CONTENTS. Letters from a Freshmiin ... Letter to the President of the Suburban Associi Literary Curiosity, A. . . . . Lover's Sacrifice, Tlie .... Sleaburu for Measure .... Afterwards Ha »^lequin By Age of Monstyiers, The . Alice Bromr ^f^,, '^ll/J'^.r^Jorld's a Bedlam" . ' An Old Man, To . Another Word about Play-Orders Autograph Hunters . Betty Morrison's Pocket-book Bubble of Life, The . Christmas in the Olden Time Christmas Waits Cold Love-Letter, A Cutting Down an Article . Demon, The, of 1845 . Dissolving Views Doomed One, The Dream of the London Season, Th Enthusiast in Anatomy, The . Fabulous Character, A Fashions for January Florence Preserved . Folly of Crime, Tiie Force of Circumstances, The Frightful Narrative, A . Garland, A . . . . Genuine Ghost Story, A Guy Greenhorn's Wanderings . Heads of the Table Hermit of Vauxhall, The . Hints for a Domestic Police . Hint to Projectors, A . . . . How, Wlien, and Wliere Books should be read Husband's Vengeance, A . Intellectual Wall Paper JoUijunip on Happiness. An Experimental L Ladies' Logic .... Last Year's Balance, The Leaves from Lempriere Legend of the Rhine, A John Oxenford Horace Mayhew Gilbert A. a Beckett Paul Prendergast SJiirley Brooks . Horace Mayhem . Mark Lemon John Oxenford Mark Lemon Gilbert A. a Beckett Gilbert A. a Beckett John Oxenford . Horace Mayhew . Mark I^emon Gilbert A. a Beckett John Oxenford . Horace Mayhew . Paul Prendercjast Mark Lemon Mark Lemon Mark Lemon By Horace Mayhi ecture Gilbert A. a Beckett Shirley Broo'iS . . Horace Mayhew . Horace Mayheiv Shirley Brooks Gilbert A. a Beckett Patd Prendergad Mark Lemon By Michael Angclo Titmar&h By Gilbert A. a Beckett PAUK 130 176 39, 79, 106 207 2.S1 273 S3 13 28. 165 17 89 16 93 154 26 69 197 125 19 134 45 172 43 158 259 30,65 117 216 270 240 200 248 255 275 42 128 110 220, 236, 261 36 56 59 151 38 J CONTEN'JS. Moliiiiclioly Moiitli of !klny, Tla- IkU'SiiKTic Diiiiur, The . Miss Mntililu .lolinsrm Jones Moutlifiil of Fr.sli Air. A Mii.-ver, The . Stage Negro. The 8t«ge Prince, The Stage Seaniiin, The . . . Singe Sujxrnumerary, The Tale hefon- the Fiie, A . Taxes < n ItesiM-cUdiilily Triumph of Cupi0 By GiU>ert A. a Bahett . 95 By Gilbert A. a Bccketl . 75 By Gilbert A. a BerhctI . 49 By GilUrt A. a Berhetl . 137 By CilUrt A. it Beckett . 272 By Gilbert A. « Berkett . 15G By Gilbert A.ii Beckett . 34 By Gilbert A. h Beckett . . 244 By John Oxenford . 61 By tloraee Mayhew . 24C 1 228 By John Oxenford . By Horace Mayhew . . 224 11 "^'m^t^ LIST OF STEEL ENGEAVINGS. PAGE The Tkiumph of Cipid 1 Clairvoyance ............. 21 The Folly of Crime ............ 45 A Young Lady's Vision of the London Season ...... 69 The Demon of 1845 93 The Heads of the Table ........... 117 Social Zoology ............. 140 Social Zoology— Ornithology 163 A Very Good Man, no dovbt ; but a Bad Sailor ...... 186 Eetuun from a Trip on the Continent . . ...... 209 ]\Ir. John Bull in a Quandary 232 The Railway Dragon 255 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD, Etc. Running at the Ring . Copy of an Ancient Seal . Tlie Meeting of the Bells . The Flight of Literature Towing Path .... Old Parr's Beard . An Ancient Cup-bearer Poverty verms Washing-houses " Something like a Mutton Chop ' The Bubble Blower Catting down an Article Christmas Waits " Linked sweetness long drawn nut " Fashions for January The Glass of Fashion Relieving a Gentleman from a State The Coast-Giuird Mesmerise;! . Practical Mesmerism . Mesmeric Pincushion ^neas in the Shades . The Hermit of Battersea of Cuma I'AGE 1 2 3 4 5 6,7 8 11 12 13 16 18 18 20 20 21 23 24 25 29 PAGE Stage Bandits 34 The Stage Seaman .... 35 Fashions in the East 37 41 . 44 44 . 48 50 . 52 54,55 56,57 59 . 63 64 . 66 73 . 74 76 . 77 82 84 Singleton in a state of Mental Fjaculatiun A Small Family .... Domestic Encumbrances Alexander taming Bucephalus The Stage Lady's Maid . One of the Old School Illustrations of the IMonth Window Phenomena . A Scamper on the Serpentine The Music-Master in China Pig-tail and Short-cut Poets' Corner ... Grand Tournament The Lover and the Magician The Stege Rustic . A Cutting Moral . . . . . Singleton excited by the Green-eyed Monster Betty Morrison Waiting for the Coach LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD, Etc. Betty Morrison Rofliling tlie Diblo Writing a Lovc-Letter in Winter Chinisu Life- Preservers . Ditto . Tlie Stage Assassin Ditto . Ditto Ditto . The Piire-coloimd Carp . Ditto Lovers' Vows (Alice Bromptoii) Portrait of a Horse Betty Morrison's Return Home Tlic Polk-Oregon Warrior . Sir Ludwig of Honibourg on his Battle Horse Sir Ludwig and the Tonsor An LMitor as he is supposed to l>e An Kditor as he is Afterwards Harlequin ... The Stage Lover . ... Ditto ... The Lion of the Party .... The Festival of Godesberg . . . , Combat between Sir liUdwig and Sir (iottfriei The Hermit of Rolandseck and the Knight Cut an7~ THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID. which a dwarf at a fair usually occupies, his legs protruding from his parlour windows, while from those of his drawing-room he thi-usts his anns : thus as it were converting his house into a great-coat — a species of domestic economy to which dwarfs alone are addicted. The power of the gentler sex naturally led me to a reflection on the manner in which it is used, and on the ministers tlu-ough whom their sovereignty is exercised. Cupid is their undoubted premier; who, indeed, performs his office in a manner that renders their sway universal and absolute. What conqueror can boast of a victory so complete as the triumph of Cupid ? The lamplighter ascending his ladder on his evening mission of enlightenment, is seized by the grasp of Cupid ; and even in the act of igniting the gas he feels in his own breast a consuming flame. On the mimic stage, as well as in the real di-ama of life, is Cupid triumphant. It is love that prompts Harlequin to those flying leaps through shop- fronts, and inspires him with those twirls of the head which he indulges in, to attract the favourable regards of Columltine. It is nothing but a contest for the hand of that fair Christmas creature of loveliness and leno, which keeps the Clo^^^l and Pantaloon in a state of constant antagonism to Harlequin. It is Cupid who fetters the baker and enchains the soldier, making them both neglectfiil of the morning roU. The old sailor, who has laid one leg on the altar of his country, and receives in return from her a helping hand ; the liveried lackey, proud of the ignoble plush and sei'vUe shoulder-knot ; the old clothesman, with a redundancy of hats, yet going forth in quest of more, — each, and all, of these individuals will press forward to swell the train of Cupid's captives. Love knocks the nabob from the top of his elephant, jerks the costenmonger from his cart, and throws the steam-boat captain from his paddle-box, subjecting him to one fatal turn-ahead. The bra^vny dustman is compelled to bite the dust, and the blind mendicant, unas- sailable through the eyes, may be stnick to the heart, and " when he falls he falls like Lucifer;" or rather like a box of lucifers (which juvenile impostors ai"e in the habit of throwing down to create commiseration on rainy days), never to be picked up again. What a glorious procession would the celebration of Cupid's triumph form ! Such a procession I determined to introduce at the outset of my Table B<;)ok, and I accordingly deliver the accompanying plate as my act and deed, in witness whereof, I have set my "^ ^^'Jl.ffWWUillllllJJllpj.jiifilUIWlffl!'* Copy iif an And' iit Siul in the posscs.-lon of the Itatemoh Kunilly. GUY GIJEENllOUN'.S WANDERINGS. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS / \^ ow various the memories that dwell Witliin tlie nan-ow circle of a Bell ! Pleasure and sorrow, postmen going tlieir rounda, And muffins, blend witli its familiar sounds; The starting steam-boat, and the stai-ting tear, The distant convent, and the dustmen near ; The dun, who calls and calls and calls again. The railroad, borne on recollection's train ; The grave, the gay, old, middle-aged, and young, All, with the bell, have got some memories hung. To every heart, by some mysterious wire, The bell communicates electric fii-e. Many the sentimental shocks I OAve To you, my native bells, fair bells of Bow. My name is Greenhorn — on the Hill Called from the Gate of valiant Lud, A tendril I was born — and still 'Twas there I enter'd boyhood's bud. My honest sire a tradesman true — Although I say it — true as any, Sold sides of bacon to the few, And single rashers to the many. He never to the poor was hard ; But unto those who could not buy it, He often gave a lump of lard, (If they'd a sausage bought,) to fry it. Credence he always would impai-t To those who tales of woe would utter ; Not only did they melt his heart. But they would often melt his butter. I've often watch'd, by slow degrees, A handsome piece of Cheshire cheese Within a day completely go. At some fresh tales of human woe ; And I have seen that aged man. With sympathy severely shaken, While do\vn his cheeks the tear-drops ran, Gammon'd out of some pounds of bacon. Perchance 'twas this, perchance 'twas something mor< Made me, alas ! mistrust my fellow men ; And gave me some philosophy, before I had attain'd the early age of ten. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. i:^^^; ; c^ _ -. Perchance 'twas this which e'en in boyhood curl'd My upi^er lip upon a heartless world ; Perchance 'twas this — which taught me to appear As one whose smile had sicken'd to a sneer. They call me misanthrope — bnt they should throw The blame on those alone who made me so. I had been more than boy and less than son, Had I, unchanged, beheld a father done. On you my scorn I heap — scorn, deep and utter, Te pilferers of the bacon, cheese, and butter. Enough of this — it is a strain That ought to be forgotten now ; But memory oft across the brain Comes driving with a feai-ful row ; Like horses with their iron feet Along some unfrequented street ; Disturbing rudely as they pass The peaceful blades of time-grown grass. I woidd not have, I freely own, Reuiembrance come with careless tread. To crush the verdure years have thrown O'er feelings that we hoped were dead. Arouse thee, Greenhorn ! strike the glorious lyre. Illume with sacred match ApoUo's fire ; WTiat though to bum it seems a little slow, Seize, seize the bellows, give your brains a blow. Many the bard unheard, unkno^vn had died, Without some friendly bellows at his side. To kindle into light the cold duU stuff, Wliich ne'er had shone but by the aid of puff. Well, to my tale — my father, good old man. Stuck like a Briton to the Ludgate shop. Till out the siuid of life completely ran. And his existence came to a fuU stop. Talking of stops, here let me take a colon, The good old man's departure to condole on : Time flies — Alas ! the colon has expired, And so I can't condole as I desii-ed. He left me weidthy, so I cut the cheeses. Or let them cut themselves, 'tis all the same ; And took a villa to enjoy the bi'eezes Which hover on thy margin, gentle Thame. Thine is the most appropriate of names. What river could be tamer than the Thames ? "Watching one day the water's sluggish course, I with a bit of paper made a boat ; And then I thought I'd trace that luver's source. If like that bit of paper I could float. SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. I watch'd it earned onwards by tlie tide, Straiglitforwards for a wliile, until I saw The little bit of paper turn'd aside, Getting entangled with an idle straw. And as the straw I still continued watching, I mark'd how one the other did impede ; Those who at straws, thought I, are ever catching. Will lose the tide by which they might succeed. Again I thought the river's source I'd trace. If I could take that piece of paper's place ; When suddenly I heard a soft low voice — 'Twas Common Sense — who seem'd to say, *' You dreamer, Yours is a most extr'ordinary choice — If you'd go down the river, take the steamer." I was about to turn aside, Replete with energy and hope, When somebody behind me cried, " Now, stupid ! can't you mind the rope ?" The voice was hush'd — the river o'er me ran — And thus G-uy Greenhorn's pilgrimage began. Towing Path. SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. The prolific increase of Almanacks is a characteristic feature in their physiology. It is lucky they only come once a year, or the number of eiTors they would be continually perpetrating would effectually poison " the soul of business," which Cocker and the copy- books have eloquently affirmed to be " punctuality." Time was, when only those who drank their claret could afford their Almanack, but now there is no excuse for the most peniu'ious person being without one, unless he is, like Robinson Crusoe, in some desert Eel-Pie Island, and is obliged to publish his own Almanack SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. by notcliing the days on a piece of stick. Almanacks are the cheap philanthropy, the conventional generosity of the age ; they are given away on the smallest excuse. We have had nearly two drawers' full presented to us this winter. Newspapers start into heb- domadal existence on the strength of an Almanack ; every penny periodical gives one away in the course of the year, and cheap tailors advertise their 10s. Chesterfields by means of an Almanack, as large as an encyclopajdia, for 6cZ., illuminated with cuts of the article, on the skirts of which they expect to go down to posterity. Old wood-cuts, one imagined had been chopped up for fire-wood years ago, appear again in the shape of an Almanack, with old jokes furbished uj) expressly for them. Gossamers, too, are got off" by the help of a " Hat Almanack " pasted inside ; and an Almanack gives every patent medicine vendor a license to kill, by prescribing for every disease one of his 365 Life Pills for every day of the year. We can imagine the number of Almanacks there will be in a year or two. If they only keep increasing in the same proportion, not an old woman in the kingdom, not a Rowland or a Moses, in any of the puffing trades, not a quack doctor who has mixed up in shilling pots some fatal Elixir of Life, will be without an almanack to secure \'ictims for his dangerous nostrum. Who is rash enough to say that not one of the Almanacks predicted below will emanate from Stationers' Hall next year F Here Singenschmall's Almanack for German Bullfinches. Aaron and Son's Almanack for the Waistcoat Pocket ; containing a yai-d measure and directions for a person how to measure himself. Grant's Almtmack for Literary Dustmen. SiGNOR Jenkinsini's Almanack for the Accordion ; containing tunes for every day of the year. The Almanack for Ceossing-Sweepers; or, how to to attain a fortune in six streets. The Government Clerks' Almanack ; with various puzzles, songs, and amusing games, for office hours. The Almanack for the Hackney-Coach ; with hints for the preser- vation of life in cases of danger. The Almanack for the Dress Circle ; to be given to every one taking a front seat in the boxes at the Hounsditch Theatre. The Camden Town Almanack; \vith Advice to Lodgers — By a Second Pair Back. Old Methusaleh's Almanack ; given away with a box of Old Methusaleh's Pills (price 2s. 6d.) for attaining a good old age and a long beard. The Almanack for Grandmothers; -mih easy lessons for them h(iw t(j suck eggs. The Almanack without a Master; or directions for the next 1000 years to footmen out of pUice. The Almanack for the Pocket-Han hkerchief; with the Calendar, and Map of London ; printed t)n cotton, for the use of strangers and country cousins. SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. The Almanack for Babies, in words of one syllable, from three to five letters. The Cabman's Almanack ; with a list of fares for men, women, and foreigners, on fine and wet days, and an insight into those fares that ought to be avoided. The Umbrella Almanack, with directions how to tell the weather. To be pasted on the inside of the parapluie. We might prolong the list, extending it to every trade or quackery of the present day ; but we prefer giving a few quotations as specimens of the literature which we will prophesy the above Almanacks will contain, if any one of them is published next year. We will commence with The Almanack for the Dress Circle. — Remarks for the month. Ton should be particular, during January, to pay a visit to the Houndsditch Theatre. There the best actors perform, with the prettiest piebald horses; and the mantle of Grimaldi is universally acknowledged to have fallen on the shoulders of the clown at that theatre. Admission, id. ; and a book of the comic songs in the pantomime, id. The Government Clerks'. — December. Masqxierades ai-e generally given this month at one of the theatres. Evening parties too begin. Answer invitations from ten till four. Ton should be on the look-out for Christmas-day, and be diligent in practisino- farm-yard imitations for the occasion. New novels, too, come out this month ; so subscribe amongst you to Sams', stipulating to have two sets, at least, per day. Take care always to skip the first volume, and to read the last chapter first. By this means you will be able to read a great deal. A good game during the office hours is to keep people waiting whilst you are reading the paper. Pretend to be deaf, and the moment they lose their temper you will find it very amusing. We will terminate our extracts with one week's calendar from €i)t (Bin JMnijugalc]^'^ fllmanacfe. 1 I If the weather is bleak, take a box of Methusaleh's Pills, to prevent your catching cold. 2 i St. Blaise. If you are sending a parcel to a friend, do not forget to put in it a box of Methusaleh's Pills. They are invaluable in the country, and are the most welcome birthday gift you can send to an affectionate mother with a large family. Holiday at Chancery Offices. — Take care of your feet this cold weather. A sjentleman of wealth says, "Jf I feel chilly at all before going to bed, I do not take two or three glasses of warm grog, as I used to do, but half-a-dozen of Methusaleh's Pills ; and they do me much more good, and are infinitely less expensive. I save 10^. by these pills every year," Merchants cannot be told too often that the Methusaleh's Pills are in great demand in the British colonies. Several large fortunes have been cleared by entei-prising traders in this way, A liberal allowance on taking a ship-load. " The Methusaleh's Pills are an infallible cure for lock-jaw, gout, hydrephobia, depression of spirits, delirium tremens, and chilblains." — Evening Paper. Full Moon. — The trees now begin to bud, and Nature seems to be throwing off the iron chains despotic Winter had thrown around her delicate limbs. The nightingale carols as Apollo sinks to rest ; and the country is so lovely, that you should not fail, every full moon, to take a box of Methusaleh's Pills. To Persons about to Marry.— In furnishing your house, do not forget that the most indis- pensable article for its comfort and your happiness is a quantity of No. 1 of Methusaleh's Pills. CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TDIE. TESTIMONIALS. Sir, B.iubnry HjU, Yorkshire. My son Augustus would run into debt, wear long hair, and stop out late at niaht. I was confident there Wiis something on his mind, ;uid so 1 gave him one box of your Jlethusaleh's Pills. The change was instantaneous. In less than an hour he had cut off his hair, and is now an ornament to his family, and goes to bed every night at eight. I attribute this all to the moral influence produced by your invaluable pills. Yours, with gratitude, Kbenezer Joxes. I have cured Mrs. Ebcnezer of hysterics in the s;ime way. Send me tliree dozen more boxes. Sir, Houghton Park. I was an old man. I took six ot your inestimable pills, and now I feel as if I had the strength of a Milo, with the sprightliness of the fawn. Thanks to you, I am enabled to marry again to- men ow. Heaven bless you ! ♦ * * * CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME." ED Lacy aaid I were schoolfellows at Cheam, and aftei-wards cliums at Oxford. Ned Lad always a strong tendency to the romantic, and would sit for hours poring over old Laneham's twaddle and Skelton's doggrel. Sir Walter Scott had more chai-ms for him than JEschylus, and I verily believe that Ned was very savage that he had not been bom three hundred yeai-s before it had pleased nature to add him to the census. I had been in India many years, and on my return had become a member of the Orientid. One day I was induced to join a hotise dinner by Col. S of the Bengjil Buflfs. and was no less gratified than surprised to find Ned Lacy of the party. From a spare pale youth, Ned had grown into a round, rosy-faced man ; and I soon learned that Cupid had played him a slippery trick at nine and twenty, by leading him through a courtship of three years, and then transferring the heart, or the hand — I fear it is much the same now-a-days — of his adored to a plethoric banker at Portsmouth. Ned kept the false one's pictiu'c over his dressing- table, and whenever he felt his heart becoming tender, used to go over " the stoiy of his youth," untU he had frightened himself into the di*ead of a second jilting. All this he told me by snatches during dinner, which by-the-bye was the slowest affair I was ever engaged in. When the party broke up, Ned thrust his card into my hand, and made me promise to take my Christmas dinner with him in the ensuing week. " There'll be no one but ourselves," said Ned, with a sort of a gi-imt, which I fancy he meant for a sigh ; " but we can talk over old times, and perhaps make ourselves comfortable." '* No fear of that, Ned," I replied. "Fourteen yeai's' hard campaigning — in India too — makes a man satisfied with very little. I'U come ; and, over a cigar, and anything you like except spring water, we'U have a night of it." When I got to my rooms, I took Ned's card from my pocket to ascertain his where- abouts, and was somewhat surprised to se«; it inscribed SDwaiD De Xacii. De Lacy. — Why he was always called Ned Lacy; but as £30,000 left by au old maid. CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME. had converted Botcli, my fii'st bootmaker, into Claverthorpo, I conclnded tliat Ned liad met with a windfall from some relation, who had left the legacy conditional on the de. Well, Christmas-day came at last, and punctually to the hour named I presented myseK at No. 6, street, Bedford-square. The door was opened by a lumpy-looking lioy, who, having received my hat and cloak, requested me to " step into the Chamber of Presence, and Master De Lacy would be with me anon." The boy's phraseology puzzled me — but as the schoolmaster had been a great deal abroad since my absence, I contented myself by stepping into the room designated the — Chamber — of Presence. As I looked round this apartment, I thought I might, by possibility, be in a dream ; the appointments of the room were so unlike those of " the times in which we live." I took a copious pinch of snuff, and tweaked my nose rather sharply, to convince myself that I was awake. Yes, I was as wide awake as I had ever been in my life, so I set to work to examine the strange furniture of the place. The walls were hung with canvas, on which was painted the story of the Prodigal Son, in tempera — the ceiling was studded with bosses and pendants, with numerous armorial bearings depicted in the most glaring colours. Over the doors were placed huge antlers of deer, above which hung morions, spear-heads, gauntlets, and brovsn bills. The fireplace was wide, and contained large bUlets of wood blazing upon andirons resembling little Cupids. The floor was strewn with bunches of sweet herbs, which emitted rather a pleasant odour. Two ebony cabinets occupied recesses near the windows, which were of stained glass, emblazoned. The chairs were of oak, elaborately carved, and covered with cut velvet. A rich Turkey carpet was tkrown over the table, upon which was placed a massive silver standish. A large illuminated missal was spread open upon a small desk in one corner ; over which was suspended a mirror of steel in a frame of yellow velvet. If the room occasioned me some surprise, it was nothing to that which I experienced when its proprietor entered — which he did just as I had completed my survey. It was some time before I could believe it was Ned — yet there he was, dressed up to look as much like the Lord Burleigh of Elizabeth's time as a tailor could make him. I felt a strong inclination to laugh outright, but some misgivings of my host's sanity flitted across my mind and kept me serious. " Master Simon Robinson," said Ned, or, as I ought to designate him. Master Edward de Lacy — " Master Simon Robinson, thou art right heartily welcome to my poor dwelling. I trust my retainer received thee with all due courtesy." " Gramercy !" I replied, willing to humour the joke or the madman, whichever it might prove to be. " What say'st thou to a cup of canary or of malmsey, or a glass of strong waters, before dinner be served ?" said Ned. " Gramercy !" I again answered. " I don't mind a glass of sherry." " Sherris be it then," replied Ned, with the most imperturbable gravity; and, takLag a smtdl silver whistle from the table (I had not noticed it before), he blew with a force of lungs that might have provoked the envy of a boatswain. The lumpy boy entered, attired in the same fantastic manner as his master. " Humphrey," said Ned, " a cup of sherris for worthy Master Simon Robinson." The boy bowed, and presently returned with a silver tankard on a salver of the same precious metal. I drank the wine, and began to wish myself well out of the house, when a beU (I strongly suspect it was the postman's, borrowed for the occasion) was rung with a very marked emphasis of clapper. " The banquet waits," said my extraordinary host ; and taking my hand, he led me 10 CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN 'J'lME. from the presence-cliamljei- intis. DiTOR. Let me see. We have to fill a vacant space of half a page. What articles have we to select from ? Amanuoisis {reading titles). " Lines wiitten to King Chai'les the night after his execution." " The Wars of the League, a tale of the Corn-laws." " Stanzas addressed to a young lady on her having asked the author whether he danced the Polka ? when he said, he did not, and she recommended him to take some lessons, when he replied he certainly would." Editor. The title of that would have answered the purpose, if it had been a little longer. Proceed. Amanuensis. " Love and Madness, by one who has known the One and is still suffering from the Other." " The Bell Ropes, a Sequel to the Chimes." " A Sonnet." Ah ! Let us hear the sonnet. That will give us the required quantity if the Read it out, if you please. " To THE Duke of Wellington. " Thou art a famous general indeed." Editor. Eveiybody knows that. Cut it out. Ainaniiensis {reading). " To thee the wi-eath of glory is decreed." Editor. Very true ; but as that forms the rliyme to the previous lino, it must come Editor. quality happens to suit. Amamiensis {reading) Anumuciisis (reading). "Not Hixnnibid, not Soult, not Marshal Ney, Not Bluchor, not Napoleon, not Dessaix — " Editor. The reader will never take the trouble to untie all those knots. Cut them out. Amanuensis (reading). " Not Alexander when he foiight and won, Did do the noble deeds that thou hast done." Editor. That not being as it were tied to all the other nots, the first line must be omitted, and the second being dependent on it, must go too. Cut it out. Amanuensis {reading). " Who conquered t)n the field of Waterloo ? Does not judicious echo answer, * You?' " CHRISTMAS WAITS. Editor. As echo could only answer " o-o," which means nothing, it would be more judicious on the part of echo to make no answer at all. Cut that couplet out. Amanuensis {reading). " Great in the senate, greater in the field, In neither wert thou ever known to yield." Editor. Poetically pretty, but historically false. He yielded in the senate once or twice. Cut it out. Amanuensis (reading). " A grateful nation prostrate at thy feet. Comes forth with joy the warrior to meet." Editor. When ? How ? Why ? Where ? What warrior ? Cut it out. Amanuensis (reading). " Mercy 'tis known has ever been thy creed, Though none so well can make a people bleed." Editor. Capital ! Excellent ! An admirable article ! Amanuensis. It's all cut out ! ! ! Editor. Yes ; but we can restore some of it. I have it. Begin with the first line and end with the last, commencing the latter with " For " instead of " Though." Prefix as a title to the article — " Epigram on General Tom Thumb," and read it to me. Amanuensis {reading) — '• EPIGRAM ON GENERAL TOM THUMB. " Thou art a famous General indeed, For none so weU can make a people bleed." Editor. There ! — That reads very well. Let it be put into type immediately. [Exit Amanuensis. Editor falls asleep over a pile of Correspondencp.] CHEISTMAS WAITS. HE perfection to which everything is being brought, or attempted to be brought, in the present day, has extended even to the Waits, who have endeavoured to throw a sort of professional pomp over their itinerant arrangements. The following advertisement, inserted just before Christmas in several of the morning papers, will give the reader some idea of the high and artistical position which the Waits have at length aspired to : — " Evening Employment : — A Musical Professor, who has conducted during the summer the classical quartette concerts on board the Diamond Gravesend packet, finds his evenings at present disengaged. He is, therefore, desirous of making an arrangement with a number of his brother pro- fessors, who must not be less than two nor exceed three, for the purpose of giving a brief series of Midnight Concerts during the ensuing Christmas. The Professor, being a Cornet-a-piston, would like to meet with one or two gentlemanly Trombones, or a mild and unassuming Ophycleide. Being very desirous of avoiding those professional jealousies which are so injurious to the best interests of art, he would have no objection to treat with another Cornet in a spirit of mutual confidence. An obliging Dinim, of unobtrusive habits, would be received on a liberal footing. No Serpent need apply. N.B. — There is an opening for a quietly-disposed Piccolo." 18 CHRISTMAS WAITS. Tlie result of this advertisement was a meeting, at whicli a sele.t bau ^j»fc^ *' . . Catherine fr,r^S^~^ BRy^S^'^**' ' Caroline's "i H ^■'^^iiii^ Billy's. Jlisj W.'s. ^— y-wj mj&^ ri-c. .licet ion of \]ud scene has overpowered me. Shotild my tea and muffin restore ine, I will let you knew all that occuiTcd until I got into the omnibus. THE FOLLY OF CRIME. 45 THE FOLLY OF CRIME. The Home of Crime is in a shadowy land, Where all things wear an aspect not their own. The seeming water is but shining sand, The tempting fruit but hard unyielding stone. And ever there the light hath cheerless shone. In every flower are venom'd juices nurs'd. The song-bird's music dies into a moan, Though sweet as nightingales she sings at first ; But all within the Home of Crime appears accurst. The spirit of the place is seldom seen But mask'd and draped in some fantastic suit. Now wildly dancing like a drunken quean. Now sounding amorous measures on a lute ; But ere the strings' vibrations have grown mute, Or the bent blade spiitng np from 'neath her tread, A sudden pang within her brain doth shoot. And she doth cry with such a voice of dread, That every gentle thing doth tremble and fall dead. But when she dofi's her masquerading gear, She is so hideous that the appalled mind Grows dizzy by the greatness of its fear, And every eye is on the instant blind ! And yet withal she proselytes doth find, Who, for the shadowy pleasures she doth show. Have all their hopes of future peace resigned ; And when deceived (she doth enthral them so), Still seek her phantom joys till they grow mad with woe ! The fool in love with ease will fly to Crime, Who, in deep mockery, whispers, " Toil no more !" But in a little space, that 's scarcely Time, The victim's sluggish happiness is o'er; The fiend throws off" the treacherous guise she wore, And drives the wretch by indolence subdued To tasks that rack his limbs and drain each pore. And leave him sleepless thro' the night to brood O'er mem'ries that make horrible his solitude. And he who gives away his life for gold. Will l3ow to Crime to expedite his gain. Lo ! now his massy coffers scarcely hold The glittering dross he sued for not in vain : 46 THE FOLLY OF CRIME. And doth liis ciivs'd ally unchanged remain ? Go, watch him in the agony of sleep — His treasured gold is molten in his brain, And round about his head vile phantoms creep ; His eyes dam up the tears 'twere luxuiy to weep. The slave of vanity, to feed his pride, "Will seek of Crime the show to which he clings. Poor insect ! soon his folly is supplied — — A little sunshine gives the moth its wings. And doth the fiend exidt o'er such mean things ? O mark the bed where Yanity doth lie ! 'Tis made where poverty its refuse flings. Most loathsome to the smell and to the eye, And there the lonely wretch hath laid him down to die. The bully reveller, of his courage vain, Doth rush to Crime to help his riot's need : So bold a vot'iy Crime doth not disdain. But with a lavish hand his wants doth feed, Yet claims for every gift a darker deed. O, then the demon's ti'iumph draweth near. And in the victim's soul great terrors breed ; Whilst " Retribution" ringeth in his ear, And at his shadow he doth start appall'd by fear. The stream, that as a silver thread begins, Oft flowing onward swells into a flood : So he, made desperate by his many sins. Grows mightier in his guilt, and thirsts for blood. Crime, ever mindful of his victim's mood. Proff"ers the knife — the work of death is done ! On every side he sees a spectral brood ; Whilst Crime, the demon tempter, leads him on. Till in his darkeu'd mind the light of reason's gone. ON THE PRESENT RAILWAY SPECULATION MANIA. As gudgeons hurry to their fate. To railway bubV)les some incline ; Forgetting that beneath the bjiit A hook 's the end of many a line. LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. 47 LEAVES FKOM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPEIERE. Abydos. a city of Asia, opposite Sestos in Europe, to wliicli it bore about tlie same relation as Chelsea does to Battersea, It is famous for the loves of Hero and Leander, the former of whom used to burn a rushlight at Sestos, to light the latter across the Hellespont. Matters went on swimmingly for some time, till the Grecian boy was caught in a storm, when, there being no other buoy at hand to save him, he went to the bottom. It may be as well to remind the student, that of this little tale of Hero and Leander, Leander was in fact the hero and Hero the heroine. Acheron. A river in Epirus, which was called by Homer one of the rivers of a certain naughty locality. The superstition is supposed to have arisen from its being the practice of the Greeks to throw all their condemned plays into it. The excessive blackness of the water might also be accounted for by the great quantity of ink that thus became mixed up with it. Achilles was the son of Peleus and Thetis, the Nereid, and consequently the nephew of forty-nine aunts, being the forty-nine sisters of the lady alluded to. His mother prac- tised hydropathy by dipping him in the river Styx, which rendered him invulnerable everywhere except in the heel, in which he was always liable to be tripped up by his enemies. The saying of " laid by the heels," no doubt, arose from the circumstance alluded to. His education was entrusted to the centaiir Chiron, who taught him music and the art of war ; so that, when in battle, he could sing out if danger threatened him. It seems, however, that he had extra masters, for Phoenix taught him elocution. Chiron, in the true spirit of Squeers, fed his pupil on the marrow of wild beasts, under the pretext of its being calculated to render him active and vigorous. His mother, to keep him from the Trojan war, put him into petticoats, and sent him on a visit to the court of Lycomedes ; but Ulysses, disguised as a pedlar, followed him, and offered for sale some real arms and some imitation jewels. Achilles, choosing the arms, discovered his sex, and went to war in a suit of stout armour, warranted by Vulcan, the manufacturer, to resist all kinds of weapons. In consequence of a quarrel with Agamemnon about a young lady named Briseis, he refused for some time to appear in the field, and would probably have sold his commission, or retired on half-pay, if the death of his friend Patroclus had not induced him to rejoin his regiment. Having slain Hector, he tied him by the leg to the rumble of his chariot, and drove three times round the waUs of Troy, with a mob of Grecian black- guards following after him. Priam wept so bitterly at the sight that Achilles allowed him to i^urchase the reversion of Hector's remains at a sum which they both agreed upon. Achilles was enamoured of Polyxena., and going into one of the Temples of Apollo, probably a music-shop, to get a sight of her, he received an arrow in his heel from Priam, who thus gave him one for his heels, which never healed afterwards. Alexander, surnamed the Great, was son of Philip, and founder therefore of the modern family of the Philipsons. He went to war when he was fifteen, from which it is e\'ident that commissions were given to boys in those days just as they are at present. After his father's death, he conquered Darius, and took Tyre after a siege of seven months, diu'ing which he is said to have inspired his cohorts by a pun, telling them that they must not be tired out until Tyre was entirely their own ; a jeu clc mots that infused the greatest spirit into the Greek columns. His first exploit, however, was taming the horse Bu- 48 LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITIOX OF LEMPRIERE. ceplialus, after all the courtiers liad been thrown in the attempt, upon which Philip burst into tears, and predicted that his son would conquer distant kingdoms, a prophecy that might as well have been made in reference to Le Petit Ducrctc, or to any other juvenile equestrian prodigy. From Egypt he went to the temple of Jupiter Amnion, where he bribed the priests to say that he was descended from the gods, so that it was probably the temple of Jupiter Gammon at which these priests used to officiate. He built a t<.)wn on the Nile called Alexandria; and, animated by the same spirit as that which prompted Lord EUenborough, he aimed at Indian conquest, and attacked Porus, an Indian king, whom he rendered literally porous by drilling holes with his spear idl over the unfortunate potentate. Ha^ang made a handsome fortime, he retired to Babylon, where be took to drinking, and began to run through a gi-eat deal of his property, a process he occasionally varied l)y running through one of his best friends, for he perforated poor Clitus with a spear at a public dinner, because, in a neat speech, he had eulogised the virtues of Philip. Still, we are told, he was easy and familiar with his friends ; though the only i-ecoi*ds we have of his easy familiarity relate to his off-hand mode of disposing of them whenever his humour prompted him. He died at the early age of thirty-two, of deliriiun trementt. brought on by excessive drinking, universally regretted by idl who did not know him. While living he patronized literature, and gave Aristotle, who was exceedingly hard up. a purse to complete his Natural History, which was partly in type, when the printers, who had never seen the colour of the sage's money, very naturally refused to go on with it. Antigone was the daughter of (Edipus, of classical conundrum notoriety, who guessed the riddle of the Sphinx when it had been " given up " by every other " learned Theban." THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. 49 Had lie lived in the present day lie must inevitably have carried off the annual prize offered for the best answer to the yearly enigmas in the Lady's Pocket Book. The chief feature in the history of Antigone was her energetic performance of the funeral of her brother Polynices, against the oi'ders of her uncle Creon. She was sentenced on this account to be biu-ied alive, but she contrived to evade the intended punishment. Her story was dramatised by Sophocles, and the play having been given out for repetition " every evening till further notice," was performed for upwards of thirty successive nights— a cii'cumstance wholly uni^recedented in the annals of the Greek drama. The author was rewarded with the government of Samos, in addition to the sum he received from the management. Antigone was some centuries afterwards partially set to music by Mendels- sohn, and cruelly treated by some chorus-singers at Covent Garden Theatre, though the acting of Mr. and Miss Vandenhoff was sufficient to appease the offended shade of Sophocles. THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. The explorer of human nature, who digs into the drama as a mine in which character may be discovered, will frequently turn up a quantity of material that he will find much difficulty in accounting for. To pursue the simile of the mine — there cannot, perhaps, be a more extraordinary spadeful than that very singular lump of clay whose denomination forms the title to the present article. Though all the world is generally admitted to be a stage, it is fortunate that all the ladies'-maids in the world are not stage ladies'-maids, for if they were there would be an end to all domestic discipline in every house where a lady's-maid might happen to form a part of the establishment. A most striking peculiarity in the position of the stage ladies'-maid is the ascendancy she immediately gains over every one in the house she happens to have got admission into. The only person she condescends to patronise is her young mistress, whom however she never assists in anything but a love affair ; but that even is beneath her notice unless it is clandestine, and terminates in an elopement, which she insists on having the entire conduct of. She permits no scruples of delicacy or propriety on the part of her young lady, who, by-the-by, seldom expresses any stronger sentiment of self-respect than such as may be implied in the words, " Really, Betty, I tremble at the step I am about to take ;" w^hen the ingenious interrogatory of " Lor, Miss, what's the use ?" from the stage ladies'- maid, at once removes any feeling of compunction by which the stage young lady may for a moment have been influenced. There is generally a struggle going on in the mind of the latter between duty and affection, when the casting vote is demanded from the stage ladies'-maid, who black-balls duty at once, and gives a plumper for disobedience. The stage ladies'-maid nevertheless receives bribes from the representative of the duty interest, namely the heavy man who receives thirty shillings a week for doing the respectable utility, and talks of having just dined with the minister. While, however, she gains a knowledge of the heavy man's plans, and accepts from him at every interview a heavy purse filled with gallery checks, as a reward for her exertions in his behalf ; the stage ladies'-maid is urging her young mistress to rush into the threadbare arms of a half -pay captain who makes love to her, by whistling up at the window, following her into the Park, kissing her maid, and practising other elegant little arts which military men — on 50 THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. the stage — are ordinai-ily addicted to. Perhaps, however, the most curious portion of the stage ladies'-maid's conduct is her treatment of the master of the house, whom she keeps in a state of continual siihjection, by an unintei-rupted course of insult and violence. She ordinarily addi-esses him as an old hunks, shakes her fist in his face, thrusts his hat and cane into his hand, — all the while pushing him towards the door, — when she has any pur- pose to sei-ve by getting rid of him. If he begins to talk, she talks him down, so that he can only splutter and say, " Whew," but he never thinks of either giving her a month's warning, or paying her wages, and sending her about her business. The stage ladies'- maid never thinks of leaving the drawing-room when visitors are present, but often remains in it alone to sing a song with Swiss variations, which must be heard jill over the house to the great disturbance of the family. In dress she always excels her mistress, and fre- quently wears very thin white muslin over pink satin, the muslin being open all the way down the back, and an apron with pockets of veiy rechei-che embroidery. In conclusion she generally man-ies somebody because " she don't see why she shouldn't do as her young mistress does;" and she sometimes unites herself to a low-comic country- man, whom she has been snubbing all through the piece, but who, when he has a chance of being accepted, looks like a great fool, and says, " Well, I doant noa, thou bcest woundy pratty," which is at once clutched at as an offer of marriage by the stage ladies'-maid. who sings a couplet, or speaks a " tag," makes a curtsey before the fall of the curtain, and retires to her dressing-room, without saying a word to the low-comic countryman, whom she has just promised to share the remainder of her existence with. ALL THE WOKLD'S A BEDLAAL ALL THE WORLD'S A BEDLAM. AN OLD gentleman's OPINION OF THINGS IN GENERAL. I AM now considerably upwards of threescore ; but, I am happy to say, in perfect possession of all my faculties ; a blessing which in these times I ought indeed to be thankful for. On most occasions I am a man of few words, and do not intend to use many on this. I write but to answer, once for all, a question I am continually pestered with : " What is yoiir opinion of things in general ?" My opinion of things in general may be gathered from my opinion of men in general. I am convinced that the whole world is mad : I hope there may be some exceptions ; to such I would address myself : but I have met with none yet. I observed this universal insanity coming on many years ago, when the monstrous idea was proposed of lighting London with gas. In vain I argued and insisted that it was impossible. People began by thinking the scheme feasible, and ended by believino- that it was accomplished. Finding the world thus far gone, I at once shut myself up for safety in my own house, and have never stirred beyond my grounds since. I let a few harmless lunatics visit me, and I take in the papers — which are just as mad as the world at large — and thus I know what is going on. Light London with gas ! Set the Thames on fire ! Why, suppose they could, the place would be blown up in a week. Besides, where would they get the coal from ? Our mines wovJd be exhausted in a twinkling. So I said at the time, and say still ; but to reason with madmen is the next thing to being mad one's-seLf. The next delusion that seized the public was Steam. I proved that it would come to nothing but mischief, and I find by some occasional lucid passages in the journals, under the head of Accidents, that I was right. The progress of the Steam pantomania, so to call it, has been astonishing. Absurdity after absurdity was believed ; tiU at last men were persu.aded that to cross the Atlantic and back by a steam-ship was quite a common thing. A steam-ship ! A bottle of smoke ! And now they have reached such a pitch of extravagance, as actually to regard as a fact the existence of Railroads between London and other large towns, along which they can travel by steam at the rate of twenty miles an hour ! It is useless to ask them how such an impossibility can be ; there is a method in their madness, and they gravely endeavour to explain. Nay, finding that I turn a deaf ear to their ravings, they assure me that I may satisfy myself of the reality of Railways, by simply going ten miles to see one. Simply, indeed ! Once admit the possibility of a thing contraiy to reason, and the next step is to be convinced of its reality. All the world, likewise, is mad upon Electricity. I never believed in it at all myself. I always said electricity was a humbug. They pretend to say that, by means of what they term an Electric Telegraph, a signal can be conveyed any distance in an instant. — Fiddle-de-dee ! They declare that, by this same electricity, gunpowder can be blown up under water. — Stuft" ! Also, that copper plates of pictures can be got, in any number, out of blue vitriol. — Rubbish ! Of all these delusions they are as persuaded as they are of their own senses ; but so was the madman who believed himseK made of glass. They likewise aflBrm that the sun is made to di-aw pictures, by a contrivance which ALL THE WORLD'S A BEDLAM. they Baiiie a DagueiTcotj'pe. — Sunshine ? — Moonshine ? Of this fallacy they ai"e as firmly convinced, as that the sun itself is in the heavens. I might as well talk to a stone wall, as attempt to argue or laugh them out of it. They tell me to go and see it done ; as if I could be such a fool ! But of all the incredible follies they are possessed with, the most inconceivable is a delusion called Mesmerism. The idea of persons reading with their eyes shut, seeing through stone walls, tasting what another eats, having their legs cut off without feeling it ! What next ? Hear with our noses, I suppose, and smell with our ears. Oh ! the very thought of such nonsense almost makes me as mad as the rest. It is impossible to account for all this strange credulity but by siipposing that sonie singular disease has seized upon men's minds and senses. For this reason I have iiTe- vocably determined never to go and look at anything of the sort. Even I might catch the contagion ; but still, I hope that my judgment would rectify my perceptions. And there- fore what I say is, that even if I sinv gas, steam-ships, railroads, electric telegraphs, electro- types, daguerreotypes (all so many tj'pes of insanity), clairvoyance, community of sensation. or anything else of the kind, I ivould not believe in them. I am not an oljstinate man ; I can listen to reason ; I am open to conviction ; but I cannot, I will not, be imposed upon. I maintain that your science and your inventions are all a hoax, a humbug, a trickery, a deceit. Other people may be gulled if they like ; not I. It is aU very well to cant about the ignorance and superstition of our ancestors for believing in ghosts and witchcraft : I say it is just as silly to believe in electricity and steam. Talk as much as you like to alter my opinion; it is iiU nonsense, and I won't hear a word. I am, Yours, &c.. Onk of the Old School PRIVATE 'illEATRICALS. 53 TRTVATE THEATRICALS. Deak Mr. Editor, As I i^ei'ceive that private theatricals are coming a great deal into fashion, I beg leave to offer the benefit of my experience as an old amateur to those parties who are desirous of domesticating the drama, by bringing it literally home, not only to their hearts, but to their dining-rooms. The difficulty of converting a front-parlour into a theatre is not quite so insurmountable as it may at first appear ; but drawing-rooms with folding-doors are generally to be preferred, because a natural division is thus formed between the stage and the portion assigned to the audience. If the play is to be acted in the dining-room, it will not always be advisable to remove the sideboard, for it makes a capital tribune in Roman tragedies, and in Othello it marks the elevated position of the Duke in the Senate scene, besides furnishing an excellent bedstead for the final smothering. It also assists materially in the formation of anything like a judicial tribunal, such as that in which Brutus passes judgment on his son, for by drawing out the cellaret and covering it over with a cloth, the accused is at once provided with a locus standi. Again, if the back of the sideboard rises to a point in the centre, it may easily be converted into the Alps by a cloth fixed to the highest portion, and thus, in a piece like William Tell, there is a very passable mountain for the hero to apostrophise. In cases where the audience and actors are limited to one room, I need hardly point out the obvious expedient of an ironing-board on tressles being erected for the stage, while a couple of clothes-horses, covered with green baize, or anything in the way of drapery that happens to be at hand, have long been recognized as the best possible proscenium for private performances. When practical^le, it is, hov/ever, advisable to have the stage so situated, that there is a window with curtains at the back, as they will be useful for the tent of Richard, when let down and hung over the back of a chair; or they will serve admirably as the drapery of his throne, when looped up ; and having exactly the same materials in both scenes will be no objection, for, as the tyrant may be supposed to have chosen the pattern himself, it is possible that the crook-backed monarch would in both instances select his favourite curtains. With reference to costume, Roman pieces are always the easiest, for the household linen will always afford togas, and Virginius is especially adapted for private representa- tion, because the illusion is much aided by an urn, and as most families take tea, few are without the article alluded to. Where, however, the urn is not to be had, a soup-tureen, or even a salad-bowl, will furnish an excellent substitute. Scotch pieces may also be dressed without much difficulty where there are many females in the family, for the ambitious Thane and his followers can readily be supplied from the large stock of horse- cloth shawls, that do or ought to form a portion of the wardrobe of every well-regulated family. Trusting that these few hints will be found useful to those who are fond of playing at plays, 1 am, dear Mr. Editor, Yours, &c., &c., An Old Amateur. 54 SONG OF THE MONTHS. ^oim of tbc IHontbs. <& K^ c .rr^-: ^^ M., «5 ">>««-« 3 ^^J^*»t w^-^. 4^^=i Hark to the squalling newborn Year ! Squalling with wind, and crying with sleet ; Old Dame S'lnuarn is here. With snow-white cap, and pattens on feet : She is his nurse, and she rocks him, rocks him, And into the blankets she tucks him, tucks him — Then sips something so strong and so sweet ! Now to school — in the biting air — IMuc-h to shiver, little to learn — dFchruary in state sits there. Frosty old Pedagogue, sharp and stem : In cold corner he claps him, claps him. And over the knuckles he raps him, raps him. Once and again till his fingers burn. Then a shipboy — ready of hand, Sturdy of heart, though the sea be rough ; Commodore ;;^arcij is there in command, Stout Sea-Captain, stoi-niy and bluff; Noisily ever he rates him, rates him — Storm or shipwreck awaits him. waits him — But his heart is fresh, and his nerves are tough. Just as the pigeons begin to pair. He feels a pleasure, and calls it pain ; Young Lady ^prtl, fickle and fair, Rules his heart with a fitful reign ; Now she is frowning, and moves him, moves him — Now she avows that she loves him, loves him. Darting a smile through the clouds again. Bat soon hawking at higher game — ShadoAv for substance passing away — Now the queen of his heart is Fame — Life in its vigour and prime, and i*l.li? : She has flowers to grace him. grace him — And sharp lessons to brace him, brace him, Like shrewd winds on a sunny day. Now he thrills with a fierce delight ; Prancing past in his jiomp api>ears Captain S^utiC, with his streamers liright — Flashing, thundering. Hanked with fears ; War is the cry. and he arms him, arms him — Proud is the pageant, and charms him. ehai-ms him. But flashes are followed liy floods — of teiu-s. SONG OF THE MONTHS. 55 Calmly and brightly shines the sim — Ripens his heart, with the golden grain — Sweet SJuIy he has wooed and won — Doubled his pleasure, halved his pain : Her sunny smile ever lights him, lights him — Though, as her faith she plights him, plights him. She shed some drops of a gentle rain. But when the scythe and the sickle come, Comes a new comfort with a new care : Fruitful ^Uflu^t has blest his home- Crowned are his hopes with an infant heir : — But sick heats follow, to teaze him, teaze him — Fever and langour may seize him, seize him. Filling the father's heart with fear, Fortiine now is his idol grown — Houses, and lands, and worldly ware — Life's ^CtJtcmfirr has come and gone, Fickle as April — seldom so fair ; Riches and rank may be near him, near him — Sport and good claret may cheer him, cheer him, But where are the joys of his youth — ah where ? Soon enters Sorrow to play its part — Nature dofFs her gauds at the call ; Sad (BctoSrr has breathed on his heart, Searing over the green spots all : Ties are breaking that bound him, bound him — Friends are falling around him, round him. Just as the leaves in the Aiitumn fall. Now, he sits, and snores in his chair — Feet to the fire — well vrrapped in gown : Doctor jgobrmiirr is always there. Feeling his pulse — so dingy and brown : Night and morning he drugs him, drugs him — And nearer and nearer he tugs him, tugs him, To December — who waits with a frown. Clattering hoofs on the hard ground ring : Wliat pale Rider dismounts at the door ? 'Tis J3rrcm6fr, the grisly king — 'Tis King Death ! he will wait no more ! — Yet he smiles as he meets him, meets him — Solemn but smiling he greets him, greets him — Rest to thy weary head, old Forty-four ! 56 LETTEIl TO THE PRESIDENT, &c. LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT SUBURBAN ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCK.MENT OF SCIENCE IN THE (OUTSKIRTS. Kig. 2. Mt dear Sir, — I he^ to submit, through you, to the notice of that learned Society of which you are the distinguished ornament and president, a brief account of some highly interesting, and, I think, important experiments upon the theory of the refrangibility and refractibility of light. I was sitting over the fire in the front parlour of my house in Paradise Row, and gazing list- lessly out of the window, when my attention was suddenly roused by observing a very extraordinary figure leaning against a post. The accompanying sketch (Fig. 1) is as near as pos- sible the appearance it presented. I immediately resolved to fathom this astounding mystery, and having commenced by noting down accurately the hour and minute of the day, I took the angle which my nose made with the perspective line of the street before me, which would give me the angle of sight (for I have repeatedly and accurately fixed the shape of my nose and ^ ^ its angle in the course of previous experiments of a similar c^«^ """^ ^' nature). I next placed myself far back in my chair, and scarcely had I completed these preparations, when the figure before me suddenly, and as if by the agency of voltaic action, assumed a totally different aspect. It was now thus (Fig. 2). Noting down this change, I continued my observations, slightly inclining my head to the right, when the figure happening to walk a few steps forward, suddenly became distorted in the form which I have next sketched (Fig. 3). Astonished by these appeai*- ances I was about to resume my pipe, and scarcely had I raised it from the table where I had laid it, when the form began to alter. I intently watched the phases of this change, and passed the yet smoking pipe several times before me, so as to throw the vap:ur in my line of sight. While I Avas thus employed the figure suddenly took a fourth and more astonishing form than any it ,,„^^^ had yet assumed, for it now appeared as in Fig. i. I have no means of ascertaining the cause of these phenomena, and would be very thankful if any memlier of your Society would favour me by a solution of them. Hoping to hoar from you soon on this subject, I have the honour to be, My dear Sir, yours most obediently, Hethincs Henosemutch. Kig. 3. A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE. 57 P.S. — A frieud of mine has just called in, and looking at the results of my observa- tions, considers that the appearances may have something to do with the glass of the win- You will at once perceive the chimerical character of such an idea. dow. I'i?. 1. A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE. (a tale of the late frost.) I AM passionately fond of skating. I can cut likenesses, dance the polka, play at football, hockey, or rounders, on the ice better than on terra firma, and I once challenged all England to pick up sixpences with me on any frozen river in the universe. Such is my love for skating, that even if I were to lose both my legs, I think I should have a pair of skates fastened on to my wooden substitutes, and go on skating upon crutches all the same. I ought to have been born in Holland, where the pavements, I am told, are made of ice, and the Fraus who come to market bring in their eggs and butter on the " sliding scale." It is my confident belief that Sir John Ross never discovered the passage of the North Pole, because he did not know how to skate. If a new world be ever discovered, I predict that it will be by a member of the Skating Club, and I am sure that the next Columbus will go down to posterity with a pair of skates in his hand. Well, with aU my love for this manly pastime, I had not skated for years. For several winters past, if anything like a good frost came, I was sure to be at the sea-side (I hate the sea because it never freezes). The weather, too, lately had been obstinately mild, or at most indulging in a series of small frosts overnight, followed in the morning by rapid thaws. At last, there came to my relief, in 1838, a good serious Russian frost. I was at that time in Lincolnshire. The papers were full of glowing accounts of skating matches on the Serpentine, of quadrille pai-ties, and thrilling accidents every day in the Regent's Park. I stood the temptation for a long frosty week ; but the thermometer having fallen one morning ten degi-ees, I packed up my best pair of patent skates in my carpet-bag, and started in the mail for London. I took a lodging in the neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and the following morning at day-break (I could not sleep a wink all night) I was the first on the ice. Oh, how I skated ! I went round and round — shrieking Avildly — pirouetted, and cut an infinity of eights and sixes for very joy ! must have written my initials all over the ice. I never skated better in my life. The day was intensely cold. No great-coat fettered the action of my legs, and, as I went through the most intricate evolutions, executing them with a grace Taglioni would have envied, I felt that the eyes of the Serpentine were iipon me, and that every one was wondering who I could be. My self-love warmed at these flat- tering notices, and I considered myself, in common gratitude, bound to prove my capability A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE. of doing in skates still higher things. At that moment Sir "William N., acknowledged to be the best skater in the world, had an-ived on the ice, and was entertaining a select circle with some new figures. Conscious that he was, comparatively with myseK, in the first steps only of the art, I flew into the circle, and, regardless of his indignant glances, I began a valse a deux temps, humming the last new melody of Strauss, and scrupulously keeping time to the music. I became animated with the dmise, and quickened the measure. My legs were posi- tively flying, not skating. Sir "William, either with cold or rage, was quite blue in the face. His defeat was as complete as my triumph was certain. The applause from murmurs gi-ew to "bravos." I smiled my thanks, and was preparing to cut an entrechat, never yet attempted by a mortal in skates, when I suddenly became paralyzed. My right leg, half raised in the air, fell powerless to the ground; I was transfixed to the spot, with my eyes riveted on one hideous object, which was fastening its malignant spell upon me. I tried to shake off the feeling, but all in vain. Its influence was too much for me. I madly plunged through the gaping crowd, and with one spring cleared the circle. In another moment I was out of sight. The fact is, the public applause had not blinded me to the recognition of a vei*y familiar fi-iend, whose acquaintance I had made three years before I left London, when he was in the habit of calling upon me every morning, and always waiting for me at the comer of the street. His visits at last had become so troublesome that I had been compelled, in self- defence, to leave London. I turned round in terror to see what had become of him, and lo, there he was, coming at full speed after me. He had the same top-boots, the same knob- stick in his hand, the same bird's-eye handkerchief : he was in fact the same creature in every respect. A small piece of paper or parchment was waving in his hand, which, as he saw me look round, he extended towards me. I only redoubled my speed, but my friend in the top-boots was evidently a good skater. He kept gaining on me every minute. I took him through the bridge, running through one arch and dai'ting back suddenly through another, but all in vain ; let me turn where I would he was sure to be close after me. 1 began to feel tired, but I still kept on convulsively, rushing madly in every direction, plung- ing frantically into the thickest groups. My strength, however, was fast failing me. (our chase had lasted for more than an hour,) and yet my persecutor looked as fresh as ever. I felt nothing but a bold stroke could save me. I therefore struck out for the least fre- quented part of the ice, where a board, inscribed with the word " Dangerous," scared the boldest skaters away. As I drew nearer to the treacherous spot, I went slower, to allow my vindictive pursuer to approach closer to me. He hastened instantly forward, and I still rushed on. The people were shouting from the bank, " Come back, you fools," — th<' Humane Society's men were running with their hooks like madmen after us. I summoned fresh courage, and struck out boldly to the very edge of the precipice. The ice was cracking beneath me. I felt it giving way ; but at that moment my pursuer's fingers tapped my right shoulder, and my legs instinctively became indued with a super- natural agility. In a flash of lightning I cleared the dangerous hole, and was jdready lost in the crowd, which was rushing in hundreds, at the shouts of, "A man in!" towards the spot I had just left. I guessed, with a cold shudder, who it was, and paused to breathe more freely- I turned round : it was the poor fellow who had been so hotly pursuing me ! I lingered long enough near the spot to ascertain that he was got out, and then hastily repaired to the nearest hotel, which I did not leave till the glad information was brought to me that my unfoi-tunate pursuer was drinking bnindy-and-water, " warm within," at the receiving lumsc of the Society. I left town the following day. and have never seen my friend since; but (I do not say it boastingly) 1 can now venture on the ice without tlu- A LITERAUY CURIOSITY. 