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

28.
165

154

197

125

134

172

158

259

30,65

117

216

270

240

200

248

255

275

128

110

220,

236, 261

151

CONTEN'JS.

Moliiiiclioly Moiitli of !klny, Tla-

IkU'SiiKTic Diiiiur, The .

Miss Mntililu .lolinsrm Jones

Moutlifiil of Fr.sli Air. A

Mii.-<io-Mnj<tor iihrrNul. 'J'lic

My Ojiiiiii'iis on Uniljnllas .

National Songs

Natuml History of the rnnic, The .

Never trust to Outward Appearances

New Termination to Don (iiovniini

Notes taken during tlic kite War

Oddities from the Uhino

Ohl an.l New Nursery. Tlie

Old Englislimnn, Ac., The

Orders for the IMay .

rassngc. A, in tiie I'olk-Oregou War

Pessinnst, The

Piiilosophy of Cftttle-sliows, Thr

Poetical Invitations .

Polka Lyrics ...

Practical Mesmerism

Preservation of liifo, Tiie

Privat*' Tiicntricals .

Puco-coloured Carp. Tlie

lUihvay Calls .

Ifailway Dejio-siLs, Thr

Ilecreations in Natural lli.sloiy

Rosalie. To ...

ScnmixT, A, over the Serju ntini

SejMiration ...

Sot'ial ZtM)logy

Something alxiut Almanacks

Song of tlie Montiis

Songs of the Sentiments

Simnet to the Fro.st

Stage AsKBssiii, The

St4igc Countryman, 'I'h*'

St4ige Ladies' Mai.l. The

Stage Ix>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 Cupi<l, The

Uiducky Que.-.tion. The

Visit to lx)ndon in the Autumn of IS I.

Wa-ihing-houses for the Poor .

. 118

Jijj Hi trace Maijhfic

i 243
\ . .1^*5

Uij aUbert A. h IkcMt

l!ij Aiifins li. livarh

I ■ / ^^

llij Gilbert A. a ISerLctt

]hj Annus li. lieavh

•\ . -ill

\ 1H3

1 .91

llij Murk Lcmoit

Ihj John Oxeufurd.

By Angus li. Ilearh

V 209

. 202
245

Itij I'ltul Preitdergast .

By I'aul I'rendergast

By Horace Mayheic

. 'im

By Sliirhy Brouks .

114

By Horace Muyheio

. 2G5
12

By Gilbert A. a Bechell

. 218
■ 05

By Gilbert A. a Btchelt

. 21

By George Cruihslumk .

159

By Gilbert A a Bechelt

. 53

By John Oxenfonl .

101

By GiUierl A. '« Btchett

. 232
. 2.-)7

By Uorme Maylutc

. 251

. 77

By llinnce Mnylieir

By John Oxenford

. 72

By GiViert A. a Berk, II .

u:;, itJ3. 208

By Horace Mayhcic

By Ferguson .

By Gilbert A. u Bed;. It

. 204
'.>0

By GiU>ert A. a Bahett

. 95

By Gilbert A. a Bccketl .

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

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 an<l Come Again ....
Dissolving Views ....

The Stage Prince

Fire Escapes .... KiO, 10
Otto's Escape .....
Otto Performing his Watch
A Knoiker Hunt .....
The Steam Concert ....
The Waterman's Farewell to his Coat and
Badge

PAOB

87 Don Giovanni in a New Light .

89 A Voyage down the Thames .

rtl Capital Sailors

92 Shower on a Steamlwat . . . .

96 The Victim of Exaggcrution

97 The Lady of Windeck . . .

97 Tiie Enthusiast in Anatomy

98 How " Robinson Crusoe " should be read .
103 I've Dwelt in Mnrble Halls
105 An Oddity from the Rliine
109 The Marriage Settlement .
Ill The Hermit of Vauxhall
113 Meet Me by INIoonlight Alone
115 The Martyr of Lovo

120 Otto and Helena

121 Fancy Portraits

126 The Unlucky Question

127 Mr. J.din Bull as WlUihaU
131 The Chami-ion .

138 The Balloon Huntsman .

139 The Balloon Racer .
141 Tlie Balloon Dancer
143 The Old English Gentleman

1 147 Light ....

149 A Husband's Vengeance .

1.53 The I'atriotic Horse

155 The Sentimental Beavers .

157 Feline Instinct

162 A Pretty Kettle of Fish .

107 Too IMnny Irons in the Fire .

172 Tea Table Conversazione .

176 Otto reveals himself to the lovely

177 Six Cuts about Umbrellas .
A Picture of Happiness .

181

PACE

. 185
187

189
193
199
201
205
210
212
216
219
220
222
226
230
233
236
241
241
242

New

. 245

. 250

. 2.52

. 253

. 254

. 256

. 257

Helena . 264

267, 208, 209

. 270

TAIBILI

Running at the Ring."

THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID.

"IT is customary witli some poets to make a formal application to tlie Muses for an
■■- illuminating spark of electric fire to be applied to the brain. I confess tliat I have
a predilection for blazing Walls-end, as a means of warming my imagination ; wbicb I
prefer doing witb the combustibles of every-day life, rather than by means of any fanci-
ful fuel which the sacred Nine are supposed to deal in. If my brain is ever illuminated
by an electric spark, the bowl of my meerschaum is the place in which it is deposited ;
the pipe acting as a conductoi", along which flashes of inspiration are conveyed with
every whiflp, while the smoke curls itseK into a variety of objects.

Having taken up my usual position in my easy chair, I fell into a reverie, with my
eyes, like those of an expectant for a Government situation, fixed on vacancy. I began
to ponder on the possibility of finding for the first plate of my Table-Book a subject in
which the greatest number should take the greatest interest, especially that sex which I
have often thought it hard should be called soft, and which it will always be my endea-
vour to propitiate. My policy as weU as my gallantry would prompt me
to do so ; for the ladies form, according to the Population Returns, a large
majority of the public ; and the single as well as the married constitute
the better half of the inhabitants of this country. Though physically
weaker, they are numerically stronger : and, compared with them in the
CL^£v^^ ''^^*^^^' ^^ domestic dominion, man is a pigmy,

""L).^^ J^Qtn^ a mere General Tom Thumb— a creature who 'T^V^^isD^^

CVx C - »< r°'db2§:-^ might be deposited in one of those dolls' houses /:r=:i^.^°'°>7~

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- int<j iinothev aiiartmcnt, ^vliicb in my iynorauoe I sLoiild have
called the diuing-room, had not Ned dignified it by the name of The Hall.

The Hall was furaished much after the same fashion as the room I had just left,
except that two buffets of " white plate " (as I afterwards learaed the metal was called)
were placed at either side of the lower end of the table, which was laid out " banquet-
wise." At the upper end, on a dais, was " the orsille under a cloth of estale," where mine
host placed himself, after seeing me seated in a huge ai-m-chair at his right hand. The
thing was now getting too absurd, and I began to fear for my dinner.

" Ned," I said —

" Edward de Lacy, an' it so please ye."

" Nonsense, Ned. What is the meaning of all this mummery ? Here are you figged
out for a masquerade, when I have come for a Christmas dinner."

"And a dinner thou shalt have. Master Robinson — such as our ancestors made
meiTy with when England was ' men-ie England.' I have long bethought me of holding
festival in this fashion, and to-day thou shalt revel as they did at Christmas-tide in the
olden time. True, I have neither stoled priest nor damsel decked in kirtle green, nor
gleeman, nor the more gentle minstrel, to grace oiu" boai'd; but thou shalt taste of
the lusty brawn and mauchet-loaves — the reeking sirloin and savoury goose. Master
Robinson. Plum-porridge shall not be wanting, nor that lord of the feast, the Christmas
pie. The wassail bowl shall come in its due season with its ganiish of ribbons — and a
soused boar's head crested with bays, and tricked out with rosemary; and see, here
comes Dick — Humphrey, I mean — with the monarch of the feast. Come, let us troU a
carol to the boar's head, that which honest Wynkyn de Worde hath preserved to us."
And straightway he proceeded, as the lumpy boy entered with a veritable pig's head
bedizened with evergreens, to chaunt the following : —

" Caput Aiiri defero,
liedJens laudes Domino.
With boai's heiid iu hand hiing I,
With garlaiules gay and roseniMiy,
I pray you all synge nienily.
Qui estis iu couvivio."

The dish was placed upon the table, and Ned— that is, Edward de Lacy— proceeded
(after a short grace, which I cannot remember,) to carve this honoured viand. The
knife had scarcely entered the head, when he broke forth in sundi-y exclamations in not
very choice modera English, and I at once perceived that some dire mischance had
occuri'ed.

" Does she call this a soused boar's head ?" exclaimed Ned.

" Yes, sir — I mean truly, master," answered the lumpy boy ; " for I have been
poiii'ing hot water over it these ten minutes."

The knife and fork fell from Ned's hands, and he looked the di-ollest figure I ever
remember to have seen. Having motioned the boy to remove the " pride of the revel,"
he turned to me and said :

" My dear fellow, I'm very son*y — ^but — but there's some mistake. You must know
that, after di-illiug my cook for a week in the whole art of ancient cookery, she has had
the baseness to leave me this very morning, and I have been compelled to secure the
services of tlie greengrocer's wife."

" O, never mind, Ned," said I ; " surely something will do, either the beef, or the
goose, or the plum-porridge."

I was vei-y nearly mistaken; for out of the liberal bill of fai*e which Ned had

WASHING-HOUSES FOE THE POOE.

in'omisecl me, nothing was eatable but tlie brawn. The goose Lad been forgotten ; the
himpy boy tumbled upstairs with the Christmas pie ; the sirloin was burnt to a cinder,
and the plum-porridge looked too indefinite to be assailable.

In pity to poor Ned, I ate, and laughed, and talked, until I think he would have
been reconciled to the frustration of his darling project, had not the "wassail bowl"
proved the most signal failure of the day. What it was I have not the remotest idea,
but I took the hint from the expression of Ned's face (for in his enthusiasm he ventured
to taste it), and resolutely declined to make an experiment of its contents.

I was not a little gratified when the lumpy boy placed the liqueur case and hot water
on the table, and threw a " yule log " on the fire. Matters then proceeded pleasantly
enough : old school-days were recalled ; old schoolfellows remembered, and many a
college freak enacted over again. Ned sang a song whose biTrthen had many a time
kept half High Street, Oxford, awake; and we were proceeding at five-tumbler-rate
towards oblivion, when a violent knocking at the door, and as violent ringing of the
bell, roused us from our pleasant confabulation. Then came a rumbling noise and loud
voices, and then a man in a leathern helmet and a fireman's jacket rushed into the room,
and convinced us that the " yule log " had set the chimney in a blaze.

Reader, if you ever had the misfortune to have a chimney take fire, you know what
ensued; if you never had that luxury, you would not believe in the consequences.
Buckets of water poured down wrong chimneys; dirty wet men, in dirty wet boots,
trampling over your carpets : noisy little boys bellowing in derision — in short, a chimney
on fire is several degrees worse than a house in the same predicament.

Poor Ned ! the story of his Christmas in the olden time got wind, and the roasting
he met with at the clubs drove him away from London. How the circumstance became
known I could never clearly make out, unless it occurred one night when I dined with a
party of fellows at Richmond, and at our return insisted on taking the place of the post-
boy who had driven us down in the morning.

WASHING-HOUSES FOR THE POOR.

The people call for bread m many a quartei* ; —
It seems a strange idea to give them water —
Benevolence thus cheaply cuts a dash —
With water any one may make a splash.
Why bid the poor go seek the washing-tub,
Dooming them thus to bear another rub ?
Yet cleanliness with aU om- notions jumps,
Must they who offer water needs be pumps ?
No ! let us cherish eagerly the hope
They'U make the poor much better off for soap.
Yet if a mendicant should cross our path,
Must we, in future, bid him " go to Bath ?"
Oh ! might he not reply iu language proper ? —
" I do not need a bath, I want a copper !"

"OCTT^

TIIH IMlILOSOrHY OF CATTLE SHOWS.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF CATTLE SHOWS.

We eliould imagine that tlie descendants o£ Jack Sprat, wto, it may be remembered
by the students of our early ballad literature, " could eat no fat," must have vanished
from the land ; or else that his progeny must have wonderfidly increased, and that they
all take after their mother, who, according to the bard, " could eat no lean."

We have been led into this speculative reflection by a knowledge of the fact, that
sixty thousand people went to Baker-street bazaar to see the cattle show — to feast their
eyes on panting porkers, asthmatic sheep, and apoplectic oxen. We should doubt whether
the meat is better becaiise the animals are stuffed out to a size hitherto unparalleled
except on the external paintings of penny shows, where the living monsters are represented
about twice the height and breadth of the caravan where the public are invited to \4sit
them. The present, however, is the age of enlargement. Shopkeepers make an-angements
for the enlargement of their premises ; the legislature decrees the enlargement of
prisoners for debt ; newspaper proprietors enlarge their sheets ; and, in order to keep
pace with the enlarged views which are prevalent in the present day, the agriculturists
have commenced pennanently enlarging their cattle. Perhaps the remains of gigantic
animals that geologists have occasionally lighted on may be traced to some antedilu\'ian
cattle show, and our ancestors may have rushed to an exhibition of prize mammoths with
the same eagerness we of the present day evince in running after overgrown beeves and
idarmingly blown-out muttons.

As we are infonned that there is stiU " room for improvement," we must presume
that more extensive bullocks, and more extravagantly exaggerated sheep than any we
have yet seen, are threatened by the Smithfield Cattle Club. To us there is something
painfully pantomimic in the thought ; and we look forward to the possibility of the
extinction of mutton chops,
except as huge joints — a
state of things which wiU
be niinous to the pure chop-
house interest. Already does
Brobdignagian beef choke
up the entrance to the
butchers' shops ; and exten-
sive indeed must be the
scale upon which the busi-
ness of weighing it is con-
ducted.

It has occurred to us
that the same care and ex-
pense which are lavished on the fattening of animals might be beneficiidly applied to the
feeding of our own species, and we should suggest that the experiment shoidd ho tried, by
offering premiums for prize paupers. Overseers and relieving-ofiicers might be justly
proud of sending up favourable examijles of what could be done by judicious dieting ; and
the Poor Law Commissioners would no doubt be glad of the opportunity of vindicating

Ha ! that's something like a mutton chop!

THE BUBBLE OF LIFE.

their system from the starvation stigma wliich is now generally attached to it. A fat
pauper, labelled East Retford Union, would be the best answer that could be made to the
reports which have gone al)road with reference to the workhouse regulations of the place
alluded to.

It is, however, to be feared that the prize patiper show would not tui-n out a very
satisfactory affair, for though unlimited oatmeal has a fattening effect on beasts, the
same substance diluted into gruel, and that very sparingly administered, would hardly
pi-oduce in human beings a degree of obesity that would fit them to enter the pens of
Baker-street in competition with the annual cattle show. Perhaps the system would
answer better for schoolmasters, who might form themselves into a fat-boy club, and
exhibit annual specimens of the pinguidity attained by the scholars of their respective
establishments. This would enable parents to select for their sons a school where the
quality of the keep could be at once judged of by the plumpness of the boys exhibited.

We merely throw out these hints as suggestions for improving the human race by
applying the principle of cattle shows, which are said to be extremely conducive to the
amelioration of the breed of animals.

THE BUBBLE OF LIFE.

BY BALZAC D ANOIS.

LI, the son of Bedreddin, sat watching his boy, as the latter dilated
his naturally chubby cheeks by the pleasant and intellectual amuse-
ment of forming soap-bubbles. The boy, in obedience to the fickle-
ness of his nature, having abandoned this innocent recreation for the
more objectionable one of throwing stones at the son of Noureddin,
in the next street, the good Ali walked up to the small vessel of
lather, and commenced blowing bubbles on his own account. And,
ti-xJy, it is a marvellously agreeable pm-suit to see one's own breath
take to itself a new corporeal form, and disport itself about at a
height to which its original body could never think of ascending.
Then, when one has watched the progress of the buljble with some-
thing like j)arental anxiety, and has seen it biirst, and diffuse itseK
into nothingness, there is a touch of the tragic in the event that
gives a zest to the amusement. Sometimes the bubble, from its size, or the bi-illiancy
of its colours, begets a peculiar interest greater than that of bubbles in general, and its
fate is watched with something like intense anxiety. This was the case with our friend
Ali ; who, after he had seen a score or two of bubbles swell themselves, and commit su.icide
in various sort, began to produce one of such a peculiar aspect, that his mind — which was
not very extended — was absorbed in its contemplation.

At first, there was nothing very remarkable in this same bubble. It was a colourless
little affair, such as one may see over and over again, but soon it began to collect the images
of the things around it in a surprising manner, just as though it were a highly-poKshed
mirror. Presently it began to exhibit more than this merely reflective nature, and to show

14 THE BUBBLE OF LIFE.

an action on ita part, as it were, new-forming the images, and rendering them less vivid
indeed, but ordered with more regularity. Then new images seemed to be reflected in the
bubble, and these were continually new-formed : so that the surface became so variegated,
and in such a state of rapid variation, that Ali thought he had never seen anything half
so wonderfid. He felt, too, as if it were not in his power to stop the formation of the
bubble, but that, by some might of its own, it di-ew his breath from his hmgs, and thus
effected its expansion. And an enormous size it attained ; and the eyes of Ali, as they
watched the increase, seemed to rival it in expansive power.

At last, the great, variegated, incomparable bubble detached itself from the end of the
pipe, and ascended majestically, though somewhat tottering with its o^vn magnitude, in the
ail'. The good Ali, resting his hands on his hips, sui-veyed the ascent with a complacent
mien, as though he thought it might be some little talent on his own pai-t that had con-
tributed to the formation of such a wonderful thing.

" Ho, ho, dull Ali — ha, ha, duU Ali ; weU mayst thou watch thy bubble, for it is of
more import to thee than thy heavy brain conceives. That is the bubble of thy life, foolish
Ali ; and when that bursts, lubberly Ali, there is an end of thee altogether, for thou wilt
then die, and relieve the world of thy cumbersome presence."

These words, which struck his ear with most unpleasant effect, and without his ha%'ing
the slightest notion whence they proceeded, startled honest Ali not a little. So, then, all
his life, and his hopes of improving in chess till he shovdd beat old Noureddin, and of
obtaining one more lawfiU ^vife in addition to the three he had ab*eady, and of seeing his
infant son a cadi — all this was to depend on the existence of a frail, miserable, soap-bubble
— an extraordinary bubble to be sure, but a mere soap-bubble notwithstanding ! Perhaps
the voice spoke not the tnith, — but no, that was not the case ; there was a boding voice in
All's own heart that informed him that what he had heard teas perfectly tnie.

With this impression on his mind, the sickening sensation which Ali felt as he saw
the bubble just brush against a comer of his house, is rather to be imagined than described.
An expected collision against the branch of a tree produced a like disagreeable feeling.
But the bubble rose higher and higher in perfect safety, and idtimately went out of sight ;
though Ali, whose whole soid was intent on this one object, long fancied that it was within
the reach of his powers of vision.

Ali went to bed that evening, nervous, fidgety, ill ; he woke without appetite, with
parched lips and tongue without moisture. He felt that every moment might be his last, —
nay, that he had already lived longer than he had a right to expect ; and the feeling of
imcertainty was homble. However, he got through the day, and the next day, and the day
after that — and then a week passed, and then a month passed, and he was stiU living. Gra-
dually the bubl)le faded from his niiud; he again took pleasure in watching the expanding
talents of his son, and had actually driven Noureddin to a drawn game.

About this time. All's friend, Ibrahim, paid him a visit. Ibrahim was a clever man.
and a great traveller ; and when he told of the wonders he had seen in foreign countries,
it added great zest to the coff"ee of the faithful. Sometimes, indeed, he would deviate a
little from the actual truth, and tell things such as no wise man could well believe ; but
this fault he possessed in common with aU travellers. Thus he would say that he had been
in a ccjimtry, where, when a sage had wi'itten a poem, and got two or three wandering
Bedouins to recite it, the Bedouins were rewarded with their weight in gold, while the sage
himself was forced to live on dry bread and herbs. Also he would say that he had seen a
land where poets who simg ghazels sweeter than those of Hafiz, were allowed to perish for
want ; l)ut that directly they were dead, all the scheiks, and viziers, and cadis, woiUd huny
to the corjisc, and bury it with a world of expense and ceremony, or perhaps hold a grand

TIIK BUBBLE OF LIFP:;. 15

feast in liis liouse more than fifty years afterwards. All this was so absurd that, of course,
uo one believed it ; and though none liked to offend the good Ibrahim by an open con-
tradiction, the worthy Mussulmans would smile significantly at one another, and express
by the winking of their eyes that they were not duped.

This Ibrahim had lately been sailing in the air in a little boat, which was suspended
to a large silk bag, filled with some inflammable liquid, the nature of which he would never
reveal ; and he came to Ali to give him an account of his journey. He told him how he
rose so high, that houses, trees, and rivers all vanished beneath him — how he passed the
clouds, and could see nothing but the sky and the mist below.

" And then, of course, you met no bird, and saw no object whatever ?" asked Ali.

" Yes, one thing I did see," said Ibrahim. " I saw a moderately large sphei'e, more
like a soap-bubble than anything else, floating not many yards from my boat."

" A soap-bubble !" exclaimed Ali. " And what became of it ?"

" I don't know," replied Ibrahim ; " it went out of sight. I had indeed thrown a pebble
at it, which I had with me, but I missed it."

AU darted a look of hate at Ibrahim. Monstrous act ! From mere wantonness — from
one of those merely petulant fits that tempt an idle boy to jerk a stone at a sparrow —
Ibrahim had aimed a pebble at the existence of his bosom friend. Ali had never thought
so meanly of Ibrahim before ; moreover, he recollected that about the time of the aerial
voyage, he had felt uncommonly ill. Doubtless this was the efi'ect of the accursed
pebble.

He could listen no longer, and conversation began to flag awfully. Ibrahim, disgusted
at the small allowance of attention he received, soon took his leave, and Ali was left alone.
All the comfort that oblivion had of late bestowed was gone. The bubble was resuscitated
in his mind, and haunted him like a frightful spectre. To bed he could not go. What
should he do to relieve his bosom from its dreadful oppression ? At last he resolved that
he would call on the wise man Mahmoud, who lived in the vicinity, and had great skiU in
herbs and minerals.

The night was far advanced, and the moon shone brightly, but the sage had not retired
to rest ; the light of the lamp stiU glimmered from the window. Ali knocked at the door,
entered, and stated his case to Mahmoud, hoping that some ingenious device might be
contrived to ensnare the peregrinating bubble, and that some precious essence might be
applied to it that would prevent it from bvirsting. The sage heard his story and his wish ;
but, instead of replying, stepped to the back of his apai'tment, and drawing aside a curtain,
pointed to a mirror.

Ali looked into the mirror, and saw countless bubbles darting about in every direction.
Some were coloured and variegated as his own bubble was when it ascended into the
air: some were coloui-less, as his own had been at the beginning. Some seemed to
start into existence — whence, it was imi)ossible to tell ; others burst and vanished ; some,
as it were, of their own accord, others because they had come into collision. These latter,
Ali observed, generally became of a blood-red hue before they disappeared. After he
had for some time gratified his eyes with the curious spectacle, he asked Mahmoud what it
signified.

" The bubbles that you see," replied Mahmoud, " represent the lives of all the faithful.
Some you see as they are born, some in full activity, some perishing. You have come to
me complaining that your life depends on the existence of a bubble, and I show you that
this is no peculiar calamity on your part, but that all your neighbours are in the same
predicament. There is to be sure this difference, that they are unconscious of the fact,
which some mysterious power, for good or evil, has revealed to you. Fear not, Ali ; always

CUTTING DOWN AX ARTICLE.

be prepared for the bursting of the bubble — but tremble not, f(-)r Allah will presei'\'e it till
it suits his purpose to destroy it."

Many, very many years had elapsed. All's son had become a wise cadi, and all Bagdad
talked of his wisdom, and pointed to Ali as blessed by such an offspring. And through
all the city was AJi's skill in chess renowned ; and many who travelled for miles to i)lay
with him, averred that the like had never been seen. With a long white beard descending
over his chest, and with a bright eye, Ali sat before his door, reading the Koran. A large
globe, the surface of which was tinged with many colours that grew fainter and fainter,
while from within it beamed a white light, descended from the sky, and stood trembling
before him. It shook, as it were, convulsively ; the colours were obliterated. It burst,
and Ali was no more. But the white light long continued shining, and at length ascended
into the heavens.

CUTTING DOWN AN ARTICLE.

A Dialogue between the Editor and hix Ama7iueni>is.

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."

CHRISTMAS WAITS.

Tlie result of this advertisement was a meeting, at whicli a sele.t bau<i uf Hve was
an-anged, and the following programme agreed upon : —

" The Nobility, Gentry, Housemaids, Cooks, and Nurserymaids in general, are most
respectfully informed that

THE MIDNIGHT CONCERTS

will commence for the season immediately.

THE BAND

wiU be on the scale of former years, and wiU comprise Artists who, in their peculiar walk
(about the streets), are acknowledged to be unrivalled. It will consist of a real Trombone
of highly-polished brass, which, sliding to the length of three yards, completely ""'
the idea of

ealizes

Two Cornets-d -piston, with all the additional keys fitted to the music of Locke, and a highly-
polished Piccolo, warranted to reach a higher note than the highest note in the Bank of
England. In the course of the season the following pieces will be given. The band being
desirous of "■ettin"' rid of all old scores, have had new scores made of the music mentioned
in the ensuing programme.

" Pot Pourri, commencing with ' I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls,' breaking
down just before the shake, and terminating with the coda of ' Still so Gently o'er me
Stealing.'

" Grand duet from Norma, the very high notes being supiilied by whistling, supported
by a strong thorough-bass of the Trombone.

" Snooks's OAvn Polka (for the first time in this country), as hummed to Snooks by a
native of Bohemia— a dealer in cigars— and arranged by Snooks for a Coniet-<)-pision ; two
pair of ankle-jacks to do the national stamping accompaniment, and a Piccolo— expressly
for these ccmcerts.— N.B. None is genuine without the stamp of Snooks's own highlow, to
f(jrge wliich is felony.

" ' Wake, dearest, wake,* addressed to the Housemaids of England ; arranged in

FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. 19

alternate lines for tlie Trombone and the Piccolo, with a lul-U-e-te accompaniment for two
voices, being an bumble attempt to carry out the notion of musical comedy, so admirably
conceived and executed by Haydn in his popular Toy Symphony. — N.B. This piece will be
performed in the absence of the police from their regular beats, so that it will probably be
repeated several times in the course of the same evening.

" The Strand Quadrille and Fleet-street Galop, with the St. Clement's Valse a deux
Temps, introducing the celebrated Clock crotchets, leading to a wind-up in different keys,
and terminating in a slow movement.

'• The streets visited will be on the extensive scale of past seasons ; and for the benefit
of parties at a distance (that is to say, sleeping at the top of the house), the following
arrangements have been decided on : —

" Monday. The Strand and Fleet-street.

" Tuesday. Cheapside and a popular thoroughfare.

" Wednesday. The Strand, and (1st time) St. Martin's-laue.

" Thursday. A favourite Square, and other popular localities.

" Friday (last time). Cheapside, with an established Hill, and (only time this season)
the Old Bailey.

" Saturday. A Crescent, in which the whole strength of the company will appear, with
an entirely New Road, and a variety of streets, which will be announced in the bills of the
day. Being for the benefit of the Piccolo, and positively his last appearance previous to
his departure for New Zealand.

" Monday. A selection of sti'eets, with an alley in which the Cornet-d-piston will appear,
and execute a solo for his own benefit.

" Tuesday (the last night of performing before the holidays). A favoui-ite district, vdth,
first and only time, Fulwood's Rents, and a grand Square, embracing the strength of the
company, aided by numerous auxiliaries. On this occasion Signor Giuseppe Sartore will
preside at the organ."

Jfiisljions for |anuarD»

OuB Paris correspondent has sent us over a bonnet and cloak, that we may judge of
the fashions for ourselves, and describe them accordingly. The cloak is of fur, and par-
takes about equally of the tippet and the cardinal, except that there seems to have been a
piece sliced off the cardinal, and long bits appear to have been added on to the ends of the
tippet. These long ends being liable to be caught by the wind, are not adapted to afford
warmth ; but by blowing about in all directions, they take off that air of stiffness which is
so destriictive to elegance. For materials, lace, velvet, and fur are chiefly in vogue ; but
those who wish to unite all three, may wear black velvet mantelets, richly bordered with
fur, and trimmed with broad black lace, which will enable the wearer, Miss Johnson, to
defy any competition with which the less fortunate Miss Thompson may have threatened
her. For carriages and morning calls, ermine is the fashionable fur ; but for marketing
or wet weather, squirrel is a sufficient substitute. The imitation ermine, produced by a
groundwork of unquestionable rabbit, and tipped in various places with the tail of the
ordinary lamb, is not so popular as it used to be.

One of the greatest novelties of the season is a white satin cloak, lined with ermine,
which is said to be well adapted for visiting theatres. If a lady wishes to collect a mob
round her, and to be the brilliant centre of a circle of inide juveniles, we should strongly

FASHIONS FOll JANUARY.

recommend the costume alluded to. We like to see fashion going hand-in-hand with
economy ; and we are happy to find that it is customary to convert un chdle qui ne plait
plus, or, in other words, a worn-out shawl, into a dressing-gown. Among Gentlemen's

Fashions, a Tweedish wrapper, qui ne plait plus, may be converted to the same useful
purpose. The old custom of carrying scissors and pincushions suspended from the corsage,
which our gi-andmothers wei-e addicted to, is beginning to revive ; but the articles sus-
pended are scent-bottles and tweezers, rings and bracelets — the whole suspended by an
enamelled chain, and called a chatelaine.

