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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Kl chard  Davidson 


THE    WORKS    OF 
WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


KENSINGTON    EDITION 
VOLUME   XXXI 


A  *  mm  ^ 

'.( :  --jy  SUP* 


. 


The  old  "  Punch  "  Office  in  Bouverie  Street 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO 
"PUNCH" 

(NOT    PREVIOUSLY    REPRINTED) 


BY 


WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


WITH   THE   AUTHOR'S   ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 

1904 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons 


THE  DE  VINNE  PRESS 


T03 


I       o    I 


NOTE   TO   THE 
KENSINGTON   EDITION 

Punch  was  founded  in  1841;  Thackeray  first  wrote  for 
it  (Miss  Tickletoby's  Lectures)  in  1842,  and  in  1843 
was  adopted  into  its  staff,  contributing  regularly  and 
taking  part  in  the  weekly  Punch  dinners.  The  asso- 
ciation continued,  though  in  the  last  few  years  greatly 
interrupted  and  weakened,  until  1854.  Then  he  re- 
signed definitely,  disagreeing  with  some  things  in  the 
policy  of  the  paper,  though  he  remained  on  the  friend- 
liest terms  with  his  old  companions. 

The  present  volume  was  added  in  1886  to  the  1869 
edition  of  Thackeray's  works,  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
pleting it  by  a  number  of  smaller  Punch  articles  which 
had  up  to  that  time  escaped  collection.  The  words  "  not 
previously  reprinted  "  are,  therefore,  of  prime  impor- 
tance in  limiting  an  otherwise  misleading  title;  for  all 
the  more  important  of  his  contributions  to  Punch  are 
found  in  their  places  in  other  volumes  of  the  works, — 
the  Snob  papers,  the  Prize  Novelists  (Novels  by  Emi- 
nent Hands),  Mr.  Brown's  Letters,  the  different  bal- 
lads, and  the  rest.  The  present  collection  is  an  after- 
math ;  and  it  is,  and  will  no  doubt  remain,  the  last  from 


641473 


Thackeray's  minor  writings  to  whose  publication  the 
authority  of  his  representatives  will  be  given.  A  few 
scattered  reviews,  etc.,  are  claimed  as  his,  no  doubt  in 
some  cases  rightly,  by  painstaking  bibliographers;  but 
the  present  volume  makes  the  definitive  edition  of  his 
works  complete,  with  all  that  he  or  his  readers  could 
wish  to  see  preserved  in  permanent  form. 

The  frontispiece  to  this  volume  is  from  a  photograph 
of  the  old  Punch  building  of  Thackeray's  day,  at  the 
corner  of  Bouverie  and  Essex  Streets,  as  it  appears  in 
the  present  year  (1904). 


VI 


CONTENTS 


MISS    TICKLETOBY'S    LECTURES   ON   ENGLISH  HISTORY 

PAGE 

A  Character  (to  Introduce  Another  Character)    .  3 

Lecture      I 10 

II 19 

*          III  The   Sea-kings   in  England 29 

IV  Edward  the  Confessor — Harold — Wil- 
liam   the    Conqueror        39 

V  William  Rufus 46 

VI  Henry      I.  —  Maude  —  Stephen  — 

Henry  II 52 

VII  Richard  the  First 59 

VIII 68 

IX  Edward  I.  —  The  Scots  and  their  Claims  76 

X  Edward  III 86 


PAPERS    BY   THE    FAT   CONTRIBUTOR 

Wanderings  of  Our  Fat  Contributor 95 

Punch  in  the  East 130 

Brighton 158 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A    Brighton    Night    Entertainment 163 

Meditations   over  Brighton 170 

Brighton  in  1847 174 


MISCELLANEOUS    CONTRIBUTIONS   TO    "  PUNCH  " 

Mr.   Spec's  Remonstrance 189 

Singular  Letter  from  the  Regent  of  Spain     .      .     .  194 

The  Georges 198 

Titmarsh  v.  Tait 201 

Royal  Academy 204 

A  Plea  for  Plush 208 

Professor  Byles's  Opinion  of  the  Westminster  Hall 

Exhibition 210 

"  Punch  "   and   the   Influenza 217 

The  Persecution  of  British  Footmen 222 

Irish    Gems 235 

Mr.  Snob's  Remonstrance  with  Mr.  Smith     ....  241 

Yesterday:  a   Tale    of    the   Polish    Ball    ....  246 

Science   at    Cambridge 251 

The  Great  Squattleborough  Soiree 257 

Paris  Revisited 264 

Two  or  Three  Theatres  at  Paris 271 

On   Some  Dinners  at  Paris 278 

Hobson's   Choice;  or,    the   Tribulations   of   a   Gen- 
tleman in  Search  of  a  Man-servant         ....  285 

Thoughts    on    a    New    Comedy 308 


CONTENTS  ix 


PAGE 


The  Sights  of  London r 315 

The  Lion  Huntress  of  Belgravia 321 

Why  Can't  They  Leave  Us  Alone  in  the  Holidays?  342 

A  Strange  Man  Just  Discovered  in  Germany     .      .     .  345 

What   I  Remarked   at    the   Exhibition 350 

M.  Gobemouche's  Authentic  Account  of  the  Grand 

Exhibition         353 

The  Charles  the  Second  Ball 358 

Panorama  of  the  Ingleez 364 

An  Ingleez  Family 370 

Poor   Puggy 379 

Portraits  from  the  Late  Exhibition    ••....  383 


VERSES 


The  Flying  Duke 393 

Mr.   Smith   and   Moses 398 

The  Froddylent  Butler 401 


<  t 


SPEC"    AND    "PROSER"    PAPERS 


Travels  in  London 407 

A  Club  in  an  Uproar 413 

A  Roundabout   Ride 420 

The  Proser  :  Essays  and  Discourses  by  Dr.  Solomon 
Pacifico  : 

On  an  Interesting  French   Exile 426 

On   an  American   Traveller 434 


MISS  TICKLETOBY'S  LECTURES 


ON 


ENGLISH  HISTORY 


MISS  TICKLETOBYS  LECTURES 
ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY 

A  CHARACTER 

(to  introduce  another  character) 

E  have  the  pleasure  to  be 
acquainted  with  a  young 
fellow  by  the  name  of 
Adolphus  Simcoe,  who, 
like  many  another  person 
of  his  age  and  rank  in  life, 
has  been  smitten  with  a  love  for  literary  pursuits,  which 
have  brought  him  to  early  ruin. 

He  gained  a  decent  maintenance  as  assistant  in  the 

shop  of  Messrs. ,  apothecaries,  Cheapside,  but  even 

then  was  observed  never  to  move  without  a  Byron  in 
his  pocket,  and  used  to  amuse  the  other  gents  in  the  es- 
tablishment, by  repeating  whole  passages  from  Shelley, 
Wordsworth,  and  Moore.  To  one  young  man  he  con- 
fided a  large  ledger  of  poems,  of  his  own  composition; 
but  being  of  a  timid  turn,  and  the  young  man  falling 
asleep  during  the  reading  of  the  very  first  ballad,  Adol- 
phus never  attempted  a  similar  proceeding  with  any  of 
his  comrades  again,  but  grew  more  morose  and  poetical, 
frequenting  the  theatres,  coming  late  to  business,  living 
alone,  and  turning  down  his  shirt-collars  more  and  more 


4  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

every  day.  Messrs.  Butler  had  almost  determined, 
although  with  regret,  to  turn  away  the  lad,  when  he  pre- 
vented that  step  on  their  part  by  signifying  his  own  in- 
tention to  retire.  His  grandmother,  who,  we  are  led  to 
believe,  kept  a  small  shop  in  the  town  of  York,  left 
Adolphus  a  fortune  of  three  hundred  pounds  in  the 
Three  per  Cents,  which  sum  he  thought  fully  adequate 
for  the  making  of  his  fortune  in  his  own  way. 

His  passion  was  to  become  an  editor  of  a  Magazine; 
to  assemble  about  him  "  the  great  spirits  of  the  age,"  as 
he  called  them;  and  to  be  able  to  communicate  his  own 
contributions  to  the  public,  aided  by  all  the  elegances  of 
type,  and  backed  by  all  the  ingenuities  of  puffery. 

That  celebrated  miscellany,  the  "  Lady's  Lute,"  then 
being  for  sale— indeed,  if  a  gentleman  has  a  mind  to 
part  with  his  money,  it  is  very  hard  if  he  cannot  find  some 
periodical  with  a  broom  at  its  masthead— Adolphus,  for 
the  sum  of  forty-five  pounds,  became  the  proprietor  and 
editor  of  the  "  Lute; "  and  had  great  pleasure  in  seeing 
his  own  name  in  the  most  Gothic  capitals  upon  the  title- 
page — his  poems  occupying  the  place  of  honour  within. 
The  honest  fellow  has  some  good  mercantile  notions, 
and  did  not  in  the  least  hesitate  to  say,  on  the  part  of  the 
proprietors,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  Magazine,  that 
the  Public  of  England  would  rejoice  to  learn,  that  the 
great  aid  of  Adolphus  Simcoe,  Esquire,  had  been  se- 
cured, at  an  immense  expense,  for  the  "Lady's  Lute;': 
that  his  contributions  would  henceforth  be  solely  con- 
fined to  it,  and  that  the  delighted  world  would  have 
proofs  of  his  mighty  genius  in  song. 

Having  got  all  the  poets  by  heart,  he  had  a  pretty 
knack  of  imitating  them  all,  and  in  a  single  ballad  would 
give  you  specimens  of,  at  least,  half-a-dozen  different 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY       5 

styles.  He  had,  moreover,  an  emphatic  way  of  his  own, 
which  was  for  a  little  time  popular;  and  the  public,  for 
near  a  year,  may  be  said  to  have  been  almost  taken  in  by 
Adolphus  Simcoe— as  they  have  been  by  other  literary 
characters  of  his  kind.  It  is,  we  do  believe,  a  fact,  that 
for  a  certain  time  Adolphus's  Magazine  actually  paid 
its  contributors ;  and  it  is  a  known  truth,  that  one  India- 
paper  proof  of  the  portrait  of  himself,  which  he  pub- 
lished in  the  second  year  of  his  editorship,  was  bought 
by  a  young  lady,  a  sincere  admirer  of  his  poems. 

In  the  course  of  eighteen  months  he  exhausted  his 
manuscript  ledger  of  poetry — he  published  his  "  Ghoul," 
a  poem  in  Lord  Byron's  style;  his  "Leila,"  after  the 
manner  of  Thomas  Moore;  his  "Idiosyncrasy,"  a  di- 
dactic poem,  that  strongly  reminded  one  of  Wordsworth ; 
and  his  "  Gondola,  a  Venetian  Lay,"  that  may  be  con- 
sidered to  be  slightly  similar  to  the  works  of  L.  E.  L. 
Then  he  came  out  with  a  Tragedy,  called  "  Perdition,  or 
the  Rosicrucian  Gammons,"  of  which  the  dulness  was  so 
portentous,  that  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act  it  was  dis- 
covered there  were  not  more  than  thirty-three  subscri- 
bers left  to  the  Magazine. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  though  he  continued  the  work 
desperately  for  six  months  longer,  pouring,  as  he  said, 
the  whole  energies  of  his  soul  into  its  pages —  (the  fact 
was  that,  as  there  was  no  more  money,  there  were  no 
more  contributors)  — though  he  wrote  articles  pathetic, 
profound,  and  humorous,  commenced  romances,  and  in- 
dited the  most  bitter  and  sarcastic  reviews,  the  "  Lady's 
Lute"  fell  to  the  ground — its  chords,  as  he  said,  were 
rudely  snapped  asunder,  and  he  who  had  swept  them 
with  such  joy  went  forth  a  wretched  and  heartbroken 
man. 


6  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

He  passed  three  months  in  Her  Majesty's  Asylum  of 
the  Fleet,  from  whence  he  issued  in  brocade  robe-de- 
chambre,  and  the  possessor  of  the  cut-glass  bottles  and 
shaving  trumpery  of  a  dressing-case,  the  silver  covers  of 
which  he  had  pawned  in  order  to  subsist  while  in  durance. 

Our  belief  is  that  Miss  Tickletoby  is  his  relation :  it  is 
certain  that  he  sleeps  in  her  back  garret  (and  the  ven- 
erable age  of  the  lady  puts  all  scandal  out  of  the  ques- 
tion) ;  he  has,  we  are  fully  certain,  instructed  her  pupils 
in  penmanship,  filling  up  his  leisure  moments  by  writing 
what  would  have  been  contributions  to  the  Magazines,  if 
those  works  would  but  have  accepted  the  same. 

He  still  speaks  of  the  "  Lady's  Lute  "  as  of  the  great- 
est periodical  that  ever  was  produced,  and  but  the  other 
day  apologised  warmly  to  the  writer  of  this  for  having 
abused  his  early  volume  of  Poems — "Lyrics  of  the 
Soul"  they  were  called — written  at  sixteen,  when  we 
were  students  at  the  University  of  London.  He  per- 
sists in  thinking  that  the  author  of  "  Lyrics  of  the  Soul " 
has  never  forgiven  him,  that  he  has  never  been  the  same 
man  since,  but  has  pined  away  under  the  effects  of  that 
withering  sarcasm.  Our  next  work,  he  says,  was  the 
bitter  Slough  of  Despair— it  was  called  "  The  Downy 
Dragsman;  or,  Love  in  Liquorpond  Street."  This,  at 
least,  the  reader  will  remember.  Could  anything  be 
more  frank  than  its  humour — more  joyously  low  than 
every  one  of  the  scenes  in  that  truly  racy  production? 

It  is  needless  to  say,  we  have  no  sort  of  anger  against 
poor  Adolphus;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  meeting  him 
very  wild  and  gloomy,  and  more  than  usually  dirty,  at 
the  "  Globe,"  in  Bow  Street,  which  we  both  frequent,  it 
was  a  great  pleasure  to  us  to  lend  him  seven  shillings, 
which  enabled  him  to  order  a  dish  of  meat  in  addition  to 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY       7 

that  unhappy  half -pint  of  beer  which  seemed  really  to 
form  all  his  dinner. 

The  dinner  and  the  money  made  him  communicative ; 
and  he  was  good  enough  to  confide  to  us  the  history  of 
a  vast  number  of  his  disappointments — "His  blighted 


opes — his  withered  dreams  of  nearly  years — his  'vain 
hambition'  (Adolphus  is  a  Londoner,  whatever  his 
grandmother  may  have  been),  and  at  the  end  of  all,  he 
pulled  out  a  manuscript  (which  is  always  rather  a  fright- 
ful object  to  a  literary  man),  but  instead  of  reading  it 
began,  thank  Heaven!  only  to  discourse  about  it.  It 
was  another's  writing,  not  his  own. 

"  Halfred,"  said  he,  "  you  know  I  hoccupy  no  common 
position  in  the  literary  world.     I  ave  at  least  done  so, 


8  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

until  misfortune  hovertook  me.  Since  my  sorrows,  I've 
been  kindly  oused  by  a  munificent  being— a  woman 
("ere's  to  'er,' "  said  he,  draining  his  glass  solemnly, 
"  who  doubles  hall  our  joys,  and  alves  hall  our  sorrows — 
to  woman!").  Having  finished  his  brandy-and- water, 
he  resumed:  — 

"  Hever  since  hi've  been  in  the  ouse  of  that  hangelic 
being— she's  hold,  Half  red,  hold  enough  to  be  my 
grandmother,  and  so  I  pray  you  let  the  sneer  pass  away 
from  your  lips— hi've  not  neglected,  has  you  may  him- 
agine,  the  sacred  calling  for  which  hi  feel  hi  was  born. 
Poesy  has  been  my  solace  in  my  lonely  hagonies,  hand 
I've  tried  the  newspapers  hall  round.  But  they're  a  cal- 
lous and  ard-earted  set,  those  literary  men— men  who 
have  feasted  at  my  table,  and  quaffed  of  my  wine-cup — 
men,  who  in  the  days  of  my  prosperity  have  grown  rich 
from  my  purse— will  you  believe  it,  they  won't  accept  a 
single  harticle  of  my  writing,  and  scornfully  pass  me  by ! 
Worse  than  this— they  refuse  to  elp  me  by  the  most  sim- 
ple puff,  for  me  and  mine ;  would  you  believe  it,  my  dear 
friend,  Miss  Tickletoby  has  just  commenced  a  series  of 
lectures,  for  which  hi'm  hanxious  to  get  the  world's  good 
opinion,  and  not  one  paper  will  hinsert  the  little  descrip- 
tion I've  written  off.  The  Hagc,  the  Hargus,  the  Hera, 
hi've  applied  to  'em  all,  and  they're  hall  the  same— hall, 
hall,  ungrateful." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  if  you  will  write  verse,"  said  I— 

"It's  not  verse,"  answered  Adolphus,  "it's  prose— a 
report  of  Miss  T.'s  lecture,  prefaced  by  a  modest  lead- 
ing harticle." 

"  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  it  into  Punch"  said  I. 

"Hush,  Punch!"  shouted  he,  "Heavens,  have  you 
fallen  so  low?  I,  write  in  Punch!  Gracious  powers! 
In  Punch — in  Punch!" 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY       0 

"Rum  or  brandy,  sir?"  said  Betsy,  the  waiter,  who 
caught  the  last  word. 

"Rum,"  said  Adolphus  (with  a  good  deal  of  presence 
of  mind)  ;  and,  as  he  drank  the  steaming  liquor,  took  my 
hand.  "Halfred,"  said  he,  "tell  me  this  one  thing- 
does  Punch  pay?  for,  between  ourselves,  Miss  Tickle- 
toby  says  that  she'll  turn  me  out  of  doors  unless  I  can 
make  myself  useful  to  her  and— pay  my  bill." 

Adolphus  Simcoe  is  to  be  paid  for  his  contributions, 
and  next  week  we  shall  begin  Miss  Tickletoby's  Lec- 
tures. 


LECTURE   I 

WE  have  just  had  the  joy  to  be  present  at  one  of 
the  most  splendid  exhibitions  of  intelligence 
which  has  been  witnessed  in  our  splendid  and  intelligent 
time. 

The  great  spirit  of  History,  distilled  in  a  mighty 
mind's  alembic,  outpouring,  clear,  rich,  strong,  intoxicat- 
ing oft — so  delicious  was  the  draught,  and  so  eager 
the  surrounding  drinkers — the  figures  of  statesmen  and 
heroes,  wise  heroes  and  heroic  statesmen,  caught  up  from 
their  darkness  in  the  far  past,  and  made  by  the  enchan- 
tress to  shine  before  us  visible ;  the  gorgeous  and  gigan- 
tic memories  of  old  Time  rising  stately  from  their  graves, 
and  looking  on  us  as  in  life  they  looked:  such  were  the 
thoughts,  sensations,  visions,  that  we  owe  to  the  elo- 
quence of  Miss  Tickletoby  this  day. 

We  write  under  a  tremendous  emotion,  for  the  words 
of  the  fair  speaker  still  thrill  in  our  ears;  nor  can  we 
render  account  of  one  tithe  part  of  that  mystic  harmony 
of  words,  that  magic  spell  of  poesy,  which  the  elegant 
oratrix  flung  round  her  audience — a  not  readily-to-be- 
dissipated  charm. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that,  pursuant  to  her  announcements 

in  the  public  prints,  this  accomplished  lady  commenced 

her  series  of  lectures  on  English  History  to-day.    Her 

friends,  her  pupils,  those  who  know  and  esteem  her  (and 

these  consist  of  the  rarest  of  England's  talent,  and  the 

10 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY      11 

brightest  of  her  aristocracy) ,  were  assembled  at  one 
o'clock  punctually  in  her  modest  dwelling  (Xo.  3  Leg- 
of-Veal  Court,  Little  Britain,  over  the  greengrocer's; 
pull  the  third  bell  from  the  bottom) .  We  were  among 
the  first  to  attend,  and  gladly  give  the  publicity  of  our 
columns  to  a  record  of  the  glorious  transactions  of  the 
day.  The  reporters  of  this  paper  were  employed  in 
taking  down  every  word  that  fell  from  the  speaker's  lips 
—  (would  that  they  could  have  likewise  transferred  the 
thrilling  tones  and  magic  glance  which  made  her  words 
a  thousand  times  more  precious)  :  we,  on  the  other  hand, 
being  from  our  habits  more  accustomed  to  philosophic 
abbreviation,  have  been  contented  with  taking  down 
rather  the  heads  and  the  suggestivity  (if  we  may  use  the 
phrase)  of  Miss  Tickletoby's  discourse,  and  we  flatter 
ourselves  that  upon  a  comparison  with  the  text,  the 
analysis  will  be  found  singularly  faithful. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  public  character :  a  word  now 
regarding  Miss  Tickletoby  the  'woman.  She  has  long 
been  known  and  loved  in  the  quarter  of  which  she  is  the 
greatest  blessing  and  ornament — that  of  St.  Mary  Axe. 

From  her  early  life  practising  tuition,  some  of  the 
best  families  of  the  City  owe  to  her  their  earliest  intro- 
duction to  letters.  Her  Spelling-book  is  well  known, 
and  has  run  through  very  nearly  an  edition;  and  when 
we  rank  among  her  pupils  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
clerks  of  Alderman  Harmer  and  a  niece  of  a  late 
honoured  Lord  Mayor,  we  have  said  enough  to  satisfy 
the  most  fastidious  votary  of  fashion  with  respect  to  the 
worldly  position  of  those  who  sit  at  Miss  Tickletoby's 
feet. 

Miss  Tickletobv  believes  that  education,  to  be  effec- 


12 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


tive,  should  be  begun  early,  and  therefore  receives  her 
pupils  from  the  age  of  two  upwards.  Nay,  she  has  often 
laughingly  observed  that  she  would  have  no  objection 
to  take  them  from  the  month,  as  childhood's  training 
can  never  be  too  soon  commenced.  Of  course,  at  so  tender 
an  age,  sex  is  no  consideration.  Miss  Tickletoby's  chil- 
dren (as  she  loves  to  call  them)  are  both  of  the  sterner 
and  the  softer  varieties  of  our  human  species. 

With  regard  to  her  educational  system,  it  is  slightly 
coercive.  She  has  none  of  the  new-fangled  notions  re- 
garding the  inutility  of  corporal  punishments,  but,  re- 
membering their  effects  in  her  own  case,  does  not  hesi- 
tate to  apply  them  whenever  necessity  urges. 

On  Wednesdays  (half -holidays)  she  proposes  to  de- 
liver a  series  of  lectures  upon  English  history,  occa- 
sionally (it  would  appear  from  a  hint  in  the  present  dis- 
course) diversified  by  subjects  of  a  lighter  and  more 
holidav  kind.  We  shall  attend  them  all— nor  can  the 
public  of  this  city  do  better  than  follow  our  example. 
The  price  of  tickets  for  the  six  lectures  is — ninepence. 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY     13 

Can  such  things  be, 
And  overcome  us  like  a  summer  cloud 
Without  our  special  wonder? 


THE  LECTURE-ROOM 

The  lecture  was  announced  for  one  o'clock,  and  ar- 
riving at  that  hour,  we  found  the  room  full  of  rank  and 
fashion.  Excellent  accommodation  was  arranged  for 
the  public  press.  Flowers,  some  of  those  cheap  but 
lovely  and  odorous  ones  which  form  the  glory  of  Eng- 
land's garden,  were  placed  tastefully  here  and  there — 
on  the  mantel,  on  the  modest  table  at  which  stood  the  lec- 
turer's chair,  and  a  large  and  fragrant  bouquet  in  the 
window-sill.  These  were  (with  the  exception  of  a  hand- 
some curtain  that  hung  before  the  door  from  which 
Miss  Tickletoby  was  to  issue)  the  sole  ornaments  of  the 
simple  academic  chamber. 

The  lovely  children,  with  wistful  eyes  and  cheeks 
more  flushed  than  any  roses  there,  were  accommodated 
with  their  usual  benches,  while  their  parents  were  com- 
fortably ranged  in  chairs  behind  them.  'Twas  indeed  a 
thrilling  sight — a  sight  to  bring  tears  into  the  philan- 
thropic heart — happy  tears  though — such  as  those  spring 
showers  which  fall  from  the  lids  of  childhood,  and  which 
rainbow  joy  speedily  dries  up  again. 

The  bell  rings:  one  moment — and  the  chintz  curtain 
draws  aside ;  and  'midst  waving  of  kerchiefs,  and  shout- 
ing of  bravos,  and  with  smiling  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  and 
young  hearts  to  welcome  her,  the  Lecturer  steps  forth. 
Now j  our  task  is  over.  Gentles,  let  the  enchantress 
speak  for  herself. 


14.  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

Having  cleared  her  voice,  and  gazing  round  the  room 
with  a  look  of  affection,  she  began 

THE    LECTURE 

My  Loves, — With  regard  to  the  early  history  of  our 
beloved  country,  before  King  Alfred  ascended  the 
throne,  I  have  very  little  indeed  to  say ;  in  the  first  place, 
because  the  story  itself  is  none  of  the  most  moral — con- 
sisting of  accounts  of  murders  agreeably  varied  by  in- 
vasions; and  secondly,  dears,  because,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  have  always  found  those  first  chapters  so  abom- 
inably stupid,  that  I  have  made  a  point  to  pass  them  over. 
For  I  had  an  indulgent  Mamma,  who  did  not  look  to 
my  education  so  much  as  I  do  to  yours,  and  provided 
she  saw  Howell's  "  Medulla  "  before  me,  never  thought 
of  looking  to  see  whether  "  Mother  Goose  "  was  within 
the  leaves.  Ah,  dears!  that  is  a  pleasant  history,  too, 
and  in  holiday  time  we  will  have  a  look  at  that. 

Well,  then,  about  the  abominable,  odious  Danes  and 
Saxons,  the  Picts  and  the  Scots,  I  know  very  little,  and 
must  say  have  passed  through  life  pretty  comfortably  in 
spite  of  my  ignorance.  Xot  that  this  should  be  an  ex- 
cuse to  you — no,  no,  darlings;  learn  for  learning's  sake; 
if  not,  I  have  something  hanging  up  in  the  cupboard, 
and  you  know  my  name  is  Tickletoby.  [Great  sensa- 
tion.^ 

How  first  our  island  became  inhabited  is  a  point  which 
nobody  knows.  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  that  story  at 
the  beginning  of  the  "  Seven  Champions  of  Christen- 
dom," about  King  Brute  and  his  companions;  and  as 
for  the  other  hypotheses  (Let  Miss  Biggs  spell  the  word 
'hypothesis,"  and  remember  not  to  confound  it  with 
"apothecary")  they  are  not  worth  consideration.     For 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      15 

as  the  first  man  who  entered  the  island  could  not  write, 
depend  on  it  he  never  set  down  the  date  of  his  arrival; 
and  I  leave  you  to  guess  what  a  confusion  about  dates 
there  would  speedily  be— you  who  can't  remember 
whether  it  was  last  Thursday  or  Friday  that  you  had 
gooseberry  pudding  for  dinner. 

Those  little  dears  who  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Trimmer's 
'  History  of  England  "  have,  no  doubt,  beheld  pictures 
of  Mr.  Oldridge's  Balm  of  Columbia.  The  ancient 
Britons  were  like  the  lady  represented  there,  only  not 
black;  the  excellent  Mrs.  T.'s  pictures  of  these,  no  doubt, 
are  authentic,  and  there  our  ancestors  are  represented  as 
dressed  in  painted  skins,  and  wearing  their  hair  as  long 
as  possible.  I  need  not  say  that  it  was  their  own  skins 
they  painted,  because,  as  for  clothes,  they  were  not  yet 
invented. 

Perhaps  some  of  my  darlings  have  seen  at  their  papas' 
evening  parties  some  curious  (female)  Britons  who  exist 
in  our  time,  and  who,  out  of  respect  for  the  country  in 
which  they  were  born,  are  very  fond  of  the  paint,  and 
not  at  all  partial  to  clothes. 

As  for  the  religion  of  the  ancient  Britons,  as  it  was  a 
false  and  abominable  superstition,  the  less  we  say  about 
it  the  better.  If  they  had  a  religion,  you  may  be  sure 
they  had  a  clergy.  This  body  of  persons  were  called 
Druids.  The  historian  Hume  says  that  they  instructed 
the  youth  of  the  country,  which,  considering  not  one  boy 
in  1,000,000,000,000  could  read,  couldn't  give  the  Druids 
much  trouble.  The  Druids  likewise  superintended  the 
law  matters  and  government  of  Britain;  and,  in  return 
for  their  kindness,  were  handsomely  paid,  as  all  teachers 
of  youth,  lawyers,  and  ministers  ought  to  be.  'c  Hear, 
hear''  from  Lord  Abinger  and  Sir  Robert  Peel.] 


16  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

The  ancient  Britons  were  of  a  warlike,  rude  nature 
(and  loved  broils  and  battles,  like  Master  Spry  yonder) . 
They  used  to  go  forth  with  clubs  for  weapons,  and  bulls' 
horns  for  trumpets ;  and  so  with  their  clubs  and  trumps 
they  would  engage  their  enemies,  who  sometimes  con- 
quered them,  and  sometimes  were  conquered  by  them, 
according  to  luck. 

The  priests  remained  at  home  and  encouraged  them; 
praying  to  their  gods,  and  longing  no  doubt  for  a  share 
of  the  glory  and  danger ;  but  they  learned,  they  said,  to 
sacrifice  themselves  for  the  public  good.  Nor  did  they 
only  sacrifice  themselves — I  grieve  to  say  that  it  was 
their  custom  to  sacrifice  other  people:  for  when  the 
Britons  returned  from  war  with  their  prisoners,  the 
priests  carried  the  latter  into  certain  mysterious  groves, 
where  they  slew  them  on  the  horrid  altars  of 
their  gods.  The  gods,  they  said,  delighted  in  these 
forests  and  these  dreadful  human  sacrifices,  and  you  will 
better  remember  the  facts  by  my  representing  these  gods 
to  you  as  so  many  wicked  Lovegroves,  and  their  victims 
as  unfortunate  Whitebait.     [Immense  sensation.] 

And  as  your  papas  have  probably  taken  some  of  you 
to  see  the  opera  of  "  Norma,"  which  relates  to  these  very 
Druids  that  we  are  talking  about,  you  will  know  that  the 
ancient  Britons  had  not  only  priests,  but  priestesses — 
that  is,  clergywomen.  Remember  this,  and  don't  com- 
mit an  error  which  is  common  in  society,  and  talk  of  two 
clerical  gentlemen  as  two  priestesses.  It  is  a  gross  blun- 
der. One  might  as  well  speak  of  the  "  Blue  Posteses  " 
(in  Cork  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  where,  I  am  told, 
excellent  beef -steaks  are  served ) ,  or  talk  of  having  your 

breakfasteses,  as  I  have  heard  the  Duchess  of often 

do.    Remember,  then,  Priests;  singular,  Priest.     'Blue 


LECTURES   ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      17 

Posts"  (Cork  Street,  Burlington  Gardens);  singular, 
"Blue  Post."  "Breakfasts,"  singular— What  is  the 
singular  of  Breakfasts,  Miss  Higgins? 

Miss  Higgins.     I  don't  know. 

Blaster  Smith  (delighted  and  eager).     I  know. 

Miss  Tickletoby .  Speak,  my  dear,  and  tell  that  inat- 
tentive Miss  Higgins  what  is  the  singular  of  '  break- 
fasts." 

Master  Smith  (clearing  his  voice  by  rubbing  his  jacket 
sleeve  across  his  nose).  The  most  singular  breakfast  I 
know  is  old  John  Wapshot's,  who  puts  sugar  in  his  muf- 
fins, and  takes  salt  in  his  tea!  [Master  Smith  was  pre- 
paring to  ascend  to  the  head  of  the  class,  but  teas  sternly 
checked  by  Miss  Tickletoby,  who  resumed  her  dis- 
course.~\ 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  wickedness  of  these 
Priests  could  continue  for  ever :  and  accordingly  we  find 
( though  upon  my  word  I  don't  know  upon  what  author- 
ity) that,  eighteen  hundred  and  ninety-seven  years  ago, 
Julius  Cresar,  that  celebrated  military  man,  landed  at 
Deal.  He  conquered  a  great  number  of  princes  with 
jaw-breaking  names,  as  did  the  Roman  Emperors,  his 
successors,  such  as  the  Trinobantes,  the  Atrebates,  the 
Silures,  all  richly  deserving  their  fate,  doubtless,  as  I 
fear  they  were  but  savages  at  best.  They  were  masters 
of  the  Britons  for  pretty  near  five  hundred  years,  and 
though  the  Scotch  pretend  that  the  Romans  never  con- 
quered their  part  of  it,  I  am  inclined  to  suppose  it  was 
prettv  much  for  the  reasons  that  the  clothes  are  not 
taken  off  a  scarecrow  in  the  fields,  because  they  are  not 
worth  the  taking. 

About  the  year  450,  the  Romans,  having  quite  enough 
to  do  at  home,  quitted  Britain  for  good,  when  the  Scots, 


18       MISS  TICKLETOBY'S  LECTURES 

who  were  hungry  then,  and  have  been  hungry  ever  since, 
rushed  in  among  the  poor  unprotected  Britoners,  who 
were  forced  to  call  the  Saxons  to  their  aid. 

'Twas  two  o'clock— the  Lecturer  made  her  curtsey  and 
reminded  her  auditory  that  another  Lecture  would  take 
place  on  the  following  Wednesday,  and  the  company  de- 
parted, each  making  a  mental  affidavit  to  return. 


LECTURE  II 


N  the  lecture-room  we  observed 
one   of   the   noblest   of   our 
poet-philosophers,   who    was 
assiduously  taking  notes,  and 
we  say  that  it  is  to  Adolphus 
Simcoe,  Esquire,  author  of 
the  "  Ghoul,"  "  Leila,"  "  Idi- 
osyncrasy," &c,  that  we  are 
indebted   for   the   following 
Philosophical     Synopsis     of 
Miss  Tickletoby's  First  Lec- 
ture on  English  History,  delivered  to  her  pupils  and  their 
friends  on  the  —  July  at  her  Scholastic  Hall,  Little 
Britain. 

1.  On  the  painful  impression  occasioned  by  the  contemplation 
of  early  barbarism. 

2.  The  disposition  of  the  human  mind  to  avoid  such  a  study. 

3.  The  mystic  and  the  historic:  their  comparative  beauty  and 
excellence — the  Lecturer  promises  on  a  further  occasion  to  speak 
upon  the  former  subject. 

4.  Spite  of  his  unwillingness,  'tis  the  duty  of  the  student  to 
acquaint  himself  with  all  the  facts  of  history,  whether  agreeable 
or  not,  and  of  the  tutor  to  urge  by  every  means  the  unwilling. 

5.  Various  hypotheses  with  regard  to  the  first  colonisation  of 
Britain.  The  hypothesis  of  the  chivalric  ages,  and  of  the  cycle 
of  Arthur. 

19 


20  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

6.  The  insufficiency  of  all  theories  upon  the  subject  proved  by 
a  familiar  appeal  to  the  student's  own  powers  of  memory. 

7.  The  Ancient  Britons — their  costume:  (8)  its  singular 
resemblances  with  that  of  the  Transatlantic  savage;  (9)  a  pass- 
ing word  of  reprobation  upon  an  odious  modern  custom. 

10.  The  Religion  of  the  Britons.  — 11.  A  religion  insepa- 
rable from  a  priesthood.  —  The  attributes  of  the  Druidical  priest- 
hood, their  privileges  and  powers. — 12.  Of  the  rewards  that  the 
State  ought  to  grant  to  the  ministers  of  its  government,  its  laws, 
and  its  education. 

13.  The  Wars  of  the  Britons.  — 14.  Their  weapons.  — 15. 
Their  various  fortunes  in  the  field. 

16.  The  influence  of  the  Priests  upon  their  campaigns.  — 17. 
The  barbaric  sacrifices  in  the  groves  of  Odin.  — 18.   Fanciful  simile. 

19.  The  Priestesses:  grammatical  distinction  to  be  drawn  be- 
tween them  and  the  Priests. 

20.  Episode  of  Miss  Higgins  and  Master  Smith — absurd 
blunder  of  the  latter. 

21.  The  Romans  in  Britain.  —  22.  The  character  of  Caesar. 

23.  Of  his  successors.  —  24.  Their  victories  over  the  barbar- 
ous Britons  a  blessing,  and  not  an  evil. — 25.  The  Scottish  boasts 
of  invincibility  ;  the  true  view  of  them. 

26.  The  Downfall  of  the  Roman  Empire. — The  legions 
withdrawn  from  Britain.  Depredations  of  the  Scots  in  that  un- 
happy island. 

The  following  questions  on  the  most  important  points 

of  the  Lecture  were  delivered  by  Miss  Tickletoby  to  her 

pupils:  — 

Examination  Paper 

July  1842. 

At  the  Academe,  Leg-of-Veal  Court,  London,  superintended 
by  Wiliielmixa  Maria  Tickletoby. 

Q.   By  whom  was  Britain  first  colonised;  and  at  what  period? 
A.  From  the  best  accounts  it  is  quite  uncertain.     It  was  colo- 
nised at  the  period  when  the  colonists  landed. 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY     21 

Q.  What  was  the  date  of  the  landing  of  the  Romans  in 
Britain? 

A.  A  day  or  two  after  they  quitted  Gaul. 

Q.  Why  were  they  obliged  to  jump  into  the  water  from  their 
boats  ? 

A.  Because  they  were  inwaders. 

Q.  When  Boadicea  harangued  the  Icenic  warriors  before  her 
supreme  combat  with  Suetonius,  why  did  she  remind  the  latter 
of  a  favourite  vegetable? 

A.  Because  she  was  an  Icenean  (a  nice  inion).  The  alicam- 
pane  prize  to  Miss  Parminter  (for  answering  this). 

THE  LECTURE 

Personages  present. 

MlSS   WlLHELMINA   MARIA   TlCKLETOBY. 

Master  Spry  (a  quarrelsome  boy). 

Miss  Pontifex  (a  good  girl). 

Master  Maximus  Pontifex  {her  brother,  a  worth y  \  Pupils. 

though  not  brilliant  lad). 
Master  Deeancey  Mortimer  (says  nothing). 
Mr.  Desborough  Mortimer  (footman  in  the  service  of 

Sir  George  Gollop,  Bart.,  and  father  of  the  above). 
Miss  Budge,  an  assistant  (says  nothing). 
Boys,  Girls,  Parents,  &c. 

Scene  as  before. 

The  Picts,  the  Scots,  the  Danes;  Gregory  the 
Satirist,  the  Conversion  of  the  Britons,  the  Char- 
acter of  Alfred. — I  did  not  in  my  former  Lecture 
make  the  least  allusion  to  the  speech  of  Queen  Boadicea 
to  her  troops  before  going  into  action,  because,  although 
several  reports  of  that  oration  have  been  handed  down  to 
us,  not  one  of  them,  as  I  take  it,  is  correct,  and  what  is 


22  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

the  use,  my  darlings,  of  reporting  words  (hers  were  very- 
abusive  against  the  Romans)  — of  reporting  words  that 
never  were  uttered?  There's  scandal  enough,  loves,  in 
this  wicked  world  without  going  back  to  old  stories :  real 
scandal,  too,  which  may  satisfy  any  person.  Nor  did  I 
mention  King  Caractacus's  noble  behaviour  before  the 
Roman  Emperor  Claudius — for  that  history  is  so  abom- 
inably stale  that  I  am  sure  none  of  my  blessed  loves  re- 
quire to  be  told  it. 

When  the  Britons  had  been  deserted  by  the  Romans, 
and  found  themselves  robbed  and  pillaged  by  the  Picts 
and  Scots,  they  sent  over  to  a  people  called  Saxons  (so 
called  because  they  didn't  live  in  Saxony) :  who  came 
over  to  help  their  friends,  and  having  turned  out  the 
Picts  and  Scots,  and  finding  the  country  a  pleasant  one 
to  dwell  in,  they  took  possession  of  it,  saying  that  the 
Britons  did  not  deserve  to  have  a  country,  as  they  did 
not  know  how  to  keep  it.  This  sort  of  argument  was 
considered  very  just  in  those  days — and  I've  seen  some 
little  boys  in  this  school  acting  Saxon- fashion:  for  in- 
stance, Master  Spry  the  other  day  took  away  a  piece  of 
gingerbread  from  Master  Jones,  giving  him  a  great 
thump  on  the  nose  instead;  and  what  was  the  conse- 
quence? I  showed  Master  Spry  the  injustice  of  his  ac- 
tion, and  punished  him  severely. 

To  Master  Spry.  How  did  I  punish  jtou,  nry  dear? 
— tell  the  company. 

Master  Spry.     You  kept  the  gingerbread. 

Miss  T.  (severely).  I  don't  mean  that:  how  else  did 
I  punish  you? 

Master  Spry.  You  vipped  me:  but  I  kicked  your 
shins  all  the  time. 

Unruly  boy! — but  so  it  is,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  the 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      23 

infancy  of  individuals  as  in  that  of  nations:  we  hear  of 
these  continual  scenes  of  violence,  until  prudence  teaches 
respect  for  property  and  law  becomes  stronger  than 
force.  To  return  to  the  Saxons,  they  seized  upon  the 
goods  and  persons  of  the  effeminate  Britons,  made  the 
latter  their  slaves,  and  sold  them  as  such  in  foreign  coun- 
tries. The  mind  shudders  at  such  horrors !  How  should 
you  like,  you  naughty  Master  Spry,  to  be  seized  and  car- 
ried from  your  blessed  mother's  roof — [immense  sensa- 
tion, and  audible  sobbing  among  the  ladies  present]  — 
how  should  you  like  to  be  carried  off  and  sold  as  a  slave 
to  France  or  Italy? 


Master    Spry.     Is    there    any    schools    there? 
shouldn't  mind  if  there  ain't. 


24  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

Miss  T.    Yes,  sir,  there  are  schools — and  rods. 

[Immense  uproar.    Cries  of  "  Shame! ''    rf  No  flog- 
ging! ':   ''Serve  him  right!"  "No  tyranny!' 
"Horse  him  this  instant!3'     With  admirable 
presence   of   mind,    however,   Miss    Tickle- 
toby  stopped  the  disturbance  by  unfolding  her 

GREAT  HISTORICAL  PICTURE!  —  of  which  We  give 

the  outline  above. 

It  chanced  that  two  lovely  British  children,  sold  like 
thousands  of  others  by  their  ruthless  Saxon  masters, 
were  sent  to  Rome  and  exposed  upon  the  slave-market 
there.    Fancy  those  darlings  in  such  a  situation ! 

There  they  stood — weeping  and  wretched,  thinking 
of  their  parents'  cot,  in  the  far  Northern  Isle,  sighing 
and  yearning,  no  doubt,  for  the  green  fields  of  Albin!1 

It  happened  that  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Greg- 
ory, who  afterwards  rose  to  be  Pope  of  Rome — but 
who  was  then  a  simple  clerical  gent,  passed  through  the 
market,  with  his  friends,  and  came  to  the  spot  where 
these  poor  British  children  stood. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Gregory  was  instantly  struck  by 
their  appearance — by  their  rosy  cheeks,  their  golden 
hair;  their  little  jackets  covered  all  over  with  sugar-loaf 
buttons,  their  poor  nankeens  grown  all  too  short  by  con- 
stant wash  and  wear:  and  demanded  of  their  owner,  of 
what  nation  the  little  darlings  were? 

The  man  (who  spoke  in  Latin)  replied  that  they  were 
Angli;  that  is,  Angles  or  English. 

"  Angles,"  said  the  enthusiastic  Mr.  Gregory,  "  they 
are  not  Angles,  but  Angels; "  and  with  this  joke,  which 

'Albin,  the  ancient  name  of  England:  not  to  he  confounded  with  Albin, 
hairdresser  and  wig-maker  to  the   Bar,  Essex  Court,  Temple. 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      25 

did  not  do  much  honour  to  his  head,  though  certainly  his 
heart  was  good,  he  approached  the  little  dears,  caressed 
them,  and  made  still  further  inquiries  regarding  them.1 

Miss  Pontifex  (one  of  the  little  girls).  And  did  Mr. 
Gregory  take  the  little  children  out  of  slavery,  and  send 
them  home,  ma'am? 

Mr.  Hume,  my  dear  good  little  girl,  does  not  mention 
this  fact;  but  let  us  hope  he  did:  with  all  my  heart,  I'm 
sure  I  hope  he  did.  But  this  is  certain,  that  he  never 
forgot  them,  and  when  in  process  of  time  he  came  to  be 
Pope  of  Rome — 

Master  Maximus  Pontifex.  Pa  says  my  name's 
Lat'n  for  Pope  of  Rome:  is  it,  ma'am? 

I've  no  doubt  it  is,  my  love,  since  your  papa  says  so: 
and  when  Gregory  became  Pope  of  Rome,  he  despatched 
a  number  of  his  clergy  to  England,  who  came  and  con- 
verted the  benighted  Saxons  and  Britons,  and  they  gave 
up  their  hideous  idols,  and  horrid  human  sacrifices,  and 
sent  the  wicked  Druids  about  their  business. 

The  Saxons  had  ended  by  becoming  complete  masters 
of  the  country,  and  the  people  were  now  called  Anglo 
or  English  Saxons.  There  were  a  great  number  of 
small  sovereigns  in  the  land  then :  but  about  the  year  830, 
the  King  called  Egbert  became  the  master  of  the  whole 
country ;  and  he,  my  loves,  was  the  father  of  Alfred. 

Alfred  came  to  the  throne  after  his  three  brothers,  and 
you  all  know  how  good  and  famous  a  king  he  was.  It  is 
said  that  his  father  indulged  him,  and  that  he  did  not 
know  how  to  read  until  he  was  twelve  years  old — but 
this,  my  dears,  I  cannot  believe ;  or,  at  least,  I  cannot  but 

1  Miss  Tickletoby  did  not,  very  properly,  introduce  the  other  puns  which, 
Gregory  made  on  the  occasion;  they  are  so  atrociously  bad  that  they  could 
not  be  introduced  into  the  columns  of  Punch. 


26  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

regret  that  there  were  no  nice  day  schools  then  where 
children  might  be  taught  to  read  before  they  were 
twelve,  or  ten,  or  even  eight  years  old,  as  many  of  my 
dear  scholars  can. 

[Miss  Tickletoby  here  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
resumed  her  lecture  with  rather  a  tremulous  voice. 

It  is  my  wish  to  amuse  this  company  as  well  as  I  can, 
and  sometimes,  therefore — for  I  am  by  nature  a  face- 
tious old  woman,  heartily  loving  a  bit  of  fun — I  can't 
help  making  jokes  about  subjects  which  other  historians 
treat  in  a  solemn  and  pompous  way. 

But,  dears,  I  don't  think  it  right  to  make  one  single 
joke  about  good  King  Alfred;  who  was  so  good,  and  so 
wise,  and  so  gentle,  and  so  brave,  that  one  can't  laugh, 
but  only  love  and  honour  his  memory.  Think  of  this, 
how  rare  good  kings  are,  and  let  us  value  a  good  one 
when  he  comes.  We  have  had  just  fifty  kings  since  his 
time,  who  have  reigned  for  near  a  thousand  long  years, 
and  he  the  only  Great  one.  Brave  and  victorious  many 
of  them  have  been,  grand  and  sumptuous,  and  a  hundred 
times  more  powerful  than  he:  but  who  cares  for  one  of 
them  (except  Harry  the  Fifth,  and  I  think  Shakspeare 
made  that  king)  — who  loves  any  of  them  except  him — 
the  man  who  spoiled  the  cakes  in  the  herdsman's  cottage, 
the  man  who  sang  and  played  in  the  Danes'  camp? 

There  are  none  of  you  so  young  but  know  those  stories 
about  him.  Look,  when  the  people  love  a  man,  how 
grateful  they  are!  For  a  thousand  years  these  little 
tales  have  passed  from  father  to  son  all  through  Eng- 
land, and  every  single  man  out  of  millions  and  millions 
who  has  heard  them  has  loved  King  Alfred  in  his  heart, 
and  blessed  him,  and  was  proud  that  he  was  an  English- 
man's king.  And  then  he  hears  that  Alfred  fought  the 
Danes,  and  drove  them  out  of  England,  and  that  he  was 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      27 

merciful  to  his  enemies,  and  kept  faith  at  a  time  when 
everyone  else  was  deceitful  and  cruel,  and  that  he  was 
the  first  to  make  laws,  and  establish  peace  and  liberty 
among  us. 

Who  cares  for  Charles  the  Second,  secured  in  his  oak, 
more  than  for  any  other  man  at  a  pinch  of  danger? 
Charles  might  have  stayed  in  his  tree  for  us,  or  for  any 
good  that  he  did  when  he  came  down.  But  for  King 
Alfred,  waiting  in  his  little  secret  island,  until  he  should 
be  strong  enough  to  have  one  more  battle  with  his  con- 
querors, or  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy  singing  his  songs  to 
his  harp,  who  does  not  feel  as  for  a  dear  friend  or  father 
in  danger,  and  cry  hurra!  with  all  his  heart,  when  he 
wins  ? 

All  the  little  Children.    Hurray!  Alfred  for  ever! 

Yes,  my  dears,  you  love  him  all,  and  would  all  fight 
for  him,  I  know. 

Master  Syry.    That  I  would. 

I'm  sure  you  would,  John,  and  may  you  never  fight 
for  a  worse  cause !  Ah,  it's  a  fine  thing  to  think  of  the 
people  loving  a  man  for  a  thousand  years!  We  shan't 
come  to  such  another  in  the  course  of  all  these  lectures — 
except  mayhap  if  we  get  so  far,  to  one  George— 

Mr.  Mortimer  (aloud,  and  with  much  confidence). 
George  the  Fourth,  you  mean,  miss,  the  first  gentleman 
in  Europe. 

Miss  T.  (sternly).  No,  sir;  I  mean  George  Wash- 
ington,— the  American  Alfred,  sir,  who  gave  and  took 
from  us  many  a  good  beating,  and  drove  the  English- 
Danes  out  of  his  country. 

Mr.  Mortimer.  Disgusting  raddicle!— Delancey,  my 
dear,  come  with  me.  Mem!  I  shall  withdraw  my  son 
from  your  academy. 

[Exeunt  Mortimer,  Senior  and  Junior. 


28  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

3Iiss  T.  Let  them  go.  As  long  as  honest  people 
agree  with  me,  what  care  I  what  great  men's  flunkeys 
choose  to  think?  Miss  Budge,  make  out  Mr.  Mortimer's 
account.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  on  Wednesday  next  I 
hope  for  the  honour  of  resuming  these  lectures. 

[Punch,  in  concluding  this  long  paper,  begs  to  hint  to 
Mr.  Simcoe,  whose  remuneration  will  be  found  at  the 
office,  that  for  the  future  he  may  spare  his  own  remarks, 
philosophical,  laudatory,  or  otherwise,  and  confine  him- 
self simply  to  the  Lectures  of  Miss  Tickletoby.] 


LECTURE  III 


THE   SEA-KINGS   IN   ENGLAND 


|*X  the  olden  time  our  glorious  coun- 
try of  England,  my  dears, 
must  have  been  a  pleasant 
place;  for  see  what  num- 
bers of  people  have  taken 
a  fancy  to  it!  First  came 
||j=  the  Romans,  as  we  have 
F  seen,  then  the  Saxons,— 
and  when  they  were  com- 
fortably established  here, 
the  Danes,  under  their  Sea- 
kings,  came  gallantly  over  the  main,  and  were  not  a 
whit  less  charmed  with  the  island  than  the  Saxons  and 
Romans  had  been. 

Amongst  these  distinguished  foreigners  may  be  men- 
tioned the  Sea-king  Swayn,  who  came  to  England  in  the 
year  nine  hundred  and  something,  landing  at  Margate, 
with  which  he  was  so  pleased  as  to  determine  to  stop 
there  altogether, — being,  as  he  said,  so  much  attached 
to  this  country  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  go  back 
to  his  own.  Wasn't  it  a  compliment  to  us?  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  this  gallantry  in  the  people  of  the  North ; 
and  you  may  have  observed,  even  in  our  own  days,  that 
some  of  them,  'specially  Scotchmen,  when  once  landed 
here,  are  mighty  unwilling  to  go  home  again. 

Well,    King    Swayn's    stay    became    preposterously 

29 


30  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

long;  and  his  people  consumed  such  a  power  of  drink 
and  victuals,  that  at  length  our  late  beloved  monarch, 
King  Ethelred  the  Second,  was  induced  to  send  to  him. 
A  bard  of  those  days  has  recorded,  with  considerable 
minuteness,  the  particulars  of  Swayn's  arrival;  and  as 
his  work  has  not  been  noticed  by  Turner,  Hallam, 
Hume,  or  any  other  English  historian,  it  may  be  quoted 
with  advantage  here.  Snoro  the  bard  (so  called  from 
the  exciting  effect  which  his  poem  produced  on  his  au- 
dience) thus  picturesquely  introduces  us  to  the  two 
Kings: — 

"^ETHELRED   KONING  MURNING  POST  REDINGE " 

B.    M.    MSS.    CLAUD.    XXV.  —  XXVII. 

A-reading  of  the  newspaper  |  in  meditation  lost, 

Sate  ^Ethelred  of  England  |  and  took  his  tea  and  toast ; 

Sate  iEthelred  of  England  |  and  read  the  Morning  Post. 

Among  the  new  arrivals  |  the  Journal  did  contain, 

At  Margate  on  the  twentieth  |  His  Majesty  King  Swayn, 

Of  Denmark  with  a  retinue  |  of  horsemen  and  of  Dane ! 

Loud  laugh'd  King  ^Ethelred,  |  and  laid  the  paper  down ; 
"  Margate  is  a  proper  place  |  for  a  Danish  clown." 
"  Take  care,"  said  the  Chancellor,  |  "  he  doesn't  come  to  town." 

"  This  King  Swayn,"  says  Wit f rid  the  fool,  ]  laughing  loud  and 

free, 
"  Sea-king  as  he  is,  |  a  boat-swain  ought  to  be." 
"  It  is  none  of  our  seeking,"  |  says  the  Chancellor,  says  he. 

"  Let  him  come,"  said  the  King  (in  his  mouth  |  butter'd  toast 

popping). 
"  At  Wapping  or  at  Redriff  |  this  boat-swain  will  be  stopping." 
"  Take  care,"  says  Chancellor  Wigfrid,  ]  "  he  don't  give  you  a 


wapping 


i> 


LECTURES  OX  EXGLISH  HISTORY    31 

"  I  'm  certain,"  says  wise  Wigfrid,  |  "  the  Sea-king  means  us 

evilly ; 
Herald,  go  to  Margate  |  and  speak  unto  him  civilly; 
And  if  he's  not  at  Margate,  |  why  then  try  Ramsgate  and 

Tivoli." 

Herald,  in  obedience  |  to  his  master  dear, 
Goes  by  steam  to  Margate,  |  landing  at  the  Pier ; 
Says  he,  "  King  Swayn  of  Denmark  |  I  think  is  lodging 
here?" 

Swayn,  the  bold  Sea-king,  |  with  his  captains  and  skippers, 
Walk'd  on  the  sea-beach  |  looking  at  the  dippers — 
Walk'd  on  the  sea-beach  |  in  his  yellow  slippers. 

The  ballad,  which  is  important  to  the  archasologian,  as 
showing  how  many  of  the  usages  of  the  present  day  pre- 
vailed nine  hundred  years  back  (thus  fondly  do  English- 
men adhere  to  their  customs!),  and  which  shows  that 
some  of  the  jokes  called  puns  at  present  currently  ut- 
tered as  novelties  were  in  existence  at  this  early  period 
of  time,  goes  on  to  describe,  with  a  minuteness  that 
amounts  almost  to  tediousness,  the  interview  between 
Swayn  and  the  herald ;  it  is  angry,  for  the  latter  conveys 
to  the  Danish  monarch  the  strongest  exhortations,  on 
the  part  of  King  Ethelred,  to  quit  the  kingdom. 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  go,"  said  Swayn,  |  "  for  my  ships  are  leaking." 
"  You  shall  have  a  fleet,"  says  the  herald,  |  "  if  that  be  what 

you're  seeking." 
"  Well,  I  -won't  go,  and  that's  flat,"  |  answered  Swayn  the 

Sea-king. 

Falling  into  a  fury,  Swayn  then  abuses  the  King  of 
England  in  the  most  contumelious  terms;  says  that  he 


32  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

will  make  his  back  into  a  foot-ball,  and  employ  his  nose 
for  a  bell-rope ;  but  finally  recollecting  himself,  dismisses 
the  herald  with  a  present  of  five-eighths  of  a  groat — two- 
pence-halfpenny (a  handsome  largesse,  considering  the 
value  of  money  in  those  days) ,  bidding  him  at  the  same 
time  order  what  he  liked  to  drink  at  the  hotel  where  he 
(King  Swayn)  resided.  "Well,"  says  the  Chronicler 
pathetically,  "well  might  he  order  what  he  thought 
proper.  King  Swayn  of  Denmark  never  paid  a  cop- 
per" A  frightful  picture  of  the  insolence  and  rapac- 
ity of  the  invader  and  his  crew ! 

A  battle,  as  is  natural,  ensues ;  the  invader  is  victorious 
— Ethelred  flies  to  France,  and  the  venerable  Chancellor 
Wigfrid  is  put  to  the  most  dreadful  tortures,  being 
made  by  the  ferocious  despot  to  undergo  the  indignities 
which  (as  we  have  seen  in  the  former  passage)  he  had 
promised  to  inflict  on  the  Royal  fugitive,  as  well  as  many 
more.  As  a  specimen  of  the  barbarian's  ingenuity,  it 
may  be  stated  that  the  martyr  Wigfrid  is  made  to  ad- 
minister a  mockery  of  justice,  seated  on  a  woolsack 
stuffed  with — the  mind  revolts  at  the  thought — stuffed 
with  fleas! 

But  it  is  remarkable  that  the  bard  Snoro,  who  so  long 
as  Swayn  was  not  victorious  over  Ethelred  is  liberal  in 
his  abuse  of  the  Dane,  immediatelv  on  Ethelred's  defeat 
changes  his  note,  and  praises  with  all  his  might  the  new 
sovereign.  At  Swayn's  death  he  is  lost  in  grief — being, 
however,  consoled  in  the  next  stanza  by  the  succession  of 
his  son  Canute  to  the  throne. 

Snoro  gives  particular  accounts  of  Canute's  reign 
and  actions — his  victories  in  foreign  lands  and  the  great 
drawn  battle  between  him  and  Edmund  Ironsides,  about 
whose  claims  the  bard  is  evidently  puzzled  to  speak; 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY     33 

however,  on  Edmund's  death,  which  took  place,  singu- 
larly and  conveniently  enough,  about  a  month  after  Ca- 
nute and  he  had  made  a  compromise  regarding  the 
crown  (the  compromise  left  the  kingdom  to  the  sur- 
vivor), Snoro  takes  up  the  strain  loudly  and  decidedly 
in  favour  of  Canute,  and  hints  at  the  same  time  his  per- 
fect conviction  that  Ironsides  is  roasting  in  a  certain 
place. 

And  then,  after  following  King  Canute  through  his 
battles — in  one  of  which  the  celebrated  Godwin  (who, 
I  believe,  afterwards  married  Mary  Wollstonecraft) 
showed  the  valour  of  Englishmen— after  going  through 
a  list  of  murders,  treasons,  usurpations,  which  the  great 
monarch  committed,  the  bard  comes  to  that  famous  pas- 
sage in  his  history,  which  all  little  boys  know ;  and  I  have 
the  pleasure  to  show  a  copy  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  drawing 
which  is  to  be  found  in  the  MS.,  and  which  never  has 
been  seen  until  the  present  day. 

[This  drawing  was  handed  round  to  the  company  by 
Miss  Tickletobv,  and  excited  an  immense  sensation, 
which  having  subsided,  the  lecturer  proceeded  to  read 
from  the  same  MS.,  Claud.  XXVII.,  XXVIII.,  "  The 
Song  of  King  Canute."1] 

King  Canute  was  weary -hearted,  |  he  had  reigned  for  years 

a  score ; 
Battling,  struggling,  pushing,  fighting,  |  killing  much,  and 

robbing  more ; 
And  he  thought  upon  his  actions  |  walking  by  the  wild 

sea-shore. 

1  The  poems  are  translated,  word  for  word,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  by  the 
accomplished  Adolphus  Simcoe,  Esquire,  author  of  Perdition,  The  Ghoul, 
editor  of  the  Lady's  Lute,  &c. 


34  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

'Twixt  the  Chancellor  and  Bishop  |  walk'd  the  King  with  step 

sedate ; 
Chamberlains  and  Grooms  came  after,  |  Silver-sticks  and 

Gold-sticks  great ; 
Chaplains,  Aides-de-Camp,  and  Pages,  |  all  the  officers  of  State. 

Sliding  after  like  his  shadow,  |  pausing  when  he  chose  to  pause, 
If  a  frown  his  face  contracted  |  straight  the  courtiers  dropp'd 

their  j  aws ; 
If  to  laughter  he  was  minded  |  out  they  burst  in  loud  hee-haws. 

But  that  day  a  something  vex'd  him,  |  that  was  clear  to  old 

and  young ; 
Thrice  his  Grace  had  yawn'd  at  table  |  when  his  favourite 

gleeman  sung — 
Once  the  Queen  would  have  consoled  him  |  and  he  bid  her 

hold  her  tongue. 

"  Something  ails  my  Royal  master,"  |  cried  the  Keeper  of 

the  Seal; 
"  Sure,  my  Lord,  it  is  the  lampreys  |  served  at  dinner,  or 

the  veal. 
Shall  I  call  your  Grace's  doctor  ?  "  |  "  Psha !  it  is  not  that 

I  feel. 


..  ■> 


Tis  the  heart  and  not  the  stomach,  |  fool !  that  doth  my 

rest  impair ; 
Can  a  king  be  great  as  I  am,  |  prithee,  and  yet  know  no  care? 
Oh !  I'm  sick  and  tired,  and  weary."  |  Someone  cried,  "  The 

King's  arm-chair !  " 

Then  towards  the  lacqueys  turning,  ]  quick  my  Lord  the 

Keeper  nodded ; 
Straight  the  King's  great  chair  was  brought  him  |  by  two 

footmen  able-bodied; 
Languidly  he  sunk  into  it,  |  it  was  comfortably  wadded. 


LECTURES   ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY   35 

"  Leading  on  my  fierce  companions,"  |  cried  he,  "  over  storm  and 

brine, 
I  have  fought  and  I  have  conquer'd :  |  where  is  glory  like  to 

mine?  " 
Loudly  all  the  courtiers  echoed,  |  "  Where  is  glory  like  to 

thine?" 

"  What  avail  me  all  my  kingdoms?  |  I  am  weary  now  and  old ; 
Those  fair  sons  I  have  begotten  |  long  to  see  me  dead  and 

cold; 
Would  I  were,  and  quiet  buried  |  underneath  the  silent  mould. 

"  Oh,  remorse !  the  writhing  serpent,  |  at  my  bosom  tears  and 
bites ; 
Horrid,  horrid  things  I  look  on  |  though  I  put  out  all  the 

lights, — 
Ghosts  of  ghastly  recollections  |  troop  about  my  bed  of 
nights. 

"  Cities  burning,  convents  blazing  |  red  with  sacrilegious  fires ; 
Mothers  weeping,  virgins  screaming  |  vainly  to  their 

slaughtered  sires." — 
"  Such  a  tender  conscience,"  cries  the  |  Bishop,  "  everyone 

admires. 

"  But  for  such  unpleasant  bygones  ]  cease,  my  gracious  Lord, 
to  search ; 
They're  forgotten  and  forgiven  |  by  our  holy  mother  Church. 
Never,  never  doth  she  leave  her  |  benefactors  in  the  lurch. 

"  Look,  the  land  is  crown'd  with  minsters  |  which  your  Grace's 
bounty  raised ; 
Abbeys  fill'd  with  holy  men,  where  |  you  and  Heaven  are 

daily  praised; — 
You,  my  Lord,  to  think  of  dying,  |  on  my  honour  I'm  amazed." 


36  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

"  Nay,  I  feel,"  replied  King  Canute,  |  "  that  my  end  is  drawing 


near." 


"  Don't  say  so,"  exclaimed  the  courtiers  |  (striving  each  to 

squeeze  a  tear)  ; 
"  Sure  your  Grace  is  strong  and  lusty  |  and  will  live  this  fifty 

year !  " 


"  Live  these  fifty  years !  "  the  Bishop  |  roar'd  (with  action  made 

to  suit)  ; 
"  Are  you  mad,  my  good  Lord  Keeper,  ]  thus  to  speak  of  King 

Canute  ? 
Men  have  lived  a  thousand  years,  and  |  sure  His  Majesty 

will  do't. 

"  Adam,  Enoch,  Lamech,  Canan,  |  Mahaleel,  Methuselah, 
Lived  nine  hundred  years  apiece ;  and  |  is  not  he  as  good 

as  they?  " 
"  Fervently,"  exclaimed  the  Keeper,  |  "  fervently  I  trust 

he  may." 

"  He  to  die?  "  resumed  the  Bishop ;  |  "  he,  a  mortal  like  to  us? 
Death  was  not  for  him  intended,  |  though  communis  omnibus. 
Keeper,  you  are  irreligious  |  for  to  talk  and  cavil  thus. 

"  With  his  wondrous  skill  in  healing  |  ne'er  a  doctor  can 

compete ; 
Loathsome  lepers,  if  he  touch  them,  |  start  up  clean  upon 

their  feet ; 
Surely  he  could  raise  the  dead  up  |  did  his  Highness  think 

it  meet. 

"  Did  not  once  the  Jewish  Captain  [  stop  the  sun  upon  the  hill, 
And,  the  while  he  slew  the  foeman,  |  bid  the  silver  moon 

stand  still? 
So,  no  doubt,  could  gracious  Canute  |  if  it  were  his  sacred 
will." 


LECTURES   OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY  37 

"  Might  I  stay  the  sun  above  us,  |  good  Sir  Bishop?  ':'   Canute 

cried. 
"  Could  I  bid  the  silver  moon  to  |  pause  upon  her  heavenly  ride? 
If  the  moon  obeys  my  orders,  |  sure  I  can  command  the  tide. 

"  Will  the  advancing  waves  obey  me,  |  Bishop,  if  I  make  the 


sign  r 


?  " 


Said  the  Bishop,  bowing  lowly,  |  "  Land  and  sea,  my  Lord, 

are  thine." 
Canute  look'd  toward  the  ocean :  j  "  Back,"  he  said,  "  thou 


foaming  brine 


"  From  the  sacred  shore  I  stand  on,  |  I  command  thee  to  retreat, 
Venture  not,  thou  stormy  rebel,  |  to  approach  thy  master's 

seat; 
Ocean,  be  thou  still,  I  bid  thee,  |  come  not  nearer  to  my  feet." 


-/""  — i 


38       MISS  TICKLETOBY'S  LECTURES 

But  the  angry  ocean  answered  |  with  a  louder,  deeper  roar, 
And  the  rapid  waves  drew  nearer,  |  falling  sounding  on  the 

shore, — 
Back  the  Keeper  and  the  Bishop,  |  back  the  King  and 

courtiers  bore. 

And  he  sternly  bade  them  never  ]  more  to  kneel  to  human  clay, 
But  alone  to  praise  and  worship  |  that  which  earth  and  seas 
obey; 

And  his  golden  crown  of  empire  ]  never  wore  he  from  that  day. 

King  Canute  is  dead  and  gone :  |  Parasites  exist  alway. 


LECTURE  IV 

EDWARD    THE    CONFESSOR— HAROLD  — WILLIAM    THE 

CONQUEROR 

ING  CANUTE,  whose  adventures  at 
the  watering-place  my  young  friend 
Mr.  Simcoe  described  last  week  in  such 
exquisite  verse  (and  I  am  afraid  that 
the  doings  at  watering-places  are  not 
often  so  moral) ,  died  soon  after,  having 
repented  greatly  of  his  sins.  It  must 
have  been  Gravesend,  I  think,  where  the  King  grew  so 
thoughtful. 

[Here  Miss  T.  was  rather  disappointed  that  nobody 
laughed  at  her  pun;  the  fact  is,  that  Miss  Budge,  the 
usher,  had  been  ordered  to  do  so,  but,  as  usual,  missed 
her  point. 

Before  he  died,  he  made  a  queer  sort  of  reparation  for 
all  the  sins,  robberies,  and  murders  that  he  committed 
— he  put  his  crown  on  the  head  of  the  statue  of  a  saint 
in  Canterbury,  and  endowed  no  end  of  monasteries. 
And  a  great  satisfaction  it  must  have  been  to  the  rela- 
tives of  the  murdered  people  to  see  the  King's  crown 
on  the  Saint's  head ;  and  a  great  consolation  to  those  who 
had  been  robbed,  to  find  the  King  paid  over  all  their 
money  to  the  monks. 

Some  descendants  of  his  succeeded  him,  about  whom 
there  is  nothing  particular  to  say,  nor  about  King  Ed- 
ward the  Confessor,  of  the  Saxon  race,  who  succeeded 

39 


40  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

to  the  throne  when  the  Danish  family  failed,  and  who 
was  canonised  by  a  Pope  two  hundred  years  after  his 
death — his  Holiness  only  knows  why. 

Spooney,  my  dears,  is  a  strong  term,  and  one  which, 
by  a  sensitive  female,  ought  to  be  employed  only  occa- 
sionally; but  Spooney,  I  emphatically  repeat  [immense 
sensation^,  is  the  only  word  to  characterise  this  last  of  the 
regular  Saxon  kings.  He  spent  his  time  at  church,  and 
let  his  kingdom  go  to  rack  and  ruin.  He  had  a  pretty 
wife,  whom  he  never  had  the  spirit  to  go  near;  and  he 
died,  leaving  his  kingdom  to  be  taken  by  anyone  who 
could  get  it. 

A  strong  gallant  young  fellow,  Harold  by  name, 
stepped  forward,  and  put  the  crown  on  his  head,  and 
vowed  to  wear  it  like  a  man.  Harold  was  the  son  of 
Earl  Godwin  that  we  spoke  of  in  the  last  lecture,  a  great 
resolute  fellow,  who  had  been  fighting  King  Edward's 
enemies  while  the  King  was  singing  psalms,  and  praying 
the  saints  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  turned  out  with  a  sword 
in  his  hand,  and  a  coat  of  mail  on  his  body,  whilst  the 
silly  King  stayed  at  home  in  a  hair-shirt,  scourging  and 
mortifying  his  useless  old  body. 

Harold  then  took  the  crown  (though,  to  be  sure,  he 
had  no  right  to  it,  for  there  was  a  nephew  of  the  late 
King,  who  ought  to  have  been  first  served),  but  he  was 
not  allowed  to  keep  undisturbed  possession  of  it  very 
long,  for  the  fact  is,  somebody  else  wanted  it. 

You  all  know  who  this  was — no  other  than  William, 
Duke  of  Normandy,  a  great  and  gallant  prince  (though 
I  must  say  his  mother  was  no  better  than  she  should 
be  1 ) ,  who  had  long  had  a  wish  to  possess  the  noble  realm 

1  Miss  Tickletobv's  rancour  against   Edward's  treatment  of  his  wife,  and 
her  sneer  at  the  Conqueror's  mother,  are  characteristic  of  her  amiable  sex. 


LECTURES   ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY   41 

of  England,  as  soon  as  the  silly  old  Confessor  was  no 
more.  Indeed,  when  Harold  was  abroad,  William  had 
told  him  as  much,  making  him  swear  to  help  him  in  the 
undertaking.  Harold  swore,  as  how  could  he  help  it, 
for  William  told  him  he  would  have  his  head  off  if  he 
didn't ;  and  then  broke  his  oath  on  the  first  opportunity. 

Some  nine  months,  then,  after  Harold  had  assumed 
the  crown,  and  just  as  he  had  come  from  killing  one  of 
his  brothers  (they  were  jDretty  quarrelsome  families,  my 
dears,  in  those  days),  who  had  come  to  England  on  a 
robbing  excursion,  Harold  was  informed  that  the  Duke 
of  Normandy  had  landed  with  a  numerous  army  of 
horse,  foot,  and  marines,  and  proposed,  as  usual,  to 
stay. 

Down  he  went  as  fast  as  the  coach  could  carry  him 
(for  the  Kentish  railroad  was  not  then  open),  and 
found  Duke  William  at  Hastings,  where  both  parties 
prepared  for  a  fight. 

You,  my  darlings,  know  the  upshot  of  the  battle  very 
well ;  and  though  I'm  a  delicate  and  sensitive  female ;  and 
though  the  Battle  of  Hastings  occurred — let  me  see, 
take  1066  from  1842— exactly  seven  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-six years  ago;  yet  I  can't  help  feeling  angry  to 
think  that  those  beggarly,  murderous  Frenchmen  should 
have  beaten  our  honest  English  as  they  did.  [Cries  of 
"  Never  mind,  we've  given  it  'em  since. "^  Yes,  my  dears, 
I  like  that  spirit — we  have  given  it  'em  since,  as  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  at  Badajos,  and  my  late  lamented 
br-r-other,  Ensign  Samuel  T-t-tickletoby,  at  B-b-bunhill 
Row,  can  testify.  [The  Lecturer's  voice  teas  here 
choked  with  emotion,  owing  to  the  early  death  of  the  lat- 
ter lamented  hero.~\  But  don't  let  us  be  too  eager  for 
military  glory,  mj^  friends.     Look!  we  are  angry  be- 


42  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

cause  the  French  beat  us  eight  hundred  years  ago! 
And  do  you  suppose  they  are  not  angry  because  we  beat 
them  some  five-and-twenty  years  back?  Alas!  and  alas! 
this  is  always  the  way  with  that  fighting;  you  can't  sat- 
isfy both  parties  with  it,  and  I  do  heartily  hope  that  one 
day  there'll  be  no  such  thing  as  a  soldier  left  in  all 
Europe.    [A  voice,  "And  no  police  neither." 

Harold  being  dead,  his  Majesty  King  William — of 
whom,  as  he  now  became  our  legitimate  sovereign,  it 
behoves  every  loyal  heart  to  speak  with  respect — took 
j)ossession  of  England,  and,  as  is  natural,  gave  all  the 
good  places  at  his  disposal  to  his  party.  He  turned  out 
the  English  noblemen  from  their  castles,  and  put  his 
Norman  soldiers  and  knights  into  them.  He  and  his 
people  had  it  all  their  own  way;  and  though  the  Eng- 
lish frequently  rebelled,  yet  the  King  managed  to  quell 
all  such  disturbances,  and  reigned  over  us  for  one-and- 
twenty  years.  He  was  a  gallant  soldier,  truly — stern, 
wise,  and  prudent,  as  far  as  his  own  interests  were  con- 
cerned, and  looked  up  to  by  all  other  Majesties  as  an 
illustrious  monarch. 

But  great  as  he  was  in  public,  he  was  rather  un- 
comfortable in  his  family,  on  account  of  a  set  of  unruly 
sons  whom  he  had — for  their  Royal  Highnesses  were 
always  quarrelling  together.  It  is  related  that  one  day 
being  at  tea  with  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  and  the  young 
princes,  at  one  of  his  castles  in  Normandy  (for  he  used 
this  country  to  rob  it  chiefly,  and  not  to  live  in  it),  a 
quarrel  ensued,  which  was  certainly  very  disgraceful. 
Fancy,  my  darlings,  three  young  princes  sitting  at  tea 
with  their  papa  and  mamma,  and  being  so  rude  as  to 
begin  throwing  water  at  one  another !  The  two  younger, 
H.R.H.  Prince  William  and  H.R.H.  Prince  Henrv, 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      43 

actually  flung  the  slop-basin,  or  some  such  thing,  into 
the  face  of  H.R.H.  Prince  Robert,  the  King's  eldest 
son. 

His  Royal  Highness  was  in  a  furious  rage,  although 
his  brothers  declared  that  they  were  only  in  play;  but 
he  swore  that  they  had  insulted  him;  that  his  papa  and 
mamma  favoured  them  and  not  him,  and  drawing  his 
sword,  vowed  that  he  would  have  their  lives.  His 
Majesty  with  some  difficulty  got  the  young  princes  out 
of  the  way,  but  nothing  would  appease  Robert,  who  left 
the  castle  vowing  vengeance.  This  passionate  and  self- 
willed  young  man  was  called  Courthose,  which  means  in 
French  short  inexpressibles,  and  he  was  said  to  have 
worn  shorts,  because  his  limbs  were  of  that  kind. 

Prince  Shorts  fled  to  a  castle  belonging  to  the  King 
of  France,  who  was  quite  jealous  of  Duke  Robert,  and 
was  anxious  to  set  his  family  by  the  ears ;  and  the  young 
prince  began  forthwith  robbing  his  father's  dominions, 
on  which  that  monarch  marched  with  an  army  to  besiege 
him  in  his  castle. 

Here  an  incident  befell,  which  while  it  shows  that 
Prince  Robert  (for  all  the  shortness  of  his  legs)  had  a 
kind  and  brave  heart,  will  at  the  same  time  point  out  to 
my  beloved  pupils  the  dangers— the  awful  dangers— of 
disobedience.  Prince  Robert  and  his  knights  sallied  out 
one  day  against  the  besiegers,  and  engaged  the  horse- 
men of  their  party.  Seeing  a  warrior  on  the  other  side 
doing  a  great  deal  of  execution,  Prince  Robert  galloped 
at  him,  sword  in  hand,  and  engaged  him.  Their  visors 
were  down,  and  they  banged  away  at  each  other,  like 
—like  good-uns.    [Hear,  hear.~\ 

At  last  Prince  Robert  hit  the  other  such  a  blow  that 
he  felled  him  from  his  horse,  and  the  big  man  tumbling 


44 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


off  cried  "Oh,  murder!"  or  "Oh,  I'm  done  for!"  or 
something  of  the  sort. 

Fancy  the  consternation  of  Prince  Robert  when  he 
recognised  the  voice  of  his  own  father!  He  flung  him- 
self off  his  saddle  as  quick  as  his  little  legs  would  let  him, 
ran  to  his  father,  knelt  down  before  him,  besought  him 
to  forgive  him,  and  begged  him  to  take  his  horse  and 
ride  home.  The  King  took  the  horse,  but  I  am  sorry  to 
say  he  only  abused  his  son,  and  rode  home  as  sulky  as 
possible. 

However  he  came  soon  to  be  in  a  good-humour, 
acknowledged  that  his  son  Prince  Shortlegs  was  an  hon- 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    45 

est  fellow,  and  forgave  him,  and  they  fought  some  bat- 
tles together,  not  against  each  other,  but  riding  bravely 
side  by  side. 

So  having  prospered  in  all  his  undertakings,  and 
being  a  great  prince  and  going  to  wage  war  against  the 
French  King,  who  had  offended  him,  and  whose  do- 
minions he  vowed  to  set  in  a  flame,  the  famous  King 
William  of  England,  having  grown  very  fat  in  his  old 
age,  received  a  hurt  while  riding,  which  made  him  put 
a  stop  to  his  projects  of  massacring  the  Frenchmen,  for 
he  felt  that  his  hour  of  death  was  come. 

As  usual  after  a  life  of  violence,  blood,  and  rapine, 
he  began  to  repent  on  his  death-bed;  uttered  some  re- 
ligious sentences  which  the  chroniclers  have  recorded, 
and  gave  a  great  quantity  of  the  money  which  he  had 
robbed  from  the  people  to  the  convents  and  priests. 

The  moment  the  breath  was  out  of  the  great  King's 
body,  all  the  courtiers  ran  off  to  their  castles  expecting 
a  war.  All  the  abbots  went  to  their  abbeys,  where  they 
shut  themselves  up.  All  the  shop-keepers  closed  their 
stalls,  looking  out  for  riot  and  plunder,  and  the  King's 
body  being  left  quite  alone,  the  servants  pillaged  the 
house  where  he  lay,  leaving  the  corpse  almost  naked  on 
the  bed.  And  this  was  the  way  they  served  the  greatest 
man  in  Christendom! 

[Much  sensation,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  Lecturer 
retired. 


LECTURE  V 


WILLIAM    RUFUS 

U ST  before  the  breath  was  out  of  the 
Conqueror's  body,  William  Rufus, 
his  second  son  (who  had  much 
longer  legs  than  his  honest  elder 
brother  Robert)  ran  over  to  Eng- 


|=$J|p|jj^  ||=>  land,  took  possession  of  some  eas- 
ily ties  and  his  father's  money,  and, 
so  fortified,  had  himself  proclaimed 
j  King  of  England  without  any  dif- 
ficulty. Honest  Robert  remained 
Duke  of  Normandy;  and  as  for  the  third  son,  Prince 
Henry,  though  not  so  handsomely  provided  for  as  his 
elder  brothers,  it  appears  he  managed  to  make  both  ends 
meet  by  robbing  on  his  own  account. 
,  William's  conduct  on  getting  hold  of  the  crown  was 
so  violent,  that  some  of  the  nobles  whom  he  plundered 
were  struck  with  remorse  at  having  acknowledged  him 
King  instead  of  honest  Courthose,  his  elder  brother. 
So  they  set  up  a  sort  of  rebellion,  which  Rufus  quelled 
pretty  easily,  appealing  to  the  people  to  support  him, 
and  promising  them  all  sorts  of  good  treatment  in  re- 
turn. The  people  believed  him,  fought  for  him,  and 
when  they  had  done  what  he  wanted,  namely,  quelled 
the  rebellion,  and  aided  him  in  seizing  hold  of  several  of 
Robert's  Norman  castles  and  towns— would  you  believe 

46 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    47 

it?— William  treated  them  not  one  bit  better  than  before. 
[Cries  of  " Shame!"] 

At  these  exclamations  Miss  Tickletoby  looked  round 
very  sternly.  Young  people,  young  people  (exclaimed 
she) ,  I'm  astonished  at  you.  Don't  you  know  that  such 
cries  on  your  part  are  highly  imp  roper  and  seditious? 
Don't  you  know  that  by  crying  out  "  Shame!"  in  that 
way,  you  insult  not  only  every  monarch,  but  every  min- 
istry that  ever  existed?  Shame,  indeed!  Shame  on 
you,  for  daring  to  insult  our  late  excellent  Whig  Min- 
istry, our  present  admirable  Conservative  Cabinet,  Sir 
Robert,  Lord  John,  and  all,  every  minister  that  ever 
governed  us.  They  all  promise  to  better  us,  they  all 
never  do  so.  Learn  respect  for  your  betters,  young 
people,  and  do  not  break  out  into  such  premature  rebel- 
lion. [The  children  being  silent,  Miss  T.  put  on  a  less 
severe  countenance  and  continued]  — 

I  will  tell  you  a  pleasant  joke  of  that  wag,  his  late 
Majesty  King  William  Rufus.  He  put  the  kingdom 
into  a  great  fury  against  the  Normans,  saying,  I  have  no 
doubt,  that  they  were  our  natural  enemies,  and  called  a 
huge  army  together,  with  which,  he  said,  he  would  go 
and  annihilate  them.  The  army  was  obliged  to  assem- 
ble, for  by  the  laws  of  the  country  each  nobleman, 
knight,  thane,  and  landholder  was  bound  according  to 
the  value  of  his  land  to  furnish  so  many  soldiers,  know- 
ing that  the  King  would  come  down  on  their  estates 
else;  and  so  being  all  come  together,  and  ready  to  cross 
the  water,  the  King  made  them  a  speech. 

"Friends,  Countrymen,  and  Fellow  Soldiers  (said 
he)  ;  companions  of  my  toil,  my  feelings,  and  my  fame; 
the  eyes  of  Europe  are  upon  you.  You  are  about  to 
embark  on  a  most  dangerous  enterprise;  you  will  have 


48  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

to  undergo  the  horrors  of  a  sea  voyage,  of  which  I  need 
not  describe  to  you  the  discomforts  (the  army  began  to 
look  very  blue).  You  will  be  landed  in  a  hostile  coun- 
try,  which  has  been  laid  waste  by  me  already  in  my  first 
invasions,  as  also  by  the  accursed  policy  of  the  despot 
who  governs  it.  [Cries  of  ''Down  with  Robert  Short- 
hose!3'  "No  tyranny!'  "No  Normans!'  In  this 
afflicted  naked  country  the  greater  part  of  you  will  in- 
evitably starve;  a  considerable  number  will  be  cut  to 
pieces  by  the  ferocious  Norman  soldiery ;  and  even  if  it 
please  Heaven  to  crown  my  just  cause  with  success, 
what  will  my  triumph  benefit  you,  my  friends?  You 
will  be  none  the  better  for  it ;  but  will  come  back  many  of 
you  without  your  arms  and  legs,  and  not  a  penny  richer 
than  when  you  went.     [Immense  sensation.'] 

"  Now,  I  appeal  to  you  as  men,  as  Englishmen,  as 
fathers  of  families,  will  it  not  be  better  to  make  a  peace- 
ful and  honourable  compromise  than  to  enter  upon  any 
such  campaign?  Yes!  I  knew  you  would  say  yes,  as 
becomes  men  of  sense,  men  of  honour — Englishmen, 
in  a  word.  [Hear,  hear.]  I  ask  you,  then — your  sover- 
eign and  father  asks  you — will  it  not  go  better  to  pay 
me  ten  shillings  apiece  all  round,  and  go  home  to  your 
happy  families — to  your  lovely  wives,  who  will  thus  run 
no  risk  of  losing  the  partners  of  their  beds — to  smiling 
children,  who  mav  still  for  many,  many  years  have  their 
fathers  to  bless,  maintain,  and  educate  them?  Officers, 
carry  the  hats  round,  and  take  the  sense  of  the  army." 

Putting  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  the  beneficent 
monarch  here  sat  down:  and  what  was  the  consequence 
of  his  affecting  appeal?  The  hats  were  sent  round— 
the  whole  army  saw  the  propriety  of  subscribing — fif- 
teen thousand  pounds  were  paid  down  on  the  spot— a 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    49 

bloody  war  was  avoided— and  thus,  as  the  King  said,  all 
parties  were  benefited. 

For  all  this,  however,  he  was  not  long  before  he  had 
them  out  again,  and  took  a  great  number  of  his  towns 
and  castles  from  his  brother  Robert.  At  last  he  got 
possession  of  his  whole  dukedom;  for  at  this  time  all 
Europe  was  seized  with  a  strange  fit  of  frenzy  and 
hatred  against  the  Turks;  one  Peter,  a  hermit,  went 
abroad  preaching  hatred  against  these  unbelievers,  and 
the  necessity  of  taking  Palestine  from  them,  and  mur- 
dering every  mother's  son  of  them.  No  less  than  a  million 
of  men  set  off  on  this  errand.  Three  hundred  thousand  of 
them  marched  ahead,  without  food  or  forethought,  expect- 
ing that  Heaven  would  provide  them  with  nourishment 
on  their  march,  and  give  them  the  victory  over  the  Sara- 
cens. But  this  pious  body  was  cut  to  pieces;  and  as  for 
the  doings  of  the  other  seven  hundred  thousand,  what 
heroes  commanded  them,  what  dangers  they  overcame, 
what  enchanters  they  destroyed,  how  they  took  the  Holy 
City,  and  what  came  of  their  conquest — all  this  may  be 
read  in  the  veracious  history  of  one  Tasso,  but  has  no- 
thing to  do  with  the  history  of  William  Rufus. 

That  shrewd  monarch  would  not  allow  his  islanders 
to  meddle  with  the  business;  but  his  brother,  honest 
Robert,  quite  sick  of  fighting,  drinking,  and  governing 
in  his  own  country,  longed  to  go  to  Palestine,  and  hav- 
ing no  money  (as  usual),  William  gave  him  a  sum  for 
which  the  other  handed  over  his  inheritance  to  him ;  and 
so  Robert  was  got  rid  of,  and  William  became  King  of 
England  and  Duke  of  Normandy. 

But  he  did  not  keep  his  kingdoms  long.  There  is  a 
tract  of  land  called  the  New  Forest,  in  Hampshire, 
which  has  been  called  so  ever  since  the  Conqueror's  time. 


50 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


Once  it  was  a  thriving  district  covered  with  farms  and 
villages  and  churches,  with  many  people  living  in  it. 
But  conquering  King  William  had  a  fancy  to  have 
a  hunting-ground  there.  Churches  and  villages  he  burnt 
down;  orchards  and  cornfields  he  laid  waste;  men, 
women,  and  children  he  drove  pitilessly  away,  and  gave 
up  the  land  to  boar  and  deer.  So  the  people  starved  and 
died,  and  he  had  his  hunting-ground.  And  such  a  keen 
sportsman  was  he,  and  so  .tender  and  humane  towards 
the  dumb  animals,  that  he  gave  orders,  if  any  man  killed 
a  boar,  a  deer,  or  even  a  hare,  he  should  be  killed,  or  have 
his  eyes  put  out.  Up  to  a  late  period,  our  country  en- 
joyed many  of  the  blessings  of  that  noble  code  of  laws. 
His  Majesty  King  William  Rufus  loved  sport  as  well 


as  his  royal  father,  and  this  New  Forest  above  all. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  legends  concerning  it.  The  peo- 
ple said  (but  this  was,  no  doubt,  from  their  superstitious 
hatred  of  his  Majesty's  person  and  race),  that,  on  ac- 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    51 

count  of  the  crimes  the  Conqueror  had  committed  in  the 
spot,  it  was  destined  to  be  fatal  to  his  family.  One  of 
Rufus's  brothers,  and  his  nephew,  were  actually  killed 
while  hunting  there;  and  one  morning  in  the  year  1100, 
when  his  Majesty  was  going  out  hunting,  a  monk  came 
and  prophesied  death  to  him,  and  warned  him  to  stay  at 
home. 

But  the  scent  was  lying  well  on  the  ground ;  the  King 
ordered  the  prophet  a  purse  of  money,  and  rode  off  with 
his  dogs. 

He  was  found  dead  in  the  wood,  with  an  arrow  in  his 
breast ;  and  nobody  knows  who  shot  it :  and  what's  more, 
my  loves,  I  fear  nobody  cares.  A  Frenchman  by  the 
name  of  Tyrrell  was  supposed  to  have  done  the  deed; 
but  Tyrrell  denied  the  charge  altogether.  His  Royal 
Highness  Prince  Henry  was  hunting  with  the  King 
when  the  accident  took  place,  and  as  poor  Robert  Short- 
hose  was  away  fighting  the  Turks,  Prince  Henry  slipped 
into  his  brother's  shoes,  and  ruled  over  the  land  of 
England. 

Talking  about  shoes,  a  dreadful  religious  disturbance 
occurred  in  England  a  propos  de  bottes.  It  was  the 
fashion  to  wear  these  with  immense  long  toes;  and  the 
priests,  who  could  pardon  all  sorts  of  crimes,  wouldn't 
pardon  the  long-toed  boots.  You  laugh?  It  is  a  fact, 
upon  my  word;  and  what  is  more,  these  popes  and 
priests,  who  could  set  up  kings  and  pull  them  down,  and 
send  off  millions  of  people  to  fight  in  crusades,  never 
were  strong  enough  to  overcome  the  long-toed  boots. 
The  Fashion  was  stronger  than  the  Pope ;  and  long  toes 
continued  to  flourish  in  spite  of  his  curses,  and  never 
vielded  a  single  inch  until— until  Square-toes  came  in. 


LECTURE  VI 

HENRY  I.— MAUDE— STEPHEN  — HEXRY  II. 

WE  have  still  a  little  more  to  hear  of  honest  Robert 
Shorthose.  With  his  usual  luck,  the  poor  fellow 
came  posting  back  from  Jerusalem,  a  month  after  his 
brother  Henry  had  taken  possession  of  the  English 
crown;  and  though  at  first  he  made  a  great  noise,  and 
got  an  army  together,  with  which,  as  he  was  a  valiant 
captain,  he  might  have  done  his  brother  some  hurt,  yet 
the  latter  purchased  him  off  with  some  money,  of  which 
Shorthose  was  always  in  want,  and  the  two  came  to  a 
compromise,  it  being  agreed  that  Robert  should  keep 
Normandy,  and  Henry  England,  and  that  the  survivor 
should  have  both. 

So  Shorthose  went  home  with  the  monev  his  brother 
gave  him,  and  lived  and  made  merry  as  long  as  it  lasted ; 
and  the  historians  say  that  he  was  such  a  spendthrift  of 
a  fellow,  and  kept  such  a  Castle  Rackrent  of  a  house, 
that  he  was  compelled  to  lie  in  bed  several  days  for  want 
of  a  pair  of  breeches. 

[Much  laughter  at  the  imperturbed  way  in  which 
Miss  Tickletoby  pronounced  the  fatal  word 
"  breeches." 

But  Henry,  for  all  the  agreement,  would  not  let  his 
brother  keep  possession  of  that  fine  Dukedom  of  Nor- 
mandy. He  picked  continual  quarrels  with  him,  and 
ended  by  taking  possession  of  the  Duchy,  and  of  Short - 

52 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY     5a 

legs,  in  spite  of  his  bravery,  whom  he  shut  up  in  a  castle, 
where  he  lived  for  near  five-and-twenty  years  after.  His 
fate  inspires  one  with  some  regret,  for  he  Mas  a  frank 
open  fellow,  and  had  once,  in  a  siege,  saved  from  starva- 
tion this  very  brother  who  robbed  him ;  but  he  was  a  fool, 
and  did  not  know  how  to  keep  what  he  had,  and  Henry 
was  wise ;  so  it  was  better  for  all  parties  that  poor  Short- 
legs  should  go  to  the  wall.  Peace  be  with  him!  We 
shall  hear  no  more  of  him;  but  it  is  something  in  the 
midst  of  all  these  lying,  swindling  tyrants  and  knaves, 
to  find  a  man  who,  dissolute  and  brutal  as  he  was,  was 
yet  an  honest  fellow. 

•J 

King  Henry,  the  first  of  his  name,  was,  from  his 
scholarship  (which,  I  take  it,  was  no  great  things;  and 
am  sure  that  many  a  young  lady  in  this  seminary  knows 
more  than  ever  he  did),  surnamed  Beauclerc — a  sharp, 
shifty  fellow,  steering  clear  amidst  all  the  glooms  and 
troubles  of  his  times,  and  somehow  always  arriving  at 
his  end.  He  was  admired  by  all  Europe  for  his  wisdom. 
He  had  two  fair  kingdoms  which  had  once  been  riotous 
and  disorderly,  but  which  he  made  quiet  and  profitable; 
and  that  there  might  be  no  doubts  about  the  succession 
to  the  throne,  he  caused  his  son,  Prince  William,  to  be 
crowned  co-king  with  him,  and  thus  put  the  matter  be- 
yond a  doubt. 

There  was,  however,  one  obstacle,  and  this  was  the 
death  of  Prince  William.  He  was  drowned,  and  his 
father  never  smiled  after.  And  after  all  his  fighting 
and  shuffling,  and  swindling  and  cleverness  and  care,  he 
had  to  die  and  leave  his  throne  to  be  fought  for  between 
his  daughter,  and  his  nephew,  one  Stephen ;  of  the  par- 
ticulars of  whose  reign  it  need  only  be  said,  that  they 
fought  for  the  crown,  like  the  Devil  and  the  baker,  and 


54  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

sometimes  one  had  it  and  sometimes  the  other.  At  last 
Stephen  died,  and  Maude's  son,  Henry  II.,  came  to 
reign  over  us  in  the  year  1154. 

