verdict 
of  not  guilty.  Mr.  Christie  and  Mr.  Trail  then  retired  from  the  bar,  amid  the 
congratulations  of  the  friends  who  surrounded  them. 

Such  were  the  circumstances  of  one  of  the  most  memorable  of  the  quar- 
rels of  authors.  There  can  be  no  question  that  Blackwood's  Magazine  had 
rendered  itself  justly  obnoxious  to  censure  as  unsparing  and  personal  as 
that  which  John  Scott  bestowed  upon  it.  Even  its  conductors  must  have 
admitted  its  justice.  We  are  not  aware  that  Lockhart  ever  alluded  to  it  in 
his  subsequent  writings;  but  we  regret  to  add  that  Wilson,  in  more  than 
one  instance  afterwards,  referred  to  Scott  in  language  which  showed  that 
the  wounds  he  inflicted  had  not  been  healed  by  time  or  atoned  for  by 
death. 


(B.)    JANUS   WEATHERCOCK. 

In  the  names  of  the  contributors  to  the  London  Magazine  given  in  the 
text,  that  of  Janus  Weathercock  is  omitted,  —  one  of  its  earliest  corre- 
spondents, a  mourner  at  the  death-bed  of  its  original  editor,  the  friend  and 
admirer  of  Chaides  Lamb,  and  the  first  to  appreciate  fully,  and  describe 
better  than  any  one  else  has  done,  the  various  merits  and  powers  of  Hood 
himself.  In  the  London  Magazine  for  January,  1823,  is  an  article  by  Weath- 
ercock, devoted  to  a  genial  commentary  on  the  contributors,  —  Barry  Corn- 
wall, Clare,  Allan  Cunningham,  Elia,  Hood,  and  others.  The  whole  article 
is  interesting  and  characteristic,  but  in  a  few  rapid  touches  he  has  given  a 
sketch  of  Hood  as  he  was  in  1822,  which  no  one  can  fail  to  recognize  in 
1860.     We  copy  it  at  length :  — 

"  Young  Theodore  !  — young  in  years,  not  in  power !  Our  new  Ovid !  — 
only  more  imaginative  !  —  Painter  to  the  visible  eye  —  and  the  inward;  — 
commixture  of,  what  the  superficial  deem,  incongruous  elements  !  —  Instruc- 
tive living  proof,  how  close  lie  the  founts  of  laughter  ami  tears !  Thou  fer- 
menting brain  —  oppressed,  as  yet,  by  its  own  riches  !  Though  melancholy 
would  seem  to  have  touched  thy  heart  with  her  painful  (salutary)  hand, 
yet  is  thy  fancy  mercurial,  —  undepressed;  and  sparkles  and 'crackles 
more  from  the  contact,  as  the  northern  lights  when  they  near  the  frozen 
pole.  How!  is  the  fit  not  on?  Still  is  '  Lycus  '  without  mate!  Who  can 
mate  him  but  thyself?  Let  not  the  shallow  induce  thee  to  conceal  thy 
depth.  Leave  '  Old  Seamen,'  —  the  strain  thou  held'st  was  of  a  higher 
mood;  —  there  are  others  for  your  '  Sketches  from  Nature,'  (as  they  truly 

call  'em,) and  such  small  deer!     As  for  thy  word-gambols,  thy 

humor,  thy  fantastics,  thy  curiously  conceited  perceptions  of'similarity  in 
dissimilarity,  of  coherents  in  incoherents,  they  are  brilliantly  suave,  innoc- 
uously exhilarating :  —  but  not  a  step  farther,  if  thou  lovest  thy  proper 
peace !  Eead  the  fine  of  the  eleventh  and  the  whole  of  the  twelfth  chapter 
of  Tristram  Shandy ;  and  believe  them,  dear  Theodore !  0  most  truly ! 
For  others  (not  for  thee)  is  the  following  paragraph  thence  quoted:  '  Trust 
me,  this  unwary  pleasantry  of  thine,  will  sooner  or  later  bring  thee  into 
scrapes  and  difficulties,  which  no  afterwit  can  extricate  thee  out  of.  In 
these  sallies,  too  oft  I  see  it  happens  that  a  person  laughed  at  considers 
himself  in  the  light  of  a  person  injured,  with  all  the  rights  of  such  a  situ- 
ation belonging  to  him,  and  when  thou  viewest  him  in  that  light  too,  and 
reckonest  up  his  friends,  his  family,  his  kindred,  and  allies,  and  musterest 