59 fear of being driven by a skating bailiff to risk the Scylla of tlie Serpentine to avoid the Charylxlis of the sponging-house. As no tale is complete now-a-days without a moral, I subjoin mine : — To YOUNG MEN WHO ARE PASSIONATELY FOND OF Skating. — Mind yon never venture on the ice, unless you are sure you can keep your heads above water. A LITEEARY CUBIOSITY. To the Editor of George Cruihshanh's " Tahle-BooJc." My dear Sir, — I inclose you a copy of a literary curiosity which I lately picked out from among the papers of my lamented and learned friend, Dr. Fishup. It is an old MS., but no date being affixed, its era cannot be ascertained. Dr. Fishup " picked it up " at the Monastery of St. Gotopoto, in the Pyrenees, where, as detained by heavy rain, he was amusing himself in the library, with looking over the collection of the Fathers, between the leaves of an old missal he found this curious pro- duction ; he immediately transferred it to his pocket-book, and, on the first favourable occasion, carefully examined his new-found treasure, but could make nothing of it ; nor can I find from any of his memoranda that he ever discovered more than that it was an epigi-am. The notes are in his hand-wi-iting. It appears to me to have been the production of a very poor poet, for he has made use of many abbreviations, as if to save ink. He appears also to have had a knowledge of A LITERARY CURIOSITY. Greek, from the quotation in the last line but one ; but not understanding that language myself, and very little Latin, I can give no very critical opinion upon it. KI DICX) NE-EPIGRAM. A dixe id tome, vai-aj ave eu bene, — • Y. I.' tome sed ea Cros" in O. E. R.^ Summisse it Brochitum Bel de in Andeuo V.M."* ec* Losa re stivaj lea Fro** re lo ! Peisa" leno tecum tarme, I M.® — vericolae de an dua ai*'' me thylaci te, Buteo'" dicus ura) lis haud bee" var* me Fore ave ona ^^ Rufra; Zea* — jacit — Hoi'* ver Nouvae " ^puxdois " ** EuUer'* ne Tosca'* te dici natrice ! As I have found no translation of this epigram among the papers of my late friend. I feel wan-anted, from my knowledge of his habits, in saying that he never •' did " one. He may have considered it to be too insignificant to be honoured by a written version, as being too plain for any one to need it ; though from his notes it would appear most probable that in the unsuspecting simplicity of his mind he searched too deep for the meaning, which, to one whom the dust of wisdom's volumes had not blinded, had been made to shine forth clearly. This is my plea against being thought presumptuous, in endeavouring to do that which a very learned man and a profound antiquary seems not to have been able to do — or, at least, has not done ; and, therefore, I crave yoiu- indulgence in adding the following free translation : — AN EPIGRAM BY DICK. " Ah, Dick !" said Tom, " where have you been ?" " Why, Tom," said he, " in crossing o'er Some ice, it broke, I tumbled in. And now my clothes are stiffly frore — I hope I shall not come to harm ; I 'm veiy cold, and warmth I lack it." *' But, Dick ! yoii surely should be warm. For you have got on a. frieze jacket. However, now you've broke the ice. You'll learn to skate, Dick, in a trice." In conclusion I must remark, that in translating, I have substituted for any maxim^ proverb, or saying in the original, which would not be generally understood in the present (1.) V. I, iibbrev. pro r«V_/((jf<(ts, sive ilhistiis. (l*J-) Buteo (non est m.iicliio, seJ) a Syr. Buz (2.) Cros — civitJis Egypti. dirigere (anglicnm Buzzai-d). (3.) 0. K. R. abbrev. pro ob earn rem. (H,) Bee — tusais ovis est. (4.) V. M. .ibbrev. pro ViUGiNiS Mauia. (12.) Ona— abbrev. pro omnia. (5.) ec. pro ex— (13.) Hoi— sive oT Gr. (6.) Fro — iiomiiuis est Dei Siwoiiiiini. (!•*•) -^ ^piyX'^^ fip6x and then carefully restored the dried rose-leaves, believing them to be treasured relics also. He turned over a few pages of the book and found the following, wi'itten in the same hand as the inscription on the little piece of -pa-pev : — " December 13, 1815. — I promised you, dear Mother, that I would put down what I did .ind thouglit every day, so I begiu at once, by telling you what I think of London— it is such a large place ! — First of all I must tell j'ou how I got on ou my journey — the day was very cold, surely, but what with good Mrs. Dove's wittle, and tlie straw that Will put lor me (I thank him for it now, and will do so again when I come liome), I got on bravely. Mr. Dove's basket did help me much, for, though I could not eat a great deal, yet the brandy-and-water I gave to the guard, who lent me a great-coat, I do think, in return — and now for London. When we got to the inn-yaid it was quite night, but then there was .-o many lamps in the street, that it was alnmst as light as day. Tiien such a many coaches, tind carts, and peojile, that I grew quite dizzy and sick. — After n while, however, I seemed to get used to it, and then I saw nothin^j; but houses and houses, whichever way 1 looked. I got frightened a little, but the guard w^as very kind, and sent a woman that he knew to show me to my new place. Wlien I knocked at the door I confess my heart seemed to sink within me. I wondered all at once what kind of people my master and mistres-s would be, but then I thought that GoD had taken care of me until this time, and I had no right to fear." •' Good girl," inteiTupted Mrs. Scott. " I stxppose I may read on ."" said the saddler. " By all means," replied his mother. " I feel as though I were listening to your poor sister Jenny, David." The saddler resumed : — " When I was shown upstairs to my mistres.s, for thougli they are tradespeople they always live u]>stairs," •' Just like the Buzzards," said Mi's. Scott. BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 87 " 5Iy mistress asked me my name, ami how old I was, and whether I was an early riser, and hoped I had no QUO 1 knew in London. She then told me to go down into the kitchen until she rang the bell for me. The boy wlio had showed me up lighted me into the kitchen, where he pointed to a large box, and said, ' That's where you sleep,' and then he left me alone. It was very cold, and I could not help crying a little- only a very little, for I thought I was going to work for you, deir mothei', and when I got rich, to come home and make you h:\ppy." " Ratlier prosy," said the saddler, turning over three or fovir pages of the book. " Never mind, go on," replied Mrs. Scott. " I like it all the better. I can under- stand it." " I have now been here a week— I work pretty hard — I have to do everything myself, except clean the boots and the knives. Sometimes I get very tired, for mistress is very fond of ringing the bell, and it is a long way from the kitchen to the drawing-room." " How like Mrs. Buzzard," said Mrs. Scott. " However, I work very cheerful, and whenever I get low or tired I think all this will do to talk about and laugh at when I come home. Mj mistress will not y//'////;/.<,r+ — " call me Betty — but Morrison ; she says Morrison is more genteel." " It must be Mrs. Buzzard," cried Mrs. Scott. The saddler turned over another page or two. "Christmas-day. — I hud dressed up my kitchen with holly, as I used to do at the parsonage, but mistress, happening to come into the kitchen, made me pull it all down, as she said it was vulgar now- a-days." " I begin to think that it imist be Mrs. Buz- zard, too," said the saddler. " Master and mistress went out to dinner — I could hardly believe it was Christmas-day. 1 sat down by the fire when I had done my work, and thought how all the folks at Grassvale were making merry, whilst I was all alone in a London kitchen, without one soul to speak to. I had such a cry, mother — and then I was so angry with myself. I knelt down and prayed God not to let me become ungi-ateful and discontented ; then I got my Bible, the one that dear old master gave me, and I read a great deal, until I never telt so happy in my life." " David," said Mrs. Scott, " who ever did that wouldn't make a bad wife ?" " Wife, mother ?" And the saddler turned over several leaves without knowing what he was doing. " March 12. — I have offended my mistress very much, but I am sure I have done right. We are to have a grai^d party on the 14th, and mistress has been busy making jellies and sweet things, but all the time she has been quite in a flurry in case anybody should see her. This morning a knock came at the door, and she said to me, ' Morrison, say I am out, whoever it is,' ' But I shall be telling a story, ma'am,' I answered — ' had I not better say that you're busy.' 0, huw angry she was with me. Is it not strange that mistress should wish me to say that which was not true. She would be angry, and quite right, did I tell her a lie. I must pray God to lead me not into temptation. '• March 20. — Mistress is still very sulky, but I would rather otfend her than do wrong. They have been out a great deal lately, and I have had to sit up very late and by myself. London is a very lonely place, but 1 do not complain — I get more time to read my Bible, and to write down these things to talk over when I come home." " She seems very fond of her home," remarked the saddler. BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. " And I dare say it's a very poor one," said his mother. She wouldn't neglect a better, I'll be bound." " Do you think she is the " here David paused. " Who .'*" inquired his mother. " The pleasant-looking girl at Buzzard's." " I shouldn't wonder," exclaimed Mrs. Scott. " I'll ask at once." " No, mother," said the saddler ; '• I think — I think I'U do that myself," and he left the room. When the saddler got into his shop he paused to take another peep in Betty Mon-ison's pocket-book, and read — " Mistress is very cross and unkind to me, but I will bear it all. 0, what could I not suffer for any one that I loved as dearly as I do you, mother." The saddler gave a short cough, and proceeded at once to the house of his neighbom*, Buzzard. " When Betty opened the door, Da^^d Scott felt as though he had some great words in his throat which were choking him. but when he showed Betty the pocket-book, and saw the joy dancing amid the tears in her eyes, the saddler thought that the difficulty of choosing a wife was not so gi*eat as he had imagined at one time. The poor girl thanked him again and again for restoring her lost treasure. " Not," she said, " that it is worth anything. Sir, but it was given to me by a very dear friend, and — and my dear mother at home looks forward to that book to know — to know — " " How good a daughter she has in London." said the saddler ; and then, as fearing to trust himself further, he uttei'ed a hiuTied " good day," and rushed back into his own shop. After this intei*view — it seems very surprising — but Betty was continually meeting Mr. Scott. If she went on an eiTand. Mr. Scott always contrived to say, " How do you do ?" or to give her a nod and smile. If she went to church, which she always did when she could obtain permission, Mr. Scott was sure to overtake her or meet her on her way, and then he would go to church too. Can you guess what all this led to ? If you cannot, read the following extract from Betty's pocket-book : — " July 31. — Mr. S;ott has written me such a kind letter. I have answered it by telling iiim (hat I must consult my dear mother and Mrs, Hartley. Mr. Scott says his mother would like me to come to tea. Mr. .Scott saj's he is about my age. Mr. Scott is very good to his work-people, I hear. Mr. Scott — 0, dear, what am I writing about !" Reader, you are now as much in Betty's secret as we are. so the sooner we come to the better. One Sunday morning, at the close of September, the congregation assembled in the parish church of Grassvale was thrown into a state of pleasm-able excitement by Mr. Gravely, the clergyman, reading as follows : — " I publish the banns of man-iage between David Scott, of the parish of St. , London, and Elizabeth MoiTison, of this parish, &c., &c. ;" and within a month after- wards the bells of Grassvale Church rung out their bridal peal. Ah! that was the end! David Scott had listened to his mother's counsel; and from what he had read of Betty's thoughts and actions — things chronicled to meet no other eyes but her own and those of her dear mother — the honest saddler had resolved to share his fortunes with her. Many after-yeai-s of happiness proved how wisely he had chosen. and again and again has he blessed the day that he found Betty Morrison's pocket-book. A COLD LOVE LETTER. 89 A COLD LOVE LETTER. Coldhath Square, Coldbath Fields. My dearest Alice, Tou complain in your last of my coldness. It is all owing, dearest, to the weather; for the papers say it is the coldest season we have had for years. I think it is not only the coldest for ears, but for eyes and noses also. f 1 '''^'^^' Tou ask me why I do not come to see you. Cruel girl ! How am I to get out ? Be- sides there are so many of you, that when I call at your house there is no getting near the fire. Keep yourself warm, dearest, for my sake. I am sitting in my travelling-cloak, with my nose and my knees actually in the fire. Ah ! I wish you were by my side. Yet no — there is only one side of my fireplace that's warm, and I know you could not bear to see your own Horatio sitting in a draught — could you, love ? But we ought to be contented, for at all events we are not like those lovers whose friends are against the match, and who are obliged to meet clandestinely. Fancy my having to wait at the corner of a street, kicking my heels about in the cold during such weather as this. I don't think I could stand it — that is, dearest, I'm sure you would not hear of my doing so. I have been trying to wi'ite a 'sonnet to you — but in vain have I invoked the Muses ; they evidently think it " too cold to come out," and the Pierian spring seems to be so completely frozen up, that I find it impossible to get a draft at it. It has been utterly impracticable to get hold of any " thoughts that burn " in this bitter cold weather. I have tried several times to warm myself up into a comfortable condition to address some poetry to you, but I can't help thinking of the cold ; and I therefore send you — it will do for your Album — 90 A COLD LOVE LETTER. A SONNET TO THE FROST. Son of old Hyems — you deserve the name Of nature's jeweller — because your skill Makes icy jewels — shining just the same As those of Messieurs Hyam on Cornhill. You deck with gems the humble bed of greens. And fringe the parsley with a diamond hue ; "With spangles you adoni the coldest scenes, And tip the nose ^\'ith a cerulean blue. Philosophy to many you would preach. If of the lesson they were but aware — Yes, patience is the virtue that you teach, — The ice by you controlled learns how to bear. All Nature's really nothing but a school ; From you O Frost, we learn to take things cool. I would have wi-itteu the above in your album with my own hand, but I'm sure you would be the last person to expect me to come out for the pm-pose of fetching the book. You ask me to write to say when I am coming. I know you will excuse my writing when I tell you it is very iincomfortable to have to hold a cold steel pen between my fingers. The thermometer, dearest, will indicate to you when you may expect to see — Your own Horatio. NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA. 91 NOTES TAKEN DUEING THE LATE WAE IN CHINA. BT CAPTAIN CUTAWAY, OF HER MAJESTY'S HORSE MARINES. Our regiment being ordered to Hong-Kong in the summer of 1843, I set sail in tlie Shrimp, of 600 guns, at the head of my troop of nautical cavalry. The voyage out was marked by nothing particular. My gallant fellows mounted guard every day on the binnacle, and were ready at a moment's notice to assert the supremacy of Britannia and can-y out the aUegory of her riding the seas. But whether it was known that Captain Cutaway, of the Horse Marines, was at the head of his men aboard the Shrimp, or whether we did not happen to meet a foe, certain it is that we were not called into active service on our passage to China. The ship behaved beautifully throughout, with the exception of her going groggy in a storm, and roUing about from side to side in a most disagreeable manner. On our an-ival at Hong-Kong the sun was just turning to the right, previous to its final retirement for the evening behind a pagoda. The shore was covered with clusters of those trees that may be seen on the willow pattern plates, where apples, as large as dumplings, depend from branches as fragile as feathers. I called over the muster-roll of my men, and I could see that there was scarcely a dry eye among the gallant fellows as they suiweyed the splendid landscape. "We gave three cheers in honour of old England, and planted the British standard in the mud on the beach, for the water being only three feet deep permitted our doing so. The next day I intended to commence making a series of observations on men and manners in China ; but I am son-y to say that the men have no manners at all, so that my project was defeated. Their talents as a nautical people offered however a wide field for speculation, and I used to sit for hours on the top of the compass (which continued boxed during the time we remained at anchor) for the pui-pose 92 NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA. of watching the maritime movements of this veiy remarkable nation. Their war junks resemble the state barges of the City companies ; and it may be infeiTcd from this, that the Chinese take a pleasure in fighting, for they come to a naval engagement in the same soi-t of vessels that we should use for a pic-nic party to ilichmond. As far as I had the means of obsei*ving — for I kept at some distance, preferring, if possible, to view a hostile people thi-ough a telescope — it appeared to me that the umbrella is a veiy important article in Chinese warfare. One of the jimks happening to be overloaded, began to exhibit some of those oscillating symptoms which may sometimes be obsei'ved in a Greenwich steamboat going down the Thames on Easter Monday. The Chinese, who do not carry boats, had re- course to an expedient which we, with tdl our skill in inventions, would do well to imitate. They have, in case of danger, a simple apparatus, made of three pieces of bamboo, fastened together triangularly, like a trivet, and on these trivets they are enabled to reach the shore in perfect safety. It has often occurred to me that the old English saying, " Right as a trivet," may have been suggested by the Chinese custom alluded to. The eflFect of this manceuvi-e was extremely picturesque, and I immediately made a sketch of it. This however was not the only use to which the iimbrella is put by the Chinese in their naval tactics, for when attacked by an enemy the fii-st impulse of this extraordinary people is to get away as fast and as safely as possible. In order to accomplish this they will throw themselves into the water, with the umbrellas over their heads, and thus a shield is formed which prevents them at least from seeing the danger, if it does not assist them in avoiding it. I once saw a whole junk's crew leap into the water in the way described, and they presented the appearance of a large heap of floating mushrooms. Editor's Note. We beg to state distinctly that we are not answerable for the facts or opinions put forth by our Correspondent Captain Cutawiiy. THE DEMON OF 1845. 93 THIS iDE'jvconsr oip is-is. BY A DREAMEli OF REALITIES. I HEABD a miglity noise in the great city, a loud laughter, and a shriek of exultation, as though it were a period of meiTiment, and yet not all merriment, for the laugh, though it was loud, was hoUow in its sound; and the shriek, though it was triumphant, was harsh, and almost frantic. And I was raised — as one can be only in dreams — to an eminence, whence I looked down on the city, with its great streets, its lanes, and its alleys, as we look on a panorama. How great was the tumult in every direction ! Men of every rank pressed forward, pushing and scuffling, aU crowding as if towards one central point. The lazy bloated rich seemed to have acquired new activity ; the pallid face of the poor was illumined by a hectic flush ; the industrious had flimg aside the implements of his toil ; there were many men, but there was one spirit infused by some magic power into the whole. I turned my eyes towards an eminence in the great city, for thither I saw the people were tending ; and strange was the sight I beheld. A gigantic form, seemingly fashioned of iron, but animated by a sori of semi-life, was seated as on a throne. The eyes flashed, but it was with the redness of fire, not with the life-sparkle of humanity ; the breath of the nostrils was a thick white vapour, which reached the far distance ere it began to disperse. The occupation of the figure was unpoetical enough. In each corner of its huge mouth it held a large iron pipe, through which it blew innumerable spheres, that aU glittered like gold, and were wafted about in the air : and it was strange to see what a cu^rious face the figure made when it had puffed out a more than usual quantity of these floating erections. The lips forced themselves into a hard mechanical smile, as if through the workings of a stiff unwilling organisation ; and it was difficult to say whether this smile expressed a sort of heavy satisfaction, or whether it was not mingled with something of ii'ony. I now perceived the object of all the crowding and pushing on the part of the multi- tude. The glittering suirfaces of the spheres flashed upon their eyes, and blinded them to all else. The possession of these had become the sole object of those who gazed on them, and it was with the intensity of passion that they jostled and crushed each other in the pursuit. The spheres, I observed, were of different natures. Some, when touched, gave a metallic sound, and seemed really to be formed of precious material, and to possess some solidity ; others were so flimsy, that the least breath seemed sufficient to annihilate them. I, the dreamer, saw this; but the mob below me did not seem aware of the distinction : nay, the flimsiest balls were often pursued the most. Soon a new phenomenon presented itself. I saw several of the spheres arrange themselves in little groups, in which they dashed against each other with the wildest disorder ; and beneath every one of these gi-oups was a host of people, who shrieked and roared as the balls struck together, each hoping that some particular one would escape uninjured. Then I heard a great shout of " The Board ! the Board !" and presently all the spheres in a group burst, except one, which sparkled more brightly than ever. Then with what delight did part of the people dance and caper, and with what despair did others roU themselves on the ground and rend their hair! The same thing happened with different gi-oups ; but I could not tell what was meant by the " Board." 94 THE DEMON OF 1845. It was liavJ to say whether the gigantic figure, which seemed the prevailing genius of the great city, was good or evil. I observed a fire that was kindled beneath, and that appeared to give additional animation to the huge, unwieldy limbs. This was sedulously kept up by many ill-looking persons, such as lean mustachioed vagi'ants. and men with tbe feverish air of desperate gamesters ; but it was also maintained hj many benevolent- looking folks, in whose countenances honesty was most plainly wi-itten. Mo\4ng behind the figui'e, I found it equally difficult to come to a result; for there was Mammon reclining on a soft couch, in bodily luxury and mental misery ; there was Poverty wailing from the midst of her rags ; and there was Fraud, with his bland smiles and little twinkling eyes. But there also stood the fair form of Civilization trampling on the implements of war, and holding in her hands a light ornamented ii'on chain, with which she declared that she would unite aU mankind as in brotherhood. During all this time the sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly upon the crowded streets. And a hand appeared, holding before me a sort of weather-glass, upon which were other words than those denoting the changes of the atmosphere. The hand of this glass, which shone like diamond, pointed to the word Premium. My dream had changed, though I still hovered over the gi-eat city. That animation and bustle which I had obsei-ved in every street was at an end, though the streets were somewhat full. Men seemed to pass by each other uneasily, and generally walked with their eyes on the gi-ound, though sometimes they would raise them, and glance round uneasily, as if in terror. The day was dark and gloomy, and altogether there was a fore- boding aspect. I turned to the figure ; it was lazily puffing light clouds from its mouth, but there were no more of the glittering spheres, nor was there a multitude expecting them. The eyes of the figure flashed less brightly, and there seemed less vigour in its iron joints. Nay, it tottered and shook, and seemed as if it maintained itself with difficulty ; and when I looked on the group liehind it. I obsei-ved that Mammon rolled more uneasily on his couch, while Fraud trembled, and Poverty shrieked louder than before. But Civilization looked towards Heaven with a firm countenance, and seemed not to heed the uneasiness of the rest. And the glass again appeared before me, but the hand was duU as steel when it is lireathed upon, and it pointed to the word Par. The gloomy stillness did not last long. A strange rumbling noise proceeded from the interior of the figure, and the people audibly expressed their terror. This was done in strange terms, such as I did not understand. Some, for instance, would utter the word " call." and at this many a cheek would grow as pale as death. Then arose a murmuring sound about " heavy differences " and " responsibilities " and " panic," and many were cursing the hour when the giant first appeared in the great city. Many other bul)bles had burst besides those I had seen ; and even those who had secured for themselves the more precious boons, I saw hugging them with wild uneasiness, as if they feared they would vanish like the rest. Presently all joined in one terrible shout. " Here comes the crisis !" and on this, there was an explosion so fearful that I awoke, but not before I saw the limbs of the giant scattered in every direction, and myriads shattered by the burst, or flying in lUarm. The glass was gone, but for a moment, as if written in lightning, there flashed upon my eyes the word Discount. Nevertheless, the form of Civilizatiaf by takiug hold of the victim's cloak, which causes the good nobleman to wake up to a sudden sense of his situation. "With a degree of tact for which his former proceedings had not prepared us, the victim contrives to slii? out of the cloak, and glide away alto- OK THE STAGE ASSASSIN. gether fnnu the i\)oin ; when the stage assassin witli his eyes avei-ted— a movement no doubt designed to indicate Ids being slightly conscience-stricken — plunges the weapon into tlie cloak, which he kills at least half-a-dozen times, as if to make sure that the deed is done, and then retires with the comfortable conviction that he has earned his money. The intended victim seldom takes any public notice of the attempt upon his life, but prefers the secret satisfaction of confounding the wicked nobleman by appearing in the last scene, when the stage assassin, having got the bribe without doing the work, is often seized with remorse, and denoimces the wicked nobleman, who gives a savage scowl, and takes his place gloomily between two supernumeraries in token of his being prepared to resign himself into the hands of justice. The good nobleman is occasionally so charmed with the change in the stage assassin's conduct, that a cottage, and a permanent income to keep it up, are placed by the former at the latter's service, as a premium for having stabbed an old cloak by mistake, taken a large sum for what he has not done, and betrayed the individual who paid for his sei-vices. *' No money returned " is, however, no less the motto of the stage assassin than of the stage manager. Though it is certainly the province of the character we have been describing to harrow up the audience by his hideous aspect, it is possible to cany the matter a little too far, as was once the case at a theatre, where the assassin had " made up" so fright- fully well, that on his first entrance he sent all his fellow-poi-formci's terrified off the stage, threw the whole orchestra into fits by his awful aspect, and, what was worse thiui all, scared away tlio audience. THE MESMERIC DINNER. CIjc gtcsmeric gimur. {Wrilten expresslij for the First of April, hut unavoidahhj postponed till the First of May.) " Being otTered refreshment, she cho-e some mesmerized watei-, a glass of which was on tlie table. It seemed to exhilarate her, and she expressed great relish of the ' refreshment.' It struck us that we would try, another evening, whether the mesmerist's will could atl'ect her sense of taste. In her absence, we agreed thnt the water should be silently willed to be sherry the next night. To make the experiment as clear as possible, the water was first ofleved to her, and a little of it drank as water. Then the rest was silently willed to be sherry ; she drank it off— half a tumbler-(ull— declared it very good; but, presently, that it made her tipsy. What was it? 'Wine — white wine.' And she became exti emely merry and voluble. * * * j afterwards asked the mesmerist to let it be porter the next night. J. knew nothing of porter, but called her refreshment ' a nasty sort of beer.' " — Hiss Martineau's Letters on Mesmensm. " Is it true that the mesmerist and the patient taste, feel, &c., the same things at the same moment ?" " Yes."— Ibid. I HAD never been mesmerised ; so wanting my dinner, I thouglit I would satisfy my appetite and cm-iosity at the same time, and dine for once at tlie " Mesmeric Dining Rooms," in Street. Besides, I was leaving town the following day, and knew it would never do to face my infinite series of country cousins without telling them some- thing of the marvels of Mesmerism. On reaching the Hotel in question, I inquired if dinner was ready. " Perfectly ready, sir," answered the drowsy waiter, who looked as if he were in a state of somnambulism; " Mr. Yemon is just drawing the magnetic fluid off a Common Councilman, and will be with you directly, sir." This last piece of information occupied a good ten minutes in the delivery, and the sleepy creature then stepped away with the slow solemnity of a stage criminal, who is being led off in the fifth act to execution. Left to myself, I examined the room. It was meanly furnished ; the only ornaments being a placard of " Dr. Schlaffen's Mesmerised Soda Water," j)rinted in the meanest style of typography, in green colours, with a border of red poppies; and a triangular piece of paper over the mantelpiece, announcing to gourmands and enthusiasts that there would be " Venison and Clairvoyance to-morroiv.'''' I had no sooner completed this inventoiy, than the landlord appeared : he was to a wink as sleepy as his waiter ; I could not look at him without yawning. He looked like a person who had all his life been dreaming he dwelt in marble halls, and was disgusted with himself on finding, when he awoke, that he was merely the landlord of a mesmeric ordinary. I will not record his obseiwations, as his words did not travel at the rate of more than ten monosyllables a minute. However, in something less than half-an-hour I learnt that he was soiTy he could not wait on me just at present : all his professors were senring private parties ; and he had a very large society in the public room, who were occupying all his spare hands; that this club was celebrating its anniversary; that it was called "The Jolly Mutes;" and that I might join the party if I consented not to speak or disturb the harmony of the evening. Having pledged my word to that effect, and deposited haK-a-crown as the price of my initiation into the festi\aties of the new Society, a thin shadowy waiter took me 100 THE MESMF-lUC DTXXEI!. mysteriously by tlie baud, and after enjoining silence, according' to tbe manner of panto- mime conspirators, by putting bis finger perpendicularly on bis lips, be led me, walking all tbe time on tiptoe, tbrougb a long, cbiUy corridor, into tbe place wbere tbe " Jolly Mutes " wei-e bolding tbeir midnigbt orgies. It was a large desert of a room, bung witb black curtains; and so badly ligbted, tbat it looked bke a theatre during tbe repre- sentation of a series of dissolving views, more tban like a festive scene. Not a sound, not a word was beard. Tbe very waiter in attendance (tbere was only one) moved about like a gbost in list slippers. Tbe wbole company was fast asleep. Some bad tbeir eyes closed, others were staring fixedly before tbem. Afraid almost to breatbe, for fear of disturbing tbe solemnity of tbe meeting, I fell noiselessly into an easy arm-cbair, tbat bad been placed by some imseon band behind me, and was astonished the next minute to find a pair of red hands, with long orang-outang fingers, moving up and down before me, from my head to my knees, passing within a very inch of my face. Not prej^ared altogether for this ridiculous piece of freemasonry, I moved tbe bands gently aside, but they came back again the next minute, and actually grazed the tip of my nose. This was cai-rying the familiai-ity, I thought, rather too far, and so I instantly took up my stick, and gave the pair of hands a violent rap over tbe knuckles. After this severe rebuke they did not come near me again the whole evening. Left to myself, I turned my eyes to see what I could make a meal of — but Ugolino in his prison would not have said " Thank you " for all the eatables on tbe table. Two or three emjjty dishes, a bone or two, and some pieces of broken bread, seemed to have been all their dinner ; but at this moment a fresh relay of dishes was brought in by a brace of ghostly waiters. The covers were removed, and the gentleman whose knuckles I bad rapped, having dipped his knife and fork into a jug of water, over which he had previously passed bis bands in the same ridiculous way as he had done before my face, broke the deathlike silence by exclaiming, " Mr. Mori, will you have some venison, sir ?" and, as Mr. Mori nodded bis head in the affirmative, a plate of venison was put before him, which, I could declare in an affidavit, if put to the expense, was nothing better tban a scrag of the commonest cow-beef. In tbe same way a dish of tripe was imposed upon the unconscious guests for a haunch of Welsh mutton, and, I am ashamed to disclose it, some kidney pies were impudently passed off upon two corpulent old gentlemen, who certainly ought to have known better, for a. pate defoie gras, " only just arrived from Strasbui'g:" common sparrows were cut up for woodcocks — an old ben was, after gi-eat exertion, quartered for a young pheasant — and a washy Irish stew was served out for " champignons na lift's uu Champagne." The wines fared no better. Pump water was drank for port that had been twelve years in bottle — cold cofi"ee was sipped out of tea-cups for Chateau- Margaux — and some ginger-beer bottles were opened as a sort of make-believe for MniVs Champagne. Tbe greatest indignity, however, was some cowslip being handed round fur genuine Jobannisberg ; and yet, strange to say, not a person awoke to storm against this liarbarous deception. I could not help noticing the same right-and-left action was repeated over everything tbat was served several times by the waiter, who looked all hair and wristbands — a sort of pantry Mephistopbeles. This I thought at first was by way of saying graee, but at last a new light l>urst in upon me. It occurred to me all at onco tbat these movements of tbe hands must be the passes (which I bad heard was tbe name for tbe action used in mesmerising anything), and that the waiter was en rapport witb every Mute. Tbe cloth was removed. I was very hungry, biit trembled to call for anything in a house where everything was mesmerised to such an extent that fish was turned into fowl, and flesh bad tbe Parisian faculty of being changed into half-a-dozen dishes one after the THE PUCK-COLOUIJEl) CARP. 101 otbei'. Accordiugly, I restniiued my appetite, and prepared to listen to the chairman who, with his spectacles arranged at the back of his head, was reading aloud a report, which was being held up to his occiput by the waiter behind him. He said the Jolly Mutes had been established three years, and he could not help congratulating the Society on the promising aspect of its affairs, and their happy meeting that evening. He then spoke of almshouses for the " Decayed Mutes," and read out a list of subscriptions, at which interesting point the waiter was busy in running literally from pole to pole, mesme- rising most strenuously on each member's head the organ of benevolence. The consequence was, the bank-notes kept pouring in, the secretary having been unmesmerised with a bottle of soda-water, purposely to receive the cheques and cash. By eleven o'clock I rose to leave the Jolly Mutes. As I was going, the landlord slipped into my hand a small bill to the following effect : — Mr. T. Kaddv, Dr. to Gregory Flint. For three courses of Mesmeric Dinner, served with the most scientific s. d. passes by Professor Vernon ...... 16 The sum was paid, and I guessed, from the smallness of the charge, the ingenious motive of those who had been feasting off so many delicacies for so little, and hailed that science as a blessing to the poor in pocket but rich in taste, which would enable them to dine off venison on paying the price of alamode beef. That day I fasted, for I could not help believing that everything I tasted had had some mesmeric trick played upon it ; but before I went to sleep, I consoled myself with the triumph I should experience on my return home, when I told my little country cousins all the astounding wonders I had seen at the Mesmeric Dinner. THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP. ^ Calc. At a gi-and Court dinner, where the young and lovely Queen Musidora sat attired in a splendid puce-coloured satin, an unlucky attendant, who was assisting her to some stewed cai-p, dropped a large piece in her lap, to the manifest detriment of her costume. The attendant was, of course, immediately led off by the guard, and hanged up on one of the tallest trees of the garden. But this was a poor compensation for the beautiful dress, which was one of the happiest " fits " of the Court milliner. The colovir of the spoiled go^vn, and the fish that had done the mischief, forced themselves together into the Queen's mind with such intensity, that they united to one compound image, and she exclaimed fretfully : " I am determined that the next fish I have for dinner shall be a puce-coloured carp." The notion was farther elaborated during the night by the sagacious sovereign, and next morning a royal edict, wi-itten in fair round hand, was found affixed to the palace gates, promising the hand of the Queen to any party, high or low, who should bring a puce-coloui'ed cai-p, and place it in a certain basket in the throne-room, before six o'clock in the evening of the following Friday. After that j)eriod the fish would, it appeared, be of no use. On the contrary, the last clause in the document stated that if any one should bring it after the appointed time, he should lose his head for his presimiption. This 102 THE PUCE-COLOURED CAUP sliows the fine discriminating mind of Queen Musidoi'a. She ui)t only cared for the singular fish, but she was anxious at the same time to give her subjects a lesson of promptness and alacrity in obeying her wishes. The excitement of the people was extreme. All the copies of Izaak Walton were bought up before noon ; the manufacturers of nets and fishing-tackle were totally unable to supply the demand ; and many a poor man, who had but a loaf uf bread for his dinner, pitched it into the river for ground-bait. The rivers were lined on both sides with a mob, whose whole soid was intent upon watching a series of floats. Was the puce-coloured cai-p a river or a sea- fish ? Was it to be snared by float or by fly ? Nobody knew ; nobody had ever seen, heard, or dreamed of a puce-coloured carp, and therefore every method was tried alike. The gallant Florio, a noble of the court, famed for his devotion to the Queen, his fine tenor voice, a plume of white feathers, and very large roses in his shoes, seemed the only exception to the general rule. So emban-assed was he by the uncertainty of attaining the object of pursuit, that he prefen-ed doing nothing, and merely sauntered about the island, practising his falsetto passages, and staring at the ground. In the course of one of these loimges, he turned sharp round a clump of rocks, and was much struck at finding himself by a large piece of water he had never seen before. He thought he knew every inch of Queen Musidora's island, which, by the way, would have been no great attainment, for her power, though very intense, was exceedingly circumscribed. The water was very clear, and Florio as he gazed listlessly upon it. occasionally interrupting his reflections by forming what are called " ducks and drakes " with a few small pebbles, felt his attention arrested by a fine plump fish that swam near to the edge. Its hue was a kind of purple, its figure was that of a carp. It was indeed a puce-coloured carp ! Such are the freaks of destiny. The zealots who were trolling, bobbing, and dragging, never got a sight of the desired object ; but Florio, who took no pains at all, found success thrust upon him. The fish was so near him, that he put his hand into the water to take it, when with a twinkle of its bright eye, that almost seemed to be in derision, it bounded away, and was out of sight. It reappeared, and again bounded away ; and so on several times, till at last, Florio, losing aU patience, resolved upon adopting a more decisive plan, and accordingly jumped in after it. He heard his own splash, but the eff'ect was not that of plunging into the water. He rather seemed to have jumped through a sort of thin skin, like those artists whose talent consists in conveying themselves through large tambourines of silver-paper. He alighted on a soft bed of moss ; and when he had recovered a little, found that he was in the presence of a number of young ladies, with pinkish silk stockings, white muslin frocks, little bits of coral in their hair, and a fringe of duck-weed round the hem of their garment. They were boimding about merrily enough ; and the first thought that struck Florio was that he had somehow got upon the stage of the Court opera-house, while the ballet was going on. However, as it was real moss he lay upon, and the prospect — somewhat of a submarine character — was quite the same all round, he dismissed the notion at once, and recalled to mind the object of his jump. " I come, fair damsels." said he, " in search of a puce-coloured carp — " He proceeded no farther; for the nymphs, breaking out into an immense giggle, scampered ofl" among the rocks, and were out of sight in an instant. "These silly children," said a grave-looking gentleman, with a bluish beard, who appeared almost at the same moment from a great twisted shell, "will never learn manners. No ; to thein Chesterfield is a dead letter. Your request is reasonable enough. You want a puce-coloured carp,— a fish which, in the lake over which I have the honour to be king, is common enough. But may I ask why you want it ?" THE rUCK-COLOURED CARP 103 Hereupon Florio told all about the edict, while the king of the lake listened veiy attentively. " Ha !" said he, " is it possible to put the fish in the basket you mention, so as to show the fore part of one's person alone P" " Certainly," said Florio. " The Queen sits on a throne, and her nobles stand on each side of her. But Avhy do you ask this ?" " Simply," replied the king, " because I must help you in this affair by taking the fish for you myself. The puce-coloured carp is a very artful sort of animal, and will not aUow an eiu-th-born man to catch it. Now, my back-bone is continued, as you may see, into a tail, which, though considered highly ornamental in this region, might excite derision at your Court. I therefore wish it to remain a secret to all but yourself, when I appear at Court with the fish. This point being settled, I have only to promise you that I will come in good time on Friday, and to wish you good-bye for the present. So saying, he stepped nimbly behind Florio, and giving him a smart kick, sent him up spinning like a shuttlecock, till he found himseK once more on the bank of the lake. It was a quarter to six on Friday, and the temper of Queen Musidora was growing terrible. Then she sat on her throne, with her courtiers on each side, and before her stood the large golden basket, in which the carp ought to be placed. Close by it was a large timepiece. Florio anxiously peeped out at the door, hoping every moment for the arrival of his aquatic friend, who would realise, as he thought, his most ambitious imaginings. G- C'i- Minutes moved slowly on and still no sign. At last, when but five were Avanting to complete the hour, a rattling like of dried scales struck the ear, and the king of the lake entered the room, trailing his long tail upon the ground, but walking so straight towards tlie throne, that none but Florio, who stood at the side, could see it. " I came," said he, drawing the desii-ed fish from a large bag, " to present Queen Musidora with this trifiiug gift, and to claim her hand." lot THE rUCE-COLOURED CARP. " For me," suggested Florio. " No, for myself !" bellowed the aquatic monarch. Here was a pretty turn to affairs ! The gaUant Florio had been regularly taken in — had given away his royal mistress to a fishified individual, lost to all feelings of honour. The detestable king of the lake was actually walking forward to drop into the basket the fish that would attain for him the hand of Musidora. The thought was intolerable ; but the sagacious Florio did not lose his presence of mind. Stepping lightly behind the king, he clapped his foot upon the long tail, and prevented further advance ; while the peculiar position of the sovereign concealed the cause of detention from all the Court. " Why do you not come forward ?" said Queen Musidora, very giticiously. " Because this cursed fellow has put his foot on my because I can't !" roared the monarch. A vigorous tugging commenced ; the stalwart Florio keeping his foot as firm as a rock, without moving a muscle of his countenance, or presenting any other appearance than that of profound indifference. At last the king leaped forward, and with a shriek of pain — for he had left the tip of his tail beneath the potent foot — dropped the fish into the basket. But in the meanwhile the timepiece had stnick six, and the consequence was that the king of the lake, according to the edict, was liable not to the bands of matrimon}', but to the disagreeable process of decapitation. This part of the edict Florio had ne- glected to set forth. When the king heard the little interesting matter explained to him, he was wi-oth in the extreme, and told Queen Musidora that it was all very well for her to make laws for her own abject people, but that he was an independent sovereign, over whom she had no control, and who could not be touched wdthout a gross violation of the law of nations. Such a world of Grotius, Puffendorf, and Vattel, did he quote, that he nearly sent the Court to sleep, and the Queen blessed her stars that she was not doomed to maiTy such a hon-id bore. But all was of no use. for the Chancellor contended that all inhabitants of the lakes, rivers, etc.. in the Queen's dominions, were just as much Queen Musidora's sub- jects as the folks iipon dry land ; and the unfortunate monarch was led off, with the assurance that he woiild be beheaded the following morning. As he passed through the door, Florio gave him a clandestine wink of indescribable malice. The king of the lake being safely lodged in the state prison, the Queen thought she might as well indulge herself by feasting off the piice-coloured carp. But when she peeped in the basket, lo and behold ! the carp was gone. It had vanished during the bustle. Some said it had been spirited away by the ghost of the attendant who had spoiled the royal gown; others contended that a favourite cat was the culprit. The latter opinion, which I must confess was most rational, gained the more general credence, ami every cat and kitten in the palace was forthwith hanged iipon the royal fruit-trees. Tlir question was how to get another puce-coloured carp. Florio set off for the lake. Imt. wondrous to narrate I no lake was to be found. The Queen was in despair, and actually sent to the imprisoned monarch, offering a free pardon if he would tell her where t\\r mysterious lake was situated, and give a practicable i-ecipe for catching the fish. But tlio prisoner was very surly, and sent back as an answer, " that he would see Musidora and all her court first." By moraing the scaffold was erected, and the usual crowd of vagabonds and pick- pockets had assembled. The Queen took her seat on a temporary throne to witness the ceremony, just as the King of Cyprus sits to see the execution of his wife in Bidfe's opera. She looked extremely ill and dejected, while the aquatic sovereign appeared most in- decorously happy, luul gallantly kissed his hand to Mxisidora ere he placed his head on tlie THE PUCE-COLOUEED CAEP 105 block, wliei'c it was taken off by the lieadsman at a single blow. However, no sooner was it off, than the body nimbly picked it uj) again, and restored it to its place, and the king of the lake, as hearty-looking as evei', addressed the astonished Court : "You are aware that several creatures that inhabit the water are enabled to reunite their parts if they have been severed. Had you been also aware that I partook of the nature of such creatures, you might have saved yourself a deal of unnecessary trouble. But let that pass ! You want to know where the lake is situated. I would not show you under the appearance of compulsion, but now you see I am a free agent, I will comply witli your request." So saying, he leaped from the scaffold, and taking a fish-bone out of his girdle, made a small orifice in the ground, from which a tiny fovmtain began to j)lay. At first it seemed diverting enough to look at the jet d'eau, but the prospect soon grew rather alarming, for the orifice increased, and extended itself into a large pool, drowning several of the crowd as it spread, till at last it reached the foot of the throne where Queen Musi- dora sat shrieking. — Not to dwell on this painful subject, it is enough to say, that the water spread till it reached the sea on every side, and that not a vestige was left of Queen Musidora or her people or her island, while the water-king proudly swam over the site of the former kingdom. At night, when sailing across the ocean, the mariner may perhajjs observe on the surface some pale, faint, death-like forms assembled round a dark table, on which is placed a skeleton fish. When the attempt is made to cut the fish it vanishes, and the ghastly company shriek with grief. A grim countenance then rises in the midst and roars with laughter, upon which the whole scene melts away. When the mariner sees this, he may be sure he is near the spot where once stood the Island of Queen Musidora. Balzac d'Anois. 100 ALICE BROMFTOX ; Oil, THE LILY OF TARK LANE. ALICE BROMPTON ; or, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. CHAPTER VL " Lit^ra sciipti nianct." — Latin Quotation. In the coffee-room of one of the hotels at the West End sat a venerable figure, with a devilled kidney nntasted on a plate before him ; while some yellow liquid sparkling in a cruet at his side made it evident that the venerable figure had been indulging in sherry to the extent of what is technically tei-med " a go." The stranger — for such he is to the reader until a formal introduction has taken place — was habited in the costume of his own time, though that time, extending over a period of nearly three quarters of a century — for the stranger was at least threescore and ten — allowed a tolerable latitude in the way of dress, which comprised a mixture of the fashions of the five last decades. It is a beautiful ti*ait in the human character that man clings in age to what he cherished in youth ; and thus the octogenarian will be found to adhere in the evening of his days to some article of di-ess which in the maturity of his manhood helped to render him the glass of fashion as well as the mould of form. It is probable that some incident of other years may be associated with the piece of clothing that is still retained, and memories may hang around a pair of top-boots, the spencer may be connected with some oft-told t;ile, while the stockinet tights may recal the elasticity of youth, and the Hessians may guide our steps back into the pleasant paths wo once wandered in. But to return to the venerable figure, who had by this time ordered that the un- touched kidney should be removed ; and the waiter having cleared away the cloth, re- placed the cruet and wine-glass before his guest, together with a doyley. which was no doubt designed to be suggestive of dessert, but the venerable figure did not take the hint that was offered him. As the stranger emptied the remainder of the shen-y from the cruet into the glass, he uttered a deep-drawn sigh ; and having tossed off the wine at a single draught, he rested his check upon the knuckles of his right hand, and groaned heavily. The reader will by this time have discovered — or, if he has nut discovered it, he ought to be told— that the guest at the hotel was no other than the good old Earl of Putney, the wretched father of the infatuated Lily. The venerable nobleman had heard of the scene with Tutti Fare in his daughter's boudoir, and had hun-ied to Hatchett's Hotel, from which he had written to his son, the Houonraljle Harry Brompton. inviting him to a secret consultation upon tlie steps that should be taken to save the noble house from the shame that seemed impending over it. The following note will, however, best desci-ibe the feelings of the agonised Earl on the melancholy occasion alluded to : — " Hatchett's Cope Room, Table No. X " My dear Harry, " If I were to write as a parent ought always to write to a child. I slu.uld bo wanting in those feelings wliich nature has implanted in the patrician as well iis the plebi'ian breast ; and (his I know you will never believe I could be guilty of. You, my * Concluded from |wgc 83. ALICE BROMPTOX; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 107 dear boy, who have studied the fine classical examples of ancient times, would not expect me to act the cold part of a Brutus ; nor would the character of Titus become you — though I do not see why I should compare you with that imhappy scion of one of the noblest of Roman families. •' It would ill become me, at a moment like the present, to emulate the elegance of a Chesterfield, whose letters I may perhaps admire, though I could never hope to equal ; and I had rather dip my pen in my own heart's blood than place upon paper a sentiment, ay, even a word, that might bear the interpretation of my being indiflFereut to the honour and happiness of my children. Ah, Harry, when I write the word children, my pen sticks in my throat, emotion chokes up my inkstand, and tears drown my utterance. Oh ! oh ! * * * * * * * * * * * ************ "Excuse these tears; they gush from the eye, but their fountain is the heart, like those bubbles which are thrown up from the spring beneath, but burst only when they reach the surface. Ton will have perceived by this time, my dear Harry, that your sister— our own Alice — my Lily — your dear departed mother's Lily — your Lily — every- body's Lily — is the subject of this letter. Tutti Fare, the villain whom we have all fostered in our bosoms— the snake whom we have wrapped in the blanket of competence, and warmed at the fire of hospitality, — Tutti Fare, the centipede whom we have set upon his feet when he had not a leg to stand upon ;— yes, Tutti Fare is the wretch who has rolled the house of Brompton in the dust liy undermining its honour, which is the only prop it has now left to rest upon. "■ Oh ! Harry, my son, sole refuge of my declining years, what are we to do ? Rush to Hatchett's, where you are anxiovisly waited for by your heart-broken and distracted " Putney." CHAPTER VII. " Sing, sing; music wns given us." — MooPa-:"s J\[elodles. The receding rays of a spring sun were just shooting through the young foliage of a particularly fine April, when Alice Brompton sat watching the approach of evening from a window overlooking the Park. A robin red-breast perched upon the sill of the window, and having given the bird a crumb, — a movement which first scared the little flutterer away, and then lured him back again to the spot, — she apostrophised him in the following strain. Her thoughts aiTanged themselves into the form of stanzas; and, having clutched a lute from the wall, she turned her eyes tenderly on the bird, struck a few wild notes on the instrument, and gave vent to her feelings in song : — Ah ! wherefore, little fluttering thing, Dost fly me with averted beak ? You cannot fear to hear me sing. Though you can't answer when I speak. Little bird, don't be afraid. Tra la la, la la la. Thus sung the pensive maid To her wild, her wild guitar. 