He  was  a  great  prince,  wise,  brave,  and  tender- 
hearted ;  and  he  would  have  done  much  for  his  countrv, 
too,  which  was  attached  to  him,  if  the  clergy  and  the 
ladies  had  left  him  a  moment's  peace. 

For  a  delicate  female— [a  blush  covered  Miss  T.'s 
countenance  with  roses  as  she  spoke]— the  subject  which 
I  am  now  called  upon  to  treat  is — ahem! — somewhat 
dangerous.  The  fact  is,  the  King  had  married  in  very 
early  life  a  lady  possessing  a  vast  deal  of  money,  but  an 
indifferent  reputation,  and  who,  having  been  wicked 
when  young,  became  very  jealous  being  old,  as  I  am 
given  to  understand  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with 
my  interesting  sex. 

Queen  Eleanor  bore  four  sons  to  her  husband,  who 
was  dotingly  fond  of  them  all,  and  did  not,  I  have  reason 
to  suppose,  bestow  upon  them  that  correction — [a  great 
sensation  in  the  school]  — which  is  necessary  for  all  young 
people,  to  prevent  their  becoming  self-willed  and  licen- 
tious in  manhood.  Such,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  were  all 
the  young  princes.  The  elder,  whom,  to  prevent  mis- 
takes, his  father  had  crowned  during  his  lifetime,  no 
sooner  was  crowned,  than  he  modestly  proposed  to  his 
father  to  give  up  his  kingdom  to  him,  and  when  he  re- 
fused, rebelled,  and  fled  to  the  King  of  France  for  pro- 
tection. All  his  brothers  rebelled,  too;— there  was  no 
end  to  the  trouble  and  perplexity  which  the  unhappy 
King  had  to  suffer. 

I  have  said  that  the  Queen  was  jealous,  and,  oh!  I  am 
ashamed  to  confess,  when  speaking  of  his  late  Sacred 
Majesty,  a  King  of  England,  that  the  Queen,  in  this  in- 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      55 

stance,  had  good  cause.  A  worthless,  wicked,  naughty, 
abandoned,  profligate,  vile,  improper,  good-for-nothing 
creature,  whom  historians,  forsooth,  have  handed  down 
to  us  under  the  name  of  Fair  Rosamund—  (Fair  Rosa- 
mund, indeed!  a  pretty  pass  things  are  come  to,  when 
hussies  like  this  are  to  be  bepraised  and  bepitied!) — I 
say,  a  most  wicked,  horrid,  and  abandoned  person,  by 
name  Miss  Rosamund  Clifford,  had  weaned  the  King's 
affections  from  his  lady,  Queen  Eleanor. 

Suppose  she  was  old  and  contumacious : 1  do  not  peo- 
ple marry  "  for  better,  for  worse  "  ?  Suppose  she  had 
a  bad  temper,  and  a  worse  character,  when  the  King 
married  her  Majesty:  did  not  he  know  what  sort  of  a 
wife  he  was  taking? — A  pretty  pass  would  the  world 
come  to,  if  men  were  allowed  to  give  up  their  wives  be- 
cause they  were  ill-tempered,  or  go  hankering  after  other 
people's  ladies  because  their  own  were  a  little  plain, 
or  so! 

[Immense  applause  from  the  ladies  present.    And 
it  was  here  remarked — though  we  do  not  believe 
a  word  of  the  story — that  Mrs.  Binks  looked 
particularly  hard  at  Mr.  Binks,  saying,  "  B.,  do 
you  hear  that?"  and  Binks,  on  his  part,  looked 
particularly  foolish. 
How  this  intimacy  with  this  disreputable  Miss  Clif- 
ford commenced,  or  how  long  it  endured,  is  of  little  mat- 
ter to  us:  but,  my  friends,  it  is  quite  clear  to  you,  that 
such  a  connection  could  not  long  escape  the  vigilance  of 
a  watchful  and  affectionate  wife.     'Tis  true,  Henry  took 

1  We  grieve  to  remark  that  Miss  Tickletoby,  with  a  violence  of  language 
that  is  not  uncommon  amongst  the  pure  and  aged  of  her  sex,  loses  no  op- 
portunity of  twitting  Queen  Eleanor,  and  abusing  Fair  Rosamund.  Surely 
that  unhappy  woman's  fate  ought  to  disarm  some  of  the  wrath  of  the  virgin 
Tickletoby. 


56 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


this  person  to  Woodstock,  where  he  shut  her  up  in  a 
castle  or  labyrinth:  but  he  went  to  see  her  often — and, 
I  appeal  to  any  lady  here,  could  her  husband,  could  any 
man,  make  continual  visits  to  Woodstock,  which  is  five 
and  forty  miles  from  London,  without  exciting  suspi- 
cion?    [A7o,  no!~\ 

"  It  can't  be  to  buy  gloves,"  thought  her  injured 
Majesty,  Queen  Eleanor,  "that  he  is  always  travelling 
to  that  odious  Woodstock:" — and  she  sent  her  emis- 


LECTURES   ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY  57 

saries  out;  and  what  was  the  consequence?  she  found  it 
was  not  glove-making  that  the  King  was  anxious  about — 
but  glove-making  without  the  g!  She  instantly  set  off 
to  Woodstock  as  fast  as  the  coach  would  carry  her;  she 
procured  admission  into  the  place  where  this  saucy  hussy 
was,  and,  drawing  from  her  pocket  a  dagger  and  a  bowl 
of  poison,  she  bade  her  to  take  one  or  the  other.  She 
preferred,  it  is  said,  the  prussic  acid,  and  died,  I  have 
no  doubt,  in  extreme  agonies,  from  the  effects  of  the 
draught.  [Cries  of  "  Shame  I"  Shame! — who  cries 
shame?  I  say,  in  the  name  of  injured  woman,  that,  con- 
sidering the  rude  character  of  the  times,  when  private 
revenge  was  practised  commonly,  Queen  Eleanor  served 
the  woman  right !  "  ["Hear,  hear!"  from  the  ladies; 
"No,  no!"  from  the  men;  immense  uproar  from  the 
scholars  in  general.] 

After  this,  for  his  whole  life  long,  Henry  never  had  a 
moment's  quiet.  He  was  always  fighting  one  son  or 
other,  or  all  of  them  together,  with  the  King  of  France 
at  their  back.  He  was  almost  alwavs  victorious;  but 
he  was  of  a  forgiving  temper,  and  the  young  men  began 
and  rebelled  as  soon  as  he  had  set  them  free.  In  the 
midst  of  one  of  these  attacks  by  one  of  the  Princes,  an 
attack  was  made  upon  the  young  man  of  a  sort  which 
neither  young  nor  old  can  parry.  He  was  seized  with 
a  fever,  and  died.  He  besought  his  father's  forgiveness 
when  dying,  but  his  death  does  not  appear  to  have  altered 
his  brothers'  ways,  and  at  last,  of  a  sheer  broken  heart  at 
their  perverseness,  it  seems  that  Henry  himself  died :  nor 
would  he  forgive  his  sons  their  shameful  conduct  to  him. 

And  whom  had  he  to  thank  for  all  this  disobedience? 
Himself  and  Fair  Rosamund.  Yes,  I  repeat  it,  if  he 
had  not  been  smitten  with  her,  the  Queen  would  not  have 


58       MISS  TICKLETOBYS  LECTURES 

been  jealous;  if  she  had  not  been  jealous,  she  would  not 
have  quarrelled  with  him ;  if  she  had  not  quarrelled  with 
him,  she  would  not  have  induced  her  sons  to  resist  him, 
and  he  might  have  led  an  easy  and  comfortable  life,  and 
have  bettered  thus  the  kingdoms  he  governed. 

Take  care,  then,  my  dear  young  friends,  if  you  are 
called  upon  to  govern  kingdoms,  or  simply,  as  is  more 
probable,  to  go  into  genteel  businesses  and  keep  thriving 
shops,  take  care  never  to  offend  your  wives.  [Hear, 
hear.']  Think  of  poor  King  Henry,  and  all  the  sorrows 
he  brought  upon  himself; — and  in  order  not  to  offend 
your  wives,  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  be  very  gentle 
to  them,  and  do  without  exception  every  single  thing 
they  bid  you. 

At  the  end  of  this  Lecture,  several  ladies  present  came 
up,  and  shook  Miss  Tickletoby  by  the  hand,  saying  they 
never  heard  better  doctrine.  But  the  gentlemen,  it  must 
be  confessed,  made  very  light  of  the  excellent  lady's 
opinions,  and  one  of  them  said  that,  after  her  confession, 
even  if  she  were  young  and  handsome,  nobody  would  ask 
her  to  marry. 

"  Nobody  wants  you,  sir,"  said  Miss  Tickletoby;  and 
she  was  more  than  usually  rigid  in  her  treatment  of  that 
gentleman's  little  boy  the  next  day. 


LECTURE  VII 

RICHARD  THE  FIRST 

The  danger  of  extolling  too  much  the  qualities  of  a  warrior — In  kings  they 
are  more  especially  to  be  reprehended — Frightful  picture  of  war — Its  con- 
sequences to  men — To  women — Horrible  danger  that  Miss  Tickletoby 
might  have  undergone — The  Crusades — Jealousy  of  Philip  Augustus — 
Gallantry  of  Richard  —  Saladin,  his  character,  and  the  reverence  enter- 
tained for  him  by  the  British  monarch  —  Ascalon — Jerusalem  —  Richard's 
return  from  Palestine — His  captivity — Romantic  circumstances  attending 
his  ransom — His  death — A  passing  reflection. 

THIS  is  a  prince,  my  dear  young  creatures,  whom  I 
am  afraid  some  of  you,  Master  Spry  especially, 
will  be  inclined  to  admire  vastly,  for  he  was  as  quarrel- 
some and  brave  a  man  as  ever  lived.  He  was  fighting 
all  his  life  long — fighting  his  brothers,  fighting  his 
father,  fighting  with  anybody  who  would  fight,  and,  I 
have  no  doubt,  domineering  over  anybody  who  wouldn't. 
When  his  poor  old  father,  wearied  out  by  the  quarrels 
of  his  sons,  the  intrigues  of  the  priests,  and  the  ceaseless 
cares  and  anxieties  of  reigning,  died  in  sadness  and  sor- 
row, he  left  Prince  Richard,  surnamed  Lion-Heart,  his 
kingdom,  and  his  curse  along  with  it,  he  having  acted 
so  undutif ully  towards  him,  and  embittered  the  last  years 
of  his  life. 

Richard  was  exceedingly  sorry  for  the  pain  he  had 
caused  his  father,  and,  instead  of  revenging  himself  upon 
his  father's  Ministers  (who  had  treated  him  as  severely 
as  they  could  during  King  Henry's  reign,  and  who  now, 

59 


60  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

I  dare  say,  quaked  in  their  shoes  lest  King  Richard 
should  deal  hardly  by  them ) ,  he  of  the  lion-heart  kept 
them  in  their  places — and  good  places,  let  us  be  sure,  they 
were;  and  said  that  they  had  done  their  duty  by  his 
father,  and  would  no  doubt  be  as  faithful  to  him.  For, 
truth  to  say,  Richard  had  a  heart  which  harboured  no 
malice;  all  he  wanted  was  plenty  of  fighting,  which  he 
conducted  in  perfect  good-humour. 

Master  Spry.     Hurra !  that's  your  sort. 

Silence,  Master  Spry,  you  silly  boy,  you.  It  may  be 
very  well  for  Mr.  Cribb,  or  the  Most  Noble  the  Marquess 
of  Wat — ford,  to  rejoice  in  punching  people's  heads  and 
breaking  their  noses,  and  to  shake  hands  before  and 
after;  but  kings  have  other  duties  to  attend  to,  as  we 
nowadays  know  very  well.  Now  suppose  you  were  to 
break  a  score  of  lamps  in  the  street,  or  to  twist  off  as 
many  knockers,  or  to  knock  down  and  injure  a  policeman 
or  two,  who  would  be  called  on,  as  you  have  never  a  six- 
pence in  your  pocket,  to  pay  the  damage? 

Master  Spry.    Pa'd  pay,  of  course. 

Yes,  rather  than  see  you  on  the  treadmill,  he  would; 
and  so,  my  dears,  it's  the  case  with  these  great  kings — 
they  fight,  but  we  have  to  pay.  The  poor  subjects  suf- 
fer: the  men,  who  have  no  quarrel  with  any  prince  in 
Christendom — as  how  should  they,  never  having  seen 
one? — must  pay  taxes  in  the  first  place,  and  then  must 
go  and  fight,  and  be  shot  at  and  die,  leaving  us  poor  wo- 
men, their  wives  and  daughters,  to  deplore  their  loss,  and 
to  nurse  their  wounds  when  they  come  home.  Some 
forty  years  since  (when  I  was  young,  my  loves,  and  re- 
ported to  be  extremely  good-looking),  King  Bonaparte 
and  the  French  were  on  the  point  of  invading  this  coun- 
try.   Fancy  what  a  situation  we  should  have  been  in  had 


LECTURES   OX  EXGLISH  HISTORY   01 

they  come — the  horrid  monsters!  My  mind  shudders  at 
the  very  idea  even  now.  Fancy  my  dear  father,  the  en- 
sign of  volunteers,  brought  home  wounded — dying. 
Fancy  a  dozen  of  horrible  soldiers  billeted  in  the  house. 
Fancy  some  tall  ferocious  French  general,  with  great 
black  whiskers — Bonaparte  himself,  very  likely,  or  Mar- 
shal Xey,  at  the  very  least — falling  in  love  with  a  beau- 
teous young  creature,  and  insisting  upon  her  marrying 
him!  My  loves,  I  would  have  flung  myself  off  London 
Bridge  first.  [Immense  cheering,  part  of  xchich,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  be  ironical.] 

Such — such  is  war!  and,  for  my  part,  I  profess  the 
greatest  abhorrence  of  all  such  dreadful  kinds  of  glory ; 
and  hope  for  the  davs  when  cocked-hats  and  bavonets 
will  only  be  kept  as  curiosities  in  museums,  and  scarlet 
cloth  will  be  kept  to  make  cloaks  for  old  women. 

But  to  return  to  King  Richard — though  he  professed 
to  be  very  sorry  for  his  turbulent  conduct  during  his 
father's  reign,  his  sorrow  did  not  lead  him  to  mend  his 
ways  at  all ;  as,  alas !  is  usual  with  all  quarrelsome  people. 
The  very  first  thing  he  did  was  to  prepare  for  a  great 
fight;  and  in  order  to  get  money  for  this,  he  not  only 
taxed  his  people  very  severely,  but  sold  for  a  trifle  the 
kingdom  of  Scotland,  which  his  father  had  won.  I  don't 
know  what  the  sum  was  which  might  be  considered  as 
trifling  for  the  purchase  of  that  country,1  and  indeed  his- 
torians differ  about  it:  but  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how 
hardly  he  must  have  been  pressed  for  coin,  when  he  could 
bring  such  an  article  as  that  to  pawn. 

What  was  called  the  Christian  world  then  was  about 

1  Miss  Tickletoby's  extreme  prejudice  against  Scotland  and  the  Scotch  may 
be  accounted  for  by  the  fact,  that  an  opposition  academy  to  hers  is  kept  by  Mr. 
M'Whirter,  who,  report  says,  once  paid  his  addresses  to  Miss  T.  Having 
succeeded  in  drawing  off  a  considerable  number  of  her  pupils  to  his  school, 
Mr.  M'W.  at  once  discontinued  his  suit. 


62  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

this  time  bent  upon  taking  Jerusalem  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  Turks,  who  possessed  it,  and  banded  together  in 
immense  numbers  for  this  purpose.  Many  of  the  princes 
so  leagued  were  as  false,  wicked,  and  tyrannous  men  as 
ever  lived ;  but  Richard  Coeur-de-Lion  had  no  artifice  at 
all  in  his  nature,  and  entered  into  the  undertaking,  which 
he  thought  a  godly  one,  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  To 
batter  out  Turks'  brains  with  his  great  axe  seemed  to 
him  the  height  of  Christianity,  and  no  man  certainly 
performed  this  questionable  duty  better  than  he.  He 
and  the  King  of  France  were  the  leaders  of  the  crusade ; 
but  the  latter,  being  jealous,  or  prudent,  or  disgusted 
with  the  enterprise,  went  speedily  back  to  his  kingdom, 
and  left  all  the  glory  and  all  the  fighting  to  King  Rich- 
ard. There  never  was,  they  say,  such  a  strong  and  va- 
liant soldier  seen.  In  battle  after  battle  the  Turks  gave 
way  before  him,  and  especially  at  the  siege  of  Ascalon, 
he  and  his  army  slew  no  less  than  forty  thousand  Sara- 
cens, and  defeated  consequently  Sultan  Saladin,  their 
leader. 

In  the  intervals  of  fighting  it  seems  that  a  great  num- 
ber of  politenesses  passed  between  these  two  princes ;  for 
when  Richard  was  ill,  Saladin  sent  him  a  box  of  pills 
from  his  own  particular  druggist;  and  as  for  Richard, 
it  is  said  at  one  time  that  he  wanted  to  knight  the  gallant 
Saracen,  as  though  for  all  the  world  he  were  an  Alder- 
man or  a  Royal  Academician.  And  though  the  Lion- 
hearted  King  felt  it  his  Christian  duty  to  pursue  the 
Turk,  and  knock  his  brains  out  if  he  could  catch  him, 
y et  he  would  not  deny  that  he  was  a  noble  and  generous 
prince,  and  admired  him  more  than  any  sovereign  in  his 
own  camp.    Wasn't  it  magnanimous?    Oh,  very! 

At  last,  after  a  great  number  of  victories,  Richard 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    G3 

came  in  sight  of  the  City  of  Jerusalem,  which  was 
strongly  fortified  by  the  Turkish  Sultan;  and  there  the 
Lion-hearted  King  had  the  misfortune  to  find  that  there 
was  not  a  single  chance  for  him  ever  to  win  it.  His 
army,  by  the  number  of  glorious  victories,  was  wasted 
away  greatly.  The  other  kings,  dukes,  and  potentates, 
his  allies,  grumbled  sadly;  and  the  end  was,  that  he  was 
obliged  to  march  back  to  the  sea  again— and  you  may 
fancy  Sultan  Saladin's  looks  as  he  went  off. 


So  he  quitted  the  country  in  disguise,  and  in  disgust 
too—  (as  for  his  army,  never  mind  what  became  of  that: 
if  we  lose  our  time  pitying  the  common  soldiers,  we  may 
cry  till  we  are  as  old  as  Methuselah,  and  not  get  on)  — 
Richard,  I  say,  quitted  the  country  in  disguise  and  dis- 
gust, and,  in  company  with  a  faithful  friend  or  two, 
made  for  home. 


64 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


But  as  he  was  travelling  through  Austria,  he  was  rec- 
ognised by  some  people  in  that  country,  and  seized  upon 
by  the  Duke  of  Austria,  who  hated  him,  and  clapped 
him  without  any  ceremony  into  prison.  And,  I  dare  say, 
while  there  he  heartily  regretted  that,  instead  of  coming 
home  over  land,  he  hadn't  at  once  taken  the  steamer  to 
Malta,  and  so  got  home  that  way. 

Fancy  then,  my  beloved  hearers,  this  great  but  un- 
happy monarch  in  prison: — 


Fancy  him,  in  a  prison  dress  very  likely,  made  to  take  his 
turn  on  the  mill  with  other  offenders,  and  to  live  on  a 
pint  of  gruel  and  a  penny  loaf  a  day;  he  who  had  been 
accustomed  to  the  best  of  victuals,  and  was,  if  we  may 
credit  the  late  celebrated  Sir  Walter  Scott,  particularly 
partial  to  wine!  There  he  was — a  king — a  great  war- 
rior— but  lately  a  leader  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
men,  a  captive  in  an  odious  penitentiary!  Where  was 
his  army?  again  one  can't  help  thinking.  Oh,  never  mind 
them:  they  were  done  for  long  since,  and  out  of  their 
pain.  So  you  see  it  is  King  Richard  who  is  the  object  of 
compassion,  for  he  wasn't  killed. 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    G5 

I  am  led  to  believe  that  the  prison  regimen  in  Austria 
was  not  so  severe  as  it  is  nowadays  with  us,  when  if  a 
prisoner  were  heard  singing,  or  playing  the  riddle,  he 
would  be  prettily  tickled  by  the  gaoler's  cane;  for  it  ap- 
pears that  King  Richard  had  the  command  of  a  piano, 
and  was  in  the  habit  of  playing  upon  the  guitar.  It  is 
probable  that  the  Duke  of  Austria  thought  there  could 
be  no  harm  in  his  amusing  himself  in  the  lonely  place 
in  which,  unknown  to  all  the  world,  King  Richard  was 
shut. 

As  for  his  subjects,  I  don't  know  whether  they  missed 
him  very  much.  But  I  have  remarked  that  we  pretty 
speedily  get  accustomed  to  the  absence  of  our  kings  and 
royal  families ;  and  though,  for  instance,  there  is  our  be- 
loved Duke  of  Cumberland  gone  away  to  be  King  of 
Hanover,  yet  we  manage  to  bear  our  separation  from 
that  august  prince  with  tolerable  resignation. 

Well,  it  was  lucky  for  the  King  that  he  was  allowed 
his  piano ;  for  it  chanced  that  a  poor  wandering  minstrel 
(or  organ-grinder,  we  should  call  him),  who  had  no 
doubt  been  in  the  habit  of  playing  tunes  before  the 


66  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

King's  palace  in  Saint  James's  Street,  for,  you  know,  the 
new  police  wasn't  yet  invented,  to  drive  him  off — I  say 
the  organ-grinder  Blundell  happened  to  be  passing  by 
this  very  castle  in  Austria  where  Richard  was,  and  see- 
ing a  big  house,  thought  he  might  as  well  venture  a  tune ; 
so  he  began  that  sweet  one  "  Cherry  ripe,  che-erry  ripe, 
ri-ip  I  cry-y;':  and  the  Austrian  soldiers,  who  were 
smoking  their  pipes,  and  are  very  fond  of  music,  ex- 
claimed, '  Potztausend,  was  ist  das  fur  ein  herrliches 
Lied?" 

When  Richard  heard  that  well-known  melodv,  which 
in  happier  days  he  had  so  often  heard  Madame  Vestris 
sing,1  he  replied  at  once  on  the  piano  with  '  Home, 
sweet  Home." 

"Hullo!"  says  Blondell,  or  Blundell,  "there  must  be 
an  Englishman  here,  and  straightway  struck  up  "  Rule 
Britannia  "  —  "  When  Britain  feh-eh-eh-erst  at  He-evn's 
command,"  &c. — to  which  the  King  answered  by  "God 
save  the  King." 

'  Can  it  be — is  it  possible — no — yes — is  it  really  our 
august  monarch?"  thought  the  minstrel — and  his  fine 
eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  ground  the  sweet  air,  "  Who 
are  you?" 

To  which  the  King  answered  by  a  fantasia  composed 

of  the  two  tunes   "  The   King,   God  bless  him,"   and 

'  Dicky  Gossip,  Dicky  Gossip  is  the  man  " — for  though 

his  name  wasn't  Gossip,  yet  you  see  he  had  no  other  way 

of  explaining  himself. 

Convinced  by  these  melodies,  Mr.  Blundell  replied 
rapidly  by  "  Charlie  is  my  Darling,"  "  All's  Well,"  "  We 
only  part  to  meet  again,"  and,  in  short,  with  every  other 

1  This  settles  the  great  question,  mooted  every  week  in  the  Sunday 
times,  as  to  the  age  of  that  lady. 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    67 

tune  which  might,  as  he  thought,  console  the  royal  pris- 
oner. Then  (only  stopping  to  make  a  rapid  collection 
at  the  gate)  he  posted  back  to  London  as  fast  as  his 
legs  would  carry  him,  and  told  the  Parliament  there  that 
he  had  discovered  the  place  where  our  adored  monarch 
was  confined. 

Immense  collections  were  instantly  made  throughout 
the  country — some  subscribed  of  their  own  accord, 
others  were  made  to  subscribe;  and  the  Emperor  of 
Germany,  who  was  made  acquainted  with  the  fact,  now, 
though  the  Duke  of  Austria  had  never  said  a  word  about 
it  previously,  caused  the  latter  prince  to  give  up  his  pris- 
oner; and  I  believe  his  Imperial  Majesty  took  a  good 
part  of  the  ransom  to  himself.  Thus  at  last,  after  years 
of  weary  captivity,  our  gracious  King  Richard  was  re- 
stored to  us.  Fancy  how  glad  he  must  have  been  to  see 
Hyde  Park  once  more,  and  how  joyful  and  happy  his 
people  were! — I  dare  say  he  vowed  never  to  quit  Buck- 
ingham Palace  again,  and  to  remain  at  home  and  make 
his  people  happy. 

But  do  you  suppose  men  so  easily  change  their  na- 
tures? Fiddlestick! — in  about  a  month  King  Richard 
was  fighting  in  France  as  hard  as  ever,  and  at  last  was 
killed  before  a  small  castle  which  he  was  besieging.  He 
did  not  pass  six  months  in  England  in  the  whole  course 
of  his  four  years'  reign :  he  did  more  harm  to  the  country 
than  many  a  worse  king  could  do;  and  yet  he  was  loved 
by  his  people  for  his  gallantry ;  and  somehow,  although  I 
know  it  is  wrong,  I  can't  help  having  a  sneaking  regard 
for  him,  too. 

My  loves,  it  is  time  that  you  should  go  to  play. 

{Immense  enthusiasm,  in  the  midst  of  which  Miss 
T.  retires. 


LECTURE  VIII 

AS  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  say  anything  disre- 
lT\*  spectful  of  any  sovereign  who  ever  ascended  the 
British  throne,  we  must,  my  loves,  pass  over  the  reign  of 
his  late  Majesty  King  John  as  briefly  as  possible;  for, 
between  ourselves,  a  greater  rascal  never  lived.  You 
have  many  of  you  read  of  his  infamous  conduct  to 
Rowena,  Cedric  the  Saxon,  and  others,  in  the  history  of 
Sir  Wilfrid  of  Ivanhoe ;  and  I  fear  there  are  other  facts, 
though  perhaps  not  on  so  good  authority,  which  are  still 
more  disreputable. 

In  the  plays  of  the  ingenious  Shakspeare,  some  of 
which  I  have  seen  at  Covent  Garden,  his  Majesty's 
nephew,  Prince  Arthur,  is  made  to  climb  over  a  canvas 
wall  of  about  three  feet  high,  and  die  lamentably  of  the 
fall  in  a  ditch,  in  which  a  mattress  has  been  laid ;  but  the 
truth,  I  fear,  is,  that  Prince  Arthur  did  not  commit  sui- 
cide voluntary  or  involuntary,  but  that  his  Royal  Uncle 
killed  him,  for  his  Royal  Highness  was  the  son  of  his 
Majesty's  elder  brother,  and,  by  consequence,  our  right- 
ful king.  Well,  well,  there  are  ugly  stories  about  high 
personages  at  court,  and  you  know  it  makes  very  little 
difference  to  either  of  the  princes,  now,  which  reigned 
and  which  didn't;  and  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  Iving  John  bv  this  time  is  heartily  sorry  for  his 
conduct  to  his  august  nephew. 

It  may  be  expected  that  I  should  speak  in  this  place 

68 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    69 

of  a  celebrated  document  signed  in  this  reign,  by  some 
called  the  commencement  of  our  liberties,  by  others 
Magna  Charta.  You  may  read  this  very  paper  or  parch- 
ment at  the  British  Museum  any  day  you  please,  and 
if  you  find  anything  in  it  about  our  liberties,  I  am  a 
Dutchman — that  is,  a  Dutchwoman  [hear,  hear~\ ; 
whereas,  as  the  Register  of  Saint  Bartholomew's, 
Smithfield,  of  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and — ahem! 
—  as  the  Register,  I  say,  proves,  I  am  a  Briton,  and 
glory  in  the  title. 

The  Pope  of  Rome  who  lived  in  those  days  wras  almost 
as  facetious  a  person  as  Pope  Gregory,  of  whom  before 
we  have  spoken;  and  what  do  you  think  he  did?  I'm 
blessed  if  he  did  not  make  a  present  of  the  kingdom  of 
England  to  the  King  of  France!  [immense  laughter] 
then  afterwards  he  made  a  present  of  it  to  King  John 
very  kindly;  and  the  two  kings  were  about,  as  usual,  to 
fight  for  it.  when  the  French  king's  army  was  in  part 
shipwrecked,  and  partly  beaten;  and  King  John  him- 
self was  seized  with  an  illness,  which  put  an  end  to  him. 
And  so  farewell  to  him.  He  rebelled  against  his  father, 
he  conspired  against  his  brother,  he  murdered  his  nephew, 
and  he  tyrannised  over  his  people.  Let  us  shed  a  tear 
for  his  memory,  and  pass  on  to  his  son,  King  Henry  III., 
who  began  to  reign  in  the  year  1216,  and  was  king  for 
no  less  than  fifty-six  years. 

I  think  the  best  thing  he  did  during  that  long  period 
was,  to  beget  his  gallant  son,  who  reigned  after  him, 
under  the  title  of  King  Edward  the  First.  The  Eng- 
lish lords,  in  King  Henry's  time,  were  discontented  with 
his  manner  of  reigning — for  he  was  always  in  the  hands 
of  one  favourite  or  another;  and  the  consequence  was. 
that  there  were  perpetual  quarrels  between  the  lords  and 


70  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

the  prince,  who  was  continually  turned  out  of  his  king- 
dom and  brought  back  again,  or  locked  up  in  prison  and 
let  loose  again.  In  the  intervals  the  barons  ruled,  set- 
ting up  what  is  called  an  oligarchy:  when  Henry  gov- 
erned himself,  he  was  such  a  soft  effeminate  creature, 
that  I  think  they  might  have  called  his  reign  a  molly - 
garchy. 

As  not  the  least  applause  or  laughter  followed  this 
pun,  Miss  T.,  somewhat  disconcerted,  said,  I  see  you  do 
not  wish  to  hear  anything  more  regarding  Henry  III., 
so,  if  you  please,  we  will  pass  on  to  the  history  of  his 
son,  a  wise  king,  a  stern  and  great  warrior.  It  was  he 
who  first  gave  the  Commons  of  England  in  Parliament 
any  authority  or  power  to  cope  with  the  great  barons, 
who  had  hitherto  carried  all  before  them;  which,  with 
the  most  sincere  respect  for  their  lordships,  I  cannot  but 
think  was  a  change  for  the  better  in  our  glorious  Con- 
stitution. 

He  wras  in  the  Holy  Land  when  his  father's  death  was 
announced  to  him,  following  the  fashion  of  that  day,  to 
fight  against  the  Turks,  and  murder  them  for  the  honour 
of  religion.  And  here  I  cannot  help  pointing  out,  how 
necessary  it  is  that  men  should  never  part  from  their 
wives;  for  the  king,  by  having  his  with  him,  escaped  a 
great  danger.  A  man  of  a  certain  tribe  called  the  As- 
sassins (who  have  given  their  names  to  murderers  ever 
since )  stabbed  the  king  in  his  tent  with  a  dagger,  where- 
upon the  queen,  and  honour  be  to  her,  supposing  that  the 
knife  which  inflicted  the  wound  might  have  been  poi- 
soned, sucked  the  wound  with  her  own  royal  lips,  and 
caused  Prince  Edward  to  say,  that  a  good  wife  was  the 
very  best  doctor  in  the  world.  Look  how  the  great  artist 
I  employ  has  represented  the  scene! 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    71 


This  good  queen  died  abroad,  and  her  husband  caused 
crosses  to  be  erected  at  the  different  places  where  her 
body  rested  on  its  way  to  its  burial,  where  the  people 
might  stop  and  pray  for  her  soul.  I  wonder  how  many 
people  who  pass  by  Charing  Cross  nowadays  ever  think 
of  her,  or  whether  the  omnibuses  stop  there  in  order  that 
the  cads  and  coachmen  may  tell  their  beads  for  good 
Queen  Elinor? 


72  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

From  1272,  when  he  began  to  reign,  until  1307,  when 
he  died,  King  Edward  was  engaged  in  ceaseless  wars. 
Being  lord  of  the  largest  portion  of  the  island  of  Great 
Britain,  he  had  a  mind  to  possess  the  whole  of  it;  and, 
in  order  to  do  so,  had  to  subdue  the  Welsh  first,  and  the 
Scots  afterwards.  Perhaps  some  of  you  have  read  an 
ode  by  Mr.  Gray,  beginning  "  Ruin  seize  thee,  ruthless 
king  "  ?  But  as  not  a  single  person  in  the  company  had, 
Miss  T.  said,  "  At  any  rate,  my  loves,  you  have  heard,  no 
doubt,  of  the  bards?" 

Miss  Binge.  Papa  calls  Shakspeare  the  immoral  bard 
of  Heaven.     What  is  a  bard,  ma'am? 

Miss  T.  Why,  the  bards,  as  I  am  led  to  believe,  are 
Welsh  poets,  with  long  beards,  who  played  Welsh  airs 
upon  Welsh  harps.  Some  people  are  very  fond  of  these 
airs;  though,  for  my  part,  I  confess,  after  hearing 
'  Poor  Mary  Ann ';  played  for  fourteen  consecutive 
hours  by  a  blind  harper  at  Llangollen,  I  rather  felt  as  if 
I  should  prefer  any  other  tune  to  that. 

Master  Spry.  Pray,  ma'am,  hare  the  Welsh  airs 
hanything  like  the  Welsh  rabbits?  If  so,  mother  can 
perform  'em  very  prettily.  [A  laugh,  which  Miss  Tick- 
letoby  severely  checks,  and  continues — ] 

This  country  of  Wales  King  Edward  determined 
should  be  his  own,  and  accordingly  made  war  upon  the 
princes  of  the  Principality,  who  withstood  him  in  many 
bloody  actions,  and  at  one  time  were  actually  puffed  up 
with  the  idea  that  one  of  their  princes  should  become 
King  of  England,  on  account  of  an  old  prophecy  of 
Merlin's — 

"  Llwllwyn  pdwdlwdl  cwmlwm." — Merlin's  Prophecies. 

"  Let  Wales  attend  !  the  bard  prophetic  said  : 
I.  V.  at  Y.  shall  crown  Llewellyn's  Z."  —  Simcoe. 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    73 

From  which  obscure  phrase  the  people,  and  Llewellyn 
himself,  were  led  to  believe  that  they  would  overcome 
the  stern  and  powerful  King  of  England. 

Rut  the  prophecy  was  fulfilled  in  a  singular  way.  On 
the  two  armies  meeting  together  on  the  river  Wye, 
Llewellyn  was  slain  by  an  English  knight,  and  his  head 
in  derision  crowned  with  ivy.  The  other  Welsh  sover- 
eign, Prince  David,  met  with  a  worse  fate  than  to  die  in 
battle:  he  repeatedly  rebelled  against  King  Edward, 
and  was  forgiven  until  the  last  time,  when  he  was  taken 
in  arms,  and  judged  to  die  as  a  rebel,  so  forming  the  last 
of  his  line. 

If  the  king  had  had  trouble  with  the  Welsh,  with  the 
Scots  he  had  still  more,  and  was  occupied  during  almost 
the  whole  of  his  reign  in  settling  ( after  his  own  fashion, 
to  be  sure)  that  unruly  nation. 

In  one  of  his  invasions  of  Scotland,  he  carried  off  the 


famous  stone  on  which  the  Scottish  kings  used  to  sit  at 
their  coronation  —  and  a  very  cold  seat  it  must  have  been 


74  MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 

for  their  majesties,  considering  their  unhappy  custom 
of  wearing  no  small-clothes;  which  are  not  the  least  of 
the  inestimable,  I  may  say  inexpressible,  benefits  the 
Scots  have  derived  from  commerce  with  this  country. 

The  regular  line  of  the  Scotch  kings  having  ended — 
(never  mind  in  whose  person,  for,  after  all,  a  king  with- 
out pantaloons  is  a  sorry  subject  to  trouble  one's  head 
about) — the  regular  line  being  ended,  there  started  up 
several  claimants  to  the  throne ;  the  lords  of  the  country, 
in  an  evil  hour,  called  upon  Edward  to  decide  who  should 
succeed.  He  gave  a  just  award,  assigning  the  crown  to 
one  John  Baliol ;  but  he  caused  Baliol  to  swear  fealty  to 
him  for  his  crown,  and  did  not  scruple  about  having  him 
up  to  London  whenever  he  was  minded.  It  is  said  that 
he  summoned  him  to  Court  six  times  in  one  year,  when 
Edinburgh  was  at  least  a  month's  journey  from  London. 
So  thus  the  poor  fellow  must  have  passed  the  whole  year 
upon  the  road,  bumping  up  and  down  on  a  rough-trot- 
ting horse;  and  he  without  what-d'ye-call-'ems,  too! — 
after  the  fashion  of  Humphry  Clinker. 

The  consequence  may  be  imagined.  Baliol  was  quite 
worn  out  by  such  perpetual  jolting.  Flesh  and  blood 
couldn't  bear  twelve  of  these  journeys  in  a  year;  and  he 
wrote  to  King  Edward,  stating  his  determination  no 
longer  to  be  saddled  with  a  throne. 

Wisely,  then,  he  retired.  He  took  up  his  residence  in 
Xormandy,  where  he  passed  his  life  quietly  in  devotion, 
it  is  said,  and  the  cultivation  of  literature.  The  Master 
of  Baliol  College,  Oxford,  has  kindly  communicated  to 
me  a  MS.,  in  the  handwriting  of  the  retired  prince,  ac- 
companied with  designs,  which,  though  rude,  are  inter- 
esting to  the  antiquary.  On  the  preceding  page  is  one 
representing  John  of  Baliol  on  the  Xorth  road,  which 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    75 

must  have  been  in  a  sad  condition  indeed  at  the  close  of 
the  thirteenth  century. 

The  motto  placed  beneath  the  illumination  by  the  royal 
bard  is  a  quaint,  simple,  and  jDathetic  one.  He  says 
touchinedv — 

"  To  Scotys  withouten  brychys  rydinge  is  not  swete. 
I  mote  have  kept  my  crowne,  I  shold  have  lost  my  seate." 

He  retired,  then;  but  a  greater  than  he  arose  to  battle 
for  the  independence  of  his  country. 


LECTURE  IX 


EDWARD    I.  — THE   SCOTS   AND    THEIR    CLAIMS 

'COTCHMEX,    my    dears,    you 

know  are  my  antipathy,   and  I 

had  at  one  time  thought,  in  these 

lectures,   of   so   demolishing   the 

reputation  of  William  Wallace, 

that  historians  would  never  more 

have  dared  to  speak  about  him, 

and  the  numbers  who  heard  me, 

the    millions    who    read    me    in 

Punchy  the  countless  myriads  who 

in  future  ages  will  refer  to  that 

work  when  we,  young  and  old, 

are  no  more,  would  have  seen  at  once  that  the  exploits 

ascribed  to  him  were  fabulous  for  the  most  part,  and  his 

character  as  doubtful  as  his  history. 

Some  late  writers  have  been  very  hard  upon  him.  Dr. 
Lingard,  especially,  has  fallen  foul  of  his  claims  to  be  a 
hero;  and  another  author,  Mr.  Keightley,  has  been  to 
the  full  as  severe,  quoting  sentences  from  the  old  chron- 
iclers strongly  defamatory  of  Wallace's  character.  One 
of  these  calls  him  "  quidam  latro  publicus,"  a  certain  com- 
mon thief;  another,  writing  of  his  family,  says  he  was 
"ex  infima  gente  procreatus  "  —  sprung  from  the  lowest 
of  the  low;  but  these  writers,  it  must  be  remembered, 

were  of  the  English  nation  and  way  of  thinking.    Wash- 
re 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    77 

ington  was  similarly  abused  during  the  American  war; 
and  I  make  no  doubt  that  some  of  my  darlings,  who  read 
the  English  newspapers,  have  seen  exactly  the  same  epi- 
thets applied  to  Mr.  Daniel  O'Connell. 

It  is  easy  to  call  names  in  this  way,  but  let  us,  my  be- 
loved young  friends,  be  more  charitable;  in  the  case  of 
these  Scots  especially ;  for  if  we  take  Wallace  from  them, 
what  hero  do  we  leave  to  the  poor  creatures?  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  has,  to  be  sure,  invented  a  few  good  Scotchmen 
in  his  novels,  and  perhaps  their  actions,  and  those  of 
Wallace,  are  equally  true. 

But  even  supposing  that  he  did  come  of  a  low  stock- 
that  he  was  a  freebooter  once— it  is  clear  that  he  came  to 
command  the  Scotch  armies,  that  he  was  for  a  short  time 
Regent  of  the  kingdom.  So  much  the  more  creditable 
to  him  then  was  it  that,  by  his  skill  and  valour,  he  over- 
came those  brave  and  disciplined  troops  that  were  sent 
against  him,  and  raised  himself  to  the  position  he  occu- 
pied for  a  while  over  the  heads  of  a  powerful,  ignorant, 
cowardly,  sordid,  treacherous,  selfish  nobility,  such  as 
that  of  the  Scots  was. 

Even  poor  John  Baliol  made  one  or  two  attempts  to 
rescue  his  crown  from  the  domineering  Edward;  but 
these  nobles,  though  they  conspired  against  the  English 
king,  were  the  first  to  truckle  down  to  him  when  he  came 
to  assert  what  he  called  his  right ;  and  the  proof  of  their 
time-serving  conduct  is,  that  King  Edward  forgave 
every  one  of  them,  except  Wallace,  who  was  the  only 
man  who  refused  to  come  to  terms  with  the  conqueror. 

During  the  King's  absence  Wallace  had  tolerable  suc- 
cess; he  discomfited  the  English  leaders  in  many  small 
skirmishes  and  surprises,  and  defeated,  at  Cambusken- 
neth,  a  great  body  of  the  English  troops.     He  thought. 


78  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

too,  to  have  as  easy  work  with  the  king  himself,  when 
Edward,  hearing  of  his  lieutenant's  defeat,  came  thun- 
dering down  to  avenge  him.  But  the  Scot  was  no  match 
for  the  stern  English  warrior.  At  Falkirk  the  king 
gave  Wallace's  army  such  a  beating  as  almost  annihilated 
it,  and  Wallace  was  obliged  to  fly  to  the  woods,  where 
he  was  finally  seized  by  one  of  his  former  friends  and 
adherents;  and,  being  sent  to  London,  there  died  the 
death  of  a  traitor. 

Be  warned  then,  my  little  dears,  when  a^ou  come  to 
read  the  History  of  the  Scottish  Chiefs,  by  my  dear 
friend  Miss  Porter,  that  William  Wallace  was  by  no 
means  the  character  which  that  charming  historian  has 
depicted,  going  into  battle,  as  it  were,  with  a  tear  in  his 
eye,  a  cambric  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  and  a  flounce  to 
his  petticoat;  nor  was  he  the  heroic  creature  of  Tytler 
and  Scott;  nor,  most  probably,  the  ruffian  that  Doctor 
Lingard  would  have  him  to  be. 

He  appears,  it  is  true,  to  have  been  as  violent  and  fero- 
cious a  soldier  as  ever  lived;  in  his  inroads  into  England 
murdering  and  ravaging  without  pity.  But  such  was 
the  custom  of  his  time;  and  such  being  the  custom,  as 
we  excuse  Wallace  for  murdering  the  English,  we  must 
excuse  Edward  for  hanging  Wallace  when  he  caught 
him.  Hanging  and  murdering,  look  you,  were  quite 
common  in  those  days;  nay,  they  were  thought  to  be  just 
and  laudable,  and  I  make  no  doubt  that  people  at  that 
period  who  objected  to  such  murders  at  all  were  accused 
of  "  sickly  sentimentality,"  just  as  they  are  now  who  pre- 
sume to  be  hurt  when  the  law  orders  a  fellow-creature  to 
be  killed  before  the  Old  Bailev.  Well,  at  anv  rate,  allow 
us  to  be  thankful  that  we  do  not  live  in  those  days,  when 
each  of  us  would  have  had  a  thousand  more  chances  of 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    79 

being  hanged  than  now.     There  is  no  sickly  sentimen- 
tality about  such  a  preference  as  that. 


Let  us  allow,  then,  the  claims  of  Wallace  to  be  a  hero 
and  patriot.  Another  hero  arose  in  Scotland  after  Wal- 
lace's discomfiture,  who  was  more  lucky  than  he;  but 
stern  King  Edward  of  the  long  shanks  was  dead  when 
Bruce's  triumphs  were  secured;  and  his  son,  Edward  of 
Carnarvon,  was  making-believe  to  reign. 

This  Bruce  had  been  for  a  long  time  shilly-shallying 


80  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

as  to  the  side  he  should  take;  whether  he  should  join  his 
countrymen  over  whom  he  might  possibly  become  king; 
or  whether  he  should  remain  faithful  to  King  Edward, 
and  not  risk  his  estates  or  his  neck.  The  latter  counsel 
for  some  time  prevailed;  for  amongst  other  causes  he 
had  to  take  sides  against  his  country,  a  chief  one  was, 
hatred  of  the  Baliols.  When  John  of  Baliol  died,  his 
son  being  then  a  prisoner  in  London,  a  nephew  of  John 
Baliol,  called  Comyn  of  Badenoch,  became  the  head  man 
in  Scotland.  He  had  always  been  found  gallantly  in 
arms  against  King  Edward,  doing  his  duty  as  a  soldier 
in  Falkirk  fight,  and  in  many  other  actions,  with  better 
or  similar  fortune — not  sneaking  in  the  English  camp 
as  Bruce  was. 

The  king,  however,  who  had  pardoned  the  young  man 
many  times,  at  last  got  wind  of  some  new  conspiracies 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  vowed,  it  was  said,  to 
make  away  with  him.  Bruce  got  warning  in  time, 
made  for  Scotland,  called  a  meeting  with  the  Regent, 
Comyn  of  Badenoch,  who  granted  the  interview,  and 
hereupon  Bruce  murdered  Comyn  in  God's  church,  and 
at  once  proclaimed  himself  King  of  Scotland.  The 
Scotch  historians  have  tried  to  apologise  as  usual  for  this 
foul  and  dastardly  assassination,  saying  that  it  was  done 
in  a  heat — unpremeditated,  and  so  forth.  Nonsense, 
my  loves;  Robert  Bruce  had  been  shuffling  and  in- 
triguing all  his  life.  He  murdered  the  man  who  stood 
between  him  and  the  crown — and  he  took  it,  and  if  you 
read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  you  will 
see  what  a  hero  he  has  made  of  him.  O  these  Scotchmen ! 
these  Scotchmen!  how  they  do  stand  by  one  another! 

Old  Edward  came  tearing  down  to  the  borders  on  the 
news,  vowing  he  would  kill  and  eat  Robert  Bruce;  but 


LECTURES  OX  ENGLISH  HISTORY    81 

it  was  not  so  ordained ;  the  old  King  was  carried  off  by  a 
much  more  powerful  enemy  than  any  barelegged  Scot; 
and  his  son,  Edward  of  Carnarvon  (who  reigned  1307- 
1327)  had  not  the  energy  of  his  father;  and  though  he 
made  several  attempts  to  punish  the  Scots,  was  usually 
left  in  the  lurch  by  his  nobility,  and  on  one  occasion,  at 
Bannockburn,  cruelly  beaten  by  them.  They  have 
made  a  pretty  pother  about  that  battle,  I  warrant  you, 
those  Scots ;  and  you  may  hear  tailors  from  Glasgow  or 
Paisley  still  crow  and  talk  big  about  it.  Give  the  fel- 
lows their  battle,  my  dears;  we  can  afford  it.  [Great 
sensation.]  As  for  the  murderer,  Robert  Bruce,  he  was, 
it  must  be  confessed,  a  wary  and  gallant  captain— wise 
in  good  fortune,  resolute  in  bad,  and  he  robbed  the  Eng- 
lish counties  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  subjects.  It  is  al- 
most a  pity  to  think  he  deserved  to  be  hanged. 

During  the  dissensions  in  England,  Robert  Bruce, 
having  pretty  well  secured  Scotland,  took  a  fancy  to 
Ireland,  too— invaded  the  country  himself,  came  rather 
suddenly  back  again,  and  sent  his  brother  Edward,  who 
even  had  the  impudence  to  be  crowned  King  of  Ireland: 
but  the  English  forces  coming  up  with  him,  took  his 
crown  from  him  with  his  head  in  it— and  so  ended  the 
reigns  of  the  Bruces  in  Ireland. 

As  for  Edward  of  Carnarvon,  little  good  can  be  said 
of  him  or  his  times.  An  extravagant  idle  king,  insolent 
favourites  (though  Gaveston,  it  must  be  confessed,  was 
a  gallant  and  dashing  fellow),  bullying  greedy  barons, 
jealous  that  anyone  should  have  power  but  themselves, 
and,  above  all  (alas!  that  I  should  have  to  say  it) ,  an  in- 
famous disreputable  wretch  of  a  French  wife,  fill  the 
whole  pages  of  this  wretched  king's  reign  with  their 
quarrels,  their  vices,  and  their  murders.    In  the  midst  of 


82  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

their  quarrels  they  allowed  the  country  to  be  bullied  by 
the  French,  and  even  the  Scots ;  the  people  were  racked 
and  torn  by  taxes  and  tyranny ;  the  king  was  finally  de- 
posed, and  murdered  by  the  intrigues  of  his  wicked  vixen 
of  a  wife,  who  did  not,  however,  enjoy  her  ill-gotten 
honours  long  as  regent  of  the  kingdom.  Edward  the 
Third  came  to  the  throne,  and  of  him  we  will  speak  in 
the  next  Lecture. 

In  the  year  1356,  the  Black  Prince,  who  had  com- 
menced his  career  ten  years  earlier  as  a  gallant  young 
soldier  at  Crecy,  had  an  opportunity  of  achieving  for 
himself  a  triumph  to  the  full  as  great  as  that  former 
famous  one.  Robbing  and  murdering  for  ten  years,  as 
he  had  been,  he  had  become  naturally  a  skilful  captain; 
and  now,  in  1356,  say  the  historians,  having  left  his  chief 
city  of  Bordeaux  with  12,000  men,  crossing  the  Gar- 
onne, overrunning  Querci,  the  Limousin,  Auvergne, 
and  Berri,  slaughtering  the  peasantry,  destroying  the 
corn,  wine,  and  provisions,  and  burning  the  farmhouses, 
villages,  and  towns,  he  was  surprised  near  Poictiers,  in 
the  province  of  Poitou,  by  a  large  army,  led  by  King 
John  of  France.  The  French  army  was  very  large— 
that  of  the  Black  Prince  very  small.  "Heaven  help 
us!"  said  his  Royal  Highness;  "it  only  remains  for  us 
to  fight  bravely." 

He  was,  however,  so  doubtful  as  to  the  result  of  the 
action,  that  he  sent  rather  modest  proposals  to  the 
French  King,  offering  to  give  up  his  plunder  and  pris- 
oners, and  to  promise  not  to  serve  against  France  for 
seven  years,  if  the  French  would  but  let  him  off  this 
time.  King  John,  however,  replied,  that  he  must  have 
the  Black  Prince  and  a  hundred  of  his  chief  knights 
as  prisoners,  before  he  would  listen  to  any  terms  of  ac- 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    83 


commodation,  which  idea  his  Royal  Highness  "  indig- 
nantly rejected." 

He  beat  the  King  of  France,  whose  goods  he  was 
carrying  off;  he  killed  the  friends  who  came  to  help  the 
king,  he  drove  the  king's  servants  away;  he  took  King 
John  to  England,  and  would  not  let  him  return  to 
France  again  until  he  had  paid  an  enormous  sum  for 
his  ransom.  And  this  was  the  man  who  called  upon 
Heaven  to  defend  the  right!  Ah,  my  dears,  there  is 
not  a  crowned  ruffian  in  Europe  who  has  not  uttered  the 
same  cry  these  thousand  years  past,  attesting  Heaven 
in  behalf  of  his  unjust  quarrel,  and  murdering  and  rob- 
bing with  the  most  sacred  of  all  names  in  his  mouth. 


Perhaps  the  most  annoying  part  of  the  whole  impris- 
onment to  poor  King  John  must  have  been  the  abomin- 
able politeness  and  humility  of  his  captor.  Taken  pris- 
oner, and  his  grand  army  routed  by  a  handful  of 
starving  brigands,  the  king  was  marched  to  supper  in  the 
conqueror's  tent,  the  prince  complimenting  him  by  say- 
ing that  his  victory  was  all  chance,  that  the  king  ought 


84  MISS  TICKLETOBY'S 

to  have  won  it  (and  so  he  ought,  and  no  mistake),  and 
that  his  Majesty  was  the  "garland  of  chivalry."  Nor 
would  he  sit  down  in  his  Majesty's  presence — not  he — 
he  said  he  was  the  subject  and  only  fit  to  wait  upon  the 
king  (to  wait  upon  him  and  rob  him)  ;  so  he  fetched  the 
dishes,  drew  the  corks,  and  performed  all  the  duties  of 
his  Majesty's  Yellowplush. 

His  conduct  in  carrying  his  prisoner  to  London  was 
of  the  same  sort.  He  had  a  triumphal  entry:  the  king 
being  placed  on  a  great  horse,  the  prince  meekly  riding 
a  pony  beside  him,  and  all  the  people,  of  course,  shout- 
ing "Long  live  the  prince!'  What  humility!  cry  the 
historians ;  what  noble  conduct !  Xo,  no,  my  loves,  I  say 
it  was  sham  humility,  the  very  worst  sort  of  pride:  if  he 
wanted  to  spare  his  prisoner's  feelings,  why  didn't  the 
prince  call  a  hackney-coach? 

In  the  year  1376,  twenty  years  after  his  victory  of 
Poictiers,  the  gallant  Black  Prince  (who  in  France  and 
Spain,  at  the  head  of  his  famous  free  companies,  had 
fought  many  a  hard  fight  since  then),  died,  leaving  an 
only  son  behind  him.  Old  King  Edward,  who  had  been 
battling  and  fighting  as  much  as  his  son,  now  in  his  old 
age  had  grown  dotingly  fond  of  a  wicked  hussy,  Alice 
Pierce  by  name,  that  had  been  maid  of  honour  to  the 
good  Queen  Philippa.  The  king  gave  to  this  good-for- 
nothing  creature  all  the  queen's  jewels,  she  had  the  giv- 
ing away  of  all  the  places  about  the  court,  and  behaved 
in  such  a  way  that  the  Parliament  was  obliged  to  stop 
her  extravagance. 

A  year  after  his  son,  the  famous  old  warrior,  King 
Edward  the  Third,  felt  that  death  was  coming  upon 
him;  and  called  his  beloved  Alice  Pierce  to  come  and 
console  him  ere  he  died.     She,  seeing  death  on  his  face, 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY    85 

took  the  expiring  monarch's  hand  in  hers,  and  pulled  his 
ring  off  his  finger.  The  servants  pillaged  the  ward- 
robes and  the  hangings  of  the  bed,  and  dying  Edward, 
the  terror  of  Frenchmen,  lay  unheeded  upon  his  bed., 
until  a  priest  came  by  chance  into  the  room,  and  knelt 
down  by  the  king's  side,  and  said  a  prayer  with  him  for 
the  safety  of  his  soul,  at  the  end  whereof  the  priest  alone 
had  the  power  of  saying  "  Amen." 

Here  Miss  Tickletoby  paused  with  a  very  solemn 
voice,  and  the  little  children  retired  quite  wistfully  and 
silently,  and  were  all  particularly  good  in  school  the 
next  day. 


LECTURE  X 

EDWARD  III 

THE  reign  of  the  third  Edward  has  always  been  con- 
sidered a  glorious  period  of  our  annals — the  fact 
is,  he  beat  the  French  soundly,  and  it  is  always  a  comfort 
to  read  of  those  absurd  vapouring  vainglorious  French- 
men obtaining  a  beating — and  he  has  had  for  an  histo- 
rian of  his  battles  one  John  Froissart,  a  very  bad  clergy- 
man, as  I  make  no  doubt,  but  a  writer  so  exceedingly 
lively  and  pleasant,  that  the  scenes  of  the  war  are  made 
to  pass  before  the  reader  as  if  he  saw  them.  No — not  as 
if  he  saw  them  in  reality,  by  the  way,  but  as  if  he  beheld 
them  well  acted  in  a  theatre,  the  principal  characters 
represented  by  Mr.  Charles  Kean  and  other  splendid 
stars  of  the  stage. 

So  there  is  nothing  but  fighting  in  the  works  of  the 
Reverend  John  Froissart  —  nothing  but  fighting  and 
killing:  yet  all  passes  with  such  brilliancy,  splendour, 
and  good  humour,  that  you  can't  fancy  for  the  world 
that  anybody  is  hurt;  and  though  the  warriors  of  whom 
he  speaks  are  sometimes  wounded,  it  really  seems  as  if 
they  liked  it.  It  is — "Fair  sir,  shall  we  for  the  honour 
of  our  ladies,  or  the  love  of  the  blessed  Virgin  of  Heaven, 
cut  each  other's  heads  off?'  "I  am  unworthy  to  have 
the  honour  of  running  through  the  body  such  a  flower  of 
chivalry  as  you,"  replies  the  other;  and  herewith  smiling 
sweetly  on  each  other,  gaudy  with  plumes,  and  gold, 

86 


LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY      87 

and  blazing  coats  of  armour,  bestriding  prancing  war- 
horses  covered  also  with  gay  housings  and  bright  steel, 
at  it  the  two  gentlemen  go,  with  lances  in  rest,  shouting 
their  war-cries  gaily.  "A  Manny!  a  Manny! "  "Our 
Lady  for  Alencon!"  says  one  or  the  other.  "For  the 
love  of  the  saints  parry  me  that  cut,  sir,"  says  Sir  Walter 
Manny,  delivering  it  gracefully  with  his  heavy  battle- 
sword.  "  Par  la  Sambleu,  beau  sire,  voila  un  beau  coup 
d'espee,"  says  the  constable  to  the  other,  politely,  who 
has  just  split  his  nose  in  two,  or  carried  off  his  left 
whisker  and  cheek: — and  the  common  people  go  to  work 
just  as  genteelly; — whizz!  how  the  bow-strings  thrum, 
as  the  English  archers,  crying  "  Saint  George  for  Eng- 
land!" send  their  arrows  forth! 

Montjoie  Saint  Denis! — how  the  French  men-at-arms 
come  thundering  over  the  corn-fields,  their  lances  and 
corslets  shining  in  the  sun!— As  for  me,  my  dears,  when 


ENGLISHMAN     WITH     CLOTH-YARD     SHAFT 


88  MISS    TICKLETOBY'S 

I  read  the  story,  I  fancy  myself,  for  a  moment  or  two, 
Jane  of  Montfort,  dressed  in  armour,  and  holding  up  my 
son  in  my  arms,  calling  upon  my  faithful  nobles  of  Bre- 
tagne  to  defend  me  and  him. 

[Here  Miss  Tickletoby,  seizing  play  fully  hold  of 
Master  Timson,  lifted  him  gaily  in  one  of  her 
arms,  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  an  heroic  at- 
titude; but  the  children,  never  having  before 
heard  of  Jane  of  Montfort  or  her  history,  were 
quite  frightened,  and  fancied  their  venerable 
instructress  mad — while  Master  Timson,  who 
believed  he  had  been  elevated  for  the  purpose 
of  being  flogged,  set  up  a  roar  which  caused 
the  worthy  lady  to  put  him  quickly  down  again. 
But  to  speak  of  King  Edward  III.    The  first  act  of 
his  reign  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  seizing  of  one 
Mortimer,  the  Queen's  lover,  whom  he  caused  to  be 
hanged,  and  of  her  Majesty,  whom  he  placed  in  a  castle, 
where  she  lived  for  the  last  seven-and-twenty  years  of  her 
life,  with  a  handsome  allowance  made  to  her  bv  her  son. 
The  chief  of  his  time  hereafter  was  filled  up  with 
wars — those  wars  which  are  so  pleasant  to  read  of  in 
Froissart,  before  mentioned,  but  which  I  need  not  tell 
any  little  child  here  who  ever  by  chance  has  had  a  black 
eye  or  a  whipping,  are  by  no  means  pleasant  in  reality. 
When  we  read  that  the  king's  son,  the  Black  Prince, 
burned  down  no  less  than  five  hundred  towns  and  vil- 
lages in  the  South  of  France,  laying  the  country  waste 
round  about  them,  and  driving  the  population  Heaven 
knows  where,  you  may  fancy  what  the  character  of  these 
wars  must  have  been,  and  that  if  they  were  good  fun 
to  the  knights  and  soldiers,  they  were  by  no  means  so 
pleasant  to  the  people. 


LECTURES    ON   ENGLISH    HISTORY    89 

By  such  exploits,  however,  the  reign  of  Edward  is 
to  be  noted.  Robert  Bruce  being  dead,  and  his  son  a 
child,  Edward  fell  on  the  Scots,  slaughtered  forty  thou- 
sand of  them  at  Halidon  Hill,  and  aided  the  younger 
Baliol,  who  in  return  promised  the  submission  of  him- 
self and  kingdom  to  England,  to  take  a  temporary  pos- 
session of  the  throne.  The  Scotch,  however,  soon  rose 
against  Baliol;  and  Edward  Bruce  got  back  his  crown — 
such  as  it  was. 

Then  our  lord  Sir  Edward  took  a  fancy  to  France, 
and,  upon  a  most  preposterous  claim  advanced  by  him, 
assumed  the  French  arms,  called  himself  king  of  that 
country,  and  prepared  to  take  possession  of  the  same. 
The  first  thing  he  did,  to  this  end,  was  to  obtain  a  glori- 
ous victory  over  the  French  navy,  taking  no  less  than 
two  hundred  and  forty  of  their  ships,  and  killing  I  don't 
know  how  many  thousands  of  their  men. 

I  don't  know  if  the  French  wore  "wooden  shoes"  in 
those  days,  but  the  English  hated  them  for  that  or  some 
other  equally  good  cause ;  and  the  Parliaments  for  ever 
granted  the  king  money  to  carry  on  the  war  in  assertion 
of  his  just  rights.  Just  rights,  forsooth ! — a  private  man 
putting  forward  such  claims  to  another's  purse,  and 
claiming  his  just  rights  with  a  pistol  at  your  head,  would 
be  hanged  for  his  pains.  Bishops  and  priests  said  pray- 
ers for  King  Edward,  and  judges  and  lawyers  wrote 
long  lying  documents  in  support  of  his  cause. 

In  spite  of  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  pounds  which 
his  subjects  gave  him,  and  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
men  he  brought  into  the  field  against  the  King  of 
France,  Edward  for  some  time  made  very  little  way, 
and  did  not  overcome  the  French  king's  armies — for  the 
very  good  reason,  that  the  latter  would  never  meet  him. 


90 


MISS   TICKLETOBY'S 


And  it  is  a  singular  thing,  that  when  the  two  armies  did 
meet,  and  the  English  obtained  those  two  victories  about 
which  we  have  been  bragging  for  near  five  hundred 
years,  we  did  not  fight  until  we  were  forced,  and  because 

S 


ENGLISH    BILL-MAN 


we  could  not  help  it.  Burning,  robbing,  ravaging,  Ed- 
ward's troops  had  arrived  at  the  gates  of  Paris,  not  with 
the  hope  of  conquering  the  country,  but  of  plundering 
it  simply;  and  were  making  the  best  of  their  way  home 
again  from  the  pursuit  of  an  immense  French  army 
which  was  pressing  them  very  hard,  when  Edward,  find- 
ing he  could  not  escape  without  a  fight,  took  a  desperate 
stand  and  the  best  ground  he  could  find  on  the  famous 
hill  of  Cressy. 

Here,  sheltered  amidst  the  vines,  the  English  archers 
and  chivalry  took  their  posts;  and  the  blundering 
French,  as  absurdly  vain  and  supercilious  in  those  days 
as  they  are  at  this  moment,  thinking  to  make  easy  work 
of  ces  coquins  ds 'Anglais,  charged  the  hill  and  the  vine- 
yards— not  the  English,  who  were  behind  them,  and 
whose  arrows  slaughtered  them  without  pity. 


LECTURES    ON    ENGLISH   HISTORY    91 

When  the  huge  mass  of  the  French  army  was  thrown 
into  disorder  by  these  arrows,  the  English  riders  issued 
out  and  plunged  among  them,  murdering  at  their  ease; 
and  the  result  was  a  glorious  triumph  to  the  British  arms. 
King  Edward's  son,  a  lad  of  fourteen,  distinguished 
himself  in  the  fight,  holding  his  ground  bravely  against 
the  only  respectable  attack  which  the  French  seem  to 
have  made  in  the  course  of  the  day.  And  ever  since  that 
day,  the  princes  of  Wales,  as  you  know,  have  had  for  a 
crest  that  of  an  old  King  of  Bohemia  (the  blind  old  fool !) , 
who  could  not  see  the  English,  but  bade  his  squires  lead 
him  towards  them,  so  that  he  might  exchange  a  few 
coups  de  lance  with  them.  So  the  squires  laced  their 
bridles  into  his,  made  their  attack,  and  were  run  through 
the  body  in  a  minute;  and  serve  'em  right,  say  I. 

Whilst  Edward  was  fighting  this  battle,  those  maraud- 
ing Scotchmen,  under  David  Bruce  their  new  king  (as 
great  a  robber,  my  dears,  as  his  father),  thought  they 
might  take  advantage  of  the  unprotected  state  of  the 
kingdom,  and  came  across  the  border  in  great  force,  to 
plunder  as  usual.  But  I  am  happy  to  say  that  her 
Majesty,  Queen  Philippa,  heading  a  small  English 
army,  caught  them  at  a  place  called  Nevil's  Cross,  and 
utterly  defeated  the  thievish  rogues,  killing  vast  numbers 
of  them.  She  was  as  kind-hearted,  too,  as  she  was  brave. 
For  at  the  siege  of  Calais,  after  Edward  had  reduced 
the  town,  he  swore,  in  his  rage  at  the  resistance  of  the 
garrison,  that  he  would  hang  six  of  the  principal  inhabi- 
tants. These  unhappy  six  came  before  him  "  in  their 
shirts,  with  halters  round  their  necks,"  the  old  chroniclers 
say,  and  as,  in  fact,  is  proved  by  their  portraits  overleaf. 

The  queen  interceded  for  their  lives;  the  monarch 
granted  her  prayer,  and  her  Majesty  gave  the  poor 
burghers  what  must  have  been  very  acceptable  to  them 


92       MISS  TICKLETOBY'S  LECTURES 

after  six  months'  starvation:  a  comfortable  meal  of 
victuals. 

"  I  hope  they  went  home  first  to  dress  for  dinner," 
here  remarked  an  intelligent  pupil. 

"  Of  course  they  must  have  done  so,  my  dear,"  an- 
swered Miss  Tickletoby;  "but,  for  my  part,  I  believe 
that  the  whole  scene  must  have  been  arranged  previously 
between  the  king  and  queen;  indeed,  as  you  will  see  by 
the  picture,  neither  of  them  can  help  laughing  at  the 
ridiculous  figure  the  burgesses  cut." 


THE    CITIZENS    OF    CALAIS 


The  company  separated  in  immense  good-humour, 
saying  that  the  Lecturer  had,  on  this  occasion,  mingled 
amusement  with  much  stern  instruction. 

(1842.) 


THE  END  OF      LECTURES  ON  ENGLISH  HISTORY. 


PAPERS 

BY 

THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


PAPERS 

BY 

THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

WANDERINGS  OF  OUR  FAT 
CONTRIBUTOR 


[The  fattest  of  our  contributors  left  London  very  suddenly  last  week, 
without  giving  the  least  idea  of  his  movements  until  we  received  the  follow- 
ing communication.  We  don't  know  whether  he  is  going  to  travel,  nor  do 
we  pledge  ourselves  in  the  least  to  publish  another  line  of  the  Fat  Contribu- 
tor's correspondence.  As  far  as  his  tour  goes  at  present,  it  certainly  is,  if 
not  novel,  at  least  treated  in  a  novel  manner;  for  the  reader  will  remark  that 
there  is  not  a  word  about  the  places  visited  by  our  friend,  while  there  is  a 
prodigious  deal  of  information  regarding  himself.  Interesting  as  our  Fat 
Contributor  is,  yet  it  may  chance  that  we  shall  hear  enough  about  him  ere 
many  more  letters  are  received  from  him.— Editor.] 

THERE  were  eleven  more  dinners  hustling  one  an- 
other in  my  invitation-book.  "  If  you  eat  two 
more,  you  are  in  for  an  apoplexy,"  said  Glauber,  my 
medical  man.  "  But  Miss  Twaddlings  is  to  be  at  the 
Macwhirters'  on  Thursday,"  I  expostulated,  "  and  you 
know  what  money  she  has."  '  She'll  be  a  widow  before 
she's  married,"  says  Glauber,  :'if  you  don't  mind. — 
Away  with  you! — Take  three  grains  of  blue  pill  every 
night,  and  my  draught  in  the  morning— if  you  don't,  I 
won't  answer  for  the  consequences. — You  look  as  white 
as  a  sheet — as  puffy  as  a  bolster — this  season  you've 
grown  so  inordinately  gross  and  fa — " 

It's  a  word  I  can't  bear  applied  to  myself.     I  wrote 
letters  round  to  decline  my  dinners;  and  agreed  to  go— 

95 


96 


WANDERINGS  OF 


But  whither?  Why  not  to  Brighton?  I  went  a  few 
days  before  the  blow-up.1  I  was  out  for  four  hours  in 
a  fly  on  that  day.  I  saw  Lord  Brougham  in  a  white 
hat  and  telescope — I  saw  the  sea  lighted  up  with  count- 
less smiles — I  saw  the  chain-pier,  and  the  multitudes 
swarming  on  it — I  saw  the  bucks  smoking  cigars  on  the 
terrace  of  the  Albion. 

I  could  not  smoke — I  was  with  three  ladies  in  the  fly 
—  thev  were  all  fat,  and,  oh!  how  hot!  The  sun  beat 
down  upon  us  ruthlessly.      Captain  Warner  wouldn't 


come.  We  drove  and  put  back  the  dinner.  Then  Miss 
Bogle  said  she  would  like  to  drive  to  the  Library  for  the 
last  volume  of  Grant's  "  Visit  to  Paris." 

While  we  were  at  Folthorpe's,  their  messenger  came 
running  in— he  had  been  out  but  one  minute  that  day; 
he  had  seen  it.  We  had  been  out  four  hours;  it  was  all 
over !     All  that  we  could  see  when  we  got  back  was  this— 


C  is  the  sea.     M  a  mast  sticking  up  in  it 

1  On  July  23rd,  1844,  a  good  deal  of  excitement  was  caused  by  the  trial  at 
Brighton  of  Captain  Warner's  invention  for  destroying  ships  at  sea. 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  97 

That  was  what  I  had  come  to  Brighton  for— to  eat 
prawns  for  breakfast — to  pay  five  shillings  for  a  warm 
bath — and  not  to  see  the  explosion. 

I  set  off  for  London  the  next  day.  One  of  my  din- 
ners was  coming  off  that  day — I  had  resigned  it.  There 
would  very  likely  be  turtle ;  and  I  wasn't  there !  Flesh 
and  blood  couldn't  stand  it.  '  I  will  go  to  Dover  to- 
morrow," I  said,  "  and  take  the  first  packet  that  goes— 
that  goes  anywhere." 

I  am  at  Dover.  This  is  written  from  the  Ship  Hotel : 
let  me  recollect  the  adventures  of  the  day. 

The  Dover  trains  go  from  two  places  at  once :  but  my 
belief  is,  the  cabmen  try  and  perplex  you.  If  it  is  the 
turn  of  the  Bricklayers'  Arms  train,  they  persuade  you 
to  London  Bridge;  if  of  the  London  Bridge,  they  in- 
veigle you  to  the  Bricklayers'  Arms — through  that 
abominable  suburb  stretching  away  from  Waterloo 
Bridge,  and  into  the  Greater  London,  which  seems  as  it 
were  run  to  seed. 

I  passed  a  theatre — these  creatures  have  a  theatre  it 
appears— it  is  called  (to  judge  from  a  painted  placard) 
the  Victoria.  It  is  a  brick  building,  large,  and  with  the 
windows  cracked  and  stuffed  with  coats. 

At  the  Bricklayers'  Arms,  which  we  reached  at  length 
after  paying  several  base  turnpikes,  and  struggling 
through  a  noisy,  dirty,  bustling,  dismal  city  of  small 
houses  and  queer  shops  and  gin-palaces — the  policeman 
comes  grinning  up  to  the  cab,  and  says,  "  No  train  from 
here,  sir — next  train  from  London  Bridge — hoften  these 
mistakes.  Cab  drove  away  only  just  this  minute. 
You'll  be  in  time  if  you  go." 

The  cabman  gallops  off,  with  a  grin.  The  brute!  he 
knew  it  well  enough.     He  went  for  an  extra  fare. 

As  I  do  not  wish  to  have  a  coup-de-soleil;  or  to  be 


98  WANDERINGS  OF 

blinded  with  dust ;  or  to  have  my  nerves  shattered  by  the 
infernal  screaming  of  the  engine  as  we  rush  howling 
through  the  tunnels ;  as  I  wish  to  sit  as  soft  as  I  can  in 
this  life,  and  find  a  board  by  no  means  so  elastic  as  a 
cushion,  I  take  the  first  class,  of  course. — I  should  prefer 
having  some  of  the  third-class  people  for  company, 
though — I  find  them  generally  less  vulgar  than  their 
betters. 

I  selected,  as  may  be  imagined,  an  empty  carriage :  in 
which  I  lived  pretty  comfortably  until  we  got  to  Reigate, 
where  two  persons  with  free  tickets — engineers  and 
Scotchmen — got  into  the  carriage. 

Of  course  one  insisted  upon  sitting  down  in  the  very 
seat  opposite  me.  There  were  four  seats,  but  he  must 
take  that,  on  purpose  to  mingle  his  legs  with  mine,  and 
make  me  uncomfortable.  I  removed  to  the  next  seat — 
the  middle  one.  This  was  what  the  wretch  wanted.  He 
plumped  into  my  place.  He  had  the  two  places  by  the 
window — the  two  best  in  the  coach — he  leered  over  my 
shoulder  at  his  comrade  a  great,  coarse,  hideous  Scotch 
smile. 

I  hate  engineers,  I  hate  Scotchmen,  I  hate  brutes 
with  free  tickets,  who  take  the  places  of  gentlemen  who 
pay. 

On  alighting  at  Dover,  and  remembering  the  extrava- 
gance of  former  charges  at  the  "  Ship,"  under  another 
proprietor  ( pray  heavens  the  morrow's  little  bill  may  be 
a  mild  one!),  I  thought  of  going  elsewhere.  Touters 
were  about  seizing  upon  the  passengers  and  recommend- 
ing their  hotels— "Now,  Gents,  the  'Gun'  !"  roared 
one  monster.  I  turned  sickening  away  from  him. 
;  Take  me  to  the  '  Ship,' :'  I  faintly  gasped. 

On  proposing  dinner,  the  waiter  says  with  an  air  as  if 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  99 

he  was  inventing  something  extremely  clever,  "  Whiting, 
sir?     Nice  fried  sole?" 

Mon  Dieu!  what  have  I  done  to  be  pursued  in  this 
way  by  whiting  and  fried  sole?  Is  there  nothing  else  in 
the  world?  Ain't  I  sick  of  fried  sole  and  whiting — whit- 
ing and  fried  sole?  Having  eaten  them  for  long  years 
and  years  until  my  soul  is  weary  of  them.  '  You  great 
ass,"  I  felt  inclined  to  exclaim,  "  I  can  get  whiting  and 
sole  in  London,  give  me  something  new! " 

Ah  for  that  something  new !  I  have  seen  the  dry  toast 
come  up  for  my  breakfast  so  many  many  times — the 
same  old  tough  stiff  leathery  tasteless  choky  dry  toast, 
that  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  The  other  morning  ( I  had 
been  rather  feverish  all  night)  it  came  up  and  I  declare 
I  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  haunt  me,"  I  said,  "  you  demd  old 
toast?  What  have  I  done  that  there  is  no  other  com- 
panion for  me  but  you?  I  hate  and  spurn  you — and  yet 
up  you  come.  Day  by  day,  heartless  brute,  I  leave  you 
in  the  rack,  and  yet  it's  not  you  that  suffer  torture :  "  and 
I  made  a  passionate  speech  to  that  toast  full  of  elo- 
quence, and  howled  and  flung  the  plateful  at  the  door — 
just  as  Mary  came  in. 

She  is  the  maid.  She  could  not  understand  my  feel- 
ings. She  is  contented  with  toast  for  breakfast,  with 
bread  I  believe,  poor  wretch!  So  are  cows  contented 
with  grass.  Horses  with  corn.  The  fine  spirit  pants 
for  novelty — and  mine  is  sick  of  old  toast. 

"  Gents  "  are  spoken  of  familiarly  even  at  this  hotel. 
During  dinner  a  messenger  comes  to  ask  if  a  young 
"gent"  was  dining  in  the  coffee-room? 

"  No,"  says  the  waiter. 

"  How  is  that,"  thinks  I,  "  am  I  not  a  young  gent  my- 


100  WANDERINGS  OF 

self? "  He  continues,  "  There's  two  holdish  ladies  and  a 
very  young  gent  in  No.  24;  but  there's  only  a  middle- 
haged  gent  in  the  coffee-room.3' 

Has  it  come  to  this,  then?  Thirty  something  last 
birthday,  and  to  be  called  a  middle-aged  gent  ?  Away ! 
Away !  I  can  bear  this  ribaldry  no  more.  Perhaps  the 
sea  may  console  me. 

And  how  ?  it's  only  a  dim  straight  line  of  horizon,  with 
no  gaiety  or  variety  in  it.  A  few  wretched  little  vessels 
are  twiddling  up  and  down.  A  steam-tug  or  two- 
yachts  more  or  less — the  town  is  hideous,  except  for  a 
neat  row  of  houses  or  two— the  cliffs  only  respectable. 
The  castle  looks  tolerable.  But  who,  I  should  like  to 
know,  would  be  such  a  fool  as  to  climb  up  to  it?  Hark! 
There  is  a  band  playing— it  is  a  long  mile  on,  and  yet  I 
go  to  listen  to  it. 

It  is  a  band  of  wind-instruments  of  course,  a  military 
band,  and  the  wretches  listening  in  their  stupid  good- 
humour  are  giving  the  players — beer.  I  knew  what 
would  happen  immediately  upon  the  beer  (I'm  forbid- 
den it  myself).  They  played  so  infernally  out  of  tune 
that  they  blasted  me  off  the  ground — away  from  the 
Dover  bucks,  and  the  poor  girls  in  their  cheap  finery, 
and  the  grinning  yokels,  and  the  maniacs  riding  veloci- 
pedes. 

This  is  what  I  saw  most  worthy  of  remark  all  day. 
This  person  was  standing  on  the  beach,  and  her  garments 
flapped  round  about  her  in  the  breeze.  She  stood  and 
looked  and  looked  until  somebody  came — to  her  call  ap- 
parently. Somebody,  a  male  of  her  species,  dressed  in 
corduroys  and  a  frock.  Then  they  paired  off  quite 
happy. 

That  thing  had  a  lover! 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


101 


Good-night,  I  can  say  no  more.  A  monster  has  just 
told  me  that  a  vessel  starts  at  seven  for  Ostend :  I  will 
take  it.     I  would  take  one  for  Jericho  if  it  started  at  six. 


II 

THE    SEA 

I  HAD  one  comfort  in  quitting  Dover.  It  was  to  see 
Towzer,  my  tailor,  of  Saint  James's  Street,  loung- 
ing about  the  pier  in  a  marine  jacket,  with  a  tuft  to  his 
chin. 

His  face,  when  he  saw  me  in  the  boat,  was  one  of  the 
most  intense  agony.    I  owe  Towzer  203Z. 

"  Good-bye,  Towzer,"  I  said.  "  I  shall  be  back  in  four 
years."  And  I  laughed  a  demoniac  yell  of  scorn,  and 
tumbled  clattering  down  the  brass  stairs  of  the  cabin. 

An  Israelite  had  already  taken  the  best  place,  and  was 
preparing  to  be  unwell.  I  have  observed  that  the  "  Mo- 
saic Arabs,"  as  Coningsby  calls  them,  are  always  particu- 
larly amenable  to  maritime  discomfiture.  The  Jew's 
internal  commotions  were  frightful  during  the  passage. 

Two  Oxford  youths,  one  of  whom  had  been  growing 
a  moustache  since  the  commencement  of  the  vacation, 
began  to  smoke  cigars,  and  assume  particularly  piratical 
airs. 

I  took  the  picture  of  one  of  them  an  hour  afterwards 
—  stretched  lifeless  on  the  deck,  in  the  agonies  of  sea- 
sickness. 

I  will  not  print  that  likeness.  It  is  too  excellent.  If 
his  mamma  saw  it,  she  would  catch  her  death  of  fright, 

102 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  103 

and  order  her  darling  Tommy  home.  I  will  rather  pub- 
lish the  one  on  the  following  page. 

That  man  is  studying  Levizac's  grammar.  He  is  a 
Scotchman.  He  has  not  the  least  sense  of  modesty.  As 
he  gets  up  phrases  out  of  that  stale  old  grammar  of  1803 
(bought  cheap  on  a  stall  in  Glasgow) ,  the  wretch  looks 
up,  and  utters  the  sentences  he  has  just  acquired — serves 
them  up  hot  in  his  hideous  jargon.  'Parly  voo  Fran- 
sis,"  says  he,  or  "  Pranny  garde  de  mong  tait."  He 
thinks  he  has  quite  the  accent.  He  never  doubts  but  that 
he  is  in  a  situation  to  cope  with  the  natives.  And  an  fait, 
he  speaks  French  as  well  as  many  Belgians  or  Germans 
in  those  lands  whither  he  is  wandering. 

Poor  Caledonian  youth!  I  have  been  cramming  him 
with  the  most  dreadful  lies  all  the  way.  I  should  have 
utterly  bewildered  him,  and  made  him  mad  with  lies,  but 
for  this  circumstance: — 

In  the  middle  of  a  very  big  one,  which  (administered 
by  me)  was  slipping  down  his  throat  as  glibly  as  an 
oyster,  there  came  up  from  the  cabin  a  young  woman, 
not  very  pretty,  but  kind -looking,  and  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  that  Levizac-reading  Scotchman, 
and  smiled,  and  he  said,  with  an  air  of  immense  supe- 
riority— 

"  Wall,  Eliza,  are  ye  batter  noo? " 

It  was  his  wife!  She  loved  him.  She  was  partial  to 
that  snob.  She  did  not  mind  the  strings  of  his  shirt- 
collar  sticking  out  behind  his  back. 

Gentle  Eliza!  a  man  whom  you  love  and  whose  ex- 
posed follies  would  give  you  pain,  shall  never  be  made 
the  butt  of  the  Fat  Contributor. 

It  will  hardly  be  credited — but,  upon  my  honour,  there 
are  four  people  on  deck  learning  French  dialogues  as 


104  WANDERINGS  OF 

hard  as  they  can.  There  is  the  Oxford  man  who  is  not 
sick.  A  young  lady  who  is  to  be  the  spokeswoman  of  her 
party  of  nine.     A  very  pompous  man,  who  swore  last 


night  in  my  hearing  that  he  was  a  capital  hand  at  French, 
and  the  Caledonian  student  before  mentioned. 

What  a  wise  race!  They  learn  French  phrases  to 
speak  to  German  waiters,  who  understand  English  per- 
fectly. 

The  couriers  and  gentlemen's  servants  are  much  the 
most  distingue-looking  people  in  the  ship.  Lord  Muf- 
fington  was  on  board,  and  of  course  I  got  into  conversa- 
tion with  his  lordship — a  noble-looking  person.  But 
just  when  I  thought  he  might  be  on  the  point  of  asking 
me  to  Muffington  Castle,  he  got  up  suddenly,  and  said, 
'  Yes,  my  lord,"  to  a  fellow  I  never  should  have  sus- 
pected of  a  coronet.  Yet  he  was  the  noble  earl,  and  my 
friend  was  but  his  flunkey. 

Such  is  life!  and  so  may  its  most  astute  observers  be 

sometimes  deceived. 

Ostend:  August  6. 

While  the  couriers,  commissioners,  footmen,  gentle- 
men, ladies'-maids,  Scotchman  with  the  shirt-collar,  the 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  105 

resuscitated  Oxford  youth,  the  family  of  nine,  and  the 
whole  ship's  passengers  are  struggling,  puffing,  stamp- 
ing, squeezing,  bawling,  cursing,  tumbling  over  their 
boxes  and  one  another's  shins,  losing  their  keys,  scream- 
ing to  the  commissioners,  having  their  treasures  un- 
folded, their  wonderful  packed  boxes  unpacked  so  that 
it  is  impossible  ever  to  squeeze  the  articles  back  into  their 
receptacles  again;  while  there  is  such  a  scene  of  Babel 
clatter  and  confusion  around  me,  ah!  let  me  thank 
Heaven  that  I  have  but  a  carpet-bag ! 

Any  man  going  abroad  who  purchases  this  number  of 
Punch  a  day  previous  to  his  departure,  will  bless  me  for 
ever.  Only  take  a  carpet-bag!  You  can  have  every- 
thing there  taste  or  luxury  demands:  six  shirts,  a  fresh 
suit  of  clothes,  as  manv  razors  as  would  shave  the  beards 
of  a  regiment  of  Turks,  and  what  more  does  a  traveller 
require?  Buy  nothing!  Get  a  reading  of  Murray's 
Guide-book  from  your  neighbour,  and  be  independent 
and  happy. 

My  acquaintance,  the  Hon.  James  Jillyflower,  was  in 
the  boat  with  fifteen  trunks  as  I  am  a  sinner.  He  was 
induced  to  take  packages  for  his  friends.  This  is  the 
beauty  of  baggage — if  you  have  a  bag,  you  can  refuse. 
On  this  score  I  refused  twenty-four  numbers  of  the  Met- 
ropolitan Magazine,  a  teapot,  and  a  ham — which  he  ac- 
cepted. 

Lady  Scram  jaw— the  packet  was  opened  before  my 
eyes  by  the  custom-house  officers  at  Ostend — gave  Jilly- 
flower a  parcel  of  law  papers  to  carry  to  Italy— "only 
deeds,  upon  her  honour  " — and  deeds  they  were,  but  with 
six  pair  of  gloves  inside.  All  his  fifteen  trunks  were 
opened  in  consequence  of  that  six  pair  of  gloves.  He 
is  made  miserable  for  those  gloves.     But  what  cares 


106  WANDERINGS  OF 

Lady  Scram  jaw?    Let  all  travellers  beware,  then,  and 
again  and  again  bless  me  for  the  hint. 

I  have  no  passport.    They  have  arrested  me. 
I  am  about  to  be  conducted  to  the  police.     I  may  be 
put  into  a  dungeon  like  O'Connell.     Tyrants!  lead  on! 

***** 

I  was  not  led  to  prison,  as  might  have  been  expected. 
I  was  only  conducted  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  where  was 
an  official  with  large  mustachios  and  a  conical  cap.  Eye- 
ing me  with  lowering  brows,  the  following  dialogue  took 
place  between  me  and  this  myrmidon  of  tyrants: — 

Man  in  the  Cap.    Monsieur,  votre  passeport. 

Fat  Contributor.    Monsieur,  je  n'en  ai  pas. 

Man  in  the  Cap.  Alors,  Monsieur,  vous  pourrez  pas- 
ser a  votre  hotel. 

Fat  Contributor.  Bonjour,  Monsieur  (id  le  Gros 
Redacteur  tire  un  profound  coup  de  chapeau ) . 

Man  in  the  Cap.    Monsieur,  je  vous  salue. 

We  separated.  I  want  to  know  how  long  Britons  are 
to  be  subjected  to  such  grinding  oppression? 

We  went  then  to  our  hotel — the  Hotel  des  Bains.  We 
were  so  foolish  as  to  order  champagne  for  dinner.  It  is 
the  worst  champagne  I  ever  drank  in  my  life:  worse 
than  champagne  at  Vauxhall — worse  than  used  to  be 
supplied  by  a  wine-merchant  at  the  University — worse 
even  than  the  Bordeaux  provided  in  the  Hotel  des  Bains. 
Good  heavens!  is  it  for  this  I  am  come  abroad? 

Is  it  for  this?  To  drink  bad  wine— to  eat  fried  soles 
as  tough  as  my  shoe— to  have  my  nerves  agitated  about 
a  passport — and,  by  way  of  a  second  course,  to  be  served 
with  flabby  raw  mutton-chops  ?    Away !    I  can  get  these 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


107 


in  Chancery  Lane.  Is  there  not  such  a  place  as  Green- 
wich in  the  world?  and  am  I  come  two  hundred  miles 
for  such  an  iniquitous  dinner  as  this  ? 

I  thought  of  going  back  again.  Why  did  I  come 
away?  If  there  had  been  a  gig  at  the  door  that  instant 
to  carry  me  to  my  native  country,  I  would  have  jumped 
in.  But  there  is  no  hope.  Look  out  of  the  window, 
miserable  man,  and  see  you  are  a  stranger  in  a  foreign 
land.  There  is  an  alehouse  opposite,  with  "  hier  ater- 
koopt  man  tranken  '  over  the  porch.  A  woman  is 
standing  before  me — a  woman  in  wooden  shoes.  She  has 
a  Belgic  child  at  her  neck,  another  at  her  side  in  little 
wooden  shoekins. 

To    them    approaches    their    father— a    mariner— he 


.  e  a  u  r  1  c 


'   ——        PLAISANC1E 
YERftpTM™   TRANKEf 


108  WANDERINGS  OF 

kisses  his  wife,  he  kisses  his  children,  and  what  does  he  do 
next?  Why,  he  wipes  the  nose  of  the  eldest  child,  and 
then  the  fond  father  wipes  the  nose  of  the  youngest 
child.  You  see  his  attitude — his  portrait.  You  cannot 
see  his  child's  face  because  'tis  hidden  in  the  folds  of  the 
paternal  handkerchief. 

Fancy  its  expression  of  gratitude,  ye  kind  souls  who 
read  this.  I  am  a  fat  man,  but  somehow  that  touch  of 
nature  pleased  me.  It  went  to  the  heart  through  the 
nose.  Ah!  happy  children,  sua  si  bona  norint;  if  they 
did  but  know  their  luck!  They  have  a  kind  father  to 
tend  them  now,  and  defend  their  delicate  faces  from  the 
storms  of  life.  I  am  alone  in  the  world — sad  and  lonely. 
I  have  nobody  to  blow  my  nose.  There  are  others  yet 
more  wretched,  who  must  steal  the  handkerchief  with 
which  they  perform  the  operation. 

I  could  bear  that  feeling  of  loneliness  no  longer. 
Away!  let  us  hasten  to  the  dyke  to  enjoy  the  pleasures 
of  the  place.  All  Ostend  is  there,  sitting  before  the 
Restaurant,  and  sipping  ices  as  the  sun  descends  into  the 
western  wave. 

Look  at  his  round  disc  as  it  sinks  into  the  blushing 
Maters! — look,  too,  at  that  fat  woman  bathing — as  round 
as  the  sun.     She  wears  a  brown  dressing-gown — two 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  109 

bathers  give  her  each  a  hand— she  advances  backwards 
towards  the  coming  wave,  and  as  it  reaches  her— plop! 
she  sits  down  in  it. 

She  emerges,  puffing,  wheezing,  and  shaking  herself. 
She  retires,  creeping  up  the  steps  of  the  bathing  machine. 
She  is  succeeded  by  other  stout  nymphs,  disporting  in  the 
waves.  For  hours  and  hours  the  Ostenders  look  on  at 
this  enchanting  sight. 

The  Ostend  oyster  is  famous  in  Paris,  and  the  joy  of 
the  gormandiser.  Our  good-natured  neighbours  would 
not  enjoy  them,  perhaps,  did  they  know  of  what  country 
these  oysters  are  natives. 

At  Ostend  they  are  called  English  oysters.  Yes ;  they 
are  born  upon  the  shores  of  Albion.  They  are  brought 
to  Belgium  young,  and  educated  there.  Poor  mollus- 
cous exiles!  they  never  see  their  country  again. 

We  rose  at  four,  to  be  ready  for  the  train.  A  ruffianly 
Boots  (by  what  base  name  they  denominate  the  wretch  in 
this  country  I  know  not)  was  pacing  the  corridors  at 
half -past  two. 

Why  the  deuce  will  we  get  up  so  confoundedly  early 
on  a  journey?  Why  do  we  persist  in  making  ourselves 
miserable?— depriving  our  souls  of  sleep,  scuffling 
through  our  blessed  meals,  that  we  may  be  early  on  the 
road?  Is  not  the  sight  of  a  good  comfortable  breakfast 
more  lovely  than  any  landscape  in  any  country?  And 
what  turn  in  the  prospect  is  so  charming  as  the  turn  in  a 
clean  snug  bed,  and  another  snooze  of  half-an-hour? 

This  alone  is  worth  a  guinea  of  any  man's  money.  If 
you  are  going  to  travel,  never  lose  your  natural  rest  for 
anything.  The  prospect  that  you  want  to  see  will  be 
there  next  day.     You  can't  see  an  object  fairly  unless 


110  WANDERINGS  OF 

you  have  had  your  natural  sleep.  A  woman  in  curl- 
papers, a  man  unshorn,  are  not  fit  to  examine  a  land- 
scape. An  empty  stomach  makes  blank  eyes.  If  you 
would  enjoy  exterior  objects  well,  dear  friend,  let  your 
inner  man  be  comfortable. 

Above  all,  young  traveller,  take  my  advice  and  never, 
never,  be  such  a  fool  as  to  go  up  a  mountain,  a  tower,  or 
a  steeple.  I  have  tried  it.  Men  still  ascend  eminences  to 
this  day,  and,  descending,  say  they  have  been  delighted. 
But  it  is  a  lie.  They  have  been  miserable  the  whole  day. 
Keep  you  down:  and  have  breakfast  while  the  asinine 
hunters  after  the  picturesque  go  braying  up  the  hill. 

It  is  a  broiling  daj>'.  Some  arduous  fellow-country- 
men, now  that  we  have  arrived,  think  of  mounting  the 
tower  of 

ANTWERP 

Let  you  and  me  rather  remain  in  the  cool  Cathedral, 
and  look  at  the  pictures  there,  painted  by  the  gentleman 
whom  Lady  Londonderry  calls  Reuben. 

We  examined  these  works  of  art  at  our  leisure.  We 
thought  to  ourselves  what  a  privilege  it  is  to  be  allowed 
to  look  at  the  works  of  Reuben  (or  any  other  painter) 
after  the  nobility  have  gazed  on  them!  "What  did  the 
Noble  Marquis  think  about  Reuben?"  we  mentally  in- 
quired—it would  be  a  comfort  to  know  his  opinion:  and 
that  of  the  respected  aristocracy  in  general. 