502  APPENDIX. 

up  with  them  the  many  recruits  which  will  list  under  him  from  a  sense  of 
common  danger,  't  is  no  extravagant  arithmetic  to  say,  that  for  every  ten 
jokes  thou  hast  got  a  hundred  enemies;  and  till  thou  hast  gone  on,  and 
raised  a  swarm  of  wasps  about  thine  ears,  and  art  half  stung  to  death  by 
them,  thou  wilt  never  be  convinced  it  is  so.'  " 

In  one  of  his  letters  Lamb  speaks  of  "  kind,  light-hearted  Wainwright, 
their  Janus,"  as  the  sometime  "best  stay"  of  the  London;  and  when 
Moxon  started  the  Englishman'1  s  Magazine,  advised  him  to  secure  the  aid 
of  Proctor  or  of  Janus  Weathercock,  and  adds  that "  both  of  their  prose  is 
capital."  In  the  original  of  Lamb's  essay  on  "  The  Decay  of  Beggars  in 
the  Metropolis,"  as  it  appeared  in  the  Magazine,  there  was  the  following 
N.  B. :  "  I  am  glad  to  see  Janus  veering  about  to  the  old  quarter.  I  feared 
he  had  been  rust-bound.  C.  being  asked  why  he  did  not  like  Gold's 
'  London  '  as  well  as  ours  —  it  was  in  poor  S.'s  time  —  replied,  — 
'  Because  there  is  no  Weathercock, 
And  that 's  the  reason  why.'  " 

The  individual  represented  by  Janus  was  one  Thomas  Griffith  Wain- 
wright, whose  appearance  and  surroundings  in  the  days  of  the  London  are 
familiar  to  our  readers  from  the  graphic  description  'by  Talfourd,  in  his 
"  Final  Memorials  of  Lamb."  He  Avas,  in  those  days,  a  gay,  dashing  dandy, 
with  a  half-military  air,  —  a  park  lounger,  an  habitual  attendant  of  the 
opera,  and  a  constant  visitor  of  the  picture-galleries  and  print-shops,  where 
he  gathered  materials  for  the  assuming,  egotistical,  but  very  readable  and 
magazinish  articles  which  he  contributed  to  the  London.  Talfourd  says 
that  Lamb  thought  that  he  really  liked  him,  and  mistook  his  vapid  gayety 
for  the  playful  effusion  of  a  very  guileless  nature.  His  contempt  for  every- 
thing but  elegant  and  expensive  enjoyment  marked  at  that  time  his  ruling 
passion,  and  furnishes  the  key  to  his  subsequent  history. 

In  1829  Wainwright  went  with  his  wife  to  visit  his  uncle,  from  whom  he 
had  expectancies  which  were  shortly  realized.  The  property  inherited  at 
his  uncle's  decease  was  soon  squandered.  In  April,  1830,  Mrs.  Wainwright, 
with  her  step-sister,  appeared  at  the  Palladium  insurance  office  in  London, 
and  effected  a  policy  on  the  life  of  the  latter,  Helen  Abercrombie,  a  hand- 
some, blooming  girl  "of  one  and  twenty,  for  £  3,000  for  three  yeai*s  only. 
Similar  visits  were  made  to  several  other  offices  with  a  result  equally  fa- 
vorable, until  at  the  end  of  six  months  there  was  the  large  amount  of 
£18,000  dependent  on  the  life  of  this  young  lady,  who  was  the  daughter 
of  a  deceased  officer,  with  no  pi'operty  whatsoever  but  a  pension  of  £  10 
a  year  from  the  Ordnance. 