108 ALICE BROMPTON; OH, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. Perhaps thou hast left the native nest Where father, mother, brothei*s dear. And all who knew and lov'd thee best Were at thy side, thy song to hear. Little bird, don't be afraid. Tra la la, la la la. Thus sung the pensive maid To her wild, her wild guitar. As Alice sung the refrain of the preceding verse, she dashed her delicate fingers on to the chords of her lute with so much energy and passion, that she did not hear the opening of the door behind her ; and the consequence was, that her brother, accompanied by his friend Singleton, entered the boiidoir without the knowledge of its lovely occupant. Harry Brompton would have at once rashed towards the Lily» and taxed her with the shame and sorrow she was about to bring on her old ancestral house, but Singleton caught him by the arm, and, motioning him not to interrupt Alice in her song, took an attitude of deep attention, which Brompton, who felt he was still a brother, whatever might, could, would, or should not have occurred, very soon fell into. By this time the friends were completely motionless, the stormy and passionate twang of the cauda had ceased, and the voice of the Lily was heard caroUing the concluding stanzas of the mournful melody : — Perhaps, little bird, a sadder fate — A heavier lot may yet be thine ; Perhaps thou hast left a constant mate, With fickle, false ones to combine. HaiTy and Singleton exchanged a glance of intense meaning. Singleton would have gone forward and placed his hand at the Lily's foot, but the Honourable Harry Brompton restrained him ; aud the struggle between the two might probably have caught the ear of Alice, had she not swept the lute-strings with imusual vehemence, as she burst forth into — Little bird, don't be afraid. Tra la la, la la la : Thus sung the pensive maid To her wild, her wild guitar. After a few more notes on the instrument, its tones echoed completely away ; and Alice, with the lute still in her hand, and her gaze tm-ned pensively upwards towards the gathering clouds of evening, thus communed with herself in audible earnestness : — " Alas ! what have I done ? I ask my heart, and its l)eatings are the only answer it can give to me. Oh ! what ii soul was Singleton's ! What a treasure have I thrown away I — and for what ? For whom ? For one whom my better judgment tells me I never can, I never ought to caU mine. Reflection has convinced me of my eiTor. Oh, if Singleton were only here, I would throw myself at his feet, claim his forgiveness for the past, and offer him for the future the entire possession of this broken, but, alas I still faithful heart." During the last passage of this touching outburst of overgushing feeling. Singleton had been making a desperate etfort to release himself from the grasp of his friend; ;iii.l the Lily had just concluded her soliloquy as our hero succeeded in making Brouqit'ii unhand him. ALICE BROMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 109 •' And he is here," cried Singleton, throwing himseK on one knee before the beautiful Alice, who. suffused with blushes, turned to her brother as if imploring his forgiveness, and asking him what she ought to do. " By my troth," cried the vivacious HaiTy, " you must not look to me, fair sister mine ; the Knight Errant must himself fight the battles of his ladye love, for I can have nothinsr to do with them." " But, at least, you will forgive me, Harry ?" cried Alice, throwing herself on her brother's neck. " Forgive you, Alice !" said Brompton, as he dashed away a tear from his manly eye- lash. " When did lovely repentance ever plead in vain to Harry Brompton ? Believe me, Alice, though some think me frivolous, I have a heart for the woes of others ; and when one of those others is an only sister, I should be stone — nay, I should be adamant — if I refused the kiss of reconciliation to the proffered cheek of penitence." With these words, he caught the Lily iu his arms ; and, j)lacing the hand of AHce in that of his friend, remarked, with a solemnity somewhat unusual to him — " Take her, Singleton ; you are worthy of her ; and may the storms of the world never obscure the Sim of domestic happiness." Singleton pressed the tip of the Lily's finger respectfully but fondly to his lip ; and Harry resuming his wonted gaiety, and exclaiming Allans, immediately led the way to the drawing-room. 110 LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. CHAPTER VIII. " Miu-iy, come up." — Shakspeare. About a month from the time when our last chapter came to a close, Singleton was united to the Lily by special license at St. George's, Hanover-square. In the course of that brief intei'val much had occurred to the various personages in our little history. In the first place, the venerable Earl of Putney, who had long possessed claims on his party, had obtained an implied promise that a strawben-y-leaf should ere long be added to the family coronet. His eldest son. Lord Fulham, who had always been abroad in delicate health, had lately died at Jericho, whither he had gone for change of air ; and Harry Brompton was now the heir of the family honours. The only objection that could have been urged to the Lily's union with Singleton was founded on the supposed inequality of their stations; but happily this obstacle was removed, for it was discovered that our hero was entitled to the ancient barony of Bays- water, which had been in abeyance since the time of the Commonwealth. The vast possessions and arrearages had long remained in the hands of a series of stewards, the last of whom resigned his trust into our hero's hands ; who, giWng the good old man a heavily-laden purse, settled him for life in a picturesque nook on the borders of the barony. As to Tutti Fare, he was discovered to have been engaged in a conspiracy to place an Italian refugee on the throne of Lombardy, and hand over the Papal chair to the mercy of a Dutch Jesuit. He had only time to fly in shame and confusion to the Isle of Thanet, where he dragged out the remainder of his existence in an obscure cottage at Broadstairs. Harry Brompton, now Lord Fulham, was found to have loved in secret the only female scion of a great patrician house in the neighbourhood of Buckingham Palace. His union soon followed that of his sister with Singleton, the sixteenth Baron of Bayswater; and often, when the noble families met over the social Ijoard, they alternately wept and smiled over the early history of Alice Brompton, the Lily of Park Lane. LEAVES FKOM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. JJy rt)r ettitor. Apelles, a celebrated painter of Cos, which some suppose to have been the place of his birth, while others atiii'm that he was called a painter of Cos from his success in drawing vegetal)les, and particularly Cos lettuces. He lived in the age of Alexander the Great, who would not allow any but Apelles to draw his picture, and even he could not always get Alexander into the right frame to have his picture taken. Apelles always drew Alexander in the best colours, and laid them on tolerjibly thick in compliment to his imperial patron. Nevertheless, Apelles knew where to draw the line, which he did every day, for he never allowed one day to pass without using his pencil ; and hence we have the proberb, *' Nulla dies sine Ibien." Impressed no doubt with the maxim that good beginnings sometimes make bad endings, he never finished what he began, and it is said that his most perfect picture was one of Venus which he left imperfect at his death, for LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIEEE. Ill he bad not completed it. He made a picture of Alexander with a quantity of thunder clapped into his hand, which Pliny, who saw it, declared to be so like life that it seemed to be literally starting from the canvas. He made another of Alexander on horseback, which the King did not like ; but a horse passing by at the time neighed at the horse in the picture, which the artist declared to be a compliment; but as we have no equestrian dictionary, it is impossible to say whether the horse intended to record his approbation of the picture in a neat speech, or to say something severe at the expense of the artist. Apelles was accused in Egypt of conspiring against the life of Ptolemy, and would have been put to death had not the real conspirator come forward and saved the painter, thus magnanimously refusing to throw the painter overboard. Apicius, a famous glutton in Rome, who ate a leg of mutton and trimmings against Horace for a trifling wager. There were three of the same name all famous for their voracious appetites, and it was fortunate that they did not all live in the same reign, for if they had all flourished and gormandised together, a famine might have been the consequence. The second was the most illusti-ious, for he wi-ote a cookery book, which included a celebrated recipe for hashing a hecatomb. After dissipating nearly all his fortune in eating, he went and hanged himself, like a greedy lK»y who had spent all his money in tarts, and went into a corner to cry his eyes out. Apitius Galea, a celebrated buffoon or clown in the time of Tiberius. He was the aiTthor of the celebrated Latin poem commencing Quomodo vales, which is still identified with the character of clown in the translated form of " How are you ?" and he is also supposed to have sung the song of Povii Callidi, known to the moderns as " Hot Codlings," before Tiberius and the whole of his Court. Archimedes, a celebrated geometrician of Syracuse, and original inventor of the invisible shell; the advantage of his invention over that of Captain Warner consisting in the fact that Archimedes really did what the Captain only talked about. When the town 112 A FEW W0I5DS ABOUT BETTY MOERISON'S POCKET-BOOK. was taken, orders were given to save the pliilosoplier, bnt a soldier killed liim by mistake ; and Marcellus raised a cylinder, wliich is something like a pea-shooter, to his memory. Ai-chimedes used to boast that he had an apparatus for moving the earth, which by-the- bye, he might have done to a certain extent with an ordinary shovel. He said that aU he required was a purchase, but no one seemed disposed to become the purchaser. There is a screw called by his name, which would seem to imply that he either dealt in doubtful horses, or was of a somewhat stingy character. Akistides, a celebrated Athenian, surnamed the Just ; but he managed his affairs so badly, that he left his funeral expenses to be paid by the parish ; so that with all his justice, he did not live, as he ought to have done, within his income. His grandson got his living by interpreting di-eams in the public streets, an occupation which in our day would have brought him within the wholesome provisions of the Vagrant Act. A FEW WORDS ABOUT BETTY MOERISON'S POCKET-BOOK. Sir, — I was much surprised at seeing in your " Table-Book " anything about myself ; and the more so, that it contained extracts from my old pocket-book. I guess who wrote to you : it must have been my son James, for to no one else now living (except his father) have I ever shown what is there written down. Dear me ! how it brought old times back to me, and with them tears and smiles ; for though I have lost many that I loved very dearly, God has given me new friends and new kindred that have made my life happy, and given me comforting promises for my old age. Nearly thirty years have gone since David made me his wife ; and never, never once has he given me cause to do other than be thankful for his love and tenderness. Oh, how well I remember the day that I went back to Grassvale with David ! how proud I was of him ! how happy that I was soon to see dear mother again ! And yet the tears came into my eyes faster than I could wipe them away, and my heart seemed to swell as though it would choke me. I could not tell David that there was my home when we came in sight of the old cottage ; I could only point to it. but he understood me, and pressed my hand in his, and blessed me that I loved the humble walls where I had played a child and grown a woman ; for he said I should not do so did they recal one reproach to me. I am sitting now writing this to you, sir, just where poor mother sat upon the day when I came back to Grassvale. The door was open, and no one there but little Fanny Daw, who used to come and help mother to clean up once or twice a week. Fanny saw us first ; but long before David was at the door, I was once more in those arms that had been my first resting-i^lace. What a happy day that was to us all I How anxiously I watched to see what mother thought of David ! It was very foi>lish, for what could she have thought of him but that was good, and kind, and loving? In the I'veniug, such lots of friends came to see us; for though I had begged of mother in my letter not to say who David was, she had told everybody in Gras.sviilo. as a great secret, that David was coming down, and that wo were to l)e married. Dear, dear mother; how gwer (that brilliant one the tulip), the boy rushed into his godfather's dressing-room, and warned him that the banquet was ready. It was indeed : a frown had gathered on the dark brows of the Lady Theodora, and her bosom heaved with an emotion akin to indignation — for she feared lest the soups in the refectory and the splendid fish now smoking there were getting cold — she feared not for lierself. but for her lord's sake. " Godesberg," whispered she to Count Ludwig. as trembling on his arm they descended from the drawing-room. " Godesberg is sadly changed of late." A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 123 '• By Saint Bugo !" said the burly knight, starting ; " these are the very words the barber spake !" The lady heaved a sigh, and placed herself before the sonp-tureen. For some time the good knight Ludwig of Hombourg was too much occupied in ladling out the forced- meat balls and rich calves'-head of which the delicious pottage was formed (in ladling them ont, did we say ? ay, marry, and in eating them too), to look at his brother-in-arms at the bottom of the table, where he sate with his son on his left hand and the Baron Gottfried on his right. The Margrave was Uideed changed. " By Saint Bugo," whispered Ludwig to the Countess, " yonr husband is as surly as a bear that hath been wounded o' the head." Tears falling into her soup-plate were her only reply. The soup, the turljot, the haunch of mutton. Count Ludwig remarked that the Margi'ave sent all away untasted. " The boteler will serve ye with wine, Hombourg," said the Margrave gloomily from the end of the table ; not even an invitation to drink ! how different was this from the old times ! But when in compliance with this order the boteler proceeded to hand round the mantling vintage of the Cape to the assembled party, and to fill young Otto's goblet (which the latter held up with the eagerness of youth), the Margrave's rage knew no bounds. He rushed at his son; he dashed the wine-cup over his spotless vest; and giving him three or four heavy blows which would have knocked down a bonassus, but only caused the young childe to blush ; " you take wine !" roared out the Margrave ; " you dare to help yourself ! Who the d-v-1 gave you leave to help yourself ?" and the terrible blows were reiterated over the delicate ears of the boy. " Ludwig ! Ludwig !" shrieked the Margravine. " Hold your prate, madam," roared the Prince. " By Saint Buffo, mayn't a father beat his o^vn child ?" " His ovtn child !" repeated the Margrave with a burst, almost a shriek of inde- scribable agony. " Ah, what did I say ?" Sir Ludwig looked about him in amaze ; Sir Gottfried (at the Margrave's right hand) smiled ghastlily ; the young Otto was too much agitated by the recent conflict to wear any expression but that of extreme discomfiture ; but the poor Margravine turned her head aside and blushed, red almost as the lobster which flanked the turbot before her. In those rude old times, 'tis knovrai such table quarrels were by no means unusual amongst gallant knights ; and Ludwig, who had oft seen the Margrave cast a leg of mutton at an offending sei"vitor, or empty a sauce-boat in the direction of the Margravine, thought this was but one of the usual outbreaks of his worthy though irascible friend, and wisely determined to change the converse. " How is my friend," said he, " the good knight, Sir Hildebrandt ?" " By Saint Buffo, this is too much !" screamed the Margrave, and actually rushed from the room. " By Saint Bugo," said his friend, " gallant knights, gentle sirs, what ails my good Lord Margrave ?" " Perhaps his nose bleeds," said Gottfried with a sneer. " Ah, my kind friend," said the Margravine with uncontrollable emotion, " I fear one of you have passed from the frying-pan into the fire;" and making the signal of departure to the ladies, they rose and retired to coffee in the di-awing-room. The Margrave presently came back again, somewhat more collected than he had been. " Otto," he said sternly, " go join the ladies : it becomes not a young boy to remain in the company of gallant knights after dinner." The noble childe with manifest imwillingness l'J4 A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. quitted the room, and the Margravje, taking his lady's place at the head of the table, whispered to Sir Ludwig, " Hildebrandt will be here to-night to an evening party, given in honour of your return from Palestine. My good friend — my true friend — my old com- panion in arms, Sir Gottfried ! you had best see that the fiddlers be not drunk, and that the crumpets be gotten ready." Sii- Gottfried, obsequiously taking his patron's hints, bowed and left the room. " You shall know all soon, dear Ludwig," said the Margi-ave, with a heart-rending look. " You marked Gottfried, who left the room anon ?" " I did." " You look incredulous concerning his Avorth ; but I tell thee, Ludwig, that yonder Gottfried is a good fellow, and my fast friend. "Why should he not be ? He is my near relation, heir to my property ; should I (here the Margrave's countenance assumed its former expression of excruciating agony), sJiauld I have no son.'' " But I never saw the boy in better health," replied Sir Ludwig. *• Nevertheless, ha ha ! it may chance that I shall soon have no son." The Margrave had crushed many a cup of wine during dinner, and Sir Ludwig thought naturally that his gallant friend had drunken rather deeply. He proceeded in this respect to imitate him ; for the stern soldier of those days neither shrunk before the Paynim nor the punch-bowl, and many a rousing night had our crusader enjoyed in Syi-ia with lion-hearted Richard ; with his coadjutor, Godfrey of Bouillon ; nay, with the dauntless Saladin himself. •' You knew Gottfried in Palestine P" asked the Margi-ave. " I did." '• Why did ye not greet him, then, as ancient comrades should, with the warm grasp of friendship ? It is not because Sir Gottfried is poor ? You know well that he is of race as noble as thine own, my early friend !" " I care not for his race nor for his poverty," replied the blunt crusader. " What says the Minnesinger ? ' Marry, that the rank is but the stamp of the guinea ; the man is the gold.' And I tell thee, Karl of Godesberg, that yonder Gottfried is base metal." " By Saint Buffo, thou beliest him, dear Ludwig." '• By Saint Bugo. dear Karl, I say sooth. The fellow was known i' the camp of the crusaders — disreputably known. Ei'e he joined us in Palestine, he had sojourned in Con- stantinople, and learned the arts of the Greek. He is a cogger of dice, I tell thee — a chaunter of horse-flesh. He won five thousand marks from bluff Richard of England, the night before the storming of Ascalon, and I caught him with false trumps in his pocket. He wan-anted a bay mare to Conrad of Mont Sen-at, and the rogue had fired her." " Ha. mean ye that Sir Gottfried is a leg r cried Sir Karl, knitting his brows. " Now, by my Idessed patron, Saint Buffo of Bonn, had any other but Ludwig of Hom- bourg so said, I would have cloven him from skuU to chine." " By Saint Bugo of KatzeneUeubogen, I will prove my words on Sir Gottfried's body —not on thine, old brother-in-arms. And to do the knave justice, he is a good lance. Holy Bugo ! but he did good service at Acre ! But his character was such that, spite of his bravery, he was dismissed the army, nor ever allowed to sell his captain's commission." " I have heard of it," said the Margrave ; '* Gottfried hath told me of it. 'Twas about some silly quarrel over the wine-cup — a mere silly jape, believe me. Hugo de Brodencl would have no black bottle on the board. Gottfried was wroth, and to say sooth, flung the black bottle at the County's head. Hence his dismission and abrui>t return. But you know not," continued the Margrave with a heavy sigh. " of what use that worthy Gott- fried has been to me. He has uncloaked a traitor to me." A FABULOUS CFIARxVCTEll. 125 '• Not yet" answered Hombourg satirically. •• By Saint Buifo ! a deep-dyed dastard ; a dangerous, damnable traitor ! — a nest of traitors. Hildebrandt is a traitor — Otto is a traitor — and Theodora (oh, Heaven !) she — she is another." The old Prince burst into tears at the word, and was almost choked with emotion. •' What means this passion, dear friend ?" cried Sir Ludwig, seriously alarmed. " Mark, Ludwig ; mark Hildebrandt and Theodora together ; mark Hildebrandt and Otto together. Like, like I tell thee as two peas. O holy saints, that I should be born to suffer this ! — to have all my affections wrenched out of my bosom, and to be left alone in my old age ! But, hark ! the guests are aiTiving. An ye will not empty another flask of claret, let us join the ladyes i' the withdrawing chamber. When there, mark Hildebrandt and Otto." A FABULOUS CHARACTEli; BEING TUE VULGAR NOTION OF WHAT IS AN EDITOR. An Editor is a privileged being whom superstition and the public have deified with mythological attributes, believing his existence to be nothing but one continual draught of milk and honey. We will not deny this at present, as we intend, " just for the fun of the thing," to describe an Editor as he is believed by the imaginative public to be. An Editor, then, according to that sapient avithority, has the faculty of Jove or George Robins, as he has only to nod to knock down any object he pleases. He sleeps generally upon a bed of bank-notes and roses, and is deprived of his rest if there happens to be the smallest crease in either. The bouquets thrown to Italian singers and French dancers, and the enormous profits realised by dwai-fs and vegetable pills, never fail to supply him with a new mattress every night. An Editor has a seat, of course, in the Cabinet Council, and dines about once a- week with the Minister, though his name never appears in print, but this is from ministerial policy, or a feeling of delicacy on his own part. An Editor has a private box at every Theatre, and as many at the Italian Opera as he chooses to ask for. On first nights he is waited on by the author or composer, who never leaves him without testifying his high admiration of his talents by a haunch of venison or a gold snuff-box. He has more influence behind the scenes than the manager himself. An Editor is never happy but when he is making some one unhappy. The poets he slaughters, the managers he ruins, the members he kills with a " pooh, pooh," and the young men he crushes in the course of a day, would fill a Post Office Directory, or a Kensal Green Cemetery. An Editor con-esponds with every capital in the world. Emperors seek his advice, and even German princes are not too proud to court his alliance. An Editor's autograph always fetches more money than that of Shakspeare, Confucius, or Fieschi. Of course an Editor never drinks anything but Champagne, excepting soda-water in the morning, after some frightful orgie with a member of the aristocracy, these orgies being requisite twice a- week to keep up his editorial character. An Editor lives in May Fair or Grosvenor Square. His library is furnished vdth presentation copies from every living author, and his rooms crowded with paintings and 126 A FABULOUS CHARACTER. sculpture by the first artists of the day. He rides horses in the pai-k that Centaur himself would envy. The Study of an Editor is a pei-fect study for giants in wealth and taste. It is a classic retreat for the mind, enriched with every possible stimulant for the body. Per- fumes are burning there night and day. Gold and jewellery are lying in heaps like so much dust, on every shelf, and an air of oriental splendour is spread over everything, M^.^^4'y'n^^ from the bell-rope to the fire-tongs. There ai'e genuine cigars from Havannah, real tumblers from Bohemia, and the finest screens from Japan. It is in this gorgeous study that the thousand-and-onc charms which make the life of an Editor one long summer's walk through Elysium, bud and blossom around him ; it is in this sanctuary that adver- tisers on their knees implore his aid, that publishers crouch before him, that members of Parliament and blacking makers fin\Ti with pheasants and Westphalia hams upon him, that authors and actors bring their golden tribute to him, too happy to kiss the hem of his robe-de-chavibre. An Editor dresses in the most Stultzo-Crcesus style ; but no wonder ! Does he not always receive with both hands, and never pay with cither ? for it is very well known that he gets his boots, his coats, riding-whips, macassar, horses, and legs of mutton, all for nothing — merely for saying of the article in his paper, that " it ought to be on every drawing-room table," or that "not to know Giblett's kidneys argues yourself unknown." And then if he wants a hundred-pound note, what process easier than to send a letter to Baron Schwindel of the Stock Exchiinge, enclosing a little article in print that is to appear in to-mon-ow's Number, intimating most strongly that the Bai-on is cither a A FABULOUS CIIAllACTER. 12; •• Biiir' or a " Bear." or i^erbaps both. This scheme always brings the required sum, and nothing is ever said about it afterwards. But, unfortunately, an Editor, as he figures in real life, is quite a different creature to what he figures in a three-volume novel or in the public's Arabian imagination. So let us in charity inform our readers what an Editor really is. He is then, reader, like your- self, merely a man, and not as you have gathered from fictions and reports, a Grand Jxmction of Rothschild and D'Orsay, with a branch of Doctor Johnson and Joseph Ady. On the contrary, an Editor dresses plainly, keeps no stud l)eyond the one or two he wears in his shirt, pays the income-tax with infinite grumbling when his salai-y allows him, but grumbles infinitely more when it does not; is as fond of champagne as any lady of fashion, but does not drink it so often, as it costs eight shillings a bottle; sleeps on a mattress stuffed with more straw and thoms than roses ; rarely violates the edicts of Father Mathew, and has no more victims than any one else who has a tailor. And as for his playing Old Bogie to actors, filling the Bankruptcy Court with pub- lishers, sending poets by dozens into Bedlam, and being waited on by a Prime Minister or a Prince Mettemich, his name, ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, is not known by any one of them, and his influence does not extend beyond the ofiice where his paper is printed, or the lodging he occupies in the neighbourhood of his printer's. The thousand and one charms, too, that colour and gild his existence, consist, in cold truth, in his devouring — no matter what his taste or appetite may be, — a quantity of raw manuscripts; in answering questions about the colour of Prince Albert's hair ; in being insulted by every other correspondent ; in making an enemy for life of every contributor whose article he rejects ; in being presented with " the lie " by any member of the aristocracy for saying he has a cold when he has not; in being continually solicited to do miracles in his little paper which parliament and the seven wise men could not effect ; in being every other hour pestered for copy I — copy ! — copy ! and in stopping iTp to all hours of the morning in a cold printing-office correcting proofs. Reader, unless you have had an university education, like hard work, have a soul for scissors and paste, are fond of reading the debates, are addicted to late hours, and are partial to illegible MS., everyday abuse, and rheumatisms, remain as you are, and abjure printers' devils as you would impatient creditors. The romance about an Editor may be very flattering and agreeable ; but, believe us, so it ought to be, to compensate in any measure for the prosy reality ! 128 THE LAST YEAR'S BALAXCE. TPIE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. Once upon a time Mr. Doubledot kept a tally-sliop iu the Borough. He sold (on very profitable credit) all sorts of varieties to tempt tliouglitless women — such as caps, bonnets, blonde whiskers, ribbons, imitation lace, polka pelisses, artificial — veiy artificial flowers, and we know not what besides. One New Year's Eve the shop was closed, and all his assistants released for the night, except the en-and-boy, Dicky Di-ugget. and his skeleton clerk, Philip Tick. Dicky was employed smoothing pieces of paper, and disentangling bits of string, as cold and as drowsy as any boy could be at eleven o'clock at night, in a lai-ge shop in December, without a fire. Philip Tick was perched at a desk in a small glazed counting-house at the back of the shop, runniug up one column and down another of a caK-bouud ledger, until Dicky Drugget began to thiuk that Tick was the embodiment of compound addition. At length, to his delight, he heard Tick exclaim, " Done, sir 1" " Yery glad to hear it," thought Dicky. " And what is the balance, Tick ?" said Mr. Doubledot. "After deducting ten per cent, for bad debts, sir," replied Tick, "the balance is Sill. 12s. 4-d., and considering the times, sir, a very fair balance at the end of the year." " Middling, middling," said Doubledot. "Enormous," thought Dicky. " Put \\v the books. Tick," said Doubledot ; " we've done enough for to-night." " Quite," thought Dicky, and to his comfort he heard the ledgers, and jouraals, and day-books lump, lump in the great iron chest, and then the gi-eat bolts rattled, and said, as plainly as bolts could speak, " Safe 1 safe I" " Come up-stairs. Tick ; we must see the old year out," said Doubledot. •' It wants but a quarter to twelve ; and Dick you can go." " Thank'ee sir," answered Dick, and he dived under the counter for his little sealskin cap, and red worsted comforter." " Dick !" " Yes, sir," and he popped up again like a Jack in the box. " Wait a few minutes — go in the counting-house — I think I want you for some- thing," said Mr. Doubledot, as he and Tick left by a little door that opened into the passage. Dick sighed and thought of his mother who was sitting up for him. and wished him- self under his calico sheet and three horserugs. " What does he want with me at this time ?" thought Dick, as he seated himself in the chair lately occupied by the portly person of his master. He put his heels upon the hobs, and as both of his shoes had holes in the bottom, the fire soon crept into the very cold soles of his feet. "Hard work, this," thought Dick, "for four shillings a-week, and find oneself. Mine's rayther a small basin, and so it need be," and he glanced at a little white bundle that lay by the side of his sealskin cap. " Eight himdred and ever so many more pounds, and all made in a year ; well, as sux'e as my name's " " Dick," said a female voice. It was Mary, the housemaid, who had brought some- thing smoking in a large teacup. " What's that. Mary I-" " A drop of egg-hot," replied the girl. " Cook and me have been making ourselves comfortable, and we thought you were a-cold, and would like a little too. Here 1" Dick took the cup with a grin; and, as he sniffed it, he thought he had never smelled I THE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. 129 anything so comfortable in Lis life. Before he could say more than " This is prime," Mr. Doubledot's bell svmimoned Mary up-stairs. Dick sipped and sipped the pleasant beverage in the cup, and edged himself close to the fire ; and then he sipped again until he felt his eyes begin to twinkle, and the cold to steal out of his breeches pockets and up the back of his jacket, and through the holes in his shoes, until at last he became as wann as a toast. " "Well," thought Dick, " if I were a master tallyman, and had eight hundred and ever so many more pounds, I'd have such stuff as this three times a day. La ! what a lot of egg- hot is locked up in that iron chest, and nobody allowed to drink it ;" and then he sipped again, until he had not more than a teaspoonful left at the bottom of the cup. The fire and the tipple were too much for Dicky, tii-ed as he was, and he went off into a good snoring sleep. Then he began to dream. New year's eve has a patent for dreams. He fancied to his great surprise that he saw he was exactly like his master, Mr. Double- dot; and yet he could see himself, Dicky Drugget, inside of this wonderful fancy dress. " What's all this about ?" said Dicky. '' I've dropped into a good thing, I have — especially if I'm to have the eight hundred and nobody knows how many pounds." As he spoke, he saw a large key hoijping along the floor, and then on to a chair, and then into the large key-hole in the ii'on chest. It turned itself round, and the great bolts rattled as they did before; and the ledgers, and the journals, and the day-books lump'd, lump'd out, clam- bered on to the desks, and then laid themselves quietly down on the mahogany. " There'll be a row in the morning," thought Dicky. " What for ?" said a voice, which sounded exactly like Tick's. " You're master here." Dick looked round, and there, sure enough, was old Philip Tick, but in such a funny costume. His trousers seemed of sprigged muslin, and his waistcoat of Russia leather, all scored about with strips of parchment like the sides of a ledger. His coat was trimmed aU over with bits of ribbon ; and his whiskers were made of blonde, and stuffed full of fancy flowers. Dicky was sorely puzzled, and speechless for some time : but Tick at length broke the silence. " I've come to show you the balance of the past year— the eight hundred and ever so many poimds," said the visionary Tick. The ledgers, and the journals, and the day- books seemed to open of themselves, and Dick saw the names of the customers, and the long list of articles placed under them. As he looked, he saw several little cramped 6s turn over and make themselves into 9s, and round Os shoot out and change into 6s, whilst poor paltry Is split themselves and became lis. Tick then took a small piece of sponge, and deliberately wiped out the pence columns one after the other. " What are you doing ?" said Dick. " AViping out the overcharge," replied Tick. " And now that I've finished, there go ever so many odd pounds, master." Dick didn't like it— he thought he (Tick) was a little bit of a rascal. " And now let us look to folio one," said Tick.—" Folio one, "MRS. DRABBLE. " To a superior Victovia Shawl '^^ ^? n 4 Fair of Blonde Whiskers 10 yards of Gros de Naples Silk 1 Pair of open worked Cotton Stockings 2 3 6 Total . . . .£3 3 6 and now look at the lady." 130 AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. Dick looked in the direction that Tick indicated, and there he saw Mrs. Drabble dressed out in her three pounds three and sixpenny worth of tawdry finery. She was in a di-eadful pucker, and well she might be, for the tallyman was on the stairs, and Mrs- Drabble had not a shilling in the house. As the newspaper gentlemen say, the scene which ensued is more easily imagined than described, but it ended by Mrs. Drabble fainting into a washing-tub that stood on the floor, and the tallyman declaring that he would make " her husband dub up in a week." " And he'U be as good as his word," said Tick ; " he don't care about turning them into the street, and sowing discord between man and wife. Time, he tempted the woman to buy bargains and useless things — but what then? Such doings make your eight hundred pounds, master." Dick felt satisfied he was a rascal. And so Tick went on from folio to folio, and poor Dick saw quan-elling where there should have been peace, and heard angiy revilings where only words of comfort should have been spoken. " Well, master," said Tick, " have you seen enough of the last yeai-'s balance ? Don't you think you are to be envied, and your wealth coveted ? Is not money so gained better than sleeping under a calico sheet and three horse-rugs, and having holes in your shoes, and four shillings a-week and finding yourself ?" •' No — no !" gasped Dick, " I'm sure it's not." " 0, you're sure it's not?" said Tick. " Then the sooner these books go to rest again the better ;" and then the ledgers, and the journals, and the day-books lump'd back again to their iron resting-place. Tick too shrunk down until the chest seemed big enough to make him a very hand- some mansion, and as he stood between the two massy doors he said — " Dicky Drugget, be a good boy, and never envy any man his wealth until you know how he gets it. Wiser folks than you, Dicky, very often grow dissatisfied with roast beef because somebody else eats venison ; but if they knew how haixl the venison is to digest from being bought with dirty money, they would thank their stars that they had such a friend as a confiding butcher. — Good night, Dicky, don't you forget the Last Year's Balance." Tick stepped into the chest, and the doors flew together with much the same noise as that produced by knocking down a shovel, a poker,, and a pair of tongs on an iron fender, a feat which Dick Drugget performed at his master's countiug-hovise exactly as the clock on the stairs sti-uck One. AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. Hi To, the crown prince of China, who lived an amazing number of ages before the first Egyptian Pyramid was so much as tliought of, and who was learned not only in all the arts and sciences, but even knew a sixth part of his own language, so gi-eat were his accomplishments— this Hi To. I say, deemed himself singularly happy when his father, the King Twang Shun, told him that there was a genius in the family. For mark, the noble sovereign did not mean by a genius one of those sauntering, never-thrive sort of chaps, who wandered about Pekin, penning indifferent verses, and singing them to still AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. 131 more indiiFerent tunes, without any ostensible means of getting the wherewith to employ their chopsticks or fill their teapots ; but, he meant a supernatural friend, who would drop from the clouds, or spring from the ground, to preserve any member of the royal family who might fall into an awful scrape, and, indeed, would look after the interests of the dynasty generally. Hi To, fortified by this piece of friendly intelligence, became exceedingly adventurous, for he expected that, come what would, his unknown friend the genius would turn up in time to save him from utter destruction. Therefore did he set out to deliver Alacapata, the lovely Indian princess, who was confined in a castle of polished steel by the feU magician. Fee-faw-fum, without anything like fear or trembling, and not only went many thousand miles on foot, accompanied by his comical squire, Ho-ho-ho, to the said polished castle, but elbowed his way most manfully through a whole mob of dragons, griffins, cat-a-moimtains, &c., &c., with the most perfect sang froid, though his squii-e would not unfrequently shout out " Ho-mi-hi," which in Chinese indicates great astonishment. Matters certainly did not look very prosperous, when Hi To, after having entered the castle, was seized, in the midst of a very affectionate interview with the princess, by the abominable magician ; for the magician not only deprived him of all power of resistance, but drawing out a large scimitar, made unequivocal preparations for cutting off his head, while two very iU-looking persons, with cats' heads upon their shoulders, amused themselves by whipping the poor squire round and round, wdth a couple of live serpents. Nevertheless, the gallant Hi To did not lose heart, for he knew that his father's veracity was quite unquestionable, and saw that this was the very moment for the genius to appear and show the value of his friendship. And he did not deceive himself, for, first of all, a few musical notes were heard, which caused the magician to drop his scimitar and 132 AFTKRWAKDS HARLEQUIN. turn palo, and the two feline gentry to desist from their pleasant recreation. Then one of the chairs very gracefully formed itself into a glittering star, from which stepped a little person, with very long flaxen hair, and short petticoats, who infonned Hi To that he was the long-expected genius, communicating the information in the prettiest lisp that can be conceived. Now when the genius said that he should now receive the reward of his ruler. Hi To expected, at least, that he and the fair princess would be put into a fljnng chariot, and conveyed safe back to China. But no such notion crossed the mind of the genius, who uttering some doggrel rhymes with an air as if he was pronouncing something marvel- lously sublime, ordered our hero to convert himseK into '" Harlequin." The folks of our day, who are in the habit of seeing Christmas pantomimes, would have understood the meaning of the order at once, though they might have felt some difficulty in compliance. But that was not the case in the ancient days of the Chinese empire, and the puzzled Hi To was just going to ask the genius to express his wishes more clearly, when he found all his clothes pulled over his head and whirled down a hole in the ground by some invisible agency, leaving him attired in a tight, motley, glitteiing suit, which he did not recoUect to have put on in the morning. A sort of case, exceedingly hot and disagreeable, fell at the same time over his face, and, as if impelled by mere energy, not his own, he began caper- ing about with the most extraordinaiy gestures. The princess, he observed, had also changed her costume, and completely quitting that air of modest reserve which had so charmed him when first he beheld her, came tripping coquettishly towards him. rested one of her feet on his knee, and familiarly supporting herself on his shoulder with her hand, raised the other foot to a considerable height in the air. The fate of the squire and the magician was still more extraordinaiy. The clothes of the former, together with his proper face, blew up through the ceiling, leaving him with a very wide grinning mouth, and a strange triangular bloom upon his cheeks. The magician had shrunk to a very decrepit old m;in, with a singiilarly red face and white beard, and the celerity with which the squire, in his altered form, revenged himself upon his fomier enemy by tripping up his heels and kick- ing him, shocked the better feelings of Hi To. He was just going to ask the genius the meaning of all this, when he found that he was deprived of the power of speech. The genius, after placing in his hand a piece of white board, with the assurance that it would rescue him in times of peril, retired as he had come, through the chair-back. Now Prince Hi To had been famous for his oratorical powers, and had always enter- tained the most violent dislike of dancing, which he contended was the most unmanly, in-ational, and contemptible art in the universe. Hence his feelings towards the genius for having stopped his mo\ith, and given such restless actirity to his heels — for he cut capers, and jumi)ed, and made pirouettes without ceasing — were of the most indignant kind. Wliat should put it into the head of the genius to change him into a new shape, when his old shape was comely, to say the least of it ? If the genius could do nothing more than make fools of friends and enemies alike, why did he not suffer him to be decapitated in peace ? The genius was imquestitmably the most malicious, or the most bungling genius that had e\'er existed. All he saw heightened his disgust. The manners of the princess, who flung her limbs about in the most extraordinary manner, were not at all consonant with his notions of propriety ; and he observed with pain, that, notwithstanding the squabbles and bicker- ings of the squire ;ind the magician, there was a kind of secret imderstaudiug between them. The squire had entirely lost that respectful demeanour for which he had been so much distinguished, nuulo hideous grimaces in his royjJ master's face, and even went so far as to seize him by the wrists, and shake him violently, shouting out with idiotic joy — AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. 133 '■ Oh, crikey ! now I've got liiin !" He cci'tainly repelled him for a minute by several smart Mows with the board, when his ears were regaled by the lamentable cry o£ — " Here's a go !'' l)nt altogether the nuisance became so intolerable, that, recollecting the virtue of his talis- man, he struck it against the wall, in hopes of deliverance, assistance, or indeed any- thing but the reappearance of the genius, whom he silently cursed from the bottom of his heart. No sooner was the wall sti-uck, than down fell the castle with a loud clattering noise, not a bit like that of steel, and the whole party found themselves on the seashore near a large vessel, not in the smallest degree resembling a junk. The Prince led the Princess, not without repugnance, on board this vessel, and performed a voyage which seemed to occupy about haK a minute, but which really must have lasted an enormous number of ages. Yes, the Assyi-ian, Persian, Macedonian, and Roman empires must all have risen and fallen during the time of that voyage ; the Norman conquest, the crusades, the thirty years' wai*, the French revolution, and the passing of the Reform Bill, must all have taken i)lace, for Hi To had not left the ship for many seconds before he tripped into Cheapside, just as it exists at the present moment. Wonderful ship that could cut through space and time with equal celerity ! Prince Hi To had not been many minutes in Cheapside with his fidgety fail- one, than a hideous cry of " Here we are !" announced the presence of the detestable squire and ma- gician, whom he thought he had left in India. A series of persecutions similar to those he had already undergone commenced, in which he constantly availed himself of the assistance of his bit of board, changing potato-cans into caravans, turning houses upside down, and doing aU sorts of vulgar magic, greatly at variance with his better taste. Often was he grievously afflicted, when, striking a wall, a placard would suddenly appear, inscribed with an execrable pun. He had detested puns in his own coimtry, he had made his royal father issiie a decree against them, and yet, now if he made use of his talisman, these hideous per- versions of language would force themselves upon his sight. What refined intellect could bear to see a grocer's shop suddenly shut itself up, with the absurdity " Done to a T " upon the shutters ? Yet did this happen to our hero, and he felt himself not quite irresponsible in the production of the hateful joke. Neither did he feel any happiness when he dis- covered a new property of hardness in his head, which enabled him to jump through a stone wall, without the slightest personal detriment. No ! he capered through the world a sad and solemn man, persecuted by his squire, still more persecuted by his own thoughts, and scarcely less by his inamorata, whose ceaseless bounds and jumps worried him to the utmost. He despised the power he possessed, he despised himself, and he execrated the genius who had given him such a sony reward. One day, in a dark forest, he was deprived of his talisman by his unweai-ied persecu- tors, and in his despair and weariness, he almost hoped they would knock him on the head. But the presei-\ang genius again presented himself, and told him that his trials were over, and that he should now be really happy. The forest vanished : but in what did the promised happiness consist ? Why he found himself standing on his head on a tall pole, with a firework going off full in his face, and forming the words, " Victoria and Alberf," in characters of flame. A loud explosion caused the whole scene to disappear, and his joy was unbounded when he found himself safe in his bed, and perceived that all his adventures had been but a frightful dream. The first thing he did was to run to his father, and say, " Father, it is all very well to have a genius in one's family, but if I look to one for assistance may I be sawn in half between two planks, like the man who last slopped hot tea upon your royal foot." Balzac d'Anois. 134 FLOKEXCE PRESERVED; OR, THE FEARFUL PAS. FLOEENCE TEESEETED; OE, THE FEAEFUL PAS. A TALE OF ARTIFICIAL LIFE. In tlie solitude of bis library, immersed in objectless thougbt, and gazing on vacancy, the Rigbt Honourable tbe Earl of Blazonfield was standing with bis back to tbe fire. Erect and lofty stood bis Lordsbip, with his legs apart, and a coat tail reposing on either arm. How long tbe noble Earl's reverie might have lasted, it is as impossible as it is bootless to say. He was suddenly roused from it by a cautious tap at the door, in answer whereto he condescended to say — " Come in." A liveried domestic noiselessly and reverently approached, bearing a three-cornered note on a silver salver. The Earl of Blazonfield, with his usual deliberation, opeued and read it ; and then, in a stately tone, said to the menial — " Inform her Ladyship that I am at leisure." The man, with a low obeisance, withdrew. The communication which his Lordship had thus received was from his noble Countess, who had despatched it from her houdoir to solicit that she might be allowed to iuti-ude on her Lord's privacy for a few moments. The Earl received his lady on her entrance into the library with the most dignified courtesy, politely begging her to be seated. With the usual acknowledgments, she acceded to the civil request. " And now," said the nobleman, " may I be permitted to ask your Ladyship's pleasure ?" " Pardon me, my Lord," answered Lady Blazonfiekl, " the occasion which has com- pelled me to seek your Lordship is aught but pleasurable." "How, my Lady!" the Earl had nearly exclaimed ; but he was not certain whether she was serious or joking — or, if joking, whether or not she was taking that liberty at his expense. Tbe expression of his surprise, therefore, was simply physiognomical. " Lord Blazonfield," said the Countess, " I have to request your perusal of this document ;" and sbe handed bim a letter. Her lips, as she spoke, were rather compi-essed, and her voice slightly indicated subdued emotion. His Lordship, with a magnificent bow, received the missive ; and then, with his double eye-glass, proceeded to inspect the envelope. Having done so. be observed, turning his eyes on her Ladyship — " This, I perceive, is addressed to the Lady Florence." " To your Lordship's and my eldest daughter," said the Countess, quietly, but with stem emphasis. " Read it. Lord Blazonfield. The seal, you will perceive, is broken." The Earl, resuming his eye-glass, brought it to bear upon the interior of the epistle. Its contents must have moved bim powerfully ; for as tbe first line met his sight, he gave an actually perceptible start. As he read on, too, his eyes expanded, and his eyebrows rose, until they had reached the highest degree of dilatation and altitude of which they were respectively capable. In this state of countenance, with the eye-glass evidently trembling in one hand, and the letter in the other, he stood, when he had done reading, and gazed upon Lady Blazonfield, whose Hashing orbs met his enlarged ones, whilst a decided frown ruffled her brow of marl>le. Well might the letter have agitated the lofty pair ; for it began with " My dearest Florence," and ended with " Everlastingly yours — Alfred Bailey." Intermediate between these portions of it there was actually a proposal of marriage ! FLORENCE PRESERVED ; OR, THE FEARFUL FAS. 135 "VYliere found you this, my Lady ?" demanded the thunderstruck Peer. " In the Conservatory," replied the Peeress, " where I have every reason to believe it was this morning dropped, after having been the object of the most objectionable meditations." So far was the noble Earl carried away l)y his feelings, that he actually gave utterance to as many as two or three of those ejaculations in which ordinary persons express them- selves when excited. It was awful to behold the nobleman thus sunk in the father. But suddenly a bright thought crossed his brain — if we may attribute so common an oi-gan to such a nobleman as his Lordship — and he exclaimed, " Lady Blazonfield, it is possible that this may be a hoax." " A hoax, my Lord !" replied the Countess. " Do you conceive that anybody could have such presumption ?" " Is not that," said his Lordship, " more probable than a supposition so derogatory as any other would be to our daughter .?" " True," assented Lady Blazonfield. " We can decide this point at once." So saying, the Earl despatched a domestic to request the attendance of Lady Florence in the library. " She is not yet aware," continued the nobleman, " that the Duke of Dumfries has made proposals for her hand." " "We will therefore," said Lady Blazonfield, "begin by announcing that circumstance to her." " Her reception of that intelligence in a becoming spirit will prove that our appre- hensions were unfounded," observed his Lordship. " Truly !" exclaimed the indignant Countess. But here entered the Lady Florence. " Florence," said his Lordship, addressing his beautiful daughter, " I have to apprize you of a distinguished honour which has been conferred upon our family." " Tou don't say so ! How, Papa?" inquired the lively Florence. " In your person, Florence. You are to know that no less an individual than his Grace the Duke of Dumfries has formally solicited your hand." " I wish his Grace may get it," was the reply of Florence. The Earl stared considerably on hearing these words. A peculiarity in their tone seemed to puzzle him. " Tes ;" he pursued. " Of course you wish he may get it. So do I. The proposal of his Grace, then, is accepted." " My Lord," said Florence, " you misunderstand me." " Hey ? — "What ? — How !" ejaculated her noble father. '•■ I won't have the Duie of Dumfries," said the high-bom, but plain-spoken young lady. " Lady Florence Blazonfield !" exclaimed the Covintess, with horror. " Not have the Duke of Dumfries !" echoed the Earl, as soon as he could recover his utterance. " The oldest Duke in the Peerage !" " Old enough," said the Lady Florence, " to stand towards me in your venerated relationship." The Earl folded his arms, and assiimed a look of stern majesty. The Countess rose from her chaii', and holding it at ann's length, sm-veyed her daughter scornfully from top to toe. " Florence !" cried his Lordship at length, in an avsrful voice, " are you acquainted with the author of this production ?" And he handed her the fatal billet. She was silent, and hung her head. " "Very well, very well !" gasped the Earl. His face, as he spoke, turned ghastly pale ; whilst that of the Countess assumed the semblance of the Gorgon. J 36 FLORENCE PRESERVED; OR, THE FEARFUL PAS. •• Who is he ?" demanded Lord Blazonfield in a guttural rale. " An artist," answered Florence. The Countess positively screamed, and sank down in her chair. The Earl actually swore, and his face became carnatiijn. " An ai-tist," pleaded the daughter, " but a very, very rising one. So noble-minded — and oh, so handsome !" The noble parents yelled in concei*t so audibly, that it is much to be feared they were heard by some of the domestics. By a great effort they mastered their feelings, when the Earl, in a tone of dreadful calmness, commanded his daughter to retire. The weeping girl obeyed. This was too much for the Earl to stand ; so he sat down, and leant his forehead on his hand. The Countess — must it be confessed ? — actually cried. For a while the noble pair almost resembled a common couple who had just had an execution put into their house. Fearful must have been the sufferings which could have made them thus far forget themselves. Why record their incoherent expressions of distraction ? "What" — wildly asked the Countess at last, "what — what can have possessed her ?" The Earl pondered. "ReaUy," he replied, after a pause, and as if the idea were somewhat consoling, " I almost think she must be deranged." " Let us hope she is," said the lady mother. " No doubt of it," declared Lord Blazonfield. " At all events she must be put instantly under restraint." Her ladyship assented ; and they instantly sat down to concoct a letter to the family physician to require his instant attendance. In the mean time a footman, who had been listening to the conversation through the key-hole, ran and told every word of it to Florence's waiting-maid, who lost no time in retailing it, with divers embellishments relative to strait-waistcoats and loss of hair, to her young mistr«ss. The letter having been finished, the Earl went for a ride, and the Countess sought the apartment of her daughter, to see what could yet be done with her. But the bird was flown. Judge of her horror, indignation, fury ! But what must have been the feelings of this noble family, when after a week's ineffectual pursuit of the fugitive, they received from her a letter signed " F. Bailey !" The letter implored but despaired of forgiveness ; and admitted that the writer and her husband had nothing to depend upon but their own exertions. And then followed a terribly mysterious passage wherein the high accomplish- ments — duly acknowledged — which had formed part of her education, were hinted at as contemplated sources of reveniie. What in the name of everything dreadful could this mean ? In a few days the mystery was solved. A fashionable morning joiu-nal contained the following annoimcement : — " It is rumoured that the danseuse, Madame Bailey, who will shortly make her dchnt, is the eldest daughter of a distinguished member of the peerage. Such, at least, is the on dit which has been blazoned by Fame amid the circles of Ton." At the same time the Earl received a communication from a certain quai'ter. which convinced him that, in the words of another illustrious member of the peerage, Madame Bailey was Lady Florence, " and no mistake." To say that the Earl went nearly mad, would be to use strong language of a Peer. To say that he and the Countess called their daughter all kinds of names, would be to rake up what had much better be forgotten. His Lordship took legal advice ; but, alas ! his daughter had come of age, and was her own mistress. THE STAGE LOVEl!. 137 All. that his Lordship had but sifted the matter a little further ! He might have found that the paragraph was a fiction — a ■>-wse, originating from the Bailey family. We only say he might. But the possibility of the idea never occurred to him. Can the noble Lord be blamed, if, under these trying circumstances, he sacrificed his indignation in order to save appearances, and did what though most kind was also most expedient ? Acting imder the advice of several noble, right reverend, and gallant friends, he consented to buy Lady Florence off her engagement (paying the money for the purpose through her husband), and to allow her a handsome maintenance. He also procured a high government situation for Mr. Bailey, and got him returned for a borough iinder his control ; so that what with all this, and having a good coat of arms found for him at the Heralds' College, he contrived to convert him into a decently aristocratic son-in-law. " Matters," reflected the Earl, " might have been worse. Let us be thankful that his name is not Muggins." The paragraph in the morning paper was contradicted authoritatively ; and there is fvery probability that Lady Florence and Mr. Bailey, having thus comfortably married, will live happily all the rest of their lives. THE STAGE LOVEE. BY THE EDITOR. The passion of love developes itself on the stage in various ways, and every different species of dramatic production has a peculiar kind of Stage Lover. The tragedy lover is addicted to the veiy inconvenient practice of loving above his station, and he is continually going about asking the woods, the groves, the valleys, and the hills why he was " lowly born," a question which the said woods, groves, vaUeys, and hills are not in the habit of answering. He usually rushes to the wars, and comes home with a colonel's commission ; bragging, that he has crushed the haughty Ottomite, or rolled the audacious Libyan in the dust of his native desert. In consequence of this crushing and rolling he offers his hand with confidence to the high-born maid, who had previously spurned him from her foot ; and he generally chooses the occasion of a banquet given in honour of her intended marriage to somebody else, as the most fitting opportunity of popping the question. Having succeeded in his suit he frequently sets out to crush some more Ottomites, or roll the audaciovis Libyan in some more dust, when he allows himself to be made very jealous by anonymous letters, and he abruptly leaves the army to lead itself, in order that he may go home and tax his wife with her infidelity. On arriving chez lui the tragedy lover not unfrequently finds his wife engaged in conversation with her own brother, who won't say he is her brother, but prefers fighting a duel with the ti-agedy lover ; and the latter returns to his Avife with a fatal wound just in time to die in her arms, which sends her raving mad ; while the brother, in a fit of remorse, commits suicide. The operatic lover bears some resemblance to the lover we have just disposed of ; though he usually confines his violence to tearing up marriage contracts, stamping on the bits, shaking his fist in his rival's face, and rushing out with a drawn sword, shrieking as he makes his exit to the highest pitch of his falsetto. When the course of his love happens 138 THE STAGE LOVER. to run tolerably smooth, he indulges in poetical declarations of his afiFection, which he compares to a variety of objects in a strain resembling the following : — Like to the golden orb of day, Which sets upon the main ; Going awhile at night away. And coming back again. Or like the little polar star, That guides the ship at sea : The constant friend of ev'ry tar — Such is my love for thee. A beacon to a fainting crew. To point the way to land ; A drop of precious mountain dew On Afric's burning sand. The avalanche which ne'er can fall. Wherever it may be, Without its overwhelming all — Such is my love for thee. The lover of the ballet belongs to quite another class. He usually expresses his affec- tion hy jnronetteii ; and having heard that it is lovQ which makes the world go round, he "ifilliM thinks prol)ably that his spinning may be taken as a proof of his sincerity. The lover in the ballet evinces his affection very frequently l»y allowing the object of his choice to drop into his arms with one of her legs in the air, or to fall suddenly with all her weight into his open hand, while he, supported on only one knee, bears the burden with a smile, tliough every nniscle is on the strain, and it costs him the most intense exertion to main- tain his eqiiilibrinin. The lovers in a ballet are generally torn apart by the rude hands of THE STAGE LOVER. 139 parents, who, liowever, w;ut for the couchisiou of a jjos de deux before they interpose their authority, which they take care to exercise within proper Terpsichorean limits — always giving the young couple time to fall into a graceful attitude, and receive whatever applause the public may seem disposed to bestow on it. The comedy lover goes by the technical name of the " walking gentleman," a title probably derived from his always having his hat in his hand, as if he would shortly have to walk off at the instigation of some unreasonable father or testy guardian. The comedy lover is very much addicted to ducks and dissatisfaction, wearing white trousers in all weathers, and finding fault upon all occasions with the object of his choice, without any reason for doing so. If the lady is in good spirits, the following is the sort of speech the comedy lover will address to her : — " Nay, Laura, I do not like this gaiety. The volatile head bespeaks the hollow heart ; and if you would smile on me to-day, you might bestow your sunshine on another to-morrow. Believe me, Laura, that though we may admii-e the gadfly for its wings, we shall never seek it for its society ; and though we may chase the butterfly for its coloui-s, we cherish the canary for its constancy. You weep, Laura — nay, I did not mean to distress you, though I had rather bring tears from your eyes than allow levity to remain at your heart, for steadiness of character is a brighter gem than the most glittering gewgaw. I will leave you now, Laura, and remember, that even should fate divide us, you have no truer friend than Arthur* Turniptop." The farce lover is the lowest in the dramatic scale, for he is not unfrequently a scamp, and it would sometimes be difficult to distinguish him from a swindler. He is usually wholly destitute of means, and quite averse to any respectable occupation. He seldom enters a house like a gentleman, but sneaks in by the assistance of a pert and dishonest maid, or comes like a thief over a garden wall or through an open window. If the master of the house should be heard approaching, the farce lover gets under the table, or crams himself into a cupboard already full of crockery, some of which he begins to break as if to make the place of his concealment known to the " old man," who, instead of going at once to ascertain the cause, walks away to fetch a blunderbuss, a red-hot poker, or some other equally murderous instrument, which he would certainly be hanged for making effective use of. While he is gone the farce lover takes the opportunity of leaping from the window. 