So  thought  some  people  at  the  table-d'lwte,  near  whom 
we  have  been  sitting.  Poor  innocents!  How  little  they 
knew  that  the  fat  gentleman  opposite  was  the  con- 
tributor of — ha!  ha! 

My  mind  fills  with  a  savage  exultation  every  now  and 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  111 

then,  as,  hearing  a  piece  of  folly,  I  say  inwardly — "  Ha, 
my  fine  fellow!  you  are  down."  The  poor  wretch  goes 
pottering  on  with  his  dinner:  he  little  knows  he  will  be 
in  Punch  that  day  fortnight. 

There  is  something  fierce,  mighty,  savage,  inquisito- 
rial, demoniac,  in  the  possession  of  that  power!  But  we 
wield  the  dreadful  weapon  justly.  It  would  be  death  in 
the  hands  of  the  inexperienced  to  hold  the  thunderbolts 
of  Punch. 

There  they  sit,  poor  simple  lambs !  all  browsing  away 
at  their  victuals;  frisking  in  their  innocent  silly  way — 
making  puns,  some  of  them — quite  unconscious  of  their 
fate. 

One  man  quoted  a  joke  from  Punch.  It  was  one  of 
my  own.  Poor  wretch!  And  to  think  that  you,  too, 
must  submit  to  the  knife ! 

Come, 


Gentle  victim !    Let  me  plunge  it  into  you. 

But  my  paper  is  out.    I  will  reserve  the  slaughter  for 
the  next  letter. 


Ill 

[The  relations,  friends,  and  creditors  of  the  singular  and  erratic  being 
who,  under  the  title  of  the  Fat  Contributor  (he  is,  by  the  way,  the  thinnest 
mortal  that  ever  was  seen),  wrote  some  letters  in  August  last  in  this  period- 
ical, have  been  alarmed  by  the  sudden  cessation  of  his  correspondence;  and 
the  public,  as  we  have  reason  to  know  from  the  innumerable  letters  we  have 
received,  has  participated  in  this  anxiety. 

Yesterday,  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company's  steamship  "  Tagus," 
we  received  a  packet  of  letters  in  the  strange  handwriting  of  our  eccentric 
friend;  they  are  without  date,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  author's  usual 
irregularity,  but  the  first  three  letters  appeal  to  have  been  written  at  sea, 
between  Southampton  and  Gibraltar,  the  last  from  the  latter-named  place. 
The  letters  contain  some  novel  descriptions  of  the  countries  which  our  friend 
visited,  some  neat  and  apposite  moral  sentiments,  and  some  animated  de- 
scriptions of  maritime  life;  we  therefore  hasten  to  lay  them  before  the  public. 

He  requests  us  to  pay  his  laundress  in  Lincoln's  Inn  "a  small  forgotten 
account."  As  we  have  not  the  honour  of  that  lady's  acquaintance,  and  as  no 
doubt  she  reads  this  Miscellany  (in  company  with  every  lady  of  the  land), 
we  beg  her  to  apply  at  our  office,  where  her  claim,  upon  authentication, 
shall  be  settled. — Editor.] 


AVING  been  at  Brussels  for 
three  whole  days  (during  which 
time,  I  calculate,  I  ate  no  less 
than  fifty-four  dishes  at  that  ad- 
mirable table  d'hote  at  the  Hotel 
de  Suede ) ,  time  began  to  hang 
heavily  upon  me.  Although  I 
am  fat,  I  am  one  of  the  most 
active  men  in  the  universe — in 
fact,  I  roll  like  a  ball — and  pos- 
sess a  love  of  locomotion  which  would  do  credit  to  the 
leanest  of  travellers,  George  Borrow,  Captain  Clapper- 
ton,  or  Mungo  Park.  I  therefore  pursued  a  rapid  course 
to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Havre. 

112 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  113 

As  Havre  is  the  dullest  place  on  earth,  I  quitted  it  the 
next  day  by  the  "Ariadne"  steamer— the  weather  was 
balm,  real  balm.  A  myriad  of  twinkling  stars  glittered 
down  on  the  deck  which  bore  the  Fat  Contributor  to  his 
native  shores— the  crescent  moon  shone  in  a  sky  of  the 
most  elegant  azure,  and  myriads  of  dimples  decked  the 
smiling  countenance  of  the  peaceful  main.  I  was  so 
excited  I  would  not  turn  into  bed,  but  paced  the  quarter- 
deck all  night,  singing  my  favourite  sea  songs— all  the 
pieces  out  of  all  the  operas  which  I  had  ever  heard,  and 
many  more  tunes  which  I  invented  on  the  spot,  but  have 
forgotten  long  since. 

I  never  passed  a  more  delicious  night.  I  lay  down 
happily  to  rest,  folded  in  my  cloak— the  eternal  stars 
above  me,  and  beneath  me  a  horsehair  mattress,  which  the 
steward  brought  from  below.  When  I  rose  like  a  giant 
refreshed  at  morn,  Wight  was  passed ;  the  two  churches 
of  Southampton  lay  on  my  right  hand ;  we  were  close  to 
the  pier. 

"What  is  yonder  steamer?"  I  asked  of  the  steward, 
pointing  to  a  handsome,  slim,  black  craft  that  lay  in  the 
harbour— a  flag  of  blue,  red,  white,  and  yellow  on  one 
mast ;  a  blue-peter  (signal  of  departure)  at  another. 

"  That,"  said  the  steward,  "  is  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Steam  Navigation  Company's  ship  'Lady 
Mary  Wood.'  She  leaves  port  to-day  for  Gibraltar, 
touching  on  her  way  at  Vigo,  Oporto,  Lisbon,  and 
Cadiz." 

I  quitted  the  "  Ariadne  "—Jason  did  the  same  in  Lem- 
priere's  Dictionary,  and  she  consoled  herself  with  drink- 
ing, it  is  said— I  quitted  the  ship,  and  went  to  the  inn, 
with  the  most  tremendous  thoughts  heaving,  panting, 
boiling,  in  my  bosom ! 


114 


WANDERINGS  OF 


"Lisbon!"  I  said,  as  I  cut  into  a  cold  round  of  beef 
for  breakfast  ( if  I  have  been  in  foreign  parts  for  a  week, 
I  always  take  cold  beef  and  ale  for  breakfast),  "Lis- 
bon!" I  exclaimed,  "the  fleuve  du  Tage!  the  orange 
groves  of  Cintra!  the  vast  towers  of  Mafra,  Belem,  the 
Gallegos,  and  the  Palace  of  Necessidades!  Can  I  see 
all  these  in  a  week?  Have  I  courage  enough  to  go  and 
see  them?':     I  took  another  cut  at  the  beef. 

"  What! "  continued  I  (my  mouth  full  of  muffin) ,  "  is 
it  possible  that  I,  sitting  here  as  I  am,  may  without  the 
least  trouble,  and  at  a  trifling  expense,  transport  myself 
to  Cadiz,  skimming  over  the  dark  blue  sea  to  the  land  of 
the  Sombrero  and  the  Seguidilla— of  the  Puchera,  the 
Muchacha,  and  the  Abanico?  If  I  employ  my  time  well, 
I  may  see  a  bull-fight,  an  auto-da-fe,  or  at  least  a  revolu- 
tion. I  may  look  at  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Andalusian  maid 


OUR    FAT    CONTRIBUTOR 


flashing  under  the  dark  meshes  of  her  veil ;  and  listen  to 
Almaviva's  guitar  as  it  tinkles  beneath  the  balcony  of 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  115 

Rosina!"— "What  time  does  the  'Mary  Wood'  go, 
waiter?"  I  cried. 

The  slave  replied  she  went  at  half -past  three. 

"  And  does  she  make  Gibraltar? "  I  continued.  '  Say, 
John,  will  she  land  me  at  Gibel  el  Altar?  opposite  the 
coasts  of  Afric,  whence  whilom  swarmed  the  galleys  of 
the  Moor,  and  landed  on  the  European  shores  the  dusky 
squadrons  of  the  Moslemah?  Do  you  mean  to  say, 
Thomas,  that  if  I  took  my  passage  in  yon  boat,  a  few 
days  would  transport  me  to  the  scene  renowned  in  British 
story— the  fortress  seized  by  Rooke,  and  guarded  by 
Eliott?  Shall  I  be  able  to  see  the  smoking  ruins  of 
Tangiers,  which  the  savage  bully  of  Gaul  burned  down 
in  braggadocio  pride? " 

"  Would  you  like  anything  for  dinner  before  you  go? ,! 
William  here  rather  sulkily  interrupted  me ;  "  I  can't  be 
a-listening  to  you  all  day— there's  the  bell  of  24  ringing 
like  mad." 

My  repast  was  by  this  time  concluded— the  last  slice 
of  boiled  beef  made  up  my  mind  completely.  I 
went  forth  to  the  busy  town — I  sought  a  ready-made 
linen  warehouse — and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  I 
purchased  all  that  was  necessary  for  a  two  months' 
voyage. 

From  that  moment  I  let  my  mustachios  grow.  At  a 
quarter-past  three,  a  mariner  of  a  stout  but  weather- 
beaten  appearance,  with  a  quantity  of  new  carpet-bags 
and  portmanteaus,  containing  twenty-four  new  shirts 
(six  terrifically  striped),  two  dozen  ditto  stockings — in 
brief,  everything  necessary  for  travel— tripped  lightly 
up  the  ladder  of  the  '  Lady  Mary  Wood.' 

I  made  a  bow  as  I  have  seen  T.  P.  Cooke  do  it  on  the 
stage.    "Avast  there,  my  hearty,"  I  said;  "can  you  tell 


116  OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

me  which  is  the  skipper  of  this  here  craft,  and  can  a  sea- 
man get  a  stowage  in  her?" 

'  I  am  the  captain,"  said  the  gentleman,  rather  sur- 
prised. 

'  Tip  us  your  daddle  then,  my  old  sea-dog,  and  give  us 
change  for  this  here  Henry  Hase." 

'Twas  a  bank-note  for  100/.,  and  the  number  was 
33769. 


IV 


THE    SHIP    AT    SEA.  —  DOLORES! 


HE  first  thing  that  a  narrow- 
minded  individual  does  on 
shipboard  is  to  make  his  own 
berth  comfortable  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  neighbours.  The 
next  is  to  criticise  the  pas- 
sengers round  about  him. 

Do  you  remark,  when 
Britons  meet,  with  what  a 
scowl  they  salute  each  other, 
as  much  as  to  sav,  "  Bless 
your  eyes,  what  the  angel  do  you  do  here?"  Young 
travellers,  that  is  to  say,  adopt  this  fascinating  mode 
of  introduction.  I  am  old  in  voyaging— I  go  up  with 
a  bland  smile  to  one  and  every  passenger.  I  origi- 
nate some  clever  observation  about  the  fineness  of  the 
weather;  if  there  are  ladies,  I  manage  to  make  some 
side  appeal  to  them,  which  is  sure  of  a  tender  appre- 
ciation: above  all,  if  there  are  old  ladies,  fat  ladies, 
very  dropsical,  very  sea-sick,  or  ugly  ladies,  I  pay 
some  delicate  attention — I  go  up  and  insinuate  a  pillow 
under  their  poor  feet.  In  the  intervals  of  sickness  I 
whisper,  "A  leetle  hot  sherry  and  water? ':  All  these 
little  kindnesses  act  upon  their  delicate  hearts,  and  I 


117 


118 


WANDERINGS  OF 


know  that  they  say  to  themselves,  '' How  exceedingly 
polite  and  well-bred  that  stout  young  man  is!" 

"  It's  a  pity  he's  so  fat,"  says  one. 

"Yes,  but  then  he's  so  active,"  ejaculates  another. 

And  thus,  my  dear  and  ingenuous  youth  who  read  this, 
and  whom  I  recommend  to  lay  to  heart  every  single  word 
of  it — I  am  adored  by  all  my  fellow-passengers.  When 
they  go  ashore  they  feel  a  pang  at  parting  with  their 
amiable  companion.  I  am  only  surprised  that  I  have 
not  been  voted  several  pieces  of  plate  upon  these  occa- 
sions—  perhaps,  dear  youth,  if  you  follow  my  example, 
you  may  be  more  lucky. 

Acting  upon  this  benevolent  plan,  I  shall  begin  satiri- 
cally to  describe  the  social  passengers  that  tread  with  me 
the  deck  of  the  "  Lady  Mary  Wood."  I  shall  not,  like 
that  haughty  and  supercilious  wretch  with  the  yellow 
whiskers,  yonder,  cut  short  the  gentle  efforts  at  good 
fellowship  which  human  beings  around  me  may  make — 
or  grumble  at  the  dinner,  or  the  head-wind,  or  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  berths,  or  the  jarring  of  the  engines— 
but  shall  make  light  of  all  these— nay,  by  ingenuity, 
turn  them  to  a  facetious  and  moral  purpose.    Here,  for 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  119 

instance,  is  a  picture  of  the  ship,  taken  under  circum- 
stances of  great  difficulty — over  the  engine-room — the 
funnel  snorting,  the  ship's  sides  throbbing,  as  if  in  a  fit 
of  ague. 

There!  I  flatter  myself  that  is  a  masterpiece  of  per- 
spective. If  the  Royal  Academy  would  exhibit,  or  Mr. 
Moon  would  publish  a  large  five-guinea  plate  of  the 
"  main-deck  of  a  steamer,"  how  the  public  would  admire 
and  purchase !  With  a  little  imagination,  you  may  fancy 
yourself  on  shipboard.  Before  you  is  the  iron  grating, 
up  to  which  you  see  peeping  every  minute  the  pumping 
head  of  the  engine ;  on  the  right  is  the  galley,  where  the 
cook  prepares  the  victuals  that  we  eat  or  not,  as  weather 
permits,  near  which  stands  a  living  likeness  of  Mr.  Jones, 
the  third  engineer ;  to  the  left,  and  running  along  the  side 
of  the  paddle-boxes,  are  all  sorts  of  mysterious  little 
houses  painted  green,  from  which  mates,  mops,  cabin- 
boys,  black  engineers,  and  oily  cook's  assistants  emerge ; 
above  is  the  deck  between  the  two  paddle-boxes,  on  which 
the  captain  walks  in  his  white  trousers  and  telescope 
(you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  former),  and  from 
which  in  bad  weather  he,  speaking-trumpet  in  hand,  rides 
the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm.  Those  are  the 
buckets  in  case  of  fire ;  see  how  they  are  dancing  about ! 
because  thejr  have  nothing  else  to  do — I  trust  they  will 
always  remain  idle.  A  ship  on  fire  is  a  conveyance  by 
which  I  have  no  mind  to  travel. 

Farther  away,  by  the  quarter-deck  ladder,  you  see 
accurate  portraits  of  Messrs.  MacWhirter  and  Mac- 
Murdo,  of  Oporto  and  Saint  Mary's,  wine-merchants; 
and  far  far  away,  on  the  quarter-deck,  close  by  the  dark 
helmsman,  with  the  binnacle  shining  before  his  steadfast 


120 


WANDERINGS  OF 


eyes,  and  the  English  flag' streaming  behind  him—  (it  is 
a  confounded  head- wind)  — you  see — O  my  wildly  beat- 
ing, my  too  susceptible  heart — you  see — DOLORES! 


DOLORES.  —  A    SKETCH     TAKEN     IN     HOUGH     WEATHER 


I  write  her  name  with  a  sort  of  despair.  I  think  it  is 
four  hours  ago  since  I  wrote  that  word  on  the  paper. 
They  were  at  dinner,  but  (for  a  particular  reason)  I 
cared  not  to  eat,  and  sat  at  my  desk  apart.  The  dinner 
went  away,  either  down  the  throats  of  the  eager  passen- 
gers, or  to  the  black  caboose  whence  it  came — dessert 
passed — the  sun  set — tea  came — the  moon  rose — she  is 
now  high  in  heaven,  and  the  steward  is  laying  the  supper 
things,  and  all  this  while  I  have  been  thinking  of 
Dolores,  Dolores,  Dolores! 

She  is  a  little  far  off  in  the  picture ;  but  by  the  aid  of 
a  microscope,  my  dear  sir,  you  may  see  every  lineament 
of  her  delicious  countenance — every  fold  of  the  drapery 
which  adorns  her  fair  form,  and  falls  down  to  the  love- 
liest foot  in  the  world!  Did  you  ever  see  anything  like 
that  ankle?— those  thin  open-worked  stockings  make  my 
heart  thump  in  an  indescribable  rapture.  I  would  drink 
her  health  out  of  that  shoe;  but  I  swear  it  would  not 
hold  more  than  a  liqueur-glass  of  wine.  Before  she  left 
us— ah  me!  that  I  should  have  to  write  the  words  left  us 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  121 

—  I  tried  to  make  her  likeness;  but  the  abominable  brute 
of  a  steam-engine  shook  so,  that — would  you  believe  it? 
—the  above  drawing  is  all  I  could  make  of  the  loveliest 
face  in  the  world ! 

I  look  even  at  that  with  a  melancholy  pleasure.  It  is 
not  very  like  her,  certainly ;  but  it  was  drawn  from  her — 
it  is  not  the  rose,  but  it  has  been  near  it.  Her  complexion 
is  a  sort  of  gold  colour — her  eyes  of  a  melting,  deep, 
unfathomably  deep,  brown— and  as  for  her  hair,  the  var- 
nish of  my  best  boots  for  evening  parties  is  nothing  com- 
pared to  it  for  blackness  and  polish. 

She  used  to  sit  on  the  quarter-deck  of  sunny  after- 
noons, and  smoke  paper  cigars — oh  if  you  could  have 
seen  how  sweetly  she  smiled  and  how  prettily  she  puffed 
out  the  smoke!  I  have  got  a  bit  of  one  of  them  which 
has  been  at  her  sweet  lips.  I  shall  get  a  gold  box  to 
keep  it  in  some  day  when  I  am  in  cash.  There  she  sat 
smoking,  and  the  young  rogues  of  the  ship  used  to  come 
crowding  round  her.  MacWhirter  was  sorry  she  didn't 
stop  at  Oporto,  MacMurdo  was  glad  because  she  was 
going  to  Cadiz — I  warrant  he  was — my  heart  was  burst 
asunder  with  a  twang  and  a  snap,  and  she  carried  away 
half  of  it  in  the  Malta  boat,  which  bore  her  away  from 
me  for  ever. 

Dolores  was  not  like  jrour  common  mincing  English 
girls — she  had  always  a  repartee  and  a  joke  upon  her 
red  lips  which  made  everyone  around  her  laugh — some  of 
these  jokes  I  would  repeat  were  it  not  a  breach  of  con- 
fidence, and  had  they  not  been  uttered  in  the  Spanish 
language,  of  which  I  don't  understand  a  word.  So  I 
used  to  sit  quite  silent  and  look  at  her  full  in  the  face  for 
hours  and  hours,  and  offer  her  my  homage  that  way. 

You  should  have  seen  how  Dolores  ate  too !    Our  table 


122  OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

was  served  four  times  a  day — at  breakfast,  with  such  deli- 
cacies as  beefsteaks,  bubble-and-squeak,  fried  ham  and 
eggs,  hashed  goose,  &c,  twice  laid — of  all  which  trifles 
little  Dolores  would  have  her  share;  the  same  at  dinner 
when  she  was  well;  and  when  beneath  the  influence  of 
angry  Neptune  the  poor  soul  was  stretched  in  the  berth 
of  sickness,  the  stewards  would  nevertheless  bear  away 
plates  upon  plates  of  victuals  to  the  dear  suffering  girl ; 
and  it  would  be  "  Irish  stew  for  a  lady,  if  you  please, 
sir;" — "Rabbit  and  onions  for  the  ladies'  cabin;" 
"Duck,  if  you  please,  and  plenty  of  stuffing,  for  the 
Spanish  lady."  And  such  is  our  blind  partiality  when 
the  heart  is  concerned,  that  I  admired  that  conduct  in 
my  Dolores  which  I  should  have  detested  in  other  people. 
For  instance,  if  I  had  seen  Miss  Jones  or  Miss  Smith 
making  peculiar  play  with  her  knife,  or  pulling  out 
a  toothpick  after  dinner,  what  would  have  been  my 
feelings ! 

But  I  only  saw  perfection  in  Dolores. 


FROM    MY    LOG-BOOK    AT    SEA 


IP?  ^      <^RjS^     ARE    at    sea— yonder    is 

j&f      Milk.     M  "^mk1^  The  only  tempest  I  have 

xfclwtfW^  ^^^■■JPLa^      ln  describe  during  the  voy- 

.^^^^^4^^^"/^       d       aMc  is  that  raging  in   my 

■^l^^fe^j^^^^r -ij  own  stonny  interior.     It  is 

3Pbs^59<--^=~  ^—-  •  most  provokingly  uncom- 

f ortably  fine  weather.    As  we  pass  Ushant  there  is  not  a 

cloud  on  the  sky,  there  scarcely  seems  a  ripple  on  the 

water— and  yet— oh  yet !  it  is  not  a  calm  within.    Passion 

and  sea-sickness  are  raging  there  tumultuously. 

Why  is  it  I  cannot  eat  my  victuals?  Why  is  it  that 
when  Steward  brought  to  my  couch  a  plateful  of  Sea- 
Pie  (I  called  wildly  for  it,  having  read  of  the  dish  in 
maritime  novels ) ,  why  is  it  that  the  onions  of  which  that 
delectable  condiment  seems  to  be  mainly  composed  caused 
a  convulsive  shudder  to  pass  from  my  nose  through  my 
whole  agonised  frame,  obliging  me  to  sink  back  gasping 
in  the  crib,  and  to  forego  all  food  for  many  many  hours  ? 

I  think  it  must  be  my  love  for  Dolores  that  causes  this 
desperate  disinclination  for  food,  and  yet  I  have  been  in 
love  many  times  before,  and  I  don't  recollect  ever  having 
lost  my  desire  for  my  regular  four  meals  a  day.  I  believe 
I  must  be  very  far  gone  this  time. 

123 


124  WANDERINGS  OF 

I  ask  Frank,  the  steward,  how  is  the  Senora?  She 
suffers,  the  dear  dear  Soul!  She  is  in  the  ladies'  cabin 
— she  has  just  had  a  plate  of  roast-pork  carried  in  to 
her. 

She  always  chooses  the  dishes  with  onions — she  comes 
from  the  sunny  South,  where  both  onions  and  garlic  are 
plentifully  used — and  yet  somehow,  in  the  depression  of 
my  spirits — I  wish,  I  wish  she  hadn't  a  partiality  for  that 
particular  vegetable. 

It  is  the  next  day.  I  have  lost  almost  all  count  of  time ; 
and  only  know  how  to  trace  it  faintly,  by  remembering 
the  champagne  days— Thursday  and  Sunday. 

I  am  abominably  hungry.  And  yet  when  I  tried  at 
breakfast! — O  horror! — I  was  obliged  to  plunge  back  to 
the  little  cabin  again,  and  have  not  been  heard  of  since. 
Since  then  I  have  been  lying  on  my  back,  sadly  munch- 
ing biscuit  and  looking  at  the  glimmer  of  the  sun  through 
the  deadlight  overhead. 

I  was  on  the  sofa,  enjoying  (if  a  wretch  so  miserable 
can  be  said  to  enjoy  anything)  the  fresh  sea-breeze  which 
came  through  the  open  port-hole,  and  played  upon  my 
dewy  brow.  But  a  confounded  great  wave  came  flounc- 
ing in  at  the  orifice,  blinded  me,  wet  me  through,  wet  all 
my  linen  in  the  carpet-bag,  rusted  all  my  razors,  made 
water-buckets  of  my  boots,  and  played  the  deuce  with 
a  tin  of  sweet  biscuits  which  have  formed  my  only 
solace. 

Ha!  ha!  What  do  I  want  with  boots  and  razors?  I 
could  not  put  on  a  boot  now  if  you  were  to  give  me  a 
thousand  guineas.  I  could  not  shave  if  my  life  depended 
on  it.  I  think  I  could  cut  my  head  off— but  the 
razors  are  rusty  and  would  not  cut  clean.  O  Dolores, 
Dolores ! 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  125 

The  hunger  grows  worse  and  worse.  It  seems  to  me 
an  age  since  butcher's  meat  passed  these  lips;  and,  to 
add  to  my  misery,  I  can  hear  every  word  the  callous 
wretches  are  saying  in  the  cabin ;  the  clatter  of  the  plates, 
the  popping  of  the  soda-water  corks— or,  can  it  be  cham- 
pagne day,  and  I  a  miserable  groveller  on  my  mattress? 
The  following  is  the  conversation:— 

Captain.  Mr.  Jones,  may  I  have  the  honour  of 
a  glass  of  wine?  Frank,  some  champagne  to  Mr. 
Jones. 

Colonel  Condy  (of  the  Spanish  service).  That's  a 
mighty  delicate  ham,  Mr.  Carver;  may  I  thrubble  ye 
for  another  slice? 

Mr.  MacMurdo  (of  Saint  Mary's,  sherry -merchant) . 
Where  does  the  Proveedor  get  this  sherry  ?  If  he  would 
send  to  my  cellars  in  Saint  Mary's,  I  would  put  him  in  a 
couple  of  butts  of  wine  that  shouldn't  cost  him  half  the 
money  he  pays  for  this. 

Mr.  MacWhirter  (of  Oporto).  The  sherry's  good 
enough  for  sherry,  which  is  never  worth  the  drinking; 
but  the  port  is  abominable.  Why  doesn't  he  come  to 
our  house  for  it? 

Captain.  There  is  nothing  like  leather,  gentlemen. 
— More  champagne,  Frank.  Mr.  Bung,  try  the  maca- 
roni.   Mr.  Perkins,  this  plum-pudding  is  capital. 

Steward.  Some  pudding  for  Mrs.  Bigbody  in  the 
cabin,  and  another  slice  of  duck  for  the  Senora. 

And  so  goes  on  the  horrid  talk.  They  are  eating— she 
is  eating;  they  laugh,  they  jest.  Mr.  Smith  jocularly 
inquires,  "  How  is  the  fat  gentleman  that  was  so  gay  on 
board  the  first  day  ? "  Meaning  me,  of  course ;  and  I  am 
lying  supine  in  my  berth,  without  even  strength  enough 
to  pull  the  rascal's  nose.    I  detest  Smith. 


126  WANDERINGS  OF 

Friday.— Vigo;  its  bay;  beauty  of  its  environs. — 
Nelson. 

Things  look  more  briskly;  the  swell  has  gone  down. 
We  are  upon  deck  again.  We  have  breakfasted.  We 
have  made  up  for  the  time  lost  in  abstinence  during  the 
two  former  days.  Dolores  is  on  deck;  and  when  the 
spring  sun  is  out,  where  should  the  butterfly  be  but  on 
the  wing?  Dolores  is  the  sun,  I  am  the  remainder  of 
the  simile. 

It  is  astonishing  how  a  few  hours'  calm  can  make  one 
forget  the  long  hours  of  weary  bad  weather.  I  can't 
fancy  I  have  been  ill  at  all,  but  for  those  melancholy 
observations  scrawled  feebly  down  in  pencil  in  my  jour- 
nal yesterday.  I  am  in  clean  shining  white  ducks,  my 
blue  shirt-collars  falling  elegantly  over  a  yellow  ban- 
danna. My  mustachios  have  come  on  wonderfully ;  they 
are  a  little  red  or  so.  But  the  Spanish,  they  say,  like 
fair  faces.  I  would  do  anything  for  Dolores  but  smoke 
with  her;  that  I  confess  I  dare  not  attempt. 

It  appears  it  was  the  Bay  of  Biscay  that  made  me 
so  ill.  We  were  in  Vigo  yesterday  (a  plague  take  it! 
I  have  missed  what  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
bays  in  the  world)  ;  but  I  was  ill,  and  getting  a  little 
sleep ;  and  when  it  is  known  as  a  fact  that  a  Nelson  was 
always  ill  on  first  going  to  sea,  need  a  Fat  Contributor 
be  ashamed  of  a  manly  and  natural  weakness? 

Saturday. — Description  of  Oporto. 

We  were  off  the  bar  at  an  exceedingly  early  hour — so 
early,  that  although  a  gun  fired  and  waked  me  out  of  a 
sound  sleep,  I  did  not  rise  to  examine  the  town. 

It  is  three  miles  inland,  and  therefore  cannot  be  seen. 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


127 


It  is  famous  for  the  generous  wine  which  bears  the  name 
of  port,  and  is  drunk  by  some  after  dinner;  by  other, 
and  I  think  wiser,  persons  simply  after  cheese. 

As  about  ten  times  as  much  of  this  liquor  is  drunk  in 
England  as  is  made  in  Portugal,  it  is  needless  to  insti- 
tute any  statistical  inquiries  into  the  growth  and  con- 
sumption of  the  wine. 

Oporto  was  besieged  by  Don  Miguel,  the  rightful 
king,  who,  although  he  had  Marshal  Bourmont  and  jus- 
tice on  his  side,  was  defeated  by  Don  Pedro  and  British 
Valour.  Thus  may  our  arms  ever  triumph!  These  are 
the  only  facts  I  was  enabled  to  gather  regarding  Oporto. 


New  Passengers. — On  coming  on  deck,  I  was  made 
aware  that  we  had  touched  land  by  the  presence  on  the 
boat  of  at  least  a  hundred  passengers,  who  had  not  before 


appeared  among  us.  They  had  come  from  Vigo,  and  it 
appears  were  no  more  disposed  to  rouse  at  the  morn- 
ing gun  than  I  was ;  for  they  lay  asleep  on  the  fore-deck 


128 


WANDERINGS  OF 


for  the  most  part,  in  the  very  attitudes  here  depicted 
by  me. 

They  were  Gallegos  going  to  Lisbon  for  service ;  and 
I  wished  that  a  better  hand  than  mine — viz.,  one  of  those 
immortal  pencils  which  decorate  the  columns  of  our  dear 
Punch — had  been  there  to  take  cognisance  of  these 
strange  children  of  the  South — in  their  scarfs  and  their 
tufted  hats,  with  their  brown  faces  shining  as  they  lay 
under  the  sun. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  new  passengers;  with  them 
came  on  board  a  half-dozen  of  Hungarian  cloth-sellers,  of 


one  of  whom  here  is  the  accurate  portrait  as  he  lay  upon 
two  barrels,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  innocence  sub  Jove. 
But  see  the  same  individual — ah,  how  changed!    He  is 


OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR  129 

suffering  from  the  pangs  of  sea-sickness,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  yearning  for  fatherland,  or  land  of  some  sort. 
But  I  am  interrupted.    Hark!  'tis  the  bell  for  lunch! 

[Though  our  fat  friend's  log  has  been  in  the  present  instance  a  little 
tedious,  the  observant  reader  may  nevertheless  draw  from  it  a  complete  and 
agreeable  notion  of  the  rise,  progress,  and  conclusion  of  the  malady  of  sea- 
sickness. He  is  exhausted;  he  is  melancholy;  he  is  desperate;  he  rejects  his 
victuals;  he  grows  hungry,  but  dares  not  eat;  he  mends;  his  spirits  rise;  ail 
his  faculties  are  restored  to  him,  and  he  eats  with  redoubled  vigour.  This 
fine  diagnosis  of  the  maritime  complaint,  we  pronounce  from  experience 
may  be  perfectly  relied  upon. — Editor.] 


PUNCH  IN  THE  EAST 

FROM  OUR  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

On  board  the  P.  &  O.  Company's  ship 

"  BlTRRUMPOOTER,"    OFF    ALEXANDRIA. 

FAT  CONTRIBUTOR,  indeed!  I  lay  down  my 
pen,  and  smile  in  bitter  scorn  as  I  write  the  sar- 
castic title — I  remember  it  was  that  which  I  assumed 
when  my  peregrinations  began. — It  is  now  an  absurd 
misnomer. 

I  forget  whence  I  wrote  you  last.  We  were  but  three 
weeks  from  England,  I  think — off  Cadiz,  or  Malta,  per- 
haps— I  was  full  of  my  recollections  of  Dolores — full  in 
other  ways,  too.  I  have  travelled  in  the  East  since  then. 
I  have  seen  the  gardens  of  Bujukdere  and  the  kiosks  of 
the  Seraglio :  I  have  seen  the  sun  sinking  behind  Morea's 
hills,  and  rising  over  the  red  waves  of  the  Nile.  I  have 
travelled  like  Benjamin  Disraeli,  Ulysses,  Monckton 
Milnes,  and  the  eminent  sages  of  all  times.  I  am  not 
the  fat  being  I  was  (and  proudly  styled  myself)  when  I 
left  my  dear  dear  Pall  Mall.  You  recollect  my  Nugee 
dress-coat,  with  the  brass  buttons  and  canary  silk  lining, 
that  the  author  of  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Age  "  used  to  envy? 
I  never  confessed  it  —  but  I  was  in  agonies  when  I  wore 
that  coat.  I  was  girthed  in  (inwardly)  so  tight,  that  I 
thought  every  day  after  the  third  entree  apoplexy  would 
ensue — and  had  my  name  and  address  written  most 
legibly  in  the  breast-flap,  so  that  I  might  be  carried  home 
in  case  I  was  found  speechless  in  the  street  on  my  return 

130 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  131 

from  dinner.  A  smiling  face  often  hides  an  aching 
heart;  I  promise  you  mine  did  in  that  coat,  and  not  my 
heart  only,  but  other  regions.  There  is  a  skeleton  in 
every  house — and  mine — no — I  wasn't  exactly  a  skeleton 
in  that  garment,  but  suffered  secret  torments  in  it,  to 
which,  as  I  take  it,  those  of  the  Inquisition  were  trifles. 

I  put  it  on  t'other  day  to  dine  with  Bucksheesh  Pasha 
at  Grand  Cairo — I  could  have  buttoned  the  breast  over 
to  the  two  buttons  behind.  My  dear  Sir — I  looked  like 
a  perfect  Guy.  I  am  wasted  away — a  fading  flower — I 
don't  weigh  above  sixteen  and  a  half  now.  Eastern 
travel  has  done  it — and  all  my  fat  friends  may  read  this 
and  consider  it.  It  is  something  at  least  to  know. 
Byron  (one  of  us)  took  vinegar  and  starved  himself  to 
get  down  the  disagreeable  plenitude.  Vinegar? — non- 
sense— try  Eastern  travel.  I  am  bound  to  say,  how- 
ever, that  it  don't  answer  in  all  cases.  Waddilove,  for 
instance,  with  whom  I  have  been  making  the  journey, 
has  bulged  out  in  the  sun  like  a  pumpkin,  and  at  dinner 
you  see  his  coat  and  waistcoat  buttons  spirt  violently  off 
his  garments — no  longer  able  to  bear  the  confinement 
there.  One  of  them  hit  Colonel  Sourcillon  plump  on 
the  nose,  on  which  the  Frenchman—  But  to  return  to 
my  own  case.  A  man  always  speaks  most  naturally  and 
truly  of  that  which  occurs  to  himself. 

I  attribute  the  diminution  in  my  size  not  to  my  want 
of  appetite,  which  has  been  uniformly  good.  Pale  ale  is 
to  be  found  universally  throughout  Turkey,  Syria, 
Greece,  and  Egypt,  and  after  a  couple  of  foaming  bot- 
tles of  Bass,  a  man  could  eat  a  crocodile  (we  had  some 
at  Bucksheesh  Pasha's  fattened  in  the  tanks  of  his  coun- 
try villa  of  El  Muddee,  on  the  Nile,  but  tough — very 
fishy  and  tough)  —the  appetite,  I  say,  I  have  found  to  be 


132  PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

generally  good  in  these  regions — and  attribute  the  cor- 
poreal diminution  solely  to  want  of  sleep. 

I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that  for 
seven  weeks  I  have  never  slept  a  wink.    It  is  my  belief 


F.    C.    OX    GOING    TO    BED    AT    GIBRALTAR 


that  nobody  does  in  the  East.  You  get  to  do  without  it 
perfectly.  It  may  be  said  of  these  countries,  they  are  so 
hospitable,  you  are  never  alone.  You  have  always  friends 
to  come  and  pass  the  night  with  you,  and  keep  you  alive 
with  their  cheerful  innocent  gambols.  At  Constanti- 
nople, at  Athens,  Malta,  Cairo,  Gibraltar,  it  is  all  the 
same.  Your  watchful  friends  persist  in  paying  you 
attention.  The  frisky  and  agile  flea — the  slow  but  steady- 
purposed  bug — the  fairy  mosquito  with  his  mellow- 
sounding  horn — rush  to  welcome  the  stranger  to  their 
shores — and  never  leave  him  during  his  stay.  At  first, 
and  before  you  are  used  to  the  manners  of  the  country, 
the  attention  is  rather  annoying.  Here,  for  instance,  is 
my  miniature.  You  will  see  that  one  of  my  eyes  was 
shut  up  temporarily,  and  I  drew  the  picture  by  the  sole 
light  of  the  other. 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST 


133 


F.     C.     ON     GETTING     UP     NEXT    MORNING 


Ma"n  is  a  creature  of  habit.  I  did  not  at  first  like  giv- 
ing up  my  sleep.  I  had  been  used  to  it  in  England.  I 
occasionally  repined  as  my  friends  persisted  in  calling 
my  attention  to  them,  grew  sulky  and  peevish,  wished 
myself  in  bed  in  London— nay,  in  the  worst  bed  in  the 
most  frequented,  old,  mouldy,  musty,  wooden-galleried 
coach  inn  in  Aldgate  or  Holborn.  I  recollect  a  night  at 
the  "  Bull,"  in  poor  dear  old  Mrs.  Nelson's  time— well, 
well,  it  is  nothing  to  the  East.  What  a  country  would 
this  be  for  Tiffin,  and  what  a  noble  field  for  his  labours! 

Though  I  am  used  to  it  now,  I  can't  say  but  it  is 
probable  that  when  I  get  back  to  England  I  shall  return 
to  my  old  habits.  Here,  on  board  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Company's  magnificent  steamship  "  Burrum- 
pooter,"  I  thought  of  trying  whether  I  could  sleep  any 
more.  I  had  got  the  sweetest  little  cabin  in  the  world; 
the  berths  rather  small  and  tight  for  a  man  of  still  con- 
siderable proportions  — but  everything  as  neat,  sweet, 
fresh,  and  elegant  as  the  most  fastidious  amateur  of  the 


134    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

night-cap  might  desire.  I  hugged  the  idea  of  having 
the  little  palace  all  to  myself.  I  placed  a  neat  white 
nightgown  and  my  favourite  pink  silk  cap  on  the  top 
berth  ready.  The  sea  was  as  clear  as  glass— the  breeze 
came  cool  and  refreshing  through  the  porthole — the 
towers  of  Alexandria  faded  away  as  our  ship  sailed  west- 
ward. My  Egyptian  friends  were  left  behind.  It 
would  soon  be  sunset.  I  longed  for  that  calm  hour,  and 
meanwhile  went  to  enjoy  myself  at  dinner  with  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  passengers  from  Suez,  who  laughed  and 
joked,  drank  champagne  and  the  exhilarating  Hodgson, 
and  brought  the  latest  news  from  Dumdum  or  Futty- 
ghur. 

I  happened  to  sit  next  at  table  to  the  French  gentle- 
man before  mentioned,  Colonel  Sourcillon,  in  the  service 
of  the  Rajah  of  Lahore,  returning  to  Europe  on  leave 
of  absence.  The  Colonel  is  six  feet  high — with  a  grim 
and  yellow  physiognomy,  with  a  red  ribbon  at  his  button- 
hole of  course,  and  large  black  mustachios  curling  up 
to  his  eyes — to  one  eye  that  is — the  other  was  put 
out  in  mortal  combat,  which  has  likewise  left  a  furious 
purple  gash  down  one  cheek,  a  respectable  but  terrible 
sight. 

'  Vous  regardez  ma  cicatrice,"  said  the  Colonel,  per- 
ceiving that  I  eyed  him  with  interest.  "  Je  l'ai  recue  en 
Espagne,  Monsieur,  a  la  bataille  de  Vittoria,  que  nous 
avons  gagnee  sur  vous.  J'ai  tue  de  ma  main  le  grrredin 
Feldmarechal  Anglais  qui  m'a  donne  cette  noble  bles- 
sure.  Elle  n'est  pas  la  seule,  Monsieur.  Je  possede 
encore  soixante-quatorze  cicatrices  sur  le  corps.  Mais 
j'ai  fait  sonner  partout  le  grrrand  nom  de  Frrance. 
Vous  etes  militaire,  Monsieur?  Non? — Passez-moi  le 
poivre  rouge,  s'il  vous  plait." 


PUNCH  IN  THE  EAST  135 

The  Colonel  emptied  the  cayenne-pepper  cruet  over 
his  fish,  and  directed  his  conversation  entirely  to  me.  He 
told  me  that  ours  was  a  perfidious  nation,  that  he  es- 
teemed some  individuals,  but  detested  the  country,  which 
he  hoped  to  see  ecrrrase  un  jour.  He  said  I  spoke 
French  with  remarkable  purity;  that  on  board  all  our 
steamers  there  was  an  infamous  conspiracy  to  insult 
every  person  bearing  the  name  of  Frenchman;  that  he 
would  call  out  the  Captain  directly  they  came  ashore; 
that  he  could  not  even  get  a  cabin — had  I  one?  On  my 
affirmative  reply,  he  said  I  was  a  person  of  such  amiable 
manners,  and  so  unlike  my  countrymen,  that  he  would 
share  my  cabin  with  me— and  instantly  shouted  to  the 
steward  to  put  his  trunks  into  number  202. 

What  could  I  do?  When  I  went  on  deck  to  smoke  a 
cigar,  the  Colonel  retired,  pretending  a  petite  sante,  suf- 
fering a  horrible  mat  de  mer,  and  dreadful  shooting 
pains  in  thirty-seven  of  his  wounds.  What,  I  say,  could 
I  do?  I  had  not  the  cabin  to  myself.  He  had  a  right 
to  sleep  there— at  any  rate,  I  had  the  best  berth,  and  if 
he  did  not  snore,  mv  rest  would  not  be  disturbed. 

But  ah!  my  dear  friends — when  I  thought  I  would 
go  down  and  sleep — the  first  sleep  after  seven  weeks — 
fancy  what  I  saw — he  was  asleep  in  my  berth. 

His  sword,  gun,  and  pistol-cases  blocked  up  the  other 
sleeping-place ;  his  bags,  trunks,  pipes,  cloaks,  and  port- 
manteaus, every  corner  of  the  little  room. 

"Qui  va  la?"  roared  the  monster,  with  a  terrific 
oath,  as  I  entered  the  cabin.  "Ah!  c'est  vous,  Monsieur: 
pourquoi  diable  faites-vous  tant  de  bruit?  J'ai  une  pe- 
tite sante;  laissez-moi  dormir  en  paix." 

I  went  upon  deck.  I  shan't  sleep  till  I  get  back  to 
England  again.     I  paid  my  passage  all  the  way  home; 


136    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

but  I  stopped,  and  am  in  quarantine  at  Malta.  I 
couldn't  make  the  voyage  with  that  Frenchman.  I  have 
no  money ;  send  me  some,  and  relieve  the  miseries  of  him 
who  was  once 

The  Fat  Contributor. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON   THE    PROSPECTS   OF   PUNCH   IN    THE   EAST 

To  the  Editor  of  Punch  (confidential)  ■ 

My  dear  Sir, — In  my  last  letter  (which  was  intended 
for  the  public  eye) ,  I  was  too  much  affected  by  the  recol- 
lection of  what  I  may  be  permitted  to  call  the 


ARABIAN    NIGHTS      ENTERTAINMENTS, 


to  allow  me  for  the  moment  to  commit  to  paper  that  use- 
ful information,  in  the  imparting  of  which  your  Journal 
— our  Journal — the  world's  Journal — yields  to  none, 
and  which  the  British  public  will  naturally  expect  from 
all  who  contribute  to  your  columns.  I  address  myself 
therefore  privately  to  you,  so  that  you  may  deal  with  the 
facts  I  may  communicate  as  you  shall  think  best  for  the 
general  welfare. 

What  I  wish  to  point  out  especially  to  your  notice  is, 
the  astonishing  progress  of  Punch  in  the  East.    Moving 

137 


138    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

according  to  your  orders  in  strict  incognito,  it  has  been 
a  source  of  wonder  and  delight  to  me  to  hear  how  often 
the  name  of  the  noble  Miscellany  was  in  the  mouths  of 
British  men.  At  Gibraltar  its  jokes  passed  among  the 
midshipmen,  merchants,  Jews,  &c,  assembled  at  the  hotel 
table  (and  quite  unconscious  how  sweetly  their  words 
sounded  on  the  ear  of  a  silent  guest  at  the  board)  as  cur- 
rent, ay,  much  more  current,  than  the  coin  of  the  realm. 
At  Malta,  the  first  greeting  between  Captain  Tagus  and 
some  other  Captain  in  anchor-buttons,  who  came  to  hail 
him  when  we  entered  harbour,  related  to  Punch. 
"What's  the  news?"  exclaimed  the  other  Captain. 
"  Here's  Punch/'  was  the  immediate  reply  of  Tagus, 
handing  it  out — and  the  other  Captain's  face  was  suf- 
fused with  instant  smiles  as  his  enraptured  eye  glanced 
over  some  of  the  beauteous  designs  of  Leech.  At 
Athens,  Mr.  Smith,  second-cousin  of  the  respected  vice- 
consul,  who  came  to  our  inn,  said  to  me  mysteriously, 
"  I'm  told  we've  got  Punch  on  board."  I  took  him 
aside,  and  pointed  him  out  (in  confidence)  Mr.  Waddi- 
love,  the  stupidest  man  of  all  our  party,  as  the  author  in 
question. 

Somewhat  to  my  annoyance  (for  I  was  compelled  to 
maintain  my  privacy) ,  Mr.  W.  was  asked  to  a  splendid 
dinner  in  consequence — a  dinner  which  ought  by  rights 
to  have  fallen  to  my  share.  It  was  a  consolation  to  me, 
however,  to  think,  as  I  ate  my  solitary  repast  at  one  of 
the  dearest  and  worst  inns  I  ever  entered,  that  though  I 
might  be  overlooked,  Punch  was  respected  in  the  land  of 
Socrates  and  Pericles. 

At  the  Pirasus  we  took  on  board  four  young  gentle- 
men from  Oxford,  who  had  been  visiting  the  scenes  con- 
secrated to  them  by  the  delightful  associations  of  the  Lit- 


PUNCH   IX   THE   EAST  139 

tie  Go;  and  as  they  paced  the  deck  and  looked  at  the 
lambent  stars  that  twinkled  on  the  bay  once  thronged 
with  the  galleys  of  Themistocles — what,  Sir,  do  you 
think  was  the  song  they  chanted  in  chorus  ?  Was  it  a  lay 
of  burning  Sappho?  Was  it  a  thrilling  ode  of  Alc«us? 
No;  it  was— 

"  Had  I  an  ass  averse  to  speed, 
Deem  ye  I'd  strike  him?  no,  indeed,"  &c. 

which  you  had  immortalised,  I  recollect,  in  your  sixth 
volume.  (Donkeys,  it  must  be  premised,  are  most  nu- 
merous and  flourishing  in  Attica,  commonly  bestridden 
by  the  modern  Greeks,  and  no  doubt  extensively  popu- 
lar among  the  ancients — unless  human  nature  has  very 
much  changed  since  their  time.)  Thus  wre  find  that 
Punch  is  respected  at  Oxford  as  wrell  as  in  Athens,  and 
I  trust  at  Cambridge  likewise. 

As  we  sailed  through  the  blue  Bosphorus  at  mid- 
night, the  Health  of  Punch  was  enthusiastically  drunk 
in  the  delicious  beverage  which  shares  his  respectable 
name;  and  the  ghosts  of  Hero  and  Leander  must  have 
been  startled  at  hearing  songs  appropriate  to  the  toast, 
and  very  different  from  those  with  which  I  have  no  doubt 
they  amused  each  other  in  times  so  affectingly  described 
in  Lempriere's  delightful  Dictionary.  I  did  not  see  the 
Golden  Horn  at  Constantinople,  nor  hear  it  blown,  prob- 
ably on  account  of  the  fog;  but  this  I  can  declare,  that 
Punch  was  on  the  table  at  Misseri's  Hotel,  Pera,  the 
spirited  proprietor  of  which  little  knew  that  one  of  its 
humblest  contributors  ate  his  pilaff.  Pilaff,  by  the  way, 
is  very  good;  kabobs  are  also  excellent;  my  friend  Me- 
hemet  Effendi,  who  keeps  the  kabob  shop,  close  by  the 


140    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

Rope-bazaar  in  Constantinople,  sells  as  good  as  any  in 
town.  At  the  Armenian  shops,  too,  you  get  a  sort  of 
raisin  wine  at  two  piastres  a  bottle,  over  which  a  man 


can  spend  an  agreeable  half -hour.  I  did  not  hear  what 
the  Sultan  Abdul  Med j id  thinks  of  Punch,  but  of  wine 
he  is  said  to  be  uncommonly  fond. 

At  Alexandria  there  lay  the  picture  of  the  dear  and 
venerable  old  face,  on  the  table  of  the  British  hotel ;  and 
the  140  passengers  from  Burrumtollah,  Chowringhee, 
&c.  (now  on  their  way  to  England  per  "Burrumpooter") 
rushed  upon  it — it  was  the  July  number,  with  my  paper, 
which  you  may  remember  made  such  a  sensation — even 
more  eagerly  than  on  pale  ale.  I  made  cautious  inquiries 
amongst  them  (never  breaking  the  incognito)  regarding 
the  influence  of  Punch  in  our  vast  Indian  territories. 
They  say  that  from  Cape  Comorin  to  the  Sutlej,  and 
from  the  Sutlej  to  the  borders  of  Thibet,  nothing  is 
talked  of  but  Punch.  Dost  Mahommed  never  misses  a 
single  number;  and  the  Tharawaddie  knows  the  figure 
of  Lord  Brougham  and  his  Scotch  trousers  as  well  as 
that  of  his  favourite  vizier.    Punch,  mv  informant  states, 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  141 

has  rendered  his  lordship  so  popular  throughout  our 
Eastern  possessions,  that  were  he  to  be  sent  out  to  India 
as  Governor,  the  whole  army  and  people  would  shout 
with  joyful  recognition.  I  throw  out  this  for  the  con- 
sideration of  Government  at  home. 

I  asked  Bucksheesh  Pasha  (with  whom  I  had  the  hon- 
our of  dining  at  Cairo)  what  his  august  Master  thought 
of  Punch.  And  at  the  pyramids— but  of  these  in  an- 
other letter.  You  have  here  enough  to  show  you  how 
kingly  the  diadem,  boundless  the  sway,  of  Punch  is  in  the 
East.  By  it  we  are  enabled  to  counterbalance  the  influ- 
ence of  the  French  in  Egypt;  by  it  we  are  enabled  to 
spread  civilisation  over  the  vast  Indian  Continent,  to 
soothe  the  irritated  feelings  of  the  Sikhs,  and  keep  the 
Burmese  in  good-humour.  By  means  of  Punch,  it  has 
been  our  privilege  to  expose  the  designs  of  Russia  more 
effectually  than  Urquhart  ever  did,  and  to  this  Sir  Strat- 
ford Canning  can  testify.  A  proud  and  noble  post  is 
that  which  you,  Sir,  hold  over  the  Intellect  of  the  World ; 
a  tremendous  power  you  exercise !  May  you  ever  wield 
it  wisely  and  gently  as  now!  '  Subjectis  parcere,  su- 
perbos  debellare,"  be  your  motto!  I  forget  whether  I 
mentioned  in  my  last  that  I  was  without  funds  in  quar- 
antine at  Fort  Manuel,  Malta,  and  shall  anxiously  ex- 
pect the  favour  of  a  communication  from  you — poste 
restante — at  that  town. 

With  assurances  of  the  highest  consideration, 

Believe  me  to  be,  Sir, 
Your  most  faithful  Servant  and  Correspondent, 

The  F—  Contributor. 

P.S. — We  touched  at  Smyrna,  where  I  purchased  a 
real  Smyrna  sponge,  which  trifle  I  hope  your  lady  will 


142    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

accept  for  her  toilette;  some  real  Turkey  rhubarb  for 
your  dear  children;  and  a  friend  going  to  Syria  has 
promised  to  procure  for  me  some  real  Jerusalem  arti- 
chokes,, which  I  hope  to  see  flourishing  in  your  garden 
at 

[This  letter  was  addressed  "strictly  private  and  confidential"  to  us;  but 
at  a  moment  when  all  men's  minds  are  turned  towards  the  East,  and  every 
information  regarding  "  the  cradle  of  civilisation  "  is  anxiously  looked  for, 
we  have  deemed  it  our  duty  to  submit  our  Correspondent's  letter  to  the 
public.  The  news  which  it  contains  is  so  important  and  startling — our  Cor- 
respondent's views  of  Eastern  affairs  so  novel  and  remarkable — that  they 
must  make  an  impression  in  Europe.  We  beg  the  Observer,  the  Times,  &c, 
to  have  the  goodness  to  acknowledge  their  authority,  if  they  avail  themselves 
of  our  facts.  And  for  us,  it  cannot  but  be  a  matter  of  pride  and  gratifica- 
tion to  think — on  the  testimony  of  a  Correspondent  who  has  never  deceived 
us  yet — that  our  efforts  for  the  good  of  mankind  are  appreciated  by  such 
vast  and  various  portions  of  the  human  race,  and  that  our  sphere  of  useful- 
ness is  so  prodigiously  on  the  increase.  Were  it  not  that  dinner  has  been 
announced  (and  consequently  is  getting  cold),  we  would  add  more.  For  the 
present,  let  us  content  ourselves  by  stating  that  the  intelligence  conveyed  to 
us  is  most  welcome  as  it  is  most  surprising,  the  occasion  of  heartfelt  joy, 
and  we  hope  of  deep  future  meditation.  — Editor.] 


CHAPTER  III 


ATHENS 


The  above  is  a  picture  of  some  beautiful  windmills  near 
Athens,  not,  I  believe,  depicted  by  any  other  artist,  and 
which  I  dare  say  some  people  will  admire  because  they 
are  Athenian  windmills.    The  world  is  made  so. 

I  was  not  a  brilliant  boy  at  school — the  only  prize  I 
ever  remember  to  have  got  was  in  a  kind  of  lottery  in 
which  I  was  obliged  to  subscribe  with  seventeen  other 
competitors — and  of  which  the  prize  was  a  flogging. 
That  I  won.  But  I  don't  think  I  carried  off  any  other. 
Possibly  from  laziness,  or  if  you  please  from  incapacity, 
but  I  certainly  was  rather  inclined  to  be  of  the  side  of 
the  dunces — Sir  Walter  Scott,  it  will  be  recollected,  was 
of  the  same  species.  Many  young  plants  sprouted  up 
round  about  both  of  us,  I  dare  say,  with  astonishing  ra- 

143 


144    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

pidity — but  they  have  gone  to  seed  ere  this,  or  were  never 
worth  the  cultivation.  Great  genius  is  of  slower  growth. 
I  always  had  my  doubts  about  the  classics.  When  I 
saw  a  brute  of  a  schoolmaster,  whose  mind  was  as  cross- 
grained  as  any  ploughboy's  in  Christendom ;  whose  man- 
ners were  those  of  the  most  insufferable  of  Heaven's 
creatures,  the  English  snob  trying  to  turn  gentleman; 
whose  lips,  when  they  were  not  mouthing  Greek  or 
grammar,  were  yelling  out  the  most  brutal  abuse  of  poor 
little  cowering  gentlemen  standing  before  him:  when  I 
saw  this  kind  of  man  (and  the  instructors  of  our  youth 
are  selected  very  frequently  indeed  out  of  this  favoured 
class)  and  heard  him  roar  out  praises  of,  and  pump  him- 
self up  into  enthusiasm  for,  certain  Greek  poetry, — I 
say  I  had  my  doubts  about  the  genuineness  of  the  article. 
A  man  may  well  thump  you  or  call  you  names  because 
you  won't  learn — but  I  never  could  take  to  the  proffered 
delicacy ;  the  fingers  that  offered  it  were  so  dirty.  Fancy 
the  brutality  of  a  man  who  began  a  Greek  grammar  with 
x67utco,  I  thrash  "  !  We  were  all  made  to  begin  it  in 
that  way. 

When,  then,  I  came  to  Athens,  and  saw  that  it  was  a 
humbug,  I  hailed  the  fact  with  a  sort  of  gloomy  joy.  I 
stood  in  the  Royal  Square  and  cursed  the  country  which 
has  made  thousands  of  little  boys  miserable.  They  have 
blue  stripes  on  the  new  Greek  flag ;  I  thought  bitterly  of 
my  own.  I  wished  that  my  schoolmaster  had  been  in 
the  place,  that  we  might  have  fought  there  for  the  right ; 
and  that  I  might  have  immolated  him  as  a  sacrifice  to 
the  manes  of  little  boys  flogged  into  premature  Hades, 
or  pining  away  and  sickening  under  the  destiny  of  that 
infernal  Greek  grammar.  I  have  often  thought  that 
those  little  cherubs  who  are  carved  on  tombstones  and  are 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  145 

represented  as  possessing  a  head  and  wings  only,  are  de- 
signed to  console  little  children — usher-  and  beadle-be- 
laboured— and  say  "there  is  no  flogging  where  we  are." 
From  their  conformation,  it  is  impossible.  Woe  to  the 
man  who  has  harshly  treated  one  of  them! 

Of  the  ancient  buildings  in  this  beggarly  town  it  is  not 
my  business  to  speak.  Between  ourselves  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged that  there  was  some  merit  in  the  Heathens 
who  constructed  them.  But  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter, 
of  which  some  columns  still  remain,  I  declare  with  con- 
fidence that  not  one  of  them  is  taller  than  our  own  glori- 
ous Monument  on  Fish- Street  Hill,  which  I  heartily 
wish  to  see  again,  whereas  upon  the  columns  of  Jupiter 
I  never  more  desire  to  set  eyes.  On  the  Acropolis  and 
its  temples  and  towers  I  shall  also  touch  briefly.  The 
frieze  of  the  Parthenon  is  well  known  in  England,  the 
famous  chevausc  de  frieze  being  carried  off  by  Lord  El- 
gin, and  now  in  the  British  Museum,  Great  Russell 
Street,  Bloomsburv.  The  Erechtheum  is  another  build- 
ing,  which  I  suppose  has  taken  its  name  from  the  genteel 
club  in  London  at  a  corner  of  Saint  James's  Square.  It 
is  likewise  called  the  Temple  of  Minerva  Polias — a  cap- 
ital name  for  a  club  in  London  certainly ;  fancy  gentle- 
men writing  on  their  cards  "  Mr.  Jones,  Temple-of-Min- 
erva-Polias  Club."  —  Our  country  is  surely  the  most 
classical  of  islands. 

As  for  the  architecture  of  that  temple,  if  it  be  not  en- 
tirely stolen  from  Saint  Pancras  Church,  New  Road,  or 
vice  versa,  I  am  a  Dutchman.  '  The  Tower  of  the 
Winds"  may 'be  seen  any  day  at  Edinburgh — and  the 
Lantern  of  Demosthenes  is  at  this  very  minute  perched 
on  the  top  of  the  church  in  Regent  Street,  within  a  hun- 
dred yards  of  the  lantern  of  Mr.  Drummond.    Only  in 


146    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

London  you  have  them  all  in  much  better  preservation — 
the  noses  of  the  New  Road  caryatides  are  not  broken  as 
those  of  their  sisters  here.  The  Temple  of  the  Scotch 
Winds  I  am  pleased  to  say  I  have  never  seen,  but  I  have 
no  doubt  it  is  worthy  of  the  Modern  Athens — and  as  for 
the  choragic  temple  of  Lysicrates,  erroneously  called 
Demosthenes's  Lantern — from  Waterloo  Place  you  can 
see  it  well:  whereas  here  it  is  a  ruin  in  the  midst  of  a 
huddle  of  dirty  huts,  whence  you  try  in  vain  to  get  a 
good  view  of  it. 

When  I  say  of  the  Temple  of  Theseus  (quoting  Mur- 
ray's Guide-book)  that  "  it  is  a  peripteral  hexastyle  with 
a  pronaos,  a  posticum,  and  two  columns  between  the 
anta3,"  the  commonest  capacity  may  perfectly  imagine 
the  place.  Fancy  it  upon  an  irregular  ground  of  cop- 
per-coloured herbage,  with  black  goats  feeding  on  it, 
and  the  sound  of  perpetual  donkeys  braying  round 
about.  Fancy  to  the  south-east  the  purple  rocks  and 
towers  of  the  Acropolis  meeting  the  eye — to  the  south- 
east the  hilly  islands  and  the  blue  iEgean.  Fancy  the 
cobalt  sky  above,  and  the  temple  itself  (built  of  Pentelic 
marble)  of  the  exact  colour  and  mouldiness  of  a  ripe 
Stilton  cheese,  and  you  have  the  view  before  vou  as  well 
as  if  you  had  been  there. 

As  for  the  modern  buildings — here  is  a  beautiful  de- 
sign of  the  Royal  Palace,  built  in  the  style  of  High- 


e  *    s    #    a     a     ft      n      *    U      *      *      a     *    e»    o 

lIKIHiijjJMJHIii, 


— &1 


PUNCH   IX   THE   EAST 


147 


Dutch-Greek,    and   resembling   Newgate   whitewashed 
and  standing  on  a  sort  of  mangy  desert. 

The  King's  German  Guards  (5/JttTC(3oo(3oi)  have  left 
him  perforce;  he  is  now  attended  by  petticoated  Alba- 
nians, and  I  saw  one  of  the  palace  sentries,  as  the  sun 
was  shining  on  his  sentry-box,  wisely  couched  behind  it. 


The  Chambers  were  about  to  sit  when  we  arrived. 
The  Deputies  were  thronging  to  the  capital.  One  of 
them  had  come  as  a  third-class  passenger  of  an  English 
steamer,  took  a  first-class  place,  and  threatened  to  blow 
out  the  brains  of  the  steward  who  remonstrated  with  him 
on  the  irregularity.  It  is  quite  needless  to  say  that  he 
kept  his  place — and  as  the  honourable  deputy  could  not 
read,  of  course  he  could  not  be  expected  to  understand 
the  regulations  imposed  by  the  avaricious  proprietors  of 
the  boat  in  question.  Happy  is  the  country  to  have  such 
makers  of  laws,  and  to  enjoy  the  liberty  consequent  upon 
the  representative  system! 

Besides  Otto's  palace  in  the  great  square,  there  is  an- 
other house  and  an  hotel;  a  fountain  is  going  to  be 
erected,  and  roads  even  are  to  be  made.  At  present  the 
King  drives  up  and  down  over  the  mangy  plain  before 


148    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

mentioned,  and  the  grand  officers  of  state  go  up  to  the 
palace  on  donkeys. 

As  for  the  Hotel  Royal — the  Folkestone  Hotel  might 
take  a  lesson  from  it — they  charge  five  shillings  sterling 
(the  coin  of  the  country  is  the  gamma,  lambda,  and 
delta,  which  I  never  could  calculate)  for  a  bed  in  a 
double-bedded  room ;  and  our  poor  young  friend  Scratch- 
ley,  with  whom  I  was  travelling,  was  compelled  to  leave 
his  and  sit  for  safety  on  a  chair,  on  a  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

As  for  me — but  I  will  not  relate  my  own  paltry  suffer- 
ings. The  post  goes  out  in  half-an-hour,  and  I  had 
thought  ere  its  departure  to  have  described  to  you  Con- 
stantinople and  my  interview  with  the  Sultan  there — his 
splendid  offers — the  Princess  Badroulbadour,  the  order 
of  the  Nisham,  the  Pashalic  with  three  tails — and  my 
firm  but  indignant  rejection.  I  had  thought  to  describe 
Cairo — interview  with  Mehemet  Ali — proposals  of  that 
Prince — splendid  feast  at  the  house  of  my  dear  friend 
Bucksheesh  Pasha,  dancing-girls  and  magicians  after 
dinner,  and  their  extraordinary  disclosures!  But  I 
should  fill  volumes  at  this  rate;  and  I  can't,  like  Mr. 
James,  write  a  volume  between  breakfast  and  luncheon. 

I  have  only  time  rapidly  to  jot  down  my  great  ad- 
venture at  the  Pyramids— and  Punch's  enthronisa- 
tion  there. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PUNCH   AT   THE   PYRAMIDS 

The  19th  day  of  October,  1844  (the  seventh  day  of  the 
month  Hudjmudj,  and  the  1229th  year  of  the  Moham- 
medan Hejira,  corresponding  with  the  16,769th  anni- 
versary of  the  48th  incarnation  of  Veeshnoo) ,  is  a  day 
that  ought  hereafter  to  be  considered  eternally  famous 
in  the  climes  of  the  East  and  West.  I  forget  what  was 
the  day  of  General  Bonaparte's  battle  of  the  Pyramids ; 
I  think  it  was  in  the  month  Quintidi  of  the  year  Ni- 
vose  of  the  French  Republic,  and  he  told  his  soldiers  that 
forty  centuries  looked  down  upon  them  from  the  sum- 
mit of  those  buildings— a  statement  which  I  very  much 
doubt.  But  I  say  the  19th  day  of  October,  1844,  is  the 
most  important  era  in  the  modern  world's  history.  It 
unites  the  modern  with  the  ancient  civilisation ;  it  couples 
the  brethren  of  Watt  and  Cobden  with  the  dusky  family 
of  Pharaoh  and  Sesostris;  it  fuses  Herodotus  with 
Thomas  Babington  Macaulay;  it  intertwines  the  piston 
of  the  blond  Anglo-Saxon  steam-engine  with  the  needle 
of  the  Abyssinian  Cleopatra;  it  weds  the  tunnel  of  the 
subaqueous  Brunei  with  the  mystic  edifice  of  Cheops. 
Strange  play  of  wayward  fancy !  Ascending  the  Pyra- 
mid, I  could  not  but  think  of  Waterloo  Bridge  in  my 
dear  native  London — a  building  as  vast  and  as  mag- 
nificent, as  beautiful,  as  useless,  and  as  lonely.  Forty 
centuries  have  not  as  yet  passed  over  the  latter  structure 
'tis  true;  scarcely  an  equal  number  of  hackney-coaches 

1+9 


150    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

have  crossed  it.  But  I  doubt  whether  the  individuals 
who  contributed  to  raise  it  are  likely  to  receive  a  better 
dividend  for  their  capital  than  the  swarthy  shareholders 
in  the  Pyramid  speculation,  whose  dust  has  long  since 
been  trampled  over  by  countless  generations  of  their 
sons. 

If  I  use  in  the  above  sentence  the  longest  words  I  can 
find,  it  is  because  the  occasion  is  great  and  demands  the 
finest  phrases  the  dictionary  can  supply;  it  is  because  I 
have  not  read  Tom  Macaulay  in  vain ;  it  is  because  I  wish 
to  show  I  am  a  dab  in  history,  as  the  above  dates  will 
testify ;  it  is  because  I  have  seen  the  Reverend  Mr.  Mil- 
man  preach  in  a  black  gown  at  Saint  Margaret's,  where- 
as at  the  Coronation  he  wore  a  gold  cope.  The  19th  of 
October  was  Punch's  Coronation;  I  officiated  at  the  au- 
gust ceremony.  To  be  brief — as  illiterate  readers  may 
not  understand  a  syllable  of  the  above  piece  of  orna- 
mental eloquence— on  the  19th  of  October,  1844,  I 

PASTED  THE  GREAT  PLACARD  OF  PUNCH  ON  THE  PYRAMID 

of  Cheops.  I  did  it.  The  Fat  Contributor  did  it.  If  I 
die,  it  could  not  be  undone.  If  I  perish,  I  have  not  lived 
in  vain. 

If  the  forty  centuries  are  on  the  summit  of  the  Pyra- 
mids, as  Bonaparte  remarks,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  did  not 
see  them.  But  Punch  has  really  been  there ;  this  I  swear. 
One  placard  I  pasted  on  the  first  landing-place  (who 
knows  how  long  Arab  rapacity  will  respect  the  sacred 
hieroglyphic?) .  One  I  placed  under  a  great  stone  on  the 
summit;  one  I  waved  in  the  air,  as  my  Arabs  raised  a 
mighty  cheer  round  the  peaceful  victorious  banner ;  and 
I  flung  it  towards  the  sky,  which  the  Pyramid  almost 
touches,  and  left  it  to  its  fate,  to  mount  into  the  azure 
vault  and  take  its  place  among  the  constellations;  to 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST 


lol 


light  on  the  eternal  Desert,  and  mingle  with  its  golden 
sands;  or  to  nutter  and  drop  into  the  purple  waters  of 
the  neighbouring  Nile,  to  swell  its  fructifying  inunda- 
tions, and  mingle  with  the  rich  vivifying  influence  which 
shoots  into  the  tall  palm-trees  on  its  banks,  and  generates 
the  waving  corn. 

I  wonder  were  there  any  signs  or  omens  in  London 
when  that  event  occurred  ?  Did  an  earthquake  take  place ? 
Did  Stocks  or  the  Barometer  preternaturally  rise  or  fall? 
It  matters  little.  Let  it  suffice  that  the  thing  has  been 
done,  and  forms  an  event  in  History  by  the  side  of  those 
other  facts  to  which  these  prodigious  monuments  bear 
testimony.  Now  to  narrate  briefly  the  circumstances  of 
the  day. 

On  Thursday,  October  17,  I  caused  my  dragoman  to 
purchase  in  the  Frank  Bazaar  at  Grand  Cairo  the  fol- 
lowing articles,  which  will  be  placed  in  the  Museum  on 
my  return: — 


A  is  a  tin  pot  holding  about  a  pint,  and  to  contain  B, 
a  packet  of  flour  (which  of  course  is  not  visible,  as  it  is 
tied  up  in  brown  paper) ,  and  C,  a  pigskin  brush  of  the 
sort  commonly  used  in  Europe— the  whole  costing  about 
five  piastres,  or  one  shilling  sterling.  They  were  all  the 
implements  needful  for  this  tremendous  undertaking. 

Horses  of  the  Mosaic  Arab  breed— I  mean  those  ani- 


152    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

mals  called  Jerusalem  ponies  by  some  in  England,  by 
others  denominated  donkeys — are  the  common  means  of 
transport  employed  by  the  subjects  of  Mehemet  Ali. 


My  excellent  friend  Bucksheesh  Pasha  would  have 
mounted  me  either  on  his  favourite  horse,  or  his  best 
dromedary.  But  I  declined  those  proffers — if  I  fall,  I 
like  better  to  fall  from  a  short  distance  than  a  high  one. 
—  I  have  tried  tumbling  in  both  ways,  and  recommend 
the  former  as  by  far  the  pleasantest  and  safest.  I  chose 
the  Mosaic  Arab  then— one  for  the  dragoman,  one  for 
the  requisites  of  refreshment,  and  two  for  myself — not 
that  I  proposed  to  ride  two  at  once,  but  a  person  of  a  cer- 
tain dimension  had  best  have  a  couple  of  animals  in  case 
of  accident. 

I  left  Cairo  on  the  afternoon  of  October  18,  never 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  153 

hinting  to  a  single  person  the  mighty  purpose  of  my 
journey.  The  waters  were  out,  and  we  had  to  cross  them 
thrice — twice  in  track-boats,  once  on  the  shoulders  of 
abominable  Arabs,  who  take  a  pleasure  in  slipping  and 
in  making  believe  to  plunge  you  in  the  stream.  When 
in  the  midst  of  it,  the  brutes  stop  and  demand  money  of 
3rou — you  are  alarmed,  the  savages  may  drop  you  if  you 
do  not  give — you  promise  that  you  will  do  so.  The  half- 
naked  ruffians  who  conduct  you  up  the  Pyramid,  when 
they  have  got  you  panting  to  the  most  s*teep,  dangerous, 
and  lonely  stone,  make  the  same  demand,  pointing 
downwards  while  they  beg,  as  if  they  would  fling  you  in 
that  direction  on  refusal.  As  soon  as  you  have  breath, 
you  promise  more  money — it  is  the  best  way — you  are  a 
fool  if  you  give  it  when  you  come  down. 

The  journey  I  find  briefly  set  down  in  my  pocket-book 
as  thus :  —  Cairo  Gardens — Mosquitoes — Women  dressed 
in  blue — Children  dressed  in  nothing — Old  Cairo — Nile, 
dirty  water,  ferry-boat — Town — Palm-trees,  ferry-boat, 
canal,  palm-trees,  town — Rice  fields — Maize  fields — Fel- 
lows on  dromedaries — Donkey  down — Over  his  head — 
Pick  up  pieces — More  palm-trees — More  rice  fields 
— Watercourses — Howling  Arabs — Donkey  tumbles 
down  again — Inundations  —  Herons  or  cranes — Broken 
bridges — Sands — Pyramids.  If  a  man  cannot  make  a 
landscape  out  of  that  he  has  no  imagination.  Let  him 
paint  the  skies  very  blue — the  sands  very  yellow — the 
plains  very  flat  and  green — the  dromedaries  and  palm- 
trees  very  tall — the  women  very  brown,  some  with  veils, 
some  with  nose-rings,  some  tattooed,  and  none  with  stays 
—  and  the  picture  is  complete.  You  may  shut  your  eyes 
and  fancy  yourself  there.  It  is  the  pleasantest  way, 
entre  nous. 


CHAPTER  V 

PUNCH    AT    THE    PYRAMIDS    (concluded) 

It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  of  sleeping  in  the  tombs:  that 
question  has  been  settled  in  a  former  paper,  where  I  have 
stated  my  belief  that  people  do  not  sleep  at  all  in  Egypt. 
I  thought  to  have  had  some  tremendous  visions  under 
the  shadow  of  those  enormous  Pyramids  reposing  under 
the  stars.  Pharaoh  or  Cleopatra,  I  thought,  might  ap- 
pear to  me  in  a  dream.  But  how  could  they,  as  I  didn't 
go  to  sleep  ?  I  hoped  for  high  thoughts,  and  secret  com- 
munings with  the  Spirit  of  Poesy — I  hoped  to  have  let 
off  a  sonnet  at  least,  as  gentlemen  do  on  visiting  the  spot 
— but  how  could  I  hunt  for  rhymes,  being  occupied  all 
night  in  hunting  for  something  else?  If  this  remon- 
strance will  deter  a  single  person  from  going  to  the 
Pyramids,  my  purpose  is  fully  answered. 

But  my  case  was  different.  I  had  a  duty  to  perform — 
I  had  to  introduce  Punch  to  Cheops — I  had  vowed  to 
leave  his  card  at  the  gates  of  History — I  had  a  mission, 
in  a  word.  I  roused  at  sunrise  the  snoring  dragoman 
from  his  lair.  I  summoned  the  four  Arabs  who  had  en- 
gaged to  assist  me  in  the  ascent,  and  in  the  undertaking. 
We  lighted  a  fire  of  camels'  dung  at  the  north-east  cor- 
ner of  the  Pyramid,  just  as  the  god  of  day  rose  over 
Cairo.  The  embers  began  to  glow,  —  water  was  put  into 
the  tin  pot  before  mentioned,— the  pot  was  put  on  the 
fire — 'twas  a  glorious — a  thrilling  moment! 

154 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  155 

At  46  minutes  past  6  a.m.  (by  one  of  Dollond's  chro- 
nometers) the  water  began  to  boil. 

At  47  minutes  the  flour  was  put  gradually  into  the 
water — it  was  stirred  with  the  butt-end  of  the  brush 
brought  for  the  purpose,  and  Schmaklek  Beg,  an  Arab, 
peeping  over  the  pot  too  curiously,  I  poked  the  brush 
into  his  mouth  at  11  minutes  before  7  a.m. 

At  7,  the  paste  w^as  made — doubting  whether  it  was 
thick  enough,  Schmaklek  tried  it  with  his  finger.  It  was 
pronounced  to  be  satisfactory. 

At  11  minutes  past  7,  I  turned  round  in  a  majestic 
attitude  to  the  four  Arabs,  and  said,  "  Let  us  mount." 
I  suggest  this  scene,  this  moment,  this  attitude,  to  the 
Committee  of  the  Fine  Arts  as  a  proper  subject  for  the 
Houses  of  Parliament — Punch  pointing  to  the  Pyra- 
mids, and  introducing  civilisation  to  Egypt — I  merely 
throw  it  out  as  a  suggestion.  What  a  grand  thing  the 
Messieurs  Foggo  would  make  of  it ! 

Having  given  the  signal — the  Sheikh  of  the  Arabs 
seized  my  right  arm,  and  his  brother  the  left.  Two  vol- 
unteer Arabs  pushed  me  (quite  unnecessarily )  behind. 
The  other  two  preceded — one  with  a  water-bottle  for 
refreshment;  the  other  with  the  posters — the  pot — the 
paint-brush  and  the  paste.    Away  we  went— away! 

I  was  blown  at  the  third  step.  They  are  exceedingly 
lofty;  about  five  feet  high  each,  I  should  think — but  the 
ardent  spirit  will  break  his  heart  to  win  the  goal — 
besides,  I  could  not  go  back  if  I  would.  The  two  Arabs 
dragged  me  forward  by  the  arms — the  volunteers  pushed 
me  up  from  behind.  It  was  in  vain  I  remonstrated  with 
the  latter,  kicking  violently  as  occasion  offered — they 
still  went  on  pushing.  We  arrived  at  the  first  landing- 
place. 


156    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

I  drew  out  the  poster — how  it  fluttered  in  the  breeze! 
— With  a  trembling  hand  I  popped  the  brush  into  the 
paste-pot,  and  smeared  the  back  of  the  placard;  then  I 
pasted  up  the  standard  of  our  glorious  leader — at 
19  minutes  past  7,  by  the  clock  of  the  great  minaret  at 
Cairo,  which  was  clearly  visible  through  my  refracting 
telescope.  My  heart  throbbed  when  the  deed  was  done. 
My  eyes  filled  with  tears — I  am  not  at  liberty  to  state 
here  all  the  emotions  of  triumph  and  joy  which  rose  in 
my  bosom — so  exquisitely  overpowering  were  they. 
There  was  Punch — familiar  old  Punch— his  back  to 
the  desert,  his  beaming  face  turned  towards  the  Nile. 

"  Bless  him! "  I  exclaimed,  embracing  him;  and  almost 
choking,  gave  the  signal  to  the  Arabs  to  move  on. 

These  savage  creatures  are  only  too  ready  to  obey  an 
order  of  this  nature.  They  spin  a  man  along,  be  his  size 
never  so  considerable.  They  rattled  up  to  the  second 
landing  so  swiftly  that  I  thought  I  should  be  broken- 
winded  for  ever.  But  they  gave  us  little  time  to  halt. 
Yallah!  Again  we  mount! — 'tis  the  last  and  most 
arduous  ascent — the  limbs  quiver,  the  pulses  beat,  the 
eyes  shoot  out  of  the  head,  the  brain  reels,  the  knees 
tremble  and  totter,  and  you  are  on  the  summit!  I  don't 
know  how  many  hundred  thousand  feet  it  is  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  but  I  wonder  after  that  tremendous 
exercise  that  I  am  not  a  roarer  to  my  dying  hour. 

When  consciousness  and  lungs  regained  their  play, 
another  copy  of  the  placard  was  placed  under  a  stone — 
a  third  was  launched  into  air  in  the  manner  before 
described,  and  we  gave  three  immense  cheers  for  Punch, 
which  astonished  the  undiscovered  mummies  that  lie 
darkling  in  tomb-chambers,  and  must  have  disturbed 
the  broken-nosed  old  Sphinx  who  has  been  couched  for 


PUNCH   IN   THE   EAST  157 

thousands  of  years  in  the  desert  hard  by.    This  done,  we 
made  our  descent  from  the  Pyramid. 

And  if,  my  dear  Sir,  you  ask  me  whether  it  is  worth 
a  man's  while  to  mount  up  those  enormous  stones,  I  will 
say,  in  confidence,  that  thousands  of  people  went  to  see 
the  Bottle  Conjuror,  and  that  we  hear  of  gentlemen 
becoming  Freemasons  every  day. 

(August  1844  to  February  1845.) 


BRIGHTON 

BY  "PUNCH'S"   COMMISSIONER 

AS  there  are  some  consumptive  travellers,  who,  by 
l  dodging  about  to  Italy,  to  Malta,  to  Madeira, 
manage  to  cheat  the  winter,  and  for  whose  lungs  a 
perpetual  warmth  is  necessary;  so  there  are  people  to 
whom,  in  like  manner,  London  is  a  necessity  of  existence, 
and  who  follow  it  all  the  year  round. 

Such  individuals,  when  London  goes  out  of  town,  fol- 
low it  to  Brighton,  which  is,  at  this  season,  London  plus 
prawns  for  breakfast  and  the  sea  air.  Blessings  on  the 
sea  air,  which  gives  you  an  appetite  to  eat  them! 

You  may  get  a  decent  bedroom  and  sitting-room  here 
for  a  guinea  a  dav.  Our  friends  the  Botibols  have  three 
rooms,  and  a  bedstead  disguised  like  a  chest  of  drawers 
in  the  drawing-room,  for  which  they  pay  something  less 
than  a  hundred  pounds  a  month.  I  could  not  understand 
last  night  why  the  old  gentleman,  who  usually  goes  to 
bed  early,  kept  yawning  and  fidgeting  in  the  drawing- 
room  after  tea;  until,  with  some  hesitation,  he  made  the 
confession  that  the  apartment  in  question  was  his  bed- 
room, and  revealed  the  mystery  of  the  artful  chest  of 
drawers.  Botibol's  house  in  Bedford  Square  is  as  spa- 
cious as  an  Italian  palace ;  the  second-floor  front,  in  which 
the  worthy  man  sleeps,  would  accommodate  a  regiment; 
and  here  they  squeeze  him  into  a  chiffon  niere!    How  Mrs. 

158 


BRIGHTON 


159 


B.  and  the  four  delightful  girls  can  be  stowed  away  in  the 
back  room,  I  tremble  to  think :  what  bachelor  has  a  right 
to  ask?  But  the  air  of  the  sea  makes  up  for  the  close- 
ness of  the  lodgings.  I  have  just  seen  them  on  the  Cliff 
— mother  and  daughters  were  all  blooming  like  crimson 
double  dahlias! 

You  meet  everybody  on  that  Cliff.  For  a  small 
charge  you  may  hire  the  very  fly  here  represented ;  with 
the  very  horse  and  the  very  postilion,  in  a  pink  striped 
chintz  jacket — which  may  have  been  the  cover  of  an 
armchair  once — and  straight  whity -brown  hair,  and  little 
wash-leather  inexpressibles,  —  the  cheapest  little  carica- 
ture of  a  post-boy  eyes  have  ever  lighted  on. 

I  seldom  used  to  select  his  carriage,  for  the  horse  and 
vehicle  looked  feeble,  and  unequal  to  bearing  a  person 


of  weight;  but  last  Sunday  I  saw  an  Israelitish  family 
of  distinction  ensconced  in  the  poor  little  carriage— the 
ladies  with  the  most  flaming  polkas,  and  flounces  all  the 
way  up;  the  gent  in  velvet  waistcoat,  with  pins  in  his 
breast  big  enough  once  to  have  surmounted  the  door  of 
his  native  pawnbroker's  shop,  and  a  complement  of  hook- 
nosed children,  magnificent  in  attire.  Their  number  and 
magnificence  did  not  break  the  carriage  down ;  the  little 


160    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

postilion  bumped  up  and  down  as  usual,  as  the  old  horse 
went  his  usual  pace.    How  they  spread  out,  and  basked, 


and  shone,  and  were  happy  in  the  sun  there — those  hon- 
est people! 

The  Mosaic  Arabs  abound  here;  and  they  rejoice  and 
are  idle  with  a  grave  and  solemn  pleasure,  as  becomes 
their  Eastern  origin. 

If  you  don't  mind  the  expense,  hire  a  ground-floor 
window  on  the  Cliff,  and  examine  the  stream  of  human 
nature  which  passes  by.  That  stream  is  a  league  in 
length;  it  pours  from  Brunswick  Terrace  to  Kemp 
Town,  and  then  tumbles  back  again;  and  so  rolls,  and 
as  it  rolls  perpetually,  keeps  rolling  on  from  three 
o'clock  till  dinner-time. 

Ha!  what  a  crowd  of  well-known  London  faces  vou 
behold  here — only  the  sallow  countenances  look  pink 
now,  and  devoid  of  care. 

I  have  seen  this  very  day,  at  least — 

Forty-nine  Railroad  Directors,  who  would  have  been 
at  Baden-Baden  but  for  the  lines  in  progress;  and 
who,  though  breathing  the  fresh  air,  are  within  an 
hour  and  a  half  of  the  City. 

Thirteen  barristers,  of  more  or  less  repute,  including 


BRIGHTON 


1G1 


the  Solicitor-General  himself,  whose  open  and 
jovial  countenance  beamed  with  benevolence  upon 
the  cheerful  scene. 

A  Hebrew  dentist  driving  a  curricle. 

At  least  twelve  well-known  actors  or  actresses.  It 
went  to  my  heart  to  see  the  most  fashionable  of 
them  driving  about  in  a  little  four-wheeled  pony- 
chaise,  the  like  of  which  might  be  hired  for  five 
shillings. 


^i 


Then  you  have  tight-laced  dragoons,  trotting  up  and 
down  with  solemn,  handsome,  stupid  faces,  and  huge 
yellow  mustachios.  Myriads  of  flys,  laden  with  happy 
cockneys;  pathetic  invalid-chairs  all  along,  looking  too 
much  like  coffins  already,  in  which  poor  people  are 
brought  out  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sun.  Grand 
equipages  are  scarce ;  I  saw  Lady  Wilhelmina  Wiggin's 
lovely  nose  and  auburn  ringlets  peeping  out  of  a  cab, 
hired  at  half-a-crown  an  hour,  between  her  Ladyship  and 
her  sister,  the  Princess  Oysterowski. 
*  *  * 


* 


* 


162    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

The  old  gentleman  who  began  to  take  lessons  when  we 
were  here  three  years  ago,  at  the  Tepid  Swimming  Bath 
with  the  conical  top,  I  am  given  to  understand  is  still 
there,  and  may  be  seen  in  the  water  from  nine  till  five. 

(October  1845.) 


A    BRIGHTON    NIGHT    ENTERTAINMENT 


BY       PUNCH  S       COMMISSIONER 


HAVE  always  had  a  taste  for  the  sec- 
ond-rate  in  life.  Second-rate  poetry, 
for  instance,  is  an  uncommon  deal 
pleasanter  to  my  fancy  than  your  great 
thundering  first-rate  epic  poems.  Your 
Miltons  and  Dantes  are  magnificent — 
but  a  bore:  whereas  an  ode  of  Horace, 
or  a  song  of  Tommy  Moore,  is  always 
fresh,  sparkling,  and  welcome.  Second- 
rate  claret,  again,  is  notoriously  better 
than  first-rate  wine :  you  get  the  former  genuine,  whereas 
the  latter  is  a  loaded  and  artificial  composition  that  cloys 
the  palate  and  bothers  the  reason. 

Second-rate  beauty  in  women  is  likewise,  I  maintain, 
more  agreeable  than  first-rate  charms.  Your  first-rate 
Beauty  is  grand,  severe,  awful — a  faultless  frigid 
angel  of  five  feet  nine — superb  to  behold  at  church,  or 
in  the  park,  or  at  a  Drawing-room — but  ah!  how  inferior 
to  a  sweet  little  second-rate  creature,  with  smiling  eyes, 
and  a  little  second-rate  nez  retrousse,  with  which  you 
fall  in  love  in  a  minute. 

Second-rate  novels  I  also  assert  to  be  superior  to  the 
best  works  of  fiction.  They  give  you  no  trouble  to  read, 
excite  no  painful  emotions — you  go  through  them  with 
a    gentle,    languid,    agreeable    interest.      Mr.    James's 

163 


164    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

romances  are  perfect  in  this  way.  The  ne  plus  ultra  of 
indolence  may  be  enjoyed  during  their  perusal. 

For  the  same  reason,  I  like  second-rate  theatrical  enter- 
tainments— a  good  little  company  in  a  provincial  town, 
acting  good  old  stupid  stock  comedies  and  farces ;  where 
nobody  comes  to  the  theatre,  and  you  may  lie  at  ease  in 
the  j>it,  and  get  a  sort  of  intimacy  with  each  actor  and 
actress,  and  know  every  bar  of  the  music  that  the  three 
or  four  fiddlers  of  the  little  orchestra  play  throughout 
the  season. 

The  Brighton  Theatre  would  be  admirable  but  for  one 
thing — Mr.  Hooper,  the  manager,  will  persist  in  having 
Stars  down  from  London — blazing  Macreadys,  resplen- 
dent Miss  Cushmans,  fiery  Wallacks,  and  the  like.  On 
these  occasions  it  is  very  possible  that  the  house  may  be 
filled  and  the  manager's  purpose  answered;  but  where 
does  all  your  comfort  go  then?  You  can't  loll  over  four 
benches  in  the  pit — you  are  squeezed  and  hustled  in  an 
inconvenient  crowd  there — you  are  fatigued  by  the  per- 
petual struggles  of  the  apple-and-ginger-beer  boy,  who 
will  pass  down  your  row — and  for  what  do  you  undergo 
this  labour?  To  see  Hamlet  and  Lady  Macbeth,  for- 
sooth! as  if  everybody  had  not  seen  them  a  thousand 
times.  No,  on  such  star  nights  "  The  Commissioner  " 
prefers  a  walk  on  the  Cliff  to  the  charms  of  the  Brigh- 
ton Theatre.  I  can  have  first-rate  tragedy  in  London: 
in  the  country  give  me  good  old  country  fare — the 
good  old  comedies  and  farces— the  dear  good  old  melo- 
dramas. 

We  had  one  the  other  day  in  perfection.  We  were,  I 
think,  about  four  of  us  in  the  pit;  the  ginger-beer  boy 
might  wander  about  quite  at  his  ease.  There  was  a 
respectable  family  in  a  private  box,  and  some  pleasant 
fellows  in  the  gallery ;  and  we  saw,  with  leisure  and  delec- 


BRIGHTON  NIGHT  ENTERTAINMENT   165 

tation,  that  famous  old  melodrama,  "  The  Warlock  of 
the  Glen." 

In  a  pasteboard  cottage,  on  the  banks  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  there  lived  once  a  fisherman,  who  had  a  little 
canvas  boat,  in  which  it  is  a  wonder  he  was  never 
swamped,  for  the  boat  was  not  above  three  feet  long; 
and  I  was  astonished  at  his  dwelling  in  the  cottage,  too; 
for  though  a  two-storied  one,  it  was  not  above  five  feet 
high;  and  I  am  sure  the  fisherman  was  six  feet  without 
his  shoes. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  door  of  his  cot,  looking  at 
some  young  persons  of  the  neighbourhood  who  were 
dancing  a  reel,  a  scream  was  heard,  as  issuing  from  the 
neighbouring  forest,  and  a  lady  with  dishevelled  hair, 
and  a  beautiful  infant  in  her  hand,  rushed  in.  What 
meant  that  scream?  We  were  longing  to  know,  but  the 
gallery  insisted  on  the  reel  over  again,  and  the  poor 
injured  lady  had  to  wait  until  the  dance  was  done  before 
she  could  explain  her  unfortunate  case. 

It  was  briefly  this:  she  was  no  other  than  Adela,  Coun- 
tess of  Glencairn;  the  boy  in  her  hand  was  Glencairn's 
only  child:  three  years  since  her  gallant  husband  had 
fallen  in  fight,  or,  worse  still,  by  the  hand  of  the 
assassin. 

He  had  left  a  brother,  Clanronald.  What  was  the 
conduct  of  that  surviving  relative?  Was  it  fraternal 
towards  the  widowed  Adela?  Was  it  avuncular  to  the 
orphan  boy?  Ah,  no!  For  three  years  he  had  locked 
her  up  in  his  castle,  under  pretence  that  she  was  mad, 
pursuing  her  all  the  while  with  his  odious  addresses.  But 
she  loathed  his  suit;  and  refusing  to  become  Mrs.  (or 
Lady)  Clanronald,  took  this  opportunity  to  escape  and 
fling  herself  on  the  protection  of  the  loyal  vassals  of 
her  lord. 


166    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


She  had  hardly  told  her  pathetic  tale  when  voices  were 
heard  without.  Cries  of  'Follow,  follow!"  resounded 
through  the  wild- wood;  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  en- 
gaged in  the  reel  fled,  and  the  Countess  and  her  child, 
stepping  into  the  skiff,  disappeared  down  a  slope,  to  the 
rage  and  disappointment  of  Clanronald,  who  now  ar- 
rived—  a  savage-looking  nobleman  indeed!  and  followed 
by  two  ruffians  of  most  ferocious  aspect,  and  having  in 
their  girdles  a  pair  of  those  little  notched  dumpy  swords, 
with  round  iron  hilts  to  guard  the  knuckles,  by  which  I 
knew  that  a  combat  would  probably  take  place  ere  long. 
And  the  result  proved  that  I  was  right. 

Flying  along  the  wild  margent  of  the  sea,  in  the 
next  act,  the  poor  Adela  was  pursued  by  Clanronald; 
but  though  she  jumped  into  the  waves  to  avoid  him, 
the  unhappy  lady  was  rescued  from  the  briny  element, 
and  carried  back  to  her  prison;  Clanronald  swearing 
a  dreadful  oath  that  she  should  marry  him  that  very 
day. 

He  meanwhile  gave  orders  to  his  two  ruffians,  Mur- 


BRIGHTON  NIGHT  ENTERTAINMENT    167 

doch  and  Hamish,  to  pursue  the  little  boy  into  the  wood, 
and  there— there  murder  him. 

But  there  is  always  a  power  in  melodramas  that 
watches  over  innocence;  and  these  two  wretched  ones 
were  protected  by  The  Warlock  of  the  Glen. 


i) 


All  through  their  misfortunes,  this  mysterious  being- 
watched  them  with  a  tender  interest.  When  the  two 
ruffians  were  about  to  murder  the  child,  he  and  the  fish- 
erman rescued  him — their  battle-swords  (after  a  brief 
combat  of  four)  sank  powerless  before  his  wizard  staff, 
and  they  fled  in  terror. 

Haste  we  to  the  Castle  of  Glencairn.  What  ceremony 
is  about  to  take  place?  What  has  assembled  those  two 
noblemen,  and  those  three  ladies  in  calico  trains?  A 
marriage!  But  what  a  union!  The  Lady  Adela  is 
dragged  to  the  chapel-door  by  the  truculent  Clanronald. 
'  Lady,"  he  says,  "  you  are  mine.  Resistance  is  unavail- 
ing. Submit  with  good  grace.  Henceforth,  what  power 
on  earth  can  separate  you  from  me? " 


168    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

'  Mine  can,"  cries  the  Warlock  of  the  Glen,  rushing 
in.  'Tyrant  and  assassin  of  thy  brother!  know  that 
Glencairn — Glencairn,  thy  brother  and  lord,  whom  thy 
bravos  were  commissioned  to  slay — know  that,  for  three 
years,  a  solemn  vow  (sworn  to  the  villain  that  spared  his 
life,  and  expired  yesterday)  bound  him  never  to  reveal 
his  existence — know  that  he  is  near  at  hand;  and  repent, 
while  yet  there  is  time." 