Our space will not allow us to go this month into the Gentlemen's costumes, but we
have made such aiTangements with the best dressei's in Europe, aided by tailors of the
highest celebrity, that the " Table-Book " -vnM in future be, in this respect.

The Glass of Fnsliion mid tlic Mould of Form.'

PRACTICAL MESMERISM.

Relieving a Gentleman from a state of Coma.

PE ACTIO AL MESMERISM.— By. THE Editor.

The science of Mesmerism is not by any means of modem date ; and in looking up
the subject with the eye of an antiquarian, we find tbat a farce called Animal Magnetism
was very popular with our ancestors. Mesmerism is defined to be the transmission of a
substance called magnetic fluid from one person to another, without any communication
between them. This we could easily understand ; as, for instance, a boy may throw a stone
through a window, and hit some one on the other side, which is transmitting a substance
from one person to another without any communication between the parties concerned.
There is, however, one awkward peculiarity about the magnetic fluid ; namely, that " its
nature is unknown, and even its existence has never been demonstrated."* Nevertheless,
we are called upon by the Mesmerists to admit it on the one hand, while we serve them with
a notice to produce it on the other ; and thus a point of drfference arises which we are
content to reserve for the opinion of the best judges. The magnetic action can be con-
veyed to very great distances, and in fact the length to which some Mesmerists go is quite
astonishing. In this respect Magnetism resembles the long-bow, the range of which is
known to be beyond anything.

Children above the age of seven can magnetise quite as well as adults ; but juvenile
Mesmerists ought, it seems, to be discouraged, because the exercise of the art stops their
gi'owth. Perhaps it was the practice of Magnetism that stopped the growth of General
Tom Thumb, and caused him to become imbued with those magnetic qualities which he
appears to be possessed of. Another property which the Mesmerists assign to their art is,
that of curing more easily those who have the least the matter with them. A fortiori, it
must be more successful ui curing those who have nothing the matter with them

* Deleuze's Practical Instruction in Animal Magnetism, p. 9.

22 PRACTICAL MESMERISM.

at all ; and such patients woxxlcl, no doubt, derive from Mesmerism all the improvement
possible.

Magnetism is said by its friends to be particulariy eflBcacious in seconding those cures
wliicb Nature has commenced. Mesmerism, according to its advocates, goes hand-in-hand
with Nature in drawing disease to a conclusion ; while its opponents compare it to the
exhausted and useless hack haniessed by the side of the strong and serviceable horse,
merely " to make believe there was a pair of 'em."

We have stated briefly what Magnetism is, and we now proceed to give a few plain
directions how to practise it.

The old theory relative to the cooking of a hare is of very extensive application, and
you must first catch your Mesmerisee if you are about to turn Mesmerist. Having got
him, you must truss him down to a chair, and take hold of his thumbs till they are about
as warm as your own fingers. It is to be presumed that you will have ah'eady had recourse
to the usual Mesmeric stuffing, by the introduction of highly-seasoned articles connected
with Mesmerism, which should be inclosed, if possible, in a puff-paste ; and you may then
proceed to baste with the magnetic fluid, yourself acting as a kind of basting-spoon, by
which, with a continued movement of the hand over the top of the head and before the face
of the patient, you pour the magnetic fluid all over him.

"When you magnetise you must make your passes from the head to the foot, and
never from the foot to the head, though no reason is given for this rule, imless that the
former motion is more likely to go down from mere sympathy with the downward move-
ment, while by the ascending process it might soon be all up with the Mesmerist who
practised it. It is chiefly by the thumbs that the fluid escapes from the Mesmeriser,
and is communicated to the Mesmerisee ; a fact which induces us to believe that
Mesmerism was one of the black arts practised by the witches in Macbeth, who when they
exclaimed —

" liy the pricking of my thnmlis.
Something wicked this way comes,"

were no doubt en rapport with the Thane of Glamis. The fact that the scene is a moun-
tainous pass, cannot, we think, fairly be used to support our theory as to the magnetic
influence exercised over Macbeth by the weird sisters. Mesmerism, accoi-ding to its advo.
cates, will cure everjrthing, from a pain in the crown of the head to a blister on the sole of
the foot ; but as the passes must always be made in a descending direction, a patient must
stand upon his head if he wishes to place his corns or chilblains in the hands of the Mes-
merist. There is a curious case recorded of one M. H * * * . a mate of a vessel, who had a
coxip de soleil, or stroke of the sun, extracted from the top of his head into a glass of mag-
netised water.* After that, the scrip in the company established for extracting sunbeams
from cucumbers ought to begin to look up a bit. What liecame of the coup de soleil after
its extraction we are not told, but it certainly ought to have been placed under a glass case,
and sent to the British Association, who would no doubt have received it with due reverence.
Had it turned out to be mere moonshine, it would have told in amazingly well with a few
other of the discoveries of the highly respectable body alluded to.

But we now come to the more important branch of the subject ; and if our previous
remarks have induced in the miud of the reader a tendency to a sort of magnetic sleep, he
will perhaps be led to guess that it is somnambulism we are alluding to. This state is
induced by getting the patient into a condition of what is called coma, which produces a
very happy indifference as to the mode adopted for putting an end to it.

* Deltuzc, p. iio.

rRACTICAL MESMEEISM.

But covia, or (as some term it) comma, is not where Mesmerism ouglit to make a stop.
Coma is only the commencement of the end ; and that great end is clairvoyance, or the
power of seeing into Avhat may hn termed literally the middle of next week, for objects are,
it is said, visible to the clairvoyant which are at least ten days' journey distant from him
who sees them. If this power is to be obtained by Mesmerism, why fritter it away upon
such very small matters as it appears to be at present employed upon ? Such questions
as, "Are you asleep ?" " When shall I wake you?" which M. Deleuze recommends should
be the sort of inteiTogatives put to a clairvoyant, are on a par with " How's your mother ?"
and a variety of similar queries, which are frequently addressed to every one in general
and no one in particular by the clown in a pantomime. If the clairvoijant can see what is
going on at a distance, he may as well answer great jDolitical questions as little social ones.
*' Are you asleep ?" might be superseded by such an inquiry as, " How long will the
British Lion continue dormant ?" a question which must be very interesting to those
persons who are constantly complaining of the noble animal alluded to being in the arms
of Morpheus, as well as in the arms of England.

To the economist of the public money Mesmerism offers a wide field, and we particu-
larly call the attention of Mr. Hume to the saving that might be effected by introducing
clairvoyance into one or two departments of the government. We recommend the
honourable member to get leave to introduce a bill for the better ordering of the Coast-
Guard Service, putting all the old-fashioned telescopes into Schedule A, rei)ealing the
cutlass clauses in aU preceding acts, and substituting clairvoyance along the coast for the
arduous and inefficient " look out " which is kept under the present system.

Whatever may be the general opinion as to the poUcy of planting a telescope by Act
of Parliament in the back of the head of a preventive-man, there are certain cases in which
clairvoyance, if it enables one man to see the actions of others, ought, without hesitation, to
be put in practice. Who can question the very great advantage to be derived from
mesmerising a judge, or a chancellor ? the system would no doubt diminish the amount of
business, for how few of those who now go to law woiild take the step if they were sure of
meeting with strict justice ! But if it would be beneath the dignity of the judges to
exercise any other than that natiiral clairvoyance which is characteristic of nearly the
whole bench, surely there woidd be nothing derogatory in keeping the usher constantly in
a state of coma, so that he might put a right interpretation on the evidence offered by the

fV^i^wi'^'

PRACTICAL MESMERISM.

The labours of professors and pupils in universities and colleges can be materially
abridged, if Mesmerism can achieve the wonders which its advocates allege it to be capable
of. Its applicability to scholastic purposes is obvious, but it would exterminate many
distinctions, for instead of the student rising by degrees, he might Mesmerise himself at
once into all the qualifications necessaiy for the highest honours.

In the more mechanical departments of education Mesmerism might surely be most
advantageously used ; for we are told that a piece of stick dipped into magnetised water,
and placed over a pei-son's hand, would have the effect of lifting the fingers. In perfect
analogy with this phenomenon, a Mesmerised fiddlestick would, of course, elevate the toes
into all the positions which are taught by the dancing-master.

To return, however, to the social sphere. How conchisive might clairvoyance become
to the preservation of that exceedingly precious article, the peace of private families ! The
plate which accompanies the present paper illustrates the advantages of clairvoyance to
every age, every sex, and every member of the domestic establishment.

The boy, ambitious of becoming a soldier, rendered clairvoyant by the comatising care
of his Mesmeric mother, would be made to see how, if he himself were not cut off in all his
glory, his arms might, to use a parliamentary phrase, ''pair off" with his legs at an early
period.

The heiress, mesmerised by her father or her guardian, would see her treacherous
admirer on his knees to her money-bags; and a jiidicious bestowal of the sack, without
its contents, would be the salutary consequence.

The ban vivant, could ho be rendered clairvoyant, would take a very enlarged view of
his own condition, as affected by port and its customary concomitants.

The rich widow, on the eve of effecting a second matrimonial alliance, might be saved
by clairvoyance from tiiisting herself and fortune to a spendthrift, who, as he had melted
the heart of the one, would melt the substance of the other.

The cook, owning to the soft impeachment of a follower, and thrown into coma by
the housemaid's friendly hand, would ascertain the object of that follower's pursuit to lie
in her master's larder alone. By-the-by. there is no belle in England that can boast of so
many admirers as a kitchen cupboard, which must, indeed, be a sad flirt, if we are to judge
by the number of hearts it ensnares, and the variety of suitors it encoui-ages.

ON A BLOCK OF ICE BROUGHT FROM AMERICA.

The master, confident in the fidelity of his sei-vants, happening to practise a little
auto-Mesmerism, which Mesmerists tell us may easily be done, finds himself in a state of
clah^oyance, with reference to his attached domestics, with whom he might, perhaps, trust
his life, but certainly not the key of his cellar.

Such are a few, and only a few,
of the useful and important purposes
to which Mesmerism may be turned,
if its adherents would only condescend
to make it practical. In fact. Mes-
merism, if it be a true science, is des-
tined to change the face of society ;
and, in the event of its taking a strong
hold, it will give a strange turn to
man in some of his most important
features. For instance, the nose,
which under ordinary circumstances
would rather persuade the mouth to
bite it off than luring a blush of dis-
honour into the face, resigns itself ignobly into the hands of the Mesmerist; and a gentle-
man in a state of coma will innocently abandon that organ which should be, of aU others,
" up to snuff," to be sportively converted into a pincushion.

ON A BLOCK OP ICE BROUGHT FROM AMERICA WITHOUT MELTING, AND PLACED
IN THE WINDOW OF A SHOP IN THE STRAND.

Ice plac'd within a shop or room
WiU tiirn to water, we presume.
For 'tis a solvent all agree ;
But here In-solvent ice we see.

Yet though we cannot solve the ice.
We solve the riddle in a trice.
It comes from Pennsylvania's state.
And therefore will not liquidate.

26 THE DOOMED ONE.

THE DOOMED ONE.

a Calt ot tfit fiincttrni!) (tttnturp.

Heindrich Stechert was the only son of Diedrich Stechert, of Schnapsbergen, on
the boi-ders of the Hai-tz. Heindvich's mother had died in giving birth to his sister Menie,
who, at the time of which we write, was just enteiing her eighteenth year. Her bright
blue eyes and rosy lips had already won her many admirers, and dearly as Heindi-ich loved
his sister, it was not without some feelings of jealousy that he witnessed the admiration
Menie's beauty commanded from all who knew her, for Heindidch was unhappily defonued.
He had a high shoulder and a club-foot ; and being of quick apprehension, he had not
failed to obsei-ve that others, far his inferiors in mind and position, were much more
favoured by the fair maidens of his acqiiaintance.

It was customary with Menie and her brother to devote some time eveiy evening to
the practice of music, of which both were passionately fond, and it was at the conclusion of
one of those performances, on the 15th of Febniary, that Heindi-ich threw himself into his
father's old easy-chair and sighed heavily.

" What ails my brother P" said Menie. " Does the boar's head or the sauerkraut lie
heavy with my brother ?"

" No, Menie," replied Heindrich, " it is not that — but — no — give me my pipe, Menie," —
and the loving sister flew to the study of her brother to obey his command. Whilst
searching for the meerschaum she discovered a clue to the uneasiness of her beloved
Heindrich, for on the table were two sketches, one representing her brother defonned, as
he was then, the other depicting him as he might be. " Poor dear Heindi-ich !" exclaimed
Menie, bursting into tears ; " who has had the heart to send you such insults as these ? If
they come from any friend of mine, I'U cut them for ever." Menie seized the oiFensive
caricatures, and having torn them into a thousand pieces, dried her eyes, and took the pipe
to Heindrich. When she returned to the room she found him stiU seated in the same
position as she had left him, and fearing to question or to be questioned, she placed the
smoking appurtenances on the table, and resolving to send up her brother's usual potation
of hot schnapps-and-water by the maid, left the room.

Menie's conduct was not lost upon Heindi-ich, and he muttered as he probed the bowl
and blew down the stem of his meerschaum, " Hum ! she's guessed what's the matter
with me — she's heard what the women say of me — and yet Richard the Third got a wife in
twenty minutes in spite of the mountain on his back ; and Byi-on was the idol of the ladies,
though his foot was as diflScult to fit with a ready-made boot as mine is ; but then — I've
the luck to own both a hump and a club."

The conclusion he had arrived at seemed far from agreeable, and he putfed away at his
pipe with intense energy. " I'll try, however," — he mused to himself — " I may not be so
objectionable ;" and as this thought passed through his mind, Keziah. the uiaid-of-all-
work, entered with the hot schnapps-and-water.

" Keziah," said Heindrich ; and then hesitated, as though feai-ing to trust himself
further.

" Did you speak, sir P" inquired Keziah, nibbing not the cleanest of faces with the
dirtiest of aprons.

Heindrich paused for a moment, and then said, very hastily, " Keziah, wiU you give
me a kiss P"

THE DOOMED ONE. 27

The girl looked so perfectly incredulous that she had heard aright, that Heindrich
thought it necessary to repeat the inquiry. " What !" exclaimed Keziah, her indignation
really mantling through the dirtiness of her face. " Kiss you ! kiss you ! Well : Guys
is riz !" And with a laugh, hilariously contemptuous, the maid-of-all-work made the
house ring.

Heindrich paced the room for a few minutes ; and then, throwing his ample cloak
around him, he took his cane in his hand, placed his hat on his head, and hurried into the
street.

"Yes ! it shall be done. Cost what it may, I will obtain the power I have so long
coveted. Roch Albert's skill shall make me envied whei-e now I am despised." As he
spoke Heindrich stood before the door of the Magian — for siich Roch Albert was now
accounted by many who had long derided the vaunted power of the being who was to make
Heindrich happy (happy ?) by the knowledge he so much desired. Heindrich's heart beat
fast within him as he saw Roch Albert's door open in answer to his summons — and more
so when an aged crone introduced him into the chamber of the occultist.

'• Be seated, sir," said the old woman ; " the master will be disengaged presently — and
see, he is here already." Without making any obeisance, the wrinkled crone left the
room.

" Tour business, if you please," inquired the Magian. Heindrich's tongue became diy
as pipe-clay as he looked upon the man whose power he coveted and envied. Roch Albert
was clothed in a long gown, secured at the waist by cords and tassels : his dark beard was
unshaven, and his long elf-locks fell about his shoulders; and it was not imtil he had
thrown himself into a large arm-chair, and wiped his lips with a cambric handkerchief,
that Heindrich found u.tterance.

" I would become a disciple, O mighty master. I would purchase fi'om you a knowledge

of those mystic signs by which thou hast acquired a fame as deathless — as deathless as "

Heindrich paused for a simile.

"Enough!" said Roch Albert; " I understand you;" and opening a volume, displayed
to the delighted gaze of Heindrich the mystic signs which were to make him the most
fascinating of his sex. As Heindrich gazed upon the characters, Roch Albert had taken
his seat at the opposite side of the room. Strange and enchanting sounds seemed to
pervade the aii-, and Heindrich read their meaning in the volume before him. Drunken,
nay, maddened with delight, the poor hunchback threw his purse upon the table, and

i-ushed from the house of the enchanter.

*********

" Menie ! dear Menie ! congratulate me on my newly- acquired power."
" I dare not, Heindrich dear, I dare not. I fear that all you have acquired so dearly
will prove your curse," replied Menie.

Heindi-ich laid down his pipe, and smoked no more for an hour.

** * * * * ***

Bright and beautiful were the faces assembled in the little di'awing-room of Hubert
Spitzhaiiser. Noble forms with luxuriant beards were seeking to win smiles and words
from lips as rosy and lovely as an autumn sunset. Their efforts were in vain. Each time
the knocker reverberated through the house, maiden would turn to maiden and whisper,
"I hope 'tis he — I hope 'tis Heindrich." At length he came, and every beauteous being
crowded round the hitherto despised hunchback ; voices that breathed only music, bade
him welcome ; and hands as soft as the paw of a sleeping kitten, pressed his in friendly
recognition. Menie was wi-ong ! The spell had brought him happiness. Hour after
hour he invoked the sounds he had heard at Roch Albert's, and was rewarded with the

28 LEAVES FllOM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE.

outpourings of many a happy heart. And thus it was, day after day, night after night,
week after week, — where'er he went he was called upon to exercise his wondrous powers,
until Menie's prognostication was frequently present to Heindrich. — " Can she be right ?"
he thought : " alas ! I fear it — already do I grow weary of this continual solicitation — this
continual exertion." Days, nights, and weeks passed on, and Heindi-ich felt the cukse
that was with him. Never ! never was he to know peace again. Those mystic soimds
were asked for by all ; for aU must he awake them. In his slumbers they were in his ears ;
some demon instrument for ever thumped the accursed sounds : —

^i^ ^ ^- * . ^^. X--^.'S^^

O ' ' '-^ — u— '

Yes, gentlest, dearest of readers — Heindrich had acquired his influence with the
ladies by his knowledge of the sixty Polkas of Jullien ; where'er he went he was the
musician of the evening, until Heindrich, the unhappy Heindrich, became Polka-haunted.

LEAVES FKOM A KEW EDITION OF LEMrKIERE.

BT THE EDITOR.

^NEAS, the son of Anchiscs and Venus, was a Trojan pi-ince, and he behaved like a
regidar Trojan on several occasions. He was placed under the care of a nymph till he was
live years old, or, in other words, put out to nui-se ; but his education was completed imder
Chiron, who seems to have kept an academy for heroes, or perhaps, an evening school for
classicfil adults. He taught music, war, and medicine; so that he was one of those general
practitioners whom Sir James Graham's proposed bill would have licensed to kiU or cure
according to circumstances. After leaving school ^neas man-ied Miss Creusa Priam, the
daughter of old Priam, and had a son and heir named Ascanius. He fought well in the
Trojan war, and distinguished himself in a manner worthy of the fire-brigade at the
burning of Troy, carrying his old father pickaback out of the flames, with his son in his
hand, but husband-like learing his wife to make the best of her way after him.

Some say that he returned to hide her, for which others read Ida ; but Strabo makes
him out a sort of Cubitt, who entered largely into building speculations, among which was
the rebuilding of Troy, with all its streets and squares. But Virgil insists that he only
made a passage into Italy. After some extensive travelling, he arrived with his father in
Sicily, where the old gentleman died ; and the son, then going to sea again, was cast on
the shores of Africa, where Dido set her cap at himmth considerable earnestness, ^uoa^;
gave her a good deal of encouragement, and had at one time serious intentions; but the
gods forbidding the banns, he absconded, to avoid the consequences of an action, either by
sea or land, for a breach of promise. Being again driven to Sicily, he consulted the
Cuma)an Sibyl — the Mademoiselle Le Normant of those days — who took him to the
Shades, where he met with tlie governor, Anchises, who told his son the fate that awaited
him. iEneas seems to have been a rather extensive ship-owner ; for after having lost no
less than thirteen, he an-ived at the Tiber, where he received an invitation to spend a few
weeks with Latinus, the king, who promised him in maiTiage his daughter Lavinia, who

LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE.

was no relation to " the lovely young Lavinia," who, according to Thomson, " once had
friends." There seems to have been a misunderstanding about this young lady's hand ;
for while her papa had offered it to ^neas, her mamma had promised it to Turnus. To
prevent any inconvenience, it was arranged that ^neas and Turnus should " fight it out;"

and the latter being killed, the former married Lavinia, and built Lavinium in honour of
her — much on the same princii)le as Queen Victoria caused the building of the Albert
Gate, in honour of the Prince Consort. -ZEneas succeeded his father-in-law on the Latin
throne ; but continuing piignacious, he was killed in a battle with the Etrurians — or, as
some say, he fell into the river Numicus, when his armour being heavy, and none of the
Humane Society being on the spot, he was unable to get out again.

jEsopus (or ^sop). — A Phrygian philosopher, who, though originally a slave, or
livery-servant, procured his liberty by the sallies of his genius, or, in other words, by
making jokes, which was taking a liberty in the double meaning of the term. He took a
toui' in Greece and Italy, but generally hung out at the court of Croesus, King of Lydia,
who sent him to consult the oracle of Delphi, of which ^sop made an excellent thing,
though Croesiis could make nothing of the answer of the oracle when it was brought to
him. ^sop is said to have been awfully severe on the Delphians, but the only sarcasm
that has been handed down to iis is a wi-etched specimen of aliortive humoiu-. He compared
the Delphians to floating sticks, which appear large at a distance, but are nothing when
brought near. The Delj)hians must have been particularly sensitive to have been hurt by
this dim bit of satire, which will not bear examination, for floating sticks woidd look
smaller at a distance than when they came near ; so that ^sop's sarcasm was as gi'eat a
failure in fact as in pungency. The Delphians were so dreadfidly cut up about it, that
they got up a charge against him of having secreted one of the sacred vessels of Apollo's
Temple, so that ^sop was probably the first man who was convicted of pot-stealing.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

Maximus Planudes says that -^sop was short and deformed, which is not true, though the
publishers of the school editions of his fables have adopted this view of him, and always
represent JSsop with a large hump on his back, and a modern watering-pot in his hand'
doing a bit of gardening.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS
in anU ©ut of JLonliflii.

BY THE EDITOR.

■f\tte the second.
'Tis sweet to watch a river in its course.

And pleasant 'tis to loiter on its marge,
Save when behind you an unheeded horse

Is drawing by a rope a loaded barge.
Sweet is the gentle murmuiing of the stream,

Its echo on the breezes softly dying —
But not so sweet, when waking from a di-eam.

You find yourself beneath its waters lying.
'Tis sweet to ramble on a towing-path.

Thinking of friends and years long past away.
But not so sweet an unexpected bath

Upon a very cold December day ; |

Ay, 'tis a bitter fact — as such I book it,
I know what such a bath must be — I took it.
I stood in Putney — on the wooden pier,

A clerk and waterman on either side.
Each pouring rapidly into my ear

Fair words in which 'twere folly to confide.
One with a wild and earnest scream.

Invites me to his fragile boat,
The other whispers, " Go by steam.

Unless you 'd rather sink than float."
I turn away as if in doubt,

"While they with wondrous power of lung
Proceed to fight the matter out.

With the artillery of tongue.

* * * *

The steamer had a gallant crew.

And hearts were brave though bauds were few ;

The captain was a tar as bluff

As ever gave the word to luff.

I've marked him as he trod the decks

Receive the fares and give the checks ;

Yet all the while. Avith eager zeal,

Keeping bis eye upon the wheel.

GUY GEEENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

And give the orders quick as thouglit
To keep the vessel hard-a-poi-t.
England, with mariners like these,
Must aye be mistress of the seas.
And wheresoe'er the ocean laves,
Britannia still must rule the waves.

*****

As the arrow set free

From its home in the quiver,
So are we — so are we.

As we shoot down the river.

*****

Four figures roiind the funnel cluster :
What is the meaning of the muster,
Wliy do they thus together stand ?
I see, I see, — the band — the band !
An ophycleide with awful groan,
Begins the concert all alone.
He might as well continue mute,

For none can compi-ehend his strains.
Till the assistance of a flute

The nature of the tune explains ;
As good advice in grumbling speech

Will fall vmheeded to the ground,
AJthough the heart at once 'twould reach.

If mingled with a gentler soimd.

*****

Sweet Battersea, I view thy shady bowers.

Where I did court the muse in happier hours.

And memory a tearful tribute yields

Unto thy merry groves — thy laughing fields ;

Thy gardens gushing with Pomona's stores,

Thy meadows skirted with bulrushy shores ;

Lying along by old Thamesis' side,

Natiu'e has surely decked thee for his bride.

Sweet Battersea, where Thomson lived and sung,

The home of Johnson, and the abode of Young ;

There flourished Smith, and there the imdying Brown

Rush'd from the tumult of the heartless town.

And there for lettered ease the classic Snooks,

From city's smoke flew with his harp and books.

Striking at intei^vals the cherished lyi*e.

And filling outside foolscap by the quire.

Fair Battersea, thy fatal charms

Have lured a hermit to thine arms ;

Upon thy coast a pilgrim dwells.

Who tickets for the steamer sells,

But no one ever doth intnide

Upon that pilgrim's solitude.

GUY GREENHOKN'S WAXDEPJXGS.

A ])0()k of checks before Mm lies,
"Which he regards with anxious eyes.
As if to read his fate, he'd look
Into that useless little book ;
And if a stranger seeks his wicket,
To pay a fare and take a ticket,
That pilgi-im looks with wildness round.
Scared by the unaccustomed sound.
At noon that pilgrim spreads his board
(Small luxiu-y his means afford) :
A Ijasin filled with humble fare,
Enough, but not a bit to spare :

Wliile in that savage, lone retreat.
Crows hover o'er the savoury meat ;
The baldness of the scene around
Gives to his f cai*s substantial ground ;
Until that hermit in his den
Begins to doubt his fellow-men;
And when for tickets they apply.

He thinks them not in earnest half.
But wildly at them winks his eye.

And tells them he is up to chaff.

* # * t- *

Our vessel anchors at the Railroad Pier,

We leave romantic Chelsea in our rear ;

High on the margin of the northern coast

Is Chelsea's Hospitid, and England's boast ;

The heroes — veterans — or what else you'd style 'em,

Ave there provided with a snug asylum ;

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. 33

The soldier 'neath his laurels may repose,

Found in his board, his lodging, and his clothes.

Ah ! Glory hangs its wi-eaths on sony pegs,

The stumps of arms cut oflF and wooden legs.

I turn my eyes from Chelsea's blood-stain'd site,

And see Vauxhall meandering on my right.

Vauxhall ! there is a magic in the soimd !

Step softly, for we are on classic ground.

From off the steamer vigorous fancy jumps

On to those walks once trod by Simpson's pumps ;

He was the type of elegance and ease,

He dimmed the lights that hung upon the trees ;

Their branches must have yielded to his bow,

But where, alas ! are Simpson's greetings now f*

He who a visit e'er did pay

To Yauxhall Gardens in the day.

Or e'en till daylight's dawn did wait,

After some gay and glittering fete.

Before the oilman's active fingers

Put out the lamps where light stiU lingers.

And mark'd the cold and cheerless air

Of the few guests remaining there ;

Would not believe aU look'd so bright

As late as the preceding night.

Such is the garden I explore ;

YauxhaU — but gay VauxhaU no more :

So coldly clean, so deadly fair —

We start, for all is wanting there.

Thy last year's fetes were smiles in death.

Which part not quite with parting breath ;

Thy glory's last receding ray,

A garish gaslight showing thy decay.

Adieu ! YauxhaU ; I look across the tide,

What vision greets me on the other side ?

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

" He who a visit e'er did pay."

If we remember rightly, Byron has some lines commencing —

" He who hath bent him o'er the dead,"

which may be thought to bear some resemblance to this portion of the Wanderings. The coincidence is certainly
striking, but it only shows that the contemplation of Vauxhall brought the same ideas into the mind of Greenhorn
as those suggested by Greece to Lord Byron.

UFI71ESIT7'

THE STAGE SEAM AX.

THE STAGE SEAMAN.

Man, in his relation to the boards of a minor theatre, is a very wonderful animaJ.
Curious, indeed, are the creatures that breathe the dramatic air, and inhabit the set pieces
of scenic life, ranging the canvas woods, and sauntering in the practicable gi-oves, listening
to the warbling woodlark in the band, or being summoned to the field of glory by a trum-
peter standing at the side scenes. Man, in this state, defies the sagacity of the ingenious

l^rl-

?"S^

■^m

•rm

mm- xis

mriii

\st Robber. Is that an ouse ? 2nd Hubbtr. No : it's a ninn. 3rd. Briber. No : It's a nut.

Pritchard, who flies flabbergasted from the contemplation of a being so utterly subversive
of all the usual theories.