In  the  mean  time  Wainwright's  affairs  became  desperate.  He  forged 
several  powers  of  attorney  to  draw  money  from  the  Bank  of  England. 
This  money  was  soon  spent,  and  everything  in  his  possession  becoming 
pledged,  down  to  his  household  furniture,  he  took  furnished  apartments 
for  himself,  his  wife,  and  two  sisters-in-law.  Immediately  afterwards  Miss 
Abercrombie  made  her  will  in  favor  of  her  unmarried  sister  Madeline,  and 
appointed  Wainwright  sole  executor,  assigning  to  him  the  policy  in  the 
Palladium  office.  One  evening  in  December  the  whole  party  went  to  the 
theatre.  The  evening  was  wet,  but  they  walked  home  together,  and  par- 
took of  oysters  and  other  refreshments  at  supper.  That  night  Miss  Aber- 
crombie was  taken  ill.  A  few  days  afterwards  she  took  powders  which  her 
attending  physician  did  not  remember  to  have  prescribed;  and  when  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Wainwright  returned  from  a  long  walk,  they  found  that  she  was 
dead.  There  was  a  post  mortem  examination,  which  revealed  only  a  great 
effusion  on  the  brain,  caused,  it  was  stated,  by  extraordinary  violence  of 
vomiting. 

Mr.  Wainwright  as  executor,  and  trustee,  lost  no  time  in  applying  to  the 


APPENDIX.  503 

offices  for  the  results  of  the  policies.  In  1831  he  commenced  an  action 
against  the  Imperial  Life  Insurance  Company  on  a  policy  effected  on  the 
20th  of  October,  in  the  year  preceding,  for  £  3,000.  The  suit  was  hung  up 
by  injunction  till  February,  1835,  and  was  tried  in  June,  before  Lord  Abin- 
ger  and  a  special  jury.  The  defence  was  that  the  insurance  was  really 
effected  for  the  benefit  of  the  plaintiff  himself,  who  was  the  party  really 
interested.  The  jury  were  unable  to  agree.  The  plaintiff  resided  in  Eng- 
land till  a  short  time  before  the  trial,  when  he  went  to  France,  with  the 
view  of  avoiding  criminal  prosecution  for  his  forgeries  on  the  Bank  of 
England.  On  a  second  trial  the  Company  obtained  a  verdict,  and  Wain- 
wright  left  Boulogne,  where  he  was  then  residing,  passed  through  France 
under  a  feigned  name,  was  apprehended  by  the  French  police,  and  being 
found  with  strychnine  in  his  possession,  was  confined  at  Paris  for  six 
months. 

On  his  release,  he  ventured  to  London  with  the  intention  of  remaining 
only  forty-eight  hours.  Incautiously  venturing  to  the  window  of  his  hotel 
near  Covent  Garden,  he  was  recognized  by  a  person  passing,  and  informa- 
tion was  communicated  to  the  Bank.  He  was  apprehended.  A  consulta- 
tion was  held  among  the  parties  interested  to  determine  whether  he  should 
be  proceeded  against  for  the  terrible  charges  growing  out  of  the  fate  of 
Helen  Abercrombie,  or  whether  he  should  be  tried  for  the  forgeries  only. 
The  latter  course  was  adopted.  He  was  found  guilty,  and  condemned  to 
transportation  for  life. 

In  1846  Sir  Edward  Lytton  published  his  novel  of  "  Lucretia,"  and  Wain- 
wright  was  the  author's  study  for  the  character  of  Yarnev.  The  finale  of 
his  story  is  given  in  the  following  paragraph  from  the  London  Literary 
Gazette  of  December  8th,  1849:  — 

"  Mr.  Wainwright,  so  celebrated  in  the  annals  of  crime,  and  the  dark  hero 
of  Bulwer's  novel,  is  stated  in  the  Manchester  Examiner  to  have  died  lately 
in  the  utmost  misery,  in  New  South  Wales.  For  a  time  he  earned  his  sub- 
sistence by  teaching  drawing;  but  it  is  probable  that  the  publication  to 
which  we  have  alluded  caused  the  'forger'  to  be  deemed  an  atrocious 
murderer,  and  so  cut  off  his  means,  and  led  to  his  so  perishing  in  the 
dreadful  manner  described." 


(C.)    JOHN    CLARE. 