The  Lady  Adela's  emotion  may  be  guessed  when  she 
heard  this  news;  but  Clanronald  received  it  with  con- 
temptuous scepticism.  "And  where  is  this  dead  man 
come  alive?'    laughed  he. 

"  He  is  here,"  shouted  the  Warlock  of  the  Glen ;  and 
to  fling  away  his  staff — to  dash  off  his  sham  beard  and 
black  gown — to  appear  in  a  red  dress,  with  tights  and 
yellow  boots,  as  became  Glencairn's  Earl — was  the  work 
of  a  moment.  The  Countess  recognised  him  with  a 
scream  of  joy.  Clanronald  retired  led  off  by  two  sol- 
diers; and  the  joy  of  the  Earl  and  Countess  was  com- 
pleted by  the  arrival  of  their  only  son  ( a  clever  little  girl 
of  the  Hebrew  persuasion)  in  the  arms  of  the  fisherman. 


BRIGHTON  NIGHT  ENTERTAINMENT   169 

The  curtain  fell  on  this  happy  scene.  The  fiddlers  had 
ere  this  disappeared.  The  ginger-beer  boy  went  home  to 
a  virtuous  family  that  was  probably  looking  out  for  him. 
The  respectable  family  in  the  boxes  went  off  in  a  fly. 
The  little  audience  spread  abroad,  and  were  lost  in  the 
labyrinths  of  the  city.  The  lamps  of  the  Theatre  Royal 
were  extinguished:  and  all— all  was  still. 

(October  1845.) 


MEDITATIONS   OVER  BRIGHTON 

BY  "  PUNCH'S  "  COMMISSIONER 
(From  the  Devil's  Dyke) 

WHEN  the  exultant  and  long-eared  animal  de- 
scribed in  the  fable  revelled  madly  in  the  frog- 
pond,  dashing  about  his  tail  and  hoof  among  the  unfor- 
tunate inhabitants  of  that  piece  of  water,  it  is  stated  that 
the  frogs  remonstrated,  exclaiming,  "  Why,  O  donkey, 
do  you  come  kicking  about  in  our  habitation  ?  It  may  be 
good  fun  to  you  to  lash  out,  and  plunge,  and  kick  in  this 
absurd  manner,  but  it  is  death  to  us : '"  on  which  the 
good-natured  quadruped  agreed  to  discontinue  his  gam- 
bols ;  and  left  the  frogs  to  bury  their  dead  and  rest  hence- 
forth undisturbed  in  their  pool. 

The  inhabitants  of  Brighton  are  the  frogs — and  I 
dare  say  they  will  agree  as  to  the  applicability  of  the  rest 
of  the  simile.  It  might  be  good  fun  to  me  to  "  mark 
their  manners,  and  their  ways  survey;"  but  could  it  be 
altogether  agreeable  to  them?  I  am  sorry  to  confess  it 
has  not  proved  so,  having  received  at  least  three  hundred 
letters  of  pathetic  remonstrance,  furious  complaint,  an- 
gry swagger,  and  threatening  omens,  entreating  me  to 
leave  the  Brightonians  alone.  The  lodging-house  keep- 
ers are  up  in  arms.  Mrs.  Screw  says  she  never  let  her 
lodgings  at  a  guinea  a  day,  and  invites  me  to  occupy  her 
drawing  and  bed-room  for  five  guineas  a  week.     Mr. 

170 


MEDITATIONS  OVER  BRIGHTON     171 

Squeezer  swears  that  a  guinea  a  day  is  an  atrocious  cal- 
umny: he  would  turn  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his 
bedridden  mother-in-law  out  of  doors  if  he  could  get 
such  a  sum  for  the  rooms  they  occupy—  (but  this,  I  sus- 
pect, is  a  pretext  of  Squeezer's  to  get  rid  of  his  mother- 
in-law,  in  which  project  I  wish  him  luck).  Mrs.  Slop 
hopes  she  may  never  again  cut  a  slice  out  of  a  lodger's 
joint  (the  cannibal!)  if  she  won't  be  ready  at  the  most 
crowdidest  of  seasons  to  let  her  first-floor  for  six  pounds ; 
and,  finally,  Mr.  Skiver  writes:  — "  Sir,  — Your  ill-ad- 
vised publication  has  passed  like  a  whirlwind  over  the 
lodging-houses  of  Brighton.  You  have  rendered  our 
families  desolate,  and  prematurely  closed  our  season. 
As  you  have  destroyed  the  lodging-houses,  couldn't  you, 
now,  walk  into  the  boarding-houses,  and  say  a  kind  word 
to  ruin  the  hotels?  " 

And  is  it  so?  Is  the  power  of  the  Commissioner's  eye 
so  fatal  that  it  withers  the  object  on  which  it  falls?  Is 
the  condition  of  his  life  so  dreadful  that  he  destroys  all 
whom  he  comes  near?  Have  I  made  a  post-boy  wretched 
—  five  thousand  lodging-house  keepers  furious — twenty 
thousand  Jews  unhappy?  If  so,  and  I  really  possess 
a  power  so  terrible,  I  had  best  come  out  in  the  tragic 
line. 

I  went,  pursuant  to  orders,  to  the  Swiss  Cottage,  at 
Shoreham,  where  the  first  object  that  struck  my  eye  was 
the  following  scene  in  the  green  lake  there,  which  I  am 
credibly  informed  is  made  of  pea-soup :  two  honest  girls 
were  rowing  about  their  friend  on  this  enchanting  water. 
There  was  a  cloudless  sky  overhead  —  rich  treats  were 
advertised  for  the  six  frequenters  of  the  gardens;  a  va- 
riety of  entertainments  was  announced  in  the  Hall  of 
Amusement  — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aminadab   (here,  too,  the 


172    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 


7i  W3 


Hebrews  have  penetrated)  were  advertised  as  about  to 
sing  some  of  their  most  favourite  comic  songs  and — 

But  no,  I  will  not  describe  the  place.  Why  should  my 
fatal  glance  bring  a  curse  upon  it?  The  pea-soup  lake 
would  dry  up — leaving  its  bed  a  vacant  tureen — the 
leaves  would  drop  from  the  scorched  trees — the  pretty 
flowers  would  wither  and  fade — the  rockets  would  not 
rise  at  night,  nor  the  rebel  wheels  go  round — the  money- 
taker  at  the  door  would  grow  mouldy  and  die  in  his  moss- 
grown  and  deserted  cell — Aminadab  Mould  lose  his  en- 
gagement. Why  should  these  things  be,  and  this  ruin 
occur  ?  James !  pack  the  portmanteau  and  tell  the  land- 
lord to  bring  the  bill;  order  horses  immediately — this 
day  I  will  quit  Brighton. 

Other  appalling  facts  have  come  to  notice ;  all  showing 
more  or  less  the  excitement  created  by  my  publication. 

The  officers  of  the  150th  Hussars,  accused  of  looking 
handsome,  solemn,  and  stupid,  have  had  a  meeting  in  the 


MEDITATIONS   OVER  BRIGHTON     173 

messroom,  where  the  two  final  epithets  have  heen  re- 
scinded in  a  string  of  resolutions. 

But  it  is  the  poor  yellow-breeched  postilion  who  has 
most  suffered.  When  the  picture  of  him  came  out, 
crowds  flocked  to  see  him.  He  was  mobbed  all  the  way 
down  the  Cliff;  wherever  he  drove  his  little  phaeton, 
people  laughed,  and  pointed  with  the  finger  and  said, 
"  That  is  he."  The  poor  child  was  thus  made  the  subject 
of  public  laughter  by  my  interference— and  what  has 
been  the  consequence  ?  In  order  to  disguise  him  as  much 
as  possible,  his  master  has  bought  him  a  hat. 

The  children  of  Israel  are  in  a  fury  too.  They  do  not 
like  to  ride  in  flys,  since  my  masterly  representation  of 
them  a  fortnight  since.  They  are  giving  up  their  houses 
daily.  You  read  in  the  Brighton  papers,  among  the  de- 
partures, " Nebuzaradan,  Esquire,  and  family  for 

London;'1  or,  "Solomon  Ramothgilead,  Esquire,  has 
quitted  his  mansion  in  Marine  Crescent;  circumstances 
having  induced  him  to  shorten  his  stay  among  us ;  "'  and 
so  on.  The  people  emigrate  by  hundreds;  they  can't 
bear  to  be  made  the  object  of  remark  in  the  public  walks 
and  drives — and  thev  are  riving  from  a  city  of  which 
they  might  have  made  a  new  Jerusalem. 

(October  1845.) 


BRIGHTON  IN  1847 


BY  THE  F.  C. 


CHAPTER  I 


AVE  the  kindness,  my  dear  Pugs- 
by,  to  despatch  me  a  line  when 
they  have  done  painting  the 
smoking-room  at  the  Megathe- 
rium, that  I  may  come  back  to 
town.  After  suffering  as  we  have 
all  the  vear,  not  so  much  from  the 
bad  ventilation  of  the  room,  as 
from  the  suffocating  dulness  of 
Wheezer,  Snoozer,  and  Whiffler, 
who  frequent  it,  I  had  hoped  for 
quiet  by  the  sea-shore  here,  and  that  our  three  abominable 
acquaintances  had  quitted  England. 

I  had  scarcely  been  ten  minutes  in  the  place,  my  ever- 
dear  Pugsby,  when  I  met  old  Snoozer  walking  with 
young  De  Bosky,  of  the  Tatters-and-Starvation  Club, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  our  square,  and  ogling  the  girls 
on  the  Cliff,  the  old  wretch,  as  if  he  had  not  a  wife  and 
half-a-dozen  daughters  of  his  own  in  Pocklington 
Square.  He  hooked  on  to  my  arm  as  if  he  had  been 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  and  I  found  myself  introduced 
to  young  De  Bosky,  a  man  whom  I  have  carefully 
avoided  as  an  odious  and  disreputable  tiger,  the  tuft  on 
whose  chin  has  been  always  particularly  disagreeable  to 

174 


BRIGHTON    IN    1847  175 

me,  and  who  is  besides  a  Captain,  or  Commodore,  or 
some  such  thing,  in  the  Bundelcund  Cavalry.  The  clink 
and  glitter  of  his  spurs  is  perfectly  abominable:  he  is 
screwed  so  tight  in  his  waistband  that  I  wish  it  could 
render  him  speechless  (for  when  he  does  speak  he  is  so 
stupid  that  he  sends  you  to  sleep  while  actually  walking 
with  him)  ;  and  as  for  his  chest,  which  he  bulges  out 
against  the  shoulders  of  all  the  passers-by,  I  am  sure  that 
he  carries  a  part  of  his  wardrobe  in  it,  and  that  he  is 
wadded  with  stockings  and  linen  as  if  he  were  a  walking- 
carpet-bag. 

This  fellow  saluted  two-thirds  of  the  carriages  which 
passed  with  a  knowing  nod,  and  a  military  swagger  so 
arrogant,  that  I  feel  continually  the  greatest  desire  to 
throttle  him. 

Well,  sir,  before  we  had  got  from  the  Tepid  Swim- 
ming Bath  to  Mutton's  the  pastrycook's,  whom  should 
we  meet  but  Wheezer,  to  be  sure.  Wheezer  driving  up 
and  down  the  Cliff  at  half-a-crown  an  hour,  with  his 
hideous  family,  Mrs.  Wheezer,  the  Miss  Wheezers  in 
fur  tippets  and  drawn  bonnets  with  spring-flowers  in 
them,  a  huddle  and  squeeze  of  little  Wheezers  sprawling 
and  struggling  on  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage,  and  that 
horrible  boy  whom  Wheezer  brings  to  the  Club  some- 
times, actually'  seated  on  the  box  of  the  fly,  and  ready 
to  drive,  if  the  coachman  should  be  intoxicated  or  inclined 
to  relinquish  his  duty. 

Wheezer  sprang  out  of  the  vehicle  with  a  cordiality 
that  made  me  shudder.  "Hullo,  my  boy!''  said  he, 
seizing  my  trembling  hand.  'What!  you  here?  Hang 
me  if  the  whole  Club  isn't  here.  I'm  at  56  Horse  Marine 
Parade.  Where  are  you  lodging?  We're  out  for  a  holi- 
day, and  will  make  a  jolly  time  of  it." 


176    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

The  benighted,  the  conceited  old  wretch!  He  would 
not  let  go  my  hand  until  I  told  him  where  I  resided — 
at  Mrs.  Muggeridge's  in  Black  Lion  Street,  where  I 
have  a  tolerable  view  of  the  sea,  if  I  risk  the  loss  of  my 
equilibrium  and  the  breakage  of  my  back,  by  stretching 
three-quarters  of  my  body  out  of  my  drawing-room 
window. 

As  he  stopped  to  speak  to  me,  his  carriage  of  course 
stopped  likewise,  forcing  all  the  vehicles  in  front  and 
behind  him  to  halt  or  to  precipitate  themselves  over  the 
railings  on  to  the  shingles  and  the  sea.  The  cabs,  the 
flys,  the  shandrydans,  the  sedan-chairs  with  the  poor  old 
invalids  inside;  the  old  maids',  the  dowagers'  chariots, 
out  of  which  you  see  countenances  scarcely  less  death- 
like; the  stupendous  cabs,  out  of  which  the  whiskered 
heroes  of  the  gallant  Onety-oneth  look  down  on  us  people 
on  foot;  the  hacks  mounted  by  young  ladies  from  the 
equestrian  schools,  by  whose  sides  the  riding-masters 
canter  confidentially — everybody  stopped.  There  was 
a  perfect  strangury  in  the  street ;  and  I  should  have  liked 
not  only  to  throttle  De  Bosky,  but  to  massacre  Wheezer, 
too. 

The  wretched  though  unconscious  being  insisted  on 
nailing  me  for  dinner  before  he  would  leave  me;  and  I 
heard  him  say  (that  is,  by  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, and  the  glances  which  his  wife  and  children  cast 
at  me,  I  knew  he  said) ,  '  That  is  the  young  and  dashing 
Folkstone  Canterbury,  the  celebrated  contributor  to 
Punch." 

The  crowd,  sir,  on  the  Cliff  was  perfectly  frightful. 
It  is  my  belief  nobody  goes  abroad  any  more.  Every- 
body is  at  Brighton.  I  met  three  hundred  at  least  of 
our  acquaintances  in  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 


BRIGHTON  IN  1847  177 

and  before  we  could  reach  Brunswick  Square  I  met 
dandies,  City  men,  Members  of  Parliament.  I  met  my 
tailor  walking  with  his  wife,  with  a  geranium  blooming 
in  his  wretched  button-hole,  as  if  money  wasn't  tight  in 
the  City,  and  everybody  had  paid  him  everything  every- 
body owed  him.  I  turned  and  sickened  at  the  sight  of 
that  man.     "  Snoozer,"  said  I,  "  I  will  go  on  the  Pier." 

I  went,  and  to  find  what? — Whiffler,  by  all  that  is 
unmerciful!— Whiffler,  whom  we  see  every  day,  in  the 
same  chair,  at  the  Megatherium.  Whiffler,  whom  not  to 
see  is  to  make  all  the  good  fellows  at  the  Club  happy. 
I  have  seen  him  every  day,  and  many  times  a  day  since. 
At  the  moment  of  our  first  rencontre  I  was  so  saisi,  so 
utterly  overcome  by  rage  and  despair,  that  I  would  have 
flung  myself  into  the  azure  waves  sparkling  calmly 
around  me,  but  for  the  chains  of  the  Pier. 

I  did  not  take  that  aqueous  suicidal  plunge— I  resolved 
to  live,  and  why,  my  dear  Pugsby?  Who  do  you  think 
approached  us  ?  Were  you  not  at  one  of  his  parties  last 
season?  I  have  polked  in  his  saloons.  I  have  nestled 
under  the  mahogany  of  his  dining-room,  at  least  one 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  times.  It  was  Mr.  Gold- 
more,  the  East  India  Director,  with  Mrs.  G.  on  his  arm, 
and— oh,  heavens!— Florence  and  Violet  Goldmore,  with 
pink  parasols,  walking  behind  their  parents. 

"  What!  you  here!  "  said  the  good  and  hospitable  man, 
holding  out  his  hand,  and  giving  a  slap  on  the  boards 
(or  deck,  I  may  say)  with  his  bamboo;  "hang  it,  every- 
one's here.  Come  and  dine  at  seven.  Brunswick  Square." 

I  looked  in  Violet's  eyes.  Florence  is  rather  an  old 
bird,  and  wears  spectacles,  so  that  looking  in  her  eyes  is 
out  of  the  question.  I  looked  in  Violet's  eyes,  and  said 
I'd  come  with  the  greatest  pleasure. 


178    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

'  As  for  you,  De  Bosky" —  (I  forget  whether  I  men- 
tioned that  the  whiskered  Bundelcund  buck  had  come 
with  me  on  to  the  Pier,  whither  Snoozer  would  not  fol- 
low us,  declining  to  pay  the  twopence) — "as  for  you, 
De  Bosky,  you  may  come,  or  not,  as  you  like." 

'  Won't  I,"  said  he,  grinning,  with  a  dandified  Bun- 
delcund nod,  and  wagging  his  odious  head. 

I  could  have  wrenched  it  off  and  flung  it  in  the  ocean. 
But  I  restrained  my  propensity,  and  we  agreed  that,  for 
the  sake  of  economy,  we  would  go  to  Mr.  Goldmore's 
in  the  same  fly. 


CHAPTER   II 


HE 


very  first  spoonful 
of  the  clear  soup 
at  the  Director's  told 
me  that  my  excellent 
friend  Paradol  (the 
chef  who  came  to  Mr. 
Goldmore,  Portland 
Place,  when  Guttle- 
bury  House  was  shut 
up  by  the  lamented 
levanting  of  the  noble 
Earl)  was  established 
among  the  furnaces 
below.  A  clear  brown 
soup,— none  of  your 
filthy,  spiced,  English 
hell-broths,  but  light,  brisk,  and  delicate,  — always  sets 
me  off  for  the  evening:  it  invigorates  and  enlivens  me, 
my  dear  Pugsby:  I  give  you  my  honour  it  does— and 
when  I  am  in  a  good  humour,  I  am,  I  flatter  myself  - 
what  shall  I  say?— well,  not  disagreeable. 

On  this  day,  sir,  I  was  delightful.  Although  that  booby 
De  Bosky  conducted  Miss  Violet  Goldmore  downstairs, 
yet  the  wretch,  absorbed  in  his  victuals,  and  naturally  of 
an  unutterable  dulness,  did  not  make  a  single  remark 
during  dinner,  whereas  I  literally  blazed  with  wit.  Sir,  I 
even  made  one  of  the  footmen  laugh— a  perilous  joke  for 

179 


180    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

the  poor  fellow,  who,  I  dare  say,  will  be  turned  off  in 
consequence.  I  talked  sentiment  to  Florence  (women 
in  spectacles  are  almost  always  sentimental)  ;  cookery 
to  Sir  Harcourt  Gulph,  who  particularly  asked  my 
address,  and  I  have  no  doubt  intends  to  invite  me  to  his 
dinners  in  town;  military  affairs  with  Major  Bangles 
of  the  Onety-oneth  Hussars,  who  was  with  the  regiment 
at  Aliwal  and  Ferozeshah,  and  drives  about  a  prodigious 
cab  at  Brighton,  with  a  captured  Sikh  behind,  disguised 
as  a  tiger;  to  Mrs.  Goldmore  I  abused  Lady  Toddle- 
Rowdy's  new  carriages  and  absurd  appearance  (she  is 
seventy-four  if  she  is  a  day,  and  she  wears  a  white  mus- 
lin frock  and  frilled  trousers,  with  a  wig  curling  down 
her  old  back,  and  I  do  believe  puts  on  a  pinafore,  and 
has  a  little  knife  and  fork  and  silver  mug  at  home,  so 
girlish  is  she)  :  I  say,  in  a  word — and  I  believe  without 
fear  of  contradiction — that  I  delighted  everybody. 

'  Delightful  man! "  said  Mrs.  Bangles  to  my  excellent 
friend,  Mrs.  Goldmore. 

'  Extraordinary  creature;  so  odd,  isn't  he?"  replied 
that  admirable  woman. 

'What  a  flow  of  spirits  he  has!"  cried  the  charming 
Violet. 

"  And  yet  sorrows  repose  under  that  smiling  mask,  and 
those  outbreaks  of  laughter  perhaps  conceal  the  groans 
of  smouldering  passion  and  the  shrieks  of  withering 
despair,"  sighed  Florence.  'It  is  always  so:  the 
wretched  seem  to  be  most  joyous.  If  I  didn't  think 
that  man  miserable,  I  couldn't  be  happy,"  she  added, 
and  lapsed  into  silence.  Little  Mrs.  Diggs  told  me  every 
word  of  the  conversation,  when  I  came  up,  the  first  of 
the  gentlemen,  to  tea. 

'Clever  fellow  that,"  said  (as  I  am  given  to  under- 


BRIGHTON  IN  1847  181 

stand)  Sir  Harcourt  Gulph.  "I  liked  that  notion  of 
his  about  croquignoles  a  la  pouffarde:  I  will  speak  to 
Moufflon  to  try  it." 

"  I  really  shall  mention  in  the  Bank  parlour  to-mor- 
row," the  Director  remarked,  "  what  he  said  about  the 
present  crisis,  and  his  project  for  a  cast-iron  cur- 
rency: that  man  is  by  no  means  the  trifler  he  pre- 
tends to  be." 

'Where  did  he  serve?"  asked  Bangles.  "If  he  can 
manoeuvre  an  army  as  well  as  he  talks  about  it,  demmv, 
he  ought  to  be  Commander-in-Chief.  Did  you  hear, 
Captain  De  Bosky,  what  he  said  about  pontooning  the 
echelons,  and  operating  with  our  reserve  upon  the  right 
bank  of  the  river  at  Ferozeshah?  Gad,  sir,  if  that  ma- 
noeuvre had  been  performed, not  a  man  of  the  Sikh  army 
would  have  escaped:"  — in  which  case  of  course  Major 
Bangles  would  have  lost  the  black  tiger  behind  his  cab; 
but  De  Bosky  did  not  make  this  remark.  The  great 
stupid  hulking  wretch  remarked  nothing;  he  gorged 
himself  with  meat  and  wine,  and  when  quite  replete  with 
claret,  strutted  up  to  the  drawing-room,  to  show  his 
chest  and  his  white  waistcoat  there. 

I  was  pouring  into  Violet's  ear  (to  the  discomfiture  of 
Florence,  who  was  knocking  about  the  tea-things  madly ) 
some  of  those  delightful  nothings  with  which  a  well- 
bred  man  in  society  entertains  a  female.  I  spoke  to  her 
about  the  last  balls  in  London — about  Fanny  Finch's 
elopement  with  Tom  Parrot,  who  had  nothing  but  his 
place  in  the  Foreign  Office — about  the  people  who  were 
at  Brighton — about  Mr.  Midge's  delightful  sermon  at 
church  last  Sundav — about  the  last  fashions,  and  the 
next — que  sais-je? — when  that  brute  De  Bosky  swag- 
gered up. 


182    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

"  Ah,  hum,  haw,"  said  he,  "  were  you  out  raiding  to- 
day, Miss  Goldmaw?" 

Determined  to  crush  this  odious  and  impertinent  blun- 
derer, who  has  no  more  wit  than  the  horses  he  bestrides, 
I  resolved  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground,  and  to  beat 
him  even  on  the  subject  of  horses. 

I  am  sorry  to  say,  my  dear  Pugsby,  I  did  not  confine 
myself  strictly  to  truth;  but  I  described  how  I  had 
passed  three  months  in  the  Desert  with  an  Arab  tribe; 
how  I  had  a  mare,  during  that  period,  descended  from 
Boorawk,  the  mare  of  the  Prophet,  which  I  afterwards 
sold  for  50,000  piastres  to  Mahomet  Ali ;  and  how,  being 
at  Trebizond,  smoking  with  the  sanguinary  Pasha  of 
that  place,  I  had  bitted,  saddled,  and  broke  to  carry  a 
lady,  a  grey  Turkoman  horse  of  his  which  had  killed 
fourteen  of  his  grooms,  and  bit  off  the  nose  of  his 
Kislar  Aga. 

'  Do  join  us  in  our  ride  to-morrow,"  cried  Violet ;  "  the 
Downs  are  delightful." 

'  Fairest  lady,  to  hear  is  to  obey,"  answered  I,  with  a 
triumphant  glance  at  De  Bosky.  I  had  done  his  busi- 
ness, at  any  rate. 

Well,  Sir,  I  came  at  two  o'clock,  mounted  on  one  of 
Jiggot's  hacks — an  animal  that  I  know,  and  that  goes 
as  easy  as  a  sedan-chair — and  found  the  party  assembling 
before  the  ..Director's  house,  in  Brunswick  Square. 
There  was  young  Goldmore — the  lovely  Violet,  in  a 
habit  that  showed  her  form  to  admiration,  and  a  per- 
fectly ravishing  Spanish  tuft  in  her  riding-hat,  with  a 
little  gold  whip  and  a  little  pair  of  gauntlets — a  croquer, 
in  a  word.  Major  Bangles  and  lady  were  also  of  the 
party:  in  fact,  we  were  "  a  gallant  company  of  cavaliers," 
as  James  says  in  his  novels ;  and  with  my  heels  well  down, 


BRIGHTON   IN   1847  183 

and  one  of  my  elbows  stuck  out,  I  looked,  sir,  like  the 
Marquis  of  Anglesea.  I  had  the  honour  of  holding 
Violet's  little  foot  in  my  hand,  as  she  jumped  into  her 
saddle.     She  sprang  into  it  like  a  fairy. 

Last  of  all,  the  stupid  De  Bosky  came  up.  He  came 
up  moaning  and  groaning.  "  I  have  had  a  kick  in  the 
back  from  a  horse  in  the  livery-stables,"  says  he;  "I 
can't  hold  this  horse — will  you  ride  him,  Canterbury?' 
His  horse  was  a  black,  wicked-looking  beast  as  ever  1 
saw,  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  a  demoniacal  expression. 

What  could  I  do,  after  the  stories  about  Boorawk 
and  the  Pasha  of  Trebizond?  Sir,  I  was  obliged  to  get 
off  my  sedan-chair,  and  mount  the  Captain's  Purgatory, 
as  I  call  him — a  disgusting  brute,  and  worthy  of  his 
master. 

Well,  sir,  off  we  set,  —  Purgatory  jumping  from  this 
side  of  the  road  to  t'other,  shying  at  Miss  Pogson,  who 
passed  in  her  carriage  (as  well  he  might  at  so  hideous  a 
phenomenon) — plunging  at  an  apple-woman  and  stall 
— going  so  wild  at  a  baker's  cart  that  I  thought  he  would 
have  jumped  into  the  hall-door  where  the  man  was  deliv- 
ering a  pie  for  dinner — and  flinging  his  head  backwards, 
so  as  to  endanger  my  own  nose  every  moment.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  him  in.  I  tugged  at  both  bridles 
till  I  tore  his  jaws  into  a  fury,  I  suppose. 

Just  as  we  were  passing  under  the  viaduct,  whirr  came 
the  steaming  train  with  a  bang,  and  a  shriek,  and  a  whizz. 
The  brute  would  hold  in  no  longer :  he  ran  away  with  me. 

I  stuck  my  feet  tight  down  in  the  stirrups,  and  thought 
of  my  mother  with  inexpressible  agony.  I  clutched  hold 
of  all  the  reins  and  a  great  deal  of  the  mane  of  the  brute. 
I  saw  trees,  milestones,  houses,  villages,  pass  away  from 
me  =—  away,  away,  away — away  by  the  cornfields — away 


184    PAPERS  BY  THE  FAT  CONTRIBUTOR 

by  the  wolds — away  by  the  eternal  hills — away  by  the 
woods  and  precipices — the  woods,  the  rocks,  the  villages 
flashed  by  me.  Oh,  Pugsby!  how  I  longed  for  the 
Megatherium  during  that  ride! 

It  lasted,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  about  nine  hours,  during 
which  I  went  over,  as  I  should  think,  about  540  miles  of 
ground.  I  didn't  come  off — my  hat  did,  a  new  Lincoln 
and  Bennett,  but  I  didn't— and  at  length  the  infuriate 
brute  paused  in  his  mad  career,  with  an  instinctive  respect 
for  the  law,  at  a  turnpike  gate.  I  little  knew  the  bless- 
ing of  a  turnpike  until  then. 


BRIGHTON  IN  1847  185 

In  a  minute  Bangles  came  up,  bursting  with  laughter, 
■  You  can't  manage  that  horse,  I  think,"  said  the  Major, 
with  his  infernal  good-nature.  "  Shall  I  ride  him? 
Mine  is  a  quiet  beast." 

I  was  off  Purgatory's  back  in  a  minute,  and  as  I 
mounted  on  Bangles's  hackney,  felt  as  if  I  was  getting 
into  bed,  so  easy,  so  soft,  so  downy  he  seemed  to  me. 

He  said,  though  I  never  can  believe  it,  that  we  had 
only  come  about  a  mile  and  a  half;  and  at  this  moment 
the  two  ladies  and  De  Bosky  rode  up. 

'  Is  that  the  way  you  broke  the  Pasha  of  Trebizond's 
horse  ? '  Violet  said.  I  gave  a  laugh ;  but  it  was  one  of 
despair.  I  should  have  liked  to  plunge  a  dagger  in 
De  Boskv's  side. 

I  shall  come  to  town  directly,  I  think.  This  Brighton 
is  a  miserable  Cockney  place. 

(October  1847.) 


MISCELLANEOUS 
CONTRIBUTIONS  TO   "PUNCH" 

(ARRANGED  CHRONOLOGICALLY) 


MISCELLANEOUS 
CONTRIBUTIONS  TO   "PUNCH" 

(ARRANGED   CHRONOLOGICALLY) 

MR.  SPEC'S  REMONSTRANCE 

From  the  Door  Steps. 

SIR,— Until  my  Cartoons  are  exhibited,  I  am  in  an 
exceedinfflv  uncomfortable  state.  I  shall  then  have 
about  fourteen  hundred  pounds  (the  amount  of  the 
seven  first  prizes ) ,  and  but  a  poor  reward  for  the  pains 
and  care  which  I  have  bestowed  on  my  pieces. 

Meanwhile  how  am  I  to  exist?— how,  I  say,  is  an  his- 
torical painter  to  live?  I  despise  humour  and  buffoonery, 
as  unworthy  the  aim  of  a  great  artist.  But  I  am  hungry, 
Sir, — hungry!  Since  Thursday,  the  13th  instant, 
butcher's  meat  has  not  passed  these  lips,  and  then  'twas 
but  the  flap  of  a  shoulder  of  mutton,  which  I  ate  cold — 
cold,  and  without  pickles, — icy  cold,  for  'twas  grudged 
by  the  niggard  boor  at  whose  table  I  condescended  to 
sit  down. 

That  man  was  my  own  cousin — Samuel  Spec,  the  emi- 
nent publisher  of  Ivy  Lane;  and  by  him  and  by  all  the 
world  I  have  been  treated  with  unheard-of  contumely. 
List  but  to  a  single  instance  of  his  ingratitude ! 

I  need  not  ask  if  you  know  my  work,  "  Illustrations  of 

189 


190       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO    "PUNCH" 

Aldgate  Pump."  All  the  world  knows  it.  It  is  pub- 
lished in  elephant  folio,  price  seventy  guineas,  by 
Samuel  Spec  before  mentioned;  and  many  thousands 
of  copies  were  subscribed  for  by  the  British  and  For- 
eign nobility. 

Nobility!— why  do  I  say  Nobility?— Kings,  Sir,  have 
set  their  august  signatures  to  the  subscription  list.  Ba- 
varia's Sovereign  has  placed  it  in  the  Pinakothek.  The 
Grecian  Otho  (though  I  am  bound  to  say  he  did  not  pay 
up)  has  hung  it  in  the  Parthenon— in  the  Parthenon! 
It  may  be  seen  on  the  walls  of  the  Vatican,  in  the  worthy 
company  of  Buonarroti  and  Urbino,  and  figures  in  the 
gilded  saloons  of  the  Tuileries,  the  delight  of  Delaroche 
and  Delacroix. 

From  all  these  Potentates,  save  the  last,  little  has  been 
received  in  return  for  their  presentation-copies  but  un- 
substantial praise.  It  is  true  the  King  of  Bavaria  wrote 
a  sonnet  in  acknowledgment  of  the  'Illustrations;" 
but  I  do  not  understand  German,  Sir,  and  am  given  to 
understand  by  those  who  do,  that  the  composition  is  but 
a  poor  one.  His  Holiness  the  Pope  gave  his  blessing, 
and  admitted  the  publisher  to  the  honour  of  kissing  his 
great  toe.  But  I  had  rather  have  a  beefsteak  to  my  lips, 
any  day  of  the  week;  and  "Fine  words,"  as  the  poet 
says,  "butter  no  parsnips."  Parsnips!— I  have  not 
even  parsnips  to  butter. 

His  Majesty  Louis-Philippe,  however,  formed  a  no- 
ble exception  to  this  rule  of  kingly  indifference.  Lord 
Cowley,  our  Ambassador,  presented  my  cousin  Spec  to 
him  with  a  copy  of  my  work.  The  Royal  Frenchman 
received  Samuel  Spec  with  open  arms  in  the  midst  of  his 
Court,  and  next  day,  through  our  Ambassador,  offered 
the   author   of  the   "Illustrations"   the   choice   of   the 


MR.   SPEC'S   REMONSTRANCE         191 

Grand  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  or  a  snuff-box 
set  with  diamonds.  I  need  not  say  the  latter  was  pre- 
ferred. 

Nor  did  the  monarch's  gracious  bounty  end  here. 
Going  to  his  writing-table,  he  handed  over  to  the 
ofpeier  (For  don  nance  who  was  to  take  the  snuff-box, 
a  purely  artistic  memento  of  his  royal  good- will.  "  Go, 
Count,"  said  he,  "to  Mr.  Spec,  in  my  name,  offer  him 
the  snuff-box— 'tis  of  trifling  value;  and  at  the  same 
time  beg  him  to  accept,  as  a  testimony  of  the  respect  of 
one  artist  for  another,  my  own  identical  piece  of  india- 
rubber." 

When  Sam  came  back,  I  hastened  to  his  house  in  Ivy 
Lane.     I  found  him,  Sir,  as  I  have  said— I  found  him 


192       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

eating  cold  mutton ;  and  so  I  requested  him  ( for  my  ne- 
cessities were  pressing)  to  hand  me  over  the  diamond 
box,  and  returning  to  my  humble  home  greedily  opened 
the  packet  he  had  given  me. 

Sir,  he  kept  the  box  and  gave  me  the  india-rubber! 
'Tis  no  falsehood — I  have  left  it  at  vour  office,  where  all 
the  world  may  see  it.  I  have  left  it  at  vour  office,  and 
with  it  this  letter.  I  hear  the  sound  of  revelry  from 
within — the  clink  of  wine-cups,  the  merry  song  and 
chorus.  I  am  waiting  outside,  and  a  guinea  would  be 
the  saving  of  me. 

What  shall  I  do?  My  genius  is  tragic-classic-historic 
— little  suited  to  the  pages  of  what  I  must  call  a  frivolous 
and  ridiculous  publication;  but  my  proud  spirit  must 
bend.  Did  not  the  Majesty  of  France  give  lessons  on 
Richmond  Hill? 

I  send  you  a  couple  of  designs — they  are  not  humor- 
ous, but  simple  representations  of  common  life — a  lovely 
child — a  young  and  modest  girl,  and  your  unhappy  ser- 
vant, are  here  depicted.  They  were  done  in  happier 
times,  and  in  Saint  James's  Park.  The  other  is  the  boy, 


MASTER    ROB    ROY    JIACGREGOR    JONES 


MR.   SPECS  REMONSTRANCE         193 

I  paid  for  the  beer  which  she  is  drinking  in  a  tavern 
(or  "claehan,"  as  I  called  it  in  compliment  to  the  High- 
land garb  of  the  little  smiling  cherub,  who  burnt  his 
fingers  with  a  cheroot  which  I  was  smoking)  near  Pim- 
lico.  'Twas  a  balmy  summer  eve,  and  I  had  beer,  and 
money.  But  the  money  is  gone,  and  the  summer  is  gone, 
and  the  beer  is  gone — when,  when  will  they  return? 

Heaven  bless  you !    Send  me  out  something,  and  suc- 
cour the  unhappy 

Alonzo  Spec, 

HISTORICAL    PAINTER. 

(February  1843.) 


SINGULAR  LETTER  FROM  THE  REGENT 

OF  SPAIN 

WE  have  received,  by  our  usual  express,  the  follow- 
ing indignant  protest,  signed  by  his  Highness 
the  Regent  of  Spain. 

His  Highness's  Bando  refers  to  the  following  para- 
graph, which  appears  in  the  Times  of  December  7th: — 

"  The  Agents  of  the  Tract  Societies  have  lately  had  recourse 
to  a  new  method  of  introducing  their  tracts  into  Cadiz.  The 
tracts  were  put  into  glass  bottles,  securely  corked;  and,  taking 
advantage  of  the  tide  flowing  into  the  harbour,  they  were  com- 
mitted to  the  waves,  on  whose  surface  they  floated  towards  the 
town,  where  the  inhabitants  eagerly  took  them  up  on  their  arriv- 
ing on  the  shore.  The  bottles  were  then  uncorked,  and  the  tracts 
they  contain  are  supposed  to  have  been  read  with  much  interest." 

BANDO,   BY  THE  REGENT  OF  SPAIN 

The  undersigned  Regent  of  Spain,  Duke  of  Victory, 
and  of  the  Regent's  Park,  presents  his  compliments  to 
your  Excellency,  and  requests  your  excellent  attention 
to  the  above  extraordinary  paragraph. 

Though  an  exile  from  Spain,  the  undersigned  still 
feels  an  interest  in  everything  Spanish,  and  asks  Punch, 
Lord  Aberdeen,  and  the  British  nation,  whether  friends 
and  allies  are  to  be  insulted  by  such  cruel  stratagems? 
If  the  arts  of  the  Jesuit  have  justly  subjected  him  to 
the  mistrust  and  abhorrence  of  Europe,  ought  not  the 
manoeuvres  of  the  Dissenting-Tract  Smuggler  (Trac- 
tistcro  dissentero  contrabandistero)  to  be  likewise  held 
up  to  public  odium? 

Let  Punch,  let  Lord  Aberdeen,  let  Great  Britain  at 
large,  put  itself  in  the  position  of  the  poor  mariner  of 

19-1 


FROM    THE   REGENT    OF    SPAIN       195 


Cadiz,  and  then  answer.  Tired  with  the  day's  labour, 
thirsty  as  the  seaman  naturally  is,  he  lies,  perchance,  and 
watches  at  eve  the  tide  of  ocean  swelling  into  the  bay. 
What  does  he  see  cresting  the  wave  that  rolls  towards 
him?  A  bottle.  Regardless  of  the  wet,  he  rushes 
eagerly  towards  the  advancing  flask. 


SHERRY,  PERHAPS 


is  his  first  thought  (for  'tis  the  wine  of  his  country) 


RUM,  I    HOPE, 


196      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

he  adds,  while  with  heating  heart  and  wringing  panta- 
loons, he  puts  his  bottle-screw  into  the  cork.  But,  ah! 
Englishmen !  fancy  his  agonising  feelings  on  withdraw- 
ing from  the  flask  a  Spanish  translation  of  "  The  Cow- 
boy of  Kennington  Common,"  or  "'  The  Little  Blind 
Dustman  of  Pentonville." 


TRACTS,  BY  JINGO. 


Moral  and  excellent  those  works  may  be,  but  not  at 
such  a  moment.  No.  His  Highness  the  Duke  of  Vic- 
tory protests,  in  the  face  of  Europe,  against  this  auda- 
cious violation  of  the  right  of  nations.  He  declares  him- 
self dissentient  from  the  Dissenters;  he  holds  up  these 
black-bottle  Tractarians  to  the  contumely  of  insulted 
mankind. 

And  against  the  employment  of  bottles  in  this  un- 
natural fashion  he  enters  a  solemn  and  hearty  protest; 
lest  British  captains  might  be  induced  to  presume  still 
farther;  lest,  having  tampered  with  the  bottle  depart- 


FROM    THE   REGENT    OF    SPAIN       197 

ment,  they  might  take  similar  liberties  with  the  wood, 
and  send  off  missionaries  in  casks  (securely  bunged) 
for  the  same  destination. 

The  hand  of  the  faithful  General  Nogueras  has  exe- 
cuted the  designs  which  accompany  this  Bando,  so  as  to 
render  its  contents  more  intelligible  to  the  British  pub- 
lic; and,  in  conclusion,  his  Highness  the  Regent  pre- 
sents to  your  Excellency  (and  the  Lady  Judy)  the  as- 
surances of  his  most  distinguished  consideration.  May 
you  both  live  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  years. 

(Signed)  Baldomero  Espartero. 

Regent's  Park:  December  1th. 

(December  184-3.) 


THE    GEORGES 

AS  the  statues  of  these  beloved  Monarchs  are  to  be  put 
L.up  in  the  Parliament  palace,   we  have  been  fa- 
voured by  a  young  lady   (connected  with  the  Court) 
with  copies  of  the  inscriptions  which  are  to  be  engraven 
under  the  images  of  those  Stars  of  Brunswick. 

George  the  First— Star  of  Brunswick 

He  preferred  Hanover  to  England, 

He  preferred  two  hideous  Mistresses 

To  a  beautiful  and  innocent  Wife. 

He  hated  Arts  and  despised  Literature; 

But  He  liked  train-oil  in  his  salads, 

And  gave  an  enlightened  patronage  to  bad  oysters. 

And  he  had  Walpole  as  a  Minister: 

Consistent     in     his     Preference     for     every     kind     of 

Corruption. 

George  II 

In  most  things  I  did  as  my  father  had  done, 
I  was  false  to  my  wife  and  I  hated  my  son: 

My  spending  was  small  and  my  avarice  much, 
My  kingdom  was   English,  my  heart  was  High 
Dutch : 

198 


THE    GEORGES  199 

At  Dettingen  fight  I  was  known  not  to  blench, 
I  butchered  the  Scotch,  and  I  bearded  the  French : 

I  neither  had  morals,  nor  manners,  nor  wit: 
I  wasn't  much  missed  when  I  died  in  a  fit. 

Here  set  up  my  statue,  and  make  it  complete — 
With  Pitt  on  his  knees  at  my  dirty  old  feet. 

George  III 

Give  me  a  royal  niche — it  is  my  due, 
The  virtuousest  King  the  realm  e'er  knew. 

I,  through  a  decent  reputable  life, 

Was  constant  to  plain  food  and  a  plain  wife. 

Ireland  I  risked,  and  lost  America; 
But  dined  on  legs  of  mutton  every  day. 

My  brain,  perhaps,  might  be  a  feeble  part; 
But  yet  I  think  I  had  an  English  heart. 

When  all  the  Kings  were  prostrate,  I  alone 
Stood  face  to  face  against  Napoleon; 

Nor  ever  could  the  ruthless  Frenchman  forge 
A  fetter  for  Old  England  and  Old  George: 

I  let  loose  flaming  Nelson  on  his  fleets; 
I  met  his  troops  with  Wellesley's  bayonets. 

Triumphant  waved  my  flag  on  land  and  sea: 
Where  was  the  King  in  Europe  like  to  me? 

Monarchs  exiled  found  shelter  on  my  shores; 
My  bounty  rescued  Kings  and  Emperors. 


200      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

But  what  boots  victory  by  land  or  sea? 

What  boots  that  Kings  found  refuge  at  my  knee? 

I  was  a  conqueror,  but  yet  not  proud; 
And  careless,  even  though  Napoleon  bow'd. 

The  rescued  Kings  came  kiss  my  garments'  hem: 
The  rescued  Kings  I  never  heeded  them. 

My  guns  roar'd  triumph,  but  I  never  heard: 
All  England  thrilled  with  joy,  I  never  stirred. 

What  care  had  I  of  pomp,  or  fame,  or  power— 
A  crazv  old  blind  man  in  Windsor  Tower? 


Georgius  Ultimus 

He  left  an  example  for  age  and  for  youth 

To  avoid. 

He  never  acted  well  by  Man  or  Woman, 

And  was  as  false  to  his  Mistress  as  to  his  Wife. 

He  deserted  his  Friends  and  his  Principles. 

He  was  so  Ignorant  that  he  could  scarcely  Spell; 

But  he  had  some  Skill  in  Cutting  out  Coats, 

And  an  undeniable  Taste  for  Cookery. 

He  built  the  Palaces  of  Brighton  and  of  Buckingham; 

And  for  these  Qualities  and  Proofs  of  Genius, 

An  admiring  Aristocracy 
Christened  him  the  "  First  Gentleman  in  Europe." 
Friends,  respect  the  King  whose  Statue  is  here, 
And  the  generous  Aristocracy  who  admired  him. 

(October  1845.) 


TITMARSH  v.  TAIT 

MY  DEAR  MR.  PUXCH,— You  are  acknow- 
ledged to  be  the  censor  of  the  age,  and  the  father 
and  protector  of  the  press;  in  which  character  allow  one 
of  your  warmest  admirers  to  appeal  to  you  for  redress 
and  protection.  One  of  those  good-natured  friends,  of 
whom  every  literary  man  can  boast,  has  been  criticising 
a  late  work  of  mine  in  Tait's  Magazine.  What  his  opin- 
ion may  be  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Every  man  has  a 
right  to  his  own:  and  whether  the  critic  complains  of 
want  of  purpose,  or  says  (with  great  acuteness  and 
ingenuity)  that  the  book  might  have  been  much  better, 
is  not  at  all  to  the  point.  Against  criticism  of  this 
nature  no  writer  can  cavil.  It  is  cheerfully  accepted  by 
your  subscriber. 

But  there  is  a  passage  in  the  Tait  criticism  which, 
although  it  may  be  actuated  by  the  profoundest  benevo- 
lence, a  gentleman  may  be  pardoned  for  protesting 
against  politely.     It  is  as  follows: — 

"  In  the  circumstance  of  a  steamer  being  launched  on  a  first 
voyage  to  Margate,  or  were  it  but  to  Greenwich,  there  is  always 
an  invited  party,  a  band  of  music,  a  couple  of  Times  and  Chron- 
icle reporters,  also  champagne  and  bottled  porter,  with  cakes 
and  jellies  for  the  ladies.  Even  on  the  Frith  of  Forth,  or  Clyde  " 
[this  "even"  is  very  naif  and  fine],  "or  the  rivers  Severn  or 
Shannon,  the  same  auspicious  event  is  celebrated  by  the  presence 
of  a  piper  or  blind  fiddler,  carried  cost  free,  and  permitted,  on 

201 


202      CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  "PUNCH" 

coming  home,  to  send  round  his  hat.  On  something  like  the  same 
principle,  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company  were  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  crimp  Mr.  Titmarsh.  .  .  .  We  hope  they  have  voted 
him  a  yachting  service  of  plate,  of  at  least  five  hundred  ounces." 

This  latter  suggestion  I  complain  of,  as  being  too 
friendly.  Why  should  the  critic  insist  on  a  collection? 
Who  asked  the  gentleman  for  plack  or  bawbee?  How- 
ever, this  again  is  a  private  matter. 

It  is  that  comparison  of  the  blind  fiddler  who  "sends 
round  his  hat,"  that  ought  to  be  devoted  to  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  press  of  these  kingdoms.  Your  constant 
reader  has  never  played  on  the  English — or  on  the 
Scotch  fiddle. 

He  leaves  the  sending  round  of  hats  to  professors  of 
the  Caledonian  Cremona.  He  was  not  "crimped"  by 
the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company,  nor  called  upon 
to  fiddle  for  their  amusement,  nor  rewarded  with  silver 
spoons  by  that  excellent  Company.  A  gentleman  who 
takes  a  vacant  seat  in  a  friend's  carriage  is  not  supposed 
to  receive  a  degrading  obligation,  or  called  upon  to  pay 


TITMARSH  v.  TAIT  203 

for  his  ride  by  extra  joking,  facetiousness,  &c. ;  nor 
surely  is  the  person  who  so  gives  you  the  use  of  his  car- 
riage required  to  present  you  also  with  a  guinea,  or  to 
pay  your  tavern-bill.  The  critic,  in  fact,  has  shown 
uncommon  keenness  in  observing  the  manners  of  his 
national  violinists;  but  must  know  more  of  them  than 
of  the  customs  of  English  gentlemen. 

If  the  critic  himself  is  a  man  of  letters,  and  fiddles 
professionally,  why  should  he  abuse  his  Stradivarius? 
If  he  is  some  disguised  nobleman  of  lofty  birth,  superb 
breeding,  and  vast  wealth,  who  only  fiddles  for  pleasure, 
he  should  spare  those  gentlefolks  in  whose  company  he 
condescends  to  perform.  But  I  don't  believe  he's  a  noble 
amateur;— I  think  he  must  be  a  professional  man  of  let- 
ters. It  is  only  literary  men,  nowadays,  who  commit  this 
suicidal  sort  of  impertinence;  who  sneak  through  the 
world  ashamed  of  their  calling,  and  show  their  independ- 
ence by  befouling  the  trade  by  which  they  live. 

That  you  will  rebuke,  amend,  or  (if  need  be)  utterly 
smash  all  such,  is,  my  dear  Mr.  Punch,  the  humble 
prayer  of 

Your  constant  reader  and  fellow -labourer, 

Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh. 

Blue  Posts:    March  10,  1846. 

(March  1846.) 


ROYAL  ACADEMY 

Newman  Street:  Tuesday. 

DEAR  PUNCH,— Me  and  another  chap  who  was 
at  the  Academy  yesterday,  agreed  that  there  was 
nothink  in  the  whole  Exhibition  that  was  worthy  of  the 
least  notice — as  our  pictures  wasn't  admitted. 

So  we  followed  about  some  of  the  gents,  and  thought 
we'd  exhibit  the  Exhibitors;  among  whom  we  remarked 


as  follows.  We  remarked  Mr.  Sneaker,  R.A.,  particu- 
larly kind  to  Mr.  Smith,  a  prize-holder  of  the  Art- 
Union.  N.B.  Sneaker  always  puts  on  a  white  Choaker 
on  Opening  Day;  and  has  his  boots  French  pollisht. 

Presently  we  examined  Mr.  Hokey,  a-watching  the 
effect  of  his  picture  upon  a  party  who  looks  like  a  prize- 
holder  of  the  Art-Union.     Remark  the  agitation  in 

204 


ROYAL  ACADEMY 


205 


Hokey's  eye,  and  the  tremulous  nervousness  of  his  high- 
lows.  The  old  gent  looks  like  a  flat ;  but  not  such  a  flat 
as  to  buy  Hokey's  picture  at  no  price.    Oh  no! 


Our  eyes  then  turned  upon  that  seedy  gent,  Orlando 
Figgs,  who  drew  in  our  Academy  for  ten  years.    Fancy 


Figgs's  delight  at  finding  his  picture  on  the  line!  Shall 
I  tell  you  how  it  got  there?  His  aunt  washes  for'  an 
Academician. 


206      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

The  next  chap  we  came  to  was  Sebastian  Winkles, 
whose  profound  disgust  at  finding  his  portrait  on  the 
floor  you  may  imadgin.    I  don't  think  that  queer  fellow 


Peombo  Rodgers  was  much  happier ;  for  his  picture  was 
hung  on  the  ceiling. 


ROYAL  ACADEMY 


207 


But  the  most  riled  of  all  was  Hannibal  Fitch,  who 
found  his  picture  wasn't  received  at  all.     Show  'em  all 


up,  dear  Mr.  Punch,  and  oblige  your  constant  reader. 

Modest  Merit. 
{May  1846.) 


A  PLEA  FOR  PLUSH 


Belgravia:  July  1,  1846. 

DEAR  SIR,- Hav- 
ing observed  on  several 
occasions  in  your  paper 
a  tone  of  kindly  f  eel- 
tj  ing  expressed  towards 
?J  the  Jeameses  of  the 
metropolis,  I  desire  to 
call  the  attention  of 
the  public,  through 
your  means,  to  an 
instance  of  excessive  cruelty  which  is  daily  practised  by 
a  heartless  Duchess,  who  resides  in  this  parish,  towards 
several  of  the  finest  specimens  of  humanity  which  it  has 
ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  behold. 

You  must  recollect,  Mr.  Punch,  the  state  of  the  ther- 
mometer during  the  past  month — generally  between 
eighty  and  ninety  degrees  in  the  shade.  Well,  Sir,  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  that  fiery  season,  the  merciless  woman 
whom  I  am  anxious  to  expose  kept  four  of  her  fellow- 
creatures  daily  encased  in  close-fitting  garments  of 
scarlet  plush!  !  !    They  wear  them  still. 

It  makes  my  heart  bleed  to  witness  the  protracted 
sufferings  of  these  large  plethoric  men;  one  of  them  a 
Hall  Porter,  of  mature  age  and  startling  obesity.  There 
they  stand,  on  the  steps  before  the  street  door,  making 

209 


A  PLEA  FOR  PLUSH  209 

passers-by  wink  and  nursery-maids  blusb  at  tbe  splen- 
dour of  their  attire— white,  scarlet,  and  gold— perspir- 
ing exceedingly,  and  irritated  to  madness  by  tbe  blue- 
bottle flies  and  impudent  little  boys  of  the  vicinity,  who 
unceasingly  exclaim,  with  exasperating  monotony,  '  I 
say,  Blazes,  vy  don't  you  buy  a  Wenham  'frigerator?' 
I  have  ascertained  with  grief,  Mr.  Punch,  tbat  these 
unfortunate  men  have  little  or  no  hard  work  to  do,  that 
all  their  messages  are  performed  by  deputy;  they  get 
their  five  meals  a  day— with  beer— regular,  besides 
snacks,  and  I  feel  convinced,  that  if  the  hot  weather  lasts, 
unless  they  are  indulged  with  some  light  genteel  occupa- 
tion, and  the  nankeen  shorts  (which  have  latterly  been 
introduced  with  great  success  by  several  benevolent  ladies 
of  rank  in  the  neighbourhood),  the  wretched  creatures 
will  inevitably  be  struck  down  by  apoplexy  on  the  hall 
steps  on  which  they  are  so  barbarously  exposed  every 
day  from  two  till  seven. 

I  have  the  honour  to  remain,  Sir, 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

<DiXo<pXow/jc. 

[We  readily  give  admission  to  our  correspondent's  benevolent  remon- 
strance in  behalf  of  the  injured  Plush  family.  But  if  he  had  seen,  as  we 
did,  at  the  Duchess  of  Douche's  dejeuner  (where  the  rain  came  down  in 
torrents,  and  the  breakfast  was  served  under  a  macintosh  marquee),  the 
dripping  condition  of  several  of  the  nobility's  footmen  who  sported  the 
new  summer  nankeen  lower  uniform,  $iloty'kvvKT)t;  would  acknowledge,  that 
in  our  variable  climate  plush  is,  after  all,  a  better  stuff  than  nankeen  for 
the  breeches  of  a  British  footman.— Editor.] 

{July  1846.) 


PROFESSOR    BYLES'S    OPINION    OF    THE 
WESTMINSTER   HALL   EXHIBITION 


Y  three  pictures,  from  "  Gil  Bias," 
from  the  '  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field/' and  from  English  His- 
tory (King  John  signing 
that  palladium  of  our  liberties, 
Magna  Charta),  not  having 
been  sent  to  Westminster,  in  consequence  of  the  das- 
tardly refusal  of  Bladders,  my  colour  merchant,  to  sup- 
ply me  with  more  paint— I  have  lost  1,5001.  as  a  painter, 
but  gained  a  right  to  speak  as  a  critic  of  the  Exhibition. 
A  more  indifferent  collection  of  works  it  has  seldom 
been  my  lot  to  see. 

I  do  not  quarrel  much  with  the  decision  of  the  Com- 
mittee: indifferent  judges  called  upon  to  decide  as  to 
the  merits  of  indifferent  pictures,  they  have  performed 
their  office  fairly.  I  congratulate  the  three  prize-holders 
on  their  success.  I  congratulate  them  that  three  pictures, 
which  shall  be  nameless,,  were  kept,  by  conspiracy,  from 
the  Exhibition. 

Mr.  Pickersgill  is  marked  first;  and  I  have  nothing 
to  say,— his  picture  is  very  respectable,  very  nicely 
painted,  and  so  forth.  It  represents  the  burial  of  King 
Harold— there  are  monks,  men-at-arms,  a  livid  body,  a 
lady  kissing  it,  and  that  sort  of  thing.    Nothing  can  be 

210 


WESTMINSTER  HALL   EXHIBITION   211 

more  obvious;  nor  is  the  picture  without  merit.  And  I 
congratulate  the  public  that  King  Harold  is  buried  at 
last;  and  hope  that  British  artists  will  leave  off  finding 
his  body  any  more,  which  they  have  been  doing,  in  e very- 
Exhibition,  for  these  fifty  years. 

By  the  way,  as  the  Saxon  king  is  here  represented  in 
the  blue  stage  of  decomposition,  I  think  Mr.  P.  might 
as  well  step  up  to  my  studio,  and  look  at  a  certain  Icenian 
chief  in  my  great  piece  of  "  Boadicea,"  who  is  tattooed 
all  over  an  elegant  light  blue,  and  won't  lose  by  com- 
parison with  the  "  Norman  Victim." 

Mr.  Watts,  too,  appears  to  have  a  hankering  for  the 
Anglo-Saxons.  I  must  say  I  was  very  much  surprised 
to  find  that  this  figure  was  supposed  to  represent  King- 
Alfred  standing  on  a  plank,  and  inciting  his  subjects  to 


212       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

go  to  sea  and  meet  the  Danes,  whose  fleet  you  will  per- 
ceive in  the  distant  ocean — or  ultra-marine,  as  I  call  it. 
This  is  another  of  your  five-hundred-pounders;  and  I 
must  say  that  this  King  of  the  Angles  has  had  a  narrow 
escape  that  the  "  Queen  of  the  Iceni "  was  not  present. 

They  talk  about  air  in  pictures;  there  is,  I  must  say, 
more  wind  in  this  than  in  any  work  of  art  I  ever  beheld. 
It  is  blowing  everywhere  and  from  every  quarter.  It  is 
blowing  the  sail  one  way,  the  royal  petticoat  another, 
the  cloak  another,  and  it  is  almost  blowing  the  royal  hair 
off  his  Majesty's  head.  No  wonder  the  poor  English 
wanted  a  deal  of  encouraging  before  they  could  be 
brought  to  face  such  a  tempest  as  that. 

By  the  way,  there  is  an  anecdote  which  I  met  with  in 
a  scarce  work  regarding  this  monarch,  and  which  might 
afford  an  advantageous  theme  for  a  painter's  skill.  It 
is  this: — Flying  from  his  enemies,  those  very  Danes,  the 
king  sought  refuge  in  the  house  of  a  neatherd,  whose 
wife  set  the  royal  fugitive  a-toasting  muffins.  But, 
being  occupied  with  his  misfortunes,  he  permitted  the 
muffins  to  burn;  whereupon,  it  is  said,  his  hostess  actu- 
ally boxed  the  royal  ears.  I  have  commenced  a  picture 
on  this  subject,  and  beg  artists  to  leave  it  to  the  dis- 
coverer. The  reader  may  fancy  the  muffins  boldly 
grouped  and  in  flames,  the  incensed  harridan,  the  rude 
hut, — and  the  disguised  monarch.  With  these  materials 
I  hope  to  effect  a  great,  lofty,  national,  and  original 
work,  when  my  "  Boadicea  "  is  off  the  easel. 

With  respect  to  the  third  prize— a  "  Battle  of  Mee- 
anee"— in  this  extraordinary  piece  they  are  stabbing, 
kicking,  cutting,  slashing,  and  poking  each  other  about 
all  over  the  picture.  A  horrid  sight!  I  like  to  see  the 
British  lion  mild  and  good-humoured,  as  Signor  Gam- 


WESTMINSTER  HALL   EXHIBITION    213 


bardella  has  depicted  him  (my  initial  is  copied  from 
that  artist)  ;  not  fierce,  as  Mr.  Armitage  has  shown  him. 
How,  I  ask,  is  any  delicate  female  to  look  without  a 
shudder  upon  such  a  piece?  A  large  British  soldier,  with 
a  horrid  bayonet  poking  into  a  howling  Scindian.  Is  the 
monster  putting  the  horrid  weapon  into  the  poor  be- 
nighted heathen's  chest,  or  is  the  ruffian  pulling  the 
weapon  out,  or  wriggling  it  round  and  round  to  hurt  his 
victim  so  much  the  more?  Horrid,  horrid!  "He's  giv- 
ing him  his  gruel"  I  heard  some  fiend  remark,  little 
knowing  by  whom  he  stood.  To  give  5001.  for  a  work 
so  immoral,  and  so  odious  a  picture,  is  encouraging  mur- 
der, and  the  worst  of  murders — that  of  a  black  man.  If 
the  Government  grants  premiums  for  massacre,  of 
course  I  can  have  no  objection ;  but  if  Mr.  Armitage  will 


214      CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  "PUNCH" 

walk  to  my  studio,  and  look  at  my  "  Battle  of  Bos  worth 
Field,"  he  will  see  how  the  subject  may  be  treated,  with- 
out hurting  the  feelings,  with  a  combination  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  ideal— not  like  Mr.  Cooper's  "Water- 
loo," where  the  French  cuirassiers  are  riding  about,  run 
through  the  body,  or  with  their  heads  cut  off,  and  smiling 
as  if  they  liked  it;  but  with  the  severe  moral  grandeur 
that  befits  the  "  Historic  Muse." 

So  much  for  the  three  first  prizes.  I  congratulate  the 
winners  of  the  secondary  prizes  (and  very  secondary 
their  talents  are  indeed ) ,  that  some  of  my  smaller  pic- 
tures were  not  sent  in,  owing  to  my  mind  being  absorbed 
with  greater  efforts.  What  does  Mr.  Cope  mean  by  his 
picture  of  ' '  Prince  Henry  trying  his  Father's  Crown  "  ? 
The  subject  is  mine,  discovered  by  me  in  my  studies  in 
recondite  works;  and  anv  man  who  borrows  it  is  there- 
fore  guilty  of  a  plagiarism.  "  Bertrand  de  Gourdon 
pardoned  by  Richard,"  is  a  work  of  some  merit — but 
why  kings,  Mr.  Cross?  Why  kings,  Messieurs  artists? 
Have  men  no  hearts  save  under  the  purple?  Does  sor- 
row only  sit  upon  thrones  ?  For  instance,  we  have  Queen 
Emma  walking  over  hot  ploughshares  in  her  night- 
clothes — her  pocket-handkerchief  round  her  eyes.  Have 
no  other  women  burnt  their  limbs  or  their  fingers  with 
shares?  My  aunt,  Mrs.  Growley,  I  know  did  two  years 
ago.  But  she  was  a  mere  English  lady;  it  is  only  kings 
and  queens  that  our  courtiers  of  painters  condescend  to 
feel  for. 

Their  slavishness  is  quite  sickening.  There  is  the 
"Birth  of  the  First  Prince  of  Wales"  (my  subject, 
again)  ;  there  is  the  "  White  Ship  going  down  with  King 
Henry's  Son  aboard; "  there  is  "  King  Henry  being  in- 
formed of  the  Death  of  his  Son  by  a  little  Boy ; ':  "  King 


WESTMINSTER  HALL   EXHIBITION   215 

Charles  (that  odious  profligate)  up  in  the  Oak"  (again 
my  subject) .  Somebody  will  be  painting  "  Queen  Boa- 
dicea  "  next,  and  saying  I  did  not  invent  that. 

Then  there  are  Allegories.  —  Oh!  allegories,  of  course! 


Every  painter  must  do  his  "  Genius  of  Britannia,"  for- 
sooth, after  mine;  and  subjects  in  all  costumes,  from  the 
Ancient  Britons  in  trews  (whom  Mr.  Moore  has  repre- 
sented as  talking  to  Sir  Robert  Peel's  friend,  and  the 


founder  of  the  Trent  Valley  Railroad,  Mr.  Julius  Agri- 
cola)  down  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  in  jack-boots, 


21G      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

and  his  present  Grace  in  those  of  his  own  invention.  So 
there  are  some  pictures  in  which,  I  regret  to  say,  there  is 
very  little  costume  indeed. 

There  are  "Adam  and  Eve  driven  out  of  Paradise,'' 
with  the  birds  of  Paradise  flying  out  too.  There  are 
;'  Peace,  Commerce,  and  Agriculture,"  none  of  them 
with  any  clothes  to  their  backs.  There  is  "  Shakspeare 
being  educated  by  Water  Nymphs"  (which  I  never 
knew  kept  a  school),  with  a  Dolphin  coming  up  to  give 
him  a  lesson — out  of  the  "  Delphin  Classics,"  I  suppose. 


Did  the  painter  ever  see  my  sketch  of  'Shakspeare"? 
Is  the  gentleman  who  has  stripped  "  Commerce "  and 
"Agriculture  "  of  their  gowns  aware  that  I  have  treated 
a  similar  allegory  in,  I  flatter  myself,  a  different  style? 
I  invite  them  all  to  my  studio  to  see:  North  Paradise 
Row,  Upper  Anna  Maria  Street,  Somers  Town  East. 
And  wishing,  Mr.  Punch,  that  you  would  exchange 
your  ribaldry  for  the  seriousness  befitting  men  of 
honesty, 

I  remain,  your  obedient  Servant, 

Growley  Byles. 


(July  1847.) 


"PUNCH''  AND  THE  INFLUENZA 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  week,  when  the  Influenza 
ii  jmnic  seemed  at  the  highest— when  the  Prime  Min- 
ister and  his  household— when  the  public  offices  and  all 
the  chiefs  and  subordinates— when  the  public  schools 
and  all  the  masters  and  little  boys— when  the  very  doc- 
tors and  apothecaries  of  the  town  were  themselves  in  bed 
—it  was  not  a  little  gratifying  to  Mr.  Punch  to  find 
that  his  contributors,  though  sick,  were  at  their  duty; 
and,  though  prostrate,  were  prostrate  still  round  their 
post.  At  the  first  moment  when  Mr.  Punch  himself 
could  stir  after  his  own  attack,  he  r\ished  to  the  couches 
of  his  young  men ;  and  he  found  them  in  the  following 
positions  and  circumstances  of  life.    First— 


e£^^>> 


217 


218      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

That  favourite  writer,  and  amusing  man,  Mr.  J-nes 
(author  of  some  of  the  most  popular  pages  in  this  or  any 
other  miscellany) ,  appeared  in  the  above  attitude.  Tor- 
tured by  pain,  and  worn  down  by  water-gruel,  covered 
over  by  his  pea-jacket,  his  dressing-gown,  his  best  and 
inferior  clothes,  and  all  the  blankets  with  which  his  lodg- 
ing-house supplies  him,  with  six  phials  of  medicine  and 
an  ink-bottle  by  his  side,  J-nes  was  still  at  work,  on  the 
bed  of  sickness — still  making  jokes  under  calamity. 
The  three  most  admirable  articles  in  the  present  number 
are  written,  let  it  suffice  to  sav,  by  J-nes. 


J-nes's  manuscript  secured,  it  became  Mr.  Punch's 
duty  to  hurry  to  Sm-th  for  his  designs.  Sm-th,  too,  was 
at  his  duty.  Though  Mrs.  Sm-th,  the  artist's  wife,  told 
Mr.  Punch  that  her  husband's  death  was  certain,  if  he 
should  be  called  upon  to  exert  himself  at  such  a  moment, 


"PUNCH"  AND  THE  INFLUENZA      219 

Mr.  Punch,  regardless  of  the  fond  wife's  fears,  rushed 
into  the  young  artist's  bedchamber.  And  what  did  he 
see  there  ? 

Sm-th  at  work,  drawing  the  very  cleverest  caricature 
which  his  admirable  pencil  had  as  yet  produced;  draw- 
ing cheerfully,  though  torn  by  cough,  sore-throat,  head- 
ache, and  pains  in  the  limbs,  and  though  the  printer's 
boy  (who  never  leaves  him)  was  asleep  by  the  bedside 
in  a  chair. 

Taking  out  a  bank-note  of  immense  value,  Mr. 
Punch  laid  it  down  on  Mr.  Sm-th's  pillow,  and  pushed 
on  to  another  of  his  esteemed  correspondents — the  cele- 
brated Br— wn,  in  a  word — who  was  found  as  follows:  — 


Yes,  he  was  in  a  warm  bath,  composing  those  fine  sen- 
timents which  the  reader  will  recognise  in  his  noble  and 
heart-stirring  articles  of  this  week,  and  as  resigned  and 
hearty  as  if  he  had  been  Seneca. 

He  was  very  ill  and  seemingly  on  the  point  of  disso- 
lution ;  but  his  gaiety  never  deserted  him. 


220       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

"You  see  I  am  trying  to  get  the  steam  up  still!"  he 
exclaimed,  with  a  sickly  smile,  and  a  look  of  resignation 
so  touching  that  Mr.  Punch,  unable  to  bear  the  sight, 
had  only  leisure  to  lay  an  order  for  a  very  large  amount 
of  £,.  s.  d.  upon  the  good-natured  martyr's  clothes-horse, 
and  to  quit  the  room. 

The  last  of  his  Contributors  whom  Mr.  Punch  visited 
on  that  day  was  the  Fat  One.  "  Nothing  will  ever  ail 
him"  Mr.  P.  mentally  remarked.  "He  has  (according 
to  his  own  showing)  had  the  Yellow  Fever  in  Jamaica 
and  New  Orleans;  the  Plague  twice,  and  in  the  most 
propitious  spots  for  that  disease ;  the  Jungle  Fever,  the 
Pontine  Ague,  &c,  &c. ;  every  disease,  in  fact,  in  every 
quarter  of  this  miserable  globe.  A  little  Influenza  won't 
make  any  difference  to  such  a  tough  old  traveller  as  that ; 
and  we  shall  find  him  more  jocose  and  brilliant  than 
ever." 

Mr.  Punch  called  at  the  F.  C.'s  chambers  in  Jermyn 
Street,  and  saw— what? 


An  immense  huddle  of  cloaks  and  blankets  piled  over 
an  immovable  mass.    All  Mr.  P.  could  see  of  the  con- 


"  PUXCH  '  AND  THE  INFLUENZA  221 

Iributor  was  a  part  of  his  red  Turkish  cap  (or  tarboosh) 
peeping  from  under  the  •coverlids.  A  wheezy  groan  was 
the  tarboosh's  reply  to  Mr.  Punch's  interrogatories. 

"  Come,  F.  C,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  P.  encouragingly, 
"  everybody  else  is  doing  his  duty.  You  must  be  up  and 
stirring.  We  want  your  notes  upon  Archdeacon  Laffan, 
this  week;  and  vour  Latin  version  of  Mr.  Chisholm 
Anstey's  speech." 

There  was  no  reply,  and  Mr.  Punch  reiterated  his 
remark. 

"Archdeacl  Alstey— aid  Pulch— aid  everyol  bay  go 
to  blazes,"  moaned  out  the  man  under  the  counterpanes, 
and  would  say  no  more.  He  was  the  only  man  who 
failed  Punch  in  the  sad  davs  of  the  Influenza. 

(December  1847.) 


THE   PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH 

FOOTMEN 

BY  MR.  JEAMES 


IVIN  remoke  from  the  whirld: 
hockujDied  with  the 
umble  dooties  of 
my  perfeshun,  which 
moacely  consists  of 
droring  hale  &  beer 
for  the  gence  who 
freguent  my  otel, 
politticle  efairs  hin- 
terest  but  suldum, 
and  I  confess  that 
when  Loy  Philip 
habdigaded  (the 

other  day,  as  I  read  in  my  noble  &  favourite  Dispatch 
newspaper,  where  Publicoaler  is  the  boy  for  me) ,  I  cared 
no  mor  than  I  did  when  the  chap  hover  the  way  went  hoff 
without  paying  his  rent.  No  maw  does  my  little  Mary 
Hann.  I  prommis  you  she  has  enough  to  do  in  minding 
the  bar  and  the  babbies,  to  eed  the  conwulsions  of  hem- 
pires  or  the  hagonies  of  prostrick  kings. 

I  ham  what  one  of  those  littery  chaps  who  uses  our 
back  parlor  calls  a  poker  cur  ant  ij  on  plitticle  subjix.     I 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  223 

don't  permit  'em  to  whex,  worrit,  or  distnbb  me.  My 
objick  is  to  leaf  a  good  beer  bisnis  to  little  Jeames,  to 
sckewer  somethink  comftable  for  my  two  gals,  Mary 
Hariri  and  Hangelina  (wherehof  the  latter,  who  has  jest 
my  blew  his  and  yaller  air,  is  a  perfick  little  Sherrybing 
to  behold) ,  and  in  case  Grimb  Deth,  which  may  appen  to 
the  best  on  us,  shoud  come  &  scru  me  down,  to  leaf  be- 
Hind  a  somethink  for  the  best  wife  any  gentleman  hever 
ad — tide  down  of  coarse  if  hever  she  should  marry  agin. 

I  shoodnt  have  wrote  at  all,  then,  at  this  present  junc- 
ter,  but  for  sugmstances  which  affect  a  noble  and  gal- 
liant  body  of  menn,  of  which  I  once  was  a  hornmint ;  I 
mean  of  the  noble  purfesshun  of  Henglish  footmen  & 
livry  suvvants,  which  has  been  crooly  pussicuted  by  the 
firoashus  Paris  mob.  I  love  my  hold  companions  in 
harms,  and  none  is  more  welcome,  Avhen  they  ave  money, 
than  they  at  the  "Wheel  of  Fortune  Otel."  I  have  a 
clubb  of  twenty  for  gentlemen  outalivery,  which  has  a 
riunion  in  my  front  parlor;  and  Mr.  Buck,  my  lord 
Dukes  hown  man,  is  to  stand  Godfather  to  the  next  little 
Plush  as  ever  was. 

I  call  the  atenshn  of  Europ,  in  the  most  solomon  and 
unpressive  manner,  to  the  hinjaries  infligted  upon  my 
brutherin.  Many  of  them  have  been  obleeged  to  boalt 
without  receiving  their  wagis;  many  of  them  is  egsiles 
on  our  shaws:  an  infewriate  Parishn  mob  has  tawn  off 
their  shoaldernots,  laft  at  their  wenerable  liveries  and 
buttons,  as  they  lafF  at  heverything  sacred;  and  I  look 
upon  those  pore  men  as  nayther  mor  nor  less  than  mar- 
ters,  and  pitty  and  admire  em  with  hallmy  art. 

I  hoffer  to  those  sacrid  rephuGs  (to  such  in  coarse  as 
can  pay  their  shott)  an  esylum  under  the  awspitible  roof 
of  Jeames  Plush  of  the  "  Wheel  of  Fortune."    Some  has 


224      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

already  come  here ;  two  of  em  occupize  our  front  garrits ; 
in  the  back  Hattix  there  is  room  for  6  mor.  Come,  brave 
and  dontless  Hemmigrants !  Come  childring  of  Kilam- 
maty  for  eight-and-six  a  week;  an  old  member  of  the 
Cor  hoffers  you  bed  and  bord ! 

The  narratif  of  the  ixcapes  and  dangers  which  they 
have  gon  through,  has  kep  me  and  Mrs.  P.  hup  in  the 
bar  to  many  a  midnike  our,  a  listening  to  them  stories. 
My  pore  wife  cries  her  hi's  out  at  their  nerations. 

One  of  our  borders,  and  a  near  relatif,  by  the  Grand- 
mother's side,  of  my  wife's  famly  (though  I  despise 
buth,  and  don't  bragg  like  some  foax  of  my  ginteal  kin- 
exions)  is  a  man  wenerated  in  the  whole  profeshn,  and 
lookt  up  as  one  of  the  fust  Vips  in  Europe.  In  this  coun- 
try (and  from  his  likeness  when  in  his  Vig  to  our  rewered 
prelicks  of  the  bentch  of  bishops),  he  was  called  Canty- 
berry — his  reel  name  being  Thomas.  You  never  sor  a 
finer  sight  than  Cantyberry  on  a  levy  day,  a  seated  on 
his  goold-f ringed  Ammer-cloth;  a  nozegy  in  his  busm; 
his  little  crisp  vig  curling  quite  noble  over  his  jolly  red 
phase ;  his  At  laced  hallover  like  a  Hadmiral ;  the  white 
ribbings  in  his  ands,  the  pransing  bay  osses  befor  him; 
and  behind,  his  state  carridge;  with  Marquiz  and 
Marchyness  of  Jonquil  inside,  and  the  galliant  footmen 
in  yalla  livery  clinging  on  at  the  back!  '  Hooray! "  the 
boys  used  to  cry  hout,  only  to  see  Cantyberry  arrive. 
Every  person  of  the  extableshment  called  him  "  Sir,"  his 
Master  &  Missis  inklewdid.  He  never  went  into  the  stay- 
ble,  ixep  to  smoke  a  segar;  and  when  the  state-carridge 
was  bordered  (me  and  the  Jonquils  live  close  together, 
the  W  of  F  being  sitiwated  in  a  ginteal  Court  leading 
hout  of  the  street),  he  sat  in  my  front  parlor,  in  full 
phig,  reading  the  newspaper  like  a  Lord,  until  such  time 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  225 

as  his  body-suvn't  called  him,  and  said  Lord  and  Lady 
Jonquil  was  ready  to  sit  behind  him.  Then  he  went. 
Not  a  minnit  sooner:  not  a  minnit  latter;  and  being 
elped  hup  to  the  box  by  3  men,  he  took  the  ribbings,  and 
drove  his  employers,  to  the  ressadences  of  the  nobillaty, 
or  the  pallis  of  the  Sovring. 

Times  is  now,  R  how  much  changed  with  Cantyberry ! 
Last  yer,  being  bribed  by  Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Kickle- 
bury,  but  chiefly,  I  fear,  because  this  old  gent,  being  in- 
timat  with  Butlers,  had  equired  a  tayste  for  Bergamy, 
and  Clarick,  and  other  French  winds,  he  quitted  Lord 
and  Lady  Jonquil's  box  for  that  of  the  Kicklebury 
famly,  residing  Rue  Rivuly,  at  Parris.  He  was  in- 
spected there— that  Cantyberry  is  wherehever  he  goes; 
the  King,  the  Hex-Kings  coachmen,  were  mear  moughs 
compared  to  him ;  and  when  he  eard  the  Kings  osses  were 
sold  the  other  day  at  50  frongs  apease,  he  says  they  was 
deer  at  the  money. 

Well,  on  the  24th  of  Febby  werrry,  being  so  ableegin  as 
to  drive  Sir  T.  and  Lady  Kicklebury  to  dinner  with  the 
Markee  d'Epinard,  in  the  Fobug  Sang  Jermang,  Canty- 
berry, who  had  been  sittn  all  day  reading  Gaily nanny, 
and  playing  at  cribbidge  at  a  Marshong  de  Vang,  and 
kawnsquinly  was  quite  hignorant  of  the  ewents  in  pro- 
grice,  found  hisself  all  of  a  sudding  serowndid  by  a  set 
of  rewd  fellers  with  pikes  and  guns,  hollerun  and  bellerin 
"Veevly  liberty,"  "Amove  Lewy-Philip,"  &c— "Git 
out  of  the  way  there,"  says  Cantyberry,  from  his  box,  a 
vipping  his  osses. 

The  puple,  as  the  French  people  call  theirselves,  came 
round  the  carridge,  rawring  out,  "Ah  Bah  1' Aristograt ! " 

Lady  Kicklebury  looked  hout.  Her  Par  was  in  the 
Cheese  Mongering   (olesale)    way:  and  she  never  was 


226      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

called  an  aristograt  afor.  '  Your  mistaken,  my  good 
people,"  says  she;  "  Je  swee  Onglase.  Wee,  boco,  Lady 
Kicklebury,  je  vay  diner  avec  Munseer  d'Eppynar;" 
and  so  she  went  a  jabbring  on ;  but  I'm  blest  if  the  Puple 
would  let  her  pass  that  way.  They  said  there  was  a 
barrygade  in  the  street,  and  turning  round  the  Eds  of 
Cantyberrv's  osses,  told  him  to  drive  down  the  next 
street.  He  didn't  understand,  but  was  reddy  to  drop 
hoff  his  perch  at  the  Hindignaty  hoffered  the  British 
Vip. 

Now  they  had  scarce  drove  down  the  next  street  at  a 
tarin  gallop  (for  when  aggrywated,  Cantyberry  drives 
like  madd,  to  be  sure),  when  lowinbyold,  they  come  on 
some  more  puple,  more  pikes,  more  guns,  the  pavement 
hup,  and  a  Buss  spilt  on  the  ground,  so  that  it  was  im- 
pawsable  to  pass. 

"  Git  out  of  the  carridge,"  rors  the  puple,  and  a 
feller  in  a  cock  at  (of  the  Pollypicnic  School,  Canty- 
berry says,  though  what  that  is  he  doant  No),  comes 
up  to  the  door,  while  bothers  old  the  osses,  and  says, 
"Miladi,  il  faut  des  cendres;"  which  means,  you  must 
git  out. 

"  Mway  ne  vu  pas,  Moi  Lady  Kicklebury,"  cries  out 
my  lady,  waggling  her  phethers  and  diminds,  and 
screamin  like  a  Macaw. 

"II  le  fo  pourtong,"  says  the  Pollypicnic  scholard: 
very  polite,  though  he  was  ready  to  bust  with  laffin  his- 
self.  'We  must  make  a  barrygade  of  the  carridge. 
The  cavilry  is  at  one  hend  of  the  street,  the  hartillary  at 
the  other;  there'll  be  a  fight  presently,  and  out  you  must 

git." 

Lady  Kicklebury  set  up  a  screaming  louder  than 
never,  and  I  warrant  she  hopped  out  pretty  quick  this 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  227 

time,  and  the  hoffiser,  giving  her  his  harm,  led  her  into  a 
kimmis  shop,  and  giv  her  a  glas  of  sally valattaly. 

Meanwild  Cantyberry  sat  puffin  like  a  grampus  on  his 
box,  his  face  as  red  as  Cielingwhacks.  His  osses  had 
been  led  out  before  his  hi's,  his  footmen — French  mini- 
als,  unwuthy  of  a  livry — had  fratynized  with  the  Mobb, 
and  Thomas  Cantyberry  sat  aloan. 

'  Descends,  mong  gros! "  cries  the  mob  (which  intup- 
prited  is  "Come  down,  old  fat  un")  ;  'come  off  your 
box,  we're  goin  to  upset  the  carridge." 

'  Never,"  says  Thomas,  for  which  he  knew  the  French; 
and  dubbling  his  phist,  he  igsclaimed,  "  Jammy,  Dam- 
my ! "  He  cut  the  fust  man  who  sprang  hon  the  box, 
hover  the  fase  and  i's;  he  delivered  on  the  nex  fellers 
nob.  But  what  was  Thomas  Cantyberry  against  a  peo- 
ple in  harms?  They  pulled  that  brave  old  man  off  his 
perch.  They  upset  his  carridge — Ms  carridge  beside  a 
buss.  When  he  comes  to  this  pint  of  his  narratif, 
Thomas  always  busts  into  tears  and  calls  for  a  fresh  glas. 

He  is  to  be  herd  of  at  my  bar:  and  being  disingaged 
hoffers  hisself  to  the  Nobillaty  for  the  enshuing  seasn. 
His  turns  is  ninety  lbs  per  hannum,  the  purchesing  of 
the  hannimals  and  the  corn,  an  elper  for  each  two  osses : 
ony  to  drive  the  lord  and  lady  of  the  famly,  no  drivin  at 
night  excep  to  Ofishl  parties,  and  two  vigs  drest  a  day 
during  the  seasn.  He  objex  to  the  country,  and  won't 
go  abrod  no  more.  In  a  country  (sezee)  where  I  was 
ableeged  to  whonder  abowt  disguised  out  of  livery, 
amongst  a  puple  who  pulled  my  vig  off  before  my  face, 
Thomas  will  never  mount  box  agin. 

And  I  eplaud  him.  And  as  long  as  he  has  enough  to 
pay  his  skaw,  my  house  is  a  home  for  this  galliant 
Hegsile. 


II 


INS  last  weak  the  Deaming 
of  Revalution  has  been 
waiving  his  flamming  sord 
over  France,  and  has  drove 
many  more  of  our  unf  ortnit 
feller  suvnts  to  hemigrat  to 
the  land  of  their  Buth. 

The  aggrywation  of  the 
Boddy  of  Gentlemen  at 
Livvry  agenst  the  Forriner 
I  am  sorry  to  say  is  intence. 
Meatings  of  my  bruthring 
have  took  place  at  many  of 
their  Houses  of  Call  in  this 
town.  Some  gence  who  use 
our  back  parlor  had  an  Ec- 
cembly  there  the  other  night  called  the  Haggrygit  Brit- 
ish Plush  Protection  Society,  which,  in  my  capasty  of 
Lanlord  and  Xmember  of  the  Boddy,  I  was  called  upon 
to  attend.  Everythink  was  conducted  on  ordly  redy- 
money  prinsaples,  and  the  liquor  paid  for  as  soon  as 
called  for,  and  drunk  as  soon  as  paid. 

But  the  feelings  of  irratation  against  Foring  Sevvants 
as  igsibbited  by  our  Domestic  pro  juice  was,  I  grieve  to 
say,  very  bitter.  Sevral  of  our  Marters  came  amongst 
us,  pore  Egsiles  wrankling  under  the  smarts  of  their  ill 

228 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  229 

treatment.  The  stories  of  their  Rongs  caused  a  f  urmen- 
tation  amongst  the  bruthring.  It  was  all  I  could  do  to 
check  the  harder  of  some  Howtragus  Sperrits,  and 
awhirt  peraps  a  Massykry  of  French  curriers  and  lackys 
employed  by  our  nobillaty  and  gentry.  I  am  thankful 
to  think  that  peraps  I  prewented  a  dellidge  of  foring 
blood. 

The  tails  told  by  our  Marters  igsited  no  small  and 
unnatral  simpithy :  when  Chawls  Garters,  late  Etendant 
in  the  famly  of  the  Duke  of  Calymanco  in  the  Fobug 
St.  Honory,  came  amongst  and  igsplained  how— if  he 
had  been  aloud  to  remane  a  few  weeks  longer  in  Parris 
— Madamasell  de  Calymanco,  the  Duke's  only  daughter 
and  hairis,  would  probbly  have  owned  the  soft  pashn 
which  she  felt  for  our  por  Chawls,  and  have  procured  the 


230      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

consent  of  her  Par  to  her  marridge  with  the  galliant  and 
andsum  H  englishman,  the  meeting  thrild  with  Amotion, 
and  tears  of  pitty  for  our  comrid  bedimd  each  hi.  His 
hart's  afections  have  been  crusht.  Madymasell  was  sent 
to  a  Convent ;  and  Chawls  dismist  with  a  poltry  3  months 
wages  in  adwance,  and  returns  to  Halbion's  shores  &  to 
servitude  once  more. 

Frederic  Legs  also  moved  us  deaply;  we  call  him 
leggs,  from  the  bewty  of  those  limbs  of  his,  which  from 
being  his  pride  and  hornymint  had  nearly  projuised  his 
rewing.  When  the  town  was  in  kemotion,  and  the 
furious  French  Peuple  pursewing  every  Henglish 
livary,  Frederick  (in  suvvice  with  a  noble  famly  who 
shall  be  nameliss)  put  on  a  palto  and  trowseys,  of 
which  his  master  made  him  a  presnt,  and  indeavoured 
to  fly. 

He  mounted  a  large  tricolore  cockade  in  his  At,  from 
which  he  tor  the  lace,  and  tried  as  much  as  possable  to 
look  like  a  siwillian.  But  it  wouldn't  do.  The  clo's 
given  him  by  his  X-master,  who  was  a  little  mann,  were 
too  small  for  Frederick — the  bewty  of  his  legs  epeared 
through  his  trowsies.  The  Rebublikins  jeered  and  laft 
at  him  in  the  streats;  and  it  is  a  mussy  that  he  ever 
reached  B alone  alive. 

I  tried  to  cumsole  Chawls  by  pinting  out  that  the  Art 
which  has  truly  loved  never  forgits,  but  as  trewly  loves 
on  to  the  clothes ;  and  that  if  Madamasell  reely  did  love 
him  as  he  said,  he  had  a  better  chans  of  winning  her 
And  now  than  under  a  monarchickle  and  arastacrattic 
Guvment ;  and  as  for  Frederic,  I  pinted  out  to  him  that 
a  man  of  his  appearants  was  safe  of  implymint  and 
promoashn  in  any  country. 

I  did  everythink,  in  a  word,  to  sooth  my  frends.    In 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  231 

a  noble  speach  I  showed,  that  if  others  do  wrong,  that 
is  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  do  right.  '  On  the  contry 
now  is  the  time,"  I  said,  "  for  Hengland  to  show  she  is 
reely  the  Home  of  the  World;  and  that  all  men,  from 
a  Black  to  a  Frenchman,  ought  to  be  safe  under  the 
Banner  of  Brittannier. 

'  The  pholly  of  these  consperracies  and  jellowsies,  I 
think  may  be  pinted  out  to  my  feller-suvants,  and 
igsemplafied  in  the  instants  of  the  f  amlies  of  the  Prince 
of  Bovo,  at  Parris,  and  of  Lord  Y  Count  Guttlebury, 
in  this  country. 

"At  Parris,  As  is  well  ascertained,  the  nobill  Prins, 
who  kep  a  large  studd  of  osses,  with  English  groombs 
to  take  care  of  em  (as  by  natur  Britns  are  formed  to  do 
that,  and  every  think  better  than  everybody)  — the  noble 
Prins,  I  say,  was  called  upon  by  the  Puple  to  dishmiss 
his  Hinglish  osskeepers.  '  Serviture,'  says  the  Prince, 
'  Veeve  la  liberty ;  let  the  Hosskeepers  be  turned  out,  as 
the  Sovring  Puple  is  inimichael  to  their  stoppin  in 
France.'  The  Puple  left  the  Sitzen  Prins  with  a  chear 
for  fratunnity,  &  the  por  groombs  packed  up,  and  have 
come  back  to  their  native  hilind. 

"But  what  inshood?  The  nex  day,  the  Prins  sent 
away  the  hosses  after  the  hosskeepers;  sold  up  the 
studd;  locked  up  the  carridges,  broombs,  cabs,  bogeys 
(as  those  hignorant  French  call  buggiz),  landores  & 
all,  and  goes  about  now  with  an  umbereller.  And  how, 
I  should  lick  to  know,  is  the  puple  any  better  for  med- 
dling ? 

'  Lord  Ycount  Guttlebury's  is  a  case,  dear  friends, 
which  still  mor  comes  hoam  to  our  busms  and  our  bisniss, 
and  has  made  no  small  sensatiun  in  the  Plush  and  in  the 
fashionable  wuld.     The  splender  of  his  lodships  enty- 


232      CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  "PUNCH" 

tainments  is  well  known.  That  good  and  uprike  noble- 
man only  lived  for  wittles.  And  be  ard  on  him?  why 
should  we? — Nayter  has  implanted  in  our  busum  tastis 
of  a  thousand  diferent  kinds.  Some  men  have  a  pashn 
for  fox-untin,  some  like  listening  to  dybatts  in  Parly- 
mink  and  settn  on  railrode  committies;  some  like  Polit- 
ticle  Aconomy.  I've  waited  behind  a  chair  and  heard 
foax  talk  about  Jollagy,  Straty,  and  red  sanstone,  until 
I've  nearly  dropt  asleap  myself  while  standing  a  San- 
tynel  on  jewty.  What  then  ?  Give  every  mann  his  taste, 
I  say,  and  my  Lord  Guttlebury's  was  his  dinner. 

"  He  had  a  French  Hartist  at  the  head  of  his  Quizeen 
of  coarse — that  sellabrated  mann  Munseer  Supreme. 
Munseer  Sooflay  persided  hover  the  cumf eckshnary ;  and 
under  Supraym  were  three  young  aidycongs:  a  French- 
man, a  Bulgian,  and  a  young  feller  from  the  City,  who 
manidged  the  tertle  and  wenson  department. 

"  He  was  a  clever  young  mann.  He  has  hofn  been 
to  take  a  glas  at  the  W  of  F:  and  whenever  he  came 
with  a  cassyrowl  of  clear  turtle,  or  an  ash  wenison  dish 
for  my  Mary  Hann,  he  was  I'm  sure  always  welcome. 
But  John  Baster  was  henvious  and  hambishes.  He 
jined  the  owtcry  which  has  been  rose  against  foring 
suvnts  by  some  of  our  bruthring,  and  he  thought  to  git 
ridd  of  Supraym  and  the  other  contynentials,  and  espired 
to  be  Chief  Guvnor  of  my  lords  kitching. 

'  Forgitting  every  sentament  but  haytred  of  the  for- 
ryner,  this  envius  raskle  ingaged  the  kitching-boys  and 
female  elpers  (who,  bein  a  hansum  young  mann,  looked 
on  him  with  a  kindly  i)  in  a  fowl  conspiracy  against 
the  Frenchmen.  He  intro juiced  kyang  pepper  into  the 
pattys,  garlick  into  the  Blemongys,  and  sent  up  the 
souffly  flavored  with  ingyans.     He  pysoned  my  lord's 


PERSECUTION  OF  BRITISH  FOOTMEN  233 

chocolate  with  shalott,  he  put  Tarrygin  vinegar  into  the 
Hices.  There  never  was  such  a  conwulsion,  or  so  horrid 
an  igspreshn  of  hagny  in  a  man's,  has  (I'm  told  by  my 
exlent  friend,  the  Majordomy)  my  lord's  face  ashumed, 
when  he  tasted  black  pepper  in  the  clear  soup. 

'  The  axdence  occurred  day  after  day.    It  was  one  day 

when  a  R 1  P-ss-n-dge  was  dining  with  his  loddship ; 

another  when  6  egsiled  sovrings  took  their  mutton  (when 
he  didn't  so  much  mind)  ;  a  3d  when  he  wished  to  dine 
more  igspecially  better  than  on  any  other,  because  the 
doctor  had  told  him  to  be  careful,  and  he  was  dining  by 
himself:  this  last  day  drove  him  madd.  He  sent  for 
Suprame,  addresst  that  gentilman  in  languidge  which 
he  couldn't  brook  (for  he  was  a  Major  of  the  Nashnal 
Guard  of  his  Betallian,  and  Commander  of  the  Legend 
of  Honour),  and  Suprame  rasined  on  the  spott — which 
the  French  and  the  Bulgian  did  it  too. 

'  Soufflay  and  the  cumfectioners  hemigrated  the  nex 
day.  And  the  house  steward,  who  has  a  heasy  master, 
for  Lord  G.  is  old,  fibble,  and  70  years  of  hage,  and 
whose  lady  has  an  uncommon  good  apinnion  of  Master 
Baster,  recommended  him  to  the  place,  or  at  least  to  have 
the  Purvisional  Guvment  of  my  lord's  Quizeen. 