140 SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. instead of quietly goinj? <>ut at tLe door, and the " old man," after threatening to fire into the cupboard, bursts it open, and concludes that as, there is no one there, a mouse must have made all the noise and done all the mischief. The farce lover usually pai-ts from the object of his affections with great spirit and vivacity, although he has just before been lisping out something very sentimental about fate presenting " inthiiperable obthtacles " to his union. Sofia! ^00 log IT. BY THE EDITOR. The study of animated nature had been much neglected, imtil Buffon did for brutes v^hat Linnffius had done for vegetables. The illustrious latter would wrap himself up for days together in leaves, hang for hours on the branches of trees, or enter with his whole heart into the ordinary lettuce. Linnajus explored the innermost recesses of the summer cabbage, dissected the daflfydowndilly, and dignified the meanest daisy by giving it a Latin name, which kept it eflfectiially out of the mouths of the vulgar. It is a curious fact, that nothing is allowed to take a scientific rank, until a hard, unintelligible name is found for it. Linnaeus did for marigolds and buttercups what the learned have done long ago for pills and black doses, when disguising them imder the hieroglyphical appellations which are now attached to them. Buft'<^n's energies took a different, and yet not exactly an opposite direction. Ho pursued the brutes — as a study. Lions and tigers were the objects he ran after ; and he embraced the bear in a spirit of philosophical inquiry. If he remained at home, it was only to devour his favourite animal, the elephant, or to digest, at his leisure, the hardy buffalo. If he took a walk, nothing escaped him, for he was always looking about him, and if even a gnat came near him. he had it in his eye immediately. Cuvier, however, made a considerable advance on the labom-s of the illustrious indi- viduals we have named, for he took rapid strides in a science which the others had only hopped, skipped, and jumped about. We say nothing of our facetious friend Goldsmith, who took his knowledge from books, and had not scraped a personal acqiuiintanee with any of the animals to whom he 80 pleasantly introduces us. While doing ample justice to the great writers on animated nature who have preceded us, we still think that they have left a great want unsujiplied. by neglecting to favour us with a few chapters on what may be termed Social Zoology. It is no doubt very important to know the habits of the anchovy, the eccentricities of the wolf, and the temper of the cockatoo, all of which we slutuld l)e told in a book devoted to birds, beasts, and fishes ; Init the zoology of the sort of animals we meet with in society, must, we think, pi'ove quite as full of instruction and interest. We intend, therefore, supplying as well as we can the gap which seems to exist, by providing a sort of handbook to the zoology of every-day life, for the purpose of describing the various disagreeable In-utes, strange birds, and odd fishes, that are constiintly met with in society. Social Zoology will treat of the beings composing the Animal Kingdom of Social Lif«\ from the Lion of an evening party down to those mere animalcula.' at a soiree, who ar(^ scarcely distinguishable from plants, and who, being usually ranged along the walls, are generally called wall-tlowers. It often happens that the natux-alist is puzzled to discri- SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. 141 iniiiate iDctweeu an animal and a plant, as in the well-known case of tlie sponge ; and the Social Zoologist finds liimseK in the same difficulty, for the sponge is certainly a dining- out animal, and yet he has the properties of a plant, for he plants himself on those whom he designs to victimise. The Lion, by common consent, takes precedence everywhere, and each country has an especial Lion of its own, which ranks above all the other animals. Every Englishman ought to be familiar with the British Lion ; but if there be any of our readers who is not, he has only to borrow a sovereign fi-om a friend, and he will see that noble beast capering about all over the royal arms with a spirit that will be exceedingly refreshing to the true patriot. Every one must have heard of the fearful consequences of rousing the British Lion, and a mere wag of his tail is believed to be sufficient to overawe every opposition Lion throughout the universe. It is not within the scope of our present undertaking to point out the peculiarities of the various national Lions, and we need scarcely observe that the skin of that noble beast is often assumed by a much humbler animal. The Lion of an evening party belongs to a species of which there are several genera, or different kinds. The great or principal Lion may, however, be known by the length of his tail, for every one will be running after him. When in a tame state, and not annoyed, the great Hon will be very docile, and he has even been known to stretch forth his paw with extreme gentleness. The great Lion is chiefly found in the West, but he may be sometimes brought eastward, if sufficient temptation is held out to him. He will often lie induced to go a considerable distance for a meal, and if he is well fed upon what he likes, he wiU mix condescendingly with the inferior animals about him, and make himself very agreeable. The Lion of a party wiU not usually make an attack upon man, but he seems to expect that due homage will be paid to him, and if this is not the case, he will begin to growl, till he ultimately retires to his own jungle in an adjacent attic. The Lion chiefly comes forth at night, but he may be seen sometimes in the afternoon, prowling aboiit the wood — pavement — or seeking for food among those who, he thinks, will take him to their homes and give him the meal he is in search of. In appearance the Lion of a party is chiefly re- markable for what Sir William Jardine calls "his ample front, and overhanging brows, suiTOunded with a long, shaggy mane." Though not usually ferocious, he is very apt to become so if there is more than one Lion present at the same party, for this king of social animals will " bear no rival near the throne." On this account, it is dangerous to introduce more than one Lion at a time; and a musical Lion is a very formidable beast, for when he once begins to roar there is no stopping him. The musical Lion is so fond of hearing his own voice that he will growl for an hour at a time, and there is no possibility of muzzling the bnite or getting rid of him. The Liteeart Lion is chiefly remarkable for the contrast between the ferocity of his aspect and the mildness of his demeanour. People are apt to be more afraid of him than any other of the Lion tribe, and many fancy that he contemplates tearing them to pieces, but he is generally a most inoffensive creature. Those who have seen the Lion at home in his own lair, describe him as a very differ- 142 SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. ent animal from that which, when abroad, he appears to be. His coat, which looks so sleek and glossy at night, is often quite another thing by daylight, and nan-ow white stripes are sometimes visible. This is chiefly to be obsened in those Lions which very seldom shed their coats ; and there are some who do not obtain a new coat A^-ithout very great difficulty. Lions of this description are timid and retiring by day. and at night they appear to resume all their courage. They inhabit chiefly the most elevated spots, and will climb patiently to a very considerable height to reach their resting-place. This sort of Lion seldom appears abroad with his cubs, if he happens to have any. He is not particularly fond of them, though, like the Lion of the forest, he sometimes amuses him- self with licking them. The Literary Lioness is becoming a veiy common animal, and though exceedingly hannless, she is hardly ever subject to be pursued, for every one instinctively flies away from her. Of all the animals comprised within the wide range of Social Zoology, none is more objectionable than the Boar, or, to use another mode of orthography, the Bore. He comes vmder the head of Pachydermata, or thick-skinned animals, and is so extremely callous, that hit at him as hard as you may, it is impossible to make any impression on him. He does not belong to the Ruminantia, or niminating animals ; but must be classed among the Omnivora, for the Bore has a rapacious appetite, and frequently comes in to satisfy his cravings at about feeding-time. It is a remarkable fact that, belonging to the Pachydermata, or thick-skinned order of bnites. he would seem, from the softness of the head and brains, to belong to the gi'oup of Molluscous animals. He is also allied to this class by the possession of another quality, namely, that of remaining, like the Mollusca, long fixed in the same place, for when the social Bore has once taken up his quarters, it is very difficult indeed to get rid of him. The Bore is of the Hog tribe, and is guided a good deal by the snout, for he pokes his nose eveiywhere. In the case of the common pig, it is customary to ring the nose; and the practice of wi'inging the nose of the social Bore would be a very wholesome one. The snout of the Bore is also useful to him in more ways than one, for his scent is truly wondei-fid, enabling the bnite to smeU out a good dinner at three or four miles distance. In a natural state — that is, when he is at home — the Bore is often found to feed upon the coarsest fare ; but when he has succeeded in meeting with prey abroad, he becomes very delicate, selecting only the choicest morsels, and grunting savagely if he is not pleased with what is before him. The Bore is not generally a dangerous animal, though the well-known expression, " bored to death," would seem to indicate otherwise. When the brute contemplates making an attack, he usually fastens himself on his victim by seizing the button, and has been known to retain his hold on his prey in this manner for hours together. The female Bore is chiefly remarkable for her numerous progeny. She will appear surrounded by an extensive litter of little ones, who will sometimes be exceedingly frolic- some. They will jump up into your lap, put their paws into your plate, and play all sorts of antics if you give them the least eneom-agement. Literary Bores, who are for the most part females, are usually called blue, and it is believed that an intellectuid ladies' society used formerly to assemble at the Blue Boar, in Holborn. I A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 143 CHAPTER III. HE festival was indeed begun. Coming on horseback, or in their caroches, knights and ladies of the highest rank were assem- bled in the grand saloon of Godesberg, which was splendidly illuminated to receive them. Servitors, in rich liveries (they were attired in doublets of the sky-blue broadcloth of Tpres, and hose of the richest yellow sammit — the colours of the house of Godesberg), bore about various refreshments on trays of silver — cakes, baked in the oven, and swimming in melted Initter; manchets of bread, smeared with the same delicious condiment, and cai-ved so thin that you might have expected them to take wing, and fly to the ceiling ; coffee, introduced by Peter the hermit, after his excursion into Arabia, and tea such as only Boheamia could produce, circulated amidst the festive throng, and were eagerly devoured by the guests. The Margrave's gloom was unheeded by them— how little indeed is the smiling crowd aware of the pangs that are lurking in the breasts of those who bid them to the feast ! The Mai'gravine was pale ; but woman knows how to deceive ; she was more than ordinarily courteous to her friends, and laughed, thotigh the laugh was hollow, and talked, though the talk was loathsome to her. v^W^JlD'- " The two are together," said the Margrave, clutching his friend's shoulder. " Noiv hole" Sir Ludwig turned towards a quadrille, and there, sure enough, were Sir Hildebrandt 144 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. and youBg Otto standing side by side in the dance. Two eggs were not more like. The reason of the Margrave's honid suspicion at once flashed across his friend's mind. " 'Tis clear as the stafi" of a pike," said the poor Margrave, mournfully. " Come, brother, away from the scene; let us go play a game at cribbage;" and retiring to the Margravine's hmidoir, the two waiTiors sate down to the game. But though 'tis an interesting one, and though the Margrave won, yet he could not keep his attention on the cards : so agitated was his mind by the dreadful secret which weighed upon it. In the midst of their play, the obsequious Gottfried came to whisper a word in his patron's ear, which threw the latter into such a fury, that apoplexy was ap- prehended by the two lookers on. But the Margrave mastered his emotion. " At u-luit time, did you say ?" said he to Gottfried. " At day-break, at the outer gate." " I will be there." " And so will I too," thought Count Ludwig, the good knight of Hombourg. CHAPTER IV. How often does man, proud man, make calculations for the future, and think he can bend stem fate to his wiU ! Alas, we are but creatures in its hands ! How many a slip between the lip and the lifted wine-cup ! How often, though seemingly with a choice of couches to repose upon, do we find ourselves dashed to earth ; and then we are fain to say the grapes are sour, because we cannot attain them ; or worse, to yield to anger in con- sequence of our own fault. Sir Ludwig, the Hombourger, was not at the outer gate at day- break. He slept until ten of the clock. The previous night's potations had been heaNy, the day's journey had been long and rough. The knight slept as a soldier would, to whom a feather bed is a rarity, and who wakes not till he hears the blast of the reveille. He looked up as he woke. At his bed-side sate the Margrave. He had been there for hours watching his slumbering comrade. Watching ? — no, not watching, but awake by his side, brooding over thoughts unutterably bitter — over feelings inexpressibly wretched. *• What's o'clock ?" was the first natural exclamation of the Hombourger. " I believe it is five o'clock," said his friend. It was ten. It might have been twelve, two, half-past four, twenty minutes to six, the Margrave would still have said, " I believe it in five o'clocJc." The wi-etched take no count of time, it flies with unequal pinions, indeed, for tliem. " Is breakfast over ?" inquired the crusader. " Ask the butler," said the Margrave, nodding his head wildly, rolling his eyes wildly, smiling wildly. " Gracious Buff"o !" said the knight of Hombourg, " what has ailed thee, my friend ? It is ten o'clock by my horologe. Your regular hour is nine. You ai*e not — no, by Heavens ! you are not shaved ! You wear the tights and silken hose of last evening's banquet. Your collar is all rumpled — 'tis that of yesterday. You have not been to bed ? What has chanced, brother of mine, what has chanced ?" " A common chance, Louis of Hombourg.'' said the Margi-ave, " one that chances every day. A false woman, a false friend, a broken heart. T/tw has chanced. I have not been to bed." A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 145 " Wliat mean ye ?" cried Count Ludwig, deeply affected. " A false friend ? Z am not a false friend — a false woman. Surely the lovely Theodora your wife." * * * " I have no wife, Louis, now ; I have no wife and no son." ****** In accents broken by grief the Margrave explained what had occurred. Gottfried's information was but too correct. There was a cause for the likeness between Otto and Sir Hildebrandt ; a fatal cause ! Hildebrandt and Theodora had met at dawn at the outer gate. The Margrave had seen them. They walked long together ; they embraced. Ah ! how the husband's, the father's feelings were harrowed at that embrace. They parted ; and then the Margrave coming forward, coldly signified to his lady that she was to retire to a convent for life, and gave orders that the boy should be sent too, to take the vows at a monastery. Both sentences had been executed. Otto, in a boat, and guarded by a company of his father's men-at-arms, was on the river going towards Cologne to the monastery of Saint Buffo there. The lady Theodora, under the guard of Sir Gottfried and an attendant, were on their way to the convent of Nonnenwerth, which many of our readers have seen — the beautiful Green Island Convent, laved by the bright waters of the Rhine! " What road did Gottfried take ?" asked the knight of Hombourg, grinding his teeth. " You cannot overtake him," said the Margrave. " My good Gottfried, he is my only comfort now : he is my kinsman, and shall be my heir. He will be back anon." " Will he so ?" thought Sir Ludwig. " I will ask him a few questions ere he return." And springing from his couch he began forthwith to put on his usual morning dress of complete armour ; and, after a hasty ablution, donned not his cap of maintenance, but his helmet of battle. He rang the bell violently. '• A cup of coffee, straight," said he to the sei-vitor who answered the summons ; •• bid the cook pack me a sausage and bread in paper, and the groom saddle Streithengst ; we have far to ride." The various orders were obeyed. The horse was brought ; the refreshments disposed of ; the clattering steps of the departing steed were heard in the court-yard ; but the Mar- grave took no notice of his friend, and sate, plunged in silent grief, quite motionless by the empty bed-side. CHAPTER V. Cl)E Kvaitav'S ©00111. The Hombourger led his horse down the winding path which conducts from the hil] and castle of Godesberg into the beautiful green plain below. Who has not seen that lovely plain, and who that has seen it has not loved it ? A thousand sunny vineyards and cora fields stretch arovmd in peaceful luxuriance; the mighty Rhine floats by it in silver magnificence, and on the opposite bank rise the seven mountains robed in majestic purple, the monarchs oi the royal scene. A pleasing poet, Lord Byron, in describing this very scene, has mentioned that " peasant girls, with dark blue eyes, and hands that offer cake and wine," are perpetually crowding round the traveller in this delicious district, and proffering to him their rustic presents. This was no doubt the case in former days, when the noble bard wrote his elegant poems — in the happy ancient days ! when maidens were as yet generous, and men 146 A LEGEND OP THE RHINE. kindly ! Now tlie degenerate peasantry of the district are mucli more inclined to ask tban to give, and their blue eyes to have disappeared with their generosity. But as it was a long time ago that the events of our stoiy occuiTed, 'tis probable that the good knight Ludwig of Hombourg was greeted upon his path by this fascinating peasantry, though we know not how he accepted their welcome. He continued his ride across the flat gi'een countiy, until he came to Rolandseck, whence he could command the Island of Nonnenwerth (that lies in the Rhine opposite that place), and all who went to it or passed from it. Over the entrance of a little cavern in one of the rocks hanging above the Rhine- stream at Rolandseck. and covered with odoriferous cactuses and silvery magnolia, the traveller of the present day may perceive a rude broken image of a saint ; that image represented the venerable Saint Buffo of Bonn, the patron of the Margi-ave, and Sir Lud^vig kneeling on the greensward, and reciting a censer, an ave, and a couple of acolytes before it, felt encouraged to think that the deed he meditated was about to be performed under the very eyes of his friend's sanctified patron. His devotion done (and the knight of those days was as pious as he was brave), Sir Louis, the gallant Hombourger, exclaimed with a loud voice : " Ho ! hermit ! holy hermit, art thoxi in thy cell ?" " Who calls the poor servant of Heaven and saint Buffo ?" exclaimed a voice from the cavern : and presently, from beneath the wreaths of geranium and magnolia, appeared an intensely venerable, ancient, and majestic head — 'twas that, we need not say, of Saint Buffo's solitaiy. A silver beard hanging to his knees gave his person an appearance of great respectability ; his body was robed in simple brown serge, and girt with a knotted cord; his ancient feet were only defended from the prickles and stones by the rudest sandals, and his bald and polished head was bai-e. " Holy hermit," said the knight, in a grave voice, " make ready thy ministry, for there is some one about to die." " Where, son ?" " Here, father." " Is he here now ?" " Perhaps," said the stout warrior, crossing himself. " but not so if right prevail." At this moment he caught sight of a ferry-boat j)utting off from Nonnenwerth. with a knight on board. Ludwig knew at once by the sinople reversed, and the truncated gules on his surcoat. that it was Sir Gottfried of Godesberg. " Be ready, father," said the good knight, pointing towards the advancing boat ; and, waving his hand, l)y way of respect, to the reverend hermit, and without a further word, he vaulted into his saddle, and rode back for a few score of paces, where he wheeled round, and remained steady. His great lance and pennon rose in the air. His armour glistened in the sun ; the chest and head of his Ijattle-horse were similarly covered with steel. As Sir Gottfried, likewise armed and mounted (for his horse had been left at the feny hard by), advanced up the road, he almost started at the figure before him — a glistening tower of steel. " Are you the lord of this pass. Sir Knight ?" said Sir Gottfried, haughtily, " or do you hold it against all comers, in honour of your lady-love ?"' "I am not the lord of this pass. I do not ht>ld it against all comers. I hold it but against one, and he is a liar and a traitor." " As the matter concerns me not, I pray you let me pass," said Gottfried. " The matter (Zoc« concern thee, Gottfried of Godesberg. Liar and traitor 1 art thou coward too ?" A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 147 " Holy Saint Buffo ! 'tis a fight !" exclaimed the old hermit (who, too, had been a gallant warrior in his day) ; and like the old war-horse that hears the trumpet's sound, and spite of his clerical profession, he prepared to look on at the combat with no ordinary eagerness, and sate down on the overhanging ledge of the rock, lighting his pipe, and affecting unconcern, but in reality most deeply interested in the event which was about to ensue. As soon as the word " coward " had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his opponent, uttering a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had wheeled back his powerful piebald, and brought his lance to the rest. " Ha ! Beauseant !" cried he. " Allah humdillah !" 'Twas the battle-cry in Palestine of the irresistible knights-hospitallers. " Look to thyself, Sir Knight, and for mercy from Heaven ! I will give thee none." "A Bugo for Katzenellenbogeu !" exclaimed Sir Ludwig. piously; that, too, was the well-known war-cry of his princely race. " I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe. ' ready ? One, two, three. Los !" (Let go.) At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirlwinds : two flashing periDendicular Knights, are yoii the two knights. masses of steel, rapidly con- verged; the two lances met upon the two shields of either, and shivered, splintered, shattered into ten hundred thousand pieces, which whirl- ed through the air here and thei'e, among the rocks, or in the trees, or in the river The two horses fell back trembling on their haunches, where they remained for half a minute or so. " Holy Buffo ! a brave stroke !" said the old hermit. " Many, but a splinter well nigh took off my nose !" The honest hermit waved his pipe in delight, not perceiv- ing that one of the splinters had carried off the head of it, and rendered his favourite amusement impossible. " Ha ! they are to it again ! Oh, my ! how they go to with their great swords! "Well stricken, grey! Well pan-ied, piebald! Ha, that was a slicer ! Go it, piebald ! go it, gi-ey !— go it, grey ! go it pie * * *. Peccavi ! peccavi ! suddenly closing his eyes, and falling down on his knees. " I f ors said the old man, here ^ot I was a man of peace ;" 148 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. and the next moment, muttering a hasty matin, he sprung down the ledge of rock, and was by the side of the combatants. The battle was over. Good knight as Sir Gottfried was, his strength and skill had not been able to overcome Sir Ludwig the Hombourger, wath right on his side. He was bleeding at every point of his ai-mour : he had been run through the body several times, and a cut in tierce, delivered with tremendous dexterity, had cloven the crown of his helmet of Damascus steel, and passing through the cerebellum and sensorium, had split his nose almost in twain. His mouth foaming — his face almost gi'een — his eyes full of blood — his bi-ains spattered over his forehead, and several of his teeth knocked out, — the discomfited wan-ior j^resented a ghastly spectacle ; as, reeling under the effect of the last tremendous blow which the knight of Hombourg dealt. Sir Gottfried fell heavUy from the saddle of his piebald charger ; the frightened animal whisked his tail wildly with a shriek and a snort, phmged out his hind legs, trampling for one moment upon the feet of the prostrate Gottfried, thereby causing him to shriek with agony, and then galloped away riderless. Away ! ay, away ! — away amid the green vineyards and golden cornfields ; away up the steep mountains, where he frightened the eagles in their eyi-ies; away down the clattering raWnes, where the flashing cataracts tumble; away through the dark pine forests, where the hungiy wolves are howling ; away over the di-eary wolds, where the wild wind walks alone ; away through the plashing quagmires, where the will-o'-the-wisps slunk frightened among the reeds ; away through light and darkness, storm and sunshine . away by tower and town, highroad and hamlet. Once a turnpike-man would have detained him ; but, ha, ha ! he charged the 'pike, and cleaved it at a bound. Once the Cologne Diligence stopped the way ; he charged the Diligence, he knocked off the cap of the conductor on the roof, and yet giJloped wildly, madly, fiu-iously, in-esistibly on ! Brave horse ! gallant steed ! snorting chUd of Ai'aby ! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers, turnpikes, applewomen; and never stopped untU he reached a livery stable in Cologne, where his master was accustomed to put him up. CHAPTER VI. But we have forgotten, meanwhile, that prostrate individual. Having examined the wounds in his side, logs, head, and throat, the old hermit (a skilful leech) knelt down by the side of the vanquished one, and said, " Sir Knight, it is my painful duty to state to you that you are in an exceedingly dangerous condition, and will not probably survive." " Say you so. Sir Priest ? then 'tis time I make my confession — hearken you, priest, and you, Sir Knight, whoever you l)e." Sir Ludwig (who, much affected by the scene, had been tying his horse up to a tree) lifted his visor and said, " Gottfried of Godesberg ! I am the friend of thy kinsman. Margi'ave Karl, whose happiness thou hast ruined ; I am the friend of his chaste and virtuous lady, whose fair fame thou hast belied ; I am the godfather of young Count Otto, whose heritage thou wouldst basely have appropriated — therefore I met thee in deadly fight, and overcame thee, and have well nigh finished thee. Speak on." '•I have dune all this." said the dying man, "and here, in my last hour, repent me. The lady Theodora is a spotless lady ; the youthful Otto the true son of his father— Sir HildeJjraudt is not his fatlior. but his nncle."'' A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 149 " Gracious Buffo ! Celestial Bugo !" here said tbe liermit and tlie Iviiight of Hombourg simultaneously, clasping their hands. " Yes, his uncle, but with the bar-sinister in his 'scutcheon. Hence he could never be acknowledged by the family ; hence, too, the lady Theodora's spotless piirity (though the young people had been brought up together) could never be brought to own the relationship." " May I repeat your confession ?" asked the hermit. " With the greatest pleasure in life — cany my confession to the Margrave, and pray him give me pardon. Were there— a notary-public present," slowly gasped the knight, the film of dissolution glazing over his eyes, "I would ask — you — two — gentlemen to witness it. I would gladly — sign the deposition, that is if I could wi---\vi'-wr-wi--ite !" A faint shuddering smile — a quiver, a gasp, a gurgle — the blood gushed from his mouth in black volumes. * * " He Avill never sin more," said the Hermit, solemnly. " May Heaven assoilzie him !" said Sir Ludwig. " Hermit, he was a gallant knight. He died with harness on his back, and with truth on his lips ; Ludwig of Hombourg would ask no other death." * * * * An hour afterwards the principal servants at the Castle of Godesberg were rather surprised to see the noble Lord Louis trot into the court-yard of the castle, with a companion on the crupper of his saddle. 'Twas the venerable hermit of Rolandseck, who, for the sake of greater celerity, had adopted this undignified conveyance, and whose appearance and little dumpy legs might well create hilarity among the " pampered menials " who are always found lounging about the houses of the great. He skipped off the saddle with considerable lightness however ; and Sir Ludwig, taking the reverend man by the arm, and frowning the jeering servitors into awe;, bade them lead him to the presence of his Highness the Margrave. " What has chanced ?" said the inquisitive servitor. " The riderless horse of Sir 150 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. Gottfried was seen to gallop by the outer waU anon. The Margrave's Grace has never quitted your Lordship's chamber, and sits as one distraught." " Hold thy prate, knave, and lead lis on." And so saying, the knight and his Reverence moved into the well-known ajiartment, where, according to the servitor's description, the wretched Margi-ave sate like a stone. Ludwig took one of the kind broken-hearted man's hands, the hermit seized the other, and began (biit on account of his gi'eat age, with a prolixity which we shall not endeavour to imitate) to naiTate the events which we have ah-eady described. Ijet the dear reader fancy, the while his Reverence speaks, the glazed eyes of the Margrave gradually lighting up with attention; the flush of joy which mantles in his countenance — the start — the throb — the almost delirious outburst of hysteric exultation with which, when the whole truth was made known, he clasped the two messengers of glad tidings to his breast, with an energy that almost choked the aged recluse. " Ride, ride this instant to the Margravine — say I have wi'onged her, that it is all right, that she may come back — that I forgive her — that I apologise if you will " — and a secretary forthwith despatched a note to that effect, which was can-ied off by a fleet messenger. " Now write to the Superior of the monastery at Cologne, and bid him send me back my boy, my darling, my Otto — my Otto of roses !" said the fond father, making the fii-st play upon words he had ever attempted in his life. But what will not paternal love effect ? The secretary (smiling at the joke) wrote another letter, and another fleet messenger was despatched on another horse. "And now," said Sir LudAvig, playfully, "let us to lunch. Holy hemiit, are you for a snack ?" The hermit could not say nay on an occasion so festive, and the three gentles seated themselves to a plenteous repast, for which the remains of the feast of yesterday offered, it need not be said, ample means. " They will be home by dinner-time." said the exiilting father, " Ludwig ! reverend hermit ! We will carry on till then ;" and the cup passed gaily round, and the laugh and jest circulated, while the three happy friends sate confidentially awaiting the return of the Margravine and her son. But alas I said we not rightly at the commencement of a former chapter, that betwixt the lip and the I'aised wine-cup thei'e is often many a spill ? that our hopes are high, and often, too often, vain ? About three hours after the departure of the first messenger, he returned, and with an exceedingly long face knelt down and presented to the Mai'grave a billet to the following effect. " SiH, " Content of Nonnemcerth, Fridtiy Afternoon. '' I liave siilmiittal too long to your ill-usage, and am disposed to bear it no more. I will no longer be made the butt of your ribald satire, and the object of your coarse abuse. La-t weok you threatened me with your cane ! On Tuesday last j'ou threw a wine-decanter at me, whicli hit the butler, it is true, but the intention was evident. This morning, in the presence of all the servants, you called me by the mo>t vile, abominable name, which Heaven forbid I should repeat ! You di>missetl me from your house under a false accuisation. You sent me to this odious convent to be immured for life. Be it so I will not come back, because forsooth, you relent. Anything is better than a residence with a wicked, coai-se, violent, intoxicated, brutal monster like yourself. I remain heie for ever, and blush to be obliged to sign myself " Tiii;oixii;a von Godesberg. " P.S, I hope you do not intend to keep all my best gowns, jewels, and wearing apparel ; and make no doubt you dismissed me fiom your house in order to make way for some vile hussy, whose eyes I woild like to tear out. "T. V. C." {To he rouiiiiiicd.) THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE. 151 THE LOVEE'S SACRIFICE. ^ Calc 0f tl)c Court Ball. The superficial observer and shallow tliinl^er may liave failed to recognize the influence of the human whiskers over the female heart ; but the follovsdng romance of real life wiU show what importance really attaches to that most essential garniture of the manly visage. Hugh de Holboru, the son of a deceased knight, was the descendant of one of the oldest houses in the city. His ancestors were the "Walter Raleighs of their day, and perhaps something more, for while the historian of the world impoi-ted tobacco in its raw state, the Holborns had been large iutroducers of the manufactured article. Two of our hero's maternal uncles pursued another branch of trade at Stratford, the birthplace of Shakspeare, and the commerce they cultivated may be inferred from the fact that they were known familiarly as the Swan (and Edgar) of Avon. Though not aspiring to the high position of merchant princes, the Holborns had arrived at the honourable order of civic knighthood, which an address to the fourth "William on his accession to that glorious piece of constitutional uiaholstery, the British throne, had won for the father of the hero of this little history. The knight having won the civic purple, retired at length to repose on the peaceful palliass of his own laurels, and centred all his ambition in the advancement of his son, who, entering the army, became an ensign in that gallant regiment which serves its country in her various sentry-boxes. Young de Holborn — for the family had assumed the de soon after the knighting of its head — rapidly rose in the profession of ai-ms; for death having taken off some of his superior officers, our hero, with astonishing spirit, rushed forward to supply the gap they had left, by purchasing their commissions as fast as possible. As lieutenant, he distin- guished himself throughout two Italian campaigns by heading a detachment on duty at Her Majesty's Theatre, and in a forced march from the Bird-cage "Walk to Kensington Palace, he had evinced an energy beyond even what the nature of the service appeared to require. In the intervals not devoted to the study and practice of his profession, Hugh de Holborn gave himself up to the cultivation of light literature and dark whiskers — a connection not so odd as it first appears ; for Apollo and the hirsute Pan are frequently mentioned together in mythological history. By frequent draughts at the Pierian spring, and numerous bottles of Macassar, he had succeeded almost beyond his expectations in both the objects of his aml^ition ; for his poetry was the pride and prop of the Weehly Flute — a miscellany for the million — while his whiskers were the envy or the admiration of all who gazed on them. Among those who had read his lines and perused his manly counte- nance, was the Lady Leonora Lackington ; and after meeting at a few balls, the youthful pair had polked themselves into such a violent passion as true hearts and active heels can alone arrive at. They had mazurkaed madly and waltzed wildly into an affection that nothing could now control. At first it might, perhaps, have been stopped when it had reached no further than the first quadrille, but Strauss as well as straws may change the whole cun-ent of our lives ; and a waltz gave the decisive turn to the destinies of the hero and heroine of this little history. lo2 THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE. Hugli de Holborn and Leonora Laclcington had boon for sonic time in tlie position wliicli is usually described by the word " engaged," — a word equally applicable to hired cabs, servants in place, and the members of a theatrical company. Their maiTiage had been long upon the tajns — so long, indeed, that the housemaid who swept the topis had picked up the fact of the intended union, and sent it in the shape of a paragi-aph — complete, all except grammar and spelling — to a fashionable jouratd. The young couple were indeed tenderly attached ; but tender attachments are obviously not so calculated for wear and tear as those which ai'e tough, and love, like any other article, is the better for being made of durable materiids. One evening the youthful pair had met at a soiree, where some amateurs were growling out a quantity of old classical catches, which they were in the habit of meeting at each other's houses to study previous to inflicting them on their friends — a fact that would be good evidence of malice prepense, were they to be indicted tmder the Nuisance Act, as they richly deserve to be. The party of classical bores having been at length turned almost forcibly out of possession of the piano, from which they might lawfully have been seized as animals damage feasant, Leonora was led to the instrument, and, accompanying herself with great brilliancy, sung — or rather wood-larked — the following words, which Hugh de Holbora, who was a patron of the Manager, had written for the last new opera : — I dreamt I saw a hoUow heart In domino and mask ; While lips, that look'd too fair to part, Refus'd what none could ask. And then there seeni'd to come a light. That gush'd in radiant beam ; Then all was dark which once was bright — But it was all a dream. I thought the smile of other days, Which once you used to wear. That round thy lip no longer plays, 'Mid griefs too great to bear : And as you gave a deep-drawn sigh, I gave a recreant scream ; But do not turn away thine eye. For it was all a di'eam. At the conclusion of this song, Leonora was Utei-jdly besieged by fair creatures, who, stnick with the sentiment of the words, were anxious to know where it could be procured ; and stiiue miniites had elapsed before she could make her way to the side of Hugh, from whom she expected to receive a thousand fervent compliments. To her utter astonishment, she found him thoughtful; and, after a few common-place remarks, he addressed her gravely as follows : " That song, Leonora, was, as you are aware, written by myself ; but do not regard it as the mere outpouring of the poet's idle fjincy : no ; it is a gush from the heart, not a mere spirt from the inkstand." Leonora looked surprised — perhaps hurt — but said nothing. " I fancied," continued Holbora, with peculiar emphasis — " I fancied, that perhaps, alter all, my hopes might be all a dream — your att'ection all a dream — that, in fact, all may be — all a dream." THE LOVER'S SACIllEJCE 153 " Stuff and nonsense !" sharply replied Leonora, and jjassed to the other end of the room ; nor did she, during the remainder of the night, approach that part of the suite of nalous in which her lover remained. ***** It was some months after the incident we have just described that a man in very dark whiskers was seated before a looking-glass, with a letter in one hand and the Court Newsman in the other, while before him lay an invitation to Buckingham Palace for the Queen's Fancy Dress Ball. The stranger in the whiskers was Holborn : the letter in one hand was an intimation that Leonora would be at the Palace, and the Court Newsman in the other contained directions as to costumes, prescribing powdered wigs for the gentlemen, in accordance with the fashion that prevailed in the reign of the second George. The mind of Hugh de Holborn was a good deal like that unhappy victim spoken of in classical history, who was torn limb from limb by four horses, all pulling different ways. On one side the hope of seeing Leonora, who had been cool to him since the little affair at the soiree, on the other side, the instructions in the Court Newsman, which involved a sacrifice — it might be temporary, but it was still a sacrifice — of those whiskers, which, in conjunction with poetry, had been his passion and his pride. Leonora pulled at his heart, but the Cotirt Newsman tugged at his whiskers, and he scarcely knew which way to turn. He at length decided on making the sacrifice of the latter, and in a moment of desperation he prepared the fatal lather, which he smeared with frantic energy all over his face. He did not, however, immediately summon resolution to apply the devastating blade, and it was a question for a moment whether the whiskers would not have been saved, and Leonora lost, when, as if by a fatal impulse, he shaved one completely off at a single stroke, and its companion was left, as Lord Byron says in Werner, " Alone ! alone ! ! alone ! ! !" Our hero thought of the last rose of summer, and dabbed a quantity of fresh lather on to the remaining whisker, and in a few minutes it was, as the song says, " Off, off, and away ! ! " and Hugh de Holborn was a wretched, whiskerless man. ********* The result may be briefly told. Hugh and Leonora met at the ball, and the quarrel, or rather the coolness, that had intervened was entirely forgotten. But the course, &c._ never did, &c. ; and on the next morning, when Hugh went to make a morning call at Lackington House, he was received by Leonora with a shriek of horror. The cause may be 154 UlSSOLVIXG VIEWS. guessed. It was her lover that stood before her, Ijiit his whiskers — where — where were they ? In vain did Hugh attempt to calm the agitated feelings of his intended bride ; she could but scream and rally, and rally and scream, till it was evident that her reason— for one morning, at least — was gone. Hugh took his departure in the deepest distress ; but Leonora had so far recovered by the next morning as to be able to write a long letter renewing her vows of unaltered affection, but entreating her lover — as he valued her peace of mind — not to call till his whiskers had gi-own again. This condition Hugh gladly accepted, as it would serve as a test to the constancy of both, and in a few weeks philosophy and Macassar Oil sent him once more to the arms of his Leonora, a happy and a whiskered man. Their marriage was celebrated in due course, and Hugh de Holborn, in remembrance of the little incident, took for his family arms the motto of " Cut and Come Again." DISSOLVING VIEWS. THEIR USE, ABUSE, AND BETTER DEVELOPMENT. We cannot help thinking that the Dissolving Views, an represented on the stage, have been confined hitherto, like one of Dr. Aniott's stoves, to a very narrow range. They have always been restricted to the misty representation of churches, ruins. Napoleon's tomb, the Thames Tunnel, and dark interiors taken from Annuals and tea-trays : one object generally fades into another with which it has no more connection than the novel of Jack Shejypard has with the life of the oiiginal burglar ; and liberties are taken with time, geogi'aphy, and the probabilities, only worthy of a tragedy in the most rampant days of the Sjoicretic drama. Thus, Netley Abbey melts, in nine Dissolvmg Views out of ten, into the canal of Venice, and St. Paul's is lost in the Dungeon of ChiUon, the Prisoner of which is buried the next minute under the Great Pyramid of Egypt. How unmeaning are these changes to those of real life, where the Dissolving Views are just as rapid, but succeed one another so naturally, and with such beautiful gradation, that we wonder our Dissolving Stanfields, instead of scouring the five quarters of the globe for subjects, do not take up those of home manufacture ! For instance: Mr. JofTs shop for Fren(;h pieces, in the Burlington Arcade, might without any compromise of truth or nature be changed into the Dramatic Authors' Society; — this into one of our national theatres ; — and this again into the Insolvent Debtors' Court. This, in fact, would be a perfect epic poem, ccmtainiug its three great requisites, a beginning, a middle, and an end. Another set of Dissolving Views might l)e made out of the Insurance Swindling system. Scene the first, a garret ; the second, the West Diddlesex Insurance Office, beautifully fitted up. with Corinthian pillars, mahogany doors, glass handles, and revolving gas-lights ; the third scene, a handsome house in Grosvenor Square, with a cab and fashionable horse, and a tiger the size of Tom Thumb ; the fourth, the Mansion-House and Sir Peter Laurie ; the fifth, the Bankruptcy Co\irt : and the last scene of all. the treadmill, or the Queen's Bench. The same figure — the Montague Tigg of the pictorial parable — would be the hero, of course, of every scene. In the begiiming, as a beggar; towards the middle, at the height of his jewellery and prosperity ; and at the last, as the convicted felon in his rags and shame. DISSOLVING VIEWS. 155 What scenes, too, might be taken from jjseitrfo-fasliionable life ! The mother and her daughters to be shown in the kitchen, dredged all ov^er with flour, their whole souls intent on whipping syllabubs, and hammering out clods of paste to their greatest transparency for the supper-tarts. This scene of low life below stairs to change immediately into one of high life above stairs — a baU-room brilliantly lighted up, with the same mother and daughters smothered in satin, diamonds, and feathers. The next scene to be the supper- room, the camphines just expiring, and the same characters in curl-papers and flannel dressing-gowns, collecting salvage from the wreck of the supper, and locking it up in the sideboard. The man about town, also, would furnish a capital subject for a Dissolving View. The first scene to be his garret, in which he is shown cleaning his boots, his " dickey " hanging up to diy, and a heri-ing turning solemnly before the fire ; and the second, to be the Park, where he is dressed to death, covered with frogs and mustachios, lounging with an air as if he had the fee-simple of the whole world, and a reversionary interest in the Solar System. Successive scenes of the pothouse— the pawnbroker's — the Old Bailey, — and the convict-ship sailing for Botany Bay, — would illustrate a temperance moral, and tell as forcibly as a poem by Father Mathew what was the last Dissolving View of Drunkenness. These hints, we think, are sufficient. Aniusement, we maintain, is the only style of tutoring in which people do not tire of being lectured ; and our plan admits of the eye being tickled whilst the mind is improved. It can be extended to every abuse, — applied to every shallow scheme, railway, scientific, or philanthropic, of the day, — and levelled against every quackery in the political or social world ; and the beaiity of the plan is. that gorgeous entertainment is given with sound instruction in the exposure of each. Ha ! the heart- aches we should have been spared — the fortunes we should have saved, if, in our younger days, we could only haA^e looked into a prophetic mirror, like the one we now propose, and have learnt, before rushing into some new Utopian folly, or plunging headlong into a railway of liaK-a-crown shares from El Dorado to the Exeter Change Arcade, what would have been their Dissolving Views ! 15(; THE STAGE PRINCE. THE STAGE PRINCE. BY THE EDITOR. Royalty on the stage is iisiially veiy unfortunate, and the treatment it receives is under even the most favourable circumstances, anything but what it ought to be. If the stage monarch is in the height and plenitude of his power, there is very little respect shown to him. He has to march about in processions with a pasteboard crown on his head, while the royal ennine is nothing better than flannel with tufts of worsted fastened on to it. As to his palace, though the walls are finely painted, there is scarcely one room that he can comfortably sit down in, for the apartments are usually as ban-en of funiiture as if a distress for rent had recently cleai'ed them. If he gives a banquet, there is nothing to eat but a quantity of artificial flowers in vases, and some imitation fruit, moulded all in one piece on a pa;pier mdche plateau ; so that, if the fi-uit were eatable, the plate of which it forms a part would have to be devoured with it. The stage monarch has generally very little to say, and perches himself quietly on a very uncomfortable throne raised on a rickety platform, with scarcely room for his feet ; while some individuals, turning their backs upon his Majesty, amuse themselves with dancing. He is frequently swora at, and imperatively ordered by the stage-manager, who is a viceroy over him, to get down from his throne, that it may be dragged oif at the wing by the scene-shifters just before the fete concludes, when the monarch sneaks in anywhere among the crowd of supernumeraries who constitute his " people." His snubbed Majesty feels that he shall interfere with some Terpsichorean grouping, or destroy the final tableau of a pas de deux, if he does not get out of the way ; and he keeps backing .and backing, until some of his court, in-itated perhaps by the pressure of the royal heels on their plebeian coras, check his further retreat -svith — " Now then, stupid ! where are you coming to ?" But the stage monarch is not always a mere nonentity, for he sometimes takes a very active part, and developes some very remarkable traits of character. If he happens to be a king after the pattern of him known familiarly as the " merry monarch," though in reality a very sad dog. he gets into tavern rows, flirts with the barmaid, cheats the landlord, insults the guests, and is on the point of being subjected to merited chastisement, when some tradesman of the court — perhaps the mUkman or the butcher — recognizes the King, from which it must be iufen-ed that his Majesty is in the habit of iJcrsonaUy taking in the milk or ordering the meat for dinner. If the dramatists can take liberties even with royalty moulded on the model of an English sovereign, it may be supposed that they will run into considerable rampanoy when picturing one of the monarchs in miniature that are supposed toswai'm on the Continent. A foreign princedom standing like a suburban villa in its own groiuids, with cavalry barracks for six horses, a large roomy outhouse for infantry, and the use of a paddock for an occasional review, may admit of considerable latitude in the way of dramatic treatment, for no one knows whether it is right or wrong ; and it may be, theref sneaking al>out the outskirts of a forest, with one " trusty retaiuei*," and falling in !■ \i with the daughter of some dealer in firewood, who comes home every evening to talk THE STAGE PRINCE. ]57 seutimcnt about bis cbiltl. after baviiig been employed all day in felling timber tbat does not belong to bim. Tbe stage prince, wben be does make xip bis mind to claim bis rigbts, issues no proclamation ; but muffles bimself up in an enormous cloak tbat be may not be known, and arrives in bis own territories during some fete tbat is being given by tbe " wrongful beir " to celebrate tbe feast of tbe grottoes, (gttcere, oyster-day ?) or anytbing else wbicb makes a line in tbe play-bill and admits of an incidental ballet. Tbe " rigbtful beir " keeps judiciously in tne background during tbe dancing, and tbe " wrongfvil beir" eyes bim witbout knowing wby ; and in tbe intervals of tbe festivities comes mysteriously forward to tell tbe orcbestra tbat " be don't know bow it is, but sometbing seems to weigh at bis beart ;" and be will occasionally inquire politely of Conscience wben it will allow peace to enter tbe guilty breast, from wbicb it bas bitberto been a probibited article. He will ever and anon eye tbe " rigbtful beir " witb a suspicion for wbicb be — or any one else — cannot account' and ultimately be will make some observation from wbicb tbe stranger in tbe cloak will dissent ; and bigb woi'ds will ensue, in wbicb tbe " rigbtful beir " will be addressed as " Caitift'l" and asked by wbat rigbt be interrupts tbe festival. Every one will gatber round. but no one will know tbe " rigbtful beir ;" until, throwing off bis cloak, be developes a blaze of orders, including a terrific freemason's star and a qtaantity of ornaments in paste, ticketed up cheap at a pawnbroker's. The discovery of the oi'ders, accompanied by a sudden throwing off of the bat, will cause all to go down on their knees, the courtiers exclaiming " Sire !" the female peasants 158 A GARLAND. innruuirinK out " tlio Prince," and turning round to each other with "My gracious," " Only think," " Did you ever," &c., in a series of facetious asides ; while the male peasants shout " Our long-lost lord !" the supernumeraries, who can only be entrusted with a single word> cry simply " Sire !" and the discomfited " wrongful heir," covering his face in shame and confusion, mutters out " My liege !" while the chorus-singers burst into a concluding strain of joy, love, and loyalty. % 6av(;inb. BY EDWAl'.D KEXEALY. AiiTou ^o1 (nfic feet every twenty-four lioiiis. t .About IGOO, Dr. Clayton fust made coal ga.s, which he biHMi.xJ as it came f.oni Miiall \w\ii< inicke.l in a Madder. THE PRESERVATION OP LIFE. 161 communicates with a beU. In tlio case of fire, the end a, bein^ edge of the adjoining balcony, and at the same time rings a bell. unfastened, falls to the The end b, being released, sy- M \l falls inward (c), and thiis opens a communication with the adjoining house. The beU would prevent any improper use being made of the balcony, and if so constructed, serve as an alarum. 2nd. The formation of a continuous balcony would ])e impracticable where houses were of different altitudes. In siich case we would propose the erection of " Fire Galleries," made in the form of a balcony, but having iron shutters between each window, in order that persons seeking refuge might be protected from danger, should any flames issue from the adjoining windows. Ten or twelve persons might remain uninjured for a length of time in one of these fire-galleries, or until such time as the fire-ladders could be brought to their rescue. A ladder of iron placed in the front of the house, and so con- structed that a person might descend between it and the wall, would also afford a safe mode of escape. (Fig. 2.) We repeat that we do not put forward these plans as pre-eminently advisable, but the legislature, that compels the formation of party-walls and sewers, ought to make the erection of some such simple and EFFECTIVE ESCAPE C03IPULS0RY UPON THE LANDLORD OF EVERY HOUSE IN THE METROPOLIS. As we are upon this subject, we shall not hesitate to speak of another matter of gross neglect, where the life of woman is more particularly at stake. We allude to the construction of fenders. How often is the public heart wrung by statements of some glad and lovely creature being reduced to a mass of hideousness by the ignition of the di-ess which was to have lent adornment to her beauty, even by the unexpected opening of a door ! Could not the frequency of such calamities be diminished by adopting some other form of construction for the fender ? We would suggest the introduction of a perpendicular ornament rising from the centre, as exhibited in Fig. 3. We will now add an extract from a letter which we have received from our worthy friend, " The Old Sailor :" — " It is a fearful thing in a dismal and dreary night, when the gale is howling above, and the breakers are roaring below, to be lashed helpless to some cleat or mast or shroud, whilst the wild waves l^eat over the sufferers, whose hopes have been driven away by the threatened death that appears inevitable. Dreadful are the feel- ings, as the ship writhes iipon the rocks which gi'iud her stout timbers to mere powder — horrible to witness the raging of the ocean as it seems to deride in mockery the cries of the despairing crew and passengers. ' Alas ! from thence there's no leti eating.' The ship must be their coffin, and the billowy ocean their watery grave. Those fur i CC^i- ^^ 16'J THE PllESERVATION OF LIFE. who have not experienced such visitations, can never form an adequate idea of the horrors that rush out of the blackness of darkness to torture the spirits of the afflicted, as they behold first one, and then another, washed away, and, for a few seconds, struggling in the white foam of the sea against the destruction that ensues. Even should the weather be fine when a wreck takes place— it may be after a stui-m— or. striking on the rocks, that the leak may still overwhelm the sinking craft in smooth water— the keen agony is the same ;— and, oh 1 to hear the piercing shriek as the last death-pang separates time from eternity, its thrilling sounds are never to be forgotten. '' Now, much of this might be prevented, and that too by the simplest means. The Chinese are far before us in this matter. When their large junks go to sea. each passenger takes his own merchandise under his immediate care ; and it is rarely, if ever known, that they neglect to cany with them three pieces of stout bamboo, formed into a kind of triangular seat (Fig. 4) ; sometimes they have four pieces fixed in a square. These, being hollow, will not only float, but will also sustain great weight; and a fiiend assured us that he was eye-witness to the wreck of one of these large junks, when crew and passengers clapped these pieces of bamboo round their bodies iinder their arms, and threw themselves into the fickle waves. The buniing rays of the sun came down with fierce intensity,* but John Chinaman was prepared even for that. Like Paul Piy, the everlasting umbrella was at hand — it was promptly hoisted, and away they went for the shore, conversing as freely as the noise would admit ; and truly ludicrous was their appear- ance, resembling a fleet of gigantic mushrooms broke adrift from their moorings, — but all were saved. C^^-^ ^.-j^^-ti. - ■eT' "And what does this simple contrivance suggest? The facility of presenting life. Let every article on board our ships be made of a thoroughly floating nature ; chairs, stools, tables, mattresses, and boats. Nay, more — every individual, male and female, should furnish themselves, the men with watei"proof waistcoats, the ladies with pelerines, which may be blown out and distended by the breath. We have seen some of this kind covered with black satin that look quite handsome ; and, when their uses are taken into consideration, invaluable in the time of peril. When we hear of the melancholy occurrences that have taken place in steam-boats, we would ask, why are they not all constructed in compartments with double bottoms, and especially at the most probable point of collision — the bows ? It is, indeed, a matter for serious contemplation." We ti'ust that none of our readers will consider the small space which we have devoted to this subject as misapplied — imperfectly as we feel we have executed the task thus voluntarily undertaken : but having the advantages of illustration at command, we have preferred the risk of disappointing a few of our good friends, who look to our pages for mirthful sentences alone, to incumug the self-reproach of having maintained silence upon a subject which we feel to be important, as afi"ecting the good of many of our fellow- creatures, and which could not hav our pencil. e oeen so irly put forward without the elucidation of G. C' See " Notes taki )!,' the late War in fliiiia." Ky C;ipt. Cutaway.— TMe-BoJ:, p. I SOtUAL ZOOLOUY.-ORXITPIOLOGY. 163 SOCIA[. ZOOLOGY.— ORNITHOLOGY. BY THE EDITOR. When looking at Social Zoology in all its branches, we cannot omit the birds ; which may be said to perch on several branches of the great tree of Natural History. We shall therefore favour our readers with a little ornithology, and shall commence by taking a bird's-eye view of the progress of that important science. Old Francis Willoughby wi-ote a work on the subject with the quaintness incident to his time, which means that the spelling is so bad, and the expressions are so out of the way, that the modern student can make neither head nor tail of it. Ray came next with his Synopsis, in which he jumbled birds and fishes so beautifully together, that it was impossible from reading him to " know a hawk fi-om a hand-saw." Some years later Pennant penned a Treatise in which he endeavoured to clear up the ambiguities of his predecessors, but the old gentleman only succeeded in making their ■■ confusion worse confounded." In 1789. William Lewin published a quarto on British birds, with portraits of their eggs ; but as he gave an enumeration of several feathered creatni-es that no one ever saw, he must have counted some of his chickens before they were hatched : which was, as Donovan observed, " giving the student foul play by misleading him." We must not omit to mention our old friend Buffon, who was very critical on the subject of ornithology, and found fault with some birds on account of their mode of construction ; he being under the delusion that he might have made a better hand of it than Nature herself, had the manufacture of the feathered tribe heen intrusted to him. He would have put the bill of one to the claws of the other, and had he been a member of Parliament he would probably have brought in a measure to amend certain bills, or put a different construction on some claws which he might have an objection to. The arrangement and classification of birds wiU be found anything but an easy task ; for no sooner do you get them into something like order, than they are flying about on all sides of you. A bird in hand is said to be worth two in the bush ; bvit the philosopher who sits down to classify the feathered tribe without any one of them in hand, will be obliged to beat about the bush to an awful extent before he can get a firm hold of his subject. We shall, however, avoid this error, and plunge at once into the subject of Social Ornithology, by coming down upon the birds of every-day life, like, if we may allow ourselves the com- parison, the donkey among the chickens. The first order of birds we shall pounce upon, are those who are always pouncing upon others — namely, the Raptores, or Isirds of prey, which include the Vulturidae, or tribe of Vultures. These dreadful creatures are of various kinds, but the great long-billed or lawyer Vulture is the most formidable of any. He is among birds what the tiger is among brutes ; and, in fact, though not absolutely of the cat class, the lawyer Vulture belongs to the fee-line order. He has nonstrous quiUs, which are of great use to him, and his claws are very strong. He often builds his nest in the gloomy arches of old Temples — the Inner and the Middle — from which he watches his prey with great eagerness. The bill is the most formidable part of these birds, who sometimes stick it into their victim with the most unsparing vehemence. It is said they only follow Nature's common law in providing for themselves; but Nature's common law should sometimes be restrained by an injunction ICA SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ORNITHOLOGY, from tbe superior Com-t of Equity. Many of the lawyer birds are tame and amiable creatures, acting as tbe friends and companions of man, instead of being bis constant enemies. Tbese are, bowever, a somewbat diflFerent class, witb mucb shorter biUs, and not so black in their plumage. Next to tbe Social Vultures come tbe Hawks, who are the subordinates of tbe class we have just described, and are often employed in hunting up tbe prey that tbe former feed upon. Tbe Hawks, bowever, take care to get a good share for themselves before placing the victim in tbe Vulture's clutches. Tbe Hawk may be called the bailiif-bird, and is superior to tbe Vulture in the pursuit of prey, '* gUding," as we are told by Sir W. Jardine, in bis Naturalist's Libraiy, " along tbe back of hedges, or the skii-t of some cover ; any obstruction on tbe way or fence is passed, as it were, by a bo\uid, calculated with exactness, tbe action perfonned witb apparently no exertion." We are then told that " the prey is seized in the same rapid and easy manner, and the object seized almost without tbe spectator being able to distinguish it." Any one who has seen a hawk, or bailiff-bird, pursuing bis prey in tbe shape of a jail-bird, must have recognized the truth of the above description. Tbe Hawk, or bailiff-bird, is now becoming extinct, and has degenerated into a sort of blue finch or police cock-sparrow, who is marked with a zebra's stripe, as if to show bis relationship to the ordinary, or rather the extraordinary, jackass. There is another species of Hawk, called the Gambler-bird, whose prey is tbe pigeon, which is sometimes completely plucked by its oj^pressor, and when it has nothing more left, its persecutor will often take from it its bill, which frequently proves to be valueless. We have already alluded to the jail-bird, which is, when it can be caught, kept confined in strong iron cages. There are several specimens to be seen in the public aviaries, l^ut there is sometimes great difficulty in catching them, on account of their veiy shy disposition. They bear a great resemblance to tbe owl when in their free state, being nocturnal birds of prey, and when in fuU feather, they are said to be exceedingly downy. Their plumage is, bowever, very loose, and is soon taken away from them. They are seldom seen in tbe day. and though, like the owls, they are very knowing birds, their short-sightedness is proverbial. T)\eir claws are peculiarly formed for clutching, and they can turn tbe joints either forward or backward, so that they can practise a sort of sleight-of-hand witb mucb clevemoss. The jail-bird is always very sensitive when it is being pursued, and can generally tell by instinct if there are any beaks coming after it. Among the birds that form a very extensive class in Social Zoology, are the Boobies, who share witli other birds to a great extent the practice of an annual migration across the water. They are often followed by rooks, and waited for on tbe other side by hawks, between whom tbe Boobies are sadly -victimised. The Social Bot>by walks with difficulty, .111(1 in fact cannot get on. He frequents tbe ledges of rocks, and indeed always seems to Ik- l)lundering on to the edge of a precipice. We have already alluded to the annual migi-ation of tbe feathered tribe, and the Italian singing-birds who visit our clime every year invariably take their flight at the beginning of August. Mr. Bi-oderip in his article on birds in tbe Penny Cyclopa?ilia, alludes to tbe flying vocalists — of her Majesty's Theatre — in tbe following terms : " That some of our delicate songsters with no great power of wing, should cross tbe seas periodically, retuniing, as they undoubtedly do, to those spots which they have before haunted, and which are associated in tbeii* memories witb the pleasing cares of former years, excites our admiration if not our astonishment. As regularly as the (Opera) seasons of which they are tbe harbingers, do tbese litth travellers (be forgets La])laobe) visit us. and as regularly do they take their departure." We are then told that to make provisiou for themselves and their young is the cause which instinctively loads tbe foreign warblers to this country. It is a peculiarity A LEGP:ND of the KHINE. 