The  Northamptonshire  peasant  is  almost  the  last  survivor  of  the  brilliant 
circle  of  contributors  who  flourished  in  the  London  Magazine,  and  with  re- 
gard to  him  Hood's  worst  forebodings  have  been  realized.  He  is  now 
sixty-seven  years  of  age,  and  was  recently  living  in  a  private  asylum  for 
the  Insane  at  Highbeach.  His  parents  were  parish  paupers,  anil  in  the 
midst  of  hard  work  and  privations  Clare  learned  to  read,  and  was  able  to 
cultivate  a  native  talent  for  poetry,  which  he  finally  sought  to  turn  to  a 
worldly  account.  "  'T  was  working  alone  in  the  lime-pits  of  Ryhall,  in  the 
dead  of  winter,  1818," — these  are  his  own  words,  —  "when,  knowing  it  im- 
possible for  me  to  pay  a  shoemaker's  bill  of  more  than  three  pounds,  hav- 
ing only  eighteen  pence  to  receive  at  night,  I  resolved  upon  publishing  pro- 
posals for  printing  a  little  volume  of  poems  by  subscription;  and  at  dinner- 
time I  wrote  a  prospectus,  with  a  pencil,  and  walked  over  to  Stamford  at 
night,  to  send  it  by  the  post  to  Mr.  Hanson,  a  printer,  at  Market  Deeping." 


504  APPENDIX. 

The  prospectus  was  printed,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  provincial  book- 
seller, who  thought  there  was  the  germ  of  a  good  thing  in  it,  and  the  result 
was  the  publication  of  "  Poems,  descriptive  of  Rural  Life  and  Scenery,  by 
John  Clare,  a  Northamptonshire  Peasant,"  the  second  edition  of  which,  in  a 
crown  octavo  of  213  pages,  was  issued,  in  London,  in  1820.  Clare  was  fa- 
vorably reviewed  in  the  Quarterly,  went  up  to  the  great  metropolis,  made 
friends,  and  led  for  a  while  the  life  which  Hood  describes  in  the  text.  He 
received  considerable  sums  of  money,  by  donation  and  otherwise,  lost  them, 
and  at  length,  in  1837,  became  the  inmate  of  the  institution  to  which  we 
have  above  referred,  —  the  victim  of  "  lionizing." 

hi  1840,  his  physician,  Dr.  Allen,  addressed  a  letter  to  the  Times  news- 
paper, with  the  view  of  calling  the  attention  of  Clare's  old  friends  and  patrons 
to  his  condition.  Dr.  Allen  stated  that  in  bodily  health  the  poet  was  well, 
but  that  he  was  haunted  by  the  spectre  of  poverty.  Though  unable  in 
ordinary  writing  or  conversation  to  preserve  for  any  length  of  time  the 
appearance  of  sanity,  his  power  of  ratiocination  seemed  to  be  restored 
when  he  attempted  poetry,  and  his  effusions  in  verse,  produced  in  this 
state  of  eclipse,  are  regarded  as  psychological  curiosities. 


(D.)    EDWARD    HERBERT. 

The  reference  to  the  runaway  ring  at  Wordsworth's  Peter  Bell  recalls 
the  very  amusing  letter  of  Lamb  to  the  poet,  in  which  he  comments  on  the 
two  Peters  which  had  just  made  their  appearance.  About  a  week  pre- 
viously to  the  republication,  in  1819,  of  Wordsworth's  tale  in  verse,  with 
this  title,  the  wits  of  London  were  entertained  with  the  j eu  d' esprit  to  Which 
we  presume  Hood  intends  to  make  allusion.  It  was  another  Peter  Bell, 
claiming  to  be  the  real  Simon  Pure,  and  was  attributed  at  the  time  to  the 
author  of  the  Rejected  Addresses.  From  what  Hood  says,  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  the  work  of  his  brother-in-law  Reynolds,  whose  scattered  eccen- 
tricities would  form  a  very  pleasant  collection.  He  was  a  man  of  rare 
cleverness,  and  the  preface  to  his  Peter  Bell,  as  a  laughable  caricature,  is 
worth  the  space  it  will  fill  in  explanation  of  Hood's  allusion. 

"  Preface. 