'  It  wasn't  badd.  Baster  has  tallint  of  no  mien  hor- 
der.  You  couldn't  egsactly  find  folt  with  his  souperin- 
tendiance.  But  a  mere  good  dinner  is  fur  from  enough 
to  your  true  amature.  A  dellixy,  a  something,  a  jenny - 
squaw,  constatutes  the  diffrants  between  talint  and 
Genus — and  my  lord  soughered  under  it.  He  grew 
melumcollv  and  silent;  he  dined,  its  trew,  tavstins1  all 
the  ontrays  as  usual,  but  he  never  made  any  remarx 
about  'em,  for  good  or  for  bad.  Young  Baster  at  the 
Igth  of  his  Hambishn,  tor  his  Air  with  rage  as  his  din- 


234      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

ners  came  down  1  by  1,  and  nothing  was  said  about 
'em — nothing. 

"Lord  Guttlebury  was  breaking  his  Art.  He  didn' 
know  how  fond  he  was  of  Supraym,  till  he  lost  him — 
how  nessasurry  that  mann  was  to  his  igsistence.  He  sett 
his  confidenshle  Valick  to  find  out  where  Supraym  had 
retreated ;  and  finding  he  was  gone  to  Gascony  of  which 
he  is  a  naytif,  last  weak  without  saying  a  word  to  his 
frends  with  only  Sangsew  his  valet,  and  the  flying  ketch- 
ing  fourgong,  without  which  he  never  travels — my  lord 
went  to  France  and  put  himself  again  under  Supraym. 
The  sean  between  'em,  I'm  told,  was  very  affecting.  My 
lord  has  taken  a  Shatto  near  Supraym's  house,  who 
comes  to  dress  the  dinner  of  which  the  noble  Ycount 
partakes  aloan." 

"  The  town -house  is  shet  up,  and  everybody  has  ad 
orders  to  quit — all  the  footmen — all  the  quizeen,  in 
coarse  including  Baster — and  this  is  all  he  has  gained 
by  his  insidjus  haytrid  of  forraners,  and  by  his  foolish 
hambishn. 

'  No,  my  friends,"  I  concluded;  "  if  gentlemen  choose 
to  have  foreign  suvnts,  it's  not  for  us  to  intafear,  and 
there  must  be  a  free  trayd  in  flunkies  as  in  every  other 
kimodaty  of  the  world." 

I  trust  that  my  little  remarks  pazyfied  some  of  the 
discontented  sperrits  presnt — and  can  at  least  wouch  for 
the  fact  that  every  man  shook  Ands;  every  man  paid 
his  Skoar. 

(April  1848.) 


IRISH  GEMS 


FROM  THE  "  BENIGHTED  IRISHMAN  ' 


UR  TROOPS  having 
smashed  through  that 
castle,  and  pulled 
down  that  flag,  which 
now  floats  over  the 
butcher  Clarendon 
and  his  minions,  a 
flood  of  prosperity 
will  rush  into  the 
country,  such  as  only 
the  Annals  of  the 
Four  Masters  gives 
count  of.  Since  the 
days  of  Brian  Bor- 
oimhe  such  days  of  peace,  plenty,  and  civilisation  shall 
not  have  been  known,  as  those  that  are  in  store  for  our 
liberated  Erin. 

There  will  be  a  Capital. 

The  Ambassadors  of  the  foreign  Powers  will  bring 
their  suites  and  their  splendours  to  the  Court  of  the 
Republic.  The  nobility  will  flock  back  in  crowds  to  our 
deserted  squares.  Irish  poplin  will  rise  in  price  to  ten 
shillings  a  yard,  so  vast  will  be  the  demand  for  that  web 
by  the  ladies  of  our  city.  Irish  diamonds  will  reach  the 
price  of  the  inferior  Golconda  article.     Irish  linen  and 

235 


236      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

shirtings  will  rise  immensely.  Indeed,  all  Irish  produce, 
not  being  depreciated  by  the  ruinous  competition  for 
gold,  will  augment  in  value. 

Debt  at  home,  and  absenteeism,  have  been  the  curses 
of  our  country.  Henceforth  there  shall  be  no  absentee- 
ism, and  no  debt. 

He  who  refuses  to  live  amongst  us  is  not  of  us — the 
soil  is  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  soil. 

I  have  already,  my  dear  friends,  instructed  you  in  the 
manner  in  which  every  one  of  you  may  get  a  cheap  and 
handsome  property  for  himself,  viz.  by  holding  posses- 
sion of  that  which  j^ou  at  present  occupy.  For,  as  every 
man  has  an  indefeasible  right  to  subsistence,  and  as 
Nature  produces  for  the  good  of  all,  it  is  manifestly 
right  that  the  many  should  have  the  possession,  and  not 
the  few. 

If  a  landlord  should  object  to  this  arrangement  (who 
is  but  a  mere  accident  on  the  face  of  the  earth),  for  the 
love  of  God,  boys,  get  rifles  and  blow  his  brains  out.  It 
is  much  better  that  a  few  landlords  should  perish,  and 
their  families  (who  have  been  living  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  hitherto,  and  may  therefore  take  a  turn  of  ill-for- 
tune) should  starve,  than  multitudes  should  die  of 
want. 

And  thus  the  curse  of  quarter-day  will  be  removed  at 
once  from  this  island:  and  after  a  very  little  necessary 
slaughter.  For  depend  upon  it,  that  when  two  or  three 
landlords  have  been  served  in  the  way  recommended  by 
me,  the  rest  will  not  care  to  be  pressing  for  rents.  The 
butchers  who  govern  us  instituted  the  system  of  hanging 
for  this  very  reason:  arguing,  that  one  example  before 
Kilmainham  deterred  numbers  of  waverers ;  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  the  rifle,  rightly  employed,  will  act  upon  an 


IRISH  GEMS  237 

aristocrat  just  as  well  as  upon  a  housebreaker;  for,  are 
not  men  men,  whether  clad  in  Saxon  ermine,  or  in  the 
rude  frieze-coats  of  our  miserable  fatherland  ?  Out  with 
your  rifles,  boys,  in  the  name  of  humanity. 

They  say  that  the  property  of  Ireland  is  mortgaged 
in  a  great  degree,  and  for  the  most  part  to  the  brutal 
Saxon  shopkeepers  and  pedlars.  You  will  have  the 
advantage  of  getting  your  land  entirely  free;  there  will 
be  no  manacle  of  debt  to  weigh  down  the  free  arms 
which  are  henceforth  to  till  the  beloved  soil  of  our 
country. 

And  the  land  being  unencumbered,  you  will  have  the 
further  advantage  of  being  able  to  invite  capitalists  to 
aid  you  with  money  to  conduct  the  operations  of  agri- 
culture. Glorious  America,  which  sympathises  with  you 
sincerely,  will  be  much  more  ready  to  lend  its  capital 
upon  unencumbered,  than  on  encumbered  property.  And 
we  shall  negotiate  loans  in  her  magnificent  commercial 
cities,  where  I  have  no  doubt  there  will  be  a  noble  emu- 
lation to  come  to  the  aid  of  a  free  Irish  nation. 

The  idea  of  sending  cattle  and  pigs  to  England,  to 
feed  Saxon  ruffians,  is  then  to  be  scouted  henceforth  by 
all  honest  Irishmen.  We  will  consume  our  own  beef 
and  pork  by  our  own  firesides.  There  is  enough  live- 
stock in  this  island  to  give  every  regenerate  Irishman 
good  meals  of  meat  for  the  next  year  ensuing;  and  our 
lands,  notoriously  the  greenest  and  most  fertile  in  the 
world,  will  have  fed  up  a  similar  quantity  by  the  year 
1850.  Thus,  we  shall  never  want  henceforth;  and  while 
we  fatten  and  flourish,  we  shall  see  the  Saxon  enemy 
decay. 

And  as  the  beef -fed  scoundrels  cannot  live  upon  cot- 
ton  and  hardware,  we   shall  have  the   satisfaction  of 


238      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

reducing  the  prices  of  those  commodities,  and  getting 
them  at  a  much  more  reasonable  rate  than  that  at  which 
the  accursed  moneymongers  now  vend  them. 

FROM  THE  "  UNITED   IRISHWOMAN  " 

The  Duties  of  our  Women. 

In  the  coming  time  the  weapon  nearest  at  hand  is 
always  the  cheapest.  Only  dilettanti  go  about  picking 
and  choosing.  Shillyshallyers  are  cowards.  Brave  men 
are  always  armed. 

Brave  men  and  brave  women,  a  few  suggestions  to 
housekeepers  we  have  already  given;  we  could  supply 
thousands  more. 

There  is  no  better  weapon,  for  instance,  than  one  which 
is  to  be  found  in  every  house  in  the  refined  quarter  of 
the  metropolis.  A  grand  piano  sent  down  upon  a  troop 
of  hussars  will  play  such  a  sonata  over  their  heads  as  the 
scoundrels  never  marched  off  to.  A  chimney-glass  is  a 
rare  thing  for  smashing.  I  should  not  like  to  be  the 
Saxon  assassin  upon  whom  some  white-armed  girl  of 
Erin  flung  it. 

Pokers  and  tongs  everybody  will  know  the  use  of.  A 
cut-steel  fender  is  an  awkward  thing  for  a  dragoon  to 
ride  over.  A  guardsman  won't  look  well  with  a  copper 
coal-scuttle  for  a  helmet. 

Ladies'  linen  will  make  the  best  of  lint.  A  laced  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  a  wounded  warrior's  brow  will  be 
well  bestowed.  I  have  seen  a  servant  in  college  knocked 
down  by  a  glossy  boot,  ever  so  slight,  of  varnished 
leather:  if  a  footman,  why  not  a  private  soldier?  Have 
at  him,  ladies,  from  the  bedroom  windows.  Your  hus- 
bands will  be  away  yonder  at  the  barricades. 


IRISH  GEMS  239 

A  hot  saddle  of  mutton,  flung  by  cook  into  the  face 
of  a  bawling  Saxon  Colonel,  will  silence  him;  send  the 
dish-cover  with  it ;  or  at  tea-time  try  him  with  the  silver 
tea-urn.  Our  wife  has  one.  She  longs  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  fling  it,  heater  and  alt,  into  a  Saxon  face. 

Besides  the  bottle-rack,  the  use  of  which  and  its  con- 
tents are  evident,  your  husband  will  leave  the  keys  of 
the  cellar  with  you,  and  you  know  what  to  do.  Old  port 
makes  excellent  grape-shot;  and  I  don't  know  any  bet- 
ter use  which  you  can  make  of  a  magnum  of  Latouche 
than  to  floor  an  Englishman  with  it.  Have  at  them  with 
all  the  glasses  in  your  house,  the  china,  the  decanters,  the 
lamps,  and  the  cut-glass  chandelier. 

A  good  large  cheese  would  be  found  rather  indiges- 
tible by  a  Saxon,  if  dropped  on  his  nose  from  a  second 
story.  And  the  children's  washing-tub  artfully  adminis- 
tered may  do  execution.  Recollect,  it  is  a  tub  to  catch 
a  whale. 

There  is  a  ladj^  in  Leeson  Street  who  vows  to  fling 
her  Angola  cat  and  her  pet  spaniel  at  the  military  while 
engaged  there.  The  cat  may  escape  (and  it  is  not  the 
first  time  the  Saxon  ruffians  have  tasted  its  claws) .  The 
Blenheim  cost  her  twenty-five  guineas.  She  will  give 
that  or  anything  else  for  her  country. 

The  water-pipes  will  be  excellent  things  to  tear  up 
and  launch  at  the  enemy.  They  may  make  a  slop  in  the 
house  at  first,  but  the  mains  and  the  gas  will  be  let  off. 
The  ruffians  shall  fight  us,  if  they  dare,  in  darkness  and 
drought. 

You  will  of  course  empty  the  china-closets  on  the  ras- 
cals, and  all  the  bedroom  foot-baths  and  washing-basins. 
Have  them  ready,  and  the  chests  of  drawers  balancing 
on  the  window-sills.    Send  those  after  them  too. 


240      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

And  if  any  coward  Saxon  bullet  pierces  the  fair  bosom 
of  a  maid  or  a  wife  of  Erin,  may  the  curses  of  Heaven 
light  on  the  butcherly  dastard!  May  the  pikes  of  Erin 
quiver  in  his  writhing  heart,  the  bullets  of  Erin  whirl 
through  his  screaming  eyeballs !  May  his  orphans  perish 
howling,  and  his  true  love  laugh  over  his  grave!  May 
his  sister's  fair  fame  be  blighted,  and  his  grandmother 
held  up  to  scorn !  May  remorse  fang  him  like  a  ban-dog, 
and  cowardice  whip  him  like  a  slave!  May  life  weary 
him!  death  dishonour,  and  futurity  punish  him!  Liar 
Saxon!  ruffian  Saxon!  coward  Saxon!  bloody  Saxon! 
The  gentle  and  the  pure  defy  ye,  and  spit  on  ye ! 

(April  1848.) 


MR.  SNOB'S  REMONSTRANCE  WITH 

MR.  SMITH 


M 


Y  DEAR  SMITH,-When  we 

last  met  at  the  Polyanthus  Club, 
you  showed  me  so  remarkably  cold  a 
111  shoulder,  that  I  was  hurt  by  your 
-  change  of  behaviour,  and  inquired  the 
cause  of  the  alteration.  You  are  a 
kind  and  excellent  friend,  and  used  to  tip  me  when  I 
was  a  boy  at  school ;  and  I  was  glad  to  find  that  you  had 
public  and  not  private  causes  for  your  diminished  cor- 
diality. Jones  imparted  to  me  your  opinion  that  a  pre- 
vious letter  of  mine  in  this  periodical  was  of  so  danger- 
ous and  disloyal  a  character,  that  honest  men  should 
avoid  the  author.  He  takes  leave  to  exculpate  himself 
through  the  same  medium. 

All  our  difference,  my  dear  sir,  is  as  to  the  method  of 
displaying  loyalty.  Without  fulsome  professions  for 
the  virtuous  and  excellent  young  matron  and  lady  who 
fills  the  Throne  nowadays,  one  may  feel  that  those  private 
virtues  and  excellences  are  amongst  her  noblest  titles  of 
honour,  and,  without  in  the  least  implicating  the  royal 
personage  seated  in  it,  quarrel  with  the  taste  of  some  of 
the  ornaments  of  the  Throne.  I  do  believe  that  some  of 
these  are  barbarous,  that  they  often  put  the  occupant  of 
that  august  seat  in  a  false  and  ridiculous  position,  and 
that  it  would  be  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  her  dignity 
if  they  were  away. 

241 


242       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

You  recollect  our  talk  at  the  Polyanthus,  relative  to 
the  private  letters  which  passed  between  Louis-Philippe 
and  the  Sovereign  of  this  country,  which  the  present 
French  Government  has  thought  fit  to  republish. 
"  Why,"  said  you,  "  did  they  condescend  to  make  pub- 
lic these  private  letters?  What  could  it  matter  to 
Europe  to  know  whether,  in  the  voyage  from  Dover  to 
Calais,  '  my  poor  Montpensier '  was  dreadfully  sick,  and 
the  King  did  not  suffer  at  all?'  Roval  families  must 
have  their  talk  and  gossip,  like  any  other  domestic  cir- 
cles. Why  placard  the  town  with  this  harmless  private 
gossip,  and  drag  innocent  people  into  publicity?  And, 
indeed,  with  the  exception  of  that  pretty  letter  to  the 
Princess  Royal  (in  which  her  'old  cousin,"  Louis- 
Philippe,  announces  to  her  his  present  of  a  doll  with 
six-and-twenty  suits  of  clothes,  and  exhibits  himself  very 
amiably  and  artlessly  for  once,  as  a  kind-hearted  old 
grandfather  and  gentleman ) ,  it  is  a  pity  that  the  whole 
correspondence  were  not  consigned  to  the  bottom  of  that 
ocean  which  made  "  my  poor  Montpensier  "  so  unwell. 

But  if  the  privacy  of  royalty  is  not  to  be  intruded 
upon,  why  is  it  perpetually  thrust  in  our  faces  ?  Why  is 
that  Court  Newsman  not  stifled?  I  say  that  individual 
is  one  of  the  barbarous  adjuncts  of  the  Crown  whom  we 
ought  to  abolish,  and  whom  it  is  an  honest  man's  duty 
to  hoot  off  the  stage.  I  say  it  is  monstrous,  immodest, 
unseemly,  that  in  our  time  such  details  should  occupy 
great  columns  of  the  newspapers,  as  that  of  a  Royal 
Christening,  for  instance,  which  appeared  the  other  day, 
in  which  you  read  as  follows — 

"  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  dressed  in  sky- 
blue  velvet  embroidered  with  gold.  The  dress  of  Prince  Alfred 
was  of  white  and  silver,  and  the  three  Princesses  were  all  dressed 


MR.  SNOB'S  REMONSTRANCE         243 

alike  in  frocks  of  British  lace,  in  imitation  of  Mechlin  lace,  with 
flounces  of  the  same  over  white  satin. 

"  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert  and  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton were  habited  in  the  uniform  of  Field-Marshals;  the  Prince 
wore  the  collars  of  the  Garter  and  the  Bath,  and  the  ensigns  of 
the  Golden  Fleece. 

"  The  Royal  infant  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  Honiton  lace  over 
white  satin,  and  was  attended  by  the  Dowager  Lady  Lyttelton. 
Her  Royal  Highness  was  carried  by  the  head  nurse." 

Gracious  Goodness!  is  it  bringing  ridicule  on  the 
Throne  to  say  that  such  details  as  these  are  ridiculous? 
Does  it  add  to  the  dignity  of  the  greatest  persons  in  this 
country  that  other  citizens  should  be  told  that  Prince  Al- 
fred wore  white  and  silver,  and  the  little  Princesses  were 
all  dressed  alike  in  frocks  of  British  lace,  in  imitation  of 
Mechlin,  with  flounces  of  the  same,  over  white  satin? 
Suppose  their  Royal  Highnesses  wore  their  frocks  inside 
out,  what  the  deuce  does  it  matter  to  us?  These  details 
may  interest  Mr.  Mantalini,  but  not  men  in  England. 
They  should  not  be  put  before  us.  Why  do  we  still  laugh 
at  people  for  kissing  the  Pope's  toe,  or  applaud  Macart- 
ney's British  spirit  in  the  last  age,  for  refusing  kotoo  to 
the  Emperor  of  China?  This  is  just  as  bad  as  kotoo. 
Those  people  degrade  the  Throne  who  do  not  remove 
from  it  these  degrading  Middle- Age  ceremonials— as 
barbarous,  as  absurd,  as  unreasonable  as  Queen  Quashy- 
maboo's  cocked-hat  and  epaulets,  or  King  Mumbo-Jum- 
bo's  glass  beads  and  tinsel. 

When  the  procession  of  the  sponsors  and  her  Majes- 
ty's procession  had  passed,  and  the  Queen  and  the  other 
royal  personages  were  conducted  to  their  seats,  the  fol- 
lowing chorale  was  performed — such  a  chorale  as  was 
seldom  presented  to  an  infant  before:— 


244      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

"  In  life's  gay  morn,  ere  sprightly  youth 
By  sin  and  folly  is  enslaved, 
Oh,  may  the  Maker's  glorious  name 
Be  on  thy  infant  mind  engraved ! 
So  shall  no  shade  of  sorrow  cloud 
The  sunshine  of  thy  early  days, 
But  happiness,  in  endless  round, 
Shall  still  encompass  all  thy  ways." 


Now,  Mr.  Smith,  on  your  honour  and  conscience,  does 
the  publication  of  stuff  like  this  add  to,  or  diminish,  the 
splendour  of  the  Throne?  Is  it  true,  that  if,  in  "the 
morning  of  youth,"  the  Princess  is  brought  up  piously, 
she  is  sure  of  endless  happiness  to  "  encompass  all  her 
ways  "?  Who  says  so?  Who  believes  it?  Does  it  add  to 
your  respect  for  the  Head  of  the  State,  to  represent  her 
Majesty  to  your  imagination  surrounded  by  Bishops, 
Marshals,  and  Knights  in  their  collars,  Gold  Sticks, 
Sponsor-proxies,  and  what  not,  seated  in  the  place  of 
Divine  Worship  listening  to  such  inane  verses?  No;  the 
disrespect  is  not  on  our  side  who  protest.  No ;  the  disloy- 
alty is  with  those  who  acquiesce  in  ceremonies  so  mon- 
strous and  so  vain.  O  Archbishop,  is  this  the  way  people 
should  renounce  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked 
world?  It  is  these  ceremonies  which  set  more  people 
against  you  and  your  like,  than  all  your  sermons  can  con- 
vince, or  your  good  example  keep  faithful. 

And  I  say  that  we  are,  Mr.  Punch  and  all,  a  loyal 
and  affectionate  people,  and  that  we  exult  when  we  see 
the  great  personages  of  the  Crown  worthily  occupied. 
Take  the  meeting  of  last  Thursday,  for  instance,  for  the 
Improvement  of  the  Labouring  Classes,  at  which  his 
Royal  Highness  the  Prince  attended  and  spoke. 


MR.  SNOBS  REMONSTRANCE         245 

"  Depend  upon  it  that  the  interests  of  often  contrasted  classes 
are  identical,  and  it  is  only  ignorance  which  prevents  their  unit- 
ing to  the  advantage  of  each  other.  (Cheers.)  To  dispel  that 
ignorance,  and  to  show  how  man  can  help  man,  notwithstanding 
the  complicated  state  of  civilised  society,  ought  to  be  the  aim  of 
every  philanthropic  person.  (Loud  cheers.)  This  is  more  pecu- 
liarly the  duty  of  those  who,  under  the  blessing  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence, enjoy  station,  wealth,  and  education."     (Cheers.) 

Every  man  who  heard  that,  I  say,  cheered  with  all  his 
heart.  "  These  are  imperial  words,  and  worthy  kings." 
There  is  no  Gold  Stick  in  this  empire,  no  Vice-Chamber- 
lain, Groom  of  the  Stole,  Hereditary  Grand  Dancing 
Master,  or  Quarterly  W  aiter  in  Waiting,  that  will  yield 
to  Mr.  Punch  and  your  humble  servant  in  loyalty,  when 
words  such  as  these  are  spoken,  and  in  such  a  spirit :  and 
it  is  in  tasks  like  these  that  princes  must  busy  themselves 
if  in  our  times  they  ask  for  loyalty  from  others  or  secu- 
rity for  themselves.  The  hold  of  the  great  upon  us  now 
is  by  beneficence,  not  by  claptraps  and  ceremonies.  The 
people  is  and  knows  itself  to  be  the  stronger.  Wisdom, 
simplicity,  affection,  must  be  the  guardians  of  the  Eng- 
lish Throne ;  and  may  God  keep  those  Gentlemen-ushers 
about  the  Court  of  Queen  Victoria! 

(May  1848.) 


YESTERDAY:  A  TALE  OF  THE 
POLISH  BALL 


BY  A  LADY  OF  FASHION 

"  The  absence  of  the  Life  Guards,  being  on  duty  against  the  mob,  occa- 
sioned some  disappointment  to  many  of  the  fair  fashionables  at  Willis's 
on  Monday  night."— Morning  Paper. 

^W  I    IONEL  DE  BOOTS  was  the  son 

of  Lord  and  Lady  de  Boot- 
erstown,  and  one  of  the  most 
elegant  young  men  of  this 
or  any  age  or  country.  His 
figure  was  tall  and  slim; 
his  features  beauteous:  al- 
though not  more  than  eigh- 
teen years  of  age,  he  could 
i  /  Ft  spell  with  surprising  correct- 

J 1  '^^^^^^~i'^^^^_  j  ness,  and  had  a  sweet  yellow 

tuft  growing  on  his  chin,  already! 

A  pattern  of  every  excellence,  and  brought  up  under 
a  fond  mother's  eye,  Lionel  had  all  the  budding  virtues, 
and  none  of  the  odious  vices  contracted  by  youth.  He 
was  not  accustomed  to  take  more  than  three  glasses  of 
wine;  and  though  a  perfect  Nimrod  in  the  chase,  as  I 
have  heard  his  dear  mamma  remark,  he  never  smoked 
those  horrid  cigars  while  going  to  hunt. 

He  received  his  Commission  in  the  Royal  Horse 
Guards  Pink  (Colonel  Gizzard),  and  was  presented,  on 

246 


YESTERDAY  247 

his  appointment,  on  the  birthday  of  his  Sovereign.  His 
fond  mamma  clasped  her  mailed  warrior  to  her  bosom, 
and  wept  tears  of  maternal  love  upon  his  brilliant  cuirass, 
which  reflected  her  own  lovely  image. 

But  besides  that  of  her  ladyship,  there  was  another 
female  heart  which  beat  with  affection's  purest  throb 
for  the  youthful  Lionel.  The  lovely  Frederica  de  Toffy 
(whose  appearance  at  Court  this  year  created  so  thrilling 
a  sensation)  had  long  been  designed  by  her  eminent 
parents,  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Hardybake,  to  wed 
one  day  with  the  brilliant  heir  of  the  house  of  De  Boots. 

Frederica  nearly  fainted  with  pleasure  when  her  Lio- 
nel presented  himself  at  Alycampayne  House  in  his 
charming  new  uniform.  "  My  military  duties  now  call 
me,"  said  the  gallant  youth,  with  a  manly  sigh.  '  But 
'twill  not  be  long  ere  next  we  meet.  Remember  thou  art 
my  partner  in  Lady  Smigsmag's  Quadrille  at  the  Polish 
Ball.  Au  revoir— adieu!"  Emotion  choked  further 
utterance,  and,  staggering  from  the  presence  of  Love, 
Lionel  hastened  to  join  his  regiment  at  Kn-ghtsbr-dge. 

That  night,  as  the  Cavaliers  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink 
sate  in  their  tents,  carousing  to  the  health  of  their  ladye- 
loves,  news  came  from  the  Commander-in-Chief  that 
England  had  need  of  her  warriors.  The  Chartists  had 
risen!  They  were  in  arms  in  Clerkenwell  and  Penton- 
ville.  "  Up,  Cavaliers!  "  said  the  noble  de  Gizzard,  quaf- 
fing a  bumper  of  Ypocras.  "  Gentlemen  of  the  Horse 
Guards  Pink,  to  arms!"  Calling  his  battle-cry,  Lionel 
laced  on  his  morion;  his  trusty  valet-de-chambre  placed 
it  on  the  golden  curls  of  his  young  master.  To  draw  his 
sword,  to  recommend  himself  to  Heaven  and  sweet  Saint 
Willibald,  and  to  mount  his  plunging  charger,  was  the 
work  of  a  moment.     The  next— and  the  plumes  of  the 


248      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

Horse  Guards  Pink  might  be  seen  waving  in  the  mid- 
night down  the  avenues  of  the  Park,  while  the  clarions 
and  violins  of  the  band  pealed  forth  the  National  An- 
them of  Britons. 

Lionel's  mother  had  taken  heed  that  the  chamber 
which  he  was  to  occupy  at  the  barracks  was  comfortably 
arranged  for  her  young  soldier.  Every  elegant  simplicity 
of  the  toilet  had  been  provided.  "  Take  care  that  there  be 
bran  in  his  foot-bath,"  she  said  to  his  old  servitor  (point- 
ing at  the  same  time  to  a  richly -chased  silver-gilt  bain  de 
pieds,  emblazoned  with  the  crest  of  the  De  Bootses). 
And  she  had  netted  with  her  own  hand  a  crimson  silk 
night-cap  with  a  gold  tassel,  which  she  entreated — nay, 
commanded  him  to  wear.  She  imaged  him  asleep  in  his 
war-chamber.  '  May  my  soldier  sleep  well,"  she  ex- 
claimed mentally,  "  till  the  ringing  trump  of  morn  wake 
up  my  gallant  boy !  " 

Frederica,  too,  as  far  as  modest  maiden  may, 
thought  of  her  Lionel,  "Ah,  Crinolinette,"  she  said  to 
her  maid,  in  the  French  language,  of  which  she  was  a 
mistress,  "  Ah,  que  ma  galant  Garde-de-vie  puisse  bien 
dormir  ce  nuit! " 

Lionel  slept  not  on  that  night — not  one  wink  had  the 
young  soldier.  In  the  moon,  under  the  stars,  in  the  cold 
cold  midnight,  in  the  icy  dawn,  he  and  his  gallant  com- 
rades patrolled  the  lanes  of  Clerkenwell.  Now  charging 
a  pulk  of  Chartists — now  coming  to  the  aid  of  a  squadron 
of  beleaguered  Policemen — now  interposing  between  the 
infuriate  mob  and  the  astonished  Specials — everywhere 
Lionel's  sword  gleamed.  In  the  thick  of  the  melee  his 
voice  was  heard  encouraging  the  troops  and  filling  the 
Chartists  with  terror.  "  Oh,"  thought  he,  "  that  I  could 
measure  steel  with  Fussell,  or  could  stand  for  five  min- 


YESTERDAY  249 

utes  point  to  point  with  Cuffey ! "  But  no  actual  collision 
took  place,  and  the  Life  Guards  Pink  returned  to  their 
barracks  at  dawn,  when  Colonel  Gizzard  sent  off  a  most 
favourable  report  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  gal- 
lantry of  young  De  Boots. 

The  warriors  cared  not  for  rest  that  day.  A  night  in 
the  saddle  is  no  hardship  to  the  soldier;  though  Lionel, 
feeling  the  approaches  of  a  cold  and  sore  throat,  only 
took  a  little  water-gruel  and  lay  down  for  half-an-hour 
to  recruit  himself.  But  he  could  not  sleep — he  thought  of 
Frederica!  '  To-night  I  shall  see  her,"  he  said.  'Twas 
the  night  of  the  Polish  Ball,  and  he  bade  his  valet  pro- 
cure from  Hammersmith  the  loveliest  bouquet  for  Fred- 
erica,  consisting  of  the  rosy  Magnolia,  the  delicate  Poly- 
anthus, and  the  drooping  and  modest  Sunflower. 

The  banquet  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  was  served  at 
eight  o'clock,  and  Lionel,  to  be  ready  for  the  ball,  dressed 
himself  in  pumps  and  pantaloons,  with  an  embroidered 
gauze  chemise  and  a  mere  riband  of  lace  round  his  neck. 
He  looked  a  young  Apollo  as  he  sat  down  to  dine ! 

But  scarce  had  he  put  the  first  spoonful  of  potage  a  la 
reine  to  his  ruby  lips,  when  the  clarion  again  sounded  to 
arms.  "Confusion,"  said  the  gallant  Gizzard, "the  Char- 
tists are  again  in  arms,  and  we  must  forth."  The  ban- 
quet was  left  untasted,  and  the  warriors  mounted  their 
steeds. 

So  great  was  the  hurry,  that  Lionel  only  put  on  his 
helmet  and  cuirass,  and  rode  forth  in  his  evening  dress. 
'Twas  a  pitiless  night ;  the  rain  descended ;  the  winds  blew 
icy  cold;  the  young  soldier  was  wet  to  the  skin  ere  the 
Guards  debouched  on  Clerkenwell  Green. 

And  at  that  hour  Frederica  was  looking  out  of  the  left 
window  at  Almack's,  waiting  for  Lionel. 


250      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

Hours  and  hours  he  sat  on  his  war-steed  through  that 
long  night — the  rain  descended,  the  wind  was  more 
chilly,  the  dastard  Chartists  would  not  face  the  steel  of 
the  Loyal  Cavaliers  of  the  Horse  Guards  Pink,  but  fled 
at  the  sight  of  our  warriors.    Ah !  'twas  a  piteous  night ! 

Frederica  was  carried  at  daybreak  to  Alycampayne 
House  from  the  ball.  She  had  not  danced  all  that  night : 
she  refused  the  most  eligible  partners,  for  she  could  only 
think  of  her  Cavalier ;  her  Lionel,  who  never  came !  Her 
mamma  marked  her  child's  frenzied  eye  and  hectic  cheek, 
and  shuddered  as  she  put  her  daughter  to  bed,  and  wrote 
a  hurried  note  to  Dr.  L — c — ck. 

At  that  hour,  too,  the  Horse  Guards  Pink  returned 
to  their  barracks.  The  veterans  were  unmoved :  but,  ah 
me!  for  the  recruits!  Lionel  was  in  a  high  fever — two 
nights'  exposure  had  struck  down  the  gallant  boy — he 
was  delirious  two  hours  after  he  was  placed  in  bed! 
"Mamma!  Frederica!"  he  shouted  — 

™  *  yf?  ?f 

Last  Saturday  two  hearses — the  one  bearing  the  helm 
and  arms  of  a  young  warrior,  and  the  escutcheon  of  the 
De  Bootses,  the  other  the  lozenge  of  the  Alycampaynes, 
wound  their  way  slowly  to  Highgate  Cemetery.  Lionel 
and  Frederica  were  laid  in  the  same  grave!  But  how 
much  of  this  agony  might  have  been  spared  if  the  odious 
Chartists  would  but  have  stayed  at  home,  or  if  that 
young  couple  had  taken  from  twelve  to  fourteen  of  Mor- 
ison's  Universal  Pills,  instead  of  the  vile  medicine  with 
which  "  the  Faculty  "  killed  them? 

(June  1848.) 


SCIENCE  AT  CAMBRIDGE 


A* 


MONG  the  new  sciences  which 
are  to  be  taught  at  Cambridge 
University,  and  for  the  teaching  of 
which  eminent  Professors  are  to  be 
appointed,  we  are  informed  that 
H.R.H.  the  Chancellor,  and  the 
Heads,  have  determined  to  create  two 
new  Chairs,  upon  the  applications  of 
the  two  eminent  men  whose  letters  we  subjoin. 


"  To  His  Roil  Highness  the  Chanslor,  and  the  Nobs 
of  the  University  of  Cambridge. 

"  Tom  Spring's. 

"  Sein  perposials  for  astabblishing  new  Purfessur- 
ships  in  the  Univussaty  of  Cambridge  (where  there  is 
litell  enuff  now  lurnt,  as  Evins  knows),  I  beg  leaf  to 
hoffer  myself  to  your  Royl  Ighness  .as  Purfessur  of 
Sulf-defens,  which  signts  I  old  to  be  both  nessary  and 
useful  to  every  young  mann. 

"  I  ave  sean  on  his  entry  into  life  without  knowing 
the  use  of  his  ands,  a  young  chap  fiord  by  a  fellar  \  his 
sighs ;  and  all  for  the  want  of  those  fust  principals  which 
a  few  terms  under  me  would  give  him. 

"  I  ave  sean,  on  the  contry,  many  an  honest  young 
Mann  pervented  from  doing  right  and  knockin  down  a 
raskle  who  insults  a  lady  in  distress,  or  chaughs  3'ou,  or 
anythink,  simply  from  not  knowing  how  to  imploy  them 

251 


252       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

fistis  which  natur  has  endowd  him  with,  and  which  it  is 
manifest  were  not  made  for  nothink. 

'  I  old  that  the  fust  use  of  a  man's  ands  is  to  fight 
with ;  and  that  the  fust  and  most  nessary  duty  of  a  feller 
is  to  know  how  to  defend  his  nob. 

'  I  should  like  to  know  in  some  instanses  whether  all 
your  Algibry  and  Mathamadix,  your  Greik  and  Latn 
and  that,  would  serve  a  young  gent  half  so  well  as  a  good 
nollidge  of  sparring  and  fibbing,  which  I  shall  be  appy 
to  teach  him,  has  also  to  serve  any  Ead  of  any  Ouse  in 
the  Unaversaty. 

'  Peraps  I  could  not  stand  up  before  Dr.  Biggwhigg 
and  Dr.  Squartoes  in  the  Latn  Mathamadics;  but  could 
they  stand  up  to  me  with  the  gloves?  Why,  I  would  wop 
them  with  one  and,  and  ingage  to  make  the  young  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Univussaty  to  do  lickwise. 

'  Therefor  I  propose  to  your  Royal  Ighness  and  the 
Eads  of  Ouses,  to  allow  the  manly  and  trew  English 
Scients  of  Boxint  to  be  took  up  for  honours  by  the  young 
gentlemen  of  Cambridge.  Igsamanations  might  be  eld 
in  the  Sennit  House,  both  vith  and  vithout  the  mufflers, 
it  would  be  a  pretty  site— plesnt  to  parints  (for  what 
sight  can  be  nobler  than  for  a  fond  mother  to  see  a  gal- 
liant  young  feller  pitchin  into  his  man  in  good  style,  or 
taking  his  punishment  like  a  trump?)  and  would  etract 
quanties  of  foringers  and  ladies  to  the  Uniwursaty,  like 
the  Hancient  games  of  the  Roman  athleeks. 

'  The  Cribb  Purfessurship  in  the  branch  of  Matha- 
matacal  Science,  which  I'm  blest  if  it  isn't,  I  purpose  to 
your  Roil  Consideration,  and  ham, 

'  With  the  deepest  respect, 
'  Your  Royal  Highness's  obeadient  to  command, 

"Benjamin  Bendigo." 


SCIENCE  AT  CAMBRIDGE  253 

From  Professor  Soyer 

"  Pall   Mall. 

"Mighty  Prince,  and  Reverend  and  Illustrious 
Gentlemen!— It  has  been  universally  allowed  by  most 
nations,  that  Science  would  be  vain  if  it  did  not  tend  to 
produce  happiness,  and  that  that  science  is  the  greatest 
by  which  the  greatest  amount  of  happiness  is  produced. 

"  I  agree  with  the  poet  Solon  in  this  remark— and  if, 
as  I  have  no  doubt,  it  is  one  which  has  also  struck  the 
august  intelligence  of  your  Royal  Highness— I  beg  to 
ask  with  retiring  modesty,  what  Science  confers  greater 
pleasure  than  that  which  I  have  the  honour  to  profess, 
and  which  has  made  my  name  famous  throughout  the 
world  ? 

"  Eating  is  the  first  business  of  a  man.  If  his  food  is 
unpleasant  to  him,  his  health  suffers,  his  labour  is  not  so 
productive,  his  genius  deteriorates,  and  his  progeny 
dwindles  and  sickens.  A  healthy  digestion,  on  the  other 
hand,  produces  a  healthy  mind,  a  clear  intellect,  a  vigor- 
ous family,  and  a  series  of  inestimable  benefits  to  gen- 
erations yet  unborn:  and  how  can  you  have  a  good  di- 
gestion, I  ask,  without  a  good  dinner?  and  how  have  a 
good  dinner,  without  knowing  how  to  cook  it  ? 

"  May  it  please  your  Royal  Highness  Consort  of  the 
Imperial  Crown  of  England,  and  you  ye  learned  and 
reverend  doctors,  proctors,  provosts,  gyps,  and  common 
sizars  of  the  Royal  University  of  Cambridge,  now  that 
you  are  wisely  resolved  to  enlarge  the  former  narrow 
sphere  of  knowledge  in  which  your  pupils  move— I  ask 
you  at  once,  and  with  unanimity,  to  ordain  that  MY 
Science  be  among  the  new  ones  to  be  taught  to  the  in- 
genuous youth  of  England. 

"  Mine  is  both  a  physical  and  moral  science — physical, 


254      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO      PUNCH" 

it  acts  on  the  health;  moral,  on  the  tempers  and  tastes 
of  mankind.  Under  one  or  other  of  these  heads,  then, 
it  deserves  to  be  taught  in  the  famous  Halls  of  Cam- 
bridge. I  demand  and  humbly  request  that  the  SOYER 
PROFESSORSHIP  of  Culinarious  Science  be  estab- 
lished without  loss  of  time.  And  I  ask  of  your  Imperial 
Highness  and  the  learned  Heads  of  the  University,  what 
knowledge  more  useful  than  that  which  I  possess  and 
profess  could  be  conferred  upon  a  rising  and  ardent 
youth  ? 

'Who  are  the  young  men  of  Cambridge?  They  are 
brought  up  for  the  most  part  to  the  study  of  the  Law  or 
the  Church. 

'  Those  who  have  partaken  of  food  in  the  miserable 
chambers  of  the  law  student,  and  seen  their  cadaverous 
appearance  and  unearthly  voracity,  will  at  once  agree 
with  me  that  they  are  in  a  lamentable  state  as  regards 
eating.    But  it  is  of  the  other  profession  which  I  speak. 

'  I  can  conceive  now  no  person  so  likely  to  become 
eminently  useful  and  beloved  as  an  interesting  young 
ecclesiastic  going  down  to  take  possession  of  his  curacy 
in  a  distant  and  barbarous  province,  where  the  inhabi- 
tants eat  their  meat  raw,  their  vegetables  crude,  and 
know  no  difference  between  a  white  and  a  brown  sauce, 
—  I  say,  most  noble,  mighty,  and  learned  Sirs,  I  can  con- 
ceive of  no  character  more  delightful  than  a  young  cu- 
rate coming  into  such  a  district  after  having  graduated 
honourably  in  MY  science.  He  is  like  Saint  Augustin, 
but  he  bears  a  saucepan  in  his  train,  and  he  endears  the 
natives  to  him  and  to  his  doctrines  by  a  hundred  innocent 
artifices.  In  his  own  humble  home — see  my  Regenerator 
art,  my  kitchen  at  home — he  gives  a  model  of  neatness, 
propriety,  and  elegant  moderation.     He  goes  from  cot- 


SCIENCE  AT  CAMBRIDGE  255 

tage  to  cottage,  improving  the  diet  of  the  poor.  He  fla- 
vours the  labourer's  soup  with  simple  herbs,  and  roasts 
the  stalled  ox  of  the  squire  or  farmer  to  a  turn.  He 
makes  tables  comfortable  which  before  were  sickening; 
families  are  united  who  once  avoided  each  other,  or  quar- 
relled when  they  met ;  health  returns,  which  bad  diet  had 
banished  from  the  cottager's  home ;  children  flourish  and 
multiply,  and  as  they  crowd  round  the  simple  but  in- 
vigorating repast,  bless  the  instructor  who  has  taught 
them  to  prepare  their  meal.  Ah !  honoured  Prince,  and 
exalted  gentlemen,  what  a  picture  do  I  draw  of  clerical 
influence  and  parochial  harmony!  Talk  of  schools,  in- 
deed! I  very  much  doubt  whether  a  school-inspector 
could  make  a  souffle,  or  S.  G.  O.  of  the  Times  could  toss 
a  pancake! 

"And  ah!  gentlemen,  what  a  scene  would  the  exami- 
nation which  I  picture  to  myself  present!  The  Pro- 
fessor enters  the  Hall,  preceded  by  his  casserole  bear- 
ers; a  hundred  furnaces  are  lighted;  a  hundred  elegant 
neophytes  in  white  caps  are  present  behind  them,  exer- 
cising upon  the  roasts,  the  stews,  the  vegetables,  the 
sweets.  A  Board  of  Examiners  is  assembled  at  a  table 
spread  with  damask,  and  the  exercises  of  the  young  men 
are  carried  up  to  them  hot  and  hot.  Who  would  not  be 
proud  to  sit  on  such  a  Board,  and  superintend  the  en- 
deavours of  youth  engaged  in  such  labour?  Blushing, 
the  Senior  Medallist  receives  the  Vice-Chancellor's  com- 
pliment, and  is  crowned  with  a  fillet  by  the  Yeoman 
Bedell;  this — this  I  would  fain  behold  in  the  great,  the 
enlightened,  the  generous,  the  liberal  country  of  my 
adoption ! 

"And  if  ever  British  gratitude  should  erect  a  statue  to 
a  national  benefactor,  I  can  suppose  an  image  of  myself, 


256      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO    "PUNCH" 

the  First  Professor  of  Cookery  in  Cambridge,  to  be  ele- 
vated in  some  conspicuous  situation  in  after  ages,  hold- 
ing out  the  nectar  which  he  discovered,  and  the  sauce  with 
which  he  endowed  the  beloved  country  into  which  he 
came. 

'  Waiting  your  answer  with  respectful  confidence,  I 
am,  of  your  Royal  Highness  and  Gentlemen, 

"  The  profound  Servant, 

"  CORYDON   SOYER." 
{November  1848.) 


THE  GREAT  SQUATTLEBOROUGH 

SOIREE 


OOD   MR.   PUNCH,-I 

am  an  author  bv  trade, 
and  in  confidence  send 
you  my  card,  which 
will  satisfy  you  of  my 
name  and  my  place  of 
business.  If  the  de- 
signer of  the  series  of 
cuts  called  "Authors' 
Miseries "  will  take 
my  case  in  hand,  I  will 
not  ask  to  plead  it  my- 
self; otherwise,  as  it  is 
one  which  concerns 
most  literary  persons, 
and  as  the  annoyance 
of  which  I  complain  may  be  a  source  of  serious  loss  and 
evil  to  them,  I  take  leave  to  cry  out  on  behalf  of  our 
craft. 

The  system  of  oppression  against  which  I  desire  to 
protest,  is  one  which  has  of  late  been  exercised  by  various 
bodies,  in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom— by  the  harmless, 
nay,  most  laudable  Literary  Societies  there  established. 
These,  under  the  name  of  Athenaeums,  Institutes,  Par- 

257 


258      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

thenons,  and  what  not,  meet  together  for  the  purposes 
of  literary  exercitation ;  have  reading-rooms  supplied 
with  magazines,  books,  newspapers,  and  your  own  in- 
valuable miscellany;  and  lecture-rooms,  where  orators, 
and  philosophers,  and  men  of  science  appear  to  instruct 
or  to  amuse.  The  Sea  Serpent,  the  character  of  Hamlet, 
the  royal  orrery  and  dissolving  views,  the  female  charac- 
ters in  Mrs.  Jones's  novels,  &c. — whatever  may  be  the 
subject  of  the  lecturer — I  am  sure  no  friend  to  his  kind 
would  wish  either  to  prevent  that  honest  man  from  get- 
ting his  bread,  or  his  audience  from  listening  to  his  ha- 
rangues. Lecturers  are  not  always  consummately  wise, 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  audiences  should  not  listen  to 
them.  Myself,  Sir,  as  I  walked  down  Holborn  the  other 
day,  I  saw  placarded  (amongst  other  names  far  more 
illustrious)  my  own  name,  in  pretty  much  the  following 
terms:— 

"  L.  A.  HUGGLESTONE 

"  ARE  THE  WRITINGS  OF   HUGGLESTONE  MORAL  OR  IMMORAL? 

"  Professor  Groutage  will  deliver  an  Essay  on  this  subject,  on 
the  25th  instant,  at  the  Philosophical  Arena  and  Psychogym- 
nasium,  Cow  Lane,  Smithfield.  After  the  Lecture,  the  Arena  will 
be  opened  for  free  discussion.     Admission  2f/.,  Children  Id." 

I,  of  course,  did  not  attend,  but  female  curiosity  in- 
duced Mrs.  Hugglestone  to  pay  her  money.  She  re- 
turned home,  Sir,  dissatisfied.  I  am  informed  the  Pro- 
fessor did  not  do  me  justice.  My  writings  are  not 
appreciated  by  Mr.  Groutage  (nor  indeed  by  many  other 
critics ) ,  and  my  poor  Louisa,  who  had  taken  our  little 
James,  who  is  at  home  for  the  Christmas  holidays,  by 
way  of  treat,  came  home  with  mortification  in  her  heart 


THE  SQUATTLEBOROUGH  SOIREE    259 

that  our  Jemmy  should  have  heard  his  father  so  slight- 
ingly spoken  of  by  Groutage,  and  said,  with  tears  in  her 
own  eyes,  that  she  should  like  to  scratch  out  those  of  the 
philosopher  in  question. 

Because  the  Professor  has  but  a  mean  opinion  of  me, 
is  that  any  reason  why  free  discussion  should  not  be  per- 
mitted? Ear  otherwise.  As  Indians  make  fire  with  bits 
of  wood,  blockheads  may  strike  out  sparks  of  truth  in 
the  trituration  of  debate,  and  I  have  little  doubt  that  had 
my  poor  dear  girl  but  waited  for  the  discussion  in  the 
arena,  my  works  would  have  had  their  due,  and  Grout- 
age  got  his  answer.  The  people  may  be  lectured  to  by 
very  stupid  quacks  (perhaps,  Sir,  it  may  have  been  your 
fortune  to  have  heard  one  or  two  of  them)  ;  but,  as  sure 
as  they  are  quacks,  so  sure  they  will  be  discovered  one 
day  or  other,  and  I,  for  my  part,  do  not  care  a  fig  for  the 
opinion  of  the  Professor  of  Cow  Lane.  I  am  putting 
merely  my  own  case  in  illustration  of  the  proposition, 
which  is,  that  public  debates  and  fair  play  of  thought 
among  men  are  good,  and  to  be  encouraged.  Those  who 
like  to  read  better  out  of  a  book,  than  to  listen  to  a  long- 
haired lecturer,  with  his  collars  turned  down  (so  that  his 
jaws  may  wag  more  freely),  those  who  prefer  a  pipe  at 
the  neighbouring  tavern  to  a  debate,  however  stirring,  at 
the  Cow  Lane  Gymnasium,  are  welcome  and  right,  but 
so  are  the  others  on  the  other  side. 

I  will  mention  a  case  which  seems  to  me  in  point.  In 
my  early  days,  my  friend  Huffy,  the  dentist,  with 
myself  and  several  others,  belonged  to  the  Plato  Club, 
meeting  of  Saturday  nights  in  Covent  Garden,  to  discuss 
the  writings  of  that  philosopher,  and  to  have  a  plain  sup- 
per and  a  smoke.  I  and  some  others  used  to  attend 
pretty  regularly,  but  only  at  the  smoking  and  supping 


260      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

part,  which  caused  Huffy  to  say,  with  a  look  of  consid- 
erable scorn,  "that  there  were  some  minds  not  capable 
of  sustaining  or  relishing  a  philosophical  investigation." 
The  fact  was,  we  were  not  anxious  to  hear  Huffy's  opin- 
ions about  Plato  at  all;  and  preferred  scalloped  oysters 
to  that  controversy. 

I  submit  that,  in  this  case,  both  parties  were  right, — 
Huffy  in  indulging  himself  in  Platonic  theories,  and  we 
for  refraining  from  them.  We  doubted  our  lecturer — of 
our  scalloped  oysters  we  were  sure.  We  were  only  scep- 
tics in  this  instance,  not  in  all ;  and  so  in  the  multifarious 
Institutes  throughout  the  country,  where  speechifying  is 
performed,  I  own  I  sometimes  have  doubts  as  to  the 
wholesomeness  of  the  practice.  But  it  is  certain  that  if 
there  may  be  stupid  lectures,  there  may  be  clever  lec- 
tures ;  there  may  be  quacks  or  men  of  genius ;  there  may 
be  knowledge  good  and  sound  acquired;  there  may  be 
but  a  superficial  smattering  and  parrot-like  imitation  of 
a  teacher  who  himself  is  but  a  pretender;  and  also  it  is 
clear  that  people  should  talk,  should  think,  should  read, 
should  have  tea  in  a  social  manner,  and,  calling  the  fid- 
dlers and  their  wives  and  daughters,  have  a  dance  to- 
gether at  the  Parthenon,  Athenaeum,  or  Institute,  until 
they  are  tired,  and  go  home  happy.  And  if  in  a  manu- 
facturing town,  of  course  it  is  good  that  the  master  of  the 
mill  should  join  in  the  sport  in  which  his  hands  are  en- 
gaged ;  or  in  the  country  districts,  that  the  great  man  or 
Squire  should  aid.  For  example,  I  read  last  year  in  the 
Squattleborough  Sentinel,  how  the  heir  of  the  noble 
house  of  Yawny,  the  Honourable  Mr.  Drawleigh,  came 
over  ten  miles  to  Squattleborough  in  the  most  slushy 
weather,  and  delivered  four  lectures  there  on  his  travels 
in  Nineveh,  and  his  measurements  of  the  tombs  of  Baal- 


THE  SQUATTLEBOROUGH  SOIREE     2G1 

bee.  Some  people  fell  asleep  at  these  lectures,  no  doubt, 
but  many  liked  them,  and  Mr.  Drawleigh  was  right  to 
give  them. 

He  represents  the  borough.  His  family  are  time  out 
of  mind  lords  of  the  neighbourhood.  Nothing  is  more 
certain  than  that  the  heir  of  Dozeley  Castle  should  do  his 
utmost  to  give  pleasure  to  his  faithful  constituents  and 
the  children  of  the  quondam  retainers  of  his  race.  It  was 
he  who  set  up  the  Squattleborough  Parthenon,  his  fa- 
ther, Lord  Yawny,  laying  the  first  brick  of  the  edifice; 
the  neighbouring  clergy  and  gentry  attending  and  de- 
livering appropriate  orations,  and  the  library  beginning 
with  two  copies  of  Drawleigh's  own  Travels,  in  morocco 
gilt.  This  is  all  right.  But  the  Squattleborough  Par- 
thenon is  not,  for  this,  "  the  Beacon  of  Truth,  the  Centre 
of  Civilisation,  the  Pharos  in  the  Storm  which  the  trou- 
bled voyager  sees  from  the  dark  waters,  radiating  se- 
renely with  the  Truthful  and  the  Beautiful,"  as  Pro- 
fessor Jowls  said  at  the  Inauguration  Meeting, — the 
Squattleborough  Institution,  I  say,  is  not  in  the  least  like 
this,  but  an  excellent  good  place  enough,  where  every 
man  can  read  the  paper  if  it  is  not  in  hand;  or  get  a 
book  from  the  library,  if  nobody  else  has  engaged  it. 
Let  things  be  called  by  their  names,  Mr.  Punch;  this 
place  at  Squattleborough  is  a  good  literary  club,  and  that 
is  a  good  thing,  and  it  promotes  the  good  fellowship,  and 
aids  the  reading  and  education  of  numbers  of  people 
there;  and  Heaven  send  every  such  scheme  prosperity! 

But  now  the  Squattleborough  folks  are  bent  on  fol- 
lowing the  fashion,  and  having  a  grand  tea-party  at  their 
Institute.  Amongst  others,  I  have  been  favoured  with  a 
card  to  this  party.  The  secretary  writes  in  the  kindest 
manner;  he  says  the  directors  of  the  Institute  are  going 


262       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

to  give  a  grand  soiree,  which  many  noblemen  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  neighbourhood  have  promised  to  attend, 
and  where  they  are  most  anxious  "  to  secure  the  leading 
literary  talent." 

Noblemen  and  Gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood,  a  la 
bonne  heure — and  it  is  very  complimentary,  doubtless,  to 
be  mentioned  amongst  the  leading  literary  talent;  a 
noble  lord,  a  couple  of  most  reverend  prelates,  a  great 
poet,  and  so  forth,  we  are  informed,  are  asked.  But  why 
the  deuce  does  Squattleborough  want  "  to  secure  literary 
talent"?  Gentlemen,  do  you  think  men  of  letters  have 
nothing  to  do  ?  Do  you  go  three  hundred  miles  to  a  tea- 
party,  spend  five  or  six  pounds  on  railroads  and  inns, 
give  up  two  days'  work  and  a  night's  sleep,  at  the  request 
of  people  hundreds  of  miles  away,  of  whom  you  have 
no  earthly  knowledge  ?  There  are  one  or  two  men  of  let- 
ters who,  upon  a  great  occasion,  and  by  a  great  city,  are 
rightly  called  to  help  and  to  speak ;  these  men  are  great 
orators — whom  it  is  a  privilege  for  any  community  to 
hear — but  for  those  whose  gift  does  not  lie  that  way, 
why  drag  them  out  from  their  homes,  or  their  own 
friends,  or  their  desks,  where  their  right  places  are? 

I,  for  instance,  who  write  this,  have  had  a  dozen  invi- 
tations within  the  last  few  months.  I  should  have  had  to 
travel  many  thousands  of  miles — to  spend  ever  so  many 
scores  of  pounds — to  lose  weeks  upon  weeks  of  time — 
and  for  what?  In  order  to  stand  on  a  platform,  at  this 
town  or  that,  to  be  pointed  out  as  the  author  of  So-and- 
so,  and  to  hear  Lord  This,  or  the  Archbishop  of  That, 
say  that  Knowledge  was  Power,  that  Education  was  a 
benefit,  that  the  free  and  enlightened  people  of  What- 
d'ye-call-'em  were  daily  advancing  in  Civilisation,  and 
that  the  learning  of  the  ingenuous  arts,  as  the  Latin  bard 


THE  SQUATTLEBOROUGH  SOIREE    263 

had  observed,  refined  our  manners,  and  mitigated  their 
ferocity. 

Advance,  civilise,  cease  to  be  ferocious,  read,  meet,  be 
friendly,  be  happy, ye  men  of  Squattleborough,and  other 
places.  I  say  amen  to  all  this;  but  if  you  can  read  for 
yourselves  it  is  the  best.  If  you  can  be  wise  without 
bragging  and  talking  so  much  about  it,  you  will  lose  none 
of  your  wisdom ;  and  as  you  and  your  wives  and  daugh- 
ters will  do  the  dancing  at  your  own  ball,  if  you  must 
have  a  talk  likewise,  why  not  get  your  native  lions  to 
roar? 

Yours,  dear  Mr.  Punch,  most  respectfully, 

Leontius  Androcles  Hugglestone. 

(December  1848.) 


PARIS  REVISITED 


BY  AN  OLD   PARIS  MAN 


EVERED     PUNCH,  - 

When  your  multitudinous 
readers  are  put  in  posses- 
sion of  this  confidential 
note,  Paris  will  be  a  week 
older ;  and  who  knows  what 
may  happen  in  that  time? 
—  Louis  Napoleon  may  be 
Emperor,  or  Louis  Blanc 
may  be  King,  or  the  Revo- 
lution that  was  to  have 
broken  out  last  Monday 
may  be  performed  on  the 
next ; — meanwhile,  permit 
me,  Sir,  to  lay  at  your  feet 
the  few  brief  observations 
which  I  have  made  during 
a  twenty-four  hours'  resi- 
dence  in   this    ancient    and  once  jovial  place. 

It  was  on  the  stroke  of  eleven  at  night,  Sir,  on  Wed- 
nesday, the  31st  of  January,  that  a  traveller  might  have 
been  perceived  plunging  rapidly  through  the  shingles  of 
Dover,  towards  a  boat  which  lay  in  waiting  there,  to  bear 
him  and  other  exiles  to  a  steamer  which  lay  in  the 
offing,  her  slim  black  hull  scarcely  visible  in  the  mists  of 

264 


PARIS  REVISITED  265 

night,  through  which  her  lights,  of  a  green  and  ruby  col- 
our, burned  brilliantly.  The  moon  was  looking  out  on 
the  fair  and  tranquil  scene,  the  stars  were  twinkling 
in  a  friendly  manner,  the  ancient  cliffs  of  Albion  loomed 
out  of  the  distant  grey.  But  few  lights  twinkled  in  the 
deserted  houses  of  the  terraces  along  the  beach.  The 
bathing  machines  were  gone  to  roost.  There  was  scarce 
a  ripple  on  the  sluggish  wave,  as  the  boat  with  The  Trav- 
eller on  board  went  grinding  over  the  shingle,  and  we 
pulled  to  the  ship.  In  fact,  the  waters  of  Putney  were 
not  more  calm  than  those  of  the  Channel,  and  the  night 
was  as  mild  as  a  novel  by  the  last  lady  of  fashion. 

Having  paid  a  shilling  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
boat,  the  traveller  stepped  on  board  the  deck  of  the  f  a- 
•mous  steamer  "  Vivid,"  commanded  by  the  intrepid  and 
polite  Captain  Smithett ;  and  the  Mails  presently  coming 
off  in  their  boat  with  the  light  at  its  bows,  away  went  the 
"  Vivid  "  at  the  rate  of  seventeen  miles  an  hour,  and  we 
were  off  Calais  almost  before  the  second  cigar  was 
smoked,  or  we  had  had  near  time  enough  to  think  of 
those  beloved  beings  whom  we  left  behind. 

Sir,  there  was  not  water  enough  in  the  Calais  harbour 
—  so  a  bawling  pilot  swore,  who  came  up  to  us  in  his  lug- 
ger ;  and  as  she  came  plunging  and  bumping  against  the 
side  of  the  "  Vivid,"  Captain  Smithett  caused  the  mail- 
bags  first,  and  afterwards  the  passengers,  to  be  pitched 
into  her,  and  we  all  rolled  about  amongst  the  ropes  and 
spars  on  deck,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  infernal  bawling 
and  yelling  from  the  crew  of  Frenchmen,  whose  howls 
and  contortions,  as  they  got  their  sail  up,  and  otherwise 
manoeuvred  the  vessel,  could  be  equalled  by  men  of  no 
other  nation.  Some  of  us  were  indignant  at  being  called 
upon  to  pay  three  francs  for  a  ride  of  a  mile  in  this  vessel, 


266      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

and  declared  we  would  write  to  the  Times;  but  there  was 
One  Traveller  who  had  not  heard  that  noise  of  French- 
men for  four  years,  and  their  noise  was  to  his  soul  as  the 
music  of  bygone  years.  That  Man,  Sir,  is  perpetually 
finding  something  ludicrous  in  what  is  melancholy,  and 
when  he  is  most  miserable  is  always  most  especially 
jocular. 

Sir,  it  was  the  first  night  of  the  new  Postal  arrange- 
ment, by  which  the  Mails  are  made  to  go  from  Calais 
and  not  from  Boulogne,  as  heretofore.  Our  goods  were 
whisked  through  the  Custom  House  with  a  rapidity  and 
a  courtesy  highly  creditable  to  Frenchmen,  and  an  en- 
thusiastic omnibus-driver,  lashing  his  horses  furiously, 
and  urging  them  forward  with  shrieks  and  howls, 
brought  us  to  the  Saint  Pierre  Station  of  the  railway, 
where  we  took  our  places  in  the  train.  'Twas  two  in  the 
bleak  winter's  morn.  The  engine  whistled — the  train  set 
forth — we  plunged  into  the  country,  away,  away,  away! 

At  eleven  o'clock,  Sir,  we  dashed  into  the  enceinte  of 
the  forts  that  guard  the  metropolis  from  foreign  inva- 
sion, and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  we  were  in  that  dear 
old  Paris  that  One  amongst  us  had  not  seen  for  four 
years. 

How  is  the  old  place?  How  does  it  look?  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet? — do 
the  roses  still  bloom  by  the  calm  Bendemeer?  Have  we 
not  all  a  right  to  be  sentimental  when  we  revisit  the 
haunts  of  our  youth,  and  to  come  forward,  like  the  Count 
in  the  Opera,  as  soon  as  the  whips  have  ceased  cracking, 
and  sing  "  Cari  luoghi"?  Living  constantly  with  your 
children  and  the  beloved  and  respectable  Mrs.  Punch, 
you  don't  see  how  tall  Jacky  and  Tommy  grow,  and  how 
old —  (for  the  truth  must  out,  and  she  is  by  no  means  im- 


PARIS  REVISITED  267 

proved  in  looks)  — how  old  and  plain  your  dear  lady  has 
become.  So  thought  I,  as  I  once  more  caught  sight  of 
my  beloved  Lutetia,  and  trembled  to  see  whether  years 
had  affected  her. 

Sir,  the  first  thing  I  saw  on  entering  the  station,  was 
that  it  was  crammed  with  soldiers — little  soldiers,  with 
red  breeches  and  grey  capotes,  with  little  caps,  bristling 
with  uncommonly  fierce  beards,  large  hairy  tufts  (those 
of  the  carroty  hue  most  warlike  and  remarkable)  that 
looked  as  if  worn  in  bravado,  as  by  the  American  war- 
riors, and  growing  there  convenient  to  cut  their  heads  off 
if  you  could.  These  bearded  ones  occupied  the  whole 
place;  arms  were  piled  in  the  great  halls  of  the  Debar- 
cadere;  some  fatigued  braves  were  asleep  in  the  straw, 
pots  were  cooking,  drums  were  drubbing,  officers  and 
non-commissioned  officers  bustling  about.  Some  of  us 
had  qualms,  and  faintly  asked  was  the  Revolution  be- 
gun? 'No,"  the  omnibus  conductors  said,  laughing, 
"  everything  was  as  quiet  as  might  be:  "  and  we  got  into 
their  vehicles  and  drove  away.  Everything  was  quiet. 
Only,  Sir,  when  you  go  to  a  friend's  house  for  a  quiet 
dinner,  and  before  he  lets  you  into  his  door  he  put  his 
head  and  a  blunderbuss  out  of  window  and  asks  "  Who 
is  there?" — of  course  some  nervous  persons  may  be  ex- 
cused for  feeling  a  little  dashed. 

Sir,  the  omnibus  drove  rapidly  to  the  hotel  whence 
this  is  written,  with  a  very  scanty  cargo  of  passengers. 
We  hardly  had  any  in  the  railway;  we  did  not  seem  to 
take  up  any  on  the  line.  Nothing  seemed  to  be  moving 
on  the  road ;  in  the  streets  there  was  not  much  more  life. 
What  has  become  of  the  people  who  used  to  walk  here? — 
of  the  stalls  and  the  carts  and  the  crowds  about  the  wine- 
shops, and  the  loungers,  and  the  cries  of  the  busy  throng? 


268      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

Something  has  stricken  the  place.  Nobody  is  about :  or 
perhaps  there  is  a  review,  or  a  grand  fete  somewhere, 
which  calls  the  people  away  as  we  are  passing  through  a 
deserted  quarter. 

As  soon  as  I  was  dressed,  I  walked  into  the  town 
through  the  ancient  and  familiar  arcades  of  the  Rue 
Castiglione  and  so  forth.  The  shops  along  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli  are  dreary  and  shabby  beyond  belief.  There  was 
nobody  walking  in  the  Tuileries.  The  palace  that  used 
to  look  so  splendid  in  former  days,  stretches  out  its 
great  gaunt  wings  and  looks  dismally  battered  and 
bankrupt.  In  the  Carrousel  there  were  more  troops, 
with  drumming,  and  trumpeting,  and  artillery.  Troops 
are  perpetually  passing.  Just  now  I  saw  part  of  a 
regiment  of  Mobiles  marching  out  with  a  regiment  of 
the  line.  Squads  of  the  young  Mobiles  are  everywhere 
in  the  streets:  pale,  debauched,  daring-looking  little 
lads,  one  looks  at  them  with  curiosity  and  interest,  as 
one  thinks  that  those  beardless  young  fellows  have 
dashed  over  barricades,  and  do  not  care  for  death  or 
devil. 

I  worked  my  way  to  the  Palais  Roval,  where  I  have 
been  any  time  since  1814;  and  oh,  Mr.  Punch,  what  a 
change  was  there!  I  can't  tell  you  how  dreary  it  looks, 
that  once  cheerfullest  garden  in  the  world.  The  roses 
do  not  bloom  there  any  more;  or  the  nightingales  sing. 
All  the  song  is  gone  and  the  flowers  have  withered. 
Sir,  you  recollect  those  shops  where  the  beautiful 
dressing-gowns  used  to  hang  out,  more  splendid  and 
gorgeous  than  any  tulips,  I  am  sure.  You  remember 
that  wonderful  bonnet-shop  at  the  corner  of  the  Galerie 
Vitree,  where  there  were  all  sorts  of  miraculous  caps  and 
hats;    bonnets    with    the    loveliest    wreaths    of    spring 


PARIS  REVISITED  269 

twined  round  them;  bonnets  with  the  most  ravishing 
plumes  of  marabouts,  ostriches,  and  birds  of  paradise— 

"  Once  in  their  bores 
Birds  of  rare  plume 
Sate  in  their  bloom," 

as  an  elegant  poet  of  your  own  sings — they  are  all  gone, 
Sir;  the  birds  are  flown,  the  very  cages  are  shut  up  and 
many  of  them  to  let — the  Palais  Royal  is  no  more  than 
a  shabby  bazaar.  Shutters  are  up  in  many  of  the  shops 
— you  see  nobody  buying  in  the  others — soldiers  and  a 
few  passengers  go  about  staring  at  the  faded  ornaments 
in  the  windows  and  the  great  blank  daguerreotype  pic- 
tures, which  line  the  walls  as  dismal  as  death.  There 
is  nobody  there :  there  are  not  even  English  people  walk- 
ing about,  and  staring  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets. 
Has  ruin  begun,  then,  and  is  Paris  going  after  Rome, 
Carthage,  Palmyra,  Russell  Square,  Kilkenny,  and 
other  famous  capitals?  In  the  glass  galleries  there 
were  not  a  dozen  loungers,  and  the  shops  facing  the 
Palais  Royal  proper  are  closed  down  the  whole  line. 

As  for  the  square  of  the  palace  itself,  which  always 
used  to  look  so  cheerful — where  there  used  to  be,  vou 
remember,  piles  of  comfortable  wood,  giving  ideas  of 
warmth  and  hospitality  in  the  splendid  rooms  within — 
that  too  is,  to  the  last  degree,  shabby  and  forlorn.  I 
saw  soldiers  looking  out  of  the  windows,  and  more — 
a  couple  of  thousands  of  them,  I  should  say — were  in 
the  court.  Many  of  them  with  their  coats  off,  and 
showing  very  dingy  under-vestments,  were  cooking 
about  the  court;  there  they  formed  in  squads  about  the 
square,  without  their  arms,  in  their  slouching  grev 
coats;   and,   drums  and  bugles  beginning  to  make  a 


270      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

noise,  a  small  crowd  of  blackguards  and  children 
issued  somehow  from  some  of  the  dark  recesses  and 
black  passages  about  the  place,  and  formed  a  sort  of 
audience  for  the  unromantic  military  spectacle.  A  tree 
of  Liberty  is  planted  in  the  square ;  the  first  I  have  seen, 
and  the  most  dismal  and  beggarly  emblem  I  ever  set 
eyes  on.  A  lean  poplar,  with  scarce  any  branches,  a 
wretched  furcated  pole  with  some  miserable  rags  of 
faded  cotton,  and,  it  may  be,  other  fetishes  dangling 
from  it  here  and  there.  O  Liberty!  What  the  deuce 
has  this  poplar  or  those  rags  to  do  with  you? 

My  sheet  is  full — the  post  hour  nigh;  but  I  have  one 
word  of  rather  a  cheerful  and  consolatory  nature  to 
say  after  all  this  despondency.  Sir,  I  happened  in  my 
walk,  and  from  a  sense  of  duty,  just  to  look  in  at  the 
windows  of  Chevet,  Vefour,  and  the  Trois  Freres. 
The  show  at  all  is  very  satisfactory  indeed.  The  game 
looked  very  handsome  at  Chevet's,  and  the  turbots  and 
pates  uncommonly  fine.  I  never  saw  finer  looking 
truffles  than  those  in  the  baskets  in  Vefour's  window; 
and  the  display  of  fruit  at  the  Freres  would  make  an 
anchorite's  mouth  water.  More  of  this,  however,  anon. 
There  are  some  subjects  that  are  not  to  be  treated  in  a 
trifling  manner  by  your  obedient  servant  and  con- 
tributor, 

Folkstone  Canterbury. 

{February  1849.) 


TWO    OR    THREE    THEATRES    AT    PARIS 

F  one  may  read  the  history  of  a  people's 
morals  in  its  jokes,  what  a  queer  set  of 
reflections  the  philosophers  of  the  twen- 
tieth century  may  make  regarding  the 
characters  of  our  two  countries  in  perus- 
ing the  waggeries  published  on  one  side 
and  the  other!  When  the  future 
inquirer  shall  take  up  your  volumes,  or  a  bundle  of 
French  plays,  and  contrast  the  performance  of  your 
booth  with  that  of  the  Parisian  theatre,  he  won't  fail 
to  remark  how  different  they  are,  and  what  different 
objects  we  admire  or  satirise.  As  for  your  morality, 
Sir,  it  does  not  become  me  to  compliment  you  on  it 
before  your  venerable  face;  but  permit  me  to  say,  that 
there  never  were  before  published  in  this  world  so  many 
volumes  that  contained  so  much  cause  for  laughing,  and 
so  little  for  blushing;  so  many  jokes,  and  so  little  harm. 
Why,  Sir,  say  even  that  your  modesty,  which  astonishes 
me  more  and  more  every  time  I  regard  you,  is  calcu- 
lated, and  not  a  virtue  naturally  inherent  in  you,  that 
very  fact  would  argue  for  the  high  sense  of  the  public 
morality  among  us.  We  will  laugh  in  the  company  of 
our  wives  and  children:  we  will  tolerate  no  indecorum: 
we  like  that  our  matrons  and  girls  should  be  pure. 

Excuse  my  blushes,  Sir;  but  permit  me  to  say  that  I 
have  been  making  a  round  of  the  little  French  theatres, 

271 


272       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

and  have  come  away  amazed  at  the  cynicism  of  the  peo- 
ple. Sir,  there  are  certain  laws  of  morality  (as  believed 
by  us  at  least)  for* which  these  people  no  more  care  than 
so  many  Otaheitans.  They  have  been  joking  against 
marriage  ever  since  writing  began — a  pretty  man  you 
would  be,  Mr.  Punch,  if  you  were  a  Frenchman;  and 
a  pretty  moral  character  would  be  the  present  spotless 
wife  of  your  affections,  the  chaste  and  immaculate 
Judy  ! 

After  going  to  these  theatres,  seeing  the  houses  all 
full,  and  hearing  the  laughter  ringing  through  every 
one  of  them,  one  is  puzzled  to  know  what  the  people 
respect  at  all,  or  what  principle  they  do  believe  in.  They 
laugh  at  religion,  they  laugh  at  chastity,  they  laugh  at 
royalty,  they  laugh  at  the  Republic  most  pitilessly  of 
all ;  when  France,  in  the  piece  called  the  '  Foire  aux 
Idees,"  says  she  is  dying  under  nine  hundred  doctors, 
to  each  of  whom  she  is  paying  a  daily  fee  of  five-and- 
twenty  francs,  there  was  a  cheer  of  derision  through 
the  house.  The  Communists  and  their  schemes  were 
hooted  with  a  still  more  hearty  indignation;  there  is  a 
general  smash  and  bankruptcy  of  faith;  and,  what 
struck  me  perhaps  most  as  an  instance  of  the  amazing 
progress  of  the  national  atheism,  is  to  find  that  the 
theatre  audiences  have  even  got  to  laugh  at  military 
glory.  They  have  a  song  in  one  of  the  little  plays, 
which  announces  that  France  and  Co.  have  closed  that 
branch  of  their  business ;  that  thev  wish  to  stav  at  home 

*  mi 

and  be  quiet,  and  so  forth;  and,  strange  to  say,  even  the 
cry  against  perfidious  England  has  died  out;  and  the 
only  word  of  abuse  I  read  against  our  nation  was  in  a  vol- 
ume of  a  novel  by  poor  old  Paul  de  Kock,  who  saluted 
the  Lion  with  a  little  kick  of  his  harmless  old  heels. 


TWO  OR  THREE  THEATRES  AT  PARIS  273 

Is  the  end  of  time  coming,  Mr.  Punch,  or  the  end 
of  Frenchmen?  and  don't  they  believe,  or  love,  or  hate 
anything  any  more?  Sir,  these  funny  pieces  at  the 
plays  frightened  me  more  than  the  most  bloodthirsty 
melodrama  ever  did,  and  inspired  your  humble  servant 
with  a  melancholy  which  is  not  to  be  elicited  from  the 
most  profound  tragedies.  There  was  something  awful, 
infernal  almost,  I  was  going  to  say,  in  the  gaiety  with 
which  the  personages  of  these  satiric  dramas  were  danc- 
ing and  shrieking  about  among  the  tumbled  ruins  of 
ever  so  many  ages  and  traditions.  I  hope  we  shall  never 
have  the  air  of  "  God  save  the  King  "  set  to  ribald  words 
amongst  us — the  mysteries  of  our  religion,  or  any  man's 
religion,  made  the  subject  of  laughter,  or  of  a  worse 
sort  of  excitement.  In  the  famous  piece  of  '  La  Pro- 
priete  c'est  le  Vol,"  we  had  the  honour  to  see  Adam  and 
Eve  dance  a  polka,  and  sing  a  song  quite  appropriate 
to  the  costume  in  which  they  figured.  Everybody 
laughed  and  enjoyed  it — neither  Eve  nor  the  audience 
ever  thought  about  being  ashamed  of  themselves;  and, 
for  my  part,  I  looked  with  a  vague  anxiety  up  at  the 
theatre  roof,  to  see  that  it  was  not  falling  in,  and  shall 
not  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Paris  goes  the  way  of 
certain  other  cities  some  day.  They  will  go  on,  this 
pretty  little  painted  population  of  lorettes  and  baya- 
deres, singing  and  dancing,  laughing  and  feasting, 
fiddling  and  flirting,  to  the  end,  depend  upon  it.  But 
enough  of  this  theme:  it  is  growing  too  serious — let  us 
drop  the  curtain.  Sir,  at  the  end  of  the  lively  and 
ingenious  piece  called  the  '  Foire  aux  Idees,"  there 
descends  a  curtain,  on  which  what  is  supposed  to  be  a 
huge  newspaper  is  painted,  and  which  is  a  marvel  of 
cvnicism. 


274      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO    "PUNCH" 

I  have  been  to  see  a  piece  of  a  piece  called  the 
'  Mysteres  de  Londres,"  and  most  awful  mysteries  they 
are  indeed.  We  little  know  what  is  going  on  around 
and  below  us,  and  that  London  may  be  enveloped  in  a 
vast  murderous  conspiracy,  and  that  there  may  be  a 
volcano  under  our  very  kitchens,  which  may  blow  us 
all  to  perdition  any  day.  You  perhaps  are  not  aware, 
Sir,  that  there  lived  in  London,  some  three  or  four  years 
ago,  a  young  Grandee  of  Spain  and  Count  of  the 
Empire,  the  Marquis  of  Rio  Santo  by  name,  who  was 
received  in  the  greatest  society  our  country  can  boast  of, 
and  walked  the  streets  of  the  metropolis  with  orders  on 
his  coat  and  white  light  pantaloons  and  a  cocked-hat. 
This  Marquis  was  an  Irishman  by  birth,  and  not  a  mere 
idle  votary  of  pleasure,  as  you  would  suppose  from  his 
elegant  personal  appearance.  Under  the  mask  of  fash- 
ion and  levity  he  hid  a  mighty  design ;  which  was  to  free 
his  country  from  the  intolerable  tyranny  of  England. 
And  as  England's  distress  is  Ireland's  opportunity,  the 
Marquis  had  imagined  a  vast  conspiracy,  which  should 
plunge  the  former  into  the  most  exquisite  confusion  and 
misery,  in  the  midst  of  which  his  beloved  Erin  might  get 
her  own.  For  this  end  his  lordship  had  organised  a  pro- 
digious band  of  all  the  rogues,  thieves,  and  discontented 
persons  in  the  metropolis,  who  were  sworn  into  a  mys- 
terious affiliation,  the  members  of  which  were  called  the 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  Night."  Nor  were  these  gentle- 
folks of  the  lower  sort  merely — your  swell  mob,  your 
Saint  Giles's  men,  and  vulgar  cracksmen.  Many  of 
the  principal  merchants,  jewellers,  lawyers,  physicians, 
were  sworn  of  the  Society.  The  merchants  forged  bank- 
notes, and  uttered  the  same,  thus  poisoning  the  stream 
of  commerce  in  our  great  commercial  city;  the  jewellers 


TWO  OR  THREE  THEATRES  AT  PARIS  275 

sold  sham  diamonds  to  the  aristocracy,  and  led  them  on 
to  ruin;  the  physicians  called  in  to  visit  their  patients, 
poisoned  such  as  were  enemies  of  the  good  cause,  by 
their  artful  prescriptions;  the  lawyers  prevented  the 
former  from  being  hanged;  and  the  whole  realm  being 
plunged  into  anarchy  and  dismay  by  these  manoeuvres, 
it  was  evident  that  Ireland  would  greatly  profit.  This 
astonishing  Marquis,  who  Mas  supreme  chief  of  the 
Society,  thus  had  his  spies  and  retainers  everywhere. 
The  police  was  corrupted,  the  magistrature  tampered 
with — Themis  was  bribed  on  her  very  bench;  and  even 
the  Beefeaters  of  the  Queen  (one  shudders  as  one 
thinks  of  this)  were  contaminated,  and  in  the  service 
of  the  Association. 

Numbers  of  lovely  women  of  course  were  in  love  with 
the  Marquis,  or  otherwise  subjugated  by  him,  and  the 
most  beautiful  and  innocent  of  all  was  disguised  as  a 
Countess,  and  sent  to  Court  on  a  Drawing-room  day, 
with  a  mission  to  steal  the  diamonds  off  the  neck  of 
Lady  Brompton,  the  special  favourite  of  his  Grace 
Prince  Dimitri  Tolstoy,  the  Russian  Ambassador. 

Sir,  his  Grace  the  Russian  Ambassador  had  only  lent 
these  diamonds  to  Lady  B.,  that  her  ladyship  might 
sport  them  at  the  Drawing-room.  The  jewels  were 
really  the  property  of  the  Prince's  Imperial  Master. 
What,  then,  must  have  been  his  Excellency's  rage  when 
the  brilliants  were  stolen!  The  theft  was  committed  in 
the  most  artful  manner.  Lady  Brompton  came  to 
Court,  her  train  held  up  by  her  jockei.  Suzanna  (the 
Marquis's  emissary)  came  to  Court  with  her  train  simi- 
larly borne  by  her  page.  The  latter  was  an  experi- 
enced pickpocket;  the  pages  were  changed;  the  jewels 
were  taken  off  Lady  Brompton's  neck  in  the  ante- 


276      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

chamber  of  the  palace;  and  his  Grace  Prince  Tolstoy 
was  in  such  a  rage  that  he  menaced  war  on  the  part  of 
his  Government  unless  the  stones  were  returned! 

Beyond  this  point  I  confess,  Sir,  I  did  not  go,  for 
exhausted  nature  would  bear  no  more  of  the  Mysteries 
of  London,  and  I  came  away  to  my  hotel.  But  I  wish 
you  could  have  seen  the  Court  of  Saint  James,  the 
Beefeaters,  the  Life-Guards,  the  Heralds-of-Arms  in 
their  tabards  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  have  heard 
the  ushers  on  the  stairs  shouting  the  names  of  the 
nobility  as  they  walked  into  the  presence  of  the  Sov- 
ereign! I  caught  those  of  the  Countess  of  Derby,  the 
Lady  Campbell,  the  Lord  Somebody,  and  the  Honour- 
able Miss  Trevor,  after  whom  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury came.  Oh,  such  an  Archbishop!  He  had  a 
velvet  trencher  cap  profusely  ornamented  with  black 
fringe,  and  a  dress  something  like  our  real  and  ven- 
erated prelates,  with  the  exception  of  the  wig,  which 
was  far  more  curly  and  elegant;  and  he  walked  by, 
making  the  sign  of  the  Cross  with  his  two  forefingers, 
and  blessing  the  people. 

I  hear  that  the  author  of  this  great  work,  Monsieur 
Paul  Feval,  known  for  some  time  to  the  literature  of 
his  country  as  Sir  Francis  Trollope,  passed  a  whole 
week  in  London  to  make  himself  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  our  manners;  and  here,  no  doubt,  he  saw  Coun- 
tesses whose  trains  were  carried  by  jockeys;  Lords 
going  to  Court  in  full-bottomed  wigs;  and  police 
magistrates  in  policemen's  coats  and  oilskin  hats,  with 
white  kerseymere  breeches  and  silk  stockings  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  the  rank  and  file.  How  well  the 
gentlemen  of  Bow  Street  would  look  in  it!  I  recom- 
mend it  to  the  notice  of  Mr.  Punch. 


TWO  OR  THREE  THEATRES  AT  PARIS  277 

These,  Sir,  are  all  the  plays  which  I  have  as  yet  been 
able  to  see  in  this  town,  and  I  have  the  honour  of 
reporting  upon  them  accordingly.  Whatever  they  may 
do  with  other  pieces,  I  don't  think  that  our  dramatists 
will  be  disposed  to  steal  these. 

{February  1849.) 


ON  SOME  DINNERS  AT  PARIS 


OME  few  words  about  dinners, 
my  dear  friend,  I  know  your 
benevolent  mind  will  expect. 
A  man  who  comes  to  Paris 
without  directing  his  mind  to 
dinners,  is  like  a  fellow  who 
travels  to  Athens  without  car- 
ing to  inspect  ruins,  or  an 
individual  who  goes  to  the 
Opera,  and  misses  Jenny  Lind's 
singing.  No,  I  should  be  ungrateful  to  that  appetite 
with  which  Nature  has  bountifully  endowed  me — to 
those  recollections  which  render  a  consideration  of  the 
past  so  exquisite  an  enjoyment  to  me — were  I  to  think 
of  coming  to  Paris  without  enjoying  a  few  quiet  even- 
ings at  the  Trois  Freres,  alone,  with  a  few  dishes,  a 
faithful  waiter  who  knows  me  of  old,  and  my  own 
thoughts;  undisturbed  by  conversation,  or  having  to 
help  the  soup  or  carve  the  turkey  for  the  lady  of  the 
house;  by  the  exertion  of  telling  jokes  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  company;  by  the  ennui  of  a  stupid 
neighbour  at  your  side,  to  whom  you  are  forced  to 
impart  them;  by  the  disgust  of  hearing  an  opposition 
wag  talk  better  than  yourself,  take  the  stories  with 
which  you  have  come  primed  and  loaded  out  of  your 
very  mouth,  and  fire  them  off  himself,  or  audaciously 

278 


ON  SOME  DINNERS  AT  PARIS       279 

bring  forward  old  Joe  Millers,  and  get  a  laugh  from 
all  the  company,  when  your  own  novelties  and  neatest 
impromptus  and  mots  pass  round  the  table  utterly  dis- 
regarded. 

I  rejoiced,  Sir,  in  my  mind,  to  think  that  I  should 
be  able  to  dine  alone;  without  rivals  to  talk  me  out, 
hosts  or  ladies  to  coax  and  wheedle,  or  neighbours  who, 
before  my  eyes  (as  they  often  have  done) ,  will  take  the 
best  cutlet  or  favourite  snipe  out  of  the  dish,  as  it  is 
handed  round,  or  to  whom  you  have  to  give  all  the 
breast  of  the  pheasant  or  capon,  when  you  carve  it. 

All  the  way  in  the  railroad,  and  through  the  tedious 
hours  of  night,  I  whiled  away  such  time  as  I  did  not 
employ  in  sleeping,  or  in  thinking  about  Miss  Br-wn 
(who  felt,  I  think,  by  the  way,  some  little  pang  in  part- 
ing with  me,  else  why  was  she  so  silent  all  night,  and 
why  did  she  apply  her  pocket-handkerchief  so  con- 
stantly to  her  lovely  amethyst  eyes?)— all  the  way  in 
the  railroad,  I  say,  when  not  occupied  by  other  thoughts, 
I  amused  the  tedium  of  the  journey  by  inventing  little 
bills  of  fare  for  one,  — solitary  Barmecide  banquets,— 
which  I  enjoyed  in  spirit,  and  proposed  to  discuss  bod- 
ily on  my  arrival  in  the  Capital  of  the  Kitchen. 

"Monsieur  will  dine  at  the  table-d'lwte?"  the  laquais 
de  place  said  at  the  hotel,  whilst  I  was  arranging  my 
elegant  toilette  before  stepping  forth  to  renew  an  ac- 
quaintance with  our  beloved  old  city.  An  expression 
of  scornful  incredulity  shot  across  the  fine  features  of 
the  person  addressed  by  the  laquais  de  place.  My  fine 
fellow,  thought  I,  do  you  think  I  am  come  to  Paris  in 
order  to  dine  at  a  table-d'hote?— to  meet  twenty-four 
doubtful  English  and  Americans  at  an  ordinary? 
"Lucullus  dines  with  Lucullus  to-day,  sir;"  which,  as 


280      CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  "PUNCH" 

the  laquais  de  place  did  not  understand,  I  added,  "  I 
never  dine  at  table- d 'hot e ,  except  at  an  extremity." 

I  had  arranged  in  my  mind  a  little  quiet  week  of 
dinners.  Twice  or  thrice,  thinks  I,  I  will  dine  at  the 
Freres,  once  at  Very's,  once  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris.  If 
my  old  friend  Voisin  opposite  the  Assomption  has  some 
of  the  same  sort  of  Bordeaux  which  we  recollect  in  1844, 
I  will  dine  there  at  least  twice.  Philippe's,  in  the  Rue 
Montorgueil,  must  be  tried,  which,  they  say,  is  as  good 
as  the  Rocher  de  Cancale  used  to  be  in  our  time: 
and  the  seven  days  were  chalked  out  already,  and  I  saw 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  breakfast  a  la  fourchette 
at  some  of  the  other  places  which  I  had  in  my  mind,  if  I 
wished  to  revisit  all  my  old  haunts. 

To  a  man  living  much  in  the  world,  or  surrounded  by 
his  family,  there  is  nothing  so  good  as  this  solitude  from 
time  to  time — there  is  nothing  like  communing  with 
your  own  heart,  and  giving  a  calm  and  deliberate  judg- 
ment upon  the  great  question — the  truly  vital  question, 
I  may  say — before  you.  What  is  the  use  of  having 
your  children,  who  live  on  roast  mutton  in  the  nursery, 
and  think  treacle-pudding  the  summit  of  cookery,  to  sit 
down  and  take  the  best  three-fourths  of  a  perdreau 
truffe  with  you?  What  is  the  use  of  helping  your  wife, 
who  doesn't  know  the  difference  between  sherry  and 
madeira,  to  a  glass  of  priceless  Romanee  or  sweetly 
odoriferous  Chateau  Lafitte  of  '42?  Poor  dear  soul! 
slie  would  be  as  happy  with  a  slice  of  the  children's  joint, 
and  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  evening.  She  takes  them  when 
you  are  away.  To  give  fine  wine  to  that  dear  creature 
is  like  giving  pearls  to — to  animals  who  don't  know  their 
value. 

What  I  like,  is  to  sit  at  a  restaurant  alone,  after  hav- 


ON  SOME  DINNERS  AT  PARIS       281 

ing  taken  a  glass  of  absinthe  in  water,  about  half -an-hour 
previous,  to  muse  well  over  the  carte,  and  pick  out  some 
little  dinner  for  mvself ;  to  converse  with  the  sommelier 
confidentially  about  the  wine— a  pint  of  Champagne, 
say,  and  a  bottle  of  Bordeaux,  or  a  bottle  of  Burgundy, 
not  more,  for  your  private  drinking.  He  goes  out  to 
satisfy  your  wishes,  and  returns  with  the  favourite  flask 
in  a  cradle,  very  likely.  Whilst  he  is  gone,  comes  old 
Antoine— who  is  charmed  to  see  Monsieur  de  retour; 
and  vows  that  you  rajeunissez  tons  les  ans— with  a  plate 
of  oysters— dear  little  juicy  green  oysters  in  their  upper 
shells,  swimming  in  their  sweet  native  brine — not  like 
your  great  white  flaccid  natives  in  England,  that  look 
as  if  they  had  been  fed  on  pork:  and  ah!  how  kindly 
and  pretty  that  attention  is  of  the  two  little  plates 
of  radishes  and  butter,  which  they  bring  you  in,  and 
with  which  you  can  dally  between  the  arrival  of  the 
various  dishes  of  your  dinner;  they  are  like  the  delicate 
symphonies  which  are  played  at  the  theatre  between  the 
acts  of  a  charming  comedy.  A  little  bread-and-butter, 
a  little  radish, — you  crunch  and  relish;  a  little  radish,  a 
little  piece  of  bread-and-butter — you  relish  and  crunch — 
when  lo !  up  goes  the  curtain,  and  Antoine  comes  in  with 
the  entree  or  the  roast. 

I  pictured  all  this  in  my  mind  and  went  out.  I  will  not 
tell  any  of  my  friends  that  I  am  here,  thought  I.  Sir, 
in  five  minutes,  and  before  I  had  crossed  the  Place  Ven- 
dome,  I  had  met  five  old  acquaintances  and  friends,  and 
in  an  hour  afterwards  the  arrival  of  your  humble  ser- 
vant was  known  to  all  our  old  set. 

My  first  visit  was  for  Tom  Dash,  with  whom  I  had 
business.  That  friend  of  my  youth  received  me  with 
the  utmost  cordiality:  and  our  business  transacted  and 


282       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

our  acquaintances  talked  over  ( four  of  them  I  had  seen, 
so  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  I  should  call  on  them 
and  on  the  rest),  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  go  forth 
and  pay  visits,  and  that  on  my  return  Tom  and  I  should 
dine  somewhere  together.  I  called  upon  Brown,  upon 
Jones,  upon  Smith,  upon  Robinson,  upon  our  old 
Paris  set,  in  a  word,  and  in  due  time  returned  to  Tom 
Dash. 

"Where  are  we  to  dine,  Tom?"  says  I.  'What  is 
the  crack  restaurant  now  ?  I  am  entirely  in  your  hands ; 
and  let  us  be  off  early  and  go  to  the  play  afterwards." 

''Oh,  hang  restaurants,"  says  Tom — "I'm  tired  of 
'em;  we  are  sick  of  them  here.  Thompson  came  in  just 
after  you  were  gone,  and  I  told  him  you  were  coming, 
and  he  will  be  here  directly  to  have  a  chop  with  me." 

There  was  nothing  for  it.  I  had  to  sit  down  and  dine 
with  Thompson  and  Tom  Dash,  at  the  latter's  charges 
— and  am  bound  to  say  that  the  dinner  was  not  a  bad 
one.  As  I  have  said  somewhere  before,  and  am  proud 
of  being  able  to  say,  I  scarcely  recollect  ever  to  have  had 
a  bad  dinner. 

But  of  what  do  you  think  the  present  repast  was  com- 
posed? Sir,  I  give  you  my  honour,  we  had  a  slice  of  sal- 
mon and  a  leg  of  mutton,  and  boiled  potatoes,  just  as 
they  do  in  my  favourite  Baker  Street. 

"Dev'lish  good  dinner,"  says  Thompson,  covering 
the  salmon  with  lots  of  Harvev  sauce — and  cayenne 
pepper,  from  Fortnum  and  Mason's. 

"Donnez  du  sherry  a  Monsieur  Canterburv,"  savs 

fc'   ■  WW 

Tom  Dash  to  Francois  his  man.  "  There's  porter  or 
pale  ale  if  any  man  likes  it." 

They  poured  me  out  sherry ;  I  might  have  had  porter 
or  pale  ale  if  I  liked :  I  had  leg  of  mutton  and  potatoes, 


OX  SOME  DIXXERS  AT  PARIS       283 

and  finished  dinner  with  Stilton  cheese:   and  it  was  for 
this  that  I  have  revisited  my  dear  Paris. 

'  Thank  you,"  says  I  to  Dash,  cutting  into  the  mutton 
with  the  most  bitter  irony.  "  This  is  a  dish  that  I  don't 
remember  ever  having  seen  in  England;  but  I  tasted 
pale  ale  there,  and  won't  take  any  this  evening,  thank 
you.  Are  we  going  to  have  port  wine  after  dinner?  or 
could  you  oblige  me  with  a  little  London  gin-and- 
water?" 

Tom  Dash  laughed  his  mighty  laugh;  and  I  will  say 
we  had  not  port  wine,  but  claret,  fit  for  the  repast  of  a 
pontiff,  after  dinner,  and  sat  over  it  so  late  that  the  the- 
atre was  impossible,  and  the  first  day  was  gone,  and 
might  as  well  have  been  passed  in  Pump  Court  or  Pall 
Mall,  for  all  the  good  I  had  out  of  it. 