105 of tLese birds that tliev are generally successfully occupied in feathering their nests while they remain in England. The Goldfinch is a British bird that invariably migrates in the course of the year, and sometimes remains abroad for a long period. It is preceded by courier-birds, and followed by a variety of chattering pies, some of whom are called Livery-birds, from the variegated nature of their plumage. The native Bullfinch generally migrates with his mate and little ones, but frequently is contented with going only as far as the sea-side, without crossing over. He is often much afraid of Mother Carey and her celebrated chickens. But these fearful birds exist only in the imagination of the Bullfinch. Birds of this description are distinguished from the Raptores, or birds of prey, by the term Natatores, or waders ; and at the annual migration^ even " the ducks and the geese they all swim over," if they can find an opportunity. There are a few birds of doubtful character that hoj) the twig suddenly when the season is past, and are never seen aftei-wards. Social Ornithology comprises a few other birds we have not already mentioned, including the Gull and the Spoonbill. The former is remarkable for its digestion, and will swallow anything. The Spoonbill is a sort of adjutant to the Wild Goose, and this accounts for the fact of the Spoonbill going very frequently on "Wild Goose eiTands. % f ccicnb of tbc ^Ibine. {Continued from j)<:'0^ 150.) CHAPTER VII. The singular document, illustrative of the passions of women at all times, and particularly of the manners of the early ages, struck dismay into the heart of the Margrave. " Are her ladyship's insinuations correct ?" asked the Hermit, in a severe tone. " To coiTect a wife vt^ith a cane is a venial, I may say a justifiable, practice ; but to fling a bottle at her, is a aiiin both to the liquor and to her." " But she sent a carving-knife at me first," said the heart-broken husband. Oh, jealousy, cursed jealousy, why, why did I ever listen to thy green and yellow tongue ?'' '• They quarrelled, but they loved each other sincerely," whispered Sir Ludwig to the Hermit, who began to deliver forthwith a lecture upon family discord and marital authority, which Avould have sent his two hearers to sleep, but for the arrival of the second messenger, whom the Margrave had despatched to Cologne for his son. This herald wore a still longer face than that of his comrade who preceded him. "Where is my darling?" roared the agonised parent. "Have ye brought him with j'e ?" " N — no," said the man, hesitating. " I will flog the knave soundly when he conies," cried the father, vainly endeavouring, under an appearance of sternness, to hide his inward emotion and tenderness. *' Please your highness," said the messenger, making a desperate effort, " Count Otto is not at the Convent." " Know ye, knave, where he is h" 1G6 A LEGEND OF THE 15H1NE. The SW5UU soloumly sauvi. ** I do. He is /Afrv." He pointevl as he spake to the brvvtd Rhiue. that wiis seen from the casement, lighted up by the magnificent hues of suuset. " ThtriY • How mean ye thirrr f" gasjnxl the Margnive. wrought to a pitch of nervous fury. " Alas ! my gvxni lonl. w hen he wus in the boat which wss to coaiduct him to the Convent, he — he jumped suddenly fro>m it, and is dr — dr — owned." " Carry that knave otit and hang him !" said the Margrave, with a calmness more dreadful than any outburst of rage. •" Let every man of the K>at's crew be blown fn>m the mouth of the cann^vn on the tower — except the cv>xswain. and let him be * * '' What was to be doue with the conswain. no one knows ; for at that moment, and over- come bv his emotion, the Margrave s\ink down lifeless on the floor. C HAFT tut VIII. rhr CbiWr of (SoUrsbrrg. It must be clear to the dullest intellect vif amongst our dear readers we dar\f venture to preisxune that a dull intellect shvnUd be fvnmdi that the cause of the Margrave's fainting fit, des*."'ril>ed in the last chapter, was a grv»uniUess apprehension, on the part of that too s>i\licitous and credulous nobleman, regarding the fate *.>f his beloved child. Xo. young Otto w^s »«>* drv»wned. Was ever heiv^ of rv>mantic story done to death so early in the tale ? Tvning Otto was »»>* drvi'wned. Had such been the case, the Lon.! Margrave woiUd infallibly have dievl at the close of the last chapter; and a few gloomy sentences at its clo«3i? would have denoted how the lovely L;»dy ThcvMora becs»me insane in the Convent, and how Sir Ludwig determiuc^l. up^vn the demise i>f the old hermit i,cv>nse. to retire to the vacant hermitage, and assume the robe, the beard, the mortificativvns v>f the late veueraWe and slitary ecclesiastic- Otto was nuf drowned, and all thivse pers»images of v>ur history are cvxnse^uently alive and welL The K>at co-ntaining the amaxevl yotiug Cotmt — f^>r he knew m.>t the cause of his father's anger, and heiKV reWUevl against the unjust sentence which the Margrave had uttered — had nii< rv»wevl many miles, when the gallant K^y rallied from his temporary surprise and desp^>ndency. anvl. dctenuiuevl nv>t to be a slave in any cv^nvent of any order, he resolved to make a desperate eff'v>n for escai>e. At a moment when the men were pivUing hard against the tide, and Ktmo. the coscswain. was Kx^king caref idly to steer the barge betweeu sonu - - - < rvx'ks and vjuicksauds, which are frequently met with in the majestic the. s river. Otto gave a sudvien spring from the K>at. and with one single flouuv . - ..-- V K>iling. frothing, swirling evldy of the stream. Fancy the agvxny of the crew at the disappeaiamv i>f their yv^ung lord I All loved him ; all would have given their lives for him ; but as they vlid not know how to swim, of cvHirse they deelinevl to make any useless plunges in search of him. and stood cvn their oars in mute wooader and grief. Oit»v, his fair head and gvJden ringlets were seen to arise from the water; hritw, puffing ac\l panting, it appearwl for an instant again; tkriae, it rvvse but for one single m\.>ment : it was the last chance, and it sunk. sunk. sunk. Knv>wing the reeeption they wv^dd meet with fro>m their lit>ge lord, the men naturally did n^.^ go borne to Gvvie^berg. but ptitting in at the first creek on the opposite bank, fled into A LEGEND OF THE KIIINE. 167 tho Duko of Nassau's tovrit.M-y. wh.>vo. as thoy have littl.^ to da with our talo. wo will loavo tlioin. But tlioy litllo kuow how export a swiunuor was younj; Otto. Ho had aisappoarod. it is true ; but why P Booauso ho had dived. Ho oalouhitea that his conductors would consider hiui drowned, and the desire of liberty lending him wings, or wo had rather say Jim, in thia instance, tho gallant boy swam on beneath the water, never lifting his head for a single moment between Godesborg and Cologne-tho distance being twenty-five or thirty miles. kikiiu dA .~:^v V;- >^> Escaping from observation, he landed on the Dcutz side of tho river, repaired to a. comfortable and quiet lu)stol there, saying he had had an accident from a boat. aJid thus accounting fi>r the nuusturo of his habiliments, and while those were drying boft)re a. fire in his chaml>er. wont snugly to bed. where ho mused, not without amaze, of the strange events of the day. " This morning." thought ho, " a, noble and heir to a princely estate — this evening an outcast, with but a few bank-notes which my mamma luckily gave mo on my birthday. What a strange entry into life is this for a young man of my famil}^ ! Well. I have courage and resolution; my lirst attempt in life has been a gallant and successful one ; other dangers will be conquered by similar bravery." And recommending himself, his unhappy mother, and his mistaken father to tho care of their patron saint. Saint Burt'o. tho gallant-hearted boy fell presently into such a sleep as only tho young, the healthy, tho innocent, and the extremely fatigued can onjoy. The fatigues of the day (and very few men but would bo fatigued after swimming woU- nigh thirty miles under water) caused young Otto to sleep so profoundly, that ho did not remark how. ivftor Friday's sunset, as a naturitl consequence. Saturday's Phcpbus illumined tho world, ay, and sunk at his appointed hour. Tho serving-maidens of tho hostel peeping in, marked him sleeping, and bl<»ssing him for a pretty youth, tripped lightly from tho chamber; the boots tried haply twice or thrice to call him (as boots will fain), but the lovely bo3\ giving another snore, turned on his side, and was quite unconscious of tho interruption. In a word, tho youth slept for six-and-thirty hours at an elongation; and the Sunday sun was shining, and the bolls of tho hniuln-d clmrohos of Cologne were \m A LEGEND OF TPIE PJIINE. clinking and tolling in pious festivity, and the burghers and biu'gheresses of the town were trooping to vespers and morning service when Otto woke. As he donned his clothes of the richest Genoa velvet, the astonished boy could not at first account for his difficulty in putting them on. " MaiTy." said he, " these breeches that my blessed mother (tears filled his fine eyes as he thought of her), that my blessed mother had made long on purpose, are now ten inches too short for me ! Whir-r-r ! my coat cracks i' the back, as in vain I tiy to buckle it round me ; and the sleeves reach no farther than my elbows ! What is this mystery ? Am I grown fat and tall in a single night ? Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! I have it." The young and good-humoured Childe laughed merrily. He bethought him of the reason of his mistake : his garments had shrunk from being five-and-twenty miles under water. But one remedy presented itself to his mind ; and that we need not say was to purchase new ones. Inquiring the way to the most genteel ready-made clothes establishment in the city of Cologne, and finding it was kept in the Minoriten Strasse, by an ancestor of the celebrated Moses of London, the noble Childe hied him towards the emporium, but you may be sure did not neglect to perform his religious duties by the way. Entei-ing the cathedral, he made straight for the shrine of Saint Buff"o, and hiding himself behind a pillar there (fearing lest he might be recognized by the Archbishop, or any of his father's numerous friends in Cologne), he proceeded with his devotions, as was the practice of the young nobles of the age. But though exceedingly intent upon the service, yet his eye could not refrain from wandering a little round aboiit him, and he remarked with sm-prise that the whole church was filled with archers ; and he remembered, too, that he had seen in the streets numerous other bands of men similarly attired in gi-een. On asking at the cathedral porch the cause of this assemblage, one of the green ones said (in a jape), " MaiTy, youngster, you must be green, not to know that we are all boimd to the castle of His Grace Duke Adolf of Cleves, who gives an archery meeting once a year, and prizes, for which we toxophdites muster strong." Otto, whose course hitherto had been undetermined, now immediately settled what to do. He straightway repaired to the ready-made emporium of Herr Moses, and bidding that gentleman furnish him with an archer's complete dress, Moses speedily selected a suit from his vast stock, which fitted the youth to a t, and we need not say was sold at an exceedingly moderate price. So attired (and bidding Herr Moses a cordial farewell), young Otto was a gorgeous, a noble, a soul-inspii-ing boy to gaze on. A coat and breeches of the most brilliant pea-green, ornamented with a profusion of brass buttons, and fitting him with exquisite tightness, showed off a figure unrivalled for sliui symmetry. His feet were covered with peaked buskins of buff leather, and a belt round his slender waist of the same material, held his knife, his tobacco-pipe and pouch, and his long shining dirk, which, though the adventurous youth had as yet only employed it to fashion wicket -bails, or to cut bread-and-cheese, he was now quite ready to use against the enemy. His personal attractions were enhanced by a neat white hat, flung carelessly and fearlessly on one side of his open smiling countenance, and his lovely hair, curling in ten thousand yellow ringlets, fell over his shoulder like golden epaulettes, and down his back as far as the waist-buttons of his coat. I warrant mo. mauy a lovely Cidnerinn looked after the handsome Childe with anxiety, and dreamed that night of Cupid under the guise of "a l)onny boy in green." S(^ accoutred, the youth's next thought was, that he must supply himself with a bow. This he speedily purchased at the most fashionable bowyer's. and of the best material and make. It was of ivory, trimmed with pink ribl)on, and the cord of silk. An elegant A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 169 qiiiver, beautifully painted and embroidered, was slung across bis back, witb a dozen of tbe finest arrows, tipped witb steel of Damascus, formed of tbe brancbes of tbe famous Upas-tree of Java, and featbered witb tbe wings of tbe ortolan. Tliese purcbases being completed (togetber witb tbat of a knapsack, dressing-case, cbange, &c.), our young adven- turer asked wbere was tbe bostel at whicb tbe arcbers were wont to assemble ; and being informed tbat it was at tbe sign of tbe Golden Stag, bied bim to tbat bouse of entertain- ment, wbere, by calling for quantities of liquor and beer, be speedily made tbe acquaint- ance and acquired tbe good will of a company of bis future comrades, wbo bappened to be sitting in tbe coffee-room. After tbey bad eaten and drunken for all, Otto said, addressing tbem, " Wben go ye fortb, gentles ? I am a stranger bere, bound as you to tbe arcbery meeting of Duke Adolf, an ye will admit a youtb into your company, 'twill gladden me upon my lonely way ?" Tbe arcbers replied, " You seem so young and jolly, and you spend your gold so very like a gentleman, tbat we'll receive you in our band witb pleasure. Be ready, for we start at balf-past two !" At tbat bour accordingly tbe wbole joyous company prepared to move, and Otto not a little increased bis popularity among tbem by stepping out and baving a conference witb tbe landlord, wbicb caused tbe latter to come into tbe room wbere tbe arcbers were assembled previous to departure, and to say, " Gentlemen, tbe bill is settled !" — words never ungrateful to an arcber yet : no, marry, nor to a man of any otber calling tbat I wot of. Tbey marcbed joyously for several leagues, singing and joking, and telling of a tbousand feats of love and cbase and war. Wbile tbus engaged, some one remarked to Otto, tbat be was not dressed in tbe regular uniform, baving no featbers in bis bat. " I daresay I will find a featber," said tbe lad, smiling. Tben anotber gibed because bis bow was new. " See tbat you can use your old one as well. Master Wolfgang," said tbe undisturbed youtb. His answers, bis bearing, bis generosity, bis beauty, and bis wit, inspired all bis new toxopbilite friends witb interest and curiosity, and tbey longed to see wbetber bis skiU witb tbe bow corresponded witb tbeir secret sympathies for bim. An occasion for manifesting tbis skill did not fail to present itself soon — as indeed it seldom does to sucb a bero of romance as young Otto was. Fate seems to watcb over sucb ; events occur to tbem just in tbe nick of time; tbey rescue virgins just as ogres are on tbe point of devouring tbem ; tbey manage to be present at coiu-t and interesting ceremonies, and to see tbe most interesting people at tbe most interesting moment; directly an adventure is necessary for tbem, tbat adventure occurs, and I, for my part, bave often wondered witb deligbt (and never could penetrate tbe mystery of tbe subject) at tbe way in wbicb tbat bumblest of romance beroes, Signor Clown, wben be wants anything in tbe Pantomime, straightway finds it to bis band. How is it tbat, — suppose be wishes to dress himself wp like a woman for instance, tbat minvite a coal-heaver walks in witb a shovel bat that answers for a bonnet ; at the very next instant a butcher's lad passing witb a string of sausages and a bimdle of bladders unconsciously helps Master Clown to a necklace and a tournure, and so on through tbe whole toilet ? Depend upon it there is something we do not wot of in tbat mysterious overcoming of circumstances by great individuals, tbat apt and wondrous conjuncture of the Hour and the Man ; and so, for my part, wben I beard tbe above remark of one of tbe archers, tbat Otto bad never a feather in bis bonnet, I felt sure tbat a heron would spring up in the next sentence to supply bim witb an aigrette. And sucb indeed was the fact ; rising out of a morass by wbicb the arcbers were passing, a gallant heron, arching bis neck, swelling bis crest, placing bis legs behind bim, and his beak and red eyes against tbe wind, rose slowly, and offered tbe fairest mark in the world. 170 A LEGEXD OF THE RHINE. "Shoot, Otto," said one of the archers. "You would not shoot just now at a crow because it was a foul bird, nor at a hawk because it was a noble bird ; luring us down yon heron. It flies slowly." But Otto was busy that moment tying his shoe-string, and Rudolf, the thii-d best of the archers, shot at the bird and missed it. " Shoot, Otto," said Wolfgang, a youth who had taken a liking to the yoiing archer, " the bird is getting further and further." But Otto was busy that moment whittling a ^villow twig he had just cut. Max, the second best archer, shot and missed. " Then " said Wolfgang, " I must try myself ; a plague on you, young Springald, you have lost a noble chance !" Wolfgang prepared himself with all his care, and shot at the bird. " It is out of distance," said he, " and a muiTain on the bird !" Otto, who by this time had done whittling his willow stick (having carved a capital caricature of Wolfgang upon it), flung the twig down and said carelessly, " Out of distance ! Pshaw ! We have two miniites yet," and fell to asking riddles and cutting jokes, to the which none of the archers listened, as they were all engaged, their noses in air, watching the retreating bird. " Where shall I hit him 'f said Otto. " Go to," said Rudolf, " thou canst see no limb of him, he is no bigger than a flea." "Here goes for his right eye!" said Otto; and stepping forward in the English manner (which his godfather, having learnt in Palestine, had taught him), he brought his bow-string to his ear, took a good aim allowing for the wind, and calculating the parabohi to a nicety, whizz I his arrow went off. He took up the willow tmg again, and began carving a head of Rudolf at the other end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while. The archers, after standing a long time looking skywards with their noses in the air. at last brought them down from the perpendicular to the horizontal position, and said, •• Pooh, this lad is a humbug ! The aiTow's lost, let's go I" " Heads !" cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly descending from the heavens ; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge, then as a tea-kettle, and flop ! do^vn fell a magnificent heron to the ground, flooring poor Max in its fall. " Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang," said Otto, without looking at the bird_ " wipe it and put it back into my quiver." The aiTow indeed was there, ha^-ing penetrated right through the pupil. " Are you in league with Der Freischiitz ?" said Rudolf, quite amazed. Otto laughingly whistled the " Huntsman's Chorus," and said, " No my friend. It was a lucky shot, only a lucky shot. I was taught shooting, look you. in the fashion of merry England, where the archers are ai'chers indeed." And so he cut ofi" the heron's wing for a plume for his hat ; and the archers walked on, much amazed, and saying, " What a wonderful coimtry that meny England must be 1" Far from feeling any envy at their comrade's success, the joUy archers recognized his superiority with pleasure; and Wolfgang and Rudolf especially held out their hands tu the younker, and besought the honour of his friendship. They continued their walk all day, and when night fell made choice of a good hostel, you may be sure, where over beer, punch, champagne, and every luxury, they driuik to the health of the Duke of Clcves, and indeed each other's healths all round. Next day they resumed their nuirch. and continued it without inten*uption, except to take in a supply of victuals here and there (and it was found on these occasions that Otto, young as ho was. could eat four times A LEGEND OP THE RHINE. as mucli as the oldest arclier present, and drink to correspond), and these continued refreshments having given them more than ordinary strength, they determined on making rather a long march of it, and did not halt till after nightfall at the gates of the little town of Windeck. What was to be done ? the town-gates were shut. " Is there no hostel, no castle where we can sleep ?" asked Otto of the sentinel at the gate. " I am so hungry that, in lack of better food, I think I could eat my gi-andmamma." The sentinel laughed at this hyperbolical expression of hunger, and said, " Ton had best go sleep at the Castle of Windeck yonder ;" and adding, with a peculiarly knowing look, " Nobody will disturb you there." At that moment the moon broke out from a cloud, and showed on a hill hard by a castle indeed — but the skeleton of a castle. The roof was gone, the windows were dismantled, the towers were tumbling, and the cold moonlight pierced it through and through. One end of the building was, however, still covered in, and stood looking still more f rovming, vast, and gloomy, even than the other part of the edifice. " There is a lodging, certainly," said Otto to the sentinel, who pointed towards the castle with his bartizan ; " but tell me, good fellow, what are we to do for a supper ?" " O, the castellan of Windeck wiU entertain you," said the man-at-arms with a grin, and marched vip the embrasure, the while the archers, taking counsel among themselves, debated whether or not they should take up their quarters in the gloomy and deserted edifice. " We shall get nothing but an owl for supper there," said young Otto. " Marry, lads, let us storm the town ; we are thirty gallant fellows, and I have heard the garrison is not more than three hundred." But the rest of the party thought such a way of getting supper was not a very cheap one, and, grovelling knaves, preferred rather to sleep ignobly and without victuals, than dare the assault with Otto, and die, or conquer something comfoi'table. One and all then made their way towards the castle. They entered its vast and silent halls, frightening the owls and bats that fled before them with hideous hootings and flappings of wings, and passing by a multiplicity of mouldy stairs, dank reeking roofs, and rickety corridors, at last came to an apartment which, dismal and dismantled as it was, appeared to be in rather better condition than the neighbouring chambers, and they therefore selected it as their place of rest for the night. They then tossed up which should mount guard. The first two hours of watch fell to Otto, who was to be succeeded by his young though humble friend Wolfgang ; and, accordingly, the Child e of Godesberg, drawing his dirk, began to pace iipon his weary round ; while his comrades, by various gradations of snoring, told how profoundly they slept, spite of their lack of supper. 'Tis needless to say what were the thoughts of the noble Childe as he performed his two hours' watch ; what gushing memories poured into his full soul ; what " sweet and bitter " recollections of home inspired his throbbing heart ; and what manly aspirations after fame buoyed him up. " Youth is ever confident," says the bard, li appy, happy season ! The moon-lit hours passed by on silver wings, the tmnkling stars looked friendly down upon him. Confiding in their youthful sentinel, sound sle t the valorous toxophilites, as up and down, and there and back again, marched on the noble Childe. At length his repeater told him, much to his satisfaction, that it was half -past eleven, the hour when his watch was to cease, and so giving a playful kick to the slumbering Wolfgang, that good-humoured fellow sprung up from his lair, and, drawing his sword, proceeded to relieve Otto. 172 THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. The latter laid him down for warmth's sake in the very spot which his comrade had left, and for some time could not sleep. Realities and visions then began to mingle in his mind, till he scarce knew which was which. He dozed for a minute ; then he woke with a stai-t ; then he went ofif agaia ; then woke up again. In one of these half -sleeping moments he thought he saw a figure, as of a woman in white, sliding into the room, and beckoning Wolfgang from it. He looked again. Wolfgang was gone. At that moment twelve o'clock clanged from the town, and Otto started up. {To he continued.) THE FORCE OF CIECUMSTANCES. My name is John J(mes. I dare say you have seen it in the newspapers under the head of "Police," "A gentleman in trouble," ''More knocker stealing" ''Fashionable amusement" &c. Somebody has said that all men are mad upon some subject or the other. Quite right, depend upon it. My monomania is door-knockers, with an occasional fui'or for bell-handles. I've a museum which I shall be glad to show any gentleman who will leave his card with the publisher of the magazine. There he will see specimens an-anged according to dates and localities. I shall bequeath my collection to the Ironmongers' Company, with permission to melt down any quantity it may be thought THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 173 desirable to devote to a bust of tlie founder of tbis unique exbibitlon. You now know wbo I am. Last winter I bad a few fellows at my rooms. Tbe sleet beating at tbe window bad induced every one to make bis grog as bot and strong as possible. Tbe odorous tobacco smoke wi-eatbed itself about tbe room, and made tbe Ai-gand lamp on tbe table look like tbe sun in a London fog. Frank Fitcb was on tbe sofa, singing, " Tbe bgbt of otber days," wbilst HaiTy Fletcber was roaring out " II tomba" accompanying bimself on tbe sbovel and tongs. In fact, tbe evening was growing deligbtful, wben Bob (my man) brougbt in a ticket fi-om an elderly gentleman from tbe country. I looked at it, and saw " Mr. Tbomas Tbompson, Birkenbead !" My uncle ! He to wbom I was indebted for my quarterly allowance, and from wbom I expected 3000L a year. I don't care wbat your opinions may be upon tbings in general, but you must acknowledge tbat tbis was awkwai'd. I scorn a deceit : so, emptying my glass, I went as straigbt as I could to my uncle. Tbere be stood, on tbe little mat in tbe passage, dressed in tbe same prim blue coat, and pepper-and-salt trousers, tbat I remembered to bave seen bim in wben a lump of sugar was tbe Havannab of existence. "We sbook bands beartily witb eacb otber, and I was not a little surprised at bis request to join tbe party above. I was in no bumour to deny bim anytbing, and accordingly Mr. Tbomas Tbompson was formally introduced to Mr. Frank Fitcb and party. My uncle seemed bent upon making bimself agreeable, and in order to do so, be begged to offer a few obsei-vations on organic remains, diluvial gravel, and some few otber geolo- gical pbenomena. In spite of tbe borror depicted in every countenance at tbis announce- ment, be proceeded to recapitulate tbe absurdities of many of tbe exploded cosmogonies of Calcot and otbers, discussed Hutton's tbeory, tbe elements of matter a parte ante, tbe desti-uction of mountains by atmospberic corrosion, and, I bave no doubt, would bave favoui-ed us witb a few cbapters of Buckland, bad not bis auditors, one by one, slinked away, sbrouded in tbeir own smoke. Wben we were left togetber, my uncle paused, and producing a large pocket-book, took tberefrom sundry slips cut from newspapers, daily and weekly. Having spread tbem on tbe table before bim, be politely requested my attention to tbe information wbicb tbey contained. I obeyed bim, and found tbat all bad relation to myself ; tbey were all beaded "police," and ended witb — " Mr. Jobn Jones was fined five sbillings and discbarged." " Jobn," said my uncle, " I am very angry witb you — so angry, tbat if you continue in your present course, I must make some alteration in tbe disposition of my property. Tbese occurrences are disgraceful." " Ob ! my dear sir," I exclaimed, " it is not my fault, it is tbe confounded police. Tbey will be so officious." '• It is tbeir duty to be so," answered my uncle. " Our police force is an exemplar to every otber nation. Active and intelligent, tbey bave produced, I may say, a moral revolution, and I bonour every member of it. Now, Jobn, I wiU give you an bour's advice. Wben a young man — " But perbaps you will allow me to omit Mr. Tbomas Tbompson's maxims and opinions for young men studying for tbe bar — excellent as tbey are, — and be content witb an obsei-vation wbicb be made as be paused on tbe step of my door — bis ai'm witbin my arm — preparatory to our departure for bis inn, wbere be bad asserted I sbould pass tbe nigbt. " Jack, my dear boy, avoid brawls ; tbey degrade a gentleman to tbe level of a black- 174 THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. guard. Duriug a somewhat riotous youtli " — (dear old soul ! lie was never out of bed after teu, in his life) — " I never was in the custody of the watch, nor did I ever contribute a single crown to tlie reigning sovereign of my country as a fine for vinous excitement. I would not encounter such evils to be made President of the British Association for Scien- tific Purposes !" As my own opinions were so diametrically opposed to my uncle's, I thought it becomiiiir on my part to bow and remain silent. We had walked about five minutes, when our attention was directed to a man and woman disputing in language highly objectionable to the excellent old gentleman who was my companion. " Dear me, Jack, that's very wi-ong," said my vincle. " What does it mean ?" " It means that if the lady don't go to her residence in five minutes, the gentleman proposes to try the effect of physical force," replied I. " Good gracious ! and he's doing it," exclaimed my uncle. The woman roared out most lustily ; and the brutal fellow was about to repeat his Adolence, when my uncle laid his hand gently on the ruffian's shoulder, and remarked, in a voice as " mild as an emulsion — " " My good sii", you must not do that !" " Why mustn't he ? He's my lawful husband, you old wagabone," cried the woman, " and he's a right to hit me if I desarve it, and I do desarve it. Give him in chai-ge, Bill — Here ! Police ! Police ! Murder !" screamed the virago. Experience suggested to me the policy of obsquatulating. " Run, sir." said I to Mr. Th(jmpson. "Run, sir!" replied my uncle, with a look of disdain that woidd have ensured an antique Roman a statue ! It was too late to argue, for two area gates opened at the m(_)ment, and a policeman rushed upon us from each side of the street. " Now then ?" said Bull's-eye 22. " What is it ?" asked Bull's-eye 23. " That old un's been salting my missis, and I gives him in charge," said the tender husband. " And the t'other helped him, I suppose P" inquired 22. " Yes," answered the affectionate wife. I was silent. Kvperientia docet. " AUow nie to explain," said Mr. Thompson, placing his fore-finger on the cutF of the policeman's coat. " You see this, Figgs ?" said 23. " Stiiking me in the execution of my duty ;" and pro- ducing his staff, he shook it awfully in the face of my uncle. Mr. Thompson possessed a full bushel of virtues — standard measure ; nevertheless he had one failing : he was very peppery, and the indignity now offered him shook the cayenne from him very considerably. " What do you mean, you scoundrel?" shouted my uncle, as the policeman jerked him along. " This is a land of freedom — secured to the meanest subject — in the realm — by Magna Charta — wrung fr()m the ty — rant — Jolin — at Run — ny — mede — June the twelfth — twelve hundred — and — fifteen — when — the barons — " My uncle had nearly completed his abridgment of the history of England when we reached the station-hcnise. The inspector was an old acquaintance of mine. " Ah, Mr. John Jones," he exclaimed, •' haven't seen you for a month — what's the charge — the usual, I suppose ? Drunk and disorderly ?" — and then the two bull's-eyes proceeded to I THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. give a most lively aud mimitc account of a series of violent assaults upon themselves and the lady before alluded to. " PerjiTrers ! rascals !" roared Mr. Thompson, " I am a peaceable man — " " Yery," said the inspector, continuing to Avrite in the charge-book ; " assaulting Maiy Somers and the police." " A lie, sir — a base lie, sir !" " Thomas Thompson, drunk and disorderly," muttered the inspector. " Drunk, sir P I never was drunk in my life !" " Ah, we know all about that ; nobody never is drimk — ay, Mr. Jones ?" said the inspector, winking at me. Mr. Thompson had now become furious, and was occupying the entii-e attention of four of the police. " Search him," said the inspector. " I'll not be searched ; no man shall search me !" screamed Mr. Thompson, whilst his arms were stretched out like the letter Y ; and two more of the police emptied his pockets in a twinkling. I had hitherto been amused at my uncle's position — I now felt seriously anxious for him. His face was the colour of a peony, and his legs were in full play, as though he were indulging in a fit of convulsions. I remonstrated with the inspector, but my character was too well known to obtain any indulgence (beyond procuring a messenger for bail), and we were consequently marched off to the cell, and turned in among some six or eight " disorderlies," to whom Mr. Thompson rendered himself particularly disagreeable by the detail of his wrongs, and his vociferations through the grating in the door of the cell. The bail at length arrived ; and having been frequently employed in the same capacity, was accepted without delay. The cell-door was opened, and our janitor called out, " John Jones's bail." I instantly stepped out, expecting my uncle's name would be the next ; but the ofiicer pausing. I said, " Well, there's Mr. Thompson !" " Incapable of taking care of himself — can't let him out tiU the morning," answered the man, turning the key in the lock. My uncle's fury is indescribable. He kicked the door — abused the police — vowed aU manner of actions— recited the whole of Magna Charta, until he feU back exhausted upon a huge coal-heaver, who had laid himself down to sleep on the floor of the cell. I remained during the night in the station-house. In the morning Mr. Thompson and myseK were placed at the bar. I saw that the magistrate recognized me, and judged that the fact was not very likely to prejudice him in our favour. The charge was read over, and the evidence given ; my uncle continually denying the assertions made, and being as continually com- pelled to be silent by the surly usher of the court. " I shall fine them," said the magistrate, in the mildest tone imaginable, " twenty shillings each for the assault on the woman, three pounds each for the assault on the police, and five shillings for being intoxicated. And," continued his worship, " it pains me exceedingly to see a gentleman of your age and apj)arent respectability jjlaced in such a disgraceful position." Mr. Thompson v/as in a frenzy — talked about dying in gaol — appealing to the House of Lords, and all those other expedients which are the boast of a wi-onged Briton. The result of his remarks was, that the magistrate remanded Mr. Thompson for a few hours, until he was sufficiently recovered from his debauch to be discharged. Mr. Thompson was then dragged from the bar, for walk he would not. My uncle was released in the course of the day, and started in the evening for Birken- head. Within a year the excellent old gentleman was no more ! Before he died he had 176 THE AGE OF MONSTERS. altered his will, but it was to make me bis sole beir, as be stated " tbat I look upon my excellent nephew, John Jones, as a martyr, and the victim of tbat organised tyi-anny — the London Police." Poor dear uncle ! whilst I write this, a tear falls upon the paper, and I beg your pardon, but Fitch has just run in to say that the surgeon at the comer of the street has mounted a brass knocker of extraordinary dimensions. — Brass-knockers are very scarce, and some lucky dog may get the start of me. Bob, my hat ! THE AGE OF MONSTEES. The age we live in is certainly the age of Monsters. The spirit of Brolidignag reigns over it. Everything has gi'own to such a size tbat the world must shortly publish a supplement, to contain all the monsters that wish to be daily inserted in it. It might be called The Supplement to the Globe. Monster balloons could run between the two hemi- spheres, the hours of starting to be annoimced by a monster ophicleide, and the provisions for the journey to consist of a prize bullock and one of the monster cabbages. A skittle- ground might be managed in the car of the balloon, and a part railed off as a ball-room for the ladies. But there is no necessity to soar so high. Suppose we remain on earth, and range through aU the monsters it is now exhibiting. The Monster Concert at the Sun-ey Zoological Gardens is at present the newest. A regiment of musicians is stationed in an orchestra the size of barracks, in a field a little smaller than Hyde Park. Each drum is as big as the Heidellxn-g Tun ; and there is a fiddle so large that it requires five men to jilay it. There is a conductor tuning a musical cannon, and Hen- Diinnerljlitz is practising on a steam-engine arranged like a cottage piano, which produces a wonderful effect in the "Hailstone Chorus." A pedal com- municates with the safety-valve, and the escaping of the steam has been toned to that perfect degi-ee that hailstones have been heard to rattle five miles off. But hark ! they have begun the Megatherium Quadrilles. The earth shakes like a plateful of blancmange ; the air is agitated like the waves of a theatrical ocean ; the trees commence balancezing with the houses; and posts and pumps advance and retire as naturally as if they were at an evening party. The animals, too. are so moved by the monstrous music, that they cannot keep on their four legs. The elephant is doing the chassez-croisez with the grace of a Lady Mayoress ; and the monkeys are cutting capers that the " gentlemen " of the ballet would be proud of. A salvo of forty-two pounders announces that it is the Trenise THE AGE OF MONSTEKS. 177 fen- the Cavalier seul to advance. This is a nervous thing at any time ; but not one of the animals, not even the goose, shows a white feather about it. The hyaena makes a saltatory phinge ; the Polar bear outbounds Cerito in agility ; and the rhinoceros goes oif with the polka in a style as if he had just received six lessons from Baron Nathan. But the music ceases. The earth throbs; the hollyhocks faint away, opening their mouths for water; the sturdy oak flutters as if it had got the delirium tremens ; and Dame Nature is gasping for breath like an old lady whose stays aie ~ too tight for dancing Monster concerts aie certainly the most stim- ning things of the day but they want monstei composers to supply monster themes foi them. Eai'thquakes.vol canoes, massacres, ha\ e all been "used up" there is only one subject left to inspire a Berlioz with the chaos of music and the true poetry of discord ; that is, a Sym phony expressive of the opening of the Iri&h Parliament. Fifty trom bones would not be too much for it ; a monstei serpent for each mem ber would about give a proper notion of the confusion and noise. We will jump ovei the Monster Meetings as they have been crushed by Parliament and rush into the Mon ster Banquets, which in vite us next to discuss them. The largest theatres are now too small to contain them : the only place large enough shortly must be Wormwood Scrubs. Smithfield and Covent Garden Markets will have to be swept clean several days in advance, if the tables are expected to groan in the least under every delicacy of the season ; and the Docks will be obliged to call in the assistance of Father Thames, and all the springs in the neighbourhood, to supply the enormous quantity of light sherries and crusted ports that patriots, in their thirst for freedom, invariably con- sume. Toasts must be announced from the chair by means of signals ; or perhaps a series of placards, — such as were onge popular at Astley's when the actors were obliged to be, like the horses, dumb creatures, — would be the best method of letting the lower part of the room know what the upper was about to do. A napkin, with the inscription, " The 178 THE AGE OF MONSTERS. Chairman will be happy to take wiue with the Vice," if repeated at different stations along the Common, might be answered in half-an-hour by another inscribed with, " "With great pleasure," with a postscript of "' Perhaps the Diake of Calico will join us." Red napkins should be used for port, and white ones for sheri-y ; but green for champagne, as being most indicative of the goosebeny. Silence will have to be proclaimed by means of pistols, and " Nunc Dimittis " sung through speaking-trumpets. Gas Uluminations would certainly be the best way of announcing the toasts. " The House of Bi-unswiek," lighted up in brilliant jets, would have a capital effect ; and " The Ladies " would be sure of " one cheer more," if the gas was well laid on to each letter of that talismanic dissyllable. Newspapers also have been seized with the monster infection, and spread it far and wide. We are sure they will not long remain contented with being the size merely of a counterpane, but will soon expand to the dimensions of a carpet. A newspaper and supplement wUl be sufficient, ere long, to paper a good-sized parloui*, and leave a butler's pantry to spare. We expect in time to see a paper so large, that opposite houses will be able to read it at the same time by persons in the respective attics and parlours holding out each a corner of it across the street. Monster shops are breaking out in every alley, and monster houses are rearing their invisible attics everyAvhere : the two at the Albert Gate, Hyde Park, have a suite of rooms, we have been told, for every day in the week, as it was found necessary that the famUy, when removing from one floor to another, should halt at least four-and-twenty hours, to repose from the fatigues of the journey. The Monday story is at the top of the house, as the architect very pinidently thought if Saturday were not near to the ground it would be impossible for the inmates to lay in provisions for the Sunday. A servant was missing on one occasion in one of these monster houses for a whole week. She had left the third volume of Susan Hopley under her pillow in the Friday's room ; and wishing to devour the remainder of the work, had imprudently set out on a Sunday to fetch it. The conse- quence was, she had not proceeded further than Saturday morning, than she fell exhausted ; and if it had not been for one or two bull's-eyes she had in her pocket, she must have perished from hunger. As it was, she was only found by the pins she had dropped after her, so as not to miss her way back again. Monster trains are as common as monster goosebeiTies, the two generally running together in the columns of a newspaper, just as if the monster train were necessary to bring up the monster gooseberry. The trains are already so long that it requires a special train to take the stoker to his engine ; and. on amving at a town, the passengei-s in the last carriage only get there half-an-hour after those in the first, as it stands to reason they have to walk the whole length of the train before they can reach the terminus. If they increase much longer a monster train to Brighton will actually be there before it has started, as the one end of the train will be at Brighton and the other end in London. Li that case, a system of doulile entry will have to be adopted, a smaller train running by the side of the monster one to cairy the balance gradually over to the other side. Monster telescopes will soon be in the hands of every amateur Airy ; and we should not wonder if apartments were eventually fitted up inside the tube, so that astronomers might travel about with their families when they were running after any particular comet. Strolling telescopes, dra^Ti liy a team of horses, and the driver lolling on the disc, would be a refreshing novelty on the deserted highroads. Monster steam-ships cany the population of one town to another in a single voyage. In ten years, then — if the Great Britain runs as long — the whole census of England might have emigrated to wherever it pleased, and not a passenger have been pinched for want of NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIOXAL CHARACTEl!. 179 elbow-i'oom on the jouruey. Loudon might visit New York, and New York return the visit comfortably the next trip. If a line of these monster ships were established from Livei-pool to America, a pedestrian might walk from the Old World slap into the New, with no more fatigue than going over Hungerford Bridge. A toll might be levied at every monster ship to pay the expenses of the line, and there should be branches to the different towns along the coast. If the middle of the decks also were slightly paved, and the hatchways left open to represent ditches, and the bulwarks made higher to stand for hedges or hurdles, what a capital steeple-chase might be started from one continent to another ! "We do not despair of having everything, shortly, more or less of a monster size. Our taxes have been so for a long time. Look at London, too, what a monster it is getting ! If it keeps growing as it has done lately, railways will have to be started do wn the principal streets, for a person to get from one end to the other. Our follies, too, our armies wants, and abuses, are all on the same monster scale ; so that nothing less than a monster reform will ever sweep them away. A change, however, cannot be far distant. Let us hope the same prodigious size will characterise henceforth our enjoyments, our money in the funds, our triumphs, the number of our years and children. In short, that every man wiU possess a monster fortune, with a monster heart, family, and friends to enjoy it ! NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARAGTEK. As the bird may generally be known by its song, a people may often be studied through the medium of popular ballads ; and we may look in vain through the pages of history for some trait of national character that the " Little Warbler " would at once have revealed to us. It was a common saying of an illustrious philosopher, whose name we have been unable to learn, that he never went into a strange land without purchasing a sixpenny songster, which always gave him a clearer insight into the customs and pecu- liarities of the inhabitants than the most ponderous philosophical treatise ; and he would rather hear the last new opera, than converse for a whole day with the most learned of the savans. England is, perhaps more than any other country, remarkable for the richness of its vocal resources, and the British ballad throws a very powerful light on the British cha- racter. Even the conventional pieces of refrain, with which our national songs are inter- spersed, the little burdens which come in at the end of each succeeding stanza, even these, simple as they are, furnish a sort of glossary to some of our otherwise unintelligible Saxon oddities. There is a gush of buoyant gaiety in the Bight tooral looral-la, which at once tells the fact that the Englishman is disposed to mirthfulness ; and the celebrated Hey- down ho-doivn-derry, has just a sufficient dash of plaintiveuess about it to show that there is a seriousness mingling with our humoiir, like the bit of bay-leaf in the custard, which, in the triie spirit of philosophy, reminds us that there is nothing so sweet but it is flavoured with a little bitter. There is also a wild recklessness in the Tol de rol, which bespeaks the alacrity displayed by a true-born Briton in facing danger ; while the WhacJc row de dow is characteristic of the pugilistic propensities for which our countrymen are said to be peculiar. But it is perhaps the naval genius of England which is more particularly developed 180 NATIONAL SC)X«iS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. in our songs and ballads ; for, from the time when Dibdin wrote and Nelson floiu-ished, it is on the sea that the poet has found himself to be in his true element. There is scarcely a song connected with nautical affairs that does not open out some singular propensity of the tar — that extraordinary being, whose devotion to gi-og and glory, to pigtail and sentiment, have been the " theme of the minsti'el " for a very considerable period. Perhaps there is not a more remarkable creature in the whole range of human phy- siology than Jack Ratlin, whose brief but touching history is nan-ated in a song to which his name gives the title. We are told, in the first instance, that Jack RatUn was the ablest seaman; and it must be inferred, therefore, that in ability he sui-passed even Nelson himself ; for if Ratlin was the ablest seaman, Nelson could only have been the ablest but one, under any circumstances. By way of exemplifying the overwhelming ability of Ratlin, we are told that — None like him could hand, reef, and steer ; No dangerous toil but he'd encounter. With skill, and in contempt of fear. These qualities must have rendered him invaluable to his countiy ; but such is the slow progress of promotion in the navy, that Mr. Ratlin appears to have been, after all, only a common sailor. We learn, however, from the song which relates his history, that a man before the mast in the British Navy may be a compound of Lord Chesterfield and Romeo ; that his character may be a mixture of etiquette and ai'dent affection ; for the poet affectingly teUs us that — Jack had manners, courage, merit ; Yet did he sigh — and idl for love. Ratlin was not only a gentleman and a lover, but a deep thinker, and a decided tee- totaller, hating a thoughtless joke, and treating grog with indifference : — The song, the jest, the flowing liquor. For none of these had Jack regard; He. while his messmates were carousing. High sitting on the pendant yard, Would think upon his fair one's beauties. Swear never from such chai-ms to rove ; That truly he'd adore them living. And dying, sigh — to end his love. What a beautiful picture does this give of the love-sick tar — who. not satisfied with sitting on the binnacle, or getting snugly into the jolly-boat to be out of the way, must needs go up into " the pendant yard " to swear constancy at the veiy top of the rigging, and, in fact, file an affidavit on the extreme point of the weathercock ! The song then proceeds to give us a glimpse into the nature of expresses sent on board a ship, which include occasional domestic tidings relating to the private affairs of the conmion seamen. Tlie same express the crew commanded Once more to view their native land; Among the rest brought Jack some tidings, Would it had been his love's fair hand ! Oh fate ! — her death defac'd the letter ; Instant his pulse forgot to move. NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARAUTER. 181 The oblivion into which Mr. Ratlin's pulse had suddenly fallen was of coui'se a serious business, for when the pulse " forgets to move " it is not so easy to jog its memory. The tar was evidently in a very alarming state, and the song goes on to give us an insight into the peculiar sensibility of the naval character. It would seem that Mr. Ratlin never rallied after the receipt of the melancholy tidings, and we then get a vivid picture of the manner in which the British seaman can sometimes die. It appeal's that the tar goes off like a shot, and is in fact struck all of a heap when he gets unpleasant news by post, for when Jack heard of the calamity that had befallen Mrs. Ratlin that was to have been — With quivering lip and eyes uplifted, He heav'd a sigh and died for love. A duck has occasionally been known to perish in this style, but we should have ex- pected to find " a heart of oak " much stouter than this " last scene of all " in Mr. Ratlin's " strange eventful history" would seem to indicate. A smile and a sigh, and all was over with the sensitive tar, who, dying for love, was unable of course to comply with the orders of the Admiralty, " once more to view his native land," or even to " take a sight " at it. "We turn fx'om the regular tar to the Thames waterman, whose farewell to his trim, built wherry, and touching leave-taking of his oars, coat and badge, appear so utterly unaccountable, that they can only be attributed to the mere caprice of the aquatic character. There is nothing to throw any light on the determination of Thomas " never more to take a spell," except a morbid sentimentality, which the song-wiiters show us to be the salient 182 NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. point in the British seaman's character. The waterman declares himself " ti > Lope and peace a stranger," and announces his reckless resolve — In the battle's heat to go, \VTiere, exposed to every danger, Some friendly ball shaU lay me low. This lets lis into the secret that the firing is sometimes very clumsily managed in a man-of-war; for if Thomas is to be laid low by a "friendly ball," it is clear that he must perish by the hands of one of his own comi'ades. Most of the naval songs of England represent the seaman as a prey to a maudlin melancholy, which it would require the skilful hand of a Burton to anatomise. We can only cut it up in our own unceremonious fashion. Bemardus Penottus tells us of " an excellent balm," which, taken in the proportion of thi-ee di'ops to a cup of wine, or six to a can of gi'og, would *' drive away dumps and cheer up the heart." This decoction wonld, we trust, in the event of a war, form a part of every ship's stores, to be administei'ed pretty freely in the event of any of the tars getting into the sentimental state which proved fatal to Jack Ratlin, " the ablest seaman " that the service could boast of. Rushing from one extreme to the other, and turning from melancholy to mirth, we come to the comic songs of our native land, which make us acquainted with the sort of popular wit that distinguishes the British character. We appear to be a nation to whom bad spelling is a source of infinite mirth, for the fun of many of onr comic songs consists in the outrageousness of their orthography. For instance, there is one commencing — I'm a hoppulent genelman now, where by the happy insertion of an h where it ought not to occur, and the omission oi a t from where it ought to be, with the slight transposition of two letters in one word, we get an effect that becomes iiTesistibly ludicrous. The mere common-place statement of a person having come to a title, and not having become proud and overbearing in consequence of his dignity, is converted into a piece of the raciest humour by a little ingenuity in the use of the alphabet, as shown in the following facetious stanza : — But though now a head, and am rich, Not one of your upstarts I be. I'm a gemman, and always was sich ; There's nothing like pride about me. The words in italics constitute the humour of the verse, which is among the happiest eflFoi-ta of the modem comic song writer. One of the great sources of the wit to be found in the British ballads is the frequent use of words which are only partially understood, in lieu of those which every one knows the meaning of. Thus, though there is nothing funny in the word " clothes," it becomes, when translated into " togs," an unfailing source of memment. The pun is also a favourite artifice of the comic poet, who seems to have a classical taste in this respect — for in hunting after a jeu de mot he frequently ransacks the rich stores of antiquity. Some words are peculiarly adapted to the poet's purpose, admitting of a multiplicity of meanings, as *' i^^u)-," which, by a little orthographical ingenuity, can be made to comprehend a vast variety of significations. There are other branches of song-wi-iting which tend to throw a light on the national character, Init these, if touched on at all, must be resei'ved for some future paper. A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI. 183 % Hclu Ctrmtnafvoit ta Ik |)isforiJ 0f ^an ^xobnnm. COLLECTED FROM AUTHENTIC SOVKCES BY BALZAC d'aXOIS. [B. d'A. assures his readers that in giving his chaiactevs Italian instead of Spanish names, and in introilucing a few Italian phrases, he has not been under the influence of ignorance. Knowing that the persons spoken of are more known through the medium of Her Majesty's Theatre than any other, he has adopted an Italian garb for the sake of being more intelligible.] Although great festivities were going on in the ancestral mansion of Don Giovanni, — that is to say, although the Don himself sat at table between two very ordinary-looking females, whom he feasted liberally off a French roU, sent up in a splendid pewter dish, while he regaled himself out of an empty goblet richly gilt, — although a band of men stood at the back of the room, and holding a number of wooden trumpets, horns, &c., to their mouths, pretended to play music, though they uttered not a sound, — although Leporello, availing himself of the bustle, contrived to devour by stealth a quantity of macaroni to the value of full one farthing English, — notwithstanding all this, we say, the heart of the said Leporello was heavy, for he knew that his master had invited a great stone statue to supper, and was every moment afraid that the strange guest would make his appearance. And, sure enough, a noise was soon heard at the door, as if a cart-load of bricks had been thrown against it. Off ran the females and the noiseless musicians; but Don Giovanni, fortifying his courage by a huge lump of French roll, ordered Leporello to open the door and admit the visitor. The unwilling servant obeyed, and soon returned, pale as death, and with his candle broken in half, so that the wick hung downwards. Strange it was that not only he himself felt teiTor, but also the middling eight which served him for a light. It had never stiiick against anything, and yet there it was in half. How could that have arisen, but by its own intrinsic fear.