Perhaps the habit of holding the miiTor up to nature, may account for the upside-
downishness which is so often met with in a dramatist's A-iew of humanity ; for let the
reader seize a dressing-glass — which is more convenient than a miiTor — and hold it up to
the ceiling — which is more come-at-able than nature — and the reflection will puzzle him as
to whether he is on his head or his heels. His wi'itiug-table will appear sticking to the
roof of the apartment ; the lamp in the centre of his room will seem to be standing on the
floor ; and his fire will be blazing away over, instead of underneath, his chimney-piece.
This practice, therefore, of holding up a niiiTor to anything, is calculated to throw an air
of topsyturviness over the object reflected ; and thus, as it has been just observed, may the
hoxdeverscment of human nature by the minor dramatist be at once accounted for. Perhaps
there is no finer illustration of the above remarks than the theatrical tar, or British sea-

THE STAGE SEAMAN.

man, whose total variation from all other seamen, British as weU as foreig-n, causes him
to stand alone ; though, by the by, the power of standing alone is shared by the skittle,
the noun substantive, and a variety of other articles that the imagination soon gets
crowded with.

To return, however, to the British seaman, as he used to be according to the 25th of
George the Second, and as he is according to the license of the Lord Chamberlain. The
British seaman tells everybody he meets to " Belay, there ;" which we find, by a reference
to a dictionary of sea-terms, is making a rope fast by turns round a pin or coil without
hitching or seizing it. He calls his legs his timbers, though timbers, in nautical language,
mean ribs; and he is continually requesting that they may be shivered. He is always
either on terms of easy familiarity with his captain or particularly mutinous, and is often
in love with the same young lady as his superior officer, whom, in consequence of their
affections clashing, he generally cuts down to a mere huU, as he technically expresses it.
He calls every elderly person a grampus, and stigmatises as a land-lubber every individual
whose pursuits do not happen to be nautical. When at sea, though only a common sailor,
the stage tar is the most important personage in the vessel ; and the captain frequently
retires to the side of the ship — sitting, probably, on a water-barrel — in order to leave the
entii-e deck at the service of the tar, while
he indulges in a naval hornpipe. The
dramatic seaman usually wears patent
leather pumps and silk stockings when on
active service; and, if we are to believe
what he says, he is in the habit of sitting
most unnecessarily on the main topgallant
in a storm at midnight, for the purpose of
thinking of Polly. When he fights, he
seldom condescends to engage less than
three at a time ; and if the action has been
general a moment before, he has the field
all to himself, as if by general consent,
directly he evinces any disposition for a
combat.

If there is a battle, he wins it person-
ally, without the aid of anybody else ; and
he treats the admiral as if he were a mere

cipher, — as in fact he is, for he generally comes in when all is over, at the head of his staff,
to prorqote the British seaman, and to tell him that his country owes him a debt of ever-
lasting gratitude. If the tar is a married man, he invariably leaves his PoUy without the
means of paying her rent; and when he retui'ns, he genex-ally finds her rejecting the dis-
honourable proposals of a man in possession, who is making advances either on his own
account or as the agent of a libertine landlord. In these cases the British seaman pays
out the execution with a very large purse heavily laden at both ends, which he indignantly
flings at the shark, as he figuratively describes the broker's man, who goes away without
counting the money or giving any receipt for it. The stage-tar sometimes carries papers
in his bosom, which, as he cannot read, he does not know the purport of ; and though he
has treasured them up, he has never thought it worth while to get anybody to look at them,
but he generally pulls them out in the very nick of time, in the presence of some old
nobleman, who glances at them, and exclaims, " My long-lost son !" at the same time
expanding his arms for the tar to rush into. Sometimes he carries a miniature, and

30 LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE.

finds in some titled dame a mother to match it ; or pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, and
shows a stain of port-wine upon his arm, which establishes his right to some very ex-
tensive estates, and convicts a conscience-stricken steward of a long train of villanies.
At the close of his exploits it is customaiy to bring in the imion jack (nobody knows why
it is introduced or where it comes from), and to wave it over his head, to the air of " Rule
Britannia."

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE.

My dear Ned,

Not being veiy well this morning, I sit down to give you a short account of
" Alma Mater," as we call Trinity College. I have now been up here some weeks, and
have seen a gi-eat deal during that time. Cousin Philip, who promised my mother that he
would do aU he could for me when I came up, has been as good as his word. He was
exceedingly kind in showing me all over the place — so that, really, I can scarcely fancy
that I am a Freshman,

I must begin by telling you a little about our Hfe here, which, I assure you, is a veiy
merry one. I go to chapel foui-teen times a week, which, however, I begin to find rather
slow, as we have to get up at seven in the morning. It is generally pretty full ; the
betting men sit at one end of the chapel, in a place called Iniquity, a good way from
the Dean. We dine in Hall every day, which I like very much ; I should Uke it better if
they did not give us cold plates, and there was not such a squeezing and clattering, and
one could get what one wanted. The waiters are all deaf; they laugh and run away
when you speak to them, and never come again. As for the College, it is a fine old
place. There arc very nice smooth gi'ass-plots in the Coui-ts, on which you may walk as
long as you like for half-a-crown ; that is, iintil you arc caught by the Porter, who is
always on the look-out. The Tutors often walk over them, but I suppose the Under-
graduates find it too expensive.

As to our dress, we wear queer-looking bluish gowns, and square caps, which are very
curious and ugly. They look more Hke a little tray with a slop-basin on it, than any-
thing I can compare them to. You put the slop-basin on yom* head, and there is a silk
tail to the tray, which hangs down over your face, and gets in your eyes. Cousin Philip
showed me how to put it on ; however, I saw evei'ybody smiling and staring at me, as I
walked down King's Parade, and found afterwards that he was wrong about it, and had
put it on hind-side-bcfiyre ; which is very extraordinary, considering the time he has been
at the University.

He took me to look at the Lions of Cambridge, which I w^ished to see, as I had often
heard people speak of them. They are seated on a building Ciilled the FitzwiUiam. I
thought the attitude very good ; but I must say that I was, on the whole, rather dis-
appointed in them. I afterwards went to a supper-party in his rooms ; there were nearly
twenty men there, and we were very jolly. I played at cards for some time, which I liked
very much ; however, when we got up, I foimd I had lost at least thirty shillings— all my
pocket-money for a month ! I didn't like that quite so well. The men were exceediugly
polite; they all asked me to take wine, and I afterwai-ds smoked several cigars and drank
lots of Copus.

I remember their drinking my health, because, as they said, I was a jolly good fellow ;
and I think I returaed thanks. I am not confident about that, nor do I exactly recollect

LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE.

liow I got back to Trinity ; but I have au idea that tlie porter at the gate asked me my
name, and that I replied by hitting him in the wind, and afterwards shinning him for some
time. I fear I must have injured the poor man, as he has complained of me to the Dean,
and I am gated for a fortnight.

By the bye, after I got away, I found that somebody had stolen my new cap, and left
his own in its place — such a rotten old thing ! Do you know, I half suspect Philip ? he
had a bran new one on this morning ; but I didn't exactly like to ask him. Perhaps it
was a mistake.

I must say, I don't enjoy smoking at all ; but, as every one here smokes, I suppose it
is necessary. I am told here that smoking is a classical custom, which the ancient Greeks
were greatly addicted to, and that there is near London a temple dedicated to ApoUo, and
called the Grecian Saloon, where individuals meet to discuss the cheroot, which was
originally brought over from Cheronea, a city in Boeotia. The real thing is to smoke with
a lady on each arm.

Fashions in tlie East.

Some of the men whom I met yesterday advised me to get an order for cigars from
my tutor. I called on him, and asked for one ; but he only laughed, and said he was afraid
I had been hoaxed. This sort of joke is called a sell at Cambridge, and is veiy amusing.
I couldn't help thinking Phil must have intended to sell me last Sunday. Tou must
know, Ned, that on that day the men attend sei-vice at St. Mary's. Well, he told me that
it was usual to go in a surplice and bands — the same dress as we wear in chapel. This, as
I learned afterwards, was a direct falsehood ; but what makes it worse is, that he pointed
out a church as St. Mai-y's, which, after waiting a long time for service to begin, I found

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

was no clmrcli at all, but the PiTT Press ! It is very like a church, indeed ; and, while
waiting there, I was joined by another Freshman who had come under a similar impression.
"We walked home together : everybody laughed as we passed them, especially the ladies,
and we felt very much ashamed.

I do not think, however, that 1 shall be sold again. You know there are only three

courts in our college. Well, to-day he told me that my tutor, Mr. , would give me a

ticket to see the fourth, if I asked for it ! I dare say ! I fancy I was rather too shai-p
for him there. Ha ! Ha ! I was not to be caught that way, and laughed at him in
my turn.

I suppose everybody is rather fresh, just at fii'st ; and I hope the few little mistakes
I have fallen into are no disgrace to my name. I have just bought " Hints to Freshmen,"
and have no doubt that I shall get on better for the future. When you see the
governor, would you ask him to send a little more money ? Cambridge I'-s a shocking
expensive place.

Believe me, dear Ned,

Tour affectionate brother,

A. Geeen.

P.S. — Write soon, and be particular in directing " Adam Green." There are several
of my name in the college.

P.P.S. — Only think, Ned ! I open my letter again to tell you that I have just received
a note from the Yice-Chancellor! He tells me, most kindly, that indisposition alone
has prevented his calling on me before ; and hopes that I will do him the honour (those
are his very words) of spending a week with him at his country-seat, to meet the master of
my college and a few friends. He is to drive me down to-morrow in his dog-cart. I cannot
imagine how he came to know that I had an-ived ; but I have met ^vith nothing but civility
ever since I entered Cambridge.

Phil says he wishes he were going. I dare say he does, poor fellow ! I wiU give you
the particulars of our visit in my next. I miist now go and look up my wardrobe.
Farewell !

P.P.P.S. — Don't forget about the money.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Quoth tempVate Nod. whilst sipping mild Bohea,
" The drunkard dies by indies, as I've seen."

" O nonsense, man !" cried thirsty Tom, " not he !
By inches .«' No ! by barleycorns you mean."

ALICE BlIOMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OP PARK LANE. 39

ALICE BEOMPTON; or, THE LILY OF PAEK LANE.

CHAPTER I.

" Thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee." — Shakspeare.

It was on one of those January mornings which appear to be made expressly to suit the
purpose o£ the novelist, that a horseman might have been seen to canter along the north
bank of the Sei-pentine. A keen obsei-ver of the works of Nature will ascertain that her
labours are very multifarious, and that she has a great deal of business to finish off before
mid-day, which was about the hour at which our present history commences. Nature had
already dried up her nocturnal dews, and swept away her morning mists, when the horse-
man had reached the receiving-house of the Humane Society, which nestles on the river's
bank ; while the boat-house, venturing more boldly into the stream itself, extends its
projecting shelter over the two or three picturesque punts which snuggle together on the
shore of the Serpentine.

Our hero — for such we avow the horseman to be — was one who might have been taken
to be of the middle height, as he sat on horseback ; but when allowance was made for the
bending of his legs, which were considerably longer than his back, it was obvious that he
must have been above the average stature. His features would have been regular but for
a prominence in the nose, which was slightly curved, a peculiarity rendered more striking
by the brilliance of the eye, which threw the other organ into a relief of remarkable
altitude.

The stranger's dress presented nothing out of the ordinary way, unless, perhaps, the
cut of the outer coat, the top button of which being left unfastened, allowed the coUar of
a white waistcoat to betray itself.

The horseman had been proceeding, without e'sancing any particular emotion, tiU he
came in sight of the houses in Park Lane, when his features underwent a change, which if
there had been any one to look wovild have been distinctly visible. Fixing his large black
eye on the middle pane of the centre window of the third floor of one of those princely
mansions which su.rround our parks — the green sward of which might, perhaps, be compared
to an emerald set in Portland stones, of which many of the circumambient edifices are
built — our Lero gave one of those deep groans which betray the passion of a life in the
breath of a moment. If that groan had been heard and understood it would have been of
itself a history, and much of our hero's past biography might have been collected from it.
The philosopher will read more in one twinkle of the eye than in twenty printed paragraphs,
and a sigh or a start, a smile or a tear, a sneer or a shrug, will each be a little volume to
the man of the world, more fuU of meaning than the thickest foHo that scholar ever
laboured at. Our hero had hardly concluded his groan, when he heard the clattering of
hoofs on the newly-laid-down stones in the road behind him, and he had scarcely turned
round to ascei-tain from what the sounds proceeded, when the gay and high-spirited
Honourable Harry Brompton dashed up to his side.

" Why, Singleton," exclaimed Brompton. " Why, Singleton " (such was our hero's
name), " I did not expect to find you stirring so early."

" Indeed !" replied Singleton ; " then you little know me. These are not times in which

40 ALICE BROMPTOX ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

the tme lover of his country can refrain from stirring. I have had very high thoughts,
and very passionate buraings — but no matter;" and he dug the rowel of his spurs furiously
into the flanks of his courser.

" Nay, Singleton, Singleton," exclaimed Brompton, lashing his proud chai'ger to keep
pace with his friend, when the infuriated animal — we mean the horse, not Singleton — burst
into a gaUop, and driving fiercely in the direction of the park gate, it was evident that Harry
Brompton must be either can-ied into the curds-and- whey-house, with a tremendous crash,
or be whirled at full speed into the midst of the mass of vehicles that are always to be
found at the entrance of Piccadilly, at about the time when the catastrophe happened.

Harry Brompton, who was an excellent horseman, and had studied the equestrian art
in Astley's ring, with admirable presence of miad made a tug at the off- side of the horse's
bi-idle, and drawing the creature round with superhuman strength, caused him to describe
a circle, of which Singleton, who had by this time pulled up, was the astonished centre.
The steed of Brompton having by this time exhausted his force, was soon brought to a
stop, and the two friends were standing side by side, opposite the veiy window of the very
house which had extracted from Singleton the extraordinary gi'oan, of which, in a former
paragraph, we attempted to give the reader a faint conception.

At the window to which we have alluded appeared a form of surpassing loveliness.
Beneath the wavy aubmn tresses, which himg round the whitest brow like the finest of
silken fringe over the purest alabaster, there beamed a pair of eyes which might be rather
likened to little specks of Uquid coal, — so gushing were they in their jetty blackness. A
mouth for which Aurora seemed to have supplied the colour of the lips from one of her
earliest eastern beams, disclosed, when open, a set of teeth that the pearl-diver might have
sought in vain to match, if accident had deprived the lovely o^vner of them.

" So, my sister has been watching us !" exclaimed Brompton. " Poor Alice, I must
hasten to assure her of my safety."

" Do, do," hastily added Singleton. " I would not for the world that she — I mean to
say that I trust Lady Alice will not feel any unnecessaiy degree of alarm ;" and he turned
his horse abniptly in the direction of^Bayswater.

" Why, Singleton," cried Brompton, " where are you going ?"

Singleton bit his lips perceptibly, and drew his horse round in the direction of Picca-
dilly.

" Nay, we must not pari thus," exclaimed Brompton vnth earnestness. " Promise
that you will call in Park Lane. Alice, I am sure — I mean that I shall be happy to see
you."

" I will caU," replied Singleton, " for your accident may have shaken you ;" and he
laid a stress on the " your " and the " you," which was perfectly unmistakable.

" Well," added the good-natured Brompton, " I care not for your motive, ao aurevoir ;''
and cantering gaily off towards the Grosvenor Gate, he arrived in a few minutes at the
door of the family mansion. Singleton I'ode moodily off towards St. James's Street. But
what were his intentions in proceeding there, and what he did when he arrived, must be
reserved for another chapter.

ALICE P.llOMPTON; OK, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

CHAPTER II.

" Di piacer mi balza il cor." — La Gazza Ladra.

At the door of one of those splendid palazzi which almost turn Pall Mall into Italy, but
for the difference in the scenery on all sides, the sky above and the atmosphere around,
a chestnut cob migbt be seen to make a voluntary stop, as if obeying an instinct of its
noble nature ; for it is a beautiful fact in zoology that the borse will draw up again and
again at the door he bas been in the habit of waiting at.

Throwing the bridle into the hands of a man in a red jacket. Singleton leaped from
his saddle at a boiind, and taking two or three of those tremendous strides which are
the usual indications of an anxious mind, he ascended the steps of his club, and threw
himself on to a coucli in the vestibule with his head buried in his hands. Our hero was
disturbed in the performance of this pantomimic funeral by the approach of a page belono--
ing to the club — one of those pages
who had entered the establishment
a mere duodecimo, and was fast
expanding into an octavo size —
who put into the hands of Single-
ton a note, which by its perfume
might have come from Araby, had
not its stamp proclaimed that it
bad been posted in Park Lane.
Our hero regarded the billet with
the deepest interest, and perused
the direction again and again.
" How strange it is !" he mentally
ejaculated — though what a mental
ejaculation is like we shall not
attempt to describe — " how strange
it is that man, at the very moment
when " — but we are unable to give
the remainder of this mental ejacu-
lation, for the honourable member

Singleton in a State of Mental Kjaculation.

suddenly burst open the envelope, and read or i-ather devoured the following words :-

" My dear Mr. Singleton,

" Whatever interpretation others may put upon the pas I have taken, I feel
completely assure that you will view the act avec all that bonte which is peculiar to a
caradere like voire. I wish to consult you on a sujet of the dernier importance, and I J^eg
of you to come with the utmost depeche to Park Lane.
" Believe me,

*' Most veritablement voire,

" Alice Brompton."

Singleton, who had come to the club with the intention of writing all his letters on
the club paper, and dining on a chop for sixpence — a charge which includes bread at
discretion, with beer and pickles beyond discretion, if the member should not be disposed
to draw the line— Singleton hastily made for one of the dressing-rooms, and taking up one

42 LADIES' LOGIC.

of the two hair-brushes set apart for the exclusive use of the thousand members, he becan
arranging his hair. It is a curiously enigmatical trait in the human character, that man
in the midst of the most absorbing interests will pay attention to the most triflin"- matters
of routine : and it was weU said by one of the schoolmen that Nero fiddled whDe Rome was
burning, not because the city was in flames, but simply that he might indulge his confirmed
love of fidtiling. So it was with Singleton. His heart was almost at furnace heat when he
received the note from Lady Alice, and yet he fiddled about with a hair-brush, as if there
were no internal fii-e within ; and he stopped to arrange his hair before he proceeded to
avail himself of that invitation, which, for weal or woe, was to make or mar his future
fortunes.

{To he cotdiiiued.)

LADIES' LOGIC.

There is as much difference between Logic proper and Ladies' Logic as there is
between a Polka-Pelisse and a Macintosh. For supposing, as ladies, we believe, generally
suppose, all Logic to be stuff. Logic Proper is one kind of stuff, and Ladies' Logic another
kind of stuff.

The essence of Logic Proper is the Syllogism; which consists of three parts, the
Major, the Minor, and the Conclusion. Now in Ladies' Logic all Majors are out of the
question but Majors in the army, and no attention is paid to Minors unless they are likely
to come into property. The Major and Minor terms of a Syllogism are called Premises.
The premises of Ladies' Logic are such premises as Mr. George Robins talks of. Logical
premises ought to contain the conclusion ; but Ladies' premises contain little but trinkets
and needlework.

The following wiU serve as an example of a syllogism, according to the rules of Logic
Proper ; that is to say. of proper Logic : —

Major. " Every man who lives beyond his means is a fool."

Minor. " I should be a man who lived beyond his means if I kept a carriage and
pair."

Conclusion. " Therefore, if I kept a carriage and pair I should be a fool."

The syllogism in Ladies' Logic is much simpler ; as thus : —

Minor. " Mrs, Dashington's husband keeps a carnage."

Conclusion. " Therefore my husband ought to keep a can-iage."

In this instance we see that the first term, or major, is dispensed with ; so that, in
fact, the major is a minor consideration. This is a veiy convenient sort of logic ; because
the only coiTect major in the above instance would be as follows : —

" Whatever Mrs. Dasliington's husband does, mine ought to do."

Now this is a Major that many husbands would object to. As it is, they can only
rjuestion the conclusion. As: —

" Why ought I to keep a carriage because Mrs. Dashington's husband does ?"

To which the (lady's) logical answer is, " Why ? why of course."

" Well, but," says the husband, " J don't see that."

A FUIGHTFUL NARRATIVE.

'• Thou," replies the wife, "you must be bliud." There's nothing so sharp as woman's
wit. She decidedly has him there.

There is another kind of syllogism in Ladies' Logic which consists but of one proposi-
tion. For example : " I don't like your friend Mr. Wilkins at all, William."
" Why not, my dear ?"

" Because he is so disagreeable." That is to say, " Because I clmi't like him."
The following are examples of syllogisms, according to the most approved rules of
Ladies' Logic : —

Int(,'m|)evance is horrible, therefore it is dioadf'ul.
Swearing is iingentlemanlike, therefore it is vulgar.
That young man is talented, therefore he is clever.

One peculiarity in the chain of reasoning constituting Ladies' Logic is, that the links of
it are generally invisible. But there is a reply with which the ladies silence, if not satisfy
all objectors — " Oh ! what a stupid you must be !"

A FRIGHTFUL NARRATIVE.

(by an old bachklor.)

ELix Williers was my first and dearest friend. He was little as a
boy, and little as a man ; the only thing great about him was his
heart, and that was large enough for an elephant. He had but one
fault, and that was a desperate one — he was always in love. JUting
did him no good ; if one woman played him false, he instantly made
a declaration to another. Fair or dark, short or tall, fat or slim,
were all the same to Williers ; his heart was like a carpet-bag — you
could cram any amount of love into it. I iTsed to tell him it would
be his ruin — so it was — that is, it will be. When he married I cut
him. Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and I didn't know
but matrimony was catching. I called him a fool, and he said I was
a brute. I never saw Felix for twenty years afterwards.
Last Sunday I had the blues ; I do have them sometimes, particularly when my shirts

have no buttons ; and I found two in that state on the day to which I allude.

Whenever I'm in the blues I always call upon a friend ; if I don't get rid of the

megrims myseK, I give them to somebody else ; and really there is some pleasure in being

sympathised with. Well ! I thought I'd hunt up Williers. I thought that twenty years

were quite enough to owe a man a grudge, even for marrying.

Williers lives at Highgate, so I made the best of my way there. I vised to like High-

gate once. I was then nineteen, and Mary Spiller was no matter, I don't regret it now.

Well, I found out Williers's house, and just as I was about to ring the bell, I saw Felix and

his family turn the comer. I'd been told that he had " his quiver full " of children — that

one of his sons was " as big as a giant," and aU that sort of thing, but I never thought

that poor Williers was so be-ofi'springed as I found him.

I shall not describe our meeting : he seemed to forget that anything had ever occurred,

and I'm sure I never made a heartier dinner than I did at his table.

A FlUGHTFUL NAERATIVE.

There's Felix and bis family — and yet he declares that he's happy.

After a glass or two of port, we walked into the garden, and then back into the house.
As I passed the door of a small room, I paused, paralysed — positively paralysed — by the
objects which met my eye. Williers perceived my embarrassment, and then, Avith the air
of a man who feels that he hath " done the state some service," boklly threw open the
door, and requested me to follow him. Deliberately — smilingly — did poor WiUiors place
in a row the objects which had excited my horror. As he did so, he said emphatically —

" Those shoes are —

Pet's.
Harry's.
Jlary Anne's.

r. — ^^iti^i Elizabeth's.

-^-. V!slBt> ^j»fc^ *' . . Catherine

fr,r^S^~^ BRy^S^'^**' ' Caroline's

"i H ^■'^^iiii^ Billy's.

Jlisj W.'s.

^— y-wj mj&^<iL, Tir~l1ir^i Frederick 'r

{},J r 4i^ "iJ^ii^itar Mr. W. Ji

an 1 Vi\: Own !"

Tlu> 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.

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-

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

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.

SONG OF THE MONTHS.

^oim of tbc IHontbs.

<& K^

.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.

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 !

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.

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.

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<pos — Lat. guin.

(7.) Peisa — laciis Noricus. (15.) Matlicmaticus — qnajre ?

(8.) I. M. abbreviat \\\o jam. (16.) To.sai — i.e. Tosciiiia in Italia.

(9.) Ar — pro ac sive ad.

A TALE BEFORE THE FIRE. 61

day, the one most similar in sense, current in our vernacular idiom — thus dressing the
meaning of the ancient poet in modern phraseology.

Believe me, ever truly yours,

Charles Hookey Walker.

A TALE BEFOEE THE FIRE.

It's all very fine to talk about creative fancy, as if this same fancy had a perpetually
productive power of its ovm, and called beings out of nothing whenever it pleased. I
stoutly maintain that fancy, generally, requires a fillip from without before it is set a-going.
The merest touch in the world may sufiice, ])ut there must be a jog of some sort or other.
When we fire a Catherine-wheel, we often find it necessaiy to propel the wheel a little, even
at the risk of burning our fingers — and are repaid by seeing it scintillate and blaze, and by
hearing it whiz and crackle. Our fancy is much like a Catherine-wheel in this predica-
ment — a didl, motionless thing, if left to itself ; a sparkling brilliant energy, if it receives
the necessai'y impulse. We inventive folks are not half so independent as people suppose.
My ancestress, the Countess, for instance, was forced to get an Arabian tale almost by
heart, before she could pen down her " Cherry and Fair Star."

And now do J, being in want of a subject for a tale, and being moreover decidedly hard
up for an inspiration, turn to my own fire, which is blgizing through the grate, and humbly
crave its assistance — that while it difi'uses a genial glow over the earthy frame in which
my fancy is cased, it may cause that fancy to whirl and energise, until it shall produce all
sorts of pleasantries. I have heard of an old woman who saw the whole battle of Waterloo
fought among her coals. This gives me hopes. I will look to my fire, and watch the forms
which these shining substances assume.

Lo, the centre is bright and clear, — so very clear that the burning coals are of a yellow,
and not what we call a fiery colour. Little sparks flit about, and the multitude of shining
protuberances looks like a multitude of tiny, glittering heads. And what a contrast is
presented by the huge, black mass of coal to my left, from which protrudes a rude,
fantastic imitation of a human face, with nose of formidable dimensions ! I have my
subject.

Once upon a time there was a land so bright and glittering, that the soil seemed to
be made of pure gold, and it was called the " Golden Region." The people were always
clad in brilliant garments, and passed a happy sort of existence, since they always seemed
to be flitting about and shining in each other's eyes. They were governed by a king —
that shining thing in the centre of the clear part, is as much like a king as the thing in a
lobster's head is like a lady — who sat on a golden throne, and was glorious in the eyes of
his subjects. Indeed the whole population of this island, sovereign and subjects, seemed
to have but one purpose — shining themselves, and admiring the brilliancy of theii* neigh-
bours.

Well — and what then ? Let me see — Ah, there's a little black spec in the midst of
the clear, — that will do ! One day a man attired in black — costume unusual in that happy
coimtry — stepped into the midst of the multitude who were assembled to dance and
sparkle, and spake to them thus : — " Yain and giddy people, to spend your time thus in
gauds and revelry, as if the evil day would never approach ! Know, oh ye silly ones, that
among the black rocks which encompass this sparkling country, there dwelleth the fierce
giant Aldiboronti, who will speedily droj) down among you, and reduce you aU to mince

C2 THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

meat," Thus do I ingeniously work into my narrative the dark human form. Te gods,
this is the most delightful amusement ! This middle state between borrowing and creating
is the most exciting, and, paradoxical as it may seem, the most soothing that can he
imagined. The purpose of my light coals and my dark coals is now determined, and I
wait for more suggestions.

Whiz ! How has the stream of gas from that dark eminence opposite the giant caught
fire! How vi%'idly does it shine ! The inhabitants of the golden I'egion have lit signal
fires upon their mountains — they call on their neighboui's to assist them against the
coming evil. And what a red glare is spread over the midtitude ! Tnily their blood is up
— they feel their danger, but they do not quail — hun-ah for that golden race ! The story
becomes interesting.

Tes ; I hope they may prosper, and that the ugly giant will be shaken into shapeless-
ness. But I fear that the issue will not be so fortianate. Those light pieces of black that
the vulgar call " strangers," are quivering on the bars. Those are the I'avens, the birds of
ill-omen, that flutter over the Golden Region, and denote some dire calamity. Oh, ye
brave and briUiant race, will ye fall victims after all ?

Bang ! My fingers tingle, — what is this ? Oh, I see ! A piece of cinder has shot into
my hand. It is what the prophets of cinders call a " purse." And a pm-se let it be. Ay,
the king of the Golden Region has opened his treasury to me that I may assist him. My
sympathies were with him already ; now my sympathies and my interest go together. I
will bo an auxiliary, a sort of British legion, and no longer a mere spectator.

I grasp the poker — I plant the point of it below the foot of the awful giant. One
sturdy move — crash ! Aldiboronti is destroyed ! Rejoice ye bright people for I have anni-
hilated your foe. Alas ! they cannot rejoice ! My unlucky stir has been too potent. Not
only is the giant crushed, but the Golden Region is buried in a black mass. Not a vestige
of the former scene is left.

The golden people were short-sighted when they summoned me to their assistance.
They had better have trusted to the forbearance of the giant, who, as I am now forced to
confess, was a very quiet sort of giant, in spite of all that the adviser of the people said to
the contrary.

Moral.

Erring mortals often desire that, which, when granted, proves their gi'eatest calamity.

There ends my tale, Avhich I contend is a very decent sort of tale, considering the
scantiness of the material. And if any of my readers think it a poor affair, let them ti"y
themselves, and see if they can get anything better out of a scuttle of Walls'-end.

B. D'A.

THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

Five hundred grand pianos have been sent out to China, by an enterprising speculator,
who. it is to be hoped, has sent out five hundred pianists to play upon them. It is quite
out of the question for the Chinese themselves, with nails some inches long, to attempt to
make any use of the musical instruments that have been sent out, iinless five hundred pairs
of nail-scissors are despatched after them.