But,  Sir,  do  you  know  what  had  happened  in  the 
morning  of  that  day  during  which  I  was  paying  the 
visits  before  mentioned? 

Robinson,  my  very  old  friend,  pressed  me  so  to  come 
and  dine  with  him,  and  fix  my  dav,  that  I  could  not  re- 
fuse,  and  fixed  Friday. 

Brown,  who  is  very  rich,  and  with  whom  I  had  had  a  • 
difference,  insisted  so  upon  our  meeting  as  in  old  times, 
that  I  could  not  refuse;  and  so  being  called  on  to  ap- 
point my  own  day — I  selected  Sunday. 

Smith  is  miserably  poor,  and  it  would  offend  him  and 
Mrs.  Smith  mortally  that  I  should  dine  with  a  rich  man. 
and  turn  up  my  nose  at  his  kind  and  humble  table.  I  was 
free  to  name  any  day  I  liked,  and  so  I  chose  Monday. 

Meanwhile,  our  old  friend  Jones  had  heard  that  I  had 
agreed  to  dine  with  Brown,  with  whom  he,  too,  was  at 
variance,  and  he  offered  downright  to  quarrel  with  me 
unless  I  gave  him  a  day:  so  I  fixed  Thursday. 


284       CONTRIBUTIONS  TO   "PUNCH" 

'  I  have  but  Saturday,"  says  I,  with  almost  tears  in 
my  eyes. 

'  Oh,  I  have  asked  a  party  of  the  old  fellows  to  meet 
you,"  cries  out  Tom  Dash;  "and  made  a  dinner  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion." 

And  this,  Sir,  was  the  fact.  This  was  the  way,  Sir, 
that  I  got  my  dinners  at  Paris.  Sir,  at  one  house  I  had 
boiled  leg  of  mutton  and  turnips,  at  another  beefsteak; 
and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,  at  two  I  had  mock- 
turtle  soup!  In  this  manner  I  saw  Paris.  This  was 
what  my  friends  called  welcoming  me — we  drank 
sherry;  we  talked  about  Mr.  Cobden  and  the  new  flnan- 
cial  reform;  I  was  not  allowed  to  see  a  single  French- 
man, save  one,  a  huge  athletic  monster,  whom  I  saw  at  a 
club  in  London  last  year,  who  speaks  English  as  well  as 
you,  and  who  drank  two  bottles  of  port  wine  on  that 
very  night  for  his  own  share.  I  offended  mortally  sev- 
eral old  friends  with  whom  I  didn't  dine,  and  I  might 
as  well  have  been  sitting  under  your  mahogany  tree  in 
Fleet  Street,  for  all  of  Paris  that  I  saw. 

I  have  the  honour  to  report  my  return  to  this  country, 
and  to  my  lodgings  in  Piccadilly,  and  to  remain 

Your  very  obedient  servant  and  contributor, 

Folkstone  Canterbury. 

P.S.  —  I  stop  the  post  to  give  the  following  notice 

from  the  Constitutionnel:— "  Ladv  Jane  Grey  (femme 

du  Chancelier  de  l'Echiquier)  vient  de  donner  le  jour  a 

deux  jumeaux.      Sa  sante  est  aussi  satisfaisante  que 

possible." 

(March  1849.) 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE 

OR,  THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  A  GENTLEMAN  IN  SEARCH  OF  A 

MAN-SERVANT 


^FORE  my  wife's  dear  mother,  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain Budge,  came  to  live  with  us, — 
which  she  did  on  occasion  of  the  birth 
of  our  darling  third  child,  Albert,  named 
in  compliment  to  a  gracious  Prince,  and 
now  seven  and  a  half  years  of  age, — our  establishment 
was  in  rather  what  you  call  a  small  way,  and  we  only 
had  female  servants  in  our  kitchen. 

I  liked  them,  I  own.  I  like  to  be  waited  on  bv  a  neat- 
handed  Phillis  of  a  parlour-maid,  in  a  nice  fitting  gown, 
and  a  pink  ribbon  to  her  cap :  and  I  do  not  care  to  deny 
that  I  liked  to  have  my  parlour-maids  good-looking. 
Not  for  any  reason  such  as  jealousy  might  suggest— 
such  reasons  I  scorn;  but  as,  for  a  continuance  and  for 
a  harmless  recreation  and  enjoyment,  I  would  much 
rather  look  out  on  a  pretty  view  of  green  fields  and  a 
shining  river,  from  my  drawing-room  window,  than  upon 
a  blank  wall,  or  an  old-clothesman's  shop ;  so  I  am  free 
to  confess  I  would  choose  for  preference  a  brisk,  rosy, 
good-natured,  smiling  lass  to  put  my  dinner  and  tea 
before  me  on  the  table,  rather  than  a  crooked,  black- 
muzzled  frump,  with  a  dirty  cap  and  black  hands.    I  say 

285 


286      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

I  like  to  have  nice-looking  people  about  me ;  and  when  I 
used  to  chuck  my  Anna  Maria  under  the  chin,  and  say  that 
was  one  of  the  reasons  for  which  I  married  her,  I  warrant 
you  Mrs.  H.  was  not  offended;  and  so  she  let  me  have 
my  harmless  way  about  the  parlour-maids.  Sir,  the  only 
way  in  which  we  lost  our  girls  in  our  early  days  was  by 
marriage.  One  married  the  baker,  and  gives  my  boy, 
Albert,  gingerbread,  whenever  he  passes  her  shop;  one 
became  the  wife  of  Policeman  X.,  who  distinguished 
himself  by  having  his  nose  broken  in  the  Chartist  riots; 
and  a  third  is  almost  a  lady,  keeping  her  one-horse  car- 
riage, and  being  wife  to  a  carpenter  and  builder. 

Well,  Mrs.  Captain  Budge,  Mrs.  H.'s  mother,  or 
"  Mamma,"  as  she  insists  that  I  should  call  her — and  I 
do  so,  for  it  pleases  her  warm  and  affectionate  nature — 
came  to  stop  for  a  few  wreeks,  on  the  occasion  of  our 
darling  Albert's  birth,  Anno  Domini  1842;  and  the  child 
and  its  mother  being  delicate,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  stayed  to 
nurse  them  both,  and  so  has  remained  with  us,  occupying 
the  room  which  used  to  be  my  study  and  dressing-room 
ever  since.  When  she  came  to  us,  we  may  be  said  to  have 
moved  in  a  humble  sphere, y'yl.  in  Bernard  Street,  Found- 
ling Hospital,  which  we  left  four  years  ago  for  our  pres- 
ent residence,  Stucco  Gardens,  Pocklington  Square. 
And  up  to  the  period  of  Mrs.  Captain  B.'s  arrival,  we 
were,  as  I  say,  waited  upon  in  the  parlour  by  maids ;  the 
rough  below-stairs  work  of  knife  and  shoe-cleaning  be- 
ing done  by  Grundsell,  our  greengrocer's  third  son. 

But  though  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  say  a  word 
against  my  mother-in-law,  who  has  a  handsome  sum  to 
leave,  and  who  is  besides  a  woman  all  self-denial,  with 
her  every  thought  for  our  good;  yet  I  think  that  without 
Mamma  my  wife  would  not  have  had  those  tantrums, 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  287 

may  I  call  them,  of  jealousy,  which  she  never  exhibited 
previously,  and  which  she  certainly  began  to  show  very 
soon  after  our  dear  little  scapegrace  of  an  Albert  was 
born.  We  had  at  that  time,  I  remember,  a  parlour  ser- 
vant, called  Emma  Buck,  who  came  to  us  from  the  coun- 
try, from  a  Doctor  of  Divinity's  family,  and  who  pleased 
my  wife  very  well  at  first,  as  indeed  she  did  all  in  her 
power  to  please  her.  But  on  the  very  day  Anna  Maria 
came  downstairs  to  the  drawing-room,  being  brought 
down  in  these  very  arms,  which  I  swear  belong  to  as 
faithful  a  husband  as  anv  in  the  Citv  of  London,  and 
Emma  bringing  up  her  little  bit  of  dinner  on  a  tray,  I 
observed  Anna  Maria's  eyes  look  uncommon  savage  at 
the  poor  girl,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  looking  away  the  whole 
time,  on  to  whose  neck  my  wife  plunged  herself  as  soon 
as  the  girl  had  left  the  room;  bursting  out  into  tears  and 
calling  somebody  a  viper. 

'Hullo,"  says  I,  "my  beloved,  what  is  the  matter? 
Where's  the  viper?  I  didn't  know  there  were  any  in  Ber- 
nard Street"  (for  I  thought  she  might  be  nervous  still, 
and  wished  to  turn  off  the  thing,  whatever  it  might  be, 
with  a  pleasantry) .    "  Who  is  the  serpent? ': 

'  That — that — woman,"  gurgles  out  Mrs.  H.,  sobbing 
on  Mamma's  shoulder,  and  Mrs.  Captain  B.  scowling 
sadly  at  me  over  her  daughter. 

'What,  Emma?'  I  asked,  in  astonishment;  for  the 
girl  had  been  uncommonly  attentive  to  her  mistress,  mak- 
ing her  gruels  and  things,  and  sitting  up  with  her,  besides 
tending  my  eldest  daughter,  Emily,  through  the  scarlet 
fever. 

'  Emma !  don't  sav  Emma  in  that  cruel  audacious  way, 
Marmaduke — Mr.  Ho — o — obson,"  says  my  wife  (for 
such  are  my  two  names  as  given  me  by  my  godfathers 


288       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

and  my  fathers) .  '  You  call  the  creature  by  her  Chris- 
tian name  before  my  very  face!  " 

'  Oh,  Hobson,  Hobson! "  says  Mrs.  Captain  B.,  wag- 
ging her  head. 

'Confound  it" — ("Don't  swear,"  says  Mamma)  — 
'  Confound  it,  my  love,"  says  I,  stamping  my  foot,  "  you 
wouldn't  have  me  call  the  girl  Buck,  Buck,  as  if  she  was 
a  rabbit?  She's  the  best  girl  that  ever  was:  she  nursed 
Emily  through  the  fever ;  she  has  been  attentive  to  you ; 
she  is  always  up  when  you  want  her — " 

'  Yes;  and  when  you-oo-oo  come  home  from  the  club, 
Marmaduke,"  my  wife  shrieks  out,  and  falls  again  on 
Mamma's  shoulder,  who  looks  me  in  the  face  and  nods 
her  head  fit  to  drive  me  mad.  I  come  home  from  the 
club,  indeed!  Wasn't  I  forbidden  to  see  Anna  Maria? 
Wasn't  I  turned  away  a  hundred  times  from  my  wife's 
door  by  Mamma  herself,  and  could  I  sit  alone  in  the  din- 
ing-room (for  my  eldest  two,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  were  at 
school)  — alone  in  the  dining-room,  where  that  very 
Emma  would  have  had  to  wait  upon  me? 

Not  one  morsel  of  chicken  would  Anna  Maria  eat. 
( She  said  she  dared  to  say  that  woman  would  poison  the 
egg-sauce).  She  had  hysterical  laughter  and  tears,  and 
was  in  a  highly  nervous  state,  a  state  as  dangerous  for 
the  mother  as  for  the  darling  baby,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  re- 
marked justly;  and  I  was  of  course  a  good  deal  alarmed, 
and  sent,  or  rather  went  off,  for  Boker,  our  medical  man. 
Boker  saw  his  interesting  patient,  said  that  her  nerves 
were  highly  excited,  that  she  must  at  all  sacrifices  be  kept 
quiet,  and  corroborated  Mrs.  Captain  B.'s  opinion  in 
every  particular.  As  we  walked  downstairs  I  gave  him  a 
hint  of  what  was  the  matter,  at  the  same  time  requesting 
him  to  step  into  the  back-parlour,  and  there  see  me  take 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  289 

an  affidavit  that  I  was  as  innocent  as  the  blessed  baby 
just  born,  and  named  but  three  days  before  after  his 
Royal  Highness  the  Prince. 

'  I  know,  I  know,  my  good  fellow,"  says  Boker,  pok- 
ing me  in  the  side  (for  he  has  a  good  deal  of  fun) ,  "  that 
you  are  innocent.  Of  course  you  are  innocent.  Every- 
body is,  you  sly  dog.  But  what  of  that?  The  two  wo- 
men have  taken  it  into  their  heads  to  be  jealous  of  your 
maid  — and  an  uncommonly  pretty  girl  she  is  too,  Hob- 
son,  you  sly  rogue,  you.  And  were  she  a  Vestal  Virgin, 
the  girl  must  go  if  you  want  to  have  any  peace  in  the 
house ;  if  you  want  your  wife  and  the  little  one  to  thrive 
— if  you  want  to  have  a  quiet  house  and  family.  And 
if  you  do,"  says  Boker,  looking  me  in  the  face  hard, 
"though  it  is  against  my  own  interest,  will  you  let  me 
give  you  a  bit  of  advice,  old  boy? " 

We  had  been  bred  up  at  Merchant  Taylors  together, 
and  had  licked  each  other  often  and  often,  so  of  course  I 
let  him  speak. 

'  Well,  then,"  says  he,  "  Hob  my  boy,  get  rid  of  the 
old  dragon — the  old  mother-in-law.  She  meddles  with 
my  prescriptions  for  your  wife;  she  doctors  the  infant 
in  private :  you'll  never  have  a  quiet  house  or  a  quiet  wife 
as  long  as  that  old  Catamaran  is  here." 

'  Boker,"  says  I,  "  Mrs.  Captain  Budge  is  a  lady  wrho 
must  not,  at  least  in  my  house,  be  called  a  Catamaran. 
She  has  seven  thousand  pounds  in  the  funds,  and  always 
says  Anna  Maria  is  her  favourite  daughter."  And  so 
we  parted,  not  on  the  best  of  terms,  for  I  did  not  like 
Mamma  to  be  spoken  of  disrespectfully  by  any  man. 

What  was  the  upshot  of  this?  When  Mamma  heard 
from  Anna  Maria  (who  weakly  told  her  what  I  had  let 
slip  laughing,  and  in  confidence  to  my  wife)  that  Boker 


290       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

had  called  her  a  Catamaran,  of  course  she  went  up  to 
pack  her  trunks,  and  of  course  we  apologised,  and  took 
another  medical  man.  And  as  for  Emma  Buck,  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  that  she,  poor  girl,  should  go  to  the 
right  about ;  my  little  Emily,  then  a  child  of  ten  years  of 
age,  crying  bitterly  at  parting  with  her.  The  child  very 
nearly  got  me  into  a  second  scrape,  for  I  gave  her  a  sov- 
ereign to  give  to  Emma,  and  she  told  her  grandmamma : 
who  would  have  related  all  to  Anna  Maria,  but  that  I 
went  down  on  my  knees,  and  begged  her  not.  But  she 
had  me  in  her  power  after  that,  and  made  me  wince  when 
she  would  say,  "  Marmaduke,  have  you  any  sovereigns 
to  give  away?  "  &c. 

After  Emma  Buck  came  Mary  Blackmore,  whose 
name  I  remember  because  Mrs.  Captain  B.  called  her 
Mary  Blackymore  (and  a  dark  swarthy  girl  she  was,  not 
at  all  good-looking  in  my  eyes) .  This  poor  Mary  Black- 
more  was  sent  about  her  business  because  she  looked 
sweet  on  the  twopenny  postman,  Mamma  said.  And  she 
knew,  no  doubt,  for  (my  wife  being  downstairs  again 
long  since)  Mrs.  B.  saw  everything  that  was  passing  at 
the  door  as  she  regularly  sat  in  the  parlour  window. 

After  Blackmore  came  another  girl  of  Mrs.  B's  own 
choosing:  own  rearing,  I  may  say,  for  she  was  named 
Barbara,  after  Mamma,  being  a  soldier's  daughter,  and 
coming  from  Portsea,  where  the  late  Captain  Budge  was 
quartered,  in  command  of  his  company  of  marines.  Of 
this  girl  Mrs.  B.  would  ask  questions  out  of  the  "  Cat- 
echism "  at  breakfast,  and  my  scapegrace  of  a  Tom 
would  burst  out  laughing  at  her  blundering  answers. 
But  from  a  demure  country  lass,  as  she  was  when  she 
came  to  us,  Miss  Barbara  very  quickly  became  a  dressy, 
impudent-looking  thing;  coquetting  with  the  grocer's 


HOBSOX'S  CHOICE  291 

and  butcher's  boys,  and  wearing  silk  gowns  and  flowers 
in  her  bonnet  when  she  went  to  church  on  Sunday  even- 
ings, and  actually  appearing  one  day  with  her  hair  in 
bands,  and  the  next  day  in  ringlets.  Of  course  she  was 
setting  her  cap  at  me,  Mamma  said,  as  I  was  the  only 
gentleman  in  the  house,  though  for  my  part  I  declare  I 
never  saw  the  set  of  her  cap  at  all,  or  knew  if  her  hair 
was  straight  or  curly.  So,  in  a  word,  Barbara  was  sent 
back  to  her  mother,  and  Mrs.  Budge  didn't  fail  to  ask  me 
whether  I  had  not  a  sovereign  to  give  her  ? 

After  this  girl  we  had  two  or  three  more  maids,  whose 
appearance  or  history  it  is  not  necessary  to  particularise 
—the  latter  was  uninteresting,  let  it  to  suffice  to  say;  the 
former  grew  worse  and  worse.  I  never  saw  such  a  wo- 
man as  Grizzel  Scrimgeour,  from  Berwick-upon-Tweed, 
who  was  the  last  that  waited  on  us,  and  who  was  enough, 
I  declare,  to  curdle  the  very  milk  in  the  jug  as  she  put 
it  down  to  breakfast. 

At  last  the  real  aim  of  my  two  conspirators  of  wo- 
men came  out.  "  Marmaduke,"  Mrs.  Captain  B.  said  to 
me  one  morning,  after  this  Grizzel  had  brought  me  an 
oniony  knife  to  cut  the  bread;  "  women  servants  are  very 
well  in  their  way,  but  there  is  always  something  disagree- 
able with  them,  and  in  families  of  a  certain  rank  a  man- 
servant commonly  waits  at  table.  It  is  proper:  it  is 
decent  that  it  should  be  so  in  the  respectable  classes :  and 
we  are  of  those  classes.  In  Captain  Budge's  lifetime  we 
were  never  without  our  groom,  and  our  tea-boy.  My 
dear  father  had  his  butler  and  coachman,  as  our  family 
has  had  ever  since  the  Conquest;  and  though  you  are 
certainly  in  business,  as  your  father  was  before  you,  yet 
your  relations  are  respectable:  your  grandfather  was  a 
dignified  clergyman  in  the  West  of  England ;  you  have 


292      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

connections  both  in  the  army  and  navy,  who  are  mem- 
bers of  Clubs  and  known  in  the  fashionable  world; 
and  (though  I  shall  never  speak  to  that  man  again) 
remember  that  your  wife's  sister  is  married  to  a 
barrister  who  lives  in  Oxford  Square,  and  goes  the 
Western  Circuit.  He  keeps  a  man-servant.  They 
keep  men-servants,  and  I  do  not  like  to  see  my  poor 
Anna  Maria  occupying  an  inferior  position  in  society  to 
her  sister  Frederica,  named  after  the  Duke  of  York 
though  she  was,  when  his  Royal  Highness  reviewed  the 
Marines  at  Chatham;  and  seeing  some  empty  bottles 
carried  from  the  table,  said — " 

"  In  mercy's  name,"  says  I,  bursting  out,  for  when 
she  came  to  this  story  Mamma  used  to  drive  me  frantic, 
"have  a  man,  if  you  like,  ma'am,  and  give  me  a  little 
peace." 

"  You  needn't  swear,  Mr.  Hobson,"  she  replied  with 
a  toss  of  her  head ;  and  when  I  went  to  business  that  day 
it  was  decided  by  the  women  that  our  livery  should  be  set 
up. 


II 


ETER  GRUNDSELL,  the  knife- 
boy,  the  youth  previously  men- 
tioned as  son  of  my  greengrocer 
and  occasional  butler,  a  demure 
little  fair-haired  lad,  who  had  re- 
ceived his  education  in  a  green 
baize  coat  and  yellow  leather 
breeches  at  Saint  Blaize's  Char- 
ity School,  was  our  first  foot-boy 
or  page.  Mamma  thought  that  a 
full-sized  footman  might  occasion 
inconvenience  in  the  house,  and 
would  not  be  able  to  sleep  in  our 
back  attic  (which  indeed  was 
scarcely  six  feet  long),  and  she 
had  somehow  conceived  a  great  fondness  for  this  youth 
with  his  pale  cheeks,  blue  eyes  and  yellow  hair,  who  sang 
the  sweetest  of  all  the  children  in  the  organ-loft  of  Saint 
Blaize's.  At  five  o'clock  every  morning,  winter  and 
summer,  that  boy,  before  he  took  a  permanent  engage- 
ment in  my  establishment,  slid  down  our  area  steps,  of 
which  and  of  the  kitchen  entrance  he  was  entrusted  with 
the  key.  He  crept  up  the  stairs  as  silent  as  a  cat, 
and  carried  off  the  boots  and  shoes  from  the  doors 
of  our  respective  apartments  without  disturbing  one 
of  us:   the   knives   and   shoes   of   my   domestic   circle 

293 


294      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

were  cleaned  as  brilliant  as  possible  before  six  o'clock; 
he  did  odd  jobs  for  the  cook;  he  went  upon  our 
messages  and  errands;  he  carried  out  his  father's  po- 
tatoes and  cauliflowers;  he  attended  school  at  St. 
Blaize's;  he  turned  his  mother's  mangle: — there  was  no 
end  to  the  work  that  boy  could  do  in  the  course  of  a 
day,  and  he  was  the  most  active,  quiet,  humble  little 
rogue  you  ever  knew.  Mrs.  Captain  Budge  then  took 
a  just  liking  to  the  lad,  and  resolved  to  promote  him  to 
the  situation  of  page.  His  name  was  changed  from 
Peter  to  Philip,  as  being  more  genteel ;  and  a  hat  with  a 
gold  cord  and  a  knob  on  the  top  like  a  gilt  Brussels 
sprout,  and  a  dark  green  suit,  with  a  white  galloon  stripe 
down  the  trouser-seams,  and  a  bushel  of  buttons  on  the 
jacket,  were  purchased  at  an  establishment  in  Holborn, 
off  the  dummy  at  the  door.  Mamma  is  a  great  big 
strong  woman,  with  a  high  spirit,  who,  I  should  think, 
could  protect  herself  very  well;  but  when  Philip  had 
his  livery,  she  made  him  walk  behind  her  regularly,  and 
never  could  go  to  church  without  Philip  after  her  to 
carry  the  books,  or  out  to  tea  of  an  evening  without  that 
boy  on  the  box  of  the  cab, 

Mrs.  Captain  B.  is  fond  of  good  living  herself;  and, 
to  do  her  justice,  always  kept  our  servants  well.  I 
don't  meddle  with  the  kitchen  affairs  myself,  having  my 
own  business  to  attend  to;  but  I  believe  my  servants 
had  as  much  meat  as  they  could  eat,  and  a  great  deal 
more  than  was  good  for  them.  They  went  to  bed  pretty 
soon,  for  ours  was  an  early  house,  and  when  I  came  in 
from  the  City  after  business,  I  was  glad  enough  to  get 
to  bed;  and  they  got  up  rather  late,  for  we  are  all  good 
sleepers  (especially  Mrs.  B.,  who  takes  a  heavy  supper, 
which  I  never  could  indulge  in ) ,  so  that  they  were  never 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  295 

called  upon  to  leave  their  beds  much  before  seven  o'clock, 
and  had  their  eight  or  nine  good  hours  of  rest  every 
night. 

And  here  I  cannot  help  remarking,  that  if  these  folks 
knew  their  luck— sua  si  bona  norint,  as  we  used  to  say  at 
Merchant  Taylors ;  if  they  remembered  that  they  are  fed 
as  well  as  lords,  that  they  have  warm  beds  and  plenty 
of  sleep  in  them;  that,  if  they  are  ill,  they  have  fre- 
quently their  master's  doctor ;  that  they  get  good  wages, 
and  beer,  and  sugar  and  tea  in  sufficiency :  they  need  not 
be  robbing  their  employers  or  taking  fees  from  trades- 
men, or  grumbling  at  their  lot.  My  friend  and  head- 
clerk  Raddles  has  a  hundred  and  twenty  a  year  and  eight 
children;  the  Reverend  Mr.  Bittles,  our  esteemed  curate 
at  Saint  Blaize's,  has  the  same  stipend  and  family  of 
three ;  and  I  am  sure  that  both  of  those  gentlemen  work 
harder,  and  fare  worse,  than  any  of  the  servants  in  my 
kitchen,  or  my  neighbour's.  And  I,  who  have  seen  that 
dear,  good  elegant  angel  x  of  a  Mrs.  Bittles  ironing  her 
husband's  bands  and  neckcloths;  and  that  uncommonly 
shy  supper  of  dry  bread  and  milk-and-water,  which  the 
Raddles  family  take  when  I  have  dropped  in  to  visit 
them  at  their  place  (Glenalvon  Cottage,  Magnolia  Road 
South,  Camden  Town),  on  my  walks  from  Hampstead 
on  a  Sunday  evening:  — I  say,  I,  who  have  seen  these 
people,  and  thought  about  my  servants  at  home,  on  the 
same  July  evening,  eating  buttered  toast  round  the 
kitchen  fire— have  marvelled  how  resigned  and  con- 
tented some  people  were,  and  how  readily  other  people 
grumbled. 

1I  say  this,  because  I  think  so,  and  will  not  be  put  down.  My  wife  says 
she  thinks  there  is  nothing  in  Mrs.  Bittles,  and  Mamma  says  she  gives  her- 
self airs,  and  has  a  cast  in  her  eye;  but  a  more  elegant  woman  I  have  never 
seen,  no,  not  at  a  Mansion  House  ball,  or  the  Opera.— M.  H. 


296      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

Well,  then,  this  young  Philip  being  introduced  into 
my  family,  and  being  at  that  period  as  lean  as  a  whip- 
ping-post, and  as  contented  with  the  scraps  and  broken 
victuals  which  the  cook  gave  him,  as  an  alderman  with 
his  turtle  and  venison,  now  left  his  mother's  mangle — 
on  which  or  on  a  sack  in  his  father's  potato-bin,  he  used 
to  sleep — and  put  on  my  buttons  and  stripes,  waited  at 
my  own  table,  and  took  his  regular  place  at  that  in  the 
kitchen,  and  occupied  a  warm  bed  and  three  blankets 
in  the  back  attic. 

The  effect  of  the  three  (or  four  or  five,  is  it?— for  the 
deuce  knows  how  many  they  take)  meals  a  day  upon 
the  young  rascal  was  speedily  evident  in  his  personal 
appearance.  His  lean  cheeks  began  to  fill  out,  till  they 
grew  as  round  and  pale  as  a  pair  of  suet  dumplings. 
His  dress  from  the  little  dummy  in  Holborn  ( a  bargain 
of  Mrs.  Captain  B.'s),  which  was  always  a  tight  fit, 
grew  tighter  and  tighter;  as  if  his  meals  in  the  kitchen 
were  not  sufficient  for  any  two  Christians,  the  little 
gormandiser  levied  contributions  upon  our  parlour 
dishes.  And  one  day  my  wife  spied  him  with  his  mouth 
smeared  all  over  with  our  jam-pudding;  and  on  another 
occasion  he  came  in  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  hardly 
able  to  speak,  from  the  effects  of  a  curry  on  which  he 
had  laid  hands  in  the  hall,  and  which  we  make  (from  the 
Nawob  of  Mulligatawney's  own  receipt)  remarkably 
fine,  and  as  hot,  as  hot — as  the  dog-days. 

As  for  the  crockery,  both  the  common  blue  and  the 
stone  china  Mamma  gave  us  on  our  marriage  (and 
which,  I  must  confess,  I  didn't  mind  seeing  an  end  of, 
because  she  bragged  and  bothered  so  about  it),  the 
smashes  that  boy  made  were  incredible.  The  handles 
of  all  the  tea-cups  went;  and  the  knobs  off  the  covers 


HOBSONS  CHOICE 


297 


of  the  vegetable  dishes;  and  the  stems  of  the  wine- 
glasses; and  the  china  punchbowl  my  Anna  Maria  was 
christened  in.  And  the  days  he  did  not  break  the  dishes 
on  the  table,  he  spilt  the  gravy  on  the  cloth.  Lord! 
Lord!  how  I  did  wish  for  my  pretty  neat  little  parlour- 
maid again.  But  I  had  best  not,  for  peace'  sake,  en- 
large again  upon  that  point. 

And  as  for  getting  up,  I  suppose  the  suppers  and 
dinners  made  him  sleepy  as  well  as  fat;  certainly  the 
little  rascal  for  the  first  week  did  get  up  at  his  usual 


298      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

hour:  then  he  was  a  little  later:  at  the  end  of  a  month 
he  came  yawning  downstairs  after  the  maids  had  long 
been  at  work:  there  was  no  more  polishing  of  boots  and 
knives :  barely  time  to  get  mine  clean,  and  knives  enough 
ready  for  me  and  my  wife's  breakfast  (Mrs.  Captain  B. 
taking  hers  and  her  poached  eggs  and  rashers  of  bacon 
in  bed)  — in  time  enough,  I  say,  for  my  breakfast,  before 
I  went  into  the  City. 

Many  and  many  a  scolding  did  I  give  that  boy,  until, 
my  temper  being  easy  and  the  lad  getting  no  earthly 
good  from  my  abuse  of  him,  I  left  off — from  sheer 
weariness  and  a  desire  for  a  quiet  life.  But  Mamma, 
to  do  her  justice,  was  never  tired  of  giving  it  to  him, 
and  rated  him  up  hill  and  down  dale.  It  was  "  Philip, 
you  are  a  fool;"  ''Philip,  you  dirty  wretch; ':  'Philip, 
you  sloven,"  and  so  forth,  all  dinner-time.  But  still, 
when  I  talked  of  sending  him  off,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  al- 
ways somehow  pleaded  for  him  and  insisted  upon  keep- 
ing him.  Well.  My  weakness  is  that  I  can't  say  no 
to  a  woman,  and  Master  Philip  stayed  on,  breaking  the 
plates  and  smashing  the  glass,  and  getting  more  mis- 
chievous and  lazv  every  day. 

At  last  there  came  a  crash,  which,  though  it  wasn't  in 
my  crockery,  did  Master  Philip's  business.  Hearing 
a  great  laughter  in  the  kitchen  one  evening,  Mamma 
(who  is  a  good  housekeeper,  and  does  not  like  her  ser- 
vants to  laugh  on  any  account)  stepped  down, — and 
what  should  she  find? — Master  Philip,  mimicking  her 
to  the  women  servants,  and  saying,  "  Look,  this  is  the 
way  old  Mother  Budge  goes!"  And  pulling  a  napkin 
round  his  head  ( something  like  the  Turkish  turban  Mrs. 
Captain  B.  wears) ,  he  began  to  speak  as  if  in  her  way, 
saying,  "  Now,  Philip,  you  nasty,  idle,  good-for-nothing, 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  299 

lazy,  dirty  boy  you,  why  do  you  go  for  to  spill  the  gravy 
so?"  &c. 

Mrs.  B.  rushed  forward  and  boxed  his  ears  soundly, 
and  the  next  day  he  was  sent  about  his  business;  for 
flesh  and  blood  could  bear  him  no  longer. 

Why  he  had  been  kept  so  long,  as  I  said  before,  I 
could  not  comprehend,  until  after  Philip  had  left  us; 
and  then  Mamma  said,  looking  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
at  the  chap's  jacket,  as  it  lay  in  the  pantry,  that  her 
little  boy  Augustus  was  something  like  him,  and  he  wore 
a  jacket  with  buttons  of  that  sort.  Then  I  knew  she 
was  thinking  of  her  eldest  son,  Augustus  Frederick 
York  Budge,  a  midshipman  on  board  the  "  Hippopota- 
mus "  frigate,  Captain  Swang,  C.B.  (I  knew  the  story 
well  enough) ,  who  died  of  yellow  fever  on  the  West  In- 
dia Station  in  the  year  1814. 


Ill 


kY  the  time  I  had  had  two  or  three  more  boys 
in  my  family,  I  got  to  hate  them  as  if 
I  had  been  a  second  Herod,  and  the  rest 
of  my  household,  too,  was  pretty  soon 
tired  of  the  wretches.  If  any  young 
housekeepers  read  this,  I  would  say  to 
them,  Profit  by  my  experience,  and  never 
keep  a  boy;  be  happy  with  a  parlour- 
maid, put  up  with  a  char-woman,  let  the  cook  bring  up 
your  dinner  from  the  kitchen;  get  a  good  servant  who 
knows  his  business,  and  pay  his  wages  as  cheerfully  as 
you  may;  but  never  have  a  boy  into  your  place,  if  you 
value  your  peace  of  mind. 

You  may  save  a  little  in  the  article  of  wages  with  the 
little  rascal,  but  how  much  do  you  pay  in  discomfort! 
A  boy  eats  as  much  as  a  man,  a  boy  breaks  twice  as  much 
as  a  man,  a  boy  is  twice  as  long  upon  an  errand  as  a 
man;  a  boy  batters  your  plate  and  sends  it  up  to 
table  dirty;  you  are  never  certain  that  a  boy's  fingers 
are  not  in  the  dish  which  he  brings  up  to  your  dinner; 
a  boy  puts  your  boots  on  the  wrong  trees;  and  when  at 
the  end  of  a  year  or  two  he  has  broken  his  way  through 
your  crockery,  and  at  last  learned  some  of  his  business, 
the  little  miscreant  privately  advertises  himself  in  the 
Times  as  a  youth  who  has  two  years'  character,  and 
leaves  you  for  higher  wages  and  another  place.     Two 

300 


HOBSOXS  CHOICE  301 

young  traitors  served  me  so  in  the  course  of  my  fatal 
experience  with  boys. 

Then,  in  a  family  council,  it  was  agreed  that  a  man 
should  be  engaged  for  our  establishment,  and  we  had 
a  series  of  footmen.  Our  curate  recommended  to  me  our 
first  man,  whom  the  clergyman  had  found  in  the  course 
of  his  charitable  excursions.  I  took  John  Tomkins  out  of 
the  garret  where  he  was  starving.  He  had  pawned  every 
article  of  value  belonging  to  him;  he  had  no  decent 
clothes  left  in  which  he  could  go  out  to  offer  himself 
for  a  situation;  he  had  not  tasted  meat  for  weeks,  ex- 
cept such  rare  bits  as  he  could  get  from  the  poor  curate's 
spare  table.  He  came  to  my  house,  and  all  of  a  sudden 
rushed  into  plenty  again.  He  had  a  comfortable  supply 
of  clothes,  meat,  fire,  blankets.  He  had  not  a  hard 
master,  and  as  for  Mamma's  scolding  he  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course.  He  had  but  few  pairs  of  shoes  to 
clean,  and  lived  as  well  as  a  man  of  five  hundred  a  year. 
Well,  John  Tomkins  left  mv  service  in  six  months  after 
he  had  been  drawn  out  of  the  jaws  of  death,  and  after 
he  had  considered  himself  lucky  at  being  able  to  get  a 
crust  of  bread,  because  the  cook  served  him  a  dinner 
of  cold  meat  two  days  running — "He  never  'ad  been 
used  to  cold  meat ;  it  was  the  custom  in  no  good  f  am'lies 
to  give  cold  meat — he  wouldn't  stay  where  it  was  prac- 
tised." And  away  he  went,  then — very  likely  to  starve 
again. 

Him  there  followed  a  gentleman  whom  I  shall  call 
Mr.  Abershaw,  for  I  am  positive  he  did  it,  although 
we  never  could  find  him  out.  We  had  a  character  with 
this  amiable  youth  which  an  angel  might  have  been 
proud  of — had  lived  for  seven  years  with  General  Hec- 
tor—only left  because  the  family  was  going  abroad,  the 


302       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

General  being  made  Governor  and  Commander-in- 
Chief  of  the  Tapioca  Islands — the  General's  sister, 
Mrs.  Colonel  Ajax,  living  in  lodgings  in  the  Edgware 
Road,  answered  for  the  man,  and  for  the  authenticity 
of  the  General's  testimonials.  When  Mamma,  Mrs. 
Captain  B.,  waited  upon  her,  Mrs.  Captain  B.  re- 
marked that  Mrs.  Colonel's  lodgings  were  rather  queer, 
being  shabby  in  themselves,  and  over  a  shabbier  shop  — 
and  she  thought  there  was  a  smell  of  hot  spirits  and 
water  in  Mrs.  Colonel's  room  when  Mrs.  B.  entered  it 
at  one  o'clock;  but,  perhaps,  she  was  not  very  rich,  the 
Colonel  being  on  half -pay,  and  it  might  have  been  ether 
and  not  rum  which  Mrs.  B.  smelt.  She  came  home  an- 
nouncing that  she  had  found  a  treasure  of  a  servant, 
and  Mr.  Abershaw  stepped  into  our  pantry  and  put  on 
our  livery. 

Nothing  could  be  better  for  some  time  than  this 
gentleman's  behaviour;  and  it  was  edifying  to  remark 
how  he  barred  up  the  house  of  a  night,  and  besought  me 
to  see  that  the  plate  was  all  right  when  he  brought  it 
upstairs  in  the  basket.  He  constantly  warned  us,  too, 
of  thieves  and  rascals  about;  and,  though  he  had  a  vil- 
lainous hang-dog  look  of  his  own,  which  I  could  not 
bear,  yet  Mamma  said  this  was  only  a  prejudice  of  mine, 
and,  indeed,  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with  the  man.  Once 
I  thought  something  was  wrong  with  the  lock  of  my 
study-table;  but,  as  I  keep  little  or  no  money  in  the 
house,  I  did  not  give  this  circumstance  much  thought; 
and  once  Mrs.  Captain  Budge  saw  Mr.  Abershaw  in 
conversation  with  a  lady  who  had  very  much  the  ap- 
pearance  of  Mrs.  Colonel  Ajax,  as  she  afterwards  re- 
membered, but  the  resemblance  did  not,  unluckily,  strike 
Mamma  at  the  time. 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  303 

It  happened  one  evening  that  we  all  went  to  see  the 
Christmas  pantomime;  and  of  course  took  the  footman 
on  the  box  of  the  fly,  and  I  treated  him  to  the  pit,  where 
I  could  not  see  him;  but  he  said  afterwards  that  he  en- 
joyed the  play  very  much.  When  the  pantomime  was 
over,  he  was  in  waiting  in  the  lobby  to  hand  us  back  to 
the  carriage,  and  a  pretty  good  load  we  were— our  three 
children,  ourselves,  and  Mrs.  Captain  B.,  who  is  a  very 
roomy  woman. 

When  we  got  home— the  cook,  with  rather  a  guilty 
and  terrified  look,  owned  to  her  mistress  that  a  most 
"  singlar  "  misfortune  had  happened.  She  was  positive 
she  shut  the  door— she  could  take  her  Bible  oath  she 
did— after  the  boy  who  comes  every  evening  with  the 
paper;  but  the  policeman,  about  eleven  o'clock,  had  rung 
and  knocked  to  say  that  the  door  was  open— and  open 
it  was,  sure  enough ;  and  a  great  coat,  and  two  hats,  and 
an  umbrella  were  gone. 

"Thank  'Evins!  the  plate  was  all  locked  up  safe  in 
my  pantry,"  Mr.  Abershaw  said,  turning  up  his  eyes; 
and  he  showed  me  that  it  was  all  right  before  going  to 
bed  that  very  night ;  he  could  not  sleep  unless  I  counted 
it,  he  said— and  then  it  was  that  he  cried  out,  Lord! 
Lord!  to  think  that  while  he  was  so  happy  and  un- 
suspicious, enjoyin'  of  himself  at  the  play,  some  rascal 
should  come  in  and  rob  his  kind  master !  If  he'd  a  know'd 
it,  he  never  would  have  left  the  house— no,  that  he 
wouldn't. 

He  was  talking  on  in  this  way,  when  we  heard  a  loud 
shriek  from  Mamma's  room,  and  her  bell  began  to  ring 
like  mad:  and  presently  out  she  ran,  roaring  out,  "  Anna 
Maria!  Cook!  Mr.  Hobson!  Thieves!  I'm  robbed, 
I'm  robbed!" 


304       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO      PUNCH'' 

'  Where's  the  scoundrel?  "  says  Abershaw,  seizing  the 
poker  as  valiant  as  any  man  I  ever  saw;  and  he  rushed 
upstairs  towards  Mrs.  B.'s  apartment,  I  following  be- 
hind, more  leisurely ;  for,  if  the  rascal  of  a  housebreaker 
had  pistols  with  him,  how  was  I  to  resist  him,  I  should 
like  to  know? 

But  when  I  got  up — there  was  no  thief.  The  scoun- 
drel had  been  there:  but  he  was  gone:  and  a  large  box 
of  Mrs.  B.'s  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  burst  open, 
with  numbers  of  things  strewn  about  the  floor.  Mamma 
was  sobbing  her  eyes  out,  in  her  big  chair;  my  wife  and 
the  female  servants  already  assembled;  and  Abershaw, 
with  the  poker,  banging  under  the  bed  to  see  if  the  vil- 
lian  was  still  there. 

I  was  not  aware  at  first  of  the  extent  of  Mrs.  B.'s 
misfortune,  and  it  was  only  by  degrees,  as  it  were,  that 
that  unfortunate  lady  was  brought  to  tell  us  what  she 
had  lost.  First,  it  was  her  dresses  she  bemoaned,  two 
of  which,  her  rich  purple  velvet  and  her  black  satin, 
were  gone;  then,  it  was  her  Cashmere  shawl;  then,  a 
box  full  of  ornaments,  her  jet,  her  pearls,  and  her 
garnets ;  nor  was  it  until  the  next  day  that  she  confessed 
to  my  wife  that  the  great  loss  of  all  was  an  old  black 
velvet  reticule,  containing  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  pounds,  in  gold  and  notes.  I  suppose  she  did  not 
like  to  tell  me  of  this;  for  a  short  time  before,  being 
somewhat  pressed  for  money,  I  had  asked  her  to  lend 
me  some;  when,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  old  lady  de- 
clared, upon  her  honour,  that  she  had  not  a  guinea,  nor 
should  have  one  until  her  dividends  came  in.  Now,  if 
she  had  lent  it  to  me,  she  would  have  been  paid  back 
again,  and  this  she  owned  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Well,  when  she  had  cried  and  screamed  sufficiently, 


HOBSON'S  CHOICE  305 

as  none  of  this  grief  would  mend  matters,  or  bring  back 
her  money,  we  went  to  bed,  Abershaw  clapping  to  all 
the  bolts  of  the  house  door,  and  putting  the  great  bar 
up  with  a  clang  that  might  be  heard  all  through 
the  street.  And  it  was  not  until  two  days  after  the 
event  that  I  got  the  numbers  of  the  notes  which  Mrs. 
Captain  B.  had  lost,  and  which  were  all  paid  into  the 
Bank,  and  exchanged  for  gold,  the  morning  after  the 
robbery. 

When  I  was  aware  of  its  extent,  and  when  the  horse 
was  stolen,  of  course  I  shut  the  stable-door,  and  called  in 
a  policeman — not  one  of  your  letter  X  policemen — but 
a  gentleman  in  plain  clothes,  who  inspected  the  premises, 
examined  the  family,  and  questioned  the  servants  one  by 
one.  This  gentleman's  opinion  was  that  the  robbery 
was  got  up  in  the  house.  First  he  suspected  the  cook, 
then  he  inclined  towards  the  housemaid,  and  the  young 
fellow  with  whom,  as  it  appeared,  that  artful  hussy  was 
keeping  company;  and  those  two  poor  wretches  ex- 
pected to  be  carried  off  to  jail  forthwith,  so  great  was 
the  terror  under  which  they  lay. 

All  this  while  Mr.  Abershaw  gave  the  policeman 
every  information;  insisted  upon  having  his  boxes  ex- 
amined and  his  accounts  looked  into,  for  though  he  was 
absent,  waiting  upon  his  master  and  mistress,  on  the 
night  when  the  robbery  was  committed,  he  did  not  wish 
to  escape  search — not  he;  and  so  we  looked  over  his 
trunks  just  out  of  compliment. 

The  officer  did  not  seem  to  be  satisfied — as,  indeed,  he 
had  discovered  nothing  as  yet— and  after  a  long  and 
fruitless  visit  in  the  evening,  returned  on  the  next  morn- 
ing in  company  with  another  of  the  detectives,  the  fa- 
mous Scroggins  indeed. 


306       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

As  soon  as  the  famous  Scroggins  saw  Abershaw,  all 
matters  seemed  to  change — "Hullo,  Jerry!"  said  he; 
"what,  you  here?  at  your  old  tricks  again?  This  is  the 
man  Avhat  has  done  it,  sir,"  he  said  to  me;  "  he  is  a  well- 
known  rogue  and  prig."  Mr.  Abershaw  swore  more 
than  ever  that  he  was  innocent,  and  called  upon  me  to 
swear  that  I  had  seen  him  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  the  performance;  but  I  could  neither 
take  my  affidavit  to  this  fact,  nor  was  Mr.  Scroggins  a 
bit  satisfied,  nor  would  he  be  until  he  had  the  man  up 
to  Beak  Street  Police  Court  and  examined  by  the  Mag- 
istrate. 

Here  my  young  man  was  known  as  an  old  practitioner 
on  the  treadmill,  and,  seeing  there  was  no  use  in  denying 
the  fact,  he  confessed  it  very  candidly.  He  owned  that 
he  had  been  unfortunate  in  his  youth:  that  he  had  not 
been  in  General  Hector's  service  these  five  years;  that 
the  character  he  had  got  was  a  sham  one,  and  Mrs.  Ajax 
merely  a  romantic  fiction.  But  no  more  would  he 
acknowledge.  His  whole  desire  in  life,  he  said,  was  to 
be  an  honest  man;  and  ever  since  he  had  entered  my 
service  he  had  acted  as  such.  Could  I  point  out  a  single 
instance  in  which  he  had  failed  to  do  his  duty?  But 
there  was  no  use  in  a  poor  fellow  who  had  met  with 
misfortune  trying  to  retrieve  himself:  he  began  to  cry 
when  he  said  this,  and  spoke  so  naturally  that  I  was 
almost  inclined  to  swear  that  I  had  seen  him  under  us 
all  night  in  the  pit  of  the  theatre. 

There  was  no  evidence  against  him;  and  this  good 
man  was  discharged,  both  from  the  Police  Office  and  from 
our  service,  where  he  couldn't  abear  to  stay,  he  said,  now 
that  his  Hhonour  was  questioned.     And  Mrs.  Budge 


HOBSOX'S  CHOICE  307 

believed  in  his  innocence,  and  persisted  in  turning  off 
the  cook  and  housemaid,  who  she  was  sure  had  stolen 
her  money;  nor  was  she  quite  convinced  of  the  contrary 
two  years  after,  when  Mr.  Abershaw  and  Mrs.  Colonel 
Ajax  were  both  transported  for  forgery. 

{January  1850.) 


THOUGHTS  ON  A  NEW  COMEDY 

(BEING  A  LETTER  FROM  MR.  J S  PLUSH  TO  A 

FRIEND) 

Whell  of  Fortune  Barr, 

Jenyonry  trventy-fith. 

MY  DEAR  RINCER,— Me  and  Mary  Hann  was 
very  much  pleased  with  the  box  of  feznts  and 
woodcox,  which  you  sent  us,  both  for  the  attention  which 
was  dellygit,  and  because  the  burds  was  uncommon  good 
and  full  of  flaviour.  Some  we  gev  away :  some  we  hett : 
and  I  leave  you  to  emadgin  that  the  Mann  as  sent  em 
will  holwavs  find  a  glass  of  somethink  comforable  in  our 
Barr;  and  I  hope  youll  soon  come  back  to  London, 
Rincer,  my  boy.  Your  account  of  the  Servants'  all  fes- 
tivvaties  at  Fitzbattleaxe  Castle,  and  your  dancing  Sir 
Rodjydycovyly  (I  don't  know  how  to  spell  it)  with 
Lady  Hawguster,  emused  Mary  Hann  very  much. 
That  sottathing  is  very  well— onst  a  year  or  so:  but  in 
my  time  I  thought  the  fun  didnt  begin  until  the  great 
folks  had  gone  away.  Give  my  kind  suvvices  to  Mrs. 
Lupin,  and  tell  Munseer  Beshymell  with  my  and  Mary 
Hann's  best  wishes,  that  our  little  Fanny  can  play  sev- 
eral tunes  on  his  pianner.    Comps  to  old  Coachy. 

Till  parlymint  nothink  is  stirring,  and  theres  no  noose 
to  give  you  or  fill  my  sheat — igsept  (and  I  dessay  this 
will  surprize  you)  — igsept  I  talk  about  the  new  Play. 

308 


THOUGHTS  ON  A  NEW  COMEDY    309 

Although  Im  not  genly  a  patternizer  of  the  Dram- 
mer,  which  it  interfears  very  much  with  my  abbits  and 
ixpeshly  is  not  plesnt  dareckly  after  dinner  to  set  hoff 
to  a  cold  theayter  for  a  middle-Hage  Mann,  who  likes 
to  take  things  heazy ;  yet,  my  dear  feller,  I  do  from  time 
to  time  step  in  (with  a  horder)  to  the  walls  of  the  little 
Aymarket  or  old  Dewry,  sometimes  to  give  a  treat  to 
Mrs.  Jeames  and  the  younguns,  sometimes  to  wild  away 
a  hidle  hour  when  shes  outatown  or  outatemper  (which 
sometimes  will  ocur  in  the  best  reglated  famlies  you 
know)  or  when  some  private  mellumcolly  or  sorrer  of 
my  own  is  a  hagitating  hof  me. 

Yesdy  evening  it  was  none  of  these  motifs  which  in- 
juiced  me  to  go  to  the  theayter — I  had  heard  there  was 
a  commady  jest  brought  out,  inwolving  the  carrickter 
of  our  profession — that  profeshn  which  you  and  me  Mr. 
Rincer,  did  onst  belong  to.  I'm  not  above  that  pro- 
feshn; I  ave  its  hintarests  and  Honor  at  art:  and  of 
hevery  man  that  wears  the  Plush,  I  say  that  Mann  is 
my  Brother —  (not  that  I  need  be  phonder  of  him  for 
that ;  on  the  contry,  I  recklect  at  our  school  where  I  lunt 
the  fust  rules  of  athography  and  grammer,  the  Brothers 
were  holwis  a  pitchen  into  heach  other)  — but  in  fine,  I 
love  the  Plush  of  hold  days,  and  hah !  I  regret  that  hold 
Father  Time  is  doing  somethink  to  my  Air,  which 
wightns  it  more  pumminantly  than  the  Powder  which 
once  I  war! 

A  commady,  Sir,  has  been  brought  out  (which  Im 
surprized  it  aint  been  mentioned  at  my  Barr,  though  to 
be  sure  mose  gents  is  keeping  Grismass  Olydays  in  the 
Country)  in  which  I  was  creddably  informmed — one 
of  hus — one  of  the  old  Plushes — why  should  I  ezitate 
to  say,  a  Footman,  forms  the  prinsple  drammitis-pur- 


310       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO     "PUNCH" 

sony.  How  is  my  horder  represented  on  the  British 
Stage  I  hast  myself?  Are  we  spoke  of  respeckful  or 
otherwise?  Does  anybody  snear  at  our  youniform  or 
purfeshn?  I  was  determingd  to  see;  and  in  case  of 
hanythink  inslant  being  said  of  us,  I  took  a  key  with 
me  in  horder  to  iss  propply;  and  bought  sevral  hor- 
ringers  jest  to  make  uce  of  em  if  I  sor  any  nesessaty. 

My  dear  Rincer.  I  greave  to  say,  that  though  there 
was  nothink  against  our  purfeshn  said  in  the  pease— 
and  though  the  most  delligit  and  sensatif  footman  (and 
Ive  known  no  men  of  more  dellixy  of  feelin  and  sensa- 
billaty  than  a  well-reglated  footman  is  whether  bin  or 
bout  of  livry)  could  find  folt  with  the  languidge  of  the 
New  Commady  of  "  Leap  Year,"  yet  its  prinsples  is 
dangerous  to  publick  maralaty,  as  likewise  to  our  be- 
loved purfeshn. 

The  plot  of  the  Pease  is  founderd  upon  a  hancient 
Lor,  which  the  Hauther,  Mr.  Buckstone,  discovvred  in 
an  uncommon  hold  book,  and  by  which  it  epears  that  in 
Lip  Year  (or  whats  called  Bissixdile  in  Istronnamy) 
it  is  the  women  who  have  the  libbaty  of  choosing  their 
usbands,  and  not  as  in  hornary  times,  the  men  who 
choose  their  wives  (I  reckmend  you  old  feller  who  are 
a  reglar  hold  Batchy  lor,  to  look  out  in  the  Ormnack  for 
Lip  Year,  and  kip  hout  of  the  way  that  year)  and  this 
pragtice  must  be  common  anough  in  Hengland,  for  a 
commady  is  a  reprasentation  of  natur,  and  in  this  one, 
every  one  of  the  women  asts  every  one  of  the  men  to 
marry :  igsept  one,  and  she  asts  two  of  em. 

Onst  upon  a  time  there  was  an  old  genlmn  by  the 
name  of  Flowerdew  as  married  a  young  woman,  who 
became  in  consquince  Mrs.  Flora  Flowerdew.  She 
made  this  hold  buck  so  Appy  during  the  breaf  coarse 


THOUGHTS  ON    A  NEW  COMEDY    311 

of  his  meddrimonial  career,  that  he  left  a  will,  hor- 
dering  her  to  marry  agin  before  three  years  was  over, 
failing  vich,  hevary  shillin  of  his  proppaty  should  go 
to  his  nex  Hair.  Aving  maid  these  destimentry  erange- 
ments  hold  Flowerdew  died.    Peace  be  to  his  Hashes! 

His  widder  didnt  cry  much  (for  betwigst  you  and  me 
F.  must  have  been  rayther  a  silly  old  feller),  but  lived 
on  in  a  genteal  manner  in  a  house  somewhere  in  the 
drecshon  of  Amstid  I  should  think,  entertaining  her 
f  rends  like  a  lady :  and  like  a  lady  she  kep  her  coachman 
and  groom:  had  her  own  maid,  a  cook  &  housemaid  of 
coarse,  a  page  and  a  MANN. 

If  I  had  been  a  widder  I  would  have  choas  a  Man  of 
a  better  Ithe,  than  Mrs.  Flower  jew  did.  Nothink  be- 
comes a  footman  so  much  as  Ithe.  Its  that  which  dix- 
tinguidges  us  from  the  wulgar,  and  I  greave  to  say 
in  this  pedicklar  the  gentleman  as  hacted  Villiam  Valker, 
Mrs.  F's  man,  was  sadly  deflshnt.  He  was  respeckble, 
quiet,  horderly,  hactive— but  his  figger  I  must  say  was 
no  go.  You  and  me  Rincer  ave  seen  footmen  and  know 
whats  the  proper  sort— seen  em?  Hah,  what  men  there 
was  in  hour  time!  Do  you  recklect  Bill  the  Maypole 
as  was  with  us  at  Lord  Ammersmiths?  What  a  chap 
that  was!  what  a  leg  he  ad!  The  young  men  are  not 
like  us,  Tom  Rincer,  — but  I  am  diwerging  from  my 
tail,  which  I  reshume. 

I  diddnarive  at  the  commensment  of  the  drammer 
( for  their  was  a  Purty  a  settling  his  skower  in  my  Barr 
which  kep  me  a  cumsederable  time),  but  when  I  hen- 
tered  the  theaytre  I  fown  myself  in  presnts  of  Mr.  & 
Mrs.  C.  Kean  in  a  droring-roomb,  Mrs.  K.  at  a  tabble 
pert  ending  to  right  letters,  or  to  so  ankyshuffs,  or  some- 
think,  Mr.  K.  a  elapsing  his  &s,  a  rowling  his  his,  and  a 


312       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

quoating  poatry  &  Byrom  and  that  sort  of  thing  like 
anythink. 

Mrs.  Kean,  she  was  the  widdo,  and  Mr.  K.  he  was 
Villiam  the  man.  He  wasnt  a  Buttler  dear  Rincer  like 
U.  He  wasnt  groom  of  the  Chimbers  like  Mr.  Mewt  at 
my  lords  (to  whomb  my  best  complymince),  he  wasnt 
a  mear  footman,  he  wasnt  a  page:  but  he  was  a  mixter 
of  all  4.  He  had  trowzies  like  a  page  with  a  red  strip; 
he  had  a  coat  like  a  Hunndress  John;  he  had  the  hele- 
gant  mistary  of  Mr.  Mewt,  and  there  was  a  graceful 
abanding  and  a  daggijay  hair  about  him  which  I  whish 
it  was  more  adopted  in  our  purf  eshn. 

Haltho  in  hour  time,  dear  Rincer,  we  didn  quoat 
Byrom  and  Shikspyer  in  the  droring-room  to  the  ladies 
of  the  famly,  praps  things  is  haltered  sins  the  marge  of 
hintalect,  and  the  young  Jeamses  do  talk  potry. — Well, 
for  sevral  years,  during  which  he  had  been  in  Mrs.  F.'s 
service,  Walker  had  been  goin  on  in  this  manner,  and 
it  was  heasy  at  once  to  see  at  the  very  hopening  of  the 
pease,  from  the  manner  of  missis  and  man,  that  there  was 
more  than  the  common  sewillaties  of  a  lady  and  a  genl- 
man  in  livary  goin  on  between  em,  and  in  one  word  that 
they  were  pashintly  in  love  with  each  other.  This  wont 
surprize  you  Rincer,  my  boy ;  and  in  the  coarse  of  my  ex- 
pearance  I  might  tell  a  story  or  two — O  Lady  Hara- 
bellar;  but  Honor  forbids,  and  Im  mumm. 

Several  shutors  come  to  whoo  the  widow;  but  none, 
and  no  great  wonder,  have  made  an  impreshn  on  her 
heart.  One  she  takes  as  a  husband  on  trial — and  he 
went  out  to  dinner  on  the  very  fust  day  of  his  appren- 
tiship,  and  came  home  intogsicated.  Another  whomb 
she  would  not  have,  a  Captain  in  the  Harmy,  pulls  out 
a  bill  when  she  refuses  him,  and  requestes  her  to  pay  for 


THOUGHTS  ON  A  NEW  COMEDY    313 

his  loss  of  time,  and  the  clothes  he  has  bordered  in  horder 
to  captiwate  her.  Finely  the  piece  hends  by  the  widdo 
proposing  to  William  Walker,  her  servant,  and  marry- 
ing that  pusson. 

I  don't  bask  whether  widdos  take  usbands  on  trial. 
I  do  not  pores  to  inquier  whether  Captings  send  in  bills  of 
costs  for  courtship,  or  igsamming  other  absuddaties  in  this 
Commady.  I  look  at  it  purfeshnly,  and  I  look  at  it 
gravely,  Rincer.  Hand,  I  can't  help  seeing  that  it  is 
dangerous  to  our  horder,  and  subwussive  of  domestic 
maralaty. 

I  say  theres  a  Prinsple  in  a  honist  footman  which 
should  make  him  purtest  and  rewolt  aginst  such  doc- 
torings  as  these.  A  fatle  pashn  may  hapn  hany  day  to 
hany  Mann ;  as  a  chimbly-pott  may  drop  on  his  head,  or 
a  homnibus  drive  hover  him.  We  cant  help  falling  in 
love  with  a  fine  woman — we  are  men:  we  are  fine  men 
praps;  and  praps  she  returns  our  harder.  But  whats 
the  use  of  it  ?  There  can  be  no  marridges  between  foot- 
men and  families  in  which  they  live.  There's  a  Lor  of 
Natur  against  it,  and  it  should  be  wrote  in  the  prayer- 
books  for  the  use  of  Johns  that  a  man  may  not  marry 

Mi  t> 

his  Missus — If  this  kind  of  thing  was  to  go  on  hoften, 
there  would  be  an  end  to  domestic  life.  John  would  be 
holways  up  in  the  droring-room  courting :  or  Miss  would 
be  for  hever  down  in  the  pantry:  you'd  get  no  whirk 
done.  How  could  he  clean  his  plate  propply  with  Miss 
holding  one  of  his  ands  sittin  on  the  knife  bord?  It's 
impawsable.  We  may  marry  in  other  families  but  not  in 
our  hown.  We  have  each  our  spears  as  we  have  each 
our  Bells.  Theirs  is  the  first  flor;  hours  is  the  basemint. 
A  man  who  marris  his  Missis  hingers  his  purfeshnal 
bruthering.     I  would  cut  that  INI  an  dedd  who  married 


314      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO      PUNCH' 

his  Missis.  I  would  blackbawl  him  at  the  clubb.  Let  it 
onst  git  abroad  that  we  do  so,  and  famlies  will  leave  off 
iring  footmen  haltogether  and  be  weighted  upon  by 
maids,  which  the  young  ladies  cant  marry  them,  and  I 
leave  you  to  say  whether  the  purfeshn  isnt  a  good  one, 
and  whether  it  woodnt  be  a  pity  to  spoil  it. 

Yours  hever,  my  dear  Rincer, 

J.  P. 

To  Mr.  Rincer, 

at  the  Duke  of  Fitzbattleaxes, 
Fitzbattleaxe    Castle,  Flintshire. 

{February  1850.) 


THE   SIGHTS  OF  LONDOX 

SIR,  —  I  am  a  country  gentleman,  infirm  in  health, 
stricken  in  years,  and  only  occasionally  visiting  the 
metropolis,  of  which  the  dangers,  and  the  noise  and  the 
crowds,  are  somewhat  too  much  for  my  quiet  nerves. 
But  at  this  season  of  Easter,  having  occasion  to  come 
to  London,  where  my  son  resides,  I  was  induced  to  take 
his  carriage  and  his  five  darling  children  for  a  day's 
sight-seeing.  And  of  sight-seeing  I  have  had,  Sir, 
enough,  not  for  a  day,  but  for  my  whole  life. 

My  son's  residence  is  in  the  elegant  neighbourhood 
of  P-rtm-n  Square;  and  taking  his  carriage,  of  which 
both  the  horse  and  driver  are  perfectly  steady  and  past 
the  prime  of  life,  our  first  visit  was  to  the  Tenebrorama, 
in  the  Regent's  Park,  where  I  was  told  some  neat  paint- 
ings were  exhibited,  and  I  could  view  some  scenes  at 
least  of  foreign  countries  without  the  danger  and  fatigue 
of  personal  travel.  I  paid  my  money  at  the  entrance  of 
the  building,  and  entered  with  my  unsuspicious  little 
charges  into  the  interior  of  the  building.  Sir,  it  is  like 
the  entrance  to  the  Eleusinian  mysteries,  or  what  I  have 
been  given  to  understand  is  the  initiation  into  Free- 
masonry. We  plunged  out  of  the  light  into  such  a  pro- 
found darkness,  that  my  darling  Anna  Maria  instantly 
began  to  cry.  We  felt  we  were  in  a  chamber,  Sir,  dimly 
creaking  and  moving  underneath  us — a  horrid  sensation 
of  sea-sickness  and  terror  overcame  us,  and  I  was  almost 
as  frightened  as  my  poor  innocent  Anna  Maria. 

315 


316       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

The  first  thing  we  saw  was  a  ghastly  view  of  a  church 
— the  Cathedral  of  Saint  Sepulchre's,  at  Jericho,  I 
believe  it  was  called — a  dreary  pile,  with  not  a  soul  in  it, 
not  so  much  as  a  pew-opener  or  verger  to  whom  one 
could  look  for  refuge  from  the  dismal  solitude.  Sir, 
I  don't  care  to  own  I  am  frightened  at  being  in  a  church 
alone ;  I  was  once  locked  up  in  one  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
having  fallen  asleep  during  the  sermon;  and  though  I 
have  never  seen  a  ghost,  they  are  in  my  family:  my 
grandmother  saw  one.  I  hate  to  look  at  a  great  ghastly, 
naked  edifice,  paved  with  gravestones,  and  surrounded 
with  epitaphs  and  death's  heads,  and  I  own  that  I 
thought  a  walk  in  the  Park  would  have  been  more  cheer- 
ful than  this. 

As  we  looked  at  the  picture,  the  dreary  church  became 
more  dreary;  the  shadows  of  night  (by  means  of  cur- 
tains and  contrivances,  which  I  heard  in  the  back  part  of 
the  mystery  making  an  awful  flapping  and  pulling)  fell 
deeply  and  more  terribly  on  the  scene.  It  grew  pitch 
dark;  my  poor  little  ones  clung  convulsively  to  my 
knees;  an  organ  commenced  playing  a  dead  march — it 
was  midnight — tapers  presently  began  to  flicker  in  the 
darkness — the  organ  to  moan  more  dismally — and  sud- 
denly, by  a  hideous  optical  delusion,  the  church  was  made 
to  appear  as  if  full  of  people,  the  altar  was  lighted  up 
with  a  mortuary  illumination,  and  the  dreadful  monks 
were  in  their  stalls. 

I  have  been  in  churches.  I  have  thought  the  sermon 
long.  I  never  thought  the  real  service  so  long  as  that 
painted  one  which  I  witnessed  at  the  Tenebrorama.  My 
dear  children  whispered,  '  Take  us  out  of  this  place. 
Grandpapa."  I  would  have  done  so.  I  started  to  get 
up  (the  place  being  now  dimly  visible  to  our  eyes,  accus- 


THE   SIGHTS   OF   LONDON  317 

tomed  to  the  darkness,  and  disclosing  two  other  wretches 
looking  on  in  the  twilight  besides  ourselves) — I  started 
I  say,  to  get  up,  when  the  chamber  began  to  move  again, 
and  I  sank  back  on  my  seat,  not  daring  to  stir. 

The  next  view  we  saw  was  the  summit  of  Mount  Ara- 
rat, I  believe,  or  else  of  a  mountain  in  Switzerland,  just 
before  dawn.  I  can't  bear  looking  down  from  mountains 
or  heights ;  when  taken  to  Saint  Paul's  by  my  dear  mo- 
ther as  a  child,  I  had  well-nigh  fainted  when  brought  out 
into  the  outer  gallery;  and  this  view  of  Mount  Ararat 
is  so  dreadful,  so  lonely,  so  like  nature,  that  it  was  all  I 
could  do  to  prevent  myself  from  dashing  down  the  peak 
and  plunging  into  the  valley  below.  A  storm,  the  thun- 
derous rumble  of  which  made  me  run  cold,  the  fall  of 
an  avalanche  destroying  a  village,  some  lightning,  and 
an  eclipse  I  believe  of  the  sun,  were  introduced  as  orna- 
ments to  this  picture,  which  I  wrould  as  lief  see  again  as 
undergo  a  nightmare. 

More  dead  than  alive,  I  took  my  darling  children  out 
of  the  place,  and  tenderly  embraced  them  when  I  was  out 
of  the  door. 

The  Haidorama  is  next  by,  and  my  dear  little  third 
grandchild  insisted  upon  seeing  it.  Sir,  we  unsuspecting 
ones  went  into  the  place,  and  saw — what  do  you  think? — 
the  Earthquake  of  Lisbon!  Ships  were  tossed  and 
dashed  about  the  river  before  us  in  a  frightful  manner. 
Convents  and  castles  toppled  down  before  our  eyes  and 
burst  into  flames.  We  heard  the  shrieks  of  the  mariners 
in  the  storm,  the  groans  of  the  miserable  people  being 
swallowed  up  or  smashed  in  the  rocking  reeling  ruins— 
tremendous  darkness,  lurid  lightning  flashes,  and  the 
awful  booming  of  thunderbolts  roared  in  our  ears,  daz- 
zled our  eyes,  and  frightened  our  senses  so,  that  I  protest 


318       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

I  was  more  dead  than  alive  when  I  quitted  the  premises, 
and  don't  know  how  I  found  myself  in  my  carriage. 

We  were  then  driven  to  the  Zoological  Gardens,  a 
place  which  I  often  like  to  visit  (keeping  away  from  the 
larger  beasts,  such  as  the  bears,  who  I  often  fancy  may 
jump  from  their  poles  upon  certain  unoffending  Chris- 
tians; and  the  howling  tigers  and  lions  who  are  contin- 
ually biting  the  keepers'  heads  off) ,  and  where  I  like  to 
look  at  the  monkeys  in  the  cages  (the  little  rascals!)  and 
the  birds  of  various  plumage. 

Fancy  my  feelings,  Sir,  when  I  saw  in  these  gardens 
—in  these  gardens  frequented  by  nursery-maids,  mo- 
thers, and  children,  an  immense  brute  of  an  elephant, 
about  a  hundred  feet  high,  rushing  about  with  a  wretched 
little  child  on  his  back,  and  a  single  man  vainly  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  him  back!  I  uttered  a  shriek — I  called 
my  dear  children  round  about  me.  And  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  confess  it,  Sir,  I  ran.  I  ran  for  refuge  into 
a  building  hard  by,  where  I  saw — ah,  Sir!  I  saw  an  im- 
mense boa-constrictor  swallowing  a  live  rabbit — swal- 
lowing a  live  rabbit,  Sir,  and  looking  as  if  he  would  have 
swallowed  one  of  my  little  boys  afterwards.  Good 
heavens !  Sir,  do  we  live  in  a  Christian  country,  and  are 
parents  and  children  to  be  subjected  to  sights  like  these? 

Our  next  visit — of  pleasure,  Sir!  bear  with  me  when 
I  say  pleasure:  was  to  the  Waxwork  in  Baker  Street,— 
of  which  I  have  onlv  to  sav  that,  rather  than  be  left  alone 
in  that  gallery  at  night  with  those  statues,  I  would  con- 
sent to  be  locked  up  with  one  of  the  horrid  lions  at  the 
Zoological  Gardens.  There  is  a  woman  in  black  there 
lying  on  a  sofa,  and  whose  breast  heaves — there  is  an  old 
man  whose  head  is  always  slowly  turning  round — there 
is  Her  M y  and  the  R-y-1  Children  looking  as  if 


THE   SIGHTS   OF  LONDON  319 

they  all  had  the  yellow  fever— sights  enough  to  terrify 
any  Christian  I  should  think — sights  which,  nevertheless, 
as  a  man  and  a  grandfather,  I  did  not  mind  undergoing. 

But  my  second  boy,  Tommy,  a  prying  little  dare-devil, 
full  of  mischief,  must  insist  upon  our  going  to  what  he 
called  the  reserved  apartment,  where  Napoleon's  car- 
riage was,  he  said,  and  other  curiosities.  Sir,  he  caused 
me  to  pay  sixpences  for  all  the  party,  and  introduced  me 
to  what? — to  the  Chamber  of  Horrors,  Sir! — they're  not 
ashamed  to  call  it  so — they're  proud  of  the  frightful  title 
and  the  dreadful  exhibition  —  and  what  did  I  there  be- 
hold— murderers, Sir, — murderers;  some  of  them  in  their 
own  cold  blood — Robespierre's  head  off  in  a  plate — 
Marat  stuck  and  bleeding  in  a  bath  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Man- 
ning in  a  frightful  colloquy  with  Courvoisier  and 
Fieschi  about  the  infernal  machine  —  and  my  child,  my 
grandchild,  Sir,  laughed  at  my  emotion  and  ridiculed  his 
grandfather's  just  terror  at  witnessing  this  hideous 
scene ! 

Jacky,  my  fifth,  is  bound  for  India — and  wished  to  see 
the  Overland  Journey  portrayed,  which,  as  I  also  am 
interested  in  the  future  progress  of  that  darling  child,  I 
was  anxious  to  behold.  We  came  into  the  Exhibition, 
Sir,  just  at  the  moment  when  the  Simoom  was  repre- 
sented. Have  you  ever  seen  a  simoom,  Sir?  Can  you 
figure  to  yourself  what  a  simoom  is? — a  tornado  of  sand 
in  which  you  die  before  you  can  say  Jack  Robinson;  in 
which  camels,  horses,  men  are  swept  into  death  in  an  in- 
stant— and  this  was  the  agreeable  sight  which,  as  a  pa- 
rent and  a  man,  I  was  called  upon  to  witness !  Shudder- 
ing, and  calling  my  little  charges  around  me,  I  quitted 
Waterloo  Place,  and  having  treated  the  dear  beings  to 
a  few  buns  in  the  Havmarket,  conducted  them  to  their 


320       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

last  place  of  amusement,  viz.  the  Panorama,  in  Leicester 
Place. 

Ah,  Sir !  of  what  clay  are  mortals  supposed  to  be  made, 
that  they  can  visit  that  exhibition?  Dreams  I  have  had 
in  my  life,  but  as  that  view  of  the  Arctic  Regions  nothing 
so  terrible.  My  blood  freezes  as  I  think  of  that  frightful 
summer  even — but  what  to  say  of  the  winter?  By  heav- 
ens, Sir!  I  could  not  face  the  sight — the  icy  picture  of 
eternal  snow — the  livid  northern  lights,  the  killing  glit- 
ter of  the  stars ;  the  wretched  mariners  groping  about  in 
the  snow  round  the  ship ;  they  caused  in  me  such  a  shud- 
der of  surprise  and  fright,  that  I  don't  blush  to  own  I 
popped  down  the  curtain  after  one  single  peep,  and 
would  not  allow  my  children  to  witness  it. 

Are  others  to  be  so  alarmed,  so  misled,  so  terrified  ?    I 

beseech  all  people  who  have  nerves  to  pause  ere  they  go 

sight-seeing  at  the  present  day;  and  remain, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Goliah  Muff. 
(April  1850.) 


THE  LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA 


BEING   LADY   NIMROD  S   JOURNAL  OF   THE   PAST   SEASON 


WHEN  my  husband's  father,  Sir  John  Nimrod, 
died,  after  sixteen  years'  ill-health,  which  ought 
to  have  killed  a  dozen  ordinary  baronets,  and  which  I 
bore,  for  my  part,  with  angelic  patience,  we  came  at 
length  into  the  property  which  ought,  by  rights,  to  have 
been  ours  so  long  before  (otherwise,  I  am  sure,  I  would 
never  have  married  Nimrod,  or  gone  through  eighteen 
years  of  dulness  and  comparative  poverty  in  second-rate 
furnished  houses,  at  home  and  abroad),  and  at  length 
monted  my  maison  in  London.  I  married  Nimrod  an 
artless  and  beautiful  young  woman,  as  I  may  now  say 
without  vanity,  for  I  have  given  up  all  claims  to  youth  or 
to  personal  appearance ;  and  am  now  at  the  mezzo  of  the 
path  of  nostra  vita,  as  Dante  says:  having  no  preten- 
sions to  flirt  at  all,  and  leaving  that  frivolous  amusement 
to  the  young  girls.  I  made  great  sacrifices  to  marry 
Nimrod:  I  gave  up  for  him  Captain  (now  General) 
Flather,  the  handsomest  man  of  his  time,  who  was  ar- 
dently attached  to  me;  Mr.  Pyx,  then  tutor  to  the  Earl 
of  Noodlebury,  but  now  Lord  Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy ; 
and  many  more  whom  I  need  not  name,  and  some  of 
whom,  I  dare  say,  have  never  forgiven  me  for  jilting 
them,  as  they  call  it.     But  how  could  I  do  otherwise? 

321 


322       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO     "PUNCH" 

Mamma's  means  were  small.  Who  could  suppose  that 
a  captain  of  dragoons  at  Brighton,  or  a  nobleman's  tutor 
and  chaplain  (who  both  of  them  adored  me  certainly), 
would  ever  rise  to  their  present  eminent  positions?  And 
I  therefore  sacrificed  myself  and  my  inclinations,  as 
every  well-nurtured  and  highly  principled  girl  will,  and 
became  Mrs.  Nimrod — remaining  Mrs.  Nimrod — plain 
Mrs.  Nimrod,  as  Mr.  Grimstone  said — for  eighteen 
years.  What  I  suffered  no  one  can  tell.  Nimrod  has 
no  powers  of  conversation,  and  I  am  all  soul  and  genius. 
Nimrod  cares  neither  for  poetry,  nor  for  company,  nor 
for  science;  and  without  geology,  without  poesy,  with- 
out societv,  life  is  a  blank  to  me.  Provided  he  could 
snooze  at  home  with  the  children,  poor  N.  was  (and  is) 
happy.  But  ah!  could  their  innocent  and  often  foolish 
conversation  suffice  to  a  woman  of  my  powers?  I  was 
wretchedly  deceived,  it  must  be  owned,  in  my  marriage, 
but  what  mortal  among  us  has  not  his  or  her  tracasseries 
and  dcsillusionnements?  Had  I  any  idea  that  the  old  Sir 
John  Nimrod  would  have  clung  to  life  with  such  uncom- 
mon tenacity,  I  might  now  have  been  the  occupant  of  the 
palace  of  Bullocksmithy  (in  place  of  poor  Mrs.  Pyx, 
who  is  a  vulgar  creature),  and  not  the  mistress  of  my 
house  in  Eaton  Crescent,  and  of  Hornby  Hall,  Cumber- 
land, where  poor  Sir  Charles  Nimrod  generally  lives, 
shut  up  with  his  gout  and  his  children. 

He  does  not  come  up  to  London,  nor  is  he  fait  pour  y 
briller.  My  eldest  daughter  is  amiable,  but  she  has  such 
frightful  red  hair  that  I  really  could  not  bring  her  into 
the  world;  the  boys  are  with  their  tutor  and  at  Eton; 
and  as  I  was  born  for  society,  I  am  bound  to  seek  for  it, 
alone.  I  pass  eight  months  in  London,  and  the  re- 
mainder at  Baden,  or  at  Brighton,  or  at  Paris.    We  re- 


THE  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    323 

ceive  company  at  Hornby  for  a  fortnight  when  I  go. 

Sir  C N does  not  trouble  himself  much  with 

London  or  mon  monde.  He  moves  about  my  saloons 
without  a  word  to  say  for  himself ;  he  asked  me  whether 
Dr.  Buckland  was  a  poet,  whether  Sir  Sidney  Smith  was 
not  an  Admiral;  he  generally  overeats  and  drinks  him- 
self at  the  house-dinners  of  his  clubs,  being  a  member  of 
both  Snooker's  and  Toodle's,  and  returns  home  after  six 
weeks  to  his  stupid  Cumberland  solitudes.  Thus  it  will 
be  seen  that  mv  lot  in  life  as  a  domestic  character  is  not 
a  happy  one.  Born  to  briller  in  society,  I  had  the  hon- 
our of  singing  on  the  table  at  Brighton  before  the  epicure 
George  the  Fourth  at  six  years  of  age.1  What  was  the 
use  of  shining  under  such  a  bushel  as  poor  dear  Sir 
C N ?  There  are  some  of  us  gifted  but  unfor- 
tunate beings  whose  lot  is  the  world.  We  are  like  the 
Wanderer  in  my  dear  friend  Eugene  Sue's  elegant 
novel,  to  whom  Fate  says,  "Mar die,  tnarclie" :  for  us 
pilgrims  of  society  there  is  no  rest.  The  Bellairs  have 
been  a  fated  race :  dearest  Mamma  dropped  down  in  the 
tea-rooms  at  Almacks,  and  was  carried  home  paralysed; 
I  have  heard  that  Papa  (before  our  misfortunes,  and 
when  he  lived  at  Castle  Bellairs,  and  in  Rutland  Square) 
never  dined  alone  for  twenty-seven  years  and  three- 
quarters,  and  rather  than  be  without  company  he  would 
sit  and  laugh  and  quaff  with  the  horrid  bailiffs  who  often 
arrested  him. 

I  am  a  creature  of  the  world,  then;  I  cannot  help  my 
nature.  The  eagle  (the  crest  of  the  Bellairs)  flies  to  the 
dazzling  sun,  while  the  "  moping  owl "  prefers  the  stupid 
darkness  of  the  thicket. 

1  It  was  not  before  George  the  Fourth,  but  before  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
that  Lady  Nimrod,  then  Miss  Bellairs,  performed  at  the  Pavilion. 


324       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

They  call  me  the  Lion  Huntress.  I  own  that  I  love 
the  society  of  the  distinguished  and  the  great.  A  mere 
cultivator  of  frivolous  fashion,  a  mere  toady  of  the  great, 
I  despise;  but  genius,  but  poetry,  but  talent,  but  scien- 
tific reputation,  but  humour,  but  eccentricity  above  all,  I 
adore.  I  have  opened  my  salons  now  for  several  seasons. 
Everybody  of  note  who  has  been  in  our  metropolis  I  have 
received, — the  great  painters,  the  great  poets  and  sculp- 
tors ( dear  dear  sculptures,  I  adore  them ! ) ,  the  great  mu- 
sicians and  artists,  the  great  statesmen  of  all  the  great 
countries,  the  great  envoys,  the  great  missionaries,  the 
great  generals,  the  great  everybodies,  have  honoured  the 
reunions  of  Clementina  Nimrod.  I  have  had  at  the  same 
dinner  the  wise  and  famous  Monsieur  Doctrinaire  (and 
was  in  hopes  he  would  have  come  to  me  in  the  footman's 
suit  in  which  he  escaped  from  Paris;  but  he  only  came 
with  his  Golden  Fleece,  his  broad  ribbon  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour,  and  eighteen  orders),  Signor  Bombardi  the 
Roman  tribune,  General  Prince  Rubadubsti  the  Russian 
General,  and  dear  Tarboosh  Pasha,  who  was  converted 
to  Islamism  after  his  heroic  conduct  in  Hungary.  I 
have  had  Monsieur  Sansgene,  the  eminent  socialist  refu- 
gee; Rabbi  Jehoshaphat,  from  Jerusalem;  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Mealypotatoes,  in  partibus  infideliinn,  and  in 
purple  stockings ;  Brother  Higgs,  the  Mormon  Prophet ; 
and  my  own  dear  Bishop  of  Bullocksmithy,  who  has  one 
of  the  prettiest  ankles  and  the  softest  hands  in  England, 
seated  round  my  lowly  board.  I  have  had  that  darling 
Colonel  Milstone  Reid,  the  decipherer  of  the  Babylonish 
inscriptions;  the  eminent  Professor  Hodwinck,  of 
Halle,  author  of  those  extraordinary  "  Hora?  Antedilu- 
viana?,"  and  "  The  History  of  the  Three  Hundred  First 
Sovereigns  of  the   Fourth   Preadamite   Period;"    and 


THE  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    325 

Professor  Blenkinhorn  (who  reads  your  handwriting  in 
that  wonderful  way,  you  know,  for  thirteen  stamps) 
round  one  tea-table  in  one  room  in  my  house.  I  have  had 
the  hero  of  Acre,  the  hero  of  Long  Acre,  and  a  near  rela- 
tion of  Greenacre  at  the  same  soiree;  and  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own,  that  when  during  his  trial  the  late  atro- 
cious Mr.  Rawhead,  confiding  in  his  acquittal,  wrote  to 
order  a  rump  and  dozen  at  the  inn,  I  was  so  much  de- 
ceived by  the  barefaced  wretch's  protestations  of  inno- 
cence, that  I  sent  him  a  little  note,  requesting  the  honour 
of  his  company  at  an  evening  party  at  my  house.  He 
was  found  justly  guilty  .of  the  murder  of  Mrs.  Tripes, 
was  hanged,  and,  of  course,  could  not  come  to  my  party. 
But  had  he  been  innocent,  what  shame  would  there  have 
been  in  my  receiving  a  man  so  certainly  remarkable,  and 
whose  undoubted  courage  (had  it  been  exerted  in  a  better 
cause)  might  have  led  him  to  do  great  things?  Yes,  and 
if  I  take  that  villa  at  Fulham  next  year,  I  hope  to  have 
a  snug  Sunday  party  from  the  Agapemone  for  a  game 
at  hockey ;  when  I  hope  that  my  dear  Bishop  of  Bullock- 
smithy  will  come. 

Indeed  what  is  there  in  life  worth  living  for  but  the 
enjoyment  of  the  society  of  men  of  talent  and  celebrity  \ 
Of  the  mere  monde,  you  know,  one  person  is  just  like  an- 
other. Lady  A.  and  Lady  B.  have  their  dresses  made 
by  the  same  milliner,  and  talk  to  the  same  pattern.  Lord 
C.'s  whiskers  are  exactly  like  Mr.  D.'s,  and  their  coats 
are  the  same,  and  their  plaited  shirt-fronts  are  the  same, 
and  they  talk  about  the  same  things.  If  one  dines  with 
E.,  or  F.,  or  G.,  or  H.,  one  has  the  same  dinner  at  each 
table;  the  very  same  soup,  entrees,  sweets,  and  ices,  in- 
terspersed with  the  same  conversation  carried  round  in  an 
undertone.    If  one  goes  to  I.  House  or  K.  House,  there 


326       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

is  the  same  music — the  same  Mario  and  Lablache,  the 
same  Lablache  and  Mario.  As  for  friends  in  the  world, 
we  know  what  they  are,  stupid  frumps  and  family  con- 
nections, who  are  angry  if  they  are  not  invited  to  all  one's 
parties,  who  know  and  tell  all  one's  secrets,  who  spread 
all  the  bad  stories  about  one  that  are  true,  or  half -true, 
or  untrue:  I  make  a  point,  for  my  part,  to  have  no 
friends.  I  mean,  nobody  who  shall  be  on  such  a  confi- 
dential  footing  as  that  he  or  she  shall  presume  to  know 
too  much  of  my  affairs,  or  that  I  shall  myself  be  so  fond 
of,  that  I  should  miss  them  were  they  to  be  estranged  or 
to  die.  One  is  not  made,  or  one  need  not  be  made,  to  be 
uncomfortable  in  life:  one  need  have  no  painful  sensa- 
tions about  anybody.  And  that  is  why  I  admire  and  am 
familiar  with  remarkable  people  and  persons  of  talent 
only ;  because,  if  they  die,  or  go  away,  or  bore  me,  I  can 
get  other  people  of  talent  or  remarkable  persons  in  their 
place.  For  instance,  this  year  it  is  the  Xepaulese 
Princes,  and  Mile.  Vandermeer,  and  the  Hippopotamus, 
one  is  interested  about ;  next  year  it  may  be  the  Chinese 
Ambassadors,  or  the  Pope,  or  the  Duke  of  Bordeaux,  or 
who  knows  who?  This  year  it  is  the  author  of  the  "  Me- 
moriam  "  (and  a  most  pleasing  poet) ,  or  Mr.  Cumming, 
the  Lion  Hunter  of  South  Africa,  or  that  dear  Prelude ; 
next  year,  of  course,  there  will  be  somebody  else,  and 
some  other  poems  or  delightful  works,  which  will  come 
in;  and  of  which  there  is  always  a  bountiful  and  most 
providential  and  blessed  natural  supply  with  every  suc- 
ceeding season. 

And  as  I  now  sit  calmly,  at  the  end  of  a  well-spent 
season,  surveying  my  empty  apartments,  and  thinking 
of  the  many  interesting  personages  who  have  passed 
through  them,  I  cannot  but  think  how  wise  my  course  has 


THE  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAV1A    327 

been,  and  I  look  over  the  list  of  my  lions  with  pleasure. 

Poor  Sir  C ,  in  the  same  way,  keeps  a  game-book,  I 

know,  and  puts  down  the  hares  and  pheasants  which  he 
has  bagged  in  his  stupid  excursions,  and  if  that  strange 
and  delightful  bearded  hunter,  Mr.  Cumming  (who  was 
off  for  Scotland  just  when  I  went  to  his  charming  and 
terrible  Exhibition,  close  by  us  at  Knightsbridge,  and 
with  an  intimate  Scotch  mutual  acquaintance,  who  would 
have  introduced  me,  when  I  should  have  numbered  in  my 
Wednesday  list  and  my  dinner-list  one  noble  lion  more) 
—  if  Mr.  Cumming,  I  say,  keeps  his  journal  of  spring- 
boks, and  elephants  and  sea-cows,  and  lions  and  mon- 
sters, why  should  not  Clementina  Ximrod  be  permitted 
to  recur  to  her  little  journals  of  the  sporting  season? 


II 


ONTINUALLY  have  I  been 
asked,  What  is  a  lion? 
A  lion  is  a  man  or 
woman  one  must  have 
at  one's  parties  —  I 
have  no  other  answer 
but  that.  One  has  a 
man  at  one's  parties  be- 
cause one  sees  him  at 
everybody  else's  par- 
ties; I  cannot  tell  vou 
why.  It  is  the  way  of 
the  world,  and  when 
one  is  of  the  world, 
one  must  do  as  the  world  does. 

Vulgar  people,  and  persons  not  of  the  world,  never- 
theless, have  their  little  j)arties  and  their  little  great 
men  (the  foolish  absurd  creatures!)  and  I  have  no  doubt 
that  at  any  little  lawyer's  wife's  tea-table  in  Blooms- 
bury,  or  merchant's  heavy  mahogany  in  Portland 
Place,  our  manners  are  ludicrously  imitated,  and  that 
these  people  show  off  their  lions,  just  as  we  do.  I 
heard  Mr.  Grimstone  the  other  night  telling  of  some 
people  with  whom  he  had  been  dining,  a  kind  who  are 
not  in  society,  and  of  whom,  of  course,  one  has  never 
heard.  He  said  that  their  manners  were  not  unlike 
ours;  that  they  lived  in  a  very  comfortably  furnished 

328 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA      329 

house;  that  thev  had  entrees  from  the  confectioner's, 
and  that  kind  of  thing ;  and  that  they  had  their  lions,  the 
absurd  creatures,  in  imitation  of  us.  Some  of  these  peo- 
ple have  a  great  respect  for  the  peerage,  and  Grimstone 
says  that  at  this  house,  which  belongs  to  a  relative  of  his, 
they  never  consider  their  grand  dinners  complete  with- 
out poor  Lord  Muddlehead  to  take  the  lady  of  the  house 
to  dinner.  Lord  Muddlehead  never  speaks;  but  drinks 
unceasingly  during  dinner-time,  and  is  there,  Grim- 
stone  says,  that  the  host  may  have  the  pleasure  of  call- 
ing out  in  a  loud  voice,  and  the  hearing  of  his  twenty 
guests,  "  Lord  Muddlehead,  may  I  have  the  honour  of 
taking  wine  with  your  lordship? ,! 

I  am  told  there  are  several  members  of  the  aristocracy 
who  let  themselves  out  to  be  dined,  as  it  were,  in  this 
sad  May;  and  do  not  dislike  the  part  of  lion  which  they 
play  in  these  inferior  houses. 

Well  then?— what  must  we  acknowledge?— that  per- 
sons not  in  societv  imitate  us;  and  that  everybody  has 
his  family  circle  and  its  little  lion  for  the  time  being. 
With  us  it  is  Nelson  come  home  from  winning  the  bat- 
tle of  Aboukir;  with  others  it  is  Tom  Smith  who  has 
gained  the  silver  sculls  at  the  rowing  match.  With  us 
it  is  a  Foreign  Minister,  or  a  Prince  in  exile;  with 
others  it  may  be  Master  Thomas  who  has  just  come 
from  Cambridge,  or  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  who  have  just 
been  on  a  tour  to  Paris.  Poor  creatures!  do  not  let  us 
be  too  hard  on  them!  People  may  not  be  in  society— 
and  yet,  I  dare  say,  mean  very  well.  I  have  found  in 
steamboats  on  the  Rhine,  and  at  tables-d'hote  on  the 
Continent,  very  well-informed  persons,  really  very 
agreeable,  and  well  mannered,  with  whom  one  could 
converse  very  freely,  and  get  from  them  much  valuable 


330       CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    "PUNCH" 

information  and  assistance — and  who,  nevertheless, 
were  not  in  society  at  all.  These  people  one  does  not, 
of  course,  recognise  on  returning  to  this  country  (un- 
less they  happen  to  get  into  the  world,  as  occasionally 
they  do)  :  but  it  is  surprising  how  like  us  many  of 
them  are,  and  what  good  imitations  of  our  manners  they 
give. 

For  instance,  this  very  Mr.  Grimstone — Lady  Tol- 
lington  took  him  up,  and  of  course,  if  Lady  Tolling- 
ton  takes  up  a  man  he  goes  everywhere — four  or  five 
years  ago  in  Germany  I  met  him  at  Wiesbaden;  he 
gave  me  up  his  bedroom,  for  the  inn  was  full,  and  he 
slept  on  a  billiard-table,  I  think,  and  was  very  good- 
natured,  amusing,  and  attentive.  He  was  not  then 
du  monde,  and  I  lost  sight  of  him:  for,  though  he 
bowed  to  me  one  night  at  the  Opera,  I  thought  it  was 
best  not  to  encourage  him,  and  my  glass  would  not 
look  his  way.  But  when  once  received — difficulties  of 
course  vanished,  and  I  was  delighted  to  know  him. 

'O  Mr.  Grimstone! ':  I  said,  'how  charmed  I  am 
to  see  you  among  us.  How  pleasant  you  must  be, 
ain't  you?  I  see  you  were  at  Lady  Tollington's  and 
Lady  Trumpington's ;  and  of  course  you  will  go  every- 
where: and  will  you  come  to  my  Wednesdays?' 

'  It  is  a  great  comfort,  Lady  Nimrod,"  Grimstone 
said,  "to  be  in  society  at  last — and  a  great  privilege. 
You  know  that  my  relations  are  low,  that  my  father 
and  mother  are  vulgar,  and  that  until  I  came  into  the 
monde,  I  had  no  idea  what  decent  manners  were,  and 
had  never  met  a  gentleman  or  a  lady  before?'' 

Poor  young  man!  Considering  his  disadvantages, 
he  really  pronounces  his  /?'s  very  decently;  and  I 
watched  him  all  through  dinner-tirne,  and  he  behaved 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    331 

quite  well.  Lady  Blinker  says  he  is  satirical:  but  he 
seems  to  me  simple  and  quiet. 

Mr.  Grimstone  is  a  lion  now.  His  speech  in  Parlia- 
ment made  him  talked  about.  Directly  one  is  talked 
about,  one  is  a  lion.  He  is  a  Radical;  and  his  princi- 
pals are,  I  believe,  horrid.  But  one  must  have  him  to 
one's  parties,  as  he  goes  to  Lady  Tollington's. 