^ The statue-guest followed, looking exceedingly grave and important. "■ Oh, you have come ?" said Giovanni, with much nonchalance. " Well then, you had better take something." And he hospitably offered him a goblet. The statue motioned away the cup, with a very supercilious air, and growled forth : " Xon si pasce di cibo niortale Chi si pasce di cibo celeste." * " I assure you," said Giovanni, " that our provisions are a great deal more ethereal than you imagine — I and the two ladies with me having been only quaffing a gol)let full of nothing for the last haL£-hour." " Nonsense," exclaimed the statue, " would you have me believe that only an empty cup has graced this ribald feast ?" " Ah, my friend," said Giovanni, sighing, " you show that you little know what a 'property ' is !" " This," said the statue, " is a digression. My business is as follows. You invited me to come here to sup with you ; I have, therefore, come from the shades below to ask you to sup with me." * He does not feed on niort^al food who feeds on celestial food. 184 A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI. " Sliades below!" said Giovanni. "Am I to coUect from your words, that I am addressing the ghost of Don Guzman ?" " Of course. What else could you collect ?" retorted the statvie, with an air approach- ing contempt. " Then," observed Giovanni, with immense coolness and deliberation, " there must be some mistake. I invited a statue, — a bond fide statue, and no ghost, — a statue from the chui'chyard at Seville, and not a spirit from the shades below." "Ay — true — " said the statue, with visible marks of confusion — "I am a sort of a statue, you see." " Well then, make yourself comfortable, and don't bother about taking me to the shades below, with which you have manifestly no connection." " Ay, but I have," said the statue. " I am in some sort a ghost after all." " This won't do." said Giovanni impatiently. '* You are availing yourself of a paltry ambiguity, whereas the case lies in a nut-shell. Either you are a statue or you are not. If you are a statue, made out of a good piece of marble, such as I saw in the chiirchyard, you have no right to assume the prerogatives of a ghost, and talk about the shades. If, on the other hand, you are a ghost and no statue, you are not the party invited, and have no business to be here at all." " Abandoned wretch 1" growled the statue. " That is an old device," observed Giovanni coolly ; " when people get weak in ai-gument, they begin to call names. The question at present under consideration is simply this : are you a statue or are you not ?" The statue paused for some seconds, and then exclaimed explosively : " May I lie pulverised if I precisely know what I am !" " It seems to me," remarked Giovanni, calmly smiling, that you are in a tarnation fix." " A what ?" rf its vision, so that by shooting, as it were, at these targets it may hit off, whilst in arms, a notion of things which it will afterwards nieet with on its legs. Hence, very properly, wooden liouses, horses, dogs, cows. pigs, and sheep, are given to babies to play with. Here, at the vei-y outset of education, there are several most imi)ort:uit improvements to be made. A iM.ach and horses was a very pretty plaything in t>ur young days, ))ut steam has exploded TllK OLD AND NEW NURSERY. •J0.3 tbo coach and liorses, aud well would it be if steam caused no other explosion. Con- sequently, instead of a coach and horses, a child should have a railway train ; though children would scarcely play as pretty games with railways as those played by speculating shareholders. The Noah's Ark, too, of the Old Nursery must be remodelled ; or at least a large addition mnst be made to the nnmber of its inmates ; so that the improved Ark may correspond to the Zoological Gardens. The New Nursery, also, should contain a section of the Earth, exhibiting its fossilised strata, which might be termed a Companion to Noah's Ark. Instead of sets of tea-things and knives and forks in miniature, the infant should be made to amiise itself with little retorts, receivers, models of galvanic batteries, and other philosophical implements, which will teach it to think rather of mental than of bodily food. Oxygen and hydrogen are much higher objects of contemplation than mutton and potatoes. "We will now develop oiir views with regard to education proper, and state what we consider to be the proper sort of education, beginning at the beginning ; that is, with the A, B, C. We would do away with the old rhyming alphabet, and substitute for it a new one which should really teach the child something besides its mere letters. What does the infant learn by being told that — " A was an Archer that sliot at a fi'og ?'' The young idea should not be taught to shoot in this way, whence it derives nothing but a lesson of gratuitous cruelty. So, when the little student comes to hear, in the next place, that— " B was a Butcher who kill'd a fat hog," the only fact presented to the mind is one calculated to mislead it, for bntchers, generally speaking, do not kill hogs, either fat or lean ; this being the specific business of the pork- butcher. The new rhyming alphabet should consist of a series of statements of scientific and philosophical facts ; as, for instance, " A was an Alkali, Potash by name. B was a Blowpipe for fusing the same." Then C, of course, would be a chemist who performed the operation. D, to change ground a little on the field of science, might be " A Disk like the face of the sun," and " E an Eclipse taking place thereupon," and so on to Z, which might be Zinc, Zodiac, Zenith, Zoophyte, or Zoology. In like manner, in teaching enumeration, instead of making the child rej)eat " One two, buckle my shoe. Three four, open the door," we would teach it to say, for example, " One, two, Indigo's blue. Three, four, Copper's an ore ;" thus causing it, in a manner, to buckle-to to science, and opening to it the door of philo. Sophy. Words of one and two syllables having been mastered, and children being able to read, we would put books of an entirely novel character, and not the old childish novels, into their hands. The Jack the Giant Killer of the new nursery should be an Infant Genius, who made gigantic discoveries instead of killing giants. His namesake of the Bean-Stalk should be a scientific little aeronaut. For the uninstructive legend of St. George and the Dragon we would suljstitute an antediluvian romance, wherein the hero desti-oys 204 SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS. an Iclithyosauvus, and we would refer our parallel to Beauty and the Beast to the same pei-iod, under the title of Beauty and the Megatherium, or Great Beast, or, which might be better, the Dinotherium, or Dreadful Beast. Wc should then cause Geology in joke to become Science in earnest, and in a similar manner we would connect all the other branches of philosophy with fun. The old nui'sei-y resounded ^v^th weeping and wailing ; its besetting evil was a crying evil, to the disturbance of the I'est and comfort of parents and families. We would make the new nursery echo with merriment, and set the juvenile table in a roar of the right sort, rendering its little inmates philosophers — but laughing ones. And we will lay any bet that our plan of instruction, if carried out in the new nursery, will make the young idea a shai-per shooter than the best shot in Her Majesty's Ritie Brijrade. SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS. It is a remarkable trait in the English character that a gentleman or lady with a voice, and even without one, can adopt immediately the various feelings under which sentimental songs are supposed to have been wi-itten. Thus an individual with a good low G is seized with a desire to bid " Farewell to the Mountain," and he makes the further discovery that it is " too lovely for him ;" though he has never particularly considered what amount of loveliness in the way of " sunlighted vales," and other overwhelming beauties of nature, he has hitherto found himself proof against. Every one is supposed to feel what he sings, and when a gentleman therefore strikes up, " Oh, give me but my Arab steed," he is supposed to be advertising, through the medium of song, for an animal waiTanted to go quiet in the " battle field," and not to shy at the sound of ti-umpets. If we are to judge by the difference of the sentiment in songs for different voices, high tenors appear to be always desperately in love, baritones extremely ill-used and out of spirits, while liasses are wrapt in such a cloud of gloom that tliey are on terms of intimacy with King Death, whom they familiai'ly aUude to as " a rare old fellow." Young ladies with little voices want to be butterflies, and the whole musical population of the female sex has for the last year been dreaming it has " dwelt in maible halls," a dream that the porter at the Reform Club, as well as hundreds of other porters, may every day of their life see realised. Though we are aware that the sentiments of songs cannot be adapted to the peculiar situations of all the individuals who sing them, we are of opinion that ballads might at least be written to suit particular classes, and we conclude this paper by an adaptation of the celeln-ated " Marble Halls " as a " Song from the Chair," to be sung in every large hall by the porter. I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With tradesmen and duns outside. And a large assembly of morning calls, In cai-riage pomp and pride. There were crowds too great to count, and most For bills unsettled came; But I also dreamt that at my post I sat dozing all the same. SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS. 205 206 ORDERS FOR THE PLAY. I dreamt that footmen raised tlieir lumd, And knock'd to a high degi-ee, "With a noise few porters' ears coiild withstand, But they wasted it all on me. I dreamt that one of the noisy host Came forth and bawl'd my name ; But I also dreamt that fast as a post I slept there all the same. ORDERS FOR THE PLAY. AN EDITORIAL NUISANCE. Sir, Athenceinn, August 17ih. I AM the Editor of a Simday newspaper, the circulation of which is between 10,000 and 50,000. I should not have stated this fact, only I think it better to tell you who I am before I venture to find fault. I beg to refer you, Sir, to the sixth Number of your Table-Book. In an admirable article in that Number, in which you feelingly naiTate the miseries of an Editor, you have singularly omitted one, compared to which all other miseries are positive luxuries. I allude, Sir, to the system of " Orders." I need not teU yon an " Order " is the privilege a newspaper, with any pretensions to circulation, enjoys of sending to any theatre or exhibition a piece of paper, which admits the bearer free of expense. It generally franks two jjersous. An Editor, as you know, has the power of exercising this privilege regulai-ly once a day with every theatre and exhibition in the town in which his newspaper rules the taste. I have never had the patience to count the number of theatres and exhibitions that are open in London ; but including the Dioramas, Industrious Cockchafers, Inf jint Grimaldis, and the sixpenny theatres in the suburbs, there cannot be one less, I am sure, than one hundred. This makes one hundi'ed orders the Editor has the power of disposing of eveiy day. Hence arises his greatest misery. These one hundred orders are sure to bring two hundred letters ; to say nothing of the hundred persons who call on the Editor at all hours of the day : no matter whether he is in tlie agonies of composition or not. I myself am never free from these applications. I really wish all the orders were burnt in a heap in Smithfield Market. I cannot move out, or enter a room, but I am di'iven into a corner for an order. I never go out to dinner, but I am sure the value of what I eat and drink will be taken out at dessert in tickets. I cannot buy a pair of gloves. or have a tooth pulled out, or pay a bill, or do the strangest action in life, but the impiiry is certain to be, " You couldn't oblige me. Sir, with an order ?" I say nothing of the injury these confounded orders do to the theatres and exhibitions they are supposed to benefit — for, recollect, a person who has once tasted the pleasure of going to a theatre for nothing, never thinks of paying again ; but I do inveigh nu)8t indignantly against the perpetual bore they are to an Editor! He must, in common civility, answer every one of his letters; this makes 200 letters a day. Those persons ho does not oblige— that is to say, fifty out of every hundred — call him all sorts of complimentary names, and tell him, the first opportunity, what they think of his " meanness." TO AN OLD MAN. The expense, too, is another consideration. I once promised an old General an order for the opera. His wife was in the country. She came up sixty miles purposely, spending some six pounds to save a paltry half-guinea. When the night came, I found I had given away the order to some one else. The old gentleman fumed ; his wife looked cats and dogs at me ; and the consequence was, that in order to save myself being assailed through life as a " stupid, disobliging fellow," I rushed out and bought them two tickets myself. A treat like this occurs generally once a-week. The greediness of some people, too, is revolting. Mothers with large families are not content with asking for a single order, Init unblushingly write for tickets for two, four, and six, " as the little ones are home for their holidays." You cannot gracefully refuse a lady you have been dining with the day before, so you jump into a cab, and lose a day in calling upon the Editor of this and the Editor of that, to beg for an order for Astley's, till the requisite numl^er is made up. Some voracious applicants, also, actually send for private boxes. I know a lady, who keeps her carriage and a black footman, do this regularly twice a year. Many inveterate beggars not only beg for theniselves, but make a practice of begging for their friends; these friends, again, oblige their friends, and even their friends' friends ; so, in signing an order, an Editor never knows whether he is sending a chimney- sweep or a grand-duchess into a theatre — whether he is obliging his bosom friend or his greatest enemy. I only wonder the Editors of London do not form a league to put down all orders. Their combined opposition would have the good effect of averting an evil which I am positive is one of the real causes of the decline of the drama, besides relieving themselves of a host of petty annoyances, which upset them regularly every day. As for myself, I am resolved to assign my power of signing orders to my footman, to whom I shall refer all my friends who do me the honour of applying for them. I shall invest him with all my orders to-morrow. I implore you. Sir, to do the same, and to exert all your influence in persuading every Editor you know to hand over their odious privilege to one of their servants — for instance, their boots or scullery-maid. Then, and not till then, will people be ashamed to beg, and oiir profession will be relieved of a nuisance it has been exposed to ever since free admis- sions have been the orders of the night. If you can secure this reform, the Press of England will live to bless you, Sir, for this suggestion of Your brother Editor, Dr. Dionysius S***h, Tnn. Col, Cainbridge. TO AX OLD MAN. AFTER HAFIZ. In youth we saw thee cut thy teeth, While the nurse, peeping from beneath. Announced the news with glee; But now, as if wrought up to rage, Retaliating on thine age — We see thy teeth cut thee. 208 SnC'IAr. Z< )()L< KJV.— ICHTIIYoUXiV. SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ICnTIIYOLOGY. Evert day's experience will prove that there are in society a great many fish out of water, and the Social Zoologist, though confining his obsei-vations to the human species, will meet with many of the fish alluded to. The most destructive creature belonging to this tribe is the Shark, or, as some vulgarly call it, the Lawyer-fish, which Naturalists very naturally place in the family of SquuUdue. The Social Shark, though including many of the legal class, has been improperly identified with the genus alluded to, though the length of jaw, the immense number and power of the teeth, the coldness of the blood, and repulsive hardness, which are all characteristic of the Shark, are sometimes to be found in the Lawyer, which may have given rise to the very odious comparison. The Eel is a very strange fish, and the Social Zoologist is puzzled where to place him. His windings and turnings, with the general slippei-iness of his nature, would seem to indicate that he belonged to the political tribe; an hypothesis which is strengthened by the fact that the Eel is often found on dry ground ; and there is certainly no drier ground anywhere than the field of politics. Other Social Zoologists have considered the Eel as a kind of Aiithor-fish, in consequence of his being able to exist even after having been cut to pieces, which is often done by the Cai-p or Critical-fish, which is said to immerse itself so deep in the mud that there is no getting hold of it. The classification of the Eel, as an Author-fish, is further justified by the fact that some Eels are charged with electi'ic fluid, while some authors send forth shocking stuff", and thus assist the parallel. The Flounder, or Flat-fish, is remarkable for having both its eyes on the same side of the head; and thus the social Flat-fish may always be hooked if any one will take the trouble to get on the blind side of it. A fish of this description can of course only see one side of every question, which seldom happens to be the right side, and after floundering about for some time, it usually blunders into some net that has been artfully spread for the purpose of catching it. Flat-fish are, some of them, very rich, and include the Turbot tribe, which the Social Shark loves to feed on. The same class comprises what is termed the Dab, but this must be on the lucus a non lucendo principle, for the social Flat-fish, if he attempts any achievement, is seldom found to be a dal) at it. The Flying-fish is a very scaly creature, and tries to keep its head above water at the expense of others. When it has got all it can, it has recourse to flight ; but the Gull, which is its natural enemy, will sometimes drop unexpectedly down upon it. Of the Crustaceous Fish, the Social Ichthyologist finds few worth mentioning. There is the well-known unboiled Lobster, or Police-fish, remarkable chiefly for casting its shell; that is to say, getting a new coat once a year : and it is a very awkward fish for any one to fall into the claws t)f. " When the Lobster is completely equij^ped in its new shell," we are told by Buff'on that " it appears to have grown by the operation ;" and every one who has seen the Lobster, or Police-fifh, in his new coat, will obsei-ve that he seems to have gi-own much greater by the change of attire. " The most common way of taking the Lobster," says BuflFon, " is with a ba-sket or pot, in wliich they put the bait ;" and many a Police-fish has been taken in the same way by a basket of provisions or a pot of porter, that the cook will frequently angle with. I "^4^ OT TKE ^ fUNlVBRSITY] ODDITIES FUO:\I THE lUIIXE. 20!J (Dbbtlics from tbc llbinc. BY ANGUS B. REACH. I HAVE jnst got back from tlie Rhine, and I count my departure from that extorting- money-upon-false-pretences stream as the most sensible thing I have done since I em- barked upon it. Not but that the Rhine is not tolerably well in its way. On the contrary, it is a very respectable kind of river — pea-soupy in hue, perhaps, but not so decidedly a drab as the " Blue Moselle." You will see lots of castles — any one of them appearing the twin brother of the last. The same grey stone ; the same pepper-box tuii-ets ; the same telescope-looking tower ; the same — or nearly the same — wonderful legend of the Baron of Grogswig, or Count Thimblerigenberg. Happy thing it is that these — naughty old " fences " (I don't know the slang of chivaby for places for the reception of stolen goods) are uninhabited. Think of climbing up there to dinner ! Ten'ible ! But think of coming down after dinner ! Mercy on us ! There could have been no stout gentlemen in the fourteenth century. Doubtless there is the wine. Most of it is eccentric vinegar, losing its right mind and turning sweetish. I asked for Johannisberger, and I got a sort of educated cider : I supposed it was aU right, for I paid a pound for the bottle. I left the Rhine to its own devices, and plunged boldly into Germany — I mean the real Germany, the unadulterated Germany, the sauer-hraut-esLting, charcoal-burning, metaphy sic-jabbering Germany. I was neai-ly stai-ved : Mungo Park's jom-ney was a bagatelle to mine. I have no respect for Clapperton or Bruce after what I came through. I can't eat soup which is no soiap, but only a clandestine man'iage between dirty hot water and sour grease ; I can't eat sliced turnip popped raw into melted butter and sugar ; I can't eat bouilli boiled to tatters, after pears preserved in sugar ; I can't eat nasty, can- nibal-looking pike after the bouilli ; I can't eat stews made the cook knows how, out of nobody knows what. But I made a shift — hunger is sharp — and then — think of it, weep over it— just, every day, as I managed to spoil a good appetite by coaxing it with some of the least worst of these conglomerated scraps of chaotic cookei-y — lo and behold ! in would come rati send 2)oulet andfricandeau, all very tolerable, but never, oh never did they make theii- appearance until you were utterly unable to attack them. Did any one ever understand German money ? Did any one ever fathom the mysteries of kreutzers, pfennings, and groschen ? I defy Babbage's Calculating Machine to make anything of those hon-id little scintillas of silvery copper and coppery silver. The Germans themselves are quite in the dark on the matter, I assui-e you. Change a thaler, and contemplate in mute despair the handful of metallic i-ubbish you will get. It is of no use to any one — not even the owner. As for distinguishing the silver from the copper, the thing is out of the question. The only general i-ule I can give is, that the things which look most like silver are copper, and vice versa. Ton had better act strictly upon this principle : it is the nearest approach which human ingenuity can make to the right one. The spots upon the coinage are curious studies of metallic cutaneous disease. Yon wiU be apt to think that a violent smaU-pox has broken out in somebody's purse, and that the whole of the unhappy patients have been consigned over to you. The best thing you can do with your change is, generally speaking, to throw it away. This simple process 210 ODDITIES FltOM THE KIIIXE. obviates many inconveniences. For example, you have been treasuring up what you flatter yourself is a small fortune of tolerably respectable pieces of money, while you have been distributing to the poor all the most rascally inmates of your pockets. Presently you will be taken nicely ;iback. The dirty, shabby money is the only portion of any real value ; the gentlemanly coins are only formed to " charm the eyes and grieve the heart." Not that they have not some odd theoretical value — but what is the worth of a coin when nobody will give you anything for it? I repeat, you may just throw away yoiir change for any real practical good it wiU do you. If, however, you can bring it home, and sell it to any purblind old antiquary as a series of coins of the Carthaginian Empire — of course, that is quite another affair. Do so, if you can. Not that with all my contempt for change — " they'd find no change in me," for I have come home quite an altered being. It is said to be a wise child that knows its own father, but it must be a wise father who knows his own child when transmogrified in appearance and habits by a tour in Germany. ^«^/:^s^^:i^CJ^^-^!!e?C:'^ ,, I have been told that thei-e is a word in German for " huny." I reject the informa- tion as a clumsy attempt to deceive. I rather liked the way the Mail always came in. It used to pass my window at a hand-walk. It had no hour in particular. Any of the twenty-four, it was quite the same. It distributed its favoiirs pretty equally over all. Tliey had a delicious way, too, of haraessing the horses. There were generally two unhappy quadrtipeds pulling, and half-a-dozen — true, on my word of honour — attached behind. At first I thought that the hindmost were intended for pushing, like locomotives set to urge a heavy train up an incline, and I rather admired the novelty of the thing. Presently, however, I ascertained that this was the Gennan mode of bringing home horses loft at the last passed posting house. They were made fast to the diligence by long knotted bridles, and as, in nine cases out of ton. they were much more fitted for standing still than for going ahead, the result was that they pulled back — probably iu the ratio of three out of seven — the real workers pulling forward iu the ratio of four, the difi'orence of one being the amount of propulsive power employed. The speed attained is consequently ^•EVKH TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. L'll not remarkable — liut the slowness is. In fact, if yon want to live cheaply in Germany for a week, yon had better take jour place in the Diligence for a conple of hundred miles orso' when yon will find your object — as far as lodging goes — perfectly accomplished. Of course you can't go to bed — but that is an advantage in Germany. Putting a feather bed under a man is intelligible, but another above him is quite a different thing. In Germany there are two things besides misfortune which never come single — fleas and feather beds. The former are the most industi-ious of their race — the latter the most downy. I never got between the two masses of feathers without thinking of the infant princes smothered in the Tower. But I should like to see anybody try to smother a German. They are unsmotherable. "What with the tobacco smoke and the choky stove and imopening windows course of training they go through, fresh air is an article in no request at aU. Put a big receiver over the Faderland, exhaust the atmosphere, and horrify natiire with a vacuum — the Germans would not care one whit. If any man be hiase of dinners he can eat — beds he can sleep in — air he can breathe in — coaches which will go, and horses which will trot — let him put himself in a steamer, bound for the Rhine, thence put himself in a Diligence, bound for some place a couple of hundred miles from the Rhine, and. the word of a gentleman for it, he will come home a sadder, and a wiser, and a thinner man. To render his misery complete, let him arrive at Dover when the pier is inapproach- able, let him land in a smaU boat on a squally day, let him be made very ill by the motion of the little craft, and let him begin to cast up— the expenses which his trip to the Rhine may have put him to. When he sees the waves running high, he may remember also that for the expenses of his family at home he owes bills that may l^e as difficult to settle as the billows. KEVEK TEUST TO OUTWARD APPEARA^sX'ES. CHAPTEK I. The most prudent man in Birmingham was Caleb Botts. His maternal aunt had bequeathed him 3000Z., which sum he received in the twenty-third year of his age. Caleb at first was greatly puzzled how to invest his little fortune to most advantage. At length, a happy thought struck him so forcibly, that he staggered back into his easy chair, and remained silent for a quarter of an hour ; and no wonder ; for when he rose on his legs again he had determined to take a wife. He had a snug business, and was in excellent credit, which his 3000L could not fail to improve. So a wife was just the thing to assist him in caiTying out the great aim of his existence, namely, to make what he termed " a heap of money." Many men will think Caleb a donkey for conceiving that a wife was necessary to accomplish his praiseworthy object, — be patient, good people; as yet yau don't know Caleb. In an adjoining street lived the lady upon whom Caleb had decided to confer the honour of becoming Mrs. Botts. She was neither old nor young— ugly nor pretty, lean nor stout — in fact, she was an every-day sort of person, that might walk from Dan to Beersheba without eliciting one remark by the way. To Caleb her great recommendation was a just appreciation of money. He had seen her haggle with a huckster at the door — he had heard her upbraid the butcher with false weight — and he had been told that she bai'tered her old clothes for jugs and pie-dishes. Caleb wooed her like himself. He waited 212 xi;vp:h thust to outward appeaeances. upon her, and having civilly announced the purpose of his visit, pvoeoedcd at once to state the amount of his property, leaving the lady to discover any other eligible qualifications which he might possess. Miss Fisk (we had forgotten to say that the lady's name was Fanny Fisk) blushed a little, added iip the items of Caleb's wealth, which she had jotted down in her pocket-book as her admirer had recounted them, and having found them satisfactory, consented to become Mrs. Botts in the course of a month. The wedding day arrived, and Caleb had been exceedingly liberal with invitations to his friends, a considerable number of whom assembled to assist at the awful ceremony. As the can-iages were announced Botts stepped boldly into the middle of the room, and drew from his pocket a serious roll of pai'chment. Everybody stared except Doves- milk, the lawyer — he gi'inned. Botts ha\'ing cleared his thi-oat, took the hand of Miss Fisk, and pressed it to his lips. "To convince you, my dear Fanny," he said, in accents as soft as eider-down, — " To convince you how devotedly — how disinterestedly I love you, I have here settled upon you and the • and the and the " " Children of this union," murmured Dovesmilk. " And the — aforesaid," continued Caleb, " the sum of 3000Z. in the 3^ per cents." A murmur of applause ran through the whole assembly, and Miss Fisk. lihishing a delicate rose-pink, bui'ied her face in Caleb's magnificent shirt-frill. A f(nv moments and a glass of water sufficed to restore the bride to consciousness, and Botts led hei- — " nothing loth " — to the altar. They wore maiTied. There were not a few stupid people who unhesitatingly pronounced Caleb a fool for making such a settlement; but, as we said before, they did not know Caleb. Ten years passed away, and a pretty gentle girl was added to the household of the Bottses. She was christened Fanny after her mother, but every one who knew the child declared that it was a shame to call her Botts. Dearly, very dearly, did Caleb love his child — that is, he loved her in his way. He thought how rich she would be one day, and NEVEll TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. 213 that lie should be father-in-law to some great merchant or gentleman, who might fall in love with her and marry her. Well, that was a father's dream. Caleb was doing a roaring business, and everybody prophesied that in a few years he would be the richest retailer in Brummagem. But Caleb was weary of shop-keeping, and resolved to retire. And now the silly people that had sneered at Botts settling all upon his wife began to confess what a clever fellow he was. On the 10th of August, 1830, there was quite a panic in certain warehouses in Brum- magem. Caleb Botts had declared himself insolvent ! 2s. 6cl. in the pound, he said, was as much as could be expected under the most favourable circumstances. Nobody would believe it, so they made him a bankrupt. His books were examined, and there his creditors saw the cause of his misfortune : — Dr. Helkannah j^norts : New York. Cr. To Gtods, as per Journal, £4037. By Composition of 7cZ, in the pound, £117 15s. Every care was taken to sift this strange transaction to the bottom, but Caleb had so mystified matters, that the creditors at length gave it up in despair. The only thing they could do, they did — they refused Caleb Botts's certificate. The bankrupt shrugged his shoulders, said it was very hard, but he must endeavour to live upon his wife's little pro- perty. Yes, — the identical 3000Z. which he had settled upon her on his wedding-day ! And wonderfully he managed on the interest of 3000^. ; for he kept a pair of l)ay ponies and a groom in di'ab livery. His dinners were reported as first-rate, and his wines declared to be unexceptionable : and all this on " Mrs. B.'s little property." Two or three honest people, who had been ruined by his bankruptcy, thought it very extraordinary, and now and then indulged in remarks which, as they proved nothing, only served to show what Botts called " their unabated malevolence to a highly vmfortunate, but by no means unprincipled man." CHAPTER II. In Street, Mayfair, Mrs. Snow kept a lodging-house. She had been a widow for many years, and having made up her mind to continue Mrs. Snow to the end of her days, she had adopted her nephew, Henry Hilton, to be heir to whatever her industry could garner xxp for him. Hilton was clerk to a surveyor, and a very steady, painstaking fellow he was. The house opposite had been taken a short time before the date of this chapter by a family, which, as Mary, Mrs. Snow's housemaid, said, " Had come in in weeds, and was just gone into colours." But why should we make a mystery of the matter — it was Botts and his pretty gentle daughter, Fanny, now grown into maidenhood, and as unlike Botts as a moss-rose is to an artichoke. Poor Mrs. Botts (to use her husband's figurative language) " had gone to her proper sphere above the cerulean." Her 3000L, therefore, according to the tenour of the mamage settlement, devolved upon Fanny. Miss Botts, the heiress, was soon the theme of every area in • Street, Mayfair, and Caleb spared no pains to magnify the amount of his daughter's expectations. Mrs. Snow's " first-floor and bedroom for a single gentleman " were to let, when, to her great gratification, a green cab, with a very diminutive tiger behind, and a most imposing gentleman inside, drove to the door — it was Julian Pitt Chatham, Esq., of Cow Hall and Blanket House, Yorkshire, and, — as he said, — a dii'ect descendant of " the pilot that weathered the storm." 214 NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANX'ES. Mrs Snow's ri)i>nis suited liiui to a T. and in loss tlian two lumrs ho was smoking his Turkish hookah in the wi(hnv's balcony. Who Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham really was will be e.vplainod by the following colloquy. It was in the dusk of the evening as Mary announced Mr. Leo Carrol, and as that gentleman did not hesitate to follow Mary into the room, she naturally concluded that he was a very intimate friend of the new lodger. She was right. " Well, my boy — here I am," said Julian Pitt Chatham, Avhen Maiy had loft the room and closed the door : " here I am — before the doomed citadel, eh .^" and he jerked the end of his pipe towards the house of Botts. " Egad, it's a desperate venture, Tom — I mean, Pitt," replied Carrol. " Pooh ! have you got the cards engraved ?" " What, your own ?" " No — no. Mother Snow's late lodger's — Captain Luttrell." " I shiJl have them in the morning — by Jove ! that was a master-thought," exclaimed CaiTol. " Well, I do feel proud of that suggestion," said Chatham, " and see — here is the list of Luttrell's visiting acquaintance. I procured it from a discharged valet. He says that his master was a most popiilar man, and is expected in town early next month — so we have no time to lose. The girl has been looking over here repeatedly since six o'clock, and I saw old Botts examining me through an opera-glass." The next day the gi-een cab was seen in all the fashionable streets in London. The tiger had changed his livery, and was hopping up and down, knocking at doors, and then hastily delivering small pieces of pasteboard, on which was engraven, " Capt. Luttrell. Street, May Fair." The ruse succeeded. The next day Mrs. Snow's house was besieged by the carriages and cabs of the first people in town. The grand oliject was attained ; a favourable impres- sion had been made on Botts, and the rest of the plan was thought to be easy of accom- plishment. Nor was Botts idle— Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham was a chance not to be lost, and Caleb made aU the display possible of the goodness of his circiamstances. The confederates were not blind to Botts's mana?uvi'es. and worked accordiuglv. Carrol played the piano excellently, and as " such an instnunont he was to use," a superb grand was procured on hire. Chatham had his rooms brilliantly illuminated, as though for a soiree; and whilst Carrol rattled away at polkas and quadrilles, Chatham, assisted by the tiger and Mrs. Carrol, performed a sort of Ombres Chinoises on the window blinds, conveying by their frantic gyrations and evolutions the idea of a party in the highest state of enjoyment. Botts's regard for his opposite neighbour increased amazingly, and he retired to rest resolved at all hazards to force himself into an acquaintance. In the morning Botts fulfilled his determination, and was delighted to find a corre- sponfling anxiety to establish a friendly intercourse existing on the piu-t of the opulent and aristocratic Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham. We have neither time nor inclination to detail the manceuvTCS played oflF upon each other by these worthy men. Enough to know that their hopes seemed to be ripening^ and each cidculated on securing a splendid crop of knavery — Botts having ingeniously added a nought to the amount of Fanny's 3000/.. whilst Julian Pitt Chatham had taken (imaginary) possession of three-fourths of the county of Yorkshire. During this knavish stratcgery. the gentle, dove-like Fanny was left much to herself; for, though hor tccaUhy suitor paid her the usual attentions, he nevertheless passed much NEVKll TItUST TO OUTWARD APPEAUANCES. of his time iu the society of his dear friend Carrol, kindly assisting him in the manage- ment of a " little hell " in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Towards the close of a delicious evening in the month of June, Botts had just risen from his siesta when Chatham entered the room, accompanied l)y a friendly lawyer bearing a blue bag containing a marriage settlement of more than ordinary bulk. The deed stated that, whereas Julian Pitt Chatham, of Cow Hall and Blanket House, in the county of Yorkshire, being about to unite himself in the bonds of wedlock with Frances Botts, only daughter of Caleb Botts, of St., Mayfair, in the county of Middlesex, did, by this deed, settle upon the said Frances Botts all his right and title in Cow Hall, and also the interest of 3000L, now standing in the name of the said Frances, in the Three-and-a-half per Cents., on the said Caleb Botts for his natural life, &c., &c., &c. ; from which it may lie inferred that Caleb had not been unmindful of himself in his care for his daughter, having secured for his own necessities all her real property, leaving her future husband absolute control over the imaginary, with which he had invested her. The worthy feUows expressed themselves mutually satisfied, and were anxiously awaiting the return of Fanny from her customary evening's walk, when a letter was brought in by the sei'vant, addressed to Caleb Botts. It ran as follows : — " Dear Father, " Ton will perceive, by the enclosed mamage certificate, that I am now the wife of Mr. Henry Hilton, a young gentleman whom I have known for some time, and known only to love. " Being aware of the intended transfer of myself and property by you to Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham, I considered the proceeding so unwarrantable, that I resolved to free my- self from the possibility of such a sacrifice, and have married (as I am of age, my property and hand are at my own disposal) the object of my first and only love. " Your affectionate daughter, " Fanny Hilton." Botts read the letter again and again ! Could his " gentle Fanny " have taken such a desperate step ? Could she, that he had looked uj^on as a long annuity, have so cruelly deceived him ! Could— but, like the modest painter of Greece, let us draw a veil over the paternal grief of old Botts. * * * If you take a stroU in the Bayswater Road any fine afternoon, you wiU see a faii% dumpy little woman, with something of a viragoish expression of face, driving a flock of small children before her ; an old man is usually with her, laden with shawls and cloaks' and leading a fat wheezing spaniel in a string. The lady is the " gentle Fanny," and the old man is Caleb Botts. He is miserably discontented, and grumbles accordingly — the only pleasurable reflection of his long and busy life seems to be the recollection of the sentence of transportation which he had the satisfaction to hear passed upon one Thomas Biggs alias Julian Pitt Chatham. 21(3 THE IIEIIMIT OF VAUXHALL. THE HERMIT OF VAUXHALL. A BALLAD, AFTEK OLIVER GOLDSMITH. BY THE EDITOB. '' Turn, gentle heraiit of Vaiixliall, And let me know tlie way In whicli, within that cavern smaU^ You pass your time away. ' There's nothing but a little lamp, A jiitcher and a cat ; The place must be extremely damp- Why don't you wear a hat ?" ■ No chaff, my son," the hermit cries, " But walk your chalks along ; Your path to the rotunda lies — They're going to sing a song." '■ Father, I care not for the strain Of that young girl in bhie. But, if you please, I will remain. And have a chat with you." My son, you surely wish to hciir The music of the band ; But if you stop — a drop of beer I think you ought to stand." THE HERMIT OF VAUXHALL. 217 ' Father, to grant what you require, • - Ca,^ __- I'll not a moment fail ; ..•■■ qf Ti* ' Here, waiter, bring the holy friar " T *iT 'W '' ' A pint of Burton Ale.' " - / ,i>J i The waiter brought the welcome draiight, I took a little sup ; The liquor then the hermit quafTtl, He fairly mop't it up. ' Father," I cried, " now, if you please. Philosophy we'll talk — As the wind mui'murs throiigh the trees Skirting the long dark walk." ' My son, forbear," exclaimed the sage, " Nor on me make a call — My life is but a pilgrimage From Lambeth to Yauxhall. ' At eve, when shops their shutters shut, And tolls the cui-few-bell, I quit my room in the New- Cut, To sit within this cell. ' A friendly ounce of Cheshii-e cheese My landlady provides ; Save what to give the public please, I've nothing, son, besides." • ' Father, your salary, of course, Tou must receive," I said ; • Tour sitting here is not by force : How do you get your bread ?" The sage replied, " Alas ! my son, I light the lamps by day — The hermit's work, at evening done. Brings me no extra pay." ■ Ajid get you cheese alone to eat .^" I asked the good old man. Sometimes," he said, " I buy a treat From bak'd potato can. The luxury I sometimes bring With buttei" — a small lump. And water from the crystal spring That rises 'neath our pump." Father," I cried, " your tale is long. You tire my patience quite ; I'm off to hear the comic song, Lull-li-e-te, good night." 21S I'OETiC A L 1 N VITATIONS. POETICAL INVITATIONS. If all the young ladies who sit w- ski bowman, declined to attend, so great was the envy of the brute at the youthful hero's superiority. As for Otto him- self, he sate on the right hand of the chairman, but it was re- marked that he could not eat. Gentle reader of my page! thou knowest why full well. He was too much in love to have any appetite; for though I myself, when labouring under that passion, never found my consumption of victuals diminish, yet remember our Otto was a hero of romance, and they never are himgry when they're in love. The next day the young gentleman proceeded to enrol himself in the corps of Archei-s of the Prince of Clevcs, and with him came his attached squire, who vowed he never would leave him. As Otto threw aside his own elegant dress, and donned the livery of the House of Cleves, the noble Childe sighed not a little — 'twas a splendid \miform 'tis true, but still it was a livery, and one of his proud spirit ill bears another's cognizances. " They are the colours of the Princess, however," said he, consoling himself ; " and what suffering would I not undergo for her f As for Wolfgang, the squire, it may well be supposed that the good-natured, low-bom fellow, had no such scruples ; but he was glad enough to exchange for the pink hose, the yellow jacket, the pea-green cloak, and orange-tawny hat, with which the Duke's steward supplied him, the homely patched doublet of green which he had worn for years past. " Look at yon two archers," said the Prince of Cleves to his guest the Rowski of Dounerblitz, as they were strolling on the battlements after dinner, smoking their cigars as usiuil. His Highness pointed to our two young friends, who were mounting guard for " See yon two bowmen — mark tlioir bearing ! One is the youth who beat the first ti thy Squintoff, and t'other, an I mistake not, won the third prize at the butts. Both wear the same uniform — the colours of my house— yet, would'st not sweai- that the one was but a churl, and the other a noble geutleuian?" I A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 221 " Whicli looks like the nobleman ?" said the Rowski, as black as tbunder. " Which / why young Otto, to be sure," said the Princess Helena, eagerly. The young lady was following the pair, but under pretence of disliking the odour of the cigar, she had refused the Rowski's proffered arm, and was loitering behind with her parasol. Her interposition in favour of her young protege only made the black and jealous Rowski more ill-humoured. " How long is it. Sir Prince of Cleves," said he, " that the churls who wear your livery permit themselves to wear the ornaments of noble knights ? What but a noble dare wear ringlets such as yon springald's ? Ho, archer !" roared he, " come hither, fellow." And Otto stood before him. As he came, and presenting arms stood respectfully before the Prince and his savage guest, he looked for one moment at the lovely Helena — their eyes met, their hearts beat simultaneously : and, quick, two little blushes appeared in the cheek of either. I have seen one ship at sea answering another's signal so. While they are so regarding each other let us just remind our readers of the great estimation in which the hair was held in the North. Only nobles were permitted to wear it long. When a man disgraced himseK, a shaving was sure to follow. Penalties were inflicted upon villains or vassals who sported ringlets. See the works of Aurelius Tonsor ; Hirsutus de Nobilitate Capillari; Rolandus de Oleo Macassari; Schnurrbart Frisirische Alterthumskunde, &c. " We must have those ringlets of thine exit, good fellow," said the Duke of Cleves good-naturedly, but wishing to spare the feelings of his gallant recruit. " 'Tis against the regulation cut of my archer guard." " Cut off my hair !" cried Otto, agonised. " Ay, and thine ears with it, yokel," I'oared Donnerblitz. "Peace, noble Ealenschreckenstein," said the Duke with dignity. " Let the Duke of Cleves deal as he will with his own men-at-arms — and you, young Sir, unloose the gi-ip of thy dagger." Otto, indeed, had convulsively grasped his snickersknee, with intent to plunge it into the heart of the Rowski, but his politer feelings overcame him. " The Count need not fear, my lord," said he — " a lady is present." And he took off his orange-tawny cap and bowed low. Ah ! what a pang shot through the heart of Helena, as she thought that those lovely ringlets must be shorn from that beautiful head ! Otto's mind was too in commotion. His feelings as a gentleman — let us add, his pride as a man — for who is not, let us ask, proud of a good head of hair ? — waged war within his soul. He expostulated with the Prince. " It was never in his contemplation," he said, " on taking service, to undergo the operation of hair-cutting." " Thoxi art free to go or stay. Sir Archer," said the Prince pettishly. " I will have no churls imita£ing noblemen in my service ; I will bandy no conditions with archers of my guard." " My resolve is taken," said Otto, irritated too in his turn. " I will . . ." " What !" cried Helena, breathless with intense agitation. " I wiU stay," answered Otto. The poor girl almost fainted with joy. The Rowski frowned with demoniac fury, and grinding his teeth and cursing in the horriljle German jargon, stalked away. " So be it," said the Prince of Cleves, taking his daughtei*'s arm — " and here comes Snipwitz, my barber, who shall do the business for you." With this the Prince too moved on, feeling in his heart not a little compassion for the lad ; for AdoLf of Cleves had been handsome in his youth, and distinguished for the ornament of which he was now depriAang his archer. Snipwitz led the poor lad into a side-room, and there — in a word — operated upon him. 222 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. The golden cm-Is — fair cui-ls that his mother had so often played with ! — ^feU under the shears and round the lad's knees, until he looked as if he was sitting in a bath of sun- beams. When the frightful act had been performed, Otto, who entered the little chamber in the tower, ringleted like Apollo, issued from it as cropped as a charity-boy. See how melancholy he looks, now that the operation is over I — And no wonder. He was thinking what would be Helena's opinion of him, now that one of his chief personal ornaments was gone. " Will she know me ?" thought he. " Will she love me after this hideous mutilation ?" Yielding to these gloomy thoughts, and, indeed, rather unwilling to be seen by his comrades, now that he was so disfigured, the young gentleman had hidden himself behind one of the buttresses of the wall, a prey to natural despondency, when he saw something which instantly restored him to good spirits. He saw the lovely Helena coming towards the chamber where the odious barber had performed upon him, — coming forward timidly, looking round her anxiously, blushing with delightful agitation, — and presently seeing, as she thought, the coast clear, she entered the apartment. She stooped down, and, ah ! what was Otto's joy when he saw her pick up a beautiful golden lock of his hair, press it to her lips, and then hide it in her bosom ! No caraation ever blushed so redly as Helena did when she came out after performing this feat. Then she hurried straightway to her own apartments in the castle, and Otto, whose first impulse was to come out from his hiding- place, and falling at hor feet, call Heaven and Earth to witness his passion, with difficulty restrained his ffolings. and let her pass : but the love-stricken young hero was so delighted with this evident proof of reciprocated attachment, that all regret at losing his ringlets at A LEGEND OF THE TJIINE. 223 once left him, and he vowed he would sacrifice not only his hair, but his head, i£ need were, to do her service. That very afternoon, no small bustle and conversation took place in the castle, on account of the sudden departure of the Rowski of Eulenschreckenstein, with all his train and equipage. He went away in the greatest wrath, it was said, after a long and loud con- versation with the Prince. As that potentate conducted his guest to the gate, walking rather demui'ely and shamefacedly by his side, as he gathered his attendants in the court, and there mounted his charger, the Rowski ordered his trumpets to sound, and scornfully flung a largesse of gold among the sei'vitors and men-at-arms of the house of Cleves, who were marshalled in the court. " Farewell, Sir Prince," said he to his host. " I quit you now suddenly ; but remember, it is not my last visit to the Castle of Cleves ;" and ordering his band to play " See the Conquering Hero comes," he clattered away through the drawbridge. The Princess Helena was not present at his departure ; and the vener- able Prince of Cleves looked rather moody and chap-fallen when his guest left him. He visited all the castle defences pretty accurately that night, and inquired of his officers the state of the ammunition, provision, &c. He said nothing ; but the Princess Helena's maid did: and everybody knew that the Rowski had made his proposals, had been rejected, and, getting up in a violent fury, had called for his people, and sworn by the great gods that he would not enter the castle again until he rode over the breach, lance in hand, the con- queror of Cleves and all belonging to it. No little consternation was spread through the garrison at the news. For everybody knew the Rowski to be one of the most intrepid and powerful soldiers in aU Germany, — one of the most skilful generals. Generous to extravagance to his own followers, he was ruthless to the enemy : and a hundred stories were told of the dreadful barbarities exer- cised by him in several towns and castles which he had captured and sacked. And poor Helena had the pain of thinking, that in consequence of her refusal she was dooming all the men, women, and children of the principality to indiscriminate and horrible slaughter. The dreadful surmises regarding a war received in a few days dreadful confiiTuation. It was noon, and the worthy Prince of Cleves was taking his dinner (though the honest wai*rior had little appetite for that meal for some time past), when tnimpets were heard at the gate ; and presently the herald of the Rowski of Donnerblitz, clad in a tabard on which the arms of the Count were blazoned, entered the dining-hall. A page bore a steel gauntlet on a cushion ; Bleu Sanglier had his hat on his head. The Prince of Cleves put on his own as the herald came up to the chair of state where the Sovereign sate. "■ Silence for Bleu Sanglier," cried the Prince, gravely. " Say your say, Sir Herald." " In the name of the high and mighty Rowski, Prince of Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein, Count of Krotenwald, Schnauzestadt, and Galgenhiigel, hereditary Grand Bootjack of the Holy Roman Empire — to you, AdoK the Twenty-third, Prince of Cleves, I, Bleu Sanglier, bring war and defiance. Alone, and lance to lance, or twenty to twenty in field or in fort, on plain or on mountain, the noble Rowski defies you. Here, or wherever he shall meet you, he proclaims war to the death between you and him. In token whereof, here is his glove." And taking the steel glove from the page. Bleu Boar flung it clanging on the marble floor. The Princess Helena turned deadly pale : but the Prince with a good assurance flung down his own glove, calling upon some one to raise the Rowski's ; which Otto accordingly took up and presented to him, on his knee. " Boteler, fill my goblet," said the Prince to that functionary, who, clothed in tight Ijlack hose, with a white kerchief, and a napkin on his dexter arm, stood obsequiously by VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845. his master's chair. The goblet was filled with Malvoisie : it held about three quarts : a precious gold hauap carved by the cunning ai-tificer, Benvenuto the Florentine. '* Drink, Bleu Sanglier," said the Prince, " and put the goblet in thy bosom. Weai* this chain, furthermore, for my sake." And so saying, Prince Adolf flung a precious chain of emeralds round the herald's neck. " An invitation to battle was ever a welcome call to Adolf of Cleves." So saying, and bidding his people take good care of Bleu Sanglier's retinue, the Prince left the haU with his daughter. All were marvelling at his dignity, courage, and generosity. But, though affecting unconcern, the mind of Prince Adolf was far from tranquil. He was no longer the stalwart knight who, in the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, had, with his naked fist, beaten a Uon to death in three minutes ; and alone had kept the westera postern of Peterwardin for two hours against seven hundi-ed Turkish janissaries, who were assailing it. Those deeds which had made the heir of Cleves famous were done thirty years syne. A free liver since he had come into his pi-incipality, and of a lazy turn, he had neglected the athletic exercises which had made him in youth so famous a champion, and indolence had borne its usual fruits. He tried his old battle-sword — that famous blade with which, in Palestine, he had cut an elephant-driver in two pieces, and split asunder the skuU of the elephant which he rode. Adolf of Cleves could scarcely now lift the weapon over his head. He tried his armoui-. It was too tight for him. Ajid the old soldier burst into tears, when he found he could not buckle it. Such a man was not fit to encounter the temble Rowski in single combat. Nor could he hope to make head against him for any time in the field. The Prince's temtories were small. His vassals proverbially lazy and peaceable. His treasury empty. The dismallest prospects were before him : and he passed a sleepless night writing to his friends for succour, and calculating with his secretary the small amount of the resoiu-ces which he could bring to aid him against his advancing and powerful enemy. Helena's pillow that evening was also un visited by slumber. She lay awake thinking of Otto, — thinking of the danger and the ruin her refusal to many had brought upon her dear Papa. Otto, too, slept not : but his waking thoughts were brilliant and heroic : the noble Childe thought how he should defend the Princess, and win los and honour in the ensuing combat. [To be coidinneil.) VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845. (TiiK following is the substance of a pnjicr which was read before the " Societe des ^fonul)U'ns Antiques," at Paris, on the 1 rjtli of .'September last. It cieafed a great sensation at the time, and the Boulogne Diligences of Messre. LaOitte et Caillard have been crowded ever since. Scientific men are ontrunning one another in rushini: ti' London, with the view of exploring its interesting ruins. Monsieur Pierre de la Viel-Pompe, the tilented author of this antiquarian pajier, is already favourably known to science, by his celebrated '' IJe-searches amongst tiie Wheelbarrows of Kngland," which was read with such i-apturc at the last meeting of the Antiquarian Society.) " I STARTED on August the 29th. I took with me a small basket of provisions, a flask of eau sucrcv, a cotton pocket-handkerchief, on which was printed a map of London, a thick stick to keep the dogs off, a gig iimbreUa, and a macintosh, — for duriug the Vauxhall season the rain in London is incessant — and, hiring a guide from the Blind Asylum, I made a bai-gain with him, that his dog was not to leave me till he had sho^vn AaSlT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMiV OF 184- overytbing worth seeing. "We started at daybreak. Here and there we passed the humble stall of a pieturesque apple-woman ; occasionally we stopt to wi-ite down the classic inscription of a venerable old pump; and, finally, in the midst of as great a degree of solitude as one meets with in the Theatre Fran^ais, or on the Pont des Ai-ts, I ioxmd myself all of a sudden walking on the wood pavement of a city — a city apparently of the dead— the depopulated London. There is something truly awful in this sudden starting up before us of the ruins of a city, in which not a living soul is to be found, and in which we know each street was a throbbing ai-tery of busy life but a little month ago. " We at length came to a place called a Square, because it has seven sides to it. Two little battered fountains were still playing, and my guide informed me they had originally been built in honour of a great battle, won by the English over the French, called Trafalgar. I need not inteiTupt my nan-ative by mentioning, that no such battle is alluded to in French history. But even admitting the victory, I can 'only say that the miserable aspect of the fountains is a playful satire upon it, and clearly shows the English never thought much of it. The whole square is, in fact, a melancholy libel upon the name it bears. At one end a low building, the windows of which have been bricked up, is half buried in the ground, and opposite to it is a lanky column, standing on a pedestal of rubbish, which is defended by an enceinte contimiee of wooden walls. Here we met vrith one of the first signs of vitality. An old gentleman, who seemed to have the snow of forty years upon his brow, was throwing pebbles into one of the basins which fed the sickly fountains. I endeavoured to approach him, but he hastened away, evidently alarmed at the sight of a human being. " After this, we visited another square, christened after the well-known Earl of Leicester. The interior of this place was choked up with weeds, which seemed to afford a capital jungle for a horde of wild cats, who were ravaging the plantation in all directions. My guide told me there were the remains of an equestrian statue in the centre; but, though I put on my spectacles, I could see nothing but a black head peeping over the rank vegetation, as if it were a scarecrow planted there to frighten away the savage animals who made the wilderness their daily haunt. " Hastening away from this dreary spot, we reached a long avenue of houses, which, though Regent- street was written up in several places, I have taken^the liberty to call the Street of Tombs. It was painfully lonely; the grass was growing on the pavement. Some shops were open, but most of them half closed, looking pictures of insolvency ; one had written over it 'Awfiil Failure,' and another was covered with enormous bills, announcing an ' Alarming Sacrifice ' — ' in consequence of the proprietor retii-ing to the sea- side.' Not a person was to be seen. I looked in at a pastry-cook's ; mice were running about the stale tarts ; the sponge cakes looked like pumice-stones ; one Bath bun had the dust of months upon it, and the jelly-glasses were filled with dead flies. I fled from this painful spectacle, and summoned coitrage to enter a place over which was written ' Yerey's.' Some empty coffee cups were lying about the tables ; a Times newspaper, almost black with age, was lying across a chair. I ventured to look at its date ; it was July the 16th ! Not a soul, then, had entered this once crowded spot for nearly six weeks ! I felt very uncom- fortable, but looked round once more. I discovered a cigar, half burnt, lying on the ledge of a looking-glass ; it was clear the owner had left it there in the hurry of his flight, for fear of remaining the last in this lonely place. Before leaving, I raised my voice as well as I could, and cried out, ' Garcon.' I heard the word repeated several rooms off, till, gradually becoming fainter, the ' 9on ' was echoed almost inaudibly at the end of the street. I felt inclined to weep at my extreme solitude. I respected, however, the property that was about me, and did not take anything away with me. _ 00(J VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845. " After this I wandered tlirough streets and squares, the guide and his dog that went before me being the only living things in this sepulehral town. A church clock that was still going cheered me, however, for a while. It was at least a proof of the recent existence of man. A foot-print, too, in the mud, buoyed up my sinking spirits. It was as a flower in the desert. Some oyster-sheUs also gave me peculiar pleasure, for as the oyster season only commences in England on the 5th of August, I reckoned, by the nimiber of shells, that there must have been four men less than a month ago in this part of London : this somewhat revived me. " We passed a number of shops — but I did not see a soul in any one of them. The number of ' Ale and Sandwich ' shops is sui-prising, and proves that the consumption of sandwiches in England must be enormous. A sandwich is a thin piece of ham put between two thinner pieces of bread. It is very dry, and that is the reason why the ale is always sold with it. A thick layer of mustard is always spread on the bread, to make people drink the more. I have great pleasure in submitting a specimen of the English sandwich to your notice. I beg you will pass it round the room, and let the ladies examine it. " The theatres, of course, were closed. I managed to get into the one the English most patronise — the Italian Opera House. The interior of the theatre presented, as well as I could see — for immense cobwebs hung in festoons from side to side — nothing but an immense amphitheatre of brown holland, which miist look very bad when it is lighted up at night. The other theatres, the one in a Garden, the other in a Lane, are fitted up in the same style of decoration. Over the portico of the latter is a statue of Shakspeare ; my guide could not teU me anything about him ; he believes he was an author, whose plays were acted some thirty years ago. " I was lucky enough to see the interior of one of the London Houses. A printed notice was hanging up in the \vindow of, " A Room for a Single Gentleman to let." I ventured to knock at the door. It was opened by a young, ghost-looking woman, whose hungry looks somewhat frightened me. " She showed me over the house. The little furniture that was left in the place was very striking. Some portraits of herself and a gentleman, taken all in black, seemed to me so vei7 peculiar tliat I have taken sketches of them. It seems to be a styk^ of portraiture admirably adapted for countries where there is a large negro population. I was told that the artists who take them live mostly on steamers, or at the sea-side, and VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OP 1845. 