These pianos may be destined to sound the note of civilization in China, for if that

THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

extraordinary nation should he induced to cut its nails, tlie people may soon have at
their fingers' ends many arts and sciences which they are precluded at present from
the possibility of putting their hands to. But if they play on the pianos, it is probable
they will soon be desirous of dancing to the music, and the foot must then be allowed to
unfold its powers.

At the news of five hundred pianos having gone out to China, the music-sellers will
naturally turn their attention to the exportation of songs ; but these must be written
expressly to suit the sentiments of the Chinese, who cannot be supposed to sympathise
with our "Marble Halls," our "Lights of [other Days," and our requests to have our
" Ai-ab Steeds " given back to iis. An invitation from a lady to a gentleman to " Meet
him in the Willow Glen," might not be comprehended in the Celestial Empire ; though
perhaps an invitation from a Chinese lover to his mistress to meet him in the "Willow
pattern, might attain extensive popularity in the musical salo7is of Pekin.

"With the view of facilitating as far as possible the introduction of vocal music
adapted to the pianos already sent out, we furnish a few specimens of songs, which a
Chinese bard may adapt from the English, for the benefit of his musical fellow-
countrymen : —

SPECIMEN No. I. -A CHINESE LOVE SONG.

I give thee all, I can no more.

Except a pound of tea ;
My heart and gong are all the store

That I have got for thee.

THE aiUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

A gong, whose thundering twang reveals

More noise than any bell ;
And better still, a heart that feels

Much more than gong can tell.

SPECIMEN No. II.-A CHINESE DRINKING SONG.

A saucer of Giinpowder fill, fill for me,

Give those who prefer it Pekoe :
No matter the tea, so a bumper it be,

Though I henceforth drink nothing but sloe.

For oh ! when the man is exceedingly dvj,

And his dinner of rice may oppress him ;
When the tea's getting strong in the teapot that's by.

Here's a health to Loo-Choo, God bless him!

We hail the exportation of these five hundred pianos to China as the foundation of
real harmony between the two coimtries. Those pianos will be the instruments of a
good understanding, and will comprise within themselves more efi"ectual overtures than
any which diplomacy could have offered. The piano will necessitate the pianist, and
these will render requisite the dancing-master, so that if we take six of the first to one
of the second, we shall export about eighty pianists and a fraction to keep the five
hundred pianos in play ; while if we aDow a dancing-master to eveiy instrument in ten,
we shall di-ain off at once half-a-hundred from the sui-plus of our Terpsichorean profes-
sors, even as far as the experiment of piano-exporting has yet been carried.

We should be glad, however, to see the Chinese sending us something in return.
At present we have got only the enlarged sleeves which are so much in vogue, and the
enlarged estimate which the turbulent natm-e of our Chinese allies rendei-s requisite.
Teacups and gongs they are particularly famous for ; but as fairs in England are on the
decline, we fear five hundred gongs would not be the best consignment a Chinese merchant
could make to his correspondent in this countiy.

Perhaps as they are fond of opium, if tobacco is not a prohibited article, it might
answer the purpose of an Englishman, trading with China, to send out a cargo of

PIO-TAIL AND SIIORT-CL'T.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. 65

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS
In antr «9ut of 3l0nlf0n.

BY THE EDITOE.

FYTTE THE THIRD.

The Peuitentiary across the water,
Now starts to view iiiion our larboard quarter,
While just athwart our mast — I mean the mizen —
High iu mid air api^ears the Model Prison.
There in the custody of trusty jailors,

The Avretched criminal a trade receives ;
There soldiers, sailors, ploughboys, bakers, tailors.

Are manufactured out of rogues and thieves.
*****

Let go the spanker, clew the sail,

The wind has freshened to a gale,

E-ig out, rig out, a flying boom,

Club-haul the craft while yet there's room.

Upon the ground the vessel knocks,

Put her aport — the compass box ;

She scuds, and now begins to lurch.

Get under weigh for Lambeth Church.

The captain roars, the seamen shout,

A second time we tack about.

We near the bridge — that mass of stone.

Which so indifferently wears.
That it has never yet been known.

Not to be under some repairs.

And this is Westminster, her palaced shore,
Imagination lingers to explore :
The Abbey first our admiration wins.
Conspicuous for its towevs — monastic twins.
Now Fancy stops to take a stare —
At what ? The coronation chair :
That awkward seat, 'tis said, was won
By Gathelus. King Cecrops' son ;
But nearly all agree to own

A true antique it must be reckon'd.
Having been carried off to Scone

By that old King — Kenneth the Second,
When we reflect upon the lot

Of some it has been known to bear.
We can't help thinking it is not

What may be call'd an easy chair.

GUY GREE^'HOR^''S WANDERINGS.

A comer liero our nation's poets claim,

And here posterity shall read my name !

Near Chaucer's monument and Di-yden's bust.

Let me deposit my congenial dust ;

'Tis my ambition (at a futiu-e day)

To find in Westminster a grave with Gay.

His spii-it seems to lure me to his tomb,

Exclaiming, " Haste thee, Greenhorn, there is room I"

And I, regardless of the sneers of some.

Simply respond, " Be patient, Gay, I come 1"

Yet Genius often is denied a nook

Within those walls that should its dust envii'on.
For vainly roimd the Abbey may we lo(.)k

In search of any monument to Byron.
'Tis sometimes said the naiTow vaews

Of persons in a high position.
Made the authorities refuse

To Byron's monument admission.
But Phillips has a place assign'd.

And, oh ! can latitude be wider,
That lets in wi-eaths, with apples twin'd.

To illustrate his poem on cider.*
How many an hour in youth I loved to while
In the recesses of that sacred pile ;

• Knight's " London " speaks of I'hillijis's nioniimeat in Westminster AliWy, "
wi-aith of ajfle ami laurel leaves, in illustration of his poem on cider."

ith its profile e(Tigy

GUY GREENHOKN'S WANDERINGS. G7

Its dim religious influence must reacli
The liearts of those who've paid their threepence each.
Strange mixture of the noble and the shabby,
Wonderful contrast ! tkreepenee and the Abbey.

But ere I quit this venerable spot,
Let not the vaulted cloisters be forgot ;
How oft within those cloisters damp

I've seen a fellow play at racquet,
Until the baU has hit the lamp,

And then, of course, 'twas sure to crack it.
Away at once I've seen him fly.

In case of blame, resolv'd to shun it ;
And then an usher coming by,

Has " shown me up " for having done it.
Yet it was ever Greenhorn's fate
To be too soon — or else too late.
The school of Westminster now courfs the gaze.
Where Greenhorn passed at least two thousand days :
There, as a boy, hobble-de-hoy, and youth.
He learn'd to parse with ease and scan with truth.
Genius may well be rank'd 'mid mortal curses ;

Greenhorn's poetic power was early known.
And the big boys would make him do their verses,

Nor let him have the time to do his own.
He's seen another take the praise
Due to his own scholastic lays ;
While a six-cutter he has won
For, prima facie, doing none.
'Tis true a Westminster reward

Was not a stimulus immense ;
The reveniies will not aff'ord

A higher prize than silver pence.
A parent of a liberal turn,

To give a sovereign makes a rule
For ev'i-y prize his son may earn ;

That is to say — bring home from school.
Sixpence wiU any prize procure,
And thus the speculation's sure ;
An early lesson it imparts.

In truly economic science.
Straight to the principle it darfs,

On which great statesmen place reliance.
The boy may really buy a poimd

With sixpence if he will embark it.
Thus acting on the doctrine soimd.

Of selling in the dearest market ;

68 GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

And buying also in the clieapest,
Wliicli of tlie two is p'vhaps the deepest.

*****

Southward, my fancy, I recall
To Westminster's illustrious hall.
Here Dennian — dignified and cool,

Lets counsel argue till he's hoarse,
In favour of a simple nde,

Which might be granted as of course.
Here Tindal with experienced ease
Rules o'er the Court of Common Pleas ;
A lawyer shrewd yet always frank.

His varied qualities defy us,
To say where most he shines — in banc,

Or when he sits at Nisi Prius.
Pollock, who when he gave his mind

To Justice, did with honour deck her,
Holding her scales, we also find.

Upon the bench in the Exchequer.
Here, too, the Usher when a word
Above a whisper may be heard.
Disturbs the court with fearful shout.

Till none can hear what others say.
Because he will keep bellowing out —

" Do pray keep silence ! Silence pray I"
Farewell, ye Courts of Common Law ;

Ye Courts of Equity adieu :
Faint is the picture that I draw

Of such realities as you.

Close on the river's bank a pile appears

Which has already been the work of years ;

When its unfinished aspect we explore.

We guess 'twill be the work of many more.

'Tis the new Parliament which makes a show

Of nearly eighty windows in a row ;

To give so many windows they were right ;

On legislation they may throw a light.

P'rhaps selfishness may cause the House to pass

The plan for taking oflF the tax on glass.

The many windows a vile pun explains —

Parliament means to take unusual panes !

Would that the couplet Groenhoni could revoke ;

But 'tis too late — made is the fatal joke.

Alas ! that poetry should sink so low,

A tear ! that has wash'd out thej«t de mot.

THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON. 69

BY THE EDITOR.

I SING the seasons ! Reader, do not start,

I'm not about to act a Thomson's part,

Telling in verse when, whereabouts, and how

To guide the venerable British plough.

I do not court the Muses to indite

Poetic projects for destroying blight,

Or date the proper periods of the year,

When salad sly and peeping peas appear.

'Tis not for me to draw a rustic scene

Of simple Nature — Nature's very green :

'Tis not for me to chronicle the time

When snowdrops sprout, and daisies reach their prime :

'Tis not for me to seek the garden's bowers,

Taking an inventory of the flowers,

And then explaining aU their hues — how silly !

As if e'en Poetry could paint the lily.

I cannot sing of how the sparrow hops

With cheerful note from the deep-tangled copse ;

How listening Philomel delighted rushes

To listen to a choir of larks and thrushes ;

Or how the echoing grove contains within it

The baritone buUfiaich and soprano linnet.

These themes immortal Thomson made his own,

So let them all be — henceforth let alone.

'Tis London's season now my pen inspires,

And fills my inkstand with Apollo's fii-es.

Let nie propitiate the Muses' aid.

To whom no sacrifice was ever paid ;

(That is a fact, from Lempriere's page we know it.

Payment was not expected from a poet.)

But let me hasten onward to my theme,

The London season : 'tis the fair one's dream.

When, like the lily Thomson spoke about,

She's jiist upon the eve of " Coming out."

Help me, ye Nine, in fitting phrase to tell

What forms the vision of the season's belle !

70 THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON.

First, at the door a can-iage seems to wait,

With hicqueys in their liveries of state,

It bears her to the mart decked by the names —

To fashion dear — of Howell and of James.

In fancy, sitting at the counter's side,

She sees the shopman show, with conscious pride,

The newest patterns of the choicest stuffs.

Of gayest hxies, pinks, lavenders, and buffs.

Not even Natm-e could herself display

Of various colours such a long array ;

For every shade within the rainbow's hue

The dyer's art can multiply by two,

Producing an infinity of shots,

Stripes, tartans, tricolors, checks, plaids, and spots.

Oh, how could awkward Nature nidely dare

With those of Art its fabrics to compare ?

Look at the rose : does Nature put upon it

The brilliance of a rose in a new bonnet ?

And then, again, are Nature's flowers as strong ?

No ! artificial last ten times as long.

On Nature's side I hear a voice exclaim,

" The last in odour put the first to shame."

It was so once ! but now something's invented.

By which e'en artificial flowers are scented.

But, to the dream, — in jewels and in dress

The belle has all she wishes to possess.

Imagination next appears to show

Her introduction to the season's beau.

Fancy, the theme delighted to pursue.

Makes him an object now in every view;

Wliether at concert, or at morning ride.

That form henceforth is at the fair one's side ;

While listening to the strains of human larks,

Or taking pleasant airings round the parks.

Now fancy seems to throw a softer spell

Over the vision of the season's belle,

And Love appears to make his first advance ;

'Mid the enchanting mazes of the dance,

One form is present, as her partner still.

In Polka, Waltz, Cellarius, and Quadrille.

But will the soft impressions of the night

Grow faint, and vanish by the uuutow's light ?

The vision shows the promenade next day.

And every doubt has pass'd at once away ;

The question's put — the answer all may guess ;

Reason and rliyme unite to answer — Yos.

By fancy now the hapi)y belle is brought

Among the glittering crowd that throng the court ;

THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON.

The day wlien some kiud chaperone presents
Is number'd 'mid tlie season's great events.
Oil ! surely Nature shows no sight so rare
As with a royal drawing-room could compare.
Can all the feather'd tribe together boast,
Of waving plumes, such a prodigious host ?
'Tis here that art displays its utmost zeal
The many f aidts of Nature to conceal ;
And age from Ai-t attractions can obtain.
For which poor Natiu-e's efforts would be vain.
The opera next is in the vision shown.
The lovely dreamer's there, bixt not alone.
Can Natiu'e show a scene more gay and bright
Than the grand opera at the season's height ?
Talk of the birds that carol in the sj)ring, —
What bird can 'gainst a prima donna sing ?
However loftily the lark may fly,
The first soprano can go twice as high;
"While not a blackbird 'mid the warliling host
Could of Lablache's execution boast :
In vain the nightingale might strain its thi'oat
To reach the pitch of Grisi's highest note.
Aaid then the ballet — show me where's the fawn
With half the real grace of Lucille Grahn ;
While the light antelope was a mere fool
Did it attempt Cerito's new pas-seul.
No, all the lambs that skip about the valley
Would cut but son-y figures in the ballet.
But to the dream — 'tis drawing near the close,
A dinner party next the vision shows,
With her accepted lover at her side.
She sits in fancy an affianced bride.
Next at a soiree with her skill and voice
She seems to charm the object of her choice,
TiU the imaginary music swells
Into a peal of merry marriage bells.
It is her wedding that the sound portends.
She hears the kind adieus of early friends ;
A carriage seems to bear her from the door,
A happy wife — the season's dream is o'er.

SEPARATION.

SEPARATION.
^ CaTc.

Fat, contented minds, who feel at vest within yourselves, who after you have with-
drawn from rubs and collisions with the world, can hug yourselves with your own internal
tranquillity, — for yoii this tale is not written. But to you, fine morbid souls, who not
only endiire the shocks from without, but the machinery of whose mind scrapes together
with infinite cogs, who fly from the war and bustle around, to find a deeper contention at
liome — to you I address myself. You alone can appreciate the siifi"erings of the Knight
Almanzoi'.

The King of Granada had a daughter, named Zamora, — one of those persons about
whose grade in the scale of beauty all sorts of opinions might be entertained. When
dressed in a style more than usually becoming, when in a remarkably good humour, and
particularly when the fancy of the spectator was exhilarated by the forbidden beverage —
she would pass for a paragon of female charms. But when she was negligently attired,
when she was a little out of sorts in the matter of temper (no xmfrequent occun-ence), and
when the spectator felt the headache arising from the preceding evening's festi\nty, the
difference was enormous. Many a gallant, who would have been happy to break a lance
in her cause after supper, would have shiiink from tilting with l)ulnishes in her cause in
the forenoon.

But it was not so with the Knight Almanzor, the accepted lover of the princess.
No consideration of hours or meals weighed with him, but at siini-ise and sunset he
believed her to be the most beautiful creature that ever lightened this dull earth by
its presence, and that if the famous Zuleika had possessed but half her charms the
virtuous Yusuf would have succumbed to the temptation. Need I say that Zamora was
delighted with her lover ? Such unfluctuating admirers were not to be found every day,
and, like a wise young lady, she appreciated her good luck. The iinion of Almanzor
and his beloved was shortly to take place — and under the cii'cumstances just naiTated,
any one would suppose that the knight lived in a state of ecstacy. The supposition
would be wrong; Almanzor gave reasons to believe that he had not by any means
attained the pinnacle of felicity. He would roam aboiit the palace garden, singing the
most lugubrious ditties to his lute, — and a woful eff'ect they had on his hearers, especially
as he never could succeed in bringing his instrument perfectly in tune. His songs would
run upon some one from whom he was parted — and who constituted the half of his
existence — and whom he feared he shoiild never see again — but no one could guess to
whom they referred. The Princess Zamora, who was sometimes a little piqued at these
plaintive lays to the mysterious somebody, would ask him who it was whose loss he
deplored so deeply. But F.he was told that he merely took an imaginary subject for his
verse, and sang to amuse himself. There was no reason to question the latter part of
this statement, as he evidently did not sing to amuse anybody else.

One day, in conformity with the customs of the chivah'ic epoch, the gallant Almanzor
Bet up a fine pavili(m, and placing himself in the front of it. declared that he would fight
a Vontronce with any knight who should deny tliat the Princess Zamora was the loveliest
creature in the world since the days of Mother Eve. The princess looked down from a
balcony, mai-vellously admiring the whole proceeding; and the old king, her father

SEPAEATION.

nodded and smiled, thanking the stars that his fntnre son-in-law was such a creditable
personage. The chances evidently were that Almanzor wonld walk over the course, and
have all the credit of gallantry without any of the risk. Not but there were many
knights who had seen far handsomer ladies than Zamora. and who — to use the idiom of
the Arab chronicler — would have knocked Almanzor " into the middle of the next
week ;" but they recollected that the fair one in question was the daughter of their king,
who had an awkward habit of taking off the heads of all persons who spoke disparagingly
of his family.

Under these circumstances, Almanzor walked carelessly up and down in front of his
tent, sometimes kissing his hand to the princess, sometimes whistling a tune ; and always
showing to the greatest possible advantage his new white armour, which sparkled
gloriously in the sun. and his shield, which bore the device of a smiling chubby face,
with the motto, " I admire." In all his movements there was a fine sense of sinecure.
Soon, however, to the general amazement, wp walked a knight in black armour, and
with a shield on which was depicted a grim sneering face, with the motto, " I despise."'

He bellowed out, snapping his fingers towards the balcony, "I contend that the Princess
Zamora is the ugliest individual I ever clapped eyes on, and I don't care a jot for the
old fool her father !" The sensation produced by this little gem of eloquence was im-
paralleled. The pi-incess fainted in a twinkling, and the old king was so amazed, that
he completely lost his consciousness of surrounding objects for a few moments, and saw
nothing but little sparkling bits of light dancing before his eyes. "When he recovered he
was scarcely less amazed at seeing his future son-in-law and the impudent stranger ardently
embracing each other. The thought struck him that he might very judiciously indulge in

SEPARATION.

a luxury, similar to that coveted by Caligula, of striking off two heads at one blow. How-
ever, lie crushed this thought at its birth; and it was woU that he did so, for a minute did
not elapse before Almanzor had laid aside his traitorous friendship, and was attacking him
of the black armour with the greatest ferocity, while the latter showed that he was deter-
mined not to be outdone in that elaborate brutality which the age considered the acme of
human perfection. Clash followed clash, flash succeeded flash, crash sounded aftt-r crash, —
till at last the combat terminated by the stranger falling senseless, imder the influence of
a mighty blow from the sword of Almanzor. At the same instant a cloud arose from the
earth, and both combatants became invisible. When it had dispersed, the Knight Almanzor
was discovered solus and with a little modification in his armour, for instead of being quite
white, the edges of the plates were black, and generally it was figured with a black pattern.
How came this change ? What had become of the sable knight ? Almanzor, after supper,
gave the following explanation : —

" Some years ago, of course long before I knew the lovely Zamora, I became enamoured
of Zulima, only daughter of the potent magician Albumazar. But so whimsical was my
passion, that I scarcely knew whether I loved her or hated her. Sometimes perfections
would dazzle me as with a blaze ; at others I was eagle-eyed in discovering defects. My
\NTetchedness was inconceivable, for I did not know what I wished myself. The thought
of losing her was torture, the thought of possessing her was scarcely more endurable. My
life seemed chained to an inconsistency. My soul was pulled two ways, like those unhappy
cnminals who are torn by two wild horses, and 1 could not discover a point of repose. If
I could have been perfectly enamoured, or perfectly disgusted, I should have been the
happiest of mortals. They eiT
who say that an unsatisfied wish \w^*l^-_-

is the greatest affliction. It is '"

not to be compared to the dreary
hopeless agony of an uncertain
desire, — of a will that trembles
without daring to rush into
action.

" The magician Albumazar
one day called me to him, and
said, ' I am perfectly acquainted
with your state of mind, and
see clearly enough that you are
no husband for my daughter.
I have, however, sufficient com-
passion on you to attempt the
cure of a malady, which may
otherwise pursue you through
your whole life. Tliis nudady
consists in a disposition to look
on the bright side of things,
and another to look on the dark side, being so equally balanced, that resolution is
impossible. My remedy -will be somewhat desperate, but you must not mind that.'

" So saying, he caught me by the nape of the neck, and before I knew where I was
going, I found myself in the interior of an alembic, with a smart fire crackling underneath.
The sensation I endured was wonderful. I felt no bodily pain, but my mind seemed to be
splitting into two, as if I could dimly think of two objects at once. At last I found

THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN.

myself looking at myself, — each self being perfectly clear and distinct. One self, pleasant,
smiling, and clieerful, floated at tlie top of the alembic ; the other, dark and gloomy,
scowled from below. The process being completed, the enchanter took both me's out of
the vessel, and keeping one of ns on each side of him, addressed us in a benignant voice.
' Almanzor,' said he, ' the contending principles in your character are now separated into
distinct persons. Take each of yoiT an opposite direction, for you shall not again be com-
bined till a moi-tal combat decides which is the more potent of the two. When that is
(mce settled, you will be a compact character.' Hearing these words of the good magician,
we embraced, and took leave of each other, and went each our own way ; one grumbling
through the world, and calling all things wrong, the other finding all things cheerful and
happy, excei^t when an occasional lingering for his other half would cross his mind, when
he would sing mournful songs. I need hardly tell you, that the knight you have hitherto
addi'essed as Almanzor was my sanguine moiety, and that the black knight whom I con-
quered to-day was my morose portion. That victory has settled that the good-humoured
part predominates, and I am now an entire person at the service of the fair Zamora,
though not perhaps so mere an enthusiast as my cheerful half appeared when quite
alone."

The nuptials of Almanzor and Zamora were celebrated with great splendour ; and the
wise men of Granada were heard to observe — in an under-toue, of course — " It is lucky the
gracious princess met the best half first."

Balzac d'Anois.

THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN.

BY THE EDITOR.

If a select committee were appointed to inquire into the state of the rural population,
and a stage countryman were to be examined with the view of collecting facts relating to
the rustic character, the select committee would be sorely iDuzzled to know what to make
of it.

In the first place the costume of the stage countryman is arranged with an eye to the
picturesque rather than the practical. He frequently wears a very light sky-blue coat,
with a waistcoat of the gayest chintz, as if somebody had given him a window citrtain, and
he had been seized with the heureuse idr'c of having a vest made out of it. He has dark-
blue stockings, which are made of silk if he is the first countryman, but are ordinarily of
grey worsted if he is only one of a party of rustics getting in the harvest or assisting at a
village festival. By the way, the dramatic mode of getting in the harvest consists in
tossing about a truss of straw with j^roperty rakes at the back of the stage, and then
coming forward to the front to sing a chorus. Village festivities are also of a very mild
description in their theatrical form, and comprise little more than the luxury of sitting on
a bench outside an alehouse door, holding in one hand a tin cuj) filled up above the brim
with wool, which is occasionally raised to the lips, in accordance with some complimentary
allusion to John Barleycorn.

To return, however, to the costume of the stage countryman. The remainder is made
up of a red wig and a hooked stick, with a small bundle slung across it, and a pair of
dancing-pumps, in which he is always prepared to walk to London, for the purpose of
righting " poor sisther Phcube," or telling the " great squire " that he (the stage country-
man) has got " feelins like," and that he (the stage countryman) is as good a " mon " as he

THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN.

(the squire) : " thof lie (the squire) have gotten a fine coat on his back "—a home truth
which sometimes throws the squire into a state of pitiable penitence about something or
other which there is no proof of his having been guilty of.

Though the dramatic rustic is vividly alive to any wrong, real or imaginary, intiicted
on his own sister, he is often, as far as his own treatment of the fair sex is concerned,
little better than a domestic ruflSan. He is either contemptibly soft, accepting as a wife
some village coquette, who has been declined on account of her flirting propensities, by
some former lover, or he is bnitally hard, refusing to fulfil the vows he has plighted to
some unfortunate village girl, and setting the yard dog at her if she persists in pursuing
him.

The occupations of the stage countryman are usually of the veiy vaguest character.
He appears to have nothing on earth to do but to avenge his sister for some wrongs not
very clearly made out. bully the landlord about " fearther," who is a most unpunctual old
man in the payment of his rent, flirt with village maidens, grow sentimental about poor
old " mither," and " dom " the young squire.

The stage countryman is a character fast disappeai'ing from the drama, and the only
rusticity now introduced into theatrical pieces is confined to a Yorkshire sei-vant, who
seems to be retained in a house for the mere purpose of misunderstanding every order he
receives, and grossly insulting every visitor of the family.

TO ROSALIE, WITH A PAIR OF SCISSORS. 77

TO ROSALIE,

WITH A \ / PAIR OF

It is an adage of the day,
" A knife cuts love " — perhaps it may ;
But Scissors, tell me, love, do they I
Oh ! surely no, love.
Then why this cut unkind impute,
When all their qualities confute
The calumny ? — To end dispute,
I'll -prove it so, love.

They are " a pair :" — The very name

Implies a thought — the emblem's aim

Of two fond hearts : though two, the same ;

My own and thine, love.
Mark how the kindred halves abide ;
Caressing closely side by side —
A lover, with his " shining Bride :"

Would it were mine, love.

How beamingly each steals a glance,
Reflecting each the coy advance
Of undulating dalliance !

(Put on their sheath, love.)
While I their bright example state.
For you and I conjoined by fate,
The moral to participate

Which lies beneath, love.

What oneness doth this " pair" anoint,
" Agreeing to a \ery point ;"
United — by a simple joint —

Their marriage bond, love.
List ! how with gliding sigh they greet
When parting — while a kiss so sweet
Snaps mutually whene'er they meet ;

They are so fond, love !

TO ROSALIE, WITH A PAIR OF SCISSORS.

They close in amorous innocence,
And either upon no pretence
'• Afifordp a handle of offence,"

Though playful ever.
And bound by sweet affection's laws,
May we shear clear of unwise saws ;
For spoi'tive lest their gi'ating cause

The charm to sever.

But oh ! should any presence rude
Between their closing lips intrude,
Their " keen embrace " bodes little good —

They'd " smack it smooth," love.
And thus each heart that loves another,
Should always halfway meet its brother,
Scissorivise — and pull together,

In age and youth, love.

But love, like them, must be inclined
In shape, and polished by the mind :
By nature " true,"* by art refined ;

" Well tempered" too, love.
Then say not they divide the chain
Of love, who parted, never feign,
But " cut " all else, and " come again ;"

Old and new, love.

But if perchance aught break the tie —
" The rivet of their destiny " —
How useless these, disbanded, lie :

Their partner gone, love !
So the poor heart left desolate —
Like mine — perforce now separate
Frcm thee, its own adopted mate,

Abides forlora, love.

Truly they " point a moral " — yes ;
And when thy pretty fingers press
This little instrument. I guess

The crt.se you'll feel. love.
Then if you deign no passing thought
On him by whom this " pair " was bought
But " set the Blade " och hoiie ! at nought,

Thou'rt " cold as steel, love."

True iis .steel." — Oldsa

ALICE BROMPTON; OK, THE LILY OP PARK LANE.

ALICE BROMPTON ; ou, THE LILY OF PARK LANE,
<! €abcL

CHAPTER III.

" Who are you?" — Popular Interrogatory.

Before we proceed witli our story it may be as well to answer tlie question wliicli
must by this time have occun-ed to many of our readers : " Who on earth is Singleton ?"

Charles Singleton was a younger scion of an old Cheshire family, which had once
been what is technically termed " the cheese," but had gone to decay at the end of the last
century. By a collateral uncle on the mother's side there had been some property, which
some poor relations on all sides had managed to dissipate. Our hero's grandfather had
distinguished himself on the Peninsula ; but how or what about was never very clearly
shown, though he was said to have won some laurels, as an ofHcer in the Bays ; but wishing
to repose on the former, he sold out of the latter at a comparatively early period. Captain
Singleton had a numerous family, of which our hero's father was the ninth son, so that
his patrimony was necessarily very limited ; and having invested nearly the whole of it in
a license to act as an auctioneer, he devoted himself with considerable energy to the
rostrum. His affability of manner, added to a sort of what the French call empressement,
gained him a good deal of esteem, and a fair share of business : so that after hammering
away for about a qiiarter of a century, he became so thoroughly satisfied with his own lot,
that he was enabled to retire. He had married early in life a woman of strong mind but
delicate health, who, about four years after blessing him with our hero, expired. Mr. Sin-
gleton having continued a widower for about seventeen years, unfortunately died, and
Charles Singleton found himself at the age of twenty-one the sole master of a hundred
and fifty pounds per annum.

Our hero, after having wept over the tomb of his parents, rushed with aU the ardour
of youth towards the metropolis — that naughty city of cold hearts and hot heads — where
he soon became steeped to the brim in its million gaieties. Still Singleton was not of a
frivolous turn of mind, and often when in the mad excitement of nocturnal revelry, calling
for the midnight chop, or clamouring for the devilled kidney, his eye would moisten,
and tears would flow from it as if it had been the seat of some secret cataract. He had
been educated at Harrow, which might account for the Byronic tinge that his character
had acquired ; and he had there formed a boyish fi'iendship with the Honourable Harry
Brompton, who had taken him to Park Lane, and introduced him to his only sister,
the Lily.