"  It  is  now  a  period  of  one  and  twenty  years  since  I  first  wrote  some  of 
the  most  perfect  compositions  (except  certain  pieces  I  have  written  in  my 
later  days)  that  ever  dropped  from  poetical  pen.  My  heart  has  been  right 
and  powerful  all  its  years.  I  never  thought  an  evil  or  a  weak  thought  in 
my  life.  It  has  been  my  aim  and  my  achievement  to  deduce  moral  thunder 
from  butter-cups,  daisies,  celandines,  and  (as  a  poet  scarcely  inferior  to 
myself  hath  it)  '  such  small  deer.'  Out  of  sparrows'  eggs  I  have  hatched 
great  truth-,  and  with  sextons'  barrows  have  I  wheeled  into  human  hearts 
piles  of  the  weightiest  philosophy.  I  have  persevered  with  a  perseverance 
truly  astonishing,  in  persons  of  not  the  most  pursy  purses;  but  to  a  man 
of  my  inveterate  morality  and  independent  stamp  (of  which  Stamps  I  am 
proud  to  be  a  distributer)  the  sneers  and  scoffings  of  impious  Scotchmen, 
and  the  neglect  of  my  poor  uninspired  countrymen,  fall  as  the  dew  upon  the 
thorn  (on  which  plant  I  have  written  an  immortal  stanza  or  two),  and  are 
as  fleeting  as  the  spray  of  the  waterfall  (concerning  which  waterfall  I  have 


APPENDIX.  5Q5 

composed  some  great  lines  which  the  world  will  not  let  die).  Accustomed 
to  mountain  solitudes,  I  can  look  with  a  calm  and  dispassionate  eye  upon 
that  fiend-like,  vulture-souled,  adder-fanged  critic,  whom  I  have  not  patience 
to  name,  and  of  whose  Review  I  loathe  the  title  and  detest  the  contents. 
Philosophy  has  taught  me  to  forgive  the  misguided  miscreant,  and  to  speak 
of  him  only  in  terms  of  patience  and  pity.  I  love  my  venerable  Monarch 
and  the  Prince  Regent.  My  ballads  are  the  noblest  pieces  of  verse  in  the 
whole  range  of  English  poetry,  and  I  take  this  opportunity  of  telling  the 
world  I  am  a  great  man.  Milton  was  also  a  great  man.  Ossian  was  a 
blind  old  fool.  Copies  of  my  previous  works  may  be  had  in  any  numbers, 
by  application  at  my  publishers. 

'•  Of  Peter  Bell  I  have  only  this  much  to  say:  it  completes  the  simple 
system  of  natural  narrative,  which  I  began  so  early  as  1798.  It  is  written 
in  that  pure,  unlabored  style,  which  can  only  be  met  with  among  laborers ; 
and  I  can  safely  say,  that,  while  its  imaginations  spring  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  most  imaginative,  its  occasional  meaning  occasionally  falls  far  below 
the  meanest  capacity.  As  these  are  the  days  of  counterfeits,  I  am  com- 
pelled to  caution  my  readers  against  them,  '  for  such  are  abroad.'  How- 
ever, I  here  declare  this  to  be  the  true  Peter ;  this  to  be  the  old  original 
Bell.  I  commit  my  ballad  confidently  to  posterity.  I  love  to  read  my  own 
poetry :  it  does  my  heart  good.  W.  W. 

••  N.  B.  —  The  novel  of  Rob  Roy  is  not  so  good  as  my  Poem  on  the  same 
subject." 


(E.)     CHARLES    LAMB. 


That  the  relations  between  Lamb  and  Hood  were  of  the  most  affectionate 
and  intimate  character  is  well  known;  but  their  practical  jokes  upon  each 
other  were  sometimes  carried  quite  as  far  as  the  very  license  of  friendship 
could  tolerate.  Lamb  even  took  it  in  good  part,  notwithstanding  his  horror 
of  annuals,  when  Hood  affixed  his  name  to  the  following  prose  sketch, 
which  appeared  in  the  Gem,  and  which  is  really  one  of  Hood's  own. 

"  A  Widow 

"  Hath  always  been  a  mark  for  mockery,  —  a  standing  butt  for  wit  to 
level  at.  Jest  after  jest  hath  been  huddled' upon  her  close  cap,  and  stuck, 
like  burrs,  upon  her  weeds.     Her  sables  are  a  perpetual  •  Black  Joke.' 