227 that they use no brushes, but take tliem with a pair of scissors. If this is true, it is very wonderful, and deserves further investigation. " After this my attention was directed to the mantelpiece. The ornaments were singularly English. They included a fine specimen of stone fruit, a peach cut in half purposely, to show the stone, a chimney-sweep, dressed in black velvet, with two bits of yeUow tinsel for his eyes, a china cow, with a gold tree growing out of his head ; and a wooden apple, which contains a set of wooden tea-cups, spoons, and saucers, — for the use, I suppose, of English fairies. " This apartment was on the ground-floor. She then showed me the bedroom, which was on the floor above. As I did not see the bed, I asked to look at it. She pointed to a chest of drawers. I laughed at the notion of sleeping, like a boa-constrictor, in a drawer four feet by two, and went to open one of them, to see if it were possible by any stretch, or rather the reverse of one, to get into it, when the chest opened in the middle, and a mattress and bedding fell instantly upon me, and broke my hat in. The good woman turned the bed up again, and laughed at my innocence ; but all I can say is, if Englishmen ai'e in the habit of sleeping in such cupboards, they must sleep with their heads downwards and their feet dangling in the air, for the pillow is at the bottom of the chest. " I visited another house, for I found that houses were to let in every direction. Most of the windows were darkened with the shutters, and all London looked as if it had been stricken with a new plague, and evei'y house was mourning the loss of its inmates. I asked myself if it could be the eff'ect of the Income Tax, but received no answer. " I was tired, and felt too melancholy to pursue my researches. So I sat down on a door- step, and taking out my eau sucree, refreshed myself. I laid my handkerchief over my knees, and was preparing to enjoy my frugal repast, when a singular wild creature came up some steps that were underground of a large house opposite. I described him to my guide as a morose-looking animal with immense whiskers, an oilskin cape, and spray feet. He told me he was a policeman. To my astonishment, this man came up to me, and taking hold of me by the coUar, told me I must ' move on.' I thought it foUy to argue with a man who clearly showed he had no notion of civility, so, without felling him on the spot, I obeyed his surly injunction. " I was getting very hungry, and longed to get back to my hotel at Little Chelsea. I paid the blind man liberally for the few hours I had engaged his dog, and, taking my hat off to him, wished him a good day. " I had turned the corner of the street, when it struck me I might as well ask him one or two questions about the deserted state of London. " Accordingly I ran back, and asked him what had become of all the inhabitants ? ' Oh ! there be plenty of folks left in London still, sir, if you only gets to the proper part of town to look for 'em.' ' Nonsense, my good man,' I said, nearly losing my temper, 'look about you, and you will see there's not a person to be seen.' 'Yes, sir, all the folks hereabout, sir, has gone to the seaside ; they can't abide London at this time of the year.' I saw the stupid fellow could give me no information, so I left him, with an iinutterable feeling of pity for his ignorance. All the lower classes are sadly uneducated in England. " My visit, however, was not without some fruit. I have brought away with me many curious specimens of the arts and sciences and manufactures of the Londoners. I beg to show you one of their drinking vessels. It is made, I am told, of pewter. We have nothing like it in our own country. It will hold a quart, but an Englishman will empty it at one draught. Their drink is a beer that is thickened with treacle. I beg to ofi'er you, gentlemen, a wine-glassful, just to taste it. Their pipes are made of a sort of THE UNLUCKY QUESTION. refined mud, and their tobacco is gi-own in large market-gardens in the neighbourhood of London. " I shall never forget my visit to London. My revelations, I think, form a new era in the history of cities. If the French are desirous of taking London, now is their time or ■aQYer, — as there is not an inhabitant left in the place to defend it." THE UNLUCKY QUESTION. BY BALZAC d'ANOIS. Don Alvarez had passed through some five-and-thirty years of his life without the incumbrance of a single virtue, unless a kind of bi-utal courage, which he had in common with the buU-dog, desei-ved that name. Nevertheless, he was ia great favour with the Government and the Inquisition, for he showed a peculiar talent in hunting out the Moors ; and was, in fact, a kind of caterer for the dungeon and the rack. This sort of talent, advantageous as it was in some sort to the possessor, was not of a kind to produce imiversal affection. A kind of low murmur reached the ears of Don Alvarez, to the effect that his days might be terminated at no distant period ; and a wish for his decease was observed to be prevalent not only among the Moorish part of the population, but also among several Christians whose families he had wronged. Therefore did Don Alvarez feel a constant uneasiness respecting his personal safety, and was remarkably anxious to know how long he had a chance of living. One day, when walking through a wood, he was suddenly accosted by a very ordinary- looking Moorish girl, dressed in a veiy dingy costimie, and with a shabby-genteel turljiiu on her head. " You wish to know how long you wiU last, Senor," said the girl. " Right !" exclaimed the startled Alvarez. " Then you have only to show the palm of your hand to poor Zamora. and she will inform you." " Zamora !" said the Don, " who is— oh, exactly — you are Zamora. But I thought tlie art of chiromancy belonged rather to the Gypsy than the Moor ?" "That is my affair!" said Zamora, fretfully. "As long as I can give you the infonua- tion you require, it is quite sufficient for your purpose." Alvarez admitted the justice of the reproof, and exhibited his hand. *' Oh !" cried the girl, with a toss of her head. " Your business is soon settled." " Business sr)on settled ! That is an ominous phrase," thought Alvarez. " You will live for " "When Zamora had got so far, down went a black cloak over her head, and deprived her of the power of further utterance. Some emissaries of the Inquisition, who had been concealed among the trees, had captured her. " Stop a moment!" involuntarily ejaculated Don Alvarez. " Think youi-self fortunate, Senor," said the chief of the party, " that your known enmity to this accursed race places you above the reach of suspicion. Had it been other- wise, we should have made you a prisoner also." Don Alvarez tidked largely about the Bei*\icc8 he had done to the Inquisition; but finding all he said was of no avail, he walked off, giiimbling as he went. THE UNLUCKY QUESTION. 229 Poor Zamora appeared a few weeks after as one of the victims of a grand Auto da Fe, at whicli Alvarez, who was a great connoisseur in such matters, attended as a spectator. She passed him on her way to the pile that was to consume her, and to his astonishment, no sooner set her eyes upon him, than she burst into a loud fit of laughter, at the same time flinging to him very dexterously a bit of crumpled paper, which he immediately concealed. As for the laughter, it was inextinguishable ; for even when she was tied to the stake, and the flames blazed round her, the peal of merriment penetrated the surrounding volumes of smoke, and reached the ears of Alvarez. When he had seen Zamora fairly reduced to a heap of ashes, he was able to extricate himself from the throng, and lost no time in seeking some solitary place where he could examine the paper. He foiind that it was a map of the environs of the town, and saw on a patch of green representing a heath, a little dot, under which was wi'itten, " Cottage of Abu Fez." Alvarez knew the heath perfectly, but he had never seen anything like a cottage upon it. He repaired to the spot at once — and there, sure enough, stood a little mean-looking hut. He knocked at the door. " Come in," ciied a voice ; and accordingly Alvarez pushed open the door and entered. He was perfectly amazed at the size and splendour of the apartment in which he found himself. Large massive candelabra lit it up vsdth dazzling brilliancy, and seven large golden statues, representing the seven planets, stood around, each with a lamp in front, burning with a flame coloured like the luminary it symbolised. Magical instruments richly and curiously embossed lay about in confusion, and there was no end of objects to arrest the eyes of Don Alvarez. An elegantly dressed yoiuig Moor, who reclined indolently on a velvet sofa, seemed to be the proprietor of the establishment. " How in the name of Fortune," said Alvarez, " did you contrive to get this large room into such a little hut .'*" " Friend," said the Moor, drily, " that cannot possibly be any business of yours. What do you want ?" '• This paper, said Alvarez, very humbly, " was put into my hands — " " I see — I see," said the Moor, " Zamora gave you this. Ay, she was bui'ned to-day — to be sxire. She is my sister, but the circumstance had escaped my memory. Do you know whether she bore it well ?" " As far as I could judge, she seemed rather to like it," replied the Don. " Likely enough," remarked the Moor; " there is not much in it when one is used to it. I have been reduced to ashes dozens of times. Well, what are you staring at ?" "Nothing," said Alvarez; for he saw it would not do to be inquisitive. As for doubting the fact, he never thought of such a thing. A gentleman who could put a room as large as Guildhall into an edifice about the size of a cobbler's stall, could not say any- thing too wonderful for credence. " You," observed the Moor, " want to know how long you have to live. Don't ask how I learned that. Enough — so it is. This little gold book gives the answer to your question." The Don was breathless with expectation. " You will live," said the Moor, " till " — " The term of our contract has expired," thundered forth a tremendous voice, and at that moment a huge thumb and finger forced their way through the ceiling and twisted off the Moor's head. The statues and decorations fell down with a terrific crash, and eveiy one of them in its descent gave a smai-t blow to Don Alvarez, who was no less annoyed than amazed at the occun-ence. When the four walls fell upon him, he dropped, completely stunned. 230 THE UNLUCKY QUESTION. Waking, be found himself upon the heath, on which not a vestige of the edifice remained — not so much as a splinter or a brick-bat. Evening was drawing in. A little ugly Moor, very unlike the elegant Abu Fez, came up to him. " That was smart work, senor !" said the stranger. " I stood in the further comer of the heath, and I may say, I never saw a more eflBcient operation." " A very disagi'eeable operation," cried Alvarez, shuddering at the remembrance. " But pray who was this Abu Fez ? He seemed to be an extraordinary person." "Yes — yes — a clever man in his way." said the ugly little wretch, shrugging his shoulders ; " but he was a miserable arithmetician." "Oh! that accounts for his attempting to answer my question at the very moment when the term of his compact with the Evil One had expired." " What was your question ?" " I wanted to know when I should die." said the Don. " Well, you need not have gone bothering Abu Fez al)oixt such a foolish thing as that.' said the Moor. " I am no conjuror, but I could have satisfied you on that point." " Indeed !" exclaimed Alvarez. " Of course I could." " Well then, pray do," said the Don. " Follow my directions then," said the Moor. " He who wears steel cannot receive the prophecy ; therefore, give me your sword." — Don Alvarez did so. " He with open eyes cannot hear the prophecy, therefore, shut youi-s."— Don Alvarez did so. "And these preliminaries being settled, Senor, I have to tell you — ^you will die now." ANOTHER WOin) ABOUT rLAY-ORDEKS. So saying, tlie little Moor tlinist the sword tlirougli the lieai't of Alvarez, who fell instantly, with a sound like the laughter of Zamora ringing in his ears. Next morning a little tombstone of very neat workmiuishij:) was found on the heath bearing this inscription : — " To the Memory of Don Alvarez, who met his death in a stupider manner than any man in Spain." ANOTHER WORD ABOUT PLAY-ORDERS. TO THE EDITOR OF THE TABLE BOOK. Sir, A wo ED in the ear of Dionysius. He wrote to you last month concerning the afflictions of an Editor who signs orders for the play. I also am an Editor, like yourself [This proposition we beg utterly to deny. — Ed. T. B.], but the circulation of my journal does not exceed 1000. Indeed, I may as well inform you, in confidence, that a third of that number would cover my sale — exchanges, free-list, and all. Now, sir, I am about to come down upon your Trinity Doctor with truths. Does your friend know what an advertisement is ? I should think he must. We have heard that in the " deep solitudes " of a coUege there are " awful sells ;" but your friend cannot be so virid as not to be aware that certain newspapers exist by means of the advertisements they contain. And does he think that to the offices of such newspapers tradespeople come rushing, frantically tendering their five-and-sixpences for the insertion of their announcements ? A Friday afternoon in my office would enlighten " your brother Editor." No, Doctor, — in these days a fresco painting is the only thing that can stand without a canvass. Give away tickets for the j)lay to friends ! Friends have just as much right to ask me for eight shillings sterling, a shilling more for the boxkeeper, sixpence for the bonnet woman, fourpeuce for the porter, and half-a-crown for the cab to Islington. Tickets are part of my capital, and — I supi^ose you'll cut the pun out if I make it — my columns would suffer if my capital were damaged. No, Doctor, I'U tell you how to use tickets for the play, and then you won't write again abusing your mercies. On Wednesday morning — it is useless to begin earlier — pocket as many tickets as the managers will let you wi-ite— and go round your " advertising connection." Some Editors are silly enough to think that this is not a gentleman's vocation — who says it is ? The question is not about gentlemanliness, but about advertisements. If you want these, go for them — if not, send your clerks. Go into the shops and see the principals. Say some- thing of this kind. " Ah ! Choppings, how are you ?" (Your friend is, e. g., a sausage- maker.) " Coining money, as usual ? Oh ! don't tell me — I'm coming to borrow a few thousands of you one of these days. I say, old fellow, you haven't given us a turn lately. Oh, nonsense ! can't afford it. You can afford anything. What ! advertising don't bring returns ? — Stuff! I pledge you my sacred honour, that one of the Queen's tradesmen came to me yesterday, swearing he had made ninety-four pounds by one advertisement only. Come, give us a ' repeat ' of that about the Royal Albert Brawn and Pettitoes. No ? Yes, you will. Oh ! by the way, wouldn't you like to go to the theatre ? What theatre ? Any you like. Here's the ' Garden,' and the ' Wells' — have 'em both — take Mrs. Choppings — how is she ? There — I'm always happy to oblige you ; and now, good-bye — I shall insert the Royal Albert. Good-bye." 232 RAILWAY CALLS. There, Doctor. Now if Mrs. Warner and Mr. Phelps had not granted you the privilege of " writing for " Sadler's Wells, and Mr. Who-shall-we-say had not done the same as to Covent Garden, the Royal Albert Brawn and Pettitoes would not have been advertised in your paper, and you would have lost five shillings. But the tickets gained Choppings. Don't you abuse orders for the play any more. But you may say that the privilege was given to enable the newspapers to furnish reports of the theatrical performances, and not that sausage-makers and their wives should get into dress-circles for nothing. What's that to you ? Get advertisements. I remain, dear brother, and particularly my brother of the Table Book, Tours affectionately. Fleet Street. Hanker Geubb. 'gmlimwy (Tails. BY THE EDITOR. Every man in the present day is a holder of shares in a Railway, that is to say, he has got some pieces of paper, called scrip, entitling him to a proportionate part of a blue, red, or yellow line drawn across a map, and designated a Railway. If the coloui'ed scratch runs from south to north, it is generally called a Trunk line ; if it " turns about and wheels about" in all directions, leading to nowhere, on its own account, but' interfering with every Railway that does, ten to one but it is a Gi'und Junction ; and if it lies at full length along the shore it is, of course, a Coast line. Trunk lines are generally the best, because the word trunk naturally connects itself in the mind of the public with the idea of luggage, and a good deal of traffic is consequently relied upon. Grand Junctions are good specula- tions, as troublesome customers likely to be bought off by larger concerns, which would consider them a nuisance ; and as street-musicians generally expect a consideration for moving on, a Grand Junction may ask a good price for taking itself off from an old-esta- blished company. As to a Coast line, it is usually thought to afford an opportunity for boasting of the support of the Government ; and certainly, in case of an invasion, there might be the traffic of a few troops, though otherwise it does not seem very likely that the Government would want to keep sending the soldiers iip and down, for the mei'e sake of the sea air by the side of the water. Until lately, however, traffic was not the consideration with Railway speculators. How the line will come out has been the only point worth thinking of. Mountains that can't be cut throiigh, gradients which are impracticable, and other difficulties of an insurmountable kind, so far from being objectionable in a projected Railway, were so many inducements to nuike applications for shares, because the only real danger in making one's self liable for any of the new schemes arises from the possibility of their being pro- ceeded with. It is a well-known fact that shares in a Railway which never can be made, ai*e con- sidered much safer and more desirable than those which will actually be constructed, and which, if completed, woxild notoriously never be profitable to the shareholders, because in the former case there is no liability beyond the depuu(l to a point exactly opposite his enemy, and pulled up his eager charger. The (->ld Prince on the battlement was so eager for the combat, that he seemed qni(t> t(j forget the danger which menaced himself should his slim chaminon be discouifitol l)y the tremendous knight of Donnerblitz, "Go it!" said he, flinging his truncheon A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 239 into the ditch ; and at the word, the two wan'iors rushed with whin-ing rapidity at each other. And now ensued a combat so ten-ihle, that a weak female hand, like that of her wlio pens this tale of chivahy, can never hope to do justice to the terrific theme. Ton have seen two engines on the Great Western Line rush past each other with a pealing scream? So rapidly did the two warriors gallop towards one another, the feathers of either streamed yai'ds behind their backs as they converged. Their shock as they met was as that of two cannon-balls ; the mighty horses trembled and reeled with the concussion ; the lance aimed at the Rowski's helmet bore off the coronet, the horns, the helmet itself, and hurled them to an incredible distance : a piece of the Rowski's left ear was carried off on the point of the nameless warrior's weapon. How had he fared ? His adversary's weapon had glanced harmless along the blank suf ace of his polished buckler ; and the victory so far was with him. The expression of the Rowski's face, as, bare-headed, he glared on his enemy with fierce blood-shot eyeballs, was one worthy of a demon. The imprecatory expressions which he made use of can never be copied by a feminine -pen. His opponent magnanimously declined to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered him of finishing the combat, by sj^litting his opponent's skull with his curtal-axe, and, riding back to his starting-place, bent his lance's point to the ground, in token that he would wait until the Count of Eulenschreckenstein was helmeted afresh. " Blessed Bendigo !" cried the Prince, thou art a gallant lance ; but why didst not rap the schelm's brain out ?" " Bring me a fresh helmet !" yelled the Rowski. Another casque was brought to him by his trembling squire. As soon as he had braced it, he di'ew his great flashing sword from his side, and inished at his enemy, roaring hoarsely his cry of battle. The unknown knight's sword was imsheathed in a moment, and at the next the two blades were clanking together the dreadful music of the combat ! The Donnerblitz wielded his with his usual savageness and activity. It whirled round his adversary's head with frightful rapidity. Now it carried away a feather of his plume ; now it shore off a leaf of his coronet. The flail of the thrasher does not fall more swiftly upon the com. For many minutes it was the Unknown's only task to defend himself from the tremendous activity of the enemy. But even the Rowski's strength would slaken after exertion. The blows began to fall less thick anon, and the point of the unknown knight began to make dreadful play. It found and penetrated every joint of the Donnerblitz's armour. Now it nicked him in the shoulder, whei-e the vambrace was buckled to the corslet ; now it bored a shrewd hole under the light brassart, and blood followed; now, with fatal dexterity, it darted through the vizor, and came back to the recover deeply tinged with blood. A scream of rage followed the last thrust ; and no wonder ; — it had penetrated the Rowski's left eye. His blood was trickling through a dozen orifices ; he was almost choking in his helmet with loss of breath, and loss of blood, and rage. Gasping with fiu-y, he drew back his horse, flung his gi-eat sword at his opponent's head, and once more plimged at him, wielding his curtal-axe. Then you should have seen the unknown knight employing the same di-eadf ul weapon ! Hitherto he had been on his defence ; now he began the attack ; and the gleaming axe whirred in his hand Hke a reed, but descended like a thxmderbolt ! " Yield ! yield ! Sir Rowski," shouted he, in a calm, clear voice. A blow dealt madly at his head was the reply. 'Twas the last blow that the Count of 240 A HINT TO rROJECTOP.S. Eulenschreckenstein ever stiiick in battle ! The curse was on Lis lips as the crashing steel descended into bis brain, and split it in two. He rolled like a log from his horse ; and his enemy's knee was in a moment on his chest, and the dagger of mercy at his throat, as the knight once more called npon him to yield. But there was no answer from within the helmet. When it was withdrawn, the teeth were ciiinched together; the mouth that should have spoken, grinned a ghastly silence ; one eye still glared with hate and fury, but it was glazed with the film of death ! The red orb of the sun was just then dipping into the Rhine. The unknown knight, vaulting once more into his saddle, made a gi-aceful obeisance to the Prince of Cleves and his daughter, without a word, and galloped back into the forest, whence he had issued an hour before sunset. (To he cnnrJuded in our next.) A HINT TO TROJECTORS. Balloons have hitherto been used only for traversing the skies. We are confident if they were applied to ten*estrial pui-poses, they might give many persons a lift who have a great difficulty of getting on in the world. In this railway age, persons are not content with walking a cool three miles an hour. They see a whole train fly by them, and feel how slow a coach is man compared to a steam-engine. No one likes being left behind ; but unless some new power of speed is discovered, we shall never be able to keep pace with the objects around us. One half of the world will have the mortification of seeing the other half always ahead of it. Whilst New York is quietly going to bed some night, England wiU be already in the middle of next week ; and in that case America would be puzzled to know by what gigantic strides she would be able to catch up the " EngUshers " again. We anticipate the " fix " the Yankees would be in, and pi-opose to them the use of balloons. We suggest that each American should be provided with a jacket inflated with gas sufficient to take him off his legs. The consequence would be, he would feel so buoyant, that he would jump over the Atlantic with as much ease as he would step over a puddle, and clear St. Paul's at a single bound. Small safety-valves woiild be put to the dress, under each arm, so that the person travelling in the air might come down directly he chose. He might also take up in his pockets a quantity of ballast, to throw out whenever he wanted to ascend higher. A number of Pennsylvanian bonds would answer capitally for this purpose, as they arc known to be slower than anything else in rising, only the difficulty would be in persuading anybody to take one up. It would be voiy awkward, however, if a strong wind was to cai'ry the lialloon traveller in a conti-ary direction. London might be sui-prised, some boisterous morning in March, by an extraordinary flight of Americans dropping in the middle of the Thames ; for the jacket would make the holder so extremely light, that a young boy who had it on might be thrown up like a feather, to see which way the wind blew. The use of this gas-spencer might be turned, in fact, to a thousand every-day purposes. There should be a depot of them at Melton Mowbray, and at every stable where himters are kept. It might be called the Huntsman s Life Preserver; for, with a red jacket inflated with gas, be would, if thrown, fall so very lightly, that broken necks and dislocatcil A HINT TO rHOJECTOllS. 241 slioiiltlers would become matters of impossibility iu the field. Races also might l)e established, iu wbieli Mr. Green, the celebrated balloon-runner, might be matched against Devil-amongst-the-Tailors, or any other celebrated race-horse of the day; or else foot-races might take place on a railway, amongst as many runners as the breadth of the line would permit : the person who arrived at Edinburgh or Southampton the first, to receive the prize, which might be made to consist of a jewelled grappling- stick, with which it would be necessary each runner should be provided, to enable him to stop himself. Again amongst ballet dancers,— with whom ascending to the greatest height is always such a matter of professional competition,— only consider how the balloon might help them 24- A HINT TO PROJECTORS. to rise to the very top of their profession. They might go so high, that a notice would be necessary in the bills, to save any alarm in the audience when a dancer was gone out of sight, that " five minutes will elapse between Monsieur Napoleon Vestris' entrechat and his descent." At present, cutting six is the greatest number of saltations ever achieved by a merciu-ial pair of calves; but with such an ascending impulse, it is impossible to jr |-^p---j-j,-— --=-v ^ calculate the number of cuts a Dieu de la Dfliwe might execute when he had started on one of his aerial trips. Instead of cutting _^^ six, it would be moi'e like six hiindred. There are numerous other avocations .£?^ to which the balloon might lend its accele- _ '^" rating influence. Sheriffs' officers should never be without one; soldiers, too, who _rr:^^j^r are too bashfvd to face the enemy, and smugglers, who have cargoes of goods to run; and railway directors and bankrupts, who are recommended the air of the Con- tinent, would derive immense advantage from the use of a portable balloon. Little boys, also, might be trained like pigeons, to carry expresses by means of this balloon- spencer; and we should not be at all astonished to see a number of duodecimo children let off from the roofs of the houses near Palace Yard, when the committees are sitting next session, for the purpose of canying the railway decisions to the Stock Exchange. We are confident the balloon will take its stand eventually by the side of the and that a person, whenever is going out for an airing, will put on egistered balloon instead of his paletot. r_x "*^' steam-engine ^^ '_^:^-V^^^^ ,^=^^=^ ^c^=^^ he ii / / / j !"~l\\\ \^ w\ \ than an omnibus would take him fnn \ \ Paddington to the Bank. Such is our faith in its success, that if any one will start an Encryhody-lus.mvn.Bitlhf.u-Ndrif/dflou-Covqniiiy, we will take all the shares in it tlie v(>ry day they are quoted at a premium. MISS MATir.DA JOHNSON JONES. 243 MISS MATILDA JOHNSON JONES. BY THE EDITOR. Miss Matilda Johnson Jones, You and I at length must part ; There are things call'd paving-stones, You have got one for a heart. When you hear the roaring sea Making wild and wondrous moans. You may sit and think of me. False Matilda Johnson Jones. Young Matilda Johnson Jones, Pride has made yon what you are ; Thoiigh I think my lineage owns Better men than your papa ! On the field of Waterloo My sire and grandsire left their bones ; But what is that to me or you ? Ask your heart, Matilda Jones. Well I know you, Johnson Jones, You at times are very sad ; And your broken spii'it groans Over what it might have had. 'Tis in vain — your fickle soul My much nobler soul disowns ; You have taught me to control E'en myseH, young 'Tilda Jones. Oh ! Matilda Johnson Jones, What is all this wayward life ? Tears and laiigliter, gifts and loans, Joy and sorrow, peace and strife. If I could have shared with thee Either cottages or thrones. Both had been the same to me ; But 'tis past, light-minded Jones. Young coquettish Johnson Jones, If beloved you still would be, Go to one a heart that owns, Yoti have stolen mine from me. Give it back, — ha ! ha ! 'tis here, But 'tis hardened into bones ; Feeling's dead, and so is fear, Kind Matilda Johnson Jones. 244 THK STAGIO SUPERNUMERAUY. THE STAGE SUPERNUMEKARY. There is not in the whole range of dramatic character a more striking instance of the weakness of theatrical human nature, than is presented by the Supernumerary whose careei-, from the last bar of the overture to the speaking of the " tag," is one continned course of feeble-minded vacillation, abject subsen-ience, or abominable treachery He is led away by a bit of bombast from any ranting hero Avho will ask him if he is a man or a Briton, or a Romaii, or whether the blood of his ancestors i-uns through his recreant veins ; and he will agree, at a moment's notice, to take i^art in any desperate enterprize. He Avill appear at one moment as the friend of freedom, dressed in green baize, pointing with a property sword to the sky borders, and joining some twenty others in an oath to rid his country of the tyi-ant : bnt he will be found five minutes afterwards rigged out in cotton velvet as a seedy noble in the very identical tyi-ant's suite. He will swear allegiance to the House of Hapsburg at half -past seven, and by the time the second price comes in, he wiU be marching as one of a select party of the friends of freedom who have taken an oath to roll the House of Hapsburg in the dust. Perhaps, like a perfidious villain as he is, he will be carrying a banner inscribed with the words, " DoAvn with the oppressor," on one side, while on the other — which he keeps artfully ou.t of sight in order to hide his treacheiy from the audience — are emblazoned the arms of the House of Hapsburg, of which the alleged oppressor is the chief. On the field of battle the conduct of the Stage Supernumerary is contemptible in the extreme, for he either falls do\vn before he is hit, or takes a mean advantage of a fallen foe by striking an attitude, with his foot resting on the chest of one of the vanquished enemy. Sometimes the Supernumerary gives himself up from seven until ten to a reckless career of crime, carousing in a canvas cave, or plundering j^asteboard caravans, except at intervals during the evening, when, perhaps, to swamp the voice of conscience, he driuks half-and-half in the dressing-room, with his wcked accomplices. The face of the Super- numerary generally shows the traces of a long career of crime and biu'ut cork ; nor is there a feature upon which remorse or rouge has not committed ravages. He frequently has h is arms and legs bare, but, as if he had shrunk within himself, his skin or fleshing is frequently too large for him, and forms folds of a most extraordinary kind at the joints of his knees or elbows. Sometimes his chest is left bai-e, and his skin, as far as the neck, appears to be of a rich orange colour; but the throat, which is cut off, as it were, by a distinct line, is of a difterent shade altogether. Sometimes, when the sceue is laid in India, the Sujiernumcrary has his skin tied on to him, from which it would seem to be a theatriciJ theory that the darkness of colour peculiar to the negro race is owiug to the use of leggings and waistcoats of black worsted. The Stage Supernumerary is something like tlie antelope in his facility of descending precipices, and he wiU make his way Avith the greatest ease among rocks that appc;ir Inaccessible. He will come from the very highest mountain-pass in two or three minutes. r«nd he undertakes needless difficulty by going a roundabout way and traversing the same ground several times over ; though he knows that the remotest peak is not a minute's walk from the footlights. Though the Stage Supenunnerjiry is frequently a ruffian while upon the scone, he is exceedingly harmless and humble directly he gets to tbe wing, when he is glad to creri) into any quiet corner to avoid being ordered out of the way by the prompter, tuml)led over by the call-boy, and sworn at as well as knocked down with a blow from a flat by one oi- two of the carpenters. THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN IN A NEW LIGHT! 245 THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEJLYN IN A NEW LIGHT! Archeology has of late become a fashionable science, and we, among others, have devoted a certain share of attention to it. A science is only valuable — we will not say for what can be got by it, — but for what can be got out of it. Therefore, occasionally, Avhen we have had nothing else to do, we have reflected, in our small way, on the facts with which oiir antiquarian studies have acqiiainted us, in order to see whether we could elicit any- thing worth mentioning in the shape of useful conclusions. The subject of our medita- tions has been the Elizabethan era in general, and its costume in particular ; and from them, with respect at least to the latter, we came to some very satisfactoiy conclusions. When, looking at the past through the ^-E^fS telescope of common sense, we bring its scenes, in a manner, under our noses, they by no means wear that romantic aspect which they assume when viewed from the heights of imagination. This observation is especially applicable to the Old English Gentleman; a personage whose celebrated " doublet and truuk hose," and predilection for sack, particularly refer him to the epoch of Elizalaeth. The Old English, or Eliza- bethan gentleman, seen from the dress boxes of a theatre, is certainly a picturesque object ; but a Uttle consideration will teach us that he was reaUy an object in another sense of the word. His costume, it should be recollected, consisted of a doublet or a tunic, the trunk hose above alluded to, long stockings, and wide boots. The doublet was slashed and vandyked, and was generally either puce-coloiu*ed, white, sky-blue, bright- green, red, orange, or yellow; and veiy often parti-coloured, so as to exhibit a maj(jrity of the tints of the rainbow. Then it was trimmed with ribbons of all sorts of dyes, and with gold and silver lace and fringe ; and it was very commonly made of silk, satin, or velvet. A description in a great measure similar may be applied to the hose ; which were also tagged and tasselled, and otherwise showily decorated. The stockings were very often of crimson or peach-coloui-ed sUk, and the boots — whose tops fonned a kind of large bucket around the legs — were, for the most part, of yellow morocco leather, with red heels. Thus the Old English Gentleman went about, as daintily and delicately attired as a modern English lady. Now, umbrellas were not in use in the days of Queen Elizabeth, whereas showers were just as common as they are now, and the streets were much dustier in dry, and much muddier in wet weather, than they are at present. Imagine, then, the Old English Gentleman as he must have ai^peared after ha\'iug been first involved in a cloud of dust and then caught in a shower of rain. The Old English Arch 24G TAXES ON RESrECTABILIlT. was dofentled hy a dripstone ; but the Old Englisli Gentleman had no such protection. Conceive the state of his chausmre when, with his yellow boots on, he encountered a puddle, or fancy him splashed up to the ears by a passing waggon. There was no cab for him to call, or even hackney-coach to rush into, when ovei-taken by the wet, and his only resource could have been to draw up under an archway. Even that he could not have done when he had an appointment to keep; and what, we would ask, must have been his plight after a run through a " regular soaker ?" Some idea of it might be formed by taking an unhappy peacock in the moulting season, and putting him under a pump. A spectacle more pitiably di-aggletailed than the Old English Gentleman under these circumstances it is impossible to imagine : and, to add to his discomfort, his boots must have got full of water, by reason of their bucket-like tops, which seem to have been expi'essly constnicted to collect the rain. We omitted to mention that his hat, or beaver, generally of some bright colour, was l>y no means washable, or all the better fur a shower. Nor was the feather in it more calculated to be improved by a thorough di'enching. In the time of Elizabeth, no less than in this, there was such a thing as smoke ; and then coal, as regularly as in these days, evolved sulphurous acid dm-ing combustion ; and such gases were just as prone as they are at present to tarnish silver. Consequently the silver lace of the Elizabethan doublet, after a few days' wear, must have assumed the tint of a neglected egg-spoon. It is thus clear, that however spruce the Old English Gentleman may have looked, fresh from the hands of his tailor, he must, in a very short time, have assumed the appear- ance of a tatterdemalion. In ruffled, crumpled, drenched, stained, smoked, and dusty finery, the Elizabethan gallant, in clothes a week old, must, except in very fine weather, have looked veiy m\ich like a ragamuffin. We dei-ive, from tlie above considerations, what v,c will venture to term a useful moi-al. They teach us not to envy the fine feathers of those fine birds who fluttered at the period whose costumes we have been briefly animadverting on. We learn, that if the reign of Elizaljeth was a golden one, yet that all is not gold that glitters; whilst gold itself does ncit glitter in a state of dust and disorder. Let us not sigh, therefore, for the golden reign of Queen Bess, biit rejoice that we live under the railway regime of Queen Victoria. Let us be content with the surtout, coat, and trousers that will wash, and let us leave the silks and satins to our wives, our waistcoats, and our forefathers. TAXES ON RESPECTABILITY. Dear Sir, I don't mind Idling you I have a great love for the goud things of this world, especially when they are to be bad cheap. No fellow enjoys a capital dinner more than I do, when there's nothing to pay for it. My father did me the great injustice of accus- touiiug me from my pinafore-hood to the luxuries of the table, and I have lived to reproach him bitterly, for at his death he only left me fifty pounds a-year to cany out the aristo- cratic taste he had implanted in me. The consequence is, I have been all my life the victim of my education. My stomach was pampered too long with venison and turtle ever to brook l)read and cheese — porter somehow tasted flat after champagne — and the society of a tap-room is necessarily revolting to one who was taught to look at the world from a drawing-n)om window. I have all the pride of a gentleman, with the pocket of a pauper; TAXES ON rvEttPECTABILITY. 247 lor wliat's fifty pounds a-year to a fellow who was weaned at the rate of two thousand pounds ? However, what with billiards and the railways, dining out, accepting invitations in the country when acting charades are going on, and getting biUs discounted for young friends who have close-fisted governors, I manage not only to live upon my income, but to keep every one of my debts under a trifle less than twenty pounds. My lodging is as great a mystery as Abd-el-Kader's ; but by having my letters always addressed to the best hotel, good-natured tradesmen at last persuade themselves I actually live there. I make it a principle always to be well-dressed ; for, depend upon it, there's more in a good coat than meets the eye. I am continually seen on horseback ; for, as I make it a practice to ])uy all my friends' horses, I invariably try a horse a week or so first, before I decide upon the one that will suit my friend best. I have only two failings, and those are, betting and white kid gloves ; but as the former generally more than pays the expenses of the latter, I have no right to complain of my extravagance in that resj)ect. But I cannot help feeling that my ingenuity in keeping up a respectable aj)pearance often leads me into disagreeable outlays which punish my pocket — and through that, my pride — more severely than I like tc confess. By-the-bye, Sir, this is the very subject I wanted to wi'ite to you about. I have heard — for I haven't much time for reading — that you attack all sorts of abuses. Well, then, here is one which, if not instantly nipt in the bud, wiU assuredly blow all over England, and blight the prospects of many a young man who is obliged, like my- seK, to study plaguy hard how to live like a gentleman from one meal to another. It is the custom in Dublin (I am supposed to be residing at the Shelbourne Hotel, but my real address — entre nous, of course — is 7^, Little Thomas Street), as soon as "the season " is getting " slow," as the ladies call it, to get up a series of picnics to set it a-going a little longer, just as a theatre has " positively the last night " for a fortnight together, when it is anxious to make the most of a profitable season. Well, as business was rather dull with me, I allowed myself to accept an invitation to one of these picnics from two beautiful young ladies, who seemed to be very anxious I should go. The pretty dears smiled their thanks, and I really looked forward to a cheap day's amusement, and some- thing more, as I had overheard that an heiress or two were to be there. Before going, however, I sauntered into the Shelboiirne to light my cigar, when the waiter informed me that a letter, marked "Immediate," had just been left for me. I thought it might probably contain a cheque for some protracted debt of honom-, which no doubt had escaped my recollection, and accordingly I opened the letter with no small degree of trepidation. Judge of my indignation, Sir, when — but I wiU keep my temper ; — only to convince you I had good reason to be angry, I send you a copy of the identical letter I received. "The Ladies of the G ingle Picnic Committee present their compliments to Mr. Herbert Cheezey, and feel great pleasure in sending him an invitation for the Gingle that is to take place to-morrow, at three o'clock." In the comer of this innocent-looking note there lurked, like a snake in the grass, an insidious T.O., which, translated into common English, means " Tui-n over;" which I had no sooner done, than my surprise was such, it almost had that effect upon me. You can imagine what my feelings were, when I devoured the following : — " The Ladies of the Gingle Picnic Committee have great pleasure in informing Mr. Herbert Cheezey that he has been .allotted the following articles : — One ham, Four quarts of beei-, 'I'wo dozen plates, Three loast fowls, Two quartern loaves, Three napkins, Two ditto boiled, Half-a-dozen apricot tarte, One salmon, Six umbrellas, One lobster. One buller. One flute. Two guitars. One mus'cian (a drummer), Two dozen silver forks Six chairs, One tent." 248 A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCK I dill not road any furtlier, but was preparing, as calmly as I coidd, to fulfil the object of my calling at tlic hotel, by lighting my cigar with the letter in question, when the following postscript cai;ght my indignant eye : — " Mr. Cheezey is requested to be punctual, as there is a fine of fifteen sliillings for being late." I had no sooner read this than I came to the conclusion it would be better to forfeit a niistn-able fifteen shillings than morfgage a whole year's aUowance % falling into the stupid conventionalities of a humdrum picnic party. I miist say, when I accepted the invitation I had no idea there was to be any nonsense of that sort. If it had been only the " four quarts of beer," I might have laughed at the absurdity of the thing, but have gone sooner than disappoint anybody ; but when it comes to " two dozen champagne," I think it is carrying the joke a little too far. It is needless to go over the other items a second time ; but I should like to know where I was to borrow a butler, and who would have lent me two dozen silver forks for a picnic party ? Now, what I complain of is this — the infamous tax that is put upon a yoimg man's good nature, but especially his piirse, by fashionable follies of this kind. Supposing I had had the weakness to go ? I should have been obliged to cut off my breakfast all the year round, merely to convince some two dozen people, with whom I had never dined once in my life, that I was the gentleman they had taken me to be. I never should have forgiven myself ! so I sacrificed my heiress or two, and left Dublin early the following morning. There are many other expedients in society for obtaining subscriptions under fashion- able pretences, which are the ruin of many a fine young fellow with a large heart liut limited means. I am not the only one who has suffered in this way. So I want you. Sir, to expose these shabby expedients. I'll help you, if you like ; and I'll bet one hundred to one, we'U smash the whole system in less than a week. It would really be confeiTing a heartfelt boon on many who, like myself, are trying their hardest to keep respectable, in spite of their education, and the world, and all its pomp, and picnics. I remain, old fellow. Yours, iJl over the world and further, Hekbert Littleton Cheezey. I say. if you are coming this way, I shall be happy to see you. A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCE. A WELTING TALE. Mrs. Morninqton Swale had contrived to get together a very amusing set, but how she had managed it was one of those questions which, if put. indicate the possession of an inquiring rather than a practical mind. For, in the first place, nobody knew, and in the second, nobody cared. Indeed, the lady herself was a kind of mystery ; and if she had not given such very pleasant parties, it is proliablc that the carelessness we have alluded to might have been superseded by a spirit of interrogation. Her name was in the Court Guide, coiTected up to April, and that was aU. She never-talked about her father, or her mother, or any other of the peoi)le mentioned in the long list at the end of the Prayer-book, as folks one must A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCE. 249 uot marry ; nor did she over vaunt acquaintance with the Peei'age, friendship with tlie Baronetage, or intimacy with the Landed Commoners, as usnal with genteel people of a certain order. When she had a box at the Opera, which happened about three times in the season, she never i^reteuded to know who all the subscribers around her were ; and when we add that she insisted on listening to the music instead of cliattering during its performance, we shall convince every reader of elegance that she was " not the sort of person to know." Nevertheless, a good many people held an opposite opinion, and proved that they did so by coming to her parties. Mrs. Mornington Swale's beauty, — for though not a very young woman, she was beautiful — was of the commanding order. Her height, queenly aspect, and glossy black braids, struck terror into the minds of youngish men, and made them, very needlessly, stammer out greater nonsense than they had intended. Her an-angements were a little despotic, and it was not easy, even if you wished it, to escape the partner or the companion to the supper-table whom she had selected for you. Everybody was a little afraid of her, and that is the truth. Her parties were, as aforesaid, very pleasant. She did not fill her rooms with negative eligibles — men who could only dress, and women who could only simper. She always infused a large quantity of character into her reunions ; — not that the individuals were much in themselves, but in the aggregate they gave a tone to the party. We used to meet a popular actor or two — generally dull creatures enough, who spent the evening in alter- nately droning and snarling upon dramatic matters. We had authors, — small authors, but still men who occasionally rushed into print, and wished to be thought eccentric, and usually got tipsy at supper. We had very small poets, who vitterly disbelieved in Byron and Moore, but believed a little in one another, and violently in themselves, and wrote stumbling odes about skipping-ropes and public executions. We had second-rate concert singers, chiefly with stubby fingers, who contributed greatly to the harmony of the evening, and sneered in corners at each other's performance. We had a few young barristers, who, by way of advertising their profession, wrangled over everything with much elaborateness of manner, and blocked up the doorways, and talked about " moot points," to the dis- comfiture of the listeners. And there was a fat German Count, who alwaiys came, and who had moustaches and a very pensive expi-ession, and was greatly addicted to declaring that he wanted somebody to love him. Now, when the usual litter of a ball-room is diversified with shreds and patches such as we have mentioned, there is sure to be some fun ; and our opinion is, that fun is better than formality, any day in the week. But apropos of days in the week, it was a curious fact that there were certain days on which Mrs. Mornington Swale was never at home, never was seen out, and never gave a pai-ty. And this was brought to our minds by the extraordinary incident which we tire aboitt to relate. Mrs. Mornington had assembled one of the very best of her parties. There was an excellent show of pretty faces, and an acre or so of white waistcoats, and much polking. The actors were there, grumbling, and the authors were putting themselves in wild attitudes, and the poets were gazing sternly at nothing, and the singers were looking spite- ful, and the barristers were squabbling outside the- door, and the fat German Count was telling a young lady, with a Norma wreath, that he wanted somebody to love him. Jhe evening was going oif remarkably well, and a large double quadrille had just been formed. Mrs. Mornington Swale was standing up, at the top, with a very indifferent young poet, who would have made a very invaluable scarecrow. We were just going to begin La Poule, when a very loud voice was heard in the hall, announcing that somebody, whose lungs were clearly in excellent order, was determined 2l^ 250 A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCE. to come up-stairs. And presently a gi-oup of the barristers wAs scattered foi-ward into the room, and, rushing after them, and into the veiy centre of the quadrille, came a veiy short, very stont, and very sturdy man, in the dirtiest di-ess ever seen, his brawny arms bared to the elbow, and his whole apparel saturated with grease. He glared round upon us all — the eflFect was dramatic. Nobody remembered to faint, an oversight for which several young ladies never forgave themselves. Mrs. Moraington Swale stood petrified. " Now, Sue," said the stranger, confronting her. " Now, Sue." And this to her I Some of us half expected that he would be annihilated. But she continued aghast. I '• Mark my words. Sue," continued the unknown, suddenly seating himself on the carpet, with a bang which made the lustres rattle. " I told you that if ever you dared to stay away from me on a melting-day, I'd come for you myself. Now, you come along. I've got a cab." He scramljled from the floor, and seized her by the wi-ist. Since the abduction of Don Juan by the Statue, there never was so appalling a situation. But, apparently stupefied, Mrs. Mornington Swale silently yielded. They disappeared together, without further explanation. But we agreed that though we had lost our hostess, there wtmld be no sense in losing our time. So the German Count, and the young lady with the Norma wreath, stood up in the place of the departed. The quadrille was danced, and so we.re other quadrilles, and supper was eaten, and all went merrily— so merrily, that the German Count was discovered at six in the morning, endeavouring to make a lamp-post in Bedford Square admit that he wanted 8omel)ody to love hiui. But Mrs. Mornington Swale is as nuich a mystery as ever, and what is worse, slie Las given no more parties. RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY. 251 RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY. BY HORACE MAYHEW. The following anecdotes have been collected together, from the belief that they are too wonderful to be lost. They illustrate principally the instinct of animals. There can- not be a doubt of their authenticity, for we assure our readers that they have appeared previously, with a few execeptions, in the country newspapers. The Turtle is naturally of a sluggish temperament, but when roused, it has been known to do fearful things. Giinter, the great Swiss naturalist, tells an anecdote of one that is quite dramatic in its i^athos. He had presented a very fine specimen of a turtle to the Lord Mayor, who sent it to the London Tavern to be taken care of. The day before the 9th of November, this turtle was allowed to walk up and down the pavement in fron^ of the tavern ; but to prevent people I'unning over it, a label was hung tound its neck, on which was wi'itten, " Will be killed to-morrow." This seemed to prey very heavily upon the turtle's mind, for it waddled to and fro, evidently in a very excited state, and a tear was seen distinctly to course down its left cheek, and bedew the surrounding flag- stones. The poor creature roUed about with increasing uneasiness every minute, tiU the Lord Mayor's state carriage happening to pass, it slipped off the pavement, and fell deliberately under the fore-wheels of the cumbrous vehicle. It was picked up a shapeless mass of hopeless calipash and mutilated calipee. " There is no doubt," says Giinter, '• that this was a premeditated act of suicide, for it was proved afterwards that nothing but the immense weight of the Lord Mayor's carriage could have crushed its shell. Grief at its impending fate evidently impelled the distracted turtle to the rash act." Horses have been known to predict a frost by going to the blacksmith's the day before to be roughshod. Franconi tells a story of a mare who would never perform on the stage unless she was on the side of the French. Her spirit of nationality was such, that if she was canying an Englishman, or an Austrian, she would invariably throw him, and then run over to the side of the Empei'or. In this way she has often thrown Blucher and the Duke of Wellington. Napoleon, hearing of this extraordinary trait of patriotism in a horse, went expressly to the Cirque, and having witnessed the fact with his own imperial eyes, off'ered Fi-anconi a whole I'egiment of cavalry in exchange for the mare ; but the French Ducrow, to his credit let it be said, would not part with her. Napoleon was piqued, but afterwards decorated the mare with the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour. Pigs have been taught to spell. A singular anecdote is told of one, that indubitably proves the force of early habit in animals generally, but in a pig especially. A learned sow, that was called " Bacon," would always spell Yauxhall with a W. This was always a matter of wonderment, till it was ascertained that she had been bom on a market-day in Smithfield market. This inveterate misuse of the W at once confirmed her Cockney origin. Le Yaillant, the African traveller, teUs some wonderful stories about the instinct of the Baboon. He travelled with one for a long time as a guide. Its name was Snees. He knew the shops where the best sherbet was to be got. Being short of butter once, Snees brought him a number of cocoa-nuts, which he had thrown about till the milk inside had become churned. He watched by his master's side every night, killing the mosquitoes and fleas which swarm about the banks of the Nile. He often helped Le Yaillant in unrol- liECIlEATIONS IN XATUKAL IlISTOHY. ling the mummies, and packing up bis trunks. Le Vaillant brought this baboon to Europe, and Snees showed bis gratitude by saving bis master's life. Thieves were plundering the house, when Snees ran to the alarm bell, and never ceased pulling it till the inmates were alarmed; the thieves were apprehended just in time, for Le Vaillant says when he awoke there were two gentlemen at his bedside, one with a pistol, the other with a carving- knife. The day Le Vaillant died, this sagacious baboon broke a blacking-bottle — whether accidentally or not is not proved — which blacked him from head to foot; but many ^[«iiiii'«fMSi=ii ir__ [\ fC-^^s^ ■. pei'sous, who knew Snees well, declare this was done pui^posely, from a desii*e of the faithful animal to show resjiect to the memoiy of his kind master by going into mouraing for him. The instinct of Bears is equally wonderful. There was one at the Zoological Gardens, who would never mount the pole on a Sunday, because on that day no cakes ai'e allowed to be sold. A lady of title informed Buflfon that she knew a Blackbird who looked at the barometer every morning, and would not go out if it pointed to wet. An anecdote told by a German naturalist, of a Beaver, is no less wonderful than the above : he declares he saw a beaver weeping over the crown of an qjd hat. Soon another beaver approached it, luid she cried more piteously than the first ; then a number of young beavers, attracted by their sobs, came running up, and they all cried too. He accounts for this by saying, that the hat, being made of beaver, the animals had evidently recognized in it the skin of one of their own kiudi-ed. " Who can say," he asks, " whether this very hat was not to them the sad remains of an affectionate son — the only remembrance of a favourite brother?" Cajitain Parry tells a story of a Polar Bear, which puts the instinct of this animal beyond all d()\ibt ; he had given it to oneof his sailors, who. with this small capital, started showman, and having taught the bear to dance, used to take it about the streets. The RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY. 253 sailor afterwards assured Captain Parry that lie never could get the bear to pass a barber's shop : he accounted for this by saying, that as " Bear's Grease " was sold only at those places, the animal was in a constant state of fear lest it should be its fate some day to be sold in sixpenny pots. The Sociable Grosbeak, a bird which is found about the Cape of Good Hope, displays great ingenuity in building its nest, which is constructed as strongly as possible, so as to keep out the March rains. A Genevese traveller records the fact of finding a whole row of their nests covered over at the roof with bits of an old mackintosh, which they had evi- dently picked up from one of the frequent wrecks off the coast. What but instinct coidd have told these sociable grosbeaks that mackintoshes were waterproof ? Many singular anecdotes are told of the instinct of the Fox. The most probable of those we have read is the one of the fox plundering a hen every morning of its eggs, and leaving a piece of chalk, of the same size as an egg, for every one he stole. The following is amusing, for it proves that the PaiTot is not so stupid as he is gene- rally represented. Jack Sheppard, when he had just escaped from Newgate, heard called out in a shrill voice, " Does your mother know you're out ?" Jack was frightened at first, but recovered his usual courage when he found it was only a parrot that was hanging over a greengrocer's door. The instinct of the Dog, and the Cat, and the Rat, is so well known, that one anecdote, we think, will suffice to illustrate the three. A terrier and a tom-cat were pursuing a large rat down the street. The rat was almost caught, when it dodged suddenly and ran into a sausage shop. The cat and dog stopped convulsively at the door, and looking up at the yards of sausages, hung down their heads, and slunk away quite terror-stricken. This anecdote indubitably shows that seK-preservation is the first law of nature, besides proving that the feeling of veneration for the dead is much stronger in animals than in men. The following anecdote, however, is so astonishing that we cannot help repeating it. We should reaUy doubt the truth of it, unless it was supported by the testimony of the celebrated Walker. — Mr. Tiedemann, the famous Saxon dentist, had a valuable tortoise- shell cat, that for days had done nothing but moan. Guessing the cause, he looked into its mouth, and seeing a decayed tooth, soon relieved it of its pain. The following morning there were at least ten cats outside his door — the day after that, twenty ; and they went on increasing at siich a rate, that he was obliged to keep a bull -dog to drive them away. But nothing would help him. A cat who had the toothache would come any number of miles to submit its jaw to him. It would come down the chimney even, and not leave his room till he had taken its tooth out. It grew such a nuisance at last, that he never was 254 INTELLECTUAL WALL-PA PE free from one of these feline patients. However, being one morning very nervons. lie broke accidentally the jaw of an old tabby. The news of this spread like wildfire. Not a single cat ever came to him afterwards. It is extraordinary how the cats, in the above instance, aoted like human beings ! INTELLECTUAL WALL-PAPEK. BY THE EDITOR. There is every prospect of a new and extensive market being opened to the literary man by the incipient demand that has recently spi-ung up for intellectual wall-paper. It is really high time that there should be an end to those unmeaning patterns in which scroll-work seems to have run mad — flowers appear to have blown themselves into unnatural luxuriance, and birds form impossible combinations with trees and trellis. The glut of mind with which we have been overstocked has hitherto had no room to expand itself, but henceforth it will have every room — including bed-room, drawing-room, and dining-room — to revel in. There may be, amongst some over-scrupulous authors, a reluctance to allow their lucu- brations to go to the wall ; but surely it is better to write for the paper-hangers at ninepence a yard, than for posterity at a much lower figure. One sparrow with his tail regularly in salt is better than a couple of owls in an ivy-bush, and the smallest sum in " cash down " is superior to the most magnificent 2^ost obit on immortality. It has been ascertained that poets are a good deal like early peas, very liable to be nipped in the biul ; and a calculation has been made, that not one verse in a hundred finds its way into print, while even many of those that do are left to " blush unseen," and waste their sweetness on the " Dorset butter." By calling in an author as well as a bricklayer, a carpenter, and a paper-hanger, when a house is being built, the literary talent of England will ]je enabled to assert itself. If a wall has become damp, so that the pattern of the papering has been expunged, it will be necessary to send only for a poet and a plasterer to put all to rights ; for while the plasterer repairs the l)reach, the poet may write something so very dry, that its application even to a dead wall may preclude the possibility of future moisture. We have some idea of establishing a literary house-agency for supplying builders and THE NATURAL HISTORY OP THE PANIC. 