There  is  nothing  which  I  dislike  so  much  as  the  illib- 
erally of  some  narrow-minded  English  people,  who 
want  to  judge  everything  by  their  own  standard  of 
morals,  and  are  squeamish  with  distinguished  foreign- 
ers whose  manners  do  not  exactly  correspond  with  their 
own.  Have  we  any  right  to  quarrel  with  a  Turkish 
gentleman  because  he  has  three  or  four  wives?  With 
an  officer  of  Austrian  Hussars,  because,  in  the  course 
of  his  painful  duties,  he  has  had  to  inflict  personal 
punishment  on  one  or  two  rebellious  Italian  or  Hun- 
garian ladies,  and  whip  a  few  little  boys?  Does  any- 
body cut  Dr.  Hawtrey,  at  Eton,  for  correcting  the 
boys? — my  sons,  I'm  sure,  would  be  the  better  for  a 
little  more.  When  the  Emperor's  aide-de-camp,  Count 
Knoutoff,  was  in  this  country,  was  he  not  perfectly 
well  received  at  Court  and  in  the  very  first  circles?  It 
gives  one  a  sort  of  thrill,  and  imparts  a  piquancy  and 
flavour  to  a  whole  party  when  one  has  a  lion  in  it  who 
has  hanged  twenty-five  Polish  Colonels^  like  Count 
Knoutoff;  or  shot  a  couple  of  hundred  Carlist  officers 
before  breakfast,  like  General  Garbanzos,  than  whom 
I  never  met  a  more  mild,  accomplished,  and  elegant 
man.  I  should  say  he  is  a  man  of  the  most  sensitive 
organisation,  that  he  would  shrink  from  giving  pain 
—he  has  the  prettiest  white  hand  I  ever  saw,  except  my 
dear  Bishop's;  and,  besides,  in  those  countries  an  officer 


332       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO      PUNCH' 

must  do  his  duty.  These  extreme  measures,  of  course, 
are  not  what  one  would  like  officers  of  one's  own  coun- 
try to  do:  but  consider  the  difference  of  the  education 
of  foreigners! — and  also,  it  must  be  remembered,  that 
if  poor  dear  General  Garbanzos  did  shoot  the  Carlists, 
those  horrid  Carlists,  if  they  had  caught  him,  would 
certainly  have  shot  him. 

In  the  same  way  about  remarkable  women  who  come 
among  us — their  standard  of  propriety,  it  must  be 
remembered,  is  not  ours,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge 
them.  When  that  delightful  Madame  Andria  came 
amongst  us  (whom  Grimstone  calls  Polyandria, 
though  her  name  is  Alphonsine),  who  ever  thought  of 
refusing  to  receive  her?  Count  Andria  and  her  first 
husband,  the  Baron  de  Frump,  are  the  best  friends 
imaginable;  and  I  have  heard  that  the  Baron  was  pres- 
ent at  his  wife's  second  marriage,  wished  her  new  hus- 
band joy  with  all  his  heart,  and  danced  with  a  Royal 
Princess  at  the  wedding.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
Prince  Gregory  Ragamoffski,  who  comes  out  of  Prus- 
sian Poland —  (where  I  hope  Miss  Hulker,  of  Lombard 
Street,  leads  a  happy  life,  and  finds  a  couronne  f evince 
a  consolation  for  a  bad  odious  husband,  an  uncomfort- 
able hide-and-seek  barn  of  a  palace  as  it  is*  called,  and  a 
hideous  part  of  the  country) — I  say  it  is  well  known 
that  Ragamoff  ski  was  married  before  he  came  to  Eng- 
land, and  that  he  made  a  separation  from  his  Prin- 
cess a  V  aim  able;  and  came  hither  expressly  for  an 
heiress.  Who  minds  these  things?  Ragamoffski  was 
everywhere  in  London;  and  there  were  Dukes  at  Saint 
George's  to  sign  the  register;  and  at  the  breakfast,  in 
Hyde  Park  Gardens,  which  old  Hulker  gave,  without 
inviting  me,  by  the  way.     Thence,  I  say,  it  ought  to  be 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAYIA    333 

clear  to  us  that  foreigners  are  to  be  judged  by  their  own 
ways  and  habits,  and  not  ours — and  that  idle  cry  which 
people  make  against  some  of  them  for  not  conforming 
to  our  practises  ought  to  be  put  down !  Cry  out  against 
them,  indeed!  Mr.  Grimstone  says,  that  if  the  Emperor 
Nero,  having  slaughtered  half  Christendom  the  week 
before,  could  come  to  England  with  plenty  of  money 
in  his  pocket,  all  London  would  welcome  him,  and  he 
would  be  pressed  at  the  very  first  houses  to  play  the 
fiddle— and  that  if  Queen  Catherine  of  Medicis,  though 
she  had  roasted  all  the  Huguenots  in  France,  had  come 
over  afterwards  to  Mivart's,  on  a  visit  to  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, the  very  best  nobility  in  the  country  would  have 
come  to  put  their  names  down  in  her  visiting-book. 


Ill 


A  MONG  the  most  considerable  lions  who  have  fig- 
x~\.  ured  in  my  menagerie,  I  may  mention  Bobbachy 
Bahawder,  the  Prince  of  Delhi,  who  came  over  on  a 
confidential  mission,  from  his  Imperial  Majesty  the 
Emperor  Aurungzebe,  his  august  sovereign  and  mas- 
ter. No  soiree  was  for  some  time  complete  without  the 
Bobbachy.  Of  all  the  Orientals  who  have  visited  our 
shores,  it  was  agreed  that  he  was  the  most  witty,  inter- 
esting, and  accomplished ;  he  travelled  with  a  small  suite 
of  Hookabadars,  Kitmutgars,  and  Lascars;  and  the 
sensation  was  prodigious  which  was  occasioned  by  the 
intelligence,  that  the  distinguished  Envoy  had  it  in 
command  from  his  Imperial  master,  to  choose  out  from 
among  the  beauties  of  Britain  a  young  lady  who  would 
not  object  to  become  Empress  of  Delhi  in  place  of  the 
late  lamented  wife  of  the  sovereign,  for  whose  loss  his 
Majesty  was  inconsolable.  It  was  only  after  he  had 
been  for  some  time  in  the  country,  that  this  the  real 
object  of  his  mission  transpired;  for,  for  some  time,  the 
Bobbachy  lived  in  the  most  private  manner,  and  he  was 
not  even  presented  at  Court,  nor  asked  to  a  turtle  din- 
ner by  the  East  India  Company.  In  fact,  some  of  the 
authorities  of  Leadenhall  Street  said  that  the  Bobbachy 
was  no  more  an  Ambassador  than  you  or  I,  and  hinted 
he  was  an  impostor;  but  his  excellency's  friends  knew 
better,  and  that  there  are  differences  of  such  a  serious 
nature  between  the  East  India  Company  and  the  Delhi 

334 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    335 

Emperor,  that  it  was  to  the  interest  of  the  Leadenhall 
Street  potentates  to  ignore  the  Bobbachy,  and  throw  all 
the  discredit  which  they  could  upon  the  Envoy  of  the 
great,  widowed,  and  injured  sovereign. 

Lady  Lynx  took  this  line,  and  would  not  receive  him , 
but  the  manner  in  which  her  ladyship  is  lice  with  some 
of  those  odious  directors,  and  the  way  in  which  she  begs, 
borrows,  and,  as  I  believe,  sells,  the  cadetships  and 
writerships  which  she  gets  from  them,  is  very  well 
known.  She  did  everything  malice  and  envy  could  suff- 
gest  to  bring  this  eminent  Asiatic  into  disrepute;  she 
said  he  was  not  a  Prince,  or  an  Envoy  at  all,  or  any- 
thing but  a  merchant  in  his  own  country;  but  as  she 
always  tries  to  sneer  at  my  lions,  and  to  pooh-pooh  my 
parties,  and  as  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  welcome  the 
distinguished  Bobbachy  to  this  country,  the  very  ill  will 
and  enw  of  Ladv  Lynx  only  made  me  the  more  confi- 
dent  of  the  quality  of  this  remarkable  person ;  and  I  do 
not  blush  to  own  that  I  was  among  the  first  to  welcome 
him  to  our  shores.  I  asked  people  to  meet  the  Ambas- 
sador of  the  Emperor  of  Delhi.  That  I  own,  and  that 
he  denied  altogether  that  he  was  here  in  any  such 
capacity;  but  if  reasons  of  State  prevented  him  from 
acknowledging  his  rank,  that  was  no  reason  why  we 
should  not  award  it  to  him;  and  I  was  proud  to  have 
the  chance  of  presenting  his  excellency  to  society,  in 
opposition  to  that  stupid  uninteresting  Hungarian 
General  whom  Lady  Lynx  brought  out  at  the  same 
time,  and  who,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  was  an  Irish- 
man out  of  Connaught,  for  he  spoke  English  with  a 
decided  Connemara  brogue. 

When  the  Bobbachy  first  came  to  this  country,  he 
occupied  humble  lodgings  in  Jermyn  Street,  and  lived  at 


336      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

no  expense ;  but  happening  to  be  staying  at  the  Star  and 
Garter  at  Richmond,  where  he  one  day  came  to  dinner, 
I  introduced  myself  to  him  in  the  hotel  gardens;  said  I 
was  the  Lady  Nimrod,  one  of  the  chiefs  of  English 
society,  of  whom  perhaps  he  had  heard,  and  that  I 
should  be  glad  to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  make  the 
metropolis  welcome  for  him,  and  introduce  him  into  the 
best  company.  He  put  both  his  hands  before  him  on 
his  breast,  as  if  he  was  going  to  swim  at  me,  Mr.  Grim- 
stone  said,  and  made  me  a  most  elegant  bow ;  answering 
in  very  good  English  that  my  humble  name  and  the 
reputation  of  my  parties  had  often  formed  the  subject 
of  conversation  at  the  Court  of  Delhi  and  throughout 
the  East;  and  that  it  was  a  white  day  in  his  life  in 
which  he  had  the  delight  to  see  the  countenance  of  one 
who  was  so  illustrious  for  beauty,  as  he  was  pleased  to 
say  I  was.  "Ah!"  he  often  said  afterwards,  "why  has 
Fate  disposed  so  early  of  such  a  lovely  creature?  What 
a  lucky  individual  is  he  (meaning  Nimrod)  who  pos- 
sesses such  a  pearl !  It  is  fit  to  be  worn  in  an  emperor's 
turban,  and  I  must  not  speak  about  you  to  my  master 
or  show  your  portrait  to  him  unless  I  can  take  you  to 
him;  for  he  will  certainly,  when  I  get  back  to  Delhi, 
chop  my  head  off  from  rage  and  disappointment  at  my 
returning  home  without  you." 

This  speech,  though  Oriental,  at  least  shows  he  was 
well  bred.  As  for  my  marrying  the  emperor,  that  is 
out  of  the  question,  for  Nimrod  is  alive  in  the  country, 
and  we  have  no  means  of  pursuing  your  Oriental  prac- 
tices of  bowstringing  here.  I  told  the  Bobbachy  at 
once  that  the  emperor  must  never  think  of  me,  must 
never  be  spoken  to  about  me,  and  that  I  must  live  and 
die  an  English,  not  an  Indian  lady.     But  this  was  in 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    337 

after-times,  and  when  we  grew  more  intimate  together. 
Meanwhile  it  gave  me  great  pleasure  in  introducing 
into  the  world  this  amiable  and  polite  exotic. 

At  first,  as  I  have  said,  he  lived  in  a  very  humble 
and  retired  manner  in  Jermyn  Street.  When  I  called 
upon  him  in  my  carriage  with  my  footmen,  the  door 
was  opened  by  a  maid  of  all  work,  who  told  us  with 
wonder  that  "the  Injan  gent,"  as  she  called  him,  lived 
on  the  second-floor.  I  toiled  up  to  his  apartment  (how 
different  to  the  splendid  halls  and  alabaster  pillars  and 
sparkling  fountains  of  the  palaces  of  his  native  East!) 
and  there  found  his  excellency  on  a  horsehair  sofa, 
smoking  his  hookah.  I  insisted  upon  taking  him  a 
drive  into  the  Park.  It  happened  to  be  a  fine  day,  and 
there  was  a  throng  of  carriages,  and  most  eyes  were 
directed  towards  the  noble  stranger,  as  he  sate  by  my 
side  in  the  carriage  in  a  simple  Oriental  costume  with 
a  turban  of  red  and  gold.  I  would  have  taken  the 
back  seat  and  have  let  him  sit  cross-legged,  but  I  had 
Miss  Higgs,  my  companion,  and  Fido  on  the  back  seat. 
I  mentioned  everywhere  who  he  was,  took  him  to 
the  Opera  that  night,  and  had  him  at  my  Wednesday, 
with  a  petit  diner  choisi  to  meet  him. 

He  had  not  been  at  Court  as  yet,  nor  with  the  East 
India  Company,  for  the  reasons  I  have  stated;  until 
the  presents  for  her  Majesty,  with  which  the  "  Burrum- 
pooter"  East  Indiaman  was  loaded,  had  reached  Lon- 
don— presents  consisting  of  the  most  valuable  diamonds, 
shawls,  elephants,  and  other  choice  specimens  of  Ori- 
ental splendour — had  arrived  in  the  East  India  Docks, 
it  was  not  etiquette  for  him  to  present  himself  before 
the  sovereign  of  this  country.  Hence  his  quiet  retreat 
in  his  Jermyn  Street  lodgings;  and  he  laughed  at  the 


338      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

audacity  of  the  landlord  of  the  odious  house.  "  Land- 
lord," he  said,  "he  think  me  rogue.  Landlord  he  send 
me  bill.  Landlord  he  think  Bobbachy  Bahawder  not 
pay.  Stop  till  '  Burrumpooter '  come,  then  see  whether 
landlord  not  go  down  on  his  knee  before  the  Emperor's 
Ambassador."  Indeed  his  excellency  had  arrived  with 
only  two  attendants,  by  the  steamer  and  the  overland 
route,  leaving  the  bulk  of  his  suite  and  the  invaluable 
baggage  to  follow  in  the  "  Burrumpooter." 

He  was  a  fine  judge  of  diamonds  and  shawls,  of 
course,  and  very  curious  about  the  jewellers  and  shawl 
merchants  of  London.  I  took  him  in  my  carriage  to 
one  or  two  of  our  principal  tradesmen;  but  there  was 
very  little  which  he  admired,  having  seen  much  finer 
brilliants  and  shawls  in  his  own  romantic  land. 

When  he  saw  my  house  he  was  delighted  and  sur- 
prised. He  said  he  thought  all  houses  in  London  like 
that  lodging  in  Jermyn  Street — all  sofas  black,  all  sky 
black:  why  his  dam  secretary  take  him  to  that  black 
hole?  Landlord — dam  secretary's  uncle — charge  him 
hundred  pound  month  for  that  lodging.  I  represented 
how  atrociously  his  excellency  had  been  imposed  upon, 
and  that  if  he  intended  to  receive  company,  he  should 
certainly  transport  himself  to  better  apartments.  It  is 
wonderful  how  these  simple  foreigners  are  imposed 
upon  by  our  grasping  countrymen! 

The  Bobbachy  took  my  advice,  and  removed  to  hand- 
some rooms  at  Green's  Hotel,  where  he  engaged  a 
larger  suite,  and  began  to  give  entertainments  more 
befitting  his  rank.  He  brought  a  native  cook,  who 
prepared  the  most  delicious  curries,  pillaws,  and  Indian 
dishes,  which  really  made  one  cry — they  were  so  hot 
with  pepper.     He  gradually  got  about  him  a  number 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    339 

of  the  most  distinguished  people,  and,  thanks  to  my 
introduction  and  his  own  elegant  and  captivating  man- 
ners, was  received  at  many  of  our  best  houses ;  and  when 
the  real  object  of  his  mission  came  out  (which  he 
revealed  to  me  in  confidence),  that  he  was  anxious  to 
select  a  lady  for  the  vacant  throne  of  Delhi,  it  was  won- 
derful  how  popular  he  became,  and  how  anxious  people 
were  about  him.  The  portrait  of  his  Imperial  master, 
the  emperor,  seated  on  a  gold  throne,  was  hung  up  in 
his  principal  drawing-room;  and  though  a  vile  daub, 
as  most  people  said,  especially  that  envious  Grimstone, 
who  said  he  must  have  bought  it  of  some  Strand  limner 
for  a  guinea — yet  what  can  one  expect  from  an  Indian 
artist?  and  the  picture  represented  a  handsome  young 
man,  with  a  sweet  black  beard,  a  thin  waist,  and  a  neck- 
lace of  diamonds  worth  millions  and  billions  of  rupees. 
If  the  young  ladies  and  mammas  of  London  flocked 
to  see  this  picture,  you  may  imagine  how  eager  the 
mammas  and  young  ladies  were  to  show  their  own  beau- 
ties! Everybody  read  up  about  Delhi,  and  was  so 
anxious  to  know  about  it  from  his  excellency!  Mrs. 
Cramley,  hearing  that  the  Orientals  like  stout  ladies, 
sent  to  Scotland  for  that  enormous  Miss  Cramley,  who 
is  obliged  to  live  in  seclusion  on  account  of  her  size,  and 
who  really  would  do  for  a  show;  old  Lady  Glum  said 
if  she  allowed  her  daughter  to  make  such  a  marriage, 
it  would  be  with  the  fervent  hope  of  converting  the 
emperor  and  all  India  with  him;  little  Miss  Cockshaw 
was  anxious  to  know  if  the  widows  Mere  burned  still  at 
Delhi.  I  don't  know  how  many  women  didn't  ask  his 
excellency  when  this  news  was  made  public,  and  my  lion 
was  nearly  torn  to  pieces.  It  was  "  Bobbachy  Bahawder 
and   suite,"    "  His   Excellency    Bobbachy   Bahawder," 


340      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

"  His  Excellency  Prince  Bobbachy  Bahawder,"  every- 
where now,  his  name  in  all  the  newspapers,  and  who 
should  be  most  eager  to  receive  him. 

The  number  of  pictures  of  young  ladies  of  rank 
which  my  friend  received  from  all  parts  of  the  country 
would  have  formed  a  series  of  Books  of  Beauty.  There 
came  portraits  from  Belgravia — portraits  from  Ty- 
burnia — portraits  from  the  country;  portraits  even  from 
Bloomsbury  and  the  City,  when  the  news  was  made 
public  of  the  nature  of  his  excellency's  mission.  Such 
wicked  deceptive  portraits  they  sent  up  too!  Old  Miss 
Cruickshanks  had  herself  painted  like  a  sylph  or  an 
opera  dancer;  Mrs.  Bibb,  who  is  five-and-forty  if  she's 
a  day  old,  went  to  a  great  expense,  and  had  a  fashion- 
able painter  to  draw  her  in  a  crop  and  a  pinafore,  like 
a  schoolgirl.  Fathers  brought  their  children  to  walk 
up  and  down  before  his  excellency's  hotel,  and  some 
bribed  his  excellency's  secretary  to  be  allowed  to  wait 
in  the  ante-room  until  he  should  pass  out  from  breakfast. 
That  Ladv  Lvnx  said  that  the  onlv  readv  monev  which 

*/  •/  v  mi  mi 

the  mission  got  was  from  these  bribes;  and  the  pictures, 
I  must  confess,  were  sold  upon  the  Minister's  with- 
drawal from  this  country. 

A  sudden  revolution  at  the  Court  of  Delhi  occurred, 
as  is  very  well  known,  in  Mav  last,  and  the  news  of  his 

%J  '  mJ  * 

recall  was  brought  to  my  excellent  friend.  The  demand 
for  his  return  was  so  peremptory,  that  he  was  obliged 
to  quit  England  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  departed 
with  his  secretarv  onlv,  and  before  he  had  even  had  time 
to  take  leave  of  me,  his  most  attached  friend. 

A  lamentable  accident  must  have  happened  to  the 

'  Burrumpooter "    Indiaman,    with   the   diamonds   and 

elephants  on  board,  for  the  unfortunate  ship  has  never 


LION  HUNTRESS  OF  BELGRAVIA    341 

reached  England,  and  I  dare  say  has  sunk  with  all  on 
board. 

But  that  is  no  reason  for  the  slander  of  ill-natured 
people,  who  want  to  make  the  world  believe  that  there 
never  was  such  a  ship  as  the  "  Burrumpooter  "  at  all; 
and  that  the  Bobbachy  and  his  secretary  were  a  couple 
of  rogues  in  league  together,  who  never  had  a  penny, 
and  never  would  have  made  their  way  in  society  but 
for  my  introduction.  How  am  I  to  know  the  pedigrees 
of  Indian  princes,  and  the  manners  of  one  blackamoor 
from  another?  If  I  introduced  the  Bobbachy  I'm  sure 
other  people  have  introduced  other  dark-complexioned 
people;  and  as  for  the  impudence  of  those  tradesmen 
who  want  me  to  pay  his  bills,  and  of  Mr.  Green,  of  the 
hotel,  who  says  he  never  had  a  shilling  of  his  excellency's 
money,  I've  no  words  to  speak  of  it. 

Besides,  I  don't  believe  he  has  defrauded  anybody; 
and  when  the  differences  at  the  Court  of  Delhi  are 
adjusted,  I've  little  doubt  but  that  he  will  send  the 
paltry  few  thousand  pounds  he  owes  here,  and  perhaps 
come  back  to  renew  the  negotiations  for  the  marriage  of 
his  Imperial  master. 

(August  and  September  1850.) 


WHY  CAN'T  THEY  LEAVE  US  ALONE  IN 

THE    HOLIDAYS? 


From  Home,  as  yet.      10th  January. 

ESPECTED    MR.     PUNCH, 

—  I  am  a  young  gentleman 
of  good  family,  and  ex- 
ceedingly gentle  disposi- 
tion, and  at  present  home 
for  the  Christmas  holidays 
with  my  dear  Papa  and 
Mamma.  I  believe  I  am 
not  considered  clever  at 
school,  being  always  last 
in  my  class:  and  the  Doc- 
tor, the  Usher,  the  French 
Master,  and  all  the  boys  except  Tibbs  Minimus  (who 
is  only  six,  and  in  the  last  form  with  me)  beat  me  and 
ill-use  me  a  great  deal.  And  it's  a  great  shame  that  I 
for  my  part  am  not  allowed  to  whop  Tibbs  Minimus, 
which  I  could,  being  14  myself  last  birthday;  but  that 
nasty  brute  Tibbs  Minor  says  he'll  thrash  me  if  I  do — 
and  it's  very  unkind  of  him;  for  when  he  was  a  child  in. 
petticoats,  and  I  was  ten,  and  he  was  in  the  last  class 
with  me,  I  never  beat  him,  as  I  easily  could  have  done, 
and  now  the  unkind  boy  is  always  attacking  and  woorit- 
ing  me. 

I  cannot  do  lessons  and  that,  Mr.  Punch;  for  when 

342 


CAN'T  THEY  LEAVE  US  ALONE?    343 

the  Dr.  calls  me  up  my  tongue  cleaves  to  the  roof  of 
my  mou f }  I'm  so  fritned;  and  same  way  in  French, 
and  same  in  Arithmetic;  and  I  can't  fight  like  some 
boys,  because  I'm  a  nervous  boy;  but  the  big  boys  keep 
me  awake  telling  stories  to  'em  all  night;  and  I  know 
ever  so  many  and  am  always  making  stories  in  my  head; 
and  somehow  I  feel  that  I'm  better  than  many  of  the 
chaps — only  /  cant  do  any  tiling.  And  they  chaff  me 
and  laugh  at  me,  because  I'm  afraid  of  being  in  the 
dark  and  seeing  ghosts  and  that,  which  I  can't  help  it. 
My  mamma  had  a  fright  before  I  was  born,  and  that's 
what  it  is,  I  suppose. 

Sir,  I  am  verv  miserable  at  school  with  everybody 
licking  me;  and  hate  the  place;  and  the  going  back  to 
it — and  the  idear  of  it  altogether.  Why  was  schools 
ever  invented?  When  I'm  at  my  dear  home,  with  dear 
Ma  and  sisters,  and  in  bed  as  long  as  I  choose,  and  wish 
twice  to  meat,  or  three  times,  if  I  like;  and  I  walk  in 
the  Park,  and  go  to  see  a  lovely  Pantamime;  and  so  I 
lose  the  horrid  thought  of  school;  and  it's  only  in  my 
dreams,  sometimes,  I  see  that  abommanable  old  Doctor. 

What  I  want  you  to  do  in  the  interest  of  all  School 
Boys,  is  to  stop  the  Times  in  holy  time  from  publishing 
those  advertisements  about  schools.  On  this  day, 
Wednesday,  jest  against  the  leading  article,  there's  no 
less  than  2  columns  of  schools;  and  Papa,  who's  always 
jokin'  and  chaffin'  me,  reads  'em  out,  and  says,  "  Tom, 
how'd  you  like  this? — Education  of  a  superior  kind, 
Birchwood  Briars.  No  extras,  no  holidays."  Or, 
'Tom,  here's  a  chance  for  you — To  Laundresses.  A 
schoolmaster  wishes  to  receive  into  his  establishment  the 
Son  of  a  respectable  Laundress,  on  reciprocal  terms! 
Address,"  &c.     "  Mv  dear,"  Pa  says  to  dear  Ma,  "  what 


344      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

a  pity  you  wasn't  a  washerwoman,  and  we  could  get 
this  stupid  boy  educated  for  nothing."  I'm  sure  I've 
been  mangled  enough  by  that  bully  Bob  Cuff,  if  I 
haven't  been  ironed  and  hung  up  to  dry!  Or,  "To 
Booksellers,  Grocers,  Butchers,  and  Bakers.  —  In  a  well- 
appreciated  seminary,  within  five  miles  of  London,  the 
children  of  the  above  tradesmen  will  be  received.  The 
whole  of  the  school  account  will  be  taken  in  goods." 
And  Pa  wonders  if  he  were  to  send  back  our  calf  with 
me  in  our  cart,  and  one  of  our  sheep,  whether  the  Doc- 
tor would  take  them  in  payment  of  the  quarter's  ac- 
count? And  then  he  says  that  one  calf  ought  to  pay 
for  another,  and  laughs  and  makes  me  miserable  for 
the  whole  day. 

And  next  week  my  pleasures,  I  know,  will  be  dampt 
by  reading  the  Christmas  Vacation  of  the  Chipping- 
Rodbury  Grammar  School  will  conclude  on  the  24th 
inst.,  when  the  boys  are  expected  to  reassemble;  the 
young  gentlemen  of  Dr.  Bloxam's  Academy  will  meet 
on  the  25th;  or  Mr.  Broomback's  young  friends  will 
reassemble  after  the  Christmas  recess;  or  so  and  so. 
Why  are  these  horrid  thoughts  always  to  be  brought 
before  us?  I'm  sure,  at  Christmas  time,  managers  of 
newspapers  might  be  kind  and  keep  these  horrid  adver- 
tisements out  of  sight.  And  if  our  uncles,  and  people 
who  come  to  our  house,  when  we're  at  home  for  the 
holidays,  would  but  be  so  obliging  as  never  to  mention 
school,  or  make  jokes  about  flogging,  or  going  back, 
or  what  we  have  for  dinner,  or  that,  I'm  sure  we  should 
be  very  much  the  happier,  and  you  won't  have  heard 
in  vain  from  your  wretched  reader, 

Under  Petty. 

{January  1851.) 


A  STRANGE  MAN  JUST  DISCOVERED 

IN  GERMANY 


has  been  mentioned  in  the 
German  journals  that  a  for- 
eigner, from  some  .  unknown 
country,  and  speaking  a  jar- 
gon scarcely  intelligible  by 
the  most  profound  German 
philologists,  has  lately  made 
his  appearance  at  Frankfort- 
on-the-Oder,  where  of  course 
he  was  handed  over  to  the  care 
of  the  police. 

'  This  individual  was 
brought  before  us,  Johann 
HumpfFenstrumpffen,  Bur- 
gomaster of  Frankfort,  on  Tuesday,  the  8th  of  April, 
and  examined  in  our  presence  and  that  of  our  Clerk  and 
Town  Council. 

'  The  raiment  and  appearance  of  this  individual, 
landed,  no  one  knows  how,  in  a  remote  and  extremely 
quiet  German  city,  are  described  by  all  persons  as  most 
singular.  In  height  he  is  about  five  feet  six  inches,  his 
hair  is  white,  his  face  sallow,  his  beard  red — that  on  his 
upper  lip  not  so  much  grown  as  that  on  his  cheeks ;  his 
hands  are  large  and  dirty,  his  teeth  useful,  his  appetite 
great,  and  his  thirst  constant. 

345 


346      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

"  His  dress  is  most  extraordinary  and  barbarous.  On 
his  head  he  wears  a  covering  of  a  snuff -brown  colour,  in 
shape  something  like  a  wash-basin— which  it  would  be 
very  advisable  that  he  should  use  for  his  face  and  hands. 
Round  his  neck,  which  is  exceedingly  ugly  and  bare,  he 
wears  a  strip  of  a  shining  stuff,  spun  out  of  worms,  he 
says,  in  his  own  country,  and  called  an  Alberti:  it  is 
puffed  in  two  bows  round  his  cheeks,  and  gives  him  a 
highly  absurd  appearance. 

"His  outer  garment  was  a  loose  shaggy  vest,  made 
out  of  the  skin  of  bears,  most  likely,  and  tainted  strongly 
with  a  stale  and  exceedingly  rancorous  odour  of  what 
he  calls  '  backy-backy.'  This  outer  dress— when  asked 
its  name,  by  Burgermeister  von  Humpffenstrumpffen 
—  the  nondescript  called  a  '  Minorimosy ; '  and  holding 
up  his  outstretched  hand  three  times,  cried  out  the  syl- 
lable '  Bob,'  and  wagged  his  head ;  from  which  the  Bur- 
gomaster concluded  that  '  bob '  is  the  name  of  a  coin  of 
the  country. 

'  His  next  garment,  one  without  sleeves,  was  deco- 
rated with  buttons  of  glass;  and  in  the  pockets  were 
found  bits  of  paper,  which  the  nondescript  tried  to  ex- 
plain—  by  the  words  '  ungle,'  '  tickor,'  '  spowt,'  &c.  —  and 
showed  by  his  gestures  that  the  papers  were  to  him  of 
considerable  value.  They  are  greasy,  and,  to  all  appear- 
ances, worthless,  coarsely  printed,  and  marked  with  rude 
manuscript  numerals.  It  is  conjectured  that  they  may 
form  part  of  the  paper-money  of  his  country. 

"  Beyond  these  tokens,  no  coin  of  any  kind  was  found 
on  the  nondescript's  person. 

'  Under  the  glass-buttoned  garment,  from  which  he 
struggled  violently  not  to  be  divested,  the  stranger  had 
on  two  other  very  singular  articles  of  costume.    One  was 


A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY  IN  GERMANY  347 

very  ragged,  and  evidently  old,  and  covered  with  printed 
figures  in  pink,  representing  bayaderes  dancing.  Over 
this  was  a  small  piece  of  stuff  worked  with  the  needle, 
and  once  white — the  name  of  which,  after  repeated  and 
severe  interrogatories,  he  said  was  '  Dicki.'  It  has  been 
carried  to  the  Museum,  and  placed  between  the  breast- 
plate of  a  Turkish  vizier  and  the  corslet  of  a  knight  of 
the  middle  ages. 

'  His  lower  dress  was  of  a  broad  che.ck  pattern,  some- 
thing resembling  the  stuff  which  is  worn  by  the  Scottish 
Highlanders,  who,  however,  it  is  known,  do  not  use 
braccce,  whence  it  is  evident  that  the  stranger  cannot  be 
one  of  these.  When  the  Burgomaster  pointed  to  these, 
the  nondescript  wagged  his  head,  pleased  seemingly,  and 
said  the  word  '  Stunnin,'  which  the  clerk  took  down. 

'  On  his  feet  were  a  sort  of  short  boot  with  large  iron 
heels,  in  which  he  began  to  execute  a  queer  dance  before 
the  Court,  clinking  the  heels  together,  and  turning  the 
toes  fantastically  in  and  out.  Pointing  to  this  boot  with 
the  cane  which  he  carries  in  his  mouth,  he  winked  to  the 
clerk,  and  said  '  Hylo! '  but  then  presently  looking  round 
the  room,  and  seeing  a  portrait  of  the  late  Feldmarschall 
Prince  of  Wallstadt,  he  ran  up  to  it  and  said,  '  Blooker! 
Blooker ! '  and  danced  once  more. 

'  What  relation  can  there  be  between  the  nondescript's 
boot  and  the  late  gallant  and  venerated  Marshal  For- 
wards, who  destroyed  Bonaparte,  after  the  latter  had 
defeated  and  taken  the  Herzog  v.  Wellington  prisoner 
at  the  battle  of  Mount  Saint  John? 

"At  this  stage  of  the  examination,  and  having  been  al- 
lowed to  resume  all  his  clothes,  the  stranger  pointed  to 
his  mouth,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  stomach,  crying  out 
the  monosvllable  '  Grub,'  which  Doctor  Blinkhorn  thinks 


348      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

must  mean  food  in  his  language.  Accordingly,  a  sau- 
sage, some  bread,  and  a  can  of  beer  were  brought,  of  the 
first  of  which  he  partook  greedily,  devouring  the  whole 
bread  and  sausage.  It  was  observed  that  he  ate  with  his 
fork,  not  with  his  knife,  as  we  Germans  do. 

'  Having  tasted  the  drink,  he,  however,  laid  it  down, 
making  very  wry  faces,  and  calling  out  the  word 
'  Swipey,  Swipey,'  twice,  which  was  taken  down.  And 
then,  by  more  faces  and  contortions,  he  made  us  to  un- 
derstand as  if  the  beer  had  disagreed  with  him,  upon 
which  the  excellent  Burgermeister,  having  a  bottle  of 
Rhum  in  the  cupboard,  gave  the  savage  a  glass,  who 
smacked  it  oif  at  once,  crying  out  the  word  '  Jollyby- 
jingo.' 

"  Jollyby jingo,  was  ist  denn  Jollybyjingo?'  asked  his 
worship,  conjecturing,  with  his  usual  acuteness,  that  this 
was  the  savage's  phrase  for  Rhum  of  Jamaica.  '  Wilt 
thou  have  yet  a  glass  Jollybyjingo?'  And  his  honour 
poured  out  a  second  glass,  which  the  nondescript  seized, 
and  tossed  off,  this  time  exclaiming, 
"  ' Aybaleaveyermibawawawy ! ' 

'  Which  expression  being  accurately  taken  down,  his 
worship  the  Burgermeister  considered  the  examination 
sufficient,  and  sent  off  the  Foreigner  under  the  guard  of 
Gendarmes  Blitz  and  Wetter  to  Berlin. 

"A  true  copy. 

"{Signed)  Humpffenstrumpffen,  Burgomaster. 

Blinkhorn,  Clerk  of  the  Court" 


From  the  Berlin  "  Tagblatt." 

"  The  named  Snooks,  Bartholomaeus  Student,  out  of 
Smithfield,    London,   was   brought   hither   in   custody, 


A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY  IN  GERMANY  349 

from  Frankfort-on-the-Oder;  where,  being  tipsy,  he 
had  lost  himself,  allowing  the  train  to  go  away  without 
him.  Snooks  was  handed  over  to  the  British  Minister 
here,  and  will  return  to  London  as  soon  as  anyone  will 
lend  or  give  him  funds  for  that  purpose." 

(April  1851.) 


WHAT  I  REMARKED  AT  THE 
EXHIBITION 

I  RE  MARKED  that  the  scene  I  witnessed  was  the 
grandest  and  most  cheerful,  the  brightest  and  most 
splendid  show  that  eyes  had  ever  looked  on  since  the 
creation  of  the  world; — but  as  everybody  remarked  the 
same  thing,  this  remark  is  not  of  much  value. 

I  remarked,  and  with  a  feeling  of  shame,  that  I  had 
long  hesitated  about  paying  three  guineas — pooh-poohed 
—  said  I  had  seen  the  Queen  and  Prince  before,  and  so 
forth,  and  felt  now  that  to  behold  this  spectacle,  three 
guineas,  or  five  guineas,  or  any  sum  of  money  (for  I 
am  a  man  of  enormous  wealth)  would  have  been  cheap; 
and  I  remarked  how  few  of  us  know  really  what  is  good 
for  us — have  the  courage  of  our  situations,  and  what  a 
number  of  chances  in  life  we  throw  away.  I  would  not 
part  with  the  mere  recollection  of  this  scene  for  a  small 
annuity;  and  calculate  that,  after  paying  my  three 
guineas,  I  have  the  Exhibition  before  me,  besides  being 
largely  and  actually  in  pocket. 

I  remarked  that  a  heavy  packet  of  sandwiches  which 
Jones  begged  me  to  carry,  and  which  I  pocketed  in 
rather  a  supercilious  and  grumbling  manner,  became 
most  pleasant  friends  and  useful  companions  after  we 
had  been  in  our  places  two  or  three  hours ;  and  I  thought 
to  myself,  that  were  I  a  lyric  poet  with  a  moral  turn,  I 
would  remark  how  often  in  the  hour  of  our  need  our 

350 


REMARKED  AT  THE  EXHIBITION      351 

humble  friends  are  welcome  and  useful  to  us,  like  those 
dear  sandwiches,  which  we  pooh-poohed  when  we  did 
not  need  them. 

I  remarked  that  when  the  Queen  bowed  and  curtseyed, 
all  the  women  about  began  to  cry. 

I  remarked  how  eagerly  the  young  Prince  talked 
with  his  sister — how  charmed  everybody  was  to  see  those 
pretty  young  persons  walking  hand  in  hand  with  their 
father  and  mother,  and  how,  in  the  midst  of  any  mag- 
nificence vou  will,  what  touches  us  most  is  nature  and 
human  kindness,  and  what  we  love  to  witness  most  is 
love. 

I  remarked  three  Roman  Catholic  clergymen  in  the 
midst  of  the  crowd,  amusing  themselves  with  an  opera- 
glass. 

I  remarked  to  myself  that  it  was  remarkable  that  a 
priest  should  have  an  opera-glass. 

I  remarked  that  when  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
was  saying  his  prayer,  the  Roman  Catholic  clergymen 
seemed  no  more  to  care  than  I  should  if  Mr.  Longears 
was  speaking  in  the  House  of  Commons  — and  that  they 
looked,  stared,  peered  over  people's  shoulders,  and  used 
the  opera-glass  during  the  prayer. 

I  remarked  that  it  would  have  been  more  decorous  if, 
during  that  part  of  the  day's  proceedings,  the  reverend 
gentlemen  had  not  used  the  opera-glass. 

I  remarked  that  I  couldn't  be  paying  much  attention 
myself,  else  how  should  I  have  seen  the  reverend  gen- 
tlemen ? 

I  remarked  my  Lord  Ivorystick  and  my  Lord  Ebony- 
stick  backing  all  the  way  round  the  immense  building 
before  the  Queen;  and  I  wondered  to  myself  how  long 
is  that  sort  of  business  going  to  last?  how  long  will  free- 


352      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

born  men  forsake  the  natural  manner  of  walking,  with 
which  God  endowed  them,  and  continue  to  execute  this 
strange  and  barbarous  pas?  I  remarked  that  a  royal 
Chamberlain  was  no  more  made  to  walk  backwards,  than 
a  royal  coachman  to  sit  on  the  box  and  drive  backwards. 
And  having  just  been  laughing  at  the  kotoos  of  honest 
Lord  Chopstick  (the  Chinese  Ambassador  with  the 
pantomime  face) ,  most  of  us  in  our  gallery  remarked 
that  the  performance  of  Lord  Ivorystick  and  Lord 
Ebonystick  was  not  more  reasonable  than  that  of  his 
excellency  Chopstick,  and  wished  that  part  of  the  cere- 
mony had  been  left  out. 

I  remarked  in  the  gold  cage,  to  which  the  ladies  would 
go  the  first  thing,  and  in  which  the  Koh-i-noor  reposes, 
a  shining  thing  like  a  lambent  oyster,  which  I  admired 
greatly,  and  took  to  be  the  famous  jewel.  But  on  a 
second  visit  I  was  told  that  that  was  not  the  jewel — 
that  was  only  the  case,  and  the  real  stone  was  that  above, 
which  I  had  taken  to  be  an  imitation  in  crystal. 

I  remarked  on  this,  that  there  are  many  sham  dia- 
monds in  this  life  which  pass  for  real,  and,  vice  versa, 
many  real  diamonds  which  go  unvalued.  This  accounts 
for  the  non-success  of  those  real  mountains  of  light, 
my  "  Sonnets  on  Various  Occasions." 

I  remarked  that,  if  I  were  Queen  of  England,  I  would 
have  a  piece  of  this  crystal  set  into  my  crown,  and  wear 
it  as  the  most  splendid  jewel  of  the  whole  diadem — that 
I  would. 

And  in  fact  I  remarked  altogether — God  save  the 
Queen  ! 

{May  1851.) 


M.  GOBEMOUCHE'S  AUTHENTIC  AC- 
COUNT OF   THE   GRAND 
EXHIBITION 

IN  the  good  town  of  London,  in  the  Squars,  in  the 
Coffees,  in  the  Parks,  in  the  society  at  the  billiards, 
there  is  but  one  conversation — it  is  of  the  Palace  of  In- 
dustry; it  is  of  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert;  it  is  of 
the  union  of  all  nations.  "  Have  you  been  there,  my 
friend? "  everyone  says  to  everyone. 

Yes,  I  have  been  there.  Yes,  I  am  one  of  the  myriads 
who  visited  the  Palace  of  Industry  on  the  first  of  May, 
and  witnessed  the  triumph  of  France. 

Early  in  the  day,  following  in  the  track  of  the  my- 
riads who  were  rushing  towards  the  romantic  village  of 
Kinsington,  and  through  the  Bridge  of  Chevaliers,  I 
engaged  a  cabriolet  of  place,  and  bidding  the  driver 
conduct  me  to  the  Palace  of  all  Nations  at  Kinsington, 
sate  in  profound  reverie  smoking  my  cigar  and  thinking 
of  France,  until  my  driver  paused,  and  the  agglomera- 
tion of  the  multitude,  and  the  appearance  of  the  inevi- 
table Poliseman  of  London,  sufficiently  informed  us  that 
we  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  Industrial  Palace. 

Polisemen  flank  the  left  pillar  of  the  gate  surmounted 
by  a  vase,  emblem  of  plenty;  polisemen  flank  the  right 
pillar  decorated  by  a  lion  (this  eternal  Britannic  lion, 
how  his  roars  fatigue  me;  his  tail  does  not  frighten  me; 
his  eternal  fanfaronnades  regarding  his  courage  makes 

353 


354      CONTRIBUTIONS  TO   "PUNCH" 

me  puff  of  to  laugh!)  — and  as  nothing  is  to  be  seen  in 
England  without  undoing  purse,  a  man  at  a  wicket  stops 
the  influx  of  the  curious,  and  the  tide  cannot  pass  the 
barrier  except  through  the  filter  of  a  schilling. 

0  cursed  schilling !  He  haunts  me,  that  schilling.  He 
pursues  me  everywhere.  If  a  Frenchman  has  to  pro- 
duce his  passport,  there  is  no  moment  of  the  day  when 
an  Englishman  must  not  produce  his  schilling.  I  paid 
that  sum,  and  was  with  others  admitted  into  the  barrier, 
and  to  pass  the  outer  wall  of  the  Great  Exhibition. 

When  one  enters,  the  sight  that  at  first  presents  itself 
has  nothing  of  remarkable — a  court,  two  pavilions  on 
either  side,  a  chateau,  to  the  door  of  which  you  approach 
by  steps  of  no  particular  height  or  grandeur :  these  were 
the  simple  arrangements  which  it  appears  that  the 
Britannic  genius  has  invented  for  the  reception  of  all 
people  of  the  globe. 

1  knock  in  the  English  fashion — the  simple  baronnet 
gives  but  one  knock;  the  postman,  officer  of  the  Gov- 
erment,  many  and  rapid  strokes;  the  Lord  Mayor 
knocks  and  rings.  I  am  but  the  simple  baronnet,  and 
Sir  Gobemouche  wishes  to  be  thought  no  more  singular 
than  Sir  Brown  or  Sir  Smith. 

Two  pages — blond  children  of  Albion — their  little 
coats,  it  being  spring-time,  covered  with  a  multiplicity 
of  buds — fling  open  the  two  beatings  of  the  door,  and  I 
enter  the  little  ante-hall. 

I  look  up — above  me  is  an  azure  dome  like  the  vault 
ethereal,  silver  stars  twinkle  in  its  abysses,  a  left-hand 
lancing  thunderbolt  is  above  us — I  read  above,  in  char- 
acters resembling  the  lightning — "  Fille  de  Vorage"  in 
our  own  language,  and  "  Symbolium  of  all  Nations " 
in  English. 

Is  the  daughter  of  the  tempest  then  the  symbol  of 


ACCOUNT   OF  THE   EXHIBITION    355 

all  nations?  Is  the  day's  quiet  the  lull  after  yesterday's 
storm?  Profound  moralist,  yes — it  is  so — we  enter  into 
repose  through  the  initiation  of  the  hurricane — we  pass 
over  the  breakers  and  are  in  the  haven ! 

This  pretty  moral  conveyed  in  the  French  language, 
the  world's  language,  as  a  prelude  to  the  entertainment 
— this  solemn  antechamber  to  the  Palace  of  the  World, 
struck  me  as  appropriate  as  sublime.  With  a  beating 
heart  I  ascend  further  steps — I  am  in  the  world's  ves- 
tibule. 

What  do  I  see  around  me?  Another  magnificent  al- 
legory. The  cities  of  the  world  are  giving  each  other 
the  hand— the  Tower  of  Pisa  nods  friendly  to  the  Wall 
of  China — the  Pont  Neuf  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  meet 
and  mingle  arches — Saint  Paul,  of  London,  is  of  accord 
with  his  brother  Saint  Peter  of  Rome — and  the  Par- 
thenon is  united  with  the  Luqsor  Obelisk,  joining  its  civ- 
ilisation to  the  Egyptian  mysteries,  as  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers travelled  to  Egypt  of  old;— a  great  idea  this — 
greatly  worked  out,  in  an  art  purposely  naive,  in  a  design 
expressly  confused. 

From  this  vestibule  I  see  a  staircase  ascending,  em- 
blazoned with  the  magic  hieroglyphics,  and  strange 
allegoric  images.  In  everything  that  the  Briton  does 
lurks  a  deep  meaning— the  vices  of  his  nobility,  the 
quarrels  of  his  priests,  the  peculiarities  of  his  authors, 
are  here  dramatised: — a  Pope,  a  Cardinal  appear  among 
fantastic  devils— the  romancers  of  the  dav  figure  with 
their  attributes — the  statesmen  of  the  three  kingdoms 
with  their  various  systems — fiends,  dragons,  monsters, 
curl  and  writhe  through  the  multitudinous  hieroglyphic, 
and  typify  the  fate  that  perhaps  menaces  the  venomous 
enemies  that  empoison  the  country. 

The  chambers  of  this  marvellous  Palace  are  decorated 


356      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

in  various  styles,  each  dedicated  to  a  nation.  One  room 
flames  in  crimson  and  yellow,  surmounted  by  a  vast 
golden  sun,  which  you  see,  in  regarding  it,  must  be  the 
chamber  of  the  East.  Another,  decorated  with  sta- 
lactites and  piled  with  looking-glass  and  eternal  snow, 
at  once  suggests  Kamschatka  or  the  North  Pole.  In  a 
third  apartment,  the  Chinese  dragons  and  lanterns  dis- 
play their  fantastic  blazons;  while  in  a  fourth,  under  a 
canopy  of  midnight  stars,  surrounded  by  waving  palm- 
trees,  we  feel  ourselves  at  once  to  be  in  a  primeval  forest 
of  Brazil,  or  else  in  a  scene  of  fairy — I  know  not  which; 
— the  eye  is  dazzled,  the  brain  is  feverous,  in  beholding 
so  much  of  wonders. 

Faithful  to  their  national  economy,  of  what,  think 
you,  are  the  decorations  of  the  Palace? — Of  calico!— 
Calico  in  the  emblematic  halls,  Calico  in  the  Pompadour 
boudoirs,  Calico  in  the  Chamber  of  the  Sun — Calico 
everywhere.  Indeed,  whither  have  not  the  English 
pushed  their  cottons?  their  commerce?  Calico  has  been 
the  baleful  cause  of  their  foreign  wars,  their  interior 
commotions.  Calico  has  been  the  source  of  their  wealth, 
of  their  present  triumphant  condition,  perhaps  of  their 
future  downfall !  Well  and  deeply  the  decorators  of  the 
Palace  meditated  when  they  decorated  its  walls  with 
this  British  manufacture. 

Descending,  as  from  a  vessel's  deck,  we  approach  a 
fairy  park,  in  which  the  works  of  art  bud  and  bloom  be- 
side the  lovely  trees  of  Spring.  What  green  pelouses 
are  here!  what  waving  poplars!  what  alleys  shaded  by 
the  buds  and  blossoms  of  Spring!  Here  are  parterres 
blooming  with  polyanthuses  and  coloured  lamps;  a  foun- 
tain there  where  Numa  might  have  wooed  Egeria. 
Statues  rise  gleaming  from  the  meadow;  Apollo  bends 


ACCOUNT   OF  THE   EXHIBITION    357 

his  bow;  Dorothea  washes  her  fair  feet;  Esmeralda 
sports  with  her  kid.  What  know  I?  How  select  a 
beauty  where  all  are  beautiful?  how  specify  a  wonder 
where  all  is  miracle  ? 

In  yon  long  and  unadorned  arbour,  it  has  been  ar- 
ranged by  the  English  (who  never  do  anything  without 
rosbif  and  half-and-half)  that  the  nations  of  the  world  are 
to  feast.  And  that  vast  building  situated  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  pelouse,  with  battlemented  walls  and  trans- 
parent roof,  is  the  much-vaunted  Palace  of  Crystal! 
Yes;  the  roof  is  of  crystal,  the  dimensions  are  vast, — 
only  the  articles  to  be  exhibited  have  not  been  unpacked 
yet ;  the  Avails  of  the  Palace  of  Crystal  are  bare. 

'  That  is  the  Baronial  Hall  of  all  Nations,"  says  a 
gentleman  to  me — a  gentleman  in  a  flowing  robe  and  a 
singular  cap  whom  I  had  mistaken  for  a  Chinese  or  an 
enchanter.  "  The  hall  is  not  open  yet,  but  it  will  be 
inaugurated  by  the  grand  Sanitary  dinner.  There  will 
be  half-crown  dinners  for  the  commonalty,  five-shilling 
dinners  for  those  of  mediocre  fortune,  ten-shilling  din- 
ners for  gentlemen  of  fashion  like  Monsieur.  Monsieur, 
I  have  the  honour  to  salute  you." — And  he  passes  on  to 
greet  another  group. 

I  muse,  I  pause,  I  meditate.  Where  have  I  seen  that 
face?  Where  noted  that  mien,  that  cap?  Ah,  I  have 
it!  In  the  books  devoted  to  gastronomic  regeneration, 
on  the  flasks  of  sauce  called  Relish.  This  is  not  the 
Crystal  Palace  that  I  see, — this  is  the  rival  wonder — yes, 
this  is  the  Symposium  of  all  Nations,  and  yonder  man 
is  Alexis  Soyer! 

GOBEMOUCHE. 

(May  1851.) 


THE  CHARLES  THE   SECOND  BALL 


Mr  INCE  the  announcement  of  the 
Costume  Ball  a  good  deal  of 
excitement  has  been  prevalent 
about  the  Court  regarding  it. 
It  is  known  that  Charles  the 
Second  used  to  feed  ducks  in 
Saint  James's  Park,  and  it  is 
thought  that  this  amusement  of 
the  Merry  Monarch  is  harm- 
less, and  may  be  repeated  on 
the  present  festive  occasion. 
Rewards  have  been  offered  at 
the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Office 
for  a  means  of  keeping  the 
ducks  awake  till  twelve  o'clock 
at  night. 

We  hear  that  some  Duch- 
esses decline  altogether  to  as- 
sume the  characters  of  their  namesakes  in  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second;  and  that  the  Dukes,  their  husbands, 
perfectly  agree  in  this  spirited  decision. 

For  the  same  reason  as  their  Graces',  the  parts  of 
Maids  of  Honour  are  not  in  much'  request.  But  for 
the  character  of  Catherine  Hyde,  who  married  the  heir 
to  the  throne,  there  are  numberless  proposals  among  the 
young  ladies  of  the  polite  world. 

358 


THE  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  BALL    359 

For  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  (of 
Charles  the  Second's  time),  who  kicked  down  a  grand 
fortune  without  being  able  to  account  for  it,  we  hear  a 
great  number  of  noblemen  named ;  among  others,  Lord 
Addlestone,  Lord  Muddlehead,  and  the  Lord  Viscount 
Wildgoose. 

The  young  gentlemen  about  Downing  Street  are 
reading  the  "  Biographie  Universelle,"  and  acquiring  a 
surprising  fund  of  historical  knowledge.  Young 
Tapely,  old  Tapely's  son,  who  is  eighteen,  and  has  just 
entered  the  Foreign  Office,  proposes  to  appear  as  Col- 
bert: whom  Guttleton  admires,  not  as  a  Minister,  but 
as  inventor  of  Colbert  soles.  Van  der  Souchey,  of  the 
Dutch  Legation,  announced  at  the  Club  that  he  would 
go  as  the  Pensionary  de  Witt.  "  Behold  de  miracle  in- 
stead of  de  witt,"  said  Flicflac;  and  added,  that  Count 
Narcissi  (the  envojr  from  Pumpernickel)  had  best  as- 
sume this  character,  because  the  women  are  always  tear- 
ing him  to  pieces. 

General  the  Earl  of  Slowgo  (who  does  his  best  to  be 
an  F.  M.)  has  just  been  credibly  informed  that  a  work 
exists— a  remarkable  work— although  a  light  work  he 
may  almost  say  a  biographical  work— relative  to  the 
times  of  Charles  the  Second,  called  "  Pepys'  Diary,"  and 
purporting  to  be  edited  by  a  member  of  their  lordships' 
House,  the  Lord  Viscount  Braybrooke. 

General  Slowgo  has,  therefore,  presented  his  compli- 
ments to  Lord  Viscount  Braybrooke,  and  requests  to 
know  if  the  Viscount  has  edited  the  work  in  question? 
Should  his  lordship's  reply  be  in  the  affirmative,  General 
Lord  Slowgo  will  write  to  the  Librarian  of  the  British 
Museum,  to  know:  1st.  Whether  the  work  entitled 
"  Pepys'  Memoirs  "  be  in  the  Library  of  the  British  Mu- 


360      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

seum?  2nd.  Whether  that  work  contains  an  authentic 
account  of  the  reign  of  his  late  Majesty  King  Charles 
the  Second?  3rd.  Whether  the  Librarian  of  the  British 
Museum  can  bring  the  volume,  if  a  rare  one,  to  Slowgo 
House?  And,  4th.  If  not,  whether,  and  at  what  time, 
General  the  Earl  of  Slowgo  can  consult  the  work  in 
question  at  the  British  Museum? 

The  two  little  Miss  Budds  (who  go  about  with  Lady 
Crabb)  have  had  another  contemporary  work  lent  to 
them  by  their  cousin  Rowley,  and  are  busy  reading 
Grammont's  '  Memoirs."  When  Lady  Crabb  heard 
that  her  wards  were  reading  history,  she  was  highly 
pleased,  and  observed  that  she  has  no  doubt  the  volume 
is  instructive,  as  the  family  of  Grammont  is  one  of  the 
highest  in  France.  The  Miss  Budds  say  the  book  is — 
very  instructive. 

Miss  Grigg,  who  is  exceedingly  curious  in  books  and 
antiquarianism,  has  come  upon  some  surprising  illus- 
trative passages  in  her  papa's  library,  in  the  works  of 
Wycherley  and  Sir  C.  Sedley,  and  in  Suckling's  poems. 

Colonel  Sir  Nigel  M'Asser,  who  has  the  largest  and 
blackest  whiskers  not  only  in  the  Horse  Guards  Green, 
but  (with  the  exception  of  one  sapper,  now  at  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope)  in  the  British  Army,  when  he  heard  that 
whiskers  were  not  worn  in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Sec- 
ond, and  that  gentlemen  would  be  expected  to  shave,  in- 
stantly applied  for  leave  of  absence;  and,  if  that  is  re- 
fused, he  will  send  in  his  papers. 

Lady  Rosa  Twentystone  and  her  daughters  have  been 
to  Hampton  Court,  and  taken  careful  note  of  the  Lelys 
there.  But  when  they  came  down  to  dinner  in  the  dresses 
which  they  had  prepared,  and  rehearsed  the  part  before 
Mr.  Twentystone,  he  ordered  the  whole  family  up  to 


THE  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  BALL    3G1 

their  rooms,  and  the  dinner  to  he  covered,  until  they 
were. 

'  Lady  Rosa  is  so  delightful,"  Varges  says,  that  he 
thinks  one  "  can't  see  too  much  of  her." 

Lord  Viscount  Methuselah  has  put  himself  into  the 
hands  of  new  artists,  and  will  appear  with  the  cheeks, 
hair,  and  teeth  of  twenty.  He  has  selected  the  character 
of  Lord  Rochester,  and  has  sent  a  request  to  the  Lord 
Chamberlain  that  he  may  be  allowed  to  make  his  entree 
into  the  ball  through  a  window  and  up  a  rope-ladder. 

Lord  Hulkington  hopes  to  be  able  to  get  into  a  page's 
dress  which  he  wore  once  in  private  theatricals  at  the 
Princess  of  Wales's  Court  at  Naples  in  1814;  and  the 
ladies  of  his  family  are  busy  (for  his  lordship,  since  he 
came  into  his  fortune,  is  become  very  economical)  in  try- 
ing to  enlarge  it. 

Lady  Howlbury  expects  to  make  a  great  sensation, 
and  not  at  a  large  expense;  having  attired  herself  and 
daughters  each  in  a  curtain  of  the  State  bed  at  Ivybush, 
under  which  Charles  the  Second  passed  three  days  after 
the  battle  of  Worcester. 

If  the  Lord  Mayor  is  invited  with  his  suite,  the  City 
Marshal,  of  course,  will  go  as  Marshal  Tureen. 

Lord  Tom  Noddington  was  much  surprised  when  he 
heard  that  Charles  the  Second  had  been  up  a  tree,  and 
always  thought  that  he  ran  for  the  Oaks.  Llis  opinion 
was  that  Charles  the  Second  had  had  his  head  cut  off, 
just  before  his  son,  James  the  First,  came  into  this  coun- 
try, from  Scotland — where  Lord  Tom  goes  shooting 
every  year.  Mr.  Bland  Varges,  who  is  the  most  noto- 
rious wag  at  Spratt's,  said  that  as  Tom  Noddington  had 
no  head  himself,  he  had  better  go  as  the  Marquis  of  Mon- 
trose—  after  his  decapitation.    Tom  Noddington  said  he 


362       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

would  be  hanged  if  he  went  as  Montrose,  which  Varges 
said  was  more  and  more  in  character.  Lord  Tom  said  he 
didn't  know.  He  knew  that  he  had  shot  the  Duke's 
country,  and  hoped  to  shoot  there  again ;  and  he  thought 
"  it  was  devilish  dangerous,  begad,  in  those  confounded 
levelling  times,  by  Jove,  for  fellas  to  go  about  saying 
that  other  fellas  had  their  heads  cut  off ;  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  begad,  might  put  bad  ideas  into  other  fellas' 
heads,  and  radical  fellas,  and  dam  republican  fellas." 
Mr.  Varges  said  that  Lord  Tom  needn't  be  afraid  about 
his  head,  and  that  if  he  lost  it  he  wouldn't  miss  it;  on 
which  Tom  Noddy  said  that  Varges  was  always  chaffing 
him. 

Lord  Addlestone — when  his  librarian  informed  him 
he  had  heard  that  Louis  the  Fourteenth  as  a  young  man 
wore  a  periwig  powdered  with  gold-dust — has  hit  upon 
a  brilliant  thought  of  his  own,  and  ordered  that  his  wig 
shall  not  only  be  powdered  with  gold,  but  that  he  will 
have  a  papillote  of  bank-notes. 

If  these  are  scarce,  as  his  steward  informs  him,  his 
lordship's  man  is  directed  to  use  promissory  notes  bear- 
ing his  lordship's  valuable  signature. 

The  young  officers  of  the  Eclectic  Regiments,  horse 
and  foot,  Cornets  and  Lieutenant-Captains  with  ten 
shillings  per  diem  of  pay,  are  greatly  gratified  at  the 
idea  of  having  to  pay  forty  pounds  a  piece  for  their  wigs 
at  the  Ball. 

It  is  said  that  a  venerable  Prelate  of  a  Western  Dio- 
cese is  going  to  represent  all  the  seven  recusant  Bishops 
of  James's  time  at  once ;  and  Cardinal  de  Retz,  who  had 
a  genius  for  conspiracies,  fights,  rows,  and  hot  water  in 
general,  has  a  representative  in  Golden  Square,  with  a 
hat  and  costume  ready  bought  and  paid  for. 


THE  CHARLES  THE  SECOND  BALL    363 

Ensign  and  Lieutenant  Tipton,  of  the  Coolstreams, 
says  that  he  intends  to  take  Marlborough's  part  as  a 
young  man,  for  he  is  very  good-looking,  is  as  poor  as  a 
rat,  and  ready  to  borrow  money  of  any  woman  who  will 
lend  it. 

{May  1851.) 


PANORAMA  OF  THE  INGLEEZ 

(From  the  " Beyrout  Banner,''''  "  Joppa  Intelligencer,'"  and 
"  Jerusalem  Journal.'" ) 

THE  renowned  and  learned  Sage  and  Doctor  of  Bey- 
rout, the  excellent  Hadjee  Aboo  Bosh,  has  just 
returned  to  his  beloved  country  from  his  wonderful  trav- 
els in  distant  lands,  having  visited  most  of  the  cities  and 
people  of  Franghistan.  He  is  familiar  with  all  lan- 
guages, and  has  deeply  studied  the  customs  and  manners 
of  the  Infidels.  He  has  caused  skilful  limners  amongst 
them,  at  the  expense  of  many  millions  of  piastres,  to 
paint  pictures  representing  the  chief  towns  of  the 
Franks ;  which  works  are  so  wonderful,  lifelike,  and  re- 
sembling nature,  that  true  Believers,  without  leaving  the 
cushion  of  repose,  or  the  pipe  of  meditation,  may  behold 
the  towns  of  Europe  presented  before  them,  and  have 
the  mountains  to  come  to  them  which  would  not  advance 
in  former  ages,  no,  not  even  to  meet  the  Prophet. 

The  famous  and  skilful  Hadjee  has  arranged,  near 
the  Bazaar,  by  the  Ropemakers'  quarter,  in  the  large  va- 
cant hall  formerly  occupied  by  the  baths  of  El  Thawer, 
a  vast  chamber,  in  which  he  exhibits  the  wonders  which 
he  has  brought  from  foreign  countries.  Having  paid 
money  to  a  negro  at  the  door,  you  are  introduced  through 
obscure  passages  into  a  chamber  as  dark  as  Gehenna,  and 
into  a  place  which  they  call  a  pit,  where  you  sit  in  expec- 
tant terror,  before  an  awful  curtain,  lighted  but  by  a  few 
faint  lamps. 

364 


PANORAMA  OF  THE  INGLEEZ       365 

Many  of  the  stoutest  Agas  and  Effendis  in  Beyrout 
entered  this  gloomy  apartment,  not  without  awe.  The 
women  of  the  hareem  of  Papoosh  Pasha  were  placed  in 
a  box,  guarded  by  a  gilt  cage ;  as  were  the  ladies  of  the 
establishment  of  Bluebeard  Bey,  and  the  three  wives  of 
the  Grand  Mollah.  Women's  curiosity,  indeed,  will  go 
anywhere.    As  the  poet  has  sung — 

"  There  is  no  secret  so  dark,  but  the  eye  of  Zutulbc  will 

penetrate  it. 
There  is  no  tangled  skein,  but  the  finger  of  Leila  will 

unravel  it. 
There  is  no  lock  so  cunning,  but  the  crooked  nose  of 

the  old  hag  Fatima  will  pick  it." 

—  Indeed  a  vast  audience  of  the  officers,  lords,  and  top- 
ping merchants  of  Beyrout  were  present  to  behold  the 
Aboo  Bosh's  wonderful  pictures. 

Before  the  curtain  drew  aside,  and  our  eyes  were  daz- 
zled, our  ears  were  diverted  by  a  dexterous  slave,  who 
executes  the  barbarous  music  of  Europe,  and  the  fa- 
vourite songs  of  the  unbelievers,  by  merely  turning  the 
handle  of  a  small  chest,  called  a  Hurridee  Gurridee. 
The  handle  operates  upon  a  number  of  bulbuls  who  are 
confined  within  the  box,  each  of  whom  at  his  signal 
comes  forward  and  pipes  in  his  turn.  One  sings  the 
hymn  of  the  French  Feringhees ;  he  is  called  the  Parees 
Yenn:  when  he  is  tired,  another  warbles  the  war-song 
of  the  Ingleez ;  he  is  called  the  Roolbretawnia :  this  over, 
a  third  nightingale  begins  to  pipe  the  delicious  love-song 
of  the  Yangkees,  who  are  a  kind  of  Ingleez,  and  the 
name  of  this  song-bird  is  Yankeedoodool.  The  sweetest 
of  all  the  songs  is  this,  and  fills  the  heart  with  delight. 


366      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

When  the  birds  are  tired,  he  who  turns  the  handle 
of  the  box  stops  turning,  and  the  music  ceases  with  a 
melancholy  wail.  And  then,  as  in  a  blaze  of  splen- 
dour, the  pictures  begin  to  pass  before  the  astonished 
beholders. 

The  City  represented  yesterday  was  the  City  of  Lun- 
doon,  which  lies  upon  a  river  called  the  Tameez:  over 
which  are  twenty  thousand  bridges,  each  twenty  hundred 
parasangs  in  length,  and  to  which  there  come  daily  a 
hundred  thousand  ships. 

In  one  quarter  of  Lundoon,  during  the  winter  months, 
it  is  always  night.  It  is  illuminated,  however,  with  fire, 
which  gushes  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  affords 
a  preternatural  brilliancy.  This  quarter  is  called  Stee; 
twenty  thousand  carriages  rush  thither  every  minute, 
each  carriage  holding  forty  persons:  the  drivers  and 
grooms  crying  out  "Stee,  Stee!"  In  this  quarter  the 
shroffs  and  principal  merchants  reside.  The  palace  of 
the  Lord  Cadi  is  here,  and  each  ward  of  the  City  has  an 
Elderman :  who  becomes  Cadi  in  his  turn.  Thev  are  all 
fat  in  this  district,  drinking  much  of  an  intoxicating 
liquor  made  of  citrons  and  rakee,  called  Panj  or  Poonj, 
and  eating  of  a  stew  of  tortoises,  of  which  they  take 
many  platefuls.  Aboo  Bosh  owned  to  having  tasted  and 
liked  the  stew,  but  about  the  liquor  he  was  silent. 

After  seeing  the  Merchants'  quarter  the  view  changed, 
and  exhibited  to  us  the  great  Mosque  of  Paul,  whereof 
the  dome  is  almost  as  high  as  Mount  Lebanon.  The 
faithful  pay  two  paras  to  enter  this  Mosque ;  which  sum 
goes  to  the  support  of  the  dervishes.  Within,  it  is  sur- 
rounded by  white  images  of  captains,  colonels,  and 
effendis;  whose  figures  show  that  the  Ingleez  were  but 
an  ill-favoured  people.     In  the  court  is  an  image  of  a 


PANORAMA  OF  THE  IXGLEEZ       307 

beloved  Queen:  the  people  say  "  Queen  Anne  is  dead," 
and  tear  their  beards  to  this  day,  so  much  do  they  love 
her  memory. 

The  next  view  was  that  of  the  building  in  which  the 
Councillors  and  men  of  law  of  the  kingdom  meet  for 
their  affairs.  In  all  Stamboul  there  is  not  such  a  palace. 
It  is  carved  without,  and  gilt  within.  The  Chambers  of 
Council  are  endless :  the  chair  of  the  Queen  is  a  treasure 
of  splendour ;  and  Aboo  Bosh  says,  that  when  she  comes 
in  state,  and  surrounded  by  her  viziers,  this  intrepid 
Sovereign  of  an  island  race,  that  governs  provinces 
more  vast  and  distant  than  Serendib  and  Hind,  alwavs 
carries  in  her  arms  three  lions.  But  the  Hadjee  did 
not  see  the  Queen  of  the  Ingleez,  and  I  doubt  of  this 
story. 

Besides  the  Mosque  of  Paul,  there  is  the  Mosque  of 
Peter,  whereof  we  likewise  saw  a  view.  All  religions  are 
free  in  this  country,  but  only  one  is  paid.  Some  der- 
vishes shave  the  top  of  their  heads,  some  tighten  a  piece  of 
white  cloth  round  their  necks,  all  are  dressed  in  black — 
we  saw  pictures  of  these,  as  also  of  the  common  people, 
the  carriages,  the  Queen's  janissaries  in  scarlet,  with  sil- 
ver caps  on  their  heads,  and  cuirasses  made  of  a  single 
diamond.  These  giants  are  all  ten  feet  high:  their  offi- 
cers fifteen:  it  is  said  that  each  consumes  a  sheep,  and 
drinks  a  barrel  of  wine  in  the  day. 

Aboo  then  showed  us  the  triumphal  arch,  near  to  the 
house  of  Wellingtoon  Pasha,  who  has  but  to  look  from 
his  window  and  see  his  own  image  on  horseback.  Ten 
thousand  images  of  Wellingtoon  are  placed  about  the 
town,  besides:  the  English  being  so  proud  of  him  be- 
cause he  conquered  the  French  Jeneral  Boonapoort. 
But  lovers  of  poetry  know  the  opinion  of  the  bard :  — 


368      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

"  The  victory  is  not  always  with  the  bravest :  nor  the  robe 
of  honour  given  to  him  who  deserves  most. 
An  eagle  is  shot  down,  and  a  leopard  runs  away  with  the 
spoil." 

Near  this  is  the  Maidaun,  where  the  young  Lords  and 
Agas  ride,  with  nymphs  as  beautiful  as  those  of  Para- 
dise, arrayed  in  tight-fitting  robes,  and  smiling  from 
prancing  chargers. 

And  now  came  a  buzz  of  wonder  in  the  crowd,  and 
outcries  of  delight  from  the  women's  boxes,  which  made 
the  eunuchs  move  about  briskly  with  their  rattans,  when 
the  wonderful  picture  dawned  upon  us,  representing  the 
prodigious  Castle  of  Crystal  and  pavilion  of  light. 

It  is  many  miles  long,  and  in  height  several  furlongs. 
It  is  built  of  rock  crystal  and  steel,  without  putty,  wood, 
bricks,  or  nails.  On  the  walls  are  flags,  in  number  one 
hundred  and  seventy-eight  thousand.  We  said  "  Praise 
to  Allah!"  when  we  saw  the  scarlet  standard,  with  the 
crescent  and  star  of  our  august  master,  Abdul  Med j id. 

This  palace  was  built  in  a  single  night  by  an  enchanter 
named  Paxtoon.  This  wonderful  man  possesses  all  the 
secrets  of  nature;  he  can  make  a  melon  in  ten  minutes 
grow  as  big  as  a  camel,  a  rose  spread  out  before  your 
eyes  to  the  size  of  an  umbrella.  Lately,  in  a  convent 
of  dervishes,  he  caused  in  one  evening  a  cabbage  to  grow 
so  big,  that  after  hearing  a  sermon  from  one  of  their 
Mollahs,  who  got  up  into  the  boughs,  axes  were  brought, 
the  plant  was  felled,  and  the  whole  community  dined  off 
it;  several  bursting  with  repletion,  so  delicious  was  the 
food.  This  was  told  Aboo  Bosh  by  a  Mollah  of  Bir- 
mingham, a  twisting  dervish,  who  had  seen  many  won- 
ders. 


PANORAMA  OF  THE   IXGLEEZ      369 

Having  seen  the  exterior  of  this  Hall  of  Light,  Aboo 
Bosh  now  showed  to  us  the  wondrous  interior.  All  the 
treasures  of  the  world  are  there,  surely.  Ten  hundred 
and  ten  thousand  persons  come  thither  daily,  and  they 
all  go  first  to  see  the  saddles  and  embroidery  from  Bey- 
rout.  What  arcades  of  splendour!  what  fountains! 
what  images !  The  tallest  trees  grow  in  this  palace.  The 
birds  cannot  fly  to  the  roof:  it  is  so  high.  At  one  end  is 
a  place  where  travellers  are  served  with  cakes  and  sher- 
bet by  ravishing  houris,  with  moon  faces.  O  Aboo!  O 
Hadjee,  I  suspect  that  Fatima,  your  one-eyed  wife,  has 
not  heard  the  end  of  those  tales!    What  says  the  poet? — 

"  The  best  part  of  the  tale  is  often  that  which  is  not  told. 
A  woman's  truth  is  like  the  cloth  the  Armenian  sells  you 
in  the  bazaar:  he  always  cribs  a  portion  of  it." 

And  now,  having  spent  several  hours  in  examining 
this  picture,  the  bulbul-box  was  again  set  in  motion,  and 
the  greatest  curiosity  of  all  was  represented  to  us.  This 
is  an  Ingleez  family  of  distinction,  whom  Aboo  Bosh  has 
brought  with  him,  and  who  will  be  exhibited  every  day 
at  three  hours  before,  and  three  hours  after  sunset.  But 
the  account  of  their  strange  behaviour  shall  be  reserved 
for  the  next  Intelligence. 


AN  INGLEEZ  FAMILY 


LL  along,  the  Exhibition  was  explained  to 
us  by  a  Frank  Interpreter,  who  under- 
stands perfectly  our  language. 

Among  the  Ingleez,  he  said,  men  are 
allowed  but  one  wife:  a  hard  case,  O 
Agas!  for  these  poor  women;  for,  as 
the  bard  has  remarked — 

When  I  am  in  a  queer  temper,  in  my  ha- 
reem,  I  may  beat  Zuleika  with  my  slipper, 
but   I    smile   upon    Leila   and   Zutulbe. 
"  When  Leila's  fatness  becomes 
disagreeable,   then  Zutulbe's   lean- 
ness commences  to  be  pleasing. 

"  When  both  annoy  me,  then  lit- 
tle Zuleika  resumes  her  reign ;  for 
>'\  strawberries  ripen  at  one  season  of 
the  year,  at  another  time  figs,  at 
another  time  water-melons.  But 
always  strawberries  would  be  weari- 
some: as  to  hear  bulbuls  all  day 
would  cause  one  to  yawn. 

"  Man  takes  delight  in  variety, 
as  the  bee  sips  of  a  thousand 
flowers." 

So,  for  any  poor  creature  to  be  subject  always  to  the 
caprices  of  one  man,  is  cruel  on  her;  as  to  compel  one 
man  to  have  but  one  wife,  as  amongst  the  Ingleez   is  a 

370 


AN  INGLEEZ  FAMILY  371 

tyranny  unheard  of  amongst  civilised  nations  like  our 
own ;  and  we  mav  thank  our  stars  that  we  do  not  live  in 
Lundoon,  but  Bey  rout. 

If  all  the  old  women  among  the  Ingleez  are  no  better- 
looking  than  the  one  whom  Aboo  Bosh  showed  to  us,  I 
do  not  envy  the  elderly  gentlemen  of  that  nation,  and 
can  quite  understand  their  habitual  ill-humour. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  play  appeared  this  old  woman, 
the  Khanum  of  the  house,  or  "  Misseez,"  as  the  Inter- 
preter says  she  is  called;  her  two  daughters,  Lola  and 
Lota;  her  son,  the  young  Aga;  and  the  father  of  the 
family,  called  Brown  Effendi. 

Brown  Effendi  is  fifty-five  or  -six  years  old;  he  is  tall 
and  of  a  portly  shape,  and,  like  all  the  elderly  Ingleez, 
is  bald:  nor  has  he  the  decency  to  cover  his  baldness 
with  a  couple  of  caps,  as  we  do,  but  appears  with  his 
shining  pate  without  any  shame. 

His  wife  is  two  or  three  years  younger;  they  must 
have  been  married  these  thirty  years:  no  wonder  that 
they  quarrel  together,  and  that  the  EfFendi  is  tired  of 
such  an  old  hag ! 

The  Interpreter  explains  that  it  is  the  beginning  of 
the  day.  A  table  is  set  out,  covered  with  a  snowy  damask 
cloth,  with  urns  and  vases  of  silver  for  tea,  cups  of  porce- 
lain, one  for  each  of  the  family,  bits  of  roasted  bread,  hot 
cakes,  meat,  honey,  and  butter.  This  meal  the  Ingleez 
of  distinction  take  in  common.  An  EfFendi  often  does 
not  behold  his  family  ( always  excepting  the  old  hag  of  a 
wife)  except  at  that  hour. 

"  Before  the  girls  come  down,  and  you  go  away  to  the 
Stee,  Mr.  Brown,"  says  the  Misseez,  "  will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  give  me  some  money?    Look  at  these  bills." 

"  Jehannum  take  the  bills ! "  roars  out  Brown,  rising 


372      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

up  and  stamping.    "  Can't  you  let  a  man  read  his  news- 
paper in  quiet? ' 

O  Allah!  read  his  newspaper  in  quiet?  It  is  an  im- 
mense sheet,  as  big  as  the  Capitan  Pasha's  mainsail.  I 
should  think  it  has  as  many  letters  and  lines  as  the  Koran 
itself.  The  Interpreter  says,  every  Ingleez  reads  a 
paper  every  morning — it  is  called  in  their  language  El 
Tims — from  beginning  to  end,  every  day,  before  going 
out.    Praise  be  to  Heaven  that  we  live  in  Bevrout ! 

ml 

"Well,  don't  swear  at  a  woman,  Mr.  B.,"  she  says. 
"  Don't  swear  when  the  children  and  servants  are  com- 
ing in.  How  can  I  help  it,  if  the  house  is  expensive?  I 
lived  in  a  better  before  I  came  to  yours.    My  mamma — " 

'Confound  your  mamma!  How  much  is  it?"  says 
Brown  Effendi;  and  drawing  a  paper  from  his  pocket- 
book,  he  writes  an  order  to  his  shroff  to  pay  so  much 
money. 

The  daughters  now  come  in — there  was  a  great  sen- 
sation among  us,  especially  in  that  rogue  who  sat  by  me, 
Poof  Allee,  who  is  always  on  the  look-out  for  almond 
eyes.  These  virgins  were  young  and  fair,  of  fine  shapes 
seemingly,  wearing  a  sort  of  loose  gowns  buttoned  up 
to  the  neck,  with  little  collars  and  little  caps,  with  little 
ribbons;  their  cheeks  pale,  their  eyes  heavy — neverthe- 
less, comely  damsels,  that  would  fetch  a  round  sum  of 
piastres  in  the  market. 

"Why  don't  you  come  sooner?"  growls  the  father. 

"They  were  at  Lady  Polk's,  at  Mrs.  Walls's,  and 
were  not  home  till  four:  the  girls  must  have  sleep, 
Mr.  B." 

'Why  do  they  go  to  those  confounded  balls?"  asks 
Brown  Effendi.  The  Interpreter  explains  that  a  ball 
is  a  dance  where  many  hundred  women  assemble. 


AN  INGLEEZ  FAMILY  373 

"  They  ought  to  be  in  bed  at  ten,"  growls  the  house- 
father. 

"  We  do  go  to  bed  at  ten  when  there  is  nothing  at 
night,  Papa,"  says  the  eldest.  "  We  couldn't  live  if  we 
didn't  go  to  sleep  on  the  off  nights." 

"  You  don't  wish  them  not  to  go  in  the  world,  I  sup- 
pose, Mr.  B.?  You  don't  wish  them  not  to  get  establish- 
ments? You  don't  suppose  it  is  for  my  pleasure  that  I 
go  about  night  after  night  with  these  poor  things,  whilst 
you  are  drinking  with  your  male  friends,  or  at  your 
clubs!"  (The  Interpreter  explains  that  a  Club  is  the 
Coffee-house  of  the  Ingleez :  they  sit  there  smoking  until 
late  hours.)     "You  don't  suppose  that  I  go  to  dance? ': 

Brown  Effendi  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  You  dance, 
Polly!"  says  he.  "Do  I  suppose  the  cow  jumped  over 
the  moon?" 

'  I  wish  Papa  wouldn't  use  those  expressions,"  says 
Miss  Lola  to  Miss  Lota. 

Papa  now  sits  with  his  face  buried  in  El  Tims,  and 
when  he  has  read  it  (only  in  this  Exhibition,  or  play,  of 
course,  the  actor  did  not  read  the  whole  of  the  immense 
sheet,  or  we  should  have  sat  till  night)  — this  labour  over, 
and  his  breakfast  done,  he  goes  away  to  Stee. 

"  That  is  the  commencement  of  the  day  with  thou- 
sands of  English  Effendis  in  Lundoon,"  the  Interpreter 
explains.  :'  He  rises  at  eight.  He  shaves.  He  meets 
his  family:  kisses  them,  but  rarely  speaks,  except  to 
swear  a  little,  and  find  fault.  He  reads  through  El 
Tims.  He  gives  money  to  the  Khanum.  He  goes  to  the 
Stee:  wrhere  his  counting-house  or  office  of  business  is, 
and  which  is  often  a  long  way  from  his  house.  He  goes 
on  foot,  w7hile  his  wife  has  a  chariot." 

'  That  I  can  understand,"  savs  Poof  Allee.    "  A  man 


374       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

will  not  allow  his  womankind  to  go  out  except  in  an 
aroba,  guarded  by  the  slaves.  Even  an  unbeliever  is 
not  such  a  fool  as  that." 

'  You  are  in  error,  O  Effendi,"  said  the  Interpreter. 
'  The  women  are  free  to  go  whithersoever  they  please. 
They  wear  no  veils.  They  go  about  the  City  unpro- 
tected, save  by  a  male  servant,  and  even  he  is  not  neces- 
sary. They  frequent  the  shops,  and  bazaars,  and  public 
gardens.  I  have  seen  ten  thousand  in  the  Spring-time 
basking  in  the  gardens  of  Kensington." 

"  O  my  eyes!  I  will  go  there,"  said  Poof  Allee,  strok- 
ing his  beard,  that  sly  rogue. 

'  They  are  to  be  seen  everywhere,"  continues  the  In- 
terpreter, "and  at  home,  too,  receive  men  into  their 
houses." 

"  This,  I  suppose,  is  one,"  remarked  a  looker-on.  "  He 
is  splendid;  he  is  tall;  he  has  richly-carved  buttons  on 
his  coat.  He  takes  up  the  silver  urn.  Is  this  an  officer 
of  the  Sultaun?" 

"That?  That  is  a  servant,"  said  the  Dragoman. 
"  He  is  bringing  breakfast  for  the  young  Effendi,  who 
comes  down  later  than  the  rest  of  the  family." 

"  That,"  cried  Poof  Allee,  "  a  servant?  Why,  he  is  a 
pearl  of  beauty.  He  is  a  Roostum.  He  is  strong,  tall, 
young,  and  lovely.  Does  an  old  Ingleez  allow  such  an 
Antar  as  that  to  walk  about  in  his  hareem  ?  Psha !  friend 
Interpreter,  you  are  joking." 

"  It  is  even  so,  sir,"  said  the  Dragoman.  "  So  strange 
is  the  pride  of  certain  classes  of  the  Ingleez,  and  so  bar- 
barous—blasphemous, I  had  almost  said— their  notions 
with  regard  to  rank,  that  the  aristocracy  among  the 
Ingleez  take  no  more  account  of  the  persons  below  them, 
than  vour  honour  does  of  the  black  slave-boy  who  fills 


AN  IXGLEEZ  FAMILY  375 

your  pipe.  And  of  late,  one  of  the  lootees — or  buffoons 
among  the  Ingleez — acquired  no  small  share  of  popu- 
larity, and  received  from  his  book-seller  ten  thousand 
pieces  of  gold,  for  a  book  of  jests,  in  which  a  servant 
was  made  the  principal  hero,  and  brought  to  live  among 
Lords  and  Agas — the  point  of  the  jest  being,  that  the 
servant  was  made  to  feel  like  a  man." 

Here  came  in  the  young  actor,  who,  the  Interpreter 
said,  represented  the  son  of  the  house.  He  drawled  into 
the  apartment,  nodded  languidly  to  his  sisters,  kissed 
his  mother's  forehead,  and  sank  into  the  vacant  chair  by 
his  sisters. 

He  called  to  the  servant.  "  John!':  he  said,  'pale 
ale!" 

"  Mv  love! "  said  the  mamma. 

"  Tell  the  cook  to  devil  some  dam  thing,"  continued 
the  youth. 

"My  darling!"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Hot  coppers,  ma'am!  "  said  the  young  man,  pulling 
a  little  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin.  '  Keep  sad  hours — 
know  I  do.  Out  on  the  crawl  till  five  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing.   Last  thing  I  weckolect,  shandygaff." 

"  You'll  kill  yourself,  child,"  cried  mamma. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  brother  Dick.  Youth  is  the 
season  of  enjoyment.  O  dam!  what  a  headache  I've 
got !  '  Gather  ye  roses  while  ye  may.'  Youth  is  the 
season  of  pleasure." 

'What  sort  of  pleasure?"  asked  one  of  the  sisters. 
'Well — I  think  it  was  with  two  cabmen  off  the 
stand,  at  Bob  Cwoft's,"  said  the  young  man.  "It's 
not  very  good  fun,  but  it's  better  than  those  dam  balls 
that  you  go  to  every  night.  Here  comes  the  break- 
fast." 


376      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

And  the  curtain-bell  ringing,  the  first  part  of  the 
entertainment  was  over. 

During  the  interval,  the  Interpreter  continued  to 
exjjlain  to  us  the  manners  and  customs  of  this  queer 
people:  and  the  curtain  again  rising,  showed  us  a  view 
of  the  Queen's  Palace  (before  which  there  is  a  figure  of 
a  Lion  and  Unicorn,  which  makes  one  die  of  laughing) ; 
the  Courts  of  Justice,  the  Castle  of  Windsor,  which 
seems,  indeed,  a  pavilion  of  splendour  in  a  rose-garden 
of  delight;  and  an  immense  hole  bored  under  the  sea, 
the  dark  appearance  of  which  made  poor  Poof  Allee 
shudder.  And  now,  having  seen  the  Ingleez  in  the 
morning,  and  heard  how  the  men  pass  the  day  in  their 
offices  and  counting-houses,  the  women  in  the  shops  buy- 
ing, in  their  carriages,  in  the  gardens,  visiting  one 
another,  and  receiving  company  at  home, — the  Drago- 
man said,  "We  shall  show  them  as  they  are  dressed  of 
an  evening,  expecting  visitors  for  the  evening." 

The  curtain  drew  up.  Brown  Effendi  was  now 
dressed  with  a  white  band  round  his  neck,  that  made 
his  eyeballs  start  out  of  his  head,  and  his  red  face  blaze 
like  the  standard  of  the  Sultan.  Mrs.  Brown  appeared 
so  changed  since  the  morning,  that  you  would  not  know 
her,  and  Poof  Allee  (that  rogue)  said,  "O  my  eyes! 
the  old  woman  to-night  looks  quite  young,  and  I  always 
liked  a  stout  woman."  They  stood  one  on  each  side  of 
the  fireplace — the  Interpreter  said,  in  the  attitude  of 
receiving  dinner  company. 

Schaun,  the  servant,  came  in  with  a  note  on  a  silver 
salver. 

"It's  from  Wagg,"  said  Brown  Effendi.  "D— n 
him!  he  says  he's  ill;  but  he's  asked  by  a  lord,  and  has 
thrown  us  over.     Take  away  one  cover,  John." 


AX  IXGLEEZ  FAMILY  377 

How  splendidly  attired  now  is  this  Schaun !  His  cos- 
tume of  the  morning  is  nothing  to  that  which  he  now 
wears.  A  white  coat  barred  with  gold  lace;  a  waistcoat 
of  red  and  gold;  shulwars  of  plush,  the  colour  of  but- 
tercups—  and  has  he  grown  grey  since  the  morning? 
No,  he  has  put  powder  into  his  hair.  He  is  beautiful 
to  behold;  a  peacock  is  not  finer. 

And  now,  who  enter?  Who  are  these  two  houris? 
Who  are  these  moon-faced  ones,  with  the  lustrous  ring- 
lets, the  round  arms,  the  shining  shoulders?  The  heart 
beats  to  behold  them.  Poof  Allee's  eyes  brighten  with 
rapture.  They  are  the  damsels  of  the  morning,  Lola 
and  Lota. 

"  This  is  the  habit  of  Ingleez  damsels,"  says  the  Inter- 
preter, with  rather  a  sly  look.  "  All  day  they  cover 
themselves  up,  but  at  night,  because  it  is  cold,  they  go 
with  very  little  clothes.  They  are  now  going  to  dinner; 
they  will  then  go  to  a  concert;  they  will  then  drive  to  a 
ball  or  dance." 

"But  a  ball,  of  course,  only  amongst  women?"  said 
his  excellency  Papoosh  Pasha,  Governor  of  Beyrout, 
who  was  smoking  his  kaboon  in  a  box  near  the  stage. 

"Among  women,  excellent  sir!  There  are  men,  too. 
If  there  were  no  men,  the  women  would  stay  at  home. 
This  is  the  way  that  the  Ingleez—  ' 

"Silence,  shameless!'1  roared  out  his  excellency. 
"  Kislar  Beg!  Carry  my  women  home  this  moment. 
Stop  the  Exhibition.  All  the  principles  of  morality  are 
violated.  "Women  in  that  dress  show  themselves  to  men? 
Never!  or  if  they  do,  it  can  only  be  among  barbarians, 
and  such  a  fact  must  not  be  known  in  a  civilised  country. 
Hadjee  Aboo  Bosh!  this  part  of  the  Exhibition  must 
be  no  more  represented  under  pain  of  the  bastinado." 


378       CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

And  his  excellency  flung  out  of  the  room  in  a  passion, 
and  the  Exhibition  ended  abruptly. 

As  for  Poof  Allee — that  rogue — he  has  gone  off  to 
England  by  the  last  Peninsular  and  Oriental  steamer. 

{September  and  October  1851.) 


POOR  PUGGY 


THOSE  who 
know  Topham 
Sawyer,  the  accom- 
plished young  Earl 
of  Swellmore,  are 
aware  that  under  a 
mask  of  languor 
and  levity  he  hides 
considerable  powers 
of  acuteness  and 
observation.  His 
letters  are  much 
prized,  not  only 
amongst  the  friends 
of  his  own  rank,  but 
by  his  Bohemian  ac- 
quaintances in  the 
coulisses.  Of  a  sar- 
castic turn,  he  is  yet  not  without  a  natural  benevolence; 
has  cultivated  his  talents  and  his  good  qualities  in  secret, 
and  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  them;  and  not  blameless, 
alas!  in  his  life,  he  is  correct,  even  to  fastidiousness,  in 
his  spelling— in  this  affording  an  example  to  many  of 
the  younger  nobility ;  and  may  be  pardoned  some  of  his 
bitterness,  which  may  be  set  to  the  account  of  his  well- 
known  disappointment,  two  years  since  (when  he  was, 

379 


380      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

as  yet,  but  the  penniless  and  Honourable  Topham  Saw- 
yer), when  the  lovely  Lady  Barbara  Pendragon, 
daughter,  we  need  scarcely  state,  of  the  Marquis  of 
M— ngelw— rzelshire,  threw  him  over,  and  married  the 
Roman  Prince  Corpodibacco,  nephew  of  the  Cardinal 
of  that  name.  Trifles  from  the  pens  of  the  great  are 
always  acceptable  in  certain  circles;  and  the  following 
extract  of  a  letter  from  Lord  Swellmore  to  his  intimate 
and  noble  friend  the  Marquess  of  Macassar,  though  on 
a  trifling  subject,  will  be  read  not  without  interest  by 
those  who  admire  our  country's  institutions.  The  noble 
Earl,  whilst  waiting  at  his  club  to  see  Messrs.  Aminadab 
and  Nebuchadnezzar  on  pecuniary  business,  having 
promised  to  write  to  the  Marquess  of  Macassar  at  Paris 
(indeed,  concerning  bills  of  exchange,  on  which  both 
the  noble  lords  are  liable) ,  dashed  off  a  letter,  partly  on 
private  affairs,  and  concluding  with  the  following  lively 
passages: — 

I  sit  here,  my  dear  Macass,  and  see  the  people  go  by  to  the 
Exhibition.  It's  better  than  going  there.  Suave  mari  magno: 
you  see  the  ocean  devilish  well  from  the  shore.  You're  only  sick 
if  you  go  to  sea.  I  wish  they'd  give  us  a  smoking-room  fronting 
Piccadilly.  Why  don't  the  new  men  who  have  been  building, 
have  smoking-rooms  to  the  street  ?  I  like  those  fellows  at  Brigh- 
ton who  sit  on  the  cliff,  in  a  ground-floor  room,  smoking — after 
dinner — having  nuts  and  port  wine  at  three  o'clock  on  Sundays. 
I  saw  a  fellow  there  lately — his  stout  old  wife  went  out  to 
church — and  there  he  sate,  with  his  legs  on  the  second  chair,  un- 
buttoned, and  looking  out  of  window  with  a  jolly  red  face.  I 
felt  inclined  to  put  my  hand  in  and  take  a  glass,  and  say,  "  Your 
health,  old  boy ! ':  His  cigars  smelt  offensively,  but  I  envied  him 
rather — not  that  I  envy  anybody  much,  or  pity  anybody,  or  de- 
spise anybody,  or  admire  anybody.      I've  nothing  what  you  call 


POOR  PUGGY  381 

to  live  for— now  you  have,  Macass.  You're  very  fond  of  your 
whiskers,  and  anxious  about  overcoming  your  waist.  You  have 
an  aim,  my  boy,  and  a  purpose  in  your  existence;  coax  your 
whiskers,  and  struggle  manfully  with  your  corporation,  my  poor 
old  Macass,  and  thank  your  stars  that  you  have  these  to  interest 
you. 

Here's  a  fellow  who  has  had  an  object  in  life,  too,  it  appears. 
I  cut  his  advertisement  out  of  the  Times.  It's  a  devilish  deal 
better  than  the  leading  article. 

DUTCH  PUG  FOR  SALE— a  very  fine  specimen  of  this  almost  extinct 
breed.  He  is  one  year  and  a  half  old,  and  very  gay  and  lively,  and  is 
the  bond  fide  property  of  a  gentleman,  who,  from  continued  ill-health,  is 
unable  to  keep  him.  Lowest  price  30  guineas.  No  dealer  need  apply,  either 
directly  or  indirectly.  May  be  seen  at  Mr.  Harridge's  Forge,  Pitt  Street 
Mews,  Park  Lane. 

Now,  I  say,  here's  something  to  excite  your  sympathy.  An 
announcement  more  affecting  than  this  can't  well  be  imagined — 
a  dog  of  an  almost  extinct  breed,  and  the  owner  of  that  rare 
animal  obliged,  from  continued  ill-health,  to  part  with  him. 
Think,  my  dear  Macass,  of  a  tender  and  benevolent-minded  man, 
his  fine  faculties  overclouded  by  disease,  fondly  attached  to  his 
darling  pug,  yet  seeing  that  between  him  and  that  beloved  being 
a  separation  must  come!  The  last  interviews  are  now  taking- 
place  between  them :  the  last  breakfasts :  the  last  fricassee  of 
chicken :  the  last  saucers  of  cream ;  the  little  darling  is  now  lap- 
ping them  up,  and  licking  the  hand  which  shall  soon  pat  its  black 
nose  no  more.  He  is  "  gay  and  lively  "  now,  the  poor  little  beg- 
gar— quite  unconscious  of  his  coming  fate — but  eighteen  months 
old — it's  heartrending.     Ain't  it? 