It has been beautifully said by somebody, that " school friendships, like hothouse
grapes, come early to maturity, and fall speedily to decay." But such had not been the
case with the friendship between Brompton and Singleton, who were familiarly known
among their set, the former as the Damon of Park Lane, and the latter as the PaU-Mall
Pythias. It was not to be expected that Singleton could compete in point of expenditiu-e
with his friend Brompton ; but with that spirit which is ever the mark of a generous soul
with limited means, he had a little overrun that staidest of fu.uctionaries, the constable.
He had become a member of a club at the West End of the town, where he was in the
habit of taking his meals, and from which he always dated his letters ; for he knew that
Greek Street, Soho, where he rented a solitary Ijedroom on an upper floor, would appear

80 ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

but a soiTy address in the eyes of those with whom his taste led him to associate. An
anxiety to augment his income had thrown him into the paths of literature, which he was
in the habit of adorning by a series of fanciful heart-gushings in poetry and prose (on
the usual terms), and he had obtained some little populai-ity as the <^ of a well-known
periodical.

His intimacy with the noble family of the Bromptons was brought about, in the fii-st
instance, by the partiality of yoxmg Harry ; but it was rendered closer by the good-nature
of the head of the illustrious house — the kind-hearted and venerable Eai-1 of Putney. The
feelings of Lady Alice towards our hei'O were, of course, veiy different from those with
which her father and brother regarded him. The literary acquirements of Singleton were
exactly of a character to make an impression on the female heart ; for they generally re-
ferred to early affections blighted, and young bosoms seared — topics which were siire to
tell upon the mind of a sensitive creatui'e like the heroine of our little history.

But while we have been desciibing the persons who will form the most prominent
characters in our tale, we have broken the thread of its action ; but having replenished our
literary needle, we will go to work in earnest upon the ensuing chapter.

CHAPTER R'.

" Ha !— say'st thou ?"— Old Play.

We left Singleton at the close of our second chapter brushing his hair at his club, and
we rejoin him turning the corner of Pall Mall into St. James's Street. He had dismissed
his horse to the livery stables from which he had hired it for a morning ride, and he was
walking in the direction of Park Lane, at a pace which those only who have iondly and
passionately loved can form a due conception of. With a beating heart and a throbbing
head. Singleton was stepping out towards the paternal abode of Alice, when he ran against
a tall figure in a Spanish cloak, who had suddenly turned round towards the kerb-stone
to hail a cab from the stand adjacent. Singleton and the stranger exchanged a mo-
mentary scowl, but the latter entered the vehicle, and the former thought he caught the
words " Park Lane " — spoken with a strong foreign accent, to the waterman. There was
nothing peculiar in a foreigner taking a cab to Park Lane ; but owing probably to the
highly feverish state of excitement in which Singleton naturally found himself, the words
Park Lane struck with a cold and clammy chill to his very core, with an intensity that
there was no accounting for.

As our hero passed into Piccadilly, the busy vivacity i)f the scene contrasted power-
fully with his own abstractedness, and he gazed \\ath such vacancy on the condiictors of
the numerous omnibuses, that they mistook his air for that of a man undecided as to the
vehicle he should select, iind requiring only vigorous solicitation to induce him to make up
his mind in which he would become a passenger. Pencils, watch-guards, and oranges
were thrust into his face on one side, while a body of cads importuned him on the other;
when, amid the din of voices, all roaring out the names of suburban places, he thought he
heard the word Brompton, and he burst into a violent flood of tears. A loud shriek of
laughter rose wildly from the imfeeling crew ; Avhen, suddenly recollecting himself, he
looked sternly round, and spreading out both his arms with a dignity that was almost
ten-il)le, as if to throw from him the heartless crowd, he muttered the single word " Away,"
and went rapidly off towards Hyde Park Corner. As Singleton walked, or rather scam-
pered towards his destination, he began to ask himself a vai'iety of questions as to the

ALICE BROMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 81

ol)ject Lady Alice could have in writin"^ to liim. He had never actually declared liis
passion in words, though he had often thrown his whole soul into his looks, and he could
not doubt that his eyes had told the tale which his lij)s had never dared to utter. It is
true that his conversations with the lovely Alice had never comprised any distinct avowal
of affection on either side ; hut he had, to use a beautiful illustration of his own. extracted
the rays of the rainbow from the softness of the sunbeam ; or, to use a less metaphysical
mode of expression, he had distilled the honey of hope from the lily's gentleness. Often,
indeed, had he recited to Alice the words of some simple ballad of his own, in which he
had sung of gallant knights breaking lances for ladies fair, at joust or tournament ; but
this could hardly be interpreted into a specific offer of either his heart or hand, and there-
fore he could not be supposed to know how such an offer would be received, if he ventured
on making it. But Singleton was by this time on the step of the door, and while we
leave him to knock and be let in, we will see what is going on in the interior of the
mansion.

CHAPTER V.

" Amor possente nome." — Tancredi.

We must now take the liberty of bursting into the bondoir of Alice Brompton, an
apartment in which Taprell and Holland seemed to have struggled with Sharpus to such
an extent, that it was difficult to say whether the upholstery of the one, or the porcelain of
the other, had obtained the ascendancy. The window was of stained glass, with a magnifi-
cent centre-piece i-epresenting Cupid retui-ning from Howell and James's with offerings to
Hymen, — a subject in which the mythological and the real were blended very happily
The panes on either side were emblazoned with the heads of some of the founders of the
Brompton family. There was the burly Hugh de Knightsbridge, the friend of Latimer
and Ridley, who lost his head at the Tower ; and Walter de Putney, who when a boy, and
the family mansion was under repair, fell off the scaffold. Nor must we forget to mention
the stalwart Hildebrand de Fulham, who aimed at the crown — and broke the palace lamp
— with a stone ; while in one corner of the window was Sir Brian de Brompton, who had
given a petit sonper to the discontented barons to celebrate the signing of Magna Charta.
The draperies were of satin damask, such as may be seen labelled " curiously fine," in the
merchants' windows ; while the walls were covered with a profusion of plate glass in
massive gilt frames, so that wherever the eye turned it was sure to light upon its own
reflection. In one corner of the apartment was a piano, and under it a Canterbury, pre-
sented by one of the archbishops of that see to an ancestor of our heroine. A portrait of
the Lily in mezzotinto, painted expressly for The Ladies' Belle Assemhlee, hung in a small
recess, and a guitar, suspended by a blue ribbon to a brass hook, completed the furniture of
the apartment.

In front of the piano sat Alice, looking like St. Cecilia, on a rosewood music-stool.
Her hair had all the sleekness of one of Carlo Dolce's Madonnas, and her neck looked like
a bit of Chantrey's choicest chiselling. There was an expression in her eye of half fire
half water — for the furnace of passion seemed to have been just lighted in time to allow
the fountain of tears to pour in and extinguish it.

But Alice was not alone ; leaning over the shoulders of the Lily, in such a position as
to catch the flashing of her beautiful eye, was a man considerably above the middle
stature. His brow was bi-onzed, apparently by a southern sun, and his high cheek-bones
thrown considerably up into relief by a complexion of the most delicate olive, gave him a

ALICE BROMPTON; OR, TIIH LILY OF PAUK LANE.

good deal of tlie aspect of one of those studies vrith 'svhicb Domeniehino, had he lived to
have done so, might have adoraed the corridors of the Vatican. A bushy moustache
completed a head which the elder of the Caraccis might have revelled over, and transfixed
with his immortal brush on his imperishable canvas. The dress of the stranger had once
been showy, but was going fast to decay, like the old Italian house of Tiitti Fare, of
which he who himg over the Lily in the boudoir of Park Lane, was almost the only
remnant. The position in which Tutti Fare is introduced to the reader renders some

explanation requisite, and we therefore proceed to give such explanation as In-iefly as
possible — premising that we have no other authority than Tutti Fare's own for the account
we are about to offer.

Luigi di Tutti, the founder of his race, was a Venetian noble, who having no other
fortune than his sword, swore an oath in the presence of the Council of Ten — a custom
something like making an affidavit before a police magistrate — that he would never sheathe
the weapon till he had made Venice wliat she ought to be. By a man-iage with Leonora
di Fare — by some called The Rose of Lombardy, and by others the Austrian HoUyoak —
Luigi cemented the union between the Tuttis and the Fares, so that the head of the house
went by the name of Tutti Fare ever afterwards.

The next of the race was Giacomo, who was said to have refused the offer of a car-
dinal's hat from Sixtus ; but he. nevertheless, ultimately got very monkish, and founded
an asylum for decayed Carmelites.

The link in the family genealogy is here lost, till we get smack down to Tutti Fare,
the last of a long line of Italian counts, who, banished from his own fair land by political
discord, was cultivating harmony in England as a fashionable miisic-master. He had
been selected to fini.sh the Lily's musical education, which, by the way, was something

BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 83

like teachiug notes to tlie nightingale; and Alice Bromptou had fallen madly, desperately,
wholly and solely, heart and soul, in love with him. Tutti Fare himself had never
dreamed of being the object of his pupil's passion till one morning, when trying over the
duet of Lascimni, she suddenly fell almost fainting on his breast. From that time their
protestations of affection had been mutual, and they were in the midst of a passionate trill,
with the left hand of the Lily clasped fervently in that of Tutti Fare, when Singleton
entered the room.

What occurred was the work of a moment, and our description shall be correspond-
ingly brief, for the reader will be happier in conceiving than we could possibly be in
describing it.

Singleton tore a handful out of his hair, gave an hysteric scream, succeeded by a deep
groan, and hurrying down stairs, was in a few moments seated in a cab, sobbing bitterly.
Tutti Fare, who was simply annoyed at being interrupted in a tcte-d-tete with his lovely
piipil, uttered a few words of Italian, among which Corpo di Bacco were distinctly audible,
w^hile the Lily swooned into her lover's arms, having just sufficient consciousness left to keep
her eyes fixed on the door, to prevent her father, or brother, or one of the servants, coming
unexpectedly into the room.

We need hardly prolong this chapter to add, that Singleton saw in his rival the stran-
ger in the Spanish cloak, whom, less than half an hour before, he had met, rvm against,
and scowled upon.

BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK.

Eift JScfliiming.

" There be the coach, Betty, a coming down Redclay Hill, yonder," said one of a
group that had assembled in front of the Green Dragon — the only public-house in the
little village of Grassvale. There was no mistaking the purport of the assemblage — a box
neatly packed in canvas, a gigantic umbrella carefully patched and darned, a pair of pat-
tens secured to the cording of the box by a piece of tape, plainly told that one of the little
party was about to take a journey, and that the others had met to say " good-bye " to the
traveller. The object of this friendly solicitude was Betty Morrison, — kind and gentle
Betty MoiTison — who, for the first time in her life, was about to leave her native village
for no less a place than London. It was a hard task for Betty to part from her old
widowed mother ; but she acted from a sense of duty, and a strong undefinable h.ope that
the sacrifice she was making would some day tend to the happiness of the beloved author
of her being. Until the present moment the lot of Betty Morrison had been a happy one.
She had been born the child of parents who had no other inheritance but their labour and
their cheerful hearts, and who early taught their child contentedly to " do her duty in that
state of life to which it had pleased God to call her." When her father died, Mrs. Hartley,
the curate's wife, took Betty to live with her ; and under the tuition of that excellent
woman — too poor to be idle, and too good to be proud — Betty became the best servant in
the county. She was taught to read and write ; and so highly were her acquirements and
goodness estimated, that she became the friend and confidante of half the young girls in
the village. Betty was three-and-twenty when the curate died, and his widow reluctantly
compelled to seek a home in the house of a near relative. The separation of mistress and
handmaid Avas a sad one indeed, although the good woman had exerted herself so earnestly

BETTY MORRISON'S POCKE'J'-BOOK.

with some friends in the metropolis, that Betty had obtained " a service in London at 71. a
year !" — a sum which sounded to the ears of the honest nistics of Grassvale as the certain
nest-egg of a fortune. It was to realise this golden dream that Betty Mon-ison was await-
ing the ai-rival of the " Old Blue " coach to London. As the rattle of the wheels became
audible the poor old widow took her child's hand between her own, and looking for a mo-
ment steadfastly in her darling's face, burst into tears and sobbed aloud.

" Don't mother — don't cry," said Betty, almost choked by her own emotion ; " I'm
going for both our good — I'm sure I am. A year or two's hard work, and then I shall
come back to you with so miich money that we shall be puzzled to spend it."

" But thee has never been from home afoi'e, Betty," sobbed her mother, " and Lun'on's
a matter of a hundred mile away ; and how be I to know if thee bee'st well — and happy,
my chUd. Thee musn't go, Betty — thee musn't."

" Fie, mother," and the poor girl tried to smile. " Why, my dear old mistress would
think I had grown lazy and ungi'atefid, now that she's been at all the trouble to get me a
place, mother. Can't I wi'ite to you whenever the waggon comes to town ? Besides, I mean
to put down in the pocket-book that Mary Grove gave me what happens every day, so that
when I come home again " — the tears would have way — " I say when I come home again
I can sit in the dear, dear old ingle of winter nights, or in the withy arbour in the garden
when it's summer, and read to you all that I have thought and done. It wiU be like living
the time over again with you, mother."

The coach stopped — a dozen ready hands seized Betty's box — as many more were
thrust out to clasp her hiind.

" It be getting frosty, Betty," said Mrs. Dove, the landlady of the Green Dragon —
" thee'dst better take this old wittle to wrap round thee — thee canst send it back by
waggon."

" Ay, dame, so she can — thee can send it back in this basket, Betty, where thee'll find
a bit and a sup, and thee'll want both afore thee gets to Lun'on," chimed in Mr. Dove.
" God bless thee, lass — mind how thee gets up."

" I've putteu a wisp of straw for thee feet, Betty," said Will Ostler.

" Thee'll take care on her, Mr. Guard." cried the widow, as the coachman gathered uj)
his horses. " Good liye — God keeji thee from harm, Betty ;" — and not one that heard the
mother's prayer but breathed a fei-vent Amen.

BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 85

On the evening of December 12tli, 1815, Betty Morrison arrived at the house of her
new master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Buzzard. We shall let Betty tell her own impres-
sion of the modern Babylon ; but before doing so it is necessary (for our purpose) that the
reader be made acquainted with certain facts and personages.

At the time of which we write tradesmen were beginning to be " genteel." The useful
was rapidly giving way to the ornamental; and the silly desire of imitating the habits and
manners of the idle or " sujserior classes," as they are styled, which has placed so many
worthy names in the Gazette, was making its inroads on the peace of numerous hitherto
contented families. The Buzzards had been bitten, and though their present mode of
living involved a considerable increase of labour, Mrs. Buzzard was gradually withdrawing
herself from the operative duties of housewifery. Mr. Buzzard had been lately a frequent
seceder from " The Nightingales " — a friendly meeting of neighbours, to which he had
been attached ever since his indentures had expired. Rumours were rife of his having
been seen in the dress boxes of Drury Lane, and some malicious fellow declared that he
had heard Buzzard make use of very improper language as to the ultimate destination of
country-dances.

At length the Buzzards openly declared their secession from the vulgar world. The
back-parlour was thrown into the shop ; the first floor windows were draped with hangings
of crimson moreen trimmed with yellow worsted ; and the private door was bedizened with
a large brass plate, on which was inscribed Mr. — yes !— Mr. B. Buzzard. These innova-
tions were very properly resented by the whole street in which Mr. B. Buzzard carried on
his trade of pin-making, and Mr. and Mrs. B. Buzzard were not only cut, but quizzed most
unmercifully.

The only person who suffered by the conduct of Buzzard beside himself was his next
door neighbour, Mr. Scott, a very industrious and sober saddler. He had a small trade,
which was gradually increasing by his frugality and attention ; but the causes of his pro-
sperity prevented him forming anything like a social connection, and almost his only
friendly acquaintance in the ward was neighbour Buzzard.

Alas ! their pleasant gossips at the street doors were becoming few and far between.
Weeks passed, and Buzzard had never popped in for a pinch of snuff as he used to do. In
fact, Mrs. Buzzard had pronounced saddlering ungenteel, and Mr. Scott was scratched
accordingly. The honest saddler took this somewhat to heart at first, but he soon ceased
to think of Mr. B. Buzzard but as of one whose wisdom was very questionable.

Mr. Scott's household consisted of his aged mother, and one of those domestic nuisances
usually designated " a drab of a girl." The old lady had hitherto sxipplied the place of
a better servant ; but as time stole on she frequently urged her son to look about him for a
helpmate to supply her place when age and infirmities should make her only a burthen to
him. The saddler would readily have obeyed his mother's wishes, but he had hitherto seen
no one with whom he thought he could share the ups-and-downs of life but that was either
too wealthy or too genteel.

Matters were in this state when the porter of Mr. Idol, the silversmith, was seen to
enter Mr. B. Buzzard's house with a somewhat bulky parcel, and to return without it.
Mr. B. Buzzard had certainly been buying plate, and this important news was soon com-
municated to every inhabitant of the street. Nor were Mr. B. Buzzard's honest neighbours
the only persons acquainted with this circumstance : for one fine night in June the whole
population of street, City, were roused from their slumbers by the din of rattles and

86 BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK.

lusty cries of " Stop thief," which proceeded from the united Ixings of the pin-maker
and his wife.

The sashes of fifty windows were thrown up in an instant, and a hundred heads at
least were peering anxiously therefrom in the hope of catching a glimpse of the thieves.
Their curiosity, however, was doomed to be baffled, for the burglars succeeded in effecting
their escape over the walls at the back of the house, carrying with them all Mr. B. Buzzard's
newly-purchased finery, and (alas!) Betty Mon-ison's pocket-book.

In the morning the intelligence of the pin-maker's loss flew from door-step to door-
step up and down the street like an ignited powder-train ; and there is no doubt that, had
a jury of Mr. Buzzard's neighbours been empanelled to try the robbers, that the verdict
would have been "justifiable burglary" — so very unpopular had Mr. B. become.

A fortnight after this occm-rence, David Scott was engaged sweeping the little yard
at the back of his house, when he thought he saw something red behind the water-butt.
Upon closer examination, he was surprised to find a pocket-book. On the fly-leaf was
written, " Betty Momson, the gift of her dear friend, Maiy Grove." Now, as Mr. Buzzard,
in his naiTative of the robbery, had never alluded to the loss which poor Betty had sus-
tained (for the pocket-book, containing neither bank-notes nor bills of exchange, he had
very sagely considered to be of no value), David Scott innocently believed himself at per-
fect liberty to inspect the contents of the waif which he had discovered, never thinking it
had anything to do with the " Great Buzzard Burglary " — as the advertisements in the
Hue and Cry were headed.

It was after a frugal supper, during which old Mrs. Scott had recurred to her now
daily theme — viz., the positive necessity of her son taking unto himself a helpmate — that
the saddler produced the i^rize which he had found.

On inspection, the pockets of the book only contained a few dried rose-leaves and a
little piece of paper enclosing a lock of grey and brown hair. On the paper was wi'itten
*' Poor dear father's." The saddler replaced the little memento with a feeling of reverence>
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.

" 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.

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.

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 Civilizati<m stood amid the confusion, looking as hopeful
and as placid as over.

THE STAGE ASSASSIN. 95

rOLKA LYRICS.

liKSPECTFLLLY DEDICATED TO DK. KEATS OF ETON, AND THE PROFESSOIW OF "NONSENSE VERSES.'

AiK — Jullien's Polka.

Qui nunc dancere vult mode,
"Wants to dance in the fashion, oh !
Discere debet — ought to know,
Kickere floor cum heel et toe.

One, two, three.

Hop with me.
Whirligig, twirligig, rapide.

Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis.
Will you join the Polka, Miss ?
Liberius — most willingly.
Sic agimus — then let us try :

Nunc vide,

Skip with me.
Whirlabout, roundabout, celere.

Tum laeva cito, tum dextra,

First to the left, and then t'other way ;

Aspice retro in vultu.

You look at her, and she looks at you.

Das palmam.

Change hands, ma'am ;
Celere — run away, just in sham.

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

BY THE EDITOR.

Never having had the privilege of an acquaintance with a real assassin — a distinc-
tion which, if he happens to be caught and condemned, is in these days apparently much
coveted — we are unable to say whether the assassin of the stage bears a reasonable
resemblance to the genxiine article. We regret, however, to find that the old original
stage assassin is fast fading away, and is almost entirely superseded in the dramatic world
by a smooth-faced sort of villain, who is recognized by the patrons of the theatres " over
the water," as the hero of domestic tragedy. We confess we have a preference for the
" fine old stage assassin, all of the olden time," the regular minor melodramatic murderer,
with a voice hoarse from an accumulation of colds, supposed to have been caught in a
long course of crime carried on at midnight, among cut woods and canvas caverns. We

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

prefer bis ample crop of black worsted, falling iu raven ringlets half-way down bis back,
to tbe bair of tbe modem stage assassin, wbose locks are " gracefully curled," like the
celebrated little volume of smoke in tbe old song of tbe Woodpecker. Tbe bead-di-ess
of tbe former is characteristic of tbe dark thoughts that are passing through tbe wearer's
brain, but tbe latter's well Macassared bair confounds tbe distinctions between innocence
and guilt, for if tbe assassin can have recom-se to a cut and curl, bow are we to know and
beware of him ? Is it not enough to make us start back in boiTor from the wax beads
in tbe barbers' windows, and to look with suspicion on the innocent shop-boy or clerk,
who having just paid bis monthly sixpence for having bis bair cut, has undergone the
operation of tbe irons because there is no extra charge, and he likes to get as much as be
can for bis money ?

Tbe old stage assassin is however not quite extinct ; and ere be vanishes altogether
we will paint him in bis triie colour. As that colour happens to be particularly black, we

cannot have anything more aj^propriate than
ink to paint with. The face of the stage
assassin is ploughed up with enonnous fur-
rows, to add no doubt to tbe harrowing nature
of his aspect. His forehead has as many
lines mnning across it as a Grand Junction
Railway ; and bunit cork, tbe theatrical sub-
stitute for care, has traced a long train of
guilt from one terminus to tbe other of bis
countenance. His cheeks are blanched -svith
that chalk which on the stage does tbe work
of conscience, and bis eyes are blackened by
that want of mental repose which Indian ink-
so eflfectually indicates. The career of the
stage assassin affords a ciu-ious illustration
of tbe rapidity with which a downward course
of guilt is accomplished. He enters without
having any murderous object, when chance
throws him in tbe way of a wicked nobleman,
who wants to get rid of a good nobleman, on account of some family feud between their
respective ancestors in a foi*mer century. Tbe wicked nobleman seldom makes any pro-
posal in specific terms, but the stage assassin is very apt; and a few -nanks. a groan or two,
some exclamations about scotching a snake, followed up by tbe exhibition of an enormous
purse, with a little whispering into the stage assassin's ear, ai'e quite suflBcient to furnish
him with the particulars of the task be is about to enter upon.

Having become acquainted with tbe person of bis contemplated victim, the stage
assassin is constantly at bis heels, but never gets near eno\igh to despatch him — and
generally comes on exclaiming, "Ha! be turns into tbe wood ; be goes across tbe copse;
now yon thicket shades him; he emerges from tbe wood; again he's out of sight ! Curses
on him, be has eluded me this time;" — and tbe stage assassin immediately steals off in
an opposite direction to that which the victim is supposed to have taken. Sometimes the
stage assassin succeeds in getting close behind the good nobleman without being seen,
when it is usual for him to go through sundry evolutions with his dagger, each of which
is more difficult than to kill tbe intended victim at once; but this superfluous fooleiy is
kept up till the latter turns abruptly round, and tbe stage assassin — managing to conceal
his weapon — makes a most obsequious bow to the good noblem:in, who walks coolly out

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

as if nothing had happened, while the assassin follows mth a variety of threatening-
gestures.

It sometimes happens that the victim is caught in a storm on the borders of his own
estate, when he turns into a wi-etched hovel
to pass the night on a Windsor chair, with
his arm arranged as a bolster for his head,
which he reposes on a little round kitchen
tea-table. The stage assassin usually con-
trives to come to the window, which he opens
gently in the first instance, but after looking
in, he suddenly slams it violently with a noise
which is echoed by an enormous drum, and
the victim, waking up, looks round in every
direction but the right, and, making a casual
observation on high winds, he goes off to
sleep again. The stage assassin looks again
through the window, and contrives to enter
unheard, but he must needs take several
strides about the room, in the course of
which he wilfully upsets a chair, and creeps
under the table. This noise being also res-
ponded to by a loud crash on the drum, the victim starts up and observes that " Surely
he heard a noise." He even proceeds to look under the table, but the assassin creeps out,
and contrives to dodge the victim, who, having indiilged in a short soliloquy on storms,
settles down to go to sleep again.

He is what is termed " off " in no time, and the assassin then goes seriously to work,

»i]m"^^^i^^>af

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-

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 g<iod she 7nitst have been,
since the love I felt foi- her only .strengthened with increase of years, and has outlived the
separation of death and the grave. David loved her almost as much as I did. I only find
in my pocket-book the date of the day she died— no remarks, not one. I often used to
wonder that I had \\Titt('n nothing d(n\ni — none of the sad thoughts that used to come into

FEW WORDS ABOUT BETTY MORRISON'S BOCKET-BOOK.

113

my mind, for I have fancied sometimes that those thoughts would have proved how dearly
I had loved her; but when another died— jvten my only daughter was taken from me-I

once tried to put down a few words. I only wrote — " My dear Mary died this day " — that
was all. I felt that more was impossible ; for, as I could not tell to any one the greatness
of my soiTOW, so I could not write it even to myself. My affliction seemed to be too lioly,
too refined for words to express it. My poor Mary is laid beside ber grandmotber, for
David guessed (I know not how) tbat I Avisbed that their graves should be together ; and
great as tbe distance was, and great as the expense, he managed that my strong desire
should be gratified. But why am I writing tbese tbings to you, sir, to whom I am a
stranger ? Yet I hope you will forgive me ; for, when searching among old memories, I
long to tell to some one tbe feelings tbat arise in my mind.

Should you ever come to Grassvale, I bope you will call upon us. I should like to
show you our little garden and cottage, and (if you would) tbe place wbere my mother and
my Mary are buried. It is on tbe soutb side of tbe cburcb, wbere tbe sun shines tbe
longest, and tbe snow melts tbe soonest ; and by standing on tbe seat in tbe withy arbour,
at tbe bottom of tbe garden, we can see botb tbe green mounds, tbougb time has dimmed
David's eyes and mine. * * *

Betty Scott.

Ill A PASSAG'.-: IX THE rOLK-OllEGON WAT!

A PASSAGE IN THE POLK-OREGON ^VAP.

Frrytn the " Kentucky KEEPSAKK,"/or 185o.

During that exti'aordinai-y, but "just and necessaiy" war, which, thourrh it was
begun foi- the sake of a boundaiy line nobody ever drew, and supposed to run through a
desert where nobody ever went, concluded by devastating a leash of continents, and
rendering the ocean entirely uninhabitalsle, there probably occun-ed no instance of more
desperate heroism on one side, and fanatic resolution on the other, than were displayed in
the naval action we are about to describe. Now that the Polk-Oregon war has satisfac-
torily terminated by the restoration of both parties to precisely the same temper and ten-i-
tory as each possessed at its commencement, the pen of the novelist may be pennitted to
dwell upon the stirring scenes of so brilliant a contest.

The British, baffled at sea and beaten on shore, continued, with island obstinacy, to
protract their resistance to the gallant republicans.. But as the champions of liberty,
aided by their slaves, had captured nearly the whole of the English fleet, it became neces-
sary for the serfs of the Guelph to press (in accordance with their tyrannical practice)
every vessel which coiild be laid hold of into the service of their mistress. The Red Rover
of Margate, and the Diamond of Gravesend, together with the Matrimony of Chelsea, and
the Flirt of Vauxhall, had long since been taken by the American cruisers, and bore the
stripes and the stars in proud token of triumph. A recent action in which that superior
Heme Bay boat, the Prince of Wales, escaped, with the loss of her steward and funnel,
from a New York coal-barge, somewhat revived the depressed spirits of England, and it
was resolved instantly to put into commission the Fairy, a beautiful little steamboat of
one pony power, which had been admirably built and luxuriously furnished for the river
trips of the English Queen.

Gallantly and men-ily the Fairy skimmed along the sea for some weeks, without
falling into the power of the glorious republic. But she was soon fated to cncoxinter a
terrible enemy. No frigate liad done better service in the sacred cause of liberty than the
Grimy Nigrfcr, and it was from the main-top-gallant-mast skyscraper of that vessel that
her watchful captain. Adipose Tuckett, descried the audacious emissary of tyranny. In
one instant he shouted with a voice of thunder — " Trip the anchor, reef the studding
sails, and run the quoin into the bridle port !"

He was obeyed with that noiseless precision characteristic of an American vessel, and
so diflferent from the hesitating and criticising murmurs which invariably follow an order
given on board a British ship. In a moment the Niggei-'s bows rose, her sail booms flew
forward, and as lier quai-ter-pieces flapped under her lee, she suddenly presented both
broadsides at once to the astonished gaze of the commander of the Faii-y.

"All hope is over," said the young captain, who viewed his enemy with a seaman's
eye — as indeed he could hardly help doing. " But by the gi-een shade of my old blind
father, we will cut their work out for them !" So sajing he nished to the wheel, and dash-
ing the steersman into the sea, he proceeded to giiide the vessel himself.

" Give a pull on the braces, you hibbers!" he exclaimed. " See everything clear, and
nail the standard of England to the mast !"