255 otliers witli intellectual wall-paper, at the claeapest rate, from moral essays for the study, to narcotics for the bed-rooms, and polite literature for the butlei*'s pantry. We would undertake to paper a six-roomed house complete, with a ghost-story for the two attics, a sketch of character and a comic song for the two best bed-rooms, a series of charades, in sets of three to the yard, for the sitting-room, and for the kitchen a romance of real life, to be called the " Scull of the Scullery, or the Fatal Kitchen Stuff." "We contemplate in- serting in the Times an advertisement to the following effect, in order to get together an efficient staff for our new speculation : — " Wanted, a number of persons in the literary line, to whom constant employment and good wages wiU be given. A few sentimental hands are required at once, and a person accustomed to fiction may find this advertisement worth attending to. Poets treated with on liberal terms, either by time or piece-work, or at the rate of so much per poem, couplet, or stanza. There is a vacancy for a pupil in the ethical department. A good price given for ready-made maxims adapted for bordering. Jokes purchased by weight or measure- ment, in quantities of not less than a bushel. " N.B. No punster need apply, as it is the determination of the proprietor to keep the concern respectable." n Itatuntl Jisfarw of lljc ^itinc. BY ANGUS B. REACH. A TERRIBLE Creature in every sense of the word — a fright of a creature, an encounter with which would be a new edition of a "monster meeting" — a dragon more terrible than the dragon of Wantley, more fierce than the dragon of St. George ; ay, fiercer than any of his Christmas brethren, the tribe of " Snap-di'agons " — this monster, hatched in " Capel Court," as they hatch chickens in Egypt, by " artificial means " — in fine, the Dragon of the Panic has gone triumphantly forth — abroad himself when installed in the homes of everybody else — staring with his evil eye, promising schemes out of all countenance, and blowing by his pestiferous breath the new lines of projectors into anything but pleasant places ! " Pray what is a Panic, Pa ?" inquire the young Masters and Misses Bull, with charm- ing naivete. Look to the opposite side of the page, young ladies and gentlemen, and you will see what the monster is, and what he is capable of doing — the embodied spirit of swindling by steam, gobbling up the Christmas dinners of his creators. Again we say, a most dire monster — his animal heat supported by glowing coke ; the 1 )ubbling fluid in his trunk by no means producing the fatal effects of water in the chest ; his lungs keeping up the steam without ever throwing him into the vapoin-s ; his metal limbs crushing all they reach ; his iron fingers grasping sovereigns as the tongs catches up cinders ; the coals under the monster emblematic of .the coals over which his worshippers are pulled; casting dovra everywhere his gauge, broad or naiTow, of battle — a really formidable monster is " the Railway Panic." " And where is he to be seen ?" Take care he does not pay you a visit. Take care he does not bolt into the kitchen, and whUe Cook, the di'esser of the Christmas dinner, faints at the prodigy on the nearest piece of furniture, jiresenting the spectacle of a human dresser on the top of a deal one, take care that the monster does not take the 256 THE NATUIIAL HISTORY OF THE PANIC. ciilinaiy department luider his management, beginning by cooking your Papa's goose, pre- senting you — in token of an atmosplierical line — with a tureen of only air soup, and trans- forming the nice cod's head and shoulders into a " Pretty Kettle of Fish." Where is the Panic .'* Our en- i^^ ^~-_ graving shows that he can walk into "^"^^ -« *-— ^1^^ parlour as well as the kitchen, to gobble up in the fonner place any dinner he may have spared in the latter. Amid the fragrant steam of roasting turkey, may be sniffed the unsavoury steam of boiling water ; and while you, masters and misses, start back aghast, the monster, as he devours the roast-beef, will show that he makes no bones of the meat ; that he can walk into mince-pies without mincing the matter ; and finally, that he can leave the respectable family of the Bulls — who thought they were worth a plum — hardly Avorth a plum- pudding ! For alas, John has been spurring _ _ ^_^ one of his hobbies, that is to say. he has been like the 'Possum " riding on a rail." He thought, poor man, that he was a rich old '" buffer" — while he may tum out to be no better than a veiy hard-up " railway buffer " — for having had so many irons — ^ — i railway ones, of coiu'st — in the fire, no wonder that, in trying to take some of them out, he has " burnt his fingers." It is to be hoped, however, that he will not — by actually " going to pot " — find himself soirc fine morning in a most melting mood beside his irons. The Panic has not yet, fortunately, behaved so rudely to our friends the Bulls — but it has been playing terrible pranks with oiu* friends the " Stag.s." The former, if — speaking musiciJly — they adtipt a rather more andantino move- ment than they have been going at, and check the furious crescendo of wind instru- ments blowing bubbles — may chance to avoid the unpleasant./i Ha?e of a crash : l)ut the latter have had their crash alread}'. The poor Stag is disconsolate; his horns — he having pulled them in— :mi anything but exalted. Like his quadruped brother of the "Forest of Ardennes," jostled and hustled on 'Change, he sees sweep unconcernedly by, the " herd of fat and greasy citizens." How, indeed, is the "Stag" to have a Christma.s dinner? We have heard .f THE RAILWAY DEPOSITS. 251 an ancient pilgi'ini caiTying his grub in his " scrip ;" but very little grab would the modern Capel Court pilgrim's " scrip " furnish forth. For the prospect of a promising turkey nicely done — he could only give us a pro- spectus of a promising line there — also nicely done — while, instead of a chop from a Middlesex sheep — he could only produce his stake in a Diddlesex hoax ! Steam has done it — may do us all. The Panic is the executioner which hangs us in our own lines, which overthrows the pillars of their fame — that is to say, the columns of their advertisements — and which, although it may come with a knock, may leave us not worth a rap. Be warned, then, of the Panic Monster. Distrust the screeching music of its steam- whistle, which may suddenly change its tune from the merry ditty of gold " in both pockets," to the doleful dirge of That's the way the money goes THE RAILWAY DEPOSITS. " What has become of the Deposits ?" is now the leading question of the day ; but to this question neither answei- nor money is likely to be returned. The Dej)Osits are in everybody's mouth, and out of everybody's pocket.. Nothing satisfactory is to be heard J--^^^ &'C± at public meetings, and private meetings are being held among the dupes themselves. The Falls of Niagara, -n'ith their millions of bubbles, are the only things to be compared to the falls in Shares. It is all up with the Railways, and all down with the Scrip. 258 TPIK RAILWAY DEPOSITS. At a meetin<,', the other day, of a small party of female Stags, the following Petition was drawn up by a mutual male friend, who had been called in as being " a bit of a lawyer " the less the better, perhaps — to give his advice on the possibility of getting the Provisional Directors to pay some of the Deposits back- out of the premiums they had realised before the panic : — THE STAG'S PETITION. Pity the sorrows of a poor old Stag, Brought by the panic to the workhouse door ; Whose Scrip has dwindled into worthless i-ag : Oh ! give relief ; part of his loss restore ! These tatter'd Shares my poverty bespeak ; These horrid deeds proclaim my length of ears ; I signed for many thousands every week : I cannot liquidate the calls with tears. Yon line, projected on no solid gi-ound, With tempting pi-ospects drew me of my cash ; For plenty there the lawyer said he found, And the Dii-ectors grandly cut a dash. Hard is the fate of him who holds the Shares ; For when a slice of their rich gains I sought. The pamper'd Secretary only stares. And tells me to go back to Capel Court. Oh 1 take me to your comfortable board : Down is the Scrip — the Times are veiy cold ! Some of your premium you might afford. For I'm let in, while you for profits sold. Should I reveal the sources of your wealth, I think that I could gibbet every name ; For to yourselves you have done " good by stealth," And even you might l)lush to find it fame. You sent allotments, — and 'tis very fine That, spite of panics, you unharmed should be ; Some of your premium should have been mine ; Why should the discount all devolve on me? A little batch of ten you did allot. Then, like a trump, I my deposit paid ; But ah ! the pani.- to the City got. And not a sixpence now is to be made ! My V)r<»ker once his friendship used to brag ; Check'd by the panic in his zeal to pay, He casts me off, a poor al)andon'd Stag, And stenily bids me think of settling day. A GENUINE GHOST STOKY. 259 My creditors, wlio know I've dealt in Shares, Struck with suspicion at the wreck they see, Tell me for worthless Scrip there's no one cares, But ready money they must have from me. Pity the sorrows of a poor old Stag, Brought by the panic to the workhouse door ; Whose Scrip has dwindled into worthless rag : Oh ! give relief ; part of his loss restore ! ^ (Genuine 6j)ost ^iaxtt. An Apparition of 1842-3-4-5. It was in the lovely autumn of 1843 : Augustus Snobleigh was sitting, in his shirt- sleeves, reading " Whistling without a Master." He was practising some of the most difficult airs : the window was open, and a circle of admiring boys were spell-bound round his window by the melody of his notes. The night was sultry : an hour's severe study of " The Earth is a Toper " had made Augustus thirsty : he rose from his faideuil, and ordered a bottle of wine, " merely," as he said, " to whet his whistle." The servant had just left the room, when I heard the cry of " Be-er !" I knew by that it must be eight o'clock. Thex'e was no light in the room, save the dancing rays of a gas- lamp opposite, that gambolled like " a creatiu-e of light " on our carpet- green. Augustus proposed a cigar ; I cheerfully consented. His box, however, was empty : I volunteered to fetch some. He seemed reluctant that I should leave him. " Wait," he said nervously, " till the servant retiu-ns." I laughed at his fears, and in a moment had turned the corner of the street. When I returned, there was no one in the room. I called " Augustus " in my loudest voice ; I whistled ; I looked in the turn-up bedstead ; I inquired of the servant ; of the policeman ; at the nearest public-house ; — but all in vain. I sat down in despair, and smoked my cigar alone. The hours rolled on ; but no tidings of my friend. I finished the bottle, and left at twelve o'clock ; but, dreading the worst, I wrote my address on a fly-leaf of the " Whole Duty of Man," and gave it to the servant, as I had a presentiment Augustus would require bail before the morning. ********* Three months had elapsed, when I met Augustus Snobleigh one night at haK-price at the Adelphi. He was looking anything but well : I ventured to inquire the cause. " I have left my lodgings again," he said, in a desponding voice. " This makes the fourth time this year ; I cannot endure this life much longer. I tell you what, my dear boy," he whispered into my ear, " if these sort of visits continue, I am afraid to say what will become of me ;" and saying this, he squeezed my hand with all the affectionate tightness of former years, and hm-iiedly disappeared in the slips. ********* The next time I saw him was at Greenwich Fair. He looked haggard, but I thought that might be the effect of the dust. He tried to whistle some of his favourite tunes, but his lips faltered as soon as he saw that my eye was upon him. " He has been to me again," he 260 A GENUINE GHOST STOEY. said, with a loud liuigli. Lut despair, too plainly, at the bottom of it. "but I have baffled him, I think, this time. I am safe from his visits now. I have taken lodgings in the Exeter 'Change Arcade." As he said this, he looked fit me triumphantly, expecting I should compliment him on his ingenuity. " But who is it tliat iiaunts you [ in this way f'' I inquired, tremblingly. " An apparition,'' he said, " which pursues me from place to place. He follows me like a fiend. I cannot avoid him. Let me go where I will, he is sure to find me out." I told him it was only an optical delusion. He got angry at this, and asked me impetuously if I thought he was mad. I considered it better not to answer this question, so I asked him where he was lodging now. He gave me his address, after extracting from me a promise not to show it to a living person, and invited me to sup with him the following evening. I went, of course. I was too eager to leani the issue of this frightful mystery, which had now been involved in dai-kness for the last two years. Poor Augustus ! If the face is really the index of the mind, then it sometimes lays bare a deplorable list of contents. The index of my friend seemed to contain nothing but a melancholy chapter of accidents. I could read every feature as plainly as if it had been set up in the largest type. It spoke volumes of unpublished romance. He pressed me to partake of some bread-and-checse and ale : but I had no appetite, no thirst, save for the particulars of his troubled life. We were quite alone. He drew his chair close to mine, and, slightly coughing, began thus: — " Charles, I believe you are my friend." I nodded. " Listen then to me. and throw all doubt, as you would a ]>ad cigar, far away fi-om you. For the last three years I have been troubled with an apparition. Start not, for it is only at stated times that it troubles me. I saw it first in Union Street, in the Borough ; it called upon me in the evening ; it said, in a tone I can never forget, ' Tour name is Augustus Sloman ?' It then spoke to me about my resources, and reminded me in a solemn ^x)ice of certain obligations I had neglected to discharge. I was frightened, and endeavoured to laugh it off; but shortly afterwards, some three months perhaps, the same vision haunted me again. It was dressed exactly alike, spoke in the same harsh, unnatural tone, but looked more sternly at me: it actually threatened that, if I did not obey its injunctions, and that speedily, ' I should hear from it again !' Too faithfully has it kept its word ! I changed my lodgings ; the same appari- tion followed me. I then went to an opposite part of the town : again was I haunted liy it. Let me go where I would — and I have tried every parish in the metropolis — but I was always doomed to see it. Sometimes I thought I had eluded its baneful vigilance — five months, perhaps, would elapse without a visit — but at last the hateful figure would be sure to cross my path, and I had to fly afresh. It haunts me everywhere. I have taken refuge in this lonely spot, but I expect to see it every day; I am safe nowhere. It is the plague-spot of my life ; it embitters my whole existence; and I only ti'emble lest some day, in a moment of weakness. I should succumb to it, and then I am lost — lost — lost — for ever." Here Augustus buried his head in the ale-jug. and did not speak for five minutes. After considerable emotion he passed me the jug, but the poor fellow had drained it completely dry. As he raised his head off his heaving breast, he started violently to his feet, and clasping his forehead with one hand, and covering his eyes with the otber. shrieked, in a voice of the wildest despair, " See, it is here ! It haunts me even now. Oh ! this is too much !" He was riveted to the floor : his eyes flashed fire ; his whole face was hghted up with rage. Fear then put her deathlike touch upon him, and he became as pale as Bass's Ale. At last he rushed like a madman out of the room, I heard a scuffle on the stairs- A LEOEND OF THE RHINE. 2GI some angry words, a lieavy fall, and tlien all was still, save tlie melancholy tread of the beadle patrolling in the Arcade. ********* A month af terwiirds I received a letter from Augustas Snobleigh. He told me he had been so tormented with his ajjparition that he had been obliged to go abroad : he assured me he was happy, and hoped never to be troubled with the vision again. I think there is the strongest probability of this, as I ascertained afterwards from a liosom friend of his that the apparition he raved so much about was nothing more or less than an Income-Tax gatherer. He had been on the point of marrying a very rich giii and had overstated his income in the paper he had filled up, in order to deceive her father, who had told him he never would marry his daughter " to a beggar." The con- sequence was, Augustixs was assessed according to his own statement, and the match being broken off, he had found it a matter of impossibility to pay the amount. Hence the seci'et of his always changing his lodgings ; hence the seci'et of his leaving the kingdom. From his history we learn this wholesome moral : that a falsehood is sure to haunt the person who utters it ; and that no ghosts are so difficult to be laid as those which a man raises himself. (Concluded from page 240.) CHAPTER XIII. The consternation which ensued on the death of the Rowski, speedily sent all his camp-followers, army, &c., to the right-about. They struck their tents at the first news of his discomfiture ; and each man laying hold of what he could, the whole of t'he gallant force which had marched under his banner in the morning had disappeared ere the sun rose. On that night, as it may be imagined, the gates of the Castle of Cleves were not shut. Everybody was free to come in. Wine-butts were broached in all the courts ; the pickled meat prepared in such lots for the siege was distributed among the people, who crowded to congratulate their beloved Sovereign on his victory ; and the Prince, as was customary with that good man, who never lost an opportunity of giving a dinner-party, had a splendid entertainment made ready for the upper classes, the whole concluding Avith a tasteful display of fireworks. In the midst of these entertainments, our old friend the Count of Hombourg an-ived at the Castle. The stalwart old warrior swore by Saint Bugo that he was grieved the killing of the Rowski had been taken out of his hand. The laughing Cleves vowed by Saint Bendigo, Hombourg coiild never have finished off his enemy so satisfactorily as the unknoA\Ti knight had just done. But who was he ? was the question which now agitated the bosom of these two old nobles. How to find him — how to reward the champion and restorer of the honour and ha])piness of Cleves ? They agreed over siipper that he should be sought for everywhere. Beadles were sent round the principal cities within fifty miles, and the description A LEGEND OF THE IIHINE. of the knight advertised in the Journal de Francfort and the AUgevieine Zeitung. The hand of the Princess Helena was solemnly offered to him in these advertisements, with the I'eversion of the Prince of Cleves's splendid though somewhat dilapidated property. " But we don't know him, my dear papa," faintly ejaciilated that young lady. " Some impostor may come in a s\iit of plain armour, and pretend that he was the champion who overcame the Rowski (a Prince who had his faults certainly, but whose attachment for me I can never forget) ; and how are you to say whether he is the real knight or not ? There are so many deceivers in this world," added the Princess in tears, " that one can't he too cautious now." The fact is, that she was thinking of the desertion of Otto in the morning, by which instance of faithlessness her heart was well-nigh broken. As for that youth and his comrade Wolfgang, to the astonishment of everybody at their impudence, they came to the archers' mess that night, as if nothing had happened : got their supper, partaking both of meat and drink most plentifully ; fell asleep when their comi-ades began to describe the events of the day, and the admirable achievements of the unknown warrior ; and, turning into their hammocks, did not appear on parade in the morning until twenty minutes after the names were called. When the Prince of Cleves heard of the return of these deserters he was in a towering passion. " Where were you, fellows," shouted he, " during the time my Castle was at its utmost need ?" Otto replied, " We were out on particular business." " Does a soldier leave his post on the day of battle, Sir ?" exclaimed the Prince. " You know the reward of such— Death ! and death you merit. But you are a soldier only of yesterday, and yesterday's victory has made me merciful. Hanged you shall not be, as you merit — only flogged, both of you. Parade the men, Colonel Tickelstem, after breakfast, and give these scoundrels five hundred apiece." You shoidd have seen how young Otto bounded, when this information was thus abruptly conveyed to him. " Flog me," cried he. " Flog Otto, of • ." " Not so, my father," said the Princess Helena, who had been standing by during the conversation, and who had looked at Otto all the while with the most ineffable scorn. " Not so, although these persons have forgotten their duty " (she laid a particularly sarcastic emphasis on the word persons"), " we have had no need of their sei-vices, and have luckily found otliers more faithful. Yoii jjromised your daughter a boon, papa ; it is the pardon of these two persons. Let them go, and quit a service they ha^'e disgraced ; a mistress — that is, a master — they have deceived." " Drum 'em out of the Castle, Tickelstera ; strip their uniforms from their liacks, and never let me hear of the scoimdrcls again." So saying, the old Prince angrily tiu-ned on his heel to breakfast, leaving the two young men to the fun and derision of their suiTOund- ing comrades. The nol)le Count of Hombourg, who was taking his usual airing on the ramparts before breakfast, came up at this juncture, and asked what was the row ? Otto blushed when he saw him, and turned away rapidly ; but the Count, too. catching a glimpse of him, with a hundred exclamations of joyful surprise seized upon the lad, hugged him to his manly breast, kissed him most affectionately, and almost burst into tears as he embraced him. For, in sooth, the good Count had thought his godson long ere this at the bottom of the silver Rhine. The Prince of Cleves, who had come to the I)reakfast- arlour window [iu invite liis guest to enter, as the tea was made), beheld this strange scene from the window, as did the lovely tea-maker likewise, with breathless and beaut if id agitation. The old Count and the archer strolled up and down the battlements in deep conversation. By the gestures of siu'prise A LEGEND OF THE EHINE. 203 and deliglit exhibited by tlie former, 'twas easy to see tlae young archer was conveying some very strange and pleasing news to liim, thougli the nature of the conversation was not allowed to transpire. " A godson of mine," said the noble Count, when interrogated over his muffins. " I know his family ; worthy people ; sad 'scapegrace ; run away ; parents longing for him ; glad you did not flog him ; devil to pay ; and so forth." The Count was a man of few words, and told his tale in this brief, artless manner. But why, at its conclusion, did the gentle Helena leave the room, her eyes filled with tears .'' She left the room once more to kiss a certain lock of yellow hair she had pilfered. A dazzling, delicious thought, a strange wild hope, arose in her soul ! When she appeared again, she made some side-handed inquiries regarding Otto (with that gentle artifice oft employed by women) ; but he was gone. He and his companion were gone. The Coimt of Hombourg had likewise taken his departure, under pretext of particular business. How lonely the vast castle seemed to Helena, now that he was no longer there. The transactions of the last few days ; the beautiful archer-boy ; the offer from the Rowski (always an event in a young lady's life) ; the siege of the castle ; the death of her truculent admirer ; all seemed like a fevered dream to her ; all was passed away, and had left no trace behind. No trace ? yes ! one ; a little insignificant lock of golden hair, over which the young creature wept so much that she put it out of curl : passing hours and hours in the summer-house where the operation had been performed. On the second day (it is my belief she would have gone into a consiimption and died of languor, if the event had been delayed a day longer) a messenger, with a triimpet, brought a letter in haste to the Prince of Cleves, who was, as usual, taking refreshment. " To the High and Mighty Prince," &c., the letter ran. " The Champion who had the honour of engaging on Wednesday last with his late Excellency the Rowski of Donnerblitz l)resents his compliments to H.S.H. the Prince of Cleves. Through the medium of the public prints the C. has been made acquainted with the flattering proposal of His Serene Highness relative to a union between himself (the Champion) and Her Serene Highness the Princess Helena of Cleves. The Champion accepts with pleasure that polite invitation, and will have the honour of waiting upon the Prince and Princess of Cleves about half-an- hour after the receipt of this letter." " Tol lol de rol, girl," shouted the Prince with heartfelt joy. (Have you not remarked, dear friend, how often in novel books, and on the stage, joy is announced by the above burst of insensate monosyllables ?) " Tol lol de rol. Don thy best kii-tle, child ; thy husband will be here anon." And Helena retired to arrange her toilet for this awful event in the life of a young woman. When she returned, attired to welcome her defender, her young cheek was as pale as the white satin slip and orange sprigs she wore. She was scarce seated on the dais by her father's side, when a huge flourish of trampets from withoiit proclaimed the an'ival of the Chamjyion. Helena felt quite sick ; a draught of ether was necessary to restore her tranquillity. The great door was flung open. He entered, — the same tall warrior, slim, and beau- tiful, blazing in shining steel. He approached the Prince's throne, supported on each side by a friend likewise in armour. He knelt gracefully on one knee. " I come," said he, in a voice trembling with emotion, " to claim, as per advertisement, the hand of the lovely Lady Helena;" and he held out a copy of the Allgemeine Zeitung as he spoke. " Art thou noble, sir knight ?" asked the Prince of Cleves. " As noble as yourself," answered the kneeling steel. " Wlio answers for thee ?" 204 A LEGEND OF 'IIIE RHINE. '■ I. Curl, Margrave of Godesberg, bis fatbor !"' said tbe kuigbt on tbe ngbt band, lifting up bis visor. ''And I — Ludwig, Count of Hombourg, bis godfatberl" said tbe knigbt on tbe left, doing likewise. Tbe kneeHng knigbt lifted up bis visor now, and looked on Helena. " I hneiv it ivas," said sbe, and fainted as sbe saw Otto tbe arcbcr. But sbe was soon brougbt to, gentles, as I bave small need to teU ye. In a very few days after, a great marriage took place at Cleves, under tbe patronage of Saint Bugo, Saint Buffo, and Saint Beudigo. After tbe marriage ceremony, tbe bappiest and band- somest pair in tbe world drove oif in a cbaise-and-four, to pass tbe boneymoon at Kissiugen. Tbe Lady Tbeodora, wbom we left locked up in ber convent a long wbile since, was pre- vailed to come back to Godesberg, wbere sbe was reconciled to ber busband. Jealous of ber daugbter-in-law, sbe idolised ber son, and spoiled all ber little grandcbildren. And so all are bappy, and my simple tale is done. I read it in an old— old book, in a mouldy old circulating library. 'Twas written in tbe Frencb tongue, by tbe noble Alexandre Dumas, Marquis de la Pailleterie; but 'tis probable tbat be stole it from some otber, and tbat tbe otber bad filcbed it from a former tale-teller. For notbing ia new under tbe sun. Tbings die and are reproduced only. And so it is tbat tbe forgotten tale of tbe great Dumas reappears under tbe signature of Whistlchinkie, N.B., December 1. Theresa MacWhirter. THE PESSIMIST. 26f THE PESSIMIST. BY HORATIUS COCKNIENSIS. You have often heard of an Optimist; lout I'll bet you a case of Champagne to a pint of Bucellas you never lieard of a Pessimist. Yet the world abounds with them. For every Optimist there are at least ten Pessimists. But what is a Pessimist ? Patience — and I'll teU you. Did you never meet with a person who was only happy in predicting the misfor- tunes of others ? — a creature with a paving-stone for a heart, and a face the joyous colour of an old law book, who took a savage pleasui*e in assuring you, when a boy, that " some day you would be hanged ''? — a long drawn-out packthread of a man, whose thread of life had become all worsted ? — a human vessel, whose milk of human kindness had all turned soiar from the thunder of his own denunciations ? — an animated refrigerator, who chilled every- thing he touched, making the warmest person change, in a moment, into concentrated ice ? No — you never met such a character ? Well, I'll introduce him to you, so that, knowing him, you may carefiilly avoid him. The Pessimist delights in the hoi-rors of life. If he reads a newspaper, you will find him revelling to his heart's discontent amongst the " Accidents and Offences." He is always talking of this world being a very wicked world, with a pompous manner, as much as to say, if he had had the making of the world he would have made a much better thing of it. If your little boy happens to break a window, or to tread upon his corns, he wiU instantly prophesy " That boy will come to no good." The Pessmist is immense at prophecies— and he has a spiteful good memory in reminding you of the fulfilment of any one that happened to come true ; for instance, ii you are going on the ice, he will say, " Take my woi-d for it, young man, you Avill fall in:" and if you do happen to fall in, it is a little dunghill of triumph that he keeps crowing upon to the last day of his life. He congratulates himself upon it every time he meets you. " Oh, yoxx're looking better ; but you have never thoroughly recovered from that narrow escape jon had from drowning, when you woiild go upon the ice after I told you so positively you shoiildn't;" and he leaves you with a face beaming with melancholy. He is the best person in the world of whom to inquire — " "What news ?" It is sure to be an " awful fire," or a " fearful loss of life," or " a panic," or some thing equally pleasant. He is, also, a most jovial companion at a dinner-table. He takes wine as if it were physic, and drinks " your health " in the voice of a clerk reading the funeral service. At dessert he enlarges upon the frightful effects of intemperance, and waxes melancholy upon the many fine young men who have dri;nk themselves into premature graves. A good crisis is to the Pessimist a rare delicacy. The Railways lately have afforded him immense comfort. He has been assuring his friends, for the last three months, that every one of them must be ruined. According to him, all England before 1846 is to go through the Insolvent Debtors' Court. Th^ accidents on Railways are another of his favourite hobbies, and one which he rides with great effect before ladies. He terrifies them to such a degree that at last the poor trembling creatures believe that steam-engines were specially invented by Dr. Malthus to thin the population, and that the stokers receive a premium for every person that is killed. He persuades them that the " Railway King " is no other than King Death. What a capital peace-maker the Pessimist makes! In mati-imonial differences 2GG THE PESSIMIST. especially, his evil genius shines the most. He tells Mr. Brown, " Really. I do not see how you can evei* take to your bosom again a person who has so grossly deceived you ;" whilst he says to Mrs. B., " Indeed, my dear madam, I see nothing but misery before you. — What else can you expect from such a man as Brown ?" In fact, the Pessimist is the genuine disturber of the peace of private families. If a father talks to him about a rackety son, his kind advice is to " Let the young scamp go to the dogs his own way;" and if a parent is abused by his runaway son, he upholds the young delinquent in his notions of parental despotism, and elaborates a most painful picture of the consequences of their ever living under the same roof again. He is also a cheeiing person of whom to ask advice. If you are anxious to get nian'ied, consult the Pessimist first, by all means. He will talk so eloquently about the expenses of matrimony, expatiate so warmly on the responsibilities and troubles of children, and talk so reasonably about " iU-assorted minds" and "iincon- genial dispositions," that you will leave him with the conviction it is nothing less than criminal in a man to many, unless he has a large fortune, or has made up his mind to die in the workhouse. In short, the Pessimist sees everything couleur de bile. He won't allow you to eat half-a-dozen oysters, without telling you you are sure to be ill in conseqxience of it. He seems to live, like a broker, by the distresses he makes it his business to levy upon other people. He only sees the world, like an owl, on its black side. Over his head ought to be written Dante's inscription : " Hope never enters here." His congratulation is a croak — he will not even admit it is a fine day, without predicting, " It will be sm*e to rain before the evening." His compliments bring the tears into your eyes, and when he administers comfort, you have the sensation of cold water trickling down your back. Children connect him, somehow, vnih their nursery notions of " Old Bogie ;" young men call him " a slow coach," meaning by this, T suppose, a mourning-coach, for he is just as slow in his movements, and every bit as cheei-ful ; but the elderly gentlemen talk of his " strong mind," whilst with the elderly ladies he is a complete refutation of the old proverb, that " No one is a prophet in his own country," for the Pessimist is certainly the Raphael of private life, and his predictions are as religiously believed, by old women, as any con- tained in that gentleman's Prophetic Almanack. The Pessimist generally resides on the other side of forty. He wears gaiters, goloshes, a great-coat in July, and has generally a very red nose. He hates children, and miisic, and singing, and theatres, and round games,— in fact, there is not a thing he is fond of with the exception of himself. He is generally single, and in this pai-ticular only proves he is not totally destitute of kindness for his fellow-creatures — for if the stock were to increase, the world might very probably attain that high state of ruin he is always predicting for it. Altogether, his appearance is not prepossessing. He has all the dreariness of a comic actor off the stage, combined with the pleasant expression of a merchant on settling-day. A " full length " of him might sei-ve as an admirable frontispiece to the Anatomy of Melancholy. Beware how you let him come into your house, for you will find him imderniiue every- thing ; and that he is as difficult to get out as the dry-rot. Well, Reader, do you recognize the character from the above portrait? It is, I assui'e you, taken from the life. If you do not, however, I can only say I envy your good luck, for I would sooner meet a bill any day than a Pessimisit ; but if you do know such a gentleman, I can give you an infallible recipe for making him invisible. Ask him to lend you 100?. You will nob get it, but you will gain this greater advantage — you will never see the Pessimist again. — N. B. Never attempt a joke with a Pessimist. The chances are, that ht' will knock you down. MY OPINIONS ON UMBKELLAS. 267 MY OPINIONS ON UMBKELLAS. BY ANGUS B. BEACH. HE number of umbrellas which pass throiigh my hands is enormous. I generally steal one once a week, and all my friends steal the stolen goods in turn. I confess the felony without remorse. I think stealing umbrellas to be a law of nature which I am bom to fulfil. Certain great problems arc yet imsolved. No one can tell why coal-heavers wear white stockings ; or how the longitude may be best discovered ; or where- fore — as killing may be no murder — stealing umbrellas is no theft. I have no real respect for people who buy or borrow umbrellas. The first process shows a great lack of moral firmness ; the second is, after aU, only a shabby way of stealing the article. However, there was once a man who borrowed an umbreUa, for whom I entertain a sti'ong sympathy. The victim called for his gingham. It was raining cats and dogs. He met the victimiser in the act of sallyiug forth — the whalebone ribs of the implement in question in the act of expansion. " Give me my imibreUa !" , " Can't." " But what am I to do ?" " What I have done — borrow another." Now this I take to have been a great moral lesson. Another gentleman of my acquaintance is also in the habit of borrowing umbrellas. But it is for long periods. He always solicits the loan on the approach of November, and returns the ai-ticle with many thanks on the 1st of Jime. I have no objection to borrowing umbreUas for the winter. In stealing umbreUas, the obvious rule to be observed is never to take a cotton aifair when you can get a silk. Of course, if you are somehow encumbered with one of the former, you wiU lose no time in exchanging it for one of the latter. The time for snug evening parties is now coming on. It is the harvest season for the umbrella gatherer. I count an ordinaiy tea-and-tum-out as worth, on an average, a good silk paraphiie, with a monster's head carved in ivory for the handle. Good hats may be occasionally bagged also. It puzzles the people at home to find out the rationale of my frequently going ovit with a four-and-nine and coming home with an eight-and-twenty. Nothing so simple. The lobby table generally boasts a very good assortment. I much prefer it to the hatter's counter. The varieties of the umbrella breed are very remarkable. There is first, the low-life, plebeian imibreUa. It is teii-ibly fat, and is always in a state of perspiration. Its proportions are squab, and its composition puffy cotton. It is usiTally out of order in its inside, and, on an average, three of its ribs are to be seen through its skin. When opened, the stains on its rotundity give a very good notion of a terrestrial globe — ^4th all its continents and islands. This species of umbrella is generally the property of old women, who go to tea- and- turn- out parties, in unknown streets, on damp evenings. N.B. It is not worth steaHngr. 2G8 MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS. The dandy umbrella is quite a contrast to the last. It has a smirkiug, jaunty air, and looks as if it wore stays. It affectionates a glazed case, and requires, when used, to be skinned like an eel. Vauxhall on gala nights is the best place for seeing the process, but there is no chance of laying hold of a good umbrella there — seeing that they are never laid aside for a moment. The dandy umbrella is not unfrequeutly can-ied by nice young men for small tea-parties — who never go to the Cider CeUars— only know latch-keys by ancestral tradition — buy Berlin wool for their sisters — play " I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls " on the flute — think the ballet not quite proper — and admire Bowdler's " Family Shakspeare." These unfortunate individuals are, of course, fair game for the practice of umbrella conveyancing. Paraosls, everybody knows, are female umbrellas. The flirt rustles in the flutter of the gaudy fringe. The coquette flashes her sparkling eye through the shifting shades of the shot silk. No affinity have the butterfly creations to the every-day, hard-working, rain- parrying male umljrella. The latter, even the best of them, have a coarse, masculine look about them. There is no mistaking the gender of the parasol. The delicate ivory handle, is it not most lady-finger-like ? That fragile rib, does it not put you in mind of yoiu- own ? The whole aff"air — has it not a most sweet-flavoured and young-lady-like appearance.* — fit only to be laid up in lavender, or taken abroad when the heavens rain caude Cologne ! Of course I study deeply the physiology of umbrellas and their bearers. I note with industrious eye the peculiarities of both, distinguishing the cases in which the umbrella seems to belong to the biped, and those in which the biped seems to belong to the lunbreUa. There is one numerous class of individuals who always parade the streets with their ginghams stuck under their arms at right angles to their Ijack -bones ; and as the interesting couple are always stopping to look into print-shop windows. the feniile of the umbrella seems endowed with a singular attraction towards the noses and eyes of society in general. Another race, who button their frock-coats to the chin, either to give themselves a military air, or to avoid giving their shii-ts any air at all, treat their appendages as though they wore sabres, and cany them with a martial port which there is no bearing. Here is a specimen. The old lady umbrella-fancier is to be met with on sunny afternoons, trotting along quiet streets, in ancient stained lavender-coloured silks, at the rate of fully a quarter of a mile an hour. "Wonderful to relate, these veneral>le tabbies can-y their umbrellas like babies; they have a fumbling fashion of hiigging,their gingham iirotiges across their faded shawls, iind arc speechless with indignation if you accidentally bnish by them as they are immersed in the geographical studies att'orded by an , omnibus panel, having of course stopped the vehicle before they began to read where it goes to. The uses of umbrellas are as multifarious as their forms. They are our walking-sticks MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS. 269 wbeu it is dry — our walking-houses when it is wet. They are capital things for applauding at a theatre — I have known more than one author batter his ferrule oif at his own farce. On the other hand, they cannot expound dis- approbation — wherefore new pieces ought to be brought out when M. Arago has predicted dry weather, and when the barometer accord- ingly stands at " much rain." You will, there- fore, not fail to borrow — you know what I mean by that — an umbrella when you go to the first night of your friend's tragedy. If the piece be damned, as most likely it will, you will always have the satisfaction of knowing that you did your duty by it — and of keeping the umbrella in token thereof. N.B. Posses- sion is generally nine points of the law — in the case of umbrellas it is ten. P.S. Good heavens ! would you believe it ? I was out at supper last night, at WhifFens' — good fellow "Whiffens — never knew a drop of British brandy within his doors. We had something to drink of course — eight glasses, or some trifle thereabouts, and I left his place to come home as sober as a judge ; that is to say, I suppose so — for I don't quite remember. However, I must have passed through Covent Garden, for I am just served with a summons from my friend Hall, of Bow- street, for making off with one of these huge umbrellas, under the extending shade of which female leek-sellers sit like so many petticoated Tityimses (excuse the unclassical plural), but with nothing green about them except their grocery. It is too true. The Brobdignag umbrella was found lying in the area. Z 45 saw me walking down the Strand with it exactly in this fashion — I would write more, but the policeman is waiting for me. N.B, I have horrid visions of the prison-van and a short crop. My sentiments on the subject I have been writing of are changed ; and I add, by way of Moral — Don't steal Umbrellas. * A. B. R. HINTS FO?, A r<»MI^TIC KHJCX. HINTS FOB A DOMESTIC POLICE. BT SBJXLXr SROOK&. Amosg tike fabolooB •'■■^— K a deaenptkm ■M fer auf bas not jet found its vaj into tL « iy«l^i to BoSdb, is a ■■ j^ala- bexng called a Pnlireman. We nerer sav one, nor do ■^- credit tke aiBniliuii of its i ^w t ^ 'w*'* ' - ahlioagli ve hare no desire to be tiioiiglit wepdcal Imk, on the eoiitmj. bdiere Snaij all ghost stories, managere* annonncementB, and Frenc":- nevsp^KTB. Bnfc the hoki vhieh the idea ot soA a ci waluie has obtained i^on tL-. ■inds of Maaj — eapeciallf unong the lover daases — is strong, and as the restiair: mUA this soyewUli on eanses vpcrn some of dieir haljits is often salntaiy, it vovild il^ beeoBM a phft— throfist to atteapt to stagger their iaith. Thinking penons vill, n<::- vithstanding, plaee all aneedotes at the appeanmce of this faUed creatnre beside tr ^ BecreatiaBS in Katmal Historr," Therewith thej hare lat>dj beoi edified bj- a soper- BatHiallj acute obeenrer. ''Bat,'' saya Skt 'BioaiaB Brown, with mndi wiadoan and antithesis, "oat of die fat'. j ot the Tolgar gfsingelh the lesson of the sage^" Upon which hint, and oonsiderii^ it I Cfjing ncttmifku of the times, we hare to popoae an insdtatkm which wiD, one of dteac day*, entitle ns to a statoe in the Sew Honaes of Parliament. We hare foonded it iq»0B the popolar tnditiaais ooocening the Policeman, bot hare adif«ed it to sopplj- a great » jdal want. I^ooking, then to borrow the manner of a PartiamentaTy repottV at the crowd^i state of drawin g-rooms, and the fadlitj therebj offered for the comrnimion w«^»~»»- tanght him by his dancing-master. N.B. An affectation of indolenee or ecce ntr icity in this fignre being rery prevalent in a certain set, the police ar>- U* be anasaallj vigilant. TV I. r,T person who, in rqdy to a simple question, shall make a fscetious reply, t< > :?ni5, WM JL liiiaHHifflinKr bmlbck. .mrt niBC iiiwuimTT. -lin^ wuanm. 'nr ahuJH - -jaiEs (iiut tqi." iiiiainL fisc »ic&; " ynrnttti "* acs t»e ica? "wndt nut nusne'ithiui (SBb ~ "vrirrh -tfiin- < m>TH4 m'.)te intoxication, and one owes a little to one's partner, and a great deal to one's" inside. XIY. At aD dumer-partieB a poHce-o£Bcer shall be present, in order to prevent the horrible atrocities thej-eat committed by personB weakly allowed to be denominated '•jolly." Any such individual hazarding the sHghtest attempt at a joke in reference to " tongue," " brains," " caLf's head." " collaring the beef." '" puffs." " man at the weal" '• blesemy sole," " this 'ej*e or that hai-e," " steak in the country." *" my fai'e is fowl." " none of your sauce," or the like villany, sball incontinently be hurried out of the room. It ie hoj»ed that a •discriminatLng jml'lic will, by invariably groaning in a frightfid manner at any such perpe- tration, assist the police in reining in the jocosity of so-called '"jolly " persons. "With such additions to these regulations as experience may dictate, we should like to *' go down to posterity with our code in our hand." The Spectatur mentions an infirmary which was instituted for the recovery of persons suffering imder maladies like those we wotdd provide against ; but it is more in accordance with the spirit of our age to punish afl&iction than to cure it. The only objection which can be tu-ged is the diflBcidty of finding the necessary officials, but we consider this a merit and a beauty, for thereby our police more strikingly resemble their fabulous prototypes. I'HE STAGE XEGEO. BY THE EDITOB. The character of the K'egro, as exhibited on the stage, is a strange compound oi physical and moral singularitieB, that ai'e well worthy the attenticm of the student nj human nature in its dramatic, which is certainly its most astounding form. The Stag- Negro seems to l»e deeply imbued with the beautdes of the British Constitution, and it- constantly indulging in sentiments of gratitude towards England, that uxust be dehghtfuJ to the ears of the most patriotic native of our highly-favoured isle. The Stage Kegro it. continually ninning abc>ut in an ecstasy of delight at the reflection, that. " dreckly him put him foot on British groun. him free as de air. free aB Massa himself:" an announcemem which ie usmdly followed up in an early scene by the Negro receiving a variety of cttffB or kicks I in which, by-the-bye, he seems to delight i from some of the other characters in tht drama. Sometimes the Stage Negro gi-owB sentimental, and asks, in reference to som- cruel practical joke that has been played upon him, "Whethei- him not a man and : brother ; for thc»ugh him face black as him coal, him heart white as liim Hly." The < o constitution-loving and Bentiment-Bi>lutteriug Stage Nigger in however rapidly disappei.; ing from the stage ; and we get. in these days, very few of those cutting aUusions to tii traffic in slaves, and those tender appeak to the equality of the human race which were tht charm of the dramatic negroes of our infancy. The Stage Negro has l»ecome a vulgar dancing brute, with a banjo in his hand, and without a bit of sentiment at his heart ; a WRAPH HUXTERS. frm^h cfoataaAly jompuig about, -mheeting a1x>ut. and taming abrmt, but wholly i^(M mn-^K - ;ff' y ..n the port of , .-amatiatA. The :r»ta2e Xetrro of the present day can eady i . >loait aDoidon^ to Af ia« Lacy l^m^. Cool Black Bo«e. and other light charaet*;.- .a s^/we imat^tmry . .'idiTidnaU •>f the name of Joaey, to Jim alon^ — a procean that we are ntteriy at a h/m to r' ^rm any crjneeptioii of. Thus nnich for the moral attribntes of the Stage Xegro, whos»e -phjafssti pe*?alia.r;-:.- > -main, for the most port, nnchangedj and to the$ie we can, therefore, twm our i((.U:rr I,:, ithoot any feeling of diaappoTntment, at the alteration which ha* occnrred in the intel- '-rtnal character. The Stage Xegro still exhibitji that ren^rkal/Ie pecaliarity of the skin, nich w alK>wn by the ^larkcoloor, generally finiithing abmptly at the wri^, the hand being -rfectly the seime a» that of one of the white p«'>pnlation. The variety of hnea ia also rery Tnarkable; for while the arm ia of the cfAfmr of a bla^rk worsted &* ■ f>.ce i.h mewhat le«« oijaque. and, indeed, it wonJd &fif'f:scr that Xatnre dealt for • - • 'h :j«, and naiTJg l)a,- ... . ..I^iu.a for he features of the Stage Kegro, Autograph ^anttrs. KT HOSACE MATHEW. Ay Autograph Hunter g^ieraSy rideth hl.H hobby to death. He will bimt do-wn any /-yr antlK>r, to r^/b ham o€ hi* name ; bat a.» •"- rr:'- p^r^.ple cannot hare their gsme too high, -^ .'h him the higher an anthor'.^ narr.- ■ he liketh it. Ererymanwho hath . . .--; the world, thoTigh it Vi no higher .': . it of a Catnach, i.«farr game ty» him- .1 he taketh aim at him accordingly, like ps. ;.-*:-: h-vv with a pop-gwn, J»y mear. . le Cmter, and erery jioatman hi.* whrpper-in, A d 1.1 not his weapon, btit a don ble Invjck. He will go to any di.ank.5| of the Misfti*«ppi- and w^ ^ ' '^'- ■ ---■■-■•^^■^ " ' --■* r' the King of the Canni>>al X«landa, only the scent did . .--..;?! i was an immense feather in h« cap. He Tr--;j.>. .i-'-h _, 7 vwr Aiit/>gTaph Himter i* alio a man of H« is the very n,^.n .- 'lown a Kailway Stag, for he hath a r. t* tracking the wiUlf^x -^a-nra to it» h.iT; bnt the ardowr of the chase often taketn him abr^^ad. He hath >jeen .own to start in search of Kniekerbfjcker, who, he was told, lire^l f/n the flats of Sew . .rk, and was astonished that not a singie hitter, thoogh he fired roBeys after him, ever -iched him. Towr true Simrod of Antogra-r ' withoat a license; he trespasfteth on the .lallest grownds, and poacheth on e- , -id manors. Men are t/'y him hTte hftT^ea, ..'fering only by .v-> many hands. An A. i • - ■ . >.h the strangest birds, — black-brrd-s, anr . :' the j»Hf»r Grljri, Perinom, said Ffx*d h-i"j ,, . - ^ - .. .-. . . rman birds who migrate anntially to tmr hr>«itpitaye .=tr. ■ ;^ r-t : .nd of crowing, like the Syncretic bird, and htnnmingbirtL!, : h^•r-. AUTOGKAPH HUNTERS. hang about the walls of a theatre: to say nothing of hirds of paradise and gaol birds, such as Yictoi-ia and Jack Sheppard. Eveiything, in fact, is game that comes to his book. The Autograph Hunter, like the learned pig, hath a great love for letters, but when he cannot get one, he doth not mind taking a lesson from those cunning foxes in the Secret Letter Office, and breaking cover. He abuseth the penny postage, and bewaUeth the day of the expulsion of the Franks from England. He divideth mankind into two packs — those who do write, and those who do not ; but he hunteth both with equal ardour. The former he valueth for their fine running hands — for a good hand he considereth, like Lord Byron, to Ije the palm of good-breeding ; but the latter, though generally men of gi-eat X mark, he think eth no better than a cross. Yet he is not pi'oud, for he is always too happy to take any man's fist ; in fact, his book — and he exceUeth in making a good book — ^might well be called '" Fistiana.'" Ladies hunt, also, for Autographs. Tovir true-bom gentlewoman maketh a most intrepid himtress. When once she hath started an Album, nothing stoppeth her in the mad jtursuit. Directly a new wi-iter, or preacher, or clown, or artist, or literaiy dustman, springeth up, she iiinneth after him and hunteth him to death, till she hath bagged his autograph. Her weapon of attack mostly is of French manufactm-e, called a billet-doux. With this weapon wiU she jump over seas, and clear continents in a day, for the hillet-drnix will carry many hundred miles at a single charge. The charge, however, increaseth in strength according to the distance it travelleth ; and not unfrequently the charge hath come so strong that the hillet-doux hath been sent back all the way it came_ The lady sometimes jjulleth the long-bow, but only in the cause of charity, for she will take the produce of her chase to a fair, and sell it at a common stall for as much gold as she can get. This she doeth with the philanthropic purpose of washing the blackamoor white, or else sending out a cargo of Rowland's Kalydor to the poor freckled Kam- schatkians. Tour Jew, too, is an indefatigable hunter after Autographs. He will exert the whole of his persuasion to catch a good one. The Autograph of a young pigeon, who hath a fine crest, he fancieth most ; if taken before he is thoroiighly plucked, it yieldeth him gi'eat interest. So exciting is this game, that five brothers have been knov.Ti to turn wine merchant, money-lender, attorney, bailiff", and broker, pm-posely to join in the j)leasures of the sport. Tliere is a firm, too, somewhere about Chanceiy-lane, which hath down in its books (facetiously called the " SherifTs Album,") the finest collection of Autographs in the whole kingdom. The Doomsday Book containeth not half so many noble names. Such a high value is set upon them that an Officer keepeth them under lock and key, in what is called a " lock-up house," for fear they should leave the shores of merry England. Beware of your Autogi*aph Hunter. Above all, play not at cards with him, for you cannot teU what that man will turn up who looketh over eveiybody's hand. Recollect, too, many a \)onj has been posted in the City, by simply having a piece of paper with a good round signature to back it. Look well to the colour of that man's legs who asketh you to sign your name. Be sure his honesty is at a discount : like a wolf, he hovereth round the piens of the sheep, seeking whom he can devour. Give him but your hand, and three months afterwards he will stop you in the street, and make you deliver up your money. An Autograjjh Hunter of that stamp is the Dich Turpin of the present day. Reader, resene all your (\(>\va strokes for the head of such a man, and, if he asketh you after that to endorse nnything for him. mind you df» it with a bold hand across his back. JOLLIPUMP OX HAPPINESS. 275 JOLLIPUMF OX HAPPINESS. AX EXPEKIMENTAL LECTl KE. The advantages of Lectures, as a mode of imparting knowledge. particiUiuiy on abstruse and nietapLjsical snltjects, will be obvious to tbose wlio consider bow easy it is to follow a train of close reasoning uttered witb volubility : to recollect it all ; and to attend to what the speaker is saying, and reflect on what be bas just said at tbe same time. How munb less troublesome to acquire knowledge in tbis way. than from books, which reipiire to be constantly referred to I A contingency, however. uuluckUy incident to tbis slightly complex exertion uf the mind, is the sudden prostration of its faculties iu sleep. It has divested itself of aU ideas foreign to the subject : it acquii'es none relative to it ; and the consequence is audible in those snores which so often resound in the temples of Science. To oiu- thiuking, a very pretty picture for an Institute would be Philosophy delivering the Student into the arms of Morpheus. It may be all veiy well to produce " sound and refreshiug sleep at wiU :" but it is not so well to produce sleep, which, if sound, is not refi-eshing, against the will, as. from much experience, we can state that most lectui'ers do. It is, therefore, highly desirable that those gentlemen should tiy to be a little Hvely. and to blend, as it were, the rose and the honey- suckle with those poppies which are the chief flowers of their oratory. Of all lectiu-es, the least soporific are those on Chemistry : by reason of the explosions^ changes, transformations, and other attractive phenomena which abound in them. Their experiments are an antidote to theu- narcotic influence. We believe that every kind of lectxire may be similarly illustrated, to as good a piu-pose. "We ai-e pei-sonally satisfied that the driest subject is susceptible of tbis agreeable treatment. Last evening, at Intellect Hall, Professor JoUipump delivered an interesting lecture on Happiness, whereat we bad the happiness to be present. The Professor gave us a better idea of happiness than we ever derived from any other philosopber in our lives ; and so bi-illiant was his discoxu-se, that we are sure that not even one lady in the assembly had her ears bored. The interior of Intellect Hall was, in the fii-st place, fitted up in a manner admirably appropriate to the occasion. The seats were so many easy-cbaii-s, provided with spi-ing- cushions, covered with the softest red velvet ; moreover, they were so widely separated as to allow the audience to stretch their legs as far as they pleased, and a footstool was allotted to each person. The walls were tastefully hung with pictures, and vases of flowers were disposed around the room. The floor, handsomely caii^eted, had been sprinkled with eau de Cologne. Noiseless waiters attended ■with elegant refreshments, including pine-apple and Champagne, which they handed round at intervals to the company. However, there was beer for those who preferred it ; also ham- sandwiches, fruit-pies, and meat. To meet the views of everybody, there were pipes and tobacco, inclusive of the very best cigai's, in the galleiy ; whence the smoke, ascending through the skylight, occasioned no inconvenience. All were thus satisfied, and none incommoded. The hall was crowded full half-an-hour before the time appointed for the lecture. Professor JoUipump, on his entrance, was received with loud plaudits, which were re- 276 JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS. doubled on the delivery of bis first sentence. He said that it was scarcely necessary for him to define happiness, as he should think that they had been long enough in that room to know pretty well what it was by this time. However, he continued, he would ask them what they liked l>est ? Happiness consisted in enjoying that, whatever it was. And now, before he went any farther, he would recommend glasses all round. This was a little experiment illustrative of his subject, and he thought it had answered tolerably. His lecture would mainly consist of experiments. He woiild demonsti-ate the nature of happiness, not by a metaijhysical rigmarole, but by positive facts, in that interval of time familiarly designated a jiffy. For instance — Here the Professor pulled a string, which caused a gi*eeu curtain l)ehind his table to draw up, displaying a tA?mporary stage. The scene thus discloseil consisted of a rustic gjxto, with an individual rustic seated thereon. There (continued the Professor) was a picture of happiness. They saw befoi-e them one of those rural swains termed ploughlioys. Tlie (il>jett in his right hand was a clasp-knife = that in the left, between the finger and thumb, was a luuip of Ijread : the other. l>etween the little finger and the palm, was a Ht of fat biuron. (The lecturer pointed out all these tilyects in succession, with his wand.) The swain would now eat the bread and bacon. The audience was, perhaps, too far off to catch the expression of his eye — it was difficult to discern any expression in the rustic at a distiuice — or hear the smacking of his lips; but these phenomena were distinctly perceptible to himself. He would now, to complete the experiment, add a rjuautity of strong ale to the bread luid bacon, and they would then see, immediately, that tlie rustic was as happy as he could be. JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS. 277 The Professor here poured out a foaming tankard of XXX, and handed it up to the subject of the experiment, who having quaffed its contents began to caper with delight, and to sing, " Gee ho, Dobbin," whilst the curtain descended amid loud applause. He would next (he said) show them an example of happiness, similar in kind to the foregoing, b\;t more intense in degi'ee. The curtain would now I'ise again. They beheld the celebrated soup-room at Birch's, Cornhill. The coi-piilent gentleman at the table was an alderman. The basin before him contained turtle — real turtle. Real turtle was real happiness to the alderman — who scorned the illusive blandishments of mock. The scene to which he would now direct their attention was a boudoir. They would there observe a young lady contemplating herself in the looking-glass — she would have the goodness to turn her head about, and those who were near enough would perceive the ecstatic smile on her countenance. He would call on them to notice her di-ess — it was a ball-costume of the newest fashion — that dress had just been presented to her : hence the state of happiness in which they now beheld her. The next view was that of the exterior of the New Royal Exchange. The stout gentle- man in front, in the blue coat and brass buttons, was a capitalist. He had just sold a lot of Railway Shares at a profit of 20,000?., and was in the most intense condition of happiness that he was capable of. He shoiild have one more tableau to exhibit to them ; but previously he would try a few experiments on his audience. The jars before him on the table contained sweetmeats. Would any young gentleman present step forward? He was delighted at the alacrity with which his request was complied with. He now held up a pot of tamarinds. He would present it to the young gentleman nearest him. He would give the next a quantity of barley-sugar ; and the remainder should scramble for some lollipops. He begged ladies and gentlemen would note the amount of happiness which he had thus generated. One more rise of the curtain would reveal his concluding picture of happiness, which was a living representation of the marriage ceremony. He regretted that he cotdd not l^resent them with a real wedding : however, he could assure them that the parties whom they beheld had been united that very morning, and he would leave it to his hearers to determine whether they had not thus been made happy. This was his last exemplification of beatitude. His lecture would end with a wedding. So far it was like a farce; but, on the whole, he trusted it was much less of a farce than lectures in general. He hoped he had instructed as well as amused his audience : at any rate, he was confident they would carry something away with them, for he begged that none of them would have any delicacy in ptocketing such of the good things before them as they could not eat. The learned and benevolent Professor here made his bow, and retired amid thunders of applause, like which nothing was ever before heard in a lecture-room.^ It was universally agreed, that Jollix)ump, on the subject of Happiness, had shown himself, whilst he had rendered others so, particularly happy. TJFI7EE3I THE KNU. V ^ A OX" ^ :CJF0ET5, mMmm^^::^.,. 3402 RET Th / / ^mmm^^^ "'8 SERKELEY.CAP, (F23363l0)476B U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES B0D3D123bl