What  degree  of  ill-health  is  it,  or  what  species  of  malady  can 
it  be,  which  obliges  a  gentleman  to  part  from  such  a  bond  fide 
darling?  This  invalid's  ill-health  is  "continuous,"  the  advertise- 
ment says.  Do  the  caresses  of  the  pug  increase  his  master's  com- 
plaint ?  Does  continued  anxiety  for  the  pretty  favourite  prevent 
the  owner's  return  to  strength,  and  must  he  wean  himself  from 
the   little   blacknosed,   cock-tailed,   cream-coloured   innocent,    as 


382      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO      PUNCH" 

delicate  mammas  do  from  their  babies?    What  a  separation,  mon 
Dieu!    Poor  Puggy !    Poor  poor  Master! 

Of  course,  he  won't  part  with  him  to  a  dealer,  directly  or  indi- 
rectly; no,  no.  Fancy  a  man's  feelings,  the  separation  over,  at 
seeing  Puggy  some  day  in  the  Quadrant,  in  the  red-waistcoat 
pocket  of  a  dirty-looking  blackguard,  with  six  other  dogs,  and 
a  wideawake  hat !  An  invalid,  as  this  gentleman  is,  couldn't 
stand  such  a  sudden  shock.  He  would  be  carried  off  to  a  chem- 
ist's ;  and  we  should  hear  of  an  inquest  on  a  gentleman  at  the 
"  White  Bear."  Puggy  in  the  Quadrant — Puggy  in  the  com- 
pany of  all  sorts  of  low  dogs,  brought  up  in  the  worst  habits, 
and  barking  in  the  vulgarest  manner !  Puggy,  the  once  beautiful 
and  innocent,  in  the  Quadrant! — Oh  don't — I  can't  bear  the 
'orrid  thought ! 

But  must  a  man  be  in  high  health  to  keep  a  Dutch  pug?  Does 
the  care  and  anxiety  incident  on  Dutch  pug-keeping  make  a  man 
of  naturally  robust  habit  ill  and  delicate?  If  so,  it's  most  gen- 
erous of  the  owner  of  the  little  Dutchman  to  warn  the  public. 
You  pay  thirty  guineas — the  very  lowest  price — you  incur  re- 
sponsibility, infinite  care,  unrest,  disease.  You  lose  your  peace 
of  mind,  and  break  your  heart  in  cherishing  this  darling ;  and 
then  you  part  with  him.  You  recollect  what  happened  to  the 
heroes  in  Homer,  how  they  were  made  to  dogs  a  prey.  Here  is  a 
modern  torn  in  pieces  by  a  little  pug. 

A  little  Dutch  pug,  with  a  little  turned-up  black  nose.  And 
is  there  no  other  pretty  possessor  of  a  nez  retrousse,  which  man 
coaxes  and  dandles,  and  feeds  with  cream  and  chicken,  and  which 
he  parts  with  after  a  struggle?  Ah,  my  good  fellow!  Ah,  my 
dear  Macassar !  We  are  sad  dogs !  we  are  cynical !  You  take 
my  allusion,  and  your  knowledge  of  the  world  will  enable  you 
to  understand  the  allegory  of 

Your  affectionate 

SwELLMORE. 

The  Marquess  of  Macassar. 

{October  1851.) 


PORTRAITS   FROM   THE   LATE 
EXHIBITION 

AS  a  popular  contemporary  has  given  a  number  of 
i\  highly  interesting  portraits  and  biographies  of 
gentlemen  connected  with  the  Exhibition,  whose  families 
and  friends  will  naturally  provide  themselves  with  copies 
of  their  relatives'  lives  and  countenances,  Mr.  Punch, 
ever  anxious  to  benefit  self  and  public,  has  it  in  contem- 
plation to  ornament  his  journal  with 

LIVES    AND    PORTRAITS    OF    THE    EXHIBITORS 

Who  have  not  gained  prizes  at  the  Exposition  of  1851 

And  to  this  highly  interesting  class  he  strongly  recom- 
mends his  publication,  of  which,  if  but  six  copies  weekly 
be  taken  by  every  Exhibitor,  a  decent  remuneration  can- 
not fail  to  attend  the  labours  of  Mr.  P. 

As  specimens  taken  at  hazard  merely,  Mr.  Punch 
offers  for  the  present  week  the  following  biographies 
and  portraits. 

Mr.  Podgers  is  the  eldest  son,  though  the  third  child, 
of  Major  Podgers,  of  the  Horse  Marines,  which  he 
commanded,  on  the  death  of  their  Colonel,  in  the  flotilla 
action  in  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  The  Major  married  Bella, 
seventh  daughter  of  Sir  Muffton  Wroggles,  of  Wrog- 
glesby,  Northamptonshire,  in  which  county  the  old 
Saxon  family  of  Wroggles,  or  Worogles,  has  been  lo- 

383 


384      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   "PUNCH" 

cated  since  the  days  of  Alfred.  The  Podgers  family, 
though  ancient,  is  not  of  such  antiquity.  Mr.  Podgers 
received  his  elementary  education  under  the  care  of  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Grig,  at  Northampton,  whence  he 
was  removed  to  Harrow-on-the-Hill,  where  he  would 
have  been  a  contemporary  of  Doctor  Parr,  Sir  William 
Jones,  Lord  Byron,  and  Sir  Robert  Peel,  had  he  been 
placed  at  this  famous  school  while  those  eminent  indi- 
viduals were  studying  there.  It  does  not  appear  that 
Master  Podgers  took  any  prizes  at  Harrow,  any  more 
than  at  the  Exhibition  of  1851;  his  genius,  though  use- 
ful, not  being  brilliant,  and  his  powers  of  application 
being  only  trifling. 


SAMUEL      PODGERS,      ESQUIRE,      EXHIBITOR      IX      THE      AGRICULTURAL      DEPARTMENT: 
AN    IMPROVED    SPUD,     NOT    IX    THE     LEAST    XOTICED    BY    THE     COMMITTEE 


PORTRAITS  FROM  THE  EXHIBITION  385 

Mr.  Podgers  was  removed  from  Harrow  to  Copper- 
nose  College,  Oxford,  in  the  year  18 — ,  and  here,  though 
not  distinguished  for  classical  attainments,  he  was  very 
near  gaining  the  prize  of  valour  in  a  single  combat  with 
a  gigantic  bargeman  at  Iffley  Lock;  but  the  mariner 
proved  the  better  man,  and  an  injury  to  Mr.  Podgers's 
nose  was  the  only  permanent  consequence  of  the  ren- 
contre. 

It  was  not  till  1823  that  he  inherited,  by  the  demise 
of  the  gallant  Major,  his  father,  his  estate  of  Hodgers- 
Podgers,  Hants,  where  he  now  resides,  occupying 
himself  with  agricultural  pursuits,  and  with  hunting, 
although  increasing  years  and  weight  have  rather 
wearied  him  of  that  occupation.  Mr.  Podgers  is  a 
magistrate  and  a  married  man;  the  father  (by  Emily, 
daughter  of  the  Reverend  Felix  Rabbits)  of  thirteen 
children. 

His  spud  was  invented  towards  the  close  of  the  year 
1850,  and  it  is  unnecessary  to  particularise  this  invention, 
which  has  not  been  found  to  answer  better  than,  or  in- 
deed to  differ  greatly  from,  implements  of  a  like  simple 
nature. 

Mr.  Podgers's  opinions  as  a  politician  are  well  known. 
Not  noisy,  he  is  consistent;  and  has  often  been  heard  to 
say,  that  if  all  England  were  like  him,  we  should  get 
Protection  back  again.  England  being  of  the  contrary 
opinion,  no  such  result  is  expected.  He  is  three  score 
years  old,  and  weighs,  we  should  think,  a  good  fourteen 
stone  ten. 

Mrs.  Glinders  retained,  by  marrying  her  cousin,  her 
own  maiden  and  respectable  name.  Mr.  Glinders,  her 
father,  has  long  been  known  as  a  distinguished  medical 


386      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

practitioner  at  Bath.     Mr.  Fitzroy  Glinders,  her  hus- 
band, is  a  solicitor  in  that  city. 

In  Bath,  or  its  charming  neighbourhood,  the  chief 


MRS.     FREDERICA     GLINDERS,     AUTHOR     OF     A     COUNTERPANE 


part  of  the  existence  of  Mrs.  Glinders  has  been  passed. 
It  was  here  that  she  contracted,  in  the  year  1836,  that 
matrimonial  engagement  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Fiddle- 
bury,  which  was  so  scandalously  broken  off  by  the  Rev- 
erend Gentleman,  who  married  Miss  Bluff.  The  jury 
of  an  offended  country  awarded  Miss  Glinders  500/.  for 
the  damage  thus  done  to  her  affections,  which  sum  she 
brought  as  dowry  to  her  cousin  the  (then)  young  Fitz- 
roy Glinders,  who  conducted  her  case.  Their  union 
has  been  blessed  with  a  considerable  family,  and  indeed 
Mr.  Glinders's  quiver  is  so  full  of  them,  that  he  has  been 
obliged  to  take  another  pew  at  church. 

The  washerwoman  of  Bath  has  ever  had  a  constant 
friend  in   Mrs.   Glinders.     The  thoughtless   chimney- 


PORTRAITS  FROM  THE  EXHIBITION  387 

sweep,  the  ignorant  dog's-meat  man  of  her  own  city 
have  always  been  plentifully  supplied  by  her  with 
means  for  bettering  their  spiritual  condition.  The 
Caffres  and  Mandingoes  have  found  her  eager  in  their 
behalf. 

The  counterpane,  sent  for  previous  exhibition  to  the 
national  Exposition,  is  intended  finally  as  a  present  for 
the  King  of  Quacco.  It  is  woollen,  striped  blue  and 
pink,  with  a  rich  fringe  of  yellow  and  pea-green.  It 
occupied  Mrs.  Glinders  two  hundred  and  seventy-four 
evenings,  and  the  prime  cost  of  the  wool  was  17/.  14s.  6d. 
For  a  web  which  was  to  pass  under  the  eyes  of  her  own 
Sovereign,  over  the  feet  of  another,  though  a  benighted, 
monarch,  Mrs.  Glinders  thought  justly  that  expense 
was  not  to  be  regarded.  She  had  fits  on  not  finding  her 
name  in  the  prize  list,  and  had  even  entertained  an  idea 
that  Mr.  Glinders  would  receive  a  public  honour.  But 
time  and  her  own  strong  spirit  will  console  Mrs.  Glinders 
under  these  disappointments:  and  for  the  sake  of  her 
family  and  friends,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  she  will  be, 
in  the  words  (slightly  altered)  of  our  immortal  bard, 
"  herself  again." 

Horatio  Nelson  Slamcoe  was  born  in  the  New  Cut, 
Lambeth,  in  the  year  when  England  lost  her  greatest 
naval  hero.  His  mother,  having  witnessed  the  funeral 
procession  of  Trafalgar's  conqueror  determined  to  be- 
stow on  her  child,  if  a  son,  the  glorious  names  of  the 
departed;  hence,  in  due  time,  the  two  Christian  names 
of  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  The  parents  of  Mr.  Slam- 
coe were  in  humble  life;  and  for  the  eminence  which  he 
has  subsequently  acquired,  he  has  to  thank  his  genius 
rather  than  his  education,  which  was  neglected  for  the 


388      CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  "PUNCH" 

labours  necessary  to  one  whose  own  hands  must  work 
his  own  livelihood. 

Well  and  skilfully,  through  five-and-thirty  years,  have 
the  hands  of  Horatio  Slamcoe  toiled.  Early  taken  un- 
der the  roof  of  a  tonsorial  practitioner  in  the  Waterloo 
Road,  Mr.  Slamcoe  learned  the  rudiments  of  a  trade 
which  bv  him  has  been  elevated  to  an  art;  for  if  to  imi- 
tate  beautiful  Nature  be  Art,  what  man  deserves  the 
proud  name  of  artist  better  than  the  elegant  perruquier. 
At  twenty-one  years  of  age,  Mr.  Slamcoe  had  the  honour 
of  attending  at  L-mb-th  Palace,  with  a  wig,  made  by 
his  young  hands,  and  offered  to  a  late  reverend  Prelate 
of  our  Church.  Professor  S.  augured  ill  for  Episcopacy 
when  those  ornaments  of  our  dignified  divines  fell  into 
desuetude. 

As  Napoleon  crowned  himself  King  and  Emperor, 
so  it  was,  we  believe,  that  Horatio  Slamcoe  dubbed  him- 


PROFESSOR    SLAMCOE: —      A    KALOXATUB.'E,       OR        SLAMCOE  S 
GENT'S    OWN    HEAD    OF    HAIR  " 


PORTRAITS  FROM  THE  EXHIBITION  389 

self  Professor.  His  inventions  are  known  to  the  world, 
and  their  beneficent  influence  is  exemplified  in  his  own 
person.  Before  he  ever  attempted  Continental  travel, 
his  'Balsam  of  Bohemia"  was  discovered;  just  as 
America  was  discovered  by  Columbus  before  that  phil- 
osophic Genoese  put  foot  on  shipboard.  His  Tuscan 
Dentrifrice;  his  Carthaginian  Hair-dye;  his  Fountain 
of  Hebe,  are  world-celebrated  cosmetics,  without  which 
(he  says)  no  toilet  is  complete.  They  are  to  be  procured 
at  his  establishment,  "  The  College  of  Beauty,"  with 
the  usual  liberal  allowance  to  the  trade,  who  should  be- 
ware of  unprincipled  imitators,  only  too  eager  to  adopt 
the  discoveries  of  the  Professor. 

That  the  Kalonatura?,  or  Gent's  Own  Head  of  Hair, 
should  have  been  unrewarded  by  a  Medal,  is  one  of 
those  instances  which  cries  shame  on  the  awards  of  the 
Committee.  Let  us  hope  it  was  not  a  conspiracy  on  the 
part  of  rival  wig-makers  (enemies  of  Mr.  Slamcoe 
through  life)  which  defeated  the  object  of  his  ambition. 
But  if  there  be  any  individuals  blighted  like  himself, 
whose  hair  turned  white  in  a  single  night,  as  some  men's 
has  through  disappointment,  the  Professor  recommends 
to  such  his  Carthaginian  dye,  which  will  prevent  the 
world,  at  least,  from  guessing  what  ravages  grief  has 
caused,  and  manly  pride  would  hide;  though  it  will 
scarcely  be  credited,  the  Professor's  own  hair  is  indebted 
for  its  rich  jelly  colour  solely  to  the  Carthaginian  dis- 
covery. 

{November  1851.) 


VERSES 


VERSES 


THE  FLYING  DUKE 

SAY,  whose  can  yonder  chariot  be, 
That  thunders  on  so  fast? 
And  who  was  he  that  sat  within? 
I  marked  him  as  he  past." 

'Twas  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington, 

Who  in  that  chariot  sat, 
All  in  his  martial  cloak,  and  in 

His  proudly-plumed  cocked-hat." 

Not  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington, 

That  poster  fierce  could  be, 
Nor  yet  a  living  nobleman : 

Some  Demon  Duke  is  he." 

'Twas  he — to  Folkestone  he  is  bound, 

To  town  by  rail  to  wend; 
Wherefrom  to  Windsor  he  must  hie, 

A  Council  to  attend." 

With  whizz  and  whistle,  snort  and  puff, 

The  Duke  is  borne  to  town, 
Nor  stops  until  near  London  Bridge 

The  train  hath  set  him  down. 

393 


394  VERSES 

There  waits  a  Brougham  on  Wellington: 

To  Apsley  House  he  flies, 
Whereat  a  messenger  in  red 

Doth  meet  his  Grace's  eyes. 

"  How  now,  thou  scarlet  messenger! 

Thy  tidings  briefly  tell." 
"  The  Queen  invites  your  grace  to  dine 

To-morrow." 

"  Very  well." 

To  Paddington  by  cab,  to  Slough 

By  steam — away,  away! 
To  Windsor,  thence,  he  goes  by  fly ; 

But  there  he  must  not  stay — 


For  that  his  grace  at  Walmer  hath 
A  tryst  this  night  to  keep ; 

And  he  hath  warned  his  serving-men 
He  shall  be  back  to  sleep. 


THE    FLYING   DUKE  395 

The  Council's  o'er;  back  posts  his  grace, 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be. 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  well  speeds  the  Duke — 

He'll  be  in  time  for  tea. 

The  morrow  comes ;  again  away 

The  noble  Duke  is  gone 
To  Folkestone,  and  to  London  Bridge, 

And  thence  to  Paddington. 

Away,  away  to  Paddington, 

As  fast  as  ye  can  drive ; 
'Twixt  eight  and  nine  the  Queen  doth  dine ; 

Be  there  by  half -past  five." 

Fast  have  they  fled,  right  fleetly  sped, 

And  Paddington  is  won. 
How,  office-swain,  about  the  train? ': 
"  'Tis  just  this  instant  gone." 

Your  grace,  we  just  have  missed  the  train, 

It  grieveth  me  to  say." 
To  Apsley  House! "  then  cried  the  Duke, 
"  As  quickly  as  you  may." 

The  loud  halloo  of  "  Go  it,  you! " 

Beneath  the  gas-light's  glare, 
O'er  wood  and  stone  thev  rattle  on, 

As  fast  as  they  can  tear. 

On,  on  they  went,  with  hue  and  cry, 

Until  the  Duke  got  home, 
The  axle-trees  on  fire  well  nigh, 

The  horses  in  a  foam. 


396  VERSES 

Out  stepp'd  the  Duke,  serene  and  cool, 

And  calmly  went  upstairs, 
And  donn'd  the  dress,  the  which,  at  Court, 

He  generally  wears. 

"  Windsor  I  may  not  reach  in  time 
To  make  my  toilet  there; 
So  thus  the  hour  I  will  employ, 
Which  I,  perforce,  must  spare. 


"What  is't  o'clock? ':     "Your  grace,  near  seven.' 
"  Then  bear  me  hence  again; 
And  mark  me — this  time  take  good  care 
You  do  not  miss  the  train." 

Off,  off  again,  the  coachman  drives, 

With  fury  fierce  and  fell, 
'Mid  whoop  and  shout  from  rabble  rout, 

And  oath,  and  scream,  and  yell. 


THE  FLYING  DUKE  397 

To  right  and  left  a  way  they  cleft 

Amid  the  hustling  throng; 
While,  meteor-like,  the  carriage-lamps 

Flash'd  as  they  flew  along. 

Hurrah !  Hurrah !  the  station's  nigh. 
"  What  ho,  there !    Shout  amain ! 
Here  comes  the  Duke,  he's  going  down ; 
Give  word  to  stop  the  train." 

The  engineer  and  stoker  hear ; 

Duke  Arthur  takes  his  place ; 
Behold  him  now,  on  way  to  Slough, 

Borne  at  a  whirlwind's  pace. 

"  At  Slough  who  stops? '     His  Grace  out  pops, 

His  ticket  is  resigned, 
"  To  Windsor  haste,  like  felon  chased, 

Or  I  shall  be  behind." 

Off  bounds  the  hack,  while,  far  aback, 

The  night-hawk  plies  his  wing; 
The  race  is  run,  the  Castle's  won, 
"  Come,  this  is  just  the  thing." 

At  half -past  eight,  for  Queens  don't  wait, 

The  noble  guests  appear 
In  banquet-hall ;  and  of  them  all 

The  Duke  brings  up  the  rear. 

MORAL 

"  'Tis  money,"  as  the  proverb  says, 
"  That  makes  the  mare  to  go." 
The  Duke  has  cash  to  cut  a  dash ; 
Would  we  could  all  do  so ! 

(November  1843.) 


MR.  SMITH  AND  MOSES 

A  VETERAN  GENT,  just  stepped  out  of  a  boat, 
In  a  tattered  old  hat  and  a  ragged  pea-coat, 
Appeared  at  a  shop  whither  many  folks  run, 
And  that  was  the  Palace  of  Moses  and  Son. 

A  respectable  dame  with  the  mariner  went, 
Most  likely  the  wife  of  this  veteran  gent, 
And  the  eyes  of  the  pair  were  excited  with  won- 
der on  seeing  the  mansion  of  Moses  and  Son. 

"  I've  look'd  upon  many  a  palace  before, 
But  splendour  like  this,  love,  I  never  )ret  sor! " 
This  party  exclaimed.     '  What  a  great  sum  of  mon- 
ey it  sure  must  have  cost  Messrs.  Moses  and  Son! " 

In  the  language  of  France  his  good  lady  replied, 
"  This  house  is  well  known  through  the  universe  wide; 
And  you,  my  dear  Philip,  to  seed  having  run, 
Had  better  refit  with  E.  Moses  and  Son." 

E.  Moses  stepped  forth  with  a  bow  full  of  grace, 
Inviting  the  couple  to  enter  his  place : 
He  thought  they  were  poor — but  the  poor  are  not  done, 
And  the  rich  are  not  fleeced  by  E.  Moses  and  Son. 

'  What  clothes  can  I  serve  you  to-day,  mj7  good  man? ': 
E.  Moses  exclaimed:    "You  shall  pay  what  you  can; 
The  peer  or  the  peasant,  we  suit  every  one ; 
Republicans  true  are  E.  Moses  and  Son." 

398 


MR.  SMITH  AND  MOSES 


399 


The  pea-coated  gent  at  that  word  made  a  start, 
And  looked  nervously  round  at  the  goods  of  our  mart : 
A  vest,  coat,  and  trousers,  as  soon  as  they're  done, 
I  want,  s'il  vous  plait,  Messieurs  Moses  and  Son. 

I  once  was  a  king,  like  the  monarch  of  Room, 
But  was  forced  from  my  throne  and  came  off  in  a 

Br m; 

And  in  such  a  great  hurry,  from  P-r-s  I  run, 
I  forgot  my  portmanteau,  dear  Moses  and  Son." 


400  VERSES 

'  Dear  sir,"  we  exclaimed,  "  what  a  lucky  escape! " 
So  one  brought  the  patterns,  another  the  tape ; 
And  while  with  our  patterns  his  "  peepers  "  we  stun, 
The  gent  is  quick  measured  by  Moses  and  Son. 

The  clothes  when  complete  we  direct  in  a  hurry — 
" — Smith,  Esquire,  at  Prince  Leopold's,  Claremont,  in 
Surrey." 
The  cloth  was  first-rate,  and  the  fit  such  a  one 
As  only  is  furnished  h}'  Moses  and  Son. 

As  he  paces  the  valley  or  roams  in  the  grove, 
All  cry  "  What  a  very  respectable  cove! " 
How  changed  in  appearance  from  him  who  late  run 
From  Paris  to  refuge  with  Moses  and  Son. 

Now  who  was  this  "  veteran  gent,"  sirs,  E.  Moses, 

Although  he  may  "  guess,"  yet  he  never  discloses. 

Do  you  wish  to  know  more,  gents  ?  if  you  do,  why  then 

run 
To  Aldgate  and  ask  of  E.  Moses  and  Son. 

(March  1848.) 


THE  FRODDYLENT  BUTLER 

Mr.  Punch,  Sir,— The  abuv  is  the  below  ritten 
Pome,  on  a  subjec  of  grate  delicasy,  wich  as  a  butler,  I 
feel  it  a  disgrase  to  the  cloth  that  any  man  calling  hisself 
a  butler  should  go  for  to  git  wind  on  false  pretences,  and 
such  wind  (as  reported  in  the  papers  of  Tuesday  last) , 
from  Richmond;  and  in  justice  to  self  and  feller  ser- 
vants have  expressed  my  feelins  in  potry,  wich  as  you 
ave  prevously  admitted  to  your  entertainin  columns 
pomes  by  a  futman  (and  also  a  pleaceman) ,  I  think  you 
ave  a  right  to  find  a  plaice  for  a  pome  by  a  butler,  wich 
I  beg  to  subscribe  myself  your  constant  reder. 

John  Corks. 

14  Lushington  Place  West,  Belgravy. 

IT'S  all  of  one  John  George  Montresor, 
And  Briggs,  Esquire,  his  master  kind; 
This  retch,  all  for  his  privat  plesure, 
Did  froddylently  order  wind. 

To  Mister  Ellis,  Richmond,  Surrey, 
Were  Briggs,  Esquire,  he  did  reside, 

This  wicked  John  druv  in  a  urry, 
On  June  the  fust  and  tenth  beside. 

And  then,  this  mene  and  shabby  feller 

To  Mister  Ellis  did  remark, 
Briggs  ad  gone  out  and  took  the  cellar 

Kee  away  across  the  Park; 

401 


402  VERSES 

And  cumpny  comeng  on  a  suddent, 
Ad  stayed  to  dine  with  Missis  B., 

Whereby  in  course  the  butler  cooden't 
Get  out  the  wind  without  the  kee. 

So  Missis  B.  she  would  be  werry 
Much  obliged  if  e'd  send  in 

Arf  a  dozen  best  brown  sherrv, 
And  single  bottel  'Ollans  gin. 

But  this  was  nothink  but  a  story  as 
This  wicked  butler  went  and  told, 

Whereby  for  nothink  to  get  glorious, 
Wich  so  he  did,  and  grew  more  bold. 

Until,  at  last  grown  more  audashus, 
He  goes  and  orders,  wat  d'ye  think? 

He  goes  and  orders,  goodness  grashus, 
Marsaly,  wind  no  gent  can  drink. 

It  wasn't  for  his  private  drinkin — 
For  that  he'd  Briggses  wine  enuff — 

But,  wen  the  sherry  bins  was  sinkin 
He  filled  'em  with  this  nasty  stough. 

And  Briggs,  Esquire,  at  is  own  tabel 
(To  rite  such  things  my  art  offends) 

Might  ave  to  drink,  if  he  was  abul, 
Marsaly  wind,  hisself  and  f  rends ! 

But  praps  John  ne'er  to  tabel  brort  it, 
And  used  it  in  the  negus  line; 

Or  praps  the  raskal,  when  he  bort  it, 
Knew  Briggs  was  not  a  judge  of  wind. 


THE   FRODDYLENT   BUTLER        403 

At  all  ewents,  all  thro'  the  seson 
This  villin  plaid  these  orrid  games. 

For  butlers  to  commit  such  treson, 
I'm  sure  it  is  the  wust  of  shames. 

But  masters,  tho  soft,  has  there  senses, 
And  roges,  tho  sharp,  are  cotcht  at  last ; 

So  Briggs,  Esquire,  at  last  commenses 
To  find  his  wind  goes  werry  fast. 

Once,  when  the  famly  gev  a  party, 

Shampain,  in  course,  the  bankwet  crown'd; 
And  Briggs,  Esquire,  so  kind  and  arty, 

He  ordered  John  to  and  it  round. 

No  wind  in  general's  drunk  more  quicker, 
But  now  his  glass  no  gent  would  drane ; 

When  Briggs,  on  tastin,  found  the  licker 
Was  British  arf-a-crown  Shampain! 

That  they'd  not  drink  it  was  no  wunder, 
A  dredful  look  did  Briggs  assoom, 

And  ordered,  with  a  voice  of  thunder, 
The  retched  butler  from  the  room. 

Then,  rushin  edlong  to  the  cellar, 

Regardless  if  he  broke  is  shins, 
He  found  wot  tricks  the  wicked  feller 

Had  been  a  playin  with  the  binns. 

Of  all  his  prime  old  sherry,  raelly 
There  wasent  none  to  speke  of  there, 

And  Mr.  Ellis's  Marsaly 

Was  in  the  place  the  sherry  were. 


404  VERSES 

Soon  after  that  the  wicked  feller's 

Crimes  was  diskivered  clear  and  clene, 

By  the  small  akount  of  Mr.  Ellis. 
For  lickers,  twenty  pound  fifteen. 

And,  not  content  with  thus  embezzlin 
His  master's  wind,  the  skoundrel  had 

The  Richmond  tradesmen  all  been  chizzlin, 
An5  a  doin'  every  think  that's  bad. 

Whereby  on  Toosday,  Janwry  thirty, 

As  is  reported  in  the  Times,, 
He  wor  ad  up  for  his  conduc  dirty, 

And  dooly  punished  for  his  crimes. 

So  masters,  who  from  such  base  fellers 
Would  keep  your  wind  upon  your  shelves, 

This  int  accept — If  you  ave  cellars, 
Always  to  mind  the  kee  yourselves. 

(February  1849.) 


"SPEC"   AND  "PROSER"   PAPERS 

(NOT  PREVIOUSLY   REPRINTED) 


<  < 


SPEC"  AND   "PROSER"   PAPERS 


TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 

HE  had  appointed  me  in  Saint  James's  Park,  under 
the  Duke  of  York's  Column,  on  Guy  Fawkes'  day ; 
and  I  found  the  venerable  man  at  the  hour  and  at  the 
place  assigned  looking  exceedingly  sweet  upon  the  gam- 
bols of  some  children:  who  were  accompanied,  by  the 
way,  by  a  very  comely  young  woman  as  a  nursery-maid. 
He  left  the  little  ones  with  a  glance  of  kindness,  and, 
hooking  his  little  arm  into  mine,  my  excellent  and  re- 
vered friend  Mr.  Punch  and  I  paced  the  Mall  for  a 
while  together. 

I  had  matters  of  deep  importance  (in  my  mind,  at 
least)  to  communicate  to  my  revered  patron  and  bene- 
factor. The  fact  is,  I  have  travelled  as  Mr.  Punch's 
Commissioner  in  various  countries;  and  having,  like  all 
persons  of  inquiring  mind,  from  Ulysses  downwards,  a 
perpetual  desire  for  locomotion,  I  went  to  propose  to 
our  beloved  chief  a  new  tour.  I  set  before  him  elo- 
quently the  advantages  of  a  trip  to  China,  or,  now  that 
the  fighting  was  over,  a  journey  to  Mexico  I  thought 
might  be  agreeable— or  why  not  travel  in  the  United 
States,  I  asked,  where  Punch's  Commissioner  would  be 
sure  of  a  welcome,  and  where  the  natives  have  such  a 
taste  for  humorous  description? 

407 


408     "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

"  My  dear  Spec,"  said  the  sage,  in  reply  to  a  long 
speech  of  mine,  "you  are,  judging  from  your  appear- 
ance, five-and-twenty  years  old,  and  consequently  ar- 
rived at  the  estate  of  man.  You  have  written  for  my 
publication  a  number  of  articles,  which,  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent  as  they  are,  make  me  suppose  that  you  have 
some  knowledge  of  the  world.  Have  you  lived  so  long 
in  this  our  country  as  not  to  know  that  Britons  do  not 
care  a  fig  for  foreign  affairs?  Who  takes  any  heed  of 
the  Spanish  marriages  now? — of  the  Mexican  wars? — of 
the  row  in  Switzerland  ?  Do  you  know  whether  a  Vorort 
is  a  gentleman,  or  a  legislative  body,  or  a  village  in  the 
Canton  of  Uri?  Do  you  know  a  man  who  reads  the 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  correspondence  in  the  news- 
papers? Sir,  I  grow  sick  at  the  sight  of  the  name  of 
Bomfin,  and  shudder  at  the  idea  of  Costa  Cabral!"  and 
he  yawned  so  portentously  as  he  spoke,  that  I  saw  all  my 
hopes  of  a  tour  were  over.  Recovered  from  that  spasm, 
the  Good  and  Wise  One  continued, — "  You  are  fond  of 
dabbling  in  the  fine  arts,  Mr.  Spec — now  pray,  sir,  tell 
me,  which  department  of  the  Exhibition  is  most  pop- 
ular?" 

I  unhesitatingly  admitted  that  it  was  the  portraits  the 
British  public  most  liked  to  witness.  Even  when  I  ex- 
hibited my  great  picture  of  Heliogabalus,  I  owned  that 
nobody — 

'Exactly — that  nobody  looked  at  it;  whereas  every- 
one examines  the  portraits  with  interest,  and  you  hear 
people  exclaim,  '  Law,  Ma !  if  it  ain't  a  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Jones,  in  a  white  satin  and  a  tiara ; '  or,  '  Mercy  me ! 
here's  Alderman  Blogg  in  a  thunderstorm,'  &c.  &c.  The 
British  public  like  to  see  representations  of  what  they 
have  seen  before.    Do  you  mark  me,  Spec?    In  print,  as 


TRAVELS   IN   LONDON  409 

in  art,  sir,  they  like  to  recognise  Alderman  Blogg."  He 
paused,  for  we  had  by  this  time  mounted  the  Duke  of 
York's  Steps,  and,  panting  a  little,  pointed  to  the  noble 
vista  before  us  with  his  cane.  We  could  see  the  street 
thronged  with  life;  the  little  children  gathered  round 
the  column;  the  omnibuses  whirling  past  the  Drum- 
mond  light;  the  carriages  and  flunkeys  gathered  round 
Howell  and  James's;  the  image  of  Britannia  presiding 
over  the  County  Fire  Office  in  the  Quadrant,  and  indeed 
over  the  scene  in  general. 

"  You  want  to  travel? "  said  he,  whisking  his  bamboo. 
"  Go  and  travel  there,  sir.  Begin  your  journey  this  mo- 
ment. I  give  you  my  commission.  Travel  in  London, 
and  bring  me  an  account  of  your  tour.  Describe  me 
yonder  beggar's  impudence,  sir;  or  yonder  footman's 
calves;  or  my  Lord  Bishop's  cob  and  apron  (my  Lord 
Bishop,  how  do  you  do?).  Describe  anything— any- 
body. Consider  your  journey  is  begun  from  this  mo- 
ment; and  left  foot  forward— March!"  So  speaking, 
my  benefactor  gave  me  a  playful  push  in  the  back,  in  the 
direction  of  Waterloo  Place,  and  turned  into  the  Athe- 
naeum, in  company  with  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Bullock- 
smithy,  whose  cob  had  just  pulled  up  at  the  door,  and  I 
walked  away  alone  into  the  immensity  of  London,  which 
my  Great  Master  had  bid  me  to  explore. 

I  staggered  before  the  vastness  of  that  prospect.  Not 
naturally  a  modest  man,  yet  I  asked  myself  mentally, 
how  am  I  to  grapple  with  a  subject  so  tremendous? 
Every  man  and  woman  I  met  was  invested  with  an 
awful  character,  and  to  be  examined  as  a  riddle  to  be 
read  henceforth.  The  street  sweeper  at  the  crossing 
gave  me  a  leer  and  a  wink  and  a  patronising  request  for 
a  little  trifle,  which  made  me  turn  away  from  him  and 


410    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

push  rapidly  forward.  '  How  do  I  know,  my  boy," 
thought  I,  inwardly,  "  but  that  in  the  course  of  my  trav- 
els, I  may  be  called  upon  to  examine  you — to  follow  you 
home  to  your  lodgings  and  back  into  your  early  years — 
to  turn  your  existence  inside  out,  and  explain  the  mys- 
tery of  your  life?  How  am  I  to  get  the  clue  to  that 
secret?'  He  luckily  spun  away  towards  Waterloo 
Place  with  a  rapid  flourish  of  his  broom,  to  accost  the 
Honourable  Member  for  Muff  borough,  just  arrived  in 
town,  and  who  gave  the  sweeper  a  gratuity  of  twopence ; 
and  I  passed  over  the  crossing  to  the  United  Service 
Club  side.  Admiral  Boarder  and  Colonel  Charger  were 
seated  in  the  second  window  from  the  corner,  reading  the 
paper — the  Admiral,  bald-headed  and  jolly-faced,  read- 
ing with  his  spectacles — the  Colonel,  in  a  rich,  curly, 
dark-purple  wig,  holding  the  Standard  as  far  off  as  pos- 
sible from  his  eyes,  and  making  believe  to  read  without 
glasses.  Other  persons  were  waiting  at  the  gate.  Mrs. 
General  Cutandthrust's  little  carriage  was  at  the  door, 
waiting  for  the  General,  while  the  young  ladies  were  on 
the  back  seat  of  the  carriage,  entertained  by  Major 
Slasher,  who  had  his  hand  on  the  button.  I  ran  away  as 
if  guilty.  "  Slasher,  Boarder,  Charger,  Cutandthrust, 
the  young  ladies,  and  their  mother  with  the  chestnut 
front — there  is  not  one  of  you,"  thought  I,  "but  may 
come  under  my  hands  professionally,  and  I  must  show 
up  all  your  histories  at  the  stern  mandate  of  Mr. 
Punch." 

I  rushed  up  that  long  and  dreary  passage  which  skirts 
the  back  of  the  Opera,  and  where  the  mysterious  barbers 
and  boot-shops  are.  The  Frenchman  who  was  walking 
up  and  down  there,  the  very  dummies  in  the  hairdressers' 
windows  seemed  to  look  at  me  with  a  new  and  dreadful 


TRAVELS   IN  LQNDON  411 

significance — a  fast-looking  little  fellow  in  check  trou- 
sers and  glossy  boots,  who  was  sucking  the  end  of  his 
stick  and  his  cigar  alternately,  while  bestriding  a  cigar 
chest  in  Mr.  Alvarez's  shop— Mr.  A.  himself,  that 
stately  and  courteous  merchant  who  offers  you  an  Ha- 
vanna  as  if  you  were  a  Grandee  of  the  first  class — every- 
body, I  say,  struck  me  with  fright.  '  Not  one  of  these," 
says  I,  "  but  next  week  you  may  be  called  upon  to  copy 
him  down ; "'  and  I  did  not  even  look  at  the  fast  young 
man  on  the  chest,  further  than  to  observe  that  a  small 
carrot  sprouted  from  his  chin,  and  that  he  wore  a  shirt 
painted  in  scarlet  arabesques. 

I  passed  down  Saint  Albans  Place,  where  the  noble 
H.  P.  officers  have  lodgings,  without  ever  peeping  into 
any  one  of  their  parlours,  and  the  Haymarket,  brilliant 
with  gin-shops,  brawling  with  cabmen,  and  thronged 
with  lobsters.  At  the  end  towards  the  Quadrant,  the 
poor  dirty  foreigners  were  sauntering  about  greasily; 
the  hansoms  were  rattling ;  the  omnibuses  cutting  in  and 
out ;  my  Lord  Tomnoddy's  cab  with  the  enormous  white 
horse,  was  locked  in  with  Doctor  Bullfrog's  purple 
brougham,  and  a  cartful  of  window-frames  and  shop- 
fronts.  Part  of  the  pavement  of  course  was  up,  and 
pitch-caldrons  reeking  in  the  midst;  omnibus  cads  bawl- 
ing out  "Now  then,  stoopid!"  over  all.  "Am  I  to  de- 
scribe all  these,  I  thought;  to  unravel  this  writhing  per- 
plexity; to  set  sail  into  this  boundless  ocean  of  life? 
What  does  my  Master  mean  by  setting  me  so  cruel  a 
task;  and  how  the  deuce  am  I  to  travel  in  London ?':  I 
felt  dazzled,  amazed,  and  confounded,  like  stout  Cortes, 
when  with  eagle's  eyes  he  stared  at  the  Pacific  in  a  wild 
surprise,  silent  upon  a  peak  in  What-d'ye-call-'em.  And 
I  wandered  on  and  on. 


412     "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

"  Well  met,"  said  a  man,  accosting  me.  "  What  is  the 
matter,  Spec?    Is  your  banker  broke?" 

I  looked  down.  It  was  little  Frank  Whitestock,  the 
Curate  of  Saint  Timothy's,  treading  gingerly  over  the 
mud. 

I  explained  to  Frank  my  mission,  and  its  tremendous 
nature,  my  modest  fears  as  to  my  competency,  my  per- 
plexity where  to  begin. 

The  little  fellow's  eyes  twinkled  roguishly.  "  Mr. 
Punch  is  right,"  said  he.  '  If  you  want  to  travel,  my 
poor  Spec,  you  should  not  be  trusted  very  far  beyond 
Islington.  It  is  certain  that  you  can  describe  a  tea-kettle 
better  than  a  pyramid." 

"Tea-kettle!  tea-kettle  yourself,"  says  I.  "How  to 
begin  is  the  question." 

"  Begin? "  says  he,  "  begin  this  instant.  Come  in  here 
with  me ; "  and  he  pulled  at  one  of  four  bells  at  an  old- 
fashioned  door  by  which  we  were  standing. 

Spec. 

(November  1847.) 


TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 


A   CLUB   IN   AN    UPROAR 


HE  appearance  of  a  London 
Club  at  a  time  of  great  ex- 
citement is  well  worthy  the 
remark  of  a  traveller  in  this 
city.  The  Megatherium  has 
been  in  a  monstrous  state  of 
frenzy  during  the  past  days. 
What  a  queer  book  it  would 
be  which  should  chronicle  all 
the  stories  which  have  been 
told,  or  all  the  opinions  which 
have  been  uttered  there. 

As  a  Revolution  brings 
out  into  light  of  day,  and 
into  the  streets  of  the  con- 
vulsed capital,  swarms  of 
people  who  are  invisible  but 
in  such  times  of  agitation,  and  retreat  into  their  ob- 
scurity as  soon  as  the  earthquake  is  over,  so  you  may 
remark  in  Clubs,  that  the  stirring  of  any  great  news 
brings  forth  the  most  wonderful  and  hitherto  un- 
heard-of members,  of  whose  faces  not  the  habitues,  not 
even  the  hall-porters,  have  any  knowledge.  The  excite- 
ment over,  they  vanish,  and  are  seen  no  more  until  the 
next  turmoil  calls  them  forth. 

413 


414    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

During  the  past  week,  our  beloved  Megatherium  has 
been  as  crowded  as  they  say  her  Majesty's  Palace  of 
Pimlico  at  present  is,  where  distressed  foreigners,  fugi- 
tives, and  other  Coburgs  are  crowded  two  or  three  in  a 
room;  and  where  it  has  been  reported  during  the  whole 
of  the  past  week  that  Louis  Philippe  himself,  in  dis- 
guise, was  quartered  in  the  famous  garden  pavilion, 
and  plates  of  dinner  sent  out  to  him  from  her  Majesty's 
table.  I  had  the  story  from  Bowyer  of  the  Megathe- 
rium, who  had  seen  and  recognised  the  ex-King  as  he 
was  looking  into  the  palace  garden,  from  a  house  in 
Grosvenor  Place  opposite.  We  have  had  other  won- 
derful stories  too,  whereof  it  is  our  present  purpose  to 
say  a  word  or  two. 

The  Club,  in  fact,  has  been  in  a  state  of  perfect  up- 
roar, to  the  disgust  of  the  coffee-room  habitues,  of  the 
quiet  library  arm-chair  occupiers,  and  of  the  newspaper- 
room  students,  who  could  not  get  their  accustomed 
broad-sheets.  Old  Doctor  Pokey  (who  is  in  the  habit 
of  secreting  newspapers  about  his  person,  and  going  off 
to  peruse  them  in  recondite  corners  of  the  building)  has 
been  wandering  about,  in  vain  endeavouring  to  seize 
hold  of  a  few.  They  say  that  a  Morning  Chronicle  was 
actually  pulled  from  under  his  arm  during  the  last 
week's  excitement.  The  rush  for  second  editions  and 
evening  papers  is  terrific.  Members  pounce  on  the  news- 
boys and  rob  them.    Decorum  is  overcome. 

All  the  decencies  of  society  are  forgotten  during  this 
excitement.  Men  speak  to  each  other  without  being 
introduced.  I  saw  a  man  in  ill-made  trousers  and  with 
strong  red  whiskers  and  a  strong  northern  accent  go 
up  to  Colonel  the  Honourable  Otto  Dillwater  of  the 
Guards,  and  make  some  dreadful  remark  about  Louis 


TRAVELS   IN  LONDON  415 

Feelip,  which  caused  the  Colonel  to  turn  pale  with  anger. 
I  saw  a  Bishop,  an  Under-Secretary  of  State  and  Gen- 
eral de  Boots  listening  with  the  utmost  gravity  and 
eagerness  to  little  Bob  Noddy,  who  pretended  to  have 
brought  some  news  from  the  City,  where  they  say  he 
is  a  clerk  in  a  Fire  Office. 

I  saw  all  sorts  of  portents  and  wonders.  On  the  great 
Saturday  night  (the  26th  ult.)  when  the  news  was  rifest, 
and  messenger  after  messenger  came  rushing  in  with 
wild  rumours,  men  were  seen  up  at  midnight  who  were 
always  known  to  go  to  bed  at  ten.  A  man  dined  in  the 
Club  who  is  married,  and  who  has  never  been  allowed 
to  eat  there  for  eighteen  years.  On  Sunday,  old  Mr. 
Pugh  himself,  who  moved  that  the  house  should  be 
shut,  no  papers  taken  in,  and  the  waiters  marched  to 
church  under  the  inspection  of  the  steward,  actually 
came  down  and  was  seen  reading  the  Observer,  so  eager 
was  the  curiosity  which  the  great  events  excited. 

In  the  smoking-room  of  the  establishment,  where  you 
ordinarily  meet  a  very  small  and  silent  party,  there  was 
hardly  any  seeing  for  the  smoke,  any  sitting  for  the 
crowd,  or  any  hearing  in  consequence  of  the  prodigious 
bawling  and  disputing.  The  men  uttered  the  most 
furious  contradictory  statements  there.  Young  Biffin 
was  praying  that  the  rascally  mob  might  be  cut  down 
to  a  man ;  while  Gullet  was  bellowing  out  that  the  safety 
of  France  required  the  re-establishment  of  the  guillo- 
tine, and  that  four  heads  must  be  had,  or  that  the  Revo- 
lution was  not  complete. 

In  the  card-room,  on  the  great  night  in  question,  there 
was  only  one  whist-table,  and  at  that  even  they  were 
obliged  to  have  a  dummy.  Captain  Trumpington  could 
not  be  brought  to  play  that  night;  and  Pamm  himself 


416    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

trumped  his  partner's  lead,  and  the  best  heart ;  such  was 
the  agitation  which  the  great  European  events  excited. 
When  Dicky  Cuff  came  in,  from  his  excellency  Lord 
Pilgrimstone's  evening  party,  a  rush  was  made  upon  him 
for  news,  as  if  he  had  come  from  battle.  Even  the  wait- 
ers appeared  to  be  interested,  and  seemed  to  try  to  over- 
hear the  conversation. 

Every  man  had  his  story,  and  his  private  information: 
and  several  of  these  tales  I  took  down. 

'Saturday,  five  o'clock. — Jawkins  has  just  come 
from  the  City.  The  French  Rothschild  has  arrived. 
He  escaped  in  a  water-butt  as  far  as  Amiens,  whence 
he  went  on  in  a  coffin.  A  fourgon  containing  two  hun- 
dred and  twenty-two  thousand  two  hundred  sovereigns, 
and  nine-and-fourpence  in  silver,  was  upset  in  the  Rue 
Saint-Denis.  The  coin  was  picked  up,  and  the  whole 
sum,  with  the  exception  of  the  fourpenny-piece,  was 
paid  over  to  the  Commissioners  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

'  Some  say  it  was  a  quarter-franc.  It  was  found 
sticking,  afterwards,  to  the  sabot  of  an  Auvergnat,  and 
brought  in  safety  to  the  Provisional  Government. 

'  Blankley  comes  in.  He  made  his  fortune  last  year 
by  the  railroads,  has  realised,  and  is  in  a  frantic  state 
of  terror.  '  The  miscreants ! '  he  says.  '  The  whole  popu- 
lation is  in  arms.  They  are  pouring  down  to  the  Eng- 
lish coast;  the  Sans-culottes  will  be  upon  us  to-morrow, 
and  we  shall  have  them  upon — upon  my  estate  in  Sus- 
sex, by  Jove!  Cobden  was  in  a  league  with  the  Revo- 
lutionary Government  when  he  said  there  would  be  no 
war — laying  a  trap  to  lull  us  into  security,  and  so  give 
free  ingress  to  the  infernal  revolutionary  villains.  There 
are  not  a  thousand  men  in  the  country  to  resist  them, 
and  we  shall  all  be  butchered  before  a  week  is  out— 


TRAVELS   IN   LONDON  417 

butchered,  and  our  property  confiscated.  Cobden  ought 
to  be  impeached  and  hanged.  Lord  John  Russell  ought 
to  be  impeached  and  hanged.  Hope  Guizot  will  be 
guillotined  for  not  having  used  cannon,  and  slaughtered 
the  ruffians  before  the  Revolution  came  to  a  head.' — 
N.B.  Blankley  was  a  Liberal  before  he  made  his  money, 
and  had  a  picture  of  Tom  Paine  in  his  study. 

"  Towzer  arrives.  A  messenger  has  just  come  to  the 
Foreign  Office  wounded  in  three  places,  and  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  fishwoman.  Paris  is  in  flames  in  twenty-four 
quarters — the  mob  and  pikemen  raging  through  it. 
Lamartine  has  been  beheaded.  The  forts  have  declared 
for  the  King  and  are  bombarding  the  town.  All  the 
English  have  been  massacred. 

"  Captain  Shindy  says,  '  Nonsense!  no  such  thing.'  A 
messenger  has  come  to  the  French  Embassy.  The  King 
and  Family  are  at  Versailles.  The  two  Chambers  have 
followed  them  thither,  and  Marshal  Bugeaud  has  rallied 
a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men.  The  Parisians 
have  three  days'  warning :  and  if  at  the  end  of  that  time 
they  do  not  yield,  seven  hundred  guns  will  open  on  the 
dogs,  and  the  whole  canaille  will  be  hurled  to  perdition. 

"  Pipkinson  arrives.  The  English  in  Paris  are  con- 
gregated in  the  Protestant  churches;  a  guard  is  placed 
over  them.  It  is  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the 
rabble  are  prevented  from  massacring  them.  Lady 
Lunchington  only  escaped  by  writing  '  Veuve  d'O'Con- 
nell'  on  her  door.  It  is  perfectly  certain  that  Guizot 
is  killed.  Lamartine  and  the  rest  of  the  Provisional 
Government  have  but  a  few  days  to  live:  the  Commun- 
ists will  destroy  them  infallibly;  and  universal  blood, 
terror,  and  anarchy  will  prevail  over  France,  over 
Europe,  over  the  world. 


418    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

'  "Bouncer — on  the  best  authority.  Thirty  thousand 
French  entered  Brussels  under  Lamoriciere.  No  harm 
has  been  done  to  Leopold.  The  united  French  and  Bel- 
gian army  march  on  the  Rhine  on  Monday.  Rhenish 
Prussia  is  declared  to  form  a  part  of  the  Republic.  A 
division  under  General  Bedeau  will  enter  Savoy,  and 
penetrate  into  Lombardy.  The  Pope  abdicates  his  tem- 
poral authority.  The  Russians  will  cross  the  Prussian 
frontier  with  four  hundred  thousand  men. 

"  Bowyer  has  just  come  from  Mivart's,  and  says  that 
rooms  are  taken  there  for  the  Pope,  who  has  fled  from 
his  dominions,  for  the  Countess  of  Landsfeld,  for  the 
King  of  Bavaria,  who  is  sure  to  follow  immediately,  and 
for  all  the  French  Princes,  and  their  suite  and  families." 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Rumour  was  chattering  last 
week,  while  the  great  events  were  pending.  But  oh,  my 
friends !  wild  and  strange  as  these  stories  were,  were  they 
so  wonderful  as  the  truth? — as  an  army  of  a  hundred 
thousand  men  subdued  bv  a  rising  of  bare-handed 
mechanics;  as  a  great  monarch,  a  Minister  notorious  for 
wisdom,  and  a  great  monarchy  blown  into  annihilation 
by  a  blast  of  national  breath;  as  a  magnificent  dynasty 
slinking  out  of  existence  in  a  cab;  as  a  gallant  prince, 
with  an  army  at  his  back,  never  so  much  as  drawing  a 
sword,  but  at  a  summons  from  a  citizen  of  the  National 
Guard  turning  tail  and  sneaking  away;  as  a  poet  brav- 
ing the  pikes  which  had  scared  away  a  family  of  kings 
and  princes,  and  standing  forward,  wise,  brave,  sensible, 
and  merciful,  undismayed  on  the  tottering  pinnacle  of 
popular  power?  Was  there  ever  a  day  since  the  begin- 
ning of  history,  where  small  men  were  so  great,  and 
great  ones  so  little?  What  satirist  could  ever  have  dared 
to  invent  such  a  story  as  that  of  the  brave  and  famous 


TRAVELS   IN   LONDON 


419 


race  of  Orleans  flying,  with  nobody  at  their  backs;  of 
wives  and  husbands  separating,  and  the  deuce  take  the 
hindmost ;  of  Ulysses  shaving  his  whiskers  off,  and  fling- 
ing away  even  his  wig?  It  is  the  shamef idlest  chapter 
in  history — a  consummation  too  base  for  ridicule. 

One  can't  laugh  at  anything  so  miserably  mean.  All 
the  Courts  in  Europe  ought  to  go  into  mourning,  or 
wear  sackcloth.  The  catastrophe  is  too  degrading.  It 
sullies  the  cause  of  all  kings,  as  the  misconduct  of  a  regi- 
ment does  an  army.  It  tarnishes  all  crowns.  And  if  it 
points  no  other  moral,  and  indicates  no  future  conse- 
quences, why,  Progress  is  a  mere  humbug:  Railroads 
lead  to  nothing,  and  Signs  point  nowhere:  and  there  is 
no  To-morrow  for  the  world. 

Spec. 


(March  1848.) 


TRAVELS  IN  LONDON 


A   ROUNDABOUT    RIDE 


OUNG  HENGIST  hav- 
ing kindly  offered  to 
lend  me  a  pony,  I 
went  out  for  a  ride 
with  him  this  morn- 
ing; and  being  now 
mercifully  restored  to 
my  armchair  at  home, 
I  write  down,  with  a 
rapid  and  faithful  pen, 
the  events  of  the  day. 
Hengist  lives  in  the 
Tyburn  district,  that 
great  rival,  and  sometime,  as  'twas  thought,  conqueror 
of  Belgravia,  where  squares,  cathedrals,  terraces  spring 
up  in  a  night,  as  it  were:  where,  as  you  wandered  yes- 
terday, you  saw  a  green  strip  of  meadow,  with  a  washer- 
woman's cottage  and  a  tea-garden ;  and  to-day  you  look 
up,  and  lo!  you  see  a  portly  row  of  whity-brown  bow- 
windowed  houses,  with  plate-glass  windows,  through 
the  clear  panes  of  which  you  may  see  bald-headed  com- 
fortable old  fogies  reading  the  Morning  Herald.  But- 
lers loll  at  the  doors—  (by  the  way,  the  Tyburnian  foot- 
men are  by  no  means  so  large  or  so  powdery  as  the  May- 
fair  and  Belgravian  gentry)  — the  road  is  always  freshly 
laid  down  with  sharp  large  flintstones.    Missis's  neat  lit- 

420 


TRAVELS   IN   LONDON  421 

tie  brougham  with  two  bay  horses,  and  the  page  by  the 
coachman's  side,  is  creaking  over  the  flints.  The  apothe- 
cary is  driving  here  and  there  in  a  gig;  the  broad  flag- 
stones are  dotted  about  with  a  good  number  of  tartan 
jackets  and  hats,  enclosing  wholesome-looking  little 
children.  A  brand-new  fishmonger's  shop  is  just  open, 
with  great  large  white-bellied  turbots,  looking  very  cool 
and  helpless  on  the  marble  slabs.  A  genteel  stucco- 
faced  public-house  is  run  up  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  grooms,  and  the  domestics,  and  the  hodmen  of  the 
neighbourhood;  and  a  great  bar  is  placed  at  the  end  of 
the  street,  beyond  which  is  a  chaos  of  bricks,  wheel- 
barrows, mounds  of  chalk,  with  milky-looking  pools 
beside  them,  scaffoldings  and  brown  skeletons  of  houses, 
through  which  the  daylight  shines,  and  you  can  see 
patches  of  green  land  beyond,  which  are  to  be  swallowTed 
up  presently  by  the  great  devouring  City. 

This  quarter,  my  dear  friends,  is  what  Baker  Street 
was  in  the  days  of  our  youth.  I  make  no  doubt  that 
some  of  the  best  and  stupidest  dinners  in  London  are 
given  hereabouts;  dinners  where  you  meet  a  Baronet,  a 
Knight,  and  a  snuffy  little  old  General;  and  where  the 
master  of  the  house,  the  big  bald  man,  leads  Lady  Bar- 
bara Macraw  downstairs,  the  Earl  of  Strathbungo's 
daughter,  and  godmother  to  his  seventh  child.  A  little 
more  furniture  would  make  the  rooms  look  more  com- 
fortable ;  but  they  are  very  handsome  as  it  is.  The  silver 
dish-covers  are  splendaceous.  I  wish  the  butler  would 
put  a  little  more  wine  into  the  glasses,  and  come  round 
rather  oftener.  You  are  the  only  poor  man  in  the  room. 
Those  awful  grave  fellows  give  each  other  dinners  round. 
Their  daughters  come  solemnly  in  the  evening.  The 
young  fellow  of  the  house  has  been  at  Oxford,  and 


422    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER''  PAPERS 

smokes  cigars,  but  not  in  the  house,  and  dines  a  good 
deal  out  at  his  Club. 

I  don't  wonder:  I  once  dined  with  young  Hengist, 
at  his  father's,  Major-General  Sir  Hercules  Hengist, 
K.C.B.,  and  of  all  the — but  hospitality  forbids  me  to  re- 
veal the  secrets  of  the  mahogany. 

Having  partaken  there  of  a  slight  refreshment  of  a 
sponge-cake  from  a  former  dessert  (and  a  more  pre- 
tentious, stuck-up,  tasteless,  seedy  cake  than  a  sponge- 
cake I  don't  know),  and  a  glass  of  wine,  we  mounted 
our  horses  and  rode  out  on  a  great  exploring  journey. 
We  had  heard  of  Bethnal  Green  and  Spitalflelds;  we 
wished  to  see  those  regions;  and  we  rode  forth  then  like 
two  cavaliers  out  of  Mr.  James's  novels — the  one  was 
young,  with  curly  chestnut  ringlets,  and  a  blonde  mous- 
tache just  shading  his  upper  lip,  &c. — We  rode  forth 
out  of  Tyburnia  and  down  the  long  row  of  terraces  to 
which  two  Universities  have  given  their  names. 

At  the  end  of  Oxford  Terrace,  the  Edgware  Road 
cuts  rapidly  in,  and  the  genteel  district  is  over.  It  ex- 
pires at  that  barrier  of  twopenny  omnibuses:  we  are 
nearly  cut  in  two  by  one  of  those  disgusting  vehicles, 
as  we  pass  rapidly  through  the  odious  cordon. 

We  now  behold  a  dreary  district  of  mud,  and  houses 
on  either  side,  that  have  a  decaved  and  slatternly  look, 
as  if  they  had  become  insolvent,  and  subsequently  taken 
to  drinking  and  evil  courses  in  their  old  age.  There  is 
a  corner  house  not  very  far  from  the  commencement  of 
the  New  Road,  which  is  such  a  picture  of  broken-win- 
dowed bankruptcy  as  is  only  to  be  seen  when  a  house  is 
in  Chancery  or  in  Ireland.  I  think  the  very  o-hosts  must 
be  mildewed  that  haunt  that  most  desolate  spot. 

As  they  rode  on,  the  two  cavaliers  peeped  over  the 


TRAVELS   IN   LONDON  423 

board  of  the  tea-garden  at  the  Yorkshire  Stingo.  The 
pillars  of  the  damp  arbours  and  the  legs  of  the  tables 
were  reflected  in  the  mud. 

In  sooth  'tis  a  dismal  quarter.  What  are  those  whity- 
brown  small  houses  with  black  gardens  fronting,  and 
cards  of  lodgings  wafered  into  the  rickety  bow-windows? 
Would  not  the  very  idea  that  you  have  to  pass  over  that 
damp  and  reeking  strip  of  ground  prevent  any  man 
from  taking  those  hopeless  apartments?  Look  at  the 
shabby  children  paddling  through  the  slush:  and  lo! 
the  red-haired  maid-of -all-work  coming  out  with  yester- 
day's paper  and  her  mistress's  beer- jug  in  her  hand, 
through  the  creaking  little  garden  door,  on  which  the 
name  of  "  Sulsh  "  is  written  on  a  dirty  brass  plate. 

Who  is  Sulsh?  Why  do  I  want  to  know  that  he  lives 
there?  Ha!  there  is  the  Lying-in  Hospital,  which  al- 
ways looks  so  comfortable  that  we  feel  as  if  we  should 
like  to  be  in  an  interesting — fiddlestick!  Here  is  Milksop 
Terrace.  It  looks  like  a  dowager.  It  has  seen  better 
days,  but  it  holds  its  head  up  still,  and  has  nothing  to  do 
with  Marylebone  Workhouse,  opposite,  that  looks  as 
cheerful  as  a  cheese-paring. 

We  rise  in  respectability:  we  come  upon  tall  brown 
houses,  and  can  look  up  long  vistas  of  brick.  Off  with 
your  hat.  That  is  Baker  Street;  jolly  little  Upper 
Baker  Street  stretches  away  Regent's  Parkward;  we 
pass  by  Glum  Street,  Great  Gaunt  Street,  Upper 
Hatchment  Street;  Tressel  Place,  and  Pall  Street — 
dark,  tragic,  and  respectable  abodes  of  worth}'-  people. 
Their  names  should  be  printed  in  a  black  book,  instead 
of  a  red  book,  however.  I  think  they  must  have  been 
built  by  an  architect  and  undertaker. 

How  the  omnibuses  cut  through  the  mud  City-wards, 


424    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

and  the  rapid  cabs  with  canvas-backed  trunks  on  the  top, 
rush  towards  the  Great  Western  Railway.  Yonder  it 
lies,  beyond  the  odious  line  of  twopenny  'buses. 

See,  we  are  at  Park  Crescent.  Portland  Place  is  like 
a  Pyramid,  and  has  resisted  time.  It  still  looks  as  if 
Aldermen  lived  there,  and  very  beneficed  clergymen 
came  to  them  to  dine.  The  footmen  are  generally  fat 
in  Portland  Place,  I  have  remarked;  fat  and  in  red 
plush  breeches — different  from  the  Belgravian  gents: 
from  the  Tyburnian.  Every  quarter  has  its  own  ex- 
pression of  plush,  as  flowers  bloom  differently  in  differ- 
ent climates. 

Chariots  with  lozenges  on  the  panels,  and  elderly 
ladies  inside,  are  driving  through  the  iron  gates  to  take 
the  cheerful  round  of  Regent's  Park.  When  all  Nature 
smiles  and  the  skies  are  intolerably  bright  and  blue,  the 
Regency  Park  seems  to  me  to  have  this  advantage,  that 
a  cooling  and  agreeable  mist  always  lies  over  it  and  keeps 
off  the  glare. 

Do  people  still  continue  to  go  to  the  Diorama?  It 
is  an  entertainment  congenial  to  the  respectability  of  the 
neighbourhood.  I  know  nothing  more  charming  than 
to  sit  in  a  black  room  there,  silent  and  frightened,  and 
with  a  dim  sense  that  you  are  turning  round;  and  then 
to  see  the  view  of  the  Church  of  Saint  Rawhead  by 
moonlight,  while  a  distant  barrel-organ  plays  the  Dead 
March  in  "  Saul "  almost  inaudibly. 

Yoicks!  we  have  passed  the  long  defile  of  Albany 
Street;  we  cross  the  road  of  Tottenham — on  either  side 
of  us  the  cheerful  factories  with  ready-made  tombstones 
and  funereal  urns ;  or  great  zinc  slipper-baths  and  chim- 
ney-pots that  look  like  the  helmets  of  the  Castle  of 
Otranto.     Extremely  small  cigar-shops,  and  dentists; 


TRAVELS   IX   LONDON  425 

one  or  two  bug-destroyers,  and  coffee-shops  that  look 
by  no  means  inviting,  are  remarked  by  self  and  Hengist 
as  our  rapid  steeds  gallop  swiftly  onwards— onwards 
through  the  Square  of  Euston — onwards  where  the 
towers  of  Pancridge  rise  before  us — rapidly,  rapidly. 

Ha!  he  is  down — is  he  hurt? — He  is  up  again — it  is  a 
cab-horse  on  ahead,  not  one  of  ours.  It  is  the  wood- 
pavement.  Let  us  turn  aside  and  avoid  the  dangerous 
path. 

Spec. 
(March  1848.) 


THE  PROSER: 

ESSAYS   AND    DISCOURSES    BY   DR.    SOLOMON    PACIFICO 
ON    AN    INTERESTING   FRENCH    EXILE 

AS  he  walks  the  streets  of  London  in  this  present 
l  season,  everybody  must  have  remarked  the  con- 
stant appearance  in  all  thoroughfares  and  public  places 
of  very  many  well-dressed  foreigners.  With  comely 
beards,  variegated  neck-cloths,  and  varnished  little  boots, 
with  guide-books  in  their  hands,  or  a  shabby  guide  or 
conductor  accompanying  a  smart  little  squad  of  half- 
a-dozen  of  them,  these  honest  Continentals  march  through 
the  city  and  its  environs,  examine  Nelson  on  his  inde- 
scribable pillar,  the  Duke  of  York  impaled  between  the 
Athenaeum  and  the  United  Service  Clubs — les  docks,  le 
tunnel  (monument  du  genie  Francois),  Greenwich  avec 
son  pare  et  ses  whites-bates,  les  monuments  de  la  cite,  les 
Squarrs  du  West  End,  &c.  The  sight  of  these  peaceful 
invaders  is  a  very  pleasant  one.  One  would  like  to  hear 
their  comments  upon  our  city  and  institutions,  and  to 
be  judged  by  that  living  posterity;  and  I  have  often 
thought  that  an  ingenious  young  Englishman,  such  as 
there  are  many  now  amongst  us,  possessing  the  two 
languages  perfectly,  would  do  very  well  to  let  his  beard 
grow,  and  to  travel  to  Paris,  for  the  purpose  of  return- 
ing thence  with  a  company  of  excursionists,  who  arrive 
to  pass  nne  semaine  a  Londres,  and  of  chronicling  the 

426 


AX  INTERESTING  FRENCH  EXILE    427 

doings  and  opinions  of  the  party.  His  excellency  the 
Nepanlese  Ambassador,  and  Lieutenant  Futty  Jung, 
know  almost  as  much  about  our  country  as  many  of 
those  other  foreigners  who  live  but  four  hours'  distance 
from  us;  and  who  are  transported  to  England  and  back 
again  at  the  cost  of  a  couple  of  hundred  francs.  They 
are  conducted  to  our  theatres,  courts  of  justice,  Houses 
of  Parliament,  churches ;  not  understanding,  for  the  most 
part,  one  syllable  of  what  they  hear:  their  eager  imag- 
inations fancy  an  oration  or  a  dialogue,  which  supplies 
the  words  delivered  by  the  English  speakers,  and  re- 
places them  by  figures  and  sentiments  of  their  own 
fapon;  and  they  believe,  no  doubt,  that  their  reports  are 
pretty  accurate,  and  that  they  have  actually  heard  and 
understood  something. 

To  see  the  faces  of  these  good  folks  of  a  Sunday — 
their  dreary  bewilderment  and  puzzled  demeanour  as  they 
walk  the  blank  streets  (if  they  have  not  the  means  of  flight 
to  Richemont  or  Amstedd,  or  some  other  pretty  en- 
virons of  the  town  where  gazon  is  plentiful  and  ale 
cheap),  is  always  a  most  queer  and  comic  sight.  Has 
not  one  seen  that  peculiar  puzzled  look  in  certain  little 
amusing  manikins  at  the  Zoological  Gardens  and  else- 
where, when  presented  with  a  nut  which  they  can't  crack, 
or  examining  a  looking-glass  of  which  they  can't  under- 
stand the  mystery — that  look  so  delightfully  piteous  and 
ludicrous  ?  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  Frenchmen  are 
like  the  active  and  ingenious  animals  alluded  to,  and 
make  a  simious  comparison  odious  to  a  mighty  nation; 
this,  in  the  present  delicate  condition  of  the  diplomatic 
relations  between  the  two  countries,  and  while  Lord 
Stanley's  questions  are  pending  respecting  papers  which 
have  reference  to  the  affairs  of  a  celebrated  namesake 


428  "SPEC"  AND  "PROSPER"  PAPERS 

of  mine,1  would  be  a  dangerous  and  unkind  simile;  but 
that,  as  our  proverbial  dulness  and  ferocity  often  shows 
itself  in  the  resemblance  between  the  countenances  of 
our  people  and  our  boules-dogues,  so  the  figure  and 
motions  of  the  Frenchman  bear  an  occasional  likeness 
to  the  lively  ring-tail,  or  the  brisk  and  interesting  mar- 
moset. They  can't  crack  any  of  our  nuts;  an  impene- 
trable shell  guards  them  from  our  friends'  teeth.  I  saw 
last  year,  at  Paris,  a  little  play  called  "  Une  Semaine  a 
Londres,"  intending  to  ridicule  the  amusements  of  the 
excursionists,  and,  no  doubt,  to  satirise  the  manners  of 
the  English.  Very  likely  the  author  had  come  to  see 
London — so  had  M.  Gautier — so  had  M.  Valentino — 
the  first  of  whom  saw  "  vases  chiselled  by  Benvenuto  " 
in  the  pot  from  which  Mrs.  Jones  at  Clapham  poured 
out  the  poet's  tea;  the  second,  from  a  conversation  in 
English,  of  which  he  didn't  understand  a  syllable,  with 
a  young  man  in  Messrs.  Hunt  and  Roskell's  shop,  found 
out  that  the  shopman  was  a  Red  Republican,  and  that 
he  and  most  of  his  fellows  were  groaning  under  the 
tyranny  of  the  aristocracy.  Very  likely,  we  say,  the 
author  of  "  Une  Semaine  a  Londres ':  had  travelled 
hither.  There  is  no  knowing  what  he  did  not  see:  he  saw 
the  barge  of  the  Queen  pulling  to  Greenwich,  whither 
her  Majesty  was  going  to  manger  tin  excellent  sand- 
ividg;  he  saw  the  bateaux  of  the  blanchisseuses  on  the 
river;  and  with  these  and  a  hundred  similar  traits,  he 
strove  to  paint  our  manners  in  behalf  of  his  country- 
men. 

I  was  led  into  the  above  and  indeed  the  ensuing  re- 
flections, by  reading  an  article  in  the  Times  newspaper 

1  A  Jew  named  Pacifieo,  who  claimed  compensation  for  damage 
done  to  his  property  in  a  riot  at  Athens  in  1847. 


AN  INTERESTING  FRENCH  EXILE    420 

last  week,  on  Citizen  Ledru  Rollin's  work  on  the  deca- 
dence of  this  unhappy  country ;  and  by  a  subsequent  ref- 
erence to  the  work  itself.  That  great  citizen  protests 
that  he  has  cracked  the  British  nut,  and,  having  broken 
his  grinders  at  it,  pronounces  the  kernel  utterly  poison- 
ous, bitter,  and  rotten.  No  man  since  the  days  of  Pittet- 
cobourg  has  probably  cursed  us  with  a  more  hearty  ill- 
will— not  O'Connell  himself  (whom  the  ex-tribune 
heartily  curses  and  abuses  too)  abused  us  more  in  his  best 
days.  An  enthusiastic  malevolence,  a  happy  instinct 
for  blundering,  an  eye  that  naturally  distorts  the  objects 
which  its  bloodshot  glances  rest  upon,  and  a  fine  natural 
ignorance,  distinguish  the  prophet  who  came  among  us 
when  his  own  country  was  too  hot  to  hold  him,  and  who 
bellows  out  to  us  his  predictions  of  hatred  and  ruin. 
England  is  an  assassin  and  corrupter  (roars  our  friend)  ; 
it  has  nailed  Ireland  to  the  cross  (this  is  a  favourite 
image  of  the  orator ;  he  said,  two  years  ago  in  Paris,  that 
he  was  nailed  to  the  cross  for  the  purpose  of  saving  the 
nation!)  ;  that,  while  in  France  the  press  is  an  apostle- 
ship,  in  England  it  is  a  business;  that  the  Church  is  a 
vast  aristocratic  corruption,  the  Prelate  of  Canterbury 
having  three  million  francs  of  revenue,  and  the  Bishop 
of  Hawkins  having  died  worth  six  millions  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand ;  that  the  commercial  aristocracy  is  an 
accursed  power,  making  "  Rule  Britannia  "  resound  in 
distant  seas,  from  the  height  of  its  victorious  masts ;  and 
so  forth.  I  am  not  going  to  enter  into  an  argument  or 
quarrel  with  the  accuracy  of  details  so  curious — my  pur- 
pose in  writing  is  that  of  friendly  negotiator  and  inter- 
poser  of  good  offices,  and  my  object  eminently  pacific. 

But  though  a  man  paints  an  odious  picture,  and  writes 
beneath  it,  as  the  boys  do,  "  This  is  England,"  that  is  no 


430  "SPEC"  AXD  "PROSPER"  PAPERS 

reason  that  the  portrait  should  be  like.  Mr.  Spec,  for 
instance,  who  tried  to  draw  Erminia  as  a  figure-head  for 
the  Proser  of  last  week,  made  a  face  which  was  no  more 
like  hers  than  it  was  like  mine ;  and  how  should  he,  being 
himself  but  a  wretched  performer,  and  having  only 
once  seen  the  young  lady,  at  an  exhibition,  where  I 
pointed  her  out?  As  with  Spec  and  Erminia,  so  with 
Ledru  and  Britannia.  I  doubt  whether  the  Frenchman 
has  ever  seen  at  all  the  dear  old  country  of  ours  which 
he  reviles,  and  curses,  and  abuses. 

How  is  Ledru  to  see  England?  We  may  wager  that 
he  does  not  know  a  word  of  the  language,  any  more  than 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  a  thousand  Frenchmen. 
What  do  they  want  with  Jordan  when  they  have  Abana 
and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus,  which  they  consider 
to  be  the  finest  and  most  cleansing  waters  of  the  world? 
In  the  reader's  acquaintance  with  Frenchmen,  how  many 
does  he  know  who  can  speak  our  language  decently?  I 
have  for  my  part,  and  for  example,  seen  many  of  the 
refugees  whom  the  troubles  of  '48  sent  over  among  us, 
and  not  met  one  who,  in  the  couple  of  years'  residence, 
has  taken  the  trouble  to  learn  our  language  tolerably, 
who  can  understand  it  accurately  when  spoken,  much 
more  express  himself  in  it  with  any  fluency.  And  with- 
out any  knowledge  of  Mr.  Rollin,  who  blunders  in  every 
page  of  his  book,  who  does  not  make  the  least  allusion  to 
our  literature,  one  may  pretty  surely  argue  that  this  in- 
teresting exile  does  not  know  our  language,  and  could 
not  construe,  without  enormous  errors,  any  half-a-dozen 
sentences  in  the  Times.  When  Macaulay  was  busy  with 
his  great  chapters  on  King  William,  he  thoroughly 
learned  Dutch,  in  order  to  understand,  and  have  at  first- 


AN  INTERESTING  FRENCH  EXILE    431 

hand,  the  despatches  of  the  Prince  of  Orange.  Have 
you  heard  of  many  Frenchmen  swallowing  a  language 
or  two  before  they  thought  of  producing  a  history?  Can 
Thiers  read  a  page  of  Napier?  No  more  than  Ledru 
can,  or  communicate  in  our  native  language  with  any 
Englishman,  of  any  party,  from  Lord  John  Manners  to 
Mr.  Julian  Harney. 

How  many  houses  has  Ledru  visited  of  the  ruffian 
aristocrats  who  are  plundering  the  people,  of  the  priests 
who  are  cheating  them,  of  the  middle  classes  who  are 
leagued  with  the  aristocracy,  or  of  the  people  them- 
selves? Is  he  intimate  with  any  three  English  fami- 
lies? with  any  single  nobleman,  with  any  one  parson, 
tradesman,  or  working  man?  He  quotes  a  great  mass 
of  evidence  against  England  from  the  Morning 
Chronicle:  did  he  translate  from  the  Chronicle  himself, 
or  get  a  secretary?  Can  he  translate?  If  he  will, 
without  the  aid  of  a  dictionary,  sit  down  in  our  office, 
and  translate  this  paper  fairly  into  French,  he  shall  have 
the  last  volume  of  Punch,  gilt,  and  presented  to  him 
gratis. 

The  chances  are  that  this  exile  never  sees  our  society 
at  all;  that  he  gets  his  dinner  at  a  French  table-d'hote , 
where  other  unfortunates  of  his  nation  meet  and  eat  and 
grumble ;  that  he  goes  to  a  French  cafe,  or  coffee-shop, 
used  by  Frenchmen,  to  read  the  French  newspapers; 
that  he  buys  his  cigars  at  a  French  house ;  that  he  takes 
his  walk  between  the  Quadrant  and  Leicester  Square; 
that  he  takes  his  amusement  at  the  French  play,  or  at  an 
hotel  in  Leicester  Place  where  there  is  a  billiard-  and  a 
smoking-room,  and  where  the  whiskered  Red  men  can 
meet  and  curse  Vinfame  Angleterre. 


432    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

Marius  sitting  in  the  ruins  of  Carthage  and  scowling 
on  his  pursuers,  is  a  grand  figure  enough ;  but  a  French 
tribune  looking  upon  our  Carthage,  standing  alone  we 
may  fancy  against  the  desolate  statue  yonder  in  Leices- 
ter Square,  is  the  most  dismal,  absurd,  ludicrous  image 
imaginable.  'Thou  hireling  soldier"  (says  he,  folding 
his  arms  against  the  statue  and  knitting  his  brows  with 
an  awful  air) ,  "  thou  shuddering  Cimbrian  slave,  tell  thy 
master  that  thou  hast  seen  Caius  Marius,  banished  and 
a  fugitive,  seated  on  the  ruins  of,"  &c.  The  minion  of 
despots  whom  he  addresses  does  not  care  in  the  least 
about  his  scowls,  or  his  folded  arms,  or  his  speech;  not 
he — Policeman  X  points  with  his  staff,  thinks  within 
himself  that  it's  only  a  Frenchman,  and  tells  him  to 
move  on. 

To  an  exile  of  this  sort  what  a  daily  humiliation  Lon- 
don must  be!  How  small  he  appears  amongst  the  two 
millions!  Who  the  deuce  cares  for  him.  The  Govern- 
ment does  not  even  pay  him  the  compliment  of  the 
slightest  persecution,  or  set  so  much  as  a  spy  or  a  police- 
man as  a  guard  of  honour  at  his  door.  Every  man  he 
meets  of  the  two  millions  has  his  own  business  to  mind. 
Yonder  man  can't  attend  to  Marius :  he  is  Chowler,  and 
has  got  to  "chaw  up  "  Peel.  The  next  can't  listen:  he  is 
Cobden,  who  is  so  pressed  that  he  cannot  even  receive 
Captain  Aaron  Smith,  who  has  something  particular  to 
say  to  him.  A  third  is  engaged :  it  is  Lord  Ashley,  who 
has  the  bettering  of  the  working  classes  at  heart,  and  the 
model  houses  to  visit.  A  fourth  gives  Marius  a  little 
sympathy,  but  must  pass  on :  it  is  Mr.  G.  W.  M.  Rey- 
nolds, Author  of  '  The  Mvsteries  of  London "  and 
'  The  People's  Instructor,"  who  is  going  to  beard  Lord 
John  at  the  meeting,  and  ask  his  lordship  what  his  lord- 


AN  INTERESTING  FRENCH  EXILE    433 

ship  is  going  to  do  for  the  millions?  One  and  all  they 
have  their  own  affairs  to  mind.  Who  cares  about 
Marius?  Get  along,  Marius,  and  play  a  pool  at  billiards, 
and  smoke  a  cigar,  and  curse  England  to  the  other 
braves.    Move  on,  Marius,  and  don't  block  up  the  way. 

(June  1850.) 


ON  AN  AMERICAN  TRAVELLER 

AS  you  sit  in  the  great  drawing-room  at  the  Megathe- 
jT\.  rium,  or  any  other  club,  I  dare  say  you  will  remark 
that  as  each  man  passes  the  great  mirror  in  the  middle 
room,  be  he  ever  so  handsome  or  homely,  so  well  or  ill 
dressed,  so  hurried  or  busy,  he  nevertheless  has  time  for 
a  good  survey  of  himself  in  the  glass,  and  a  deliberate 
examination  of  his  clothes  and  person.  He  is  anxious 
to  know  what  the  glass  thinks  of  him.  We  are  anxious 
to  know  what  all  reflective  persons  think  of  us.  Hence 
our  constant  pleasure  in  reading  books  of  travel  by  for- 
eigners: by  Hadji  Babas  and  Persian  Princes;  by 
Ledru  Rollins  or  German  philosophers;  by  Americans 
who  come  to  England;  and  the  like.  If  the  black  gen- 
tleman in  Saint  Paul's  Churchyard,  who  was  called  away 
from  his  broom  the  other  day,  and  lifted  up  into  the 
Nepaulese  General's  carriage  in  the  quality  of  inter- 
preter, writes  his  account  of  London  life,  its  crossings  and 
sweepings,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  all  read  it;  and  as 
for  the  Americans,  I  think  a  smart  publisher  might  bring 
over  a  traveller  from  the  States  every  season,  at  least,  so 
constant  is  our  curiosity  regarding  ourselves,  so  pleased 
are  we  to  hear  ourselves  spoken  of,  of  such  an  unfailing 
interest  are  We  to  Us. 

Thus,  after  reading  Ledru  Rollin's  book  the  other 
day,  and  taking  the  dismal  view  supplied  of  ourselves 
by  that  cracked  and  warped  and  dingy  old  estaminet 

434 


ON  AN   AMERICAN   TRAVELLER     435 

looking-glass,  I,  for  one,  was  glad  to  survey  my  person 
in  such  a  bright  and  elegant  New  York  mirror  as  that  of 
Mr.  Parker  Willis ;  and  seized  eagerly,  at  a  railway  sta- 
tion, upon  a  new  volume  by  that  gentleman,  bearing  the 
fascinating  title  of  "  People  I  have  Met."  Parker 
Willis  is  no  other  than  that  famous  and  clever  N.  P. 
Willis  of  former  days,  whose  reminiscences  have  de- 
lighted so  many  of  us,  and  in  whose  company  one  is  al- 
ways sure  to  find  amusement  of  some  sort  or  the  other. 
Sometimes  it  is  amusement  at  the  writer's  wit  and  smart- 
ness, his  brilliant  descriptions  and  wondrous  flow  and 
rattle  of  spirits ;  sometimes  it  is  wicked  amusement,  and, 
it  must  be  confessed,  at  Willis's  own  expense — amuse- 
ment at  the  immensity  of  N.  P.'s  blunders,  amusement 
at  the  prodigiousness  of  his  self-esteem;  amusement 
always,  with  him  or  at  him;  with  or  at  Willis  the  poet, 
Willis  the  man,  Willis  the  dandy,  Willis  the  lover — now 
the  Broadway  Crichton,  once  the  ruler  of  fashion,  and 
heart-enslaver  of  Bond  Street,  and  the  Boulevard,  and 
the  Corso  and  the  Chiaja,  and  the  Constantinople  Ba- 
zaar. It  is  well  for  the  general  peace  of  families  that  the 
world  does  not  produce  many  such  men ;  there  would  be 
no  keeping  our  wives  and  daughters  in  their  senses  were 
such  fascinators  to  make  frequent  apparitions  amongst 
us;  but  it  is  comfortable  that  there  should  have  been  a 
Willis;  and  (since  the  appearance  of  the  Proser)  a  lit- 
erary man  myself,  and  anxious  for  the  honour  of  that 
profession,  I  am  proud  to  think  that  a  man  of  our  calling 
should  have  come,  should  have  seen,  should  have  con- 
quered, as  Willis  has  done. 

'  There  is  more  or  less  of  truth,"  he  nobly  says,  "  in 
every  one  of  the  stories "  which  he  narrates  here  in 
"People  I  have  Met" — more  or  less,  to  be  sure  there  is 


436    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

— and  it  is  on  account  of  this  more  or  less  of  truth  that 
I,  for  my  part,  love  and  applaud  this  hero  and  poet  so ; 
and  recommend  every  man  who  reads  Punch  to  lay  out 
a  shilling  and  read  Willis.  We  live  in  our  country  and 
don't  know  it;  Willis  walks  into  it  and  dominates  it  at 
once.  To  know  a  Duchess,  for  instance,  is  given  to  very 
few  of  us.  He  sees  things  that  are  not  given  to  us  to  see. 
We  see  the  Duchess  pass  by  in  her  carriage,  and  gaze 
Math  much  reverence  on  the  strawberry  leaves  on  the 
panels  and  her  grace  within:  whereas  the  odds  are  that 
that  lovely  Duchess  has  had  one  time  or  the  other  a  des- 
panels  and  her  grace  within :  whereas  the  odds  are  that 
she  is  thinking  of  him  at  this  very  minute  as  her  jewelled 
hand  presses  her  perfumed  cambric  handkerchief  to  her 
fair  and  coroneted  brow,  and  she  languidly  stops  to  pur- 
chase a  ruby  bracelet  at  Gunter's,  or  to  sip  an  ice  at 
Howell  and  James's.  He  must  have  whole  mattresses 
stuffed  with  the  blonde,  or  raven,  or  auburn  memories 
of  England's  fairest  daughters.  When  the  female  Eng- 
lish aristocracy  read  this  title  of  '  People  I  have  Met," 
I  can  fancy  the  whole  female  peerage  of  Willis's  time  in 
a  shudder:  and  the  melancholy  Marchioness,  and  the 
abandoned  Countess,  and  the  heart-stricken  Baroness, 
trembling  as  each  gets  the  volume,  and  asking  of  her 
guilty  conscience,  'Gracious  goodness!  is  the  monster 
going  to  show  up  me?" 

'  The  greater  number  of  his  stories,"  Willis  says, 
"  embody  such  passages  in  the  personal  history  of  the 
eminent  men  and  women  of  Europe  as  the  author  came 
to  the  knowledge  of,  by  conversance  with  the  circles  in 
which  they  moved" — and  this  is  the  point,  rather  than 
their  own  liveliness,  elegance  of  style,  and  intrinsic 
merit,  which  makes  them  so  valuable  to  English  readers. 


ON  AN   AMERICAN   TRAVELLER    437 

We  can't  hope  for  the  facilities  accorded  to  him.  As  at 
Paris,  by  merely  exhibiting  his  passport,  a  foreigner  will 
walk  straight  into  an  exhibition,  which  is  only  visible  to 
a  native  on  certain  days  in  the  year;  so  with  English 
aristocratic  society,  to  be  admitted  into  that  Elysium  you 
had  best  be  a  stranger.  Indeed,  how  should  it  be  other- 
wise? A  lady  of  fashion,  however  benevolently  dis- 
posed, can't  ask  everybody  to  her  house  in  Grosvenor 
Square  or  Carlton  Gardens.  Say  there  are  five  hundred 
thousand  people  in  London  (a  moderate  calculation) 
who  have  heard  of  Lady  P.'s  Saturday  evening  parties 
and  would  like  to  attend  them :  where  could  her  ladyship 
put  the  thousandth  part  of  them?  We  on  the  outside 
must  be  content  to  hear  at  second  hand  of  the  pleasures 
which  the  initiated  enjoy. 

With  strangers  it  is  different,  and  they  claim  and  get 
admittance  as  strangers.  Here,  for  instance,  is  an  ac- 
count of  one  Brown,  an  American  (though,  under  that 
modest  mask  of  Brown,  I  can't  help  fancying  that  I  see 
the  features  of  an  N.  P.  W.  himself)  :  Brown  arrived  in 
London  with  a  budget  of  introductions  like  the  post- 
man's bag  on  Valentine's  Day;  he  "began  with  a  most 
noble  Duke"  (the  sly  rogue),  and,  of  course,  was 
quickly  "  on  the  dinner-list  of  most  of  the  patricians  of 
Mayfair." 

"As  I  was  calling  myself  to  account  the  other  day  over  my 
breakfast,"  said  Brown,  filling  his  glass,  and  pushing  the  bottle, 
"  it  occurred  to  me  that  my  round  of  engagements  required  some 
little  variation.  There's  a  toujours  perdrix,  even  among  lords 
and  ladies,  particularly  when  you  belong  as  much  to  their  sphere 
and  are  as  likely  to  become  a  part  of  it,  as  the  fly  revolving  in 
aristocratic  dust  on  the  wheel  of  my  lord's  carriage.  I  thought, 
perhaps,  I  had  better  see  some  other  sort  of  people. 


438     "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

"  I  had,  under  a  presse-papier  on  the  table,  about  a  hundred 
letters  of  introduction — the  condemned  remainder,  after  the  se- 
lection, by  advice,  of  four  or  five  only.  I  determined  to  cut  this 
heap  like  a  pack  of  cards  and  follow  up  the  trump. 

"  '  John  Mimpson,  Esquire,  House  of  Mimpson  and  Phipps, 
Mark  Lane,  London.' 

"The  gods  had  devoted  me  to  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  (and 
probably  Mrs.)  John  Mimpson." 

After  a  "  dialogue  of  accost,"  Brown  produced  his 
introductory  letter  to  Mimpson,  whom  he  finely  de- 
scribes as  having  that  "highly-washed  look  peculiar  to 
London  City  men;"  and  Mimpson  asked  Brown  to 
lunch  and  sleep  at  his  villa  at  Hampstead  the  next  day, 
whither  the  American  accordingly  went  in  a  "  poshay ': 
with  "  a  pair  of  Newman's  posters."  Brown  might,  as 
he  owns,  have  performed  this  journey  in  an  omnibus  for 
sixpence,  whereas  the  chaise  would  cost  four  dollars  at 
least;  but  the  stranger  preferred  the  more  costly  and 
obsolete  contrivance. 

"  Mrs.  Mimpson  was  in  the  garden.  The  dashing  footman 
who  gave  me  the  information  led  me  through  a  superb  drawing- 
room,  and  out  at  a  glass  door  upon  the  lawn,  and  left  me  to 
make  my  own  way  to  the  lady's  presence. 

"  It  was  a  delicious  spot,  and  I  should  have  been  very  glad  to 
ramble  about  by  myself  till  dinner ;  but,  at  a  turn  in  the  grand 
walk,  I  came  suddenly  upon  two  ladies. 

"  I  made  my  bow,  and  begged  leave  to  introduce  myself  as 
'  Mr.  Brown.' 

"With  a  very  slight  inclination  of  the  head,  and  no  smile 
whatever,  one  of  the  ladies  asked  me  if  I  had  walked  from  town, 
and  begged  her  companion  (without  introducing  me  to  her)  to 
show  me  in  to  lunch.  The  spokester  was  a  stout  and  tall  woman, 
who  had  rather  an  aristocratic  nose,  and  was  not  handsome ;  but, 


ON  AN  AMERICAN   TRAVELLER    439 

to  give  her  her  due,  she  had  made  a  narrow  escape  of  it.  She 
was  dressed  very  showily,  and  evidently  had  great  pretensions; 
but  that  she  was  not  at  all  glad  to  see  Mr.  Brown  was  as  appar- 
ent as  was  at  all  necessary.  As  the  other  and  younger  lady  who 
was  to  accompany  me,  however,  was  very  pretty,  though  dressed 
very  plainly,  and  had,  withal,  a  look  in  her  eye  which  assured 
me  she  was  amused  with  my  unwelcome  apparition,  I  determined, 
as  I  should  not  otherwise  have  done,  to  stay  it  out,  and  accepted 
her  convoy  with  submissive  civility — very  much  inclined,  how- 
ever, to  be  impudent  to  somebody,  somehow. 

"  The  lunch  was  on  a  tray  in  a  side  room,  and  I  rang  the  bell 
and  ordered  a  bottle  of  champagne.  The  servant  looked  sur- 
prised, but  brought  it,  and  meantime  I  was  getting  through  the 
weather,  and  the  other  commonplaces,  and  the  lady,  saying  little, 
was  watching  me  very  calmly.  I  liked  her  looks,  however,  and 
was  sure  she  was  not  a  Mimpson. 

"  '  Hand  this  to  Miss  Armstrong,'  said  I  to  the  footman,  pour- 
ing out  a  glass  of  champagne. 

"  '  Miss  Bellamy,  you  mean,  sir.' 

"  I  rose  and  bowed,  and,  with  as  grave  a  curtsey  as  I  could 
command,  expressed  my  pleasure  at  my  first  introduction  to  Miss 
Bellamy — through  Thomas  the  footman!  Miss  Bellamy  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  was  pleased  to  compliment  my  American  man- 
ners, and  in  ten  minutes  we  were  a  very  merry  pair  of  friends, 
and  she  accepted  my  arm  for  a  stroll  through  the  grounds,  care- 
fullv  avoiding  the  frigid  neighbourhood  of  Mrs.  Mimpson." 

There's  a  rascal  for  you!  He  enters  a  house,  is  re- 
ceived coolly  by  the  mistress  (and  if  "Sirs.  Mimpson  had 
to  receive  every  Brown  in  London— ye  gods!  what  was 
she  to  do?),  walks  into  chicken  fixings  in  a  side  room, 
and,  not  content  with  Mimpson's  sherry,  calls  for  a 
bottle  of  champagne— not  for  a  glass  of  champagne,  but 
for  a  bottle ;  he  catches  hold  of  it  and  pours  out  for  him- 
self, the  rogue,  and  for  Miss  Bellamy,  to  whom  Thomas 


440    "SPEC"  AND  "PROSER"  PAPERS 

introduces  him.  And  this  upon  an  introduction  of  five 
years'  date,  from  one  mercantile  man  to  another;  upon 
an  introduction,  one  of  a  thousand  which  lucky  Brown 
possesses,  and  on  the  strength  of  which  Brown  sneers 
at  Mimpson,  sneers  at  Mrs.  M.,  sneers  at  M.'s  sherry, 
makes  a  footman  introduce  him  to  a  lady,  and  consumes 
a  bottle  of  champagne!  Come,  Brown!  you  are  a  stran- 
ger, and  on  the  dinner-list  of  most  of  the  patricians 
of  Mayfair;  but  isn't  this  un  peu  fort,  my  boy?  If  Mrs. 
Mimpson,  who  is  described  as  a  haughty  lady,  fourth 
cousin  of  a  Scotch  Earl,  and  marrying  M.  for  his  money 
merely,  had  suspicions  regarding  the  conduct  of  her  hus- 
band's friends,  don't  you  see  that  this  sort  of  behaviour 
on  your  part,  my  dear  Brown,  was  not  likely  to  do  away 
with  Mrs.  M.'s  little  prejudices?  I  should  not  like  a 
stranger  to  enter  my  house,  pooh-pooh  my  Marsala, 
order  my  servant  about,  and  desire  an  introduction  to  my 
daughter  through  him;  and  deferentially  think,  Brown, 
that  you  had  no  right  to  be  impudent  somehow  to  some- 
body, as  in  this  instance  you  certainly  were. 

The  upshot  of  the  story  is,  that  Mrs.  M.  was  dying  to 
take  her  daughter  to  Almack's,  for  which  place  of  enter- 
tainment Brown,  through  one  of  the  patronesses,  Lady 
X,  "  the  best  friend  he  has,"  could  get  as  many  tickets  as 
he  wished;  and  that,  to  punish  Mrs.  Mimpson  for  her 
rudeness,  and  reward  Miss  Bellamy  for  her  kindness, 
Brown  got  tickets  for  Miss  Bellamy  and  her  mamma, 
but  would  get  never  a  ticket  for  Miss  Mimpson  and  hers 
— a  wonderful  story,  truly,  and  with  a  wonderful  moral. 

(July  1850.) 


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