"  Satirists  —  prose  and  verse  —  have  made  merry  with  her  bereavements. 
She  is  a  stock  character  on  the  stage.  Farce  bottleth  up  her  crocodile 
tears,  or  labelleth  her  empty  lachrymatories.  Comedy  mocketh  her  pre- 
cocious flirtatious.  Tragedy  even  girdeth  at  her  frailty,  and  twitteth  her 
with  'the  funeral  baked  meats  coldly  furnishing  forth  the  marriage 
tables.' 

"  I  confess,  when  I  called  the  other  day  on  my  kinswoman  G ,  then  in 

the  second  week  of  her  widowhood,  and  saw  her  sitting,  her  young  boy  by 
her  side,  in  her  recent  sables,  I  felt  unable  to  reconcile  her  estate  with  any 
risible  associations.  The  Lady  with  a  skeleton  moiety —  in  the  old  print,  in 
Bowles's  old  shop-window  —  seemed  but  a  type  of  her  condition.  Her 
husband  —  a  whole  hemisphere  in  love's  world  —  was  deficient.  One  complete 
side  —  her  left  —  was   death-stricken.      It  was  a  matrimonial   paralysis, 

G  G 


506  APPENDIX. 

improvocative  of  laughter.  I  could  as  soon  have  tittered  at  one  of  those 
melancholy  objects  that  drag  their  poor  dead-alive  bodies  about  our 
streets. 

"  It  seems  difficult  to  account  for  the  popular  prejudice  against  lone  women. 
There  is  a  majority,  I  trust,  of  such  honest,  decorous  mourners  as  my  kins- 
woman: yet  are  widows,  like  the  Hebrew,  a  proverb  and  a  byword  amongst 
nations.  From  the  first  putting  on  of  the  sooty  garments,  they  become  a 
stock  joke  —  chimney-sweep  or  blackamore  is  not  surer  —  by  mere  virtue 
of  their  nigritude. 

"  Are  the  wanton  amatory  glances  of  a  few  pairs  of  graceless  eyes,  twink- 
ling through  their  cunning  waters,  to  reflect  so  evil  a  light  on  a  whole 
community  ?  Verily  the  said  benighted  orbs  of  that  noble  relict,  the 
Lady  Rachel  Russell,  —  blinded  through  unserene  drops  for  her  dead  Lord, 
—  might  atone  for  all  such  oglings  ! 

"  Are  the  traditional  freaks  of  a  Dame  of  Ephesus,  or  a  Wife  of  Bath,  or  a 
Queen  of  Denmark,  to  cast  so  broad  a  shadow  over  a  whole  sisterhood? 
There  must  be,  methinks,  some  more  general  infirmity  —  common,  probably, 
to  all  Eve-kind  —  to  justify  so  sweeping  a  stigma. 

"  Does  the  satiric  spirit,  perhaps,  institute  splenetic  comparisons  between 
the  lofty  poetical  pretensions  of  posthumous  tenderness  and  their  fulfilment  ? 
The  sentiments  of  Love  especially  affect  a  high  heroical  pitch,  of  which 
the  human  performance  can  present,  at  best,  but  a  burlesque  parody.  A 
widow,  that  hath  lived  only  for  her  husband,  should  die  with  him.  She 
is  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  bone  of  his  bone ;  and  it  is  not  seemly  for  a  mere 
rib  to  be  his  survivor.     The  prose  of  her  practice  accords  not  with  the 

Eoetry  of  her  professions.  She  hath  done  Avith  the  world  —  and  you  meet 
er  in  Regent  Street.  Earth  hath  now  nothing  left  for  her  —  but  she  swears 
and  administers.  She  cannot  survive  him  —  and  invests  in  the  Long 
Annuities. 

"  The  romantic  fancy  resents,  and  the  satiric  spirit  records,  these  dis- 
crepancies. By  the  conjugal  theory  itself,  there  ought  to  be  no  widows ; 
and,  accordingly,  a  class  that  by  our  milder  manners  is  merely  ridiculed, 
on  the  ruder  banks  of  the  Ganges  is  literally  roasted. 

"  C.  Lamb." 


THE  END. 


Cambridge:  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


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