The crew surlily complied with his orders, and scarcely had they done so. when forty-
four puffs (jf white smoke broke out from the side of the Grimy Niffijer. and. amid the roar
of as many guns, forty-four halls flew with iiii.Tring aim into tli.' hull of the Fairy. Had

A PASSAGE IN Tim POLK-OREGON WAR

115

she been built in the ordinary manner, that dreadful Ijroadsidc would have sunk her ; but
here the luxurious policy of the buUder proved her safety. The immense number of i^late-
glass windows gave passage to the balls, which passed through in a shower, and fell into
the sea on the other side, one of them killing the struggling sailor whom the captain, in
his pardonable impetuosity, had flung overboard.

As the Nigger wore, with the intention of repeating her fire, the gun of the Fairy was
discharged at her stern. The solitary ball sped fatally, and struck down a young midship-
man named Gouge Lyncher, who was engaged in his duty of superintending the caboose.
With the words " Hail Columbia !" on his lips, the gallant youth fell ; the mint julep he
was mixing being caught from his hand by his commanding officer, who with the presence
of mind and coolness characteristic of the American tar, immediately swallowed it.

And now began one of those extraordinary displays of naval science, which until they
were technically described (if not explained) by the immortal Cooper in his celebrated
nautical romances, were considered as contributions to the library of the Marines. The
skilful cj)nimanders of both ships, alike emulous of fame (though from motives of far
different merit), put in practice every manoeuvre which a seaman's knowledge could
supply, or a steamer's paddles execute. The vessels literally flew round and round one
another, like pugilists in combat, lashing the billows into a white foam, and filling the
air with clotids of l^lack smoke. The firing
was kept up by both with the vxtmost fury,
though from the circumstance of neither ^

crew being able to see the enemy, less
damage was done than might have been
anticipated. The tactics of the com-
mander of the Nigger were marked by
a boldness bordering on rashness, for,
ordering the safety-valve to be soldered
down, he seized tlie instant when his
vessel was riding on the summit of a
mountain wave to fire all his guns on
both sides, he himself discharging his
blunderbuss, and shouting tei'rificaUy
through a speaking-trumpet to his unseen
foe : " Strike ! you tarnation stranger, ~ ^

strike !"

The contest lasted for upwards of foui- hours, and yet owing to the peculiar circum-
stances which attended it, neither vessel seemed to gain a marked superiority. In vain
were the tremendous broadsides of the Grimy Nigger thundered upon her enemy, the Fairy
still rode the deep, and continued her pigmy discharge with British pertinacity. But it
seemed as if the two captains had, at the self-same instant, resolved upon ending the
action by a decisive blow. For at the very moment when Captain Tuckett, in the deepest
tones of his stormy voice, exclaimed, " Horse-Marines ! Charge !" the captain of
Queen Victoi-ia's ship suddenly abandoned the helm, and seizing an enormous carving-
knife which lay upon the deck, rushed forward and cut off the iveather-gage.

The next instant ships and crews were alike in atoms, and nothing was heard but the
faint echoes of the voices of the two captains ; the bold Englishman having expired with
" Rule Britannia " on his lips, while the last gasp of the American was wafted away on
the air of " Yankee Doodle."

^^.c^.-

116 REFLECTIONS ON THE OPENIXG OF HUNGERFORD BRIDGE.

REFLECTIONS,

SUGGESTED BY THE UNEXPECTED OPENING OF HUNGERFORD SUSPENSION BRIDGE.

High in the air, o'er Father Thames's head,
There seems to run a skein of iron thread,
Tangled and twisted — while a ravell'd end
Doth from the skein at intervals depend.
What can it be thus poised in nether air ?
We start and wonder how they got it there.
'Tis a triumphant eflFort of invention,
A bridge supported solely by suspension.
Oh, Hungei-ford, the envious tide,

Rolling in sullen eoldness by,
Thy busy coast did long di^dde

From Lambeth, now thy j&i-m ally.
Lambeth and Hungerford — how sweet
To be allowed at last to meet —
Though fate has kept you long apart,
You ne'er were aliens at heart.
Though cold Geography assigned

A separate county unto each.
There was the union of the mind

In which no map could make a broach.
Yes, Middlesex and Surrey too.

Claim England as their common mother ;
And oh, may Lambeth ever view

In Hungei-ford a younger brother !
Fair Science, at thy hands I would not ask
A higher purpose or a nobler task,
Than to unite by chains compact and strong
Spots always kindred, though dissevered long.
'Tis great as well as glorious to connect
Lambeth ynth Hungerf ord by bridge direct ;
But oh ! a portion of the praise be theirs.
The gallant few who lioldly took the shares ;
Brave men, who, patriotically rash,
Euibark'd, or rather swamp'd at once their ca«h,
In an adventure, for their country's good.
Which ne'er will jiay, because it never could.

TIIR HEADS OF THE TABLE. 117

Cbc IJciibs of tk ^ablc.

In these days of calculation, scarcely anything of importance is undertaken without
the aid of Tables. Should a railroad be proposed from Wormwood Sciiibs to Sandwich
Flats, traffic tables would be forthwith prepared to show a sympathy between the Scrubs
and the Flats, rendering rapid communication between them absolutely indispensable.
There would be tables, no doubt, to prove the immense consumption of Sandwiches, and
the increasing demand for Wormwood, both of which, it woidd be contended, must in-
evitably become subjects of constant interchange in the event of there being a line to take
in the Flats, provided it should be a line that the Sciiibs could also be got into. If a Loan
and Endowment Company be started, tables are instantly in requisition to prove, that, for
a sum paid down at once, a handsome annuity will be paid as long as the annuitant lives,
imless the annuitant happens to outlive the society, which may by accident go off very
suddenly.

There is, however, another, and a more agreeable species of table, which is almost
invariably resorted to with a view to raising money for charitable purposes. The only
table by which charity may be fairly measured is the dinner table ; and thoiigh it is a
common saying, that charity begins at home, experience seems to show that the very
sociable virtue alluded to begins — in England, at least — by going out to a public dinner.
A man who in the morning might have given his guinea with a cool head to what he
might have admitted to be rather a deserving institution, finds himself over the dinner
table recklessly suljscribing for life, and pledging himself for the remainder of his days
to the support of a charity in which he never before took any extraordinary interest.

When a man goes to a public dinner, he usually sets down in his own mind a certain
sum for the plate ; but a few glasses of wine have a wonderful effect in extending his sym-
pathies, and enlarging the amount of his subscription. The appeal of the chairman goes
home to the heart, and of course, therefore, to the cheque-book ; so that, when the list is
handed round, even the meanest among the guests, who intended to limit his generosity
to a paltry pound, not unfrequently commits himself to a course of periodical benevolence
by adding, in the enthusiasm of the moment, the word " annual " with a dash of his pen
to the donation he has put himself down for.

Our Heads of the Table are not, however, taken at the public board ; but the heads, as
" taken off " in the accompanying etching, are to be met with in the domestic circle.
There is the Head of the Table, with her juvenile supporters, one of whom may occa-
sionally practise an experiment in chemistry by taking the colour out of the dress of one
of the guests, who also receives a lesson in practical philosophy, by having to bear the
scientific but disagreeable result with perfect equanimity.

A mong the Heads of the Table there are a few which wiU soon belong to the past ;
for the abolition of the absui-d custom of " taking wine with each other " will cut off from
the social board those ridiculous heads which have hitherto been employed in the inter-
change of familiar nods, solemn bows, and unmeaning smiles, or in eftbrts to catch one's
neighbour'fe eye, almost as painfid as those of a Member of Parliament to attract the
visual organ of the Speaker. Bowing to the wi-ong lady, smiling at the wrong gentleman,
and nodding graciously to some one who is taking wine with your neighbour instead of

118 THE MELAXCMOLY MONTH OF MAY.

yourself, are among a few of the inconveniences that will be got rid of by the abolition of
the practice alluded to.

Among the Heads of the Tal)le may be found some to whom the viands are of no less
importance tlian the wines ; for there are critics of the cuisine as well as connoisseurs of
the collar. We leave the Heads, however, to speak for themselves thi'ough the pencil of
George Cruikshank.

THE MELANCHOLY :\IOXTII OF MAY

The poets sing the merry month of May,
But surely Nature never look'd so glum.

Where are the flowers that make all Nature gay H
Where arc the bees ? Alas ! they're all a hum.

Where are the blossoms tliat should gem the bowers ?

This year they make a very sorry show ;
For, what ^vith boisterous winds and pelting showers.

The buds are blown away before they blow.

MUton alludes to Zephyr gently playing
With young Aurora, full of mirth and glee ;

If in the present year they'd g(me a- Maying.
They must have done so with aparajjJuie.

They bid us forth in May to hear the note
Of nightingale resounding through the plain ;

This year we should have needed a greatcoat.
As a protection 'gainst the rattling rain.

The murm'ring breeze is well enough, no doul)t.
That gently dallies with fair Pha?be's curls ;

But not so jileasant when it blows about
Your hat in rapid and successive whirls.

Adieu, dull month! dark, dismal, wet. and dreiir!

Who call thee merry know not what they say ;
Thou'lt be the greatest cheat in all this year !

Farewell, most melancholy month of May !

A LEGEND OF THE EHINE.

119

i f tflentr of tbc |lbinc.

CHAPTEK I.

WAS in the good old days of chivalry, when every
mountain tha*' Lathes its shadow in the Rhine
had its castle — not inhabited as now by a few
rats and owls, nor covered with moss, and wall-
flowers, and funguses, and creeping ivy — no,
no ! Where the ivy now clusters there grew
strong portcullis and bars of steel ; where the
wall-flower now quivers in the rampart there
were silken banners embroidered with won-
derful heraldry; men-at-arms marched where
now you shall only see a bank of moss or
a hideous black champignon ; and in place
of the rats and owlets, I warrant me there
Avere ladies and knights to revel in the great
halls, and to feast and to dance and to make
love there. They are passed away. Those old
knights and ladies, their golden hair first changed to silver, and then pure silver it
di-opped off and disappeared for ever; their elegant legs, so slim and active in the dance,
became swollen and gouty, and then, from being swollen and gouty, dwindled down to
bare bone shanks ; the roses left their cheeks, and then their cheeks disappeared and
left their skulls, and then their skulls powdered into dust, and all sign of them was gone.
And as it was with them so shall it be vdth us. Ho, seneschal ! fill me a cup of liquor !
put sugar in it. good fellow, yea, and a little hot water — a very little, for my soul is sad
as I think of those days and knights of old.

They too have revelled and feasted, and where are they ? — gone ? nay, not altogether
gone ; for doth not the eye catch glimpses of them as they walk yonder in the gray limbo
of romance, shining faintly in their coats of steel, wandering by the side of long-haired
ladies, with long-tailed gowns that little pages carry. Yes ; one sees them : the poet sees
them still in the far-off Cloudland, and hears the ring of their clarions as they hasten to
battle or tourney — and the dim echoes of their lutes chanting of love and fair ladies !
Gracious privilege of poesy! It is as the Dervish's collyi-ium to the eyes, and causes
them to see treasures that to the sight of donkeys are invisible. Blessed treasures of
fancy ! I would not change ye ; no, not for many donkey-loads of gold, . . . Fill again,
jolly seneschal, thou brave wag : chalk me up the produce on the hostel door — surely the
spirits of old are mixed up in the wondrous liquor, and gentle visions of bygone princes
and princesses look blandly down on us from the cloudy perfume of the pipe. Do you
know in what year the fairies left the Rhine?— long before Murray's Guide-Book was
wrote— long before squat steamboats, with snorting funnels, came paddling down the
stream. Do you not know that once upon a time the appearance of eleven thousand
British virgins was considered at Cologne as a wonder ? Now there come twenty thou-
sand such annually, accompanied by their ladies' maids. But of them we will say no
more — ^let us back to those who went before them.

Many, many hundred thousand years ago, and at the exact period when chivalry was

)■"

120

A LEGEND OF THE TJIIXE.

in full bloom, there occurred a little history upon the banks of the Rhine, which has been
already written in a book, and hence must be positively ti-ue. 'Tis a story of knights and
ladies — of love and battle and virtue rewarded, a story of princes and noble lords, more- ,
over, the best of company. Gentles, and ye will, ye shall hear it. Fair dames and damsels,
may your loves be as happy as those of tlie heroine of this romaunt.

On the cold and rainy evening of Thursday the 26th of October, in the year previously
indicated, such travellers as might have chanced to be abroad in that bitter night
might have remarked a fel^j^wayfarer journeying on the road from Oberwinter to
Godesberg. He was a man noftall in stature, but of the most athletic proportions ; and

Time, which browned and furrowed his
cheek, and sprinkled his locks with gi-ay,
declared pretty clearly that he miist have
been acquainted with the wairior for
some fifty good years. He was anned
in mail, and rode a powerful and active
battle-horse, which (though the way the
pair had come that day was long and
weary indeed,) yet supported thewai-rior,
his armour and luggage, with seeming
ease. As it was in a friend's country,
the knight did not think fit to wear his
heavy destrier, or helmet, which hung at
his saddle-bow over his jiortmanteau.
Both were marked with the coronet of
a count ; and from the crown which
surmounted the helmet, rose the crest
of his knightly race, an arm proper
lifting a naked sword.
At his right hand, and convenient to the Avan'ior's grasp, hung his mangonel or mace
— a. terrific weapon which had shattered the brains of many a turbaned soldan ; while over
his bi'oad and ample chest there fell the triangular shield of the period, whereon were
emblazoned his arms — argent, a gules wavy, on a saltire reversed of the second ; the latter
device was awarded for a daring exploit before Ascalon, by the Emperor Maximilian ; and
a reference to the German peerage of that day, or a knowledge of high famiUes which
every gentleman then possesssed, would have sufficed to show at once that the rider we
have described was of the noble house of Hombourg. It was, in fact, the gallant knight
Sir Ludwig of Homlxiurg — his rank as a count, and chamberlain of the Emperor of
Austria, was marked by the cap of maintenance with the peacock's feather which he wore
(when not armed for battle), and his princely blood was denoted by the oUed silk umbrella
which he carried (a very meet protection against the pitiless storm), and which, as it
is known, in the middle ages, none but princes were justified in using. A bag, fastened
with a brazen padlock, and made of the costly produce of the Persian looms (then ex-
tremely rare in Europe), told that he had travelled in Easteni climes. This, too, was
evident from the inscription written on card or parchment and sewed on the bag. It first
ran, " Count Ludwig de Hombourgh. Jerusalem ;" but the name of the Holy City had been
dashed out with the pen, and that of " Godesberg " substituted — so far indeed hiid the
cavalier travelled ! — and it is needless to state that the bag in question contained such
remaining articles of the toilet as the high-born noble deemed unnecessary to place in his
valise.

rr-

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

121

" By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen!" said the good knight, shivering, " 'tis colder
here than at Damascus ! Marry, I am so hungry I could eat one of Saladin's camels.
Shall I be at Godesberg in time for dinner ?" And taking out his horologe (which hung
in a small side pocket of his embroidered surcoat), the crusader consoled himself by finding
that it was but seven of the night, and that he would reach Godesberg ere the warder had
sounded the second gong.

His opinion was borne out by the result. His good steed, which could trot at a pinch
fourteen leagues in the hour, brought him to this famous castle, just as the warder was
giving the first welcome signal which told that the princely family of Count Karl Margrave
of Godesberg were about to prepare for their usual repast at eight o'clock. Crowds of
pages and horse-keepers were in the Court, when the portcullis being raised, and amidst
the respectful salutes of the sentinels, the most ancient friend of the house of Godesberg
entered into its Castle yard. The under-butler stepped forward to take his bridle-rein.
" Welcome, Sir Count, from the Holy Land," exclaimed the faithful old man. " "Welcome,
Sir Count, from the Holy Land," cried the rest of the servants, in the hall ; and a stable
was speedily found for the Count's horse, Streithengst, and it was not before the gallant
soldier had seen that true animal well
cared for, that he entered the castle
itself, and was conducted to his
chamber. Wax candles burning bright
on the mantel, flowers in china vases,
every variety of soap, and a flask of
the precious essence manufactured
at the neighbouring city of Cologne,
were displayed on his toilet-table; a
cheering fire " crackled in the hearth,"
and showed that the good knight's
coming had been looked and cared
for. The serving maidens, bringing
him hot water for his ablutions,
smilingly asked, "would he have his
couch warmed at ere?" One might
have been sure from their blushes
that the tough old soldier made an
arch reply. The family tonsor came
to know whether the noble Count had
need of his skill. " By Saint Bugo,"
said the knight, as seated in an easy
settle by the fire, the tonsor rid his
chin of its stubbly growth, and lightly

passed the tongs and pomatum through " the sable silver" of his hair. '' By Saint Bugo,
this is better than my dungeon at Grand Cairo. How is my godson Otto, Master Barber ;
and the Lady Countess, his mother; and the noble Count Karl, my dear brother-in-
arms .""

" They ai-e well," said the tonsor, with a sigh.
" By Saint Bugo, I'm glad on't ; but why that sigh ?"

" Things are not as they have been with my good lord," answered the hairdresser,
" ever since Count Gottfried's arrival."

" He here !" roared Sir Ludwig. " Good never came Avhere Gottfried was :" and the

|u!ri7SE3IT7

122 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

while he donned a pair of silken hose, that showed admirably the proportions of his lower
limbs, and exchanged his coat of mail for the spotless vest and black surcoat collared
with velvet of Genoa, which was the fitting costume for " knight in ladye's bower," —
the knight entered into a conversation with the barber, who explained to him, with the
usual gamilousness of his tribe, what was the present position of the noble family of
Godesberg.

This will be narrated in the next chapter.

CHAPTER II.
Cf)C (Sairs'Ijcrgrr^.

'Tis needless to state that the gallant warrior Ludwig. of Hombourg, found in the
bosom of his friend's family a cordial welcome. The brotlier-in-arms of the Margrave
Karl, he was the esteemed friend of the Margravine, the exalted and beautiful Theodora,
of Boppum, and (albeit no theologian, and although the first princes of Christendom
coveted such an honour) he was selected to stand as sponsor for the Margrave's son Otto,
the only child of his house.

It was now seventeen years since the Count and Countess had been united : and
although Heaven had not blest their couch with more than one child, it may be said of
that one, that it was a prize, and that surely never lighted on the earth a more delightful
vision. When Count Ludwig, hastening to the holy wars, had quitted his beloved god-
child, he had left him a boy ; he now found him. as the latter rushed into his arms, gi-own
to be one of the finest young men in Germany : tall and excessively graceful in proportion,
with the blush of health mantling upon his cheek, that was likewise adorned with the first
dowTi of manhood, and with magnificent golden ringlets, siich as a Rowland might envy,
curling over his brow and his shoulders. His eyes alternately beamed with the fire of
daring, or melted with the moist glance of benevolence. Well might a mother be proud
of such a boy ! Well might the brave Ludwig exclaim, as he clasped the youth to his
breast, " By St. Bugo, of Katzeuellenbogen, Otto ! thou art fit to be one of Cceur de Lion's
grenadiers ;" — and it was the fact, the " Childe " of Godesberg measured six feet three.

He was habited for the evening meal in the costly, though simple attire of the noble-
man of the period — and his costume a good deal resembled that of the old knight whose
toilet we have just described; with the difference of colour however. The ponrjwint worn
by Young Otto, of Godesberg, was of blue, handsomely decorated with buttons of carved
and embossed gold : his hmd-de-chausses or leggings were of the stuff of Nanquin, then
brought by the Loinl)ard argosies at an immense price from China. The neighbouring
country of Holland had supplied his wrist and bosom with the most costly laces; and thus
attired, with an opera-hat placed on one side of his head, ornamented with a single fli>wer
(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

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.

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<n'e, perfectly en rlgle
for the small fry of sovereigns to do the sort of things that on the stage we find them
doing. Thus it may be very natural for an Itiilian prince to go away from his dominions,
leiiving the govemment in the hands of a younger brother or an uncle,- who spreads a
I'eport of the death of the " rightful heir," when the " rightful heir " might settle the
business with the "wrongful heir" by simply coming forward. He, however, prct' r>
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 (nf<pavoi irapa SiKXlai Toitrde Kpifxacrroi

Miixt/fTf, 1X7) irpoirfTws (})vWa rivaaaofj-eyot,
Ot"j SaKpvcts KaTf^pf^a < Karofifipa yap o/j-fiar fpoovTwv)

AAA.' OT avaiyofifvrii, avrov tSriTe 0vpr]s
2Ta|a9' virep Ke<pa\fjs ifiov vfrov &s &v afieivov

'H ^avdi) ye KOfn) Tafia SaKpva niTj. — SiK JoiiN' Williams.

Rest my In-ight garland here by Psyche's door,

Nor rashly strew around your purple leaves :
Retain the tears witli which my eyes run o'er.

For reft of her my lonely spirit grieves ;
Until the rosy nymph in ])eauty drest

Forth from the house like Day's glad Star appears.
Then shed about her golden hair and breast

The silver dews of her sad lover's tears.

SONETTO DI GUISEITE rAKINl.

AL SONNO.

O SONNO placido che con liev' orme
Vai per le tenebre movendo 1' ali,
E intoi'no ai miseri lassi mortali,

Giri con 1' agili tue varie forme

La dove Fillide secura dorme.
Stesa su candidi moUi guanciali
Vanne ; e un imagine carca di mali.

In mente pingile trista e deforme

Tanto a me simili quell ombre inventa
E al color pidlido che in me si spandc

Ch' ella destandosi, pieta ne senta
Si tu comedimi favtir si grande

Con man vo' porgerti taeita e lenta

Due di pupaveri freschi ghix-lande.

O sweet, O placid Sleep, who lightly stealest

With wings of silence thnuigh tbe mirk midnight.

Who to the slumberer's gladden'd eyes revealest
Thy phantom-j^eopled visions of delight ;

THE PRESERVATION OF LIFE. 159

Q-o wliere luy beiLuteous Phyllida is sleeping,

Rest on lier piUow, and mine image paint,
As one who for her cruel slights lies weeping,

Death-like my features and my footsteps faint :
So may she pity when in tears she'll waken,

And love me with a love as true as mine ; —
Do this — and two fair poppies shall be taken

From yonder field to gi-ace thy silent shrine.

JULIUS C^SAR SCALIGER NOCTURNUM SUSPICIENS CCELUM.

C.*:tera quae nostro fulgent vaga sidera mundo

Extulit ex alto nox taciturna mari,
At mihi jam misero silet omni sidere ccelum

Lumina dum Pholose lucida somnus habet ;
Lucifer amati pecoris cordate magister

Coge gregem ; numeiiim non habet ille suum.

SCALIGER LOOKING ON THE SKY BY NIGHT.

The other stars are beaming, love,

The night's bright orbs are gleaming, love.
But ah ! two stars of dewy light are absent from the skies ; —

Oh ! Phyllis dearest, waken, love.

And gild the skies forsaken, love.
Once more with these two truant stars — ^I mean thy gentle eyes.

THE PPtESERVATION OF LIFE.

When walking the streets of a great city, nothing has struck us so forcibly as the
general neglect of means for the preservation of life from the ravages of fire. There is
scarcely a street in London but has given frightful testimony to the horrors of death by
burning; and yet there seems to be such universal apathy upon the subject, that nowhere
can you find that any earnest, persevering endeavours have been made to secure the co-
operation of neighbours for mutual preservation. The legislature has interfered for the
protection of property from fire, and made the erection of party- walls compulsory. It has
done nothing for the protection of life from the same fearful destroyer.

The streets have been tunnelled from one end to the other of this great metropolis, to
ensure the comfort of the in-dwellers — it was a gigantic thought to drain such a mighty
city !

Water has been brought from distant places, and conveyed through conduits and pipes
to the dwellings of the most humble. Earth had to be delved and rocks blasted to effect
this tremendous work !

Gas, subtle and treacherous as it is, is brought safely to our doors, even into our
houses.

We walk as it were upon a mine ; but such has been the perseverance of man, such the
triumph of knowledge, that the mighty power is made subservient to his will, to be used as

160

THE PRESERVATION OF LIFE.

a blessing and a security.* But the subjugation of gas was the labour gf neariy 200 years If
And the conquest was worth the struggle 1

"When such vast things have been done by co-operation for the comfort of the
community, is it not wonderful that nothing worthy the name of exertion has been tried for
the Preservation of Life from Fire, when the means must be so insignificant in point
of cost and difficulty, although so gi-eatly conducive to the security from that most horrible
of deaths — death by fire ?

We feel that in devoting the pages of the Table-Book to the consideration of this
subject, we are discharging a duty we owe to our fellow-creatures, and therefore oflFer no
apology for the plans which we here put forward for the remedy of the evil of which we
complain. Our designs may be imperfect or objectionable, but they may suggest to others
better and more practicable modes of escape from the horrors of conflagi-ation. The
simplest and surest escape is a continuous balcony erected in front of the upper windows
of every house. This is so obvious, that it is unnecessary to advance one word in favour
of the plan. We shall confine ourselves simply to the objections that may be urged
against it.

1st. The facility that balconies are said to give to robbeay.

To us nothing can be more futile than this objection. Stronger fastenings to the
windows would as effectually secure the second or third-floor windows as locks and bolt^
do the street-door. Even were this objection tenable, we consider that less is to be
apprehended from the burglar who filches the contents of a jewel-case or a drawer, than
from that fierce assailant that devours a man's substance, and suffocates him with reekings
of the feast. — The destroyer which bursts into the chamber, and cm-Is about the bed and
breathes its smoke into the nostrils, until the head grows dizzy, and the heart faint,
leaving the wi-etch, thus made conscious of its desolating presence, scarcely time or
thought for flight. Bewildered as he is. he knows not where to seek a refuge ; his mind,
unaccustomed to revert to any means for safety in such an energency, has to /or?H*its
plans, and not to ivill the execution of those often considered and relied on. Were the
balcony understood by the household to be the escape from fire, impulse and the instinctive
love of life would generally guide the inmates of a burning house to their place of refuge.

The plan which we annex seems to remedy the objection as originally stated, and to
render fire-ladders unnecessary.

Fig. 1.

r.fe-4 j

r:rk

moBmm
:":ifi(;;ifiiiviiiiiii

The sketch represents a balcony extending in the front of the upper windows of a
house, and having two movable ends, secured by a latch, and attached to a spring which

* It i.s atlculatcd that tlio omsiini]ition of ijxs ii) I.oiulcm ainoiuit.s to ti-lit millions and a li:\irciil>ic 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.

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<queut upon the shock of
hearing the news>. to retire to the vacant hermitage, and assume the robe, the beard, the
mortificativvns v>f the late veueraWe and s<i>litary 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

.~:^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

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 ?" r<nired the statue. " What language, in the name of fortune, are you
talking?"

" The language of a people discovered the other day, by my cousin Christopher
CoUimbus," said the Don.

"Heaven preserve us from such discoveries, as they will play the deuce with our
Spanish," said the ghost, delighted to dwell on any topic, rather than that of his own
personal condition.

Presently a lot of trap-doors opened in the floor, and out popped a number of little
persons with black stockings and hideous faces, each bearing a huge flaming torch in his
hand.

" Halloah — gentlemen — gentlemen — you are making rather free, considering this is my
house," said Giovanni sternly, but without losing his accustomed politeness. " Who asked
you liere H"

" I did," murmured the statue timidly.

" You did !" exclaimed the Don. " Why this is the coolest thing I ever heai-d. You
cannot make out your own riglit to come here, and yet you assume a privilege to bring
friends."

The statue walked up and down in a state of great agitation.

" What docs all this mean ?" said the head torch-bearer very angrily to the statue.
" Did you not tell us that you had full right and title to enter this gentleman's house, and
deliver him into our hands ?"

The statue looked mournfully at the interrogator, and made no answer.

"Thus it is," said Giovanni, in a sonorous moral tone, J' when once people depari

A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI.

185

from the line of rectitude there is no end to the inconvenience. Here you have not only
put yourself into a most false and ridiculous position, but you have been the means of mis-
leading and wasting the time of all these gentlemen."

" You talk like a man of sense, sefior," said the torch-bearer ; " it's scandalous. We
are people of business, and we would fain ask this ghost, statue, or whatever he is, whether
he has any claim upon you, or not ?"

The statue preserved a dogged silence, but Don Giovanni set forth all the reasonings
which we have already given, to the perfect conviction of the whole body of torch-bearers.

" This Guzman is evidently an impostor," said the chief, " and it seems that all we
have to do, is to apologise to Don Giovanni for breaking into his house in such unseemly
fashion, and go back again. But, perhaps, the senor might hit on some plan to save us
from the disgrace of returning quite empty-handed ?"

" Certainly," replied Giovanni. " I suggest that you take away the statue, as the
origin of all the mischief."

" Agreed ! agreed !" they all cried, with delight ; and, seizing upon the unfortunate
figure, they dragged it down a huge trap-door, amid a world of kicking and pommelling,
while Giovanni and Leporello, who emerged from a hiding-place behind one of the columns,
threw themselves into a couple of chairs, convulsed with laughter.

The incident, however, had a more serious effect on Giovanni than might at first be
imagined. Repenting of all his sins, he led a life of such privation and abstinence, that he
was canonised after his death as San Juanito de Sevila.

The reason why this true history differs so much from the tale as told by all the play-
wrights, is owing to the following circumstance. One Don Ottavio, who afterwards married
Donna Anna, daughter to Don Guzman, perceiving that the facts of the case put his father-
in-law in rather a ridiculous light, composed a biography of Don Giovanni, in which he
gave the catastrophe quite another turn. This very mendacious biography, written by
Don Ottavio, has been the one employed by the dramatists.

180 A ^KKTTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

A :\lOUTriFLTL OF FRESH AIR.

Having made up our minds and our carpet-bag to go out of town, we began to
consider whether we should travel by earth, air, fire, or water ; and as all these are now
available for the purposes of a trip, no man has a right to complain of being out of his
proper element. The earth is going quite out of fashion with tourists, and a turnpike road
will S(Kjn become as great a curiosity as a bit of Roman pavement. The highway from
Hammersmith, over which William IV, used to come to the metropolis, will be pointed
out by posterity as a relic no less singular than some of those venerable ditches on the
coast, where we are told the Romans first pitched their tents, — and a very pretty pitch they
must have aiTived at after aU their troubles. When future geologists shall set to work on
the surface of the earth — shaving its face, as it were, with the keen razor of science, they
will find beneath a stratum of iron rails, a layer of wooden sleepers, with a tertiary deposit
of the bones of engine-drivers, stokers, and passengers.

Wishing to avoid having our bones rattled in a carriage, like dice in a box, which is
the very mildest form of railway treatment at present in vogue, we abandoned all thoughts
of the train ; and, getting into a new train of thought, the balloon suggested itself as a
pleasant mode of travelling. The graphic account of Mr. Green's two or three last
voyages, his " moving accidents by flood and field," his " ntVbreadth 'scapes," his being
caught in his own net by becoming entangled in the net-work of his own balloon, his being
dragged along tied to his own car like a victim at an ancient triumph — all this brought
us to the determination that it is safer to take the air than to let the air take us whichever
way it pleases. Having rejected earth in the shape of road-traveUing, which, by the way,
it is difficult to find, having declined the assistance of fire, the railway agent, and having
thrown up the balloon as impracticable, we had nothing left but water, which we accord-
ingly prepared to plunge into.

It was early in the morning of a bleak and boisterous dog -day of the present year, that
we found ourselves standing on the wooden barge that, under the ambitious title of a
wharf, is consecrated to St. Katherine.

Father Tliames, in accordance Avith modern fashion as applied to shirts, had his bosom
dreadfully ruffled, and he tossed about restlessly in his bed; while the wind, who is never
long over the duties of the toilrtte, was getting up very rapidly. Before us lay a fleet of
steamers of various sorts and sizes, some of them bound to different, and others destined
for the same ports, but all alike eager ftn- passengers. All of them seemed "sufficient to
carry those <iut in safety who entered in confidence." with the exception of one craft ; and
the most crafty devices were resorted to for the purpose of getting it patronised. The
vessel had formerly been a Chelsea coaster, and was part of the Battersea squadron, which
had been gloriously engaged in the taking of passengers — off anywhere within the limits of
the voyage. The craft was a when-y-built, pitch-bottomed, little thing, that was fit,
perhaps, to see service :us a mere looker-on, but certainly not to do any. Her stem wa.s not
fit for any journey — sentimentid or otherwise, — and as to her head, it had been so
diminished Jind cut down, that her most graceful act woiUd have been that of hiding it.

Nevertheless, there she was, in unblushing effrontery, soliciting passengers — her
captain and the boy, who performed the part of crew, crowing over the lowness of the
fares chalked on a board, hung at the mast-bead, where the owuera of the vessel should

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

18^

have been. The captain, clutching at us with that desperate ferocity which marks the
tiger when he is deprived of his usual bill of fare, called our attention to his bill of fares'
Avith a shrieking entreaty that we would look at them ; but a tar, giving one of the true
steam-tugs at our collar on the other side, contemptuously invited us to " look at the
steamer." We looked, and experienced the very reverse of love at first sight, for a glance
was sufficient to inspire us with the deepest aversion.

The sight of the captain ought, perhaps, to have been enough, for his costume
savoured more of Holywell Street than of the ocean, while the cut and character of his
coat besjioke an acquaintance with slops rather than with seas or even rivers. The captain
of a vessel in a seedy body-coat and a pair of threadbare landsmen's trowsers, could not be
entitled to confidence, — so resigning ourselves to the guidance of a real tar in a tai"paulin
hat, and a Byi'on tie, much worn by boys after the shutting up of the shops, we found
ourselves on board the regular Margate vessel. After the usual series of newsmen's
terrific leaps from the paddle-box to the shore — for they will risk their lives in loitering to
the last moment to sell a paper — the steamer went away amid the inefficient jeer of the
captain and crew — the man and boy — of the opposition boat, which after a great deal of
mysterious fizzing of the steam and banging of the boiler, got off somehow or other into
the middle of the stream, where it was bumped down the pool by the friendly aid of
collisions, and we foi-tunately saw no more of it.

The road down the river is so familiar to every one, that if familiarity does lead to
contempt, nothing can be more despicable than the banks of Old Thamesis between
London Bridge and Sheerness ; so called, according to some, from the doeks there being a
matter of sheer necessity. We passed the gardens of the quiet little village of Rosher,
with its banqueting-hall of half-inch deal, and its cotton pocket-handkerchief banners
fluttering in the breeze that streams in through the broken windows. Though a very
interesting book has been written on the subject of Two Years Before the Mad, it would be
impossible to make much of an Afternoon Behind the Funnel, The Seaman Ashore might
amuse by his observations on men and manners, having been accustomed all his life to
men without any manners at all ; but the Londoner Afloat soon finds himself in the

188

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AH!.

(^<^v

position of the Cockney Aground, when he attempts to dive into the depths of nautical
character.

"We had, however, determined to make the most of our opportunity, and went aft to
have a bit of chat with the steersman, when our eye was caught by a request " not to speak
to the man at the helm," and, except the boy at the engine, there was no one else among

the crew to speak to. We were accordingly reduced
to a tete-a-tete with the compass, which we found
boxed in a mahogany case; but the needle was a
gi'cat deal too sharp for us, and moved about in all
directions, proving that it allowed itself very exti"a-
ordinary latitudes. "We determined to test its much-
vaunted fidelity to the pole, and found it easily
attracted by the loadstone, between which and the
needle a flirtation was carried on as long as the
former remained in the vicinity of the latter. It
was clear that the needle did not care a pin for the
pole, while under the influence of '• metal more
attractive." Our passage was a stormy one, but
most of the company had taken precautions, in
conformity \vith their own views of seamanship.
One would have been puzzled to say what the good-
ness of a sailor consisted in, if one had judged from
t be various peculiarities of those who professed to
be " good sailors." In one case, a pair of spectacles —
perhaps to protect the e3'es from the spray — was
tlie mark of the professed mariner; and, in another
instance, a sharp, cold nose, looking exceedingly
blue in the bi'eeze, was the prominent feature of the
professed perfection of the naval character.

Amid all the ups and downs of the vessel, the
members of the band proved themselves excellent sailors, for with their books on the
ground, and the leaves blowing backwards and forwards in the gale, they succeeded in
eliciting sounds — ay, even tunes, from their instruments. Perhaps the variations in their
performance may have been caused by rude Boreas rudely turning over the leaves of their
books, now opening them at a bit of Balfe, and then, with a terrilile gust of disgust,
blowing about the pages till they came to a delicious morsel of Beethoven. As to
the variations, we defy any one musician we ever heard to equal them, for all the four
pei-formers not only varied the melody, but varied so far from each other, that in the
language of pleading, it amounted to a departure rather than a variance.

The beautiful ad libitum, in which each professor indulged at the close of any piece,
was delightful f(jr its finish, because the finish, or leaWng oflf. was the only agreeable
eff"ect produced by the efforts of the orchestra. "We wished at the time, that if the
musicians had been determined to introduce their talents to the public, they had chosen
some other channel than the British.

It is possible, however, to be a very good man. no doubt, but a very bad sailor; and
though there is no positive crime in going to the side of the vessel when "a heavy sea"
is running, a ducking will probably be the penalty of what is undoubtedly very bad
seamanship. An old sailor will take the precaution of hoisting his canvas, which is, we
believe, the proper nautical term for putting up his umbrella, and he will keep his legs

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

189

warm iu a cloak, to prevent, as we believe the legitimate tar would say, '• his timbers
from shivering." The mode in which the female sailor prepares for the voyage, varies

■MLcKinO' l/wji. ^^e.c^jK ^M.aU ^c^j-Lf^ '_^

according to the constitution ; but some have recourse to the dangerous experiment of a
'• little brandy and water," which must, in the generality of cases, lead to a little more ; for
when once an attempt is made to neu-
tralise the eifect of the water by the
infusion of spirit, one has no idea of
the quantity of the latter that is re-
quired for mixing with the former, before
any beneficial effect can be accomplished.
We heard it whispered that an old
lady on board had been heard to order,
and others said, seen to drink, nine
glasses of brandy-and-water and one
bottle of stout. "We should not have
believed the testimony of our own eyes,
unless aided by the old lady's glasses,
and then it may be conceived that she
would, to make use of a well-known
and highly-respected pun, have presented
a dreadful spectacle.

The Victim of Exaggeration.

188

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH All

position of the Cockney Ayround, when he attempts to dive into the dei^ths of nautical
character.

"We had, however, determined t<i make the most of our opportunity, and went aft to
have a bit of chat with the steersman, when our eye was caught by a request " not to speak
to the man at the helm," and, except the boy at the engine, there was no one else among

the crew to speak to. We were accordingly reduced
to a tete-a-tete with the compass, which we fovmd
boxed in a mahogany case; but the needle was a
gi'eat deal to(j sharp for us, and moved about in all
directions, proving that it allowed itseK very extra-
ordinary latitudes. We determined to test its much-
vaunted fidelity to the jjole, and found it easily
attracted by the loadstone, between which and the
needle a flirtation was carried on as long as the
former remained in the vicinity of the latter. It
was clear that the needle did not care a pin for the
pole, while under the influence of '" metal more
M attractive." Our passage was a stormy one, but
most of the company had taken precautions, in
conformity with their own views of seamanship.
One would have been puzzled to say what the good-
ness of a sailor consisted in, if one had judged from
the various peculiarities of those who pi'ofessed to
be " good sailors." In one case, a pair of spectacles —
perhaps to protect the eyes from the spray — was
tlie mark of the professed mariner ; and, in another
instance, a sharp, cold nose, looking exceedingly
blue in the breeze, was the prominent feature of the
professed perfection of the naval character.

Amid all the ups and downs of the vessel, the
members of the band proved themselves excellent sailors, for with their books on the
ground, and the leaves blowing backwards and forwards in the gale, they succeeded in
eliciting sounds — ay, even tunes, from their instruments. Perhaps the variations in their
performance may have been caused by rude Boreas rudely turning over the leaves of their
books, now opening them at a bit of Balfe, and then, with a teri-ilile gust of disgust,
blowing about the pages till they came to a delicious morsel of Beethoven. As to
the variations, we defy any one musician we ever heard to equal them, for all the four
performers not only varied the melody, but varied so far from each other, that in the
language of pleading, it amounted to a departure rather than a variance.

The beautiful ad libitum, in which each professor indulged at the close of any piece,
was delightful for its finish, because the finish, or leaving off", was the only agi-eeable
eff"ect produced by the eff'orts of the orchestra. We wished at the time, that if the
musicians had been determined to introduce their talents to the public, they had chosen
some other channel than the British.

It is possible, however, to be a very good man, no doubt, but a very bad sailor ; and
though there is no positive crime in going to the side of the vessel when "a heavy sea"
is running, a ducking wiU probably be the penalty of what is undoubtedly very bad
seamanship. An old sailor wiU take the precaution of hoisting his canvas, which is, we
believe, the proper nautical term for putting up his umbrella, and he will keep his legs

v^il-

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

189

warm iu a cloak, to prevent, as we believe the legitimate tar would say, " his timbers
from shivering." The mode in which the female sailor prepares for the voyage, varies

according to the constitution; but some have recourse to the dangei'ous experiment of a
'■ little brandy and water," which must, in the generality of cases, lead to a Httle more ; for
when once an attempt is made to neu-
tralise the eflfect of the water by the
infusion of spirit, one has no idea of
the quantity of the latter that is re-
quired for mixing with the former, before
any beneficial effect can be accomplished.
We heard it whispered that an old
lady on board had been heard to order,
and others said, seen to drink, nine
glasses of brandy-and-water and one
bottle of stout. We should not have
believed the testimony of our own eyes,
unless aided by the old lady's glasses,
and then it may be conceived that she
would, to make use of a well-knovm
and highly-respected pun, have presented
a dreadful spectacle.

The Victim of Exaggeration.

190 A LEGEND OF THE KlIIXE.

{Continued from page 172.)

CHAPTER IX.
€lfe ILalrii of Oatnlfrrfe.

As the bell with iron tongue called midnight, Wolfgang the Archer, pacing on his
watch, beheld before him a pale female figure. He did not know whence she came : but
there suddenly she stood close to him. Her blue, clear, glassy eyes were fixed upon him-
Her form was of faultless beauty ; her face pale as the marble of the faiiy statue, ei'e yet
the sculptor's love had given it life. A smile played upon her featm-es, but it was no
warmer than the reflection of a moonbeam on a lake ; and yet it was wondrous beautiful.
A fascination stole over the senses of young Wolfgang. He stared at the lovely appari-
tion with fixed eyes and distended jaws. She looked at him with inefi"able archness. She
lifted one beautifully rounded alabaster arm, and made a sign as to beckon him towards
her. Did Wolfgang — the young and lusty Wolfgang — foUow ? Ask the ir(.)n whether it
follows the magnet ? — ask the pointer whether it pursues the partridge through the
stubble ? — ask the youth whether the loUypop-shop does not attract him ? Wolfgang did
follow. An antique door opened as if by magic. There was no light, and yet they saw
quite plain ; they jjassed through the innumerable ancient chambers, and yet they did not
wake any of the owls and bats roosting thei'e. We know not through how many apart-
ments the young couple passed ; but at last they came to one where a feast was prepai'ed ;
and on an antique table, covered with massive silver, covers were laid for two. The lady
took her place at one end of the table, and with her sweete.st nod beckoned Wolfgang to
the other seat. He took it. The table was small, and their knees met. He felt as cold in
his legs as if he were kneeling against an ice-weU.

" Gallant archer," said she, " you must be hungiy after your day's march. What
supper will you have ? Shall it be a delicate lobster salad ? or a dish of elegant tripe and
onions P or a slice of boar's-head and truffles P or a Welsh rabbit, a la cave au cidre f or a
beefsteak and shallot ? or a couple of rogno)is a la hrochette / Speak, brave bowyer : you
have but to order."

As there was nothing on the table but a covered silver dish, Wolfgang thought that
the lady who proposed such a multiplicity of delicacies to him was only laughing at him ;
so he determined to try her with something extremely rare.

" Fair princess," he said. " I should like very much a pork chop and some mashed
potatoes."

She lifted the cover : there was such a pork chop as Simpson never served, with a
dish of mashed potatoes that would have formed at least six portions in our degenerate
days in Rupex't-street.

When he had helped himself to these delicacies, the lady put the cover on the dish
again, and watched him eating with interest. He was for some time too much occupied
with his ovm food to remark that his companion did not eat a morsel; but big as it was.
his chop was soon gone; the shining silver of his plate was scraped quite clean with his
knife, and, heaving a great sigh, he confessed a humble desire for something to di'ink.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 191

" Call for what you like, sweet sir," said the lady, lifting up a silver fib'gree bottle,
with an india-rubber cork, ornamented with gold.

" Then," said Master Wolfgang — for the fellow's tastes were, in sooth, very humble —
'• I call for half-and-half." According to his wish, a pint of that delicious beverage was
poured from the bottle, foaming, into his beaker.

Having emptied this at a draught, and declared that on his conscience it was the best
tap he ever knew in his life, the young man felt his appetite renewed ; and it is impos-
sible to say how many different dishes he called for. Only enchantment, he was after-
wards heard to declare (though none of his friends believed him) could have given him the
appetite he possessed on that extraordinary night. He called for another pork chop and
potatoes, then for pickled salmon ; then he thought he would try a devilled turkey-wing,
" I adore the devil," said he.

'"So do I," said the pale lady, with unwonted animation, and the dish was seiwed
straightway. It was succeeded by black j)uddings, tripe, toasted cheese, and — what was
most remarkable — every one of the dishes which he desired came from under the same
silver cover, which circumstance, when he had partaken of about fourteen different
articles, he began to find rather mysterious.

" Oh," said the pale lady, with a smile, " the mystery is easily accounted for : the
servants hear you, and the kitchen is below." But this did not account for the manner in
which more half-and-half, bitter ale, punch (both gin and i"um), and even oil and vinegar,
which he took with cucumber to his salmon, came out of the self-same bottle from which
the lady poured out his pint of half-and-half.

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Yoracio," said his arch entertainer, when
he put this question to her, " than are dreamt of in your philosophy ;" and, sooth to say, the
archer was by this time in such a state, that he did not find anything wonderful more.

" Are you happy, dear youth .''" said the lady, as, after his collation, he sank back in
his chair.

" Oh, Miss, ain't I !" was his interrogative but afErnlative reply.

" Should you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang P" continued the pale one.

" Why, no," said he — " no, not exactly ; not everij night : some nights I should like
oysters."

" Dear youth," said she, " be but mine, and you: may have them all the year roiind !"
The unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise this extraordinary
speech would have told him that he was in suspicious company. A person who can offer
oysters all the year round can live to no good purpose.

" Shall I sing you a song, dear archer ?" said the lady. " Sweet love !" said he, now
much excited, " strike up, and I will join the chorus."

She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and wild one.
It told how a lady of high lineage, cast her eyes on a peasant page ; it told how nought
could her love assuage, her suitor's wealth and her father's rage : it told how the youth
did his foes engage; and at length they went off in the Gretna stage, the high-born
dame and the peasant page. Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head, sung wofully out of
tune as the song proceeded ; and if he had not been too intoxicated with love and other
excitement, he would have remarked how the pictures on the wall, as the lady sung, began
to waggle their heads too, and nod and grin to the music. The song ended, I am the
lady of high lineage : Archer, will you be the peasant page ?

" I'll follow you to the devil !" said Wolfgang.

" Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him — " come to the chapel, we'll be
married this minute !"

192 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

She held out her hand — Wolfgang took it. It was cold, damp — deadly cold ; and on
they went to the chapel.

As they passed out, the two pictures over the wall, of a gentleman and lady, tripped
lightly out of their frames, skipped noiselessly down to the gi'ound, and making the
retreating couple a profound curtsey and bow, took the places which they had left at the
table.

Meanwhile the young couple passed on towards the chapel, threading innumerable
passages, and passing through chambers of great extent. As they came along, all the
portraits on the wall stepped out of their frames to foUow them. One ancestor, of whom
there was only a bust, frowned in the greatest rage, because, having no legs, his pedestal
would not move; and several sticking-plaster profiles of the former lords of Windeck
looked quite black at being, for similar reasons, compelled to keep their places. However,
thei'e was a goodly procession formed behind Wolfgang and his bi-ide ; and by the time
they reached the church, they had a hundred followers.

The church was splendidly illuminated ; the old banners of the old knights glittered as
they do at Drury Lane. The organ set up of itself to play the Bridesmaids' Chorus. The
choir-chairs were filled with people in black.

" Come, love," said the pale lady.

" I don't see the parson," exclaimed Wolfgang, spite of himself rather alarmed.

" Oh, the parson ! that's the easiest thing in the world ! I say, Bishop 1" said the
lady, stooping down.

Stooping down, and to what ? Why, iipon my word and honour, to a great brass
plate on the floor, over which they were passing, and on which was engraven the figure of
a bishop— and a very ugly bishop, too, with crosier and mitre, and lifted finger, on which
sparkled the episcopal ring. " Do, my dear lord, come and marry us," said the lady, with
a levity which shocked the feelings of her bridegroom.

The Bishop got up ; and directly he rose, a dean, who was sleeping under a large
slate near him, came bowing and cringing up to him ; while a canon of the cathedral
(whose name was Schidnischmidt) began grinning and making fun at the pair. The
ceremony was begun, and #****#*

As the clock struck twelve, young Otto bounded up. and remarked the absence of his
companion Wolfgang. The idea he had had. that his friend disappeared in company with
a white-robed female, struck him more and more. " I will follow them." said he ; and.
calling to the next on the watch (old Snozo. who was right unwilling to forego his sleep),
he rushed away by the door through which he had seen Wolfgang and his temptress take
their way.

That he did not find tlu'm was not his fault. The castle was vast, the chamber dark.
There were a thousand doors, and what wonder that, after he had once lost sight of them,
the intrepid Childe should not be able to follow in their steps ? As might be expected, he
took the wrong door, and wandered for at least three hours about the dark enormous
solitary castle, calling out Wolfgang's name to the careless and indifferent echoes,
knocking his young shins against the ruins scattered in the darkness, but still with a
spirit entirely undaunted, and a firm resolution to iiid his absent comrade. Brave Otto !
tliy exertions were rewarded at last!

For he lighted at length upon the very apartment where Wt)lfgaug had partaken of
supper, and where the old couple who had been in the picturo-fmmes, and turned out to be
the lady's father and mother, were now sitting at the table.

" Well, Bertha has got a husband at last," said the lady.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

19.3

'* After waiting f oiu- hundred and fifty-three years for one, it was quite time," said the
gentleman. (He was dressed in powder and pigtail, quite in the old fashion.)

" The husband is no great things," continued the lady, taking snuff. " A low fellow,
my dear : a butcher's son, I believe. Did you see how the wretch ate at supper ? To
think my daughter should have to marry an archer !"

" There are archers and archers," said the old man. " Some archers are snobs, as
your ladyship states ; some, on the contrary, are gentlemen by birth, at least, though not

l)y breeding. "Witness young Otto, the Landgrave of Godesberg's sou, who is listening at
the door like a lackey, and whom I intend to run through the — "

" Law, Baron !" said the lady.

" I will, though," replied the Baron, drawing an immense sword, and glaring round at
Otto ; but though at the sight of that sword and that scowl a less valorous youth would have
taken to his heels, the undaunted Childe advanced at once into the apartment. He wore
round his neck a relic of St. Buffo (the tip of the saint's ear, which had been ciit off at
Constantinople). " Fiends ! I command you to retreat !" said he, holding itp this sacred
charm, which his mamma had fastened on him ; and at the sight of it, with an unearthly

104 A LEGEND OF THE IIIIINE.

yell, the gliost of the Baron and the Baroness sprung back into their picture-frames, as
Clown goes tLrougb a clock in a pantomime.

He rushed through the open door by which the unlucky "Wolfgang had passed with his
demoniacal bride, and went on and on through the vast gloomy chambers lighted by the
ghastly moonshine : the noise of the organ in the chapel, the lights ia the kaleidoscopic
windows, directed him towards that edifice. He rushed to the door : 'twas barred ! He
knocked : the beadles were deaf. He applied his inestimable relic to the lock, and — whizz !
crash ! clang ! bang ! whang I — the gate flew open ! the organ went off in a fugue — the
lights quivered over the tapers, and then went off towards the ceiling — the ghosts assembled
iiished away with a skuiTy and a scream — the bride howled, and vanished — the fat bishop
waddled back under his brass plate^the dean flounced down into his family vault — and the
canon Schidnischmidt, who was making a joke, as usual, on the bishop, was obliged to stop
at the very point of his epigram, and to disappear into the void whence he came.

Otto fell fainting at the porch, while Wolfgang tumbled lifeless down at the altar-
steps ; and in this situation the archers, when they arrived, foiind the two youths. They
wei*e resuscitated, as we scarce need say ; but when, in incoherent accents, they came to
tell their wondrous tale, some sceptics among the archers said — " Pooh ! they were
intoxicated !" while others, nodding their older heads, exclaimed — " They have seen the
Lady of Windech /" and recalled the stories of many other young men, who, inveigled
by her devilish arts, had not been so lucky as Wolfgang, and had disappeared — for ever !

This adventure bound Wolfgang heart and so\il to his gallant presei-ver; and the
archers — it being now morning, and the cocks crowing lustily round about — pursued their
way without farther delay to the castle of the noble patron of Toxophilites, the gallant
Duke of Cleves.

CHAPTER X.
CIjc 33attlc Df tl)c 38ntonicn.

Although there lay an immense number of castles and abbeys between Windeck and
Cleves, for every one of which the guide-books have a legend and a ghost, who might, with
the commonest stretch of ingenuity, be made to waylay our adventurers on the road ; yet,
as the journey would be thus almost interminable, let us cut it short by saying that the
travellers reached Cleves without any farther accident, and found the jilace thronged with
visitors for the meeting next day.

And here it would be easy to describe the company which arrived, and make display of
antiquarian lore. Now we would represent a cavalcade of knights arriving, with their
pages carrying their shining helms of gold, and the stout esquires, bearers of lance and
banner. Anon would an-ive a fat abljot on his ambling pad, surrounded by the white-
robed companions of his convent. Here should come the gleemen and jongleurs, the
minstrels, the mountebanks, the party-coloured gipsies, the dark-eyed nut-brown Zigeu-
ncrinnen ; then a troop of peasants, chanting Rhine-songs, and leading in their ox-drawn
carts the peach-cheeked girls from the vine-lands. Next we would depict the litters
blazoned with armorial bearings, from between the broidered curtains of which peeped out
the swan-like necks and the haughty faces of the blonde ladies of the castles. But for these
descriptions we have not space; and the reader is referred to the account of the tourna-
ment in the ingenious novel of Ivanhoe, whei'c the above phenomena ai-e described at
length. Suffice it to say, that Otto and his companions arrived at the town of Cleves, and,

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

hastening to a hostel, reposed themselves after the day's march, and prepared them for the
encounter of the morrow.

That moiTOw came ; and as the sports were to begin early, Otto and his comrades
hastened to the field, ai'med with their best bows and an-ows, you may be sure, and eager to
distinguish themselves, as were the multitvide of other archers assembled. They were
from all neighl)ouring countries — crowds of English, as you may fancy, aiTaed with
Murray's guide-books, troops of chattering Frenchmen, Jews with roulette-tables,
Frankfort and Tyrolese, with gloves and trinkets — all hied towards the field where the
butts were set up, and the archery practice was to be held. The Childe and his brother
archers were, it need not be said, early on the ground.

But what words of mine can descrilje the young gentleman's emotion when, preceded
by a band of trumpets, bagpipes, ophicleides, and other wind instruments, the Prince of
Cleves appeared with the Princess Helen, his daughter ? And, ah ! what expressions of
my humble pen can do justice to the beauty of that young lady ? Fancy every cbarm which
decorates the person, every virtue which ornaments the mind, every accomplishment which
renders charming mind and charming person doubly charming, and then you will have but
a faint and feeble idea of the beauties of her highness the Princess Helen. Fancy a
complexion such as they say (I know not with what justice) Rowland's Kalydor imparts to
the users of that cosmetic ; fancy teeth, to which orient peai-ls are like WaUsend coals ;
eyes, which were so blue, tender, and bright, that while they run you through with their
lustre, they healed you with their kindness ; a neck and waist, so ravishingly slender and
graceful, that the least that is said about them the better; a foot which fell upon the
flowers no heavier than a dewdrop — and this charming person set off by the most elegant
toilet that ever milliner devised ! The lovely Helen's hair (which was as black as the finest
vaiTiish for boots) was so long, that it was borne on a cushion several yards behind her
by the maidens of her train ; and a hat, set off with moss-roses, sunflowers, bugles, birds
of paradise, gold lace, and pink ribbon, gave her a distingue air, which would have set the
editor of the Morning Post mad with love.

It had exactly the same effect upon the noble Childe of Godesberg, as leaning on his
ivory bow, with his legs crossed, he stood and gazed on her, as Cupid gazed on Psyche.
Theii- eyes met : it was aU over with both of them. A blush came at one and the same
minute budding to the cheek of either. A simultaneous throb beat in those young heai-ts !
They loved each other for ever from that instant. Otto still stood, cross-legged,
enraptured, leaning on his ivory bow ; but Helen, calling to a maiden for her pocket-
handkerchief, blew her beautiful Grecian nose in order to hide her agitation. Bless ye,
bless ye, pretty ones ! I am old now ; but not so old but that I kindle at the tale of love.
Theresa Mac Whirter too has lived and loved. Heigho !

Who is that chief that stands behind the truck whereon are seated the Princess and
the stout old lord, her father ? Who is he whose hair is of the carroty hue ? whose eyes,
across a snubby bunch of a nose, are perpetually scowling at each other; who has a
hiimp-back, and a hideous mouth, suiTOunded with bristles, and crammed full of jutting
yellow odious teeth. Although he wears a sky-blue doublet laced with silver, it only
serves to render his vulgar pimchy figure doubly ridiculovis ; although his nether garment
is of salmon-colom-ed velvet, it only draws the more attention to his legs, which are
disgustingly crooked and bandy. A rose-coloured hat, with towering pea-green ostrich
plumes, looks absurd on his bull head ; and though it is time of peace, the wretch is armed
with a multiplicity of daggers, knives, yataghans, dirks, sabres, and scimitars, which
testify his truculent and bloody disposition. 'Tis the terrible E-owsky de Donnerblitz,
Margrave of Eulenschreckenstein. Report says he is a suitor for the hand of the lovely

198 THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY.

bone, cartilage, ligament, and muscle, of which he had read, were deeply imprinted in his
mind ; and he could have passed with glory through the shai-pest examination, provided it
had been based on the contents of the little book.

But Tom, in spite of his knowledge, was too intelligent not to perceive the defective
state of his acquirements. He soon felt that his anatomy was, after all, a science of
names rather than of things ; that though he could have desci'ibed accurately aU the
intricate bones of the skull, and all the muscles of the extremities, his descriptions would
have been little more than a repetition of words committed to memory. He had not seen
a single real object connected \nih his science. If he could but have set eyes upon a
skeleton, what an advantage it would have been !

We once read of a celebrated anatomist, who, far from admiring human beaiity^
regarded the skin as an impertinent obstacle to the acquisition of science, concealing, as it
does, the play of the muscles. WTiether siich a clear notion as this ever entered the mind
of our hero, we cannot say ; but certainly if some tall lean beggar passed him on the road,
he would clutch convulsively at his knife, and follow the man with a sad Avistfvd look.

One autumnal evening he sat in the alehouse parlour, watching the smoke of his pipe,
and indulging in his own reflections; for though the conversation in the room was noisy
and animated, it had no interest for him. Devoted to his own pursuits, bii'ths, deaths,
and marriages, were to him things of nought, and he paid no heed to the constant dis-
cussions which were held in the village on the extraordinary case of old Ebeuezer Grind-
stone, who had been thought extremely rich, but in whose house not a farthing had been
found after his decease, to the great disappointment of his creditors.

Soon, however, there was such a violent dash of rain against the window, that even
Tom was compelled to start, when he saw the door open, and a stranger enter, completely
muffled in a cloak. The new-comer stood before the fire, as if to dry himself, and seemed
to be of the same taciturn disposition as Tom, for he made no answer to the different
questions that were addressed to him, nor did he even condescend to look at the speakers.
The shower having ceased, and the moon shining brightly through the window, the
stranger walked out again, without any sign of leave-taking.

" That be a queer chap," said the ostler. " I'll run and see where he's going," — and
he followed the stranger, who had awakened a curiosity in every one except Tom. Scarcely
five minutes had eUipsed, when the ostler nished into the room, pale as death.

" Udds huddikins !" said he; and it was not before a glass of spirits had been poured
down his throat, that he could state the cause of his alarm. " Old chap just gone out —
got no proper face like — only a death's head — he just looked round on me in the moon-
light."

" Do you mean to say," exclaimed Tom, " that he is nothing but a skeleton ?"

" Ay — sure I do," said the ostler.

" And which way did he go ?"

" Why, towards the churchyard, sure," said the ostler.

Tom waited for no more, but dasliing down his pipe, he inished out of the room, and
tore along the road to the churchyard. When he had got there, he saw the stranger
standing by the tomb of old Ebeuezer Grindstone. The moon was shining full upon him,
and as Tom approached, the cloak fell down, leaving nothing but a bare skeleton before
him.

" Thank my stars!" exclaimed Tom. " I have seen a skelettm at last !"

" Young man," said the skeletou in a hollow voice, while it hideously uioved its jaws,
" Attend !"

" How beautifully," cried Tom, enraptured, ciui I see the play of the lower maxillary !"

THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY.

199

"■ Attend !" repeated the skeleton; "bnt, rash man, what are yon abont?" it added,
tnruing suddenly round. The fact is, Tom was running his finger down the vertebrae, and
counting to see if their number corresponded with that given in his book. " Seven
cervical, twelve dorsal," he cried, with immense glee.

The skeleton lost all patience, and raising his arm, shook its fist angrily at Tom, who,
with his eyes fixed on the elbow, merely shouted his joy at perceiving the " ginglymoid "
movement.

The skeleton, who had been accustomed to ten-ify other people, was completely amazed
at the scientific position taken by the young anatomist. In fact, the most extraordinary
scene that can be conceived presently occurred ; for the apparition, feeling panic-struck at
Tom's coolness and scientific spirit, darted away from him, and endeavoured to escape by

dodging among the tombstones. Tom was too anxious to pursue his studies to allow him-
self to be baffled in this way; and putting forth all his strength, soon overtook the
skeleton, and held him tight. A conversation ensued, in the course of which the skeleton
explained that he was Old Grindstone himself, who had Ixiried a quantity of money under
ground, and could not rest in peace till it was dug up and distributed among the creditors.
This office he requested Tom to perform.

" It will be some trouble," said Tom, " and the afi'air is none of mine — but look ye —
I'm willing to comply with your request, if, as a reward, you will allow me to come and
study you every night for the next month. You may then retire to rest for as long a time
as you please."

" Agi-eed," said the skeleton; and, quite recovered from his alarm, he shook hands
with Tom in ratification of the bargain.

Tom found the money, distributed it among the creditors, and passed every night for
the next month in the old churchyard, obsei-ving his beloved skeleton, which as it moved

200 now, WIIKX, AXD WFIERR, 15(~)0KS SHOULD lU-: HEAD.

into any position he desired, gave him an opportunity of studying the motion of the lioue.s
in a way that had not been enjoyed by any other anatomist.

The young enthusiast, sitting at midnight with the strange assistant to his pursuits,
would have been a delightful sight, had any one possessed the courage to stop and look at
the party. When the month had expired, Tom and his good friend shook hands and
parted with great regi-et ; but Tom had completely retained in his mind aU he had seen,
and laid the foundation of that profound anatomical science by which he was afterwards
so much distinguished.

It is needless to state that the above is the early history of the celebrated Dr. ,

and that aU other accounts are baseless fabrications.

HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ.

Many a good book has been estimated at less than a tnimpery Annual, because it has
not been properly read. There is as great a secret in reading a book, as there is in
reading the face of nature, or a person's mind. A lovely landscape, or the most Raphaelic
countenance, would give any one, wlio sees them for the first time, but a poor notion of
their intrinsic beauty, if the one were veiled by a British fog, or the other were swoUeu
with a dreadful tootliachc. Precisely the same with books. A fit of bile or a tight boot —
a smoky room or a St. Swithin's day — will make jingling prose of the most musical poetry
and bring the Pleamtres of Memory into the categoiy of Paine on Man. There is a season
for books as there is for oysters ; they should be opened only at a certain period, or else a
divine Milton will go dowoi with persons of no taste as nothing better than a common
native.

Such is our conviction that there is a time and place for the reading of books, that we
would not be reviewers for any consideration, not even if we were aUowed ourselves to re-
view all the books we wrote. Only imagine a reviewer being obliged to read every book
that is sent to him, no matter when or where ! No wonder such a number of Spensers are
prematurely cut down every year. Why, a jjri nee 's &fl««e is nothing to a reviewer's! In
our opinion, evei*y one of the tribe should be compelled to take out a license to kill before
he is allowed to sport over the reputations (those valuable preserves!) of the literary
public, making game of all their works. Only think I a headache might knock on the
head a second Shali spore! There really should be a College of Health for critics; for if
Napoleon lost the l)attle of Leipaic owing to a dish of haricots, it is just as natural to
suppose that a Fielding is frequently swamped in a bowl of punch, taken over-night by
the too luxurious critic. The head, alas ! too often only sees through the stomach.

We hope, therefore, the following hints may be serviceable to critics, teaching them
how to cut up a book on the most humane principles. We would have the scalping-knife
tempered to the edge with mercy, and the critical rod kept in a milder pickle. There are
beauties in every book, as there ai-e jewels in every toad's head — if a person only knows
where to look for them.

To enjoy Zimmermann, you should retire to some lonely spot, where even the voice of
Echo has not been heard — where the sole of a Wellington has never penetrated. The in-
terior of Leicester Square oflFers these great advantages. When you are embosomed in

now, WHEN, AND WHEIIE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ. 2()1

the nettles that grow so luxuriantly in that beautiful wilderness, and are fully imbued
with the spirit of solitude that reigns around, then take out your cherished Zimmermann,
aud you will feel the enjoyments of being alone in a manner you never felt before.

The grave History of England should be studied at Astley's, where the stage is an
animated history in itself. Battles are being fiercely fought— twelve Frenchmen licked
by one British sailor — the English always victorious — fresh kings every night — nothing
but bloodshed, show, and tinsel ; but do not faint, or be indignant at this : refer to your
Hume and Smollett, and you will find the very same horrors and the same absurdities
going on as gravely in the book before you.

In the midst of Billingsgate Market, draw inspiration from the eloquent Parliamentary
debates. There deliberately spell them ; and the people around you, as they soar in rival
flights of classic oratory, will serve as running commentaries to the text.

To commune with Byron, you must throw yoxxr shirt-collar back, expose your poetical
neck, and brush your curly hair off your alabaster forehead. Then fancy yourself very ill-
used and miserable, and cast yourself at full length on the soft sward under one of the dry
arches of Waterloo Bridge. The Kenuington omnibuses, as they peal loud thunder over
your aching head, will be all that will remind you of the existence of deceitful man and
treacherous woman : and nothing will break the flowing current of your melancholy, sa^e
the faint cries of the Thames bargemen swearing in the distance.

To sympathise with the sufferings of Bobinson Crusoe, you should go out in a wager-
boat, aud get wrecked with one shirt on the Isle of Dogs ; there build yourself a hut with

the remnants of jonr wherry, and read the masterpiece of Defoe whilst you munch hard
biscuit, and are exposed to the pelting of the pitiless storm. Yoii will then know what it
really is to be cast on a desert island.

Seat yourself in the pit of the Victoria Theatre, and read Mrs. Radcliffe's mysterious
works. See, the inquisition room is f uU of masks ; a dismal lamp hangs from the ceiling ;
the dread executioner is in the room with his pincers. Between the folds of a sepulchral
curtain peeps the screw of the excruciating rack ; and hark ! the shriek of a lovely female

202 THE OLD AND XEW NUIISKliY.

in (listless breaks wi)on the affrigLtcd ear. All around breathes of Italian treachery and
Englisli innocence.

The novels of Tonng England should be read in an apartment hung with baronial
cricket-bats, and stumps and wickets of the middle ages. The painted blinds should
represent a banqueting hall similar to the one at Rosherville Gardens, emblazoned with
the arms of " our old nobility," shedding their mild eflFulgence on a rich mosaic pavement
of the proud Caucasian era. A handsome jerkin dress, with galligaskins tipped with feudal
partisans, and tiiink-hose of Lincoln green, must be borrowed of Nathan for the occasion ;
have a cup of goodly sack by your side, and in a few minutes you will be alternately
weeping and laughing at Young England's romance.

The oriental feeling that hangs about a cigar divan will harmonise best with the
gorgeous letters of the literal Lady Mary Wortley Montague. No jarring piece of furni-
ture of the present year is there to upset the voluptuous accuracy of the lady's descriptions !
It is a region for luxury and smoke ; for chess, chibouks, and chicory fresh every day from
Constantinople.

The formal Chesterfield should be dipped into only at the Gi'ecian saloon, or at the
cighteenpenny ordinary. Tliere test the actions of every one by the maxims of your lordly
preceptor, and you will never forget the value of them as long as you live.

Revel with old Chaucer only in an omnibus. The motley pilgrims that crowd in and
out, if you but follow them closely, will ti-ansport you to Canterbury in a way you never
could have done by stopping at home.

Thus, by our new system of reading — suiting the place to the book, and the book to
the place — the beauties of the author will be brought out a hundredfold by the genius loci.
"We only beg of our readers to try it. But should oi;r plan become popular, as we expect
it will, we must remind autliors that, with every book they publish, they will have to print
a List of Directions how they wish it to be read ; or else reviewers, in default of knowing'
and not exactly finding out the way, may review the work without reading it at all, and
that would lie no improvement upon the present plan. The directions for reading our own
book would be very simple, — " It may be read anyhow, anywhere, and everywhere, being
warranted to keep in every climate."

TllK OI/J) AM) NEW XUKSERY.

To the reflecting phihmthi-opist nothing can be dearer than that the delightful task
of rearing the tender thought, and teaching the young idea how to shoot, must, in these
days, be performed on an entirely new principle. The grand object of modem education
is the inculcation of Truth, which is now in course of being pumped up from that well at
the bott<)m of which it has lain for so many ages.

Now the first shot which the young idea makes, is. through the external senses, at the
various objects surrounding it. Toys, therefore, are placed within the scope (>f 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.

"^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 <lo^\^l to a piano to sing a song were to be taken at
their words— that is to say, at the words of the poet, which, for the time being, they adopt
as their own — much awkwardness might be the consequence. If the invitations that are
frequently issued were to be literally accepted, we should have people i-ushing to willow
glens the day after an evening party; or jumping into cabs and giving directions to the
cabmen to drive " where the aspens quiver," " do^oi by the shining river," whither they
had been requested to " bring their guitar " by some syi-en of the last night's soiree. Four
or five years ago it was customary to recommend a whole roomful of company to hurry
"Away, away to the mountain's brow!" and many of our readers will recollect being
entreated to " leave the gay and festive scene " considerably before supper, and to " rove
'mid forests gi-een," for the purpose of watching the lingering ray " that shoots from eve)-y
star ;" which, as the stars happen to be innumerable, would have been a very endless busi-
ness. To ask a gentleman to come and watch the rays that shoot from every star, is
almost as bad as inviting him to come and coimt the " five million additional lamps " at
Vauxhall, a task imder which even Cocker must have fallen prostrate. The coolness with
which a request for a meeting '" by moonlight alone " is frequently conveyed may be all
very well in a crowded room fuU of guests, but if the solitary inten'iew were to come oflF
at the appointed hour, the strongest of female nerves might be shaken. As the invitation
is general, any one present is at liberty to accept it, provided he fulfil the condition of
coming alone ; and if Spring-heeled Jack should happen to overhear the song, he might
take it into his head — and heels — to keep the appointment.

Young ladies should be very careful in issuing notes of im-itation to a moonlight
soiree, for they do not know who may overhear them, and attend the rendezvous. The
Cock Lane Ghost, had he been living when the song of "Meet me by moonlight " was
composed, would have been a very likely sort of gentleman to be waiting " in the grove
at the end of the vale," for the puiijose of bestowing the sweet light of his eyes — glaring
through two holes in a turnip — upon any one who had asked for it.

We must say, we prefer the present system of ^i-iting songs with no meaning at aU»
to the old method of asking people to a moonlight tete-a-tete, a meeting in a "tranquil cot
at a pleasant spot," or a conversazione "where the aspens quiver." " You'll remember
me," pledges you to nothing, unless a waiter sings it while you nod your assent, and a
promise to do something " When hollow heails shall wear a mask " is certainly void, for
impossibility

POETICAL INVITATIONS.

210

! mret me Iiv moonlicrht ilone

220

A LEGEND OF THE EHINE.

% f cgcntr of i\n mm.

{Continued from page 197.)

CHAPTER XI.
Cl^c ^artijr of Enljr.

HE archers -who had travelled
iu company with young Otto^
gave a handsome dinner in
compliment to the success of
our hero ; at which his friend
distinguished himself as usual
in the eating and drinking de-
partment. SquintofF, the R«.>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?"

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 dep<isit, while in the latter there is a cer-
tainty of more money being required for their completion. We once heard of, and. indeed,
knew a horse that was worth a pound while living; but it was acknowledged on all hands
that the creature would be worth at least thirty shillings when dead ; and so it is with the
bubljle Railways, an allotment of shares in any of which may be of the value of ten per

[ _ )YLo It (n^y A. InfltiiL.. _ (ji,' (io Iruy cl tnrU&.

MR. JOHN BULL,

In Keeley's celebbated character of " Willibalu," in the PopaLAR
Extravaganza of the "Bottle Imp,"

;tj5iv.

E AIL WAY CALLS. 235

cent, of tlic wlaole capital, but whicli would be worth sometliing more if there were a
certainty that it would die oflF before obtaining an Act of Parliament.

The process of completion raises the very difficult question of calls ; and to the question
" Where is the money to come from ?" Echo, vibrating through millions of empty pockets,
despairingly answers " Where !" Persons not in the habit of visiting will find themselves
beset by morning calls ; and indeed, not only by morning calls, but calls at all hours of
the day will be dropping in upon them. Then it is that the game will commence in reality ;
for thousands of people have placed themselves under liabilities to an extent far beyond
their entire means, and they have calculated on the profits of one to meet the demands of
another — a piece of acuteness worthy of the proposition to lengthen the ladder by joining
on to the top a piece cut off from the bottom.

We hear a great deal of the inexhaustible resources of John Bull, but there are a few
impossibilities that even he cannot accomplish. For instance, if he could even make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear, the purse would be of no use to him in paying his calls, if it
happened to be an empty one. What his condition will be in a few months, may be seen
in the accompanying etching. Calls will literally tear him to pieces, and there will not be
an article he possesses that the great interests of locomotion will not carry away from him.
A Grand Tnink will run away with his strong box ; a Junction of some kind or other will
tear his coat in two ; some stupendous cutting will cut away with his cash-box ; a tre-
mendous tunnel will run through all he has ; and excavations on an extensive scale will
empty all his pockets ; his establishment will dwindle by degrees, as he continues making
efforts to pay up his calls ; his servants, one by one, will be put down as some new demand
is made ; and every fresh gradient will help to send him down the hill with fearful rapidity.
Fii-st, the butler will be given up as a sacrifice to some intermediate station, and gradually,
footman, housemaid, sei-vant of all work, will be thrown in, to make a splendid terminus.
Plate will be melted into ii-on, watches will go to make sleepers, diamonds will be converted
into coals, and silver tea-kettles into steam-boilers.

When this i^eriod arrives, instead of a struggle to get hold of scrip, there will be an
eagerness to get i-id of it. The last possessor will be the unhappy victim to all its liabilities,
and every man will go about like the unfortunate individual who had bought the " Bottle
Imp," and could only transfer its horrid responsibilities by getting hold of another pur-
chaser. Every one who has seen Keeley in the character of WilUbald, the temporary
tenant in possession of the ill-fated bottle, xmable to find any one willing to be let in as
remainder-man, will appreciate the misery of the last scrip-holder. Scrip is the imp by
the agency of which many have gratified their mercenary wishes, but soon it may be im-
possilile to get any one to relieve them from the awful burden. Already, symptoms of the
panic have appeared, and directors are beginning to repudiate the Railway Bottle Imp.
Bubbles are beginning to burst ; and, to wind up with

AN EPIGRAM,
The engineers who are retain'd

To make a survey of a bubble.
Now the delusion is explain'd,

May save themselves a world of trouble.
Since knavish schemes have got a shake

By their imposture being known —
Levels there is no need to take.

The Railways having found their own.

23'i

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

% ftgcnb of tin IWnm,

(Cvidinuedfrom page 224.)

■%! ^.

CHAPTER XII.

Clje CIjampiaiT.

And now the noble Cleves began in good earnest to prepare bis castle for the threatened
siege. He gathered in all the available cattle round the property, and the pigs round
many miles ; and a dreadful slaughter of horned and snouted aniuuils took place, — the whole
castle resounding witli the lowing of the oxen and the squeaks of the gruutlings, destined
to provide food for the garrison. These, when slain (her gentle spirit, of course, would
not allow of her witnessing that disagreeable operation), the lovely Helena, with the assist-
ance of her maidens, carefully salted and pickled. Corn was brought in in great quantities,
the Prince paying for the same when he had money, giving bills when he could get credit,
or occasionally, man-y, sending out a few stout men-at-arms to forage, who In-ought in
wheat without money or credit either. The charming Princess, amidst the intenals of her
labours, went about encouraging the garrison, who vowed to a man they woidd die for a single
sweet smile of hers ; and in order to make their inevitable sufferings as easy as possible to
the galhmt fellows, she and the apothecaries got ready a plenty of efficacious simples, and
scraped a vast quantity' of lint to bind their warriors' wounds withal. All the fortifications
wci-e strengthened , the fosses cai'cf uUy filled with spikes and water ; large stones placed

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 237

ovei" the gates, convenient to tumble on the heads of the assaulting parties ; and cauldrons
prepared, with furnaces to molt up pitch, brimstone, boiling oil, &c., wherewith hospitably
to receive them. Having the keenest eye in the whole garrison, young Otto was placed on
the topmost tower, to watch for the expected coming of the beleaguering host.

They weie seen only too soon. Long ranks of shining spears were seen glittering in
the distance, and the army of the Rowski soon made its appearance in battle's magnificently
stern aiTay. The tents of the renowned Chief and his numerous warriors were pitched
out of arrow-shot of the castle, but in fearful proximity ; and when his army had taken up
its position, an officer with a flag of truce and a tiiimpet was seen advancing to the castle
gate. It was the same herald who had previously borne " his master's " defiance to the
Prince of Cleves. He came once more to the castle gate, and there proclaimed that the
noble Count of Eulenschreckenstein was in arms without, ready to do battle with the Prince
of Cleves, or his champion ; that he would remain in arms for three days, ready for combat.
If no man met him, at the end of that period he would deliver an assaidt, and would give
quarter to no single soul in the gaiTison. So saying, the herald nailed his lord's gauntlet
on the castle gate. As before, the Prince flung him over another glove from the wall ;
though how he was to defend himself from such a wamor, or get a champion, or resist the
pitiless assault that must follow, the troubled old nobleman knew not in the least.

The Princess Helen passed the night in the Chapel, vowiag tons of wax candles to all
the patron saints of the House of Cleves, if they would raise her up a defender.

But how did the noble girl's heart sink — how were her notions of the purity of man
shaken within her gentle bosom, by the dread intelligence which reached her the next
moruiug after the defiance of the Rowski ! At roll-call it was discovered that he on whom
she principally relied — he whom her fond heart had singled out as her champion, had
proved faithless ! Otto, the degenerate Otto, had fled ! His comrade, Wolfgang, had
gone with him. A rope was found dangling from the casement of their chamber, and
they must have swum the moat and passed over to the enemy in the darkness of the
previous night. "A pretty lad was this fail* spoken archer of thine!" said the Prince,
her father, to her ; " and a pretty kettle of fish hast thou cooked for the fondest of
fathers." She retired weepiag to her ai^artment. Never before had that yoimg heart felt
so wretched.

That morning, at nine o'clock, as they were going to breakfast, the Rowski's trumpets
sounded. Clad in complete armour, and moujited on his enormous piebald charger, he
came out of his pavilion, and rode slowly up and down in front of the Castle. He was
ready there to meet a champion.

Three times each day did the odious trumpet sound the same notes of defiance.
Thrice daily did the steel-clad Rowski come forth challenging the combat. The first day
passed, and theie was no answer to his summons. The second day came and went, but no
champion had risen to defend. The taunt of his shriU clarion remained without answer;
and the sun went down upon the wretchedest father and daughter in all the land of
Christendom.

The trumpets sounded an hour after sunrise, an hour after noon, and an hour before
sunset. The third day came, but with it brought no hope. The first and second summons
met no response. At five o'clock the old Prince called his daughter and blessed her. " I
go to meet this Rowski," said he. " It may be, we shaU meet no more, my Helen — my
child — the innocent cause of all this grief. If I shall fall to-night the Rowski's victim,
'twill be that life is nothing without honour." And so saying, he put into her hands a
dagger, and bade her sheathe it in her own breast so soon as the terrible champion had
carried the Castle by storm.

238 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

Tliis Helen most faitlifuUy promised to do ; and liei* aged father retired to liis
ai'moury, and donned Lis ancient war-worn corslet. It Lad borne the shock of a
thousand lances ere this, but it was now so tight as almost to choke the knightly wearer.

The last tnimpet soimded — tantara I tantara ! — its shi-ill call rang over the wide
plains, and the wide plains gave back no answer. Again ! — but when its notes died away,
there was only a mournful, an awful silence. "Farewell, my child," said the Prince,
bulkily lifting himself into his battle- saddle. " Remember the dagger. Hark ! the
trumpet sounds for the third time. Open, warders ! Sound, trumpeters ! And good Saint
Benedict, guard the right."

But Puffendorf , the trumpeter, had not leisure to lift the trumj)et to his lips ; when,
hark ! from without there came another note of another clarion ! — a distant note at fii'st, then
swelling fuller. Presently, in brilliant variations, the full rich notes of the " Huntsman's
Chorus " came clearly over the breeze ; and a thousand voices of the crowd gazing over the
gate, exclaimed — " A champion ! a champion !"

And, indeed, a champion had come. Issuing from the forest came a knight and
squire : the knight gracefully cantering an elegant cream-coloured Ai'abian of prodigious
power — the squire mounted on an vmpretending grey cob, which nevertheless was an
animal of considerable strength and sinew. It was the squire who blew the trumpet
through the bars of his helmet ; the knight's visor was completely down. A small prince's
coronet of gold, from which rose three pink ostrich feathers, marked the warrior's rank :
his blank shield bore no cognizance. As gracefully poising his lance he rode into the green
space where the Rowski's tents were pitched, the hearts of all present beat with anxiety,
and the poor Prince of Cleves, especially, had considerable doubts about his new champion.
" So slim a figure as that can never compete with Donnerblitz," said he, moodily, to his
daughter ; " but whoever he be, the fellow puts a good face on it, and rides like a man.
See, he has touched the Rowski's shield with the point of his lance ! By Saint Bendigo,
a perilous venture !"

The unknoAvn knight had indeed defied the Rowski to the death, as the Prince of
Cleves remarked from the battlement where he and his daughter stood to witness the
combat; and so, having defied his enemy, the Incognito galloped round under the
Castle wall, bowing elegantly to the lovely Princess there, and then took his ground and
waited for the foe. His armour blazed in the sunshine as he sate there, motionless, on
his cream-coloured steed. He looked like one of those fairy knights one has read of —
one of those celestial champions who decided so many victories before the invention of
gunpowder.

The Rowski's horse was speedily brought to the door of his pavilion; and that
redoubted warrior, blazing in a suit of magnificent brass armour, clattered into his saddle.
Long waves of blood-red feathers bristled over his helmet, which was farther ornamented
by two huge horns of the aurochs. His lance was painted white and red, and he whirled
the prodigious beam in the air and caught it with savage glee. He huighed when he saw
the slim form of his antagonist ; and his soid rejoiced to meet the coming battle. He dug
his spurs into the enormous horse he rode. The enormous horse snorted, and squealed, too,
with fierce pleasure. He jerked and curveted him with a brutid playfulness, and after a
few minutes' turning and wheeling, during which everybody had the leisure to admu-e the
perfection of his equitation, he cantered ri>uu(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.

'• 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 <A laiioas
oCeneea — remarking the mqirotected condition (d joang ladies, and ladies not ao jonng
as they have been, who are exposed to the reckless otndnct c^ their partnera — haTic:.'
regard to the cnieltieB, in the form of speedies, nig^tlj practiaed upon imanepectii..-
S Mfnte r - eaters — and obeerring the imnKniBo increase of attempts at wit, and the qoantitj of
I stolen jokes in cirea]ati<«, to the injury of the honest mannfactorer and BtHer thereof, — it
is propoaed to otganiae and establish a DoKEsnc Poucs, snne of whose duties shall be as
follo>w<s-—

L Any person narrating a story, or anything he imagines to be one, and becoming
proay, or porenthetieal, or forgetting *^ where he was," sbaU be desired by the police on dmy
to^Bsoveon."

n. Any person guflty of disturbing the peace of his neigbboars, by rannting ar
alleged frietwiship with the Doke cA Wdlington, the Baihray King, the Editor of th-
7nM«,ortheaathor of "Jonins," shall be taken to the station, and taught to remembo- hi ^^
own.

m. Any yoong gentleman detected in saying to more than six partners on any on*-
ereaing, " Been to the Opera nnich this seasMi r" shall be remored from the room, a.-
haring fulfilled his ndssaon in this world ; and the same shall be done in the ease of anv
perwm affecting a rdnctanoe to dance his pat ten! in La PasUmU ; at exdaimhig, " Oh :
ladies' foaUmde-" or executing the said pas teml in any other than the ordinary and
Christianlike »»>«^»~»»- 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 <Mir (jf iuar maamaiu - .'•
i mnie i»i±Biiffi.

]U!i (S^niiisi aWiTOT. ■* T nxr 'ikaatssfi 'rf ^ ffliiia»"' h^ul ^atuL '^ifluiu.

oiiitdB T5v te ~v, :;. aau£ mi " sssnsuBC. (iuwrat" TB'lie tusaiiaiiaed

•luk. OK 'tr diui is m fe iiaeHfti:

-at " ilL 31K •■1 -niT.wr Tniwr piax yniinir :nnrt TTi -nuMomtm' J

"^wTfli niTII jiJTii THK* Twi ( ftt j i ijkiii ig ' Ttinig Ttnfo ' ;^»ni i TyHTtigyOTTnTy: ■Hit' itiiT timaiwtg ami
iimnii^riiic lif oraiuicairrr. for "iv^iirr . ^v- "iirtiuraEia:" aniii i£ asKr Txstmn

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272 THE STAGE 2vEGE0.

drinking tLe bealtb of the host at an evening party is merely rec<:)gnizuig tiie fact that
he can draw a cheque on a banker ; and inasmncb ae " The Ladiee " prefer their
partnerB' return to the drawing-room to hearing tbeniBelveB teBtifi<!d by Bboute to be
■warranted excuseB for the glaBB. Besidefi, vociferation and excitement prevent digesticm
and j)i*'.>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 <A

*?iat arJemn ailnnratifm for tbe British C^/iutitatioo and for the liherating rafivuf^c'- ■* *'- -
-inda at Msa^sAer or the ahfi»^<t« at Dorer. which we once nijtd to hear with a fee. ! _■
ride at Tyemg^ natires of a land that admitted of .vj> 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

:<ro different maDufactoreTst, trying "VV^i-T-r f i' ^he lim>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 C<mrt O-fide is his p^>mter, and erery jioatman hi.* whrpper-in, A d

1.1 not his weapon, btit a don ble Invjck. He will go to any di.<tance to <*%i:ir-; n.-'. t.r-:v.

Erery country ia a LeicestershTre to hrm. He will hrmt Mi-ia Bremer in Swe^len, f/r

Washington Irving on the lr>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

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